#hug yourself today and remember that sometimes all you have to do it make it until tomorrow 💕

[avarkriss]

genuinely can't stand it when doing the dishes and putting on a little moisturizer actually makes me feel a tiddlybit better like come on those self care posts can't actually be right

[kissbyoon]

(📷) . ݁₊ “HOME”

╰┈ Seungcheol is your home; your comfort and happiness.

₍ 𝑓𝘵. ₎ 𓈒 승철 ˶ fluff, est. rs, comfort * skinship, cheol being too real, petnames (baby, love, hun) ⎯⎯ 1.9k ꒱ ✦ husband!csc x wife&fem!r

♪ A/N : first fic on this blog !! happy new year <3

After what felt like a minute of holding your breath in—you finally breathe a sigh of relief, in disbelief that the project you had been working on for more than six months was complete. All complete.

The project that caused you to do constant night shifts, sometimes even all alone when your colleagues left early, those exhausting hours of work that resulted in you not being able to give enough time to your husband—Seungcheol, was finally complete.

Only the fact that it was Seungcheol, saved you from multiple fights that couples go through, when one can't find the time to give their significant other.

You're grateful. Beyond grateful.

Leaning back in your chair, you throw your arms in the air with contentment, letting out a squeal as you do so.

“Finally,” you couldn't help the grin forming on your face, brightening your face features.

However, as you took the time to look around in search of a colleague to share this happy moment with, your grin immediately dropped.

“Everyone left?” Sighing, you glanced at your watch. It indeed was too late, it shouldn't be a surprise that everyone had left.

You were so focused on completing your project—determined to get it done before the deadline—that you can't even remember when your colleagues left.

You rose from your seat, piling up all the paper works and placing them neatly on your table by the corner, before taking your phone to call Seungcheol—only to frown as it didn't turn on.

“Huh? I had it switched off this whole time?” Confused and slightly panicked, you turn your phone on—now concerned as the screen flashed with text messages from Seungcheol and 10+ missed calls.

Without wasting a second, you immediately call Seungcheol, taking your bag as you make your way out of your department office.

Weirdly enough, Seungcheol wasn't picking up your calls, causing you to stress even more. He did say he would be working for late hours today, but he had tried calling you just an hour ago.

As you reached the elevator, you let out a loud groan at the sight of an ‘out of service' sign.

A million dollar company? Sounded more like a joke to you right now.

You had to take the stairs, Seungcheol didn't pick up the call, he would be working late hours, you'd have to go home alone at this hour, and last but something that leaves you devastated the most—having to sleep on the cold bed that lacked his warmth.

‘Thanks, life.’ you could only think to yourself, your soft footsteps echoing with each step you took down the stairs.

Reaching the bottom floor, you breathe a sigh of relief at the sight of the bright city illuminated with lights, the road filled with cars passing by in front of you.

As you step out of the building, you're immediately hit with the cool breeze of the freezing winter, causing you to hug yourself tightly.

You're always thankful that your company building is located at the centre of the city, meaning you never have to worry about going home late at night.

But today, even this breath-taking view of the city couldn't make your day better or make your eyes shine with awe. Because you know whom you need and he wasn't here with you at this moment.

You just wanted a kiss from him, wanted to hear ‘you did a great job today, baby, I'm so proud of you’ from him, wanted to spend the rest of the night with him, and just wanted him.

Sighing, you take slow but steady steps towards somewhere—you just wanted to take a little stroll before going home, because the one you wanted to see so much right now wouldn't be there when you enter the comfort of your home anyway.

Because the comfort of your home was Seungcheol. Without him, your house just felt like an empty, cool space you really don't feel like living in.

After a few minutes of walking, you stand by a bridge, admiring the view of the calmy flowing river. Indeed, it was too beautiful to resist—causing you to smile finally.

“What's got my baby so smiley?” The voice and the man you recognised right away cooed, carrying a hint of amusement that only you could pick up, followed by his strong arms wrapping around your waist so gently.

Immediately turning around, your face brightens, your lips curling up into the happiest grin that was only reserved for him.

“Cheollie!!” You swear you sounded like an excited child chirping over an ice cream, but you couldn't care less because Seungcheol was in front of you right now. Throwing your arms around his neck, you hugged him tightly.

Maybe too tightly because even Seungcheol couldn't return the hug with the energy you had.

“I think this is enough, love,” he laughed when you refused to let go even after a minute. One of his hands rubbed your back while the other tried to hug you back with the same energy you were hugging him.

“No, it's never enough.” You were quick to defend, immediately shaking your head as you only tighten your grip around him more.

“Hm, let me guess. You missed me too much?” he teased with an intention to get a reaction out of you, only to fold immediately when you nodded so genuinely.

“A little too much.” Finally pulling back from the hug, you look him in the eye with a pout. He softens, his eyes looking at you so intently as he pulls out his hand to hold your face.

“I’m here now, and I love you,” his voice was low and soft, as if it was only meant for you to hear. “But why were you working overnight again? Didn't your boss tell you that you would have a break today?”

Seungcheol was indeed right—your boss had informed your department that the employees can take a day off, except for the ones working on the recent project. This included you and four others, but you had to revise it all over again, which meant you had to stay overnight anyways.

“It wasn't for the ones working on the project,” Seungcheol’s eyebrow immediately furrowed, his expression unpleasant.

“Who is he? Who does he think he is—”

“Cheol, he's my boss.”

He pouted at that, and you let out a giggle.

“Well, unfortunately.” He rolled his eyes, waving his hand in the air—always more than happy to let you know that he despises your boss.

“I always told you, I'm a better CEO and boss than him, with a better company and a better income.” There he goes again, not leaving a chance to convince you to join his company.

“Cheol, hun, we talked about this.” you say, referring to the fact that working in his presence would be difficult for you. Not because he is distracting— No, screw that, he is distracting. You don't like to think that you’d have to work properly, aware of the fact that Seungcheol is in his office, just a hallway away from you, and you wouldn't be able to just run there to hug or kiss him.

He is that distracting.

“Hmph, fine. You love me so much, it's difficult to work in my presence—I get it!” Crossing his arms, he spoke in his pouty manner.

“Oh!” Your eyes widened, remembering the fact that the project causing you (Seungcheol) to go crazy, was finally all done. “I have good news!”

Seungcheol's hand paused mid-air, his eyes dramatically widening—the way you could basically see through him and what he was thinking, you couldn't help but let out a laugh.

This was not how he planned to know about this good news.

“W-what good news…? Why are you laughing?” He whispered, his face speaking out loud—he wanted to hear that.

Seungcheol seemed confused but eager to know the “good news" as your body trembled with laughter. The thought of him being nervous yet so giddy over something that's, unfortunately, not the case, made you want to squish his cheeks.

Finally taking control over your laugh, you let your intrusive thoughts win—reaching out to hold his soft cheeks in your hands, squishing them together.

“No, baby, that's not what I meant,” you look at him with an amused smile as you notice the shift in his expression—now, embarrassed but a hint of smile played on his lips.

He avoided your eyes and hung his head low, cheeks dusted with a bright shade of pink.

Tilting your head, you try to look at him in the eyes, smiling. “Or perhaps you really wanted me to be…”

“No, no,” he shook his head, letting out a chuckle, taking your hands in his. “Forget about that! Tell me what you wanted to say?”

“I completed it.”

“Completed? Completed what, hun?”

“Your most hatest, the project that was causing headaches.” The way Seungcheol’s face immediately brightened, a gasp escaping his mouth.

“Really!?”

“Really!”

Seungcheol kept himself from squealing with excitement right in front of everyone, and instead trapped you in his arms (hugged you), and spinned you around with the brightest smile.

“Cheol! Put me down!” You laughed, and he did, leaning forward to peck both of your cheeks.

“Does that mean you finally get paid leaves? Oh my god?” Exaggerating, the man in front of you covered his mouth and gasped. You hit him lightly on the shoulder.

“I will! You hate that company so much?”

“I do.”

“Me too.” You mumbled, turning around as you rested your elbow on the guardrail.

“You hate your own company? Then stop working there! Why are you there anyway?” He followed, intertwining his fingers with yours.

“Money, cheol, money.” You shoot him a look, followed by a laugh. He chuckled, but his eyes were focused on how the city lights enhance your beauty by far more.

“Which is something I make everyday, and it is more than your boss’s monthly income.” Him and his internal arguments with your boss never failed to make you burst into laughter.

“Hm, why do you hate him though?” Amused, but curious, you ask. He cocks his head to the side and scoffs.

“Why wouldn't I? Just because he is the boss doesn't mean he doesn't have to do anything. He can't rely on his employees for every damn work, and expect them to do it at light speed.” He sighed, rolling his eyes.

His rant went on and on, and you listened to him patiently—your smile never leaving your face as you stared at him.

“What is he, a man in his sixties?” he took a deep breath, huffing with disappointment.

“Cheol?” You called out, wrapping your hands around his arm, looking up at him.

“Hm?” He shifted his eyes on you, waiting for you to continue.

“Did you know? I love you.” Resting your chin on his shoulder, you told him that so sweetly, he had to pause for a moment to process it.

It wasn't like you and him didn't shower each other with ‘I love you' every single minute, but something about you taking your time to say it so sweetly and lovingly—the sincerity and love in your eyes visibly clear—it had an effect on him even after years of being with you.

“W-well,” he cleared his throat, looking away from your gaze. “I love you too. No, more.”

“Yeah? How much more?”

“Definitely more than your boss’s daily salary.” Again, you burst into a fit of laughter—followed by Seungcheol’s giggles and pleading for you to quiet down.

And this is what you mean, when you say he is your home.

@kissbyoon ⌕ ۫ all rights reserved/copying strictly prohibited.

[simpjaes]

FRENZY ៸៸៸ part two

Jake is experiencing real love for the first time in his life. He’s so infatuated with you that he would do anything to make you understand. And you? Oh, you are in no place to argue with a man who appears to be perfect. 

៸៸៸  part one here ៸៸៸ you must read the first part in order to understand this one!

៸៸៸ sim jake x afab reader 

 ៸៸៸ minors dni

 ៸៸៸ wordcount: 14.2k

 ៸៸៸ genre: stalker au, dark fic, slow burn, smut

 ៸៸៸ content tags: switch!stalker jake, he is gross but on a plus side he’s got a big shlong, obsession, panty stealing/sniffing, toothbrush sucking, shower water tasting, jealousy, manipulation, past trauma involving sa of reader, reader is manipulated into being obsessed with him too, trauma, jake is very insane, he’s thinks you need him to fix you, reader can be lifted and carried by him. 

 ៸៸៸ !WARNINGS! there is intense trauma, past abuse, and conflict in this fic. It’s dark with mentions of noncon and dubcon, and an instance where jake keeps going after reader faints. Everything is consenting between the two but only because he is manipulative and a bad person. if you can’t handle it, don't read it.

 ៸៸៸ a/n: sorry again for the way i had to post this in two parts, still i hope it was worth the wait!

៸៸៸ nsfw tags under cut

៸៸៸ nsfw tags for the whole fic, as in both chapters: masochism (jake), sadism (reader and jake), overstimulation, painful masturbation, praise, worship, dirty talk, blowjob, finger fucking, pussy eating, riding, missionary, mating press,  standing up sex yayyyyy, huge giant fat cock jake, deep penetration, unprotected sex, implied breeding, choking, hair pulling, suffocation, cock warming, crying, begging, hate sex, hitting (m receiving), squirting

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The next morning, you were late waking up to log into your work account but Jake was still there, drowsy and smiling at you from the moment you opened your eyes. 

You briefly remember the early morning pouting he gave you, hard against you and lips all over you, and in turn you remember how you made a promise to yourself swiftly after rejecting his needs.

Your face heated up the second he said good morning to you, flustered over the fact that not only do you want him, but you want him to want you like that again, despite your rejection. After all, you let him sleep over, and he didn’t try to take advantage of you despite sporting an intense boner through the majority of it. 

He sees the way your eyes check him out upon waking up too, but you stay silent after he gives you his good morning greeting. 

“Are you hungry? I can step out and pick up some breakfast so you can work.” He offers, stretching his arms out wide and tapping you to stand up. “I’m staying again today.” 

Your eyes widen at him, but the smile on your face betrays that little red flag in your head that has forced you, up to this point, to struggle to give him what he needs. 

“I’d like that.” You nod to him, cheeks permanently warmed at the image of your shining boyfriend. “Sorry about last night.” You blurt now, standing up and stretching yourself. 

“It’s fine love, it's just hard to keep my hands to myself sometimes.” He says, intensely watching your reaction.

You lend a pause in your stretch at those words, having heard them before when your ex did things that made your body ache for weeks. There is a pull in your gut hearing him say that before you remind yourself that they’re just words. He just really likes you, and he did stop when you told him to.

He is not your ex. 

“I wouldn’t have hurt you though,” He continues, seeing you deep in thought in front of him. “If you’d have let me, I mean.”

“Jake I–” You stop yourself, feeling a flood of words on the tip of your tongue. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me.” You confirm, now moving forward to hug against him. “I would have–” 

“You would?” His eyes light up, smile brighter than you’ve ever seen before. 

“No, I mean,” You stutter in panic, hugging him tighter. “I would have touched you if you asked.”

His eyes go dark instantly, making his smile seem more eerie than anything as you look up at him. 

“I’m okay with doing the touching, we can work our way up to the other stuff…maybe? If that’s okay?” 

“Oh, baby, that’s more than okay.” He coos out, now losing his appetite for actual food and wanting nothing more than to show you just how good he could really be for you. His arms hug you tightly before releasing you, and he ushers you across the room. “We can talk about this later though, you’re already late, right?”

You nod, feeling a bit better about initially rejecting him and doing just that, moving to the small nook that holds your desk and PC and listening to him slip his shoes on. 

“I’m going to grab breakfast, and I’m gonna stop by my place to grab some clothes.” 

He leaves before you can answer, which is nice because part of you didn’t want to hear your own voice accepting that. 

Accepting that he’s leaving right now, accepting that he’s coming back to stay another night, accepting that you feel perfectly fine with all of this despite your inner demon advising you to run. 

You don’t know who you are in this moment, but what you do know is that you’re safe. That’s what’s driving you to act blatantly against what your own brain is telling you.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You’re clinging and Jake is fucking devoted to the feeling of it.

Devoted to the way your fingers, so much smaller than his own, grab him to kiss him. Devoted to the way you kiss the bruise above his brow, and the way you ask him to stay for another night, and another, and another, up until he finds himself doing his and your laundry together just so he doesn’t have to go back home to grab more clothes to rotate through. 

It’s been a week since he’s been in your apartment, rolling around on your bed with you in it, cleaning himself in your shower, washing himself with your soap. It’s like only the two of you exist in this space, where he is the only one to step out and see the sun, solely so you don’t have to.

Or, solely so you can’t. He doesn’t think he’d let you at this point, now that you’re his and you prove it with each kiss and hug. All you need to do is sit and look pretty, sit and love him. That’s what your purpose is in this relationship, he will do the rest. 

Given, he’s also fucked his fist each second he can get in your bathroom. But goddamn do you cling. You whine when he separates himself from you even for a moment, and day by day he can see you come closer and closer to fulfilling his need to be loved by you entirely. 

Your phone hasn’t received any unsavory messages you’ve noticed as well, they haven’t needed you to come into the office, and all you can manage to think is that…you’re in love with being in this apartment with him.

Only good things happen when Jake is with you and you’re growing so attached that you’ve thought more than once to just move him in with you. Your mother would scold you, your ex would kill you, and arguably, Jake would absolutely do it. 

He waits on you hand and foot. Cooking, cleaning, doing your laundry, holding you and giving you some of the best sleep you’ve had in years. You refrain from considering it seriously though, because this relationship is still so new. You don’t want to freak him out or cause an uproar in your already fucked up and unsteady life. You’re throwing yourself in like you always do, but…is it so bad when he’s doing the exact same thing?

Until he’s not, anyway. 

“Love,” Jake starts, tapping his chin with the tips of his fingers as he lounges on your bed. “I need to go home today.”

Your heart immediately sinks. 

“What? Why?” You ask in a voice that plainly shows your panic.

“Well,” He taps on his chin again before moving his hand through his hair. “I’m pretty sure my mailbox is probably full by now, I need to clean out my fridge, and I should probably check my course work.”

“You’re…in college?” 

Jake nods with a snicker, laughing at how he’s given up his entire life for you. 

“Yeah, probably won’t be soon though.” He laughs, shaking his hair out and then looking at you with big, rounded eyes. “Just for the day, I’ll be back before sunset.”

You look down in a disappointed way before nodding to him. 

“Aww, babe. Don’t be like that–” He mock pouts as he turns to you, grabbing both of your cheeks and squishing them up, forcing your lips to pucker before landing a harsh kiss against them. “I’m coming right back, I promise.” 

You nod again, unable to keep a smile from forming on your face. 

“You’re so cute, it’s going to kill me one of these days.” He smiles back at you, hopping up and preparing himself to head back to his apartment. 

What you don’t know is that, while Jake wasn’t lying and that he should at least clean out his fridge, he needed to go home. 

He needs to unload the footage onto his computer, he needs to watch it back, he needs to fuck something.

And so, he does just that. 

The second he gets back to his apartment, it’s almost uncomfortable. Unfamiliar scents, no warmth, rotting food in the fridge, neglected pillows and bed sheets. 

Even so, it’s like he acts on instinct when he walks past everything he needs to do and lands himself at the window. His mind takes over in an instant.

It felt like so long ago when he first saw you from here, knowing you were the most beautiful, the perfect girl for him. Knowing you would love him too, and that you’d never want to leave him. He smiles at his victory, knowing that you’re sitting in that apartment right now thinking about him too. If he knew where he would be now, he thinks his former self may have very well fucked himself to death. After all, he’s felt you, tasted you, and even seen parts of you based on the little image he sent to himself from your phone. Everything happened better than he knew it would.

If it weren’t for your ex, perhaps you wouldn’t have let him stay with you in your apartment. Perhaps you wouldn’t have clinged to him so immediately. 

In a way, he almost wants to thank the man before he eventually strangles the life out of him. 

He’s tasted almost all of you by this point, and each moment it happened is trapped within the files of that little camera there. All of it, for him to remember. Each kiss and makeout session he made sure happened in the view of this camera, and so badly does he want to watch over and over again the moments where you gave in to him. The moments where you needed him. 

He’s quick to push the camera to his pc, uploading a weeks worth of files before placing it back onto the window sill and immediately shoving his hand down his pants. 

Jake shivers at the first unrestricted graze of his hand against his cock, eyebrows falling into that of probably one of the most pathetic faces he could ever make in his life. The relief is so good, so painful.

He can’t fucking help it. After jerking off multiple times a day before finding himself in your apartment with you, it’s hard to only do it once a day within a short time span of a few minutes. He felt so restricted in terms of his release, and he has so much cum to give right now. He’s aching for it. He wants to bleed it dry. 

He wants you so bad at this point, seeing you dangle yourself in front of him and not yet give in to at least going down on him– he needs this. He needs it now. 

Even if it’s not you touching him, he needs to release before he takes it from you. Before he does something stupid and makes you hate him forever. Before he really does become your ex. It felt like he was going insane in your apartment, surrounded by you, only wanting to fuck you, and still not getting to. 

God, the footage is so grainy but it hits his cock so fucking fast. He memorized each moment as it happened, and now watching it in third person makes him feel as if he’s some sort of ghost. Like he’s having an out of body experience and can see and feel you in a completely different light.

In more ways than he already has, even.

He releases within thirty seconds, barely holding his cock when he doubles over at the footage of that very first, harsh kiss you gave him. Sensitive and twitching, his raging length spilled all in his pants, drenches them through even, as his body shakes with the need for more.

And as if it never happened, he takes a firmer hold of his cock now, fast forwarding the footage to each and every kiss, wondering how good those lips of yours would feel elsewhere on his body. How pretty your moans would sound for him, how cute your hand looked gripping your tit in that little nude of yours, how–

He comes again, forcing him to let out a choked sob and drop his head to his desk. God, it hurts. He’s so sensitive, and still, he wants you so bad. His dick is still raging, aching, and begging, especially when he thinks of how you’ve been clinging. How your hands have fucked yourself, and how badly he wants them to stay on him forever. 

God he wishes your fingers could slice him open, leaving painful and love-filled reminders of not who you belong to, but of who he belongs to. 

When he thinks of how he’s only doing this right now because you have your claws buried into him already, almost refusing to let him leave you, he knows he could come another four or five times within the next thirty minutes solely because you cling, and cling, and fucking cling. Fuck..

That’s so hot to him.

He’d let you cage him up in a heartbeat, he’d let you fuck his entire life up and then laugh at him for it. It’s what you deserve. To have a man willing to do anything for you, someone willing to give up everything just to hear you breathe, to have him be that person. 

Third release, forcing him to hold his breath to the point of feeling faint.

The veins on his neck protrude, sweat now dripping down his brow. 

It hurts, it hurts, it fucking hurts.

But it doesn’t hurt enough.

And all day he does this. Until the sun is telling him that he needs to go back to you, until his hair is drenched in sweat and his arm is sore. Until his body feels weak and his cock feels spent, raw, and still throbbing for more. 

It hurts when he puts on a new pair of pants, hurts even more when he forces himself to squat in front of his fridge to clean it out, opting to toss everything into a bag rather than sifting through what’s good and what isn’t. 

Now more than ever does he want you against him, knowing that he’s fucked himself half to death solely to keep himself from scaring you, and still he isn’t satisfied.

At this point, nothing will satisfy him but you. He knows this now.

He’s quick to lock up, even quicker to toss his trash, and finds himself inside of your lobby at a loss.

Goddamn his libido. Goddamn this love for you. 

He can’t stop wanting you, and he can’t just fuck the need away himself at this point. He needs you to fuck his brain quiet, only you can satiate this horrifyingly deep hunger. 

Waiting, watching, waiting, waiting, waiting. 

He’s waited enough. He’s done waiting. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Jake appears at your door right on time, and you were expecting to see his smiling face and big stretched out arms to greet you as you open the door for him.

You didn’t get that though. In fact, you found yourself frozen with the door half open as you stared at your boyfriend and the way his terrifyingly small pupils looked back at you before instantly growing twice the size. So different from this morning, heaving, lips shaking, eyes darker than they’ve ever been. 

Before you can even ask why he’s looking at you like that, you learn exactly why. 

“I’m going fucking insane.” Jake says shortly in a hot whisper, stepping forward and slamming the door behind him. You feel his hands on you instantly, slipping under your shirt and grabbing your waist tightly. “Can’t be away from you, can’t be with you, I can’t stand it.” 

You just listen, feeling him walk you into the living room, fluttering his lips all over your face and neck, only to press you up and against the window with his entire body pinning you there with a slam. 

You’re shocked, unable to do anything but listen to him and feel the way his hands grip and search your entire body for something to hold onto. 

“All fucking day,” Jake seethes out angrily, pulling back from you and grabbing your face to turn it. Almost pissed that you simply exist in front of him right now. “Right there.” He says, pointing directly to his apartment. “I sat right there trying to deal with this.” He presses his hips against you, letting you feel exactly what he’s talking about. “And still, I need more.”

Your brain goes numb. Or maybe it goes hot, you’re not sure. You’ve only recently realized that he turns you on beyond belief, it’s difficult to decipher the difference between horniness and fear right now. 

“Jake–” You turn back to him, now using your own hands to grab his face, forcing his eyes to steady and look at you, as if to bring him back to reality. “Do you need–”

He cuts you off with a harsh kiss, hands running up just to press you harder against the window, his hips chasing whatever he can get from you. Like he’s using you in this moment, as if you’re not real and simply a doll for him to release against and inside of. 

He’s fucking gone. Outside of himself, and you, and the universe as a whole. 

“What I need,” He says, pulling back and stating in an almost demanding tone. “Is for you to take care of me.”

You knew this would come sooner or later, and you’d been trying to work up the courage to do it. You’ve run his patience dry, and you guess it’s now or never at this point.

“Just tell me.” You whisper submissively, wanting to give him whatever he needs solely so that he won’t leave you.

You see his expression soften within a split second, his hips release their pressure against you, and he pulls his hands back.

“Fuck.” He lets out apologetically, demeaning himself for losing his control and being so blatant. Pointing out his fucking apartment to you. “Baby, I’m sorry, I–”

You’ve already made your decision, understanding exactly why your boyfriend broke his composure. This past week proved enough to you that he wasn’t in it to fuck you, and even though his needs weren’t being met, he still worked hard to meet yours, you feel…

Yeah, you’re happy he did this. Even the force didn’t scare you entirely. The only thing that scares you is him leaving you over this. And he watches as you do it, sinking to your knees and reaching out to hook your fingers into the loops on his pants. 

“Baby,” He warns you, feeling you pull him straight to you. “Wait, wait.”

You don’t, knowing that if you were to stop now you might end up talking yourself out of doing this again.

“No,” You shake your head, lifting on your knees just to rub your cheek against the length in his pants. “Let me take care of you, I’ve neglected you enough.”

God, he fucking buckles. Dropping right to his knees in front of you, pulling you in by the face, and kissing you as hard as he possibly can. His entire body quivers, bursting in a euphoric sense of arousal as the hairs rise on his body at the very image of you on your knees for him. 

“You’re so good to me,” He mumbles through kissing you. “So, so good to me.”

And you just let yourself feel it. Intensely, to the point that even your stomach flips at knowing what’s about to happen.

Strangely enough, it flips in a good way. You haven’t felt like this in years, and it brings so much glee to you knowing that Jake is right here, willing to let you make him feel good. Willing to let you feel these things again, willing to make you feel good if you work up the courage to ask for it. And most of all, he’s staying. 

“Stand up then.” You whisper in a smile. “I’ll take care of you, so don’t run back home to do it yourself anymore.”

Jake shakes his head with a smirk, happy to get what he not only wants at this moment, but what he so desperately needs. 

“I did that for you, and look where it got me.” He says, standing and staring down at you. “Nothing will ever satisfy me, only you can.” 

You chuckle shyly, reaching up to fumble with his button only to have him take over for you, dropping his pants and gripping himself. 

“Don’t be so sure though.” You swallow around a lump in your throat at the size of him, proving why you were always able to feel it and not quite ignore it. “I don’t have a lot of practice with this.”

Oh, could you be any more perfect? Any more fucking endearing? With those pretty eyes staring down what he wants to put in you so bad, not even knowing how he’s only ever gotten this hard for you and you alone. Fuck, he could give it to you so good, he could fill you until you can’t breathe, he could keep you forever.

You look so pretty like this, with your lips trembling as you wet them, with the way your smaller hands swat him away as if to ask him to let you try and hold it yourself. 

He could shoot his load right now if you asked him to, looking so fucking docile on the floor for him. He needs to look away, he needs to prepare for this.

“I don’t know if I can, um,” You start, gripping him and noting that he’s thick, there’s no way it will all fit in your mouth without absolutely suffocating you. “Jake, I genuinely don’t know if I can fit all of it.”

He lends you a short chuckle as he takes in a breath, his fingers going down to tip your chin up at him. You feel it pulse in your hand as he looks at you, almost feeling his quickened heartbeat through the vein that runs up the underside of it. 

“Love, I don’t need it to fit.” He smiles, pressing it harder into your palm. “Even this is enough right now.” He lies, pressing his hips forward as if to show you that he’s lying.

He needs it to fit so bad.

You eye him down, feeling the twitch release a little dribble of precum that rolls down and onto your circled fist. It’s been a long time since you’ve looked at another person this way, wanting to taste it, almost needing to. 

Rubbing your legs together, almost uncomfortably, you swallow again as you keep your eyes trained on his before glancing back down. You pull your hands back just to see the way it drops. God, it’s so heavy. You can imagine he’s full of resentment for how long it’s taken you to simply look at it. His cock rages at you, darkened in color and glistening in the light of the setting sun through the window. 

All you can do is stare.

And all Jake can do is stare too, watching you do math in your head of what you need to do with him. He’d take anything, fucking anything, from you right now.

“Mm,” Jake hums for a moment, grabbing your hand and squeezing it tighter. “Like this.” He instructs.

“I know how to give a hand job, you know.” You roll your eyes playfully, despite totally forgetting how to do it now that, you know, you want to. 

“Yeah, don’t tell me that.” He warns, annoyed that you’d even say that right now. “Just, grip me harder–” He closes his eyes, pretending that you’ve never touched a cock that wasn’t his own, noting how your hands have always been gentle with him, save for that day you dragged him around by the shirt in a kiss.

You listen, trying to grip the girth of it as tightly as you can while dragging your hand forward and back, forcing little grunts out of him.

“Yeah,baby–” he encourages you, “Just like that.” He continues to lose himself to the feeling in soft moans, blinking down and now moving his hips in your grasp, fucking forward a bit harder. “Use your other hand too..”

You listen intently, never having to use both hands on a man like this before. You try to squeeze him, offering as much pressure as you can as he swivels his hips forward and back, slicking your hands up nice and wet with his precum. Unbelievable how much he has, actually. 

 You look up when he lolls his head back in a drawn out moan, staring at the expanse of his neck and the way it tenses when he swallows around the same moan. And then, suddenly, in a split second he hangs his head back down and looks at you as if he can see everything you are, everything you ever have been, and everything you ever could be. You gasp at his expression, feeling totally lost and in awe when you see that gaze go dead as he stares back. 

His lips fall slack when his hips pick up pace, essentially fucking your fists rather than letting you do the work. And when you glance away from him, tuning in to the consistent pre-cum spilling out of him, he sees you lick your lips. 

He watches, he sees you want it. 

So, very gently, he places one of his hands on the back of your head, encouraging you to do it. And it’s like he can taste colors when you let him and instantly wrap your lips around the big, swollen head of his leaking length.

The half-moan-half-amazed-chuckle that falls out of him only comes from the fact that you instantly stretch your lips around it, lapping at his tip in an almost hungry way. 

“God, fuck–” He keeps his head hanging forward, watching intently as you take him further and further into your mouth, up until you release one hand and grasp his thigh to hold onto. “I’ve dreamed of this.” He admits, shocked that you’re really going to do this for him.

You blink up at him, trying to smile around the heavy length pressing your tongue down. If you’re going to do this, the least you can do is make sure he fucking loves it. Not to mention, the fact that you’re also enjoying it only drives you to do more. Like the wall inside of you has been shattered and nothing could ever stop you from wanting him in any and every way possible.

He smiles through a deep groan at the way your lips still curl around him.

Never in his fucking life did he imagine you smiling while sliding his cock down your throat. Really, you did that entirely on your own and somehow, he feels even more insane than he did walking into your apartment earlier. 

You’re making it fit, and all he can do is help you, now bracing that same hand on your head and pressing further into your mouth.. 

More, more. 

And when he feels your fingernails dig into his thigh and his cock hit the back of your gagging throat, he chokes out, eyes tearing up, and he sobs out your name in a desperate attempt to compliment you for it. 

That sound alone from him went straight through you, igniting a long awaited arousal within your belly. You feel the drip, relishing in the feeling of being wet for the first time in fucking years. He’s so big, and he’s so suffocating. You want to do this, you want to hear him cry out your name again.

Even when he tries to pull his hips back, you grab onto him and hold his hips in place, pushing your lips further down, depressing your tongue even more as the thickest part of him cuts off your airways. Your throat restricts around him, and you feel proud of it. Proud of choking on him, happy to keep doing it. 

He stutters in awe, gripping the windowsill with his free hand and using the other to feel your hollowed out cheeks. Shit, you’re going to taste him, he’s going to give you all of it, he’s going to–

Shocked, floored, entirely drunk for you, all he can do is watch as you choke. His body did not warn him at all when his cum shoots into your throat, warming your belly with that first swallow around him. 

Your reaction to it is immediate though, as he watches with half-crossed eyes the way you pull off of him and let his cum spurt out and drip all over your face. Down those beautiful cheeks, onto your plush lips, and down your neck.

It won't stop. He just keeps coming. His entire body trembles as he stares at you, and you stare back before closing one eye due to the fact that there is now cum in your eyelashes, and you fucking smile at him.

The image alone keeps him hard as his body finally stops twitching. You, there on your knees, smiling up at him drenched in him. 

“Baby,” He soothes out with a raspy tone. “Fuck, you didn’t have to do–”

“I’m wet. Jake.” You smile, as if you’re admitting this to him to gain some sort of congratulations for it. And in a way, you are. He has no idea how amazing it is to you right now that you can feel your panties go sticky. It feels amazing to admit to him, actually. 

It’s so relieving, it’s so warm, it’s something you never should have missed out on in the first place.

“What?” He asks with uneven breath, dropping to his knees in front of you again, rubbing the cum into your skin with his thumb as he caresses your face. “You are?”

You beam at him, smiling with a nod.

“Really?” He asks again, in disbelief because this was all it took? 

You nod again, leaning back on your arms and watching him follow, hovering over you and slotting himself between your legs with a hungry gaze. 

“Can I feel?” He asks abruptly, crawling over you to the point that your back hits the side table behind you, keeping you from lying all the way down. 

And you nod before you think about it. Wondering if this is how it’s always supposed to be. Always willing, always wanting, always needing. 

He stares at you when you nod, glancing down to your middle then back at you as if to gain another confirmation. 

You nod again, this time wanting to hide your face in your arms. You anticipate it, wondering what it’ll feel like to be touched there again by a hand that isn’t your own after all this time. And when you feel his shaking hand dip into your sweat pants, you don’t even shutter. You don’t shy away.

You’re surprising yourself even, letting out a gasp when he cups your core and looks down at you with a cautious smile. 

“You’re dripping, baby.” He smiles as he balances himself on one arm over you, rubbing his hand back and forth and memorizing the dips and folds he can feel through this flimsy fabric. Then, his more intrusive thoughts spill in an unintentional and needy groan. “Fuck, I bet you’re so tight.”

Words that would make you recoil are no longer scaring you. You can tell he wants to apologize for saying it too, but goddamn, you loved hearing it. In fact, your entire body pulses at the words, feeling his hand do nothing more than hold you there and gently rub. His eyes are pleading though, with his lips pouting as he relishes in thoughts of probably fucking his fingers into you just to see if he’s right. 

Or maybe it’s just you hoping that’s what he’s thinking about. You can’t help the way you clench, letting out a strained breath as you lurch forward and hug him around his neck, squeezing so tightly as you whisper against the shell of his ear. 

“You can touch me�� if you want.” You whisper, physically feeling the goosebumps against his neck raise to your lips. “Just go slow.”

You still need to go slow, after all, you don’t know how your brain may react to this, despite loving it at the moment. Relishing in the fact that someone managed to make you feel horny again. You feared that you never could again. God, he’s amazing. 

“I’ll go so slow for you,” He whispers back, twisting his hand in your pants to hook his fingers around your panties to pull them to the side. “Oh, baby, you really do want this, don’t you?” He whispers again upon really feeling you drip, trying to slide his fingers through the slick mess before rubbing circles around your hole. He’s lost his train of thought now, only able to feel one sense at a time so that he can fucking memorize how you coat his fingers entirely.

He moans again from deep in his chest along with you, despite knowing you’re the only one feeling the pleasure of his fingers. You feel his moan vibrate through his throat when you kiss him there, anticipating what it’s going to feel like when he slides a finger in.

And it’s like you see stars when he does, slowly pressing one into you as he wraps his other arm around your waist to hold you in place, sitting back on his knees and forcing you to stand on your own infront of him. 

There he holds you as if he’s afraid you’ll start to fight, relishing the feeling of your wet walls hugging his finger all while you cling to him through it. He was right, you are tight despite how wet you’ve gotten. It’s almost like you’re a virgin despite knowing that you’re not. 

Your body is reacting this way for him, and you’re hugging him, and your pussy is clenching for him. He just knows that if he manages to fit his cock into you, he’d fucking lose it. You’d squeeze him so tight, and he’d fuck it so deep. Fill you up, deeper, deeper, until the only name you know is his. 

He’s losing it again, hearing your little whispered moans against his ear, hanging on him like a fucking pet, god, he wants you to squeeze the fucking blood out of him. You’re being so compliant, so submissive, so–

“Do you even know…” He starts babbling, trying to silence his thoughts by giving them straight to you as his finger slides out, eagerly shoving two back in at a much quicker, much harsher pace. “How much I’ve dreamed about this?” 

You shake your head noting how he’s already mentioned dreaming of you once. The thought has you spreading your legs out to feel how deep his fingers reach inside of you. There’s no pain involved in this, despite his pace not being nearly as slow as he said he would go. You’re not upset, you want him to go faster, you want him deeper, you want to hear him talk.

“So many times, baby, so many times.” He soothes himself more than you through these words, losing himself more and more each second to the feeling of your core clenching his fingers. “You’re even prettier to me right now,” He continues to babble, listening to you hum in his ear at the pleasure you feel. “I want you to take everything from me.” 

“I want you to wrap your legs around my neck, I want you to rub my nose in it, I want you to suffocate me, I want—”

“Shit, Jake.” You moan out his name for the first time at the dirty words. They’re a lot to take in only because you know it truly is a lot, or rather, it should be. But you fucking want that too. You want everything from him, you want everything he wants. Everything. “What else?” You urge him to keep talking.

“I want you to pull my hair,” He says, instantly feeling your fingers slide up his neck and into the thick of it, tugging immediately. “I want you to make it fit here too.” He continues, curling his fingers inside of you, thrusting his own hips against the dense air in your apartment. 

You moan again at his hot words. You’re overwhelmed by how much you want more, how much you’d let him, right here, right now. 

“Keep going,” You sing out, feeling it in your stomach and knowing that this familiar feeling is so much better than you’ve ever felt before. “Tell me, Jakey, fuck–” You continue, huffing at the way his fingers quicken even more. 

“Sound so pretty saying my name, fuck,” He groans now, more level than before as he feels your legs close around his arm, fingers relentlessly hitting the soft spot inside of you. “Tell me that I’d never hurt you, that only I can make you feel like this.”

You nod aggressively as your brain hits a wall, unable to fulfill his request. Every muscle in your body tenses in pleasure as you begin to shake, moving your own hips against his fingers and tugging his hair harder without intention. 

He moans out at how tight you hold him, wanting nothing more than to lay you out and bury himself into you, to feel your pussy jerk him off. 

“Feels so good, baby, right?” He continues to talk, feeling your tight walls try to push his fingers out with each threat of your build up, his mind is spinning. “Say it–” He stutters, feeling his own body react the same way yours is. “Fuck, please, say that you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.” You whisper out of breath against his ear, the hot breath sending him overboard as he immediately pulls his fingers from you and grips his cock instead, ignoring your whimper of the lost build up.

“Yeah,” He cries out, thrusting his hips against his hand. “So let me– please, please let me.” 

His face looks so broken when you stare at him in shock, eyes pleading for you to give him all of it. To give him everything right now. How could you fucking say no to that expression? How could you ever say no to him? 

And still, with your orgasm half-fulfilled, you’re entirely enamored with the way you instantly want it too. As if you’re rushing head first into a brick wall with him, and you stop just to think for a moment.

Should you? 

Do you intend to keep this man forever? Do you want him to leave? Would you be able to picture a day without him? 

It confirms in your brain right then and there. You do intend to keep him. You don’t want him to leave. You could never picture a day without him at this point. 

If he wants to have sex with you right now? Why not? You’re sure that if he is truly wanting to stay, sooner or later you’ll feel him pumping inside of you. Why should it matter that it happens now rather than tomorrow? Or next week? Or even next month? 

Instantly upon your snap decision, you stand on shaking legs, watching him watch you. His hand gripping himself harshly to prevent a pathetic and untouched orgasm, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy. 

You smile, dropping your pants, panties, and then lifting your shirt right up and over your head. All he does in response is wince, grip the base of his cock harder, and try to focus on not spilling and wasting his cum on your floor. Brain only slightly trying to distract him with the idea of grabbing those sticky panties to suck them clean. 

“Really?” He chokes, out of breath and standing up, swiping your panties up quickly and crumpling them in his hand.

Then, you feel one hand on you after he drops his length, and the other rubbing those same wet panties against your skin, as if he has a death grip on them and you. Still, he walks you right back to the window and against it, speaking in that same, needy and shaking breath. “Baby, are you sure?” 

You look away, feeling vulnerable and shy but so willing, so ready when you nod and throw your leg around his waist as if to tell him that you’re more than sure. 

He gives you a breathy chuckle, pulling back just to lift his shirt off of him, hang your panties at the base of his cock, and then he grabs your leg and holds it in place. “Right here?”

He can’t tell if he’s even alive right now, with your pussy sitting spread open right up against him as you let him hold you here, your ass is probably looking great for the camera right now. Your panties feel so good in their rightful place, dangling just in front of his balls. You feel so good in your rightful place, right up against the wall with him trapping you here. 

You nod again, pressing your hips forward, proving to him how hungry you feel for him right now. Finally feeling dirty and not hating yourself for it.

“Right here.” You confirm, tuned into his lips and leaning forward to lick against them. “That’s what you want, right?”

He’s stunned by how you take control while still being somehow submissive to him about it. Almost like you’re shaming him for wanting it, almost like you don’t want to admit that you want it too. 

“Is that what you want?” He asks, trying hard not to think about how you’ve shifted entirely within the span of however long it’s been since the two of you started this. Is this how you act when you're horny? 

“How could I not?” You confirm again with a confident tone, watching your boyfriend break in front of you. “Look at you.”

Jake can’t bear to look at himself, he knows he looks just about as pathetic as he’s always wanted. Never quite able to feel pathetic enough to satisfy him, only now understanding why he chased and chased the feeling to have you like this. 

Controlling whether he can stick his dick in you, controlling whether he can fuck off and die. 

That’s how it’s supposed to be in a relationship, but somehow it’s something else between both of you. For him, it’s like you’ve intentionally edged him for an entire week and for you it’s like you finally have control over your own sexuality again. 

You feel powerful, and Jake wants to be entirely at your mercy. 

“No one has ever wanted me this bad and waited.” You finally say to his intense and loving stare. “I want to give you anything you want.”

If he had a tail, it would be wagging so fast right now. It’s like he’s being given a treat for being exactly who you needed him to be, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever stop doing it. 

“I could wait longer,” Jake mumbles, inching his lips to yours and letting his other hand cup one of your tits. “You could make me suffer,” He continues, whispering it right into your mouth. “Could lock me up and starve me of it.”

You lean your face back, a little shocked at his choice of words there. 

“So you meant those things you said earlier?” You ask, remembering how he babbled on about wanting you to suffocate him, about how he wanted you to take everything from him. 

“Do you want me to be honest?” He counters, now pressing his hips forward and letting his cock weep against your thigh. 

You nod to him. 

“I want you to take it all out on me.” He admits, gripping your tit in his hand tighter, hiking your leg up higher. “I want you to control every aspect of my life.”

Honestly, it shouldn’t be a thought that brightens your brain but it does. It sounds toxic, and you can’t even tell if he’s saying this just because he’s horny and is about two seconds from slamming you up and against this window with the force of his cock alone. Somehow, you love the thought of all of it. 

“Every aspect?” You ask with interest. “What do you mean?”

He chuckles as he hangs his head, watching his length pulse constantly against your thigh and the panties hanging off of it. Only then does he release your tit and use your panties as a way to position his cock up, lining up with the wet of your core that is only for him.

“It means–” He starts, sliding into you with a paused moan, hiccuping slightly as he furrows his brows. “I want you to make me cry for you.” He continues with a tilt to his head as he watches the way you wince at all of the strength he has to hold you up like this, to slide into you like this. “I want you to hurt me, and I want you to love doing it.”

He bottoms out after that, holding you in place and feeling your walls struggle to adjust to the tight fit. 

“It’s what you deserve.” He soothes out to you, kissing you once. “To take someone the same way you’ve been taken.”

You recoil instantly, pussy restricting in horror at the reminder of why you never do this with another person, but god the way he lifts on his toes just to plunge somehow deeper into you. The way his lips trap you even more, the way his force is nothing but fucking amazing to feel. All you can do is moan, bump your head against the window, and squeeze him. 

“You said you wanted to give me what I want–” He slides out of you just a little bit. “So, can you?” He pushes back in, listening to you get wetter at his words and feeling your answer when you can’t seem to speak for yourself. 

“I said I’d never hurt you, love,” He coos out this time, watching your body shift up against the window as he picks up some sort of rhythm, taking you the way he’s always wanted you. Right here, against the window. “But I never said that you couldn’t hurt me.”

Why the fuck is that so hot? God, why does a man like Jake offer you so much? Why is he doing this to you? Why is he doing it to himself? Why do you love it? 

You find yourself nodding as you moan out, still not quite adjusted to his size and the way he made it fit into you in such a…pleasurable way. It doesn’t hurt at all, it feels good. 

“Yeah, I knew you would.” He continues to talk as if he’s not internally losing it, but months worth of pretending, several orgasms today alone, and having your pussy hugging him just as tightly as he knew it would? That’s helpful. 

And now, as your fingers grip at him through his harsh and deep thrusts, all he can do is hold your leg against him, lean forward, and stare directly into his apartment window. As if he’s mocking his former self, as if everything in the world has fallen into place. You wouldn’t leave him now, never, you’d be just as stupid as everyone else if that were the case. 

He has faith in you, in himself, in this, and the way you drip all over him. 

He knew you’d be perfect for him. 

It doesn’t take long, really, for him to pull an orgasm out of you when he’s doing it this good. In fact, you don’t even have to reach a hand down to help pull it out of you by the time your body begins to stiffen up at it. 

His pace is slow, his cock is deep, and fuck his entire body is on you. You couldn’t squeeze your hand down if you tried, in fact, you don’t think he’d even consider letting you do any of this on your own. 

His grip is so strong, you can feel your sweat stick to the window as you slam your head down on his shoulder, sliding up and down the window with each of his powerful thrusts. 

It feels so good to do this again.

“Jake–” You hiccup against his neck, listening to his heaved and choked breaths through each thrust. “I wish I had done this sooner.” You manage to get out, body tensing and relaxing by the minute with the threat of an orgasm. “I’m sorry I made you wait so long.”

And honestly, you don’t know what’s gotten into you, nor do you fucking care. If you want to cry, you’ll fucking cry. It’s been too long since your tears hit you out of pleasure, or happiness, or fucking safety. At this rate, you’ll never let this man go. 

“I know baby, I know.” He soothes you, arms shaking as he holds you up and thrusting in as deep as he can go.

You feel him stutter in his pace, his hips stopping as you feel his heavy cock pulsate against your clenching walls. 

“Are you close?” He says, pulling back and looking at you. “Is that why you’re sorry?”

You look at him with glassy eyes, smiling dazed at him as you shake your head. 

“No,” You smile wider, running your hands up and into his hair, remembering what he asked for before. You tug, forcing his head to tilt back so that you can attach your lips to him. “I’m saying it because I want you to always make me feel this good.” You whisper against his pulse point, kissing it hard. 

You feel him lose composure at that, his hips immediately moving again, slamming up and into you so hard that you can’t even hold your head still enough to kiss him there again. 

“Ah, fuck,” He whimpers out, “why would you fucking say that to me right now?” He continues, relentlessly fucking himself against the soft and sensitive spot inside of you. “You still make me feel so insane, only you could do this to me.”

You smile, having learned that he appears to love the torture anyway. 

“You love it though, don’t you Jakey?” You say, loving the way he loses it for you, learning how badly he’s wanted this, seeing him intend to stay. 

And at those words, he can’t take it anymore. Fuck the camera, fuck anything else in the world that isn’t you. He ignores that wince on your face when he slips out of you, ignores the way the panties fall from his length, and focuses entirely on the way you hug him as he carries you straight to the couch. 

Right there, he drops you and watches the way your tits bounce at the motion. 

“I’m fucking obsessed with you.” He says, feeling the arousal run through his veins, knowing you’d love to hear him say that while never knowing just how true it is. “How are you real?”

You smile, hiding your face as you feel his hands hold your thighs open. You know what he’s looking at, and you can’t force yourself to see him do it. Solely because you know it’s going to swell your heart so big that you’d only fear the day he wants to leave it empty.

And you don’t respond either, because you can’t. His fingers are spreading you open and you can hear him drop to his knees yet again for you. You wan’t to look so bad, but still, you fear the love in his eyes.

You fear and want all of it. 

He hears the sharp inhale you give when he spreads you out, really inspecting the single spot on your body that no one on this earth should ever see aside from him. 

“This is where it hurt the most, isn’t it?” He asks, staring into the hole he’s already fucked, watching it beg him for more despite his words that probably stab your soul. 

You’ll never understand how he can take your pain and turn it into something you don’t mind hearing though. Yes, that’s where it hurt the most, and still, that’s where you want him the most. 

“Yeah, baby?” He asks again, reaching an arm up and forcing you to look at him. “This is what you were so afraid of?” He continues, dipping down and rubbing his face directly into the folds and inhaling a deep breath. 

“Y-yeah.” You choke out at the feeling, in awe of how you knew his eyes would make you terrified. He still stares up at you as he does it, pointing his glare straight through you and into your fucking spirit.

Only Jake can make you fear nothing else in this world aside from the thought of losing him. 

“I’ll make it better,” He says, boosting his ego at the way your legs wrap around his head. “You’ll always want me here,” He continues, cooing out with each taste and lick of your budding arousal. “You’ll never want me to stop–” 

No man has ever wanted you this bad while having you, even as you experienced the trauma of just that. Your ex wanted you physically, but something about the man drying to drown himself in your pussy right now makes you feel like he wants you on a level far deeper than what’s possible.

He’s eating you out like he wants to eat you whole. Like he could devour you, and never spit you out of his mouth. 

“Shit, shit–” You moan, hands shooting down to his hair yet again, finding yourself loving the way his grown-out roots feel softer than the harsher dyed section of his hair. You tug harder than you have before, feeling his tongue search and yearn for everything you have to offer him. 

“Mhm.” He mumbles with a mouth full of pussy, rolling his eyes back at how you do just as he suggested before. Rubbing his nose in it, letting him continue to lose himself in the point of all of his problems. 

And it’s as if you forgot that this only happens to reach a point of coming. The experience alone feels like one long and drawn out orgasm already, it doesn’t take anything at all for him to get you there. 

It’s like he already knows it too, because you go entirely silent with a held breath as he holds your hips and buries his tongue deep inside of you. He wants to feel it, he wants to taste it. And he suffers for it, really, neglecting his own cock and knowing he’s going to come through this alone anyway. 

As expected, he does. Upon the first gush of your slick hitting his tongue, his cock pulses, his balls squeeze up, and he can feel it shoot out of him each time your pussy shakes against his suffocated mouth.

And your hands, so perfect in his hair, pulling without even knowing. You’re everything he’s ever wanted, this is more than he could have ever asked for. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

By this point in your relationship, the two of you have moved so quickly that it doesn’t even scare you. In fact, if it slowed down at any point, you’d probably be preparing a suicide note simply because you don’t want to be in this world without Jake. 

Since the first time you got intimate with him, it’s like it hasn’t stopped. You’re shocked at his thirst for you and even more shocked that someone so fucking perfect would waste his breath on you even for this long. 

It hasn’t been that long, really, since the first time you touched him. A few days at most, but it’s like that moment solidified a lot for the two of you.

One, he’s not going to be sleeping in his own bed anytime soon or, ever, really. Two, you’ve learned through at least two more sessions of Jake’s mouth on you that he really does want you to live up to his requests. He makes it known how badly he wants you to make him suffer, how badly he needs you to give him everything he wants. Thankfully, he’s patient with your reluctance. And Three, your ex is no longer a threat. 

Each message you receive, you just hand your phone to Jake and he takes care of it. 

It doesn’t even translate in your head that you’ve been barred from answering your mother’s calls until the police show up at your door for a wellness check. Where, of course, Jake answers,

“Yeah, she’s here.” You hear his voice as you lay flat against your bed, heaving breaths as if he didn’t just have the tip of his dick in you. “Why?” You hear him question. 

A few more muffled words and you hear the door close and his footsteps making his way to your room. 

“Cops.” He dead-pans, “Your mom thinks you're dead.” he adds with an eye roll. 

Your internal panic, a feeling you had once been so accustomed to that now feels almost foreign, takes over your body.

“Fuck, my mom!” You say in a fast breath, rushing onto your feet and throwing on a pair of his soiled sweatpants. 

Jake hangs back but listens to your conversation from your hallway, listening intently to how you speak to other men, cops or not. 

“Yeah,” You say, scratching your temple with shame. “I guess I didn’t realize she was calling me so much.” 

Try five times a day. 

“I’ll call her now, sorry for wasting your time.” You continue with that nervous chuckle that you used to use on him during your dates. 

And then you’re back in the room, looking at him with a raised brow. 

“Why didn’t you tell me my mom has been calling?” You ask, a little annoyed that it’s gotten to the point of freaking your mother out. 

Jake shrugs, then looks at you apologetically. 

“I don’t like when she forces you to talk about it.” He finally says, sulking his shoulders and huffing out. “I don’t like that she tells you to be careful around me.”

You roll your eyes, relieved that he’s just being himself and wanting to keep you happy. 

“Still, you should have told me. She’s going to have a fucking heart attack thinking he showed up at my work place again.”

Jake’s entire brain stops working, his body going rigid as if the cold air outside is hitting him in full force. 

Your eyes immediately widen as you slam your hand over your mouth. Fuck, you forgot that you told her in a hushed tone, explaining that it’s okay. That Jake wouldn’t let anything happen to you. 

Fuck. 

“He what?” Jake says, dumbfounded at the slip of your words. 

“Jake, wait–” You try to get an explanation but he’s not having it. 

“You haven’t been at work, what do you mean he showed up?” He glares, chest heaving as his heart rate picks up. 

“It was from that day when you first stayed over,” You look at the floor apologetically. “I didn’t want to talk about it…” You trail off, feeling his energy hit you in the face at how he’s completely shifted from that loving, soft boyfriend you’re so used to. 

“You kept that from me!?” He seethes out in disbelief. This whole time he thought he fucked your ex up enough to prove what would happen if he even fucking tried it. By you explaining that it happened just after Jake found him, that’s a direct insult.

A threat.

A fucking death wish.

“I didn’t–” You stutter trying to explain yourself. “I didn’t think it would matter since you were here. You were keeping me safe.” 

“You lied to me?” He continues interrogating you, coming up to you and practically demanding an answer through his eyes.  

You look away, nodding. 

“You said you wanted me to keep you safe, what would have happened if you had to go to work again?” He drones on and on, seemingly stuck on the fact that you didn’t tell him. “What would happen if they called you to go in today?” 

Already you’re starting to cry, feeling stupid for not making a bigger deal out of it. To be fair, not talking about it helped and you did intend to tell him at some point. That just…never happened. 

“I would have asked you to stay with me at work.” You say, feeling numb as the fear of losing the man in front of you steals your every thought. “I’d have not gone. I’d have quit. I don’t know!” 

Jake backs down at your words, only able to soften his rage if you’re the one who causes it. 

“Baby,” His soft voice shocks you when you feel him come back to himself, as if to comfort the fear he just instilled in you. “I’m not mad.”

Yes he is, you know he is. 

“Now you’re the one lying.” You argue, pushing him away only to feel his grip on you tighten. 

“Am I?” He asks, urging you to keep talking. “Are you mad at me now?” He continues, intentionally pushing your buttons. 

“Mad that I should have already known?” 

“Mad that I didn’t let you talk to your mom?” 

“Mad that I’m keeping you safe, while you keep putting yourself in the position to be hurt by him again?” 

You stare at the floor. 

“Mad that this is your fault?” 

Yeah, you are mad. 

“Fuck you, Jake.” You break, feeling his strangling fingers on your skin scratch and leave welts when you force yourself away from him. “Fuck you for all of that.”

“What else?” He presses, hanging on specific words. “Fuck me for what else?” 

You just stare at him, and he can see the anger in your eyes. 

“For not being there when it happened?” He asks gently. “For not killing him when I had the chance?”

When he had the chance. 

“What do you–” You try to ask, but he just continues, closing back in on you. 

Somehow, you need it, despite wanting to pull away every time. 

“Fuck me for wanting this from you, right?” He says, much closer to you and dipping down to kiss you. “Fuck me for wanting you to be this mad, hmm?” 

You break again, something deep within you spiraling into a different type of insanity you’ve never felt. You don’t feel trauma, you don’t feel scared, you feel…enraged.

“Fuck me for thinking you look perfect,” He whispers against your lips. “Fuck me to fuck me, fuck me to fight me, fuck me.” 

The repeated words fit into your brain like they belong there. Like this anger is supposed to be filling you with pleasure rather than dread. Like you’re supposed to feel just as in love as you are mad. 

“Just fuck me, baby.”

And god fucking dammit. How does he crawl into the depths of your brain, like a fucking roach, and kiss all of the areas you don’t know exist? How the fuck does he wake shit up inside of you that you never dreamed of having, or feeling, or wanting.

“I hate you.” You say, and meaning it too. 

Because you don’t think you’ve ever loved someone more than you do now. 

“Yeah, I bet you do.” He smiles, dipping his hand down into the sweats you put on and sliding into the same slick he had spilling out of you just before the pigs showed up. “I love it.” He chuckles against your lips when you refuse to moan at his touch. 

You’re pushing against every good feeling inside of you right now, thinking only of how this rage spills out of you and against his fingers. 

“So wet to hate me–” He says, pressing and pressing and pressing for you to just fucking– “Hit me.” 

He sees your eyes shine at the very thought of how badly you must want to do that, unknowing of how much he wants it too. Needing it almost. 

And oh, the moan he lets out when your weak hands raise to shove him back. He plays off of it, stumbling back to your bed just to fall on it. Waiting, knowing you’ll come take him for all he’s worth.

“Come on, love.” He encourages you. “Make me sorry.” 

You hate him, and you hate that you love it. Love that he loves it, fucking adore that he wants this, he wants to let you do whatever you want to him. 

To kick, cry, scream, release everything that’s been trapped in your head for years.

You don’t even falter, feeling it bubble up and overtake every thought. Dripping down your legs as if this is the only way you could ever fulfill your own pleasure again. Only now to you slide the pants back off of you, so horny out of your mind that all you can manage is to feel these emotions drip for him. 

He watches you straddle him bare from the waist down, sees your breath shaking, and your lips quivering.

Jake knew you had it in you. 

“Take them off.” You demand, rolling your eyes at the way he looks up at you with pure bliss.

“Hit me first.” He offers, feeling his cock strained against his own pants that he haphazardly threw on when he heard the knock at your door. “Hit me, and I’ll fuck the hate out of you.” He lies.

“Take them off.” You repeat, cold hands reaching down as you do it yourself, lifting just enough to shove them down far enough.

And god, the breath is knocked clean out of him with the way you just take him. You slide down perfectly, bottoming him out in one motion. He can see now that you need this perhaps even more than he does. 

“God, come on baby.” He moans, feeling you just sit still on him. 

“Jake,” You warn, running your cold hands up to his neck on instinct. “Shut up.” You squeeze. 

The smile that forms on his face is pornographic at best, and drunk at worst. You see him love every instant of it, and you don’t want to admit that you do too.

You didn’t know it would feel so good to have a man’s neck in your hands, squeezing it just to shut him up. Releasing it just to hear him gasp out a praise. 

“So good,” He praises, eyebrows knitted together as he loses himself to the way your pussy chokes his length. You’re not even fucking him, you’re just– “So perfect.” He continues, nearly wailing out at the immense love he feels inside. 

And then, you do. You hit him. Power hungry and entirely at a loss for your own pleasure, you land a harsh and loud slap right against his face, only for him to moan louder. 

Only for him to fuck up. 

Only for him to grip your sheets so tight that you hear a rip. 

Again. You slap him, feeling your anger slowly fizzle with each frantic moan he gives back. 

Again, and again.

“Shit, you love that, don’t you?” He manages to say, feeling his cheeks sting with red-hot passion, only to be hit again, and again. “God, make it hurt.” 

At this point, you know that you could never give him enough as the rage leaves your body entirely and it’s replaced with nothing but the need to just….fuck him. Never in your life have you ever been blinded by a need so badly, save for safety.

And you have that now, don’t you? You have Jake now, right where you want him, right he wants to be. He wants you to feel this, he made you feel this. 

The first bounce felt like pure agony, slamming his cock into you by your own force, feeling him stretch you open, hearing it slap and echo against the walls. 

“Make it hurt?” You finally say, pinching his cheeks together and forcing him to look at you. “I don’t think I could hurt you enough if I tried.” You admit, quite truthfully, mind you.

Jake gives you a crooked smirk. 

“Try it anyway.” He coos, feeling the way you repeatedly arch your back just to ride him faster. “Could fill you up, right here, right now, flip you over and make you take it if you’re so worried that you can’t.” 

It runs through you like a cold shiver. You don’t want to give up this power, you want to try. 

“That’s big talk for someone asking to be choked right now.” You dead-pan at him, voice even and calm. You continue to move your hips, listening to his repeated moans with each breath. “So loud and needy for it too.”

Jake nods proudly and drunkenly, reaching his hands out to yours and forcing them back on his neck. 

“I could be needier.” He says, pressing your hands against his airways. 

You take over for him, choking his remaining words out of him and forcing him to moan. 

“You said you’d make me take it?” You seethe out through your own pained moan, riding him so hard that you feel sensitive. “Like you think it would hurt me?” 

He shakes his head rapidly, implying that you’re wrong to think that. Wanting to tell you that if he made you take it, you’d love every second of it. You wouldn’t tell him no. 

“After promising you never would, Jake?” You question still, knowing he can’t answer. You squeeze harder as you watch his face darken, the blood rushing to burst in the whites of his eyes. “Is that it? You want to hurt me so that I hurt you back?”

He nods in a daze, wanting nothing more than to die like this now, or some other day. To hear your voice, feel your hands, and know that you’re fucking him through it. 

“You don’t scare me.” You finally say, releasing the grasp and listening to the sharp inhale he takes in. “As much as I wish you did, you don’t.” 

That’s all it takes really, knowing that he could work you like a puppet and you’d still love him. Why else would you say that? You wouldn’t fuck him like this if you didn’t mean it. Your mother long forgotten, the anger gone, it’s just a raw form of you and him right now. 

Everything you’re saying is more truthful than he ever thinks you’ve been with him. 

“Want me to?” He finally asks with a wet gasp as he continues to catch his breath. “I bet I could.”

“You can’t.” You say, now slowing your hips as your legs tire out, bracing yourself on his shoulders to take a breath. 

“I can.” He says, immediately overpowering you. He sits up quick, flipping you right over and onto your back. “I can make you feel anything I want.” He whispers darkly to you. He grabs your legs and pushes them to your chest, lost entirely from this reality. “Anything you want.” 

You just stare up at him, willing to accept his words even more when he slams his length into you, so deep that you feel nothing but the pain of it. 

For the first time, he’s hurting you through pleasure alone. 

“Could make you love it too,” He continues to dote on himself as he watches the sparkle in your eye dim. “You love it already, don’t you?”

“I’m not afraid.” You manage to mutter out through a guttural groan, wincing at the way he drives himself into you at such a speed that all you feel is pain. 

“I can’t take you seriously when you talk like that.” He chuckles, feeling entirely in control of whatever entity is running his body right now. “I see you baby, you’re terrified to lose me.” 

Your eyes die in that moment, because out of anything in this world, he’s pinpointed your biggest fear. 

“So pretty when you’re scared too,” He hums out, not relenting at all with the force of his hips when he lets your legs fall around him, and he finds himself burying his face between your tits. “Maybe I should threaten to leave you.”

Instantly, you cry. 

“Just so I can eat up these little tears you have for me.” 

You wish he would shut up. 

“So I can taste the way you come on me, and feel your pussy try and lock me here.” He smooths over your nipple at the words, slowing his hips and pulling out just to the tip. “Your body tells me more than you know, love.”

Your eyes roll up when his pointed thrust shoves your body across your sheets, your hands reach for his shoulders, clawing for any sense of normality to this moment. 

“So quiet.” He lightens his own voice now, letting it fall against your collarbone in a tone just above a whisper. “So stubborn.” 

Your mind awakens at the insult, hoping he’s right. 

“To think I’d ever leave you.” He smiles, lifting up to meet your lips. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He tastes your tears and it’s just enough for him to forgive you. 

To forgive you for not hitting him enough, for not choking him until he died. To forgive you for even thinking you’d need to talk to your mother, and for fucking lying to him. 

And only now does he go quiet, fucking you will full intent now that he’s already in your head at every turn and corner. He can tell with the way you don’t even realize your previous orgasm. 

With the way it bubbled out and down his balls, hugging his cock so tightly that all he could do was keep fucking with your mind, toying with threats only to silence them. 

And then, you inhale a sob, and breathe out his name, so pretty to your ears, even more beautiful to his own. 

“Don’t leave me.” You chime out, body numb and emotions threatening you into a panic attack.

“I’m right here, love.” He chuckles. “You’re shaking.” 

You are. More than you can even comprehend, your body is shaking from feeling everything and nothing at once, all the way up until you do feel something. 

“Ah, shit.” You cry out, hugging his body so tightly against you. “Right there–”

And Jake does it, angling his hips to repeatedly hit the spot inside of you. Knowing you’re sensitive, knowing you can take it, knowing that he can’t when he feels every drop in your body push him out of you. 

Instantly he plunges back in, listening to the wet sounds of all that love you must have for him. He can barely move in this suffocating hug as your body shakes and quivers more than it ever has, even through your past traumas, even through the cold nights this city offers. 

He has spent you and fucked you dry. 

“There she is,” He echoes into your ear. “The girl of my dreams.” 

The only energy left in you is enough to give him a smile before your tunnel vision fades into nothingness. 

It feels calm in the darkness he gives you, and even calmer when you wake up feeling as if all of this was a dream. 

It wasn’t though, because you can feel the way you’re still leaking all over your bed. Your own slick mixed with his, and you don’t even remember when or how he orgasmed because he certainly was taking his time before you initially fainted, but you’re glad he did. You think he is too, with the way he clings to you like a puppy, as if he didn’t just fuck reality straight out of you. 

Lending you the gift of floating, and of pain you find yourself to love. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Waking up the next morning felt like you were a new person and you couldn’t be happier to see the saddest version of you die. The only fear you need to have is that Jake may some day choose to leave, and he said himself that he never would. 

You trust him more than anyone, more than yourself even, considering he’s managed to force you into facing so many versions of yourself that you didn’t even know you had. 

This is the first morning you’ve woken up without your skin crawling and you can’t help but shake him awake, destroying that blushed and sleeping face of his. 

“Jake,” You shake him, feeling him stir instantly and lend you a crooked smile. “Wake up.”

You listen to his morning stretch as his body vibrates in a yawn, and then he’s nuzzling his face even further into your naked chest. 

For what feels like hours, you find yourself engaging in pillow talk. Logging into work? Long forgotten. Calling your mother? Forgotten. The pain in your body? Ignored.

You tell him everything. Every detail of your life, your first memory, your first laugh and cry. All of the times your heart has been shattered, your least favorite colors and favorite words in the world. And he just…listens.

He nods, he smiles, he coos and kisses you throughout all of it. 

And then–

“You know, a while back before we met, I came home and noticed some of my things were missing and messed with. I can’t help but feel like he’s known where I’ve been this whole time.” 

Jake stiffens in your grasp before relaxing. It happened so fast that you don’t think anyone but you would have noticed it.

“Some of my panties were gone, and the batteries in my toys went missing weeks ago–not that it matters now or anything.” You continue, watching his face intently. “ At first I thought that maybe I was just forgetful but– now i know that it really was him.” You pause, smiling at him. “I’m just kind of waiting now, wondering if he’s ever going to try and do it again.”

“Do you want me to kill him?” Jake chuckles out as if to offer a funny little solution, one that he has genuinely considered more times than he can count. And he should have already, honestly.

You feel warmer at the way he makes jokes, but you know better than anyone that Jake jumps into action driven only by rage at times.

“He won’t come near you again, love, haven’t I proved that to you already?” He continues, imagining the blood of his man on his fists again. Imagining the way his bones would crack so beautifully. 

You nod in an almost shy way to him.

“You’re safe with me.” He says, wrapping his arms around himself as you cradle him. “You’re safe with me.” He continues, repeating it more to himself because he feels as though he can’t fail you again, “You’ve always been safe.” 

You haven’t believed words so deeply until you met him. 

“He already fucking knows–” He whispers shortly, cutting himself off. “I’ll kill him.” He whispers a bit louder, uncaring if you heard that first slip of his words.

Something in your brain floods at those words. A confirmation that you’ve seen him break before, and it wasn’t your imagination. Your protective, loving, and sweet boyfriend has a side to him that you’ve yet to truly see. Those words were more believable than any of the sweet things he’s ever said to you. 

And still, you almost want to encourage it, reminding yourself of the image of your ex the day he showed up, all bruised up. And then to the image of Jake with his own little battle scar.

Deep down you think you knew what happened.

And you still wonder how such a perfect man fell into your lap? Your bruised up, pain-loving boyfriend, breaking his soft persona and showing you a glimpse of something that feels….unnervingly beautiful to you.

Unsure, almost, you feel. As happy as you are that he lied to you, you try to not think of how Jake found your ex with nothing more than an out-of-context description of your abuse. You try not to think of the way he looked away from you when you mentioned the items in your apartment that went missing. 

You try not to think about how close he lives to you, and how he always managed to show up when you couldn’t hang out. 

How all of his interests matched your own, up until he never spoke about them again when he started staying with you. 

How he only looks at you, how he only talks to you, and about you.

How he always knew what to say to you.

You try not to think about how you saw him toss his own laundry into your washer many nights ago, seeing a glimpse of what you thought could have been a pair of your own missing panties. Or how he always accidentally picked up your toothbrush rather than his own in the mornings.

You push those thoughts far into the back of your mind, knowing that you were just being paranoid, grasping to not trust a single person in this world as you fall into this life with him. Even if all of those instances were with purpose on his end, you know you’d simply accept them as normal. You’d accept him, you wouldn’t think twice. 

Jake is your only safety. He would never do anything to harm you, he’s proved that. 

You hold his head tighter against your chest, breathing out a sigh and accepting everything at face value, pushing back the slight doubt in your head that everything he has done for you, to you, and with you, isn’t normal. 

“Did you tell him already?” You sigh out in a calmer tone, soothing him with your fingers in his hair. “That you’d kill him? Is that really why you had that bruise?”

Jake stiffens under your grasp briefly. 

“What do you m–” He starts. 

“I won’t ask how,” You cut him off. “But thank you.”

He relaxes, thumbs now rubbing hearts into your skin, stomach bubbling in butterflies. 

“I did.” He now admits reluctantly, feeling dangerously close to a truth you don’t need to see or know about. “I couldn’t just let another person think that you still belong to them.”

You pause, then nuzzle closer to him. 

“I knew from the first time I saw you that I wouldn’t let anyone else touch you.” He continues, spilling and spilling. “I knew that you’d be mine.”

You try not to think too hard about it, asking out gently and instead choosing to just love him harder.

“When was the first time you saw me?”

Jake goes silent and tries to read the air in the room, sensing how relaxed you are against him. 

“Eighteenth of October at the supermarket. We both made spaghetti for dinner that night.” He lies, never intending to admit that the first time he saw you was through your window. Never admitting that he actually already knew you by that eighteenth of October. That he followed you to the market.

He says it so confidently, and the fact that he’s right about what you cooked should scare you. The fact that you must have seen him that day too should make you feel unnerved.

You choose to ignore that too. 

“Was your spaghetti good?” You ask, allowing yourself to spiral into the safety that he offers you. The image of your bruised ex boyfriend bringing joy to you, the idea of Jake keeping his promises making your stomach tingle with even brighter joy.

“No.” He admits with a chuckle. “Yours was probably better.”

“You really would kill him, wouldn’t you?” 

Jake nods.

You trust him. 

He’s not lying. 

He would never lie to you. 

Him knowing what you cooked that night is a coincidence. Him remembering the date and month is just him being mindful. Your lost panties must have gotten tangled in his laundry, surely. He found your ex because you probably let sensitive information slip without realizing it. 

He met your mother and uncle by coincidence. 

He’s the perfect man by chance, and you’re lucky to have him. 

“I love you, you know.” You say, feeling him immediately shift away from your chest to look at you.

The look in his eye when he’s immediately getting on top of you, it’s still as if he’s about to wisp away with you in his arms to another realm. You’ve already been there before, and your body warms at the thought. 

“What did you say?” He asks, voice shaking and somewhat far away from your own dissociated reality. 

“I love you.” You say again, watching his lips quiver, and feeling his hands squeeze you. 

He did it. He’s won. 

And at the end of the day, you don’t think Jake could ever lose. After all, you’ve never felt so safe in a grasp as tight as this one, as painful as this one. You’ve never wanted a man to leave his fingerprints on you so bad. 

As you look at him, seeing him lose himself from reality, you follow suit. Losing yourself with him, feeling that painful grasp on you turn into begging hands. Swelling him under your palms, soothing his stinging skin with your lips, listening to him encourage you, knowing that if your ex ever tried to step into this room, he wouldn’t make it out alive. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

oh, the horrors, amirite?

this is the last of the fic. there is not a part three.

taglist: @skzenhalove , @taetaemylovie, @soocult, @nyanggk, @grilledbananas, @dneltrise, @becc09, @nielle002, @sjyfolder, @sd211, @moonmoongi, @sweetiewolfie, @ksnooppy, @woongkification, @laxatives4hre, @hiddensideofmoon, @mywaaw, @beomstarz, @multifandombtvh, @heeverseblog, @floclover, @elliesuh, @iloveleeknow, @crazydelulu, @dasa3040, @sluttyhee, @bethroedtojae, @cherryunie, @hiamlili, @seojunandsoju, @parksunghoonsgf, @jungwon-xo, @fxiryeon, @jwnghyuns, @juliesblogs

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Happy 6k!!!! That’s so exciting and you deserve it :)

Can I request Bucky & touch starved?

.⋆｡Small Adjustments｡⋆.

Bucky Barnes x plus size reader

To Bucky, touch brought with it pain and suffering but maybe it can be different with you

Warnings:  touch starved!Bucky, fluff, mutual pining, mention of torture, bit of hurt/comfort WC: 1.3k

6k Follower Celebration Bingo

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

It was an unspoken agreement amongst the Avengers that under no circumstances was Bucky to be touched. There were one too many instances of him lashing out at even the smallest of touches and after Peter’s arm was almost broken when he grabbed Bucky’s shoulder to steady himself after tripping, the rule was firmly set in place. 

Touch had always been the harbinger of pain to Bucky. He had experienced and survived thousands of experiments; he knew the difference between acids just based on how much they burned him when they made contact with his skin. He knew what it was like to be ripped apart from the inside out as he was stitched back together while fully conscious. Bucky’s nerves were permanently scarred with each and every moment of pain, ensuring that he would never forget what he had gone through. Needless to say, he appreciated the physical distance the Avengers afforded him, even if it did make his chest ache sometimes.

He saw the friendly touches between them all— a hug after a hard mission, a clap on the back during training, even the occasional platonic cuddling during movie nights and he couldn’t help but be envious, especially when it came to you.

You were, by far, the most affectionate person he had ever met. You didn’t hesitate to wrap yourself around anyone who needed a hug, your hand was quite frequently clamped with someone else’s (Natasha’s or Wanda’s more often than not). You weren’t selfish with your touch and though it could be deadly thanks to your training, Bucky knew that you would never hurt the people you cared about.

“Barnes~ where are you!” Bucky’s lips curled into a gentle smile as your voice floated through the hallway, immediately brightening up the entire building.

“I’m in the kitchen, doll!” He shouted back before your footsteps quickened and you burst into the room. Your eyes, although still bleary with sleep even though it was 2 in the afternoon, positively sparkled as soon as you spotted the ex-assassin. Bucky raised an eyebrow at you, and you flustered slightly, looking down at what you were wearing.

“I thought I lost that shirt.” 

“Yeah well don’t leave your stuff out if you don’t want someone to steal it.” You shrugged as you skipped over to the pot of fresh coffee still sitting in the machine.

“I seem to remember putting that shirt away, in my closet, in my locked bedroom.”  Bucky took a sip of his own coffee.

“I don’t know what to tell you, I think old age is finally getting to you.” You tried to hide your warming cheeks behind your mug but he could see right through you.

“Whatever you say doll.” A comfortable silence settled over the both of you for a moment before you cleared your throat.

“So… we have the place to ourselves today,” Bucky knew what was coming, “wanna binge-watch Supernatural with me?” You looked up at him with such a hopeful expression on your face, it made his heart skip a beat.

“I don’t know, I was planning on going for a long run today.” His voice tilted up but in your post-sleep haze, you couldn’t pick up on the shift in his tone. Immediately, your eyes dropped and your bottom lip poked out. Bucky’s stomach flipped and suddenly all he wanted to do was to scoop you up into his arms and kiss away your pout. Instead, he blurted out quickly, “Hey, hey. I was just teasing. Of course I’ll watch with you. Gotta see what Sean and Dan get up to.”

You sniffed. “It’s Sam and Dean and you know it. Don’t pretend you’re not as obsessed as I am.” The band around his heart loosened.

“Yeah sure. You want Chinese or Thai?” He fished his phone out from his pocket.

“Like you even have to ask.” You retorted.

——————

You felt like you were sitting next to a feral cat as the food coma finally set in. Empty boxes of food were scattered around the coffee table in front of you while yet another episode started up but it wasn’t as if you were paying any sort of attention to the screen in front of you.

Somehow, during your feast of questionable takeout, Bucky had migrated from where he had been perched on the other side of the couch to sitting beside you, the thick muscle of his thigh almost touching your knee where you were curled up. His blue eyes stayed glued to the TV while he sighed heavily and leaned back into the couch cushions.

You held your breath as his shoulders dropped, leaving barely an inch of space between you. This was the closest Bucky had ever gotten to you and you would be damned if you fucked this up. Of course you knew about his aversion to touch, you had even witnessed his violent response to it first hand but Jesus did you want to feel the heat of his skin, the strength of his body as he hugged you.

Bucky was undoubtedly your best friend out of all the Avengers yet he was the only one to have never felt your embrace. 

Your body trembled as you tried to keep yourself still. You didn’t want to accidentally brush against him and send him scrambling off but you also didn’t want to move away and give him the impression that you didn’t want him near you. And selfishly, you did want him beside you if only to fuel your hopeless crush on the man. 

There was a gunshot on the screen, startling you. You jumped and suddenly, you were half on top of Bucky. 

Your palm spread across the expanse of his stomach, letting you feel the hardness of his abs and the warmth that radiated off of him. The tip of your nose brushed against his as your eyes locked. You both stayed there for a second before the reality of the situation hit you squarely in the chest.

“Oh god Bucky I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.” You threw yourself back against the arm of the couch as panic bubbled up in your gut. Bucky remained frozen where he sat, both his hands slightly raised as he looked down at his lap. “Bucky I-“ Your voice was thick with tears. 

You shook your head as you pressed the heels of your palms to your eyes, desperately trying to keep them away. How stupid were you? You knew you should’ve just given him some more space, paid attention to the TV so you would know if something would startle you. Do literally anything else besides jumping on the man with severe trauma. You messed everything up.

“Doll,” Bucky cooed as his hand gently wrapped around your wrists, slowly pulling them down so he could look at you, “I’m not mad.”

“You’re not?” He chuckled softly, now bringing your hands into his lap so he could hold them.

“How could I ever be mad at you? I know it was an accident but more than that, I know you would never want to hurt me. I’m safe with you.” You could feel the slight tremble in his hands like he was struggling to keep touching you but Bucky refused to let go, he even shuffled closer to you. You nodded but stayed quiet. He finally smiled. “Besides, I think it’s time I got one of those famous Y/N hugs. Not now of course, I’m way too fucked up for that, but soon.”

“Don’t be mean to yourself Barnes,” you scolded, “lots of people hurt you. You get to be patient with healing. We just make small adjustments, build up to it y’a know.”

“Yeah, small adjustments.” His right hand slid into your left, your fingers intertwining as you both melted back into the couch, your eyes drifting back to your show that neither of you would be paying any attention to. After a few minutes, Bucky’s thumb began to rub against the skin of your knuckles, a delicate back and forth that both sent a flurry of butterflies into flight in your stomach and ignited your cheeks with a blazing heat.

Small adjustments indeed.

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[luveline]

hello lovely angel!! humbly requesting zombie!steve au, perhaps more of jealous steve? i love their dynamic so much💗 maybe someone is flirting with reader, and enter protective steve:)

thanks for requesting! fem, 2k

You tend to think of it in two weird halves. You love Steve, and you never would’ve known that without the end of the world, so things are okay. Sometimes you wonder if he ever could’ve loved you if he hadn’t been so close to you for so long, but he loves you in this insane capacity of softness that says otherwise. Like, soulmate style. 

It didn’t begin that way. Steve your reluctant guide, and you his unlikely saviour. You’d stopped him from dying at the very start of it all and he couldn’t leave you behind. And Steve, he’d been mean to you. He didn’t want to take care of you initially, but you’d grown to get along. You’d argue black and blue and he’d still rub your back at night. 

There are so many moments you’ve shared that make what you have all the more special. A hundred different memories from before you’d ever kissed. You think about it now, watching him across the firepit as he shows a young girl, Cassandra, how to braid her hair. 

The one that’s sticking today is when Steve got really bad food poisoning for the first time. When you’d known you were in love with him for a while, and when he’d stopped pretending he didn’t know. He’d been sick everywhere, on both your shoes, and you’d rubbed his back through everything.  

It was nice to take care of him. Nicer that night when you’d shared a bed and he’d hugged you half to death. 

He has no idea how much he means to you, or how much those moments with him kept you going when you were all alone. You’re lucky now to have found community, but those stolen hours in bed with him hugging him and getting to be his support, you wouldn’t have made it here without them. 

“Hey.” 

You look up as a man sits down. A boy, a man —what do you call twenty somethings? You don’t feel like a woman most of the time, but you are. 

“Hi,” you say. 

“I’m Jamison.” 

“You’re Eddie’s friend, right?” 

“Who, Munson?” Jamison makes a kidding face, a disgusted scrunch of his eyebrows that falls away to more friendly fondness. “Yeah, we go back. You’re Eddie’s friend too, right? I saw you guys taking out some laundry a few days ago.” 

Jamison is handsome. He has tan skin, short hair, and a crooked nose. His smile is disarming. If you hadn’t fallen in love with the handsomest guy around, you might feel nervous under his gaze. 

Time spent ugly under Steve’s reverent handling makes you confident. You genuinely feel prettier knowing Steve loves you, and it makes it easier to be yourself with strangers. 

“Eddie’s awesome,” you say easily. “I thought he was gonna kill me when we first met, but he’s too nice.” 

“Nice, really?” 

Jamison is casual, as people go. You wonder what his motivations are for talking to you at first, but as conversation stretches, littered with the cracking pops of the fireplace and brief pauses of surprisingly comfortable silence, you realise he’s just talking. Maybe he’s lonely. You know how that feels. 

He tells you that he and Eddie had been in a rock band together before the apocalypse. You’d known to some extent that Eddie was in a band, but Jamison tells you all the details you’d been missing. They were called Corroded Coffin, four members, Eddie played guitar and Jamison thought he was pretty fucking good at it, actually. 

“I don’t think we would’ve been, like, Metallica. But we could’ve been good. We were gonna make a record.” 

You smoke sympathetically. “I bet you could’ve been.” 

“What were you doing? Before all this?” 

“I honestly barely remember,” you say quietly. Your life before Steve is a blur, and it’s painful, too. “Things are harder now, I know that. I wish every day that we could go back to how things were, you know, I miss TV and grocery stores and my family.” You lick your lips. “I wish things were different, but somehow, I think I like my life now. I have stuff to do. Is that crazy?” 

“It’s not crazy. Everything fucking sucks,” —you both laugh— “but that’s not crazy. I’m lucky, I still have my dad, and my friends. There’s purpose in being here.” 

You nod emphatically, just once. “Exactly.” 

You have purpose, now. You get to be a friend, a girlfriend, a confidente. You take care of people. 

It all comes back to Steve, at the end of the day. Would you change the world if it meant never having met him? 

Nope. 

You glance across the fire for him, but he’s not there. 

You put your arm behind your back and bend, looking for him. 

“Looking for someone?” Jamison asks. 

You deflate with relief when you spot him standing near the gaggle of tents about fifty feet away. He’s looking at you from over Robin’s shoulder. You wave, and he waves back with a big smile. 

Something seems a little wrong. 

“Steve,” you explain. 

“He’s your boyfriend, yeah? Eddie told me you’ve been together since the start.” 

You don’t bother correcting him. He might not mean together as how you’re thinking it. “Yeah, that’s him. Have you met him?” 

“Kind of. We all thought he was a huge dick, back then.” 

“He sort of was,” you say. “I mean, we all had our own stuff going on. I get that I’m biased, but he’s my favourite person I’ve ever met. He’s so kind, I don’t think I could describe it to you or anyone just how much he cares about people. I wouldn’t be here without him, and… I don’t know, I’m not saying you’re wrong, but if you ever wanted to meet him again, he’s amazing. He’s a great friend. He’s so fucking funny, he makes me laugh every day.” 

“He’s sort of giving me the stink eye,” Jamison says. 

You wave your hand weakly. “He has raging jealousy issues.” 

“Shit, am I getting you in trouble?” 

“No, never!” you say, tempted to laugh. “He doesn’t get mad at me for stuff like that. He’s normal, I promise. Just sensitive.”

You tell Jamison that it was nice talking to him because it really was, but you’ve been missing Steve for hours already and you need to get back to him before you go totally bonkers. 

He’s sitting on the floor in the tent. The weather has been beautiful lately, you could sleep under the stars if you weren’t scared of being zombie charcuterie. Steve has stripped down to just his jeans and socks, no t-shirt or shoes to be seen. He has his sketchbook splayed open on his thigh, but he abandons it the moment you kneel down. 

“Hey,” you say. 

Steve folds his book closed, pencil between its pages. “Hi. Have I told you lately how beautiful you are?” 

You shuffle in to take his hand. Clumsy touches, his fingers warm and a tad clammy between yours. “You told me yesterday that I have a smile like an angel. I know you were kidding, but I still felt it.” 

“I wasn’t kidding,” he says, wrinkling his nose with a smile. “You think every compliment is a joke.” 

“Don’t make me laugh so much, then.” 

He squeezes your fingers gently. “Sorry I didn’t introduce myself to Jamison. Just, I knew him already from school. And he did not like me.” 

“That’s okay. He seemed nice, I think you’d get along if you met now.” You kick your shoes off and crawl as close to him as you can get. He looks up at you, but you look down at his lap. “What are you drawing?” 

“I was just trying to touch up that landscape I did of the river,” he says, a sheepishness to him as he opens his sketchbook. 

You read it with affection, trace lines and hatchings in awe. “Steve, I really wish you had time and space to do this stuff properly. Not that you aren’t doing it properly, just, I know you could make something just as beautiful as this with paint.” You slide to be sitting properly, putting you both at the same height, so you can meet his eyes as you continue. “Did you know what you wanted to do, when you were finishing school? Did you ever think about art?” 

“I thought about it.” His lips quirk. “Mostly about how my dad would’ve kicked me out if I said something that stupid.” 

“It’s not stupid.” 

“I know.” 

That would’ve been a nice life. You and Steve living together, with a basement for his paintings, or a garage turned studio. You’d read books together every night like you do now, and you’d scrub paint smudges off of his cheek. 

You love him so much it must give you an aura. 

“I’ve got nothing to worry about, huh?” he asks softly. 

You drift in, tipping your head back for a kiss you don’t take. “I don’t know, Steve, Jamison used to be in a rock band.” 

He scoffs in disgust. You think it might be a mixture of anger at Jamison and himself. “Who wants to date a rockstar?” 

“I might’ve.” 

You’re teasing, of course, smiling as your kiss draws nearer, and nearer. 

“Well, I can be a rockstar,” he says quietly, warmth of his breath on your lips. “Just give me a chance to get there.” 

You brush the tip of your nose against his and hold your breath. “That’s okay,” you say, letting it rush out of you in a huff, your excitement to be kissed too much to bear, “I like my guys all mixed up. Preferably good at track, and swimming, but with a soft side. Kind of guy who fills a sketchbook up with my face.” 

Steve lists to the side. Your lips are so close, you can feel the phantom of them against yours as he moves in. “It’s not just your face… it’s your hands, your arms… your everything–”

He cuts his own explanation off with a soft kiss. That softness swiftly hardens, turns rough, ten long seconds of sweetness before his hands coming up behind your head and he’s pressing inward, deepening the kiss, and giving you little room to breathe. 

You have no intention of dating any rockstars, but his jealous streak has nothing but upsides for you. Steve knows that his jealousy over the innocuous is his own problem, his own insecurity that he’s working on, and while you sympathise with him (after all, haven’t you yourself worried he’d find someone else he liked more?), you have to confess to enjoying the edge to his kissing. 

You make a pleased, humoured sound as he breathes you in like you’re a drug he’s been waiting for. He gets sloppier, and you can’t help pulling away to laugh. 

“What?” he asks, thumbing at your cheek in a soft juxtaposition. “Sorry, am I being a dick?” 

“No, it’s fine. Kiss me how you want to.” 

Steve kisses your cheek softly. “He knows you have a boyfriend, right?” 

“He knows.” 

Steve hums like he’s smiling and nudges your nose with his, until you part your lips, and he wades in for another dose. 

[iznsfw]

Reputation, Or Whatever That Is

IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Day 12 - Jang Wonyoung

IVE's Jang Wonyoung x Male Reader Smut

7,063 words

Categories | daddy kink, brat!Wonyoung, squirting, blowjob, please appreciate Wonyoung's power bottom capabilities

Sorry, Yena is coming out sometime but I wanted to finally write something timely. JANG WONYOUNG WHAT THE FUCKKKKK.

Please bear with the religious metaphors, I have Catholic guilt and Wonyoung reignites it. I'm not sorry for all the other fucked up shit here I'm just ooga boogaing because what the FUCK

It’s a little brighter today than usual. The sun surely knows what's about to happen upon its rising. It has no plans of telling you beforehand, so you’re forced to find out yourself. 

You open Instagram, which is insane because you never bother to look at pictures—much less edited, filtered ones made for meaningless impressions. Your blissful ignorance of online concepts is what would make your fans hate you if they had space in their deluded hearts to. Or maybe that’s your age talking.

But today, clicking on that app is what you do, and that already should have been a sign that something’s not right. The usual run of your universe has gone off course. Who could have made that so?

Coffee. The black stillness that’s pure of sweetness and sugar. That’s supposed to keep everything normal. You sip on it as you scroll through clickbait, fan accounts, edits—

Then you wish you never took that hot gulp at all.

Wonyoung. 

It’s all because of her. 

She stands there from behind your screen, silky hair tangled in those lithe long fingers. She’s looking at the camera like she wants whoever took the time to click on her profile to come over and fuck her right now. Man or woman, poor or rich—it doesn’t matter. What ought to matter though is the fact that she doesn’t have someone’s hands slipped around her waist and pulling her close.

You shouldn’t even be thinking about it.

Usually, she’s dressed in knitted pink coats and miniskirts; looking fashionable but modest, modest but unplain. That’s what everyone loves about Jang Wonyoung: she’s prim, sweet, and the daughter of the nation. 

Now, she’s the ideal girl to take right home and have your wicked way with. Yes, you’d feel guilty since she’s so young, just the little age of nineteen. Still, that doesn’t mean you’d have any regrets. She’s the kind of girl you can’t get away from. You’ll always come back for more.

You’d hate to be so upfront, but there’s no other way to interpret it. 

There’s that fucking denim bra hugging her tiny chest, stitched up so high that her abs are on full display. That little pinch of a waist curves so perfectly right up to her wide hips that invite and invite and invite—

Remember to exhale.

So, yeah. That’s how Wonyoung ruined your day, and you barely had your morning coffee.

A text message from your boss appears. You nearly miss it because of how you’re staring all ogle-eyed at the tempting girl on your screen. Before you even click it, you already know what you ought to do. 

hey, it reads, you need to—

-

—go to Wonyoung, and for such a scandalous photo, she’s chosen a remote but classy hotel only the biggest stars know of to shoot it. 

There’s no going back when you drive like you’re running from the law when you’ll break one if you pull the wrong stunt with her. Your throat’s coiled with an unreleased breath that won’t go away unless you see her. It’s like traveling with the promise of meeting a goddess, and although you’re not religious anymore, you wear very, very close to rediscovering faith.

The hotel is grand—clear marble floors and shining chandeliers—and it’s no surprise. Wonyoung wouldn’t have things any other way. You know that when she’s come to your office to complain about her outfits and brands. 

You go up to the desk with prepared evidence for what you’re going to say. “I’m an associate of your client miss Jang Wonyoung,” you say to the lady tapping away behind her computer, “and I’ve come to visit her.”

Associate? It’s more like mentor. You’re a veteran idol whose efforts inspire the rookies, therefore getting you the responsibility of looking out for Wonyoung. So, father figure, maybe? You wince at that.

She makes a polite sad look, still not removing her eyes from the screen. “I’m sorry, miss Jang doesn’t have—”

Slide your ID card on the counter.

She glances at it, stiffens, then looks up at you. There’s only one of you in the entire South Korea, and although the 1x1 traces back to when you were a bit more youthful, it’s not hard to put two and two together. 

She apologizes quickly and offers you an elevator ride exclusive for VVIPs. Smile. It’s been a while since your last return to music, but everyone knows you here. Everyone knows your power.

Wonyoung’s place is the first room on the twelfth floor, a flinching irony.

Knock. You rap your knuckles three times for good luck and charm, because you’ll need it with her. Jang Wonyoung is everything save an easy girl. You remember the many times she refused to give up a debate on how she’s managed, how she’s styled, how she’s treated. She wants things to go her way only.

“Wonyoung,” you call out. Fidget with the handle of the door that refuses to budge. “It’s me.”

Knock a little more. There’s no eye behind the peekhole or a soft “come in.” You receive only the unlocking of the furnished knob and a welcome that makes you wish this could go the way your morals would want it to go.

The door opens you to a gorgeous suite that’s the supreme of all room tiers. This is the kind that only the richest of the rich are able to attain. Big as a house with a soft carpeted ground, there’s a queen-sized bed before a wide window of the city. Picture frames commissioned by the wealthy hang from the painted walls. All for the fucking aesthetic.

Even you, a star who paved the way for the Korean entertainment industry itself, aren’t used to this type of wealth. 

Find her sitting on the ledge of the window frame. Wonyoung has her hands resting on the sides of the window frame. She doesn’t try at least a stance at nonchalance—no admiring stare at the beautiful view, no worried gaze at her clean fingernails. Her interest is you standing before her like you’re afraid to touch her. She might be right, but it’s not like you’d ever have it in you to admit that.

Even you, a man lusted over by girls and women all over the world, aren’t used to this kind of woman—the kind that eats away at you.

“Wonyoung.” Inside, you feel like the weakest man in the world.

She has this smarmy, confident smile on her perfect lips that tells you that it’s no surprise that you’ve come all the way here for her. No surprise at all. She expected it. Anticipated it, if you will.

Don’t mistake the coquettish float of her lashes for theatrics. No, Jang Wonyoung’s just naturally someone you’d want to fuck, no matter the politics of it. “Yes?”

Her voice is also just that pretty. That’s a large part of why it’s so hard to act professional in front of her when she’s your mentee. Even more so by the fact you’re someone she’s looked up to for the majority of her trainee years, which is already something that would make people’s brows lift.

“Wonyoung.” You let your shoulders rest. “Why are you still dressed like that?”

You know all the dialogue that passes around the general public. Oh, Jang Wonyoung’s so gorgeous! Jang Wonyoung’s even more beautiful in real life! You hate to say you can’t disagree. She’s deadlier in person; her body’s there before the glass like she’s waiting for someone to give in to temptation. That coy simper can ruin careers. It can ruin yours. 

To think it all could be gone because of a nineteen-year-old celebrity with a tiny waist and legs you’d love to have around your head.

“Why are you still dressed like someone from the eighties?” Wonyoung taps her chin, then grins. She’s figured it all out. “Oh wait, you are.”

You’re not taking insults from someone who’s below you in experienced years and power. Unluckily, she’s not taking advice from someone above her or below her.

The step you take towards her, towards the little star seated comfortably waiting for you, feels like a sin. 

“You’re incredibly unprofessional for a girl who’s worked her way up here,” you note. Cross your arms and give her a reprimanding look. 

Wonyoung’s immune to nasty looks, too. She’s been doing this since she was a child. If someone gave her a glare that read all too well of a career assassination, she’d wink the bullet away sweetly. “Hm,” she says contemplatively, “I don’t think you get to say that, honestly.”

Your laugh is blunt and sarcastic. Unbelievable. Wonyoung’s the kindest girl according to the people who work for her, so why is she a rebel in your hands? It doesn’t make sense.

“Look here, we—”

You take three steps closer to her. You’ll keep your little rituals and superstitions to keep yourself grounded. Without them, you’d go insane. 

Then without her having to do anything, she comes nearer, like a doomsday foretold by a ticking clock. Who knows? That clock could be a bomb, and that bomb would set off if you dare to touch her with a trembling fingertip. You’d leave the scene injured. And eventually, you’d die the moment they try to help you, because the deed’s been done.

“Oh, I’m looking, alright,” she chirps. She’s doing what you’ve held yourself back from doing: letting her eyes wander. “And I really, really like what I see.”

You’re someone several awards her senior, and you’re still quite intimidated by her at this moment. She’s so sweet yet so honest—she won’t make up a lie to make you feel better and she won’t hide the truth to make you comfortable. Refuse the truth her eyes locked on your crotch tell. You won’t accept it. It’s not right.

“I’m serious.” Approaching her makes you want to go on your knees and beg the lord for a little saving. Do it anyway. No one will rescue you. That’s what the industry taught you. “You’ve made it all the way up here. All by yourself. There’s gotta be something. What are you throwing it all away for?”

She laughs. Funniest thing she’s ever heard. “I’m not. How am I throwing it all away?” 

“Those posts,” you hiss. Doesn’t she get it?

Before she could ask you what you’re talking about, you whip out your phone. Click on the app icon. It instantly shows you the opened tab containing Wonyoung’s recent Instagram posts. Look at her, wrapped in nothing, not even those curtains—giving the camera bedroom eyes when girls her age shouldn’t be shooting them at anyone or be aware of how to. 

It’s already massed a million likes in under an hour. But you know what people who turn on anyone easily will say, and what they say could blot Wonyoung’s bright future by a lot. A million people around the world have caught sight of the abs she’s worked hard for, her toned back, and just about everything. A loud minority with frisky influences can sabotage her whole reputation.

“These posts,” you continue, shoving the screen into the poor girl’s face, “can take away everything you’ve worked for. All that fame, all that money, you can’t brag about them after this.”

Wonyoung looks on innocently. She stares at the screen with uninterested eyes, then switches them back on you. She looks like such a good girl in that second, with her hands seated beside her and that face so full of sparkling perfection. 

Deception can’t lead you away. 

“So, what’s it gonna be, Wonyoung?” 

Long silence that builds up your frustration. Finally, she clicks her tongue. Gives you a shrug of her thin shoulders.

“You liked it.”

“What?”

She points to your phone. “You liked my post,” she repeats. “It says so right there.”

What the hell is she talking about?

You look at the device you’re brandishing. For a while, you can’t find out what she’s referring to. You can never take a liking to her posts, although if they switch on something you didn’t know you can feel. You’d die before—

The heart. 

Wait.

The heart button below her set of pictures is filled with red.

Your heart pumps faster, a button pushed and played.

Fuck.

You turn to her and open your mouth. No sensible words come out. You swear you didn’t tap twice on her update or take it to a private setting. How did it happen? Worse, even if you say that to her, she’d take it as a pathetic lie.

Wonyoung giggles. It’s a tinkly sound that’s adorable, but you’ve long realized that being cute is not all there is to her. She rises slowly, sets her palms over your blazer-clad arms, and gives you an empathetic face. It’s so condescending that you want to dissolve. 

“I know what men like you are all about,” she tells you. She speaks with a sultriness that makes you feel warm and has bumps appearing in masses across your skin.

She smiles. Her eyes disappear into crescent moons and the dimple appears on her cheek. You’re done for. 

“Come on,” Wonyoung continues, squeezing your forearms. “Here you are, a big old man known for being a good singer or whatever. You’re so popular that the first thing that pops up on Naver is your face. Everything goes right for you, doesn’t it?”

You have no idea where she’s going with this. You’re afraid to even ask. Your teeth grit as her massages grow stronger, harder. 

Something else is, too.

“Then, of course, you see me.” 

Her hand. It’s curling around your wrist and bringing your fingers right around that flawless waist. She closes them there tightly.

It’s so bad that it’s good. You want to keep touching her, maybe slip your gliding fingers down her jeans. Oh, you shouldn’t. You can’t.

“You see me, and you get all hot and bothered. And what’s so funny is I’m not even doing anything. I’m just being myself, you know. Being young and rich… a beautiful girl…” Wonyoung is unbuttoning your shirt and you don’t realize it. “You can’t understand how I’m allowed to be this hot when you can’t even fuck me with a normal conscience.”

It’s all so wrong. You want to shake her by the shoulders and tell her to shut up. But if Medusa has her eyes, Wonyoung has her lips to turn you to stone. They keep opening elegantly to speak the filthiest, most fucked up shit, and you can’t deny anything.

Her eyes are creased with knowing pride. Her youth doesn’t rescue her from being so messed in the head already. Those thoughts don’t go along with such a pretty face.

“That’s why you like to get rough with me. You tell me to watch how I speak, watch how I act. You tell me to stop talking to you like you’re no one. You tell me that I’m such a little brat. But you only do that so you can get to control me. That’s your most fucked up dream, right?”

Her mouth is the tiniest space away from your chin. 

You’re another word away from saving yourself a spot in damnation.

Her finger that scratches a flaw on your blazer beckons you to the fire. “You’re not breaking the law or anything,” says Wonyoung, “so why not break me instead, daddy?”

That’s a deal sealed with a rough kiss.

You grab her cruelly and cover her lips with yours. They’re more amazing than you imagined, soft and competent with how she pushes in deeper, depriving herself of the air she needs the most just to get what she needs just a bit more:

You. 

Your tongues collide and clash, striving to get the most taste. She pulls your blazer off (because fuck professionalism, right?) while she kisses you with a hunger that’s equally mental and physical. It’s not like she’d bruise up if you didn’t get your hands on her yet it’s close to that. 

And, in your case, it’s not like you’re breaking any law. She’s nineteen, not anywhere under the limits you’d kill others and yourself for touching. Nonetheless, you’re much older—by age, she could be your daughter; by career, she’s your junior; by power, you’re much stronger. 

So, it’s still so wrong.

Can’t be when Wonyoung’s fist, firm around your cock, feels so right. 

Can’t be when she lands on the edge of the bed with her lips parted in delight as she watches your dick stiffen under her service. 

“There you go, daddy,” she coos, smirking. “Just get all hard for me, then you can stuff that big thing up in my pussy.”

Her thumb toys with your cockhead. You purse your lips to hold back a groan. Let go of it anyway when her smooth, closed palm rubs your sensitive flesh. She cups your balls lovingly before gliding her teasing fingertips under your length, right up to your tip. The girl knows how to do this; she’s good at more things other than MCing and performing.

Wonyoung hones this skill with firmer pumps, giving you the handjob of a lifetime. Her long fingers are just made to handle dick. Each stroke is perfection that holds and pulls and slides. You’re leaking so much already. 

So you turn into the driver of the hate train, the press that loves getting her bad angles and the articles that slash up her name:

Blame it all on her. 

Because you have here a girl, young and pretty and confident, so of course you have to scrape off your sins and nail them all on her, like a quivering hand to wood.

“You think you’re getting it that easily?” you say. Your moan is squeezed in your throat. “Baby, you’re not even close to it.”

Wonyoung smirks. It’s that self-assured, elegant smile that tells you that won’t work on her. She might be a rookie, but she knows how to play the game. 

She tightens her grip painfully. That’s what you get for trying to one her up. Do that to anyone, just not Jang Wonyoung. Your cry goes unheard as she yanks you rather than jerks you off. Spits on your head for good measure. Wonyoung’s eyes make a connection with your soul and says, Yep, that’s what I’d do if you weren’t my senior. In fact, I’d do it regardless. I’d choke and spit and leave you to die, because a pretty Samaritan is better than a good one.

“You’re really out of touch, daddy.” 

With Wonyoung slathering her drool all over you, you’re forced to teeter on the line between heaven and hell. It burns yet the offer of pleasure leaves you sated.

“You think I’m like the pretty girls out there? Other girls might have broken down and begged you to come back.” 

Your rod is subjected to a brief torrid kiss, then a smile as the wicked girl looks up at you.

She laughs, gives you this smile full of haught and womanly power. “Too bad I’m Jang Wonyoung,” she says, her last words before taking you in.

Yes, it’s too bad she’s Jang Wonyoung. It’s too bad she’s not the other girls who’d kneel for a burning touch of stars like you. She wouldn’t be holding control over you with the power of her lips if she had sanity in that pretty head.

Her plump tiers wrap around you and seize everything, encasing it in softness and wetness. Her tongue, the one she uses as a killer expression for her selfies and Instagram updates, kills you all the same with how it swirls around your skin and tastes you. Trying to pretend the girl wasn’t a pro at this like she is with everything else is useless. She’ll keep proving you wrong and overpowering you.

The whole of your shaft is sucked in, then, when her cute nose is pressed directly to your stomach, she lets out a hummed laugh. You shudder—as much as it makes you feel good, fear grips your muscles and makes them limp. She’s loving how wrong everything is, and you’re not sure if you like it.

Her jaw slacks, and then Wonyoung’s swallowing you like you’re water. Can’t be water when you’re this solid in her throat. You let out a shivering groan. You can picture the bulge in Wonyoung’s neck and it’s the last thing you’d count on turning you on, but they did tell you to expect the unexpected. 

Her saliva becomes excessive, resulting in some dribbles down her chin that help her work her mouth on you. Wonyoung’s drool sheens you entirely and she keeps adding more. On the occasion she pushes her face into your stomach, your cock gets wetter. She does, too. 

“Fuck.” Cussing won’t help deter the onslaught of pleasure. You’re unsalvageable. Say it anyway. You babble meaningless, slurred words and not one gets to Wonyoung. All she can hear is the sound of your quivering moans and her mouth taking you all in.

She becomes less of an idol, less of the elegant princess for the cameras, and instead a fleshlight. However, she reminds you that it isn’t that way with a fierce sneer that stays on at all times. She’s not your girl—she’s Jang Wonyoung, and you’re already incredibly lucky that she chose to go down on you.

All that beautiful hair isn’t of any purpose if you don’t get to touch it, to gather it in a ponytail, to pull on it. Your fingers creep into her brown locks not only to give it a little meaning but also for sanity. 

That isn’t a thing in Wonyoung’s world. She pulls your hand off and slaps it on your side. “No,” she says with a shake of her head. “Daddy can’t touch me, not when he’s pretending that he’s hot shit.”

Her nails bury themselves in your hips. Oh, the manicured talons of a gorgeous monster. Oh, the pain that runs through your sides. Should you run before she devours you? Too late for that.

“Wonyoung,” you breathe, and then ask, genuinely: “What the hell is wrong with you?”

She’s so proper and serene on her shows that not even her most desperate fan would think she’s a terror. They don’t know she’s a girl who likes older, weaker men who’d ruin her if she hasn’t the pretty face and attractively black heart to do them the favor instead. 

“What’s wrong with you?” 

You’d respond if you knew the answer.

Wonyoung rubs her thumb under your dick, sending little sparks aflying. “Why’d you kiss me earlier?” Her lipstick decorates it as a kinder girl would to your face. “Why didn’t you grab my hair and tell me to be a good girl? Why didn’t you leave? It’s not my fault you want to fuck me.”

All these words of destruction and your cock remains standing. It’s a staunch reminder to her that you can say whatever you want and the hard evidence remains. You want to fuck Wonyoung. You want to do it to a rookie who’d turn the story around on you if it ever came out. You want to fuck her so bad it’s borderline pitiable.

“I’m just giving you what you want, daddy.” Her fingers caress your sides. “Trust me, I could be a very good girl if I wanted to.”

You almost didn’t believe that until Wonyoung started to suck you off again. 

Her lips stroke you effortlessly as if this were her pastime. That’s your most accurate guess, because this seamless performance—the one of her mouth working on you with the impression that this whole thing is nothing to her—can’t be a natural gift. The combination of dripping saliva and her soft lips is lethal.

It’s unbelievable how she manages to find all your tender spots. She preys on them, licking and licking until you’re very sure you were going to blow all over her. But you can’t give her that satisfaction. 

You’re very close to doing so though. She’s perfectly sloppy and rough. You glare at her when she lightly teases her teeth on your girth. She winks at you in response. She leaves you breathless in so many ways. 

“Wonyoung, Wonyoung, god—” you whine. It’s so hard to adapt to the girl sitting there with that innocent face and wild mouth that doesn’t dare give up on you. 

Her expressions on camera are always poised. Off camera, there’s this one she flashes you as she shoves her face into your stomach that looks downright evil. Although she’s already fucking you with her throat, Wonyoung partners it with strong suction that’s sure to drain you. 

“Yes, daddy?” She doesn’t pant when she goes up for air, replacing her sucking with her long fingers. 

“I’m really close,” you admit. It’s obvious from your shaking legs. 

Sounds of returned wet suction start to increase. Criticism and compliments prod Wonyoung on. How else would she improve in her idol life? In blowing you? In devouring you?

You realize you’re fitting the cliché. There’s you, an idol whose name is uttered on the daily by both young and old fans, igniting a scandal in the making by fucking a girl beneath you in everything. There’s this expensive suite where stars go for a little precious privacy to do what they want. There’s the two of you doing exactly what you desire: fucking each other. There’s the classic maneater trope with how it’s more like Wonyoung fucking you—she fucks you with her face, fucks you in the head, fucks with your righteousness. Well, fuck.

Wonyoung drools so much that you’re invited to a sea the moment your head pushes past her tongue again. It’s slicker, sloppier, and so much sexier because she’s so completely devoted to your cock. Her hypnotizing eyes trap you and so does her body, tight and tiny—that tummy is flatter than a board and only thin panties hide what her long legs lead to from the bottom.

The only time she stops sucking you is when she darts her tongue side to side with an unhinged pace on your sensitive tip. “Good. Cum in my throat.”

“Shit, god, I can’t—”

Wonyoung attacks you again, and there, in her warm orifice, your plentiful orgasm spends itself. Her throat welcomes you tightly every time. Her hot restricted breaths fan your groin and evokes more semen that spills with no care. 

Your hands ball into fists. Although you’re hot and shaking, you can’t touch her. Why are you following her rules when it should be the other way around? It’s a reversal of roles, a Stockholm’s Syndrome of some sorts whose victim is your cock never wanting to leave from the predatory embrace of Wonyoung’s puckered kiss.

Of course, after she gathers all of your cum in the pool of her mouth, she swallows.

She really could be a good girl.

“Awh.” Wonyoung pouts mockingly. “Daddy, are you crying?”

Touch your face. To your horror, she’s right. The electricity and shock of her continuous blowjob results in a few tears on your cheeks. You haven’t done that in years. Wonyoung is the first one to make you cry like this.

You flush. What more to hide your weakness than anger? “Wonyoung,” you start, then you realize you don’t know what to say, “I—you—”

She smiles. You aren’t going anywhere.

She shoves you to the bed. You’ve reached rock bottom in spite of the softness of the quality pillows. You’ll scrape your way out if not for Wonyoung finishing the job by keeping you there assisted by her legs. They close around you with not even a courtesy false promise of an escape. No negotiation, no coaxes. 

Wonyoung is sitting on your crotch but not on your dick, which is a problem. Which is a solution. Her hands are pinned to your chest while you try not to meet her eyes. It’s a losing game when your runaway glances are met by her grinding hips, silky thighs, and the hard, flexing abs of a perfection of a midriff. 

Her fingers tug on the waistband of her panties before slowly slipping them off. Her pink pussy clear of blemish or hair comes in contact with your length. Up and down she goes, her dancing hips always seeking for more friction. You understand their need because you share the same—Wonyoung’s splayed lips on your member feel heavenly. It’s kind of disappointing that she might as well have climbed her way out of hell.

If she did, she’s the prettiest little devil you’ve ever seen.

“Ohhh, don’t you get it?” Wonyoung asks. She moves so smoothly, you nearly forget she’s humping you rather than dancing. Her soft moan brings you back. It’s the first time you’ve heard it, and you’re melting; it sounds so seductive and innocent in the same breath.

You know her. She knows you. So it’s clear: Jang Wonyoung can be anything—supermodel, actress, dancer—but she cannot ever be innocent. 

Her gorgeous voice is silky when it twists into moans and gasps. Looking down at your crotches meeting and swaying is a better show than end-of-the-year performances. The blowjob and commanding you around must have turned her on by a lot—her flesh is hot and wanton with juices as it slides up and down you.

“You’re not going anywhere, daddy!” Wonyoung giggles. She kisses your nose, then your chest until her lipstick marks you. You burn up with feverish lust after each peck. “Daddy is only Wonyoung’s. And I knew your perfect cock would be mine when I posted those pics. I know men like daddy would do anything for me.”

“Wonyoung.” Breathe again, because you’ll need to after this, so why not do it now? “Why are you doing this?”

You thought her flirtatiousness in your office was just her coyness coming out to play. She’d rest her chin on your desk, suck a red lollipop on some days, maybe run her fingertips over your knuckles. Day in and out, she plays the same game. You didn’t know it would reach this level.

“Because I want to mess you up, daddy,” Wonyoung says. Her tongue swipes at the cavern of your mouth right until she nibbles at your lower lip. Her lipstick peppers your face. “I want to fuck my daddy up so bad he’ll never go a day without thinking of me.”

Swallow. The friction of your sexes is driving you crazy and close to the edge. All the same, you don’t want to make a fool of yourself cumming early for Wonyoung. 

What happened to your dynamics? Your relationship? There wasn’t a romantic one, but it was always you holding the reins professionally and her just being an insistent passenger. Now she’s wrapping that rein around your neck and claiming you for her own. Looks like you have control everywhere excluding the bed.

“That’s it?” you ask. Shut your eyes—just seeing her grind on you with her utterly wet cunt can make you bust. “Your career doesn’t matter to you?”

“I could say the same thing to you.” Wonyoung lifts herself up and flashes that wicked smile again. “But I want to feel this in me before you wimp out.”

You and Wonyoung fall down a bottomless hole of consequence and wrongs but Wonyoung makes sure to bottom out the first time she sits on your dick. She engulfs you whole and traps you there with her soaked, grippy walls that slide all the way down. 

You’d say her pussy has a vise grip, holding onto you like all goes wrong if it didn’t, except you think it has the grip of a vice. Need for her juices that coat you replaces the need for alcohol. Even if you get out of this suite alive, (which is a low possibility), you can see yourself always coming back for more. You could be addicted to anything—smoking, eating, cheating—but it just so happened your vice is Wonyoung.

“Daddy!” she yelps, and from there you can’t count the times she slams her cute butt down your thighs. “Oh my god, daddy!”

Her dainty, cute yells make you throb inside her. Perhaps it’s the kittenish quality of it that turns you on so much. She sounds so appealing, so fucking ruinable that it’s surprising to see that she’s doing the ruining here. Her expression in bed is more animated than the ones she makes onstage—her nearly closed eyes look upwards while her mouth falls open. 

The squeeze of her tight, wet cunt renders your knees weak. It’s a good thing you’re lying down. Wonyoung makes sure you stay that way by penetrating herself with you over and over again. Her being barely a weight on you doesn’t stop you from lying there uselessly. You know better by now not to challenge her, not when each time you enter her vagina is better than the last. Her pussy is slippery and tight, proving to be the smallest and the best fit for your shaft simultaneously. Her hole is too tight and too good. 

“Is this all for me, daddy? Huh?” Wonyoung circles her hips, making you moan, then continues her up-and-down movements. “You’re so hard, you naughty daddy. I know you got a b-boner when you looked at my posts. Now I’m giving you another one.”

You always thought of Wonyoung as justifiably confident yet arrogant. She told you once at your desk that she doesn’t deserve a stylist who only has a four-star rating. She lamented about the lack of competence of her staff preparing her comeback stage. All those you turned down to give the topics of her complaints the benefit of the doubt, but you know she’s right. She doesn’t deserve less when she’s better than the best. She doesn’t deserve less when she knows her place: a royal throne. So you can’t deny that she’s too hot to handle, undiscriminating to you whose connections always have impossibly beautiful women somewhere in there.

She’s so hot that her small breasts bouncing from behind that denim bra and tube top looks appealing. She’s so hot that the heat between her legs grows wetter. She’s so hot that when her soft ass crashes down on you again, you don’t find it a repetitive bore. 

She’s so hot that you’d let the slim, tall girl use you until dusk turns to dawn, even if the curtains behind her are drawn apart and the secret cameras get to snap a photo.

“Shit, Wonyoung,” you say, your core squeezing. “You’re so fucking tight.”

“I bet you’ve thought about this, daddy. You thought that one night, I’ll be so bad that you could book us a whole hotel and fuck me in all the rooms, just like this one. I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Yes, fuck yes.”

“You wanted to open my legs and use my little pussy all day long, huh? Until I’m yours to throw around and do whatever?”

“Y-yes.” Nod. Your face twists—she shouldn’t speak when she’s fucking you because all the filth she says makes you want to blow inside her already. It’s the kind of truth that arouses rather than hurts.

Wonyoung’s riding switches to a rapid intensity that makes you yell. She lets you in so deep to the point that her butt cheeks touch your heavy balls. She’ll drain them for sure; the pace she sets is terrifyingly quick. It seems that she becomes tighter after each bounce, and it’s not helping you hold out at all.

Watch the wildness in Wonyoung’s eyes become animalistic. It makes you all the more certain now of one solid fact: there is something seriously wrong with Jang Wonyoung.

She smirks. “Well, you got it wrong. I’m not all yours, daddy.” She leans down, resting her palms on your shoulders. “You are all mine.”

Her hands might as well be a chained collar waiting to close around your neck. Her devilish simper is supposed to scare you, not turn you on. Somehow, it does both. 

She flicks back her hair as she sits up again. Through it all, her riding doesn’t stop. “This cock?” she asks before slamming her pussy down it with a different kind of ferociousness. Cry out but she shuts you up with a furious kiss. “It’s gonna be my dirty secret. I’ll always go to daddy after my schedules so I can make him cum—over and over again.”

To think that a young girl like her has you at her beck and call is laughable, but there’s no laughing now. As you stare at Wonyoung’s fluid body and her hair bouncing beautifully, you realize she actually can have you for herself. It only took one Instagram post to lure you to her. She sees you’re falling deeper and deeper for her.

She didn’t exactly tell you how to escape.

“You gonna cum, daddy? Is my perfect pussy milking you?” 

You can do nothing except nod.

“Of course, I can feel you throbbing, i-it’s making me lose it,” gasps Wonyoung. Her whines are making you lose it yourself. “Let’s cum together, okay? You can only cum when you feel Wonyoung squirt all over your massive cock.”

She squeezes tighter on top of you when she reaches down to rub her clit. She’s in search of any kind of stimulation: the slap of her ass on your thighs, the upward shoves of your erection, the pulse of her clit. Her moans increase in their whiny girlishness. Their tender vulnerability makes you think she should be the one underneath your body though you’re aware that’s never going to happen. Wonyoung belongs on top, just the same with her name in first place in the list of brand reputation rankings, browser searches, followers.

Once upon a time, you took charge over her. You managed her lessons, her videos, her behind-the-scenes duties. Funny how it’s the opposite now, wherein she jounces on you freely with the domineering message of caution: don’t cum until she does.

And god, is she making that hard. Everything about her is so attractive, from the bounce of her hair to her midriff showing your entering cock to her pretty pink pussy clutching you. What gets you, however, is her face—everyone loves looking at that face. Today, you’re under an aphrodisiac for it: you’re in love with the roll of her eyes as she rides you, the pink on her cheeks, the part of her lips. 

“Fuck yes! Ugh, daddy, you feel so good inside me…” Wonyoung’s core clenches and slides your penis along its textured, sensitive walls. Her gasp is straight out of fantasies. “You’re balls deep, see? Look how your meat’s filling me. My pussy’s going to be so sore after this.” She chuckles. “Wait, who says we’re stopping?”

You shudder. You’re getting very close. Your earlier orgasm still has its effects on you. You’re afraid you’re going to do something you shouldn’t under her bedroom law. She’ll imprison you with her thighs and waterboard you with all the girl cum she promised until you confess that she’s the best fuck you ever had. 

“Daddy’s going to cum so hard he’s probably going to breed me. Then I’ll, oh, I’ll feel it inside my tummy and it’s going to be a scandal. Wouldn’t you like that? Getting to knock up Jang Wonyoung? I can hear you moaning. I think you really like that. I think that’s why you’re thrusting up in me. You want to be a real daddy and make your baby girl a mommy. That’s so fucked up, you know that, right? You shouldn’t be having sex with me, let alone breeding me. But you’re a fucking weak old man, so of course you like that.”

You’re burning up. They’re the signs of what’s to come. If her confident words inspire her young fans, her monologues of lust make you feel like you’re the worst person in the world. Of course, the boner is part of the effect. 

You groan. “Wonyoung, baby girl, please—”

“Oh god, daddy, I’m going to cum!” she squeals. Her emotions control her and tell her to go harder, bounce harder, squeeze harder. She’s pushing past her limits. “Agh, agh, you’re cumming, too, right? Cum for me. You’ll be—fuck, my daddy’s going to make me cum! I’m squirting all over his cock!”

She slams herself down roughly and repeatedly till your lower body’s flooded with her cum. You can’t take it anymore. It feels like dying because you swear you can see stars in the ceiling, stars of lust in her eyes. La petite mort. How poetic, since Wonyoung’s screaming still sounds as beautiful as her singing and speaking. 

Her shouts are close to breaking the windows’ glass. Anyone can figure out what’s happening without the destruction of the pane—the curtains are wide open, letting the world see the youngest icon of the new generation pumping herself onto her co-worker. 

You wonder if there’s actually poor watchers out there seeing you cream Wonyoung’s princess pussy, grab her ass to guide her, and kiss her when she leans down.

Wonyoung tastes the best when she’s squirting.

-

Consequences always catch up no matter what. You can hide under a cloak, in another country, underneath the earth in a secluded bunker and all that won’t help. You’ll be stuck dealing with the outcome, thorns from a rose you thought was too pretty to have some. 

That’s the first thing you remember when you wake up, wrapped in the bed sheets and by Wonyoung’s arms. Someone’s calling you. Bad news: it’s your boss—the ringtone itself sounds angry, too. 

“Hello?” you ask. You can’t help the grogginess of your morning voice, try as you may. If your boss didn’t know what happened, he can perfectly guess from the exhaustion riddling your greeting. 

“You dumb little shit.” You can feel the spittle of your boss’ insult from miles away, cities away, screens away. “You’re lucky I’m friends with the fucking CEO.”

“What happened?”

“Don’t give me that. Some janitor saw you from the wing. I needed to hear it from you: did you fuck Jang Wonyoung?”

Unexpectedly, a veiny hand you remember holding something else grabs your phone. Wonyoung leans against your shoulder wearing nothing as she holds the phone to her ear.

“Why?” she quips, loud and clear. “Wouldn’t you?”

[vettelsvee]

DON'T BELIEVE WHAT THEY SAY | Oscar Piastri

f1 masterlist | wattpad | ao3 | instagram

oscar piastri x gf!reader

summary: reader is quite insecure about herself due to fans and paps comments, and oscar tries to comfort her

word count: 1206

warning: wait till the end and tell me if you'd like a part 2 *kiss kiss*. reader feeling insecure about herself and thinking she's not good enough (remember: you are good enough, don't hear what others say!). use of y/n. corrected the translation at almost 1am so i apologize if there are mistakes

you can send your one shots requests here! feedback as well as comments and reblogs are truly appreciated! <3

After a long day in the paddock, and after a race that was supposed to be the highlight of the season but ended in a DNF for Oscar, your boyfriend decided to cheer both of you up by inviting you to have dinner in a fancy restaurant. You have been in a relationship for several years since you both were high school sweethearts, so sometimes the romance wore thin. Today, he wanted to give his best after a day worth to forget.

Lately, he had noticed that your behavior was a bit strange. You seemed uncomfortable with yourself, and your self-esteem was at an all-time low, judging by the unpleasant comments you had been making lately about herself. Moreover, the media and "fans" criticism didn't help either, as paparazzi and journalists had been harassing and spreading rumors about Oscar cheating on you, or that you have been gaining too much weight for Piastri’s liking. All of them, among others, were damaging your relationship slowly. 

For those two reasons, and because he felt like changing the scenery after the weekly training stress, Oscar told you that you would go out to enjoy a peaceful dinner. He was conscious of all of those criticism, and he was going to remind you how special you were to him and most of it, how perfect you were for him. Also, that you shouldn’t give a damn shit about others opinions, specially when Oscar was the one dating and loving you.

Although you initially resisted to go because you didn’t want to be the center of attention once again, you finally accepted because you knew it hadn’t been an easy day for your boyfriend. You dressed in a beautiful electric blue dress he had gifted you for you birthday las year, and decided not to wear makeup and jewelry. However, you still felt nervous. It was the presence of paparazzi, who followed you wherever you went, made you feel increasingly insecure about yourself and your relationship once again.

In those moments, you thought that Oscar deserved a girl better than you.

"Love," you addressed you boyfriend, a bit hesitant. "Do I look fine like this?"

"My God, Y/N… You're perfect. You always are."

You looked at yourself in the mirror once again. You tried to fake a smile, but you didn't like what you saw in front of you.

"I don't know… I feel a bit ridiculous in this dress," you explained. "Do I look too fat? I don’t think this color suits me very well either..."

"Don't say that," Oscar scolded, approaching you. "It looks amazing on you. Do you remember when I gave it to you? You loved it! You have been wanting it, for months actually, and even though you didn't say it, your face said it all."

"Yes, I remember perfectly, but the problem is that I don't feel comfortable with myself," you continued. "I'm tired of everything that's being said about us and the opinions people seem to have about us. To be honest with you, every day I feel more like… well, that I don’t deserve to be in your life. At least, not as your girlfriend.”  

Oscar sighed. He knew you were right. He was pretty conscious about the media and obsessive fans’ behaviour towards you, and he didn’t like that part of fame either, especially when it was for no reason, and because they had no right to comment on your relationship, which was definitely private, but not secret.

You started to cry shily. He did nothing but hesitate to hug you and make your head rest on his chest. He immediately starting to stroke your hair while gently rocking you from side to side, trying his best to calm you down.

"That shouldn't worry you because you're the most important person to me," he assured you. "I love you just the way you are, for the worst and the better, and I’ll keep doing so every day for the rest of my life, ok?."

"Yeah, I know," you said, pulling away from him quite angrily, "The thing here is that I don't care about what you think, but what other people think. I hate that there are people who are spending their free time, or not so free, making theories about us as if we were a Marvel movie!t”

"Darling..."

"Don’t," you exclaimed, interrupting him, "I understand, and I respect, that you're a public figure, but that doesn't mean I can't be tired of the treatment I receive from girls that are in love with you! Aren't they such big fans of yours, and do they admire and love you so much, that they can't have a minimum of respect for the person you share your life with?"

Oscar knew you were right.

"Don't let that worry you," he explained. "What matters is that you and I love each other, and it's not a fake relationship like many out there, so don't let the negative comments affect you. Remember: those people don't deserve even a second of your thoughts."

"Well..." you replied simply. "It's difficult, Osc… I feel like people are analyzing and judging me all the time, no matter what I do."

Your boyfriend sighed again. He didn't know what to do to calm you down. Seeing you hurt made him feel really bad. Although he was familiar with the daily attention and hate comments, it didn't mean you, his girlfriend, had to get used to them. He felt frustrated and worried for you because, even though he knew you were aware that negative attention was part of the deal you signed when you started dating back in high school, it didn't mean you weren't bothered by seeing the love of your life being constantly mocked.

Oscar started thinking what to do. He wanted to make you happy, but if going out to have dinner isn’t what you desired that night… 

"What do you think if, instead of going out, we stay here, at the hotel?" he proposed to you. Immediately, you seemed a bit cheered up by the suggestion. "We can order something and have dinner in bed while watching a movie or a series you fancy."

"Really? You don't mind? I'm sure you already had the reservation made, and I really feel so bad..."

"Of course I don't mind," he explained, giving you a kiss on the forehead. "You are the most important thing in my life, so I will do whatever it takes to make you feel better."

Your eyes were still red, but you tried to feel better and fake you were ok. You hugged Oscar and thanked him again for what he just did.

Immediately, you both snuggled up in bed while watching a movie you chose, while Oscar phoned to the hotel’s reception so you could have room service for dinner. Pizza, most specifically, as you wanted it and told your boyfriend.

You didn’t know, but that moment made Oscar the happiest man on earth. He made you smile, even amidst the sadness. However, it was time to start thinking how he could propose to you in a different way because your insecurity, sadly, ruined his plans to kneel and pull the question.

[penkura]

Christmas Decorations

Summary: Law never decorates his office for the holidays, so you take it upon yourself to do so, without his knowing.

Note: I give you some fluffy Law content before the angsty bit next week. :)

You’re very sneaky when you want to be, much to Law’s annoyance when it comes to special days. You’ll hide yourself behind the door of his office and throw yourself on him when he comes in, yelling ‘happy birthday’ or whatever else might be happening that day. He really does try not to push you off, with his face bright red from the affection, but he does wish you would settle down at times. You’re more excited during holidays than he’s used to, but Law has come to enjoy your reactions to all of it.

It makes him remember the times he had with his family, he’d never take away your joy at decorating the sub as long as you stayed out of his office.

Though, you’re not very good at listening sometimes, and Law should really learn to expect you to sneak in like you’ve done today, box of decorations in hand and Bepo keeping watch. You swear Law acts like a grinch at Christmas, even though he’s never rejected your own desires, he seems to shy away from celebrating with the whole crew. You realize it’s likely from the loss of his family and Corazon, but still wish he’d join you all more.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Bepo is highly concerned and nervous that Law is going to show up and reprimand you both, but you just shrug and go back to decorating his office.

“It’ll be fine! If he asks, put it all on me, he can’t be mad at me for too long.”

“I didn’t think Captain ever got mad at you anyway.”

“Me and you, Bepo, Law never gets mad at us.”

While Bepo still worries and watches out the door, you quickly work to put up all the Christmas decorations you’d bought just for Law’s office. A few ornaments that you hang on the wall and bookcases, a small garland across his desk, you thought about some fake snow but knew Law would make you clean it so you scrapped that idea. You keep it simple, trying to finish quickly before Law returns or Bepo gets too nervous while watching.

He’s going to know it was you who did this, but you hate seeing his office so plain and normal during the holidays.

“Okay,” you hang one more ornament off the garland with a nod to yourself, “That should be good.”

“Oh really now?”

That’s not Bepo’s voice, you know this very well, freezing up and not saying another word. Maybe if you stay still long enough he’ll leave, Law will forget you’re there, he definitely hasn’t caught you decorating his office secretly. He’s not there, it’s your imagination! Maybe it’s just Penguin or Shachi messing with you, that has to be it.

“Care to explain yourself?”

You bite your lip trying to think of a good explanation, knowing Law wants to hear one, but nothing comes to mind. You have no good excuse or anything, even when Law says your name to get your attention, though he does it with a sigh.

“…you didn’t have to sneak in to do this, you know.”

“You would’ve let me if I asked?”

“…probably not.”

That makes you pout a bit, but Law comes up behind you and gives you a hug, pulling you against him with a kiss to the top of your head.

“But I would’ve considered it, since it would be you asking.”

“…yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You lean back against him and nod, knowing that’s the truth, Law would have thought about it before he said no. He did the same when you first told him your feelings for him, though that turned out positively, he just needs some time to think things through, see if it’s what he wants too.

If you had asked he likely would have agreed to a few decorations like what you’ve done, nothing extravagant. Just a bit here and there for some holiday cheer in his office, that would he acceptable.

“I’ll take them down, I know you—”

“No, just leave them,” while you turn around to hug him back, Law gently pats your hair and looks around at what you’ve done with a slight smile, “It looks nice, thank you.”

You give him a bright grin before leaning up and kissing him, only stopping when you remember something.

“How did you get in here without me knowing? I had Bepo watching!”

“…did you forget about my powers? I needed something and—”

“You used Room to just bypass Bepo…”

“I didn’t even know he was standing guard for you. He’s probably asleep by now.”

Sighing, you nod and start to pull away from Law.

“Guess I owe him a treat now, he did his job.”

“Stop bribing him into your schemes.”

“Can’t promise that, Captain~”

[hyunnie04]

tender

lee know x reader, hurt/comfort | m.list

wc: 1.4k | warnings: themes of depression and struggling with mental health

a/n: this fic is a little self indulgent as i haven't been feeling great lately. so i hope this brings comfort to anyone who needs it ♡

you don’t remember how long you’ve been sitting in the tub. you’re sure your hands have pruned and wrinkled due to the prolonged time you have been in here, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to care.

the sides of your head pulses as a migraine at the forefront of your temple starts to fully form. you had hoped a moment of reprieve in the bath would calm your nerves and ease your headache, but it had yet to do so.

the droplets fall slowly against your furrowed eyebrows and taut expression, dripping freely down on your chin and on the dewy expanse of your chest. both arms are splayed limply across the sides of the tub, staring blankly ahead at the white tiled walls above, unmoving. 

the temperature was warm, too warm for your usual liking but you didn’t seem to mind today, welcoming the dull pain it brought. the white tiles that you’ve been staring at for what seemed like forever stared back at you.

the silence was deafening.

a lot has been on your mind lately. the restless and constant feeling of not being good enough and comparing yourself to others caused you to no longer find enjoyment in the things you used to love doing.

words that usually meant nothing had stuck themselves inside your head as well, dissecting every meaning when they had none. sleep did not come easily to you these nights, tossing and turning, failing to succumb into the comforting arms of sleep.

isolation became your company in these moments, withdrawing yourself from everything. missing out on a lot of stuff, in turn, made you feel worse than you already did.

you knew you should probably tell someone about your problems but you just couldn't find it in yourself to do it. the last thing you wanted to be was a bother.

some days are admittedly better than others, where you’re able to get things done, to do your obligations and continue on with life like normal. but when you least expect it, it creeps up on you, pulling you back into that unhealthy head space.

you tried to force these thoughts and feelings down for a long time, pretending that everything was fine. today was apparently the day it all came rising up, unable to keep a lid on your bubbling emotions.

a sense of dread hung over your head, eyes aching from all the crying you did. wet strands of hair had clumped together, obscuring your view, perturbed by how sometimes your skin doesn't feel like yours.

“y/n?”

the bathroom starts to fog with mist, clouding the glass and mirrors, the water slowly scalding your skin. the call to sink down into the water and never come up are louder than ever.

“-y/n? are you in there?” a voice makes itself known. lifting yourself up a little bit, startled at the faintest sound of knocks.

you forget that minho would be home around this time. a hand flies towards your forehead to ease the pounding pain. shit, you haven't started making dinner. 

it takes a while before you answer, collecting yourself as to not sound as shaky. “yeah! just finishing up, i'll be out in a sec.”

“don’t get out, i'll join you.” he yells back, the sound of padding feet against the wooden floors reverb through out the apartment. your eyes flicker at his sudden decision, causing you to sigh and sink down into the water once more.

as much as you adored and love him and how most days would let him join you with no hesitation, you silently hoped that he wouldn't today. you couldn't bear to let him see you in this state, all disheveled and puffy eyed. but it was rare when he was even home, given his grueling schedule.

so you wait for him patiently to come over to your shared bathroom, hugging your legs tightly. you remember to turn the cold tap on and off before he enters, water droplets filling in the silence.

when he finally creaks open the door with nothing on but a bathrobe and a silly cat headband that kept his hair away from his forehead on, you can't help but smile even if it doesn't quite reach your eyes.

you inch farther into the corner, making space for him quietly as he gets in. if he had noticed the temperature of the water that had yet to cool down, he made no attempt to comment.

the two of you don't say anything for the time being, just in each other's corner, relaxing and leaning your arms on the cool edge of the tub.

“you’re quiet.” his voice echoes. minho’s voice cuts through the silence, a stark contrast to the quietness of the bathroom just moments ago.

“i’m sorry.”

feeling minho’s heavy unwavering gaze into the side of your head, you can’t help but feel awful. you don’t mean to be so curt with him, but any more words from your mouth frightens you, afraid that the underlying shakiness of your voice will give you away.

your eyes still keep averting his, afraid of what expression he might bore. will he look at you with pity? with a tired gaze of disappointment?

he does not. instead, minho grabs one of the lavender scented shampoo bottles placed neatly on the shelf and gestures for you to turn around. you follow his request, albeit apprehensively, turning around.

“there we go.” he says. even if you refuse to meet his eyes, you could tell he was smiling as he said it.

minho takes great care to shampoo your hair, his blunt nails gently raking over your scalp, unknowingly soothing your dreadful headache. minho is observant, very much so. it doesn’t surprise you at all anymore when he suddenly asks.

“what’s wrong, hmm?” he finally says amidst the stillness of the atmosphere, tone dripping of comfort as his hands continue to lightly massage through your soapy tresses. you lean into it like a desperate cat, melting at his simple touch. oh how you've yearned for his touch.

although you don’t answer, his intuitive nature already knows that something was amiss.

“you know i’m always here for you.” minho says, pressing a delicate kiss on your shoulder. his sweet words and murmurs of comfort act like a salve to your aching heart as tears start to gather at your lash line once again.

you always hated making him worry.

the overwhelming emotion brings you to tears, immense guilt ebbing at your seams. minho places his head on your shoulder as you cry, hands running up and down your sides in an attempt to soothe you.

he doesn't deserve this, to be left out, to not know the reason you're so distant lately. he trusted you and you trusted him. so you spill every little thing to him.

voice starting to rasp, your stuttering cries now unrestraint without fear of judgement and just allowing yourself to be vulnerable. salty tears start to meld together with the water in the tub, rippling as they fall. at last, you feel lighter. the weight that you carried for so long in your heart doesn't have to be carried alone.

after a while, the hiccupping in your throat and the tears start to subside, leaving you a sniffling mess. turning around to finally face him, you fought the urge to hide in your hands.

"feel a little better now?" minho looks at you with nothing but a loving smile, no underlying judgement, just adoration, and one that makes you dive into him. you feel so utterly loved, what did you do to deserve him?

your arms wrap around his neck, placing apologetic kisses on his lips. he reciprocates, hands going around your back to steady your form. your mouth tumbles out watery apologies as he caresses the skin of your nape, gentle as he can.

you release him, arms still hooked around his neck, looking deeply into his eyes as if he's the center of the universe, and to you, he is. "i love you." the edges of your vision cloud with the tell tale signs of drowsiness, finally finding it in yourself to relax in his hold.

and he lets you, guiding your head to rest on his broad chest, the steady beats of his heart thumping against your temple, grounding you, his feathery light touches lingering.

feelings like these come and go, but minho is a constant that you keep close to your heart.

“thank you for putting up with me.”

"of course, i love you too."

[hannieehaee]

18+ / mdi

content: toxicbf!seungcheol, more like possessivebf!seungcheol honestly, he's kinda a dick but not THAT much, jealousy, possessive behavior, afab reader, reader mentioned to be shorter than him, smut, penetrative sex, public sex, oral (m receiving), etc.

wc: 2201

a/n: tysm to the person who requested this <3 i didn't make him super toxic but more possessive and annoying.

masterlist

"shit, baby. you look so good. any plans tonight?" seungcheol hugged you from behind as you stared into the mirror, doing the finishing touches on your hair.

'"what do you mean if i have plans? we're going out. to the monthly meeting with the guys, remember? seokmin's girlfriend said she's coming too"

"hmm? since when? wait, hold on. you're wearing that to dinner with the boys?"

you groaned against him, "you literally just said i looked good. what's the problem?", you already kind of had an idea, but wanted to confirm for some dumb reason.

"yeah, that's when i thought you were going out with the girls or something. do you have to dress like this when you hang out with the guys?"

you knew cheol was a bit on the ... possessive side. he would sometimes be a little too jealous when it came to you being around the guys too much (around any guy, really). despite always confirming to him that you would never look at any of them as more than friends, he would still keep his guard up. it was endearing at times, seeing as it was usually just lighthearted jealousy, but he was doing a really good job at pissing you off right now.

you turned around, now facing him directly, "what's that supposed to mean?"

"baby, cmon! they're guys! and you're ... well, you're you!"

"did you want me to repeat myself or are you actually gonna explain what that's supposed to mean now?"

"listen. you're so beautiful. i had no chance at resisting you when we first met. imagine if i'd met you while you were wearing a tiny little black dress. i would've lost my mind. they're men, baby. they're weak-minded. i dont wanna let them even see you like this." despite the stupid neanderthal logic he was feeding you with, his reasoning gave you a slight ego-boost, dissipating your annoyance a bit.

you approached him, grabbing onto the collar of his shirt as you adjusted his tie - today's theme for the monthly meeting had been strictly formal, courtesy of a hong jisoo – and stared into his eyes, flirtatious smile gracing your lips.

"cheollie ... the dress code's formal. and i know how strict you guys are about that. if you can wear those stupid leather pants on stage while performing for carats, – who, by the way, do wanna fuck you – i can wear a tiny little dress around my very platonic friends."

you were pretty sure seungcheol had tuned you out already, at least judging from how distracted his hands had become now that they were kneading your ass under the short skirt of the dress. in any other circumstances you would've entertained him, maybe even let him fuck you before leaving home, but you weren't about to reward his stupid comments from earlier with sex. separating yourself from him, you chided at him, telling him to get ready, because you'd be leaving together; with no need to change your clothes.

~

upon arriving to the restaurant of choice - an entirely rented out luxury restaurant joshua had seemingly been eyeing for a while - you and a sulky seungcheol (he had brought up the dress issue again in the car) quickly spotted a table full of people. it was all twelve members of seventeen, plus joshua's and seokmin's girlfriends, who would also be making their debut appearance at the monthly dinner. as expected, the boys were all wearing suit and tie, while the girls had dresses on. you had to admit, maybe yours was a bit more provocative, but you felt comfortable since you would only be around close friends.

the moment they spotted you walking in, jeonghan took the liberty of standing up, looking you up and down before smirking and giving you a quick hug, even going as far as pulling out a chair for you to sit. you appreciated the gesture, taking a seat and thanking him, completely ignoring seungcheol's annoyed grumble along the lines of 'i'm supposed to do that'.

the dinner went pretty okay after that, with one or two complimentary comments directed at your apparel. you'd also noticed a few of the boys staring a bit more than usual, but you'd dressed up, after all, so it wasn't very surprising to you. seungcheol, on the other hand, grew more and more annoyed every time a member directed themselves to you, even if it was with innocent intentions. he had built an idea in his head that everyone mustve wanted you the way that he wanted you. it also didn't help that you were sitting right by jeonghan and mingyu, members who were renown for being a bit flirtier than the rest. you knew it was just in their nature, and completely meaningless when directed towards you, but you could feel your boyfriend's fumes increase next to you as the night went on.

after a while seungcheol had begun to speak over you, acting as if you couldn't respond or interact with his members on your own. he was beginning to show his annoyingly possessive side, acting overly overprotective over you, almost as if you were a prize to keep under lock and key.

there were only a few instances in which he did this. he could sometimes act like a dick about it, wanting to show the rest of the guys how you were his and no one else's

then came what broke the camel's back. yoon jeonghan must've sensed some tension in seuncheol's behavior, adding two and two and figuring out that his possessive friend must've been feeling some type of way at any attention headed your way. so, he decided to have fun with it, amping up his flirting.

"shit, have i told you how beautiful you look tonight?," he smirked, eyeing his friend a bit as he complimented you.

"yeah, but maybe don't say that to my girlfriend, yeah?", interjected your stupid boyfriend, hand on your thigh as he attempted to show possession over you.

you ignored him, "oh, thanks hannie. you look really handsome too."

he puffed, as if out of breath, also ignoring cheol's comment, "no, but really. that dress is ... man, all i know is if i were seungcheol we wouldn't have even left the house tonight," the smirk wouldn't leave his face, knowing he was poking a bear.

those two simple comments were enough to get seungcheol to snap, loudly getting up and interrupting any other conversation going on at the table. without any other word, he completely ignored any questioning stares or inquiring comments and grabbed your hand, dragging you from your own chair and pulling you away from the room and into a more secluded area of the almost-empty restaurant.

"seungcheol what the hell are you doing?!"

he turned to you, now letting go of the hand he'd been pulling, "i told you not to wear that around them! do you think i enjoyed that?!"

"it's just jeonghan, cheol! he doesn't mean anything by it. he was just trying to tease you."

"i dont care about that! you're mine. you're not supposed to show yourself off like this to other men!" the fact he didn't see issue with what he was saying was peeving you off, making you scoff at him before he continued.

"you're mine, okay? and you responding to han's flirting is not helping me get that point across to them."

"you-"

"no, let me finish," he moved closer to you the more he spoke, eventually having you pinned against the wall of the restaurant, looking down on you, "i won't have any of them even think they have a chance with you. no one does. you're mine. is that understood?" by now his lips were just a hair away from your ear, heavy breath fanning against you as his hands slid onto your waist, pulling you against him, dick already semi-hard under his slacks.

you hated the way he was talking to you. kind of. an embarrassing part of yourself was keening on his possessiveness, enjoying how he felt as if he had to stake claim over you. as if even one look from another man had him having to show the world you were his and his alone.

when he unglued his lips from your ear and went back to staring down at you, eyes flicking down to your lips, neither of you could help yourselves anymore. you might've kissed him first, but it was probably him who crashed his lips into you first, almost swallowing you whole as he attacked you by shoving his tongue in your mouth.

he became intense with his movements pretty quickly, unbuttoning his pants with one hand while the other harshly felt you up. he disconnected his hand from you for a moment in order to pull down his pants and knead at his cock for a few moments, getting himself ready for you.

he disconnected your lips, chuckling at the way yours chased after his, "get on your knees."

with zero type of dignity, you got on your knees with no question, beginning to slide your hand up and down his dick before wrapping your mouth around his tip and sucking, giving him eyes as you did so.

he groaned at the sight, but quickly recovered, barking out a command for you to be a well-behaved girl and take it all in your mouth. you followed instruction pretty quickly, loving the weight of his cock in your mouth.

"that's it ... knew you could be a good girl after all."

"fuck ... that mouth is all mine, right baby? only for me to choke on my cock .."

"take it deeper, i know you can. trained that pretty mouth to take me."

his words were getting you wetter by the second, moaning mindlessly against his dick as he began to thrust into your mouth, groaning out even more expletives.

he suddenly pulled you away without allowing you to suck him into completion, once more slamming your back against the wall and shoving his tongue in your mouth. you both groaned at the feeling of his taste in your tongue, eventually making the kiss become a mess of wet tongues just licking at one another while he ground his hard dick against you.

you cried against him after a while of dry humping, feeling the heat of his cock so close to where you wanted him, but your mind being too empty for you to even beg for him to put it inside you.

he pulled away, "are you gonna be good and let me have that pretty pussy? my pretty pussy?"

all you could do was nod and whine against him as he pulled your panties aside, only having to lift your dress a tiny bit to give him room to enter your warm walls. you both sighed out in pleasure the moment he entered you, with cheol quickly finding a rhythm that had you throwing your head back against the wall, not caring for any pain you felt at the impact.

"you're mine. do you understand that? no one else can have you. can't even look at you. tell me you understand." he paused for a moment, smirking as he knew you had no way to respond with the pace in which he was slamming himself against you, "what? no answer? baby, what'd i tell you about being a good girl?" he was mocking you now, relishing on the effect he had on you.

"c-cheollie ... y-yours! just yours! won't ev-ever look their way again. pro- ah! promise!" you did the best you could to muster out an answer, being too high on pleasure from the way his cock was repeatedly hitting against you, impaling you completely.

your emotions were already very heightened, causing the two of you to be quick to reach your ends.

"gonna fill you up, okay baby? and you're gonna keep it all in, or else imma have to take you home and do it all over again, yeah?" he groaned out, knowing he was about to blow his load any second now.

"y-yes! fill me up, please!"

a few thrusts later and he was burying his head in the crook of your neck, groaning out at the feeling of your walls tightening against him as you came.

you attempted to catch your breath as seungcheol used his fingers to push in any cum that exited your hole, moving your panties back into place to try and retain the most he could. with no warning, he shoved those same fingers in your mouth, making you suck his essence from them as he groaned at the sight.

"c'mon," he gave you no time to catch your breath or recover before dragging you by the hand once more, walking back to the table to pick up your coats.

"i'm taking her home now. yoon jeonghan, i'll deal with you later," and with that he dragged you away, making no effort to hide your disheveled state as you limped behind him, beyond embarrassed all your friends knew what you and your boyfriend had been up to.

if cheol had wanted to make a public service announcement about how much you were his, he had achieved it.

[skzdust]

Can I request a Han fic where the reader is an idol under JYP who also happens to be Chan's little sister?

I thought I wouldn't have much time to write recently but I LOVED this idea so I worked on it last night and today on my lunch break and I finished it!

This was such a fun one to work on, thanks for the request and I really hope you like it!

-----

Intimate

Summary: You went to your brother Chan's place crying, but you found his roommate Han Jisung instead.

Pairing: Han Jisung x fem!idol!reader

Word count: 1k

Taglist: @weirdowithaphone, @caught-in-the-afterglow, @palindrome969, @skzstan12345

Includes: fluff, hurt/comfort, pie as a comfort food, cuddles, sharing a bed (sfw)

Reblogs, likes, comments all appreciated!!!

Masterlist

------

You knocked on the door and stepped back, shuffling your feet on the hallway carpet.

You’d been hoping it’d be your brother Chan who opened the door, but you weren’t so lucky. It was Han Jisung, who’d always been mostly nice but teasing to you. You didn’t need teasing right now.

“Y/n! Are you looking for Chan—oh, what’s wrong?” His voice was colored with worry as he saw the tear tracks on your face.

“Yeah.” You mumbled, pushing past him and walking into the living room to flop face-first on the couch.

“I think he’s in the studio right now.”

“It’s four in the morning.” You mumbled. “Why is he in the studio?”

“Dunno.” You heard one of the chairs in the room squeak slightly as Jisung sat down. “He does that sometimes, especially when he can’t sleep. He goes and works on music.”

“Mph.” You groaned. You could understand that, you did the same, writing songs for your group in the dead of night. You’d been hoping to wake Chan up, though, not miss him entirely.

“Is there… do you want to talk about it?” Jisung asked hesitantly, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

You considered for a moment, worried Jisung might make fun of you if you told him the truth.

If he does tease me, I can just leave and text Chan. You reassured yourself.

You tilt your head sideways so you’re not talking into the pillow. “I totally messed up in practice for this music video last night and I’m worried I’ll be dropped or something. We’re about to debut, and we have to be, like… perfect.”

Jisung hummed thoughtfully. “And that was last night? Your debut is set for… less than a month, right?”

“Three weeks and four days.”

“Been thinking about it?”

You sighed. “Yeah.”

“I get it. It’s terrifying.”

You looked up at him over your shoulder. “Not going to poke fun at me?”

Jisung tilted his head, confused. “No? You’re crying. You know, I only do that when I’m joking around. I never mean it genuinely.”

“It still hurts sometimes.” You sat up, hugging the pillow.

“I’m sorry.” Jisung cleared his throat. “I guess… I go too far sometimes.”

You nodded, new tears forming in your eyes. “I appreciate that.”

“Oh, did I say something wrong?” He leaned towards you.

You sniffed. “No, I’m just… emotional, I guess.”

“Here, I have a solution.” Jisung stood up and walked into the kitchen. You watched him go, curious. You heard the fridge open and close, and he walked back in with a plate of pie and a fork.

“Oh, that’s my favorite kind.” You smiled.

“Yeah. I remembered you mentioning it a little bit ago and I thought I’d give it a try.” Jisung shrugged, holding the plate out to you. “It was pretty good, but I got a lot, and I had some extra.”

You took the pie and took a bite. It was delicious, comforting, and exactly what you needed. “Thank you.” You said, your mouth full.

He laughed, and you were suddenly struck by how cute he was when he was genuinely happy.

Although I’ve always kind of found him attractive…

“I’m glad you’re liking it.” He sat back down and held out his hand. “Here, let me have a bite.”

You held out the plate. “Should you… new fork?”

“I don’t care.” He took it. “Do you?”

“No.” You said, your face heating up.

“You’re all red!” Jisung grinned. “You do care!”

“Whatever.” You mumbled, unable to hold back your smile.

He took a bite, then gave the plate to you. You broke off a piece of the pie with the fork, hesitated for a moment, then took the bite. You handed it back to him, and he had another bite, too.

It felt intimate.

When the pie was finished, Jisung set the plate down on the coffee table. “Did that help?”

“Yeah.” You leaned back. “Why are you still up, anyway?”

He pointed to the TV, where a show was paused. “I couldn’t sleep, either.”

“Is something up?”

He didn’t look at you. “No.”

“I told you mine.”

He sighed. “I guess I’m in a similar boat to you. I’m really struggling with some choreography, and I think Minho is annoyed with me at this point.”

“Yeah, I definitely understand that.” You nodded. “But if you want to get good at the choreo, you should probably get some sleep, you’re not gonna be able to dance tomorrow if you’re exhausted.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Says you.”

“I don’t want to go back to my place.” You said softly. “One of my roommates was mad at me about… tonight.”

“Sleep here, then.”

“Nah, it’s fine.” You shook your head. “I don’t like couches, I’ll be brave and go home and lay in bed or something.”

Jisung thought for a moment. “I have an idea, if you’re up for it.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Shoot.”

“We could both sleep in my bed. Maybe having someone else close would help.”

The part of you that had a crush on Jisung went wild.

“Sure, that sounds nice.” You smiled.

“Nice.” He stood up. “C’mon.”

You followed him down the hall and to his room, which you’d never been in before. It was a little messy, but you could tell he was organized. His bed was mussed up, like he’d been tossing and turning. Given what he’d told you, he probably had been.

He pulled back the covers and motioned for you to get in. “Get comfy.”

You did so, getting into the bed and pulling the comforter over yourself. You were suddenly exhausted, and you struggled to keep your eyes open. The bed dipped when Jisung got in.

You got an idea. “Jisung?”

“Hm?”

“Can we, um, cuddle? I’m just feeling a bit lonely, and I think it’d be nice, and I… I dunno, we don’t have to.” You rambled.

“‘Course we can.” Jisung opened his arms, and you scooted into them.

He was warm, and solid, and comforting, and safe.

Intimate.

You felt content for the first time since your disastrous practice as you cuddled into his chest.

“Chan might kill me.” He muttered, his embrace tightening a bit.

“No, he won’t.” You closed your eyes. “Chan’ll be fine.”

“Even if he did, it would be worth it.” He said with a soft laugh.

That was the last thing you heard before you fell into sleep.

[erwinsvow]

thinking about being rafe’s calm. when he’s about to actually start pushing and throwing punches and yelling, but if you’re there and run up to him and drag him away, he complies—lets you talk him out of the situation and walk back to his quiet car or an empty room. he’ll listen when you speak, when you try to calm him down, hug him, kiss him, until he stops seeing red.

the first time it happens he feels embarrassed on the inside—wondering how long you’ve had such a big influence on him. feels weird like he shouldn’t be reliant on anyone but himself, feels like it’s wrong because he’s supposed to be protecting you and not the other way around. 

he buries these thoughts the next time it happens, with his dad. you two were eating breakfast or maybe cleaning up after, he can’t remember, when ward comes in to have a discussion with rafe. he politely asks you to step out for a second but you glance up at rafe, and he looks so hard and angry already that you decide it’s better if you stay. ward starts talking—things that don’t make any sense to you but must mean something to your boyfriend—and you can almost feel rafe getting tense, his fist balling and jaw clenching.

on your side of the counter, his dad can’t see your hands, so you take rafe’s fist into your palm and force him to relax his fingers, holding his hand and gently rubbing his palm with your thumb, bringing him into a hug the second ward walks away. you can feel his heart thudding when you’re so close like this, fingers running through his hair to help him stay calm. you’re surprised it even works, proud of yourself for trying and not being too scared. 

it’s a  little bit harder with lots of people around. rafe’s prone to getting agitated by pogues no matter what they do. it doesn’t help that they’re all sarah’s friends now—seems like he interacts with them twice as much. you know it’s inevitable to stop them from yelling at each other, that these are just people who will never get along with each other, but you still try.

sometimes it doesn’t take much more than a tug of his arm while your hands are in each others to get him to walk away. it’s like if you make him realize you’re standing next to him, that he’s not alone and doesn't have to be alone ever again, he can snap out of it. it’s been working more and more recently, you think, incredibly pleased with yourself. rafe’s happy so you’re happy, and the two of you both know it and don't have to talk about it.

then comes a big one—your boyfriend is as angry as you’ve ever seen him. you don’t know what’s happened, just that you want to help him. you’re starting not to care who’s at fault, who caused this, and you’re beginning to blame everyone else for even doing something that makes rafe angry. that sentiment is a little brainwashed, you reflect, but you don’t really care anymore.

someone throws a punch and rafe’s not going to back down from a fight. when someone finally tears them apart, your boyfriend’s bleeding from a cut on his face and has a big bruise forming on the other side. you don’t look at the other guy because you know it’s worse. you drag rafe to his truck, heart beating fast—feeling really upset yourself. you thought you were getting better at this, that you were good for him, but you weren’t able to do anything today. you’re both silent in the truck, until you use your sleeve to wipe away some of the blood on his temple, sniffling. 

“just took a punch and you’re the one crying?” but it doesn’t come out harsh, the way you’d expect. he says it soft and gentle, like he’s mad at himself for making you cry. his tone doesn’t help matters so you start crying even harder.

“hey, hey, come here-” and in a few swift motions, you’re out of your seat and sitting on his lap, face buried in his neck while you get the collar of his shirt damp. “m’sorry, baby, didn’t mean to scare you.” you pull away to look at him, tears glittering in your pretty eyes and cheeks wet.

“i’m sorry,” you finally get out, quiet and weepy. you’re disappointed in yourself.

“what’re you apologizing for?” he asks, and you cry harder, unable to meet rafe’s eyes.

“i couldn’t stop it, i’m supposed to stop and help you so this doesn’t happen-” 

rafe’s not stupid—he knows what you do when you see him getting upset. he knows it and he’s thankful and he loves you, but he starts to feel the worst he’s ever felt thinking that you’re in tears because he couldn’t hold back from punching some stupid, inconsequential guy.

“hey, c’mon, stop crying.” rafe’s hands come up to wipe away your fresh tears, guiding you back onto his chest while you’re still sobbing. “hey, listen to me, no tears. you’re good, right?” you nod. “so be a good girl and listen to me.”

you sniffle again, quieting down and listening to rafe’s voice and the thud of his heart against your ear. 

“i love that you make me feel better. but it’s not gonna work every single time, okay? can’t have you in tears every time i get pissed or you’ll die from dehydration.” you laugh a little, breathing hard.

“i just wanna help.” 

“yeah?” he asks, getting another idea. “anyway you can?”

you nod against his shirt eagerly.

that’s how you get like this—in the backseat of his truck, your legs folded back to your chest and rafe’s hands pushing you into the seat and holding you in place. he slams in and out of you at a brutal place, probably one so intense the entire truck is shaking from the outside. your eyes roll back at each thrust, the pain in your limbs from the tight fit and position dissipating as rafe starts to talk to you.

“this’ll help me, baby, every time-” and you interrupt with a particularly loud moan when he moves a hand to play with your clit. “feel good? i’ll never get angry again, promise. jus’ let me do this every time.”

[bahablastplz]

All in | Chapter 9

pairing: Lee Felix x f!reader (mafia au)

summary: You didn't know what you were getting yourself into when you started dating Yang Jungwon, notorious mafia boss. Your life gets flipped upside down when you're found beaten and bloody by SKZ, the rival mafia group, and you're quickly integrated into their lives. What will happen when you try to leave your old life behind and start anew?

chapter summary: you and Felix go on an excursion and tensions are high while you wait for time to pass

warnings: please see series masterlist for all warnings

series masterlist ~~ series taglist ~~ main masterlist

You wake up in an entanglement of limbs. 

You feel it before you can see it, really. The warmth of Felix’s body on yours. Legs intertwined with legs, you currently lay with your head on his chest and his arms around your waist. Cracking your eyes open, you're met with a sleeping Felix, breathing slow and heavy, his breath warm on the top of your head. He looks so serene, almost like a child with the expressionless look on his face. 

Your heart flutters. You wish it didn't. 

You pry yourself out of the warmth of his embrace, not breathing as you wiggle out between his limbs in an attempt to not wake him. God forbid he wakes up and sees the position you’re in. What would he say? How would he react? Would it be awkward? You don’t want to find out. 

You make it to the bathroom, splashing water onto your face. You comb your fingers through your hair, doing your best to detangle it with what you've got. You take a deep breath, rolling your shoulders back. 

Last night, Yang Jungwon died right before your eyes. 

Where do you go from here? You can't go on pretending like things are normal anymore. They haven't been normal for a very long time, not since before you started dating Jungwon. You also know that running away isn’t exactly an option anymore… evident by the scars on your back inflicted by Chan that you had almost forgotten about. They accompany the many other bruises and scratches on your body now, so they aren’t quite out of place yet they serve as a not-so-gentle reminder of what to expect should you defy Chan. 

What now? You suppose you can lay low until you finally find an ample opportunity to escape, one that does not risk endangering you or your sister. Better would probably be to stay quiet and gather as much information as you can, to try to bargain your way out of the situation with Chan. Perhaps if you can one day find a way to leave on his terms you might be able to get what you want. You remember the night before, how Woojin implied that Chan could be in love with you… you feel the greasy diner food from the night before sit uneasily in your stomach, threatening to come back up. 

Sighing, you find yourself at a loss. When you crack open the bathroom door, you’re surprised to see Felix awake and sitting up in the bed. 

“Oh hey, you're up,” you say. You sit down next to him, hugging your knees to your chest. Felix yawns and rubs sleep from his eyes. “What time are we going back to the house?” You question.

“About that…” you blanch at his words, his voice deep and groggy from sleep. 

“You're kidding,” you say. “We're not going back?” 

“From my understanding, we have to wait for Lee Know to wake up,” he says, looking at his phone. “He’s in stable condition, so they expect it to be sometime today, but we still need the okay from Chris.” You sigh at the revelation. 

“So… what now?” 

“Breakfast?” He suggests. You purse your lips together, as if in thought. You still feel a little nauseous but food isn’t such a bad idea. Plus, you’re tired of feeling cooped up–getting out might not be the worst idea. 

You’re reminded of Felix telling you that Heeseung has plans to come after you next. You grimace. “Is it… okay to leave the motel? If the house isn’t safe, are you sure it’s okay to leave?” 

“You’ll be with me. You’ll be fine.” His words provide comfort, you suppose. And so, at eleven in the morning, you and Felix walk across the street to the diner. It’s where you assume he got your dinner last night and it’s bustling with life from the early morning lunch rush. In your matching pajamas, the two of you slide into the red and cream colored booth. You probably look comical but it feels… normal, almost. 

When the waitress comes up to your table she smells of cigarettes and sugar. She’s an older woman, curly blonde hair permed and framed around her face. Her makeup is a little bright, shades of periwinkle dabbled on her eyelids and lipstick blood red. Her name tag reads ‘Pam,’ and she reminds you of an old grandma, someone that might provide blunt comfort and real advice in a time of need.

“What can I get for the lovely couple?” She questions as she pulls out a notepad, voice deep and raspy with a southern drawl. 

“Oh we’re not–” 

“Can I get chocolate chip pancakes with a side of bacon?” Felix says, smiling sweetly at the waitress. “And a coffee, black.” 

“Of course. And for the lady?” 

You look at the menu. “Um, a waffle and orange juice. Thanks.” Felix takes your menu and hands it to the waitress. She smiles saccharine sweet and goes to the kitchen, leaving you and Felix alone. 

Neither of you speak. 

You fiddle with the silverware instead, staring out the window. 

The waitress arrives with your drinks. You take the opportunity to immediately start drinking it. Is this awkward? Why is it awkward? Is it because she implied you were a couple? Is it you making this awkward, or him? God, you hate your stupid brain and its stupid thoughts. 

You snap out of it when Felix takes a big sip of his drink and then makes a face as if he were disgusted. He takes another sip immediately which makes you laugh. 

“What?” 

“If it’s bad, why are you drinking it?” You ask with a smile. He brushes his hair back with his fingers, looking away. 

“It’s coffee. It’s not going to taste good.” 

“It’s supposed to,” you laugh. “It’s because you got a black coffee. Why won’t you add sugar or cream to it? That’ll help.”

“It still tastes bad. I don’t know. Nothing I’ve tried has ever helped.” He drinks his coffee again, following it up with that same face. You find it endearing. 

Breakfast goes by fairly normally after that. Felix laughs at you for drowning your waffles in maple syrup, ‘effectively ruining it,’ according to him. He shares some of his bacon with you, telling you that you need the protein if you want to bulk up. You laugh when he drops a piece of his pancake on the floor. It feels domestic. 

It distracts you. 

It distracts you from every horrible thing that has happened the past few days, and you delude yourself by thinking that maybe this is what life could be like from now on. What if Felix wasn’t in the mafia? What if things were different? Could this maybe, in some other reality, be a date? One where you didn’t have to worry about being a target, one where Lee Heeseung didn’t have an overwhelming grudge to have you dead or alive? You wish that it was over. Yang Jungwon is dead yet he still has a deadly grasp around your throat. You swallow thickly and decide you want to change the subject. 

“I want to see my sister,” you say. Felix nods at you solemnly, not in agreement but more in pity. He feels bad for you. 

“I’m sorry,” he says finally. You sigh. 

“Can’t you take me to her? Let me talk to her? Let her know that I’m safe?” 

“I can’t do that,” he replies softly. 

“Why?” 

“It’s not safe. I’m sure Jungwon knew where your sister lives? What if Heeseung is keeping an eye on her now? Contacting her could be a risk,” he explains. “It’s against Chris’ orders.” 

“Do you just blindly follow his orders? Do you know how to think for yourself?” you ask before you can help yourself. You clench your fists and unclench them, exhaling to keep the irritation at bay. “You don’t have to tell Chan,” you reason with him. “You can just take me. I won’t tell him.” 

He tongues the inside of his cheek. “It’s like you’re not even listening to me. I’m not blindly following his orders, but there’s a reason why we do things. There’s protocol to follow. Heeseung probably has careful eyes on her, and contacting her could put you both in danger.” 

“That’s more of a reason for me to talk to her!” you say. “She could be in danger. What if Heeseung–”

“She's fine,” he interrupts. 

“How do you know? There's no way.” 

“Listen, we’re keeping a careful eye on her–” 

“Then I don't understand why I shouldn't be allowed to talk to her–” 

“Because I'm not going to put you in danger again!” He takes a deep breath, calming himself. 

“What?” 

“The gala was my fault, I should've made sure you were by my side. It was… you were hurt because of me. I’m not going to let you get hurt again. End of discussion.” 

Felix pays the bill. You don’t say anything. You don’t know what you would say, even. On the walk back to the motel, he talks again. 

“I’m sorry about your sister. I really am.” 

“S’fine.” You don’t look at him. “I don’t blame you for the gala, by the way.” 

“You should.” 

“I don’t.” Finally, you smile at him. He gives you a weak smile back. 

It’s past noon once you get back to your room. You slump in your bed, unsure of what else to do. Closing your eyes, you let yourself stretch lazily, basking in the sunlight that shines through your window not unlike that of a cat. After a few minutes, you hear grunting. Cracking open your eyes, you investigate. 

Felix is sitting on the floor near the end of the bed doing sit-ups. You look at him, incredulous. 

“Are you seriously working out right now?” You ask. It does seem a little bit ridiculous, after all. 

“Just because we’re not at a gym doesn’t mean that we can’t train,” he says with uneven breath. “Your enemy isn’t going to wait for you just because you’re in hiding.” He moves fast without breaking a sweat, and it’s a sight to behold. You could watch him do this all day. You realize you’ve been staring and so you clear your throat. 

“Can you help me too? Can we spar?” You ask. You decide that he is right, and there is no time like the present to become stronger. 

And so, for about thirty minutes you muck about the hotel room. Felix shows you how to properly form a fist, cautious of your still-injured hand. He teaches you some self-defense techniques, going into a lecture about the weakest areas of the body to target if in a bad situation. You listen intently and practice with your full-attention, really taking his words to heart. You’re a good student, he says. You feel satisfied by the end of your session now that you’ve finally practiced real techniques and not just focused on strength or cardio, and you’re both sweaty and out of breath before you know it. 

“You can shower first this time,” you say. “I had first dibs last night.” He nods his head and heads to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. You try not to think about how good he looked with sweat dripping down his face and wonder if that’s what he would look like when he–

Shaking your head, you flop onto the bed, lazily flipping through the television channels. Nothing really peaks your interest. Until you see something on the table that gleams in the light and makes your heart beat right out of your chest. 

Felix’s phone. 

He left it right there on the table while he was gone. Easily accessible. 

You jump to your feet before you can think, snatching the device and holding it in your hands. You could do it while he’s in the shower; call your sister. If he finds out after the fact, whatever, you think. It’ll be worth it to get the confirmation that she’s safe. 

You slide the phone up. Of course, it’s password protected. You could have guessed that. You double-click the power button two times, allowing yourself to dial an emergency number. Taking a deep breath, you start to dial her number when the shower stops.

Shit. 

Shit. 

Your heart starts beating rapidly, looking to the door. Can you make it out in time? Felix is definitely faster and he would catch you. That would be bad. You need to hide the phone, and quick. Bolting, you lift up the mattress and stick the phone in between the mattress and bedframe. As the door opens, you jump onto the bed, looking at Felix and smiling. 

“Why do you look like a deer caught in headlights?” He laughs. You laugh with him, standing up. 

“No reason, LOL.” You just said LOL out loud. Calm down, Y/N. “I’m going to take a shower now!” You start to walk past him to the bathroom door when you feel a tug at your wrist, flipping you around to face him. Your eyes go wide when you see the serious look on Felix’s face. 

“Tell me where it is.” 

“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you chuckle, deciding that maybe playing dumb is the best option. You both know how stupid you’re being right now, though. 

“I’ll give you one chance to stop acting dumb and tell me where it is, Y/N. Seriously,” he says. “I was gone for five minutes. Don’t act like you don’t know where my phone is.” 

“I… I don’t know. Seriously, let me go,” you say. You sound a little less persuasive this time. He’s slowly chipping away at your façade and it’s apparent. 

Gulping, you yank yourself out of his grasp and start walking to the bathroom again. In an instant, he pushes you up against the wall, arms pinned above your head. You let out a small gasp at the action, now completely at his disposal. You think about the self-defense techniques that he just taught you, but you know that you couldn’t bring yourself to poke him in the eyes or knee him in the groin… and you wouldn’t need to, either way. You’re not in any danger. 

“Please,” he says. His voice is soft, head tilted downward, unable to look you in the eye. You gulp. 

You’re at a stalemate. You both know that you won’t give him the phone, your only point of communication with your sister, and you both know that he won’t do anything to hurt you. 

“Felix,” you say, your voice just a whisper. When he releases your hands from above your head, they make their way to his shoulders and stay there. He finally looks up at you, and you feel like you can’t breathe. 

“Please,” he says again. This time you’re unsure what he’s asking for. Not when your body is finding itself impossibly closer to his, not when his eyes are on your lips and your heart is beating out of your chest. 

“We shouldn’t,” you say, because it’s true. 

“We absolutely shouldn’t,” he agrees. You feel his warm breath on yours. His hand cups the back of your head and your lips part. You barely feel the ghost of his lips on yours… 

Then the phone rings. 

You aren’t sure who moves faster. Your heart is beating faster than maybe ever as you duck under his outstretched arm, completely evading his attempt to grab you. You dive for the mattress, successful in getting the phone. 

An outstretched leg trips you, but you don’t fall. You make it to the door, in fact. You even touch the handle. 

It’s over sooner than it started. 

Your arm twists behind your back, the one holding the phone, though you don’t let it go. It’s almost embarrassing how easily he maneuvers you so that your chest is pressed up against the mattress, one hand on your back pushing you down. Neither of you miss the small whimper that comes out of your mouth. Neither of you miss the hardening bulge against your ass. 

When Felix plucks the phone from your hand, you almost expect him to let you go immediately. He doesn’t. He picks up the phone instead and you crane your neck to try to see his face, though you are unsuccessful. 

“Hyunjin,” he greets. 

You wish you could hear the muffled voice on the other end of the phone. You only hear bits and pieces. You try to wriggle from his strong single-handed grasp but you only feel his fingers tighten around your skin, not in an attempt to harm you but in an attempt to warn. You’re sick of doing what you’re told, though, so you grind your hips back against his cock purposefully. 

“Don’t be a brat,” he whispers to you, shoving the receiver of the phone into his chest so Hyunjin won’t hear him on the other end. You do it once more and he lets you–when you both know he could easily still your movements. You don’t miss the shaky breath he lets out at your actions, but suddenly Felix says something in affirmation to Hyunjin and hangs up the phone. 

He finally releases his grasp on your arms and you sit up, making eye contact with him. He still looks completely composed, but a slight blush has dusted over his features. 

You smile at him. 

“Cute,” he says, poking the inside of his cheek with tongue. “You think you’re very cute.” 

You say nothing. 

“We… gotta go. We gotta go back to the house now. Minho has woken up. It’s uh… it’s safe now.” 

You do let out a sigh of relief at that. 

We almost kissed, you want to say. I feel something towards you that I probably shouldn’t, and I know you feel something towards me. 

The two of you stare for a moment, letting the silence punctuate the room. Your heart pounds heavily against your ribcage. 

“Let’s get going, shall we?” you say. 

Neither of you speak on the ride back to the house but the silence is welcomed. You stare dreamily out the window and for some reason, the future doesn’t seem as bleak as it did earlier. 

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

taglist: @shuporanporang ; @purp13st4r ; @eurydiceofterabithia ; @heartsbyandra ; @thicccurls ;

@rylea08 ; @the-sweetest-rose ; @oddracha ; @kapelover ; @goldenmellow ;

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@mindfreecreator ; @linoalwaysknows ; @velvetmoonlght ; @minahaeyo ; @crystalchuuu ;

@hash2013 ; @skzswife ; @b0bbl3s ; @thecutiepieme ; @bear8585 ;

@moss-the-man ; @softkisshyunjin ; @sylveonitesworld ; @m00njinnie ; @nicoleparadas ;

@starsofasteria ; @klopez01 ; @luvlinos ; @hyunjinnnnnnnnnnnnnn ; @skz-akira ;

@boi-bi-ahaha ; @l33bang24 ; @hermione640 ; @gal82 ; @b-chansbbygirl ;

@kayleefriedchicken ; @notsojourni ; @hogwartslife64 ; @stilltrynafuckingtumble ; @ellelabelle ;

@melleus ; @hyun-bun ; @luminouskalopsia ; @leftovercigarettes ; @sabrina-gal-kpop

@ghostedgameplays ; @wealwayskeepfighting ; @meloncremesoda ; @Lovelino23 ; @honeyybbuubblleess ;

@blossominghunnie ; @sunlitangel777 ; @kkamismom12 ; @slaykanejvetsi ; @eastleighsblog ;

@skzskzskzskzskzskzskzzzz ; @k-keya ; @moonlight-sunrise-channie ; @estella-novella

[abbyslvrrr]

Fade into you pt.2

Boxer!sevika x topside!reader

Finally done part 2! (it literally took me a whole month) I kept losing motivation to write BUT I FINALLY FINISHED TODAY!! Hope y’all like it! (I don’t think I’ll continue this tbh) I feel like this kinda sucks ass can’t lie.

WC: 1167

The following day, you couldn't stop thinking about Sevika and the interaction you had with her. The way she got so close to you, the way she looked as she was sitting there and smoking her cigarette. Ugh, you needed to stop thinking of her seriously! Are you actually considering going back? She told you she had a fight next week and you were off next week. 

"Just stop it!” You knew your parents would freak out if they ever found out you went to the undercity, let alone thinking about going back there, but why was the thought of not seeing Sevika making you feel so down? As the next week started approaching, you finally made your decision to go and see Sevika again; you couldn't shake her out of your head. The problem was, you didn't want to tell Sam about it, but you also didn't know your way around the undercity. God, this was going to be a mission. 

You decide to wear something cute this time around—a long-sleeve low-cut shirt and a cute black skirt. For shoes, you went with black combat boots. You do your hair and makeup, grabbing your phone and bag ready to head out, when all of a sudden your mother walks in. 

“Where do you think you're going, young lady?” She questioned you. Shit, what would you say?

"Um, im going to Sams, yeah. She's having a little girls night!” praying that she believed you, sometimes it blew your mind that as an adult your mother was still so stuck with you. You actually hated it, but you didn't say anything about it. Your mother nodded her head.

"Okay, be safe honey. Text me when you get home, okay?” she said as she hugged you and left you be. You sighed and went out. You kind of felt bad for lying to your mother, but it was whatever at this point. Stepping out of your house, you try your best to remember the way Sam took you, and you find yourself where she took you last time. 

As you walk your way over to the fighting ring, you can't help but feel eyes all on you. ‘Of course they'd stare; you literally look like you're from the topside.’ you say to yourself. You get there and see Sevika already in the ring fighting her opponent. You manage to get yours close enough to see her. 

The guy she is fighting is like 2x bigger than her, and yet she's so unfazed by it. He lands a hit on Sevika and knocks her back, but only for a second because she's right back and hits him back so hard he goes flying back. There's a small break that was called; Sevika looks into the crowd and manages to spot you. She thought you were so easily spottable; you see her and smile at her. You see the blood on her face, probably a bloody nose. She sends a wink your way, and you swear you passed out there. After the break, Sevika and the guy were at it again. He goes to hit him, but Sevika has him figured out this time and blocks his punch, and she knocks him to the ground; he stays there, probably passed out. 

Sevika is declared winner once again, and everyone goes crazy like last week. Sevika motions to the back, where the little room is. You make your way through the busy crowd and step into the room.

“You came, doll.” Her voice boomed; god, her voice was like fucking music to your ears. Why is she making you feel this way? You could listen to her voice all day.

"Yeah, I did come back; I don’t really know why.” Suddenly, your shoes became the most interesting thing in the world. A part of you wanted to get to know Sevika, possibly befriend her, maybe something more. But knowing that Sevika was from the undercity and a boxer, you knew it could never happen. Feeling a warm hand grab your chin gently and lift it up broke you out of your little trance. You are met with Sevika's eyes; god, you could get lost in those eyes of hers. She leans in a bit closer.

"Oh, you know why, doll, don't play stupid with me. You wanted to come see me; that's why you're here.” You hated how right she was. She pulled away from you and backed away. 

“Lets celebrate my win doll." She opened the door for you, and you walked out. The bar was crowded, and so was the dance floor; you felt a bit nervous about this not really being your scene. She grabbed your hand and dragged you to a table where a couple other guys were seated. She pulled you to that table sitting down; you sat beside her. 

Everyone looked a bit intimidating to you. Someone approaches the table and hands Sevika a drink; of course they would know what she liked. She fights here and celebrates here. Sevika chugs down her drink before looking at you. 

“So what do you usually drink? Something fancy?” The truth was you never really drank; when you did drink, it was just a small bit of wine or a little champagne. You didn't even know if you should drink anything tonight; I mean, how would you even go home? 

"Oh, I usually have a bit of wine, but I don't think I'll drink tonight.” You explain to her; she lets out a small chuckle. God,  she was perfect. No! You can't be thinking of her like that. Her voice brought you out of your thoughts.

“I figured as much; I don't think you'd find the best kind around here.” Sevika says as she starts on her second drink of the night. Hours go by and you have amazing conversations with Sevika; she tells you all about the undercity, and you tell her about Piltover. You knew that conditions down in the undercity were not great at all, and she was so passionate talking about her place here. You admired that about her. Hours pass, and before you know it, the time is 2330 and you have to leave. Sevika offers to take you at least halfway. 

Staying close to Sevika, you two begin the journey back. As you get closer and closer to where you need to go, Sevika asks you a question. “Would you want to come down again next week? "Uh, don’t have a fight, so we can maybe just spend the day together.” 

You put a hand on her bicep, smiling up at her, “Of course, Sevika. I’ll see you here again next week.” She pulls her phone out and gives it to you, typing in your number and saving it into her phone. You reach up and give Sevika a kiss on her cheek. “See you sev!" With that, you run off.

Sevika makes it her goal to get with you no matter what.

 

[btsficsandsuch]

Taste of His Own Medicine

You suddenly have to leave to go back to your home country for a few months. Yoongi decides to ignore you so you decide to show him how it feels when he realizes you’re gone.

“Hi Yoongi.”, you said after letting yourself in the studio. You received nothing more than a grunt. “I brought you some food.”, you said trying to lure him over to the couch. “Not now Y/N. I’ve got a lot going on.”, he said without even looking at you. You were starting to get frustrated. Sure you wanted to spend time with him but you also had something really important and time sensitive to tell him. You knew he was already stressed and cranky and your news wasn’t going to make it any better. “Yoongi please come have dinner with me. I really need to talk to you about something.”, you begged. He slammed his hand on the desk and spun his chair around startling you., “What part of not now I’m busy are you not understanding? Sometimes you can be so frustrating Y/N. Please just get out and leave me alone.” You didn’t say a word and just grabbed your bag storming out of his studio slamming the door behind you.

Back at your apartment you were doing your best to calm your nerves. You couldn’t believe that he had the audacity to speak to you like that and even after you haven’t spoken or seen each other in three weeks. You felt that you were more than patient and understanding when he got into moods like this with his work. He always did this to you where he’d ignore you and if he did pay attention to you he was short with everything you did and said. You finished zipping up the last of your bags and placed them by the door along with your plane ticket. Something had come up and you had to fly back to your home country which was the reason for your visit to Yoongi’s today. You were going to tell him that in the morning you had to fly home and you’d be gone for at least two months. You had hoped to eat dinner together and cuddle a little since it would be the last time you’d be with each other for a while. Instead you were yelled at and called names.

The following morning you woke up and checked your phone secretly hoping for a text or a phone call or anything from Yoongi giving you a reason to call him and hear his voice before leaving for the airport but nothing. “Fine then. If he doesn’t care I won’t either.”, you thought slamming your phone down on the desk. You showered and got changed just finishing up when you got a notification that your ride was waiting outside. You grabbed your bags and took one last look at your apartment you’d be away from and closed the door behind you.

Once at the airport you remembered why you hated flying so much. The crowds of rude people, the loud noises, the having to rush no matter how early you are. You hated it. Your first flight went smoothly. You arrived at your layover destination and decided to grab something to eat while you waited to board your next flight. While eating your sandwich you remembered that you had turned your phone off before the last flight and pulled it out of your pocket to power it on.

Once up and running you waiting for any notifications to pop up. There were two texts from your mom, one from your best friend, and one from your boss. Then you saw something that concerned you. 11 missed calls and close to 20 texts messages, all from Yoongi.

Yoongles: Hey Y/N, I’m on my way home. Did you need me to stop and get you anything? I seriously can’t want to get in bed with you. I need a hug more than anything.

“Odd he wants to pretend like he didn’t snap last night.”, you thought before continuing to read.

Yoongles:Y/N where are you? I thought today was your day off.

Yoongles: Babe seriously you never go this long without responding.

Yoongles: Y/N why is a bunch of your stuff gone? Did you leave?

Yoongles: Listen I know I’ve been difficult lately but you know I love you and you mean everything to me.

Yoongles: Y/N please answer me. I’m really worried right now. Whatever happened we can fix it.

Before you could continue reading your phone started ringing again. You saw Yoongi’s name pop up. Part of you wanted to just ignore him but you did feel kind of bad knowing that he was in distress. You decided to answer,

“Hello”

“Y/N! Where are you? I’ll come to you. We need to talk”

“Umm I’m actually at the airport waiting for my connecting flight back home.”

“What?! You’re going back home? Like forever?”

“No I’ll be gone for at least the next two months. Maybe a little longer.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving? You seriously just packed your stuff without saying goodbye.”

“Actually I came by your studio yesterday. Remember? I had found out yesterday morning that something has come up and I need to go back home for a while. I brought you food and asked you to talk to me. You ignored me and then yelled at me and called me annoying and told me to leave so I did.”

There was a long silence before Yoongi spoke again, “No this isn’t happening. I really don’t get to see you for at least two months? I can’t live like that.” You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, “Well maybe this will teach you not to take our time together for granted and to not treat me like that. They’re about to start boarding so I have to go. Take care of yourself Yoongi. I’ll see you when I get back.” With that you hung up not giving him the chance to say anything else. You knew it was harsh but he was also harsh towards you and you wanted him to regret his actions as petty as that might be. Maybe he’ll see what it feels like to be on the receiving end of feeling ignored. A taste of his own medicine.

You shut your phone back off and made your way to the gate boarding your next plane. Your next flight thankfully went quick and you landed back in your home country. You were going to be staying with your parents. Finally arriving at your parents house you quickly went up to your old room and laid in bed exhausted from the day of travel. You turned on your phone so you could charge it and set your alarm clock when you heard a bunch of notifications which you figured were all from Yoongi. You were correct. He had tried to call you six more times and sent you a bunch of texts,

Yoongles: Y/N I’m really sorry. I was such a jerk. I never should’ve asked you to leave.

Yoongles: Please let me know when you’ve landed so that I know you’re safe.

Yoongles: I’ll stop bothering you. Just please let me know you’re safe and okay. I’m laying in bed alone and I really miss you. I love you.

You sighed. As much as you wanted to completely ignore him you knew he’d be a nervous wreck all night if he didn’t know you were safe and you didn’t want that.

You: I just got to my parents so I’m safe. Get some sleep Yoongi. You really need it. I’ll talk to you another time.

Over the next couple months Yoongi texted you and called you more than he had in the last six months. You didn’t completely ignore him but you definitely tried to give him that taste of his own medicine.

You were able to get everything situated back home and got prepared to make the trip back to Seoul. You had decided to keep it a surprise from Yoongi telling him that you were still probably going to be gone for a few more weeks.Thankfully the trip was quick and easy and you were now making your way to his studio. You knocked on the door but all you heard was a muffled Go Away. Rolling your eyes you knocked again, this time louder and harder hoping to get his attention.

It worked because a few second later the door swung open with fury and standing there was a disheveled Yoongi. He looked like he hadn’t slept the entire time you were gone and he probably ate just enough to barely keep him alive. “What do you wa-?”, he stopped mid speech when his eyes met yours. Instantly he lunged forward wrapping his arms around you burying his face in your neck. Before you could say anything you felt his shoulder start to shake and not long after you felt warm tears landing on your neck. Gently you pushed him away to get a better look and saw that he was crying.

“Yoongles, why are you crying?”, you asked wiping at the tears. This was only the third time he had ever allowed you to see him cry and it was heartbreaking. He was taking this a lot harder than you ever thought he would.

Quickly you pulled him into his studio and sat him down on the couch trying to comfort him. After he was able to calm his breathing he leaned onto you snuggling his face in the crook of your neck, “I’m so sorry Y/N. I never knew how hard it was when I shut you out. These last couple months have been awful.” You kissed his forehead, “It’s okay Yoongi. I’m here now. I’m sorry that I just left like that but I wanted you to see how it felt even though it was painful for me too. I worried about you every day while I was gone.” He chuckled, “Yeah well I cried pretty much every night. I don’t know how you did it all these years. I promise I’m going to be better about spending time with you and I’ll watch my mouth.” You smiled while pushing the hair out of his face, “Good because next time I go home I just might not come back.” Yoongi shook his head at the thought.

You watched him walk over to his computer closing all of the systems and powering it off. “What are you doing?”, you asked confused. He started putting on his coat and walked over to take your hand, “We’re gonna go get something to eat and then go home. We have two months of cuddles to make up for and I’m not waiting any longer.” You smiled taking his hand and walking out of the room with him happy that you finally get to relax in his arms like you wanted from the start.

[iateyourparents]

hickey prank | c.b.

pairing: colby brock x fem!reader

summary: you make a hickey prank on your boyfriend.

warnings: use of y/n, bad writing and grammar(I'm sorry but english is not my first language), suggestion of cheating(?), wasn't proofread

an: it's my first ever post here so pls don't judge me too much 😭🙏🏻

pictures are from pinterest:)

"Hi everyone!" you waved to the camera "Today, I'm with Kat" Katrina smiled at the camera saying hello "And we will be pranking my boyfriend!"

"Yay!" Katrina shouted. "If you're watching this Colby, I'm not sorry." she winked.

You laughed and started explaining to your viewers what exactly you have planned. "So I will be doing hickeys prank on Colby and at first I wanted to just fake them with make up but my incredible friend here" you pointed at Katrina who just smiled widely "Said it's too boring, so guess what! She will be making my hickeys!"

"Yes! So let's get to work."

You both sat at your bed and you were telling your viewers a story about how you thought about this prank while Katrina was sucking on your neck, sometimes stopping to add something to your story.

"Okay, oh my god, Katrina!" you screamed with wide eyes looking at the mirror. She did a good job. Maybe too good.

Your neck now had three big, red hickeys.

"I'm not sure if Colby will be the only one jealous." you laughed "Sorry Sam" you winked at the camera and Kat laughed.

"So now all we have to do is wait for boys to come home from a meeting." Kat said and clicked the camera off.

|||

"Honey we're home!" you heard Sam screaming and then the door being shut.

You and Katrina exchanged looks and she quickly ran to your room to turn on hidden there camera while you turned on the one that was in living room.

"Hi boys" you smiled at them when they entered the room and you went to Colby to kiss him while Sam went to his and Katrina room after a quick hello.

Colby hugged you and peppered your face with kisses and then said "Are you hungry? We got lunch from this small Italian restaurant."

"No, I already ate, but thanks babe" you kissed his cheek and sat on the couch again.

"Okay, I will go change."

You stood up and went after him while smiling discreetly to the hidden camera.

In your shared room Colby immediately went to the closet while you sat on your bed waiting for him to be done.

You also adjusted your(Colby's) shirt so your collarbone and neck were more showing.

You scrolled through your phone when Colby finally sat next to you in new clothes and in silence he looked at your neck.

You bite back your smile knowing he noticed hickeys.

Before you knew his hand was on your neck trying to smear the hickey.

"What's that?" he asked quietly with narrowed brows.

"Hickeys." you smiled at him putting your phone on the bedside table "You made them, don't you remember?"

"I'm pretty sure I would remember marking you like that." his voice was low and you knew he definitely wasn't happy. "Who did that? Is this some kind of prank?"

"What? No, Colby. I can't believe you don't remember making them." you faked scoff.

"Y/n..." he sighed "Who did that?"

You were close to laughing at his face but thankfully you stopped yourself.

Then when you looked at him again you felt bad because you noticed the hurt and insecurity on his face.

"Oh I'm sorry, Colby" you took his hand and squeezed when he wanted to take it back "It's a prank, I'm so sorry baby. I didn't want to make you upset. Katrina made those hickeys."

Colby just silently looked at you trying to analyze your words and you just stoop up and took the camera out of its hiding spot.

"Sorry guys, it's kinda fail but I feel too bad to continue this prank." you pouted explaining it to your viewers. "Look at this pouty, I couldn't do this to him." you pointed at the camera at Colby and he just shook his head with a small relieved smile.

"Does Sam know his girlfriend made hickeys on you?" Colby asked and you laughed.

"Nope, if Kat won't tell him herself, he will get to know when the video is out!"

You said your goodbyes to the camera and stopped recording. Then you put the camera on a desk and you went to Colby and straddled his waist while he laid on his back on the bed.

"I'm so sorry" you said again hugging him.

"It's okay, I'm so happy it's just prank but I'm not sure if I shouldn't be jealous because I don't remember the last time I left any marks on you." he moved his brows suggestively and you laughed.

"Maybe we should change it then."