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nickfowlerrr · 1 day ago

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something good and true - part 1

part two / part three

pairing: mob boss!bucky barnes x reader

warnings (for all parts in whole): 18+ only. domestic violence. retelling of abuse and battery. minor character death mentioned. angst. sweet and protective bucky. fluff. not sure if this qualifies as a slow burn or not 👀 smut. there’s a happy ending! (as per usual)

words: 4.5k

notes: this fic was supposed to be posted last year for suz’s blind date writing challenge but clearly that is not what happened. a year later and some thousands+ words over the maximum allowed (in total), i was finally able to wrap this thing up. i’m posting in parts bc it’s just so long and ahhh i’m sorry i didn’t follow your rules suz @targaryenvampireslayer 😭 and honest to god there is absolutely no expectation for you to read or even acknowledge this! i just want to give credit where credit is due and so this, my first mob boss!fic, is all thanks to the mob boss au prompt you had given to me! so thank you - and sorry again 🫢 dialogue used: “Does it make you nervous when I stare?”. thank you in advance for reading, i’d be happy to hear your thoughts! as always, comments and reblogs are welcome and so appreciated. 🩵

He’s staring again. You can feel it. The heat creeps up your spine as your heart begins to beat a little faster. The feeling has become quite familiar. It’s been two months of this. You had a feeling he’d be back, but really you hoped he’d have just let it go by now. It’s not like you thought any of this through, though… Of course there’d be consequences; and none worse, you’re sure, than the ones he could dish out.

It’s not your fault, you try to remind yourself. It’s not. You finish wiping off the table of the newly vacated booth, tucking the cash tip left for you in your pocket, before you turn around.

You steel yourself, taking a strong breath before you start to walk toward his private booth. You’re not stupid, you know the only reason he comes here is for you, he told you as much himself. And everyone else knows that too as the place has become nearly empty since his arrival. Even your coworkers aren’t bustling about. You don’t know if you prefer having the audience or not. You don’t blame anyone for their fleeing, though. After all the stories you’d heard about the man, you always made yourself scarce in his presence, too.

Until the faithful night he requested you at his table by name… You sigh, it seems you no longer have the luxury of avoidance.

You remember that night well. The first time you formally met the infamous mob boss, James ‘Bucky’ Barnes.

You remember how it felt like your blood turned to ice in your very veins when Molly uttered your name with worried eyes, “Mr. Barnes is asking for you specifically,” she had whispered as she peaked into the kitchen where you’d fled when you heard he was being sat at his rarely used, always reserved table.

You felt sick. Like a lead weight was dropped in your stomach. You wrung your hands until it hurt before you finally nodded. You were sure she could see the fear in your eyes when you looked at her. “O-okay. I��ll be right there,” you’d nodded. You had to swallow down the bile threatening to creep up your throat. He knows, you’d thought. He has to know. That’s why he’s here. That’s why he’s looking for you. You were breathing hard and heavy and you could feel the tears welling in your still sensitive eyes. You were caked in makeup, had been all week, to hide the bruises that marred all over your face. It wasn’t anything unusual. But there was an eerie comfort you felt in knowing once they were finally gone this time, you wouldn’t have to see yourself like that again.

You were in a long sleeve so you knew he wouldn’t be able to see the marks along your arms, and unless he had X-ray vision he wouldn’t be able to see the contusions littered all over your body either. You had a brace on your wrist but it wasn’t too noticeable under the sleeve… Okay, you breathed. You can do this. Deny, deny, deny. You don’t even truly know what he’s here for. You shouldn’t freak yourself out before you’ve even seen him.

You exhaled a shaky breath before you reached for the kitchen door.

It was dead silent as you entered the dining hall and it only added to the compounding fear and anxiety growing inside you.

You approached his table cautiously, too nervous to make direct eye contact as you held your pen and pad in hand.

“Good evening, sir, - uhm, Mr. Barnes,” you corrected yourself, “can I get you started with something to-“

“I’m not here for drinks or the mediocre food, doll,” he stopped you easily, unnervingly calm.

You chanced a glance at him and his deep blue gaze had you swallowing hard.

You didn’t know how to respond, so you stayed quiet as he stared at you. Like he knew something. Like he knew you knew something.

“Hm,” he considered you for a moment longer before nodding, “ya know, I think you know why I’m here.”

“I-“, you shook your head almost imperceptibly, “I don’t,” was all you could muster as your eyes were now glued to him. You couldn’t will yourself to look away. You were too terrified.

He licked his lip seemingly out of habit before he spoke again.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” He asked, sounding exasperated, bored of the interaction already as he tilted his head at you.

You stiffened at the question, your heart threatening to beat out of your chest.

“I don’t-“

“You do.” He stopped you again, the certainty in his voice leaving no room to deny his accusation. His eyes cutting into you as you stood before him, defenseless. You felt like you couldn’t breathe but you couldn’t just stand there looking terrified. You had to work up your voice and it came out quiet, but Bucky was listening, and watching you, intently.

“I don’t know where Freddy is,” you said, voice low, trying to keep the tremor from it as you finally felt your eyes sting, the fear and pain catching up to you as you blinked the would be tears away before a single one fell. “And he’s not my boyfriend,” you swallowed, “anymore.”

“No?”

“No. We broke up…about a month ago.”

“That’s interesting…” he hummed. “Why did someone see his car at your place the other week, then, huh?”

You winced at the images that ran through your mind as you thought back to that day, the one you knew he was referring to.

“He came over, to talk,” you forced out, no longer looking at the man before you. “But nothing came from it,” you added quickly, “and he left. I haven’t seen him since. Haven’t heard from him, I don’t know where he is.”

You didn’t look at him but by the weight of his gaze you knew he wasn’t buying what you were selling.

“What happened here?” he asked, reaching for your hand.

You were quite literally frozen to your spot as he grabbed your hand in his. His touch was the most gentle you’d experienced in a long while and it sent an unexpected hum through you. You watched your hand in his as he pulled you just the tiniest bit closer to him and the table. He inched up your sleeve to see more of the brace on your wrist and when he moved to raise your sleeve further up your arm, your body finally moved into action. You yanked your hand back, as if his touch had burned you, keeping him from seeing anything more than the brace.

“Fell,” you answered shortly. “I’m sorry, Mr. Barnes, but I don’t know what else to tell you. I don’t know where he is. And to be perfectly honest, I don’t really care.”

You met his eye once more, feeling a little safer as the words came easily. It wasn’t a complete lie. You really didn’t know where he was. And you certainly didn’t care. Despite the scrutiny of the mob boss’ gaze, you didn’t feel nearly as scared as you had before he touched your hand. Something about the softness there… You wouldn’t dwell on it.

“If there’s nothing else,” you added, though it was definitely more of an unspoken question than anything. You weren’t as scared but you weren’t stupid either. You wouldn’t be going anywhere until he dismissed you.

He smirked, huffing a laugh as he watched you.

“You hear from him, I’d be grateful to know,” he slipped his hand into his coat pocket and took out a business card, placing it on the table as he flicked his sharp eyes up to you once more, moving to pull out his wallet next. You watched as he slipped out two bills and blanched as he put them down on the table, moving the card so it sat on the money.

Your breath caught in your throat as he stood from his seat, standing right in front of you as you took in his build and stature. Everything about him screamed success, power, and authority and the two hundreds he left on the table were nothing more than chump change to him, you were sure.

“Just so you know, doll,” he spoke lowly, “I will find him, one way or another,” he took a step closer to you, “and if you think you’re protecting him by not telling me the truth, I promise you’re not.” He held your gaze and you were terrified he could see straight into your soul with how intent it was, “What’s even worse, is he knows we know all about you. He doesn’t care if he’s putting you in harm’s way or not… Forgive me for saying, but nice girl like you, you deserve a hell of a lot better than that. So, if you think of anything you might wanna tell me, my number’s right there,” he said looking back over to the card and money on the table. “That’s your tip. You enjoy your night, sweetheart. I’ll be seeing you.”

His words weren’t a threat, but a promise.

He would be seeing you. Didn’t always call you to his table, sometimes just observed you while you worked, but every week without fail from that day on, he would be at the restaurant.

You never called him, you didn’t have anything to say. You wouldn’t tell him the truth, no, you couldn’t tell him the truth. He was half right, you were protecting someone. But it wasn’t Freddy.

You breathe another strong sigh as you get closer to him and once you’re at the table, you don’t say a word, only meeting his brilliant and pointed gaze.

There’s something different about him tonight, something unnerving in his stare that you take notice of right away. You work to keep your calm but you’re not sure how convincing your faux headstrong demeanor is tonight.

He lets the silence between you grow for a moment longer before finally, he speaks.

“Does it make you nervous when I stare?”

His voice is like honey, smooth and rich with that familiar lilt as his lips quirk up just at the corner of his mouth. It warms you while he holds your eye. There’s unspoken tension between you two as you stand so close yet so far, it’s been brewing since your first meeting and has only grown with each interaction since. You’ve never named it, but you couldn’t deny it if you’d wanted to. You haven’t felt your tummy flutter like this since…you can’t remember when.

Surely he knows what his gaze does to anyone, you’re no exception. But the nerves you feel under the weight of his stare are twofold - not all due to fear, but to flustering.

You haven’t responded, but you’ve held his eye in the silence. He smirks at you before gesturing to the open space across from him.

“Why don’t you take a seat, sweetheart.”

It sounds like an invitation, but you know it’s more than that.

It’s an instruction.

You look around briefly, as if someone might stop you or get you in trouble - but that’s laughable when you’re standing next to, arguably, the most feared and respected man this city has ever seen. Standing. Why is he standing? You realize suddenly he’s still waiting for you to move.

You do as he said and gingerly sit down across from him. He retakes his own seat as you settle. How chivalrous.

“I’ll get right to it,” he starts, his deep blue eyes never leaving you, “Freddy-“

God, that name. You can’t hold your tongue. You know it’s why he’s here but you don’t want to talk about this. You just want this to be over!

“Like I told you the last time, and the time before, and the time before, and every other time you’ve asked, I haven’t seen him.” You cut him off without thinking. But you really can’t have the same conversation again. You can’t keep having to think about him. About that night. You're at your wits end - you don’t want to have to so much as hear his name again. You don’t catch yourself in the moment but it hits you when you’re done talking that you just spoke to Bucky in such a familiar way…someone walking past might wonder who exactly you are to him. Clearly you’ve forgotten your place, gotten a little too comfortable around him.

You look up from where you watch yourself wring your hand and shamefully meet his eye again. You inhale and start to apologize but he doesn’t give you the chance.

His hand is on yours before you realize he’s even moving and you flinch a second late, his gentle touch already on you, stilling your nervous habit.

His eyes soften as he makes you meet his gaze, his thumb gently rubbing your fidgety hand.

You swallow hard and watch as he blinks away the previous softness in his gaze, his familiar confident twinkle back as he speaks,

“I know,” he nods, his hand still on yours. He’s closer as he leans across the table. “I found him.”

Your breath catches and your face falls. Fuck fuck fuck.

What does that mean? What does he know? You’re on the verge of having a complete freak out and god he can probably see it written all over your face. You feel a squeeze of your hand and are brought back into your body, into this very moment.

“Don’t look so sick, sweetheart,” he says, a half smile on his lips. “You don’t have anything to worry about, you or your old man.”

Your heart drops at the mention of your father and Bucky must see it because he leans closer still, now holding your hand in his. It’s strangely comforting, but more so is the look in his eyes. The sincerity there, and the hard edge of protection.

You want to believe him but you’ve been gullible before.

“I just wanna know the whole story. I know pretty much what went down, some things I think can safely be assumed, but I wanna hear your narrative, just to get the full picture and get this whole mess squared away, yeah?”

The way he’s looking deeply into your shining eyes, the intimate gaze and soft touch as it seems like he’s trying to keep you calm, you can’t speak much but you give him a quiet, “yeah.”

He nods and you feel a single tear slip down your cheek. He slowly raises his hand, and your eyes are glued to him as he makes sure you watch his movements. Like he’s trying to reach out to a scared little puppy, he reaches to gently touch your cheek. You don’t flinch but as his hand makes contact with your skin, your eyes shut as you try and suppress a shudder.

“No tears, sweetheart,” he tells you in a soothing timbre as he wipes it from your cheek. “You’re too pretty to cry over a loser like that,” he adds with a soft smile.

You shake your head, “He’s not why I’m-“

“I know,” he cuts you off. “Look at me,” he orders gently.

You do as he says and slowly meet his eye. “You don’t have anything to worry about, ya hear me? Not the police, not my men, and certainly not me. Got it?”

You know you’re staring at him like he’s crazy, but you do understand what he’s saying. It takes you a second but you force yourself to nod.

“Good.”

His touch is still on you as his eyes trail all over your face before he lets his hand slip away.

“Alright, you wanna do this tonight or tomorrow night?”

You’re momentarily stunned. You definitely don’t want to do this tonight. You just need to get through the last two hours here and then you’re headed home to unravel in your own space. But tomorrow…

“Tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day,” you point out, sounding unsure.

“What,” he sniffs, looking at you once again, “you got plans?”

“I, I have work,” you answer dumbly after a second.

“Not anymore you don’t,” he says, moving to stand. “So tomorrow it is.” He walks closer to you and extends his hand for you to take, helping you out of the booth. “And you’ve got the rest of the night off.”

“Oh, I carpooled today so, I have to wait anyway,” you explain, though the idea of leaving early sounds like heaven.

“I’ll drive you. Get your things, I’ll have the car pulled around,” he supplies easily. He leaves to the front of the restaurant and you stand in your stupor for only a moment longer before you move to get your things from the back. You have a silly thought worrying about giving him your address, then remember he’s had it this entire time. And he told you you had nothing to worry about.

You’re not a typically trusting person, even more so after Fred, but there's something about Bucky. Something trustworthy, something that feels safe.

You grab your bag and let Molly know you’re leaving early and you got a ride before you head to the front to find Bucky.

He’s waiting patiently and his eyes seem to light up just a bit when he sees you coming.

Your manager is smiling tightly behind the stand as she watches you go. You feel slightly bad for just cutting out like this, but once Bucky came in, the place cleared out some, so it’s not like they’re in the midst of a rush.

You let your work worries slip away as the brisk night air hits you, Bucky holds the door for you as you exit and then opens the passenger of his sleek, blacked out Jaguar for you to get in.

You always assumed someone like him, in his position, would have a driver, but maybe that’s just not his style.

Bucky gets in and as you buckle, begins to drive off. You don’t need to supply him with your address as he heads in the right direction without a word.

It’s quiet but not unbearably so. It’s not until you’re just a couple minutes away from your place that he breaks the silence.

“I’ll pick you up at 7 tomorrow. I figure it’s a delicate conversation we’ll be having, so somewhere private would be better. Are you okay with going to my place? We can have dinner.”

It’s a genuine question, and the earnestness of it eases your nerves even further. He’s truly asking, genuinely concerned with your comfortability.

“Mhm,” you nod with a quiet hum. “Yeah.”

He pulls up in front of your house, the porch light on and shining because you knew you wouldn’t be off until late.

The car cuts off and you turn to face Bucky only to find him opening his door and getting out himself.

You grab your bag and follow him with your eyes as he rounds the car to get to your side. He gallantly pulls open the door for you and helps you out with care. You stand and he closes the car door before you start up the path to the front door. It’s a short walk and as you reach the door you turn to look at him as he stays beside you.

“Thank you, for the ride, and…” you trail off not knowing how to articulate what it is you want to say. Thankfully he doesn’t make you continue. He smiles softly at you.

“It’s my pleasure, sweetheart.”

You blink at him. You don’t know what else to say. You finally look away and turn to the door to unlock it.

“When you said I don’t have anything to worry about,”

“I meant you don’t have anything to worry about,” he answers you before you finish your question. “I’m gonna make this all go away, I just need to know if there’s any loose ends we need to tie up to be done with it, that’s all.”

Your eyes sting again. He makes it sound so easy, so simple.

“I-“ your voice threatens to break.

“Hey, we don’t needa talk about it right now, doll. You just go inside, relax, eat, get some rest. You don’t gotta stress a thing anymore, alright? I’ve got you, there’s nothin for you to worry about.”

“…Why are you being so nice to me?” you look at him with bleary eyes as you crack the front door open and ask the question you’ve been wondering for the past two months.

He takes a small step closer to you and gently turns your face to look at him. “Why do you expect cruelty?”

You stutter a breath as you look at him and feel the memories of the year you spent caught up with Freddy stab at you. You know why, and you’re sure he does, too. But there’s no sense of judgment coming from him, and you don’t feel embarrassed; not like the way you do in front of your mom. She’s the only other person who knows what happened, what your dad did. For you.

She never said it, you don’t expect she ever will, but you can sense the thoughts, the subtle judgement from her, especially when this all first happened. She doesn’t know the truth but you don’t have the care to tell her. Because even if what she assumed was true, it doesn’t change anything. No one deserves that.

But the truth is, you didn’t stay. The first time he put his hands on you, you were gone. He just wouldn’t leave you alone. You were together for six months at that point and they were nice, nothing overly romantic like you see in the movies, but nice. You weren’t expecting anything long lasting, marriage wasn’t even a thought. You knew he wasn’t the one, but dating was… fun. And then, one day, a switch flipped.

He wasn’t the kind, but nonchalant guy you thought he was. He was angry, like it was your fault the relationship wasn’t what he wanted, that it wasn’t more. He wanted it to work so badly, but he knew it never would. That only kept his ire burning. And so during the other six months you were ‘together’ you were really nothing close. You avoided him every chance you got and when he’d find his way in he’d always be sure to leave his mark. He kept up appearances of course, to everyone it seemed. You didn’t want to look crazy, so what were you going to say? ‘I broke up with him months ago and I don’t know why he won’t accept that. He uses me like a punching bag when he gets me alone - when he breaks into my car, my home, any way he can weasel into my life.’ He was in with the mob and everyone knew it, so even if they believed you, what the hell would anyone be able to do? At a certain point you just kind of accepted that this must be it. He’d always just be around somehow. Stories of your on and off again relationship floating around thanks to him - he wanted everyone to know that even if you weren’t together, you were together. Making it harder and harder for you in every way possible.

And then, one day, everything changed.

Now you’re here, and he isn’t.

Now you’re here, and so is James Barnes.

His warm hand is still holding your face and his thumb gently rubs your soft cheek, almost mindlessly, while he peers at you - intent as ever. That softness you saw before is back and you have to remind yourself to breathe when you notice his gaze flit to your lips. It’s brief, fleeting as his hand drops and he meets your eyes once more. He takes back his step and you watch him take a deep breath himself, the first time you’ve ever seen him be anything close to unsteady, if that’s what you can call it.

You break eye contact first, looking down to the small space between you while you push your door open a bit more, holding onto the handle with one hand.

“Have a good night,” he says, voice low and quiet as he watches you step closer yet to the door.

You look at him again then, “You too,” you bid softly, finally stepping inside.

He nods and waits for you to close the door behind yourself. As you push it shut, you catch a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and then that fluttering in your belly returns again.

You turn the lock and then press yourself up against the wood, exhaling heavily.

You feel relieved and yet ten times more terrified in the very same breath.

The most pressing feeling in this very moment though is a weird kind of guilt.

You feel more for a man you’ve only known for two months than you ever did for Freddy in the entire time you’d known him. Bucky is intimidating, obviously, and you know what he does, what he’s known for; he’s a man anyone would tell you to avoid at all costs. But when he’s around, there’s this feeling you get that you just can’t shake. You feel safe around him.

He’s known for being a man of his word, and his words to you have never been anything but thoughtful and…caring. He may prod, but he’s never threatened you. Truth be told, you think maybe he’s known this entire time what really happened. Or at least that you were involved somehow. And still, he wasn’t harsh with you even once. He was doing his own investigation this entire time, of course, and if he’d wanted to get the truth from you, surely he could have- he could’ve saved a lot of time too. Could’ve even gone after your dad.

But he didn’t do any of those things. No, he’s been patient, waiting until he had enough proof without having to pry anything out of you. At the very least you were grateful for that.

Not to mention the fact that he had called you pretty. It seems silly given the circumstances, but it did warm you when the compliment hit. It’s crazy but it’s clear that you’re feeling feelings for one James Bucky Barnes. God help you.

Alongside the unexpected romantic stirrings you’re coming to terms with, the anxiety and stress of the truth you’ve been trying, and apparently failing, to keep about what happened to Freddy has been weighing heavily on you, but with Bucky’s veiled acknowledgment of it, you feel more free already.

It’d be a lie to say you aren’t nervous for tomorrow night, but it’d also be a lie to say a part of you isn’t looking forward to it, too. If for no reason other than what Bucky said; to finally just be done with this whole mess.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #mob boss!bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #mob bucky barnes

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v-eee · 3 days ago

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── jungkook x you

scenario: you and Jungkook used to be best friend until new female staff came into his workplace, Jieun. He has introduced you to her. Jungkook starts getting busy with his work and often cancel the usual food hunting night with you because he needs to work overtime with Jieun. You know Jieun doesn't like you because she has come to your cafe a few times and told you to stop texting Jungkook during his work hour. when you told him about that, he didn't believe you. Starting that day your friendship is not like it used to be.

(vi)

Your writing is already strong, with vivid descriptions and engaging emotions. Below is a revised version with grammar, punctuation, and flow improvements while maintaining your original tone and style:

Fast-forward to the night of the dance ball, and Jungkook was practically vibrating with irritation.

Here he was, leaning against the wall like some moody bystander, watching you laugh and twirl with Joon on the dance floor. Joon, of all people!

Jungkook scowled as Joon spun you around, your laughter ringing out like music. You looked beautiful in your black dress, hair swept up in that effortless way that made you look like a princess.

He took another sip of his drink, but it didn’t do much to drown out the voice in his head. That’s supposed to be me dancing with Y/N!

The irritation hit Jungkook like a punch to the gut. He didn’t even like dancing, but with you, it had always been fun. You used to drag him to the floor, laughing when he inevitably stepped on your toes, and he’d make some sarcastic remark about your poor teaching skills.

But now, you weren’t even looking in his direction.

“Dude, you okay?” one of his friends asked, nudging him.

“Yeah, fine,” Jungkook muttered, his eyes still glued to you.

He saw Joon lean in, whispering something in your ear, and you laughed again, your hand resting lightly on his shoulder. Jungkook clenched his jaw. He told himself he shouldn’t care—he was supposed to feel happy when you were happy.

But then, why did it feel like he was the one being left behind?

The dance ended with a spin, and you clapped as Joon gave you an exaggerated bow. You laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you walked off the dance floor with Joon by your side.

Jungkook straightened slightly when you spotted him.

“Hey!” Your voice was as cheerful as ever.

You stopped in front of him, your cheeks glowing from the dancing. Joon was already wandering off to grab a drink, leaving you standing there with Jungkook.

“You’re not dancing?” you asked.

Jungkook shrugged. “Not my thing. You know that.”

“Well, you’re missing out,” you said, a teasing glint in your eyes. “Joon is surprisingly good. He didn’t step on my toes even once. I think he might be the best dance partner I’ve had in a while.”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Wow, high praise from Y/N. I guess that makes me what—your worst dance partner?”

You laughed. “Oh, come on. You know you’re great too. Just… in your own way.”

Jungkook smiled. He was about to ask you to dance when the live band started another song. But before he could open his mouth, Joon had already tapped your shoulder.

“Let’s dance again! This song is good!” Joon said excitedly.

You quickly nodded. “YES! Let’s go!”

Jungkook exhaled sharply as you and Joon disappeared into the crowd.

“Sucks,” he muttered.

“Why do you sound so grumpy, Kook?” another friend asked.

“Nothing.”

The friend laughed. “Really? Then why did I hear all of our friends were scared to come over and chat with you?”

“I don’t know.” Jungkook’s eyes never left you.

The friend followed his gaze, then smirked. “What, are you jealous seeing Y/N with Joon?”

Jungkook froze. “What? No,” he said quickly, but the words felt hollow, even to him.

The friend gave him a knowing look. “She’s happy when she’s around Joon. Let her be close with others, just like how she lets you be close with Jieun.” Then, with a chuckle, the friend wandered off, muttering something about how he knew it.

Jungkook stood there, staring at you and Joon.

Was he jealous?

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #fanfic #scenario #jungkook scenario

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prapaiwife · 1 day ago

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If the thame po episode 10 made u mad then that's a good thing it's supposed to be infuriating that in this year 2025 this behavior is still happening. I've seen some say this is overdone but it's not this conversation will always be had over and over cause it's not simply reaching some ppl at all which is sad truly. Alot of "fans" intrude into these idols lives and make speculations on speculations about them over every little thing on who they're dating or seeing potentially! Just spreading misinformation even going as far to prove their sexuality is actually this when it's not the other which is another conversation to unpack. Fern is a grown woman working her own job who has this love for Mars running their fanclub and her reaction didn't shock me one bit. The way they handled that scene with her and po had alot of compassion to hear her out to an extent! Cause someone watching this who can relate to her or a her can not be so quick to be argumentative and defensive. And fern isn't even on the extreme side of what we typically see from "fans" it just goes to show it effects everyone which we all know. Also the company or companies are also the ones working behind the scenes of it all and will manipulate and plant stories to derial us. That is very important not everything is the idol the lables move in secret and use the fans even. But to end this william went Iive yesterday on his bday and said this to end the live and i think we all need to hear it even if u already know it, it doesn't hurt.

"i just want to wish everyone lots of happiness. no matter what happens, don’t stress too much. i just want everyone to love me. if you love me, i want you to love the people around me too. i want you to love a lot. i want you to love everyone. whoever i love, i want everyone to love them too. this is a request from a kid who just turned 20"

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#thamepo #thamepo heart that skips a beat #thamepo the series #thame po #thamepo series #estwilliam #williamest #lykn

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saebyeokbliss · 8 hours ago

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ALL I REALLY WANT IS YOU

chapter one

"what are you willing to do?" "anything if it's for you."

synopsis: you never wanted to be part of this world—this business built on desperation, where people come seeking hope and leave with nothing but empty promises. but working under mr. lim means you don’t get a choice. your job is simple: take calls, organize paperwork, and never get involved. but when two sisters walk into the office, carrying the weight of the past and the fight for their family on their shoulders, something shifts. you weren’t supposed to care. you weren’t supposed to listen. now, you’re starting to wonder if staying out of it is something you can really do. pairing: kang sae-byeok x fem!reader x kang no-eul warnings: violence, abuse, exploitation, trauma, kidnapping, human trafficking, emotional manipulation, poverty, gambling, debt, crime, corruption, mentions of illness, blood, injury, psychological distress, mild language, substance abuse, family separation, mentions of war, betrayal, moral dilemmas, unethical business practices

a/n: i hope you guys enjoy this series!! and thank you for all the love on JMMATA!!

Lim Do-yun never asked for much—not in words, at least. His demands were implied, expectations set in stone long before you ever had the chance to question them. It was the same every morning: wake up before the sun, get dressed in something professional but not too eye-catching, and take the earliest bus to his office in downtown Seoul. The walls of that cramped, dimly lit space weren’t just where you worked—they were where you existed. Where you endured.

The air always smelled of ink and stale coffee, the scent clinging to the stacks of paperwork cluttering the desk you sat behind. It wasn’t a glamorous job. You weren’t even sure it counted as a real job, considering the only reason you were here was because Do-yun hadn’t given you much of a choice.

"It’s experience," he had said when you first started, sliding a pile of documents toward you without so much as glancing up. "You’re studying business, aren’t you? Think of this as practice."

Practice. Right. Because working as an assistant for a man who made his living exploiting desperate people was exactly the kind of future you had in mind.

But you didn’t argue. You never did.

Instead, you sat at that desk every day, answering calls, organizing files, making sure his schedule was in order. You watched as people came and went, their faces etched with worry, desperation, sometimes even anger. You knew better than to get involved. You were just the assistant—just the girl sitting behind the desk, pretending not to hear the whispered negotiations, the thinly veiled threats.

And when your shift ended, you packed up your things and left, heading straight to Seoul National University like none of it had ever happened.

You had worked too hard to get into SNU to let this job consume you. You told yourself that every time you sat in a lecture hall, surrounded by students who had never known what it was like to struggle, who had never been forced to live two lives at once. They talked about investments and startups, about ambitions that stretched sky-high. You listened, nodding along, pretending that your own aspirations hadn’t already been decided for you.

You were studying business—more specifically, finance. Numbers made sense. They weren’t unpredictable like people, didn’t come with hidden motives or unspoken debts. If you could just hold out a little longer, get through school and graduate, you could find a way out. A way to leave Do-yun and his world behind.

But for now, you were here.

And here, in this world of hushed conversations and unspoken rules, you had no choice but to play along.

"Cheol!"

The moment Kang Sae-byeok stepped into the visiting room, her little brother looked up from where he sat at a small table, his eyes lighting up with a mixture of happiness and relief. He scrambled out of his chair, nearly knocking it over in his rush to get to her. No-eul, standing just behind Sae-byeok, barely had time to brace herself before he barreled into both of them, his thin arms wrapping tightly around their waists.

"You came," he mumbled into Sae-byeok’s coat, his voice muffled.

"Of course, we did," Sae-byeok said, running a hand through his dark hair. "What, did you think we'd forget about you?"

Cheol shook his head, but he didn’t let go. No-eul crouched down slightly, placing a hand on his back. "You okay, buddy?"

There was a pause. Then, slowly, Cheol pulled away, looking down at the floor. His small hands clenched at the hem of his sweater.

"Some kids were saying stuff," he muttered. "That I’ll never leave here. That I’m gonna be stuck in this place forever."

Sae-byeok’s stomach tightened.

"Who said that?" she asked, her voice sharper than she intended.

"It doesn’t matter," Cheol mumbled, kicking at the scuffed tile floor. "They’re probably right anyway."

No-eul sighed, reaching out to cup his cheek. "Hey. Look at me."

Cheol hesitated before lifting his gaze to meet hers. His eyes—so much like their father’s, so much like Sae-byeok’s—were filled with something that made No-eul’s chest ache.

"You’re not going to stay here forever," she said firmly. "We’re going to get you out. We just need a little more time."

Cheol’s lip trembled. "You always say that."

"Because it’s true," Sae-byeok said, crouching down beside No-eul. "We’re doing everything we can. We’re gonna get you out of here, and we’re gonna bring Mom back, too."

Cheol blinked up at them. "You promise?"

Sae-byeok hesitated, knowing better than to make empty promises. But this wasn’t empty. She meant it with everything in her.

"I promise," she said.

No-eul nodded. "Me too."

Cheol sniffled, but a small, hopeful smile tugged at his lips. He launched himself into their arms again, and they held him tightly, neither of them willing to let go first.

But eventually, visiting hours would end, and reality would pull them back.

They stayed with Cheol a little longer, talking about things that didn’t make their hearts feel heavy—his schoolwork, the books he’d been reading, the new caretaker who always snuck him extra snacks. They laughed when he did impressions of the other kids, rolling their eyes when he exaggerated his stories just to make them laugh harder.

But when a staff member stepped in to remind them their time was almost up, that weight settled back onto their shoulders.

Sae-byeok ruffled Cheol’s hair one last time before standing up. "We’ll be back soon, okay?"

Cheol nodded, his smile a little steadier this time. "Okay."

No-eul squeezed his shoulder. "Be good."

"I’m always good."

Sae-byeok snorted. "Sure you are."

With one last reluctant glance, they turned and walked out, leaving behind the little boy they had sworn to protect.

As soon as they stepped outside, the cold air bit at their skin, but neither of them paid it any mind.

"You ready?" Sae-byeok asked, her breath visible in the winter air.

No-eul tightened her coat around herself and nodded. "Let’s go see what this stupid guy has to say."

And with that, they made their way toward the broker’s office, carrying the weight of a promise they refused to break.

The office was just as suffocating as ever. Dim lighting, cluttered desks, and the ever-present scent of burnt coffee mixed with stale paperwork. It wasn’t the kind of place that welcomed people—it swallowed them whole, chewed them up, and spit them back out either more desperate or more defeated than when they walked in.

You had seen it happen a hundred times before.

You sat behind your desk, sifting through a pile of documents, your fingers moving on autopilot as the door creaked open. Two women stepped inside, their presence commanding attention even before they spoke.

The first was sharp-eyed and guarded, her stance rigid with distrust. She wore her exhaustion like a second skin, but there was a fire in her gaze—a stubbornness that said she had been fighting for too long to give up now.

The second was quieter in her strength, but no less formidable. There was something heavy in her eyes, something you couldn’t quite place. She carried herself like someone who had lost too much but refused to let it break her.

They didn’t look around the office, didn’t take in the fading wallpaper or the piles of discarded folders stacked against the walls. They were here for one reason, and they weren’t interested in anything else.

"Mr. Lim is expecting us," the sharp-eyed one said, her voice sharp and to the point.

You nodded, setting aside the documents in your hand. "Names?"

"Kang Sae-byeok," the first woman said.

"Kang No-eul," the other added.

Kang.

Your fingers hovered over the appointment log for a split second before you forced yourself to move, grabbing two clean cups and filling them with fresh coffee from the machine beside your desk.

"Follow me," you said, leading them toward the door in the back.

You knocked lightly before pushing it open, stepping inside just long enough to set the coffee down in front of Mr. Lim. He barely acknowledged you, his focus already on the two women stepping into the room.

"Sit," he said, motioning lazily to the chairs across from his desk.

Sae-byeok and No-eul exchanged a glance before doing as they were told. You remained standing by the side, silently preparing to sort through any paperwork if needed.

"I assume you have an update for us," Sae-byeok said, her voice steady despite the tension in her shoulders.

Mr. Lim exhaled through his nose, leaning back in his chair as he picked up his coffee. "That depends. You have the rest of my payment?"

Sae-byeok’s jaw tightened. "Not yet."

"Then my update is that nothing’s changed."

Silence hung heavy in the room. You could feel the frustration radiating off them, thick enough to suffocate.

No-eul was the one to break it. "Please," she said, leaning forward slightly. "We just need to know if she’s safe. If she’s still in the camp."

Mr. Lim took a slow sip of his coffee, setting the cup down with an infuriating lack of urgency. "Your mother was last reported in Hamgyong. The camp she was in had a tuberculosis outbreak recently. If she’s still alive, she’s not in good condition."

Sae-byeok’s fingers curled into fists against her lap, but she said nothing.

No-eul swallowed hard. "And my daughter?"

You hadn’t expected that.

You glanced at her, but her gaze was locked onto Mr. Lim, her expression carefully composed.

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I told you before—there’s no way a child that young survived on her own up there."

No-eul’s face remained unreadable, but the way her nails dug into the fabric of her pants gave her away. "You said it was a possibility."

"I said there was a chance. A slim one."

You looked away, pretending to focus on the papers in your hands even though you weren’t actually reading them. You had heard a lot of things in this office—desperation, anger, bargaining—but there was something about this that felt heavier.

Sae-byeok took a breath, forcing her voice to remain level. "If we bring the rest of your payment, how soon can you get her out?"

Mr. Lim shrugged. "Depends on when she’s stable enough to move. And if she’s still there to be moved."

The room fell into silence again, thick with unspoken words.

You cleared your throat lightly. "Would you like more coffee?"

It was a stupid question, but it was the only thing you could offer.

Sae-byeok shook her head. No-eul didn’t answer.

Mr. Lim leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. "Look, I get it. You want her back. You want both of them back. But things like this take time. And money."

"We’re working on it," Sae-byeok said, standing abruptly. "Let’s go, No-eul."

No-eul hesitated for half a second before nodding, pushing herself up from her chair.

As they turned to leave, something in your chest twisted.

They were getting screwed over.

You had seen it happen before, countless times. Mr. Lim always made promises, always dangled just enough hope to keep people coming back. And most of the time, they had no choice but to play along.

But something about them—about the way they carried the weight of their family on their shoulders, about the way No-eul had asked about a child she refused to believe was gone—made you feel something you weren’t supposed to feel.

You weren’t supposed to care.

But as the door closed behind them, you found yourself gripping the edges of the paperwork a little too tightly.

Maybe this time… you did. Because the office felt heavier after they left.

You could still feel their presence lingering in the air—the frustration, the desperation. The way No-eul had clung to the possibility of her daughter being alive, the way Sae-byeok had clenched her fists so tightly you thought she might break skin.

And the way Mr. Lim—your father—had dismissed them so easily, as if their suffering was just another transaction waiting to be completed.

You swallowed, setting down the paperwork you had been pretending to organize.

"Dad."

The word felt foreign on your tongue in this office, like it didn’t belong here. And maybe it didn’t—not in a place where you were just his assistant, not his daughter.

But you said it anyway.

Mr. Lim barely looked up, his focus still on the papers in front of him. "What?"

You hesitated for a split second. Then, before you could talk yourself out of it, you said, "Is there anything I can do to help them?"

Silence.

For a moment, he didn’t react. Didn’t move.

Then, slowly, he lifted his gaze to you, dark eyes sharp and unreadable.

"You want to help them?" His voice was quiet, but there was something dangerous underneath it.

You nodded. "They’re trying to get their family back. And I—" You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. "I have access to information, to your files—I could help move things along, push the process faster. Maybe even—"

The sound of his palm slamming against the desk made you flinch.

"Are you out of your mind?"

You forced yourself to stand your ground, even as your heart pounded against your ribs. "I just—"

"You just what?" His voice was sharp, cutting through the already tense air. "You think this is some charity? That you can bend the rules just because you feel bad?"

You clenched your jaw. "It’s not about that."

"Yes, it is," he snapped. "You’re letting emotions cloud your judgment. You think you can fix everything just because you want to? That’s not how this business works."

You swallowed hard, but you didn’t back down. "I just don’t see why we have to make it harder for them than it already is."

Mr. Lim exhaled sharply, shaking his head. He leaned back in his chair, expression dark. "You’re weak."

The words stung more than you wanted to admit.

"You’ve always been weak," he continued, voice cold. "That’s why you’ll never last in this world. You get too attached, too emotional. You think people like them wouldn’t screw you over the second they got the chance?"

You knew better than to argue. He wouldn’t listen. He never did.

But still, you couldn’t stop yourself from saying, "They’re not like that."

His eyes narrowed. "And you know that because…? You sat in a room with them for five minutes?"

You pressed your lips together, fingers curling into fists at your sides.

"Stay out of it," he said firmly. "Do your job, keep your head down, and don’t get involved in clients’ business. That’s not your place, and it never will be."

Your throat felt tight, but you nodded once, stiffly.

"Good," he muttered, turning back to his paperwork, already dismissing you. "Now get back to work."

You stood there for a moment longer, staring at him.

Then, without another word, you turned and walked out of the office, closing the door behind you.

You had spent your entire life listening to him. Following his rules, staying in your lane.

But for the first time, deep down, you knew you weren’t going to listen.

Not this time.

taglist: @yenyu1s @monroesturnns @katieschry1 @noeulswifeyy

#sae byeok #fanfic #saebyeok x reader #squid game #wlw fiction #kang sae byeok x reader #ˋ°•*⁀➷ all i really want is you #wuh luh wuh #angst #angst with a sad ending #angst with a hopeful ending

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arsquare · 3 days ago

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Happy Valentine's Day!

This is my Heishin Exchange piece (event hosted by @heishinvalentineexchange2025) for oreganocactus on Ao3! The prompt I used was: "heishin yuri would be awesome…i love explorations of how gender would affect how characters behave/change so that would be cool :)"

Thoughts and process under the cut!

And also an NSFW sketch at the very bottom btw. as a treat for clicking on the readmore

So originally I had wanted to do a comic retelling the Murdered Diplomat Case Except They're Both Girls This Time AKA Heiji's debut case, but I got about 8 pages into the storyboards before I realized it would be impossible within the exchange's time frame. The Murdered Diplomat case is really really long, even if I cut everything about the case out LMAO... here's what I had if anyone is curious!

It was already sprawling by my standards here. We're on page 8 and Heiji has nary shown her face in the Mouri Detective Agency (also boy Kazuha is there? The part with the details of the case was supposed to be sort of timelapsed through a bunch of texts Kazuha sent Heiji because he was worried about where she was) So in my desperation I tried redoing it from page 7 to be more concise:

This was the point where I was officially like yeah this is not happening this is going to take one william pages at this rate and I just am not going to have the time to do that!! So I scrapped it and started working on the final product you see up there.

(BTW IT'S REAL!! about 80-90% of the comic actually exists in the real world!! I actually drew and inked it physically this time!)

I had really WANTED to retell the Murdered Diplomat Case because I would have been able to totally recontextualize Heiji and Shinichi's relationship, because I do think it would have been kind of different.

For one, I think Heiji's adoration of Shinichi would have had a more desperate quality to it. Between the two of them, Shinichi is definitely the more self-assured one of the two. With her laissez-faire parents who just does whatever they want, I'm sure they would have been fine with letting Shinichi pursue her detective dreams (though I'm sure Yukiko's even more sad about Shinichi not being a child actress </3 whatever though who cares about that), and so she's more confident that it's something she can be.

Heiji on the other hand comes from a more traditional family. I think her parents would highly disapprove of her detective pursuits, and as a result she becomes a more rebellious child-- but one who harbors a deep insecurity about whether she's doing the right thing or not, even if she knows she wants it.

When Shinichi vanishes off the radar, it's more than just a person that Heiji's developed an intense parasocial relationship with going off the grid, it's an entire nail in the coffin of the idea that being a female high school detective is something that's possible at all. That's why she's so desperate to find Shinichi-- she needs assurance that this hiatus that Shinichi is taking is not because society or the world put her into her place and made her quit doing this, but because of... something else. It has to be something else.

This I think would really bleed into how Heiji ends up treating Conan. In canon Heiji's super dismissive of Conan, initially only treating his as a nuisance on the crime scene before he figures out that he's Shinichi, despite the fact he no doubt was in those shoes a decade ago. But because of the continual pushback from her parents, the officers on the scene, and friends (cough boy kazuha), the struggle of being treated like she isn't supposed to be there on the crime scene is much fresher in her mind. She sees herself in Conan much more than he does in canon.

So I guess all I'm saying is that I think Heiji would have been nicer to Conan in my retelling LOLLL

As for what's going on in the comic I actually posted... well, you know, this wasn't my first choice precisely because I don't think it's necessarily gendered as much? Like, I can see this playing out if they were both still guys as well, maybe even more. After all, girls in general are more able to be physically affectionate with each other while suffering fewer consequences.

At the same time though I think Shinichi has an intense "not like other girls" thing going on. This whole thing is actually a subset of my genderbend universe where the whole teenage cast gets swapped and actually it was originally me just wanting girl Shinichi to comfort boy Ran (but badly because she's lowkey kinda autistic and not great at that...) as his parents got divorced LMAOOO. But anyways it would mean that Shinichi's closest friends are... Sonoko and Ran? Who are both guys...

So I think she would intentionally distance herself from that physical affection girls are able to have. She feels like if she indulges in that, then everyone else will take her less seriously and think "oh she's just a girl after all" and all the negative connotations of not being as capable or as smart as she actually is. In my head, she associates physical affection with being manhandled as a kid.

Another thing I kind of waffled on was... what should Heiji and Shinichi call each other? And maybe it's a bit of a weird choice for them to still refer to each other by last name but like. Hear me out.

I think to refer to each other by their last names is a token of respect, especially from Heiji to Shinichi. He keeps slipping up in canon and accidentally calling him Kudo, and while I do agree that part of it is him being careless and possibly inconsiderate to some degree, I also think... he really wants to call him Kudo? Like, this is someone he deeply respects. He wants to be professional equals to him more than he wants to be friends at the start, but never was able to actually GET that kind of relationship due to contrived circumstances of Shinichi getting shrunk. He can't call Conan "Edogawa", that's weird as fuck, so he has to wait until Conan's back to being Shinichi to even begin calling him "Kudo" for real. I think he'd really relish it, as a long-time-coming kind of thing, and I don't think it's any different as girls. In fact I'd argue it's even more intense because of that.

These two characters are both in such an intense hurry to grow up. Hell, Shinichi even dislikes it in canon when his mother calls him Shin-chan, and I think it's because he feels like this diminishes his self-perception as a "grown person". All the more since they're girls: I think this type of affectionate, diminutive name-calling would have been used against them to try to coax them away from crime scenes they wanted to be at. Like, "Oh, come on~ You're just a little girl, you shouldn't be here, Hei-chan~", something like that.

I think this is sort of an implicitly understood undercurrent that lies between them. If we have nobody else in the world who respects us we at least have each other. So when Heiji tries to push their relationship a bit, tries to become more than just friends, Shinichi sees this as a betrayal in some ways. Even if she rationally knows that Heiji isn't trying to belittle her, she can't help but conflate her recent experiences as a little girl again with how Heiji treats her now in the comic.

This whole thing could have been avoided if Heiji was more straightforward about her intentions btw but of course see above careless and possibly inconsiderate PLUS he's also kind of a tsundere character like everyone in detco when it comes to the person he likes so. inevitable... </3

Anyways thank you for reading all of this nonsense. Originally this comic was going to be longer and like, (this is a grossly incompetent summary,) they'd have a yuri makeout session in the Kudo Mansion Study. But we can't have good things in this world because there's not enough time so I only have this to show for :(((

I hope everyone likes it 👍️

#dcmk #kudo shinichi #hattori heiji #yuri #detective conan #heishin valentines 2025 #heishin

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winniethewife · 3 days ago

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With such dangerous hands

(William Tell x F!reader)

Warnings: Onlyfans AU, Dollification, degradation, dirty talking, spanking, Voice kink if you squint, cream pie, unprotected sex

A/n: Happy Valentines day! Have some smut!

Words:1144

William was frustrated, He was supposed to be making content, but he had forgotten that the last time he had used the masturbator for a video he had ripped right through it. Not like he wasn’t expecting it at some point, that particular one was old and cheap. But he was frustrated more because he hadn’t remembered to order another one. William liked to keep to a schedule, maybe it was the military training, maybe it was just how his brain worked, but he liked having a schedule. To have it disrupted wasn’t just annoying, it messed with his whole vibe. After placing an order for a new one he paced around the room for a minute. He could just not record that kind of content for that day just do something else. Just then there was a knock at the bedroom door.

“Hey Will? I forgot to grab a couple things can I come in?” It was his girlfriend. He wandered to the door and opened it. She could instantly tell something was off by the scowl on his face. “Oh, okay, what’s with the ‘someone pissed in my cereal’ look?” She asked as she entered the room, grabbing her phone charger and power bank.

“I pissed in my own cereal. I forgot I fucking ripped through the stupid Pocket Pussy last time I made videos. Now I don’t know what to film.” William said with a groan as he sat down on the end of the bed. She raised an eyebrow at him.

“I think you’ve forgotten something.” She said with a smirk. William looked at her confused. She gestures at herself. He looked even more confused.

“I…don’t follow.” he said looking her over. She sighed, sometimes he was so fucking clueless.

“I have a vagina doofus, use me for your video!” she exclaimed with a slight laugh, she couldn’t believe she actually had to say this out loud. The realization slowly dawned on his face.

“You, you have a vagina. Oh my god I’m stupid.” William shook his head as he chuckled. He wasn’t going to live this down anytime soon.

He had the camera all set up, carefully rigged up to film the end of the bed. Having her bent over the bed with her naked ass in the air was a mouthwatering sight. He leaned over, his breath hot on her neck pressing himself against her, only clad in his boxers. His hard on pressing against her through the fabric.

“Stay still and don’t make a sound. You’re going to be a good little doll right? Nod if you understand” He muttered in her ear. She nodded obediently. He hummed approvingly before standing up. He double checked the shot before hitting the record button. She relaxed, staying still as she feels him grab her hips.

“You’re such a good fuck toy for me huh?” William growls, sending a shiver down her spine. His hand pulling her back rubbing his erection along her ass. He growls again, mostly performative for the camera, but arousing none the less. She has to resist the urge to push back against him. She had to remember she was just a doll, a toy, an object to be used. Her train of thought interrupted when she felt something wet trickling down her ass crack sending a tingling of pleasure up through her nerves. Her eyes roll back as she feels the tip of his dick running along the folds of her cunt, spreading the lube with ease before sliding into her with a moan. She has to bite her tongue to keep from crying out as William slowly filled her, it was torturous how slowly he sunk into her, and just as slowly pulled himself out. It was hell, so much pleasure at such a slow pace, and not a damn thing she could do about it.

“That’s right pretty girl, gonna fuck you like the doll you are.” His voice was low and sultry, like the purr of a sports car, vibrating through her whole body as he revved his engine. His pace picking up, thrusting up into her daring her to make a sound. His hand comes down on her ass suddenly, hard, leaving a bright red hand print. She let out the smallest little sound, nothing the camera mic could pick up but enough for William to notice. His hand made contact with the other cheek quickly after.

“Now now, not a sound out of you. You know what will happen if you do.” he reprimanded her, his voice stern but still smooth as silk. She could never get over the way his voice made her feel, the way her cunt clenches around him was enough to show how his words are affecting her. He continues his seemingly endless pattern of thrusting in and out of her, changing the amount of his length he slides in every few times. She never knows if he’s going to stop halfway or press the head of his cock into her cervix. It was heavenly, she loved just being his to use, nothing more than a hole. She loved the feeling of his nails digging into her hips, the sound of his moans, to top it all off the smell of sex in the air was intoxicating. She had almost gotten lost in the thought of it all when she felt his arm wrap around her waist and the tip of a calloused finger begin to circle her clit. The sensation was almost overwhelming. The idea that not only was he going to make her climax right there on camera, but she couldn’t react at all? Truly her boyfriend was evil, or at the very least the most sadistic man she’d ever known.

“That’s it, my pretty doll, cum on my cock. Then I’ll fill you up like the cum sleeve you were built to be.” He was really laying it on thick for the camera, but with her mind already all fucked out it didn’t take more than the sweet dulcet tones of the absolute filth he was saying to make her topple over the edge. Her vision went hazy as she felt the pleasure take over, her legs shaking as the heat took over. She wasn’t even sure if she made a sound, but if she did he didn’t notice. He was too focused on the feeling of her around him, and the feeling of his hot spend filling her, and how it looked dripping from her cunt and onto the sheets. He pulled his dick out of her and pressed slid his fingers along her slit collecting the white fluid and pushing it back into her, watching for a moment as it spilled back out of her. He momentarily forgot what he was doing as he watched.

“That’s my good fucking toy.”

Masterlist

Taglist: @silvernight-m @boredzillenial @queerponcho @ominoose @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @lucienofthelakes @lover-of-books-and-tea @ierofrnkk

#oscar isaac smut #sweet and spicy event #x reader #oscar isaac fic #oscar issac characters #oscar issac x reader #oscar issac hernandez estrada #Spotify #sex worker au #Onlyfans AU #william tell #william tell x reader #the card counter #fem reader

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joelalorian · 3 days ago

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Life is for the Living

Marcus Moreno x wife!reader | wc: 3560 | masterlist

Summary: What if you, Marcus Moreno's wife, didn't die like everyone thought? What if it was just a curse mimicking a death-like state and you were secreted away to a bunker deep beneath Heroics HQ to be monitored and studied? What if Marcus' undying love and granting of something you always wanted brought you back to life on Valentine's Day? Listen to the song that inspired this story: Hell or High Water by Billy Raffoul

Tags/Warnings: Angst, heartbreak, and pure fluff. Just a story about love and miracles for Valentine's Day. Very little to no descriptions of reader (she's you, boo). No use of y/n. Divider courtesy of @saradika-graphics

Hope you enjoy my little contribution to the Bouquets of Pedro challenge hosted by @happypedrohours! My prompts were Marcus Moreno & serenade. Please check out all the great works contributed for this challenge, as well as all the other fun activities and goodies the lovely and creative Sara & Mel have put together for everyone's enjoyment. Happy Valentine's Day, y'all!

To the world, Marcus Moreno was a hero, a leader, and a man who dedicated his life to protecting others.

But in his mind, the greatest role he ever played was your husband and father of your beautiful daughter, Missy. And the worst part of that was, for all his purported superpowers, he couldn’t save the one person he loved most.

He couldn’t save you.

And nothing could save him from the grief that refused to fade over that fact.

He spent the last few years trying to hold himself together, forcing himself to wake up every morning, put on his Heroics uniform, and lead his team like he wasn’t falling apart. Years of keeping his voice steady when Missy asked if he was okay, of pretending to believe the lie when he told her yes.

It hadn’t made it easier. It only made the silence louder.

Your absence was everywhere. In the empty side of the bed that still smelled faintly of you, in the house that had lost its warmth, in the countless little things that reminded him you were supposed to be here. But most of all, in your daughter's sad, heartbroken face.

Some nights, he barely slept, haunted by the memory of holding you for the last time.

Marcus remembered every heart-wrenching detail of that day, the day he lost you.

The day started like any other. The three of you were at home in your daily routine: Getting Missy ready for school, watching the news as you ate breakfast together, and dropping Missy off at school before continuing to HQ. The call from his mother redirected your commute.

That dreaded call changed everything in the blink of an eye.

What should have been a simple takedown turned into a battle for your lives as you waited for the other Heroics to back you up. They arrived in time to witness the fatal blow that struck you down.

You had been so still. So cold.

So… gone.

The cold February air bit at Marcus’s skin as he knelt in the frost-covered grass at the base of your gravestone. The sight of your name etched into the marble caused the never-ending mix of grief and guilt to crash over him in waves. Titling his head back, he stared at the muted gray sky as his dark eyes clouded over with tears and the dull ache in his chest sharpened until the pain pierced his heart.

It was Valentine’s Day.

It had been your favorite. You never cared for the grand gestures associated with the lovers’ day – no elaborate dinners or expensive gifts. No, you preferred time and attention from the ones you loved. The two simplest gifts he could give you, yet it never felt like enough to him.

You insisted on making it a tradition to spend Valentine’s Day at home, wrapped in blankets, listening to music, and slow dancing in the kitchen. You used to beg him to sing for you, teasing that his deep, rumbling rasp would be perfect for whatever song happened to be playing at the time.

Marcus always refused.

He only ever sang to himself in the shower because he thought he sounded terrible. He was too embarrassed to sing in front of you, to you.

And now, here he was, standing alone on Valentine’s Day, talking to a stone instead of the woman who had been the love of his life.

These few years felt like the longest, loneliest of his entire life. He would have fallen apart long ago if not for Missy. She was the only thing that kept him going anymore. She already lost you; he couldn’t let her lose him, too. So, he fought. Every day he fought to keep going, to not give into grief.

His fingers brushed over the bouquet of dark red roses he’d bought on the way to visit, a perfect match to the ones he gave you on your first date, and every Valentine’s Day since, but he hardly noticed them. His mind was too consumed by memories of you to consider anything else. The way your laughter used to wrap around him like a warm embrace. The way your touch could steady him in and outside of battle or send him burning with need. The way your lips had tasted of honey from that lip gloss you loved and promised he’d never let go of.

He should have moved on by now. Everyone told him as much. Even Missy, though she never said it outright, wanted him to heal, to give love another chance.

But how could he?

How could he ever love again when his heart still belonged to you? It would always belong to you.

Marcus Moreno already had his great love story, and it ended in tragedy because he couldn’t keep you safe. He didn’t deserve another shot at a love like he had with you.

The cemetery was quiet, the late afternoon sun hidden behind gray clouds that matched his mood. His eyes remained glued to your name carved into the headstone.

“I miss you,” he murmured, tracing the letters of your name. “I miss you so god damn much.”

With a shaky breath, Marcus pulled his phone from his jeans pocket and pressed play, the song he selected already queued up. The music filled the air of the empty cemetery, its raw melody floating through the air like a whispered prayer.

He pushed his black, plastic-framed glasses up the bridge of his nose, something invisible compelling him to sing along with the lyrics that spoke so clearly to his shattered heart.

It was yet another thing he wished he would have done while you were still alive – serenade you. It was something so simple. He hated himself for every time he refused to.

You never know what tomorrow may bring

The woman lyin’ next to you

Could be a memory

I’ve idolized, I’ve memorized your face

Just in case I need it to last for eternity

It’s a shame that it ain’t enough for me

Life's for the living, I won't be giving up 'Cause you taught me how to, you taught me how to love Take all I cherish, beat me 'til my body's numb

But, life's for the living, I won't be giving up On you

His voice was quiet at first, but the longer the song played, the more he let himself go until he gave in completely to the moment. His voice was rough and heavy with emotion as he sang, but Marcus didn’t care. It was the only thing he could still give you.

I should have known, should have tried to hold on And never left your heart where it don't belong If the wind would change, bring you back again, my love Come Hell or high water, we will rise above You are what I believe in You are enough

His voice cracked, but he didn’t stop.

He didn’t care.

Marcus didn’t care that he was crying again, didn’t care that he was pouring his heart, his soul out to a gravestone. All he knew was that every word, every musical note, was a love letter from his heart to yours.

When he finally drew a stilted breath, Marcus felt like he was breathing for more than just himself for the first time in too long.

Deep beneath the Heroics Headquarters, alarms blared.

“Code Red, Code Red,” a computerized voice announced repeatedly.

Scientists in white coats scrambled toward a glass-enclosed room whose sole occupant had been silent and still for several years, their voices frantic and hands shaking with disbelief as they watched the impossible happen.

Your chest rose.

Your fingers twitched.

Your heart, which last beat three years ago, suddenly pounded with life.

The monitors surrounding your body flickered erratically before settling into a steady rhythm. The curse – or whatever supernatural force that held you in the stasis of its cruel grip for three years – had been shattered.

But how?

The entire world apart from the six scientists in this hidden bunker and one Anita Moreno – your mother-in-law – believed you died in battle. Everyone mourned you, your husband, and your daughter most of all. But Anita Moreno, a staunch believer in miracles and possessor of uncanny omniscient abilities, simply had a feeling that you weren’t dead. She never gave up, keeping your body hidden under constant monitoring in this secret bunker.

She never mentioned a word to her son.

That belief in powers beyond even the superhero-level shit the Heroics were used to finally paid off, so it was worth all the secrecy in Anita’s mind.

When you awoke, confusion wrapped around you like a heavy fog. Your body felt foreign, sluggish like you had been trapped in a dream for far too long. The sterile white walls around you were unfamiliar, and the voices – so many voices – made your head spin.

You tried to sit up, and the moment you did, the scientists gasped.

“She’s awake,” someone spoke. “You need to get down here now!”

“What the hell is going on?” you croaked, the sound barely audible to your ears. The last thing you recalled was fighting beside Marcus against an unexpectedly strong enemy, an odd language slipping from the villain’s mouth as he struck you down. After that, it was just… nothing.

Had you died?

Judging by the reaction from the six shell-shocked scientists surrounding you now, you must have.

So, how the hell were you suddenly alive now?

Despite your repetitious questions, the scientists could tell you nothing. They just poked and prodded, running any number of tests, none of which provided any answers.

The arrival of your mother-in-law served as a much-needed reprieve from the incessant testing. Her watery smile and warm hug eased your nerves.

“It’s good to see you awake, mija,” Anita said as she sat at the side of the bed. “I was beginning to doubt that you would ever wake.”

“How am I even alive, Anita?”

She explained it the best she could, but really, no one had a clue. The rest of the team had killed the villain before Anita could tell them otherwise, so she did not have any concrete explanations. All she knew was a feeling deep in the pit of her stomach telling her you were not, in fact, dead. That you would come back to them someday.

“And today is apparently that day,” Anita concluded. With a cheeky wink, she added, “Seems fitting as it’s Valentine’s Day.”

Marcus barely had time to process the call from his mother before he was sprinting through the halls, his heart in his throat, his entire world tilting on its axis.

He didn’t believe the words coming out of his mother’s mouth. He almost thought she was having a stroke, uttering impossible nonsense, until she snapped at him, demanding that he come to see for himself. He’d deal with the fact that his own mother knew you were hidden away in secret some other time. For now, his brain, his heart could only focus on you, on the fact that you’re even alive.

The elevator ride down to the restricted bunker in the depths beneath HQ that he didn’t even know existed was interminable. Marcus could hardly breathe by the time it settled at the bottom and the doors opened with a soft hiss.

“Hurry!” Anita said, forgoing a greeting as she rushed him down the hall to a room lined with windows.

The sight beyond the glass left him clutching his chest, gasping for breath.

You sat up on a gurney, your eyes searching the room and the view beyond wildly. He was nearly brought to his knees when your panicked gaze met his.

“Marcus…” He couldn’t hear your voice but watched your lips form his name. Tears lined his lashes as he stepped forward, practically breaking the metal door off its hinges as he burst into the room. He hesitated just past the threshold, as if afraid that you’d disappear in a wisp of smoke if he got too close.

“I—I thought I lost you,” he choked out.

Your mind was still a bit foggy from years of inactivity, but one thing was clear. Marcus.

His presence.

His warmth.

His love.

That love was a tangible thing, visible in his eyes and nearly graspable in the air. You knew, without a doubt, that no matter how much time had passed, he had never let you go.

Your body moved before your mind could catch up, and no thought was given to the muscles weakened by years of inactivity.

You crashed into his arms.

For the first time in years, Marcus Moreno held you again.

Tightly.

Desperately.

As if he would never let you go.

And this time…

He wouldn’t have to.

After days of study and testing conducted by a team of scientists, you were finally allowed to leave that dreaded bunker. No answers were forthcoming but none of you cared. The only thing that mattered was you were alive.

The drive home felt surreal. The world outside seemed unchanged yet starkly different at the same time.

Marcus refused to let go of your hand the entire drive, his fingers laced tightly with yours as if anchoring himself to reality. His other hand gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white, stealing glances at you every few minutes like he was afraid you’d vanish if he blinked.

It was overwhelming. The world had moved forward while you had been trapped in stillness. You watched the city pass by outside the window, familiar buildings dotting the skyline but new shops lined streets you once knew like the back of your hand. Time had continued without you.

But Marcus hadn’t.

His love remained, unwavering, unshaken by the years. Even when he believed you dead, he never stopped loving you, never moved on.

And now, you were finally coming home.

The house was the same, yet different. The front porch still had wind chimes – yours, the ones Marcus had always teased you about but never took down because you loved them too much. The rose bushes in the yard had grown wild, untamed as if even the plants had felt your absence.

You barely made it past the threshold before you heard footsteps racing toward you.

“Dad! Did you forget the ice cream or –”

Missy froze.

Her wide brown eyes – the ones that looked just like her father’s – locked onto yours, her face going pale as if she was seeing a ghost. Which wasn’t far from the truth.

Your breath hitched.

She had grown. The last time you saw her, she was still a little girl, always clinging to Marcus’s side. Now, she was taller, her face less babyish, her hair a little longer. But those eyes, those beautiful eyes, were the same.

And in them, you saw the same heartbreak Marcus had carried.

Tears welled in Missy’s eyes. Her bottom lip quivered.

“Mom?”

Her voice shook, that one word so fragile, so full of hope and disbelief that it shattered you.

Your legs barely held you as you stepped forward, hands trembling.

“Missy…” Your voice broke on her name.

She didn’t wait. With a sob, she flung herself into your arms, hugging you so tightly it nearly knocked the breath from your lungs.

You held her just as fiercely.

She was real. You were real.

You could feel her tears soaking into your shoulder, feel the way she clung to you as though she was terrified that you’d slip through her fingers again.

“You’re here,” she whispered, voice cracking. “How are you here?”

“I’m here,” you promised, kissing the crown of her head. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry for leaving you. I don’t have a clue how, but I’m here.”

Marcus stepped behind the two of you, his hand resting on your back, grounding you both.

Missy pulled away just enough to look at you, her tear-streaked face breaking into a watery smile. Her wide eyes darted between you and Marcus. “Dad was right.”

You blinked, shooting Marcus a curious look. “About what?”

She turned to him then, love and admiration filling her gaze. “He always told me love could fix anything.”

Marcus let out a soft, teary laugh, shaking his head as he swiped at the tears slipping down his face. “I didn’t know it would take this long, though.”

You laughed, too, pressing a hand to his chest, feeling his heartbeat syncopate with yours beneath your palm. “Worth the wait?”

His arms wrapped around both you and Missy, pulling you close. “Always.”

As the three of you stood there, tangled in each other’s warmth, the world outside didn’t matter.

Because you were home.

Together.

The living room was warm, filled with the golden glow of the evening sun filtering through the curtains. It smelled like home – like spices and citrus, like the faint hint of Marcus’s cologne, like memories waiting to be remembered.

Missy hadn’t let go of your hand since you arrived. She sat curled up beside you on the couch, staring at you with wonder, as if memorizing every detail of your face.

“Dad never let me forget you,” she said softly, tracing patterns on the back of your hand. “Even when I started to forget things myself.”

You swallowed hard. “Forget?”

Missy hesitated before nodding. “I was still little when we lost you – not the wise pre-teen I am now. Some days, it felt like you were just… gone. Like a dream I had once but couldn’t quite remember.” She sniffled. “But Dad wouldn’t let that happen.”

Sitting across from you, Marcus leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His eyes met yours, filled with the weight of years spent missing you.

“She’d ask for bedtime stories, and I’d tell her about you instead,” he admitted. His voice was rough with emotion, but his smile skittered softly across his face, crinkling his kind eyes behind his glasses. “Not just the big stuff. Not just about how much you loved her, but the little things, too. Like how you’d always made up silly songs when you packed her lunch, or how you used to race her to the car in the mornings and let her win every time.”

Missy giggled. “And here I thought I was actually fast.”

“You were,” Marcus said, eyes sparkling with love. “But your mom was just faster.”

You laughed, shaking your head as the memories swarmed around your head. “Barely. I just had longer legs.”

Missy brightened. “Dad would take me to your favorite bookstore every year on your birthday. He’d let me pick a book I thought you’d like, and we’d read it together.”

Your throat tightened.

“She’d always pick the ones with the strongest heroines,” Marcus added, his soft voice full of pride.

Missy nudged his arm. “Because Mom’s a hero, duh. You both are.”

Tears stung your eyes as you squeezed her hand. “And so are you, sweetheart.”

“She takes after you,” a voice interrupted from the hallway, warm and familiar. “Missy is the best part of both of you.”

Anita Moreno stood there, watching the tender reunion with teary eyes and a knowing smile. You hadn’t noticed earlier, but the years had added a few more gray streaks to her dark hair, but she was still the same – fierce, steady, and always carrying the wisdom of generations.

“Mama,” Marcus said, standing to embrace the woman who had been his rock for the last few years. He would have fallen apart at the seams without her guidance and loving support. She allowed him a brief hug before beelining to you.

“Mija,” she breathed, and you rose on instinct, falling into the motherly embrace you ached for since she embraced you back in the bunker. She held you the way only a mother could like she had been waiting for this moment for far too long.

“I told you earlier, I knew this day would come,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “I knew you weren’t truly gone from us.”

“I still don’t understand how?” you questioned in a voice barely above a whisper.

“Me either. I just felt it,” Anita admitted pointing to her heart, “deep in here. I knew you were locked away somewhere, waiting for my son’s love to bring you back to us all.”

You nodded, swallowing back tears. “You always told me love never fades.”

She pulled back, cupping your face with gentle hands. “And neither does family. He never gave up on you. We never gave up on you.”

Marcus ducked his head as your warm gaze flashed toward him, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just…” he exhaled. “I couldn’t let you disappear. I couldn’t let go.”

You reached for him then, your fingers curling around his. He looked up, his brown eyes like molten pools of love locking onto yours.

For a long moment, nothing else mattered.

Not the lost time.

Not the sadness of believing you were gone, the torture of holding on.

The only thing that mattered was this, you.

Only the love that had been strong enough to bring you back mattered.

Marcus sang the song that brought you back again that night, finally serenading you the way you always wanted.

fin

tagging the usual suspects: @yxtkiwiyxt @imdrinkingpedro @lillaydee @ppascalrain @yorksgirl @missladym1981 @baronessvonglitter @slimybeth69 @mellymbee @untamedheart81 @inept-the-magnificent @wannab-urs @thundermartini @peelieblue @harriedandharassed @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @sunnytuliptime @vie-is-punk @lovely-vamp-princess

#happypedrohours #happy pedro hours #pedro pascal #bouquetsofpedro challenge #marcus moreno #marcus moreno x f!reader #marcus moreno fluff #just a bit of heartbreak first #marcus moreno serenades you #valentines day #we love marcus moreno in this house

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softxsuki · 2 days ago

Note

Hi! May I request a Valentine's letter from Gojo Satoru, Jujutsu Kaisen, for a fem!platonic reader? The reader is a civilian. I would prefer if he addressed the reader as "my friend" instead of using her name. I want the letter to be bittersweet and angsty, sort of like him saying goodbye and apologize for not getting in touch with her for so long (cause, well, he was sealed, so) . I imagine he wrote the letter after he got unsealed and before fought Sukuna because he lowkey hinted at the fact that he knew he was going to die. Well, yeah, something like that.

Please and thank you in advance 🫶

Goodbye Letter from Gojo to His Friend

This event is now CLOSED, but you can view the masterlist for the other letters here.

Warnings: heart wrenching angst, spoilers for people who aren’t caught up to the manga! Bad ending …

Note: I’m seeing a trend where you all want me to cry and suffer while writing these…who hurt you guys this year 😭

You sigh, checking your phone for what felt like the millionth time.

Did you do something wrong? Was he okay? It had been over a month since you last heard from Gojo, and you couldn’t help but worry. He had let you in on the world he lived in; the reality of curses and sorcerers and the like–but it had answered so many unanswered questions you had about things. He was someone who kept you safe, made you laugh, and who you could trust with your life.

The strongest. That’s what he had called himself…so he had to be fine. Right?

What went wrong? Where was he? Why hadn’t he reached out to you?

You get up and decide to check the mail, better get moving to distract your mind than rot with these haunting thoughts. You open your door and collect the contents of your mailbox, closing the door and throwing yourself back on your couch.

Bills, bills, student loans, bills, spam…and a letter from…Gojo?

Your heart stops and you sit up a little straighter, discarding the other envelopes to the other side of the couch, quickly opening the letter;

My Precious Friend,

I’m sorry for keeping you in the dark for so long. Did you miss me? It’s moments like these where I can’t help but think of you. You’re doing well aren’t you? Perhaps writing this is a bit selfish of me…but I felt guilty just disappearing on you. I wish I could get the chance to tell you what happened in person…but let's just say I was stuck somewhere for a bit and just finally got free.

By now, my fate is probably already sealed. As I write this, I’m off to face my greatest challenge yet. A challenge I felt confident about facing before, but things are complicated now. You’ve been a dear friend to me, you tolerated my dramatics and laughed with me, listening to me moan on and on about those damn elders…so thank you for being a better friend than I could have ever asked for.

I guess I wrote this to you to help you move on? As much as I’d like to keep my friend all to myself…If I haven’t shown up at your door by now, then it probably means I can’t…Am i spilling too much about this to you? Maybe, but I need you to know.

Don’t wait for me anymore.

I hope only for your safety and happiness, that’s all. My friend…my lovely, wonderful friend. One of the few who have been a true friend to me, please stay well.

This is goodbye, until we meet again one day, hopefully.

Love,

Satoru :3

You couldn’t control the sobs escaping your lips. What happened to being the strongest? He was supposed to be undefeatable? Why?? Why had he left you all alone?

It was obvious that he was gone from this world. He should have been back by now if he was okay, smiling at you and teasing you like he always did.

Would you ever learn the truth behind why he left? Why he was gone? Would you never see him again?

Your heart felt empty. Your anxieties for the past few weeks had all been accurate in worrying. You should have left to look for him yourself…but then what? You were a normal human, no cursed energy, no super strength, nothing…Why couldn’t you do more for your friend who had done so much for you?

“Goodbye Satoru,” you choke out, hot tears running down your face. A small part of you couldn’t help but hope that one day you’d see him again. Whether it be in this life, in the next life, or in the afterlife, he was your friend. Yours. And no one would replace the mark that he left in your life.

Posted: 2/14/2025

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jujutsu kaisen drabble #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk drabbles #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo drabbles

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after-hours-art · 2 days ago

Text

Fake it till we make it

Pairing: Lev Haiba x reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: x

"It's okay. You don't have to love me".

Those were the exact words you heard from him three years ago when you first met Lev after graduating from high school. Neither of you knew by that time about the arrangements made by your parents and despite your reluctance to the idea, you two still got married. You couldn't be more different. While you buried yourself in studies at Tokyo University, he dropped out the second year and started his modeling career. A pretty successful modeling career. In merely a year you moved out from college dorms as he managed to purchase a two-level penthouse and pay off all your student fees. Soon, you couldn't do as much as walk to your favourite library without someone asking about him after he mentioned in some Vogue interview that he is married to Y/N Haiba.

//14.02.2021//

You wake up to your alarm clock, surprised that Lev isn't beside you in bed. You sigh and shake your head, slowly sitting and stretching your back. You slide your feet into fluffy slippers, throw silk robe over your shoulders and make your way downstairs. To your surprise instead of Masha, your maid, by the stove you find your husband.

- Lev? - you walk up to him, a little confused by the man whom you never saw in the kitchen, is making eggs.

- Oh, hi. Crap. You weren't supposed to be up yet. - he looks a bit panicked.

- What? Brought a mistress last night and scared I'll find her? - you joke, walking over to the filter jag and pouring yourself a glass of water. Awaiting his answer, you slice a lemon and put one slice in your glass, putting the rest in the fridge.

- What? A mistress? No. Never. I just... do you even know what day is today, Y/N? - he asks, carrying on with the cooking.

- Umm... Sunday? - you murmur, checking on your phone. You roll your eyes at all the DM notifications asking about Lev. Ever since he said your name in that interview his fans found your account, trying to get to him through you.

- Yeah... that too. But what else? - he hums, handing you a plate. You frown confused at eggs shaped like a heart, with some peppers and avocado toast on the side.

- Thanks... - you murmur while taking the plate, full of suspicion.

- You really have no idea what day is today, Y/N? - he follows you to the dining table. - It's Valentine's day, dummy. Happy Valentines, wifey. - he says and kisses the side of your head.

- Oh, right. Happy Valentines, Lev. - you murmur without enthusiasm. Your husband sighs and brings his own plate to the table. He takes his seat by your side, his eyes don't leave you for a while.

- Y/N... - he starts quietly and takes your hand. - There's a thing. I know we don't really celebrate Valentines since we're not in love or anything but... the W Magazine asked to do 'A night with' article with me and... my manager didn't run the idea through me before agreeing so...

- We're stuck together on the holiday created by paper card sellers? Faking a perfect image of lovebirds in marriage or something? - you ask, making him chuckle. You are always so down to earth.

- Yeah... basically that.

You roll your eyes. Valentines never meant anything in your calendar. Just another random day. Obviously, Lev took you out every Valentine's day and brought you red roses and you got him some small gift of something that you knew he wanted but never got to actually buy it, like volleyball match tickets.

- We... I can try to back us out. Think of an excuse or something. - Lev tries to reassure you, though deep down he's somehow sad that you don't want to actually celebrate with him. He reaches his hand to you and takes your hand.

- You... W Magazine will probably be pissed and might end the contract with you... - you mutter.

- Yeah but... you being comfortable means more to me than W Magazine. I still have some othe-

- Lev. - you cut his words. - I'll do it... You always do so much for me and I... I might not be a dream wife and I know it. We're not in love but it doesn't mean that I don't like you at all.

- Y/N! - he gets off his chair and steps to the side of your chair. He leans down and hugs you from behind, his hands crossing on your collarbones as he kisses the side of your neck. - Thank you, thank you, thank you. I promise it won't be annoying. My manager already called your boss so you have a day off.

You sigh. It appears to be a very long day.

You walk down Dior's alley with Mina, an interviewer from W Magazine, following you with a camerawoman. Your eye catches a beautiful pink dress that takes your breath away. It's not a lie when they say that it's visible when a designer loves women. Christian Dior definitely did.

- So, is this how every Valentine’s looks in the Haiba household? - the interviewer asks, not even trying to hide the jealous expression on her face when she sees the price of the dress. You swallow, not turning around for a while.

- Lev definitely has a romantic soul. - you say with a smile, finally facing the camera. - Each year it's something that comes straight from his heart.

- Must be a dream to be married to such a romantic man.

- Yes... it is. - you murmur. It would be if it wasn't an arranged marriage. It would be if you would be more accepting towards each of his gestures. If you haven't stated it clearly when you got married that you're doing it for your parents and don't seek for love.

- What do you think he prepared this year?

*a plan he told you this morning so you wouldn't get surprised and mad*

- I don't know. But I'm sure it'll be great. Like every of his gifts.

*gifts that you never accept.*

- How does it feel to be married to one of the most successful models of the last few years?

- It's... magical.

*magical since the marriage is basically on paper and between your parents' businesses.*

- Very. Every day is... like a new adventure.

- Adventure you say? - Mina smiles and follows you as you move on to another dress.

- Yeah. - you sigh, wondering why you agreed to the stupid idea of this article. - You never know what idea he'll come up with next. - you say, calling over your favourite shopping assistant. - I'll take this one. And the pink one. - you sigh. You watch the interviewer shift her attention to the dress, asking the shop assistant for specific details to possibly describe it best later in the article. You reach into your bag and take out your phone, checking for the nearest Harry Winston. It is Valentines after all, and Lev knows how much you adore a new piece in your jewelry collection. Access to high jewelry is definitely one of the things that you very much enjoyed about being married to a man with such high income as Lev.

You smile at your intuition failing you, when you're greeted enthusiastically by the Harry Winston staff member when you enter the store, even when you're accompanied by the nosy interviewer and cameras. They have known you for a year now, always very pleased to welcome you, as well as your husband's money.

- A, Mrs. Haiba, here. Your husband made a call and we prepared something *just* for you. - elderly man guides you to one of the tables. - He had reserved all the pieces from our Winston With Love collection. Each letter represents each stage of love, yet Mr. Haiba said that it doesn't matter on which stage you are because you just adore our pieces and might as well get all. - he chuckles at his own words, placing some of the jewelries on the satin pad. - It's a lot of pieces, but we were suggested to show you necklaces. And... Mr. Haiba also suggested Secret Collection.

You smile, looking at the colourful pieces from the Love Collection. You pick a beautiful diamond necklace, one with rubies, pink sapphires, spessartite garnets and yellow diamonds. The necklace is so *happy* that you just can't help yourself and smile.

- This is the Brilliant Glow Necklace. Allow me... - elderly jewelry gently takes the necklace from your hands and carefully puts it on you. You turn to the nearest mirror and smile. Happy colours on a technically happy day.

- The Brilliant Glow is the first stage of love. - the jeweler says as you keep on admiring the shining of the diamonds. - All the gems express excitement and light. Like with newfound love. - he smiles, carefully taking it off your neck and placing it back on the pad.

- Put that one aside, please. I might get back to it. - you ask, looking at the remaining jewelry.

- Yes, Mrs. Haiba.

You looked at the jewelry for a while longer, admiring the diamonds, yet your eyes kept returning to the Brilliant Glow. You can't help but smile at the colours, smiling at the idea that Lev in fact did call in and knew you'd like it. You look down at the assistant as he packs the necklace for you. You start to wonder what Lev would like. It's not like you don't talk to each other at all. You do. But you just happen to not know your husband at all, while he knows so much about you. Your favourite designer. Jewelry you'd love. Your favourite food, coffee brand, places, cities. All you know is his job. You don't even know his favourite colour. Deep in your thoughts, you wander off to the station with watches.

- Excuse me? - you turn to the elderly jeweler. - This watch? - you point at white watch with a blue leather band. The man smiles and walks over to assist, spotting the occasion that both camerawoman and interviewer focus on the diamond jewelry around.

- This, Mrs. Haiba, is our Ocean Biretrograde Automatic. 18 karats white gold. Blue alligator leather. Very popular. From our The Ocean Collection. Automatic watch, very nice and classy.

- You... seem to know my husband very well. - you say turning to the man. - You think Lev would like this?

- Oh, Mrs. Haiba. I can assure you that your husband will love anything that will come from you.

- How do you know? - you ask suspiciously.

- Because I am a man in love myself. - he says with the brightest and proudest smile you have ever seen. - And I love everything that my dear Yuri gives me. See, Mrs. Haiba... - he walks closer and shows you golden cufflinks with a purple, flower-like pattern. - She got it for me when I started to work here 30 years ago. And tell you a secret, I've always hated purple. But I still loved those cufflinks. Even more when I learnt that she painted them herself. And since then that minx gives me things with purple accents. Before I knew it, I fell in love with the colour equally to how I fell in love with her.

- So... - you stare at the cufflinks, admiring his wife's handy work. - He'll love anything?

- I saw his eyes and heard his voice when he came here to purchase something for your first anniversary. He said that you were too stressed with work to even know what day it is. He wanted to make you happy.

You hold your breath for the moment, not knowing what to say.

- Pack the watch, please. - you mutter nervously, in your head going over a list of things you have to do. You pay for the watch, completely forgetting about the necklace. You bow politely to the jeweler and practically run out of the store. You put your phone to your ear as you get in the car.

- Alisa? I'm gonna need your help.

Lev laughs with the interviewer as he enters the apartment. Today is only getting more challenging for him. First he finds out that the dry cleaner ruined his suit for tonight's Valentine Evening that he planned on inviting you for. Then he finds out that the restaurant he planned to take you to before the party cancelled his reservation with some absurd excuse.

- Usually Valentines are less complicated than this year's. You know, you try to make a good image to press and the universe does the oppos.... - he stops talking when walking deeper into the apartment as enters the living room, which makes it connected to the kitchen. His eyes lighten up, his smile growing when he sees several types of oinarisan on the table and you standing next to it. Your hair is tied up, pink Dior dress hugging your body, emphasising all the right places. Lev walks slowly in your direction, still taking the whole sight in. He puts a huge bouquet of red roses on the table before he gets to you. He wraps his arms around your waist, holding you tightly, your face buried in his chest.

- Y/N.... why...? - he whispers quietly. - I know you, you wouldn't pull something like this without a reason. All that because of the W Magazine?

- No. - you murmur against his shirt. - I just... I wanted to thank you somehow. For... for being in love with me when I was chasing my career rather than make our relationship grow.

- Y/N, sweetheart. You don't have to love me. - he whispers, his accent suddenly appearing attractive to you.

- I know. But... you love me. And I was too blind to see it and then the jeweler told me that you know my taste in jewelry, that you'll love my gift and...

- Stop, you'll hyperventilate... - he chuckles, pulling away a bit, gently placing his hand on your cheek. - The jeweler made you do all this? Cook and staff?

- I just... I never realised how much you do for me. From the beginning I saw our marriage as a piece of paper to help our families' brands, you as a roommate or something. I had no idea that you actually loved me. You never said anything.

- I didn't say anything because I thought you don't want me to love you. - he admits and kisses the top of your head. You sigh and look up at him as he isn't wrong here.

- I'm sorry... - you say quietly.

- Don't be sorry, Y/N. Forcing people to love each other is... well... wrong. Our marriage is probably questionable, morally speaking since we were young when we got married but... I guess I grew into loving you. You're smart, determined, elegant, funny, just perfect. - he cups your cheeks and pulls you gently into a kiss. Warm feeling spills through your body, your stomach twisting in excitement, your heartbeat quickening as you press your lips against his. Lev deepens the kiss, one of his hands moving from your cheek to the small of your back as he pulls you closer. The time seems to slow down for you two as you savour the first real kiss, both wrapped up in the sensation. Lev finally pulls away in order to catch a breath, his lips hovering close to yours, his warm breaths hit your skin.

- Wow... - you say quietly, as that's the only word you can think of now.

- Wow indeed... - he whispers. His thumb gently caresses your cheek. You look at him, your gazes locking for a longer moment, that is until you remind yourselves that you're not exactly alone. You look at the interviewer and camerawoman behind your husband, visibly surprised and happy with just recorded candid material. Lev let go of your, taking a step back. He reaches to the table, taking a jewelry box from it. You already know what is there.

- For you, love. - he opens the elegant box and presents you The Brilliant Glow necklace you chose for yourself earlier today. - Exquisite taste, baby. - he whispers, putting it on you. - And it looks so lovely on you... and with this dress. - he gently guides his fingers along the diamonds on your neck, touching onto your collarbone occasionally.

- Thank you. - you smile and reach for the watch you picked for him. - I know your electronic one broke down. So... I got you something more reliable. - you smile, making him chuckle. He thanks you with a kiss on your cheek, as you put the watch on his wrist, blue leather elegantly hugging his wrist. Your eyes meet again, this time the intensity of his gaze makes you blush as if you're a high school girl with a crush.

- I think that's where the interview should end... - Lev says and turns to Mina and the camerawoman. - I think W has enough material and... me and my wife would rather dive in oinarisan feast she prepared than attend a boring party.

- Understandable. - Mina smiles and nudges her coworker to stop recording. - Happy Valentines, Mr. and Mrs. Haiba. - they bow politely and walk to the door.

You bow too in respect and turn back to face your husband, who's already checking out the food you've made.

- Lev?

- What? - he asks with his mouth full, seeing him like that makes you chuckle.

- Thank you. For being a good husband and everything. - you take a seat next to him and smile. The gentle light of the setting sun makes the diamonds in your necklace glow. Lev chuckles.

- Brilliant Glow indeed. - he smiles and looks at you with the soft glance of a man in love.

- So... what now? - you ask between bites of oinarisan. - Since I called off the reservation you made and Kenma no longer expects us at the party...

- We can... watch a movie? Talk? - he suggests. - We never really talked, you know, how couples do. We don't really know much about each other aside from where we work, what food we eat and what brands we wear. - he caresses your cheek.

- Okay... so... when you fell in love with me? - you ask curiously. Lev chuckles and looks over at you softly.

- When you came home after your midterms, third year. I just came back from the paycheck after a gig with Dior. You were exhausted, almost passed out at the doorstep. You yelled at me that you study so hard and still doubt yourself, your career choice, while all I do is look pretty in front of the camera. - he chuckles.

- You fell in love with me when I said that? Like degradation much?

- No, dummy. But you let me carry you inside, make you tea. We watched around fifteen minutes of that movie you like and then you passed out on my chest. That was our first hug since the dance at our wedding. - he says. - You looked so small and I just couldn't stop looking at my strong, independent wife in such a vulnerable state. All I wanted to do at that moment was to take care of you forever. - he smiles. - When you fell for me?

- I feel for you? - you raise your eyebrows.

- You. I don't know much, but I know for a fact that a person who isn't in love doesn't kiss the way we kissed.

You sigh and look at the wedding band on your finger.

- I guess it was it all. Breakfasts, considering my opinion in everything you do, the little things you do. - you murmur, playing with the golden ring. - And the elderly jewelry at Harry Winston said that you love me. I don't know why, I guess a stranger saying that you know what jewelry I'd like and how said that you'd love anything I'd get you for Valentines because he can recognise a man in love.

Lev chuckles.

- Really?

- Really... he said that you sounded like a man in love when you called them. - you try to somehow defend yourself and your logic, making him laugh.

- I'm just teasing, Y/N. - he says, taking your hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. - Man in love... he wasn't wrong, though.

You drop your gaze at the wedding bands on your and his finger.

- I guess we faked it till we made it, huh?

- We faked being in love? - he chuckles.

- I mean for press and such.

- Then I guess we did. - he kisses the side of your head, his arm wrapping around your shoulders, holding you close. - Now tell me more about how you made all those oinarisan. Since Masha has a day off I know it was all you.

#fluff #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu #lev haiba #lev haikyuu #lev haiba x reader

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dandysworldhcs · 19 hours ago

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ANGSTANGSTANGSTANGSTANGST

who will I be making depressed today? the mains because I kin 3 of them holy shit (in two parts. this is part one YIPPEE) (also these are the 3 I kin)

berry boy:

ahem. after the ichor incident, sprout became really scared for what could happen, but eventually he suppressed it and basically turned it into a kind of need to feel like he's protecting someone. like for example even if everyone is safe he just HAS to check just in case because what if this what if that this could go wrong that could go wrong if this happens that could happen and this has happened before so if I do this I can lessen the chances of thing happeni- and gets burnt out significantly quicker than... literally everyone else in gardenview. he won't admit it though he'll just sit in his room with the door barricaded (the handlers had the keys to the door locks) trying to function properly, and if someone tries to check on him he'll hide under his bed or desk to avoid being seen because UH OH DANGER DANGER WHY AM I BEING SEEN DOING NOTHING UHHHH OH NO !!! irrational panic basically (even though the only entrance is barricaded...). also, when he discovered tapes could be used to heal he immediately began using them on runs because if even a single person is not on full health he cannot feel relaxed in the slightest- but the dumbass doesn't care if he's on one and WILL run away from cosmo at 1 if he doesn't have enough tapes to heal him back (I'm totally not projecting all of this totally). also random but he will definitely cry if you yell at him (he'll go somewhere to hide before crying though). also has a habit of assuming everything that goes wrong has to be his fault because 'he was supposed to make sure everything went fine'

asstroke:

eepy hypersomniac who in a lot of situations wants to just sleep instead. he dozes off a lot because of that. also, it might be a bit subtle, but he can tell when his friends aren't rested, and usually tries to fix it, even if it's the kind of tired sleep can't fix. also, the guilt from knowing too much about the ichor operation and not being able to say anything about it to protect dandy eats at him endlessly. but you know when he's free from all that? in his curated dreams, where nothing can affect him, where he can be happy, free from all the depressing truths gardenview has to offer (think basil from omori but with sunny's headspace). he's starting to see everything as a kind of cycle... and he's kinda losing motivation to do pretty much anything, but he kinda still has to to survive so. also, the insecurity about his extra arms came from when gardenview was still open, a lot of children called him bug-like for it or even just straight-up scary or ugly, so now he just hides 'em by turning himself into a burrito with his blanket. also, not depressing but... he's just always cold, so he wears a shirt, another shirt, then poncho, then blanket

ammonite wannabe:

being constantly ignored by everyone has increasingly proved to her that no one really cares about her, and that has made her more open about her feelings. no one's listening, what's the point in not thinking out loud? she's done the thing where she just doesn't talk and sees if anyone notices... and they do! but they jokingly say 'aren't you gonna start yapping about dinosaurs around about now?' but unfortunately, she didn't realise it was in a joking way and ended up 'realising' everyone thought of her as the dinosaur girl, not anything else. not a person, not someone worth loving, just 'the girl who likes dinosaurs'. she also secretly gets REALLY happy whenever she gets hurt on a run because that means she'll get healed, which is a form of care!!! yay!!! (can you see the dynamic yet. guy who stresses whenever anyone gets slightly hurt and girl who loves getting hurt to feel cared about. and they're totally 100% not both me) sometimes people just don't notice, but usually it's fine. she yaps about dinosaurs because it's something she's interested in and she wants people to know all about them!!! but unfortunately people thought it was annoying that she talked about them so much, so they avoided her. this led to her thinking that people just don't want to be around her, and that they weren't wrong for it

- psstyourbonesarewet anon

wet bone anon. watch out. im coming for you. you arent gonna see it comonv.

#freakin uhh mod daz #HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO MEEEEEEEEE #psstyourbonesarewet anon #dandys world #dw #dandys world headcanons #dw headcanons #sprout dandys world #sprout dw #shelly dandys world #shelly dw #astro dandys world #astro dw

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horsetailcurlers2 · 2 years ago

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i mentioned this in this post i made a while back about how i think regal believer is the most important relationship in OUAT, but i can’t stop thinking about how the thesis of the show is about the sacrifices parents do or do not make for their children.

like think about it: cora sacrificing regina’s safety and happiness for her own ambition, henry senior never being strong enough to protect his daughter until she is too far gone and he dies in the name of her rage, snow and david’s decision to send emma through the wardrobe and how it is so complex because they were giving her her best chance but they were also sending their baby alone to a strange world so that she could one day save them all, emma giving henry up to give him *his* best chance, rumple losing his humanity to gain the power to protect his son only to then lose his son to protect his power, and then committing unspeakable evils to be reunited with him, malcom/pan abandoning his son to stay young and powerful forever, milah leaving her little boy to be raised by a man she did not respect so that she could live her life, jefferson sacrificing his sanity just to see his daughter again, granny trying for years to shield ruby from the truth, snow and david sacrificing maleficents child for the sake of their own, cora abandoning zelena in the woods so she herself could have “her best chance”…… ugh. i could go on and on and on.

and don’t even get me started on regina and henry. first, her trying desperately to hold onto him through any means, then realizing that she can’t have him and sustain the curse at the same time. doing everything in her power to redeem herself in his eyes, even holding back a fundamental part of herself. then when she was going to sacrifice herself to save the town (that was for *him*, not for storybrooke), and then giving him up to make things right and to keep him safe and happy even if it meant him forgetting her forever.

#henry ironically being the catalyst for breaking the curse #it was supposed to be the one thing that made her happy but he ended up being that instead #the three memorable times they use the “best chance” line #cora mills can choke #she would have been a bad mother even if she had her heart #evil isn’t born it’s made #regina mills #ouat #once upon a time #emma swan #snow white ouat #cora mills #henry mills #rumplestiltskin #zelena mills #regal believer

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rain-on-wax-feathers · 3 months ago

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louise's friends throughout the years

#small details !!#starting off with the hairtie color ! in the beginning its orange bc that's jean's color. still awkward still “too feminine” and stuff #also ! jean hasnt been freaked out about the color red/orange bc william hasn't been revealed as a spy yet!!#and then its teal bc louise is becoming more himself but is still holding on to becoming john (green)#and then at the end its blue and the braid is looser bc that's jean's color! not red anymore bc she's changed #more details !!#in the first one john is only wearing a waistcoat bc he's too sick to get dressed all the way.#his glasses are rounder than louise's bc he's more artsy and more laid-back. he also has eyebags bc sick.#samuel is just. samuel. nothing too special there #second one! william is taking up a lot of space bc he's trying to be so much ! and his colors are all very red (except for the waistcoat)#bc hes a spy for the British. his waistcoat is green bc he's try to get to jean #jean is wearing greens bc that's john's clothing / color. its dark bc he's in mourning bc john & samuel r dead #ohh and i tried to make william's clothing fancy bc he's from a wealthy georgian family #third one ! uh. lams. also i made du ponceau and lafayette have different uniforms. lafayette is fancy so he has lace and his is darker #etc etc. du ponceau is light and more pastelly and less military bc hes not really.like. super duper military he just got there.#fourth one !!! i gave her earings bc i wanted to incorporate femininity back in.#also if you cant tell change in time period ! its the early 1800s now <3 #new glasses (these ones have the little arm side pieces idk what they are called)! and i just gave her a random outfit lmao.#nothing too special about eloise and silas that's just. how they look.#oh ! the backgrounds ! first is orangey bc that's when louise was solely louise (orange!!) and then yellow bc that's samuel's color #and war was supposed to be samuel's thing. also its a go between green (john) & red (william). third is blue bc AMERICA #and fourth is green bc they are in vermont and living the cottagecore life.#and last but not least !!! louise is looking out and then only looks away to the people beside her when she's discovered himself #and he's happy.#okay now tagging #amrev oc #amrev #oc #oc art #original character

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unma · 6 months ago

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So I've calmed down. After today's events I find myself even more vindicated in my hatred for my family, but that's neither here nor there. I'm not trying to vent so often on this blog (feels too oversharey), so instead I'll let y'all know that my birthday is in two weeks! Specifically the 24th. So that's cool.

#unma rambles #ignore the tags below I was only going to mention the uni stuff and then things just kinda started rolling out and now it feels like a-#waste to delete them #I'll be heading to uni on the 22nd for orientation on the 23rd though #so that's another year in a row of depressing shit happening around my birthday #at least this time it's something somewhat good (uni) and not my dad shipping me off to a camp I insisted I didn't want to go to #to the point that he forcibly packed my things and made it so I couldn't go back home otherwise that Sunday #which I still haven't forgiven him for #(man every time I think about them I remember something that makes me hate my parents. funny how that works.#It's almost like there's nothing good to remember)#fyi the uni is a christian university that requires attending service for credits which is why I'm not happy #reminder: I'm agnostic but was raised christian in a christian family #and an acquaintance from church is also going to that uni. and attending the same course #which isn't the end of the world but I can't help but feel bummed out #because I just know someone's gonna use her to see how I'm doing since I never answer phone calls #wow I said I wouldn't vent but here I am #tbf my reaction to this is more disappointment and mild annoyance than the depressive spirals I used to deal with #so I guess that means I'm improving #or that it's not big enough of a problem for it to trigger that #oh well #all of this means I'm not exactly looking forward to my birthday but I've never looked forward to one since I was 10 #so that's just typical at this point #hm come to think of it the camp thing isn't the only thing that happened near my birthday and resulted in depressive spirals huh #kinda sounds to me like my birthdays have just sucked #at best they were meh and at worst they sucked to the point I look forward to one where nothing happens at this point #that happened once #my birthday had nothing done for it because of reasons (I don't blame my parents for this they had valid reasons to do so)#and I just forgot about it #the tags of my post that was supposed to be about my birthday was not where I expected to unpack my shitty experiences with past birthdays #but here I am I guess

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usuallydyinginside · 3 months ago

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"No One Mourns the Wicked" is about Glinda, not Elphaba

Okay, but hear me out. Wicked songs are so good at saying one thing and meaning something entirely different once you have more context. For instance, "I'm Not That Girl" is Elphaba singing about Glinda initially, then in Act 2 flips to Glinda singing about Elphaba. Because it turns out, Elphaba IS that girl and Glinda is not. When we meet the Wizard, he sings about how he always wanted to be a father. When you get to Act 2, you get the sad little reprise in the background music as he realizes that WHOOPS, he was one and he destroyed his only kid. "Defying Gravity" starts with "I hope you're happy" in the sarcastic sense and ends with them both using the same phrase to genuinely wish one another well.

"Thank Goodness" is set up as a cheerful engagement song where Glinda genuinely means "thank goodness for how great my life is" and ends in a place where she's insisting that she IS happy even as she realizes her engagement is a sham, her best friend is gone, and she's left with the Wizard and Madame M, who she doesn't even like.

You get the picture.

Basically, the whole musical is about subverting what you expect, starting with the base premise of "what if the Wicked Witch was the hero of the story" and digging in from there.

Honestly, I'd never paid much attention to the first song. It's a good opener, sets things up well, but it has some big competition with later songs. However, in the movie the staging and camera choices made me really notice it for the first time. Because you know what? Someone DID pay attention to that song, and you can really really tell.

For those who need a refresher, the lyrics to the chorus Glinda sings are: And Goodness knows The Wicked's lives are lonely Goodness knows The Wicked die alone It just shows when you're Wicked You're left only On your own I was always so busy noticing Glinda's grief over thinking Elphaba was genuinely dead that I failed to notice Glinda's grief over her OWN fate. The movie did such a good job with this because every time we get to the pink lines about being alone, Glinda IS alone. She is standing apart from the crowd who adores her. Standing above them. Standing at the center of a bunch of people yet still, isolated.

Because in the end, we know that Elphaba DIDN'T die alone. We know she wasn't on her own. We know her life WASN'T lonely ultimately. She had her flying monkey and animal friends. She had Fiyero.

And who does Glinda have?

Everyone, but realistically, no one. She is an ideal, not a person to most of Oz, just as much as Elphaba has become the token scapegoat. Where Elphaba is the "Wicked Witch," Glinda is "Glinda the Good Witch" - she is literally supposed to be the embodiment of goodness.

And what does Glinda have at the end of this whole thing (as of this song at least)? A disastrous end to her engagement, the death of her best friend, a sorceress who has hated her, demeaned her, and dismissed her from the start, and a con man who is also just a symbol more than a person.

I think it really hit me when Glinda throws the fire on the giant effigy of Elphaba. Ariana's acting was SO good there, because I'd expected us to see that private moment of horror or regret. What I didn't expect was the sort of determined and almost angry glare at the effigy.

But it makes sense. At this point, Glinda has realized that she lost everything and everyone she actually cared about.

As she so aptly puts it in "Thank Goodness"...

Though it is, I admit The tiniest bit Unlike I anticipated. But I couldn't be happier, Simply couldn't be happier, Well, not "simply" 'Cause getting your dreams It's strange, but it seems A little, well, complicated.

There's a kind of a sort of cost. There's a couple of things get lost. There are bridges you cross You didn't know you crossed Until you've crossed!

And if that joy, that thrill Doesn't thrill like you think it will Still-- With this perfect finale, The cheers and the ballyhoo! Who wouldn't be happier? So I couldn't be happier, Because happy is what happens When all your dreams come true.

Well, isn't it?

Happy is what happens when you're dreams come true.

It's not Elphaba's fault that Glinda has ended up this way. Glinda chose it every step of the way. Yet, if Glinda had never met Elphaba, (if she'd never known her, you could say), she might have stayed shallow and vain. She might never have been challenged to look deeper and realize how empty it all felt.

So as Glinda sings "No One Mourns the Wicked," she realizes that even if the Munchkins are singing about the "Wicked Witch," she's not.

She's singing about herself.

The one who traded her morals, friendship, and love for a taste of the admiration and power over those who don't really know her. The one who was so worried about being likable that she herself doesn't like who she's become.

Even after she makes things better for Oz and herself by sending the wizard away and getting rid of Madame M, it just leaves Glinda by herself as the leader and source of goodness in Oz. It leaves her on a pedestal she can never step off of.

It leaves her lonely.

Entirely alone.

#wicked 2024 #wicked musical #wicked elphaba #wicked the movie #wicked movie #wicked the musical #wicked #galinda upland #ariana grande #glinda the good witch #glinda #glinda upland #wicked glinda #no one mourns the wicked #musical theatre #musicals #This movie is my whole personality now

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voyter · 2 months ago

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NNN (NO NUT NOVEMBER) ! ... thanksgiving special

pairing. jeon jungkook x fem!reader

jungkook and his friends are all in on the internet's most ridiculous trend: no nut november. but you’re determined to make your boyfriend lose — and you know just how to do it.

word count. 8.9k words warnings. stupid fucking nnn challenge. JUNGKOOK IS SOOO DRAMATIC IN THIS OML. competitive koo. oc being petty as fuck. oc a brat hehe. jungkook cannot lie to save his life. he fighting demons in his head. needy koo. slight crack. smut. oral (fem!receiving). MUNCH JK. dry humping. blindfolding (very brief lasts like five seconds). koo loves her boobies. unprotected sex. dom!jk (i dont usually like writing him like this but i didnt hate it).

ana's notes. happy (very late) thanksgiving !!! BETTER LATE THAN NEVER RIGHT. this was supposed to be posted after thanksgiving but i got so busy and then the writers block crept up on me :\ .. ANYWAYS i am so grateful for you guys and the support you have shown for my writing, it means a lot since this is a hobby that i love. heres a little silly smutty fic for the holidays !! keep your comments positive or say nothing at all <3

There was this utterly ridiculous trend that resurfaced on the internet like clockwork every year — No Nut November.

The viral phenomenon was a joke. Honestly, who in their right mind would actually take part in such a thing?

Well... Jungkook and his friends would.

Never ones to back down from a challenge, they had turned the trend into a full-blown competition: the last man standing would walk away with a cash prize collected from everyone who failed. And Jungkook? He wasn’t about to lose. Not to his friends. Not to anyone.

It wasn’t like he needed the money. Jungkook was doing just fine in that department, thank you very much. But the satisfaction of watching his friends begrudgingly hand over their hard earned cash, faces red with defeat? Fucking priceless. Count him in.

Unbeknownst to you, the bet was in full effect. Therefore, in preparation for what promised to be a painfully unfulfilling month, Jungkook made the most of Halloween night. His desire was overwhelming as he pulled you into his arms again and again. By the time you were both utterly spent, he’d taken you three times — round after relentless round, ensuring he had no regrets before the clock struck midnight.

It was all part of his plan: to have you as many times as he possibly could before November hit and he couldn’t have you at all. He was dead serious about this challenge. Winning was secondary — what mattered most was that he didn’t lose.

By the first week of November — just five days in — Jungkook had been doing surprisingly well. His restraint was impressive, and he’d managed to keep his touches brief and calculated. The physical contact between you two had been limited to sweet, innocent moments: the kisses you shared when he left and came home from work, the soft pecks exchanged before falling asleep, or the comforting warmth of cuddling. None of it lingered too long, and Jungkook was acutely aware of how easily even the smallest touch could spiral into something much harder to resist.

But Jungkook’s plan didn’t seem to work so well after all. As the week drew closer to its end, you began to get eager.

Your arms would wrap around his waist from behind, your chest pressing against his back as you left featherlight kisses against the nape of his neck. Each one sent a shiver down his spine, your breath warm and teasing against his skin. Your fingers trailed along his arms and shoulders a little longer than usual, like they couldn’t bear to part from him. When you kissed him, your lips lingered just a second too long, brushing against his with a softness that made his heart pound and his resolve crumble.

And Jungkook — poor, stubborn Jungkook — felt the strain of holding himself back with every passing moment.

The tension in his body was unmistakable. His jaw clenched, his hands fisted at his sides, as if anchoring himself in place was the only way to resist you. But it was getting harder. Your every move — a tilt of your head, a brush of your fingers, the soft hum of your laughter — was a calculated test of his willpower.

There were times where his thumb hovered over the group chat. His mind screamed at him to type out the words, to admit defeat, to let it all go so he could have you the way he so desperately craved.

But he didn’t.

He kept his composure, though it was a battle he felt he was losing by the second. Temptation clung to him like a warm, enticing embrace, your every move a test of his self control. You were irresistible, and he knew it. Hell, even the fucking dickwad of a neighbor — the one who always found a reason to greet you while mugging Jungkook — knew it. But as much as he wanted to give in, Jungkook had to tread carefully. Ignoring you completely would be suspicious, and pulling away would be totally out of character. You’d see right through him.

So he found a fine line to walk, a delicate balance: giving you just enough to keep you satisfied while keeping his own burning desires tightly in check. A heated makeout session here, his hand squeezing your ass there — little gestures that made everything feel normal. Just enough to keep you from noticing anything was off, but never enough to let things spiral out of control.

The thought of explaining the ridiculous bet to you was out of the question — he wasn’t about to tell you he’d willingly signed up to not get his cock wet for a whole month. So instead, he silently resolved to endure.

It wasn’t easy. Hell, it was torture. But the thought of losing to his friends? That was even worse. Their smug faces, the relentless teasing — it was unthinkable. Jungkook would rather give himself the worst case of blue balls imaginable than admit defeat.

But just as the next week was about to begin, Jungkook’s willpower met its match.

At night, Jungkook stuck to his usual routine. He brushed his teeth, washed his face, and climbed into bed. He scrolled aimlessly through his TikTok for you page, waiting for you to finish up in the bathroom and join him. It was the same comforting ritual as always.

Usually, when you slipped into bed, he’d put his phone down immediately. Without a word, he’d shift closer, press his chest to your back, tangle your legs together, and throw a protective arm over your waist. It was an unspoken rhythm you both loved, the closeness of his warmth pulling you both into peaceful sleep.

But tonight, something felt different.

It had been a long week — too long. You hadn’t had him, hadn’t felt his touch, hadn’t been able to drown in the comfort of him. And tonight, the ache of missing him was unbearable. You needed him, desperately.

As you stepped out of the bathroom, the soft light from the lamp illuminated him sprawled across the bed. His focus was on his phone, completely oblivious to you — but your attention was elsewhere.

The thin material of his sweatpants did nothing to hide the outline of his cock, pressing firmly against the fabric as he lay there in complete ease. It was almost unfair how effortlessly attractive he looked.

And just like that, the last of your restraint snapped.

You didn’t even try to play coy. Not tonight. Not when every fiber of your being screamed for him, for his touch, for his warmth.

You crawled onto the bed with purpose, straddling his hips in one smooth motion. Jungkook tensed beneath you, his phone slipping from his hand onto the mattress. His dark eyes met yours, wide with surprise, but the second your lips captured his, you felt him relax into the kiss.

It didn’t take long for your lips to wander. From his mouth to his jaw, each kiss slower and deeper than the last. That’s when he knew.

This wasn’t going to end with a few kisses.

“It’s getting late,” he murmured, his voice breathy, like he was trying to convince himself more than you.

“Mhm,” you hummed, your lips trailing down his neck, suckling gently at the spot you knew made him shudder.

“We should go to sleep,” he tried again, though his words sounded more like a plea than an order.

“Don’t wanna,” you whispered against his skin, your hand sliding down between your bodies, cupping the hardening length beneath his sweatpants.

The guttural moan that tore from his lips was instant, raw, and uncontrollable. His reaction was visceral, his hands flying to your hips to still you, but it was too late. That single touch had ignited something primal in him.

With a sudden movement, he flipped you onto your back, his hands capturing your wrists and pinning them firmly above your head.

“Why do you never listen to me?” he said through clenched teeth. His frustration of trying to compose his restraint thinning. Why won’t you let him win? His face was so close to yours that the tip of his nose brushed against yours, his breath warm and uneven against your lips.

“Love pissing you off,” you shot back, your grin wicked as your eyes gleamed with mischief. You tilted your head slightly, your voice dropping into something softer, sultrier. “Makes me wet.”

“Brat,” he spat. His grip on your wrists tightened just slightly, his jaw clenching as if holding himself back took everything he had.

To you, it was all in good fun — a playful game, harmless teasing. But to Jungkook? It was sweet, unrelenting torment. Every kiss you pressed to his skin, every soft laugh that spilled from your lips, and every calculated touch you offered worked to chip away at his resolve, unraveling him one agonizing piece at a time.

He wanted to be strong, to resist, to uphold his own ridiculous self imposed boundaries. But how could he? How could he lay down beside you and simply go to sleep when your every movement, every sound, every look begged him to surrender? His body betrayed him first, drawn to you like a magnet, unable to keep his distance. The tension in his muscles, the sharp hitch of his breath every time you touched him — it all screamed of a man teetering on the edge of self control.

Jungkook swallowed hard, his gaze flickering over you, taking in the way your lips curled into a smile that was equal parts innocent and dangerous. He hated how much you affected him, but at the same time, he craved it. Every fiber of his being ached for you — your warmth, your softness, the way you felt against him. He knew he was doomed the second you whispered his name, voice laced with need.

Giving in wasn’t just inevitable; it was everything he wanted. And as much as he’d tried to fight it, there was no denying you. Not now, not ever.

“Fuck,” he whispers, his voice raw, laced with a pain so desperate it borders on pitiful. His head drops, forehead pressing against your sternum, his breath hot and uneven against your skin. It’s as if he’s trying to ground himself, clinging to the fragile threads of control slipping through his fingers.

For a moment, he stays there, his breath warm against your skin, his body taut with tension. Then, slowly, he lifts his head, meeting your gaze with eyes darkened by lust and want, swirling with a need so intense it makes your stomach all jittery. His cheeks are flushed, the faintest rosy tint blooming across his face and staining the tips of his ears. He looks utterly undone, vulnerable in a way that steals the air from your lungs.

Before he could think twice, his lips crashed against yours in a feverish kiss, devouring you like you were his favorite candy — sweet, irresistible, and utterly addictive. He poured everything into that kiss, every ounce of frustration and need, as if losing himself in you was the only thing that mattered.

His lips began to trail south, brushing along the curve of your jaw before dipping down to the sensitive hollow of your neck. Each press of his lips left a trail of heat on your skin, and your breath hitched, a soft sound that sent a rush of satisfaction through him. He didn’t stop, didn’t falter as his hands moved to the hem of your shirt — no, his shirt. You always stole his shirts for bed, and as much as he teased you about it, he loved seeing you in them.

He pulled the fabric up, lifting it just beneath your chin and exposing your bare chest. Your breasts, freed from the confines of the shirt, bounced softly back into place, and Jungkook’s breath caught. His dark eyes locked onto the sight, a low groan rumbling in his chest as his hands instinctively cupped them, squeezing gently, pushing them together as if appreciating every inch of you.

Unable to stop himself, he buried his face in the softness, his nose stuffed in between your tits, breathing you in like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Kook!” you giggled, your voice light and teasing, pulling him back just slightly from the haze of his desire. Your hands reached down, cupping his face and tilting it upward until his eyes met yours.

“Prettiest titties ever,” he murmured, his voice low and reverent. He leaned forward to press a tender kiss to one breast, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your lips curved into a warm smile, and your thumb traced softly over the scar on the apple of his cheek. The tender moment was fleeting, though, as Jungkook’s mouth found its way to your chest, his lips wrapping around one of your nipples. His tongue flicked against the sensitive peak, drawing a sharp wave of pleasure through your body. You bit down on your bottom lip, trying — and failing — to stifle the moan that bubbled in your throat.

Your hands moved instinctively, brushing back the dark strands of hair that had fallen over his forehead. Your touch was soft, almost reverent, as you gazed down at him. The sight of Jungkook — cheeks flushed, lashes kissing his cheeks as he lost himself in you, his lips tugging gently at your sensitive flesh — made your heart race and your body ache with want.

He let out a low hum against your skin, the vibration sending a delicious shiver cascading down your spine. His tongue swirled around your nipple with a slow, deliberate rhythm, each motion igniting sparks of pleasure that left you breathless. His focus was unrelenting, his attention on you so singular it made your toes curl. The warmth of his saliva mixed with the heat of your skin, creating a sensation that was utterly intoxicating.

You let out a quiet gasp, your fingers tugging gently at his raven hair, earning a soft groan from him in response. Jungkook didn’t stop, his lips worshiping you like you were the only thing that mattered.

But as his mouth continued its ministrations, Jungkook couldn’t ignore the ache building in him. His cock throbbed, painfully hard and straining against his sweats, begging for relief. The urge to push everything aside and lose himself in you was overwhelming.

Maybe he could lose. Maybe he could just not tell them.

No. That wasn’t fair, and Jungkook hated lying — especially to his best friends.

But fuck, you weren’t making this easy for him.

With your pretty, soft boobs. Your sweet, irresistible lips. The way you tasted, the way you sounded.

He released your nipple with an audible pop, leaving your skin glistening and flushed from his attention. His lips lingered, warm and damp, as if tethered by an invisible string, reluctant to part. Then, slowly, he began his descent, tracing a line of soft, deliberate kisses down your stomach. Each press of his lips was unhurried, almost worshipful, leaving a trail of fire in its wake as anticipation tightened in your core.

When he reached the waistband of your panties, his movements paused. His lips hovered just above the fabric, warm breath teasing your skin. He glanced up at you, eyes hooded and dark with want, as if searching your face for permission to continue. The moment felt suspended, heavy with tension, before he shifted his attention lower, redirecting his kisses to the delicate, sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

His pace was maddening, each kiss a whisper against your skin, igniting every nerve and sending shivers rippling through you. His lips barely grazed you, his touch so featherlight it felt almost cruel, building the pressure inside you until it was nearly unbearable.

Then he saw it. The damp patch on your panties. His movements stilled for a moment, the sight pulling a soft moan from his lips, thick with need.

"Fuck me," he muttered under his breath, as if meant more for himself than for you. His voice was strained, low and raw, betraying the war raging inside him.

You were blissfully unaware of the full weight of his internal struggle, the impossible battle between his ironclad resolve and the magnetic pull of you beneath him. But for Jungkook, this wasn’t just lust; it was a consuming craving, threatening to shatter the very challenge he'd sworn to uphold.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties, his touch firm yet tantalizingly gentle as he began to slide them down your thighs. The soft fabric dragged against your skin with agonizing slowness, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. When the panties finally slipped off and landed somewhere forgotten on the floor, his gaze dropped to the apex of your thighs, and a deep, guttural groan rumbled in his chest.

Your pussy glistened in the dim light, your slick coating your folds, the evidence of your desire laid bare before him. Jungkook's tongue darted out to wet his lips as impatience flickered in his eyes. Without hesitation, he leaned in, starting with slow, deliberate licks, savoring the taste of you like a man starving.

Your breath hitched, a shudder racing through you as you glanced down at him. His dark eyes locked with yours for a brief, smoldering moment before he closed his lips around your swollen clit, sucking gently yet firmly.

A moan tore from your throat as your head tipped back, your fingers instinctively finding one of your breasts. You cupped the soft mound, your palm pressing into the supple flesh. The room filled with the sounds of your ragged breaths and the wet, sinful noises of his tongue working you over.

Jungkook's hand shot up, his fingers wrapping firmly around your wrist as he yanked it away from your breast. He possessively replaced your hand with his own. His large, tattooed hand cupped your tit, kneading the soft flesh with a firm yet reverent touch.

He lifted his head from between your thighs, his lips glistening with your slick, and his heated gaze met yours. Without a word, his free hand slid down, his middle and ring fingers gliding through your folds with expert precision. He paused for a moment, his fingers coated in your arousal, before pressing them slowly inside you.

Your breath hitched at the delicious stretch, your sopping wet heat greedily sucking him in with ease. A low, satisfied hum rumbled in his throat as he watched your body respond to his touch.

“So fucking wet," he whispered, voice thick with lust. His fingers curled slightly, stroking your walls with an unrelenting precision that had your thighs trembling.

Jungkook leaned back down, his lips latching onto your clit with a hunger that made your thighs quiver. He sucked and flicked his tongue over your sensitive bud, the wet, rhythmic sounds driving you wild. His fingers continued to thrust in and out of you, the steady, deliberate pace sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body as he curled them just right, hitting that spot that made you see stars.

His other hand stayed on your breast, groping and kneading with a firm possessiveness that left you aching for more. His thumb brushed over your nipple, pinching and rolling it between his fingers, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips.

He was everywhere — on you, in you, surrounding you. The intensity of his touch, his mouth, and his presence consumed you entirely, leaving you trembling under him as he worked your body like he was born to do it. You could feel the tension building, the coiling heat low in your belly threatening to snap as he devoured you like a man obsessed.

“Baby,” you whimper, your voice trembling, raw with need as your fingers twist into the sheets beneath you. “G- gonna cum.”

Jungkook doesn’t stop. He doesn’t slow down or falter. If anything, your words fuel him, igniting something feral inside him. He needs this — needs to feel you fall apart on his tongue, to taste every shiver and moan you can give him before he has to deny you for the rest of this painfully long month.

A low hum vibrates against your clit, and the sensation sends a fresh wave of heat surging through you, your body arching instinctively toward him. His tongue moves faster now, precise and unrelenting, flicking and circling as if the very act is his lifeline.

His fingers thrust into you, curling just right, hitting that spot inside you that makes your legs tremble and your vision blur. The rhythm is perfect, practiced, like he’s mapping your body by memory, knowing exactly how to coax you to the edge.

Another hum escapes his throat, deeper this time, resonating against you with an intensity that feels almost like a plea — an unspoken command for you to let go, to surrender completely to the pressure building inside you.

And with each stroke of his tongue and every curl of his fingers, he pushes you closer, until you’re teetering on the brink, your body burning with the promise of release.

His hand on your breast squeezes more firmly, his thumb flicking and pinching your nipple with just the right pressure, as if he knows exactly how to push you over the edge. Your hand shoots up to grab his wrist, your nails digging into his skin, while your other hand fists the sheets desperately.

Your head tips back, lips parting in a silent, breathless moan as the tension inside you finally snaps. Your thighs instinctively begin to close around Jungkook’s head, trembling as your release crashes over you in wave after blissful wave.

Your body shakes beneath him, overcome by the force of your orgasm, but Jungkook doesn’t stop. His mouth continues its sinful work on your clit, sucking and licking with unrelenting precision, while his fingers maintain their steady thrusts.

Despite the painful, throbbing ache of his cock, Jungkook finds a twisted kind of satisfaction in giving you pleasure. The way your body arches, the sounds you make, the way your nails dig into the sheets — it’s intoxicating. It fuels him, spurring him on as though your ecstasy alone is enough to soothe his own torment.

He doesn’t want to stop. Not when you’re trembling beneath him, your body so responsive to his every touch. But there’s a limit to how much you can take, and he knows it. As much as he loves pushing you to the edge, watching as you surrender completely to him, overstimulation begins to creep in, your soft whimpers turning into desperate little gasps.

Still, there’s a reluctance in him, a battle between the unyielding need to give you more and the understanding that your body can only handle so much. Even as you writhe beneath him, pleading for reprieve, there’s a part of him that aches to keep going, to hold onto this connection for just a moment longer.

But he’s Jungkook, and if there’s one thing he values more than his own desires, it’s you. The sight of you trembling, your chest heaving as you fight to steady your breath, tugs at something deeper within him. He takes a deep breath, the taste of you lingering on his tongue, and finally, he pulls back.

His lips and chin are glistening with your slick, a sinful testament to his devotion. He doesn’t bother wiping it away; instead, he leans over you, his eyes dark and heavy with satisfaction as they roam your flushed face.

“Munch,” you giggle, your voice soft and teasing as your fingers brush his hair back from his forehead.

Jungkook chuckles, the sound deep and warm, scrunching his nose in playful protest. His pretty bunny-like teeth peek out in a smile so endearing it makes your heart skip a beat.

Unable to resist, you lean in, pressing your lips against his. Your tongue brushes against his, exploring him as the taste of you still lingers on his lips. The kiss grows deeper, more heated, and you feel his hard-on pressing insistently against your thigh.

Without a second thought, your hand slides down, grabbing his cock through the fabric of his pants. He groans softly against your mouth, the sound vibrating between you.

“Mmm,” Jungkook hums, breaking the kiss as he pulls away, the warmth of his lip still lingering on yours. He stands, his movements abrupt, leaving you breathless on the bed. His lips, swollen and glistening faintly in the dim light, speak to the intensity of your embrace, but his gaze doesn’t meet yours. Instead, it darts away, like a guilty child caught red-handed. He scratches the back of his head, his posture stiff as he moves toward the bathroom door. “I think I’m gonna go shower,” he blurts out, the tension in his voice betraying his attempt at casualness.

Shower? Now? Really? His dick is literally straining against his sweats, the outline unmistakable, practically begging for attention. You can still feel the heat of him pressed against you, the way he twitched beneath you just moments ago.

He’s not serious. There’s absolutely no fucking way.

“What?” Genuine confusion coats your tone, your brows furrowed. “You always shower in the mornings.”

“I- I know, baby,” he stammers, his pitch climbing an octave as his composure unravels faster than a poorly wrapped gift. Panic flashes in his wide eyes, and his mouth hangs open, grasping for an excuse he clearly doesn’t have.

“Then what’s wrong?” you ask, your softer now, a thread of worry weaving through your tone. You sit up, the oversized shirt you’d stolen from him slipping down your chest, covering your boobs he wished he could stare at for just a second longer. “Is something going on?”

“I-” His eyes dart around the room like the answer might be written on the walls. “I’m just tired.”

Your brow arches, skepticism written all over your face. “Tired?” you echo, your face scrunching in disbelief. “You’ve never not wanted to have sex.”

Jungkook visibly winces, his ears turning a bright shade of red. Rising from the bed like it might help, he sits at the edge, his hand nervously brushing your shin. “I- I had a long day at work.”

You tilt your head. “But you love having sex after a long day,” you say, your voice tinged with confusion. “Jungkook, seriously… what’s wrong?”

He freezes, like a deer caught in headlights, his lips parting in silent panic. “Nothing!” he squeaks, his voice cracking.

You lean closer, your suspicion mounting. “Well it’s clearly something! Do I not smell good?”

His head whips toward you, his face a mixture of offense and horror. “What? You smell amazing!” he practically yells, his voice high-pitched. “Honey, I could eat you all day if you’d let me!”

“Then why are you running off like this?”

“I’m not running!” he protests, though the crack in his voice suggests otherwise. “I just- uh- need to clear my head!”

“Clear your head?” you ask, squinting at him. “From what?”

“All the thinking I’ve been doing!” he exclaims, clearly grasping at straws. “It’s... exhausting.”

You narrow your eyes, unconvinced. “Thinking about what?”

His mouth opens, but words fail him. After a moment of floundering, he groans, throwing his head back and covering his face with his hands. “You’re impossible,” he mumbles, his voice muffled behind his palms.

“And you’re a terrible liar,” you fire back. “Spill it. What’s really going on?”

He exhales deeply, dragging his hands down his face in defeat before clasping them together in front of him as if in prayer. His eyes squeeze shut, his lips pressed into a tight line. “I’m trying so hard right now,” he mutters finally, his voice low and desperate, “and you’re not making it easy.”

“Trying hard to what?” you ask, your curiosity piqued.

“To not combust right now!” he exclaims, his voice rough with need. His eyes snap open, locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your heart race. “You’re killing me, babe. Just... let me shower first, and then let’s just have a good night, okay?” His breath hitches, barely able to keep his composure as he watches you, a mixture of desperation and affection in his gaze.

You blink at him, your mouth slightly open, trying to piece together his words. Before you can say anything, he kisses you once more, the movement rushed and almost sheepish.

“Go to bed, honey,” he says, practically bolting for the bathroom. “I love you!”

The door shut behind him with a sharp, decisive click, followed by the distinct sound of the lock turning. It was jarring — Jungkook never locked the door. There was no reason to; it was just the two of you living together, no one else to intrude. The realization sank in quickly, a bitter confirmation that this time, he was actively shutting you out, trying to keep you from coming in and uncovering whatever was weighing on him. You sat there, frozen, staring at the closed door in stunned silence.

Whatever it was, one thing was clear — you weren’t letting this slide. You were going to figure out what was going on with your boyfriend if it was the last thing you did.

After that night, you kept your distance.

Jungkook hated it. He hated the silence, the lack of your warmth, the way you avoided his touch. But he couldn’t blame you. He knew he was the root of the problem — he had fucked up that night. He should’ve been smoother, handled it better, but he completely blew it. Jungkook was good at many things. Lying was not one of them.

For a few days, you gave him the silent treatment. When he leaned in for a kiss before heading to work, you turned your face, leaving him with nothing but a peck on your cheek. The lack of communication was agonizing, eating away at him every time he caught your cold glances. But you were petty as fuck, and he knew it. You weren’t about to kiss his ass — not when it was obvious he’d lied to you that night. If he didn’t want to talk to you, then you weren’t going to talk to him.

When you were alone — at work, lying in bed, or just lost in thought — your mind spiraled. What could he possibly be hiding? The thought haunted you, gnawing at the edges of your sanity. Was he cheating on you? The idea felt impossible, unthinkable. Your Jungkook would never… or at least, that’s what you wanted to believe. But his strange behavior, the evasiveness, planted seeds of doubt you couldn’t ignore. The very thought made you feel sick to your stomach, but the ache of curiosity refused to leave you alone.

You needed answers. And if Jungkook wasn’t going to give them to you, you decided to go to the one person who knew him best.

you [3:15 pm]: what is wrong with my boyfriend ??

jimin [3:17 pm]: That sounds like a question you should be asking your boyfriend, don't you think?

you [3:17 pm]: I KNOW YOU KNOW SOMETHING.

jimin [3:18 pm]: WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT???

you [3:18 pm]: whats her name

jimin [3:18 pm]: Who??

you [3:19 pm]: HIS SIDE BITCH

jimin [3:19 pm]: GIRL WHAT

jimin [3:19 pm]: You think he’s cheating on you?

you [3:23 pm]: is he ?? just tell me so i can save myself the humiliation pls

jimin [3:23 pm]: Bro no he would never

jimin [3:23 pm]: I’d chop his dick off and then kill the girl if he did

jimin [3:23 pm]: What makes you even think that in the first place?

you [3:24 pm]: hes acting weirdddd :(

you [3:24 pm]: i was trying to fuck him a few nights ago but he wouldnt let me touch him

jimin [3:25 pm]: First of all ew

jimin [3:25 pm]: Second of all

you [3:28 pm]: SECOND OF ALL ????

jimin [3:30 pm]: 😂😂😂

If you weren’t pissed at Jungkook before, you definitely were now.

After talking to Jimin, you finally learned the truth about the challenge. It wasn’t even the fact that Jungkook had hidden it from you that irritated you most — it was the challenge itself and his ridiculous competitive spirit. Why did he have to be such a sore loser?

According to Jimin, five of the seven participants had already been knocked out. Seokjin and Yoongi, being married men, didn’t stand a chance — they were bound to lose. Namjoon, like Jungkook, was in a committed relationship, but unlike him, Namjoon had the good sense not to put himself through that kind of pain just to preserve his pride. Hoseok and Taehyung? They were notorious party addicts — losing was inevitable for them.

Now, it was down to just Jungkook and Jimin. And, of course, Jungkook’s competitive streak wouldn’t let him back down, no matter how ridiculous the stakes were. The thought made your blood boil. How could he have dragged himself — and by extension, you — into this mess?

You didn’t confront Jungkook about what you’d learned from Jimin, though you did drop the silent treatment act. Instead, you decided to take a different approach — one far more devious than simply ignoring him.

Even with the heater running, the November chill still lingered in the air, but it didn’t stop you from dressing provocatively around the apartment. You roamed in short shorts, sometimes just your underwear, paired with a silk camisole that left little to the imagination. The thin fabric did nothing to hide your hard nipples, which poked against the material as you moved about. Jungkook would notice, of course — he’d grope your ass or give you a quick kiss goodbye before heading to work — but that was it.

When he was away, whether at work or hanging out with his friends, you upped the ante. You sent him pictures of yourself in matching lingerie sets, always in his favorite color, knowing how much he loved them. Sometimes you sent something more daring — nudes that left nothing to the imagination. Usually, those photos had him texting back immediately, promising to deal with you as soon as he got home.

But this time, his responses were different. Short. Terse. Instead of giving in, he’d simply tell you to stop.

Frustration boiled over each time you read his dismissive replies. You groaned and threw your phone onto the bed in defeat. Why wouldn’t he just give in already? You wanted him so badly, and you refused to even touch yourself because what you craved was him — his hands, his mouth, his dick.

If teasing him over the phone wasn’t working, you decided it was time to take things up a notch. One night, when you heard the shower running, you didn’t hesitate. Stripping off your clothes, you quietly stepped into the bathroom. The steam swirled around you as you opened the shower door and stepped in.

Jungkook froze the moment he saw you. His wide eyes scanned you from head to toe, lingering on your curves as if he hadn’t seen them countless times before. His jaw tightened, his chest heaving as his restraint wavered. Then, with a groan of frustration, he threw his head back against the shower wall, his eyes squeezed shut as if trying to block out the temptation in front of him.

Don’t give in. Don’t give in. Don’t give in.

Despite his impressive self-control, his body betrayed him. His cock stood stiff and proud between you, a silent plea for attention. But no matter how much you pressed closer, your skin grazing his, or how boldly you touched yourself in front of him, he didn’t break.

With a stoic determination that only fueled your frustration, he focused on washing off, his movements precise and distant, as though ignoring the tension hanging thick in the air. And just when you hoped he’d finally push past his limits, he’d step out of the shower, leaving you behind in the steam, your desire unfulfilled.

It was maddening. Teasing him was supposed to work — it always worked. And while you were determined to push him until he snapped, you had to admit, his composure was far better than you’d anticipated.

It was just days before Thanksgiving, which meant this painfully long month was finally nearing its end. But you were done waiting. Done teasing. The ache in your body had grown unbearable, a constant, gnawing need for him that no amount of patience could soothe.

You were going to have him tonight, or you were going to actually die.

Jungkook had a day off tomorrow, so he was sprawled on the couch, completely absorbed in his Nintendo game. His focus was unwavering, his brows furrowed in concentration as the soft clicks of the buttons filled the room.

Dressed in a matching lacy black set that left little to the imagination, you moved silently behind him, your determination unwavering. Gently, you placed your hands on his broad shoulders, your fingertips tracing soft patterns over the fabric of his shirt. He didn’t flinch, didn’t even glance up, much too engrossed in the virtual world on his screen.

But then you leaned down, your lips brushing against the side of his neck. The soft, teasing kisses trailed along his skin, featherlight yet deliberate, leaving a warm path behind. You felt the slightest hitch in his breathing, a telltale sign that despite his effort to remain focused, you were beginning to unravel him.

His eyes fluttered shut, his focus on the game completely shattered as his head tipped to the side, exposing more of his neck to your eager lips. His lips parted, heavy breaths escaping him, each exhale laced with a vulnerability you rarely saw.

“Baby…” he moaned breathily, his voice low and strained, warning you.

“Shh,” you whispered, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. Your voice was soft, commanding, and it sent a shiver rippling through him. You felt his resolve beginning to crack, the tension in his body shifting as your hands slid down, teasing the line between tenderness and temptation.

Pulling away, you reached for the tie you had stolen from his drawer earlier. With a deliberate slowness, you brought it up to his eyes, slipping it over and covering his vision.

“What-” he began, his voice tinged with confusion as his hands instinctively moved to stop you.

But you were quicker, gripping his wrists to still him. Leaning in close, your lips brushed against his ear as you whispered, “I know about your stupid challenge, Jungkook.”

His body tensed beneath you, the air between you heavy with tension. His breaths came uneven now, a mixture of guilt, surprise, and something else simmering just beneath the surface.

“Let me explain-” he started, his voice edged with desperation.

“No,” you cut him off, your tone firm but quiet. “It’s too late for that now.”

You secured the tie around his eyes, knotting it with careful precision. The soft fabric sat snugly against his skin, cloaking his vision completely. His lips parted as if to protest, but he stopped himself, seemingly caught between resisting and surrendering to whatever you had planned.

Rounding the couch, you reached down and plucked the device from his hands, setting it aside on the coffee table without a second thought. His body went rigid beneath you, his breath hitching as you settled in. The unmistakable hardness of his cock pressed against you, igniting a spark of satisfaction that curled your lips into a smirk. Slowly, you began to move, rocking your hips against his in steady, purposeful motions, grinding into him just enough to draw a reaction.

“Do you know how much I missed you, Kook?” you murmured, your voice dripping with need as your lips hovered near his ear. “Missed your pretty cock… my fingers could never give me the satisfaction you do.”

His bottom lip was caught between his teeth, the silver of his piercings glinting under the warm light, drawing your eyes like a magnet. That perfect little mole just beneath his lip was on full display, a teasing reminder of how irresistible he looked like this — teetering on the edge of control.

His lips parted as a soft, breathy moan escaped, the sound low and unrestrained. It sent a shiver straight through you. His hands, no longer hesitant, slid to your hips, gripping firmly as he guided your movements. Each roll of your hips against his was deliberate, his touch coaxing you to grind harder, deeper, until the friction was almost too much to bear.

You hooked a finger into the fabric covering his eyes, tugging it free with a teasing slowness. His lashes fluttered as he blinked, his vision gradually clearing — and then he saw you. Nothing but his favorite set of yours graced your body, clinging to your curves in all the right ways.

A low, breathless please escaped his lips, muttered more to himself than to you, as if trying desperately to maintain his composure. His eyes squeezed shut, and he turned his head away, a feeble attempt to resist you.

But you weren’t having that. Your hand shot out, firm but gentle, cupping his chin and turning his face back toward you. His eyes snapped open, dark and hungry, as you reached behind you, unclasping the delicate hook of your bra. The straps slipped from your arms, the fabric discarded behind you without a care.

Your hands came up, cupping your bare breasts, teasing yourself as his gaze darkened. His restraint frayed before your eyes as his hips bucked up into yours, seeking friction, a desperate need taking over. His jaw tightened, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips, a clear sign of how much he craved you.

Those should be his hands, not yours.

His hand twitched, reaching out instinctively, but you caught his wrist, guiding it purposefully down your body. Your gaze never wavered from his, locking him in place as you slid his hand beneath the waistband of your underwear. His fingers pressed against the soaked fabric, and his breath hitched when he felt just how wet you were. The slickness coated your plush lips, a testament to how badly you wanted him.

“Honey…” he warned, his voice shaky and breathless, teetering on the edge of control.

“Please, Kook,” you whispered, your tone laced with desperation. “Fuck me tonight, or I’ll lose my mind. It’s been weeks. Don’t you miss me as much as I miss you?”

Your plea hung between you, thick with need and longing. His jaw clenched, and you could see the internal battle playing out in his dark eyes as his fingers twitched against you, his restraint unraveling with each passing second.

How was he supposed to get up and walk away with his cock straining painfully against his sweats, and you like this, laid out before him? His hand was still buried in your underwear, fingers sliding effortlessly over your slick folds, forming a V as they trailed up and found your clit. His jaw clenched at the way your body shuddered beneath his touch, the quiet moan slipping from your lips like a siren’s call.

And then there was you — your smaller hands kneading your soft, perfect tits, the ones he loved so much, the sight alone nearly undoing him. The way you whimpered, the way your body responded to him, had his restraint crumbling to dust.

This was it — his breaking point.

He didn’t care about the fucking challenge anymore. Nothing mattered except you.

It was like a switch flipped inside him. In a sudden, fluid motion, he grabbed your waist, lifting you effortlessly as he laid you down on the couch. His broad frame hovered above you, the way you’d missed for so long. His dark eyes were locked onto yours, blazing with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

He didn’t waste time. You were already soaked, your body more than ready for him. No need for extra preparation — he knew he’d slide right in. With one hand, he freed his cock, giving it a few languid strokes, his eyes never leaving yours. He hooked a finger under the edge of your panties, tugging them to the side, baring your pretty, dripping pussy. He couldn’t wait to get inside it. The flushed tip glistened, teasing your entrance for a heartbeat before he pressed forward, the head sinking in.

A sharp gasp escaped both your lips, the shared sensation so overwhelming it felt as if you were experiencing each other for the first time all over again. Jungkook moved slowly at first, his cock stretching you inch by inch, filling you with deliberate care. His brows furrowed, and his jaw tightened as he savored every moment, every inch of warmth he’d been denying himself for far too long.

But restraint wasn’t his strong suit tonight. The need coursing through him was too much to bear. His movements quickened, his hips snapping forward with purpose. The wet, obscene sounds of skin meeting skin filled the room as his pelvis slapped against the back of your thighs. The steady rhythm of his thrusts deepened, each one more urgent than the last, driving both of you closer to the edge.

His upper body lifted off of you, and with a swift motion, he pulled his shirt over his head. The sight of his broad, muscular frame sent a jolt of heat straight to your core. He was absolutely stunning, every inch of him on display — his skin glowing under the dim light.

His arm was covered in intricate tattoos, the ink curling around his bicep like a story you wanted to read. His chest was thick and broad, with a layer of muscle that made your fingers itch to trace every curve. His arms were solid and meaty, a strength you could feel even from just looking at him.

You couldn’t help yourself. Your hand moved instinctively, running down the defined lines of his chest, your fingers grazing over the hard muscles of his stomach. His abs flexed beneath your touch, tense and firm, the warmth of his skin sending a wave of desire crashing through you. The simple touch made you want more, made you crave everything he had to offer.

But now it was Jungkook's turn to take control. With a swift motion, he caught your wrist, his grip firm as he seized your other arm and pinned it above your head. The dominance in his touch was undeniable, and you knew exactly what that meant. He always did this when he wanted to take over, to remind you who was in charge.

His hands moved quickly, grabbing one of your legs and effortlessly throwing it over his shoulder. You gasped at the sudden shift, your body bent in half, your chest pressed against him, leaving you exposed and vulnerable. His face hovered just inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin as he studied you.

A small whimper escaped your lips at the stretch, your body not as flexible as you'd like, but that discomfort was fleeting. It quickly morphed into something else — pleasure, intense and consuming — as his brutal thrusts began again, filling you completely.

He was relentless, each movement pulling another gasp from you. His breath came out in ragged bursts, his voice low and laced with command. "You never listen to me, do you? Huh, you brat?" His words were a breathy growl, like a warning. "Just had to get fucked."

You couldn’t find the words to respond, your mind completely consumed by the overwhelming pleasure. Every inch of your body was alive with sensation, making it impossible to form coherent thoughts. Instead, soft moans and breathless hums spilled from your lips, your chest rising and falling rapidly as his thrusts deepened, each one hitting you harder than the last.

Your body arched into him instinctively, eager to feel more, to give in to the rhythm he set. The tension was building, spiraling higher and higher with each movement, each sound leaving your mouth a mix of pleasure and need. You couldn’t think, couldn’t focus on anything but the way he was making you feel, his hands and his body taking you exactly how he wanted.

"You made this so hard for me, baby." His voice was breathless, low and laced with desire as his thrusts didn’t falter. "Can’t resist you. Too fucking pretty to not touch." He spoke as though he couldn’t control himself, his words slipping out between harsh breaths, his hands gripping your body with barely restrained urgency.

“M’already so close, Kook,” you moaned, your voice shaky with the intensity of the pleasure coursing through you. The pressure inside you was building, so close to release, but you needed him to push you over the edge.

“Yeah?” His gaze darkened, his hips snapping into yours with even more force. “Show me. Let me feel you, please.” His words were more than a plea — they were a command, a desperate need for you to let go so he could feel every inch of your pleasure. It’s been so long since he felt you. He wants to feel you. Needs to feel you.

With each punishing thrust, your breasts bounce uncontrollably, catching Jungkook's undivided attention. His hooded eyes are glued to them, pupils blown wide with lust, as if he's seeing something so utterly captivating it leaves him in a trance. The way they move, the way your body responds to him — it’s driving him wild. His tongue flicks over his lips as he lets out a low groan, jaw tightening, the need to mark you overwhelming every coherent thought.

You gasp sharply, a broken moan escaping your lips as your orgasm slams into you with ferocious intensity. Your body arches off the couch, your hands still pinned above your head as waves of euphoria ripple through you. Your head tilts back, exposing the long, vulnerable line of your neck, and your chest heaves as you ride out the high.

Jungkook growls when he feels your walls clench down on him, the tight grip almost sending him over the edge. “Oh, yeah,” he rasps, voice rough and deep, his hips grinding against you. “That’s it. Just like that... so fucking good.”

But he doesn’t slow down. If anything, his pace quickens, the desperate need for his own release taking over. Each thrust is brutal, precise, and deliberate, as if he’s claiming every part of you, chasing that high he knows is just within reach. His grip on your hips is bruising, holding you in place as he slams into you again and again, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the room.

Finally, with a strained groan, he pulls out abruptly, his cock slick and throbbing in his hand. He strokes himself hard, the sight of your trembling, sweat slick body beneath him sending him over the edge. His release comes in hot, thick ropes, splattering across your stomach and tits in messy, deliberate streaks.

He lets out a guttural moan, chest heaving as he watches his cum paint you like a masterpiece, dripping down your skin in glistening trails. His hand slows, and his eyes never leave the sight of you — glistening, marked, and utterly his.

Once he milks every last drop of his release, he does something that shouldn't be as devastatingly sexy as it is. Leaning down, his gaze locked onto yours with a feral intensity, he drags his tongue in a slow, deliberate stripe up your stomach, collecting his own cum. The heat of his mouth follows, traveling upward until he captures a nipple between his lips, sucking and swirling his tongue with maddening precision.

You giggle, your face flushing with heat as he releases your nipple and makes his way up to your lips. The moment his mouth connects with yours, you taste his cum on his tongue, and you can't help but moan softly into the kiss. He pulls back, resting his head on your chest with a contented sigh.

“Can’t believe you made me lose. I was so close,” he sulks, his voice laced with playful frustration.

“Jimin texted me. He gave in yesterday. You won,” you tease, your fingers softly running through his hair.

His head shoots up quickly, eyes wide like a dog hearing its name. “Seriously?”

You nod, giggling softly at his excitement.

Without warning, he stands up from the couch, pulling you with him. He scoops you up by your thighs, lifting you effortlessly into his arms.

You squeal, half-laughing, half-terrified, “What are you doing?!”

“Making up,” he grins, his voice low with promise as he strides toward the bedroom. “I’m gonna fuck you all night.”

The door clicks shut behind you, the remnants of your clothes scattered haphazardly in the living room, and the night unfurls into a whirlwind of heated kisses and passion that sweeps you both away. Jungkook’s teasing words and touch keep you on edge, but it’s the way he makes you feel — desired, cherished, and completely consumed by him — that transforms the night into something unforgettable.

You knew that this Friendsgiving would be one for the books. Jungkook wasn’t going to let any of the guys forget it. Always the bragger, that one. He’d be sure to shove it in their faces every chance he got.

And he might have won the bet, but it’s you who’s the true victor tonight.

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