. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

○ sideblog ○ 18+ MDNI ○

[ateez-main-yapper]

✮ kiki ✮ 2004 ✮ sideblog for fic reblogs and girly thoughts as @everyonewooeverywhere puts it ✮

This blog is a strictly 18+ space. Minors kindly fuck off. Blank and ageless blogs will also be blocked and reported if I'm not in a good mood.

𝕹𝖆𝖛𝖎𝖌𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 ✮⋆

⊹₊˚ rules that nobody reads ˚₊⊹

⊹₊˚ fic rec masterlist ˚₊⊹

⊹₊˚ writing masterlist ˚₊⊹

[everyonewooeverywhere]

more butchming

do you we think she wears her strap in her pants while she works her sexy bartender job?

reblog for yes

curse me out in the replies for no

[ateez-main-yapper]

Well duh

[lunegenic]

sleepover.

in which you're on vacation with euijoo and nicholas, and a dare leads to a very spicy night. or - the one where you have a threesome with your best friends. wc: 3k | notes: smut (don't like it? don't read it), both boys swear like sailors, no mxm action, also no butt stuff, some manhandling, euijoo gets rough, reader slaps nico during sexy time bc he likes it, minors do not interact!

Nicholas was convinced you would let Euijoo get away with anything, and he decided to test this theory on vacation.

"No way," Euijoo said, his eyes wide and his ears already turning red. "Are you trying to get me killed?"

"She'll let you do it," Nico argued, his face full of mischief. As always.

Euijoo shook his head. "If you want to hook up with her so badly, then just ask her."

Nico made a face and said, "Boring."

Euijoo rolled his eyes, but the seed was planted and he was thinking about it.

The three of you were enjoying a well-deserved vacation and had come back to your rental for the night. The bedroom had two queen beds and one sleeper sofa. It was a given you got one of the beds, leaving Euijoo and Nico to arm wrestle over who would be sleeping on the sofa.

Euijoo lost.

Nico opened the window between the two beds, letting a perfect breeze blow in carrying the salty scent of the ocean. You opened your bag and started rifling through your things, exhausted in the best of ways.

It had been a busy day of sight-seeing and eating, photographs and thrills. Memories you would carry for the rest of your life. You couldn't have asked for better friends than the two boys you seemed to take with you everywhere as you explored all the world had to offer.

The only downside was the single bathroom in the rental that would have to be shared by the three of you. After winning rock, paper, scissors, you got to go first, leaving Nicholas and Euijoo to scheme in your absence.

You were tired after a long evening at the beach with the boys. Resting on your stomach, you bunched a pillow between your arms and opened the lastest novel you'd been reading, letting it help you wind down.

Rare silence filled the room. Eventually, you clocked Nicholas and Euijoo watching you, their hair still damp from their showers.

"It's too quiet," you said after a moment, eyes still on the book. "Did you guys fight?"

"No, we're good," Euijoo replied hurriedly, looking to Nico for confirmation. You glanced over just long enough to watch the two of them nod awkwardly.

With a giggle, you teased, "Did you guys fuck?"

"What?" Euijoo exclaimed, while Nico said, "No," without missing a beat.

"Then, why are you being weird?"

"She knows us too well," Nico mumbled under his breath to Euijoo, but you heard and smiled. Nico turned to you and said, "I dared Euijoo to do something, but he's too scared of you to do it."

Euijoo made a face, insulted and flustered.

You scoffed, flipped the page of your book nonchalantly, and asked, "Why would Euijoo be scared of me?"

"I'm not."

"Just do the dare then. I'm not gonna bite you."

Euijoo's cheeks were getting redder by the second.

To be fair, you'd been best friends with Euijoo and Nicholas for many years. Yes, you flirted. Yes, you guys talked openly about everything. Yes, sometimes sexual tension started to arise.

So when Euijoo came over and crawled onto your bed, you didn't bat an eye. You read through another paragraph like it was nothing. But when he straddled your ass, framing your hips with his knees, you stopped and lifted your head.

"Nico, what the fuck are you up to?" you snapped, turning to look at your trouble-making friend lounging comfortably on the other bed.

Nicholas, to the surprise of no one, was leaning back with his arms crossed behind his head as if he were back at the pool. "I knew it," he said with a big devilish grin. "His dick is chilling between your ass cheeks right now and you're letting him get away with it."

"What did you want me to do - kick him?"

"Tell him to get off."

Something flickered across your face and you narrowed your eyes at Nicholas in a scowl before finally glancing over your shoulder at Euijoo, who was hovering above you. And you quickly realized he looked a little too good at that angle.

"Get off?" you asked, smirking. "Good choice of words, Nico."

The slightest panic raced across Nico's face and he knew then and there you were about to beat him at his own game, like you always did.

Propping up on your elbows, you turned your attention back to Euijoo, who had been gravely silent as if waiting for his fate to be decided, and asked, "You alright up there?"

Euijoo swallowed the lump in his throat. "Don't kill me. It was his idea." But frankly, Euijoo was so turned on he couldn't see straight.

You laughed and turned back to your book, saying, "Read this."

Euijoo leaned a little closer, his lips by your ear and you could hear every tense, labored breath he took. His cock was still nestled against your ass, half-hard now just from feeling the warmth of you.

You pointed to where you'd been reading and Euijoo's eyes widened in shock.

"Dude, she's reading porn!"

"No fucking way," Nico exclaimed in disbelief, getting up from the bed to investigate.

You flashed another glare at him and warned, "Nicholas, you come over here and you'll both regret it."

Nico very submissively walked backwards to his bed and flopped back onto the mattress in defeat.

Euijoo's heart was racing so hard you could feel it thumping through you. Giving him a little smile that promised either pleasure or retribution, he zeroed in on you like a heat-seeking missile.

"Keep reading," you said lowly.

Euijoo's gaze fell back to the page and not a second passed before you were moving underneath him. And his heart stopped altogether.

You rolled your ass against his clothed cock, arching so his length would feel your folds through your tiny shorts. You could feel him getting harder and that made you smug, but your focus soon became just how big he was and how far you were going to let him go.

"Fuck," Euijoo stuttered, his hips connecting with your ass in a sharp thrust.

It caught you by surprise. "Easy, Juju," you chided playfully when he snapped his hips against your ass again, a little harder this time, jarring you on the bed.

Euijoo stopped, dropping his head to the crook of your neck. "Sorry."

"Oh, come on," Nico said impatiently.

You checked on him out of the corner of your eye and taunted, "Enjoying the show?"

"Nothing's happened yet for me to enjoy."

You were never one to back away from a challenge, or for a chance to make Nico shut the fuck up. You could tell by his eyes that he wanted to be the one rubbing his dick against your pussy, and part of you was a little stunned when you realized you would let Euijoo fuck the shit out of you just to piss Nico off.

Tossing your book to the side, you reached back with both hands and shimmied your pants and underwear down slowly until your bare ass was on display.

"Your turn," you told Euijoo, shooting one more look at Nico. And you were thrilled to see he was burning alive with envy.

Never in a million years did Nico actually think you would let Euijoo fuck you just to spite him. And he was already thinking about all the angles he was going to hit it to punish you.

Completely oblivious to the silent exchange between his friends, Euijoo tugged down his sweatpants and freed his stiff cock, pumping it in his fist.

"Give me your hand," you said, turning slightly on your side.

Euijoo did as told and you brought two of his fingers into your mouth. Holding onto his heated gaze with your own, you sucked and licked his fingers until they were slick and then popped them out of your mouth.

"Put them in me," you whispered, glancing down at Euijoo's stiff cock that was so hard it curved toward his abs.

Euijoo glanced down at your plump ass and your perfect folds, and brought his wet fingers to your sex, slipping them inside your folds carefully. He found your entrance and pushed inside, making a little noise fall from your lips.

"Fuck," Nico growled as Euijoo stroked his fingers in and out of your cunt, a soft wet sound growing louder and louder with each stroke.

You whimpered as Euijoo worked you with his long fingers, gripping the pillow under your head with both hands. You were getting so fucking turned on by Nico watching from the other bed, staring at your pussy sucking in Euijoo's digits like he was about to start drooling at the sight.

That made your walls clench and Euijoo groaned, "Fuck, you're so tight."

"Take your fingers out, Juju," you said quietly, running out of patience.

"Why? Does it hurt?"

"I want your dick."

Euijoo pulled his fingers from you and coated his cock with your slick. He gave it a few more pumps of his fist as he resituated his knees on opposite sides of your hips, pressing close to you and fitting the head of his length between your folds.

When he started pushing inside, you felt your walls stretching to accept him, and you fisted the blanket beneath you. Oh, shit, you thought, wondering how the hell he was going to fit fully inside you. Not wanting to fill the room with your moans, you buried your face in the pillow to stifle your cries.

Euijoo listened to your little sounds and he kept stroking his cock into you, opening you up for him, sinking in deeper with each slow thrust into your wet, hot cunt. Once he was balls deep, he braced his hands on the mattress and moaned, "Fuck."

You lifted your head from the pillow and sucked in a gulp of air, whining, "Oh my god, Euijoo. You're so..."

Euijoo was long fucking gone over the way you'd just said his name. He immediately drew his hips back and slammed his cock back into you, making you jerk forward onto the pillow, wanting you to chant his name like that until your voice broke.

Nico watched Euijoo fuck you and his blood boiled. Euijoo was too soft; he pumped his cock in your pussy, but he didn't pull your hair or slap your ass, and Nico knew that was what you wanted. You needed hard and rough, and Euijoo was too in love with you to get it done.

"Juju, grab her by the throat," Nico snarled, his dick hard and already leaking in his pants. He made no moves to touch it; he wouldn't give himself any relief until you were taken care of.

Euijoo didn't hesitate to wind his hand around you, clamping it on your neck, beneath your chin. He tipped your head up and made your back arch, slapping his hips into your ass faster.

You didn't expect him to turn your face toward his so he could seal his lips on yours, stealing a kiss and tasting you for the first time. It made you mumble against his mouth and you wanted to tell him how good he made you feel, but the words wouldn't come.

All you could manage was a curse or two. "F-fuck," you whimpered, winching your eyes closed. You had to give credit to Euijoo, he knew how to use that big dick. His pace was savage, stuffing you with every inch of his cock until the wet slap of your pussy sucking him in filled the room.

Euijoo kept his grip on your neck, panting, "Is it too rough?"

Before you could say anything, Nico snapped, "Don't fucking ask that. She wants you to use her."

Lips parted, you finally willed yourself to look over at Nico and the way he was smoldering almost made you come. You liked him watching how well you could take it, wanting him to praise you, but instead, it seemed he already had you figured out.

So, you tried to rile him up. "Jealous?"

"Why should I be?" Nico shot back. "It's my turn next."

You scoffed. "You think you get a turn."

Euijoo groaned, "Can both of you shut up? I'm gonna come."

You'd never heard Euijoo so mad in your entire life, and both you and Nico smiled at having gotten that rare reaction out of him.

"Come, Juju," you whispered, gripping the edge of the mattress tight. The bed was creaking loudly. Euijoo was using you like his own personal toy, and you were eating it up. Your pussy ached in the best way, kneading his length.

Euijoo abandoned your neck to grab your hips, moaning and panting as he released inside you, milking every drop of cum deep in your cunt.

When Euijoo slowly pulled his softening cock from your hole, you slumped into the bed, catching your breath. He was barely off the bed and the mattress dipped under Nico's weight, his pants on the floor.

Nico grabbed your waist and flipped you harshly onto your back, and hissed, "You're gonna watch me take this shit."

You reeled your hand back and swatted him across the face, making a loud slap echo through the room. Nico grabbed your wrists and pinned them on opposite sides of your head, his pupils dilated to black.

"Fuck," Nico growled, smashing his lips on yours in a heated, hungry kiss. "Do that again when I'm inside you."

With Nico's hands around your wrists like cuffs, you hooked your legs on his hips and drew him close. He shifted his eyes down your body to your glistening pussy and notched his cock at your entrance, watching Euijoo's cum slip out.

"What are you waiting for?" you asked hurriedly. You were on the edge, sore and aching, close to orgasm.

"Permission."

You swallowed to wet your throat and when Nico lifted his head to meet your eyes, you sank a little deeper into the mattress under the weight of his gaze. "Fuck me, Nico," you whispered.

Nico pressed in, inch by agonizing inch, and watched your body arch as pleasure coursed through you.

"Nico," you gasped, eyes lolling back when the head of his cock hit your sweet spot.

"Yeah, my pretty little slut," he taunted, releasing one of your wrists to wrap his fingers around your neck. "Take all that dick."

The moment he canted his hips back and shoved his cock into you hard, you swiped your hand at his face again, but with half the force.

Nico tightened his grip on your throat while his other hand swiftly hooked in the bend of your knee and pressed you deeper into the mattress, throttling his cock into you at a steady rhythm like he was out to prove your pussy was his.

"How long have you been thinking about this, Nico?" Euijoo asked, sprawled on the other bed like he had zero strength left in his body.

"You have no fucking idea," Nico said gruffly as he kept his eyes where your bodies met, watching his cock vanish inside your tight velvet walls.

"Then fuck me like you mean it," you told him, holding onto his waist for purchase.

Nico looked at your pretty face, marveling just how beautiful you could be while getting fucked, and joked, "You just want another load of cum in you."

You nodded.

"You were made to be used like this, pretty girl."

You bit your lip and purred, "Use me, Nico."

So he did, sheathing his cock in your pussy over and over until finally all the tension that had been building inside you snapped, taking you over the edge into euphoria. You cried out and moaned, digging your nails into Nico's skin as your body shook, clamping down on his dick.

Nico came without warning, your cunt tightening on him so hard that he couldn't help but release inside you with a ragged groan. You were coming down from the high and went limp underneath him as the last of his seed filled you, making you feel warm and full.

Unlike Euijoo, Nico collapsed on top of you, his body heavy on yours. The two of you breathed in perfect sync, trying to come back to your senses. Once he'd stopped shaking, Nico clambered off of you and sat up, falling back against the wall so you could move.

You turned your head and saw Euijoo, who was on his stomach in the other bed, his eyes batting sleepily. When your eyes met, he smiled softly, as if to reassure you the frienship wasn't totally fucked now.

Nico, on the other hand, after seeing you and Euijoo exchange looks, reached over and palmed your naked thigh, stealing your attention. You turned to him expectantly and Nico said, "We both want you."

"And I want both of you," you replied honestly.

"You'll have to choose one day," Euijoo whispered, frowning despite how hard he fought it.

You sighed. "Not tonight though. Tonight, it's just the three of us. And nothing else matters."

That coaxed a smile out of Nico. He sat up and began gathering you in his arms, rising from the bed to lower you to the mattress beside Euijoo. You let yourself melt between them, happy when Euijoo pulled the blanket over the three of you and Nico laid beside you on the other side.

When they started pressing kisses to your cheeks and your neck, and their hands began wandering over your naked body like it belonged to them now, you closed your eyes and smiled, knowing you were fucked.

Because there was no way in hell you would ever be able to choose between your boys, and there was no one on earth that could convince you to live without them.

[ateez-main-yapper]

SHUT UPPPPPP THIS WAS SO GOOD?!?! Love a good best friend trope ofc, but a polycule best friend trope??? Stunning. Perfect. No notes. And the dynamic here is just so scrumptious I'm OBSESSED 🤧

[corysclub]

your biggest fan 𐂯 .ᐟ⸝⸝ myung jaehyun

pairing : fanboy!jaehyun x fem!idol!reader synopsis : while away on tour, your boyfriend has to find something to relieve himself...and what could be better than a photo of you? warnings : male masturbation, cumming on inanimate object, puppy play, jaehyun is kinda a loserrrrr /pos, i think thats all sorry if not guys :( everything written is consensual and between two adults lower case intended !! minors do not interact !!

standing inside a random k-pop store, jaehyun found that it made him irrationally jealous to hear your fans talk about you. 

if being hidden behind countless nda’s wasn’t hurtful enough, the fact that so many people thought they knew you was torturous. they thought they knew your complete personality, what you’d say and do in certain romantic– sometimes even sexual– situations. 

“i think y/n would be the kind of girl to like the chase more than the actual relationship.” one girl said, giggling as she held onto your group’s latest album. her friend nodded, “oh, definitely!”

they couldn’t have been more wrong. you hated the chase; hell, you confessed to jaehyun within a week of knowing him due to hating the anticipation. he knew it was a stupid thing to get angry over; they were just fans being fans…he understood that, but still– whether they knew it or not, they were talking about his girlfriend right in front of him.

“excuse me,” jaehyun finally cleared his throat, startling the two girls. “i’m trying to reach the shelf behind you…” he explained, avoiding direct eye contact. they looked towards each other before muttering an apology, stepping away from the shelf that held all the albums your group had ever produced.

“are you a luvbug too?” the taller girl asked excitedly. jaehyun carefully picked up your group’s latest release before turning to the girls and nodding sheepishly. “uh- i- yeah, yeah.”

the girls squealed excitedly, “who’s your bias?! mine’s-”

“y/n.” he answered before the shorter girl could finish her sentence. “excuse me,” he pushed past the two and made his way to the counter, hurrying to purchase the album.

the two girls stared at each other before shrugging, giggling to themselves about the awkward y/n bias they’d met.

‘abt to go on stage !! ttyl, love you puppy <3’

jaehyun frowned at the text on screen, whining to nobody as he lay his head onto your pillow. despite you currently being one month into a six-month world tour, the silky pillowcase still smelled like your expensive perfume. 

since the two of you met, you’d dreamed of performing in arenas – stadiums – full of fans. you had trained relentlessly for it, working yourself to the point of exhaustion or worse.

he was happy for you, really, he was… but he also missed you like crazy. the sound of your laugh, the tired smile you always gave him when coming home from practice, and how your hugs were intoxicatingly cozy. 

you and jaehyun did your best to stay in contact, facetiming whenever you could and texting in between. both of you just trying your hardest to keep the romance alive, both emotionally and… sexually.

sitting up, jaehyun bit his lip cautiously as he grabbed the sealed album that sat on the wooden nightstand. he ripped the seal cautiously, prying open the album and shuffling through the various inclusions.

he paused occasionally when flipping through the photo book, smiling proudly at how you— in his opinion— stood out as the visual of the group; capturing his whole attention with a single photo.

eventually though, he got to the backwards facing photocards. his heart thumping with anticipation as he carefully flipped one card, frowning with disappointment as he found that it was a unit card of the maknae and your group’s dancer.

they were nice girls, but they weren’t you. they weren’t his girl.

he let his heart rate pick back up as he turned over the last card, eyes twinkling with enthusiasm at the sight of your smile. it was a beautiful pc, in his totally unbiased opinion.

you were holding up a simple peace sign, smiling at the camera— hair styled to frame your face perfectly. 

he pushed away the rest of the album, carelessly letting the inclusions and cd fall to the floor. he whined pathetically, uncomfortably hard and terribly embarrassed at how quickly the erection occurred. 

he felt his heart pump against his rib cage, breath staggering as he shakily pressed his palm to his clothed cock. letting out a barely audible whimper, hips bucking greedily into his hand making his thighs shake as he attempted to hold himself back.

he imagined the ways you’d make him wait, how your soothing yet stern voice would remind him that— “good puppies are patient, don’t you wanna be my good puppy?”

and god, jaehyun wanted nothing more than to be your good puppy. your good boy, good pet, good play-thing. 

whatever you wanted, jaehyun wanted to be the best at it. he wanted the satisfaction of knowing that you were fully, wholeheartedly satisfied with his performance.

you, you, you.

you intoxicated jaehyun’s thoughts, making patience a thing of the past as he humped his own hand before sloppily unbuckling his belt and sliding his pants and boxers off.

his erection sprung out in an almost-comical fashion. he whimpered as he spread the precum that was budding from the tip down his length, twisting his hand around his cock and starting to pump himself closer and closer to an orgasm.

“c’mon myungie, you wanna cum for me— don’t you?” your voice rang in his head, making him whimper and nod to himself.

”w-wan’na be a good boy-“ he panted, eyes brimming with tears as he worked himself closer and closer to the edge. “g’gonna cum s’so much, ple-please!” he choked out, teasing the tip just as you’d taught him too before leaving for tour.

you were stern, but you weren’t cruel. expecting a stupid pup to go months without an orgasm was just torturous.

his chest rose and fell rapidly as he bucked into his own hand, tears glossing his vision as the muscles in his abdomen tightened and coiled around a ball of pleasure.

growing tighter and tighter, closer and closer. 

he blinked away his tears, catching a glimpse of your photocard and grabbing it with his free hand. he let out a shaky breath, a strained whine slipping from his lips as he held the card close to his slit.

the orgasm was intense— a loud, needy moan rattling the bedroom walls. sticky white liquid coating the card and seeping into the premium paper. 

the sight of his cum covering your face, your card made his mouth water. he was desperate to lick his satisfaction off of your skin as you praise him, desperate to taste you again.

he let the card fall against the sheets, staining the luxury fabric with his cum as he slowly recuperated himself; his heart rate beginning to calm.

jaehyun knew you’d come home eventually, but until then— he’d settle from being your biggest fan from afar. 

a/n : this has been in the works for a minuteeee <3 i’m currently on vacation with my family so i couldn’t proof read this one to the best of my ability !! so sorry if its doo doo :(

[ateez-main-yapper]

Stopppppp this was so good 🤧 fanboy! Myungjae just makes so much sense I'm OBSESSED

[v4mpnicho]

18+ girl, i got the feeling that you know now

you notice him the second you walk in.

it's not even intentional, the way your eyes find euijoo across the packed room. he's sprawled on a leather couch in the corner, legs spread wide in that effortless way guys do when they own their space, one arm draped over the back of the seat. nicholas is seated next to him, chatting his ear off, as usual. all you can really focus on is the way euijoo's shirt's unbuttoned just enough to throw you into a frenzy, and there's a drink in his other hand that he's not really paying attention to because... he's looking at you.

shit, he's looking at you. you inhale sharply, caught red-handed.

your friend is saying something beside you, tugging your arm, but the words dissolve into background noise. euijoo's gaze drags down the length of your carefully selected black dress—slow, deliberate, the kind of look that feels like fingers tracing your silhouette—and then back up to meet your eyes. his mouth curves into something that isn't quite a smile. it's darker than that. almost knowing.

you should look away. you don't.

your friend's ecstatic chatter invades your senses, breaking the moment, and you let her pull you towards the kitchen. however, at every moment, you can feel him still, that gaze like a brand on your skin. the music is too loud, the room too warm, bodies pressing close as you navigate through the crush of partygoers. you accept a drink from someone, let the burn of alcohol ground you, and tell yourself you're not searching for him again.

except you are.

and when you finally give in and glance back toward that corner, he's still watching. hasn't moved. hasn't broken his stare. the corner of his mouth lifts when he catches you looking, a smirk that sends heat pooling low in your stomach. he tilts his head slightly, a silent question. a dare, perhaps.

your heart hammers against your ribs.

you turn back to your friends, laughing at something you didn't hear, taking another sip of your drink.

yeah, play it cool. play it safe. relax.

but, who are you kidding? your shoulders feel too tense, hyperaware of every breath and every shift of fabric against your thighs.

five minutes pass. maybe ten. you're pretending to be invested in some story when you feel it — a presence behind you, close enough that you catch a hint of cologne, something clean and expensive and masculine. your spine straightens instinctively.

"enjoying the party?" his voice is low, spoken close enough to your ear that you feel the warmth of it. you turn, and euijoo is right fucking there, looking down at you with those sinful eyes that seem to see through the composure you're desperately clinging to.

"it's alright," you manage, proud that your voice comes out steady.

his smile widens, like he knows exactly what he's doing to you. "just alright?" he shifts closer, and suddenly you're acutely aware of how much taller he is, how his presence seems to eclipse everything else. his hand comes up, fingertips ghosting along your forearm so lightly it could be accidental. you know it's not. "looked like you were having more fun a few minutes ago. when you were staring."

heat floods your cheeks. "i wasn't—"

"you were." he's not accusing. he's pleased. his fingers trail down to your wrist, circling it loosely, his thumb pressing against your pulse point where your heartbeat is giving you away. "it's okay. i was staring too. kind of hard not to, if you ask me."

the admission sends electricity straight through your chest. chaos surrounds you, and yet, it feels like you're completely alone with him. like the rest of the world has faded to nothing.

"and what were you staring at?" you finally ask, finding some thread of boldness, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze head-on.

euijoo's eyes narrow. his thumb strokes once across your wrist, and the simple touch feels obscene. "you really want me to answer that here?"

your breath catches. someone pushes past, jostling you forward, and suddenly you're pressed against him, chest to chest. his free hand goes to your waist to steady you, fingers splaying across the small of your back through the thin fabric of your dress. he doesn't let go.

"careful," he murmurs, but there's nothing careful about the way he's looking at you. nothing careful about the way his hand flexes against your back, holding you there.

you should step away. you should say something clever, break whatever spell this is. instead, you let yourself feel it — the solid weight of him, the way your bodies fit together perfectly, the tension coiling tighter and tighter between you like a wire about to snap.

"maybe we should go somewhere quieter," euijoo suggests, his voice rough around the edges now. his gaze drops to your mouth, lingers there. "to talk."

you both hear the blatant insinuation. "maybe we should," you whisper back, biting your lower lip.

his answering smile is gorgeous and devastating, and when he takes your hand and leads you away from the crowd, your skin is already burning with the promise of everywhere else he's going to touch you tonight.

[ateez-main-yapper]

I'M NOT SANE OR NORMAL ENOUGH FOR THIS KIND OF JUJU BRAINROT 😫 but lord do I need it 😓 sometimes I forget how tall he is ngl, and when I image that look he gets in his eyes when he's onstage I think I'm better off not remembering cuz girrrllllll, if he stared at me like THAT I'd fold faster than a lawn chair in a hurricane

[everyonewooeverywhere]

IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST, PLEASE RESPOND TO THIS POST!

This will be the only way to be tagged on this fic. I will not be using any of my other taglists for this fic. So please let me know if you'd like to be tagged.

general taglist :

@swimmingkpopblog @oddracha @drinkingrumandcocacola @minaateez @funnyvxlentine  @sunnysidesins @skzdust @princelingperfect @seomisaho @bigboymoozz @fireseo @atzlordz @sunwoosbaby @ultrapinkvoidbouquet @kierraperkins3 @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @astudyoftimeywimeystuff @yunhoish @yoongiigolden @ateez-atiny380 @applez98 @hodgepodge-musings @honeyfever @minkieater @avyskai @kaleigh-2002 @aaa-sia @metalheadatiny

[ateez-main-yapper]

Dee why am I not on your general taglist..... do you secretly hate me.... is this how I find out we're getting divorced.....

[v4mpnicho]

18+ little miss menace

you always start it like a game, knowing exactly which buttons to push and which moves to make — a smirk, a slight flick of your tongue across your teeth, leaning in too close, letting your fingers ghost along the edge of euijoo's belt loop. “what's wrong, juju?” you whisper, question innocent yet loaded with mischief, and he freezes.

"your cheeks are so red, it's kind of adorable." euijoo's jaw tightens at that, eyes narrowing, and you smile, because it’s working. piece of cake. every twitch and barely-there hitch of breath makes you want to provoke further.

to put it very simply, you love ragebaiting your boyfriend. it's not your fault that his reactions are to DIE for. and if it somehow leads to him giving you the best orgasm of your life, who are you to complain?

you bite your lip and trail your nails along his broad chest, tracing patterns over his t-shirt like the insufferable tease you are, “is everything okay? you look like you could snap any second.” when his body shudders and his cheeks heat up, you feel ignited. your hand slides lower, brushing the waistband of his pants, watching him try to stay collected, like he isn't unraveling under your touch. you can’t help but giggle, pressing just enough to make him grunt, just enough to see that flustered tension in his posture.

but then the bedroom door clicks shut, and suddenly the teasing doesn’t feel safe anymore. you hesitate, your confidence wavers, and the brat in you, the one who thought she could get on euijoo's nerves forever, stumbles. he moves; slow at first, deliberate, because he knows how much it takes to make you melt. 

he swiftly grabs your wrists and traps them above your head, gaze dark and full of intent. “you’re so damn needy. can't behave for five fucking minutes,” he mutters, low and dangerous. you grin, pleased, chest heaving, “what? is my sweet boyfriend gonna punish me?” and the way he curses makes a shiver run straight through your leaking cunt.

wordlessly, he turns you around to face the wall, and bends you over, "you gonna be a good girl now? hm?” you do your best to scoff. however, you falter, too caught up in the grip of him tugging at your hair, pressing his hips into your ass as he grinds languidly. he’s not yelling, not angry — he has never and would never treat his precious angel like that. he’s… in control. and, god, you feel it everywhere. 

“fuck… s-shit, juju… so big—” you automatically arch your back when his cock nudges inside your gummy walls. every delicious thrust and every low groan from him makes you forget what your agenda was in the first place. your moans escape before your mouth can form the words, cunt clenching around him pathetically.

euijoo hums, teeth sinking into your sensitive neck as he fucks you fast and rough, “yeah, that’s right… i like you better when—mfmgh—your pussy's choking on my dick, baby.” you whimper as he pants against your skin because you know you can’t fight him on this.

and even when you try—oh, you do—twisting your hips, attempting to run away to hint at some semblance of retaliation, it’s useless. his hips snaps against yours with a rhythm you can’t outsmart, and gradually, whatever fire you had left disappears. your act crumbles piece by piece, swallowed by how completely you’re euijoo's. 

it’s thrilling, humiliating and electric at once. 

because the guy who looked cute and gullible in the living room? he’s gone, replaced by someone devilishly filthy, and all you can do is surrender bit by bit, screaming his name while your brattiness fades into desperate need.

[ateez-main-yapper]

I need ej so bad I'm actually gonna cry ya'll THIS WAS SO GOOD AKDHAKSHSKDHSK I FEEL LIKE I'VE REACHED AN EPIPHANY??? BEEN ENLIGHTENED EVEN??? SOFT BRAT TAMER JUJU WAS NOT SOMETHING I KNEW I NEEDED IN LIFE

[nyangjoz]

taki would never argue w his girlfriend hes always like yes maam no maam you're right im wrong

[ateez-main-yapper]

No because you're so right about this... just look at how he lets the members do absolutely anything to him, he doesn't even seem to be the type to get genuinely offended very easily. My baby's just so pliant and happy all the time, even if he did have a "fight" with his partner it would be purely because the issue needs to be sorted then and there, and the "arguement" would be be more exasperated sighs and strained discussion till things pan out and he walks away to cool down. Definitely comes back with flowers/chocolates/some kind of small gift and the saddest look on his face cuz wdym he had to disagree with his goddess of a girlfriend??? The love of his life????

[v4mpnicho]

18+ careful what you wish for

it’s your birthday and, somehow, you and nicholas have been chilling the entire time — board games abandoned in favour of drunken conversation, half a pizza lying forgotten on the table and slow music playing in the background. his playlist, of course.

just the way you like it.

speaking of which, nicholas is sprawled on the couch, that easy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth like he knows a secret he’s not telling.

you, on the other hand, are feeling bold. perhaps, a little too bold. maybe it’s the vodka, maybe it’s the thrill of saying something outrageous to your best friend, but you throw it out there anyway. “you know… if you ask me, i kinda just wanna get fucked for my birthday.”

nicholas freezes a beat too long and your gut twists in excitement and nerves.

“you're serious?” he asks cautiously and you nod, cheeks heating. “yeah. i mean, i’ve never… never actually had sex. i just thought it’d be fun, maybe. i don't know, it's stupid.”

he’s quiet for a second, watching you intently, and you panic a little, covering it up with a scandalised scoff. “i didn’t mean with you, you freak!” your voice trembles on the last word, unsure if you’re humiliated or turned on. or both.

either way, you would've never guessed what happens next.

minutes later, you end up seated on nicholas’ lap on the couch, legs tangled with his, feeling a little ridiculous and wholly electric at the same time. he’s looking at you with an all-too-pleased smirk, eyes soft and sharp in a way that should definitely be illegal.

you can’t quite place what it is about him — how familiar he is, how maddening he can be, how comfortable and dangerous all at once.

“are you alright with this?” he questions, fingertips ghosting over your skin like he can't wait to memorise it.

you bite your lip, nodding, “yeah. i trust you, nicho.”

and that’s more than enough. nicholas' hands start exploring a little more confidently, cupping your ass, toying with the fabric of your bra under your sweater, thumbs brushing the soft curve of your waist. you let out a surprised breath, realising how awake he's making you feel.

then he’s slipping a hand under your skirt, tracing patterns along the waistband of your lace panties. a smooth circle, an urgent glide, and you shiver, “n-nicho… oh…”

“just warming you up,” he reassures you, cooing in your ear. he shifts and, soon, his lips press fervent kisses along your jaw, “i want to feel you. make sure you’re ready.”

god, he's patient — so much more patient than you expected. every push of his fingers, every touch along your stomach, is careful and considerate, like he’s taking note of exactly how you respond.

"fuck, you're beautiful."

you whine against his neck, embarrassed, when he finally slips a finger inside you, curling into that perfect spot almost immediately. it’s unbearable, how it stretches you and how you melt against him. how it feels so much better than you could've possibly imagined. “ngh… s-shit—nicho… that’s—” you can’t finish, hips chasing for more on instinct.

“yeah?” he murmurs, pecking your shoulder. “like that, princess?”

your thighs clench around his hand, aching desperately, and he groans. moving with deliberate care, he adds another finger, thrusting careful strokes that make your body throb.

“i want you,” you manage between shallow breaths, squirming in his hold.

he chuckles, brushing away loose strands from your face, “and you’re getting me, don’t worry.” his fingers continue teasing, knowing how to bring you right to the edge. you fist his t-shirt to ground yourself, screwing your eyes shut as you feel a strange coil tighten in the pit of your stomach with every passing second.

but, he doesn't give you what you crave. at least, not yet.

without warning, he stops, delaying your release with an apologetic smile that promises more. "want you to come on my cock for your first, pretty girl. that okay?"

you nearly pass out at that.

by the time he lines himself up, you’re already shaking, cunt slick and dripping all over his designer jeans. fortunately, your best friend doesn't seem to mind. he enters you leisurely, giving you a chance to adjust, to savour it. the couch creaks under you as his hands grip your hips, tugging you close.

“fuck…” he lets out a satisfied drawl, pulling you in to messily suck on your tongue. he begins to move in a relaxed rhythm, and your chest rises and falls against his as you struggle to keep up.

you're beyond addicted.

you tilt your head back, lips parted, “weno— y-you can go harder,” it’s more a plea than a demand, and he doesn’t hesitate in the slightest. he leans in, holding you firmly, and fucks you deep; it's not an exaggeration to say that you feel every inch of him.

the casual intimacy between you makes the ordeal all the more intense. content with your eager reactions, nicholas hums low, biting your collarbone, “there we go. that's it, baby.” moving fully on instinct at this point, you ride him against the couch as best as you can, hands braced on his shoulders. meanwhile, his own pace picks up when you whisper, “don’t stop, nicho… please.”

a helpless sound breaks from his throat, his free hand moving to cup your breast, fingers playing with your nipple through the fabric and the heat of his mouth blanketing the other. “you taste amazing… wanted you for so long,” he mutters, gazing up at you reverently.

it’s so genuine and so needy that you moan pathetically, pulse skyrocketing. he picks up the rhythm, but remains attentive nonetheless, pressing the gentlest kisses to your neck while murmuring little praises that make you swoon.

“f-fuck… you’re taking me so well." “you feel unreal. tell me if it’s—mmh—too much, yeah?" “look at you; such a good girl for me."

everything goes syrupy-sweet inside you, your thoughts dissolving as endless pleasure blooms deep in your belly.

“h-hah... i’m close—t-think i'm gonna—” you whimper, your nails sinking into his back.

he can't stop the tiny noises of desperation that spill out, thrusting roughly one last time before both of you cum together, breathing heavy. he holds you flush against him afterwards, forehead pressed to yours and brushing a thumb along your cheek, as you wrap your arms around him, "happy birthday, gorgeous."

[ateez-main-yapper]

Diabolical. I need him so bad after the latest set of concept pics ya'll actually don't understand 😮‍💨

[ateez-main-yapper]

@maki-png thinking thoughts..... thinking many thoughts....

[sollattes]

just a lil food for thought bcus I saw the clip of nicho pinching fuma thighs again.

Just imagine nicho being in between of bp!fuma’s thighs.. nicho holding the two thick thighs away from each other as he continues to feast on fuma’s pussy as if he hadn’t eaten for days.. his hands, despite being big, still not being able to fully grasp the older’s thighs.. when Fuma finally gets to close his thighs, basically trapping nicho between his legs, the younger basically eats him out faster and harder.. now being buried deep into the older’s cunt, nicho becomes more motivated to make their sub leader cum from just his tongue.. while nicho continues his abuse on his growing sensitive pussy, Fuma hadn’t stop arching his back off of the couch, his hand draped over his mouth to keep his sounds muffled. He looks down at the boy between his legs and their eyes meet.. nicho’s eye was basically dripping with want and love and Fuma needed to bite his arm harder when nicho’s tongue hit a certain spot on his pussy all while maintaining eye contact.. when Fuma squirts or cums on nicho’s face, the younger basically basks when covered with the sweet ecstasy of his noona, his whole face glowing with juice and spit. Nicholas can’t help but smirk at Fuma’s thick thighs that were still shaking on his shoulders.

Between their noona’s legs. His jiejie’s legs.

It’s where he belongs.

[ateez-main-yapper]

The boypussy agenda is propaganda I WILL be falling for btw

[v4mpnicho]

18+ the quiet ones are always the freakiest

whenever someone coos at nerd!euijoo's adorable naivety, you barely stop yourself from choking out a laugh. almost everyone thinks he’s the poster boy for innocence. honestly, can you blame them? pastel cardigan, round glasses and notebooks lined in perfect handwriting. he's a walking stereotype. but you know the truth — he gets hard just from sitting too close to you. your thighs brush, your voice whispers “good job” into his ear and boom! he has to shift in his seat and pretend he dropped his pen just to hide the (massive) tent forming.

you love teasing nerd!euijoo when he’s studying. he gets so focused when all you simply want is a little bit of your boyfriend's attention. so, fine. sue you if you lean over, pretend to read his scribbled notes and drag your fingers casually up his thigh. “y-you're distracting me,” he stutters pathetically. it's too late. he’s already losing the sentence he was going over. the paragraph could practically be in another language.

when you climb into nerd!euijoo's lap, straddling him mid-study session, glasses crooked and breath hitching, he tries extremely hard to speak coherently. “you shouldn’t— i’m trying to… god, that feels..." his words die, replaced by shaky inhales. he grips your hips like he’s afraid to break you, forehead pressed to your shoulder.

cums too fast when you first guide nerd!euijoo in. every. damn. time. he hides his face in your neck, mortified. “sorry—i just… fuck—been thinking about this all day.” you smile sinfully, cupping his gorgeous face and making him look at you, “then do it again, pretty boy.” and god, the way his eyes roll back at that is downright filthy.

nerd!euijoo groans into your mouth when you messily make out with him. he doesn't care if he's being loud because he wants you to know exactly how much he adores your perfect pussy. he pants apologies between thrusts that grow rougher with every second that passes, “i c-can’t slow down—feels too good—'m s-sorry...”

no, listen. you don't understand. nerd!euijoo needs you to feel good; he lives for the way you moan his name, but the moment you tug his hair, praise him—“fuck, euijoo, just like that”—he positively MELTS. hips snapping harder, soft whines spilling out uncontrollably.

eating you out on his knees, fingers gripping your legs, murmuring into your soft skin, “so sweet… how are you this sweet…” and best believe nerd!euijoo WILL rut against the bed like he’s the one being taken apart.

however, at the end of the day, nerd!euijoo treats you with the utmost care. he's beyond considerate, cleaning you up gently and thoroughly. dorky glasses back on, thumb stroking your cheek like you weren't stuffed full of his cock two minutes ago. he peppers your face with the tenderest kisses, shyly asking, “did i make you feel good? tell me you felt good…”

because the truth about nerd!euijoo is that he only feels pleasure when you do.

[ateez-main-yapper]

The aftercare is what sells it for me I just know that no matter how whiny or submissive this man gets during sex he's still the most meticulous attentive lover 🤧

[ne0mile]

wip 🤓

3,6k words so far!!! I wish I could write more, but I really don't know how to manage my time✌🏼thanks for being patient with me

[ateez-main-yapper]

Vibrating at frequencies that could shatter glass rn, I'm so excited for this actually 🙂‍↕️🤭

[ne0mile]

Don’t say that😭 Seriously I might cry… ty sm, first thing I thought about before updating was tagging you🙂‍↕️

[ateez-main-yapper]

Awwwwwhhh 🥹 THANK U FOR TAGGING ME THAT CHAPTER WAS INSANE

[ne0mile]

nicholas - fuma - euijoo x princess!reader

The coup may be over, but the throne room is now held by a different kind of threat. Salvation arrives not as a knight in shining armor, but as a cold-eyed stranger who moves like a shadow and kills with terrifying grace. He has saved the king, the crown, and her life. But in the chilling silence that follows, one question remains:

What does such a man demand for a kingdom's price?

warnings (these warnings apply for this chapter only, and each chapter will be tagged accordingly): angst, medieval au!, forced marriage

word count: 6k

prologue and masterlist ❦ chapter one

an: I am SO SORRY for the very slow updates... I hope you like this chapter, also thank you SO MUCH to those who have liked and supported the first chapter, I hope I didn't lose you with the wait haha... <3

Tension, thick as clotting blood, still choked the throne room. A cold shiver traced a path down your spine. You had not released the breath you'd held since bursting into the chaos, and the metallic taste of fear and smoke still lingered on your tongue.

The dark-haired man faced your father with an unnerving stillness. He calmly retrieved his blade from the fallen traitor and wiped the steel clean on the blood-soaked wool of his own cloak. 

He did not kneel. He did not bow. He simply stood, making the once-imposing figure of your father seem small and fragile before his glacial presence.

“My men intercepted their reinforcements at the eastern pass,” he stated, his eyes lazily assessing his now-clean weapon. His tone was smooth, devoid of the adrenaline or pride such a feat should warrant. “It seems we arrived just in time.”

Your father stuttered, a soft, broken sound you had never heard from him. The King, who was accustomed to commands and obedience, now found his life and crown indebted to a man who looked upon him with the apathy of a sculptor regarding a block of stone. 

King Aldric was no fool; he knew the precarious weight of such a debt.

He drew himself up, straightening his robes with a tremulous hand, trying to weave threads of authority back into his voice. “Sir…” he began, each word measured and placed with extreme care. “The Crown owes you a great debt for your service this day. For saving my life and the stability of the realm itself. May I ask to whom I owe such a… decisive pleasure?”

In all his arrogant grace, he turned his head, his attention drifting from the king as if he were a faintly buzzing insect. His gaze swept the ravaged throne room, over the bodies and the blood-slick marble, before it landed on you. 

His eyes narrowed, just a fraction, not with curiosity, but with assessment, like a merchant evaluating a potentially valuable trinket. You held that calculating gaze, a strange hypnosis locking you in place, your heart hammering against your ribs.

“The name is Nicholas, Your Majesty,” he said, his voice a low hum that carried effortlessly across the space, still looking at you. “I have no house to claim, no title to remember me by. I am a blade for hire. A resolver of… problems.”

That seemed to take the king by surprise, his eyebrows lifting slightly. A common sellsword, however lethal, was not a figure typically granted audience in the throne room, let alone one who had just butchered a coup attempt almost single-handedly. 

This admission, rather than diminishing Nicholas, made him more terrifying. His power was not borrowed from lineage or land; it was entirely, unequivocally his own. And your father knew that those kinds of people were not to be easily impressed by crowns and divine authority. 

Finally, Nicholas deigned to look back at the king, a faint, icy smile touching his lips. “But even a simple blade expects its due reward.”

The king found his footing then, the language of transaction one he understood. “Of course. Name it. Gold? Lands? A title and a seat on the council? It shall be yours.”

Nicholas listened, his head tilted as if considering a mildly interesting proposal. He took a single, silent step forward, his boots making no sound on the gore-streaked floor. He stopped at the base of the dais, looking up at your father not as a subject to a king, but as an equal. Worse: as a creditor.

“I have no need for dusty titles or troublesome parcels of land,” he dismissed, his voice dropping into a more intimate, yet no less dangerous, register. “Gold is fleeting, Your Majesty, and I like to think of myself as a careful man, you see.” 

The air grew heavier. Everyone hung to every word he said, and the silence was only punctuated by the soft drip of blood from his cloak onto the marble.

“A title makes me a target. Land, a leash.” Nicholas’s gaze swept over the carnage, then back to the king, his expression one of cold analysis. “Gold can be stolen, or reclaimed by a king who regrets his generosity. These are not rewards. They are vulnerabilities.”

The king did not dare interrupt him, no matter how ungrateful and incredibly arrogant his reasoning was. 

“My duty was to my king. I performed it. The reward is… a separate matter. One of practicality.” He paused, letting the distinction hang in the air. “The earlier events have revealed a fragility, have they not? Were it not for a handful of men loyal to the idea of the crown…” He let the sentence trail off, a masterful stroke of implication.

His eyes flickered to you again, and you felt Fuma’s grip on your arm tighten almost imperceptibly, a silent declaration of his devoted protection.

“Has it not been for us,” Nicholas continued, his voice softening into something far more dangerous than a shout, “a few traitors would have been enough to murder you, Your Majesty. And the Gods alone know what would have then become of the realm’s only heir.”

The threat was veiled in concern, but it was a blade held to the throat of everything your father held dear. He was displaying the king’s failures, one by one.

“I have no need for gold or empty titles, and neither does the realm,” he stated, his tone shifting to one of grim finality. “It needs defense. Stability. And as today has so violently proven, it needs a strength that cannot be so easily… purchased by your enemies.”

He let the words settle. He was not asking for a reward. He was presenting himself as the only logical answer to a problem he had just defined.

“The crown must be secured. Permanently.” Nicholas’s voice was low, each word a hammer striking an anvil. “It needs a shield that cannot be broken. An alliance that demonstrates, beyond any doubt, that the realm’s future is not a thing of fragile porcelain, but of unyielding steel.”

A shiver, cold and sharp as a dagger’s point, traced its way down your spine. The implication was no longer a shadow; it was a shackle being forged before your eyes. There was no negotiation; it was a simple requisition.

Your father drew a shallow breath, his pride warring with the raw, undeniable truth of his vulnerability, laid bare by the bodies at his feet. He raised his chin in a last, defiant gesture, but the fire in his eyes had been banked by exhaustion and grim necessity. His voice, when it came, was tight, stripped of all its former authority. “Name your price, stranger.”

Nicholas looked directly at the king, his icy smile gone, replaced by an expression of chilling certainty. He did not blink. He did not hesitate.

“I will take the Princess’s hand.” The words were absolute, a decree. “It is the only guarantee that a night like this never happens again.”

Silence.

It was not the quiet of peace, but the void after an explosion. 

The air itself seemed to curdle. You felt the blood drain from your face, your world narrowing to the cold, assessing gaze of the man who had just declared himself your owner. 

From the corner of your eye, you saw Euijoo’s hands clench into impotent fists at his sides, his scholar’s frame trembling with a fury he had no means to act upon. 

Behind you, Fuma’s presence was a statue of coiled tension, his silence more screaming than any protest could have been.

And you, you were drowning on dry land. A scream gathered in your chest, but it lodged in your throat, heavy as a stone. Your lungs refused to draw air; your limbs were locked in place, weak and useless. The world began to narrow, the edges of your vision darkening as if you were staring down a long, black tunnel. The grand hall, the watching eyes, the stench of blood and smoke, it all melted into a muffled, distorted hum. You were a prisoner inside your own body, forced to watch the unraveling of your life in silence. 

The king closed his eyes for a brief, eternal moment. When he opened them, he looked not at Nicholas, but at you. In his gaze was an apology, a surrender, and the crushing weight of the crown.

He gave a single, stiff nod.

“It is done.”

Those two simple words hit you like a physical blow. The gilded cage you had always railed against had just acquired a new, far more imposing lock.

Your father turned to Nicholas, his voice shedding its momentary weakness, adopting the brisk tone of a merchant closing a deal. “You have proven your strength and your value tonight. It is a… worthy alliance. The realm will be stronger for it.” He gestured vaguely in your direction, without meeting your eyes. “The Princess accepts.”

Accepts.

A fresh, violent wave of fury boiled up from the pit of your stomach, so hot and sudden it threatened to make its way up your throat. Your nails dug half-moons into your own palms, the sharp pain the only thing grounding you to the spot, preventing you from shattering.

This was not just the usual political bargaining, the parade of simpering lords. This was different. This was a profound and personal betrayal. He had not merely ignored your wishes; he had gathered them up and handed them to a man who wore blood as others wore perfume. 

He had given his daughter, his only child, to a glorified assassin who had just carved his way through the throne room as if it were a butcher’s block. The man who now stood there, with his icy calm and calculating eyes, was not a suitor. He was a weapon, and your father had just sheathed him in your future.

You felt the weight of Nicholas’s gaze upon you again, a predator acknowledging yet another prey. A faint, almost imperceptible tilt of his head was his only reaction, and in that moment, you realized the  cage had not just acquired a new lock. The door had been opened, and a wolf had been invited inside.

“Good.” Nicholas smiled, a slow, cold curve of his lips so slight it did not reach his eyes. “Let us all retire, then, shall we? We will announce our betrothal tomorrow. I am in no rush.”

He spoke as if the palace, the schedule, and your life were already his to manage.

“And sleep comfortably,” he continued, his gaze sweeping over your father and then lingering on you, a subtle, mocking assurance. “My men and I will guard the castle tonight. Just in case any other… lingering loyalties… decide to test the new order. You are all safe and sound.”

The implication was clear. The threat was not just from outside, but from within, and he was the sole arbiter of what constituted safety. He was not asking for permission to post his guards; he was informing you of a fait accompli. 

With a slight, almost dismissive nod, he turned and strode from the throne room, his dark cloak sweeping past the bodies of the fallen as if they were merely inconvenient clutter.

The moment he was gone, the spell of terrified silence broke. A low murmur of panic and confusion rippled through the remaining courtiers and guards.

Your father finally looked at you, his face ashen. "It is for the best—" he began, his voice thick with a feeble attempt at justification.

But the words were a spark on the tinder of your shock. The numbness shattered, and a torrent of adrenaline—from the coup, the near-death, the cold-blooded executions, the brutal transaction of your future—crashed over you all at once. A raw, guttural sound tore from your throat.

"How could you?!" you screamed, the words echoing in the vast hall. You took several urgent, stumbling steps toward the throne. "How could you just… give me to him?! That… that butcher!"

You barely registered the movement, only the firm, unyielding pressure as Fuma’s hand closed around your upper arm, pulling you to a gentle but absolute halt. "Your Highness," he murmured, his voice low, a warning and a plea fused into one.

Your father flinched, but his expression hardened into the familiar, impenetrable mask of the king, whom he suddenly remembered was. He would not be challenged, not again, not by you. "That is enough," he bit out, his voice like cracking ice. "You will compose yourself. You will go to your bedchamber. We will not speak of this further tonight."

"Compose myself?" you choked out, a hysterical laugh bubbling up. "Father, please—"

"Go. To. Your. Chamber." The command was final, leaving no room for argument. His eyes, weary, flickered to Fuma. "Ser Fuma. Ensure the Princess retires. Immediately."

A heavy silence fell. Fuma did not move for a moment, his grip on your arm the only sign of the conflict raging within him. You could feel the tension in his hand, the slight tremor that betrayed his stoic facade.

Finally, with a quiet, defeated exhale, his resolve solidified. "Your Highness," he said, his voice taut with a pain he would never voice. "Come."

His touch was firm yet careful as he began to guide you, not roughly, but with an irrevocable sense of purpose, away from your father, away from the horror, and toward the room you would never feel safe in anymore. 

You threw one last, desperate look over your shoulder, but your father had already turned his back, his shoulders slumped in a portrait of infuriating resolve. 

And Euijoo, your clever, gentle Euijoo, remained a statue of misery, staring at the blood-stained marble as if he could find all the world's failures written there.

The heavy throne room doors boomed shut, severing you from the scene of your betrayal and enclosing you in the cold, silent gloom of the corridor. The last thread of your composure snapped.

Your legs gave way, the strength fleeing them as utterly as hope had fled your heart. You crumpled to the cold stone floor, the white fabric of your skirts pooling around you like spilled water. The tears you had been choking back finally broke free, hot and relentless.

"Why would you take me?" The question was almost a scream that tore at your throat. You looked up at Fuma, who stood over you. Silent. As ever.

He didn't move. He simply watched, his face a mask of stoic duty, but his eyes—you swore they talked. Only you couldn’t understand their language. 

A sob wracked your body, and you wrapped your arms around yourself, as if you could physically hold the pieces of your shattered world together. The question fell from your lips again, quieter now, stripped of anger and filled with a desolation that hollowed you out from within.

"Why would you take me...?"

It was no longer an accusation aimed at him, but a plea whispered into the uncaring darkness. Why had he, the one person sworn to stand between you and any harm, been the one to escort you to your doom? Why did your father, your only family, be the one to sell you away to a monster? And why did your only friend stand there, in the storm of it all, without uttering a single word?

Fuma did not answer. For a long moment, he was only the faint clink of armor and the shadow he cast over you. Then, he moved. Slowly, reverently, he knelt before you, the metal of his greaves scraping softly against the stone.

The movement made you look up. A shaft of pale moonlight fell through a high window, illuminating his face, and for the first time, the impenetrable wall in his eyes was gone.

You saw it then, clear as the tear-tracks on your own cheeks: a deep, resonant sorrow. It was in the slight tension around his eyes, the barely perceptible softening of his lips. It wasn't just duty you saw there—it was regret. He was sorry. Sorry for his part in this, sorry for your pain, sorry for the powerlessness that bound you both.

With those eyes, he held your gaze, allowing you to see the truth in them, offering this silent confession as his only form of comfort. 

The silent understanding that passed between you in the moonlight began to slowly quell the storm inside. Your ragged sobs softened into hitching breaths, the tension draining from your body, leaving you hollowed out and unbearably weary.

Seeing the shift, Fuma moved again with that same deliberate grace.  In one fluid motion, his arms slid beneath your knees and back, and he lifted you from the cold stone entirely, holding you against his chest.

The world tilted, and instinct made you curl into him. 

But the embrace was all hard, unyielding metal and the faint, cold scent of steel and blood. There was no comfort in it, only a stark, physical reality. You would be denied the warmth of a friend forever.

Defeated, you let your head rest against the cold pauldron of his shoulder. The chill of the metal against your hot temple was a strange relief, a solid anchor that cooled the fever of your despair.

Fuma turned and began to walk, his steps steady and sure, carrying you as if you were weightless. Your chamber was not far, but the journey felt eternal. The grand, shadowed corridors slipped past, the only sound the soft, rhythmic clink of his armor and the whisper of your skirts against his greaves. 

You closed your eyes, the last of your fight extinguished, a prisoner but in the arms of her own guard, being carried to her cell. 

Fuma carried you the rest of the way to your bedchamber in a silence broken only by the sound of his footsteps and the faint, rhythmic creak of his armor. He moved with a steadfast certainty that felt like the only solid thing left in a world that had crumbled into chaos and betrayal.

At your door, he stilled. The rules of propriety, as ingrained in him as his combat stances, dictated that he go no further. A royal guard did not enter the princess’s private chambers.

He shifted his weight, preparing to set you down, his voice a low, stern rumble. "I will keep watch."

The finality in his tone sent a fresh jolt of panic through your exhaustion-numbed body. Your fist, which had been lying limp against the cold steel of his breastplate, clenched involuntarily, the knuckles pressing white against the metal.

"Please..."

The fragile whisper was slurred with spent tears and weariness. It was not a command from the princess, but a desperate plea from a frightened girl. You knew you could not stand on your own, but that was a secondary concern to the dread of solitude. 

It was an implicit, impossible request: Don't leave me.

Fuma froze. The muscles in his jaw tightened visibly. For a long, suspended moment, he did not move, did not breathe, the conflict between his sworn duty and the unspoken need in your voice warring behind his eyes. The silence stretched, thin and taut as a wire.

Then, with a resolve that seemed to shift the very air around you, he adjusted his grip. Instead of setting you down, he turned and, with a soft nudge of his shoulder, pushed your chamber door open.

He crossed the threshold, carrying you into the dim room. It was a quiet breach of a lifetime of rules. He did not look at you, his gaze fixed straight ahead, as if by not acknowledging the transgression, it could somehow remain uncommitted.

He carried you to your bed with a slow, almost ceremonial care, lowering you onto the cool silk as if handling fine china. The sheets were cool against your skin, and when you opened your eyes, the world had narrowed to the space he occupied.

You expected him to retreat instantly, to re-establish the professional distance that was the bedrock of his service. But he did not flinch.

He remained bent over you, one arm still tucked beneath your shoulders, his face hovering mere inches from yours. The proximity was so sudden, it stole the air from your lungs. This was the closest you had ever been to him, close enough to see the faint scar cutting through his lip, the dark, unwavering focus of his eyes in the moonlight filtering through your window.

Your gaze, unbidden, traced a path over his features, from the intense, unblinking darkness of his eyes, down to the surprisingly soft curve of his lips, then further, to where the collar of his tunic gaped open. There, in that small, vulnerable space, was the strong column of his neck. In your exhausted, dizzy state, your mind unconsciously mapped the landscape of his skin: the faint pulse beating at the base of his throat, the shadow of a vein trailing downward, a small, dark mole just above the line of his armor.

Perhaps it was the residual terror, or the sheer exhaustion that made your head swim, but a strange, lightheaded feeling washed over you. It was compounded by the way his eyes, usually so fixed on the middle distance, seemed to be studying your face with a new intensity, his gaze dropping for a fleeting, heart-stopping moment to your own parted lips.

The air grew thick, and in the quiet, you could hear the soft, controlled sound of his breathing, contrasting with the frantic beat of your own heart. The cold, imposing knight was gone, and in his place was a man, a breath away, and you felt a confusing, treacherous warmth curl deep in your stomach.

An invisible thread, taut and humming, seemed to pull you from the mattress towards him. It was like a magnetic force that arched your spine, drawing you up from the silks without a single conscious thought. 

Closer.

But in the space of a single heartbeat, a flash of clarity crossed Fuma’s eyes. He moved faster than you had ever seen him, recoiling from the bedside and your proximity as if it had burnt him.

The sudden distance was like an ice-cold draft rushing over you. You shivered. 

“I…” Fuma was not a man of many words, but it was rare for him to find himself at a loss for words when he tried. He dragged a hand through his hair, the gesture uncharacteristically ragged, his gaze fixed determinedly on the shadows in the corner of the room—anywhere but on you.

Pushing up onto your elbows, you watched him, your eyes wide and imploring, begging for the words he was so clearly fighting.

“It is not… proper for me to stay here.” The words were ground out, each one cold and final as a slammed door. The statement was a blade, and you felt its edge cleanly sever the fragile connection between you.

The sharp clank of his greave hitting the floor registered a moment too late; he was already turning away. You moved with a desperate instinct. Without thought, driven only by the terrifying prospect of being left utterly alone, your hand shot out and closed around his wrist.

Your fingers, small and trembling, locked against the hard leather of his vambrace with a strength you didn't know you possessed, pulling him towards you.

His wrist, locked within your grasp, was a tense, unyielding line. You could feel the coiled strength in it, the potential to easily break your hold. But he did not. He simply stood, his back to you, his breathing a low, steady sound in the quiet room.

The silence stretched, but then, the tension in his arm slowly bled away. A deep, weary sigh escaped him. He did not turn, but his head bowed slightly, as if in submission to a force greater than his vows.

With painstaking slowness, he turned his hand within your grasp until his fingers could gently, but firmly, pry yours loose. He crossed the room and dragged a heavy, high-backed chair from the corner, its legs scraping harshly against the stone floor. He placed it against the wall, a significant distance from your bed, well beyond the bounds of propriety or even easy conversation. It was a compromise: a silent declaration that he would stay, but the chasm between you would remain.

He sat, the leather of his gear creaking as he settled into the seat. He did not lean back, but sat rigidly upright, his hands resting on his knees, every line of his body still that of a sentinel on duty. His gaze, impenetrable once more, fixed on the window, on the night.

"Rest," he commanded, his voice rough, leaving no room for argument. "You are safe. I am here."

It was not the comfort you had craved, but it was a shield. It was enough.

You did not argue. The last of your energy was spent. Letting out a shaky breath, you slowly lay back down, curling onto your side, facing him. The cool silk of the pillow soaked up the stray, final tear that escaped your eye.

In the dim light, he was a silhouette of steadfast resolve against the moonlit wall. You watched the sharp line of his profile against the faint glow from the window. The terrifying images of the night—the blood, the betrayal, Nicholas's cold eyes—began to blur and recede, replaced by the solid, silent reality of his presence.

Your eyelids grew heavy, the weight of the day finally pulling you under. The last thing you knew before sleep claimed you was the sight of him, keeping his watch, a solitary guardian in the quiet dark.

A dull, leaden weight filled your limbs as consciousness returned, not with clarity, but with a groggy reluctance. The warmth of the mid-morning sun painted gold on your closed eyelids, its intensity speaking of hours already lost to sleep. You stirred, the silk sheets whispering against your skin, and your hand slid across the empty space beside you in the vast bed.

Then, memory crashed back in a nauseating wave. The coup. The blood. Nicholas. The betrothal.

And Fuma.

Your eyes flew open, darting toward the chair in the corner, your heart giving a foolish, hopeful lurch.

It was empty.

The high-backed chair was precisely where he had dragged it. The emptiness of it was just another abandonment on top of all the others. The fragile sense of safety he had offered in the night had vanished with the dawn, leaving only the cold reality of your new life.

Panic began to claw its way up your throat. You were truly alone.

Then, a sound—a gentle, almost hesitant knock.

"Enter," you called, your voice raspy with sleep and unshed tears.

The door opened just enough for your maid, Mira, to peek inside. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with a concern that seemed to deepen the shadows beneath them. "...Your Highness...? Can I come in...?"

But your gaze was riveted not on her, but on the sliver of the corridor visible through the doorway. There, standing rigidly at his post, was a familiar silhouette. Clad in his full armor, Fuma stood like a statue hewn from shadow and steel, his eyes fixed on some distant point down the hall. He did not look in, did not acknowledge you.

Still, your heart tightened, not with pain, but with a relief so potent it stole your breath. He was here. He had stayed. All night long, you presumed, standing guard just beyond the wooden barrier that separated your world from his duty. Not as close as you had desperately wanted him, not close enough to touch, but close nonetheless. 

The young girl slipped inside, closing the door softly and obscuring your view of him, but the image was seared into your mind. The cage door was locked, but your guard was still at his post. And for now, that fragile truth was the only comfort you had to hold onto.

For a moment, Mira stood there, silent, wringing her hands slightly, her gaze darting from your face to the rumpled bedsheets and back again. She looked as if she wanted to rush forward and embrace you, or perhaps to fall to her knees and weep. Instead, she remained frozen, trapped by protocol and the sheer scale of what had transpired.

The silence stretched, thick with everything that had been shattered. It was you who broke it, your voice softer than you intended.

“Mira…” you began, and she flinched as if you’d shouted. You pushed yourself up against the headboard, pulling the sheets tighter around you. “Are you… Were you hurt? Last night.”

The question seemed to startle her even more. Her eyes, wide and liquid with unshed tears, finally met yours. It was not the question of a princess to a servant, but of one survivor to another.

“Oh! No, Your Highness. No, I…” She shook her head, a little too vigorously. “I was in the servant’s quarters. We barricaded the doors. We heard… the shouting. The… the sounds.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “But they never came for us.”

She took a tentative step closer. “It was the waiting that was the worst. Not knowing if… if you…” She couldn’t finish the sentence, her loyalty and fear stopping the words in her throat.

“I’m alright,” you said, the lie tasting bitter. You were not alright. You were betrothed to a wolf. But you were alive, and so was she. In the new, terrifying economy of your world, that felt like a small, precious victory. “I am glad you are safe.”

The simple, genuine concern seemed to unlock something in her. Her professional composure crumbled, and she gave you a look of such profound sympathy it nearly broke you all over again.

"Oh, Your Highness," the maid started, her voice trembling as she wrung the edge of her apron. "I have been asked to get you ready... Pardon me for such insulting words, but how could His Majesty ask for you in such a state...?" she whispered, the confession meant for your ears alone.

The words cut through your despair like a spark in the dark. You raised your head quickly, your heart giving a sudden, painful throb of hope.

"Father?" you asked. "He wishes to see me?"

Mira nodded, her eyes wide with a shared understanding. "A messenger came not long ago. You are to attend him in his private study as soon as you are able."

His private study. Not the throne room for another public decree. Not the hall for a formal audience. 

The study—the place of quiet counsel, of fatherly conversations. A place for apologies.

The thought took root in your weary soul, like a desperate, flowering vine of possibility. He had seen the horror in your eyes last night. He had felt the weight of his decision. He was your father. He must have spent the night wrestling with his conscience, and now, in the clear light of day, he wished to make it right. To call off the betrothal. To find another way.

The leaden weight in your limbs vanished, replaced by a frantic, buzzing energy. You threw the silken covers back, your feet meeting the cold floor with a new purpose.

"Then we must not keep him waiting," you said, your voice gaining a strength it hadn't possessed moments before. "Quickly, Mira. My simplest day dress. Nothing more."

You moved to your vanity, catching a glimpse of your own reflection—pale, with shadows under your eyes, but with a new, determined light in them. The empty chair in the corner was forgotten. Fuma's silent vigil outside the door was a comfort, but it was this new, fragile hope that truly propelled you forward. 

He was going to apologize. He was going to fix this. He had to.

Mira worked with quiet, efficient hands, her touches gentle as she helped you into a simple, high-necked day dress of dove grey wool. The lack of adornment felt appropriate; it was not a day to celebrate. She said nothing more, but her worried glances in the mirror spoke volumes. You, however, remained silent, your jaw set with a determined hope that felt like the only solid thing inside you.

When she was finished, you took a steadying breath and turned toward the door. The hope was a fluttering, fragile bird in your chest, but you clung to it.

You opened the door to find not just Fuma, but two knights. Fuma stood as if carved from stone, but the night had chiseled away at him. The dark circles under his eyes were like bruises against his pale skin, and a weariness seemed to emanate from him that went beyond mere physical exhaustion. 

He was upright, his posture perfect, but it was the rigid stillness of a man holding himself together by sheer will alone. He did not look at you, his gaze fixed elsewhere.

Beside him stood Kael, a royal guard of fifteen years, his face like a roadmap of old scars and loyalty. The presence of the older, trusted knight was both a comfort and a confirmation of the unspoken shift—Fuma was being relieved, however temporarily.

"Your Highness," Kael said. He bowed his head slightly. "I am to escort you to the King's study. Ser Fuma will stand down for a few hours."

Your eyes darted back to Fuma, willing him to look at you, to offer some silent reassurance. But he remained a statue, his avoidance a louder statement than any words. The sight of him, so clearly shattered yet still standing his ground, made your heart ache. But the pull of the potential apology waiting in your father's study was stronger.

"Very well," you said, your voice thankfully even. You stepped forward, falling into step beside Kael. You heard the soft rustle of skirts as your maid, Mira, fell a few paces behind you.

The walk through the sunlit corridors felt different this morning. The palace was too quiet, the usual hum of court life subdued, as if the very stones of the walls were holding their breath. 

Once you have reached it, Kael’s knuckles rapped firmly against the heavy oak of the king’s study door. The sound echoed in the too-quiet corridor, and you held your breath. This was it.

“Enter.” Your father’s voice was muffled, but it was his.

Mira, standing behind you, offered one last, encouraging look. You clutched it to your heart like a talisman, then pushed the door open.

The study was dim, the curtains only half-drawn. For a fleeting, beautiful second, your eyes went straight to the familiar, weary figure of your father standing by the fireplace, his back to you. A wave of relief so potent it made you dizzy as it washed over you. 

He could not face you for what he had to say. He was ashamed. He was sorry.

And then, your gaze shifted to the high-backed chair opposite him.

And the world stopped.

Nicholas stood as a pillar in the room’s new architecture. He was near the window, the morning light carving out the sharp lines of his face. He held a small, heavy-looking astrolabe from your father’s collection, turning it over in his hands with an artisan’s curiosity. He wasn't admiring it. He was appraising it.

At the sound of the door, his head lifted. There was no dramatic pause, no theatrical smile. His gaze simply found you, and in that look was a calm, settled certainty that was more terrifying than any gloating victory. It was the look of a man watching a puzzle piece slide into its predetermined place.

Your hope didn't break; it annihilated, leaving a hollow, airless space in your chest. This was not a summons for reconciliation. It was an audience to finalize a transfer of power.

He had called you here to demonstrate his compliance.

The king finally turned, and his face was a mask of pale resignation. He looked at you, then quickly away, his eyes darting to Nicholas in a silent, pathetic plea for... what? Approval? Mercy?

“Daughter,” he said. “Thank you for coming.”

Nicholas stepped forward. He placed the astrolabe on the desk with a soft, definitive click. The sound was absurdly loud in the quiet. He looked directly at you, and a cold, seamless smile grazed his lips.

"Good," he said, his voice a low hum that seemed to vibrate in the space between you. "Now we can begin."

taglist: @ateez-main-yapper @uni-versalizar

[ateez-main-yapper]

OKAY ACTUALLY LOSING IT WHAT THE HELL?!?!?

I'm so so so so sleep deprived right now but OH MY DAYSSSSS, the whole confrontation in the throne room? Nicho being so cold and calculating throughout? Amazing.

I'm kinda on the fence about MCs response... it feels just a little bit naive to expect anything to change/be different? And in the face of a literal coup that nearly took both her and her father's life, a part of me is inclined to say she should be more resigned to an outcome where they get to live. But then again I also understand where she's coming from with this. Not only has she had absolutely no say in this stranger she'll soon be married to, he's a terrifying man of unknown origins. Anyone would be shaken beyond belief in her place. Which is a nice balance in the end, she's not some tough unyielding heroine, she's just a person in a situation that is very much less than ideal. Her characterisation's been really interesting and v consistent thus far, we love to see it 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

Honestly the lack of bodies or general destruction in her room confuses me more lowkey? 😂🧐 I could've sworn Fuma beat a dude up in there two seconds ago but I might be mistaken.

And now we get to the important parts. FUMAAAAAAAAAAA DKABDKAGEKSGFKSHFK

HELLO THE SCENE WHERE HE PICKS HER UP BRIDAL STYLE IS LITERALLY ONE OF THE ABSOLUTE BEST BITS OF SYMBOLISM I'VE READ IN A HOT MINUTE CUZ HELLO?????? HE'S HOLDINH AND CARRYING HER BUT SHE CAN'T EVEN FEEL HIS HEARTBEAT EUUUURRRHJEGSJSGDJSGSAJSGSJVXSNDV I'M GONNA BE SICK THAT’S SO AKDGAKZGSKDBSKSBDMSBDS

AND THE BED????? THE BED????? HONESTLY THE BRIDAL STYLE SCENE WAS WORSE FOR ME PERSONALLY BUT ALSO OH MY GOD THE WAY SHE REACHED FOR HIM AND THEN HE DRAGGED THE CHAIR AND AND AND-

And Mira 🥲 oh girl I hope they stay friends through all this cuz mc needs it fr. No woman in that kind of situation should be totally girlfriend-less 😓

Where did Euijoo go too like bro vanished into thin air 🧍🏻‍♀️ he better show his face soon cuz we need our emotional support orange 😓

BUT FIRST NICHO OH MY DAYSSSSS, I know he's kinda evil and views mc as a prize/object for political gain rn, but logically that makes sense so I'm not about to start throwing shade at my man 🤷🏻‍♀️ especially when he's so hot while doing it 🤧

Really curious to see how this will play out though? The king's power is fragile right now, but how exactly does an alliance with a sword for hire help beyond basically having more people guard the castle? How much power does nicho have? How will other kingdoms respond to this? Who exactly planned this within the court and what retribution will they now face? Are there more traitors to root out??

So hyped about where we're headed 🤭💗

[ne0mile]

wip 🤓

3,6k words so far!!! I wish I could write more, but I really don't know how to manage my time✌🏼thanks for being patient with me

[ateez-main-yapper]

Vibrating at frequencies that could shatter glass rn, I'm so excited for this actually 🙂‍↕️🤭

[starrihan]

hi beautiful!! i be thinking about jo so often it’s concerning

right now it’s him being precious and turning all of your plushies to face the wall before he destroys u bc “he doesn’t want their opinion of him to change” 😣

→ Pairing: Jo x fem! Reader

→ Genre: smut, fluff, spit exchange, Jo being filthy on purpose,

→ Warnings: none!

→ Word Count: 1,185

→ Notes: Beautiful 🥹🥹🤧🤧HELLO GORGEOUS HOW ARE YOU??oh my god I think my pussy just did a backflip because the thought of this 😩😩 AND THE FACT THAT I HAVE SO MANY PLUSHIES ON MY BED I CAN JUST IMAGINE HIM TURNING THEM AND SAYING THEIR NAMES TOO HOLD ON LET ME COOK

→ Here's a link to all my other masterlists!

༄ ༄ ༄

NO BECAUSE THIS IS SO JO!!!

He’s been to your house before and has even slept over many times. He’s gotten to know your house like it’s his own, and that includes knowing the names of the all stuffies you keep on your bed. He finds your habit of naming them cute, and even refers to them by their names if he has to. He’s even helped you name some of them before, making his bond with your stuffed animals that much stronger. And you find it so cute that he indulges in this hobby with you without shaming you for it or calling you childish for naming and caring so greatly about your ‘children.’

Usually when you guys have sex, it’s at his house because there’s always people at yours, and you’re worried about getting caught. But his roommates are almost never there when you two are, so it always ends up working out. But one day, you’re alone for the day and decide to call Jo over.

He’s there soon after, waiting at your door with ice cream that he bought from the store. As per usual when you guys hang out, things start off tame with little fleeting touches here and there, but they eventually take a turn into something much steamier.

Here you guys are, making out on the couch, you’re sitting on his lap and slowly grinding into him, hands lost in his hair as his hands squeeze at your waist from underneath your shirt. He’s matching your grinding, rocking his hips back and forth against your clothed clit as you moan into his lips.

“Bedroom…”

You moan out, lips still moving against each other’s as he picks you up. You instantly wrap your legs around his waist, hoisting yourself up. He lays you down a little rough, a small ‘sorry’ slipping past his lips as he continues to move his lips down your neck. His hands move up to unbutton the flannel you were wearing (his btw) smiling down at you.

“You’re so beautiful…”

And even though he says that every time, you still can’t help but blush at his words. You’re quick to fiddle with his shirt, slipping it past his head and quickly pulling his pants down right after. He laughs at your eagerness, touched at thought of knowing you need him that badly. He continues kissing you, working his way down your shorts and into your panties, running a finger down your slit and dipping it in for a second before moving to rub your clit. You nibble at his bottom lip, his small laughs making you needier by the second.

Your back is arched, signaling that you need more, and he happily obliges when he sticks two fingers into your hole, slightly hissing when you bite his lips a little harder than you had intended too.

“Sorry mmm… just feels… s-so good!”

And how can he worry about his own pain when your pleasure is much more important to him? He knows you won’t be able to hold out much longer before you’re begging for him. He pulls away from you, looking to the side to see the 5 plushies in the corner of the bed, watching, staring at what he’s doing to you. He takes the chance to turn them over, one by one, making them face the wall instead.

“What are you doing?”

You ask, curiously.

“I wish I could cover their ears too. What would they think of me if they saw what I’m about to do to you next? Especially little Jojo, his poor eyes don’t deserve to be scarred.”

And you find his actions so endearing you almost cum right then and there. He quickly pecks your forehead, flashing you a bright smile before lining himself up with you, slowly thrusting into you. You're already moaning with just the head, clutching his bicep at the intrusion. Your legs spread wider, waiting to wrap around him when he fully bottoms out.

One hand is squeezing your waist, the other going down to circle his thumb on your clit to ease the pain of the stretch that you feel every time. You try your best to keep your moans down, playing into his joke, not wanting your collective children to hear your lewd moans. But it's like he's pushing you on purpose, despite being the one to turn them around, saying he wishes he could cover their ears too.

He fully sheathes himself inside you without warning, a loud scream of his name ripping from your lungs and out into the small bedroom. You can hear him giggle, slowly pushing in and out as his thumb continues to work on your clit.

"F-fuck... Jojo... too... much..."

You pant between each of his thrusts, unable to comprehend the pleasure coursing through your body right now. Moans are spilling out of your lips just as grunts are pouring out of his, each thrust delivering a new wave of pleasure to you both. Your tongue is lolling out of your mouth, drool dripping down the side of your lips. Jo notices, dipping down to lick up the trail of drool down the side of your face before pushing it back into your mouth.

"Good thing they didn't see that..."

You don't have it in you to respond, too far gone by your approaching orgasm. He picks up the pace, unwrapping your legs from his waist and throwing them over his shoulders to hit what little room you had left inside you before he was actually rearranging your guts. Your moan is almost silent with how high pitched it is, reaching thresholds you didn't think you could achieve.

Normally, Jo is really good about pulling out, but today, he was lost in the way you were moaning so loud, forgetting to pull out and keeping himself buried between your legs.

“I’m sorry Y/N! I forgot to pull out…”

You just shook your head ‘no,’ smiling as you panted, trying your best to catch your breath. You pulled him in for a short, sweet kiss.

“ ‘s okay… I’m on the pill anyways…”

He pulls out slowly, quickly grabbing the tissues on your desk to clean you up with before throwing them in your trash can, laying beside you with his hand draped over your waist. You take some time to sit in silence, look over at your little plushies that are still facing the wall.

“Do you get off knowing that you subjected them to hear all that? You’ve never went that hard before!”

You laugh, hand lightly tapping his chest.

“I don’t know what came over me… it felt too dirty to have them watch…”

“…but not dirty enough for them to hear?”

You laugh as his cheeks flush red, embarrassed by how turned on he got at the thought of shielding your stuffed animals from your actions, like they could actually perceive you both. You lay your head in his chest, snuggling into him softly as you hear his heartbeat settle into a steady rhythm.

“It’s okay. I like it when you go rough~”

༄ ༄ ༄

→ Here's a link to all my other masterlists!

[ne0mile]

#needhimbad #iwoulddoanything

[ateez-main-yapper]

So glad to see I'm not the only one being eaten alive by jojo brainrot rn

He's so soft and handsome and perfect.... and this thought is so yummy and well put together.....why's he not in this bed with me and my stuffies rn.... life is so unfair.....

[hyenagirlpenis]

do you wanna be a mindless pet for someone's sexual pleasure, or do you wanna be found so useful for just existing that you can never be discarded again

[hyenagirlpenis]

do you wanna be degraded for someone's sexual satisfaction, or do you want transcendent freedom from the endless, impossible task of proving you have worth

[hyenagirlpenis]

to clarify, it's awesome to satisfy emotional needs through kink and sex. practicing how to feel liberation from agonizing internalized hatred via intimate play is so fucking cool. never give up i love you stay safe