#imagine it plays out like this in real life?

[enhaflixer]

GOLDEN BOY!

golden boy hard dom!Jake x masturbation addict f!reader

ENHA HARD HOURSSSSSSSSSSS 18+ MDNI: masturbation so much of it, really not suitable for work, weed smoking, temp play, filming, ass play, vibrator. this is the filthiest shit i have ever written in my life type shit. but also fluffy so its fine. plot? what plot

your mornings follow a strict routine: wake up. Ignore your alarm. Spread your legs and ruin yourself to the thought of Jake Sim. he doesn’t know you exist. star student, always on time. you stumble into class late, wrecked, barely holding it together. you get paired up for a project. when he figures out why you’re always late? you’re fucked.  literally.

You woke up soaked. Literally, fucking soaked, the sheets beneath you damp with sweat and slick from how hard you’d been grinding against them in your sleep. It was always like this—an unbearable need that gripped you before you were even fully conscious. And you knew exactly who caused it.

Jake Sim.

The moment your hazy mind conjured up his name, your pussy gave a hard throb, as if your body was starved for him. It didn’t matter that you’d never even held a real conversation. All that mattered was that he existed—perfect, unattainable—and you were so pathetically desperate for him that you’d turned it into a daily routine.

With a shaky sigh, you slid your hand under the thin waistband of your panties, fingers pressing into the sticky mess already pooling there. You hissed out a curse at how sensitive you were, thighs twitching as your digits smeared your own arousal around your clit.

“Fuck,” you whispered, voice breaking, as your eyes fluttered shut and your mind fed you the same filthy fantasies it always did. In them, Jake was every bit the cocky bastard you imagined him to be—towering over you, smirking with that lazy confidence, telling you to spread your legs wider so he could see just how ruined you were for him.

You could practically hear his voice:

“That’s it, baby. Show me how wet you are.”

A guttural moan fell from your lips. Your fingers trembled as you sank them deeper, sliding between your folds until you were massaging the swollen, throbbing knot of nerves that made your back arch off the mattress. Every movement sent sparks racing up your spine, and you chased the friction like a fucking addict—because that’s exactly what you were: addicted to the thought of him.

Your other hand fumbled for your phone, nearly dropping it on your face in your clumsy rush. The screen glowed to life, and you immediately opened that private folder. The nerve-wracking thrill of seeing your own explicit videos made your pulse throb.

Your finger hovered over the most recent one for half a second, heart hammering. Then you pressed play.

Instantly, the room filled with the ragged sounds of your recorded moans. On the screen, you were splayed out, hips rolling in a shameless rhythm as you fucked your own fingers like your life depended on it. The memory of that moment made your cheeks burn, but it also made you fucking wetter.

“Jake… please… fuck—” your recorded voice whimpered, your cheeks flushed and your tits bouncing with each thrust of your own hand.

The real you let out a choked noise, clit pulsing under your insistent fingertips. You drove them harder against your flesh, trying to match the frantic pace you’d seen in the video. A filthy squelch echoed in the room, your soaked folds giving you away, and you bit your lip to stifle a cry.

God, you were so damn desperate. It made you feel dirty as hell—and yet, you couldn’t stop. In your mind, you pictured Jake looming over you, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head. He’d probably sneer down at you, that smug grin twisting his gorgeous mouth, telling you how pathetic you looked, cumming all over your own damn fingers just for him.

“Such a fucking slut,” you imagined him saying, and your body convulsed.

You rammed your fingers harder against your slick heat, each drag of your knuckles sending you spiraling higher. Your recorded moans continued to play on loop, mixing with your real ones until you couldn’t tell which was which. Every muscle in your body tensed, bracing for the orgasm that was cresting in your gut like a tidal wave.

“Jake,” you whimpered. It was a half-sob, half-prayer. “Jake, oh God—”

And then it hit.

Your orgasm slammed into you, white-hot and wrenching. Your hips jerked off the bed, your thighs squeezing around your hand so tightly you could barely move. A harsh, broken sound tore from your throat as your body locked up, wave after wave of bliss rippling through your core. You ground your fingers against your clit one last time, milking every second of the high until you thought you’d black out.

Finally, you collapsed, trembling, onto the mattress, breath sawing in and out of your lungs. Your vision blurred with unshed tears from the sheer intensity. Slowly, the quivering in your limbs began to subside, and you eased your damp fingers from between your legs, wincing at how oversensitive you already were.

For a moment, all you could do was lie there, the sticky remains of your orgasm coating your inner thighs, your mind still buzzing with echoes of Jake’s name. You felt disgusting, you felt euphoric—you felt alive in a way that made you crave more.

But reality crashed down the second you glanced at the time on your phone. Fifteen minutes until class started.

“Shit,” you whispered, bolting upright so fast your head spun. Your legs wobbled when you tried to stand, a dull ache centered between your legs reminding you of just how hard you’d gone. You grabbed the first hoodie you saw, yanked it over your head, and fished around for a pair of rumpled jeans from the floor. There was no time to shower, no time to even catch your breath.

As you dashed out of your room, the remnants of your orgasm still clung to your thighs, a humiliating reminder of why you were late in the first place. You couldn’t help but picture what Jake would say if he ever found out the real reason you stumbled through that lecture hall door every day, hair a mess and cheeks still flushed from your obscene morning routine.

He’d probably smirk, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. “Couldn’t get enough of me, huh?”

The thought made your cheeks flare with shameful heat as you tore across campus, trying not to trip over your own feet. You’d never let him find out—you were certain it would kill you. Yet, a tiny voice in the back of your mind wondered what it would be like if he did know. If he whispered filthy praise in your ear about how you were always late because you were too busy drenching your sheets for him.

Your core clenched at the mental image, and you forced yourself to shove it down. There was no time for daydreams—you were late enough as it was, and your professor was already on the verge of losing his patience with you.

Still, no matter how many times you told yourself you couldn’t keep doing this, you knew you would.

Tomorrow morning, you’d wake up soaked again, thighs trembling, and you’d inevitably plunge your fingers back into that slick warmth while moaning Jake’s name. The filthy cycle would continue, and you wouldn’t be able to stop it, because nothing else felt as good as imagining him breaking you into a moaning, dripping mess.

As you reached the lecture hall, panting and disheveled, you couldn’t help but wonder: what if—just what if—Jake Sim ever saw exactly how bad you had it for him?

But that was a thought for another day, another dirty, mind-shattering morning.

Because you both knew: this wouldn’t be the last time you came undone at the mention of his name.

-

You were already a mess when you stumbled through the lecture hall doors, breath ragged and heart pounding so hard you could feel it in your throat. You were late. Again. The professor’s disapproving glare followed you as you practically crashed into your usual seat in the back row, muttering a hastily whispered apology under your breath.

God, you probably looked like you’d rolled straight out of bed—which, let’s be honest, you basically had. Not that you’d been sleeping. No, you’d spent your precious morning minutes rubbing out a frantic orgasm, fueled by thoughts of Jake Sim and all the ways he could ruin you if he ever laid a hand on your needy, desperate body.

Your clit still throbbed with the memory.

You tried to steady your breathing, force your mind to focus on the lecture happening around you. But your professor’s words were just a dull roar in your ears. You caught phrases like “group project” and “semester-long assignment,” but your brain refused to process them, still half-fogged from the wave of pleasure you’d torn out of yourself not fifteen minutes ago.

Then the professor called your name.

You blinked, snapping out of your daze just in time to see that he was pairing you off with someone. The rest of the class fell silent, heads turning toward you as you awkwardly cleared your throat, cheeks warming under the sudden attention.

“Jake Sim,” the professor said, scanning the attendance sheet. “You and Jake will be partners for the entire project.”

Your entire body stiffened.

Jake Sim.

Jake fucking Sim.

Your clit gave a punishing pulse at the mere mention of his name, so strong it sent a hot jolt of need straight through your core. You barely managed to swallow a gasp, thighs clenching under the desk as if that might calm the ache.

Across the room, Jake lifted his head. He had been taking notes, or maybe doodling—hell if you knew. He looked up when he heard his name, and his eyes flicked briefly over to you. He didn’t seem particularly surprised or amused. He just…nodded. Like it was no big deal.

Meanwhile, you sat there, completely frozen, trying not to let your face betray the fact that your cunt was literally fluttering at the prospect of spending hours—hours—with him on this project. Your mind spun with a million frantic thoughts: how were you supposed to look him in the eye when you had fingered yourself that same morning while moaning his name?

You almost wanted to run.

But there was nowhere to go, and the professor’s gaze was still locked on you, waiting for some sign of acknowledgment. So you forced a nod, swallowing hard, your pulse thundering in your ears.

When class finally ended, you practically bolted up from your seat, gathering your things in a clumsy rush. All you could think about was escaping before you did something mortifying—like spontaneously combusting from the intensity of the situation.

But you weren’t fast enough.

Jake Sim stood waiting for you in the aisle. You noticed, with a sinking sensation in your stomach, that he was even taller up close, shoulders broad under that signature hoodie, a slight quirk to his full lips as he watched you fluster about.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low but clear in the post-lecture murmur. “Guess we’re partners, huh?”

Your heart just about crawled up your throat and died there. You couldn’t form coherent words. Instead, you let out some pathetic sound halfway between a squeak and a cough.

Jake’s brows rose a fraction, and that quirk at the corner of his lips deepened. “You okay?”

No. Absolutely not. Your palms were sweating, your cheeks were on fire, and your core was still buzzing with the aftereffects of your morning orgasm. Knowing he was so close—close enough to smell the faint hint of laundry detergent clinging to his hoodie—nearly made your knees buckle.

“Uh, yeah,” you managed, trying to sound casual and failing miserably. “Just—tired.”

“Tired,” he echoed, giving you an appraising once-over. “Rough morning?”

You swallowed, a traitorous flush creeping up your neck. He had no idea just how rough.

“Something like that,” you muttered, pretending to rummage in your backpack to avoid meeting his gaze.

Jake shrugged. “Well, we should probably figure out a time to meet up for the project. Professor wants a proposal next week.”

He said it so matter-of-factly, so…normal. Meanwhile, your head was spinning because you were about to be in a room alone with him, studying economics, while your body screamed for him to fuck you senseless.

“Uh, yeah,” you repeated, feeling like a malfunctioning robot. “We…should definitely do that.”

God, you wanted to slap yourself. Could you be any more awkward?

Jake tilted his head, brown eyes flicking over you again, a subtle curiosity in his gaze. “How about tomorrow? Afternoon?”

Tomorrow. That meant you had less than twenty-four hours to get your shit together—to not end up a quivering puddle of arousal at his feet. Less than a day to build up some sort of immunity to his existence.

But you nodded anyway, because what else could you do? “Sure. Works for me.”

He gave a little smile, just a quick curve of his mouth, but it was enough to make your stomach tighten painfully. “Cool. I’ll, uh—text you, I guess?”

“Yeah. Text. Right.”

Your tongue felt leaden and stupid, and your heart hammered wildly against your ribcage. You wondered if he could hear it—wondered if he’d notice the pulse beating in your throat or sense the way your entire body vibrated with the memory of your morning orgasm.

But Jake just nodded again, hands sliding into the pockets of his hoodie. “See you tomorrow, then.”

He turned and left, effortlessly blending into the crowd of students filtering out the door. You stood there like an idiot, your mind replaying the conversation, analyzing every second for hints of pity or amusement on his part.

He didn’t seem weirded out. Didn’t seem suspicious of why you were so…flustered. He’d probably forget about you the moment he headed to his next class.

Meanwhile, you?

You tried to breathe, leaning heavily against one of the desks as you clutched your notes to your chest. Your thighs pressed together, a pitiful attempt to quell the ache that refused to leave you alone. It was as if your body recognized him on some primal level and refused to let go of the fact that he was standing right in front of you.

He had no idea how badly you wanted him—no clue you literally jacked off to his name almost every morning, that you were always late because you were too busy chasing orgasm after orgasm in a delirious haze of lust.

Well, now you’d have to fake it—pretend that you were normal, that you weren’t some perverted mess drooling over him in secret. You just hoped you could keep it together, especially once you were locked in a study room together, going over spreadsheets and supply-demand curves while your body screamed for something entirely different.

And worst of all, you had the sinking feeling that tomorrow’s routine wouldn’t be any different. You’d probably still wake up, still stroke your throbbing clit to the thought of Jake’s voice, Jake’s hands, Jake’s cock…

But maybe, just maybe, you’d manage not to be late this time.

Fat chance.

-

Studying with Jake Sim was a fucking nightmare—in the filthiest, most torturous way possible.

He had this infuriating habit of showing up in the laziest outfits imaginable, usually some combination of sweatpants and a hoodie. You might��ve thought the casual attire would make him look approachable or less intimidating, but it only did the opposite. He wore those gray sweats like a second skin, settling into his chair with an ease that bordered on sinful. His legs spread obscenely wide, claiming space that shouldn’t be his to claim.

The hoodie was somehow worse. It clung to his broad shoulders, emphasizing the sharp line of his collarbones and the solid build of his chest. And since he always—always—rolled his sleeves up to the elbows, you were treated to the tantalizing sight of his forearms: faint veins tracing a path over lightly tanned skin, muscles shifting whenever he flexed his fingers or picked up a pen.

It drove you insane.

Every time he tilted his head in thought, his hair would slip across his forehead, drawing attention to the dark, intense eyes beneath. Sometimes he licked his lips—absently, like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it—and every time it happened, a low, pulsing heat rippled through your stomach.

But the worst part? Jake had a thing for tits.

You first noticed it in the little stuff: the way his gaze drifted south whenever you leaned over your notes, the split-second hesitation in his voice if your shirt happened to be cut too low. His eyes would flick to your chest, then dart away so quickly you’d think you’d imagined it—except the slight tension in his jaw proved otherwise.

He tried to hide it. Tried to keep himself polite and focused on the assignment, but the more you studied together, the more obvious it became. He had to physically force himself not to stare, clenching his jaw or gripping his pen with a little too much force whenever your shirt shifted in just the right way.

Eventually, you decided to test him.

One night, you showed up at his place wearing a tight little tank top—no bra underneath, of course. The fabric hugged your curves, thin enough that your nipples peaked through whenever the room got too cold. You pretended to be completely oblivious, scrolling through your laptop as though there wasn’t a very obvious reason Jake’s gaze kept snagging on your chest.

His reaction was immediate. The second you walked in, his eyes darkened, pupils dilating as they betrayed his interest. He coughed, cleared his throat, and busied himself with the project notes, but he couldn’t hide the subtle tremor in his voice when he asked, “So, um, ready to start?”

You dragged a chair up to the small desk, taking care to sit opposite him so he’d have an unobstructed view. For a while, you both pretended to work—typing away, sorting through textbooks, exchanging random facts about supply and demand. But every time you spoke, his attention drifted down, no matter how hard he tried to stay focused on your face.

Your heart pounded every time you caught him looking. Desire coiled low in your belly, and your nipples tightened beneath the thin fabric, practically begging for him to notice. Your entire body thrummed with this heady mixture of confidence and need, and you couldn’t help but push it further.

“Ugh, it’s so hot in here,” you sighed dramatically, arching your back to stretch. The movement sent your breasts straining against the tank top, and you saw Jake’s jaw clench, the tendons in his neck standing out as he forced himself not to stare directly at you.

He tried to keep his cool, but his next words came out more clipped than usual. “I can open the window.”

You shrugged, letting the straps of the tank top slide a fraction of an inch down your shoulder. “Nah,” you said, voice laced with feigned innocence. “Don’t worry about it.”

The tension in the air was palpable, an almost electric charge crackling between you. Your thighs pressed together beneath the desk, desperate for some kind of friction. You could practically feel his gaze lingering on your chest when you looked away, fueling that simmering warmth between your legs.

Finally, Jake snapped.

“You do that shit on purpose, don’t you?” he muttered, voice pitched low and tight enough to send shivers skittering down your spine.

You fought the smirk threatening to curve your lips. Your stomach flipped with excitement and arousal. “Do what?” you asked, feigning obliviousness, even though your heart was about to hammer out of your chest.

He exhaled slowly, eyes flicking to the tank top that was barely containing your chest. “You know what,” he ground out, then made a visible effort to calm himself, dragging his gaze to your face.

It took everything in you not to let out a triumphant laugh. You could see the frustration warring with desire in his dark eyes, saw the way his fingers curled into fists as if he had to physically restrain himself. There was a fine tremor in his forearms—those fucking forearms—that made your insides clench with a perverse satisfaction.

Your own arousal pulsed, nipples practically aching as they brushed against the fabric. There was this suffocating urge to crawl into his lap, to press your tits against his chest and see just how fast you could break that composure. But you held back. Because that wasn’t the plan. Not yet.

“I’m just trying to study,” you said, tone as sweet as sugar, batting your eyelashes in an overdone performance of innocence.

Jake’s stare hardened, and for a moment, you thought he might say something brash—something that would make the air sizzle. But he merely set his jaw, took a long, measured breath, and turned back to the notes.

“Right. Study,” he mumbled, jaw working like he was trying to chew through nails.

You bit your lip to smother a grin, your pulse still thrumming in your ears from the pure, uncut tension between you. Your nipples were so stiff they practically throbbed; you had to shift in your seat to accommodate the constant, nagging ache in your core.

Nothing else happened that night—no heated kisses, no tangled limbs—but it didn’t need to. The filth was already there, simmering beneath every glance, every roll of his shoulders, every suppressed flick of his gaze toward your tits. You could sense the unspoken hunger radiating off him like heat waves, matching the relentless heartbeat pounding in your own chest.

And that was more than enough to leave you soaking by the time you finally left.

-

You woke up with a pounding need at the base of your spine. It was deeper than usual, an ache that gnawed at you relentlessly, demanding satisfaction. The worst part? You already knew exactly who you were going to picture to take the edge off:

Jake Sim.

Every nerve in your body thrummed with anticipation, remembering the way he’d looked at you during your last study session—eyes flickering from your face down to your chest, jaw clenched like he was fighting some internal battle. You’d left his dorm with slick thighs and your mind racing, your entire body aflame.

Today, you wanted to push your usual routine even further. Your fingers alone wouldn’t cut it. With your teeth worrying your bottom lip, you slipped out of bed and rummaged through your nightstand until your hand closed around the small, discreet vibrator you’d impulsively bought a few weeks ago. It was sleek, silicone-coated, made for exactly the kind of play you were craving.

You bit back a trembling sigh and grabbed your phone, propping it against a pillow at the foot of your bed. The little red light began to blink, capturing you in all your messy, unmade-bed glory—hair tangled, cheeks still carrying the warmth of sleep, and a fiercely determined look in your eyes.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” you whispered, half to yourself, half to the imaginary version of Jake you conjured whenever you got off.

But you didn’t hesitate. You shed your oversized T-shirt, tossing it aside to expose bare skin. Your nipples peaked in the cool air, and you ran a hand over one breast, giving it a light squeeze before trailing your palm down over your stomach. You settled into the pillows, propping your hips up slightly so the camera had a perfect view.

“Jake,” you murmured, letting your thighs fall apart, “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Your free hand teased your clit, already slick with arousal, while the other clutched the vibrator. The buzzing anticipation in your veins intensified as you clicked it on, feeling the soft hum rattle against your palm.

Normally, you’d sink it straight into your cunt, but today, you were craving something more depraved. Your breath hitched at the thought of that taboo stretch you barely ever indulged—your ass. The mere idea of Jake guiding it inside you, watching you squirm as you took it deeper, was enough to send a fresh gush of heat through your body.

“Fuck,” you mumbled, heart hammering as you angled the toy behind you. “Jake, I want you…want you here.”

Carefully, you smeared your own wetness over the silicone, letting your middle finger gather some of the slick so it’d slide in smoothly. A gasp broke from your throat the moment you pressed the vibrator’s tip to that tight ring of muscle—just the tiniest bit of pressure made your nerves light up like a live wire.

You couldn’t help the shameless moan that echoed off your bedroom walls. Even though it was just the tip, the sensation had you delirious. You spread your cheeks with one hand, guiding the buzzing silicone in a fraction of an inch, your body tensing and then relaxing around it. A ragged whine tore from your lips.

You could almost feel Jake’s hands there, big and warm, whispering filth in your ear:

“Relax. You can take it. Just like that—fuck, look at you…”

Your other hand found your clit, rubbing messy circles that turned your moans into broken sobs of pleasure. Each slow push of the vibrator inched deeper, stretching you in a way that made your eyes roll back.

“Nngh—Jake, please,” you babbled, voice shaking as you tried to push it just a bit further. “Wish it was your cock…wish you’d pin me down and shove it all the way in…”

You couldn’t hold back. The pressure and vibration melded into something explosive, your clit throbbing under your frantic fingertips. Every muscle in your body coiled tighter, lungs seizing as you hovered on the precipice. The camera recorded it all—the sweat beading at your temples, the flushed curve of your cheeks, the wet, filthy sounds filling the room.

Then it hit. Your orgasm came crashing down, ripping a strangled scream from your throat. Your legs shook, your ass clamping around the toy, your cunt pulsing in sympathy. You writhed against the sheets, half-blinded by the force of it, tears pricking your eyes from the overwhelming relief.

It felt like forever before you could breathe again, the buzz in your nerves slowly receding. You eased the vibrator out, wincing at the hyper-sensitivity, then stopped the recording with a trembling hand. On the screen, the thumbnail showed a glimpse of you with your mouth open in a silent cry, body arched off the bed, pure rapture etched on your face.

Fuck. If Jake ever saw that…

But there wasn’t time for guilt or second thoughts. A glance at the clock made your heart plummet—it was late, and you had to scramble to get to class before your professor threatened to fail you for tardiness. Again.

You only managed a quick wipe-down, barely rinsing the toy and tossing it in a drawer, before you yanked on clothes and sprinted out the door, phone still warm in your pocket from the video you’d just recorded.

The lecture hall was already half-full when you snuck in. You found your seat, cheeks still hot from both the run across campus and the memory of the vibrator filling your ass less than an hour ago. You avoided Jake’s eyes completely, which was easy because he was focused on the front of the class—though you could still feel the tension that seemed to magnetize you whenever he was close.

Throughout the lesson, your mind wandered, replaying the moment of penetration, the hum of the toy, the fantasy of Jake’s hands gripping your hips. You clenched your thighs under the desk, wishing you could burn the images out of your head.

Little did you know, in just a few hours, your world would implode in the filthiest way imaginable.

That evening, you met Jake for a study session in his dorm. The room was small but cozy, a lived-in space with a single bed in the corner, textbooks piled on the floor. He greeted you at the door, wearing a fitted T-shirt that stretched across his shoulders in a way that made your pulse flutter.

“Hey,” he said, stepping aside so you could walk in. “Let’s try to knock out the rest of the research tonight.”

You nodded stiffly, mouth dry. You were always too aware of him—his scent, the way the muscle in his jaw worked when he concentrated, the slight furrow of his brows. It didn’t help that you’d spent your morning taking a vibrator in your ass, moaning his name like you were possessed.

You settled at the small desk with your laptop, while Jake sat on the bed flipping through a shared Google Doc on his phone. The tension was thick enough to taste. Sometimes you swore you caught him watching you from the corner of his eye, but every time you glanced over, he was scrolling or typing, expression neutral.

After about twenty minutes, the soda you’d chugged on your way over came back to haunt you. You needed the bathroom—badly.

“I’ll be right back,” you muttered, closing your laptop’s lid but not fully locking it. Nerves and bladder pressure made you forget the simplest precaution: you’d left a minimized window open from transferring your new “vibrator video” into your private folder.

Jake just nodded. “Sure. Down the hall, last door on the left.”

You slipped out of the dorm, heart still fluttering, mind on autopilot. The hallway was dimly lit, and you disappeared into the bathroom, exhaling a relieved sigh once the door clicked shut.

Alone in the room, Jake glanced at your laptop, noticing the faint glow beneath the lid. Curiosity—mixed with something deeper—bubbled in his chest. He’d been suspecting something was up with you, ever since you arrived late looking thoroughly wrecked every morning. The tension you carried around him was obvious, and he’d caught glimpses of…subtle clues.

With a swift move, he lifted the laptop’s lid. The screen flickered back to life, revealing a folder half-tucked behind your research notes. A folder labeled something simple, but ominous: “Private.”

He should’ve stopped. Should’ve told himself it was none of his business. But a stubborn, electric thrill spurred him to open it. A series of video files stared back at him, each with a plain name—things like “Vid001,” “Vid002.” And the most recent one? Time-stamped that morning.

His heart thudded. He clicked on it.

What loaded made his blood run hot.

You. Naked. Bent back on your bed with a vibrator in your ass, face scrunched up in a mix of pain and pleasure as you eased it deeper. The audio kicked in, and Jake’s eyes went wide when he heard your moans:

“Jake…God, I want you so deep in me…wanna be stretched by your cock…”

His pulse roared in his ears. The image on the screen was so explicit it felt like a punch to the gut. You whimpered, back arched, your hand working your clit with desperate speed, all while the vibrator buzzed between your spread cheeks. And the filthy things you were saying—how you wanted him to shove it all the way in, how you wished it was his cock instead of cold silicone.

Jake’s cock twitched in his pants, heat pooling low in his gut. He watched, transfixed, as your face contorted in a mind-blowing orgasm, your body jerking, thighs trembling. You were screaming his name through it all.

A low, shaky exhalation left his lips. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Sure, he’d suspected you had some kind of thing for him, but this? This was on another level. You were a wrecked, filthy, ass-play-obsessed mess, and all of it was for him.

He paused the video at the peak of your orgasm, hand nearly trembling with adrenaline. Blood pounded in his ears, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Part of him wanted to keep watching, to see every second of your depravity, but he had to be quick. You’d be back any minute.

With an almost reverent care, he closed out of the folder and gently lowered the laptop’s lid. Then he dragged in a ragged breath, trying to get his heart rate under control.

His mind raced. You were a shy presence at times, stumbling over words, blushing whenever he looked at you too long. Yet behind closed doors, you were filming yourself stretching your ass with a vibrator, moaning his name like he was the only person in the world.

Jake could barely contain the predatory thrill that coursed through him. He tried to shove the arousal down, adjusting his position on the bed so he didn’t look painfully hard if you walked in that second. But there was no ignoring the fact that everything had changed.

You had no idea what you’d just handed him, and Jake was more than ready to see how you’d squirm now that he had proof of just how desperately you wanted him.

-

You barely made it through class without combusting.

Your skin felt too hot, every nerve in your body on edge, a lingering burn still coiled between your thighs from the morning’s routine. As if that wasn’t bad enough, every time Jake so much as shifted in his seat, your body reacted—trained by weeks, months, of late mornings spent getting yourself off to the very thought of him.

And then, class ended.

The moment you stepped into the hall, still shaken, still barely holding it together, Jake was waiting for you.

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest, looking infuriatingly calm while you felt like you were on the verge of collapsing. His dark eyes flicked over you, a slow drag, lingering just long enough to make your stomach tighten. He wasn’t just looking at you—he was studying you, examining you, as if piecing together a puzzle that had finally clicked into place.

A slow curl of heat unfurled in your belly. Something about the way he held your gaze, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips, made you feel exposed. Laid bare.

Something was wrong.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides, breath uneven as you tried to keep your face neutral. “What?” you asked, attempting to sound indifferent, but your voice betrayed you, cracking slightly on the single word.

Jake didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he let the silence stretch, dragging his tongue over his lower lip in thought. His fingers twitched against his arms where they were crossed over his chest, and his gaze dipped lower—not just over your body, but like he was seeing straight through you.

Your stomach clenched. He knew something.

“Didn’t sleep well?” he finally asked, voice deceptively casual.

Your heart lurched. He was playing with you.

You forced yourself to scoff. “What are you talking about?”

Jake hummed, tilting his head slightly, and your stomach sank at the knowing glint in his eyes. You felt yourself locking up, body screaming at you to flee, but it was too late.

“I wonder…” he mused, tapping his fingers against his arm. “Is that why you’re always late?”

The world tilted beneath you.

Your throat closed, fingers twitching at your sides, because he didn’t say it like an accusation—he said it like a revelation.

Jake took a step closer, and you swore your knees almost buckled.

“You’re always late,” he murmured, voice smooth as sin, laced with amusement. He tilted his head slightly, eyes never leaving yours as he leaned in just enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. “Always looking like you’ve just been fucked.”

Your breath hitched. Your pulse roared in your ears.

“What—” Your voice barely worked, caught between panic and something even deeper—something raw, electric, dangerous.

Jake’s lips curved, dark amusement flashing across his face. “You get off before class, don’t you?”

Your entire body went up in flames. Your thighs clenched so tightly that you swore he could see it, see the way his words wrecked you from the inside out.

Jake didn’t wait for you to answer. He already knew. He had proof.

The realization crashed into you like a truck. The video.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Your laptop. The folder. The fucking recording from that morning.

The vibrator. The way you moaned his name. The way you begged for it to be him.

Jake had seen it.

Oh my god.

He had fucking seen it.

A low chuckle vibrated from deep in his chest, his lips twitching upward at the sheer horror that must have been written all over your face. His eyes darkened, filling with something lethal, something triumphant.

And then came the final blow—the words that shattered you, sent that familiar ache between your legs into something unbearable.

“You could’ve just asked me to help, baby.”

Your stomach dropped. Your knees almost buckled.

You were done for.

The world tilted on its axis. Everything else around you—the bustling students, the muffled sounds of conversations, the faint scraping of chairs against tile—blurred into meaningless background noise. All that existed was him. His smirk. His words. The absolute certainty in his voice that left no room for denial.

Your mouth opened, some kind of weak protest forming on your tongue, but Jake moved closer, shutting you down before you even had a chance to breathe. His presence was overwhelming, his body heat radiating off him like a furnace, his scent—clean, musky, laced with something so distinctly him—filling your senses, making your knees weak.

“You get off before class,” he repeated, softer this time, almost teasing, like he was savoring the confession he had yet to hear from your own lips. His voice dropped lower, becoming something dark, possessive. “And you think about me when you do it, don’t you?”

Your lungs seized. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe.

Jake tilted his head, studying you, watching the way your fingers twitched at your sides, the way your lips parted in a silent gasp, the way your thighs pressed together instinctively—as if that would do anything to stop the inevitable, the brutal ache between your legs that he had just made ten times worse.

“Tell me I’m wrong.” His voice was smooth, dripping with mocking confidence, because he knew you couldn’t.

Your brain scrambled for an escape. For an excuse. For anything that might get you out of this, because if you admitted it—if you said it out loud—there would be no turning back. You’d be his. Completely. Utterly.

Jake was too close now, his breath fanning over the shell of your ear, his tone taunting. “What is it, baby?” His fingers ghosted along your wrist, not quite touching but close enough to drive you insane. “Cat got your tongue? Or are you too busy thinking about the way you spread your legs for me every morning?”

Your breath left you in a shattered gasp.

You shouldn’t have reacted. You knew better. But your body betrayed you—your thighs clenched harder, your nipples tightened under the thin fabric of your shirt, your entire core clenched around nothing, desperate for the friction you had been denying yourself all class.

Jake saw it. He saw everything.

He chuckled, voice dark and satisfied. “Oh, you really are a filthy little thing, aren’t you?”

Your body burned.

Jake smirked. His fingers—strong, veined, perfect—finally reached you, just the barest brush of his knuckle against the inside of your wrist, but it sent a violent shudder through you.

And now, he fucking knew it.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he said smoothly, turning away like he hadn’t just left you a trembling, soaking mess in the middle of the hallway.

-

You spent the entire day in a state of absolute wreckage.

After Jake’s confrontation in the hallway, after his words had wrapped around you like a noose, you had barely functioned. Your thoughts were a mess, your body useless, stuck in a constant loop of shame, arousal, and anticipation. He had seen it. He had seen you—spread out, stuffed full, moaning his name like a desperate, filthy thing. And now, tonight, you had to face him again.

Your stomach flipped violently as you stood in front of your bathroom mirror, gripping the sink, forcing yourself to take slow, measured breaths.

You had to get it together. You had to act like you weren’t already falling apart before you even stepped into his dorm.

But the problem was—you were. You so were.

The moment you let your mind wander, it all came rushing back. Jake’s voice, low and taunting. His gaze, dark and knowing. The way his fingers had hovered so close to your skin, how he had whispered filth into your ear like he already owned you.

And now, tonight, he would.

Your breath shuddered. Your thighs clenched.

You couldn’t go to him like this, already weak and needy. You needed to take the edge off, just enough to think clearly, just enough to face him without completely unraveling the second he looked at you.

Your hand slipped beneath the waistband of your shorts before you could think twice.

You sighed, the relief instant as your fingers slid through the ridiculous mess between your legs. You were soaked, soaked, had been all day. It was humiliating, how little it took. The heat, the tension, the memory of him catching you—it had left you dripping, thighs sticky and aching since the moment he walked away from you in that hallway.

But tonight, you needed more than your fingers.

Your eyes flicked to the cool bathroom sink, and your breath hitched.

You turned around, hands bracing against the counter, angling yourself just right before slipping your fingers behind you, dragging them through your folds from the back, teasing your entrance in a way that made your legs tremble.

A gasp ripped from your throat as you pressed two fingers inside, stretching yourself open while your hips rocked forward, grinding your clit against the cold, smooth porcelain. The sensation was overwhelming—the deep, slow stretch inside you paired with the delicious friction against your swollen, aching clit.

“F-Fuck,” you whimpered, forehead pressing against the mirror as you humped the sink, fingering yourself deeper, imagining it was Jake standing behind you, one big hand on your hip, the other sliding down between your legs to keep you in place while he filled you up.

Your breath came ragged, hips stuttering, thighs quivering as you rode the edge, grinding your clit down harder, fucking your fingers deeper, thinking about how Jake would hold you still, how he’d groan against your ear, whispering, “You’re such a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

Your stomach tightened, the orgasm coiling, building, about to—

And then your phone buzzed.

You froze.

Your heart stopped. Your stomach plummeted. Your fingers stilled immediately, guilt crashing over you in suffocating waves.

You scrambled for your phone, unlocking it with shaking hands.

Jake: Don’t. Touch. Yourself.

Your blood ran cold.

You swallowed, staring at the text, heart pounding as another one came through.

Jake: You’ll do that when you’re here.

Your breath left you in a shaky exhale, thighs clenching involuntarily at the absolute authority in his words. You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, could only sit there, fingers still buried inside yourself, aching, trembling, waiting.

Then—

Jake: And when you get here? You’re going to show me just how much you need it.

Your entire body shuddered.

Your clit pulsed beneath your untouched folds, but you didn’t dare move. Not now. Not when you were seconds away from finishing, and Jake had just ripped that privilege away from you.

Another text buzzed onto the screen.

Jake: If you’re even a second late, I’ll make you wait even longer.

You swallowed a whimper. You had to go. Now.

Your legs felt like they barely worked as you stumbled up from the sink, heart hammering, stomach twisting into knots of frustration, anticipation, arousal so thick you could choke on it.

You had no idea how you were going to survive this night.

-

You hesitated outside Jake’s door, hands clammy, thighs pressed together so tightly it almost hurt.

Your body wasn’t over it.

Not even close.

The bathroom incident had left you on the brink, your body still buzzing, still needy, still aching for something you weren’t allowed to have until you stepped inside. You could still feel it—the cool sink against your clit, the way your own fingers had stretched you open from behind, the way Jake’s texts had snapped you back to reality at the worst possible moment.

And now you were here.

You wiped your palms on your thighs, forced yourself to breathe, forced yourself to knock even though every part of you screamed run.

The door opened almost immediately.

Jake stood there, leaning against the frame, one hand braced above his head, the other resting casually in the pocket of his sweatpants. His eyes raked over you, scanning your body like he already knew what kind of state you were in.

Like he could smell it on you.

You swallowed hard, barely holding back a whimper.

“Come in.”

His voice was smooth, deep, dripping with something dangerous. He stepped aside, leaving just enough space for you to squeeze past him. The second you moved, his hand brushed against your lower back—a simple touch, barely even there, but it felt like a brand.

Your breath hitched.

The door clicked shut behind you.

You were alone with him now.

The air felt thick, suffocating, charged. You could hear your own pulse pounding in your ears, the faint sound of your breath coming in quick, uneven puffs. Your nerves were a mess, anticipation tangling with embarrassment because—

You knew why you were here.

And so did Jake.

You took a shaky step forward, barely processing the way Jake moved behind you. Slow. Calculated.

“So,” he murmured, the heat of his breath suddenly right at your ear. “Are you gonna tell me how close you were?”

Your entire body seized up.

He wasn’t touching you—not yet—but his presence alone was suffocating, pressing against you like a heavy weight.

You licked your lips, swallowed hard. “W-what?”

Jake chuckled.

“Don’t play dumb, baby.” His fingers ghosted over your hip, just enough to make you tremble. “I told you not to touch yourself. And yet…”

You sucked in a breath as his other hand trailed up, dragging two fingers over your exposed throat, pressing just lightly enough that your head tipped back on instinct.

“You couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

Your thighs clenched.

His touch was barely there but it was too much. Too much, because you were already soaked, already aching, already at the point where you’d do anything—

But he wasn’t giving it to you.

Not yet.

Instead, he pressed his fingers just a little more firmly against your throat, tilting your head back so you had no choice but to look at him. His dark eyes held yours, and the corner of his mouth curled.

“Be honest with me.”

You swallowed hard, heat pooling between your thighs.

Jake’s fingers brushed down your throat, slow, teasing, until they rested just beneath your collarbone. His thumb dragged lower, just barely dipping beneath the neckline of your shirt.

You could barely breathe.

You shouldn’t have been this turned on just from a few words. Just from the way his thumb traced your skin, from the way he was looking at you like he already owned you.

But then he leaned in, so fucking close, lips just barely brushing against your ear as he whispered—

“How close were you when I told you to stop?”

A whimper escaped you before you could stop it.

Jake groaned, low and satisfied. His fingers tightened, just enough to make your breath catch, just enough to make your body scream for more.

“I bet you were close.” His breath was hot, his tone mocking. “I bet you were right there, fingers dripping, about to make a mess of yourself.”

You bit your lip hard enough to sting, trying to stop the truth from slipping out.

Because if he knew the full truth—if he knew what you’d actually been doing—

Grinding against the bathroom sink, rubbing your clit against the cool porcelain like some desperate, shameless thing—

You’d die on the spot.

Jake must have sensed it. Felt it. Because his fingers curled against your chin, tilting your face up. His eyes searched yours, his smirk deepening, his voice dropping even lower.

“What else?”

Your pulse skipped. “W-what?”

His lips nearly brushed yours. “You were doing more than just touching yourself, weren’t you?”

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Your silence was a dead giveaway.

Jake chuckled, dark and knowing. His grip on your chin tightened. “Tell me.”

Your stomach dropped.

“I—I…” The words got stuck in your throat.

His smirk widened. “You’re gonna say it out loud, baby. Or I’ll make you.”

Your breath shook, your entire body on the verge of collapse. You wanted to fight it, wanted to pretend you still had some dignity left, but Jake’s gaze was relentless.

And he wouldn’t let you go until you gave him what he wanted.

A deep, humiliating heat spread over your body as you finally whispered, “I—I was…grinding against the sink.”

Jake inhaled sharply, his entire body going still.

His grip on your chin tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might snap. He didn’t move, didn’t speak—just processed what you’d just admitted.

Then, slowly, so deliberately that it made your stomach flip, he let out a low, dark chuckle.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his free hand flexing at his side. “That’s what you were doing?”

You nodded weakly, shame pooling in your stomach.

Jake exhaled through his nose, his jaw clenching, and suddenly, his hand slid from your chin to your throat, holding you there—not squeezing, just keeping you still.

“You’re a filthy little thing, aren’t you?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

Jake smirked, something dangerous flashing in his gaze, something calculated.

“You’re gonna show me,” he murmured. “Later.”

Your breath hitched.

“And I’m gonna take a video.”

Your knees nearly gave out.

Jake sat back on his bed, legs spread wide, leaning against the headboard with an ease that only made the situation worse—or better, depending on how you looked at it. His hoodie was gone, discarded somewhere in the room, leaving nothing but smooth, bare skin, the sharp lines of his collarbones, the toned muscles of his chest, and the faintest trail of hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his sweatpants.

But what really ruined you was the bulge straining against the soft fabric of his grey sweats.

It was… big. Heavy. Obscene. The kind of size that made your stomach clench with something dangerously close to desperation. He wasn’t even touching himself, wasn’t even adjusting—just sitting there, watching you like he had all the time in the world.

And then he did something that made your breath stutter.

He reached over to his nightstand and grabbed his phone, unlocking it with a single flick before tilting his head at you, smirk lazy, expectant.

“I’m filming this,” he murmured, voice dripping with authority. “Start stripping.”

Your stomach flipped.

Your body burned.

You should have hesitated—should have felt embarrassed, should have tried to argue—but the only thing you felt was a deep, thrilling pulse between your legs.

You didn’t even question it.

Your hands moved before your brain caught up, fingers gripping the hem of your shirt, peeling it up slowly, dragging it over your stomach, higher, teasing yourself as much as you were teasing him. The air felt thick, charged, electric as you bared more skin, the camera recording every second.

Jake hummed approvingly. “Good girl. Keep going.”

The shirt hit the floor. You reached for your shorts next, hooking your thumbs into the waistband, dragging them down inch by inch, knowing exactly how much of a show you were giving him.

By the time you stood before him, stripped down to nothing but your soaked panties, Jake’s smirk had sharpened into something dangerous.

“Lose those too,” he ordered, tilting the phone slightly to capture your every movement.

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t stop.

You slid your hands down, curling your fingers beneath the waistband, peeling them down agonizingly slow, letting the fabric drag over your thighs before stepping out of them completely.

Now you were bare.

Jake exhaled through his nose, pleased. His free hand dragged over his own thigh, fingers flexing, his grip tightening the moment you stepped forward, fully exposed, completely his.

“Touch yourself,” he commanded. “Let me see what you do when you think about me.”

You obeyed instantly, trailing your fingers over your stomach, your thighs, your hips—everywhere but where you needed it most. Your breath came in slow, teasing gasps as you let your fingers finally slip lower, grazing your clit, a sharp whimper escaping as you made contact with the aching heat between your legs.

Jake groaned, the sound low, filthy.

“Louder.”

You whimpered, fingers pressing deeper, moving slower, dragging the pleasure out just to tease him, just to see how long he’d let you keep control.

“Louder,” he said again, voice darker this time. “I want to hear every filthy little sound you make.”

Something inside you snapped.

You moaned. Loudly.

Then again. And again.

It was like you couldn’t stop. The moment the first shameless, desperate noise slipped past your lips, your mouth wouldn’t close, your voice wouldn’t stop spilling every thought you had.

“Jake—fuck—I think about you all the time—”

Your fingers slid deeper, your hips rocking into the pressure.

“I think about your hands, how big they are, how rough they’d feel on me—”

Jake let out a low, ragged groan, his fingers twitching against the bed.

“I think about your mouth, how you’d ruin me with it, how you’d hold me still and make me take it—”

Your breath hitched as you spread your legs wider, rubbing yourself faster, your mind a mess of filth.

“I think about your cock,” you gasped, your fingers slick, sliding in and out shamelessly. “How big it is, how you’d stretch me open, how you’d fill me so fucking deep—”

Jake exhaled sharply, his jaw locked, his knuckles turning white against his thigh.

Then, in an instant, he moved.

You barely had time to react before his hand wrapped around your throat, gripping firm, dominant, unrelenting as he dragged you forward. Your breath caught, a choked gasp escaping as he pulled you right into his lap, forcing you to straddle him, the heat of his body pressing against you.

His grip tightened, not enough to hurt, just enough to make you feel it.

“Stop pretending,” he growled, his breath hot against your lips, his other hand pushing between your thighs, feeling how soaked you were. “You want to act like a shy little thing? Like you’re so innocent?”

His fingers dragged through your slick, making you tremble, making you whimper as your hands gripped his shoulders for support.

“Enough of that.” His thumb pressed against your throat, tilting your head back, his gaze dark, dangerous. “Start acting like the filthy little slut you actually are.”

Something in you broke open.

You whimpered, thighs clenching, your fingers digging into his skin as your hips rolled forward, grinding against his sweatpants, against the huge, heavy bulge pressing against you.

Jake groaned, his grip on your throat flexing, his lips twitching into something darkly amused as you completely fell apart for him.

“There she is,” he murmured. “That’s what I wanted.”

Your mouth ran wild, the words spilling before you could stop them—

“I want you to ruin me, Jake—”

You rocked against him, panting, desperate, his hand tight in your hair now, keeping you in place, making you take it.

“Want you to spread me open—make me take every inch of you—”

Jake groaned, low and wrecked, his hands gripping your hips, holding you against him as you rubbed yourself raw against his cock, soaking his sweatpants with how desperate you were.

You did exactly that.

You pulled your fingers out, spreading your slick between them, before shifting positions—

Turning around.

Bending over.

Spreading yourself open for him.

A sharp, gritted curse came from behind you.

Jake’s fingers flexed against his thigh, his entire body going rigid as he took in the sight before him—your ass up, your fingers teasing at your entrance, the shameless, dripping mess you were making of yourself.

He let out a slow, heavy breath, one that sounded so ragged, so fucking strained, that you almost moaned just from hearing it.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered, voice low, wrecked.

And that was the moment you knew.

Jake was going to destroy you.

Jake let the silence stretch, let the weight of his gaze sink into you, let you feel just how much he was holding back—barely.

You were still bent over in front of him, still spreading yourself wide, still waiting, dripping, panting, desperate, while he sat back and took his time.

His voice, low, rough, taunting:

“You think this is how I’d fuck you?”

Your stomach plummeted.

Jake exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over his jaw before shaking his head, clicking his tongue in mock disappointment.

“That’s cute, baby,” he murmured, shifting forward until you could feel his heat against you, his presence looming over your back, his breath hitting your spine.

But then—

He grabbed your hips, both hands firm, controlling, and yanked you back against him. Your breath hitched, a choked gasp slipping from your lips at the sudden contact—your bare, slick heat pressing against the thick, hard outline of his cock.

Jake groaned, low, deep, wrecked, his fingers tightening, his chest heaving as he held you there, perfectly still, completely at his mercy.

“First mistake,” he muttered, voice rough against your ear. “You wouldn’t be in charge of how fast or slow I fuck you. That’s my job.”

A shudder ran through you, your hands clenching against the sheets as Jake’s grip ground you against him, making you feel every inch of his cock through his sweatpants.

“Second mistake?” he continued, dragging his fingers over the curve of your ass, featherlight, teasing. “You think I’d let you touch yourself first?”

Your breath caught as his hand moved lower, closer, his touch just barely skimming over your soaked entrance, not enough, not even close, just a tease.

His fingers—elegant, veined, strong—dragged through your slick, gathering it, smearing it over you, spreading you open, making you tremble.

“I’d have you like this first,” Jake murmured, voice silk and gravel, his breath hitting the nape of your neck as his fingers teased, circled, prodded, but never gave you what you needed. “Dripping. Begging.”

His fingers brushed over your tight, untouched entrance, slicking it up with your own mess, and you whimpered, hips jolting forward on instinct, trying to escape the sensation—

But Jake just chuckled.

“Oh?” His tone was mocking, amused. “That got your attention?”

Your whole body seized, heat flaming through your spine, burning at your core, because—

He was still teasing your ass.

Just barely, just the pad of his fingertip, smearing your slick in slow, lazy circles, pressing, nudging, teasing, but not pushing inside.

And he wasn’t letting you run from it.

His free hand pressed into your lower back, keeping you right where he wanted you, keeping you spread, exposed, open.

“You think about this too?” he murmured, voice dark, edged with pure sin. “You think about my fingers stretching you out?”

Your throat closed, your body burning, your breath hitching in a desperate, humiliated whimper, because—

Yes.

Yes, you did.

Jake chuckled, pleased, tilting his head as if piecing it all together.

“Oh, baby,” he whispered, his fingertip pressing just a little more insistently, not pushing in yet, just teasing, just threatening to. “You should’ve seen yourself.”

Your pulse pounded.

“I bet you don’t even know how messy you looked,” he continued, mocking, condescending. “Whimpering, drooling all over your pillow, fucking yourself open for me.”

Your entire body jerked, because you knew exactly what video he was talking about.

Jake just laughed under his breath, slow, deliberate, dragging it out.

“I don’t even think you knew what you were saying, baby,” he murmured, voice almost affectionate, like he was reminiscing. “Kept whining about how you wished it was my cock stretching you open, stuffing you full.”

A wrecked, desperate moan tore from your throat before you could stop it.

Jake groaned, low, pleased.

“There it is,” he murmured. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

His finger pressed harder, circling, coaxing, never giving you enough—just teasing, just pushing your body past what it thought it could take.

His other hand moved.

His fingers found your clit, pinching, rolling, flicking over the swollen bud with zero mercy.

You gasped, your legs nearly giving out, your moan high, broken, utterly wrecked.

Jake groaned at the sound, his own restraint hanging by a thread, but he wasn’t done yet.

“Stick your tongue out,” he ordered, voice deep, commanding.

You barely had time to process the words before your mouth obeyed, tongue slipping out, slick and needy, desperate for whatever he’d give you.

Jake exhaled through his nose, satisfied.

He shoved his fingers inside your mouth.

You whined, head tilting back as he pressed deeper, letting you taste the salt of his skin, letting you soak them, letting you understand exactly what he was about to do.

“Suck,” he murmured, and you did, your lips wrapping around his fingers, your tongue laving over them, your moans vibrating through your chest.

Jake cursed under his breath, his cock twitching hard beneath his sweatpants, his control hanging on by a fucking thread.

He pulled his fingers out, slick, wet, dripping with your spit.

And then he shoved that same finger inside you.

Your whole body jerked, your breath stuttering, your mind blanking completely as the wet stretch burned, as your body took him, clenched around him, pulled him deeper.

Jake groaned, his free hand slamming onto your lower back, keeping you still, forcing you to take it.

“God,” he muttered, voice strained. “Look at you.”

His finger slid deeper, fucking into you, spreading you open, filling you slowly, deliberately, ruining you.

“You were made for this, weren’t you?” he murmured. “Made to be filled.”

Your moans shattered, your legs trembling, your hands gripping the sheets, your whole body unraveling under him.

Jake just smirked, watching you come apart.

“That’s okay, baby,” he murmured, his lips curling against your ear. “I’m gonna make sure you take it better than that next time.”

Your stomach dropped.

Next time.

Jake just smirked.

“Oh,” he murmured, voice lethal. “And don’t forget—I’m filming the next one.”

Jake had had enough.

Enough of teasing, enough of waiting, enough of holding back while you squirmed, while you whimpered, while you dripped all over yourself without him even needing to try.

Now he was going to ruin you.

His fingers slid out of you slowly, deliberately, letting you feel every inch of the slick drag, letting your body clench around nothing, aching, desperate for more.

You whined, shifting, pushing back instinctively, chasing friction, but Jake’s hands were already on you, pushing you down, flipping you onto your back in one smooth motion.

Before you could even catch your breath, he was on you.

His grip locked onto your thighs, spreading you wide, forcing your legs apart so you had no choice but to bare yourself to him completely.

Your pulse roared in your ears.

Jake exhaled slowly, his eyes dark, hungry, his gaze locked onto the messy, dripping heat between your legs.

“Fuck,” he muttered, almost to himself, his fingers flexing against your thighs, holding you open like you belonged to him.

Your stomach flipped. Your breath hitched. Your body throbbed.

“Be a good girl and show me how bad you want it.”

Your brain blanked.

You knew what he meant. Knew he was testing you. Knew he wanted to see if you were still pretending, still holding back, still playing shy when you were already dripping for him.

He would stop.

He would kick you out.

His voice was low, slow, unforgiving when he spoke again. “If you don’t act like the whore I know you are, I’m gonna stop. And I’m gonna make you leave.”

Your breath shattered.

The weight of his words hit you like a slap to the face.

No more hesitation. No more nerves. No more pretending.

Your whole body flushed hot, heat spreading from your cheeks down to your core as you swallowed your pride, swallowed your shame, and did exactly what he asked.

You let your thighs fall even wider, your hands sliding down your stomach, past your hips, until your fingers spread yourself open for him, letting him see everything.

Jake’s breath left him in a ragged curse.

“That’s it,” he muttered, almost to himself. “There she is.”

His mouth latched onto you immediately, tongue dragging through your folds, hot and wet and messy, licking up every bit of slick that had spilled from you since he started his torment.

You screamed.

Your hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands, pulling, gripping, holding on for dear life as Jake ate you alive.

He groaned against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your core, making your hips buck, making you writhe beneath him.

But Jake was ready for it.

His arms hooked under your thighs, locking them over his shoulders, his hands gripping your hips tight, pinning you down as he worked you over with his tongue, messy and relentless, like he was trying to drown in you.

“Oh my fucking—Jake—”

You gasped, sobbed, choked on your own moans, because he wasn’t just licking you,

He was devouring you.

Sucking, flicking, rolling his tongue over your clit, dipping lower to fuck you with it, groaning into you every time your walls fluttered around the slick muscle.

Your body twitched, overwhelmed, shaking under the pressure of his grip, the raw, unrelenting pace of his tongue.

He was merciless.

No teasing. No holding back.

Just Jake, consuming you, controlling you, wrecking you.

Your thighs tensed, your stomach tightened, your breath coming in short, sharp, desperate gasps, and Jake fucking felt it.

He knew you were close.

So he got mean.

He pulled away just enough to whisper against your swollen, drenched folds—

“Make a mess of my face, baby.”

Your stomach dropped.

He sucked your clit into his mouth and flicked his tongue over it hard.

Everything snapped.

Your whole body bowed, your mouth falling open in a silent scream, your vision blurring, blanking, as pleasure slammed into you, violent and unforgiving.

You came hard, your body convulsing, your legs trying to snap shut around his head, but Jake just held you there, kept you wide open, kept his tongue right where you needed it, licking you through it, dragging it out until you were a shaking, sobbing mess beneath him.

When it finally became too much, when your whimpers turned into soft, wrecked sobs, Jake eased up, pressing slow, teasing kisses against your oversensitive clit before finally pulling away.

Your chest heaved, your skin flushed, your whole body buzzing, as you blinked up at the ceiling, completely wrecked, ruined, destroyed.

Jake sat back, grinning, his lips and chin shiny, slick, messy with you.

His voice was smug, satisfied, when he finally spoke.

“That’s my girl.”

You were still panting, still trembling, your body wrecked from the brutal pace of his tongue. But Jake wasn’t done with you yet.

Not even close.

Before you could recover, before you could even think, his hands were on you again, flipping you onto your stomach with zero effort, pressing his weight down against you, his body hot, heavy, overwhelming.

You barely had time to catch your breath before you felt it,

The thick, hot length of his cock pressing between your thighs, dragging through your slick, coating himself in the mess he’d made of you.

Your whole body shuddered.

“Gonna fuck you now,” he murmured against the shell of your ear, voice dark, dangerous. “You ready for me, baby?”

You barely managed to nod, your hips tilting up, your back arching, offering yourself up to him in the filthiest display of submission.

Jake groaned, his breath shuddering against your shoulder.

“Yeah, you are,” he muttered, almost to himself. “You’ve been ready for me since day one.”

Your breath hitched when he pulled back, when you felt him shift, when you felt him line himself up,

You felt it.

The thick, heavy weight of his cock sliding between your folds, dragging over your clit, teasing your entrance, spreading you open inch by inch, but not pushing in yet.

You whimpered, a wrecked, frustrated sound, trying to push back, trying to take him, but Jake’s hands were on your hips immediately, holding you still.

“Not yet,” he murmured, voice taunting, smug. “You feel that?”

Your whole body tightened as he dragged himself over your entrance again, so close but still not giving it to you.

“Feel how big I am?”

You nodded furiously, eyes blown wide, unfocused, needy, trying to breathe through the overwhelming feeling of his cock stretching you open already before he was even inside.

Jake chuckled, one hand leaving your hip, gripping the thick base of himself, dragging the fat, swollen head against your entrance over and over, smearing your slick across his length.

“Bet you thought about it, huh?” he murmured, his free hand sliding up your back, pressing between your shoulder blades, forcing you further into the mattress. “Bet you imagined how deep I’d be.”

A wrecked, whiny little moan tumbled from your lips.

Yeah. You had.

And now you could feel it.

Jake was thick. Heavy. Long enough that you knew he was going to ruin you completely.

The head of his cock was flushed a deep, angry red, already slick with precum and the mess you’d made of yourself. A thick vein ran down the underside, pulsing against your entrance as he dragged himself over your folds again and again, teasing, taunting, letting you feel every single inch of what was about to wreck you.

Your thighs shook, your hands fisting the sheets, your whole body fighting to stay still.

Jake smirked.

“Want it that bad?”

You nodded frantically, whimpering, pressing back against him, desperate to be filled.

Jake groaned, low, dark, lethal.

He spat directly onto your asshole.

Your whole body jerked violently, your breath choking out of you, a sharp, desperate gasp breaking from your throat at the filthy, messy sound of it.

Jake chuckled darkly, rubbing the wetness into you with his thumb, spreading it over your tight entrance, teasing, circling, smearing it with your own slick.

“Thought about this too, huh?” he murmured, pressing just the tip of his thumb against it, making your thighs tremble, making your stomach flip, making you whine.

But he didn’t push in.

No—he dragged his spit-slicked thumb down, tracing it between your folds, pressing it against your clit in a slow, taunting rub just as he finally—

Pushed inside.

Your mouth fell open in a wrecked, silent scream, your entire body going taut, because Jake didn’t ease in.

He split you open.

A long, low groan rumbled in his chest, his fingers tightening on your hips, his breath shaking as he forced you to take every inch.

“Fuck, baby,” he hissed, his voice strained, wrecked, strained as he buried himself to the hilt. “So fucking tight.”

Your fingernails dug into the sheets, your legs shaking, your breath completely gone, because the stretch was unbearable, overwhelming, perfect.

Jake didn’t move right away.

He let you feel it.

Feel how deep he was, how full he made you, how there was no more space inside you for anything else but him.

He pulled back, 

And slammed back in.

Your whole body jolted forward, a sharp, shocked moan spilling from your lips as Jake set a brutal, punishing pace immediately.

“You’re gonna take it like a good little slut, yeah?” he growled, his voice low, rough, filthy. “Gonna take it just like you do in those videos?”

You sobbed, whimpered, nodded frantically, barely able to form words, barely able to breathe.

Jake groaned, watching you fall apart, watching you drool all over his cock, watching your mouth fall open in perfect, wordless pleasure.

He leaned down, teeth grazing your ear, his pace never faltering, pounding into you so deep you saw stars.

“Push back on it,” he ordered.

You barely even registered the command—just obeyed immediately, rocking back against him, meeting every thrust, taking him like you were made for it.

Jake growled, his grip tightening, watching the way his cock slid in and out of you, watching the way you took every inch, watching the way you spread yourself open for him completely.

“Good girl,” he gritted out, sweat dripping from his temples, his breath ragged. “That’s it, baby. Show me what a good little whore you are.”

His fingers slid back down, toying with your clit, rubbing it in tight, filthy circles, his thrusts getting harder, deeper, meaner.

Your vision blurred.

Your body shook violently.

“Jake—fuck—I can’t—”

He chuckled darkly, leaning over you again, his lips brushing your ear as he ruined you completely.

“Yes, you can.”

“Be a good girl and come all over my cock.”

Your whole world shattered.

The air in the room was thick, heavy with the scent of sex and sweat and everything filthy you’d just done.

Your body was still shaking, your limbs still boneless, every nerve still buzzing from the way Jake had just completely, utterly wrecked you.

His hands were on you again.

Gentle.

You barely registered the shift at first—too dazed, too exhausted, too blissed out to notice the way Jake’s grip had softened, the way his rough, dominant touch had turned into something careful, careful, careful.

You blinked, still coming down, still floating, as Jake slowly eased himself out of you, hushing you immediately when you whimpered at the loss.

“I know, baby,” he murmured, his voice softer now, a stark contrast to the filthy, merciless way he’d been talking to you minutes ago.

Your brows furrowed in confusion.

Because Jake sounded different.

You barely had time to process it before he moved, scooping you up effortlessly, pulling you into his lap like you were the most precious fucking thing in the world.

Your stomach flipped.

“Jake—”

“Shh.”

His lips brushed your forehead.

Your heart skipped. Your breath caught.

Because Jake had kissed you.

For the first time. But not on your lips.

Not yet.

His hands rubbed slow, soothing circles over your back, his voice a quiet murmur against your skin. “Are you okay?”

You blinked at him, completely thrown. Because what the fuck?

Where was the cocky, filthy-mouthed Jake who had just spent the past hour ruining your entire existence?

Where was the smug, insufferable bastard who had made you beg for it, who had spat on your ass, who had laughed while you drooled all over his cock?

Because the guy holding you now? Was someone else entirely. His hands were warm, steady, grounding. His gaze was soft, searching, real.

Your lips parted, still stunned, but before you could say anything, Jake let out a quiet, almost nervous chuckle.

“Fuck,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face before looking back at you. “I should’ve kissed you first.”

Your breath hitched.

Jake exhaled, shaking his head. “Before all of that.” His fingers traced light, delicate patterns up and down your spine. “Didn’t want the first time I kissed you to be during sex.”

Something in your chest ached. You didn’t know what to say.

Because this wasn’t what you expected.

Jake had spent weeks taunting you, teasing you, pushing you past your limits— Now he was holding you like he never wanted to let go. You swallowed, watching him carefully, studying him, trying to understand.

“Why?” you whispered.

Jake’s lips curled into a small, almost sheepish smirk.

His fingers found your chin, tilting your face up to his.

“Because I wanted it to mean something.”

Your entire body stilled. Your pulse roared in your ears.

Jake held your gaze, serious now, voice soft but firm.

“I don’t share,” he murmured.

Your stomach plummeted.

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. Jake tilted his head, his fingers sliding up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone, so gentle, so intimate, so fucking real.

“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing,” he continued, his voice low, steady, certain. “I don’t want you fucking anyone else.”

Your breath shuddered. Jake’s eyes flickered down to your lips, slowly He finally kissed you.

Slow. Deep. Consuming.

And just like that, you knew you were done for.

-

Jake’s words from that first night still haunted you.

“You’re gonna show me later.”

You were.

The bathroom lights were dim, the mirror already fogging up from the heat of the room, but none of that mattered. Not when Jake was standing behind you, one hand gripping your hip, the other holding his phone, recording every filthy, desperate second.

Your palms were pressed against the edge of the sink, your body bent forward, the cold porcelain digging into your clit as you grinded against it, mimicking exactly what he had caught you doing before.

Only this time, Jake was fucking you through it.

His cock dragged in and out of you, slow at first, deep and deliberate, splitting you open, making you feel every thick, devastating inch as you rocked your hips forward, rubbing yourself against the sink just like you had before he ever touched you.

Now, Jake was watching.

Now, Jake was inside you.

His breath was hot against your neck, his free hand trailing up your spine, fingers pressing between your shoulder blades, pushing you further down against the sink, making you spread your legs wider, making you take more of him, making you completely his.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, his voice wrecked, low, approving, his free hand digging into your hip, holding you exactly where he wanted you. “Just like that. Just like you did for me before I ever fucking touched you.”

Your moans were high, gasping, desperate, bouncing off the tile walls, growing louder and louder as Jake’s thrusts grew faster, sharper, filthier.

“Look at yourself,” he growled, angling the phone so you could see the reflection—see the way your face was contorted with pleasure, see the way your tits bounced with every thrust, see the way his cock disappeared inside you, stretching you wide, filling you completely.

You locked eyes with him through the mirror, and something snapped.

A slow, wicked smirk curled on your lips, and suddenly, the whimpering mess you had been was gone.

You arched your back further, pushing your ass back against him, grinding onto his cock, fucking yourself onto him even harder, your mouth spilling filth without hesitation.

“You see that, baby?” Your voice was thick with sin, sultry and commanding. “See how good your cock looks inside me? Stretching me open like I was fucking made for it?”

Jake groaned, dark and wrecked, his grip tightening on your hips.

“Oh, you like that?” you cooed, deliberately clenching around him, making him hiss through his teeth. “Like watching me fuck myself on you?”

He gritted his teeth. “Jesus Christ.”

“Thought about this for so long,” you purred, rolling your hips. “Thought about you taking me like this—filming me—showing me what a good little slut I am for you.”

Jake cursed under his breath, his thrusts growing harder, faster, deeper, his control shattering as he pounded into you, forcing you against the sink, making you feel every fucking inch.

“You wanna keep talking, baby?” he gritted out, his hand snaking up to grip your throat, making you hold his gaze in the mirror. “Or do you wanna fucking come?”

Your moan broke, your whole body trembling, your legs shaking violently.

“I—I want both,” you gasped, a shameless, breathless mess. “Wanna come all over your cock while you fucking record it. Wanna make the dirtiest fucking video for you—so you can watch me fall apart over and over—”

Jake groaned, his restraint snapping completely.

His hand slid between your thighs, rubbing you mercilessly, his cock slamming into you faster, harder, filthier, and before you could even process it—

You were screaming, your orgasm ripping through you violently, your whole body convulsing, shaking, breaking apart.

Jake got every second on video.

-

Jake liked to smoke weed after long days.

He liked to do it while wrecking you.

The air was thick with smoke, the room hot, hazy, suffocating in the most intoxicating way. You were sprawled out on his bed, your thighs spread wide, your wrists pinned beside your head as Jake’s tongue dragged lazy, filthy circles over your clit, lapping at you with zero urgency, completely unbothered by how fucking desperate you were getting.

In his free hand? A joint.

Burning slow. The smoke curling through the air, weaving between your tangled bodies, seeping into your skin, into your mind, into your bones.

Every nerve in your body was on fire. Every slow, teasing flick of his tongue felt magnified, every inhale he took deepening the fog that was swallowing you whole.

You moaned, squirming, your fingers digging into the sheets as your hips lifted, chasing his mouth, trying to get more, but Jake just chuckled darkly, pinning you down, refusing to let you take control.

He lifted his head slightly, blowing a long, slow stream of thick, warm smoke over your drenched, swollen clit.

Your body jerked violently, a sharp cry breaking from your throat, the sensation too much, too overwhelming, too fucking filthy.

“Fuck—Jake—”

He groaned, lazy, satisfied, licking his lips before dragging his tongue through your folds again, so slow, so teasing, so fucking unbearable.

“Sensitive, baby?” His voice was thick, taunting, dripping with amusement. He took another deep inhale from the joint, holding the smoke in his lungs, letting his fingers slide through your wetness, teasing, circling, rubbing—but never giving you enough.

He exhaled another thick, slow drag of smoke, letting it roll over your heat, watching as the wisps curled around your trembling thighs, your stomach, your completely wrecked, ruined body.

A wrecked, filthy moan spilled from your lips.

Jake smirked against your inner thigh, watching you twitch, tremble, shake, watching your chest rise and fall rapidly, watching the way your fingers clawed at the sheets, desperate for more.

“You like that, baby?” he murmured, his fingers sliding deeper, pressing inside you so fucking slow, dragging against your walls, curling just right.

You whimpered, back arching off the mattress. “Yes—fuck, yes—”

Jake hummed approvingly, the sound low and sinful, his lips dragging over your inner thigh, nipping at the soft flesh, teasing, taunting.

He did something unholy.

He brought the joint down,

And pressed the burning tip directly to your clit.

It didn’t hurt—it was barely a graze, the heat of the ember just close enough to send a violent shockwave of pleasure-pain through your entire fucking body.

You screamed, your legs snapping closed around his head, but Jake just growled, gripping your thighs and spreading them wide again, forcing you open for him.

“Ah, ah,” he tutted, bringing the joint back to his lips for another slow, deep pull. “Keep those legs open, baby.”

Your chest heaved, your mind spinning, every part of you hypersensitive, overstimulated, teetering on the fucking edge.

Jake watched you, eyes blown, hungry, dark, as he reached between your thighs again, his fingers finding your swollen, overstimulated clit, rubbing messy, lazy circles, smearing your slick, keeping you right there, right on the brink.

He exhaled another cloud of smoke, letting it roll directly over your heat.

Your moan broke, a sharp, wrecked sob, your body tensing, shaking, fighting the unbearable pressure building inside you.

“Oh, baby,” Jake mocked, his voice thick with sin, his fingers never stopping, never slowing. “You’re gonna fucking come just from this, aren’t you?”

You nodded frantically, whimpering, writhing, your whole body fighting to hold itself together.

Jake’s lips twitched, his cock straining against his sweats, his own control slipping as he dragged the joint over your soaked folds, rubbing the tip against your clit, watching you jerk, watching your legs tremble, watching you fall apart for him.

You said it.

Your voice was high, wrecked, desperate.

“Please, Daddy.”

Jake froze.

He let out a deep, low groan, something dark flashing in his eyes. His grip on your thighs tightened, his body tensed, his restraint snapping completely.

His voice was rough, strained, wrecked beyond recognition.

“Say that shit again.”

You whimpered, grinding against nothing, teetering right on the edge of something violent.

“Please, Daddy,” you repeated, voice syrupy sweet, dripping with sin. “My pussy wants a hit too it needs it. Need you to make me come so fucking hard I forget my own name—”

Jake growled, his entire body shuddering, his control obliterated.

He took another slow inhale,

He pressed the joint back to your clit, the heat searing, shocking, sending a violent shudder through your entire body.

Your legs spasmed, your stomach tensed, and suddenly you were gushing, soaking his face, his chest, the sheets beneath you, every single muscle in your body seizing as you squirted all over him.

Jake groaned loudly, his hand gripping your thigh bruisingly tight, his tongue lapping up the mess you made, drinking you down, humming against your dripping folds like he’d just found his new favorite way to get high.

Jake took the joint, still damp from where he’d pressed it against your soaked heat, brought it back to his lips, and took one final, slow hit.

His exhale was slow, deep, pure sin as he looked down at you, wrecked, spent, twitching beneath him.

He leaned in, grabbed your jaw, and kissed you.

Filthy. Deep. Destroying.

Smoke still lingered on his tongue, on his breath, invading your lungs, intoxicating you more than any drug ever could.

His teeth tugged at your lower lip, his hand gripping the back of your neck, holding you exactly where he wanted you.

And as he pulled away, leaving you breathless, ruined, completely fucking gone, he grinned against your lips, voice nothing but a low, wrecked murmur.

“Bet you taste even better than the high, baby.”

-

The bathroom was already steaming, condensation rolling down the glass shower door, the air thick with humidity—and the sounds of Jake fucking you senseless.

Your body was pressed against the glass, the cool surface a stark contrast to your feverish, flushed skin, your nipples dragging against it with every brutal thrust, leaving streaks of your desperation across the fogged-up surface.

Jake’s hands were everywhere—one gripping your hip tight enough to bruise, the other wrapped around your throat, holding you in place, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

Fucking lethal.

“You wanted this, huh?” he growled, his breath hot against your ear, his cock slamming into you from behind, deep, ruthless, unforgiving. “Wanted Daddy to take you like this?”

You whimpered, your forehead pressing into the glass, your nails scraping uselessly against it, because you had no control over anything anymore.

Jake wasn’t just fucking you. He was owning you.

His hand on your throat tightened, forcing you to lift your head, making you stare at your own fucked-out reflection in the glass.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his tone condescending, filthy, dripping with amusement. “You see yourself, baby?”

Your mouth hung open, your lips puffy, swollen, wrecked, your body shaking with every deep thrust, your nipples dragging against the slick surface of the glass, leaving desperate little streaks with every movement.

Jake chuckled darkly. “So fucking dumb for me, huh?”

You tried to speak—tried to say something, anything—but all that came out was a wrecked, helpless little sob.

Jake groaned, his free hand sliding down, gripping your jaw, forcing your head back, forcing you to keep looking.

“You wanted to fuck me in the shower?” he mocked, his hips snapping forward, burying himself so deep you saw fucking stars. “Now you can barely even stand.”

Your whole body convulsed, your walls clenching tightly around him, and Jake felt it.

Felt how fucking wrecked you were.

Felt how close you were.

And he wasn’t having it.

Not yet.

His thrusts suddenly slowed, the brutal, relentless pace shifting into deep, slow, torturous rolls of his hips, dragging his cock out of you so slowly, before slamming back inside.

You sobbed, the glass fogging up from your panting, helpless gasps.

“Oh, you don’t like that, baby?” he taunted, his grip on your jaw tightening, his thumb pushing into your mouth, forcing it open. “Thought you wanted Daddy to fuck you. What happened, huh?”

You whimpered around his thumb, your tongue lapping at the rough pad, sucking instinctively, needing something to hold onto before you fucking lost your mind.

Jake groaned, his pace picking up again, faster, harsher, filthier, his cock hitting deep, devastating spots inside you that made your legs buckle beneath you.

Your moans grew louder, more desperate, high, gasping little cries that bounced off the tile walls, mixing with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, the shower running, the heavy panting of both of you completely fucking falling apart.

Jake leaned in, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear, his hand on your jaw sliding down, wrapping fully around your throat.

“You’re gonna take everything I give you,” he murmured, low, dark, dangerous.

You nodded frantically, whimpering, your hands bracing against the glass, leaving messy little fingerprints in the condensation.

Jake groaned, watching you lose yourself, watching the way your body responded to him, the way you trembled, the way you fucking fell apart for him.

“Go ahead, baby,” he murmured, his thrusts turning erratic, ruthless, brutal, perfect. “Come for me.”

Your whole body snapped.

A shattered, broken moan spilled from your lips as your orgasm slammed into you, your walls clenching, pulsing, milking him, your body shaking violently as wave after wave of pleasure consumed you.

Jake cursed, his grip tightening, his own breath shattering against your ear as he thrust into you a few more times, then he buried himself deep, groaning through gritted teeth, coming inside you, his body tensing, shaking, completely fucking wrecked.

The only sound left in the room was your panting breaths, the steady patter of the shower, the faint creak of the glass as your bodies pressed against it, spent, ruined, completely fucking gone.

Jake’s hands slid to your hips, his grip softening, pulling you back against his chest, wrapping his arms around you as his forehead pressed against the back of your neck.

A quiet, breathless chuckle escaped him. “Damn, baby.”

You laughed, weak, fucked-out, completely ruined.

“Next time,” he murmured, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your shoulder. “You’re riding me.”

-

Jake had never been gentle.

Not really. Not when it came to you.

Because you pulled something reckless, desperate, uncontrollable out of him.

Tonight was different.

The candles flickered softly, the scent of warm vanilla filling the air, mixing with the faint traces of Jake’s cologne on his sheets. The playlist he made for you played quietly in the background, soft, slow, achingly sweet.

Jake was looking at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

His hands were slow, careful, reverent as he traced your body, fingertips ghosting over your bare skin, leaving shivers in their wake.

He hovered over you, his gaze heavy, intense, the way he always looked at you when he was about to ruin you.

Tonight, he was going to love you.

“Happy one month, baby,” he murmured, brushing his lips over yours, soft, teasing, unbearably tender.

Your stomach flipped, your chest aching, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him down, needing more.

Jake chuckled against your mouth, letting you kiss him, letting you taste the slow, burning affection behind every drag of his lips.

“You always so needy for me, huh?” he teased, grinning against your mouth, teasing but soft, always so soft.

You pouted, fingers tightening in his hair, pulling him closer, deeper, slower.

Jake groaned, his body pressing into yours, his warmth wrapping around you, completely engulfing you.

And when he finally—finally—pushed inside you, it was the slowest thing you’d ever felt.

A sharp gasp slipped from your lips, your head falling back as Jake’s body sank into yours, inch by inch, stretching you, filling you completely.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath uneven, wrecked, completely lost in you.

You clenched around him, your thighs tightening around his hips, pulling him deeper, needing more,

But Jake just smirked, shaking his head, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your jaw.

“Not rushing tonight, baby,” he murmured, voice low, gentle, soothing, but firm. “Gonna take my time with you.”

Your chest ached, your breath shaking, your fingers sliding down his back, gripping onto him, holding him close.

Jake moved slowly, agonizingly so, rolling his hips into yours in long, deep strokes, his body pressed flush against you, his lips tracing every inch of your skin.

It was everything.

The way he whispered against your lips, soft, teasing, murmuring about how perfect you felt, how much he loved being inside you.

The way he kissed you between every word, slow, messy, deep, like he needed you to feel every bit of how much he wanted you, adored you, fucking loved you.

The way his hands caressed your body, memorizing every inch of you, fingertips dragging over your waist, your ribs, your thighs, like he needed to burn you into his skin.

It was soft.

It was overwhelming.

It was Jake, giving you every single piece of himself.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered, voice thick, wrecked, raw, his lips pressing against your temple, your cheek, your jaw, before finding your lips again.

And when he finally—finally—pushed you over the edge, it was like drowning.

Your orgasm hit slow, deep, all-consuming, your whole body melting into his, your fingers gripping his shoulders like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to this earth.

Jake followed right after, burying himself deep, shuddering, groaning into your mouth, completely fucking lost in you.

When you were spent, ruined, completely wrapped up in him, he didn’t move.

Didn’t pull away. Didn’t let you go.

Instead, he cupped your face, brushing his thumb over your cheek, soft, tender, adoring.

He kissed you.

Slow. Lingering. Perfect.

“I Love you,” he murmured, lips still pressed against yours, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart skipped.

Your breath hitched.

When you whispered it back, Jake smiled against your mouth.

-

Jake had been staring at you for a full ten minutes.

Not subtly. Not in passing. Full-on, pouty-lipped, arms-crossed, lovesick puppy-dog-eyes staring.

You had noticed, of course—you always noticed when Jake was desperate for attention—but you had been trying to see how long he would hold out before cracking. You scrolled through your phone lazily, sipping from your water bottle, pretending to be completely oblivious to the fact that your boyfriend was sulking next to you like you had just broken his heart.

A deep, dramatic sigh.

You smirked, tilting your head just slightly to catch him in your peripheral. Sure enough, he was still pouting, still glaring at you like you had done something terrible.

You raised a brow. “What?”

Jake let out another, even heavier sigh, rolling onto his side to face you, his arms curling around your waist, pulling you against him like you were his last source of oxygen.

“You haven’t kissed me yet,” he muttered, muffled against your shirt.

You blinked. “What?”

Jake lifted his head, his expression pure devastation.

“You haven’t kissed me,” he repeated, dead serious.

You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up in your throat. “Jake—”

“Jakey,” he corrected, pointing to his cheek expectantly.

You bit your lip, eyes glimmering with amusement, but leaned in anyway, pressing a soft, slow peck to his cheek.

Jake let out the happiest sigh, his lips curling into the softest, sweetest little smile, eyes fluttering shut like he had just been granted salvation.

“Mmm,” he hummed, squeezing you tighter. “Better.”

You shook your head, laughing softly, trailing your fingers through his hair, but before you could pull away, he was tilting his chin up, tapping his other cheek.

“Missed a spot.”

You rolled your eyes, but indulged him, pressing another gentle kiss to his other cheek.

Jake sighed even deeper, his hands tightening around your waist, his grin growing even wider.

“Good girl,” he murmured, pressing his face into your neck, breathing you in.

You bit your lip, heart melting at how soft, sweet, and completely in love he was. Jake had his moods—he could be cocky, insatiable, dominant, but this? This was your favorite.

He nuzzled against you, sighing softly. “You know, I’ve been thinking about our wedding.”

Your breath hitched. “Oh?”

Jake just nodded, his smile so content, so blissful.

“Yeah. I’ve got it all planned out,” he mused, tilting his chin up expectantly again.

You smirked. “What?”

Jake pointed to his lips.

You giggled, leaning down, kissing him slow, savoring the soft little hum he let out, the way his fingers curled tighter into your sides.

When you pulled away, he was grinning like an idiot.

“Okay, so,” he started, eyes glimmering. “It’s gotta be on a beach. You in some flowy-ass dress, looking like a literal angel.”

You smiled at the thought, pressing another kiss to his temple.

Jake sighed, eyes slipping shut for a moment, his body completely relaxed, completely wrapped up in the idea.

“And our honeymoon?” he continued, his voice getting even softer, even dreamier. “Bora Bora. Or the Maldives. Somewhere I can keep you in bed for a whole week.”

You gasped, swatting his chest playfully. “Jake—”

“Jakey,” he corrected again, glaring immediately.

You sighed dramatically, leaning down and pressing a peck to his nose.

Jake sighed, so blissed out he could barely speak for a second.

“God, I love you,” he murmured, pressing tiny kisses to your collarbone, your shoulder, anywhere he could reach.

You smiled against his skin, your lips still ghosting over his temple. “Love you too.”

Jake hummed, shifting so he could press his forehead against yours, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles on your back.

“You know,” he started, his voice lower, softer, full of something even deeper. “I was thinking three kids. Two boys, one girl.”

You smiled. “Oh yeah?”

“Or,” he continued, grinning, “what if we get twins? Like, one of each?”

You kissed his cheek. “You’re ridiculous.”

Jake huffed, tugging you closer, burying himself into your warmth. “Not ridiculous. Just in love.”

He closed his eyes, sighing. “You’re gonna stay home, right? Take care of the house, the kids, let me take care of you?”

Your chest tightened. “You’d be okay with that?”

He snorted, pulling back to look at you like you had lost your mind. “Baby, I’d love that. I’d spoil you rotten.”

Your stomach flipped.

“Think about it,” he murmured, his voice turning lower, teasing. “You, waiting for me when I come home, wearing one of my shirts, telling me how much you missed me.”

You felt hot all over.

He smirked. “God, you’d be the best little housewife.”

You pressed your face into his chest, flustered, overwhelmed, completely wrapped around his finger.

Jake just laughed, holding you so tight, so safe, so his.

“And the house?” he murmured, squeezing your waist. “We need something big, but cozy. A huge kitchen—‘cause I know you love to cook. A fireplace, maybe? A backyard for the kids. A big-ass bed so I can keep you all to myself.”

You whined, squeezing your eyes shut. “Jake, stop.”

Jake grinned. “Jakey,” he corrected one last time, tapping his lips.

You rolled your eyes but leaned down anyway, kissing him slow, soft, deep.

He sighed into it, his fingers curling into your hair, holding you there, kissing you like he had all the time in the world.

And when you pulled away, breathless, hearts pounding, he whispered against your lips, “You’re gonna marry me.”

Your chest ached.

You couldn’t wait to. “Yeah, Jakey. I’m gonna marry you.”

-

The morning had started innocent enough.

At least, as innocent as waking up naked and tangled with Jake Sim could be.

You were supposed to get up early. You were supposed to go to class on time for once. But then Jake shifted, his warm, bare skin pressing into yours, his breath heavy against your ear, his hand already sliding between your thighs before you were even fully awake.

“Morning, baby,” he murmured, raspy, teasing, completely unbothered by the fact that you were already running late.

You lost all track of time.

Jake didn’t need to touch you to ruin you.

Sometimes, all it took was his voice.

“You’re not gonna make it to class, are you?” he mused, low and smug, his lips brushing against your ear.

You shuddered, squeezing your eyes shut as you pressed your thighs together, trying to ignore the way your body reacted to just his words.

Jake chuckled, shifting so he was propped up on one elbow, looking down at you like he was already planning how much worse he was going to make it. Slow, teasing, torturously confident.

“You always do this,” he murmured, tracing lazy patterns along your stomach. “Pretend you’re gonna leave. Act like you’re strong enough to walk away from me.”

You swallowed hard, gripping the sheets, your chest rising and falling too quickly.

Jake smirked. He noticed.

“What’s wrong, baby?” His voice was taunting, almost sympathetic. “Already shaking and I haven’t even touched you yet?”

You exhaled sharply, squeezing your legs tighter together.

Jake tsked. “Oh, sweetheart.”

His hand ghosted down, his fingers dragging over your hip, down the outside of your thigh, barely there, completely teasing.

“You’re already soaked, aren’t you?”

You whimpered, biting your lip, refusing to answer.

He hummed, shaking his head. “So easy for me.”

You turned your head, hiding your face against the pillow, but Jake wasn’t having that.

“Look at me,” he murmured, low and firm, the kind of tone that made your stomach flip.

You hesitated, but turned back, meeting his gaze. His eyes were dark, heavy, filled with pure amusement.

“There’s my good girl,” he murmured, running a finger down your cheek, his voice turning softer, but still full of that unbearable smugness.

You swallowed, trying to keep your breathing even, but Jake could see right through you.

“You don’t wanna go to class,” he whispered, pressing his lips to your jaw, so soft, so slow. “You wanna stay right here, let me ruin you all over again.”

Your fingers dug into the sheets.

“Say it,” he coaxed, his hand sliding lower, his mouth hovering just above yours. “Tell me you’d rather be late.”

Your lips parted, your breath shaky.

Jake smirked, running his nose along your cheek, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth.

“You wanna be good for me, don’t you, baby?”

You whimpered, your resolve crumbling.

And that’s all it took.

Jake chuckled, shifting over you fully, pressing you back into the mattress.

“That’s my girl.”

-

By the time you both finally dragged yourselves out of bed, you were already doomed.

Jake smirked as you struggled to stand on shaky legs, his grip on your waist firm as he steadied you, smug as ever.

“Careful, baby,” he murmured, biting his lip as he took in the mess he had made of you.

You shoved him, grumbling under your breath as you pulled on your sweater, knowing full well that no amount of adjusting was going to hide the way you looked thoroughly ruined.

Jake didn’t even try.

He pulled on the first hoodie he could find, rubbing a hand through his already-mussed-up hair, his lips still swollen from kissing you senseless.

By the time you actually left, you were beyond late.

Your professor narrowed his eyes immediately.

Jake grinned, throwing an arm around your shoulders like it was no big deal, guiding you to your seats with zero shame, zero regret.

“Nice of you to finally join us,” your professor said dryly, crossing his arms, glancing between the two of you.

You swallowed hard. “Uh, yeah, sorry,”

Your professor raised a brow. “You both look… disheveled.”

You felt your entire body heat up, shifting in your seat as Jake just smirked.

“Must’ve been the wind,” Jake said smoothly, kicking his feet up under the desk, looking completely unbothered.

Your professor wasn’t convinced.

He squinted, glancing at you, then at Jake, then back at you.

“Uh-huh,” he said slowly. “The wind.”

Jake grinned wider.

Your professor exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. “You know what? Forget it. I don’t want to know.”

You nearly collapsed in relief, but Jake?

Jake was having way too much fun.

He leaned over, whispering in your ear, his voice low, teasing, smug.

“Baby, I think we’re getting too obvious.”

You resisted the urge to kick him under the desk.

From then on, every time you and Jake showed up late to class, looking like an absolute mess— Your professor just sighed, shook his head, and looked the other way.

fin.

-

TL: @ziiao @beariegyu @seonhoon @naurwayyyyy @somuchdard @ijustwannareadstuff20 @ddolleri @annybah @zzhengyu @elairah @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @kristynaaah @zoemeltigloos @mellowgalaxystrawberry @inlovewithningning @vveebee @m3wkledreamy @lovelycassy @highway-143 @koizekomi @tiny-shiny @simbabyikeu @cristy-101 @bloomiize @dearestdreamies @enhaverse713586 @cybe4ss @starniras @wonuziex

[linoxpudding]

Written In The Stars- Lee Know

summary: he's your soulmate, but he's already in love with someone else

pairing: lee know x fem!reader

genre: angst, soulmate au, unrequited love

word count: 1828 words

a/n: this was requested, really loved this concept— should I do part 2? 👀

Masterlist

~°~

You had always dreamed of meeting your soulmate. As a hopeless romantic, you had imagined it all—the instant connection, the rush of emotions, the realization that this was the person meant for you.

From the time you were little, you'd trace the blank space on your wrist, imagining the mark that would one day bloom there—the sign of your destined person. Stories of soulmates finding each other had filled your heart with longing, whispering promises of a love so deep, so undeniable, that nothing could stand in its way.

And then on a fateful morning, three months after you turned thirteen, it happened.

A delicate star-shaped pattern shimmered on your wrist, fading from golden light into solid ink.

This was it.

Your breath had caught in your throat, your heart pounding as you traced over the pattern with shaking fingers. It was real.

Your soulmate was out there.

And you were going to find them.

************

You had spent years searching—watching, waiting, hoping. But soulmarks were unpredictable. Some people found their destined person right away. Others searched for years, only to meet their soulmate at the most unexpected moment.

For you, it happened through Bang Chan.

************

You had known Chan for a while now, having met through mutual friends, and occasionally you hung out with his group that consisted of your mutual friends from college. One evening, he invited you over for a casual get-together at his place. You had no idea how much your life was about to change.

When you arrived, laughter and conversation filled the apartment. People greeted you warmly, but your attention was drawn to him.

Lee Minho. 

There was something about him that intrigued you. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, confident yet not overbearing. Maybe it was his sharp eyes that held mischief and mystery. He was handsome, almost unfairly so, with an aura that pulled attention effortlessly.

The moment you met, there was some sort of instant spark. 

As the night went on, he was leaning back in his chair, eyes sparkling with amusement as he watched you argue with Jisung, another close friend of Chan that he introduced you to, over some ridiculous topic. And then he joined in.

The two of you had gone back and forth for at least ten minutes, teasing and taunting each other like you had known each other for years.

“Wow,” Minho had finally said, crossing his arms with a smirk, “Chan, where have you been hiding this one?”

Chan had laughed, “Right? I knew you two would get along.”

And from that moment on, you did.

The banter was easy, natural, like a rhythm you had both unknowingly fallen into. He would throw a jab, and you would return it without missing a beat. It became something of a game— one that neither of you acknowledged but played anyway. 

After that night at Chan’s place, you and Minho exchanged numbers, a silent agreement to keep in touch. But life was busy— too busy for long conversations or one-on-one meetings. Your interactions were limited to occasional group hangouts, fleeting moments where you’d exchange teasing remarks and match each other’s humor effortlessly.

For a while that was enough, until you saw the mark.

************

It happened weeks later, on a movie night at Changbin and Hyunjin’s place. It was a casual kind of movie night where everyone showed up in sweats, curled into couches with blankets draped over their laps, trading playful jabs between mouthfuls of popcorn. The air smelled like butter and cinnamon-scented candles, and the TV flickered with a half-watched movie as conversations overlapped.

Minho sat across from you, comfortably leaning into the cushions, his usual smirk in place as he fired off another joke. The room erupted into laughter, but yours was the loudest— it always was when it came to him. It was effortless, the way the two of you fell into banter, the way he made you laugh like no one else could.

And then, in the midst of it all, he reached for his coffee.

It was such a small thing, so inconsequential, yet it changed everything.

His sleeve rode up slightly, exposing the inside of his wrist for the briefest moment. But that moment was enough.

Your laughter faded. Your pulse stilled.

Because there, etched into his skin, was your mark.

The very same pattern you had spent your whole life tracing absentmindedly, the one you had dreamed of seeing on someone else one day. On your soulmate.

Lee Minho was your soulmate.

The world should have stopped. This should have been the moment where everything clicked into place, where the universe finally made sense. But before the thought could fully form, a voice cut through the haze.

“Sorry, babe. I’m late.”

A woman appeared beside him, her tone light, affectionate. She leaned in without hesitation, pressing a kiss to his lips as her hand came to rest on his shoulder like she had done it a hundred times before.

Minho turned to her, his smirk softening into something warmer, something real. It was love.

You thought you knew him well enough. Well enough to anticipate his dry jokes, to recognize the mischievous glint in his eye before he spoke. But clearly not well enough to know he had a girlfriend.

And that was when you knew. Minho wasn’t waiting for a soulmate. Because he was already in love with someone else.

You barely remembered the rest of that night. You smiled, you laughed when appropriate, you responded to conversations, but your mind was elsewhere. On him. On her. On the way he looked at her, touched her, stood beside her like she was his world.

And that realization destroyed you.

************

You told yourself it didn’t matter.

The mark wasn’t a command. It wasn’t a guarantee of love, just a promise that this was the person who was meant to understand you like no one else could.

So you stayed.

Not because you were waiting. Not because you were hoping. But because leaving felt impossible.

Chan’s group became your own, and Minho was always there—laughing, teasing, existing so effortlessly in your world. 

At first, it was unbearable.

Every time he absentmindedly rubbed the mark on his wrist, a quiet frown flickering across his face, your stomach twisted. Did he feel it too? Did he ever wonder?

But then his girlfriend would call, and he would answer with a voice so gentle it made you want to scream.

She was perfect. Kind, beautiful, talented, and Minho loved her. He was happy.

And you? You were just his friend with the same mark.

************

The months that followed felt like moving through water—slow, heavy, suffocating.

You tried convincing yourself that nothing had changed. That Minho was still just a friend, a fleeting presence in your life, someone you saw in passing at group hangouts and laughed with over inside jokes. But knowing the truth made every interaction feel heavier, every lingering glance, every easy banter laced with something you couldn’t ignore.

And yet, he remained blissfully unaware. He didn’t know. He didn’t see.

Not until that night.

The party at your friend’s penthouse was loud, the music thrumming through the walls, laughter and conversation bleeding together into a dull hum. But you weren’t part of it. Instead, you stood in the dimly lit kitchen, gripping the counter so tightly your knuckles turned white, trying to steady yourself against the weight in your chest.

You weren’t sure why you had come. Maybe some part of you still craved the normalcy of being around him, of pretending nothing had changed. Maybe you were just tired of avoiding him.

“Hey,” he greeted you, entering the kitchen. His voice was soft, but it made your stomach drop, “You're still here?”

You didn’t turn right away. You couldn’t. You replied weakly, “Yeah, needed a breather.”

He hummed, reaching for a glass of water. His movements were effortless, casual—until he caught sight of your wrist.

His body went rigid beside you. His eyes flickered from your mark to his own. You felt it before you saw it— the way the air shifted, the sharp intake of his breath, the stillness that settled between you like a physical thing. 

You felt your chest tighten.

“…It’s you,” he whispered.

Slowly, hesitantly, you followed his gaze down to your wrist.

You swallowed. “Yeah.”

You watched as realization hit him like a crashing wave, his expression flickering through shock, confusion, and something deeper—something you didn’t want to name.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

And then, finally, he did.

“But…” His voice was quiet, almost fragile. He swallowed, staring at you like he wished he could unsee it. “But I love her.”

Three words.

Three words that carved into you deeper than you thought possible.

You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to meet his gaze, to absorb the quiet devastation in his eyes— the same devastation mirrored in your own.

“I know,” you said, offering him a small, trembling smile. “I know, it's okay.”

His head snapped up, his eyes dark with something unreadable. “No, it’s not.”

And that was the difference between you.

You had spent weeks coming to terms with the inevitable, had learned to swallow down the ache every time you saw him with her. But for him, this was the first time. This was his moment of realization, and it was breaking him apart in real time.

His voice was rough when he spoke again, like he was fighting against something he didn’t understand. “How long have you known?”

Your lips parted, the answer lingering on the tip of your tongue. But what would that change?

“Does it matter?” you asked softly, finally meeting his gaze.

His jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with frustration— at you, at himself, at the cruel twist of fate that had led you here.

“I should’ve known,” he muttered, shaking his head, his voice filled with something raw and painful. “I should have—”

“Minho.”

Your voice was steadier than you felt. He looked at you then, really looked at you, and you could see it—the weight of it, the way his heart and mind waged a silent war.

He didn’t want to hurt you. But he loved her.

You reached for him before you could stop yourself, your fingers just barely brushing against his wrist before pulling away. A silent offering. A silent goodbye.

“It’s okay,” you repeated, softer this time. “You love her.”

And that was the end of it.

Minho exhaled, a shaky, uneven breath. He opened his mouth, like he wanted to say something, anything, but no words came.

There was nothing left to say.

So you smiled, even as your heart cracked, even as you felt the finality of it settle into your bones. And then you turned, slipping out of the kitchen and back into the party, leaving Minho alone with the mark that had changed everything.

Minho was never meant to be yours.

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

Taglist:

@kaiyaba @lov3rachan @pixie-felix @ellemir2404 @willowhanji @skzimagines @wavetohannie @jamroses @kayleefriedchicken @kokinu09 @nightmarenyxx @vietjeb @my-neurodivergent-world

[eternal-love]

IT AIN’T ME, BABE

Pairing: Austin Butler x Controversially young gf!reader

Summary: People warned you about him moving on too fast. You didn’t listen.

Warning: Bathroom quickie, reader’s much younger than Austin (20-33), smoking.

Proofreader: baby court @aust-een

The after-party was glamorous, partying with rich people was always fun when they knew how to do it right. Which champagne to buy or which kind of cigarettes to offer. You stood on Austin’s side, smoking a cigarette, as he chatted with other men.

You held onto him for dear life, as if he would run away if you let him go for a second. Wearing an expensive YSL dress. You felt out of place but it was fun to pretend to be a socialite. Like a child playing dress up.

Austin was being a bit touchy too, hand on your lower back or your waist. Whispering sweet nothings in your ear while he hugged you from behind, being playful.

“Let’s go into the bathroom…” He whispered in your ear before kissing your neck from behind.

“Here? Austin…” you scoffed but giggling also, his stubble tickling you.

“It’ll be a quickie, baby. Come on… m’ so horny.”

Doing it in the bathroom of a luxurious home, where an after party for a luxury brand, it wasn’t your plan but with Austin, things were always unpredictable. And soon enough you were making your way into a bathroom.

Expensive tiles and golden decor, your back was pressed against the cold wall as his lips attacked yours.

You felt yourself getting wet each second passing by as his big hands found their way inside your strapless dress. His hand squeezing your breast, making you moan in his mouth. He pulled away, laughing.

“That needy already, baby? I barely touched ya.” He whispered against your ear, his voice mocking you as his free hand lowered the zipper at the back of your dress. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna take real good care of you.”

He was quick to lift you into the sink countertop, getting in between your thighs and riding up your dress. Thankfully you were wearing the underwear he liked, but he didn’t even bother with it, almost ripping the beautiful lace apart. He wanted no barriers between you two.

“Such a pretty baby…” Austin whispered as his lips found your neck, biting and kissing with a rush. As well as he rushed to unbutton and pull down his slacks.

His hardness evident on his Calvin Klein boxers, practically begging to be released so it could feel you. Your throbbing core had never felt this way, but as soon as he pulled down his boxers, he didn’t even give you time to process it become he slammed himself into you.

His movements fast and rough, thrusting into you with urgency as his hand braced the mirror behind you.

You threw your head back due to the pleasure, his large and thick cock filling you up just right, and he doesn’t measure his pace. You can only whine in response, it felt too damn good.

“Quiet.” He grunts, but it’s useless when he’s fucking you dumb. “You want everyone to know what I’m doing to you? Huh? Is that what my baby wants?”

“N-no…” you shake your head, but whimpering every once in a while. Your breath hitching with each powerful thrust.

You can see in his face how much he’s loving this, how your pussy clenches around his throbbing cock, he’s already imagining how he’s gonna come inside of you, how you’ll have to go back to the party while still being a dripping mess of his cum and yours. Because nothing is going to waste.

“You take me so well, it’s pathetic.” He grunted, his face buried in the crook of your neck. Your hips start bucking forwards too, wanting to help his swift movements, you’re reaching for your climax because you feel it coming.

“Don’t stop. Please, Dont stop.” Your voice shaking, eyes watering from the pleasure. You want to finish already but he’s torturing you even if it’s a quickie.

Austin’s thrusts became more powerful, and deeper. His cock hitting you in that sweet spot repeatedly, his hand went to cover your mouth as he found his pace to hit that spot that made you shake.

“So fucking— tight. Baby.” He grunted in your ear, his voice shaky and breathless too. You bucked your hips so you could help him, and it did help. His hands went to your hips to pull you closer, he wanted to feel you whole.

You felt your stomach turn into a knot and you knew you were so close. He thrusted into you a few more times, and you couldn’t handle it anymore.

“I think I’m gonna— gonna…” you said, moaning in ways you’ve never done before.

“Can’t come this fast, baby. Give me a minute.” He thrusted even faster, but not as deep as before. His nails digging onto your hips. “I wish I could be your age once again. Getting railed in a bathroom, without a care in the world. Recklessly.”

And sooner than later, you both finished, he grunted loudly while you let out a high pitched moan, it made him laugh, someone definitely heard you two. “I love you, so much.” He whispered in your ear as he rode out his orgasm.

Austin gave you a long kiss, his tongue sneaking into your mouth before pulling away, he laughed as he gave you two soft pats on your cheek.

“Get cleaned up.” He gripped your jaw, forcing you to look at your face in the mirror. Red lipstick smeared all over your face, eyeliner and mascara smudged. “Cause you totally looked like you just got fucked.”

He pulled his clothes on again, and went to fix his hair and wash his face before leaving the bathroom before you. Leaving you alone.

You stayed alone, trying to fix the mess he turned you into. Trying to fix your makeup, you took about fifteen minutes up in the bathroom until you felt that you look somewhat decent again.

You made your way to the after party again, alone, but you couldn’t find Austin anywhere, and now you totally felt out of place. That feeling of being surrounded by people yet feeling alone, specially knowing people were judging you because of how long you looked.

It ain’t me, babe by Joan Baez started playing in the background and you sear her for your ‘boyfriend’.

And then you spotted Austin from afar, chatting with another woman, she was wearing a tailored suit, her hair looked so sophisticated and simple, her makeup only enhanced her features and so did her glasses and it made her look so untouchable from where you were. She looked so cool, like Françoise Hardy. You looked down on your outfit, it was pretty yes, but it didn’t impose anything other than look at my barely there dress.

Austin looked like he was having the time of his life with her. Like the conversation was flowing like water, you’ve never seen him talk to you in that manner, either that enthusiasm, with that glimmer in his smile and eyes.

They both seemed like they came here together, like they were both on the same level. She seemed about his age, even her mannerisms were mature and sophisticated. Not even a single cigarette near her.

It was clear in your eyes at least, you weren’t what he wanted, you weren’t what Austin needed.

He never was the type to settle with anyone, he knew his worth, he knew it. And to be honest, a part of you knew your mother was right when she said men in their thirties never take college kids seriously.

Even after he said ‘I love you’ did he? Did he or was it because you were an easy fuck and just that?

He wanted to have profound conversations, someone that was probably able to pick up after themselves, someone that could be emotionally mature to pick him up and be there for him. Someone with whom he saw a future with. A lover for his life and nothing more.

You went back to LA with him, but he seemed very different, he was more on his phone, more distant.

And you knew it was coming, specially when he invited you to his house. He went straight to the point. Not fooling around.

“You’re too young for me. I need someone who’s able to be by my side at any time. That’s actually smart enough to understand what I’m going through. You’re a nice kid, you are. But you’re still a kid to me. Can’t handle all of this.”

Your eye twitched, so you were old enough to get fucked but not old enough for something serious. But the words couldn’t come out your mouth, but your heart did break.

“So it ain’t me? I’m not what you’re looking for?” You were finally able to mutter.

“You need someone your age, and I need someone my age. And anyways— I’ve found her. I’m not alone anymore.” He said, hanging his head low. He knew he was being a dick.

It felt like he was trying to be soft when in reality you never meant anything to him. And it hurt, because you cared a lot for him.

But he didn’t see you as anything more than a rebound and a good piece of ass. You wanted to lash out on him, but you already knew all of that yet you didn’t want to accept it. Everybody knew. Everyone.

It wasn’t you.

You weren’t what he wanted.

Not what he needed.

It ain’t you, babe.

[nymphaura777]

What if 3D is showing exact opposite?

Okay, listen up. You’ve been doing everything, feeling like the main character, and then suddenly BOOM, the 3D slaps you with the exact opposite of what u want.

SP's texts are drier than my skin? Your bank account is still looking tragic? Your desires seem like they’re running in the opposite direction? Like??? What kind of joke is this? At this point honestly you will start questioning "is manifestation even real?"

First of all, breathe. Seriously. Because this? This is the part where most people give up. They see the 3D acting up and immediately start questioning everything, thinking their manifestation "isn’t working." But let me tell you something, this is actually PROOF that it is working. Yessss, you heard me. The old reality is literally fighting for its life right now.

The 3D is Just Old News

See, the 3D is just a reflection of what was already in your subconscious. It’s like a delayed mirror, showing you old thoughts, old beliefs, old assumptions.

So when you start changing the current reality, the 3D doesn’t just immediately roll over and change. Sometimes it throws a little tantrum first, just to see if you’ll react and go back to your old ways.

And if you DO react? Boom, you just gave energy to the old reality, keeping it alive a little longer. But if you don’t? If you just sit back like the unbothered god/goddess you are and say, "Nah, I already have what I want," then the 3D has no choice but to catch up.

Yk what just think of it like a Movie, if youve been watching a drama and suddenly decide you want to switch to a rom com, the movie doesn't switch instantly, it takes a second for the old scene to end right???

But you don't panic and assume you’ll never get to the good part. You just let the scene play out, knowing the happy ending is already written. SAME THING WITH YOUR MANIFESTATION.

So why don't you apply the same logic here, like whyyy?

Like imagine ordering food at a restaurant and the waiter brings you the wrong dish. Do you freak out? Do you start crying and assume you’ll never eat again?

NO. You just send it back and wait for what you actually ordered. The universe works the SAME way. Stop accepting the wrong order just because it showed up first.

Just keep calm my love, and everything would get fixed by its own...I promise.

So when the 3D is moving crazy, just laugh at it. Seriously. Because if it’s showing the opposite, that means the old reality is this close to being replaced.

All you have to do is stay in your power, keep assuming what you want is already yours, and let everything rearrange itself for you.

The 3D is fake anyway, so stop letting it tell you what’s real. You’re the god/goddess then why don't you act like it?

[msunitedstatesjames]

I'm sure I'm gonna be preaching to the choir on this one, Tumblr gamers being who they are, but I don't use any other social media where discourse is really a thing, so here we are. Mild Kingdom Come Deliverance II spoilers incoming.

On other social media platforms, I continue to see people criticize the Henry/Hans romance option, primarily by saying that it is unrealistic and makes no sense. I wanted to address that because personally I felt it to be highly realistic. A couple of disclaimers here, I'm not an expert on the 1400s, nor am I gay or bisexual. But I do have a background in literary analysis, and examining characters and stories in video games isn't so different from doing it in books.

I've seen some people claim that Hans couldn't possibly canonically have feelings for Henry because Hans is based on a real person. I'll address this one first because it's such a patently ridiculous argument. My dudes, I hate to break it to you, but most of the specific details of in game Hans were designed for a video game. I think it's safe to say that every interaction and relationship and event he goes through in the games isn't necessarily a true reflection of the real-life Hans' lived experiences.

I guess, other than that, I really can't understand what people thought was unrealistic about their romance option. Yes, it would have been forbidden and considered one of the greatest moral trespasses of the time. Yes, the punishment for such an act would mostly have been extreme, possibly castration, possibly being burned at the stake. And yet, real people in Europe in the middle ages still had same sex relationships. We know they did because we have real historical information about people being punished for that very reason. On top of that, there have been a number of nobles who were strongly rumored to have same sex relationships, which isn't the same as proof I guess, but it's not exactly the sort of thing you would openly write about in letters to your pals, not when it was a risk to your life. And I hope we can all agree that people interested in same sex relationships always existed, even if they couldn’t be open about it and didn't have the words for it that we have now.

I guess some people are more likely to say that it didn't make sense based on the specific natures of the characters involved. And honestly, I also don't really buy that one. I'm really not sure which aspects of their characters make it impossible or unlikely for them to have romantic feelings for one another.

It's certainly canon that Hans at least is pretty unconcerned about Christian morality. He's out there committing pretty major sins on the regular and is entirely unrepetant. He gets drunk, has unmarried sex, has sex for fun rather than for reproduction, is lustful, is too proud, and even breaks purely human laws such as poaching (though maybe you don't count that one since he is a noble). He loves doing anything he considers fun or thrilling, anything that will relieve his boredom, and he rarely takes into consideration the risks or consequences of such actions. I have no problem at all believing he would be willing to risk having sex with a man under the right circumstances, if only because it would be different and exciting, and I can't imagine circumstances more conducive to this possibility than the circumstances in this game, but we'll get to that later.

As for Henry, unless you play him as a very specific, extremely moral type, I think he's not a whole lot more strictly moral than Hans. Henry can get up to pretty much all the same things as Hans, and unless you're really careful with your choices, he still gets up to things that you don't intend. I play pretty much "in universe moral" characters in RPGs, but even my Henry occasionally steals, loots, gets drunk, and has sex. Some of that was by choice, some was just the result of cutscenes that happened with certain quests. At his strictest, I would say Henry is still at least passively accepting of "immorality" purely based on his friendship with Hans, who drags Henry into his shenanigans more often than not. So I don't think it's impossible for him to have romantic or sexual interest in Hans either, at least based on morality.

I also don't think the nature of their friendship precludes the possibility of a romantic or sexual entaglement. Some people argue that they're just close male friends, and if that's how you play your Henry then that's true, but the nature of their friendship doesn't make it impossible for any other kind of feelings to exist between them in character arcs different from yours. I would say it's pretty generally accepted that by the end of the 2nd game, Henry and Hans certainly love each other in one meaning of the word at least. Obviously they have the love of two extremely close friends. They've been through hell together, and they've both directly risked their lives to save each other when they could easily have left the other to die. You don't often do that for people that you don't love. But loving each other as friends doesn't mean they can't love each other in a romantic way as well, or least have an attraction to each other. Lots of real life couples or sexual partners have started out as friends, and even those that didn't still often consider their partner to be their best friend. So I don't see friendship as something that excludes the possibility of love or sex. (Not to mention the multiple real life examples of soldiers who have fought together, grown close through thier struggles, and eventually ended up growing into some form of sexual or romantic relationship.)

I've listed some of the reasons I don't find their romance to be unrealistic, now let me tell you some of the reasons I do find it realistic and well done.

I've already mentioned that if the circumstances were right, I have no problem imagining Hans trying to hook up with a man. And the circumstances for their romance scene were almost ideal as a setup (which I imagine was the point). Obviously, this would be a hugely risky venture, even for someone like Hans who doesn't worry much about consequences and is generally protected from legal consequences due to his status. So if you were going to undertake a same sex relationship or liason of some kind, I would imagine you would want one of two situations to be true. Either you would want to keep things as anonymous as possible, so there's little chance of your secret getting out, or you would want to be with someone you trust implicitly. Henry and Hans would certainly fall in the latter category. Hans already knows Henry would be willing to die to protect him. Even if the worst happened and Henry was completely disgusted with Hans, he certainly wouldn't turn Hans over to the church to be burned at the stake. Hans might lose his best friend and protector, which would be terrible, but at least he wouldn't lose his life.

The direness of their situation also works in favor of their romance. It adds a lot of urgency to the whole situation. It gives it a "now or never" feeling, that might make people act on impulses they never would have before. There's a good chance in this scene that one or both of them might die very soon. If that's the case, the very serious possible consequences suddenly seem a lot less important. What does it matter that the church might burn you if you're already going to be dead before they have the chance? Even losing Henry as a friend, terrible though it would be for Hans, wouldn't matter much if they were both going to die anyway.

And I think the way they set up the whole scene and the character reactions really adds to the realism factor as well. Henry's initial impulse, to push Hans away, seems very real considering the society they live in. Even though the player as Henry chooses to kiss Hans, Henry still isn't able to bring himself to do it. All he can manage are some vaguely comforting words and a brief clasp of Hans' hand. Hans makes the first move, which realistically, as a noble and Henry's superior, I think he would have to in this time. Henry is ultimately in more danger than Hans here in terms of societal protections, though arguably Hans has a lot more to lose materially. And it makes sense for Henry to be programmed to feel a certain amount of alarm and disgust as a protective impulse to a man kissing him in this sort of society. Hans reacts so well, too. There's so many layers to the emotions on his face in this scene. You can watch him flicker quickly between surprise, regret, panic, self loathing, and resignation. Which seems pretty on point for someone who believes he just ruined his only real friendship and, despite trusting Henry, who might have just put himself in far reaching peril. But then Henry has a moment to reflect and witness Hans' distress, and he realizes what he wants and all the reasons they might as well give it a go, and he very reasonably locks the door and goes back to Hans.

And I think the realism to their romance comes all throughout the game, before, during, and after the romance scene. The few chances you have for Henry to flirt with Hans are all very tame, almost coded and carefully said so as to be easily explained away by any listener (or by Hans if he doesn't feel the same way) as words between two friends. Mostly, Henry emphasizes that he cares about Hans and wants to support him, all things that could easily be true between two good friends, especially when one's job is to protect the other. The absolute most hardcore flirting Henry does before the romance scene is to tell Hans that he really cares about him, and Hans will pretty calmly agree with the sentiment. Which, if you're trying to feel out if your friend also feels some kind of attraction to you, but that attraction could get you both killed, is about the best you can do. During the romance scene Hans has to go into an elaborate anecdote about famous knights who just really, really cared about each other. He mentions that there's some aspect of the the tale that he "doesn't have his own words for" (same sex love, anyone?), and he lets Henry point out the similarities between the story and their own relationship. He even goes so far as to imply that he would die if Henry died, without saying it in so many words, which if there's a clearer way to tell someone you love them in a way that you could somehow write off as nonromantic, I don't know it. And then, after hearing Henry tell him throughout the game about how deeply he cares for Hans and wants to spend more time together, Hans still waits until Henry grabs his hand and swears to return to him before he makes a move. Even after the romance, Henry and Hans are still extremely careful to mask their words for listening ears. Henry refers to Hans' "encouragement." Hans refers to "what happened," which could mean anything to an innocent listener, and "me and you." He also mentions that maybe they should find somewhere "more private" to stay, which would seem like a perfectly reasonable thing for a young nobleman to want. They're still, necessarily, being extremely cautious. Which makes it all very realistic to me.

I think some of the Henry/Hans complainers want to act like having a "gay romance" option in the game means the equivalent of what it would mean in modern day or in a fantasy game like BG3. Like they're just going to be walking around 1400s Europe holding hands and making out in public. And maybe that's why they call it unrealistic. But let's be real, whether you choose the romance or not, very little is going to change for Henry and Hans. Hans will still have to get married to a woman, and Henry will probably marry some day, too. There's a good chance they'll both keep sleeping around with whatever women they can in the meantime because at this point nothing would be more suspicious than to stop. At best, Henry will get to stay on in Hans' castle and be his occassional lover when he has to settle down to start a family. All that seems like a pretty realistic rendition of how a Middle Ages same sex relationship would have to look, so I have to wonder how all these people are finding this relationship to be so "unrealistic?"

[starsinthesky5]

Do you ever think songbird gives her opinion on football? Like she has full-on conversations and talks joes ears off when they're watching games and Joe is just like😍🤤 he thinks it's the hottest thing ever. Like I can imagine songbird going around the kitchen while making dinner and talking about the current situation with the Bengals and Joe is standing there DROOLING over her UGH

last one for today <3 you’re lucky it was my day off ;) this was so fun to answer because…hell YES. he’s so obsessed with her and when she talks ball? oh my gawd.

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

he’s absolutely feral for it.

joe knew from the jump that she was a football fan—hell, that was one of the first things that drew him to her. she wasn’t just some casual sunday watcher; she lived for this. grew up on it. could recall games from a decade ago like they just happened. even had baby photos in little onesies from her favorite team growing up.

but what really got him? the way she talks about it.

they’re in the kitchen, cooking dinner together—well, she’s cooking, and joe’s just hanging around, pretending to help while really just waiting for her to hand him some kind of easy task. and she’s talking, bouncing around the space, barefoot in one of his sweatshirts, sleeves shoved up as she preps ingredients.

“i’m telling you, joe, if they don’t start utilizing the tight ends more, the offense is gonna stay too predictable. they need to mix it up—get some quick, high-percentage throws going, especially with how much pressure you’re getting. and if they don’t fix that run game soon? we’re gonna be dealing with the same struggles we had last year. it’s a cycle, and it has to break otherwise i’m gonna rip zac a new one,”.

joe is standing there, arms crossed, leaning against the counter, staring at her like she just invented oxygen.

because she’s not just repeating what she’s heard on some sports show—she knows this game. she’s analyzing it, breaking it down in real-time.

and holy fuck it’s sexy.

“babe,” he murmurs, not even realizing he said it out loud.

she glances up, mid-sentence, an eyebrow raised. “what?”.

he shakes his head, blinking a few times like he’s trying to snap himself out of it. “nothin’. just—,” he exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw, smirking a little. “you’re so hot when you talk ball,”.

she snorts, tossing a chopped bell pepper at him. “you’re an idiot,”.

he catches it, pops it in his mouth, and just smiles so cutely, because yeah, maybe he is. maybe he’s whipped. maybe he’d let her talk about nothing but football for hours if it meant getting to watch her like this—focused, passionate, all lit up with energy.

he steps closer, wrapping his arms around her from behind, pressing a slow kiss to the side of her neck. “nah,” he murmurs, voice low. “just obsessed,”.

—

she talks his ears off at any given chance. monday nights, thursday nights, and as usual…sundays. she just can’t help herself and needs to ramble about her thoughts while watching, a habit she’s had for years. and who better to ramble to then mr. hunky football man himself?

joe had seen plenty of passionate football fans in his life, but nothing compared to her.

they’re on the couch, the sunday night game on, her feet tucked under his thigh as she leans forward, eyes locked on the screen like her life depends on it.

and she’s going off.

like off.

“oh, come on! why would you call that on third and short? the box is stacked, it was so obvious they were gonna crash the line. they should’ve play-actioned that shit—easy first down,”.

joe doesn’t even care about the game anymore. he’s watching her. watching the way her brows knit together, the way her hands move as she talks, the way her voice rises and falls with pure, unfiltered passion.

and then she hits him with, “babe, did you see how they disguised that coverage? pre-snap it looked like man, but then they bailed into a deep zone and completely baited the quarterback—textbook disguise, i swear, if we don’t start running more of that, i’m gonna lose my mind,”.

and he’s just sitting there, staring at her like she just told him the meaning of life, like his whole world has been rocked.

“god, you’re hot,” he breathes, not even thinking about it.

she barely looks at him, too absorbed by what was happening on the screen. “i know,”.

and fuck, that does something to him.

she’s still talking, still dissecting the game, pointing out mismatches and schemes and coaching decisions—meanwhile, joe is just sitting there, absolutely feral, running a hand down his face like he’s trying to contain himself.

she’s a walking, talking dream to him. because it’s not just that she likes football—it’s that she understands it. deep, real, down-to-the-details understands it.

and she cares. she feels it.

he swears he could marry her right now.

instead, he just shakes his head, grinning, squeezing her thigh as he leans in close, voice all gravely in her ear.

“keep talkin’, baby,” he murmurs. “prettiest analyst i’ve ever heard,”.

and when she rolls her eyes but still keeps going?

yeah. he’s gone.

[eclipseberrycake]

Hear Me Out (Sprout x HOH! Reader)

AN: So, fun fact, I am ALSO Hard of Hearing (HOH), however it's not to the point it's been impacting my life to the point of intervention. That being said, I don't know sign, but I'm trying to learn! So I'm sorry if this isn't very accurate, I promise I'm trying to be as respectful as possible!

Also, Masterlist has been updated!

This is a request.

☁ I'm tryna think of a role good for a HOH toon, and yk what I think? Distractor or survivalist. Maybe even Extractor.

☁ Distractor because like airhorns won't affect you, but then you can't hear when Goob or Scraps snaps. ACTUALLY NVM-

☁ You're getting the RAW thought process rn, hope you all enjoy it. My beta reader is DEAD. Cringe is DEAD. EMBRACE LIFE RAHHH

☁ Anyway, EX-distractor Reader! Maybe they USED to be a distractor, but it got to the point where it just wasn't feasible anymore, so the reader instead took up a survivalist role/back-up distractor.

☁ It would be really cool to think that their ability is kind of like SONAR or like...echolocation lol, where they can use an ability to work around their hearing loss. Like they can locate the twisteds using the vibration of their steps and uses as a guide.

☁ If that makes sense? So they can't see through walls, per say, but they can tell because an Exclamation point pops up because a twisted is walking right there, but you can't hear it. Just sense it.

☁ like okay spidey sense, pop off queen.

☁ Anyway, now that the intro is there. SPROUT. Sprout my boy. How I wish to put you in a blender and drink you. /pos

☁ So my partial headcanon is that after being returned, he's partially blind on his left side, hence why he becomes right dominant. So he understands having something effect your day to day life.

☁ As a main, I imagine he had to know sign, so he's already fluent in it! When you sign to him the first time, a simple wave and spelling of your name, you're startled when he returns the action.

☁ Even if you don't know sign, he's patient and willing to teach you! in the meantime, he writes with his fingers on the palm of your hand. Letter by letter, he writes silly little secret messages that make you flush.

☁ Y'all cute as hell.

☁ On runs, he keeps his eyes peeled for you at all times. Since leaving the distractor way of life, he sticks so close to you. Like he's probably saved your ass more times than you can count and you don't even know because you aren't thinking of it at the time and can't hear him!

☁ But it all plays out because you know how many times you save him because they sneak up on his right side?

☁ You guys also sign to each other all the time after he discovers your fluent/ teaches you. Across rooms, you both notice like Shrimpo doing something and he's like "D-I-D U S-E-E T-H-A-T" and you're tying not to giggle as you respond "U S-H-O-U-L-D F-I-L-M" for preparation on what is bound to be peak comedy.

☁ Additionally, it's a very effective method of communicating which twisteds are on the floor. A simple " P-O-P" or "B-O-X" goes a long way, especially if you're playing backup until the main distractor can collect the other twisted.

☁ As someone who's a bit HOH, idk about y'all, but I get so frustrated with myself sometimes, because people need to repeat themselves like six times and I still don't understand. So I imagine Sprout is very aware of that too. He takes time to speak slowly if you can handle it, or he'll sign, it makes no real difference to me.

☁ When others are being assholes about it, he'll step in and diffuse the situation, especially if he sees you becoming increasingly frustrated. He understands the some of the other toons have...less patience than others when it comes to things like communicating in a way that helps you or others.

☁ Sometimes you probably feel like you're being left out just a bit as well. For instance, when others are complaining about Fin's puns, you probably feel left out since there's no direct translation to some of them so the joke is lost by the time it's explained.

☁ Sprout does not care. He will go through it, letter by letter if needed, just to see you smile, even if it's smile. He loathes the puns, don't get him wrong, but he knows you like being included with the rest of them.

☁ If you all are watching something, he is adamant that subtitles are an absolute must. He will not take no for an answer.

☁ I've established fairly well that Sprout is a protective guy. This does not end after the runs. Not at all. It's the little things that he takes especially good eyes on, like subtitles and keeping notebooks in every room for those not fluent in sign to communicate with you, just to ensure your comfort above all else.

☁ On runs, he's never more than a room away from you. He's got the stamina to play distractor for a while, so if it means keeping you safe, he'll do it.

☁ ughhh im running out of ideas im so sorry

☁ When off runs, Sprout kinda reminds me of a tired dad especially with like Yatta and Toodles. They run around and have fun, but it's hard when they're running around you and you can't hear them and they nearly smoke ya.

☁ He's always reminding people to keep a berth until you notice them. If they don't head his warning, he's not above scruffing them and dragging them in the opposite direction. Like if Finn and Shrimpo are going at it, he'll literally drag them away and drop them to continue their fighting before walking away.

☁ If he's not around, you better believe Cosmo is his second in command. You all thought this would be a Roo post without mentions of cosmo? HA.

☁ Cosmo is always there if Sprout is not. If you get hit, Cosmo is handing you a cookie, even if Sprout is literally heading your way. Like Cosmo knows how much you mean to Sprout, so you mean a lot to him. I don't think his hearing is all to good either (Especially since it takes Cosmos 20 fucking minutes to come grab a fucking med-), so he's a good confidant if you think Sprout needs a break. He's also fluent so he's a great translator!

☁ Especially if Sprout is scolding someone for being a dumbass and isn't thinking about signing. Cosmo's right there with a cheeky little grin, interpreting for you.

☁ That being said, Sprout does the same thing. If someone's arguing in the elevator, he's right beside you, keeping up with their yells so you can follow along. It's honestly hilarious is they say something below the belt and Sprout pauses and is just :O before recovering and signing it to you and you're just :OOO thirty seconds later.

☁ All in all, Sprout is a lovely gentleman all around. None of this is extra to him, it's all just part of loving you. And if it's about you, he'll do it every time, no questions asked.

[zombiejette]

Natalie’s Walk

I have so so many things to say about the last episode, but I really want to touch on this one specific nuance that I am just -UGH- *chef’s kiss* over the moon about.

Spoilers under the cut.

So I have OCD. And mine manifests into a neck and arm twitch that developed after a long-term abusive relationship I was in with my ex-best friend. I won’t go into details, but basically before it, I did not have this specific tick, though I’ve always had smaller ones that rotated through at different stress points in my life. This one is just the most pervasive and dramatic one to date, and has now affected my posture, spinal alignment, etc that I have to keep a close eye on and constantly correct/self-soothe or else it gets out of hand real quick. I say this because /this/ is exactly what’s shown the moment Nat steps out of the enclosure after killing Ben.

From 0:43 - 0:51 is the part I’m talking about. I’ll admit- even though I think Julia Lewis does a great job always playing a strung-out junkie and traumatized woman- I never really “bought” that young Nat grows up into her. And I especially love Nat’s younger actress, so it wasn’t that I wanted her to be re-cast, or that I thought Julia did a bad job. I just couldn’t really see the two as “the same person” like I could easily for the other younger/older actress counterparts. Until this one scene. This- /this/- smallest detail was the missing link to where that all clicked for me, but clicked in a whole separate way to what I imagined had happened before. You see, I too had filled the gaps in with the ol’ “young Nat becomes unrecognizable after years and years of substance abuse” plot device. I just figured the writers intended the way she walks and moves to be purely from alcohol and drug damage, just like they always do when showing junkie behavior, etc. But honestly?? The way she stumbled out with the same kind of walk that older Nat has? Before the drugs and alcohol and general self-destruction?? The fact that /this/ was her traumatic schism that caused her to have the same kind of ticks that I developed from my trauma?? It’s brilliant. And finally connected young and old together in this beautiful, simplistic, subtle way that I was like OHHHH ohhh yes. Yes bitch. You get it. I think it’s one of the best writing choices they’ve made to date, and I’m so so PROUD of them using this as her catalyst into the mannerisms she has as an older woman. The way they’re not just leaning on the tired “it’s substances” excuse is really refreshing in a show that already has surpassed a lot of the laziness I see now in Hollywood around this sort of thing. Bra-fucking-va yellowjackets team. 👏

[kpopkurves]

A Story Of Us

Park Seonghwa x Reader

Theme- Cute, Romance, Fluff

⸻

It was a quiet evening in the city, the kind of night where everything felt suspended in time, and the world seemed to slow down. You sat on the balcony of your apartment, gazing at the stars that decorated the night sky like diamonds. The soft rustling of the leaves in the trees below and the distant hum of the city were the only sounds accompanying your thoughts.

You and Seonghwa had been together for over a year now, and each moment with him felt like a dream you never wanted to wake up from. His love was a constant source of warmth, like the sun breaking through the darkest clouds, and you couldn’t help but smile whenever you thought about how your story had started.

⸻

It all began when you first met Seonghwa. He was everything you hadn’t expected, and yet everything you needed. The chemistry between the two of you was instant. It wasn’t love at first sight—not the kind people talk about in fairy tales—but it was something even more magical. It was a connection that formed without words, a feeling that settled deep in your chest like the softest melody. You couldn’t describe it, but you both felt it.

One evening, after one of his concerts, you found yourself standing backstage, watching Seonghwa laugh with the members of ATEEZ. His laughter was like a gentle breeze—calm and soothing, yet full of life. You had always admired him from afar, but tonight something felt different.

He noticed you standing there, watching him, and without missing a beat, he excused himself and walked toward you. There was no hesitation in his steps, only the quiet confidence that he was about to change the course of your night.

“Hey, you’ve been standing there for a while,” he said, his smile warm and inviting. “Are you lost?”

You shook your head, feeling a little nervous but at ease in his presence. “I’m not lost… I just didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Interrupt what?” he laughed, his voice low and smooth. “If anything, I’m the one interrupting your peace.”

And that was the start of something beautiful.

⸻

As time passed, the bond between you grew deeper. You spent hours together, wandering the streets of Seoul, enjoying simple moments, like sharing ice cream on a warm summer afternoon or getting caught in the rain, laughing as you ran for cover. Each moment with Seonghwa felt like it was straight out of a storybook, but never in your wildest dreams did you imagine how real it could feel.

One evening, you sat together by the Han River, the city lights twinkling in the distance, and he took your hand in his, his thumb gently brushing over your skin. The moment was perfect, and the melody of a song playing from his phone seemed to echo the feelings in your heart.

“Je te promets, je t’écrirai des poèmes” (I promise you, I will write you poems)

He looked at you, eyes filled with sincerity and love. You could see the emotion in his gaze, the depth of what he felt for you.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice steady yet full of emotion. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You’re my story, my beginning and end. You make everything feel right.”

You squeezed his hand, your heart racing as the words left his lips. It was the moment you had both been waiting for, a moment that felt like it had been written in the stars.

⸻

The days that followed were filled with laughter and stolen kisses. You would stay up late talking about everything and nothing, sharing your dreams, your fears, and your hopes for the future. Seonghwa was your best friend, your confidant, and your greatest love. The world outside could be chaotic, but in his arms, you felt like you had everything you needed.

One day, as you sat on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, Seonghwa took your hand and gently pulled you closer. The music from his playlist filled the room, the familiar sound of Indila’s Love Story beginning to play.

“C’était écrit, c’était écrit, notre histoire” (It was written, it was written, our story)

Seonghwa gazed at you, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “You know,” he began, “I’ve always believed in fate. I think our love was written in the stars, just like this song.”

You smiled back, feeling a warmth spread through you at his words. “You really believe that?”

He nodded, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Yes, because the moment I met you, everything clicked. You’re my story, Y/N. And I can’t imagine writing it without you.”

The world outside faded away as you leaned in and kissed him, the kiss tender and filled with promises of forever.

You both knew that no matter what came your way, you would face it together. Your love was built on understanding, laughter, and quiet moments like these—moments that spoke louder than words.

And as the song continued to play, you couldn’t help but agree with the lyrics, “C’était écrit, notre histoire.” (It was written, our story.)

⸻

Epilogue

Years later, you stood side by side, bundled up in cozy coats as the soft, cold winter air kissed your cheeks. Flurries of light snow fell gently around you, dotting your hair and shoulders like little crystals. The city was quiet, its usual noise muffled by the thick blanket of snow that had covered everything. You gazed up at Seonghwa, whose breath misted in the cool air, his eyes sparkling with a love that still felt as fresh as the first snow of the season.

Seonghwa smiled, his eyes full of affection as he squeezed your hand, the warmth of his touch in contrast to the crisp winter chill. You stood on the balcony of your apartment, wrapped in each other’s presence.

“Y/N,” Seonghwa began, his voice playful but tender, “You know, I think we need to settle this once and for all.”

You raised an eyebrow, curiosity sparkling in your eyes. “Settle what?”

A mischievous grin tugged at his lips. “A snowball fight.” He casually picked up a snowball, rolling it in his hand with a smirk. “Prepare yourself.”

Before you could even react, he threw the snowball at you, hitting your arm with a soft thud. You gasped in mock surprise, immediately scooping up some snow and throwing it back at him.

“Oh, it’s on,” you laughed, your heart racing as you and Seonghwa playfully tossed snowballs at each other. The snowflakes swirling around you only added to the magic of the moment—everything about it felt so… right.

The two of you laughed as Seonghwa dodged another snowball, only for his foot to slip on the icy ground, causing him to tumble toward you. You both collapsed in a heap of snow, giggling uncontrollably as he playfully tried to pin you down.

“I’ve got you now,” Seonghwa chuckled, his face inches from yours.

“You wish,” you teased, before he suddenly stopped, the playful grin slowly fading into something softer. He gazed at you with such warmth, his eyes reflecting the soft glow of the streetlights and the snowflakes that danced around you both.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice suddenly serious yet tender, “You’re the love of my life. I can’t imagine a future without you by my side. I want to make sure that every single moment we have, no matter how small, is as special as this one.” He took your hand, pulling out a small velvet box from his coat pocket.

The box opened, revealing a delicate ring that shimmered like the snowflakes around you. Your breath caught in your throat as he spoke again, his voice shaky with emotion.

“Will you marry me? Will you be my forever?”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you gazed at him, your heart overflowing with love. You nodded without hesitation, your voice barely above a whisper, “Yes, Seonghwa. A thousand times, yes.”

He slid the ring onto your finger, his hands trembling as he did, before pulling you into a gentle kiss. The cold winter air surrounded you, but in his arms, you were warm. Every snowflake that landed on your skin felt like a blessing.

As you pulled away, Seonghwa smiled, his forehead resting against yours. “Our love was written in the stars, Y/N. And now, our story will never end.”

You smiled, your heart soaring as you hugged him tightly. The world seemed to stop, the snow falling gently around you both as if nature itself was celebrating this new chapter in your love story.

And as you kissed him again, with the snow falling softly around you, you knew—this was only the beginning.

[justarkive]

TABLE 3 | JJK ch12

“For good service, and cute waitresses.”

pairing: pre!military jk x waitress/secret fuckbuddy!oc

Before Jungkook enlists in the military, his life takes an unexpected turn when he visits a local restaurant with friends and meets a waitress who doesn’t recognize him. Surprised by your lack of star-struck reaction, Jungkook finds himself drawn to your down-to-earth nature, especially his previous struggles with the pressure of constant drama on social media regarding his relationships. Little do you know, Jungkook is about to leave for the military, which inevitably bring’s complications to their connection… do they find a way to fix it?

warnings: SMUT, profanity, angst, humour, fluff, celebrity au, idol!jungkook , mentions of other kpop groups/idols, inner conflict, insecurity. Jungkook is such a TEASE. Mr lee is in this chapter LMFAO. (thats lowkey my second man)

smut warnings: they fuck in his dressing room pre concert LOL, wall fucking, nipple play, breast play, clit play, someone knocks on the door and he just keeps going, oral f and m receiving, missionary, strength kink, uhh idk yall but its nasty

wc: LONG

this fic is not meant to represent the real jungkook or any other characters mentioned!

taglist: @jenniebyrubies @dreamersparacosm @darklove2020 @rayyrayy10 @elinaki92 @alana4610 @aznstoner

a/n: i am so sorry for takiny so long to release this chapter, im actually super happy w this. dince im not the best at writing sexually explicit details, i decided to focus more on the emotional tone during the smut. what are ur guys predictions to what happens next?? as always tysm for reading ILY

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The day of the concert is finally here.

Five days have passed in a blur—slow when you were staring at your phone, waiting for a reply, and too fast when you realized how little time you actually had to process everything. Jungkook had been busy, that much was clear. You hadn’t seen him once since that night at the field, busy with dance practices, stage rehearsals, but it wasn’t like he had disappeared. If anything, he’d made his presence known in the way he always did—through little things.

A message in the morning, simple but warm. “Good morning. Excited?”

A random voice note in the afternoon, his voice slightly breathless, a little out of focus, as if he was speaking between rehearsal breaks. “Almost tripped on a speaker just now. Imagine if I just fell flat on my face mid-performance.Would you still cheer for me?”

A call late at night, just as your eyes were starting to shut, his voice softer in the dark. “You’re coming, right? You better be. No refunds.”

He hadn’t said much about the concert itself, just that he’d handle everything. And he had—down to the hotel room he booked for you and Nari, which, in her words, was “some straight-up billionaire sugar daddy behavior.” You weren’t sure what to make of it. It was just Jungkook being Jungkook—thoughtful, a little extra, and completely unaware of how easy he made it for you to get used to this.

And maybe that was the dangerous part.

The hotel room is extravagant in a way that almost feels comical—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline, sleek marble countertops, and a chandelier so obnoxiously large that Nari had dramatically gasped upon entering, claiming she had ascended into her “rich bitch era” overnight.

“Y/N.” Nari’s voice cuts through the room, sharp and brimming with excitement as she turns to you, hands on her hips. “This man. Booked you. A fucking penthouse. A PENTHOUSE.”

You glance up from where you’re sitting on the plush bed, slipping on your sneakers. “Nari, he booked us a room.”

“For what? For vibes? It’s only a little closer to the venue than your place. He just wants to spoil you,” she declares, plopping onto the bed beside you. “Like, for real. I would kill for my man to treat me like this.”

“He’s not my man,” you mumble, fixing the hem of your simple yet stylish outfit. The two of you had agreed on something lowkey—nothing too flashy, just enough to blend in with the crowd.

“Yet.” Nari smirks.

You glare at her. “Shut up.”

She grins, but surprisingly, she doesn’t push further. Instead, she busies herself with checking her makeup in the massive vanity mirror, adding a final touch of highlighter. The hotel room smells faintly of expensive cologne—probably lingering from the last guest—and something floral from the scented candles Nari had insisted on lighting “for the aesthetic.”

Your phone buzzes beside you.

Jungkook [7:42 PM]: u on your way yet?

Jungkook [7:42 PM]: I mean, I know you are, but just pretend I don’t have security watching the hotel entrance.

You [7:43 PM]: ?? stalker behavior.

Jungkook [7:43 PM]: and.

Rolling your eyes, you grab your bag and nudge Nari. “Time to go.”

The Uber ride to the venue is mostly filled with Nari hyping herself up while you stare out the window, watching as the streets become more crowded the closer you get. The realization fully settles in when the car slows down near the venue—thousands of people are gathered outside, their excited energy buzzing in the air.

It’s overwhelming. The sheer amount of love people have for him.

They only know him from what they see on screens, from music videos and interviews, from performances and social media snippets. They don’t know the way his voice softens when he’s tired, or the way he pouts slightly when he concentrates, or the way he texts you at the most random hours with pictures of his dog.

Your phone buzzes again.

Jungkook [8:02 PM]: Is there some guy there with slicked-back hair, a suit on, looking kinda hot like me?

You [8:02 PM]: Shut up. Who?

Jungkook [8:02 PM]: Talk to him. Tell him your name.

Jungkook [8:02 PM]: He’ll take you backstage.

You [8:03 PM]: WHERE WHAT I DONT SEE ANYONE

Jungkook [8:03 PM]: Gotta go. Have fun finding him.

“…He’s such an idiot,” you mutter, staring at the texts in disbelief.

Nari leans over, reading them over your shoulder. “Girl. We have to go find this dude now? In this crowd?”

“We don’t have a choice.”

It takes longer than you’d like, but after some awkward glances and frantic searching, you finally spot what you think is him—a tall, intimidating-looking man standing near the barricades, scanning the crowd like he’s waiting for someone.

Nari nudges you forward. “Go.”

You clear your throat, stepping closer. “Um. Hi. Uh—are you here for—um, Jungkook told me to—um—”

The man simply nods. “Come with me.”

You exchange a quick look with Nari before following him, trying to keep a low profile. It seems to work—most people probably assume you’re just being led to the restroom or something. But the moment you step past security barriers, through a side entrance, and down a hallway leading to the backstage area, the reality of it all settles in.

The dressing rooms are bustling with movement—stylists darting back and forth, crew members making last-minute preparations. The air is thick with the scent of hairspray and cologne, the sounds of muffled voices and distant music vibrating through the walls.

Nari, completely unfazed, immediately starts taking selfies in front of the vanity lights. “This lighting is insane. Oh my God.”

You barely have time to take in your surroundings before—

“No pictures in here.”

The voice is unfamiliar, deep and authoritative, sending a jolt of panic through you. You and Nari freeze, phones halfway raised.

Then you turn around—

Jungkook.

Standing there. Shirtless. Bare face. Hair still slightly messy, damp from whatever pre-show routine he had just finished.

He grins. “Gotcha.”

“Oh my God,” you exhale, pressing a hand to your chest. “What the fuck—”

Nari looks equally as stunned, though for different reasons. “Jungkook, you cannot sneak up on people like that when you look like—like that.”

He chuckles, eyes crinkling. Then, without a second thought, he steps forward and pulls you into a hug.

You stiffen, momentarily surprised. But by now, it’s almost second nature—the way he holds you, warm and firm, the scent of his body wash lingering on his skin.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice close to your ear.

You nod, swallowing. “Yeah. This is just… crazy.”

“I know. celebrity shit, right?” He pulls back slightly, smirking down at you.

You shove his shoulder lightly. “Shut up.”

Meanwhile, Nari has fully recovered and is now scanning the room like a predator. “Jungkook. Are you alone?”

He blinks. “Uh… yeah?”

“Are any of the other members here?”

He gives her a blank look. “Nari. This is my solo tour.”

Nari sighs dramatically. “Damn. So no Kim Namjoon.”

Jungkook snorts, shaking his head. Then, as if remembering something, he suddenly points toward one of the stylists in the room—a tall, ridiculously attractive man adjusting a set of brushes on a table. “Hey, he’s single.”

Nari turns. Takes one look. Then confidently strides over and plops herself down beside the stylist.

The guy stiffens. Looks at her. Looks at Jungkook. Looks back at her.

Jungkook leans closer to you, grinning. “That dude is so scared right now.”

You sigh, shaking your head fondly. “She’s a menace.”

“And you love her for it.”

You glance up at him—his hair still damp, his skin glowing under the vanity lights, his eyes soft as he looks at you.

You swallow. “Yeah. I do.”

Jungkook hums, gaze flickering over your face. “Good.”

“You’re actually here,” Jungkook says, a grin already tugging at his lips. His voice is warm, familiar, and just a little breathless—like he can’t believe it himself. He takes a step closer, tilting his head as he studies your face. “I missed you.”

Your heart stumbles over itself. It’s not even what he said, it’s how he said it—so casually, like it was just a fact. Like he didn’t just drop it in the middle of a crowded dressing room, with stylists and staff bustling around, adjusting outfits, checking schedules, calling out times. But all of it fades because Jungkook is looking at you like you’re the only person in the room.

You swallow. “I—” You’re aware of the way your face heats up, how your voice wavers when you finally say, “I missed you too.”

Jungkook grins, and there’s something dangerous about it—something mischievous and knowing, like he was waiting for you to say it. Before you can even think about what that means, his fingers curl around your wrist, and suddenly, you’re being tugged forward. “Come,”

“What—wait—” You stumble after him, glancing back at Nari, who is very much not paying attention, currently perched next to the stylist Jungkook had called single earlier, chatting him up with all the confidence in the world.

“She looks preoccupied,” Jungkook muses, not even slowing down.

You barely get the chance to react before you’re being pulled past the chaos of the main dressing area, down a quieter hallway, and into another room. This one is different. It’s calmer, quieter, the sounds of the outside world muffled behind thick walls. The air is cooler here, tinged with expensive cologne and faint traces of fabric softener.

Your eyes sweep over the room, taking in the space that clearly belongs to him. The lighting is softer, casting everything in a warm glow. A sleek vanity takes up most of the wall, lined with makeup and hair products, but what catches your attention is the small golden plaque sitting at the edge of the mirror. Jeon Jungkook. His name, perfectly engraved, like it belongs here. Because, of course, it does.

To the side, a rack of outfits stands perfectly arranged—different variations of black, shimmering details, all expensive and carefully selected. A pair of stage shoes sit neatly beneath them. The entire space is neat but lived-in, touched by him in ways only someone who knows him would recognize.

You exhale softly, still turning, still taking it all in. “This is… a lot.”

Jungkook watches you with an amused glint in his eyes, arms folding over his chest. “Starstruck?”

You shoot him a look. “By you? Never. This? Yes.”

He grins. “Liar.”

The moment is interrupted when a woman with a sleek black bob and an air of effortless efficiency strides into the room, already pulling on a pair of latex gloves. “Jungkook, you need to start getting ready,” she announces, barely sparing you a glance as she sets down her kit beside the vanity.

Jungkook nods and moves to sit in the chair, spinning once before settling. You linger by the doorway, suddenly feeling a little out of place. The stylist doesn’t say anything about you being here—doesn’t even look at you twice—which somehow makes you more self-conscious. You shift on your feet, unsure of what to do, until Jungkook pats the empty chair beside him.

“Come sit,” he says easily.

You hesitate, glancing at the stylist, silently asking for some kind of approval. She doesn’t even look up from where she’s sorting through foundation bottles, just waves a hand dismissively. “As long as you don’t mess up his face, I don’t care.”

That’s… reassuring?

Slowly, you move to sit, feeling oddly formal in the cushy chair beside him. Up close, you can see just how tired he looks—the faint shadows under his eyes, the way he leans back into the chair like he hasn’t had a moment to just breathe all day.

“Long day?” you ask.

Jungkook exhales a laugh through his nose, eyes closing briefly as the stylist tilts his head to start on his base makeup. “You have no idea.”

You smile, arms folding in your lap. “Yeah? Try working a diner shift where a group of middle-aged businessmen keeps asking your friend for her number and writing thirsty notes on napkins.”

Jungkook’s eyes snap open, eyebrows raising. “What?”

You nod solemnly. “I had to physically pry one from Nari’s hands because she was about to read it out loud in front of everyone.”

He laughs, head tilting as the stylist tuts and pushes it back into place. “I need to hear what they wrote.”

You make a face. “Something about her being sweeter than the whipped cream on their pancakes, and that wasn’t even the worst one.”

Jungkook snorts, covering his mouth. “That’s disgusting.”

“I know,” you say, equally appalled. “But she was thriving. Every single one of them left with a broken heart.”

“Of course she was,” he murmurs, amused.

The stylist hums, leaning in to blend the foundation across his jaw. Jungkook tries to keep still, but he keeps turning his head toward you whenever he talks, forcing her to keep nudging him back into position.

“Stay still,” she says, unimpressed.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. Then, half a second later, “So how many guys are in love with her now?”

You shake your head, biting back a smile. “Too many to count. The diner is officially her kingdom.”

Jungkook grins, but it softens after a beat. “And you? No secret admirers?”

You scoff. “No weird napkin notes, if that’s what you’re asking.”

He hums, watching you through the mirror, a little too intently, a little too curious—until the stylist tugs his face back again with an exasperated sigh.

“Jungkook, please.”

The time passes quicker than you expect. Between Jungkook getting prodded and pampered by the stylists, the easy conversation, and the occasional Jungkook, stay still, the whole process feels surprisingly… normal. Like you’ve done this a million times before. Like sitting beside Jungkook in his dressing room while someone does his makeup is just another part of your day.

And then, suddenly, he’s done.

You blink, snapping out of your thoughts as the stylist steps away, satisfied with her work. Jungkook stretches his neck, examining himself in the mirror with a lazy kind of approval. “Nice,” he mutters, rubbing a thumb against his jaw before he suddenly—without warning—reaches for the hem of his shirt you didn’t even realise he’d put on a few minutes ago.

You don’t even have time to process what’s happening before he’s pulling it off.

Your brain short-circuits. He’s shirtless. Again.

The mirror betrays you immediately. You don’t even mean to stare—you don’t—but Jungkook is right there, in clear view, and suddenly there’s a whole lot of bare skin and a whole lot of defined muscle and your brain just shuts down.

This isn’t new. This has happened before. A million times, (twice) even.

You swear you only stare for half a second. Maybe a full second. Maybe a little longer, but that’s hardly the point because when you finally snap out of it and tear your gaze away—heart thudding embarrassingly hard—your eyes flick up to the mirror again and—

Jungkook is looking right at you.

You freeze.

He grins.

“For the millionth time,” he drawls, voice rich with amusement. “See something you like?”

You nearly die on the spot.

“No—” you stammer, cheeks burning, eyes everywhere but him. “I—I was just—the mirror—it’s there—so obviously—”

He laughs, loud and delighted, as he throws on his next outfit: a sleeveless mesh vest hoodie that does nothing to help your situation. If anything, it somehow makes it worse. It clings to his torso, effortlessly stylish, the fabric shifting with every movement. He layers it with a slightly oversized jacket—just casual enough to be cool, just structured enough to make him look even better than he already does. He pairs it with loose-fitting jeans and his signature boots, the entire ensemble looking so effortlessly put together that it’s almost unfair.

You force yourself to look anywhere else, swallowing hard. “You could’ve warned me.”

“Warned you about what?” Jungkook teases, fastening a simple chain around his neck. “Me changing? Thought you were used to it by now.”

You glare, knowing full well that your flushed cheeks are ruining any attempt at feigned indifference. “I was looking at the mirror.”

“Mhm.” He smirks, tilting his head. “And what did the mirror show you?”

You nearly throw something at him.

The two of you settle into an easy quiet as the pre-show chaos hums in the background. There’s nothing left to do but wait. Jungkook stretches out on the couch, one arm slung over the backrest, looking completely at ease despite the impending concert. You, on the other hand, feel like you’re sitting on a time bomb—this entire situation is insane, and yet he’s acting like it’s just another day.

At some point, a staff member brings in food—just a few things Jungkook ordered earlier—and the two of you dig in. It’s nothing too heavy, just something to keep him going before he goes on stage, but the way he pushes a container toward you, all casual and wordless, makes your heart do a weird little thing.

“So,” you say after a few bites, just to fill the silence, “are you nervous?”

Jungkook, mid-chew, raises a brow. He swallows, then grins. “Nope.”

You squint at him. “Not at all?”

“Not at all,” he repeats easily, plucking a fry from the box between you. “It’s fun. The stage, the energy—it’s like…” He trails off for a moment, as if searching for the right word, then just shakes his head. “It’s the best feeling in the world.”

You hum, chewing thoughtfully. “I feel like I’d be terrified. Thousands of people watching your every move?” You shudder dramatically. “One wrong step and boom—memed forever.”

Jungkook barks out a laugh, amused. “That has happened, you know. But I don’t mind now. It’s part of it. Used to freak out about a little mistake but now? They come with it all, it’s inevitable.”

You watch as he picks up his phone, casually opening Twitter like he does this all the time. His expression shifts almost immediately—lips twitching into a fond smile, eyes soft with something warm.

“I always do this before a show,” he says, scrolling through his feed. “I love seeing how excited ARMY gets while they’re waiting.”

He angles the screen toward you, showing a sea of posts—fancams from outside the venue, people in matching outfits, handmade signs, inside jokes only his fans would understand. It’s a flood of love, of uncontainable anticipation, and Jungkook is soaking it all in like it’s his lifeblood.

“Look at the crowd already,” he murmurs, swiping to a video someone posted from the pit. The venue is packed—people chanting, singing, waving their lightsticks even though the show hasn’t started yet. “They’re amazing.”

You glance at him, taking in the way he watches the screen—completely adoring, like he still can’t believe all of this is real. Like it means something to him, deep in his bones.

And suddenly, you get it.

This isn’t just a job to him. This isn’t just a routine. It’s love.

“You’re such a sap,” you say, nudging his foot with yours.

Jungkook grins, eyes twinkling. “Maybe.”

Jungkook stretches, rolling his shoulders back before standing up, the shift in his energy almost instant. His relaxed posture straightens, muscles flexing as he starts moving through warm-up exercises, humming lightly under his breath. You watch as he tests his voice, adjusting his stance, subtly bouncing on the balls of his feet like a boxer before a fight.

Then, almost as quickly as he got up, a staff member peeks in and calls him out for something. Most of the stylists follow, leaving the room feeling noticeably emptier, the only company left being one last stylist who seems far more interested in her sandwich than small talk.

You sit there for a moment, picking at the food in front of you, aimlessly scrolling through your phone. The room feels heavier now—quieter, save for the faint sounds of activity outside. You wonder how long he’ll be gone.

Then, suddenly, the stylist speaks.

“How have you not got caught?” She laughs.

The words are casual, spoken between bites, but they hit like a slap. You blink, looking up, only to find her still chewing, barely sparing you a glance.

“All this shit,” she continues, taking another bite. “Is like… super risky.”

It’s not outright rude, but there’s something about the way she says it—offhanded, like she’s scolding you without really scolding you—that makes your stomach twist.

You part your lips, unsure of what to even say. Do you defend yourself? Do you tell her that this wasn’t your idea? That Jungkook was the one who invited you? That you never asked for any of this?

Even though you really, really don’t wanna stop.

But before you can even muster up a response, she dusts off her hands, bins the rest of her sandwich, and walks out. Just like that.

You exhale, long and slow, suddenly hyper-aware of everything.

She’s not wrong.

It is risky.

Jungkook is Jungkook, an untouchable force with an entire world watching his every move. And you? You’re just… here. Sitting in his private dressing room, eating his food, waiting for him like you belong in this space when—realistically—you don’t.

You know how the internet works. How fast rumors can spread. How easily people can twist things. If someone saw you right now—if a picture leaked—what kind of headlines would come out of it? Because you’re sure it wont be another awkwardly blurry, badly angled photo like last time.

Would this get him in trouble? Would you?

The intrusive thoughts pile up too quickly, drowning you in doubt. By the time Jungkook returns, beaming with two drinks in hand, you’re barely holding it together.

“Look what I got,” he says, passing you one. He’s still a little breathless, his excitement crackling like electricity in the air. “My favorite—”

“Should I leave?”

It comes out of nowhere. The words tumble from your lips before you can stop them, your fingers curling tightly around the drink. Jungkook’s smile falters.

“What?”

“I—I should leave,” you repeat, swallowing hard. “What if we get caught? Is— me being here a problem?”

His expression shifts immediately, the warmth in his eyes dimming. His brows furrow, lips parting slightly like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Who said that?”

You hesitate, suddenly wishing you hadn’t said anything at all. “No one, I just—”

“Who.” His voice is sharper this time, more urgent, his entire demeanor changing as he takes a step closer.

You stumble over your words, not knowing how to explain. “It’s just—people talk, Jungkook, and—”

“So..” His jaw tightens. “You think I don’t want you here?” His voice is low, raw with frustration, disbelief, and maybe even a little hurt. It hits you like a punch to the gut, and suddenly, it feels like the air between you both is thicker. The weight of it presses down on you, suffocating, almost.

You try to breathe, but it’s like your lungs are fighting against you. He takes a step closer. Your heart stutters.

“Hmm?” His hand comes up slowly, almost deliberately, and it rests on your chin. The grip is firm, but not harsh—secure, like he’s not letting you look away. And just like that, the space between you both feels electrified. The tension grows thick, undeniable.

Your voice falters, caught in your throat. “N-no, I just—”

“Just what?” His voice drips with mockery as he nudges your chin higher, his thumb tracing just under your jaw. “Because I can show you, if you want, how much I want you to be here.”

His words fall heavily between you, your breath catching in your throat. There’s a flash of something—desire, maybe fear—rushing through you. The proximity is almost too much, and yet, you can’t pull away.

You open your mouth to reply, but the words won’t come. The silence stretches, thick and heavy between you. He doesn’t give you the chance to say anything more. Without warning, he closes the distance, his lips crashing against yours.

He doesn’t break the kiss, but his hand shifts, sliding up to gently grip your chin. His fingers are firm, tilting your head back to meet him fully. His touch is deliberate, guiding you closer to him as if he’s in control of the pace, the way your lips part slightly to let him deepen the kiss.

He pulls away, and you can’t help the soft whine that escapes your lips at the loss of his kiss. A smirk curls on his lips as he stands, his gaze holding yours with that same mischievous glint. He locks the door with a quiet click, the sound somehow louder in the charged silence, before striding back to you, his steps confident, almost predatory.

Jungkook approaches you slowly. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Your breath hitches, the weight of it all suddenly crashing down on you. You’re in Jeon Jungkook’s dressing room, and god knows how much time he has before his performance. “W-what? This is insane… someone could hear us…”

Jungkook stands in front of you, his voice low and teasing as his hands settle on your hips. “Can you feel how much I want you?”

You nervously flicker your eyes to his lips, your heart racing. “I… I don’t think this is a good—”

He cuts you off with a chuckle, cupping your face in his hands and gently lifting your chin to meet his gaze. “I want all of you…” His tone softens, but the grip on your waist tightens, as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away. “But if you’re not comfortable doing this here, we don’t have to.”

Suddenly, the thrill of being caught washes over your doubts, and before you can second-guess yourself, you crash your lips back on his. You feel him smirk into the kiss, the heat between you two escalating.

You lose track of time, as if you’ve been kissing him forever—and honestly, you’re not complaining. Every kiss feels intense, your lips teasing his lip piercing, occasionally nibbling it.

You hear him grunt softly against your mouth, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. His hands slip down to your neck, his fingers gripping just tight enough to leave you breathless, urging you closer.

He pulls back just enough, his hand still on your neck, keeping you anchored to him.

“You’re so beautiful,” His eyes don’t leave yours, the intensity of his gaze making your pulse race. Like it always does. Slowly, he undoes his jeans, the sound of the zipper almost deafening in the charged silence between you.

He chuckles softly, struggling a bit to kick his jeans off. His lips are magnets, pulling you in despite the little space between you, and you can’t help but press yourself against the hand still wrapped around your neck. You lean in desperately, hungry for his kiss again.

“Patience, baby,” he murmurs, voice laced with amusement, though his eyes are full of hunger. He kicks his jeans off, and before you can fully process, his lips are on yours again—quicker this time, more urgent. But just as you start to deepen the kiss, he pulls away, leaving you breathless.

Frustration bubbles up inside you, but it’s replaced by a new heat as his hands move down, frantically pawing at the straps of your dress. His fingers tremble, eager, desperate, as if he can’t get it off fast enough.

You help him, giggling, your hands trembling as you slide the dress off, letting it drop to the floor in a heap.

Your fingers move eagerly to his jacket, pulling at the fabric, “Off,” You urge him, while his lips are still on yours. The kiss is frantic now—more breathing than kissing, your breaths mingling between heated sighs.

“Please…” The word escapes you in a soft, desperate whimper, your chest rising and falling with each ragged breath as you tug at his jacket, unwilling to wait any longer.

Jungkook is now shirtless, and so are you, your nipples instantly harden to the cold air from the AC in the room, your bodies pressed together. It’s a bit awkward, in the sense that you’re on your heels, grinding ever so slightly on the bulge of his boxers, but you couldn’t care less.

His hands roam over your skin, hot and so needy, as he kisses his way down your neck. His lips are soft but deliberate, savoring the feel of you, every inch of your skin. You shiver under his touch, throwing your head back and curling your fingers into his scalp, heart racing, the sensation of him against you overwhelming.

He pauses at your collarbone, breathing against your skin, his voice low and husky, “Feel’ so fucking good.”

“F-fuck, please…” You gasp, breath hitching as Jungkook works his way down your body, his lips trailing slowly over your skin, teasing you with each touch. He chuckles softly against your bare skin, sending a shiver down your spine, before he takes his time, sucking gently on each of your nipples, pulling a quiet moan from your lips.

His hands roam, gripping your hips, pulling you closer to him as his mouth leaves a trail of heat across your skin. You feel his smile against you, a smugness in his teasing, but it only makes you crave him more.

Before you can even process it, Jungkook’s on his knees in front of you, his hands sliding down your body to peel off your panties. The sudden shift in position leaves you breathless, his movements deliberate and slow.

He noses at your slit, inhaling deeply, with a lewd, audible swoosh of air, his eyes dark with hunger. You can’t help the way your hips buck slightly at the sensation, the thrill of it all making your heart race.

“Mm, babe,” he groans, his voice rough and low, sending a shiver down your spine. “Smell so good…” His breath fans against you as he presses closer, his hands gripping your thighs as he teases you, making you ache for more.

Before you know it, your patience runs thin. Unable to wait any longer, you grab a handful of his hair, guiding his face where you need him most. The moment your fingers tangle in his locks, he doesn’t hesitate—he dives in, licking, sucking, and lapping eagerly at your core. His low chuckle vibrates against you, clearly amused by your desperation.

You can’t help but grind against his face, unfortunately messing up his makeup with your juices which just flow out onto his lips, chin and even his nose, driven by need. His touch is intoxicating, each movement of his tongue sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

“Jungkook—” you gasp, his name falling from your lips as you lose yourself in the sensation.

He licks at your pulsing clit, alternating between gently dipping his tongue into your walls and sucking hard, each movement calculated to make you tremble. His pace doesn’t falter, and you can feel the vibrations of his moan against you, sending a rush of heat through your body. The sound, raw and desperate, only fuels the growing fire inside you.

You can barely focus on anything else, lost in the sensation of him, his persistence, and the way his body moves against yours, like he’s trying to memorize every part of you.

“Jungkook…” you whisper, the tension building.

He looks up at you, a knowing smile curling on his lips, before he softly brushes his hands against your skin, his hands gentle on your thighs “Let go,” he murmurs. “It’s just us here.”

You feel something prodding at your entrance, his tongue still not letting up- if anything, hes going much faster now. Licking and slurping like a damn starved man.

If theres anything you know about Jungkook, its that he does not hesitate to go all in when it comes to your pleasure. You’re convinced that he-

“Could eat this pussy for hours, babe” He mumbles into your slick, slushy core. It’s disgusting how much this man has you fucking drenching his pretty face.

And he just let’s it happen.

Like a real ass man.

Before you know it, his finger intrudes in. “Fuck!”

But it’s not just the movement of his finger that has you reeling. It’s the damn silver ring he’s still wearing on his middle finger. The cool metal presses against you with every thrust, the contrast between the chill of the ring and the heat of your body sending waves of sensation through you. Your hips move instinctively, pushing harder into his face, chasing the friction.

And Jungkook? He just fucking laughs into your pussy, like he knew he’d coax that reaction out of you.

He moves his finger slowly at first, deliberately tracing that spot he somehow found so easily. The sensation is almost too much, and your breath catches in your throat as he picks up the pace, each movement deliberate, making you tremble beneath him. Then, without warning, he adds another finger, stretching you further, and you can’t help the gasp that escapes your lips.

“Jungkook- Fuck!”

He doesn’t stop. His rhythm quickens, frantic tongue flicking at your clit and his hold tightening around your thighs.

At this point, you’re lost to it, unable to think, to breathe. The ache in your hips from frantically grinding is overpowered by the sheer pleasure of well- Jungkook. All that’s left is him, the way he moves, the way he makes you feel. It’s too much, and you can’t hold back anymore.

The wave crashes over you before you can even catch your breath. Your body trembles with the release, his name a breathless echo on your lips as your vision blurs. You’re grinding faster than ever now, and Jungkook knows not to change his pace, keeping it up until you have to physically pry him off of your pussy.

He rises back up to you, his hands finding your waist, pulling you closer. His eyes darken as he licks his lips, like he can’t bear the thought of not tasting you again. It’s a look that sends a rush of warmth through your chest, making your breath catch in your throat. You exhale softly, unable to hold back a small giggle at the way he’s looking at you.

He smirks, that playful glint never leaving his gaze. “That good?” he teases, because Jungkook would probably rather die than not tease you with his silly remarks, his voice low, but there’s a softness beneath the teasing, a hint of something more intimate.

“Always make me feel so good,” You say, a little breathless.

You nudge him playfully, but then you become acutely aware of the way he’s pressed against you, the hard bulge pressing into your lower stomach. It’s like the air between you thickens, the tension rising again, and you can’t help but feel your own pulse quicken. Jungkook’s movements shift, grinding into you without even realizing it, his body reacting to the closeness like it’s second nature.

He notices the way your breath catches, the way you become more aware of his movements. His lips curve into a knowing smile before he dips his head lower, his mouth brushing softly against your breasts.

“Forgot about these, baby,” he murmurs, his voice rough with desire.

He kneads your breasts with a gentle but insistent pressure, his hands moving with purpose. His tongue flicks out, teasing each nub, and the sensation causes soft Ah’s escape your lips, the sound mixing with the growing rhythm of his body pressed against yours.

The grinding of his hips against yours becomes faster, more urgent, but it’s the way his touch feels—soft, yet driven—that leaves you breathless, wanting more.

Your patience begins to wear thin, and without thinking, you reach for his boxers, pulling them down slowly. His cock springs out, slapping against his abs with a soft thud. He grabs the base, spitting down on the tip that’s weeping with pre-cum, and begins to stroke it slowly.

Did it get… bigger?

You moan shamelessly.

Jungkook grins at you, the playful glint in his eyes never leaving. The way his body reacts to you, the anticipation, only heightens your own. You freeze for a moment, caught off guard by the closeness and the intensity.

“Want it so bad,” you whisper, feeling your heart race.

His smile deepens, and without hesitation, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours as he takes a deep breath, the heat between you both growing with every movement. His fingers graze your skin tenderly as he takes a moment to look at you, his expression soft, but with a hunger that makes your stomach flutter.

“Yeah?” he asks, voice rough, yet gentle. There’s care in his eyes, a tenderness that grounds you despite everything. His strokes don’t let up, and the lewd squelch of it fills the room.

You meet his gaze, your breath shaky, but you nod, your hands trembling as you skim your hands over his chest, feeling him up, feeling the connection that seems to run so much deeper than the physical everytime you’re intertwined in this sense.

His hand moves to yours, guiding them to his cock a quiet confidence, and everything feels right—natural.

As your hands reach for his cock, Jungkook’s breath hitches. He leans in, his eyes locking with yours, watching you carefully as you start to move your hand gently under his, his expression a mix of admiration and need. The way your fingers wrap around him feels so intimate, and he can’t help but groan softly at how the size of his cock makes your hand look fucking miniscule.

“So good,” he murmurs, voice low, as if trying to ground himself in the moment. He watches you, seeing the way you take control, how the trust between you builds with every movement.

For a second, he stops you, his hand over yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, the simple gesture of reassurance. Then, with a quiet breath, he pulls back slightly, allowing you to take the reins. There’s a softness in his gaze, as if he’s telling you without words that he trusts you completely.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his tone laced with wonder and vulnerability, and you feel it—how much of him is laid bare in these moments. His cock is heavy in your hands, hard as a fucking rock. And you whimper while tightening your grip, wanting more of his moans.

He starts to fuck into your fist, his breath warm against your neck, each movement slow and deliberate. His lips find their way to your neck, a soft moan escaping him as he pulls you closer, grounding himself in the moment. You respond, your pace quickening, feeling the tension between you both build.

“Like that…,” he breathes, voice thick with desire, but there’s something more there—a vulnerability, a need for the closeness, for your connection. You can feel him, not just physically, but emotionally, and it makes everything feel even more intense.

His hands find their way to your body, his grip tightening as he holds you, like he wants to be closer than ever.

The desire between you both intensifies, and Jungkook’s thrusts into your hand become more urgent, his breath coming in soft gasps.

You can feel his tension, the way he’s holding back, desperately trying to stay present in the moment. His lips trail back down your neck, his moans muffled against your skin, and it only makes the connection between you stronger.

His pace quickens, fucking your fist faster than ever, the need for more growing, but then, suddenly, he pulls back, his eyes locking with yours. He fucks your hand frantically with his cock while staring at your face, as if that’s the only thing he needs to get him going. There’s a vulnerability in his gaze, something raw and unspoken.

His cock twitches on your stomach when he moves away, practically begging for release. And you cock an eyebrow at him teasingly.

“Turn around,” he whispers, guiding you gently but urgently, his hands pressing against your waist as he pushes you against the wall.

He spreads your thighs slightly, bending down to tease your folds with his tip. Your breath hitches, a soft moan escaping your lips. You instinctively reach for him, pulling him closer, your hands finding refuge in the crook of his neck. He presses a soft kiss to your skin, but before you can fully settle into the moment, he pulls away, a look of frustration crossing his features.

“Shit… condom,” he mutters under his breath, as though the realization hits him too late.

He takes a moment to steady himself, his hand brushing over his chest, as if trying to ground himself in the situation. You turn around, searching the dressing room for what he needs, but before you can speak, he leans in, kissing you deeply, a fleeting connection before he steps away.

“Wait,” he says, his voice low and hurried. He moves toward the couch, pulling his wallet from his jacket. He rummages through it and then, with a quick motion, pulls out a condom, his focus entirely on you.

He hands you the condom, a sheepish smile on his lips, and for a brief moment, you’re caught off guard, unsure of what he wants. But then, it clicks. He wants you to put the condom on for him. The realization warms you, and you let out a soft laugh, shaking your head.

“You absolute baby,” you tease, your voice light with affection as you gently roll the condom onto his cock. His grin widens at the playful remark, his eyes locking onto yours with a mix of admiration and affection. He presses a soft kiss to your lips again, a fleeting moment that makes your heart race even faster.

He pauses for a moment, his hand brushing over his cock a few times before he gently turns you back around, his breath hitching in his chest.

“Ready?” he asks softly, his voice full of anticipation but tempered with care, wanting to make sure you’re on the same page.

You let out a soft whine, the feeling of anticipation building inside you. You push back against his cock, and he fucks his length between your ass cheeks for a few seconds, kneading the skin. You crave more of him, and the connection between you both feels almost too much to bear. He takes a slow breath, trying to steady himself, before gently guiding his cock in to you.

He enters you slowly, his movements tender but filled with the intensity of the moment. You wince slightly, the familiar stretch making your walls ache, but it quickly melts into a soft moan, the sensation overwhelming in the best way.

“Tight fuckin’ fit,” he murmurs softly, his voice rough with desire, as his forehead presses against yours when you tug his face towards the crook of your neck and look at him, your hand in his scalp. Eyes closed in a mix of pleasure and awe at the closeness between you both.

He quickens his pace slightly, and you breathe into his mouth, your desperation growing with each movement.

“Harder,” you whisper, barely able to contain the yearning in your voice. He listens, his movements becoming faster, deeper, and you feel every inch of his cock inside you, as if he’s anchoring you to the moment.

His touch moves lower, fingertips grazing your sensitive clit, sending shivers through you. The sensation intensifies, and your senses blur together—his warmth, his rhythm, your connection. Every part of you feels alive with him.

“Harder,” you whisper, your voice trembling with need. Jungkook responds immediately, his movements becoming faster, more urgent. You can feel him everywhere, a deep connection forged in each motion, each breath.

Without warning, he pulls away gently, turning you around and guiding you to the floor. His hands are careful but firm, making sure you’re comfortable even as the intensity builds. He straddles you, not putting too much weight on your torso, and you find your head resting against the cool wall. The change in position has your breath hitching.

His body moves in front of you, and there’s a moment of humor when his wet cock taps your cheek by accident. You let out a small laugh, pretending to look scandalized, but the playful teasing fades as he focuses entirely on you.

Jungkook’s grip on his base is steady, his eyes locked with yours, silently asking for trust. He guides you with a hand nudging your heard forward towards his cock carefully, urging you to take control in this moment, but there’s no mistaking the power in his hands, the authority in his touch.

He waits for you to follow his lead.

You focus on ignoring the ache building within you, your mouth finding him as you draw him in. His breath hitches, and he groans, his hand resting gently in your hair. “Yeah, baby…” His voice trembles, and you can feel the rush of his desire.

You welcome him, moving with him, guiding him deeper, the taste of the condom isn’t particularly the best, but you’re too turned on to care, as your hand encourages him gently. You feel the heat building even further. Your movements quicken, a rush of desperation taking over you as he fills your mouth entirely with his cock.

But just as it feels like you’re lost in it all, he pulls back, his touch soft yet firm. He gazes down at you, and before you can fully process it, he’s stumbling backwards, a sudden coolness following as he spreads your folds out, before shoving his cock in so hard you cant help but to squeal, taking control in a way that leaves you breathless.

“Fucking shit—,” he groans, his hands moving to your body, gripping your waist tightly as he deepens his thrusts, the rhythm between you both frantic and desperate.

A gasp slips from your lips, your head spinning with the overwhelming sensation when suddenly, a knock at the door breaks through the chaos. Your heart stops. Jungkook freezes as well, both of you frozen in the moment.

“Jungkook?” The doorknob turns, the sound of someone approaching sending a wave of panic through you.

He looks at you with a smirk, but there’s a gleam in his eyes that holds a certain dominance. His hand gently presses against your mouth, silencing you. The intensity between you builds up more, and the knocks at the door spur him to fuck into you faster, the pressure mounting as he keeps moving, determined not to stop despite the interruption.

“Im fuck- Fuckin’ busy!” He shouts towards the door, enthralled by the ring of white your leaving around his dick. And you try so hard to muffle your moans, but at this point…

Whoever it is outside definitely knows.

Another knock at the door echoes, and your breath catches in your throat as his pace quickens, hitting that spot that makes everything else fade. The pressure builds, and with a quiet, teasing whisper, he leans down to your ear and murmurs, “Stay quiet, baby. Don’t want anyone to know what we’re doing, hm?”

You glare at him, frustrated and desperate, but your body betrays you as you shift your hips back against him, your breath shallow, a soft whine escaping your lips. You’re lost in the feeling, fighting to keep quiet, but it’s almost impossible.

Another knock at the door sounds, but it only seems to push Jungkook even further, his movements becoming even more urgent. He doesn’t reply this time. His hand moves from your mouth, trailing to your core, and you can feel the frantic energy in his breath as he urges you to stay quiet, but it’s becoming harder to hold back. You press your lips together, eyes squeezed shut, silently hoping whoever it is will leave quickly.

When the knocks finally stop, the room fills with the sound of his thighs smacking against yours at an alarming pace, and you can’t help but gasp at the way his tip just annihilates that spot.

You grip his broad back, grounding yourself as he lifts you, holding you up on his kneeling form by your ass cheeks, gently but firmly, guiding your body in time with his movements. The sensation builds rapidly when he starts lifting you up and down his length, and you throw your head back, one hand behind you on the wall, and you press your lips against his, matching his movements as best as you can, your hands gripping his hair, needing him closer.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty, babe.” He moans softly into your ear, his voice shaky. “I’m close.”

You nod, your body shaking with anticipation. He quickens his pace, his breath against your skin making it harder to focus. The sound of his voice, the closeness between you both—everything swells within you, and in an instant, you feel yourself losing control, your body responding to the rhythm, desperately seeking more.

You give in, the intensity of the moment pushing you over the edge, and you let out a breathless moan, your body moving with his, seeking that final connection.

You press your teeth into his back, the soft bite grounding you as your frantic movements slow to gentle, steady motions. He groans deeply, and you feel him tense, the weight of the moment heavy as he fills the condom.

He pulls back just enough to kiss your face, his lips brushing softly over your skin, and it makes your heart pound in your chest. His voice is low, filled with emotion as he murmurs something about how perfect you are.

You hold him close, your fingers in his hair, your breath shaky as you pull him against you, feeling the warmth of his breath on your neck. Everything around you fades as you just let the closeness of the moment wash over you.

After what feels like an eternity of comfortable silence, the position becomes awkward. Jungkook’s body shifts as his softening length reminds you of the moment’s gravity, and you wince slightly. Sensing your discomfort, he gently pulls away, lifting you carefully and guiding you to the couch where his jacket is laid out. He doesn’t seem to mind at all that some of you have spilled onto it.

You start to speak, “Your jacket—”

He interrupts, his voice soft but full of concern. “Are you okay?” He leans down, brushing your hair back from your face, his touch tender, as if trying to make sure you’re okay.

You nod softly, watching him slide the condom off and dispose of it in the takeout bag from earlier, tossing it in the bin with a quiet finality. The intimacy of being naked together feels overwhelmingly heartwarming, almost frightening in its vulnerability. You try to push away the overwhelming thoughts, but one sudden realization hits you.

You look around, your heart skipping a beat. This is Jungkook’s damn dressing room. How much time do you really have before his concert?

Your voice catches in your throat, worry creeping into your expression. “Jungkook—how long—”

He walks over to you, a sense of calm settling over him. He throws his briefs back on and plops down next to you on the couch, his presence grounding. “Relax,” he says, his voice soothing. “We have a while.”

You sit in silence for a while, the weight of the moment settling between you. The lingering feeling of the aftermath slowly begins to take over, and you look around the room, your eyes landing on a pack of baby wipes. Hesitant, you take them in your hand, your cheeks flushing with a sense of shyness. Gently, you clean yourself, the act feeling oddly intimate in its own right, especially with him still beside you.

But Jungkook doesn’t make you feel self-conscious. He looks away, respecting your space, and for a moment, it feels as though the world outside of the two of you has faded away. You slip your panties back on, and despite the effort to clean up, you can’t shake the feeling that you’ll need a shower to truly feel refreshed. The wipes didn’t do much, but you’re too tired to care right now. The thought of the shower later is the only thing on your mind.

You plop back down next to him after slipping into your dress, giggling softly at the sight of him still in his damn briefs. “You’re acting like you have all the time in the world,” you tease, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

Jungkook hesitates for a moment, and the smile on his face falters just slightly. For a split second, his eyes shift away from yours, and he runs a hand through his hair, his thoughts drifting somewhere far away. You don’t pry, but the tension in his gaze doesn’t go unnoticed.

Because he takes your words differently.

He doesn’t want to spoil the moment, doesn’t want to burden you with the weight of his departure when everything feels so fragile between them. So, he throws on his clothes quickly, forcing a smile back onto his face. As he presses a kiss to your head, his heart clenches, feeling the guilt of what he’s doing.

But for now, just for this moment, he’s going to hold onto you. He won’t let go of this. Not yet.

Jungkook chuckles, guiding you over to the mirror. The reflection staring back at you both is one of disarray—hair a mess, clothes slightly askew, faces flushed, and there’s an undeniable glow that only comes from being thoroughly worn out.

You both burst into laughter at the sight. His grin is wide, amused, and somehow softer than usual.

“Well,” he says, his voice teasing, “I’m definitely getting in trouble for this.” He looks at you, shaking his head. “Should’ve known I’d be a disaster right before a show.”

You laugh, turning your face towards him. “We both look like we just got hit by a bus, actually.”

Jungkook quirks an eyebrow, stepping closer. “But a cute bus, right?” His voice is playful, and you can’t help but roll your eyes, nudging him lightly with your shoulder.

“I guess,” you mutter, still smiling, feeling all the tension melt away.

You both stare at your reflection for a moment, your exhaustion more endearing than anything else. He looks at you with a soft expression, that familiar warmth creeping back into his eyes.

“You okay?” he asks, quieter now, as if checking in after everything that happened.

You nod, smiling gently at him. “Yeah… I’m good.” And you mean it, because despite all the chaos, it feels like a moment just for the two of you.

A few minutes pass, and the two of you sit side by side on the couch, munching on a packet of crisps that’s been left on the table. They’re not great—dry and bland—but it’s enough to keep you both occupied. You pop one into your mouth, immediately cringing at the taste, and Jungkook bursts out laughing.

“These are terrible,” he says between bites, his voice muffled. “How did we even end up with these?”

You shrug, snickering. “I honestly have no idea. But we’re committed now. No turning back.”

You both giggle, the sound echoing through the dressing room. The playful mood lingers as you both try to finish off the last few crisps, trying to keep up the charade that you’re enjoying them, even though your faces say otherwise.

Finally, Jungkook tosses the bag onto the coffee table and leans back, stretching his arms above his head. “Alright, I can’t handle this anymore. Let’s go out.“

Before you can protest, he’s already pulling you toward the door, stumbling a little as he tries to maneuver around. You laugh at his uncoordinated steps, and with a teasing look, you playfully nudge him as you follow.

“Jungkook, you’re gonna trip,” you warn, your smile never fading.

“Never,” he smirks, but his voice is light, almost playful, as he struggles to keep his balance.

Jungkook steps out of the room first, running a hand through his completely wrecked hair, trying and failing to fix it. His jacket is off now, leaving him in just that mesh vest, his skin flushed, a light sheen of sweat glistening along his collarbones. You, on the other hand, are still giggling under your breath, barely holding it together as you trail after him, dazed and dizzy from whatever the hell just happened in there.

But the moment your feet hit the main room, a sharp voice cuts through the air.

“Stop fucking around. You have 15 minutes—get it together.”

You freeze.

Jungkook does too.

A manager—you’re not even sure which one, considering your brain short-circuits the second you hear them—stands a few feet away, arms crossed, gaze unamused. They don’t linger, though, turning on their heel just as fast as they appeared, leaving the words to hang thickly in the air.

The shift in Jungkook is instant.

His jaw tightens. His playful energy vanishes. His hand—wrapped so securely around yours just moments ago—lets go.

And that—that stupid little action—stings more than it should.

You know it’s nothing personal. You know it’s just him slipping into work mode, flipping the switch like he’s probably had to do a million times before. But the sudden absence of warmth against your palm makes your stomach drop anyway, leaves something unpleasant twisting in your chest.

Jungkook, for his part, doesn’t even glance your way. He exhales sharply, runs a hand down his face, and—

Drags you right back toward the main room.

You barely have time to process it, blinking up at him as he tugs you along like nothing happened.

“Damn, he was—“

Before you can even finish the sentence, his grip tightens, and you let yourself get pulled along, your heart still racing for entirely different reasons now.

“FIVE MINUTES!”

The call cuts through the room, and if things were chaotic before, now it’s mayhem.

Jungkook is in the middle of his last warmup, his voice clear even through the surrounding noise. His stylists are fussing over him one last time, his in-ears are checked again, and yet—despite all the urgency, despite the fact that a whole team is practically pushing him toward the door—he’s looking around the room.

For you.

The second he spots you, he doesn’t hesitate. He runs over, dodging people left and right, slipping past staff who are trying to usher him forward.

“Hey,” he says breathlessly, stopping right in front of you. “I’ll see you later, yeah? Ask someone to lead you to your part.”

Before you can even process his words—before you can nod or reply—he leans in.

And presses a quick peck to your cheek.

Your brain short-circuits.

Your breath catches, your entire body freezes, and your face burns—the warmth of his lips lingering on your skin long after he pulls away.

By the time you manage to stutter out a weak, “B-Bye,” he’s already stepping back, flashing you one last grin before he turns on his heel.

Just like that, he’s swept away by a frantic crowd—managers, stylists, camera crew—phones and cameras snapping photos of him as he disappears down the hall.

And the second he’s out of sight—

Nari squeals.

After what feels like an eternity of hesitation, you finally ask one of the assistants, unsure of who to turn to. They give you a polite smile and direct you toward a hallway.

You follow them, your heart still racing from that moment in the main room. What just happened? Did he—did he really kiss you? It feels surreal, like it’s a little too much to process all at once.

The assistant leads you down a winding corridor, the sound of the concert beginning to build in the background. You expect to be led to some VIP seating area or a cushioned chair at least—something fancy, considering Jungkook had promised you a special spot.

But when you walk through a door, you’re met with nothing like you expected.

The private room is a whole new level of luxury. It’s spacious and minimalist, with sleek furniture and subtle lighting. The real kicker, though, is the window that stretches from floor to ceiling, offering you a perfect view of the stage. You can hear the crowd’s energy building outside, the thrum of excitement growing louder.

It’s like your own personal VIP box, but a hundred times better.

You stand there for a moment, blinking at the view. The wide window gives you an uninterrupted look at the entire stage, and the energy of the crowd below seeps through the glass. For a moment, you just stand there, soaking in the awe of it all. This isn’t just VIP seating. This is something else entirely.

Jungkook… You think, already feeling a little overwhelmed.

You turn to the manager, who gives you a polite nod before slipping out of the room, leaving you and Nari in stunned silence.

Nari’s the first to speak, her eyes wide as she takes in the view. “Oh my god…” she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper. You don’t even need to say anything—your jaw is just hanging as you both stare at the sheer scale of the concert.

The crowd outside? Absolutely wild. The entire arena is packed with people, their energy almost tangible from where you stand. And then, the fan chants.

It starts slowly, then builds, echoing through the room and vibrating against the glass like it’s alive. The fans’ synchronized voices send shivers down your spine. You can hear their collective excitement, feel their connection to every word, every syllable they sing. It’s intense. Electric.

You and Nari exchange a glance, and you can both feel it—the overwhelming magnitude of what you’re witnessing. This isn’t just a concert. This is a movement.

“They’re insane,” Nari mutters, still staring in awe. “Like… how is this even real?”

You don’t have words to answer her, too caught up in the sea of fans, the flashing lights, and the vibrant energy that fills the room. This is what Jungkook is a part of. This is his world. And, somehow, you’re in it.

You both finally settle into your seats, taking in the view for a moment longer before Nari starts snapping pictures. She’s practically hyperactive, constantly repositioning herself and you, demanding different angles. “No, no, this one! From this side, trust me!” she insists, handing you her phone to take a shot of her looking ‘candidly’ out at the crowd. You roll your eyes but go along with it with a smile, snapping a few photos before Nari’s satisfied with her little session.

Meanwhile, you find yourself casually picking at the snacks on the buffet table Jungkook probably had arranged for you. Some chips, a few pieces of fruit, a tiny sandwich here and there. Nothing fancy, but it’s definitely keeping your stomach busy as you wait.

Nari, on the other hand, is more focused on her phone, scrolling through pictures and checking messages, but every now and then, her eyes flit toward the stage. It’s a strange mixture of calm and chaos—here you are, in a private room with an impeccable view of everything, yet your mind keeps racing back to Jungkook.

The buzz of the crowd grows louder as more fans flood in, and you know the show is about to start. Slowly, the lights in the arena begin to dim, casting the room into a soft twilight. You sit up a little straighter, suddenly feeling the anticipation in the air. The world feels still for just a moment, before the chaos outside swells again, and you realize—this is it.

The concert is finally about to begin.

[honeyedache]

Juliet wanted to punch him again - this time in the bloody throat. It seemed that no matter what, William kept his insipid, barking words coming and all Juliet dearly wanted him to do was stop speaking. He had dealt and broke back every scar she had, determined to dig his fingernails in until she bled, and now Juliet wanted nothing more than to make him bleed, to pull out under his skin, all of the scars that he had for himself to exploit and ridicule. "I am every bit assured in my convictions, Mister Erwood - unlike you, I received the best tutors money could possibly buy. Who taught you - the wild mares running around the fields? Surely you have adopted their behavior and mannerisms, and I would not be ever so surprised to hear that you were raised by them as well." She sniped, looking away and shaking her head. "I believe I would adore Wales, merely because it is a place you are not right now - for right now, if hell was dearly available, I would dive in first if only to get away from you. Mister Erwood, do you ever stop jabbering your jaw or are we all to be subjected by your hours long monologues?" She growled at him.

"That is surely none of your bloody business! Good heavens, do you wish to insult me further by speaking of my deceased father now as well? You have gone on quite enough - insulting my intelligence, my lack of a decent match, accused me of being selfish and now you wish to truly stand there, bold as bronze, and inquire about my dead father's wishes? Mister Erwood, you are quite lucky I only slapped you and did not bring Mister Heywood here himself to deal with you, for he is quite protective of the Thorpe household and far stronger than you." Juliet threatened, swallowing hard with anger as she looked away. She did think about what her father would think - and she had to think that he would be troubled. He had wished all of Juliet's life for her to marry a man worthy, a man like a prince in a storybook - he was the only one who ever told her she deserved that and now he was gone.

Oliver was every bit the prince he had read to her about. Every bit and more.

"Much better for a partner? Ah, yes, another insult thrown at me - my, Mister Erwood, are you quite proud of yourself? Mister Heywood deserves far better than me, I agree - but it is, once again, none of your concern. And I would bid you very much not to dishonor his sister by bringing her into this as well!" Juliet exclaimed, shaking her head in disgust. She was taken quite aback by his omission, for the words he spoke. toher that could so dearly be used about him. She narrowed her eyes, hearing every last detail of his.

"Oh, so you understand, or perhaps think you understand a plight before I have even confirmed to you what is real? You are speaking out of turn, once again - but it is now interesting that now I know that your insolence has a track record. What did you do to this poor girl - promise her everything and then fall ever so short? How embarrassing for you - and I can only imagine the tricks you played on her heart. I assure you -Mister Heywood and I are none of your concern and we are nothing like you."

William smirked, his eyes glinting with a touch of amusement as he regarded her with a gaze both curious and devious. “You seem so self-assured in your convictions; why is it that you feel the need to declare it for the world? Are you certain that you don’t doubt your own intellect?” His tone was dripping in mockery as the sparring match truly began. In all honesty, William knew he wasn’t the brightest academically, but he had a way of the world that had ensured his survival for ten years, thriving even before the Margate incident. It was no easy feat for a man who left home with nothing but his horse and cloak. “Oh, Miss Juiliet, you would love Wales, but byddai'n gwylltio merch Saesneg fel chi.” The Welsh rolled perfectly off his tongue, conversing between the two languages effortlessly as he teased the woman.

For anyone else back home, a slap, though rare, was not a truly uncommon sight, but amongst the English nobility, Juliet had seemingly lost all sense of control, something the English liked to have a firm grip on. William remained still, his expression unreadable as he took in Miss Juliet in her outburst. “Is this how the gentry of England express their feelings? Whatever happened to decorum?” William said, mockingly, but his voice was cool, measured with only the faintest hint of amusement.

He remained silent for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly as he took in her words while his lips curled into a tight, controlled smile, though the tension in his jaw was clear. “You knew him better than most; truthfully, how would he feel if he knew his daughter had lowered herself to love another so below your own station?” William could not help but laugh at Miss Juliet’s assumption of him. Lady Whistledown had painted him as a collector of fine women, showing that the scandal sheet knew nothing about him. Only one woman had his heart and soul, but it was expected for Miss Juliet to bring it up. “Oh, I do not doubt Mr. Heywood’s grace and dignity; if he’s anything like his sister, I’m sure that he could do much better for a partner, but he will learn not to settle for anything but the best. Maybe that woman will find him soon.” 

The previous calm, unflinching demeanour that William previously possessed was being chipped away until the crack began to show. He took a step closer, his voice lowering, smooth but firm, cutting through the tension like a blade. “You say that I don’t understand the depth of your heart, but I assure you I understand the depth of Mr. Heywood’s inevitable pain. You don’t wish to hurt him, but take it from someone who has been in his position and survived, barely, that this will destroy him.” William’s emotions were getting the better of him, and try as he might, his grip on them was fading fast. “He will be the blame that your family casts upon every wrong decision, every misfortune they have. You love him, yet your love has him trapped in this false hope that grows more cruel every day.” William tried to gather what little control he had left, but the situation Miss Thorpe and Mr. Heywood found themselves in was painfully familiar. “You choose to make an enemy of me when I only wished to warn you, but if I am the one to blame, then do it. Continue down this path of hatred to serve as a distraction you’ll be in desperate need of when this all comes crashing down at Oliver’s feet. I have handled more than you are threatening, I assure you.”

[kellycalliekell]

I had a vivid ass dream that I saw the first episode of Wednesday S2. Y’all, I dreamt it opened up with Wednesday looking a bit sad and regretful. Then the camera panned to show a stained glass window with Larissa’s face on it. Basically confirming she had passed away.

I woke up from my dream going “Why would you do this? Why would you dream that?”. Now I’m sad. More sad I couldn’t dream other episodes too.

[azatas]

the fact that shepard, for lack of a better way to put it, has more of a personality in me2 fits soooo well with the background i chose + the way i play her in me1. like imagine spending your entire military career playing the perfect soldier, ​to the point that one of the last things you say before you die is "the alliance won't abandon us" and then you wake up two years later and they're using your face for propaganda while they've all but erased the memory of who you really were. like yeah i'd develop a bit of an attitude too

[nicollekidman]

as an enormous fan. one of the worst things about taylor swift is how deeply cowardly she is when it comes to Avoiding Upset and how this + the vacuum of her life makes every interview/public appearance just. devoid of any real meaning. just absolute crafted nothingness.

[tacagen]

one of the things that fascinate me about thawne: yes, he CAN be normal with kids! surprisingly normal!

((not at all times, though. his mental illness still spills through and as usual he, in trying to manipulate or hurt others, spits out at them the exact stuff that would hurt him (or have in his childhood/barry's rejection interpretation) the most in the first place lmao))

but at the same time. his like second instinct when doing his bullshit is FUCK THEM (as) KIDS

(and, well. whatever this classifies as)

[thedrotter]

comparison!! yuu as I drew him in 2024, february 5th; and this panel from my latest post that just so happened to be drawn in february 5th 2025...

it has been a full year since i started to draw re:kinder like crazy www when drawing yuu i'd always reference one of my own drawings of him for consistency, yet even the way i draw him changed quite a lot www

but im very happy with it😊😊 thought id share this since im amused by the evolution of it