#anyway now i'm very aware of the heat again and i hate it

[skipper19]

Imagine this..

Gojo absolutely loves the look of his pregnant wife wobbling around the home. He loves it a lot more than he thought he would. Gojo takes so many pictures of you. From the day of the big news, all the way to today.

"Satoru sto-Op!" You squeaked and giggled as you spoke. "I am allowed to dote on my pregnant wife, thank you very much." His low voice spoke very smugly into your ear. Despite your outward complaints, you still looked to the phone sitting on the kitchen counter and smiled. You blinked when the flash went off, and you rubbed your eyes.

"You take too many pictures of me.." You grumble. "Especially when I look like shit." You pouted and rested your hand on your swollen stomach. Gojo gasped and put a hand to his chest. "Shit? You're the most gorgeous woman I have ever met," He leans now and cups your jaw in his hands. "Especially in the mornings." He whispered softly before kissing you. You smiled into the kiss and felt your shoulders relax.

"Mm..if I wasn't already pregnant, I would drag you to bed until I am.." You mumbled happily against his lips. Gojo snickers and rolls his ocean eyes. "Keep talking like that, and I will drag you back to bed, despite already being pregnant." He smirked with lidded eyes. "Even if I'm 5 months pregnant?" You whispered. "Especially when you're 5 months pregnant." He pulled you into a passionate kiss after the words left his lips.

You both didn't leave the bed again until 6 pm.

-----------------------------------------------------♤

Gojo hurriedly washed his hands and ignored grabbing paper towels as he left, deciding to wipe his wet hands off on his pants instead. He was in too much of a rush to care anyway. His pregnant wife was all by her lonesome in the grocery store as he dealt with his bladder problem. He hated to leave you alone. He hated leaving you alone around other people even more.

Gojo sensed your cursed energy in the nearest aisle and quickly returned by your side. He smiled when he spotted you looking at the baby shoes that were huddled in a small pile on the corner of the shelf. Gojos eyes glanced to the clearance sign above the shelf and playfully rolled his eyes. "Didn't I say I wanted our baby girl to have the best quality clothes? Why are we in the clearance section?" He playfully scolded as he leaned his shoulder against the shelf with the shoes.

"Well, I remember saying that it doesn't have to be expensive, as long as it looks adorable on our baby boy." You retorted with a sly smile. Gojo huffed and shook his head. "Our baby girl has the best, strongest, and wealthiest father in all of Japan. I think she deserves to be spoiled." He crossed his arms, making you glance at the faint sight of his veins popping out. Amusement laced his eyes behind the dark shades adorning his handsome face.

"And I think our baby boy will care nothing about being spoiled, as long as it's comfortable." You shot back and quickly looked back down to the pair of shoes in your hand. Gojo felt his heart leap when you placed the boy shoes in the shopping cart before reaching back onto the shelf and grabbing a feminine pair of shoes as well. Gojo pushed himself from the shelf and walked behind you to wrap his arms around your growing belly.

"You are going to be an amazing mother." He whispered softly into your ear. Heat rose to your cheeks, and you smiled bashfully. "You think so?" You placed your hands onto his. "I really do."

-----------------------------------------------------♤

It didn't take long for Gojo to realize you weren't in bed with him any longer. He was normally hyper aware when you would leave the warmth of his arms at night, but he had been even more of a light sleeper after you hit your 7 month mark.

Gojo didn't want to think of what he would do if something had happened to you.

He threw the covers off of himself before leaving the inviting warmth of the sheets. He quickly makes his way to the kitchen, only to find you quietly sitting at the marble island in the center of the room. You were minding your business as you nibbled away at your odd snack, a soft tune playing from the radio nearby. Gojo always insisted on buying speakers. That way, he could blast music from the TV, but you denied him every time. You always said that the radio was much better.

Gojo sighed and quietly walked up to you, his eyes grazing over your plump form. He couldn't help but smirk. You just looked so lovely as you sat there, munching away on your food, his shirt barely covering your body. Gojo was head over heels in love with you, that was obvious.

"Sneaking away from me just to get you a snack? How rude." Gojo softly said as he pouted. You jumped as his arms snaked around your body. You swatted at his muscular arms and shot him a glare over your shoulder. "Dont sneak up on a pregnant lady! You nearly made me drop my pickles.." You mumbled. Despite your annoyance, your body still leaned back to relax against his warm chest.

Gojo glanced at the food in your hands and resisted the urge to shiver. Pickles and marshmallows. "Mm, I wouldn't want to have to throw that snack away.." You rolled your eyes at his sarcasm and plopped the pickle and mini marshmallow in your mouth. "Shuddup."

-----------------------------------------------------♤

"You're doing so good, baby, just a few more pushes." Gojo encouraged you with soft spoken words and swift fingers caressing your hair. You wanted to yell at him to just shut up, but the pain you were feeling inhibited anything other than pained sounds.

Gojo hated seeing you in so much pain. Especially when he couldn't do anything to quell it. "Just one more push." The doctor said. If it weren't for the situation, Gojo knew better than anyone how embarrassed you would be right now. He leaned down closer to your ear. "One more push, sweetheart, and then we can meet our beautiful baby." He whispered softly. You gripped his hand tighter, thankful that his infinity was lowered, his touch grounded you. It kept you sane on a normal day, and you needed him more than ever right now.

"I can't.. I can't!" Your voice was hoarse and weak as you sobbed aloud. Gojo shook his head and kissed your temple, his lips resting against your skin as he spoke. "Yes, you can. I know you can. You're strong, the strongest woman I have ever met, I know you can do this." His words replayed like a symphony. You can do this. You are strong. You can do this. For your baby.

One final push, followed by a shout of pain, led to the cries of your baby echoing in the room. Gojo smiled and gulped down his nerves as he watched the nurses take away his baby to be cleaned.

You weren't in the same condition.

Your ears rang as your head pounded. You know your baby was finally delivered, so why couldn't you hear them? Your glazed eyes panicked to search the room for your child. "Sa-satoru?" Your voice weakly called out. His ocean blue eyes cast down to your face to see the concern and tears. His hand moved from your hair to your face as he wiped away your tears and tilted your gaze to meet his.

"I can't hear them crying. Are they okay?" You hiccuped. Gojos eyebrows furrowed slightly, yet he kept a warm smile on his face. "They are fine, don't worry." He reassured and kissed your sweaty forehead. His eyes glanced to the doctor, only to see a reassuring smile sent back his way. "It's normal for the mother to be disoriented after giving birth. It's a lot of strain on her body." The doctor said quietly.

Gojo sighed and briefly closed his eyes as his lips lingered against your forhead. His attention was directed to the nurse as she walked back with a small bundle in her arms. "Mrs. Gojo," the nurse called softly. Your eyes fell to her, then the bundle of life in her arms. A wobbly smile formed on your lips as you weakly reached out your arms for your baby. The moment the baby was rested against your chest, tears fell from your eyes like a waterfall.

Gojo couldn't help but tear up.

"It's a boy." The nurse spoke up. You tearfully giggled and gently ran your finger over your baby's cheek. "My baby boy.." You mumbled, a soft kiss landing on his head.

After a few moments of skin to skin contact and appreciation, you looked to Gojo. He didn't need you to say a word. He eagerly held his arms out for you to gently place his baby boy in his warm hold. On instinct, the man handled his son with nothing but gentle touch. You just knew he was going to be an amazing father. "God, look at you.. beautiful, just like your mama.." He cooed. You rested your hand on his arm. "Handsome, just like his daddy." You whispered with droopy eyes. He shakily sighed.

This is his family.

-----------------------------------------------------♤

"Thank you.. Thank you so much." Gojo mumbled into your ear. Your mind, despite being fogged, was able to register his words. "F-for what?" You gasped, your nails drawing blood from his pale skin. "For giving me a family." His words reverberated in your spine, causing your ears to tingle and your eyes to close in pleasure.

"I want to be selfish.." He spoke again. His movement picked up speed, quickly sucking the words from your throat. "I want one more. Give me one more -please baby, just one more.." But Gojo has always been a greedy man. One was never enough, and you knew this all too well.. "Please~" He begged, almost pathetically. You moaned aloud and grasped his face in your hands, pulling his lips to your own from where they once were on your neck.

"Give me it, Satoru.. give it to me."

[hoseoksluna]

MURK | myg ft. jjk

pairing: boyfriend!yoongi x oc (feat. jungkook)

genre: angst, smut

word count: 16.9k

summary: one encounter with jungkook heals you enough to mend your boyfriend's heart.

pinterest board: murk

warnings: anxiety attack, different forms of self-harm and self-sabotage, mental agony, mutual masturbation, toying with polyamory, foreshadowing the use of a sex toy, alcohol consumption, seduction, provocation, teasing, oc wears pretty lingerie, cuckold kink, guided female masturbation, dom/sub dynamics, nipple play, clit rubbing, ass play, oral sex (m. receiving), fingering, facial, cum eating

note: oh my god, this was supposed to have three parts, but it was getting way too long and i decided to prolong the series. i'm not gonna even mention how many parts this series is gonna have bc my characters surprise me every time i finish writing so... they're the boss of me. ANYWAYS, pls i am so proud of this work of mine and i can't wait for you all to read it. pls, spam my inbox anonymously! i need to hear your thoughts, so pretty please, let me know everything you're feeling, hating, expecting etc. i'm absolutely obsessed with oc, jk and yoongi. ALSO, let me know what team you are. team yoongi or team jk? i'll put a poll in the final part if i remember. hehe ENJOY READING ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

Sensing Yoongi’s emotions, the clouds pull in, shunning the sunlight and you feel it. You feel it, enormously. 

The wind becomes violent. Curtains of sheer gray slap against the windows, undulating with such might that you sense its urgency. You stare at it in deep thought, naked and barren—void of any dignity, void of any rightness of feelings. A hole of blackness takes form in the middle of your chest, where the memory of Yoongi exiting the room hastily plays on a loop and there’s a faint, feeble hand in you, one of that urgency, that reaches for him, while the other remains slack at your side, caressing your own skin, pacifying your selfishness, your hypnosis—dragging you away from the side you had unwittingly and so unrightfully chosen. 

And while you want to mend what you’ve caused in your relationship, the only side you want to take at the moment is your own. The defeat pains you still, but what aches even more is the feeble wish there wasn’t any defeat at all. Not on Yoongi’s face, not on yours. 

You don’t regret what you’ve done. You don’t want to regret anything anymore, which is why you’re still standing dressed in your femininity as Jungkook apprehensively rakes his hands through his hair on the bed. You care very little for it because a bigger part of you is concerned about the well-being of your boyfriend. You wonder what he’s up to downstairs. Is he pacing? Is he busying himself from the onrush of his negative emotions, not able to stand the sight of you? You’d run to him, but there’s a bigger matter at hand. You have to fix your mind first. You have to cleanse yourself of the mess and the chaos, sort out the darkness so the light pours in. 

The light that will guide you to make the right decisions at last. The light that will burst your ugliness to smithereens, smother you with its heat so the hypnosis won’t penetrate it again. The light that should, ultimately, help Yoongi, help your relationship—fix its face, soothe out the overbearing tension. 

You’re aware Jungkook put you under a spell, now that the wind and Yoongi’s coldness has sobered you up. Turned you against him. Made you forget about him. You give zero fucks about how he does it time and time again. What you will concentrate on in the present time is making sure it won’t happen again. How? You’ll figure it out. Somehow. 

You don’t want any of the males to regard you as of now—and you wish you were alone, you wish you could escape like Yoongi did. That thought leads you, conspicuously, to begin to understand the reason behind his actions, but you don’t allow it to unfold in you. Not yet. You turn around to look at Jungkook. 

Elbows propped on his thighs, he’s digging a hole into the hardwood floors with the blackness of his irises. A small mole kisses the side of his ribs, the only visible part of his body that is otherwise clouded in shadows. You take your eyes away from that sight, not trusting yourself, hating yourself for naturally looking at that intimate part of him. Upon the sound of your movement, Jungkook flicks his eyes towards your form. You dislike everything about his attentiveness to you with every fiber of the betrayal that your body has become. 

His face is squished in his hands. He doesn’t look at your bareness. Merely studies the emotions written on your face. Like the healer he is, you know he wants to find something, anything to latch himself onto. And while you once obsessed over this need of his to mend, to make right, you despise it now. In spite of it, while you swallow down your distaste for it, your hand yearns to pet him like the wounded puppy he is, because you know that the tumultuous darkness both men are facing is of your origin, of your doing.

You keep it clenched in a tight fist. 

You don’t want to touch him anymore. You don’t want to touch any of them. Don’t want to cause any more harm than you already have with your desires. 

Jungkook startles when you make your way towards your travel bag. You hide your breasts beneath your forearm, not wished to be seen, not wishing to be vulnerable like that. The feeling of your stickiness along the inner sides of your thighs makes you cringe, worsens your hatred, and tears begin to sting in your waterline when you unzip your bag and grab the first thing you see. Jungkook opens his mouth to say something, but for the last time you avert your gaze from him and bolt to his bathroom. At the sound of his heavy steps, you slam the door shut. 

He calls your name and it is only then, when you’re alone, that you let those bitter tears and whimpers emit out of you. The sound is hidden by each strike of his palm upon the wood and your hand flies to your mouth in effort to stifle your emotions, feeling undeserving of them, feeling wrong, ugly, not worthy of his damned attention—not worthy of anything. 

“Sweetheart,” Jungkook whines. The first pet name he ever called you. You let out a pained sound and he forces the door open with all his might. Even though you don’t want to, you let him see the state of you—clutching your wrinkled dress and panties, concealing the evidence of the pleasure he gave to your body, of your femininity that he had put under his spell. 

You step away from the threshold, slinking deeper into the shadows of the bathroom. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be looking at you with such solicitude and affection. His brows shouldn’t be knitted like that, those eyes bigger and rounded than they usually are, fists tight and clenched, veins thumping and thick. Yoongi should be standing in his place with the intention to heal. Not him. 

“Please, go away,” you whisper, hot tears pouring down your pallid cheeks. You’re ashamed of them because you know full well that at this point you should be doing anything but crying. You’ve gone through so much turmoil, mingled with the darkness to such great extent that you should be proud of your work. You wanted this at some point—you wanted to remain the opposite force with separate feelings. You wanted to be his, when you had no right to choose. 

Jungkook’s eyes glisten. You turn your back to him, unable to be a witness to his emotions. You can’t see that; you don’t deserve to and he shouldn’t be feeling like this. He should’ve long exited this disorder—

You sob louder, exhausted of your thoughts, exhausted of shoulds, of wrongness. Turn the shower on, aware of the traces of disobedience and pain on your backside and you want to hide, but you have nowhere to go to. 

Jungkook turns the main lights off, leaving only the soft flickering bulbs on by the mirror. Ever the healer who senses your emotions by some sixth sense that you hate. Dimness covers your shame. 

He takes away your dress and panties and you let him. Folds them neatly on his laundry hamper. You watch him treat your underwear with such gentleness that it hurts. A flashback of him ripping your thong and making your bum red fills your brain, causing your feelings to expand in your chest—so much that you think your body is too small to keep them in. You can’t breathe, your lungs don’t have enough space to stretch and you panic, taking small breaths that don’t appease your need for air. Not at all. 

You step into the shower, needing to get away. 

The hot water burns on the curves of your behind and you hiss, but it alleviates your hatred. You deem it is precisely what you deserve. Your hand turns the temperature higher, sobbing into the stream of water, lungs heaving with such heft and it is okay, for it camouflages your hypocrisy. That is, until Jungkook notices it. 

“Are you crazy?” he mutters in dismay, fixing the temperature, but you grip his wrist briefly, pushing it away. Don’t look at him. Only warn him this way, silently. His miffed sigh wafts into the mist rising along your form, diffusing into your hair that still carries the scent of the pond. You want to wash it all out. “It’s going to hurt more like this.” 

You scowl, cupping the water in your hands like a child. “I don’t care. Leave.” 

The outward pain of your body isn’t the problem here. It aggravates you how he doesn’t see it—how he can be so ignorant to the more important matter at hand. Yoongi left because of him and because of you, because of the single-minded pleasure between you both that had nothing to do with Yoongi. You might as well have been there alone with him—Yoongi being just a pair of helping hands. Redundant. 

Burning. Burning of eyes, burning of skin, burning ache of heart. 

Jungkook scoffs at your forwardness, dumbfounded. Has the audacity to follow the drop of water trickling down the small of your back. You splash him, willing him to go away, but he stays put. Unbuttons his cargos. Hooks his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers, ridding himself, and stepping into the shower with you, sliding the door shut. 

You whisk your eyes to him with as much ill-will as you’re able to muster and he seizes it, unafraid of it, backing you against the wall. Solemn mien, subdued and so soft amidst the hardness of his decisiveness. Small pearls of emotion are stained upon the wrinkles around the corners of his eyes, twinkling in the shadows in tandem with the ever persisting glint perched on top of his irises. “I told you to leave.” 

He doesn’t blink. “You splashed me,” he utters, lowly. Grips your waist and pushes you against the coolness of the tiles. It takes a hold of the burn and rips it away, relief flooding in its place and your features relax against your will. “See how it feels better?” 

It does, but you don’t give him the benefit of the doubt—you refuse to. Not when you deserve to rot for hurting your boyfriend enough to make him leave, not when it should be him standing here with you—

“Don’t punish yourself,” Jungkook whispers, fixing the temperature yet again, letting the mist disperse. Such a tender, velvety sound that reaches deep inside of you, even when you want to fight him, even when you think that punishing yourself is the least you can do, considering how despicable you’ve become. But then he dabs a small amount of body wash onto his palm, rubs it across your sternum and it nobbles the drift of your self-sabotage. 

You feel the snugness of his touch, the darkness thickening in you and you take a fright of it. 

You put a stop to it. 

Grasping his wrist, you blink through the unrelenting fragrance of cherries filling your nostrils. “Don’t touch me.”

Seeing the panic flitting over your damp eyes, he lets go, respecting your wish. Smears it on the broadness of his chest instead. “Alright, I won’t touch you.” 

You sigh a whiny, vulnerable breath of relief. The glint of his irises ripples as tears pool across them. He, too, blinks them away. Stills as a sculpture while watching the film of your emotions. For a mere moment. Your throat constricts. Time, then, resumes. 

Jungkook hands you the bottle. Silence suffuses the profound atmosphere as you lather yourself in the cherry aroma. Almost without touching your skin, he peels your hair away from your back, capacitating you to reach your shoulder. As if his hands, now that they’ve acknowledged themselves with your body, simply cannot keep their distance. You shoot him a look that forces him to drop his limb. Note that it trembles on its way down to his side; note the same trepidation beginning its course on your body. Your mouth rounds in yet another rush of emotions, but you don’t cry. 

You’re so tired. So tired of feeling. So tired of guilt, of shame, of getting up and falling again. 

You avoid your intimate parts, your breasts and your behind. You hold your body instead, arms wrapped around your ribcage in effort to put yourself back together. You don’t understand why he’s here, why he cares; why he thinks he has the right to touch you without your boyfriend being present, why he thinks the situation between you and Yoongi is something he needs to remedy. And why, ultimately, he thinks it’s right to be on your side, instead of Yoongi’s. 

He’s not your friend. He doesn’t know you. 

You look up at him to fire that question at him, but Jungkook clutches the shower head and, with lukewarm water, he cleanses you of the foam, the bubbles and the stickiness on your thighs that he never got to wipe clean because you had pushed him away earlier. And then it happens. 

He cleanses you of your dirtiness, of your hatred and of your tiredness, too. With the same shower head, the same lukewarm water. And you can’t explain how he does it, how your body lets him, how it willingly lets go until there’s nothing in you anymore. Just the cherry perfume and the hole in your chest with a murky cloud in the middle. You merely watch it dribble down your skin, plop onto the tiles on the floor, swimming around your feet and his. Dumbstruck. 

You feel like stomping on it, but you don’t have the energy. Figure it will drown in the small pool of water on its own, die a slow, painful death, before it trickles down the drain. 

You don’t know how it came about now that it’s gone and you can’t take your eyes off of him. All he did was rinse you off. And the ridiculousness of it all is that, the more Jungkook deepens your eye contact, the more you want it back. You want to be the one who purges you of it. Steal the magic from his hands and splatter it back on your skin, in place of the cherries. He can keep those. 

Why did he come? Why didn’t he go to Yoongi? 

And you ask him. “Why are you here?” 

He fishes for a bottle of shampoo. “Will you let me wash your hair?” 

You scowl up at him. “I asked you a question.” 

Stillness in his features. “So did I.” 

That damned stubbornness, so reminiscent of yours, of your muted, silent one, hidden within you. Fair enough. You search within yourself for any hint of protest. Find none—find it’s been washed away, find cherries and the heft of the cloud, no darkness, much to your dismay. You turn your back towards him. 

“Tilt your head back.” 

Thankful that he didn’t do it himself, you do as he says. Jungkook wets your hair and you feel the pond leaving you, your heart skipping over to latch onto it, adamant on not letting it leave, but alas—it disappears along with everything else. You wish your heart would trickle down the drain, too. You have no need for it, anyways. 

Jungkook’s touch on your hair is benign, careful as he rubs the shampoo on your scalp. You flutter your eyes shut, welcoming in, somehow, the massage that diminishes the intensity, which your thoughts are hurled at you with, as though he was the owner of them and he came home to make order. And they settle altogether to listen as he begins to speak. “It shattered my heart. To see both of you so broken because of me. I saw it at dinner at first. Then I saw it again today. It pains me. It pains me that it’s my fault.” 

Silence, hefty, strong silence. The principle of being seen by another pair of eyes; the principle of your agony being seen and understood, no longer obscured within your mind, within your heart. Jungkook didn’t just see you, he saw Yoongi, too. Saw through you both. Something about that, along with the work of his fingertips, mitigates the heaviness of your emptiness, of your cloud, but it doesn’t tear the misty body. Not yet. 

Your throat is dry. “Why are you here, then? Why aren’t you with Yoongi? He’s your friend.” 

He gently drags his palms across your length. “Because Yoongi deals with things like this on his own. He doesn’t need a friend when he goes through shit. He needs to be alone.” 

You don’t understand. Yoongi always needed you when his mental health was at stake. Needed you as he unraveled the entanglement of ropes of that darkness that had enveloped his mind by talking to you about it. Then, he would eat with you, fuck you and try again the next day. It would be a long process, but it would be something you’d go through together. There never was a time he’d walk that path alone. 

And then it hits you. 

That was before you. Before he met you, he meandered through that decaying meadow alone. Jungkook served in the military—he doesn’t know anything about the change that occurred. Doesn’t know that Yoongi gave up his isolation. 

And you tell him. Merely a hint of it. Figure it’s Yoongi’s story to tell and you don’t have the heart to snatch that opportunity away from him. 

Listening to your words, Jungkook slackens. You only hear the sound of the shower head being put back into its place that indicates his shock to you. You figure he wanted to rinse off the shampoo, but the information paralyzed his body. You turn around to see that bewilderment writing verses across his features. Tenderness, too. A tendril of liquid emotion swirling past his waterline. “I tried my best to make that happen when I could,” he utters and you don’t think he realizes he said it, eyes unfocused, fixed on the tile beside your arm. “You can’t imagine how difficult it was for him. To let you in.” 

You feel the same tenderness curling into your cloud. Your mouth rounds again. Touched, terribly touched. Gladness holds hands with that tenderness, gladness that he didn’t leave when you had told him to. Because if he had never stepped inside the shower, you wouldn’t have known. You wouldn’t have known the secret that changes everything. 

You yearn to see Yoongi. Yearn to hug him, hold him, to pour out your love into him. Think you’re ready now. Stable enough to satisfy your craving. And in the love that you feel for him, you sense the light swarming, begging to be seeped into him. 

You stand beneath the stream to rinse off the shampoo, the water blanketing your head, peace penetrating your skull, tidying up the mess in your mind. Hushing out your thoughts now that your negative feelings long slinked away. You’re a new person. Clean, purified. And while you find it hard to believe, all you want to do is truly run to Yoongi. 

You can’t let him venture back to that forlorn meadow, to the ghost of his isolation. You might have shown him the way, but you have the will to stop him—and that’s more than enough. 

The healer that Jungkook is… he did it again. He dismantled your attachment and now he fixed your mind. You don’t know from what source he had rooted out the light, but he gave it to you. He gave it to you when you needed it the most, without knowing a thing about it. 

Blindly, you hook a finger around his index in a gesture of thanks. You don’t want to look at his nakedness. Don’t want to be pulled into that energy again. It brings his attention to you and you want to weep. Differently now. You want to weep due to the fact he somehow, seemingly, knows because he cups himself. Due to the roundness of his eyes that you know, that still live under your skin—differently now, too. Due to the fact that you got to be acquainted with him, despite the ruckus and the pain it came with. 

And you hope, in all truthfulness, that you remain something along the lines of friends after this day is over. How else would you have gotten to this healing? 

You open your mouth to express your gratitude, but Jungkook speaks first. “Don’t look at my worm.” 

The laughter that dribbles out of your mouth is so lightweight, so full of breezy and summer-breathed relief that the tears, which were held in, do break through the confinement and roll down the apples of your cheeks. Different, different tears. 

Friends, yes, please. You beg the heavens. May they let him become your friend. 

Jungkook scrunches his nose, squeezing your finger, relief, too, washing over him. “Don’t cry, I swear it’s not small like this all the time. It gets bi—”

“Get me a towel, you dummy,” you say, softly, amidst your sputtering laughter, wiping your tears away. Jungkook smiles, the change of the atmosphere illuminating him from beneath, and he slides the door open, letting the slight cold air in. You turn off the water, focusing your eyes on the last ripples of water draining your negative emotions until they slip, entirely, away. 

Jungkook holds out a beige towel for you. Doesn’t wrap it around you; still respects your wish. Lets you take it from him and then he disappears into the bedroom, closing the door shut behind him. 

You used the alone time to doll yourself up for Yoongi. At least a little bit—you didn’t want to overdo it, amongst other things that you already had. 

Although you missed your favorite mango scent, the cherries didn’t seem so bad and you got accustomed to it fairly quickly as you swiped a tiny bit of your cream blush along your cheeks, where you’ve let your relieved tears dry. You smeared the same tint of soft red upon the puffiness of your lips, connecting it to the perfume, connecting it to the healing that sank lower and lower in your gut. And you sealed it into the entwistment of your braid—sealed it fully.

You won’t let it leave you. Not this time; not again. 

By the time your feet pad down the wooden stairs, you discover what Yoongi was up to in his absence. Three plates of ramen are prepared on the dinner table, gone cold by now, along with utensils and opened cans of fizzy drinks. The sight lids your eyes with tears, but you stifle them, blink them away. You thought he wanted to forget you, when in reality he had you in mind the whole time. And not just you, but your culprit as well—and he cooked him food. 

A sudden roar forces your head to whisk towards the balcony. And your heartbeat quickens. You don’t feel your legs as you speed outside. 

Yoongi sits on top of the stairs, a cigarette in hand, torso twisted, facing Jungkook, whose shoulders sag in consternation, palms open towards him. He makes a move to his side, but Yoongi raises a limb to stop him. Looks at you for a moment. At your wet hair, at the same state of Jungkook’s. Your heart lodges in your throat—

“Get away from me,” Yoongi mutters, taking a long drag from his cigarette, and you don’t feel anything at all. Not your legs trembling, threatening to drop to the ground. Not the standstill of your bloodstream. You’re struck, unable to speak, to think. Yoongi rises to his feet and points his busy fingers at you. “Did you enjoy your shower?” he spits the venom in your face, ruining your makeup that you diligently put on for him—your tears flow, mingling with it, hot to the touch. “Did you enjoy fucking him?”

You gasp. “No, Yoongi, I didn’t—”

Yoongi’s own tears pool in his clouded eyes. You’ve never seen them before and they break you, tear apart the cloud in you. “You didn’t what, honey?” he croaks out. Repeats the question. 

Your sobs ache, but you don’t care. You take a step towards him, reach out your hand like you should’ve done earlier before he left and he takes it. The light that spills out from your chest radiates him, radiates him enough that he gives you the chance to explain yourself, to redeem his heart and you’re willing to do anything for it. His palm is cold, more cold than it’s ever been and Yoongi squeezes you, as if to beg you to undo the gashes upon his heart. Jungkook looks at the intertwinement for a mere second and you refuse to note the sliver of pain whirling past his eyes. Not this time; not again—this is about you and Yoongi. And you’re glad when he leaves. You don’t watch him go. 

“I didn’t have sex with him,” you whisper, the only way you could keep your voice still, your tears soaking the neckline of your lacy dress. You will your healing not to quiver, but to remain strong, remain unbreakable. “I swear on my life that I didn’t.” 

The same drops of pain pour down his face and you can’t bear it. You bury your face into his clothed chest, bunching the material of his T-shirt in your fists, needing him to believe you, needing him—

“You took a shower with him,” he breathes in pure disbelief. You feel it palpitate in his heart that your forehead is pressed against. This time, you understand right away how wrong that was—that showers are something that belongs to you and him, your shared rose garden of some sort that they could become, even though you were too smothered by the darkness to realize it fully in the moment.

You halt the shame creeping in. The guilt, the wisps of darkness. You’ve healed, and it shall stay that way. No more. 

“I took a shower alone.” The wind nips at you and it is like a slash of a whip on your back. “He came in—”

Yoongi sucks in a breath. Lets his cigarette fall to the floor of the veranda. With his lips pursed and like a bolt of lightning you can’t keep in your hands, he rips himself out of your hold and lopes inside the cabin with heavy, wrathful steps. 

And you can’t stop it—the colliding of Yoongi’s fist on Jungkook’s cheekbone. 

You yelp, grabbing a hold of the fabric of Yoongi’s T-shirt to pull him back, your sight blurred enough that you can’t see. You can’t see properly the way Yoongi doesn’t let Jungkook fall to the floor, but instead grabs him by the collar and fumes in his face. Your sobs choke you and you press yourself against his back, wrapping your arms around his torso, willing him to stop, begging him in your silent language. 

You feel the heavy, long thuds of his heart, the trembling lift and fall of his chest and you squeeze him tighter, weeping into the cloth of his garment, emitting liquid fear—fear of Yoongi receiving the same hit, fear of the darkness, much bigger one, enveloping all three of you. And you don’t have the time to blame yourself for causing this. Yoongi’s words stop you dead in your tracks. 

“You forced yourself on her?” he hisses, pushing him to and fro like the curtain billowing behind you. “Are you that fucking desperate for pussy that you forced yourself on my girl? Should I fucking kill you?” 

A momentary stillness. Your breath is loud. Louder than the hard huffs of air escaping the mouths of the two males. 

“Let go, hyung,” Jungkook croaks out, defeated. And you don’t know how the sound of it makes you feel. Perhaps, you’re feeling nothing, which is a good thing. You put your boyfriend first in your weak heart, his feelings, his well-being. Not Jungkook; not yourself. Even though your heart silently, painlessly cracks. 

“I asked you a question.” Yoongi’s wrath rises, absorbing the room, despite the fact his voice is deadly calm. You squeeze him harder. 

He did force himself into your personal space, but if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t have been healed. You wouldn’t be here, on your boyfriend’s side. And the thought of being the opposite force if he hadn’t done that, cradling his back instead of Yoongi’s terrifies you enough that you speak up—in need to fix the situation. 

“He didn’t, Yoongi. I promise,” you whimper, burying your face deeper into the middle between his shoulder blades. And there you feel his spine shake. You caress his stomach to soothe him, peppering kisses along that strong column. 

Yoongi punches him again. It reverberates throughout your whole body. You only hear the crash of Jungkook’s form onto the floor. 

“Only over my dead body will you lay a finger on her again,” Yoongi hisses and he twists his wrist to alleviate himself of the affliction scattering along his knuckles. “And what you’ve done to her, the pain you’ve caused her is something I will never forgive you for.” 

Stillness. Terrible, terrible stillness. The whip of the wind. A roar of an upcoming storm in the heavens far, far away. You don’t become it. You remain yourself. His girlfriend, defended. 

Yoongi turns around and cradles your face in his hands. Wet, worried eyes, begging you for something that you can’t pinpoint. Shiny, sniffling nose, suppressing his emotions. Red, regretful mouth, breathing out exasperated breaths. Quivering chin—quaint in the rawness of his expressed love towards you. You yearn to kiss him, you yearn to take him home, so terribly remorseful that you got him into this gut-wrenching mess. And you listen to your body, fulfill the only right decision you’ve come across since meeting his friend. 

“Let’s go home, baby,” you whisper, pecking him softly. Yoongi nods, wiping your tears away. Takes your hand and leads you towards the front door. 

Jungkook, now standing on his wobbly feet, bruised and bloodied, merely watches the pair of you. Sorrowful. And as you walk away from him, you clutch in your heart what he’s done for you. 

Yoongi hands you his car keys. “Wait in the car.” 

You nod and you go. Don’t stick around to see the unfolding of the storm. Don’t say goodbye. 

The rain pitter-patters on the roof of the car. You’re tired of it. You’re tired of the summer. Don’t find any beauty in it. Not even in the mountains and the trees. 

Yoongi hasn’t come back yet. 

Your stomach grumbles, but you don’t feel any hunger. You’ve nibbled on your bottom lip so much that rawness of blood is all that your teeth sink into. The same blood that, much like your darkened self-sabotage, trickled out of Jungkook’s nostril. It tastes bitter on your tongue. 

A ruthless carousel of scenarios spin in your mind and you’re tightly buckled in the seat of fear with no way out. The fear that, in your absence, Yoongi’s hit got reciprocated. The fear that the same blood you taste could, possibly, be on your own hands. 

You want to get away from here. Far, far away. 

When Yoongi emerges from the cabin, a thunder announces it. The only blood you detect is the dried one on his knuckles. The rain didn’t get to clean it and once he places the same hand upon the shivering coldness of your thigh, a decision perks up in you. A decision to not let anyone get in the way of mending and cleansing anymore.  

You shall be the one who does it now. Not the rain, not Jungkook. They’ve both done enough. 

And when you lift that wounded hand to your lips, you wish you could clean it with your tears—but you fear the salt would only pain him more. So you settle for your sighs of relief, for your gentle kisses and for the light in you to do the work. 

“No more tears, honey,” Yoongi murmurs, cupping your chin and pecking you. “It’s over now.” 

You drift to sleep during the ride home. 

And you sleep through the whole afternoon in an anguished effort to forget. Forget the blood, forget the sound of Jungkook’s body hitting the floor… forget yourself. 

You didn’t dream about anything at all. Only the darkness consumed you, a lullaby of nothingness. 

And when you awake, your feet groggily take you to Yoongi. They seem to know where he is, even when your eyelids are still half-closed, even when your brain still dozes. A canopy of dusky, darkening heavens, with hues of roses dispersed all around, gently fondles your eyes to rouse them fully and right here, on the balcony, much different to the one you spent your afternoon on—much smaller, much more confined—is where you find your boyfriend. An empty pack of cigarettes on the table, a cold purple lighter and a dark bottle of liquor.

His strained back greets you first. He doesn’t hear your steps; he doesn’t sense your presence and it isn’t until your fingertips touch his saddened spine that he turns around. Wrinkles of the same dejected nature, absolute despair wrung into the paleness of his face. You cradle it and you bolster it when he spills into your hands, when you feel the hotness of his tears. And you spill with him—the only thing left to do. 

You will your light to swathe him. Press his head against your chest as you lead him to take a seat with you on his lap. And you keep your mouth tightly shut when the soreness of your muscles, the slight discomfort of the burn on your skin forces a whine out of you. You keep it caged in. Put your boyfriend first. 

Sifting your fingers through his hair, you kiss his scalp—kiss his mind, even when you don’t know its contents. To ease it, whatever it was that caused him to break. 

You sit like this until the moon springs from the clouds. You don’t look at it. Refuse to. 

It’s Yoongi who speaks first, cold fingers sunk beneath your thighs, seeking your warmth. 

“Tell me everything from the beginning,” he murmurs, weary eyes boring into yours. “I need to hear it from you.” 

You’d give him anything he asked, anything he wished for; you’d pierce your heart if the time asked for it. And so you nod, place your hand on his chest, lie against his good shoulder and you begin to leak. Leak the simplest of words you’re able to find in your windswept mind. 

“He put me in a trance when we were intimate. So much that I lost my mind, lost my surroundings, lost my sense of home.” You swallow, dryly, thinking that’s the best way you could explain it without deepening the gashes upon his heart. Decide you will not overdo it. “And when you left and I breathed in the fresh air, it was like I’d woken up from it. It hurt so much. I was worried about you, but I wasn’t ready to face you. Not when I had to deal with the repercussions.” 

Yoongi squeezes the flesh of your thigh to comfort you, thumb fondling the skin back and forth, listening intently. 

“I didn’t understand at first why you left. I was so out of it. But little pieces started to put it together in my mind as I was thinking about it. And then I saw Jungkook with his head in his hands and I knew I’d done something really, really bad. I wanted to run away, like you did, but I had no other place to go to other than the bathroom. And Jungkook…” you trail off, taking a deep breath, preparing yourself mentally for this part of the story—the thread that is linked to the bruises upon Yoongi’s knuckles. “I thought he wanted to comfort me, and maybe he did. I pushed him away but he relented. He was concerned because I—” A lump forms in your throat, your lashes quiver. “I made sure the water was boiling hot because I wanted to burn off—I wanted to punish myself for making you leave, for hurting you. And then he got in the shower and I didn’t say anything.” 

You pause for a moment, thinking about how you’re supposed to mention the matter of the burn of your backside and his concern regarding it without wounding Yoongi. 

“He—” Your throat constricts and Yoongi cradles your face in his palm, lifting your head so you can gaze into his eyes, draw strength from him. He nods, encouraging you to continue, while seemingly giving you as much time as you need. Tears the lump apart. “He was worried because the hot water was making the burn on my butt worse, but I—I didn’t feel it. I was crying so hard.” 

His eyes search for something in yours and you know right away what it is. The answer to his question on whether he touched you. You wrap your arm around his neck. Glad it didn’t wound him. Enough that you overbrim with the desire to assuage his disquiet. 

“He didn’t touch me,” you whisper, although it’s not entirely true. Cold sweat dribbles down your spine. “Not in the way you think. I told him to stop. He wanted to wash me. I told him no.” 

He blinks, but you can’t read his solemn features. You see the memory of Jungkook gripping your waist and pushing you against the tiles, so you wouldn’t burn your skin, and you saying nothing displayed on them. It overwhelms you, but you fight it. What’s done is done.  

The worst part of the story awaits you. You pluck it, ready to get it over with. 

“All he did was rinse me off. And he told me about how it hurt him to see us like this because of him. I felt everything leaving me when I was listening to him. I don’t know how, but I did. He asked to wash my hair and I let him. I felt so relieved to be ridded of the guilt and the pain I felt that I started crying again. He made me laugh. And then he left me alone. I don’t know what would’ve happened to me if he hadn’t been there.” 

Stillness, awfully quiet stillness—like the one at the cabin, but you do not fear it. An abrupt onrush of strength fills your bones, giving you the notion that whatever comes next is something you’ll be able to endure. 

Yoongi drops his hand. You will your heart not to drop along with it. 

“The lines have been blurred so much that I—” He averts his gaze. Towards the glimmering stars up above as if they could give him the strength he’s now void of. “I don’t know if it’s fair for me to feel the way I do, when—when I let him have you.” 

You are able to endure it. A motherly stimulus creeps in, one that has the capacity for the mightiness of whatever it is that he’s feeling. You want to swallow it down. You desire to. 

“What do you feel, baby?” you whisper, nudging your nose against his, an Eskimo kiss to relieve him, to help him. “Tell me.” 

Yoongi narrows his eyes in regret. “It should’ve been me,” he breathes. You nod, agreeing with him, even though you’ve accepted that fate wrote it was meant to be Jungkook. Perhaps for that very reason, he was inscribed to be pulled into that whole situation to begin with, no matter how lewd it was. “And it should’ve been me under that—”

He doesn’t let himself finish his sentence, but you know what he wanted to say. It brings tears to your eyes, the fact that he hated what you had done to yourself and instead wished it was him—to whom the harm was done. 

You let them pour out. You don’t want them smothering you. You want everything out, so you can move on—so both of you can. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper. Another Eskimo kiss, a longer one this time. Yoongi sniffles against you and you want to pull out more from him, to rid him completely of those negative feelings. “Like you said, it’s over now.” 

Yoongi nods, vulnerably, and you peck him on the mouth. And he’s unable to reciprocate the kiss, for his features twist in another rush of liquid emotions. You stroke the back of his hair, running your fingers down its length, urging softly more out. 

“I don’t regret anything,” you continue, pressing your cheek against his tears, letting them seep into your skin. “Even though it hurt, I don’t regret it, Yoongi. Neither should you.” 

He sobs and it reverberates through your body. You remain strong. Strong like the mountains. “I hurt him.” 

The breath you inhale is knifing you sharply. “He loves you—”

“And I hurt him,” he cuts in, squeezing you against him, needing you. “I didn’t trust a word he said. I didn’t—” he heaves, unable to catch his breath, hiccups. “Because I thought he hurt you, I didn’t hear him out. I didn’t know he helped you.” 

“What did he tell you?”

“He told me he didn’t force himself on you, but I didn’t believe him. I gave him so much shit for it, for spanking you. And then he begged me to hit him again.” 

The healer deemed it would make Yoongi feel better. Your heart warps. 

“Did you?” 

“No.” 

You kiss his temple and you don’t realize that it’s a silent thanks until you lift your lips, however you’re not thrown off balance. It should be like this. You should feel for both men. You should feel. It makes you a living, breathing human. And Yoongi’s reactions and emotions make him human, too, even if they seem wrong in the moment. It’s not something to hate him or judge him for—it’s something to love him for. He should feel safe. Deserves to. 

It’s better than to feel nothing. 

And you tell him. A thousand times until he nods, sloshing your words in his mouth before carefully swallowing them, accepting them. 

“It’s not a lost cause. You can talk to him. And you can try again.” 

Yoongi looks at you as he takes in what you’ve said, as if the concept never crossed his mind—or, if it did, it perhaps seemed too unrealistic to make happen. As if he was doomed for life. As if he lost him forever. 

Love is never lost. And you tell him that as well. 

Yoongi lights up from within. You wipe away his tears. Brush his hair away from his face. And you give him every last drop of your light, hugging him. And he hugs you back until birds begin to sing in the sky. 

It took several weeks for Yoongi to gather courage to call Jungkook. Liquor bottles piled in a row on the balcony and you didn’t count them anymore, you just joined your boyfriend, who had become a frail skeleton, whenever his nerves asked for the burning liquid. Either you would keep him company or you’d bring your own shot glass. And each time, it would end with a subdued, murky therapy session, without the fucking. 

Yoongi hasn’t touched you since the afternoon spent in the cabin. 

He wasn’t in the mood and you stifled yours. Your body was so accustomed to the daily release of pleasure that because it didn’t have it now all of a sudden, it felt weird—it felt out of place, and you drowned it out with alcohol and smokes, drowned it out with shopping sprees until money ran out and stashes became empty. So you had to settle for your own hand. 

And it was easy. You daydreamed about Jungkook. Felt the ghost of his fingers on every sensitive place your hand roamed. On your breast, on your thigh and on your clit, in your entrance. You replayed everything he’d done to you and it didn’t hurt; you didn’t feel shame. You’ve healed to the point that it drenched you, aroused you enough to coax your orgasm out in mere minutes.

And it didn’t feel shameful because Yoongi had told you the reason why he fled the scene. 

“You were in pain and I couldn’t stand it. You wouldn’t look at me and if you did, you’d look away as if I had no role in the sex. He took control when it should’ve been me. And I didn’t do anything to stop it.” 

It wasn’t about you being so preoccupied in the trance. It was about Jungkook taking charge as if you were his. Which was what led Yoongi to think he forced himself on you in the shower. It was about him being silent and not speaking up, prioritizing your pleasure. 

It made sense to you, but you still apologized. For what, you didn’t know. Just felt the need to. And Yoongi made you feel so safe, as safe as you had made him feel that night on the balcony, that you couldn’t help but yap about how enjoyable it was for you—what Jungkook did to you. And Yoongi agreed. 

You were content that you’ve moved past the hurt and focused on the real truth beneath, revealing it: you both had enjoyed it when you were pleasured. 

You didn’t check if the conversation made him hard, for you ran into your bedroom to relieve yourself of the ache between your legs as fast as possible. But he found you. Watched you. Validated you. Validated your daydreams. Told you what to do as he smoked a cigarette, standing in between your outstretched legs before the bed, the summer wind cooling the sweat on your body. And then he told you to do it again. 

And again. 

Until he couldn’t pull out any more orgasms out of you. 

He became obsessed with it. 

Because the next day and the many after that, you did the same thing. He would watch you while you fingered yourself. He’d tell you what he’s doing to you in your daydreams, taking charge of them, what Jungkook is doing to you. Other times he’d jerk off and come all over your tummy and cunt. Still remain hard; still remain needy. He wouldn’t fuck you. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t even insulate it. Wouldn’t slip it inside the dreams. And once his desire would run out of its sweet wine, yours simply wouldn’t. And the more you both indulged in this act, you figured out two things. 

One, Yoongi used it as a coping mechanism. As a healing tool to recuperate from the afternoon spent in the cabin, one that would ultimately help him have sex with you in the long run. Two, you were riding the waves of ideas and excitement with no real fulfillment, with no release. 

Tasting the picture of the sin at first might have been enough—but the more you did it, the more you wanted to sink your teeth into the real thing. 

You wanted Jungkook again. 

And like the intelligent man Yoongi is, he figured it out, too. 

A certain number of orgasms was an indication of an ending to this playful time. And the last time you did this, Yoongi—at this number—was ready to withdraw and jump into the shower, but you grabbed his arm and pulled him back. Hungry, starved, devouring his neck, grinding your still wet pussy against his softening cock. 

He put two and two together. Immediately.

“You’re hungry for what I haven’t given you yet, aren’t you?” 

You begged for it, moaning against his artery, reveling in the feeling of his cock against you after such a long time. And when you looked at him, you saw drunkenness seizing his features. Drunkenness without the consumption of alcohol. And you felt the same inebriation enclosing around yours, knowing your desire sparked this inside of him. It felt different. Way, way different. 

“Think about how you want it. Make yourself come as many times as you want. And when I come back from the shower, tell me about it. We’ll figure it out; we’ll make it work.” 

It grazed your hunger. Squeezed it in such a playful way. Like a human hand squeezing an animal because of the cute-aggression it feels towards it. 

You didn’t know how many times you came. You were too lost in the story you constructed, soaking the bed sheets even more than you already had. Your fingers had turned wrinkly by the time you opened your eyes, finished with the plot, to see Yoongi leaning against the doorway to the bedroom, not having the heart to disturb you in your passion. 

And while you showered, playing the story in your head over and over, Yoongi cooked you food. Poured you liquid courage. Waited for you at the table, dressed only in a pair of joggers. Chain-smoked, the rule of only smoking on the balcony long forgotten during his process of healing. 

When you sat down to eat, you slid your feet across his lap. Lifted your camisole, let him see your bare cunt the way he liked it that one time; the scent of your mango body butter wafting in the air, the sultriness of an August evening carrying that eccentricness right into his senses, readying him for what you were about to tell him. 

And you began, casually, with every bite of the delicious food he made you. You got ahead of yourself, though, dumb by the intensity of adrenaline and arousal coursing in your veins. “I want you to dictate every move. And it’s up to you if you let him fuck me or not. My first idea from the start was—”

“I want you to tell me your full fantasy. What you touched yourself to. From the beginning ‘til the end.” 

You fixed your mistake quickly. 

“I dreamed about him watching us. You gave him rules. No touching. Hands on the armchair I wanted him to sit in. No talking. Then, I began with you letting him see what we’ve been doing. Loudly, vulgarly. Me playing with my pussy while you jerked off until you came all over me. Then you ate me out and wouldn’t stop until I begged you to fuck me. From behind. While you stretched my ass with a butt plug.” 

“Did I talk? Like I do normally?” 

“Yes. He heard it all. Every word you used. And I wanted you to do it to make him needy. Needy enough to beg you to let him fuck me.” 

Yoongi only cursed. And you felt him hardening again under the soles of your feet. You caressed his ache with your toes.

“He thought the butt plug was used to stretch me for him, but it was for my pleasure, for decoration. You only let him pump your cum deeper into me. You didn’t let him come. And you held me from behind. Held me open for him in the air. And then he begged you for mercy. You gave in. Dropped me to the floor. And he fucked me ruthlessly, keeping me still on the floor with his thighs around me. He wasn’t able to last long. Begged you to let him come in me and you did. And then… then he ate me out. And so did you. At the same time. And I came so hard that I squirted. Then we took a shower. All three of us.” 

“Did anything happen in the shower?” Quick, hard breaths, as if he was on the verge of an orgasm from your footjob. 

And he proved to you, with a groan, that he was when you finished your story and his joggers dampened. “No, you both just held me. And we kissed like crazy.” 

And it was this release of cum that drove him to make that phone call. 

When Jungkook picks up on the first ring, Yoongi grabs his keys, blows you an air kiss and leaves. The joy that thrums in your heart is unlike any you’ve ever felt. You know where he’s gone. You know it fully well. 

And in the meantime, you doll yourself up. 

Hours later, he returns. With a grin blossomed on his face, one you haven’t seen since the day at the cabin, and a pink bag in his hand, one he hands you as soon as he takes off his shoes. 

Inside you find the butt plug you dreamed of. Silver with a purple faux diamond in the middle. Fairly small, just the kind you’re certain you will be able to take. With a freebie of a much smaller packet of lube. To be safe playing out the fantasy. 

Yoongi kisses you so hard when you look up at him that he steals all of your breath, ridding you of your chance to thank him. 

“He’s coming over later.” 

You kiss him, equally hard. Happy that he’s happy, happy to see movement in his healing journey. You give him tiny kisses, a hundred of them, and he breathes a laugh into your mouth, his joy filling you with energy and exhilaration. Finally, finally, finally—you’ve missed this emotion of his. Glad for the sadness, for the murkiness to be gone. 

And you pray nothing gets in the way. 

When Jungkook announces his arrival by knocking on the door, the sight you’re met with is quite uncanny. Though your heart isn’t stirred by it, bouncing in your chest like a small child seeing its father after a long, long time. 

It’s been almost a month and he’s become older since the last time you saw him. His hair, grown longer and thicker, curls at his temples, ears and the nape of his neck. Round eyes have stayed the same, as well as the glint, and there’s a hint of the same joy that you’ve found in Yoongi, whirling in circles past it. Nose void of any blood, cheekbone healed from bruises. His demeanor is careful as if he had been punished enough by the fight and the silent treatment that followed it, taking off his shoes and his zipper hoodie, revealing a much bigger broadness of shoulders and arms, exposed in a tight fit of a black tank. 

While Yoongi drowned his sorrow in alcohol and smokes and then came across his relief, his air in a sexual fantasy with his friend involved, he—the said friend—clearly found his coping mechanism in the gym. 

He’s huge. As if he hadn’t already been from the military. 

You lick your lips at him, and it’s such a natural reaction that you don’t even think about what you’ve done until you perceive that he doesn’t look at you at all. And it turns you on. It turns you on that he’s holding himself back from you. You know what hides beneath, what comes out when he lets go of his good boy persona.  

Glancing at Yoongi, he’s already smirking at you with a playful gaze. Affected by his ignoring of you just the same. The shared connection thickens the energy around, but Jungkook breaks it. 

He breaks it once he lifts his head, hangs his hoodie on the back of a chair and envelops you in a hug. Defaces your evident tendency to view him as an object, scribbles it in slashes until the ink runs out. All by a few strokes of his hand down your hair, down your back clothed in a new silky robe. 

And when he withdraws from the hug, you see the healer that helped you become the person Yoongi needed on his journey. 

His somber eyes skim over the long length of your nighttime attire, as if lamenting over the fact it’s not the red one. Over its dusty-pink color that parts the fabric to reveal your smooth leg and your toes. And then he’s gone, pulling your boyfriend in the same hug that lasts a bit longer, uttering silent words that should’ve been said that afternoon at the cabin with each increase of squeezes and pats within the hold. 

You know they’ve said what they needed to hear during the phone call to mend what’s been broken. You feel a certain proudness of Yoongi for managing so well, for being at this very part of the journey. It’s praiseworthy. 

“You hungry?” 

Jungkook looks at you at last, imaginary puppy ears perking up at your question. And his eyes soften, wet with emotion from the reunion. He rubs his belly. “Starving.” 

You shuffle your feet to make your way into the kitchen, but Yoongi beats you to it. Wave a hand towards the table, inviting him to sit and, out of habit, you pour some liquid courage into a shot glass for him from the bottle you keep there instead of a vase filled with flowers. 

He merely glances at it. Doesn’t drink it. 

“How have you been?” you ask, screwing the lid back on, not being able to take your eyes off of him—your entire history faintly blanketing your sight. 

And he deepens the eye contact. 

“How do you like your butt plug?” 

Taken aback, you laugh, the atmosphere so airy all of a sudden that your cheeks flush and your lungs heave with affability. This is the friendship you had begged the heavens for. Without strings, without pain. Light-natured friendship, with flirtation in the middle. You find it hard to believe you have it. Find it hard to believe he’s here. 

Find it hard to believe that when you had told Yoongi he could try again, he took your words and created this, embedding it into your fate. 

“It’s pretty,” you say, grinning so wide your cheeks hurt. Jungkook smiles, fondly, fingers wrapping around the shot. You’re reminded, momentarily, of the way he teased you with the foot of his wine glass on your first dinner date. 

As if thinking about that night, too, his other fingers sneak to your bare knee, tapping it once. “We picked it for you.” 

You nod in feigned, exaggerated gratitude, even though you mean it, even though the thought of them choosing a sex toy for you makes you burst into flames from within. “Thank you, Oppa. Thank you so much. I will use it well.” And you bow to him with each word in your seat next to him.

Jungkook laughs and it’s such a sweet sound that you feel unfamiliar flowers growing in you, laughing along with him. He lays his palm flat on the entirety of your knee. Heavy, strong, warm. Then, he widens his eyes, as if he only now realized what you’ve called him. “You’re younger than me?” 

You’ve guessed he was older than you. “I was born in 1999. I take it you’re around the same age as Yoongi?” 

Not the same, entirely. You recall him calling Yoongi ‘hyung’. He must be a year or a few years younger. 

That tenderness you know flashes in his face. “I was born in 1997. Yoongi is older than me.” 

Your mouth opens in the shape of ‘O’. Jungkook’s eyes flick to it before he averts them, slapping the side of your thigh gently, sighing as if he held his breath the entire time. Only then does he down the shot you poured him, keeping his hand there. 

Such a blessing, the simple act of getting to know him. 

He slouches in his seat and you ask him again. “How have you been?”

Smacking his mouth, he roams his gaze along the perimeters of the dinner table. And you realize he’s avoiding the question. Avoided it the first time you launched it at him, too. 

You fold your fingers under his palm on your knee, signaling your understanding and sympathy. Don’t want to think about the healing journey he had to walk through by himself. He’s reached the end and that’s the most important thing as of now. You caress his reddened, tattooed knuckles, smeared with flecks of violet and yellow—much like your bum that one afternoon—with your thumb, wondering how that tinge came to live there. “What happened to your hand?” 

Jungkook contemplates your study of his hand, stoically, still as ever. Then, his mouth rounds, barely, in a tiny suggestion of sadness. Your heart catches it before it disappears, making it hers. In such a swift moment that you don’t realize what you’ve done. 

“Boxing,” he murmurs, eyeing the way your hand is enclosed around his large palm, the way your thumb hovers over his knuckles, as if afraid to cause them any more pain. Seems touched by it and your brows knit, your heart speaking to you, telling you something, urgently, but you don’t understand her. 

“You don’t wear boxing gloves?” 

Jungkook shakes his head ‘no’. “Didn’t want to.” 

And then it hits you—the language of your heart unfolding within you, deciphered at last. It hits you how you and him are very much alike. 

This is his coping mechanism. Hurting his hand as he lets out his negative emotions. Knowing, just like you, that the pain is the gain, the relief. And by the state of the bruises, you were wrong. He’s not at the end of his healing journey—and he’s nowhere near the beginning. He traipses around it, steering clear of it, ignoring it. 

Your lungs swell. And that motherly impulse you’re familiar with croons around them, extends towards him with the dutiful intention to heal. 

And you will. 

You will heal both of the males. 

And the decision is strengthened even more in you when Jungkook hears Yoongi’s footsteps and startles, extracting his hand from your hold, from your thigh. Like he startled upon hearing your movement back then, scurrying towards your bag as if you were intending to leave him, abandon him. 

It is your heart that weeps now for him, not your eyes, remembering the words Yoongi uttered over his bruised cheek and bloody nose. Only over my dead body will you lay a finger on her again. You try your hardest to remain strong on the outside. For him, for Yoongi, for yourself. You try your hardest to forget that declaration, that physical pain of his, considering it over—long gone, a lifetime away. 

And when your boyfriend sets the full plates of food in front of him and he digs in wordlessly, you watch him. With a landslide in your insides. With a hand on his muscled arm, stroking back and forth, eyes flicked momentarily to Yoongi, willing him to see how broken his friend is. 

But Yoongi can’t bear to see it. 

He settles for a drink instead, fixing his gaze on the table. Takes a step back on his journey, his nerves pursuing him. And so he’s not alone, because it is your duty, you follow him into that rabbit hole like the Alice you are. With empty hands, void of any control, despite the onus you own in your heart. 

By the time sex is even mentioned between the three of you, you’re tipsy and your head is swimming. 

You’re conscious, aware of your body, aware of your surroundings and your home. Aware that you’re intoxicated, too, and it’s a peculiar feeling—to be present in your body and out of it just the same. And you owe it to the males sitting around the table. To the owner of the house, mainly. 

Yoongi has taken such a dominant role naturally that he’s the reason why your head is taking laps in his energy. And it was him who put the topic of sex to the front after double meanings found their way into the gradually unfurling conversation, imbued with exuberance. Asked Jungkook straight away if he’d been sexually active with people after you, to which he merely shook his head ‘no’, too vulnerable to express it in his own words. You don’t think Yoongi even realized the gravity of the question, influenced by the alcohol, the lighthearted energy and the fact that he got his friend back. And Yoongi… he praised him for it, making his head lift in disbelief and coyness. You saw the way it healed him, brought color to his face— it happened so quickly, too quickly, Yoongi turning the leaf over right after, seamlessly leading the conversation back to the double meanings, working them up until you and Jungkook blushed. 

But you didn’t listen entirely, and neither did Jungkook. You surveyed the way he turned the praise over in his mind, dwelling on it. And you knew, without a doubt, that, besides healing him—undoing the ugly words flung at him that day, it turned him on. He played with his bracelet in the air, a faint smile on his mouth, legs outstretched, touching yours, and you… you wanted to play with him, too. Your body begged you for it, telling you it’s time. 

In fact, you knew very well what the little bit of alcohol Yoongi drank was doing to him. Much like Jungkook, it helped him avoid the matter of his friend’s sensitive burden at hand while collecting information. Especially about where he stands in the realm of the three of you and sex. And while you’ve let him do it, thinking it was something he needed to do on his journey, you've also been deciding for the last half an hour when it was time to put a stop to it. The sexual comments, the double meanings—it became too much, became too obvious, even though he, in most probability, wasn’t even aware of it, was doing it for you unconsciously. And your body agreed, whispering to you that the only way you could do that was to take advantage of what was right before you.

You were going to outrun your boyfriend and seduce them both. 

You light up a cigarette, bringing Yoongi’s attention to you. You graze your foot on his shin as you cross your legs, lifting it higher until you reach his thigh. And when you take a long drag, you skim your hand on Jungkook’s knee, briefly—calling for his attention, too, preparing him. Your toe feels up Yoongi’s soft manhood and he stops talking, your hand trailing along the side of Jungkook’s thigh, inches away from his intimate parts. They let you touch them, both heads turned in your direction. 

Stillness, arousing stillness. You smile, innocently. 

Before Yoongi has the chance to scold you for interrupting him, you withdraw. You withdraw entirely. Pretend to take your cigarette to the balcony. Jungkook lifts his hand to grab yours, to put it back where it was, but you’re gone before you could take him up on it. 

You feel both of them watching you as you leave. You sway your hips a little. It makes you chuckle. Makes you feel invincible.

You stay there but for a mere moment. Don’t even finish your cigarette before you put it out in the ashtray. And when you return, you undo the knot while they are preoccupied, unaware of you. Uncover the outfit you spent your money on while Yoongi healed. 

A sheer, black crop top, with polka dots and puffed sleeves, that ties in the middle, ending beneath your breasts and adding nothing to the imagination. Could be mistaken for a wireless bra. Panties of the same tulle material with frills on the side. You leave your robe undone, the act of revealing yourself so casually stiffening your nipples. You consider taking a seat as if you did no such thing, but an idea pulls you to your boyfriend, who’s ignorant to your scheme, listening to something that Jungkook is telling him. 

You don’t grasp any of the words coming out of his mouth, however you do focus on the deep intonation of his voice. Let it curl beneath your skin; propel you to act out on your whim. 

You take a seat on Yoongi’s lap. Jungkook’s gaze falls on your intimate form, bare under the almost translucent fabric, and he parts his lips. He watches as Yoongi wraps an arm around your middle and smiles at the feeling of your bare skin. You rock your hips once, backwards, pretending you’re shifting to make yourself comfortable and Yoongi grips your waist until his fingers turn white. Jungkook doesn’t stop talking, hides his astonishment at your behavior, at your boldness. Doesn’t stop looking at you and neither do you at him, nodding to every other word as if you were listening. That is until you grab a handful of cheese balls and pop one by one into your mouth, purposefully letting one of them fall into your cleavage. 

“Can you get it for me? My hands are full.”

You have a perfectly free hand by your side.

You’ve interrupted him so rudely that you’re surprised that he doesn’t frown at you, but smirks instead. Yoongi caresses your thigh, validating you, catching onto your scheme, and it spreads the fire that burst in you hours ago, making it bigger, hotter. 

It’s time. You want both of them, badly. 

You lean forward for him, fingers ready for the next move you’re planning. Jungkook lifts a hand, reaches for the orange treat in the middle of your breasts and before his digits have the time to grasp it, you pull on the loose knot on your top, your flesh spilling, the treat slipping onto the floor.

He only chuckles, deeply. Teased, but pleased. 

“Oh, no.” Fake pity; fake pout. You look at the cheese ball, then back at Jungkook. Your impishness reflects in the blazing fire of his eyes, the same one that courses through your body. “I guess I didn’t tie it properly. Can you do it for me? My hand is dirty.” 

You eat the last remaining cheese balls while staring him dead in the eye. Show him your orange-tinted fingers once you’re done. A spark flashes in the fire; piques his interest. 

Leaning forward even more, Yoongi uses your position to slide your robe down your shoulders. Lifts you for a second to rid you completely of it, setting you back down sharply, causing your breasts to bounce. Throws it on Jungkook’s lap. A gesture that tells him playtime has begun. He sucks in a breath, biting his bottom lip, the way Yoongi gathers your hair in his fist stealing his attention fleetingly from you, fingers clutching the fabric. 

And when he takes the swinging laces in his hands and barely tightens them, you click your tongue, disapprovingly. “Tighter.” 

It arouses the beast in him, eyes lidding ever so slightly. He pulls on the laces until your breasts are squished together. “Like this?” 

You wet your lips before you quirk them up. “Yes. Make a bow for me.” 

Jungkook deepens the eye contact as he obeys. You lift your chin, asserting Yoongi’s dominance, taking after him, the inkling to own that beast in him absorbing you whole. 

And you shall. 

When he’s finished with the bow, he grazes the material of your top, fingers flat against your nipples before he slouches back in his chair. The touch was too brief for your liking, yet it spurs your cunt to soak your panties, the notion that you’ve done it intoxicating your senses—you’ve seduced him. 

You mimic what he did, theatrically—you slouch back into Yoongi’s chest, turn your chin to the side to tell on him. “Yoongi, he touched me.” 

Yoongi only smirks, playing along. “Did he? How? Show me.” 

Your fingers fly to your pebbled nipples, stroking them in downward motion like he did before you repeat it. Again and again. Your hips begin to slowly rotate, your body reacting to your touch, to the pleasure you’re giving it. “Like this.” 

Jungkook’s breath hitches in his throat. He spreads his legs. You do, too. And when you whimper, he twitches, your robe slipping onto the ground, joining the cheese ball. 

“Did it feel good? When he touched you there?” Yoongi asks, hands spreading across your thighs. You make a noise of agreement, whining into it. “Does it feel as good now?” 

You shake your head ‘no’, meaning it. “No, it makes me needy.”  

Yoongi hums. “Where?” 

You cup the soaked material of your panties, right over your cunt with one hand, while the other squeezes your breast. “Here.” 

Your boyfriend opens your legs wider, as if to take a closer look at what body part you’re showing him. “You should do something about that, shouldn’t you?”

“Like what?” 

“Touch yourself.” 

Jungkook stills. Doesn’t breathe. Doesn’t blink. Neither do you. 

“How?” 

“I don’t know, maybe I should ask him,” he mumbles, fingers playing with the frills on your hips. “Do you want me to ask him?” 

The asking of consent, beckoning out your slick. You nod your head. “Ask him, please, I can’t take it anymore.”

Jungkook’s mouth is parted in an enigmatic manner, waiting—waiting to be given what your boyfriend long teased him with. And you like the suspense, the tension pulled so taut, the process before he’s gratified. It makes you even needier and, like Jungkook, you clutch the fabric of your panties in impatience. 

Yoongi doesn’t ask right away. He tortures Jungkook until his lips lose their moisture. Dry, like a withered flower asking for the tiniest raindrop to refresh. And you want to give it to him. You’re leaking so much dewiness it is only right that he could get to drink it. You tuck that thought into your heart. 

Yoongi hooks his thumbs under the waistband of your panties and slowly, like your robe, drags them down as far as he can reach. Then, he lets them pool by your knees. “Take them off of her,” he commands in a hushed tone, fingers drifting to your waist, stopping by your mound and your stomach on the way. And it isn’t until Jungkook rids you fully of the wet undergarment that he finally asks: “How should she touch herself?” 

Jungkook crumples it in his fist, tightly enough that white comes into view across his colorful knuckles upon the denim of his jeans. And among other things, his breath hardens. Gazes into your eyes as he says to Yoongi, “Tell her to lift her legs, lick her fingers and rub her princess parts until it feels good.” 

He’s tuned in into the role-play. You think about how you wanted to turn off your brain for him when he had told you to not think that he’d ever get sick of you. How you wanted to keep it stupid for him. 

You know that if you were to do that, if you were to let go—that he’d put you under his spell again, but you’re not letting that cave in on you. Because when Yoongi imparts the instructions to you and you lift your leg, propping your foot on Jungkook’s thigh, saliva-coated fingers finding your clit, you feel a sliver of something indescribably exhilarating. 

Jungkook moans at the first few careful circles. And it’s him who becomes hypnotized. 

It’s your green light to play the role of a stupid, innocent girl—in the hands of two very experienced, aroused men. Seduced, more like. You pat yourself on the back, mentally.  

And the proud feeling of your achievement, the feeling of his vigorous and ardent observance of your pleasured cunt, of the tendril of the profound reminiscence that sweeps in as if he truly missed the sight of her—it all incites you to speed up your movement. To consciously immerse yourself deeper in the role, in the pretending. You figure it should work like this; you won’t get submerged in the water of the hypnosis if you remain in control, clinging to it with all your might. Not if Jungkook is the one spellbound this time. 

You feel your orgasm drawing closer at that thought, breathing against your body. 

“Am I doing it right?” 

Jungkook sneaks a hand around your ankle, hard breaths puffing out of his still parted mouth, cheeks full of vibrant color, eyes dazed—so awfully dazed and fixed on your cunt, on the sheen of your arousal splattered on your folds. Then, he licks his lips, slouches further in his seat after he moves his chair to be more in line with you. Horny, curious puppy, needing to see the full view; your work of art. Yoongi’s soft chuckle rumbles against your scalp and you realize he’s been watching him this entire time, studying him—assessing the situation meticulously. 

“Is she doing it right?” Yoongi asks and you can hear the smirk coating his voice. Jungkook’s other hand, with the panties still clutched, wraps around his hard length, brows furrowing and you whine at the sight, but Yoongi tuts, disapproving. “No touching.” 

Jungkook lifts his hand and so do you—to stall your orgasm, the principle of Jungkook obeying so easily almost throwing you over the edge. You breathe heavily, a tingly sensation swarming within your skin, a certain string of words rising on your tongue. 

You turn your head towards Yoongi. Dart out your tongue to lick swiftly at his bottom lip before you kiss him. Yoongi hums, pleased. “Tell him he’s a good boy.”

Another similar sound, one that makes you smile. You drift a hand towards the back of his head, fingers sinking into the dark length of his hair. Yoongi purrs, blinking down at you like rose petals fluttering—you feel as though you were at the very beginning, living through the moment you learned Jungkook’s name, as if no pain, no murkiness never settled upon the three of you. You don’t know how it makes you feel and you hardly want to decipher it; you gravitate towards enjoying yourself more, thoughts and feelings pushed to the side. 

“He is, isn’t he?” Yoongi murmurs, taking your arm gently in his hand and joining it to your other one around the back of his head, then he roams his back, takes his time, until he plants it upon your cunt. You spasm at the long-awaited contact. “He listens well. So out of it, the poor thing forgot to speak. Maybe we should help him with that, don’t you think?” Poor thing. Your hole clenches, drooling with your dewiness and you groan, the aspect of Jungkook being degraded like this, after he dominated both of you the last time, making you utterly, utterly feral. 

At your noise, Yoongi begins to play with your slippery folds, pressing them together with his fingers flat on each side—not touching your pussy, but pleasuring her nonetheless. You give him more at each squeeze he bestows on your clit, elated that he’s touching her after such a long time, elated that he’s able to. 

It is, undeniably, working like this. Your heart thrums with elation. Happy it has come to this, happy it’s different this time—happy that both parties are happy. 

Not wishing to lose the momentum, you gaze at Jungkook. At the light cascading dimly from his lip ring—that pink, puffy, dry mouth that you long to kiss, that you long to feel on your bundle of nerves. His eyes seem to grow in size at your attention and you’re so touched to witness something like that. You need to ride his face; you need to watch those eyes roll back. You can see his need to take charge, to tell both of you what to do by his irregular breaths, clenched fists and bulging muscles, veins so prominent that you do well not staring at them at all—but he subdues that need, perhaps for you, perhaps for Yoongi. Both possibilities graze your feelings with such fondness that he’s putting himself last, prioritizing the hard truth: you’re not his, not in the sexual ambiance of your time spent together, not even in the lasciviousness of your daydreams. 

You’re Yoongi’s and he’s the boss, one he should’ve been since the beginning. And that’s the core of the difference. The key that makes this work. 

Covering your mouth, you spill your idea of how you should help Jungkook speak into Yoongi’s ear while keeping your eyes on his round ones. He aches to be let in on it, to know, but you don’t allow him that satisfaction. In fact, when you beam at Yoongi once you withdraw, it’s more of a provocation directed towards the puppy than an expression of your true joy. 

“Yes, fuck yes,” Yoongi agrees, orbs aglow by the idea, by something that you can only pin down to a feeling of safety within the environment. He feels safe. Feels comfortable. Feels okay—more than okay by the hardening length against your bum, by the moonbeams flecking across his irises, by the extension of his index finger to your clit, which makes you freeze, stop breathing altogether. “But I want to make you come first. Can I?” 

You peck him, deeply, to seal that package of positive feelings in him, to seal that sense of safety and comfort. Nod a million times. “Yes, please, baby. I need it.” 

Yoongi coos at the pet name, at your willing submissiveness to him and expression of neediness. Nudges his nose against yours. “Need what?” 

You giggle softly. Happy, so awfully happy. “I need you to make me come,” you say, but your words are muffled by the way he skims his mouth over yours, and you don’t think over the next words directed to the other male that tumble out of you. “You want to watch?” 

A stupid, stupid question because he’s been watching this entire time, although it breaks something. Breaks the invisible wall between you, Yoongi and him—breaks his coyness as he sets your foot down and leans forward, smiling fondly. “I’d be happy to watch. Honored.” 

It breaks the unspoken, unseen tension. Breaks the past. Breaks the hurt. And the difference, now validated, made beautiful by his smile, sinks in, spreads across the atmosphere surrounded by the three of you. The sense of safety and comfort now sails over into Jungkook’s pores, slipping inside. And you could burst now. Burst with your joy. 

The afternoon spent in the cabin dissolves. 

You didn’t expect that to happen. 

Yoongi feels it—and you feel him feel it by the trembling breaths he takes against your back. And even though you went into the rabbit hole with him with empty hands, now you hold healing in them. A warm round body of light, heavy and thick, ready for them both. Yoongi might have talked Jungkook’s head off and drank until his nerves eased and was able to escape them, but now he’s eligible to take the light. Jungkook is, too, now that he’s given you his consent for the dynamic to be different. A certain kind of glorious satisfaction envelops you in glow, ridding you of any intoxication and you’re bare. Vulnerable, horny and so tremendously bright. Filled with flowers, filled with love, filled with a delicious, selfish taste of control. 

You want to kiss Jungkook, but you recognize right away that there’s a time and a place for that, one that is not appropriate now. You stifle your craving, wiggle your hips to let Yoongi know you want him to begin. 

You brim with the need to forget now and just enjoy yourself, enjoy yourself at the hands of your long-awaited desire, now boundless, now right, now different. And you break the crumbles of the wall, the hurt and the past when you tell them. “I want us to forget about the last time and enjoy where we are right now. Can we do that?” 

Although you don’t know the contents of the long conversation they had in private about this, you’re glad you’ve said it out loud. Glad it’s out of your chest. Glad for the kiss Yoongi plants on your temple. Glad for Jungkook’s hand encasing yours. Even if that’s the only way they communicate their agreement. 

Out with the old, in with the new. 

And Jungkook keeps holding your hand when Yoongi begins to rub your clit. He tightens his hold, in fact, at the first twist of your features, at the relief intermingling, despite the fact he knows nothing about how this is the first time Yoongi touched you like this since forever ago. His hand feels much more different than yours, much more nimble and much quicker. And the pleasure that floods your body is more about that than it is about the stimulation. A wish pricks at you, a wish to tell him, but you don’t let it get near you, not when you know the time for that is long, long gone, not when forgetting is supposed to take place now because the new is here. 

You push those thoughts entirely away. The thoughts of there being a certain forever ago, a certain past along with it, too. 

And then Yoongi hums and the sound sweeps it far, far away from you. 

He pinches your nipple. Finds it’s not enough and forces your top open, undoing the bow, baring you to his and Jungkook’s eyes. Joins his other hand to knead both of your full breasts, but you whine, needing him elsewhere. Yoongi chuckles, listening to you—drifting his hand immediately back down to your clit, resuming his swift circles.  

Jungkook salivates. Makes no indication of being in demand of participation. Merely wipes at the corners of his mouth while his other hand squeezes yours in a tight, clammy hold. Light protrudes from his eyes, akin to the one you still own, cooling the sweat layering upon your body. No darkness of arousal, none whatsoever, only the chocolate brown of his irises, vibrant, mesmerized and absolutely affectionate. 

Newness, you breathe it in and exhale a moan. Yoongi changes direction. Moves from circles to side to side, angling your body so he can give it his all. You feel the incoming pressure of your orgasm and you ready yourself for it, squeezing your eyes shut. And when he decides to alternate, so quickly that you lose track of it, it is your ultimate undoing. 

Mainly when Yoongi curtly slaps your clit, transferring you back to the very beginning of your story, rooting you there. You come so hard that you fall apart. 

Tears fly out of you, but you laugh—and the sound is broken by a deep moan from your chest caused by pure, boundless euphoria. Yoongi prolongs your orgasm, keeps strumming your clit, purring onto your mouth and you open your eyes to witness his devotion to it, to your pleasure. Brows furrowed, eyes lidded, pouty mouth. Adamant on making you feel as good as—

It triggers another orgasm. A softer, mellow one. And the string of noises you let out are of the same dulcet nature. Yoongi swallows them, groaning, fondling your pussy, patting her gently, making you tremble, woozy, giddy and so incredibly girly. 

“That was so good,” he whispers, caressing you everywhere and you nod, a million times. You’ve missed him, terribly. 

You give him a nasty kiss full of tongue, aware of what’s happened and of what’s next just the same. 

Yoongi perches on the floor, knees on either side of yours as you crawl towards Jungkook’s lap. He leans back, a surprised grin appearing on his flustered face. And it hits him like a ton of bricks when you pop his button open and drag down the zipper of his jeans. Your words that follow, too. 

“Off. Everything.” 

“You want to suck me off?” A calm bewilderment coats his voice, such a heavy oxymoron for him to bear when he was fine with just watching. 

You smile at him briefly before you wet your lips, eager to make happen what he can’t believe you’re willing to do for him. “I knew it would get you talking.” 

An airy laugh. So endearing to your hearing sense. He cradles your chin for a mere beat of time. “You’re so smart.” He takes off his tank, revealing his enormous pecs adorned with a long but dainty silver chain that you crave to have swinging in your face, that steals your attention from the dose of validation he gave you. 

But when Yoongi leaves, your heart sinks in panic. 

Only to hoist it back up when you realize he went to fetch the gift he bought you, along with a bigger tube of lube from your bedroom. Your body tremors and it’s both of the males that try to alleviate it. Yoongi, who settles back behind you, fondling the skin of your bare bum. Jungkook, who turns you to look at him, nodding once to let you know everything’s okay. 

You release a breath, but you can’t hide the shakes. 

Jungkook strokes your brow. A tender touch that drives you to believe him. Yes, everything’s okay. The past is gone. Healing is contained in the conscious reminders. The light in your hands flutters, calling out to you, and you press it over that heft of your wandering heart. 

It’s you who alleviates the tremors. 

And when you take off your top, Jungkook follows suit, ridding himself of his jeans.

To distract your mind from hurling false thoughts at you, you finally allow yourself to look at his hard length—still, disappointingly clothed. Thick. You can almost feel the memory of him, the heaviness of him, when he had you pressed against him by the pond. The first time you touched him. You groan, softly. “Off.” 

Jungkook coos, patting you on the cheek with his finger. “So eager.” 

He paints a smile on your face with that brush of his digit. “Be a good boy and listen.” 

Without taking his eyes off of you, he swears. Pulls his manhood out, tugs his boxers a few inches down and you bite back a gasp, a moan and something in between. Red, swollen tip, the petal of a sun-kissed rose, little thick veins enveloping the girth. He keeps his balls covered to tease you. “Like this, Mommy?” 

You glare at him and it’s Yoongi’s second-hand embarrassment laughter that smooths out your features, contagious to such a great extent that when you look back at him to see him pinching the bridge of his nose with his eyes squeezed and crinkly, you burst into the same laughter, lungs expanding, exhaling all that heft and momentary residue of panic until there’s nothing negative left. 

It even radiates Jungkook. He laughs so much that his cock bounces, which deepens your giggles and you hide your face in your hands. 

And when the conveyance of joy simmers, another tender tears rush out of your tear ducts. Good tears. You’re so content with life shared with the two males that you can’t help but be emotional. You shield those tears behind the premise of your laughter. They’re private—just yours. The final conclusion of the dark side. 

Yoongi skims his fingers across your tiny hole. Back to business. 

You tug Jungkook’s boxers all the way down and you lift his ankle to rid him completely of them. Mimic the way he did it to you. You even think about keeping them. Think about how this is exactly how it should be—recollecting only the good parts of the story, the light side while letting the dark one go. Jungkook sees it on your face and he lets you decide. 

You don’t have to think twice. 

You fling his underwear on the chair you sat on. Jungkook caresses your hair in response and you smile at him. Yoongi leans over you, fists your hair and pushes you toward Jungkook’s cock. At the sight, the puppy swears. 

“Spit on it. Make it nice and wet for him,” Yoongi orders and there’s slyness to your ever persisting smile when you gather your saliva and do exactly as he says. 

At the first contact of your liquid love, Jungkook swears again and there’s no stopping to that litany of vulgar words when you, just like him, swirl it around the top of his head with the tip of your tongue without taking your gaze off of him. It’s at this movement of yours that a flashback gleams across his still round, tender eyes for a split second. Now he remembers, now you’ve pulled him back to the place you didn’t even realize that you did. 

Yoongi guides you to wrap your mouth around him and Jungkook loses it. 

The suction of your cheeks, the eye contact, the warmth of your mouth and the wetness of your tongue, Jungkook rolls his eyes back before he whisks them back to you, not able to miss one moment of the pleasure you give him. Yoongi pushes your head back and forth and when it dawns upon you that there’s nothing else for you to do but to keep your mouth open while Yoongi does all the work, you moan. And like Jungkook, you can’t stop. 

You feel Yoongi’s lips at your ear. “You think you can take him all the way?” 

The mewl that comes out of you is the only agreement you can manage to give him. Yoongi groans, kissing your earlobe before he licks it, nibbles on it, taking his mouth to the skin beneath, causing your eyes to narrow. Your pussy drenches, throbs and your hand automatically flies to her. You rub yourself slowly to gain a hint of relief, bobbing your head up and down, tongue feeling up the thick veins along his girth and you whine so desperately—enough for Yoongi to check what was the cause of it. 

He draws back. Finds you touching yourself. Clicks his tongue and chuckles in absolute appreciation. He likes what he sees. Pushes your head until your nose swipes past Jungkook’s minimal pubic hair and only when you gag does he let you breathe—does he let you play with his tip on your own. “Mommy is playing with her needy cunt.” 

The curse word that wafts in the air is singular, coming out of your and Jungkook’s mouth simultaneously. There’s no laughter this time. Just thick arousal spreading across the room, dizzying all of your senses. Jungkook is breathless and the look you share is desperate, unspoken but so, so vivid. You take him in your free hand and jerk him off, reveling in the feeling of his veins. You give him all of your whiny moans, straightening up, your fingers sneaking to your hole. Eyes narrowing, mouth open, the sounds of your slick saliva in your tight grasp so obscene, so stimulating that when you begin to finger yourself and Yoongi latches his lips onto your neck, you know you’ll be coming in mere, pathetic minutes. 

Jungkook leans forward a little bit to watch you stuffing yourself full. Bites his lip, closes his eyes when you tighten your grip around his head. And you do it again and again to coax his moans and he willingly supplies you with them. Opens his eyes and the look he gives you stops time. “So good. So fucking good.” 

You yearn to kiss him and he does, too. You twist your wrist and he loses himself for a moment. That alone speeds up the coming of your orgasm. Your body flares with heat, your fingers picking up their speed instinctually and Jungkook angles his head to kiss you—

You push him back. To tease him, to make him more desperate because it pleases you and Jungkook smirks at you, gripping your panties in his fist. Hiding your own, you lick him all over and get to the undiscovered part you want the most. 

You mouth his full balls. Whimper against them. Hot flashes fill your sight at the scent of him, even more so when Jungkook inhales your sounds and emits the same ones. “Fuck, sweetheart, oh fuck, yes, like that.” Takes your hand and busies it, wrapping it around his length. You spasm at the pet name, at the warmth that seeps into your skin from him.  

It’s him who guides you now. Yoongi merely watches, in awe, wet fingers rubbing circles on your tiny hole, preparing you. “That’s it, honey, make him come.” 

You’re so overwhelmed by your task that you withdraw your fingers from your heat, though Yoongi is quick to replace his. And the speed he establishes, you mimic it on Jungkook’s length and he grunts at the contact of your dewiness on him. You twists your wrists, fucking yourself back on Yoongi’s fingers. Bore your gaze into Jungkook’s. Hard, hard breaths, quickening lifts of his chest, he struggles to reciprocate your eye contact, the rhythm so beautiful so seamless, working so well. 

And when you wrap your lips around him and suck him with fast bobs, he comes. 

You open your mouth, yearning to feel him paint your face. Quick to grip his balls to feel them emptying out for you and you milk his cum out of him, jerking him off until his ropes smear on the corners of your lips, hot and thick. Yoongi pulls out his fingers, latches them onto your hip. “Stick out your tongue.” 

You do as he says, in time to catch the last rope landing onto the muscle. You hum, swallowing, watching the tension screwing his features and the relief unweaving it as his orgasm reaches the end. Winded, dumbfounded, gruntled. A lovely sight to behold. 

Jungkook’s grip loosens on your panties. And with his other hand, he feeds you his cum. Swipes his fingers from your cheek onto your mouth, plunging it inside. Yoongi kisses the side of your face, gripping your neck to hold your head steady for Jungkook, allowing him to finish the job. 

You swallow everything, the taste of him suffused with mild earthiness, with tanginess and the tiniest hint of sweetness. Liquid candy, just for you. You allow him to see how much you enjoyed that, but it’s Yoongi first to whom you show that you’ve swallowed everything. 

Your boyfriend beams at you. “Well done, honey.” He kisses you hard, licking into your mouth, and the thought of him tasting the residue of Jungkook numbs your senses entirely. “You did so well.” 

You’re panting when he withdraws and when you look at Jungkook, there’s a moment of stillness when you take in the thundering turmoil rushing inside him. You don’t have to guess what’s behind it. Jungkook voices it. “Let me kiss her, please.” 

Such a soft murmur, charged with so much desperation. You break at the sound of it, gripping his hand, furrowing your brows, ready to give him anything he wants, boundlessly. Your heart thuds and it only takes one look at Yoongi and he folds, too. 

Nods. 

You thought he’d kiss you from the position you’re in, but Jungkook stands to his feet, grabbing you along with him, picking you up like a child by sliding his hands under your armpits. And when he presses you against him and kisses you hungrily with fast pecks, breathing hard, you discern how illogical it was for him to call you Mommy. 

Even though he can listen like a good boy, it’s merely a role, one he plays for you, for Yoongi, one that fragments with each kiss. Who he truly is the reversal of it. 

He’s Daddy. Undeniably. 

You’ve never been keen for titles. You and Yoongi never used them, never felt the need for it, hence why you both laughed when it came up. But the more you kiss him, the more you sense it. The awakening dominance, the tendril of fatherliness that spirals around you, the deserved respect he emanates. It turns you on to the point that you find yourself wondering what else is there beneath the shadows of your undiscovered sexuality. 

The feeling of his warm skin against yours, his still hard manhood against your stomach, the provocation of the lip ring, the softness of his mouth slowing down and prolonging the kiss—fuck. How much more can you possibly get aroused? He empties out your brain, but you’re calm, not panicked by it at all. And to stay conscious, to stay in control, you wrap your hand around him again. 

He hisses, breaking the kiss, grasping your hand. “Too sensitive. Sorry. I came so hard.” 

You coo, pecking him deeply, squeezing his broad shoulders. “It’s okay.” 

When you turn around to give your attention to Yoongi, you find him deep in thought, fixed on Jungkook. “Remember how she came when you kissed her? At the cabin?” 

Your heart speeds up. Not due to fear or anything of the sort, but due to excitement. You know where he’s heading with this. 

“Hard to forget,” Jungkook murmurs and it thrums beneath your skin, spreading wide. 

“She came multiple times when I made her think about that,” Yoongi starts and you can’t halt the smile growing on your lips. A tiny whirl of shyness mingles with the words coursing through your bloodstream. “It’s what we did. I made her imagine that you were kissing her, eating her out while she touched herself. And now I want you to give it to her. Give it to her good. Better than she was able to imagine.” 

Sharp inhale of breath. You want to see his reaction to your secret—but then hands. Clammy hands on your hips, nose nuzzling in your hair. “Who’s gonna be in control when I do that?” 

Your eyes widen, pulse quickening to the point that it troubles you. 

And Yoongi looks at you when he answers his question, “You. It’s me who’s gonna watch now.” 

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist / READ part one, READ part two 

[undreaming-fanfiction]

May I suggest 32. from the 100 prompts list with vampire/kas Eddie?

Your wish is my command!

"This is, by far, the dumbest thing you've ever done."

Steve didn't even turn around, he was calmly checking his backpack and its contents. Several pairs of latex gloves, a face mask, a rope (why?), a huge fabric bag. There was even a ridiculous hat to cover his infamous hair. "So you've said," he quipped back, giving Eddie a humorless smile. "And not just once."

Eddie threw up his hands, frustrated. "Yeah, and did it help, Steve? Reconsidering yet so I can change my repertoire?"

"I can reconsider. As long as you will."

The tiny spark of hope in Eddie's chest got cruelly extinguished. "I'm not letting you bleed into bottles, Harrington, you or anyone else. Besides, we don't even know if I CAN drink cold blood. You know. Displaced. Out of its natural habitat."

Steve just scoffed and grabbed a bottle of cleaner and a rug, stuffed them in the backpack. "You can just, I don't know, microwave it. Heat it up on a stove. What do I know, you're the wild one according to Henderson. Get creative."

Eddie groaned. He hated that it made some twisted sort of a sense. Very twisted. "I'm not microwaving your blood, Steve."

"Well, then we're out of options." Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes. Eddie felt like kissing him stupid, except this - but not Steve, never Steve - was already so stupid. "Look. I don't really enjoy committing crimes either, Eddie. But I need to be sure you're getting what you need if something happens. At least for a few days. Your...condition," and Eddie had to laugh at that, condition, as if that somehow encompassed him becoming a fucking Upside Down vampire, "...requires blood. There's no changing that. Yet. Maybe ever. I don't care if you decide to, I don't know, sleep hanging from the stairs or wear capes, but I'm making sure you're not hungry if someone can't get to you in time. I'd be a shitty boyfriend if I didn't do at least that."

He took a few steps towards Eddie, touched his lips. The canines were sharp and Eddie could feel the pressure against his teeth, Steve's fingertip pushing inside his mouth and intentionally puncturing the skin, drawing blood. Eddie held his hand and licked the would clean, kissing the finger. There had been times when he was nervous, tried to push Steve away to avoid hurting him. But for some reason, Steve kept repeating this small gesture, again and again, until Eddie understood that it was just like a small kiss to Steve, a sign of affection. Eddie could never reject that.

He kissed Steve's palm and pulled him into a hug, running hands over that strong back, the arms that wanted to hold him too. "How did I ever deserve you?" he whispered into the crook of Steve's neck. The blood was calling to him, of course it was, but at this point so were Steve's eyes, hands, lips. Steve's everything. "Having me as a boyfriend has to suck anyways, but as a vampire? Double sucks."

Steve chuckled into his hair and slapped his ass. "Well, good thing I like it when you suck," he whispered and pulled Eddie closer. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me, Eddie. I'll do anything for you. You know that."

It should have been embarassing, hearing such a confession, but Eddie had already known. He had known because he's painfully aware he'd do anything for Steve too. "Likewise, Stevie. But you shouldn't have to."

"I know. But I want to." Stealing a short kiss, Steve pulled back and zipped up his backpack. "Now, are you driving me to rob that blood bank or am I going to be all by my lonesome?"

Eddie sighed deeply and grabbed the car keys. "Let's go, master criminal."

If you liked this drabble, check out the prompt list and send me an ask!

[starrywangxian]

just like any other autist, i hate it when people are wrong about my special interest. my special interest is mdzs and as a piece of literature there is no "right" or "wrong" when it comes to analysis and characterisations, however, sometimes people will misunderstand some things. so! to clear things up here's why wwx and lwj hold back their holdings even after literally having sex with each other!

1- wwx

a lot of being talk about wei wuxian being oblivious to lan wangji's feelings and, at first, i agreed with that statement. it's funny and ironic to think that the smartest man in the entire cultivation world doesn't realise when he's in love with someone who loves him back... but now i think otherwise. you see, i think wwx realises his feelings somewhere after they rescue the juniors with wen ning and during their trip around yunmeng. if i were to suggest a specific scene, it would notably be when they are travelling to yunmeng by boat and wwx spends the journey in lwj's lap and if i were to suggest a specific line it would probably be: "Lan Zhan, he really... If only I knew, I wouldn’t have woken up. If I remained unconscious, I’d be able to lie in his arms for the entire journey!" from chapter 84. now, i'm aware this scene can be interpreted in other ways but wwx is undeniably aware of his romantic feelings for wwx during the scene where wwx falls from the tree and lwj catches him ("A voice inside of him said, If he catches me, I'll..." - chapter 87).

so if wwx was aware of his romantic feelings for lwj, why did wwx react the way he did after their time in bed together? obviously, one answer is the fear of rejection/fear of changing things between them ("Originally, Wei WuXian thought that compared to having his feelings be found out and them become so awkward they couldn’t even be friends, he’d much rather have Lan WangJi feel that he was a cheap, flippant person instead." - chapter 96) but does really wwx believe his own excuses of "it's normal for men to be like this sometimes"? wwx is a romantic at heart so probably not. i honestly believe somewhere deep down wwx had a slight inclination that, yes lwj likes me too. after all, wwx was prepared to confess his true romantic feelings to lwj afterwards ("In these two lives, you’ve helped me a lot. I know you’re... really nice to me. You’re really great! Apart from thank you, I don’t know what else to say to you... Anyways, towards you, I feel... I feel..." - chapter 95) and no one would really confess unless they thought they stood a chance, right? you could argue that wwx was just feeling the heat of the moment and wasn't thinking clearly etc. but if we go with he thought lwj liked him back then this gives way to another layer of his character. because all of the people who have ever loved wei wuxian unconditionally have died (his shijie, wen qing, his parents etc.) and most of them have died by his own hands (or he is blamed for their deaths and 100% blames himself too) so wwx doesn't believe he is worthy of love. and with growing up with the jiangs, i don't blame him. so wwx isn't quick to believe lwj's feelings because he doesn't think they're real from this mindset that he doesn't think he deserves it.

2- lwj

lwj is a different story.

one of the most obvious reasons why lwj reacts the way he does is because he thinks wwx is teasing him again, or doing smth to annoy him or he believes wwx's excuses of "it's normal for men to be like this".

another obvious explanation is that lwj has already confessed his love before in the past and got rejected in quite possibly the worse way ever. getting told to get lost after bearing your heart to your beloved will be painful for anyone, sure, but for lwj? someone who held his feelings in for so long? someone who's often told is emotionless and rarely shows his emotions? yeah, that's going to take a toll. a toll so big in fact, it seems very fair why he would keep his feelings to himself. also it's important to note that lwj doesn't know that wwx doesn't remember in confession after the bu ye tian massacre/blood bath at bu ye tian so he most likely thinks wwx wants to forget it didn't happen to avoid awkwardness after such a clear rejection.

another explanation could be because: he was reacting positively and showing his feelings, he just wasn't saying them through words. usually, lwj doesn't like people touch him but here he is lying on top of wwx, naked after sex and letting wwx peck his head. that, in lwj's mind, is more than enough approval and a confession of their feelings. lwj is known to use his words sparingly and only when he must, surely this moment doesn't need a verbal confirmation when his actions are enough?

and another explanation could also be that lwj doesn't want to be like his father: he doesn't want to force his feelings on someone who isn't willing to accept them. he has no right to show his affections or confess his love to someone who just wants to tease him, annoy him or use him for some relief.

[take-ya-to-the-ghey-bar]

𝑨𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒚𝒎𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒕: Have him put it inside him and enjoy the pleasure shaking, hint hint! ;)c

{in connection to this meme & ask}

{I'm not sure if this is what you had in mind when sending, anon-- and i also apologize that it's taken me this long to answer aaa-- but anyway i've finally gotten something done for this lol}

Was he seriously about to consider doing this?… That question repeated itself a good few times in his head, as gold hues once again stared toward the frankly embarrassing 'gift' he'd anonymously gotten in the mail some weeks prior. Why the hell did he even hold onto this thing anyway?-- Another question he'd mentally asked himself, for about the umpteenth time.

Brows furrowing, with lips drawing into a thin line as he silently debated the answer to those questions… Finally, he gave a heavy sigh. While he hated admitting it to himself, Minato knew damn well what the answer to both those questions was-- Curiosity. A nagging thought he'd had since opening the damn thing… How would it feel? And would that answer be any shade of good?…

Fuck-- why was he even debating this?-- Dragging a hand through his hair with a frustrated grumble, finally, he settled on an answer. "Guess it wouldn't be the worst thing to just try and see…" More or less murmuring this as he thought aloud, fingers once again messed with his bangs. "After all, if I hate it then I can just pack the thing away and not think about it after--" Reasoning to himself with that, and a small nod, it seemed the matter was settled.

And so, after gathering some required supplies, plus taking the time for a good few steps of prep-- Minato was once again side-eyeing that beast of a 'toy', a slightly shaky huff passing his lips. Sure, it was a little imposing… But, still didn't seem like it would be too big to fit… Though, he wouldn't truly know till trying. Again sliding his gaze away for the moment, he swallowed a bit thickly, yet again aware of the quickened heartbeat beneath his fingers which were focused on toying with his chest. Meanwhile, another withdrawal and plunge was made with the more average sized toy currently settled within his depths. "Ahn--" Earning a soft cry and small shudder which ran along his spine.

After a short while longer of this, however, he knew it couldn't really be delayed anymore… Otherwise, he'd probably risk tiring himself out before going through with it. So, still a touch reluctantly… He reached for the larger phallus that had been waiting on the side table, along with the lube once again. Since even if he was already well and slick down there, taking more chances with this thing didn't sound very appealing.

Lightly chewing his lower lip while gliding his hand along the length of it, he momentarily felt unneededly aware of the heat settled on his face… But, in the same moment, felt he'd commited too far to back out now-- So, the previous toy was slowly pulled out, another small shudder given thanks to the now empty feeling. Swallowing thickly again, he shifted to more properly sit up upon his knees, taking a deep breath while settling his position…

Lowering himself down, it seemed his heart was racing a bit faster still as the head rubbed against his entrance, but that was probably just the blonde working himself up-- "Nh…" A subtle grunt did slip his lips while going further, however. The stretch was still noticeable enough to feel, but, thanks to earlier it wasn't really anything more than a bit of discomfort. Which was partly ignored via some other self stimulation, so to speak--

Upon settling at least half way down the length, his previous heavy breaths gave way to a gasp. "Hah, fuck--" A curse tumbling past his lips as well. The depth he already felt it at had his nerves prickling-- And though unsure if he could press further for now, it took but a moment before he was giving into an urge gnawing at him… Slowly raising then lowering himself at first, along with a slight rock of his hips… Motions which after a short while, gave way to a few scattered mewls.

"Ohh fuck…" Okay, so this did actually feel surprisingly good… Huffing a heated breath in a mix of pleasure and subtle frustration, Minato simply began letting himself settle into a rhythm. Focus on feeling good, and thoughts won't matter…

Slow motions soon began to gain some speed, and some added force as a result. Previous mewls gave way to more proper moans, as a few further gasps slipped in here or there. Swimming in now fuzzing thoughts, that earlier embarrassment wasn't a factor that mattered anymore… Instead, the blonde's concern was shifting to this steadily building high-- Just a little faster, just a little harder-- Small encouragements that began cycling in a loop, amidst Minato's panting breaths and the fluctuating volume of his voice.

Steadily, each move downward also began to gain him slightly more depth, a sensation that quickly brought added jolts along his spine and almost hiccupped sounds past his lips. Oh fuck, oh fuck-- at this rate-- That hazy thought was one he didn't get to finish, as the previously building heat tightening in his gut quickly spilled over, a splatter of white painting the sheets as a partly choked cry left Minato's now somewhat parched throat.

Slumping forward while making an effort to regain his breath, a now sticky hand was wiped across the sheets. They'll just get washed later while cleaning up everything else… Once his head stops spinning, and there's more proper feeling in his legs…

[wjforever]

Shatter me again. Chapter 29

It's a very strange feeling to suddenly be alone, left to myself. I see people around, but I try to walk at a distance from them. And no one approaches me. It's such a blissful feeling. I haven't experienced it for many years, constantly being either in a cell /ward or under escort. I want to run, I want to jump, I want to fly. I don't do this, still clearly aware of the severity of this reality.

I want to take a longer walk, but I still feel weak, and the soldiers around don't inspire me with confidence, so I reluctantly follow the route I already know. I almost reach the hallway that leads to my room, but then I notice one narrow dark corridor. I haven't seen it before, although I don't think we've ever passed through this place. But it's not the corridor itself that attracts me, but some kind of movement there. I don't understand what it is. Curiosity and newly acquired freedom do their job. He himself gave me the opportunity to take a walk. These are his problems.

I get closer and hear a familiar voice.

"Juliette."

This is Adam. My heart is jumping out of my chest, pounding in my ears. Adam. He's alive. He's here. And I scurry into this corridor.

"We have very little time." He begins without another word, without delay. "I don't think I'll be able to have a normal conversation with you anytime soon."

"Are you being sent somewhere?"

I want to grab his hand, to experience this feeling again. But I don't take any chances, because he didn't give me that right.

"No. No. But Warner, he's…"

I can hardly see him, but I clearly understand that something was done to him.

"Adam, what's going on?"

He turns around, as if checking to see if someone is following him. And I can see with what difficulty he moves, how he winces. He's in pain. Hatred boils inside me. Warner. While he was having a nice conversation with me…. Adam was injured. And they hurt him so badly that he can't even hide it, though he's trying desperately. I hate Warner.

I need to know what happened, I need to see. Unceremoniously, I reach for Adam's T-shirt, how lucky he's not wearing a jacket, and try to pull it up. He instantly understand everything.

"No, Juliette, no. I'm fine. Really. Did they hurt or offended you?"

"It's not about me, Adam. You know they won't touch me. But you… Is it because of what happened last night? Does he know?" I ask in a whisper.

"If he knew, I'd be dead already."

His words cause me almost physical pain. He doesn't even hide that he was injured. And it's all because of me.

"I want to see…"

"Juliette. They'll come looking for you now. We don't have time. From now on, I'm not allowed to go into the bathroom with you. I always have to remain visible. And while the cameras are working in your room…"

"I know." I say, and touch his bare arm. Slightly.

I pull my hand away and look at him. And he just smiles, and then without warning takes my hand in his big palms. 

It seems to me that it's he who has some kind of power, not me, because I'm suffocating from this heat. From this strong, rough hand, this gentle touch. Adam brings my hand to his chest, presses it.

"I'm fine. See? I'm fine."

"Oh my God. Adam."

"Yes… Everything will be fine. Don't do anything, you promise? Warner will never allow to turn off the cameras anyway. And he's too dangerous, you don't know how he'll react."

"Yeah, I understand."

"You need to go. Hurry up."

"Yes, yes…"

I don't want to stop this touch, I want to stay like this for the rest of my life. Standing like that in the dark with him, talking in a whisper, feeling his warmth. I shouldn't take that risk. He's already been injured because of me and I don't even have a chance to know how serious it is.

My heart stays with Adam, even though I myself am already walking down the hallway. I see soldiers approaching me. They look, but don't get too close, and don't even dare to speak. But they obviously just came, and most likely they came here for me.

I quickly go to the door and hide in my room. I need to digest everything that has happened in these few hours. I still can't believe I can touch someone. And I'm still trying to figure out what happened between Warner and me. I'm lost. And this is wrong. I have to stop letting myself slip away into a made-up world. But it's so hard when reality comes crashing down on you with all its weight. And I really don't know how to handle all this alone. I need someone to help me. I need Adam.

Read my notes and more chapters here AO3

Aesthetics, sneak peeks, information about publications and so on Buy me a coffee

[haughttopics]

didn’t think i’d be able to wake up in a cold sweat when my room is 27 degrees but turns out a ptsd related nightmare will do the trick

[100hearteyes]

Well this is now a Clexa au

(written on my phone real quick, so be warned)

----

"I'm a sports reporter covering the Women's Euro 2022." Sounds more glamorous than it really is. People usually picture tons of interviews and perilous reporting and special treatment, but actually, the glamour lasts for 90-plus minutes and the rest and is just the nitty-gritty of sports reporting; trying to frame roughly the same event across dozens of games in a thousand different ways.

A player took a shot, the goalkeeper didn't reach it. Goal. Now try to recount that over and over and over again in as many different ways as possible.

As it turns out, the one constant to this competition has been hallways. Lots and lots of hallways. And walking and running and rushing to get to places you have never been and trying not to get lost.

Clarke can't say she hasn't got lost once or twice in these past two weeks.

It's as she's walking down one of the many halls of her hotel and looking down at her phone, waiting for updates on a player's health, that Clarke collides with a solid mass of... something, she's not sure what. Before she knows it, she's falling on her ass, her phone landing on the carpet with a stifled thud, and a hand is stretched in front of her face.

Behind it, the face of none other than Lexa Wald, Germany's number 12, captain, and major star, and maybe-maybe-not the very player Clarke has had a teeny-tiny celebrity crush on for the past five years. Because the universe hates her.

Still, she takes the proffered hand and pushes to her feet. She lets go of Lexa's hand with a chagrined smile.

"Thanks. And I'm sorry, I shouldn't be looking down at my phone in these narrow hallways."

Lexa offers her a polite smile. "It's okay, I was not careful either."

Her light German accent, abated by half a decade in the FAWSL, is even prettier in person. Clarke tries not to focus on it too much as she shrugs her shoulders with a smile.

"Well, I appreciate the help, anyway."

She's expecting Lexa to smile and move on, but the footballer narrows her eyes at her as though she's trying to place her.

"You're a FIFA referee, right?"

Clarke doesn't know whether to hide or run, so she does neither and grimaces instead.

"Yes," she blurts out, panic taking over.

Lexa snaps her fingers with a self-satisfied smile.

"I knew it." She taps a finger on her temple. "I'm very good with faces."

Lexa's smugness is, although unconsciously, so ridiculous it actually helps ease Clarke's nerves. She feels her shoulders sag and smiles, this time for real.

"Yeah, of course I'm a ref." She gestures at herself with a touch of irony. "I'm mad fit."

She watches as Lexa's eyes follow her hand and then linger. It causes a pleasant kind of chill to skitter over her skin and heat to pool in the pit of her stomach.

"That you are."

Lexa drags her gaze back to meet Clarke's, then, and raises an eyebrow.

"Although I think you mean I just made a fool of myself." At Clarke's responding smirk, she huffs out a small chuckle. "Scheisse."

Clarke leans back on the wall behind her. It's the first time she's felt this carefree since the Euros began. What a change from the start of their conversation.

"I guess it's only fair I tell you what I actually do, since I already know what you do."

"Unfair advantage."

"Yeah."

"So?"

"I'm a sports journalist. But don't worry," she rushes to add before Lexa can say anything, "I won't spill your secrets."

Lexa raises an eyebrow at her again. It seems to be a habit, one Clarke doesn't mind at all. "What secrets?"

"I'm just saying," Clarke shrugs. "if you ever want to tell me all your deepest, darkest secrets, all you have to do is say 'off the record' and I won't tell a soul."

Lexa smirks, a lopsided, adorable thing that ties around Clarke's wrists and drags her forward, closer, until the two of them are but a foot apart.

"I could tell you a secret or two."

Clarke wets her lips slowly, aware of Lexa's eyes tracking the movement of her tongue.

"Yeah?"

"Mm-hm."

Lexa's demeanor has changed now. Her smug veneer is gone and she's now more open, desire heavy in her eyes.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" she asks, her voice raspy.

"No."

"Are you gay?"

"Bi."

Lexa reaches behind herself and there's a beep, before the door she's standing next to unlocks. She pushes it open, just enough to keep it from locking again.

"Would you like to come in?"

Clarke nods, too busy staring at Lexa's full lips, until her mind catches up and she clears her throat, meeting green eyes.

"Yes."

Lexa smiles, full and toothy now, and tugs at Clarke's lanyard to drag her inside with her. Clarke allows herself to be pulled into the bedroom, but Lexa stops her at the last moment.

There's a mischievous glint in her eyes as she crowds Clarke's space and it's all Clarke can do not to moan at the mere sight of it.

"A word of warning, though," Lexa whispers, leaning forward to capture Clarke's lower lip between her teeth.

She tugs at it lightly, just enough for Clarke's breath to catch in her throat, before releasing it.

"I don't think saying 'off the record' will be enough to keep you quiet."

[poppy-metal]

so uh,,,,this ended up being alot softer then i was expecting LMAO.

Bully!eren x reader

Cw: not alot, some smut at the end. Tame for me but i was in my FEELINGS okay.

Word count: 2.3k

The familiar sleek black of erens benz pulls up to the side of your house as you walk home from a late night trip to the grocery store, pints of ben & jerrys ice cream in the bags, as well as several other snack items one might munch on to cram for an exam, which is what you planned on doing. 

You side step more onto the sidewalk when he pulls up beside you, still driving just slow enough to match your pace. He rolls down the window, jerking his head, “Just the girl i wanted to see,” he drawls hooking his arm out his window to lean out a little, he grins, “its fate” 

You scrunch your nose up and scoff “Stalking is another word for it, jaeger”. You look him over suspiciously, “you wanted to see me?” 

He rolls his eyes. He’s wearing aviator sunglasses, pushed up his forehead. Loitering in front of your house like this, you’re aware of how different the worlds you live in are. Everything about eren is expensive, from his car to his sunglasses to his clothes, even the way he smells, the cologne he wears, all tells how important he is. Meanwhile here you are in your oversized hoodie and leggings, hands full of stuff you’d bought from the convenience store, prepared to spend your night busting your ass to even stay in the college you had to claw your way to get into, wherein he had gotten in without even trying. You’re not self conscious, at least not usually. You’d never yearned to be apart of erens world too terribly, and it was eren who always sought you out, not the other way around, when there was plenty of rich girls right up his alley and status that would be glad to be with him and yet here he was at 11pm at night. You try to push down the way your heart flutters at that fact.

“Uh huh. Get in the car, bambi, m’taking you somewhere” his teeth are a flash of white against the night, promising trouble, as always. Your grip on your bags tightens, as does your heart in your chest. You glance away, “i have to study” 

“Study?”

Your brows pinch together and you hold up your bags “Not that you’d care, jaeger, but some of us have to actually study to achieve our goals. I can't entertain you tonight, im busy” 

Eren doesn’t look put out in the slightest, glancing down at your bags with casual disinterest“You dont need to study”. And then he looks up at you and meets your eyes, your breath catching, they look closer to the shade of seaglass today. “You’re smarter than anyone i know, ___, and i know alot of people. Whatever you want to pass? You’re already there. Just come with me, please”  

Your eyes widen and your heart spasms in your chest, caught off guard by the raw honesty in his voice. He has moments like this, where he usually teases you and gets under your skin but sometimes he says something that makes everything in you jolt. Its not fair. Its confusing and it messes with your head, makes it fuzzy, weakens you and makes you do things you’d never do with a clear mind.  

You wish you could fight it, wish you could roll your eyes and tell him no and do what you need to do. But you don’t. Huffing you say, “Ugh, fine. Just let me put this stuff up, my ice creams probably already a puddle by now” you turn and rush up to your house, ears burning when you hear him call out, “Thatta girl!” 

You try not to put everything away to hastily, thinking he ought to squirm just a little, but even you can’t deny the eager buzzing under your skin. When you clamber into the passenger seat of his car eren turns to grin at you as he flicks his sunglasses back over his eyes. “Knew you’d see reason, bambi”. You roll your eyes at the nickname, crossing your arms over your chest as you side eye him warily, “where are you taking me jaeger, is this a kidnapping?” 

“Not a kidnapping when you want it, sweetheart”, eren says, putting his arm around the back of your seat as he backs up his car to make a uturn. You dont know if the flustered leap in your chest is from the petname or the way his forearm looks flexing, the cords in his neck prominent as he looks behind him for any oncoming cars. “Just trust me, yeah? You’ll like it” 

You sink in the seat, trying to get away from the warm heat of his arm so close to you, but hes taking it away soon enough, only to draw your attention again to the way his hands look steering the wheel. His hands….You turn to look out the window, opting for silence, because you feel like you’re about to lose your mind. This car is just so..him and its overwhelming your senses. It smells good, it smells like him, his cologne wafting all around you. The sleek interior of his car is crisp, clean, sharp, and just so richboy it feels surreal. You haven’t been in his car before. 

Eren seems okay with the silence though, tapping his finger idly against the wheel as soft music plays from the radio. Its strangely peaceful, actually. Before you know it, the whirring of houses and neighborhoods and highway turns into palm trees and sand. You sit up straighter, coming out of your daze when you realize eren is pulling his car into the sandy bank by a large body of water. The beach. You haven’t had a chance to go here. 

The water looks like black at this time of night, there are no waves, just sparkling dark abyss that stretches out for ages and ages, glittering under the moonlight. There are no other cars parked close to you so its just you, eren, and the sea. 

You spend quite awhile gawking at the ocean before you come to your senses and turn to face eren. He has his elbow propped on the wheel, chewing idly on his thumb as he peers at you from over his sunglasses. A small smile is playing at his lips as he watches you. 

You gape, “What…” 

“You’re cute when you’re excited, you know” his voice is low, dropped in that way that makes your toes curl in your shoes. You ignore the way your heart skips at his words, probing him, “Why did you bring me here, ren?” 

He turns to face forward, flipping the radio off so theres no background noise between the two of you. Taking his sunglasses off the folds them and puts them on the dash, sighing as he watches the ocean from out the windshield, gnawing on his lips. Tap, tap, tap, his fingers on the wheel go as you wait for him to speak. “Last week,” he starts, glancing at you, “When we had to do those presentations in class about places we feel at home..you talked about the library” 

He laughs under his breath like its some kind of endearing joke, shaking his head a little. You dont speak. “The library is where i first saw you, you know? I mean, before all this, before i..talked to you, i noticed you before you ever noticed me.” A small secret smile plays on his lips, “You were reading ‘percy jackson and the lightning thief’, and you haid your hair in pigtails. Your glasses were way to big your face. My first thought was ‘wow she looks like an owl’, but then i saw you laugh at something on the page and my second thought was ‘i want to know her’. We were in middle school.” 

Green eyes connect with yours, “You still go there, i know. But anyway..this is. My place, i guess”. He purses his lips “i figure since i'm always intruding on your little sanctuary , i’d let you see mine” 

You take everything he just said in. He’d known about you, noticed you, since middle school? You hadn’t acknowledged him until sophomore year of highschool, hadn’t spoken to him since senior year, when this tug and pull had first begun between you two. You remembered that day, your mother wouldn't buy you the series so you’d relied on constantly re-reading the books at the library. It was around that time you began to see that place as something special, too. Tucked away from the world, you could lose yourself in another's story. It was like magic. And to realize eren had been there the whole time, had glimpsed that, realized that the library was your special place, that he’d even payed attention to your presentation in class at all in the first place...that he was here, showing you something of himself in return, even though you’d never asked. You’d wondered of course. 

Eren was an enigma, he was on most days, the bane of your existence. He had made your life a living hell on many occasions, but with that, he also made you feel more alive than ever before. He’d dragged you out of your bubble and challenged you to see the world beyond school and books and fiction, he raised your emotions and forced you to experience everything head on. Anger, confusion, happiness, anxiety, thrill, lust and…

You look at him. The way the moonlight curls into the car like a kind of mist, making his eyes look absolutely beautiful. The soft wave to his brown hair, his eyelashes, everything about him made you ache with desire. All the time, even when you swore you hated him, you wanted him. 

“Kiss me”. Its whispered out so low, for a moment you worry he might not hear it. Its the first time you’ve asked for him, reached for him first without his taunting to guide a confession from you. With this request, filling the air between you, you’re making it known that you want him, want this. It doesn’t change anything and yet it somehow changes everything. You can’t look in the mirror and tell yourself he doesn’t occupy your mind and your heart anymore. Not after this. 

Eren seems to realize this too, his intake of breath letting you know he heard you loud and clear. “__..” he says, inching closer. His eyes, dark now, are so very hungry as he closes in. In a moment his lips, soft, so soft, are on yours. You sigh into his kiss, opening for him easily when his tongue glides into your mouth. His hand comes up to cup your jaw, tenderly, thumb stroking it. God, you want to eat him, you want him to eat you. The wet smack of your lips fills the car as you hungrily nip, and suck, and kiss at each others lips. 

When eren pulls back, he’s panting, hair disheveled. You don’t remember when your hands first sunk into his hair, but they must have, messed up as it is now. He looks at you like he wants to devour you, he licks his lips. “I’m gonna put your seat back,” he tells you slowly, each word dripping with finality, “im going to kiss every inch of your body and then you’re opening those legs for me and letting me inside, baby” 

You don’t have it in you to act scandalised, you know what you want. You’d basically asked for it. You just nod, never taking your eyes off his face when he reaches down and pulls the lever. And then you feel yourself being tilted backwards as the seat goes back, laying you flat. Your chest heaves with barely contained need as eren then settles above you, every clothed inch of him hovering just barely above you. 

Holding your eyes, eren lowers himself. You spread your legs easily to accommodate him, gasping when you feel his clothed cock settle right against your clit through your leggings. He rocks once, gently, against you, his hair hanging over his forehead as he looks down at you with utter want in his eyes, “Want you to feel me”, he murmurs, and rocks again, “Wanna fill you up so good, you can’t ever pretend that im not apart of you. Because, this, baby?” Another rock, a shuddered moan leaving your lips, “This is it. No ones gonna fuck you like i do, no ones gonna get inside that little head and play the games we play so well together.” 

One of his hands trails up your thigh, dipping his hand under the fabric of your leggings and pulling them slightly down, he pecks your lips, once, twice, three times. “Tell me”, he groans into your mouth, peeling your clothes off you slowly, “Tell me you understand, Tell me this is everything” 

And you tell him. Tell him through your whimpers when he parts the folds of your slick cunt with his fingers buried inside you. Tell him through your moans into his mouth when he shoves his jeans down and splits you open on his cock. Tell him through sighs of his name, when he rocks into you, licking into your mouth as he spears you open. Tell him through the way you claw your fingers down his back when starts to fuck you hard, rocking the car with the force of his thrusts. Tell him through the way you spread your legs, even wider, toes curling as he wrings orgasm after orgasm out of your tight little pussy milking him. 

“Its everything, you’re everything…” You cry out again and again, clutching onto him as he pumps you full of his cum, groaning brokenly into your neck. 

“Fuck”. He pulls back to look down at you, brushing your damp hair back from your face, still inside you. “You’re gonna fucking kill me, you little nerd” 

[helloalycia]

The Wrong Lifetime – Four // Wanda Maximoff

chapter three | story masterlist | main masterlist | wattpad | chapter five

author’s note: I hope you all don’t mind the slow burn because it’s like my favourite thing and i promise things will get spicy soon 😂

Since my rather abrupt revelation about Wanda, I found myself racked with guilt.

Not because she was a girl – I couldn't help my feelings in that sense – but because she was my brother's fiancé. And every time he came to me, gushing about how great of a date they had or how much he was falling for her, the guilt hit me like a sharp pain in the chest, because I understood what he was saying. I felt the same.

And it didn't help when they would occasionally go on dates in front of me, and all I could feel was an unexplainable jealousy in the pit of my stomach. I had no right to feel like this when she was an engaged woman. Her naturally flirtatious personality was simply that: a personality. And even though we'd had a genuinely lovely day a week ago when she invited me to her home, it was no reason for me to think of her in such a way.

The next date on Y/B/N and Wanda's journey to marriage was at our house in the garden. I wasn't actually aware of it until I saw them sat on some garden furniture.

My mum wanted me to help her with some gardening and I found her kneeling by some plant pots, a fair distance away from Wanda and my brother. As I approached her, I glanced in the couple's direction, seeing them sat opposite one another and enjoying a selection of finger foods and tea. They were far away enough to have privacy, but close enough for me to make out their expressions.

"For goodness sake, Y/N," my mother said when I kneeled down beside her to help. "Do you have to wear those horrendous trousers?"

I rolled my eyes, sitting on the ground comfortably. "I'm curious, mother. Do you like anything that I do?"

She gave me a disapproving glance. "I'm only looking out for you, dear. That outfit is very... unladylike."

"Well, they're comfortable," I quipped, before grabbing a spade and getting to work.

"So are dresses," she pointed out, continuing repotting her plants. "And they're prettier, too."

"Considering I have to wear a dress all the time and that I'm in the comfort of my own home, I'm going to pretend you didn't just make me feel bad for wearing these."

She didn't say anything, but I could tell she wasn't happy. I didn't mind wearing dresses, but I would be lying if I said trousers weren't more comfortable. The only time I could wear them was at home when doing chores or simply lounging around. I'd make the most of it whilst I could, no matter what comments my mother made.

I wasn't afraid to get my hands dirty as I helped her repot the plants before digging into the soil and planting some seeds she'd bought this morning. My mother, despite adoring gardening, hated getting messy, so you can imagine the look on her face when I got soil all over my clothes.

"I wish you would act like a lady sometimes," she mumbled to herself, but I didn't let it faze me. It was all I heard, so I was used to it.

Laughter sounded from behind us and I risked glancing back, seeing Wanda laughing at something Y/B/N said. I rolled my eyes subconsciously before looking back to what I was doing. My fingernails dug into the soil with irritation, directed at them and also myself. Though, despite my irritation, I still had an urge to glance back at Wanda, and when I did she was looking my way this time. A mere glance on her part, but she directed a smile my way before looking to my brother again.

I'd like to say that was it, but I continued to steal glances of her as I worked alongside my mum, taking what I could get as I admired her from afar.

She looked stunning today, as she always did. Her long curls were left out, flowing over her shoulders and pretty green dress; I wasn't close enough to be able to tell, but I was sure that her dress complimented her eyes. A dark forest green colour with golden flecks, matching the deep green of her dress. Or so I assumed.

"They seem like they're getting on well," my mum said at one point, earning my attention. She was talking about Y/B/N and Wanda as she continued, "They make such a lovely couple."

I swallowed hard, nodding lamely. "They sure do, mum."

She gave me a sideways glance. "You know, your brother will be married soon and then it will be your turn."

I groaned quietly, knowing where this was going. There was no point trying to stop her because once she started, that was it.

"You can't just keep locking yourself in your room and writing stories," she was saying, but I attempted to tune her out which sometimes felt impossible since she had no off button and her shrill voice always managed to break through my bubble. "You have to find a husband. An actual person who you can marry and who can take care of you."

"I can take care of myself."

"Y/N, you know that's not what I mean..." but I stopped listening as she got started going on another ramble about the benefits of having a husband.

Instead, my eyes darted around the garden until they naturally gravitated towards Wanda. It was definitely the wrong time to get distracted by her though, since she seemed to be sucking some food off her thumb. As she did, her eyes found mine and she took that as her opportunity to wink in my direction playfully, hiding a smile as her thumb remained between her teeth. Y/B/N didn't seem to notice, as he was looking the other way, and I felt my cheeks heating up as I looked away quickly, remembering my dream.

She's going to marry your brother. She's going to marry your brother. She's going to marry your brother.

A stupid mantra that didn't work, but I attempted to drill it into my brain anyway.

"...and it would be nice to be able to do all the wedding stuff for you next time around," my mum continued to ramble, unaware of my flustered self.

The image of Wanda sucking her thumb was permanently engraved in my head and I struggled to wish it away. No more staring for today, I told myself, before getting lost in gardening again.

After ten more minutes of nonstop nattering about finding a husband for me, my mother excused herself to refill the watering can. I was grateful for her momentary absence, appreciating the silence and lack of guilt-tripping. Until I heard footsteps behind me shortly after, making me groan loudly.

"I'm not finding a husband right now!" I snapped, unable to take it any longer. But when I spun around to give her a piece of my mind, my mouth hung open like a fish out of water.

"I'd sure hope not," Wanda answered with a stifled laugh. "Then I'd have to share your company with somebody else."

Closing my mouth and standing up, I cleared my throat. "Sorry. I thought you were my mum."

She nodded, eyes roaming my whole body for a second, making me nervous under her stare. I hadn't actually seen her since my inappropriate dream and it was growing increasingly difficult to be so close to her without thinking about it.

"I figured. I just wanted to say hi," she said, expression softening as she met my eyes.

I was right about the dress bringing her eyes out more. A forest green colour, as I'd predicted.

"Hi," I said, giving her a small, nervous smile. "Erm, how is your date going?"

She shrugged, raising her hand to hold her forearm comfortably. "It's okay. It's wonderful out here, I'll give him that."

Relaxing into the conversation, my awkwardness fading already, I smiled in agreement. "Yeah, it is pretty."

A smirk appeared on her lips. "Yeah. So are the gardeners."

Admittedly, it took me a few seconds longer than it should have to realise she was talking about me. When I did, I felt a heat creeping up my neck and to my face and looked to the grass to distract myself. See, when she did stuff like that, it made me question a hell of a lot.

She chuckled. "So, gardening. Another dislike of yours?"

I shook my head, risking looking back up to her. "No, actually. I don't mind it. I'm just not a fan when it gives my mother an opportunity to discuss marriage."

Wanda's interested was piqued as she quirked a brow. "Oh? Your mother has suitors for you?"

I squeezed my eyes shut at the possibility, shaking my head. "I'd rather not ask, Wanda."

She let out a short laugh. "You've got time anyway. At least until Y/B/N and I are married."

I hoped she didn't see the involuntary wince I did at the mention of that. "Honestly, I'm not even thinking about that now... I'm nowhere near ready for that."

"Would you not want to get married?" she asked curiously, tilting her head to the side.

I sighed, looking around, unable to keep my eyes still. "I don't know, I guess? Eventually? But to somebody I love, not some arranged marriage just for the sake of it." My words sank in quite quickly and I straightened up, instantly looking to Wanda with apologetic eyes. "Bloody hell, that is not what I meant to say–"

"It's fine," she reassured me with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I get it. And, well, you're not wrong."

I smiled halfheartedly, the guilt at my previous words still present. I could honestly say that I wasn't aiming that comment at her, but I wouldn't blame her if she took it that way.

"It's important to fall in love with the person you marry," she said, gaze locked on mine. "You have to learn about them, who they are. Their likes, their dislikes. Their personality. If they have a sense of humour or if they're as dry as cardboard. If they're into you as much as you're into them."

Nodding slowly, I wasn't sure what to say. My mouth went dry the longer she watched me, eyes dancing with an emotion I couldn't recognise. Then her eyes fell to my lips and my knees began to shake subtly, wanting to give in because of how confused I was.

"Y/N, dear, don't dirty Wanda's dress with your muddy hands!" my mum called, breaking the strange silence that had built between the brunette and I.

Stepping back with realisation (and grateful for the interruption), I wiped my hands on my shirt subconsciously, making a further mess of my already mud-stained clothes. "Sorry."

When I looked up, Wanda was chewing on her lip, eyes doing a once over on me yet again. It was moments like this when I couldn't tell if she was teasing me or if she actually had an interest in me, maybe, like that.

"Wanda, honey, let's get you inside," my mum spoke, approaching the two of us and looking to her.

Nodding, Wanda glanced at me once more, shooting me a sweet smile, before being led away by my mum. I breathed out slowly, knowing it was wrong of me to feel this way about her. But it was hard not to fall for her when she had so much about her that was interesting.

Her passion for art, her teasing, playful attitude, her sense of humour... and then there were the physical aspects, like her beaming smile, her luxuriant brown hair and her entrancing hazel eyes. She was literally perfect and my brother was one lucky man. For once in my life, I was actually jealous of something he had that I didn't.

"Y/N!"

Speaking of the devil...

"Y/B/N, hey," I said with a smile as he approached me with an extra jump in his step. "What's up?"

Grin on his lips, he smacked my arm. "Did you see, Wanda? Didn't she look stunning?"

The guilt was cutting real deep. "She did."

"I think I'm in love," he gushed, eyes rolling backwards with delight. "She's perfect, Y/N, you don't get it."

"I can imagine...," I mumbled, but he barely noticed, too lovestruck to realise.

"Every date I've been on with her has been amazing," he continued. "If we weren't already engaged, I would've proposed!"

I raised my eyebrows with surprise, definitely not expecting this. He'd made his attraction to her known since the moment we'd met her, constantly talking about how gorgeous she was, but he'd never sounded happier than he did now.

"Mum adores her," he said with a content smile. "Dad would probably marry her if we was thirty years younger. And you–" He looked to me gratefully. "You're making an effort and I appreciate it."

Oh, God, the guilt was overwhelming.

"Everything is going perfectly," he finished with a sigh. "I just– I can't wait to marry her, Y/N."

I smiled for his sake, but my insides were shrivelling up and failing me. I was a horrible person, wasn't I? What kind of monster falls for her brother's fiancé? Me. I'm the monster. But not anymore. I couldn't let this get out of hand. I had to do better.

I promised myself I'd do better.

—

Doing better was going well, I'd like to think. I mean, it had only been two weeks, so I couldn't guarantee, but I was no longer having... thoughts... about the Maximoff in question.

Yes, there was that familiar inkling of jealousy tugging away in my stomach whenever Y/B/N would talk about her, but I think I was getting better at ignoring it. I had convinced myself that my feelings towards Wanda were not true but merely a schoolgirl crush (which I wasn't allowed to have, but still) and that I'd get over it after some time.

I'd liked, maybe two girls in my life before her. The first being when I was a child, about five, and a girl in my class did something different to her hair. If I remember correctly, she always had one ponytail that sat at the back of her neck, then one day, she came in with two braids down her head and it really wasn't a massive change, but five year old me developed a huge crush on her. That was when I learnt that a girl liking a girl was not only forbidden, but viewed as a sin.

The second girl I liked was in my Literature class in secondary school. She was probably the first person I'd fallen for in a way that was considered more than a simple crush. Something about her way with words was so attractive to me, as was the cute smile she'd send my way whenever she'd be my partner for an assignment. I never told her how I felt for she only ever treated me as a friend and the last thing I wanted was to bring shame to my family for liking girls.

Those instances, and the fact that I regularly found myself admiring women in a way I found incapable with men, made me realise I was different and I always would be. And so, the chatter about finding a husband and getting married always scared me because I was afraid that I'd be stuck in a place that I would never get to be myself in. Even though that was the reality of most women anyway.

So, in addition to the fact that it was wrong of me to like women (though it felt anything but) and that the woman I liked now was my brother's fiancé, I convinced myself it was just a mere crush I had on Wanda. She was a pretty girl with an attractive personality and that was it.

Or so I thought.

"Go get your brother, Y/N," my mum said one evening. "He's in his study. Dinner is almost ready."

I nodded and headed to my brother's study across the hall. He was sat at his desk, focusing on something specific that he was writing and barely acknowledging my presence. I glanced around the room, taking in the bookshelves filled with manuscripts, both published and unpublished, and notebooks of ideas piled on desks.

I wasn't jealous of this place, I really wasn't. And I wasn't jealous of my brother either, even when he got credit for things I'd written. I was just angry and hurt that I couldn't have the some privileges he got, such as his own personal study to write whatever he pleased.

"Dinner's almost ready," I called to him from the doorway. "C'mon."

He didn't turn around as he answered, "I'll be with you, one second."

Curious to what had captured his attention, I pushed myself from the doorway and approached his desk. He had a lamp turned on, the yellow light lighting the page he was scribbling on. I peeked over his shoulder and saw him pause from writing, stuck in thought. It gave me the chance to read some words and I tried not to laugh.

"Oh my god, is that a love letter?"

Surprised at my presence, he covered the page with his elbows and leaned on them, looking to me with red cheeks.

"What? No, that's... no," he stumbled out, shaking his head.

Stifled smile on my lips, I looked to him with humoured eyes. "You have to let me read it."

He shook his head frantically, trying to play it cool. "I don't think I can do that."

Well, now I was really curious.

"C'mon, I've read pretty much everything you've ever written," I told him, perching myself on the edge of his desk. "Just a little read and I'll drop it."

Pondering my words, he slowly began to straighten up, uncovering the page. With a sigh of submission, he nodded to it, wordlessly giving me permission to look. I grinned, grabbing the page and holding it to the light so I could read it.

It was mostly ramblings – unfinished sentences, phrases, clauses – but it was all about a certain someone, a love letter as I predicted. It talked about this person's body and lips and humour and fingers and because I was so caught up in teasing my brother, I failed to realise that I was reading about Wanda. At least until it mentioned her accent.

My smile faded when I saw the way he wrote about her, with such passion and ferocity and– he was seriously in love with her. And it may or may not have stung a little because everything he'd written was accurate and I felt the same way. Well, not the in love bit, but pretty much everything else.

"So? Is it bad?" he asked nervously, and I lowered the page to see he was waiting for a verdict. "It's messy, I know. I was just journaling and then it kind of happened."

"It's sweet," I told him truthfully, offering him a reassuring smile.

His shoulders relaxed as I put the page back on the desk before him. "Thank you, Y/N." He paused, before glancing up at me sheepishly. "Now that you're here, you may as well tell me if there's anything I can do to improve."

I raised my eyebrows. "Why? Are you planning on giving this to her?"

He shook his head instantly. "No, oh God, no. That would be severely humiliating. I just thought you could help me for me. You always make my writing better."

I snickered, shaking my head with amusement. Behind the scenes was where I thrived apparently.

"Quickly," I told him as he held out the paper to me. "Mum is waiting for us."

He nodded obediently and I took the paper from his grasp, getting another look at it. Skimming it with my eyes yet again, I found the first criticism and pointed to it so he could see.

"This bit here," I said gently. "You talk about her eyes and say they're magnetic."

"Is that not good?" he asked with a frown.

"It is, it is," I said politely, not wanting to offend him. "But that's all you've written. You want to give the reader a reason to believe you. Why are they magnetic? What about them do you find yourself attracted to?"

He nodded, seeming to get it. Leaning back in his seat, he had a think. I waited patiently, curious to what he would come up with, but then he sighed defeatedly and looked to me.

"What would you write?" he asked, and I smiled with disbelief. It always ended up like this. Me helping him, challenging him with a thought, then him ending up using what I say.

"Okay, let me think," I said, crossing my arms and staring ahead. "Wanda's eyes."

"Here," Y/B/N said, making a gesture to placing something invisible on my head. When I quirked a brow of confusion, he added, "It's your thinking cap."

I rolled my eyes but laughed quietly at his stupidity, then tried to think about what to describe Wanda's eyes as.

It wasn't difficult to imagine them despite having not seen them in a few days. They were always bright, animated, lively. Whether it was green, blue or brown, they were irresistible and as my brother wrote, they were magnetic.

I breathed out, speaking from the heart without thinking. "When Wanda Maximoff looks into your eyes it's like she holds all of the elements in a single gaze. At times, they're greener than the earth itself, captivating and tranquil and daring you to look away. But then they're also bluer than the brightest of skies and darkest of oceans, deep and and liberating and easy for you to get swallowed up in."

A smile fell on my lips at the thought. She truly was something.

I continued slowly, "In the light, you can make out golden flecks, like the first sliver of the sun in Spring. It's hopeful and guiding and fills you with warmth. But what isn't obvious upon first glance is how tempestuous they are, like air itself. She's got a passion behind her eyes that is scary at first, but when you get to know her, you realise that it's a storm worth raging."

It went quiet when I finished and I zoned back into reality, Wanda's eyes blinking away from my mind in an instant. I pursed my lips and looked to Y/B/N with mild concern, realising just how much I'd rambled. He raised his eyebrows with surprise, staring at me.

"Y/N, that was amazing! How did you think of that?" he asked in bewilderment.

I shrugged, feeling my face heat up with embarrassment. "I don't know. I just thought about a random set of hazel eyes and applied my thoughts to it."

He smiled, impressed. "Amazing. I love it."

Grabbing a pen, he began to write furiously on the page and I stood up, dusting myself off.

"You sure that's not going to her?" I asked, still feeling fuzzy from what I'd said and hoping she'd never see it.

"Very sure," he promised, not looking up. "It's just for me."

I studied him judgementally. "Okay, well, maybe get rid of that part about her breasts then. It's a little creepy."

He looked up to me with a boyish grin. "I'm only a man, Y/N. Can you blame me?"

I rolled my eyes, shuddering at what he was implying. The mere implication of a thought of him and Wanda... nope, I didn't want to go there.

"I'll see you at dinner," I said, pointing a thumb over my shoulder. "Try to hurry, yeah?"

"Yes, I'll be right with you," he assured me, his hand moving in a flurry as he wrote. "Just writing what you said so I don't forget. Could be good for a future book, who knows?"

I forced a smile, humming in agreement. "Right. Well, I'll see you at the table."

He nodded and I left his room, letting out a deep breath. Just another day in the Y/L/N household.

—

Popping into town for errands was surprisingly not a task I found boring. If anything, I preferred it, using it as a chance to get away from my mother's incessant marriage-related conversations and my father's constant praising for anything Y/B/N did. Nowadays, it was also a way to escape anything wedding-related, which was a plus.

This time, I was only nipping out to return a book to the library, but my mum caught me before leaving and asked me to deliver some letters to the post office since I was already heading that way. Happy to prolong this outing as much as possible, I accepted the errand and headed to the post office after returning my book.

When I was there, an advertisement caught my eye. A chalkboard outside the store displayed a deal the train station were doing. I probably would have ignored it if it weren't for the mention of Blackpool.

2 FOR 1 ON BLACKPOOL TRAIN TICKETS THIS WEEKEND

Remembering my conversation with Wanda, I realised I hadn't actually followed up with her on my promise of taking her there to paint. She probably didn't even remember, since it was a while ago when we spoke of it, but the idea of going there with her made me excited. Was it stupid to get the tickets? Probably. But did I go inside and get them? Of course.

It was only when I got home did I realise how silly it was. Would she even want to go? What if she made an excuse to get out of it? Oh, this whole thing was stupid. I was overthinking it. Friends went on day trips all the time, it's wasn't a big deal.

To my surprise, when I poked my head into the living room to tell my mum I'd posted her letters, Wanda was sat on the couch with her. They were drinking some tea and having scones, chatting away. I'd called my mum before noticing, so when they looked my way, I clumsily entered and straightened up to make myself look presentable.

"Sorry, I didn't know you had company," I apologised with an awkward smile, eyes flickering to a smiling Wanda before looking to my mum. "I just wanted to let you know that I dropped the letters off by the post office."

"Perfect, Y/N, thank you," she said in response, before looking to the setup before her. "You can join us if you'd like."

I was quick to smile gratefully, though shook my head. "It's okay, you guys enjoy. I'll just be in my room if you need me."

My mum shrugged, sipping her tea, and Wanda watched me with a small smile, nodding in greeting, before looking away. I licked my lips uncomfortably before backing out the room and heading upstairs.

I was working on yet another manuscript that wouldn't see the light of day at my desk when I heard a knock on my door about an hour later.

"Come in!" I called, not looking up.

The door opened and I finished my train of thought before turning around, surprised to see Wanda walking into my room.

"Oh, hi," I got out suddenly, words falling from my mouth without me thinking first.

She smiled softly, stopping before me. "Hey. I'm heading home now, but I just wanted to say goodbye."

I stared at her, forgetting how to speak because she was wearing a lovely floral dress that complimented her figure perfectly.

"Oh, and I thought you might like these," she added before forgetting, then held out a box towards me.

Recovering from my initial stupor, I reached out and accepted the box, realising they were chocolates.

"I got them for your mum, but she said she's not a fan of hazelnut," she explained, and I looked up to see her looking elsewhere with a nervous smile on her lips. "You don't have to have them of course. I can just... eat them myself."

An amused smile tugged at my lips as I quirked a brow. "You'd eat them all yourself?"

She was very much aware of how silly she sounded, but she was adamant on appearing confident, so she nodded with certainty. "Yes... apparently I would."

Lighthearted laughter escaped my lips as I set the box to the side. She was trying to stand her ground, but then she sighed and began to laugh, too. My heart fluttered in my chest at the sound and I appreciated the crinkle by her eyes when her smile widened.

"Thank you," I said, settling on a smile as I watched her with amusement.

She nodded, smile of her own still present, before pointing behind her. "I'll, erm, go now."

When she turned to leave, I felt inclined to say, "Wait!"

She paused, turning around patiently, and I knew there was no going back now. Standing up, I grabbed my purse from the side and pulled out the train tickets.

"When I was out today, I saw that the train station were doing this deal on tickets to Blackpool," I started, hoping she couldn't see my hands trembling slightly. "And I remembered that I promised to take you so you could see the water." I closed my eyes, praying that this wouldn't be a mistake, before opening them and looking to Wanda. "We can go, if you'd still like to." 

She raised her eyebrows, eyes glued to the tickets in my hand. No words were being said and my heart thumped in my chest with the realisation that I may have done something insanely stupid. Before I could even think to apologise, a grin spread across her face and her dazzling blue eyes met mine, freezing me in place.

"Are you serious? Y/N, I'd love to!" she exclaimed, then proceeded to launch herself onto me, arms wrapping tightly around my neck.

I gulped as she did, not expecting that reaction, but returned the hug by folding my arms around her waist loosely. She smelt really good, which was probably wrong of me to note, and I enjoyed the feeling of her so close to me, also wrong of me to note.

"Okay, well, the tickets are for this weekend," I said, desperately trying not to stammer when she pulled away. "I can meet you at the station in the morning. Eight."

Her eyes danced with excitement as she accepted the ticket I held out to her. I reminded myself that this was just a friendly day trip and nothing more.

"Eight," she confirmed, attempting to stifle her eagerness by biting her lip and nodding.

I swallowed hard, trying ever-so-hard not to let my gaze drop to her lips. Because then I'd think about kissing her and that was definitely not what I should be thinking about my soon-to-be sister-in-law.

Oh, God, I was screwed.

[jeojahari]

03 | kiss it better | myg

🠒 summary: you're one of the lucky ones, everyone else tells you. finding your soulmate the day you turn 18 isn't something that happens to a lot of people... but you and your other half are going to have to make a lot of progress to be able to tolerate each other.

or, you and yoongi can feel everything the other feels, and you're hell bent on causing each other pain.

🠒 pairing: yoongi x reader

🠒 genre: angst, fluff, e2l!au, soulmates!au, college au, crack?

🠒 warnings: profanity, implied smut

🠒 word count: 1.9K

🠒 notes: Y'ALL i can't with you guys thank you so much oh my gosh 🥺❤️❤️ thank you so much for sticking with this! *is very honored and touched* hope you enjoy this chapter :D

also! from here on out i'm going to start putting in parts from yoongi's pov too so y'all can get an idea of what's going on in his head c:

also, just a little shout out to an anon whom i got a very comforting, uplifting message from... thank you so much anon! this part is going to be last-minute dedicated to you ❤️❤️

part 03: three roses

series m. list

Yoongi’s only met you two days ago, and yet he can’t get you off his mind.

“It’s probably just a soulmate thing,” his roommate tells him, typing away at his laptop — the paper is due in half an hour, and he is rushing to get it done. Procrastination has time and again proven to be a horrible habit, but he never does let go of it.. “Regardless of how you feel about her, the universe decides who you’re stuck with.”

“It’s not like that, Jin,” Yoongi groans. “I’m not saying I don’t ever want to be with her. I’m saying it wouldn’t hurt to give it a shot, if she would just let it happen.”

Jin spins around on his chair, giving his friend a curious look. “What did you even say the first time you met her that made her hate you this much?”

“I, um.” Yoongi shifts around, suddenly aware of how cold he must have seemed to you that day, way before you turned eighteen and knew what the future was to hold. “Told her not to waste oxygen. And left.”

“Wow. So in a nutshell, you fucked up.”

“I did.”

“And she hates you for being an antisocial grump.”

“I’m not! But yes, she does.”

Jin proceeds to take another sip from his mug of (now cold) tea, deep in thought. “You gonna tell me who the mystery girl is?”

“Park Y/N,” Yoongi winces as he says your name, not liking the way it easily rolls off his tongue, or the kaleidoscope of butterflies it sets off in his stomach — or the way his heart seems to skip a beat at the thought of you. He doesn’t want it to, but what can he do? “You know, the one who rooms with Park Jimin from the arts department. They’re not related, though.”

“The Y/N who has an impossibly obvious crush on Jimin’s cousin? Taehyung, right?”

Yoongi chuckles, staring at the blank white wall. “I’m pretty sure there’s only one Y/N in this entire school, but yes. That’s her.”

“So you two don’t get along and she has a thing for another guy. Man, the universe really fucked up, didn’t it?”

“And you’re not helping right now,” Yoongi scoffs, scribbling down another abstract equation on his paper. “The goal is not to make her fall in love with me, dumbass.”

“But that’s precisely what the goal is! She falls in love with you, you date, get married, have kids, you know the deal. Happily ever after.”

“I think you’re forgetting the part about me not liking her at all.”

“That can change, can’t it?” Jin swivels around in his chair, eyes wide and hopeful. “What’s stopping you from falling head over heels for her a week or so from now? You two are already bound; it can’t be that hard.”

Yoongi presses his pen to the paper again, but a sharp stinging sensation makes him flinch backwards, curling his index finger inward. “Stupid,” he mutters, wincing. “Y/N seriously has a thing for giving herself paper cuts on the daily.”

“See?” Jin grins widely, feeling very accomplished for no reason at all. “You’re already worried about her well-being!”

“The only reason I even care is because I feel it too!” Seconds later, another twinge of pain comes, this time shooting through his head. “Ow,” he groans, frustrated. “Really? Are we seriously going back to this now? What’s she doing this time, banging her head on the wall to get on my nerves?”

Jin drains the rest of tea in one gulp, side-eyeing the shorter male from his spot at the desk. “Figure it out, my guy,” he says under his breath. Whether he likes it or not, he’s concerned about his friend — though he knows that if he brings it up, Yoongi’s only going to chide him for being so worried. “Second chances don’t come often. Don’t screw this one up.”

The study group meets again (is this a daily thing now?), and much to Yoongi’s surprise, you’re there without fail, squeezed in between Jimin and another guy he doesn’t think he’s ever seen before. As Taehyung grabs his hand and yanks him down onto the bench, he notices the slightly pissed off glare you send him, too tired to return one of his own.

No one speaks, and it’s strange. It’s awfully awkward; usually Taehyung and Jungkook would be arguing over something stupid, and there would be yelling… but now, there is only complete silence, save for the rustling of pages and the occasional cough from Namjoon.

“Hey,” Jungkook whispers from his left after a few minutes, nudging his elbow as a greeting. “How come you’re not sitting with Y/N?”

“Huh?”

“Aren’t you two supposed to be together?” Ah, right. Once again, Yoongi curses fate’s horrible decision making skills, sending another why me? plea to the heavens.

“It’s fine,” he brushes it off instead, sorting through his books. He’s trying not to look like it affects him, but he’s always been rather terrible at hiding his frustration. “She has Jimin and that other dude anyways.”

Jungkook doesn’t look convinced. In fact, he sees right through the half-hearted lie. “You want to sit next to her,” he deduces quickly. “But you’re not. You two fought or something?”

“What would you know,” Yoongi mutters, irritated. “Of all people.”

Jungkook frowns slightly, but the merry twinkle doesn’t leave his eyes, the trademark of a person who’s just happy to live life. “What do you mean? I’m very experienced in these things, I’ll have you know.”

“Right, because fucking a different girl each night is your way of showing off your expertise.”

“Yoongi, I’m trying to help you. You two aren’t the best at covering up; we know you hate each other’s guts,” he sighs. “You need to talk to her, patch it up, do something—”

“Shut up,” Yoongi snaps sharply, thoughts distorted. His cantankerous mood is rising now, only worsening with every word he hears. “Shut up, Jungkook. You don’t fucking know anything.” His voice is loud enough to catch the attention of everyone else at the table, and he’s well aware of your worried eyes on him. “Stop trying to educate me on this bullshit called romance when all you fucking do is sleep around!”

The weight of his words hit Jungkook hard, and it’s written all over his face, shock and something like sorrow in his expression. Yoongi regrets it as soon as he says it, immediately wishing he could take it all back — but he doesn’t, because the anger, the pain, the empty, hollow feeling of having his soulmate near but unable to love her… it’s eating away at him.

Then he hears your voice, soft and gentle in contrast to his own, and it almost grounds him, calms the storm inside his head. Almost, except for the fact that your words are just as harsh, stinging him far more than expected. “You’re such an asshole,” you say, giving him nothing but a stare he can’t comprehend.

“Y/N—”

“Jungkook can do what he wants; he’s an adult and he’s not harming anyone. His actions do not justify yours,” you spit, the resent clear in the way you speak to him.

Have you always hated him so much?

“And neither of us have been particularly great about this, but you had no right to say that to him,” you continue, glowering. The rest of the table just sits there as you talk, still processing what just happened. “You fucking jerk.”

There’s a lot Yoongi wants to say to you. Explain. Redeem himself. Apologize, maybe, if you’ll let him — but he knows you won’t. It’s one of the things he’s picked up on in two days; you won’t listen to reason when you’re pissed off, and right now you’re certainly in no position to hear him out.

“Okay,” he mutters instead, rising from his seat and earning a worried look from Taehyung. He gives you one last look before he forces himself to look away, your heated gaze burning into him. “I’ll leave first, then.”

Jungkook left almost immediately after, and the rest of the group quickly followed suit. Now, you’re cozied up on the couch with a cup of green tea while Jimin works on what he couldn’t finish earlier, sitting beside you.

“Well,” he breaks the silence. “At least now you know that he’s somewhat invested in whatever’s between you two, if Jungkook was trying to give him advice.”

“That’s just Jungkook being invested,” you grumble. “Not Yoongi. The guy doesn’t even look like he cares.”

“Do you?”

The question makes you stop and think. Do you? Do you care enough to try? Growing up, you’d so strongly believed that love was only ever a temporary thing; it never stayed long enough to blossom into something beautiful the way it was portrayed in the media. You had always been surrounded by the dark side of this seemingly magical emotion, listening to your mother’s crying late at night when she thought you were asleep, to the point where you’d sworn it off.

But something in you wants to question it. You want to shatter that ominous what if, throw off the shadows of your own childhood and grow into something more, be able to experience the magic firsthand.

And really, Yoongi’s a fucking asshole and you’re still mad at him. But one day… maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t hurt to give it a try. Give him a try, a chance.

Still, it’s a “no” that you answer Jimin with, lying through your teeth. He doesn’t say anything, just humming a single note in response, his right hand doodling something mindlessly on your skin with one of his black ink pens. When he pulls away a minute later, there are three dainty roses resting in the valley between your thumb and index finger, clustered together in a bunch.

You hate roses. They do nothing but remind you of the one thing that hurt you the most.

“You know,” he says after a while, “I think you’re being a bit childish about this whole thing. Y/N, you two are acting like you’re in some kind of high school drama. You say you don’t like him, but for what? His coffee addiction and his personality?”

“You’re just making it sound worse than it really is…”

“No,” he presses, turning to face you directly. “I’m serious. You’re my best friend and I want to see you happy. Not you screwing this all up. People have differences, it’s normal.”

“It’s not about that—”

Jimin takes your hand, tapping it twice and then rapping his knuckles against the side of your head. “Y/N, you wonderful idiot. You don’t hate him. You’re just desperately searching for reasons to hate him.” His eyes soften. “I know you don’t like this because of how your parents ended up, but not everyone's the same. You don’t have anything to be afraid of.”

“I—” You stop for a second, a bit on edge. “I don’t like this, Jimin,” you say truthfully. You’ve always known it was bound to happen someday, but… the way your heart races around Yoongi and aches when he’s away both bothers and excites you, afraid at the prospect of more but still tempted to see what the future holds. And you can’t decide on either one.

“There you go. What were you waiting for?” he laughs, bringing you in for a comforting hug. “Now you’ve just got to do something about it.”

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[elainevc]

please stay pt. 2

fem!reader x levi

⚠️ Trigger Warning ⚠️: Mentions of blood, vomit, low appetite, weight loss, illness, needles, angst

Please do not read if these themes are triggers. Your mental health is more important than stories on the internet. Please take care of yourself <3

Weeks had passed since Levi had confessed. Your health wasn't getting better, but it wasn't getting worse. So, he took that as a blessing.

Hange did experiments and tests every day. They discovered you had alba rheumatismus rulmonum; your lungs were slowly collapsing and you weren't healing because your body was too busy trying to get the nutritions you lacked.

She explained that it was common in women who lived inside wall Rose. Only thirty years ago was a cure developed. The disease practically disappeared after that.

But now that you were diagnosed, the cure was difficult to get a hold of. Erwin had to pull some very special strings to get the syringe in their hands. It was nerve-wracking to say the least, but you wanted to get better. The survey corps needed as many soldiers as they could get and you weren't about to roll over and be killed by a little coughing.

The finally came when the procedure would take place. The 104th cadets visited you in the morning to wish you good luck. Sasha made sure to show up with a bowl of soup from breakfast.

Before they left, Levi entered the room and shooed them out.

He walked over to your bedside and carefully grabbed your hand. His cold fingers traced over your skin.

"How are you feeling," he asked like he was almost afraid of the answer.

"Eh, could be worse. At least I'm not titan food." He smiled but it wasn't genuine. The air was tense as he got lost in his rhoughts.

His eyes had a far-away look in them as he stared at your intertwined hands. When you squeezed he met your gaze. You lifted your hand to cup his cheek and like a cat he leaned into your touch. You gently led him down to your face.

"Don't be so dramatic. It's not like I'm gonna die," you joke but he doesn't seem entertained.

He was only focused on your lips as he met your mouth to his. It was soft and tender and you could feel how much emotion he was trying to convey. Levi always struggled to express his feelings and you were aware of this.

Just as you were about to start moving, he pulled away.

"Promise me you'll stay," he nearly pleaded with you. He was desperate. You smiled and nodded. Like hell you were going to leave him all by himself.

It was strange watching the seemingly emotionless captain breakdown in front of you. You knew better than anyone that he did in fact care about his comrades and he just struggled to express that.

"Hey," you spoke softly with your fingers pulling his chin up to face you, "I'm not gonna leave you."

He took in a long breath to settle his nerves and nodded.

Erwin and Hange entered quietly, a small box tucked under the section commander's arm. She began preparing the injection while Erwin walked over to you.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm ready to get this over with so I can get back out in the field."

Erwin hummed in response. His brows were furrowed in thought. Despite your long-standing friendship with him, the commander still found a way to make you nervous. Or maybe it was your body preparing for the next few days of hell. Either way, his gaze was frightening and you found yourself gripping Levi's hand a little.

Hange walked over with gloves on and the needle ready for you.

You forced yourself to put on a brave face and roll up your sleeve. They wiped your skin down and meet your eyes. The needle was inches from your skin but felt like it was already in.

They slowly pierced the skin and flushed the syringe dry of... whatever was inside.

It didn't feel any different. She pulled away and returned to the box to clean the supplies. Erwin placed a patch of thin gauze over the injection.

Levi helped you stand and led you to your room. You all agreed it would be best to go through the side effects in a comfortable environment. The cadets had helped move some buckets and what-not into the room earlier that morning.

You sat on your bed carefully and Levi stayed standing in front of you. He watched you sway a little as you felt fatigue grab a hold of you.

He knelt down so he was eye level with you. His steel blue irises stared intently at you. Neither of you spoke for a long moment before he decided to put his hand on the side of your face.

His fingers tickled your ear and his palm was warm against your cheek. You moved forward slightly to meet him.

Your lips connected with his in a soft, tender kiss. It was passionate as he tried to convey everything he was feeling in one single moment. He tasted like black tea and you found yourself loving that.

The two of you separated but he leaned in again to kiss your forehead sweetly.

You felt like you could melt right then and there.

"Geg some sleep brat. You don't need to feel any worse tomorrow." You grinned up at him. He didn't mean for it to be funny but he enjoyed your smile nonetheless.

You moved to get comfortable and fell asleep quickly under the covers. Levi sat in an armchair tucked in the corner. He never got much sleep anyway so staying up to make sure you would be okay wasn't a problem to him.

The night passed uneasily. The medication was starting to sink in and your body was becoming more uncomfortable every hour. You tossed and turned relentlessly but never once woke from your sleep.

Levi stood and poked your cheek. You stirred a little but didn't wake. He poked you again until you opened your eyes and looked at him.

"Come on, you need to eat something."

The covers were too warm to leave their safe embrace so you simply curled into them more. Levi rolled his eyes at you and left the room to prepare your breakfast.

He knew you appreciated a cup of tea when you didn't feel good.

The kitchen was oddly silent and Levi wondered where the cadets had gone. Sasha must have already had her breakfast if she wasn't in the kitchen at the moment.

Levi carried the tray of food back to your room, but when he entered your bed was empty.

The sound of gagging came from the bathroom. He set the tray down and hurried to your side. You were hunched over a bucket hurling your innards out. Yeah this was Levi, and he was obviously grossed out by the vomit, but a part of him still wanted to kneel by your side and comfort you.

He decided on a happy medium of pulling your hair back (or rolling up your sleeves if you don't have hair or wear a cap) and resting a hand on your back.

You finished shortly after and cleaned your mouth. It was safe to say you weren't hungry any more.

You returned to the bed as a sudden wave of heat hit your body. Sweat formed on your skin and threatened to drip down your face.

"Levi.. can I get a cold cloth," you ask quietly.

He nods and comes back to your side with a brown towel. He adjusts it on your forehead and instantly feel better. You cough a little to clear your throat, but this sends you into a coughing fit.

You sit up and continue into your arm. The familar taste of iron fills your mouth and soon the inside of your sleeve is coated with blood.

Fuck, this was going to be a shitty week.

The next few days were filled with your constant changing temperature and occasional vomitting. Hange assured Levi that this was the normal process and that you would get better soon. He didn't believe it entirely, or maybe that was just his cynical side.

Your thinning frame and pale skin reminded him too much of his mom. You barely ate anything and couldn't get out of bed most of the time. The bucket seemed to always be in use.

Levi hated watching you like this. He hated seeing you fall apart in front of him and that there was nothing he could do about it.

He knew that the best thing to do was to trust Hange and Erwin buf that was harder than he thought. His trust dwindled the worse you got and the two of them knew he was nervous. They saw the way he looked at your sleeping form, the way he hurried to fulfill any sudden need of yours.

It was all too unsure for him to be relaxed.

The day you stood from your bed on your own was the day he felt his heart beat a little faster.

The day you were able to walk without assistance made him want to run to you and pick up. He wanted to twirl you around in one swift motion and hold your body close to his.

The day you ate 3 whole meals was the day Levi made a promise to himself.

He promised himself to never let you go and to keep you safe until the moment he dies. He promised to protect you and never see you hurt ever again.

He wanted you to stay with him and be his forever.

That was all he wanted after that.

[sunkaashi]

— OVERTIME

↬ Pairing. College!Atsumu x Manager!Reader

↬ Genre. Fluff. A hint of enemies to lovers if you look really closely.

↬ Warnings. Mentions of alcohol. I guess nothing else? Let me know if you think I'm wrong!

↬ Summary.  Atsumu Miya is hopelessly in love with you, but how could he ever catch your attention if all you do is ignore him? Well, maybe his plan starts to work out when he finds out that whenever he stays longer for practice, you have to stay too.

↬ Word count. 1.7k

↬ tris' note: I wrote this in the spur of the moment, but I had so much fun! feedbacks are extremely appreciated! if you wanna be added to my general taglist, fill out this form.

anyways, did you know that only hot people reblog the works they like? NO? well, now you do ;) jk, but reblogs help me tons and I'm very grateful for them <3

Sweat dripped down the back of ATSUMU's neck as he jogged around the college tracks for the nth time that afternoon.

"Just one more lap." He kept telling himself over and over again as if repeating it would make it any less of a lie.

But who could blame him when this was the only moment of the day that he could spend with you? When he just knew that, by the end of that turn, you'd be there to receive him, water bottle and towel in hand? If anything, that just drove him more and more motivated to get to the finish line.

Those seconds in which your hands slightly brushed off against each other's; the way you laughed whenever he tripped over himself, too tired to carry on; the sarcastic sneer on your face every time you scolded him for wasting your time, but still wouldn't leave. To Atsumu, that was his reward, better than any shining trophy.

"Oi! Miya!" Your voice woke him up from his trance as the blonde boy finally shot up a glance at you. He rested with his hands on his knees, chest going up and down in strong and unsteady motions, legs still trembling a bit from the training. "We've been here for almost two hours! Everybody has left already, and I want to go home for God's sake!"

Atsumu snickered at the way your voice got higher with each word, deflecting from his gaze while you said you wanted to leave. He also didn't miss how you knitted your eyebrows together just before going off at him, carefully scanning his shaky body.

"Ya could've left, ya know? I never asked ya to stay!" He replied, smirking a little while making sure to stare right into your pupils.

If eyes are the windows to the soul, that must be the reason yours were so beautiful to him. As he tried to get an answer through them, he also delighted himself in such a vision. That's why he was quick to notice their slight tremble at his remark.

"And leave you to die?!" Your voice, once again, cut him off of his daydreams. "You've been running for more than an hour after a pretty rough practice, if you go into cardiac arrest who's gonna call an ambulance?! I'm the team manager, I don't want any deaths on my back!"

In his defense, he was only there because of you, but — obviously — he wouldn't tell you that. He decided to just laugh it off.

"Well, that's something you don't see every day!" He teased.

"What?!"

"Yer’ worried ‘bout me!" Atsumu said, trying to suppress the smile forming in the corner of his mouth.

Even though his tone was playful, he knew something was off when his words were left hanging in the air, no snarky comments added to the back-and-forth banter you were both so used to.

Seeing your widened eyes, he started to question if he was right or, worse, if he had crossed a line.

You gulped down as if this would prevent you from spilling something you shouldn't say. Atsumu was dying to know what it was.

This had become a little routine of yours. Staying for a couple more hours after practice as you helped him out for a while. At first, he knew you're just doing your job, after all, you were there to assist the boys, it didn't matter who they were. Still, he couldn't shake the thought that maybe, just maybe, something had changed as the months went by.

He remembered it perfectly. It wasn't that long before that you used to curse him for making you lose such precious time of your day. He knew you had your reasons! Staying overtime underneath the unforgiving sun, having to catch up on your studies while sitting beside the filthy running tracks, surrounded by sweaty and dirty athletes.

Even so, it wasn't pleasant for him either. Jogging for endless hours, the summer heat consuming him as if hell were just around the corner.

Usually, he would run only half of those miles. But how could he stop? How could he stop knowing that the minute he did, you'd have to go home, and he would only see you the next day? No, he needed more time to win you over. He needed those small talks in between his breaks. He needed every single one of the few glances you exchanged every time he ran past you. He needed to hear you giggling at his jokes at least once more.

What once felt like dragging insufferable after hours, began to seem like less and less time over the weeks. Those little details were what made it all worth it. They were his private entrance to heaven.

And he believed that you might've been starting to feel the same way too.

He'd caught the way your lips curled up into a shy smile the last time he'd offered to walk you home. He also had noticed how your irises shined a bit brighter whenever he bought you food, worried because he knew you'd be there with him for those extra periods. He'd seen the way you laughed at his childhood stories just a tad too hard, always asking for another one.

Atsumu had always been aware of how he comes off to people: the arrogant self-centered jock. He never really cared about any of those things, but he did care about how you perceived him. The man just hoped that soon enough, you'd learn he was more than what others wanted him to be. Not a pretentious athlete, albeit a normal guy as any other, just with an ambitious goal set to his mind. And whenever you shared one of those intimate moments, he thought that, perhaps, you were one of the few people that actually saw him for who he was.

Still, that didn't make it any easier to admit the feelings he'd developed for you.

"Oi! Are ya alright?" Atsumu said, trying to catch your attention, a delicate expression laying on his countenance. "I'm sorry if I overstepped in any way, ‘kay? It was a joke, I promise." You didn't answer him just yet.

"Hey!" He proceeded, lifting your chin up so you'd look at him. "Now I'm the one getting worried 'bout ya! Snap out of it and get back to hating on me before ya realize I might have a heart!" Atsumu mocked himself, but shied away from your glare while doing so.

At least he'd made you chuckle.

“I always knew you had one, Miya." You said, rolling your eyes at the man. “I just didn’t know it worked!”

“Oya! That was mean!”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” You asked, arching your brows.

“Well, maybe, but it wouldn’t hurt if ya were a little nicer to me once in a while!”

“Yeah? How so?” The words slipped past your lips without missing a beat, and Atsumu couldn’t help but wonder if the flirtatious undertone was something he had only imagined. He decided to take the bait.

“For starters...” Atsumu began, slowly making his way closer to where you were standing. “Ya could buy me a beer after we’re done here.” Was he crazy or did he really see your shoulders relaxing at his words?

“Oh, is that easy?” You responded in the same toying manner.

“Hold up!” He said, raising his hands to the air. “That’s just the first step!”

“And then what?”

“And then…” Atsumu continued, moving further towards your figure. “Then ya could let me hear that beautiful laugh of yers a few more times.” He completed, stealing a giggle out of you. “Just like that.”

“Great, so I’m halfway through it.” Your tone may have been monotonous, but your eyes told him otherwise. “Anything else or can we get this over with?”

“Maybe, while yer’ laughing, ya could finally realize that I’m not as bad as ya think I am.” He pondered, moving a loose strand of hair out of your features, clearing the view to your gaze.

“Now you wanna tell me what to think?” You scoffed, crossing your arms.

“Is just a suggestion! Take it as ya wish!” He winked at you.

“And what if I told you that I already did?”

“Ya did?” This time, he sounded soft, breaking out of the teasy character for a second.

“You’re not bad, Miya... Far from that.” 

“Well, that’s a shock.”

“You don’t look surprised.” You stated, pointing out the crescent grin on his face.

“Too much wishful thinking made me ready for this moment.”

“And what exactly is this moment… Atsumu?” The way you said his name, in a hushed voice, almost like a secret meant to be shared by only the both of you, gave him the green light he needed to go on.

“It’s when I finally kiss ya.” 

Atsumu was quick to grab your waist, pulling you closer to his chest, and finally closing the gap between you two. His gawk rapidly traveled from your mouth to your eyes, longing for a confirmation. It didn’t take a second after your subtle nod for him to merge your lips together, your body melting at his touch. His grasp was gentle, but firm, like you were something he treasured, something that he never wanted to let go of. And by the way you gripped onto his neck, the boy could tell he wasn’t alone in this.

Atsumu moved his palms all the way up your back, briefly running his fingers through your hair, but resting them upon finding your face. His tender touch cupped your cheeks in between his hands, pushing away just when he inevitably ran out of breath. 

"Do I still have to buy you that beer or is this nice enough for you?" You said, unable to repress a smile.

“Hm, I’m not sure… Why don’t you kiss me again and we'll see?"

© sunkaashi — 2021.  all rights reserved. do not repost, plagiarise it, translate it nor reproduce this post as your own.

[bangtanpromptsfics]

gardenia. (m)

dialogue prompt #7: “Don't push me away anymore”

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: fwb, angst, smut

word count: 2,110

warnings: mentions of smoking, making out, oral (f receiving), fingering, a brief handjob, protected sex

summary: pretty cliche. you have feelings for your fuck-buddy.

a/n: I think this is the longest smut I've written (?), I know 2k words is nothing for a fic but still 0_0 and with this there are a total of 7 jungkook oneshots so I'll be concentrating on the rest of the members and then begin writing au oneshots!!

masterlist

“Don't push me away anymore”, he pants, “please… ”

“Jungkook I'm not doing this right now”, you snap at him. He looked really tired to have energy to make it back to the apartment, and if it was any other day you would've gladly let him in and give his favorite soft blue blankets and let him cuddle you. 

“I didn't mean it. I was so wrong Y/n. I was stupid. Just let me explain for once…”. He slowly enters in. You hate that however much you tried, he's going to win you over. However much you say you hate him, all of that wall shatters the moment he locks eyes. 

“Explain then”, you cross your arms and watch his frame waddling to sit on the couch. 

“I swear I never knew you had feelings for me“ he ruffles his hair into a mess, his chest clenches when he thinks about all that he has to tell you, “I thought… I thought it was just sex… and… and when you confessed to me during the game, I… I thought it was all a part of it”. 

“You don't need me to tell me all the things I already know Jungkook. You don't have anything else to say?”, you huff. 

“And I'm sorry. I shouldn't have made fun of you. I'm an asshole. That was...that was so wrong of me”. He stands up from his seat and comes close, only to see you walking back. It breaks him more. 

It was three days ago when Jimin hosted a party, drinks and all, with some Las Vegas theme just for the sake of it. Since he's part of your close friend circle, you promise to tag along. You should've stayed back to complete that philosophy research paper. 

And then everyone drinks of course. It's some cheap liquid, purple enough to make you lose appetite. But you drink four cups of it anyway and Jungkook nine. 

Then came a dreadful game of truth or dare. A very cliche way to make a love confession. You are usually the type to keep it all in. But you had been fucking Jungkook for so long, it became harder and harder to put a show. As every heated night with him passes, the space for him inside your heart only expands. 

And so you couldn't take it much and went ahead and said that you love Jungkook when Taehyung asked to confess something Jungkook doesn't know about. A rejection was well expected. The only thing you expected in fact. But it got much worse. 

Jungkook went ahead and made fun of you for falling for him. He said your obsession for his dick isn't any love. Yada yada it made you cry, Jungkook sensed he had fucked up, Taehyung felt guilty since he's the one who asked you in the first place and Namjoon made sure you reach your apartment safe, give you a hug and vowed he'll have a talk with Jungkook the next day. 

And so you waited, and grew angry that it really took him three full days to come up with a basic apology. 

But Jungkook was in his own pit of loathing. It took him a few hours into crying on his couch to realise he has feelings for you too. If it was just the fact of pleasure, he would have definitely fucked other girls. But he didn't. 

He enjoyed being with you way too much. But he was dumb and all the more a dick to tease your feelings. 

“Nothing else?, you ask him, with tears demanding to pour out. You keep knawing your skin with nails to stop yourself from crying. 

“I… think… I have feelings for you too”, he whispers and then sobs. His eyes are already puffy. It only showed how much you meant to him, but you're still afraid to jump into conclusions until solid answers. 

“I want you to be sure Koo”.

He feels a wave of relief hit him when you addressed him by his favorite nickname. It gave him hope that you accepted his apology. 

He looks up at you with a smile, “I'm sure. I love you Y/n”.

And then he is putting out a single hand towards you, hoping you'll come to his embrace. He notices the mess you're in while there's few moments of stillness lingering. Your apartment looked like it was in a havoc, a clear representation of both of your fucked up brains. You move a step to let him hold the side of your face. 

It was unreal how healing it was to feel his skin again that you close your eyes to fully dwell in it. 

He very carefully guides your heads into his chest and kisses the crown of it. 

“Koo…”, you smile softly against the softness of his hoodie when he starts rocking both of your bodies from side to side. 

“Hmm?”

You look up to his face. His doe eyes almost disappear inside the red swollen lids when he smiles back at you. You tip-toe to place a sweet kiss on his eyes while he closes it. Planting slow and sensual kisses, just letting the night drape over you.

You move your hands underneath his hoodie to feel his toned torso and he smiles at the warmth of your palm pressing against him. He missed this so much. He missed you so much. And he wants to make things right now.

You give a small nod of consent, telling him it's okay to kiss you. It looked like he was smoking to cope with his feelings. He tasted like the faintness of blunt and mint mouthwash.

“God I love you so much Y/n”, he says again, just to make sure you believe him because he fears you are still holding back.

You cup his face and press back your mouth to his, tongue experimentally laving at him which he happily complies.

Jungkook tugs at your hoodie now, wanting to set your skin ablaze like every time. And after a brief moment of kissing, he pulls your hoodie out making you half naked and aroused.

“Koo please touch me”, you whine, pressing your body towards him. He chuckles before holding your hands and towing you towards your bedroom.

Once making sure the doors and windows are closed, he resumes to you who is waiting rather impatiently at the edge of the bed.

He gets on his knees in front of you, drawing slow circles at the side of your hips, eyes looking for consent yet again. He was afraid if he was being honest. Your relationship seemed really fragile and he is afraid to break it apart once again.

“What's holding you back?”, you read his mind, feeling him not completely present at the moment. He has fear laced in his eyes, in his touch and you want to relieve him of it all.

“It's okay Koo. I promise. Make love to me please”, you assure, holding his face on your palm.

You have never referred to intimacy with Jungkook as ‘making love’, and he is blown away with a certain kind of happiness at that.

He reciprocates a smile before planting smooches on your belly while his hands work on your sweatpants.

Jungkook knows you get pretty self aware of your body at times like this and especially when he has not ridden himself of any clothing yet. So he pulls his hoodie over, a very notable distraction to keep your mind busy while he starts to work up with kissing the blush of your knees.

You spread your legs for him to sit closer to your core, already dripping out juices he craves so much.

He bites and sucks at the skin of your inner thigh, slow and steady to make you practically beg for his tongue. And you twist your fingers on his hair to ready yourself.

A silent moan erupts out of you at the first swipe at your core, and you move closer to his face to feel his entire face press on to your pussy.

He kisses the labia like he would to your mouth, taking his time and tasting what you have to give and when his nose presses against your clit, the first audible moan reaches Jungkook’s ears.

You are mostly silent in bed. A very useful information for Jungkook to fuck you whenever and wherever he wants, like he used to on your friend phase days. And to give pleasure to you so intense that you make beautiful melodies despite it was one of his personal goals every time.

Hyped at the sounds he is hearing, he holds nothing back. Diving straight for the much awaited lick of your clit, he kisses and draws patterns with his tongue to pull you apart faster.

“J-jungkoo- ah!”, you mewl, squirming vigorously. The only thing holding you in position to him being his strong arms digging at the side of your hips.

Knowing you wanted to climax so bad, he plunges two of his fingers knuckle deep into your core, scissoring them simultaneously as his mouth works above.

As you come, he laps everything he can and plants a final sweet kiss to the lips of your pussy.

Not giving him a chance to speak, you push your body down to meet him for a kiss, thankful for the mind splitting orgasm.

He stands on his feet and gets on bed to hover your figure.

“Always beautiful...”, he coos and kisses your temple before restarting his sin on your left boob.

“Jungkook please”, you cry out. The stimulation way too much to process and making your walls flutter on your core. He rolls his hips to your pelvis, feeling his hardness straining against the soft material of the sweatpants.

He seemed to be enjoying way to much of controlling you so you reach down to dig past the waistband of his pants to feel his hardness slick with some pre cum.

“Y-y/n”. He stops all of a sudden, parting his swollen lips from your nipples and sighing at the feel of your fingers curling against his length.

You were amused to see him getting worked up with a simple handjob. Your hand is getting slick of more of his pre cum oozing out as time passes by.

“Jungkook...please”, you plead once more and he is quick to act this time. His full expanse of skin exposed to you once his pants are out of the way.

“Are there condoms in the drawer baby?”, he asks quickly whilst palming himself to stay stimulated.

You nod and he gets off of bed to prep himself, knowing you and the belongings of your room all too well.

“Ready baby?”

“I swear to God Koo just do it”, you say this time and watch his chest rumble in a deep groan.

Your hands fly to his shoulders when he presses in the head of his cock. He observes your face twisting in various shades of bliss when he presses into you slowly until fully bottoming out.

Bending your knees, he places himself better and rolls his hips into you, both of you grunting at the feeling.

“F-fuck baby”, he moans, his pace slowly coming up and every switch of speed earns different sounds from you and that drives him more.

You look utterly divine like this. Your delicate hands scratching bruises on his shoulders, lips agape and face covered in faint sweat from the heat of both bodies. At one moment he pulls his cock out all the way back to the tip before ramming it inside you making your skin jump up in delight.

“I'm gonna cum Y/n”, he sighs, feeling his nerves kicking in. He buries his hands between your thighs to rub at your clit, wanting to feel your cum around him as he spills out.

“I'm-”. You feel another band snap, walls clenching around him with your juices which fuels Jungkook’s orgasm. His movements come to a halt once he had drawn out the euphoria and bends down to steal another kiss from you.

“Thank you so much Y/n”

You giggle, squirming your body as he pulls out and discards the condom to the dust bin, “Why Koo?”.

He returns by your side, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face between your breasts, breathing in the sweet scent, “For believing in me. I was so scared”, he confesses.

Emotions from earlier boils to the surface and you kiss the crown of his head in return.

“Don't worry I won't leave you”

“Yeah?”

You kiss his forehead, “Yeah”.

Thank you so much for reading!! ♡♡

Original Content of ©bangtanpromptsfics

[christinesficrecs]

Hey Christine! How are you?

I'm sorry because you probably answered this kind of ask a million times,but would you like to rec some of your favorite A/B/O dynamics? But if possible,no mpreg or not one of those super cheesy one ^^" I'm sorry I'm asking for a lot haha.

Thank youuuu and have a nice day hun!

Hey! Well, I am a HUGE fan of the super cheesy so no promises. 😉 

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[likeastarstar]

8:34 PM- Jimin

(A/N: this characterization of jimin isn't how I see him, this is fiction bitch I made it up!)

Jimin was hard to define.

He wasn't a nice person, per say. It was doubtful anyone would say he's rude or malicious, but he wasn't the type of man to go out of his way to do anything for anyone. His morals were shaky at best, his motives were almost entirely self-centered and as long as he got what he wanted, that was fine.

"Who is that?" He asked the nearest person when he had spotted the girl with sleek hair and less than present eyes. You weren't aware of his stares, completely zoned out halfway across the room.

The girl next to him said your name like it was a bad word, raising her eyebrows in a particular way.

He didn't know what the look meant, or how it should've affected what he did next, but he got up anyway to go introduce himself.

You, as it turned out, were not a nice person either. You however, erred on the side of cruel but had friends despite this on account of your humor- which was both unexpected and offhand. You were a balancing act, a perfect example of duality. There was the side of you that was thoughtful and pensive but it was ruined by your stubborn will to do whatever first came to mind as a good idea. You could be crass and mean but would always marry it with the truth so well the receiving end would thank you for your input.

You were also a sort of social enigma in your circle- mainly because of the floating stories about you, which a man like Jimin, who had no interest in gossip whatsoever, wouldn't have heard of.

"Hello," He said, walking up to you. He was quite a bit taller than you and was the opposite in every way. In both looks and demeanor, the contrast was stark.

You peered at him in response, sipping the drink in your hand lightly. You had been floating around the party for hours now, getting sucked into conversation after conversation so thoroughly Jimin was confused as to how you knew so many people here. "Hi," you said quietly, your expression reading slightly disinterested.

"I'm Jimin, what are you drinking?" He asked calmly. His voice was deep and mellow, making you gravitate towards him unconsciously. The man was good looking, that was clear. Part of you was intrigued by him, a larger part was wary.

"It's a vodka sprite." You informed shortly, telling him your name a beat later. He nodded approvingly and offered to get you another, which you agreed to since you weren't exactly looking forward to buying yourself another.

"Are you here with someone?" He asked, gesturing to the bar. He moved in a way that felt too smooth to be real, a finesse to all of his gestures that made you want to pay attention to him as much as he wanted to do the same to you.

"I'm here with a lot of someones. I know about you." You said, smiling a little. You were almost positive he was the kind of guy who had girls falling for his charms easily, the piercing gaze, the fluffy quaffed hair, the full lips that always seemed to be sporting a smirk like he knew a secret he wasn't letting you in on. Too bad you had heard things about him, from friends of friends and overheard conversations at social gatherings.

Jimin raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Do you?"

"I do," You grinned, nodding. "I've heard about the way you treat girls. It's awful- you're kind of the worst, you know that?"

Jimin was taken aback by her bluntness but wasn't exactly disagreeing with her. "And why would you say that?" He chuckled, taking a step towards you. Jimin had to admit, your willingness to be so honest was disarmingly attractive and if you kept smiling at him like that he'd find himself completely defenseless.

"I would say that because you broke up with your last girlfriend of a year and a half over a text message and then proceeded to sleep with her roommate." You explained, taking a sip of the drink he had just bought you and taking a step towards him as well. "You haven't heard of me?"

"I'm sorry to say I haven't," He answered quickly, still not disagreeing with your accusations. "Who told you that very fun fact about me?"

"The roommate." You shrugged. "She said you have an interesting tattoo somewhere- is that one true as well?"

Jimin smirked and shrugged offhandedly. "Would you like to find out?"

"No," You laughed, bruising Arlo's ego slightly. He frowned and took a step back, which only had you laughing again. Jimin was conflicted- on one hand, he had just been turned down. On the other, your laugh was the most charming thing he had ever heard. You noticed him back off and took his hand to keep him near you, still with that smile on your face. "Oh, I'm sorry- I didn't mean anything by it. But come on, if you were in my shoes- meaning, if your friend told you all of those things about me, would you still want to talk to me?"

"Yes," He laughed ironically, "You're gorgeous, you could tell me you're the worst person on this earth and I would still want to talk to you."

You pressed your lips into a conflicted smile and looked up at Jimin, crinkling your nose slightly as he studied your facial expression. It was one of those looks where you clearly had a thought forming in your head and while usually Jimin was quite good at determining what people thought of him, with you things could go either way.

"Well maybe I'm not as desperate for affection." You shrugged, turning your attention back to your drink.

You didn't feel like indulging anyone's ego. Not even someone as pretty as Jimin. You finished your drink off and nudged Jimin for another, smiling when he agreed immediately.

"Do you know what phase the moon is in tonight?" You asked, following Jimin to the bar.

You kept close behind him, making sure to always keep at least one finger in physical contact with the man. Jimin felt heat from where you touched him, but again couldn't determine what it meant. Were you just trying to make sure you didn't lose him? Or were you flirting?

"No, I don't really pay attention to that stuff." He shrugged, wondering who the hell kept track of the moon. He got the attention of a bartender and ordered another vodka sprite for you and a whiskey for himself, wishing he was at home and could just drink wine instead. It was dumb of him not to just order what he wanted, but his older brother once said a man ordering a glass of wine at a bar was like announcing to the world that he was 85 and golfed on the weekends to avoid a loveless marriage- and Jimin really hated golf.

"I think it's a full moon. This building has a rooftop garden, did you know that?" You asked.

"No, why would I know that?" He snorted. You shrugged, taking your drink in one hand and thanked Jimin quietly as if you was being forced to. It made him laugh, the way you were only begrudgingly nice to him. "So you've heard all of those things about me, why are you humoring me right now?"

You sighed, looking around the room. "Did you notice that every girl here is either wearing a neutral color? I mean seriously, no one thought to wear anything interesting? And the men- they're all in casual suits that age them." You commented, scrunching your nose.

Jimin looked down at his attire immediately, realizing he too was wearing a casual suit that probably did age him. Then he looked at what you were wearing- a jade green dress that was too complicated to describe. All he knew was that it was sheer in the right places and the fabric was so interesting Jimin almost wanted to reach out and touch it. You were special, that much was so clear to him.

"What are you getting at?" Jimin asked, wondering what clothes had to do with his question.

"I'm saying, I'm bored. Everyone looks the same and I've had the same conversation five times over tonight. But when you came up to me and suddenly, things seem less boring." You explained slowly. He looked down at you, slightly weirded out with how quickly this conversation was progressing.

"What I'm getting at is, do you want to go look at the moon with me?" You asked, pointing towards the roof.

masterlist.