#literally I opened the package and I was like ??? then it said on the tag its a free gift

[strawberry-cowmilk]

there is no way they gave me a free top in my order since when are fashion companies so generous omg

[fillinforlater]

Mildly Unfair

Male Reader x Yu Jimin (Karina), Kwon Eunbi, Jang Wonyoung

Length: 1656 words

Tags: titfuck, titfuck, titfuck (?), cumshot, rivalry

TW: no editing and terrible analogies hahaha

Inspiration: @capslocked for the (meme) idea

(A/N: You literally voted for the ending to this and I wrote it accordingly. The idea came from @capslocked but I want to give @kaedespicelatte a shoutout for pushing the "Wony busty" agenda. Here is my take on it.)

"Wha-wha-what the hell?"

The sliding door is only half-way open when a wide-eyed Wonyoung is already eager to enter the room through the small gap. Her petite, long body easily passes through, something the two women before you might have struggled with. Unlike Wonyoung, they carry a certain package with them at all times—and said package has you groaning like a wild animal for a couple of minutes now.

"Stop it!" Wonyoung complains, deaf, lust riddled ears unwilling to let her two older friends know about her issue. You'd gladly help her out, really, but your eyes are glued on your erection which is in quite the predicament.

"Shut up," Karina hushes back at Wonyoung, dainty fingers circling your swollen cockhead, tits spilling out from her bra already. No surprise there, she usually wears clothes a size too small and with the bountifulness of her chest, the black lace can barely keep up. "You're not really needed here."

"She is right," Eunbi says softly, dress already around her ankles, lusty hands spreading warm lube over her breasts. She gets on her knees next to Karina and helps the younger to make everything a wet, glistening mess. "He wants something you can't give, Wony."

'Fuck' is all you have to contribute when your manhood is suddenly trapped from both sides in the soft grasp of two pairs of melons. Karina joins you, her moans a lot more unhinged, especially when Eunbi rids her of the tiny bra with a soft smile. 

Eunbi's smile is always soft, loving, and motherly. She is older and absolutely confident in her sexuality. It's this confidence that has gotten this friend group away from "just" hanging out, playing games and partying to a lot more intimate activities.

"Rina, your nipples are so hot, come and rub them over me," Eunbi urges her friend with a laugh that has Karina flushed even stronger than before. Long gone is the hesitant girl, unsure and self-aware of her cup size; she is already in heat and squeezes her tits together to arouse Eunbi with the hard, light brown nipples atop a large arolae. 

"Unnie, you're hot too, ahh!"

"Uhm, hello? I'm here too, you horny fucks!" Wonyoung shouts and climbs on the bed you're sitting on. "Hey you, say something."

That whine must have been directed at you, but you focus on Karina and the valley of her silky boobs rubbing along your sides, stimulating the skin of your shaft while Eunbi licks the slit stopping every now and then to teasingly blow on your tip. Enough reasons to throw your head back and completely ignore Wonyoung, who crosses her arms and looks down at you.

"Like I said," Eunbi addresses Wonyoung, still calm, unworried, your glands twirled between two fingers. "You can't help us. There is no shame in having small boobs, it's just that they can't do this."

"But I can!"

This is ridiculous, but when you look past it, all there is is Karina tit fucking her massive, gorgeous ballons up and down your entire length. Wet sloppy sounds become louder, messier when she sticks out her tongue and drools on your tip. You can't believe that your formerly abashed friend can rival Eunbi with the sluttiness of her expression and the things her mouth can do.

You groan and cup her face with your admittedly sweaty fingers. Karina locks eyes with you, never stops to fuck your cock silly and to get you even closer to heaven, she gets a wet kiss by Eunbi on her rosy cheek. You are ready to blast, early, but Karina has really earned a load on her pretty face and pretty fat tits. But suddenly Eunbi stops Karina's last surge for your climax.

"Okay, Rina, we'll let her do it," she says.

"Eh? What? You must be kidding!" a visibly upset and horny Karina groans. However, Eunbi has trained her well. She pulls away, reluctance only in her gaze. Eunbi gives her another of those motherly smiles and Karina settles next to her, away from your parted legs, away from your glowing, throbbing cock.

Wonyoung gleefully gets in front of you and presses her full, pink lips on what she often calls 'hers'. Yes, she tries really hard to get you to be only hers, but two equally beautiful women with other benefits are right there, sharing a few pecks and fondling each other's curves. 

"Look at me," Wonyoung proudly announces and places your shaft in between her tiny hills, pressing them together and almost making you feel a hint of softness. Almost.

“I am looking, but feel, I do nothing,” you mock her and from the corner of your eyes see Karina taunt the skinny girl—in before Eunbi cups her puffy pussy to make her forget the blazing rod she could be pumping right now. It is doubtful that she can fully forget it though, the amount of times she has thrown a horny gaze to your crotch puts your bank account to shame.

“Y-you’re lying!” Wonyoung whines, almost cries out, with an uncanny desolateness in her usually confident and demanding voice. You can’t help but pity her a bit. “Admit it: my boobs are the best.”

“They are great, but you don’t have to give me a titjob for that,” you try to reason calmly. Wonyoung is having none of that today. Again. 

“No. Tell them, tell everyone, even your weird friends on Discord that I am the bustiest, I have the biggest and bestest boobs of all of them.”

“Wonyoung,

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

This is getting out of hand, like Wonyoung’s mounds. She tries to squeeze them tighter against you, but repeatedly slides over them. Her palms smack your cock in a very unarousing manner. Combine that with the absolute lack of stimulation from her chest, you go limp quickly. Even Wonyoung’s adorable, fuckable expression isn’t enough to salvage this.

Luckily for you, Eunbi saves the day, like she did so many times. She quietly urges Karina to tackle Wonyoung while she takes the vacant spot in between your knees. In the blink of an eye, the mature face of your Noona replaces that of Wonyoung, which is now buried in Karina’s bazookas. 

“I’m sorry about this,” Eunbi whispers, her initial smile fading for something more sinister, still lewd, but in an imposing way that you know all too well. “I’ll fix this, if you’re ready or not.”

You’re never ready for the way she just spits in her hands, nails painted in some color that in no time will flash up and down when she jerks your cock beyond any reasonable stimulation. All the blood that has been rushing away from it turns around asap, getting you embarrassingly hard embarrassingly swiftly.

“N-no need to be sorry. Fuck.”

“I know you can’t resist me, not even my hand. You’d cum on my tits by just looking at them. That’s why I’m better than both of them.”

Is she right? Maybe. She is making a great case for herself, her soft hand suddenly stopping the up and down movement in favor of slaps against her milky meat bags. Eunbi knows you won’t loudly admit to her superiority, but she also knows how she can remove all doubt about it. Small hands move from a large cock to the largest, most perfectly shaped breasts in at least the radius of one meter (Karina is still right there after all—why is she choking Wonyoung—why are their fingers deep in their pussies?), and Eunbi makes sure your cock disappears in them. 

Warm and soft, somewhat like a pussy and still completely different. Eunbi looks at you, expectantly, threatening, you better have a good reaction to her—her titfuck starts violently and you crash back onto the bed with a gasp that has Karina and Wonyoung perking up from their fight (GONE SEXUAL). 

Sexual feels like an understatement for the way Eunbi’s boobies have you on the verge of insanity. She moves them up and down and has you reaching for something up, something down, but all you find are pillows (suspiciously smelling like Wonyoung) and Eunbi’s hair. Nevermind, the second is a great option. You pull on it like it’s the break to a crashing train and the Noona tries to kill you with a stare.

“What are you doing?” she growls.

“Y-you’re too fast, pl-please—”

“No.”

No, your hand in her hair does not matter, she is still absolutely destroying you with her melons. Eunbi’s fun bags are now murder weapons, slashing you, ready to make you release a liquid all over them. In all honesty (you can’t tell her that), it feels fantastic, and an orgasm will be a blissful ride on the clouds, but you don’t want to give it to her. 

“I want Karina.”

“No.”

“I want Karina.”

“No!”

“Unnie!” Karina shouts and stands up, her pussy leaking onto the floor. “He wants me. Your Wony-experiment failed, now I get my rightful load.”

“Ugh, fine.” Your cock is free, Eunbi is livid, though her face can never get rid of this motherly look. It’s endearingly cute in a wicked way. “Fucking take him, I don’t care.”

“I’m here.” Karina’s soft skin presses around you, so much more careful. Her face is bright, porcelain skin ready to be painted like a canvas. Her ears perk up when she hears your groan. Her full lips are slightly parted, her large eyes are dreamy, hungry, ready for you to burst. “Cum, please.”

Your cock erupts all over the perfect, angelic features, covering all but her beauty spot in a thick icing that gets eagerly lapped up. No one can resist the toppings of a great cake after all, not even Eunbi, who quickly falls back to her knees to help Karina clean off her face. Wonyoung joins in too, but she gets the least—they really do care about the age-order here, huh?

[lowkeycasanova]

the fans love you

i feel like we all know that a lot of vinnie's fans send/spread hate whenever he's simply seen with a girl, but i decided to write this headcanon in which it's the opposite. where the fans absolutely love you

masterlist

————————————————————————-

At first he didn’t know how to approach the situation. You know, finally telling everyone he has a girlfriend. He was also nervous about the reactions. Not that he gave a fuck about what people were to say about him, it was you he was worried about.

And how would he do it? Would he make a tik tok? Would he post a selfie with you on his Instagram story and let people put two and two together?

You told him you didn’t care about what other people thought. Well, maybe deep down you cared a little. Who wouldn’t? But at the end of the day, you couldn’t control what other people said about you and their jealousy.

Vinnie didn’t know the photo had been taken until Jett sent it to him. It was a picture of Vinnie sitting on the couch, you in his lap, kissing each other with your hands caressing his face and his hands wrapped around your waist. Whoever took it was at a distance and zoomed in to take it. It was a chill night at the house. You thought you were alone. Guess not.

Vinnie said, “fuck it”, and posted the picture on Instagram. It was the third picture out of six for his camera roll dump. And tagged you.

You braced yourself for the comments/notifications. Vinnie was giddy with excitement as he knew he just dropped the bomb and there was no going back now.

You told yourself that you were just gonna ignore it for now. Check back in maybe three days.

It hadn’t even been thirty minutes and you opened the app. Disregarding the new activity on your end, you went straight to his comment section.

“oh so we hard launching now?”

“babe, that don’t look like me”

“This was my last straw”

“bout to take a bath with a toaster”

“I’m actually sick”

“Who tf is this?”

“SHES GORGEOUS”

“Y’all acting like he want y’all.”

“You two are so cute!!”

“W post”

Of course there were going to be negative ones. But to your surprise, it wasn’t as bad as you thought. There were also a good number of positive ones.

You go to your notifications and it’s flooded. Again, the negative comments were there. Some asking who you were and why you were with Vinnie. Some putting the throwing up emoji. Nothing that you didn’t expect. Even Vinnie was surprised at the response, so far. He was sure he was gonna have to tell some people off.

In the days to come, he started posting you more since it the relationship was no longer a “secret”. And honestly, it came natural, not looking like he was trying to show everyone he had a girlfriend. He posted you like he would post his friends.

You did the same. Although you both made sure that a lot of things were kept private.

His fans loved that they could see Vinnie from your point of view on your insta story. They loved seeing him act silly while y’all were out to lunch or out shopping because you dragged him. You liked being able to give them that content.

When he would post a video on tik tok and you were in it, some people would be like “she’s OUR gf” and he’d be like “bro what?”

You had an account of your own but wouldn’t post all that often. Vinnie’s fans would comment on his videos, telling him to tell you to post more.

When he streams, he’ll get a lot of “where’s y/n?” comments from viewers. Sometimes they would ask so much that he literally has to say that you’re not even there at the house. He would fake being offended that they weren’t playing attention to his game play. Not that he could blame them. He couldn’t stop thinking about you either.

There would be mail sent to the P.O. box with Vinnie’s name on the packaging label but every single item was for you.

When out in public, fans were just as excited to meet you. You can’t even count how many selfies you took with them.

Even the guy fans. Now, Vinnie isn’t the type to really get jealous, but you could tell something was up by how clingy he got after.

It’s like they loved you more than him and honestly, Vinnie couldn’t have been happier at the turnout.

[leqonsluv3r]

liquid courage

infinite darkness!leon x f!reader

summary: reader worries about leon, she goes over to check on him. they end up drinking from there...and things get heated.

warnings/tags: MDNI, foul language, porn with (very little) plot, drunken behavior, mentions of alcohol, age gap (reader is 24, leon is 36 (my lore is probably wrong, dont kill me pls), dom!leon, sub!reader, unprotected pnv action (wrap or don't slap it), pet names (baby, babygirl), daddy!kink, oral (f recieving), praise, dirty talk, hickies and bruises, humping/grinding (reader literally cums in her underwear LOL). mentions of pain during seggs, and other foul stuff i forgot.

an: chat.ai got me all worked up, so here we are. sit back and enjoy pls and ty. also pls roblog <3 and lmk if u wanna be in my tag list.

You and Leon had a complicated "relationship".

He was your next-door neighbor in the loft building that had many, upon many units. He never rarely said anything to you ever, just occasional "hi's" and "hello's" in passing. Just to be polite, neighborly even.

There were times though when you would catch him looking at you as you went out in the hall to go somewhere, you two bumping into each other, he would scan your body...almost eye-fucking you.

Or maybe it was just in your imagination, you weren't ever sure.

Still, the thought of him fucking you for real...made your panties pool with want and need. If just his eyes could do that...you couldn't imagine what else you were missing out on.

You knew that he was always almost never home, probably working or something. You had your suspicions that maybe he was spending time at a girl's place or that he was occupying someone else's time.

You had barely said a word to the man, yet, that thought made you jealous and almost predatorily angry. Because you just knew, the way he walked and the way he carried himself...that he knew what he was doing.

He did have his moments, where he broke the silence. One day, he knocked on your door, holding a package out to you.

Not just any package...a vibrator.

Dear god, you wanted to coil up into a ball.

"I think this is yours..." he said, sticking out his large hand that held your sex toy. He didn't even look embarrassed...like you did. Cheeks all red and flustered, staring dumbly as he held out the package to you.

You couldn't stop staring at his hands, the one that held your package. The thoughts of what he could do to you with those hands made your pussy flutter, naughty images filling your brain.

You finally got words out, "Uh, y-yeah...that's mine." you reached out slowly and grabbed the package from him, your fingers brushing. Electric jolts to your body and the small contact. He smirked a little, eyeing you (like he would sometimes do), "Boyfriend not satisfying you?"

Holy fuck, you thought as you parted your lips a little.

"N-No boyfriend..." you nervously stutter out as you feel his eyes grazing your body. He hummed, nodding slowly, almost confirming his suspicions.

"Thats a shame..." he starts trailing off. "Pretty girl like you, should have a boyfriend." He said with a tilt of his lips, your eyes widened a little and you tried not to let a gasp escape your pink lips.

You didn't even say anything, not until he said bye and walked back next door to his apartment. You watched him go, trying to process the words that he had said to you...the way he looked at you.

God, his gaze, you felt so hot underneath it. Like a reptile under a heated lamp.

You closed the door and walked back into the threshold of your apartment, ripping the box to the vibrator open and charging it while you still had the pool between your thighs.

That's where your crush started...you whiny and moaning under your toy as you thought of him fucking you. It was almost pathetic, he didn't even know you existed, yet you were coming undone on your own accord at the thought of him.

"Daddy...please..." you moaned to yourself, chanting it like a mantra as you came fast. It was embarrassing, thrilling and fun but you felt like a naive little girl with a crush on a man you could never have.

After that, you tried to get yourself involved in anything involving him. You found that harder than actually planned so you decided that maybe looking him up would be a good idea.

Just to know a little more about him.

You typed his name into the search bar, a thousand results popped up but only one interested you. ROOKIE COP UNDER SIEGE you read. The rest of the article was basically outlining a strange occurrence in Raccoon City...involving a younger looking Leon.

It was his offical police issued picture that he took and... He looked...so small and just...innocent. The other picture in the article was of him...but he looked different.

His mouth was pressed in a firm line, jolting blue eyes looking straightforward at the camera, then...his eyes. His eyes didn't look hopeful and full of life like they were in the other one you saw.

They looked...like he had seen something, witnessed something truly awful and you had no idea what. The article states that the incident was unreported and handed over to the government.

'21 YEAR OLD COP' it read...and that was years ago...that meant...he was 36 by now. A lot older than you...

And my lord, did he age well. Even at 36 he still had his looks going for him...and you knew that the age gap between you both was large but...you still wanted him.

You closed your computer and leaned back on the couch, you couldn't even do much except wait for him to show up or "conveniently" bump into him out in the hallway.

So, you just had to sit back and wait, wait until you saw him again or until your curiosity got the better of you.

Turns out, time was definitely not in your favor, not one bit.

Days passed, weeks, and eventually a month...

You thought you were never going to see Leon again, ever, he was always working or never home. You just wanted to see him, so one day...after getting off the computer from working all day, you decided to go next door and knock.

No harm, no foul...right?

You had just convinced yourself that you were doing the neighborly thing and going to check in on him.

You got dressed into a lavender lace underwear set, sliding on your favorite sundress. You brushed your hair out...you even shaved. You weren't expecting anything to happen but you just wanted to be prepared...right?

So you nervously walked out your front door and went next door, each footstep felt heavy as you stepped towards the oak. You didn't know if you should knock or...ring his bell...

Both made you feel like your heart was about to beat right out of your chest and catapult into the sky.

"I wonder..." you reached your hand towards the doorhandle, twisting it a little. You expected it to be locked and you'd just have to knock to see if he was home but...it opened and you gasped.

You walked into the apartment, knocking on the door as you entered.

And what you saw...shocked you a little.

Leon was resting on the couch, nursing a drink, a ton of other bottles were littered on the coffee table in front of him. You had no idea how much he had actually consumed but you stepped in and softly closed the front door behind you.

It felt wrong to be here, witnessing him like this, but curiosity poked at you so you stepped further in, going towards the living room where he was sat. He didn't even acknowledge your presence until you came up to the opposite side of the couch.

"What do you want?" his voice was tired and deep, gravelly as if he had been up for days. But god, he looked so damn good and you hated yourself for how your eyes scanned his face as he said it.

"I-I just came to check on you, your front door was unlocked." you say softly, motioning to the door behind you. Leon didn't say anything, he took another sip of his whiskey. "Seems you took happy hour a little bit too literal..." you laugh nervously.

He tossed back the remaining liquor in his glass and lazily looked over at you with dark eyes, "And what if I did?" his voice was sharp, he seemed bothered that you were even there to begin with.

Which you understood, you basically just walked in unannounced into his apartment. But...you were glad that you showed up when you did. He did not look his best and judging by the bottles littered on the coffee table, he had been at this awhile.

"You shouldn't be drinking alone, just saying." you commented, sitting on the arm of the couch. Your eyes scanned him as you waited his response. He spoke after a beat of silence, "Why not?" he pours more liquor into his glass.

"I got my own problems...and they aren't yours." Leon followed up, tossing some of his hair out of his eyes. He held the glass in his hand, sloshing it around and sending a small glare to where you sat on the arm of his couch.

You decide to take the moral high ground and not argue with him, "Because I want to help but you're being a stubborn ass...so." you pop out your lips and carefully take a seat on the couch next to him.

He leans forward as he looks at you, "and why do you even care?" he harshly said, taking another small sip of whiskey. That was a question, why did you care? You've always cared about people, but you were too stubborn to admit that that to him.

"I don't..." you said slowly. "You have made it obvious that I don't need to care about you." you mutter, looking away from him and at all the bottles sitting on the table in front of you.

Reverse psychology, works everytime. You smirk to yourself.

He leans back onto the couch cushions, eyeing you, "So if you don't care..." He trails off. "Why are you still here?" he asks with a stern tone, no harshness but just. Curiosity.

Because I wanted to check on you...and I want you to bend me over the table and rail me. You thought with a shake of your head, you could not say that...god, you sounded insane and...horny.

You just settle for, "It's complicated." as you lean back onto the couch, the dress pooling around your thighs as you do. "I do care...maybe...a little." or a lot, your brain corrects.

He sets his glass down, leaning towards you. "Well, if you care about me, get me another damn drink." He was being playful with his words, but his eyes still pierced your skin, all dark.

Disappointment pooled a little in your stomach at that, "That's all? That's all you want?" you blink at him. "Just more...alcohol..." you didn't let the disappointment in your eyes falter a little.

He speaks up as you adjust a little on the couch, "What do want me to say?" he takes another swig from his almost empty glass, looking over at you. "I'm an alcoholic...you want me to apologize? To say I'll change? Cause you and me both know that's a load of crap." Hiis tone sharpens as he says that, he scrunches his face up, almost wincing at his words.

"...you going to get me that drink?" he asks, his tone suddenly 10x calmer than before. You swallow and get up from his couch, "Fine. Whatever, doesn't matter." you clear your throat before going over to where his alcohol is sat on the counter.

You grab a glass off of the drying rack by the sink, an idea forming in your head. If you were going to be bold, best to have some liquid courage. So, you grab the glass and the other bottle of whiskey on the counter.

Leon was leaning back against the cushions of the couch, his hand running through his brown hair. When you come back into the room, you unscrew the lid on the bottle, not even looking at him, pouring some whiskey into his glass.

He sees her set down a glass too, as she sits down on the couch beside him. "Hey, uh, thanks." He looks at the drink and then back at you. You smooth the fabric of your dress out against your thighs.

Leon clears his throat, "You know what, how about we drink together?" He reaches out and grabs his glass, motioning towards the empty one you brought out. "Go ahead."

You don't need to be asked twice, he had taken the bait...or maybe he had planned this but deep down you doubted it. You take the glass, filling it up a little bit with the amber liquid.

You sigh a little, leaning back on cushions, taking a sip of the burning liquor. "Thanks."

He looks at your glass that rests in between your hand, on top of your eyes before they flit back up to your face. "So..." he fills the silence with his voice as you look over at him. "...What is this 'complicated thing' you have to say to me?" He quirks a brow at you.

I want you to absolutely ruin me...

You take another sip of the liquid as you look away from him, "Nothing, s' stupid." you say quietly, mumbling into your glass. The alcohol was starting to take affect a little bit. The small sips you've had burned your throat, but they urged you to stay sitting next to him on the couch.

He pauses then shakes his head, "No no," He looks over into your eyes. You look up at him as he talks, "you can't start a conversation and then back out." Leon takes another sip of his drink as he says this, eyes boring into you. His tone being playful and stern.

You rake a hand through your hair, taking another sip of whiskey.

"I can't even entertain the idea because...i'm 24 and you're...older." You admit bravely with a blush covering your face, taking a large gulp of the whiskey, throwing it back all at once. You felt his eyes bore holes into you as your heart almost pounds right out of your chest.

Leon stares at you for a beat and then shakes his head, "So?" he pauses and then speaks through a sigh. "Just because we got an age gap doesn't mean anything...unless you think I'm still dating high school girls."

You gulp, reaching forward and pouring more whiskey into your glass, then leaning back as he continues. "You think I'd try making a move on you?" Leon's deep blue eyes bore into your head as he's scanning your features, trying to read your reaction.

You blink a couple times, a blush still covering your face as you take a swig of the whiskey. "S' a little more complicated than that, Leon." you breathe.

Calm down, he's not gonna pounce on you, you think. But you would probably like it anyways.

"Well then, do you want to tell me, 'What's more complicated than that' or just keep beating around the damn bush?" He keeps glancing from his drink to you. Your breath stutters as you bring the glass back up to your lips, drinking another small gulp.

Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was you being truly bold but the next words you said put everything into motion for the rest of the night.

You inhale another gulp of air, looking over at him, trying not to look him directly into the eyes as you said this. "Maybe I've...thought about...you making a move on me..." you swallow.

"...and I've not entirely hated the idea." you admit to him, the silence of the room stretched around you and him as you said the words.

He pauses, you can see it out of your prochiral vision. "...What?" he says. Leon glances back down at his drink, his dark brown hair moving with him before he looks back up at you.

Raising a brow, he asks, "You're into me?"

And you swear your stomach might just fall out of your ass, you take a swig of whiskey, slowly. Shifting a little bit, crossing your legs so the fabric moves a little on your thighs.

"Well when you put it like that..." you sigh, looking down at the glass in your lap. "I might be...yeah." you admit.

"But it doesn't matter. Your older and you just...your way more mature than me and I'm just some stupid little 24-year-old girl with a dumb crush." You surprisingly admit, tossing back more whiskey. Your sober thoughts had started to come out the more you consumed his liquor.

You down the rest of the glass, waiting for him to say something beside you. You wouldn't dare look at him, he was so beautiful and just...god, you wanted him inside of you...

He swigs down the rest of his glass like you did only moments earlier. Leon rests both arms on the couch and looking up at you. His eyes were locked on you.

"I want you to answer me, honestly." His voice is slow and serious, stern. Almost like a father disciplining you, the thought of him ordering you around like that...it made your pussy throb for him.

"Yeah?" you ask, waiting for him to ask you whatever he needs to.

He steadies himself as he looks at her, responding, "Do you honestly think this can work? For a guy like me to start something with a girl like you?" Leon takes another sip of his alcohol as he looks at you again.

You listen to him speak, desperation and disappointment pooling in your belly as he talks. "...I work for a secret government agency, that no one knows about, I do...unsavory things for the good of this country and for people. I'm not the kind of guy you want to get mixed up with." He says slowly, warning you.

The message is loud and clear to you: don't start something you can't finish, especially with me.

Challenge accepted, you think.

"I know what you've done Leon..." you bravely say, looking at him with innocent eyes. "I'm not some naive girl, I've done my research." You toss more of the whiskey back into your mouth as you say this.

He looks up at you, his lips pressed into a thin line, he was trying to understand why you were defending him heavily. Leon was trying to even understand why you were over here in the first place.

He grips his glass a little, you watch him do this as he speaks again, envious of the glass in his hand.

"Then you also know the risks of being with someone like me?" Leon looks at you, scanning your body, his gaze dark. You swallow and slowly raise your glass back up to your lips, taking another sip of your drink.

He got you there. you think as you try to come up with a response that doesn't make you sound needy or desperate, even though you were.

But he didn't need to know that.

You press your thighs together, his gaze making want pool in your panties. "A-And what would I be risking exactly?" you say softly, your innocent eyes looking at him.

Leon exhales, tossing back the rest of his glass before sitting it on the coffee table in front of him. "Everything." he mutters. He pinches his brow as he leans back on the couch.

"You're 24, a damn kid to me, and if you honestly think it'll be easy sailing with me then just think...about all the ways that it could go wrong." He closes his eyes with a sigh, not out of frustration but out of the risk he would be taking...just to be with you.

His eyes scan your face for understanding, "If something happens to you...then I'd be the one to blame. Do you understand?" You blink and sit your glass down on coffee table next to his, releasing a breath.

You lean back on the couch, your back meeting the large cushions, yet again, and the heaviness that his words carried sobered you up. He trusted you with his secret, he was trying to make sure you were serious...that you weren't going to go running off on him.

He worked for the government, he told you and you realized that in that moment, he was probably not allowed to share such information. Especially, with you.

You did realize the weight of his words, what he was saying and trying to get you to understand.

"I'm...not a little kid, I know what I'm doing." You sigh, playing with the hem of your sundress, not daring to meet his eyes that were watching you with skepticism...almost wonder.

Leon nods, silently, thinking as he looks at the empty glass next to hers on the coffee table. "Why me? Why not someone your own age? Someone that doesn't work for the D.S.O?" he queries you with curious eyes.

You take a stuttering breath, admitting the truth. "None of the guys my age..." you start, trying to not let the alcohol fail you now. "...make me feel the way that you do...I don't know why but..." you shake your head as your face flushes, your eyes flitting up to meet his.

His eyes widen a little, if you weren't watching him so closely, you probably wouldn't notice the subtle shift. His tone shifts as he speaks, breathing out some air.

You watch him as he processes what you just said, looks like he had been slapped in the face. You almost want to take back your words, forget the pool in your underwear and leave but...then he speaks.

"You feel something...?" He trails off.

"Like what kind of...?" and you just press your thighs together and look at him with desperation in your eyes.

"I want..." you swallow. "You."

He doesn't say anything for a minute as he looks at you. Leon was processing your words, his eyes trailing down to your thighs that are pressed together, which just confirmed his thoughts.

You wanted this.

"I feel the same way..." He says, looking away towards his lap. You gasp a little at his words, your nerves still on fire. The alcohol buzzing through your body, making you feel electric at his eyes on you.

"But..." you didn't like the 'But', they were never good when spoken by a man you wanted.

"...just know what your getting yourself into..." His eyes return to yours as you bite the inside of your cheek, confusion at what he meant.

Did he mean in bed or...? because you could handle it. Or you would try for him...anything he wanted you would do.

Shamelessly enough, it made you aroused at the thought of him ordering you around. God, you just wanted him inside of you.

"As in? What?" you innocently ask, a knot forming in your lower stomach at the question.

Leon presses his lips into a line again, his harsh tone almost a bite as he speaks to you this time. You couldn't tell if he was just really impatient with you or if this was just his regular nature towards people.

"I already told you." He grumbles, leaning forward a little bit, elbows on his knees. "I'm not a good guy, not some knight in shining armor."

He shifts a little at this, continuing, "I do bad things for this country. Things that no one should have to do." The agent looks up at you, his eyes somewhat vulnerable. "Can you handle the things that I do?"

You just nod, vigorously.

Even though the thought of him having to kill people, kill things that were probably behind your comprehension. It scared you. But that was just the career he chose; it was his life, and he was the one to live it.

Not you.

His eyes turn dark in an instant, "Can you handle that part of me?"

You would be dripping on the couch by now if it wasn't for your underwear. You knew what he meant but the way he was looking at you with curiosity in his eyes.

It made you want him even more, if that was even possible.

You take a stuttering breath, your nerves getting the best of you, yet again as your cheeks flush, "I mean...I've...not run away yet? Right?" you let out a nervous laugh at this.

"Gotta mean something..." you offer him a nervous smile.

It almost looks ridiculous in your head, the way you're smiling at him as he just looks at you almost no emotion on his face. His gaze serious and his eyes dark, made you feel foolish and small to him.

As if what you said or did, didn't make any difference in the slightest.

Leon stares at you for a long moment, his eyes scanning your face, looking at your lips. The air is thick in the room, his breathing and yours taking up the sound.

Thats before he pulls you towards him, saying in an almost groan, "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this."

You land on top of him almost as your legs go either side of his lap, straddling him. He has you close now, exactly where he wants you. His hands planted firmly on your hips, pulling your face close to his.

You could feel his breath against your lips, you grabbed onto his shoulders, keeping yourself steady. Removing one of his hands off of your hip, reaching up to trace the large pad of his thumb over your bottom lip. You part them only slightly.

"How do you want me to handle you?" He smirks a little, his words only echos in your ears. You were practically leaking, sitting on his lap lightly.

The want in his eyes, he would melt you into a puddle on the floor if he really wanted to.

As innocent and as sweet as you can muster, you say, "However you want..." The alcohol was making you bolder, pushing you to say and do things that would make more sober you, blush red.

He lightly pulls down your bottom lip with his thumb, "Good. Because..." he leans closer to you now, slowly dropping his thumb away from your mouth. "I wanna do this." he whispers, pressing his lips to yours.

You hum into the kiss, not even wasting any time as you kiss him back in a daze. His lips were soft, even softer than you imagined, they felt good against yours.

His tongue teases your lips, you let him in, now kissing more messily and frantically. You were starved and he was feeding you, giving exactly what your touch starved body, desired.

"Taste so good, baby." He mumbles in between kisses, that only spurs you on more, pressing a bruising kiss too his lips. Leon groans against the kiss pressing you directly on to his crotch.

You felt his erection as you whimpered into the kiss, carefully rolling your hips against it. He felt so big and he probably wasn't even fully hard yet.

"What? Feel good? You like grinding down on my dick?" He whispers, pulling his lips away from you and moving them down to your jaw. The foul words made your stomach coil, you nodded as you pressed your clothed entrance against it again.

"God, baby, so needy." He sucks at the skin on your neck, making your pussy throb at his words. You keep grinding down on his dick as he groaned against your neck. "Fuck." you heard him say as you kept rolling your hips over his clothed erection.

"Feels s'good." You whimper, your voice breaking in desperation.

"I know, babygirl, fuck..." He groans as your hips keep up their unrelenting pace. He holds onto your hips for dear life as he keeps sucking and nipping at your neck.

You feel that coil unwind, feel yourself become closer as you release a soft moan, filling the air. Your hands hold onto his head, gripping his hair. "Leon..." you moan, pressing yourself harder on his clothed dick.

"What do you want baby? You wanna cum? Wanna cum for me?" He growls into your ear as you keep up the pace, feeling your stomach bubble. You bite your lip and nod.

"Use your words for me." He orders. You whimper and keep going, trying to find the words without releasing a moan instead. "W-Wanna cum for you d-" you stop yourself as you moan. Your eyes almost going wide at the word that almost slipped out of your lips.

"What was that? Couldn't hear you sweetgirl?" he teases, licking the sensitive part of your neck. You whine again, so close to your release, he grips your hips, stopping you from moving.

You almost cry, feeling your release just barely in your grasp. "What did you say baby? Be a good girl and use your words for me." he growls, holding your chin in his hands, forcing you to look at him.

You bite your lip at his hungry gaze, "Daddy..." you mutter.

His eyes don't widen and if he's shocked, he doesn't show it. You expected him to kick you out and to never see him again as you muttered it.

But to your surprise he looks up at you with hunger. "You want to suck on Daddies cock?" He growls, as you gasp and nod at his words. Not expecting him to just fall into your kink so easily, most guys are embarrassed to have you call them that in bed.

Most guys weren't Leon.

"Okay, baby, go ahead. Show me how good you feel." He releases the grip on your hips, letting you continue to grind against his clothed erection.

"Mmmm, want you so bad, daddy." you whimper as you keep rolling your hips down, harder, your release slowly building again. The friction was making you leak, probably dripping onto his dark jeans.

He groans, watching as your hips move over his. "What do you want Baby? My fingers?"

You shake your head, close to cuming in your underwear. "Want your cock, daddy. Been...wanting it...forever." You say through a moan. Keeping your assault against his hips.

"How long?" he grunts, holding onto your hips tightly as you move them frantically.

You lean back your head in a moan, the coil unwinding again, "Since...I first...saw you." you admit in a daze, letting your hands grip his biceps, probably drawing blood.

"Fuck...baby, if I knew you would've wanted this sooner. I would've just given it to you." He bites his lip in a whimper, he was probably about to cum in his pants. You were almost there, barely, you just needed his words and his touch for the coil to finally break.

You admit another thing, to get his attention as your fucking yourself against him, "I fucked myself to the thought of you..."

"How? Your fingers or..." he trails off in lust as he remembers a month ago when delivered that package to your door. How flushed you were as he stood there, eyeing him, and how you bit your cheek at his words.

"You fucking little..." he trails off in a moan, you roll your hips harder. "Fucked my vibrator, pretended it was your cock..." you moan again, rolling your head forward onto his shoulder.

You were reaching it, fast, you could feel it.

"Gunna cum, daddy, gunna cum." You whimper fucking your hips faster against his clothed erection. He has gripped onto your hips letting you come undone on top of him.

"Cum for me, baby." He growls.

"More, say more, so close..." You whine, into his shoulder.

Leon kept you steady as you rocked, trying to talk you through your impending orgasm. "Going to fuck you so good. You'll be feeling...it for days." he said.

"Oh god, daddy, yes..." you reach your peak, cuming hard in your underwear, basically ruined and soaked in your juices now. He softly touches your face, moving hair back behind your ear as you ride out your high against his erection.

Leon is the one to speak first afterwards and your thankful. Worried that he would be thinking it was awkward for you to have come undone just by humping him.

"How do you feel, baby?" He asks, his voice low but sweet as he traces his thumb over your cheek.

"Felt good, felt really good." You mumble to him. You look down between you at the wet spot you left on his jeans. "I'm sorry..." You start, your cheeks heating up with embarrassment.

He shakes his head, looking at you gently, "It's okay. I can just wash them." He is still tracing his finger over your cheek as looks at you, you don't know what he is thinking but it makes you nervous not knowing.

"Did you really mean what you said?" you ask, trying not to seem shy under his gaze when you literally just came undone on top of him.

"About what, baby?" He brushes his thumb over your bottom lip again. You blink slowly trying not to seem desperate or whiny, you still wanted him. You wanted him to fuck you. The release on his lap only made it worse.

"Fucking me...until I can't...walk or something like that?" you ask, nerves overtaking you again as you gaze into his blue eyes. Feeling him still hard beneath you.

"You still not satisfied, babygirl? You need daddy's cock?" He teases with a smirk, watching as you shiver underneath him with nothing but his words and his soft touch.

You nod frantically, he moves his other hand up to tuck some hair back behind your ear. "Words, use your words." He sternly says and you recoil a little at his order.

Something bubbled in your belly, you didn't know if it was his authority or...what but jesus. You wanted to do anything he asked.

"Yes, daddy, I want your cock." you say sweetly, trying not to seem nervous under his gaze and his hands slowly lifting up your sundress. He licks his lips, looking at the dark spot on his jeans from your cum.

"You made a mess on daddy's lap, baby. You've been naughty, very naughty. I don't think I should let you have my cock." Leon teases, smirking as he twirls a strand of your hair between his fingers.

His cock was uncomfortably hard beneath you, made your want pool in your lower stomach all over again. “Daddy, please.” you whimper, pathetically, trying to roll your hips again.

“Just want you inside me…” you whimper, trying to get more friction, anything or everything. You don’t care anymore.

"I'll take care of you, baby. I'll be good to you." You whimper at his words, trying not to wiggle anymore for friction. He carefully lays you down on the couch, on your back.

He leans up and presses a bruising kiss to her lips, his hand stroking her thigh, “Such a good girl for me.” He mumbles in between languid strokes of his tongue.

You want him everywhere, you don’t know how much long you can keep this up, he already made you cum once and that wasn’t even by his own accord.

He reaches down and carefully runs a finger up her soaked underwear, pressing a sloppy kiss to your jaw as he does. Your chest is rising and falling as he teases your already soaked panties.

“Baby, you’re underwear is soaked.” He lowly chuckles as he presses another kiss to your lips. You whimper in anticipation as he plays with the hem of your panties.

Leon leans back, he smirks, “Or is that because you drenched yourself once already?” He asks as he finally pulls the underwear down your legs.

You nod frantically, not sure if he was actually asking or just commenting on your current state of arousal. He slips a hand through your wet folds, causing you to shiver.

"Use your words, babygirl." He says as he just brushes his finger lightly across your clit, causing you to whimper. You look up into his dark blue eyes, "S' all for you, daddy." You say as he pushes your sundress up with his hand.

"All that just from grinding on my dick, sweetheart?" He tuts, running his hand down your stomach and too your aching cunt. You writhe under him with another frantic nod.

He tuts, "You dirty girl." Leon smirks as he teases your clit again with his fingers, running the pad of his thumb over the sensitive bud. You shiver and feel a wave of arousal at his thumb's movements.

You let out a small moan as he continues to stroke it. This seems to catch his attention. You were already so needy and sensitive from the orgasm moments before.

"You think you can take my fingers, baby?" He groans as he continues to stroke your clit, you feel another orgasm bubbling in the pit of your stomach as you nod, "Yes, daddy."

He complies, seeing that your answer was good enough to slip one finger into your tight and needy cunt. "Uhh! Daddy!" you moan, his fingers were much larger and thicker than you even imagined, stretching you out beyond your imagination.

"You like that? You like my fingers fucking into your tiny hole, baby?" He whispers dirtily into your ear as you let out another strangled moan.

"Yes...yes!" You whine as your orgasm slowly builds again, he's pumping his finger in and out of you at a faster rate now, your whines and moans echo through the large loft apartment.

Leon keeps flicking his thumb over your clit as he pumps his finger in and out of you, you grip onto his bicep so hard you think you might draw blood, again.

"What if I just..." he says lowly as he removes his finger, quickly adding a second one. "...do this?" you practically moan out, it's pathetic really because it's not even his cock that's got you like this.

It's two of his fingers pumping in and out of your drenched hole, stretching you out and making you edge closer to the second orgasm.

"Daddy! Please don't stop! Feels s' good." You say, biting your lip, your back arching off the couch as he finger fucks you into oblivion. You babble more about his fingers pumping in and out of you.

"My cock is going to feel so good inside of you, sweetheart." He whispers into your ear, his words spurring you on as you feel your second release coming up. You release a pornographic moan as he curls his fingers.

"Please! Please! Please, daddy. Need you inside me so bad." you whine as you feel your second orgasm rapidly approaching. He presses more kisses into your neck as he groans.

"Gonna fuck your tight little hole so good, baby. You'll be feeling it for days." He rasps into the skin of your neck as he speeds the movement of his fingers, his thumb assaulting your clit.

His words making you clench against his fingers with trembling thighs, you grab harder onto his bicep as you reach your second release, "Fuck! I'm -- coming!" You pathetically moan.

"Good girl, drenching my fingers." He coos as he presses a featherlight kiss onto her jaw. He slowly works you down from your orgasm, slowing down his fingers as you finally catch your breath.

Your chest rises and falls, feeling like you just ran a marathon. Leon pulls his fingers out of you with a languid groan as he sits back, keeping eye contact with you.

Two drenched fingers rise as you look at them with a small whimper, he smirks a little before putting them into his mouth, sucking your release off of his fingers.

"Sweet, just as I thought." He softly says, leaning back over you, slotting himself between your hips. He braces himself on either side of your head as he presses his lips to yours.

You moan into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue as he sloppily kisses and licks your lips, your arms chaining around his neck.

You sloppily make out for a few seconds, moaning and groaning from you both are the only sounds heard in the loft apartment. His clothed erection makes contact with your sensitive core again, making you clutch onto his lips tighter, whimpering.

"Please, I want...I want it." you say softly, begging him in a whine as you try to meet his erection that keeps brushing up against your clit.

Something dark gleams in Leon's eyes as he looks at you, seeing you all pathetic, whining underneath him for his cock. "Ask me, very nicely baby. Maybe I'll consider fucking you good." He says with an evil sort of grin as he teases her. He was going to fuck her anyways but teasing her was just part of the fun.

She whimpered as she looked up at him, "Don't make me."

Leon smirks down at her grabbing a hold on her chin, forcing her to look right into his eyes, blue and daring as he looks at her. "You'll ask nicely or not get anything at all." He says in a stern voice, holding onto her jaw with a strong hand. "Is that clear?"

Fuck. Me.

She feels her drenched core throb at his voice, so stern and demanding making her nod her head vigorously. "Yes, daddy." She says as she looks up at him, biting her lip.

He nods with a smirk, "good, now ask." He removes his hand from her chin, making sure her eyes are still locked on his. She swallows a little and tries to gain what's left of her breath to ask him.

The silence hangs as she utters the words, they both need to hear, "Please fuck me, daddy." she asks softly as she looks into his eyes. She didn't know how much longer she could last, the arousal was getting uncomfortable at this point.

Luckily, she wouldn't have to wait much longer, Leon's face spread into a mischievous smirk. "Good girl." He says with a small squeeze to her ass.

Woah, when did his hands get there? Fuck.

You practically mewl at his praise, he props himself up back up on his knees, still in between your thighs. You watch as he undoes his belt, pulling his pants down to reveal his hard on in his boxers. She whimpers and tries to grab for it to touch it, he moves her hand away.

"No, no. If you do that, I'll cum without you. Hands off." He says sternly and you nod at him, biting your lip as you obey him. "Sorry, Daddy." she says softly.

He smiles at you gently as he pushes his boxers down, his cock springing free. She swallows and looks from it to his face, practically drooling.

Holy shit, oh my god...

"It's okay baby, I'll give you what you want." He says as he caresses her face with his hand, you lean into the touch as he moves down to be on top of you again, his large cock brushing against your entrance causing you to whine pathetically.

"Oh, so whiny. Shhh, you'll get it. Be patient." He murmurs into your ear, hands resting on the couch pillow behind you. You had no choice but to wait, your hips bucked a little, trying to see past the teasing and desperately find some friction.

He reached down between you, grabbing his dick and running it through your wet and overstimulated pussy. "Daddy..." You find yourself whining again. He nudges the tip against your entrance, his large hand guiding it.

"Mmm, still so wet for me baby, good girl." He groaned into your ear as he let the tip nudge your opening and slip in a little. You moan softly, feeling the head of his cock in your pussy. "Please..." She whines, holding onto his bicep in a vice grip.

He chuckles in your ear, his voice soothing. "Okay, okay baby, no more teasing." He lets his hips move slowly inside of her, his dick stretching her out. The white heat burned but felt so good, your skin was on fire in the best way possible.

"Daddy." you whine as you bite down on your lip hard enough, your eyes squeezing shut as stars danced in your vision. She leaned her head back, lips parting in a silent scream. "So tight around me, fuck." He says in almost a low growl, nipping at your earlobe.

Your pussy would never be the same, he was sliding all the way in until the head of his dick hit your cervix. She whimpered and clawed at his arm, probably leaving scratch marks later, neither of them seemed to care right now.

He started moving his hips, hitting her deeper and deeper with each thrust. "God, yes. Fuck." He cursed into her ear as he fucked her hard and deep. "Daddy!" she moaned loudly, not even caring if the neighbors in the other loft apartments could hear them.

"So, fucking good, so good." He repeats into her ear, she clenches around him, feeling more arousal as his words spur her on more, her legs going to wrap around his hips, letting him go as deep and fast as he wants with her.

He takes the hint, slipping his hand under her dress, palming her tit over her bra. His hips moved faster as if he was a wild animal, hitting deep inside of her. She cries and whimpers around his cock as it hits that spot over and over.

"Daddy, daddy, mmm..." He was fucking the words right out of you. You couldn't even form any thoughts as he pounded into you. She felt something bubbling in her belly as he fucked her. She dug her fingernails into his skin, his face buried in her neck, licking and biting. "Daddy, not going to...last..." She whimpers as he presses a final bite to her neck.

He leans his head up to look at her as he pounds into her, she looks into his eyes, she sees how his face is scrunched up in pleasure as he pounds into you. "I know, you going to cum for daddy?" He asks in a small smirk, his face watching hers as she nods and starts to moan a little bit louder.

"Yes, gonna...gonna cum!" She moans out pathetically as he sees her whimpering and whining on his cock. He presses a bruising kiss to her lips, his hand holding onto her hips steadily as he keeps up his hips.

You moan into the kiss, letting him rail into her with no hesitation. "Cum for me baby." he whispers against her lips; she lets her eyes roll back as she finally releases on his cock. He groans as she cums around his cock, squeezing it and milking it with her pussy.

"Good girl, good girl." He says with a smirk as he continues fucking her through it to reach his own release. She whimpers and whines, holding onto him tighter and moaning. Eventually, he fills her up with his cum. He lets his hips stutter against hers, she lets her core tighten around his dick, sucking his cum in. "So good..."

He nods with a soft and simple smirk, leaning down to press a kiss against her lips. "You did good, very good." You feel yourself melt at him and his words as he pulls away, slipping out of you. You both moan softly at the loss, your eyes lazily falling shut.

His cum mixed with yours drips out of your stretched entrance, he tucks himself back in his boxers and pants, climbing off the couch. "Stay there, I'll clean you up." Leon says in a soft smile as he walks out of sight for a second before coming back with a washcloth and wiping your shared mess up.

The washcloth makes contact with her sensitive clit, causing her to jerk away a little. He puts a supportive hand on your knee, gently rubbing circles on it. "It's okay, shh." He says soothingly.

She nods at him dumbly, watching him with lazy eyes as he gets up and puts the washcloth in the laundry room, tossing it on the floor. He comes back and sits beside your open legs, he grabs your underwear, slipping them back over your legs, you lift your hips and let him cover your core completely.

"C'mere." He motions for you to move closer next to him, she gets up and weakly moves over, resting her head on his lap. Leon looks down at you, playing with your hair. "Feel better now?" He asks you simply, being gentle with his touches.

"Much better." you reply. And you think that you just might be.

[quiet-saint]

sᴛʀᴇᴀᴍᴇʀ!ɴᴇʀᴏ ʜᴄs

✮

With just a splash of Nero/gn!reader

Cw: slight nsfw/suggestive. Nothing serious just a toy is mentioned near the end.

A/n: Might be ooc as this is the first time I'm writing anything for Nero. Purely self-indulgent ngl. Already working on a pt 2 ft more nero/reader tbh, I just really like this idea. +18 pls.

✮

• Not a huge streamer but still pretty popular. Has been streaming on and off for like, four years before he got popular.

• There's definitely a compilation out there of his funniest gamer rage moments. The majority of the time Nero isn't even mad at the game, Nico purposefully annoys him whenever they play together. People love their dynamic.

• Has kicked her from the group but then she'll just watch the stream and irritate him in the chat. It's pretty pointless to kick Nico from the group though because she can and has come down to his room just to pop up in his live irl. Anytime this happens chat starts a 'Nico Nation' chain and Nero jokingly threatens to end the stream.

• People bring up his "pretty boy phase" constantly in which Nero's hair was longer and he wore jewelery, saying they miss it and he should bring it back. Nero's a little shy/embarrassed when people bring up his early streaming days but he is in the process of growing his hair out. You were the one to fully convince him.

• Loves interacting with his audience even though they're a little outta pocket sometimes. "Chat who the hell said they only watch my streams for Nico? Dude your name is literally–" squints his eyes in confusion and disbelief "Nerofeetpicswhen oh my gOD!"

• Plays more light-hearted, easy games most of the time. Plays fortnite but not often. Teams up on overwatch with Nico, V, and You (Nero gives mercy main energy don't ask me why)

• Will play horror games but gets jumpscared super easy. Curses a lot during those streams. Damn near shatters eardrums with his shouting.

• His favorite streams are when he has one of his friends there with him at home. Especially if it's you.

• Will do a stream as an excuse to have you over. "Dude I spent the weekend at your house just last week?" "Aw c'mon it'll be fun!" As if you really needed any persuading. It's nice to hear him beg though, isn't it?

• Gets so excited to tweet about it too. Lowkey giddy about it.

• Will be the type to say "can't end on a loss guys." Even though his rank is dropping.

• Everyone loves his wii-sports streams. Nero once broke his tv on live because he didn't use the wii strap while playing baseball. People still bring it up and he gets embarrassed because just moments before it happened chat was warning him.

• Had V over for the weekend once and they were playing wii tennis in his room but there wasn't enough space. As a result Nero ended up swinging hard and clocking V in the face, giving him a bloody nose. He still feels so bad for it. Especially because Nero gets tagged in videos titled "Nero hits V on stream NOT CLICKBAIT" V thinks it's funny.

• Nero gets so happy to do fanmail livestreams. Loves opening all the things fans send him. Displays art proudly on his walls as well as all the plushies and figures people send. By the end of the fanmail streams Nero is wearing a different, clashing outfit because of the clothing he receives.

• Although sometimes the packages are a little inappropriate.

• Nico once went through the trouble of ordering and sending a ridiculously huge dildo. He felt the weight and shape through the packaging and, due to the note left with the gift, Nero knew it was her immediately. It's still sitting in his closet in the corner because he doesn't know how to get rid of it.

✮ random bonus hc ✮

Nero drinks Monster. His top two choices are Pipeline punch or Ultra blue. If he drinks one on stream he'll say "monster sponsor me" lmfao

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

ok but now I need more Joel and reader neighbour domestics??? Like him leaving her a post it note with his internet password and him helping her feed the cats and she helps him with his plants and setting up the damn skeleton and then throwing neighbourhood barbecues together 🥺🥺🥺

okay so i literally couldn't rest until i wrote these up so if my assignments are work are late, i'm blaming you.

title: in a feud with her neighbor - bonus scenes

read the main work here

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x female reader

rating: PG-13 (mild language)

word count: 1084

summary:

Fluffy bonus scenes for "in a feud with her neighbor" as suggested by anon!

Content warnings/tags: not a standalone work, pre-outbreak, no sarah, established relationship, still pretending the 12 ft skeleton existed in 2003, joel gets his butt grabbed by a neighbor. This is pretty much just fluff.

“The internet is out again,” you whine. You’re in your bed with Joel, the man turned on his side facing away from you. He looks over his shoulder, eyes narrowed.

“Good. Go to sleep,” he grumbles before burying his face back into the pillow that is now his pillow. It always smells like ocean salt and eucalyptus, while your own pillow smells like lavender and vanilla.

The sheets, however, are a beautiful combination of both.

You huff but reach over to your nightstand and turn off the lamp. You scooch in closer to him, snuggling up to his back and spooning him. You let his deep breaths lull you to sleep.

The next morning, Joel’s already left for work in the early hours of the morning, a kiss pressed to your sleep warm skin as a goodbye. When you shuffle into the bathroom to get ready, there’s a pink Post-It with familiar messy handwriting stuck to the mirror.

GetYourOwnPassword03

-Joel

________

There’s a package on your porch when you get home from work. You tear into it immediately, pulling out the new planters you bought as a surprise for Joel.

They were an Etsy find, a set of three white planters that say “WHAT THE FUCCULENT”, “LOOKIN’ SHARP”, and “DON’T BE A PRICK” and a bigger planter that reads “PLANT DADDY”. You giggle as you line them up on the counter.

Joel sees them when he comes over that evening, freshly showered and already wearing his pajama pants and your favorite threadbare shirt. He can barely stop laughing long enough to thank you.

“PLANT DADDY” sits in a place of pride by his front door, glued down to the concrete so that the cats can’t knock it over.

________

Joel is a grill master. He will spend a ridiculous amount of time at the deli, scrutinizing every package of beef while you hang onto the cart and wither away like a suffering Victorian woman. 

“Joel, please, I’m begging you,” you say, “just pick the steaks.”

“Hush, sweetheart, I have a process,” he replies, not once looking away from the two packages of New York strip he holds. 

“Just get both!” You beg. “Lots of steak! Great compromise!”

He glares at you. “We have to make a good impression.”

“A good impression on who? They’re our neighbors. They already like us! Half the moms in the neighborhood want to fuck you!”

Joel nearly drops the steaks. “They what?!”

You can’t breathe because you’re laughing so hard at the shocked look on Joel’s face. He sets both packages of steak in the cart before grabbing the handle from you and leaving you in tears in the deli.

Later that night, Joel finds you in the crowd and grabs your arm.

“I think Mrs. Matthews grabbed my ass,” he says. 

You pull him close, slipping a hand into the back pocket of his jeans and giving him a peck on his lips.

“Told ya,” you tease.

________

Joel watches the Home Depot website like a hawk as soon as September hits. His buddy who works at the store said that online orders would open within the first couple of weeks. Finally, the button turns from gray to orange, and he places his order immediately.

When it’s delivered a few weeks later, you’re so excited that you ask Joel to set it up immediately.

“It’s not even October yet, baby. Can you wait another week?” He asks. You pout, but you agree. Only if he’ll set up both skeletons on the first day of October and not wait until the last minute like he did the year before.

Which is how he finds himself teetering on the top rung of his ladder, trying to set the skull on the frame while you watch from the ground. When he finally gets it screwed on, he’s slick with sweat and cursing up a storm.

“How’s that look?” He asks when he gets down from the ladder and stands beside you.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, tugging him into a kiss. 

“It’s perfect.”

________

Joel walks into your house one day, plastic bags hanging from his arms. The clinking of metal against metal announces his arrival.

“Joel? Whatcha got there?” You ask, drying your hands on the dish towel hanging from the stove, one that says “JUST ROLL WITH IT” with an image of a rolling pin beneath it. 

He sets the bags on the counter. “Cat food.”

You blink at him. “Cat food? You bought cat food?”

“Yeah, you mentioned you were running low. Besides, there’s a new calico out there so you gotta start puttin’ out more. Where’s the bowls?” 

He moves around the kitchen with practiced ease, grabbing a spoon and the set of plastic bowls you reserve for the neighborhood cats. It hits you at that moment.

You love Joel Miller.

Your smile is huge when he turns to look at you and he freezes like a deer caught in the headlights. You close the gap between you, wrapping your arms around his waist and hugging him close.

“I love you,” you murmur into his chest. His arms wrap around your shoulders and you feel the press of his lips to your head.

“I love you, too.”

________

BONUS BETTY CONTENT

Joel wakes early the next morning after his first night with you, your naked body still curled in his. He smiles down at you before gently pulling himself from your grasp, stifling his laugh at how you pout in your sleep before rolling over, snuggling into your pillow. He finds the stack of familiar pink Post-Its on your nightstand, scribbling out a note that he’s gone to pick up breakfast and coffee and would be back soon.

He puts on his now dry swim trunks and leaves the house, shutting the door quietly behind him. The neighborhood is still asleep, the sun barely cresting the horizon as he leaves your porch.

“Leavin’ so soon, Mr. Miller?” Betty’s raspy voice calls. He freezes, feeling like a teen caught sneaking out of his house. 

“Good mornin’, Betty,” he says, turning slowly to face her. She’s got a knowing smirk on her face.

“What was it I said about the two of you hittin’ it off?” She asks, tapping a finger to her lips. Joel can feel his cheeks heat. 

“You were right,” Joel admits. 

“I know, dear. I always am. Now, could you bring me back a doughnut while you’re out? Double chocolate. With sprinkles.”

“Yes, m’am.”

[eupheme]

— i’ll be seeing you | part i

[masterlist] | [playlist]

invisible man!alfred pennyworth x f!reader

rated e - 6k

tags: invisible man!au, age gap, holiday fluff, light angst, alfred is fully invisible/silent to reader, shared spaces, mutual pining, magical elements, bruce being bruce, mentions of food/eating, unintentional gaslighting and domestic (non-sexual) voyeuristic observation, the beginning of feelings

a/n: hi! here is part i! this was a one-shot that got a little long, so I am splitting into three parts. The rest are mosty written, I hope to have them up soon (and really hope you enjoy this little holiday au!) 💕❄️

There's something wrong with Wayne Tower. Doors creak open on their own. Your things move when you're not looking. It's not a far stretch to think that Gotham might be haunted, with all of the things you've seen over the years. And it will take more than this to scare you away.

But as the days pass... you realize that perhaps, that's not its intent. That there's kindness and thoughtfulness in those movements you catch. And when you have a literal run-in with the ghost, it leaves you suddenly wondering - just who or what have you been staying with?

The Tower must be haunted.

It’s the only explanation you can think of. 

You’ve been staying here for a little over a week now. A offer from Bruce that tips heavily in your favor - the use of the Tower for six weeks, while he is abroad. 

Glorified house-sitting, needing someone to keep an eye on things while he was gone. Pick up the occasional package from Wayne Enterprises. Use up the perishables in the fully-stocked fridge, before they are wasted.

For you, it’s honestly a no-brainer. The perfect escape, the solace you thought was so needed to work on finishing up and editing your novel. 

You jumped at the chance to help your friend, and privately, you’d always been curious to see just what lied in the penthouse. A chance to peek at the bookshelves and cabinets filled with curios. See how the hallways might twist and turn, to run your fingers over all the intricate wooden carvings.

But that has been before.

Before things started moving. Mail you had been so sure was left on the heavy wooden table in the open foyer, now on the desk. Those tall, arched doors that seemed to creak open on their own, just barely caught in the corner of your eye as you were passing. 

Footsteps, in the night. 

And then - turning even more peculiar, and more personal.

Your scattered research notes carefully stacked on the table next to you, when you woke from a lazy, afternoon nap. Some items in the kitchen never seeming to go empty, no matter how many times you’ve used them. 

It had been a mystery.  Unsettling, in the variety. 

What you knew of ghosts involved spirits, unable to move on. Beings who lashed out, sought to frighten its inhabitants away. Or possess them.

At night, when you’re alone in the guestroom, you think you ought to be nervous. Afraid that you presence might have caused it displeasure, that it somehow, would take that anger out on you. 

But, this is Gotham, after all. And with the hell the city has been through, you’ve lived through worse. The prospect of a haunting doesn’t seem as frightening compared to them. The creak of old floors is nothing compared to riddling clues and murdered politicians, thousands of people displaced from their homes as the city had gone near-underwater. 

No, it’s something more like curiosity that flickers through you. After all, these movements were almost… helpful.

Intentional, at least.

And with that thought - something Bruce had said nudged at you, from the morning he handed over the keys. 

But surely it had been a joke. 

An internal amusement, at your expense.

“I’ll be six hours ahead, but text if you need me. You don’t have to worry about the Tower or cleaning, Alfred will take care of everything.”

“Alfred?” You had asked him, frowning. The name tickling something in the memory of your friendship, but you thought Bruce had lived alone. 

“Don’t worry about it.” Bruce had coaxed, before changing the subject, “You won’t even see him.”

There had been no Alfred. 

You were certain of that - by now you’d know if you were sharing the space with someone.

The Tower was expansive, but it was impossible that if they did exist, that they would always be in the exact opposite room as you. That your paths surely would have crossed by now.

You thought that perhaps, it was some form of Artificial Intelligence. Parts of the house hooked to some sort of electronic device he could monitor - call in any fixes or deliveries from home.

Alfred was probably an acronym for something clever.

Artificial Life For Reliable, Effective Delegation

It would make sense, with Bruce’s knack for gadgets. His fortune. The hours he kept - not a lot of room left to keep up with a dwelling as large as this. Far too busy and focused to worry about the daily minutia of bill-paying and grocery shopping. 

Yes, surely - that was it.

And it had contented you, for a little while. 

Until now. Because it didn’t explain this.

The last thing Bruce had told you to do was not to snoop. Tacked on at the end while he buttoned up his dark peacoat, baggage in hand  - almost as if he had almost forgotten.

“Enjoy yourself.”

“But stay out of the west wing, alright?”

It had been on the tip of your tongue to ask just what you should be avoiding. Your interest piqued - all manner of thoughts of what he might be hiding springing into your consciousness - though you tried to forget it. 

Bruce had been far too generous already, in offering you his home. You would never intentionally disobey his wishes.

And you hadn’t meant to. Really. 

You had just gotten turned around in the mix of different rooms. The large split staircase had lead you upstairs, along a corridor of bedrooms - a narrow spiral back down popping you out near the kitchen. Around a corner, and you’d found yourself beneath an arched passageway that you haven’t been down before.

Intricate oil paintings lined the walls, ones you had ached to see. To examine the brushstrokes yourself, the splashes of gold and crimson against the dark walls. The shut doors flanked by suits of shining silver armor, and… was that a chain on the door, at the end? 

If you were just there, if you didn’t open anything…. then it wouldn’t be snooping if you just peeked around. Right?

You had only taken a half-dozen steps down the hallway, before you suddenly collided with something solid. A soft noise ripping from you as you had stumbled, knocked off-kilter. 

There had been a pinching at your elbow, a pointed pressure that steered you around. A feeling at the small of your back guiding you forward, as you suddenly found yourself facing the passageway you had just walked under.

It happened so quickly that you hadn’t been sure what happened. Startled enough that you abandoned your exploring, making for familiar territory instead.

But that night, the memory had kept you up. Replaying it over and over. Enough that you had texted Bruce, a quick message that had already made you feel foolish the second you had sent it.

Is your house haunted?

His answer coming some time later, your eyes heavy and red-rimmed with exhaustion. 

Isn’t everyone’s?

Leaving you to wonder if Bruce hadn’t really been joking, after all.

It doesn’t happen again for a solid week. Long enough that you had started to doubt that it ever did. That perhaps, you had just imagined it. 

Giving you time to turn the moment over again and again, in your mind. Picking at the loose thread thing together the pieces. Your writings sidetracked by searches for ghosts, of hauntings - you suppose it would not be unusual, in a place like Gotham. To have spirits attached to a city that feels so cursed at times.

But, you keep going back to that pressure. The feeling of a hand at your arm, though there had only been the walls and floors ahead of you. 

It had been physical. Corporeal.

You notice more, in that time after.

More moments that you had spared a quick glance and thought of, but figured it had been in your head. The occasional dirty dish left in the sink is cleaned and tucked away the next morning. The blankets on the couch neatly folded, instead of strewn across the cushions.

At first, you had thought you had just forgotten. That perhaps your mind had just wandered, that you had been unintentionally tidying up as you mentally worked through your next task.

It wouldn’t be unusual - since you arrived, your sleep schedule had twisted. Mornings becoming afternoons. Night becoming day, with no one’s responsibilities to manage but your own.

Running on auto-pilot and simply not realizing.  

If it is a ghost, it is a tidy one.

It's that thought that begins to cement your earlier suspicions. That their identity just might be the one that Bruce was hinting at, when he said you didn't have to worry about the Tower.

Some small comfort in knowing that he would never leave you in any danger. That you might have been on edge - with the creaking of doors at night - but that harm would not come to you.

That hypnosis’s tested as time passed - there were no threats, smeared with jagged letters in the fogged-up mirror after your shower. No swinging chandeliers, loosening on their own to crash down against your head.

That whatever it was, it kept its distance. 

An intrigue slowly forms, that only grows with time. A urge to find out more - determined to see something, to make contact, again.

Even if you can't help being annoyed, as well.

Trust Bruce to let you think your mind was playing tricks on you, instead of telling the truth.

And with your now-careful surveillance - you finally catch when they slip up.

Your chin has been propped on your hand for some time now as you think - staring out of the tall, arched windows in one of the alcoves of the foyer. Head tilted to the side, so you can watch the small cars below - the tiny movements of people as they scurry into stores, to escape the cold wind that whips through the city streets.

There's a movement, then. Not outside, not below.

A flickering out of the corner of your eye you almost miss, near the coffee table you sit in front of. No more than a glint of silver in the light.

The faintest sound of pouring, which would have been drowned out by the ambient music trickling from your laptop, if you had not become so suddenly focused on the source.

It’s pouring you more coffee.

You're careful to keep still - your head fixed in place as you glance surreptitiously towards the movement. The silver coffeepot you've been lugging around tilted just enough to let a stream into your near-empty cup.

There can't be many ghosts that would choose to help, instead of scare or harm. That wiggle of curiosity surges into something more - a need to understand.

So, you try. Carefully, and unmoving.

"Are you Alfred?"

The coffee sloshes against the rim of your mug, dripping down the side. Startled by your words, so certain he had slipped past you, in your reverie. The carafe still hovers aloft, as you slowly turn your head.

Thinking that he might bolt. Hoping that he wouldn't.

Your eyes meet open air, swooping over the space - although you don't know where to look.

"Bruce mentioned you.” You try, settling on the area that you guess might be eye-level, on a man. "He said you'd be around, that I-… well, he must have thought he was being funny."

Teeth bite into the edge of your tongue - your head shaking at the half-truth he had given you. An omission, but still leaving room to argue later that he hadn’t been lying.

Your attention focuses back, again.

"But you're real, right? That was you, in the hallway?"

The coffee pot lowers to the table, then. A clunk against the heavy wood, just as you twist fully around. Your hand darting out to keep him there, curling around something solid. A wrist?

There's a tension as if he's about to move but then, at your touch, - he goes still. He's warm and solid beneath your palm, excitement sparking in your belly. Your other hand rising, index finger extended as you gesture for him to wait. 

"Please don't go. Just let me-" Your hand slips from him as you bend, looking for the bag propped against the wooden legs of the velvet settee. A second of rooting around before you find what you're looking for - a capped pen, and your spiral-bound notebook.

A page is torn from the end, and then ripped in half. You scribble down two words before flipping them around - setting them on the top of the table.

Yes and No rest there, scrawled in thick purple ink. A simplistic system by all means, and you're not even sure if he's still there or if he slipped away while you searched.

"You're Alfred, right?" You ask again, quietly - hopefully.

A fluttering in your heart at the idea of communicating. Unable to help the way you lean towards the words, as if willing them to move.

And after a long moment… they do.

The slightest flutter, a nudge to the word marked Yes.

A grin splits your face, hands clasped together, "It was you in the hallway? You this whole time?"

His answer comes more quickly now, another nudge. A sort of relief washes over you with that confirmation. No ghost lurking in these halls - just an unexpected and unusual sort-of roommate.

You had thought the solitude would suit you, but as the days pass, the interaction now feels welcome. Too many silent hours in such a big penthouse, left to your own devices for hours on end. 

"And is that your collection of tea in the kitchen, or do they belong to Bruce?" The tease comes without thought, though you belatedly realize that it's not a binary question. A heavy pause hangs in the air, before there's the slightest tug at your fingers.

You let the pen go, as he pulls it from you. One of the torn pieces flips over, the writing that appears much smaller and neater than yours.

Mine.

He plays along, to your amusement. Enough so that you're not quite ready to let him go.

"Will you have a cup with me, then?"

The paper flips back over, before it's nudged back your way.

Yes.

He hadn't been sure what to make of you.

A prickle of irritation when Bruce had informed him - yes, informed - of the arrangement. Visitors had never bothered him in the past, he was always grateful for any opportunity that meant Bruce felt comfortable bringing someone into his home. That he was spending time in the company of another, and not stuck lingering on what could never be changed. 

But that was before.

With Bruce gone, what was he to do? Pretend he doesn't exist, skirting around a stranger in the Tower? Unable to rest, too worried that you would disturb the sanctuary he's spent so long protecting?

"You know you can't go out." Bruce's eyes had been downcast, peering beneath the hood of his car. Alfred's own finger's streaked with grease, with his constant and silent aide.

Down beneath the guts of the Tower, in the Terminus. Another place to keep secret in his absence. A few years ago he would have considered caving it in while Bruce was away, but they've both come a long way since the days of the Riddler. Managing to meet somewhere in the middle, even as difficult as the journey was. 

"She's doing us a favor."

He could go out, if Bruce needed. Yes, a floating parcel could be problematic - a car driven with no owner - but he could get around that. It would be far from the more difficult things he's had to do over the course of his lifetime.

But before he knew it - you was there, and Bruce was gone. 

Alfred had never intended to interact with you. He had been all but a ghost for some time now, silent and invisible. It would have been too easy to keep to the shadows. 

To avoid you completely. 

But that wasn’t quite how things had turned out. 

You were fascinating, in your novelty. Beautiful, though he tries not to dwell on that particular observation. Keeping a schedule much like Bruce’s - all odd hours and self-directed patterns - though you couldn’t be more opposite.

Alfred would never dare step into your room, or encroach upon a private moment. He did not seek you out. But if he was already up, and you wandered into the kitchen to make pasta in the middle of the night, then sometimes… he stayed. 

Watching you move about the space. Resisting the long-engrained urge to nudge you out of the way, to cook for you himself. 

Forcing himself to linger instead, listening to you hum along to music only you could hear. Opening all the cabinets each time, until you found what you were looking for. A coffee mug, the deepest bowl you could find. 

He’d rearrange them later. Bring them to the shelf closest to you, so you didn’t have to search so hard. 

That he could do, at least. 

And when you had grown curious - wandering about the Tower, down the very hallway Bruce had told you to avoid - he had been unable to avoid you any longer. 

It had been all too easy to catch you off guard. Ignoring the spark that jolted through him when his hand had wrapped around your elbow, swiftly guiding you back the way you came. Away from the entrance to Wayne Terminus.

The expression of shock on your face still makes him smile, though he took no pleasure in frightening you.

He still manages to do so, though. Your hand flattening across your chest, a muffled shriek when his fingers stretch out to carefully tap your arm, announcing his presence. 

You were open like that - smiles and frowns and everything in between, worn so plainly and unfettered across your face. Another source of intrigue. 

So different than what he was used to. Interpreting the minute frowns and sighs and ticks of Bruce’s jaw, as if he was in the circus again - solving a codex.

He thought he was starting to be able to read you. Annoyance and boredom and that laser-focused look you got when you were working - hours passing without notice. 

And now, he watches as curiosity blooms. 

Directed at him, no less. 

It was an unusual feeling. No one he was used to - there were few secrets between himself and Bruce, especially over the recent years. A promise made that he would do better, even though he's still wracked at night with worry. 

He's not a spectacle. You don't push - though surely, you must wonder. It's not as if he doesn't himself, even though he's long been resigned to the feeling of merely existing, instead of living.

And when he finds that your routines slowly start to include him - an extra mug of tea made, the paper set out where he usually spends the morning - that wish that he had been left alone slowly begins to slip. 

Alfred finds himself thinking that perhaps, perhaps, these weeks won't be so bad, after all. 

Or at least - not quite so boring. 

In the days that follow, a semblance of a routine is formed.

His presence is announced by a touch on your shoulder - a soft tap, as not to scare you, like he had before. The questions you have about the manor, about him, answered with more of those touches.

One tap for no. Two quick ones for yes.

Or written on pen and paper like your first meeting, when you have it.

You take to carrying a pad around in your backpocket. A pen tucked behind you ear, as you grow more brave - emboldened by the fact that he does answer. That they are short and succinct, though you think, not unwelcome.

For if he had wanted to stay out of your sight, it would have been all too easy. If he stayed - sharing the space with you, steam rising from his teacup as the newspaper turned - then surely, it would mean that he did not mind.

Notes passed back and forth as you work - the heavy velvet curtains in the foyer pulled back to let the daylight in. Giving you a view of the Gotham skyline, how untouched it feels from so high up. Rows and rows of buildings, each climbing taller.

Have you always worked for the Waynes?

Your question is folded up, flicked across the table. A old trick from school, the triangular shape soaring to where the papers are sorted in neat stacks, the click of a calculator as sums are added and marked down in a ledger.

His answer comes in neat, uniform letters. Carefully written on the sheet below your looping scrawl.

Not always. I met Thomas after my days in the military.

Another small detail you hoard like a magpie, this new piece weaving its way into the shiny pile of treasures you've collected. It explained a little - the tidiness of the kitchen, the way he moved through the morning like clockwork.

So unlike your own schedule, tied to the whims of your creativity.

But you've been with them since?

Yes.

Have you always been their Butler?

It seems like a strange course to take after his years of service and you think he must see the way you frown, as you think it over. His pen hesitates, before he answers.

In a way.

His answers are as cryptic as Bruce's could be. You wonder which one had begun that way - who had learned from the other. The thought of the connection made you smile.

In these moments, you find you work well together. He’s a busy man - the ambient sounds of his fountain pen scratching over papers filling your afternoons. The notes shared a welcome reprieve, when the hunch of your shoulders and twist of your hips start to ache. 

Trading pieces of each other across the hours. Favorite books. Foods that remind you of home, ones that are sometimes ordered and shared over the course of the next day.

Memories, carefully inked down - feeling like confessions. 

Your eyes are bleary when you finally glance up from your laptop, the mid-morning light somehow slipping towards evening before you could blink. The room now eerily silent, and you wonder if he is still here. Or if he moved on without notice, as sometimes did.

“Alfred?”

You voice is quiet in the large room. It’s not like you need him for anything but you still can’t help but wonder where he is - not minding the moments where you share the room together. 

Still getting used to the fact that he exists, and yet is always unseen.

He appears before the sound has faded, his name still hanging in the air. A brush at your shoulder, embarrassment heating your cheeks at the thought of being caught, sounding so needy.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you were here,” You admit, with a scrunch of your nose, “I wasn’t sure, I-”

Words cut off by the plate set down next to you. Dinner - the meal still warm, fresh from the kitchen. You’d worked through lunch, too caught up to notice the time. The ache that had formed in your belly as the time passed now making itself known. 

It has you wondering if he had been on his way back, or whether he had heard your call. He seemed to have a habit of that - appearing just when you’re looking for him. As if he had an innate sixth sense for knowing when he was wanted. 

“Thank you. You really didn’t have to do this, you know.” You protest, and your refilled coffee cup rattles as it’s set down next.

The movement almost indignant.

A quick jotting on the back of a printed article he’d been perusing, the ink still glossy when it’s rotated your way - the last word underlined for emphasis.

You are our guest.

It’s hard to hold back the smile, as you read. You wonder when it became “our” and not just Bruce’s guest - if the exact syntax held anything in it’s arrangement.  

Would it be strange that you think you want to find a deeper meaning in his words? That assurance that he wasn’t inconvenience by your presence? That the hours spent together were more pleasure than mere obligation?

You push the thought away from now - unable to examine your inner feelings with the source of them being so near. Dipping into the food he brought, instead. It’s good - a twist on a quick meal you’ve made a few times since you arrived, but much more delicious. 

The thought of him watching you unawares, sends a little jolt crackling low in your stomach. 

But you realize - it’s not one of discomfort.

Something else to contemplate, later. 

“Did you already eat?” You ask, between mouthfuls. 

The answer comes with the movement of his pen, nudging the plate closer. 

Over time, you’ve found he can tips towards bossy. Insistent. Amusement at the thought of him trying to keep Bruce in check - hiding your smile as you shut down your laptop in favor of concentrating on your food. Savoring it, a certain luxury found in a hearty meal that was not made with your own hands.

Something you’re not used to, something you certainly and wholeheartedly appreciate. 

When your belly is full, you lean back against the cushions. Thinking about how often you find yourself here, in this cluster of alcoves off the large, open foyer. Leaving you wondering about the rest of the Tower, as a sip of coffee warms your belly.

“Do you have a favorite room?” You ask him, with a tilt of your head.

There is no written answer. It comes instead with the pushing back of his chair - a hand that rests on top of yours, squeezing twice as he coaxes you out of your chair.

Alfred guides you down halls you've explored before, though you were never brave enough to peek into any of the closed rooms. The thought of getting a look inside one of them thrills you, a hand gently touching between your shoulder blades to steer you towards a set of the doors at the end of the hall.

The closer of the two opens with his touch, the room brighter than you're expecting as you slip inside.

A beautiful study, the walls and built-in bookshelves stained a deep brown that tips towards gray. An antique wooden desk takes up the middle of the room - a closed laptop resting on top, next to piles of neat manila folders. 

The heavy drapes that embrace the arched window behind are cracked open to let in the setting sun - and as you step into the room, they open wider.

The view is stunning. 

Looking out across Gotham River instead of the streets of Midtown, clogged with buildings and the never-ending traffic. Framing the lazy rush of the water that had caused so much destruction in the years before, softened by the glitter and glint of the sun as it dips below the horizon.

Unmarred by man-made buildings and dark shadows.

"It's beautiful," You breathe - only just now noticing how close you've moved to the window, skirting around that old wooden desk, "I can see why you love it."

You can feel him next to you, at your shoulder. That sort of heavy presence that you've started to sense - nearly well-enough that you've gotten good at hazarding a guess where he stands.

Lingering just a little longer in the silence, watching the crash of the waters against the floodwalls. But your insatiable curiosity eventually piques at you, unable to help the twist of your head as you take in the surroundings.

Seeing more from this side of the room. The cracked door from off to the side, leading to a darkened bedroom in shades of charcoal and silver.

A buttery-soft leather chair tucked into the desk, where a sterling silver teapot sits on a folded newspaper. You've seen it before, in the kitchen, on the hexagonal table in the foyer.

"Is this your room? Your study?" You ask, piecing things together. Wondering how it took you so long to realize how it feels like him. The sort of him you’ve come to picture - tidy and proper.

Thick-bound books tucked neatly into the shelves that reach towards the ceiling, sculptures breaking up the space. The wooden floor covered in a thick rug, soft against your toes. A warmth brought to the space, in spite of all the sharp stone and dark wood.

Yes.

And then your eyes are snagging on the desk. Where two photos lie overlapping, unseen from the other side. Ones of people, their edges creased and well-worn with touch - two men flanking a women, a child in her arms. For a moment you almost think one of them is Bruce, with his sharp jawline and dark hair.

As you step closer, you realize it's not. You recognize the Waynes from the newspapers, both beautiful and elegant - their son a perfect mix of both of them. Next to them, standing close - just as much as part of the family, is another.

You don't know the man on the right. He is striking - broad-shouldered and dressed just as well. Dark hair that is carefully combed back, just starting to lighten at the temples. Eyes bright and blue, his smile framed with a neatly trimmed beard.

But maybe... you do.

"Is this you?" Your fingers reach out, nearly touching. Hovering, instead.

The second picture lifts, pressed into your hand. Just two, now. A small smile at Bruce, clad in a cap and gown, a golden stamp at the corner edge that notes Yale University. The tight-lipped smile of a young man, exasperated at the prospect of a photo.

The man - your Alfred - is here, too. Older, his hair more gray than black now. Still smiling, though the expression has faded, as he stands next to Bruce.

"You look..." The words trail off. Something lodging in your chest, stealing your breath.

Handsome. Happy. Just like I imagined you.

None are appropriate to say. Eyes quickly soaking up the photos, trying to picture him now. Not that much older, certainly less than a decade. Distinguished, the salt-and-pepper tones only complimenting his already attractive features.

Your thumb traces the edge of the photo as you find your voice, "Proud."

Yes.

It hits you then - the mystery of him. You head suddenly jerking in his direction, the frame setting back down on the desk as you turn, "You haven't always been like this?"

There's a wave of your hand, gesturing at his situation.

You hadn't known what to think. You lived in fiction and you lived in Gotham - the world twisting and turning dark in front of your own eyes. Countless ideas had flitted through your mind, a topic you had come back to frequently. 

Whether he was born like this, never seen by human eyes. Truly a ghost, haunting the halls - unable to leave. Or even just a figment of your imagination - a dream that you haven't woken up from yet.

None of them had made sense. Not with what he had told you of his past. But the ideas had started to dry up, leaving you with no answers. Until now.

His hand squeezes your arm. No.

It sends your heart tumbling, as a drawer in his desk opens. Digging down deep, an article tucked beneath layers of folders, as if untouched for years. Worn and paper thin from where it had been clipped from the Gotham Gazette, carefully held out to you.

And as your eyes flick over the headline, you remember. The sorcerer who had sold his soul to the devil, wreaking havoc throughout the city. People had disappeared, plucked from the streets. Tricked by their own eyes by his illusions, in his quest for dominance over the city. 

Your parents had called you - begging you to stay inside, to stay safe, until it was over. A shiver racing up your spine at their worry, how it still lingers in your memory.

Alfred must have been caught. One of the many affected by the spells. Cursed.

"This was years ago," Your voice was hushed, "You've been this way for that long?"

Yes.

The thought makes you ache.

"Can you fix this? Is there a way?"

You think surely there must be. There had been others, brought out of months of sleep. Turned back into their human forms, from the animal they had become. It has you clinging to a spark of hope that had long been extinguished in these halls. 

A pen from his desk lifts, an answer slowly inked in the margins of the article.

I cannot not tell you.

And then two words, written below it.

Ask Bruce.

You text Bruce that night.

In the glow of your laptop - the scene you're working on left hanging, open-ended as you're unable to resist any longer. Late enough now for you that for him, it's morning. 

I met your butler.

Your phone is still glowing when he answers. Barely a minute passing before the bubbles appear, just two words popping up.

Did you?

He never makes it easy - a sigh slipping from your lungs as you lean back into the plush chair, a knee pressing into the edge of the desk.

I did. 

A second, as you wonder if you should dive in. If you should just ask what you want to know - if Bruce would entertain the thoughts and questions swirling in your mind.

You decide you should. That he's busy, and blunt. No reason you can't cut to the chase.

He said you could tell me about the curse.

Interesting. So you didn't just meet him. How long has it been?

That has you pausing, your thumb tapping a quick response.

What do you mean?

Alfred would never just tell that to anyone.

Even someone like you.

You scoff.

Meaning??

A pause hangs. Minutes passing, before an answer appears.

Meaning someone I trust enough to leave in my home.

His answer mollifies you. A friend, you think. Something he would never say. On anyone else you'd comment on the sentiment, but you think bringing attention to it would only push him further away.

We've been talking for a little while. Written notes, stuff like that.

The touching is innocent, but you feel protective of it. Like the brush of his hand is private. That aspect remains unmentioned, something just for you.

I'm impressed.

Your eyes roll with impatience. Impressed that you'd find a way to talk to him? Or impressed that you'd even noticed?

Thanks, I guess. Today he told me about the curse. Said I could ask you. Can I?

You haven't told me what he's told you.

You take a second then, to recollect. Typing slowly and then erasing, until you get your thoughts down.

He showed me the newspaper. I know about what happened, and when I asked if it could be fixed he said he couldn't tell me. That I could ask you.

You can.

I am???

Fuck - he's infuriating. Your jaw grits, as you flop sideways - twisting on your back. Hands held above your face as you type out your answer with a little more force than necessary.  

I'm asking right now. Could you please tell me?

From what we've gathered, his curse will be lifted when he gets what he truly wants. Which might be impossible, considering.

This is something. A tangible goal, something you can really work towards. Your heart kicks up a notch, as you murmur the words while typing.

Considering what? What does he want?

That depends. Why do you want to lift it?

That has you pausing. Why do you? Is it because it's what any decent person would do?

Perhaps if it was the first day, that would be your answer.

But over the course of the evening and the time that had passed, it's become more. 

It's hard not to think about how lonely Alfred must be. Half a lifetime spent with just the two of them. Now - left utterly unseen. Not even a ghost, but someone trapped as time still moves on without him. Forgotten. 

And yes - lately, selfishly, you want to see him. Deep down, you’re realizing you want him to see you, too. Though it’s more than just that.

You need to break it.

To help him, because Alfred deserves it.

You can't tell Bruce this. It feels too new, too tender. Something still half-formed, even to your own mind. 

So you send your own half-truth in reply.

Because it's the right thing to do.

Bruce’s response comes quickly.

If that is your answer, then you should give up now.

It leaves you frowning, a pit forming in your stomach.

Bruce.

???

What do you mean?

No other answers come, though it doesn't stop your eye from wandering the rest of the night. That urge to check for a more substantial answer. Frustration bubbling in your stomach, acid in your throat. Hurt and confused by his words.

Leaving your mind swirling - an irritation in the way your mind has now split. Words no longer flowing from your fingertips - your manuscript left frozen in place, as you try to puzzle out his meaning. Reading and rereading his messages.

That so-very human urge to help turning into something a more.

A desire. 

Your jaw grits as you decide that don't need Bruce's help. You can do this yourself.

For Alfred.

thanks for reading! 💖

[littlemessyjessi]

You Change Your Aesthetic Constantly : Stray Kids Reactions

You Change Your Aesthetic Constantly:  Stray Kids Reactions 

.

Chan: 

As someone who's wardrobe is literally all black… he can not relate, lol.   However, he doesn't mind it. It's a nice change to his constant look.  However, you can kiss matching couples outfits goodbye.  Though he's not so secretly very into the idea.   10/10 probably tries to match the 'vibe' out of your outfits through accessories… though it's not necessarily obvious.  You probably can't even tell but he knows and it makes him happy to know it. Makes him giddy as fuck to know that you wore all silver jewelry today with black ripped jeans and combat boots and so did he.  Probably snaps a picture of ya'll's boots together or your hands laced together with all the silver rings glittering in the light.  

Minho: 

Insists that you get the cats matching outfits.  No but like seriously.   You post your outfit of the day and he just starts posting #ootds of the cats and tagging you.   He didn't intend for it to become such a thing but suddenly all the Stays are posting pictures of their pets and tagging you both.  Next thing you know the hashtag #ynthestayfashionmom/dad/parent is trending and you're giving him the stink eye.  He has the gall to look innocent.  But you continue to post your styles, he continues to post the cats and all the Stays continue to dress their pets.  

Suddenly, you become a mother to millions. Sigh. However, you get revenge because eventually… you force him to join you because… "It's a fucking family event, babe. And you started it.  So suck it up and put on the duck shirt." He pulls a face but actually that picture with him, you and the cats in a duck themed outfit is literally his phone background. 

Changbin: 

Well as a self proclaimed lover of dark things… Idk if he's going to be matching you if you decide to go sweet kawaii.  However, he's definitely down to match on occasion.  He probably not likely to match you super often. However, he probably would enjoy the process of watching you lay out your outfits for the week and hearing your concepts for each of them.   Changbin strikes me as a very open person when he loves someone.  So I feel as if he'd very much enjoy lounging on the bed watching as you pick things out.  He'd offer his opinion if you asked but mostly he just enjoys hanging out and watching you express your creativity.  It's hard to bare your creative passions in front of someone.  It's vulnerable.  So he appreciates that not only do you not mind him being there but also value his opinion enough to include him. He likes the time and inclusion.   It's more about the time and the meaning but he looks forward to the lazy Sunday afternoons where you pull out the clothing rack and start crafting each outfit. 

Hyunjin:  

100% steals your outfit ideas.  Not even a joke.   Specifically waits until you get dressed and then will literally copy it as close as he can get within his own wardrobe.  You didn't want a twin?  Too bad.   Has literally went into your wardrobe and online shopped the exact items.   The package arrived and he's pulling out the exact same shit in your close in his size.  And you just mean mug him.   "Outfit stealer." you accuse.  "I'm lazy and you're stylish."  he'd defend with a shrug.  "Don't try to flatter me!"   "That wasn't flattery.  That was factual information.  If I was going to flatter you I would've said that those pants make your ass look good enough to eat.  Matter of fact, lemme just-"  "Hyunjin!" 

Han: 

Well, truthfully he probably finds it refreshing because in a way he gets it.  His hyperfocus has him into something like crazy for a while and then he's done.  So probably vibes with you on this.   He gets it.   Definitely expect him to take spontaneous burst of matching with you for like a week straight and then wearing the complete opposite for a like a month until one day he decides he wants to pick your outfits out for you like two weeks, lol. 

Felix: 

Honestly?  If you're happy, he's happy.   Let's just call it what it is.   This little sunshine just wants you to do what brings you joy.  If you like dressing goth one day, cottagecore the next and naturecore after that, cool! He thinks it's great! He'll even help and make outfits with you.  Bonus, I could see him LOVING matching with you if you're ok with that.   Like that's epic couple goals and he'd likely to do anything to further that.  Precious.  He will plan them out with you.   He will get a calendar.  He will make posts.  He is all in.  

Seungmin: 

Definitely going to tease you for it.   "Jagiya, can't you make up your mind?"  "Are you going to settle on one style this time?"   It's all in good fun of course.  He's only teasing.  And he makes it a point to let you know how lovely you look each time.  But he's definitely gonna tease you a little about it.  

Jeongin: 

10/10 thinks it's adorable.  

10/10 kinda wants to join you. 

10/10 too nervous and anti social to actually do it. 

Lucky for him, you just kinda do it for him. 

And because you know him, you take the blame when his hyungs tease him. 

"It was my idea.  I just wanted some of those cute couple photos, you know." 

And when they inevitably tease him for the couple shit it's an instant, "Well, at least he has a partner." 

That little mother fucker's chest puffed out so big that you thought he'd explode.  Suddenly, he'd all in because he realized he can rub this in their single faces. 

—-

Hey loves! I'm back! Welcome to Kenny's Comeback! It's the Goddess Era yall!

Love, K

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[vermilionsun]

This fic wasn't supposed to go like this... but it did.

Word count: 1.5k Rating:- Fandom: Touchstarved (Red Spring Studio) Categories: Other Relationships: Mhin/Leander, Mhin & Vere Tags: Fluff & Smut & Angst - a little bit of everything tbh, literally no plot whatsoever, Semi-established relationship-ish, lingerie, Gender-netural oral, Top Leander/Bottom Mhin - surprisingly, love confession-ish, Vere the matchmaker tm

"You and Leander are one of those couples that make single people want to throw themselves off a bridge,” were Vere's exact words when he handed them the mysterious package. "Before I decide to jump, can you at least let us enjoy some drinks for a few moments without hearing Leander's earth-shattering moans?"

Standing before the mirror in the Wick's Leander-reserved bedroom, Mhin took a good look at themself. A blush crept up their neck, suffusing their face with a mix of horror and excitement. The black lace and garters clung to their figure, enhancing every curve and dip, leaving very little to the imagination.

Mhin took a deep breath to compose themself. It was just a little fabric—nothing to get worked up over. So what if the contrast between the black fabric and their pale skin was incredibly alluring? And so what if they couldn't help but imagine Leander's reaction when they'd walk out and he saw them in such a provocative outfit? It didn't mean a damn thing. It was just a stupid outfit.

"Mhin? You okay in there?" Leander's voice came from the bedroom door, causing Mhin to freeze, a curse slipping out under their breath. They hadn't realized how long they had been in the bathroom.

They quickly shook themselves out of their thoughts. "I-I'm fine," they called out unconvincingly.

With one last look in the mirror, Mhin opened the bathroom door and stepped out.

Leander had been lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling. When the door opened, he quickly sat up. His concerned expression shifted to slight shock before softening as he gazed at Mhin.

"Mighty Allmother, what did I do to be so blessed?" He whispered under his breath, "You look..."

A deep blush crept up Mhin's face as Leander's eyes raked over their figure. The way his voice had dropped an octave, the way the words sounded more reverent than lustful, Mhin felt... different. Leander made them feel... beautiful. Special.

Just like every other person he'd brought to the same room, one could only guess.

"You like it?" Mhin asked, their voice huskier than intended.

"Like it? I love it," he said, his voice low and rough. "Come here," he said, beckoning to them.

They took a shaky step forward—the heat pooling in their core making their legs feel like jelly—closing the distance between them. They paused as they stood between Leander's spread legs, keeping their hands by their sides to avoid reaching for him.

"Such a pretty thing," he murmured, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. His left hand came to rest on their hips while his right snaked around their thigh, feeling them up, until it reached their ass and gave it a firm squeeze. A gasp escaped them at the sudden touch, their body responding uncontrollably, their knees nearly buckling under the sensation.

"Stop it," they whispered, but there was no real conviction behind their words. "It's...it's not fair. Don't tease me," they struggled to maintain their composure.

Leander suddenly rested his chin against Mhin's stomach, inhaling deeply, his arms wrapped around them, holding them close. The gesture shocked Mhin; the warmth of his cheek pressing against their skin sent a jolt through their chest. A million thoughts raced through Mhin's mind, each more confusing than the last.

It felt... intimate.

So much so that the urge to run away, to push him away, was nearly overwhelming. Instead, they found themselves bringing a trembling hand to Leander's head, threading their fingers through his soft, brune locks. His presence was both comforting and unnerving; his vulnerability lay bare before Mhin's eyes.

They tried to remind themselves that this was just a casual liaison. Nothing more, nothing less. Just a way to pass the time, to find a temporary release. But then, why? Why did it feel like there was something more to this, something deep within their heart that yearned for more than just a casual romp? It didn't make sense. They didn't want to get attached; they couldn't allow themselves to get attached.

They stood there in silence for a while, their breathing gradually synchronizing.

"Mhm, I could stay like this all night," Leander finally murmured, his voice a low rumble against their stomach. "You feel so damn good in my arms."

"You're... you're a terrible influence." Mhin's free hand found its way to his shoulder, their fingers digging into the firm muscle, pulling him closer.

Leander lifted his head slightly to meet their gaze, piercing green eyes locking with Mhin's. "May I?" He asked, his hands tugging at the bottoms of the lace.

They tried to tell themselves to say no, to keep their walls up and their heart safe, but they couldn't. They found themselves nodding, the movement jerky and almost hesitant. "Yes," they whispered as Leander's fingers toyed with the lace. "Please."

Without saying another word, Leander began slowly pulling at the lace; his gaze never left theirs, eyes filled with... something they dared not put a name to.

The lace slipped off their hips, pooling at the floor, leaving them exposed before Leander. His eyes devoured them, taking in every inch of their body, like a man starved. His breath came in hot, heavy pants, as he murmured against their ear, "You're so damn perfect."

The words echoed in Mhin's ears, and for once in their life, they almost believed it.

"Leander," they whispered, their voice a mere breath, "I need you. I need you so damn much."

The man hooked his arms behind their thighs, fipping them over effortlessly and pressing them against the matress, his lips crashing against theirs in a fiery kiss. Mhin responded just as eagerly, their tongue tangling with Leander's, their hands clutching at the back of his neck. They had never felt so consumed, so utterly lost in another person. They wanted to cling to him, to become a part of him. They couldn't get close enough; they couldn't get enough of him.

Soon, he began to kiss a path down their body, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. Tongue and teeth teased every inch of Mhin's skin, causing them to arch and writhe beneath him.

"Spread your legs for me," Leander commanded.

They looked at him through heavy-lidded eyes as their legs parted instinctively.

Then, with a wolfish grin, Leander lowered his head and pressed his mouth to them. He started slow, working his tongue over them, exploring, teasing. His hands were everywhere, exploring, grasping, pulling, as he worked them into a frenzy. He could feel them shaking beneath him, their hands gripping the sheets, their voice a litany of curses and pleas.

Leander knew how close they were; he could feel their body begging for release, yet he chuckled and pulled away completely, leaving them writhing on the bed.

Leander leaned over them, his body covering theirs, pinning them down, his lips ghosting over their ear. "Because I want to hear you begging for me." He grinded against them. "I want you to ache for me, to crave me, completely undone and completely at my mercy." His hand moved down, his fingers gently caressing their thighs, teasing the sensitive skin there as he ran his lips down their jaw to their neck, nipping at the sensitive skin. "I want you wanting."

It was pure torture.

"Idiot," they managed to gasp out, their voice filled with need and frustration.

"You love it," he whispered, his breath hot against their skin.

They let out a shaky breath, their resolve weakening with each touch and whispered word. "I hate that you have this effect on me," they murmured, trying to maintain some semblance of control—which was slipping through their fingers like sand.

"I want you," they finally whimpered. "Oh gods, I want you. I ache for you. I need you. Please, please don't make me beg. Just touch me, please."

"I didn't think it was possible to love you even more."

They were speechless for a second, but he gave them no chance to dwell on it as he undressed in a hurry, the sight of his body making their stomach clench, before he pushed himself closer to them. Their fingers clawed at his back, desperate to feel his skin against theirs. They wanted him, every inch of him.

Love. Such a strong word.

A dangerous word.

[shinestarhwaa]

Practice Round || JEONG YUNHO

Summary: Reader asks friend Yunho how to give a handjob so he let's her practice on him before their date

Genre: Smut, bit of fluff

Pairing: BFF!Yunho x Reader

Word Count: 619

Warnings/tags: smut, hand job, dirty language, virgin!reader

@anyamaris @a-soft-hornytiny @veronicasawyerschainsaw @whatudowhennooneseesyou @star1117-archives @wooyoungmybelovedhusband

Tell me if you wanna be added to my taglist❣️

ENJOY!

-

"So, Y/N, are you excited for your date?" Yunho asked, grinning as he took a sip of his drink. "I'm so nervous... he is so handsome and he's also... very experienced," you sighed.

Yunho knew of you being a virgin. The two of you were very open about your lives and he even told you when he lost his virginity to his ex-girlfriend.

"But it's your first date, don't worry about intimacy," he said as he rubbed your arm, "don't force yourself."

"No, I know, but Yunho... I want to. I literally... I keep thinking about him and I... want to touch him, want him to touch me but... I don't wanna be like... so inexperienced. I wish I knew what to do. Like... I don't even know how to give a hand job."

Yunho turned red, thoughts running wild. "I could help with that...," he mumbled. "What...?" Your heart was beating in your chest, thinking about Yunho's cock in your hands. Would it be a good practice moment? He offered it, why not?

"I mean... Ah, I'm sorry, forget it," Yunho said quickly, taking another sip of his drink. "No... No, teach me how to give a handjob, please," you pleaded. Yunho nodded. "Okay... this is just to help you."

Yunho shoved down his pants and boxers in one go, revealing his semi-hard cock. Your mouth watered at the sight. "Give me your hand," he said softly, reaching out for you.

He took your hand in his and wrapped them both around his thick length. Your mouth nearly watered at the sight. Yunho was hiding this package all the time under those jeans?

The two of your hands started pumping his length up and down, making Yunho stiff and harder than he ever had been. "God, yes," Yunho moaned softly when you got the gist, moving your hand up and down on your own. He let go of your hand, letting you touch him freely.

"Y-yes, Y/N, that's good, that's so good," he moaned out when you picked up the pace. You couldn't help but smirk, feeling powerful with having Yunho in such a vulnerable situation.

Curiously you reached out to his balls with his other hand and started massaging them. You were surprised at the feelings, thinking they'd be softer. You smirked and teased him by focussing on his balls, neglecting his red, leaking cock.

"Please, Y/N, m-my dick," he whined. You smirked and focussed on his length again, pumping it up and down quickly. Yunho closed his eyes and groaned. "Oh god, you're gonna make me cum!" the taller moaned out. "Then cum, Yunho-ya," you said, licking your lips, curious about what was coming (spoiler alert: its Yunho)

It took only a few more pumps before he came in thick white ropes, landing on his cock and on your hand. He guided your hand in a slow pace, riding out his orgasm. He took a breath, looking at the cum on your hand, which you were bringing dangerously close to your face.

Curiosity got the overhand of you and you licked up his cum. Yunho's eyes shot wide open. "W-what are you doing?"

You tasted the cum, licking your hand clean. "Wanted to see what it tasted like. Bit salty. You taste pretty good," you bluntly said. Yunho laughed nervously, cleaning himself up with the tissues that were on the table. "Thanks, I guess?" "No problem, big boy."

Yunho laughed and pulled his pants back up. "I'm ready for my date now," you grinned. But Yunho didn't laugh or anything. "Why? You think that dude will make you feel better than I can? You're gonna cancel on him. Go out with me instead."

[jjkeremika]

all or (Formula) n(One)

chapter one: Bahrain Grand Prix

eremika; Ferrari racer! eren jaeger x engineer/mechanic! mikasa ackerman

description: “Big day for Ferrari fans out there, as today is racing driver Eren Jaeger’s big Ferrari Formula One debut. After years of racing for Rodin Motorsports in Formula 2, Jaeger has finally made the biggest and most impressive upgrade of his career!”

“And you know what’s most interesting about his switch, Alex, is that he brought his Rodin mechanic, Mikasa Ackerman, with him! A first for any driver and mechanic, and, frankly, this sport.”

tag/disclaimer(s): this chapter is written as camera screens and commentary from Formula 1 radio hosts (Alex and Martin); eremika; friends to lovers dynamic

ao3

**Opening Day; Bahrain Grand Prix; Race Day**

“And what a gorgeous night it is in Bahrain—the perfect night to kick off the 2024 formula one season. A stunning first qualifying yesterday in Bahrain, where we saw the drivers set their starting order for the race today.”

“Really exciting stuff, Alex. Even more exciting is that—oh, and there he is on camera: Ferrari’s new young and upcoming racing driver Eren Jaeger.”

*camera pans to helmetless Eren Jaeger in the ferrari jumpsuit, walking around and talking to various mechanics on the team. appears to be inspecting his car. zoom in on car number 139. Zooms out to Eren talking to Ferrari team principal Fred Vasseur.*

“Ah, Eren Jaeger, one of the most exciting up and coming talents. the youngest driver in the paddock right now with the most impressive CV.”

“That’s right, Alex, and what an impressive CV it is. Championships left and right in formula 2, podium after podium in formula 3. We can only hope this bright star’s career has really only just begun.”

*camera pans to Eren Jaeger speaking with Mikasa Ackerman, also in a Ferrari jumpsuit (unzipped to expose some of her pale chest, allow some breathing room), pointing to the halo of the car and smiling, laughing. inaudible.*

“For his debut day, probably the highest pressure day of his entire career, he seems to be taking it lightly,” the formula one announcer, Alex, amused.

*camera is still on an inaudible Eren and Mikasa chatting, standing quite close together. their upper arms are grazing. camera zooms in until it’s just them in frame. Mikasa nods in response to something Eren says with a charming smile.*

“Well, we are staring right at his good luck charm, aren’t we?”

“That’s true,” Alex chuckles, “Now, Martin, was it a coincidence or a driver’s contract that brought her from Rodin to Ferrari?”

“Well, Alex, the rumors around the paddock are circling, and it’s been said that Jaeger and his mechanic were a package deal.”

“Said, but not confirmed.”

“No, not confirmed. But with an established, popular team like Scuderia Ferrari, it is strange to get a new addition to the crew. Especially when it pairs with their new driver—“

*camera shows Eren and Mikasa standing in front of the Ferrari car, Mikasa leaned over the front of the chassis, signing the top with a quick circled MK A above the driver number 139 in sharpie. camera zooms in on the signature as eren holds her hand to help her stand upright*

“And here we are seeing the start of a new tradition, or rather, the continuation of an old one. This is what I was referring to, Martin, with this driver-mechanic duo. What we are seeing is Ferrari’s new lead engineer and mechanic for car 139 quite literally signing off on the race car.”

“Now that is interesting, Alex, you really never see the mechanics or engineers physically signing the chassis.”

“They’re an interesting duo, Jaeger and Ackerman, but this tradition has kept the young driver scoring podium after podium after podium. She signed every car Jaeger drove in Formula 3, every car in Formula 2, and starting now it seems all the cars he’ll drive in Formula 1.”

*camera pans to Jaeger pulling his helmet on and getting into the seat; scans to Ackerman joining the rest of the red and white jumpsuited team in the garage. camera returns to the front of Jaeger’s car*

“Now look at that black MKA on that bright red Ferrari. An engineer’s stamp of approval, and maybe even a cast for good luck at winning that podium.”

*camera follows driver 139 as he powers on and pulls into the pit lane. camera zones out and slowly showcases the 20 cars exiting the pit lane*

“For those of us just now joining, what we are witnessing is the start of the formation lap. We have Reiner Braun and Levi Ackerman with the good old 1, 2 for Redbull, followed closely behind by Erwin Smith third with the McLaren and Jean Kirstein with Mercedes in fourth, his best qualifying position in Bahrain. In fifth we have Eren Jaeger in the MKA-signed Ferrari, a magnificent start for his first ever Formula One Grand Prix.”

“Yes, despite that awkward start during qualifying and some complaints about steering, Jaeger seemingly managed to overcome the understeer to place his fifth position. A great accomplishment for a first ever race in formula one.”

“Have to hand it to Mikasa and the team at Ferrari for fixing whatever issues his car was giving him yesterday, as his car performs superbly during the formation lap.”

*cars line up in starting position. the flag is waved behind the safety car. the five lights illuminate red.*

*the lights go out. the cars start down the straight towards the first corner.*

“A brilliant start for Braun there, and a great defense going into the first corner, keeping his own teammate behind him.”

“But with fifty-six more laps to go, we’ll see how well he defends that position and oh, wow! look at that! What a maneuver by Eren Jaeger there, going around the outside like that and succeeding.”

“With that extraordinary overtake Jaeger moves up to fourth position, leaving Kirstein in a trail of dirty air as that Ferrari cruises down the straight, right into turn 5.”

*lap 30. drones follow Ferrari car 139 as it narrows in behind the McLaren and the Redbull*

“Let’s check back in with the podium chasers over here. We have Jaeger with a 0.2 second gap behind Smith, who has a 0.5 second gap to Ackerman.”

“You may be wondering where our race leader Braun is, but he’s safely cruising ahead with a five second gap while Ackerman clings onto second position.”

“And clings onto that corner there. Look how tightly he hug the inner rim. That’s going to cause some damage to the floor of the car.”

“That’s right, Martin, and it looks like we’re seeing the effects of that damage in real time as we are now watching both Smith in the McLaren and Jaeger in the Ferrari cruise right on by Ackerman in the Redbull, who has just found himself in fourth place.”

“As they turn the corner into lap 31 here the crowd watches with anticipation as that red Ferrari closes the gap to the orange McLaren.”

“Jaeger enters the range for DRS, and you can only imagine how Smith feels, having been in that seat for almost a decade, and now having his newly acquired second position threatened by young talent.”

*Car 139 overtakes the McLaren into second position and speeds off. camera cuts to Ferrari team cheering*

“I mean, Jaeger made that inside overtake look easy as he sped right between Smith and turn two, and slipped into second position.”

“That car is a rocketship, isn’t it. Like a racehorse we are watching a Ferrari close that multi-second gap to last year’s championship winner, Reiner Braun.”

*lap 55. Braun in Redbull in first. 0.9 seconds behind is Jaeger in Ferrari. In third with a three second gap is Smith. camera focuses on the Redbull and chasing Ferrari*

“We are nearing the end of the race here, lap 55 out of 57, and world champion Reiner Braun is still evading newcomer Jaeger’s attempts at closing that gap and overtaking into that first place podium position.”

“That ferrari looks to be in DRS range—and we’re seeing Jaeger push on that throttle onto the straight as the two enter their final lap.”

“Oh look at that scarlet Ferrari go wheel to wheel with the Redbull down the first straight. Jaeger tries to cut in front but—oh! the world champion anticipated that and stepped the break a little early, prevented Eren from getting past.”

“Oh, but, Alex, look at how Jaeger immediately tries again in turn two. Looks like there’s hope in the maneuver as Jaeger pulls out of the turn in front but that Redbull accelerates him back into first space. Wheel to wheel again as they approach the next corner.”

Martin laughs. “You can practically feel the frustration from both drivers as they fight for that pole position. Oh, look at this! The scarlet driver refusing to back off from the outside st turn six, Braun’s redbull taking up the curve and almost pushing Jaeger off the track but he manages into the inside—refuses to give up as the Redbull tries to accelerate but Jaeger’s got DRS and fresh air as he speeds away into first place!”

“What an amazing last effort battle for pole position and there’s the checkered flag! Jaeger in the Ferrari takes pole position! An incredible achievement for his first ever Formula One race! An amazing effort and result for his first ever debut! And let’s listen to his radio:”

*camera cuts to Eren Jaeger, Ferrari driver, who has one hand on the wheel and is pumping the other in excitement*

“Great work, Eren, fantastic job,” the race engineer spoke over the radio, to which Eren immediately responded in cheer.

“Woohoo! Yes! Yes! Tell Mikasa: great work! What a fantastic car! Amazing work, team. Incredible support from the fans.”

*Ferrari car 139 pulls into the podium position, the MKA clearly visible in the frame. Eren practically jumped out of the car in excitement, threw his arms into air. The ferrari team flooded onto the track.*

*Eren jumps off the chassis and places his helmet on the driver’s seat. frantically looks around for his lead engineer. camera zooms out to show Mikasa rushing over with the pit crew and Eren pulls her into a massive hug. he’s congratulating her. she’s congratulating him.*

“A momentous occasion for the entire team here. An incredible start to this F1 season. And if this is any indication of newcomer Eren Jaeger’s career in Formula One, this is about to be one win of many Grand Prix. Thank you all for joining us tonight. I’m Alex.”

“I’m Martin.”

“And we will see you at next racing weekend, at the Saudi Arabia Grand Prix.”

[buckyismybicycle]

Title: the (pineapple) contract - chapter 1/3 Rating: Explicit Pairing: Avenger!Bucky Barnes/Escort!Reader (F) Tags/Warnings: Big Dick Bucky Barnes, Top Bucky, Dom/sub Undertones, Confident Bucky Barnes, Oral Sex (by that I mean Bucky eats you out like a starved man), Praise, Pet Names, Painful Sex, Crying/Crygasm, Multiple Orgasms, Coming Until You Black Out, no beta we die like thanos Summary: Well, the contract said Personal Care Attendant and technically, the Winter Soldier wasn’t on the active roster. Yet. But the point still stands. He more or less owned you now.

You take one last deep breath before knocking on the door.

Part of the "Bucky Barnes As..." series & Hot Bucky Summer 2023

hosted by @buckybarnesevents Week 3: "Where do you want me?" Kneeling | In My Lap | Bent Over

We'll be back for Week 6 (Chapter 2) and Week 3 (Chapter 3)

>>AO3 Link<<

The cheque in your hand has far too many digits in it — you’ve never seen two commas in the number, made out to you of all people. Hell, you wouldn’t have cared what the hell the job was, you would’ve said yes anyway.

You just never imagined that trying to pick up Tony Stark on Park Avenue would be a job interview.

“Name your price,” he had said.

You probably would’ve slept with him for zero, but when you had jokingly said a million dollars, you never thought he’d actually follow through. First came the NDA, then the contract and benefits package, and now…

Now, you stood outside a dull-looking door trying to calm yourself down about the fact that you were about to whore yourself out to an Avenger.

Enclosed for your review is a copy of your job description, benefits package, and the corresponding appendices. Should you wish to accept this offer, your contract and a questionnaire are emailed for your review and return. Upon receiving your executed contract and completed questionnaire, should your answers be compatible, we will reach out to schedule your start date.

Well, the contract said Personal Care Attendant and technically, the Winter Soldier wasn’t on the active roster. Yet. But the point still stands. He more or less owned you now.

You take one last deep breath before knocking on the door.

The man that opens it is not the man from the online articles and archives. He isn’t long-haired, dead-eyed and clad in murder gear (because there really wasn’t any other word for it). No, the person that stands in front of you is seemingly flawless, the sunlight from his windows surrounding him in a glowing warmth.

He quite literally takes your breath away.

“Can I help you?” He finally asks, shifting his weight ever so slightly.

Right. You clear your throat, offering your hand as you introduce yourself.

He studies you intently, his eyes obviously tracking you from head to toe, but doesn’t say anything else as he shakes your hand firmly. “Bucky,” he responds in kind.

“I’m, um, I’m here because…” Oh god, what if he had no idea?

He quirked an eyebrow up at you.

“I’m here as a… As your personal care attendant?” As soon as you say the words, you feel silly. Your cheeks start to flush, but it’s nothing compared to what he says next.

“Then you’re late, kitten.”

(4) Your duties will include, but are not limited to (a)Providing thorough, attentive care to the client within reasonable allowance, even outside of those covered in (5). (b)Receive and follow instruction from the client within reasonable allowance, even outside of those covered in (6) (c)Commence reasonable care should the client require it at your discretion, without infringement of (8)(a), (b) or (c) (4)(c)(i)The term “care” will include, but is not limited to… (ii)Psychological care as set out in Appendix I (iii)Domestic care as set out in Appendix I (iv)Physical care as set out in Appendix I, II and III

It was very evident that he wasn’t expecting you to take care of him so much as take care of him. His apartment was spotless, though the lack of furniture and possessions might be the biggest reason.

“So. You know what this entails.” It comes like more of a statement than a question, but admittedly, that does a lot for you. You looked at him, cross-armed and leaning against the back of his couch. Tugging at the bottom of your dress, you tried to remember how to simply act normal and nod, a little less shy, slipping into your role with a little more ease.

“Yes, sir.”

There’s a look of amusement on his face, so you make a note of that.

“Hard limits?”

“None,” you answer quickly.

“I find that hard to believe,” he fires back. “Everyone has limits.”

You bite your tongue to stop yourself from asking about his, though he reads your expression well enough.

“I have too many to list,” he says. “Which is why I prefer to just control the situation.”

God help me. It sounded too good to be true, that maybe — just maybe — he was made for you.

Or you were made for him, at least. His pleasure.

“That sounds good to me,” you say all too brightly. “Sir.”

He smirks at that, and you’re absolutely done for.

“You don’t have to keep calling me that,” he tells you, beckoning you to follow him. “Though I do like it.”

You decided right then and there that you would do pretty much anything with him. For him.

“So, about those limits —”

“Knife Play,” you blurt out once you reach his bedroom. “That’s — that’s the only one I don’t think I can do.”

He turns and gives you a look. “Why, because I’m the Winter Soldier, you think I’m automatically into knife play?”

“OH MY GOD!” You exclaim, slapping your hands over your mouth at your blunder. “No! No, oh my god, that’s not what I meant!”

You’re about to grovel at his feet when he starts to chuckle softly.

“Relax,” he says easily, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. “That’s fine. I’m not gonna throw you into the fire just yet.”

Yet. You’re not sure if that was meant as a threat but it sounds more like a promise if you’re being honest.

“I can handle more than you think,” you say, pursing your lips.

“S’that right?”

The challenge in his voice has you nearly quivering and you’ve barely even started. You give him a little shrug before nodding, trying to give as good as you got.

“C’mere here,” he coaxes softly, hand outstretched. It’s stunning, the black and gold, intricate and precise — more sophisticated than anything you’ve ever seen.

You take it and ease yourself down on his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world, his hands far gentler on your waist than you thought they could be. The blue of his eyes is even brighter this close up, light with mischief and wide with wonder as he looks at you, like you were something to be discovered, explored.

“Safe word still pineapple?”

Looks like he read your questionnaire after all. You nod again, the energy thrumming just under your skin as his hands slowly travel up your sides and back before ending up at your neck. He can probably feel your small shudder or your thundering pulse. At the very least, he can certainly see the goosebumps forming under his fingertips.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.”

With that, he claims your lips, your body, your very existence as if it was his only goal. And god, does it work.

There is no part of you that doesn’t immediately belong to Bucky at that moment. His tongue parts your lips and moves confidently as he devours you, taking you apart. Each swipe of his tongue is firm and purposeful — designed to steal your breath away as his hands map out your body.

You can’t stop the gasp that escapes against his lips or the way your body tenses in his arms, muscles coiled to try and stop yourself from just dripping all over his lap.

It takes you far too long to realize the game you’re playing — well, that Bucky’s playing. You’re simply along for the ride as he catalogs all your reactions from each shiver of your body to every moan and shaky breath you let out. Within a few minutes, you’ve already revealed all your cards without even knowing that’s what you’re doing.

You’re embarrassingly short of breath when he pulls back to survey you.

“You make such beautiful sounds,” he says, nonchalant as if your heart rate wasn’t skyrocketing.

“You’re a damned good kisser,” you respond/

He gives you a cheeky grin that would’ve made your knees buckle if you weren’t seated on him. “You’re not so bad yourself, sweetheart.”

You run your hands up his chest, marveling at how firm it was. For a brief moment, you forget who he is and just touch. As your fingertips roam upward, you memorize the arch of his clavicle that leads to the dip in the hollow of his throat underneath his Adam’s apple.

You shift slightly, getting ready to slide off and sink to your knees to service him.

“Like what you see?” He asks — except this time the cocky tone has a softness to it that you're not sure he even caught. As if there was just a bit of something behind that seemingly unshakable confidence.

“Yes,” you answer simply with a smile. “I really, really do.” It’s true, after all. He wasn’t just handsome, wasn’t just pretty, there was something about him that was so alluring, you found yourself forgetting your contract almost entirely.

It’s the right answer, apparently, because he flips over to lay you down in the center of his bed, throwing your plans to kneel for him right out the window.

You’re suddenly acutely aware of just how much bigger he is than you. He’s an imposing figure, there’s no arguing that, but when he had first invited you inside, it hadn’t been your focus. Now, with the cool, soft sheets at your back and his thighs settling between yours, you feel like trapped prey to the king of the jungle.

You knew that a serum pumped through his veins that made him infinitely stronger, but your history books always said that the serum wasn’t like Captain America’s. It didn’t shoot him up nearly a foot and slap on nearly 150 pounds.

No, these are all muscles that he had to work for and train for, that he has to maintain. The very same muscles that pressed against the inside of your thighs as he settled in above you, dwarfing you.

“Okay?”

It catches you by surprise. Really, you were his property, he owned you, and could do whatever he pleased with you. That’s what you had signed up for. Ever since signing all those papers, you had braced yourself for the worst of it — after all, you’d come across plenty of people who only ever wanted to assert their power over you because of what you were and what you did.

So this? The pause, the way his eyes search yours for a truthful answer, the way he asks so tenderly? All unexpected when what you thought you would receive was something harsh, sharp, and as cold as his moniker suggests.

From here, looking up at him, though? He looks like an angel. The overhead light isn’t too bright ad the soft, warm halo of light makes him ethereal — all smooth skin and eyes like the sky.

“Very okay,” you reply, your cheeks unusually warm. You don’t get flustered anymore — or so you thought. Wrapping your hands around the back of his neck, you urge him closer, eager to kiss him again.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs as he closes in. This time, he kisses down your neck instead. His teeth softly graze against your skin every now and then as he makes his way to the centre of your chest.

That’s my girl. You don’t know if that’s just his sweet talk or if he’s finally asserting his ownership of you. Either way, it gets you all worked up, especially when his hands join his mouth in their exploration of your body, gentle but firm as he gropes at you.

By the time he reaches the hem of your dress, every inch of you is covered in goosebumps.

Expecting him to rip it off, your breath catches when he simply sits back on his haunches and runs his hands up your thighs. They disappear from sight under your dress but you can certainly feel their presence, skin hot and metal slightly cooler.

Your legs spread for him so easily it’s almost laughable.

(10) You are expected to carry out your duties with discretion, professionalism and a high level of enthusiasm. Criticism will not be tolerated.

“Pretty girl, are you already drippin’ wet for me, hm?”

You’re almost afraid to speak, knowing full well that a bunch of embarrassing noises are pent up inside you right now. Where you wish Bucky was right now.

You take a deep breath in. “Yes, sir.”

He gives you a look — a fond one that most people give their pets — and it inexplicably makes your heart race.

“You don’t mind if I have a little taste now, do you?” He asks, fingers already curling around your panties and tugging them down.

“Please,” you let slip, waiting for him to lower himself to the mattress.

Instead, you yelp when he suddenly hauls your lower half up by the hips. You figure you must look like quite the sight, tits jiggling with the movement as you find yourself nearly suspended with your legs slung over his shoulders.

You don’t even get the chance to speak before he lowers his mouth and makes your entire body come alive for the first time in ages.

“Oh!” You cry out, hands gripping the first thing they can find: his thighs.

He chuckles against your cunt, tickling you in the most intimate sense while your fingers dig into hard muscle.

Your legs automatically tense up, ankles loosely locking behind his back as he keeps working your cunt, tongue gliding up and down your folds easily. His tongue is a wicked thing, a sin all on its own, as it draws the most guttural sound out of you

Seemingly satisfied that you’re secured, he runs his hands up your thighs and slips behind to knead your ass, large hands cupping you perfectly.

“Bu…”

You lose your train of thought when he slips his thumb inside of you, tongue following closely, fucking in and out shallowly. “Oh god, fuck, fuck!”

“Sweet as honey, baby,” he purrs, licking a long stripe up to your clit and sealing his lips around it. His other arm wraps around your hips to support you through the involuntary spasms that wrack your body as he circles his tongue around you, torturously slow to draw every last breath out from your lungs.

“W-wait,” you pant out, flushed and warm all over. “This should - it’s about you —

The corners of his eyes wrinkle slightly as he smiles deviously, the coarse hairs of his scruff tickling you.. “Oh, it is, honey. I'm enjoying myself just fine.”

To prove his point, he presses his hips forward and along your back you feel a faint, long, thick heat.

“Oh, fuck,” you whine, imagination already running wild with how good that’s going to feel inside you.

“Gettin’ there,” Bucky quips, returning to his task.

He’s diligent about switching between suckling you and curling that sinful tongue of his, flicking it over your clit just firm enough, just slow enough, that every drag feels like it’s breaking you open.

You feel yourself unraveling, like a runaway spool of thread and you desperately trying to hold on, hands clamoring for purchase as your body comes undone.

“Bucky!” You cry out, hands grabbing onto the arm wrapped around your waist. You’ve never whined the way you do right now, trembling in Bucky’s hold as he slows his movements, giving you just a moment of reprieve.

The look in Bucky’s eyes is predatory as he waits for you to regain your breath before giving you a final, harsh suck, teeth grazing over the sensitive nerves that nearly makes you come again just from that.

He finally lowers you to the mattress — a trembling, flushed mess — before undressing himself. It’s almost clinical, without fanfare, and that just doesn’t seem right to you when he’s unrevealing such beauty. As he strips, revealing all that gorgeous, smooth skin, you try to sit up even if you felt like your entire body was jello. You just wanted to reach out, to touch, and you were so enraptured by him, by his body, that when your eyes finally roamed south you gasped.

“Holy shit,” you blurt out. You think back to when Bucky originally asked you “like what you see?” not realizing just how much you would.

Your hand has never looked smaller than it does right now, wrapped around Bucky’s monstrous cock, hot and heavy against your palm. Subconsciously, you lick your lips as you watch precome starting to bead at his swollen tip.

You keep your grip firm as you give him a full stroke and your eyes drink in the sight before you — Bucky’s face, lax with pleasure, and the minute twitches of his muscles at your simple touch. You wonder how long it’s been since he’s been intimate with someone — if that’s why you were offered so much money to be for his personal, constant use.

“Your cock is gorgeous,” you tell him, hand getting used to the weight and length of it. “Want this inside of me, right now.”

Bucky’s face morphs into something even hungrier. He lowers his hips, cock nearly scalding against you. For the first time, his voice sounds less than perfectly in control. “I can’t catch or carry anything.”

You already knew that from the massive package of paperwork.

“And I can’t get you pregnant.”

You knew that, too, but again he sounds so clinical about it, you wonder if it bothers him at all.

“Yeah, handsome,” you nod, smiling dopily. “Rawdog me.”

Bucky makes a sound like a cut-off laugh, and you can’t help but feel victorious when a smile breaks out on his face.

“You’re somethin’ else, sugar.”

There’s a shift in the air, the both of you settling into each other like you’re not two absolute strangers as he presses his body to yours, cock sliding over your tender clit and across the slick of your folds.

You wrap your legs around him and dig your heels into his back as if to say c’mon, c’mon! Hurry up!

You thought you were ready. You’ve never had this issue before. But as Bucky starts to nudge the head of his cock in, you inhale sharply, your body immediately tensing to reject the intrusion.

He pauses to pull back and look at you.

“Sorry,” you say in a hurry, nervous and embarrassed by your reaction. You bring your hands to the side of his face trying to show him that it’s nothing he’s done. “You… You’re just, um…”

His eyes narrow slightly, eyebrow furrowing as he goes to pull away.

“Wait!” You keep your legs firmly wrapped around him, trying to trap him even though you were no match for his strength. “It’s not you. Well, sort of. It’s just that… You’re fucking huge, Bucky. I’ve never…”

His eyes widen in surprise, evidently not expecting your answer though you don’t miss the way his cock twitches between your legs. Then his look softens and he kisses you sweetly — more tender than anyone’s ever kissed you before.

“Roll over for me,” he commands gently.

As you do so, you watch him open the nightstand and to your relief, pulls out a bottle of lube. Natural instincts take over at that point — you prop yourself up on your knees, spreading them until you’re comfortable, and keep your chest to bed, arching your back.

He makes a pleased sound behind you. “Lookit you, babydoll. Bent over and spread open for me like a good girl.”

Your toes curl slightly at his words and your whole body tightens when you feel his fingers slip into you, the lube cool against your heated cunt.

“Relax, princess,” he coos, his other hand trailing down your spine. “Be a good kitten and just let me open you up, alright?”

You’ve lost the ability to form words so you nod against the sheets instead as you will your body to relax. Soon, you forget about your mission to take Bucky’s giant cock and start to lose yourself to the feeling of Bucky's fingers inside you. They’re just as talented as his tongue, expertly navigating all your sweet spots, some of which you didn’t even know you had.

“God, you feel you so good,” you groan, fingers curling in the sheets, clinging on for dear life.

“Oh, we’re jus’ getting started, baby.” His other hand returns to your near-overworked clit and you’re dangerously close to coming again.

You turn to look over your shoulder, intending to stop him. Instead, you jolt as he gives your cheek a lovebite, beard scratching against your ass while he curls his fingers inside you and pulls the orgasm from you. Your back arches as you scream out at the unexpected whirlwind of pleasure that travels through every vein of your body.

“Shhh, sh, you’re alright, sweet thing.” His voice is low and soothing.

You want to tell him that you’re more than alright, that you’ve never been pulled apart like this, that you’ve never come just from someone’s fingers, that you’ve never seen such a fat cock in your life. But all you can do is nod frantically, panting as your body comes down from the high.

“Think you’re ready, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. You let out a breathy moan as you reach back blindly for him. “Yes, Bucky, yeah. Gimme that perfect cock of yours.”

While you can’t see his expression, you hear a soft huff from him before the head of his cock is at your eager hole again. You feel him give himself a few pumps, slicking himself up with more lube, taking the time and care not to hurt you.

This time, you’re ready for it. As he enters, you exhale, your muscles loosening to let him in.

More than just let him in — welcome him, pull him in, making yourself the perfect fucking home for his cock.

“Goddamnit, sweets,” he murmurs, lowering his chest to your back, the cold metal of his dog tags on your spine. “Y’feel like a dream.”

“You’re one to talk,” you manage to gasp out, eyes scrunched as all of your attention is focused on the delicious stretch.

He brushes your hair to one side and for a moment, all you do is look at each other in the moment.

You reach out to trail your fingers along his wrist and he goes to press a kiss to the nape of your neck.

“M’gonna move, ‘kay?”

In lieu of a response, you clench down on him and grin when he hisses at the sensation.

“Watch it…” The low rumble of his voice only spurs you on, so you do it again, this time wriggling underneath him.

“C’mon, Bucky, please won’t you fuck me?” You taunt, your voice coy. “Put that fat cock of yours to use, huh?”

There are no words this time, only a soft clicking as you watch in fascination while his arm calibrates ever so slightly. You think you hear him mutter “you asked for it” but you can’t be sure because your own cries fill the room as he pulls back a few inches and thrusts back into you.

“This what you wanted?” Bucky growls before he gives your ass a light swat.

“More,” you beg him, despite the twinge of pain as your body tries to adjust and accommodate Bucky’s girth.

Bucky must read it as a challenge because he doesn’t go easy on you — after a few long, controlled thrusts, he must deem you ready.

You’re not sure anyone could quite be ready for the ravaging storm that is Bucky.

He fucks you like it’s the last time he’ll ever get to fuck anyone — determination and desperation wrapped up in superhuman stamina and strength. Without a doubt, you know you’re going to walk away with bruises — on your hips from where he grabs you, your thighs and ass from where he slams into you.

“Sh-shit,” you curse, panting into the sheets that you’ve bunched in your fists. Your hair sticks to your neck with the sweat building as your body tries to keep up with the assault. “So fucking - good, Bucky. Your cock feels so good — splitting me in half.”

Bucky makes an animalistic noise in his throat, yanking your hips back to him as he plants his hand beside your head, arm anchoring you in place.

Oh, fuck. As anticipated, he rails you within an inch of your life — you’re struggling to breath, heaving for air, and your eyes are scrunched shut to stop the tears from actually spilling.

“Okay there, sweetheart?”

Fuck him for not even sounding out of air. “Ssso goo-ood,” you slur, a litany of gasps and moans follow. “Love — that you’re — tearing me apart.”

Bucky’s voice is positively gleeful. “Yeah? You like getting fucked so hard you can’t even keep your eyes open?”

You make a conscious effort to crack an eye open and fire back. “Yeah. Fuck, you’re so deep I can feel you in my throat.”

“That can be arranged, honey,” he teases, hauling your hips up for an excruciating angle that makes you come so hard your vision turns white.

“Fucking gorgeous when you come,” he praises and you can’t formulate the words to reply.

“Ah, ah, nnngh, ah, f-fuck,” you babble, vision blurry as you tear up. It hurts but it’s beautiful, it’s brutal but controlled. It’s fucking perfect. You’d tell him just that, if had any air left in your lungs.

The last thing you hear is Bucky’s voice shushing you and telling you to rest before it all turns black.

[pantoneyoongi]

are we just friends? | myg

title ; are we just friends?  you don’t need me like i need you

description ; if we fuckin’, are we just friends? 

cast ; yoongi x you 

word count ; 7.2k

tracklist ; like i need u - keshi, drunk text me - lexi jayde, urs - niki, somebody - keshi 

tags ; angst, drinking / alcohol, friends with benefits gone wrong (no explicit smut), pov switches, very brief mentions of poor family dynamics and financial issues, this has been in my drafts forever so fuck it here it is

you’re getting real fucking tired of being broken up with. 

your scowl deepens, jaw clenching and rotating as you repeat the video on hoseok’s story. it should probably be illegal to have access to social media during a breakup. except is it really a breakup if someone never really committed to you in the first place? 

you want to curse hoseok out. you want to saunter up to him and jab a finger into his chest - yoongi doesn’t like partying, you want to snap in his face. he doesn’t like clubbing, or even drinking all that much. he said so. he told me. 

like a child, you want to point out all the things yoongi told you in quiet confession, wave it around as proof that yoongi did care about you. that you knew things about him even his best friend didn’t know. but it’s not hoseok’s fault. hoseok is a good guy. he’s your friend. it just so happens that he was yoongi’s friend first, so yoongi gets the hoseok post-not-breakup-breakup package while you get the anger roiling under your skin watching yoongi throw back shots and eye hoseok’s camera lazily, one dark eyebrow arching as hoseok’s cheers and laughter sound loudly even amidst the pounding edm. 

it’s not really anger. jimin would know this best; he’s your best friend, evidence of which is coming through in the form of several text messages asking you to open your damn door. you won him even in the war of your last real breakup - an honest-to-god shock to you, really, considering who had been on the other end of that particular ruined relationship. but that one had ended in utter shambles, that one was the reason you were in this mess in the first place, all your shattered pieces picked up by none other than an unsuspecting min yoongi, the one person you never thought would be able to carefully piece back together the glass that formed your heart. somehow, without either of you knowing, he rebuilt it all, fitting every broken piece neatly together. it almost worked, too. you almost couldn’t see the cracks. that is, up until he swept it all away in one fell swoop, all his hard work left in remnants on the ground. 

let’s be real. even if he really had managed to fix your broken heart, glass is still a fragile thing. easy to shatter. 

you throw your phone to the side, letting it land with a dull thud against your comforter. you lower your head, one hand running through your hair, exhaling a heavy sigh. this is infuriating. frustrating. exhausting. 

you’ll call it everything but what it is. 

painful. 

“i really didn’t wanna do this but you leave me no choice,” a voice calls out from your front door. 

you curse under your breath. with the last bit of willpower you have in you, you push yourself off your bed, swinging open your bedroom door to find jimin kicking off his shoes. you don’t know why he bothers asking you to open the door if he’s just gonna use the key anyway. “the spare key was for emergencies, asshole,” you grouch, but jimin levels you with a look that says he’s tired of you playing games. 

“yeah, well, you should’ve known i’d use it for whatever i want anyways,” he snarks back, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it over the back of one of the chairs at your breakfast bar. “plus i think this qualifies as an emergency.”

you sprawl over your couch. “in what world does this qualify as an emergency?” 

“mine. it’s fucking cold outside.” 

“you’re literally indoors. this is an apartment building, jimin. and who asked you to come over? it sure as hell wasn’t me and i don’t remember having roommates-” you yelp when he shoves your legs out of the way to make room for himself, plopping down and then resituating your legs over his thighs to placate you in spite of your sarcasm. hm. he is cold. 

“stop being annoying,” jimin says it without any real bite, though his fingers do pinch your leg, almost earning him a knee to the stomach, save for his fast reflexes and uncanny strength for someone his size. he glowers down at you. you scrunch your face back. 

if hoseok’s post-(not-breakup)-breakup package is getting yoongi absolutely wasted, then jimin’s post-(not-breakup)-breakup package is talking through your feelings. well - it’s just a jimin thing in general, not exactly reserved for breakups and relationships. too bad you’re allergic to unpacking your emotional baggage. 

the two of you sit in silence for a little bit, you staring up at your apartment ceiling while jimin idly taps rhythms against your knee with one hand, his other hand scrolling through his phone. he knows he has to ease you into it. breaking into your house (with a key you gave him, willingly) is already a bit aggressive of a move. if he pushes any harder too quickly, you’ll lock him out, literally and figuratively. 

you tense when you hear the familiar clip of hoseok’s instagram story play on his phone, jimin’s hand still drumming away on your knee, though you know he felt the way you stiffened. his fingers slow a little, then come to a stop. hoseok’s video ends and you’re thrown back into silence. 

jimin tilts his head toward you but you refuse to meet his gaze. his voice is soft. “you should talk to him.” 

that’s unexpected. you know jimin knows exactly what happened, even if you haven’t spelled it out precisely for him. your eyes snap to jimin’s. “i tried.” 

“tried as in you fought with him or tried as in you told him how you feel?” 

your mouth clicks shut. winning jimin in the breakup war doesn’t feel very victorious sometimes. you wish you won hoseok in this breakup war. getting wasted is starting to sound a lot more fun than jimin’s unnervingly accurate assessment of what happened between you and yoongi. too bad hoseok doesn’t even really know there’s a breakup war happening right now. 

“what’s the point?” you meant to sound flippant but it comes out bitter. your voice quiets. “even when he doesn’t know, he’s already run for the hills.” 

there’s a vulnerability that’s starting to peek through. an odd trait that formed in your relationship with jimin after losing your ex was that the softest parts of you only came out when you were around jimin. otherwise you were all metal and stone, an immovable force. but jimin has always been gentle with you, in spite of the sass. the trait is only odd because - 

never mind. one heartbreak at a time. 

“don’t you think maybe he’d stay if he knew you loved him? maybe he’s running because he’s scared.” jimin’s eyes are still on you, attentive as ever. he’s a good friend. he’s also probably right - you know he’s right - but logic doesn’t factor in when it comes to feelings. it never has. 

“love is a strong word,” you reply back simply, and you’re lucky jimin doesn’t roll his eyes. but it tells you how serious he’s being, jimin frowning back at you. the ache in your chest is consuming you slowly. you can feel it reaching up to your throat the longer jimin stares at you. 

“y/n,” he says sternly, and you feel your throat constricting, like the ache is a hand and it’s stretching from your heart, around your lungs, and up to your neck, wrapping its fingers tight. your heart beats hard in your chest, hurting in a way that feels both too familiar and utterly unknown, all at the same time. 

but you’re a fighter. you always have been. always have had to be. very few people have gotten close enough for you to let your guard down, but you let it happen again and now look where you are? now look what you’ve gotten yourself into? 

“it is,” you say stubbornly, but it lacks strength. your vision is cloudy. every part of your mind is rejecting this reaction so you force the tears away. you blink hard, once, twice, three-four-five times. your vision clears. 

the worst part about being friends with jimin is that he knows exactly when to bend to you so that you can’t fight. you’re so good at throwing up walls and coming out kicking and screaming that whenever jimin concedes, it’s like you’ve run full force into a locked door that suddenly swings open, so you’re left with no choice but to carry through on the propulsion and land sickeningly hard on the ground. 

“if you say so, y/n,” jimin murmurs gently. the dam breaks. 

jimin gathers you into his arms as you inhale shakily, eyes closing. you don’t realize you’re trembling until you feel the light pressure jimin uses to hold you, keep you still, while you bury your face into his chest. crying is the worst part of all this. it’s gross and it gets all over jimin’s shirt and no matter how hard you try, you can’t stop. you cling to him like a lifeline. fuck min yoongi. fuck him. fuck him for his stupid ideas and his shit decisions that you participate in and the convincing cheshire grin he has. fuck his shining eyes and gummy smile and the way his hair is swept off to the side, curling into a little comma, just the way you told him you liked it, in that video hoseok has uploaded. he knows what that does to you. he has to know. 

fuck min yoongi. fuck min yoongi. fuck min yoongi. 

you won’t say it. you won’t give him that. you don’t care what jimin says. if yoongi wants you, he can say it first. 

.

.

.

being a world class fuck-up is something yoongi is unfortunately well acquainted with. 

he might have the riches now, but that doesn’t erase his nonexistent college degree or his shit excuse of a personality or his burned bridges. the one he has with you is smoldering. he knows exactly how to put it out but instead he’s watching the flames pick up in heat. 

he stares down at the bottom of his empty glass, willing it to refill itself with more alcohol. he can afford another shot but he probably shouldn’t have one, considering how fuzzy his world already is as of right now. 

but the alcohol isn’t working. fuck, it’s not working. his world gets blurrier by the minute yet somehow you are still crystal clear in his mind, embedded in his memory, rooted deep inside the ache that weighs his heart downdowndown, the kind of hurt that feels like someone is clawing his chest open and there’s no amount of sutures to close the wound. the alcohol isn’t numbing the pain. it’s burning him alive instead. 

he wants to fling the glass at the wall. he wants another fucking drink. he wants to go home. 

it’s too loud. there’s too many people. yoongi hates people, hates being around crowds, hates the bitter taste of alcohol searing down his throat. he just wants - he doesn’t know what he wants. he knows exactly what he wants. he hates that he knows exactly what he wants. 

he lifts his glass to slam it down on the table, but loses the force right before it hits the counter, and it slips out of his grasp, wobbling a little before it settles into place. the music is giving him a headache. 

his phone buzzes. with a tired hand, he clicks his phone on to see the message, both eyebrows shooting upwards when he sees the text from hoseok. 

he turns, searching the crowd for his friend. he spots him a little ways across the room, hoseok lifting a beer bottle, tilting his chin towards the door. yoongi looks back down at his phone. 

[11:18pm] hoseok: ready to bail and finally tell me what you’re moping about? 

yoongi sucks in a cheek. he raises his glass back to the bartender. “another one, please.” 

his phone buzzes again. 

[11:26pm] hoseok: guess that was a no 

yoongi finds hoseok again just so he can make sure hoseok can see his lovely smile as he tips back the drink. 

.

.

.

if there is anyone in the world who would succumb to something as idiotic as fuck buddies, it would be you. you never actually thought you were the type, but not even mina was surprised when she found out. she’d simply hummed and nodded, then gave you a foreboding glance that you probably should’ve thought a little longer about. maybe it would’ve given you the hindsight to not let yoongi get tangled within your sheets. 

but being with yoongi was never about thinking straight. it was, in fact, the complete opposite. you wanted to forget. you wanted to think about nothing. yoongi was always particularly good at wiping your mind entirely clean, until the only word you could even possibly try to coherently say was his name. he loved doing that to you, gritted teeth and wicked grin and dark eyes blown all the way out. 

the problem is that yoongi is also your friend. he stayed, like jimin did. but this was where yoongi and jimin differed wildly. yoongi’s comfort had his hand running along your skin, a pleasant thrum vibrating through your entire body. jimin’s comfort had you slamming the metaphorical (and sometimes the non-metaphorical) door in his face every time he tried to make you talk things through. 

it’s a shame you always choose the destructive path. but yoongi didn’t feel destructive, he just felt good. you knew yoongi wasn’t looking for anything but your hands on him. he knew you weren’t looking for anything but his hands on you. maybe that’s why it was easy to open up. the expectations were nonexistent and somehow that led to all your walls crumbling, yoongi carefully dismantling the bricks to see what lay behind. the ruins you were left in. 

“why did you stay?” you shouldn’t ask. you know better than that. but still, you do. “he was your friend, too.” 

you half expect him to crack a joke about staying so he could sleep with you, but when you loll your head to the side to meet his eyes, you’re suddenly holding your breath. 

“because he was wrong,” yoongi murmurs. he hesitates; you can see the way the thoughts turn over in his mind, how he slowly makes the decision to continue. “and you were hurting.” 

you can’t keep looking. you turn away, but yoongi’s hand finds yours under the sheets, a pinky looped over yours, then another finger, then his hand is shifting to hold yours lightly, palm to palm. he squeezes, once. your breath pulls in shakily. 

“yeah,” you breathe out, a little brokenly. “i was.” 

he swallows. “i’m sorry.” 

you squeeze his hand back. “me too.” 

.

.

.

it first happens three months after the breakup. yoongi doesn’t know what possesses him to so much as ask but he does, and one thing lead to another, and suddenly you and yoongi are fucking on maybe a weekly (twice a week - three times a week - daily) basis. 

there’s no rules. neither of you know how to set them. you both know yoongi exclusively does hook-ups and you’re in no position to jump into another relationship. this is just easier. 

he should’ve set rules. if not for his sake then for yours. he’s your friend, for god’s sake, and you’re nothing like him. you don’t hook up, you barely do relationships, except the one you just got out of. he’s the only one between the two of you thinking straight and still he doesn’t do right by you. still he just runs head-first into it like it doesn’t mean anything. 

yoongi scrubs at his face with both hands, trying to shake you. trying to shake the fact that he always knew this was going to end poorly. yoongi runs from commitment like it’s his worst nightmare, but even after everything, he stayed by you. he can’t give you up. 

he couldn’t when he saw the way you looked after your breakup, a shell of the person you used to be, and he can’t now, even when he’s hiding from you behind a too-expensive bottle of whiskey. 

he’s woe to admit it but you’re one of his best friends. even before the fucking, there was a fire there, a competitive spirit that kept your friendship burning with quick wit and sharp tongues. it was fun. the two of you circled each other like tigers in a cage, but neither of you wanted out - the glint in your eyes as alluring as it was encouraging - pushing him to his limits, forcing his brain to work faster, harder. 

but when he needed you - you slowed. maybe you didn’t even notice. but when yoongi, on the verge of completing his college career, couldn’t push any harder, you were the one who sat with him and told him it was going to be okay. “sometimes college isn’t for everyone,” you’d shrugged. “not everyone has to fit the mold.”

you said it like you thought yoongi was too good for the mold. like he was meant for better things. you said it in a way that made yoongi feel like maybe you were right. 

and you were. 

when yoongi tries to order another drink, a hand on his shoulder stops him, hoseok waving off the bartender. “let’s go,” hoseok says, tone firm enough to suggest yoongi doesn’t have much of a choice. he’s done for the night; hoseok’s finished letting him drown his problems in alcohol. “come on.” 

begrudgingly, he follows hoseok through the crowd of people, head still spinning. when they break through the doors into the cool night air, yoongi grimaces. hoseok’s already ordering an uber, though yoongi suspects hoseok isn’t even tipsy anymore. 

“uber’s ten minutes away,” hoseok informs him, and yoongi makes a vague noise of acknowledgement. ten minutes is too long. it’s cold and he’s tired now that he’s escaped the club’s strobe lights and deafening music. he drags himself over to the curb, planting his ass on the ground like the pathetic, drunk, grown man he is. 

hoseok comes to sit beside him, though he settles in much smoother than yoongi does. hoseok’s polite - lets yoongi take a minute for himself before he dives straight in.  

“you gonna tell me what this is about, or should i just save us both time and cut to the chase?” 

hoseok as a friend is the oddest mix of no-nonsense and gentle prying. currently he’s in no-nonsense mode, which, for someone who has had as much alcohol as yoongi has in the past hour or so, is just exhausting. 

yoongi grunts, and it’s enough of a response for hoseok to make a decision. “okay,” hoseok purses his lips like he’s actually debating if he should carry through, then does it anyway. “so, y/n.” 

yoongi groans. “what about her, hoseok?” 

hoseok throws him a look. “we both know that’s what this is about, yoongi.” 

yoongi doesn’t answer. maybe if he stays quiet for long enough both the headache and hoseok will disappear. hoseok releases a slow breath, and gentle hoseok replaces no-nonsense hoseok when he asks, “why don’t you just tell her?” 

there’s a pointed look hoseok gives him that goes entirely missed by yoongi. his head is still pounding from the excessive amount of alcohol he’d downed, combined with the heavy bass that’s thrumming through the sidewalk he’s sitting on. yoongi presses a hand to his aching temple. he’s just not as young as he used to be, he muses. 

“tell her what,” yoongi’s voice drags, a result of some mix between his brain being muddied and just sheer resentment about having to even talk about this. whatever this is. 

hoseok clicks his tongue. “i know you hate this,” hoseok makes a sweeping motion towards the club they’d exited from. “you think i don’t know you by now? you only drink like you’ve got several livers when you’re running from your feelings. shit habit, by the way.” 

“you always come with me,” yoongi points out. hoseok shrugs. 

“someone has to babysit you.” 

yoongi glares at hoseok through his peripheral. hoseok makes an expression like, i’m just telling it like it is, and yoongi scowls because he knows hoseok’s right. hoseok is there every time yoongi begins this garbage routine, but he’s also there by the end of it, too, slowly nudging out what’s truly bothering yoongi. 

hoseok’s been trying to guide yoongi towards better coping mechanisms, but sometimes the healthy shit doesn’t work. sometimes yoongi needs something stronger. like vodka. 

(he doesn’t even like vodka.)

yoongi sighs deeply, head hanging between his knees. it’s a little pathetic that he’s sitting on the sidewalk waiting for an uber to pull up considering his age, but here he is. running from his feelings at twenty-seven just like he did at twenty-two when they first hit him like a train wreck. back then, he didn’t even so much as acknowledge the funny feeling sitting in his chest. he’d outright ignored it. it wasn’t the time or place. but he got himself into this shitty situation, so does that argument still stand right now? 

“do you love her?” hoseok asks, and he’s being genuine, trying to help yoongi figure it out, but it feels like a punch to the gut. yoongi might’ve preferred that. he shoves his hands aggressively through his hair, trying to clear his head. god, he’s not sober yet. not even close. 

“i don’t know,” he gripes, frustration lacing his entire body tight. “i don’t fucking know. i don’t know how to-” he cuts off, breath drawn in sharp. i don’t know how to tell if i’m in love. 

yoongi’s never been in love before. he doesn’t even know what love looks like. it can’t look like those shitty movies hoseok’s sister loves to watch so much - “the girls who get it, get it, yoongi,” she always teased, wagging a finger in his direction whenever he’d scoff at her - but it’s honestly the only frame of reference he’s got. his parents sure as hell didn’t love each other. 

but then he thinks of you, thinks of the way your eyes spark dangerously and excitedly when you’re about to wreck him in whatever game you’re playing this go around, or how the right side of your lips curve up first before the rest of your mouth follows when you smile, or the way you look utterly relaxed when you’re tangled in your sheets, eyes lazily following yoongi around the bedroom. he knows there’s one other frame of reference he has for love, and it’s always been you. 

because love looks like waking up in your bed. or you waking up in his. it looks like your eyes lighting up whenever he pulls up your favorite movie. or the way you dress like you’re putting on battle armor whenever you’re headed into the office. it looks like the excuses you made to sleep over after nights yoongi spent leaving his touch searing across your skin, and he pretends like all those excuses make sense just so he can do it all over again in the morning. 

it looks like you, age nineteen, when he first met you as you stumbled into taehyung’s dorm room instead of yours, exhaustion written deep into your bones, and you hadn’t noticed yoongi until you were already trying to curl yourself next to taehyung, puppy eyes pleading taehyung to run his hands through your hair. it looks like the way you straightened the instant you spotted yoongi, all your walls flying back up so fast it gave yoongi whiplash. it looks like how the only person you ever allowed yourself to be soft around was taehyung. because nobody else was allowed to know. including yoongi. 

it looks like the feelings yoongi drowned in parties and alcohol and different people in his bed every weekend, from the day he found out you started dating taehyung just months after he met you. it looks like you with your heart ripped out of your chest, making yoongi feel exactly the same, when taehyung broke up with you years later. 

love looks like a lot of things. but to yoongi, all of them are you. 

.

.

.

you don’t hear from yoongi for weeks on end. or is it days? time passes differently both when yoongi is around and when he isn’t - hazy when you’re in his bed and hazy when he’s not in yours. either way your mind is running loops on yoongi, yoongi, yoongi. 

the only glimpses you catch of him are on hoseok’s story. but since the night the two of them went clubbing, most of these are pictures and videos of the back of yoongi’s head, yoongi refusing to entertain hoseok. the weak link in you wishes hoseok was better at goading yoongi, so you could at least catch a glimpse of his face again. 

coming home to an empty apartment is far more exhausting than spending hours in the office. you excel at your job, and you work hard to make sure you do. you’re never going back to being helpless and in debt again. there’s no amount of heartbreak that could slip you up. even when taehyung broke up with you, you simply told everyone you were going to be working from home for a little while, splitting your emotions between writing reports while running through buckets of ice cream. 

(mina recommended it. she said if you can’t express your feelings, at least eat them. you owe yourself that much.) 

you probably looked ridiculous. sniffling as you barreled through numbers and reports and meeting decks all while your heart lay crushed underneath the constant replay of taehyung saying, i think we should break up. 

you’ve never begged for anyone in your life. you’ve never asked anyone to stay. but you begged taehyung, cried and screamed and tried to understand why he would want to leave. taehyung was a pillar in your life, and when he left, your entire world shifted on its axis. everything crumbled. 

you’ve always known your heart is made of glass. it has to be handled with care. that’s the only reason your ribcage is built with steel, fortified and bulletproof. you can’t afford the pain - you don’t have the time, energy, or money. 

but taehyung slipped through. he made you feel like it was okay. the things you were self-conscious about slipped away when you were around him, because he made you feel like those things didn’t matter. like it was okay that sometimes (most times) you bailed on plans because a shift opened up and you had to take it. or that you dedicated the remainder of your free time to studying, so you could keep your scholarship. so you could ace your classes. pull yourself from the worst of poverty up to the top of the world. 

you made it, and he was there, and then all of a sudden, he wasn’t. 

it hurt. it hurt like a crater in your chest, like someone plowed straight through without remorse, tooth and claw just tearing out your heart with a sadistic smile. how could he leave? how could he understand you while you fought your way through to the top, only to say he didn’t know how to be around you anymore? 

“you don’t need me,” his smile was wounded, and it felt unfair. he was the one sending fractures through your system, tremors shaking the foundation. everything you built. by yourself. with him. everything - gone. “i’m not good enough for you anymore.”

wrong. liar. coward. 

kim taehyung is a coward. if he didn’t love you anymore, he should’ve just said that. 

.

.

.

yoongi remembers a lot of things when it comes to you. 

he remembers the day he met you, he remembers when you kicked his ass in beer pong on one of those rare nights that taehyung could convince you to come out and take a break, and he remembers watching you graduate, the proud grin as you walked across stage, the look in your eyes that defied the world, announcing your presence. i made it, yoongi could hear it in the way your eyes scanned the crowd. against all odds. 

you’ve always carried yourself with confidence. back straight, head held high. you leave flames in your wake, unstoppable. you accept nothing less than your best. 

but then taehyung broke up with you, and something changed. 

in the weeks after the break-up, several arguments ensued, jimin, taehyung, and yoongi at each other’s throats in a way they never had been before. petty arguments are familiar to yoongi, but this, he knew, was different. different because its turning point was you. 

yoongi was over it by the time they were arguing for longer than three days, but jimin held on, so yoongi stayed put, too. but taehyung wasn’t budging, and jimin was tired of arguing, and in the end, taehyung lost not only you, but jimin and yoongi, too. 

jimin somehow managed to lasso yoongi into coming along to check up on you after the fact, even if yoongi was convinced they were already weeks too late - it’s you. there is no one he knows who is better at being poised in the midst of a storm. 

then you opened the door, expecting mina, and yoongi had all his preconceptions about you wiped clean. 

you’d looked sunken in, hollow. nothing like the uptight, stickler for schedules, no-bullshit person yoongi had come to know. you’d never skipped class in college, and you didn’t take sick days at work. all these years and you kept every part of you spick and span, crafted perfectly so no one could ever see the shaky foundation underneath, how fragile you truly were. 

even when it had registered to you that it was jimin and yoongi at your door instead of mina, you didn’t rebuild your defenses. 

you couldn’t. 

it’d triggered something funny in his chest. you so rarely let your defeats show. but you’d held on for so long, and without taehyung, there was nothing holding you together anymore. yoongi had never seen you with your walls down before, only window glances that disappeared as quickly as they came - but there you were, eyes downcast, your whirlwind force died down to nothing. 

yoongi nurses his drink, eyes faraway. seeing you with your guard down once was already a rarity, but he saw it again, and again, and again after nights spent laying next to each other in bed. but this time he got to see it in the form of your genuine smiles, laughter ringing out, your happiness exuded in the form of tears in the corner of your eyes from giggling too much. he got to see it on the nights yoongi convinced you to watch the movies hoseok’s sister loved so much, and saw your eyes long for something you didn’t have anymore, even though you called yoongi a ‘secret sap’ for wanting to watch something so melodramatic. 

you let him in. soft kisses, quiet gasps, the press of you against him. deep inhales as you lay with your head buried into the crook of yoongi’s neck. one of yoongi’s hands tangled in your hair, the other cupping your jaw, a thumb running slowly against your cheek. you have a hard time letting people in, but yoongi thinks he might be worse. 

why else is he running from you right now? 

.

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.

[12:47am] yoongi: fkcing miss u so bad 

[12:47am] yoongi: want u 

[12:49am] yoongi: want evrythign abt u want to feel u agin 

[12:51am] yoongi: fuck 

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.

.

fuck. 

yoongi stares at his phone. you don’t have your read receipts on but yoongi knows for a fact that you check your messages religiously, so there’s no way you haven’t seen the line of drunk messages yoongi sent last night. all things considered, it could’ve gone a lot worse. yoongi could’ve said something phenomenally stupid, like, i might be in love with you, which would arguably make this go from embarrassing to terrifying in less than a second. 

yoongi rereads his messages. 

no. still terrifying. 

fuck. 

“you’re up,” hoseok looks unimpressed in yoongi’s bedroom doorway, probably because he had to haul yoongi’s absolutely wasted ass back into his apartment last night. “i told you someone needs to babysit you.” 

yoongi waves an arm carelessly, shifting to get upright. he has the world’s worst hangover but nothing feels more pressing than the four drunk texts he sent you last night. “i’m a fucking idiot.” 

“i’m glad you know,” hoseok pushes himself off the wall and into yoongi’s room. “but i assume there’s a reason you’re re-informing me.” 

yoongi shoves the phone in hoseok’s general direction, and hoseok - asshole - snorts when he reads it. yoongi glares up at him. hoseok shrugs back. “don’t look at me like that,” hoseok lifts yoongi’s phone in the air, using his free hand to point towards it. “this? this is sad, hilarious, and also not the worst thing you could drunk text your ex-fuck buddy you have feelings for.” 

yoongi heaves a sigh, dropping his head into his hands. being hungover is already a miserable experience, but hoseok stating everything he’s avoiding out loud like it’s a simple fact makes this much worse. 

the bed sinks when hoseok comes to sit beside him, throwing himself back. “i should’ve just tossed you on the couch instead,” hoseok bemoans, stretching out against the sheets. “taken your bed for myself. but look at me. i’m the best friend in the universe.” hoseok makes himself comfortable on yoongi’s bed, humming and cracking several joints along the way, but yoongi is both too used to his best friend and too deep in his own thoughts to notice or care. 

hoseok sighs. “yoongi,” he draws yoongi out of his own head, nudging yoongi’s side with his foot. “you have to talk to her at some point. hey - i’m serious,” hoseok doubles down when yoongi tries to get up, hoseok using his foot to kick yoongi in the side and force him back down. “you can’t keep avoiding this. it’s not fair to you, and it’s not really fair to her, either. you owe her your honesty.” 

yoongi knows hoseok’s right. he knows his friend is right but it’s just so - so overwhelming, he doesn’t know how to grasp at his feelings when he’s sober and awake. how can he stand in front of you and tell you he loves you when he’s already scared of the end? of losing you? yoongi can’t afford that. he can’t not be with you. he can’t lose you. it’s why he’s never crossed the line. 

but who is he fucking kidding? the minute he fell into bed with you, he crossed as many lines as humanly possible. 

.

.

.

there are not a lot of things you would rewind time for. 

everything you fought past, got you to where you are today. if you wanted a penthouse, you could have one, easily. you just choose to live a simpler life, with as few grandiose things as you can get by with. sure, there are still luxuries you’ll splurge on, but for the most part - you’re satisfied with making do. a roof over your head, your debts paid, and a fridge full of food. there’s not much else to want for. the only way you would’ve wanted to make it here is through your own wits and hard work. 

so you don’t regret it. you’ve largely grown past resenting the fact that you never got a lot of what other kids your age got when they were young - an easy life. but you’re grateful for what you have, even if that means you lost a number of things to get here. 

still, there are some moments you wish you could go back to. 

when taehyung left, you couldn’t understand him. you didn’t understand him. jimin didn’t either, and apparently neither did yoongi. you love jimin, and the way you feel for yoongi, well - it’s besides the point. taehyung was one of jimin and yoongi’s closest friends. having them fight and eventually split felt a lot like your fault. you ruined things. every human relationship you entered, you fucked up. with even the slightest tip of your finger, it all came apart at the seams. 

so maybe you would go back, and undo a couple things, even if it meant yoongi and jimin stayed with taehyung instead of you. 

or maybe you would go back, laugh in yoongi’s face when he suggested sleeping together, if it meant you didn’t fuck this up all over again. 

but yoongi’s texts from last night are still staring back at you from your phone screen, and you know that you don’t really want to take any of it back. you don’t regret it. you don’t want to undo the nights of tangled sheets and muffled drunk laughter and bickering over what to eat for dinner or the image of sleepy yoongi in the morning, hair ruffled and eyes barely open. you don’t want to take back gazing at him and realizing you have feelings for him, and letting it show. you don’t care that it scared him. you were honest with him. even if you didn’t say it out loud, there’s no mistaking it. you both know it. 

you heave a sigh. with your eyes shut, you press the now dark screen of your phone to your forehead, grasping it with both hands, before slowly re-opening your eyes, setting your phone to the side. yoongi drunk texting you had sent an excited thrill through you, even against your better judgment. you know he’s just talking about your body. it’s not about you. it can’t be about you-

there’s a knock at your door that startles you. your name comes shortly after, and it sounds too much like a plea. it sounds too much like yoongi. 

hesitantly, you raise to your feet, heading towards the door. you’re still in your pajamas - a ridiculous set mina bought you as a joke but turned out to be incredibly comfortable - and with a held breath, you open the door to find the person you’ve been non-stop thinking about for weeks on end. 

he looks a little surprised to see you in the doorway, as if this isn’t your apartment and like it wasn’t him who came looking for you in the first place. his lips part, but nothing comes out. 

you want to fight. you want to be angry and yell at him for leaving you alone the last time he was here, right before you both decided to drop off the face of the planet, leaving jimin to come knocking down your door and hoseok to drag yoongi out of bars and clubs. the last time yoongi was at your door, you’d thrown all your walls back up because yoongi had done the same after seeing the affection in your eyes the night before. he couldn’t handle your feelings and you couldn’t stand the sting of rejection again. 

but he’s here. he’s here and there’s no armor you can form against that look in his eyes. 

you don’t even say his name, don’t even let him in before it comes tumbling out, “i think i love you.” 

all at once, the storm in yoongi’s eyes clears. you can see the way his world quiets inside, breath escaping him and he softens, tension slipping off his shoulders. slowly, he steps inside, closing the door behind him, and you take a step back to match every step he takes in. 

shoes toed off, jacket shrugged off his shoulders, he comes closer and closer. for someone who ditched you because he was scared of commitment, he sure looks quite at home inside your apartment. 

“i’m not gonna take it back,” you whisper. “i don’t care. i mean it. i don’t give a fuck if you’re scared, i’m not taking it back.” you wield your feelings like it’s a weapon. or maybe, like it’s a shield. 

his expression doesn’t change, that contradicting mix of someone who feels simultaneously at peace and fiercely determined, all at once. he backs you up further and further, until you hit the back of your couch, your fingers catching on the edge to balance yourself. he doesn’t touch you, but his hands do come to rest on the back of the couch too, caging you in. 

his eyes scan over your face, features softening the longer he looks at you. this is the yoongi who lay in bed next to you all those nights before. the yoongi who secretly enjoys watching the same movies hoseok’s sister openly loves. the yoongi who makes you laugh till you can’t breathe, who ignites a competitive streak in you, who has always quietly believed in you. this yoongi doesn’t have his walls up in the form of a tantalizing smirk and dark eyes. this yoongi is the one who stood by your side, unconditionally. 

his hands shift to your waist, grip firm but light. his forehead presses against yours, both your eyes fluttering shut, but you hold your breath as he exhales his. 

“i’m sorry,” he murmurs. “i wasn’t being fair.” 

your eyes open to meet his, and his apologies swim in his eyes, layers deep. his hands tighten on your waist, like he’s scared if he lets go, you’ll disappear. 

“you’re one of few constants in my life,” he confesses. “i was being greedy when i asked you to sleep with me. because i wanted more without the risk of losing you, and i thought if we were still just friends, it’d be fine. i used every excuse in the book. but i’ll always want more, y/n. i - “ he swallows, and you grip the couch a little harder. “i’ll always want you.” 

your breath escapes you, and the corner of his lips quirk up. “i think i’ve loved you for years,” his teeth catch on his lower lip. “well - i know i have.” 

you tremble a little when your hand comes up to grip his shirt. “asshole,” you scoff out, but there’s no force behind it. “you could’ve just said that instead of running away for three weeks.” 

he laughs at that, hands moving to press you against him, draw you as close as he can get. “sorry,” he repeats. “i’ll make it up to you.” 

“i’m still mad,” you breathe, but your eyes are on his lips and he knows it. 

“that’s fair,” he agrees, then you’re melting against him, hands buried in his hair as you tug him flush to you, all words lost to his mouth on yours. you’ve missed him. you’ve missed him too much to do only just talking, wanting his hands, mouth, anything you can get, on you. 

you can tell yoongi feels the same, the urgency in which he presses himself close to you, the way he kisses you equal parts desperate and soft. yoongi holds you like he can’t bear to let go. like if he loses even another second with you, then there would’ve been no point to him lowering his walls to stand in front of you to begin with. 

“don’t ever take it back,” he whispers against your lips when you finally pull away. 

“hm?” 

“you said you’re not gonna take it back,” the corners of his lips tilt upwards ever so slightly. “that you love me. don’t ever take it back.” 

you can’t help the curl of your lips in response. 

“couldn’t even if i tried to.”

[meiliarotten]

Team Fortress 2 Kinktober Time Two: Electric Boogaloo

Day 23: The One Where You Get To Peg Sniper (Pegging)

🔞MINORS DNI🔞

Pairings: Sniper x Fem!Reader

Summary: Literally exactly what the title says

Tags: Pegging, edging, slight dom/sub moments, begging, praise, straps, lube, aftercare

Word Count: 3.6k

The Masterlist

The afternoon hours had grown to become your favorite part of the day, and your habit of spending said hours with Sniper was no small part of that. You weren’t sure when exactly your friendly relationship had become something more, but details like that didn’t exactly bother either of you. The point was, you were together, and after the workday it was common to find the two of you either in Sniper's van, or in your private quarters. The latter was where you found yourselves on this day, Sniper’s head resting in your lap while you read a book, barely paying attention to the plot as Sniper had been staring up at you for the past twenty minutes.

It was a look you were familiar with. He wanted to say something, but was trying to work out just how he wanted to say it. Every time you glanced down to meet his gaze he simply gave you a smile, as if he was just admiring you. However when your eyes returned to the page you could see his expression shift in your periphery into a look of intense concentration.

“I have something for you,” he finally said, slowly, as if he was still choosing his words even as he spoke. You watched him as he sat up from your lap, tilting your head curiously. Setting your book on the nightstand, you watched as he got up from the mattress. He stood awkwardly for a moment, seeming increasingly nervous before finally kneeling down and reaching for something beneath the bed.

You didn’t bother to question why he had hidden a gift for you beneath your bed. Sniper could be strange like that at times. Besides, it had obviously worked. The inconspicuous black box he retrieved had apparently managed to be so bland that you had completely overlooked it for however long it had been there, as if it was designed to direct your attention away from it.

He handled the box awkwardly, as if he was hesitant to open it. “It’s actually for the both of us, something that we could possibly try out tonight?” His fingers tapped the lid of the container, fidgeting at the edges one more time before he finally conceded, pushing the still unopened box towards you with an expectant look.

You tried not to be too suspicious at his odd behavior. Still, you lifted the lid carefully. You were unfortunately familiar with the concept of a glitter bomb, mostly thanks to Scout, and while you doubted Sniper would ever pull a stunt like that, a few too many pranks had left you with a habit of being cautious with inconspicuous boxes. What you eventually revealed was most certainly not glitter, although the possibility of it being a prank wasn’t entirely out of the question.

With wide eyes you gazed at the contents of the package, the inside of which was lined with plush velvet, clearly meant to protect the medium sized strap on within, complete with an adjustable harness. The whole setup came in a simple, matte black, the same color as its box. While you looked on in surprise, Sniper mistook your expression for distress, his panic spiking as he desperately tried to run damage control.

“Now, you don’t have to do anything with it if it makes you uncomfortable,” he stammered, his fists clenched at his sides and his body as stiff as a board. “I don’t need this, it’s just something I wanted to try out, but say the word and I’ll drop the subject. I’ll never bring it up again-”

“I’ll do it.”

Sniper looked surprised, but immediately perked up when he realized what you had said. “Really?” he stammered, his voice a mix of shock and elation.

“Yeah, honestly I’ve always been a little curious,” you admitted, your face going a bit red.

“Oh.” Sniper stared ahead for a few moments, shifting from foot to foot, seeming unsure of how to proceed. He gave a nervous laugh. “I didn’t expect you to agree so quickly.”

“I’m surprised too.” You took the strap from him, running your fingers over it. The material was smooth and had just enough density to be firm, yet comfortable. It was clearly high quality. “Usually you’re so dominant, I didn’t think you would be into this.”

“Well, sometimes I like to be pampered too,” Sniper said, practically drooling as he watched you examine the toy.

“Oh, Mundy.” He shuddered at the use of his name and you smiled. “If you wanted me to take care of you, you should’ve just asked. Now how about you undress for me?”

He certainly didn’t need to be told twice. Sniper began to remove his clothes hastily. You found his eagerness to be endearing, and you began to disrobe as well, although at a much more gradual pace. You were going to take your time with this. If you were going to be in charge tonight, then you had the right to tease the gunman just a little.

Sniper watched, already nude and laying back on the bed as you dropped one item of clothing after another, eventually taking the strap out of its box and fitting it around your hips. You adjusted the harness, making sure it was snug and secure enough while also not being too tight. You hadn’t intended for this part to be sexy- in fact it was a little awkward as you worked out how the harness would fit- but to Sniper it was the most alluring thing in the world.

You caught him staring and his face went red. Trying to distract himself, he quickly sat up and began to look through your bedside drawer, retrieving a bottle of lube that he anxiously fiddled with. “Enjoying the view?” you asked, swaying your hips a bit and drawing his attention back to where it should be, on you. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak coherently as he felt his mouth go dry. His normally steady hands were shaking slightly, and whether it was from anticipation or nerves, he didn’t know.

“I’ll warm you up, just let me know if anything starts to hurt, alright?” you said, making sure that Sniper knew what your intentions were with every move. The last thing you wanted to do was suddenly thrust him into something brand new with no warning. You took the lube from him, popping the cap and slicking up your fingers.

“I will, darling.” Sniper leaned back, giving you room to climb onto the mattress with him. You situated yourself between his legs and Sniper watched you with a conflicting blend of anticipation, anxiety, and arousal.

As you pushed a first finger into him you could immediately tell that he was quite tense. You were met with some resistance as you tried to thrust in and out or curl your finger, even with the lube. “Deep breaths, just relax,” you whispered between gentle, chaste kisses. You felt his breathing slow, growing more steady as he followed your advice. It seemed to work, as you felt the tension ease enough for you to add a second finger.

It was when he finally began to moan that you felt confident enough to start curling your fingers, watching closely for any signs of discomfort. However Sniper seemed to be taking this all very well, clearly enjoying himself if the sounds he was making were any indication. It made you wonder what sounds he would make once you were thrusting into him with the strap. The thought sent a shiver down your spine.

“Fuck, doll,” Sniper moaned, squirming a bit beneath you. “You’re doing so well.”

You smiled, although you tried not to let the praise go to your head. “Don’t compliment me too much yet. We still have to get to the main event.” You looked him over, the blush having spread from his cheeks to down his chest, soft pink even dusting the tips of his ears. He clenched his jaw, not in discomfort, but in an attempt to stifle little gasps of pleasure. It was a sight that made you fairly confident that he had been prepared well enough for said ‘’main event.’

Sniper made a soft sound when you removed your fingers, something that you could’ve sworn was a whimper. He bit his lip when he felt the tip of the strap pressed against his ass, slick and cold from the lube you had spread on it in generous amounts. You had figured that too much was better than too little. The last thing you wanted to do was hurt him, after all. You glanced down at him, meeting his eyes with a tender look, and he nodded, giving you all the permission you needed.

A slow thrust forward made Sniper’s expression twist slightly. It was not done out of pain, but rather the involuntary reaction of someone experiencing a sensation so new to them. His body tensed, and you had to pause a few times to let him relax again before you finally went still, hilting inside of him. You didn’t move, waiting patiently for Sniper to adjust to the feeling of being filled, watching his chest rise and fall with deep, steadying breaths. You rubbed circles over his abdomen, feeling his muscles relax beneath your touch as he eased into the experience.

“Ready?” you asked after a few moments, looking at him with a soft smile. He gave you another nod, and you began to move. It was difficult at first. Thrusting into another person was much different than bucking your hips to meet someone else’s as they fucked you. Thankfully, Sniper was as patient with you as you were with him. It took a bit of trial and error, but once you did get the hang of it, you found that you were surprisingly good at working your hips the right way. At least, the way Sniper was reacting certainly seemed to be a positive indicator.

“Fuck, that’s- holy shit!” he gasped in broken sentences and half baked words, almost as if a raw stream of consciousness was flowing from his lips intercut with breathy groans.

“Are you alright down there?” you asked, smirking as you watched Sniper, splayed out beneath you, clutching the bedsheets in his hands.

“Yeah, this is good,” he said, hesitating for a moment before continuing. His face was so very red. “Just be gentle with me, doll. Please?”

Fuck, he was adorable like this. “Don’t worry, I’ll make this feel good for you,” you reassured him, leaning down to give him a quick peck on the lips before resuming your slow and steady rhythm.

The gradual pace was comfortable and offered some unique benefits to you, as you were able to take in all of Sniper’s reactions, to see what particular angles really made him squirm in delight. Such little details may have gone unnoticed at a faster pace, but at your current rhythm, it was easy to make observations. You noted every little moan, every twitch, every time he clutched the sheets or arched his back. It was all vital information to you. You wanted to make him feel good, and knowing this would help you do just that.

“Fuck!” A sudden and quite loud cry from Sniper had you all over him, scanning for any signs of pain. However, all you were met with was a slightly annoyed look, one which clearly wondered why you had stopped. Perhaps it wasn’t discomfort that had caused him to react that way.

When you started moving again you focused in on the area that had given you such a strong reaction, and your efforts were rewarded instantly. Sniper moaned beneath you, and this time you most definitely heard some whimpers. It seemed that bottoming made the normally quiet man very vocal.

“I’ve changed my mind, darling,” Sniper said, and you immediately began to withdraw, thinking he wanted to stop. However, a sudden, bruising grasp on your hips stopped you in your tracks. Sniper was shaking his head frantically. “No, no, you didn’t let me finish. I’ve changed my mind about you being gentle.” He looked up at you, eyes wide with a kind of animalistic want. “I want you to fuck me into the bed with all you’ve got.”

You went bright red, unable to deny how very tempting that sounded. Still, you had to proceed with caution. It was very likely that the adrenaline was simply going to his head. “Easy now, we’ll work our way up to that,” you said. Sniper gave an impatient whine in response, another sound you had certainly never heard from him before, but your answer seemed to placate him nonetheless. With a satisfied grin, you began to wonder just how many pretty sounds you could get Sniper to make for you.

Under the guise of being gentle, you started to experiment, going agonizingly slow and purposefully brushing his sweet spot with the head of the strap, never hitting it directly. He trembled with every stroke, and soon he was begging for you to go faster. Oh, you could get used to this. You didn’t even realize that you were smirking until Sniper pointed it out.

“Fuck, you’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” he said, an accusatory glint in his eyes. You had a feeling he was trying to be intimidating, but it didn’t exactly work when he was so flushed and needy beneath you.

“Maybe,” you said, before your dominant persona dissolved with a guilty laugh. “I’m sorry, I had to! When else am I going to get an opportunity like this?”

Sniper murmured something under his breath before responding. “Well, if you fuck me well enough, you’ll have plenty more oppurtunities to do this in the future.”

“Really?” you asked eagerly, eyes alight and a wide grin spreading across your face. Sniper couldn’t hold back a laugh at your overexcited reaction. You really were adorable to him, even like this.

“Absolutely, doll. Now, are you going to treat me rough, or do I have to provoke you?” You didn’t get the chance to ask what that meant before a harsh smack fell on your ass, making you squeal. You regained your composure quickly, glaring down at Sniper who wore a notably guilty expression, as well as a stinging red palm. He chuckled. “I like that look on you. Now, don’t you want to put me in my place?” Suddenly, you were far less willing to be gentle with him.

“Fine,” you hissed, still feeling a bit of residual sting from the smack. “If you want to act like a brat, then I’ll treat you like a brat.”

Sniper groaned as you grabbed his hair, pulling back until his neck craned upwards. Your free hand gripped the headboard for leverage as you began to fuck him hard and fast. The moans that spilled from him were like music. You couldn’t deny that you were amazed that he was taking this all so well, given that it was his first time being pleasured like this. Of course, you deserved a bit of credit too. If those sounds he was making were any indication, you apparently had a natural talent for fucking once dominant men into sweet submission.

Finally, you aimed right for that sensitive spot you had located before, hitting it hard and fast. Sniper nearly convulsed beneath you, almost making you worry you had given the poor man an aneurysm until you heard the desperate cascade of “oh fuck,” and “don’t stop,” shouted in rapturous desperation. You growled low in your throat, an animalistic noise that you didn’t know you were capable of, and in a streak of cruelty, you stopped moving, pressed right against Sniper’s prostate but refusing to move.

“No, no, no!” The protests were immediate. You could have sworn you heard his voice break as he begged and squirmed. “Keep going! You can’t stop now-”

“How about you show me some goddamn manners,” you growled, leaning down close to his face. “Say please.”

Sniper faltered slightly, feeling a chill run through his body at the sight of you looking above him, drunk with power. He was eager and more than willing to submit to that power. “Please,” he began, voice barely above a whisper before he cleared his throat and spoke with conviction. “Please don’t stop, darling. I need you to keep fucking me.”

You didn’t say anything for a few agonizing moments, dragging out the tension before finally leaning down to place a kiss on Sniper’s cheek, so warm beneath your lips. “That’s a good boy,” you whispered against his ear, feeling his body shudder against yours. You didn’t give him much time to recover, as the moment you were sat back upright, you resumed your former pace with little preamble.

With a firm grip on his thighs, you aimed for that particular area that would have him trembling in your grasp. Sure enough, you felt him begin to shudder and whine when you finally hit the spot. He was whimpering again, gripping and pulling at the sheets as you struck his prostate repeatedly. You knew it would turn him into a desperate mess before long, and you loved to see it.

“Do you like that?” you asked, a wide smirk spreading across your face. You never realized how satisfying it could be to dominate someone like this. No wonder Sniper enjoyed it so much when you begged and whined for him.

“Yes! Fuck, I’m close!” Sniper was barely able to get the words out, but it seemed his ability to string together coherent sentences was still intact.

“Already?” you asked, enjoying how his blush deepened even more as you teased him. “I bet you would come hard if I stroked your cock right now. Would you like me to do that?” You got a frantic nod in response, but that wasn’t good enough for you. Sniper had just proven he could speak well enough just a few moments earlier. “Use your words, Mundy,” you said, using a line he had said to you countless times before.

“Please! I need you, doll!” Sniper keened, all too eager to obey, even as his pleading was interrupted by his own moans. “I need you to touch me, bloody hell, please!”

As hot as it was to watch Sniper writhe and moan, it was that sight that finally pushed you to have mercy on him. You reached down and grasped his cock, letting the precum that had dripped down his shaft slicken your grip. You stroked him hard and fast, trying to keep time with your thrusts. He shuddered and tried to buck into your hand, his movements growing more frantic. You watched as his back arched suddenly and felt him spill over your hand and his own stomach. You didn’t stop moving until his whole body trembled beneath you. Pleasured moans turned to pained whimpers as you overstimulated him. If you weren’t careful, you could get addicted to being mean like this.

“I love you, doll.” It was that which finally gave you pause. Sniper wrapped his arms over your shoulders, his voice shaking as he spoke. “I love you so much.”

Your hips stilled and you leaned down, placing a gentle kiss to his lips. “I love you too,” you sighed. “I’m going to pull out now, alright? I’ll go slow.” Even with the warning, Sniper couldn’t suppress a pained gasp as you withdrew, still quite oversensitive. “Such a good boy,” you said, looking him over as he lay completely helpless on the bed, thoroughly spent.

You had done that to him, and you didn’t know whether to feel ashamed or proud. When you moved to get off of the bed he whined in a way that reminded you of a distressed puppy. It was almost enough to make you curl up next to him right then and there, but you knew that there was more to aftercare than just cuddles.

“I’ll be right back. I just need to get you cleaned up a bit,” you promised, pacing over to your dresser drawer to grab a few washcloths you had stashed away for moments just like this, although usually the roles were reversed. You worked quickly and Sniper’s eyes drifted shut as you cared for him. He heard the click of buckles as you removed the harness and strap, giving it a quick wipe down as well before placing it to the side to be cleaned thoroughly in the morning. The washcloth was tossed to the floor along with the pile of discarded clothing, and finally, Sniper felt you settle into bed next to him.

“Thank you, darling,” Sniper said, once he was confident he could speak without stammering. “You’re so good to me.”

“I like making you feel good,” you said, giving the exhausted gunman a soft smile. “We definitely have to do this again sometime.”

Sniper made a soft noise of agreement as the allure of sleep began to overtake him. Silence fell over the two of you. You began to let your eyes drift shut, assuming Sniper was already asleep until you felt the bed shift and he turned to face you. “Are you alright?” you asked, suddenly alert and ready to get him anything he needed.

He gave you a bashful look that you could just barely make out in the darkness. “I’m fine, I was just wondering, could you hold me? Just for a little while.”

You didn’t hesitate to shift closer to him, wrapping your arms around him. The extra height he had on you wasn’t much of an issue while in bed, letting you easily act as the big spoon for once. “Of course,” you whispered, lovingly peppering kisses along his jaw as he settled into your embrace, both of you comfortably entwined and drifting off to sleep.

[ereardon]

My Girl [Chapter 10][Jake "Hangman" Seresin x OC]

Summary: Jake Seresin could be the answer to all of your dating woes. He’s the full package: steady job, mature, dependable, attractive to a fault. The polar opposite of every guy your age and he’s everything you’ve ever wanted in a partner. But there’s one roadblock: he’s a single father to four-year-old Ellie. Jake is looking for a level of commitment you’re not quite sure you’re ready to give, and he’s not willing to bring someone into his daughter’s life who isn’t there for the long haul. And even if you are stepmom material, is Jake ready to let someone back in his life while still mourning the recent loss of his late wife? 

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x OC [Lawyer Natalie West]

WC: 2.2K

Warning: Age gap, cursing, light smut

Series masterlist here

Please fill out this form here to join my tag list

“Not again,” Rebecca groaned as she approached your desk, the lavish bouquet teeming with roses perched precariously on the edge. You scooted it inward to safety and looked up at her with a grin. 

“Sorry.” 

“You so aren’t,” she said, stooping and smelling a bulb. “I think Harris has a literal Netflix and Chill night planned for us. How lucky am I?” 

“You are lucky,” you said, swinging around in your swivel desk chair to face her. “He loves you. That’s lucky.” 

“Safe to assume things are going well with pilot dad?” she asked and you chuckled. “I would say so, based on how beautiful these flowers are.” 

You had always prescribed to the rule that you shouldn’t complain about significant others to friends or worse, family. Because then all they would ever be able to see would be the negatives. It was much easier to forgive your own partner than your friend’s or family’s partners. 

So you simply nodded. 

“He’s great,” you smiled. “And I love Ellie. Like truly obsessed with her. I know I said I was afraid of kids but she’s barely even a kid. She’s just this sparkly little person who always gets excited to see me. Like a dog come to life.” 

Rebecca laughed. “So you’ve yet to see a tantrum?” 

“Not yet.” 

She stood up and straightened her skirt. “Oh, sweetheart, just you wait. They’re cute, until they’re not.”

You grimaced. “Not eagerly awaiting that.” 

“So what are your Valentine’s plans?” 

You shrugged. “Jake just said he’s picking me up at six and to wear a dress. That’s it.” 

Rebecca raised an eyebrow. “Curious. OK, I expect the full details on Monday.” 

“I promise,” you said, crossing over your heart and you could hear her warm laugh as she sauntered down the hallway. 

You smirked but as Rebecca’s long legs disappeared around the corner, she was replaced by Patrick’s hulking presence. You sucked in an involuntary breath, anticipation tight across every pore. He shot you an unreadable look before hooking right into a conference room. You let your breath out in a shudder. 

It had been nearly a month since your face-to-face with Patrick. So far there had been no repercussions, no discussions with HR, no threatening emails, no taking you off of accounts. Somehow it had been swept under the rug. 

Perhaps it had been, for him.

In your head, you were plotting revenge. 

***

The doorbell rang exactly at six. You ran your hands down the sides of your pink dress, smoothing the tight fabric that fell from the off-the-shoulder sleeves down to your knees, the slit in the back letting air travel up mid-thigh. For some reason, you felt nervous. Your feet shook a little in the tall silver Louboutins. 

Immediately, Ellie’s voice filled the hallway as you pulled open the door. 

“Wow!” she said, awestruck, her tiny mouth open in a perfect “O” shape as she looked up at your dress. “You’re so pretty.” 

You chuckled and bent down, pulling her into a hug, her fingers finding traction on your neck beneath your curled hair. “Hi peanut,” you said, standing up and taking in her sweet outfit: a small red dress with a pair of matching glittery shoes, a bow in her hair that was slightly crooked. You reached out immediately and set it straight, finally looking up to see Jake lingering behind Ellie with a grin spread across his handsome face. 

He was wearing a navy shirt tucked into a pair of navy dress pants, a dark green crocodile belt slung around his narrow waist. You leaned over Ellie and pressed your lips to his cheek. 

“Hey there,” you whispered. 

“You look amazing,” he said softly. Ellie bounced at his heels. “Ready to go?” 

You nodded, grabbing your purse and a wrap from the stair banister before following them out the door. 

Jake had somehow found a fondue restaurant on the beach. Ellie was having the time of her life dipping bread and carrots into the melted cheese, and when dessert came around Jake let her choose two different sauces until she had both milk chocolate and white chocolate peanut butter remnants smeared across her face. 

You held her in your lap once she had gorged herself on the chocolate dips, her eyelids already growing heavy. In the distance, the waves crashed onto the shore, a constant drumbeat that threatened to lull you to sleep, too. 

Jake smiled at you over the table as you lifted a glass of wine to your lips. “Thank you,” he whispered. Sometimes it was hard to reckon with the fact that he was so insanely attractive. Even the smallest thing, like when he would smile at a waiter or the nimble flick of his wrist as he signed a check, underscored how gorgeous he was. Every time he looked at you was like a pinch me moment. The fact that he was yours. The fact that he had chosen you. 

“For what?” 

Jake’s eyes trailed down to Ellie, who had her head tipped back against your chest. She was either asleep or close to it. “I’m sure this isn’t the Valentine’s Day you had dreamt of,” he murmured. 

You reached out one hand to grab his on the table, intertwining your fingers. “It’s perfect.” 

A softness overtook Jake’s face. “I love you,” he said and it was so natural rolling off of his lips. But one look into his clear green eyes and you knew he meant it. He meant it with every cell in his body and every breath in his lungs. He was your heart, now. You were tied to him. 

Back at the house, Jake carried Ellie gingerly from the car inside, putting her to bed after changing her out of her little red dress. There was a new stuffed walrus on her bed and you smiled as she rolled over in her groggy state, pulling the plush toy into her arms and falling fast asleep. 

You followed Jake downstairs, where he pulled out a small bluetooth speaker, hitting play and instantly the quiet, dulcet tones of Frank Sinatra filled the living room. “Dance with me,” he said, holding out one hand. 

Jake wound one arm around you, the other hand holding yours tightly between your chests as you swayed in a small circle. You laid your head on Jake’s chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. When you pulled back, he leaned down and pressed his lips to yours and the world stopped turning on its axis for a moment. 

There, in his living room, with Ellie sleeping gently upstairs and The Way You Look Tonight cooing into the evening air, you felt it. The way your world shifted, if just for a moment. Letting Jake in. 

It was like up until that moment you had been filling a single journal page, and suddenly, Jake’s lips dancing across yours had flipped the page and you were starting anew. And there was nothing there but Jake. Just Jake. Lines and lines of descriptors for how his hands felt against your waist and the heat of his skin on yours and the dreamy way he looked into your eyes and you knew that you could trust him with your life. 

Your life had split in two. Before Jake and after Jake. 

There was no going back. 

“I love you,” he murmured into your hair, your fingers curling around the hair at the nape of his neck. “God, I love you. Watching you with Ellie tonight. How did I ever find someone so perfect?” 

He pulled back, running one finger over your cheek. 

“You’re it for me, Natalie,” he whispered. “I didn’t think I would find it again, but I did. And thank God it’s with you. I am so ridiculously lucky that it’s you.” 

“Find what?” you asked quietly. 

Jake’s green eyes softened. “True love.” 

And then he leaned back down and pressed his lips against yours, gathering you into his arms, carrying you effortlessly upstairs and laying you down on the bed. The heat of Jake’s lips traveled across your neck and down your chest. He lingered for a moment on your lower stomach, like he would if you were pregnant. You could almost hear the thoughts clicking around in his mind. He wanted another kid. He was an amazing dad, you had no doubt that he would be the perfect guy to have a baby with. But before you could get too in your head, Jake’s lips dipped lower, his teeth nipping softly at the plush skin of your inner thighs before he pushed aside your silk thong, running his tongue across your wet folds, forcing a sigh out of your mouth as he took one hand and pressed your hips back into the bed. 

“Let me make you feel good, baby,” he murmured against your heat. “Let me worship this body.” 

And you let him. 

Let him bring you to orgasm on his tongue, let him run his hands all along your trembling body, let him hold your hips so tight you were worried you might bruise as he slowly slid his cock inside of you as you clenched down on his massive length. Let him fuck into you while you buried your sobs of pleasure into the silk pillowcase, let him flip you around until you were on your knees and Jake had your back pressed against his chest, his mouth filling your ear with soft praises. Telling you how much he loved you. That you were made for him. That he never as long as he lived wanted to put his cock in any other woman, that you were it for him. You were the appetizer and the main course and the dessert. That no one else could compare to the way you felt around him. 

You let him spill inside of you, his grunts heavenly in your ear, his hands gripping your breasts tightly, his chin falling to your shoulder. 

And afterward, you let him pull you in close beneath the covers, run one hand across your side before landing on your neck. He pressed his lips to his favorite spot beneath your left ear and you wondered if the white-hot heat of his kiss would leave a mark. It felt like it was tattooed on your skin. 

“Natalie?” he whispered as you started to drift off to sleep. 

“Hmm?” 

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” 

In the morning, you rolled over to an empty bed. The smell of pancakes wafted through your nostrils and you pulled yourself out of bed and down the stairs to find Jake and Ellie standing at the stove. He had her in his arms as she sprinkled chocolate chips into the pancake rounds as they cooked on the griddle. She laughed as her fist opened and a shower of chocolate dropped into the middle pancake and Jake shook his head. 

“That’s way too much!” 

“No, daddy,” she said as he put her down. “It’s perfect.” 

“Good morning.” They both turned around with smiles and you stepped forward, accepting the coffee mug Jake offered. 

“Ellie, sweetie, why don’t you go get Nat’s present?” 

Ellie skipped off and you raised an eyebrow. “Present?” 

Jake simply smirked and turned back to the pancakes in the pan. Ellie returned a moment later, holding out a small rectangular present wrapped in silver foil. She took a seat at the island counter and you slid a finger under the wrapping paper, revealing a sleek Ray Bans box. 

“Now we match!” Ellie said, and you watched her slip on her tiny aviator sunglasses. You laughed, turning around to look at Jake only to find him also wearing a pair of matching glasses. You were laughing so hard you had to physically put your hands on your thighs to take a deep breath, coming to standing after a good twenty seconds and slipping the glasses on over your eyes. 

“I love them,” you said. “Thank you both.” 

“Ellie picked them,” Jake said, shoving the sunglasses back up on the top of his head and plating the pancakes. “Said she wanted everyone in the family to have them.” 

Ellie grinned from her place at the kitchen island, and you watched Jake’s smile widen as your mouth dropped open. 

Family. 

They were your family now. 

You looked around. The casual way that Jake slid two pancakes onto your plate next to Ellie. The soft smile he gave you as you hooked the sunglasses onto the collar of your sleep shirt. How Ellie washed her tiny, sticky hands in the sink using the stool that Jake had bought and helped her paint pink with daisies on it that lived permanently next to the sink so she could always reach the faucet. 

You had walked into a family. You had known that all along. But the fact that they wanted you made your heart swell. Watching Jake whisper into Ellie’s ear and tickle her beneath her thin arms, her laughter filling the sun drenched kitchen, suddenly made everything fall into place. 

He was the man you had always been searching for. And here he was, on a silver platter. 

Were you ready?

A/N: A fluffy chapter as requested! We will start to get some conflict in the next chapter. This one is short, because I wanted to get it out and soothe some souls from last chapter!

Tag list: @double-j @seresinhangmanjake @topguncultleader @hangmandruigandmav @momc95 @minamisulemisa @shawnsblue @blue-aconite @brehonodea @crthurston @angelbabyange @jason-toddsthighs @secretsicanthideanymore @taytaylala12 @mandylove1000 @mizzzpink @showmethewayhomehoney @tvjunkie08 @mygyn @wkndwlff @sadpetalsstuff @shanimallina87 @averyhotchner @oneelleandaneye @starrynightskyz @daddymack01 @buxkybarnez @pookie-cleary @clairedelarosa-blog  @princessofglitterland  @tiredqueen73 @lovingjakeseresin @lilyevanswhore @kurtkunkle17 @amortentiadrops @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @abaker74 @xoxabs88xox @novagreen04 @townmoondaltwistle @rosiahills22 @indynerdgirl @entertainmentgal8 @misshoneypaper @starkleila @ebonyhogan24 @rosewritesitout @sammysimpin @khaylin27 @localhockeygirl @eyesthatroll @wildxwidow @wildlyobserving @bellaireland1981 @wittywhispers-blog @xomrsalliej4787xo @rosiahills22 @oiseul @showmethewayhomehoney @callsign-joyride @teacupsandtopgun @jordanturpen @sexytholland @daddymack01 @pookie-cleary @eternalsams @djs8891

[spectacular-skywalker]

DWTS Season 33 EP 2 Commentary

ignore a lip gallagher fanfic that may have appeared in these tags i edited and posted the wrong draft. if you say that no you didnt

YAY NIGHT 2

love gene simmons. im excited for tonight. I love metal so this will be funnnn.

Already love the outfits and hair eek! Well not all the hair. Val and Gleb are killing me with those wigs. Stephen too, but his is more funny, the others are scary.

Danny is into this it looks like. And so am I! Oooo a paso. I think this will be good. Good for metal night too. Whitney slaying as usual too. Awww it was cute. Some balance and timing and the wardrobe mishap. But i thought it was entertaining and fun. AH OMG GENE. HES RIGHT THOUGH THEY ARE BOTH HOT (bi panic fr) Whitneys face omg

this is going to be so fun with gene. im thrilled yall.

Im glad everyone feels the same about reginald. YASSSSS that was honestly the best hes done. i mean correct me if im wrong but that made me very happy. YES lmao gene againnn hahaha. YES GENE HE DOES HAVE SOMETHING!! their friendship is the cutest and it makes me so happy. GENE NO WHY.

julianne those earrings are too big.

those clips are fun and i like when they do them. im convinced wed be friends if we met. SLAYYYYYYY

okay so that slapped. Brandons choreo really be popping off this season. that was so good. HALFWAY THROUGH?!?!? omg time flies.

oh thats what gleb said. well. you need to take the rose colored glasses off and level it up buddy. you are the only one who can take her up the leaderboard so stop drooling and dance. sorry that was lowkey aggressive. OKAY YALL literally the same as yesterday. too much opening dance and not enough dancing. that split was impressive. i think brooks did good but glebs choreo is lowkey not good. also i do think that this was the most fun and personality that brooks showed and i love that for her

YAS MARK RETURNS.

yay stephen! GEEZ HIS ARM MSUCLES. i do genuinely forget he a gymnast lord. HEOHOF STOP WHY WOULD THEY DO THAT TO HIM in the package. THAT WAS SO AWESOME LOVE THE POMMEL HORSE ACTION also his timing and musicality WAS SO MUCH BETTER OMG gene having no idea who stephen is, is absolutely hilarious. TEAM DANCE RETURN OMG. i think he deserved better. that was worthy of at least one 9 from like gene.

much better than last night. very happy about that. cant believe that he is the same height as daniella when he is on his knees like WOW. YES it was so much better. LMAO DEREK. he said goodbye.

Gene stop listening to Derek. dwight deserved better. im losing steam typing this.

i give these guys so much credit. it genuinely isnt easy to dance and with these guys physical shape. its awesome to see them put in so much effort.

LMAO OMG i cant believe julianne said that and the reaction the immediate NO had me screaming lmao.

sidenote i love leg day. its the best. 10/10 for energy and spirit. i love ilona. and i hate seeing her mess up. the lip scrunches to not cry. felt that in my soul. shes the most relatable celebrity ive ever seen and i actually love her so much for that. stop shes making me cry. because thats so real and i know she also doesnt want to be crying right now and i love her. fair scores and i love her.

ITALIAN MEN HAAH me too girl

MIND BLOWN BY THE KNEE WALKS WOW she killed that. her power is amazing.

oh gene. oh gene.

phaedras was just okay to me. but genes score was absolutely wild.

excited for joey. i like him a lot actually. also appreciate the hurricane shoutout because im a floridian being affected and this shit is no joke.

GO JOEYYYYY that was very good imo. do i know if it was all technically correct, i do not but that was fire. YAY IT WAS RLY GOOD ACCORDING TO DEREK. oh gene LMAO he said it all or nothing with the scores. also jennas dress is fire (no pun intended). YES SCORES YES also totally thought gene would give him a 10 sooo uh yeah

okay elimination. my predictions is eric and maybe phaedra. part of me want to say regi even though i love him but hes obviously at the bottom score wise. i do think regi should go next but i think hes getting a lot of people vote so im not sure he will. and then im thinking phaedra or maybe but it also may be very shocking.

ugh this part of so anxiety inducing. SHOCK HAPPY THOUGH FOR PHAEDRA also WHY ARE THEY DOING THIS TO ILON ITS OBVIOSULY NOT HER OMG STOP PRODUDERS

i would bet 1 mil that its not ilona. okay i am sad bc i love reggie and both their spirits mean everything. however i do think it is right that they both went home. and im glad it was them together yknow.

thanks for lsitening im hope yall enjoyed - xox0