Muntitled - 🩰

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐖𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧

→ Mingyu x Fem!reader

→ Summary: "If you wanted me to get you pregnant so bad, all you had to was ask."

→ Warnings: Established Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Businessman au, Humour, Slight!Body Dysmorphia, Insecurities, Workaholic!Reader, Shy!Reader, Slight Male Manipulation, Slight!Angst, Smut (+18), Semi!Public Sex, Slight Coercion, Needy!Mingyu, He Whimpers, Pervy!Mingyu, Corruption Kink, Desperate Sex, Massive Breeding kink, Mingyu has a choking kink, and a Praise kink, Slight!Daddy Kink, Unprotected Sex

Mingyu likes getting choked, pls argue with the wall

The dollop of heat in your stomach steadily grew into a pool of molten lava throughout the duration of the award ceremony. The entire televised event was supposed to be in celebration of your husband and the diligence he has extended to the company for all of 2 decades.

Instead, most of the evening is spent nursing your anxiety with a flute of champagne, while you attempt to not sweat through your very expensive makeup under the heat of multiple strobe lights.

Mingyu, sitting at the table beside you serves as your only anchor, keeping your feet planted firmly to the ground while the rest of the table exchange pleasantries involving baby pictures and ultrasounds.

The dread in your stomach only multiplies.

You've been made privy to how they speak about you and your husband behind gloved hands in hushed whispers. A husband who has had to be burdened with a wife whose internal clock was no match for the importance of a career. Perhaps they thought you were too self important and too driven. Perhaps that explains why you were always invited to events out of courtesy and never out of true interest. Perhaps-

"Stop that." Mingyu's voice travels to your ear at a low and conspiratorial baritone while the rest of wives and husband at the table talk animatedly.

"Stop what?" You ask while Mingyu draws your attention to his hand now resting on your thigh underneath the table.

"Don't play with me. I can tell when you're overthinking," He says, letting his palm brush over the sequins of your pitch black dress. It matched his all black suit to rude perfection, truly making you believe you were the best dressed couple in the whole event. "If you're gonna be thinking about something, I'd rather it be the likelihood of me eating you out in this dress after we're done."

His words succeed in dragging your thoughts away from the happy couples and their happy families and you meet his eyes and the amusement swimming within them.

"Is sex really all you think about-"

Mingyu answers your question by suddenly grabbing a hold of your hand and forcing your palm over his lap until your palm is lightly grazing the bulge forming there.

"Let's hope this ends soon so we can get the fuck out of here." The rest of the event was spent with you, staring down at the table in a mindless, lustful daze while Mingyu still guided your palm up and down the bulge in his pants. It was conspicuous enough for it to look like his hand was simply resting atop yours, if anyone really got particularly nosy. Luckily, everyone else was too drunk on overpriced soju to recognize Mingyu's forced self pleasuring while he took casual little sips from his glass intermittently.

You were both relieved once it was time to go home.

This inability to adapt into the upper echelons of housewife society had not bothered you initially and it certainly did not bother your husband. In fact, someone as aloof and optimistic as Mingyu was seldom concerned with the matters of holding face for a backwards capitalistic society.

"If we weren't rich I thoroughly believe we would be those 'eat the rich' people." Mingyu announces as he trails into the bathroom behind you. The overhead lights bathe the bathroom's onyx accents in a dim light, successfully relaxing you and easing the bundle of knots that had built up in your shoulders.

Mingyu seems equally pleased to be back home, kicking off his Abercrombie loafers and watching them fly into a corner while he undoes the buttons of his jet black dress shirt. His tall frame is hunched over as he wraps his arms around your stomach, allowing you to lead him to the bathroom sinks with heavy footsteps like a 187 centimetre baby.

You, of course, do not object when he pushes his head into the space between your neck and shoulder as you begin to brush your teeth. If the award ceremony was as draining for him as it was for you, then this truly is the first moment he is able to let himself go the entire day.

"I think we can still be those 'eat the rich' people because it's not like we're rich by choice, right?" Seeing your husband constantly run the risk of impending communism would be amusing, were it not for the sour taste still present in your mouth from the work event Mingyu had just taken you too.

"At least you got to watch me in my element-" He grumbles against your skin before begrudgingly peeling himself off of you to make his way to his side of the bathroom,

"Ugh," Mingyu groans with exaggeration as he commences with his skin care, "You literally got to watch your sexy and talented husband accept a corporate award in a room full of people. I'm so jealous of you,"

"Ugh, I know!" You nod back, "Jihoon looked so good on that podium. Remind me to send him a message later." You evade Mingyu's deadpan look through the oval shaped mirror as you continue to brush.

"On a serious note, Gyu, I'm glad you had fun while I was being forced to entertain those industry housewives." You momentarily stop your brushing, "I'm thoroughly overwhelmed by ultrasounds!" You exclaim frustratedly through a gurgle of toothpaste. The very thought of those women shot your blood pressure to hell.

Their idealistic lives and their idealistic vaginas that could somehow push out a steady stream of babies before snapping back as if nothing ever happened. Business as usual.

Meanwhile, your body threw a tantrum the very second you even had a vague thought of eating something outside the bounds of your diet.

Mingyu adored every part of you - you know this - but that nauseating feeling of inadequacy always crept up on you in moments of weakness.

You sigh, "I think those women have magical vaginas."

"Hey." Mingyu says, patting down his face, "All women have magical vaginas but you especially."

You swiftly ignore him and continue your furious brushing as you say, "Every single day it's 'This one is pregnant!' 'This one wants to get pregnant,' 'This one is trying to get pregnant!'" You rant, completely oblivious to the way Mingyu watches you through the mirror as you continue.

"'I'm not quite sure when it became socially accessible for couples to just air out their breeding kinks to the public-" an ungentlemanly snort escapes through Mingyu's mouth and he pauses to shake his head and compose himself.

"I'm ultra-sounded out!" You exclaim, finally bending over to spit out a wad of toothpaste. In your periphery, Mingyu watches you with that passive look of contentment and unwavering adoration that almost never seems to leave his face in your presence.

Despite his overly humorous tendencies at times, Mingyu also harboured the habit of reading in between the lines - he had to, not only for his job but for his romantic life as well. Being blessed with a shy partner meant Mingyu had to dig just a little deeper past the veneer of everything you say, to get just a little closer to what you actually meant.

Your shyness and stoicism is what initially drew him to you in the first place. Always beating around the proverbial bush to protect your most sacred dignity and independence. It was always a struggle for Mingyu but it turned him on way too easily to picture his put-together, independent little wife needing him in a way she might not even know.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" You ask quietly, lifting your head before reigning your braids into a ponytail.

"How am I looking at you?" Mingyu asks in a voice way too husky to harbour any sense of professionalism.

"Are you seriously turned on right now?" There is no use in denying it because Mingyu knew you could read him like an open book. There's a soberness that hits him when he's turned on.

He jokes less than usual and assumes a more… slutty disposition that neither him nor you have ever been able to tame. Mingyu rubs the excess cream into his hands before leaning against the marble countertops. He watches you with a small, dangerous smirk that sends a flurry of butterflies swimming the pits of your stomach.

"If you wanted me to get you pregnant so badly, all you had to do was ask." His sentence bulldozes through the silence, steals the air right out of your lungs and nearly sweeps your feet out from underneath you. The world practically spins for a second but you grapple desperately onto your sensibilities for your sensibilities are one of the very few things you can arm yourself against your husband's slutty seduction.

"I think I could've squeezed you into my busy schedule," He chuckles lightly before stepping forward.

Almost automatically you step backwards, which evidently gets Mingyu way too excited. He raises his eyebrows with a slight before he's closing the distance between the two of you with 2 wide strides.

The light pouring down from the ceiling suddenly feels too warm, and the air feels like you've teleported to a crowded bazaar in the centre of the desert. You refuse to make eye contact with Mingyu, looming over you. You only splay a hand against his chest as you attempt to chuckle.

"You're being ridiculous." You say, "If you need to cum so bad, use your hand."

"Nah," He shakes his head without ever breaking eye contact, "That would be a waste, wouldn't it?" Mingyu's eyes frantically search your features for the same traces of lust so shamelessly displayed across his own visage. His lips are parted with his quiet breathing. "Just tell me what you want me to do, and I'll do it."

It felt like a betrayal on everything you held dear, admitting that the idea of him cumming inside you with the purpose of getting you pregnant turned you on. It felt like a betrayal on your career and your goals and aspirations.

However, Mingyu's sensibilities are completely clouded by unshakeable lust. He is so easily stimulated by every single thing about you, the softness of your body, the familiarity of your scent and the mental image of seeing you actually pregnant with his child. It has him pushing you further against the bathroom wall until the coolness of the stone sank steadily through your night dress.

Mingyu's hand immediately rips the offending article of clothing, pushing your night dress up slowly and feeling his own cock ache at how you silently comply.

"It's really easy, baby. I just need you to tell me you want me to cum in that little pussy of yours and I'll do it. Just wanna…" Mingyu's incoherence during states of exceptional lust always succeeded in making you absolutely wet. He became an insatiable, talkative and blubbering mess.

"...Just wanna make you happy," His breathing picks up almost as easily as yours, and inside himself, Mingyu releases a shotgun prayer that you want this just as bad as he does. He hopes your mind has been flooded with the exact same fantasies of him, sliding his bare cock into your soaking cunt. Him ramming into you and finishing inside of you and-

"Ah- fuck," He hisses, unable to get your panties down all the way before he's letting his fingers drift across your slippery folds. "Look at how wet you are, baby. You really do want me to cum inside your pretty little pussy, don't you?"

Mingyu's cock twitches uncomfortably in his pants while he drifts his fingers over your puffy clit, pulling a strangled moan from your throat.

"Feels good, baby?" He whimpers before slotting his hips between your legs. Mingyu's breath is warm against the side of your face as he continues to rub infuriating circles on your clit. "I can make you feel even better baby… if you let me fuck you, I can make us both feel good, yeah?" He's a whining mess - you both are as your hips move in tandem against his hands.

"Fuck, baby I need you to tell me you want this. I need you to tell me I can throw away the condoms, that I can cum inside you-"

"F-Fuck, Daddy," Your slip-up would've gone perfectly unnoticed, were it not for the heavy, almost oppressive silence between the two of you in the bathroom. Mingyu's ears perk up like a puppy that had just heard his favorite word, and he pulls himself away to gaze deeply into your eyes with adoration and awe. Mingyu's pink lips hang open as he scrambles back up to his height. He cups your cheeks with both hands, and you lean into his warm calluses as his thumbs rub gentle circles on your cheek.

The kiss he leaves on your nose is delicate and romantic.

The perfect calm before the proverbial storm.

Mingyu then nods slowly as he says, "Well now I'm definitely going to fuck you," the conviction and the bass in his voice urges a pathetic whimper through your lips and you're left to comply limply as Mingyu places a palm on your exposed thigh. He lifts you up until your leg is locked firmly around his hip and he's almost perfectly slotted between your bare legs. The feeling of having him so close to you, in such a starkly intimate position leaves you both momentarily speechless and you're watching each other as if terrified of breaking this spell of lust.

Mingyu is deliberate in his actions as he moves his hand to pull his cock out of his pants, all without breaking eye contact.

"Don't play with me like this, baby," it's the most serious he has ever been, and your back is almost moulded to the wall as Mingyu lines the tip of his aching cock to your dripping cunt. "I was literally so close to cumming in my pants, so if you're playing with me right now-"

"Mingyu," your voice is airy as you push your hips forward, taking initiative, as you always did, until the head of his cock was prodding your entrance. He shivers greatly before stealing a glance down at his cock entering you so swiftly, before he gazes deep into your eyes once more.

"If you want me…" Mingyu whispers as he fully sheathes his cock inside you, overcome by yet another violent shiver. "Baby, you have me."

The first thrust is nearly cataclysmic and he has to stop himself from cumming on the spot. Seeing him so incredibly turned on, so ready to burst at the seams has your cunt clenching around him, pulling him deeper and deeper until his gigantic cock was stretching your cunt to what felt like its limits. That second thrust completely drains him of all his composure and soon Mingyu's fucking you relentlessy into the wall as if he both hated you and loved you and did not know which was which.

Your mouth hangs open as you watch him absolutely ravage you. His dark eyes are hooded with lust and he's babbling his incoherent sentences while his long, messy hair brushes over his cheeks. He is absolutely fargone as he thrusts his hips into you, while his other hand is stationed against the wall above you. "Thank you for letting me do this, baby," he damn near whimpers as he pushes himself harder and faster into you, unable to stop the neediness from sinking into his tone. "Thank you, thank you, thank you-"

"You're doing so well baby" You whisper, causing his hips to stutter against yours while a pained moan releases itself from your throat.

Your mouth is still hanging open and Mingyu takes the opportunity to dip down and crash his lips onto yours. The kiss is furious and desperate and you realise this is exactly what you love about him. You appreciate how easy it is to please him, how unashamed Mingyu is of displaying his emotions. He is loud and passionate and it drives you absolutely insane.

"Fuck-I'm close," He breathes, as he peppers kisses along your face. His hand squeezes desperately at your breasts as he pants in your ear. "Tell me to cum inside you- pleasepleaseplease,"

You are operating purely on the lust distributed from Mingyu's incessant whining and whimpering until an idea strikes you so vividly you almost wonder why you had not done this before.

In between your feverish panting and Mingyu's ravaging motions, you delve your head into his hair before peeling his face away from you. His eyebrows are furrowed in confusion before you slither your hand down to lock your palm around the his throat. Your hand doesn't fully enclose his neck but you succeed in adding pressure, causing the man before you to roll his eyes into the back of his skull in absolutely ecstasy-

"Oh fuck-I'm cumming-" his body spasms before you in a euphoric daze, quickly triggering your own orgasm as you continue to choke him and move your hips in tandem with his cock.

"Fuck, oh fuck!" He swears as he clamps his hand around your thigh as if begging to spread you wider, to push in deeper until he's filling you up completely with his load. It's messy and so wildly intimate, you're both lost in the crevices of your own respective pleasure. How anyone could make someone feel as completed as you two currently feel is so unimaginable, you both struggle to find the words. Mingyu is a panting mess above you while you attempt to ease your runway heart.

It strikes you then that you're perhaps afraid, now that the lust has cleared that the post nut clarity might rid him of his earlier statements.

All you do is watch as he places another kiss on the tip of your nose before easing his cock out of you.

"I'll run out to buy Plan B tomorrow. You don't have to -"

He shushes you almost immediately as he pads over the bathroom sink. Mingyu hums softly as he ruffles through the medicine cabinet until he finds what he's looking for. All you can do is watch as he dumps the entire contents of your birth control pills down the toilet. He never breaks eye contact, only maintaining a wide slightly manic smile.

<3

© to @mphountitled on tumblr; do not repost

Guys, I seriously think this might be the fic that breaks me. Because not only am I crying alone at 6am, but I'm fricken yearning for something I've never had like this is not okay for me to be feeling these things. But this is why we have art and creative writing, I guess

- so beautifully written I'm actually sobbing bye

DONT LOOK AT ME PLEASE.

Summary: A quiet night in with Jihoon is the perfect excuse to reminisce on the evolution of your relationship with him. It evolves a bit more when he wakes to find you trying on one of the paper rings he's been leaving all over the house.

Word Count: ~4000

Content Notes: this is not smut ! this is just fluff ! very happy and probably tooth-rottingly sweet !!

Warnings: lil bit of weed; mentions of drinking; mentions of eating; cramps mention (not specified as menstrual so even if u don't menstruate you should be good to go), mentions of having kids but its even smaller a blip than the drugs; he lifts reader up (lbr this man is massive and i believe that if he couldn't lift you he'd just work out till he could), i mention his body a lot bc im obsessed with it what can i say, he's asleep for like half of it sorry, a bit of crying but not as much as in bartender!seungkwan pt 2

tagging: @confusedbansheee @lenireads @junhui-recs @burningupp-replies @heeseung-lover686 @favehoshiposts @gyvswhore @jaysawake @1004luvangel @bangchanbabygirlx

“Sleepy?” Jihoon asks from bed with a soft voice, face nearly expressionless, but you can see the love in his eyes, like always. You’ve gotten good at reading Jihoon over the two years you’ve been together but the man doesn’t always offer up his emotions freely. In his music, sure, but in life? Unless he’s laughing, it can be hard to tell how exactly he’s feeling. If you ask, the answer will usually be hungry, or most often, tired.

Jihoon is always tired, working long hours in the studio as a producer and even longer hours at home as a songwriter. You can always hear him singing in the spare bedroom turned home studio, and every time one of his songs comes out, you wish it was his voice instead. He sings for you, sometimes, when you can’t sleep. Most of the time, he sings when he thinks you’re already asleep (he doesn’t need to know you're faking and you don’t need to know he knows you’re faking). 

You realize you’ve forgotten to respond to him and nod with a gentle smile, bending down for a kiss which he returns contentedly. He’s used to it, knows you drift off sometimes, especially when he sparks a thought in you. 

You’re still thinking as you crawl into bed beside him, leaning in for one more kiss before nuzzling your head into his shoulder. 

You have a lot of thoughts about him, at all times.

You didn’t last long as friends, maybe two or three months, because your traitorous brain just wouldn’t shut up about him. 

His friends had been high the night you met, bragging to you about what a star Jihoon was and trying to get you to date him. Jihoon, meanwhile, looked like he wanted the earth to open up and swallow him whole, especially when the platinum blonde one (whom you now know as Soonyoung) held his hand up and curled his fingers at you, hissing, “Tiger’s gaze!” and then stared at you with narrowed eyes for approximately 45 seconds. 

It only got worse when his other friend (sweet, kind, loud Seokmin) started singing something from King Arthur at the top of his lungs; his voice would have been beautiful if it wasn’t directly in your ear and echoing off the empty streets.

Jihoon did his best to wrangle them, apologizing sincerely before dragging them away and shooting one last pinched smile over his shoulder at you.  

You’ve never told him but that night, you went home and googled the fuck out of him. You’d tried every combination of Jihoon and producer and music and songwriting you could think of, throwing in other random words just in case they worked. Nothing did and you fell asleep that night frustrated, and no more informed than you were when you started. 

Now obviously, you know you didn’t find anything because he produced under a pseudonym. 

Your eyes wander over the shelf of awards, all won by Woozi or Universe Factory. Jihoon had been reluctant to put them up, being the humble man he is, but you wanted to celebrate him. You wanted him to look at them and feel proud. And then look at you and feel supported. He may not say it but you know he does. 

You can feel Jihoon’s breath even out and look up at him to find his heavy eyelids closed and his lips open just a bit. His throat will be sore tomorrow if he sleeps with his mouth open like that, and he won’t absentmindedly hum around the house if it is, so you hold your breath and carefully push his chin up with one finger to close it. You wait, just to make sure you haven’t woken him, and thank your lucky stars he’s a heavy sleeper. 

Now that you know he’s sleeping and won’t perceive you (as he so often does), you let your mind wander. 

You think about how you’d run into him again, on that same street, with the same friends, just a few weeks after the first time. You’d pretended you didn’t remember him, or that night. 

Even then he knew you were lying. Jihoon’s always been able to see right through you, down to the insecure and messy parts you try to hide. 

He let it slide though, let you pretend, knowing somehow you needed to protect yourself just a little bit longer. Soonyoung and Seokmin (they repeated their names to you what felt like a hundred times) somewhat desperately attempted to convince you to join them on their night out.

Jihoon had tried to free you, give you an out by saying that you were probably busy and had plans of your own, his eyes boring into you to make sure you knew what he was doing. 

You only needed a few seconds to decide you didn’t want to be free. 

So you joined them, and learned you shared mutual friends, and suddenly two friend groups became one, and then you were seeing him every weekend. You always thought you could feel Jihoon’s eyes on you, but when you’d look over he’d be in a seemingly deep conversation with someone else, usually Jun. 

Jun was one of the friends you had in common, you’d met him at work and Jihoon had known him since middle school, and he was perhaps too delighted when your friend groups merged. 

You honestly couldn’t tell if Jihoon even liked you as a person until your friends insisted on swimming in Jun’s apartment complex’s pool. It was freezing out, halfway through November and mid cold-front, and the absolute last thing you wanted to do was jump in a cold ass pool.

Everyone else had gone in, everyone but you and Jihoon. Your friends had tried to goad you for a bit but eventually gave up and started trying to drown each other, as boys do. 

You’re sure Jihoon could tell that you did want to get in, but you didn’t want the teasing or punishing splashes that were sure to follow, because he came and sat next to you on the lounger, and said quietly, “what if I go in first?” 

With wide eyes, you’d turned to him, shocked that A) he was talking to you unprompted, and B) that he was offering to get in the pool at all. He’d been adamant he didn’t want to get his clothes wet, saying that he hadn’t brought anything else to wear, that he hated the way water felt in his slides. Jun had offered a shirt, but you and everyone else knew it wouldn’t fit Jihoon. He was just too big, so very big and dense and muscular and…

You shake your head, reminding yourself that he’s asleep and values his rest and wouldn’t appreciate you awakening him by feeling him up. 

Maybe he would though, he always gets the cutest blush whenever you appreciate his body in any way, shape, or form… and his form is so…

No! Jihoon needs his rest, he doesn’t sleep enough and he works too hard for you to wake him up now, even if you desperately want to trace your fingers over his pecs. 

Your mind wanders to when you’d accidentally went from friends to more than friends to lovers to partners. 

Jihoon wasn’t much of a drinker, and neither were you, so you were often paired up as designated drivers. Neither of you minded, preferring to keep a clear head and make sure your friends didn’t concuss themselves or impregnate anyone, but it meant you spent a lot of time together.

A lot of time together, late into the night, surrounded by drunk people who wouldn’t remember what you said in the morning. 

So you and Jihoon entertained yourselves by making fun of your friends’ antics. You shared secret smiles when Seokmin inevitably climbed on a table and started belting out show tunes. You giggled to each other when he launched himself onto Mingyu’s back and declared himself king of the world. You blindly slapped at each other’s arms and stifled smiles when Soonyoung started trying to make out with whoever was closest to him and subsequently got pushed away with a palm to the forehead. 

That’s usually when one of you would decide the group had had enough for the night, and worked together to corral everyone into your respective cars. One night though, after assigning seats and buckling everyone in (thank fuck you both drove SUVs), Jihoon gently caught your hand before you opened the driver’s side door and pulled you aside. 

He’d looked nervous, which was uncharacteristic of him, and you were instantly worried he was going to tell you he was tired of chaperoning.

Terrified you’d be on your own from now on, left to somehow babysit twelve grown men without Jihoon’s firm, large hand, you twisted your fingers together and stared at him apprehensively. 

“Do you think you’d maybe… some time… want to get-” Jihoon pushed out a breath, shaking his head from side to side a little, before continuing.

“Would you wanna get a drink sometime? With… just me? We could leave the kids at home for once.”

A half-smile pulled at his lips, nerves evident only in the bunching of his muscles and the way he couldn’t quite meet your eye. 

It had taken everything in you to pretend you didn’t just see a flash of the two of you dropping toddlers off at your mom’s house before running back to the car together and escaping into the sunset.

Jihoon must have taken your wide eyes and silence for a rejection though, because he started backtracking. He didn’t get far before you interrupted him.

“Actually there’s a place nearby where they wander around with various grilled meats on sticks and cut it right there onto your plate. It’s all you can eat. We could go there instead?” You offered hopefully. 

Jihoon had looked right at you then, like he was seeing all the way down to your bones and into the annoying, stupid organs they protected (a heart that beat too hard around him, and a brain that he could scramble with a single touch).

But his face was more open than ever, eyes clear and focused on you. It was scary almost, to have all of his attention, all of his concentration, on you like that. Scary until he broke out into a full grin, eyes crinkled and dimples creased in his smile lines.

And that was all it took, just one smile and he’d burrowed his way deeper into the depths of your heart and every groove of your brain, and you knew somehow you’d never be able to disentangle them from him. 

Jihoon’s been stuck there ever since, carving out his own space in you with every late night spent cooking together, every early morning spent staring at each other, every long day spent caring for one another. 

His care always shows in the little things: in the way he makes two portions when he has to leave early for work so he’s sure you eat breakfast, in the way he noticed that you hate when his toes touch you in bed and started wearing socks without you having to ask, in the way he can always tell when you have cramps and appears every four hours to give you pain meds because you’d forget they exist otherwise. 

The longer you’re with him, especially now that you live together, the more sure you are that you want this to be your life, forever.

You’ve already read all of the books on his side of the bed, even though they’re about songwriting and you don’t have a poetic bone in your body. There’s a picture of him on your nightstand, framed carefully, and he’d bemoaned the fact that it was just him and not you together. 

But how could you resist? His mouth was open wide, kabobs in each hand, and uninhibited, ravenous joy in his eyes. It’s one of your favorite pictures of him, and you know Jihoon knows it’s because it reminds you of that first date at the Brazilian steakhouse. 

You smother a giggle in his shoulder, remembering how Jihoon had invited you back to his place after. 

You’d worried things were moving too fast until he turned on a movie and immediately fell asleep, his massive shoulders tipping into you until he was practically in your lap. You hadn’t been able to move for hours, both because you didn’t want to disturb him and because he was just too heavy, and even with dead legs and a screaming bladder, you still wouldn’t change a single thing about it. 

You don’t mean to, but sometimes you wake up in the middle of the night and can’t fall back asleep, so you just lay on your side and watch his chest rise and fall. It’s soothing to you, the pattern of his breaths and the sound of air moving through his lungs. A reminder that he’s here with you and feels safe with you and loves you (Jihoon can sleep anywhere but he doesn’t like sharing a bed, a fact that changed with you). 

This usually happens on rainy days or Mondays or when things feel a bit more complicated than normal.

Being with Jihoon isn’t always easy; it’s not even close to his fault but it can be hard contending with his demanding schedule, and sometimes he pours so much emotion into his music he doesn’t have a whole lot to spare for you. You never doubt that Jihoon loves you, but there are days that he’s a bit closed off, a bit unavailable. 

Those are the nights that you stay awake on purpose, just so you can watch him sleep and remind yourself that he wants to be here with you, and that he’s here to stay. 

You’re still not sure if Jihoon thinks you haven’t noticed the paper rings he’s been leaving all over the house. He has to have noticed that they disappear though, snatched with delicate fingers and deposited straight into your jewelry box as soon as you find them. You’re too scared to put them on, worried you’ll tear the paper or get them wet or lose them, but you know they’re for you. 

He’d told you somewhere near the six month mark that his writing changed when he met you, got deeper, truer, his words finally tied to real experiences, and you’ve listened to every song he’s put out since then. 

Same dream, same mind, same night was basically a proposal in itself, even if it was sung by someone else. Last month, he’d led you into his studio, gently pushing you down by the shoulders to sit in his chair before starting the guide track of IF you leave me and immediately running from the room.

You’d emerged fifteen minutes later, your face wet with tears and sobs caught in your throat, walking straight into his arms and staying there for hours. 

Your mind lingers on one lyric in Same, same, same.

Promise me eternity, if you feel the same way as I do

You feel the sudden urge to look at the rings, to try one on for once, so you carefully roll out of bed, thanking yourself for not having wormed your way into his arms yet. Shuffling on quiet feet to your dresser, you open your jewelry box, holding your breath and praying it doesn’t creak. 

The paper rings are there, as expected, but you notice something new this time. 

A metal one, white gold, with a diamond wrapped in delicate golden vines, dotted with tiny gemstones. You look closer, realizing that the gems are his and your birthstones. 

Your breath catches in your throat, tears welling up immediately, and you almost curse Jihoon for making you cry so late at night, before you hear rustling behind you and his tired voice. 

“Took you long enough, that thing’s been in there for days,” you can hear the smile in his tone, hear the way it forms his words and coats them with love, “didn’t you notice I stopped leaving paper ones for you to find?” 

You can hear blankets moving through the roaring in your ears, fingers quivering around the ring until Jihoon reaches around you and takes it from your grasp. He must know you’re frozen, unable to turn around on your own, because he lays a gentle hand on your shoulder and spins you slowly himself. 

Your gaze meets his and you’re shocked to see inklings of tears in his eyes, your eyebrows raising and the fondest smile stretching your lips. Jihoon tries to kneel but you follow him, sinking down onto your knees until you’re both sitting on the floor of your bedroom, in the home you share. 

He rolls damp, playful eyes at you, and you can only shrug and let your watery smile grow.

Jihoon should know by now that you’ll always follow him. 

“I had a plan, if you didn’t find it in the next few days,” Jihoon begins, voice quiet but strong. 

“I bought you a music box programmed to play the song I wrote the night I first asked you on a date, one you’ve never heard before, and I was going to have it waiting with all the rings inside when you got home from work.”

You nod, biting your lips into your mouth to stifle the sob, forcing yourself to focus on him even through the fogginess of your tears. 

Jihoon just narrows his eyes at you lovingly, a little chuckle escaping under his breath, before shifting to sit with his knees crossed, and pulling you to sit sideways in his lap. His arms wrap around you, cradling you and letting you gather yourself enough to listen to him, and he carries on with his speech. 

“You know I like to have control over my life, over who’s in it and what happens and where it goes, but when I met you, I started wondering what could happen if I didn’t control everything. It felt like a sign when I saw you again, and then when we had friends in common, it felt like the pieces could fall into place if I would just let them.”

Jihoon disguises a sniffle in a cough and like the loving, caring person you are, you pretend to be fooled. 

“So I tried to let go. I wasn’t successful at first,” you snort, remembering the way he always pretended he hadn’t been looking at you, and he bops you gently on the head with his nose in retribution. 

“I wasn’t successful at first,” Jihoon continues pointedly, digging his chin into the top of your head a bit. 

“But I got better at it, better at letting go and letting things happen, and being around you got so easy I didn’t even have to try anymore. And then I asked you out for drinks, and I thought you were turning me down but you proposed meat instead, and that’s when I knew,” Jihoon nods with finality, seemingly finished. 

“Is that- Are you… done?” You ask, tilting your head to stare at him. 

Jihoon stares back, face flat, before he breaks out into laughter, his cackles bouncing off the walls of your bedroom and your heart. You can’t do anything but join him, resting your head on his shoulder and giggling into his neck. 

“No, I’m not done. I was pausing for dramatic effect, I thought you’d appreciate it!” He says breathlessly, pressing a kiss onto your forehead, pausing to let his lips rest there a moment. 

“That’s when I knew that I was in trouble. That if I got to be with you, got to love you, I’d never want anyone else. But I was ready, I am ready. And if you are too, then,” Jihoon pauses to pull away enough to look at you, voice soft and serious.

“Marry me?” He unwraps one arm from around you and holds out the ring, nestled in his palm and looking so so delicate compared to the size of his hand. 

You feel like your throat is closing up, clogged with joy and love and wishes fulfilled. You can only nod, reaching shaking fingers out to Jihoon, watching as he slides the ring onto your fourth finger. It fits perfectly, sparkling even in the moonlight and warm from his skin. 

Staring at it on your finger for just a second, you take a deep, steadying breath before tackling Jihoon to the floor and kissing him like your lives depend on it.

He goes willingly, you know because Jihoon’s withstood your attempts to tackle him before, and he lets you kiss all over his face with his eyes scrunched shut and the brightest grin you’ve ever seen him wear. 

You lay there together on the floor, his body cushioning yours from the hardwood and you promising him in your mind to massage away all the aches tomorrow, talking late into the night and falling asleep together, breaths in sync. 

You wake up in bed, eyes swollen from crying the night before, and jerk as your phone vibrates again on the nightstand. 

Oh, so that’s what woke you up, you think, reaching over to flick the button and silence the buzzing. 

Jihoon’s not in bed with you, but you can hear him singing in the kitchen, a song you don’t recognize. Something about being ready and wanting to run away and someone being his escape? 

You start to roll out of bed, toes tapping to the beat of his song, but stop when you see your phone light up again. Your eyes grow wide at the amount of notifications, the such a beautiful night groupchat being responsible for all of them.

Rubbing your eyes blearily with the back of your hand, you scroll through the messages, trying to catch up. 

You see apple cash being exchanged, demands for pictures, requests for the full story, and know Jihoon must have told the guys.

Some people might be upset that he’d shared the news without asking, but you just smile, because it had been them who brought you together in the first place. 

It was Soonyoung who growled at you when you were passing him in the street, forcing Jihoon to grab him by the arm and apologize profusely to you.

It was Jun who called the night you first agreed to hang out with them, who recognized your voice and shouted at Jihoon until he passed the phone to you.

It was Seungcheol who begged you both to be designated drivers, desperate to the point of offering the two of you gas money and his firstborn child.

It was Seokmin who broke out into love songs every time you and Jihoon so much as glanced in each other’s direction, and Mingyu who carried him away before either of you got too embarrassed and annoyed to even look at one another. 

Memories flicker through your brain like vintage film, your mind recalling moments you and Jihoon shared with each and every one of the guys.

Moments that led you to each other, brought you closer together, allowed this love to grow.

Facilitated it, even. 

You’re so lost in thought you don’t notice Jihoon coming in until he scoops you up into his arms bridal style and hauls you into the kitchen, setting you down on the counter and placing a plate of steaming scrambled egg mess on your lap and a fork in your hand.

You reel a bit, trying to catch up to the abrupt location change, and ask Jihoon, “what was that for?”

Jihoon smiles at you, dimples on full display and cheeks pushed up high, and says, “Practice.”

AN: so if y'all couldn't tell by my blog, woozi is my ult and i fear i may be straight up in love with him, evidenced by this fic. i made myself cry with this one and you're legally obligated to tell me if it made you cry too!

this is the pic reader has framed

:'-)

Ps do u guys know what I’m talking about when I said his exhale head shake thing bc I love when he does that and if u dont know I will find it and gif it and reblog it onto the post

Part Two

hiii i was wondering if i could make a fic rec for hazel with a stoner!reader where reader teaches hazel how to smoke weed and they get high together and things get a little hot n heavy

😭unfortunately for me this is the one thing I can't write because I dont smoke or drink (there is absolutely no problem with people who do. It just genuinely gets me uncomfortable to imagine lowering my inhibitions because I'm paranoid trash.)

I wanna give quality work, and I feel like if I wrote this, it would NOT feel authentic.

I'd be like Hazel in the fic💀

I freaking love how Mingyu's reaction to being called out on slutty behavior is to say 'I miss you baby' or 'I love you baby' UGH INWJAOAHSS

hey babyyy can i ask for some mingyu bf smau?? i love ur texts

random mingyu bf texts

of course babyyy here u go :333

i hopw u like them!!

idk if its on point sincw lately ive been a bit distanced w svt..

more dom!hazel would be so appreciated if u can hehe 🫶🫶

+ another anon who asked for a cleaning bruises fic

𝐁𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐬 & 𝐁𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬 | 𝐇𝐚𝐳𝐞𝐥 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐡𝐚𝐧

Hazel Callahan x fem!reader

Summary: "If I put my hands up your skirt right now, am I gonna find you wet?"

Warnings: Established Relationship, Hyper feminine!Reader, PJ as her own warning, Mentions of Bruises, Mentions of Violence, Cleaning Hazel's bruises, Domestic Fluff, Humor, Jealousy, Possessiveness, Smut (+18 Minors DNI), Dirty Talk, Mutual Pining, Fighting Kink?, Fingering, Dom!Hazel, Sub!Reader, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink, Overstimulation

Can be seen as a continuation of this fic but not strictly

Your afternoon had been almost perfect, with Hazel nestled between your open legs just a step lower on the school bleachers. Her head had been thrown back, with her curls running rampant against your skin and tickling your chest. You smoothed her hair down in vain intervals while she played with a loose string on the stitiching of your plaid skirt as she droned on and on about the unlikelihood of being enlisted as a bomb tech by the US Army.

"I don't really know where else I could use my particular set of expertise. What else could I do that won't ultimately lead me down the path of... you know, treason and terrorism?" You nod vaguely as Hazel continues her equal parts aloof and equal parts worrying rants. All while combining your fingers through her hair, "I mean, I just feel like World War III is probably upon us, you know-"

"Ugh, could you guys get a room?" You had been so enamored by Hazel's ranting that you failed to notice PJ at first. Her and Josie made their slow ascent on the bleachers until their shadows blocked your afternoon sun.

"Could you get a girlfriend?" The words had snipped off your tongue with harsh vexation as you instinctively cradled Hazel closer to your chest.

"Jesus-" Hazel had muttered, as she craned her neck up to stare at PJ and a disgruntled Josie, "Why are you trying to hijack my boob time?"

You had to reign in all murderous intentions as PJ grabbed hold of Hazel's forearms and forcibly dragged her up off the bleachers… out of your arms.

"You don't get boob time until we all get boob time. And need I remind you that you're going to be late for Fight Club," You heaved a very loud, very obnoxious sigh as you tilted your head backwards, letting the rays bounce off your pink sunglasses, "You guys should seriously get a room." Said PJ, "Stop giving the entire football team a show. Come on, you're setting us back like 69 years-"

Before PJ sunk her claws into Hazel completely, she bent down until her lips pressed against your cheek, and she whispered, "I'll see you back at my place, yeah?"

Your heart deflated at her confirmation that she was indeed leaving you for Fight Club, "Hazel..."

"Shh, shut up. Just say yes,"

But before you could wrack your brain for something coherent to say, PJ had already begun to make her descent off the bleachers, taking your girlfriend along with her.

You did not hate PJ, nor were you her biggest fan at the best of times. However, nights like tonight made your vexation grow to unimaginable heights simply because PJ is completely and utterly inescapable.

This evening, however, waiting for Hazel to get back from Figh Club, had been perfect. Etta James had been oozing through The Callahan's home speakers as you prepared the butternut soup- Hazel's favourite Post Fight Club recovery meal (although she hated admitting it, because she did not want to put you out of your way).

You are perfectly content, trapped in your web of make-believe as you prance around Hazel's kitchen, assembling your respective bowls needed for the soup. Mrs Callahan had let you in, as she always did after school, with a dismissive wave while she babbled into the receiver of her iPhone. Before she completely disappeared into the innards of her sprawling house, Mrs Callahan vaguely threw over her shoulder "Hazel is at her thing until 5 but I'm sure you've been made aware," and you were left in this great big labyrinth to entertain yourself.

Sex had been even more seldom, given that Hazel was rarely ever in any shape to commence any form of coitus due to the various bruises popping up in unlikely places. You wish you can safely tell yourself you despised seeing her bloody and battered state - that you gain absolutely nothing from Fight Club and that you most likely never will.

But you're staring dreamily into the pot of soup, and you're stirring and stirring, with your heart racing in anticipation of Hazel's inevitable return with her inevitable bruises smeared across her perfect little face.

You had not planned on cooking for anyone because seducing Hazel in her inevitably bloodied state was on the forefront of your mind, and Mrs Callahan had a very tempting bright pink apron hanging on the hook.

So perhaps you did do this all for her.

Perhaps you were waiting for her, to stride on through the foyer, nursing a streak of dried blood down her nose, eager to catch her reaction at seeing you so comfortable in her space while you rushed to swoop in and fawn over her.

This near perfect daydream might have actually manifested…

Were it not for PJ's loud and obnoxious voice bleeding into the kitchen from the foyer, accompanied by the heavy groan of the front door slamming shut. Your shoulders visibly sag as you empty the rest of the soup into your bowl just as the trio rounds the corner into the kitchen.

"Oh my God - soup!" PJ exclaimed rushing towards you with her gaze zeroed in on the bowl locked firmly in your hand. You had been so focused on keeping the bowl from PJ's incessant grabby hands that you failed to see the dazed, almost breathless look that sprinkled over Hazel's face who drifted slowly behind Josie despite this being her house.

Suddenly, every thought about the impending bruise she was facing due to not dodging a right hook earlier vanished from her mind like doves in the wind. Hazel's head was completely flooded with the image of you, in her kitchen, with your cute as fuck little skirt grazing just above your knee.

This almost did not feel real. Less than a month ago, no one barely blinked in her direction, but now...

So enamored was Hazel by your act of service, she nearly failed to catch PJ's innate need to flirt whenever you were in the vicinity.

"You look hot by the way," PJ had slyly said, still reaching for the bowl of steaming soup, which you only drew higher above your head.

"Sorry PJ, only people who make me cum get to eat my cooking."

"Is that an invitation?" She asked, leaning against the counter, "That sounded like an invitation."

Hazel cleared her throat, finally succeeding in having your eyes wash over her. "Can we probably not talk about you fucking my girlfriend, maybe, I think?" She said cooly, discarding her bag somewhere on the floor before making her up closer towards you. Her slouch was even more prominent and you swear the air in your lungs thinned as she brushed up beside you and muttered, "Hey,"

"Hey yourself." And Hazel's tummy instantly warmed as you discarded the bowl on the counter, turning to cup her cheeks in your hands as you observed her latest shiners acquired from Fight Club. Something sinister flashed through Hazel's mind as your big dark eyes scanned over her visage, eyeing the new bruise splotched across her eye and the horizontal laceration on her cheek.

"It doesn't hurt," She can barely find her words under the overwhelming feeling of your care and attention. Your scent is all encompassing, and before she ever allows for anymore of her arousal to stain her boxers Hazel attempts to draw her face out of your palm.

"Jesus, Hazel!" You squeal, pulling her head down closer to your height, until Hazel has to support herself with a hand on the counter behind you, "Please don't tell me you were sparring with anyone on the football team again!"

You hoped you succeeded in masking how turned on that thought actually got you...

Hazel's voice is deep and low as she replies,

"Jeff said that if I can at least dodge his left, left, right hook next time, I could probably be ready for the whole team." You breathe out and airy laugh almost the same time as her, the both of you silently aware of what the other was doing.

"Ugh, you're such a virgin." PJ mutters under a mouthful of soup.

"I literally have a girlfriend," Hazel mutters without looking away. Her gaze was nearly trapped in yours as she allowed you to pull her limp body away from PJ and Josie. "Come on, I need to clean you up."

And that's how you had found yourself, cross-legged on Hazel's bed with her leaning against the headboard like your Oh so compliant little patient. Her gaze is yet to waver from yours, in fact, cleaning the laceration had been utter hell, right up until this point because Hazel had taken to drawing various circles against the skin of your exposed thigh.

The skirt had ridden up marginally from your seating position, and Hazel seems perfectly fine toying with your various emotions.

"You look really pretty," Hazel breathed out as if those words were sitting heavily on her heart ever since you applied the wet gauze against her left cheek. You try to hold your composure, keeping a firm eye on the dressing of Hazel's wound as you say, "I don't really think I want you going to fight club anymore,"

"Tch'yeah okay," she snickers dismissively, "Hey, is this skirt new? It's hot- like 'gay 50s housewife' kinda hot," There's an edge to her voice that has Hazel sitting taller against the headboard before incriminatingly letting her hands drift just a little higher on your thigh. Your breathing becomes heavier as you fight hard to maintain your crumbling composure.

"I'm serious, Hazel," you had begun to whisper. Why had you begun to whisper?

"I don't wanna have to stitch you up every time-"

As soon as the gauze was plastered onto her cheek, Hazel's head was already melting into your chest, nuzzling at your open cleavage exposed by your Pastel v-neck as she says, "God, I love it when you mommy me,"

"H-Hazel," any warning you tried to inject into your tone gets fizzled out by the embarrassing moan that escaped your lips as Hazel's teeth dragged lightly against the skin of your chest. Her hands were restless, as if she was testing herself as to how far she'd allow herself to go so quickly.

You suck in so much air as Hazel's palm cradles the inside of your thigh and because you're cross legged, closing your legs is nearly impossible. "Fuck, I'm so turned on, right now," her voice cracks as she brings her face up from your boobs. Pressing a hand to your cheek, she tries and fails to bring your lips towards hers.

Hazel frowns as you say,

"You think it makes me feel good seeing you like this?"

You ignore the budding voice in your head echoing the loud and very obnoxious 'yes, yes you do like seeing her like this. You like seeing that reckless smile blossom onto her cracked and battered face. It gets you wet and you know it does-'

But your voice is full of fragile conviction as you say, "You think I like seeing my girlfriend beaten up everyday of the week?"

Hazel blinks once before she succinctly replies, "If I put my hands up your skirt right now, am I gonna find you wet?" An entire desert ecosystem is suddenly born inside your mouth, and you swallow thickly as your eyes evade Hazel's uncomplicated, piercing gaze. She tilts her head, smiles gone, simply waiting for your response.

"Do you want me to tell you what I think?" She asks before steadily closing the distance between you once more. Only, you're so terrified of being caught out, so utterly embarrassed at the thought of her finding out about the pool of wetness that had begun soaking completely through your panties, that you back away the closer she gets. Your slinking backwards only allows Hazel to crawl closer until she's hovering above you in the centre of her bed.

You have her undivided attention, and she has yours. Your eyes recklessly scans her face, every cut, laceration, and every old bruise buried under a new one has your lips turning downward as a small, almost imperceptible whimper forces itself out of your throat.

"There she is…" Hazel whispers with a palm cradling your cheek, "There's my needy little girl," You're quickly slipping into subspace right in front of her and Hazel is more than grateful. A single silver pendant dangles from her throat as she dips down, finally connecting your lips in a quietly passionate kiss. Your eyes immediately flutter shut, and so does hers. The both of you are utterly enamored by the sheer lust communicated by the intensity of the kiss alone.

"Fuck," Hazel curses, momentarily breaking apart to peel off her oversized graphic tee. You're watching your girlfriend in her sports bra with unbridled lust shining heavily on your pouty lips.

"Tell me you're wet for me," She says, "Please, Baby."

You're slipping deeper and deeper but you still have half a mind to lightly whisper, "Hazel, they're right downstairs-" She's already crashing her lips back down onto yours.

"Tell me you're wet for me," She murmurs against your lips, never being able to stray too far.

The hand that isn't holding her up, hovering above you, is once again, underneath your skirts, only this time, the tips of her fingers are dragging up against your inner thigh with no chance of stopping.

"Fuck, Hazel,"

"Is that supposed to be an answer?"

You're already pulling your own hips off the bed, seeking her hand out like a whore as you break the kiss only to whimper, "Yes, okay, fine! I'm so wet for you, Hazel- just, please!"

She watches completely fargone as you let your soaked panties meet her awaiting palm. Watching you grind yourself against her hand has Hazel's mind absolutely descending into lust.

"God, you're so beautiful," she says, before finally pressing her own hand against your soaked panties. She rubs in harsh, rough circles, eager to bring you to the very edge of insanity. She needed to see you fall apart for her again and again-

"Inside," You whisper, watching your girlfriend rub your cunt with bated breath. You're still wearing your skirt but you figure Hazel needs to fuck you in it to fulfil some sort of fantasy and you don't entirely mind. Not at all.

"Hazel, Please. I need you inside-"

"Fuck- you're such a slut-"

Your head immediately falls back against the bed as Hazel's movements against your soaked panties increases.

"You like it when I call you a slut, baby?" Your hips stutter upwards in vague response as you moan loudly into the air.

"Fuck- Hazel, I'm close- I'm so fucking- fuck," the orgasm sneaks up on you like a villain in the night and you're spamming underneath her, while Hazel continues to rub your cunt through the torrid sensation. Before you've ever even come down from your high, there's a knock on the door, and look towards it with slightly parted lips and blurry vision.

"Hey- you have no more soup, and I think you two are fucking in there so Josie and I are just gonna g-"

"Fuck off, PJ!" Hazel screams at the door, failing to hear the small little 'Okay, rude' before she's lifting your skirt until they're pooling at your hips.

"Hazel, what're you-"

"Another one, okay?" She nods encouragingly before shifting your panties aside and pressing the colds tips of her forefinger and middle finger against your soaked cunt. "You're going to give me another one. I wanna see if I can do it."

You can't even roll your eyes at her unnecessary display of pride because your eyes are rolling to the back of your head as she drags the essence of your arousal along your clit. "Fuck, you look so hot-"

"H-Hazel," the aftershocks from your previous orgasm rack through your upper body just as the oncoming tempest of lust gears you up for the next one. Hazel leans over you once more as she continues to rub at your clit, "Just one more, baby, I know you can do it. Show me, baby." It's downright evil, the effect her manipulation has on your body as you descend further and further into your lust.

"Look at how perfect you look," she says with a voice thick with lechery, "Fuck, you get me so wet to, baby," she murmurs before instinctive pressing her lips to yours once again, as if something nestled in her being, craved the touch of your lips against hers.

"You're gonna be a good girl for me?"

"Fuck- Hazel-"

"I'm right here, angel," she whispers, before bringing the tips of her fingers to your opening. Hazel is quick to slide her index and middle finger into your pussy until she's fucking you hard and deep. It takes a few short pumps for you to clutch mindlessly at her forearms with your vision slightly waning as you look up at your smiling girlfriend who watches you descend into your orgasm.

"That's it," she coos as you clench around her fingers, "You're doing so well for me, baby,"

"F-Fuck!" You stutter out as you fall into the depths of euphoria. Your mind is flooded with nothing but Hazel, all thoughts previously plaguing your brain is made null and void. In the end, you're just a beacon for her to release her frustrations out on. Even if it means overstimulating you until you become a noisy, helpless mess.

For a while, each other's heavy breathing is all you hear.

That is, until you hear a loud bump against Hazel's closed door, drawing both your attention.

"PJ-" whispers Josie with unimaginable frustration.

"Oh my God, they're definitely fucking-"

SOUTH AFRICA YOU ARE DANGEROUS!!!WINNING THE RUGBY WORLD CUP 2 YEARS IN A ROW

CONSECUTIVELY

YEAHHHHHHHH WE DID THAT