#and in the most beautiful touching way ever

[materia-girl88]

different strokes for different folks

18+, minors dni

this is NASTY. probably not very good but me and my pookie @rhaenyraeri were talking about the different ways bob, sentry and void would fuck and thus this fic was born. enjoy it🫶🏻

Bob liked to take it slow. His whole life, he had never been allowed to sit back and take in the beauty of the things he enjoyed. As a child they were always destroyed by his father's hands or his mother's words. As he grew older, his life would pass by in a drug induced blur. There's a lot that could be said for the Sentry Project, but one thing he is always grateful for is that it cleaned his body of the terrible habits and his training has taught him to take things slow and calm.

Including the way you two fuck. Of course, there are times where you two are fast and heavy, hands exploring and bodies unable to touch each other quick enough, but his favorite times are when you're beneath him, legs wrapped around his strong hips as he moved within you.

"You feel so good, Bobby," you whispered, voice dripping with pleasure during one such moment .

Your arms were locked around his shoulders, nails leaving crescent moon imprints. You both watched each other, your eyes not breaking contact with the baby blue hue of his.

His thrusts were slow but deep, rocking your body beneath him, your breasts bouncing and your hips moving to meet his.

His cheeks were flushed with exertion and you thought he was the most handsome man ever.

"I love you, baby," he said, leaning down to kiss you as you clenched around him, causing him to groan against your lips.

He could feel you squeezing around him and knew you were close, one of his hands coming down between you to rub at the swollen bud of your clit, causing you to tremble.

You both came together, something that didn't happen often. Bob usually preferred for you to come before he did, manners and such, but there was something to be said about a mutual release. It made it all the more pleasurable to feel him release inside you, flooding your pussy as it squeezed around him.

After, he laid beside you, arms around you with your head on his chest.

It was perfect, and you both were happy.

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Sentry was rough. You didn't get to see him often but when you did, you knew you'd be sore for a day or so after. After some particularly tough missions Sentry would still be present, still be worked up. Him and Bob had finally learned to communicate and co-exist in a way.

You loved all of Bob. And Sentry was a part of him, therefore you loved him too.

You also loved the way he fucked you. Sentry mostly fucked you from behind with you propped up on your hands and knees, his hands clamped firmly on your hips.

"Your pussy feels so good," he growled, eyes a glowing amber. The bed shook and creaked beneath you and you were grateful the walls were soundproof or the rest of the team would be getting an earful.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you whined. Your breath was coming in pants as he controlled your movements, pulling you back into him with a pace no mere human could keep up with.

The tip of his cock was pressing into that sensitive spot deep in your pussy and you were soaking both of your thighs. The sounds in the room were obscene, the wet slapping of your bodies, your cries and his groans.

He had already made you come three times, first with his fingers pumping in you at a relentless speed and then twice more on his tongue, not letting up on your sensitive clit until you were near tears.

He worshipped your body.

You had tried to slip one hand down to your clit, but you were quickly stopped.

"I don't think so, goddess. This pussy is going to come from my cock, only. You're. Mine." he growled.

He readjusted the angle, the tip of him moreso pummeling the spot within you now instead of rubbing it.

Before long, you were done for. With your fourth and final orgasm, you gushed around him, soaking his pelvis and the sheets below you. You couldn't even moan, just whimpers leaving you as your body lost control.

"That's it, that's a good girl," he growled, not letting up as he worked himself to his own completion.

He came deep within you, pulling out just before he was done to let some of his spend paint your thighs, mixing with the fluids you had released yourself.

He loved to make you messy and as you collapsed beneath him, face turning on the pillow so you could breath, he let hs hands come to hold your thighs open wider, watching the come flow from you to mix with what he had painted you with.

"You're such a good girl, baby." he said, leaning to press a kiss to the back of your neck, sucking a mark below your ear.

"That should hold you til next time."

Moments later, Bob would return, and he couldn't deny that he loved to see how wrecked you were.

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You only had met Void a handful of times before. Bob was doing better with controlling himself more and more everyday, and now Void could come out and be contained easier.

He was still only to be brought out when strictly necessary, only on missions in life or death situations.

And he made sure he got his fill of you too.

The first time you met Void after the incident in New York, you couldn't lie and say you weren't scared. But as time went on and Bob got a better handle on him, you just came to see him for what he was. He was Bob. He was his inner darkness, but he was still part of the man you loved.

And he loved you, even if he fucked you like he hated you.

You were currently tied to the bed, arms above your head fastened to the headboard with one of Bob's old t-shirts.

You and Void both knew you could break out easily if you wanted to. He would never truly hurt you. Just in ways that felt good.

If you thought Sentry was rough, Void was on a whole different level.

Your poor clit was red and aching. It had been two hours of being brought to the edge only to be denied release. Your ass was red and sensitive against the silk of your sheets from the spankings you had received, but you didn't hate the feeling.

Your eyes were glassy, tears streaking your cheeks as you were fucked within an inch of your life.

"Stupid girl," said the black mass above you, his features the outline of the man you love while his faint eyes stared at you.

"You love being fucked dumb, don't you? You just like to take it like the whore you are. My whore."

Your tits were bouncing and he didn't hold back on staring at them.

One hand came to you, pinching one of your sensitive nipples until you cried out in painful pleasure.

"Say it. Say you're mine," he seethed, released your breast to cup your jaw, cheeks squished as his cock pounded you.

The rest of the team was on a mission that didn't require the two of you, and you were grateful they weren't here as even with the soundproof walls, you were worried they'd somehow hear what was going on.

"I-I'm yours. I'm yours, baby. Please," you cried, voice hoarse.

You could see a faint grin on his dim features and he used his thumb with the hand that was holding your face to open your mouth. He spit, letting it land in your mouth before his body sped up even more, impossibly fast.

"That's fucking right, baby. Mine. My girl, my body, my wet, drooling cunt that worships my cock."

His hand came down between where he was kneeled between your spread thighs, smacking your sensitive clit.

You cried out, voice wrecked at the force of your orgasms. It was like one rolled into another and another, him continuing to land sharp smacks to your used pussy as he fucked you deep.

When you finished, he pulled out. His hand came to wrap around himself and he stroked quickly.

He brought himself to the end and came, leaving his release on your tummy and your hot, red cunt.

He untied you after, leaving down to kiss your spit slick lips.

"Until we meet again," he said against them, and then he was gone. Bob came back and though he worried Void had gone too far, you assured him you loved it.

He helped you clean up after and held you, playing with your hair as you rested.

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Once Bob had finally learned how to take full control of both of his other sides, it really became like you had three boyfriends wrapped into one. Bob was your sweet, shy golden retriever while Sentry was confident. Void was broody and dominant.

You loved all three of them, and they loved you.

Once they finally learned how to co-exist, which took some time on Void's end, having to learn that the world really isn't all gloom and doom, they actually meshed well together.

You had known them all long enough to tell who was in control of Bob's body and when all three were there at once.

It was easy for you. It could be as simple as them having a whispered conversation with their different tones, or as complex as a change in facial expressions.

They were your boys.

And you were theirs.

Especially when they shared you in bed.

You knew when the three of them plotted together on how to pleasure your body, you didn't stand a chance.

It started out slow, Bob leaving kisses all over your quivering body, gentle sucks leaving marks that you both would admire later.

"You have such a beautiful body, baby," Bob whispered as his tongue laved against your pussy.

Your first orgasm was from his mouth and as you laid beneath him, his head between your thighs, you heard a soft "My turn," before lips latched back onto your overstimulated clit.

"Ohmygod," you cried quickly, hands coming to fist in his hair.

"That's right, baby. I'm your god, and your my goddess," Sentry growled against your pussy, giving one full lick along the length of it before he attached back to your clit.

One of his free hands came up, and he wasted no time in plunging two fingers into you.

He always knew immediately where to aim for your g-spot, and now his fingers rammed it, giving you no time for respite as he fucked you.

"Bob had his fun. I'm gonna eat this pussy, then Void is gonna fuck it good," he said.

When you came it, it soaked his lips and chin and he groaned acting like he was savoring the taste.

Leaving one last kiss to your aching pussy, Sentry moved to the background with Bob. Bob once described it like whoever was in control was taking the front seat while the other two were passengers.

Him and Sentry watched as Void began to ravage you.

"Yes, yes!" you cried as you were held down, thighs pressed to your chest as your calves rested on the black mass that was Void's shoulders.

"Such a good girl, a good whore for us," he said, voice dark.

The new bed was slamming into the wall, but thankfully this one wouldn't break.

There had been a mishap with the previous bed. Once all three of your guys had learned to work together, it was you and your bed against three.

Unfortunately the bed was a casualty.

This one was sturdier, made specifically for the force of your lover.

"I love you, Void. I love all three of you," you whimpered, body shaking and gasping for breath.

His eyes shifted, his black mass of a body still there but eyes shifting to a mix of blue and amber and you knew the response was from all three of your boys.

"We love you, too."

[farfromharry]

Years in the making | Lando Norris

Summary: Lando has been in love with you since his brother introduced you to the family when he was 6, but he’s never had the guts nor opportunity to make a move. What about when he finally does almost 2 decades later?

w/c 3489

warnings - a shitty bf i guess, the name jack

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The Norris family had been in her life for as long as she could remember. She and Ollie had met in Primary school and been inseparable ever since. She was close with the whole family, having spent most of her childhood in their home, but there had always been something different about Lando.

Lando was convinced he’d been in love with her since before he even knew what love was. He vividly remembered the day he saw her for the first time. He was 6, she and Ollie were 8. She was coming over to play and from the second she had climbed into the car beside Lando, he was starstruck. He thought she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

That admiration he had with her never went away. There had just never been an opportunity for him to act on his feelings. 

Life got busy when Lando made it to Formula 1. His time at home decreased, he wasn’t seeing his family as much and he couldn’t remember the last time he saw her. On the lonely days he still longed for her, thought about opening Instagram and shooting her a quick message to ask how she was doing. But he never had the guts. Instead he lurked, liked her posts and lit up at every brief mention of her he got from his brother. 

So when it got to the final race of the 2024 season and he saw a familiar figure standing with his brother just outside the garage, he thought he was dreaming.

The sight of her standing there, flowery orange dress clinging to her skin, hair curled and smile as radiant as the day he met her, it all came flooding back. He remembered everything. All the times he’d dreamed about, every time his heart had raced when she touched him or flashed him a smile. Every feeling he had ever felt towards her was carving out a place in his chest again. They weren’t new feelings– they were ones that had never gone away. 

The smile on his face was nothing short of dopey. Who could blame a guy when seeing his first love again?

He came bounding over to the duo, practically throwing his arms around her when he was close enough. She laughed loudly, a sound he could only describe as angelic. He wanted to hear it again and again for the rest of his life. 

He was the first to pull back, feeling like he had gone too long without seeing her face. Now that he had got her back, he didn’t ever want to stop seeing her. “Hi.”

She smiled brightly. “Hi. That was quite the greeting.”

His cheeks flushed, the skin tinting a light pink. “Missed you,” he shrugged. “It’s been a while.” Far too long in his opinion. He was finding it a little hard to believe she was here now if he was being honest. When he got time he would have to thank Ollie for bringing her. 

“It has, hasn’t it. Last time I saw you, you were like this-” She held her hand beside her waist, exaggerating his height just a little, “tall.”

He rolled his eyes. “Shut up, no I wasn’t.”

Y/N’s eyes shifted to Ollie, asking for backup. “It is kind of true.” Lando couldn’t believe his brother, his own flesh and blood wasn’t taking his side in this. “You were a baby.”

“I was 18!” 

She chuckled. The moment was cut short by someone else joining them. Lando hadn’t ever met him, but he’d seen him in the occasional post or story. Jack. The boyfriend. They had been together almost a year. Not too long, but long enough that Lando felt threatened by him. It was probably weird considering Y/N had only ever seen him as her friend’s little brother, but he always hoped he could be more. Jack was getting in the way of that. 

The atmosphere visibly shifted when he fell into place beside Y/N, his arm nudging hers. No longer was it just 3 old friends catching up, now it was awkward. 

She felt the need to try and make it a little less awkward. “Oh, Lan, this is Jack. Jack, this is Lando.” The 2 men nodded at each other. There was something clearly underlying between them. He didn’t trust the F1 driver and the F1 driver didn’t like him. But only one of them was going to make the effort to keep Y/N happy.  

“Well, I better head back. Nice meeting you, mate.” 

He didn’t spare another glance at the man before he walked away. For Y/N’s sake, Lando would be civil, but he sure as hell wouldn’t be happy about it. Just as he thought his weekend was about to be brilliant, he had to show up and ruin everything. 

He was able to take his mind off it given his focus needed to be on the race. For 2 hours he was thinking of nothing but how to take corners and how to stop Max Verstappen from overtaking him. As soon as he pulled into Parc Ferme in 2nd place, his mind was back on her. He hoped she was proud of him. 

His family were all standing together when he climbed out of the car. Lando congratulated his teammate and Max on their finishing positions, then made a beeline for them. His parents pulled him into a hug first and he could never put into words the joy that bloomed in his chest. His siblings ruffled his hair and offered their congrats. Then there was her.

She was grinning and he swore there were tears in her eyes. She had attended a couple Formula One races in the past, but never one where he’d finished so high up. A win would have been nice, but he was glad she got to see him do well regardless. Clearly she was full of pride for him. She knew this was everything he’d ever worked for and his dreams were really coming true. 

“Well done,” she squealed, tugging him into an embrace. 

Having her in his arms just felt right. It was a natural instinct for him to tuck his head into the neck of the person he was hugging, he didn’t do it maliciously because he knew her boyfriend was right there. Jack didn’t see it that way. He glared at the side of Lando’s head, up until the man pulled away from Y/N. Then he slid his arm around her, like he was staking his claim. Deep inside, Lando rolled his eyes. How could a grown man be so childish?

“Proud of you, kid.” 

She looked so happy that he was struggling to tear his eyes away from her. “You must be my lucky charm.” This wasn’t his best finish of the season, but that wasn’t important right now. He just wanted her to feel special. And if it made him a bad guy for doing so while her boyfriend was right there, then so be it.

Her cheeks burned. “Nope, it’s all you. You’re so talented, Lan and I’m glad everyone’s finally getting to see it.”

They held eye contact for longer than necessary, the tension clear in the air. Jake cleared his throat, which finally burst the bubble they’d found themselves in. He wasn’t a fan of whatever the hell they were doing. Now that it was incredibly awkward, Lando moved away, heading for his team. If he caught the way Y/N’s face hardened right after Jake whispered something into her ear, he didn’t bring it up. 

Lando wouldn’t have had much time to argue it anyway. He was being whisked away for post race interviews and then the podium ceremony. 

Standing on the podium was always a rewarding feeling, but standing there with the knowledge his family was watching made it all that more special. He looked out into the crowd as the winning anthems played, his eyes locking with hers. She was smiling, her hands clasped in front of her face like she couldn’t believe this was real life. His face unknowingly lit up with joy. 

The cheers when he lifted his 2nd place trophy were loud. Shouts of his name like music to his ears. Her voice was the loudest.

The pit lane was much quieter once the celebrations died down. Fans had gone home, engineers were packing things up. There was nothing left to do. That was why he heard the raised voices, it was too quiet. One voice in particular was familiar. He felt the need to check in.

“Grow up, Y/N, this is real life not some childhood fantasy!” 

Lando felt a burst of anger in his chest. “Everything okay over here?”

Jack scoffed and she quickly shot him a glare. It was obvious that they were fighting, but the last thing Y/N needed was for him to know what they were fighting about. It was embarrassing. “It’s fine, Lando. Shouldn’t you be celebrating?” She tried to smile.

He was still tense, looking between them like he was waiting for something to happen. He was testing Jack, silently begging him to make 1 wrong move. “Yeah, was looking for you. You’re coming, right?” He hoped she didn’t let him down. 

The look on her face was one he couldn’t place. She looked unsure, uncomfortable, but he didn’t think it was to do with him. “Of course I am. Wouldn’t miss it.” Jack rolled his eyes, something that didn’t go unseen by the other male. “We’ll meet you there, okay?” She was trying to get him to leave in the most respectful way possible. She loves Lando, but this spat was something that needed to play out in private and his presence was only feeding it. 

Luckily for her, he could tell where he wasn’t wanted. So he smiled, nodding his head. “Okay. I’ll see you later.” He shot the couple one more look and then turned on his heel to begin walking away. He had merely rounded the corner by the time they started arguing again. This time he could hear everything. Maybe he shouldn’t have eavesdropped, but he would call it being protective. The last thing he wanted was for Y/N to get hurt. 

“That is exactly what I’m talking about!”

He could picture her messing with her hair like she did when she got stressed. “You’re being ridiculous! He is a friend. I’ve known him for years.” They were talking about him. If he wasn’t intrigued before, he was now. 

“That doesn’t mean he isn’t in love with you.”

“He isn’t. And who says I’m in love with him?”  

He laughed, cruelly. “Open your fucking eyes, Y/N.” 

Lando couldn’t listen any longer. He didn’t think he wanted to hear her response. He headed back to the hospitality, intending on grabbing his bag and finding his family. Inside he got caught up talking to some of his engineers for longer than he anticipated. By the time he grabbed his stuff and headed outside, it seemed he had missed everything. 

Y/N was standing in his sister’s arms, crying into her shoulder. He could hear her sobs the moment he stepped outside the door and his heart cracked. Jack was nowhere to be seen. Usually he would think that was a good thing, but right now he had a feeling that might be the root of the problem. 

He approached his brother, fear settling in his gut. He hoped whatever happened hadn’t been too serious. “What’s going on?” His eyes darted between Y/N and his sister, to his older sibling. The tears on her face made him panic. 

Ollie placed his hand on his brother’s chest, keeping him from heading over to you. “Mate, now isn’t the time, alright?” His tone worried him. “Her and Jack just broke up.” 

He tried to hide his excitement, but he hadn’t been quick enough. The older man saw the flash of joy in his eyes just before he furrowed his brow and pretended to act concerned. “I’m not a total dickhead, mate. I just wanted to make sure she was okay.”

For years the elder of the two had tried to prevent this from happening. Ollie cherished his friendship with Y/N, just as he cherished his brother, but he knew Lando could be reckless. He wasn’t always the most mature and the last thing he needed was him hurting her and making things awkward for everyone. But maybe keeping them apart has hurt them in other ways. It meant Y/N kept getting into relationships that ended in disaster and a broken heart, and Lando continued his damaging ways. 

Oliver sighed. He needed to let this run its course. Maybe it could be something beautiful. “Fine, just… Don’t fuck this one up, okay?”

He was giving him his blessing and Lando wasn’t going to take advantage of that. For once, he was going to take this seriously. This meant a lot to him. 

Flo saw him coming and excused herself. 

He approached her with a small smile, worried he might be overstepping. If the argument really was about him then he worried he’d be rubbing salt in the wound. The last thing he wanted was to upset her any more than she already was. When she smiled back he knew he was in the clear. Still, Ollie was probably watching him like a hawk. He sat beside her, rubbing his hands together nervously. What was he even supposed to say?

“He was an arsehole.” That was a risky start. 

Luckily she laughed. “Yeah.” She sighed deeply. The guilt was eating her alive. She didn’t know he was going to be so blatantly rude to Lando. She felt responsible for his behaviour. “I’m sorry about him. This had nothing to do with you, he’s just an insecure prick.”

Lando was weighing up his options. She likely knew already that he was in love with her given the fact he had never been subtle, but confessing it to her face was a whole other thing. When was he ever going to get this chance again? It was now or never. “He wasn’t entirely wrong.” He couldn’t go back now. He was going to have to own it.

“What?”

The man sighed. “Y/N, I’ve been in love with you since I was 6.” 

She thought he might be kidding her. For years she had thought his feelings were nothing more than a silly childhood crush. She had expected it to have fizzled out by now. He was Lando Norris, big time F1 driver, rich and famous– he probably had girls throwing themselves at him everywhere he went. What would he want with her? The surprise on her face was obvious. 

“I guess I’ve always been looking for the right moment. Either I was busy or you had a boyfriend, or… I don’t even know. It just felt like we were always gonna clash.” He reached over and took her hand, cradling it in his. “But right now, what’s stopping us?”

She was quiet. Too quiet. He hadn’t addressed the fact she had literally just broken up with her boyfriend, he had gone straight in to telling her he loved her. Maybe this was a horrible idea. His heart was racing and his hands were trembling.

“Please say something.” 

“I just-“ She sighed. “I don’t understand why you’d want me. There’s so many younger, prettier, more successful women throwing themselves at you. I’m just… me.” 

He seemed genuinely upset with the way she was talking about herself, or maybe with the way she was portraying him. Lando had never really been one for the glitz and glamour of F1. Sure he had his fair share of flings, usually with some kind of model who’d had a paddock pass, but did she really think so little of him? That was having fun, convenience, this was everything. She was everything.

He sighed. “Y/N, you…” Where did he even begin? “You’re the one that got away.”

Her face softened.

“You’re my dream girl. I used to think you were perfect, as in hand crafted, inch by inch, sent to show me what I could never have. You don’t know what seeing a girl as cool as you at a young age does to a guy.” They laughed together. She was touched. “I always thought you were too out of my reach, that you could never want a guy like me. You know, you’re older, hot, so ridiculously smart and Ollie was always getting in the way. I think how I feel about you is part of the reason I’m so hard on myself. I want to impress you all the time, I’ve always wanted to.” 

She didn’t know what to say. Having Lando confess his feelings to her after the last race of the season was the last thing she thought was going to happen. This whole day had been one crazy event after another. She didn’t know how much more madness her heart could take. “So, why have you never said anything?”

“Ollie, mainly. I didn’t think he would be too happy if I made a move.” That made sense. Oliver was her best friend. He was very protective over her and the chances of Lando being the ‘right guy’ for her in his eyes was slim. “But also, I thought you knew how I felt and just weren’t saying anything. I thought you were rejecting me by avoiding it altogether.”

“I thought it was a silly crush, or convenient. We spent a lot of time together as kids, sometimes you develop feelings because of the situation, not because of the person.” For years she had thought he liked her purely because she was his brother’s friend. He knew her, but he hadn’t made an effort to get to know her deeply like one would if they were trying to pursue a relationship. She had shrugged it off as unimportant. “I didn’t mean to ignore how you felt. I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “Don’t be sorry. If anything I’m sorry for not just admitting how I felt. Could have saved you a lot of shitty relationships.” 

She laughed at that. “Yeah, tell me about it.” 

A comfortable silence enveloped them. They sat side by side, shoulders touching and barely an inch of space between them. Her eyes roamed the paddock, watching some engineers chat in a group, probably about how wild the season just gone had been. Lando couldn’t take his eyes off her though. This moment was one he had been waiting for for years. He had dreamed about this countless times, especially during his teenage years. It didn’t feel real, at least not yet.

He placed his hand on the side of her face, guiding her to look at him. She went easily. Their eyes met and somewhere somehow, everything fell into place. He let out a breath, one full of nerves. He didn’t want to mess this up, he had waited far too long to ruin it now. 

“Can I?” 

She didn’t respond verbally, just took the initiative to close the gap for him. For the first time since they’d known each other, they properly crossed that line of friendship. Their lips met and things felt right. The kiss had been building for 19 years and was just as magical as they expected. People often talked about feeling sparks with the right person. Lando was experiencing an entire firework display.

She never wanted it to end. Kissing Lando was like oxygen— she needed it to breathe. 

He was the first one to pull away, but she wasn’t letting him go that easily. She chased his lips, nearly on top of him. It caught him off guard, his hands shooting to her hips to keep her steady. 

Clearly he had unleashed something in her that had been suppressed for so long.

Unfortunately at some point he needed to breathe. He couldn’t contain his laughter though. “Y/N, slow down.” His hands found themselves tangled in her hair, his thumb stretching to trace her lips that were now slightly swollen. “We’ll have all the time in the world for that.” 

Her lips curved into a smile. He had always thought she was beautiful, but right now, the way the breeze was blowing her hair, the way she was smiling down at him— the way her eyes sparkled. She had never been so gorgeous. He was even more in love now if that was possible. 

The way her fingers were rubbing against his cheekbones was incredibly distracting. “You promise?” Her words came out so quiet that he really had to be listening to hear her.

He had finally gotten everything he wanted. He would give her anything she asked for. There was no risking this. “I promise.”

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tags: @esposa-do-harry

[theosang3ls]

He longed to touch you. To feel the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips. To press his lips to yours, not out of some shallow desire, but out of reverence. He didn't want to kiss you just to have you. He wanted to kiss you as a way of saying thank you for existing. He wanted to pour all his silent awe into that single moment, to let you feel in one soft collision everything he couldn't yet say aloud. But he didn't. He couldn't. Because to kiss you meant closing his eyes, even for just a breath—and he wasn't ready to lose sight of you. Not yet. Not when your face was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Reblogging my favourite fic with my favourite line💗

When you know, you know

inspired by “Margaret” by Lana Del Rey

pairing: Theodore Nott x F!Reader

summary: Theo had asked you out on a date, and though hesitant at first, you agreed. What began with uncertainty soon unfolded into something quietly profound—an afternoon that made you realise how deeply you longed to be truly seen, and made Theo realise he didn’t want anyone else but you.

warnings: pure fluff, reader talks a lot

A/N: I was literally giggling and kicking my feet while writing this, this is my favourite work that I’ve ever written. Dedicated to all my girlies who get called weird and are hopeless romantics💋 I’m kind of honouring the arrival of late spring through this fic as well, I just love how nature wakes up again at this time of year. English is not my first language, I’m sorry for any grammatical errors!

𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You were currently out on a date with Theo.

Even now, as the afternoon sun spilled like liquid gold across the foothills and warmed your skin, it didn't feel entirely real. Just days ago, he had asked you out—his voice soft, steady, almost shy. The memory of it still sat like a folded letter in your mind: unexpected, delicate, something you hadn't dared imagine opening. It caught you so off guard you almost laughed. Theo, asking you out? It seemed impossible. Not because he was distant or arrogant—he never had been—but because you had never thought of him that way, never considered the possibility that he might be thinking of you like that.

And yet, he had. And now here you were—sitting cross-legged on a thick carpet of grass that had just returned to life after the hush of winter, your back resting against the smooth bark of a fallen yule log, as if nature had prepared the seat just for you. Across from you, Theo mirrored your posture, tracing the fresh, supple blades of grass with slow, deliberate fingers. His gaze kept drifting to you, unguarded, soft as a sigh, as if he couldn't quite believe you were real.

You had hesitated when he asked you out. Something inside you had told you to be cautious, to hold back. Maybe it was doubt, or maybe fear—the kind that creeps in when something good shows up unexpectedly, and you worry it might vanish just as fast. You'd even considered canceling the date. Told yourself it would be easier, cleaner, safer. But you hadn't. Something kept you from backing out—something in the way he looked at you when you weren't paying attention, or maybe the steadiness in his voice when he spoke to you like you mattered.

So you said yes. And now the world was draped in a kind of magic you hadn't expected.

The place he brought you to felt like it had been waiting for you. It was a hidden pocket of paradise tucked beneath the arms of the mountain's lower slopes, just far enough from Hogwarts’ castle to feel secret, sacred. The forest around you had awakened in vibrant celebration—leaves the color of fresh emeralds trembled in the soft breeze, catching sunlight like fragments of stained glass. The trees stood tall and proud, their bark still dark with winter's memory, but their branches bursting with life. Tiny wildflowers had erupted from the soil in chaotic, joyful colors—brilliant golds, purples like bruised dusk, whites soft as snow—and they danced when the wind passed, as though the earth was laughing quietly to itself.

The air was rich with scent—warm moss, young grass, the faint sweetness of blooming buds and petals still unfurling. Birds sang from the canopy above in a chorus that seemed improvised, but somehow perfectly orchestrated. Somewhere nearby, a brook whispered its way through stones, its voice threading through the wind like a lullaby. The sunlight filtered through the leaves in golden shafts, casting gentle shadows that shifted as the breeze stirred the treetops. You could feel it all—the hum of life, the pulse of the earth beneath you—as if the land itself was exhaling after a long, still winter.

"So... you come here regularly?" you asked, your voice quieter than usual, reverent. You tilted your head as you looked around, eyes trying to take in every inch of the place, to memorize it the way you wanted to memorize the feeling blooming in your chest.

Theo was watching you with that same quiet intensity, a softness behind his smile like he was letting himself fall and wasn't afraid to. "Not too regularly," he said, his voice just above a murmur, "but it's kind of perfect this time of year."

You smiled at that, a small, slow smile that tugged at your lips like sunlight creeping through morning curtains. "It really is." Your eyes drifted upward, to the wide open sky above, so bright and blue it looked endless. The sunlight dazzled your vision and made you squint, but you didn't look away. You wanted to feel it—to let the light pour into you and settle deep in your bones.

"You really love nature, huh?" he asked after a moment, his voice laced with curiosity, but also admiration. You weren't looking at him, but he was definitely looking at you.

"There's nothing more beautiful," you said, your gaze still tethered to the vast sky above, your voice laced with a gentle wonder that curled around Theo's heart like ivy. "The way the wind brushes through the trees... it doesn't just move the leaves—it gives them a soul for a moment, makes them twirl and flutter like they're dancing for the sheer joy of being alive. Or how the birds begin to fly lower when rain is near, like they carry the sky's secrets beneath their wings. And even the tiniest creatures—those you'd barely notice any other time—they emerge now, drawn out by the hush and bloom of spring, as if the earth itself is putting on a play, and not a single living thing wants to miss a moment."

He looked at you, completely stunned—not just by what you had said, but by you. There was something in the way your words fell from your lips, unfiltered and vivid, like soft rain over dry earth. You were a poetic soul in a world that often only celebrated silence. And it made his heart ache in the best possible way. Like hearing a song he didn't know he'd needed. Like remembering something he thought he'd forgotten.

He didn't speak—not at first. He just looked. Let the silence between you swell and breathe. He needed time to absorb it, to let your voice echo inside him where it mattered most. You weren't just speaking thoughts; you were offering pieces of yourself, and he received them with a reverence he didn't quite know how to articulate. Every word you'd said still hung in the air like pollen—delicate, golden, alive.

It wasn't simply attraction—no, this was something older, deeper, something that felt like it had been written into the marrow of his bones long before he ever knew your name. You didn't have to do anything. You just were—sitting there in that patch of spring sunlight like the season itself had bloomed just to wrap around you. You were effortless. Unaware of the spell you cast, how the mere tilt of your head or the way your lashes caught the light had him caught in a current he didn't want to escape.

There you were: back pressed gently against a weather-worn yule log, your hair dancing with the breeze like it was part of the wind's design, your eyes bright and open, reflecting the sky's soft blue and a curiosity he found endlessly magnetic. And you smiled—just a little. That hesitant, confused smile you wore when you didn't quite understand why he was staring at you like that, like you were the last beautiful thing in a world that had long gone dim. It was a fragile thing, that smile. Tentative and sincere. And to him, it was sacred.

But he wasn't just staring.

He was studying, memorizing, revering. Every detail of you was a verse in a poem only he could read. You weren't simply a person—you were a constellation, a collection of light and wonder and soft chaos that made his heart quiet and wild at the same time. Your presence overwhelmed him in the gentlest way. He had never believed in soulmates, never believed in fate. But sitting there, watching you exist so unselfconsciously in the middle of blooming earth and golden air, he was almost convinced that maybe, just maybe, the universe had placed you here on purpose.

You spoke to him then, your voice light but alive, and it wrapped around him like a melody made only for his ears. The way your thoughts unfolded, vivid and full of color—your passion for the smallest details, the way your eyes lit up when you described things you loved—he drank it all in like a man starved. Your words weren't just sounds to him; they were sunlight and soil, things that rooted into him and bloomed. He was enchanted by how you moved through the world, how you gave meaning to things that others might overlook. You didn't just see beauty—you named it, shaped it, gave it life. You turned a simple breeze into a love song.

He longed to touch you. To feel the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips. To press his lips to yours, not out of some shallow desire, but out of reverence. He didn't want to kiss you just to have you. He wanted to kiss you as a way of saying thank you for existing. He wanted to pour all his silent awe into that single moment, to let you feel in one soft collision everything he couldn't yet say aloud. But he didn't. He couldn't. Because to kiss you meant closing his eyes, even for just a breath—and he wasn't ready to lose sight of you. Not yet. Not when your face was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

So he just watched.

He watched the sunlight draw delicate patterns across your cheeks. He watched the shadows shift beneath your lashes when you blinked. He watched the way your expression changed with your thoughts, subtle but alive, like weather over a quiet field. And with every passing second, he carved you deeper into his memory, desperate to hold onto the way you looked right now. If his eyes burned from not blinking, he would have welcomed the sting. If night fell and stole the light from your features, he would have begged the stars to shine brighter just so he wouldn't lose you to the dark.

In you, he saw something beyond beauty.

He swore he would remember the exact way you looked in that moment until the end of his days. Because to him, you weren't just a girl on a hillside. You were everything. You were the pause between heartbeats. The hush before the dawn. The whisper of something holy.

In you, he saw poetry.

“You see the world so differently,” Theo said at last, his voice barely above a whisper, as if anything louder might shatter the sacred stillness between you. There was awe in his tone—not just admiration, but a kind of reverence, like he was saying a prayer. “You don’t just notice it… you feel it. You let it move through you. It’s like you carry the world inside you, and everything you see, you let it stay.”

Your smile wavered, and something in your eyes flickered—not surprise exactly, but something softer. Recognition. As though he’d just pulled a thread loose inside you that no one had ever dared to touch before.

“No one’s ever said that to me,” you murmured, your voice quieter now, laced with something unspoken. “Not like that. Not like it’s something good.”

You tried to laugh it off, but the sound came out small, wistful. “I get that a lot,” you added, eyes locked onto his with a gaze so steady, so unflinching, it made Theo feel like his heart had stumbled into a sprint. “But not as a compliment.”

There was a pause—a heartbeat stretched between two souls—and then you smiled again. This time it was warmer, more open, tinged with gratitude. The kind of smile that made something ancient in him sigh.

“Thank you,” you said simply, and those two words carried more weight than most people’s whole conversations.

You turned your gaze toward the trees again, watching how the sunlight filtered through the canopy and painted soft gold across the grassy earth. Then your voice shifted—took on that thoughtful, drifting cadence Theo had come to recognize. The sound of you diving deep, without fear, into another ocean of thought.

“I just think… people get so tangled in the noise of their own lives. They obsess over things that don’t matter—deadlines, mirrors, numbers on screens—things that don’t feed the soul. They forget to just… be. To breathe. To look around and realize the world is alive. That we’re alive. They walk past trees without seeing them. They hear birds and think of alarms. They smell rain and only worry about their hair. It’s like they’ve been taught to ignore the symphony the earth plays for them every day.”

You paused, not for dramatic effect, but because you were genuinely overcome by the weight of what you were saying. Your fingers ran gently through the grass beside you, the gesture slow, reverent, like you were grounding yourself to the very soil.

“But nature…” you continued, your voice softer now, almost like you were confiding in the air itself, “Nature doesn’t ask anything of us except presence. And still, people treat it like background noise. But it’s everything. It’s truth, in its rawest form. It’s the wind reminding you that you’re small, but not insignificant. It’s the flowers blooming without applause, the way the earth forgives us each spring. It’s the silence between birdsong, the hush of the forest, the sound of your own heartbeat when you really, really listen.”

Theo was silent, completely still, utterly caught in the gravity of your words. You didn’t even notice the way he was looking at you—like you were both flame and shelter, like he could spend forever listening to you and still not have enough. The way you spoke stirred something in him he hadn’t known he’d been missing—an ache, a longing, a sense that maybe this was what connection was meant to feel like.

You stared back at him, puzzled by his stillness. Your brow furrowed gently, your nose crinkling ever so slightly as your mind spun in quiet worry. You'd seen this kind of silence before. It usually came right before someone pulled away.

"Am I annoying you with my rambling?" you asked, voice dipping into uncertainty. "I'm being weird again, aren't I?"

There it was—your vulnerability, soft and sharp all at once. You tried to smile through it, to laugh it off like you always did, but it didn't quite reach your eyes. You were too used to being misunderstood. Too familiar with the way people got overwhelmed by the way your thoughts spiraled into beauty. You'd spent years trying to tame that part of yourself, trying to fit inside quieter boxes, but the truth was: your mind was a garden that grew wild and lush and unapologetic. And somewhere deep down, you feared that would always be too much for people to handle.

Theo's gaze softened even more, as if your worry had reached out and touched something in him.

"You're not weird," he said gently, and his voice felt like a warm hand on your shoulder. Steady. Sincere. "You're just... different." The way he said it made you pause. There was no judgment in it. No edge. Just admiration—pure and quiet, like a secret he was honored to carry. You bit your lower lip, a nervous gesture, your cheeks blooming into a pale, rosy pink. The kind of blush that wasn't born of embarrassment, but of something softer—hope, maybe. Surprise. You tilted your head slightly, trying to read him more clearly, your voice careful but curious. "Should I take being 'different' as a compliment?" you asked, your tone playful, but your eyes searching his face for something real, something rooted. 

He didn't look away. Neither did you.

It was as if the two of you had unknowingly stepped into a quiet challenge—some unspoken game of stillness and gravity, where neither one wanted to be the first to look away. But it wasn't a contest. It was longing. It was connection. You were caught in his eyes—those deep, endless oceans of cobalt and storm—and you didn't want to be rescued. You wanted to fall further in. Drown in them, willingly.

And Theo... he felt the same. Your presence had a magnetic pull. It was like standing in sunlight after a long winter—comforting and blinding and overwhelming all at once. Every inch of you drew him closer. Not physically, not yet—but spiritually, energetically, irrevocably. You were the kind of different that made the world feel bigger, richer, more alive. And he didn't want to look away—not now, not ever. So you sat there, suspended in a silence that said more than words could. Something delicate and infinite passing between you. Something that tasted a little like fate.

The mountains held their breath around you. Even the wind seemed to hush, threading softly through the tall grass, brushing against your skin like an unseen hand offering comfort. The warmth of the afternoon sun spilled golden over the clearing, catching the edges of your hair and setting it aglow like a halo made of firelight and softness. You looked like something sacred, something the earth had cradled into being and placed carefully in front of him.

Theo couldn't speak—not yet. Not without unraveling. So he simply watched you, as if memorizing wasn't a choice, but an instinct. The kind of reverence usually reserved for art or prayer shone in his expression. And perhaps that's what you were to him—living poetry, the kind that bled truth with every breath. "yes," he replied, barely more than a breath. "Being different... that's the most beautiful thing about you." The words hung there, suspended in the golden stillness. You didn't move. You weren't sure you could.

It had always been a sore thing inside you—how easily people turned away from the parts of you that felt too much. You'd always been aware of how you overflowed: in thought, in feeling, in wonder. You tried for years to fold yourself smaller, quieter, into the shapes other people expected. But even then, your heart had a way of spilling out, uninvited. You loved too deeply, thought too loudly, cared too visibly. You noticed things—how the petals on early spring flowers trembled in the wind, how people's voices changed when they were holding back tears, how the world seemed to pulse with quiet meanings no one stopped long enough to hear.

And for most of your life, that had been your loneliness.

Until now.

Until Theo.

"You don't hide from things," he said, his voice low, trembling with something he didn't dare name yet. "You don't numb yourself the way most people do. You let the world move you. It terrifies me how rare that is."

His hand, still half-buried in the grass, found yours. This time, not by accident. His fingers brushed the back of your hand like a question. You didn't pull away. You turned your palm to meet his, and the moment your skin touched, the world shifted—softly, imperceptibly, but deeply. Like something had clicked into place, and the universe exhaled around it.

"I always feel like I'm too much," you whispered, your voice cracking around the edges. It wasn't a confession meant for pity—it was a truth, worn and tender, carried inside you for years. "Too intense. Too curious. Too sensitive. Too... loud, I guess. People don't usually stay."

Theo's fingers closed around yours with gentle certainty, as if your pain was something he could hold and soothe just by being steady. "Then they were never meant to," he murmured, and his tone held no bitterness, only truth. "Because anyone who asks you to be less than this... doesn't deserve to be near you."

Something in your chest gave way. You didn't cry—but it felt like you might, if you let yourself breathe too deeply. There was a pressure behind your ribs, not from sadness, but from recognition. From being seen, finally, not just for your beauty or your kindness or the words you put together like constellations—but for everything. The wild, radiant chaos of your inner world. The boundless storm of your empathy. The way you never stopped feeling.

"I just want to be understood," you said, and your voice cracked on the last word. "Not explained away. Not tolerated. Just... understood."

"I do," he said, instantly, and there wasn't even a pause. "I do understand."

He said it like a promise. Like a vow carved into the air between you.

Your eyes met his again, and there was no more hiding in them—no fear, no overthinking, no pretending. Just two souls, open and trembling and unafraid to fall. You stared into the storm-blue of his gaze and felt yourself being pulled deeper, caught in the gravity of someone who chose you exactly as you were.

The light changed around you, slow and golden, the kind of fading light that casts long, soft shadows and turns everything it touches into something mythic. The air carried the scent of early blossoms and damp earth and sun-warmed wood. Somewhere nearby, a bird trilled a low, steady song, and in the far distance, the hum of a stream curled through the silence like a secret.

And in that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the past. Not your fears. Not even the future.

Only this.

Only him.

Only you—exactly as you were, more than enough, with your messy thoughts and uncontainable wonder, your heart that never learned how to beat quietly.

Theo leaned in slightly, not to kiss you yet, but just to be closer. Just to feel the space between you get smaller. His forehead nearly touched yours, and you felt the warmth of his breath mingle with your own.

"I don't want you to quiet down," he said, barely a whisper. "I want to hear everything."

And for the first time, you believed someone meant it.

𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

I’d love to hear your feedback on this one!

!Reblogs and Likes are highly appreciated¡

…until next time lovelies💋

[heartsiebyul]

Twisted Wonderland characters when their lover lovingly brushes, braids, or runs their fingers through their hair.

(Featuring: Cater, Leona, Jamil, Vil, Idia & Malleus)

Cater Diamond

“Babe, are you sure this isn’t gonna pull?” Cater asked, resting his head in your lap with a playful smirk on his lips.

You combed your fingers through his light orange strands, careful not to catch on a tangle. “Positive. I’m being gentle.”

Cater sighed dramatically, closing his eyes. “Mmm, okay. I trust you~”

The room filled with the sound of the brush gliding through his hair. Occasionally, he peeked up, taking selfies to capture the moment—captioned with hearts and “#loversgoals.”

When you started to braid a section behind his ear, he stilled, a rare moment of silence. His fingers brushed your wrist.

“…You’re way too good at this. Can we do this every night?”

Leona Kingsholar

He grumbled when you sat behind him, but didn’t move away. “Tch. If you tug too hard, I’ll bite.”

You chuckled, gently running your fingers through his thick hair. “You say that every time.”

His ears twitched as you found a rhythm—slow strokes, careful detangling, scratching lightly at his scalp. A deep, contented rumble reverberated from his chest.

Eventually, he slumped forward, tail flicking lazily. You started a loose braid near the nape of his neck.

“…You’re not gonna show anyone this, right?”

“Nope.”

“Good.”

He didn't say anything when you pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

Jamil Viper

He sat in front of you, back straight, posture disciplined—even while letting you comb through his long, silky hair.

“You don’t have to, you know,” he murmured, not meeting your gaze in the mirror.

“I want to,” you said softly, brushing from scalp to ends with utmost care.

His eyes fluttered closed. You could see his shoulders ease, tension melting away with every pass of the brush.

You started weaving a simple braid. Jamil watched you in the mirror, his gaze softening.

“...No one's ever done this for me before.”

You kissed his temple. “Get used to it.”

Vil Schoenheit

“This is sacred ground, you know,” Vil teased as he handed you his finest boar-bristle brush.

“And yet here you are, letting me into the holy land,” you quipped.

He sat with regal poise, but the trust was unmistakable. You worked slowly, brushing his light-blonde locks until they gleamed.

The ends curled slightly when you gathered them to braid. Vil hummed in approval, glancing at your reflection behind him.

“Delicate but firm... You’ve been practicing.”

You chuckled. “I’ve had a beautiful muse.”

He smiled—genuine, proud. “Flatterer. But I suppose I’ll allow it.”

Idia Shroud

You found him sprawled on the bed, tangled blue hair a chaotic mess from gaming and sleepless nights.

“Idia, when’s the last time you brushed this?” you asked, gently lifting a knot.

“Uh… what year is it?” he mumbled into the pillow.

You laughed, sitting beside him and starting with your fingers before switching to a brush.

He tensed at first, but slowly melted into the mattress with each soft pull. The tips of his ears flushed pink.

“…This is like, major intimacy points. You sure you’re ready for this level?”

“I’ll take the risk,” you said, smoothing out another section.

“…I think I love you more now.”

Malleus Draconia

He sat quietly, cross-legged before you, the room bathed in moonlight. His dark hair shimmered in the silver glow, cascading down his back like silk.

“Are you certain?” he asked, glancing back at you. “Touching my hair is… not a small thing among fae.”

You met his gaze, voice soft. “Only if you want me to.”

After a moment, Malleus nodded. “Then I offer it to you.”

You started slowly, brushing out the long strands, careful around his horns. He didn’t speak, but his breathing deepened, shoulders softening with each stroke.

Eventually, you gathered part of his hair and wove it into a loose braid, tying it with a ribbon.

“…This is the most peace I’ve felt in centuries,” he murmured. “Your hands… they carry warmth my heart longs for.”

You kissed his shoulder. “Then let me give it to you. As often as you’ll let me.”

He closed his eyes. “Then I shall never refuse.”

[daceydeath]

Headcannon - Types of Love with SKZ

Word Count: .9K Genre: Fluff Warnings: None The type of love each member would give you if you were their partner.

Chan

It is a shelter from the storm kind of love. It's warm, deeply attentive, and almost healing in how much it sees you.

Chan is a nurturing, endlessly giving kind of love — the love of someone who’s always checking in, even when he’s breaking a little inside himself. It’s a love that carries a quiet weight, like someone who holds everyone else’s burdens without ever asking for anything in return. With his leader’s heart and soft, vulnerable edges, Chan feels like the kind of love that stays up just to make sure you’re okay, even if he’s exhausted.

Chan's love is a love that glows in the cold, that warms others even as it burns quietly, almost unnoticed. It’s dependable, full of depth, and incredibly comforting. It’s the kind of love that makes you feel like no matter how broken the world gets, you’re not alone.

Lee Know

A slow-burning, layered kind of love. The kind that doesn’t reveal itself all at once, but when it does, it wrecks you in the best way.

His love is cool on the outside, warm at the core, and fiercely loyal once you’ve earned your place. It’s not about constant affection or big gestures; it’s in the subtle glances, the way he remembers the tiniest details, or how he silently does things for you just because he wants to, not for praise.

Lee Know's love is cool, still, and a little aloof on the surface, but if you stay close long enough, you realize it’s the warmest place in the world

Changbin

He radiates a kind of love that feels like fire and gravity. Intense, passionate, and absolutely magnetic. He is someone who loves hard and without holding back, the type who puts his whole heart into everything and everyone he cares about.

He gives a bold, expressive kind of love the kind that hypes you up, protects you fiercely, and constantly reminds you how valuable you are. He would be loud in his affection but also incredibly soft when it matters most. That duality — strength and softness — makes his love feel like both a rush and a refuge.

Changbin's love is not always neat, but it’s real, full of color and heart, and it makes you feel alive.

Hyunjin

A love that is poetic, overwhelming, and achingly beautiful. A love that feels like it belongs in art, not reality, and yet somehow exists right in front of you. He gives a romantic, emotionally charged kind of love, full of deep stares, late-night confessions, and touches that feel like they carry meaning beyond words. It’s dramatic, but not performative, more like he feels everything at 100%, and when he loves, he loves like it’s the last time he ever will.

Hyunjin's love is soft yet vivid, emotional yet graceful, fleeting in form but unforgettable in feeling. It seeps into every corner of you like color on a wet canvas it is so delicate, yet impossible to ignore.

Jisung

It feels like a spark in your chest and laughter in your bones It's chaotic, comforting, and unexpectedly profound. The kind of love that sneaks up on you in the form of a joke, then stays with you in the quiet moments after the laughter fades.

He gives off best-friend-to-lover vibe the type that feels effortless, where one minute you're teasing each other, and the next you're staring at him wondering how you ever lived without this kind of connection. His love is high-energy, deeply affectionate, and secretly soul-deep, even if he masks it with humor or distraction.

Han's love is thrilling, unpredictable, sometimes messy, but always magnetic. It’s the kind of love that teaches you how to live fully and feel deeply, with joy that rings louder than fear.

Felix

His love feels like sunlight on your skin after a long, cold day just perfectly warm, healing, and deeply reassuring. His love isn’t loud or overwhelming, but it fills every empty space in the gentlest way possible. He gives a pure, nurturing kind of love that makes you feel safe to be exactly who you are, flaws and all. It’s that rare kind of love that feels like home, not because it’s perfect, but because it’s unwavering, tender, and full of light. His presence alone radiates comfort, as if just being next to him could quiet every storm inside you.

Felix's love is golden, glowing, effortlessly beautiful, and quietly life-changing. It’s the type of love that doesn’t just feel good it makes you feel good about yourself.

Seungmin

It's a love that feels like a steady heartbeat in a chaotic world it's calm, grounded, and deeply intentional. His love isn’t over-the-top or dramatic more the kind that builds slowly, quietly, and then stays without question.

A realistic, mature kind of love. One that’s honest, a little teasing, but deeply loyal underneath. It’s the kind of love that won’t sugarcoat things, but will always tell you the truth because he respects you too much to lie.

Seungmin gives off that “I won’t say it all the time, but I’ll prove it every day” energy. He gives you a crisp, honest, and quietly beautiful love that teaches you how to grow, how to stay grounded, and how to feel safe even in change.

IN

It's a love that feels like the first time you realize someone sees all of you and still loves you anyway. It’s innocent, ever-curious, and quietly transformative. His love makes you believe in new beginnings, no matter how many endings you’ve faced. He gives off blooming love that is sweet, a little shy at first, but full of wonder and sincerity. It’s the type of love that grows with you, laughs with you, and makes even the smallest moments feel special.

With Jeongin, love feels like someone discovering you piece by piece, and cherishing every bit like a treasure, it's refreshing, gentle, a little unpredictable, and full of quiet magic. It’s the kind of love that helps you grow.

a/n: Thank you for reading my lovelies your comments, reblogs and likes are always appreciated and I adore you all xx

Taglist (open): @christopher-bangnaldoskzz @armystay89 @damnyouficc @roamingpolar

@tara-skyhold @bakedlilgoonie @krishastumblernow @mrsseals16 @fawnpeaks

@leeknowinggg @tanzen-ist-gold @uno7 @ocean-dreamer-sky-chaser @skersey33

[meganegatari]

its been so long and i am so sorry omg…i meant to gush over this properly right when you posted it but MY BRAIN. anyway now it is time.

well, to start, lyss, you are a worldwide national universe-wide treasure in every single way. i could go on and on and on about how much i adore you as a person and your entire existence, but we would break the tumblr word limit if it even exists, three times over. i am here to gush about your writing. i look up to you as a writer so, so much, everything you present reads so silky smooth— it is a DELIGHT. you're able to weave in absolutely stunning prose with stellar characterization of our silly girl, with the most delicately handled and well thought out plot i have ever seen. you really have a gift, and i am not just saying that…you know me and my hater ways <3

i love everything you do, but this fic in particular is SUCHHH a treat. im so glad to see you presenting us with some longer content, and im sure everyone else feels the same!! whenever you ask me…lil ole ME…for some kind of writing advice…bae honored is an understatement. you have such a skill for writing, like better than a lot of published authors i read (and i have read A LOTTTT) i wanna see you keep pushing!! i adore this fic so much. it is just the right amounts of silly, and sexy, and a really really fun time. i adore your introductions, you set the scene so well and paint the most vivid, gorgeous picture in readers minds UGH IT MAKES ME EMOSH….from when you sprouted this idea, to when u showed me the layout and the drafts and released it into the world…omg you ate so hard. thank goodness for modern glasses technology so my blind ass is able to witness this....

“you told yourself it was a coincidence, how often your visits lined up with her shift. you weren’t memorizing her schedule—god, no. you just… noticed a pattern. for advice purposes. obviously. she had the best advice.

and i love this part. your writers voice is so clear and you have so much character when you give us these beautiful stories I CANT STRESS ENOUGH HOW MUCH I LOVE IT AND EVERYTHING YOU CREATE. the feeling is so prominent and it oozes passion for the hobby and the character, bravo.

while the trial and error of gardening took up most of your time, another thorn lodged itself in your side—this one not literal.

and this too like…your brain???? you always think of the most clever little touches to add, i will never not be obsessed. and how you followed it up with a description that isnt anything but flawless….like you suck readers in so good !!!!!

she must have witnessed you struggling in your yard at least a dozen times by now. the tips. the encouragement. her uncanny ability to know exactly what should go where. the conveniently timed suggestions that always hit just right. and not once had she mentioned she lived next door? diabolical, honestly.

AND LIKE HOW YOU ALWAYS ACE HER HEHEHEHAFK. in a sea of mischaracterizaion, i thank you for your faithfulness because everything you write is so so so SO painfully ellie, you might as well be writing the new canon. beyond stellar. everyone gotta take notes.

ellie looked up, shielding her eyes from the sun. and then—she grinned. of course she grinned, like she hadn’t just upended your entire understanding of reality. like you weren’t standing there, tin of cookies in hand, suddenly feeling ridiculous, and very underprepared for whatever this was.

THIS BIT ALWAYS MAKES ME GIGGLE WHENEVER I COME BACK TO IT PLEASE. what a ridiculous goofy goober omg i can see that signature stupid smile of hers THAT DORK ISTG and just before that…how you described her working…oh i am drooling. oh suddenly my phone disappeared…have you seen it? LIKE GODDAMNASDAKSLKDL you seriously write sex appeal and tension so so well istg you could write about…idk a banister a railing and id be creaming my pants BUT THAT IS BESIDES THE POINT your writing is immaculate whatever genre you dabble in.

your role is mainly reduced to handing her tools and keeping her hydrated. water swiftly proves to be necessary as ellie worked diligently, showing off her mastery, the early morning sun rises to a brighter, more oppressive, sweltering heat. you try stepping in to help a few times, but the firm swats from ellie’s palm—quick, pointed, and slightly amused—make it clear she’s not about to let you much of the heavy lifting.

and i love this part because especially the last bit showcases how well you handle flow. it is so natural, the cadence omg. your writing reads like a dance— like a ballet even, every word chosen exactly to convey and fit in with the others like the very last piece of a jigsaw puzzle. and the rest well…..

okok i need to stop myself before i go crazy, but GODSSSSSS. this is stellar, everything you do is a blessing to this mess of a fandom and i beg of you to never deprive us of your gift, okay? you add so so much, both as a mere presence in this space AND as a creator, to lose that would be so terrible. you are amazing. the most talented, genius person ever, and i am absolutely so grateful i get to write for this little ginger loser with you, but even more so to know you as a person. cant wait to see what you write next <33333

marigold crush

gardener ellie!au. what you thought would kick off a petty neighborhood feud ends up turning into something a whole lot hotter than the summer sun above. the reason? it starts with ellie, the cute employee at the garden center—who knows a thing or two about getting her hands dirty. thank you to my @meganegatari for providing input and proofing as always <3

wc 3.1k minors dni - making out, dirty talk, fingering (r!receiving)

with summer rapidly creeping up, you set your sights on a new project—upgrading your gardening skills. it sounded simple enough at first. plant a few things, water them, watch them grow. oh, how wrong you were. you realized, much too late, how surprisingly demanding it all was. soil types, lawn maintenance, what plants thrived where, which ones were perennials, how to keep them alive with proper care like watering, pruning, and mulching. before long, you were making an embarrassing number of trips to the nearby garden center.

not that it had anything to do with the pretty employee who was always ready with a new tip just when you needed one.

miss ellie—as per her name tag—carried herself professionally, politely enough. always eager to explain answers, she sometimes skipped over beginners’ tricks, then circled back to catch you up. everything she suggested, though, ended up helping immensely. you liked that. she was sweet.

you told yourself it was a coincidence, how often your visits lined up with her shift. you weren’t memorizing her schedule—god, no. you just… noticed a pattern. for advice purposes. obviously. she had the best advice.

while the trial and error of gardening took up most of your time, another thorn lodged itself in your side—this one not literal. your newish neighbor had apparently taken up the same hobby, and, enragingly, their results far outshone yours. how was everything so lively? why were their perennials already blooming? their yard looked freshly trimmed and popping with color every single day. yours, a work in progress, wilted a little more every time you glanced at the progress next door. you couldn’t help but sulk from time to time. it was starting to feel personal.

a part of you really wanted to give your neighbor a piece of your mind. in your opinion, there was absolutely no way they weren’t doing this on purpose. ever since they moved in just under a year ago, it had been the same infuriating pattern—everything you did, they somehow managed to do ten times better. halloween decorations, holiday lights, even their progressive political flags had wittier slogans than yours. and the worst part? you’d never even seen them. not once. this silent gardening supremacy—that you weren’t even sure they knew was a competition—was the final straw. how they pulled it off while staying completely out of sight was beyond you.

granted, your competitive streak might’ve been clouding your better judgment, and you were, admittedly, acting a little unhinged—but you had to know their secret. you had to meet them, to understand the method behind the madness of their picture-perfect flower beds.

so, in a move wholly unlike you, you got up early one sunny morning and baked cookies. warm from the oven, stacked neatly in a sewing tin—just a friendly, xenial gesture. no ulterior motives. none at all.

you step out your front door, ready to march up their porch and put an end to the mystery once and for all—only to freeze in place.

imagine the shock when there, in the garden next door, kneeling in the dirt with gloved hands and a quiet hum under her breath, was the very same ginger woman who had been giving you advice all summer.

ellie.

suddenly, it felt really personal.

she must have witnessed you struggling in your yard at least a dozen times by now. the tips. the encouragement. her uncanny ability to know exactly what should go where. the conveniently timed suggestions that always hit just right. and not once had she mentioned she lived next door?

diabolical, honestly. ellie was gradually unfurling under the strain of the heat and her work, of course. her white tank top, drenched in sweat, clung to her like a second skin. she tugged at the fabric to fan herself off. her flushed, freckled skin glistened under the early morning rays, and her auburn hair was plastered to the back of her neck. your gaze shifted to her arms—tense, fit, and tattooed—then to her hands skillfully handling the tools.

“you’ve gotta be kidding me,” you huffed, louder than intended, managing to reach her ears. 

ellie looked up, shielding her eyes from the sun. and then—she grinned. of course she grinned, like she hadn’t just upended your entire understanding of reality. like you weren’t standing there, tin of cookies in hand, suddenly feeling ridiculous, and very underprepared for whatever this was.

“well, hey there, neighbor.” she greets you far too warm, too chipper. 

you stared at her. “you live next door?”

“mm-hmm,” she said, standing up slowly to stretch out her legs and dusting her earth-covered hands off on her thighs. “for, like, ten months now. give or take.”

you glance down at the sewing box of cookies in your hand. despite ellie’s state—sweating, smudged with dirt—you hold it out for her.

“a welcome gift,” you offer. “just… ten months late. give or take.”

ellie breaths a laugh and takes the box, peeking inside, nodding in approval.

“damn. look at you. thanks,” she mutters, setting it down on a nearby plastic chair cluttered with gardening tools. your eyes flicker between your sad little yard and her perfectly maintained one.

“did… did you know? all this time? when i came in to ask questions?”

“yep,” ellie says, totally unfazed, hands settling on her hips. “it was kinda cute, watching you take my advice and, y’know… try it out.” she pauses, then adds to soften the blow, “i thought about coming over a few times. offering a hand. but you looked so determined, hacking away at weeds, replanting flowers i suggested, i didn’t want to interrupt...” she trailed off. 

you blinked, trying to recalibrate. “that’s okay, i just… wow.”

ellie notices your stupor and an idea comes to mind. “well. since you’re already here—i was about to head to the shed. wanna stick around? i could show you a few things. if you’re cool with that.” then, teasing, “no charge. this time. cookies count though.”

you find yourself trailing after her into the backyard—just as immaculate as the front—to a small shed tucked in the far corner of the lot. it doesn’t look like much from the outside, but inside, it’s packed chock-full with every gardening item you could imagine, from seed packets, terracotta pots, and shelves lined with tools. half of them, you didn’t even recognize, which only made the sting of your amateurity more potent. 

thankfully, ellie’s easygoing explanations help ease the mood. she’s showing off her tools, fertilizers, and offering tips, and you’re taken aback by seeing her in this new light. she was always cute, which is why you’d kept timing your visits to the garden center a little too well. but this? watching her work in the summer heat, flushed and confident, completely in her element—it ignited something new in you. here you were, ready to start a petty squabble with your new neighbor, but instead, your stomach was full of butterflies. ellie added a few well-loved, indiscernible tools to a bag, slung it over her freckled shoulder, and ushered you outside before closing the shed door behind her.

“alright, so. show me the damage,” she said, jerking her chin toward your yard.

“my what?” “your flower bed,” she called over her shoulder, already walking ahead. “gotta check if you actually listened to me.” before you can say anything, ellie’s already knee-deep in your garden, pulling up the weeds you missed and fixing the patches where your mulch is spread too thin. you’re not sure what hits harder—the embarrassment from the sheer number of mistakes she’s quietly correcting, or the way her initiative turns you on.

your role is mainly reduced to handing her tools and keeping her hydrated. water swiftly proves to be necessary as ellie worked diligently, showing off her mastery, the early morning sun rises to a brighter, more oppressive, sweltering heat. you try stepping in to help a few times, but the firm swats from ellie’s palm—quick, pointed, and slightly amused—make it clear she’s not about to let you much of the heavy lifting.

still, she doesn’t treat you like a helpless maiden. eventually, she has you kneeling beside her, guiding your hands, her calloused fingers splayed atop of your own, instructing you through the same techniques she’s spent the season explaining in passing. her voice is low, sure, and steady beside you, her skin warm where it brushes yours under the sun. 

she starts with the marigolds, helping you replant them first—their vibrant yellows and oranges thriving in this full-sun corner. from there, it’s onto the petunias, where she fusses over spacing, then the dusty miller and the salvia. her encouragement is doing the opposite of helping. you try to stay focused, to press the soil like she showed you, but your thoughts keep drifting to the feel of her hand on yours.

"no—don’t just pat it down like that, you need to press a little firmer with the trowel. yeah, like this." she shifts closer, her hand curling over yours, both of you bent low over the bed of marigolds. you can feel her breath at your temple, her voice gone a little quieter, more raspy now. "there you go. knew you had it in you."

her sheer determination shouldn’t affect you the way it does, but damn. the moment your thoughts start lingering on the idea of licking the brine off her neck, you know you desperately need to cool off—literally and figuratively. it only gets worse when her hand holds the small of your back for half a moment too long, steadying you as you dug further into the soil. the simple touch sent a shiver through you, making your pulse race. it wasn’t just the heat anymore. did she know what she was doing? there was no way ellie wasn’t this self-aware. given she had let you try and fail at this garden all summer, she was probably more aware of her actions than you could easily wrap your brain around.

the rest of the adjustments come together quickly after that, both of you worn out and damp with sweat, but working in sync. at long last, ellie straightens up with a groan, wiping her glossy brow, appraising your now vastly-improved flower bed with lazy pride. “muchhhh better,” her eyes glint with approval, tossing the trowel practically molded to her hand aside. then she stretches, slow and unbothered, muscled arms rising overhead until they’re drawn taut, her off-white tank lifting just enough to entice your most lewd thoughts into wanting to see more. then she runs a hand through her damp, disheveled auburnette hair, leaving it even more a mess. “may i ask the lady for a drink? and a chance to wash up a bit?” your yes is obvious. you leave your tools just as they are on the ground and motion for ellie to follow you inside. of course she needs a rest, probably dying of thirst—though you’re probably the thirstier one in that moment.

the space is filled with the sound of the rush of crisp water and the clink of glasses as you both scrub dirt off and pour drinks. ellie mutters a soft thanks, taking hers after drying her hands on a dish towel.

she looks hot here. out of place, certainly—sun-streaked and a perspiry mess in your nearly spotless kitchen. but it only makes you want the cute gardener turned hot nuisance of a neighbor-turned... whatever this is... even more.

you swallow your nerves, chasing them with another sip of water.

“you know, i always thought you were cute,” you tease, eyes flicking to hers. “ever since you helped me pick out my first supplies.” you reflect like you’re feeling nostalgic, though you’re definitely up to something.

“yeah?” ellie quirks a brow. she’s smart, knowing exactly what you’re doing. the cute, tentative girl from the garden shop was gone- this was someone confident in every move. her voice dips low, eyes narrowing with a flirtsome gleam. “you still think i’m just cute now?”

“well,” you murmur, voice low, a little shaky, trying to match her coy pitch, “i wouldn’t say just cute.”

she tilts her head, flashing a zealous, lopsided grin. “i’ve got a lot more i could show you. with my hands. can i?”

when she then takes a step closer—your heart seizes.

was this really happening? were you about to get fucked into next week by the cute gardener turned next-door neighbor? your mind races a million miles a minute, the whole scenario unraveling like a scene straight from fanfiction.

well, you were right! just like that, ellie closes the space between you, her hand sliding around your waist as she nudges you back against the cool, angular side of the kitchen island.

the marble presses against your lower back, forcing a half-giggle, half-stunned, shaky exhale from your lungs. you realize you’re probably not hiding the gleeful expression on your face as well as you thought, especially given the cheesy grin the hot dork returns.

her roughened hands trail along your jawline, the juxtaposition of her tough-feeling skin with the most gentle gesture makes you feel woozy. “you know,” she murmurs, voice low and almost amused, “i thought about you a lot. the clueless girl always showing up on my shift, asking the kinda questions you knew i’d love answering.”

your face warms, and ellie clicks her tongue, clearly satisfied. “and here's the thing. i didn’t mind. kinda liked knowing you’d come find me.” she pauses, smirking as a vexing fire ignites behind her eyes. then she adds, “figured you’d eventually need help with the yard. saw you out there, all hot and frustrated trying to figure it out on your own. guess i was right, huh?”

the reminiscent teasing is cut short when her lips connect with your own, tossing the last of your inhibitions aside and letting blind instinct take over. all nerves melt, and your mind goes blank as her teeth catch your bottom lip and tug. you grab at her waist, hands sliding up to her ribcage — one curling into a fistful of her auburn hair, the other slipping beneath her dirtied tank top to caress the warm skin at her side.

time ceases to matter. all you feel is her hands, fervid and searching, and her hot, wet mouth moving against yours — heaven. the soft, immodest moans she lets slip only pull you deeper in. ellie traces your lips with her tongue, coaxing them open, chasing breathless sounds from you. the kiss is messy, to say the least. your front teeth collide with hers, noses bumping, spit dribbling down both your chins— it was clear she wanted you just as much as you wanted her. the waiting paid off. 

but, you feel a pause, and then loss of contact.“fuck i—” ellie huffs. she's breathless, her voice scratchy with need. the voracity at which she pulls away, breaking the fragile strands of spit that webbed across your mouths— it concerns you. 

you open your mouth to inquire, but she cuts you off by grabbing your hips with her muscled hands, and fleetly turns you around so you're facing away from her, and are bent over the counter. its hard surface is chill to the touch- your only reprieve from the heat between you two. 

your mind practically short-circuits. even though she isn't too forceful, the motion still makes you yelp. you want this, no— you crave it, and ellie’s animalistic side takes over, leaning over you with her front pressed flush against your back, one hand perfecting the arch of your back and then finding purchase at your waist. she starts shamelessly sucking purpled marks into the side of your neck and rutting her pelvis against the swell of your ass. pushing your hair further to the side, she bites down on your skin and soothes with her tongue, the acts sending goosebumps all over you.

you were completely at her mercy, no thoughts occupying your head other than everything about her: her voice, her touch— you couldn't get enough.  “ellie,” you moan her name, and she damn near purrs into your ear. you brace yourself against the cool surface, clinging onto it for respite, grounding yourself to keep steady as your legs grow weak. 

her right hand is pawing all over you, stopping to fondle your clothed breast, then snaking down your stomach and into your pants. hooking your panties aside, ellie lets out an unholy sigh at how wet you already are. 

her greedy fingers graze your slit, then begin steadily circling your clit as you mewl. ellie groans like she can feel it herself. her voice breaks, but she mutters against the nape of your neck, “fuck, damn baby. all this f'me?”

you weren't going to last, all the build up was about to bubble over momentarily. but you had to try, because it was all too good to end so soon.

descending further, she pushes her two middle digits inside your eager, sopping hole, curling as she fucked into you, your body gradually rising like a crescendo to a dizzying peak. “come on, cum for me,” ellie encourages, her free hand reaching out and landing on top of yours to share in your pleasure as your orgasm washes over you. she soothes you with a placid squeeze, a silent reminder she's got you. the pressure in your lower abdomen builds, until one last thrust sends you spilling ecstasy all over her fingers. she helps you ride it out, lightly rubbing your twitching clit and mumbling praises all the while. as your body shudders, ellie’s rutting against your ass slows, mirroring your panting and humming some encouragement.

upon coming down from the buzz, you rest your forehead on the counter's surface, trembling whimpers leaving your fucked-out form. the fingers just inside you meet ellie’s lips, tasting you on her like you’re something ambrosial, already addicted to your essence. her hands then run over your form in calming passes as you fully return to reality. “you know…” after some comfortable silence she starts, voice smug, “this could’ve happened a lot sooner—if you’d just said something instead of memorizing my whole damn work schedule.”

“oh, shut up,” you manage, still catching your breath, but content nonetheless.

ellie grins, brushing her thumb along your cheek. “what? i mean it. you're sweeter than anything i’ve ever grown.”

[elllisaaa]

hi!! I looove your BF!VERNON post! have you ever read those ABC-type of posts where they describe how the person would be in their sex life using each word of the alphabet to tell a part of it? If not, do you think you can do a broad post on how you think Vernon would be in his sex life pls?

NSFW ALPHABET - C. HANSOL

-> pairing : vernon x fem!reader

-> words count : 2k words

-> genre : pure smut

-> warnings : dom!vernon & simp!vernon, unprotected sex, hair pulling, body description, masturbation (f. & m.), voyeurism, doggystyle, reverse cowgirl, phone sex, sexting, dirty talk, orgasm control (edging & overstimulation), mention of choking, oral (m. & f.), toys

+ the way i'm depicting vernon does not represents him, it's only a work of fiction

-> 18+ content below, minors DNI

-> author's note : thank you so much for reading my work and for you request, i really enjoyed doing it <3 !

-> sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language.

-> reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated !

-> masterlist | svt masterlist

A - AFTERCARE

He’ll definitely ask if you’re good, and whisper praises and sweet nothings to you. Silently goes to the bathroom to grab something to clean you up with and gently helps you put on some clothes before going to sleep. After sex, he loves to cuddle with you and to have some skin to skin contact, so he will slip his hands underneath your shirt just to rest them against your back or your tummy and feel your body heat. It’s mostly calm but so comforting. 

B - BODY PARTS (favourite body parts of theirs and their partners) 

Vernon is lowkey a simp, he’s even actually surprised that he pulled a girl like you, so out of his league it looks like you’re doing charity. But he’s even more of a simp for your back. There’s a reason why he loves to bend you over and rest his hand on your back, and there’s a reason why he goes feral anytime you wear something backless. He will definitely rest his hand on the small of your back to casually guide you and kiss your back over and over again because he can’t get enough of it. And if you get a back tattoo, it’s the end for him. 

He doesn’t really have a favourite body part of himself, but because of you and of how much you like his arms, he does. It boosts his ego so much when you gush over how muscular he has become, and it motivates him to keep going to the gym. Plus, being able to just manhandle you to his liking and hear you moaning his name because of it definitely makes him like his arms too. 

C - CUM

He’s not really big on making a mess, so he definitely won’t cum inside most of the times, because it’s easier to clean when he just cums on your back, and for obvious reasons, it’s his favourite place too. But if you want him to cum inside, he’ll gladly do it - he’s just a guy after all. 

D - DIRTY SECRET

One time he came home a bit earlier from work to surprise you, but you were busy doing self-care. You had left the door to your bedroom open since you were home alone, and Vernon could see you touching yourself and hear you moaning freely. He knew he should have stopped watching and told you he was there, but he couldn’t help but watch until you made yourself come. He slammed the door really loud after that, pretending he just got home and he tried to hide the tent in his pants. He still hasn't talked to you about it. 

E - EXPERIENCE

He’s the type to have been in one or two serious relationships before you. He stayed with his exes for long periods of time, and between these relationships, he didn’t really try to meet someone else until you came into his life. Though, he knows what he does, and he’s especially good at learning to read your body and what you like. He’s dedicated to you and he loves to learn new things about you or when you teach him what to do too. 

F - FAVOURITE POSITION

Considering his adoration for your back, doggystyle definitely is his favourite. Being able to see the beautiful curve of your back as he’s pounding into you makes his brain short circuit. Also reverse cowgirl drives him insane for the exact same reason : you on top of him, your back in all its glory and your ass ? Perfect. Heaven.

G - GOOFY (are they more serious or not in the moment ?)

He’s mainly serious and focused solely on you and your pleasure but it doesn’t mean he never cracks a joke, of course. One time, you even stopped everything because you couldn’t stop laughing at how his hair was going in all directions from how much you had ruffled them. 

H - HAIR

He’s lazy, and most of the time, he doesn’t really think about doing it. He trims it when it becomes annoying, but if you don’t make any remarks about it bothering you, it will stay this way. If you ask him though, he’ll definitely put more care into this because he only wants you to be comfortable.

I - INTIMACY (are they romantic ?)

Romantic feelings and mostly saying things are not really Vernon’s strength. Most of the time, he doesn’t even need to say it because the physical and emotional closeness is enough for the both of you. But on some special occasions, he gets all sweet and romantic - saying I love you between each kiss, soft touches and adoration written all over his face. 

J - JACK OFF

He doesn’t do it often, because most of the time he has you to take care of his needs. When he’s away on tour or for work are the only times it really happens, but it’s always on a call with you. It’s like his body can’t let him cum without at least hearing your voice. 

K - KINKS

Vernon is mainly a dom, he loves to have his bit of control over you. He’s not really talkative usually, but he does talk when you’re having sex. Dirty words are spilling past his lips non-stop, mumbling about how naughty and wet you are, how good you feel and how much he needs you. He’s big on hair pulling too, especially in doggy because it gives a beautiful curve to your back. I can see him liking orgasm control and a bit of choking as well. 

L - LOCATION (favorite places to do it)

He’s a classic, casual guy so his favourite is the bedroom. It’s practical and comfortable, and he can cuddle with you for as long as he wants to when you two are done. Plus, he’s more of a staying-at-home guy rather than going out so it is perfect. The car is also a pretty regular place, because sometimes, he just cannot resist how beautiful and tempting you look. 

M - MOTIVATION (what turns them on)

Frankly, he doesn’t need a lot to get turned on, just your existence is enough to make him hard. But as stated before, whenever you’re wearing backless dresses or shirts he’s going feral. Consequently, he also really likes to see you with a bun or a high ponytail, and seeing you put your hair up turns him on as well. Seeing you do your makeup and especially apply lip products. When you’re wearing his clothes. 

N - NO

He will never want you to call him daddy, that is so awkward to him and makes him feel really weird. 

O - ORAL

Vernon will rarely ask you to do it, because even if he likes it a lot, he wants you to want it first. But when you do take him in your mouth, he gets a taste of heaven. It’s definitely when he is the most vocal. Most of the time, he’s got a hand holding your head but not guiding you to move, letting you do your thing and work your magic on him. If you wake him up with head, he’s basically proposing to you. 

He’s a giver, so spending hours in between your thighs feels like a dream to him. He loves to taste you and hear you moan his name, feel your hands tugging at his hair when it’s too much. Because Vernon doesn’t want you to cum just once on his face, he needs at least two to be satisfied. 

P - PACE

Rather slow and deep most of the time, he loves to make you feel all of him and hitting all the right spots he knows will make you scream. If it has been a while or that he’s particularly pent up, he’s way faster and less focused on his rhythm. 

Q - QUICKIE

Even if he’s not that much of a loverboy, he really prefers to take his time, and to be in the comfort of your bedroom, or at least somewhere where no one can interrupt you. He’s not above having a quickie here and there, when you really teased him, or if neither of you cannot wait, because anyway, fucking with you is a blessing. But he’d rather have you laid out on his bed, and all the time in the world to take you apart. 

R - RISK (do they like to experiment ?)

Vernon is a chill guy, so if you want to try something new, you just have to ask him. He’s always saying that you must try everything at least once to know if you will like it or not. He makes sure that you’re comfortable too, and that you know you can trust him to talk about anything you’d want to try (he’s a sweetheart).

S - STAMINA

He has that dancer stamina of course, so he can last multiple rounds while giving you his whole - and you won’t be the one complaining about it. Vernon purposely edges himself to last longer. And if he happens to cum even though you want more, he’ll gladly go down on you or finger you while he recovers. It’s a win-win for you. But when he does allow himself to cum, he won’t get up after that. 

T - TOYS

He’s not a big fan of them when it comes to playing together, he prefers to get you off with his mouth, hands or cock. But when he’s away for work and you send him video or photos of you playing with that dildo almost the same size as his dick, oh, he definitely loves it. He would also love to watch you fuck yourself on your toy while he’s just sitting there, and hearing you whine about how much you need him would definitely stroke his ego. 

U - UNFAIR (how much they like to tease)

Vernon is more of a dirty talker than a teaser actually, his words are more teasing than his actions. But sometimes, he does like to edge you a bit, or to push you past your limits even if he already made you cum three times. The main thing he searches in sex is your satisfaction, your pleasure. So truly, he just wants to give you what you need, even if he can be a little shit from time to time if you pissed him off. 

V - VOLUME (how loud they are)

He’s mostly quiet, except for deep grunts and some panting. He’s the most vocal when you’re giving him head - then he moans and whispers your name in devotion. When he gets close to cumming, he gets almost silent, except for some choked moans. 

W - WILD CARD

When Vernon gets drunk, he gets so touchy and so possessive. He doesn’t drink often to the point that he’s really drunk, but when he does, you love it. He cannot take his hands off of you even in public, will get on your knees if you ask him to, and definitely lets you willingly take advantage of him because how did he bag such a goddess ?

X - X-RAY

He’s a bit below average in terms of length - around 10cm - but he compensates in girth. He’s pretty thick and he needs to prep you well for you to not feel the sting of the stretch. 

Y - YEARNING (how high is their sex drive)

He’s not necessarily always in the mood, but he needs very, very little to get horny. You could be doing the most mundane task and he’ll be half hard in his pants because you’re just existing in the same world as him. That being said, it really depends on you. If you want to fuck every day, he’s down. If you have a lower libido, he’s okay with that too. It’s not that he never initiates anything, on the contrary, but he’s content with whatever he gets. 

Z - ZZZ (how fast they fall asleep)

Vernon can last multiple rounds without any problems, but once you’re done, he’s crashing out. Once you’re both comfortably settled and cuddled up to each other, he’s the first to fall asleep.

-> i don't allow any copies, reposts or translations of my work.

svt taglist (fill in this to be added) :

@lil-kpopstan @hann1bee @bewoyewo @foxinnie8 @jaderabbit-98 @lala-----------lala @codeinebelle @miyx-amour @seomisaho @sashaaahh @straytiny127 @ltfirecracker @jaja-salute

[httpssturns]

Smile for the camera!

in which reader loves capturing the moment, even in the most unconventional times. (Chris x reader)

notes: steamy, makeout, sub chris vibes??, tell me this is good please, messy, finger sucking, ohh yeahhh, a bit suggestive shghshdhhs, mention of “good boy and mama,” NO MOMMY KINK.

You loved testing your new lipsticks on Chris. The way his eyes would glaze over with pleasure even though you didn't even properly touch him had you feining for more. Hell, loved is honestly an understatement to how much you relished the feeling of his skin under your lips.

“nngh- fuck mama..” Chris whimpered, his hips instinctively bucking into yours, sending waves of pleasure through your veins.

All you could do is continue kissing his skin, his neck. His jaw. His face. Nothing was escaping your lips today and you made sure of that.

“Aw, baby. Already so so messy, only been kissin’ you?” You murmur, your finger collecting the drool on his chin and coaxing the digit into his mouth.

You could almost groan at the way he takes your finger in his mouth with absolutely no complaint, his tongue swirling around the digit and drool running down his lips.

“Such a good boy, baby. Right? Such a good pretty boy.” You praise, withdrawing your finger with a slick ‘pop’ of his lips.

“Mhm! So good.. m’a good boy!” He whimpers, rolling desperately against your thigh. You can feel how worked up he is, how much he needs you, and it makes you smirk to yourself.

You press your lips to his again, tongue slipping into the wet heat of his mouth and grazing against his teeth, your hands cupping his cheeks in your palms.

The kisses are messy, so messy. Clashing teeth and the exchange of spit, saliva glistening on both of your lips and down his chin.

The room feels hot and sticky, sweat clinging to both of your bodies already, and the dimness of the room makes the moment feel even heavier with desire and need.

“Mama.. need you so so bad..” Chris breathes softly, almost like a prayer, and the sight you're graced with when you look up from his skin is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. His eyes are glazed over, pupils dilated and heavy. His cheeks flushed a needy crimson and his hips rolling into yours like there's no tomorrow.

“I know sweetheart, gonna make you feel so good soon. Just need to keep kissin’ you all up first. haven't covered you yet.” You murmur, sucking softly on the skin of his neck before tracing a line down the flesh to his collarbones with your tongue.

You kiss between his collarbones, and then withdrawal quickly to grab something, causing a desperate whine to escape Chris's lips.

“Wha- where are you going?” He asks with hazy confusion. He's consumed by a pleasure filled daze, and he's not ready to leave it yet.

“Dont worry bubba, just need to get a picture of my pretty boy..” You murmur softly, before emerging with a camera.

“Can you do that for me baby? Can you give me a big smile?” You coo, positioning your camera to capture a picture of the lipstick-stained boy.

He does as you tell him, presenting the cutest, cheesy smile on his face in the direction of your camera. The flush doesn't leave his skin for a second, and the lense of the camera captures the perfect picture of him that embodies the moment exactly.

You set the camera down, grabbing his face and kissing him again, before pulling away and murmuring against his lips;

“I'm printing that out by the way”

୨♡୧ @bernardsbendystraws for the dividers ୨♡୧

✮ soph's notes: um idk how to feel about this uhh hehe I hope you guys like it (I couldn't stop laughing while writing this and it ain't even smut)

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ @sugarraez @ribbonlovergirl @slvt4subchratt @sturnsblogs @oopsiedaisydeer @backwardshatnick @izzylovesmatt @viviansturns @courta13 @coquettechris @matts-wife @matts-babytomatoes @whore4chris

[satorus-princess]

a/n: alexa play 'desi girl' (ft. suguru helping you with your saree)

geto's sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, forearms exposed, his hair tied up in a neat bun so as to not obstruct his view from the task he's so focused on.

he has a safety pin trapped between his lips as his lithe fingers carefully pleat the embroidered and bejewelled cloth of your saree with concentration.

he had already helped you hook the blouse together, a violet that matched his eyes. and he had tied the petticoat around your waist - snug enough not to slip, but loose enough for you to move around with ease. his gentle eyes met yours, a silent confirmation to make sure you were comfortable.

now here comes the hard part of pleating the saree symmetrically, ensuring it forms a waterfall of purple ripples, swimming with gold.

he redoes it for the third time, unravelling and pleating again. he suddenly kneels in his crisp attire of slacks and a white button-up, becoming eye-to-eye with your waistline to get a better view. he places the safety pin on the bed behind you.

“sugu, i think the second time was pretty good,” you reassure him.

“‘pretty good’ isn't enough for my perfect girl.” his voice comes out silky, low, concentration laced within it.

“well, i can help you, if you'd like.”

“don't worry, petal, i've got it. i didn't ask your mother for help for no reason.” he smiles up at you tenderly, his touch mirroring his smile as his fingers skim against the bare, tanned skin of your stomach. “plus, i have to learn how to do it properly for our daughters one day.”

“we can get dressed ourselves, you know,” you protest half-heartedly, without a hint of complaint in your tone. not when he took his time and handled both you and your clothes delicately.

“i know you can, pretty girl,” he responds smoothly and gently. “but why should you, if you have me? you put in so much effort for these events, even excluding getting ready. so, why not let me get you ready so you can relax?”

“you spoil me.”

he glances up at you again, a small upturn of his lips into a smirk as his eyebrow arches simultaneously. “are you complaining?”

“never.”

as you smile, his smirk melts into a smile of his own. he directs his attention back to the saree and this time, he's satisfied with it. he pins it together before tucking it into the skirt. standing back up to carefully drape the rest of the fabric over your shoulder, he secures it to the blouse with another pin, mindful not to prick your shoulder.

“there. you look gorgeous,” he hums, with a warm curve of his lips. his gaze lovingly appreciative as it dances over your figure decorated in hues of purple and gold - a jewel most precious to him.

“thanks to you and your help.”

“uh-huh, more like thanks your natural beauty. i only accentuated it. what is it again? khubsurat?” he says almost hesitantly, something foreign for his usually composed demeanour.

you erupt with laughter, not mocking, but affectionate and amused. “oh my god.” the giggles continue and he can't help the smile that tugs at his lips. “i think that was the cutest thing i've ever heard.”

“yeah, go on, laugh it up,” he sasses, rolling his eyes in mock offence.

“i'm not making fun of you, meri jaan,” you promise with your lips still stained with amusement and love. you step closer to him, loosely looping your arms around his neck. his large hands find your waist.

“what does that mean?” he asks in a soft murmur, curious. he knows it must be a term of endearment because of the way your words were syrupy with affection and tenderness.

“my love,” you whisper back, lips brushing against his, noses bumping together.

he closes the distance, gingerly caressing his mouth against yours in a considerate manner to not ruin your lipstick. it's a gentle back and forth; a silent conversation of sweet nothings. his lips linger, melding with yours until the need to breathe becomes too strong. even then, he has to force himself to break away.

he pulls back ever so slightly, his hands slightly tightened on your waist as his heart swells with such ardent love for you, it's almost painful.

one of his hands drifts upwards to fix the shimmering tikka that sits skewed on your forehead as a result of the kiss. he puts it back into place before his digits encase your cheek, thumb brushing the curve lightly as his eyes admire each inch of your features.

“we're gonna have the aunties jealous of us, aren't we?” he jokes.

[sundeans]

Listen, I touch grass, okay? I totally understand *most* shows are not catering to my ships and that's okay.

But with this it's a little different.

There are already multiple canonically queer characters in the show and as a queer person, I believe their stories to be really really good representation.

Michael who was always gay and afraid to be or couldn't be his authentic self and married a woman and stayed with her anyways despite his sexuality because of not feeling safe to be his true self. Eventually leaving the marriage later in life and continuing to be really good friends with his ex and Co parent their children. Finding a man he truly loves to marry.

I think that is a very realistic portrayal of a black, gay man who is his age. It makes sense that people were not quite accepting when he was younger so he felt he had to be someone he was not to feel safe. I think it's really beautiful that he maintained a good relationship with his ex wife and children after finally deciding to live his true self. While it doesn't always work out that way, it can because even if they didn't work out romantically, they still loved each other and supported each other.

Hen who is a black lesbian who starts working at the 118. The firehouse is full men who are very bigoted, especially captain at the time Gerrard. She feels like an outsider from the group and like no one wants to give her a chance to do her job. Chim attempts to befriend her anyway and eventually succeeds. She hides her sexuality from her coworkers at first, having heard them talk, knows they are pretty bigoted. Eventually she snaps and tells them exactly who she is and they still don't see her as someone capable of doing the job until she proves them wrong on calls. They soon come to accept her and treat her better than before (even if they're still bigoted). Even before she opened up to Chim, he had her back from Day 1 and that really helped Hen's confidence and helped her find her place in the firehouse. She's married to another Black Lesbian who have a child together. While their relationship over the show is really sweet. It's not perfect. In the first season she cheats on Karen her wife, with her ex girlfriend who is also the biological mother of Hen and Karen's child. Hen faces the consequences of Karen not being able to trust her for quite a while and has to put in the effort herself to mend their relationship. While it's not easy eventually she does and they move past it. But it will still always affect Karen no matter what. They eventually adopt another child together and are a very happy family.

I think it's realistic because many people, even today face homophobia and racism in the world, and especially the workplace. It's a very common problem for any queer or poc person to face unfortunately.

Hen's relationship is realistic because not every relationship is picture perfect. People make mistakes. Hen made this mistake and had to face the consequences of it. SHE had to do the work to fix their relationship. But ultimately she loved Karen and made sure to not take for granted what an amazing wife she had. She made the changes and effort to change herself and her behavior. This is very good character growth and I love to see it portrayed in media.

Josh is another lgbtq+ perspective where he is out and proud about who he is though we don't have much on his story atp.

Then we have Buck.

A young firefighter who frequently hooks up with women, and later tries to seriously date with none of his relationships working out for him. He faces issues with moving too fast and rushing things and getting into relationships quickly due to fear of being alone that stems from his abandonment issues. He has a couple long term relationships Abby who he truly loved eventually left him without ever breaking up with him properly and allowing him to believe they were still together for far too long, then Taylor, they work really well together and have a good relationship until he asks her to move in just so he won't be alone. She eventually breaks his trust sharing something he told her in confidence. He eventually meets Tommy former 118 firefighter. This ends up with Tommy kissing Buck and him having his Bisexual Awakening.

This showcases a man in his 30s realizing he's not as straight as he thought he was when he thought his whole life he was straight and never realized his attraction to men until he was 32. There are a lot of reasons someone may not realize their identity until later and it's not an uncommon experience for queer people. Before it was accepted as much it was easy to not even consider other options because well, men/women is the normal. You might not even consider it a possibility for a long time just because you never really thought about it. Plenty of people don't discover themselves until later in life.

That's why I think these are not only good lgbtq+ rep but also realistic, because it's so true to the queer community that there's no age or time limit to being queer, finding who you are or finding happiness. There is no cookie cutter image of what a queer person is. Queer people can be good, they can be bad, they can be any kind of person. We will make mistakes and learn like anyone else. That's why these are realistic portrayals of queer people.

That being said, in the context of Buddie

Buck and Eddie's relationship is special no doubt and always has been. And yes, a lot of these moments CAN be justified as things just friends would do.

*But* there are also things in addition that are not so "just friends" and that add that tension and chemistry between their characters.

Eddie's relationships, have all been with women and he claims to be a straight man.

His first relationship, Shannon. He gets her pregnant and Eddie admits that him and Shannon both felt pressured by their family and church to get married. He loved Shannon yes, but not romantically. He admits that he loved being married to her, notice the wording. He never says he was in love with her. After they got married he enlisted and spent multiple years away from her and when he came back was emotionally distant from her. He actively avoiding connecting emotionally with Shannon, as well as his later girlfriends. He was never in love with Shannon. I do believe he loved her as a friend and partner but there's no evidence to him loving her romantically. With his girlfriends he frequently had sex to avoid emotional connection and when it got too serious he started having panic attacks and then unable to be intimate with Marisol.

Eddie has said he has a lot of catholic guilt, which is obvious. He felt pressured by catholicism to get married and to commit to the women he is with but he's never actually happy and in love in any of those relationships.

This can easily be seen as a queer person who is repressed and/or in denial about who they are. This sort of thing is also not uncommon in the lgbtq+ community. Many people growing up with highly religious and often bigoted families. A lot of these people end up repressing at least some part of themselves at some point in their life. So while it's possible that wasn't meant to be where Eddie's story is going, it can easily be interpreted that way by any queer person.

It shows signs of someone who wasn't allowed to be queer, wasn't allowed to like anyone other than the opposite sex. Was supposed to get married and have kids. Someone who has to repress their true selves because they are not safe being who they are. It sounds like he was taught very specific beliefs from a young age and feels guilty because none of that is who he is or what he wants and he has to keep repressing.

Then we have Buck, who recently realized his own Bisexuality.

Discovering this starts out with Buck feeling left out and jealous because Eddie and Tommy have suddenly started hanging out a lot, without him. Buck basically throws a tantrum about it and gets Eddie hurt trying to get Eddie's attention. While saying how cool Tommy is he is listing off everything Tommy and Eddie have in common. Tommy talks to Buck and ends up kissing him. Making Buck realize, oh. I like men too. Tommy eventually tells Buck he sees Eddie as romantic competition for Buck. When Buck says Eddie is straight Tommy scoffs at that. Buck then says "I don't have to sleep with everyone I have feelings for and I don't have to have feelings for everyone I sleep with"

Which idk about yall but I think that was a blatant admission of his feelings for Eddie even if Buck himself doesn't realize.

Eddie putting Buck in his will for guardianship of Chris. Eddie says he doesn't trust anyone more than him to take care of Chris. He didn't even trust Shannon enough to let her see him.

Eddie got shot and was asking if BUCK was okay. The way Buck reacted to him getting shot in front of him. The way Buck was trying to dig through the dirt to find eddie that one time. Yes they all care about Eddie but the only one reacting to that extreme was Buck.

I almost FORGOT the "Do you wanna go for the title" scene! First of all. I don't talk to platonic friends that way. That was very suggestive and flirty. That's only someone you would say if you're flirting. And the body language of Buck and Eddie. Eddie's eyes and the way Buck grabs his belt and walks and leans closer while saying it. That way as Oliver Stark puts it "very gay" there's literally no straight explanation for that one. That was pure sexual tension.

There are a lot of romantic tropes used between Buck and Eddie through the show and even if they didn't ever plan on Buddie, they certain alluded to it and hinted if not admitted Buck has feelings for Eddie at least. Even if one-sided. So it is absolutely not a stretch to say 911 is queerbaiting or might be queerbaiting because we don't know their endgame yet. But if they don't AT LEAST admit that Buck is in love with Eddie than I can say confidently it would be queerbait. There has been more than enough supporting evidence even before Buck realized he was bi. There was a lot of evidence and suggesting to Buddie throughout the show. Whether they ever planned to make Buddie canon or not.

So no, Buddie Shippers don't have their "fanfic goggles" on. It's reasonable to believe we might be being queerbaited.

Probably the most asshole thing I'm gonna say in my life but guys, guys... *holds your hand* I think this one was on you.

I don't think this is queerbait, and I don't think the show ever intended for buddie to be a thing. I think this was an echo chamber effect of people telling each other 9-1-1 was the gay firefighter show and is time to take a step back.

It was always clear to me they were just friends. The show made it clear multiple times. They are best friends, they love each other, they trust each other. Maybe that's all it is and you need to wonder why you ever thought it was something different.

There is no ambiguity, not that much room to interpretation. No actual evidence.

All I see as a still kind of oursider is fans gaslighting each other episode after episode to think this is some elaborate slow burn romance story and every time someone says that's not the case they MUST be lying.

Maybe there is no secret message every time they look at each other. Maybe their friendship really is that profound and it doesn't mean they are in love. Maybe Eddie has never admited to liking men because he actually doesn't like them.

Maybe the show is not and never was what you want it to be and that is okey.

[ladyofstarfall206]

It’s A Forever Kinda Thing (Part 2)

A/N: Sorry this has taken me so long… been busy graduating from Uni. :)

Parts 1

Warnings: Slight angst

The morning found you feeling hungover, though not a drop of alcohol touched your lips the evening before. In fact, not much food had either, as the knots in your stomach were tangled too tightly for you to manage anything beyond pushing your food around the plate with a fork. Your eyelids were stuck to your skin by a mixture of dried tears and yesterday’s makeup, your neck was sore from the unmoving position in which you slept, and your heart pumped lethargically in your chest. A quiet sigh escaped you when the harsh pang of reality found you in the waking world yet again as it had every morning for nearly 50 years. You’d never fly again.

Scarred hands rubbed soft circles into your back. “Good morning, my love. How do you feel?”

“Honestly?” You rolled over, pressing yourself against Azriel’s chest and encircling his waist with your legs.

The male wrapped his large wings around you as if they could shield you from the darkness he knew tormented you in your mind. He kisses the shell of your ear and smoothes stray hairs from your cheeks. “Please. I can’t fix it if I don’t know what’s wrong. You know you can tell me anything, my heart. I’m here.”

You clutch him to your chest even tighter. “It’s just… I miss my wings. I don’t feel whole without them. The freedom of flying through the open skies… my soul yearns for it.”

He only nods, the scars on his fingertips meeting your damaged wing. The most vulnerable part of him soothing the most vulnerable part of you. No words were needed to convey that Azriel understood the sharp pain of envy that shot through your chest whenever you saw someone else with unmarred wings when yours have been so unfairly taken. That Azriel understood the daunting, consuming fear that you will have to spend your eternal life with one of your primary postal functions permanently compromised. He did understand, because he felt the same way every time he looked down at the thick burn scars lining the veins of his hands like knarled tree roots, every time the fried nerves under his skin throbbed and stung after the mere act of picking up a pen and writing reports to Rhysand, and every time he watches his wretched skin dare to make contact with your beautiful face when he kisses you.

So, Azriel does not speak. He rubs the shimmering golden string connecting your souls with mental hands, flooding the bond with a wave of his solid presents and devotion. “I’m here, my love. I’ll always be right here for you. I cannot imagine how difficult it must be to miss your wings every day, but know this,” He pulled his face back from pressing tender kisses into your neck and held your cheeks between his warm palms, looking into your eyes. “You are the strongest fae I have ever known, and I owe you the life I have today. My sweet girl, the day the mating bond snapped between us was the single most astonishing day of my life, and it is my honor to help you fight through this.”

Azriel pressed his lips to yours, placing a hand on your chest. “And we will get through this, my powerful, resourceful mate. Together. We’re a team, remember?”

The assured gleam in his hazel eyes made yours glow a little brighter. “So you don’t think I’m a burden?” Your voice shook more than you would have liked.

Before you could blink, Azriel had you on your back, his body a warm solid weight atop you. “I think I know a few ways to banish such sacrilege from your head.”

You giggled when he slid his cool hand up the warm skin of your stomach, deepening the kiss. You cupped the back of his head and gently tugged at a couple of stray black curls. “Feyre is waiting for us in the training ring.”

Azriel sighed, pressing deep kisses into the side of your neck. “And she can keep waiting.”

You slid out from under him and winked. “Later.”

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Tag-list:

@fuckingsimp4azriel

@thefandomplace

[thatfanficstuff]

Fragile Bonds - Klaus and Elijah

Pairing(s): Klaus x soulmate!reader; Elijah x soulmate!reader

warnings: not much happy here.

a/n: it's on the list for a part 2 but it will probably be a bit as i have other things in progress.

You were just passing through Mystic Falls with no intention of staying longer than it would take you to grab a bite at the Grill and top off your tank. Your attention was on your phone, trying to plot out the next leg of your journey when you collided with a hard chest. You grunted at the impact before looking up with an apology on your lips. That would teach you to not pay attention to where you were going. Your gaze met the most stunning pair of blue-green eyes you’d ever seen that widened in surprise as a shockwave rushed through you, your wrist burning where your soulmark was.

The breath fled your lungs as his gaze swept across your face, taking you in. He was beautiful. And yours apparently. You glanced at your wrist where your mark lay and furrowed your brow at finding only half of it shining gold. His hand grasped your wrist and lifted it to examine the mark before tossing it aside as if he’d been burnt. You glanced up to find his striking features twisted with suspicion and hostility.

He grabbed your upper arm in a bruising grip. “Impossible,” he snarled before dragging you toward a black SUV. Your feet barely touched the ground as he jerked you along. You were stunned as the weight of his rejection sunk in. The world around you reduced to nothing more than your struggle to keep up, to understand why he was acting this way.

He threw open the passenger door and shoved you inside. “You’ll be coming with me until I get some answers.” The angry bite to his words was the complete opposite of everything you had imagined when you thought about meeting your soulmate. It should be happy, a celebration, not whatever this was. You sat dazed as he climbed in behind the wheel, your wrist still burning lightly with the new connection. The bond you’d spent your life dreaming of was turning into a nightmare. Your emotions were as scattered as your thoughts as you tried to process your sudden change in circumstance. You didn’t even know who this man was, only who he was supposed to be to you.

His knuckles were white on the steering wheel as he sped through the streets. You stuttered out your name and his gaze snapped to you. “What?”

“My name.”

He narrowed his eyes briefly before turning back to the road. “Klaus. But I suppose you already knew that.”

“Why would I know that?” you couldn’t help but ask.

A muscle twitched in his jaw as he clenched his teeth. “Don’t.” He shook his head once. “Don’t lie to me.”

Confusion swamped you to mix with the building fear. What in the hell was going on? This man should have been your everything and you were less than nothing to him if the way he was treating you was anything to go by. You wrapped a hand around your wrist to cover the mark, the proof of your connection. You suddenly felt so hollow, so alone.

When you arrived at your destination, Klaus dragged you through the mansion’s grand entrance and into a study lined with books. He slammed the door with an ominous thud. The sound echoed like a threat and before you could blink, you found yourself pinned to the wall. He’d moved too fast to be human and as you met his cold gaze you realized exactly who this man was. You were no stranger to the supernatural but you never thought you’d ever encounter the Original hybrid, let alone discover he was your soulmate. The fear you’d felt before paled in comparison to the new wave that came with the realization.

“Who sent you?” The words sliced through you. “What witch cast this spell? This is beyond the little Bennett.”

“No one sent me. There is no spell.” Desperation colored your words as you begged him to believe you.

“You expect me to believe that?” His voice dripped with skepticism. He stepped back, finally giving you room to breathe and raked a hand through his hair. He paced, restless, as your eyes tracked the movement. Surely there had to be something you could say, could do, to make him see the truth.

He paused, gaze narrowing as it fixed on you. “Do you know who I am? What I’m capable of?”

“Yes, I know.” The words were little louder than a whisper and a single tear spilled from your eye to run down your cheek.

“Then why provoke me?” he yelled, causing you to flinch. He grasped your arm and lifted it to show your mark. “And this? How did you know the mark I bear?”

“This isn’t some conspiracy, some plot against you,” you answered. “I’ve born this mark my entire life. I had no way of knowing you carried its match until today. Why won’t you believe me?” You hated the way your voice broke at the end, but you needed him to trust you, to believe you.

He began to pace again, reminding you of a tiger caged at the zoo. All lethal power, barely restrained. Each time he looked at you, it was if he was trying to solve a riddle that refused to make sense. He halted suddenly, eyes fixed on the floor before lifting his gaze to you once more. “How long did you think you could keep up this charade? Do you think I’m that easy to fool? That I’d let you in, let you make me vulnerable? I am no fool.”

“It’s not like that,” you insisted, risking a step in his direction. The desperation to make him understand making you reckless.

He closed the small distance between you in a blink, grasping your upper arms in a harsh grip. You sucked in a breath of surprise. “If you wish to see tomorrow, you will tell me everything.”

Tears burned your eyes. “Why are you doing this?” The soft question was more to yourself than him. “Can’t you feel it?”

His gaze locked onto yours, searching for deception where there was none. He grabbed your wrist again, fingers tightening painfully as he examined the mark. “This bond is a lie,” he insisted, but you were sure you caught a flicker of doubt that only seemed to make him angrier.

“Why won’t you believe me?” The words escaped in a choked sob, your defenses crumbling. You were losing him before you’d even had him and it may very well kill you.

He shook his head. “I have spent a thousand years searching for my soulmate. A thousand years in countless countries, countless cities and you expect me to believe I happened across her here in Mystic Falls? It is unbelievable.” This man, who should have been your salvation, your other half, was hell-bent on turning you into his undoing, on making you the villain.

“You are my soulmate.” You said the words firmly, without the tremor you were afraid would show. “You’re supposed to cherish me—to love me—not hate me.”

Klaus recoiled as if you’d slapped him. For a moment, you saw a flicker of hesitation, a crack in the armor of his resolve. But it was fleeting and your heart sank as it vanished to be replaced by the coldness you’d come to dread.

“Impossible.” The word sounded less like a judgment and more like a plea.

He didn’t want to believe and nothing you said would convince him otherwise. The tears you’d kept mostly at bay, overflowed as the realization set in. You met his gaze as you imparted one last, shattering truth, voice breaking under the weight of it. “I wish it was anyone but you.”

His eyes darkened then transformed into a stunning, shining gold before you could take another breath. Veins traced his skin as, with supernatural speed, he shoved you against the wall, fangs descending like razor blades. “You know nothing,” he seethed, voice vibrating with rage.

Your world went white with pain as teeth pierced your neck, a brutal agony that tore a scream from your lips. Your vision blurred and your knees gave out as your heartbeat slowed to a whisper. Your pulse thrummed in your ears like a dying drumbeat to lure you into the darkness. Klaus’ grip was unyielding as he pulled the life from your veins. The edges of the pain started to blur with the numbness that crept over your senses. You drifted as each breath came shallower than the last.

The hybrid froze against you. The pull of his bite stopped as he withdrew and a new agony tore through you as he shifted his hold on you. He cupped your chin and lifted your gaze to his, shaking you slightly when your eyes fluttered close. “Look at me, sweetheart.” And as his eyes met yours, you saw nothing but stark terror in his gaze. “No,” he whispered, horror dawning as the bond between you faded with your life.

The world tilted and blurred in a mass of colors and shapes as he lowered you to the floor, urgency replacing his anger. You couldn’t comprehend his desperation, his need for you to live when he so clearly wanted you to die only a moment ago.

Your eyes closed and he shook you again. Carefully, lightly, but enough to have you frowning at him. Why couldn’t he just let you rest?

“Stay with me,” he ordered, his voice cracked around the edges. He bit into his wrist, blood welling a harsh crimson against the haze of your vision. He pressed it to your lips. “Drink,” the command came sharp and insistent and you found yourself obeying without thought. The metallic taste flooded your mouth, foreign and rich. As his blood slid down your throat, a spark ignited against the numbness that had seeped into your very being. Every nerve ending blazed to life as strength clawed its way back into your limbs.

It was jarring, overwhelming, as sensation returned along with the thundering of your pulse. You pulled away with a gasp as you took the first deep breath in what felt like an eternity. And you suddenly realized that you would survive your first meeting with Klaus Mikaelson.

He watched you, eyes wide and searching. You saw the shift in him, his doubt replaced with genuine concern. His anger gone, all that remained was a single-minded focus on you, waiting to see if you would indeed come back to him. As you recovered, as your color returned and your breathing steadied, the panic in his gaze softened into something almost vulnerable. He closed his eyes with a breath of relief as your bond snapped back into place with the returning off your life.

Klaus reached for you, hesitating as if expecting your protest, then swept you into his arms when none came. You were aware of everything but unable to do more than focus on the world around you as your body and your mind both struggled to recover. He moved through the halls with deliberate care, cradling you like something precious and breakable. His gaze stayed on you and with each step the distance between what you were and what he feared you to be seemed to vanish.

The bedroom he carried to was full of large furniture carved from dark wood. His scent lingered in the air as he laid you delicately on silk sheets. Their luxuriant softness was a sharp contrast to the hardness of the floor where you had nearly died. You watched him, too weak, too exhausted to speak. His hesitation spoke volumes but you still wanted him to say the words you were so desperate to hear. He believed you, he was sorry, it would never happen again. You didn’t know what he could say to fix this and, apparently, neither did he. He lingered, looking like he wanted to say something, but then he turned and left you to the quiet of the room and the screaming of your thoughts.

Despite your best efforts, you were sound asleep mere minutes later.

***

Elijah arrived in a cloud of chaos and worry. Panic sliced through the air as he called for his brother. “Niklaus!”

“Here.”

The answer had him turning his steps to the living room where he found his brother slumped on one of the sofas with a drink in his hand and blood on his shirt. “I felt them fading. We nearly lost them.” Desperation dripped from Elijah’s words. The two brothers had long come to an understanding where their soulmate was concerned. They’d had a thousand years to discuss their matching marks, the mate they would have to share, and how they intended to go about it. But every discussion meant nothing when Elijah had felt that connection fading.

When he received no reaction from his brother beyond him taking another sip of his drink, Elijah scowled. “We need to find them immediately,” he demanded. “Despite our precautions, someone could know who they are to us.” They both wore enchanted jewelry that hid their marks from view. Had for hundreds of years.

Klaus drank deeply before meeting his brother’s gaze. “All done, brother. She’s right upstairs.”

Elijah’s panic shifted to relief and a slight bit of suspicion. He hadn’t expected Klaus’ cavalier demeanor, his aloofness at the narrowly avoided tragedy of your loss. It only fueled his urgency to see you, to make sure you were truly safe.

His mind raced as quickly as his feet, a thousand questions tumbling through his thoughts. The last thing he sensed was your life slipping away and his brother seemed completely indifferent to the situation. His stopped outside the door where he heard your strong, steady heartbeat.

He stepped inside, careful to stay quiet so as not to disturb you. His feet carried him to the side of the bed where you slumbered. His gaze locked on the pulse at your throat before shifting to watch your chest rise with the breath he had so feared to lose.

His relief was a physical thing that drained the tension from his shoulders as he took in the sight of you. His gaze caught on the golden sparkle on your wrist, tracing it with his fingers, smiling when the still black half glowed in the wake of his touch. It was confirmation that you were his, theirs. Not that he needed it. This close to you he could feel the connection he had so long yearned for.

Having assured himself of your survival, he took in the rest of you. You were stunning. Perfect. Except for the splash of red at your throat and the neck of your shirt. The wound was gone. Healed by his brother no doubt, but Elijah was certain he was looking at the aftermath of a vampire attack.

Pure fury shot through him at the thought that one of his kind had harmed you. That they had taken that which was not freely given. And then a horrid, horrible thought occurred to him. Klaus had always been paranoid at the best of times. Had never taken anything good at face value. Had self-sabotaged his happiness at every turn. But this…

Elijah shook his head as if to knock the thought from it. Surely, he wouldn’t have hurt you, nearly killed you. But then why hadn’t he called the moment he found you? Klaus would have known Elijah would be half crazed with worry. Unless his brother was trying to avoid his judgment for as long as possible. The behavior Elijah had witnessed upon his arrival only seemed to support this horrible truth.

You stirred, mumbling something in your sleep, but as you settled back into a restful slumber, your second soulmate was already halfway down the stairs as he returned to the living room to confront his brother. His voice was controlled but seething as he demanded the truth. “Tell me what happened. What nefarious plot did you save her from? Or was it your own actions that nearly took her from us?”

Klaus said nothing as tear-filled eyes lifted to meet his brother’s furious gaze.

[roguestargirl]

Spoilers of my own

—————

Clair Obscur Expedition 33 is now easily in my top tier games of all time. Truly one of the most heartbreakingly beautiful pieces of fiction I’ve ever seen.

And to touch on the ending for myself, I have to say that I’m more at peace siding with Verso. The only way for this to truly end in an even mildly satisfying way was to let go. And it’s so hard. As a player, you have spent the game growing attached to these characters, only to realize that letting go of Verso isn’t just letting him rest, is the destruction of the world and people you’ve connected to. You find yourself wondering, what was the point then, if they were just going to die anyways? But I think the beginning of the game already gave us that answer. What was the point of Gustave reconnecting with Sophie on the day of her Gommage? Because even if time is cut short, even if it was never real or it ends in death. It happened. And it MATTERS that it happened.

Siding with Maelle creates a cruel caricature of what a so called happy ending is. But, at least to me, it feels hollow and cheap. No one is truly happy in that ending, and they live a pretty lie at the cost of Maelle’s life and Verso’s soul. The cycle is still perpetuated in the lie.

In Verso’s ending, it may seem like taking agency away from Maelle. The choice is definitely taken from her in an abrupt and cruel, but necessary way. But you cannot end the cycle of grief by hiding in delusions forever. She had to face it. There is a chance for change and growth. For her family to recover. And she is not as helpless as she believes she is. As Verso tells her, she has a gift, and she will not have to endure a life she doesn’t want. Legacy takes many forms, and I for one believe that the loss of the Canvas world is not in vain. She can take what she learned from her friends, and understand that her confidence as Maelle can apply to herself as Alicia in reality. She just has to reach for it. And with her family now able to heal, she can move on.

HUGE endgame spoilers for Expedition 33 below. Do not read if you haven’t completed the game.

The most heart wrenching thing about Clair Obscur’s ending is that no matter what you pick, the whole scenario is set up so that someone gets screwed over. Maelle and Verso’s respective traumas have shaped them in such a way that their ideals are completely at an impasse. To side with one is to rob the other of agency, even if it may well be doing what is best for them.

If you pick Verso, he is finally freed from the shackles of his immortality. Remember not only was this entire Canvas made specifically for him, he isn’t even truly Verso. And he’s been trapped in that existential nightmare for too long. Bound to memories that he knows aren’t his. And we finally let him claim agency over his mortality and let him go out on his own terms. But at what cost?

The Dessendres, as an outlet for their grief, made an entire world of living, thinking people, and consigned them to a ticking clock apocalypse because they got caught up in their creators’ family drama. And you’ve spent dozens of hours in this world connecting with it, coming to love these characters and fighting to give them a future. And just when it seems they finally have one, Verso takes it away. To take Verso’s side is to agree with Renoir, that this painted world isn’t real and doesn’t matter.

I love that the game makes you linger on every member of your party as they Gommage. Monoco and Esquie have known Verso longest and they saw this coming. They simply hug him and fade away without complaint. Sciel, despite how hard she fought to save this world has had enough experience with death to understand why Verso did what he did, and wordlessly empathises with him. But Lune? She just sits there. Coldly. She doesn’t offer sympathy. She doesn't offer forgiveness. Because Verso lied to her. Again. Despite getting attached, he stabbed everyone he’s come to bond with in the back (and those were relationships you developed and fostered as a gameplay mechanic).

And what about Maelle? Yes, rationally, this is the correct choice. Leaving the canvas gives her a shot at healing. And at Verso’s funeral we can see glimpses that maybe the fractured family has a chance to reconcile. But we have to rob Maelle of all agency. To force her back into a world of pain, consign her to a life altering disability. Maelle treasures her family as both Alicia and Maelle equally. But she is ultimately giving up a family either way. Her birth family or her painted one. But she didn’t even get the luxury of choice, after we just fought so hard to give her the agency her father denied her. So we basically sacrificed the very world we fought to save, just for the slim chance that Maelle might get therapy.

So does that make the Maelle ending better? Unfortunately no, because Christ this is a horror story (and the one I got on my playthrough). On the one hand, it seems like the one where everyone got what they wanted. Gustave, Sophie and all those who Gommaged are restored. All these people whose chances at life were stolen from them by the machinations of the Dessendres get a chance at life. And Maelle has clearly given Verso the ability to age, so he will one day die as he wishes, but can live a full life until that happens.

And yet, we come back to that point. The Dessendres are basically gods to the Canvas. That fact can never be put back in the box. Maelle’s relationship with her loved ones will never be the same. However much she loves them, however benevolent her intentions, they’re always going to puppets playing out their existence to make her happy. Letting Verso age might be a kindness in the same way sending Maelle back to her family was, but in the same way, it strips him of any agency. He’s literally performing for her on a stage. Symbolic of how that power dynamic of Painter and Painted will forever linger over them. She will never truly have her brother back.

Furthermore, that (absolutely terrifying) smash cut to Maelle with painted eyes like the Paintress shows the true horror of this. If choosing Verso meant validating Renoir, then choosing Maelle calls Aline to mind. Maelle, like Aline, is left drowning herself in a dream, chasing catharsis in a world she controls. It’s a gentle rule, but a rule nonetheless. She will always be a god, and her found family will always be her creations, and that may well drive her to lose herself as it did her mother.

Verso’s ending was a cruel vivisection, one where the treatment was arguably more extreme than the result. Cutting everything away chasing an uncertain future. Maelle’s ending preserves life, but offers only stagnation. Even after defeating both Aline, and Renoir, both Maelle and Verso were ultimately shaped by their parents, and repeat their perspectives. Even at this final choice one that is theoretically theirs without their parents’ influences, they can’t shake off their legacy of grief and pain. As such, there is no golden ending for these two traumatised souls. It’s too late for that. There is only cruel necessity or gentle delusion.

Both endings come with their share of disturbing implications, and both can make sense to a player at the time. A player might agree with one of the two in the moment but be horrified at the consequences. Like Verso said ‘we’re all hypocrites’ none of these choices are pleasant. The Dessendres’ grief, and the lives they toyed with as a result, will have consequences one way or another.

Ultimately, I would pick Verso’s ending as the lesser evil, if only because it offers some kind of hope that SOMETHING good may come with this. Maybe the family really can move on. Maybe tomorrow will finally come, as the game’s been constantly saying. But you as the player, are still gonna have to carry the weight of Lune’s cold, judgemental stare. Remember how much you threw for even the slimmest chance at another outcome. Is that arguably better than leaving Maelle to a prison of her own making, to nothing but stagnation? Maybe, but that doesn’t make the alternative any less pleasant…

Verso’s ending left me at least hoping that something good may come from it, while wondering if it was worth the cost. Maelle’s ending left me hollow, realising that nothing good could come from this.

Clair Obscur’s ending is definitely hitting notes I’ve seen in other stories and even other RPGs. The need to accept suffering as an inevitable part of life and not hide away from it in fantasy. The fact that the first step to moving on from grief is acceptance. The way parents shape their children and how crucial it is to let them make their own decisions. How easy it is to cling to control after grappling with loss. But the way it leverages the player’s attachment to the world and people of the canvas makes for one of the most thoughtful examples of that narrative. Even if the people of the canvas aren’t ‘real’ they’re still people with hopes and dreams and rich inner lives. And the fact that their only options are oblivion or to forcibly play house with their well meaning but misguided teenage god is a horrible prospect.

Clair Obscur is about grief. It’s about its cyclical nature. About how if we don’t learn to move on from it, it will ripple onwards to our children. But it’s also about how grief causes us to affect the world around us. The horrific cruelty of the canvas’ fate (Verso included) reminds us how we can end up treating others when we’re blinded by our own inner demons.

It’s a brilliantly done conflict to wrap up a brilliantly made game. And one that will likely go down as one of my favourites.

[slice-of-cak3]

Wondering if I can get yandere telamon/ Shedletsky x Black forest cookie reader :)

Hope you cook up something good! Really liked the yandere chance one11!1 :3 Take your time btw

Good day, here's your order, I hope you like it! I loved the idea :3

Honestly I couldn't decide between headcanons or Oneshot so it's a bit of both, using Black Forest Cookie quotes! :D

Yandere!Telamon x Black Forest Cookie!Reader

From the first time he layed his eyes on you, in that silly cult that you were part of.

It was dedicated towards him so it wasn't hard to convince them or even you, it was actually very easy, well, it took a bit more of convincing on you but otherwise it was cute how you obeyed every command.

— “I... shall become Their bride!”

You were raised in that cult, raised all your life to be devoted to Telamon, and so be chosen by him directly was the greatest honor you could had, even more, for a relationship with your god, to be this close…

“Having you with me is the greatest decision I ever made, to have someone so… loyal… only for me”

He said, with a smile all over his face, carefully touching your face so softly, as if you were made of glass, as if you were something precious, as if you deserved such words and praise from someone as him, it was such reward for you.

— “A solemn vow of absolute commitment... Isn't it beautiful?”

Where you here by choice or obligation? You cannot remember anymore.

Your wedding was not the most elaborated, it was simple, but it made you happy, with a simple white dress, on the altar with him, nobody escorted you to the altar, alone with your flowers in hands, even with your eternal devotion, was this what you truly wanted? Even after everything you said, even after everything you did, was this the path you wanted to follow? Or you were following said path because it was was others wanted you to do.

Even with all those thoughts, even with how suddent everything was, even with how rushed everything felt, you stayed, this was all you knew, what other options did you had?

Everytime he looked at you, a soft smile appeared in his face, the easiest way to keep you only for himself, was using the same faith you had. Was it wrong? Obviously, did he care?… No, not a single bit, he would not regret it, he had you by his side, that was all he desired, with your undying devotion, why would you go agaisnt him.

— “My heart and soul... sings for Them!”

Thats what everyone would heard from you when you they asked how you felt as the bride of the one you worshipped.

[mi55delulu]

lovie ………………. what have you done to me? 😭💖 i’ve reread this review so many times and i feel like every time i do, i unlock a new level of gratuity in your words and kindness. like you are not real lovie!!! im the one that’s in awe of your beautiful brain, heart, and soul. everything that i write and hope that my readers will catch, you do and you break down my words and intentions further than what i can even comprehend. you’re really so special, lovie!!! ty ty ty ugh

and i’m so fortunate for your help with the banner. it was the perfect touch and whenever i’d lose sight of the story, i always go back into my camera roll to look at it. i honestly was in shock of how much the banner matched the story and its essence. like you had gotten minute details from me and you still captured it all based on feelings. just like how you do with your writing 😤

but okay let’s get down to some of the things you pointed out in your amazing review 🙂‍↕️

you have such a magical way with words and this was just another confirmation, in the form of one of the best fics i’ve read this year, if not ever.

im fr gonna combust from this comment. like what am i supposed to do with myself!!!!!! 😭😭😭😭 how am i getting this from YOU

… loved seeing jungkook as the one to pine first and being absolutely whipped until the very end

i’m a HUGE fan of pining and pathetic yearners as a certified lover girl myself. i think it was important for me to make sure that jk stayed genuine and kind with his feelings/actions for oc. even in his past relationships, he emulated kindness and respect (as he should). wanted to show that despite being afraid of getting hurt and rejected in the past, he doesn’t have to be a bad person just bc love was cruel to him. i really could’ve done a 180 on him really and this story wouldn’t have been as healing ahahaha now that’s an AU for sure

… THE TENSION … phd in yearningology … crazy about the first time jk let himself be touched …

oh the tension is ALWAYS so fun for me to write. i love the build up yes yes one of my most fave scenes in the story 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ and yes on jk letting himself be taken care of for once!!! im sure you’ve already picked up on this, but he’s afraid of people leaving him once he gives away that part of him. like there’s nothing left he could offer that’ll make his partner stay afterwards. so he holds out, depriving himself of that intimacy. 🥺 was important that the first time he experienced something was that oc gave it to him not on his request or own efforts, but just bc she wanted to be the one taking care of him. also it was just hot to write too so i had fun as well and miss lovie … if i got a phd in yearningology then it must’ve been from the university of lovie cuz you’re the main blueprint!!!!

YOUR ENTIRE ANALYSIS ON OC!!!!

IM SO GLAD YOU LOVED AND APPRECIATED HER. i can understand on the other side how she can be seen as unlikable or dramatic … but truly? she’s a complex and deep character imo cuz she tries really hard to be this unbothered girlie and leader, but she’s also struggling a lot too (like you mentioned, the ugly and insecurities). when she tries to show that she’s not hurting or struggling, she burns a path everywhere she goes and it further crumbles her persona she’s built all her life. like a candle that’s burning on both ends sort of thing and it can only stop if she learned that multiple realities can exist at the same time. she’s a great leader but also horrid at tackling personal feelings/issues. doesn’t mean she’s a bad person or unworthy of love and affection.

… i will be signing up for drum corps

HEHEHE THIS MADE ME GIGGLE. you would be so lovely in drum corps, lovie. honestly?? in another life, you and i would be spinning together in colorguard yes 🤭

i can’t thank you enough for this amazing review, lovie. you’re fr a gem 😭😭💖 i’m going to be thinking about what you’ve said all month long and possibly even longer. i can’t wait to see what’s in store for you and i will gladly give you your flowers and much more!!! you never need to live up to expectations bc you are the standard. one of a kind. ty 🥺

also??? your music taste??? immaculate and totally the vibes of those two lovebirds. UGH

i am thinking about the moodboards as we speak!!! and would like to see your vision to see if they match up too 🙂‍↕️

i also like to share … oc and jk are the epitome of this pic:

toss up

synopsis: friday night football games, all day marching band competitions on saturday, and sunday schoolwork catch up — the schedule you’ve religiously maintained throughout high school and now college. that is, until you found respite in jungkook’s company.

☼ pairing: tenor drummer!jungkook x colorguard captain!fem reader

☼ wc: 26.5k

☼ genre: marching band/college au, fluff, angst, smut, romcom

☼ cw: jk as loser stuck in a hot body, uptight oc (not too much on my girl ok? i love her) past misunderstandings, miscommunication (i know i hate it too), negative family dynamics, yearning, pining, jealousy, lots of nickname usage, marching band terminology, physical injuries, 18+ ONLY - MINORS DNI 🔞, mature language, sexual tension, dirty talk, switch jk & oc, masturbation (m), oral (f receiving), handjob, fingering, brief nipple play, spitting, praising, cum eating, semi-overstimulation, oc gets teary from the good o, riding, missionary, multiple orgasms, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie.

☼ a/n: little miss liar here 😌 got ahead of my editing schedule, so might as well release early. anyway! happy bts month!! we are so back, bangtan babes 💜 here’s a very niche fic inspired by real life events. it’s been over 10 years since i’ve marched so pls be easy on me.

banner by the lovely @lovieku *･☆ i also wanna dedicate this fic to her bc she rly gets me so excited to write! nicest person ever like you don’t even know 🥹💖 (pls come back n also open commissions)

”FIVE, SIX—FIVE, SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT!” 

No matter the number sequence, your body always knew when to move. 

Having done colorguard since you were 15 years old, you took pride in being section leader for the third year in a row at your university. The band director typically picked their section leaders based on seniority, but skill sets may outrank that on very rare occasions. Everyone was shocked when Director Lee selected you, a first-year at the time, over another fourth-year colorguard member. You would be too had you been in their position.

Except, you weren’t.

You put in the extra hours when no one else did and arrived on time to every practice. To you, that was the bare minimum. 

Being a good leader, now, that was the hard part. 

You took what you’ve experienced from your past captains: stern in how they led practices, soft in how they uplifted the team during difficult times. Director Lee immediately recognized those qualities in you. Older members rebelled against the decision, but eventually followed suit or left the university marching band due to graduating. 

Colorguard was a sport — you’d argue that it rivaled football. Because who could toss a flag, run 20 yards on the field, and catch between your legs? Yeah. An athlete. Above that, colorguard was a form of visual arts — the storytellers of the marching band. You had a love-hate relationship with colorguard, but the final results were always worth it … be it through winning competitions or feeling a sense of accomplishment. It’s the start of the field season and you’re currently at the ‘hate’ part.

“Shit!”

The music and band members come to a halt after Hoseok signals the band to stop. Everyone’s visibly upset, sunburnt, and probably dehydrated. This was the sixth time in the last hour of practice the band was forced to stop and reset for a mistake, which meant another five push-ups got added onto the post-practice punishment. 

You squint your eyes down the field and realize the commotion involved one of your colorguard members and someone from the drumline. 

Fuck. 

“JUICEBOX!” Director Lee yells from his megaphone in the stands. “Fix it before I do!”

You’d assume he was yelling for a beverage, but no. It was common to have nicknames in marching band. One could acquire a nickname for the following reasons: long name, director hated you, director loved you, or memorable moment. Unfortunately, you got yours when Director Lee witnessed you chugging down five apple juiceboxes after your first tryout. Memorable moment … at least he didn’t hate you, so you think. 

You spot Yuri, your colorguard member, arguing with Jaehyun, a tenor drummer. 

“Dude, you fucking hit me with your flag and you want to complain that I was in your spot?” Jaehyun seethes.

“Well, like I said, it wouldn’t have hit you if you weren’t in my spot!” Yuri huffs and drops her flag in frustration.

“Yuri, what’s wrong?” You jog over.

“Mr. Irrational over here is pissed off because he walked into my toss. But look, my drill told me I’m on the 40. Not my fault I need to cut through them to get to my spot.” 

Sometimes the drills didn’t mesh well with the choreography. It wasn’t the end of the world, just annoying to fix. From behind, you hear instruments shuffle — specifically another set of tenor drums.

“Juice.” 

You sigh. Not from the nickname, but from the person saying it. 

“Set #10 shows Yuri with the baritones on the left. She’s not at the wrong spot, but she shouldn’t be cutting through the tenors, instead going around us. There’s 16 counts in this set, so she’ll have plenty of travel time.”

Jeon Jungkook, third-year, lead tenor drum player. You haven’t gotten the chance to know him … how could you when there’s over 200 members, 18 of which belonged in your section. Based on what you’ve heard and witnessed, he’s an average drummer. Nothing noteworthy. And because of that, you don’t understand why everyone fawned over him. Sure, he’s tall and conventionally good looking. Had a nice head of hair and a distinct laugh that’d grab anyone’s attention. Maybe that’s why? Jungkook was like any other boy in college … the only difference was that he knew how to play the tenor drums. 

To be clear, no, Jungkook wasn’t a section leader. That was Yoongi’s role as center snare. Which makes you wonder why he’s trying to resolve this with you when you should be hashing it out with Yoongi. Ignoring him, you walk over to Yoongi to confirm the coordinates.

“Yeah, Kook is right.” He nods after reviewing the drills. From the side, you see Jungkook beam from the acknowledgment. 

“Ha! See, you were wrong,” the other tenor player says to Yuri as he sets his drums down.

“Jaehyun.” Jungkook’s stern voice catches you off guard. 

“What? It’s true!”

“You were two counts early to the spot. Wouldn’t have gotten hit if you were on time.”

Jaehyun scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

Noobie ego. If you didn’t nip it early on, it was going to cause issues in the future. You had a few of those in your years of being a captain; consequently, you left some unchecked and those became the biggest lessons for you. 

You look at Yoongi with your brows raised, silently asking him, ‘You gonna take care of that?’

He merely stares back with a look that said, ‘Too tired … it’s my last season. Give me a break.’ 

Yoongi wasn’t lazy. He’s one of the many section leaders you respected and enjoyed working with. He remained factual and cleaned up things before they became a problem. Most importantly, Yoongi was fair and reliable. You’ve got a lot to learn from him before he graduates this semester.

“Alright,” Jungkook stuffs his sticks back into the side pockets. “Tenors, give me ten.”

The other two tenors groan and take off their drums and harness. Jaehyun, along with the tenors, drop to the ground and begin their push-ups. What surprised you was Jungkook also going down to do the push-ups too. You've always been a firm believer of the saying ‘when a ship sinks, the captain will go down with it.’

They’re back up within seconds. Jungkook looked like he barely broke a sweat outside the sweat lines on his shirt caused by his harness.

“All good?” Hoseok, the drum major, calls out from his stand. You and Yoongi throw a thumbs up.

“Reset! Take it from the top.” Hoseok calls out to the other band members. 

Director Lee waits till everyone gets back into position before turning on his megaphone. “You all wasted seven minutes of practice, so add another five push-ups.”

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Practice ended two hours later with 75 push-ups. Not bad, but also not good. At least it didn’t hit the triple digits. Jungkook always saw push-ups as a way to condition his body.

Long hours of practice with his section, ensemble, and individually filled up his day. A wonder how he manages to juggle marching band and school at the same time, but he gets it done. Jungkook knows he isn’t the best, but he’s a hard worker. He loves a good challenge and what better way to challenge himself by playing tenor? Sure, he could’ve stuck with a single bass drum, but tenors had four drums. How cool was that?

You certainly didn’t think so.

Never once batted a single eyelash in his direction in the last three years he’s marched with you. Jungkook exhales deeply after finishing his Gatorade. “She hates me.”

“Who?” Jimin asks while rolling up his flag silks. 

“Your captain.” Jungkook pouts. 

“Juicebox? Nah.”

“Then why does she always look like she smells something bad when she’s around me?”

“Rude, what if that’s just her face?” It wasn’t. In all his years of spinning with this school, Jimin has a good idea of who you are. You’re strict, but a sweet person underneath that tough exterior. 

“She’s just …” Jimin follows Jungkook’s line of vision where you’re laughing with the woodwinds section lead, Kim Namjoon. “Anyway, maybe it’s because you do smell.”

Jungkook scoffs. He knows for a fact he doesn’t smell. Everyone gets a little musty after practice, but Jungkook prides himself on good hygiene. Literally the bare minimum to shower after every practice and reapply deodorant throughout the day. Unfortunately, not the case for certain band kids. 

“Just kidding. You know the smelliest title goes to Ryo,” Jimin teases, “need to start gifting him some body wash this Christmas.” 

“Don’t bother,” Yoongi chimes in. “This is his last field season. Let the man live a little. Saves you a couple bucks too.” He finishes locking up the instruments and bends down to tie his laces.

“Cap,” Jungkook deadpans, “don’t you think she hates me?”

Yoongi stands up and squints at Jungkook, “I think you need to worry about cleaning up your solo in the opener. JB is the least of your concerns.”

“But—”

Yoongi sticks up a finger to Jungkook’s face. “More drumming, less JB fixation. Gotta bounce to a section leader meeting. Catch y’all later.” With that, Yoongi joins the small group of people at the front of the band room, you included. You look back to where Jungkook and Jimin stood. Jimin waves at you and you wave back. Jungkook does the same and receives a tight-lipped smile.

“Yeah, she hates you.”

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

“So as you all know, this year’s show is a spy theme, specifically Mr. & Mrs. Smith.” 

Hoseok stands at the front of the lecture hall, the projector displaying the mood board Director Lee had him make. He wasn’t at the meeting, but he trusted Hoseok enough to get his message across. It’s not that he didn’t want to be here, but he preferred a more hands off approach — thinks it’s building your communication and teamwork skills. Though, Namjoon theorizes that budget cuts to the performing arts department was the driving factor and Lee hasn’t been able to hire any instructors or technicians to help out. Nonetheless, this brought you all closer together. 

“I swear, Lee sees one movie with his wife and gets inspired.” Minji, one of the assistant drum majors, says. 

“Agree. Last year he had us do Pirates of the Caribbean because he went on a cruise with his wife.” Namjoon cackles and the rest of the group joins in.

“Alright, alright. Reel it back in,” Hoseok claps.

“He wants to tell a story … said there has to be an opposite attracts meets forbidden love kind of thing. So I’m going to really need to lean on visuals for this.” Hoseok looks in your direction and you are unphased. The visual part of the show was just as important as the music. Where band members held a stoic expression during the show, colorguard told a story using their body, face, and equipment.

“I’m thinking Juicebox can be one of the spies, but we need one from the band. Any volunteers?” Hoseok looks around the room. 

Namjoon raises his hand. For a moment, you thought he was going to volunteer. “Think me and my section will have to pass on this one. Almost got taken out by Jimin’s sabre last season.”

“That’s cause you were supposed to catch with your hands and not with your head,” you retort. 

“I blame the wind,” Namjoon grins. “Anyway, since sax did something last season, woodwind folks should have immunity.”

“Eh, let’s check in with our sections and see if there are any takers.” Yoongi suggests.

The hour goes by quickly with some distractions here and there. What do you expect from a bunch of college students? Still, you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. 

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

To your luck, no one volunteered. As a result, Namjoon begrudgingly offered himself to the task. This was his final season, so he thought he’d go out with a bang.

And indeed, he did. During practice, you demonstrated a toss you planned to do in the show. Upon turning your back to get some water, Namjoon thought it was a good idea to mimic what you did … unsupervised, which landed him in urgent care with two fractured fingers.

“Shit … I’m sorry, Joon,” you say after the doctor left the room with the aftercare summary. A minimum of three to four weeks to heal. You know it was no fault of yours. He’s technically not out for the season, but missing a bulk of practices will be too much to catch up on. A duet with you is out of the question. 

“Ha … this was on me. What I get for undermining what you guys do on the field.” He jokes. It was true to some extent, people think all you guys do is twirl around a flag. It was always so much more than that. “I’m the one that should be sorry, Juicebox. Now we have to find someone else for the duet.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just focus on healing. Our first halftime show is in about three months. So you’ll be back on the field at least.” A small part of you worries about not finding a replacement in time. There’s about another 180 band members to ask — one was bound to volunteer, right?

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

snare lord [10:28 p.m.]: Duet position with JB is open. Lmk if you still want it. DON’T be weird. 

Jungkook drops his sticks on his drumming pad and sits up from his bed, eyes widening at Yoongi’s message. He waits about 30 seconds before typing up a response so that he doesn't come off desperate. He threw a mini tantrum when Yoongi (deliberately?) failed to mention that the spy duet was with you, but Namjoon had already volunteered by then. This will be a good chance to get to know you and figure out if you truly disliked him. Plus, he’s always been interested in colorguard — interested in you. 

Jungkook [10:28 p.m.]: waaaat? wat happened to joon?

Jungkook panics when 10 minutes pass and Yoongi doesn’t respond. Fears that he missed his window and someone else said yes to the part. Perhaps playing nonchalant wasn’t for him. 

snare lord [10:41 p.m.]: Injured :/ Do you want to do it or not? Jungkook [10:41 p.m.]: yes snare lord [10:42 p.m.]: 👍👍 I’ll give her your contact and you guys can chat more. 

This entire ordeal felt surreal, like a fan finally meeting their idol. Simply put, Jungkook admired you. Your work ethics, facial expressions … oh, and flexibility. Yeah. Sure, Jimin can do the splits too. Well, 90% of the folks in your section can, but there’s something so captivating about how you’d slowly drop down into the splits like it’s second nature.

Unknown [11:01 p.m.]: Hey. Is this Jungkook?

He nearly falls out of bed. It’s you. Has to be.

Jungkook [11:01 p.m.]: yours truly. juice??? Unknown [11:01 p.m.]: Yep. Yoongi told me you’re interested in the duet. When’s your first class tomorrow? Jungkook [11:02 p.m.]: 8 😬 why? 🧃 [11:02 p.m.]: Cool, meet in the band room at 5:30am tomorrow. Wear comfortable clothes you can move in. Thanks for volunteering btw. 

He reacts to the message with a thumbs up, smiling as he locks and sets his phone down on his nightstand. Jungkook has never been this excited to wake up early.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Early morning practices were not ideal. Having Jungkook as a partner? Not your first pick either, but it’s too late into the season to complain. Beggars can’t be choosers. You’ve got a limited time to train and teach him a routine. You arrive at the band room by 5 to stretch and Jungkook comes through the door by 5:16, eyes and cheeks still swollen from sleep but he greets you with a warm smile. He’s in an all black attire: gym shorts and a fitted long sleeve. His physique doesn't quite match up to Namjoon’s, but you know he’s strong. Got to be when he’s carrying those 35lb drums the entire show.

“Morning,” he sets his backpack to the side and sits in front of you to stretch.

“Hi,” you greet, while going down lower in your butterfly stretch, “thanks again for volunteering.”

He smiles softly with a nod. “So what’s on the lesson plan for today, Cap?”

Today’s practice only involved the basics: ballet positions, floor work, and equipment overview. Nothing crazy. And yet, Jungkook finds himself drenched in sweat an hour into practice. Who knew jazz runs would require him to use all the muscle groups in his ass? 

“Remember to turn out. Do it again.” You say with your hands on your hips. 

This was the 10th time you made him start over. Jungkook was frustrated. Didn’t realize how stiff his body was from drumming all these years. Also didn’t realize how nervous he’d get under your watch. Jimin warned that your serious mode competed with Hoseok’s. He never doubted this. Jungkook wants to crawl into a hole every time your face fights a scowl when he forgets what to do next. He thought you’d be a little more lenient during the first practice. Was Namjoon subjected to this too? 

Practice ends a little before 8 to allow him to cool down and get ready for class. Jungkook watches you put on your hoodie and fix your hair. He didn't think there was a single hair out of place before, but what did he know about perfection when he’s been a total mess the entire practice?

“Good work today,” you say. 

“Don’t lie, that was rough,” he jokes before grabbing his stuff. 

“Yeah, it was.” You agree and Jungkook’s stomach churns from your bluntness.

He goes on with his day in classes, half thinking about the show’s new drill, half thinking about ways to impress you. Would he earn your approval if he came into practice remembering all the 27 points on the flag? Was this desperation? Possibly. He returns to his dorm room later that evening. Sits on his desk chair and mindlessly drums his hands on his thigh. Wonders if he should ask you if practice was going to be that early every time because he physically doesn’t think he can do that again. Jungkook fishes for his phone in his pocket and sees a couple of notifications, but the only ones that mattered were yours. 

🧃 [7:23 p.m.]: No one’s good the first time. Just keep practicing. 🧃 [7:23 p.m.]: Also don’t forget to stretch. You’ll be sore tomorrow.  🧃 [7:25 p.m.]: I know drumline has practice on Monday and Wednesday afternoons. Let me know if Wednesday evenings work for you.

Jungkook didn’t care much for the days of the week, but Wednesdays became his favorite. 

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Weeks go by and Jungkook has made significant improvements. He’s still somewhat stiff, but his passion makes up for what he lacks. The show is about a third written. Homestretch, as Director Lee would say.

“CUT!” Director Lee yells from the stand, “Juicebox, Jungkook, the work looks fine but I’m not feeling the energy. Don’t know what it is, but fix it. Let’s do a 10 minute water break and we start from the ballad.”

“So … how’s working with Jungkook?” Jimin asks. He’s shirtless and unfortunately sunburnt — almost all the band members are. Hard to avoid when it’s blazing outside. Field season essentials were sunscreen and aloe vera. 

You knew Jungkook needed some whenever he’d flinched from your touch during a specific part of the show. Maybe you’ll give some to him after practice today.

“It’s fine.”

You look over at Jungkook. He’s with the rest of the drumline, gulping down his water and letting some drip down his neck. Yeah. Definitely hotter today. The weather, that is. 

Yuri sighs. “Is it too late to swap, Cap? I don’t mind being Mrs. Smith …” she twirls the ends of her hair and watches Jungkook put on his harness. 

“You wanna toss a six on sabre while spinning under it?” Jimin snorts. 

Yuri immediately shakes her head and you laugh. You had no doubt that Yuri could do it. She’s an exceptional dancer, but lacked the stamina and confidence when it came to weapons. She knows this too and rather have a special part of the show be done by someone more consistent with their catches. 

Jimin turns to you again. “Only asking because Lee has been on you guys for looking … odd.” 

There’s a small period of adjustment when it comes to dancing with someone new. Jungkook was … different. Makes you feel weird how he looks up at you in his kneeled position. Makes you feel weirder every time he tenses when you need to sit on one of his thighs for part of the choreo. Bad enough to where you forgot two counts and you never forget. 

“Choreo is still fresh for the both of us. It’ll take some time.” You reason. “Anyway, can everyone come over here?” Your section huddles closer. “First show is next week. It’s crunch time, so I need you all to stay an extra hour after the ensemble to clean our work.”

There were some complaints, but no major protest. Everyone knows how important the first show of the season is. It wasn’t like homecoming or anything, but everyone will be there — football parents, band parents, and students. 

Director Lee sounds the buzzer on his megaphone and everyone jogs back into position. Jungkook smiles at you in passing and you nod in acknowledgment. His smile drops a little and you feel a small rush of guilt. Maybe you’ve also been difficult too. You think back on Jimin’s question … you know what he’s hinting. You and Jungkook were an important piece of the show. The routine was good. What lacked was chemistry and you knew it was your fault.

How do you go about being more natural with Jungkook when you’ve been holding a grudge? An age old grudge that anyone should’ve forgotten by now, yet you’re reminded of it every time you see him. 

You’re on autopilot as you dance around Jungkook during this run through for the evening. This was the part where Jungkook moved his hands at the last minute so that you could pierce the ground with the sabre. Not realizing you were a count ahead, you pierced his hand instead. 

He hisses in pain. Minji spots the accident and immediately signals Hoseok to stop.

“I’m so sorry, Jungkook,” you apologize frantically. Hands were a big part of a musician’s career and you’d be damned if you were responsible for hurting Jungkook. 

“It’s fine, think I just need some ice,” he winces and holds his hand close to his chest. 

“Jungkook, Juicebox, take care of things off the field,” Director Lee calls out, “everyone else, from the top.”

You and Jungkook walk to the bleachers where Director Lee stood.

“Let’s see the damage, kid.” Director Lee holds his hand out. Lee was multifaceted. Truly jack of all trades. The university got really lucky with him … band director, golf coach, and physical therapist. He’s no longer in practice, of course, but he brings a wealth of knowledge and experience to the university. Plus, he’s able to treat folks with minor injuries. You hope this was a minor one. 

“That’s a big one,” he turns Jungkook’s hand to one side, pressing down on the top of his palm to inspect the bones. Jungkook grimaces and pulls his hand back.

“Flex and clench your hands,” he hums, “okay, there’s still mobility. Will bruise and hurt for a few days, but I recommend checking with the school nurse tomorrow if you can’t close your fist. Ice up for the rest of practice.”

You jog to Minji’s special cooler for situations like this. Injuries happened to band kids more than you’d imagined. It is, of course, still a sport. You return to Jungkook with a tied bag of ice. He massages his hand and winces in pain when he gets to the center of the injury. As you near, he masks his pain with a smile and you feel even more guilty. 

“Thanks,” he says when you hand him the bag. He exhales at the icy touch. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize again, “I was a count early and I didn’t realize your hand was there,” It’s one thing to be in the wrong, it’s another to admit it. You’re only as good as your pride. 

He shakes his head, “I knew you hated me but I didn’t think you were trying to take me out the season too.” He tries to joke to lighten the mood, but regrets it when you frown. 

“Uh, my bad,” Jungkook apologizes. “That wasn’t—”

“I don’t hate you …” you admit softly. 

He pauses, leans against the bleachers, and exhales through his nose, “I know.”

You and Jungkook watch the show from the bleachers. It’s interesting seeing gaps in your respective sections. The show will still go on, but your absence does not go unnoticed.

“Ah, Jimin dropped his flag. That’s another five push-ups.” Jungkook whispers to you.

You snort and chuckle. Jungkook looks shocked for a moment then softens. You’ve always been closed off around him, strictly choosing to discuss the show as his duet partner. This was different.

He likes this side of you. Hates to be those guys who say a woman looks better when they’re smiling. True and false in your case. Cause objectively, you’re an attractive woman. Finds you super cool when you’re expressionless and in the zone. 

Jungkook always hated the sun — spent his early years in life constantly running away from it whether it be staying indoors or under a tree. He had the choice to pick between taekwondo or marching band. As much as Jungkook hated the sun, he picked the sport with the most time spent in it. Thinks he can make amends with the sun now. 

Because as you smile, Jungkook never thought he’d be so easily swayed at the sight of sunlight hitting your cheekbones.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Practice ends with 30 push-ups. You get down from the bleachers to complete yours — not without scolding Jungkook to remain seated since his hand wasn’t in the right condition to do anything strenuous at the moment. He pouts, but adheres to your orders. 

Yoongi checks up on Jungkook after he sets his drums down. He whistles at the gnarly bruise and shakes his head at you, mimicking something close to disappointment. “First Namjoon, now Jungkook? You’re actually an undercover agent trying to sabotage us huh, JB?”

“You would’ve been my first target if that were the case.” You shrug. Yoongi chuckles and turns back to Jungkook, who looks at you both peculiarly like the cogs in his brain are slowly piecing something together he doesn’t quite favor. 

“Don’t worry about cleaning up. I’ll have one of the guys put away your drum. Just head home.” Yoongi pats Jungkook’s shoulder as he leaves the field.

Before running to get your equipment, you turn to Jungkook again. “Hey, I’m sorry—”

“If you’re gonna apologize again, I’m gonna make Yoongi have you put away my drums instead.”

You sigh. “Fine. I can reschedule our practices if your hand still hurts. Just let me know.” You part ways from Jungkook to wrap up practice with your section. From afar, you spot a hoard of band members gathering around Jungkook to either check on him or admire the injury. He’s cared for by many. If he was anything like the version you’ve conjured in your mind, you don’t think people would be so concerned for his well being. 

People change and maybe your perception of Jungkook should too.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

“Juice? Uh, what are you …” Jungkook looks shocked to see you at the doorway of his room. Didn’t even think you’d know where he stayed, but here you are in all of your glory looking up at him like you shouldn’t be here too. It’s Wednesday, the day after you accidentally stabbed Jungkook's hand, but also the day you’re both supposed to be practicing. Jungkook texted you this morning asking you to reschedule practice because something came up. You had a feeling he was lying about his injury to spare you from guilt. 

“How’s your hand doing?” You try to look down, but he has it hidden behind the door.

“It’s alright,” he answers quickly. “Wait, how do you know where I live?”

“Yoongi.” You rock on your heels and look awkwardly around.

“Oh.” He’s unsure why he feels uneasy about this answer. You could’ve just asked him.

“Is there something you need?”

“Not particularly?” God. This was uncomfortable and a part of you wants to apologize for bothering him and leave. 

“Would you like to come in?” He looked back at his room to make sure it was presentable. Other than some laundry on his bed he’s been procrastinating on folding and some music sheets on the floor, it’s not half bad.

“Yeah, just for a bit, if you don’t mind. I won’t be long.”

He opens the door wider for you to walk through. No turning back now. His room was utterly plain. Navy blue fitted sheets, spotless desk, and no posters or wall decorations in sight. It’s as if his only use for the place was to sleep. Jungkook gestures over at his desk chair for you to sit. You set your backpack down, not before grabbing a small jar of ointment out. He sits on the edge of his bed and peers over with curious eyes. 

“Let me see your hand.” You nod your head at his injured hand. He reluctantly pulls his hand to the front and your eyes widen. 

“It’s not as awful as it looks …”

“Jungkook.” 

“Okay, yeah, it’s pretty bad.” He chuckles.

You roll the chair closer to him to examine the bruise. Bruises were common in colorguard — in fact, you’ve got plenty on your forearms and legs. The one on Jungkook’s hand tops them all. You unscrew the cap of the ointment jar and scoop a dime sized amount on your finger. Your other hand holds his from the bottom while you carefully dab the medication on the injury. With years of tending to your own wounds, you’ve learned that you should never rub a fresh bruise, but it always speeds up the healing process when you warm the area. Soft in your ministrations, the ointment quickly melts from the warmth of your touch. Jungkook never expected to receive this sort of treatment from a classmate let alone you of all people. This was expected from someone like his mother — someone that cared for him.

Do you?

He doesn’t know what to do with himself. Doesn’t know where he should stare at. Doesn't know if he should feel the way he does. 

“Tell me if it hurts.” You don’t look up, strictly focusing on the task at hand.

His hands were much larger than yours. He kept his nails cut short and clean, palms calloused from all the years of drumming. Yours were no different. Manicures weren’t a necessity as you preferred to keep them short. Despite the roughness of your hands, there’s an unexplainable softness in your touch. 

A couple of minutes go by and you’re quite impressed Jungkook has gone this long without talking to you. The silence makes you wonder if you should say something. After all, you did barge into his space to apply ointment out of guilt. 

“Are you and Yoongi close?”

“Who’d you march with in 2010?”

You and Jungkook look up at one another after asking a question at the same time. 

“Yoongi?” Your brows furrow.

“Yeah,” he relaxes at your touch. Your fingers pull at his to release any tension and Jungkook has to fight the urge to moan.

You think for a bit. Were you close to Yoongi? He was one of the few that didn’t give you shit or questioned your capabilities when Lee initially selected you as captain. The bond you shared was built on mutual respect. You suppose that’s one of the important foundations of a friendship. But you wouldn’t say you were too close to him on a personal level. He’s a friend nonetheless. 

“Sort of? Why?”

“Nothing. Just wondering.” His shoulders drop. “And 2010? Was still marching in high school.”

Obviously. You internally roll your eyes. Perhaps you need to be more specific.

“Summer 2010. Have you done drum corps?”

Drum corps were independent marching band groups. Similar to intramural sports, people from all over the country tried out for these groups and only the best got selected. Certain groups had an age cap. After that, you “aged out” and joined other groups that accepted all ages, typically less rigorous and accommodating to a wider age range. The circuit you’ve marched with was more competitive … maybe because there was a time constraint to be young and good. 

“Summer 2010 …” he repeats back to himself. “Ah! I tried out for Red Angels.”

That was all the confirmation you needed. “I see.”

“Why?”

“Nothing. Just wondering.” You mimic his answer and refocus on your ministrations. 

He's lost. One moment you seem fine, but now it feels like you're shutting him out. “Did you do drum corps?” He tries.

“Yup.”

Jungkook lights up. He’s always been a fan of drum corps. Didn’t know you’ve done them too. Though, it shouldn’t come as a surprise. You’re very good at what you do. Hell, half, if not all, of the band could be marching in drum corps, but it was rigorous and costly. After getting cut from auditions back in high school, he hasn’t tried for drum corps again.

“What? I didn’t know that. Who have you marched with?”

“Phantoms and Red Angels.” You recount. 

“No way! Wait, Red Angels? When?”

“2010, 2012.”

Jungkook pauses. He doesn’t recall seeing you, but then again, he didn’t make the cut after two weeks of tryouts to remember any faces. 

“Alright, I think this is enough,” you say, unsure if you meant the ointment or the conversation. 

He’s learned so much more about you in these couple of minutes than he has in the weeks of practice with you. Feels a bit disappointed as you release his hand to grab your stuff. 

You place the jar of ointment on his desk. “Make sure to rub some on every night, but be gentle with it. Should speed up the healing process.”

Jungkook is in a daze as he thanks you and walks you out. He’d like to think the tingles on his hand were from the ointment worked into his skin and not from you.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

You designated Sundays for schoolwork. Because you were rarely home, you preferred working from your apartment, but on rare occasions you’d be forced to go on campus. Today was one of those days. Your internet was down and you had a virtual call scheduled with all the section leaders later. Coffee shops were not ideal due to all the coffee grinding and foot traffic. When in doubt, you head to the campus library to grab a private study room or table. You should’ve known that it would be obsolete, especially on a Sunday. That’s when everyone’s trying to study or get their assignments done. You opt to sit outside instead. Except … the connection was awful and it was warm out. This might be the driving point for you to upgrade your home internet package. 

“Come on ...” You try to move closer to the facilities for a better connection. But you keep getting that circle of death on your screen. Maybe you also need a new laptop? 

“Juice?”

“Oh, Jungkook. Hi.” You wipe away some of the sweat from your hairline. 

Jungkook looked casual in his slides, t-shirt, and sweats. You personally wouldn’t have picked to wear sweats in this weather, but you assume he was just here to pick up his food from the dining corner judging from the greasy brown bag in his hand.

“Whatcha doing?” He asks. 

“Homework. Er, trying to at least. Think I’ll go somewhere else … Internet connection is pretty bad out here.” You place your bag on the bench and begin packing.

“Would you like to study at my dorm? Got air conditioning and the connection there isn’t too shabby.”

You want to say no. That night where you helped him with his hand was to absolve your own guilt for physically hurting him. A one off. But you’ve already driven all the way here and you’re not sure where you would go if not just back home. Plus, gas was expensive. ‘Just this once,’ you tell yourself. 

He looks at you with eager eyes, smiling wider when you nod. 

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Jungkook was on strike two at the 30 minute mark of studying in his room. The first time was when he started practicing on his drumming pad. The second was when he started humming all his parts in the show. He didn’t lie though — the wifi speed was great here and the air conditioning was nice. Since you occupied his desk, he took his spot on his bed. The times you bent down to get something from your backpack, you’d sneak a peek at what he was up to. He had his earphones in and drummed on his stomach with his hands. The color of his bruised hand looks infinitely better. You’d like to think it was thanks to your ointment, but you know a big part of it was because he was diligent with your instructions. Him and his cooperative nature. He was a good listener — valued what you had to say. 

Jungkook turns and catches you staring. You immediately turn back to your laptop. He sighs, “can we talk?” 

“I know you said you don’t hate me,” Jungkook starts, “but I can’t help but feel like I did something wrong. Did I?”

“You didn’t.” Half truth.

He doesn’t buy it. “Come on. We’ve been working together and it feels like there’s always this wall—”

“Jungkook,” you run your hand down your face, “has it ever crossed your mind that not everyone’s compatible as friends?”

His face falls. Jungkook was kind enough to offer his space for you to study and here you are being an asshole. Hell, he’s been nice all season from offering to take on the duet after Namjoon’s injury to showing up to all the practices on time. You’re not being fair at all. You don’t understand why you’re like this. Well, no, you do. Maybe if you talked about it, it would give you some closure too. 

“You tried out for Red Angels that one summer.” You mumble.

He furrows his brows in confusion. “Yes.” It comes out as a question.

“I remember you.”

“Okay?” He sounds a little frustrated and rightfully so since you’ve been dancing around the topic of you and Jungkook in circles. You also feel a bit stupid now that you’re finally expressing what’s been bothering you.

“I overheard you talking to the other drummers that time. You said something about how colorguard are the cheerleaders of marching band.”

“I did? Juice … I promise I’m not trying to be dismissive, but I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”

You know he’s not. This shit was over five years ago. It’s dumb and the more you talk about it, you realize how stupid of a grudge it was to hold over Jungkook for something that happened to you in high school.

“During my freshman year of high school, I dated a senior,” you reveal. 

“Yikes. I’m sorry.”

“I know, big mistake.”

Jungkook internally tries to correlate the two pieces of information, but comes short. He’s confused. So you tell him. Told him how your ex was the drum major of your high school marching band. Told him how you thought he liked you a lot. Told him that you lost your virginity to him one month into dating and how he broke up with you the following week.

“Asshole.” Jungkook mutters. 

You smile, “right?”

You clear your throat before continuing, “he said some shit about how colorguard are the cheerleaders of marching band. Was a dig at colorguard and cheerleaders. Like that we’re ‘easy?’” 

“I guess … I was upset when I heard it again at the Red Angels tryouts. Fuck, is that stupid?” You palm your forehead. You weren’t expecting to drop your past lore to someone, let alone Jungkook.

“What? No! First off, fuck him. I’m sorry he treated you like that.”

You soften at his words. You don’t really talk much about the things that happened in high school because … honestly, the only good thing that happened in high school was colorguard despite the situation with that senior. Outside of being a pubescent teen, you never cared to reminisce about the past. Found it odd knowing people who called their high school years “the glory days.” You initially decided to go to this university because of their marching band program, but also, you wanted a fresh start. Seeing Jungkook was a reminder of the past. 

“It was the past. I associated that situation with what you said at tryouts. We obviously didn’t know each other and I didn’t know I’d be seeing you again in school.” You shake your head.

“Juice,” he says softly. 

“In hindsight, it’s stupid. I know. You’re probably a nice dude and you’re free to feel what you feel about people in colorguard—”

“It’s not stupid,” he interrupts. “Fuck that dude. You didn’t deserve that. And no, I don’t think of you or anyone in colorguard that way.”

“But you said …”

Jungkook exhales, “this is going to sound dumb, but back then I thought the saying meant that colorguard were the highlight of the marching band performance … kind of like the fact that cheerleaders are the highlight of football games. I honestly didn’t know there was another meaning.” He mumbles. 

“Oh.”

You and Jungkook stare at each other with pursed lips now that everything has aired out.

“I’m glad you told me about your past. That explains some things …” he looks to the side, “I hope you know I’m not that kind of person. And I understand what you mean about people just not being compatible. Friendships can’t be forced and I won’t force that on you either.” 

You nod, “thank you.” You’ve been difficult all this time and now that Jungkook was respecting your boundaries, you feel out of place. 

“Don’t you have a section leader meeting soon?” He nods at his digital clock. 

“How did you know?”

He smiles sheepishly, “Yoongi complains about it in the group chat. Says it’s overkill.”

You snort. “It is, but Lee thinks it’s good for us.”

“Yeah, well … I’ll just be here,” he puts his earphones back in his ears and lays back on his bed. Your stare lingers before you turn back to your laptop. You’re a little embarrassed about how this transpired in the last couple of minutes, but there’s relief in knowing you were wrong about Jungkook. More than that, you realize why people appreciated him. 

Your virtual meeting starts and you assume it’ll be a quick one, that is until Hoseok gets to your updates. “Sooo, Juicebox. Lee has this crazy idea …”

You tilt your head. Whatever Lee wants, Lee gets. Just the matter if he’ll give you enough time to execute it. 

Hoseok smiles sheepishly, “last time, we had Namjoon catch a sabre tossed to him. What if we had a band member toss AND catch something? Jungkook, specifically. Lee was thinking … a five. Is that unreasonable?”

Unreasonable was an understatement. Namjoon’s catch was different … for one, it was just a triple, three rotations in the air. Second, Jimin was the one that tossed it to him. A five? There were people that have spun for years and never reach a five on a weapon. Not that they were bad, but people had different strengths and skill sets. Jungkook was just your partner in this show. You’ve only taught him the basics in the event Lee wanted something extra. You weren’t expecting this.

“I don’t know if it’s possible. I can try to train him, but no promises.” 

“Don’t think it’s a good idea,” Yoongi interjects, “Jungkook is lead tenor. I need him in top condition … if he gets hurt again …”

“Not saying it’s a must or anything. Let’s explore that idea and if it’s a no go, we won’t move forward with it.” Hoseok says. 

Everyone on the call reacts with a thumbs up. The call shifts over to the topic of a fundraiser. “Rehearsathon,” as Namjoon calls it, involved each band member reaching out to sponsors for donations to pledge they’ll rehearse for 12 hours straight. It sounds ridiculous, but Namjoon swears it works. Raises money for the band and everyone gets in extra practice time — hits two birds with one stone. He thinks it’ll be a great opportunity to chat up with some folks at the upcoming football game to get some sponsors. 

Having ended the call an hour later, you think you’ve overstayed your welcome. You pack up and mentally prepare to tell Jungkook you’re leaving. 

“What’s not possible?” Jungkook straightens himself up on his bed. 

“Were you eavesdropping?”

“Guilty,” he confesses, “can’t blame me … I’m literally two feet away and these earphones aren’t exactly noise cancelling. So, what’s not possible?”

“Lee wants to add another wow factor into the show.” You get up and Jungkook stands up as well, “wants you to do a five on weapon.”

“I don’t see why not. It’s worth a try.”

You put on your backpack and look at Jungkook incredulously. “Namjoon got taken out for a couple weeks by accident.”

“Okay, but you’ll be teaching and watching me, right?” He looks at you with those big, hopeful eyes again and you wonder to yourself if you both aren’t as compatible as you deem. 

“Fine. We’ll try it next practice. Thanks again for letting me work here … you didn’t have to.” You mumble. 

“Yeah, cause this space is only reserved for friends.” He jokes. “Kidding, Juice. It’s really no big deal.”

Ever so the gentleman, Jungkook walks you to your car even after you reassured that it’s not needed. He made up some excuse that he just wanted some fresh air. 

You both arrive at your car and you turn to him. “Well, thanks again.” You unlock your car and toss your backpack into the backseat. He waves and tells you to drive safely. The distance between you and Jungkook grows as he walks back to his dorm. 

You don’t know what compelled you to call out his name, but he turns quickly as if he’s also been waiting for this moment. “I never said I didn’t want to be friends with you. And yeah, you’re right. Colorguard is the highlight of the show.”

He smiles, and it’s devastating. How your body warms from just his smile. How it dismantles the walls you’ve built up around Jungkook. The foundation was weak to start, waiting for the right moment to crumble and start anew. You’re sure you can. 

“I know. See you at practice, Juice.”

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Men in colorguard dominated the weapon line. They had the strength and stamina to toss a rifle with little to no struggle. Pain tolerance though? You question that. Jungkook had the energy, but his control was off. It’s not his fault. This was his first time touching a rifle. The average person isn’t tossing and catching random objects. Anything that goes up, will have to come down. And having a rifle barreling down your head isn’t anyone’s idea of fun. 

“You have to squeeze.” You say after another lofty toss that has you both dodging the drop. 

“What does that mean?” He complains, “I am squeezing, see?” Jungkook shows his hands gripping the rifle harder. 

“No, your core.”

“What even is that?”

You place your hand on his stomach and another one on his lower back. Skinship in colorguard was normal, especially in dance. You’re used to it. You’d think Jungkook would be too. After all, there’s never a point in the show where you’re not touching each other. Yet, he tenses up under your touch.  

“Think of it as sucking in air and a string is pulling from your back.” You look up at him, “try it.”

Jungkook tries to follow your instructions but ends up with his back hunched over like a turtle. You laugh, now moving in front of him as you grab one of his hands from the rifle. Instinctively, you place it on your own stomach. His hand spays over your abdomen — big, warm, secure. You freeze. You shake off the feelings and take a step closer to Jungkook, not quite able to look up from your position.

“Like this,” you demonstrate the technique, “feel the difference?” You press his hand harder against you. You certainly feel it … the lightest change of pressure in his fingertips, the small movement from his thumb. No one would have noticed, but you do. 

You hear him swallow and exhale a shaky breath, “uh huh.” 

“Good,” you step back and let his hand fall back to his side, “reset and do it again.”

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Jungkook’s #1 remedy to a sore body was a hot shower. 

He’d run up the water bill back at home with the amount of hot showers he’d take after practice. At school? No difference. Even better now that he didn’t have his family breathing down his neck for taking up all the water. These days, he finds himself doubling down on his showers. He definitely underestimated the level of difficulty to perform as a musician and colorguard.

It hurts. His feet, shoulders, hands … literally everything.

All worth it though, especially on those rare occasions where your eyes light up after he’d reach another milestone in those private sessions.

He’s greedy for more. A smile. A compliment. A high five. Anything. Jungkook collects them in his invisible stamp book of accomplishments. Didn’t think he’d unlock something new today — something foreign within himself. 

The hot water beats down on his skin. It’s scalding, borderline painful. Even so, it doesn’t compare to how punishing his hand is wrapped around his hard, leaky length. Jungkook supports himself upright with one hand on the shower wall. He shakes. Grunts lowly. He shouldn’t feel this way for you. Shouldn’t think this way of a teammate. A section leader, at that. You’re in his head whether he likes it or not. 

Damn you and the innocent stunt you pulled during practice.

Damn you and those short shorts. 

Damn you and your pretty eyes. 

Because he’s here thinking about how you’d feel pressed against him, shorts pulled down, eyes watery from how good he’d make you feel. Would you praise him? Lose yourself on him? Encourage him to keep going? His hand speeds up.

Then, the unthinkable happens: your name slips out.

Shame needs no welcome. 

“Fucking hell,” Jungkook groans, orgasm slipping away as he abruptly lets go of his cock at the last second. He cranks the shower knob to the coldest setting. This was so wrong. You deserved better — shouldn’t be reduced to some weird fantasy.  

He pushes his wet bangs away from his forehead. Shakes his head as he scolds himself, “get a grip, man.”

Hot showers were his #1 remedy for a sore body.

Cold showers became his #1 remedy for you. 

Jungkook quickly finishes his shower to rid himself of those sinful thoughts. Tucked in bed by 10pm, he scrolls through his social media, praying he’ll find something worthwhile of a distraction. Just as he was going to call it quits and step out for a walk, his phone rings. 

Incoming call: Chaewon. 

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

You never really understood football. Didn’t really bother to pay attention to it when you were in high school since your team was notorious for losing. You were only there to perform for the halftime shows. College football was different. More lively. You still didn’t get the rules of the sport, but you appreciated the school spirit. Also was nice that your band played music whenever your school scored. 

Hair and makeup was done thirty minutes before the show since nobody wanted to sweat off their work during the practice run throughs. You give a quick pep talk to your section. There’s always first show jitters, but you all worked so hard. Mistakes were inevitable and will motivate you all to improve for the next performance. So will push-ups, if Director Lee catches any in the stands.

“Hey.”

You turn at the familiar voice. Jungkook has on his uniform, harness hidden underneath it so it looked like the drums were floating in front of his body. Hat with the signature school feather tucked at his side, he looks polished. 

“Ready to crush our duet?”

“Of course,” you grin, “if you make a mistake, you’re doing my push-ups.” Banters come a lot easier after the confrontation you had with Jungkook awhile ago. You feel more at ease with him these days.

“Cruel. Aren’t captains supposed to sink with their ship?”

“You’re on your own ship.”

“Ouch.” He chuckles. “Hey, can you zip me up? Forgot to ask one of the guys for help before coming over here.” He turns and bends lower for you to reach.

“All done.”

“Thanks, you’re a gem.” He turns slowly just to make sure he doesn’t hit anyone with his drums. Jungkook studies your face for a brief moment, clears his throat, and smiles. 

“I like your eye makeup by the way. Blue suits you.”

“Yeah? Thanks,” you flush at his words. 

Most show makeup was done heavier so that the audience could see. Realistically, no one can see your face from the stands. Perhaps that’s why your parents never came to your shows. Too many band members, too hard to spot. No parent wants to waste time playing Where’s Waldo with their kid.

“Jungkook!”

Jungkook looks around for the source of voice and he waves excitedly, “Ma!”

You watch a short middle aged woman weave through the crowds. Her bangs were pinned away from her face. There’s an uncanny resemblance between her and Jungkook. It’s all in the eyes. She side steps his drums and gives him a hug with lots of pats on his back.

“I told you I was going to meet you all later after the show, Ma,” Jungkook says with a sweet smile, “how’d you even find me?”

“I always know where my son is!” She chuckles. In a sea of band kids and a filled stadium, it would be hard to locate your kid. Though how hard would it be to spot a boy with tenor drums? There were only four of them in the band. “Look at how tan you’ve gotten. Don’t forget to wear sunscreen. I know you burn easily.”

“Ma …” he grumbles. He knows it comes from a place of endearment. After all, his parents supported him all throughout high school and college by coming to his shows, even volunteering to carpool and host meals for the marching band. It’s a type of community and support he won’t take for granted. 

Jungkook looks out to the crowd, “where’s dad and Junghyun?”

“You know them. They’re in line for some nachos.”

You slowly back away to let him chat with his mom. It’s not that you disliked social interactions … you just really didn’t know what to do or say.

“Oh, Ma, this is Ju-,” he recovers quickly by saying your actual name, “she’s the colorguard captain.”

“Oh! Is she my favorite one to watch, Kookie?”

“Wha-? I thought I was your favorite to watch …”

“We got cameras for a reason.”

You giggle and shake her hand. You can tell where Jungkook gets his energy from.

“Your parents must be very proud of you. Such a lovely performer.” She praises.

Your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes at the mention of your parents, but you nod your head in agreement, “thank you.” 

Sensing your discomfort, Jungkook jumps in, “Ma, we gotta go warm up now. Make sure you watch me. I’ve got a special part in the show.”

She pinches his cheeks, “wouldn’t miss it for the world, hon. Good luck, you two.” His mom quickly makes it through the crowd and up the stands. 

“Sorry, my mom can be a bit eccentric.”

You shake your head. “She’s cute. I can see where you get your personality from.” Wait. Pause. That came out wrong and you hope Jungkook didn’t catch that either.

“You think I’m cute?” Nothing flies over his head. 

“I think you need to worry more about pointing your toes during our routine.”

“Ugh, you sound just like Yoongi.”

“Wrong. I haven’t made you do push-ups. Though I probably should with the amount of times you dropped the rifle.” For that reason, you let the director know that the toss won’t be in the show … at least for this performance. It’s still too fresh and you would rather have a clean show with an easy routine.

“Cruel.”

You smile, “I’ll see you on the field.”

“Hey, Juice?”

“Hm?”

“Full out?” He says with a playful grin.

It’s a term he’s picked up from you over practice when you want him to perform at his best. This was your life motto. If you had to do something, you were going to do it full out. Do it so well that when the moment is finished, you could look back fondly and proudly at your accomplishments. 

“Full out.” You mirror his smile. 

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

The halftime show went well. Some mistakes were made, but what’s done is done. 

“Gah! I can’t believe I dropped when I was on the diva spot.” Jimin complains. The diva spot, a.k.a. the 50 yard line, was every colorguard member’s dream. For a moment, you were the center of the show. It’s one thing to be on it, it’s another if you had to do something big. And Jimin had a major toss that he missed. Nerves probably. Happens to the best, but it’s still not a good feeling for opener night. 

“I hate this uniform. I’m soaked in my sweat.” Yuri says as she carefully wipes her face, avoiding her eyes.

“My feet hurt.” Another girl whines.

Your mind races, still trying to catch your breath from the show. Performing in front of an audience was different. The cheers, the lighting, the adrenaline. You do your best to soak in the moment, but all you want is a bottle of Gatorade and to get out of this uniform. 

“Pain is just weakness leaving the body,” Director Lee comes from the corner. Ah, another one of his sayings he got from Pinterest. 

“Nice work, guard. I saw that drop, Jimin. Tighten things up.” Director Lee comments while noting down something on his clipboard. 

“Yes sir …”

“Director Lee, is there any way we can order new uniforms? It’s like a body sauna in this one.” Yuri inquires.

“Huh? Aren’t you kiddos into that bodysuit look?”

“Not when we look extra sweaty.”

“It’s not sweat, it’s glow.” Everyone groans at another one of his Pinterest quotes. Compared to the rest of the band, he’s a lot nicer with colorguard. He doesn’t know much about colorguard, but knows how hard you all work. As tough as Director Lee was in general, he’s a softie with guard … even with all the cringy dad jokes he makes. 

“Juicebox, I thought the duet with Jungkook was nice. I’m expecting Jungkook to be ready for the five next show. Still think something is not clicking. Don’t know what though,” he writes down another note in his clipboard, “but I trust you’ll get it fixed.”

“Yes sir.” You don’t know what to fix if he doesn’t tell you. One of those moments where you feel like you’re trying to hit a moving target. Perhaps talking to Jungkook about it may help. He hit all his marks in the show. You’re proud of his growth. Think it’s only right you expressed that, just as you do with your members whenever they hit a milestone. 

The band sets up their equipment in the stands again after the show. You look for Jungkook. He isn’t hard to spot. Not because he was tall or anything, but because of the swarm of people around him. Specifically cheerleaders. You liked your cheer team. Their work ethics mirrored closely to colorguard. What you don’t understand is the weird gnawing feeling in your stomach the moment you catch Jungkook and the rest of the girls laughing at something he said.

What’s that about?

He spots you. Smiles wider. Says something quick to the girls before he tries to walk away. Seemingly in your direction at least, but the girls don’t let him leave for whatever reason. 

Like the other band members, you gather around the cooler for some refreshments.

“Damn it. Jungkook is a genius for rounding up sponsors from the cheerleaders,” Jaehyun takes a bite of his granola bar. 

“You say it like they’d give you a single penny if you asked,” another member says. “He’s always been popular with the cheer team. Probably the dude with the most charisma unlike the majority of us band geeks.”

“I’ll have you know that my flirting skills—”

“Anyone who needs to talk about how great their flirting skills are, has none,” Yuri interrupts.

“You’re just a hater,” Jaehyun rolls his eyes. 

“And you look like…” more insults get fired back and forth between the two. 

You take the stairs up to where the guard sat during the games. There’s not much for you to do until call time. If you really wanted to, you could choreograph something, but being at the game was already enough. That’s what the cheer and dance teams were for anyway. 

Yoongi groans in his descent to the seat next to yours. Says he has old man knees. Ridiculous claim for a 22 year old, but you’re sure every band member has some sort of long term injury at this rate. Yoongi juts his chin to the bottom of the stands. “Think they’re gonna date?” 

“Who?” Your eyes zero on Jungkook and the cheer captain. He still hasn’t departed from the group. 

“The noobs.” Yoongi puts his feet on the empty bleacher. 

“Jaehyun and Yuri?” You laugh. “No way. They hate each other.”

“So did Romeo and Juliet.”

“Okay, but they died too.”

“Ugh, JB, you’re such a pessimist.” He snorts. 

“No, just a realist.”

You look down to where Jungkook stands. He’s no longer focused on the surrounding conversation. Has this antsy body language like he’s in search of something … or someone? Keeps looking back and forth between whoever was talking to him and the bleachers. Specifically, in your direction.

“He likes you.”

“Jaehyun?” You avert from the obvious answer. “Not interested in noobs.” 

Yoongi squints his eyes and smirks. “You’re no dummy, JB.”

“Don’t know who and what you’re talking about, Yoongs.”

“He’s not a bad kid,” Yoongi continues, “a little rough around the edges, but he tries hard. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“Since when have you started playing wingman for Jungkook?”

“See, I knew you were no dummy.” 

You stick your tongue out. Yoongi takes the hint and drops the topic, choosing to stare at the open football field. 

“I’m gonna miss this,” he says after a beat. “Should I fail one of my classes to be a super senior?”

“I wouldn’t hate graduating with you. We’d get our captain plaques together on senior night.”

“Dad would kill me if he had to pay for another semester.”

You chuckle and lean back. Hoseok calls the band to prepare as the game starts up again. Yoongi goes back down with his section and you’re with yours. Being at the top of the stands, you’re also closer to the stadium lights where all the gnats and moths gather. Can’t help being tempted by the light. You have a lot in common with them. Feel for them, actually. Because much like them, you’re also helplessly drawn to Jungkook’s light.

You don’t understand football, but it’s a nice distraction to put out the little spark of curiosity for a certain tenor drummer. 

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

You’re off. 

Maybe it’s cause of what Yoongi planted in your head. Maybe. Because you find yourself looking for Jungkook on the field whenever Hoseok signals the band to stop. With only four tenors in the band, he’s not hard to spot. Jungkook was always the last one to fall out of attention after Yoongi taps on his snare. You also find yourself fixated on his bare back and how it flexes when he leans to tilt his drums up. You tell yourself you’re only looking because of what his mother said at the recent football game. He burns easily — shoulders look a little raw and the harness rubbing against it doesn’t make it any better.

Jungkook is just as equally to blame for these weird times. He texts you every day and sends you corny marching band memes. Honestly? They weren’t that funny, but you chuckle nonetheless when you see Jungkook follow up with a ‘LOLOLOLOL us.’ Serves to only confirm he’s also thinking about you. 

You spend most of your days in practice with him — you’re bound to think of him outside of it. Especially when you’re at the local drugstore to get some tampons and you come across a bottle of aloe vera. All you have to do is hand it to him. And yet, the bottle remains with you for the next two weeks, burning a hole at the bottom of your backpack. 

Granted, you had plenty of chances to give it to him since you’re over at his dorm every Sunday to study. Don’t know when this routine started, but you’d have to thank your spotty wifi for that. It doesn’t take much to convince you either. Good air conditioning, decent wifi, clean space … and Jungkook. Speaking of which, he’s on the floor drumming on his pad. Your brain tricks you to think of it as white noise at this point — loud and comforting. Not sure if you could fall asleep to it, but probably for the better during these study sessions.  

His drumming comes to an abrupt stop, “Juice?”

“Hm?” You don’t turn around, too fixated on annotating your lecture notes. 

“Do you always bruise around your legs?”

It’s not uncommon for colorguard members to bruise, given that accidents occurred on a daily basis. Whether you miscalculate a toss or there’s overuse of certain body parts, injuries were inevitable. The bruises on your knees are an unfortunate byproduct of all the floor routines you’ve endured. They’re your battle scars. Pretty like the galaxy. That’s one way to view them outside of the pain.

You turn around. Big mistake. 

Jungkook looks up at you with starry eyes. It doesn’t help that his five-inch inseam shorts have lifted in his seated position. You’ve always had a weird obsession with tanlines and the ones on Jungkook’s thighs blend perfectly together. 

His eyes move from your face and down to your exposed legs. He points at one of the bruises on your shin, “that’s a new one.”

“Very observant of you.” You reply.

He goes red. As if he got caught red-handed doing something forbidden. You quickly follow up with a lighthearted chuckle to diffuse the awkwardness. “But yes, I do bruise easily. Takes a while for it to heal too,” you cross your legs.

“That sucks … guess we all have a weakness, yeah? You with bruising and me with burning.” He chuckles, “B&B.”

“The harness doesn’t help with the sunburn, huh?”

Jungkook smiles, “very observant of you.”

You roll your eyes, think this would be a good time to give him the aloe vera, so you dig through your bag and toss him the bottle. Jungkook catches it with ease and fumbles around his nightstand and tosses you an unopened box. “Trade you.” 

It’s the same ointment you brought him a while ago for his hand. You already have some at home, but it felt nice knowing he also thought of you too. 

He sits on his bed, grabs his shirt from the back of his collar, and tugs it off his body. Most people shy away from nudity, but band kids are a different breed. You’ve seen people practice in nothing but their undergarments in the past. You should be used to this — to Jungkook’s body. Keyword: should.

You swallow at the sight of his broad back, lean waist, and defined biceps. You should avert your eyes. Again, keyword: should.

Your eyes follow his hands as they reach around his shoulders to smear the liquid on his skin.

“You missed a spot.”

“Huh,” he turns to his floor-length mirror to see and attempts to reach back around. Fails again.

“Want me to help?” The wheels on Jungkook’s desk chair squeak as you roll closer.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind.” He hands you the bottle and turns around. You squeeze the bottle and watch the dime sized liquid dribble on his back. He shudders and exhales softly. 

You wonder if the deep shade of red on the tip of his ears was just another place he burned easily. Jungkook’s skin feels hot at the touch. Find the freckles and moles on his back endearing. Find it more endearing that he could never see them like you do. Much like his starry eyes, his back mirrors the constellations in the sky, begging to be traced and mapped by your fingers. By you. 

“There, all done.” You close the cap and set the bottle on the nightstand.

He clears his throat, “want me to help?” Jungkook points at the ointment in your lap.

Now it’s your turn to feel shy. “I can do it myself.”

He tilts his head, “I know you can.”

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

You’re surprised at yourself — surprised you agreed for his help, surprised you’re seated on Jungkook’s bed with your foot perched on one of his thighs. You position your hands behind to support you upright.

“This okay?” Jungkook asks as he starts on the smaller bruises around your ankle. You’re not sure if he means this entire ordeal or the pressure he’s kneading into your skin. Regardless, you nod and bite the inside of your cheeks. You never realized how sensitive you were — never realized how much the bruises ached outside of your own touches. It’s been a long time since anyone has tended to your wounds, so this was different. A good different.

“You can go a little harder. Those are old.”

He does as he’s told. Always good, ever so obedient.

Jungkook eventually makes it up to your knees. You’ve let out a few shaky breaths in the time he’s worked the ointment into your skin, all while noticing the way his mouth parts at your reactions.

He eyes the last bruise between your thighs, and back up to your eyes, “there, all done.”

Something shifts in you.

“But you missed one.” You tilt your head, feigning ignorance just to see what he would do. He always does as he’s told, but you sense some hesitancy. Not because he’s uncomfortable, but because he’s unsure what will happen next if he touches you beyond what’s appropriate.

“Juice …”

“What?” You stare at him through hooded eyes, “I thought you wanted to help me.”

“And if I don’t?” He leans in, watches if you’d move away. You don’t, so he takes the chance to rest your leg down on his lap. 

“Push-ups.” You say without another thought, also leaning in. 

He laughs through his nose, “might do something that’ll warrant that anyways.”

“Like what?” You ask, “show me.” You have an idea of what will happen next. At least, you hope. There’s no doubt something changed between you two since that talk. Sure, you feel more comfortable around him, but lately? You’ve also been feeling other things. As much as you’d like to blame Yoongi, you know it’s your own attraction for Jungkook.

“Yeah?” His face is centimeters from yours. 

“Yeah,” you nod, nose grazing his.

He kisses you. 

Nothing more than a small peck to test the waters, but he waits a millisecond, which earns himself a soft whine from you as confirmation to continue. Your hand cups his jaw and pulls him in. 

“Again,” you breathe, “do it again.”

It’s the same order you’d give to anyone making a mistake in colorguard, but this was no mistake. Call it a Pavlov response or whatever; Jungkook always does as he’s told. Tries his best to make it good for you — doesn’t take much. He angles his head a little, does this pouty thing with his lips that has you feeling warm all over. You lick at his lips. It’s tentative, careful, and slow — gets him breathing heavier. 

“Fuck,” he muffles a small groan. 

Jungkook parts his mouth and the rest is history. Every lick, every nibble, every breathy moan felt experimental and deliberate all at once. Thumb tracing your cheek, the pressure of his fingertips on your hips has you keening. Time is an illusion because you’d spend the entire afternoon kissing Jungkook if you could. He pulls away first, lips pink and swollen with a sheen of saliva you’re unsure who it belonged to.

He swallows, “well?”

“Well, what?” You say, slightly out of breath. 

“Do I still need to do push-ups?”

You snort. He beams. You do spend the rest of the afternoon kissing Jeon Jungkook. 

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

“I’ve got to say, Juicebox,” Namjoon pauses to chug the rest of his water, “I don’t think I could’ve pulled off what Jungkook is doing with you.”

You almost spit out your water. “H-huh?” 

Did Namjoon know something happened between you and Jungkook? 

“The duet. You guys are killing it.”

“Oh. Yeah,” you relax, “extra practice helps.”

Practice does help. And so do the kisses in between breaks that Jungkook swears by makes him improve. You don’t require much persuading to fall into his requests. Enjoy it too much to be restrictive of his affections. As a result, things get a little … difficult during ensemble practices because all Jungkook wants to do is pull you away to kiss you silly. Deprivation of each other works out in your favor because Director Lee no longer mentions how you both need ‘more chemistry.’

“Nice. Hoping for a solid show for all of us by the end of the month. My high school is going to be there.” The marching band was scheduled to perform at the end of a high school circuit competition. Director Lee says it’s a good way to get the school’s name out for prospects thinking about which university to attend.

“Also, is Jungkook okay? He keeps looking over here.” Namjoon nods his head from the side. 

You don’t even have to look. Jungkook’s been doing this every practice. Like a touch starved puppy waiting for their owner to come home. As endearing it is, you’re worried. If Namjoon noticed, eventually the other band members would too. 

“Think he’s just zoning out.” You lie.

“True. Eyes are giving pug.” Namjoon stands up and pulls the neck strap over his head, “alright, last run through for the day.”

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

“You need to stop staring so much during practice,” you say in between kisses. Jungkook was over at your place under the guise to troubleshoot your shitty Internet connection. Quite confident it wasn’t your internet tier, but that it was just an old router. Ten minutes into inspecting your router, you end up pinned underneath Jungkook on your couch. 

“Why? You don’t like it?”

“Namjoon said you looked like a pug.”

“Pugs are cute.” 

“They are,” you concede. 

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Just-oh!” You look down at the source pressed at your heat. Jungkook is almost always hard during and after kissing, that much you know. Whether it’s from a simple peck or minutes of making out, he’s sporting a boner. Doesn’t take much to rile him up. Though, he’s never done anything further. Just tells you:

“Ignore that,” he trails kisses down your jaw and neck, “so what’s the problem?”

“Don’t want people assuming.”

“Oh.” Jungkook pauses and sits up on his heels, “right, sorry.”

You don’t mean to hurt his feelings. It doesn’t help that you’re a private person and things feel extremely preliminary with Jungkook at the moment. You like him, but for all you know, he could just be in it for a fun time. If this was going to die out, you rather have the least people know about it. It’s not like you’re actively wishing for an inevitable end. 

Realistically, it doesn’t hurt to prepare for hurt.

Mood completely shifted, Jungkook sits upright and looks around your apartment. It’s neat, feels homey with how you decorated it. Most of your furniture was secondhand or thrifted, but you took good care of it. He eyes the shelf containing your awards, dried flowers, and pictures with all the different groups and friends you’ve marched with. You’re more sentimental than you appear to be. Marching with these groups was no simple feat, but you looked back fondly at all the memories created. You know you’ll do the same for your university years too.

“Wish I could’ve done drum corps,” Jungkook sighs. If he was phased by whatever transpired moments ago, he doesn’t show it.

“Did you try out other groups?” You sit up, knees brought close to your chest. 

“Nah, I don’t think I’m good enough.”

Now, you initially thought there wasn’t anything remarkable about Jungkook’s drumming skills. But let’s be real … you didn’t read music nor play an instrument, so what did you know about drumming? What you do know is that Jungkook tried hard. He was more than capable of passing auditions and marching in drum corps. You’re sure of it. 

“You won’t know until you try.”

“Maybe,” he dismisses the thought with a nod. “Would’ve been nice to join two years ago and claim I was in the season where they had tenors drum upside down.”

“Yeah, I remember that,” you smile, “was pretty cool.”

“You’re the cool one for doing drum corps,” he praises, “did you do a lot of fundraising to pay for membership dues?”

You shake your head, “no, my parents did.”

“Nice of them to support you.” 

“Yeah, I guess?” You shrug, not sure how to reply, “they … never really came to my shows.”

Jungkook frowns, “why not?”

“Work? I don’t know … they just never made the time. I stopped asking them to come after a while, so I guess it’s my fault they don’t know my schedule.”

His eyes soften. You never realized how natural Jungkook was with affection and comfort. So natural in how he tugs at your wrist, lays you down with him on the couch, and cradles your cheek. 

“The way you perform … it’s an absolute privilege to watch you. They’re missing out.” He tells you with so much conviction, “Ma would argue you’re the only one worth watching.” He jokes.

“She’s cute.”

“A menace,” he corrects with a grin, “cause she should pay more attention to her son. But I get it, I’d watch you too.” Jungkook has a way of making you feel special. Like you mattered. Supported. Something you hoped you’d see from your parents in the past, but come to terms you’ll never receive. Now, it’s all coming in the form of Jungkook. And you don’t know what to do with all these emotions except feel guilty and apologetic for what took place moments ago.  

“I’m sorry about what I said about not wanting others to assume. It’s just …” 

“You don’t have to apologize, Juice. I understand where you’re coming from.”

Does he? It’s like him to be nice about it. You wouldn’t put it past Jungkook, but his words feel … withdrawn? Rehearsed? You’re unsure if you want to open this can of worms with him, let alone if he wanted to talk about it. Instead, you press a soft kiss on his lips, “thank you.”

He groans and pulls you into a hug, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Are you tryna make me hard?”

“You’re so easy,” you laugh. 

“You’re telling me you don’t get turned on when we kiss?” He looks at you incredulously. 

You shake your head — a lie. “Nope, all you.” You say as one of your legs hook over his hip.

“I call bluff.” He kisses you, slow, tongue licking the seam of your lips. You lightly suck on his tongue and bite the bottom of his lips, giggling as he moans.

“Wanna check?” Feeling bold, your hand wraps around his wrist and leads it to your midsection, stopping just slightly above your shorts.

“Want me to?” He looks at you through hooded lids. 

“Yeah, I do,” you nod, “prove me wrong.” You let out a tiny gasp as his hand slips past your shorts. 

“Jungkook,” you whimper as his middle finger slips between your folds. The feeling of someone else’s hand other than your own has you feeling hot all over. Jungkook lets out a little wrecked noise before diving back to your lips for a messy kiss. His hand moves slowly, circling your clit, working out some of the prettiest moans.

“Liar,” he chuckles against your lips. His hand goes lower, fingers collecting your slick at your entrance before smearing it all over your clit. 

Your jaw goes slack when his fingers move faster. “N-no, I’m not.”

You feel the vibrations on your lips as he hums. “Think I need to see. Will you let me?”

Such a stupid bit you guys have going on, but you both play it so well. Your shorts and panties are tossed somewhere in your living room, bare ass hanging halfway off the couch. Jungkook kneels on the carpet floor, in an absolute trance. Whatever he’s fantasized in the last month will never compare. Simply spreads and pushes your legs further apart.

“Pretty,” he murmurs to himself. Not sure if he’s talking about you or your pussy; regardless, you smile at the compliment. 

“Done checking?” Your eyes move from his down to your wet pussy.

“Yeah. I guess I was wrong.” One of his hands moves to cup the side of your ass, parts your folds more. His thumb strokes up and down your slit, arousal apparent from your wetness.

“Told you.” You shut your eyes when you feel his thumb apply more pressure to your clit.

“So dry,” Jungkook watches you clench around nothing. “Think I gotta help you.” He lowers his head, cheeks hollow a little before he dribbles a glob of spit onto your bare cunt. You arch your back at the sensation of it trailing down your pussy. Jungkook’s face is centimeters away from your pussy, warm breath fanning over. He waits for your permission, places a delicate kiss on the side of your thigh, eyes never leaving yours. Your hand comes underneath your thigh to hold his hand during this intimate act. 

“Yeah, think so too. Need you to help me.”

Jungkook eats pussy like how he makes out. Hot. Pouty. Whimpery. It does something to your heart when he interlocks his hand with yours, thumb caressing your hand. Soft and soothing. So different from how he has his lips wrapped around your clit, licking and sucking ruthlessly. You let out a broken sob when he suddenly pries your legs further apart before fucking his tongue in you. He pauses in between to spit, uncaring of where it lands because he knows it’ll eventually mix with the rest of your slick. 

“Oh my god!” You shut your eyes, too overcome from the pleasure. 

“Is that good, baby?” Baby. You like that. You like it more knowing he asked that question to check in on you as if your reactions weren't a giveaway. Couldn’t possibly formulate a response in the time he goes back to your clit, head moving side to side. 

The pleasure builds and builds until you gasp. Body curling in and thighs locking Jungkook’s head in place, you cum. 

White splotches fill the back of your lids. Jungkook was absolutely entranced by your orgasm. He groans, eats you out sloppily just cause. You can only lay there and take everything he’s giving you, hand clutching his tighter when it gets too much. Jungkook finally lifts himself off you when your whimpers die down, marveling at your glistening sex. He was a sight to see: disheveled hair, red nose, and wet chin. 

“Wanna watch you cum again. Please?” His fingers circle your entrance.

You sigh prettily. “Come here.”

He obliges. Leans over your body with one of his hands still between your legs. You waste no time in pulling him down to a heated kiss, loving the taste of you on his tongue. The squelching noises intensify as you buck your hips into his hand. Drives you crazy that Jungkook hasn’t put his fingers in yet.

You pull away, “hear that?” You circle your hips. “You did that. Made me so wet — made me feel so good.”

“God, you’re so hot,” he moans, two fingers finally entering your pussy. He’s slow at first, mindful of your previous orgasm. Builds some speed once you pant into his mouth for more, fingers curling and letting the rise and drop of your hips do the work. 

“You’re creaming.” Like a new discovery only he could lay claim on. Like he didn’t know he could get you like this. Because truthfully, only he has ever gotten you like this. He stares at the mess between your legs, white coating his digits and seeping down your ass the more he thrusts. 

You can only whine and arch your back against the couch. That familiar feeling blooms in the pits of your stomach again. 

“I’m gonna—”

He nods, keeps the same speed and watches you with blown out pupils. Doesn’t know where to focus. Decides at the last moment that it should be your face and feels no regret when you cum a second time on his fingers.

“You’re so pretty.” He kisses you through your orgasm, shaking his head when you trail your hand down to his crotch. 

“Oh, you don’t want …?”

“Trust me, I’m more than good.” He pulls you up and giggles at your jello-state legs. 

You’re a little confused why he didn’t want you to return the favor, but decided it was best to brush it off. He helps locate your clothing and guides you into your bathroom to clean up. You back against the locked door, hands coming up to touch your face. Hot. Look over to the mirror and exhale at the sight. The afterglow looks good on you. There’s a drop to your shoulders and light in your irises. You look enamored. It’s all too soon to say, especially after multiple kisses and this one intimate moment … though, your chest swells with hope. Hope for more with Jungkook. 

In the time you spent freshening up, Jungkook pulled out a new router from his backpack he bought in secret earlier that day. Thirty minutes later, your connection and speed was infinitely better. 

“Let me pay you back for the router,” you say as Jungkook puts on his shoes at the doorway. Jungkook stands up and tugs on the strap of his backpack.

“Nah. Just write off the push-ups for the rest of the season whenever I drop the toss,” he smiles cheekily. 

“You wouldn’t have to do push-ups if you caught.” You scowl, “thank you again for the router. Saves me the trips to campus.” But it also meant you won’t have an excuse to study at Jungkook’s anymore. 

Jungkook surprises you with a quick kiss on your cheek.“You’re always welcomed over whenever you want. G’night, Cap.”

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Envy has a weird way of working. 

You remember it best with your parents choosing to go to your sibling’s sports games or when everyone in colorguard got to their splits way before you did. Just like how you’re feeling now, seeing Jungkook smile and joke with one of the cheerleaders after practice. It’s uncharacteristic of you to feel this way. You’ve never cared this much when you’ve witnessed past partners conversing with other people. 

You encouraged it. Felt secure. 

This was different.

“Yo, that’s the girl that Jungkook’s been talking to? Chaewon?” Jaehyun says in passing to another tenor player.

“I think so. Why?”

You don’t listen to the rest of the conversation. Rushing out the band room, your mind jumps back to all the times he’s stopped moving forward beyond making you feel good. Was it because he was already seeing someone else? It could only make sense if he wanted to be safe about it. Good that he’s thoughtful for all parties involved. Bad because you thought he liked you enough to have it only be you. 

You were right. It doesn’t hurt to prepare for hurt.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Jungkook [5:04 p.m.]: hey! u left super early today. did u get home safe? Jungkook [8:31 p.m.]: ?? juice, u ok? You [10:15 p.m.]: Yes, I’m home.

1 Missed call from Jungkook

You [10:16 p.m.]: Sorry, studying atm. I’ll see you at practice tomorrow.

This back and forth goes on for the rest of the week. Jungkook tries to talk to you after practice, but you always seem to slip away at the last moment. The one-on-one practices have stopped because the show was as clean as it could get and all Jungkook needed to work on was catching. He could do that on his own. You gave him all the tools he needed to succeed.

You’d like to think that whatever you shared with Jungkook was just a moment of indulgence. Helped you nurse your pride and feelings. If you kept telling yourself that things were okay and how it should be, you’ll eventually believe it. Much like how you’ve accepted that you’ll never see your parents at one of your shows, you'll realize these feelings for Jungkook were also fleeting. Because it starts to look that way once Jungkook starts to back off trying to talk to you.

You had other things to focus on. Cleaning up your section, schoolwork, and raising enough donations for the Rehearsathon. Of course you fall short of the goal. It’s not a big deal, but you hate to be the person who didn’t look like they tried at all, especially coming from a leadership role.

Regardless, you come into Rehearsathon ready for the brutal twelve hours. Practice lasted three hours at max, twelve was overkill. By the end of it all, you were exhausted. Sore and ready to go home for a much needed hot shower.

“Nice work, band. With the money raised, I think it’s safe to say we’ll be getting new uniforms by the end of the month. Just in time for the exhibition show.” Director Lee continues his recap, “also, shout out to our top fundraisers: Toad, Jungkook, and Juicebox.”

Huh? You barely raised a little over 50 bucks … 20 of which came from yourself cause you felt awful showing up with just 30. Did everyone else just do poorly? 

Hoseok comes to you after everyone gets dismissed to pat you on the back.  “Very impressive to get the cheer team to donate that much.” Cheer team? You’re lost. You didn’t know anyone on that team, let alone solicited them to donate. The only person you knew that had connections with the cheer team was none other than Jungkook. But … why would their sponsorship be under you? 

It didn’t make sense.

“Jungkook.” You jog up to him. 

“Sup?” He’s never greeted you like this before, but it’s probably deserved since you’ve been avoiding him. Doesn’t sting any less. 

“My sponsors. You did that, didn’t you?”

He nods. “Yeah, I did.”

You shake your head, “you didn’t have to.”

“I know. I wanted to,” he shrugs.

You try to find the right words to say, but come short. You settle for a small ‘thank you.’ It’s all you can say before you turn the opposite direction. 

He doesn’t stop you. Doesn’t question why you haven’t been returning his calls or text messages. Your silence was an answer in itself. 

──��── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Jungkook’s tosses and catches were inconsistent. On his good days, he’s able to stick his catch. Mostly during rehearsal. But come the halftime shows? He’s dropping. You can tell he’s frustrated. No one likes feeling like they dragged down the quality of a show. Some liked to be left alone to process their mistakes; you assumed Jungkook was the type to need extra comfort. You work up the courage to go to him, but see that Jimin has beaten you. Probably for the better. 

Jimin was great when it came to comforting others. In Jungkook’s case, it looked like Jimin was putting in the works. Has him miming a toss and doing a silly dance to show Jungkook how he tries to recover under a bad toss. Jungkook cracks a smile. Jimin transitions to his final move: back hug. You’ve also received those from Jimin before. It’s nice — not your preference after a rough show, but you appreciate the sentiment. Looks like Jungkook does too. Appears infinitely lighter.

The same cheerleader you saw a couple weeks ago, Chaewon, comes up to Jungkook too. Gives him a high five and a hug. And that was your cue to leave. You feel a little pathetic. All this because you don’t know what to do with your feelings for a boy.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Exhibition day. 

Instruments loaded in the trailer, everyone was ready to hit the road. Whenever there was a far off site performance, Lee strung up his contacts to reserve fancy buses for the band. Yoongi theorizes it’s all for show to the prospective graduating high school seniors. He’s not complaining though. Far better to ride on some fancy buses than to coordinate carpool for over 200 band kids. 

“Is your high school going to be there, Juicebox?” Yuri stuffs her equipment underneath the bus compartment.

“No,” you shake your head, “they’re in another circuit.”

“Lucky, my school is going to be there. So I need to impress my underclassmen.” She holds her hands into a fist. You chuckle, pull the straps of your backpack higher on your shoulder as you step onto the bus.  

Colorguard preferred taking the back of the bus only cause it feels like you can do your hair and makeup in peace. Funnily enough, drumline also preferred the back too. Gives them space from the rest of the band when they drum together on the bus. Lucky for you, one of your girls secured the backseats. You volunteer to sit alone since there was an odd number of members in your section. If the drumline came to the back, you had a feeling Yoongi might swoop in to sit with you. He preferred a quieter seat partner despite having to lead some of the drumming sessions on the bus. 

“Is it okay if I sit here?”

There’s no need to look up. Even if you haven’t spoken to him in a couple weeks, you’d recognize that voice anywhere.

“Go ahead.” Who were you to stop him? 

Jungkook takes his seat, stuffs his bag underneath the seat in front of him, and places his drumsticks on his lap. He smells like coconut and shea butter — the same scent as the sunscreen you gifted him a while back. It’s sweet and warm — such a huge contrast to how you and Jungkook act towards each other now. Bitter and cold. 

“Alright,” Director Lee announces from the bus intercom. “About a 45 minute drive to the location. No bathroom breaks. If you gotta go, hold it or piss in a cup.” A bunch of band kids grimace and fake a retch from the comment. 

All you could think about is how you’ll be next to Jungkook for the next 45 minutes. The drummers get their rounds of drumming in, choosing to drum on the seats in front of them. You stare out the window, wishing for time to pass by quicker. His elbow brushes yours and time ceases to continue. Something lodges in your chest from the brief contact. You chastise your heart — so weak, so dumb, so fragile. Just because of a boy. 

As Director Lee says, you’ve got to tighten up.  

The drumming continues for another 20 minutes. Your section chatters behind you and Jungkook is turned to his own. Sometimes in a room full of people, or in this case … a bus, you still manage to find yourself feeling left out. You’ve got no one to blame but yourself. 

Eventually, the bus arrives at a lot filled with other school buses.

“You guys have 15 minutes to unload and meet at the practice field for warm up.” Director Lee announces. 

Row after row, people file out of the bus. When it was Jungkook’s turn to get up, he stays seated. He motions the folks behind him to go first, bending down to his backpack to get something. Everyone was now outside the bus … minus you and Jungkook.

He sighs. “How long are we going to keep doing this?” Jungkook leans back on his seat, 

“Doing what?”

“Pretend like what we had didn’t happen.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you stand up, one of your hands land on the seat in front to support yourself as you wait for Jungkook to move.

“Come on, Juice,” he pleads, “this is ridiculous.”

“I’m glad you agree,” your knee pushes at his leg to get to the aisle.

“Was it something I did?” Jungkook’s voice softens, “I would never do something you weren’t okay with …” 

“Jungkook.” You look at the front of the bus. Thankfully, no one was there, “I was okay with everything we did, well—no, I mean,” you shift uncomfortably as you try to find the right words. He cocks his head to the side with furrowed brows.

You feel your resolve waver. There hasn’t been a second in the day where you don’t think about him. Week after week, you jump between feeling sad, betrayed, and embarrassed. He’d even pop up in your dreams to remind you that even when you weren’t awake, he’s still very much present in your subconscious. Perhaps talking to the source of your problems could help. 

“We can talk about it after the show. There’s not enough time.” You were being honest. Know that everyone is on crunch time now that you’ve all reached the performance site. 

“Okay.” He’d have no other choice but to accept. He gets up and moves to the side. You push away that bitter feeling in your chest. It’s show day. Jungkook eventually emerges out the bus a couple minutes after you do. 

“You okay, JB?” Yoongi hauls his drum from the trailer and moves out of the way for the other members to get their instruments.

“Yeah,” you lie, “just pre-show nerves.” 

Yoongi doesn’t buy it. Realized you and Jungkook were the last ones to get off the bus. Felt the shift between the two of you these couple of weeks. He also notices how Jungkook looks over at you. Something must’ve happened, but he’s not going to push for answers right before a show. 

“Kids these days …” he murmurs to himself.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

High school marching band competitions were overstimulating. Overfilled bathroom stalls, different music playing, and the scent of kettle corn … makes you nostalgic. The rush of being on a field again. Other good, if not better, colorguard you’d meet from all over the country. The award ceremony. The comradery. Maybe you have one more season left in you to do drum corps in the summer. 

For now, you’re lined up at the front of the main field. Everyone is all warmed up and ready to perform. 

Showtime. Director Lee takes over the stadium microphone to introduce the marching band and Hoseok signals everyone to march down the field into position. The show goes smoothly. During the performance, the audience erupts with cheers at every musical feature and toss. Jungkook catches. The band was an absolute hit.

“Oh my god, we rocked out there!” Jimin drops the handful of equipment he picked up on the field. Everyone gives each other high fives and pats on the back. 

“I second that,” Director Lee comes around with his megaphone. “Nice work, band. We have an hour to reload. Do as you like till it’s call time.”

Equipment and instruments loaded up, you and another guard member walk to the concession stands for some kettle corn. While waiting in line, she gets pulled away by some old classmates from high school. Honestly, you didn’t even want kettle corn, but you weren’t ready to face Jungkook just yet. In the midst of your thoughts, someone calls your name. You freeze.

“I thought I recognized you from the stands. Long time no see.” 

A voice and face you long to forget: Wooyoung. Your high school ex.

You step back, unsure how to avoid this interaction. He smiles. To any other person, it’d come off as friendly. To you? Slimy. Icky. You feel more cornered when he opens his arms for a hug. When you don’t lean into it, he pulls you in for one.

“You were great out there. Improved a lot since your freshman year.” He places his hand on your shoulder.

“Thanks,” you reply. Your gaze locked on the object in front of you. A badge that read: YBHS Asst. Band Director.

He notices your stare. “Yeah, I never really left the marching band scene post college. Just kept calling my name.” You don’t like the way he scans your body. The corners of his lips fight to stay neutral. Part of you feels sad for your younger self — didn’t know better than to mistake his lust for interest and adoration.

“Say, if you’re free after the competition, we should get some drinks together and catch up. The school I’m teaching is looking for a dance tech—”

“No, I’m not looking to teach.” You immediately decline. Getting paid to do what you loved sounded tempting, but why subject yourself to torture being employed by the same man that fucked you over? “Thanks for the offer, but I need to go back with the band.” You step back. 

Ignoring your decline, Wooyoung tries again. “We should catch up though. I don’t mind taking you back if you’re worried about a ride home.”

“No thank y-”

“Juice.” You’ve never been more relieved to hear someone call you by that nickname.

Jungkook stands beside you. Saw you looking uncomfortable from afar and it was instinctive to come over despite whatever was going on between you two. By no means was he a confrontational or violent person, but he’s protective of those he cares about. And he cares deeply about you. No doubt about that.

“Lee said he needed us back at the bus.” There’s plenty of time left, but you’re thankful for an opening to leave. 

“Sorry, I’ve gotta go.”

“Aw, can’t spare a couple more minutes for an old friend?” Be it his ego or his inability to read the room, Wooyoung doesn’t back down. This doesn’t surprise you. What surprised you was Jungkook’s hand wrapped around yours. Possessive. Alert.

“Come on, we’re gonna be late,” Jungkook says.

“Oh? Boyfriend?” Wooyoung eyes your interlocked hands. 

“Uh-”

“Yep,” the lie rolls off his tongue effortlessly. You nearly believe it too, “and you are …?”

“Wooyoung. I teach at one of the high schools in this circuit,” he chuckles, “I’m assuming you both march at the same university?”

“We do.” Jungkook answers on your behalf again.

“Cute. Well, I won’t keep you two,” Wooyoung turns to you. “It was nice seeing you again. Hit me up on Facebook if you’re interested in the tech position or if you just want to catch up.”

Before you know it, you and Jungkook are headed back to the direction of the bus. He's still holding your hand, weaving both of you through the crowds. 

“Jungkook,” you say, nearly tripping over your steps to meet his long strides. He lets go of your hand and faces you.

“Was that your ex?”

Your silence confirms the answer.

“Why’d you let him walk all over you like that?”

“I was fine.”

“You were clearly uncomfortable. Had I not stepped in-”

“I didn’t ask for your help, Jungkook.”

“You didn’t,” he steps back, “and I know that. I just … I wanted to.”

“Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I care about you ... we’re friends.”

But friends don’t look at each other like the way Jungkook does with you. A friend’s touch doesn’t make you yearn for more. It doesn’t hurt when they call you a friend.

“We’re not friends.” Guilt seeps through you the moment those words leave your lips. Jungkook runs his hand down his face and exhales a small humorless laugh. It comes out mocking with a hint of bitterness.

“But Wooyoung is?”

That hits a sore spot. He realizes his mistake when your face falls. “Juice,” his voice softens, “I didn’t mean it like that-”

“Just like how you’re friends with Chaewon?”

He pauses. Confusion plastered on his face. Your shoulder bumps into his arm as you walk past him and towards the bus. It takes less than a second for him to catch up to you. Calls your name. Gets ignored. 

“What’s that supposed to mean? What does Chaewon have to do with any of this?” With some band members lining up to board the buses, Jungkook’s voice was loud enough to catch their attention. The last thing you want is people speculating.

“Can we do this another time?” You say through gritted teeth. 

Another time? He’s been waiting to talk to you, but you keep blowing him off. He doesn’t know when he’ll be granted this opportunity again, let alone whether you’ll keep your words. But you look uncomfortable and as much as he’d like to air out his grievances, he holds himself back from making a bigger scene.

He sighs in resolve and lets you queue in line for the bus. In the bus, you expected Jungkook to sit right next to you. Gets surprised when Yoongi plops down next to you. You scan the area and realize Jungkook is a couple rows in front. He doesn’t look back at you. Doesn’t come back for his belongings underneath the seat. 

“Whatever is going on between you and Jungkook needs to be fixed. You’re better than this.” He sighs. 

Yoongi was never one to lecture you. Not because he doesn’t feel like he can’t, but because you’ve always had your shit together. Haven’t seen you act like this before. So … juvenile, immature, and unreasonable. Perhaps he was wrong to think that things would work between you and Jungkook. The bus ride back to the campus was quiet. Going home always felt like a shorter ride in comparison to going to the performance site. Wished it took longer. 

The bus comes to a full stop at the front of the school and everyone immediately gets out row by row. Yoongi gets up once it’s your row’s turn. “Wait, Yoongi,” you point at Jungkook’s bag at the bottom of the seat.

“You can give it to him, JB.” It’s not a demand, merely a matter of fact. You don’t argue back. Percussion is typically last to unload all their instruments back into the band room, so you’re stuck waiting for Jungkook till he’s done.

One by one, your colorguard members leave to go home, bidding you farewell. They don’t question why you’re staying behind, just assume that you have some business you have to see through with the director or other section leaders. It’s late and they just want to be in bed. So do you. But you wait, because it’s what you should do. You owe this to Jungkook at the very least.

Thirty minutes go by and Jungkook finally emerges from the band room. He smiles and waves goodbye to his section. When he sees you with his bag, his expression morphs into something close to disbelief. Walks up to you quickly and takes it out of your hand.

“Could’ve told Yoongi to give it to me,” he frowns. 

“Trust me, I tried,” you sigh, “but I promised we would talk.”

His lips presses into a thin line. It’s late, but if the talk doesn’t happen now, he doesn’t know when it will. 

“Did you want to talk at the dorms?” He asks. 

You internally debate whether it was a good idea to be in an enclosed area with Jungkook. Sure, it offered some privacy, but you felt more exposed. More vulnerable. Limits your likelihood of running away. Doesn’t take you long to make a decision, opting to talk at his dorm after a cold breeze passes through. It’s been a couple of weeks since you’ve been there. You wonder if anything has changed. Yet, you’re greeted by the same blue bedsheets, detergent, and all too clean of a desk space. Nothing’s changed, except for the two people in there.

Jungkook sits on the floor and you follow. You clear your throat, unable to make eye contact with Jungkook now that you’re in front of him. No more avoiding the inevitable. 

“What’s been going on?” He asks carefully. “Talk to me, please?”

You chew on your bottom lip, unsure of where to start.

“Was it something I did?” He asks again. 

Another moment of silence ensues. “Juice-”

“We shouldn’t have done what we did.” You’re sure this was the right thing to say, but it doesn’t hurt any less. 

“What do you mean?” His voice comes out small.

“I shouldn’t have entertained any of that. It wasn’t right.” That really drove it home. Nail on the coffin. Stings more when you look up and see the hurt plastered on Jungkook’s face.

Yoongi told you to fix things, but it seems impossible when you’re only capable of making things worse. Especially with how he closes his eyes and looks away. You’ve prepped your heart for this moment. Though, this is Jungkook. The boy who willingly volunteered to step into a position no one else would, the boy who’s been vying for your attention and got it, the boy with a smile so warm that you think you’d have trouble forgetting even across multiple universes. 

That’s what scares you. Whatever he says next will hurt. 

“Do you regret it?” Jungkook asks with downcast eyes. You rest your face into your palm. It’s a yes or no question deserving of a yes and no answer. For that, you couldn’t answer right away. 

“I didn’t. Not once.” He answers truthfully, “but if you regret it, I really am sorry.” Jungkook looks at you with those round, apologetic eyes. 

You almost cave. Almost. 

“I just … thought we had something special. I was wrong to assume.” He says. 

You did have something special with Jungkook. He wasn’t wrong. 

Jungkook continues, “I hope we can remain friends, but I get it if you don’t want to.”

Friends. This irked you. 

“Is that what you say to people you’ve slept with?”

“What?” He retracts his head back in confusion. “Where’s this coming from?”

There’s no going back now.

“Chaewon.” You straighten up from your seated position, “there’s also something special between you two, right?”

You sound bitter. You hate it. Hate how he looks … so exposed. So incriminating. 

Jungkook quickly shakes his head.

“You wouldn’t let me touch you. Was it because you were still sleeping with her?”

“No! I—”

“—It’s fine if you were. We weren’t anything,” wrong, he was something to you, still is, “but—”

“It’s not like that,” he interrupts, but you press on, fully on autopilot now. 

“—I’m not someone’s backup, I don’t do casual. The least you could’ve done was tell me. If you had any respe—”

The words die on your tongue when Jungkook says your name. Your actual name. You don’t realize how heavy you’re breathing. And Jungkook? Upset is an understatement. 

“I did have something with Chaewon,” he begins. 

You scoff. 

“In our first-year. Things ended because … well, I caught feelings,” he admits with a hint of shame, “I don’t do casual either. I just didn’t realize she did.”

Oh.

“But you’re still …?”

He shakes his head no. “We’re not like that anymore, I swear.”

“Doesn’t explain why you wouldn’t let me touch you,” you murmur, head turned away in embarrassment. 

Jungkook frowns. “It’s not that I don’t want you to. Intimacy just kinda fucks with my head and heart … after what happened with Chaewon, I just …” His voice trails, “I didn’t want to rush and mess things up with someone I care about. Seems like it still happened anyway.” Jungkook scoots closer, knees now touching yours. “Is that what this is about?”

Jungkook cocks his head to meet your eyes, but you keep your head turned away. “Hey, come on. Look at me.”

And when you finally do look at him, you’re met with light and warmth — something you don’t know if you deserve after all the mess your mind created. He hesitates, but trails his fingers against yours. Testing the waters. Jungkook takes it as a sign to hold your hand when you don’t retract. Even with his calloused hands from years of drumming, you feel the tenderness in his touch.

“I never intended to hurt you or make you feel bad,” his voice laced with sincerity, “I’m sorry.”

Jungkook was right. Intimacy does fuck with your head and heart. Made you think irrationally, abandoning all logic for the sake of protecting your heart and pride. Ridiculous that he’s the one apologizing. 

“No,” you shake your head. “I should’ve come to you about it. I’m sorry.” Your eyes water at the admittance.

“Aw, hey, don’t cry …” Jungkook cups your cheek with his other hand.

You sniffle, quickly blinking away the tears because you’re stubborn — not a fan of people witnessing you cry. Instead, you press your cheek into his palm. Missed his touch — missed him.

It’s a little uncoordinated how he pulls you onto his lap, but when you’re seated on him and your head is resting in the crook of his neck, it feels like coming home. There’s a specific scent that clings onto his skin after a long day of being under the sun — slight musk mixed with sunscreen and his cologne. Familiar and comforting. You wonder if he’s just as attached to your scent as you are with his.

“You still haven’t answered my question though …” he swallows, “do you regret it?”

“No,” you shake your head, voice coming out small, “never regretted anything we’ve done.” 

“Do you … regret us?” He asks. 

You shake your head again. You know you said some hurtful things a while ago. Wish you could take it all back. Can’t seem to muster the courage to tell Jungkook that he’s been the best thing that’s happened to you all season, but you try in your own way.  

Torso turned awkwardly and arms sewn around his neck, you hold him. It takes a second for Jungkook to react, body tense and unsure if he’s allowed to embrace you. You exhale, something akin to relief, and he feels it too. Jungkook holds you just as tightly. Tucks himself into your neck and kisses into your hair. Whispers how much he’s missed you and jokes about how foolish you both are — just two enamored fools.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

The day after that night, Jungkook unfollowed Chaewon on all his social media platforms, not before sending a quick message how he no longer wanted to stay friends. You hope it wasn’t because of you. Sure, you had your moments of insecurity about Jungkook and Chaewon and don’t know exactly what transpired between them, but you thought it was a bit excessive to cut someone off cold turkey. But Jungkook had his reasons … reasons for which he’s not ready to talk about just yet. You trusted him and you’ll wait. If he thought this was for the better, you’ll stand by his decision.

The season was nearly over. You’re also over at Jungkook’s a lot, vice versa — made his room a second home. He reserves a section of his nightstand just for your bobby pins and hair ties … no different from your desk chair with a pile of his sleep shirts.

It’s the evening after an ensemble practice and he’s laid between your legs, bare back against your torso. Nothing sexual, just appreciating your company while he drums a random beat on his chest. The warmth of his body feels good on yours, like a heated and weighted blanket all at once. You mindlessly run your fingers in his hair, occasionally earning a shudder from Jungkook if your nails made contact with his scalp. 

“Next week’s our last show,” he mutters.

From your position, you notice Jungkook’s pout. Your hand comes to a stop. “You sad?” 

“A little. Season’s been tough, wanna end it on a good note.”

Part of you wonders if he was talking about the show or his time with you. Both could be true.

“You will,” you wrap your arms around his shoulders and give him a reassuring squeeze, “is your family going to be there?”

Jungkook smiles fondly. “Yeah, they are.”

“Good. That’ll be enough incentive for you to catch this time,” you tease. 

“Yah,” he turns, chin propped at your sternum, “I don’t need incentives to do well.”

“Really?” You tilt your head. “That’s not what you said before practice today. ‘One kiss, please? I swear I’ll stick the catch.’” You do your best pleading eyes, but nothing can beat the real deal.

His eyes narrow, lips curving into a playful smile. “You got me.”

Jungkook lays his cheek down on your chest, hesitates with his next words. “How about you though? Is your family going to be there?” He knows family is an uncomfortable topic for you. Hell, talking about hard topics in general was difficult. These days, you’re doing better at communicating your feelings. Jungkook makes it easy — makes the uncomfortable feel comfortable. 

“Didn’t invite them, so probably not,” you shrug.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to have them there?”

“Maybe …”

Jungkook thinks you’re so pretty when you’re in deep thought. Brows furrowed, lips pressed together in a thin line. There’s that dimple on the right side of your cheek that only appears when you do that. He’s sure you’re not even aware of its existence. Always been so captivated by you. Built this version of you in his head all these years and you’ve shattered every one of his assumptions in just one season. He's gotten to know different sides of you — like when you’re assertive, insecure, caring, angry, sweet … just, you.

“But I don’t need incentives, unlike someone I know.” You smirk.

He likes to entertain all your sides, but this was his favorite — the side that likes to tease. His body shifts, so does yours as you sink your head deeper into his pillow. 

“I think you’re getting it mixed up, Cap,” Jungkook hovers over your body, nose touching yours, “incentives make me work harder knowing there’s something to look forward to. As much as I love performing for a big audience,” his lips brushes the corner of your mouth, “it’s more special when there’s someone you know watching.”

“Right?” His breath fans over your lips.

You’re not arguing with a man whose eyes competed with stars. Instead, choosing to accept his words because he’s right … just on this occasion. Because all you want is for him to press his lips to yours.

And Jungkook does that.

Drives him crazy when you get all breathless and whiny against his lips. True to his words, he’s been good with taking it slow with you. Sticks to kissing for now because he fears that he won’t be able to get himself out of the deep end if he reaches to that point of intimacy. Took forever with Chaewon, so he doesn’t know how he’ll fare with you … someone he really likes.

But fuck, you make it hard — make him hard. You gasp and pull away slightly when he accidentally grinds himself against your core. Jungkook shudders and mumbles his apologies, lips finding yours again. 

You shake your head. “‘s okay,�� you kiss his cheek, “you good?”

“Trying to be,” he swallows and chuckles.

“You don’t have to try to be,” you peer at him through your lashes, “you are good.” 

You make the uncomfortable feel comfortable too. Kisses you again tenderly and lets his body relax momentarily. 

“Can I be honest with you?”

You nod. “Always.”

“When we had that fall out … it was after we got intimate. I’m worried about that happening again.”

“Oh, Kook,” your stomach sinks at the confession. 

“I don’t wanna feel that way with you,” one of his hands cup your cheek, “I trust you.”

“I trust you too. We don’t have to rush into sex to prove anything.” You turn your head to kiss his palm.

He knows. But he wants this badly — wants you. His hard length pressed against you is enough proof. Sensing his turmoil, you push yourself up, making him sit back on his heels.

One of your hands holds his. “You trust me, yeah?”

Jungkook nods, eyes sincere and honest. You lay your back against his headboard, legs spread wide enough to accommodate another person in between. No brainer, a perfect spot for Jungkook.

“Turn around and lay down,” you pat your chest.

Jungkook does just that, no questions asked. He’s right back where he started this evening: between your legs. Except now, there’s a light wave of anticipation floating in the air.

“What do you have in mind?” His voice drops an octave lower.

“Shh,” you hand cups his chin so that your lips could meet his temple. “I got you.” Truthfully, you didn’t know what you were doing. You only wanted to make him feel good, just as he’s done for you.

“You’re always helping others. So attentive,” one of your hands trails down his abdomen, “so good.”

At your praise, Jungkook sinks his teeth down on his lips. 

“Think you deserve to be rewarded for that. Don’t you?” You ask. His hand wraps around your wrist, unsure whether to have you continue or stop.

“Wanna make you feel good,” your hand stops just shy of his belly button, thumb rubbing against his skin, “please?”

He releases a little moan, cock twitching in his shorts. You run your hand between his legs, gentle in the way you let yourself trace over his cloth length. Jungkook tips his head back for a second and immediately looks back down again, afraid he might miss out on what’s yet to come.

“God,” he keens, stomach tightening with every fleeting touch.

“Do you want me to stop?” You whisper into his ear. Simple question calls for a simple answer. Jungkook presents his answer in the form of a tilt to his head, whispering a silent plea for you to kiss and continue touching him.

The angle of the kiss is a bit off, gets Jungkook a little giggly, but he quiets down the moment your fingers fumble at the waistband of his shorts. His chest stutters, both hands coming down to help you pull the front of his shorts to expose his hard cock.

Jungkook’s size was always a dead giveaway. Thank god for his obsession with grey sweats. You didn’t think he was this big. Arousal pools between your legs. Wonder if it’d stroke his ego knowing your mind was filled with images of how he’d stretch you out, sink inside you, and fuck you to the hilt.

But nevermind that. This was about him and making him feel good.

Jungkook lets out a needy moan when your hand wraps around his cock. You give it a tiny squeeze and hum at the sight of his precum leaking from his slit. You let go all too soon, and just as he was about to accuse you of teasing him, he hears you spit into your hand. 

“Baby ...” His chest heaves when you run your wet hand down his shaft again. 

Jungkook was right. It is more special when there’s someone you know watching. Inspires you to perform. To make him feel good. To ignite a reaction, letting you know he enjoys what you’re doing. 

He lets you have your way with his body. Pants and shivers when your other hand plays with his nipple. Doesn’t know where to fucking focus because you’re everywhere all at once and he loves every moment of it.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum,” His eyes lock at the sight before him: your pretty hand wrapped around his hard length covered in both spit and precum.

“Yeah? Go on,” you coax, “you deserve it.” You understand what he means by incentives. Because it motivates you to work harder to draw out his moans, stroke faster then randomly slow down to tease him, and purr sweet nothings into his ears. Makes you fight the arm cramp just to see his eyes flutter shut. Makes you ignore the pleasure pangs hitting your own core just so you can witness his orgasm. Because you want to so badly make him feel good. 

“That’s it, so close,” you encourage.

“C-cumming,” Jungkook pants, he digs his head back into your shoulders, “I’m cumming.” You watch the thick ropes of cum paint his torso. Jungkook’s body shakes and withers from pleasure. You let go of his cock and you trail your fingers up his stomach to collect his cum. 

He watches with bated breath as you stick your tongue out for an experimental lick. A bit heady for your liking, but who eats cum for the sake of taste? This is all for Jungkook. His fucked out expression was enough reason for you to push your cum coated fingers into your mouth and suck them clean. 

“Oh my god,” he groans, turning around to pin you down on his mattress. “You’re so hot.” Doesn’t think twice when he slots his lips to yours, moans muffled at the taste of him on your tongue.

“Made me feel so good,” another peck to seal the deal. “Thank you.” Post nut clarity usually made people run for the hills. Jungkook? Basks in your company and affection. Trusts you with his body and so he naturally trusts you with his heart. 

He hopes it’s the same for you.

Words aren’t needed to express how you feel for Jungkook. It’s evident in how your expressions change the more you kiss. How your nose feels against his cheek when you nod for him to touch you. How it doesn’t take long for you to fall apart from his fingers.

Jeon Jungkook knows it’s the same for you.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Last game of the season also meant the last performance of the season. You’re warming up with your guard. Nothing too serious since you don’t like to be tired out before a performance.

“Hey, Cap?” Jimin says mid stretch. “There are a couple of folks behind that keep staring in our direction. You know them?”

It’s a sight you weren’t expecting. Your family. Your parents and brother. Not like you don’t see them often. You call home sometimes. Visits happened towards the end of the semester, so you’d never expect to see them on campus mid-semester… especially your own. 

You jog over to them.

“Hey, what are you guys doing here?” You ask breathlessly. 

“To see you perform, duh.” Your brother rolls his eyes.

“Uh … but this is-”

“One of your classmates messaged me on Facebook a day ago telling me it’s a very special performance. Honestly, I wished I got the invite from my daughter, but here we are,” your mother exasperates, foot tapping on the ground.

Sensing a bit of awkwardness, your father adds, “we just wanted to say hi and good luck, honey. We’ll be in the stands.” He points in the direction of the stadium. 

“Oh, okay, um, thank you. I’ll see you all later?” You walk back to your section, confused, but there was something else. Excitement? Disbelief? Maybe all of the above.

“You okay?” Jimin asks while gathering his equipment.

You look over to where Jungkook was warming up with drumline. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Director Lee is a man of traditions and rituals. Doesn’t like splitting poles because he thinks it’s bad luck. He also made it a tradition to announce every fourth year’s name to the stadium as the band file to their spot for the last performance of the season. Think of it as an informal send off. Gets the entire band a little emotional before the show.

You feel a lot. The nearly filled stands. Your family in those very stands. Jungkook. The fourth-years. All the practices, mistakes, and injuries led you up to this moment. 

Hoseok salutes to the audience and the stadium quiets down when he turns back to the band. Even from far away, you can feel his presence. It’s commanding, ready to lead.  

And that’s what Hoseok does. Everything blurs when the music starts. It’s all muscle memory. The cheers for the flag and music features fuels the entire band to perfection.

Despite your confusion about your family, they’re here, watching you. 

The stadium erupts in cheers at the end of the performance. You’re the first to break formation to hug your guard members. You remain smiling as you walk off the field, eyes catching a glimpse of Jungkook’s mother waving at him. Your eyes scan for your family. When you finally spot them, they’re all seated and clapping. Your mother’s approving nod doesn’t go unnoticed. There’s a stark difference to the support Jungkook receives from his family. 

As imperfect as your family’s affection and support may be, it fills your heart with a type of warmth you’ve yet to experience till now.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Director Lee’s traditions spanned to post-performance pizza following the senior plaques he’d hand out. New section leaders were also selected. Director Lee knew at a glance who had leadership potential, but he’s always watching throughout the season in preparation for his departing section leaders. 

Jungkook only ever cared about the pizza. Not that he never saw himself as a leader, but he knew there was always someone better fit for the job. This year? Screw the pizza. Screw the new leader. Okay, well, no, he hopes they’re a good pick. At the moment, that’s the least of his concerns.

“So like … are you gonna eat that?” Jimin eyes the untouched pizza on Jungkook’s plate. Jungkook wordlessly passes his plate over to Jimin, far too immersed in the conversation you were having with Yoongi a couple feet away. 

He knows he overstepped by sending that message to your mother. Should’ve respected your decisions … or lack thereof.

You walk toward the front door, look over in his direction, and give him a subtle nod. Doesn’t need to be told twice — Jungkook springs up on his feet and adjusts his bibber.

“Where ya goin’?” Jimin asks Jungkook with a mouthful.

“Bathroom,” Jungkook replies quickly. 

“Well, hurry up. Lee is doing awards and section leader announcements soon.”

“Right. Yeah. Okay,” he answers distractedly, too focused on the direction you’re headed in.

Jungkook was on a mission. He got his apology rehearsed in his head. Follows closely behind you as you head up the stairs to the storage room. Honestly? Wouldn’t have been his first choice to chat here. For one, creepy. Two, dusty as hell. But he’ll go where you go. 

When the door shuts behind him, you turn on your heel to face him. Even with the dim lighting, Jungkook still finds your glittery show makeup beautiful — you’re beautiful. Crushes his soul a little bit when you frown … he’s ready for a round of scolding, so he’ll try to beat you to it.

“I know what I did was out of line. I just th—mmph-” The apology he rehearsed for the past hour dies on his lips as you pull him down for a searing kiss. Your hands untangle from the straps of his bibber to wrap around his neck.

“You’re so annoying,” you say in between kisses. Your words don’t exactly match your actions. You bite down on his lower lip, enough pressure to draw out a tiny hiss turned moan. Jungkook backs you against the wall and knocks over a couple of boxes with flag silks. He’s quick to remedy it with promises to clean it up in favor of kissing you.

The storage room was a bit stuffy … probably loaded with a bunch of asbestos, but it just might be Jungkook’s favorite place at the moment. Just when he thinks all is well and forgiven, you pull away with a glare.

“Don't think you’re off the hook.”

“Wait, huh?”

“JB! You in here?” Yoongi calls from below. 

Yoongi makes his way up the stairs, steps slow and sluggish. You can’t tell if it’s due to his lack of energy or if he’s giving himself enough time to not walk into something he doesn’t want to see. Regardless, it buys you some time. You and Jungkook have never moved so fast. Him, hiding behind a rack of retired uniforms. You, inconspicuously folding the discarded flag silks on the ground. 

“Yep, in here!” You peek your head to the side to see Yoongi lean at the railing. 

“Lee wants everyone in the band room. Doing announcements soon.”

“Okay, I’ll be there soon.”

Yoongi stands in place for a moment, snorts before he makes his way downstairs again.

“Need you there too, Kook.” Yoongi says, loud enough for you both to hear. Your head snaps in Jungkook’s direction and you can’t bring yourself to stay angry at the view: his fluffy hair and beat up converse high tops on full display. 

“Whoops,” Jungkook emerges from the racks with a boxy smile.

“Come on, let’s go back.” You say, swiping away the red tint off his lips. Preen him a little. Not trying to hide anything, but you wanted to look presentable for announcements — it’ll be an important one. 

“Shouldn’t we address the elephant in the room?” He nervously chews on his lips. 

You shake your head and hold out your hand. “It can wait. I have dinner plans with my family later … meet me at my place afterwards?”

“Okay … but like, are we good?”

“Maybe.” You shrug and purse your lips. 

Maybe? No, that won’t fly by with Jungkook. Thought you guys were past this whole miscommunication stage of your guys’ relationship. He needs that extra reassurance. Figured he won’t get that till after your family dinner … doesn’t stop him from playing out the possible scenarios in his head as Director Lee goes through his announcements.

People are clapping on and off. Again, doesn’t matter to him.

“Jungkook? Hellooooo?” Yoongi waves his hand in front of him.

“Huh, wha … sorry, what’d I miss?” Jungkook shakes himself out of his trance. 

“Welcome back to earth, Space Cadet.” Director Lee huffs. A bunch of band members snickers from the comment, his section included. 

“You’re the new percussion section leader, Space Cadet.” Yoongi grins. 

He should be celebrating. It’s a feat and honor to become a section leader. He knows nothing about it, but he’s got great role models, so he’s got a good foundation and baseline for what a good leader should look like. Only issue? Jungkook thought he’d been lucky to evade the nickname curse. Now he’s stuck with one … and a not so great one at that.

He looks for you in the room. Spots you instantly and you throw a tiny thumbs up and a teasing smile in his direction. 

You mouth: Congrats, Spacey.

Maybe the new nickname isn’t so bad after all.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Dinner with your family was okay. There wasn’t much to chat about other than your father asking if you are continuing ‘this’ after graduating. 

“We’re just wondering. Eventually you’ll have to put work first,” your mother reasons. “Your body won’t be able to keep up as you age.”

You know it’s said with care and concern, but you can’t help but feel like you’re being lectured for doing something unconventional. God forbid you be happy with activities outside of a typical 9 to 5. The conversation moves over to your brother and what he’s been doing. You’re thankful the attention is off you for now. You’d much rather be home with a particular drummer anyway. 

You [8:39 p.m.]: I’ll be home in about 30 mins.  Jungkook 🥁 [8:39 p.m.]: ok, be safe. see u later ❤️

You smile down at your phone. Yes, you were still upset and made it a known fact to Jungkook. Hated seeing him confused, but that’s life. He'll have to sit with the consequences of his actions.

Kind of like how you have to sit through this dinner.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

Jungkook arrives at your doorstep about four minutes after you get home. In his hands were a dozen of sunflowers he picked up after Director Lee dismissed the band. Thought it would help his case a little. It does. You accept them with a smile and step to the side to let him in.

“Pretty,” he compliments. You look down at the simple sundress you put on for dinner. Realize Jungkook has only seen you in t-shirts and athletic wear. Though, you could be in a potato sack and he’d still find you lovely. 

“Thank you.”

He follows you to your couch. Usually he likes to sit right next to you, but thinks space is what you’d prefer for this type of conversation. He had plenty of time to reevaluate his actions in the shower and even more time while he waited for your text to come over.  

“I truly am sorry. I shouldn’t have gone behind your back. Just thought they should come out and support you.”

You sigh and place the flowers on your coffee table. 

“How’d you even find my mother?” You ask.

“Um, it wasn’t that hard to sift through your friends list. Plus, there’s not a lot of middle aged women that you look like. Could’ve passed as your older sister, honestly.”

“Funny,” you smile, “she’d love to hear that.”

“Score.” Jungkook grins.

You mindlessly play with the fringes on your dress, unsure what to say next. 

Jungkook reads you perfectly as always. “What’s up? You okay?”

“Just have a lot on my mind.” You fold your hands in your lap. 

“I get it,” he nods. 

“I don’t think you do.” You pause, chewing on your lips before you continue. “The show, offering me a place to study, the sponsors, Wooyoung, and now my family …” you recount, “you keep doing these things for me.”

Jungkook frowns, “do you not want me to?” 

You shake your head. “It’s not that I don’t want you to. I’m just not used to it.” You’re not used to being taken care of nor understood. It’s always been like this. With your family, friends, even some of the folks you’ve marched with in the past. But in the time you’ve gotten to know Jungkook, that’s all he’s given you.

Feels like he knows what you need better than you do sometimes. Feels like he does things out of care and not obligation.

It’s not a feeling anymore when he pulls you onto his lap, resting his chin on top of your head.  

“I know you’re capable of doing everything and more, Juice. But unless you don’t want me to, I’ll always want to help you,” he says. 

You nod, fingers playing with the ends of his shirt. “I know, and I appreciate that. It’s just hard letting go,” you shrug.

“Of what?”

“Control?” 

He chuckles, “you don’t say, Cap.”

You roll your eyes, “you’re a section leader now too.”

“Ah, that, I am,” he agrees, “means we’ll be working together more. You gonna give me a hard time?”

“Ask Yoongi.”

Jungkook laughs and holds you closer. He clears his throat, “need to make sure, though … am I forgiven?”

“Wasn’t that upset, Kook.” If you were truly mad at Jungkook, you wouldn’t have kissed him back in the storage room. “But yes, you’re forgiven. No more messaging my mother on Facebook though. She thought you were a bot for some reason.”

“Huh? I don’t know why she’d think that …” Jungkook pulls out his phone to show you the message thread.

The first line read: To Whom It May Concern … 

“This screams scam, Kook.” You snicker, skimming through the well-thought out message. Punctuated perfectly and straight to the point. What a stark difference to the silly text messages you receive from him on the daily. Could barely tell it’s him. The only glaring similarity? Jungkook doesn’t sugarcoat his intentions — never when it comes to you.

Jungkook pouts, “they still came to the show …”

“Yeah, they did,” your eyes soften, handing his phone back to him, “made me really happy seeing my family there.” You tuck his hair behind his ear.

“You deserve to be.”

And you also find happiness in when you press your lips against his. Happiness in when he giggles, nose scrunched and all. Happiness in when he moans as you roll your hips over him. 

Jungkook pulls away to trail kisses down your cheek and neck. “You said you’re worried about letting go of control … we can work on that.” 

You whimper at a particularly harsher suck, “how?”

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

You’ve always preferred being in the mentor role. There’s no ambiguity in teaching someone what you already know. Never have to anticipate the unknown.

You find yourself sitting on the edge of your bed, watching Jungkook take off his shirt. So ready to welcome the unknown. It comes to you in the form of Jungkook’s sunkissed body and hooded eyes. He’s well-loved by his friends and family. Only natural to be well-loved by the sun as well. The sun will spend eternity chasing Jungkook and it’ll never come close to seeing all that you will in this lifetime.

“You trust me, yeah?” He walks up to you, legs bumping into your knees. Jungkook cups your cheek and tilts your head up to look at him. Needs to see you. 

“‘Course, I do.” You smile. 

“Good,” he steps back, “turn around for me.”

You wordlessly get on your hands and knees, chin turned at your shoulder to look at Jungkook, “like this?”

“Just like that,” he praises, gaze dropping at your ass where your dress falls perfectly around your hips.

One of his hands trails up your back and gently pushes you down. Your forearms cushion your drop, not that you needed it. You’re pliant for Jungkook. 

You hear him shuffle behind you, both his hands are at your hips as he leans into down to kiss your shoulder. One of his hands goes under the skirt of your dress, knuckles grazing your inner thigh as if he’s asking permission to do more. You turn your head to the side with a visible pout.

“Are you going to be edging me or something?”

Jungkook snickers. “What? You want me to?”

So it appears edging wasn’t his goal. 

His hand cups your sex, middle finger trailing up and down your clothed slit. “You’re soaked through, baby,” Jungkook murmurs, “‘s cause you were thinking about getting edged?”

You shake your head no. “Can’t help it,” your fingers grip your sheets as his fingers move a little quicker. “You got me like this.”

Jungkook groans at your confession. “I did, didn’t I?”

He reluctantly lifts himself up and away from you. Almost regrets it when he sees your brows furrow in disappointment. Makes a mental note to make it up to you one way or another. Season’s over, but Jungkook has all the time in the world with you. He pushes your dress up and over your ass. Feels his cock stiffen in his pants at the sight of your beige colored panties. He always had a thing for your ass. Shamelessly looked at it in the past whenever you were busy stretching. Proud to know that this view belonged to him and only him. He lets his gaze linger at the sight of the dark wet patch at the center of your panties. 

Yeah, he got you like this.

“You still with me, Spacey?” you tease when you notice him staring at you longer than anticipated.

He shakes himself out of stupor. “You’re lucky I like you.” His knuckle trails up and down your slit. Got you shuddering again.

“What do you want me to call you then?” You ask. 

Jungkook feigns deep thought, humming as he throws out random nicknames.

“Baby?” He pulls your panties down your thighs.

“Honey?” You giggle as he taps your knees to fully remove your underwear.

“Boyfriend?” He parts your ass, lets a dribble of spit trail down the center and to your cunt. Your hole clenches around nothing. 

“You liked that one?” Jungkook asks, spitting directly at your hole this time. “Hm?” Trails kisses down your folds, deliberately avoiding your clit till he gets an answer.

“Kook,” you mewl. 

“Tell me,” it comes out needy, “please?”

“I do, yeah.” You confess, “I like it a lot — like you so much.” 

That’s all he needed. You choke on a moan as Jungkook licks one long strip from your clit to your entrance. He rocks your hips to his face, pistoning his tongue into your tight pussy. Pushes your ass up a little higher so he could have better access to your clit. He licks, sucks, moans, and repeats as if he knows nothing more than to please you. 

Jungkook’s moans come out muffled, face stuffed so deeply between your legs, you’d think he’d suffocate to death. On the contrary, he’d argue that life’s worth living even more now. You catch a glimpse of him with his eyes closed and his arm moving fervently between his legs. So shameless and impatient — needs to wank himself for some relief.

“Pretty baby, so fucking wet for me,” he praises against your sex, hot and breathless. Your hand comes around to hold his. Your absolute favorite part of his body. Love it on your body and even more when woven between your fingers — keeps you grounded and secure as you reach your orgasm. And even before you’ve fully come down, Jungkook pulls away and stuffs your cunt with two fingers, curling and thrusting in you with a type of speed and precision that has you gasping. Doesn’t give you room to breathe, prefers having you like this anyway.  

“Baby, y-you’re gonna make me cum again.” You cry, eyes fighting to stay open. A certain numbness pools at your stomach, begging to snap at the curl of Jungkook’s fingers. 

“I know,” he encourages, “make a mess on my fingers, come on.”

You come again, eyes rolled to the back of your head and moans stifled by your sheets. Jungkook draws in a breath, absolutely hypnotized with your pussy clenching and suctioning his fingers. After a couple seconds pass, Jungkook slowly pulls his fingers out and rolls you down onto your back. He clambers his way on top of you. Wants nothing more than to kiss you and be in your arms. You, on the other hand, had different plans. 

“What are you …” Jungkook grunts softly into your mouth. You slide your hands down into his pants and wrap your fingers around his hard cock. Give him one, two, three good pumps before you break away from his lips.

“Honey is a little old-fashioned, no?” You breathlessly ask, your free hand tugs at his belt loops. Jungkook gets the hint and swiftly pulls down his pants and briefs all at once. 

“Honey is cute.” He argues, tugging your top down to expose your breasts. 

“For married couples, sure. Not suited for a boyfriend.” You correct. 

He nods, nicknames don’t really matter to him anyway. Just wanna be yours. Instead, he chooses to latch his lips to your nipple, hand groping the other breast. Bites down on your nipple and immediately soothes it over with his tongue. Jungkook goes back and forth between the two, loving your reactions. The pleasure builds again. He hisses when you roll your hips up at him.

“Tonight’s about you letting go, remember?” He reminds, “I'll take care of you, promise.” 

“Want you to feel good too.”

“I do,” he swoops his hand underneath your thigh and pushes it up, “so much, with you.” He guides his cock in between your folds. It’s wet and messy, just how he wants it. You wince at the over sensitivity, but ignore it because Jungkook is falling apart above you. He looks down between you both, mesmerized by your slick coating his length.

You watch him, watch as he slides his cock up and down your core, watch how the head of his cock knocks and moves against your clit. 

“You feel so good like this,” Jungkook holds your jaw, nose caressing yours, “wonder how you’d feel inside.”

You whine, hips pushing upwards, “please …”

He shushes you with a kiss, requesting you to be patient with promises of making you feel good. It’s dizzying, but you listen and let him take the reins. Jungkook shifts his hips and you gasp into his mouth at the feel of his hard cock at your entrance. Your pussy flutters around him, so wet and ready. The head of his cock nudges in, stretch so minimal with how well he’s prepped you. You moan and let your head sink onto your pillow. He doesn’t push into you any further, just the tip. 

“Mm, you are edging me,” you accuse, unable to move as Jungkook has your hips pinned down to the mattress.

“You wouldn’t like me if I edged you, Juice.” He smiles.

Impossible. Don’t think there’s a universe or lifetime you wouldn’t be drawn by him and him to you. “Need you inside me, Jungkook,” you say, “please?”

He savors the moment for a little longer, tempted to do as you request. God, he would. But Jungkook has a promise to uphold and a lesson to teach. He keeps his word as he slowly inserts himself inch by inch, watching your brows furrow and mouth drop open in frustration.

Jungkook’s just as fucked out. Involuntarily bucks his hips, drawing out a surprised, high-pitched moan from you. Big mistake. The need to hear that again fuels something primal in him. His arms swoop underneath your head. Has you in an embrace as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear — such a contrast to his ruthless hips. Jungkook’s whole life has been about music. Over the years, he saved music sheets from his favorite pieces and shows. His most favorite melody? Your broken moans and cries, spurring him on to continue fucking you.

He’s not sure how long this goes for until he finally lifts himself up, immediately misses the warmth of your body. The view below him makes up for it: your dress bundled up around your waist, breasts bouncing after every thrust, and your wanton gaze. His eyes drop lower at where you both connect — groans at the cream coating his cock and how it gathers at the base after every push. Your breath hitches when his reaches between your bodies and toys with your clit. “Yes, yes, yes, oh, Kook, right there.” 

“I—” you can’t even finish your sentence as you cum again for the third time. Jungkook’s eyes close, head tipped back at the feel of your walls squeezing around him.

“Shit,” he trembles and pulls out, trying his best to delay his orgasm. Doesn’t want any of this to end so soon. 

Jungkook lays down next to you, hard cock smearing your cum on your stomach. You smile, one of your legs tossed over his hips to keep him close. You’re so tired, but there’s this glint in his eyes — he wants more. Far from being done, he pulls you on top of him, dark locks falling prettily on your pillows. Claims how much he likes your dress as he helps you get out of it.

“Couldn’t have liked it that much if it’s off me now.” You tuck Jungkook’s hair behind his ears and his expression shifts. Fondness. Warmth. Devotion. Jungkook drinks in the view before him — cock twitches at the sight of your fully naked body. Thinks he needs to block out a day to just kiss all your moles, scars, and freckles — adore them one by one. He settles for a small kiss on your palm, and positions his cock for you, eyes pleading at you to sink down on him. Your hip lifts and lowers slowly, stuffing yourself full of him again, fighting the over sensitivity. 

“You feel so good,” he rasps, “take me so well.” 

You nod, hands pressing his abdomen to hold yourself up. You move first, slow and deliberate to take in his expressions. Jungkook lets you take control for a minute. Just a minute. Because eventually, his fingers dig into your hips, maneuvering you up and down how he likes. Your legs shake, too weak to keep you upright. 

“Come here,” he tugs you down so that your chest presses down on his. The new position makes it easier for him to bounce you down. You cry out into the crook of his neck. You trust Jungkook, trust that only he could take your pleasure to another level. Trust him with your body — your heart. 

“So good for me,” he grips harder, feeling that familiar heaviness pool at his balls when he’s close. “You can give me another one, right?”

You feel your slick drip down his length with every drop of your hips. You whimper, shake your head, “n-no, I don’t think I can.”

He kisses your temple, “‘s okay, can you hold on for me? I’m so close.”

Of course you can. Anything for him. Anything to see him cum. Because of you, for you. He hugs you close, plants his feet down on your mattress, and fucks himself up into you. 

You’re a liar. Body betrays you as he has you bracing his chest and digging your fingernails into his shoulders. Pretty crescent moons on your sunshine. So perfect. Even when you sob from the intensity of his thrusts, you want nothing more than for this feeling to last forever. Because Jungkook has you cumming again, pussy fluttering and milking his length for all he’s worth. It surprises the both of you — surprises Jungkook more when you press your face into his neck and he feels wetness on his skin. 

“Baby,” he huffs, “wh-where should I—” hips losing rhythm and stuttering from your clenches. 

“Inside, please cum inside me,” you use all your strength to lift your head to kiss him. That’s when Jungkook sees it: your watery lashes.

"Gonna cum," Jungkook gasps, eyes squeezed shut, both hands now pushing your ass to meet his hips, “oh fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He groans loudly into your mouth, shamelessly sucks on your tongue and pumps himself two more times into your cunt before finishing inside you.

Jungkook stills. Pants hard. Mentally snorts at all his past dumb fantasies because they’ll never compare to how he feels with you right now. Doesn’t think he’s ever cummed this much and this hard. But it’s you, the girl he’s fancied for so long. You and Jungkook stay like this for a while longer. His hand trails up and down your back, nearly lulling you to sleep. Jungkook knows you — would rather go barefoot on lego pieces than sleep dirty. You made it clear that showers are a must after practice and before bedtime. Sex was no exception.

Another thirty seconds pass and Jungkook slowly pulls out of you. You wince and close your fists against his chest.

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes with kisses on your shoulder and gently rolls you onto your back. He looks a little silly rushing to the bathroom while hopping into his briefs. Comes back with a warm cloth to which you realize seconds later was your favorite face towel. 

“Jungkook,” you whine as he parts your legs to clean you up, too weak to put up a fight. 

“I know, baby, I’ll get you a new one. You okay, though?”

“Yeah, ‘m good.” You smile, eyes filled with adoration.

How could you not be? Jungkook kisses the old bruises on your knees just as he’s kissed the old wounds in your heart. 

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ───── 

“Whatcha doing?” Jungkook hums into your ear.

“Signing us up for auditions.” You reply naturally, fingers typing away on your phone. 

“Uh, what?” He lifts his head up from the pillow, one eye shut from the brightness of your phone. 

“With the Tridents.”

“Drum corps? Wait, Juice, I don’t know if I’m ready. There are a lot of good drummers out there …”

“Why not? You’re literally a section leader. There’s nothing you can’t do.”

“But—”

“We’ll go together,” you turn. “Come on, we age out of this circuit soon.” 

He looks uncertain. Hesitation stirs in his irises. 

“If any of us don’t make the cut, we’re both out. Kay?” Half lie because you’ll encourage him to stay even if you were to get cut first.

Jungkook stares at you, bites his lips as he contemplates his decision. Caves in under three seconds at the sight of your pleading eyes, “Alright, let’s do this.” He’s jittery in your embrace. Can’t believe he’s doing this. Knows he has to go for it.

Because life’s too short not to go full out.

fin.

a/n: fun fact! my high school crush was in the drumline too. funnily enough, i recently saw him after years of radio silence. guess what i did 😎 anyway, lmk if you have any thoughts/feedback/questions ♡

[sparrows4bats]

Swan AU

Thanks to @peterchubs for once again inspiring this. It was gonna be Swan Lake, but I went ooooooh mythology. Crane wives/Swan Maidens are in irish/scottish/german/Nordic/Chinese and other mythologys. So this is based on a mix of a few myths abd folklore.

Damian Al Ghul was born with his feathers, like his mother before him. He was a siglet, so his baby down was a charcoal down that only gave way to long white feathers in his teens.

He and his mother changed their forms only in the privacy of their private rooms and gardens.

Talias form was sleek and beautiful as Damian slowly grew and moulted beside her.

Talia laughed as he got used to his wings and webbed feet in stops and awkward starts. They swam and fly together, and they are still Damians' fondest memories.

His mother always told him to keep his other form secret and guard his feathered cloak more closely than anything. It is literally his life and should be treated as such.

Talia had given her cloak to only one other person, Damians father, who, while accepting and never using it to compel or trap his mother, had left the cloak behind without a thought.

He hadn't given Talia her cloak back. He just left it at the foot of bed like the most danming confession that her Beloved would never return.

Talia never entertained the thought of trusting her other form to another again.

She raised her son, her baby chick to be cautious of who you trusted and who you loved. While he grew up with stories of his fathers greatness, he was also aware that his father should never be trusted with a swans cloak.

Damian never allowed his cloak out of his sight. The League was never a place of true allies, but no one outside of grandfather and mother knew of Damians Swan form.

But Talia had whispered that even Ras must never be given such an integral part of himself.

But no matter how much he feared losing control over himself and being bound to another, Damian still dreamed of trusting another, loving them enough to hand over his feathered skin, like his mother before him.

But he doubted even if it did happen he would have a happier ending.

Being abandoned was better than your cloak being stolen after all. A Swan can be compelled and control if their very skin in another's hands.

Gifting individual feathers was as far as Damian was willing to trust anyone. Every time he sheds, he would gift the fallen feathers to mother or burn them in fear.

He kept a few of his mother's feathers in a locket around his neck while Talia kept her son's baby down in a box at her bedside in Nanda Parat. Goliath has a few feathers woven into his fur as he grows.

The feathers let him feel his mother's warmth and his beloved pets relative location. Feathers can't control a Swan. It just connects them to the recipient.

When his grandfather falls and his mother is forced to give him to his father, Talia considers keeping Damians cloak with her for safe keeping, the idea of any of Gotham laying claim to her son's feathers has her drowning in deead.

But she could not bear to lock away her son's freedom as a Swan. Could not bear to steal his freedom from him.

Instead, Talia forbids her chick from changing forms while in Gotham. He is never allowed to leave his cloak out in the open or wear it in his fathers house. She even gifts him a safe in which to store it, keyed to his DNA. Finally, no one must ever know what he is. Bruce hadn't been told about Swan Maidens even as he held Talias cloak, and Talia is glad now she never confessed to him, even if she still adore her Beloved.

So Damian stayed human for years. Only transforming a few times a year to moult. He only took his cloak out of the safe he kept hidden in the floor of his room when the itch to touch it almost drove him mad.

He missed swimming and flying. He missed his freedom and his mother.

Despite no one ever knowing about his Swan form Damian still gifted his new family his feathers once he felt safe enough to.

His family didn't know the significance of his gift, but when Damian gave them the large white feathers, seemingly out of nowhere, they treated it as an honour.

The feathers were only given to Alfred, Steph, and Dick at first in the year they were alone to defend Gotham.

Dick framed the gift. It's in a shadow box he carries no matter where he moves to. Alfred used the feather to create a brooch he wears with pride. Stephanie was delighted to get the gift, jealous of Dick after he bragged about it to her so Steph does her research and turns the feather into a modern quill. One she delights in whipping out dramatically to make a point to Barb.

Barbara turned hers into a hair pin and wears it proudly. Cass keeps in her jewellery box along with over precious memories. Tim puts his feather in a scrap book, and Jason uses his as a bookmark. Duke puts in resin and puts it on his keys.

Damian can feel his loved ones through his feathers, and it brings him comfort when they wander too far for him to follow.

Bruce gets his feather after he comes back from the time stream. Only for him to misplace it. Damian feels it the moment his father leaves the feather without intending to come back for it.

He feels the coldness that grips his heart and thinks of how his mother felt when her Beloved left her cloak and her behind. The feeling makes him want to curl up and cry.

Alfred is the one who figures out what gas Damian so depressed and gathers the entire family and their feathers to talk sense into the man.

The don't know what the feathers mean but idea of losing one when Damian gives them one feels like the greatest offense.

Bruce, thoroughly chastised, searches the entire Manor until he locates the feather.

He carefully puts it in a locket so he never loses it again.

Damian, over the years, gifts more feathers until the whole batfamily always has at least on them at all times. They swap ideas of how to use them. Stephs quill is the most popular.

Damian never considers breaking his mother's rules. Never changes form in front of anyone no matter how much he would like to be able to live with all parts of himself.

He never considers giving anyone his cloak.

That is until Jonathan Kent kisses him as they sit together watching the sunset one day.

Damian falls in love faster than he ever expected, and one day, when he can't bear to keep his secret any longer, Damian decides he wants to give Jon his cloak.

Because if there is anyone he loves and trusts with his life, it is Jonathan Kent. Who had saved his life multiple times, knew everything he had done, and loved him anyway.

And Damian can't even imagine him using it to control him. He may abandon it like his father had his mother when he realised Damian is not enough for him, but even that possibility doesn't make him hesitate to hand it over to him.

The gift of their cloak is central to a Swans life. The ultimate commitment and the ultimate curse. Swans are called to shed their skins and when truly adored gift them to her life partners hoping it will be given back when needed and safe guarded but never used to harm them.

It is not a test but the ultimate show of trust and faith in your partner.

Damian explains what he as he gifts Jon the cloak, only for Jon to ask what it means to hold the cloak immediately.

Damian tries his best to describe the mythos of his people and the magic that runs through his blood.

Jon takes it in, in utter rapture. Even asking Damian to transform.

The feeling of his second form feels like coming home, and as Jon stares at him awe, it is the most terrifying experience of his life. He sheds his cloak after a few minutes when the weight of Jons gaze feels too much.

Jon embraces him gently, and Damian knows he made the right choice.

Jon eventually takes the cloak but only to give it back to Damian, almost immediately, ensuring he is not accidentally rejecting him. He caresses the white feathers like a precious thing.

He hands it over easily and delicately.

Jon does not realise that according to myth, this is almost unheard of. For someone to hold the cloak but also return it with love.

Giving the cloak is one part of a marriage vow.

Returning it is the rest.

Damian is there crying into white feathers as Jon keeps going on about shitty German fairtale protagonists as his lovely partner attempts to explain that Jon and he basically just got married.

Jon just grins when the words register and produces the ring he bought for the love of his life a week ago.

Damian gifts him lots of his feathers after that, and Jon dips them in gold so he can wear them as a necklace and carry his husband with him always.

The warmth of Jons love never leaves Damian and his cloak is always safe.

Telling his family he is actually a Swan is a hilarious conversation, and Tim makes goose jokes until a transformed Damian bites him.

Swans are just geese with eyeliner anyway, and geese are viscous.