#i have no problem with the girl i only have a problem with him. i actually really really enjoy the girls company

[purinfelix]

── .✦ such a mess together - p. sunghoon

summary: the cute little girl you tutor is always going on about how you should date her smart, good-looking older brother, so why is your annoying, cocky classmate opening the door instead of her? ────── academic rival Sunghoon x reader || sfw, tension, can you tell i love the enemies to lovers trope LOL. || w/c: 3.5k (everyone clap jet is finally writing full length fics !!!)

a/n: ok whos shocked yet another enemies to lovers fic from yours truly - but i cant help that this trope is the most fun to write !!!!!!!

Shocked doesn’t even come close to describing how you feel right now. 

You feel as though if you widen your eyes anymore they’ll pop right out of your head, but the thought of him seeing you make such an embarrassing expression forces you to calm yourself. Slowly, he narrows his eyes, clearly not any less confused about this than you are. 

“The hell are you doing at my house?” he spits, thick brows furrowed as he looks you up and down. 

You’re about to reply with something equally as snarky, but you’re interrupted by a small head popping out from underneath his arm - which is outstretched to hold open the front door. 

“You’re here!” Yeji squeals in excitement, ducking past him to throw herself around your waist. You stumble backwards a bit, putting on her head to steady yourself as you laugh softly. 

“Hey,” you breathe out, though your eyes don’t leave those of the man in front of you, whose confusion only grows. “I’m here to tutor her,” you say curtly,  almost in disbelief that you’d have to spell it out for him this much. 

Though it’s not like you’re in much of a position to say much else because, really, you should’ve put the pieces together a long time ago. Being young and uninterested in her studies, Yeji had managed to spend most of your lessons together chatting about her life instead of doing her homework and so you had been told a lot about her - and her mysterious older brother who was rarely around because he was always busy working part-time or studying at university. At the time, you didn’t think twice about the fact that he went to the same university as you or that the times she mentioned him having exams always coincidentally lined up with yours - though now you’re beginning to think maybe you should’ve. 

Details like that were easy to forget though, especially when Yeji paid far more attention to the other details about her brother which she deemed far more important. You had spent many afternoons passively listening to her talk about how smart, sweet and tall he was, how he was “practically a prince” - all the while trying to get her to finish her algebra questions. You had even brushed it off when she mentioned that the two of you would make a good couple, and how it was a shame you had never met before. 

But Yeji couldn’t have been more wrong, because you actually had met her brother, and far more than you would’ve liked to for that matter. In fact, prior to today, Park Sunghoon had been nothing more than a nuisance in your university life. The one to constantly challenge your points in discussions, to steal your perfect front-row seat or to beat you by a singular mark in final exams. In your eyes, he was nothing but a cocky, good-for-nothing know-it-all who had been unfairly blessed with unnatural good looks which he used to trick your poor female classmates into liking him. 

All the details matched up though, times, places, hell they even had the same last name - but it had never occurred to you to put two and two together. Despite this, the shock of the initial realisation pales in comparison to the fact that you now how to continue with your lesson - whilst he sat in the next room over, glaring at you the entire time. 

You shifted in your seat nervously, eyes darting between Yeji’s exercise book and the strict gaze of her brother. Seriously, just what was his problem? - you’d never done anything to seriously wrong him, and if you did, you figured the fact that you were helping out his younger sister would be enough of a reason for him to let down his guard for once. But still, he sat there, completely uninterested in the video game he had loaded up as an obvious excuse, eyes locked on you. 

The weight of his gaze only made you more anxious and when you brought a hand up to hold your pencil you noticed the slight tremble in it. You couldn’t help but feel irritated, not just at him for being so distracting, but also at yourself for letting him get to you so easily. 

“I think he’s looking at you because you’re so pretty,” you heard a small voice mutter beside you catching you off guard. You let out a small laugh, about to calmly tell her to focus on her work but when you raise your eyes to look at her brother in the next room you notice that, for once, he’s avoiding your gaze, clearing his throat out of what almost seems to be nervousness. 

“Nice try Yeji, but I think your brother just doesn’t trust my tutoring skills.” 

She tilts her head, considering this for a moment - then with the same innocent bluntness as before, she shrugs. "Or maybe he's just grumpy because he got dumped."

A deafening silence falls over the room, and your pencil freezes mid-scratch as you glance up just in time to see Sunghoon's entire expression shift. His eyes widen for the briefest moment before his features twist into something between horror and annoyance. "Yeji," he hisses in warning, eyes shooting daggers at his sister, "shut up."

But it's too late, your interest is piqued and despite the harshness in his tone you can't help the smirk tugging at your lips at the thought of finally having some leverage against him.

"Wait," you say, tilting your head as you look at him, "Park Sunghoon ... got dumped?" 

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand across his face. "It wasn't- I didn't-" he stops himself, visibly irritated at the two of you. "That's none of your business."

Yeji, completely unaffected by her brother's obvious distress, hums to herself as she flips a page in her book. "She was really pretty too, she muses, "but she said he was too emotionally unavailable and always busy with school."

You blink in disbelief, then, unable to stop yourself, you laugh. "Shocking," your tone is dripping with sarcasm.

Sunghoon snaps his head towards you, eyes narrowing as if daring you to continue. "What did you say?"

You press your lips together, feigning innocence, but Sunghoon knows you too well for that and his glare only deepens. And for the first time, instead of just irritating you, the sight of him so obviously affected by your words is a little entertaining.

Interesting you think to yourself as you continue with the lesson, now far too aware of how the tension in the air has shifted ever so slightly. He doesn't move from his spot in the other room, or stop staring at you two, but now whenever you look up at him, instead of being able to meet your gaze he quickly looks away, pretending to be occupied with his game. You can't help but find it just a little amusing. 

Soon your lesson draws to an end and you begin to pack your materials away into your bag, thanking Yeji for working hard and listening to you - though you're interrupted by a deep rumble in the distance, followed by the sound of light rain. By the time you make it to the front door though, it's gotten much heavier and the plans you had to catch the bus home seem bleak. It isn't like you have much choice though, and you pull your hoodie over your head with a defeated sigh.

"You can't walk home in that," Yeji announces dramatically, clinging to your arm as she looks out at the heavy rain. Suddenly she perks up as if met with a great idea, and turns to her brother - who has been pretending not to listen from the living room. "Hoonie, can you drive her?" 

He barely looks up from his phone, though there's a slight delay in his response. "No."

"Why not?" she pouts.

"Not my problem," he mutters.

You roll your eyes, typical you think to yourself as you step towards the door. "It's fine, Yeji, I'll just-"

"You're seriously going to make her walk in this rain?" Yeji cries out as she walks over to her brother on the couch, "What if she gets sick? Then I'll be sad, and when I'm sad I don't do my homework. And if I don't do my homework, I'll fail and when I fail-" 

"Fine," Sunghoon groans, rubbing his temple as he pushes himself off the couch in a swift movement. He walks past you, grabbing his keys and twirling them around his finger coolly. "Get in the car before I change my mind," he says sternly.

You narrow your eyes at him and are about to deny his offer but the rain doesn't seem to be stopping anytime soon, and you're not stupid enough to reject a free ride out of pride alone. 

"Alright," you sigh, shooting Yeji one last thankful look before following her brother out to his car. 

"You live in the dorms on campus, right?" he asks casually. The rain hits the windshields of his car with a harsh rhythm, filling the silence between you two as you get in. The hum of the engine is the only other sound as he pulls out of the driveway, one slender hand lazily resting on the wheel. 

"Yeah," you say curtly, not even stopping to wonder how he could've known that. You're too busy holding a grudge against his ability to make every move seem so gracefully effortless, even turning a steering wheel. 

You sit stiffly in the passenger seat beside him, eyes fixed straight on the road ahead. You'll admit the car is nicer than you expected - spotless, the faint scent of something clean, a little floral, in the air - but you refuse to acknowledge it, just like you refuse to acknowledge that being here, alone with him, feels weirdly intimate. 

It doesn't help that he hasn't said another word since you both got in, not that you were expecting him to, but still - the awkward silence feels heavier than it should. You steal a quick glance at him out of the corner of your eye once the car reaches a red light - only to find that he's already looking at you. 

Your breath hitches for just a second, but you recover quickly in hopes that he won’t notice your reaction. “What?” you huff, raising an unimpressed brow. 

His eyes turn back to the road just as quickly, expression unreadable as the light turns green. “Nothing.” 

You sink back in your seat and the silence resumes, but with its temporary break, you feel compelled to keep up the conversation, even if it means more childish bickering. 

“I hope you don’t expect anything in return for this,” you say, turning to face forward again - but your attention piques once you hear a faint noise from him. It’s something you’ve never heard before, something just quiet enough that you almost didn’t hear it over the drumming rain, but you’re glad you did because you swear you just heard Park Sunghoon laugh. 

"When have I ever expected anything from you," he spits, but the usual malice in his tone is tinged with amusement.

"I'm just saying, don't think that just because you're doing this for me that anything's going to change," you huff, "if it weren't for Yeji you probably couldn't care less about me anyways." 

Sunghoon hums, the corners of his lips twitching as if he's holding back another laugh - he doesn't deny it, which somehow annoys you more than if he had outright agreed. Instead, he just shifts gears smoothly, eyes fixed on the road and you hate the way you find your gaze lingering on his profile for just a little too long.

"You sound disappointed," he muses after a beat.

You scoff defensively, crossing your arms. "Yeah, right." You've always hated how easily he could read you.

He just nods ever so slightly and doesn't press for more but the silence that follows feels a little different now, less tense. You shift in your seat and try to ignore the way your heart is starting to beat just a little too fast or the fact that you're waiting for him to say something. 

After a moment, he exhales, fingers tapping the steering wheel. "For the record," he sighs, his tone almost confessional, "I don't not care about you."

You crane your neck, searching his face for any sign that he's messing with you right now, a glint in his eye, his signature cocky smirk - but his expression is again unreadable. Instead, you watch the outline of his jaw shift slightly, almost as if he regrets his words, but he doesn't take it back.

You swallow nervously, unsure entirely of what to do with this new information. "Good to know," you say slowly, looking away before he can see how much that single sentence has affected you. 

As you do, you're suddenly desperate for an opportunity to change the topic. "How come this whole time I never knew you had a younger sister?"

"Well it's not exactly like you know much about my personal life," he scoffs - and you have to admit he's right.

"I mean, it's not like you're an open book or anything," you reply, "takes me ages just to figure out what you're thinking half the time with that blank expression. It's hard to believe you and Yeji are even related."

"Right because a guy my age should totally be acting like a middle school girl," he nods mockingly.

"You get what I'm saying," you sigh, going quiet for a minute as you think about what to say next. "She looks up to you a lot, you know," is what you land on, trying to balance your tone between sounding casual and earnest. 

You watch as he scoffs, and shakes off your comment with a slight shake of his head. "I'm serious," you say, "she talks about you like you're a superhero or something, even when she complains about you, it's obvious you mean a lot to her."

Even though his expression barely changes, you watch his fingers tighten slightly on the wheel - and the beat of silence before his response is enough to tell you that he's not used to hearing things like this. You find it interesting how even though you're practically complimenting him, he responds as if he's unsettled.

"Whatever, she's young and annoying," he finally mutters - though for the first time, there's no real malice to his tone, only something defensive.

"You're deflecting," you point out. This side of him, the one that's quiet and easily affected by your words, is one you've rarely gotten to see and if you're being completely honest, you're enjoying this far too much to let it go. "I think you like knowing she looks up to you." 

He huffs, clearly growing tired of your prying. "And I think you like hearing yourself talk."

You roll your eyes, but before you can shoot back with another remark, he beats you to it. "And whilst we're prying into my personal life, Yeji mentioned something interesting earlier."

You pause, suddenly wary. "Oh?"

He flicks his turn signal on, voice infuriatingly casual. "Apparently, you remind her of my ex." 

You feel your stomach lurch, followed quickly by a heat creeping up your face. "Excuse me?" is all you can manage to say.

His lips curl slightly, and it becomes clear that he only mentioned this to see your reaction. "Not in looks or anything," he clarifies, glancing briefly at you before focusing back on the road. "Personality-wise, she said you both have a way of getting under my skin."

You scoff, feeling an odd mix of feeling, irritation and something you don't really want to name. "Wow, should I be flattered or insulted?"

"That depends," he muses, "my ex was kinda terrible."

"Seriously?" you gape, shocked at how bold he's being in sharing this with you, "sounds like you're just butthurt from being dumped." 

He actually laughs - fully this time, not just the ghost of a chuckle he let out before. It's still short, and a little quiet, but for some reason it makes your chest tighten.

"Relax," he says, tone laced with amusement, "she wasn't all bad, but she did have this habit of always arguing with me, nitpicking things I did just for the sake of it."

You avoid his gaze, picking up on his signals just a little too quickly. "Sounds familiar," you mutter as you look out the car window at the rain.

You don't need to turn back to know his smirk depends, "Exactly."

The air has shifted completely now. The tension is still there, humming under the surface, but it's now covered by something else - something lighter, more playful, and charged in a way that makes you hyper-aware of how close the two of you are.

Then, just as you think the conversation is over, he speaks again - this time softer, almost absentmindedly.

"But I guess the difference is, I never really cared what she thought of me." 

It's such an offhand comment, something he's thrown out just to fill the silence. But something about it sticks to you, lingering in your mind as you nod, unsure of how to respond, and so you don't.

You spot the familiar sight of the dorms approach in the distance and even though you're compelled to feel relieved that this torturous car ride is drawing to an end - a tiny part of you can't help but feel a little disappointed that this seemingly rare opportunity is ending. Swiftly, he pulls up to the front entrance, parking smoothly and effortlessly.

As you move to undo your seatbelt, he stops you once again with his words. "Hey, I hope you're not going to stop tutoring Yeji, by the way," he's turned to face you now, but his eyes are avoiding yours. 

You furrow your brows, both at his words and his unusual expression. "Why would I?" you say slowly.

"Well, I mean, I just figured because of me and everything-" he begins to ramble, and it's the first time you've seen him stumble over his words like this.

"Relax, I hate you, not her, remember." You say it in the same teasing tone you've always used for him, but it seems to land heavier than you expected with how he turns back to face the steering wheel, his lips forming a thin line.

You linger for a moment, and something about the air between you feels different - like you're standing on the edge of something neither of you can name. Sunghoon's hand is still resting on the gear shift, his fingers drumming against the leather in a steady rhythm. 

"Right," he replies curtly, almost to himself and you can sense just a hint of disappointment in his tone.

You should leave it at that, you know you should. But something about the way he's gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly, or how his jaw is tensed ever so slightly, makes you want to press just a little further.

"Unless," you hum, tilting your head slightly, "you'd actually miss me if I stopped coming around?"

"Yeji would," he replies almost immediately - but you don't miss the way his shoulders go rigid for just a fraction of a second before he speaks.

"You didn't deny it," you smirk.

At this, he finally looks at you and there's something about the way he does it - something heavier than the usual irritation or exasperation you're used to. His gaze lingers, his expression unreadable and for a split second, you wonder if you've pushed too far. 

But then, he exhales, something softer flickering across his features before he quickly pulls them back into indifference. "Just get out of my car before I start charging you for emotional distress."

You roll your eyes, but do as he says, reaching for the door handle and pushing it open just as the rain continues to pour outside.

"See you next time, Park," you say, "and drive safe."

"Don't tell me what to do," he huffs, though there's a playful tone in his voice as he smirks at you.

You return his look, satisfied, and finally push the door shut - watching as he shifts into gear, headlights illuminating the street. You know you should get inside and out of the rain immediately but you can’t help but watch as he drives off, heart thrumming in your chest as you find the beaming smile on your face lingering. You shake your heard at yourself, almost as if to shake away your thoughts, before turning to head into the dorm. 

What you don’t see though, is the way Sunghoon glances in his rearview mirror one last time before turning away, just to catch a glimpse of you before you do. 

[trials-of-a-spirit-worker]

I'll let you in on something as an ex christian and a child of religious leaders:

Canon Jesus as I've heard him be called here (genius btw) is kinder, more accepting and would fight for a lot of shit so called "Christian" nationalists would hate.

These bastards screaming Leviticus at gay and trans people have forgotten in the same book they're supposed to fucking love your god-damned foreigners and treat them like natives (not how we treated our actual Native Americans). Actual Jesus would beat a majority of these so called Christians out of the churches dedicated to him. Also...divorce is not allowed. I'm looking at the multiple divorced awful people who don't think they're the problem but turn on young kids and/or minorities. I'm staring hard at a so-called president and the trust fund baby he works for.

Fucking rape culture would piss that little Messiah off so much. He told your creep asses to scoop out your own eye if you have dirty thoughts because of how someone looked. How dare you blame a person for being attractive. You can control yourself fine! You're just refusing to.

Jesus hung out with prostitutes and gay people! For fucks sake and yet the people wearing his symbol will call for the annihilation of 13 year old little Billy because he found out he likes boys and girls!

You don't think your god sees it all?! I know what I read before. I remember what I was taught before. Atheists and non Christian religions or just leftist people in general are more prone to kindness and acceptance because they just choose to be good.

Am I saying they're gods people? No. Am I saying they're more godly than those who preach the Bibles words in hatred.

Literature wise? YES.

I'm not going to go here and say your god hates you. Cause I can't make that fucking call. I'm in no place. But God damn you have twisted words of forgiveness and love into something horrible.

You can't blame Satan for this. You can't claim the devil made you like this. This is the culture of hatred. Of unwilling and disgusting people in power taking a religion and making it a fucking cesspool. You can only blame your fucking selves.

And to those Christians who see the truth, who do not vibe with all that awful shit done in your god's name, I can only empathize with you. Just keep being you. Be accepting. Be loving. Worship in your own way.

I did long ago when I believed and I had such beautiful friendships and was a safe haven for many. That is how you're supposed to be.

[goldfades]

idk if sb alr requested this but hayes being an absolute mamas boy

does not let his dada touch mama at all

here's one more for yall!

Maisie’s house was bustling—full of laughter, chatter, and the occasional sound of a football game playing in the background. Everyone was enjoying themselves, catching up, snacking on appetizers.

Everyone except Hayes.

Hayes was plastered to your side, tiny arms wrapped around your neck like a little koala. He had no interest in the conversation, in his cousins, in anything except keeping full body contact with you at all times.

And the second anyone tried to talk to you?

Oh, Hayes had a problem with that.

"Y/N, oh my god, you have to try this dip—" Maisie started, only to be immediately interrupted.

"No!" Hayes huffed, tucking his face into your shoulder like he was shielding you from her.

Maisie blinked. "Excuse me?"

You sighed, rubbing Hayes’ back. "Baby, Aunt Maisie’s just talking to Mommy."

Hayes lifted his head, giving Maisie a hard stare before turning back to you with wide, innocent eyes. "Mama."

Maisie snorted. "Oh, okay. I see how it is."

Joe was already grinning from his spot on the couch, shaking his head as he took in the scene.

Then Jamie walked in. "Hey, Y/N, can you pass me that—"

"NO!"

Jamie froze, looking between you and your tiny, overly possessive child.

"What the hell was that?" he asked, confused.

"Hayes," Joe called out from across the room, barely holding back his amusement. "You do know Mommy is allowed to talk to other people, right?"

Hayes frowned at him before turning back to you, his little hands gripping your shirt tighter like you were about to be ripped away from him.

"Ma-ma," he whined, clearly done with all these distractions.

You sighed, kissing the top of his head. "I’m not going anywhere, baby."

That seemed to satisfy him—until Dan’s wife, Lily, sat beside you and smiled.

"Y/N, have you seen that show on Netflix? I was just—"

"No!"

Joe burst out laughing as Hayes physically turned your face away from Lily’s direction, effectively cutting off the conversation.

Lily raised a brow. "Are you serious?"

Joe wiped at his eyes. "He’s so serious right now."

Maisie shook her head, grinning. "God, I hope this never ends. This is the best entertainment I’ve had in weeks."

But you were starting to get a little worried.

You tilted your head down at your son, who was nestled so firmly into you, it was like he was fused to your skin.

"Baby," you murmured gently. "Why don’t you go play with your cousins?"

Hayes shook his head violently, gripping you tighter. "No. Mama."

Joe, who had made his way over, crouched in front of you two. "Okay, buddy, I think it’s time to share."

Hayes glared at him.

Joe chuckled. "Okay, damn."

"You are in so much trouble," Maisie teased. "The minute she tries to leave for a girls' night? Disaster."

Lily nodded. "The first day of preschool? Catastrophe."

Jamie smirked. "Oh, and when he finds out you guys go on date nights without him?"

Joe winced. "Alright, enough."

But you were already imagining it, the meltdowns, the clinginess, the tantrums.

Still, as you rubbed slow circles into Hayes’ back, listening to his little content sighs, you couldn’t help but smile.

"Guess I’ve got another man in my life, huh?" you teased, glancing at Joe.

Joe groaned, shaking his head. "I don’t stand a chance."

And from the way Hayes smirked smugly into your neck, you knew Joe was right.

[clockwayswrites]

The Haunting of Danny Fenton, p5

masterpost please no crit or editing, I know there are mistakes. this migraine is on day 7 and killing me <3

Danny swiped his finger over one of the hanging crystals in the waiting room window of Marvelous Mina’s Spiritual Nexus: or, in other words, the old, tiny, craftsman building that was crammed between two mid rises that Wilhelmina Aleshire had inherited from her grandmother several years ago.

There wasn’t any sort of spiritual nexus in the place. Mina was actually completely inept at conversing with the dead (Danny excluded). What Mina was unusually skilled at lay in the realm of psychic readings, specifically those involving divination such as tarot and oracle cards. She was also quite good at reading living people.

(Danny might have been a little jealous of that.)

Danny had first stumbled upon Mina and her ‘nexus’ when they were both dealing with the same ghost: him from the spirit itself and her from the bereaved widower of the man. Working together had wrapped things up quite quickly. It had also actually been enjoyable.

Mina was weird, energetic, and curious. It was an overwhelming combination at times, but other times it was just perfect. It was especially welcome when Danny got into a slump of some sort, usually between jobs or partners or when he wanted to kill and then end an annoying new roommate.

Not that he would ever do that.

(But Brad came damn close.)

A crying woman came dashing out through the curtain that separated the foyer waiting room from the sitting room that Mina used for her readings. She wiped dramatically at her eyes as she got to the door, heaved a massive sigh, tossed her hair back, and headed back out into the world.

“Wow. What did you tell her?” Danny asked, not even turning to look at Mina yet, though he knew she would be standing at the open curtain on the edge between the two spaces where old, cracked black and white tiles met darkly stained hardwood painted with hena style flowers.

“Oh, you know, the usual thing people hate to hear; it won’t work out between her and her current boyfriend,” Mina said. She dropped into the seat next to Danny, and he finally turned to look at her. Her mass of dark blond hair was piled up on top of her head in a sort of gibson girl bun that looked effortlessly, messily stylish. Mina was good at that—being effortlessly stylish in a disheveled sort of way. She brushed back her bangs and continued. “He’s actually already being set to be engaged by his family to ‘someone proper’, which he’ll give into for the inheritance—which is all she was after anyways. She’ll get over it.”

“Something something fish in the sea,” Danny said. He reached out and plucked a petal from Mina’s hair. It was from a bright orange zinnia. Mina’s favorite.

Mina hummed. “And how is your fishing going, Mr. Fenton?”

“Currently in an absolute drought, no where to fish around here.”

“Danny, you live in San Francisco. A bi man such as yourself is not allowed to say there is no fish around.”

Danny scowled, “No fish that don’t want to eat me and spit me out.”

“I mean…”

“Not like that!” Danny explained, a quick blush rising on in his cheeks. “I meant like, viciously.”

“I mean…” Mina repeated with a lascivious smirk.

“I regret coming to you for help.”

“No,” Mina whined, drawing out the word. “What help? Do you have a new ghost problem? What sort of help do you need? Danny, let me help!”

Danny managed to glare at her, but only for a few moments before he relented with an over wrought sigh. “Fine, you can help. Can we go talk now or do you have another appointment?”

“Not until four,” she said. She took Danny’s hand and practically dragged him through the door to the right and into the private section of the once stately home. “Which tea do you want?”

“Dealer's choice. Whatever tea you think is best for a weird talk about a weird ghost,” Danny said. He had his favorites of Mina's diverse tea selection, sure, but she had a way of always choosing the best blend foe the day if he left the choice to her.

She narrowed her eyes as she studied Danny in a way that always made the back of his neck itch. He put up with it dutifully, but relaxed noticeably when she nodded and continued them on to the kitchen.

The room was painted a warm, coral orange. The color should have clashed with the the pale blue cabinets and pale butcher top counters, but instead it just worked. It was very Mina.

Danny sat at the table and idly scratched Hubris on the head.

Hubris was Mina’s ancient grey cat. He had one single golden eye left and used it to glare pitifully at whoever was near until the pet him. He also purred like a wood chipper.

“So give me the deets,” Mina demanded once she had set down the two cups of tea.

Danny sighed and took a sip of his tea. “They’re different. It’s not like they’re made of smoke or mist, it’s like they’re full of static. And they don’t look dead either. I actually—I finally got a got a good look at them this last episode.”

“I don’t like the way you say ‘episode’,” Mina said. Her eyes narrowed over the top of her tea cup.

“You shouldn't,” Danny said with a frown as pulled out the sketch and unfolded it. “They’re seizures, I think? Not like I’ve gone to a doctor about them. I don’t think ‘the ghost person touches me and the world goes technicolor kaleidoscope’ would go over well with a medical professional.”

Hubris opened his one eye with a snort as Mina’s cup clanged down onto her saucer.

“Seizures?! Danny! What the f! You can’t just mess around with seizures.”

“You can say fuck, Mina, we’re both adults,” Danny said dryly.

She leaned forward. “I will throw my tea at you, Danny, unless you explain.”

“But I can’t exactly. They’re not a regular ghost, and I’ve never had anything like this happen before. Mina, look. They look alive.” He turned the drawing around to face her and slid it her way. “I drew this after the episode yesterday. I saw them so clearly. Their eyes had a spark, their skin was healthy skin with a flush and everything, and I even think they breathed. I don’t… Mina, I’m worried that they’re not a ghost.”

Mina picked up the sketch carefully. Her brows were furrowed. “But if they’re not a ghost, why are they contacting you?”

Danny shook his head. “No, if they’re not a ghost, how are they contacting me. And why am I their only option?”

“Fuck.”

“Pretty much. But that’s why I’m here. I want to try things a different way. I want you to try and read for them, Mina.”

[beomcoups]

Stupid Cupid

➻❥ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You are madly in love with your best friend and it's eating you alive. One day you will tell him how you feel, but you have to deal with his girlfriend first.

➻❥ 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: best friend!hansol x reader

➻❥ 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 18+, roommates au, best friends to ?, angst, fluff, smut

➻❥ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: cursing, jealousy, fight is kind of intense, kissing, protected sex, nipple play?, fingering, oral (f. receiving), masturbation, missionary, multiple orgasms?

➻❥ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 9.1k

➻❥ 𝐀𝐍: This for the collab "Lonely Hearts Cafe", hosted by @camandemstudios. This story truly stressed me out and I couldn't have gotten through it without @yoongihan, @seokgyuu, @okiedokrie and & @haologram for looking at this for me. I don't do well with deadlines and the words just weren't coming to me naturally. It was eating me up and giving me headaches lol. I hope despite that, you all like this labor of love 😭

You are in love with Hansol. 

Hopelessly, stupidly, trip over your feet when he’s around, butterflies in your stomach kind of love. He’s everything you could want in a guy and your best friend, someone you can just chill with no expectations. You both love Star Wars, attend anime cons together, and are allergic to peanuts. You share a home with him and it feels like home in your heart when he’s near. You’re in love with Hansol. There is only one problem: he has an on-and-off girlfriend. 

A girlfriend you particularly hate. 

Kelsey is always around, taking up your space, and it’s aggravating. You wish you could say that it’s not serious, but to your chagrin, they have been on and off for a couple of years. It’s bad enough that you can’t tell Hansol how you feel, but then you have his girlfriend, a huge social media influencer, always at your condo every time you’re there. You would think she would like to take her “influence " elsewhere. It’s exacerbating. 

“Hey there girl,” Kelsey calls out as you walk to the kitchen. She is sprawled out with her laptop on your living room floor rug, wearing a cut-off shirt, the tiniest shorts you have ever seen, and knee-high socks. Where does she live again?

“What’s up?” you respond, barely hiding the irritation in your voice. 

“Oof, you’re definitely not a morning person,” she scoffs. “Do you think you can stay out tonight? Vernon has this Hollywood thing he has to attend to tonight, and he is stressed about it. So I want to help him relax if you know what I mean.” 

You raise your eyebrows at her referring to him as Vernon, which he only tells his coworkers to call him. Hansol is a cinematographer, and a damned good one. He works for a major film studio and is invited to parties all the time. He only goes for the free food and booze, he says, because those people don’t care about anything but themselves and their pockets, let alone pronouncing his first name correctly.

Kelsey is not a coworker; she is, unfortunately, his girlfriend. Why doesn’t she call him by his preferred name?

“What does you wanting to help Hansol relax have to do with me being here?” you ask, making yourself a cup of coffee. 

“Well.” She clicks her tongue. “It’ll be pretty awkward for me to be blowing his brains out while you’re here, ya know?”

You bite your lip to keep yourself from saying what is on your mind, instead focusing on making your elaborate coffee with whipped cream and caramel syrup on top. This girl really has some nerve. 

“Kelsey,” you let out a small sigh. “I’m not leaving my house because you want to fuck. Do whatever you please.” You slam the whipped cream can on the container. “It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.” 

Irritated, you walk past her and speed into the hallway, almost running into Hansol, who is leaving his bedroom. Wearing a red shirt and pajama pants, he has bedroom hair and a hint of sleep in his eyes. He looks adorable. 

“Where are you running off to?” His voice is deep and groggy. 

“I am running away from that peach of a girlfriend you have in there.” You roll your eyes. “Plus, I have to get ready for work.” 

“Oh no, what did she do now?” 

“Nothing, aside from asking me to stay out of the condo that I pay for tonight so she can fuck you as loud as she wants,” you say bluntly. 

Hansol’s eyes widen in shock, the little sleepiness he had evaporated. “She didn’t say that?” 

“She just about said that,” you sigh, leaning on the wall. “Look, I have to get ready for my day, but we have to have a conversation later. Not tonight, because I know that party is happening. But at some point, we do.” 

“Okay,” he says, looking at the floor. “I’m sorry.” 

“No need to be sorry,” you sigh again, deeply this time. “Let’s just chat soon, okay?”

You step into your room and shut the door, your heart beating out of your chest. That was not a conversation you want to have early in the morning, and Kelsey being around more and more makes you erratic. Eventually, a conversation will have to be had about how much time she is spending here and everything. But right now, you will sip your elaborate coffee and try to get through the day. 

You met Hansol on the first day of college. You needed help finding your classes and ironically you shared some classes required for your majors. You wanted to be a film director and figured a film studies degree would get you there. Hansol loved being behind the camera, recording the magic in front of him. You shared the same study group and met your other best friends, Minghao and Wonwoo. Minghao has a good eye for design and wanted to work on set designs and costumes while Wonwoo is equally obsessed with cameras, often geeking out with Hansol about the different models they wanted to collect one day. You even lived together at one point, your friendship group known as the “core four”, until one by one, everyone moved out and it was just you and him. 

You didn’t fall in love with him right away. It was a slow, simmering thing that snuck in and robbed your heart and mind before you realized it. You were together all the time and enjoyed the same things. You’ve seen each other at your worst, depended on each other, and celebrated your successes together. Hansol was your go-to for everything, and you didn’t realize until he started dating Kelsey that you were in love. But how can you tell him that?

“Okay, what’s wrong?”

Minghao sits next to you during your lunch break the same day, bringing you meat and stir fry that he brought from home. His girlfriend, Mei, who is an excellent cook and very sweet, sent you a text this morning that she was bringing some with him to the studio today. You worked for a major studio as an SFX artist, falling in love with prosthetics and makeup in one of your courses and deciding to pursue that instead. You still have your bachelors in film studies and your love for film hasn’t changed; you just went on a different path. You’re happier for it. 

“Thank you for the food,” you breathe, purposely dodging his question. 

“You’re welcome,” he replied, handing you Tupperware of colorful stir fry. “What’s wrong?”

“What makes you think anything is wrong with me?” 

Minghao raises an eyebrow with a familial side-eye as he distributes utensils, the kind of look parents give you when they know you’re telling a lie. He knows you so well, and he has always been good at reading people. You can talk to him about anything, and he is going to give you the hard truth, even if you don’t want to hear it. After a moment, you tell him what happened this morning and he is silent, taking it all in.

“She is really getting on my nerves,” you huff, accidentally slamming your plastic fork on the table. Your colleagues around you look in your direction nervously, and you are mortified, wishing you could wiggle your nose and disappear like the genie on the old TV show. 

“Are you sure it’s because of her, or is it because of him?” Minghao asks casually, taking a sip of his tea. 

“W-what do you mean?” you play aloof, not wanting to open another can of worms. “This has nothing to do with Hansol, though I wish he would tell her to not come over to our place all the time. I don’t get what he even sees in her.” 

“Sure,” he says with a smirk, barely containing his amusement. “I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that you are in love with him.”

“Ugh,” you groan, sliding further in your seat. “I wish I never told you that.” 

“You didn’t have to.” His smile widening into a teasing grin. “Even the blind could see your bleeding heart for him.”

“Yeah, apparently everyone can but him,” you mutter, taking a stab at your food. 

Minghao chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Well don’t take your frustration out on the food. Mei put a lot of love into that.” 

You mumble “sorry”, feeling guilty and eating your food in silence. If it were another day and you were in a better mood, you would savor it more. But all you want is for the work day to end, so you can curl in your bed and figure out how to navigate this unrequited love. 

“What if I told him how I felt?” 

You look up slowly at your friend, gauging his reaction. He already has the look of disapproval, and your stomach is in knots. 

“Yeah, that’s a terrible idea,” he says firmly. “Do you really want to start drama in the middle of the busiest season for us? Not to mention Kelsey will blast this all over social media.”

“I’m not scared of her,” you shoot back defiantly, crossing your arms. 

Minghao chuckles again, but it is lighter and paired with concern in his eyes. “Just think it through okay? Things are already complicated, and I don’t want to see you hurt.” 

He places a supportive hand on your shoulder as he packs up what’s left of his lunch and goes back to work. You sigh, knowing that he’s right, but it still doesn’t make it easier to hear. 

You planned to sleep through whatever escapade Kelsey had in mind with Hansol. You had your nightly tea with cinnamon horchata and set your phone to play ambient/vaporwave music to drown out whatever noise they might bring. They aren’t exactly the quietest people when they are in the mood, and you have been dreading it since this morning. 

A lot of times you have wondered what it would be like to experience him for the first time. You’ve heard enough of them to have an idea of what he is like, but it’s different from actually feeling him inside you, with his hands caressing your body. You want to feel his lips on yours and your skin against his. Is it possible to crave something that you’ve never had? You are tired of hearing the headboard banging against the wall and the moans that follow soon after. You are irritated with it all— You wish it were you instead. 

You heard the security system beep when the front door opened, and you lay in bed, waiting for the inevitable shuffling of feet and sloppy kisses that would follow after. Your stomach turns at the thought of her hands all over him, whispering sweet things in his ear that have no meaning. Silence ensues, leaving you confused, and your nosiness gets the best of you. Slowly getting out of bed, you slip into your house shoes, exiting your room quietly as you brace yourself for the grand display of affection you were used to seeing. Instead, you find Hansol on the couch, taking a hit of his vape, tiredness etching around his eyes. 

“How was the party?” You probe, taking a seat next to him and crossing your legs. “You look partied out.” 

“It was alright,” he mumbles, taking another hit of his vape. 

“Alright?” You quirk an eyebrow. “You have been talking about this party all month and it was just alright?”

You noticed his disposition and you don’t want to pry, but his nonchalant attitude is eating at you. Hansol can be hard to read sometimes, but you know him. He’s quiet with everyone else but not with you—he tells you everything. 

“Tell me what’s happened.” 

Hansol reluctantly answers, sighing heavily as he takes one more vape hit before setting it on the armrest. You move closer to him, giving him a reassuring smile. 

“Kelsey and I broke up again,” he said, the heaviness of his words linger in the air. The sadness in his voice is clear, and it hurts you to see him upset. “She wanted to bring a friend to the party and you can’t exactly do that. So when I told her no, she got all pissed at me, we argued and she broke up with me.” 

You bite your lip, trying to find the right words. “I’m really sorry, Hansol. Despite how I feel about her, I know you really love her, and being broken up with sucks.” 

He looks at you, his brown eyes reflecting a mix of tiredness and frustration. “She said it was more than just not letting her bring her friend to the party. She says I never consider her feelings and that’s not true. It just feels like we’re always going in circles. One minute, we’re good; the next, it’s like… it never even mattered.”

“Yeah, that can be exhausting,” you pause, wanting to say more but unsure how to articulate the feelings that bubble beneath the surface. This is not their first break up, but it affects him all the same. Seeing Hansol be madly in love with someone who keeps taking advantage of him burns you to your core. He doesn’t deserve that. He deserves someone who will take care of him with love and respect. Someone who values his ideas and cares about him as a person. You would give him the world if you could. 

“I hope I am not overstepping,” you say cautiously. “But this isn’t your first rodeo. Why do you keep going back?” 

His silence is deafening, and he has an uncomfortable expression on his face as he tries to find the right words to say. “Look, Kelsey can be a lot and full of herself, but she cares in her own way. When it’s just us, she is so attentive, funny, and warm—sort of. She has her moments,” he sighs again. “She makes me feel good in a way no one else has. I love her.”

Hearing him declare his love for her leaves you with a bitter taste in your mouth. It’s bad enough that you didn’t realize you were in love with him until after he started seeing her, and now after hearing this, you can never tell him how you feel. It’ll fuck up everything, despite it gnawing at you inside. 

“For what it’s worth, I hope that you two will be able to talk it out and figure out what you want to do.” You tell a strong lie, but you don’t want to hear more about his love for her. You can’t take it. “Do you want to chill for a bit? We can watch Revenge Of The Sith if you want.” 

He cracks a small smile, and for a moment, the weight in his eyes lightens. “Yeah, let’s just chill for a bit. That sounds cool.”

“Cool,” you reply, scrambling from the couch. “I’ll make some popcorn.” 

Tears threaten to break free as you beeline it to the kitchen, your heartache paining worse than before. “She makes me feel good in a way no one else has… I love her.” You keep replaying it in your head over and over. You almost wish you never left your room, and went to sleep like you planned. At least you would still have a bit of hope, instead of a cracked heart. 

A few weeks pass, and as the season change, so does the light in Hansol’s eyes. He is getting back to his normal self and is laughing again. As happy as you are for him, it feels like your heart is being pierced by shards of glass. It was foolish of you to think you could ever be with him, and Minghao was right: it will just complicate everything.  

You know he isn’t completely over Kelsey, and it’s going to take more than a few weeks to get over someone you love deeply. You used to have daydreams of cuddling with Hansol on the couch, watching horror movies, and being madly in love… you have to put it to bed, for good. You start distancing yourself, little by little. Whether it’s staying late at work or finding different excuses to be out of the house, it doesn’t matter. You’re still there for him as a friend, but you want to be free from this unrequited love. It was fucking with you. 

So here you are, at a bar, sitting with your date Seungcheol, who you met on a dating app. You just wanted a quick fix for your heartache, and they say the best way to get over someone is to get under another, right? He’s the one to fulfill that. 

Within an hour of talking to him, you learned he was the typical tech bro who went to an Ivy League school, liked to mansplain everything, and thought he was God’s gift to women. Whatever. It’s not like you planned on seeing him again after tonight. 

“You look real nice in that outfit,” he says, practically drooling over your little black dress and heels. 

“Do I?” You flirtatiously quirk an eyebrow. 

“Yeah.” Seungcheol nods, taking a sip of his gin. “I can’t wait to see what you look like underneath.”

It takes every fiber in your being to roll your eyes and walk out of there. Guys like Seungcheol annoy you, and you deal with them in small doses and go about your business. But he is a means to an end, and you will bat your eyes and tell him what he wants to hear to get what you want. You will deal with the consequences in the morning. 

You gaze at the clock displayed on the wall and it’s a quarter till eleven. Tired of hearing him talk, you lean in and whisper in his ear, your lips barely touching him. “Do you want to get out of here then? You said your place isn’t that far, right?”

His eyes are lit with desire, and you excuse yourself to the bathroom while he settles the bill. Stepping into the dimly lit bathroom, you take a good look in the mirror, adjust your dress, and apply the last bit of cherry red lipstick. The soft glow of the overhead light illuminates the traces of perfectly good makeup that you only bring out for special occasions. 

“Is this really what you want?”

Your words echo against the walls, your question answered by silence. With a deep breath, you straighten your posture, taking one last look before exiting the bathroom. Of course, this is what you want— you wouldn’t have gone this far if you didn’t. Seungcheol waits for you at the bar, biting his plump bottom lip as he scrolls through his phone. Seungcheol is as hot as they come, and it certainly makes this decision a bit easier. 

“Are you ready to go?”

He looks up as you close in on him, linking your arm through his. “Of course, I’m going to pull the car around front.”

You watch him walk away, twiddling your fingers as you wait in suspense. The bar smells of wood and stale beer, the heat pushed on blast to counter the cold outside. You slip on your coat, walking towards the front door when you hear laughter, a familiar one that brings butterflies to your stomach. Turning to your left, you see Hansol, walking into the same bar you’re leaving, with Wonwoo and a girl you don’t know. He was always a simple guy, wearing jeans and his favorite “Revenge Of The Nerds” hoodie with a goofy grin on his face. It’s your favorite thing to see.

All the feelings you keep trying to push aside rise in you at once, and when your eyes lock with this, you feel warm. Getting over him will not be easy. 

“Hey! What are you doing here?” Hansol says curiously. 

“She probably has a hot date,” Wonwoo teases and nudges your shoulder. 

“Well actually… I do.” 

Wonwoo’s mouth spreads into a wide grin, happy to be right. His girl companion tugs onto his coat, mumbling that she is freezing. She’s a short thing with jet-black hair and wears a nice shirt and a skirt that shows off her legs. Wonwoo isn’t the serial dater type, so it is a high possibility he’s on the same mission you were: fuck and move on. 

“Really?” Hansol’s voice peaks an octave higher than normal. “Who’s the guy?”

“O-oh, um, you don’t know him,” you stumble through your words. “He’s just someone I met. We are heading to his place actually.” 

“W-what?” Hansol looks surprised, his expression etched with concern. “Are you sure it's a good idea?”

“I’ll be fine,” you say, looking down at your heels. “I’ll send you my location when I’m there, okay?”

In the nick of time, Seungcheol pulls up in his Mercedes, opening the car door from his seat to let you in. 

“There he is,” you announce, walking towards the luxury car. “I’ll text you later, yeah?”

Hansol stares intently at Seungcheol before looking at you, his eyes softening as you get into the passenger seat. You wave as he pulls off, the bar becoming out of view as you drive through downtown. Your nerves are shot, and you feel rattled. Of all the places to be, you had to see him at the bar? The universe has a sense of humor. 

“Who were those people back there?” Suengcheol’s deep voice breaks through your thoughts. “The one with the hoodie looked like he was going to pound me.” 

“Oh they are my best friends from college,” you say casually. “Well, I don't know the girl but yeah. Besides, Hansol, the one with the hoodie, he wouldn’t hurt a fly.” 

You can confidently say out of all the years you have known him, Hansol, you have never seen him get aggressive with anyone. The most emotion you see from him is when he talks about cameras, film, or his love for Kel—. 

“I don’t have anything to worry about, do I?”

Shaking your head and changing the mood, you strategically place your hand on his thigh, smiling mischievously. “Now are we going to talk about my friends all night, or do you want to do something more exciting?”

To say Hansol is bothered is an understatement. 

You didn’t come home last night and even though he knew where you were, it still gnaws at him. It was unlike you. You always came home. It’s irking him. You are always there. 

Hansol noticed that you hadn���t been around as much, and he assumed it had something to do with work, which he understood since you both work in the same industry. But seeing you with that guy with the fancy Benz, dressed in clothes you rarely wear and your hair different from your usual look—it was all he could think about. You looked beautiful last night, and he wasn’t sure why he didn’t see it before. What maddened him the most was that he couldn’t figure out why. He just knew that you were not there, and it didn’t feel right. 

Hansol slowly got out of his bed and checked the time on his phone, 9:37 am in bold letters on his lock screen. His head raged from the hangover he caught from last night’s drinking. He is a lightweight and he knows he drank more than he should, but he was still dealing with the aftermath of the breakup with Kelsey. It’s been a few weeks and though he was feeling better, he still cared about her. He just wanted to not think or feel for a few hours. Now his thoughts are plagued by you. 

He sauntered out of his room, the sunlight hit him like a wall, momentarily blinding him. He reached for a bottle of water, hoping to ease the throbbing in his head. A few moments later, Wonwoo opened the spare room, yawning and adjusting his glasses. Hansol was too drunk to drive, and Wonwoo was sober enough to take him home. The date that he brought last night, who he learned was named Jules, sheepishly appeared behind him, adjusting her dress as she took her walk of shame. Hansol heard murmuring but couldn’t make out what they were saying, but shortly after the door shut with a click, with Wonwoo leaning against it, an amusing grin on his face. 

“Is that your next victim?” Hansol teased. 

“Eh, maybe,” he shrugged. “She is more tolerable than the others.” 

“Uh-huh,” he surmised, drinking the last bits of his water. “We’ll see how long this one lasts.” 

Wonwoo is a notorious dater if you want to call it that. He has always had the philosophy that being tied down isn’t for him and he would rather run through the mill than be with someone he always likes. He is a fine art photographer who travels quite a bit, and he is always bragging about how it wouldn’t make sense for him to be in a relationship. He blows where the wind goes, and Hansol has always respected that he stayed true to himself. 

Wonwoo chuckled as he grabbed the water next to Hansol, clutching it as he drank it empty. He looked at your closed room door, his eyebrows raised curiously. 

“She isn’t here?” Wonwoo probed, pointing at your door. 

“No,” Hansol mumbled, followed by a slight ping in his chest. “She might still be out.” 

“Uh, huh,” Wonwoo concluded, eyeing him oddly. “Sounds like she had a good night.” 

“Yeah, I bet,” Hansol said bitterly, his fingers rubbing his right temple. “It’s not like her to stay overnight at some douche’s house. Something is up.” 

“A douche, huh?” Wonwoo curved into a sly grin. “How do you know the guy is a douche? He could be a cool guy.” 

“Come on, he drives an S-class Mercedes and wears an Apple watch. I’m willing to bet he’s some tech bro.”

“And?” Wonwoo challenged. “That doesn’t make him a bad guy. If I don’t know any better I would say you are jealous.” 

Hansol rolled his eyes at his accusation, though the thought of you canoodling with the tech bro made him feel a certain way. “I’m not jealous. I am just… concerned, that’s all.” 

“Yeah, let’s call it that.” 

The alarm beeped from the front door and you walked in slowly, looking as put together as you did last night. Hansol paled as if he was caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to, and Wonwoo looked amused, folding his arms as he leaned against the counter. 

“Oh hey, party girl,” Wonwoo greeted you. “We were just talking about you.”

“Were you now?” You said with raised eyebrows, slowly taking off your heels. 

“Y-yeah, we were wondering if you made it home,” Hansol said nervously. “Well, you’re here now so.”

“Did you have a good time?” Wonwoo probed you further. “Will you see him again?

You look down at the floor, your face heating up from embarrassment. They typically don’t ask about your dating life, so why does it matter now?

“Maybe,” you murmured, biting your lip. “I’m going to go shower and get out of these clothes.” 

Hansol watched you as you walked into your room, shutting the door behind you quietly. He is relieved that you made it home safe, but he still feels conflicted about how he feels. Is he in fact, jealous?

“I’m going to go home and get some sleep,” Wonwoo announced, clapping a hand on Hansol’s shoulder. 

He let himself out and Hansol went back to his room, collapsing on his bed. Stirred emotions and thoughts rumbled through his head, and he closed his eyes, determined to think things through with a clearer head. 

His phone buzzed on his nightstand, and he sluggishly grabbed it, groaning at his notifications. A new message from Kelsey flashed as he swiped up on his screen. “I miss you.”

It’s been over a week since you saw Hansol, and you would be a liar to say that you were fine. You miss him. 

Your night with Seungcheol was fun, and he was a good fuck, but your mind kept drifting back to Hansol… imagining it was him. Seungcheol was nice enough to let you sleep in if you wanted and made sure you were good before you left, but you know it’s not going to go anywhere. Deep down he knows that too. 

God, you are a mess. 

You decided to keep busy with work and find things outside of your condo that made you happy, and that’s what led you here tonight, at the local movie theater. Around this time every year, they play five showings for free as a thank-you for the community supporting the theater for the past ten years. Princess Mononoke is the movie of the night, and you are standing in line, waiting to buy your ticket. It’s one of your favorite comfort movies in the world, and you never miss a chance to watch it, especially when you are feeling down. 

The weather is cooler than what was forecasted, and the slight breeze makes you tug on your coat tightly. You and Hansol did this every year together—and it feels weird alone. Unnatural even. You remember having long discussions about the movies you saw and what made them great. You love seeing the twinkle in his eye when he talks about the type of camera lens that was used and what it took to get certain shots. In return, he would listen to you vividly as you rambled about the time and craft it took to create special effects or a certain mask. Those times made you feel connected with him in a way no one could understand, and it's one of the main reasons why you fell in love with him. 

You purchase your ticket and walk inside the old building, the smell of buttery popcorn attacking your senses as soon as you open the door. The interior has been the same since you have been coming here, with high lights in the ceilings, vintage movie posters, and the same plush crimson carpet that matches the drapes on the windows. It has character and it feels cozy, like you are a kid again. 

You give the attendant your ticket and he rips the lower stub, pointing you in the direction of which theater room you need to go to. Your stomach rumbled with a slight ache, reminding you that you have not eaten since this morning. You were never really the breakfast type, as you normally just wake up and go about your day. You have a million things on your mind, and just for a little while, you want to shut it off. Princess Mononoke usually does that. 

Your phone buzzes slightly in your jacket and you look at Hansol’s name on the screen, hesitant to answer. It wouldn’t hurt to hear his voice for a little bit, right?

“Hey, you,” you say, biting your lip. 

“Hey, turn around,” he replies, his voice sounding louder than it should. 

Turning around slowly, you watch him walk through the doors, the sunlight trailing behind him like a halo. He sports an old college hoodie, faded jeans, and a smile, and in this moment, he almost takes your breath away. 

“I would ask what you are doing here, but I know better than that,” you joke lightheartedly. 

“Yeah, you know I’ll never miss this,” Vernon says, looking around at the theater. “Man, this place still looks the same.” 

“I know,” you agree, fidgeting with the ticket in your hand. “How did you know I was here?” 

“Because I know you,” he shrug. “I tried calling you to see if you wanted to come tonight, but you never picked up. So I came here.” 

“You called?” You give him a puzzled look. “I don’t remember you ca—”

You scroll through your notifications, seeing the three missed calls from him throughout the day. Even texted you but you didn’t see it. You had your phone on do not disturb mode, and you didn’t think to check any of your messages. Maybe you are just being childish. 

“See,” he nudges your shoulder playfully. “I told you.” 

“Yeah, yeah” you roll your eyes teasingly. “Are you watching Mononoke too?”

“You know it,” he nods. “I’ll grab the popcorn and nachos. Go find us a seat?”

You watch him make his way to the concession stand, butterflies swirling in your stomach as the familiar feeling of home swells in your chest. You head to the third room on the right, snagging seats in the middle row that give you a perfect viewing of the movie. The lights dim as you sit down, with the old previews from 1997 playing on the screen giving you a major flashback to the past. In this moment you feel good and content, despite wanting to come here alone and avoid Hansol at all costs. You wouldn’t call yourself a fickle person, but you are glad your plans did change. Being around him feels just right. 

The movie starts a few minutes later, and Hansol appears right as it starts, searching the rows until he finds you. His face softens and his lips curve into a smile, taking a seat next you and handing you a popcorn and a cherry coke. 

“I haven’t missed anything, have I?”

You shake your head softly, avoiding his gaze and the pitter-patter he gives your heart. 

“No, you made it just in time.”

Hansol had a good time with you. 

It felt comfortable and familiar to be with you while he watched one of his favorite movies. He didn’t actually know that you were going to be there; he just took a chance and hoped you would be there, and like fate, you were standing in the middle of the theater. There was no awkwardness, he didn’t feel like he was walking on eggshells every time he had something on his mind. You just got him, and it felt like a breath of fresh air. 

It’s been a couple of weeks since then, and you have been hanging at the house more. Before he was lucky to catch you in the mornings when you left for work or you would come home late at night when he was already asleep. Even though things were getting back to normal, his thoughts of you continued to grow, and even though he wasn't sure of a lot of things, he knew one thing: he had missed you. 

“Earth to Vernon, hello?”

Hansol snapped out of his thoughts, refocusing on Kelsey as he sat across from her at her house. She asked him to come over and talk, and after thinking it over, he agreed, setting up a time to talk when she came back in town. Kelsey looked beautiful, sporting a white halter top and blue jean shorts, her skin sun-kissed from the vacation she took to the Cayman Islands. Her raven-black hair fell past her shoulders, swaying slightly as she talked about her trip. 

“Where is your head at today?” Kelsey pouted, her eyebrows furrowed in frustration. “I feel like you aren’t listening to me.”

Hansol shook his head, shaking you out of his mind. “I’m listening. All I do is listen.” 

“No, you don’t,” Kelsey retorted. “You didn’t listen to me about the party or kick that girl out of your condo—”

“I already told you, that’s not happening,” Vernon pushed back. “ And that girl has a name. Why would I kick her out? It makes no sense.” 

“You know why Vernon.” 

“No, I don’t. You’re being unreasonable.” 

Kelsey rolled her eyes and threw her hands up in the air. “We have been together almost three years and you haven’t asked me to move in. I asked you plenty of times to think about our future and to limit your time with her. You refuse to do it. Why is that?”

“Whoa, that’s bullshit!” Hansol’s anger rose through his chest. “You have never said “let’s move in together” or anything like that. If anything, all you have talked about lately is getting you into industry parties to build your brand. Also, I did start spending less time with her. What are you on about?”

“Because I am supposed to be your best friend!” Kelsey shouted. “You don’t even do the same things with me that you do with her. I bet she leaps with joy every time we have a break.” 

“She’s not like that,” Hansol said defensively. “She’s always been there for me and encouraged me to work it out with you. To your other point, every time I ask you to do something with me, something I want to do for once, you say it’s childish and that I need to grow up” 

“Because Vernon, who the hell still watches Star Wars?” Kelsey scoffs. “You are not a nine-year-old boy. You’re a grown man. Fucking act like it.” 

Hansol sighed, feeling drained and defeated. Star Wars meant a lot to him, as it was the main inspiration for why he wanted to get into cinematography and study film. It’s how he bonded with his dad. She knew that and still decided to insult him about it every chance she got. He wasn’t sure what the future looked like before he arrived, but the tension he felt in his chest and the ache in his heart made things a lot more clear. He still cared about Kelsey, more than he should, but it’s time to move on

“This… isn’t going to work,” Hansol rubbed his temple. “The fact that you still call me Vernon, knowing how formal it makes me feel, says a lot. I don’t know what happened to the girl I fell in love with, but clearly she’s gone. We’re done.” 

“Yeah, right,” Kelsey said incredulously. “You aren’t leaving me—”

“Yes, I am.” Hansol resolved. “This relationship has been one-sided for a while now. I’m sick of this.” 

Hansol got up from the table and handed her his copy of her apartment key. Kelsey looked bewildered, realizing that he was serious, and he wasn’t coming back this time. 

“So that’s it? You are just going to throw this all away? For her? She’s in love with you and you don’t even see it. All the times you have let her disrespect me and put up with her crap. I bet this was her idea.”

“You weren’t exactly nice to her either,” Hansol retorted, his heart beating out his chest. “She has been there for me when you weren’t. She cares about what I’m interested in. We like the same things. I don’t have to wonder if she cares about me and my family loves her. She’s smart, kind, beautiful and I love he—”

He stopped himself before he completed his sentence, shook at what was about to come out of his mouth. He was still grappling with his feelings for you and what that meant, and he still couldn’t put any words to what it all meant… until now.

“It’s not just about her,” Hansol said. “It’s everything with us, and the fact that you still don’t get it, tells me everything I need to know. Take care, Kelsey.”

He left the apartment before she started her next tirade, with a storm brewing in the night sky. He hated the way she talked about you like you were insignificant. You didn’t deserve the vitriol Kelsey spat every time you came up in conversation. You weren’t the warmest person, but you always made him feel seen and were there for him no matter what. You got his humor and his late-night thoughts about the latest webtoon he just read. His thoughts of you biting your lip when you’re nervous or the quirky thing you do with your eyebrow when you tell a story; he loved it all. It took for this to happen to see what he had in front of him all this time. He missed you when you aren’t around and it drove him crazy to see you on a date with that tech bro. 

Realization hit him like a punch in the gut as he turned the ignition: he’s been in love with you this whole time. Now how the hell does he tell you that?

The harsh sound of thunder makes the hairs on your neck stand up, dropping your iPad on your lap. It’s suddenly dark in your room, light from the partly cloudy day gone and replaced by storm clouds and flashing lightning. Your condo sits on the 10th floor, and the sound is much more elevated, sending chills down your spine. You hate being alone when it storms. 

You heard Hansol leave earlier and you wanted to clear your head, and so you decided to work on some sketches for a project that is happening at work. You are creating a few masks for an upcoming horror movie, and you are throwing out a few ideas that may interest the producers. The only problem is that you never got around to actually work; instead you were drawing doodles around you and Hansol’s name like a teenager. 

Every attempt you have made to distance yourself from him has become futile, and you decide to just accept the situation for what it was. Maybe one day you will work up the courage to tell him how you feel, but not being around him is agonizing, and you would rather have your best friend back than not have him at all. You can’t help the way he makes you feel, and until something changes, you’re okay with where things are… for now. 

Another crackling sound of thunder makes you yelp, knocking your iPad on the floor and cracking the corner of the screen. 

“Shit,” you mumble, looking at the damage. 

Your nerves are shot, and you decide to make some tea to calm yourself while the storm rages outside. You place your iPad safely on the bed and slip out of your room, heading to the kitchen as the wind picks up and hurls rain against the windows. It amazes you how the day can go from sunny and hopeful to dark and tragic within a few minutes. Mother nature must be on one today, you think to yourself. 

The alarm door beeps and Hansol walks in, completely unscathed by the storm. He slides off his black beanie that covers his short brown hair and lets out a sigh of relief as he locks the door behind him. His eyes met yours, and a small smile spread across your face. 

“You made it just in time,” you say, pouring water into your teapot. “It’s about to get ugly out there.” 

“Yeah.” he nods, his gaze fixed on the darkened windows. 

You could tell something is bothering him, as you watch him take off his shoes and put up his jacket, but you don’t know what to say. Things have been so good between you two, yet the last time he opened up, he shared something you weren’t ready to hear. Despite everything, your concern for him remains strong, and you can’t help but ask, “Are you okay?”

“I think so,” Hansol replies, lost in thought. “Kelsey and I are done for good.” 

“Oh?” you exclaim. “What’s changed?”

Vernon sits on the couch and you follow him, sitting cross-legged and across from him as he shares his feelings. “I went over there to talk to her, and I just realized that she just used me. She didn’t care about me or what I liked. It was always about her and what he wanted… plus she said some ridiculous things about you.”

“Did she now?” You quirk an eyebrow in curiosity. “What did she have to say about me?”

You aren’t surprised that she probably said some rude things about you. It’s not like you were her biggest fan either and you didn’t hide it. Kelsey wouldn’t ever say it to your face though, and that always made you chuckle. 

“She said you were in love with me and that you were happy every time we broke up.” 

The words don’t register right away. You can’t have heard him say what you think he said. “She said what now?”

“She said that you were in love with me,” his words tumbling out like a confession.

Your heart starts racing, the feelings of disbelief and anger stirring in your chest. That wasn’t her secret to share. “I.. can’t believe she said that.” 

“Neither can I,” Hansol sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “It’s not like you have feelings for me, and wouldn’t tell me… right?”

Your breath catches, a deep ache forming in the pit of your stomach. This is something you longed for and dreaded for a long time. You could deny it and keep things the way they are, or finally tell him how you feel and change your dynamic forever. 

“Hansol, I—”

“Are you in love with me?” He interrupts, his gaze intense. “I need to know if this is real.”

“What do you mean? And why does it matter?” You say bitterly. “ You are in love with Kelsey and will just go back to her. You always do.” 

“What if I don’t?” 

Your heart is pounding, and you take a deep breath, trying to make sense of everything. “What do you mean if you don’t?”

“I told you, I am done with her,” Hansol reiterates. “These past few weeks without her opened my eyes to a lot of things, and while I have been thinking about her less, you’ve been on my mind more.”

“What are you saying, Hansol?”

“I don’t want to be with her. I want to be with you.”

The air is thick with uncertainty as his words echo in your head. You should be happy, relieved even that he wants to be with you. But in the midst of that, you are scared. What if it doesn’t work? What if he regrets all of this in the morning and decides to take it all back? You couldn’t handle that. 

“I… Kelsey wasn’t far off,” you admit, biting your lip. “I wasn’t necessarily happy when you were sad about her, but I have always felt like you deserved better.” You pause to gather your thoughts. “I am in love with you, Hansol.  I tried to put my feelings away and move on, date, or whatever. But every time I’m near you, it just hurts.”

Hansol pulls you into a warm hug, and you fully embrace his scent and the comfort you feel. You’ve imagined times like this when he would hold you in his arms and caress your face. You craved it even, wishing you could hear his heartbeat and feel him in ways you haven’t. But this feels too good to be true, and in the back of your mind, you wonder if this is real, or another dream. 

“Are you sure you want to be with me?” you speak up. “You just broke up with her and I don’t want to be some rebound you’ll regret later—”

He kisses you. His soft lips press against yours earnestly, and you melt against him, losing the remaining inhibition you had in you. He leans you back against the couch; his kisses becoming deeper, igniting a fire in you that you thought would stay dormant forever. 

“Does that feel like I’m unsure about what I want?” He breathes heavily. 

“I don’t know,” a smile creeps on your lips, a mix of joy and relief flooding through your veins. “I think I might need another one just to be sure.”

He kisses you again and you return his vigor, your fingers entangled in his hair as you savor the moment. His hands glide down to your waist, touching the hem of your shorts that you hope he’ll tear away. You pause, nodding that it’s okay, watching him slowly slide your shorts down your legs. 

“No panties?” His need is evident, almost salivating at the mouth. 

Your face heats up as you briefly become shy. “It’s laundry day,” you mumble. 

You gaze at each other before erupting into laughter, any remaining tension that was there gone immediately. This is how it always is with him, easy and light. He doesn’t have second or third questions, he just immediately understands. You couldn’t have fallen in love with a better person. 

“I-I love you, Hansol,” you managed to say. “You don’t have to say it back yet, I know we have to figure this out. But just know, I love you.” 

Hansol leans in for another kiss; this time it’s sweeter, tender, with enough meaning to know what it meant,  “Don’t worry, I love you too.” 

And with that, he stands up, taking your hand and leading you to his room. Kicking the door shut, you tear off each other's clothes, excitement and lust pouring through you as you lay on his bed, watching him climb over you. His body presses against yours, your arms wrap around his neck and back, your need for him growing stronger as he leaves kisses on your neck. “I need you so bad.” 

Hansol groans as his hands grab your breasts, mesmerized by your hardened mounds. He sucks on each other carefully, his eyes closed as if he is savoring the taste. He worships your body, his tongue trailing down your stomach until he reaches your core, spreading your legs apart. You’ve played so many scenarios on what your first time with him would be like, and what kind of lover he would be. This is better than you’ve imagined. 

“You’re so wet… for me?” he says in disbelief. “I get you like this?”

You bite your lip, nodding slowly as you anticipate his next move. He slips a digit inside of you, watching you squirm as he fingers you slowly. 

“Oh god,” you praise him as he adds another one. “Just like that, please.” 

Hansol leans down and lashes his tongue against your clit, sending jolts of pleasure throughout your body. The sheets bunch in your fists, your knuckles stretching out as his relentless mouth laps up your essence, savoring every drop. He explores every inch of your softness, removing his fingers and replacing them with his tongue. His hands stroke his cock which is leaking with precum. You are ascending to a high that you never want to come down from. 

“H-Hansol,” your voice is grained with need. “I’m so close.”

He moans in response, his breath hot against your skin, and the sound vibrates through you, intensifying the coil of tension within. Your orgasm crashes over you, a tidal wave of bliss completely taking over you, whimpering his name as your legs tremble around him. White starts clouding your vision and you feel like you are on air, floating away into paradise. You feel him groan against your thigh, and you look down slightly, his cock dripping with his load as it coats his hand. You collapse on his pillow, trying to catch your breath, slowly coming down from cloud nine. You hear him leave and come back a few moments later, wiping you down with a warm rag. 

“Aww, that’s sweet of you,” you tease him, closing your legs slightly. 

“I’m sorry for that being short,” he says, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I usually can last longer than that, you know… I don’t know what happened.”

You prop yourself up, brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead. “It was perfect. Don’t apologize.”

You pull him into a hug, softly kissing his cheek and motioning for him to lay down with you. He climbs over you and hugs you from behind, cradling you so close you can feel his heartbeat. The sunlight peeks through the window, a sign that the storm finally passed. Happiness can’t even describe the word you are feeling right now.

“Fuck. R-right there.”

Hansol wanted to make up for last night’s performance, so he woke you up with kisses to your face, your neck, the curves on your body and most importantly, in between your legs. The way you grabbed his hair went his tongue went deeper, or the way you begged for him to fuck you. He was addicted to all of it. It was like he was making love for the first time.

“Please Hansol, I need you.”

He quickly slipped on a condom and slowly entered you, watching the way your lips parted as he inched in a little more.

“Are you okay? I am not hurting you, am I?”

You shook your head slowly as you held onto his arms, looking into his eyes with a reassuring smile.

“It’s okay,” you bit your lip. “I can take it.”

He almost came right then and there, hearing you talk like that. Feeling safe with him. He never experienced that with Kelsey, the feeling of being wanted, and truly loved.

He moved slowly, wanting to make sure you could handle it, and he was mesmerized by the way you looked when you were being pleasured. You goaded him for more, and he did that, stroking deeper while your nails dug into his back. You were tight, warm and welcoming like you were made for him. He loved the way your breasts bounced when he thrust harder and the blunt curses that left your lips when he lifted your legs. 

If Hansol could, he would fuck you all day and night to make up for the past time wasted. He wanted to show you how much you meant to him, and he wasn't the best with words, so this would do… for now

“I’m gonna cum—”

His mouth covered yours as your legs shuddered underneath him, your orgasm ripping through you like a hurricane. Your body glistened with sweat, your eyes wet from tears from being fucked out and he couldn't hold back anymore, his thrusts becoming erratic as he emptied himself into the condom.

Hansol thought he was in love before, and maybe it was because it was you, but he hadn't felt this alive in a long time. You were precious to him, and all he wanted to do was lay with you and watch movies all day, talk about mundane things…it didn't matter as long as he was with you.

“I… have a confession to make,” you said breathlessly.

“Yeah?”

“I always wondered… what it would be like. With you.”

He watched you bury yourself in his sheets, feeling shy about your confession. Hansol chuckled, slowly pulling out of you and riding himself of the condom. 

“So, did I live up to your expectations?” He asked tentatively.

You gently pull down the covers, smiling at him softly. “This is better than anything I could’ve imagined.”

tagging: @heechwe @junniesoleilkth @iheartnonie @jaeyunsprincxss

[hoseoksluna]

SCHEME | jjk

pairing: yandere!jungkook x strategy!oc

genre: smut; angst

rating: 18+

summary: due to his reasons, jungkook finds it hard to give you what you desire, but when he finally does, he discovers that your scheme is greater than he anticipated.

word count: 9.5k

pin: strategy

warnings: dark content not to be romanticized — stalking, manipulation, gaslighting, smoking, parental abuse and neglect, daddy issues, mommy issues, spanking, usage of belt, scars, dissociation, guilt, ptsd, raw sexual intercourse, oral sex (f. receiving), male masturbation, fingering, squirting, obsession, restraint, slow burn, praise kink, pet names, cum eating.

FORMAL WARNING: jeon jungkook written in this work is a figment of my imagination and does not reflect the living person and his family.

luna’s note: here’s a LONG chapter two of strategy. i worked hard on this, actually i was absolutely obsessed with this and i couldn’t stop writing. reblogs, comments and asks are very appreciated. i hope you enjoy this, my babies. posting a day early just for you bc i can’t wait for you to read this. i love you. MWAH.

𓂃 ౨ৎ

taglist | join here: @jjk7k, @tkslovechild, @euphoricmyth, @cinmmongirl, @ririkookiemonster,

@perfectiondazesworld, @https-mei, @bangtansonyeondanue, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, 

@hoseokkie-caeks, @kam9404, @fr0ggieth1nk, @parkinglot-nights, @sadgirlroo

@rrosiitas @KookieNooki @cristinamajadera @Chaelvrx @mimikoba

@junecat18 @deepops79 @notsevenwithyou @futuristicenemychaos

@psychicjellyfishalpaca @Kooloveys

The rain perseveres and the rain emboldens, assisting with its severity by murmuring to his ear the subtleties of the next move. The move that is his own, second in line, despite being incited by your sinful, sinful forcefulness. But now, now as he has you in this position and the torrent of the rain stands by to watch, Jungkook slowly begins to perceive that you did good. 

Your selfish strategy backfired. 

Not only because the discipline that awaits you will help you. Help alleviate you of your poor little bothersome horniness and carve you into the little innocent girl he met at the library, fixated on the world of her books and not forcefully pushing her way in into the realm of his passion. 

All in all, and most importantly, it shall project his love for you by diffusing your bubble butt with its rough, stingy and rosy kisses, leaving behind the imprint of his lips in the form of welts—the little puffed up slits of skin he longs to cum on as he ponders it, like the slits of the garters you’re always wearing, but somehow you’re not wearing right now. 

That has to change, and he will. He will be the pillar in obtaining everything he desires and no force will stop him. The two halves of his persona have amalgamated in completeness, creating a man that simply no longer cares about anything. The morals and the reasons that used to hold him back lost their powerful presence to such an extent that there hasn’t even been left a trace in its wake. No memory, no keepsake to bring up their reminiscence. All has dispersed into nothingness, just like his cigarette in front of your apartment building. 

It reminds him that he’s kept his headlights on under the duress of your scheme, but it’s no problem. He won’t be long; he’ll be finished with you just as quickly as he was finished with his sweet instrument of death. You’ll be wet, wilting, burning away to your origin just like it. And Jungkook can’t wait. He can’t wait to turn your scheme into his. Time beats against him and it leads his hands to fist your wrists together behind your back, propping them on your tailbone, and he doesn’t hold back. Not anymore. Not ever again. 

For the first time in his fucked up life, he feels as though the time, the cosmos and someone up beyond them, who has the ultimate power, are not against him but for him, warranting this moment, deeming it good. There’s mercifulness in it all that he senses and as much as it supports him, it softens him and mollifies him to a degree that draws out his tears. 

Maybe he is a good person, worthy of love and worthy of the fleeting feeling of goodness and peace. 

Jungkook’s vision blurs as he watches your squished face on the plush of the couch. He skims the leather of the belt down the supple bareness of your butt and doesn’t blink. Interest and perhaps curiosity cast a certain pinkish light that twinkles across your features like the stars that are too hasty to wait until the evening goes to sleep and the night enters, and it moves his heart, prods it with endearment and a question. Have you never gotten spanked before? He retraces his movement, beginning all over again, and the prodding gains intensity when your mouth parts with a soft breath of comfort. 

You have no idea what awaits you. Jungkook wonders if you’ll like it just as much. 

Without a moment to spare, he flings down the belt on the flesh he teased. And he finds that the pinkish tones root from your heart. They surge, with a violent verve, to your mien that wrinkles and tenses at the reverberating sting, deepening their hue ever so wonderfully. The prodding cuts deep and even deeper when the eyes that stared at nothing in particular flick up to his as if needing some kind of compassion and empathy, and he would give it to you, of course he would, had this been a game of playful love between you and him, and had it not been a scheme, stemming from the core of your selfishness and stubbornness. 

Instead, Jungkook spanks you again. Harder this time. 

The breath you let out is louder, accompanied by the tiniest mewl that he dislikes. He wants your sweet mewls to echo across these walls and not be so soundless, but the night is young and he’s secure in the confidence that rushes in his veins. As a matter of fact, he dwells on the feeling that brews in him—and it’s nothing like the pomegranate tea you so wrongfully drank out of his niceness, carefulness and suppression. The feeling is the richest, the floweriest and the silkiest drink of rum he ever swallowed, the kind he imagined his father downed before he struck him across his face because he had looked at him wrong. Wrong place, wrong time; wrong child, wrong soul. Jungkook can almost hear the way the elder man cursed his soul, deeming it stained, unsalvageable and sinful, and he would get lost in the potent resoundings of his memories, had you not wrapped your little fingers across the crook between his thumb and his forefinger. It weakens him, faintly, nearly worsens him, but the small touch of your neediness and delicate keenness makes him think that if he couldn’t save himself as a child, he can save you.  

He’s going to make you better because he can. Because he’s there. Because he loves you. No one ever did that for him; no one had the time, no one had the eyes to see to begin with. 

He spanks you again, but suddenly it’s him who feels the pain. As if the string that bound him to you tightened enough that it coiled him unfathomably deeper into you. Perhaps there’s no beginning and end to him alone—perhaps the end is somewhere in the garden within you, and the bunny of his love sniffles its nose, overcome with it all. Numbness pours over him like the rain perfumed him just a moment ago, and he needs to snap out of it, he needs to wake up, he needs to be present—  

His hands, controlled by the time and the cosmos, fondle the ache that must be swirling around your flesh with the lip of the leather, following its expanding, round motions. You didn’t make a sound, or at least he missed it. He deems it a regretful shame, and that’s why when he strikes again, he pours a little more roughness into it just to coax it out, just to focus better. He needs to hear it, needs it to envelop around his cock, and this time, you cry out. Your spine twitches like a seesaw, reacting to the pain that continues coursing across your butt, and when he turns his head to the flesh, he sees that it’s scarlet, bumpy and vibrating with the echoes of the pain. 

Of the abuse. 

How many times did he spank you? Was he not present at all? Was he not aware? Was he not—

The belt falls to the carpet and Jungkook, too, falls. 

The time, the cosmos, the someone. They all stood by to watch him lose himself in the principle of having the right kind of power, the one that matters the most. There was no control, no stable wall. The rum that runs down his throat is no longer silky but bitter, pangs of guilt constricting it until he can’t inhale a single morsel of air. And for that very reason, he allows himself to be carried away by the softness he never let out before.  

His hand lands on your abused butt that quivers under his touch until your knees give away and the bottom half of your body plops down onto the couch. The same hand lifts you back up and keeps you in place, keeps your frailness in their hold. 

His mind spins in a tornado of self-deprecating thoughts and shards of a broken mirror that reflect the face of his father. 

His eyes exude tears that he can only forbid you from seeing, and not forbid from flowing. 

His mouth draws close to the place between your legs, where his apology can take effect, but not before they form the words he’s never spoken out before. 

“I’m sorry.” 

The letters sound as strange to his ears as they do to yours. He wanted this, he wanted to discipline you, but his fatherliness disappeared under the layer of his own father: under the layer of his trauma. He didn’t see this coming. Nothing went according to his feverish calculations and he feels so bad that the guilt itself is a disaster. 

Disaster collapsing over this world; the rain halts, silence closing over the streets of Seoul. 

Your red skin is hot to the touch and Jungkook fades away into the little boy version of him, who placed his hand on the hot, red cheek of his own weeping mother. The little boy who discovered, for the first time, the feeling of a skin not his own, marred by something that he also had experienced. It connected him to his mother, the bond growing roots that expand over those any other mothers and sons have, but his mother, despite the greatness of her love, never had the strength to reciprocate anymore. 

Jungkook needs to know if you've become her in the same way he’s become his father. 

The warm wetness of his tears spurting down his cheeks feels right as he draws near and smears them between the private skin between your sensitive flesh. He lets out a hard breath, the sensation of his tears perhaps washing away the sin he committed consuming him whole, and as he wraps his lips around your little clit, there’s purity in it that he never expected to come across. 

Your noises flow out. The more he takes your bud into his mouth, the more those tiny mewls he loves so much transform into full moans, those of angels. You grip him harder, pushing your butt into his face, mimicking the dance of waves he always longed to see. Perceiving that you’re liking the motions of his mouth, he allows himself to enjoy it, seizing your little clit with more enthusiasm and power, his tongue joining in and inciting your dance to quicken. 

And then, his name descends into the stream of your noises, and he’s done for. 

His attention topples to his straining cock, your enjoyment making the sin and the evil dissolve under its vivacity until there’s nothing but it sailing through the atmosphere. His tears are forgotten, replaced by the essence of your pleasure as he licks you all over, unable to swallow it whole due to its overwhelming amount. His wrongdoing dissipates and instead his rightdoing dominates, fixing everything he caused. Your delight and your saccharine taste makes him a better man, or at least he thinks so, and he desires for your orgasm to transform him into someone who won’t make the same mistake.

He no longer wants to be the amalgamation of the yin and yang, the grayness that magnetically pulled his hand to his belt, that stringed the thoughts and the will to discipline you. 

He yearns to be a man, devoid of any resemblance to his father. A well, brimming with love. 

He hasn’t felt the touch of the sun and the rainwater in years, having been dried up with nothing to give. But now as he drinks you, he hopes that changes. He hopes your essence fills him up to the brim so that this never happens again. 

And because of that, Jungkook puts a little more pressure into the flicking motion of his tongue upon your clit, which has become more swollen the more he sucked it. And ultimately, he dips into the obsession of this determination. 

He turns you around, not hearing the way you hushedly cry out in pain as your sensitive butt collides harshly with the plush of your couch. His hatred for his life and his tendencies deafens his ears, the effervescence of its silence piercing through his eardrum. He kneels at the couch and, leaning over your small body, he does the first right act of his entire life. 

He connects his lips to yours. And the well inside him begins to grow with vines of flowers that mirror the same rosiness that spreads across your face. The petals must have the same softness as your lips, too, and Jungkook deepens the kiss, whimpering into it because he feels the breath of life as you inhale against him. Perhaps you’re overwhelmed just the same, confused and bewildered by the twist of events, by the scarring of his hands, and he regrets it. 

He regrets the person he is. 

You prove him right, casting a light upon him that is too kind, too humane. Not something he deserves after the way he hurt you. 

“Why did you spank me?” you ask between the short interlude of heads turning and lips smacking, closing over each other all over again as if they fit together with utmost perfection—a place of home within that interlock. 

Jungkook loses all oxygen in his lungs and all words in his mouth. They come, however, by some miracle, through his features. His brows and mouth curl downwards and he lets you feel it, lets you attach the vocabulary to them by laying his face against you—just for a moment before your eyes see. Your dark, dark eyes that have so much gentleness in them. 

He’s not sure he’s deserving of it. Not after what he’s done to you. 

“Let me make you come,” he whispers, placing one final chaste kiss against your puffy lips, the chastest he’s capable of. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? And it’s what you deserve.” 

It’s surreal, the sudden words that streamed out. And how right they feel, how pure, how precious. A ball of energy vibrates in the middle of his chest, all rabid and ardent. He curves into a little boy who wants to please his parent as he reaches down to your lap, but you stop him by grabbing his shoulder. 

“What I want for you to tell me is the reason why you spanked me,” you demand, raking your fingers through the hair at the back of his head, your thumb tracing circles on the place upon his cheek right beside his ear, and time stops. 

That is precisely the way his mother would touch him. 

The cosmos lean down and stack themselves upon his shoulders. If he were Atlas, he’d be strong enough to carry it. Perhaps even stand and show off his grand ability to withstand it all. But he’s not Atlas. As much as he’s condemned by life, by some other power that doesn’t like him, he’s not a Titan. He’s not a man by any chance either. 

He’s a lost boy. A wandering boy who very often fails at everything he does— and who now needs to explain his foolish failure. 

His eyes wet. His arms on either side of you quiver under all that pressure, but he holds those tears back. The little strength he has left consoles him in a way, helps him formulate the words of the language he thinks is so foreign to him. 

Truth. 

“You made me give you something I wasn’t ready to give you yet,” he mutters, the fervor of his tears heightening, threatening to escape. It courses through his veins, stabilizes his arms and the back of his neck and Jungkook uses its strength to gaze at you. To gaze at your reaction. To drink from it and use it to refresh the empty well in him. 

But the question wrung across your face merely tightens his heart, and he remains depleted. Through and through. vacant. 

Though something unknown in him, possibly summoned up by the agile bunny in him, stretches out his arm and makes it so he touches your puzzlement. His thumb brushes across your cheek, still so prettily reddened by his creation. Travels all the way to your mouth that he kissed so hungrily, and pines to do it all over again. Hell, spend the entire night bruising it—no, not bruising it, making love to it until it’s all he knows, until it’s all he consists of. Your mouth, your words, your intellect. And as you speak into his hand, all he can think about is how he’s nothing without you, and, curiously, his cock strains harder in his pants. Sweat sticks to his skin like a second layer. 

“Give me what?” you demand further. A spark of fire winks at him in your eyes, inviting him in, inviting him to fold himself in all entirety inside you. And he wants to, he yearns to, there’s nothing left for him to do than to be completely devoted to you, to curl in your lap like a son in a mother’s lap and be shepherded, be made right, be disciplined. 

And because of that yearning, he offers the rest of the truth in all its dimmed glory. 

“Me,” he reveals, letting out a humorless chuckle. All of his nerves swarm in a tight bundle somewhere in him, and he feels the need to smoke. So much so that he doesn’t ask if he can and does it anyway because he fears that if he doesn’t, his nerves will swallow him whole. Straightening up and rummaging in his pocket, he pulls the slender death instrument and pops it into his mouth, lighting it up. And as his mouth is shrouded in the warm light and he inhales the nicotine, your bare foot lifts and drifts down his lower abdomen, halting at his groin. He exhales the smoke, dipping his head to study your actions, and he discovers that you’ve pressed your foot right against his imprint. 

And it’s half the size of his cock. 

“Give me some of it.” 

At first, he guesses you’re talking about his dick, but when he sees the two of your fingers hovering in the air in the shape of ‘V’, it’s clear to him that you want to take a puff of his cigarette. He blushes at that, realizing that he’s never shared a cigarette with someone he loved before, and the nerves that swarmed his chest descend to his stomach. Some would call them butterflies, but the inside of his body is too dark for them. Moths… moths are the winged creatures you awakened from their eternal slumber. 

And they attack his stomach when he sinks the cigarette between your lips, brazenly and purposefully ignoring your suspended hand because he wants to feed you something of his own. And the fact it isn’t something so positive and sugary feels rewarding for some reason. 

It adds to the overall mollification. He’d also feel at peace if he didn’t love you so much. 

You envelop your lips around the yellow butt of the cigarette and begin to suck. A lungful of death—what a good girl. He doesn’t want to admit that the spanking worked because the thought alone causes a prickling ache in his heart. But as you exhale out the smoke just like him, he comprehends that he sobered up from absolutely everything. 

This is him, bare and raw. And he doesn’t know what he’s capable of. The smoke closes around his face and he breathes in, as if for the first time in his life. He wonders who he’ll become once he stuffs your drooling pussy with his cock, but he’s sure that person will be one of goodness. 

Some sort of goodness he’d never achieve to become on his own. 

The notion brings up the taste of your essence in his mind and he hungers for you again. Saliva gathers in his mouth, nearly overspills, and he wipes at his mouth briefly before he takes the last puff and exhales the smoke into your mouth. A short, devastatingly short kiss that you moan into, and moan again when he asks you an erotic question. 

“Do you think you can finish it without coughing as I eat you out?” 

He doesn’t know if you’re a regular smoker or if it’s your first time. Right now, the details don't matter. The night is long enough for that conversation. Jungkook lets the cigarette hang from your mouth as he straightens, his sin and cigarette smoke coated hands drifting down your parted thighs. He knows just the thing that will cleanse them without a doubt. 

“You don’t know me at all,” you say, jutting out your chin to the side to suck on the cigarette you’re holding with your fingers. It provokes him and, internally, he fights the possibility of you being right. He knows where you live, he knows your routine. Your mornings, afternoons and nights. Your favorite food, the fact you like to read, how truly smart you are. He knows enough. And it baffles him that he’s never seen you smoke. Not even when you were out with your friends. “Try to make me come before I finish this.” 

You part your legs. Switch the cigarette to your other hand and flick the ash into the nearby half-empty glass of water. His cock twitches at the challenge, but an anger, unlike the one he experienced prior the moment he sobered up, flares in his chest. Like a small star up in the heavens, it burns lightly. 

He doesn’t waste time. 

Jungkook lifts your hips, pulling a surprised breath out of your throat. The white vapor gyrates around your face and Jungkook can’t take his eyes off of it as he sticks out his tongue and circles your clit with its tip. A sense of achievement and pride clutches him when you roll your eyes back, and your mouth begins to open wider, only to close in a fight, resembling his, when he sucks hard. In spite of it, you give your moans freedom and essentially, you do the same for him. 

He dips to your hole because he can’t stall any longer. Whimpers at your dulcet taste, fluttering his eyes shut, though never entirely. He can’t lose sight of you. Lapping at the source, he makes sure to stimulate your clit by rubbing his nose in it. The smacking of his lips and tongue against your dripping flesh, his desperate noises, they all overlap with your own now high-pitched moans and squeaky breaths. You begin to buck your hips and Jungkook listens to your body, immersing his tongue into your heat, encouraging you to keep going and fuck yourself on him like that with little hums of agreement. And the validation—it leads you to lose yourself in the rapid current of the pleasure and forget about the challenge. 

But Jungkook didn’t forget. If there’s one thing about him that’s stable and safe against other influences, it’s his ability to never forget. 

“Smoke,” he orders, narrowing his eyes. He spits on your pussy before he sinks his tongue back inside, his mind spinning. He uses one of his hands to replace his nose on your clit, and he strums it with all the strength and speed he’s possessed with. Obsessed, utterly obsessed with the idea of not winning, but winning you over. Impressing you. 

It’s important to him. And through that, he realizes the origin of his anger. The kaleidoscope of it all tells him that he was more bothered by your lack of belief in him than the principle of the challenge itself. 

No one believes in him. Not his parents, not Taehyung… and not you. 

Jungkook reaches his hand down to your breast and through the wrinkly, soft fabric he pinches your nipple before he begins to fondle it with side to side motion, bringing out your orgasm as if it were an animal he was calling out. 

And your body listens. 

Convulsing in his hold, it submits to him through the waves of the pleasure he’s giving you. Jungkook doesn’t stop his actions, continuing them relentlessly as you ride it out. Your eyes are shut tight, your mouth letting out the most saccharine mewls, secret and private. And he lets it be that way. He could pull his mouth away and ruin your orgasm by ordering you to keep your eyes on him, but he doesn’t. The beauty of your orgasm is held in a higher regard for him, and so is the fact that once you come out of that rising wave, you’ll recognize that you shouldn’t have underestimated him. 

The ash on your cigarette is a high tower, unsmoked. 

Seeing that your pleasure has died out and overstimulation has taken place, he withdraws his tongue and grabs your waist with both of his hands. Waits until you open your eyes in order to kiss your clit in the form of a settlement. Slowly, he lays your body down, careful not to hurt your butt, and he leans over and takes his cigarette back—only to expertly flick off the ash without making a mess and sink it back to your mouth for the final puff. He holds it for you, a sign of his dominance over you, and he no longer can perceive whether its foundation is of his fatherliness or just masculine instincts. And he doesn’t want to know anymore. He doesn’t want to see, to think. A great blanket of sadness swathes him feignedly snugly, emotional exhaustion seeping into his every nerve ending. 

He wants to be alone at this moment. Sleep it off. Wake up next week. 

“Come here.” 

He’s flinging the cigarette into the glass of water when your fingers sneak upon your favorite place of his body—his ribs. They fist his shirt, tempt him back into your alluring presence, and he’s so tender at this very moment that he lets you. He lets you push him against you and he lets you kiss him in the way that you’re skilled at, plunging your tongue into his mouth, setting him on fire. The well in him has never seen the rain and the sunlight, but the fire? It wants nothing but your fire, the heat and the sting of the burn. And he fears the bunny of his love will wander off into its deep darkness and never be found again. 

He pulls away, but you don’t let him, gripping his hair. 

“I want you,” you whisper, digging your eyes into his, entrancing him and entrapping him because by those words you change everything. 

The strategy is erased. The bow of the scheme lowers its arrow down. It no longer matters to whom it backfires because it ceases to exist in this minute. All because of your honesty, portrayed by your innocent words. 

What would have happened if you used them at the beginning of this night? Would you have ended up with red welts or hickeys across your butt? 

Jungkook’s heart hammers. Lightness falls upon his shoulders and he rolls them back, relaxing the muscles at last. He detects a sliver of kindness in this all, one that has the power to change this trajectory, and it propels him to nod his head, brush your hair back, and kiss your cheek. 

Tenderness. Innocence. No sign of mischief. 

“You want me?” he flirts subduedly, skimming his lips upon the corner of your mouth up across your cheek to your nose, which he kisses, too. “You want this cock to stretch you out? Make you feel good like my tongue, hm?” 

He’s stunned by the ease to his words, how natural this feels. As if he hadn’t hurt you at all, as if you hadn’t seduced him and made a wreck out of him. As if his trauma hadn’t resurfaced, the one he had buried so deep within the well that it withered into crumbs. What power you have, to erase and to change. 

To soften. 

He kisses your wet chin, smeared by your essence that dripped from his own. Dips down to your neck, waiting for your response, for your consent. Imagines you’re too dumbfounded by getting what you wanted for so long at last, and right now at this very second, he’s happy for you. 

Happy to be the giver, the provider. 

Happy to tease you. 

“I’m not fucking you until you use your words,” he whispers against the column of your neck, his tongue slipping out and grazing across the sensitive skin as he kisses you there. The smacking sound he makes arouses him to a point of madness almost, but he holds it back just for a little while. “And until you say please, baby girl.” 

You gasp at the pet name and it pleases him so much that he lopsidedly smiles and drags that expression of positivity against your skin until he ends up facing you. The tendril of joy that curls around the moths in his stomach fuels his smile to transform into a full grin and he finds himself having withdrawals of the feeling of your skin. Jungkook grabs your face and he watches the mischief die out from your eyes—like a candlelight melting into darkness. And there truthfulness and the raw reality come up for air. 

“Did you spank me because I didn’t use my words?” you probe, and he’s thankful for the question, for the face of this moment as he deems it valuable and significant. The calmness he receives from it settles over the bunny, preventing him from observing the fire fading out. Instead, he focuses on stargazing at you. 

“Yes,” he agrees, fulfillment clenching his heart. “You showed me your tits through the window when anyone passing or driving by could see, instead of telling me like the good girl I know you are.” 

You curl your lips behind your teeth, contemplating his words. Your eyes follow your hands as they glide across his arms up to his shoulders, and Jungkook shivers. Hopes you don’t notice. Would be too embarrassing, considering the unnamed role he’s stepped into. 

“I tried to tell you,” you say, concentrating on the speck of fluff somewhere on his shirt. “You know that I did, but you kept your distance. You stopped talking to me, too, you know.” 

Your sentence makes the reason behind your flashing click in his brain, and he pushes away the previous deception of your sinfulness. Jungkook swims through the myriad of his thoughts, filtering out the lies of the mischief and gathering the truth that glistens and glimmers in his hands. 

“You shouldn’t flash private parts of your body just to get a guy to talk to you,” he scolds gently, squeezing your face for a millisecond to prove the gravity of his discipline—and there it is, the right kind of discipline he sought. It wasn’t supposed to be the spanking, it was supposed to be this. “You’re a beautiful, smart girl. You don’t need to do that. You don’t need to do shit.” 

The light in your eyes that appears blinds him and lingers, despite your following words. 

“But you just said I should’ve used my words.” 

“Yes,” he breathes out immediately, dripping with desperation, his brows knitting. “You should’ve used them or you could’ve waited like I told you to because I was gonna come back to you. I was gonna come back to you and give you this cock, give you what you wanted.” 

Your hands slide down to his forearms, hanging onto them, and your eyes gain a glossy film. Your brows twist, and Jungkook can vividly see you understand his point and comprehend his reprimand. 

“So you’re saying that if I came down and asked you to fuck me, you would’ve done it?” 

He doesn’t have to ponder your question for long because the answer tumbles down onto him like a feather of wisdom. He was roaming in a bad place of idleness and apathy, but it was you who got him up from his table, led him with invisible hands into the shower and then into his car. It was you, and if you had asked him that question, the fight would surely be present, but if you insisted, if you said please—he knows he wouldn’t be able to say no to you. 

Even if he didn’t enjoy it as much. 

“If you said please, I would’ve thrown you over my shoulder and fucked you until all you knew was me,” Jungkook says, and he means it. The same hand that gripped your face sneaks down between your legs in one swift, hurried motion and his middle finger slips into your heat with utmost ease due to how wet you are. But there, on purpose, all of his rapidness stops. His digit slides to the first knuckle and remains there. Your walls swallow him and Jungkook gulps with a certain kind of difficulty, feeling faint. If you squeeze around his shaft like this, he’s not too sure if he’ll survive. “Your pussy would know only me and no one else, you got that?”

You tighten even more around his finger, fluttering—and the rest of you flutters, too, underneath him. Your body writhes, willing him to give you more, but he won’t. Not until you learn to use your words. 

“You’re not getting the rest of my fingers until you talk to me,” he settles, propping his elbow above your head, maneuvering his weight onto one side, his painful hard-on resting against your hip bone. “It’s all up to you, baby.” 

You whimper, stalling your fidgeting, and Jungkook senses your strong will to relax taking effect. And for that, he kisses your forehead. You fist his shirt at his stomach and he wonders if you can feel the kicks of his moths against your hand. Your pelvis tilts, but he knows it’s just your natural instinct, and he lets it pass. 

He trusts you, even when you ask him another challenging question. 

“Will you spank me if I don’t?” 

His heart pounds, scaring the moths, but he takes a deep breath, rubbing his nose in your hair before he pierces his gaze into your eyes, making sure you know he means his words when he says: “No, I won’t. That was a mistake.” 

“You promise?” 

“I promise.” 

And like you tilted your pelvis, you tilt your chin and seize his bottom lip, kissing him with such tenderness that he moans and nearly gives you the entirety of his finger. It takes all of his willpower not to do so, concentrating instead on the sealing of the promise as he allows you to kiss him on your own terms. Soft pecks handled by the turning of heads with interludes in between, tasting each other while the time and the cosmos hold their breaths. How beautiful this is and how delicate, the act of not ripping each other’s clothes off but taking your shared time, standing in the way of the laws of this life. 

“Okay,” you whisper against his lips, and Jungkook grasps that you’ve been gathering courage all this time for a reason he longs to know. “Fuck me, please.” 

He hums in pleasure, pressing a rewarding kiss against your lips that lasts for only a second—interrupted by the force of his pleased grin. The fulfillment he feels grows, merging into a high-leveled gratification that buzzes throughout his whole body. He tries to kiss you again but fails, awkwardness seeping through that makes you daintily giggle. And once he hears his own, an oasis of serenity and sentimentality, perfumed by the sweetest tea of pomegranate leaves, transpires in his chest. 

“Good girl,” he praises, adding another finger, his vocal cords strained by his emotions. “Where do you want me? Tell me where.” 

Your breath hardens, wafting across his features, but you’re not shy, you’re not timid to tell him where you need him: “In my pussy, please.” 

His cheeks ache from his smile, but he can’t stop. He’s fucked, he loves you, and it completely massacres him. “That’s it. You learn so well.” 

Jungkook pulls out his fingers to his first knuckles, dropping his gaze to them just to see how much you coated them. Your essence glistens in the dimmed light and drips down his palm. Wanting you to see as well, he pulls them out entirely and shows you. The droplets plummet to your chest and you bite your lip, blushing, your eyes running all across his hand. Over and over again. 

“You’re so prettily wet,” he rasps, closing his lips over your cheek, and he doesn’t need you to respond to his comment before he plunges them back in and begins to fuck you with such a speed that you scream out, grabbing his forearm and sinking your nails into it. 

That doesn’t stop him either. The need to make you come for being such a good girl after that winter of emotional pain ferally takes control of him and he douses himself in its tide. 

He pistons his fingers into you, curling them at the front wall. Thumbing your clit, you roll your eyes back, your chest heaving and gasping for air. Your little nipples perk up for him against the fabric of your night dress, and the sight is so dazzling that he doesn’t blink as he watches you. He can’t wait to have you all bare for him—to see you in your full glory, your flesh bouncing and under his command. His cock leaks at that thought and his animalistic instincts take a hold of him, fucking you faster with his fingers until your whole body shakes—just like he wanted, and until your whole body comes for him. 

The fountain of your pleasure soaks you first before it soaks him, and Jungkook thinks it’s exactly what you deserved. You yelp, but the sound of horror soon turns into a sound of elation as you begin to sputter into a fit of giggles. One he consumes by kissing you nastily, all tongues and spit, while he massages your clit, taking you to the finish line until you can’t anymore. 

“Oh, Jungkook,” you moan into his mouth, barely able to kiss him back as the daze and dizziness of your orgasm seizes you, and Jungkook hums in response, knowing—knowing all about how you feel. 

He grabs your waist and throws you onto your bed a few feet away. Your studio is a small place, fitting all necessities into one room, and by some sixth sense he knows where you store your collection of knee socks and lingerie. He turns around, rummaging in your dresser, and the ones he likes the most just fall into his hand, as if asking for him. A fine black cotton with no endearment, beautiful in all its simplicity. He places it on the bed, his hands quick to grapple the hem of your nightdress and haul it over your head, making your breasts bounce from the impact. His cock cries at the sight and lowly he growls, immediately busying his hands with the fabric of your knee socks in order not to delve deep into your bosom. He untangles it from its rolled-up stacking, bunches it up in his hands and one by one, he drags them up your legs, kissing your wet thigh each time he finishes, smoothing down the band. 

And then he undresses. Pops open the button of his jeans, slides down his zipper, giving you a full show of his manhood through his boxers, drenched because of you. You ogle him with a parted mouth, drool building in the corners of your mouth, and Jungkook finds it so endearing that he shoots you a grin before he sneaks his hand inside his boxers and shows his raging, reddened cock to you. 

“Is this what you wanted?” he asks, gently, slowly sweeping his hand up and down on the shaft, letting out little staccatos of ragged breaths as he finally senses some kind of pleasure in the longest hour of his life. His precum freely drips down, making it uncomplicated, and you look as though you are utterly transfixed. 

Your eyes nearly go cross, gaping at his length. 

“Fuck, the veins,” you comment, swallowing thickly and jutting out your tongue to wet your dry, ruined lips. “Yes, please. I want it so bad.” 

And then you begin to scurry to your knees, but Jungkook doesn’t allow that to happen. You’re not sucking his dick—you’re getting fucked, and he tells you that, shifting you back down onto the mattress, using the same hand placement that he did at the start of this evening. Except the feeling of your bare, supple and soft tits drives him off his head, and he has to stop stroking his cock because if he continued, he would’ve pumped ropes and ropes of his cum to hang off those pretty, pretty nipples. 

He groans, internally, considering this a torment and nothing else, but it’s better than the mental anguish he experienced. He’s present in the reality and he cherishes it so much that he wants to give back to you by fucking you into oblivion. 

What a twist of events. 

“I’m fucking you raw, you hear me?” he announces, taking his position and yanking you down until his ball sack collides most wonderfully with your sopping pussy. He sucks in a breath, his entire manhood so sensitive and on the brink of such a profound climax that he’s not sure how he’ll last once he’s inside you. He exchanges a look with you and discovers that you’ve been touched by it just the same. Your eyes, star-filled, widen and soon lower at the impact.  “I can’t have anything separating you from me. I want to feel you. Through and through. You understand?” 

You can only nod your head, your muscles so tense that it seems as though you’re not breathing at all, and that worries him. He’s aware that being on the cusp of receiving what you wanted for so long is more than thrilling, but he needs you to be relaxed. He needs this to be normal for you because nothing will ever be the same after he discovers the waters of your femininity. There won’t be a day your pussy won’t get stuffed full. 

Jungkook caresses your cheek with his knuckles, frowning. “Breathe. I’m gonna go slow, I promise. Do you trust me?” 

A nebula of tears clouds your eyes within the speed of light, your chin quivering. Your words come just as quickly, butchering his heart. 

“Jungkook, this is my first time.” 

The night spring air moves gently through the room. A swallow sings to the effulgent orbs strewn across the darkened heavens, interrupting the silence. His phone, inside the pocket of his jeans somewhere on your floor, vibrates unendingly. 

The sly, intentional touches in his car. The confessions of what you were doing under your blanket after the date ended. Your wet panties after he expressed the past version of his fatherliness towards you. The pressed-up tits against your window after a too-long of a pause. Was this the thing you were trying to tell him? That you were a virgin, yearning to be touched for the first time? 

That you chose him to be the first one? 

Is that why you never relented? Has he become your obsession as much as you have become his? 

Jungkook begins to chuckle, and the sound is magnified into a full laughter that heartily pulsates in his chest. You are a little vixen, and a cute one. Older than a cub, younger than the full-grown animal. Just learning how to hunt, attuned to her urges and instincts. And you learn so well. 

He’d been caught, but now he’s been physically strapped. To you, and to your little perversions. 

Jungkook makes it so you feel his delight from it by kissing you deeply. And he makes it so you feel his shaft by gliding it back and forth across your feminine flesh, stimulating your clit and stealing your attention from the cold side of your emotions. Stealing it in every respect by moving his mouth to your eyelids while they’re still closed and lost in the dream of the kiss and by kissing the tears that gathered underneath them. 

“I’m gonna take care of you,” he whispers against your eyelashes and you mewl, ever so beautifully, calmness catching up to you. “Have I never tried to tell you that before, hm?” 

You mewl again in response, too vulnerable to speak, and Jungkook wishes to bite you for that. You grab his neck and pull him flush against you, needing him, needing to find comfort in him, and he doesn’t hesitate to give you just that. 

He contemplates this moment. You… a virgin, a small animal, pure just for him, purer than he thought. Overbrimming with your horniness enough to do anything to get rid of it in a way that works. He sighs against your ear, sensing another gush of arousal coursing through him, vivifying his body in otherworldly measures. 

“You’re a little pet, aren’t you?” he purrs rhetorically, peppering kisses all over your ear and the spot on your neck beneath it that causes you to pant against him. “Was I the first one to ever eat your pussy? Hm?” 

He feels you answering him long before you use your words—you shake your head, clinging to him tighter. “No. I’ve had my pussy eaten before.” 

His arousal burns. “By who?” 

You turn over the leaf, and Jungkook takes a note of that.

“I think I’m ready. You can put it inside me.” 

His arousal burns brighter, shifting his hand to grab himself and line himself at your entrance. “Put what?” 

You groan in frustration, coaxing a chuckle out of him, but he doesn’t let up. He repeats the question, teasing the fuck out of you for his own personal pleasure while focusing his tip on your clit, and you writhe your hips and within the worst of your vexation, you give him your answer. 

“Your dick.” 

He laughs, but the sound is cut off as soon as your flowery walls constrict around his mushroom head. You and him simultaneously whimper in such a desperate manner that the moths inside his abdomen quiver. You swallow the most sensitive part of him as if he didn’t stretch you out with his fingers at all, making it hard for him to breathe. His brain malfunctions, the blasting of the pleasure throughout the pathways of his veins too much to handle. He pulls out, flicks his eyes up to you in order to study your reaction, and all your face muscles are strained, flexing in a scowl that he doesn’t like. 

He can’t have this. 

He can’t be swimming in the grandest pleasure he ever got a taste of while you’re drowning in discomfort. And at the same time, he can’t have your expectations ruined. It’s not fair. You wanted this, you looked forward to this, and he wants you to experience how good this is, live out your fantasies that cost him everything. You just have to be patient, and he tells you that. 

“This is going to take a few tries,” he says, cradling your cheek. “You have to be patient. You’re not used to me yet. It’s gonna feel good just like you imagined, but you have to push through. I’m here with you.” 

You cry out, your liquid emotions rushing through again, but never escaping. “You’re really big. I don’t think I can do it.” 

He smiles at that and doesn’t pry away the selfish satisfaction he gets from that. Jungkook stashes it in the well, a line of perspiration forming on his forehead. 

“This dick—” He grins, knowing this word now belongs to you. “Was made for you to take, so it doesn’t matter what you think. You’re gonna take it. I believe in you.” 

You hide in the crook of his neck, but Jungkook decides there’s not gonna be any hiding anymore. He sits up, dominates the time by fisting your wrists and preventing you from hiding your face. His cock drools on your pelvic bone and he still doesn’t believe how he could’ve gone so long like this at this point. He presses your wrists down right on the mess he made and reaches his thumb to the side, circling your clit. And as he relaxes your muscles by that, he spits on his fingers, lubricates his tip and sheathes himself inside you, earning a gasp from you that adds to his satisfaction. 

“Jungkook,” you call out, a hint of panic in your voice, but Jungkook shakes his head. Pushes even deeper. Puts a little more pressure into the circles on your clit for a second before he lifts his thumb, spits on the pearl, and continues. “Oh–oh my—”

“Let me handle it, let me handle you. I know what to do. Trust me, yeah?” Jungkook growls, letting out hard, little breaths through his gritted teeth as he tries with great difficulty not to move. “Relax your muscles for me. Look at me.” 

You flick your doe eyes at him. So big, so round, so terrified. His little pet, listening so well, experiencing something so huge for the first time. He lets you in on his thoughts, translating them word for word, helping you relax your muscles to accommodate for him. The term of endearment does something to you, and he sings it to you, switching his hand and rubbing your clit, lifting the one holding your wrists and kissing your flaccid fingers. 

“How does that feel, huh? Me rubbing your little clit and stretching you out, hm?”

He pushes a little more in, feeling you open more for him, and it signals him to take this to another level. Jungkook begins to make little moves forwards and backwards, delirious from the fact that he’s so close to breaking your hymen and owning your virginity. 

And the movements help. Your eyes flutter, your pleasure finally taking shape. “Oh, my god. This is it?” 

He chuckles and he speeds up, daring to fuck you deeper and your eyes widen at that, your chest quickening, unable to handle it all. But you will. 

“Yes, baby. This is it. You did it,” he murmurs, pinning your hands above your head and leaning down again, stealing a wet kiss. “It’s finally here. What you’ve been wanting all this time is yours now. You better enjoy it.” 

And with that, he buries himself all the way to the hilt with one hard thrust and begins to fuck you like you deserve. The meeting of your mound and his makes him growl out loud and he watches the  glistening in and out motion as if it were the last thing he ever got to see. And he longs to focus better. 

“Keep your hands up and don’t move them,” Jungkook commands and lets go of your wrists, grazing his palms down your chest, groping your full tits at last and he lingers there for a second. You squeeze around him when he pinches your nipples with his thumbs and the knuckles of his forefingers, a river of small moans pouring from your mouth. He draws his cock out halfway and rubs your nipples as he draws back inside with a certain gentleness like he promised, light-headed and drunk on it all. And then he allows them to rub against his flat fingers on their own once he quickens his pace and your tits bounce in a freed flux—and this is where your features scrunch up in the same manner that his do. 

One soul. He amalgamates into you, and he doesn’t know whether that’s a good thing or worse than the grayness he was a victim of earlier. 

He doesn’t have time to think, your pussy renders him of any logic and of any coherent thought. And the same thing must be happening in your headspace as well because you can’t keep your eyes open. You swim away from him, and he doesn’t like that. 

“Look at me while I’m fucking you.” 

You choke out some version of an agreement, popping your eyes open and boring them into his. He continues on with his travel, sliding his hands down to your waist that he grabs and uses as a leverage to ultimately give you his best. 

He fucks you mercilessly, with a few gaps of gentleness in between because he’s a man of his word. Your pussy squelches around him, driving his heart out of his chest right into yours, and he can’t help but to bend down and take your nipple into his mouth, warming up the spot for that dark flesh. But he doesn’t expect you to come as he does so, and he’s so proud of you that he could die at this moment. 

“Yes, that’s it, baby. Just like that. Come for me.” 

You convulse, your hands losing control as they need to grab onto something and they grab onto his hair, pulling at the strands. Your moans, wrapped around his name, echo around the walls of the room, sailing out into the spring air outside through the open window, and he stalls his own orgasm, induced by the almost irresistible fluttering of your walls. He swirls his tongue around your nipple, sucking it into his mouth, taking you to that finish like that he’s proved he’s able to always take you to. And when your convulsing settles, he pulls out, straddles you and strokes his cock in your face. It takes merely a second for him to come and the ropes of his manly essence land on your lips, your neck, your clavicles and your tits. The orgasm is an adrenaline rush that launches him out of his body and into the dark matter of time and the cosmos. He shows them who’s the man in the house of his own body, and the chapter of his emotional anguish is finished. 

Nothing will ever torment him again because he’s evaporated into you. 

Coming down, he pants while looking down at you. Your starry eyes are lidded and absolutely exhausted, but the spark is still there, a fix that will never be broken. He can see that he’s impressed you, and when he checks his cock, he realizes he’s still hard and throbbing, glistening and bloodied. How could he not after all that restraint and all that hinderance. His balls are still heavy, asking to let out more, and it all depends on you if that’s happening. 

He wonders how you’re feeling right now, and he brushes the cum drop off your lips and feeds it to you. You latch onto his hand, eager to taste it, and he grins. Will never tire of your appetite for the new. Your tongue rounds across his finger inside your mouth, making his cock twitch and he touches it more to calm it down than to satisfy it. 

“How was that?” he asks, genuinely curious, despite the fact your mouth is busy. Something about it impassions him all over again and he’d better stop. He withdraws his finger, all wet from your adorable saliva, and waits for your answer. Quirks a brow, even. 

“The orgasm feels the same as when I make myself come,” you say, and he’s disappointed to hear that, that it’s the first thing you say after all he’d been through. His brows lower down and he places his fists on either side of you, his face at level with yours. 

“Is that all you have to say?” 

You blink slowly at him, and Jungkook thinks that perhaps you’re too tired and floored to be having this conversation with him. But your response causes that certain anger to brood in his gut. 

“Your cum tastes good.” 

He scoffs, caught off guard. Dismayed. He expected you to be more vocal about what he’s done for you, especially after what had been the cost of it all, but it seems as though that you just used him to silence your curiosity.  

Do you not love him? Did you not want him to be the one to take your virginity? 

Swinging his leg over, he gets off of you and stares at you. You’re looking down at your body, searching for the drops of his cum he left behind just to eat them. Your soft, supple flesh. The knee socks. The marks he left behind—on your nipple from all the sucking, the harsh ghosts of the kisses on your neck and on your lips, the welts and redness on your butt. He might have taken your virginity and envisioned owning it, but when he looks down at his hands, he finds them empty. 

Your virginity is still yours and his phone, somewhere, rings. 

© 2025 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved

BACK to masterlist

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

hi!! I had an idea for a funny/ prank type fic for frat boy jaehyun!! It’s that one trend where the girl talks about getting a wax appointment (or some other appointment) after a really long time and plays it off as a guy waxes her which usually gets the significant other really confused thinking “a guy waxes you..?” I HOPE U KNOW WHAT I MEAN 😭😭 have a good day💞💞

anoooooon!!! THANK YOU FOR THIS IDEA!!!!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ what do you mean, he? ⋆⭒˚.⋆

(cw: f!reader, TikTok trend, profanity sugestive, Jaehyun is such a fucking loser (affectionate) in this)

where the girl talks about getting a wax appointment (or some other appointment) after a really long time and plays it off as a guy waxes her which usually gets the significant other really confused thinking “a guy waxes you..?”

"Oh baby!" You sing as you push that door open to Fratboy!Jaehyun's room.

It's a handful of days before his birthday now and all week you've been doing the prep you need for a very romantic and heated night with your own Valentine Boy. You'd gotten your nails done, been doing face masks, done a few hair masks, gotten your eyebrows done, and finally today, "guess who got her coochie waxed!"

Your exclamation is met with a "hell yeah!" from down the hall and a flushed Jaehyun scrambling away from his desk to shut the door behind you.

"Ok, love the news, love the mental image, but what did we say about announcing things like that around here?" Jaehyun asks with rosy cheeks.

"But you guys talk about your dicks and balls all the time, why can't you hear about my coochie?"

"Trust me Sweets, I want to hear about her day and night, but I don't want everyone else to hear about her," Jaehyun chuckles while pressing a kiss on your cheek.

You throw yourself onto his bed, turning to watch him settle back into his chair. He rubs your calf softly, "how was it?"

"Hurt like a bitch, but I'm getting used to it. Ash is pretty good about soothing the pain and has good tips for aftercare and all that," you explain.

"Ash? Didn't you used to go to a Jane or something?"

You smile at him, finding it endearing that he listens to what others would consider to be useless details, "yeah, but Jane is on maternity leave, so now I'm seeing Ash. He's good too—"

"He?!" Jaehyun exclaims with his eyes wide with shock.

"Um, yes, he. Is that a problem?" You ask with a confused tilt of your head.

"A guy waxes you, Sweetheart?"

"What is so confusing about this? Yes, my waxer, Ash, is a guy." You state, still not understanding what his incessant questioning is about.

"Sweetheart, another guy is looking at your... lady bits. Like all up and intimate up there while you're probably like spread eagle and showing yourself to him. Shouldn't you only be like that for me?" He asks, speaking slowly and softly in the hopes that you'll understand his point of view better now.

You roll your eyes and push his hand off your leg, "Ash is a 50 something year old gay man who is married and talks about the recipes he most recently made while he's ripping hair out of my 'lady bits'. Can I make it any more clear that he's not interested and more importantly, I'm not either!"

You stand from the bed, throwing your hands up as you continue, "I mean, hello! I got waxed for you! For your birthday! Duh!"

"You know I don't need you to do anything like that. I'm sorry Sweetheart," Jaehyun apologizes, grabbing your hips and tugging you closer to him until he can nuzzle his head against your stomach, "I just went a little crazy thinking about another guy looking at my girl..."

"Your girl? Jae, guys look at me all the time—" you say with a look of confusion until you're interrupted by a single finger against your lips.

"Not you, my girl," Jaehyun mumbles, dragging his finger down from your lips to the waistband of your pants, "her my girl."

You push his head away with a scoff, "oh fuck off, Jaehyun. Coochie privileges revoked until your birthday."

"Damn..."

[scentofhydrangea]

for @vershautece, based off of this and a little of this 🩷 enjoy!

warnings luigi is a baby making machine! sahm themes, let’s just assume he never had back problems shhh, all italian is translated at the bottom, breeding, oral (both receiving), missionary + doggy, orgasm denial (?), rough sex, ass slapping (i don’t like the other word), reflection ;), half-assed proofread

a/n i am actually so sorry this is so late, i’ve been stacked today and then i scheduled this to post and it never did… ALSO THIS IS WAY LONGER THAN I ORIGINALLY INTENDED!!! and i’m sorry the smut is kinda vague i haven’t written actual smut in SOOOO long it’s embarrassing… i’m gonna be a hornball on your dash!

getting accepted to upenn was definitely in your top three most exhilarating moments of your life. with plans of majoring in art, you were over the moon to start your independent life at an ivy league school! you rarely let boys get in your way — enjoying life in the moment was a top quality of yours as an artist.

that was, until you met luigi. oh god, he’s so beautiful. you only picked up one digital class that you really didn’t even know the name of because you’d wanted to get into digital art and you thought it’d be fun to learn the functions. as soon as you saw him about two weeks into the course, you were swooning. unbeknownst to you, most other girls were also swooning.

you only had a few tight friends, but your kind personality was a trait everyone noticed about you as soon as you would approach. also how good you smelled. and your beautiful smile. and your full, happy cheeks when you laugh. really just everything — and you’d had no idea that boys in your courses would pine after you, too.

a few trusty years later, you and luigi were to be wed! babies came shortly after, and you had the most beautiful twin toddlers. after you’d been granted maternity leave from your job as a high school art teacher, you’d gotten a little too used to staying home and tending to the house, rather than scrambling every weekend to get everything done as well as take care of your husband and children.

you had a talk with luigi and determined that the money from his job would be enough to keep the family steady going as well as a few pieces you’d make and sell on ebay every now and again. almost as quickly as you could, you sent an email to the superintendent and principal of your school saying that you would unfortunately not be returning due to personal issues.

luigi had never asked you to be a sweet little tradwife for him, but he damn sure enjoyed it. today in particular, your three year olds’ daycare was closed so you were fortunate enough to leave them with their godparents. this was good for you, they’d likely ask to spend the night with their padrini*, so you can have tonight and tomorrow morning without a ‘bedtime’ for you and your children!

in the morning after dropping them off, you went back home to get cute and dolled up — you usually made breakfast wearing a silk pajama set that luigi bought for you last christmas. then you went to the grocery store and to the bank to deposit a check from a painting you sold for a little under $500. then back home to make a small lunch — you were planning to cook a big dinner — and then onto housework. you played music while you worked, and once beds were made you retreated back to your bedroom to tweak your hair and makeup for dinner.

you also made sure luigi knew not to come home before 5:45 because you wouldn’t be done with your dishes, and checked in on your kids to confirm they’d stay the night at their padrini’s house.

when luigi came home, just like out of a scene of a movie, he shouted from the front door: “tesoro, sono a casa!*” followed by the door closing and locking mechanically behind him. he strutted into the kitchen to see you putting plates together — exactly 6:00. he must have waited in the driveway to give you some extra time!

with a gentle hold of your waist and long kiss on your cheek, you suddenly felt much more comfortable; almost feeling safe that he was home. anxiety was sometimes a struggle when you’re home alone all day and your husband working half an hour away.

as you plated the food and brought the bread out of the oven, luigi went upstairs to change into something more casual. when he opened the bedroom door, he noticed you had left a precious little lingerie set laying on the bed, likely accidentally. his interest was certainly piqued! quirking an eyebrow and grinning a little to himself, he took a few minutes to change and mess with his hair a bit in the mirror.

luigi came down the stairs with happy haste.

“thank you for making this meal, babydoll, smells so good,” he compliments, kissing your cheek again.

your face burns excitedly. “thank you,” you kiss his lips a few short times.

over dinner, you chat about each other’s day and the children. he seems to be deep in thought for a moment, and when he notices you staring he speaks again.

“you think we should have another baby?” he asks cheekily.

you nearly choke and your heart rate runs rampant, looking as if you hadn’t had sex before. “do you want to?”

“would i ask if i didn’t want to?”

there’s a rush between your thighs almost immediately. you place your fork down onto your plate and stand up, but before you can walk off he’s up and scooping you into his strong arms. he cascades up the steps with you bridal style.

as soon as he steps into the bedroom, he places you down on the fuzzy chair in front of your vanity. a finger points to the lacy set laying on the neat bed.

“you wanna tell me what you got this out for?” he presses, kneeling down on the ground in front of you. luigi’s pretty lips pepper kisses on your ankles, lifting each one up slowly to remove your kitten heels. once each shoe is off, he places the now bare calf on his shoulder.

“please, lu…” you plead pathetically.

his eyebrows furrow upwards, looking at you with big eyes full of faux empathy. “please what? use your words, mio amore. dimmi cosa vuoi*.”

words are quick to fail you. your brain is blank, almost static. most times you have sex it’s quick and hushed because the twins are in the house.

he’s kissing up your legs again, attempting to get a rise out of you. once he gets to your thighs, you’re getting a little restless.

“taking too long,” you mumble, and he lifts his head to look you in the eye again — this time much more stern.

“what was that?”

“said you’re taking too long,” you repeat yourself louder, locking your gaze with his.

within a second, he’s snatched you up and thrown you onto the neat bed.

“you and your goddamn bed decorations. i never know why you put all these pillows on here when we’re just gonna throw them all off later,” he grumbles, clearly angry and clearing the throw pillows from the bed, tossing them to the floor.

luigi pushes your maxi skirt up and nearly tears your little cotton underwear off of you. his tongue darts between your warmth and his nose harshly rubs against your clit, catching you off guard and sending your spine into electric shock. your hands fly to grip his hair in one hand and the tightly made bedsheets in the other.

“y’taste so sweet, tesoro,” he groans against you, leaving open-mouthed kisses on your thighs before going back to devouring your sex.

he’s already working an easy orgasm or two from you. he pulls you from your stupor and unzips your dress, gingerly pulling it off of you — he knows how upset you got last time he accidentally ripped the hem of your dress.

his shirt is gone, his chin and parts of his cheeks are still wet, and removing his belt as quickly as he can. as soon as his pants drop, you grab the hem of his boxers and pull them down. every time you see his cock, it never fails to surprise you that the tip touches his fucking belly button.

you pop his throbbing pink tip into your mouth, giving it little kitten licks and short kisses. you work your way down, or as much as you can, using your hand to pump what you can’t fit in your mouth. you’re moaning and slobbering around his cock, vibrations from your voice sending chills up his spine and down into his arms. his hands find their way to the back of your head, carefully urging you to take more.

your throat is constricting and you retract from his cock, looking into his eyes for validation.

“you’re taking too long,” he mocks in a faux whiny voice. luigi pushes you back onto the bed by his shoulders and holds his heavy cock. he teases your folds, rubbing his hot tip through to spread your own spit and cum from him eating you out. slowly, he pushes in. he always waits a little for you to adjust to how big he is.

“fuck, m’so full…”

“you’re so tight, mio amore.”

his eyes are boring into yours and his hands press down onto your womb to see his own cock buried into you.

“gonna cum if you don’t breathe for a second and relax, holy fuck baby,” he reminds you with a deep, raspy tone.

you take a deep breath and mid-exhale he starts to pound into you with a feverish and eager alacrity, causing you to almost scream.

“mmmmy fucking god!” your voice shakes with each impactful thrust against your hips. one of his hands grips your waist and the other attaches to your boob, his head following shortly. his tongue laps around your peaked nipple rapidly.

then both hands are on your waist and he briefly pulls out to flip you onto your stomach and prop your ass up to his liking. he’s shoving his cock back into your soaked cunt and returns back to his relentless pace.

“gonna fuck a baby into you, bella ragazza, gonna get you nice and swollen with a pretty baby, hm? isn’t that right?” he pushes his hand down onto your lower back, arching you up higher for him. both of his big hands find your frizzed up curly bun and he snatches your head back.

“feels so fucking good, m’gonna cum, lu!”

“aht,” he slows down exponentially, “you’ll cum when i tell you to.”

your eyes roll to the back of your head with adoration and you swear your ovaries start jumping at the demand. he’s back to slamming into you and a hard hand comes down onto each ass cheek three or four times. he adds to the torture by holding your hair in one hand and moving his other arm around your hip to grind his palm on your clit.

“oh my god, i’m gonna fucking cum luigi…” you breathe out between a moan, a scream and a whisper.

“what’d i tell you?”

“to wait ‘til you tell me to cum!”

“do what i tell you, be a good girl and listen to me.”

your brain is numb and your head falls limp, his grip in your hair is the only thing holding your body close to his.

“you’re so fucking pretty, mio amore, can i take a picture?”

you just nod obediently, not really caring too much at this point. he reaches over to the bedside table where he put his phone before dinner and opens the camera, showing your mascara dripping down your face from tears you didn’t know were flowing and an agape mouth, moans slipping through with every motion.

“you see why i love fucking you s’much? hm? look at yourself while i fuck you, baby,” he’s shoving the phone into your hand to palm your clit again. you’re bucking your hips against each form of stimulation with your jaw wide open, breathing shakily.

“there you go, tesoro, y’wanna cum?” he taunts, to which you nod your head and moan a hearty ‘yes!’

his index and middle finger focus on your clit, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves as tightly as he can. your eyes go crossed, no longer paying any attention to the reflection in the camera. luigi’s hand drops from your hair, pushes your head down and arches your back up one more time. he pressed record on the camera and kept up with his cock bullying into your cervix over and over.

“go ahead and cum with me baby, take it like the good girl you are.”

when he gives you permission, almost like a stage cue, you totally let go. your cunt squeezes around him entirely and traps him in. his cock twitches rampantly inside you as he meets his release, watching your face through the camera that you’re gripping onto with your life.

it takes a few minutes to cool off after he lays down beside you, stopping the recording and kissing all over your face. “you did so good for me, baby. sei una brava ragazza*.”

you don’t even have it in you to respond, your chest heaving.

“you think that one will take? should we go for another round?”

this gets a breathless chortle from you. “can i catch my breath first? also, you messed my hair up.”

“so that’s a yes?” he asks, already burying his face into your chest and carefully pressing kisses to your hot skin.

🌺🩷💋

italian words and phrases:

padrini: godparents

tesoro: sweetheart

sono a casa: i’m home!

dimmi cosa vuoi: tell me what you want

sei una brava ragazza: you’re (such) a good girl

[takes1]

oh my lord i love your writing it literally has me geeked every time. any possibility you write more for my man asahi? i’ll take anything you have to offer but i can’t stop thinking about something similar in premise to the wrestling where, instead, it’s 7 minutes in heaven? possible details about the closet they’re in being too small for him, perhaps~ because what asahi fan doesn’t appreciate some size difference goodness

asahi azumane x reader w/ size kink

i literally said, out loud, "ohhh!!!" and started writing it as soon as i saw this ask - you have a gift for ideas my love. thank you for sending this in!!!

warnings. heavy nsfw. minors DNI

details. fem!reader / 7 min. in heaven / heavy size kink / heavy claustrophilia / soft top!asahi / mutual?crushing / manhandling / thigh riding / making out / hickeys and marking / semi PDA / rough but sweet!asahi / 2.3k words / oh lord another maybe? two parter

links. my masterlist. more haikyuu. my ao3. my imagines. my request box

"Well, it's not a closet per se," Suga cocked his head at the half-done, dusty, crawl space the group chose for this game, "But it'll do, right?"

Asahi glanced down at you and didn't stop. You were taken by a big wave of chills, crossed your arms, looked away, then back up-- and he was still looking down at you. Any hope of subtlety was over.

He nodded, despite being the most effected by the size problem of this unfortunate reality.

"Well, there's nothing in it."

A fair point. The other closets were filled with closet-like things. Towels, cleaning supplies, pantry items, tools. The group, consisting of mixed-up members of Karasuno volleyball teams, had a fun treasure hunt with that stuff, but this was what you were after. A closet to play your thirsty game in.

'Unfortunate' was just one mode of perception. Less room meant more contact, but nobody was saying that aloud.

"Can you even fit in here, dude?" Nishinoya clambered out with relative ease, albeit sideways.

Every girl except you looked away as Asahi tried, embarrassed at the way the boards creaked, how he wouldn't be able to enter normally because his shoulders were too wide for the space. He had to bend at the waist because he was far too tall. You scanned the empty space in front of him, warm and tingly.

There was some room! You could fit there and you would, maybe, die trying.

Ever since Daichi retired to his room for the night, nobody had taken up the burdensome mantle of responsibility. His dad-like severity had a strong influence on the types of activities that were 'allowed' to happen.

7 Minutes in Heaven would have never been brought up with him present.

As long as the Karasuno teams were quiet enough to not wake him, you could carry on.

It's not that a game of spin the bottle, or some truth or dare, was necessarily scandalous, but it was enough to get everybody giggling and generate the who-has-a-crush-on-who type of conversations. Since everybody left downstairs were the interested ones that hadn't gone to bed already, it left this smaller, more intimate group to carry out some otherwise repressed desires.

You weren't the first to go in, but it was clear that the first pairing didn't do anything. That was fine and all, and a good reminder that you didn't have to kiss, if you didn't want to.

When Asahi was asked who he wanted to spend the time with, he returned your previous admission from a different game.

"I mean- why would I not say (Y/n)?"

He looked from Suga, who had taken the mantle of 'fun-mom' in all of this, being the bottle-spinner and card-holder and question-maker, back to you.

You realized the time he took to look at his friend was probably the only instance in the past 30 minutes that his eyes hadn't been locked onto you, ever since you admitted your little crush for him.

Getting in was about as easy as you imagined.

It had you both packed so tight that you had maybe an inch to move, at best. It forced you to put your hands on each other, just to stay oriented in the pitch black, and not trip.

"G-od," He sighed, and you earned a centimeter of space for two seconds. Then he had to take another breath and you were immobilized again, "We gotta- gotta adjust, or somethi-ng."

A strained, "Y-eah," was all you could get out. This was not a space meant to fit two people.

"I think, if... I..."

In the darkness, all you could see was some vague shadows move as he stretched down. His palms swallowed up your sides, and you desperately tried to keep your excitement down when you felt for his shoulders. He curled you up and threaded a strong, wide thigh between yours.

Most of it was genuine adjustment, but that didn't mean that it felt any less erotic. Just having to wrap your arms around his body and pull, so that you could sit higher up on his leg, was making your heart race.

"That feel better?"

His grumbly tone forced your thighs to tighten, the way you sat becoming more arched.

You could only give him a whisper, voice strained, because of how nervous you felt, "Yes."

Asahi chuckled right away, his breath ghosting right past your temple.

It was impossible to tell if he was bent to purposefully be close, or if there was no space to straighten more. You assumed the most polite option.

"You, uh- you... comfortable?" He muttered, more against you instead of anywhere else he could've possibly spoken, "Comfortable enough- I guess?"

You laughed, "Sure, yeah."

His thumb started rubbing against your side as he laughed with you. You could feel yourself getting wet, and tried to suppress any automatic squirming.

"You're- a... a nice seat--," Your face scrunched, your innocent words unsuccessful at trying to make things silly, and easy.

"Oh?" He chuckled at you.

"I- didn't--," You looked up in the dark, but couldn't see anything, and tried to pray away your embarrassment, "I did not mean it like that."

His grin spread, and you could feel his stubble really clearly against your forehead.

A tiny kiss to your hairline made your fingers grip his t-shirt, your spine straighten, your poor heart work even harder.

"It's okay if you did," The smile in his voice was so sweet.

Kissing him was shockingly simple. You felt like you had lots to say, things to explain, but they were so unimportant when his lips were soft and reading you like an open book.

The only crucial detail needed, for the moment, in this closet, was that you were super into him, and he was at least entertaining it.

For minutes, he couldn't decide where, how, he wanted to hold you. His arms would trade off between pulling you against his front in a hug, so he could feel more of your body on his.

Or, he would take more of a direct route of using his hands to pull you in for kisses, by the back of the neck, with his other palm keeping you pressed hard against his thigh.

The switch would happen any time you weren't heavy enough on his leg, or when your back wasn't arched enough to stay smushed against his chest.

"M-mh-," He was rolling your hips for you, weighing you down more on his thigh, flexing it just so.

You squirmed, having to part, at his lewd sounds.

He searched for you, huffing, in the dark, "Does that feel good?"

The tone he used with you was genuine, despite how dirty the phrase felt. For a moment, he stopped rubbing you against him.

You swallowed the mixture of spit in your mouth and tried to wipe the drool off of your lips, trembling, "Y-eah, it-- it's--,"

When your hand dipped to fix the seam of your shorts, you accidentally grabbed something warm, and stiff, and just off of where he had you grinding.

"Oh-! Sorry," You retracted your hand, face radiating heat, "I'm sorry."

His chest swelled in a restrained gasp through his nose. His voice was higher, and different as he reassured you it was completely fine.

"Was- that--? Mmh--," Before you could finish your tentative question, he wrapped one arm around you, palming half ass, half hip, while the other yanked you against his torso. It seemed he had realized a good middle ground between his holds.

Another partial moan at how he was able to pull you further up -so that you were trapping his cock between your bodies- got cut off by another clumsy kiss.

He bit you, at your bottom lip, and it throbbed for the rest of the time you kissed him. It made you shove a hand down the back of his shirt, give him an otherwise embarrassing sound, that he ate right up.

What you could feel of his print throbbed against you. A weakness radiated down through your fingers and toes as you scratched lines into his bare skin. It didn't do shit. It was like he didn't even feel it.

Actually, you wanted that shirt off.

It took just three seconds of pitiful tugging for him to let off, pull it over his head with one hand, and swing it to the dusty floor. Forgotten.

He was rough when he put his hands back on you, when you returned it, tugging, wanting to be closer however possible.

"Fuck-!" You sighed, breathing hard, fast, at his busy sucking down your neck.

His nails dug into your skin, his breathing characterized by needy groans that sounded a lot like he in the middle of a workout, if anything.

Since when did he like you back? Was it just because you were available? Would he have done this with any of the girls on your team? Not that it was much of a competition- none of them thought he looked 'civilized' enough to entertain him as an option.

Your legs were jelly, your thoughts heavy, but it didn't matter.

His shoulders would stretch further with every huff, expanding and resetting, and you couldn't stop yourself from scouring every inch while he was over you. It was getting hot in here. He was getting tacky, a little slippery in some areas.

He bit you too hard in a soft spot and you cried out, barely stuffing the sound into his bare shoulder. It was loud and you both knew it was audible through the other side of the door.

Asahi slowed, as gentle as he started, again, with an apologetic hum in the crook of your neck.

"Sorry," You could hear his smile, "Too much-"

He sighed and collected his nerves for a second as he readjusted his grip on you. More palm, less fingertips. It didn't sting as much and you missed it.

He said definitively, mostly to himself, "That was too much."

"I liked it!" You reassured him quietly, palm moving from his shoulder, to his neck, to the side of his face.

"I liked it. I liked it," Got repeated, in a tiny giggle, as he stilled.

You were delivering multiple little pecks across his face, craving his intensity as soon as you lost it. You tried holding him tighter, but it wasn't the same when he wasn't pushing and pulling.

That tingly sensation of his breathy laugh, his skilled tongue, was back on your neck, closer to your ear.

You melted at once with a whimper, the need to rock your own hips short-lived because he pushed his own against your heat.

"Ahh-!"

He grinned, sucking another bit of skin in an obvious spot, "Shhh."

The heartbeat between your legs was strong. He could feel it clearly against his thigh, wishing it was better placed and put to good use.

His fingertips were digging, pushing past the waistband of your shorts, further down, palm against your tummy. Maybe it was that feeling, maybe it was your enthusiasm, or maybe the fact that you were so wet he could feel that, too, but something possessed him to start getting greedy.

But he paid for it. While you were encouraging him, a hand around his thick forearm, guiding and pushing it down, a gasp already on your breath-- you were both completely blinded.

No courtesy knock. Just a bright light and a loud screech. Asahi retracted his curious hand in a flash, but there was not much else to do to make this look less provocative.

Though the sound was higher-pitched, it was not made from anyone on your team.

Nishinoya dropped to his knees, slack-jawed, and that's all you were able to register before the door slammed shut again.

Suga scolded him from the other side, others were shushing incessantly.

"You were supposed to knock, Noya!!"

"Now Daichi's gonna wake up! Nice going, dumbass!"

It gave you both enough time to try and separate. However, without opening the door, you couldn't get fully off of one another.

You were shaking, beyond nervous, and forcefully sobered. Not exactly happy.

"Um- that was great. Thank you," It was a short, and curt, way of telling him you didn't expect much after this. You had one hand on the door.

Asahi grabbed you by the waist and dragged you back. "C'mere--,"

His rough, messy, desperate last kiss was enough to leave you dizzy. He readjusted himself during it with one last rub.

"We're not done yet," He told you. Another hasty peck to the top of your head, and he was leagues lighter in tone, "Uh, sorry- As far as I'm concerned. Do what you want, though!"

He turned the knob for you and pushed it open a crack. You stumbled out, wiping your mouth.

☆VIP☆

@integers @paradoxicalwritings @yuchacco @screamin-abt-haikyuu

potential for part two but i need to refrain from making promises. lmk if you're interested and i can make a taglist if i revisit!

my masterlist. more haikyuu. my imagines. requests open.

[milla-frenchy]

Shameless

3k1 | Lucien de Leon x fem reader | ao3 | masterlist

Summary: you ask Lucien to come over and he does exactly what you need him to Warnings: 18+ mdni. Oral (f/m), size kink, cigarettes, rimming, ass play, piv, creampie, pet names (baby, baby girl), reader has no specific physical descriptions but wears a dress

a/n:  Thank you for the inspo @gothcsz 🙏❤️ (tumblr free Kat FFS§§§) Thank you @aurorawritestoescape for beta-ing and for everything, ily so, so much 🥹💕 @/saradika-graphics for the dividers 🙏

“Come on baby, don't play like this now,” he said, full of self-confidence, leaning against the wall in front of your door in his stupid shirt. The mountain of shit he had been dragging behind him for years had never damage his self-esteem.

“I don’t know why I keep calling you,” you said, bitter and unfair towards him. “Every time I regret it. Before or after I fuck you.”

“Mmmm… So you regret it now? You want me to leave? Ok,” he added, turning around, before you could even answer.

“Fuck, wait, Lucien!”

He didn't hide his smile as he turned around. 

“See, baby? That's your problem, you always push people away. You're scared to be loved. And that's why you always call me.”

“Yeah, right. And you’re perfect for that, because love’s not your thing.”

He leaned against the wall again, a soft smile on his lips.

 “You think that? But who's gonna love you like I do, baby?”

“And how do you love me?”

“My way,” he said, coming closer to you, a cigarette resting behind his ear. This motherfucker was the hottest man you knew. The biggest red flag you’d ever met.

“You always say you wanna be good but you keep begging me to come over,” he said, moving closer to you, his face only a few inches away from yours. Damn, you just wanted to kiss him. To fuck him.

“Because no one can touch you like me, that deep,” he added, brushing your lips with his before pulling away.

“I’m not just talking about here,” he said, pointing at  your heart with his finger. “But also here,” he added, grabbing your pussy. “You need me. No one can fuck you like me. That deep, right?”

You swallowed loudly. Fuck, you needed him, deep and rough. He probably saw it in your eyes, but instead of leaning in and kissing you, he grabbed his cigarette and lit it. He smiled as he let the smoke out.

“Come on baby, don't give me that ‘piss off’ look. I’m gonna give you what you want,” he said, pressing his hard cock against the fabric of his black pants and pushing himself against you. He turned the cigarette over to offer it to you, and you took a drag.

“Yeah, whatever,” you said.

“Had some good dicks in the last few weeks?”

“Fucked a few. Can’t say they were that good, though.”

“Awww,” he said dramatically, before adding, “you fucked them raw? Do I have to use a condom, baby?”

“No. You’re the only dick that I fuck raw.”

He chuckled and threw his cigarette on the ground. You rolled your eyes and in two seconds he was fully against you, crushing his lips against yours, his hands cupping your cheeks.

He was never aggressive or possessive, always beautifully sensual and free. No strings attached, and that's exactly what you needed. Someone who wouldn't ask you something you couldn't or wouldn't want to give.

Each time he’d kiss you, each time you’d fuck, you never knew if it was the last time. Didn't know if you'd end up getting bored with him like with everyone else. 

You doubted he would, on the other hand. He was always patient, never seemed to take your mood swings badly. He never said ’no’ to you, even if he knew you just needed to use him, somehow. Even if you were sometimes hard on him. 

He was probably right: he loved you in his own, unconventional way, and that twisted relationship was oddly the most stable part of your life.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked as he kissed your neck, your eyes already rolling to the back of your head just at the feeling of his soft mustache brushing your skin, then his rougher beard that he loved to rub against the soft skin of your neck. Just like he loved to graze it against your inner thighs each time he ate you out.

He straightened up to look at you then licked your lips with the tip of his tongue, your mind suddenly blank.

“Need it bad, huh,” he chuckled. It wasn’t a question. Yeah, you needed it bad, but still, you shrugged.

“Come on baby, let me in,” he said against your lips, his familiar tobacco breath invading your nostrils a little more. “And I'm not talking about your cunt, she’s already droolin’, right?”

You didn’t answer and just pulled away from him to lead the way inside your house, to the dining room. You could feel his eyes fixed on your ass. You didn't even have to sway your hips to know he'd follow you anywhere at that moment.

He pushed the front door behind him, quickening his pace to be right behind you and caress the roundness of your ass before seizing your hips to make you stop.

“Mmmm, baby… I never get enough of this body,” he murmured in your ear, his hard cock against you. You wanted to say something clever, or at least something with your usual “whatever” attitude, but his touch was overwhelming you.

He slid his hands up to your breasts and cupped them sensually, his nose against your hair, he breathed it in as he said, “damn you’re so hot,” almost to himself. 

He squeezed your breasts slightly, perfectly, then pulled down your neckline, freeing your nipples swollen by desire. His hand slithered down your spine to your ass and then he grabbed his bulge.

“Shit, I’m so fucking hard,” he said, his voice not as playful as usual. “Turn around baby,” he added. You did as he asked, trying to get your composure back as you looked up at him.

He cupped your tits again and took a nipple in his mouth. He sucked and licked it, making you whine “shit” softly, as you ran your fingers in his hair and pressed his face against your skin. He chuckled, so sure of himself, that he was even hotter than a second before, and sucked your other nipple. He coated it with his saliva then peppered your chest with kisses, up towards your neck and finally your lips, his tongue quickly pushed through yours, while he grabbed the hem of your short dress then pulled it over your head. He was in a rush and your head was dizzy.

His hands were rubbing your body as if he didn't know what to touch or where to stop, but he finally covered your pussy with his full hand, his fingers brushing the wet garment.

“Mmm yeah…” he said, and you didn’t take your eyes off him as he unbuttoned his shirt then freed his hard cock from his pants. The most gorgeous cock you'd ever seen, with a fat tip and a large vein that you loved to roll under your tongue.

“Come on, baby. I’ve been thinking about fucking your mouth since you called me,” he said, slowly jacking his thick cock with his fist, his stare full of lust. 

He was insanely beautiful and hot as hell, with his shirt open over his broad chest, two chains resting at the bottom of his neck. 

“Yeah? Well I’ve been thinking about cumming in yours since I called you,” you replied.

“Damn, you’re gonna kill me one day, you know that?” he smiled. 

“Mmm… clothes off, red flag guy,” you told him, then sat on the couch, feet firmly planted on the ground, legs spread. Shameless. 

Panties still on, you knew he loved to remove them himself. 

“And light me a cigarette, big boy, will you?”

You were in charge again. He was letting you be. 

A silent game between the two of you with rules that never needed to be stated.

He took his pack out of his shirt pocket and lit a cigarette then handed it to you, letting the smoke escape from him towards you. Then he undressed, slowly and sensually.

You watched him getting naked in front of you, dragging on your cigarette from time to time, arm resting along the backrest. He always made you feel safe, free, powerful.

He remained standing for a few moments, looking at you like you were the most beautiful woman in the world. His hard cock pointed towards the ceiling, slowly jacking off again after spitting into his palm. Even though the precum was flowing from his reddened slit.

He knelt down and placed his hands on your knees before moving up the inside of your thighs, the soft rub making you shiver. When he grabbed the hem of your panties, you lifted your hips to help him to pull them down slowly, revealing your glistening pussy and the butt plug you had inserted just before he arrived.

“Shit, baby…” his husky voice and eyes full of desire made you drool a little more. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

“Fuck… Take a drag, baby,” he asked, unable to take his eyes off your two holes. He spread your thighs wider by pushing on them with his shoulders. You exhaled the blue smoke slowly, looking down at him, kneeling between your thighs. So broad, so strong, but still at your knees, leaving you in full control of your femininity. It made him even more beautiful, even more attractive, even more sensual. He grabbed one of your thighs and kissed the sensitive skin, then placed it on his shoulder.

“Fuck you're so hot. A true free spirit, aren't you?”

He didn't let you answer and leaned down, running his nose up your folds. He growled as he licked them with the tip of his tongue, then moved away slightly to look at your cunt and ass.

He seized the plug and pulled on it slightly, until the widest part reached your ring, making you moan.

“Shit,” he said, unable to say more as he watched your muscle tighten every time the metal spread it apart.

“You always let them go down on you?” he asked, moving the plug deliciously back and forth, before sticking his tongue into your wet cunt. You let your head fall back against the back of the couch. He had always been a really good fuck, but he always ate you out divinely well, leaving you breathless as soon as he dived in.

“Mmm?” he insisted.

“Shit… you’re the jealous type now?” you pantered.

“No. It turns me on to think about it,” he answered, grabbing one of your breasts with his hands.

“Damn, Lucien you're twisted…” you whimpered. “Not always… shit… I… not all men are good at it,” you stammered. 

He chuckled, so sure of himself, pushing a finger into your cunt already stuffed by his tongue. It was like he was all over your body, boobs, pussy and ass, and it was intoxicating.

“I think you forgot about your cig, baby,” he said, teasing. He wasn't one of those men. Of course he wasn't. He was so good at this. 

You crushed the cigarette in the ashtray by the armrest. He was so good that sometimes he would make you come in less time than it took you to finish your cig. Then he’d grab it from your trembling fingers to take a drag while you were still trying to catch your breath. 

His hand left your tit to press your hip against the sofa and he pushed his tongue into your drooling hole. 

“Gonna come for me? Yeah, you're gonna come for me. Soak my face, baby girl.”

You used him to get off, rubbing yourself against his nose, hands tight on his head, thighs spread as wide as possible, giving him full access to your core. You were so aroused that some of your wetness was leaking down to the plug, making it even easier for him to fuck you with it.

“Lucien,” you whined. His hand tightened on your flesh, letting you use him like you needed until you came in his mouth.

He pushed two fingers in your cunt and looked the way your body was squeezing his thick digits pumping your cunt and the plug, until it finally stopped. 

He pushed the metal all the way in then stood up and brushed your cheek as you looked up at him and straightened up, his cock inches from your lips. He held it tightly and you licked his shaft from his fingers to his tip, unable to tease him more. He growled when you took him in your mouth, focusing on the tip at first then deeper and deeper, getting your throat used to his width, and your saliva started to flow down his shaft to his fingers. Your hand caressed his balls full of cum.

“Fuck yeah, just like that,” he murmured.

You pushed his hand from his shaft and jerked him off slowly, licking his balls that you could never resist for long. He whimpered when you took one of them in your mouth, the thin skin rolling between your lips. 

“You're so easy, Lucien,” you chuckled. It was your turn to make him fall apart, and you loved it.

“Shit, yeah, I'm easy with this damn mouth,” he agreed. “That’s it baby. Keep licking them.”

You pulled them up then tasted the skin behind them, gaze looking up at him but his eyes were closed, his hands resting on your head.

“You don’t want a cigarette, Lucien?” you bantered, then licked him again from his scrotum to his ass that you teased with the tip of your tongue.

“Fuck… I can barely breathe, no I can’t smoke right now, you little minx,” he whimpered as you took a ball in your mouth. You finally released it with a needy moan. Your core was already filled with warmth again and begging for release. 

“Shit, you need it deep, right? Wanna ride it?” he asked as he held your elbow to get you up.

“No, want you to fuck me.”

“Come here then, baby. All fours. Lemme see that ass.”

You settled and he knelt behind you, rubbing his cock against your soaked folds, before grabbing the plug and pulling on it slightly, making your ring contract instinctively as it was stretching you.

He chuckled, then mocked gently, “that’s cute. As if he doesn’t want to get fucked.” He nestled his fat tip at your sloppy pussy then pushed in, and you stopped breathing for a minute under the feeling of his cock splitting you in two.

“How do you need me, baby? Need me to fix you up for a while, until next time?”

You moaned, feeling him push in your two holes.

“Tell me,” he insisted, filling you with his whole length and brushing against your cervix.

“Yeah, fuck…. Yeah, I need you to fix me.”

“Damn, baby,” he said, pulling out to eat your pussy from behind, and he removed the plug to press his nose against your ass before coming up to lick it.

“Oh god,” you whined, eyes rolling in the back of your head and fists squeezing the sofa cushions. He spat on your ass and watched the saliva run down and slide inside before licking at it, pressing his tongue against it then pushing in. Your ass opened up to let him reach inside and you couldn’t hold back a loud moan as he was lapping at your hole.

He spanked you and focused his tongue on your most private place before grabbing your ass with his two hands. You wanted to beg him to stuff you until he’d fill you with his seed. 

“Lucien, please… Fuck me.”

He straightened up and pressed his tip against your cunt, pushing in slowly to let you feel all of him sliding in.

“Oh, fuck,” you whined.

Leaning on your forearms, you didn't move, letting him thrust into you, filling you so slowly that you could feel the vein of his cock brushing your insides.

“Oh, god, that’s good Lucien, fuck…”

“Yeah? Always takin’ me so good, baby…”

He started to fuck you, his thumb pressed against your ass, growls and moans escaping from his lips. He was watching you contract on his digit as he was filling your two holes. 

“Mmm,” you hummed. “Harder, please,” you whined.

You knew he would do it for you, in the way you needed, even though you knew he would want to take his time, to get you used to him. But he had quickly understood why you called him. Because he would answer your needs, because you were safe with him. Because his cock was so big it was perfect for what you were looking for, to forget everything else. He knew you were scared to be loved, or to love, and didn't want that kind of relationship. That this way of fucking was what you needed. For now anyway, and maybe forever. He always smiled when you called him a red flag, unaware of that game he was still playing for you. He could find it funny, how wrapped he was around your finger, although you didn't even know it. Or maybe you just didn't want to see it.

He was rolling into you, faster than he wanted. Harder than he wanted. Because if it was the only way he could have you, he would never say no. Because he knew you wouldn’t fall for him, and it was probably for the best.

“Fuck, baby… your little cunt is squeezing me so hard… You know I can never say no to you, right?” he asked, sliding his hand down to your clit, eager to make you come. His entire length was pushing in and out, fucking your insides like no one else could. Not as deep, not as wide.

“Make me come, Lucien, please,” you whimpered.

His balls squeezed him painfully, waiting to give you what you wanted. When you came, tightening on his cock so fucking hard, it was enough for him to spit his cum deep into your core while he panted even louder than you, mouth crushed against your shoulder, nibling at it, his weight pushing on your back. You leaned forward and felt his length leave your cunt and his cum flowed when you lay down on the couch, under him. Already feeling so desperately empty.

He leaned towards you and kissed you. He knew you didn't want more, and wouldn't allow more. Didn't want some bullshit proximity.

He sat on the couch, putting your calves on his lap, while you stayed lying there. He lit up a cigarette for you, then another one for him. You smoked them silently until he got up and put his clothes on.

“Till next time?” he asked.

“Till next time,” you replied.

Thank you for reading 🙏

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ❤️

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[chrollohearttags]

CHARACTER ANALYSIS: EREN JAEGER AKA EJ THE DON

so in honor of me finally reviving Reverb, I decided to do some character analyses and info cards, if you will. These were so much fun (and a lot of work) to make and I really hope y’all like them. I was heavily inspired by a wonderful, talented mutual of mine and her amazing character analysis she did for her series a while back! As always, y’all know reblogs and comments are appreciated!! (Fair warning, this is a long read but it’s been in the works since last year and I hope y’all enjoy)

╔═*.·:·.✧ ✦✧.·:·.*═╗ ╔═*.·:·.✧ ✦✧.·:·.*═╗ ╔═*.·:·.✧ ✦✧. ✦✧.

name: Eren Michael Jaeger | date of birth + sign: March 31st, 1998 (aries sun) | age: 26 | aliases/nickname: EJ, Eren, EJ The Don, The Underground God, Rennie | pronouns: he/him/his | sexuality: straight (but a bit bi-curious) | race/ethnicity: white, italian/turkish + german

song in the video: ChainSwang - BONES (slowed and reverb ver.)

biography and early life: Eren was born in Montclair, New Jersey to his mother Carla and father, Dr. Grisha Jaeger. The couple met while Carla was working as a bottle girl at a gentleman’s club called Starlets in New York, when she was nineteen years old. (age gap oops)

Grisha, who was working at Mount Sinai as part of his residency, was twenty seven at the time and married to (but separated from) socialite and heiress, Dina Fritz. The two were a classic case of opposites attracting and it didn’t take long for their bond to flourish from a one night fling to something far more. A year into their relationship, Carla learned that she was pregnant and Grisha, who had annulled his first marriage some months prior, proposed right away and the couple settled in the suburbia township to raise their newborn son. Eren was described as a ‘very enigmatic and unique child’. Growing up, he was said to have always had a natural inclination towards music. From playing on toy keyboards to babbling songs into his Spider-Man karaoke machine at just three years old, it seemed that early on, the young prodigy was shaping his destiny. Eren attended the Montclair Township Charter Elementary, alongside his childhood best friends, Mikasa Ackerman and Armin Artlert, who were among many of the children of affluent families. He was extremely intelligent and schoolwork was a breeze. The problem was that he could be less interested! Eren struggled to focus and with maintaining relationships, which worried his mom. She took him to therapists, sought counseling and even considered moving him to alternative school when he began getting into trouble.

She worried what would happen to him…but luckily, her fears were for nothing because soon, Eren would show her and the entire world his true purpose. When he was ten years old, Carla enrolled her son in lessons for piano and guitar. During this time, he began to really hone his musical talent, and needless to say, he was a prodigy. All but mastering everyone he picked up. This seemed to be the area that little EJ most thrived in. Even his friendships began to grown. Having left New Jersey before they went to middle school, Mikasa and Armin were the only two people he'd bonded with. But eventually, Eren found companionship in several people from all walks of life and other areas of town. He didn't care about how much money someone had or what they looked like, he just enjoyed like minded people. Finding himself hanging out, playing basketball, skating and of course, making music. However, his father was less than pleased with his academic performance and new group of comrades. As the son of a prestigious doctor, Eren knew that his father wouldn’t approve of his hobbies if his grades weren’t up to par but he never expected that the catalyst for his dreams would be their falling out..when Eren was 15 years old, he made the decision to leave home and emancipate himself from his parents after a horrendous fallout with his dad.

It came as a shock to his friends, who felt that his life was objectively better than their own. However, it was the principle and anyone who truly knew the situation..knew that it was a long time coming and much deserved. Years of being put down or not acknowledged for refusing to follow in his footsteps and the final straw came when his father's cowardice and lying caused him to lose someone very important to him. Something that Eren could not forgive (explaining this later in the story!) After receiving $300 from his older half brother, young EJ boarded a bus to Miami, not looking back once. And he was fully prepared to make a life for himself, one not attached to his dad's name..no matter the cost. After arriving in Florida, Eren would work odd jobs to provide for himself and found housing at a local boys home in the Northside area. Just two blocks from Ocean Shore High School, where he finished out the remainder of his junior and senior years. It was then that he met fellow classmates and future group members Connie Springer and Onyakopon 'Ony' Baptiste (he doesn't canonically have a last name that I am aware of so I gave him one and I will explain it in his own backstory). The three of them immediately bonded and only grew closer when they played on the varsity basketball team together and began working at a local shoe store in the Aventura Mall. This would be the first time that the world would get a glimpse into Eren's musical talents when his friends would record him singing Miguel's "Sure Thing' in the backroom of the store and posted it online.

career: After going viral, Eren began to take his craft even more serious. Going from penning rhymes in his notebook between periods to doing makeshift recording sessions in the chorus classroom, he would post covers and original songs to a YouTube channel as well his Sound Cloud. He would save a portion of his paychecks and do yard, mechanic and janitorial work for neighbors to procure studio time. He eventually saved up and purchased a MacBook, and began making instrumentals. It was during this time that he began working a temp job for a local underground club, where artists like Denzel Curry, Ice Billion Berg and Pouya got their starts. Hired to clean up after sets and during closing, Eren would listen in on the performances, watching, studying and observing the rappers' movements. Having never done an official performance, it was an area he had no experience in. But during an open mic night at the club, he got an opportunity and didn't miss! Debuting one of his now infamous tracks, First Degree, Eren once again shocked everyone with how talented and charismatic he was. It was almost as if rapping and singing came as naturally as speaking did. Now 18 years old, graduated from high school and riding the momentum of his first stage set, Eren continued to grind. Working by day and recording and writing by night. It was then that he began going by the name EJ the Don after Ony joked about his New Jersey and Italian origins, implying that he must have 'mafia ties' because he assimilated into life in this rough area so well. His image and brand slowly came together afterwards..embracing the dark, edgy aesthetic coupled with his buttery smooth voice and unique lyricism, Eren was in a league all on his own.

And it didn't take long for the rising star to catch the attention of some big names in the industry, including renowned Neo-Soul artist and five time Grammy winner Vivian James. Who was not only doing a show at the Miami Amphitheater for a music festival but scouting prospects for the talent agency giant, Ackerman Management Group. Known for catapulting the careers of some of the biggest names in music, modeling and acting. Still building his reputation, EJ got the chance of a lifetime when he not only received a job request but an invitation from Vivian herself, looking for a backup vocalist and pianist. Naturally, being a huge fan on top of a starving artist, Eren immediately accepted and the rest was history! Vivian was blown away that he was able to recite the songs verbatim and so perfectly on such a short notice..so much so, she gave Eren an offer he couldn't refuse: an audition with AMG on the condition that he would work as her protege regardless and it was a no brainer. Two days after his nineteenth birthday, EJ the Don officially signed with Ackerman Management Group, the family business of his old childhood friend, Mikasa. Who was going by the stage name Mika ASH. But it wasn't smooth sailing for the new rap sensation..although he was Vivian's protege, he captured the attention of other executives who was interested in more than his music. Unfortunately, it caused them to try and take advantage of him, both career wise and physically. Eren persevered and focused on what his goal truly was and that was sharing his gift with the world. Six months after being signed, he released his first EP, Living Dead Boy. He went on tour shortly after and released Living Dead Boy II: The Casket Chronicles a year later. Fast forward and Eren took the 'horrorcore' rap scene and the internet by storm, with his gritty wordplay and captivating visuals. Ten years later, he is hailed as the Underground God and widely credited for reshaping the genre as a whole.

musical muses: BONES (the character playlist can be found here), $uicideBoys, August Alsina, Jon Dretto

notable achievements: LivingDeadBoy I sold 50,000 units its first week and debuted number seven on the charts. But his debut single, First Degree was number two on the charts and widely viral on social media. LivingDeadBoy II: The Casket Chronicles sold five times with 250,000 units and at just 20 years old, EJ had his first sold out tour in North America. His debut album was very successful and received two Grammy nominations. (even though he doesn't give a shit about awards and accolades) EJ the Don has released over ten EP's and five mixtapes, as well as three studio albums, one being a visual series. He has gone on to produce, write with and direct for several other artists, including Prince Cee + Ony the God, his high school friends and fellow musicians. He has earned 2 VMA's and appeared in a BET Hip Hop Awards cypher. He has headlined two North American tours seperately and three international ones alongside his groupmates. EJ has made many accomplishments in his ten year rap reign and is far from done.

personality traits, flaws, etc: Eren can be described as very emotional by some yet stoic in the same breath. He can be temperamental, not thinking hostile actions through sometimes. He acts of his own accord without considering other peoples’ feelings. He’s very blunt, and won’t hesitate to speak his mind. He CANNOT hide his true feelings for shit (if his mouth doesn’t say it, his face surely will.) There are times when he’ll go days without answering his phone or making contact with anyone because he loves being in his own little world. Friendships, partners..it honestly doesn’t make a difference if you’re around or not. Especially when he’s locked in, working on important projects. He shuts down when he doesn’t want to deal with something and you’ll have better luck catching a pig flying than him apologizing or doing what he’s told! In the same vein, Eren can be very emotional..it’s almost like a dam breaking. When he finally cracks, it’s hard to control the flood with him. He gets really intense, whether he’s crying, laughing or angry. He’s very passionate when he cares about something and he’ll let it be known. Behind that rough exterior is a gentle, sweetheart of a man that just throws his all into whatever or whoever he loves.

relationship status: Eren is currently seeing the influencer and rising star of pole dancing, (Y/N) (L/N). The pair has been in a low key relationship for some months now, taking it slow and really getting to know one another. Although they started with a hot and steamy romance, sprouting from years of loneliness and celibacy from them both, they’ve really grown to care deeply for one another. He puts a lot of effort into making sure he contacts her regularly bc it is not easy to keep his attention and always gifts her the most expensive and thoughtful things. He never seen himself as the lovey dovey type, but anyone that knows EJ..will tell you that he’s fallen head over heels for miss (L/N)!

physical descriptors: EJ is 6’3, just barely 195 pounds with a slender but toned frame. He’s been working out quite a bit since his last project and tour so he’s a little more jacked than before. He has several tattoos including full sleeves with various pieces he’s been getting since he was 16 years old. A few of his most notorious being the serpent and chain going around his hand all the way to his shoulder, the pink rose with the name ‘Ma’Kiya’ tattooed in one of the petals on his back (🌚) and his mom’s name. He has dark green eyes, brownish black hair that he wears in a half up-half down style most of the time. Occasionally though, he’ll wear it down and grow out facial hair. He’s always wearing some sort of jewelry..his infamous ‘The Don’ chain, as well as his bottom silver grills. His fashion sense varies on his mood.

hobbies + interests: when he’s not in the booth, Eren is somewhere tinkering with cars! He particularly loves older model vehicles and will spend days working to fix them. He loves going to the racetrack, sitting in the skybox like a little kid and watching drag cars and motorcycles go down the strip. He also loves to paint and draw, even designing a majority of his tattoos. (fun fact: he gifted (Y/N) a portrait of one of his favorite photos of her on her birthday.) and of course, he’s a huge gamer. His fans look forward to seeing him on Twitch, being stressed out by whatever franchise he’s delving to at the moment. Especially when he’s with his friends or (Y/N).

@violetxxvenom @shamelesshoefairy @shawtuzi

[sturn777]

&&& introducing . . . model!chris & pr girl!reader ,, bot here.

sypnosis : when famous model chris sturniolo gets caught cheating, his image tanks overnight. to save face, his pr exec (aka you) agrees to fake date him. the problem? the headlines sell a little too well, and suddenly, pretend doesn’t feel so fake anymore.

$ model!chris : versace campaigns and off-white fittings. black coffee before 8 am call times. late night flights to milan, the soft hum of jet engines lulling him to sleep. saint laurent sheets in a penthouse suite, runway models in his bed. his duffle always half-packed. a cigarette between his fingers, exhaling through parted lips on a balcony overlooking tokyo. vogue editorials stacked on his nightstand. flashes of paparazzi bulbs, his jaw clenched tight. runway walks to bass-heavy music. tired smirks and tired eyes, but the bags are designer. his face on billboards, but he only looks at the ground. calls his mother between takes. private, but not a secret.

$ pr girl!reader : balenciaga blazers and perfectly timed press releases. espresso shots over redlined contracts. her inbox full, her patience thin. damage control on speed dial, statement drafts open in another tab. the public sees what she wants them to, never too much, never too little. airpods in, typing as she walks through lobbies, heels clicking against marble. the scent of expensive perfume lingering in black town cars. tabs open to trend forecasts, knowing what’s viral before it even hits the algorithm. texts from him at ungodly hours "do i really have to post this?"—yes, chris. a ghostwriter for his perfect public image, but he only calls her when the cameras are off.

$ together : a soft "where are you?" at 3 am, his voice thick with sleep. her itinerary open on her phone, cross-checking with his. she tells him what to say, but he only listens when it's her name in his mouth. stolen moments between fittings and meetings. his hoodie on her chair in an office he never visits. hotel lobbies and long glances. her hands fixing his tie before an event, his fingers brushing her wrist, slow. unspoken rules, unspoken feelings. denied in interviews, yet his instagram posts tell another story.

──────────────────────────────

🏷 : ( @emely9274 ; @bluestriips ; @loveparqdise ; @st4rcs ; @starwebber9 ; @conspiracy-ash ; @sweetrelieef ; @chris-hallelujah ; @leoslaboratory ; @matttsangel ; @awnmaneez ; @heartss4clauu ; @mattsstarlet ; @madisturni ; @marrykisskilled ; @inspiredangel ; @mattsdemi ; @sturnioloangell ; @ivyandthebeans ; @amelia-sturniolo3 ; @dominicfikeenthusiast ; @sophand4n4 ; @ch6rm ; @et6rnalsun; @sturniolossss ; @jetaimevous )

© STURN777

[sokkastyles]

I just came across a Top 10 most heroic Avatar characters and Zuko wasnt one of them. Their reason Was apparantly that "Zuko only turned good in S3 and couldnt be seen as a hero before". Idk that left a very bad Taste in my Mouth especially considering that Bumi made Nr7. What are your thoughts on this ?

Lol I read the article and I think the bad taste comes from the idea that being a hero means you have to have a spotless record? It's the problem I have with most Zuko discourse that usually comes from people trying to diminish his importance in the narrative. I mean, Kya, Ursa, and Yue also make the list but like, they are barely in the narrative and their roles are mostly to be innocent and idealized and then die or disappear.

Well, then, I vote the papaya Katara ate in the fortune teller episode. It gave its life for that girl even thought it was hated.

I don't get the logic of "someone who only appears briefly can be a hero, but Zuko wasn't a hero long enough." Yue appears in two episodes. Zuko may have started out as a villain, but he was fighting the baddies and demonstrating qualities of compassion and sacrifice by episode 3. I'd say what got him banished itself was an act of heroism and that Zuko was actually a hero long before he himself knew it, and even when he is free to be a true hero he spends most of the time denying that he is one.

Not to quote that edgelord line about heroes from The Dark Knight, but if a character gets labeled as a hero just because they didn't live long enough to have their actions scrutinized while another character can't be labeled as one because they survived the world trying to beat their heroism out of them and came out stronger then idk what a hero is.

Here's what google has to say about the definition of a hero:

"...especially excessively or unexpectedly so."

In fact, I'd argue that one of the reasons Zuko stands out as a hero in the story is because we don't expect it of him. But it's a far more realistic and relatable heroic ideal than the idea that people are good or evil from birth and the hero saves the world because destiny says so.

The best heroes are the ones who do it even though it's hard, even thought destiny tells them that heroism wasn't meant for them. The whole thing about heroic sacrifice is that it has to be a sacrifice, meaning that they have to choose it consciously. It's not a heroic sacrifice if a character just suffers or has things taken from them.

I'll also provide one of my favorite definitions of a hero, from Quest for Glory 2. Hold onto your seats, because I'm busting out a poem from a computer game from 1990.

And they ask "What is a hero?"

Though the answer's very clear.

He's the one who faces danger

When the darkness hovers near.

He will face the fiercest foe

When another needs his aid,

He will dare to defy death

Even though he is afraid.

He works not just for glory

And he does it not for gain,

but because he knows that others

will be spared a greater pain.

He won't always follow orders

For he dares to answer "why?"

And unless he likes the reason

He refuses to comply.

He will brave the battle boldly

Even though he may not win.

He will face his fate unflinching,

For he is a paladin.

And they ask, "What is a hero?"

Though the answer's evident.

He's the one who faces death

Knowing that his life's well spent.

[amarriageoftrueminds]

ITA that Bucky was never intended to be a protagonist in this show!

On top of doing damage-control to mitigate the resented attention which SebStan's fan fave draws -- to what I suspect the creators think should only be a black story, and I agree... we should be getting characters in Sam's story because they make sense being there, not because Mackie and Stan get along IRL.

...I also think part of the reason why they wrote Bucky as an asshole butt-monkey is because they think it's the Worf Effect way to make Sam look good.

(You see the same idiotic writing in CATFA, where they introduce only one named, non-Designated Love Interest female character, and make them a generic, sexy-baby-voice dumb blonde slut, who sexually molests Steve and is never heard from again.

There are likewise 40+ chorus girls in Steve's USO show whose names we never learn -- because if they were named, and nice, and competent... well that would upstage the DLI. Same reason we never get to see Steve's mother, or Bucky's family, and why the fatws show shits on Bucky's time / close connections in Wakanda, just to copy them with a new set of black people swapped into T'Challa, Shuri-and-the-village-kid's places. As if black people are interchangeable or only 'count' if they're American!)

The problem with this Worf Effect approach is that 'better than a shitty clumsy ex-Hydra dudebro' would make Sam average, not great.

And this is transparently also why they nerf Bucky -- to make unenhanced Sam's skill level look better by comparison.

Then they reverse it by making their generic ex-Hydra dudebro suddenly kiss ass (as if that's a compliment) but only after he has been 'redeemed.'

Bucky is designated butt-monkey and Ignorant White Guy... until they need someone Good to compliment Sam, when suddenly Bucky is a 'hero for the first time.' 🙄 I wouldn't be shocked if certain bits in BNW followed the same pattern.

(Meanwhile, thinly-veiled-Nazi Zemo gets to mansplain supremacy and racism and how much he loves Marvin Gaye, to prove how cool he is… to a black man. My jaw dropped, my flabber was gasted..)

It also struck me that there was a kind of 'what happened to us isn't bad if it happens to a white guy, right?' power fantasy about the way Bucky is treated in tfatws. (Again, parallels with how the DLI is written in CATFA).

Think about how closely Bucky's life before & in tfatws mirrors a historically black experience:

his history, memory, ties to his family, even his very name, erased by those who abducted him into slavery;

(an experience for which he is punished and blamed in perpetuity, instead of the people who did that to him);

universally profiled as innately dangerous and violent (when he's innocent and has been living in blameless quiet for years);

monitored by the state / made to jump through hoops just to prove his right to exist in peace because of this (yet simultaneously told his desire for peace is bullshit);

arrested off the street by racist cops, when he hasn't done anything wrong except raise his voice;

'sold' into sexual slavery to a rich white woman in a foreign country

(followed up by other-race colleague bemoaning the suffering of... another rich white woman in that foreign country?? who has also been a twat to Bucky?)

stared at with bewildered suspicion when he shows up... to help;

'jokingly' warned off dating woman-of-other-race by her brother. 😬

In another 'verse, where it was Gabriel Jones who got serum, fell from the train, and was made into the WS, if you included all these beats in his story, people would be like 'wow, they're really driving home the black experience, huh?' They would read as the generic things that you'd almost expect to see in a historic black character's life story.

(And if Gabriel Jones was framed as having undergone all this willingly, and told he needs to make reparations to Hydra's victims... I mean, could you fucking believe that??)

So it feels like someone writing TFATWS subconsciously thought, 'I wish I could see a white character suffer the same shitty treatment black guys have had.'

And Bucky is the designated douchebag white guy because... him being too good would upstage Sam, and Walker can't be bad because he has a fridged black friend! (Bucky's black friends don't count because they're not American, not Sam, and/or because the writers couldn't be bothered to learn they existed). So this falls on Bucky.

And sadly, that approach to a token white guy in a black-centered story could potentially be super interesting in a Noughts & Crosses way, if the people writing it: a) were actually aware that that is what they were doing, b) had written the person it's happening to as a decent guy, to make their historically-black suffering sympathetic, and have the black characters recall when the same thing happened to them or their family because of their race, and the thus two characters be drawn closer together by their similar experiences.

(Rather than what we got, which is these eerily similar traumas happening to Bucky in front of black characters, who then either dismiss them or completely ignore them as if nothing bad or unfair has happened. It's downright bizarre!)

Just saw some people talking about how tfatws was crafted to make Bucky seem like more of a villain and unlikable for the fans and I think that another important factor of this is not only that it'll turn fans against his character, but it also means that these fans will go after other people who see through this bs and still like/defend Bucky's character. By convincing these fans that Bucky willingly worked for white supremacists and was culpable in the assassinations he carried out as WS, these fans now have a lot of ammunition to not only use against his character but any remaining fans of his. It sucks cause it's really gonna accomplish nothing except fracturing the fandom further (which let's face it, the mcu fandom is already one of the most fractured and toxic fandoms out there).

I see where you’re coming from but I’m going to counter with the fact that this is giving Spellman’s writing chops more credit than it deserves.

(Watch out, the salt is strong with this one, bring a glass of water)

I don’t think he set out intentionally to make Bucky fans into fandom outcasts. That requires a level of subtlety, guile and flair I just don’t see in the script - you only have to look to Sam’s two important speeches to know how grievously his writing falls short.

What I see is a very immature and (as others have pointed out) unprofessional approach to writing, where he has not watched the first 3 Cap movies - or if he has, not bothered to take notes. It’s clear he has no idea that Bucky was fighting against the Nazis before he became a POW. Sebastian had to remind the writers that Bucky was an assassin (did they think he was literally just a soldier?). It’s also poignant to note that his belief about Bucky needing to make amends partially hinges on the fact that Bucky killed the Starks - so we already have problem #1 here when a Team IM scriptwriter is signed on to write for the new Captain America. They are already biased against what Steve and Sam stood for.

So his planning process is really this:

1) Bucky was an assassin for Hydra. He must feel guilty, so let’s make him redeem himself by making amends. The reason I don’t think Spellman intentionally set out to make Bucky indefensible is his genuine pride when he proclaims Bucky redeemed himself at the end by saving a van and being “ironically” adopted by a Black family. Bucky the Howling Commando who died fighting Nazis adopted “ironically” by a Black family. Bucky the guy who’s been saving Steve’s ass since the playground “first time being a hero”.

Let me pause here and scream at the wall.

2) Bucky, as the character neither the director nor the writer likes, had to be the one to do all the shitty things.

I seriously mean it on this one, and I’ve been wanting to say it for a while.

Skogland said “everyone likes Walker”. This is why - incoherently - Bucky had to play the privileged white male trope, because Walker needed a redeeming quality and that was his relationship with Lemar.

Let me pause again to go scream at the wall.

Never mind that this story should be about Sam and Bucky, and that it really should have shown us the affection and kindness between our leads, they couldn’t bear to let Walker actually be a full villain so instead, they gave the privileged white male role to Bucky while Walker and Lemar actually have a functional friendship. ARGH.

Then we have the issue of needing to bring in Zemo, and redeem Zemo into an anti-villain. Zemo had to be likeable, more likeable than Bucky. So instead of allowing Zemo to just break out on his own (WHICH HE DID ANYWAY), they made Bucky go and get him out in order to break off his relationship with Wakanda.

And because they’ve given BUCKY the role of the ignorant white male within a story that addresses systemic racism, of course his actions become indefensible, never mind that all of this is completely inconsistent with his character.

Sorry this got long but the more I look at TFATWS from a writing standpoint, the more this series enrages me. It’s not even that they cared enough about Bucky to systemically ruin him - it’s because they really DGAF about Bucky so they just made him do all the wrong actions in the plot, in order to preserve their other precious characters.

[joeyfranchise]

conversation hearts

part one: cya l8r!

uo!justin herbert x uo!reader

summary: what happens when your academic rival and sworn enemy starts acting like he’s sweet on you?

word count: 2k.

warnings: none really, some angst and fluff for this part! minors still please dni with my work!

note: part one of a lil something cute for v-day! 💘 i’ll have part two up so soon! also special shoutout to my wifeyyy @joeyburrrow, thank you for always keeping me motivated and being in my corner. ily 😭

the bell on the door chimed softly as you pushed it open and stepped inside the coffee shop. the rich aroma wafted through the air and surrounded you immediately as your favorite barista called out a quick welcome to you. you pulled your tote bag closer to your side as your eyes scanned the shop, and you smiled when you located your friends at a booth near the back. you made your way over to them quickly, immediately chuckling at their conversation.

“so i told her to put a sock in it! like seriously, nobody cares!” your friend alice giggled, her saccharine sweet voice filling your ears as you sat. she was gesturing with her hands as she spoke, and though you didn’t know the subject matter just yet, you laughed along too. next to her, your roommate laura was nursing a very large iced vanilla latte as she propped her head on her hand.

“i agree,” laura stated, glancing around the table. “also guys, this iced latte is the bomb diggity.”

clara, your other close friend and alice’s roommate, laughed at their conversation as well before turning her gaze toward you. “why the long face?” she asked, reaching across the table to grab your hand.

the gesture was sweet and provided comfort, something you appreciated about her. “just pissed about biology again,” you replied, looking around the group. your friends made sympathetic sounds as they looked you over, knowing how hard it’d been for you this semester.

the barista walked over seconds later with a large iced matcha and sat it in front of you, smiling as she placed it on the coaster. “looked like you were having a rough day,” she tutted, patting her hand on your shoulder softly. “this one’s on the house.”

you thanked her profusely before she walked away, and then you turned your attention back to your friends. “was justin pissing you off again?” laura asked, a concerned gaze spread across her features, “you seem so flustered.”

and she was right. you were flustered. he’d been making your life so miserable lately… but the problem was that he wasn’t really doing anything at all. you couldn’t stand him because he always seemed to know the right answer, he was so smart and the only person who seemed to truly rival you academically. it was frustrating, infuriating that a quarterback who’d most likely end up going pro was beating you out of academic achievements, especially when you wanted to make this your career.

you cleared your throat and looked around the group before beginning to tell them about your very strange morning, and your very awkward encounter with justin.

—

the day started innocently enough. laura had an earlier class than you so she was gone when you woke up, but she’d made sure to leave you a note behind with a muffin sitting next to it, and you made sure to thank her while you were telling the story. she nodded in response, engaged with what you had to say. 

you had taken a quick shower and gotten dressed, packed your bag and grabbed your water bottle and headed off to class, all normal parts of your day. all three of the girls focused their attention on you while you spoke, excited for what you had to say next. 

once you got to class, things started to take a turn… but not for the worst. your eyes immediately found justin, already seated at the front of the room, and that had always pissed you off. his much larger frame made it difficult to see sometimes, but you had to pick your battles and today you’d decided this wasn’t one. you took a seat a few rows behind him and grabbed your computer and notebook from your bag before placing them on the table. the lecture was short and you tried to focus on the busy work your professor had assigned, scribbling thoughts into your notebook mindlessly as you scrolled through the documents she’d sent over on your computer. 

it wasn’t hard work by any means, but it seemed to be tripping up a few people in the class based on how many students you’d seen trot over to her desk to ask questions in the last half-hour. after about the fifth or sixth student, she stood from the desk and walked to the podium to address the class, something you knew would end up angering you. 

“since we are having difficulties with the assignments,” she began, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose, “you’ll do it as partners. you may pick your partner, but i don’t want to see or hear any playing around. and it’s still due tomorrow by 11:59p.m.” 

you sighed heavily. you didn’t know hardly anyone in the class nor did you want to do partner work with anyone. suddenly, you heard a deep voice speak to the professor, asking her “can we work alone?” and you knew it was justin. 

you watched her shake her head no and justin tipped his head back in frustration as he realized he’d have to pick someone. he gathered his things and stood from the desk, towering over the rest of the room as he walked slowly toward your table and sat down next to you. 

you looked him up and down as he took up most of the space in your area, disgust evident on your face. “i figured we could work together,” he said, rubbing his hand over one of his biceps, “at least this way there’ll be no cheating and we can both do an even amount of work.” 

as high-school as it sounded, he was right. to this day people still tried to get you to take over and do most of the work in projects. you shrugged reluctantly before answering him. “fine, we can work together. which sections do you want to do?” 

you watched him scroll through the information on his computer before telling you that he could do sections 1a through 12c if you’d take 1d through 12f. 

“okay,” you softly mumbled. justin’s eyes lingered on you for a few moments before he turned back to the work, and you wondered what he was thinking. 

he didn’t know why you hated him so much. he admired you, he admired your brain. justin didn’t think he was a naturally smart person, he had to study really hard all the time to get the grades he did, and for you it came so naturally. he could kinda tell you saw him as competition, but he never understood why you’d always been so cold to him. 

he watched you as you worked quietly, but he could sense the agitation that was bubbling up inside of you. 

“why are you staring at me?” you finally asked him, your eyes shooting daggers in his direction. “sorry,” he replied, looking back at his computer screen. there were fifteen minutes left of class, something you were both silently thankful for. 

you began writing answers down in your notebook again as you watched him slowly stick his hand into his bag, grabbing something softly before pulling it out. his large hand obstructed your view from what he was holding, but whatever it was sounded a little noisy as the tiny box shook from his movements. 

he placed the small pink box on the table and slid it toward you and you slowly realized that it was a package of your favorite valentines day candy, conversation hearts. you gave him a look as if to ask “for me?”, and he nodded softly. 

you picked the small box up and popped it open, dumping a few of the candies out on to the table. your eyes scanned the silly messages on the tiny hearts before you picked up a pink one and popped it into your mouth. the sweet candy immediately began to melt on your tongue and the corners of your mouth turned up slightly into a smile. 

“how’d you know i liked these?” you asked justin, a pleased look adorning his features. “i overheard you telling laura you loved them the other day in the coffee shop. i just wanted to get you some because… well, just because,” he replied. he was lying, but you didn’t need to know that yet. he got them for you because he had a huge crush on you, and even if that didn’t phase you at all, he still wanted to be your friend. 

you were confused but you still mumbled a quiet “thank you.” 

the last bit of class went by quickly, and once you were dismissed you grabbed up all your stuff and quickly shoved it in your bag, ready to head over to the coffee shop to meet the girls and debrief this whole situation. justin packed his things as well, and before he turned to leave he quickly asked you, “are you free tonight? o-only because we have to make a powerpoint for this as well.” 

he was nervous, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t too. his question had almost made you panic, you thought maybe he was trying to ask you on a date. “yeah, i’ll be free around six, does that work for you?” you replied, rubbing your arm sheepishly. 

“six sounds perfect, do you wanna come to my dorm? my roommate will be out so it’ll be quiet and we can focus,” he added. 

you shook your head yes as you slung your tote over your shoulder. “that sounds good to me! laura will be home but she’ll just be watching reruns of friends while she does her work,” you laughed. 

“i love that show,” justin smiled. you exchanged numbers quickly and justin fired off his dorm number to you in a quick text.

you looked down at the table and saw the box of candy still sitting there, so you picked it up and began to place the pieces you hadn’t eaten yet back in the box. justin was examining them as you did so, and before you could grab the last one he trapped it under his finger before sliding it across the table to you. 

“well, seeya later!” he smirked, lifting his finger off the candy and turning toward the door. you watched him walk away before you looked down at the little green heart that sat on top of the wooden tabletop, its yellow lettering staring back up at you. ‘cya l8r’ was printed boldly on top of the tiny confection. 

— 

all of your friends stared at you with wide eyes before alice squealed, doing a little happy dance in her seat. laura and clara giggled at your confusion. “what’s so funny? i’m upset that i have to do this project with him and you guys are laughing?” you asked, feeling slightly offended. 

“oh my god, don’t tell me you’re that oblivious, y/n!” alice joked before taking a long swig of her iced chai. you took a hefty drink of your matcha before replying. “oblivious to what exactly?” you questioned.

“oh my god, earth to y/n!” clara jested, snapping her fingers in front of your face. “he likes you!” 

you grimaced as the three of them giggled again. “he doesn’t like me. why would he like me?” 

“hello?” laura laughed, “he literally got your favorite candy just because he overheard us talking. and he wanted to be partners with you so you wouldn’t have to do all the work for your assignment. anddddd the little joke with the candy was so cute and corny it’s like it came straight from a rom-com.”

maybe laura was right… maybe they all were. you had never thought of justin as more than anything but an academic obstacle that stood in your way of being the best in the class… but maybe he did like you. 

“it doesn’t matter if he likes me or not,” you finally spoke, trying to keep your tone calm. “i mean, thinking about it now… he is kinda cute…” you mumbled, staring off into the distance. it was no lie that justin was handsome, but something in your head was telling you to snap out of it! 

your friends all eyed you suspiciously before you spoke again. “anyway, it doesn’t matter if he likes me. i’m going over to do a project and that’s it. after that, we go back to being rivals.” 

alice cocked an eyebrow at you before she answered. “it sounds like the rivalry is pretty one-sided.” 

that couldn’t have been any more true. 

photos and dividers used are not mine. all cred to owners.

taglist: @joeyburrrow @starsinthesky5 @joeyb1989 @slimshiesty @fourburrow @wheresdylansoscar @heartforherbert @joe9cool @itsjustjackie55 @emsdevs @a-whiterose

[starlightsreigns]

daddy lessons | a lemonade story

summary ⇢ mellie finds solace with the people who brought her life. six months feel like a lifetime without him, but her daddy warned her about men like him, so where does she go from here? word count ⇢ 2.5k tag ⇢ none. | five ; accountability “My daddy said shoot”

My daddy warned me about men like you

There’s an under-appreciated peace at your parent's house when you’re in pain. They don’t judge the hurt you're feeling, and they don’t ask questions when they can feel it in their bones that their daughter just needs their support. My mom can read my mind and it’s been like that since my younger years — she has that special ability to know exactly what the problem is without me uttering a word. 

“Mellie, baby, come eat.” she stands beside the couch. “You can finish your show afterward.” 

Her hands pull me off the couch, then lead me into the dining room where my dad is waiting. He sports a sad smile when we meet eyes, but doesn’t say anything. I know it’s because he doesn’t know what to say besides cracking a joke. 

Breakfast is quiet. My fork scraps against the side of the plate. Usually, I’d scarf down whatever my mom makes, but eating is the last thing I want after the last couple of weeks… and months… and year that I’ve had. It leaves me nauseous and anxious. 

My mom leaves the table after a while, taking the silence with her. My dad finally clears his throat but it’s impossible for me to look up at him. I know he’s going to try and give me advice, but as much as I love him, it’s not what I'm looking for. 

Came into this world, daddy’s little girl

“I know this isn’t what you want right now, Mel, but listen.” My dad sets his utensils down. “You don’t have to tell us what’s going on with Roman, but you Mellie, you’re stronger than that.” 

Defeat fills my entire body at his words, but he continues. 

“I love you, Melody, you’re my only baby girl and I don’t like seeing you upset. It hurts my heart.” 

Finally, the dam inside me breaks. The tears fall across my creek and my chest tightens in an attempt to keep my sobs at bay. My dad moves to the chair beside me and wraps his arm around me, cradling me against his chest when the sobs finally escape my body. 

“It’s okay, let it out.” He hums. “You can’t let this break you, Mellie, this won’t break you.” 

My breaths choke out, “It hurts, I trusted him and –” 

He stops me, “I never wanted you to go through something like this.” His voice chokes out. “It took a long time for your mom to ever forgive me, but I never want you to feel like this defines you or that you have to stay in something like this.”

When I was in middle school, my parents went through the roughest part of their relationship. He cheated on her with a coworker, and my mom who’s usually the nicest person, went on a bender filled with rage. I felt the coldness in the house and how much hatred she carried for over two years. For the longest time, no one was sure they’d ever get back together. It took separation and a lot of therapy for it to even be a conversation for them. 

“I know, papa.” I sigh. 

We sit in silence for a little while longer. My eyes shift up, hearing the clicks of my mom’s heels. She offers us a small smile and beckons us to follow. In the living room, she had it set up for a movie day. The couch was filled with blankets, more food on the coffee table and the lights turned down. 

But at this moment, I’m thankful that neither of my parents brought up the famous I told you so. They initially had concerns about me getting married. They love Roman, they really do, but his career made my mom question how the space would affect us. My dad said he saw a piece of him in Roman, and as bad as it is to say, I wish it wasn’t this part. The infidelity that broke my mom is now breaking me. 

He said, “Baby girl he’s playing you” 

“Mellie, you have a visitor.” My mom stands in the doorway. 

A groan slips past my lips as I turn to look at her. She motions me out and then disappears before I can get out of bed. I shuffle out and down the stairs. At the last step, Roman stands there with my dad. It’s tense. My dad is staring at Roman with his hands stuffed into his pockets. The look on his face forces Roman to stare down at the ground. 

“Dad,” My hand lays gently on his arm, kindly nudging him away but he only takes a step. 

“You can talk to her,” He grits. 

My heart pounds through my chest. I turn to my mom who is standing in the living room awkwardly. How can I plead for them to leave us alone? This is already too much and I can’t handle a conversation with him when they’re standing beside us. My mom finally looks at me and sees the look in my eyes and nods. 

“Hun, c’mon, let’s leave them.” She walks over and grabs his arm. 

“I don’t trust him, baby, I can’t let him keep playing my daughter.” 

A chill runs up my spine as my dad takes a step closer to Roman. It’s an involuntary movement for me to move up and block Roman from my dad. I’m not sure why I want to protect Roman from the ass-whooping my dad would so graciously give him, but there’s a piece of me that doesn’t want to see him bleeding on the floor. He’s still my husband.

“Dad, please, just let me talk to him.” I smile softly. “Twenty minutes and I’ll be back inside.”

For a moment, while his eyes are still locked on Roman, I’m sure my dad was ready to jump across me and tackle him to the ground. Thankfully, he nods and steps back into my mom. 

Outside, I sit on the porch swing. Roman stands near the door and takes a deep breath. It makes me laugh softly. 

“I’m happy that made you laugh,” Roman hums with a small smile. “I thought he was gonna shoot me.” 

“He has his shotgun in there, it’s still possible.” I glance in his direction. “What are you doin’ here, Roman?”

Roman carefully sits beside me on the swing, “I know you don’t wanna see me, Mellie, but I can’t go every day without seeing you.” He glances at me. “I know you’re here and safe, but I just have to see it myself.”

The cool air makes me wrap my arms around my shoulder and then lean up. I keep my eyes on the driveway to try and come up with any words. My mind swirls with too many thoughts and too many different emotions. As I zone out, I feel Roman’s jacket on my shoulder. It doesn’t make me move but instead close my eyes. 

“It doesn’t make this any easier, Roman, seeing you all the time doesn’t help me figure out where we’ll go from here.” I finally look at him. “I love you with all my heart and that’s the problem. I love you so much that I can’t step back and truly feel all the emotions.” 

He nods, “What can I do? I can’t be away from you, Mellie, but I want to fix this.”

The heavenly smell radiating off of Roman’s jacket makes my head spin. This is the closest we’ve been in months and it makes me realize how much I’ve missed him. Two months can feel like a lifetime. I wrap his jacket around me tighter and sigh. 

“There’s so much hate in my heart, still, I wish the love was enough but I can’t remember any of the good.” 

Silence follows. Neither one of us knows how to continue. 

A question hammers through my brain like a drum. It’s something that has been tucked away since coming to my parents' house. If me and my mom could forgive my dad for his mistakes in the past, why can’t I move past this with Roman? If I love Roman the way I know I do, why can’t I allow us to rehab it?

The sound of the front door opening pushes the thought away. My dad steps a foot out and looks in our direction. He motions me inside and it reminds me of when I was younger and guys would come around – they were never allowed in the house and we had twenty minutes on the porch before he’d eventually tell them to go the hell home. Something never changes with my dad. 

So, because I know he’d pull me into the house, I stand and start towards the door. 

“Mel, please come home.” Roman grabs my hand. “Please.” 

Focusing on my dad for a second, but he surprisingly doesn’t give me a reaction. Instead, he looks away and peers at the yard. I’m left alone to make that decision. 

“I can’t.” My voice shakes when I glance back at Roman. “I can’t do that.” 

Tough girl is what I had to be

For four days I rotted in bed while wrapped in Roman’s jacket. Every time I see him there’s some sort of regression that happens. Yet, I’m not even sure I can call it regression. I want to forgive him, but my pride and the hurt make it impossible for me to ever let those words come out of my mouth. 

The house is empty while my parents are at church this morning. The silence isn’t comforting. It takes me back to countless mornings, evenings, and nights I spent wondering where he was and if he was with her. It reminds me of the nights when he lay in bed and I sat on the floor in agony. The silence reminds me of the pain anger and sorrow that I can’t seem to shake anymore. 

How can I ever go back to normal? The person I was a year ago was someone I can’t even remember now. Melody from a year ago was lively, she partied, hung out with her friends on a daily, and would jump at the thought of her husband coming home to see her. Now, she sits in a house an hour away from him. 

My world stopped spinning a long time ago and I’m just now feeling the effects. 

From my spot on the couch, I can see out the window and to the yard. The rain sprinkles softly and casts a beautiful glow on everything due to the sun that was also out – you can’t help but love Florida weather, it’s as bipolar as my emotions about Roman are right now. 

A figure passes by the window and a knock rings through the house. There’s a part of me that so desperately wants to ignore it and sink further into the couch and my despair, but a voice forces me to go against that. 

“Sis, come open the door, I know you in there.” 

When I finally, through much internal monolouge, open the door, Jey gives me his award-winning smile. He doesn’t wait for me to say anything before he pulls me into his arms. A groan slips pass my lips at the sheer force behind the hug. 

“You’re gonna crush me, Jey,  lemme breathe.” I choke out. 

He let’s go of me reluctantly, but keeps his hands on my shoulders, “I just wanted to check on you, baby, Trin’s worried about you.” 

“I’m fine, brother, just trying to…” My voice trails off. 

I’m not sure what the hell I’m trying to do anymore. I thought I’d figure everything out by now, it’s been six months, but I’m more confused now than I was on day one. 

“What the fuck?” After plopping back down on the couch, I look up at Jey, “I don’t know what the hell I’m trying to do.” 

Jey sits beside me and takes my hand into his, “You know we all here for you, Mel, and we always gone be on your side.” He rubs his fingers over the palm of my hand. “Tell me what you need and I’ll help you.” 

My mind goes blank. I’m not sure what can be done at this point to make anything easier for me. But, I know Jey won’t leave this house until he gets an answer, that’s just the type of person he is. For as long as we’ve known each other, Jey is very confrontatioanal and he can’t help it. I lean against his shoulder and stare at the wall. 

“You believe me, right, Mellie, Imma always be here for you?” Jey leans down to find me eyes. “Cause I don’t think you believin’ me.”

“I believe you, swear.”  I whisper into his shoulder. “I’m just so lost and I feel like my life is falling apart.”

For a moment, he lets us sit silently. The way his focus stays on rubbing my hand makes me take a deep breath. 

“Did she tell you?” My voice fights against me. I’m not sure he heard what I ask, but when he clears his throught I shut my eyes. “I don’t want Roman to know.” 

“I won’t tell him, Mel, okay?” Jey wraps his arm around me and pulls me closer. “Let’s just sit here.”

He taught me to be strong 

How much longer can I stay here? 

How much longer can I be angry? 

How much longer can I pretend I’ll be okay? 

There needs to be a resolve and I can’t picture my life without Roman. I can live without him. I can survive without him, but I don’t want this to be the end of everything we’ve worked for all these years. Yet, maybe something just need to end.

“Melody, come here.” My mom beckons me from the kitchen. 

It was nearly time for dinner and she’s standing near the stove. I leaning against the sink with a roll of the eye. My irritation isn’t with her, she knows that, but I’m not sure how to get rid of this feeling. 

“This feeling you have, the one you don’t want to share with any of us, I understand it and I resonate with it.” She glances at me. “It took me so long to forgive your father and there was a point where I thought if I forgive him I’d lose a piece of myself, but whatever you decide won’t break you and it won’t make you any less of a woman.” 

My eyes focus on the ground. I’m not sure what she wants me to say but she continues. 

“What he did isn’t right and there’s no way to get rid of that hurt, baby, but if you love him and you want to make it work you both have to take that first step and talk through this.” She finally turns and looks at me. “If you don’t want to stay, you don’t have to, but you both still need to talk.” 

We need to talk. 

I stare at my mom for a moment then nod. 

We have to talk. 

… but I’m not ready.

“Your mother is a woman and women like her cannot be contained. Mother dearest, let me inherit the earth. Teach me how to make him beg. Let me make up for the years he made you wait. Did he bend your reflection? Did he make you forget your own name? Did he convince you he was a god? Did you get on your knees daily? Do his eyes close like doors? Are you a slave to the back of his head?”

no words, hope you’ve enjoyed x