#god I wish I wasn’t so negative

[mrburnsnuclearpussy]

Ngl I’m boarding on a crisis and I have to go to work where I may or may not continue to spiral but can’t do anything about it and it’s terrifying but it’s only me and manager so I feel too guilty to just take a break every time this happens plus it won’t help anyway I don’t need a break I need to be knocked unconscious where the horrors can’t get me 😢 I’m just venting to feel better coz that’s all I feel I can do rn but dw

[oasisofgalaxies]

I’m so angry

[pierregazly]

tying you to me ꨄ max verstappen

max verstappen x reader

warnings: sweet max, random coincidences to lovers trope, happy ending [wc: 4.3k]

[4 times] in which something coincidentally led back to max, and the [1 time] it turned out nothing was just a coincidence (in which everything has always tied max to you).

Time, curious time  Gave me no compasses, gave me no signs  Were there clues I didn't see? 

It felt like a never-ending nightmare. 

One thing after another, one bad day after another, one bad week after the next. It felt like it was never going to end. 

The person that was supposed to be that person, the man that was supposed to be forever, the person that was going to be standing at the end of the aisle... leaving with a simple apology and a ‘I’m sorry, it’s me, not you’... it was incomprehensible.  

It had been weeks, and you still couldn’t wrap your head around what had gone wrong. Was he telling the truth? Was it really him? Or was it you? Had you done something wrong? Had it been you that caused the blunder? The inevitable demise?  

Everyone had been adamant that it wasn’t you, it was so evident it wasn’t meant to be. Nothing connected to him, there were no signs pointing to him being the one, there was no inevitable connection. But even with those words of affirmation, it didn’t change the internal feelings, the internal heartbreak that felt like it was never going to end. 

All you ever wanted was that connection, that string, that feeling, that pulled you to another person, that proved they were the person meant to be for you. It was devastating to think back and know that it was so obvious, he just wasn’t that person. 

The coffee shop you currently sat in had become a morning staple after the last few weeks. After coming back to Monaco for a much-needed reprieve from the rest of the world, the little coffee shop nestled into the charming walls of Monte-Carlo had become a necessary distraction to the outside. 

The employees all knew you by name now, often passing by the table and inquiring about your day, inquiring about the book you were reading, or the work assignment shown on your computer screen. Always engaging in polite conversation back, it was one of your favourite places to be. 

People-watching was the only negative of it. The loving couples who passed through, all cuddled up together as they ordered their drinks for their walk throughout the city, the older couples who sat just tables away and reminisced on their lives together. It was the only thing that drove you crazy about the charming little shop.  

Watching them occupied your thoughts more time’s than you cared to admit. Daydreaming and losing focus on the outside world was a commonality, especially in the little coffee shop. 

It was exactly where you found yourself currently, your eye’s peering to the left as you watched an older man place his hand over who you assumed to be his wife’s hand. Their wedding bands shining brightly in the Monaco sun, soft smiles on their faces as they peered at one another, your heart begging to be let out of this turmoil, begging you to turn away and focus on something else, anything else. 

Its wish was granted when you felt the cold of a drink begin to sink into your shirt, instantly soaking your skin, a gasp of shock falling from your lips. 

“Oh god, I am so sorry. I just turned around and you were right there, let me grab some cloths, please.” 

You knew instantly it was your own fault, you hadn’t been paying attention, more focused on the elderly couple, prompting the person in front of you to spill their... was that Red Bull? On your shirt? 

“Is this Red Bull?”  

The man in front of you grimaced as he handed you the dry cloths, a small smile falling across his lips while his eyes crinkled with the movement of his face. A bit of a cute look, you thought to yourself while beginning to dab at your shirt as the smell of the energy drink wafted up your nose. 

“Yes, I’m so sorry. I don’t drink coffee often, but my sister wanted to stop here because she had heard good things, I was just waiting for her drink while she took a quick call outside. I really only drink Red Bull in public when I have to, or when I’m getting paid to. I thought it was her behind me when I whipped around like that, I’m so sorry. Please, can I buy you a coffee as an apology? Or a tea?” 

You weren’t entirely sure if the rambling was out of nerves that you were going to overreact over the spilt drink, or if he just simply felt like he owed it to you to explain the entire incident and how it came about in full description. 

The frustration that was brewing was not at all a fault of the cute man in front of you, but an accumulation of days of sadness, an irregular appetite, and just a combination of heartbreak. 

Trying to keep the tears of frustration at bay, you instantly shook your head towards the cute man in front of you. “Thank you, but no. Obviously this is a sign I need to go home, sorry for spilling your drink.” 

Before he could get the chance to say anything back, you were forcing yourself to rush out of the coffee shop before an outburst could erupt from inside of you. You hadn’t even noticed the look of intrigue that the Dutchman gave you. 

Bad was the blood of the song in the cab  On your first trip to LA  You ate at my favorite spot for dinner 

The memory of the handsome Dutchman in the small coffee shop left your mind not long before the happy memories of your ex-boyfriend finally forced themselves out of your head. Things had finally begun looking up, the more time you spent with your friends, the more time you spent focusing on work and the hopeful promotion that would come with it. 

Although, your boss had insisted you take a few weeks off, citing the fact you were there more than anyone she knew, and that burnout was inevitable if you didn’t take the much deserved and obligated time off. The amount of overtime and banked hours allowing you to take the time off with full pay just made it easier to agree. 

Which was exactly how you found yourself just south of Zurich, the snow whipping past your face as the ski lift ascended higher and higher up the mountain. Your friends giggled beside you, smiles lighting up everyone’s faces. 

Winter break, although cold and snowy, was always a fan favourite amongst your friend group. It was exhilarating, you hadn’t had the chance to attend the annual ski trip while you were with your ex-boyfriend, he hated skiing and anything including winter sports.  

It’s what made the trip even better, getting the chance to catch up with your friends and their partners, the chance to laugh, and drink, and just smile again. It was all worth it.  

The group of guys in the ski lift behind obviously had the same idea, hooting and hollering at each other as the ski lift continued its ascent. You couldn’t decipher what they were saying, the words in a different language, but the name ‘Max’ seemed to be a commonality. Maybe someone was missing their dog while on vacation? Who knows.  

After hours of skiing, the alcohol in the ski lodge was flowing. The laughter and happiness from every group was prevalent, everyone there was so obviously happy to get away from the real world. It’s what places like that were for. 

“That guy over there can’t stop looking at you,” jostled out of your thoughts by one of your friends, you followed her head inclination to one of the tables a few rows down, a familiar face looking back at you inquisitorially.  

It took you a second to place his face, the day in the coffee shop floating back to your mind prompting a small laugh to fall from your lips.  

“That’s the guy who spilt the Red Bull all over me when I ran into him in the coffee shop in Monaco, remember?” 

It had been a running joke, a typical meet-cute in a coffee shop, but instead of spilt coffee... a spilt Red Bull.  

“That’s the guy who spilt the Red Bull on you?” 

One of your friend’s boyfriends gaped at you, as he continuously maneuvered his look between you and the man in question. Nodding your head, he continued to gape at you. 

“Don’t you know who that is?” Giving him a look, you shook your head. 

“That’s the Max Verstappen. Three-time Formula 1 World Champion? Dutch God? Second-coming of the Formula 1 Jesus?” 

You recognized the name, having heard it at the few races you had attended, but you never would’ve been able to place the name to the face otherwise. 

A laugh erupted from one of the other members of the group, a shove directed at the other man. “I think you've got Verstappen mixed up with Lewis Hamilton.”  

“He’s kinda cute, huh?” One of the girls pointed out to you, a small giggle falling from her lips as she looked over towards the man in question, his eyes meeting yours as you looked in his direction again. 

His hair was flopped over, obviously a combination of a long day wearing a ski helmet and a hat, mixed with the combination of the sweat and heat that engulfed the inside of the lodge made him look even more attractive. Windswept, tipsy, and overall, just happy. 

“So much better than that last loser.” A mutual agreement of ‘yes’, ‘obviously’, and ‘fucking no wonder’, floated throughout your group at your friend’s words. 

Shrugging them off, you just laughed and pushed the conversation in another direction and away from the man sitting across the room, who seemed as if he couldn’t take his eyes off you at all. 

As the night started to dwindle down, you bid goodnight to the remaining group of friends and started your route back to your room. 

“At least I have nothing to spill on you tonight.” 

Directing your gaze to the voice at hand, your eyes made direct contact with the blue irises of Max Verstappen.  

Quirking an eyebrow at him as a small laugh left your lips, “I’m sure the bars fully stocked with drinks you could spill on me. You’re just not trying hard enough.” 

A loud guffaw fell from the man’s mouth, his hands instinctively covering his mouth as he laughed. You couldn’t help the heat that grew on your cheeks at his reaction, his smile directed towards you when he finally moved his hands from his face. 

“I’m so very sorry. Next time I run into you, I’ll try to make sure I have a full drink in hand to spill on you.” 

“Oh, you plan on running into me again?” 

Shrugging his shoulders with a small grin, the Dutchman just laughed. “Well, I ran into the person I spilt a Red Bull in a coffee shop on in one of my favourite places in Switzerland, I’m sure I’m bound to run into you again. Things happen in three’s, don’t they?” 

Max ran a hand through his hair as he smiled at you, before either of you could get the chance to say anything else, one of his friends was clapping a hand against his shoulder with a boisterous laugh. 

“Time to get out of here, mate. Say goodnight to the pretty girl,” he said. 

You felt your cheeks heating again, as Max smiled at you in farewell, a small wave from both of you any indication of goodbye as you both walked away. 

Time, mystical time  Cuttin' me open, then healin' me fine  Were there clues I didn't see? 

F1 race weekends were as fun as they were busy. Any race you had attended since you were an intern was always focused primarily on working. Getting the opportunity to attend a race with your friends, in Melbourne, without having to worry about work or advertising, or anything else, was obviously the best way to spend it. 

Lou, one of your friends linked her arm with yours as she basically skipped through the hospitality area, pointing out the different garages as she got a glimpse of them. Her boyfriend, Nick, had gotten both of you passes through his own work, a long-term employee of McLaren meant that the both of you had been spoiled for the weekend. 

"Maybe you’ll end up running into Max again, imagine? A third little meet-cute,” she said, with a giggle.  

Rolling your eyes at her, you just laughed as she grinned back. “Don’t roll your eyes at me! It’s totally possible, I’m sure Nick could totally convince Lando to convince Max to pass by the garage or the hospitality. We could totally orchestrate it.” 

“Babe, it’s pure coincidence I’ve run into the guy more than once. I’m not like... going out of my way to run into Max Verstappen.” 

Huffing back at you, Lou sent a mock pout in your direction as she continued to drag you through the hospitality center. Passing a stand full of travel cups of coffee, you were eager to grab one as you walked by. 

Before you could even press the lid of the cup to your lips, you were interrupted by the sound of a familiar voice, yet again.  

“Is it your turn to spill something on me, then? I’m having a pretty bad day, and I don’t know if I can handle that.” 

Both you and Lou whipped around to the sound of the man’s voice, the man who just a short time ago had been forced to retire his race due to a faulty and on fire brake. You could practically feel Lou humming with excitement as she looked between you and Max. 

Shoving her hand out in his direction, Lou introduced herself to Max who did the same back. 

“With that, I’m going to see how everything’s going in the garage. Call me if you get lost, yeah?” Without giving you the chance to argue, she bolted away.  

Silently groaning, you looked back towards Max. For someone who just retired from a race he was probably going to win, he seemed relatively calm and relaxed. 

“So, are you?” 

“Am I what?” You questioned back, confused. 

“Are you going to spill your coffee on me, in retaliation for the Red Bull?” Instantly shaking your head, obviously the retirement from the race couldn’t have affected him too negatively, if he was already cracking jokes in your direction. 

“You don’t even know my name, and you’re accusing me of wanting to go out of my way to kick a man when he’s already down?” 

Watching his face fall, you could tell he was about to defend his words. A smile began to cross your face, his eyes jokingly narrowing in your direction. 

Sticking your hand out towards him, you finally introduced yourself, your name falling from his lips as if it was a beautiful word from a testament as he took your hand. It would be embarrassing to say a small spark shot up your arm, but the racing driver had inevitably shocked you, an apology dropping from his lips almost immediately. 

“Terrible race to stalk me at, though. You couldn’t have at least made it a race that I actually stood a chance at winning? Pretty embarrassing to have to retire for such a stupid reason, in front of such a pretty girl.”  

If there was one thing other than racing that Max was good at, it was making your cheeks warm and the butterflies in your stomach spike.  

“Well... I am here as a guest of McLaren... maybe I was just really hoping for a Piastri win. Gotta root for the hometown boy, right?” 

Shaking his head, Max mockingly pressed his hand to his chest and looked at you like he was internally wounded. 

“You’d support McLaren over me? The man who runs into you in the weirdest of places? Who gave you a free Red Bull without a can?” he said. 

You could barely help the small snort that fell from your lips at his words, your hand instantly slapping against your lips in horror. Max openly laughed at your reaction, arm gently hitting your shoulder with a grin. 

“Just for that, I’ll support Ferrari before I support you and your Red Bull’s. I don’t think Charles Leclerc would spill a Red Bull on me.” 

In response, Max grinned and pointed in the direction of the Ferrari garage, the red and yellow prominent amongst the stone. “Shall I go introduce you to Charles, then? He’d probably spill an actual hot coffee on you, at least I didn’t leave any lasting damage.” 

“The trauma of smelling like an original Red Bull for more than 2 hours isn’t enough damage?” you questioned, your eyebrows quirking up at him. 

Max looked at you in horror, “You can’t possibly be saying you don’t think the smell of an original, cold, fresh out of a fridge, Red Bull isn’t just simply lovely. This is potentially the biggest red flag about you.” 

You were quick on your feet, the words dropping from your lips before you could contain them. 

“I guess we’re all on fire today, then. Red flags left and right.” you said with a smirk. 

All Max did was laugh at your words, his head rolling back while his hands placed themselves on his hips.  

Just as he had been the last two times, Max was interrupted before he could continue the conversation, a lady in a Red Bull sweater tapping him on the shoulder to let him know he needed to make his way back to the garage for some interviews that had been requested of him.  

“Nice seeing you again, I’m sure next time I see you, you’ll probably heal more of my Red Bull soaked shirt trauma.”  

The only response he gave was a loud laugh and a wave, as he walked away. 

Time, wondrous time  Gave me the blues and then purple pink skies 

The FIA year-end Gala was exquisite. Everyone was dressed to the nines, the lights were twinking, the service was lovely, and the atmopshere was electric. 

Even though, for almost all of the people there, it was a requirement of their jobs, everyone seemed as if they were having a wonderful time. Mingling with those around them, actively engaging in conversation with co-workers, friends, long-time acquaintances.  

Your boss had elected that you and a fellow co-worker attend in her place, admitting that although she loved the excitement of the night, she needed a break from the glitz and the glam of Formula 1 for a tiny bit. She knew you were more than willing to take her place and do an incredible job.  

Which is exactly how you found yourself at a table with Jack, one of your co-workers, a wide grin on his face as he observed everything going on around him. He was new to the company, just having recently completed his internship and been offered a full-time position with the organization. It was his first time at a Formula 1 event of any kind. 

“Isn’t this brilliant? I’m a huge motorsports fan, I wanted to get into karting when I was a kid but it was just too expensive, my parents couldn’t afford that. I’ve never even had the opportunity to go to a race, and now I’m in the same building, the same room as literal race drivers. Have you been to a race before?” 

You forgot how much he could yap, an almost over-eager human equivalent of an excited golden retriever. He looked at you expectantly, waiting for your answer to his question. 

“I’ve been to a few races for work, and a few privately with some friends. They’re always a great time, you’ll have lots of fun when you start going for work.” you said. 

Grinning at your words, you began to tune him out as he launched into another rant. You were pulled out of your thoughts at the sound of someone saying your name, your head swiveling in the direction of the voice. 

You were almost positive Jack was squealing out loud, as Max Verstappen once again entered your view. Smiling up at him, you stood up to greet the Dutchman, which resulted in him pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek, his hand gently patting you on the back as he did so. 

“I just wanted to come by and say hello. You look very beautiful.”  

Unable to contain the anxious laugh that fell from your lips, you immediately smiled at him. Accepting compliments was obviously not your forte, especially when they were coming from Max, who looked more handsome than ever in his suit, and the wide smile on his cheeks pulling everything together. 

“Never thought I’d see you in anything other than jeans and a Red Bull shirt, Max. You look lovely, as well.” 

“Making fun of me, and a compliment all in one? I will say, I probably would’ve worn jeans if I could, but my public relations manager likely would’ve murdered me and I quite enjoy being alive,” he said. 

Shaking your head in silent laughter, you barely even noticed as Jack thrust his hand out to introduce himself to Max.  

“Your girlfriend is lovely, mate. This is what, the fourth time I’ve run into you?” Max said in greeting, a somewhat tight smile on his face. 

Jack instantly shook his head, “Oh god no, we’re co-workers. I don’t mean she’s not lovely, she is. I’m not her type, or actually she’s not my type. I’m yapping, this is embarrassing. Mr. Verstappen, it was really nice to meet you. I need a drink. I’m sorry.” 

He practically sprinted away, both you and Max looked on with amused grins present on your faces. 

“So, if he’s not your boyfriend, does that mean one of the guys you were with in Switzerland are?” 

Shaking your head, “God, no. Those are friends I’ve known for years. I’m very much single, right now.” 

Max looked like he was in complete contemplation as he debated what to say next. You were secretly hoping he would take the bait, maybe ask if you were free after the gala, or ask how long you were going to be in town for. 

Running into him again once was by chance, twice was a coincidence, and thrice was obviously a sign. The universe was obviously trying to tell you something, there was a reason this man, who had first shown up in your life just after one of the worst heartbreaks you had ever experienced, continued to show up. It was hard to not get your hopes up, to not get ahead of yourself. 

It was hard to keep the butterflies at bay, truthfully.  

“Hypothetically, does that mean you’re free after the gala?” 

“Hypothetically... I man be free after the gala,” you responded. 

Nodding his head, Max smiled in your direction. “I think it would be a crime to let this beautiful dress, and my efforts to wear a suit for something go to waste. I’d love to take you out after.” 

And isn't it just so pretty to think  All along there was some  Invisible string  Tying you to me? 

Max had been transparent from the beginning; he wasn’t overly affection nor was he a fan of excessive cuddling. He got warm often, and the moment he got too warm when he was in bed, he got miserable. But when he wanted to cuddle? You had to take what he would give you.  

Which was exactly how you found yourselves right now, Max playfully attempting to whack your phone out of your hand, his other arm wrapped around your waist as he burrowed his head into your neck. 

“Schatje, I just wanna cuddle for a bit. Give me a little attention.” 

Slapping gently at his arm, you looked at him in mock exasperation. All you ever did was give him attention, he almost took the words out of your mouth when he muttered, “I know you give me plenty of attention, don’t yell at me.” 

You just shook your head silently as you used your free hand to gently twirl small tuffs of his hair, a small hum of content falling from his lips at your movements. 

“What are you looking at?”  

Attempting to look over at your phone, you moved the screen so he could see it better. It was a video from your first ever Formula 1 race, back when you were still a little intern and your boss had wanted you to gain some exposure to the sport. 

“I’m just looking back at some videos. Found this one from my first ever race. I didn’t even know I still had this.” 

Max instantly perked up and looked at your phone, his eyes squinting as he tried to decipher something in the video. 

“Do you remember which race it was? Looks like it’s a few years old, yeah?”  

Nodding your head, you tried to do the math in your head, thinking back to what year you first started your internship. “I think it was 2016? It was definitely in Spain, but I’m pretty positive it was 2016.” 

“Do you know what that means?” Max questioned, a soft smile on his lips as he pressed a small kiss to the junction between your chin and throat before looking back up at you. 

Shaking your head in confusion, you tried to determine what he could be talking about, giving him the chance to continue.  

“My first ever win in Formula 1, for Red Bull, was the 2016 Spanish Grand Prix. Isn’t that so ironic? Guess things were always meant to be.” 

Maybe he was right. 

Maybe there was always a string, a small, invisible string, tying everything together, tying you to him.  

genuinely i got this into my mind and felt like i was legally obligated to write it asap. i hope you LOVE it and i would so appreciate it if you told me if you do. thank you, love you all 🫶🏻

[satoruhour]

POCKET P*SSY!

a/n: idk where this came from. tagging @nc-vb @papersirens @crysugu

wc: 2.8k

warnings: fem!reader, m! masturbation (two scenes), use of fleshlight, unspoken feelings, reader listening in on nanami, f! masturbation, brief clit stimulation & fingering, pet names, ambiguous ending, n*sfw under the cut

nanami kento was an organised, work-oriented man. he submits his sorcerer reports on time, he reports to work right at nine in the morning and clocks out at six o’ clock sharp, his office is prim and proper with all things where they should be and his (various) suits are always pressed and clean, smelling like sandalwood.

so why was the sight of you so compelling and striking that he swears he can hear his heartbeat through the freshly ironed blue button-up shirt? when you’d come to his office in the school to pass him his morning coffee — which wasn’t forced, you did find yourself heading to the café more and more — and the times when you’d engage in simple conversation with him about bread and gojo (negatively).

it was always a breeze to be around you, a fresh air from the intricacies of being a sorcerer. the violence, the bloodshed, the fatigue. but it’s so much of fresh air that sometimes he wonders why he chokes on his words and feels out of breath whenever he talks to you.

nanami has unwillingly checked his phone for the umpteenth time whilst doing his report, glancing over ever so often just to make sure you wouldn’t cancel on that friday drinking outing you proposed to go on with shoko. gojo was undeniably left out of the picture because of his tolerance and the two were the best drinkers in town, but he just wished he could work out the courage to ask you to be alone with you.

but nanami valued his sanity and heart. he wouldn’t know what he would do if he ever lost you to a curse even though you could hold your own, and the amount of sorcerers who are sent out just to die never deserved any of it. but if they didn’t do it, who will?

it’s question after question that’s mixed in with thoughts of you as he stays focused on the blinking cursor of the word document. appear. disappear. appear. disappear. nanami finds that he can’t think of anything else to say in this dumb report, staring blankly yet again at the annoying flickering cursor that reminds him that this was far from done. he glances down to the first drawer of his office table, the brass lock drawing him in. he thinks that he’s not ready.

just as he wants to type his next word with newfound determination, you’re barging through the door with a loud “nanami!”, a big grin plastered on your face with shoko under your arm, trying not to fall under your intoxicating happiness. god knows why you’re so happy, and if he didn’t know better he would think you were already drunk.

“she just got news that her holiday was approved,” shoko nods as she takes a drag from her cig, blowing the smoke into the office.

“please do not blow secondhand smoke into this room, shoko.” nanami’s monotonous voice cuts through the air like a knife and you would think it’s a reprimand, but both of you know the 7:3 sorcerer is just like that.

“why so boring . .” you tsk, a skip to your step when you round the table and peek at the work, and nanami has to ignore the bounce of your breasts under your outfit and the proximity in which you lowered yourself to. he tries to subtly take in your scent, not listening to your question under you wave a hand in front of him and nanami has to break away from his fantasy of you riding him while your tits bounced in his face. filthy.

“nanami? it’s already 6:02, i thought you violently rejected overtime?”

he clears his throat, catching the brief, sly glance of shoko before he turns to you, “y-yes. i do. just give me half n’ hour, ladies, and we can head over to the bar right after.” he didn’t even realise the clock had already striked 6.

shoko puffs out more smoke to nanami’s dismay, “what the hell do you need half n’ hour for?”

“just to clean up this report, promise.” he mutters, pushing up his reading glasses, “i’ll get it done as soon as possible.”

“oh? the great nanami kento doing overtime?” you giggle, reaching over to type a little cheeky “:)” into the word document before waving goodbye a little dazedly as you walk out behind shoko. the pace at which your heart raced matches the man inside at seeing him in his clear, dad glasses.

“you are down bad, girl.” 

“shush!” you swat at her arm and all she responds is with smoke in your face that she laughs and you just huff, heading off back to the morgue where she felt most at home.

nanami never did submit the report on time. he was given a reluctant extension. what was he doing? anything but the report, instead locking the door to his office and lying awkwardly on his office sofa, that was cleverly placed behind a partition wall. it took a bit of discipline — he typed a few words, deleted them, typed some more and realised they didn’t make sense and by now it’s 6:15. he takes one glance to the locked door and to the partition and down to his hard-on with that familiar feeling in his stomach. it’s been long since he’s jerked off, and sure, he has done it mindlessly just to calm the morning wood but it’s been long since he’s gotten aroused by someone.

the man palms himself through his pants, imagining it was your dainty hands instead, a soft groan leaving his lips at the feeling. his pants have never felt this tight, throbbing and just begging to be released as he slowly fishes it out. nanami was big, a pretty little curve to his cock with a tip that’s leaking pre-cum, and he strokes at it, a shaky breath leaving his mouth that it sounds pathetic. here he was, in his own office sofa fully clothed, with one leg digging into the floor and the other propped onto the armrest. 

“f-fuck . .” he swears lowly and starts setting a pace, conjuring up your face as you bob your head over his length while you play with yourself. “right there—”

nanami whines, unintelligible words muttered out as he pumped his cock. he spits into his palm and continues his ministrations with the most lewd noises that have never graced his office before. so many thoughts of you occupy his mind, you fucking yourself back onto him, how sweet your pussy would taste, the sort of sounds you’d make, how you’d feel around him — nanami cums with a quiet, strained groan, hips lifting off the sofa as he spurts his cum all over his suit, and he doesn’t care, too lost in the feeling as he squeezes his eyes shut. the idea of giving you a creampie sounds too good at the moment, how much cum he’d shoot into you, how he’ll watch it drip out—

“fuck my life.” he simply murmurs when he sees the translucent liquid settle in, and yet nanami doesn’t regret it one bit.

the next week is torment. it was particularly difficult, especially after the moodiness you possessed after getting one worded answers from nanami at the bar. he couldn’t even hold eye contact with you, how rude! he was also gone for quite a bit once, coming out of the bathroom all sweaty and out of breath and you wondered if he found a cursed spirit in the sketchy, dingy restroom of the club.

“relax. a thousand yen he’s just stressed out by . . external factors at the moment.”

“but he’s nanami! if anything, that man is internalising all that’s stressing him out,” you groaned into your hands, “also why are we betting on my love life?”

“it’s fun.” shoko defends herself with two hands when you point a finger at her; you go back to your sulking stage soon enough. she merely settles for a hand on your back. “but you’re not wrong. this is just, a little different.”

you only can sink further into your hands when you recall how nanami pulls uncomfortably at his tie, a distraught expression on his face when you asked if he wanted another round of drinks. the avoided eye contact, the conversation mainly existing between them, it was all you needed to know about his feelings of you. the coffees and hangouts meant nothing, and yet you were so clueless at how you’ve awoken something entirely new for nanami that he’s cumming thrice a day just at the thought of you.

another day, another report to fill in. he had dealt with a first-grade curse this time, the casualties, brutal and infrastructure was severely destroyed. it was going to be a hell of a word count, he notes, but what he doesn’t want happening, or rather, the unavoidable, happens. his mind drifts back to you again and everything that you stood for, of your blinding smile and kind gestures. you knew how he liked the right amount of sugar in his coffees and the right place to massage when his upper back was hurting. there was many times he was sure you both had crossed the line of co-workers and lovers, but it was never spoken or defined.

it was a grey area, he admits. tethering along the lines that he wasn’t even sure was there any more: a gaze held longer than usual, a brush of your hand on his, the not-so-secretive glance at your ass, the quick gaze from his eyes to his crotch when gojo makes a dirty joke. it was already between the lines, yet none of you wanted to act on it.

nanami groans into his hands, taking one more look to that locked drawer, thinking it would magically unlock itself and he wouldn’t have to go though the torture of submitting to his desires and unlocking it like a sex-crazed man in the victorian era after seeing a woman’s ankles. it was humbling. but his mind seems to have a different plan, descending into fantasies that he would rather take to the grave than let gojo pry out of him and he shoots up, fumbling for the key hidden under his documents.

within a second, nanami unlocks it and lets out a breath and takes out a box — a hilarious (at the time) but stupid, stupid thing (it was a fleshlight) he let gojo talk him into buying while they were both drunk. but the more he looks at it, the more he wishes to feel your walls around him and his bulge is not going down. he takes out the fleshlight eagerly, looking at it with wide eyes before he swallows and nanami feels like a teenager again.

his heart pounds when he removes his pants. his laptop, open with his undone report and him standing wide-stanced in front of his desk like a loser and his underwear pulled down just enough for his cock to spring up, you would think he was an alien from another planet. nanami does away with all rationale when he slaps his tip along the pocket pussy, thinking it was yours before his tip slips in and he gasps. the sorcerer stumbles forward and he has to rest a hand on his office chair.

“gojo, you fucking dick,” nanami hates that he’s enjoying it. “haah . . shit—” 

he pushes it down his shaft and the instant pleasure is prominent. soon, nanami is moving the fleshlight over his cock, walking with unplanned steps to the sofa. he falls into it easily, hands still pumping the device along his dick and he already wants to cum from the tightness.

“fuuck . . baby,” there are soft pants that leave his mouth, the device already filling up with all of his pre-cum. the slick noises that dominate the room is loud. nanami is too far gone in this, hips thrusting up into the fleshlight with all his might as he imagines it’s you straddling him instead. biting down on his fist does little, sure he was drawing blood from how hard he was sinking his teeth into the skin there. the way he slips inside feels so much better than his hand, and yet there was something missing — your sounds, the sight of your pussy. he needed to know he’s making you feel good. he cums with a cry of your name and mixed in profanities, pelvis basically rutting into the pussy as he shoots his load deep inside. 

and it doesn’t end there for nanami — like a deranged man, he’s grabbing his cushions and stuffing the pocket pussy in between it and the sofa, dragging his tip along the silicone clit. this shit was embarrassing, fucking something fake just so he can simulate the fantasy of being in you, but it felt fucking divine, so much so that the soft “nanami?” doesn’t even reach his ears. he reenters the pocket pussy, body hunched over the sofa as he presses down on the couch cushion and wishing it was your lower back.

the long, loud groan nanami lets out sends a straight chill to your core and you hear it before you see it. you think maybe your chances are ruined, he has someone else and the dancing around each other was done just for fun, but you think a little peek wouldn’t help. your self care sessions are getting a little boring anyway.

the gasp doesn’t reach his ears either when you glance around the partition and you get the sight of your life: nanami thrusting into the sofa while still fully clothed, eyes closed and expression pulled into pleasure. you’re torn between arousal, modesty and relief and despite all that you still listen out for how turned on he was, the gross, dirty sounds of him rutting into something and yet you don’t know what. but you decide to play it safe, flipping back around to rest your back against the walled partition, hand reaching up your skirt and into your panties.

“(y/n) . . baby, g’na cum—” 

your eyes widen, your jaw drops but your hand on your clit never stops, rubbing in time with his thrusts as your other hand is probably making marks on your face by how hard you were trying to stop your moans from coming out. you’re already so wet that your ministrations are all messy and smeared, drawing haphazard circles just for a taste of that high as you soak and soak your panties.

“baby, baby, baby . . o-oh—” you swear under your breath, because who knew nanami kento could sound so damn good? you’re continuing the assault on your pussy, going past your clit and into your entrance and you wish it was his cock instead, but instead he’s fucking a pocket pussy imagining it’s you. too bad you don’t know that. “gonna cum in y-you—”

there’s a little crack in his voice and you involuntarily let out a soft moan and the movements are halted all of a sudden. in your panic, your foot spreads and the bottom of your shoe grazes against the wooden floor and your presence is fully made known, now.

“hello?” man, what the fuck? now they’re really not going to answer. nanami sifts through the possibilities: it couldn’t be any of the men, they know not to interrupt nanami when he’s working. shoko would only for alcohol . . you? you dig a deeper grave by making an incoherent noise in your throat and that’s when nanami’s fear really settles in. he wasn’t hallucinating anything — there really was someone calling out to him the first time and the gasp and now the little moan? but nanami has anything but luck, not being able to catch the person because you’re booking it out of there immediately, not exactly quiet due to the clicks of your heels and you want to go back into that exact grave to die.

you can hear and feel your heart in your throat, back lined with sweat more than it would be when fighting a curse. whilst, there was only one thing on your mind that slowly induces you into a downward spiral; he called your name, your name, your god-given name, the people address you by, he called—

standing by the little zen garden of the tokyo school, you can feel your clit throb and the breath taken out of you as the vision replays again and again in your head and you think yourself stupid for running out of there. but before you can turn back, gojo’s approaching with a big, shit-eating grin on his face and waves to you (“yaga told me to come get you, you’re not busy, are you?”).

swallowing, all you can do is shake your head, but not before you spare a last glance to nanami’s door which is now closed shut. you hear a click.

[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 

[shuawonie]

(in)visible.

pairing | yoon jeonghan x fem!reader

genre | fluff, angst, college au, hidden relationship au, non-idol au, comfort

word count | 7k

warnings | use of pet names (angel, baby, sweetheart), kissing, slight harrasment, mention of abusive behavior, alcohol consumption, jealousy, swearing, soft but also sometimes possesive jeonghan 😩 big angst bro-, THE SAINT LAURENT JEONGHAN???? (on my knees fr)

summary: he decided to give you time, to let you feel comfortable with him and everything else. but you don’t want and need it anymore. you want to be visible. you want the two of you to be visible to the others. that you’re his and he’s yours.

a/n: oh my god.. my writer's block really hit me hard like a truck 😭 i’m so sorry for not posting anything for past few months.. </3 however ! here’s the small gift for you guys <3 hope u enjoy !

(i have already planned new jeonghan fanfiction and i’m SO proud of myself, watch me get the writer’s block again and post it after months again LMAOO)

i got you, you got me,

when it's us, babe,

you make me feel complete.

you're all i need.

Does Yoon Jeonghan have a girlfriend?

That was the question which was asked probably the most past days on your campus.

You could hear it everywhere. People were gossiping about in the hallways, in the bathroom, in the cafteria and even during the lectures, trying to get to the truth.

Is he single or not?

This whole situation began when someone from the campus took a photo of him, hanging out with a girl and holding her hand with a big smile on his lips. The face of the mysterious girl wasn’t shown in the picture, which is why they were wondering who it might be and if she’s his girlfriend.

Jeonghan was a 3rd year student and as far as everyone had known, he was staying single for a long time already. But now, nothing was sure.

People had mixed opinions on it. Some were happy for him that he found somebody to love, some were just really confused while not wanting to believe it's true, and the last group was really negative about it (thinking they even had a chance with Jeonghan, pfft).

However, it was obvious that everyone wanted to know the truth.

Does Yoon Jeonghan have a girlfriend?

However, only two people knew the answer to it.

Yoon Jeonghan himself, and you.

Jeonghan came out from the lecture class with his black messenger bag overhanged across his chest while being deeply immersed in his phone, when Seungkwan, campus’ sweet boy, joined him by his side.

“Hello Jeonghan!” he started enthusiastically, “How’s your day? Are you okay?” the boy blinked a few times and sent him a cute smile, while taking a sip of his beloved iced americano.

Jeonghan frowned, looking at him quite suspiciously.

“Hi,” he mumbled, letting out a sheepish chuckle, “Yea, I’m fine. Just finished my schedule, and I’m a bit tired. And you?” Jeonghan asked, continuing the conversation as the two of them slowly walked towards the entrance of the campus.

“Uhh.. I still have one lecture left, so I need to stay.” Seungkwan pouted, making the other boy smile, “Are you meeting someone? Or going home by yourself?” the sunshine boy asked, making Jeonghan stop mid-step, crossing his arms over his chest.

He looked at the younger boy with an amused expression as he snickered, “Seungkwanie, come on. Don’t tell me you’re also into this whole gossip trend on our campus.”

“Oh, hyung! But is that true? Are you seriously in a relationship?” Seungkwan questioned, tilting his head to the side, while wishing to get the answer everyone wanted to know. “Please! I won’t tell anyone.” he pouted.

Jeonghan let out a quiet snort, while looking to the side as he was kind of getting tired after hearing another person ask him that question.

Why was everyone suddenly so curious about it?

“I’m sorry Kwannie, but I won't tell you. Nice try though.” Jeonghan muttered, fixing his bag on his side, “See you tomorrow.”

Then, he turned around and walked out, leaving the younger boy and all of the gossip behind him in that building.

December's cold, evening breeze hit Jeonghan’s face, finally letting him breathe out in relief. The boy placed the hood over his head, tugging his hands into the pockets of his big hoodie.

He did it. He survived another day without getting caught.

Gosh.. it was so hard for him not to react every time he passed next to you in the hallways. To not stare at your beautiful face for too long, to not send you a soft smile, to not yield his food to you at the cafeteria or just hold your hand. He wanted to do it so badly, and many times he caught himself almost doing it.

But at the same time, Jeonghan was aware that even the smallest thing that could have been taken as ‘more than close friends’, might have caused suspicions from your or his friends. Which you two wanted to avoid at all cost. At least for now.

Your relationship had to stay invisible to people around you.

Even though the boy didn’t like that idea at first, after some time you two agreed that for now you won’t show your relationship in public, especially in college.

Jeonghan decided to give you time to get comfortable as it was your first relationship after being in a really harmful and traumatic one in the senior class at highschool. Your ex was a very cute and nice guy at the beggining who later turned into being really abusive towards you, especially verbally. And when you revealed at the beggining, that you two are dating, a lot of people abandoned you, leaving you behind with the problem that after a while you were forced to deal with all alone.

That’s mostly why you weren’t sure if you wanted to reveal your new relationship. And it’s not that you didn’t trust Jeonghan, because you did. You trusted him as no one else. But because of your past, you were not certain if you could go through that all over again.

Jeonghan couldn’t wait to finally see you, after this long and tiring day. He really wanted to hug you close and tell you how good you looked today. Because he missed you. Your voice, your smile, your smell, your warmth and your touch. He missed every single thing about you, and he hasn't interacted with you for only around 6 hours (not counting all of the texts that the two of you shared today).

Rushing towards your apartment with a bag of takeout food that he bought on the way, Jeonghan was already thinking what you two could do tonight. But the truth was that even if you two laid in your bed, cuddling, he was okay with it. Because what mattered to him was spending his time with you. Not the activity you did.

Right after only one ring to the door, you opened it with a tired smile visible on your face. You were already dressed in your kuromi pyjamas (to which Jeonghan had a matching, ‘my melody’ one), wearing fluffy socks.

Your boyfriend giggled, excited about seeing you and finally having you for himself only.

“Hi.” he said gently, with a bright smile shining on his face.

“Hi.” you replied softly, while connecting your hand with his, taking him into your apartment, and closing your door right behind him.

“I brought food!~" the boy cheered, taking his shoes off by his heels. You couldn’t help but melt, and a bright smile appeared on your lips.

The boy swung the bag in the air with a big smile, and you approached him, slowly kissing his cheek while thanking him sincerely. Then, he quickly placed the bag on the floor and wrapped his hands around your waist, hugging you tightly to his body.

Jeonghan laid his forehead on your shoulder, “I’m tired.” he murmured, closing his eyes while sighing, “I need to recharge.”

A smile creeped onto your lips as you slowly started to play with Jeonghan’s hair, him still being close to you.

“Don’t worry, baby. We have time.” you smiled, caressing his head. You let him ‘recharge’ as the boy didn’t move away from you for even a second.

“You’re doing a great job, Hannie.” finally, you broke the silence, feeling how he snuggled closer into the crook of your neck. The scent of your body has always had a calming effect on Jeonghan, and it wasn’t different now.

“I can’t believe that acting like a stranger with my girlfriend might be that tiring.” he murmured into your skin, immediately catching you off guard.

Your face saddened in the split of the second, with the feeling of guilt starting to take over you.

“Hannie-”

“No, it’s okay.” the boy looked up at you, with his shining, full of understanding eyes, “We both agreed on it after all. And I want you to feel comfortable when you’re with me. So I won’t pressure you into doing things you’re not okay with.” he added, and gently cupped your face with his hands, admiring your features.

“I’m sorry..” you mumbled, feeling the lump in your throat, “I’m sorry that because of me you have to pretend something you don’t want to, but.. please, believe me that I’m really.. really trying to somehow overcome this-”

Jeonghan quickly placed his lips on top of yours, connecting you in a gentle kiss, while stopping you from speaking more. At first your whole body stiffened, not expecting this. But the feeling of Jeonghan’s soft lips on top of yours started to overwhelm you, making you crave for more of him.

However, before you could even react and reciprocate his sweet action, Jeonghan already moved away from you, sending you a reassuring smile.

“Let’s eat, darling. I’m sure you’re hungry.” the boy suggested, and took the bag from the floor, making his way to your kitchen.

“And then I need to put my baby to sleep.” Jeonghan giggled, to which you quickly responded with a scoff, “I’m not a baby anymore.” you muttered, but the smirk was still present on your lips.

You quickly followed right after him, sitting by the kitchen island as you silently watched him take out the containers with food.

But the slight feeling of guilt hasn’t left you at all, making you stay up at night, tossing around in the bed, overthinking everything, while being tightly hugged from the back by Jeonghan.

Should you finally become visible to people?

Or should you let things stay as they’re now?

“So..” Millie — your best friend, started and you looked at her suspiciously.

The two of you were coming back from the nearest coffee shop after buying a coffee to go for yourselves. This small break was good for you as you still had this one lecture to survive.

“So?”

“I met a guy.” she said while covering her face as she already knew how you’re going to react.

You let out a sigh, closing your eyes whilw tilting your head to the side. “Millie, I swear to god..”

“But listen!” she interrupted, “He’s actually really nice and he cares for the others a lot! He’s the greatest gentleman I know! And you won’t believe me, but he’s actually close friends with Yoon Jeonghan.” after hearing that name, your eyes immediately widened.

You choked on your drink, immediately starting to cough, “Ooh..” you started trying to stabilize your voice, “What’s his name?” you asked, quickly realizing that you sounded too interested about that.

Even though you remembered a few of Jeonghan’s friends as he was sometimes going out or just talking about them with you, you were really curious which one stole Millie’s heart.

She grabbed your hand and squeezed it tightly, “Hong Joshua! Can you believe he’s also half american half korean? Just like me!” the girl exclaimed while grinning.

“Yeah, I’m happy for you-” you mumbled while trying to get off her hand, that was slowly starting to make your palm feel numb.

“I think we can even go and meet him now! Joshie said he’ll wait for me by the entrance.” Millie giggled just at the thought of the boy, and already started walking faster, leaving you behind.

You looked at her with some pity written on your face as you shook your head and followed her steps.

A few minutes later, the two of you were already standing by the entrance, waiting for Joshua to join you. On the way, Millie already told you that you’ll have this lecture together.

“He texted me he’ll be here any second!” Millie cheered, showing you the text that he sent her a few seconds ago. And as Joshua said, several seconds later, you two noticed him going towards you. However, he wasn’t alone.

Yoon Jeonghan, who was smiling brightly while listening to Joshua, accompanied him. It made your breath immediately hitch in your lungs.

Oh shit. You haven’t thought about the fact that he might actually come right now with Joshua.

“Hi Joshie!” Millie shouted enthusiastically, waving to the boy to get his attention. As soon as Joshua noticed Millie, his face brightened up as his eyes turned into two small crescents and a cute smile adorned his lips.

But you had your eyes stuck on him. And so did he, with a slight smirk that creeped onto his lips.

“Hi y/n! Millie talked a lot about you, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” Joshua greeted you, sending you one of his charming smiles to which you smiled back.

“This is my friend, Jeonghan.” he added, making you move your gaze at the mentioned boy, only to find him already staring at you.

There was a short silence before you decided to make the move.

“Hi.” you finally uttered, smiling gently.

“Hi.” Jeonghan replied, the same way as he had always greeted you.

It was your small tradition that only you two understood. Each of the smallest ‘hi’ you said, also meant ‘i missed you’ or ‘i love you’ at the same time.

“Oh, right, I almost forgot to tell you!” Millie said suddenly, making you twitch.

“Today, together with some other people from campus, we’re going to a barbeque restaurant! If you want to, you can join us. I think it’s going to be more fun and less uncomfortable if you’ll be there.” the girl remarked, and sent you a pleading look.

You looked at Jeonghan, searching for an answer on his face and he silently nodded, “Yeah, I can join you guys. And y/n too.” the boy answered, and shifted his eyes back to you.

“Perfect!” the girl cheered while hugging Joshua’s arm, “Then we see each other tonight at 6PM! I’ll send you the localisation later. But now let’s get going, the lecture is about to start!” she added, and then Millie pulled Joshua to the lecture hall, leaving you two behind.

“Are you okay?” Jeonghan asked, worried by the absent look in your eyes.

You smiled briefly, “Yeah.. I’m just a bit tired. I just need to survive this one last hour. But now let’s go, we don’t want them to get suspicious, do we?” sending a small wink to Jeonghan, you quickly followed your best friend’s steps to the hall, with Jeonghan going right behind you, not being able to hide the smirk on his lips.

When you sat down in the hall room, several students were already there. Millie sat next to Joshua, and Jeonghan decided that you'll sit in the row behind them.

As soon as the lecture started, you placed your arms on the desk and laid down. The feeling of tiredness after not getting enough sleep tonight was taking over you, making it really hard for you to survive this day.

However, it didn’t go unnoticed by Jeonghan that you looked exhausted. Gently, he removed your hair that got in the way, and stroked your back.

He leaned closer and whispered, “How about you rest a bit, hm? I’ll take the needed notes for us, so you don’t have to worry.”

You smiled gently, melting inside from the softness and care that the boy treated you with. Nodding softly, you whispered a small ‘thank you’ to Jeonghan.

Opening your eyes one last time, you saw Jeonghan’s focused face. He was playing with the pen in his hand as he always had to have something in his hand.

As you shifted your gaze to Millie, you immediately noticed that compared to your boyfriend, the girl wasn’t paying attention to the lecture at all. She probably wasn’t even planning on doing it, because Millie was busy studying the boy next to her. Smiling weakly at the mere sight, you closed your eyes, finally drifting off to sleep.

Little did you know, Jeonghan also decided to follow Millie’s steps after some time.

“Hi angel, are you ready?”

Jeonghan peeked into your room as you were finishing getting ready for the night out. You looked up at him in the mirror, and the boy smoothly came closer to you with a smirk playing on his lips. He bent down to be on your eye level, and looked at you from the back by the mirror. The scent of his freshly applied perfume and shower gel hit your nose, showing that he just finished getting ready.

You two came back from the college around two hours ago. At the end of the lecture, the boy patted your arm gently, whispering your name to wake you up. He caught himself smiling at the sight of your sleeping figure, but quickly scolded himself for it, remembering that he has to take notes and act completely unaffected by you.

Not going to lie, it quickly became a big challenge for him.

The boy was wearing a black silk shirt with a deep neckline, paired with black loose pants. His hair was freshly styled, with his bangs resting right over his eyes. He looked incredibly attractive at that moment, making you rethink about how it is even possible that a man and an angel like him is actually your boyfriend.

You, on the other hand, did natural make-up, and wore a black dress that hugged your body perfectly, reaching around your calves area, with a deep cut that reached right above your knee. Your hair was left loose, and with a delicate gold necklace that Jeonghan gifted you on your birthday, your whole look was finished.

It was indeed intentional to choose an outfit that would match Jeonghan’s, and vice versa (but not too obvious). However, the more you thought about it, the more you were starting to doubt if you should go with that dress. Of course you wanted to look elegant and step out of your comfort zone a bit, but you quickly started to think if it was really worth it.

And just as if your boyfriend heard your thoughts, he whispered into your ear, “You look beautiful, sweetheart.” Jeonghan left a sweet peck on your cheek, “You don’t have to feel unsafe or uncomfortable. I promise I’ll be there to protect you everytime, at any cost.” he added, solving all of the problems that you could have been thinking at that moment.

The boy moved away a bit, finally allowing you to let out the breath that you didn’t even realize you’ve been holding the whole time. The scent of him was always really strong and just being by his side, you thought that you might go insane by any second.

Soon later, the two of you finally left your apartment, and sat comfortably in Jeonghan’s car that he parked in front of your house. Your way to the restaurant went actually really comfortably, and even when you didn’t say much, Jeonghan tightly held his hand intertwined with yours, whispering from time to time compliments to you.

When you entered the restaurant, Millie, Joshua and some other people that you didn’t really know were already sitting by the table. As soon as your best friend noticed you, she yelled your name and waved to you. The two of you joined the group, and you sat down next to Millie and a guy that you didn’t know. Jeonghan sat on the other side of the table, next to Joshua, and a girl who was really known in your college, Siyeon.

“I’m glad you guys actually made it!” Joshua cheered, and you smiled at him.

“Why did you two come together?” Siyeon asked, “Are you two dating or something?” she added, gaining everyone’s attention as everyone heard about the gossip.

She always knew how to get people to look at her. Siyeon was not only called the goddess of the campus, but also she made it with her attitude. And even now, she successfully gained everyone’s gaze by looking at her and at you two, while smirking lazily.

Her question made you immediately start to panic inside, but you were trying to not show it that much on the outside. Not knowing how to respond, you looked at Jeonghan, frightened. The boy immediately read from your facial expression what’s happening, and he decided to take action.

The boy laughed out loud, “Oh come on, guys! Does really everything have to be about dating? I just gave y/n a ride because it’s dark already, and she lives near me.”

Smooth.

Jeonghan looked at you, and sent you an apologetic look, “We’re just friends. We’re not in a relationship, guys.” he added, making the others start joking and laughing because of this situation.

Oh.

Even though you knew that the boy did it to protect you, and your relationship, you still felt that stinging pain in your heart.

But actually, what did you expect? Jeonghan did what he had to do to keep your relationship a secret. Something that you two agreed to do, especially because of you.

So why did you feel that way? Maybe.. just maybe, you deeply hoped that he would admit it, and say that you’re his girlfriend.

“Hey, you okay?” you heard Millie’s whisper by your ear, bringing you back from your thoughts.

You nodded, chuckling from embarrassment, “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry.” she stroked your arm gently while sending you a reassuring smile, and you sent her a small smile, reaching for your glass of water to take a sip.

When all of you ordered, and the food together with alcohol was finally brought, your group started to eat, while telling stories, joking around, and slowly getting more drunk.

You weren’t really a fan of drinking as you had a light head, so you were always the responsible one for Millie as she always wanted to drink. But even now, when she had Joshua by her side, you still decided not to drink.

Jeonghan always reminded and assured you, that you shouldn’t worry about not drinking anymore. He insisted, that if you’d want to have some fun with friends then you shouldn’t stop yourself, because he’ll be there to protect you and take you home afterwards. But even when you knew he truly meant it, you still decided to stick by your glass of water.

Millie was already clinging to Joshua, already getting tipsy from the drinks she drank. People were laughing loudly at something and you were sitting silently, listening while finishing your portion of tteokbokki that you decided to have. A few minutes later, Jeonghan excused himself by the need to go to the toilet.

As soon as he disappeared by the corner, the boy next to you named Changmin, who also drank a few bottles of soju after the challenges the boys from your college made, turned around and suddenly shouted, “Oh y/n!” what made you immediately look at him, not knowing what was happening.

Then, the boy leaned closer to you, making you widen your eyes and he clumsily sweeped some of the sauce with his thumb, that was in the corner of your lips.

Unfortunately, while being already tipsy from the alcohol, he made even a bigger mess on your face as he not only smeared the sauce to your chin but also some of your lipstick.

“Oops!” he laughed goofily, and some of the boys that were there started to laugh with him.

You just hoped that someone would somehow help you. But Millie was already passed out on the chair, with Joshua being concerned about her. Other girls, including Siyeon, were busy gossiping and drinking more soju. So you were left alone with this situation.

Quickly, you reached for the napkin that was near your bowl, and turned slightly to the side, gently removing the sauce and leftovers from your lipstick. You felt embarrassed because of what happened, just as if that boy fully meant to do it.

But it wasn’t funny to you at all.

Changmin looked at you one more time before smacking your thigh with his palm and squeezing it slightly. You widened your eyes as you were flabbergasted what just happened. And in the split of the second, you pushed his hand away.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you asked angrily, as you immediately felt uncomfortable but also pissed by the boy’s sudden action.

“Aww, poor baby is not in the mood,” he chuckled and reached for his chopsticks to take another piece of the tteokbokki from your plate and put it in front of your mouth.

“We need to feed the baby, say aaaaah~”

You hit his hand away once again, and the boys around started to laugh even more, making you feel ashamed. The tears from helpless frustration started to sting your eyes, but you strongly resisted to open your mouth and eat the tteokbokki that Changmin put in front of you once again.

“Come on, y/n! Say a-”

“I’m sure y/n is not hungry anymore.”

You heard a voice from behind you, and the person quickly pushed Changmin’s arm away. You looked up, seeing Jeonghan’s serious face behind you. He took a quick glance at you, immediately noticing the tears that swelled in your eyes.

Your boyfriend grabbed your wrist and pulled you up, the chair squeaking by the sudden drag.

“Oh come one, dude!” one of the boys shouted, but he was totally ignored by Jeonghan.

He quickly hid your fragile body behind his silhouette, looking into your eyes which glistened with tears.

Jeonghan cupped your cheeks with his hands, “Talk to me, angel. Did he hurt you?” he whispered gently, looking at you intensively.

You didn’t respond to him, tears glistening in your eyes.

The boy cursed under his breath, quickly focusing on you once again, “I’m sorry.. I’m so sorry angel that I left you here alone..” he whispered, gently kissing your forehead, “I’ll take you home now.”

“Jeonghan, dude! Your friend is so damn pretty,” Changmin yelled, lazily getting up from the chair, stumbling over his own legs, “Can I have her number? You know that I like girls like her, especially in bed.”

You could see how Jeonghan’s face immediately darkened, and he let out a loud scoff after hearing the boy’s question. He took a deep breath and grasped your hand.

“Okay, then I’ll text you later!” Changmin shouted.

Not even glancing back anymore you two left the restaurant, immediately getting into Jeonghan’s car.

This time, the silence was really uncomfortable, compared to the time you drove here. The atmosphere between you not knowing why thickened.

During the whole way home, Jeonghan was silent. He focused on the road, still holding your hand, and only taking small glances at you from time to time. There were a few times when you wanted to say something, but as your mouth opened, nothing came out. You thought as if you’re going to explode from the nervousness you felt at that moment.

When you finally reached your apartment, you walked into it silently, taking off your coats and shoes.

You knew that the boy was trying to give you some time and space, but as you’ve already known Jeonghan well, you knew that something was bothering him as well.

The boy muttered something about getting a glass of water for himself, and you, feeling guilty about everything that had happened, decided to follow him to the kitchen like a puppy.

He took a glass for himself and also for you, and poured some water for you to drink before drinking from his glass. But you had other plans than drinking that stupid water.

You knew it was finally the time to destroy the wall between the two of you.

“Jeonghan-” you said, but in the blink of an eye his glass hit the hard surface of your kitchen island and he scooped you up, placing you on the countertop.

Jeonghan’s arms rested by the two of your sides, securing you, as he stood between your legs. He was silent, with his head lowered.

Your heart was beating like crazy and your breathing sped up. You had no idea what you should do in this situation.

“It’s so.. fucking frustrating.” the boy hissed, still not looking at you. You decided to give him time and you waited for him patiently.

Finally, after a while the boy raised his head, looking straight into your eyes. As he was slightly bent down, his eyes were on the same level as your, dangerously close to your face.

“It’s so fucking frustrating, that people can’t see that we are together. That you can’t call me yours, and I can’t call you mine. That I have to tell everyone that we’re just friends. That we can’t have any, even the smallest interactions..” he stopped for a second, being completely drowned in your eyes.

“Please.. y/n.” Jeonghan sighed painfully, “Can’t you see how hard I’m trying? Just give.. us a chance. I will show you that we can be together in the public, and that we can survive by being by each other’s side. Because I love you, y/n.”

And for the first time in your life, you saw Jeonghan's eyes fill with tears, making it really hard for you to also not tear up.

“A-and..” he stuttered, as his voice slowly started to break.

“Recently I’m not even sure anymore if you still love me the same way as I do.”

Ouch.

Just one sentence. Small like a needle, but painful like a knife.

You immediately cupped Jeonghan’s face, wiping his tears away with your thumb. The boy had stuck his eyes still to yours, desperately looking for an answer.

“I’m sorry, I’m so so so.. sorry, that I made you feel that way..” you uttered, “I was blind, mainly following my feelings and needs, while not focusing enough on yours, which you also had.” you stopped for a second, taking a big breath to not let your voice break.

“You’ve always been so patient with me, always honest and so soft with the way you treated me.. You protected me, and was with me when I needed you the most. And I..” your voice broke, and you let out a shaky sigh.

“I gave you nothing back but rules. I feel so stupid because of that..” your eyes shone with the tears that you couldn’t hold in anymore. Jeonghan was listening to you silently, with his eyes still watery, but now you could find hope in it.

“I’m so sorry, Hannie..” you whispered as you brought the boy closer, crossing your hands over his shoulders. He snuggled into the crook of your neck, while holding your waist tightly, and inhaling your scent.

You stayed in this position for a few good minutes, before you finally pulled away, resting your foreheads over yourselves. You had your eyes stuck on Jeonghan’s shining ones, and he had on yours. And at that point, when you were staring at your boyfriend, you'd made up your mind.

You were ready.

“Hannie..” you uttered.

The boy sent you a soft smile, “Yes, angel?” he murmured.

“I want us to be visible. I don’t want us to hide anymore.” you decided, immediately noticing how much you caught Jeonghan off guard by your sudden statement.

On the spur of the moment and Jeonghan’s confusion, you leaned down and placed your lips on top of his, connecting you in a soft kiss.

At first, Jeonghan didn’t react to your action. But then he melted into the kiss, turning it into a passionate and hungry kiss. He quickly cupped your cheeks with one of his hands, holding your face gently while not allowing you to pull away with his other hand that rested on your waist.

You ran your hands through his soft, dark hair. The boy lifted your body from the kitchen island, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, not breaking the kiss as the boy made his way to your bedroom.

Yeah.

You were sure that you wanted to make you two visible.

The sound of the messages blowing up your phone has been ringing for the past 15 minutes, echoing in your room. Irritated by another incoming call, you finally woke up, and it turned out that it was Millie, the same as all of the messages.

You answered the call and put it on the speaker, placing your phone next to your pillow as you layed back on the bed.

“Millie.. I swear to god, if it’s something unimportant and you woke me up on the day when the lectures start later-”

“Wait y/n! Have you checked my messages?” Millie’s loud voice made you squeeze your eyes from the loudness, as you were still half asleep.

A sigh left your mouth, “Girl be for real. You just woke me up, how could I check your messages?” you muttered while rubbing your eyes.

“Then check it! I think you need to see it!” Millie shouted, and lazily, you took your phone, unlocking it and going straight to messages.

Millie sent you a screenshot with an Instagram post, uploaded by Siyeon. She took a selfie with Jeonghan, who sat next to her (probably not even knowing she was taking photos).

You immediately noticed that this photo was taken at the meeting that you attended a few days ago. Siyeon was wearing the same, short burgundy dress she wore that day, and Jeonghan had the same black shirt on.

But the most disturbing thing was the description she wrote under the post.

Liked by shushu_a and 16 134 others

SolLaSiyeon: finally breaking the radio silence 😘

“Can you believe that Lim Siyeon is in a relationship with Yoon Jeonghan?!” Millie squealed on the other side, and she started talking about something, but her voice began to gradually mute. You didn’t respond, being completely stunned by what you just saw.

“Wait. How do you know they’re together?” you asked, wanting to deny Millie’s assumption, “She didn’t say anything about it.”

“Oh y/n.. the title holds the whole meaning!” your best friend was quick to answer you, “She breaks the radio silence while posting a photo with Yoon Jeonghan. And in the description she writes ‘breaking the radio silence’ which refers to the gossip about Jeonghan’s girlfriend!”

Now it actually made sense, what made you feel even more terrified.

That one scene kept playing in your mind.

“Why did you two come together? Are you two dating or something?”

The girl was planning it from the beginning, making sure that her plan would work out.

Your best friend was still talking about something, but you didn’t really have the time to listen about how Joshua did this and that, so unfortunately you had to cut her off, “Sorry, Millie, but I really have to go. I’ll see you at the lectures later.” and you hung up, quickly getting up from the bed to get ready.

You couldn’t just leave it like that, you had to do something.

But what exactly..?

Your heart was racing and you felt like throwing up. You were waiting by one of the lecture halls, pacing back and forth while trying to calm yourself down. From what you’ve heard from some people on the campus, Siyeon was supposed to finish her lecture now, making it easier for you to catch her and talk with her.

And just as you were coming by the door again, it opened widely and people started to flood out of the room. You waited, standing on the side by the wall, while nervously biting your lower lip. You kept observing when the girl would come out from the lecture hall.

Finally, after some seconds you noticed the familiar face, immediately feeling how your insides start to roll from the stress. Siyeon was talking with one of her friends, not even sparing one glance at you, being deeply immersed in her conversation.

You took one deep breath before following them, and finally calling Siyeon’s name. The girl stopped her movements and turned around to face you, immediately putting the fake ‘shit i have to look friendly’ smile on her face.

“Hi y/n, what’s up?” she asked, trying to sound as enthusiastic as she could. You gulped, feeling how hot your whole body started to feel.

“Hi,” you mumbled, “Could I ask you a favor?” the girl looked at you questioningly.

“Could you delete the post with Jeonghan that you recently posted?”

Siyeon’s eyes grew bigger as her smile turned into a grimace. “Huh why? Is something wrong with that, sweetie?”

“I don’t want you to create confusion and another round of gossip about my boyfriend.”

There you go. You finally said that.

However, the girl pressed her lips tightly, and looked at her friend, bursting out laughing. The wave of coldness ran through your body. That wasn’t something you expected.

“Okay, o-okay,” Siyeon stuttered, trying to calm down from laughing, “You got us. That was a nice one, y/n. Now if you excuse us-”

“I’m not finished.”

Suddenly, your hand gripped onto her wrist, stopping her mid-step from walking away. Siyeon glanced at your hand that was tightened around her forearm. She rolled her eyes, letting out a scoff as she turned around to face you.

Then you finally noticed how people started to circle you, observing what’s happening, some even recording. Your mouth immediately felt dry but you knew you couldn’t give up now.

“I don’t want you to post any more photos that include my boyfriend, while trying to make an impression as if he is your boyfriend. Yes! We might have been secret about our relationship, but it’s not as if we didn’t have the right to. It’s actually none of anyone’s business who Jeonghan is dating, because it shouldn’t be anyone’s main concern. But, when you post a photo with a description that says ‘breaking the radio silence’ as if you’re proposing to everyone, that you two are dating, then nothing else is left for me than to finally reveal the main secret, that everyone has been dying to find out the truth.” you smirked, while letting out a quiet snark.

“Yoon Jeonghan is dating me. I am his girlfriend, and Jeonghan is mine.”

Everyone and everything around you fell silent. The only thing you could hear at that moment was your rapidly beating heart, and your own breathing.

After some seconds, you finally looked at Siyeon, only to find she wasn’t looking at you. The girl had her eyes set on something behind your figure. You frowned, and slowly turned around.

At that moment, you felt as if your heart dropped. Your whole body froze, the feeling of embarrassment and shame striking you right at that specific moment.

Because no one else than Yoon Jeonghan himself was standing a few meters from you, in front of the whole crowd. He had his hands stuck in the pockets of his jeans, head tilted a little to the side while a proud smirk was stuck to his lips.

When Siyeon finally came out of her daze, she hit your stiff figure with her shoulder as she ran up to Jeonghan, pouting. “Jeonghanie! Did you hear what that crazy chick was saying? Isn’t she stupid? How could she even say such insane things! You’re not her boyfrie-”

“Oh, but I am.” he cut her off, with that lazy smirk he always loved to wear.

If your speech made an impact on people who stood around you, Jeonghan’s approval surely caught the whole crowd off guard. Everyone started to whisper, gossip and murmur about something.

“W-what?” Siyeon’s lips started to tremble, “But oppa..” she whined, trying to argue with him, but Jeonghan simply ignored her.

He slowly approached your shaking figure, sending you a warm grin. Gently, he took your hand and connected it with his, intertwining your fingers. The boy left a butterfly kiss on your knuckles, immediately getting sounds of adorations and approval from around.

Your eyes met his, and the boy whispered, “Trust me.”

Jeonghan slowly walked out of the crowd, pulling you out from that corridor. The two of you left the building silently, and finally when you were in the campus’ park, you had to break the silence.

“Hannie..” you removed your hand from his, gaining a questioning look from your boyfriend, “Listen, I’m sorry.. I know I should have stopped myself from doing it, from getting jealous, from confronting Siyeon, and from letting out the secret, but believe me I didn’t do it on purpose.. I-I.. ah..” you stuttered, being lost in your words, “I couldn’t just leave it like that when everyone started to gossip about you being in a relationship with her and-”

“y/n, stop.” Jeonghan’s firm voice ran through your whole body, shutting you up right away.

The boy chuckled, gently cupping your cheeks with his palms, and looking deeply into your eyes with his shining ones.

“Did you really think I would get mad at you for any of these? Angel.. why would I even do that..? You can’t imagine how happy I felt when you finally gave us a green light. But still, I wanted you specifically to tell us about us and our relationship.” he caressed your cheeks with his knuckles, smiling at your pouting face.

“And that moment when you claimed that you’re my girlfriend and I’m only yours? Damn, sweetheart, that was so hot-”

“Yoon Jeonghan!” he immediately got rewarded with a slap on his shoulder as the boy bursted out laughing at your shyness.

“Okay, I’m sorry!” he giggled, and you finally broke the grimace, sending him a soft smile.

“But seriously, you can’t even believe how happy you just have made me right there.” Jeonghan added, and left a sweet kiss on your forehead before conecting your hands once again.

“Hot chocolate?” he asked charmingly.

“Hot chocolate.” you nodded.

Walking down the main sidewalk of your campus, many people looked at you, and specifically at your intertwined hands. With your cheeks burning red, you took your phone out of your pocket, only to find lots of calls and messages from people from the campus. And one of them was Millie.

Millie:

YOU.

bitch

how dare you not tell me anything!!!! >:(

you have LOTS to tell me

and i won’t let you go

oh nononononooooo

so better prepare yourself

cuz i need to know

every.

single.

detail.

EVERYTHINGGGGGG

As you think of it now, while laying peacefully in your bed and having Jeonghan snuggled into the crook of your neck, even if you liked the way you two functioned while being ‘invisible’, you had to agree.

Being visible with Jeonghan was much better.

© shuawonie | 2023, all rights reserved.

reuploads and likes are highly appriciated ♡

[wordbunch]

how the fellowship reacts to you singing...

a/n: this was requested - how the fellowship members react to you singing for the first time. It will include the fellowship boys + Faramir, because I adore him and he needs more love. let me know how you liked it! 💗💗💗 (it will be longer than you think lol)

+ tagging my beloved @entishramblings

ARAGORN

at first he wasn’t sure whether his ears were deceiving him

but he stopped and listened carefully, eventually realizing it was you

then all his attention went into listening to you

he very much enjoyed it, but waited for you to finish your little performance before saying anything (didn’t want to interrupt you, nor make you feel awkward)

he wouldn’t be giving you elaborate compliments and praise, just something short and to the point, but you’d see in his face that he genuinely loved it

he likes to listen to you sing, but also sometimes loves to join you and sing together!!!

wants to learn all the songs you know

💫

LEGOLAS

with his excellent hearing, he picked up on you humming tunes quietly as you walked, many times

and he found even that very pleasant

but when he heard you fully singing for the first time he had heart eyes, basically

he thought you have the most angelic, soothing yet powerful voice

he would never ask you to sing anything for him and wouldn’t want to push you, but he would enjoy it so much when you do

he wants to know where you picked up all the songs that you know

his absolute favorite thing is when you quietly sing while braiding his hair!!!!!

💫

GIMLI

an absolute fanboy of yours, openly

as soon as he hears you singing, he wouldn’t only divert his attention only to that...

but he’d make sure to point it out to everyone else as well

I diagnose him with singing off-key, butttt he still wants to share some dwarf songs with you, and you appreciate it

would be the kind of person to be like “now [Y/N] will sing something for all of us” skhssdhgsh

you know it’s all with the best intentions even if you feel self-conscious about your singing

but this guy right here would hype you up so much that eventually you wouldn’t even care how your voice sounds to others

💫

BOROMIR

he compliments the heck out of you (for singing and everything else)

however he would try not to openly praise you for it to everyone everywhere bc he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable

keyword: he would try not to

he cannot sing so he appreciates your talent all the more

can’t help smilingggg whenever he hears you!

very grateful that you’re comfortable with sharing that part of yourself with him

if you ever actually sang in front of a crowd at some celebration or special occasion, this man would combust of pride

💫

FRODO

can’t help smiling as soon as he hears you, and he immediately recognizes that it’s your singing voice, even from further away

will sneakily approach you so as not to startle you

but he definitely wants to hear more

very curious about where you learned to sing and how you picked up all the songs

it’s a safe haven when you sing something to him, he will literally be in seventh heaven

loves to write and he would be beyond thrilled if you sang some poem that he wrote, but he wouldn’t actually ask you to

enjoys singing together with you

💫

SAM

is generally easily captivated by beautiful and magical things, your voice absolutely being one of them

will ask you countless times to sing again (but he will be quite shy about it every time)

gives you ideas on what you could sing about

he gives you cute little compliments but wishes he could express all that in a much more elaborate way

it brings him incredible joy to hear you singing from somewhere while he’s gardening

he swear it makes everything grow bigger and more luscious

God forbid anyone makes even a slightly negative comment about your singing, he is ready to throw hands

💫

MERRY

jaw drops to the floor when he hears your singing voice

this boy is captivated

smooth compliments that make you blush

why can I see him dancing/trying to dance to whatever you’re singing

potentially he’s not THE best singer out there but oh my does he love singing with you

especially spontaneously, out of nowhere

yes actually he would totally dance around when you sing, and he would dance around with you and spin you around until you’re so out of breath that you can’t sing anymore but instead just laugh heartily

💫

PIPPIN

generally worships the ground that you walk on, and that also implies all your talents and abilities

absolute heart eyes as soon as he hears you singing

(he already loves just listening to you talk, let alone anything else)

ADORES when you two sing together, but initially just a bit shy to suggest it, or to just spontaneously join you

will he come up with songs for you? absolutely

songs for you two to sing together? ABSOLUTELY

would never, in any way, push you to sing in front of everyone else, he actually enjoys it being like a lil thing between the two of you

💫

+ bonus FARAMIR

he heard your voice echoing in the Gondorian halls as you were carrying out some tasks

he was almost convinced it was a sound from heaven

but he followed the sound of it and found you! 

you were a tiny bit embarrassed but he complimented you immediately

he finds it very relaxing when you sing to him and it’s so intimate to him

he will occasionally write poems and cautiously ask you whether you can make up some melody for them and turn them into songs

not the best singer, but loves to join you sometimes

💫

+ bonus bonus character GANDALF

“[Y/N], stop with the unnecessary noise, I am trying to think”

[seaadc]

hello!!! if you’re up for this, can i request any genshin men with a reader who feels like a horrible person because of things they’ve done in the past? i have a guilt complex lmaoooooo (i say lmao but it’s agony) (PEOPLE IN THE CROWD WITH A GUILT COMPLEX PUT YOUR HANDS UPPPP)

also this is a complete side note but i think this concept would be especially interesting with wrio since he’s always in the fortress or meropide, seeing people who have done wrong everyday in the fairly normal system (by jail standards) they have down there

guilt | wriothesley x reader

OH GOD THIS HAS BEEN SITTING IN MY ASKS FOR A WHILE NOW IM SO SORRY MY NOTIFS ARE ALWAYS FILLED UP AND I DONT SEE ASKS ANYMOREEE T-T

angst w fluff at the end, soft!wrio, he’s comforting youu, gets a bit suggestive at the end, no pronouns used but reader is referred to as ‘my love’ and ‘princess’

it’s nothing to be concerned about really, if you were a criminal and probably rotting in the fortress of meropide for— archons knows how long, you would’ve just let your conscience be the death of you.

but you aren’t! your not sitting around and laying in the fortress of doom meropide, thank the archons.

though you can’t help but think if the seven are laughing at you, quite literally. your state isn’t so stable as it seems..

wriothesley, your partner, had called sigewinne ages ago to check on your health status. although it was all negative, the tests, the results, the examinations, all negative.

there wasn’t anything wrong with you, so why is there an aching pain in your stomach whenever your brain just relapses back to the past, the time where you had done such unforgiving sins, you couldn’t even do a whole statement word for word on what you had done to those poor victims.

one of them, someone special to you. someone special that you had lost because of your own carelessness, someone you had lost because you were being selfish, someone who you wished to cherish for a lifetime— though fate is mocking you unfortunately.

and the pain, the inkling pain deep inside that you cant ignore, it’s annoying. it’s frustrating. it’s … sad.

it’s a pity to see someone like you, a nice person who only wished to improve themselves and hope for a better future. yet it seems celestia didn’t approve.

your longtime partner, wriothesley, had been worried for you. ever since you met, you were always dozing off, not focusing, you looked uncomfortable yet he couldn’t pinpoint what was actually wrong.

it was starting to piss him off, really. the way you doze off when he talks to you, when you two spend time together and your too busy in your own little world to pay attention to him.

wriothesley had decided to sit you down, like what any partner would do when they encounter a misunderstanding or a mishap. communication is key after all.

he couldn’t ever forget the look on your face, the day where you looked at him with such pitiful eyes and regretful ones while he just stared back at you with a stern look.

he feels pity, wriothesley feels pity. someone like him shouldn’t, so what is this he feels?

“tell me what’s been bugging you for months, [name].” wriothesley takes a deep breath, then exhales as you sat there, fidgeting with your fingers. “i didnt get the chance to ask you back then, since it was your privacy after all, hm?” he spoke firmly, his voice laced with curiosity and the tone where he just wants to know the truth.

just tell him, it wouldn’t be so hard. he’s your partner after all, you have every right to tell him so. “[name], i’m doing this to help you. you’re someone extremely precious to me and i can’t help myself just seeing you look so lost.” wriothesley explains, sighing deeply as he waits for your response.

how would he react? he’s the all mighty scary wriothesley after all. he’s known to have less mercy and sympathy on others. why tell? you’ll just embarrass yourself, you thought to yourself.

but you couldn’t. you couldn’t keep a secret, especially towards him. if he was any other people, a stranger, you would’ve kept it till the end of your life. but he’s not just a stranger.

he’s your partner, your loved one, your everything. wriothesley is someone you can trust, someone you care for. is it really worth keeping a secret from him?

you took a deep breath, letting the air get past your nostrils. “i have.. committed alot of unforgettable things in the past, someone like you wouldn’t like. someone like you wouldn’t appreciate.” you confessed, looking down and avoiding your beloved’s longing stare.

wriothesley looks at you, tilting his head in confusion. you? doing things that he couldn’t possibly imagine? “ever since i’ve started to open up a new path to walk on, the guilt in my chest still pains me. it’s almost eating me whole.” you continue.

he smiles at you, not a happy smile, a faint sad smile. he’s quite joyful about how you were guilty, and not like any other person who wouldnt even feel the slightest bit of empathy to what they’ve done wrong in the past.

this is the [name] he fell inlove with. the honest, confident, firm, one. there was no denying that wriothesley was hopelessly inlove with you. and he finds it lovingly amusing.

“if you regret it, then it’s okay. you don’t have to be in debt of a thing you regret on doing. if you truly feel guilt, then it just means your improving and want to be a better person my love.” he smiles, standing up and walking over to your seat, crouching before you as you were forced to look at him.

wriothesley holds your chin, going up to caress your cheeks coated with a red flush. “it may be your fault or not, but there will always be a way to fight back the sins of the past. you can get through it, i know you can.”

“your the strong and confident lady i love after all, hm?” he says with a grin, which makes your already flustered enough face go even more red.

you smile tenderly as he continues to caress your cheek, you leaned into his touch as you hear him chuckle lowly. wriothesley stands up straight, his hand now on your head as he ruffles your soft and silky hair.

wriothesley smirks, a teasing one. which means he’s probably going to say something just to tease you and to lighten up the mood a bit. “besides, i’m the only one who’s allowed to eat you whole, princess.”

made by @seaadc and @seaadc only !!

laughinf bc i made this at exactly 1am LMFAOO (i’m mentally unstable)

[treason-and-plot]

“But you said you wanted him to suffer!" says Saffron. "You said it wasn’t fair that he was getting away with this, that he was scum-“

“Yeah, that’s right, but I never had any intentions of telling anyone what he did. I’m offended you thought that I’d break my promise, Saffron.” He gives her a reproachful look. “I was just going to take matters into my own hands,“ he says.

Now every part of Saffron’s body feels cold. She hugs her arms close to her body and stares at the grass, trying to collect her thoughts. She wishes that she had never accepted Liam's offer of a drink that night... the ripple effect is ongoing, and the negative repercussions continue to spread and spread. If only she knew then what she knows now! She is reminded of a line from an old song that Joël likes to play; Hindsight is twenty-twenty vision!

"So what exactly were you planning to do?" she says. "Castrate him? Break his kneecaps?" She's joking, but Connor's serious expression doesn't alter.

"As gratifying as it would be to cause him pain and injury, he still has to look after his wife, so hurting him would hurt her also," says Connor. "Which isn't really fair. So I'll probably have to settle for pouring corn syrup in the gas tank of his car, or putting his phone number on the wall of a public toilet cubicle and writing underneath 'sucks cock for §5'. Or signing him up for weekly visits from twenty different religious organisations-"

"God, Connor, please don't do any of those things," says Saffron. "Just let karma take its course. Which it already has, as I tried to explain to you earlier-"

"Karma? Karma doesn't exist, Saffy," says Connor. "Come on. Aren't you supposed to be the smartest student in the school?"

[mischiefmaker615]

Assassin

Rating: R

Summary: Apparently killing the god of mischief isn't as easy as you thought..

Note: Apologies, its a long one but i figure since i haven't posted raw ideas in awhile Lol 

Your fingers grip the tray in your hands as your eyes slowly rise to your approaching door. You had hidden the poison perfectly out of site and not even the first forkful of food would reveal what awaits for your target.

The plan was simple and even with your target being the young prince of Asgard, you were confident you wouldn’t fail. The servant’s dress was a little uncomfortable considering how you were so used to pants and armor, but it would all be worth it when the god of mischief is no more. Just go in, deliver the food and then leave. News wouldn’t take long that the prince had perished and then it will be all done.

Reaching his quarters, you gave a knock and a pause before entering. ‘’your highness, I’ve come to deliver your morning meal’’ you announce gently, keeping your eyes low out of respect but your side view showed he was at his chair with his nose in a book with his shoes up on the very table you needed to set the tray on.

When you heard no reply, you thought nothing of it. a servant’s job was to do their job and get out with not much interaction or expectance of a reply. You had watched them diligently and posed as them for weeks and throughout all your hard work, your patience finally got you a chance to have interaction with Loki when you heard his usual maid was ill.

Standing before the table, you bowed before you bit your lip, wondering when he was going to remove his shoes so you could place the tray down. Nothing. You weren’t taught where else to put it if a situation like this occurred so you just stood there awkwardly as you lifted your eyes slightly to look at him.

‘’..pardon my prince..’’

Nothing. His eyes remained moving, reading his book as he paid you no mind. Bastard.. you’ll die soon.. Placing the tray down anywhere else would risk its improper place, so you had no choice but to remain still and wait. Minutes went by, and Loki paid you no mind but you were clear in his vision so you were certain he was there. The only movement he made was to turn a page and sigh contently as your arms began to ache from holding the tray for so long. More minutes went by and you glanced at him almost in desperation as you stood in silence.

The snap of his book shut had you jump out of your skin and he casually sat up with a stretch, his eyes elsewhere than you and he finally took his shoes off the table. In a split second, you placed it down with achy arms and almost slammed it down out of anger and relief of finally being set free. You shook your hands from the ache and quickly bowed your head.

‘’your highness, is there anything else you need?’’

He stayed sat calmly, staring up at you as he man spread with hidden amusement in his eyes. He knew exactly what he was doing. ‘’are you sure it won’t anger you further?’’ he smirked as your body tensed. It was almost as if he was daring you, there would most likely be a sever punishment if one dared showed any negative emotion towards a royal so you quickly shook your head with obvious thrown on cheer.

‘’I am at your service my prince, please- anything you wish of me is in no position of a bother..’’ you said quietly and your heart skipped a beat as he leaned forward to examine the food for a brief moment.

You snuck a peak yourself but there was no vision sign of the substance in it so your eyes glanced at him nervously.

With a single finger, he swiped a bit of porridge and stood up casually, his expression basically tsking as he made his way over to you and stopped once the tips of your shoes were touching. His height made itself known as you tilted your head up to look up at him, not knowing if you were breaking a servant’s respect but something about his eyes made it impossible not to look away. It wasn’t until he raised his hand and presented the porridge on his finger just before his lips was when you broke eye contact to look at the food.

‘’it’s cold.’’

I wanna kill him..

You opened your mouth to respond, to tell him in the ‘kindest way possible’ that it was because of how damn long he made you wait was why it was cold. Yet before you could even utter a word, he moved his finger into your mouth and pressed down on your tongue, making to jump as his free hand gripped your hip so you couldn’t take a step back.

‘’you know what to do, don’t you.’’ Not a question, as his voice came out as a purr as you looked up at him with a blush to your cheeks.

Just going along with things would get you the hell out of here so he could finish his breakfast right? True it was cold, but perhaps he wouldn’t mind it if you just pleased him and left. Sucking up your pride, you used your tongue to remove the porridge from his finger before you began sucking.

Loki hummed in approval, almost closing his eyes as he looked down his nose at you. Why were- were you aroused?! This was a bloody mission for norns sake! Even if he was drop dead gorgeous- the god had to go! Before you could even make a move to step back, his hand removed itself from your waist and rested on the back of your head. He steadied your head as his finger began moving itself in and out while his fingers curled into your hair, slowly matching his own rhythm as he moved you head as well.

Your eyes widened at the action, your hands raising up almost grasping his wrist but stopped, knowing fully well if you touched him without permission, you’d be done for. Your legs self-consciously pressed themselves together much to your shock as a small squeak of submission left your voice and demeanor before you heard him chuckle.

‘’you’ve pleased me love, you’re a very amusing toy.’’ And with that, he released you in your state of shock and your hand covered your mouth while the other gripped your dress.

‘’w-will that be all my prince?’’ you asked and straightened yourself as your cheeks remained red.

His hands remained clasped behind his back as he gazed down at you with now wondering eyes. ‘’perhaps.’’

You hesitated, not sure if that meant yes or no as you still tried to gather yourself at what the hell happened. you thanked the gods the food he gathered was just the top layer, any deeper and he might as well have fed you your own poison meant for him.

With shaky legs, you turned and made for the door in a casual pace, not wanting to go to fast or slow for suspicion as your hand rested at the door knob and opened.

‘’wait.’’

You cussed in your head as you took a deep breath and turned just to see Loki taking a stalking pace towards you. His eyes seemed blown and even your side view could tell he was aroused.

‘’you wish to please your future king?’’ he asked simply.

‘’..y-yes..’’ you said with uncertainty of what he was getting at. Its not like you could have said no.

‘’then, maid, I wish to bed you.’’ Just as he had finished speaking, his hand extended and closed the door behind you with a push, keeping his arm there as your back pressed against the lost exit to look up at him.

If you were drinking a beverage you would have for certainly spit it out as you opened your mouth with a lost of words. By his previous actions, you quickly shut it and this made him laugh as he raised your chin up with a single finger.

‘’sire I..I-‘’

‘’you don’t wish to please me?’’ he fake looked hurt and panic entered your eyes as you tried finding any excuse to get out of this situation. Refusal to a royal was unacceptable and your mission was complete if you would just leave him to his meal but.. gods! You thought the maid’s gossip was just to tease you when they found out you were covering the other’s shift.. they were right!?

‘’did.. did your regular maid-‘’

‘’very much so.’’ Loki smirked, leaning down more so he was almost nose to nose with you as he towered while you coward. ‘’all the time in fact, we’ve had to replace three headboards in fact.’’

You took a shaky breath as you tried to find the right response as you glanced behind him to his bed. ‘’..oh..’’

Slowly taking one of your hands, he walked backward while he pulled you forward, small resistance threatening your limbs as you wished not to go over to his bed. ‘’you will be a perfect substitute, exactly what I need this morning.’’ He praised in a light tone mood as if you had already made him the happiest man in the world. ‘’now then,’’ he said as he took a seat on his bed with you standing before him. ‘’kneel.’’

Your body tensed as your mind already drove ahead to where this was leading. You very much wished to leave but you knew it would compromise everything. Stuck.. with shaky legs, you knew you had to play the part even if it meant sacrifices as you sank to his knees.

‘’good girl..’’ he said with almost a whisper. ‘’now go right ahead.’’ He said as he leaned back on his elbows while he gazed at you to get started.

Fuck.. through it all, you still couldn’t believe you were aroused as you squeezed your legs together where you kneeled.Everything about you was shaking as you took a deep breath to calm yourself. You didn’t dare once look at the prince’s eyes but you knew fully well that he was smirking, relishing in the amusement of messing with you.

With shaky hands, you slowly reached for his pants and with a moment to figure out how to free him, you finally managed to pull his cock out. It immediately was standing at attention and the size itself startled you at how well he held the title god. You looked up at him with almost pleading eyes, your thoughts leaving all royal rules behind at how you didn’t wish to compromise yourself but he merely leaned forward.

His movements were slow, almost as if he was stalking his prey as he held that famous smirk on his lips. A hand slowly rested behind your head and pulled you forward, guiding your face before your body took over for a moment. Your hands rested on his thighs and shoulders stiffened as you tried stopping him from pulling you down but his god strength made it clear this was happening.

Your eyes flashed up at him just as his other hand came to grip your jaw and his fingers curled to the sides to force your mouth open. Your eyes looked up to him in panic just to see his eyes darken with a sinister smile now.

‘’the moment I feel teeth, I pull every single one out with my blade.’’ He said darkly before pulling your head down with his cock sliding down your throat.

Your heart beat raced as your hands gripped this thighs, squeezing your eyes shut as he leaned back on his elbow while the hand remained at the back of your head, keeping you down. a content sigh left his lips as he closed his heads and hung his head back in relish.

He didn’t taste bad, dare you say it you wanted more if your mind and body fought against each other for the sake of your mission. His cock twitched now and again, making your body squirm as it pressed against your throat but what was confusing was that he kept your head down on his cock but didn’t allow you to rise and fall like you expected from this.. particular act. He just.. kept you immobile.

Your body began to relax every so slightly and your confused eyes looked up at him as he took a deep breath and looked down at you with casual eyes, as if he was waiting for you to explain yourself.

‘’so, you wish to kill me.’’ He sighed.

The mere comment sent shock to your brain and body, making you jump every so slightly and made your throat rub against his cock, almost triggering your gag reflex and earned a sharp breath from him that he immediately hid.

‘’The poison is no good when its been exposed for so long, which is why I enjoyed seeing you stand for so long beside my table.’’ He smirked and your fists balled against his thighs as your body began to pull away from him, seeing there was no point in pretending anymore but he didn’t let you. His grip behind your head way firm.

‘’Your patience is impeccable, but this is obviously your first mission because whatever dimwits trained you didn’t bother to teach you thoroughly about poisons. Which is also why you haven’t dropped head upon having a single.. finger full’’ he smirked and bucked his hips ever so slightly, feeling his cock run against your throat as your hands gripped his thighs. There was no escape.

You mumbled bastard but all was heard was a muffle, sending vibrations through his dick unintenually by you but he thoroughly enjoyed it as he seemed to shiver with a grin.

‘’your fire is perfect, I could pretty much read your thoughts as I played with you, how angry you must have been’’ he mocked with almost a baby talk tone and you felt his fingers grip a bunch of your hair. ‘’and you’ll be absolutely perfect for pleasing me, you might be even the first person I break three headboards with, even more’’ he teased with a hushed tone as he slowly raised your head where his tip almost left your mouth as you sucked in a breath through your nose before he slowly lowered you back down on his cock against your wishes to try to stop him.

So, the headboard thing was him jesting? Did he do anything like this with his servants? You wouldn’t be surprised, but most of you knew this was all just to tease, to get back at you for trying to take his life; and you knew this wasn’t going to be your first punishment for something so treacherous against a royal.

As he continued to agonizingly slowly pull your head up and down against his cock, your eyes squeezed shut as did your thighs. What was happening to you.. your hands tapped and hit his thighs as you tried to indicate your release but he merely chuckled.

‘’come now darling, you merely brought yourself upon this predicament. After all, you told me yes that you wished to please your future king.’’ He mocked as your eyes looked up at him with slight tears from his strokes. He gave you an amused, indifferent look at he leaned forward and both his hands took hold of your hair, bringing your head up and down with a little more speed as his eyes closed and his head raised.

‘’gods you feel so good on my cock.. as if you were made for this..’’ he breathed and a smile came to his lips. ‘’those who sent you didn’t exactly know who you were dealing with did they? As if mere poison would be sufficient enough to kill a god’’ he tsked and a hand began petting your head and cheek as the other continued its work.

‘’I hope those ingrates know they won’t be getting you back’’ he smirked and your eyes rose to him as a million thoughts came to mind. Was he going to kill you? torture? Prison?

‘’you’re mine now pet, I will think of them sending you as a mere gift instead of an assassination attempt. It takes war off the table for now, something I’m sure you’ll be surely grateful for. Unless you wish to face all of Asgard as the one who will be responsible for such a catastrophe hmm?’’

Your eyes glared daggers at him as you thought about using teeth if it wasn’t for his threat at pulling them all out. War wasn’t on the table when it came to killing it, it would be just an assassination attempt by an unknown threat with the god of trickery off the table in the universe. Apparently, fate had other plans by having you fail.

‘’come now darling,’’ he sighed and stilled his hands, raising his hips slowly into your throat instead which had your body arching in response with each thrust, something you thought was unvoluntary but apparently some parts of your body was enjoying his manhandling. ‘’we both know you secretly love this’’ he mocked and eyes your ass by simply leaning forward before dropping his gaze to you. ‘’you should be grateful, being full in my care instead of being sent off to suffer some gruesome death by norns who knows who in Asgard’s dungeons. I hope your prepared to show me just how grateful you are.’’

And with that, his hand gripped your hair and pulled you up off of him. you gasped for air as your hands shook against his thighs and the tears of his actions fell down your cheeks as the soreness in your throat reminded you of his actions. Why was your cunt dripping..

Before you could even fathom whether you were enjoying this or not, he lifted you up to your feet by your hair and got off the bed. Your hands grasped his wrists behind you to relieve his grip as he turned you both so the bed was now behind you. it was a miracle your legs didn’t go out as his eyes eyed your bosom and flashed back to your eyes with a smirk.

‘’please-‘’

“don’t worry princess’’ he smirked and pushed you onto the bed with a knee resting against the mattress with intention to crawl on top of you. your fingers gripped the sheets as your eyes widened, backing up slowly with your elbows until his hand grasped your ankle.

‘’daddy will take good care of you..’’

[firefly-sky]

so i finished hazbin hotel…

anti hazbin hotel rant under the cut so if y’all start harassing me i can say i warned you dipshits

honestly, it wasn’t good. i like the songs. the songs are cool oh. but the writing was dog shit. it’s like those edgy teenagers from 2018 wrote it. like does every other word have to be fuck? i’m not a prude. trust me. but the shock value of the word significantly decreases whenever viv decides that the script should literally be ‘fuck fuck fuck fuck *insert sex joke* fuck fuck fuck fuck *insert another sex joke* like honestly the writing could’ve been done by middle school boys. that’s the kind of humor it reminded me of. this show personified is literally just that one kid who goes around calling everyone else gay and moaning and making the most heinous sex jokes known to man. it’s not funny. it’s repetitive and annoying.

also the ships. chaggie should’ve had more depth and i wish that vaggie was more than a play on vagina and angry all the time. and before y’all start with the ‘b-BuT sHeZ a FaLlEn AngEl!!!1!!!!’ billshit, that’s not a character trait, that’s a backstory. also angel dust. surprisingly he was pretty realistic in some aspects. like using sex and drugs as a coping mechanism. but the fact that they (allegedly) had someone who had an abuse fetish write the poison scene is sickening. and treating abuse and r^pe as something like a joke for only certain characters but not others is gross. like who is loona and angel dust’s abuse treated seriously but like…blitzo and sir pentious are treated like a joke? but the sex jokes again, are middle school boy humor. the ‘bring it on….daddy~’ line made me need to take an actual break. like god. and trust me. i’m not the kind of person to rip on this. i’m bisexual myself and have had girlfriends in the past. but she pays more attention to the lgbtq characters and it feels like forced representation. like millie/moxxie’s relationship vs. the attention to huskerdust is astounding.

also don’t get me started on the fan base. or vivziepop herself. like holy shit she is the definition of scummy. y’all forget she had a nazi esque sausage party oc too like here’s proof https://rootbeergoddess.tumblr.com/post/627258297172557824/just-to-show-you-how-inclusive-vivziepop-truly-is

also her response to any and all criticism is just kinda…i don’t know the word for it. scummy? like blocking a fucking fifteen year old for saying her show was bad is just so immature. and god forbid you say anything slightly negative about any of the characters you’ll have a bunch of edgy fifteen year olds come after you.

overall the show kinda sucked. vivziepop sucks. the things she does and has done are gross. she’s awful to her animators and pays the, the least she possibly can and she ignores the fact that someone in her fanbase committed suicide because of how much they ere being bullied. the writing of the show sucked. like i’m positive if you grouped 5 middle school boys together they would come up with the exact same script that will be in the next season. it’s not a good show and vivziepop is a bad person. that’s my overall opinion.

[missrhinedottir]

| Stripped Bare | 

Pairing: Albedo x Gn!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, Angst, He/Him Pronouns for Albedo, No pronouns for Reader,  Hurt/Comfort, Implied Slow Burn, Gender Neutral Reader, 1.1k words. 

A/n: I had so much fun writing this?? I gotta write Albedo angst more often. 

Summary: Seeing Sucrose look so happy with Albedo causes you to snap. 

Tagging: @suyacho @auphelia @fleur-de-leap @tighnarly @themovingcastlez

Your chest felt tight, constricting around the empty cavity. Everything was caving in around you, the atmosphere thick with whatever negativity you convinced yourself to be true. His turquoise eyes trained itself on you, locked onto something terrified. His face, although calm, twisted into some sort of complicated emotion. You’d never felt so distant from him, his skin burning yours with just a touch. 

He was saying words that you knew to be true. His mouth moved but you heard him not utter a single thing. Why was that? Do you suppose you were in some sort of dream-like state? Although, there was nothing dreamy about what was going on. Nightmare, yes. Perhaps this was the cost of being human, alive. But then why did he watch you like you were something he knew better than alchemy? Why did he look at you as if he had studied you before? Has he studied you before? 

He calls out your name but you can only stare back and cry. His hand finds its place on your cheek, wipes away the falling tears. He calls your name, again. This time desperation and worry laces his voice. You forget what your name sounds like until he says it. Something about his voice choosing your name to call reminds you of the thrum of a harp, forgiving and soft. Sound slowly returns to your ears, gradually you come to until finally you remember what started this in the first place.

“Please?” He’s asking something from you, but what? 

The last thing you remember was walking home, strolling through Mondstadt City when you saw— Yes, when you saw him and her. You weren’t a jealous person, not in the least, but when you saw Albedo and Sucrose walking side by side something died inside you. She turned to say something to him and something shattered in your chest. She laughed at one of his jokes and you felt the world around you collapse. She made him smile and you felt yourself die. 

Even when he turned to you, smiling wide and bright, you couldn’t help but be horrified. Even as you stood tall, you felt yourself fall to your knees, begging the heavens to have mercy on you. Loving a sinner isn’t right but it is necessary. The heavens had to teach you its way, showing you the light by taking what should’ve been yours. This wasn’t what you wanted, this isn’t how it’s supposed to be. 

His words relieve you from your anguish momentarily. “Talk to me. What happened?” 

That’s when you did the stupidest thing. God, even the idea was the most idiotic thing. So, then why did you do it? Why did you say it? 

“I’m in love with you.” You finally confess.

“What did you say?” He asks.

Fuck.

“Albedo..” You trail off, not sure you want to say what you’ve been holding in for so long. 

You hoped he’d forget about this, become a distant memory. In that moment you wished for his ears to fail, becoming unable to hear a single thing. Maybe then you could try to pick up the pieces and move on, but that’s not how things worked. 

“You’re in love with me?” His voice is frantic, looking for an answer that even he can’t find. 

Both of you stare into each other’s eyes, forcing yourselves to soak in each other’s sorrows. There was no one around you, at least that’s how it felt. Just you, Albedo, and the rain that had started to fall from the sky. You say nothing, not for a while. Too scared to say another word, frozen in place as his eyes remain locked on you. The rain starts to become heavy, drenching you both. You’d never seen Albedo look so sad before, he seemed wrong that way. The sun was not supposed to dim, just as the moon should not become too bright. 

“Yes.” You finally reply.

The silence is deafening, but Albedo is quick to reply.

“For how long?” 

You turn away but his hands gently force your eyes on his. He’s shaking. There’s something different about him. 

“Long enough.” You admit, your voice breaking as you answer him. 

He smiles. Smiling turns to laughter. You’re confused, maybe even a little pissed off. You should’ve expected this, should’ve known better. You have half a mind to ask him what’s so funny, but he speaks first.

“If I had known..” He trails off, almost too scared to say what he wants to. 

“What?” You ask impatiently.

He doesn’t think and instead acts first. Albedo takes one of his hands and wraps it around the back of your head, pulling you close and pushing your lips against his. You can’t help but let out a gasp. The kiss is hypnotic and his touch is sensational. You’ve wanted this for so long that you don’t think twice about kissing him back. As selfish as you feel you can’t help but enjoy it. His lips part only to join them with yours again.

You climb into his lap and kiss him harder, not caring who sees. You deserve this, you deserve to be a little selfish. If the way he touches you is any consolation then it’s clear he feels the same way. His hands roam between your face and body, too indecisive but always agreeing that it was you. It was always you. The both of you share a kiss full of desperate gasps and whimpers. Suddenly you pull out of the kiss, pushing him back just enough to look him in the eye. 

“Albedo, do you.. do you love me, too?” You were hesitant to ask but you needed to know.

He smiles and rolls his eyes. “Duh.” 

You can’t help but laugh and eventually Albedo joins in, too. He wraps you up in a tight embrace, enjoying the feeling of being able to do that with you at long last. It isn’t until you both pull away that you realize that rain had left and the sun had let itself out of the clouds. 

“We should uh, we should get into some different clothes.” You suggest. 

His face turns red and he averts his eyes, but only for a moment.

“Do you maybe wanna come to my house? It’s warm and I can give you a change of clothes.” You pause. “If you want to of course.” 

He gives you another embrace and kisses you softly. Albedo pulls back only to stroke the side of your face and to gaze at you with the utmost adoration. 

“I’d love that.” 

[multifandomlover01]

It Was Always You

Spencer Reid x Female!Reader (not explicitly AFAB…I don’t think…)

Established Relationship

Warnings: mentions of Lila Archer (Amber Heard by extension), but it’s in a negative light basically, also kinda anti-JJ? For plot convenience? Just a bit? But does it makes any sense? Maybe not Oops. Derek is mentioned possibly being his typical jerky teasing self. Also mentions of S1 Spencer being a bit of a creep technically (ooc? Maybe I dunno) but S5 Spencer is remorseful about it at least

WC: 506

Summary: Spencer is concerned being back in LA with the same detective as a case from years ago might bring up some memories for her…but some memories end up coming back for him instead (that’s…not what it sounds like lol I swear. Spencer feels nothing for Lila this is fluff not angst)

Eps: 1x18, 5x7

GIF credit: onscreenkisses

GIF credit: criminalmindscaps

🤷🏻‍♀️ it’s from the ep, it’s good enough

(Also neither gif was made by me I just found them)

“Does it uh…bother you? Being here? With…with the same detective as…that time?” Spencer asked you as you sat next to each other at the table in the area of the precinct that was set up for the BAU.

You glanced up at him.

“No. Why would it?”

“Well you…um…got quite upset last time…”

“I had no right to be upset.”

“Yes you did.” Spencer shot back.

“No. I didn’t. It’s not like you were cheating on me. We didn’t get together until after.” You shot right back at him.

“But if you hadn’t gotten upset and I hadn’t gotten concerned…we might not have gotten together.”

“That’s one way to think about it, I suppose.”

“Did it bother you that JJ brought it up?”

“Why would it?”

“She didn’t need to bring up that the detective was the same as the stalker case.”

“She was merely saying there was some familiarity.” You shrugged.

“No. She wasn’t.” There was a bit of a bite to his words.

“She wasn’t? What was she doing then?”

“Being antagonistic.”

“No. She wasn’t.” You shook your head.

“Yes she was. She knew what she was doing. You were in the bathroom and she asked me if I’d ever called Lila. It was completely inappropriate when she’d known we were together since a week after the case wrapped up. I mean why the hell would I call her when I’m in a relationship with you? And it’s not like she called me when she was in DC. She never really cared about me. I was just some…novelty toy to her.” He grimaced. “But you know I uh I never really cared if she called me or saw me again or not. I only cared about you…when she kissed me…I wished it was you. I know I told you that at the time but…it’s still true. And I told you this at the time too but I feel the need to reiterate it: I do not prefer her over you. You are the only girl that I have ever wanted to be with.”

“I know that, hon.” You reassured him as you placed a hand on his arm.

“And if Morgan says anything, I swear I’m gonna…” he trails off.

“What?” You ask, curious.

“Be very cross with him. Especially if he mentions bikinis.”

“She was in a tv show that took place on a beach, if I remember correctly…was it not appropriate for her to wear a bikini?” You questioned, slightly confused.

“I saw her in one and Morgan made fun of my blush but…I wasn’t exactly looking at her…I was imagining what you’d look like in a bikini.”

You chuckle. “What? Really?”

“Yeah. The more I talk about this, the more pathetic I sound…” Spencer turns away from you slightly, trying to hide his shame.

“No, no…well…maybe a little but it’s ok.”

“No it’s not ok. God I feel like such a creep.”

“Ok so yeah imagining another woman while you look at and kiss a woman is…kinda…two layers of…questionable…”

He groaned.

[aspiring-artist-em]

Crimson Rivers, is it back? What now? Does that mean Zar is back?

So, like a normal, sane reader, when I get an AO3 notification, I immediately drop everything and check it out. In my little tiny brain filled with angst and smut, I was thinking that it was maybe a chapter being updated, or maybe someone I love replying to a comment I left about how their writing is so fantastic and giving them vivid descriptions of how I wish to burn it into my brain because how good it is. Turns out, that was not the case.

It was a fucking notification about Crimson Rivers being posted.

I sat on my bed, and just stared. My brain wasn’t working. I was halfway though a bag of chips that my dog really wanted and staring at an email that bizarrestars fucking posted Crimson Rivers.

And Best Friend’s Brother.

And Just Lovers.

And all of those fics I was dying to read were back. All the fics that had me frothing at the mouth with want and the insatiable urge to consume everything he put back out into the world. And so, I followed the link in my email and oh my god-

They were back.

All of them. 

Every single one of their fics was back up and I was fucking psyched because I have an AO3 account and I have access to it again. Me, along with many other fans of his works and readers in this fandom, texted friends and loved ones. We smiled and downloaded the files, swearing that we will never lose those works again. 

___

So, like a normal, sane author, when I get an AO3 notification, I immediately drop everything and check it out. In my little pea brain filled with ways to torture my readers and ways to get them off through my words, I was thinking that maybe someone had kindly left a kudos on my work, or maybe even comment on it. All my works are ongoing and to be honest, I was a little scared to open my email because what if it's a negative comment? What if it’s someone telling me that they hate me because I’m sick and twisted, writing the filth I do. What if it’s someone telling me that they hate how I made a certain character bisexual because in their mind, bisexual women can't also be attracted to women? What if it’s someone telling me that the trauma I write about is misrepresented and that I am an awful person for romanticizing it when I swear I’m not, when I know that I’m drawing from experience. What if it’s someone saying the aforementioned trauma is too dramatized, and that the way that I write it as something to be worked through, doesn’t fit their “one kiss and all the bad memories go away” narrative they have in their head. What if it’s someone telling me I should be ashamed, telling me that I am disgusting, telling me that I shouldn't write what I write even though I have hyperlinks embedded in my fics and even though I have additional warnings per chapter and even though I have so many tags the plot is given away. Turns out, that is not the case.

It was a fucking notification about Crimson Rivers being posted.

I sat on my bed, and just stared. My brain wasn’t working. I was halfway though a bag of chips that my dog really wanted and staring at an email that bizarrestars fucking posted Crimson Rivers.

And Best Friend’s Brother.

And Just Lovers.

And all of those fics people were dying to read were back. All the fics that had people online frothing at the mouth with want and the insatiable urge to consume everything he put back out into the world. And so, I followed the link in my email and

oh my god-

They were back.

All of them.

Every single one of their fics was back up and I was filled with fucking dread, because all I could focus on is how there’s a shiny new prongsfoot fic right there on the top of their page, the first thing people will see. All I could think about is how they talked about people not respecting their wishes with their fics  and how people on the internet are fucking relentless. All I could think about are the videos I will see with people complaining that they can’t read it because they don't have an AO3 account and people attacking them for the two chapter prongsfoot fic right there, and how people fucking idolized the guy, putting him on a pedestal and hailing him as the “best fanfic writer ever, right there along with misskingbean (who may or may not be Taylor swift (I swear, Taylor is NOT misskingbean))”All I could think about is the exit he, and MANY OTHER authors made because people got ahold of their work and were fucking rude about it. All I could think of is someone who was practically pushed off the internet for doing what he loves so well that people started hating when he wrote what he wanted to write, and how now, he’s back and honestly, it scares me a little bit because he didn’t deserve the hell people put him through.

___

Crimson rivers, is it back? What now? Does that mean Zar is back? Short answer, yes, yes, and yes. Long answer, yes but only if you have an AO3 account and ONLY IF people can be fucking nice this time around and maybe remember that zar is a fucking person with fucking feelings and something called a fucking mental health to take care of. Authors have feelings too, we aren’t some mindless fic generator. If you want that, go to chat gtp or some shit. We put our hearts and souls into our work and share it because we want to put it out there, not because we want to get bullied.

Now, I know what you're going to say, “oh, but I just really loved the guy, he was like the second coming of christ with his words like I just really wanted to read more because I loved him so much, like I forgot he was a human because I just loved him and a little love never hurt anyone.” 

But like, that’s also really fucking problematic and actually obsessive. Just think about it. Like this guy is a person and like, maybe you shouldn’t treat him like he is anything more OR ANYTHING LESS. Like honestly, he probably didn't start posting his work to gain fame, like this was probably really unexpected for him. AND EVEN IF HE DID, IT DOESN’T MEAN YOU GET TO TREAT HIM LIKE A FUCKING PRODUCT GOD DAMN. Like, this is a PERSON. Imagine if your best friend or little sibling came to you and was talking about people putting enormous pressure on them and being obsessed with everything they do and how they feel like they have to be perfect and please everyone because if they don't, they’ll get harassed online and like, it’s genuinely damaging their mental health. Like, imagine if that happened to you. What would you tell them? Well, hopefully, you would tell them that those people are fucking obsessed and that they need to take a break and maybe, just maybe remove the works so they could put their mind to rest, because that’s better than this. Like come on everyone, can’t you fucking see the problem with that? Idolization and bullying go hand in hand and the poor guy has been though enough. 

Also, remember, be kind to the guy and like, idk, treat him with fucking human decency? Don't deadname him maybe? Don't like, idolize him? Don't get mad when he writes what he wants to fucking write because you don't like it? And maybe like, respect his wishes? It should be pretty fucking simple tbh, but apparently it's a difficult task for some of you. He isn’t a fucking god and maybe like, before you comment, actually sit there and reflect on what you are going to say to him.

SO MAYBE, BEFORE YOU COMMENT SHIT, REMEMBER THAT ZAR’S, (and, for the record, every other author’s) MENTAL HEALTH IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN A 800K WORD STORY ABOUT DEAD WIZARDS. LIKE PLEASE, YOU CAN FUCKING LIVE WITHOUT ONE SPECIFIC FIC WHEN THERE ARE SO MANY OTHER FICS OUT THERE, AND SO MAYBE LIKE, REMEMBER TO RESPECT THE AUTHORS WHO WRITE YOUR STORIES.

MAYBE, JUST MAYBE, BEFORE YOU SAY SHIT, THINK ABOUT WHY HE FUCKING LEFT IN THE FIRST PLACE, DEAR GOD.

[samgirl98]

Wail of the Silent 4/?

Prev | Next

TW: Brief mention of suicidal ideation

Jason woke up strangely well-rested.

He didn’t have any more nightmares after the first one. If anything, he had a pleasant dream of an angel hovering over him. Jason sat up and noticed that he must’ve made it to bed somehow last night.

Jason looked out the window and saw that, while it was cloudy, the thunderstorm had stopped. Good. He hoped there wouldn’t be another one later. Thunderstorms reminded him of clawing his way out of his grave.

Jason got out of bed; it was chillier than usual. Hmm, was the thermostat broken or something?

Jason went to the living room and noticed he wasn’t alone. He got on the defensive and took out a gun under the coffee table. He pointed it toward the figure.

Jason let his gun fall a bit when he saw it was the angel from his dreams…God, that sounded corny.

Jason studied the…man. He was asleep, floating three feet in the air, his legs crossed. He was tall, maybe 6’5”. Definitely taller than Jason or even Bruce. He wore a black and white hazmat suit with a stylized ‘D’ on his chest. He had pale blue skin, white hair that seemed to defy gravity, and green freckles.

(Jason hadn’t been imagining it last night, they were in the shape of constellations.)

Jason got closer to the man, his steps silent. He put the gun up to the man’s temple, and the man opened his eyes.

Jason almost dropped his gun when he saw Lazarus' green eyes staring back at him. Jason wished he could still talk so that he could yell at the man.

Who the fuck are you? He wanted to ask, what are you doing in my living room?

(Jason didn’t notice that chirps were coming from deep in his chest and came out of his mouth.)

The man raised his hands and floated in a standing position.

“It’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m Danny; I’m here to help.”

Jason sneered; no one could help him. He raised his gun again and pointed at the man’s, Danny’s, temple. Jason wished he could growl; he wished he could quip and cuss the man out. But he couldn’t

(Dad took away my voice.)

The pain he felt last night suddenly overwhelmed Jason, and he fell to his knees. The gun in his hand looked like a pain reliever.

Danny’s face went to a sneer, and he snarled as he felt Spectra’s influence in the room. He didn’t see her, and his ghost sense hadn’t been triggered, but Danny knew she was somehow causing the man’s backslide to his negative emotions.

As much as Danny wanted to go after Spectra, he couldn’t the other halfa alone, especially since Danny didn’t like how he was eying the gun in his hand all of a sudden. Danny went up to the man and took the gun. The other halfa’s core hummed in sorrow and disappointment.

Danny let his core hum out feelings of peace and hope.

It’ll be fine, Danny chirped.

I’m so tired, was the answer.

Danny took out the bullets and threw them away from them, and threw the gun in the opposite direction of the bullets. Danny looked around the room while watching the other halfa until he found a pad and a pen.

“What’s your name,” Danny asked while giving him the pad and pen. The other halfa took it.

Jason. What are you doing here? How did you get in?

“I heard your screams last night, so I came to help.”

Jason looked at Danny in disbelief.

I’m mute. You didn’t hear shit. What the fuck are you really doing here? What are you?

“I’m not an angel if that’s what you’re asking,” Danny said, amused.

Jason felt his cheeks warm up before he thought of something. There was no way in hell the guy should’ve known what Jason had been thinking. Unless…

Jason got up abruptly and stood as far away from Danny as possible. Danny had his hands back up.

 “Jason, what’s wrong?”

Jason was angry; he saw green. The thing in front of him was in Jason’s mind. Who knew what he had seen?

Jason’s core suddenly let out a strong feeling of anger that felt like a sucker punch. What had Danny done to make the other halfa so angry? Danny slowly picked up the pad and gave it back to Jason. The other halfa ignored him while his nostrils flared.

Danny knew he wasn’t in any danger, but he didn’t want to chase Jason away.

“Jason, what did I do?”

Jason took the pad and pen; how do you know I thought you were an angel? Are you a mind reader? Have you been screwing around in my brain?

“What? No! You told me!”

Liar, liar, liar! Jason’s core chirped out, hurt. Pain. Lies! He’s here to hurt me. Kill him!

Jason, I need you to listen to me. Really listen, what do you hear?

Jason let himself calm down. That’s when he heard it. There was a weird humming in the air.

Do you hear that?

Jason was surprised. Danny had just…chirped. What the fuck?

What the fuck?

Jason’s eyes widened even more; he had just chirped. The chirps didn’t come from his throat but somewhere deep in his chest. What was going on?

The humming in the air got louder.

Peace, calm, understanding. Calm, calm, calm.

Are you doing that?

“Yeah,” he spoke this time, “I’m using my core to communicate with you. You have one, too. That’s how I heard your scream last night. I came to make sure you were okay. I’m honestly surprised you’re still here. Very few beings or humans would be able to survive that type of pain.”

Jason frowned, remembering the anguish he was in the night before. He remembered wanting to make the pain end, one way or another. Then the angel, Danny, had appeared, and things had felt…better.

Tell me everything.

“Okay, first thing first, and I hope you don’t take any offense, but did you know you died?”

Amusement. Anger, acknowledgment. Anger. Anger, anger!

(Now that he was looking for it, Jason felt an energy deep in his chest that translated into humming.)

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Jason gave a sharp nod.

 “Well, when you came back, you didn’t come back all the way through. You and I are the same.”

Suddenly there was a bright light. When it died down, instead of a blue-skinned, green-eyed, white-haired man, there was a blue-eyed, tanned, handsome man in front of him.

Damn, it must’ve been a while because Jason felt the sudden urge to climb the man like a fucking tree.

Danny smirked, and Jason’s cheeks warmed up. Had he somehow projected that with whatever the fuck was going on in his chest?

Danny’s smirk grew bigger. Yep, apparently, he was. How fucking embarrassing.

What are you? He asked instead of dwelling on his libido.

“We are halfas. Half ghost, half human. We are what happens when we don’t die all the way. We’re half alive, half dead. There’s only four of us in the world, including yourself.”

I’m not a halfa or whatever it is you call yourself.

Danny smiled sadly, “That core in your chest says differently. Honestly, if I hadn’t come to Gotham, I probably would’ve never found out about you.”

Why ARE you in Gotham?

Anger, fury, disgust, disgust. I have to stop her!

Jason fell on his ass at Danny’s intense humming and chirping.

“Spectra,” he spat, ���She’s a ghost that feeds on misery and pain. I followed her to Gotham. She was feeding on you last night. That’s why you felt those negative emotions. They were probably stronger than usual, right?”

They were stronger. The strongest he had ever felt them. But if what Danny was saying was true…

ANGER, RAGE, REVENGE! KILL HER, KILL HER, KILL HER!

Calm, calm, I’ll get her, I promise.

No! Revenge, revenge! I have to get her!

Jason paced the length of the living room, livid. Some bitch had fed off him. Had used him! He needed to get her, to kill her, make her regret she ever crossed his path!

Where is she? He chirped.

(A part of him marveled that he could ask questions, could express his anger with sounds.)

“I don’t know. I’m looking for her. Look, I understand wanting to get revenge, but you can’t kill a ghost.”

How? How? How do I get my revenge?

Calm, calm, I’ll explain, calm.

“I capture ghosts and send them back to the Infinite Realms, the land of ghosts when they come to our world to cause havoc. However, she’s killed, that’s forbidden by ghost law. The Observants, the council of the Infinite Realms, have asked me to capture her so they can punish her. That means eternal imprisonment.”

Not good enough, not good enough, NOT GOOD ENOUGH!

Danny sighed, “It’s almost impossible to kill a ghost. Trapping them in eternal torment is the closest we can get to punishment.”

Almost didn’t mean it was impossible.

Danny sighed, “Why are the cute ones always the crazy ones?”

Jason blinked, and his feelings for revenge were suddenly gone. Danny thought he was cute?

Jason got off the floor and sat on the couch. He patted the space beside him. Danny got the message and sat down, too.

“Let me help you,” Jason signed.

“Sorry dude, still don’t know sign language,” Danny said, amused.

Jason rolled his eyes and picked up the notepad; he still didn’t know how to consciously make the noises with his…what was it, core?

Let me help you.

Danny looked deep into Jason’s eyes and saw determination shining through. He knew if he said no, Jason would go off alone. That would be dangerous. Besides, Jason needed to learn what it meant to be a halfa. And if Danny liked looking at the man, well, no one else had to know.

[pappydaddy]

sorry about the shirt (f.w.)

a/n: now that i named this fic this, now i have an idea for another fic with this as a prompt.... ugh my mind, curse my cognition! also, i have deleted this and reformatted this like six times and the title is still not saving as a god-damn title anymore. ugh. tumblr (pls don't shadowban me again)

tv show/movie: harry potter | pairing: fred weasley x fem!hufflepuff!reader

requested by the lovely @readingfan  (hope you enjoy it💛!) | my little pea-sized, fred-lane brain made this a fred x reader without me realizing it until seconds before posting this

synopsis: fred and george getting a summer job in a coffee shop where a pretty girl frequents. said pretty girl seems to have fred in a trance. what could possibly go wrong? well, fred knows what could now that an innocent shirt has been ruined.

taglist: @frederickandgeorge-weasley | @lilypad-55449 | @popeheywardssecretgf | @eichenhouseproperty | @slytherinambitious | @onyourgoddamnleft *line through you user means i could not tag you lovelies!

warnings: reader is described to wear sundresses | mentioned of negative thoughts about oneself (reader has negative thoughts about herself) | fred and george being teens (aged to be 18, idc if it's not canonically plausible) working in retail).

navigation | masterlist | taglist sign-up

- not my gif -

GIF by fgweasley

Summer was supposed to be a time of freedom, long nights, and recklessness and there was nobody else who knew this more than Fred and George. Unfortunately for them, it appears that their summer was going to be nothing but seeing the inside of that damn coffee shop. Fred and George rarely ever regretted a prank, but right now, they were starting to think that perhaps slipping Malfoy that candy that made his skin turn Gryffindor red and his hair a golden snitch gold wasn’t worth this. It also taught them that when Malfoy said his father would hear about this, he actually means it - sometimes.  

  However, no matter how funny the prank was and how much it was worth all the time they spent planning and agonizing to create the final product, it was not worth this. Not worth the wrinkled fingers that lost all feeling after wiping down every single table and counter in the cafe. Not worth the skin of the heat from the coffee machines. Not worth the horrible experience of dealing with customers. Not to mention uncomfortable uniforms. Forced to wear black jeans, black dress shirts, and a ratty old apron ten other people wore before them. 

  While George grumbled everyday, hoping and wishing for their return to Hogwarts (something nobody expected to hear), Fred’s summer was not a complete waste. He did not realize this when they applied for their job, but this coffee shop tucked into a hidden alleyway of Diagon Alley was often frequented by a rather pretty girl. In her flowing sundresses, her hair cascading down over her shoulders in soft waves. When he first saw her his knees nearly gave out. Then when she turned to leave (lemonade in hand - it was a hot day) and he caught a glimpse of the white ribbon tying her hair into a half-up, half-down style, George had to catch him because his knees did give out. She looked vaguely familiar to him, but he couldn’t exactly place her. 

  “She’s in our year, a Hufflepuff,” Hermione had told him one day when she and Ron had visited them. They were out gathering ideas for a present for Harry. “She’s quiet, likes to stick to her routine but doesn’t shy away from new opportunities. She’s in my book club and study club. She has such a beautiful voice but she thinks it's horrible - that’s why she is so quiet.” She revealed after Fred pressed her for more information. 

  Unfortunately for Fred, he has yet to hear that beautiful voice since he never seems to be on the cash when she comes in or someone beats him to it - usually George as a form of twisted amusement. “Hermione was right. She does have a beautiful voice.” George blinked after the first time he took her order. It was later discovered that the reason she hates her voice was because some Slytherins had poked fun at her in First Year, leaving her with an ugly taste in her mouth and horrible self-confidence. Fred could wring their necks, every last one of them. 

  Anytime Fred had any downtime, he found himself thinking of her. He knew nothing of her but, yet, she consumed every thought and every dream of his. Such as today. It was a horribly humid and dreadful day. Every door to the coffee shop was open, a cooling spell was placed on the shop but it was barely fighting against the stickiness, and the owner even found some muggle fans and set them up. It was slow, barely anyone wanted to leave their houses and if they did, they surely couldn’t even think about sipping on a coffee - even one of their iced ones since the ice would probably melt before they even took their first sip. 

  But here was Fred, elbows digging into the counter as he hogged one of the fans. His back was facing the entrance as he moved with the fan which was oscillating. George was in the back, doing work back there but Fred was sure he was just sitting in front of that fan. “Bloody hell.” He groaned, pinching his shirt and pulling it away from him. This was torture. 

  “Excuse me,” A soft, hesitant voice called to him over the rattling of the fan, startling him. Turning around, his eyes widened when she saw who stood at the counter. Hair pulled up into a high ponytail, bangs hanging around her face from where the shorter strands fell out of the ponytail. Even looking right at her, he saw the ribbon she usually wore in her hair. Today’s was a pretty yellow shade, matching the sundress she wore. It was a pale yellow, nothing that jumped right out at you. “Could I get a large lemonade?” She asked him, blinking sweetly as she rolled up to the balls of her white converse. That voice. He was blown away. He was never going to be the same after hearing that beautiful sound. How could he go on with his life knowing that that voice exists and he isn’t hearing it every second of everyday.  

  “Yes, of course,” He nodded, rushing to the counter, nearly tripping over himself. “George, can you make a large lemonade?” He yelled out back as he typed away on the till. Instantly, George emerged, a large lemonade in hand. 

  “Here ya go, Y/N. I knew you would be wanting one of these today. Made it once I heard your voice.” He winked at her and Fred contemplated murdering him right there. He actually considered it when she giggled at his twin, but the sound made him stop. Everybody said her voice was the most beautiful sound, which he could agree with all his heart on now that he heard it, but her giggle. Just thinking about making her laugh made him want to lay on his stomach on his bed and kick his feet like Ginny does whenever Harry says hi to her. 

  “Thank you, George,” She smiled thankfully, holding out her hand. Almost as if under a spell, Fred reached his hand out, palm facing up. With her sweet smile turning to Fred, she dropped a handful of sickles in his palm. Her fingers brushed against the palm of his hand, sending shivers and sparks running through his nerves. “That’s enough for the lemonade and ten sickles for you guys to split for a tip. Thank you, Fred.” 

  The shock sent to Fred’s system was immense when she said his name. She knew his name. She knew his name. He opened and closed his mouth as she turned on her heel, her skirt flaring up adorably, her ponytail and ribbon flaring up as well and off she went into the dreadful heat, making Fred’s day so much better. 

____

  It was a rush. Possibly the biggest rush Fred and George have ever experienced at the shop. The queue was running out of the door. Perhaps everyone just now realized that summer was coming to a close and just now decided to emerge from their lazy, hazy, summer daze to enjoy the days. This, of course, made Fred miserable. 

  Instead of enjoying their time, patrons were making their lives a living hell. And for what? Amusement? What was the reason he had to get yelled at by a man because his coffee was too hot to drink? He questioned if it was possible that these people got some sort of happiness from throwing adult hissyfits and yelling at underpaid, overworked employees. Did they have some sort of odd kink? Did it fill a missing void? Whatever it was, Fred quite frankly did not want to be part of it.  

  However, when he saw that shining face in the queue, her nose buried in her book as she read so intently. She wore her hair down aside from two locks of hair tied back into a braid, secured by a light blue ribbon today. When he saw her, he froze for a moment. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. The way the sun burned through the dirty windows (that seemed to have fingerprint smudged permanently tattooed on it) and hit her like a golden spotlight. The way her finger absentmindedly stroked the cover of her book as she read. 

  “Excuse me,” The customer in front of him barked. He jolted back to reality. Frankly, he already was in reality since Y/N was completely gorgeous. There was no fantasy about that. She was perfect. The fantasy was that she had feelings for him or at least thought he was cute. “Did you get my order?” The man, a short, plump man with an angry red nose despite the beautiful summer day they were having, grumbled. 

  “One medium coffee. Would you like that iced or with anything in it?” Fred asked the normal questions, bracing himself for the normal response he usually received from people with certain mannerisms. 

  The man’s nose seemed to get even more red. “Of course I don’t. If I wanted it another way, I would have ordered it another way. What do I look like? An idiot? Rowena, you kids these days, needing to have things iced and sweetened. Whatever happened to the good British taste? Black coffee. That is what I want-”

  “That will be 3 sickles, Sir.” Fred read the total off, noticing how Y/N glanced up, rolling onto her tiptoes to take note of what was taking so long. He wanted to get this nasty old man out of his line so that she could get on with her day. Her day shouldn’t be wasted in this shop waiting in line. 

  “Here, keep the change.” The man basically tossed the sickles at Fred. Four sickles. 

  “Some change,” Fred whispered under his breath, putting three sickles in the till and dropping one in the communal tip jar. That naked a total of five sickles in tips. “Have a nice day, sir,” Fred faked a smile as the man waddled off to the pick-up area, barking at George to hurry up. “I can help whoever is next.” “Two people until her.” Fred thought. 

  “Hi, could we get two lemonades? Mediums please,” The teen girl giggled, eyes staring up at Fred sweetly. Fred nodded, writing the order down and sliding it along the counter. Harrison, the manager, grabbed it to start making it. “So, we’ll be seeing you at Hogwarts in a couple of weeks, right, George?” She asked with a bat of her eyelashes, still getting his name wrong despite his name tag being basically eye level with her. He could see Y/N look up from her book, snickering slightly behind her book. 

  “I’m actually Fred. And yes. That will be seven sickles today.” Fred read off their total, holding his hand out for their money. 

  “Oh, sorry. You both are so handsome, it’s hard to tell you apart.” She flirted with a wink, dropping exactly seven sickles in his hand. 

  “Have a nice day,” He nodded to them as they wandered off with linked arms to bother George. “Next please!” He just needed to take care of this one customer and then she would be at his cash. Evidently, she noticed this as she was tucking her book into her bag and pulling out her coin wallet. He watched her intently, somehow managing to take the customer’s order and recite the amount of money he needed. 

  He watched as she counted the sickles she had pulled out before pulling out two more coins before doing some math in her head. He could tell since her eyes flicked around and she used her free hand to wiggle her fingers as if counting on them. “Have a nice day.” He wasn’t even sure what that customer ordered, but he must have done it right. 

  And up stepped the person he was waiting for. Y/N stepped up with a bounce, smiling brightly at him. He wanted to faint right there. There she was, standing there and it overwhelmed him so much that his nervous system was going haywire on him. “Hi, Freddie!” She seemed to have gotten much more comfortable. She was more bubbly and talkative with him and his brother. She even started to call them by nicknames. It warmed Fred’s heart to the point it might burst. 

  “Hi, Y/N, what can I get for you today?” He asked, trying to calm his racing heart and malfunctioning nervous system. He was in fight-or-flight with the secret third option: faint. 

  “Just a large iced coffee. I am trying to finish off the last book on my book club’s summer reading list and I decided I might as well change up the scenery.” She explained, her voice much more even and comfortable. Not the same reluctant, soft voice she had when she first talked to him. And if he thought that voice was beautiful, then this voice was perfect. Alluring. Charming. Cute. Marvelous. Dazzling. Delicate. Stunning. Splendid. Gorgeous. Lovely. Any synonym there was for beautiful because this voice was so much better. 

  Before he could even tell her the total, she handed him the sickles she had counted out prior to the interaction. She always did it. “Three sickles for the iced coffee and how many for the tip?” He asked, knowing exactly how she worked things. 

  “Fifteen. Five for everyone who worked today,” She smiled as she rolled up to the balls of her feet - something he found that she did often. The line was gone aside from her and part of Fred wished it would stay away so she could stand there talking to him, but unfortunately someone walked in. “I’ll leave you to it, Fred.” She smiled at him. It appeared sad and part of him hoped that she felt upset about having to part from him. 

  He watched her walk over to George who held her coffee out to her. Sharing pleasantries, she headed off to one of the many tables. Taking her normal table by the window. “Alright boys. I am heading out, I’ll be back in two hours to close it down.” Harrison told them. That was most likely the last rush of the day. People didn’t tend to frequent the coffee shop near close. They gave him nods as he left. 

  Thirty minutes and they hadn’t stopped. Anytime they saw a lull coming, once they served one customer, two more would come. Just as Fred turned his back, taking a deep breath as the attack stopped, he heard the approaching footsteps of someone. He wanted to roll his eyes and outwardly show the resentment he had felt, but he didn’t feel the same hostility he had felt with the last few customers. Part of him should have known why before he turned around, but sometimes he isn’t always on the ball. 

  As he turned around, he was pleasantly shocked to see Y/N standing there at the counter again, her head down as she inspected the wet patch on her blue sundress. After a few seconds of silence, she looked up, hand hovering over the patch on the center of her torso. “Hey, Fred, again,” She smiled, a bit awkwardly as she didn’t usually come up after she got her order unless it was to say bye to the boys (something rather new after she got comfortable with them). “Do you think I could get a napkin? That last customer who left kind of knocked into me a bit and I got the last bit of iced coffee on me-” She cut herself off as Fred reacted without thinking, grabbing the back of his brother’s black shirt and ripping it off of him.

  “Here you go, Y/N.” He handed it to her. Shocked, she took it from him. George just stood there, blinking at his brother as if he had gone completely mad. Fred considered this a sign that perhaps, working nearly every single day of the summer had made him cracked in the head. Slowly, looking at the face Y/N was making, he came back into his body. It was as if seeing Y/N in need made him go into autopilot, doing whatever he needed to to resolve the issue Y/N was facing. 

  “Fred, what in Godric's name?” George questioned, still a bit shocked that his brother completely ripped the back of his shirt off, leaving just his sleeves and the front. It was silent as the three of them all looked at each other, trying to make sense of the situation. Fred couldn’t even remember his brain telling him to do that, let alone any thought of ripping his brother’s shirt. 

  The silence was broken by the sweet giggles of Y/N. Fred nearly gave himself whiplash turning his head to look at her. There she stood, on the other side of the counter, one hand holding the tattered shreds of George’s shirt, the other one hovering over her mouth as her giggled turned into laughter, eyes crinkling closed. “Oh my Helga,” She pressed her lips together, her purely magnetic eyes opening and meeting Fred’s with a zing being sent through Fred’s body like electricity (which this summer, he discovered was pretty dangerous). “I needed that, Freddie. That guy who bumped my arm as a complete arse-” Fred blinked, that might have been the most foul he had ever heard her talk, though Hermione had told him she had said much worse about some of the guys in their year. “You know exactly what to do to make people laugh, it’s an amazing gift,” She nodded at him, a large smile hanging off her lips. “Thank you, see you at Hogwarts if I am not in next week.” She whispered as she rolled onto the balls of her feet. 

  Before Fred could react, she was pressing her lips against his cheek. Her sweet looking lips felt even sweeter against the now burning flesh of his freckled cheeks. He knew that now he felt her lips, he wasn’t going to be able to stop thinking about how they would feel against his own lips, but right now his brain was empty. He couldn’t function as she pulled away, heels crashing to the ground. A bashful smile stayed on her lips as she waved to the pair of them, Fred so far gone he barely even registered the fact that her lips were no longer touching him - probably due to the fact that the tingling he felt was still there.    When he finally came back into his body again, Y/N and her bashfulness had left with her book tucked under her arm for almost five minutes. Blinking around, Fred saw the basically empty shop, the only person lingering being someone who had been there for two hours now. Looking to his side, he felt George’s “what the hell” look before he saw it. Winching, nervous about his brother’s wrath. “Sorry about the shirt, George.”