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Of Ruin: Chapter 14 | KTH

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Of Ruin (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni Genre: vampire!au magic!au royalty!au, s2l, slow burn, eventual smut, angst and fluff

Summary: Taehyung of House Rune, Prince of Infracticus has been cursed. You’re the human world’s leading curse-breaker. It should be simple. But unraveling the curse becomes the least of your problems in the face of a world on the brink of civil war… and the love you start to feel for the prince.

A/N: Thank you endlessly to @sailoryooons for betaing!!! 💕 Also thank you to @casuallyimagining for looking over these fight scenes for me!

Section Warnings: language, angst, uhhh fighting and explicit violence, blood and injury, tense situations with dangerous vampires, uhhhhh multiple murders wc: 6.3k

“You are not supposed to be here.”

“I left,” you admit, sagging into one of the worn chairs and letting your head fall into your hands. It’s late now, nearing dinner time, and you know Dr. Kim would normally be leaving. “I can go home. I meant to go home. But I left there and started walking and… ended up here.”

He regards you for a long minute. Then, as if he’s made a decision, he sits across from you. You’ve been just like this many times - he behind his desk, you across from it, working out a curse or a class-schedule - but it feels different this time.

You’re so ashamed you can barely stomach it.

You’ve never run away from anything in your life, not like this.

You explain it all, you leave nothing out. The dangers you faced, the mistakes and missteps. The way you learned what you really are, and began learning how to do something with it. How you’d slowly worked the curse to a tipping point. How you’d slowly fallen in love with Prince Taehyung, how you’d thought he felt the same.

But Taehyung throwing around words like Queen… it feels like too much. It feels like something you shouldn’t have, don’t deserve, haven’t earned. It feels like a trick or a trap, and you ran scared like a little bunny.

You tell him all of it.

When you’re done, you watch his ancient face for signs of what he’s going to say, if he’s going to chastise you for letting a job get so out of control.

You take in his expression and your heart sinks.

“You’re going to tell me I have to go back, aren’t you?” you lament, shoulders slumping.

“No, my dear,” Dr. Kim says kindly. “I’m going to tell you to go home.”

“Home?” you echo. “What, you mean, like… go home and sleep on it?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Go home. To your family.”

—

Dr. Kim had never really understood the way things were with you and your family. You forgave him for it long ago - he clearly had a very different situation. You’ve learned that even more in the past few months spent with his grandson. But even though you know how pointless his advice is… you follow it anyway.

It’s a long train ride to your hometown, and you spend it pressed to the window, watching the backsides of buildings flash by until they give way to the greens and browns of the countryside.

You think about what you might say. You think about what your parents might say back.

You try to remember the last time you’d even spoken, before your assignment to Infracticus, and you can’t recall.

You spent last night alone in your apartment. It had felt all wrong, somehow - like it belonged to someone else. It occurred to you, as you’d walked through your living room, a hand trailing absently over the knickknacks and clutter, that you hadn’t missed any of these things while you’d been gone.

You’d slept fitfully, with the lights on, bolting upright every time you heard footsteps in the hall.

You walk from the train station; the season has turned in the time you’ve been gone, and the air is biting and cold, stinging your face and the inside of your nose. You slip your hands inside your sleeves, wishing you’d grabbed a heavier coat on your way out the door.

You stop a few houses down, leaning against an old, wooden fence. You watch your childhood home silently, rubbing absently at your chill-bitten nose.

You imagine going up and knocking on the door - because it’s been nearly a decade since the days you were comfortable just breezing in and out of their home. You imagine sitting down at the kitchen table, a steaming mug of tea between your frozen fingers, heating up by degrees. Imagine telling your parents, yes, I’ve been on assignment, actually. In Infracticus.

You imagine your father joking, I’m surprised you didn’t find a way to stay.

That’s exactly what you’d done, without even meaning to.

Is this visit supposed to be goodbye? Is it an attempt to ask for their blessing? How can you expect that - of any parent? How can you walk into their house, uninvited, and ask them to tell you goodbye?

Even if it isn’t forever - even if you can promise visits, regular communication - how can you expect anything like the permission you seek? It isn’t fair of you to even ask.

You stand in the cold and think to yourself that maybe you’re best off just leaving things how they are. Maybe keeping them from the truth is better for them.

Because this is what you’ve figured out, the knowledge you’re grappling with: regardless of Taehyung’s feelings for you… you’re going to ask him to turn you.

Even if he doesn’t love you, even if he doesn’t want you to rule with him, you’re going to walk away from your mortality.

The curse calls for the end of a life, and so your mortal life will end.

What happens after - with Taehyung - remains to be seen, it’s true. But you’d been wrestling with this question for days: would you be willing to give up your mortal life to save his immortal one?

Dr. Kim had heard the indecision threaded through your story, and had sent you here, knowing you needed clarity.

And it worked - everything is very clear as you stand alone on the street you grew up on, knowing there’s no place for you here.

You’d never built anything here. You hardly had anything to say goodbye to. No friends were blowing up your phone wondering where you’d been. Your parents didn’t even know you had gone in the first place. Even the university, your job, had simply slipped another professor into your place.

But Infracticus… Taehyung… those things fit.

You’d felt it in the way your magic slipped into the cracks of his, how they fused together easily, perfect counterparts.

You’d felt it in the way you could exist together quietly with the waves of the sea crashing just ahead of you.

You’d felt it in the way his hand wrapped around yours, the way he tried to stay a step ahead of you, moving obstacles out of your way.

You’d felt it in his heavy, hooded gaze, in his mouth against your skin, in his useless heartbeat against yours.

You fit next to him. Maybe - with time, with him - you could build something. In fact, you could build a lot of things. If his vision of the future really came to be, you could do a lot, could play a real part in creating something good, something lasting.

All you’d ever done here was daydream about a world you had no place in.

You’ll have a place there now - either leading at Taehyung’s side, or existing under his rule. Neither seems like a bad option.

It doesn’t feel real. But neither did any of it, at first. If things go how you plan, you’ll have plenty of time to adjust.

You pull your phone out of your pocket and check the train schedule, turning on your heel and heading back the way you came.

Unlike when you left Taehyung, you don’t look back. There’s no reason to.

—

You get back to the city in the early afternoon, and you go directly to the university. Dr. Kim looks up calmly when you enter his office, and simply says, “That was faster than I expected.”

You snort, the tension breaking, and he shuffles some papers as you take your usual chair.

“Well?” he asks, not looking up.

“I think you already know,” you say flatly, but he doesn’t hear you, because the sound of your voice is drowned by heavy footsteps and frantic knocking on the already-open door.

Dr. Kim’s eyes twinkle when he spots whoever is behind you, and you whirl in your chair, jaw dropping.

It’s, of course, Prince Taehyung, but he’s flanked by Satuel and Namjoon. All three of them are in jeans, and the sight of the prince dressed like one of the students here would make you laugh out loud if you weren’t so shocked by their presence.

He steps through the doorway, frowning deeply, eyes on you, and says, darkly, “I didn’t fake anything.”

As if this sentence has been itching to burst from him since you laid the accusation at his feet two nights ago, as if he couldn’t take his next breath until he refuted the very idea.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, standing.

“Come in, come in,” Dr. Kim says urgently, “and close that door before someone sees you.”

Maybe someone closes the door. Maybe they leave it open. Maybe a tornado rips through the room and carries everyone else away. You don’t know, because all you can see is Taehyung’s dark eyes, shining with emotion as he chokes out, “How could you just leave?”

“I had some things I needed to figure out,” you murmur.

He steps closer to you, filling the space, and reaches for your hands. “I never faked a thing,” he repeats, like this is the line he rehearsed. “I tried to explain, but you left so fast. My father may have told me he wanted me to pursue you, but all of it was real. I didn’t care about your magic or what you could bring to the family - I just wanted you.”

And, well, you’ve known that all along. But it’s nice to hear him say it.

Your eyes find the floor, head full of all the other things you two need to talk about. “Okay,” you say quietly.

“Okay?” he parrots, an edge to it. “Okay what? Okay, you’ll come back?”

You look up, but not at Taehyung. You look at Namjoon, and then over your shoulder at Dr. Kim. “I have to go back,” you say. “I figured out what we have to do to break the curse for real.”

—

You hate the feeling of everyone’s eyes on you in the crowded room, but now that everyone is settled in and ready to listen, you have no choice but to speak.

“Namjoon is the death magic expert,” you say, shooting him a little sideways glance. “So, chime in if something seems off. But I was looking at what we have… and reading similar cases… and I think we tried to get around the life for a life counter too quickly.”

“No,” Taehyung says immediately. “We’re not ending a life -”

You hold up a hand, silencing him. “It’s not your decision to make,” you say evenly.

His face contorts. “What are you talking about? Of course it is.”

You shake your head. “It’s mine. We’ll end my life - my mortal life.”

You have to clarify it twice to be heard over the outroar. Taehyung damn near stomps his foot with his cry of protest, and Dr. Kim has risen to his feet. Even Satuel looks struck, her eyes uncharacteristically wide.

“You mean,” Namjoon says slowly, the first one to piece together what you’re saying, “you’ll turn?”

You watch his face carefully for any hints at what he’s thinking, how he feels about this news. “It would work, right?” you ask, even though you’re about ninety-two percent sure on your own. “It’ll count as a life ending? Technically?”

He shoots a nervous look at Prince Taehyung, and then at his grandfather, like he’s not sure which one of them will be more infuriated by his answer. “I… I think it should, yes.”

To your right, Taehyung says your name, voice strangled. “That’s the plan?” he asks, as if begging for someone to tell him he’s got it wrong. “I have to turn you during the counter-curse to satisfy the end of life thread?”

You hold his gaze, your stomach knotting, your throat tightening until you can barely breathe. “Will you?” you ask, the words paper-thin.

He shakes his head, but it doesn’t seem like he’s saying no. “And then what?” he demands. “Have you thought about what this would mean?”

“Extensively,” you say flatly.

He looks around the room for help, his expression stricken. None comes.

“You can’t,” he says, imploring. “There are so many things that could go wrong - what if there’s some kind of attack, and I die? What if my father refuses to pass over the crown, and throws us in jail for trying? What if it does go as I’ve planned, but I go to trial and I’m found guilty for what happened the first night of the curse?”

You hear exactly what he’s really asking - What if you give up your entire life here and it turns out to be for nothing?

You frown. “Taehyung, you can’t live your life based on the worst-case scenario. Maybe none of those things will happen. But even if they do… don’t think that my turning has a… a price that you have to fulfill. I’m not turning just so I can be with you.”

His face goes blank. Before you can process what you’ve done wrong, Namjoon beans you in the forehead with an eraser off his grandfather’s desk.

“Say that better,” he instructs.

“Ow!” you protest, but the distraction helps you catch up to the moment. You meet Taehyung’s eyes even as you bend down to pick the eraser up off the floor. “What I mean is,” you say emphatically, “it doesn’t have to be any kind of commitment. I’ll turn because I want to, and because it will save you, and then… we’ll have time - all the time in the world - to see what comes next. Right?”

Taehyung’s jaw clenches and unclenches as he thinks. He looks around again. “Someone else weigh in here,” he begs, finally. “I can’t agree to this, can I? It’s too much.”

“Maybe we should let you talk alone?” Namjoon suggests, and you look at him, full of gratitude. But, of course, he’s been there all alone, has seen what was happening between you and Taehyung long before you were willing to admit it yourself.

“I’ll take you to the staff room for coffee,” Dr. Kim tells his grandson. “You can catch me up on the situation. But Prince Taehyung’s guard really ought to stay close to him.”

Satuel nods smartly. “I can stand in the hall,” she says, and you fight back a smile, knowing she’s choosing to give you a little privacy.

When they’re gone, Taehyung sags, letting himself sink into the misery of the situation.

“This is not a sacrifice I can allow you to make,” he tells you, eyes round, mouth pulling down unhappily at each corner.

You lean back against Dr. Kim’s desk, considering your words. “It’s not so much of a sacrifice,” you try to explain. “You’d be giving me something, not taking anything away.”

He watches you carefully as he says, “But you couldn’t come back. I mean - for a long time, as you adjust. And then, after, only at certain times, with permission… you’d give up this whole world?”

“Those permitted visits over an immortal life will probably add up to be more time here than I would have had normally,” you point out. “Just not all at once. And maybe, when I come visit… you could come with me?”

He doesn’t speak, just holds your gaze and nods tightly.

You shrug, toying at your bottom lip. “Then that’s already better than what I have now.”

He crosses to you, then, taking you in his arms, and you let him. You allow yourself just one second to be scared and unsure, and then you lean back to look up at him. “I want to do this,” you promise. “No matter what happens after. Even if you decide I’m boring and you fall in love with someone else and -”

He scowls. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m just saying,” you tease, smiling a little. “Even if the worst happens - whatever version of the worst you want - I still choose this.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know if I can do it,” he admits. “I don’t know if I can hurt you like that.”

“I’ll be okay,” you promise, though this is the part that’s scary - the turning process. “I’ll be okay, because I know you’ll be there. I know you’ll take care of me.”

“Yes,” he pouts, “but who will take care of me while I’m panicking over you?”

“Namjoon,” you say sagely, pleased when a laugh rips through him, rumbling in his chest.

He sighs. “We’ll be okay?” he asks.

You don’t think he means individually. But you include it in your answer when you squeeze your arms around and say, confidently, “We will. I know we will.”

He leans down to kiss you, softly at first, his lips light against yours. Then, more firmly. You melt against him, happy to be held, happy to be loved, happy to see a solution shimmering in the distance.

“You know,” he says softly, when he pulls away, “I don’t want to add any weight to this… we can see what happens after, like you said. But… I consider you my intended. That’s just… that’s how I feel.”

A shiver runs through you, thrilling and terrifying both at once. “There’s time for that after,” you say, accidentally repeating what Namjoon had told you once. “I promise.”

—

Taehyung and Satuel leave first, though she practically has to drag him.

“Promise you’re following us,” he demands on his way out.

You laugh. “As soon as we nail down this countercurse, we’ll head straight to the Ostium.”

“Don’t even stop for food,” he warns, but you know it’s a joke. Or, partly a joke.

“Not even fries?”

He considers this, then turns to Satuel. “Actually, can we stop for fries?”

She rolls her eyes. “Come on. You need to be back before midnight.”

This sobers everyone.

“Perhaps for the last time,” you say hopefully.

“Don’t say that if you aren’t sure,” Taehyung says darkly, and then kisses you goodbye, right in front of everyone, like he doesn’t even care.

“I love you,” he says, low, and you feel it down to your toes. “Don’t do anything foolish until you’re back with me.”

“Roger that,” you try to smile.

Satuel and Taehyung disappear down the hallway, so lightning quick that you can’t even watch them walk away.

Dr. Kim goes to start a pot of coffee.

Namjoon gives you a wry, knowing smile, and begins to organize paper and pens.

The three of you work all night, and it’s after four in the morning when you finally sit back, set down your pen, and declare it ready.

—

It’s still before sunrise when you pass through the Ostium, pausing to bandage up your hands after crossing - you were prepared, this time.

It’s clear right away that something is very wrong; not only is Satuel not there to pick you up, as agreed upon before she left, but the Ostium isn’t even manned. The whole building is empty, your footsteps echoing as you cross to the door leading out into Infracticus.

Your heart racing, you turn to look at Namjoon. It’s clear he’s thinking the same thing.

“What the -?” you start, as you step out of the Ostium into the pre-dawn purple. A coach is parked there, a team of amarisca hitched and ready to go.

Beside you, Namjoon shouts, already starting to run. Too late, you see the prone body on the ground, on the other side of the carriage.

“Satuel,” you manage, covering your mouth in horror, as you round the corner and spot her. Namjoon crouches, holding her up. Thick, viscous sangru - what Infracti have instead of blood pumping through their bodies - pools around her, as black as her eyes. It looks like an oil spill around her. You spy a gash on her neck, but there must be more.

“The palace,” she gasps, her wild eyes finding yours. “The prince.”

“Go,” Namjoon instructs. “I’ll stay here, I’ll help her -”

You don’t wait for the rest. You tear around the side of the carriage and start fumbling with the clasps of the first amarisca until it’s free from the rest of the team.

You turn back to where Namjoon is still cradling Satuel’s unmoving body. “The prince has a private stable at the beach,” you call to him frantically. “Get her there - I’ll send help as soon as I can.”

Namjoon nods in understanding, his face drawn and desperate, and you dig your hands deep in the amarisca’s mane and throw a leg over, urging it to move, clinging tightly as it begins its rocking gait over the road leading to the palace doors.

The palace looms in the distance, and you urge the amarisca to go faster, squeezing your calves and whispering pleas, though the latter does nothing for you. It seems like it’s not even getting closer, though the trees stream by you on either side.

Please let him be okay, you think as you frantically ride. It’s almost dawn - he would just be coming out of the curse, any second now. If the palace is under attack, would it be a hindrance or a help for him to be only beast?

Finally, the palace seems to grow in size, looming over you as the road curves around an approach.

You’re knocked from the amarisca’s back so quickly that you don’t have time to register what happened, hitting the ground with an unattractive grunt as all the breath is knocked from your lungs.

“Fuck!” you scream, as soon as you can inhale, pounding a fist against the dirt, because you failed, didn’t even make it to the palace, and now you’re going to die at the hands of some random Infracti, at the side of the road -

“Shut up,” the Infracti hisses, tugging at your arm, and you go limp because you think you might recognize his voice.

“S-Seokjin?” you whimper, turning to see if you’re right. You are, but he doesn’t answer you as he pulls you swiftly away from the road. Now you’re less sure you’re about to die, but it’s unclear.

“Listen,” he says, quietly, tugging you behind some brush and crouching. You follow his lead, eyes wide. “We’ve got about thirty of us infiltrating the castle. Probably a few teams are already in. They’re going after the royal family - that’s their only goal.”

“You’re - what?” you stammer.

“Focus,” he snaps. “I’ll help how I can, but I’m not going to out myself, and neither will Jungkook. Get in there, find Taehyung, and get him out. I don’t care where you go with him - just out of the palace. Don’t worry about the King and Queen, protect Taehyung. Can you do that, witch?”

You nod, unable to speak, mind already flying through your memories of the palace corridors, trying to think of the fastest way to the rooms where Taehyung spends his cursed nights.

“Go,” he urges you, releasing your arm. “I’ll cover your back as best I can until you’re inside.”

“Thanks,” you let out hollowly, taking a steadying breath. And then you run.

—

The first set of doors you come across is locked from inside, but you press your hands to the metal mechanism and call for all the magic you can reach until you hear gears turning, and - finally - a telling click.

You let yourself inside and quickly scan the corridor. It’s deserted - which is honestly a bad sign. The guards are somewhere else, which means there’s already trouble somewhere else.

You jog, making sure to peer around every corner, knowing that if any of the Score soldiers hear your heartbeat or smell your blood it’ll be over before you can even fight it. But there’s not much you can do, and you’ll be safer once you find Taehyung, so you hurry on until you reach the wing where he spends his nights.

You hear voices before you see them, but you round a corner to find a crowd of guards - Taehyung’s guards. He’s standing at the far side of the group, dictating orders. Over their heads, he spots you, does a double take. You watch him close his eyes for the barest second, relief clear on his face, and then he’s waving you over even as he continues speaking to the Infracti closest to him.

“Change of plans,” he’s saying as you approach, breathless. “The ten of you, join that group, get my parents to the safe room.”

“But, Maiesti, that leaves you without -”

“I don’t need you,” he says, sure, looking at you. “Not now that she’s here. My parents are sitting ducks. My venefici can fight with me.”

A few Infracti call out orders, and they separate into three groups, filtering out of the hallway in waves, leaving you and the prince quite alone.

“Did you just send away all of your guards?” you ask, horrified.

“My parents need them more,” he says, tone steely. “I’m not going to run - I’m going to take out as many of them as I can. Will you stay and fight with me? ”

“Taehyung,” you say frantically, trying to break through his resolve and get him to hear you. “They got Satuel - I had Namjoon take her to Potato’s stable, but it looked really bad.”

He stands there, frozen, caught between fighting for his family or saving his trusted guard. You know what choice you’d make, but you wait silently, anxiously shifting from foot to foot, and let him get there by himself.

“Alright,” he says finally, clearly displeased. “Fastest way to the stables is through here.”

—

Taehyung gets what he wants anyway. You hardly get anywhere before stumbling across a pack of the Scores.

They’re ready for you - five of them, all crouched defensively - likely heard your traitorous human heartbeat. But they don’t know who you are; they don’t know what you can do.

You send a blast towards their feet, which knocks three of them onto their backs. Beside you, Taehyung moves like liquid, in a way you’ve never seen before, a dark blur vanishing from your side and reappearing down the corridor, locked hand-in-hand with one of them, snarling viciously as they clash.

You can’t just stand and watch; the second Infracti you’d left standing is zipping towards you, a flash of motion, and you throw a wall up around yourself. He hits it with a sickening crunch before falling to the ground. Down the corridor, Taehyung seems to have finished off the one he was wrestling with, and is now rolling over a second man, fangs bared and black with sangru, growls and snarls rippling out of both of them.

You can’t watch, can’t keep an eye on him, because the two remaining Scores are up and they are pissed. You don’t have a single second to think, you can only react. You throw a hand towards the ceiling, shouting the spell you’ve favored since the beginning, and a large chunk of stone falls with a boom that rattles your bones, nearly knocking you off your feet. Dust flies into the air, and you shield your eyes, coughing a little.

You take stock of the situation as soon as you can see again. You only got one of them with the chunk of ceiling, and you can hear Taehyung still fighting on the other side of the unsettled dust. Which means there’s still one -

He’s on you. You don’t even know which direction he came from, but you’re on the ground and he’s snarling over top of you, fingers digging into your upper arms, black eyes narrowed in effort, fangs bared.

You kick and buck, trying to get free enough that you can use your hands and try to throw a spell, but nothing works.

“Taehyung!” you scream, and then the weight is off of you - as if the Infracti was never there. You sit up, frantically, and then you find him - rolling in battle just feet away, snarling and snapping at a sandy-haired body that growls loudly back.

Jimin.

You run for Taehyung, but he meets you halfway, hands reaching for yours desperately. There’s a smear of sangru down his face, but he seems okay.

“Jimin,” you pant, pointing behind you, and Taehyung vanishes into a flash of color again, rushing to help his friend.

By the time you reach them, it’s over. The Infracti that had pinned you lies still on the ground, his head at an angle that makes your stomach lurch.

“You have to get out,” Jimin blurts. “They’re here for you, they only want you.”

“We’re going,” you say, trying to give Taehyung a tug. He doesn’t budge. A growl rumbles from his chest, but it’s subdued. He’s not fighting, just frustrated.

“I know you want to fight,” you say, still tugging, “but Satuel -”

“Shhh,” Jimin says suddenly, holding up a hand.

You freeze, listening.

They’re already here.

They come in that formless blur of color, surrounding the three of you and stilling, their bodies filtering back into view.

Everyone is moving at once. It’s impossible to keep track of anyone, friend or foe. All you can do is try not to become anyone’s prey.

You choose a direction and slam a burst of magic at them. It knocks two of them back, but there are more coming for you.

Your fear gets the better of you; you forego defensive walls and arc your hand over your head, shouting a spell that’s meant to cut, one of the few offensive moves you’d practiced what feels like ages ago.

Time slows as you watch black sungru spurts from an Infracti’s chest, her eyes rolling back as she staggers to her knees before dropping.

Another Infracti flies towards you, lightning fast, face contorted, fangs ready. Somebody tugs you out of the way, and you stumble after them, getting it together enough to throw up a wall between you and the attack.

You glance backwards enough to see that it’s Jungkook who saved you, but you can’t dwell on it. Just ahead of you, Jimin’s raking his teeth across someone’s neck, sangru bubbling down their throat in the wake of his fangs. He drops the body unceremoniously and launches himself at another.

You look around frantically, trying to find Taehyung. You don’t find him before you’re grabbed from behind. You scream, feeling fingertips digging painfully into your upper arms. You throw your head back as hard as you can and hear the crunch as you make contact.

You spin around wildly, throwing a blast that sends your assailant flying across the corridor. He crumples to the ground, and you turn away, going back to your search for Taehyung.

You spot him just as one of the Scores leaps onto his back, the same way they’d done to you moments ago. Taehyung twists in the other man’s grasp and gives a brutal kick; the Score staggers away and Taehyung launches himself at his attacker, knocking them both to the ground. When Taehyung bares his fangs and lowers his head, you look away. But you still hear the scream cut short into a feeble gurgle.

To your left, Jimin is grappling with one of them, their hands locked. You throw a protective wall around yourself and inch closer, trying to determine if you can help without hurting Jimin, too.

Jimin spots you, his eyes widening.

“Back up!” you yell, trying to make your way closer.

His face goes taut and he gives you a nod, understanding what you mean to do. He gives the Infracti he’s fighting a mighty shove, successfully putting a few feet between them.

You attack instantly, before the gap can be filled, sending a blast so strong that it knocks Jimin backwards, too. He lands gracefully, having only been grazed, and gets up quickly, looking between you and the Score you’d just flattened against the stone wall.

“Nice shot,” he breathes.

“Help Taehyung,” you answer, panting.

You both take off down the hall to where you’d last seen the prince. He and Jungkook stand alone, two more bodies motionless on the ground between them. They’re both breathing hard.

“We have to go,” Taehyung manages, as soon as he spots you.

Jimin steps towards Jungkook and for a second you panic, thinking he doesn’t know that Jungkook is on your side, but instead of fighting they seem to hug - clasping the back of each other’s necks and pressing their foreheads together for one breathless second before breaking apart again.

“Stay safe,” Jungkook says. It comes out like a warning.

“You, too,” Taehyung says, and steps past you, grabbing for your hand as he goes. “We’re almost out - let’s move.”

—

Day is breaking in full when you finally breach the palace’s walls.

“Hurry,” you say needlessly, rushing to the stone stairs that lead down to Taehyung’s private stable. You hope Namjoon made it there, you hope Satuel is still hanging on.

You’re shaking so bad that you miss a step, adrenaline wreaking havoc on your systems. You catch yourself on the banister and continue on, Taehyung and Jimin right behind you.

There are no guards at the stable, and you burst through the door in a rush. Namjoon jumps to his feet, a rake in his hands like a weapon.

“It’s us, it’s us,” you blurt out, trying to look past him. “Is she - are we in time?”

“I really don’t know,” Namjoon admits, lowering the rake and letting you all inside. Jimin closes the door carefully, locking it from the inside.

You make your way into the empty space beside Potato’s stall, where Satuel’s body lies. She’s unmoving; it doesn’t seem like she knows you’re there.

“Okay, Healer,” you say, looking at Taehyung.

He kneels by his guard’s side, examining the places where she was ripped open. He shakes his head. “This requires more than I’m capable of.”

You step closer, kneeling beside him. “What if I help?” you suggest.

He looks at you, something unreadable flashing across his face. “You think you could?”

You nod. “If we merge magical signatures, the way we did for the ritual? You should be able to pull from my power - borrowing from me. I’ll be like… a battery?”

He smiles despite the desperate situation.

“Alright,” he says. “Let’s try - we’ve no time to spare.”

You settle onto your bottom on the dirty, wooden floor. Taehyung takes your hand, and you close your eyes and focus on your breathing, inhaling and exhaling as slowly as you can with fear still running rampant through your system.

After a few minutes - admittedly longer than normal - you feel your magic rise up inside you, warm and soothing and ready. You feel the familiar sensation of it reaching for Taehyung’s magic, little tentative tendrils poking around until they find the empty spaces between his.

The feeling when the two magical signatures meet and accept each other is euphoric, and you fight not to lose yourself in it, to stay focused.

Beside you, Taehyung starts running his hands over the visible gashes, the places where it seems like chunks are missing. The skin stitches itself back together easily under his touch, but you can tell it isn’t enough. Satuel doesn’t stir, her unfocused eyes staring blankly at the ceiling above you.

You can feel it, the exact moment when what he’s trying to do becomes too much for Taehyung’s magic. It pulls on yours sharply, an alarming sensation behind your ribcage.

You inhale. You exhale. You don’t fight it. You let him tug magic from you, you tell your systems that you trust him with all of it.

Taehyung doesn’t give up, keeping his hands above Satuel’s undead heart, letting your magics both flow into her, fixing what’s been broken, restarting what’s shut itself down.

She blinks - that’s the first sign. Her eyes blink once and then focus on Taehyung, and then slide shut. They stay shut, which alarms you, but then you see her fingers twitch.

“Your Majesty,” she breathes, eyes still closed. You sag with relief, and you feel your magical connection to Taehyung untangle, your magic curling back up inside you, tendrils coiling back up and retreating.

Taehyung closes his own eyes, but he doesn’t release your hand. Behind you, you hear Namjoon press closer.

“Rest,” Taehyung says. “All of you. We should be safe here. Rest.”

You settle in on the floor, backs against the wooden walls of the stable, eyes on the door. You listen to the ocean pound the shore outside, listen for the cries of gulls to warn of danger. Namjoon sits to your right, his tight gaze on the door. Prince Taehyung crouches to your left, ready to spring to his feet.

It’s over an hour before Taehyung’s guards find you, inform him that the palace is clear.

“My parents?” Taehyung asks, standing and brushing hay and dirt from his pants.

“The King and Queen are perfectly alright,” the guard tells him with a quick bow.

Taehyung straightens beside you, and you recognize him in royal mode, even before his voice comes out cold and controlled. “Very well. I need Satuel to be taken to the Elders for proper healing. And tomorrow morning I’ll be having an audience with my father and the curse-breakers. Please inform him.”

The guard bows again and backs out of the doorway, probably to go get backup to help move Satuel’s weakened body. You look at Taehyung quizzically, but you don’t feel afraid, not with his hand still in yours.

He meets your gaze evenly. “A year ago,” he says, still cold, which means he’s scared, “my father made me some promises, and broke them. Tomorrow, he’s going to make me a few more - and you’re going to help me make sure he can’t break them again.”

<- Prev | Next ->

!!!!! I can't believe there's only two more after this!!!! It's all coming to a close!!

thank you so much for reading!!! chapter 15 will go up next week as planned!

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nyoomfruits · 11 days

Note

32 & 60 for the AU mash up fic 😊

32. pregnancy fic + 60. poorly timed confesssion

Really, it’s all Lando’s own damn fault. He was the one who started the conversation about wanting kids but struggling with dating. It was just to lament to his best friend, sure, and it was Oscar who had jokingly said, “Maybe we should just have a kid together then, since I’m having the same problem”, sure, but like. It had been Lando who’d said “… That’s not a bad idea actually.”

(“We’ll be like, bro dads. Brads.”

Oscar frowns at him. "Do you mean those Barbie dolls they made in the early 2000’s?”

“What? No, it’s us. With our cute little baby. It’ll be perfect.”)

So yeah. Foot, mouth. And the worst part was, Oscar's a wonderful dad, and the baby isn't even there yet. He sat with Lando every time he puked his guts out in the first trimester, rubbing his back as Lando sat hunched over the toilet seat. He painted the nursery in a cute blue/green/yellow color scheme and then redid the whole thing when Lando determined the green was ‘too green’. He’d given Lando unlimited foot massages, without asking, when everything started to become quite tiring in the second trimester.

And now here he was. Tying Lando’s shoes because Lando really wanted to wear his sneakers, tired of the boring slip on’s, but no longer capable of tying them himself because his humongous third trimester belly is making bending down absolutely impossible.

And it’s stupid, it’s so fucking stupid, because everyone else probably saw this coming from a mile away. Because it’s Oscar. And Oscar is lovely and wonderful and kind and it has to be impossible not to fall in love with him.

Which Lando has. Fallen in love with him, that is. Which is really, really fucking inconvenient.

They made a promise, when they started this whole thing. A promise that they wouldn’t lie to each other, wouldn’t keep stuff from each other. Open and honest communication and all that. So he has to. Has to tell him.

“I’m in love with you,” Lando blurts out, in the middle of Oscar’s monologue about their plans for that day. He stops mid-sentence, looks up from where he’s double looping the laces of Lando’s left sneaker, merely stares. “Yup,” Lando says. “That’s. Yeah. And I know this is like terrible timing because we’re literally having a baby together but. We said. Open communication, so. This is me, openly communicating.”

“Lando,” Oscar says, slowly getting up so they’re face to face again. “Are you. Is this real?”

Lando nods, a little miserable, and then suddenly there’s hands on his face and he’s being pulled closer and closer and closer and then they’re kissing.

It’s soft, and gentle, and Lando’s belly gets horribly in the way, but it’s real.

“Oh,” Lando says, when they pull away. “That’s. I like that.”

“Me too,” Oscar says, smiling softly.

And they have a lot of stuff to talk about. All the who what why where's of it all. But this, this is a start. And like, they’ve been nailing all of this so far, so. They got this too, he reckons.

Open communication and all that.

#i call this 'already home but instead of marriage theres a baby and also they actually talk to each other'#landoscar #mctwinks #twinklaren #drabble

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ioniansunsets · 5 months

Text

✖ Hwei Painting Reader ✖

✖ Word Count: 1.5k

✖ Tags: Established R/S

✖ A/N: I've seen all the voicelines and read his content we ARE HWEI LUKAI SIMPS NOW LETS GO BABES!!!!!!!! I still can't believe this took 3 days to write because I kept re-reading and re-writing things to try to make it less OOC.

I also super kin him as a college student in an arts school. Yes my love, lets stay up to 11am rushing an uninspired assignment together surviving off coffee and instant noodles. Oh no am I triggering a school au thought for Hwei.....maybe......

Oh more art student thoughts, I headcanon his paintings to be like Henri Matisse! He is a Fauvist! I know for a fact !This man will use every single color that exists to paint his world just as he imagines it, who cares what his teachers say! That green stripe on his lover's forehead is meant to be there! Fuck the critics!

----

You had been sitting here for an hour by now, Hwei telling you how badly he wanted to- No. Needed to capture your beauty in the orange hues of the setting sun.

How inspired he was seeing you walk past the window in his studio as you two returned from a walk. The way the light glows as it hit your hair, how your body silhouetted against the glass, the way the shadows cast on the floor just was so perfect in framing sanctity of the moment.

Slowly Hwei walks over, hands soft as they feel your face. Gently, the tips of his fingers trail down from your eyes to your cheeks and finally stopping at your lips. His three favorite parts of your face, all so important in showing him your emotions. An almost lamentable smile crossing his face as he looks down and walks back to the canvas situated slightly further away. You could usually understand him but, sometimes you wish you could understand what darkness held him back.

" I'm always blessed to have such a masterpiece like you love me. How such beauty flourishes besides my despair."

Hwei pauses, thinking of the right words. His hand rising to rest on his chin as he looks around, everywhere but you.

" It eludes me. Yet, it fills me with such honor at the same time."

Hwei speaks to you soft, voice trailing off as he thinks, slowly nodding. The lightest of pink undertones suddenly rising to his cheeks as he thinks again about what he just said.

Oh how he so dearly appreciates your bright existence in his life. Eyes not daring to meet your own for his heart is already threatening to explode just from that brief touch earlier. Emotions were always such an important part of art, he cherishes how you inspire him this way, just seeing your beauty in the world fills him with image after image to paint and bring to life.

You however, notice anyway, his feelings that he tries to hide away from you. The way the colors in his eyes change, another telltale sign of the way you affect him. Your own cheeks now dusted with the same soft pink on his.

You smile, sitting still on the window sill, a soft glow from the setting sun illuminating you from behind as you watch your lover paint. A sight that never stops amazing you, the way his magic throws colors onto the canvas, mixing together to create such visually stunning images, you were so sure those purples and greens don't exist in shadows yet somehow you know he would make it look like the rainbows were there all along.

" You know I only shine this bright because you care for me so, Hwei."

" Ah... Don't flatter me this way, your beauty is your own. I can never make something that really captures your brilliance on a canvas like this. But alas, I believe I have the skills to at least capture my emotions for you down in this one."

You watch on, another hour had passed. The sun had long set, instead, the moonlight and soft glow of the lamp overhead lights up your partner's features as the corners of his lips curl up into a smile. Unable to hold back his excitement as the empty canvas slowly fills up with color and form. His hands gracefully gliding across the scene, you watch how his clothes move around him, how the shadows move on his exposed collar as his arm raises to work. His hair bouncing behind him as he paces around, making sure he views you from every angle, catching all the important details to this moment. His eyes darting back and forth from your form to his canvas. After a while, the finishing touches finally placed, he steps back and gives a relieved sigh. He was usually so hard on himself to create perfection, but when it comes to a portraiture of you, he can't help but agree he made a masterpiece. You were stunning, so anything made in your image was stunning to him too.

" Take a look."

Hwei walks to your side, hand out for support as you held onto it and hopped off the windowsill. He guides you to the canvas, hand gently resting on the dip of your lower back. Eventually he moves to stand behind you, resting his head on your shoulder, arms now around you in a hug from behind. You can feel his anxiety, the silence in the air heavy as you carefully consider his work, a slight tremble in his grip around your waist. Of course, you only have good things to say about it, he's an art prodigy if you've ever seen one. Avant Garde work but undeniably breathtaking. As you finally look at the completed work in front of you, you were pleasantly surprised to see how once again, he left your breathless with just how he sees you.

" I can't lie Hwei, this is amazing. Everything you make is amazing to me I could never wield colors the way you do. To think that this was how you saw me."

As you speak you can feel him heat up against your back, his head slowly tilting down as he hides his face into the crook of your neck. His art of you was just one of the small ways he tries to show you his love.

" Thank you."

He whispers softly into your skin. You giggle softly, reaching up to rest your hand against his. After placing a soft kiss on the corner where your clothes meet your skin, he pulls away to stand in front of you, eyes finally meeting yours as you catch sight of gold flecks floating across his irises. He was so visibly happy to just be here, to see you happy with his work. Hwei takes a deep breath. Calming himself as he looks at you, taking in the sight of you in front of him, you can tell how his thoughts were flooding him as the two of you stood there in comfortable silence before he finally speaks.

" My dear, you bring out the light in me no matter how much it dims.

How you seem to quell that darkness is beyond me. I see so many colors when I'm with you...

The reds of your passionate love, the soft yellow of your happiness when were together, the lingering orange of comfort that you have around me all the time. And that is not even touching the blues and purples when you watch me work with amazement."

Hwei reaches out to you, one hand caressing your cheek while the other reaches around your waist to pull you in. You laugh, watching how his eyes swirl, reds fading into yellows briefly before oranges transform before your eyes into cool blues and purples as he describes you, his usually melancholic smile warping into a warm bright one.

Your heart begins to race, something about how the shadows on his face visibly lighten with his smile, paired with the excitement bubbling out of him as he exposes his precious thoughts to you. How you wish you had a way to capture this moment just as he did by painting you.

He leans forward slowly, resting his forehead against yours as his gaze casts downwards, watching your lips, taking in the curve, the way it moves as they part to breathe. He was just so taken in by you.

" May I kiss you?"

He asks, barely a whisper, somehow still seemingly uncertain in this partnership that you two have had for so long. His gaze slowly moving back up to your eyes as he awaits your answer.

" I am forever baffled by how you always ask first. You know I'd always welcome your love."

You offer him a soft chuckle, the sparkle in your eyes further reassuring him of your sentiments.

You could never say no to his sweet affections, he was always so careful with you, so gentle, so soft. You were but the most precious thing in his life after all, a blindingly bright beacon of hope in his darkest hours. A stunning jewel of ever changing colors in the light of his mundane existence. If the painting that sits at arms length from you is a testament to anything, you knew he was oh so in love with you.

Hwei lets out a small laugh of his own.

" I just like the reassuring comfort of your answer."

As he finishes his sentence, he leans forward, closing that tiny gap between your lips. You smile into the kiss, you can't help it, the feeling of his dry, chapped lips against yours was so endearing. You note to remind him to hydrate later, almost forgetting how he just spent two hours non-stop painting you with fervent passion.

As he pulls away, Hwei holds you closer to him, pressing your body against his in a tight hug. A satisfied sigh escaping him.

" I love you."

" I love you too."

#IonianSunsets #Hwei Lukai #Lukai Hwei #I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM #lets love him together xoxo #Hwei x Reader #Hwei League of Legends #SCENARIOS #so soft so soft i love him #Hwei LoL #Hwei League #I WILL GO BACK TO ANSWERING ASKS #just needed to get the brainrot out #give thsi sweet little man a little kith #i couldnt sleep and had to get up and write this its 11am now LMFAO im so hungry #same hwei i kin u teehee #Hwei

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beansprean · 2 years

Text

My Familiar's Ghost AU Masterpost

A wwdits season 5 au by beansprean!

Tag link

Tag link (chronological order - may not work on Android app)

Early pages on Patreon!

Below are all the art posts in their relative order in the timeline (not necessarily in posting order). Those labeled in parts are considered "official" while others may be questionably canon lol.

Updated poster

A curse in the house + movie poster (part 1)

Guillermo rants to Nadja (part 2)

Guillermo confronts Nandor (part 3)

Being embarrassing by yourself in your room

A summoning is attempted (part 4)

Nandor uses his brain

Reunion (part 5)

Laszlo’s Lament (part 6)

Guillermo gets teased

My chemical ghost

On a mission (part 7)

Unfinished business and energy lore

Guillermo recalls his invisible antics

Hypnotized! at the gas station (part 8)

Cool Guy Stu (part 9)

Dickheads

What are U Storing? (part 10)

Meanwhile back at the house (part 11)

Opening the coffin (part 12)

Not a plothole

Meanwhile back at the...Nadja what? (part 13)

He threw off his groove

All according to keikaku (part 14)

Ghosted by a ghost

Switches too (part 15)

The confrontation part one (part 16)

The confrontation part two (part 17)

The aftermath (part 18)

Commercial break (part 18.5?)

We are not the same (part 19)

Huh. That's not what I expected. (part 20)

The Guide > the guide (part 21)

She fucking told you

The Guide’s first 3 way (part 22)

Recap

Lazzo (part 23)

Return of the baby part one (part 24)

Return of the baby part two (part 25)

#1 Dad

Bear hugs (part 26)

Me legit shipping Colin and Stu

Hey haven't seen you since you staked me (part 27)

Tell nandor how you feel or draw 24

It's all ducked up now (part 28)

On his wall a tally of unfulfilled orgasms (part 29)

[rain sounds] [thunder sounds] (part 30)

La verdad (part 31)

La verdad parte dos (part 32)

La verdad parte tres (part 33)

Rug pull (part 34)

Wet & pathetic (part 35)

Might as well be rattling chains (part 36)

Consequences (part 37)

Sentimental (part 38)

Back to the start (part 39)

Dust and Virgins (part 40)

What's cooler than being cool (part 41)

Alright alright alright alright alright alright alright?! (part 42)

Run. (part 43)

Did he rehearse this on the way over (part 44)

Mark me down as scared and- (part 45)

And now you're gay (part 46)

The Touch (part 47)

¡Olé! (part 48)

Do you really want to make me cry (part 49)

The ritual of legitimacy (part 50)

She's been very busy

Very, very busy

Red means stop!! (part 51)

Grabby hands (part 52)

Whack whack whack (part 53)

You didn't want ME anymore (part 54)

No no let him finish (part 55)

Thinking of him (part 56)

Here's where it gets weird (part 57)

Bonded (part 58)

Los goosebumps (part 59)

Green means go (part 60)

Trick or treat (part 61)

Hello corporeality, nice to see you again (part 62)

Bad memory (part 63)

He hasn't gone soft he's gone hard

Get u a man who can kick your ass blind (part 64)

You're yes then you're no (part 65)

Fancy lad in the regular room (part 66)

Baby's first drink, sorta (part 67)

Sneaky sneaking (part 68)

The ghosts of your familiar (part 69😏)

Shoulda stopped on red (part 70)

I'm not crying there's just a JERK in my eye (part 71)

Colin Spaminson (part 72)

Get expositioned, idiot

Red and Blue (part 73)

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theharrowing · 10 months

Text

Collateral 🗡️ 18: You, me, and our men

Your ex-boyfriend gets in over his head working for the local mafia, and Boss Min has come to collect his payment: You.

But was it simply a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or has he always had his sights on you?

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

🗡️ Yoongi x Female Reader x Namjoon, Jungkook x Female Reader, Jungkook x Taehyung

🗡️ word count: 17.1k

🗡️ mafia au, strangers to lovers, graphic violence, major character injury, poly, smut, angst, fluff, nsfw, explicit 21+

🗡️ warnings: dear god, buckle up... discussion of drug use; very soft and fluffy moments; threesome; oral sex (m & f); screaming orgasm; multiple orgasms; playing footsie; punishment & reward; orgasm denial & control; voyeurism & exhibitionism; all of these men are shit heads; loud, sloppy oral; squirting; begging & teasing; light humiliation; safe words; Yoongi & Namjoon being domestic at a silly time; submissive Jeongguk; mc dominant for the first time; use of restraints; noona kink; hair pulling; face & body slapping; masturbation; praising; riding (forward & reverse); mirror sex; finger sucking; a little spanking; fingering; ass eating; overstimulation; after care; i love these characters so fucking much and it really shows ughhhhh.

🗡️ note: i really have no idea how i let the smut scene™ get so huge and wild, but i hope you enjoy it. after all the pent-up tension, it was fun to write. perhaps this scene being huge and gratuitous is my way of distracting you from the horrible realities of the Collateral universe, which will become extremely present in the next chapter. it feels more like a oneshot than a proper chapter, but...whatever. i know not one of you will complain. ok enjoy!!! i love you!!!

🗡️ beta read by @neoneunnajimin!

🗡️ posted on june 2023 | read on ao3

From the moment you wake up, your nerves are haywire.

You know two things to be true. The first is that this is the last day in the foreseeable future that you will be spending in Jimin's home. The second is that Yoongi will be home shortly after 2 PM.

When Jimin wakes you up by rubbing over your forehead and whispering sweetly, it dawns on you that this is the last time, and it causes a swirling of happiness and sadness to fill your chest. The sun blares through the window at an angle that you typically miss in your sleep, and you squint against the morning light, a sight that has become something of a stranger to you.

With a loud yawn, you rub sleep from your eyes. Then you grumble, feeling as if you had just gone to bed moments ago, frustrated to discover that it is only 10 AM and that you have, in fact, slept far less than normal. It is sweet for Jimin to wake you early on your last day; it warms your heart to know that he is up to something.

"I thought we could get some coffee and pastries before I send you off to the Min Mansion," Jimin suggests with a smile.

Today, Jimin is dressed casually in a burgundy turtleneck tucked into charcoal slacks, with his hair partially pushed off his forehead. His skin is dewy and clear of makeup, radiating with natural beauty. And you can tell his patience for you is wearing thin as his smile falters and his eyes widen; Jimin does not like to wait, and he is absolutely incapable of hiding anything on his face.

"Alright, alright," you mutter before he has the chance to complain.

With a somewhat indignant huff, you toss the warm, pretty pink and orange comforter aside and try not to lament how you will not be returning to its embrace. Then you pad over to the closet and choose a pair of black leggings and cozy green sweater, and you get dressed in there, knowing Jimin is still sitting on your bed, likely scrolling through his phone.

"Don't worry about your things," Jimin calls when you stand a little too long, taking in the sight of clothing and shoes scattered around, cluttering up a sliver of space in the large, walk-in closet. "I'll have Joonie come deal with it. He loves doing your peasant work."

"That is true," you respond with a smile, shutting off the light in the closet and walking out in socked feet. "If there is one thing Namjoon is good at, it is doing exactly what I want him to."

Jimin rolls his eyes dramatically, and mutters, "Gross," under his breath, and the two of you giggle as you exit the room into the hallway, and set out for a morning errand.

Hanging out with Jimin for several hours is a blast, and you spend most of the time seated on a café patio watching passersby and commenting on everything from the cooling weather to people's clothing styles and any random little thought that crops up in between. But as time ticks by, you become antsy.

By 1:30 PM, you are a wreck, checking your phone so often for a notification that Jimin snickers and tells you to relax.

At 1:45 PM when you get the "Almost home!" text from Namjoon, your heart becomes so frantic, you feel like you might throw up.

"Alright, let's get you home," Jimin grumbles when you announce the news with shaking hands clenched tight to your phone. Maybe caffeine was a mistake.

You are able to distract yourself a little with chatter during the drive, and even get lost in singing a song on the radio that you recognize as one of the tracks a dancer named Cherry enjoys stripping to. The breeze coming in through the windows as you leave the city pulls you into a calm state, and you close your eyes to enjoy the way the wind feels.

But as soon as the car pulls into Namjoon's driveway, your stomach is turmoil, sloshing and churning, threatening to make you sick. You realize you are squeezing your hands tightly when the dig of your nails begins to hurt your palms, and you open them wide, flexing and attempting to relax them before resting them against your knees and squeezing.

All you can think is, What if he hates me? What if he remembers every horrible thing I said? What if he never wants to see me again?

Of course, you do not fully believe any of that; you do not think Yoongi has it in him to hold a grudge over something like that, especially if Namjoon has relayed the things you said to him the other night. But you do fear that something you said could have stuck with Yoongi—burrowed deep into his subconscious to make a home, festering with hateful words during quiet moments when all he wants is peace.

"Dove?" Jimin asks softly, and you gasp, pulling your gaze from the black dashboard that had gone out of focus as you stared at it. You glance up to find the vehicle has stopped in front of Namjoon's garage.

"I'm scared," you mutter softly before you can stop yourself, squeezing your eyes closed to fight back the urge to cry.

"I know," Jimin responds as he reaches over to rub a hand over your shoulders and down your back. "But this is Yoongi, and he loves you. He is not going to be angry with you."

Although no tears have fallen, you press the sides of your index fingers below your eyes as if willing all condensation to stay put. And, with a deep exhale, you nod and say, "I don't think I worry about him being angry. But I do worry about him being hurt."

Jimin's hand slides up to your shoulder and gives it a squeeze, forcing your eyes to close involuntarily. "Go in there and talk to him," he urges, and you swallow thickly and nod some more.

"Thanks for everything," you mutter, smiling despite yourself.

"Any time, dove," Jimin responds, and you know that he means it.

The seatbelt feels heavy when you unbuckle it and release it to clunk against the door as it slides into resting position. With a slow, deep fortifying breath, you reach for the door handle and tug, then you begin the process of making your limbs move, one after the other, sluggish with anticipation.

As you approach the door, your heart pounds, and you wring your hands in front of you with each step forward that you take. It will be fine, you tell yourself over and over. It will be fine, it will be fine, itwillbefine.

Before you have a chance to lift your hand and knock, the door opens, and you squeeze your fists tight once more while taking in Namjoon's bright, beautiful smile. The urge to cry returns and your exhale rattles something fierce from deep in your lungs.

"Hey, sweetheart," Namjoon says, eyes soft and knowing, assessing your very clear signs of distress. He wears a fuzzy brown cardigan over a white tee with black slacks, looking soft like a teddy bear and so inviting. "Deep breaths, yeah?"

You nod and let out a chuckle of relief as you step through the threshold and lean against him. Namjoon wraps his arms around you and steps back into the house, pulling you along just enough to allow him to close the front door. Both of your hands grip onto the cardigan, and you rub over the soft fabric with your thumbs while toeing out of your sneakers one at a time.

"Alright, clingy," Namjoon jokes, rubbing splayed palms over your shoulders and back before attempting to release the hug and take a step away. You continue to hold on tight and step with him, causing Namjoon to laugh and take you firmly by the arms. "The only way out is through. Let's go release you from limbo; Yoongi is excited to see you."

Tears spill at the mention of Yoongi's name, and you heave an exhale, then stand straight and wipe uselessly under your eyes. Even as Namjoon rotates, you feel the urge to bury yourself forward once more, allowing your body to turn while your forehead rests against his chest.

"Darling," Yoongi's deep, soft, beautiful voice calls from beside you, "why are you crying?"

You hardly get a look at Yoongi as you back away from Namjoon and fling your arms around Yoongi's middle, gripping onto another soft sweater as you bury yourself into his chest. Yoongi wraps you in a warm, delicate hug and presses his lips to your temple, holding you there while you tremble and cry. He smells sweet and musky and perfectly him, and you are so terribly in love.

"I'm sorry," you manage to whimper.

Yoongi's hold on you tightens, and he slides his head beside yours, uttering soft shushes while his hands rove everywhere they can reach, squeezing your neck gently and patting over your hair.

His voice is barely above a whisper as he responds, "I'm sorry, too."

"I didn't mean anything I said," you sob, and Yoongi's hug tightens then softens.

"It's alright if you did," he says, voice full of love; no malice to be found. Because, of course, Yoongi is soft and understanding with you. Of course, he knows your heart. "You have every right to be hurt."

Finally, you release the hug and back up only far enough to smile at the face that greets you. Yoongi's hair is wild dark waves framing his beautiful face, and with tears in his eyes, he looks softer than ever before. He wears a light blue sweater, and you rub your hands over his chest searching for the words to say; overwhelmed by a flood of emotions.

You settle on a simple, "I love you," and it feels so right when it passes your lips. It feels so right when Yoongi's lips upturn into a sweet smile that reaches his eyes. "I love you, and I'm sorry, Yoongi. I'm so sorry."

"Let's sit?" Yoongi offers, and you exhale deeply, releasing so much tension that has built and built in your shoulders and chest.

Yoongi guides the three of you over to a large, light brown leather couch. The cushion groans as Yoongi sits, and you take your place beside him, followed by Namjoon, who sits on your other side. You bend your legs and turn your body to Yoongi, who does the same, facing you with his elbow against the backrest.

"You look great," Yoongi says with a smile, and although you are the most dressed down you have been in weeks, you return his smile, welcoming the compliment. With a teasing lift of a brow, he adds, "Namjoon says Jimin has been teaching you to dance?"

Warmth rises to your cheeks, and you chuckle, then nod. Yoongi waggles his eyebrows, making you laugh harder. You lift a hand to swat him on the chest, but Yoongi catches it and holds your palm against him, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand.

"Yes, Jimin has been teaching me to dance," you respond somewhat sheepishly. "And Hyejin, a little."

"Ah, Hwasa!" Yoongi responds happily, smiling widely—devastatingly. "I'm so glad you spent time getting out and making friends. I was worried about you being cooped up in a dark mansion for three weeks."

You chuckle, but something heavy settles in your chest, making you frown. "I was drinking a lot at first. But dancing helped me get out of my head. It's been really good for me."

Yoongi releases your hand and attempts to scoot closer, knocking his knee against yours. In fluid, unspoken movements, Yoongi spreads his legs—lifts one leg to rest against the backrest and slide past you—and you mold into him, shifting onto your knees to slot yourself into the space he has made and scoot onto your side, wrapping your arms around his chest.

"Namjoon," you mutter against Yoongi's sweater. "This hug needs a Namjoon."

The sound of Yoongi's laughter rattling in his chest against your cheek is a symphony, and you squeeze him tighter, feeling love build and build and pour from you. The couch shifts behind you as Namjoon stands, and Yoongi attempts to scoot the two of you forward while Namjoon wedges himself behind Yoongi. The two of them shift around until one of Namjoon's legs slide beside Yoongi's, multiplying your hug as two more arms wrap around you, sinking you further against Yoongi's chest.

"Better," you mutter happily, tilting your head to press soft kisses to the underside of Yoongi's chin and against his throat. Yoongi sighs with a smile and tightens his hug, and you continue to kiss along the curve of his neck until Namjoon—whose lips are pressed just below Yoongi's ear—comes into view.

"Thank you for giving me another chance," Yoongi says, tugging at your heartstrings so hard you nearly cry again.

"You're not allowed to thank me for loving you," you complain against his skin, breathing in his musk.

Yoongi chuckles gentle and sweet and says, "On the contrary, I am extremely grateful for your love." His voice softens as he adds, "And I intend to do my best to never take you for granted again."

"I don't understand what drove you to use…" you blurt out, then trail off, unable to say the word heroin, feeling it lodge itself in your throat, sharp as a needle and thick as tar. As you swallow around the discomfort and continue, Yoongi's fingertips trace shapes against your back, and Namjoon gives your biceps a gentle squeeze. "I don't understand addiction at all, and I overreacted. Even if my feelings were genuine at the time, the things I said were awful. I want you to feel safe with me, and I want to support you through whatever you are going through. I guess I was just shocked, but that's no excuse to lash out."

Kisses litter your cheeks and forehead, firm and soft and lingering, punctuated with hums. Your eyes flutter closed, and you lean into Yoongi's lips, smiling as his body says so much without the use of words.

"I feel safe with you," Yoongi finally says, and you sigh, content. "I can't fully explain what drives me to use…and I can't promise I won't again…but I want to try to stay clean. I deserve to feel happy, and pushing you away or putting myself at risk of overdose are terrible ways to chase happiness."

"You can always talk to me," you offer despite silently acknowledging how huge and heavy and impossible some things might feel to voice. "And Namjoon."

"I'm going to resume therapy, too," Yoongi says. "I was talking to Christopher for a while, but stopped shortly before you moved in. I think it would be good for me to return to him."

You nod and bury your face against his neck, wondering if you should also talk to the family therapist. Some nights, you wake up screaming, returned by your subconscious to the night of the crash—to the sight of Taehyung stabbing a man clear through the gut with a blade.

Even now, the thought claws at your subconsciousness with such force that Namjoon says something softly, and you hear Yoongi hum in response, but the sounds are distant and hard to parse. You squeeze your eyes closed, determined to be present and not spiral, breathing away the memory of that night as best as you can.

"I hope the therapy helps," you say with a bit of a pout, feeling emotionally overwhelmed but with a desire to keep assuring Yoongi that you are here for him. "I'll do my best to love and support you."

Yoongi squeezes you tight and sighs against you, and Namjoon's hands slowly rub over your arms and Yoongi's in calming motions. This feels like the right time to voice what has been weighing on you so heavily, but as you open your mouth to speak, you begin to feel nervous. But why should you feel nervous with Yoongi? Since he began opening up to you, he has been supportive and understanding; asking him what the three of you are should not be scary.

"How would you define our…" you begin, trailing off while your pulse pounds loudly in your ears. "Our, uh…our relationship."

Four arms hug you tight, and Yoongi hums softly. Then, he asks, "You mean the fake engagement doesn't make my intentions clear enough?"

"No, you're right," you chide, lifting a hand to swat at Yoongi's shoulder, making him laugh harder. "Silly me."

It takes a moment for Yoongi's laughter to die. His shoulders continue to shake, and you give him time to respond truthfully while you rub his soft blue sweater between your thumb and forefinger.

"I consider the two of you my romantic partners," Yoongi finally says, voice low and sweet. "I consider us exclusive, but with an asterisk attached to the word, allowing you and Jeongguk to play around if that is something you still want."

"It is," you admit, feeling your cheeks warm.

"And the same goes for me," Namjoon says, making your smile widen. You already know these things to be true, but it feels so nice to hear them spoken aloud.

"Okay," you respond. "Good."

"I suppose we have never had this conversation," Yoongi muses. "We sort of just…fell into one another."

"A beautiful collision," Namjoon says, fingers tracing shapes against your shoulders. "I feel so lucky to have been pulled by such an undeniable gravitational force, creating a galaxy of beauty and warmth between the three of us."

"What the fuck," you mutter against Yoongi's sweater. "That was so poetic and cute. I want to kiss you so bad, but I don't want to move."

Namjoon chuckles and gives your shoulders a squeeze. "You have plenty of time to kiss me, don't worry."

With a dreamy sigh, you mutter, "Good."

The three of you sit like this for a while, quiet and tangled around one another. Then Namjoon's phone rings, shrill and loud, and he shifts around as he fishes the device from a pocket to answer.

"Hey, Tae," he says, and you smile to yourself; they say, speak of the devil, and he shall appear, but you only needed to think of him moments ago.

"Hey, would you two like to join Taehyung and Jeongguk for dinner?" Namjoon asks. "Jeongguk is cooking."

"Darling?" Yoongi prompts, and you nod without taking time to consider the offer. As nice as it is to have a quiet moment between just the three of you, you imagine Taehyung and Jeongguk are eager to see Yoongi again. And you did tell Jeongguk that you would be interested in the five of you getting together soon.

You, me, and our men.

Namjoon confirms that the three of you will be joining them, then ends the call and informs the two of you that you have just over two hours to get ready and meet at Taehyung's place.

"I need to change into something a little nicer," you grumble, reluctant to release Yoongi from your hold.

You remember the closet of things that are at Jimin's place, and you frown, feeling torn once more. You are glad to be returning to Yoongi's bed, by Yoongi and Namjoon's side, but having a little home away from home was nice.

"Let's head home, then?" Yoongi suggests, and you nod but continue to lean into him, breathing in his musk and feeling his warmth.

It takes coaxing to get off the couch, and you whine and grumble the entire way, stumbling over your feet as you move, arms still slung around Yoongi and refusing to let go. Namjoon chuckles and heads to the door first to put on his shoes, and Yoongi waddles in that direction, walking you backward and pressing you into the door while he leans and bends to put his shoes back on.

Only when you need to use your hands because shoving your feet into your sneakers proves feeble with the tongue and heels bending and getting stuck, do you release Yoongi, huffing and puffing indignantly the entire time.

"Want a piggyback ride, sweetheart?" Namjoon offers as he opens the front door, and you gasp loudly because yes, absolutely, you do.

"Yes, yes, yes," you chant, excited, and Namjoon walks outside, steps down the three short steps onto the ground, and stands with his arms held out to the sides. You run and leap onto him, wrapping your arms tight around his neck, making him wheeze as he reaches for your legs and adjusts you in his hold.

"Sorry, Joonbug," you mutter as you loosen your hold and place kisses along his nape, and Namjoon chuckles and says, "It'll take a lot more than that to kill me, don't worry."

Yoongi closes the door and falls into step beside the two of you, and off they walk to the dirt and gravel path that leads back to the main mansion. Yoongi reaches for one of Namjoon's hands, linking their fingers together, and you smile as you rest your head against Namjoon's shoulder, feeling safe and warm and happy—indestructible and untouchable in this soft, quiet moment.

The walk back is peaceful, with only the sounds of footfalls crunching softly guiding you home, and you close your eyes, relaxing and breathing in the gentle bouquet of Namjoon's skin, shampoo, and laundry detergent. Despite being big and strong, with more blood on his hands than you can imagine, Namjoon is sweet, sweet, sweet, filling you from limb to limb with so much affection.

You hear the ground change underfoot and open your eyes to find yourself being carried past the driveway and garage, toward the front door. It feels good to be home, and you straighten out and watch over Namjoon's head as Yoongi takes the lead and begins to unlock the front door. Although you have cried more than necessary for one day, tears well in your eyes, and you feel so inexplicably happy to finally be home.

Yoongi takes off his shoes, then pulls yours off for you, chucking them aside while Namjoon steps from the slides he wore. There is a very light atmospheric scent to the mansion that you only now realize you have missed, and you look around at everything that is just as it was the last time you saw it—frozen in time and waiting, shrouded in dust motes that sparkle in the sunlight.

Namjoon carries you through the main hall and up the stairs, holding onto Yoongi's hand once more. Once you reach the master suite, Namjoon bends to lower you to the bed, then spins before you have a chance to fully release your hold, and closes in fast, slotting his lips against yours and sending a thrill of arousal through you. It has been far too long, and you melt into his touch.

"We have two hours," Namjoon mutters against your lips, slotting himself between your spread legs. His mouth trails low, kissing and nipping at your neck and making you shiver. "I need to have both of you before I lose my fucking mind."

"You have me," you groan, lolling your head back with pleasure. "I'm all yours. You too, kitten."

"Kitten," Yoongi repeats in a low rasp as he climbs onto the bed behind you.

The tangle of bodies is chaotic and haphazard—ravenous. Hands push and tug and remove articles of clothing while mouths desperately attempt to remain attached to mouths and skin, bruisingly firm touches and moaned confessions, making up for lost time.

You slide to the floor eager to wrap your lips around Namjoon's half-hard cock, feeling him shudder beneath your fingertips while his whimper becomes lost between Yoongi's lips. Yoongi joins you on the soft rug, and you share your prize, watching with bated breath as his pretty doll lips wrap around Namjoon's hard length. And as a show of love, you graciously allow Yoongi to swallow Namjoon's cum.

Namjoon has you on your feet and then on your back against the dark comforter so fast your head spins, and the two of them take their time pulling orgasm after orgasm from you with their mouths and fingers until Yoongi finally spins you onto your hands and knees, and fucks you so hard, you scream into Namjoon's warm, open mouth.

"Taehyung's gonna kill us for being late," Namjoon jokes as he presses Yoongi into the mattress to stretch him on one finger, then two, all the way to four. When Yoongi makes you cum with his mouth mere moments before his own orgasm hits, it feels too good to be true. And when Namjoon's back arches and he fills Yoongi with his own release, the whorling mixture of moans and whimpers in the air lulls your trembling, achingly euphoric body deep into the comforter.

You are so fucked out and high on pleasure that Namjoon has to carry you to the shower.

When Jeongguk opens Taehyung's door wide and inviting, the first words that greet you are, "Taehyung is going to kill you for being late." His eyes drift between the three of you, and you watch as his gaze hones in on the bruise you sucked into Yoongi's throat hours before.

The savory scent of meat and spices hit your nose, and you take a deep inhale, smiling as you say, "It smells amazing."

Jeongguk beams and takes a step back, giving the three of you room to enter. He wears that damned silk leopard print shirt again, this time tucked into tight black slacks, and you smirk to yourself remembering the conversation you had at Paradise; the sweet boy took your teasing to heart.

You wear a simple black short-sleeve a-line mini dress that stops mid-thigh, with a heavy Cuban link necklace encrusted in diamonds, and your hair pulled back tight. Although your makeup application skills pale in comparison to Jimin's, you managed to paint a smoky look to your eyelids and allowed Yoongi to pick out a bright red for your lips. Yoongi and Namjoon wear black tucked into black, with several buttons undone, revealing skin and silver chains.

As you step into Taehyung's home and out of your heels, Jeongguk walks ahead through the living room, off to the right. Taehyung's home takes you by surprise. His furniture is extravagant and mismatched, gaudy floral velvets and curving, carved woods. Art pieces litter walls and surfaces, from landscapes to portraits and strange carvings that may be human bodies but could be amorphous blobs.

As you walk through the space, Yoongi takes your hand and tugs you slightly back, causing you to bump into him. "You can rile Jeonggukie up if you'd like to," he mutters in your ear. "Tease him a little."

Heat licks at your senses as you remember the discussion you had with Jeongguk. Nothing could happen without the others present, and here you are, under one roof with everyone at once. Your heart soars with hopeful anticipation, and you twist to send Yoongi a wink, making him chuckle.

As you round the dividing wall into the dining area, you find a long, sprawling table adorned with dishes and covered pots of food. Past that is a black marble island against which Taehyung stands, frowning while swirling a glass of deep red wine. He wears a burgundy shirt that nearly matches his beverage, tucked into dark brown slacks, and at the sight of him, you smile widely.

"Thanks for the invite," you beam, pleased when Taehyung does not miss a beat, grumbling, "Thanks for finally fucking showing up."

"Sorry, Taehyungah," Yoongi says as he slots an arm around your waist, kicking butterflies up in your tummy. "I've been away from these two for too long…I couldn't keep my hands to myself."

With a hum, Taehyung kicks from the island and says, "I suppose it was my fault for only giving you two hours." Adding, with a dismissive wave, "All is forgiven."

"How gracious," you mutter under your breath as Jeongguk brings a final dish to the table and Taehyung urges everyone to sit.

Yoongi surprises you by taking a seat beside Jeongguk, and Namjoon pulls out the chair in front of Jeongguk's for you, so you sit and scoot in while Namjoon sits across from Yoongi, to your left, and Taehyung places himself at the head, to your right. Taehyung lifts lids from dishes, revealing pan-seared steaks and sides of potatoes, steamed and pickled vegetables, and an inviting pile of glass noodles.

"Holy shit," you mutter as your mouth waters, and Namjoon grabs your plate, asking softly what you would like and how much of each serving.

Yoongi and Jeongguk serve themselves, discussing something lowly and impossible to hear while Taehyung fills your glass with red wine. Once everyone is settled with their plates in front of them, Jeongguk raises a toast.

"To Yoongi-hyung staying happy and healthy," he beams, turning to face Yoongi, whose cheeks flush as he smiles wide, showing off his gums. "Whatever it is you're going through, you're never alone, okay, hyung? I mean that. You have a lot of support."

"Alright, enough," Yoongi grumbles, shoving his wine glass forward for the rest of you to tap yours against. Although he is doing his best to appear as grumpy and impassive as possible, the joyful glimmer in his eyes is unmistakable.

Everyone drinks and then begins to eat, and you take a deep, calming exhale before digging in, bracing yourself for a delicious meal. The food is fantastic, and you fall back in your chair after only a few bites, almost frustrated by how well Jeongguk can cook.

Namjoon chuckles from your left, and you turn to find him watching you with a smile. "That good, huh?" he asks, knowing full well the physical and emotional anguish you are experiencing.

"It's ridiculous," you complain as you sit forward and continue to eat, and when you glance at Jeongguk, he is smiling around a bite of food.

"How are you liking the new position at Paradise?" Yoongi asks as everyone begins to slow down mid-meal.

"It's fun," Jeongguk responds happily, having a sip of wine.

This feels like a good time to rile Jeongguk up, and you take a sip of your wine and prepare yourself with a deep breath for impending foolery. Tentatively, slowly, you stretch your leg forward, searching with your toes for an ankle or a calf. When the side of your foot brushes against the side of a leg, you lock eyes with Jeongguk, who gazes curiously at you over his glass.

"Jimin says you've been really enjoying it there, and that everyone is warming up to you quickly," Yoongi continues, using a knife to cut off a section of his steak.

Jeongguk clears his throat, and you drop your leg away only enough to recalibrate your aim and try again. This time, you find the inside of a calf rather than the outside, and you very delicately rub your toes against him, feeling the soft material of his slacks gather and fall away.

"Y-yeah," Jeongguk stammers, repositioning himself in his seat so that his legs are even closer—easier for you to access. "I like it there a lot, and Jimin-hyung says I'm learning the ropes pretty fast.”

You push your leg up, grazing along Jeongguk's knee as you ask, "Is there anything our Jeonggukie can't do well?"

Jeongguk's eyes widen, and he clears his throat, failing to hide the effect you have on him from even a small touch. You glance at Yoongi to find his eyes flitting briefly down at the foot between Jeongguk's legs as he bites back a smile.

"Word on the street is you're little miss popular at Paradise, too," Taehyung says, turning your attention to him. He raises an eyebrow as if studying you, and suddenly you feel nervous, like a child caught misbehaving by their teacher. You wonder if there is any way he could know what you are up to.

You clear your throat and continue to lift and press your foot forward rubbing your toes against Jeongguk's inner thigh, and from the corner of your eye, you can see him jolting slightly before slouching himself a little closer.

"Jeonggukie," Taehyung says before you have a chance to respond to his earlier inquiry, cocking his head curiously. "Care to share with the class what seems to be the matter with you?"

Rather than letting up, you rub your foot back and forward, inching slowly closer to his crotch and making him shiver as he responds, "No-nothing. Why?"

Taehyung is fast on his feet, standing and rounding the table before you can move your foot away, but you still sit up quickly, feeling heat rise to your cheeks as Taehyung looks at Jeongguk, then looks at you.

"Playing footsie, I see," Taehyung says as he approaches Jeongguk's chair, places two hands on the tall wooden backrest, and leans close. "And without my permission."

"S-sorry, sir," Jeongguk says as his eyes fall to his plate. His entire demeanor shifts, making him seem small and weak compared to a moment ago.

"Hyung, what should we do to punish these two?"

Yoongi's smirk is sharp and knowing, and you begin to wonder whether this was his plan, all along. You wonder if he knew that encouraging you to rile up Jeongguk would get this kind of reaction from Taehyung. What if the two of them planned this ahead of time?

"Up to you, Taehyungah," Yoongi responds, sending a chill along your spine.

"I think Jeonggukie should get under the table and give our dollface here a taste of her own medicine," Taehyung suggests.

"Darling?" Yoongi asks, "Do you consent to this?"

"Yes," you respond softly, feeling somewhat dazed as your eyes trail from Yoongi's grin to Jeongguk's shocked expression and finally to a smirking Taehyung.

"You heard her, Jeongguk," Taehyung says firmly with a hint of impatience.

Without needing further instruction, Jeongguk pushes his chair back and sinks to his knees. "Yes, sir," he mutters before his head disappears under the table.

Your heart pounds, and you watch Yoongi, who sits and stares at you with his wine glass cradled between his fingers. The feeling of two warm hands spreading your legs makes you gasp and shudder, and you comply with allowing Jeongguk access, sinking further in your chair until your ass is right on its edge.

"I don't want to hear a sound from you, doll," Taehyung instructs, ripping your gaze from Yoongi to him. "If you so much as whimper, I won't let you fuck him. Understand?"

"Y-yes," you respond in time for the featherlight brush of fingers over your clothed heat, intaking a deep, quiet breath.

"Yes, sir," Taehyung instructs, and you nod emphatically as you correct yourself, saying, "Y-yes, sir."

Warm breath wafts between your legs, and you swallow thickly, glancing between Taehyung, Yoongi, and Namjoon, who all carry on as if nothing is happening. Taehyung takes Jeongguk's seat, and the three men discuss bringing The Tigers on to take care of Jeongguk's former responsibilities, and how things have been going while Yoongi has been away. It seems Namjoon has been the family point person in Yoongi's absence, but you cannot bring yourself to listen closely to their conversation because the feeling of lips dragging over your pussy shuts out all sound around you.

With a sigh that is as silent as you can manage, you let your head fall back against the wooden chair. Warmth laps over the mesh layer covering you, and you shiver as your pelvis angles upward, chasing the sensation. You want to beg Jeongguk to move your panties aside and touch you properly, and you bite your bottom lip to keep any sound from spilling.

Namjoon is the picture of nonchalance as he leans forward and reaches for a bottle of wine to fill his empty glass. When he turns to you and reaches for yours, which is still half full, his voice is so sweet and soft, asking, "Don't care for the wine, sweetheart?"

As if determined to spoil any chance of fucking you, Jeongguk chooses this moment to tug your panties away and press the pads of his fingers against you, spreading your lips slowly and firmly. Your eyes roll back as he rubs over your clit, and you shake your head, doing your best to stay present as you say, "It's good," breathy and clearly on the brink of losing it. "It's a good wine."

"Well, then drink up, darling," Yoongi suggests, raising an eyebrow as your chest heaves. "There's plenty more wine; don't be shy."

You tremble as you lean forward and reach for your glass, gripping the stem tightly to lift it to your lips. Jeongguk's tongue flicks against you in quick, teasing tastes, and you chug back a large gulp, gasping for air once it is swallowed down as pleasure mixes with hints of a buzz.

Jeongguk wastes no more time, licking and sucking your pussy with skill and vigor. He hums between your legs, making loud wet sounds with his mouth as if you are just another course in his expertly prepared meal. You wonder if he does it to taunt the men at the table, what with how loud he is.

Arousal builds quickly, flooding you hot and fast, making you scrape your fingernails into the arms of the wooden chair as you hold your lips taut between your teeth, desperate to stay silent. It feels good. So good that you have to puff out your cheeks in order to hold back from making any sound. So good that whenever one of the men attempts to speak to you, you respond in nods or a shake of the head, all the while keeping your eyes squeezed shut.

"Do you think we are too mean to her?" Taehyung teases, and you open your eyes to find the three men watching you with hungry, dark expressions. "Perhaps asking her not to make a sound was uncalled for. After all, Jeongguk loves eating pussy, and I imagine he is giving his all to our sweet doll."

"She is quite vocal," Yoongi says with a pout as if taking pity on you.

"And she does make the sweetest sounds," Namjoon adds with a grin.

Jeongguk slips a finger into your heat, forcing your entire body to simultaneously attempt to tense and relax. Although it is not much of a stretch, the angle forces him to press against your erogenous zone, and you tremble into the feeling.

"Dollface?" Taehyung asks, and you turn your attention to him with wide, eager eyes. "Do you think my punishment is too harsh?"

You look around to all three men, attempting to gauge their expressions, which are all somewhere between curious and stern. Although Taehyung seems to be offering you a lifeline, you worry that outright agreeing might be more dangerous in the long run.

"N-no, sir," you respond, sinking a little further into bliss as Jeongguk finger-fucks and eats you out. "Ah-I was naughty and deserve to be punished."

Taehyung seems pleased, eyes widening as he says, "My, what an obedient girl. You two must have a lot of fun with her, don't you?"

Namjoon leans and drapes an arm over your shoulders, and the weight of it paired with his light, distinguishing musk and delicate cologne does nothing to stave the many tumultuous sensations eager to pour from you. Already, you climb closer to orgasm; all Jeongguk would have to do is slip a second finger inside, and you would burst in seconds.

"We sure do," Namjoon groans beside you, and the sound of his voice is too much, causing your eyes to roll back once more as you bite your lips closed.

"Since you're so desperate to be good," Taehyung says almost sardonically, "I will let you make all the sounds you need to. But only after you have been granted permission to cum, which you have to beg for."

The men in this so-called family are infuriating with their need to make you beg, and you open your mouth, letting out a quiet shuttering sigh, then lift your gaze to your devious, gracious host and ask, "Please, sir. Please, may I cum?"

"Already?" Taehyung asks, cocking his head with surprise.

"She is extremely easy to please," Yoongi says, filling you with red-hot embarrassment.

"Especially since we already made her nice and sensitive earlier," Namjoon adds. "I bet she will become overstimulated fast."

"I'm close," you say, voice coming out a little too broken—too close to a whimper. "Sir, please. I'll never misbehave again, please, please."

The squelch of Jeongguk's finger fucking into you becomes audible, and Namjoon shifts beside you as he asks, "Are you using two fingers, Gguk?"

Frantically, you shake your head, eager to tell Namjoon, No, please, don't encourage him. But Jeongguk is obedient as can be, and he slides his finger out only to press two deep inside. The stretch makes your mouth fall agape, and you huff out silent vowels, holding back so much you practically choke on air.

"Please," you try again, staring ahead at Taehyung while doing your best to school your features. Pleasure tugs at every inch of you, knitting your brows and forcing your mouth open to hang wide, and you croak around each syllable, muttering like a prayer, "Please, please, please."

"Ggukie," Taehyung calls, "is she close, baby?"

Jeongguk licks a long, slow stripe over you, then calls, "Her muscles keep tensing and relaxing; she feels very close," before getting back to work, making your head absolutely spin.

"I am close," you mutter just above a whisper, desperate. "I'm so close. Please, sir. Please let me cum."

"Are you sure you deserve to?" Taehyung asks.

Petulance rises, and you rotate to glance between Yoongi and Namjoon with a look of sheer desperation that the two of them all but ignore. You confessed your love to these two monsters, and this is the way they treat you in a time of mental and emotional collapse; unbelievable!

"Please," you turn your attention back to Taehyung. You are so close to the edge, every fiber of your being trembles under the pressure of tightening your muscles and staving off release, but you are not sure you can hold on much longer. Orgasm denial is not something you are used to; pretty soon, your body will give into Jeongguk's very talented mouth and fingers and do what it wants to, permission be damned.

Yoongi stands slowly, scraping his chair legs against the wooden floor, then he rounds the table with a look of hunger, slowly stalking. Although you attempt to follow his movements, just having him nearer makes it more and more difficult to hold back. Clearly, these men are determined to torture you.

Yoongi grabs your chairback with both hands, which you see from the corners of your eyes, then he leans close, filling your senses with his musk, asking, "Is our Jeonggukie making you feel good, darling?"

You nod emphatically, biting your lips closed for fear of moaning if you attempt to speak. Jeongguk's fingers press over the sweet spot that makes you crumble so easily, and you squeeze your eyes closed in an attempt to hold your composure.

"Use your words, sweetheart," Namjoon instructs.

"Ye—" you huff and sigh, eyes widening as Jeongguk's tongue laves and twirls, sloppy and wet. "Y-yes, sir," you practically moan, jaw trembling around each syllable.

"Poor thing," Taehyung teases, "just look at her fall apart."

"Please, sir," you mutter, closing your eyes. "Please, please, please."

With each push and pull of Jeongguk's fingers, you lose the ability to hold on any longer. Your body quakes from the storm that rages inside you, and heat pools and pools, ebbing but never flowing.

"Please," you beg more desperately. "Sir, please!"

"Can't hold on any longer, can you?" Yoongi asks, and you shake your head, muttering, "No, sir; I can't."

With a sigh, almost as if he is annoyed, Taehyung sits forward with both elbows against the table and says, "Alright, pretty doll. Cum for us."

The moment you relax, orgasm rushes through you, dragging you straight to the depths of hell. You practically scream, "Oh, god!" as Jeongguk plunges his fingers deep, sucking at your clit gently in a rhythm that pulls pleasure from every inch of you.

You grip the chair tightly and squeeze your eyes closed, gasping and panting while you cum on Jeongguk's fingers and tongue, coating him in a release that pours from you, hitting your thighs in droplets. Yoongi's arms wrap around you, one splayed hand on your chest while the other loosely grips onto your throat, holding you firmly in place.

Overstimulation hits just as fast as your orgasm had, and you sob and begin to pull your hips back, eager to force Jeongguk to stop but unwilling to call a safe word or command him to. Jeongguk's mouth feels good—different from the ways Yoongi and Namjoon pleasure you, though you are incapable of determining how. Heat fills your cheeks at the thought of Jeongguk wanting this for as long as you have, and you begin to pull away with more intention, this time.

"Too much," you beg. "Please, I can't—"

Jeongguk's lips and fingers fall away instantly, leaving you drenched and shivering as the air hits your exposed pussy. Yoongi lets up on his hold around you, and you catch your breath, heaving each exhale through your lungs as if you had just been drowning.

"Magnificent," Taehyung praises with a smile. "Namjoon is right, you really do make pretty sounds, doll."

"Th-thank you, sir," you gasp, feeling equal parts thrilled and humiliated to cum with Taehyung watching you.

"Can you take more?" Taehyung asks with a raise of an eyebrow. He scoots his chair back and Jeongguk crawls between his legs, resting his head on Taehyung's lap with a dopey, wet smile that you can just barely see past the table. Taehyung rakes his fingers through Jeongguk's hair, keeping his eyes on you. "I can restrain this pretty boy and let you have your way with him, if you would like."

Using Jeongguk for your own pleasure sounds like a fantastic idea, and although you are overstimulated, you nod, slowing your breathing as you say, "I would like that, sir."

"Wonderful!" Taehyung beams, giving Jeongguk a soft pat on the head. "Get a head start, baby. I want to find you in the throne room, naked, in the center of the bed, understand?"

Jeongguk sits high on his knees, tilting his head up to Taehyung with an expression that pours over with affection. "Yes, sir," he says as Taehyung leans down and presses their lips together. Then he stands, and you notice the drool and cum that coats his chin and chest, shimmering in the light. Your gaze flickers to Taehyung just in time to notice him licking his lips, and you burn with the knowledge that he can also taste you.

Jeongguk leaves the room, and you take the opportunity to reach for your refilled wine glass and chug its contents back, gasping on your next breath while your hands tremble. Taehyung stands and returns to his seat, to the right of you, leaning against the top of the backrest.

"How are you feeling?" he asks in a tone sweet enough to take you by surprise.

"Good," you respond truthfully, sitting up and squeezing your thighs tight.

"It goes without saying, but you absolutely do not have to keep going if you need to stop," he assures you, and you smile, giving a slight nod and muttering, "I'm good. I'm enjoying myself."

"Yoongi-hyung? Namjoon-hyung?" Taehyung asks.

"Perfect," Namjoon responds as Yoongi says, "I'm having a great time."

"Good," Taehyung says, clapping his hands together once. "I was prepared to have more of a conversation, but none of that seems necessary, so let's dive right in. Jeongguk and I use the stoplight safeword system, do you know what that is?"

You clear your throat and nod, having learned about this from your days in sex work. "Green for continue, red for stop," you say, unsure what their use of yellow might be, as sometimes it can vary.

"Exactly," Taehyung praises as he walks over and leaves a gentle pat against your head. "Yellow means slow down or let up, depending on what you are doing. You can check in and demand a color, but he is good about calling when he needs to. As for you—" he raises an eyebrow with his hands on his hips, "—Jeongguk and I have agreed that you can fuck him as long as I get to tell you what to do. Yoongi and Namjoon are also welcome to command you. Of course, if there is something you do not enjoy, you get the final say and can call a color, or simply tell us no. We want you to enjoy this experience to the fullest and will never demand anything you dislike. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," you mutter while wrapping your head around everything, feeling equally eager and nervous.

"Perfect," Taehyung says. "I just need ten minutes to get him ready for you…we're in the first door on the right."

As Taehyung begins to walk in the direction Jeongguk went, you sit up with a start. "Wait," you say, feeling nervous to voice your concern. "I…I've never been…dominant, before. Is there anything I should know? Or do?"

With a grin, Taehyung turns his attention back to you, raking his eyes over you before he shrugs and says, "Just have fun. Jeongguk gets very sensitive if you tease him long enough…so you can lean into that if it's something you enjoy. That is, as long as you are being obedient to our orders."

You nod and say, "Understood," and Taehyung turns away and begins to exit the room.

"These heathens left a mess behind," Yoongi grumbles as he gets to work covering pots of food and moving them to the stove before opening the cabinets to find storage containers. Namjoon follows suit, collecting plates and wine glasses to rinse and stack in the sink, and you sit in your chair in a bit of a daze, staring around the room, half-noticing the curved shapes of wood carvings on the chairs and the faint shapes of houseplants that you are not able to fully perceive.

Once the table is clear, Yoongi pulls back a sleeve and checks his watch. "It's been about ten minutes," he says. "Shall we?"

"Best not to make Taehyung wait twice," Namjoon teases as he approaches and reaches a hand for you to take.

Everything feels hazy and dream-like as the two of them lead you through Taehyung's house to the stairs near the front foyer. Each step creeks gently underfoot, and the closer you climb to the second level, the more frenzied your heart becomes. Your panties are soaked, askew, and uncomfortable, and your hand prickles with sweat in Namjoon's firm hold, which you grip a little tighter once you get to the upper landing.

"Ready?" Namjoon asks sweetly, and you nod, muttering, "Yes, daddy," earning your palm a squeeze.

As soon as you turn to enter the hallway, and turn again to the first room on the right, it becomes evident that this is not the master suite but a room they have specifically for sex. To the left in this large room is a king-sized four-poster bed covered in black satin with black mesh hanging down over and tied neatly to each post. Rigged between the two posts at the head of the bed is some metal bar contraption that Jeongguk is attached to, and it takes a few moments of staring at him for the scene to fully settle in.

Jeongguk is nude with his hands over his head, arms extended long, with his wrists restrained high enough that he has to sit tall on his legs. Except his thighs have leather straps around them, connected to leather straps around his ankles, suspending him in a somewhat strange position, as he does not seem able to fully sit tall or relax all the way down.

"Breathtaking, isn't he?" Taehyung asks from a large black and gold throne to the right, overlooking the scene. He sits slouched against one arm of the square, wooden seat with a leg slung over the other arm, lounged and looking bored.

You nod and mutter, "Yes, sir," as you turn your attention back to Jeongguk, whose head hangs slightly forward, short dark hair messy and covering his eyes.

And he really is breathtaking. The way he sits has so many muscles taut and strained, covering his body in beautiful topography. His pierced nipples glimmer in the golden light of the room, and there is a perfectly inviting trail of dark hairs that travel from his cute, round navel down to the cock that hangs heavy and semi-soft between his legs.

"Jeonggukie," Taehyung calls, voice magnanimous yet sharp, "eyes up, baby."

Jeongguk lifts his head, and already his eyes look glazed over and a little lost, as if the simple act of being restrained is enough to give him immense pleasure. When his gaze lands on you, a dopey smile tugs at his lips, which he wets with his tongue, dragging the inviting pink muscle slowly as if to tell you that he can still taste you—or, perhaps, that he wants to taste you again.

"Dollface," Taehyung calls, and you turn to look at him with wide, eager eyes, feeling somewhat intoxicated by this entire scene and still reeling from what happened downstairs.

"Yes, sir?" you ask sweetly.

"Unless we say so, from now on, keep your eyes on Jeongguk, understand?"

"Yes, sir," you respond, turning your attention back to Jeongguk.

"I imagine this setup is a bit overwhelming for you," Taehyung continues. "What is your color, pretty?"

This setup is overwhelming, but you are incredibly intrigued and find this submissive side of Jeongguk rather promising. "Green, sir."

"Good," Taehyung says as Namjoon's palm slides away from your hold and both men walk toward Taehyung, leaving you alone. "I want you to strip, right where you stand, keeping your eyes on Jeongguk. Can you do that for us?"

With a nod, you swallow a lump of nervousness and respond, "Yes, sir."

The dress zips in the back, and you reach with your right hand, fumbling with the material before reaching with your left hand to grip onto the dress and slide the zipper down. You only make it a few inches and have to bunch the dress up even more, feeling grateful this the material is actually loose and that you are not stuck having to contort yourself uselessly for an audience. It takes time, though—bunching, unzipping, bunching some more, unzipping some more—until finally, you are able to reach back with your arms lowered and get ahold of the zipper, tugging it down to your waist.

Jeongguk watches intently as you slide the black dress down, away from your chest. You wear a thin, mesh black bra and matching panties, and you feel your nipples begin to harden beneath the material as the air hits your exposed skin, causing a very slight shiver to work its way along your back.

When the dress falls past your hips, down to the floor, all that covers you are thin, small swathes of black material, and you fight the urge to lift your arms to shield yourself, holding your arms stiffly to your sides while you stare at Jeongguk, who stares back.

"Strip all the way down, darling," Yoongi instructs, and you mutter, "Yes, sir," as you reach back and unclasp the bra.

Jeongguk's gaze widens and softens as the material falls away to the floor in a heap in front of you, and his eyes follow the path of your hands, down to where your thumbs hook under your panties and push-pull them away.

"Jeonggukie," Taehyung calls, "how is she?"

"Beautiful," Jeongguk responds in a dreamy, faraway tone. "She's perfect."

"Dollface, join our sweet boy on the bed, please," Taehyung instructs.

"Yes, sir," you say as you force your feet to step from the pile of clothing and move forward. The bed is tall enough that you need to place your hands down and swing one knee up, hoisting yourself forward. You crawl to Jeongguk, and then sit tall on your knees before him. From this close, he is a work of art—a perfect blend of soft and firm lines that appear handcrafted with utmost care.

"Dollface, I want you to tease our sweet Jeonggukie. You are not allowed to touch his cock or asshole unless given permission, but everything else is fair game. Rile him up, make him whine, make him beg. He likes it a little rough so don't be afraid to pinch, slap, scratch, bite…whatever it takes to drive him crazy. Does all this sound good?"

"Yes sir," you respond, unmoving as you decide where to start. It feels like you have been given too many choices, and suddenly, you feel overwhelmed. "Can I kiss him, sir?" you ask, inching closer on your knees.

"Of course, doll," Taehyung calls happily, and you continue to inch closer.

Sitting high on your knees, you reach up and drag the backs of your fingernails over Jeongguk's cheeks, causing him to tremble and take in a deep, slow breath. His eyelids flutter, but he keeps his gaze on you, lips lifting and moving slightly, as if he has something to say. As your right hand continues to work its way up, over a scratchy shaved undercut and into thick, straight hair, your left thumb drags down, over his bottom lip, pulling it past his teeth until it stretches to its limit and pops back into place.

"So pretty," you whisper, watching Jeongguk's eyes widen. He must not be allowed to speak unless spoken to, but you have been given no such instruction. "I've never done something like this before. You're my first."

Jeongguk's mouth twitches around a syllable left unvoiced, and you lean forward and suck his bottom lip between your teeth, soft at first, then a little harder, making Jeongguk gasp, tasting skin and metal. You dart your tongue out to soothe over the scrape of your teeth, unable to hold in a whimper when Jeongguk's tongue meets yours, and you take the sides of his face in both hands to deepen the kiss, shoving your tongue into his mouth, forcing him to open around you while he moans, soft and inviting.

You lick hints of your own arousal from his mouth, then smile against his lips as you say, "You taste like me…so sweet," watching with delight as he holds back from responding, brows knitting as if pained.

This time, when you kiss him, you take his hair in both hands and grip. Jeongguk groans as his head is yanked backward, and you suck and nip at his bottom lip, making him whimper uselessly, darting his tongue out as if in search of a deeper kiss—desperate.

"So pretty," you say again while nipping at his jaw, holding his hair tight in your grip and letting your teeth snag and tease the skin all the way to his ear.

Jeongguk trembles in your hold, and when you reach his ear, taking it gently in your teeth, he lets out a sweet little song of, "Ah-ah-ah," shivering madly in your grasp while his back arches.

"Oh you are sensitive," you tease before taking his earlobe between your teeth again, a little more roughly, until he cries out a pitchy little yelp.

"Color, baby?" you ask, to which Jeongguk quickly responds, "Green, noona."

Hearing Jeongguk call you noona should not excite you so much, but arousal builds between your legs, and you feel the urge to keep pushing him for more. You nibble down the long, salty-sweet expanse of Jeongguk's neck, savoring the taste of his sweat, dragging your fingernails from his hair, to the back of his neck, over to his shoulders, and down along his spine. Jeongguk responds in jerks and gasps, and you continue down, down, until your mouth reaches one of his pierced nipples.

With a flick of your tongue, Jeongguk responds as if he has been shocked, back bowing as his body shakes. His pebbled, pierced skin is inviting, and you lick again, this time slowly dragging your tongue over him, feeling every tiny curve, tasting hints of titanium.

You scrape your fingernails down Jeongguk's ribs while you suck his pierced nipple into your mouth, reveling in the sweet, broken sounds he makes. He seems to be holding back, and you feel determined to make him sob. Although you two are becoming closer as friends, he was a bit of a prick to you for months, and you intend to let him know that you have not forgotten.

"Color?" you ask, knowing it'll be green, just to make him speak.

"Green, noona," Jeongguk responds almost robotically—not good enough.

Once more, you sit up tall, taking his hair in one hand and his jaw in the other. Your hand trembles as you pull it back and crash your fingertips against his cheek, gasping in tandem as Jeongguk's eyes widen, difficult to read.

"Color?" you ask, receiving, "Green, noona," instantly.

You slap again, this time a little harder, and Jeongguk gasps but holds his composure nicely. So you tug his hair harder, just enough to pull his head back, before you slap again. The skin of his cheek begins to redden, and you give it quick, softer taps, moving your fingertips little by little, covering the expanse of his cheek.

"Color?"

"Green, noona."

This time, when you slap, it stings your fingertips, and Jeongguk groans. His cheeks seem to be the wrong place to tease, however, so you sit back, releasing his hair and rethinking your plan.

"Darling," Yoongi calls, and you nearly turn to look at him but correct yourself, staring Jeongguk in the eyes as you say, "Yes, sir?"

"The way he's suspended is really taxing on the legs. If you're trying to hurt the poor boy, I recommend the thighs."

Jeongguk's eyes widen further, and you smirk as you say, "Yes, sir."

From across the room, you hear Taehyung gleefully say, "Hyung you are evil."

Slowly, you drag your fingernails from Jeongguk's shoulders, along the curves of his pecs, down his ribs. Finally, at his hips, you allow yourself to look down and find a very inviting semi-erect cock hanging between his legs. Of course, Jeongguk is perfect in every way, and you bite your lip as you attempt to pull your vision away, to his thighs instead.

With both hands splayed open, you lift and crash your palms down onto Jeongguk's thighs, and he cries out, sobbing on the end of the sound. A thrill quakes through you, and you rub your hands over his thighs, lift both, and slam your left one down hard.

"Fu—ahh!" Jeongguk screams.

"Color, baby?" you ask sweetly.

You glance up and catch him hesitating before saying, "Green, noona."

Without giving him a chance to relax, you slap your right hand down, followed by your left, watching his face as it contorts in pleasured pain while he bleats pathetically.

"Color?"

"G-green, noona."

Again and again, you slap, moving your hands over to the sides of his thighs, rubbing your palms and alternating which side slaps, never in a discernable pattern, always to catch him off guard.

Finally, you ask, "Color, pretty," impressed when he gasps, "Yellow, noona!"

Gently, you rub your hands over his thighs and sink down low, rubbing your cheek and lips over his left thigh, smiling sweetly against him. From here, there is a gentle, inviting musk coming from his lap that is difficult to resist. You lick your lips at the thought of swallowing him whole, then turn your face away, kissing the sore, warm skin of his leg while breathing through the arousal that licks at you, urging you to be selfish and take.

"Sweetheart," Namjoon calls, and you sit up, eyes on Jeongguk as you say, "Yes, daddy?"

Curiosity flashes in Jeongguk's eyes, and you wonder if he is attempting to calculate the various dynamics of your relationship. Using the term daddy with an audience is slightly embarrassing, and you shift in place, waiting for his response.

"I don't think Jeongguk got a good enough look at you under that table. You should sit back and touch yourself for him…show him how wet he made you."

The edges of Jeongguk's lips curve, and you hesitate. It is not that you don't want to touch yourself with an audience, but it does add to the humiliation to have your two partners and one of their best friends sitting on the sidelines, watching you.

"Color, doll?" Taehyung asks.

Somehow, the concern in his voice grounds you, and you say, "Green, sir," adding, "Thank you for the advice, daddy," so that Namjoon does not feel left out.

"Such a good girl," Namjoon praises as you sit back and scoot enough to spread your thighs around Jeongguk.

There is more than enough room on the large bed to sprawl out, but you stay close, sweeping one of your feet against the outside of Jeongguk's restrained leg as you reach your hand between your legs and slowly drag your fingers over yourself, spreading and teasing your folds.

Desire burns through you as you touch yourself while Jeongguk watches, eyes wide and hungry, trailing from your pussy, over your body, and back down. Slowly, you sink your middle finger inside, and although the size is nowhere near enough to stretch, a thrill quakes through you, making you moan as you gather release from your earlier orgasm and pull your finger out.

Jeongguk licks his lips, intently watching as you use your slick finger to spread yourself and swirl over your clit. It feels good, a simmering pleasure that covers you in warmth, and you loll your head back, hesitant to let go enough to moan, whimpering more softly than usual.

"Be vocal, darling," Yoongi calls, and you squeeze your eyes closed for a second as you say, "Yes, sir," frustrated that absolutely nothing can get past these men, but also grateful for the push.

You still hesitate as you open your mouth to moan, but with each sound you make, Jeongguk appears to lose his composure more and more. With a nibble on your lower lip, you circle over your clit, then rub down to your hole, up and down, gathering more and more release, becoming wetter and wetter, all for him.

"Do you like what you see?" you ask, eager to tease despite the tremble in your voice.

"Yes, noona," Jeongguk gasps, swallowing thickly before his mouth falls wide.

"So wet for you, Jeonggukie," you moan, using your other hand to rub and pinch at your breasts. "Too bad you can't fuck me."

Jeongguk whimpers and shakes in his restraints, legs straining and arms moving. His distress urges you on, and you rub over your breasts more, gathering and squeezing the soft skin between your fingers while dipping two fingers into your pussy.

"I want you so bad," you pout, watching as Jeongguk crumbles. "My fingers aren't big enough…but you are."

"Please," Jeongguk mutters, sweat glistening on his forehead. "Please, sir. Please."

"Begging already?" Taehyung teases and Jeongguk nods emphatically.

Jeongguk's voice sounds dreamy, and he licks his lips again. "Please, sir. I've been good."

You can hear Taehyung stand and begin to approach before he comes into view, climbing onto the bed, on his knees, reaching up to drag his fingertips up and down the length of Jeongguk's arms. At first, you feel shy to be on display for him, but Taehyung does not regard you, keeping his eyes on Jeongguk.

"You really have been very good," Taehyung praises as he nuzzles against Jeongguk's neck. Jeongguk leans into the touch, doing his best to keep his eyes on you as Taehyung continues. "You cooked an excellent meal, and you were very obedient when I told you to make our doll cum."

"I've been good, sir," Jeongguk whimpers as if stuck on repeat. "Please, sir. I've been good."

Without another word, Taehyung reaches up and begins to undo Jeongguk's wrist restraints, slowly lowering his arms one by one and rubbing his palms from Jeongguk's shoulders to his hands. With a sigh that sounds like relief, Jeongguk sits back on his heels.

"I'll undo your legs too, but you have to behave," Taehyung says as he begins to unhook one of the thigh restraints. "You are only allowed to do as you are told and nothing more, understood?"

"Yes, sir," Jeongguk responds with a sharp smile, eyes focused on you.

Although your moments have slowed, you continue to tease yourself with your fingers, watching as Taehyung crawls around Jeongguk's back to free his other thigh. Taehyung crawls backward, then stands beside the bed, out of your direct line of vision.

"Sit back," he commands, patting the bed, and Jeongguk does as he is told, sliding back and extending his legs in front of him, settling against the tall wooden headboard.

"Dollface," Taehyung calls, and you keep your eyes on Jeongguk but instinctively begin to sit up as you respond, "Yes, sir?"

"He's all yours," Taehyung says as his voice travels back to where the throne sits. "Have fun."

"Thank you, sir," you respond as you sit forward, getting swiftly onto your hands and knees.

With the possibilities suddenly seemingly endless, you feel overwhelmed, but you crawl forward and cage Jeongguk's reddened thighs, hovering close to his leaking cock, which sits pretty and thick against his tummy.

"Is Jeongguk an impatient man, sir?" you ask, watching as Jeongguk fails to keep his expressions schooled, eyes sharpening and widening.

"Extremely impatient," Taehyung responds, making Jeongguk huff a sigh. "If you decide to go slow it might drive him insane."

With a smirk, you mutter, "Noted, sir," then lean forward, touching the very tip of your tongue to the very bottom of Jeongguk's shaft and dragging up slow, slow, slow. His skin is velvet-soft, and you drool as you lift your head just below the crown, humming as Jeongguk trembles and gasps.

You kiss over the crown, right where the skin is softest, pressing your lips nice and wide before sucking and lapping at the skin in slow, gentle movements. Jeongguk groans, sounding almost pained, and you continue to lick languidly, teasing the skin, giving him just enough pressure to feel something but not enough to satiate any hunger.

"Please," Jeongguk whispers, and you glance up, tongue outstretched against him, to find a look of desperation tugging at the corners of his eyes. You hesitate to respond for a fraction of a second, feeling momentarily astounded that this is happening.

"Please, what?" you urge, watching as his jaw trembles.

"Please, noona. Please touch me more."

Teasing Jeongguk is a thrill, but you are quickly losing your composure, and as much as you want to listen to him beg and beg, you are also too eager to continue holding back. In a swift movement, you tilt your head forward and swallow Jeongguk's cock, taking him only halfway while sucking on the tip.

Jeongguk moans loud and eager, music to your ears. You hear Taehyung say, "Hands at your sides," and imagine Jeongguk must have been moments away from taking your head in his hands, sending a thrill down your spine.

With a pleased groan, you lift your head and settle a little higher on your knees between Jeongguk's spread legs. At this angle, you can take him into your mouth much more easily, and you sink down until he nearly hits your throat, feeling the tight squeeze of your lips accommodate his girth.

"Fuck," Jeongguk mutters, "you feel so good."

Jeongguk's words of encouragement spur you on, and you hum happily as you bob your head slow but steady, lodging his cock into your throat just enough that it nearly makes you gag before coming back for air. You can hear the sound of his fists gripping the sheet below, soft material scratching against blunt fingernails—a quiet, tactile cry of desperation.

As you lift your head, you swirl your tongue over his shaft, then release, opening your eyes and looking upward, watching as Jeongguk melts from the sight of you holding your mouth wide, saliva falling like garland hung between your tongue and his cock.

"You taste good, Ggukie," you say as the spit breaks and falls against your chin and chest, some dripping onto your knees. Eager to tease but nervous to dirty talk, you swallow thickly and do your best to sound confident as you crawl high onto your knees and begin to straddle his lap. "I could do this all day…but I want to feel you so badly."

"God, yes," Jeongguk groans, gripping tightly to the comforter at his sides. "Please, noona."

"What a shame you can't touch me," you pout while wrapping your arms around his shoulders, sitting high on your knees. "I bet you could make me feel so good."

You tilt your hips low, dragging yourself over Jeongguk's length, coating him in your arousal. Jeongguk whimpers and it sounds so sweet and so needy, you bite your lip and smile. Slowly, you push your chest out, dragging your breasts over his clavicle and pecs, and Jeongguk looks pained from how little you are giving him.

You lean close and mutter, "Kiss me. Show me how badly you want me."

With a groan, Jeongguk tilts his mouth to yours and eagerly sucks at your bottom lip before prising your mouth open, making way for his tongue. You hold him steady, keeping his head close, but still, he leans his face into yours, groaning desperately, rough in the way his forehead and nose press against yours, desperate in the way his teeth gnash and nip between wide, ravenous licks.

You part from the kiss and grip onto Jeongguk's chin, smirking as you angle your hips forward, surprising yourself with how easily you snag Jeongguk's cock on your entrance and begin to lower yourself on him. Jeongguk's eyes widen then roll back as you lower and lift your hips just enough to tease his tip, sighing through the stretch.

"Please," Jeongguk mutters, eyes and mouth fluttering and trembling so pretty and so wrecked. "Noona, please fuck me. Please, please, please."

"Awe, baby," you tease, lowering yourself further, gasping a silent sob from how incredible he feels. "You sound so pretty when you beg."

"She caved so quickly," Taehyung grumbles, reminding you that you have an audience, causing your cheeks to warm with humiliation.

Yoongi chuckles as he mutters, "I'm actually shocked by how long she held out."

You roll your eyes despite Yoongi being correct about your impatience. Holding back for as long as you have has not been easy, and truthfully, you deserve to be praised for your efforts.

"Typically, she's begging us in an instant," Namjoon adds, and you bite back an indignant smile.

You would absolutely run your mouth if you thought the three doms chiding you would let you away with it, but you are not eager to test them—not with Taehyung, who seems to have the firmest willpower and most sadistic tendencies, present. You finally have Jeongguk nestled deep inside you, and you are not willing to fuck this up for either of you.

The unraveled straps of the restraints that were wrapped around Jeongguk's wrists hang low, about a foot above his shoulders, and you reach up, gripping onto the leather. You hold on tight and moan as you lift and swivel your hips, teasing Jeongguk's tip and pulling a soft, impatient huff from his chest.

Jeongguk's eyes rove over your body, up to your face, as he cranes his head back. He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out, and you tilt your head to the side to ask, "What is it? Speak, boy."

"Beautiful," Jeongguk mutters sweetly, and you feel your heart skip a beat. You smile, then bite it back, trying to be a tease, not feel fluffy.

"Shut up," you grumble quietly, lowering your hips just enough to make Jeongguk croak out a soft moan before lifting. With the help of the straps, you find a good angle for your back to arch, allowing you to bounce your ass just enough to tease his tip.

Jeongguk whines and huffs, squeezing the sheet below him, causing peaks of material to form—mountains of tested patience reaching a breaking point. And although it feels good to stretch yourself around just the end of him, you want the rest, so you release one strap and then the other, settling with your hands on his shoulders and sinking down deep with a moan and pleasure flows through you in waves.

"Fuck," Jeongguk whimpers, dragging the word out long.

The stretch is enough to make you quake, but you do not have the ability to keep teasing yourself, even if it means finally caving in and giving Jeongguk what he wants. You lift your hips and drop them, choking on a sob that is punctuated by a deep moan. Pleasure bursts and settles into your limbs, tingling through you like electricity, and you wrap your arms tight around his shoulder and neck and begin to fuck yourself on his length.

"Feels so good," you moan, eyes shut and head tilted back, using Jeongguk to chase your high, eager to cum all over him and make a fucking mess.

Jeongguk's lips drag over your neck and shoulder, huffing hot breath that turns your skin sticky, and you do your best to keep a steady rhythm, climbing closer and closer to bliss, reaching the precipice little by little.

"God, look at her," Namjoon groans, making you shiver. You shouldn't be so greedy, but you do wish Namjoon could climb onto this bed and help you use Jeongguk.

"Stunning, always," Yoongi responds, and your heart and soul yearn for him, desperate to feel Yoongi once more, even if it has only been hours since the last time.

"Our poor Gguk is going to rip holes in this sheet by the time I allow him to touch her," Taehyung teases. "I haven't seen him this wound up in ages."

Jeongguk sighs and groans, then leans slightly back as his head lolls from side to side. He looks like he is about to burst, and you slow your hips, watching intently as he shakes his head and frowns, muttering, "Please, noona, please don't stop."

Rather than listen to his pleas, you lift your hips all the way, sending his cock to hit his tummy in a wet splat. Jeongguk grumbles, and you lean in to nibble at his chin and jaw until he shivers, then you back away from his lap and spin around.

As soon as you turn away from Jeongguk and lift your head, you are met with your own reflection, staring back from a floor-to-ceiling mirror that runs from the door to the conjoining wall. You gasp as you take in the sight of yourself on your hands and knees covered in a sheen of sweat, with Jeongguk sitting high on his knees behind you.��

Jeongguk watches the mirror, smiling as you regain your composure and back up on your knees, grabbing for his cock with one hand while lowering yourself down. As soon as you are partially seated on his erection, you use both hands to spread your ass, arching your back as you lower yourself, eyes on the mirror to see Jeongguk staring down, moaning with his mouth hung wide.

"Like what you see, baby?" you ask as you begin to raise and lower your hips.

Jeongguk's eyes snap to the mirror, and he appears dazed as he says, "Yes, noona."

You sit up high on your knees and anchor your hands against your thighs as you begin to ride Jeongguk, finding a steady rhythm that sends your pleasure building once more. At this angle, his tip rubs over your erogenous zone, and you tilt your head back, moaning and gasping with each delicious drag.

With one hand gripping to your thigh, you reach the other between your legs, rubbing over your clit, desperate to cum. Your hope is that once you orgasm, you can barter with the doms to allow Jeongguk to touch you; you want his hands on you, groping, squeezing, and holding you down. Just the thought alone has you speeding toward bliss, and you press your fingertips just a little more firmly against your clit and slam your hips down so hard it stings.

"Fuck," you whimper, chasing your high faster and faster, "Oh fuck, I'm gonna cum."

The sound of one of the men clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth makes you jolt, and you begin to fear the worst. Sure enough, Taehyung asks, "Did we say you could cum, pretty?" and you begin to feel frantic, though you do not slow your movements.

"N-no," you mutter weakly, "but, I thought—"

"I'm just toying with you, pretty," Taehyung interrupts with a chuckle, filling you with relief.

"If I cum, will you let him touch me, sir?" you ask, watching Jeongguk's lips twitch through the mirror.

"I suppose I could allow that," Taehyung responds. "Since you've been so obedient."

"Yes," you whimper, lifting and slamming your hips, so close to the edge. "Thank you, sir."

"Fucking squeezing me," Jeongguk groans behind you, and you glance into the mirror to find him sitting tense, staring down at your ass.

Jeongguk looks fucked out and on the brink of collapse with sweat dripping down his neck and his face screwed up in both pleasure and impatience. You imagine him holding you down against the mattress to use you just as you have used him, and that thought is exactly what you need to plummet into euphoria.

"Fuck," you whimper, "I'm gonna—"

Your orgasm crashes through you, snapped suddenly with a burst of energy that throws you forward as you quake and sob, gripping onto the black satin sheet with both hands while you desperately move your hips, chasing more and more until you are no longer able to move, moaning and sobbing as your muscles tense and release around Jeongguk. You squeeze around him, eager to chase more bliss, but your body feels tired, and your legs quake.

"Sir, please," you whimper as your hips slow and you become too overcome to keep a steady rhythm, "please let him touch me."

"Jeongguk really has excellent stamina," Taehyung says, sending a chill through you as he adds, "if we allow him to fuck her, he might just break her in half."

"She can take it," Yoongi insists in a tone that is familiar and dangerous. "She can handle the two of us, after all."

After a short pause, Taehyung calls, "Jeonggukie," and you glance into the mirror, watching as Jeongguk's mouth twists into a sharp, dangerous smirk.

"Yes, sir?" he responds, eyes on your reflection.

"You have permission to touch and to speak," Taehyung says, and you watch as Jeongguk releases the poor sheet from his grip, stretching and squeezing his palms at his sides. "The hyungs say she cums really easily…but I bet you can't give her three more orgasms by the time you're finished."

It should be terrifying the way Jeongguk looks down at you suddenly as if you are a piece of meat, licking at his teeth while dragging his hands from your hips to your shoulders, and back down. Jeongguk adjusts behind you, still buried deep, and he settles with one hand on your hip and the other gripping the back of your neck.

"Stay on your hands and knees," Jeongguk instructs firmly, making you shiver. "And keep your eyes on me."

You barely have a chance to mutter, "Yes, sir," before he pulls his hips back and snaps them forward, spearing you on his length far deeper than when you were riding him. The pleasure-pain is incredible, and the moan that falls from your lips is broken, no more than rough a burst of air. Jeongguk wastes no time digging his fingertips into your soft skin and setting a pace that is brutal enough to make you scream.

It feels impossible to keep your eyes open and on Jeongguk's reflection, but you do your best, only allowing your eyelids to flutter closed momentarily. Jeongguk is very clearly punishing you for teasing him so much, and you do your best to take everything he gives you, moaning and sobbing with each deep thrust.

"Fuck, you feel so good, doll," Jeongguk groans, digging his fingertips deeper. "Do you have any idea how hard it was to keep my fucking hands off you?"

The hand around your neck moves up to your face, and Jeongguk slides two fingers into the side of your mouth, gently tugging as he holds your head up, keeping your back bowed and ass held high.

"Shit, you're so fucking tight," he groans, lifting the hand on your hip to smack your ass, making you squeal around his fingers from the tingle of pain. "So fucking wet."

Jeongguk's praises make your head spin, and it takes no time at all to chase another high. Your reflection is absolutely debauched, and you stare ahead at yourself and at Jeongguk, still unable to shake the surprise that this is actually, finally happening. Jeongguk is absolutely ruthless with his thrusts, and you squeeze around him in a rhythm that matches his, building and building your next orgasm, quaking uncontrollably as it begins to roll through you like a hurricane.

"You're fucking cuming again, aren't you?" Jeongguk groans as your muscles flutter around him.

"Yes," you mutter, attempting to nod with your head stuck in place. "Yes, please, please make me cum again."

Jeongguk slides the hand from your mouth, down to your shoulder, and fucks into you, moaning to match your sounds as your orgasm reaches its peak and causes you to sob and slip forward, unable to hold yourself up. Although you are disobeying his rule to stay on your hands, Jeongguk seems unphased, and he rubs his hands over your back and then presses your shoulders down into the soft sheet while his hips stay just as steady.

"She really is fucking easy," Jeongguk teases as he leans forward, pressing his weight into you.

You turn your head to the side and lock eyes with Namjoon, who sits on one wide, wooden arm of the throne with his legs spread wide, watching you with a fire burning in his gaze.

"Incredible, isn't she?" Yoongi asks, and you move your focus to him, on the other arm of the wooden throne, leaning forward with one elbow on his knee.

Jeongguk pulls out, and you sob, clenching around nothing while his hands move down the expanse of your back, to your ass. He spreads you wide with both palms while bending lowly then licks from your clit all the way to your asshole, and you gasp then whimper, sinking deeper forward while arching your back to present yourself as best as you can.

The sloppy, hungry way he laps over your cunt is intoxicating, and when he curves up to your ass to dig his tongue into your tight rim, you grip roughly at the satin sheet, babbling nonsense at the sensation. Two fingers slide into your pussy, and Jeongguk slurps at your ass while his fingers stroke your erogenous zone, humming and groaning loudly.

"Oh my god," you whimper as Jeongguk's ministrations intensify. There is no way you are going to last long like this, and you do your best to relax despite how taut you feel pulled from every delicious movement. You knew Jeongguk would be good, but this is practically soul-crushing with the way your pleasure builds and builds.

Jeongguk's fingers squelch inside you, and you feel the spray of your arousal hit your thighs while his tongue slurps and prods, breaching your hole and making a sloppy fucking mess.

"Please, Jeongguk," you whimper like a prayer into the sheet, which is sticky-warm with drool. "Please don't stop. Please, please, please."

Jeongguk groans into you, plunging his tongue and fingers in deep, pulling you apart at the threads. Orgasm hits like a freight train—fast and sudden and unforgiving, a crash without casualties. You scream and claw at the blanket as your release squirts from you, coating your thighs, sloppy and loud.

You quake and sob uncontrollably, lips dragging against satin as Jeongguk pulls his fingers from you and sinks low enough to lick over your cunt in firm, broad strokes. He hums as he devours you, squeezing at the backs of your thighs and filling you to the brim with oversensitivity.

"Two down, one to go," Jeongguk gasps as he sits back and releases you from his hold.

He pushes against your hip, sending you crashing into the mattress, and you mutter equal parts indignant and incoherent as he begins to turn you onto your back in a haphazard twist of heavy limbs. You feel exhausted, but you do your best, digging your head into the bed while settling onto your back.

Jeongguk towers over you tall and pretty like a demon of pleasure, glistening and muscular and so fucking handsome. You attempt to smile, panting around each breath, and Jeongguk crawls between your legs, lifting one over his shoulder while spreading the other wide.

"You look fucking wrecked, doll," he teases as he leans forward and rubs beneath your eyes, undoubtedly to clean up a mess of mascara that has smeared. You pout, and he chuckles, adding, "Still gorgeous though. Perfect, even. I would have been gunning for this pussy long ago if I had known how much fun you are."

"Shut the fuck up," you mutter breathlessly, making Jeongguk chuckle.

"Never made someone squirt before," he continues, lining his cock up with your aching entrance. "You've done wonders to inflate my ego, doll."

"Great," you mutter, attempting to roll your eyes indignantly, instead rolling them involuntarily as he slides in deep, filling you in one swift thrust.

You moan as your body responds, pelvis lifting and arousal crashing. Jeongguk begins to roll his hips in a dizzying, tantalizing motion, and you do your best to relax despite the turmoil that already builds, threatening to tear you asunder. You are dangerously close to overstimulation, but you do not want to call your safe word. Jeongguk still has not cum, and you desperately want him to.

"She's a goner," Namjoon chuckles, and you hate how well he can read you. "This will be her last orgasm before she becomes too overwhelmed, Gguk, so make sure you cum."

Jeongguk feigns a pout, reaching down to press two fingers between your lips, smiling softly when you do your best to suck around them. His hips are steady and much slower, dragging in a way that lets you feel every perfect inch of him along your swollen walls.

"I won't be able to last much longer," Jeongguk assures, voice dipped low and sweet. "Taehyung bragged about my stamina, but you got me so fucking worked up. You can call your safe word if you need to, though. Yoongi told me it's sakura."

You suck on Jeongguk's fingers and allow your eyes to close momentarily, drifting into a state of full-body bliss. Despite how heavy your limbs feel, you are floaty and weightless. Euphoric.

"How do you stay so fucking tight?" Jeongguk groans as his hips pick up a quicker pace, skin slapping against skin. "How are you so fucking wet?"

You want to complain and tell Jeongguk to shut up, but the thought of speaking feels like too much, so you continue to suck mindlessly while Jeongguk uses you. He needs to finish before you lose your grasp on reality, and you are teetering dangerously close to that edge, lulled by the rhythmic thrust of his cock.

Jeongguk moans and sighs, becoming louder the harder he fucks you. His voice is sweet when lilted high and pitchy, and inviting when it is deep and dulcet. You could drown in him, really—in fact, you think you just might.

Time and space slip—float away like vapor in the air. You lay pliant and malleable as Jeongguk bends forward and leans back, changing angles, spearing you deep, rubbing places inside you that are carved wide just for him. When he finally pulls his fingers from your mouth to press them against your clit, you feel like you are dreaming.

"One last orgasm," he pleads gently, twirling over you in incorrigible movements. "I won't last much longer."

You pull your arms over your head and stretch your back, arching into Jeongguk's steady, determined thrusts. With the final ounce of energy you have left, you tense and relax around his length, working your muscles to a rhythm that will help you cum. Not that you need to help him; Jeongguk's fingers work over your bud, pulling you closer and closer with each swipe of skin against skin.

"Close," you whimper, feeling pleasure build.

Jeongguk must take your affirmation as incentive to fuck harder, deeper, faster. Your eyes roll back as his pace reaches heights you have come to expect, and you grip at the satin sheet above your head as you stare into oblivion.

And then, you drop. All at once, without warning, your arousal reaches its breaking point and bursts.

"Fuck," you squeak through a sob, mouth frozen in bliss, desperately forming broken syllables until you are finally able to create words. "Oh fuck, I'm cuming. Jeongguk!"

Jeongguk leans forward, dropping your leg from his shoulder to the mattress and placing both hands beside your head. His pace falters as he leans close and slots his lips against yours, moaning and whimpering into your open mouth while he licks and sucks at your lips and tongue.

"Feels so good," Jeongguk groans into your mouth. "I'm gonna cum, holy shit."

Jeongguk trembles, body lurching forward before he is up on his knees, pulling out and spraying his release onto your tummy, warm and viscous, quickly turning cold. You giggle, though you are unsure what is funny; you feel absolutely fucking broken.

One of the men begins to clap—you assume Taehyung—and then the others join in. You drag your arms down, over your face, cringing as you attempt to roll into a ball and disappear. "Please don't make this weird," you grumble as you turn to your side, only slightly bothered by the trickle of cum that runs along your tummy, down to the sheet.

Jeongguk hovers close, chuckling and pulling on your shoulder to get you to return to your back, and you resist, sleepy and no longer in the mood for any of these men; fucked past your limit and reeling from everything that has transpired.

"Let's get you into a bath," Jeongguk offers, and you loosen your limbs a little, willing to tolerate them a little more if it means a nice hot bath. "Hyung has a huge jacuzzi in his room, and I bet he would be more than happy to turn it on and get it nice and warm for us."

"It would be my pleasure," Taehyung responds, and you hear the sound of wood creaking as he stands and walks out of the room, footsteps quieting the further he gets.

Behind you, the bed dips, and you roll onto your back, eager to find out whether Yoongi and Namjoon are here to bother you—pleased to see that it is both of them.

"Darling," Yoongi says with a grin, dancing fingertips over your leg, which is bent at the knee. His touch tickles, and you shiver but do nothing to make him stop. "How do you feel?"

"Great," you mutter without thinking, voice wrecked and rasped from screaming.

"That was quite the performance," Namjoon adds, sitting beside your head and wiping his hand over your forehead. "I'm surprised you had no issue with letting all of us watch that."

You shrug, still not fully grasping the gravity of the situation. "We're all friends," you mutter, making Yoongi chuckle.

Taehyung returns, and you grin widely, appreciative of him for letting you fuck Jeongguk. And sure, you are aware that your thought process is a bit ridiculous, but you feel drunk from this scenario—far more intoxicated than the two glasses of red wine could have made you.

To your surprise, Taehyung holds his arms out and asks, "May I?"

Your assumption is that he either wants to hug you, or that he plans to carry you off to the jacuzzi, and both options sound nice, so you roll onto your side and then to your knees and crawl haphazardly into his open arms.

"Do you always turn into such a little baby after getting fucked?" Taehyung asks, to which Yoongi and Namjoon say, "Yes," in tandem.

"Sometimes," you respond dreamily as Taehyung scoops you up bridal style, holding you close to his chest while whisking you away.

"It's cute," he responds, dulcet voice soft and pleasant.

"You're cute," you grumble as you reach your arms to lazily hang around Taehyung's neck, burying your face into his chest. He wears a cologne that is earthy and a little spicy; unique.

Taehyung chuckles, chest rattling softly against your cheek, and you close your eyes and hum into the feeling.

"I'm glad you had fun," Taehyung says as his slippered feet softly patter while he carries you down the hallway. "If you come to have any regrets or complaints later, we can all sit down and talk. I want you to feel comfortable with us; relationships are built on trust."

"I won't," you say, certain that there is nothing to regret. "I love you guys."

"We'll see how you're feeling in a few days, but it makes me happy to know that you feel good about everything now."

The sounds of Taehyung's footfalls change, and you open your eyes to find that you are in a room with wainscotted walls of what you imagine to be mahogany, though you are not certain. Then he turns once more, and you are in a bathroom that is a lot like Yoongi's, but everything is white and gold instead of black.

"Jeongguk has my permission to see you without my presence required. So as long as the hyungs are okay with it, the two of you can do anything you want. Personally, I don't care who sees you. Fuck on the stage at Paradise if you'd like."

"Now, now," Yoongi says, causing you to peek over Taehyung's shoulder, smiling when you see him entering the room and unbuttoning his shirt. "Let's not encourage them to fuck in public. Jeongguk might actually take it as a challenge, and we don't need rumors flying that Boss Min is a cuckold."

"For once, the rumors would be true, hyung," Jeongguk says gleefully as he sidles up to Yoongi, still fully naked and covered in sweat, slinging an arm over his shoulder.

Jeongguk winks at you, flashing a wide grin, and you bury your face against Taehyung's shoulder, feeling shy.

"Are you getting in too, hyung?" Jeongguk asks as Taehyung begins to set you down, lowering your legs until your toes touch a soft rug.

With reluctance, you release Taehyung, and he keeps an arm around your waist, holding his other arm out for you to grab onto while you step one leg over the side of the large, white jacuzzi tub. The water is warm enough that you hiss and nearly retract your leg, but you quickly acclimate and lean in, finding the seat with your foot and standing on it.

"Of course I'm getting in," Yoongi says, and you can hear the sounds of clothing being removed behind you. "Can't let our pretty darling have all the fun."

Taehyung sighs and mutters, "No fucking in the hot tub, hyung," making Yoongi chuckle.

It takes a lot of concentration to make your limbs cooperate, but you manage to get both feet into the jacuzzi and lower yourself enough to step into the center and wade over to the far seat. The warmth is soothing, and you sink down until only your head remains above water, watching through squinted eyes as Yoongi and Namjoon get undressed to their briefs.

Jeongguk is turned around, rubbing his hands over Taehyung's chest, muttering lowly, and you enjoy a glance at his round, muscular ass before closing your eyes, smiling to yourself.

The water sloshes gently as bodies enter the tub, and you do not need to open your eyes to know that the arm wrapping over your shoulder from the right belongs to Yoongi; his musk greets you, followed by the familiar weight of so many hugs. You sit up slightly and lean into Yoongi while familiar hands lift your feet onto familiar thighs and begin to massage thumbs into your tired arches.

"I had fun spending time with everyone at Paradise, but the real paradise is here with you," you mutter somewhat sleepily, feeling Yoongi laugh against your cheek.

"Corny," Yoongi teases with a squeeze of his arms around you, and more bodies enter the tub, shifting the water around to your left.

You want to open your eyes and take in the bright, happy smiles of the men around you. You want to thank them all for the fun and show your gratitude for the affection they have given you. Taehyung is a wonderful host, Jeongguk is an excellent cook, and both Yoongi and Namjoon have shown a great deal of trust in you for encouraging you and Jeongguk to enjoy each other; Taehyung, as well.

Your heart feels so full of joy, and your sore, aching body is soothed so perfectly in the warm tub. But your eyelids are heavy, and the warmth pulls you in. You hug Yoongi while the men chatter about things you are unable to keep track of, doing your best not to drift to sleep.

At least you know that you are not at risk of drowning. With Yoongi at your side, it is impossible not to feel safe.

Just look at me, baby, day and night Don't make me bad, make me bad, I'm addicted to you 이미 길들여진 내 맘을 자극해 Don't make me bad, bad, addicted to you 시작해 버린 이상 내 게 아님 안 돼

🎵 visit the playlist

this chapter was more or less an oasis, but the rest of the desert is to come. i cannot stress enough how shit is really about to spiral in the final arc.

thank you for reading!!! 💜💜💜 reblogs and comments make the world go ‘round, and likes are nice too!!! i love you, stay hydrated!!!

tag list: ⭐@sweetestofchaos⭐ @acquiescence804 @afangirllikeme-blog @annacroft23114 @angel-121 @artgukk @btsiguess-kpop @bts-ficreviews @che-er-ful @codeinebelle @curryshesus @dasexydevitt13 @giriiboyy @fakedanger @fringe-frank @illnevertrustmyselfagain @jalexad @juju-227592 @kissme-ornot @leanimal90 @likeshatteredrainbowglass @m1sss1mp @mayeolorie @mgthecat @mushroom-main @mwitsmejk @openup-yourmind @pamzn @sleepilysworld @stocking221 @spookyminyunki @thelilbutifulthings @valhallawhispers @xjiminsthighsx @xyahrinx 🗡️ comment or dm to be added!

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#yoongi mafia #yoongi x reader #namjoon x reader #jungkook x reader #yoongi smut #namjoon smut #jungkook smut #bts mafia #bts smut #bts angst #bts poly #namgi smut #namjoon mafia #jungkook mafia #taehyung mafia #fic: collateral #Spotify

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free-n-wild · 11 months

Note

hi hi I really liked that scene in Green Lament au :3c

KAZZY????????

LOOK AT THIS I WASN'T EXPECTING IT AT ALL I'M???????

#i'm actually sitting here crying and kicking my feet oh my god!!!#the way you captured martin's exhaustion bc lord knows he didn't enjoy waking up after his little brother was gone is so perfect???#also the symbolism of chris' jacket being green bc it belonged to the real chris vs himself being red because he ISN'T is just #STUNNING i can't believe it #this was such an amazing surprise i can't thank you enough for taking the time to draw something for this lil au of mine ;-; <3 #wild kratts #martin kratt #chris kratt #kratt bros #green lament au #asks #faves

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husbandhoshi · 2 years

Text

just a moment with you

pairing: hoshi x gn!reader

wc: 3.8k

summary: after a series of disasters, you find yourself on a long-winded detour from your senior trip with kwon soonyoung, local life of the party and the boy you may have just a little tiny crush on.

or the one where you fall in love with the boy you've fallen in love with every friday night.

notes: college!au, fluff, humor, friends to lovers, lots of alcohol mentions and romcom cliches

originally written for mads's @neonun-au birthday, and thank you to madison (@heartkyeom), vampy (@vampyrescript) , and eva (@bfwonu) for helping with edits!

It wasn't supposed to go like this.

You'd like to say you awoke to the smell of sandalwood, maybe room service or a foot massage.

Instead, you're roused by a hand cramp and the dull smack of your head against the window of Soonyoung's sedan as he speeds over what may be the deepest pothole you've seen in your entire adult life.

"Shit..." You blink, bleary-eyed, at the clock (4:39 PM, a full hour after you were supposed to get to the hotel), and then at Soonyoung, who's humming along to your music and driving with one hand as if absolutely nothing is wrong.

You've noticed he hasn't stolen the aux cord from you even though you were supposed to switch off ages ago. It's one of the many small graces you've noticed from him today—you almost forgive him for letting you sleep through the entirety of the playlist you curated specifically for this trip. He lifted your bag into the back of his car (fair, because it was embarrassingly heavy), bought you Starbucks (he probably needed the stars or something), and didn't lose his patience when you asked him the nth question about ballet (you have no explanation for this one. If you were him, you definitely would have lost it the fifth time you had to explain what a jeté was.).

Yet again, you feel like something more than just a casual friend in the leftovers car on your senior trip.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty," he chirps. "Sleep well?"

You gaze out the window, watching the ribbon of green trees unfurl over the sprawling asphalt road. Once you get past Soonyoung's obvious speeding, it's nice, perfect even.

Until you remember you're on a trip to the beach. Not the middle of the forest.

"Soonyoung?"

"Yeah?"

"Where exactly are we?"

Without thinking, Soonyoung replies blithely, "I don't know. When you were asleep, Jeonghan called me and told me to detour and make a pit stop somewhere down this highway." A near comedic pause. "Also my phone's dead."

Then the music stops, signaling the death of your phone and the last tether you have to civilization.

You remember you're in Soonyoung's shitty 1990-something car with manual window cranks instead of phone chargers. And so it's just you, Soonyoung, and the road until you find some hillbilly death town to get gas at and figure out how to contact the rest of your friends, who are likely already sunbathing on the beach.

"So we're lost."

Soonyoung laughs, and it's almost enough to ease the wave of anxiety currently climbing your bones.

"Fuck. Oh my god," you groan. "We're in a horror movie, aren't we?"

"Ok, maybe, but we would totally survive a horror movie. Right? Come on. You're smiling."

"We are literally gonna be the first people to die. Like in the first thirty minutes."

For a moment you catch yourself tracing Soonyoung's grinning silhouette against the glow of the window, almost in admiration.

"What? You can't see me heroically rescuing you? I could absolutely take a zombie down. Seriously. We'd definitely make the hour mark."

"Not when you can't even keep our phones charged," you lament. "Or take the right exit. There, there, god, please check your blind spot!"

The town that you drive into is ripped straight from a postcard, thankfully, and not from the cover of a slasher movie.

It's almost incredible how, instead of drinking out of a coconut and watching Seokmin trip over his feet in an unnecessarily competitive game of beach volleyball, you're looking for parking spots on a street where it looks like cars haven't been invented yet.

But you don't really mind. In fact, as Soonyoung almost swerves off the road to point at a cute dog tied to a lamppost, you find this whole debacle a little endearing.

"Maybe we can park in front of this café and charge our phones there?"

"Yes, ma'am," Soonyoung replies, and that's how you find yourself seated in the cutest little booth, at a table so small, your knees are almost touching his.

In true disaster movie fashion, his phone charger is too frayed to be of any use, and so he peruses one of the sticky plastic-cover menus while you watch the slow creep of your phone battery to a serviceable percent.

"You like blueberry?" he asks.

"Sure."

You notice he's a foot tapper—always moving to some imaginary beat, never able to stay still. It'd normally bug you a little, but instead you're wondering what song he's dancing to. Almost as if reading your mind, he promptly sits on his hands and apologizes—"Sorry, 'm shaking the table," he laughs. "Bad habit."

"No, it's ok." You see an unreadable expression cross his face. But it's not a bad one—instead, it makes you curious. "I like trying to figure out what song you're thinking of."

"One of the songs from your playlist. I like your taste in music."

It flatters you more than it should, and to break the post-compliment tension you've invented in your own mind, you decide to call Jeonghan and set things straight while Soonyoung orders—blueberry pancakes and two coffees, please.

"Jeonghan, what the fuck," is the first thing you say to him, and Soonyoung laughs from across the table.

"Where are you guys?" is his languid reply, and, just as you predicted, you hear the telltale wail of Mingyu's voice complaining that Seungcheol was hogging all the shade. "Still driving?"

"What do you mean? Soonyoung told me that you told us to pull off at a rest stop."

"Hm?" He pulls the receiver away to holler at someone in the background (You can at least try to keep the ball in bounds, and someone, Seungkwan, maybe, yells something back). "Sorry, bad timing. I gotta go."

"What? Where? What the hell is going on?"

"You must have gotten lost." You can almost perfectly picture his nonchalant shrug, the dumb bucket hat he's got askew on his head. "Guess we shouldn't have put the two most directionally challenged people in the same car. Just stay the night wherever you are—we're not finishing all the alc today. Just most of it."

"Jeonghan—" And the receiver goes dead. "Jeonghan!"

It's over the welcome plate of pancakes Soonyoung ordered where you're able to fully contemplate your situation.

Of course it's the one time you're alone and sober with him where everything seems to go wrong.

You met Soonyoung at one of Jeonghan's parties. He was drinking from a wine bag, right from the spout, and it was then and there you knew you just had to be friends with him.

And it did happen—somehow, among college socialite Jeonghan's seemingly endless friend circles, you and the dance major fell into a steady rhythm of seeing each other on the weekends and vastly enjoying each other's presence.

Ever since, he was that friend for you. Your steadfast beer pong partner, the guy who texted you almost exclusively nonsensical memes and requests for philosophy notes (never without the pleading eyes emoji), and someone who was always down to split a milkshake with you at the midnight diner when the rest of your friends wanted real food (Isn't ice cream somewhere on the food pyramid? Soonyoung had always joked, to which Jihoon pointed out that Soonyoung ate like the pyramid was a circle labeled "junk". Says the guy who pisses straight Diet Coke, Soonyoung had replied, pouting, and it never failed to make you laugh.).

You had a comfortable friendship, one that was never less, never more, although you'd be lying if you said you never wished it was otherwise.

Now, looking at him, doused in the afternoon light and quietly listening to you ramble about your film minor, you never would have matched up this Soonyoung to the Soonyoung who did push-ups for an hour to attempt doing a keg stand by himself.

You push back the memory aching in your mind, that one night you walked him home after one too many margaritas.

"Shouldn't it be the other way around?" you had joked, and he turned to you, fully serious, and said you looked really pretty tonight. You remember the way his lips formed around the words, like it was the only thing he really knew in that moment.

And for once you felt relieved that he likely wouldn't remember a thing from that night, because you felt all the blood in your body, every single cell, rush to your head.

Maybe we both got a little too drunk, you had told yourself, but there was no way you could forget the way he had looked at you, and worse, that traitorous little flutter in the hollow of your chest.

He's saved you the last pancake.

"Whatcha thinking about?" he asks, more softly than you expect. "I know you're probably worried—" (Spoiler alert. You are.) "But...we're here now. Might as well have fun."

"I guess I can tolerate you for another 24 hours." You playfully roll your eyes, but not before catching the way he smiles at you. Yeah, he might smile at everyone like that, but this one, carved by maple syrup and sunlight, feels special.

"It'll be fun! Promise."

You make him pinky promise, even though you already believe him. You notice his hands are soft; you make him swear again just to hold them again, one more time.

As expected from a series of increasingly more unfortunate events, Soonyoung has dragged you into a souvenir shop for some tacky memorabilia to remember your trip by.

"Should we get them a postcard? We can write fuck you on the back," he says, scrunching his face up at the spinning rack of watercolor prints.

"Brilliant."

You join him by the display, and he promptly shows you the seven different postcards he was considering.

Too bright, too Hallmark, too Thomas Kincaid, you tell him as he shuffles through his stack,and even though he doesn't know who the fuck you're talking about, he takes your opinion like it's gospel and narrows it down to a painting of the sun over the lake, a big fat orange hovering above the little town you've found yourself in.

"If we're here, we might as well see the sunset. I think I saw a picnic area by the water," you say, watching him traipse over to a shelf of tourist trap hats. He tries one on, and you can't find it within yourself to tell him that, as cute as he is posing for you, it's not worth thirty dollars.

"Let's do it. I can show off my new hat."

Soonyoung grins at you, and it's like meeting him in reverse.

For some godforsaken reason, he knows what you look like mid-breakdown over a boy, and you know what his favorite hangover cure is (jasmine tea and a bowl of plain rice). And yet, you're both still figuring out the little things. When he pays for his goofy hat and the postcard, you catch that he has a little birthmark on his wrist.

"I still can't believe you cried watching Cars," you tell Soonyoung as you exit the gift shop.

"No amount of higher education could make me deny Mater's impact," he replies, hand over his heart, and you can't do anything but laugh. "Please tell me you'll write your thesis on him."

"Maybe if you look a little more pathetic, I'll think about it."

He doesn't hesitate to give you his best puppy eyes, and you actually feel your heart lurch a little.

"Hm. I'm listening."

And so you let Soonyoung lay out his master plan for your unwritten dissertation on Mater and Lightning McQueen's brotherhood, and it doesn't bypass you that he was actually listening to you talk about all that complicated movie lingo earlier.

He's a good listener even when he's not drunk. Actually, he's a better one sober, and it makes you feel kinda funny.

When he looks at you, stars in his eyes, you see the same Soonyoung that you've spent all those midnights with, except he still acts like he's known you for years you haven't had together.

You find yourself wishing that you knew him on nights other than Friday ones, that you knew his ups and downs, that you knew him as not just a drinking game partner, or a seatmate or another one of Jeonghan's friends or the guy you subject to mimosa therapy on bottomless Sundays.

You find yourself wishing you knew all of Soonyoung, and it's the moment you settle on that thought that you know you're doomed.

"So that's first position."

"Yup."

You watch Soonyoung's lithe fingers dance across the canvas of the tote bag you've laid out across both your laps, as you sit side by side on a bench by the lakeside. The air is warm and muggy with summertime, and there's no one out but the two of you.

"Arabesque into pas de ciseaux." A dash to stage right (the corner where your leg and the tote bag meet), and he pirouettes onto the bare skin of your thigh. His touch is featherlight, but it gives you goosebumps, something you desperately try to swallow down as his hand spins back for a final jump and bow.

"That's the jeté," you manage to say, and you can swear he's never looked happier to hear something.

"Yeah, you got it," he says, slow and soft. "See, you could do ballet too."

"Nowhere as good as you, not even close. I don't know if you saw me, but I've been to your shows before. You're incredible."

"No, I remember. I always look for you in the audience," he replies. "Because of that one time you asked me about my show, during that Chi Omega party." He lowers his eyes to his hands, now fidgeting in his lap. "You were the only one who did."

"I can't imagine not wanting to see your performances," is the only thing you can think to say (you're too busy fighting the butterflies in your stomach), but it seems okay, because Soonyoung leans on your shoulder. That mop of blonde hair smells like oranges and the sun, and you lean right back into him.

Some unexplainable feeling threatens to claw its way out of your chest.

It's familiar, intimate, too intimate. Yeah, maybe he wiped your tears with an McDonalds napkin when you cried in the drive-thru the day after you broke up with Minghao, but this is different. It didn't feel like a facehugger from Alien was going to fuck your shit up, not even close. (Although, Soonyoung's shitty jokes and the piss-poor absorbency of the napkin were more reasons to laugh than to catch feelings.)

"I like that about you," Soonyoung says. "You care."

"What do you mean? Of course I care."

"I don't know." He slips into that mumble talk again. "Sometimes it seems like all I am to people is the life of the party, that's all. Just the guy who's really good at beer pong. You're different." A pause. "Although, you've gotta admit, I have saved your ass more times I can count."

"Ok, fair. Never said I was the better half of our team." And when you manage to make him laugh, you add, "And I like that about you too. I don't think anyone else in the world would have let me go on that long about 70 millimeter film."

He laughs again, a pretty one that blossoms from his chest and shakes the two of you, bodies still connected.

The sound lingers in the air, and you let the dusk and the crickets and the smell of his cologne wash over you. You like how your knees are touching, how he rests on your shoulder like it's the most natural thing he's ever done—it's different than the Soonyoung that clings to you, crying about the power of friendship, because he can't walk straight after two beers, but you like it. You're coming to realize that they're two halves of the same picture, the same Soonyoung with a heart he wears on his sleeve.

It feels like an eternity before he breaks the silence. He sits up straight, and your stomach folds into itself a little.

"Do you remember that kickback we went to? Right after my Swan Lake performance?" Soonyoung's voice is low, casual, like he's sharing a secret between you and the universe. "We played truth or dare and you said you wouldn't mind kissing me?"

"Thought you were too drunk to remember. Everyone else was," you laugh, suddenly feeling too shy to meet the gaze you know is falling on you. You're falling, falling, careening down a mile-long cliff, with no intention to stop—somehow it's that part that scares you the most.

The memory's another one of those in-betweens, forgotten glimpses of a boy you felt only you knew. The sweaty, euphoric, post-practice Soonyoung you bumped into when your political theory class ran late, the whispered jokes in between tequila shots, the stumbling, drunken conversations about the universe and everything in it on the long walks home.

The fact that all of these little precious seconds also lived in Soonyoung's mind, that they're as real to him as they are to you, makes your heart feel raw, seen.

"How could I forget something like that?" is his simple response. The gravity of the moment settles into your bones; you're breathless, giddy. "I'm asking because—," he pauses, taking your expression into his eyes, writing you into memory. The sudden intimacy of it all makes you want to cry. "Because I want to kiss you. Will you let me?"

The words hang in between you, just one more secret between you and the universe.

Maybe it's hopeless, maybe it's just another one of those passing moments, but you don't think you would ever forgive yourself if you let it go by. And so you close the distance between the two of you, feel those heart shaped lips on yours.

At first he's so gentle, as if he's buffering a little. And then he clicks into motion, heart possessing his body, and kisses you back like it's a fairytale.

"You make me so shy," he murmurs. You're so close, you think he can feel your heart beating out of your chest. "I almost chickened out of it."

He punctuates his sentence with another kiss, which you gladly lean into. This one is more giggly, impulsive (Sorry, I couldn't help it, he says against your lips, and you're so happy you could die right here, right in front of the lake in the middle of nowhere, in the arms of the stupidest, hottest ballerino you know).

"Shy? Me?"

"Yeah. You're cool, and you're smart and funny—" You watch him stumble over the words as you meet his eyes, which is so cute, it physically pains you. "And you're good at karaoke, which is really fucking hot."

"Oh, so that's what got you, huh?"

You remember the night he was talking about, the one right after you were positively sure you flunked your stats final, where you rolled into Jeonghan's frat house two hours late looking no better than a wet rat. You grabbed the mic and lost your goddamn mind, which in no way was attractive or sexy, but you guess Soonyoung's of a different breed.

"What can I say, I'm a simple man," he replies, nose pressed to yours.

You're soaking into the moment, the hazy warmth of the lakeside and the way your heart seems to leap right into Soonyoung's lap every time his eyelashes skirt over your cheek. And then you remember everything else, like the fact that this is not some Lifetime movie and that you still have to find a place to stay and a way to get to the beach tomorrow.

"We need to get a room."

"Already?" Soonyoung almost jumps out of his skin. "I, uh—"

"Not for that, idiot," you scoff affectionately. "We're stuck here for a night, remember? Before we get to, you know, the trip we're supposed to be on?"

"Ohh, fuck." He looks at you with those big, vacant eyes, and you know he's totally lost the plot. "How the fuck are we gonna tell everyone we're, like, a thing now? We're a thing now, right?"

"I hope so," you laugh, reveling in the relief that floods through Soonyoung's features. "As for telling everyone, I’m starting to think they set us up, actually. It all kinda makes sense now."

You're not exactly anticipating Jeonghan's shit-eating grin when you tell him it actually worked, but you know this whole plot was him looking out for you in his own special way. (You're not keen on finding out just how obvious your crush was to everyone except the two of you, though).

Although, it does kind of feel like a Lifetime movie—when you walk to the local motel, your hands brush against each other with all of the pent-up tension of a first love, until you finally just grab his hand and feel it melt into yours.

"I've always wondered what this would feel like," he says, thumb brushing over the back of your hand.

"What, holding hands? That's supposed to come before the first kiss, you know."

"I mean we can kiss again. And just forget about the first one if you want to do it in order."

Who are you to deny him, you think, and gladly, gladly indulge him.

"Were you in on this whole thing?" you ask when you're finally able to pull him off you.

"No, but I get why, 'cos I can't really keep a secret," he replies, sheepish grin on his face. "Oh, wait, so you're saying Jeonghan got us lost on purpose. Ohhh."

His eyes get all big and shiny, and you know you're down bad when you find the fact that he just got it more than a little cute.

If he weren't so convincing, though, you would have thought this was a group effort, because when you open the door to the only vacant room in the entire motel, there is exactly one tiny little bed.

"You've gotta be kidding me," you laugh, but the second you see Soonyoung drop all the bags to immediately begin building a pillow barrier, you fall for him all over again.

And as if on cue, your phone dings with a text from Jeonghan.

You owe me a drink, it reads. Classic.

#emerging from my dungeon w a nice fun fluff piece :)#everyone say happy (belated) bday mads!#mine #hosh #hoshi #hoshi fluff #seventeen #hoshi x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen x reader #hoshi scenarios #hoshi imagines #soonyoung #soonyoung imagines #soonyoung x reader #soonyoung fluff #lily destroys the tags <3

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brooklynislandgirl · 1 year

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@kylo-wrecked {{I couldn’t get submit to work...sorry.}}

Prompt: [ 2 ], reversed: — SENDER, young and alone, is going to be spending the holidays on their own. RECEIVER, unwilling to let that happen, continually invites SENDER to join them, including them in their activities. bonding together, RECEIVER becomes the found family SENDER didn’t have.

Some worlds rejoice in winter, holidays to ward off the dark and the cold and use what stores were saved up during the harvest. Coruscant and most of the Inner Core did not, but in certain places of the mid-rim, and almost all of the outer rim, community feasts and the like could mean the difference between life and death. When the Force pulled her from her self-imposed exile, she did not expect to be raising children or training apprentices. Her disdain for both had been widely known back when she herself had been a padawan. Things change though. Anakin is now only her comfort through the Force, and the Empire too has passed away. The Little One had been reluctant to give her the one thing she’d come to claim, but she’d left peaceful and appeased. The boy appeared sullen, quiet the entire way. Towers over her all awkward and gangly limbs, a face he’d yet to grow into… but those eyes. Dark as they were, she knew them as she knew her own soul. She could easily see his grandfather peering out through them, and there is still a trace of wonder in them. Something she wishes to stoke to life. The morning of the solstice dawns late, slivers of three of the four moons visible near the horizon. It is the shortest day of the year, and one of the coldest she’s known. She engages the heat via the master console, and brings up the lights. She waits for him in the lodge’s dining area for him to make his appearance. When he finally does, she flutters a delicate hand toward a steaming warm mug, a plate of sliced fried bread drizzled with honey and berries. “I should like you to eat, then return to your room. The most formal of the clothes in your closet, the polished boots. We are taking a trip. I have a surprise for you.” For the first time since she’d laid eyes on him perhaps, Melakeni Ivers’ mouth twitches into a smile, showing the points of her teeth, and there is a hint of actual warmth and pleasure in her timeless visage. “I do not assume your former Master allowed winter celebrations?”

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talkingparrotkee · 1 year

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Re: Namor x Shuri working from a storytelling standpoint

I stumbled on a post trying to give an analysis of how Namor and Shuri "don't work" from a storytelling standpoint. After reading several of the objectionable points made and realizing I've seen them all before, I felt like trying my own hand to exemplify why these kinds of criticisms against "Nashuri" don't actually work. I didn't directly reblog to avoid being convoluted or dogpiling, but I'll be responding to specific points throughout.

Direct quotes are in orange

Linked sources and further information are in green

Warning: This article has many layers, musings, and points. After all, it's essentially a master collection of material. If you just want to jump to a certain point, you can. There are subtitles for every point.

The Oxymoron of Improbable and "Non-Sensical" Story Writing

In the context of specifically Wakanda Forever's story and nothing else, yes: as of now, Namor and Shuri being a romantic couple does not make "sense."

However, there is no such thing as a ship that doesn't make sense from a story-writing perspective.

With your pen, reality can be shaped according to your whim, or elements can be bent to fit the mold of a given reality. Story-writing-wise, anything can happen, and anything can work with the proper execution. A good writer knows how to suspend the reader's disbelief and make the seemingly improbable, seem probable.

Namor and Shuri already have the ingredients for chemistry and compatibility as characters, which are the two essential requirements in relationships. The media they're in gives you the room to potentially address their circumstance, like reviving Ramonda (coming back to life is no foreign concept to Marvel) or building off of the concepts already there (e.g., the Ancestral Plane or "dead not meaning gone"). There are also AUs.

Saying otherwise is simply putting a cap on your creativity and demonstrates a sheer lack of imagination.

Why Do People Ship Namor And Shuri?

To answer this question, Namor and Shuri:

Have undeniably strong chemistry. That was the first thing that had people question what their relationship would be. You don't have to register this as inherently romantic, but they have chemistry nevertheless.

Deeply connected with and paralleled-equaled one another. Shuri opened up to only Namor about her true grief. With Ramonda, Shuri closed herself off. When her mask cracked, she lamented that if she sat and merely thought of T'Challa, she'd burn the world and everyone in it. The ancestral plane, tethered to her subconscious and emotional state, lit up on fire the moment N'Jadaka mentioned T'Challa. Yet... Shuri felt that she could be emotionally vulnerable to Namor, seeking solace and answers within him. She could not only think of but also talk about T'Challa with Namor. This is after Namor was, in exchange, completely vulnerable and honest to her, showing her his scars and his cherished nation. Both characters did things they wouldn't do with anyone else. They felt seen and heard by the other. That is a beautiful testament to the bond they were forging before uh, yeah.

Shuri was healing in Talokan. It is directly said in the script Shuri was better than she was before she left, but the movie let it be a "show, don't tell." We already established she was finally unveiling her grief to Namor, but Talokan was also an escape for her. Her behavior and attitude were a sheer contrast to how she was earlier in the movie. Shuri was shown beaming, marveling at, and practically glowing as Namor showed her his world. Approximately, she genuinely smiled 11 times in under 3 minutes. She forgot her worries. The tension rolled off of her and let herself go "with the breeze". Her admiration and sense of wonder made him smile too. She was taken care of, a shame that her reason of stay wasn't preferable.

Shared several purposefully intimate moments.

Look hot and are hot together. Argue with a wall.

Can be the strongest, most unstoppable MCU power couple to date.

Create a rich, ethnic, and main poc ship and representation between a black African woman and a brown-skinned indigenous man. That's not common at all, and the thought of their cultures being connected, becoming one through their union is hair-twirling inducing. The idea of them creating a new era filled to the brim with their respective cultures and identities together, with them learning from one another, is very interesting.

They have many, many classic romantic-fantastical tropes poured into the batter that is their dynamic. You may have heard the comparisons to Beauty and The Beast (say thank you, Riri!), Aladdin ("I Can Show You The World"), Peter Pan and Wendy (Namor is deemed of a "Peter Pan" archetype. "Peter Pan" lost his Wendy, who is Shuri in this case. See Inframundo.) and Hades-Persephone.

The only reason why they're on opposite ends is due to outer forces and unfavorable circumstances at work. There's something interesting about their nuanced tragedy. There's a fun intrigue to find a way to "fix" what seems broken beyond repair, through understanding, love, character development, and healing.

Have a romantic anthem: Con La Brisa is a tender love song specifically created based on the underwater scene between Namor and Shuri. Foudequesh revealed that the meaning of the song was showing someone the sun for the first time.

Additionally, Namor and Shuri having romantic chemistry is not baseless. It was initially toyed with. Though they decided to characterize their relationship a bit differently and focus on grief-shared trauma, elements were still left in to give their relationship complexity. The way they relate and the things they did gave romantic undertones you can't just pluck out. Micheal P. Shawver, a colleague of Ryan Coogler and an editor of Wakanda Forever, said this much when asked about the possibility of Namor and Shuri having romance in their cards.

Note how Ryan Coogler, a writer and director of both Black Panther, even apparently thinks that Namor and Shuri are not unsuited for one another even then.

You can also view the original script where Namor is described as "charmed" and "smitten" with Shuri. It's only natural people pick up the pieces purposefully left behind.

Clarification Notes

Before we jump into this, there are things you need to know.

Note 1: None of this is bashing or permission to bash Ramonda, Riri, Shuri, or Nakia. They were justified and operating under grief and dramatic irony if you look at it from every perspective. Currently, this is just clearing up Namor and Talokan's perspectives because that is what's being targetted and unceremoniously characterized, but everyone has a case for them.

Note 2: This doesn't mean you need to ship Shuri and Namor. It's explaining why some do and clearing up misconceptions about their dynamic as well as individual characters. Your takeaway should be this and valueable information on Black Panther, not a decree of what you should or shouldn't ship.

Positive and Negative Chemistry

"Positive" and "negative" chemistry is confusing terminology at best and doesn't exist at worse. It's either you have or lack chemistry. There are also two different kinds of chemistry: platonic and romantic.

When describing how characters wouldn't be compatible in a given relationship, you may be looking for the term, "compatibility".

Chemistry: magnetism, attraction, and natural connection. Compatibility: a more "logical" component: your degree of harmony and cohesiveness.

You can have chemistry without compatibility, and compatibility without chemistry. Healthy and long-lasting relationships have both.

Namor's view of Shuri

Namor does not view Shuri as an equal, despite their similarities.

Pause. Namor does view Shuri as an equal. Shuri is arguably the person he respects the most.

The idea That Namor-Talokan does not relate, respect, connect with, or even view Shuri-Wakanda as human directly goes against the meta-pillar theme of Wakanda Forever.

You said it yourself:

"these are fictional characters (who represent real-world dynamics)"

“We talked to so many experts and really made relationships with them, because there was a lot to go through,” says Beachler. “There are a lot of parallels between Africans and Latin Americans as far as the colonization of their communities and cities, the enslavement of their people, the lies that were told about their culture, the misinterpretation of their words, and the ways they were made out to look demonized in order to elevate a European country.”

Besides honoring Chadwick Boseman, motherhood, and the dead not being gone, grief, trauma, the effects of colonialism, and the connectivity between African-Mesoamerican indigenous culture are central points of the film. Namor and Shuri and by extension Talokan and Wakanda are explicitly supposed to relate and be equal to one another for this reason. You are supposed to struggle with choosing a side, and Namor is a complex antagonist or even anti-hero rather than an actual villain (An antagonist just opposes or challenges the protagonist in the context of the story, they're not inherently good or evil. Villians are inherently evil and with malice.) Their fight is supposed to feel wrong, intimate, and emotionally charged, unlike most generic action hero fights. They are natural allies, and therefore unnatural enemies.

Namor bent in ways he wouldn't have with anyone else.

This is why it's an in-fandom joke that he was whipped or smitten. What he says on his throne when waging "war", was "Máansa'ab u nej miis tin wich." Josué Maychi confirms that this means, "They passed the cat's tail in front of my face with the hope of an alliance."

"If you see cats, jaguars or panthers when they go hunting they wag their tails because it is a way of hypnotizing the prey, then that image is what happened to Namor, that someone did like that with the tail."

Namor virtually said he was hypnotized, but the Spanish and English translations didn't quite convey that cat-involved metaphor (although keeping the crux of his lament.).

Namor could have killed Riri the moment she touched Talokan grounds, but he showed temporary "mercy" because of Shuri and Shuri alone. He didn't need Shuri's permission nor did he have to communicate with Shuri. Riri was in his domain, Shuri did not really have much power there, yet he treated her as if she did.

"It goes back to the point of him never seeing Shuri as human or recognizing her feelings as valid."

Two of Namor's quotes in the movie alone prove this wrong:

"I know you wanted me to spare the life of the scientist (recognizing and acknowledging what she wants), but now you see what I have to protect."

"So you can understand why I need to kill the scientist."

He didn't need to seek her approval or give her the ability to negotiate with him, yet he did and on top of that dressed her in the finest silks fit for royalty, consistently trying to convince Shuri like her opinion mattered, and that he wanted her on his side. It wasn't that he didn't "recognize her feelings as valid," he just felt that, based on how many of their lives are at stake, he couldn't risk it (Movie quote: "I cannot risk that, princess...").

He was absolutely gobsmacked when she said, "Take me instead." He wouldn't speak then, uncharacteristically breaking eye contact. When he could finally speak, he couldn't answer her directly, his voice awkwardly raised an interval and suddenly, unnecessarily, speaking with his hands.

Shuri wanted to see Talokan, and Namor, the pessimistic isolationist who never let a surfacer step foot in Talokan, immediately caved into her desire. There was no reason for him to do that and it demonstrates an immense level of trust. He also, quite literally, showed her the keys to his kingdom. He waited until she was beside him, looked to see if she was watching him, and then did his hand sign in the rock to open the "doors" to Talokan.

As writer Joe Cole said in The Movie Report panel interview, Shuri demands him to make the right choice that was yielding, and he does yield to her, which wasn't something he'd ever consider in his hundreds of years of being alive.

Namor gives his beloved mother's bracelet to Shuri

Fen was Namor's beloved mother. Her memory is something he held dear to him. The bracelet he gave not only was the last piece of her left with him, but it directly signified his birthright as king, was a priceless national object, and was made with their sacred plant's fibers.

He gives it to Shuri twice. One immediately to hold when he sees she's attracted to it, two he ties on her (after receiving her non-verbal permission, another sign of respect) for her keeping as a "gift of gratitude."

Namor saw his mother in Shuri

Namor saw his mother in her highest state, induced by Shuri. She was unchanged, young, and in their homes, outstretching a hand to him as Shuri metaphorically did.

Namor paints the mural of their fight

in his personal hut no less, where he preserves their history and culture. He paints them entangled in a battle with neither side besting the other. She is the Jaguar-Black Panther, a revered, highly respected animal in Maya culture with connections to godhood, and he is a mere human, humbling himself in a sense. That speaks volumes, and it's furthered when he tells Namora that Shuri had every single reason to kill him. He also speaks very highly of her, stating she's the strongest person on the surface, of the strongest nation.

None of this makes sense AT ALL if he supposedly did not view Shuri as a respected equal, let alone "human." If he somehow doesn't see her as a "human", then he sees her as higher than.

Talokan's "Violence" to Wakanda's "Pacifism"

"Namor and the Talokanil, immediately resort to violence and war when they feel a threat from the surface world. But since no one knows they exist, this threat is hypothetical for now."

This is not true. Talokan has constantly been evasive with relocating being their immediate resort. In the film, Namor says, "Talokan will not move, again" for a reason. They didn't "feel" a threat, there was a threat. People found the Vibranium within their domain and were drilling to seize it. War was a later development after Shuri took killing Riri off the table, which is what Namor initially wanted to do (in the script, this is furthered, with him saying he'd prefer picking off one person to outright war.).

"A direct contrast to Ramonda and Shuri, who in the face of real eminent threats, resorted to peace and showed their aggressors mercy."

Ignoring the insinuation that Namor was not faced with real eminent threats when he was, there is a reason for that contrast. Remember that while Wakanda was being threatened, they have never been conquered or forced to move. They're confirmed less vulnerable than Talokan, who does not have shields and lives in the ocean. They can afford to reveal themselves. Talokan cannot, and they're collateral damage to Wakanda's choice of revealing themselves and the power of Vibranium to the world.

The beginning village of Talokan has been conquered and mass murdered before the rebirth into the blue people we see now, with their ancestral lands plundered and made into slave houses. Namor almost died and was sick in the womb because the conquistadors brought smallpox. His father who he never met died due to their disease. He witnessed countless treacheries, betrayals, and wars from the surface lands. Namor spent his entire childhood watching his mother grieve due to them. As a result, Talokan has a more pessimistic perspective compared to Wakanda's privileged optimistic one.

So yeah, Talokan isn't going to play patty cake with their active aggressors who are trying to plunder them. Nor should they, because Namor is proven right with America actively seeking to destabilize Wakanda under the guise of retrieving Riri (see the meeting Ross has with government officials), and the ending with Val.

Wakanda wants to delay inevitable war and minimize the loss across the board but will go to war if pushed, which is fair. Talokan is tired and ready to give the smoke, striking fast and hard to merely end what threatens them once and for all after centuries of patience and displacement. That is also fair.

"Namor, despite wanting Wakanda’s help with his mission, ultimately doesn’t view Wakanda with anymore sympathy than he does the rest of the world. He has made it clear that he hates the surface world and everyone in it, which includes the Wakandans."

You're right, he doesn't sympathize with Wakanda. There's nothing to sympathize with. He empathizes with them, a stronger feeling and sense of connection than sympathy. He admires Wakanda and feels a sense of kinship, maybe a bit of jealousy (Joe Cole). To him, Wakanda was a threat if they weren't on his side. Why?

A) Wakanda (unintentionally) compromised them by revealing themselves to the world and the power of Vibranium. Now everyone else, armed with that dangerous knowledge, is looking for it to wield it. Wakanda can more or less protect their Vibranium, claiming ownership of it when it's on their lands, they have the power to, and they're the ones who revealed it. But what can Talokan do? They'd be forcefully revealed in some way and be subjected to attacks just because they dared to also have Vibranium.

B) Wakanda is compromising them again by harboring Riri, who is the one source capable of the machine the FBI is currently chasing down. There is no guarantee Riri would stay with them (Riri is not their citizen, and America can easily use her as a means to undercut Wakanda and force them to either give vibranium or fork Riri over, so she can build the machine, and they'll get vibranium anyway through Talokan) or wouldn't rebuild her machine. The solutions Namor could fathom were either taking Riri out of the equation for sure (a case of killing one person and saving everyone else) or taking out the threat of those who seek to exploit her.

C) Wakanda was already shaking hands with nations that wanted to destabilize and plunder them, and will want to do the same with Talokan.

D) Wakanda is the only nation that can rival them that now also knows of their existence. If they're not allies with that information, that's dangerous and makes Talokan vulnerable.

With all things considered and understandably from Namor's perspective, there's no "in-between" here. You can't be "neutral." You either are with them or facilitate your own and their destruction.

This doesn't mean he hates Wakanda or Shuri. It is nothing he wants, but something he perceives he has to do for his people, as their protector, father, god, and king. In the script, this is only further exemplified, by his, "I don’t want it to come to this. But I will not hesitate."

Namor Killing Ramonda

His line of "You are queen now" showed that he was never willing to conduct business with Ramonda likely because she was the only person on the surface world who bested him when she lured him out of Talokan(...). He was simply looking for an excuse to get her out of the picture."

At that point, Ramonda threatened to reveal Talokan. Ramonda purposefully played decoy with him and sent in a war dog to infiltrate their nation and retrieve not only their national threat but the princess who has all of their secrets without a sense of closure. The result of this act was the death of two of his "children". Did you just gloss over that fact, because Ramonda didn't just "lure" him away? He wasn't throwing a fit because he was bested. People literally died? He was cradling a dying child in his arms?

Namor was "willing" to conduct business with Ramonda, proven by the simple fact that he approached Ramonda and gave her the shell to contact him. Namor went out to answer Ramonda's call in the first place when he could've just ignored it when he had what he wanted and more in Talokan.

Namor saying "You're queen now" doesn't at all connect to him not seeing Shuri as an equal. That doesn't make any sense. If anything that undermines your point, because before Shuri is officially crowned, he immediately sees her as the sovereign leader, much like himself.

He says "you're queen now" because Shuri is likely the queen now. It's simple math: Shuri is the heir apparent. There's no royal before her now that is leading.

"It's also another reason why he killed Ramonda with no hesitation despite knowing what he knew about Shuri"

Again, Namor did what he did with no hesitation or care if Ramonda is collateral damage because in his eyes, Ramonda betrayed him, he was acting as a vehicle of vengeance for two souls, and he was defending Talokan. When she stepped in front of Riri glaring him down, that was his final nail in the coffin (no pun intended, please, no pun intended.). It was never personal to him nor did he look at it as him killing Shuri's mom. He was playing the role of a protector and king in conflict with another royal, but of course, it's inherently personal to Shuri because that royal happens to be her mother.

Ryan Coogler confirmed it was not personal for him in the Disney+ movie commentary, Tenoch Huerta says killing the queen was never in his initial plans, and Namor says this himself in the script, explaining he did what he did because the queen "betrayed" him with not only a guard, but a child dying as a result when Shuri was never in danger ("you were safe in my care").

Recklessness With Grief

No, Shuri did not have a better handle on how she externalizes her grief until the final of the movie.

"She recognizes that even though she is angry at T’Challa’s death, the rest of the world doesn’t deserve to feel the extent of her wrath."

That's not at all what she recognized at any point. "It will not be these clothes, I'll burn. It will be the world. And everyone in it."

"Even when Namor does kill her mother, she rightfully directs her anger at him."

At the expense of her people's safety and risk of eternal war. She tells M'Baku straight up that nothing else matters except what she wants, and she wants Namor dead. She threateningly pointed a finger, giving M'Baku no choice and leaving him with the command to help her in her endeavors, even if it meant sending them all to their watery graves.

Nakia: "If you go to war for vengeance, it will not fill the hole left from your loss. It will only grow larger, and it will consume you!"

Shuri: "It already has."

With every blow she landed and exchanged with Namor, we cut back to Wakanda receiving blows and being backed up into a corner.

Namor and Shuri were on collision courses where they were destroying themselves, each other, and their people by not handling their grief properly, being consumed by their vengeance, and committing destructive actions ignited by their pain.

Shuri just later had the strength to break that cycle by recognizing what he said to her back in Talokan ("broken leaders"), their connectivity, and shared traumas. She saved them both and quietened Namor's own flames in the process.

"Sure, she has some outbursts at Nakia and M’baku, but she never really alienates them."

Do not downplay the fact that Shuri is dangerous and was not healthily dealing with her grief, but instead was on a path of destruction. Ryan explicitly states that Namor shares this with Shuri: they're both trying to process and similarly struggle grappling with their grief.

Why else do you think Ramonda took Shuri outside to touch grass and do a ritual? Shuri was not ok. From the moment her beloved brother died, she was not ok. She was not magnanimous to the world. She was angry at it. She thought that there was no point in the Black Panther mantle or herb when T'Challa isn't there. As M'Baku even pointed out, she buried herself in her technology as a coping mechanism, which she ought to stop.

Shuri does alienate Nakia. Not only does she snap several times and harshly shove Nakia off of her after she took the herb, but it's also shown at the beginning of the movie she's ignoring all of her calls. In the script, she explicitly considers Nakia dead, immensely angry she missed T'Challa's funeral.

She doesn't listen to M'baku, but consistently tries to push him and his wisdom away during Ramonda's funeral. She even pushed away and tried closing herself off with Ramonda in the lab and river scene.

Namor's Desire

"All he wanted to do was push her to the extremes of grief so she would become reckless as she was."

Namor's true desire was safety for his people. He didn't want to move again or have to change who they are to survive. Namor later had a genuine desire for an alliance with Wakanda, a nation he canonically admires. Namor didn't want to "push her to the extremes of grief to become like him" because she already was like him. He just wanted to channel their shared feelings of reaping "destruction" to the common enemy.

“I think that a lot of the emotion that I was trying to put into it [Talokan] was this idea that Namor is not wanting to move his people again,” says Beachler. “So there is also, this sense of grieving, even there, of this idea of being encroached upon by humans, who are somewhat inconsiderate of them.”

"Instead you see a mutant emerging not out of genetics, but out of the crucible of oppression. Whereas mutants in the comics are born, in Wakanda Forever, they are made. And that history isn't the side story, it's the entire story. It explains Namor's rage, his desperation, and the path he takes which eventually leads to a collision with Wakanda."

It was never a case of Namor only loving and can love his people while hating everyone else, seeing them as inhuman. Namor was prioritizing what he loved the most above what he may also like, admire, or empathize with. He was fulfilling the role given to him he was forced to take from the moment he was born.

"I mean, “no love” is literally his name."

Let's slow down a bit and mayhaps rethink a little on using the meaning of his alias "Namor" as a point about him being loveless, no? That was a "name" given to him by a racist, slave-owning Conquistador priest who also called him, "son of satan" all the while he was burying his mother, the only and last immediate family he had. Namor took that alias to empower himself and take away the sting. He clearly does have love when all of his life he has been a selfless agent for his people. He thought a single or two lives were worth war over. Yes, he explicitly said it was to convey he had "no love" for the surface, but there is context to that.

"Wanting to destroy the whole world, funny enough, including other Mayan descendants who were enslaved or colonized"

When Namor burned down the Hacienda, slaves ran free. Only the Consquisdators were killed. The village elder relayed that they know of Namor's existence and were able to live with that knowledge. The only ones who died were the ones who sought him out with ill intent. The script also featured the factoid of Namor saving the elder and her husband from drowning on their wedding night, if that's worth anything. In the movie, he doesn't want to include Wakanda in the mix of the nations they're at war with either.

Clearly, he is discriminatory with who he'd kill. Who said he'd include Mayan descendants that were enslaved and colonized? The last time I checked, the only person who said anything about burning everyone was Shuri.

Namor: "It is no longer about the scientist. For centuries, the surface nations have conquered and enslaved people like us. Over resources. Since the day I buried my mother, I have prepared my people for the time they would come for us. And that machine? Is the sign that the time is now. I need to know if Wakanda is an ally, or an enemy. There is no in-between."

Shuri: "So you plan to wage war on the entire world, and want Wakanda to help you?"

Namor: [leans in and nods slightly]

Shuri: "That's madness!"

Namor: "There isn't a nation that wouldn't plunder Wakanda if given a chance. If we make an alliance, we can protect each other by striking them first. Then, when the threat of these nations have been eliminated, the scientist will be returned to Wakanda."

Namor wanting to remove the teeth from the lion's mouth and hitting first isn't the same thing as destroying everything and anything. Mind you, he is being chaotic, but he clearly has a concentrated target. Don't get it twisted.

Namor's Regret

It is suggested that Namor in particular felt regret and dislike for the situation in interviews, script, and in-film.

A) Namor is seen pensively on his throne, touching and cradling the shell phone as he awaits contact.

B) Namor's, "It could've been different."

C) Interestingly, Ryan and Joe Cole corroborated in The Movie Report panel interview, more regret was in every blow exchanged. Namor in particular did not want to exchange a fatal blow until he was pushed to impale Shuri on the rock in a desperate attempt to his life.

Equaling and Relating

Relating to someone is different from equalling someone. Out of all who were listed, whether it was Peter Parker, Riri Williams, or Namor, Namor is the only one out of those that is explicitly and purposefully depicted as equalling and relating to Shuri.

Namor And Shuri

The reasoning given for how Shuri works paired with Peter Parker or Riri Williams strongly applies to Shuri with Namor, so operating under the same logic, they largely work too.

"What makes both of these pairings work to a degree is the idea of them being equal in some regard(...) They clearly see each other as equal. They more or less agree on a common enemy and how to deal with said enemy, with morals and values that more or less align."

They do agree on a common enemy. That's literally half of the premise for Namor proposing an alliance where they protect one another. The problem just was how they go about handling things. Tragedy, trauma, and dramatic irony unfavorably played factors.

Otherwise, they're practically the same, and are now on the "same page". Their morals and values aren't far off either. Wakanda and Talokan are eerily similar, whether it be in having spying channels, an isolationistic approach, finding jurisdiction wherever they feel it (aka, if it regards and threatens them), only wanting to protect what they love, embracing-involving their culture-traditions, being environmentalists, and using defensive-offensive means if provoked by a perceived threat.

In visuals alone, they took great care to portray Shuri and Namor as Parallel Characters.

The "boy without love" and the "child who scoffs at tradition." They do have a few healthy differences (I'll save that for another article), but they are equal and deeply relate.

As said on The Movie Report panel interview, Shuri became the Panther god (the Black Panther is canonically Bast's avatar), while he is the god of his civilization. They're both royals and leaders of their own nations. Said nations are sister nations, both having the power of vibranium and the highest levels of advancement. They are both broken and with a shared trauma etched deep in their hearts. They both have a righteous, divine fire and an acute sense of avenging. They both were haunted by similar grief and pain that pushed them to seek solace in one another.

Namor is described as lonely and with loneliness by Ryan Coogler, and that's exactly how Shuri felt in the beginning as well (see her Interlude), and unfortunately, later in the movie after Ramonda "dies" (but in the end, it's revealed that Ramonda, like T'Challa, is not gone.). They brought innovative technology and a new era of living to their people. They share the same love languages: acts of service and gifts.

There was an entire montage near the end of the film showcasing this.

Riri Williams

Riri Williams relates to Shuri in a sense of being young black women whose intelligence and talents aren't always respected by their elders. They can also relate to their fathers being murdered (if they take a page out of comics for Riri, see Ironheart #9) or the loved ones that taught them what they know being ripped away from them. Maybe they also know about diffusion too as geeks, but it stops there.

Riri, like Peter, is a teenager (19 years old) new to college (the same college Okoye states is the equivalent of a Wakandan elementary school), trying to grapple with her emerging life and school. Shuri is a princess of the most powerful nation and head of Wakandan Technology. She completed the journey of school and became a college assistant at the age of 13. Wakanda Forever was Riri's debut and entry into the game. Wakanda Forever was Shuri, who is already a non-teenaged adult at this point, journeying through her womanhood and immense grief. Shuri is not new to the game, having been in countless wars and accumulated countless experiences Riri has yet to touch.

Throughout the film, Shuri acted as the voice Riri didn't have that Namor would hear, largely due to T'Challa's influence. At the end of the film, Riri invites Shuri to a basketball game. Shuri says no, prioritizing her duties and having a full plate compared to Riri's less uncomplicated, lighthearted one. This alone highlights their differences in placement and mental space.

Big sisters do not "equal" their younger siblings. They guide and protect, having some level of authority and experience over them.

And That's Perfectly By Design

Riri and Shuri are not equals and have noticeable divergences where one cannot ever relate to or feel what the other does. Shuri won't know how Riri feels the need to prove herself as a black woman in a society where black people, black women, are given the shorter end of the stick. Shuri doesn't know anything about how it is for African Americans and law enforcement. Riri won't know the privileges or how it feels like to carry the burdens Shuri does to the extent she does. Riri does not entirely relate to Shuri's grief either. Riri was a fish out of water who constantly wanted to go home despite the beauty and safety in Wakanda. They belong to two different worlds.

It is great that they have these differences because, in the words of Dominque Thorne, they can learn from each other. Their relationship in the film is contextualized as Shuri perceiving Riri as her reflection and then taking on a mentor role. Riri is, in Letitia's words, a reflection of T'Challa's choice. There are several parallels between Riri-Shuri and T'Challa-Shuri. It gives Shuri more of a personal incentive and investment in the outreach program her brother enacted. T'Challa had the connection, learning experience, and realization of the Lost Tribe and their struggles through N'Jadaka. Shuri now has that with Riri, but positively! Riri also can offer a breath of fresh air every now and again, fulfilling the chemistry she had (bubbly, plucky younger one) with T'Challa (the more composed, older, responsible one).

Whether you want to mold and configure this into a romantic dynamic, is up to you. The point is that yes they relate, yes they do have chemistry, but no, Riri and Shuri aren't equals.

Peter Parker

Hypothetically, Peter relates to Shuri in their intelligence (although I'd argue Shuri is smarter, Shuri's probably smarter than everyone), but that doesn't at all suggest they'd have the same interests. It doesn't work like that.

Peter (2001 baby) is younger than Shuri (1997-1998). He is just starting college. Shuri is around 22, 23 years old due to the snap. She was 19, 20 in Infinity War. Peter was 16. It's not a big age gap, but I wouldn't say they're peers. Age proximity doesn't indicate relatability either, especially if the maturity levels and experiences differ.

However, I will say, I think Peter and Shuri can relate to being orphans that do feel lonely (although Shuri lost and later gained family, Peter is left off completely alone), going through personal dark arcs, and suffering immense pain that changes the trajectory of their lives. They used to be more lighthearted, but now were forced to grow up and their perspectives darkened.

That's about it though. They aren't on the same wavelength or of the same caliber when it comes to their types of threats, challenges, and predicaments. Namor could entirely relate with her being another nation of vibranium of a culture the other nations seek to destabilize, destroy, or conquer, as well as someone with a similar depth and sense of grief. Riri could relate as a black woman living in America (lost tribe) who'd know a thing or two about persecution and was thrown into the mix between the Talokan-Wakanda conflict. Peter?

This isn't factoring in their standings either, with Shuri being an heir apparent and leader of the strongest nation on the surface with Peter being "your friendly (and now depressed) neighborhood Spiderman" that occasionally gets thrown outside his payroll.

Peter and Shuri can probably relate and it's easy to assume they'd have chemistry and may do a little chemistry together. But they do not equal either.

In Conclusion

Yes, ship and let ship. These are all great fictional characters with compelling dynamics. Shipping is largely for fun and often depends on the person's taste.

Looking at this from a perspective of a writer and storyteller, there's no such thing as it "not" working or "making sense" unless you have, excuse my language, shit and uninspiring writing.

#Parotkee's Musings #wakanda forever #princess shuri #shuri black panther #mcu namor #nashuri #namor shuri #shuri riri #shuri peter #seaprincess #black panther #Update tag: this isn't “fighting” or if Nashuri “should” be shipped #read properly next time before subtumblring lol #bpwf #namuri

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prettyiwa · 1 year

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DO NOT MENTION MY WORKS ON TIKTOK

(previous) Relationship: Drummer!Levi Ackerman x Bassist!F!Reader Rating: Explicit 18+ Content Tags: Band!AU, Modern!AU, POV Switch, Mentions of Cheating, Heat of Moment Love Confessions, Minor Self-Depreciation/Loathing, Mentions of Dumbification, Look guys! They're fucking in a bed for once!!, Oral (F! Receiving), Biting, Anal Fingering, Impact Play (Spanking), TOYS!! (Anal Plug & Clit Vibe), Overstimulation, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink (Levi calls reader a "slut"), Minor Orgasm Control, Getting Back Together Summary: You used to be his girl and he’d remind you of that fact every chance he got. Then came an offer too good to pass up, even with all the strings attached. Now you’re left without your band, without him. But hell, you can remedy that first part, right? And what’s a little not hate sex between exes? Word Count: 5,700

One Year After the Battle of the Bands

Unpacked boxes litter the floor surrounding your bed, creating a constant hum of anxiety in your bones, a constant hum of aching loneliness. The quiet melody of pattering raindrops against the windows keeps you in your current state of lethargy, constantly swaying between the lands of consciousness and not. You’re drifting along the river Cocytus, floating downstream to the deep lamentations of your soul. It would be preferable if it were the river Lethe, allowing you a momentary respite in the submergence into oblivion, erasing all of it from your mind.

The resonance of the rainfall sparks something within you, the desire to play, to jam, to create. It builds, mounts, intensifies until you’re motivated to kick yourself free from the discordant mess of blankets and pillows that pulls you under, keeps you complacent. Ignoring the boxes yet to be unpacked, you make your way to the corner of your new loft that serves as a make-shift home studio.

Closing your eyes, you listen to the pitter-patter, to the natural melody provided by this dreary autumn storm. Light shades of purple and blue dance behind your closed lids, helping you identify the note, helping identify the melody that your fingers will invariably bring to life. Music is so much more than an auditory experience for you—it colors your vision, flows from your body, affects your very existence.

It isn’t surprising when your fingers create a terrifyingly melancholy piece, filling the room with deep shades of purples and blues and greens, mirroring the light variations provided by the rainfall. All of this is so automatic, requires so little thought that you’re certain you were created for this very purpose because how else would you be able to play so effortlessly while your mind gets carried away back down the river Cocytus?

Your attention is yanked to the forefront by the sudden pounding at your door. Ceasing your ministrations immediately, you place the bass back on its hooks before walking back towards the front door. It’s second-nature to grab the baseball bat that stands next to your shitty little fridge before you look through the peephole ruined by shoddy repairs hidden by continuous layers of paint.

It’s impossible to make out the dark figure on the other side of the door, but they start knocking again—lighter as they must have heard you stop playing. Opening it hesitantly, bat in your hand just in case, you’re surprised—

“Why aren’t you answering your phone?!” Levi growls. Concern laced throughout his tone, as is agitation. He stands before you, actively dripping in the hallway.

“Shit, Levi, give me a moment,” you say, dropping the bat and running to your bathroom for a towel or two.

Placing one of your beach towels on the ground in front of the door, you usher him inside. Once the door is firmly shut and dead-bolted, you look at him again.

“Strip.”

“What? No. I’m not about to—”

“Not up for debate,” you tell him, unfolding the towel. He grumbles a bit, shooting you dirty-ass looks through the wet hair that sticks to his forehead as he kicks off his boots. His movements are weighed down by his wet clothes, making his usual fluidity sluggish and slightly uncoordinated. As soon as his jacket and top are off, you wrap the towel around his shoulders, not missing the way he leans into your touch.

“Gonna tell me why you’re here, handsome, or is it a mystery?”

“Why weren’t you answering your phone?”

You glance back towards the bed where you had last seen it. “I probably left it on silent,” you shrug. “Wait. How did you get this address?”

“If you answered your phone you would know that I stopped by your old apartment. Nanaba gave me your address,” he grumps as his pants and boxers fall to the floor and he wraps the towel around his hips.

“Go take a shower. I’ll find you something to wear,” you sigh. “We can talk about why you’re here when you come out.”

“Fine. Check your damn phone.”

“A ‘thank you’ also works.”

He pads off to your bathroom and you internally groan at the situation, making your way to the box with clothes you hadn't needed to unpack right away.

The boxes that could have easily been unpacked by now had you not been avoiding him, allowing Mike and Hange to fill up your schedule with studio time and rehearsals with their other clients. This is the first time in nearly seven weeks that you’ve had a day off, much less three consecutive days off.

You find one of his abandoned band tees and a pair of his old boxers that you definitely haven't been using as pajamas this past summer. Cracking open the bathroom door to place them on the counter, you let him rinse off in peace before searching for your phone. It's buried beneath your pillows and throw blanket and you start looking through the messages as you head to the kitchen to start tea.

Thirty-six missed texts from Amy, Levi, and Nan. Twelve missed calls from Amy and Nan. Man. You were hoping you could enjoy your time off. What the fuck?

The kettle whistles shortly before the bathroom door opens. Levi exits amidst a billowing cloud of steam, making his way over to you looking far less lethal. He watches quietly as you take out the mug that used to be his—your mug now—and hand it to him. Pulling out your tea box, he chooses an oolong blend that you've been meaning to try.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, like it’s something embarrassing.

“Always, Levi. Now. You wanna tell me what the fuck you were thinking?!” He shoots you an annoyed look, taking your phone from you to start a timer for the tea. “You can’t use your own phone?!”

“No. She broke it.”

“She—?! Who am I kidding. Of course she broke it,” you grumble as you place your forehead in your hand.

“As for what I was thinking,” he starts, placing his hands on either side of you, trapping you against the counter, “you’re my girl. I made a shitty choice and I got my shit together and am making another choice. A better choice.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks at his words, mouth suddenly dry. “Levi, I—why? Why did you come here? What do you want from me? Did you think that I’m going to be able to pretend like the last two years didn’t happen? Or that it didn’t fucking hurt? You left, Levi. You—”

“Then why did you let me in? Why do you keep letting me in?” he challenges, getting closer.

Why?

So many ways to answer that particular question.

It could be that you felt vindicated by the way his eyes couldn’t leave you, by the way his hands reached for you, by the way his lips caressed you.

It could be that it was a habit. You have a habit, a routine for six years, and it takes quite a while for you to break from it. It’s a compulsion, an association, an automatic reaction.

It could be that you hate yourself that fucking much and you wanted to make yourself miserable, true to the deep-rooted masochist that lives within. It could be that you wanted to make him miserable, true to the deep-rooted sadist that lives within.

You could come up with a million different excuses to avoid the truth, that he has ownership of your heart, of your mind, of your soul, and that it hurts to be without him.

“Because I’m a masochist and because I still love you and I can’t fucking turn you away. But that doesn’t mean you can just come here and claim me and act like everything is fine!”

He steps back, releasing you from the counter. “Why not?! You still own me!”

His words reverberate throughout your being, ringing between the two of you. But admissions of love don’t magically fix things. Admissions of love, no matter how passionate or ardent or resolute, don’t change that he left.

You shouldn’t blame him for it, but you do.

He grabs your hand and places it on his chest, just above his heart. Even through his shirt, you can feel the way it’s hammering, the indication of his truth, of his fear. “That’s still yours, dammit! I fucked up and I’m here to try to prove that I’m making a different choice!” It comes out fiery, aggressive, though you wonder if it’s because without that fire it would come out as a cry.

It hits you like a train—cataclysmic and calamitous. You feel the devastation of his leaving all over again, the absolute desolation left in the wake of his love. Your nails catch on his shirt as your hand curls into a fist, hot tears forming in your eyes. He takes your chin in his hand, bringing your lips to his, letting you melt against him.

It’s slow and sweet. It’s an attempt at an apology, an attempt at a confession. His lips are soft against yours, familiar, more than a drug, than the source of your favorite high, they feel like home. The hand that covered your own on his chest drops down, looping around the small of your back, pulling you closer.

And you want to be closer. And you don’t.

And you want to keep him here, beside you, with you. And you want to take him and throw him off of your fire escape.

And you love him. And you hate him.

But you don’t. Not really.

And when the two of you separate, when his eyes take in your face, when his thumb wipes away the tears that had fallen, he flips it.

“I’m yours.”

Not that you’re his girl, but that he’s yours.

And you kick yourself for giving in so easily, for the internal swoon that knocks away your resolve at putting up a fight, at demanding more because he fucking left you. Ultimately, you decide to give in, to stop fighting what feels like an inevitability. It’s too late to stop this, anyway. You’ve already fallen—hard and fast and far too long ago. The damage is already done. The least you can do now is attempt something more than fleeting moments, steamy touches, stolen kisses.

He sees it, the moment you come to that conclusion, the moment you reluctantly accept this eventuality. Your only indication is the imperceptible softening of his steel-blue eyes, the slight uptick of the corner of his mouth.

“You asked what I want. I want you. I plan on showing you that I mean it if you’ll stop being such a fucking brat about it.”

The timer goes off and he releases you, focusing on his tea.

“Nanaba said you moved out a month ago.”

“I did,” you reply, still trying to process everything that just happened.

“Then why haven’t you finished unpacking?”

“I’ve been busy with the studio and rehearsals.” He hands you your cup of tea, waiting patiently for you to take it. “So what are you going to do? Sticking together in a band with a split couple is—hnnng—ten different types of uncomfortable,” you recoil. “Not to mention that the album just dropped and you’re going to have so many obligations—interviews, shows, promo events.”

“I don’t know. I’ve talked to Gunther and Oluo about leaving and they’re on board with it, but I’d still need Amy’s vote before I could take it to Zeke with my statement of intent.”

The steam from your tea soothes you as you hold it in front of your mouth, contemplating what he can do. Without knowing the terms laid forth by his contract—and you aren’t even an entertainment lawyer—you can’t say what will or will not work. You know Zeke, and you know how petty he can be, but you can't discount his keen eye for business and PR.

“I could ask Erwin if it would be okay to meet with our legal team to go over the details of your contract. What do you intend to do about your phone?”

“Nothing. It was a piece of shit anyway.”

“You don’t think that, I don’t know,” you shrug acrimoniously, “the phone might have a monetary value beyond the personal value that you assigned it? And that you could use that to apply pressure to get Amy to agree to your separation?”

Not just that, but if it were to get out that Levi was pressing charges against Amy for the destruction of private property following a break up when the former wants to break his contract and leave while the latter refuses to allow him to do so… The PR would be horrible for Zeke. Possibly enough that you could apply pressure to get him to agree to a mutual termination.

Before Levi can respond, your phone starts vibrating on the counter. Given that Levi’s here and you texted Nan to thank her for reaching out, it’s most likely Amy. Your suspicions are confirmed as soon as you turn it over. Flashing the screen so Levi can see it, you accept the call.

“You fucking bitch!” she screeches before you can greet her.

“Thank you for calling 1-800-Fucking-Bitch, this is the Resident Fucking Bitch speaking. How may I assist you today?”

Levi gives you a slight snicker and a raised brow in response before heading towards your bed.

“I know he’s over there! Let me talk to him!!”

“I’m sorry. Here at the Fucking Bitch Hotline we service no less than five men at a time. I’m going to need you to be more specific in your query.”

“Fuck you! You know who I’m talking about, you whore!”

“Careful, now. Anyone who knows me knows I have a degradation kink,” you coo, watching as Levi examines the vibrator you currently have charging on your nightstand. He picks up your clit vibe and turns, giving you a questioning look. You shrug in response—it’s one of your newer toys, one he hasn’t seen before.

“Do you get off on being such a bitch? Or fucking other women’s boyfriends?!”

“Considering how many times your ex-boyfriend got me off, I’d say yes. Now, if you don’t have anything meaningful to request from the Resident Fucking Bitch, I’m going to have to let you go. On a serious note, don’t call again.”

She lets out a series of angry grunts and a half-shriek before hanging up. You set your phone down and finish your tea. Rinsing out the cup, you set it to dry before joining Levi near your bed.

“You didn’t have time to unpack the rest of your apartment, but you had plenty of time to unpack these?” he asks, gesturing to the vibrators on top of the nightstand and the now-open drawer of your other sex toys.

“Essentials, Levi. It’s all about the essentials.”

“Is that how you survived the last two months?” You shiver at the tone in his voice, the desire laced within. His eyes flicker to yours, pupils slightly dilated.

“It hasn’t been two months,” you excuse, licking your lips in anticipation. He notices the movement and takes no time reaching for you, pulling you to him by a surprisingly gentle grip around your throat.

“That doesn’t answer my question. Have you been a needy little slut?” A small whine escapes you and he kisses you, hard, tongue swiping along your bottom lip before diving in to swallow your moans, your whimpers, your breath. Pulling away, he brings his mouth level with your ear, breath tickling the sensitive skin. “Are you in need of a good fucking?”

“Y-yes,” you whimper before he releases his hold on you, pushing you until the back of your knees hit the mattress and you tumble back into the plush sea of blankets and pillows. He climbs on top of you, easily capturing your hands with his before pulling them above you and holding them in place with only one of his.

“Good. Cause I have every intention of fucking you until the only thought in that pretty little head of yours is my name.” He relishes in the shudder that passes through you, the hitching of your breath, the rush of blood to your face. Trailing kisses down your neck, he sucks at your pulse-point before lightly teasing the flesh with his teeth, earning a heady moan from you.

Your legs hook around his lower back, pulling him to you to give you that weight, that pressure, that friction you’re in desperate need of. He grunts before biting down again, harder, tongue immediately lapping up the blooming pain. You grind against his hips, enjoying the feel of his erection through the layers of thin fabric that separate you both. He’s quick to return the motion, to roll his hips into yours, pulling back slightly to watch the desperation blossom on your face.

“Such a needy little thing,” he purrs.

With his free hand, he begins to pull up at your shirt, slowly exposing more of your abdomen until your tits, unconstrained by a bra, are on display for him. Maneuvering down, he sets your skin on fire as he leaves a path of teasing nibbles and suckles certain to leave a lovely pattern of hickeys, making his way down your breast. He swirls his tongue around your erect nipple while his fingers pinch at the other, pulling and massaging the breast. He pulls off with a slick pop!, eyes meeting yours briefly as he tells you, “I kind of miss the piercings.”

“Same here,” you breathe as he attacks the other nipple, teasing it with his teeth. You’re wanton in the moans you give him, in the lack of inhibition as you finally get to fuck him in your bed again.

It’s been too long.

He lets go of your hands, leaving open-mouthed kisses down your chest, your abdomen, your hips before his fingers hook around the straps of your panties and yank them off of you. Hot breaths fan your swollen cunt, aching, throbbing, begging to be abused.

Without wasting any time, he grabs your legs, setting them on his shoulders before diving in, licking a long stripe from the base of your cunt up to your clit with the flat of his tongue. Your fingers tangle in his hair, silently begging him to get on with it and he brings his fingers forward to pinch your clit, pulling a sharp cry from you.

“Behave yourself, slut,” he warns before his mouth replaces his fingers, before he starts sending ripples of pleasure throughout your being. Your mind is filled with the obscene sounds of his tongue against the slick of your pussy, serving only to rile you up more. Soon enough there’s nothing but the lewd echoes of slurping and your moans accenting the atmosphere of your apartment.

Perhaps—fuck—perhaps you’ll get your earlier wish.

Perhaps he’ll take you down to the river Lethe himself because holy fuck are

are you struggling to form

coherent thoughts

He feels—

so fucking good

With a particular nudge of your overly sensitive bud, he sends you flying, clenching, trembling. All of you tingles, hums, sings pleasantly, exquisitely, a lovely lilt against the backdrop of soft pants and booming thunder overhead.

“That’s my good girl,” he hums as the lights in your apartment flicker. “How are you doing?”

“I can still—still think of other things than your name,” you taunt as you come down. Things like how you should unplug your amps, even with the surge protector, how you should find some candles in case the storm knocks out power for the night, even if it’s still mid-afternoon, how you wonder whether he’ll be staying here tonight or tomorrow or the day after.

Because you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t want that, if you didn’t want every single second of Levi that he would give you and you’ve never been good at lying.

“Let’s fix that,” he murmurs, kissing the inside of your thigh before biting, sending a jolt of pain straight to your core. “Can you move, or do I need to move you?” You try moving, sitting up, and it’s enough that he removes himself completely. “Ass up, face down,” he orders as he walks to your nightstand.

You remove your shirt before rolling over onto your belly. You hear him fumble with some of the things in your drawer, and, while you’re curious, you’re more interested in the surprise. Propping your ass up, you listen to him come closer, feel as the mattress dips under his weight, feel the gentle placement of three (?) things (?).

“Is my girl clean?” he asks as one of his hands comes to massage your ass.

“Uh-huh,” you affirm, enjoying his gentle touch. A whine leaves your lips as he takes his hand off of you, earning you a hard SMACK! that brings a sharp sting across your bottom.

“Good girls wait.”

“I may be your girl, but I was never a good girl.”

He chuckles dryly and you hear the soft click of your lube opening. When his fingers rub your tight ass, it’s cool, nearly making you flinch at the temperature. He holds you in place by your hips as his fingers massage the puckered skin, relaxing it for when he inserts two fingers. He pauses at your sharp intake of breath, giving you a moment to relax again before slowly moving them, pumping them in and out, drawing out luscious mewls from you.

He picks up his pace until you’re rocking your hips back against him, crying for more as your hands grip tightly in the bedding beneath your touch. Pulling out his fingers, he immediately slaps his open palm against the supple flesh of your ass in anticipation of your sob. Not even a minute later, you feel something cold, hard, and weighty pressing against your tight hole until it enters smoothly, sending a rush of prickles up your spine.

“Oh, fuck, oh shit, oh fucking—hell,” you keen, trembling at the cold that ripples throughout your being.

“Yeah? Does my slut like that?” Levi asks, backing off the bed to disrobe.

The bed dips behind you and his hands are warm against you as they grip your hips, pulling you flush against him. He lets go so he can pump his cock once, twice, before rubbing his tip against your aching lips. He slides into your dripping pussy, the two of you nearly harmonizing in the moans that fall from your lips.

You feel absolutely filled, Levi having chosen one of your larger plugs to play with. He slowly drags his cock out until all that’s left is his head teasing your entrance before snapping his hips forward, burying himself deep inside you again.

“OH, shit,” you cry, already seeing stars. He starts thrusting, experimental and slow at first, savoring the way your pussy feels around him. His fingers thread through your hair, gripping tight so he can push your face deeper into the mattress as he begins to pound into you.

“Fuck—you’re—so—god—damned—tight!” he grunts in between thrusts. His firm grasp on your hip tightens momentarily before disappearing altogether. With the loud slapping of skin filling the room, you miss the soft buzz of your vibrator being turned on until it connects with your front. It takes him a moment, but he finds your clit, placing the mouth of your vibrator against it, immediately wrenching your next orgasm from you.

You come with a high-pitched shriek, a register you previously thought impossible. You’re certain that you’re no longer on this plane of existence but caught somewhere deep in a corner of Elysium that could only be described as sublime. He doesn’t let up with the vibrator or with the pace in which he fucks you, not letting you down from this high, from this state of celestial existence.

Levi’s whispering a constant stream of praise that only adds to the experience, to the continuous waves of pleasure that rock through your body. Your body quivers at the constant onslaught, unrelenting in his efforts to maintain his earlier promise.

“Such a needy little slut. It’s like you were made for my cock,” he tells you as his finger adjusts the speed of your vibrator, making you clench and tremble so hard that he has to stop pumping for a moment.

“Please, Levi, please, please, please,” you whine incoherently.

“You’re so pretty when you beg,” he teases. You manage to drag your hand under you, wrapping it around his as it holds your vibrator. “Is it too much?”

You nod, moan, cry, unable to form the words to get him to slow and he takes mercy on you, removing the vibrator before turning it off. There’s a loud POP! and whoosh! as the power shuts down completely, leaving you both in the murky lighting provided by your industrial windows. He takes the momentary distraction as an opportunity to pull out of you so he can flip you onto your back.

Tears stream down from the corners of your eyes as you are finally granted the opportunity to come down, exhaustion tugging at your muscles and your mind. He sheathes himself inside you once more, filling you to the brim, carefully watching the expressions you make.

He’s more deliberate with his movements now as he leans forward, cupping your face with one hand while he props himself upright with the other. His dick twitches inside you, sending small jolts through you, bringing a smirk to his face. Leaning in, his lips are gentle with yours, methodical, serene almost, as he begins rolling his hips. He swallows your gasps, your moans, your mewls, stealing the breath from your lungs—and hell, you’ll let him do this any day.

As he rocks against you, with you, you feel it mounting again, the coil tightening, preparing to snap.

“Fuck, Levi.” Small waves of pleasure course through you, gradually building until you're nearing the cusp of your next orgasm. “Shit, shit, sh—fuck I’m so close.”

“Wait,” he commands, pace scarcely increasing.

Oh.

The look in his eye is so dangerously close to smothering you, filling you up with a love that burns like a raging forest fire, a love that illuminates the darkest parts of your soul, a love that creates the most transcendent, the most divine, the most splendorous symphony. It catches in your throat, in your heart, burning through all of the hurt and misery and suffering that the two of you have put yourselves through, killing all which was already dead, leaving nothing but the opportunity for new life.

“Levi,” you croon, holding off your orgasm as much as you can—and godfuckingshit is it hard. “Come with me.”

Your request catches him off guard, pulling a small groan from him as his hips stutter, as he jolts inside of you, filling you with his cum, leaving you full.

Levi overwhelms your senses—

the faint smell of oolong and mint the steel-blue of his eyes as they maintain your gaze with singular focus the gentle puffs of air that leave him the feel of him under your fingertips the feel of him inside of you the feel of his warmth against you the feel of him everywhere

Everything,

everything

L e v i

Allowing yourself to fall off the high-dive, your orgasm courses through you, drowning you, pulsating around you, leaving you breathless.

He collapses on top of you, a panting, sweaty mess, but fuck if you don’t delight in this moment with him. Your fingers card through his hair as you press gentle kisses to what little bits of him you can reach without moving much.

“Mine,” you murmur into his hair, holding him to you.

“Yours,” he mumbles, adjusting his head so he’s facing you. He presses a light kiss to your lips before pulling out of you and rolling to his side. The two of you lay in a contented sort of bliss for a while, the only source of light coming from intermittent lightning strikes deeper in the city.

Four Months Later

He’s not entirely sure how he’s here, but he is. Somehow, you roped the Blondies Mike and Erwin, and your manager, Hange, into helping him move into your loft. Mike and Levi are working on carrying up his drum set up all twenty-fucking-five floors of your goddamned building because the weekend he had to move the elevator needed maintenance.

He and the giant exchange uneasy glances, neither certain of how they got to this point. The easiest assumption—and likely the correct assumption—is you.

You flit around causing mayhem and destruction like a goddamned hurricane, but throughout all of the chaos you cause, you manage to get shit done.

Somehow, you managed to convince Zeke to release Levi from his contract. It cost Levi his share of the royalties for the first album, but it was honestly better than needing to pay back his advance, recording costs, production costs, et cetera up front, like Zeke had wanted. If anything, Levi got off easy considering it will take several years more for the royalties to pay everything off at the shitty rate that Levi was given thanks to his contract.

Everything's been finalized two weeks ago, and, as a show of good faith, Levi had attended all interviews, all press coverings, all gigs—anything required of the band while it was being sorted. Next week, you and he will be playing at a small venue as an audition of sorts for Erwin and Mike.

You’ve managed to convince them that you two need no other musicians. A drummer and a bassist on vocals. The two of you have been practicing, playing some of your songs, and he’s confident in your ability to convince them. Your collection of pedals have only increased, allowing you the ability to produce so many other effects, on top of sounding as though you’re playing a standard guitar.

With the local name recognition that you've built, the club sold out of tickets within the first day. He can only credit Erwin and Mike's strategy of utilizing you as a soloist, as someone worth playing with and worth listening to for such early success.

You push past them on your way back down, Hange following not too far behind.

“Geez, guys, I never woulda thought that schlepping a drum set up these stairs would take so long!” they announce, patting Mike and Levi’s shoulders as they pass.

“Want to trade?” Mike offers, a grunt of annoyance slipping past his usually cool facade.

“Nope! We’re almost done, though!”

Their footsteps echo throughout the otherwise empty stairwell, noting their descent to the base of the building.

“That’s good at least,” Levi comments, more to himself than to Mike.

After another couple of minutes of silence, Mike speaks up. “Are you two ready for the show?”

“Yeah. We know each other’s style inside and out, so even if she wanted to change the order of the set on me, I’d be able to keep up.”

“Impressive. Maybe we’ll try that out one of these days,” Mike muses, sounding mildly interested. “How does it feel? To be out from under that blonde monkey?”

“Like freedom. He was in everyone’s business, micromanaging every aspect of our music. You and Eyebrows seem to give more creative freedom, though,” Levi infers, watching Mike’s face carefully.

“We wanted to give musicians the benefit of having a big record label but the freedom of an independent artist,” Mike replies with a level of insouciance that Levi enjoys. “It was actually because of Zeke that we started the Scouts Label. We saw how miserable she was while he would ‘help’ her with her projects relating to her major.”

Levi considers Mike’s statement, considers how it makes sense—why Erwin and Mike would give you so much leeway, why you were given Hange as a manager instead of someone like Nile, too uptight and by the book. They pass the sign for the 20th floor before Mike speaks again.

“I hope this thing works out between you two. She was… never mind. It’s not my business to say. I don’t want to have to answer another phone call with her crying over you.”

“There are only two things I regret in my life. The first being signing that contract with Zeke. The second was being stupid enough to leave. I don’t plan on making that mistake a second time.”

Twenty-three.

“Good. I’d hate to have to kill you,” Mike says, the barest hint of mirth behind his somber gaze.

Just as they reach the twenty-fifth floor, you yank open the door with a wide smile.

“Heya, guys! The elevator’s back up! Hange, Erwin, and I brought up the last of the stuff. Erwin’s downstairs talking to the movers right now, but I went ahead and ordered pizza from Niccolo’s.”

You hold the door open for them as they make it down to the apartment. It’s overwhelmingly domestic and contented, this life he’s never asked for. Mike and Hange banter with one another as he helps Levi establish his drum set in your music corner while you find music for everyone to listen to.

He catches himself watching you flit about the apartment, a flurry of energy and rhythm and anarchy. You stop and turn to him like you could feel his gaze, offering a smile that only he gets to see.

You’re his girl.

He tells you this each night when he pins you to the bed. He tells you this when you wake in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom. He tells you this when he makes tea for the both of you in the mornings. He tells you this when the two of you finish playing together, creating melodies rife with emotion and impeccable cohesion, walking together towards the goals that you both had since you were young.

He plans to tell you this for as long as you’ll let him.

You’re his girl.

fic page (including link to the playlist) | Attack on Titan Masterlist

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