#like would they be good at it? would they like it? what kind of playing style would they gravitate towards?

[soapcloth]

CW: 18+ MDNI, loan shark!price x reader part 1, fem!reader, afab!reader, noncon elements, manipulative price, implied violence (not reader), petting, almost(?) fingering - 3K words - dividers -> @/cafekitsune massive thank you to @pricetagged for keeping me sane writing this

“Mr. Price-” you spoke up, fingers massaging into your temples. 

“Said you can call me John, Sweetheart.” the man interjected with a serious look. 

He was currently hanging your entire life over your head and he knew it, you most certainly were not going to call him by his first name. Noticing your reluctance, he shrugged and leaned back into your dining room chair.

“Look, I’ve been as kind as a man like me ought to be. Don’t know how much longer I can shoulder the loss, and I don't know how much longer you-” He sent a condescending look of concern your way, a hand fishing into his pocket. “-can take the fees. I’m playing the good guy here, y’gotta pay up, lovie.” 

“No smoking inside.” you warned, voice less confident than you would have liked it to be.

His hand paused in his coat before slipping out and up in a sign of surrender.

There was a buzzing silence between the two of you, only interrupted by the occasional tick of your kitchen clock. It was hard to meet his gaze, eyes rooted downwards towards your table under the weight of your rising debt to one of the most notorious men in the city.

“Right then.” he huffed, palms coming down to rest on the table before twitching upwards. “So?” 

“Give me another month to pull something together.” you spoke, wincing when you caught the way his eyebrows quirked in surprise. “-Please?”

There was no telling a man like John Price what would be happening. He was the shot caller, the unequivocal card dealer, it was only by some higher grace that he let your ill manners slip. 

He grumbled for a moment before looking up. “I respect what you’ve got going on in the shop, I do. Lovely place, good atmosphere—we’re both the entrepreneurial type, so to say I’ve got a bit of a soft spot for you-” the thought that he’d lump your small shop in with his exploitative business made your stomach turn. “-but this is a bit much, yeah? Let’s give it up, sweetheart.” 

Your face twisted into a sharp grimace, but that was all you could do—what right did you have to tell the man whose money you were living off of to get out of your house? Even worse, you hated that he had a point; you were so tired of your lackluster sales and mounting bills, but-

“I’m not the only owner, I-I can’t just make decisions like that.” you reasoned.

He looked incredibly unimpressed, nostrils flaring with a dissatisfied huff. “Right, your business partner.” 

“H-he-”

“If it’s what you want, m’sure he’ll understand,” Mr. Price hummed, eyes narrowing. “I think you’ll find my men and I can be quite persuasive.” 

Registering your cautious demeanor, his lips curled upwards.

“Where is the bloke anyway?” John asked in faux-disinterest, disapproval blooming from his tone. “Always sends you to talk to the big mean lender. S’not right.” 

He shook his head and sighed.

“-Seen this play out before, love. He’s throwing you under the bus.” 

Your mouth shut, hard set into a frown—you knew he was right. Your business partner was most likely enjoying his morning in peace knowing it was your apartment above the building—your life about to be uprooted if it all went tits-up. It was hard not to feel played.

Mr. Price’s gaze glimmered in recognition, and slowly, like a languid predator, he was leaning across the table with a large hand over your own. 

You studied the sparse dusting of translucent hair on his fingers, the trimmed nails at the ends of his stocky fingers, his nice, expensive-looking watch—anything not to meet his eyes. 

“S’not worth it,” he urged softly. “spreading yourself thin like this.” he paused to think. “My advice? Liquidate, I'm sure you and I can work something out in the long term.”

You swallowed, throat feeling impossibly dry as you focused on the twitch of his thumb.

“I’ll think about it.” 

“I don’t want to be the bad guy, but business is business, sweetheart—I’m offering you a hand, it’s in your best interest to take it.” he spoke, palm patting over your digits before withdrawing into his pocket. There was a deep breath drawn in through his lips. “Right, I’ll be off then—Unless you want me over for lunch?” 

He chuckled deeply in solus as he stood, reminding you of a proud and awful beast. “Maybe another time then, love.” 

Ideally not.

-

The shop had closed on another unnoteworthy day, only serving to further hammer in Mr. Price’s point. With defeated footfall on the stairs up to your flat, you nearly slipped, shocked by a fist beating on the front door frantically. You slowly turned around, heart pounding from the sound.

“-Christ! Let me in!” Ewan, your business partner cried out from the other side of the threshold.

You hurried to the door; pushed aside as soon as the lock had released.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” you scolded over the shop door’s welcome chime. You were met without response while the man darted for the till. “What are you-”

“Not now,” he growled. “we need to get out of here.” 

Studying him closer, you realized one of his arms had been held up by a makeshift sling, tucked neatly beneath his quilted coat.

“W-what are you talking about?”

He paused, looking up. 

Your eyes widened when the light from the street outside washed over his face. 

“What happened to you?” 

“Doesn’t matter.” he snarled, freshly dried blood crusting at the movement. His head dipped down as he popped open the till. “Price and his dogs want our heads.” 

“I just spoke to him this morning-” 

“Things change—may have pushed our luck a little too far. We’ve got to get out of town.” 

You frowned “I-I can’t just-” 

“Suit yourself.” he snapped, voice dropping to a mumble while his fingers grabbed at whatever they could, stuffing it into his coat pocket haphazardly. “-Sitting duck.”

“Wait—that's our money.” you balked, watching the empty register drawer shut. He offered you a bloody, tight-lipped smile as he sped past you towards the door; in and out like a typhoon.

“Good luck.”

You were stuck where you stood when the door swung shut, absolutely beside yourself in shock as you watched his figure disappear from view into the night. Looking around your shop, it was just as it had been when you closed up, but the knowledge that you were sitting on an empty till, all alone with the looming threat of a less-than-savory money lender finding out you were back to square one for your upcoming payment was not kind as it crashed into you. 

After a sobering moment, you hobbled over to the point of sales, turning the drawer’s lock tentatively. Of course, the tray was as empty as the day you had bought it, save for a spare coin roll shoved into the side. You stared down at the dark plastic, hand clumsily digging into your pocket for your phone. Swiping at the device, you paused, debating for a moment over whether or not to open the banking app; you already knew what you’d see if you did.

Confirming your fears, the log showed a hefty transaction at the branch earlier that day. The account had been emptied right before the banks closed. 

You had nothing to give John Price.

It was all gone.

You stared at your feet while it sunk in. Slowly, you regained the ability to move, making your way over to the shop door and locking it back up before spinning on your heels. The trip upstairs was eerily silent as you slipped into your flat, legs wobbling as you ambled into your washroom and stepped under the hot stream from your showerhead. You let the water run over you for far longer than necessary, only stepping out onto the frigid tile once your fingers had pruned. 

The dinner prep that followed had gone surprisingly smooth, serving as a vessel to pretend the foundation of your life wasn't crumbling away. You replayed comforting thoughts, words passing through your mind like a liferaft just out of reach– you knew Mr. Price, he always spoke gently to you, he would understand, he-

A fat tear fell onto the hand that braced you over the stove, watching the bubbling pasta through bleary eyes. With a shaking grip, you drained the water and slipped the noodles into your saucepan, stirring and sniffling lamely.

You made too much—you had nothing to give and you had made too much. Typical.

Sitting at your table, you ate in near-silence, listening to your clock’s soft ticking as you tried to ignore the afterburn image of Mr. Price across from you where he had sat that morning.

Your fork paused mid-air when the downstairs shop chime rang out. 

Had Ewan come to his senses? 

You closed your eyes and waited for him to call up to you. 

The stark sound of heavy footfall bustling around the lower level was the first thing to alert you to the intrusion—too much noise for one man. Setting down your fork, you stared owlishly at the door to your flat as if it was the last line of defense between you and whatever was happening down there. Through the muffled commotion, you could faintly make out the creak of your stairs getting louder—closer, you watched helplessly as the knob slowly turned.

The door opened a fraction, a thick hand curling around the side to brace it against the three thunderous knocks that echoed throughout the room.

“Come in.” you spoke up once your heartbeat had evened out, blinking as Mr. Price emerged from the dark stairway.

“Mmh, you’re here.” he stared down at you, a pleased rumble rolling around in his chest. “‘Course you didn’t skip town, smart. Good girl.”

He kicked his boots off and drifted through your kitchen; cabinets and drawers clattering behind you while he whistled breathily, dishing up some pasta as if you had made it for him—you do suppose he had every right to, though. 

Your whole body tensed as a palm ghosted across your back. The plate was set down, and the chair beside you was tugged out from beneath the table. 

Your eyes darted to his dish where it sat, steam trailing fragrantly. Mr. Price tucked in, humming lowly despite his tense demeanor. 

“S’good, Love. eat up.” 

You swallowed the lump in your throat and grabbed your fork, gaze falling back to your dish as you picked at the food, appetite long gone. Once again, it was you, Mr. Price, and the sounds of your kitchen—an unwelcome sense of Deja Vu creeping in. 

“Your money’s gone.” you whispered, unable to stand the silence.

He reached towards you, grabbing your napkin, and patting his mouth. “I know.” he scratched at his beard idly. “My boys are dealing with that.” 

You paled, trying not to think about what would happen to your business partner as you watched Mr.Price fuss with his fork, leaning in to take another large bite; a nauseated feeling washing over you. 

“What's going to happen to me?” you murmured, eyes downcast. 

His fork clattered quietly against his plate as his hand came to rest on the back of your neck, thumb petting at your nape. “That’s what I'm here to sort out, sweetheart.” 

Sort out. It was ugly, spoken as if you were just one of his assets. You nodded; compliance met with a soft, affirming squeeze. 

“We can work something out.” his hand traveled downwards, grazing your arm before landing on the meat of your thigh. “I don’t have to be the bad guy.” 

“Mr. Price..” you spoke after a sharp breath, tears threatening to well up. 

You missed the way his eyes crinkled at your weepy tone, thumb brushing your thigh in comfort. 

“I’ve had my eye on you, love—Would have never lent you as much as I did if I wasn't sweet on you. Thought maybe I’d be able to charm my way into your life but it seems like I only see you when you’re late on a payment.” he laughed hoarsely. A knee knocked into yours as he stood; his chair scraping beneath him. The floor creaked under bulk, two large hands coming to rub at your arms with hot breath and trimmed beard tickling at your ear. “-I’m a hopeless romantic, y’see.” 

“Price!” a voice hollered up, causing the man to straighten with a low growl. 

“What?” he barked, voice aimed downstairs.

“Trucks loaded up, gonna head back to the office, yeah? See if Simon needs any help retrieving the cash.” 

His hands flexed around your shoulders. “Good, lock up behind yourself. I’ll be a bit.”

You froze, looking up to see the looming shadow of a man; profile distinct in the low light. He turned to you, offering a tight grin while a wayward hand trailed from your arm to your neck, caressing the skin as he exhaled deeply behind you, resting your head against his abdomen. 

“It’s okay to give in, love.” he cooed. “Let me take care of it all.” 

You had nearly folded when that little prey animal in your brain stiffened, hackles raising. You stood carefully, sidestepping his grasp.

“No, I-I… I couldn’t impose… It’s alright.” you silently begged for him to understand your polite refusal.

“S’not imposing,” he challenged, glaring down at you. “imposing would be the number of zeroes on the sum you owe me—now you care about my burden?”

“That’s-”

“That’s not how this works, sweetheart.” he laughed. “Now, sit back down.”

You complied, lowering back into the seat shamefully.

“Good.” he exhaled, crouching beside you with hands knotted together. “I always collect what’s owed, that’s one thing you need to understand.” 

You nodded.

“-But I’m not opposed to shouldering burdens where personal interest is involved.” His eyes searched your own desperately, palms unfurling to rest back on your legs. “You understand what I'm saying, yeah? You’ll never pay it off alone, let me help. I could take care of you.”

Overwhelmed, you turned away; the grip on your thighs tightening in response as he braced himself, standing up. A warm hand cradled your cheek as he drew your gaze upwards, free hand looping around your back and lifting you to stand against him like a marionette. 

“I don’t know what to do…” you sniffled as his big palm had begun to rub circles into your back. 

He shushed you. “-It’s okay, love. I can handle it, It’ll be okay.”

You nodded, turning and rubbing your face into his shirt as he comforted you. The entire situation was a disorienting experience. Had you done something so wrong to get here?– had it been a crime to want to live a gentle and quiet life in your shop? 

It was hard to care much for your sense of conviction when the root of your problem looked more like a finely woven cradle; what did it matter if you were to bend the knee to your devil’s appeal at this point? 

Still, it felt as if you were teetering on the edge of a cliff.

“I’m scared.” your lips settled for, hiccuping the words into his chest. 

He hummed thoughtfully, the noise buzzing around the walls of your head as his thick arms hooked around your neck, pulling you in deeper—a trap set without any fuss. 

“It’s okay for you to be scared,” he pressed a kiss to your crown. “There’s no way anyone was getting out of those rates you agreed to, love. Let me help you.”

You stiffened, head raising slowly to look at him. He smiled down at you.

“You definitely won’t be taking care of our finances, yeah?” John joked, letting out a deep, phlegmy laugh before he pecked your nose, pulling you back into his chest and rumbling against your head. “Enough nonsense. You’re tired, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

It was all so domestic—like he hadn’t just shown you his rows of jagged, shark-like teeth. 

His grip relented as he patted your bum. “Go on and get into bed, let me clean up dinner.”

-

So you did, brushing your teeth and feeling incredibly confused as to why you were readily complying. What truly got to you was how tender it felt—had you been so oblivious to his vying interest? You had just assumed he was a rare good-natured lender; though, you suppose neither of these had been true.

John Price was not a good man; although it was a recent revelation in the grand scheme of things, you knew this as a fact now. The other fact of the matter was that it seemed you were most likely the real collateral in the vulturine deal. Had he been playing the long game?

You could hear John floating around in the other room as you pulled an old shirt over your head to sleep in—the kitchen faucet running as you slipped into your bed. It all felt so wrong. 

Your eyes shot open when the bedroom’s aged floor creaked, deer-like paralysis keeping you snapshot-still as the ring of his belt buckle filled the static air. Was he—The rickety bed dipped behind you under John’s added weight, bedframe crying out with every shift of his body that came with tucking himself against you; achy grunts blowing out from his lips.

“Not as limber as I used to be.” he laughed modestly. “Still gets the job done though, I reckon.” 

He breathed for a moment before his nose dipped into the hair at your nape, sniffling around. 

“-Better than I imagined.” he grumbled contently.

Thick hands dipped under your shirt, massaging at the skin momentarily before slipping into your panties, tugging them out of the way. 

“Mr. Price.” you winced, feeling his cold hand on the sensitive skin.

his hands paused as the large man thought for a moment.

“Mrs. Price…” he chuckled after a beat, the hairs on your neck standing up in response. “-See? You don’t like it much, either. Now, what’s my name, love?”

“John.” you mumbled quietly, eyes darting around through the dark of your room.

“Mmh. good girl.” he hummed, hand cupping your cunt and thumbing at it absentmindedly. “Sleep, love. Big day tomorrow, yeah?” 

[rafesangelita]

♡ not only is rafe cameron your mortal enemy, but he’s also, unknowingly, your nsfw tumblr mutual??

warnings: mean!rafe, enemies to ???, sexting, dirty talk, sending and receiving of nudes, mentions of death, very light angst, mentions of social status, insults used as flirting loll, small time skip

a/n: this is sorta canon, only in the sense that ward is dead and rose is off somewhere with wheezie. i might just make this a mini series, let me know what you think <3

wc: 1.8k

rafe hated you.

maybe not all of you, because in his eyes, along with everyone else’s.. you were hot as shit. there was no denying that. your bitchy attitude not only amused rafe more than half the time, but it turned him on too. he’d watch you from a distance as you cleared the couch for you and your friends to sit on with a single glance, everyone making way for you like you were some kind of princess. which you clearly were, he just couldn’t understand why.

why did you turn him on so much? his best bet was because while everyone bent to his will, he knew that you’d never even spare him the time of day, and if you did it was because he had to work for every single ounce of your attention. no one else on this island would ever make him do that, no one on this island wouldn’t dare challenge him, but you? he’d take your bossiness and catty remarks any day.

the real question is; why did he hate you at the same time?

for starters; you had your family. your picture perfect mommy and daddy were plastered on every single newspaper in both the island and the mainland, the two of them getting praised for their line of successful businesses and work ambition. you were the only child, which was something rafe fantasized about being when his dad was still here. it irritated him that you had all of the attention and recognition that he never had. he felt even worse about it because unlike him, you didn’t even have to do anything in order to get praise and appreciation from your parents. you just got it for simply existing.

rafe on the other hand was nothing but a disappointment to ward when he went above and beyond just to get nothing, not even a single ‘i’m proud of you, son.’ before his dad up and died. rafe was already fueled by rage, but now? now that he had an entire island looking at down on him everywhere he went with false pity? he was out for blood. getting in meaningless fights, purposely doing stupid things that he knew he’d get hurt doing just to feel something.

he grew reckless and raised hell in every establishment and party he attended, figuring there was no use in keeping the family name squeaky clean with a good reputation when he technically didn’t have any family anymore. rose took wheezie and dipped as soon as rafe got tanneyhill and his hefty inheritance, and sarah decided to leave the island altogether and live her own life in god knows where.

everyone left him.

rafe was simply just a bystander now, an observer, and you had it all. the popularity, the socialite status, the family, the friends, the list could go on. it wasn’t long before he had to find some kind of outlet; something where he could express things and share thoughts to an audience that didn’t know him.. little did he know, you had also seeked out the same thing.

your distaste for rafe came about once you heard he was going around the island calling you a ‘spoiled little brat’ and a ‘prissy bitch’ whenever your name came up in conversations. obviously, what he said was true, but who was he to speak about you? he didn’t even know you. “call me a bitch to my face next time, ‘cameron. i hate pussies.” you had went up to him in the midst of him having a conversation with topper, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched the way your hips swayed when you walked away, your mini dress paired with those heels of yours had him tonguing the inside of his cheek.

“did she just bitch you out, bro?” topper looked genuinely shocked as rafe laughed. “nah, she’s flirting.” from then on, you two would shamelessly stare at each other from across the room, keeping your eyes locked on one another even while you had people at your side who were more than interested in taking you home. rafe would pass by, muttering an insult just loud enough for you to hear and you’d laugh, dismissing him as if he was nothing but a fly on the wall.

you’d be lying if you said the so called ‘princess’ treatment didn’t get old after a while. rafe was the only person who seemingly didn’t care about your feelings. and you liked it. naturally, you craved something different, something that no one out here in the real world had the guts to do— degrade you and make you feel small. like you were nothing. turning to the only thing you could in order to keep your anonymity, you made a tumblr blog, easily racking up followers by posting your deepest and darkest desires and fantasies.

not even your best friends knew this side of you. you could be as depraved as you wanted to be on the app, and even if the whole point in you making your blog was to be anonymous, you still posted your own photos on there. of course your face wouldn’t be showing in any of them, but reading the comments as they flooded in filled the void you didn’t realize was there to begin with. a particular user, however, always left comments on your posts that had your thighs rubbing together.

it wasn’t long before you decided to check out his account, deciding to follow him back once you read through some of his posts. truthfully, you were the only girl he followed on the platform, he couldn’t help but feel like a lot of other accounts were ran by robots. you actually interacted with people on your blog, you had a personality. when he got the notification that you followed him back, he wasted no time in sending you a message.

[10:01 PM] countryclub: wsp

[10:15 PM] brattydiaries: ew.

[10:16 PM] countryclub: ???

[10:16 PM] countryclub: i just want to talk to you.

[10:25 PM] brattydiaries: yeah i can see that lol

[10:26 PM] brattydiaries: ‘wsp’ is so icky though. it kinda gives me high schooler vibes

‘high schooler vibes’ rafe snorted when he read your reply, internally cringing as he read back his previous message. you had a point.

[10:28 PM] countryclub: can i start over?

[10:30 PM] brattydiaries: can you?

[10:31 PM] countryclub: may i?

you smiled when he corrected himself.

[10:33 PM] brattydiaries: ugh i guess..

[10:38 PM] countryclub: 1 attachment

[10:38 PM] countryclub: hey i cum to your pictures all the time. here’s a picture of my cock and the mess you made me make.

usually you’d immediately block when an unsolicited dick pic found its way to your dm’s, but this one was unlike any others you’ve received.

your jaw was on the floor.

this wasn’t the ordinary ‘no-effort’ kind of picture. he wasn’t obnoxiously holding his length as if he was presenting it to you, instead he had his fist wrapped around the base, his aching tip standing on its own as his cum adorned his abs. his skin was also glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, your chest blooming with pride as you realized just how much your blog riled him up. he was very well groomed, the underside of his cock slick with the aftermath of your most recent photos.

this was just different. you felt your bitchy resolve crumbling down with every second you stared at the details, the sight of the veins in his arms and hands had you pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, your brain going blank as you tried to come up with a response.

[10:50 PM] countryclub: you done being a bitch and acting like i’m not good enough to talk to you? or do i have to send you more pictures of what you do to me?

yeah. you were totally fucked.

from that point forward, you two sexted day and night, your phone basically living in your hands as you went about your everyday life. soon, all of your posts became about him, both you and rafe seemingly dancing circles around each other. while you two lived for pissing each other off and did everything to be a nuisance to one another in real life, you were actually, literally getting each other off behind the screen.

you were surprising him with photos throughout the day, his dirty talk making you fall asleep with a sticky mess between your thighs. it was only a matter of time before he started wanting to hear your voice, even going as far as asking for your number so you could call and actually talk to one another. of course, you were hesitant, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t wish to hear those filthy things he says in your messages in your ears instead.

so you agreed. you gave him your number and waited for him to call.. and nothing. for the first time in your life, you waited for a phone call from a man, and he never delivered. your ego was in shambles. even after you came up with excuses as to why he didn’t call, none of them made sense. the next day you woke up to no new messages, your heart clenching in your chest when you went to his profile and saw that he deleted all of his posts.

what the fuck?

deciding to stay off of the app for the time being, you hated how a few months of sexting made you think about him every chance you got.

you didn’t even know his name for crying out loud!

if your friends noticed something off about your attitude, they didn’t point it out. even rafe was more irritable, both of you getting in full on arguments if you two spent too much time together in a social setting. your comebacks would have him on the verge of dragging you out of the room by your hair, wishing so bad that he could just put you in your place. it wasn’t until you got home from another one of topper’s parties that your phone lit up with a message.

from him.

[1:00 AM] countryclub: hey

you scoffed. ‘hey’ that was all that he could say? after all of the time that passed, he could only spare you one fucking word? you were about to block him before you got another notification.

[1:07 AM] countryclub: i’m really sorry for ghosting you, alright? i just freaked out.

[1:09 AM] brattydiaries: you sent me a picture of your dick when we first messaged each other and you’re barely freaking out now? don’t you think we’re far past that point already?

[1:12 AM] countryclub: we definitely are, it’s just when you sent me your number, my heart dropped to my ass.

[1:12 AM] brattydiaries: you asked for it and i gave it to you. i’m confused rn.

[1:14 AM] countryclub: no it isn’t that

[1:15 AM] brattydiaries: then what the fuck is it?

[1:19 AM] countryclub: we have the same area code.

[sugarplum217]

Essence Of Loyalty (Pt.1)

Pairing: Terry Richmond X Black Plus Size Female Reader

Warnings: MDNI (18+) contains sexual explicit content, heavy smut, spit play, oral sex, A VERY HEAVY USE OF “daddy” and “mama”, unprotected sex, cursing, major dirty talk, creampie, mentions of murder, lots of heavy sexual flirtation, detailed sexual acts , fluff

AuthorsNote: Please excuse any mistakes or grammatical errors. I hope you enjoy the story and remember to be kind and if you want to be tagged in the next part let me know.

Summary: Everyone and their mama has been trying to either set you up on a date with someone or continuously remind you that your clock is ticking away. That you weren’t getting any younger and your looks would eventually fade. What they didn’t know is that you already had your special someone. In fact you’ve had him a while. You know how that saying goes, “Good things come to those who wait” and for you in this instance. It was nothing but the waiting game for your special someone to finally walk into your life. The question is .. would it be acceptable for everyone else?

You never expected to fall in love with a man behind bars. It started as nothing more than a random click—some late-night curiosity fueled by boredom and an ad that popped up between Facebook posts. Find love where you least expect it. Meet single men looking for companionship. You damn near scrolled past it, but something made you stop. Maybe it was the way the words “love” and “companionship” stood out, teasing something you didn’t realize you were craving. Maybe it was just the boredom, the same mundane routine of work, home, sleep, repeat, stretching on like a treadmill you couldn’t step off. Either way, you clicked. Scrolling through the profiles felt like flipping through a catalog you had no business browsing. Men of all ages and backgrounds, some looking for friendship, others for love. But none of them caught your attention. That is—until you saw him. Inmate 07541, Terrance Richmond. Baby, that mugshot stopped you cold. Rich buttery light caramel skin, sharp jawline, and full lips that looked like they could whisper secrets straight into your soul. His nose was strong, his features chiseled, but it was those damn piercing uniquely colored eyes that did it. Deep-set, hooded, with a stare so intense you could feel it through the screen. Something about them made your heart stutter—like he was looking at you, past you, into you. There was no forced smile, no tough-guy posturing. Just that stare. You hesitated, hovering over the message button. What the hell were you doing? Messaging a man serving time? A man who, according to his bio, had been locked up since he was 18? Still, curiosity won. You typed out a casual introduction—something light, something safe—and hit send. Then you pushed it to the back of your mind, fully expecting no response, but he wrote back. And not just some half-assed, one-line reply. He wrote you back.

That first message turned into another. And another. Emails became long letters, paragraphs bleeding into pages, until you found yourself rushing home from work just to see his name in your inbox. You learned everything about him—the way he used to play football before his life changed, the music he listened to, the books he read to escape the four walls of his cell. He told you about his past, the pain, the betrayal, the night everything changed. And you told him about yours—how life felt like it was happening at you instead of for you. How you wanted more, but you didn’t know what more even looked like. Then came the sweet video calls. The first time you saw him move, saw that sharp jaw flex when he smiled, heard that deep, velvety voice rumble straight through the screen—you were done. Hooked. Gone. Two years later, here you were. In a relationship—a real one, even if nobody knew. And in a few days, he’d be free. And that? That scared you more than anything.

“You always got an excuse, girl. What is tea?”Sonya’s voice snapped you back to the present, and you blinked, realizing your fork had been hovering over your plate for way too long. It was lunchtime at Taste Of The South Cafe, your usual Friday spot with the girls. The table was cluttered with half-empty margarita glasses, plates of fried catfish and mac and cheese, and the scent of honey butter croissants floating in the air. Normally, this was your escape from the monotony of work. But today? You were ready to go.

“I just wanna relax,” You half way lied, pushing your food around. Sonya wasn’t buying it. Neither was Deja.

“Girl, please,” Deja scoffed. “Every time we plan a girls’ night, your ass come up with something. What’s up? You sneakin’ around with somebody?”

“Ain’t nobody sneakin’.” You forced a laugh, shaking your head. 

“Then why you always rushin’ home like you got a man waitin’ on you?” Sonya arched a brow, swirling her margarita.

“Because I do.” You thought to yourself. But you didn’t say that. Instead, you shrugged, hoping they’d let it go. They didn’t.

“You sure it ain’t that new dude in accounting?” Deja pressed. “The one with the Audi and the beard? Girl, he is fine.”

“Not my type,” You said quickly.

Sonya snorted. “And what is your type? Because last time I checked, you were single as hell.”

You just smiled, keeping your real thoughts locked up tight. Because your type wasn’t something you could explain to them. Your type wasn’t sitting in an office, making six figures, and posting gym selfies on Instagram. Your type was locked behind bars. A man who had spent more of his life inside than out. A man whose voice alone made your thighs clench, whose absence felt like a missing limb. But they wouldn’t get that. So you just laughed it off, switched the subject, and counted down the hours until you could talk to him. The day dragged. By the time you made it to your car, your feet were aching, your patience was shot, and you were tired. But none of that mattered. Because in just a few minutes, he’d be calling. The drive home was full of bumper-to-bumper traffic and the usual call from your mama.

“Hey ma” You greeted, honking the car in front of you to move their ass. 

“Hey my baby. You comin’ to dinner this weekend?” She asked.

“Yeah, I’ll be there.” You make a face, thanking god she can’t see you.

“Good. Your sister’s bringing her fiancé.” She said, her tone laced with excitement. Of course, she was. Your older sister had the picture-perfect life—a man, a ring, a timeline that fit neatly into the family’s expectations.

“And he’s bringing his brother,” You mother added casually.

You sighed. “Ma—”

“Just be open-minded! You’re a beautiful girl, and you ain’t gettin’ any younger.” She reminded for the hundredth time. You gritted your teeth, gripping the steering wheel. If only she knew. But you decided to let it go. 

“I’ll see you Saturday.” You shook your head, hanging up.By the time you got home, it was 6:59pm. You barely had time to drop your purse before your phone lit up with that Incoming Call from your ‘Big Daddy’. You squealed, feeling your heart flip. 

You snatched it up, answering with a smile. “Hey, baby.”

“Damn, I needed to hear your voice.” A low chuckle rumbled through the speaker, deep enough to send heat pooling between your thighs. 

You melted instantly. “Long day?”

“Long as hell,” He sighed. “But I knew I’d be hearin’ from you, so I got through it.”

Your chest tightened. “I missed you.”

“Yeah? I missed you more baby” He smirked. You could hear it in his voice. “Tell me about your day, baby.”

So you did. You told him everything—lunch with your nosy-ass friends, your mama trying to set you up. And he listened quietly like always when it came to your day and what crazy ass story you had ready for him. That was one of the many things you loved about Terry, how he could just listen and never get tired of you talking. 

“Don’t sweat that shit, baby. You got a man.” He chuckled, low and smooth. That possessiveness made your toes curl.

“Yeah?” you teased. “I got a man?”

“Hell yeah,” He murmured. “And in a few days, you gon’ have me in every way possible.”

Your breath hitched and your body got hot. Because in just a few days, Terry Richmond would be free. And you would finally be his.  You adjusted the phone against your ear, stretching out on the couch, letting his voice roll over you like thick honey.

“You talkin’ real reckless, Mr. Terrance,” you teased, biting your lip. “What makes you think you gettin’ all this good good so easy?”

A deep, knowing chuckle rumbled through the receiver, sending shivers down your spine. “Baby,” He drawled, voice rich and slow like he was savoring every syllable. “Don’t play wit’ me. You and I both know the second I touch down, I’ma have you laid out for me, just how I like it.”

“Oh yeah?” Your thighs pressed together at the promise in his tone.

“Hell yeah. First thing I’m doin’ is spreadin’ them thighs, makin’ up for lost time. You know I been starvin’ for you. Ain’t had a taste of sweet pussy in years. I need my plate, ma.” He stated, making your breath hitch and heat coil in your lower belly. 

“Terry…” You breathed, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Say my name just like that when I’m between them legs,” He murmured. “Matter fact, scream it. I’ma put my mouth on every inch of you. Them thighs? Mine. Them hips? Mine. That spot you say makes you weak right under your belly button? I’m kissin’ it first. And you already know where I’m endin’ up.”

Your body responded to his words instantly, your nipples tightening against the fabric of your blouse. The ache between your thighs grew unbearable. You were so tempted to rub on your clit as he talked to you, but you knew big daddy’s rules. You weren’t allowed to touch yourself at all unless he gave the permission and could listen to you without any interruptions. 

“You talkin’ crazy,” You whispered, your voice thick with need.

“Nah, baby, I’m talkin’ facts. You gon’ see. Soon as I get out, you ain’t leavin’ that bed for at least three days.” He chuckled. 

“Oh, so I’m just gonna be held hostage?” You let out a shaky laugh, your fingers toying with the hem of your skirt.

“Damn right,” He said without hesitation. “Ain’t no way I been locked up this long just to finally get my hands on you and let you go. Shit, you gon’ be beggin’ me to let you breathe.”

Your stomach flipped. You wanted that. Needed that. But then, reality settled back in. The system didn’t make things easy.

“Speaking of that…What did your lawyer say about your release date? Will you be out on my birthday like we want?” You exhaled, shifting the phone closer to your ear. It was silence for a moment. The weight of it pressed heavy between you, thick and uncertain. You held your breath preparing for the worst case scenario possible. 

“They still pushin’ for my original release date, but you know how this shit go. Paperwork, red tape, all that. My lawyer confident, though. He say if everything lines up, I should be out right on time. Maybe even a couple days before.” Terry let out a slow breath.

“For real?” Your chest tightened with cautious hope. 

“For real, baby. But…” He hesitated. “You know they been tryin’ to trip me up in here. COs, some of these jealous-ass inmates. They know I’m close to freedom, and they hate that shit. I gotta keep my head low, stay out the way, but it’s hard sometimes. Real hard.”

“They still on that bullshit?” Your jaw clenched.

“Yeah,” He muttered. “They hate a nigga like me gettin’ a second chance. And these lame ass inmates tryna set me up don’t help either.”

“Terry, I swear to God if they—”You closed your eyes, frustration bubbling inside you.

“Relax, mama,” He said, voice dropping into that deep, soothing register that always made you weak. “Ain’t nothin’ stoppin’ me from comin’ home to you. I promise you that. I done made it through too much to let these motherfuckers take my freedom again.”

“Baby, please promise me you won’t do nothin’ to mess this up. I need you here. I need you home.” You frowned, Terry remained silent allowing you to vent because he knew this was becoming harder everyday for you to cope with. You swallowed hard, throat tight.

“I just…” You hesitated, then admitted softly, “I just need you here. I don’t want anything messin’ this up. My 28th birthday… Terry, all I want is you.”

“I know, ma. Trust me, I know.” His voice softened, turning serious. “You the only thing keepin’ me sane in here. The only thing keepin’ me goin’. I promise you, I ain’t lettin’ nothin’ get in the way of me comin’ home to you.”

“Okay,” you whispered. “I trust you.” You inhaled deeply, letting his words settle over you. 

“You got me for life baby,” He said assuring you, voice thick with emotion. “I swear to you, baby. If I gotta fight every damn day until that judge signs my release, I’ma do it. ‘Cause you worth it. We worth it.”

“You better mean that,” You whispered. Tears pricked your eyes, but you blinked them away.

“I do. And when I’m finally out, when I got you in my arms, I’ma make sure you never question that again.”

“I love you so much.” You exhaled shakily.

“I love you more, baby.” He bit his lip, feeling his heart speed up. 

“You swear you gonna come home to me, Terry?” You exhaled, stretching your legs out on the couch, your free hand absently trailing over your bare thigh. 

“Baby, listen to me.” His voice came through the receiver, deep and unwavering. “I need you to hear me when I say this. Ain’t nothin’ stoppin’ me from comin’ home to you. I done wasted enough years locked up, dreamin’ about what it feel like to be free, to wake up next to a woman who actually give a damn about me. I ain’t lettin’ no CO, no hating-ass inmate, no system take that from me.”

You closed your eyes, soaking in his words. A small tear escaped your eyes as you just let him talk and calm all of your fears. 

“And you really think I’m about to let you be out here spendin’ another birthday without me? Nah, ma. That ain’t happenin’.” He let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating through your chest. “Matter fact, you should start gettin’ ready now, ‘cause soon as I step through that door, I’m givin’ you somethin’ to celebrate.”

“Oh yeah? What you givin’ me, Terry?” A slow smile spread across your lips. 

“Ain’t it obvious? My last name, first of all.” He stated matter of factly. 

“Boy, stop playin’.” Your breath caught in your throat.

“Who playin’?” He challenged. “You really think I been doin’ all this talkin’, dreamin’ about you, makin’ plans, just to be out here on some casual shit? Nah, baby. You my woman. And when I get home, I’m puttin’ a ring on that pretty lil’ finger. You ain’t gon’ be nobody else’s but mine.”

Heat spread through your chest, settling deep in your belly. He always had a way of making you feel claimed, but this? This was different. This felt all too real and that he was promising you the moon and the stars and would actually reach up in the damn sky and get it for you. 

“Terry…” You purred slightly. 

“Say it again,” He murmured, voice dropping to that low, dangerous octave that always did something to you. “Say my name just like that.”

“Terry.” Your lips parted, slowing your words down for him. 

“Mmm,” He groaned. “That’s what I wanna hear every morning, every night. That’s what I wanna hear when I’m makin’ love to you, when I’m in it so deep you forget how to say anything else.”

“You tryna kill me, huh?” You sucked in a breath, your thighs pressing together instinctively. 

“Nah, ma. Just tryna remind you who you belong to.” He smirked, licking his lips. 

You chewed your lip, heart pounding against your ribs. The thought of him finally being here, of feeling him, touching him, owning him in the flesh—it was almost too much.

“Terry…” You started, voice soft, hesitant.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He adjusted the phone on his ear, eyebrows furrowing. You hesitated a moment afraid to tell him what’s really been on your mind. Afraid he wouldn’t understand but truth was Terry was more than understanding when it came to you. 

“I just… I keep thinking about what’s gonna happen once you’re really here. Like, when it’s not just phone calls and emails. When it’s real. When it’s us.” You honestly confessed, sighing. You heard a brief pause making your stomach tighten out of angst. You held your breath afraid he’d be upset but after a few seconds, he then spoke gently. 

”That’s what you scared of?” He asked, voice soft. 

You swallowed. “Not scared, just… it’s gonna be different. You been inside since you were 18, Terry. That’s—” You did the math in your head, stomach twisting. “Seventeen years. That’s a long time.”

“I know,” He said simply. “You think I don’t know that? Every damn day, I been countin’ down to this moment. I know it’s gon’ be an adjustment. I ain’t naive to that, baby. But what I do know is that I want this. You. I ain’t spent two years fallin’ in love with you for nothin’. And I damn sure ain’t finna let somethin’ as small as a transition period shake me.”

You exhaled, nodding even though he couldn’t see you. “I just want you to be happy, Terry.”

“I am happy, ma. You make me happy.” He professed from his heart, making your heart squeeze and stomach flutter. 

“Now,” He continued, voice laced with that familiar hunger. “Can we get back to what I was sayin’? ‘Cause I still got a whole list of things I plan to do to you soon as I get out.”

“Oh yeah? Go ‘head then, baby. I’m listenin’.” Your stomach flipped.

Terry exhaled through the receiver, the sound slow and deliberate. “Aight, so… First thing I’m doin’ soon as I step through that door? I’m droppin’ my bag, pullin’ you close, and kissin’ you like I been starvin’ for it.”

“Mmmm.” You bit your lip, already picturing the scene.

“Ain’t gon’ be no soft, sweet shit neither. Nah,” He rumbled. “I’m talkin’ about deep, wet, tongue all in your mouth, my hands locked around that waist, pullin’ you so tight you feel my dick pressin’ up against you.”

“Damn, Big Daddy. Can I at least take my heels off first?” You let out a breathy laugh.

“Hell nah,” He said smoothly. “Matter fact, leave ‘em on. I want you just like that. Fresh off work, tight lil’ skirt ridin’ up, them pretty ass legs wrapped ‘round my waist while I pin you up against the door.”

“Oh shit..” Your entire body heated at the image. You had to fan yourself, and cross your legs to avoid any wetness seeping out. 

“You know how long I been dreamin’ about that, baby?” His voice dropped an octave, turning into something dark, possessive. “Seventeen years. Seventeen years I been locked in this hellhole, surrounded by nothin’ but concrete and steel, knowin’ I ain’t got a real woman to touch, to taste, to claim. And then you came along…”

“B-Baby..” A soft gasp slipped from your lips. You squeezed your thighs shut tighter, already soaking your panties. 

“And now all I can think about is how you gon’ feel underneath me. How soft your skin is. How good you smell. How sweet you taste.” He growled lowly in your ear. 

“Shit.” You cursed, shifting on the couch, thighs pressing together.

“Mmm,” He hummed knowingly. “You wet for me, ain’t you?”

“Terry—” You swallowed.

“Nah, don’t try to play it off now,” He interrupted. “I know you, ma. I know you sittin’ there, grippin’ that phone tight, breathin’ all heavy, body heatin’ up just listenin’ to me talk. I don’t even need to be there to know how bad you want me.”

“You lucky you locked up.” You let out a shaky breath, tilting your head back against the couch. 

“Lucky? Nah, baby. Unlucky. ‘Cause if I was home right now, I’d have you laid out, ass up, back arched, moanin’ my name so loud the neighbors call the cops.”He chuckled, voice dripping with amusement.

“Boy, stop!” You laughed, shaking your head. “You talk all that shit, I hope you got the stamina to back it up.”

Terry clicked his tongue. “Oh, you doubtin’ me? That’s crazy. Lemme find out my baby think I ain’t gon’ put in work.”

“I mean, it has been a long time, Big Papa,” You teased.

“Aight,” He drawled, tone dangerous. “Keep playin’ with me. You gon’ be beggin’ me to let you breathe when I’m done with you.”

Your stomach flipped at the way he said it, so smooth and confident like he had zero doubt in his ability to back up every single word. The next few hours passed in a blur, the two of you tangled in conversation like it was your own little world. Terry told you about the meals he was craving—real food, not that processed mess they served on metal trays. He wanted collard greens, mac and cheese, cornbread, fried chicken, all made by you. “I need a home-cooked meal, baby. Something made with love,” He said, his voice full of longing. You laughed and promised to have a whole spread waiting for him. Then the conversation shifted to the small things—how he couldn’t wait to sleep in a real bed, how he wanted to go outside at night just to feel the wind on his face without fences in the way, how he wanted to sit on the couch with you and watch a movie with your legs draped over his lap. “Shit like that, ma,” He murmured. “The simple stuff. That’s what I miss the most.”

And you listened, hanging onto his every word, feeling your heart swell with each confession. The world had taken so much from him, stripped him of so many years, but somehow, he still had softness in him. He still had love to give. You found yourself telling him about all the things you wanted to do together, too—how you wanted to take him out to eat at a real restaurant, go on a drive late at night just because, lay up with him on a Sunday morning while the smell of breakfast filled the apartment. The more you talked, the more the reality of him coming home settled deep inside you. “You really gon’ take care of me, huh?” he asked, his voice low and full of something tender. “You damn right,” you whispered. “Somebody gotta make up for all that time you lost.”

If someone had told you years ago that you’d fall in love with a man behind bars, you would’ve laughed in their face. You always wanted love, prayed for it even, but you never imagined it would come in the form of Terry Richmond—a man with a past heavier than most, a man who had seen the worst parts of life and still found a way to hold onto his soul. He was the most fascinating, most alluring man you’d ever known, and you had never been more open with anyone in your life. You craved him in ways that scared you sometimes. You wanted to be the one to feed him, to run him a hot bath and wash years of struggle off his skin. You wanted to rub his shoulders, his chest, his back, to remind him that he was human, that he was home. And the way he talked to you, the way he poured into you, made you feel like you were already his sanctuary.

After you finally got off the phone, you moved into your nighttime routine, taking your time washing your face, patting your skin dry, smoothing your serums in like a ritual. You stared at yourself in the mirror, thinking about how your life was about to change. In just a few days, he’d be here, in your space, in your bed, in your life outside of those prison walls. As you reached for your bonnet and wrapped it securely around your head, your phone buzzed on the counter. FaceTime. Mama. You sighed, knowing she’d scold you if you didn’t answer, so you slid your thumb across the screen and propped the phone up.

“Hey, Mama,” You greeted, already bracing yourself.

“Hey, baby,” She said, peering at you through the screen. “Just callin’ to say goodnight and check on you before you went to bed.”  

“I’m alright , Mama. Just gettin’ ready for bed. Doing my usual routine.” You smiled. 

“Mm-hmm,” She hummed, then her face lit up. “Oh! Guess who I ran into today? You remember Kiana Perkins from high school?”

You frowned, digging through your memory. “Kiana Perkins… oh yeah, the one who used to run track?”

“Yes, her! Baby, she married now, got two babies, livin’ all happy with her husband. She showed me pictures and everything. And I just… I don’t know, baby, it got me thinkin’.” She started in on you. 

“Mama—” You groaned internally.

She held up a hand. “I know what you ‘bout to say, but hear me out. You not gettin’ any younger, baby. I just want you to have somebody. You always been my dumplin’, my soft-hearted baby, and I just—” She sighed. “I just want you to be loved, baby. I want somebody to take care of you for once.”

You bit your lip, heart squeezing at her words, but she didn’t know. She didn’t know that you did have somebody. That you had Terry. That soon, you wouldn’t be coming home to an empty bed anymore. You leaned back against the bathroom counter, swallowing the lump in your throat as your mother continued, her voice full of concern. 

“You know, I just don’t want you to end up like me, raising a family all on your own. You’ve got so much to offer, baby, don’t let it go to waste.” She paused, waiting for you to respond, but you were caught in a whirlwind of emotions. You wanted to tell her the truth, but you couldn’t—not yet. Terry was still behind those walls, and the world wasn’t ready for your truth. Not yet.

“I hear you, Mama,” You said softly, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “But I’m good. I’m happy with how things are right now.”

She eyed you, her brow furrowing, but she didn’t push it. “Alright,” she finally said, her tone softening. “Just don’t wait too long, baby. Time don’t wait for nobody.”

“I won’t, Mama. Promise,” You replied, though you knew the promise wasn’t to her. It was to yourself. You weren’t going to waste any more time. The conversation moved on, and you couldn’t help but feel a little guilty for not telling her about Terry. She didn’t know that every night, you fell asleep with thoughts of him, that his voice had become the lullaby you never knew you needed. You thought about his touch, his words, the way he made you feel like you were the only woman in the world. But for now, it was a secret. Your secret. You wrapped up the call with your mother, promising to be at Sunday dinner over the weekend, and hung up. The air felt thick now, like the weight of your own desires had settled in your chest. You finished getting ready for bed, your mind racing with thoughts of Terry, wondering if he was thinking about you too, wondering how much longer you’d have to wait before he was finally home. As you slipped under the

covers, your mind drifted to your happy place and that was Terry. Eventually after saying a quick silent prayer for him and his safety like you did every night, you finally went to sleep. 

The morning light seeped through the blinds, casting long golden streaks across your bedroom. You lay there for a moment, tangled in your silk sheets, staring at the ceiling with a heavy mind. The anticipation sat on your chest like a weight. Today could be the day you got answers—real answers—about Terry’s release. No more guesswork, no more waiting in limbo. Either he’d be home in time for your birthday, or he wouldn’t. And if it was up to you, there wouldn’t be a wouldn’t. Your phone vibrated on the nightstand, shaking you from your thoughts. The number was unfamiliar, but you knew who it had to be before you even swiped to answer.

“Hello?” Your voice was groggy, thick with sleep, but there was an urgency beneath it.

“Good morning, this is Michael Walker, Terry Richmond’s attorney.” The voice on the other end was smooth, professional, but you caught that slight edge—like he was bracing himself for a conversation you might not want to have. “I wanted to give you an update on his case. Do you have a moment?”

“Of course. What’s the update?” You pushed yourself upright, resting your back against the headboard.

Michael exhaled. “So here’s where we are. We’re still waiting on the judge’s final decision regarding his release. As you know, we’ve been pushing hard for full release instead of parole, but the system moves at its own pace. Right now, it’s looking like one of two things will happen—either the judge will sign off on his release, and he’ll be free to come home, or he’ll be granted parole with conditions.”

Your stomach twisted at the word “conditions.” That could mean anything. A curfew. Mandatory check-ins. Restrictions on where he could go, what he could do. You wanted Terry free—not still tangled in the system’s web.

“Is there a chance he’ll be home by my birthday?” You asked, your voice smaller than you intended.

Michael hesitated. That damn hesitation. You hated it. “That’s what we’re aiming for,” He said finally. “But it’s all in the judge’s hands. We’re doing everything we can to make it happen, but we need to be realistic.”

Your fingers tightened around the phone. “I just… I need him home.” The words left you before you could stop them, more vulnerable than you wanted to sound.

“I get it,” Michael said, and for the first time, there was something softer in his tone. “But here’s the thing—you need to make sure Terry understands how important it is for him to stay in line right now. He’s close. So damn close. But if he gets into it with the COs, if he so much as breathes wrong in there, it could delay everything. Or worse.”

A lump formed in your throat. Terry had been through hell in that prison. You knew how hard it was for him to bite his tongue, to play the game when the guards disrespected him just for breathing. You also knew how much some of those inmates hated to see another Black man about to touch freedom. Envy was a dangerous thing.

“I’ll talk to him,” You said firmly. “I’ll make sure he knows.”

“Good,” Michael replied. “I’ll keep you posted on any updates. Until then, just keep him focused on what’s waiting for him on the outside.”

And that’s exactly what you planned to do. Because he was coming home. To you. To the life y’all had spent two years dreaming up. And you weren’t about to let anything or anyone take that away. The weight of everything that needed to be done before Terry came home sat on your shoulders like a mix of excitement and pressure. There was so much to prepare, so much to buy, so much to perfect before your man walked through that door and took his rightful place in your life. Clothes, toiletries, shoes, cologne—he was stepping into a world he hadn’t been a part of since he was barely legal, and you were determined to make sure he had everything he needed to start fresh. And then there was you. Your own upkeep was just as important. You wanted to look good good for him. A fresh Brazilian wax so your skin was baby smooth, eyebrows snatched, lashes full and fluttery, and your hair? Oh, that had to be flawless—not just for your birthday but because you already knew he was going to have it all over the place by the end of the night. You could already hear the headboard knocking, already feel his breath on your skin, already picture the way he’d grip you like he was making up for lost time. The thought alone made your stomach tighten with anticipation.

But beyond all the surface-level preparation, there was a deeper feeling swirling inside you. Letting a man you’d only seen through a screen and heard through a receiver move into your home was a huge step. Some would call it crazy. Hell, a part of you knew it was risky, but love had never been about playing it safe. And with Terry? It had never felt like a risk. It felt right. He was your soulmate—plain and simple. The man you wanted to

wake up to, fall asleep with, build a family with. You’d spent two years loving him from a distance, and now, you were stepping into a reality where he was yours in every way. You weren’t naive to the adjustments that would come with it, but you also weren’t afraid. He was worth it.

With a stretch and a soft sigh, you finally pulled yourself out of bed, the silk of your nightgown clinging to your curves as you padded across your bedroom. It barely covered your ass, the hem rising with each step, and you lazily reached for your robe, wrapping it around you before making your way into the kitchen. The house was still, quiet, but soon, it would be filled with his presence. Him walking around shirtless, his deep voice filling up every room, his scent lingering on the furniture. You couldn’t wait. As you reached for the fridge, your eyes landed on the Polaroid photo of him taped to the door—one of the few glimpses of him outside of a call or a video chat. He had sent it during one of the rare inmate photo days, his expression serious but his eyes still burning with something that made your stomach flip. Damn, you fine. You ran a finger over the image, smiling to yourself before pulling out the eggs and milk.

The one thing people probably wouldn’t understand was why you had never visited him in prison. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to. God knew you had begged to. But Terry? Terry was territorial to his core. It had taken months of back-and-forth, of pleading and arguing, before you finally accepted that he wasn’t going to let you step foot in that visiting room. He didn’t want no prison guards or inmates looking at his woman—studying you, lusting after you, imagining things about you that only he was allowed to. You belonged to him, and the thought of other men—especially those locked up with him—laying their eyes on you sent him into a rage he didn’t even try to hide. It wasn’t just possessiveness; it was protection. He had seen too many things go left in that place, and the last thing he wanted was for you to be a part of any of it. So, you let it go, trusting that the day would come when you wouldn’t have to love him from a distance. That day was almost here.

You were in the middle of whisking the batter for your waffles when your phone vibrated on the counter. Without hesitation, you snatched it up, already knowing who it was.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Terry’s deep, raspy voice sent a warmth down your spine. His morning voice was dangerous.

“Mmm, good morning, baby,” You hummed, tucking the phone between your ear and shoulder as you continued mixing. “How’d you sleep?”

“Would’ve slept better with you underneath me,” He murmured, the smirk in his tone evident. “What my baby got planned for today?”

You bit your lip, smiling. “Just a quick Target and BJ’s run to stock the house up for you, then I gotta get my nails done. Oh, and I gotta swing by the post office to pick up my bundles that came in.”

He chuckled, low and knowing. “Mmm, you tryna get fine for Big Daddy?”

“Mmhmm.” You giggled, rolling your eyes even though he couldn’t see you.

“Damn, girl…” His voice dropped a little lower, and you could almost see him licking his lips on the other end. “Ima eat that pussy like crazy, baby girl.”

Your breath hitched, a heat sparking between your thighs. “Terry!” You squealed, laughing. “Stop being nasty!”

“Nah, I’m deadass serious.” His tone was dark, full of hunger. “You don’t even know what you got coming.”

You took a steadying breath, trying to shake off the goosebumps crawling up your skin. “Listen, nasty man, we need to talk.” Your tone shifted, getting serious. “Your attorney called me this morning. We need to discuss what he told me.”

“What he say?” There was a pause before he answered with a serious tone. 

You exhaled. “Baby…” You gripped the phone tighter, staring at the batter as if it had the answers. “It’s about your release.”

Terry was silent for a moment, and you could feel the shift in his energy through the phone. That easy, teasing tone from before was gone, replaced by something heavier—something cautious.

“What about it?” His voice was lower now, tight with restraint.

You sighed, setting the whisk down and gripping the edge of the counter. “He said they’re still waiting on the judge to sign off, and it could go either way. Either parole or full release.” You paused, running your tongue over your lips. “I asked if you’d be home by my birthday, and he said that’s what they’re pushing for, but the judge has to approve it first and it appears the judge is taking their sweet ass time. Same shit you told me last night.” 

“Man… I been waiting years for this moment. If they try to stall this shit…” Terry sucked his teeth, exhaling sharply through his nose.

“Baby, don’t even put that energy in the air,” You cut in quickly, gripping the phone. “It’s gonna happen. You just gotta hold tight.”

“I’m tryna hold tight, ma, but you don’t understand. I been locked down since I was eighteen. Half my life. I done played by they rules, kept my nose clean, did everything I was supposed to do. And now, when it’s finally my time to touch down, they wanna drag they feet?” His frustration was raw, and you didn’t blame him one bit.

“That’s why we gotta be smart about this,” You soothed, lowering your voice. “Your attorney said you need to walk a fine line, Terry. These COs and some of them inmates? They don’t want to see you win, baby. You getting out means they lose power over you. And if you let ‘em get under your skin, if you give them any reason to stall this—”

“I know, baby,” He gritted, cutting you off. “I ain’t stupid.”

“I never said you were,” You softened, biting your lip. “But you know they’ll do anything to keep a black man locked up. You know that. You can’t afford to slip.”

Another deep sigh. “I just wanna be with you, ma,” He admitted, his voice quieter now, the vulnerability cutting through all the frustration. “That’s all I been holding on to. You. Us. The life we ‘bout to have.”

“And you will be with me, Terry. Soon. I promise.” Your heart clenched, and you closed your eyes for a second.

“You the only thing keeping me sane right now, baby,” He muttered. “You really are.”

“And you the only man I want. Ain’t nothing gon’ change that.” You swallowed hard, that warmth creeping back into your chest.

He went quiet for a beat, then, “Damn, you really love me, huh?”

“Boy, you already know.” You chuckled, shaking your head.

“Say it,” He murmured.

“I love you, Terrance Richmond.” You bit your lip, smiling. 

A deep exhale came through the line, like those words alone were enough to ground him. “I love you too, ma. More than you even know.”

“You better love me with your fine self.” You giggled, continuing to whisk the batter. He chuckled lowly, the sound making your ears perk up at the nostalgic sound.

“You know I want a baby soon as possible, right? Just like we talked about.” Terry’s voice dipped even lower, that familiar edge of possession curling around his words. 

“I know, baby.” You bit your lip, warmth spreading through your belly at the certainty in his tone.

“Nah,” He pressed. “I mean, soon as I get home, I’m filling you up. I ain’t playing.”

A giggle bubbled out of you. “Well, that’s good to know,”  You teased, twisting a strand of hair between your fingers. “Because I already got off my birth control, and I’m ovulating real soon.”

Silence. Then a sharp inhale from Terry. “You serious?”

“Mmhmm.” A smirk played on your lips 

“Good,” He growled. “‘Cause I ain’t pulling out. I want you pregnant, mama. You carrying my son or my baby girl. I already see it.”

A deep shudder rolled through you at the sheer conviction in his voice. There was no hesitation, no doubt—he wanted this, just like you did. Now you knew having a baby before a ring wasn’t the most conventional thing. You were raised better than that, taught that marriage first was the way to go, that being someone’s “baby mama” wasn’t the move. But Terry? He wasn’t that type of man. This wasn’t some half-thought-out, heat-of-the-moment decision. You knew exactly what you were signing up for. From the moment you told him you wanted his baby, he made it crystal clear—both you and that child would have his last name. There would be no question, no hesitation. You weren’t about to be just someone’s BM. You were his woman, his future wife.

The plan was already in motion—soon as he got out, y’all were hitting the courthouse and making it official. No long engagement, no drawn-out wedding planning stress. He wanted to be your husband immediately. And once he was settled, once he was back on his feet, working and bringing in real money, then he’d give you that big wedding, the

one with the flowers, the dress, the family all gathered to watch you walk down the aisle. But for now? The paper, the commitment, you—that’s what mattered most to him.

It wasn’t like you weren’t set up already. You made damn good money, and your degree in business administration had you sitting pretty in a high-paying corporate consulting job, helping multi-million-dollar firms streamline their operations. Your salary was more than enough to hold things down while Terry got back on his feet, and you’d already mapped out a business plan to help him reintegrate. Finding a job after doing seventeen years inside wasn’t easy, but you had resources, connections, a plan. You weren’t just bringing him home—you were making sure he stayed home. You were building a life with this man, and every step of it felt right.

“You think your family gon’ like me?” Terry exhaled through the phone, his deep voice softening just a little. Your smile, bright and easy just seconds ago, slowly faded. It was a fair question. A real one. But it wasn’t an easy one to answer. You knew your mama. Sweet, nurturing, and warm when she wanted to be, but judgmental as hell. A devout Christian woman—saved, sanctified, and filled with the Holy Ghost. She wasn’t fond of anything remotely sinful, and Terry… well, Terry was the walking definition of sinful.

There was no denying he was a fine-ass man. That wasn’t the issue. Standing tall at 6’3”, with those piercing hazel eyes that seemed to shift between ocean-gray and a stormy blue-green depending on the light. Rich, light caramel skin that deepened into a golden bronze in the summer but softened into a fairer hue in the colder months. A strong, chiseled jawline that made him look both dangerous and regal. His lips? Plump, full, always looking like they were ready to be kissed—or used for something far nastier. His short-cropped curly fro was just long enough to grab, and those thick, corded muscles? Yeah. His time behind bars didn’t just sculpt his body—it turned him into a damn statue, cut from flesh instead of marble. His tattoos, inked along his thick arms, added to his edge. Especially that sleeve—his latest one, a masterpiece he got done while inside.

He was the kind of man that turned heads when he walked into a room. The kind that made women cross their legs and bite their lip. But he wasn’t the “good, God-fearing man” your mother had envisioned for you. Terry was the complete opposite. And yet, his heart was the purest thing about him. Despite his past, despite the anger and the hurt buried deep in his soul, he was a good man. A gentle soul trapped in an exterior so hard, so intimidating, most people never got to see the real him.

You inhaled sharply, trying to find the right words. “Baby, I gotta be honest with you.”

“Mmhmm?” His voice was calm. 

You sighed. “I don’t know. My mama… she can be a bit much. And the fact that I’ve been hiding this—hiding us—for the past two years? Oh, she gon’ have a fit. And my sister? Whew, she gon’ have a mouth full too. You’d probably have better luck with my aunties than my own mama.”

Terry chuckled, a deep, warm sound that made your stomach flutter. “I get it, baby. I do.” His voice was soft, understanding. “But I ain’t going nowhere. She can side-eye me, throw oil on me, pray over me ‘til she blue in the face—I’m still gon’ be here. And I’ma do whatever I can to make her love me. To make her see I ain’t some monster. ‘Cause I want this, ma. I want us. I want your family to be my family, too.”

That made you smile. A big one. The kind that deepened your dimples and warmed you from the inside out. But there was something else weighing on you. Something heavy. Something you knew Terry wouldn’t want to talk about, but you had to ask.

You hesitated before carefully pushing forward. “Baby… you gon’ reach out to your mama once you’re free?”

“Nah, Y/N. I’m not.” He answered, his voice, tight and clipped. 

You swallowed. “Baby—”

“Ain’t like she gave a fuck about me in the first place,” he cut you off, his voice colder now. “I’m in here ‘cause of her. You know that.”

“I know. I do. But, baby… you gotta forgive. Not for her. For you. You need peace, Terry. You deserve that.” You exhaled slowly. His breathing was heavier now, like he was trying to keep himself from slipping into that dark place. You hated when he went there. When the bitterness and resentment started to eat away at him.

“I got peace, baby. I got you.” His voice softened just a little, but you could still hear the hurt beneath it. “That’s all I need.”

“I hear you baby.” You softly replied. You decided to respect his wishes and let the conversation about his mother rest. He had been through enough, and you weren’t about to push him into something he wasn’t ready for. Instead, you brightened up, shifting the energy as you let out a little squeal.

“Oh! Baby, my birthday dress came!” You announced excitedly, twirling a loose curl around your finger. “I can’t wait for you to see me in it.”

Terry’s smirk was damn near audible through the phone. “Oh yeah?” His voice dropped an octave, turning rich and smooth like warm honey. “That’s cool, baby… ‘cause I can’t wait to take that shit off you.”

“It is literally nine in the morning, and you already on go.” You chuckled, shaking your head.

“Because I got this pretty, brown-eyed woman waiting on me,” He murmured. “And I can’t stop staring at her picture, picturing our life together beyond these walls. I just need my woman bad.” He let out a breath, voice thick with longing. “I wanna turn your body inside out, have you laid up exhausted, and then make you breakfast in the morning while you recover, boo.”

“Leave the cooking to me, Richmond. Don’t need you burning our house up.” You smirked, scratching your head. You hadn’t even realized you said it like that—our house—until the words left your lips. But Terry caught it instantly. His heart swelled, warmth spreading through his chest like wildfire.

“Our,” He repeated, grinning through the phone. “I like the sound of that. And don’t worry, baby. I could never destroy anything of ours.” His words settled over you like a warm embrace, making your stomach flutter.

Terry cleared his throat after a beat. “So, your girls still takin’ you out for your birthday?”

“Mmhmm,” You confirmed, stretching lazily. “We’re hitting this grown and sexy lounge. Got a section, a table, should be real nice. I just wanted something low-key. Nothing too crazy.”

Terry hummed in approval. “That’s what’s up. You think your girls gon’ accept me?”

You snorted. “They’re gonna love you. Especially Deja. Sonya, though… she might take a minute. She’s Miss Fake Bougie, swearing she a real housewife of Atlanta. But deep down, she’s chill. Just real protective of me.”

Terry let out a low chuckle. “Aight, sounds like a plan, baby girl. Long as they ain’t plotting to run me off, we cool.”

“Never that.” You smiled, resting your chin in your hand, leaning on the countertop.

“Mm. Aight, tell me this, then—what’s the first meal I’m getting when I come home?” He inquired, with a devious smirk. 

“Well, I was thinking… me.” Your voice became real seductive, tilting your head. 

Terry’s laughter rumbled through the phone, low and sinful. “Ain’t no thinking, that’s a guarantee. But just to be safe, cook us something for after, ‘cause we gon’ need the strength.”

“Terry, you so damn silly.” You burst out laughing, shaking your head at him.

“You love it,” He teased, and he wasn’t wrong. Because behind all that reserved, stoic energy, Terry Richmond was a damn goofball at heart. And he was your goofball. The conversation between you and Terry continued, the two of you just vibing, killing time before you had to finally pull yourself away and get in the shower. He told you about a wild dream he had last night—some crazy mix of old memories and future fantasies of the two of you together.

“Man, I swear, I had the realest dream, baby,” He said, voice lazy and deep. “We was laid up in this big-ass house, had the baby in the crib next to us… you was wearin’ my T-shirt, lookin’ all sexy with your lil’ bonnet on, and I just kept pullin’ you closer, not even tryna let you sleep.”

“So you gon’ keep me up even in your dreams?” You laughed, rolling onto your side, twirling the bedsheets between your fingers. 

“Hell yeah,” He said without hesitation. “I been starvin’, baby. Soon as I touch down, I’m eatin’ you up, kissin’ on you, makin’ love to you every chance I get. You gon’ be sick of me.”

“Never that daddy,” You murmured, feeling warmth spread through your body at just the thought of how it would feel to finally have him home.

“Bet,” He chuckled, then let out a deep sigh. “I just be sittin’ in this cell picturing it, picturing us—you in the tub, all soaped up, candles lit, slow jams playin’… me right behind you, holdin’ you close, runnin’ my hands all over that soft ass skin, kissing up your neck… licking on your nipples..”

Your breath hitched, already envisioning the exact same thing. You had put together a playlist for his arrival—nothing but the smoothest 90s and early 2000s R&B, songs that made you wanna melt into somebody’s arms.

“You wanna know what I was thinking about?” You asked, biting your lip.

“What, baby?”  He feigned innocence.

“How you gon’ be sneakin’ into the shower while I’m tryna get ready for work,” you giggled. “Talkin’ about, ‘lemme wake you up the right way’—like I don’t have places to be!”

Terry laughed but then hummed in approval. “Shit, I am waking you up the right way. Gon’ have you walkin’ into work with a smile so big, they gon’ know somebody put it there.”

Your stomach flipped at the thought, heat rising to your cheeks. You were so gone for this man. “You just wait, Richmond,”You teased, sighing dramatically. “You about to be a full-time distraction.”

“That’s my plan, baby.” He grinned through the phone. 

After a few more minutes of sweet talk, you finally sighed. “Alright, I need to get in the shower before I lay here and talk to you all day.”

“I ain’t stoppin’ you,” Terry teased. “I just wanna hear the water runnin’. Let me close my eyes and imagine it.”

“Boy, bye!” You laughed, shaking your head before reluctantly hanging up.

—

The hot water cascaded over your skin as you leaned against the shower wall, letting the warmth soak into your muscles. Your mind was racing with all the intimate moments you’d been daydreaming about since Terry’s release date became a real possibility. Late nights soaking in the tub together, his strong arms wrapped around you, his lips trailing along your shoulder. Waking up to him pulling you into his body, whispering in your ear before making love to you first thing in the morning. The idea of sharing a home, a bed, a life with him made your stomach flip with anticipation. You had been living alone for so long, moving on your own schedule, answering to no one. But now, there would be him. His things mixed with yours, his scent lingering in your sheets, his presence filling the empty spaces. And you couldn’t wait.

Once you finished luxuriating, you stepped out, wrapping yourself in a plush towel. You took your time getting dressed—pulling on a pair of black leggings that hugged your curves and a Nike sports bra, slipping into your most comfortable sneakers. You tied your hair into a sleek bun, then grabbed a baseball cap to shield your eyes from the Georgia sun. After grabbing your Louis Vuitton Speedy 30, you were just about to head out the door when your phone rang and you saw it was Sonya.

You sighed before answering, already bracing yourself. “What’s up, girl?”

“Mm, what you got going on today?” She asked, her tone full of suspicion, like she knew you were up to something.

“Just about to make a quick Target and BJ’s run,” You said casually, hoping she’d just let it go.

“Oh, perfect! I need to hit Target anyway! I’ll meet you there.” She stated. You internally cringed. Sonya didn’t know about Terry yet. And you definitely didn’t need her up in your cart asking a hundred questions about all the men’s products you were grabbing.

“Girl, I’m moving quick today,” You abruptly said, trying to throw her off. “Gotta be in and out, no time for browsing.”

“Please, you never just ‘run in’ anywhere,” Sonya scoffed. “I’ll keep up.”

“Sonya…” You huffed, rubbing your temple. 

“What?” She laughed. “Why you sound so stressed? You tryna move funny or somethin’?”

“You know I move funny, that ain’t new.”You let out a dry laugh. 

“Mhm, and that’s exactly why I’m coming.” She snickered. 

You sighed dramatically, knowing there was no way out of this now. “Fine, I’ll see you there,” You relented, already planning how you were going to strategically avoid letting her see all the things you were picking up for Terry. You hurried up and grabbed your car keys and your Stanley cup from your kitchen counter before heading right out the door to your car. You hit the unlock button on your key fob and heard the chirp. Sliding into the plush leather seat of your Mercedes-Benz, you place your Stanley cup in the cupholder before pressing the push-to-start button. The engine purrs to life, and before you can even adjust the air, the CarPlay screen lights up, immediately blasting the smooth, honeyed vocals of Maxwell’s “Fortunate” through the speakers.

Your heart leaps in excitement. “SING IT, MAXWELL!” You squeal, gripping the steering wheel and swaying your shoulders as if you’re right there on stage with him. 

This is your song. Terry’s song. The one he always sings to you over the phone—completely off-key but with so much passion, like he’s pouring every piece of himself into it. You can still hear him now—“I never sang a song with all my might…”—his deep, rough voice twisting the lyrics into something that sounds nothing like Maxwell, but you never cared. It was him. It was you. It was love. You pull out of the driveway, easing onto the streets of Atlanta, the sun gleaming against the hood of your Benz. The beat of the song wraps around you, filling every inch of the car with warmth. With one hand on the wheel and the other tapping rhythmically against your thigh, you let the city move around you, the skyline stretching high above as you feel the music, feel the love behind every lyric. Terry is coming home. Soon. And as Maxwell’s voice croons through the speakers, you let yourself dream—of slow dances in the living room, of his arms pulling you close as you sway to this very song, of him pressing soft kisses along your shoulder while mumbling the lyrics into your ear.You exhale, your lips curling into a soft, knowing smile. It’s only a matter of time.

Pulling into the Target parking lot, you let out a long, heavy sigh, gripping the wheel as you mentally prepared yourself for Sonya. You loved your girl—no doubt about it. Sonya was one of those ride-or-die friends who would cut up with you on a Saturday night and pray with you on Sunday morning. But she was also the kind of woman who didn’t know the meaning of boundaries. She always had to be up in the mix, tasting the flavor, giving unsolicited advice even when it wasn’t needed. And it wasn’t that you didn’t want to share Terry with your girls—because you did. He was your man, and you were proud of him.

But you wanted to make sure this was real. That this was happening. That he was actually going to be home before you started bragging and boasting about him to your family and friends. You couldn’t count how many times you’d gotten excited about a brotha, only for him to turn out to be a disappointment. And every time, you had to do the walk of shame, explaining to everyone that it didn’t work out. You hated the look of disappointment on your mother’s face, the I told you so smirk on your sister’s lips, and God forbid Sonya’s infamous, “I knew that nigga wasn’t shit.” speeches. And then there was Deja, who always chimed in with, “Girl, want me to get my cousin to kill him?”

You loved your girls, but the last two years had been a sacred kind of peace. You had cultivated this private, intense, deeply intimate relationship with Terry while he was behind bars, and there was something pure about keeping it just between the two of you. You knew that sometimes, outside influence could ruin a good thing, and you weren’t ready to share your world just yet. But if things aligned perfectly—if the odds were in your favor, if the judge signed off, and if God was looking out for you—then they would meet him the night of your birthday outing. You just hoped everything would fall into place. You hopped out of the car, grabbing your Louis Vuitton Speedy 30 from the passenger seat and slinging it over your arm. Just as you shut the door, you spotted Sonya standing near the entrance, her arms crossed, her stance already radiating irritation. You took a deep inhale, bracing yourself, then walked over, greeting her with a quick hug.

“Girl, what’s wrong with you?” You asked, noticing her sour expression.

“Chile, my damn hairstylist just sent me that infamous ‘Hey boo’ text, and I just know it’s about to be some bullshit.” Sonya sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes.

“That’s why I told you to stop going to her, Sonya. She’s unprofessional as hell and always canceling on you at the last minute.” You snorted and shook your head. 

“I know, I know,” She whined dramatically, throwing her hands up. “But girl, she know how to lay my damn wigs. She makes that lace look like scalp! I do not wanna go to nobody else!”

You laughed, grabbing a cart and rolling into the store with her. You weren’t even five steps inside before you gave her a knowing look and smirked. “I don’t even know why you waste your time getting them wigs laid, knowing Omar gon’ pull that shit right off your head and have your lace looking crazy by the end of the night.”

“You ain’t lying, girl. You really ain’t lying.” Sonya stuck her tongue out at you before giggling, clearly thinking about how wild her and her man got. 

You shook your head, laughing as you made your way toward the laundry aisle, grabbing detergent, fabric softener, and some cleaning products. You wanted the house to be

perfect for Terry’s homecoming—fresh sheets, the scent of lavender and vanilla in the air, everything spotless for his arrival.

As you reached for a bottle of Febreze, Sonya nudged you. “So… you excited for your birthday?”

“Yeah… I really am.” You smiled, biting your lip as you nodded. Truth be told you were more excited for Terry’s arrival than your own birthday. For as long as you could remember you weren’t the most excited to celebrate your birthday. To you, it was just another day and another reminder that you were leaving your glorious twenties and getting closer to hitting your dirty thirties. That is until Terry came into your life and shifted your perspective on life itself. He taught you that every birthday should be celebrated and that life is too short to not celebrate the breath in your lungs and waking up everyday. Especially with his circumstances and how his life got snatched from him because he chose to do the right thing and defend his mother’s honor against her abuser, but in the end it wasn’t so honorable and his dreams and young life got cut short with the snap of a finger. So this year you chose to have a better outlook on your birthday, thanks to your baby Terry. 

 You continued to move swiftly through Target, pushing your cart with concentration, mentally checking off everything Terry will need once he’s home. You start with the Dove Men+Care bar soap, grabbing a few packs because you know the fresh, clean scent will suit him. Next is the Old Spice body wash—the deep, rich, masculine fragrance makes you weak in the knees, so you know it’ll be perfect for him. You toss it in the cart, followed by men’s deodorant, mouthwash, and toothpaste—because even though you’ve never stood close enough to breathe him in, you already decided that your man will smell fresh, clean, and irresistible.

You head down the haircare aisle, running your fingers over the different bottles before settling on a moisturizing shampoo and conditioner. You know prison air is dry as hell, and you’re not about to have your man coming home with his hair brittle and neglected. A large jar of Palmer’s whipped cocoa butter goes into the cart next—you love how smooth and rich it feels against your skin, and you can already picture yourself rubbing it into his arms, his shoulders, his hands… making sure he’s soft and well taken care of. Just as you’re reaching for a pack of Dude Wipes, Sonya turns from the next aisle, glancing over at your cart. She tilts her head, her perfectly arched brows raising as she takes in all the men’s products sitting inside.

“Uh-uh. Who’s all this for?” She asks, crossing her arms. Your heart skips a beat.

“Oh!” You force out a laugh, thinking quick. “My sister’s in town with her fiancé, and they’re staying at my mom’s house. She needed some stuff to keep there for him.”

Sonya narrows her eyes for a second, then shrugs. “Oh okay, that makes sense. I was about to say, girl, you got a whole grown man’s starter kit in there.”

You laugh nervously, nodding as you grip the handle of your cart, pushing forward. Just when you think you’re in the clear, your phone buzzes in your purse. You glance down and see the caller ID: Terry’s lawyer. Your stomach instantly tightens. He already called earlier—so why is he calling again?

“Hey, hold on,” You tell Sonya, trying to keep your voice light. “I gotta take this real quick.”

“Cool, I’ll meet you at checkout.” Sonya waves you off, already distracted by something on the next shelf. Stepping out of the aisle, you answer, pressing the phone to your ear.

“Hello?” You answer, voice low. 

“We’ve got a problem,” His lawyer says, his voice urgent.Your body stiffens.

“What? What happened?” You held your breath. 

“There’s been an incident in the prison yard. Terry was involved.” He deeply sighs. Your heart  plummets straight to your ass because you told this nigga—.

“WHAT?!” You shout, loud enough that people around you turn their heads. You clamp a hand over your mouth, forcing yourself to breathe, to stay calm.

“I’m still gathering details,” His lawyer continues, “ But from what I’m hearing, there was some kind of altercation. If the judge catches wind of this, his release could be revoked… or at the very least, stalled.”

The words ring in your ears, drowning out the noise of the store. Revoked?! Stalled?!Your hands start to tremble on the cart handle, your vision blurring with tears. Just when you thought you were so close to having him home—just when everything was falling into place—here comes some bullshit.

“Please… just tell me he’s okay,” you whisper, your voice cracking. You swallow hard, gripping the phone tighter.

“I really don’t know. I’m working on it. I’ll call you back when I know more.” He sighed again, sounding defeated. Then the line goes dead, making you tear up. You stood frozen in the middle of Target, your world spinning, your stomach in knots. And just like that, everything you had been dreaming of, praying for, feels like it’s slipping right through your fingers.

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@megamindsecretlair

@teeresaresa

@kaylaahisthebestest-

@hotebonynearby

@lavaniiii

@cardi-bre91

[promptedwordsmith]

Could you do something NSFW for the lads boys for how they would approach a first time being intimate with the reader because she's nervous? Sensual reassurance is my bread and butter

I’m actually Ace so I'm not very good with NSFW stuff I'm so sorry! I did the best I could so I hope this is OK

Caleb

The glow of the TV flickered against the dimly lit living room, casting soft shadows across the walls. You sat cross-legged on the couch, fingers wrapped around the controller as your character sprinted across the screen. The game was absorbing, your focus sharp—until you felt a familiar presence settle beside you.

Caleb.

He had been quiet for a while, watching you play from a distance, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorway. But now, he finally moved closer, sinking onto the couch with a sigh.

"You always this serious when you play?" His voice was warm with amusement, and when you glanced over, you caught the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

You scoffed, eyes flicking back to the screen. "Only when I’m winning."

"That why you're frowning so hard?"

You nudged him with your elbow, but he caught your wrist before you could pull away, his touch light but lingering. You tensed—just barely—and he must have noticed because he let go just as easily, masking it with a small chuckle.

A moment passed. The game continued, the background noise filling the silence between you. But then, Caleb shifted, resting an arm along the back of the couch, fingers just barely brushing your shoulder.

"Hey." His voice was softer now, not teasing—something careful beneath it.

You didn’t look at him.

"Hmm?"

There was a long pause before he spoke again. "You ever think about… us?"

Your hands froze on the controller. Your character stood still on-screen, completely open for attack, but you didn’t care. The only thing you could focus on was the weight of his words, the way they lingered in the air, unspoken meanings woven between them.

Slowly, hesitantly, you turned to look at him.

He was already watching you.

Caleb, for all his usual confidence, looked… uncertain. His expression was unreadable, his fingers tapping idly against his knee like he was working through something in his head.

You swallowed. "I think about us all the time."

His gaze flickered, something unreadable passing through his violet eyes. "I mean…" He exhaled, looking down briefly before meeting your eyes again. "Have you ever thought about—" He gestured vaguely between you both. "More?"

Your heart skipped.

Your throat went dry.

The game was still running, but it might as well not have been.

You weren’t naïve—you knew what he meant. And the fact that he was bringing it up like this, carefully, giving you an out if you wanted it, made something tighten in your chest.

You hesitated.

Not because you didn���t want it—because you did. God, you did. But there was something terrifying about the idea of that kind of closeness. You had spent so much of your life building walls, keeping people at arm’s length, making sure no one ever got close enough to hurt you.

And yet…

Here he was. Caleb. The one person you had ever let in. The one person who had waited.

You inhaled slowly. "I… don’t know."

His fingers twitched against his knee, but he nodded. He didn’t push, didn’t press—just let the words settle between you.

"That’s okay," he said, like he meant it.

Silence stretched, heavy and full of unsaid things.

You weren’t sure why you said it, or what made you finally brave enough, but before you could stop yourself, you spoke.

"I think I want to."

Caleb stilled.

It was subtle—the way his breath caught, the way his shoulders went rigid for half a second before he relaxed. But his eyes, always so unreadable, softened in a way you had never seen before.

"Yeah?" His voice was quiet.

You nodded. "Yeah."

Another pause. And then, instead of reaching for you, instead of pushing any further, he just… smiled.

"Okay."

And that was it.

No pressure. No expectations. Just an understanding.

And as you turned back to your game, trying to ignore the way your pulse hammered in your ears, you felt Caleb shift a little closer, his arm grazing yours, his presence warm and steady beside you.

Rafayel

The rhythmic sound of the brush against canvas filled the quiet room, blending with the distant hum of the city outside. You sat cross-legged on the floor, knees tucked to your chest, watching Rafayel as he painted. His entire world had narrowed down to the strokes of color spreading beneath his fingers, his golden eyes half-lidded in deep concentration.

You had always loved watching him paint. There was something intimate about it—the way his hands, so capable of destruction with his Evol, moved with infinite tenderness over the canvas. He painted as if each stroke mattered, as if every detail was a secret he was trying to put into form.

Tonight, though, something felt different.

The air between you held a strange weight. Rafayel wasn’t just painting—he was thinking. The slow, careful drag of his brush, the slight furrow in his brow, the way his lips parted as if he wanted to say something but held it back.

His strokes slowed further, his fingers hesitating before dipping the brush into a deep shade of red.

Then, without looking away from his work, he finally spoke.

"You always watch me so closely," Rafayel murmured, his voice quiet but sure. "It makes me wonder..."

You blinked. "Wonder what?"

His hand stilled. He set the brush down, rolling his shoulders back slightly before finally turning to look at you. His gaze was searching, as if studying you for something he wasn’t sure how to name.

"If you'd let me do the same," he said softly.

Your breath caught in your throat.

He wasn’t talking about painting.

The way his golden eyes lingered on you, the slight tension in his fingers as if resisting the urge to reach out—it was all so clear. Rafayel had always been affectionate in his own way, teasing touches, arms draped over your shoulders, lazy, warm hugs when he was feeling indulgent. But he had never pressed for more. Never asked.

Now, he was asking.

Your heartbeat thundered in your ears.

Rafayel stood, slow and deliberate, and crossed the space between you. He crouched in front of you, close enough that you could see the fine flecks of color staining his fingers, the way his breath stirred the air between you. He reached out, hesitant, his fingertips barely ghosting along the side of your face, testing.

You swallowed hard, gripping the hem of your shirt between your fingers. The warmth of his touch was barely there, but it sent something unsteady through you. A tremor, a shift.

"I—" you started, unsure of what you wanted to say. Unsure of what you were allowed to say.

Rafayel didn’t push. He never did. He let the moment settle, let the space between you feel safe instead of overwhelming. His fingers traced lightly over your cheek, his thumb stopping just shy of your lips.

"You can say no," he murmured. "I just..." He exhaled through his nose, something almost frustrated in the way his brows pulled together. "I just wanted you to know that I—" He stopped himself, lips pressing into a thin line before he shook his head. "Never mind."

You felt the space he tried to put between you. Felt him withdrawing, giving you an easy way out.

You didn’t want him to.

You reached up, hesitant, and covered his hand with your own before he could pull away completely. His fingers tensed under yours, surprised, before slowly relaxing.

You still weren’t sure what to say.

But you didn’t have to.

"Okay," you whispered, barely louder than a breath.

His fingers twitched under your touch. His eyes flickered with something deep and unreadable, something almost fragile before his lips curved into the faintest smile.

"Okay," he echoed, voice low, reverent.

And then, he leaned in

Sylus

The dim glow of the fireplace flickered across the spines of Sylus’ vast collection of books, casting long shadows as you ran your fingers along the leather-bound covers. His study was quiet, save for the distant hum of the city outside and the occasional crackle from the fire.

You had been in here dozens of times before, but tonight, something about the library called to you. Maybe it was the stillness of the night or the way the scent of old pages and Sylus’ cologne mixed in the air—musk, edelweiss, and something slightly metallic. Something undeniably him.

You tilted your head, squinting at a particular volume with a worn crimson spine. It looked important, but before you could reach for it—

"Curious thing, aren’t you?"

His voice was quiet, laced with amusement.

You jumped slightly, turning just in time to see Sylus leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, head tilted. His red eyes gleamed in the low light, watching you with something unreadable—something deep.

You huffed, crossing your arms. "You keep so many books locked away in here, yet I never see you actually read them. So, I figured I’d do some investigating."

Sylus stepped forward, slow and deliberate, the weight of his presence filling the space between you in an instant. You were suddenly very aware of how close you were to the shelves—trapped between aged paper and the man who had a habit of pulling you into his orbit.

He reached past you, plucking the crimson book from the shelf with ease. "I do read them," he murmured, flipping through the pages absentmindedly. "Some hold knowledge worth revisiting… others are simply reminders of things I cannot forget."

Your eyes flickered up to his face, studying the way his expression softened, if only slightly. There was something intimate about seeing him like this, surrounded by things that mattered to him.

"...And which category does this one fall into?" you asked, nudging his arm playfully.

He closed the book with a quiet thump, his gaze drifting to yours. The amusement in his expression lingered, but there was something else beneath it now—something heavier.

"It reminds me of patience," he said slowly, slipping it back onto the shelf. "And restraint."

You swallowed, your breath hitching slightly as his fingers trailed along the spines beside it, his knuckles brushing lightly against your arm in the process.

He wasn’t touching you, not really, but the weight of his presence sent a shiver down your spine.

"I have been patient, haven’t I?" he mused, tilting his head. "I’ve given you time. Space. Waited for you to come to me when you were ready."

Your pulse quickened.

There it was. The thing that had lingered in the air between you both for weeks—unspoken, but always felt.

Sylus had never been the type to push, never the type to demand. He was calculating, careful. A man who could take what he wanted but chose to wait instead. And yet, tonight, here in the quiet of his study, with the scent of old books and firelight wrapping around you both like a secret—he was asking.

Not demanding. Not expecting. Just… asking.

You inhaled slowly, trying to steady yourself. "You have," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

He studied you for a long moment, red eyes deep and endless, as if searching for something in your expression.

"And?" he prompted gently.

You hesitated. Not out of fear—no, you knew Sylus would never let harm come to you. But this was new.

The way he was looking at you. The way his voice dipped just enough to make your stomach twist. The way he was leaving the decision entirely in your hands.

You had spent so long resisting, so long pretending you didn’t notice the way he lingered, the way his fingers sometimes brushed against yours when he thought you wouldn’t catch it.

But you did.

And you wanted.

"...And I think I’m done making you wait," you murmured, voice softer now.

Sylus exhaled sharply—not out of frustration, but relief. His lips curved slightly, not quite a smirk, but something just as dangerous.

Then, as if sensing you were on the verge of bolting, he lifted a hand, slow and deliberate, letting his knuckles ghost over the side of your jaw.

"Are you sure, kitten?" he murmured.

Your breath hitched, heart hammering against your ribs.

But despite the nervous flutter in your stomach, despite the way your fingers curled slightly against the fabric of your sleeve—

You nodded.

Sylus let out a quiet chuckle, the sound low and pleased. He lifted your hand slowly, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, his lips lingering just long enough to make your skin tingle.

"Good," he murmured, a glint in his eye.

Xavier

The gentle rustle of paper filled the quiet space, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the spine of your book as you leaned against the arm of the couch. The apartment was dimly lit, warm from the soft glow of the lamps Xavier had turned on earlier. He had been quiet for a while now, stretched out beside you, one arm resting on the back of the couch as he absentmindedly toyed with a loose thread on his sleeve. You were used to his quiet presence, but something about tonight felt different—like he was trying to find the right words.

You didn’t notice him shift closer at first, not until the couch dipped slightly beneath his weight. His fingers brushed the edge of your book, just enough to catch your attention.

“You’ve been reading that for a while,” Xavier murmured, his voice soft, almost hesitant.

You hummed, turning the page. “It’s a good book.”

His lips quirked slightly, though there was something pensive in his expression as he exhaled through his nose. “You always say that.”

You turned to look at him then, noting the way his silver hair fell into his eyes, the slight crease between his brows. There was something on his mind, and now that he had your attention, he didn’t seem sure how to begin.

“…Is something wrong?” you asked, closing the book but keeping your finger between the pages.

Xavier was quiet for a moment, his gaze flickering to the book in your lap before settling on you. His hands, always so steady, fidgeted with the hem of his sweater.

“I’ve just been thinking,” he admitted finally, his voice even softer now. “About us.”

Your stomach fluttered, warmth creeping into your cheeks as you nodded for him to continue.

He hesitated, then reached for your hand, threading his fingers through yours. His grip was warm, familiar, but there was a different kind of intent behind it this time.

“I don’t want to rush anything,” he said, thumb brushing over your knuckles, “but I—” He paused, took a breath, and tried again. “I want to be closer to you.”

The meaning behind his words settled in your chest, sending a shiver down your spine. You knew what he meant, and you could see from the way he held your hand so carefully—like he was afraid to push too far—that this was difficult for him to bring up.

You swallowed, heart pounding. “You mean…?”

Xavier nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. “Only when you’re ready. If you’re ready.”

He gave you space to respond, his grip just loose enough that you could pull away if you wanted to. But you didn’t. Instead, you squeezed his hand and looked down, lips parting as you tried to steady your breathing.

You weren’t scared, but the idea of being that vulnerable with someone—even someone like Xavier—was new. Unfamiliar. He seemed to sense your hesitation, because he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your fingers.

“There’s no rush,” he murmured against your skin. “I just…wanted you to know.”

Your heart softened at his words. He had never been the type to demand anything of you. He was patient, always waiting for you to meet him halfway, never asking for more than you were willing to give.

You took a deep breath, then finally met his eyes again, offering him a small but genuine smile. “I think…I’d like that.”

Xavier blinked, momentarily caught off guard, before his expression melted into something tender, something relieved. His other hand lifted to cup your cheek, thumb brushing against your skin with infinite care.

“You sure?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, leaning into his touch. “I’m sure.”

And with that, Xavier smiled, his forehead pressing against yours as he let out a slow breath. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest, holding you like you were the most important thing in the world.

And maybe to him, you were.

Zayne

living room was finally in order. You exhaled softly, surveying your work—the pillows fluffed, the coffee table wiped down, and even Zayne’s usually pristine bookshelves had been dusted without disturbing their meticulous arrangement. The faint scent of cleaning products lingered in the air, blending with the subtle notes of his usual amber cologne.

You stretched your arms above your head, satisfied, just as you heard quiet footsteps approaching from behind.

Zayne’s voice was smooth, edged with something unreadable. “I didn’t ask you to do all this.”

You turned to face him, catching the way his gaze flickered over the room before settling on you. He wasn’t scolding you—if anything, he looked almost… thoughtful.

“I know,” you said, brushing a stray hair from your face. “But you’ve been busy, and I had the time.”

Zayne hummed, stepping further inside. He was still dressed from work, though he had shed his usual long coat. The top button of his shirt was undone, and he carried himself with that same composed presence, yet there was something softer in the way he looked at you now.

“I appreciate it,” he admitted, glancing at the freshly organized space. His eyes returned to you, and there was a pause, as if he were debating something.

Then, in a quieter tone, he added, “You take care of things even when no one asks you to.”

You shrugged. “I just like helping.”

Zayne was quiet for a moment before he moved, his steps slow, deliberate. He stopped just close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, his voice measured. “About us.”

You swallowed, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. “Oh?”

His gaze searched yours. “I don’t want to rush anything.” A pause. “But I don’t want to ignore it either.”

Your fingers curled slightly against your palm. There was a weight to his words, but not an uncomfortable one. Just… careful.

“Zayne…” You hesitated, feeling the air between you grow heavier—not with tension, but with something else. Something patient.

He lifted a hand slightly, not quite touching you but close enough that the intent was clear. “I just need to know if… when the time comes, you’ll tell me what you want.”

Your heart beat a little faster. He wasn’t pushing, wasn’t demanding. Just waiting. Always waiting, as if making sure he wasn’t stepping over a line you hadn’t even drawn yet.

Your voice was softer when you answered.

“I will.”

A flicker of relief crossed his face. His hand finally closed the space, brushing lightly over yours. The touch was barely there, but it still sent a quiet warmth through you.

“And… if I said I was ready?” you asked, heartbeat loud in your ears.

Zayne held your gaze, his fingers resting just against yours, grounding.

“Then I’d ask you to stay.”

You exhaled, the weight in your chest shifting into something lighter, something certain.

“…Then I’ll stay.”

Zayne’s lips curved ever so slightly—a rare, quiet smile. His thumb brushed over your knuckles before he gave a small nod, as if sealing the unspoken promise between you.

And though the night had yet to unfold, in that moment, something had already begun.

[muniimyg]

𐙚₊˚⊹ boxer!jungkook (2) ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

series m.list // taglist closed

boxer jk x neuro doctor oc

post match vibes

warning: mentions of stitches, needle, and blood

note: 2/5 parts for this mini series! thanks for the love w pt1! mwah

//

jungkook sits on the edge of the ever-so-familiar hospital bed.

his legs are spread, hands draped over his knees, and he fights the urge to shut his eyes as the overhead light casts sharp shadows over the planes of his face.

he can feel it—his blood dripping down the sides of his face. the fresh cut on his forehead stark against his skin and the throbbing almost makes him feel like shit. jungkook takes a deep breath and stays still as you prep the needle. though the sterile scent of disinfectant settles between you, jungkook is doing his absolute best to memorize the way you smell.

you smell so freaking good.

"i thought you said you were good at boxing."

your voice is light, but the weight of it presses against his ribs. he grins, dimples threatening to form despite the sting above his brow.

"i am."

"so i'm stitching you up because?"

his gaze flickers to you, dark and intent. "i've been lacking the motivation."

"to win?"

"to focus,” he confesses. “how long has it been, doc? 3 months? shit. haven’t been myself since then. every day i hoped someone would beat the shit out of me so i could have an excuse to see you.”

"so you got yourself beaten up just to see me? is that supposed to impress me?" you ask him unamused.

he shakes his head. "no, but my dedication to seeing you again is."

"do you ever take no for an answer?"

"did you even really say no to me, though?"

the air stills.

then, you exhale through your nose. pretending to be unimpressed at him before pressing the needle to his skin. as you wait for his reaction, you run through different comebacks.

but you're out of time. in fact, you barely had any.

jungkook doesn’t flinch.

it truly does impress you because this shot is a bitch. yet, you notice how his fingers curl into a fist against the sheets.

"it's okay if it hurts," you murmur. "it's not supposed to be painless."

his jaw flexes. 

"i can handle hits. stitches? easy."

"i never said you couldn't handle it. i said it's okay if it hurts."

jungkook isn’t sure what it is… but silence drapes over the room. like a heavy mist or early moving fog.

it’s thick and weighted. 

jungkook swallows. his throat feels dry. his mind races. 

all his life, pain has been an afterthought—background noise to the only thing that’s ever mattered; winning. to jungkook, if he isn’t bruised, battered, and bleeding by the end of a fight, he hasn’t fought hard enough. pain isn’t something to be acknowledged and dwelled on. it’s a consequence. a transaction. 

but now, here you are… speaking about it so simply and coated in acceptance and warmth. then, there’s also your motherfucking gaze. 

so soft. 

so kind. 

so present. 

all of these things mixed together make his stomach twist. he doesn’t know how to act. he does’t know what to say. he doesn’t know what to feel.

he wonders if this is what pain really feels like—not the kind he’s trained to endure, but the kind that sneaks up on you, curling around your ribs when you least expect it. he wonders if it’s because he’s spent so long numbing himself to it… or if it’s because, for the first time, he’s realized something worse than losing a fight…

losing the chance to keep seeing you.

because holy fuck. 

where have you been his entire life? 

seriously.

jungkook clears his throat, stretching out his fingers, forcing the tension from his knuckles. "so, doc," he starts, a smirk playing at his lips, "do you date doctors?"

you blink. "pardon me?"

"you don’t date patients, right? well, everyone is a patient at some point, but not everyone is a doctor. so, do you only date doctors?"

you almost laugh. 

almost.

"you just got seven stitches on your forehead and you're concerned about whether or not i date doctors?"

jungkook shrugs before dropping the most nonchalant information about himself; "i have a degree in nutrition, you know. used to specialize in sports nutrition. just wanted to give boxing a shot—"

"wow. i didn't know that. that’s really cool." you say, genuinely intrigued, "what school did you go to—"

"i won't quit boxing... at least, not yet... but if i ever do, just know that i can be a doctor too… if that’s who you date and shit."

“and shit?”

“and shit.”

this time, you do laugh. 

it’s so pretty. 

the sound of it and the sight of it—mesmerizing. 

it catches jungkook off guard. his eyes flickering over your face, lingering a second too long. he looks at you… he really looks at you and it’s like he just won the best thing in the world. like he’s a kid who won BINGO in his class for the first time and got to choose the scented eraser as his prize. 

he watches you and thinks; to have you is to win. 

you’re the only victory he wants. 

as he shifts forward to hop off the bed, your hands move on instinct, catching him before he can fully rise. your fingers press lightly against the firm muscle of his forearm, his skin warm beneath your touch. he stills at the contact, his gaze flicking down to where your hands steady him, then back up to your face.

for a beat, neither of you move.

the air shifts—thickens—his breath slowing as he watches you, unreadable. your pulse kicks up, just slightly, just enough for you to notice. but then jungkook smirks, lazy and knowing, the tension splintering just as quickly as it built.

"careful, doc," he murmurs, voice lower now, laced with something teasing, something else. "if you keep holding onto me like that, i might start thinking you care."

"you shouldn’t be jumping off like that so fast—"

"okay. whatever you say. hey, look at me," he says, voice quieter now, more deliberate. your fingers still against his arm. "i'm not bad looking, right? i have an education. i follow my passion, and it's going well—"

"again," you interject, "i just gave you seven stitches."

"again," he repeats, "i just needed a reason to see you."

"you requested me and refused to be treated by namjoon," you point out.

"exactly," jungkook smirks.

you bite your bottom lip, catching yourself before you react. suddenly, you’re aware of how close you are—his warmth pressing into your space, the scent of sweat and antiseptic clinging to him. his eyes are locked on yours, waiting, watching.

"___—"

"doctor ___," you correct, stepping back, straightening your coat, severing whatever was hanging between you.

"doctor ___..." he tests the words on his tongue, then nods. "i’d really appreciate it if you could reconsider the whole... only dating a doctor thing. honestly? i don’t mind school. i just don’t want to go back and be old by the time i get to your level… but if that’s really the only way you’ll go out with me—"

rolling your eyes, you brush off your coat, turning toward the door—just like last time. pushing it open, you pause before you step through. taking one final glance at him, you titl your head ever so slightly. 

jungkook mirrors you. 

"no, mr. jeon," you say, voice laced with amusement. "i do not just date doctors. in fact, i avoid dating them."

then, the door swings shut behind you.

jungkook exhales, pressing his tongue against his cheek, shaking his head as he lets out a breathless chuckle.

hope. 

that’s what this feels like.

he’s had victories before, ones that have left him bruised and battered, ones that have left him undefeated. but this? this is something else entirely. something he’s willing to lose for. something he knows, in the deepest part of his chest, he can’t afford to.

not this time.

not when it’s you.

[holy-mother-of-whumpers]

I'd like to explain why I disagree.

Disclaimer.

I have not been around TikTok stuff so I have no idea what is this against. Maybe I'd agree with them against it, but just don't know. All it follows is NOT against the book tok culture but just a polite disagreement of this post or what it made me think about.

This is not about booktok

"If someone told me... There is an enemy to lovers... Why are you spoiling the story?" -> spoiling is bad and marking the tropes is spoiling.

Spoiling is bad.

Spoiler works on some kind of content, like Marvel, which is a lot of surprise value and 'disposable' stories. If the narrative is good a spoiler (provided it isn't about the plot twist) doesn't decrease the enjoyment but enhances it (there is a whole thing, may even be called spoiler effect? Spoiler paradox?).

If spoiling or knowing the content would ruin things, there wouldn't be classics. Nobody would read LOTR, dracula, the Iliad/Odyssey, Count of Monte Cristo. Yes there are always going to be people who come at it free of previous knowledge, which is great for them, but usually people are aware of the story bits (like that the suspicious count in Dracula is in fact a vampire - I knew that and yet the book was an absolute blast, very suggested! It even got me trying epistolary novel as a format) and read it anyway. More, they read it because they kinda know what they are getting into.

So no, not all spoiling is intrinsically bad, in fact nobody would read a story they know nothing about. I'd say the trick is to 'spoil' the setting and the character dynamics... Just NOT something the author was playing as a reveal. Of course at this point we shouldn't even use 'spoil'.

What can we call the setting and character dynamics?

Marking the tropes is spoiling.

We can call them tropes and genres, they are broad characterizations that help people have an idea of what they are getting into. We all prefer a few genres.

What if we were allowed to prefer a few tropes as well, or just be free to avoid those we don't like?

The entire discussion that happened about fantasy romance (before it had a name) was that people got into what they thought it was fantasy but ended up with just romance, with basic characterization, minimal world building, no intrigue or epic battle between good and evil. It was very unsatisfying; so more classification of the book is better than less (with common sense, nor I nor anybody else wants a list of every single thing that's in there).

'Classification' as in to guide to to find the book you like or to let you know if you want to try something different than usual or again, you found a trope you never knew (like me with the reincarnation trope in webtoons) and you want to proceed and eat that in copious amounts until you have wrung every last bit of serotonine/dopamine from it.

If you don't want to know, you should be allowed to know where the trope markers are, so to avoid and go in blind (like I do with movies I know I'm interested in: I just don't watch the trailer. A legit choice I'm allowed to make and happy because of it).

Conclusion: if you think marking a trope is spoiling, they probably did it wrong, because it shouldn't. It should be supposed to give you an idea, so you aren't buying a book for the pretty cover.

Note! From fanfiction to published books it would be a good idea to use warnings, to some extent - I'd love to skip historical novels with gratuitous sa because it's 'realistic'... At this point it's its own trope which I'd like marked so I can avoid it. I have had enough of it ok. No hate but I want to keep away.

I'd like also a protagonist marker, examples, Reluctant Protagonist (no hate, just dislike) or pov protagonist (especially in fantasy romance so I know they aren't going to do anything and we are admiring together the brooding tragic-backstoried main lead).

Saying: 'I am annoyed by this thing' is legit and I support presenting narratives in a way that allows people to choose how much to know about it. Like a general summary behind, a tropes list inside the cover (or something) for those looking for the tropes. Saying 'you can't use fanfiction terms' is incorrect, tropes aren't fanfiction terms, and wrong in the 'you', because 'you' (publishing industry?) should cater to people taking into account that different people want different things and consume the book in different ways, nobody should be forced to consume a book any other way that the one makes them happy :)

Second post.

Again, I don't know about booktok so I'll keep to "encourages authors to built their entire story around marketable tropes [...] turn more of a profit".

The placing (<- marketing term) of a book on the market is hella hard ok. Like, so much. Very often what makes a book great is subtle, hard to explain, and people have a short attention span anyway. Building a story around a trope may be a bad idea, but many writers start the story around a image or a scene floating in their mind, all stories are Bron from an idea. Tweaking the core idea to a marketable trope make the author sell. "Turn more of a profit" yes?? Yes please??? Begging here??? If I have spent like the last five years working on this story I want people to a) find it interesting (thus I am brought to play on the main tropes in there) and b) make money out of it. I worked on that story for the last five years. Am I so evil to think I want a revenue so I can focus on my next book instead of doing so in scraps of times in this capitalistic hellscape? Yes I want the money so I can do what I want with my life and time (writing in this case) and give people meaningful stories.

If the trope-marketed story isn't meaningful I'm afraid the problem is the writer didn't care for it - which leads to another entire can of worms, kinda related (writing for the money and not for the story is an unfortunate rotten compromise for people who need money and can write but aren't paid enough to afford the time for a proper story).

So: writing a story around tropes is bad if it's demanded from the publisher like this, and with limited time to develop it, because it's what is popular now.

Using the tropes inside the book to market it, is just how you market a book. Who never ran into a great book which never got the popularity it deserves? It's because it was marketed wrong, or unsuccessfully.

Again placing and marketing a book is HELLA hard and often it's what makes it or breaks it for the book itself, even more than the content.

Let's cut authors a break on this ok (lol we can harass publishing companies though, just a little tee hee).

Third post

Do you know I actually dislike long posts??? How did I get here. Ah yes, frustration.

Why is fanfiction considered easier. 'cheaper' narrative?

Because you already know and care about the characters. Making people love our little guys is also rather hard.

If it works you will end up caring though, and people will put them in Coffee au.

This third post seems to misunderstand what tropes are. Characters are kinda always in a trope. You know that joke, after reading the vocabulary all books area remix? Tropes are how we categorize stuff happening in books (technically the recurrent things, but once we have given a name to all thing (and we have actually) everything is low key recurrent). Yes it often devolves into cliches, when a trope is cheap and obvious and kinda gratuitous. But they are 'places' where the characters are.

I, a living person, am always in some place or 'surroundings' since I am made of matter which occupies a space surrounding me. A trope is the surroundings of the characters.

You can made to care about original characters in a coffee shop, like if you are reading a cozy (example) and slowly get to know the people meeting for coffee.

The post seems to suggest that characters in books exist outside tropes. Not really. But also not a crime, I hope I explained politely why I disagree.

Why should you care for some randos meeting in a coffee shop? Well, if this is a book, consider it an essay explaining you exactly that ✨

More disclaimers.

Again, this isn't about booktok

This isn't against the publishing industry, if you have critics of them I'll probably agree.

If you take one of the things I said to the extreme to make it absurd, that is cheap, argumentative and I will ignore you. Same if you warp something away from what I meant, or your reply is based on an incorrect knowledge of this stuff, or you are just being provocative for the sake of it. Be polite and chill people.

Sorry it’s early but you really can’t use fanfiction terms in a non fanfiction context like if someone is trying to sell me a book to read and they tell me there’s an enemy to lovers I would be annoyed because why are you spoiling the story lol

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Morning Brews & Scarlet Hues

CEOs!WandaNat x Coffee shop owner!fem!reader

Word count: 2.1K

Summary: The two hottest and most successful CEOs come into your coffee shop to flirt with you. You didn't expect them to flirt with you and you certainly weren't expecting them to be married and asking you out

Warnings: Slow burn to established relationship, mild panic attack, light angst, polyamory dynamics

Authors notes: This was a request that you can find here!

The smell of freshly ground coffee beans filled the air as you flipped the sign on the door, officially opening for the morning rush. The warm glow of the sunrise streamed through the large windows, painting golden streaks across the polished wooden countertops. The shop was quiet, peaceful—the kind of morning that made waking up at the crack of dawn worth it.

You moved through the familiar motions: turning on the espresso machine, setting out fresh pastries, and humming softly to the indie playlist playing over the speakers. The bell above the door chimed, signaling your first customer of the day.

And what a first customer she was.

Wanda Maximoff stepped inside, the scent of her expensive perfume—warm vanilla and hints of spice—blending with the coffee-rich air. She was breathtaking. Dressed in a deep scarlet blouse tucked into a perfectly tailored black pencil skirt, her heels clicked against the hardwood floor with every confident step. Waves of auburn hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her sharp green eyes found you instantly, a slow, knowing smile curving her lips.

“Good morning, darling,” she greeted, her voice smooth like honey. She leaned casually against the counter, her gaze lingering just long enough to make your heart pick up speed. “You’re always up so early. I don’t know how you do it.”

You grinned, leaning in just slightly. “The secret is lots of coffee. Speaking of which, your usual?”

She tilted her head, pretending to consider. “Hmm. I don’t know… I was thinking of trying something different today.” Wanda tapped a manicured finger against her lips, then looked at you through her lashes. “What would you recommend?”

You bit your lip, playing along. “That depends. Are you in the mood for something sweet? Bold? Maybe something that lingers, like a slow burn?”

Her smile deepened. “You know me so well already.”

You turned to start making her drink, feeling the weight of her gaze following your every movement. As you steamed the milk, Wanda’s voice cut through the quiet hum of the machine.

“You always look so lovely in the mornings,” she mused. “Something about the sunrise on your skin… it’s unfair, really.”

Your hands faltered for just a second before you regained your composure, glancing over your shoulder. “Flattery so early in the day, Miss Maximoff? You must really want this coffee to be perfect.”

Wanda chuckled, a low, sultry sound. “I already know it will be. I just like watching you get all flustered.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, finishing up her drink and sliding it across the counter. “One hazelnut oat milk latte, with an extra shot of charm, just for you.”

She took the cup, her fingers grazing yours briefly—just enough to send a small spark up your arm. “Perfect,” she murmured, taking a sip. Then, with a glance at the clock, she sighed. “Duty calls. But I do hope you’ll miss me while I’m gone.”

You leaned on the counter, resting your chin on your hand. “If you come back tomorrow, I might just admit that I do.”

Wanda smirked, backing toward the door. “Careful, sweetheart. I just might hold you to that.”

And with that, she was gone, leaving you standing there with a stupid smile and a rapidly beating heart.

What a way to start the morning.

⟡ ˚ ༘☕️🤎🧸 ⋆｡°

The morning rush came and went in a blur of familiar faces and steady hands crafting lattes, cappuccinos, and cold brews. You chatted with old college friends who stopped by for their usual pick-me-ups, exchanged pleasantries with the office workers from nearby businesses, and watched with a fond smile as the group of older ladies settled into their usual corner, their laughter filling the shop like the soft chime of wind bells.

By the time lunch rolled around, the café had settled into a comfortable rhythm—enough customers to keep things moving but slow enough that you could catch your breath.

And then she walked in.

Natasha Romanoff.

If Wanda was a striking flame in scarlet, Natasha was pure, effortless power wrapped in sharp sophistication. She strode through the door with the confidence of someone who owned the entire block, her tailored black suit hugging her lean frame, a deep crimson silk blouse adding just the right amount of color. The sleeves of her blazer were pushed up slightly, revealing the expensive watch on her wrist, and her auburn hair was styled to perfection—sleek, neat, and tucked behind her ears just enough to showcase the small, understated earrings she wore.

Her green eyes scanned the café with sharp precision before they landed on you. And then, just like that, the cool, detached aura softened—just a little.

"Hey, sweetheart," she greeted smoothly, approaching the counter with measured steps. Her voice was low, smooth like aged whiskey, and it sent a shiver down your spine. "Busy day?"

You smiled, reaching for a cup as you wiped your hands on your apron. "Nothing I can’t handle. But seeing you walk in? Definitely brightens things up."

Natasha huffed a quiet chuckle, her lips curling in amusement. "Careful, malyshka. You keep talking to me like that, and I might start showing up more often."

You tilted your head, smirking. "That supposed to be a threat or a promise?"

She raised a brow, clearly enjoying the banter. "Depends. What are you going to do to convince me?"

Leaning forward slightly, you tapped the marker against the cup in your hand. "Well, I could make your coffee extra special. Or I could just keep giving you a reason to come back."

Natasha exhaled a short laugh, shaking her head. "Bold today, aren’t you?"

You shrugged, already scribbling on the cup before starting her drink. "Must be something in the air."

As the espresso machine hummed to life, Natasha leaned on the counter, watching you work. "You always this charming, or am I just lucky?"

You shot her a playful look over your shoulder. "Oh, you’re definitely lucky."

She chuckled again, a sound you were quickly becoming addicted to. When her drink was ready, you slid it across the counter, her fingers grazing yours for a brief moment—intentional, you were sure. But Natasha's brows lifted slightly as she caught sight of the small, handwritten note on the cup.

For my favorite midday distraction.

Her lips parted in surprise before curling into a slow, knowing smirk. She traced the edge of the cup with her thumb, eyes flicking up to meet yours. "You really are pushing the envelope today."

You shrugged, biting your lip. "Just wanted to make sure you had something sweet with your coffee."

Natasha studied you for a moment, as if trying to decide just how much further to push back. Then she lifted the cup in a small toast. "Careful, sweetheart. I just might get addicted to this place."

And with that, she turned, walking out the door with the same effortless confidence she came in with.

You let out a breath, watching her go.

First Wanda, now Natasha.

If you weren’t careful, you were going to end up falling hard for both of them.

⟡ ˚ ༘☕️🤎🧸 ⋆｡°

The days turned into weeks, and your routine became something of a delicious torment.

Each morning, Wanda would arrive—always impeccably dressed, always so effortlessly charming. Her sharp green eyes would light up when she saw you, her soft flirtations making your heart race as she leaned in just a little too close when taking her coffee.

Then, in the afternoons, Natasha would show up—calm, confident, and devastatingly alluring. She met your teasing with equal energy, pushing back just enough to keep you on your toes. Her smirks, her low chuckles, the way she traced the rim of her cup when reading your little notes—it was intoxicating.

And the worst part? You were falling for both of them. Hard.

You didn’t know what to do about it. Every stolen glance, every lingering touch, every little flirtation made it harder to ignore. You told yourself you had to be imagining things. No way two insanely attractive, successful women were both interested in their local barista. Right?

Then came Saturday morning.

You had just finished setting up the pastry case when the familiar chime of the bell rang. You turned, already preparing your usual bright greeting—until you saw them.

Together.

Wanda and Natasha walked in side by side, both dressed far more casually than you had ever seen them. Wanda wore a burgundy sweater tucked into a pair of high-waisted jeans, her hair loosely curled, looking every bit as stunning as she did in her sharp work attire. Natasha, on the other hand, had opted for a black leather jacket over a fitted white t-shirt, her jeans ripped just slightly at the knees, her hands tucked in her pockets as she scanned the café like she owned the place.

Your heart nearly stopped.

They knew each other.

They were here together.

And as they approached the counter, exchanging a small, knowing glance with each other before turning their attention to you, a slow realization began to sink in.

Oh. Oh no.

You had been flirting with them both.

And they knew.

Wanda and Natasha shared a smirk, something unspoken passing between them before they turned their attention back to you.

“Good morning, darling,” Wanda purred, leaning on the counter like she always did, her emerald eyes twinkling with amusement. “You look even more adorable when you're surprised.”

“Speechless, huh?” Natasha added, her voice smooth and teasing as she propped her elbow on the counter, chin resting on her hand. “Didn’t expect to see us together?”

Your mouth opened and closed a few times, your brain scrambling to catch up. The room felt like it was tilting. They weren’t just acquaintances. They weren’t just friends.

They were together.

As in together together.

You gripped the edge of the counter, trying to ground yourself. “I—uh—”

Wanda hummed, her smirk deepening. “You know, I had a feeling this might happen.”

Natasha nodded, taking a sip of her coffee as if this was the most casual thing in the world. “Mmm. Same. It was cute watching you flirt with both of us like you weren’t going to get caught eventually.”

You choked on air. “I—wait—you knew?”

Wanda chuckled, reaching out to trace a lazy circle on the counter with her fingertip. “Of course we knew, sweetheart.”

“We’re married,” Natasha added, lifting her left hand slightly, letting the gold band on her ring finger catch the light. “Did you really think we wouldn’t talk about the cute little barista who’s been shamelessly flirting with both of us?”

Your brain short-circuited.

Married.

They were married.

And they had both been flirting back.

You felt like your heart might actually give out. “I—I didn’t—”

Wanda reached across the counter, gently brushing the back of her fingers against yours, her touch sending a jolt up your arm. “Relax, sweetheart,” she cooed, her voice as smooth as silk. “We’re not mad.”

Natasha leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. “In fact… we kind of like it.”

Your breath hitched.

Oh hell.

Your grip on the counter tightened as their words sank in, but everything felt off-kilter—like you were suddenly standing on shaky ground. Your usual confidence, the flirtatious ease you had with them, was gone. You weren’t sure if you wanted to scream, laugh, or collapse.

They had known. They had planned this. And now they were here, together, standing in front of you, looking at you like you were the most fascinating thing in the world.

Your breath came quicker, shallower, and your fingers trembled slightly against the countertop.

Wanda was the first to notice.

Her teasing smirk melted away in an instant, replaced by something softer, something gentle. She reached across the counter, not to tease this time, but to comfort, her fingers brushing against yours again, but with intention.

“Hey, hey,” she murmured, her voice warm and steady. “It’s okay, Y/N.”

Natasha’s expression softened too, the playfulness fading into something more sincere. “We came to tease you a little, sure, but we also came to ask you something.”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to focus on Wanda’s steady touch, on Natasha’s calm presence. “A-Ask me something?”

Wanda nodded, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Yes. We wanted to ask if you’d like to go on a date.”

Your breath hitched.

A date.

With them.

You stared at them, at Wanda’s soft but hopeful smile, at Natasha’s quiet confidence, and for the first time since they walked in, the world stopped spinning.

“You… both want to take me on a date?” you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

Natasha chuckled, the sound low and reassuring. “That’s right, sweetheart.”

Wanda tilted her head. “What do you think?”

You exhaled shakily, your heart pounding. You weren’t sure what this was, what it could be, but the thought of saying no felt impossible.

So, with a nervous but growing smile, you nodded.

“I think… I’d really like that.”

[bunny-jpeg]

sinful sentences (thirteen)

jenson button - "I want to make you mine."

tags: smut/pwp, age gap (20s/45), flirty!reader, unprotected sex & baby trapping, doggy style, jenson is smitten (read: unhinged), dark-ish themes

sinful sentences catalogue

you were a flirt, that was what you were good at. flash a pretty smile, wear a low-cut top and any man would happily give over some cash. flutter your eyelashes and give them a sweet laugh at their corny jokes, and the bills grew in value.

jenson was smitten, needy for your attention. he loved how you felt in his hands, how his lips felt against yours. and when he was lucky, his cock snug inside of your achy, soaked cunt. maybe it was time getting to him and missing so-called glory days. but he liked the little flirt he often saw at the bar, and he liked taking you home.

but he believed that you could do a hell of a lot better than the bar you frequented. someone quiet, secluded, with an apron around your waist, dinner on the table and his child growing in your belly.

"hey, beautiful." he purred as he draped an arm around you, "look a little lonely tonight." his lips grazed your jaw, "sad that no one's giving you attention, tinkerbell?"

"shut up." you replied and when you looked at him. when your gaze met his, he pulled you in for a heated kiss. that shut you up quite quickly. you hated it, he had this way with you that made your core simmer.

"i want to make you mine." he said, "tonight."

"i could never be yours, jenson. don't be stupid." you laughed.

there was a reason why all the men got to look but not touch, but jenson often got handfuls of your flesh and his cock buried inside of you. when he pulled away from the kiss, he smiled at you, " are you done, tinkerbell? gonna be good for me?" he leaned in, "because my wallet is feeling a little heavy, and i think you could lighten the load."

and then like a lamb you tucked yourself closer to him. you knew you were a slut for his attention, he was older, wiser, wealthier. he knew what he could get from you and it made you aroused. it didn't hurt that his cock was rather big and he knew exactly how to use it.

"when have i ever been good for you?" you asked playfully.

jenson chuckled lowly, "that's what i like to hear. causing my problems, making me watch you be a total fucking flirt. but you always come back to me." he kissed your cheek.

"are you going to give me what i want?" you asked softly as you played with the top button of the light blue shirt he wore. you then spread your hand across his chest, "please?"

jenson's smile grew, "of course, honey. i'll always give you what you want. but, you have to be a good girl for me. so put away the teeth, angel, and let's have some fun tonight."

you ended up back at his home, the expensive kind of apartment with a price tag that made most raise their eyebrows. he had the money so why not spend it.

he was quick to undress you, and while the couch was closer he did have the capacity to be a gentleman and guided you to the bedroom. your clothes remained in a pile on the floor in the living room as he shepred you into the bedroom. then, when you got through the door he got you up in his arms and onto the bed.

"hands and knees, beautiful."

"are you going to use a condom?"

jenson flashed that winner's smile, "of course, tinkerbell. gotta play it safe for you, right?" the plan was turning in his head. easy to lie with your face in the covers. he patted your cheek and leaned in to kiss you on the lips. you tasted like cranberry juice and vodka, and he tasted like rum and coke.

his other hand on your thigh as he held you. his cock stirred in his jeans at the taste of you against him. you felt like something else, you could scam your way into some cash with just a few smiles. but jenson was greedy.

"hands and knees, beautiful. i want to see that pretty pussy and that lovely ass of yours." he chuckled before he pulled away and you got on your chest and knees with your ass in the air. perfect for him.

jenson played with your pussy as he got undressed, he dragged his fingers across it. played with your clit and even sank his digits into you. he felt the tight wet heat and he wondered how many men ran through you before. but, that didn't matter now. not when he had you in his metaphorical jaws.

it'll be the only cock you needed now, jenson would take care of his wife. there wasn't even a question if you would be his wife or not. he knew you'd walk down that aisle. he wasn't raising his baby without a ring on your finger.

you held onto the pillow under your head and heard him move around once he was undressed. you looked over and saw him get a condom out a desk drawer and you exhaled a sigh of relief. he smiled wickedly when you put your face back into the pillows.

when you weren't looking at him, the unused condom was dumped in the waste bin. he said as he approached you, his heavy cock bobbed as he got up behind you on the bed. he admired the glossiness of your cunt and licked his lips.

all for him, only for him.

he sank into you, no protection keeping that pretty pussy of yours safe. no, tonight you were going to take jenson raw. the thought excited him as he shifted his knees on the bed to get a better angle to fuck you. he pressed you at the middle of your shoulders, pushing you further into the bed with your pretty ass up against his hips. you felt amazing, the tight heat of your cunt wrapped up around him.

jenson button was one lucky bastard tonight.

he rocked up into you. his movements started off slow yet powerful. he moved up against you, both hands at your hips. he used it as leverage to move against you. it felt amazing, your cunt held onto him tightly.

like your body knew it wanted to get pregnant. and who was jenson to deny a beautiful woman what she so desired. your words said one thing and your body said another.

"fuck, jenson." you shuddered as the thrusts grew. his pace had his cock pressed up into your deepest parts. it made you panting against covers as he fucked you further into them. your breathing was heavier as you cunt fluttered around him.

the pleasure clouded your mind, all rationale was out the window. you didn't even question him that he actually put the condom on. your brain was flooded with the intense heat of pleasure. you gasped into the covers as the pleasure grew in your core.

there was something thumping in your soul from his movements and your core swam with a yearning for him. the way he fucked you, even when it was rough, quick sex. there was something about it that made your head swim with lust.

damn jenson button for knowing exactly how to get you going, how to pull orgasms out of you like a rabbit from a hat.

"you feel like heaven, honey. my little fucking tinkerbell with your fairy wings that i wanna pluck from you." he wrapped his arms around you and battered his cock into you. this pace quickened and you felt your foundation shake. his words were filthy and it lit a fire in your belly.

he continued to fuck you. he pressed his weight further down on you and made you squirm when his pace became brutal. he knew exactly how to keep you under him. you thought you were getting a nice payday from this, but you were going to walk a way with a bit more than some fresh euros stuffed in your purse.

more like his cum stuffed into your slick pussy, right where it belonged. don't worry, after you have his first kid he'll let out have a break, but he hoped within a decade you two will have three little button kids running around. of course he'll buy a nice house for your little growing family. but tonight, the logistics weren't important, tonight he was on a mission.

get his little tinkerbell, the girl desperate for male attention, nice and pregnant with his kid. then everything else will fall into place. his movements quickened till he was fucking you right into the mattress. his breathing was heavy and his body tense as he fucked you.

the bed creaked a little as you panted heavily into the covers. you whined, "fuck, jenson! i'm close!" then arched your back quite a bit as you felt climax begin to take its hold on you.

"that's it, beautiful. let it out for me. good girl, good girl." he cooed lowly and it made you head swim with heated want as you felt the throb in your body of climax. jenson knew your body better than you knew it yourself.

jenson kept up his pace. he fucked you with a simmering heat. he didn't last much longer, he couldn't have. he could feel the pleasure in his gut as soon finished inside of you. as climax hit, he shoved his entire length into you. made sure that the tip of his cock became familiar with the base of your cervix. they'd become quite acquainted over the next few months.

"fuck, jenson." you gasped as his pace slowed down and he gave you a playful smack on the behind.

"better than the rest, huh?" he said as he leaned over you, kept his softening cock inside of you for a moment. he kissed the shell of your ear and felt your tremble.

in a moment of post-orgasm weakness you croaked, "yes." and jenson felt nothing but a sense of pride that tonight he got you pregnant.

-

large hand on a swollen belly. been a whine since you've been at the bar and it's been only a few weeks since you became jenson button's wife. no late nights seeking the flirty attention of men older than you.

one of them finally got you tied down and in a few months you were going to be the mother to his child. his hands were still greedy for the softness of your hips, his tongue still wanted to explore your mouth. now he could whenever he wanted.

his hand grazed your middle, he loved the feeling of it. you looked so good. looked proper even when you struggled a little to get off the couch. you carried the baby well, even if it made you rely on jenson a little more (not that he was complaining)

you still don't know how it happened, but jenson simply shrugged and said, "miracles happen every day. and this one is ours." shutting down any questions about misuse of protection. all it took was one night and one little lie, and now jenson button clipped the wings of his little tinkerbell. <3

[nanavn]

[ID: Several photos, totaling a chapter from the book BUTCH is a NOUN.

FAGGOT BUTCH

“I hated that essay,” he says to me, “about femmes who care for you when you travel; I really hated it.” And when I ask why he tells me that he thinks it sounds like all butches should be soothed by femmes, and vice versa; he says, “Why would those femmes have assumed that you were a butch who liked femmes?” He says, “Maybe you’re a faggot butch, did they even consider that?” He says, “I know you’re not just for femmes.” That’s what he says, but I know what he’s thinking. And even though I know how dangerous it is to assume I know what someone is thinking, I know this butch maybe as well as I know myself, and he’s thinking, “Fuck you, for having it easy even in being queer. Fuck you for going along on your happy little way to San Francisco and finding a bunch of femmes who see you as a big stud-duck butch and just want to pour themselves through your fingers. It’s just as hard to be a faggot butch as it is to be any kind of fag.” There’s all that masculinity to consider when you want to rub up against someone, like that old joke about porcupines: How do porcupines mate? Very carefully. He’s saying, “I want to show up at brunch someplace and assume that anyone who I want to flirt with will want to flirt back, and will do it, will want to, without fear of recrimination from hir community. I want you to put something in that book of yours for me. I am a butch whose identity, sexual or otherwise, has nothing to do with femmes. They are not my natural partners in this gender crime the way they are yours. I wake and sleep in the arms of butches like me, butches who understand a whole host of things about my life, my world, the way I see things, the way things affect me that no one else could understand. Write about us. Write that we have sweet, hot sex in which no one has to put on a pair of panties, or take them off; write about how good it feels when ze fucks me hard, so hard. Write about how it feels to fall asleep with the weight of a butch on you, one tattooed arm and one furry leg pinning you down and grounding you in your sleep. “Write about all the ways in which butches care for each other, comfort each other. Write about how we understand all the shit that comes in the world for our partners and salve it as best we can, about how I have all the more respect for hir because of all I know it takes to survive as a butch.

“Write about how, as soon as butches were no longer the scourge of dykedom for aping masculinity, or whatever that baloney was, it became faggot butches who were scorned and derided. Everyone understands butch/femme because it seems familiar, like Ozzie and Harriet but with better hair and more pussy. Everyone understands femme on femme, even though you don’t see it all that often cause it doesn’t read queer, you know, but it’s in the first images of‘lesbian love’ most of us see, in porn or on television. Two longhaired pretty girls smooching in a daring fashion wherever they happen to be. No one’s threatened by that, not the dykes, not the men, nobody, but if I want to kiss my butch anywhere, I’d better be damn sure of my audience, or better yet, be sure we don’t have one. “I can be a butch without opening doors for girls,” he’s saying. “I can do it even if I follow while dancing, I can do it without spending my Saturday afternoons as a femme’s shopping bottom at the mall and I do. I am. I am honorable, I take good care of the people I love as well as I possibly can; I watch out for my community. I have a butch heart full of love that I can express when I feel safe enough; I walk in the world resisting gender norms and transgressing gender rules, transcending them. I am fixing whatever I can, whenever I can, and I laugh, and play, and let the spaces in my masculinity show, just like you, just like every butch. I get all slicked up for a date in a suit and tie and I pick up my date, also in a suit and tie, and we just open the door if we get to it first and we take turns paying, and it doesn’t make me less a butch. It doesn’t make me less of anything. It doesn’t mean that I don’t think femmes are swell, I surely do, but they are not my salvation when I travel, they are not the North of my heart’s compass. That’s butches for me, and I will always go a little weak when I see someone who looks scared and hardened and delighted and ashamed and proud — proud, just like me.

“You’re writing a book? Of course, I’m glad, but don’t chicken out. Don’t write a book that speaks so many volumes about your adoration for femmes that it leaves out the ways in which I know you cherish butches too. Yes, not the same way as you cherish femmes, entirely differently, butches and femmes are different creatures, sure, but I don’t just mean how glad you are and always will be to have butch brothers, abutch tribe. I mean, make sure you don’t forget to mention that you put butches on their knees in front of you and enjoy them, that you kneel down too, that you sit sometimes stunned by how much you want to lick a buzz cut or a hot tattoo, that you know what a great grace it is to fall asleep next to a butch’s heart and muscle and skin and ink and fur, that you understand how wonderful it can be to feel butch arms around you. Make sure you mention me, make sure you give me and my lovers and my life the same benefit of some of your words, make sure you don’t write another book that leaves us on the cutting-room floor. Give us a place on the landscape, help us become visible. Say this: Say that when butches love butches they hold lightning between them, but that as much as it burns it also illuminates. That it’s the sweetest burn I’ve ever known in my life of searing pain, that it keeps me from feeling the flames of the world’s hate licking the soles of my boots, that I hold it in my heart and it fuels me every day. Say that it shows me things I could never see any other way, that without it I would grow cold and die. Say that there is nothing else I would rather be.”

End ID]

Text from the link in OP

butch is a noun, s. bear bergman 2006

[goaskangel]

nanami really loving you on valentine's day!

cw : aggresive, perv nanami, groping, dry humping, breeding(?), alcohol mention, yummy asfff

word count : 1.8k

you may have gone overboard with the cleaning. your apartment doesn’t look lived in, more like an IKEA showroom. it’s not like nanami’s an inspector, he’s your boyfriend. new though, you’re not very close and it’s only been a couple of months but he was manly enough to ask you to be his valentine, how could you resist!

he’s just so perfect, you daydream while flattening the creases of the couch’s pillow. golden and groomed blonde hair, ironed suits, old fashioned manners. how his voice goes softer when he’s speaking to you, his strong teeth and subtle smile only coming out for you. it feels like you’ve won a national prize every time you break his calm and collected attitude and manage to make his pale complex warm up. you dimmed the living room since you planned a casual movie-night with him, hopefully not too casual for him. 

god knows he’ll show up in his signature suit and sit up-right while you play a stupid rom-com. that would be kind of nice. finally all alone, together, on a comfy couch. you could crawl onto his lap, tug on his tie, lick on his collared neck. kiss him like you mean it, no fear of the public. 

you squint at your suddenly changed thoughts and get up with a sigh, knowing him, he might not make a move. but he’s only a man…?

you wait for the door’s bell. when it comes, you give yourself a few seconds and fix your hair before walking to the door. you can’t make it seem like you’d been waiting, that’d be ridiculous. suddenly your thoughts of changing your clothes because it’s a bit too chilly pass your mind when you see him. like lava streams in your blood, you warm up to a casual nanami. a pretty man dressed in a gray sweatshirt that painfully compliments his skin showed up timely to spend time with his girlfriend on valentine’s, you could faint!

“hello. picked up flowers on the way, these are for you.” he tilts the bouquet, your favorite, towards you gently, grinning warmly, making his eyes squint. you swear you could eat his face. 

“thank you, thank you!” you’re handed the flowers as he steps closer to you, pressing a delicate kiss to your forehead as you take them, inhaling the floral aroma mixed with his peppery and woody cologne.

“i love them, but you didn’t have to, really.”

“it’s valentine’s day and the least i could do.” same soft smile on his lips. 

you smile, too hard, at his gesture and move to the side to let him in. he kicks off his shoes as you quickly close and lock the front door, placing the flowers on the kitchen counter. 

“it’s not too hot in here, i hope.” 

“it’s just fine,” he offhandedly observes the room, an appreciation for what you’ve done to the place. he tugs at his sleeves and rolls them up, revealing strong forearms. jesus christ. you snap out of your gaze and rush to sit at the couch, a thick blanket and a couple of fluffy pillows decorated the comfy space. rich chocolate and drinks already set at the coffee-table, and his favorite desserts from a bakery? you pat at the spot next to you and hold back a giggle when he sits next to you. his black pants spreading neatly over his thighs, your eyes carefully wandering to the seam of the zipper, your mouth pooling. 

“here, get comfy.” you toss the large pull-over on the both of you, taking in the sight of him, shuffling closer to you and warming up to the blanket around him. 

“quite a fine home you’ve got, it’s extremely cozy.” he throws an arm over you. 

“i try. it’s not usually this… tidy.”

“what? you’re trying to impress me?” he teases. 

“it’s your first time over, i wanna make you feel good an’ comfy.” 

“well, it’s working.” he smooths his hand over your hot cheek, the metal of his ringed index finger brushing over you.

you spend the remaining time opening chocolate and bakery boxes, feeding each other and occasionally kissing while a movie plays in the background. you hope for any move during the time he’s with you, any move at all. maybe a lingering kiss. it’s so distracting the way the shadows of the dark room and light source from the tv brighten his sharp features. you’re leaning into his warm chest as his fingers graze over your exposed thighs, sipping the wine you bought that he surprisingly, and thankfully, really enjoyed. 

another scene of the characters just talking and spilling lore, he sets the half-full glass down and focuses on you. eyes on the screen but his palm has splayed to soothe and grope over your thigh. he notices your obedience, spreading your legs just by the tiniest bit. his slips his hand into your inner thigh and that’s where you roll your body slowly. 

his eyes are now on you, and your bodies mingled under the sheet as you watch the movie. mmm, thank god you wore thin shorts and a random t-shirt. you feel as his fingers graze over your thinly covered cunt, tips coming down to rub your clit. your gaze stays straight but you don’t focus, you’re unable too.

“c’mere,” nanami fixes your slouched posture so you sit with your back on his chest, your legs open and pliable for him to touch and grope at your body. 

“kento.” you mumble, dazed, when his hand slides underneath your damp panties to tease at your folds. 

“mhm, you’re so beautiful.” he sniffs at your hair as his other hand grips under your bra to hold and fondle your breast. the wine was really getting to you both. a sudden pulse at your lower back as he grinds gently into you, how tight had his pants gotten? 

finally, finally, he got his hands on you. even under a blanket, you look down to watch the fabric move in waves as he rubbed your most sensitive parts, the alcohol heightening your senses. skilled hands pacing gentle but greedy circles on your buds as you gripped the remote. you appreciate his sexual activity, it’s just so much more aggressive than you thought he ever could be. his sweet words and gestures all hid his intrusive and perverse actions.

“god, i need to feel you.” he highlights his eagerness with an extra squeeze. you pathetically push the blanket off the couch and with trembling hands, you move yourself to face him. he lays himself down as you sit on his lap. you moan quietly when you feel him against your soiled shorts, bucking your hips down to get more of the twitching sensation below his belt. humping the fat chub under his pants, you craved it more than anything.

“uh-huh, that’s good. baby, you’re so good to me. that’s it.” his hands hold a bruising grip on your hips as you grind slowly but firmly on his hard cock. 

“couldn’t stop thinking about this,” he groans when you rub your fat cunt directly on his tip, “this pretty body on mine, you’re so fucking hard to resist.” his cursing going right to your achy clit. you hop off and watch him violently take his belt off, switching your spots and filling the void between your legs with his hips. pulling his sweater off and tossing it as you do the same with your top. his pale skin so handsome and soft with his softer muscles and a layer of fat on his stomach from eating all his favorite breads. so sexy, you wrap your legs around his waist. you shake your head at the condom he pulls out from his pocket. 

“needa feel you, your cock in me, please. don’t want anything between us, kento, please please. it’s valentine’s, let me do this for you.” 

“perfect girl, you’re gonna kill me.” but he complies, gladly tossing the latex and pulling the confinements of his cock down. you whine at his contents. big and hard, the first time you’ve seen this part of him. you love it, he hasn’t even fucked you and you already love it, love him. 

you nod aggressively when he lines his chubby, weeping tip against your soppy pussy. letting it catch a few times as he rocks back and forth, the moves of his sexy hips making you throb. he fulfills his own fantasies of his raw cock on his beautiful girl’s wet cunt whilst she begs for him to fill her up and make her his. 

“you want it, sweetheart?”

“more than anything, yes yes yes.” 

“no protection, nothing protecting you? you sure, love? it’s risky.”

“don’t care. i’ll have your babies if you want to, if i have to – jus’ give it to me.” 

“mmm, babies, huh… you sure that’s not the wine talking?” sick, even if it wasn’t the lust from being slightly tipsy, he wouldn’t, couldn’t, stop himself.

you could cry with all the teasing he’s doing but you lose your breath when he pushes himself into your perfect, tight cunt. all his. he takes your limp and delicate upper frame to his advantage and undoes your bra. nanami rolls himself deeper into you as he watches your pretty tits bounce with every move. 

“so good, ken, thank you..!” as he presses himself into the depths of your cunt. you're unbelievably tight and so warm when he bottoms out as far as he can without really breaking you in. 

he’s slow, eager and certainly not collected as he usually is but he takes his time to fuck you. you’re so drunk on lust and sex that you just agree to whatever he says. his pretty girl wants to be all his? have his kids? marry him and be taken care of and fucked so good daily? you nod and babble to all of it. as he speeds up, his sloppy kisses and skilled tongue on your nipples slow and he concentrates on making you both come. the movie ended a while ago and the rooms filled with groans and moans, sloppy and slippery squelches and slaps. 

his kisses his thumb wet and massages little circles into your sensitive clit. you writhe at not only the delicious friction but how you tighten up again around his cock, stretching you out all over again. 

“close, i’m close. keep fucking me, kento, yes, mhm. yesyesyes..” you jump at the overwhelming, intense orgasm and milk out every single ribbon of creamy cum into you. growling and furrowing his dark brows as he creams directly at your cervix. 

“good, good girl.” he snaps through his teeth as he finishes inside you. smoothing his hand over your pelvis and under your naval. gasping and panting as you both collect yourselves. he sinks down to rub his sweating face into your neck, kissing you gently again as you pull and stroke his blonde locks. ending such a day with all his love! <3

happy valentine's day you FREAKS

masterlist

[borathae]

↳ Index [Snippet #55 - Body Chains]

“When you get drunk on a houseparty and sneak away to fuck.”

Genre: married life!AU, houseparty!AU, Smut

Warnings: switch!Kook, switch!Reader, the switching in this is so good, they get drunk together & dance their hearts out, he is so effortlessly attractive, ah yeah they also have a lil roleplay where they pretend to be strangers meeting at the party (they last ten minutes bahhaha), Jungkook’s tiny waist, he wears body chains + a crop top and oiled himself up, I’m literally foaming at the mouth, Wednesday!JK levels of devoted & needy vibes from him, drunk giggles & making out, he is a very giggly and vocal drunk, he is also a goof <3, consensual & mutual drunk sex, thigh riding, dry humping, cumming in her panties, dirty talk, mutual stripping, nipple play & licking for him, whiney Koo <3, a very quick blowjob ofc, the bodychains stay ON during sex, rough penetrative vaginal sex in Mating Press & Deep Missionary, clit play, his chains hit her clit as he fucks her, creampies, sappy & cuddly aftercare, ah yeah they do all that in Tae's bed JFAJDFJ & he has no idea bruh

Wordcount: 9.4k

a/n: this is based on anonie's idea. But listen. this is lowkey a story about his waist jsjsj like i kept thinking of all the dainty waist koo pics which exist and you besties have no idea how feral i feel for his waist like i am OC in this story, this is practically me jjajaja either way, have fun besties 🧡

You are at Jimin’s place today, getting ready for Taeseok’s (that’s how Hoseok and Taehyung like to jokingly call themselves to your friend group) annual summer party. Most of the town’s party folk is going to be there and you have been looking forward to it for weeks. You still remember how you and Jungkook snuck glances at each other when you weren’t a thing yet and how he got jealous of Taehyung “hooking up with you”. Oh times were so much spicier back then. Not that you would ever want to trade the safety and comfort you have with Jungkook these days, but sometimes you miss the sparks of being in the getting to know each other stage.

This is why you are currently at Jimin’s place, while Yoongi is at your place. You and your best friend are going to go to the party together, while Yoongi and Jungkook will go there as a duo. You plan on meeting each other there and pretending to be strangers meeting for the first time.

The plan is perfect and so sexy.

Jimin is singing loudly, dancing to the song on the radio as he is putting on his eyeshadow. You sit on the floor in front of the mirror, busy with your own eye makeup. You join him in song every now and then, dancing in your seating position and laughing loudly whenever Jimin twerks way too aggressively.

Your days of youth might have passed already, but mentally you still feel like a late teen getting ready with your best friend for the best night ever. Especially this year around where you pretend to get ready to meet “your potential new boyfriends” at the party. Oh it is so much fun to play this silly little game of pretend.

You and Jimin already shared a bottle of sparkling wine, feeling giggly drunk.

“What do you think? Red or peach?” Jimin asks, holding up different kinds of blushes against his cheeks.

“None of them. Pink. It fits with the top.”

“You know what? You are so right, girly”, Jimin says and switches the blush to a pink one. He smiles so his cheeks stick out and applies a generous amount on his face. You busy yourself with applying mascara, pulling a silly face for it.

Jimin finishes first, posing in the mirror.

“Do you think that there’s gonna be cute boys at the party?” he asks for the sake of the roleplay.

“I hope so. I really wanna make out tonight.”

“Yes god, that would be so much fun. I wanna grind on a cute boy. I’m not gonna stop until he’s hard.”

“Of course you won’t. God bitch, you’re such a whore.”

“I so am”, Jimin agrees and turns to dance to his jewellery stand. He drinks from the bottle as he does, singing to the song whenever he can.

You are almost done with your makeup. Only your lips are missing now. Then a quick touch up of your hair and you can stand up.

“What do you think?” you ask, pulling a pose.

Jimin studies you from head to toe.

“Biiitch you look hot dot com. I bet the boys are gonna fight for your attention.”

“Thank you, thank you. I tried.”

“Well you definitely nailed it. You look sexy as fuck”, Jimin says and holds up two pairs of earrings, “left? Right?”

The left is a pair of silver sterling hoop earrings. The right is silver as well, but two studs with a white gemstone in the middle.

“Left. Definitely. The right ones are way too boring.”

“Good choice”, Jimin says and looks at the small stand mirror, “I’m so excited, seriously. Taeseok’s summer parties are always so much fun.”

“I know, right? I’m already so curious about DJ Tete”, you snicker at the name, “I wonder how he’s gonna do.”

“I bet he’s gonna be awesome. What’s the time by the way?”

You check your phone. A picture of you and Jungkook is looking back at you. He is leaning in and kissing your cheek while you are smiling into the camera. Your heart flutters. You are so excited to see him at the party.

“___?”

“Huh?” you let out, meeting Jimin’s eyes.

“The time. Girl, did you just stare at your screen?”

“Sorry, I looked at the pic”, you say, showing him your lock screen, “he’s so handsome. We went on a beach walk with Bam when we took this pic. God, I love this man so much.”

Jimin chuckles, “hey, pretend. Girl, you don’t know him yet. You’re single and ready to mingle.”

“Yeah right. Ah shit, I forgot”, you whine.

Jimin laughs, “that’s fine, I get you. I keep wanting to text Yoongi updates on my outfit. You think they’re almost ready too?”

“Yeah probably. Kook’s been planning his outfit all week. He didn’t let me see it even once. I’m going crazy because I wanna know what he picked out.”

“Same, oh my god”, Jimin exclaims, “Yoongi’s been locking his office since Wednesday ‘cause he has his outfit in there. I’m going crazy. I need to see him or I might pass away.”

“I feel you, god”, you groan, throwing your head back in frustration, “what do you say, should we text them that we’re ready already?”

“No”, Jimin snatches your phone away, “pretend. We’ll meet them at the party. Maybe, wink wink.”

“Fine urgh”, you give up, “now give me back my phone and let me have a sip as well.”

Twenty minutes later, you are in front of Hoseok’s and Taehyung’s place. Hoseok opens the door for you, greeting you with his brightest heart shaped smile. He is in jeans shorts and a neon green crop top which really showcase his defined ab-lines. He matches his nails to the shirt.

“Look at you guys. I’m so happy that you could come”, he cheers and hugs you tightly. The masculine scent pf his cologne tickles your nose.

“Of course we’d come. Your summer parties are the highlight of the year”, you tell him.

“Yeah dude, we’ve been looking forward to it for months”, Jimin says, hugging him.

Hoseok steps back with a squeaky giggle, looking happy about the praise.

“What can I get you?”

“We’re gonna look around for a little if that’s okay. Is Tae already playing DJ?”

“Not yet, he’s by the pool with Joon and Jin.”

“Nice, we’re gonna say hey.”

“You sure that you don’t want me to get you something?”

“Fine, get us your special cocktail. I know you have something brewing.”

Hoseok grins, “that’s what I like to hear”, he says and hurries away in happy skips.

You and Jimin make your way outside to the pool.

Your friends are chatting with each other, holding cocktails. Namjoon and Seokjin are wearing matching fishing shirts, while Taehyung is wearing a fishnet shirt with leather shorts. He spots you first, lifting his hand to wave you over. Namjoon and Seokjin smile, waving as well.

“Hey guys, nice outfits”, you greet them, giving each of them a hug.

“Right? We bought it at a gas station for ten bucks. And look.”

Namjoon and Seokjin do a synchronized twirl, showing off their back. The words “New Dad Alarm” is stitched into the back in neon yellow lettering.

“Why?” you laugh, “you guys aren’t even dads.”

“No, but it’s the vibe that counts.”

“You guys look like a couple of fishing gays celebrating the adoption of their child”, Jimin teases.

“And? It’s the vibe that counts”, Seokjin throws back to which Namjoon snaps his fingers sassily.

“Alright, we’re not gonna stop your fishing gays with an adoptive child vibes”, you joke with a snicker on your lips, “and you? Are you the fishing net to the fishing gays?” you address Taehyung.

“Hey, uncalled for. I’m a hot queer with a nice ass and good tits”, Taehyung says.

“You really are”, you say, nudging his cheek, “sorry, you know that I was only being a dick right now?”

“I do. It’s fine, I know I look hot.”

You snicker, agreeing with a nod of your head. Hoseok appears by your sides with his signature cocktails. He hands each of you a glass, then sits down next to Taehyung.

“Where are your husbands?” he asks.

“Actually, we’re single today”, Jimin says.

“What are you guys playing again?” Seokjin asks with a knowing look in his eyes.

“We’re pretending not to know each other so we can hit each other up”, you explain your perfect plan to which Jimin snickers and nods his head.

“And you guys wanna judge our fishing gays vibes.”

“Hey, we weren’t judging. You guys rock the look”, you defend yourself and take a sip of the cocktail. It tastes sweet with a hint of coconut at the end, “the cocktail’s amazing. Wow.”

“Thanks, I worked on the recipe for a week. Tae and I solely consumed cocktails this week.”

“Really?”

“No, he’s being dramatic. There were a lot though”, Taehyung says and sips on his cocktail, moving his head to the music as he does.

It isn’t long and you find yourself in the kitchen with Jimin. If there is one thing you and your best friend are, it is party alcoholics. You rarely drink in your daily lives, but love getting drunk when going out. It is only natural for you and him to get yourselves another drink once the cocktail was empty.

It is Jimin’s turn to mix the drinks. Taehyung’s current boyfriend is still DJing, filling the beach mansion with bassy techno music. You move to the sound of it, scanning your eyes over the crowd.

Hoseok and Taehyung really know a lot of people. There are faces present which you have never seen before and you have been coming to these parties ever since you were sixteen and Hoseok threw them in his parent’s basement.

It is impressive how there are still new faces each year. Your eyes halt. Wait a damn minute, you know this face. And you know this face too!

“They’re here.”

“What?” Jimin’s head snaps up. “Where?”

“There. Entrance.”

“I can’t see.”

“Girl, there” you say and take Jimin’s hand to drag him closer to the entrance area.

“Oh there! Holy fuck. Oh my fucking god, look at them”, Jimin gasps, grasping your arm for support.

You agree with him. Jungkook has never looked hotter before. He is wearing black skin-tight jeans with a black belt. He paired a very small crop top to it. Silver body chains peak out from underneath it, accentuating the paths of him. Judging by how glowy his honey skin is, he oiled himself up. Holy fuck indeed. It takes everything inside you not to storm to him and instantly take him.

Jimin is having just as much of a hard time. Yoongi is also wearing black skinny jeans and combines a cropped t-shirt and a black choker with it. His belly button piercing peaks out from under the hem of the tanktop, his black tattoos are exposed as well. He seems to have oiled up his toned arms.

“Girl sorry, but I need to have this man”, Jimin says and abandons you to run to Yoongi.

Yoongi, who clearly wanted to roleplay, gets surprised as Jimin flings himself around his neck and kisses him deeply.

Jungkook launches to the side in surprise, gawking at them. Yoongi stumbles at first but soon catches his rhythm, grabbing Jimin’s ass greedily as his lips melt with his’.

Seconds later, Jimin collides with the wall and Yoongi slams his hand on said wall above his husband’s head. Another second later, you can see tongue. Lots of tongue.

Well there go your plans of pretending to be strangers. You huff out air in frustration, pouting. Jimin could have at least tried to control himself.

Jungkook looks away from the violently making out couple, scanning his eyes over the crowd in search of you.

Maybe you could still pretend. It isn’t too late yet.

He meets your eyes. Your heart skips a beat. He is looking at you like a golden retriever having spotted his owner. Seriously, if he had a tail, he would wag it vigorously right now.

He abandons Jimin and Yoongi, making his way to you through the crowd.

You let him think that you will wait for him until he is just a few steps away. His eyes are sparkling like crazy, his lips are curled into a giddy smile.

You turn your back to him and flee into the kitchen. You can’t see his reaction, but you know for a fact that confusion and offense are both on his features.

You hope that he is following you. You swerve past a few people once in the kitchen. Your goal is to get a drink. Vodka with some orange juice as mixer. It’s honestly not a good drink, but it gets the job done.

You are in the midst of pouring in the orange juice when Jungkook appears by your side.

“Hey there.”

You try to ignore him. Your heart is racing like crazy. This is so exciting.

“Uhm. Hey”, he tries again louder this time around, leaning a little closer in case you can’t hear him.

You give him nothing, despite really wanting to look at him.

“Helloooo”, he singsongs, tapping your shoulder.

“One second”, you tell him and finish pouring the juice. You close the package of juice, putting it back in the fridge. And only then, do you finally turn to look at him. You scan your eyes up and down. Fuck he is so hot. You need to devour him. Not yet. You have to stay strong.

“Hey”, he says one last time, giving you a lopsided smirk.

“Hey.”

“Why did you run away from me?”

“Do I know you?”

Jungkook seems taken aback for a second before realisation lights up his face. He smiles, lowering his eyes playfully.

“Not yet”, he leans against the counter nonchalantly, “but that can change. I’m Jungkook, but you can call me JK if you want to”, he says, offering you his hand to shake.

You eye it, but don’t take it. You sip on your vodka orange, leaning against the counter just as nonchalantly as he does.

“JK you say?”

“Or Jungkook whatever you might prefer. I can also go by yours if that’s more to your taste.”

He makes you laugh. Of course he still got it.

“Mine? Well, that’s ambitious.”

“What can I say, I’m an ambitious dreamer.”

“You definitely are”, you say, running your eyes over his torso.

The crop top is just long enough to it hides his waist in certain angles and exposes it in others. He styled his hair out his face and clearly did his eyebrows. He currently keeps his hair shorter and his sides even shorter. He looks to die for. You need to eat him up. You take a sip of your drink instead, meeting his eyes again. He knows that he is sexy. It is obvious in his eyes.

“You are single, aren’t you?” he asks.

“Why?”

“I’d hate to accidentally hit up someone taken.”

“So you’re hitting me up?”

“As of now, I am.”

You smile, “I’m single, yeah.”

“Really? Wow, I could have sworn that someone like you is already married.”

“Someone like me?”

“Someone as beautiful as you. I was sure for a second that someone was already lucky enough to catch your eye.”

“Mhm not yet”, you say, following his body chain until you can study his neck instead, “my eyes are definitely caught right now, though.”

“The feeling’s mutual”, he says, taking a step closer. Just a little one.

You take a step back, feeling tingles of excitement when Jungkook’s eyes darken in the thrill of the chase. He lets out a sexy chuckle, fixing his posture with a roll of his shoulders.

“What are you drinking?” he asks.

“Vodka orange. It’s nasty.”

He laughs, “I can imagine. I’m more of a whisky guy myself.”

“You are?”

“Mhm”, his eyes flit to your lips, “I like the burn.”

Everything inside you tells you to close the distance and kiss him stupid. You need this man like air. Not yet. Let’s play for a little longer.

He seems to struggle too. His eyes keep flitting to your lips and if they aren’t yearning for a kiss, they are on your chest. You purposefully wore a really short and tight dress tonight. It’s definitely working.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

“___.”

“You have a really pretty name.”

“Thanks. My parents picked it for me.”

“Your parents seem to have done a lot of things right with your creation.”

You laugh, trying so fucking hard not to call him an idiot. He is so silly and funny and you love him so much.

Jungkook laughs with you, inching closer. You don’t flee this time around, staring at his smile as if it was art. It is.

He puts his hand on the upper corner of the fridge. He is so close like this. His eyes don’t lie. They never could. He is so utterly in love with you even if you pretend to be strangers.

You can’t stop looking at him. Your eyes can’t lie. Even of you tried, they couldn’t. He is the love of your life, even if you pretend to be strangers.

You could never pull off this roleplay perfectly because it’s in your eyes.

And somehow it just makes you and him so excited tonight. To know that even if you were strangers, you were meant to be. The memory of years ago, when you were truly strangers, feels foreign to you and him, but this is what makes it so good. The connection. The memories. The safety and trust you built. The knowledge that once this party ends, you and he can go home together to your doggy son and you can fall asleep cuddling. This is what makes it so fucking good. Knowing that you already found your person.

“So do you live here or are you just visiting?” he asks.

“If you don’t want to, we don’t have to pretend anymore.”

“Really?”

You nod your head. Jungkook laughs in relief, knees buckling as he melts in giddiness.

“I’m so glad. It was so hard to act as if I didn’t know you. How are you, baby? I missed you. Oh my god, you’re so sexy, I can’t stop looking at you. I missed you so much”, he babbles, cradling your cheeks.

You melt into his touch. This is it. This is what matters.

“I missed you too. Let’s never ever do a separate sleepover again.”

“Never. Ever.” He insists, shaking his head.

“At least we held out longer than Jimin and Yoongi.”

“Right”, he looks around the room in search for them, “they’re probably fucking somewhere.”

“A hundred percent they are. Jimin spent like an hour douching. I know cause he told me every detail. I even had to help him wax his ass.”

“This sound like Jimin. But oh my god”, his knees buckle again and he pouts as he talks, “you’re so pretty. I missed you so much, baby. I can’t stop looking at you”, he whines, brushing the back of his hands down your face.

“What should I say? You look so fucking good, holy damn.”

“You like it? I wanted to be really sexy”, he explains and steps back to flex, pulling a dorky face for it.

Of course it makes you laugh because he is the funniest person ever. It also makes you swoon however. His muscles look very good when he flexes even with clothes on.

“What do you think? Do I look sexy to you?” he asks, flexing his arms.

“You look so sexy. I could eat you, I’m serious.”

“Thanks, yeah”, he lets out and finally gives in completely. He giggles, swaying giddly. He drops his head on your shoulder, hugging you against him, “let’s never ever be strangers again, baby.”

“Yeah. Never. Ever.”

He squeezes you and steps back, holding your hand as he talks.

“How was your day?”

“Fun. It was nice acting like teens with Jimin. Yours?”

“Fun too, but I missed you like crazy. I wanted to keep sending you texts.”

“Me too, oh my god.”

He smiles giddily. So he wasn’t the only one going crazy without his other half. He gazes at you, heart racing.

“Are you drunk?” he asks.

“I’m jolly. Why?”

“Because I need to catch up. I’m too sober.”

“Oh? So we’re doing this tonight?”

“Definitely. You and I are gonna get shitfaced.”

“Well if that’s so. Shots. Tequila.”

“Like we did on our first party.”

“Exactly.”

It is Taehyung’s turn to DJ when you and Jungkook finally feel drunk enough to dance. You spent time outside with the others, having to admit your defeat which didn’t come as a surprise to them. Jimin and Yoongi joined about an hour in, looking dishevelled. Nobody dared to comment on their state in fear of Jimin dropping way too graphic details. Taehyung left an hour in to switch places with his boyfriend, while said boyfriend joined the dancing crowd first row.

“Wanna get another drink?” Jimin asks Yoongi.

“Sure, we can get another drink. Seokjin, wanna join?”

“Yes, I do actually.”

Hoseok and Namjoon are playing beer pong by the pool, which leaves you and Jungkook.

“You two wanna join?” Yoongi offers.

You and Jungkook communicate through a look.

“Actually, we wanna go dancing for a bit.”

“Fine with us. We’re in the kitchen.”

And so it happens that you and Jungkook go dancing. Jungkook leaves you for a little while to talk to Taehyung. He seems touchier than normally, which is a telltale sing that he was drunk. Taehyung doesn’t seem to mind, talking to him whenever he isn’t busy mixing.

You’re all alone on the dance floor, enjoying the music and the feeling of alcohol in your veins. Seriously, you aren’t someone who drinks a lot of booze, but man is it fun to be drunk on a party. Especially when you know that you can dance with Jungkook in the near future.

He taps you on the shoulder. You turn, instantly throwing your arms around him.

“Hey. Ew, sorry”, you startle, flinching away as an unknown man looks at you.

“Wow, I’m trying not to be hurt. You are the first girl who reacts with ew when she sees me.”

“Sorry. I thought that you were someone  else. I just startled, that’s all. You’re not actually ew.”

“I’m not? Thank you. You’re very pretty yourself. I’m Frank and you are?”

“Oh. Oh, no sorry. I think you might have misunderstood something. I’m-”

“Hey, I’m back”, Jungkook thankfully saves the day (on purpose because he watched you from the DJ booth and instantly felt jealous). He puts his arm around your waist, giving Frank a very territorial and dark look.

“Your date?” the stranger asks.

“Husband. We’ve been married for years. We’re very happy”, Jungkook snarls.

“Sorry, my mistake then. You guys have fun”, the stranger is thankfully one of the good guys, leaving with a slightly bruised ego but no complaints.

Jungkook turns to you and nudges your cheek.

“Bad girl. Don’t be so cute.”

“What do you mean?”

“I watched you put your arms around him.”

“Okay but mister then you also saw that I instantly flinched back when I saw that it wasn’t your fine ass”, you snicker, poking him.

“I leave you alone for five minutes and you already have men falling over you. Stop being cute or I’ll have to hide you away in my pocket.”

“Okay, you’re just acting adorable now”, you snicker and put your arms around him, hooking them behind his head. “I can’t help it. I’m born cute. Thankfully, I’m married to someone as strong as you to keep me safe.”

He likes it, scrunching his nose.

“Yeah, that’s right. My wifey”, he says and slides his hands to your hips to hold them.

You begin dancing, looking into the other’s eyes as if the universe itself was in them. And in a sense it was. When you look at Jungkook, you can see your whole universe. When Jungkook looks at you, he can see his whole universe.

“Fuck, I love you. You know?”

“I love you too. Now look at these moves.”

Seconds later you are screaming in laughter as Jungkook gives you his best performance. He comes out of it a little out of breath, looking proud.

“And whatcha think?”

“Amazing, you were amazing.”

He grins, pointing at you.

“Your turn.”

“Watch this.”

Jungkook cheers you on, jumping and laughing on the spot as you give him your best performance.

People always say that it is impossible to actually find someone you can be a hundred percent yourself with. That there will always be parts which just don’t match and you will have to live with it. But these people have never experienced what you and Jungkook have. Nobody else matches your goofy freak as well as he does.

And as you and he have the most embarrassing yet free dance off, the world seems to glow all around you. The people around don’t matter. It is just you and him.

The night continues like this for a long time. You take a short break in the middle of it, going to the kitchen for more drinks and a round of beer pong with the others.

Then Namjoon wanted to go on a drunk beach walk to which Hoseok and Seokjin agreed. You and Jungkook returned back to the dance floor. Well, at least he did because you left for the kitchen first to get more shots.

Jungkook is talking to another woman when you come back. You jump into a full sprint instantly, reaching his side within seconds.

“I got our drinks”, you blurt out, shoving it into his hand.

“Thank you.”

“Is this your friend?” the stranger asks.

“Do we look like friends to you? That’s my husband and he is my pookie wookie and I’m his egg and you are not welcome here because we’re very happy.”

“Urgh fine, message received. Bye”, she says and leaves.

“You” you whip around to him.

“I didn’t do nothing. I swear”, he panics, squeaking when you poke him in the cheek.

“Stop being a cutie pie. I can’t leave you alone.”

He relaxes and snickers, “she approached me. I was trying to tell her that I’m married when you came running.”

“Next time I’m taking you with me. We need a leash for parties.”

“Yes please”, he begs, making puppy eyes. Truly you have the most loyal hubby ever.

And so the night continues. You and he get drunker and dance. Taehyung switched places with his boyfriend again when you and Jungkook officially can’t stay apart anymore.

Well, it is you who starts it. Jungkook is very lost in the music, dancing with his eyes closed and his arms up in the air. The position makes his crop top slip up constantly, exposing his toned stomach. It looks so pretty when he stretches.

Somewhere to your right, Jimin and Yoongi are dancing as well. Well, Yoongi is barely moving while Jimin is grinding on him. Sometimes he playfully slaps his butt which makes Jimin laugh and snuggle closer for a kiss. Which in return makes Yoongi smile and kiss him hungrily. They seem very happy doing what they’re doing.

But you can only look at Jungkook and how freely he dances. His smile. This goddamn smile. It’s so beautiful. The lights hue his body into such beautiful colours. Seeing his stomach flex and relax and the body chains swing just does something to you. The song switches. Jungkook yelps and looks at you.

“I love this song! Fuck, I feel so good”, he laughs, throwing his head back and closing his eyes as the music moves his body again. His smile is even brighter than before, captivating you.

You can’t do this anymore. You are so insanely attracted to him.

You grip his waist and tug him to you. Jungkook lets you, running his eyes up and down your face playfully. He hooks his arms behind your head, swaying his hips to the music because he thinks that you wanted to dance with him. His arms rest on your shoulders like this. He is still smiling. Your attraction to him is unbearable.

You tell him to lean down, which he does.

“You’d also feel good if you were inside me”, you rasp, forcing his knees to buckle and his eyes to go droopy at the same time.

“Holy fuck, baby”, he chokes out and melts closer.

“Mhm I mean it.”

You squeeze his dainty waist, tilting your head so your noses touch.

“Don’t say that. Please. Not here”, he begs.

“I can’t help it. You’re so fucking cute. And sexy”, you say, running your hands along his oiled up sides.

Jungkook tenses and shudders, knees buckling and face dropping to the side of your head. His lips brush your ear, letting you hear the very soft moan your touch elicits.

So you do it again. His waist is dainty enough that you can dance your fingers along his sides and trace his ab-lines with your thumbs at the same time. His tummy is sensitive, which means that he gets very shivery from it.

He even has to reach down and stop your hands from further wandering.

“Please, it’s unfair of you.”

You step closer, letting your lips brush his ear.

“Let’s go somewhere else.”

Jungkook’s head shoots up, his eyes are widened. The music changes to a louder song, making his words silent to you but you know for a fact that he currently exclaims “are you serious?”

You nod your head, squeezing his hands. You mouth back a “are you down?” which you know for a fact is useless because Jungkook sucks at reading lips.

He leans closer, “whatever you just said, I agree with you”, he says against your ear, following it with a needy little sound.

“Then come on.” You say and pull him away from the dance floor. Jungkook follows like a love drunk puppy, only having eyes for you.

You and he manage as far as the kitchen and then Jungkook can’t take it anymore. He grips your face to pull you into a kiss.

“Nuh-uh what are you doing?” you stop him with a finger on his lips. He is but your finger’s width away, looking at you with desperate neediness in his eyes.

“Don’t do this to me”, he croaks, sliding his hands to the back of your neck. “Please, don’t do this.”

“I didn’t give you permission, did I?”

“Baby, please. Can I kiss you?” he is pleading. It’s a panicky reaction, his sad puppy eyes are indicator enough.

“I’m not sure”, you say and slide your finger away.

Jungkook chases you instantly, moaning softly. You move away, make him chase you, deny him the kiss.

Jungkook grips your hip and cups your cheek. The inner corners of his brows lift in a beg.

“Let me kiss you. Please.”

You smile. It’s driving him insane that you are. Your fingers on his chest are doing the rest. His heart is pounding, his skin is so overly sensitive that he swears he can feel your touch through his shirt. He is starved. It’s scrambling his brain not to taste your kiss.

“Please just one kiss.”

You shake your head, moving closer just to deny him again.

“Too many people.”

“Then let's go somewhere else”, he says and takes your hand to pull you away from the crowd. He seems to go straight for the stairs, which are off limits to the guests.

“Wait. What are you doing? Where are we going?”

“Somewhere nobody can disturb us”, he says and leads you upstairs. No guests are allowed upstairs, but you both know that you are an exception.

“But the party’s downstairs. We’re not supposed to be here.”

“I don't care. I need to kiss you.” He twirls on the highest step, walking with his back facing the path. His hands are on your hips, leading you with him. He is giggling, face scrunched in the prettiest smile. “We’re little criminals right now”, he gushes and twirls you.

“Oh god, this is very fast”, you laugh, letting him twirl you as you and he sneak down the forbidden corridor.

There is a wall close to you. Something inside him snaps. Your laugh is the reason for it. Jungkook lifts you so he can press you against the wall. He drops you in front of it, taking your wrists to pin them above your head. He is using one hand for it, using the other to touch your waist.

Like this you are caged in and completely at his mercy, moaning softly because you expected anything but this. You look at him with wobbly knees, finding it hard to breathe.

“But you’re my criminal. Gotcha”, he purrs, following it with a sweet giggle. He is truly the most adorable yet sexy person to ever exist.

“Kook, fuck…”

“Do you wanna find out what happens to criminals when I catch them?” he coos, tugging your wrists further up the wall. He tightens his grip, lowering his head at the same time. All you can see is him. His big arms, his oiled up chest, the silver chains, his playful gaze and styled hair. All you can see is him and the lips you ache to kiss.

“Yeah”, you breathe.

“Too bad I’m not gonna show you. Yet”, he says and lowers your wrists. He still keeps a hold on them, using his grip to tug you with him.

“Wow, I see what you did there”, you grumble, making him giggle and skip along the way.

You follow happily, walking a little wobbly because he just completely ruined you with his show of strength. It’s what you get when you tease him and he pins you against a wall. It’s so hot when he does that.

“I just had to”, he says and opens Taehyung’s room, “in here. Now”, he growls the last word playfully, snickering instantly as he slaps your butt.

Jungkook is a very giggly drunk. Which is the most endearing thing ever because he is so cute when he giggles and snickers his way through life.

You enter the room happily. Jungkook closes the door and locks it. He flips the lights on, looking at you instantly.

Taehyung’s bedroom is reached by three steps and separated into two spacious areas. A living area closer to the door and the sleeping area down the stairs. You are below the steps, Jungkook is still on top of them, looking down at you with starving eyes.

“Now we’re alone”, he says, lowering his eyes dangerously.

Holy fuck, you need him to act soon or else you will pass away.

“Don’t be scared, I’ll be gentle”, he rasps and follows it up with a giggle.

“Fucking hell you drive me insane. Come down here and let me kiss you”, you get out, reaching for him needily. You grab his waist and tug.

Jungkook stumbles down the two steps and falls into the kiss with a needy moan. He cradles your face and kisses you as if he had never kissed you before. Deeply. Passionately. For a long time. Wrongs become rights again, pains become comforts and time passes just a little slower. He is kissing you and it feels so good.

Like this, you pull him closer and closer to the bed until your knees hit the edge of it and you fall. Jungkook doesn’t let you fall harshly, cushioning your head with his hand.

“You’re okay?” he checks on you.

“I’m okay. You?”

“Okay.”

The kiss deepens. Your hands are on his waist again, feeling it up. You are obsessed with it. Actually obsessed. Jungkook is halfway on top your lap, sitting on one of your legs so his knee was right against your pussy.

This is your personal heaven. The pleasure is instant. You moan and grind on him within the first touch. It’s almost an instinct to use his muscular thigh to get off. You’ve done it a million times before and tonight you need it to survive. There is so much painful pressure between your legs, your clit might actually burst and your pussy feels so empty. You need to find relief. Please any kind of relief. You don’t even mind that the position is slightly uncomfortable, that you have to bend and stretch your back so you could reach him. All you take in is the instant relief his thigh gives you.

“What are you doing?” he breaks the kiss breathlessly.

“Kiss me, fucking kiss me”, you rasps and pull him back. You keep one hand on the nape of his neck while the other digs deep into his waist possessively.

“Oh my god”, he is mewling between kisses, “you…humping…my thigh. Oh my…god.”

He digs his fingers into the softness of your hip, pulling you against his hard thigh. He moves closer for it.

Your legs shake, you try to find your sanity but he is keeping your body pinned with just his addictive presence.

“Feels good? Baby…you…like?” he asks and grips the nape of your neck. His thumb still reaches your face, caressing your cheek most tenderly. It is a reminder how much he treasures you. That his heart beats only for you.

“Like it so much.”

He lifts his leg higher, keeping the intense pressure going. You are so needy that he might actually make you cum like this. In your panties, after mere seconds. The revelation makes you grind down even harder.

Jungkook was so occupied with mewling and being in disbelief about his luck that he didn’t even realise that the rough movements of his leg were too much for you until you suddenly moan his name and sink into yourself in the distinct way you always do when he is throwing you over the edge.

The kiss breaks because you need to fight for air as your body shakes.

“Holy fuck, are you having an orgasm right now?” he gasps, but you can only whimper and shake on his leg. It is very faint, but he can feel the orgasmic throbbing of your pussy against his thigh.

He grips your waist with both hands and growls.

“You are. Fuck, you are. Holy fuck, this is so hot. You’re actually cumming too soon. Holy fuck”, he babbles and helps you ride it out until you begin writhing in overstimulation.

Clarity comes back to you. The jeans against your pussy hurts. The pressure is uncomfortable. You just lost control. He manhandled you so good that he made you cum.

The realisation sends burning heat to your cheeks, you try to writhe away instantly.

“Hurts, ahm, please.”

“Holy fuck, I’m actually gonna fucking ruin you. You actually came too soon. Oh my fucking god, that only happens to me normally”, he is still babbling, now pushing you further onto bed until you can’t help but shimmy to where he wants you. Nestled into Taehyung’s pillows.

He is on top of you instantly, caging you in between the thing which seconds ago made you lose control. His thighs. He takes your wrists and pins them above your head. His tangling chains swing with each movement.

“How does it feel, mhm? How does it feel knowing that I’ve got so much power over you that I can make you cum too soon, mhm?” he taunts, breathing heavily. You didn’t think that this would affect him as much as it does, but you aren’t complaining. His competitiveness is so adorable.

“I could still make you cum faster.”

“No, you couldn’t. That was barely even a minute”, he is squeaking and giggling.

“Liar. Unless we’re talking about you, then it’s correct.”

“Shut up, oh my god”, he whines, “you’re so fucking mean. It’s not my fault, okay? I spoke to the doctor and he said I have sensitive peepee syndrome okay?”

He makes you belt a laugh.

“Fucking hell, you’re so stupid. What the fuck, just kiss me again, you idiot.”

Jungkook goes into the kiss, smiling and grinning, moaning needily as you run your hands over his body. His heart might jump out of his chest if this keeps going. He feels so alive. So goddamn alive.

You feel the same. Including such burning need for him that it gets difficult to function. It isn’t long that you break the kiss again

“Koo take it off”, you writhe, “take it off please, hurts. It hurts.”

“Yeah that’s awful isn’t it? Cumming in your panties. I bet your clit’s so fucking big and swollen right now. Just begging to be sucked and licked.”

Your clit throbs. Your panties feel even tighter.

“You’re awful”, you croak, “how do you go from being an idiot who says shit like sensitive peepee syndrome to someone who says the hottest stuff?”

“Why? Does it make you needy?” he coos and pecks your lips.

“Please, you proved your point. I’m sorry I teased you.”

He smirks, “yeah, you shouldn’t have”, he purrs and takes your face between two of his fingers, “say it again.”

“What?”

“Sorry. Say it.”

“Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

“Teasing you so much.”

“Mhm”, he hums, letting go of your face and swiping his thumb over your lips, “I shouldn’t be so obsessed with hearing you say sorry, but I am.”

“I need to have you, please Koo be inside me.”

“I will. I fucking will, just let me get out of this.” He climbs off bed to step out of his pants and briefs. No shoes because Taeseok have a no shoes policy at their place.

He takes off his crop top, finally exposing what he hid beneath. The oil makes his tattoos stick out so well. He also exchanged his barbell nipple piercings for silver nipple shields in heart shapes. White gemstones are glued on the hearts.

His cock is already hard, which means that he is really horny right now. Normally, he takes a little longer to get there when he is drunk, but tonight he seems ready to burst.

He is so sexy.

“You literally drive me insane”, you say and sit up, “come closer.”

He obeys, moaning and giggling as you hold his waist to pull him in for kisses on his tummy.

“Tickles”, he sighs and rolls his head back, “ah, sensitive…”

You purr and wrap your lips around the tip of his dick.

Jungkook’s knees buckle, he grips the back of your head and moans. His pretty cock throbs on your tongue, giving you a taste of his excitement. It’s a little bitter tonight because of the alcohol. You don’t really mind because he is so yummy to you.

You give his cock a very harsh suck then slip off to kiss path back to his tummy. You get on your knees on bed, kissing every inch of his torso until you reach his nipples. You have your hand around his cock, jerking it sensually.

“Absolutely insane what you are doing to me”, you lull and suck his pierced nipples one by one.

Jungkook mewls, arching his back. His cock throbs in your hand.

“I feel dizzy”, he confesses, “please can I lie down?”

“Sorry, I’m already done.” You straighten up, holding his waist as you stare deep unto his foggy eyes.

He pouts, cheeks flushed, “why’d you touch me like this?”

“Because I can.”

“Oh god, you’re so mean”, he whines.

You chuckle, “mhm maybe. Keep the chains on, I beg.”

“Okay, yes.”

“Good boy. Now, my turn.”

You get off bed, taking off your dress and underwear. You keep the jewellery on.

“Oh my god, you are beautiful”, he gasps.

So here you and he are. Bared, naked and vulnerable in the bedroom of another. It was kind of useless to get completely naked, you could have done what needed to be done with your panties pushed aside, but you are too drunk on tonight to think rationally. It’s just you and him. And you and he want to connect how nature intended it. How your souls feel when you are together. Naked, raw and fucking exposed.

“Koo.”

He answers you with your nickname and closes the distance. Your naked bodies connect, seconds later you are back on bed and he is on top of you.

The kissing continues, more intense than it was all night. Because you and he are finally naked, skin against skin. Each touch feels a million times more intense. Each inch feels so much more interesting to explore. You and he can’t stop touching each other, grinding on the other as if it was your destiny.

He is also a giggly drunk, however, meaning that he breaks the kiss way too soon for your taste. He grins at you.

“Now I finally got my kiss.”

“Wow, okay.”

“Yeah”, his smile grows into blinding magnitude, “didn’t even realise that this was my goal all along, did you?”

“No”, you play along and roll your eyes fondly. You love his antics.

“It was”, he giggles and smiles, kissing you as he does, “I told you that I’ll show you what it gets you when you tease me.”

“God Koo”, you let out and reach for him, “god.”

“I’m not done with you though. Hear me? We’re not done yet”, he purrs and adds in a sweet voice, “okay?”

“Yeah please”, you beg, dragging him back into a sloppy kiss.

Jungkook purrs, melting closer. He can’t escape it anymore. This magnetic pull between you and him. He needs to chase it or he will go insane.

“I love this. Oh god, yes”, he babbles, kissing a path to your neck and further down to your breasts. He is so noisy, licking and sucking your chest hungrily. Jungkook mewls as he kisses down your tummy, drooling in anticipation of your pussy. You know exactly what the end goal of this journey will be and it would be fucking amazing to have him eat you out. It really would be. But you are impatient and need his cock inside.

“Koo wait”, you stop him with a gentle tug on his hair.

“What’s wrong?”

“I know you wanna be a good boy and make me wet, but I’m already dripping. Just get up here and be inside me.”

“Really?”

“Yes, fucking hell, really.”

“Oh god, I can’t wait. I want you so bad.”

He climbs between your legs, resting on his elbows and falling into a messy kiss. He smoothes over the top of your head as his tongue dances with yours.

Your legs wrap around his waist, your hips lift in search for him. You can’t be without him any longer, aching.

Jungkook seems to feel the same, feeding you his needy moan just as he sinks his aching cock into you.

You and he shudder, sobbing drunkenly as you hug and grip the other. Reconnecting is everything which matters. This is it. The moment tonight was for.

“I’m all in”, Jungkook is panting his words, voice shaky in both emotion and pleasure, “tell me what you like. Talk me through it.”

“Deep and rough, please Koo.”

“Like this?” he starts off gentle, gazing at your face drunkenly. He pets your head, wanting to soothe you.

“Harder.”

“Like this?”

He is still so gentle with you. Which is cute and it’s so sweet that he tries to be careful, but you can’t do careful tonight. Not when you literally need him to live inside your veins from now on.

You cradle his cheeks, squishing them together until his lips stick out in a pout.

“Listen, pookie. I need you to fuck me like you hate me.”

“But I don’t hate you, I love you.”

“Then fuck me like you love me and want me screaming your name.”

“Okay”, he whimpers.

“Good. Do it.”

He straightens up and lifts your legs to put them against his arms. He folds you in half, with your knees sitting against his arms and your legs in the air. Like this, you are completely exposed to him, able to take his perfect cock.

He picks up a sloppy rhythm, moaning loudly when this makes you yelp up on pleasure.

“Is this it? Do I fuck you how you need it?”

“You’re so good. Ah! Koo! Kookoo aha!”

“I feel fucking alive. Holy shit, just wanna fuck you right all day all week. Shit, I’m going insane.”

Another reason why Jungkook is the one for you and why you think that matching each other’s freak is an actual thing, is how vocal he gets during sex. So much of the pleasure he gives you is from the way he just constantly talks to you. He can be so filthy, so dirty and yet he can also be so loving and gentle. The underlying message however is always how he is devoted to you with his entire being.

“Feels…so….good”, you moan, legs twitching and shaking on his arms. Nothing beats the feeling of him. Especially when he finally shows you what those hips can do. He is honestly so good in using them.

“Yeah, so good. You make me feel invincible, holy fuck.”

He is strong in how he fucks into you, making each thrust count. Because they should. He gets to be with you each time he is inside, this should count something. This should create something wonderful. And in your case, it is pleasure so good nothing could ever recreate it.

“You, you just keep shaking like this. Your pussy’s heaven, baby. Can barely breathe. You get me so good, baby.”

“Closer please.”

He listens to your begs. His body chains, once tangling without a purpose, begin slapping against your clit.

“Jungkook”, you wail, arching your back.

“Too much?”

“No! Keep going please. Your chains! Ah!”

“My chains?” He looks down and moans, hips buckling. “No way, this is so sexy. Holy fuck, I can’t. Baby, ___ baby.”

His hips pick up speed, his drunk moans join yours. And if he isn’t moaning, he is talking. He is such a sexy drunk fuck. Maybe this is why you love getting shitfaced with him. Because you know how much of a yapper Jungkook becomes when he is drunk. And horny yapper Jungkook means you get his unfiltered thoughts constantly.

“Love fucking you so deep, babygirl.”

“Yeah, you’re moaning so sweet. Makes me fucking wild.”

“I’m made to fuck you, that’s what I was made for.”

“Can’t believe this is happening. I’m so lucky.”

“I’m yours, baby, I’m yours.”

It is constant and it is so honest. They’re your biggest turn on. Mixed with his cock loving your sensitive insides and his body chains slapping your clit and you are a goner.

“Koo, I’m cumming.”

“Don't hold back. cum for me, baby.” He encourages you and takes your clit between his fingers to rub her. His chains still slap against you, adding electric intensity to your high. “Does this help?”

You wail, clawing at the sheets and writhing helplessly. This is your answer. Or course it fucking helps.

“Yes babygirl, cum for me. Shit, my cock’s at home with you. That’s it, let me feel you lose it. Give me everything.”

“Please slow please we’re not at home.”

He knows what you are insinuating, pinching your clit because he is awful.

“Please Koo, I need to squirt. Don’t make me do this.”

“Just say the words and I’ll slow down.”

“Slow, please slow.”

“Good girl, using your words so well”, he praises and drops to his elbows. Your legs are around his thighs, shaking as he fucks into you messily. His body chains tickle your chest like this.

He shudders, eyes clouding over in ecstasy. It feels so good the way you grip him for support.

“Can you still go?” he asks.

“Yeah”, you mewl, fingers grasping the back of his body chains.

“I’m gonna cum like this. Can I cum inside?”

“Yes, please do. Koo oh god, Koo”, you beg, twisting the chains for support.

“I love cumming inside”, he whimpers, kissing you seconds later. Quite frankly, he licks into your mouth more than he kisses you, giving you the squeakiest and neediest moans ever.

You bury your hand deep in his hair, clenching down on him to make it feel good for him.

“___”, Jungkook mewls.

“Is this good for you? Am I making it nice?”

“Nice, so nice. I really have to cum.”

“Then do it. Fill me, baby.”

“Play with my nipples, please.”

You fulfill his wish, instantly sending him to nirvana. He squeaks your name, trying to kiss you as his orgasm shakes his body. You kiss him back, trembling from getting all of him. This is everything.

“I love you”, he manages to get out because at the end of the day, this is what he does. He fucks you as hard as he does, gets naked with you, dresses up and goes out because he loves you.

“I love you too.”

“Oh god, it feels so good. You feel so good. I can’t stop cumming, oh god”, he sobs and shakes, holding you close for support. Your fingers on his nipples really ruin him.

“I’m here, baby. Just let it all out, I can take it.”

Jungkook mewls, giving you seven more sloppy thrusts before he finally drops. Just like he always does after a very intense high, he seeks your closeness. He whimpers and sobs quietly, trying to kiss your entire face at the same time. All while his cock throbs inside you slowly.

“I love you. I love you. I love you.”

“I love you too. I love you too. I love you too”, you answer his emotional babbling each and every time, You just really love this man so very deeply.

Every side of him. The rough, dominant side when he is really horny. And the sappy, cuddly side when he comes down. You just love him so much.

“I can’t believe you just let me hit, I can’t believe it.”

You snicker, “why shouldn’t I let you hit, you stupid egg? You’re my hubby.”

“I just. I can’t believe it. I’m so lucky. And I fucking missed you so bad”, he gushes and kisses you.

Oh so deeply and with so much emotion. Jungkook breaks the kiss with a suck on your lower lip. He smiles at you, caressing your heated cheeks.

“This was amazing. I can’t believe it. I feel amazing and wow. Just wow”, he babbles, making you giggle because he is so cute.

“Yeah, right.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Good. Really fucking good.”

“Yeah right. Phew, this was amazing”, he says and guides his kisses to your jawline, “you were amazing. I’m so happy. I can’t stop giggling. Wow, I feel so good. I’ve seriously got the best wifey ever.”

He makes you melt. He knows exactly how to treat you after being so rough with you. His aftercare is the reason why you never feel disgusting or used even after the hardest of fucks. He fucks you that hard because he loves you. The reminder will always heal you.

“You’re so sweet.”

“Was it okay what I did?”

“It was more than okay. It was perfect. I loved every moment of it.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. You were amazing.”

“Oh god, I love you.

“I love you too, Koo.”

Your eyes meet. The weight of your situation finally sinks in as you and he lie here in silence, while downstairs the music is hammering against the ceiling.

“So uhm, how are we gonna bring the news to Tae that we fucked in his room?” you ask.

“Maybe we don’t have to. Maybe we can just clean up really well and then leave again without saying anything.”

“Yeah right, as if this will work.”

“We could just blame Yoongi and Jimin.”

You squint your eyes at him for a second. He wiggles his brows.

“No. No, do not tempt me with your evil ideas. We can’t betray them like this.”

“Ugh fine, I’ll tell him.”

Silence. You and he exchange another look, thinking the same thing.

“Only if he notices.”

“Definitely only if he notices.”

“Yep, it’s a good plan.”

“A totally good plan.”

[woso-story]

Alexia Meeting Your Son Theo

Alexia Putellas x Reader

The afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the park as you arrived hand-in-hand with Theo. Your little boy, excited as ever, swung your arm playfully as his eyes scanned the playground. But your gaze was elsewhere—on the woman sitting on a bench, waiting for you both. Alexia, your girlfriend of three months, stood up the moment she saw you, her face lighting up with a warm smile.

Taking a deep breath, you crouched down to Theo's level. "Remember what I told you? This is Alexia."

Theo looked up at her, curiosity shining in his big eyes. "Hi, Alexia!"

Alexia knelt to meet him at eye level. "Hola, Theo! It’s so nice to finally meet you. Your mama talks about you all the time."

Theo giggled and glanced at you. "Really?"

You ruffled his hair. "Really."

---

With the introductions out of the way, the three of you made your way to the playground. Theo ran ahead, climbing up the jungle gym with ease. Then, he turned back and called out, "Alexia, come up here!"

You chuckled, expecting her to politely decline, but to your surprise, Alexia grinned and followed him up. The sight was almost surreal—Alexia Putellas, captain of Barcelona and the Spanish National Team, crawling through a jungle gym meant for children. You couldn’t hold back your laughter when she struggled a little with the tight spaces.

"You okay there, champ?" you teased.

She shot you a playful glare. "I’ve faced defenders bigger than this, but I think this might be my toughest opponent yet."

Theo giggled uncontrollably before leading her to the slide. "We go down together, okay?"

Alexia nodded seriously, as if she had just received tactical instructions from her coach. But as she slid down, her long legs barely fitting, she landed with a dramatic plop. Theo clapped his hands, delighted.

---

As he ran off to play with some other kids, Alexia came to sit beside you on the bench, shaking her head in amusement.

"He likes you," you said softly, watching your son happily interact with the other children.

Alexia smiled. "He's an amazing kid. You've done such a great job raising him."

Warmth spread through your chest at her words. Most people had been hesitant about dating a mother, but not Alexia. She accepted everything about you, without hesitation.

Before long, Theo came running back, his clothes covered in dust and his face glowing with excitement. "Can we get ice cream?"

You exchanged a glance with Alexia, who immediately nodded. "Of course."

At the ice cream stand, Theo was set on getting his usual chocolate until Alexia ordered stracciatella. Eyes wide, he changed his mind. "I want what Alexia has!"

She chuckled. "Good choice."

As the three of you sat down to eat, Theo took one bite before exclaiming, "This is the best ever! From now on, I always want stracciatella!"

Alexia winked at you. "Looks like I’ve converted him."

---

As the afternoon stretched on, you noticed the effortless way Alexia fit into your little world. She wasn’t just there to impress you—she was genuinely interested in Theo, in his stories about dinosaurs and superheroes, in the way he built castles in the sandbox. You found yourself falling even more for her, seeing how kind and patient she was.

Later that evening, Alexia drove you both back home. You hesitated for a moment before asking, "Would you like to stay for dinner?"

"I'd love to."

While you prepared the food, Theo eagerly dragged Alexia to his room to show her his toys. Every now and then, you peeked in to see them playing together, Alexia just as immersed in his world as he was. At one point, she caught your eye and flashed you a smile so full of warmth that your heart fluttered.

"Mama, look! Alexia is really good at building towers!" Theo beamed, showing you the structure they had built with his blocks.

"She’s full of surprises, isn’t she?" you teased, making Alexia laugh.

After dinner, you took Theo to his room to get him ready for bed, but he had one last request. "I want Alexia to read me a story too."

You smiled and went to ask her. Without hesitation, she agreed. She chose a book about a brave little lion who learned to trust again after facing hardship. As she read, her voice was soft yet expressive, and Theo listened with rapt attention, his little fingers grasping the edge of the blanket.

Half an hour later, Theo was sound asleep, his breathing even. You and Alexia tiptoed out of the room, closing the door softly behind you.

---

Back in the living room, you turned to her. "Thank you. For everything today."

She pulled you into her arms and pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. "It was my pleasure. I’d love to spend more time with you and Theo."

Your heart swelled. "I’d love that too."

The rest of the evening was spent curled up together on the couch, watching a movie in comfortable silence. At one point, Alexia reached for your hand, intertwining her fingers with yours. When it was time for her to leave, she kissed you softly before stepping out into the night.

As you climbed into bed, a smile lingered on your lips. Everything had gone so perfectly. It felt like the beginning of something truly special—something real, something lasting. A future that felt brighter than ever before.

[luvst4rc0r3]

Loser!Jinx x Reader Headcanons

Jinx wasn’t just a loser—she was the loser. The kind who sat in the back of the class doodling in her notebook instead of taking notes, who always had a random bruise from doing something stupid, and who somehow had a negative GPA but could explain the entire plot of an obscure 90s anime no one had ever heard of.

She wasn’t exactly hated at school, but she was weird, loud, and unpredictable, which made people avoid her. Except for Vi, who was always yelling at her to “Get your shit together, Powder,” and Sevika, who only tolerated her because Vi forced her to.

Then there was you.

The first time Jinx saw you, she short-circuited. She was just trying to make it through another miserable day of Algebra when you walked into the classroom, and suddenly, math didn’t exist anymore. All she could think was:

“Oh no.”

You were effortlessly cool—new to school, good at everything Jinx wasn’t, and way out of her league. But you were nice. Too nice. The kind of nice that made Jinx go home and kick her feet while screaming into her pillow because why would you ever talk to her unless you were planning to ruin her life?

- The first time you talk to her, it’s because you sit next to her in Algebra.

You: “Hey, do you have a pencil?”

Jinx, panicking: “Wh—uh—I—yeah—no—I mean—” (frantically digs through her backpack, pulls out a crayon).

You: “…Thanks?”

Jinx: “Yeah! Totally! I only use crayons, actually. Pencils are a government conspiracy.”

You: “Oh? Tell me more.”

She thinks you’re messing with her. But you don’t laugh. You actually listen. And when she rants about whatever nonsense is currently living rent-free in her head, you just nod along like she’s making sense.

She falls in love immediately.

- Jinx is the type of loser who spends all her time online, plays obscure indie games, and has a concerning amount of conspiracy theories about random things (like why the school vending machine is always out of strawberry soda).

- She is hopelessly, painfully, pathetically in love with you. Like, full-blown kicking her feet and giggling into her pillow kind of crush. She doesn’t even try to be normal about it.

- If you so much as glance in her direction, her brain short-circuits. Immediate blue screen of death. Malfunctioning Jinx noises.

- She swears she’s being subtle, but the entire school knows she’s down horrendously bad for you. Like, it’s embarrassing. Vi has tried to stage an intervention. Sevika has bet money on how long it’ll take before she faints in front of you.

- If you actually talk to her? Oh, she’s done for. Stammering, tripping over her words, probably dropping whatever she’s holding. You could ask her the simplest question, and she’d be like:

You: “Hey, do you have a pencil?”

Jinx, sweating bullets: “Uh—uh—uh—uh—I—pen—yes—no—I mean—I do? Maybe? What’s a pencil?”

- She definitely stalks your social media. She has your entire posting schedule memorized, knows all your interests, and tries to bring them up in conversation to impress you—but it just makes her sound insane.

Jinx: “Soooo… I heard you like frogs.”

You: “What?”

Jinx: “Uh. Frogs. Y’know. Ribbit.”

- If you compliment her, even as a joke, she will take it to her grave. Like, you could say, “Hey, cool jacket,” and she’ll wear that same jacket every day for a month straight.

- One time you called her cute. She has not recovered.

- She tries to act cool around you, but she’s the type of loser who fumbles everything. Drops her phone. Walks into doors. Trips over air. It’s a miracle she hasn’t spontaneously combusted yet.

- If you so much as smile at her, she’s writing about it in her diary like it’s the most life-changing event to ever happen.

“FEBRUARY 8TH, 2025. 3:47 PM. Y/N SMILED AT ME. I CAN DIE HAPPY NOW.”

or

“February 8th, 2025. 3:47 PM. Y/N TOUCHED MY ARM. I CAN NEVER WASH IT AGAIN.”

- Jinx, in her head, planning out all the ways she could confess to you: Writing you a love letter? Making a mixtape? A grand, romantic gesture?

- Jinx, in reality: “I like your face.”

- If you start liking her back? Oh, she’s doomed. Malfunctioning. Exploding. Game over.

People still don’t understand how you two work, but at this point, it doesn’t even matter. You and Jinx are in your own little world, and honestly? It’s kind of perfect.

- You keep hanging out with her. At first, just in class, but then at lunch, after school, texting late at night. She stops feeling like a loser when she’s with you. She starts hoping.

- The first time you realize you like her back, it’s because of something dumb.

You’re at lunch, sitting with her, Vi, and Sevika. Jinx, being a disaster, spills her drink all over herself. Instead of being embarrassed, she just goes, “Guess I’m drinking it the hard way.”

And something about the way she owns her weirdness makes your heart do a stupid little flip.

- The first time you flirt with her, she malfunctions.

- The first time she realizes you like her back, it breaks her brain.

It happens after school. You’re both walking home together when you grab her hand, lacing your fingers through hers like it’s nothing.

She nearly trips over her own feet. You just laugh and squeeze her hand tighter.

Oh no, she thinks. Oh no, oh no, oh no.

She’s never going to recover from this.

(She doesn’t want to.)

Random Cute Couple Things:

- Jinx is the kind of girlfriend who will 100% steal your clothes.

Not just hoodies—everything. She once showed up wearing your jacket, your socks, and your backpack, and when you pointed it out, she just went, “Yeah, and?”

The worst part? She looks stupidly cute in your clothes, so you can’t even be mad.

(You started “accidentally” leaving extra hoodies at her place just so she’d always have one of yours to wear.)

- She gets insanely clingy when she’s sleepy.

Jinx isn’t really a cuddler during the day—she’s always bouncing off the walls, getting into trouble, dragging you into her weird ideas. But the second she gets tired?

Good luck getting up.

She’ll wrap herself around you like a human koala, mumbling something about how “you’re warm and smell good” and refusing to let go.

(You’ve accepted your fate. You live here now.)

- She makes the dumbest bets just to get kisses.

• “Bet you can’t solve this riddle. If you lose, I get a kiss.

• “If I make this paper ball into the trash can, you have to kiss me.”

• “Okay, rock-paper-scissors, best out of three—winner gets a kiss.”

You caught on pretty quickly and just started kissing her before she could suggest a bet. It completely breaks her brain every time.

(She still tries, though.)

- She doodles all over your stuff.

If you lend Jinx a pen, it’s over—your notebooks, your arms, even your homework will be covered in little scribbles.

Sometimes they’re just random sketches. Other times, you’ll find little hearts with your name inside them.

(She denies drawing them. But the blush on her face says otherwise.)

- She absolutely loves when you play with her hair.

She pretends she doesn’t care at first—shrugs it off, acts like it’s whatever. But the second you start running your fingers through her hair, she literally melts.

(If you braid it, she’ll leave it in all day, even if it looks ridiculous.)

- She’s always touching you.

• Holding your hand? Obviously.

• Leaning against you when you’re sitting together? Yup.

• Linking pinkies just because she can? Of course.

It’s like she needs to be physically connected to you at all times.

(If you ever pull away too soon, she’ll dramatically gasp and go, “What, you don’t love me anymore?!”)

- She makes up the dumbest excuses just to hang out with you.

“Babe, I need your help with something.”

“What is it?”

“I dunno, I just wanted to see you.”

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

I love Jinx

I want sleep

[kaisentine]

yippity yappity abt actress!reader and sae

“you sucked at that.” you wince at how bad this pro-soccer player plays his part. to be fair—it was quite obvious he hated this, hated filming, hated his team, hated you . . . what kind of connections did this man have to be in a movie such as this one? “yeah? well no fucking shit, i’m not an actor.” he snarls.

how has this man not been cancelled yet? he’s probably the most insufferable male you’ve met—worked with! “. . . i’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. but for the love of whatever, don’t let go so early.” you murmur, referring to the last take when he let you fall on your back because he let go.

he rolls his eyes before the director tells the both of you to get ready.

“we can’t do this anymore,” crystalline tears start building up in your lash-line just begging to flood down your cheeks. he squeezes your hands in his and holds them up to his chest, the look of sympathy just barely passing sadness is evident on his face as he stares at you. “why not?” it’s asked as a whisper one could mistake for their own hallucinations playing with their head. “ . . . no—i can’t do this anymore.” the built up water starts flowing down your cheeks, a quick warmth turns to a cool sensation against your skin.

his sympathetic look contorts into disappointment at your rewording. “i can do this. fuck . . . just trust me.” you want to believe him, you want to be convinced by his sick reassurance but you’ve been fooled once before, you can’t do this a second time. “i don’t know if i can trust you again. let me go, please.” you plead while trying to thrash his clasp on your hands away. “yes you can.” he further insists with not budging one bit, your mouth feels dry from the words you cannot speak but wet with the guilt that drowns through your body.

“how?” you’ve given up on trying to push him away because now you need the answer. the form of the answer you were looking for was not that of verbal speech but of an action. pushing his arms back so both his and your hands are now pinned to your chest, a slow lean towards you was all it took for him to lay his lips on yours.

“CUT” the director yells through his over the top mega-phone and sae immediately lets go of your hands and rebounds back to his previous stance—you want to flush your mouth out with whatever you can get your hands on just anything. “good work!” he smiles, marking the end of the filming process. you smile along with him but the red-head ( bru what’s his hair color ) remains indifferent.

“it wasn’t that hard, was it?” you ask with arms crossed while everyone else is busy with something. “i just want to get out of here.” he copies your movements but puts his hand on his hip instead. you swallow the urge to crash out on him to the point there’s probably a lump in your throat. “i wasn’t the one who brought you here, calm down—the least you could do after probably making my ass bruise.” you feel your eye twitch just by looking at him,

“wrong, you were.”

what is he talking about . . . is he now telling you that you’re the reason for his misery? “huh? what do you mean?” you tilt your head in confusion. “my team wanted me here because you were going to be here too.” he blatantly explains like you knew this already—you didn’t. your head moves back in surprise.

“why would they do that?” you give him a look that just screams ‘wtf are you on about?’. “famous actor and famous soccer player, great publicity.” he sighs before shaking his head in annoyance.

oh, you get it now. but his team better be right because if this movie doesn’t blow up, you’re going to pay someone to remove your mouth.

their predictions were right, the movie was long awaited and did blow up—more than you thought. theorists, news sites and fans were having a field day, however. making up crazy articles, fan edits, and speculations that you and itoshi sae were dating.

have they never seen a kiss in a movie? have they never heard of the concept of acting? God, you still want to remove your mouth—anything to stop you subconsciously bringing your fingers up to your lips while thinking of the dumb kiss he gave you. it’s an actual nightmare to be thinking of a man who didn’t really want to kiss you.

his team was right but was it worth it? was it worth it to have you shifting uncomfortably in your seat while waiting for the interviewer with sae beside you? was it worth the awkward bickering off camera? “i slept through the premiere.” he says lazily as if you weren’t beside him during the showing. “how are we going to do this interview, then?” you sigh, bringing a hand to your face to pinch your nose bridge.

“adlib,” he says, “i think i’ll be okay..” he finishes. “you better because i’m not carrying this interview.” you retort—knowing damn well you might be forced to because you’ve watched his interviews after games and they . . . suck.

there’s a sound from in front of you, it’s the interviewer getting set up in her chair. she clears her throat, “we’ll be starting soon.” she smiles, smoothening the wrinkles on her white pants. it’s game time when there’s professional cameras almost being shoved in your face.

the conversations and questions were quite tame . . .

“i’ve never seen you act before, itoshi. how were you so good the first time?” you feel your eye twitch.

“i don’t know, i just did what they told me to do.” he’s being way too honest. then again, he was never one to put on a filter, even in front of the cameras. you swear you see her eye twitch as well before she goes back to her light smile while turning to you.

“your performance was as great as ever! do you have anything to say about the filming?”

“ah, i’m very flattered! thank you! filming a movie with such intense emotions was quite the test for my heart.” you replicate the smile on her face. if only reputation didn’t exist—you would’ve said you had the urge to punch your co-worker in the face.

until they weren’t.

“now for the big question that’s been on everyone’s minds the moment the movie released.”

don’t you fucking say it.

“are you,” she points at you, “and him” she points at the man beside you, “dating?”

she said it. you jump in your seat at the mention of you and him dating?! “we aren’t!” you’re quick to shake your head with a laugh as a cover-up, she lets out a prolonged hum—suggesting something—in return. “do you believe that?” sae asks and you dart your eyes to him, what is he doing? is he trying to stir up more controversies? he’s got to be crazy. you silently tell him to shut up but he isn’t taking the hint to zip his lips.

the interviewer smirks. “i mean, most of us do . . . the kiss at the end was way too real.” that woman really needs that paycheck, huh? okay . . . you get it, she’ll get praised by her manager or whatever for grabbing views for this but what would sae get in return for doing this?

“that means we’re just really good actors, right?” you laugh nervously, still side-eyeing sae ‘please do something,’. “i don’t think a beginner actor would be that convincing.” he shrugs—he’s referring to himself. when you meant for him to do something, you didn’t mean for him to mix things up even more! the interviewer’s smirk falls through her jaw as it drops, this is probably the juiciest thing she’ll get out of her career. “are you saying that the kiss just might be a—”

“NO—”

“sure.”

you both say at the same time—sae’s manager is basically lunging at the cameramen to stop the recording.

maybe you’ve been blind up until this moment but now it all makes sense. the lingering thoughts of his lips on yours were totally planned by him—but what he did to make it work was still a mystery.

but the prize he’d get in return was not a paycheck but it would be you.

man, you knew he sucked that bad at acting but he sucks even more at bagging someone.

sticky note. this idea showed up in my drafts on the 31st of january but i kept changing it stop

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

Valentines Day

Ace Trappola:

Ace wanted to play it off like he forgot the date, but then he’d be a liar and still in the doghouse. He didn’t want to get some generic Valentine’s related product, with some fake lovey dovey sentiment that he’d never say out loud in a thousand years. That would as disingenuous as lying and getting you nothing at all. He knew your hobbies and interests, so why was he suddenly at a loss for what would make the perfect gift for you?

You’re surprised to be greeted with a handful of colorful rectangular paper, ‘COUPON’ scribbled across the front of it in handing that looked slightly rushed. You were about to ask if he was spending a little too much time with Octavinelle before spotting the ‘within reason’ written at the bottom, getting the answer to your question before you had even asked.

“Yeah, you can give ‘em to me when you want me to do something for you.” He seemed rather proud of the idea, and you found it hard to hold back a laugh. This was clearly because he couldn’t find a gift that fit his standards, falling back on the tried and true ‘just tell me what you want directly and I’ll do my best to make it happen.’ It was very in-character of him, and you looked forward to the seeing the lengths he’d go for you.

Leona Kingscholar:

The holiday created such a buzz that Leona wanted nothing more than to run away from it. He didn’t care about couples, though he thought it provided an honest view of your partner depending on what they gave you. Money could go a long way if that was what your partner wanted, but what about the sentimental? The true romantic who wanted a real show of love and affection but could only receive a pre-made gift their lover had spotted while on the way home?

He doesn’t directly invite you to a night under the stars, but thankfully you speak Leona, and completely understood why he was telling you the exact place he’d be at a very specific time. You had, of course, received a beautiful piece of jewelry from him, something that represented his homeland and tied you two firmly together, but you knew there was more to him than just money.

A peaceful night spent beneath the stars awaited you, and as much as he insisted he didn’t believe in reading them, you couldn’t help but feel more connected while watching them together.

Jack Howl:

Jack had been standing outside the flower shop for nearly ten minutes now, a determined, somewhat scary, look on his face. Some of the patrons sent him wary glances as they came and went, wondering what he could possibly be glowering at when it came to pretty plants. Even standing outside a good distance away was almost too much for Jack to take, his nose twitching as the door swings open once again and his nose fills with the scent of every flower in the place.

He knew it was what you wanted; you had discussed flowers at length at one time due to a sudden sneezing fit that was caused by a particularly strong-smelling plant in the greenhouse. He knew your favorite color, the type you liked, he’d just have to get out the words and pay for them and then the deed would be done… Compared to the odors fighting for dominance in his nose right now, he could certainly handle a small bouquet with just one kind in them.

Jack stays strong, for you, for as torturous as this situation is as he stands in line with the enemy all around him, the smile on your face would be worth it (and his tail was already wagging happily at just the thought).  

[yandere-wishes]

Gotham's sweetheart

Warning: yandere older brother Bruce Wayne. I tried writing incest but I feel like it came out more yandere platonic😅😅

-`♡´-Okay, imagine being Bruce Wayne's younger sister. We're talking newborn when your parents died (assuming Bruce is early 30s in this story Reader would be in her early 20s) you're your brother's total opposite, at least on the outside. His innocent bright-eyed kid sister...

-`♡´-That one too many rogues may have a little crush on.

-`♡´-Really it's the innocence. The thing they want to peel away.

-`♡´- That sweet honeydew smile, those big optimistic eyes. That cheery lilt of your voice. It drives them crazy, makes them want to tear you apart. Makes them want to keep that smile all to themselves.

-`♡´- Tommy/Hush has ideas: he dreams of all the horrendous things he wants to do to you while wearing your brother's face. He's had his eye on you since they were young. However there's a part of him that wants to kiss you with his own lips, hold you, and nozzle his face into your neck. To have you play with his hair. To look at him with bright terrified eyes before he kisses you until your lungs exhaust. He wants you to say you love him, to make him feel whole again.

-`♡´- Harvey/Two-face fully believes he owns you: It's not just the darker part of his mind whispering temptations. He's always believed that you were destined for him, always knew he'd be the one to put a ring on your finger and keep you safe. He's sure Bruce himself would have offered you to him before the incident and why should things change now? They're literally your brother's best friend. You belong to the two of them. Their precious princess to cherish and break. They'd both give anything to hear you say their name just once more. With love lacing each letter as your lips grace both sides of his face.

-`♡´- Roman just wants to claim you. Sink his teeth into you and mark you as his. To smear the good Wayne name by making you his little pet. Parading you around public in the most revealing tight outfits, to kiss you while all of Gotham watches. But despite Roman's rather wicked intentions, he still longs to hold you close, you feel the warmth of your body under his. Give anything to kiss you, and tell you he loves you.

-`♡´- The rest of the rogues only know you as Batgirl/(insert other hero name) and all have such a desperate obsession with you. It's hard not to fall in love when you're lying bleeding on the concrete with a broken arm. Only to be cradled in a soft lap promising to get you the best psychiatric help.

-`♡´- Plus you're so utterly kind to them, kinder than Batman and while you are so strong in your own right so many of them would pull out their own hearts and lay it upon your feet for a chance to lock you away and protect you from the evil world. All of them are so desperate for a little kiss from you.

-`♡´- {One day when you're helping your brother drop off Dr Crane at the Asylum you notice how utterly terrified he looks. How his eyes hover on a particular guard with fear glossing over them. Later while Batman talks to Commissioner Gorden, you ask Jonathan what's wrong and reluctantly he mentions how a certain guard (Lyle Bolton) has been abusing the inmates. Your heart shatters for them, you've practically grown up with these crazies (affectionate) you can't bear the thought of anyone hurting them (ironic ain't it) or well at the very least abusing them when they're behaving. You give Jonathan a peck on the cheek and promise to take care of it. And you do, you keep your promise and that Bolton is never seen again. Jonathan is thankful truly utterly he however has to watch his back now because Riddler and Dr.Phosphorus have been giving him death glares all day)

-`♡´- BUT (and hear me out on this) while you might think the streets of Gotham are all so dangerous. Back home isn't any better. Your own brother is too weak to fight the rotting possessiveness that festers within his loins. His tight grip on your shoulder, the way his hugs last eternities. He loves you with all his blackened heart. You're the only good thing in his life.

-`♡´- Oh and while we're at it why don't we mention his friends too? The superpowered heroes who think you're the most adorable thing. Who want nothing more than to protect you and feel you between their arms. What about your adopted family who are growing more possessive and clingy by the day? Oh darling it looks like you truly are doomed, to wither away in obsessive love.

Listen this whole ramble came from me being bored in class and daydreaming about wanting to take Twoface, Black Mask, Hush, and Dr Phosphorus on all at the same time. But also having such a weird crush on Bruce Wayne and wanting to subject him to unfathomable tortures (affectionately)