#i was just in the mood for something very fun

[pomefioredove]

So idk if I'm requesting in the right place. But I would love a twst scenario with a yuu that just says all their intrusive thoughts. Like just out of NOWHERE, as they reach for a water bottle hanging out with the first years they go.

“I robbed a house back home”

Or when Azul tries cornering them with the twins for something they just blankly turn to Floyd going.

“duck off you look like you can't steer a shopping cart”

But feel free to do it with whoever you want and if you don't want to do mine that's perfectly fine and I hope you have a great day :)

certainly!!

summary: reader who speaks all their impulsive thoughts type of post: headcanons characters: heartslabyul, octavinelle, scarabia, diasomnia additional info: platonic or romantic, reader isn't specified to be yuu, reader is gender neutral author's note: for some reason I had the hardest time thinking up new nonsense, so many of these dialogue lines are from lewis carroll poems, which I have a wonderful nostalgia for. check those out as well!

Ace and Deuce are pretty much used to you saying whatever's at the top of your mind... with no filter

so used to it that it barely even registers with them anymore

whenever it's quiet, they can expect you to come out with some incomprehensible nonsense.

if you didn't, they'd probably ask what's wrong

"I robbed a house back home,"

"Yeah, okay,"

Riddle, on the other hand, gets frustrated alarmingly fast

despite running an entire dorm based on nonsensical rules, he has a low tolerance for outside nonsense

and... well, despite his name, he's not really a fan of riddles

Trey matches your energy immediately

no joke. he doesn't even bat an eye

"I eat plastic,"

"hm. sometimes I eat muffin wrappers,"

honestly, sometimes his tangents get even weirder than yours

Cater probably wasn't listening very closely when you first started going off, or maybe he's just become accustomed to riddles, though the next time you say something he just thinks it's cute

might use your "thoughtful anecdotes" as a caption for his next post

would it be surprising if I were to say Azul is used to randomness?

Floyd has a tendency to say the strangest things out of nowhere, after all, and the sea itself can be a surprising place

he does not, however, appreciate how you keep speaking in tongues when he's trying to have serious business conversations with you

(seriously, how hard can it be to swindle one person?!)

"Please, just talk normally,"

"But the mome raths outgrabe!"

he doesn't know what that means, but it sounds like an insult

...and then will refuse to converse with you again until you're in a "better mood" (in his own words)

Jade, on the other hand, finds you quite fascinating

he keeps a little notepad on him just to jot down the things you say. why? you can't imagine. he just finds it interesting, you suppose

"'Twas brilling..."

"Really? How interesting. Go on,"

Floyd isn't really paying much attention

your funny words amuse him at best and annoy him at worse

if you ever find yourself in a bad place with the octotrio, you can just say something like:

"You look like you can't steer a shopping cart,"

and Floyd will take actual offense to that, and just straight up leave

(much to Azul's dismay)

Kalim adds on right away

and keeps going

and keeps going... and keeps going...

"How doth the little crocodile improve his shining tail..."

"Oh, I know! He pours waters on every shining scale,"

at one point Jamil has to pull you aside and beg you not to encourage him

"No promises!" is your answer

Kalim even buys a parrot to add onto the fun

it becomes a three-person (or two-person-and-a-bird?) act

...even if you're not really doing it on purpose

Jamil is who ends up taking care of the parrot while it squawks your old nonsense thoughts, though

he likes the parrot much better than either of you

Malleus will entertain you based on his own curiosity

none of his other human classmates speak in such odd and puzzling words, so he knows it's a "you" thing

might try to solve them if they sound like riddles

but he mostly just thinks they're cute

"O, oysters, come and walk with us,"

"How interesting... I do wonder where you come up with all this,"

Sebek will listen to you because Malleus does, and Silver has enough nonsense to deal with as it is. will definitely fall asleep while you're talking to him

Lilia responds in like terms

meow at him? he'll meow back

in fact, he'll meow at you every time he sees you until you say something else to capture his curiosity

might go ahead and start speaking to you in tongues before you even say anything

he just thinks you're neat!

[hoseoksluna]

VAPOR, pt I. | jjk ft. myg

pairing: boyfriend!jungkook x steam!oc

genre: smut, a hint of angst

word count: 10.6k

summary: yoongi never promised his healing time would be easy and when he hurts you enough that you need your other "boyfriend", jungkook is quick to rescue you.

pinterest board: blur | playlist: car playlist

warnings: mentions of a sex toy, jungkook is upset and angry at his hyung, public sex, dirty talk, sexual tension and frustration, praise kink, fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), bruising, cum swallowing, going behind someone's back........

note: HI MY LOVES—MY STEAM DRABBLE IS HERE AND I'VE NEVER BEEN MORE EXCITED TO POST SOMETHING, OH MY GOSH. OKAY, before i say anything else, i would like to put a disclaimer here: even though all my characters are fictional, they are still human in this world, which means they fuck up, which means they're not perfect whatsoever and never will be. i would like to really put an emphasis on that before you read and if i receive any vulgar and rude asks about this, i assure you that i will not respond to them. OKAY ALL SERIOUSNESS ASIDE—this was fucking AMAZING TO WRITE and i already CANNOT WAIT to start writing another part, this time with yoongi included. i promise to make everything right and—SPOILER—this couple WILL get a happy ending, so don't worry, my loves. ENJOY READING. SPAM MY INBOX. I LOVE YOU.

There’s a mango-scented candle rustling in a bag, resting on the passenger seat, and Jungkook is driving very carefully so as to not knock it over and possibly break it. For a moment, one that reemerges in his headspace as he keeps his foot light on the pedal, he wonders if he should buckle a seatbelt around it and ensure its safety that way, his fear of ruining his surprise for you causing his brain to come up with the strangest of ideas—in the name of the love he carries for you. 

Is it love, though? 

Jungkook furrows his brows, that thought seizing his sternum enough that he has to turn his music down and let some fresh air in through the window so he doesn’t crash his fucking car. Icy sweat stings his spine, his stomach churning and without sparing a second longer, his eyes take after the sadness of the weather outside his vehicle. His vision blurs and he rubs his eye, one at a time, to focus on the road.

A red light blinks at him and suddenly, there’s fury that he feels deep within chest. 

Conceivably because slowing down means he has to face the onrush of emotions sloshing in him. Has to hear the rain not just outside, but inside, too. Has to feel the prick of those raindrops along his waterline. The heft of those clouds outside and inside his clavicles as well, tightening and tightening. 

Jungkook sighs, drumming his fingers upon his steering wheel, trying to distract himself from it all. From the invading question that absorbs his body like the vapor rising across the night-clothed street—when did he get so emotional? 

Unfortunately, he knows the answer right away.

You’ve been sad. On your own. 

It’s been a few weeks since all three of you made a deal to stick together. Yoongi has been brave, his good mood clutching him for a lot longer than Jungkook sadly estimated. You’ve spent these past two Fridays and weekends together, out and about, rolling in bed, rolling in Yoongi’s apartment. It was all fun and games until the boss reached a dead end. Somehow. Jungkook still doesn’t know what it was that Yoongi actually saw—what was that one particular thing that caused him to spiral. 

To relapse. 

And you didn’t tell him until it was too late. 

Perhaps, you did tell him—nonverbally, that is. You stopped adding your signed messages whenever he was texting with Yoongi during the week and even those alone stopped coming in as the days went on. There was something wrong and he knew it. His intuition only proved to be right when another weekend showed its face and it contained no undertone of you. And no suggestion of Yoongi either. 

Silence. Dead silence. 

And it wasn’t until Jungkook got an incoming call from an unknown number half an hour ago that he realized the gravity of the situation. 

It was you who called him up, sobbing into the phone, having stolen his number from Yoongi’s device. As difficult as it was to understand what happened, Jungkook tied all the strings of information you gave him between your broken breaths and blubbering: Yoongi hasn’t spoken to you all day and took a shower alone, the latter being the most devastating of the two. 

He felt bad for you, terribly bad for you—but simultaneously, he was upset with you. 

Still is. 

It’s one of the reasons why he’s driving up to Yoongi’s apartment. With a mango-scented candle and a puffed-up bag of cheese balls. He doesn’t want to think what the other reasons are, not when he’s staring down his gift for you, clicking his tongue at last and reaching over for the seatbelt and sliding it into its buckle. Just in time for the traffic light to turn green.

Now, now he’s speeding down the road, turning up the volume of his car playlist. A slow song by the Arctic Monkeys is playing and it’s a movie—the set of circumstances that are happening in the present. The rain, the tightness in his chest, the but faint adrenaline of the momentum. What is he really doing? 

It feels as though he’s following a script, however his eyes haven’t skimmed down the entire thing. He doesn’t know how this is going to end. Hell, he doesn’t even know if he’s doing the right thing because he’s planning on staying outside of his hyung’s apartment. Like hell he’s going inside when his sweetheart—

Jungkook purses his lips. Moves the shift stick. Kills the engine. Closes his eyes. 

His heart thumps. Turbulently. It stirs worry in him. What if he’s going to die? 

This is the first time he’s left in the hands of the unknown. He’s always had the sixth sense of knowing tactness like the back of his hand, although this time he doesn’t know shit. Doesn’t know if he’s breaking his best friend’s trust. Doesn’t know what’s going to happen once he sees you, possibly wearing one of your nighttime robes. The last time you touched him was the last time he had his release. His hand doesn’t feel as good as yours does—and his orgasm isn’t as fulfilling as when it’s shared with you. He’s brimming with frustration, with anger so vast that he could explode and he knows it’s unfair to be mad at Yoongi, when he himself said it wasn’t going to be easy, that it was going to take a lot of work. But Jungkook can’t help his feelings. Can’t help to see you. 

Only you. 

Broken, tear-stained, when it should be blush painting your cheeks red from all the love and happiness your own boyfriend should give you as it’s his duty. Something he’s responsible for. Something he should put above himself. 

“Drunken monologues, confused because it's not like I'm falling in love, I just want you to do me no good and you look like you could,” Alex Turner sings and Jungkook’s chin quivers, his heart gaining tempo, his perturbation rising—owing to the violence of that muscle, owing to the state of your feelings. 

He wonders if you’re still crying. 

He’s outside of Yoongi’s apartment. Didn’t even realize it, mind too fucked up, too full of you. 

Grabbing his phone, he sends you a text. 

I’m here. Come outside 

A reply pings right away. 

SWEETHEART: ? 

SWEETHEART: it’s raining 

He’s halfway typing his response that he doesn’t want to go inside, but he decides against it. Doesn’t want to make it worse for you. If you knew of the dark corners of his mind that don’t particularly like Yoongi at the moment, you wouldn’t look at him with those pretty eyes of yours as you always do. 

He can’t afford that. 

I have an umbrella

As his thumb hovers above his phone, waiting for your reply, he can almost hear your sigh. Can feel your breath on his clammy palm as he rubs it on his pants in effort to rid himself of the nerves crawling in his veins. The breath he was favored enough to hold in his grasp the last time he had you to himself—clamping your mouth shut as he spanked your clit for being so beautifully responsive to his touch, rubbing it until your eyes whisked back while Yoongi slept beside you, unaware. 

It’s engraved in his brain. It plays on loop before sleep overtakes him at night and it’s his first thought in the morning once consciousness reminds him that you’re not his. 

SWEETHEART: is it cold outside?

He figures you’re asking the question in order to decide whether you should change or not. It seems as though warm pajamas don’t exist in your world, for the beginning of September is in the process of blooming. It nudges his anger; provokes it enough to fill it with a lethal dose of a yearning to buy you the warmest pair of pants he could find. He clenches his fist, thumb quick to type a response. 

Wear something that covers your legs or stay home. 

The same thumb shakes at the expression of his firmness, his anger disturbed, wholly—wholly disturbed. If you come out wearing your little shorts—

A reply pings again. 

SWEETHEART: ok ill change

And another one right away. 

SWEETHEART: ill text u when i come down

That’s a good girl. 

He almost types it right then and there, but something within, despite the slowly calming storm of his feelings, despite his cock tightening in his pants at the swift image of your bare legs, at the lingering perception of you being a good girl and listening to him, drags his thumb to his emojis. A sudden renewal of his sixth sense, and he doesn’t understand how it’s happened as it dawns on him, makes him realize that’s not exactly what you need right now. You didn’t call him for a fuck. 

You called him for emotional support. 

👍🏻

And like the good girl you are, you merely take five minutes. Stay true to your words, text him as you’re coming down and Jungkook grabs his umbrella from the backseat. Doesn’t forget to unbuckle the seatbelt in the passenger seat. Saves himself from the embarrassment. 

The trees sway in his direction, inviting him in, once he takes two steps at the time, coming up the stairs. He watches them through the clear roundness of his shield, beckoning him closer. The rain pelts against it, but softly this time. Merciful as it knows you’re about to emerge from the ocean of such unfathomable sadness. It doesn’t wish to frighten you, rather it desires to soothe your escaping, make it less harrowing. Even the wind that whips at him stills as soon as you open the door, bathed in light. 

And Jungkook is struck with the notion that he wants to do the same. 

You’re wearing flared leggings. Gray. With sneakers of the same color and a white top that hugs your waist, that seems way smaller than the last time he touched it. He gets a glimpse of it, and it unnerves him, as you lift your hand to curl a strand of your hair behind your ear because otherwise your body is shrouded in a flannel that’s too big for you. Too robust for you and your particular liking of tight, little clothes. 

He doesn’t want to know who that garment belongs to. Doesn’t even want to come close to unfolding that thought, to even let it get a taste of his burning blood. Because there’s another matter at hand. 

You’ve lost weight. 

And he’s going to kill his hyung for it. 

You step out and it’s an instinct, the way his arm draws closer to you so you don’t get touched by the rain, even if it means the raindrops get to trace the back of his head and the nape of his neck. Yet even that invigorating, tender liquid doesn’t cool the scorching lividness that takes place beneath his skin, beneath his bones. But then you touch his hand, left to left, drag it away and hide yourself in his chest. Everything changes when you do that. 

Jungkook explodes. Silently. Gently. His chin quivers again and he doesn’t care that you can hear the tremor of his heart as you lay your ear against it. Doesn’t care that his grip might hurt you as he hugs you back, thinking he could wrap his arm twice around your much different waist. And he takes you like this. Back to his car. He doesn’t even feel the wetness pooling in his waterline, leading you as you walk backwards. And you laugh, you laugh softly while he inhales your mango scent that has somehow even crept up to your scalp, and he doesn’t believe it’s that easy. 

It can’t be that easy to make you feel better. 

He opens the door for you, a façade of nothingness plastered on his face as he tries his hardest to remain stoic so you wouldn’t see the turmoil churning within every perimeter of his body. And it’s an instinct, too, the way he catches your little purse when it slips off your shoulder, even though he doesn’t see it, too busy devouring your gaze—afraid, awfully afraid that tonight might be the last time he sees your pretty eyes, considering the contempt he’s now showing his hyung. 

If Yoongi finds out about this, it’s over. 

His life is over, too. 

Anger, frustration, sadness, love—how is he able to feel all of those emotions at once? You purse your lips, your weary eyes skip his features all the way to his mouth, stopping at his lip ring and the question rises again in his brain. 

Is it love? 

The rain falls harder. And so does he, unfortunately. 

“I got you something. It’s right there.” He tips his chin to the passenger seat without taking his gaze off of your busy eyes. They’re still looking at his mouth, watching every word come out. He finds it so endearing that there’s nothing more he wants to do than grab your cheeks and kiss you for it. Maybe his frustration would loosen a little bit if he did it. “Don’t sit on it.” 

It’s that addition to his previous sentence that causes you to flick those pretty irises of yours up to his. And he studies it as the double meaning uncoils in your brain, even though it was by accident that it tumbled out of his mouth. The weariness in your orbs parts like clouds upon the heavens, though no sunshine spills through them. There’s still a lingering blankness, something unknown, something foreign. Then, the tiniest of smiles curls your mouth and it jolts through him, his heart thudding harder—to the point that even more profound discomfort settles in. 

“Did you get me a dildo? I could use one right now.” 

The perplex that seizes him almost causes his legs to give out. And he can’t help it, the way his eyes roll back and his hand, with your purse hanging from his forearm, runs down his face. Jungkook wants to get drenched in the rain—maybe if the raindrops put out the sudden fire licking at his every nerve ending, maybe then he’ll come to understand how you manage to be in the mood when your state of mind can’t possibly let you have dirty thoughts. 

His cock tightens again and he calls you by your name, firmly. He can’t have this. Not right now. He needs to be sensible. You need it. “Get in the car.” 

You listen, but your smile falters. Grabbing your bag from his forearm, you turn around, bending over to wrap your fist around the bag on the passenger seat. Jungkook doesn’t mean to look at your delicious round cheeks and once he discovers that they’re hidden under that layer of the hideous flannel, he sighs a breath of relief. He can’t look at you that way. Averts his gaze, immediately. 

As soon as you’re seated, he clicks the door shut. Considers letting the rain have him. Did he make a mistake, being firm with you? 

Inside his car, his favorite song is mellowly playing. In the mere few seconds, you’ve managed to suffuse the entire atmosphere with your mango scent and Jungkook inhales it. It takes him into a whole different world, one filled with eternal sunlight as the song portrays it. He finds himself in a country of spring that has been briskly rained upon and now is being softly seared with those shafts of light and speckles of heat, the details of your beauty. 

“For the love of my life, she's got glow on her face…” the singer sings and the lyrics plod into his mind. Jungkook wishes the description applied to you at this very moment like it had before, like it had every single time he stole a glance at you. He misses your glow and your glitter and it pierces his unstable heart that he finds no traces of those particles of shimmer on your cheekbones and eyelids as you’re rummaging through the bag, not even on your cupid’s bow as you gasp, gently, discovering he bought you your favorite things. 

You’re looking at him with such smothered joy and it would relieve his feelings if he didn’t feel such guilt, if he didn’t feel as though he was a crumbling pillar, a failure undeserving of your time. 

You take the candle into your small hands. Such a stark contrast—his heart aches at the sight of it. You pop the lid open, sniff the aroma and your mouth rounds in a terribly, terribly cute manner. Jungkook is glad for the lack of light in the space of his car, which hides his growing manhood. He props an elbow on the door and pinches his nose, trying to regain his composure— 

“It’s mango-scented,” you say in disbelief, pouting and Jungkook can’t breathe. “And cheese balls, are you kidding me?” You open the bag right away, plopping the treat into your mouth. He’s surprised you eat just one—it doesn’t feel right. “Thank you. Honestly. Thank you.” You cradle it into your chest and Jungkook has to look away. 

What has Yoongi done to you that you react this way to such silly things? He needs to ask, but he fears your answer. And what’s worse, he fears what he’ll do to him once you tell him. 

“What did you tell him?” He needs to get away from this place, but it has to correlate with your plan, if there even is any. If not, he’ll handle it. Figure something out. 

You take a sharp breath, loading your gifts back into the bag, keeping it nice and safe on your lap. Then, you lick your lips and look at him with an intention that causes his heart to jump right there onto the wonderfully clothed flesh of your thighs. “I told him I was going home.” 

Home. Since the moment he knew of your existence, your home has been the place wherever Yoongi resided. It never mattered where. Jungkook grips the steering wheel, knuckles white. “Where do you live?” 

You tell him your address. He knows that from this day on, he’ll never, ever forget it. He starts the engine, wondering in the meantime about the ordinariest things of your life. Do you live there during the week and spend your weekends at Yoongi’s apartment? Or has he completely overtaken your life that you spend every hour of it in his presence? He wants to know. And he wants to get some food in that slim tummy of yours. “Do you have any food there? When was the last time you were there?” 

It’s you who looks away now, staring ahead, playing with your fingers while the rest are still wrapped around the bag. “I don’t live there anymore. Haven’t been there in months.” 

Jungkook bites his lip. Too, too many questions are hovering in his brain—he barely has the capacity to think about them, let alone hurl them at you. “What did he say when you told him you were going home?” 

You snivel and his heart on your thighs twitches in pain. He has to grip the steering wheel harder in order not to jump out of this car and kick down Yoongi’s door. 

“Nothing.” 

Jungkook puts the car in drive, wordlessly, seething inside. He’ll invent another plan while yours will remain its prototype. Will keep you safe.

Safe, fed and tearless. 

The drive is quiet, save for the euphonious melodies emitting through his never-ending playlist. The rain has become less severe, soft in nature, only adding to the background noise—adding to the process of your mollification that he’s overseeing. He’s put a stop to the questions. Has figured you have enough of them, for the only reason you decided to lie to your own boyfriend and go behind his back was because you needed to get out of his clutches. 

A decision he approves of. 

The quietness has helped him regain his composure fully, set some things straight in his brain as the anger in him slowly dissipated. Space is good, for both his hyung and you and he’s proud of you for allowing yourself to get to this point that you walked away. Yoongi, evidently, has returned to his hermit tendencies and Jungkook knows very well that it’s something that he needs in his healing time. It’s who he is; who he always has been. He didn’t push him away too many times for him to be possibly wrong about this and while the information he gained from you that Yoongi changed his ways shattered Jungkook’s heart and glued it back together, he knew, somehow, deep within him, that it was just an effort. For you. 

He didn’t think it was a façade because Yoongi is certainly not a phony person. 

He did it for you. Tried his hardest. And succeeded. With your help, he’s sure—which makes it all the more beautiful—but Yoongi is still Yoongi. 

Someone who deals with things on his own. 

And although the distance he needs hurts other people, he doesn’t mean it. Jungkook knows this just as well, despite the fact what he truly thinks is that Yoongi should try harder. 

For you. 

He needs to tell you this. Needs you to know. But he doesn’t think you’re ready to hear it just yet, which is okay. The plan is constructed, he’s here for you and he will make you feel better. He will caress your heart and make your belly full. Will make you forget for a little while before he gently brings you back to reality. 

You deserve this. After everything you’ve been through. Because of him. Because of Yoongi. 

And because of this, he no longer feels guilty that he has you to himself without Yoongi knowing. Even if that means he risks his brotherhood, even if that means he risks his affection for you seeing the light of day. 

You’re more important. 

It’s this thought that gets interrupted by a sudden ring of your phone. You jump, zipping your purse open and Jungkook keeps his eyes on the road. He doesn’t really want to see the kind of picture you have Yoongi saved under. He has to keep his feelings intact. Remain calm. 

Your breath shakes. “He’s video calling me.” 

Sparks of electricity nip at his fingertips. A surge of adrenaline, the threatening, false notion that he’s doing the wrong thing. Jungkook almost smirks. It’s so fucking thrilling to him. 

He lets you decide on your own what to do, but you grow unsure, nerves burdening you. He feels that heft and it’s quick to sober him up. 

“Should I get out of this car? Say I’m taking a walk?” you ask, your pretty, pretty eyes wide, your pupils so tiny. Jungkook wants to take your hand in his, take your fear that makes you think these silly thoughts and crush it. 

He’s here. He’s going to take care of this. Of you. 

“Let it ring.” 

You look back down at your phone, lip between your teeth, but Jungkook keeps his eyes on you, the red of the stoplight pervading you with the danger of your girlish freedom. And it does ring two more times before Yoongi gives up. 

Good. 

You have the right to need to distance yourself just as much as he does. Give him the same silent treatment like he did to you.

There’s a smug smirk plastered on his face when he catches you putting your phone back into your purse before the light turns green. He speeds down the road, driving with just one hand, ready to unfold his plan. 

One he’s already shared with you. 

He’s taking you to the mall. 

His hand itches to take yours as you walk beside him. Strangers stare you down, but you keep your attention on the myriads of shops lining the side of the promenade. He doesn’t understand how it’s possible that there’s so many people wasting their Thursday at such a place like this. At this hour, especially. It kind of makes him regret that he took you here, despite the fact the sole purpose of it was to feed you until you were full. The lights are too bright, children are screaming and running around and it’s giving him a headache, but one look at you changes his mind in an instant. The glow he missed has found its way back to your cheeks and there’s a glint to your eyes that he hasn’t seen in a long while. The paleness is gone and he’s not really ignorant to the way a bush of roses begins to bloom in his chest at the realization. 

You stop dead in your tracks all of a sudden. Your little purse slips off of your shoulder. As attentive as he always is, he slides it back up, a smile tugging his mouth to the side. He thinks it’s just so damn cute. And the fact you don’t pay any attention to it as well. Probably used to it. 

Red posters of sale adorn the storefront that has caught your eye. Jungkook is unfamiliar with it, but you seem to be completely enthralled by it. 

“Where do you wanna eat?” he provokes. Already knows what restaurant you’ll be feasting at, obviously, but poking you is a matter of enjoyment for him. “There’s so many food courts to choose from.” 

You look at him and clutch your stomach, as if the mere mention of food made you hungry. A faint, faded light flashes across that glint in your irises before it dwindles away and Jungkook is ready to throw you over his shoulder and push people off of his path to get you there right now. 

“Can we… go here first?” you ask, hesitatingly, grabbing a hold of his elbow, but he feels as though you’re squeezing his heart, wringing it out of all that liquid emotion that he swallowed down earlier in the car. Your touch is warm, like the pond water kissed by the sun back at his cabin, seeping into his skin and languidly streaming through his body. 

It’s automatic, primal and right, the way he clasps his other hand across your fingers wrapped around his bicep and the way your body draws closer to his. It should be normal to do this when he’s seen you bare—when he’s seen you feral, needy and disappear into your pleasure, one he’s the creator of. Why does it feel so thrilling? So dangerous? 

You can meander through as many stores as you want. And he tells you that, or at least tries to, as he smiles at you, softly, and nods his head, letting you lead him inside the shop that has so vehemently caught your attention. 

A trillion styles of jeans, tiny tops, skirts and shorts of the same size, Jungkook understands your fascination as he takes it all in. And he’s pleasantly surprised when you indulge him as you fondle every material of every clothing you like, telling him how pretty you find it. You’re not timid to show him your disappointment either, wrinkling your nose, when the fabric is too frail or too expensive for the price, muttering vulgarities directed to capitalism and leading him away. 

It isn’t until your sight stumbles upon a rack of dresses that your breath, audibly, hitches in your throat. And you unlink your arm from his, going straight for your seemingly new obsession. 

A red dress. A sheer fabric, more like. With roses sewn in, a split in the middle, one strap covering only a part of the hanger. It’s the only piece of clothing you actually take into both of your hands, putting it against your body, as if to see what it would look like on you. Fuck if he knows what you’re doing—all he knows is that his throat is dry, the image of you wearing something like this making him a living, breathing corpse. 

Jungkook clenches his fists. Even more so when you disappointingly click your tongue upon seeing the price tag, putting it back where you found it. The thought of you not having that dress causing his heart to lodge, tightly and disturbingly, in the shriveled walls of his throat. 

Not happening. Not under his watch. 

That dress was made for you. 

Jungkook licks his lips. Doesn’t stop the words from spilling out. “Why don’t you try it on?”

You give him a look as if he was a mad man. And he is. That he certainly is. “Please, this costs more than I can afford. I’d only go home crying if I tried it on and had to put it back.”

He stifles a laugh at how ridiculous you sound. Picks up the price tag. Less than two hundred thousand wons. It wouldn’t even make a dent in his bank account. 

He grabs the hanger. Hands it to you. “Go try it on, sweetheart.” 

You roll your eyes. Don’t look amused at all. Your brows knit ever so adorably and the corners of your mouth curl downwards, arms crossing over your chest. Oh, he’s going to wipe that expression off of your face. Paint it in pretty, pretty colors. “No, thanks. I think I cried enough today. Let’s go.” 

You walk past him, but Jungkook stops you. Grabs your arm. Calls your name, firmly. “I’m not gonna repeat myself.” 

You huff. “Is there something wrong with your ears?” Your brows quirk and he thinks he died again. Might melt into a putty. Just for you. 

He smirks, showing his teeth. “It’s no issue for me,” he says, speaking of money, taking your hand in his and enveloping your fingers around the hanger. “So be good and try on this dress for me. Off you go.” 

Jungkook turns you around and, with his palms on your shoulders, he leads you towards the dressing rooms, not stopping until he finds one that’s unoccupied. You huff and puff again, but he gently pushes you inside. And when you open your mouth to say something, he drags the curtain to the side. A laughter bubbles in his chest. 

“You’re not buying this for me.” 

Jungkook shakes his head. “Strip.” 

There’s no witty remark, no exhales of your exasperated breaths, only the obnoxious music blasting through the speakers and he assumes that you gave in to him. A tendril of proudness, not of his actions but for you and your good behavior, swims in the hot bloodstream of his veins and it’s now, now that he’s almost alone and you’re out of view, save for your feet clad in pink socks under the curtain, that he perceives that he’s coated in sweat. The disorder of his colorful, all kinds of feelings has turned him so numb that he doesn’t even feel grounded in his body. He needs a strong sip of alcohol. And a good meal. 

He begins to flutter the sides of his leather jacket, just to alleviate himself of how hot he feels, when he hears you gasp, your footsies shuffling on the carpeted floor. He takes a step towards the dressing room, a trembling hand reaching for the curtain and stopping there—a spasm of nerves zaps his abdomen, spreading iciness to the tips of his fingers. He knows what he’s about to see will make him a dead man for the third time this evening and because of that, he takes a deep, soundless breath, closing his eyes for a mere second before his hand pulls the curtain away. 

Nothing, absolutely nothing could have prepared him for the sight before him. 

And nothing is what you’re wearing underneath the dress. 

Abruptly, there’s no music. There’s no gasps emitting out of that marvelous mouth of yours. And the film in front of his eyes is in slow motion, accompanied by the winged fuckers going equally mad inside his stomach. You’re twirling. From side to side. Patting down the material tight against your slender body. A grin on your face, one that he’s last seen during that time joy rested in you, bathes you in a glow that he longed to see. The glint, the light in your eyes takes on a whole new intensity and it shoots embers into his bare hands, burning him ferociously and curtly—just for him to find that he likes it and that he wants more. You turn around, facing him, and you swathe him with that flaring, almost raging light. It’s the sole thing he senses amidst the numbness of his headspace. 

Except for one thing. 

The ruffle of the sorry excuse for a rose beneath the singular strap of the dress is but an inch above your stiffened nipple while the other, just as excited, is left bare for his eyes—as if the principle of being exposed like that awakened your body. But it’s the vast, stitched red buds of that flower across your small waist, stomach, mound and the apex of your thighs that brings his attention to this other thing that he’s aware of. 

He’s hard for you. 

This image of you will perpetually haunt his dreams. Your little, carmine rose tattoos as if lining your skin, mainly. His throat swallows, dryly. 

Jungkook cups himself in an effort to hide his arousal and his bafflement from your stark, astonishing beauty. He thinks you’re unquestionably otherworldly, so far beyond his reach and his league that it aches. As much as the apprehension that if you wore anything else in this fucking dressing room, he’d fall to his knees just the same.

And then you speak and somehow you bring sharpness back into his reality. 

“The socks go well with the dress, don’t you think?” 

Jungkook glances at your feet and what he sees makes him pinch his eyes and let out a rumble of laughter. There’s a fucking Pikachu on your socks, grinning up at him, mocking him for getting hard for you for the third time. 

He can’t look back up and be a witness to the magnificence of your body. If he allows himself to do so, he will combust. Bring the whole building down—

A set of footsteps sound behind him and, with a racing heart, Jungkook steps inside the dressing room, shrouding you with his body without touching you, pulling the curtain shut. You startle, backing away until your spine leans against the mirror and there’s no space, none whatsoever, for him to run from you because when he turns back around, it’s your eyes he meets first. Nose to nose, breath to breath. 

When did they start making dressing rooms so fucking small? 

His breath picks up speed. He wants to pretend he doesn’t see the thick veil of your feminine carnality shunning out the light in your irises, because he can’t afford this, not when you’re sad, not when you need a friend, not when he needs to be stable for you. But the more you look at him, the more you draw him in and he has very little strength to fight against it. 

Averting his gaze, he props a hand on the wall beside your mirror. Notices your clothes, untidy, sprawled on the bench. Finds no traces of you taking off your underwear, which means only one thing.

His heart nearly skips a beat. 

“Where’s your underwear?”

Your grin forms into a smirk and you latch both of your hands onto the sides of his jacket. Danger mingles into that carnality in your eyes and Jungkook knows, right at this instant, that he’s fucked. “Didn’t take any.” 

His cock hardens even more in his hand. A brief flashback of the way he ripped your panties off at his cabin when you disobeyed him fills his mind, and he grows weak. It’s still a private pleasure of his, one that he likes recollecting, no matter the events that took place after. And the whole escapade has caused him to form a certain attachment to your underwear—or lack thereof. Knowing you didn’t take any on your first, secret night out with him suffuses him with delectation, one that intertwines with a rising question in him. 

Did you choose not to wear it for the sake of the old time or did you choose not to wear it because you’re expecting something from him? 

He yearns to know. Needs to. 

“Why?” 

Your fists bunch up his T-shirt underneath the jacket, tip of the tongue darting out to lick across your top lip. Your eyes follow the way you squeeze the fabric and Jungkook catches your long lashes quivering at your discovery of his quite prominent problem. A blush scatters along your nose and cheekbones and he doesn’t have to look down to know that his hand scarcely conceals his imprint. He’s grown harder for you in this close proximity and, peculiarly, light pervades him now that you know about his arousal, even though he doesn’t expect you, nor demand from you, to do anything about it. 

“Oh, you know.” Palms flat, you drift them down his stomach. Jungkook stiffens, a forest burned by you. “It would only get in the way.” 

He sucks in a breath, pressing his other hand beside your head, caging you in, his cock in full clothed glory for you. His head spins, but paradoxically, he feels himself gaining strength, as if you managed to rejuvenate him by laying out your cards on the table in such a filthy, electrifying manner. 

“Get in the way of what?”

You mirror him, sucking in a breath of your own. “Get in the way of you fucking my brains out?” 

A quirk of his brow. A twitch of his cock. He can’t breathe—you’ve taken all of the remaining oxygen in his lungs when you sucked in that breath and uttered those dirty, dirty words. How are you capable of this? What has Yoongi done to you? Jungkook drags his teeth up his bottom lip, although it attenuates close to nothing. His arousal only blossoms, the bush of roses in his gut thickening, so akin to your little, feigned tattoos. He yearns to feel them under his palm. 

A dead man, for the fourth time. 

His knees might give out. His hands are clammy.

Though his mouth acts on its own. “Have you forgotten what I’m capable of doing?” 

He watches the flashback swim past your irises and it connects to your mouth, expanding it into a coy smile. “I guess I have.” 

Bad, bad girl. It’s you who’s fucking his brains out, trembling like a little leaf, longing for his touch, calling out for his hands. He feels them buzz, interwoven with your senses and your desires. Even if you didn’t move an inch, if you remained still as a sculpture, his hands would still know you want them and it drives him to the peak of insanity—enough for him to consider taking you right here and there, in all seriousness. In spite of the fact he still has a mind of his own and is aware that he shouldn’t. For Yoongi’s sake, yes—but mostly for your sake. 

The tips of his fingers tingle with the craving to rip that flimsy fabric off of you and make you remember what he did to you, even though you fully remember. Something about that fills him with an onrush of vigorous energy, one that needs a release. It whispers, most intensely, its plea for it within his skin. 

“Do I really need to remind you?” Jungkook asks, playing your little game after all, digits clenched into fists on either side of your head. You nod, briefly, seemingly becoming smaller in his captivity, hands drifting lower, rooting by his hips. He’s surprised he’s letting you touch him like this, but then he’d let you do anything you want. He sweeps a glance at your form, just once, before he bores his gaze back into yours. It did something to you and he draws closer, senses you squeezing your thighs together. Such a cute, bad girl. “It would be a pity to rip this dress off of you. What would they think, hm? If you walked out of this dressing room and had to explain to them what happened?” 

Jungkook drags a finger down your neck and at the first physical contact, you release a breath that wafts over him, deepens his heat. He traces the line of your strap until he reaches the frilly bud of the rose and tugs at it, just once. 

He’s about to continue taunting you, but you catch him off guard. 

“I dunno, I’d tell them I wanted you to do it. That I needed the reminder,” you whisper and your low tone of voice curls unfathomably somewhere within his gut, forcing him to double over. You hook your fingers around his belt loops and Jungkook brims with gladness that he didn’t wear a belt. “What was it that you did to me?” 

He nearly, nearly rolls his eyes back. The effect you have on him—he craves to bunch your hair in his fist, teach you a lesson regarding what you’re doing to him. 

And he just might. Take full responsibility while he’s at it. 

Two responses swirl on his tongue, however. 

One to scold you for provoking him in public, but he knows it would stall the aroused energy and back it away into a corner. The other to keep going and drive you to his level of insanity. 

It’s a crossroad and he’s standing in the middle, a man in charge, his morals questioned and at absolute fucking risk. His blood pumps at full speed and sweat lines his forehead. He’s on the verge of bursting. Time and tension presses against him and with all that energy and strength pulsating in him, it’s scarcely the one he needs to put a stop to this all. It all leads into a far different direction, leading him away from the clearness of his morals. 

Fuck. 

Then, your chest lifts in desperate staccatos and that’s it for him. That’s the breaking point. 

No way out. 

Only way in. 

For you. 

Jungkook wets his lips. “How well can you keep a secret?” 

In the same trembling staccatos, you exhale in relief and he’s ready to give you everything. Absolutely fucking everything. “I’m the best in the game.” 

A flash of light in his being. He’s immensely pleased with your answer, growing hotter and hotter. He inches closer to you, flush to your body, lips by your ear. Feels your little nubs pressing against his upper abdominal muscles. Craves to sink his teeth into the delicious flesh of your ear. “You can’t tell anyone about this,” he starts, mimicking your low tone, speaking of the evident elephant in the room, hoping you catch onto it. “And if they ask, you have to come up with something else. Can you do that?” 

He pulls away a tiny bit, just to study your reaction. Your hold tightens on his belt loops while your mouth parts and your head nods in agreement, ever so needy but patient for his next move. He wants to lick you all over just for that, reward you until you lose your voice. 

“You teased me with your words, with your little bratty mouth, and even though you listened well when I told you to lick your finger for me, you disobeyed me when I instructed you to not wear panties at my place,” he starts, lips mouthing your ear and he feels the need of your body to stabilize at the memory. Offering you his own, he presses closer to you until he pins you against the mirror, until both pairs of lungs sync in movement, his fingers skimming, barely, over the sides of your hips. Though something resistant takes place in the middle of that entwinement. Something that gives his mouth the aftertaste of copper. “And when I found out, I ripped them off of you. Fingered you so fast you came in seconds and made a mess on my hand. And then…” he pauses, an inkling regarding how to get rid of his uneasiness plaguing his mind. “Then I made you apologize and you did. You did it so sweetly that I made you come so many times until you lost count,” he alters the memory, concluding the reminder finding the aftertaste rapidly increasing, transmitting down to his heart, burdening it with a heavy load that he doesn’t know the contents of. 

“Can you show me what you did? I think I might remember better if you do.” 

He almost sinks to his knees, but the resistance, the coppery aftertaste in his mouth immobilizes him, keeps him glued on his spot and his hands begin to tremble. An image of Yoongi blazes in the back of his mind and, fleetingly, Jungkook sees a swift movement, a memory of getting hit. If his hyung is in as bad a mental state as he is, it’s inevitable that history will repeat itself. You haven’t received his blessing. Neither has he. 

But at this very moment, he thinks knuckles to his cheek will simulate the act of a kiss. 

Secrets are secrets and he’s weak.

Awfully, awfully weak. 

“Is this what you want me to do?” he asks, looking you dead in the eye, lifting his chin, hoping you see his frailty—hoping you see that he’s hanging by the thread. “Finger you in this dressing room until you ruin that pretty dress?” 

A smile. “Well, you didn’t get me a dildo, so your fingers will have to do.” 

A sharp inhale of breath. “What about this cock, huh? You don’t want it?” 

You drag a finger along his jean-clad length, barely touching him. Jungkook twitches all over. 

“It’s too big for me, you know I can’t take it.” 

A deep chuckle. He’ll ruin his jeans himself. “If my mind serves me well, you’ve always taken it well. Came around it a lot of times.” 

You whine. This, this is your breaking point and all of Jungkook’s muscles tighten at the recognition. He’s gonna give it to you. Say fuck it to it all—his life was damned the moment he set his eyes on you. Knew he was going to die prematurely. Thinks dying in Yoongi’s hands is quite merciful. It’s his best friend after all. 

“Please, Jungkook, I—”

He grabs your waist, tightly. His thumbs touch and his stomach drops. “You what?” He’s going to make you say it, he doesn’t care. He needs it. He craves it. 

A mewl, one that coils around his length. “I’m so wet. I need you. Please, do something. Anything. Let’s get out of here.” 

He turns you around and because you didn’t expect it, you gasp—loudly. Angels must be by his side, for your sounds get instantly swallowed by the blasting music. You can be as loud as you want, as he wants and he makes a mental note to remind you that when the time asks for it. 

His fingers gather the flimsy fabric, bunching it at your waist. In the sharp light, shining down at you most perfectly, he has a splendid view of your drenched thighs and swollen clit. He presses you against him, needs you to feel how hard you made him, how rock solid his cock is at the sight of your mouth-watering filthiness. He needs you in his mouth, he needs you. 

“Where?” Jungkook asks, staring you down in the mirror, brows furrowed, head tipped to yours, lips in a tight line, parting with every hardened exhale. “Where do you need me? Show me.” 

You moan, ever so softly and he can’t help but grind against your ass, fingertips making dents in the flesh of your waist. You take your hand and drift it down to your sweet little cunt and Jungkook holds his breath. You rub your center, your adorable lips wrapping around your small fingers and you show him the thick sheen of your arousal, glistening in the light. Just like you did the first time he set his eyes on you, even though the paradisiacal sight wasn’t meant for him. 

Now it is—and he’s nearly about to weep in joy. Such spiritual experience, swathed with gratitude and mercy, healing him through and through. This is for him. You’re willingly giving it to him. He never thought he was ever deserving of it, but now in your hands, at your service, it feels too good to be true. His eyes wet, his arousal taking a new form, becoming something bigger, more profound, something that will change him, cling to him for the rest of his life. 

“Here. I want your fingers.” 

He takes your palm in his, planning something with it. “Just my fingers?” 

You lean your head back against his chest. “All of you, please, please.” 

At your service. 

Jungkook wraps his lips around your fingers, sucking your dew, swallowing it, needing more. You grow more desperate, watching him in the mirror, and your little index finger grazes his lip ring, smiling sweetly, pleased with yourself. He coos at the sight, but then you turn around, pressing yourself against him, your cunt against his thigh, his cock against your tummy, and you grab the back of his neck and pull him in, harshly, for a kiss. 

You eat his mouth. He’s barely able to reciprocate your hungry kisses, the roll of your tongue, your moans at your own taste and he decides he will simply slow you down. 

Reaching behind you, his fingers tease your entrance. In response, you lift your ass for him, arching your spine as much as you can. He knows that if he were to pull away, he’d see your juices in the mirror, in the stark light, but your starvation and your craving tastes too good and he physically can’t. 

Gathering your slick, he drags his fingers past your parted lips towards your clit and you swirl your hips for him, outrunning him—making the tip of his digit give you the circles you want. He groans into your mouth, out of breath and it isn’t until he rubs your bud rapidly, with deep pressure, and you moan so loud that it alerts him enough to pull away. 

The music did not, in fact, swallow that sound. 

Jungkook clamps your mouth shut.

Without stopping his movement. Watches your eyes roll back. And he’s greedy, unfortunately so. 

Turning you around, he props your leg on the bench and he looks at your pretty cunt. Swollen red clit, like your feigned tattoos, parted lips, dripping hole and equally soaked folds, glistening in the direct light. He swears, can’t help it, fondling your femininity, all four of his fingers gliding with ease, back and forth, everywhere. Down to your other hole, to your inner thighs, back up to your seashell, to your mound and lower tummy. He cakes you with your arousal, one he’s the creator of, bunching your dress higher until he’s holding you right underneath your breasts that spill over his forearm. So full and perky—he’s unhinged. Utterly, utterly unhinged. 

He wants to smear your slick over those clothed nipples as well. 

Fuck. 

Jungkook rubs your clit again, with the same speed as before. Your eyes lid, but keep the eye contact in the mirror, ravaging him through and through. He submits to it, even though he has the upper hand, even though he has the capability to make those eyes go cross. And they do—when he sinks his fingers inside of you, middle and ring, stuffing you full. Your walls suck him in so hard that he almost loses his footing, squeezing you so hard against him that he’s sure he will leave bruises on your tender skin. He silently promises he will kiss them later. 

“Is this what you wanted?” He lifts your leg, hoists it up in the air and begins to fuck you speedily, fingers curling in your spot every once in a while. He doesn’t want to make you come fast, but then time is pressing against him and he knows the mall will be closing soon. He still has to fill that belly. Would prefer if you came around his cock. “My fingers fucking your needy little princess parts, hm?” 

You moan his name and Jungkook shushes you in your ear, rewarding you regardless by abusing your clit with circles, alternating between those and swiftly fucking you in your tight hole. 

“I’m gonna come, Jungkook, I’m gonna come.” 

He withdraws his fingers. All of them—even those wrapped around your leg. You sway on your feet, heady, panting, and he stabilizes you with a hand on your arm. He smirks at you in the mirror, fingers in his mouth and you give him a dirty look. 

Before you can tell him off, he explains himself. “You’re coming around my cock, I don’t give a fuck, sweetheart.” 

His words wipe your face off of that scowl and you smile at him. A sunshine personified. Jungkook chuckles, pushing you against the mirror with his hand on your sternum and getting on his knees. 

He places your leg on his shoulder. “Hold your dress for me.” 

You listen right away, ever so eager. One hand clutches the hem, the other sneaks to his hair. Jungkook likes it so much that he doesn’t waste a second and envelops his mouth around your little clit. 

Just briefly. He has your dew to drink. 

He swipes his tongue along your slit. Over and over, until his sweat drips in pearls down his temples and he makes new bruises on the sides of your hips. Even goes one step further and fucks you with his tongue, letting out short little breaths and soft moans against you, gone feral by your taste and your fleshiness. He takes your lips in his mouth, plays with them with his tongue. Pulls away, stares lovingly at them and spits on your clit, sucking it inside his mouth and rubbing his face in your dripping juices, licking up everything you’re giving to him. 

And when your knee gives out, he catches you in time, standing to his feet. Doesn’t kiss you. Is selfish. Wants your taste perpetually on his tongue. Your eyes sink to his wet chin and you lick your lips, a feral look on your own gracing your features. You resemble a horny little animal, one that he craves to own and make his. But he can’t burden his heart with that thought. Doesn’t have the strength for it, not when he’s still hanging by the thread. 

“How do you want my cock?” he asks, his own eyes lidded, darkness consuming him. “Like this or from behind? You decide. I’m giving it to you. It’s yours.” 

You’re left speechless. He taps your cheek, gently, to make you talk. If you don’t, it will be his ruination and he will die. At your Pikachu-clad feet. A sweet, sweet death. Ideal. 

“I—I can’t take it from behind.” A deer in the headlights, terribly cute. 

He chuckles, caressing your hair. “But you have.” He grins, but it’s an answer for him. He’ll take you from behind in the safe confines of your home. “Like this, then. It’s more than perfect, sweetheart.” He kisses you, deeply, but he doesn’t give you his tongue. His heart expands, his affection crawling all around the kiss. He wonders if you can feel it. 

Pulling away, he unbuttons his pants and takes out his length. He’s soaked his underwear, but he doesn’t mind. His arousal drips down and he rubs it along his tip to make it as painless for you as he can when he enters you. 

And once he does, your eyes roll back and you break into whines, ones that fuck with his brain. Your leg is wrapped around his torso, but he joins the other one, holding you by your splendid little cheeks. Like his fingers, you suck him in, even though he hasn’t given you all of it yet. He’s already losing it. Doesn’t know what’s going to happen to him once he’s balls deep. He won’t last. He physically can’t. 

Jungkook bites your lower lip, sucking it into his mouth. “You want all of it?” 

You tug at his hair. “Yes, all of you.” 

At your fucking service. 

He sinks deeper into you, hissing, furrowing his brows, sweat dripping down every perimeter of his body. Your mouth latches onto his neck and he’s gone. Even more so, when you graze your teeth upon his skin before you suck it—like he sucked your lip. He fucks you hard for it, making you let go of his neck and moan against the column. It pleases him so much that he does it again, a warm pressure coiling in his lower belly. It creates a cacophonous sound, your body colliding into the mirror and it mingles, beautifully, with the music playing. As well as the squeaky noises of your slick gliding along his cock every time he draws out. 

“Who do you belong to tonight, huh?” Jungkook rasps, filling you balls-deep just like you wanted, driving into you slowly until his pelvis kisses yours. “You can be as loud as you want, sweetheart. Nobody’s gonna hear you but me.” 

Rapid, whiny moans. He mimics their speed while maintaining eye contact with you and he groans when your eyes go unfocused, mouth parted. You’re just as gone as him. He pecks you for it, so terribly pleased. His orgasm inches closer, enveloping him with even deeper, thicker darkness. 

“To you, Daddy,” you cry out and because you called him by the title, he maneuvers you. Hoists you higher on his cock, with your legs now dangling from his forearms. And like this, he drags you up and down his length, his own moans breaking at the feeling of you tightening around him. He’s gonna come now and it’s your fault. 

“No, sweetheart, you can’t call me that when we’re here,” he scolds, shaking his head, brushing his lips against yours. “I can’t ruin you the way I’d like. They’d kick us out.” He kisses you, slowing down his tempo, stalling his orgasm. “Now apologize or you’re not coming.” 

“I’m so sorry. I won’t call you that in—in public.” 

A rewarding kiss to your neck. A hard stroke. One that blankets his vision with colorful stars. “Good girl,” he praises, looks down at you and kisses you without breaking the stare. “Now you need to be the best girl and come around my cock. I can’t fill you up—you didn’t wear your panties. I’d ruin your leggings for everyone to see.” You cry out again, the idea dizzying your mind as much as his and you tug at his hair, scratching your fingernails down his neck, touching him all over. “Can you do that for me? Can you come for me and not make a mess like the last time, hm?” 

He pounds into you, the strokes so hard that the sound of skin slapping turns disturbing and he holds his orgasm for your sake, all of his muscles clenched, stars dancing across his vision, pecking your features. And that’s it for you. 

You come so hard around him—and you are the bestest girl in the world because you manage to keep your eyes on him throughout the entirety of the wave of your orgasm washing over you, licking up at your body. Mouth parted, his name slipping past, a deep tinge of red, deeper than your dress, flushing your cheeks, eyes dazed, so gone, so fucked out, dark and alluring, so akin to his.

His bestest girl. His sweetheart. 

He needs to pull away. He needs to come. 

“Sweetheart, I know you’re tired but I need you to take off your dress and get on your knees.” 

You do it so quickly, without talking back, that even his own flush finds its way to his cheeks, his heart growing even larger and hotter, winged fuckers zapping his stomach. He fucks his fist in your face, loving the way you’re watching what he’s doing for a little while with a lingering hunger before you flick your eyes to his, beckoning his orgasm out of him. 

“Good girl,” he whispers, muscles straining, movement quickening. White clothes the colorful stars, the warmth in his stomach on the very brink of exploding. “Open your mouth.” 

And he paints your mouth in the same shade of white. You’re so good that you wrap your lips around him, sucking him softly, making popping sounds that prolong his orgasm and he grasps your hair in his fist, gently, despite the violence of his release. He’s not just giving you his cum; he’s giving you all of his affection and when you swallow and smile at him in such a kind, beautiful manner, it wets his eyes in a way that he can’t explain. 

He helps you get on your feet and you worsen his state of emotions. Like earlier, you fold into his form, hugging him skin to skin, squeezing him so hard that he stops breathing altogether. And when you begin to weep and smear his chest with your precious tears, he weeps with you. 

Never in his life before has he experienced such embrace, such love unraveling in the form of tears and quiet sobs. And he doesn’t want to absolve this again. With you, it’s perfect. And right now, he could die with the utmost certainty that you’re both crying for the same reason. 

Love unable to be real, to be fulfilled. 

He senses it. Senses it in the way he cradles your head and wipes your tears away. In the way your lips wrap around his, kissing him as if this was the very last time. You don’t have to say a word. He knows. And it’s enough. 

Jungkook dresses you. Runs his fingers through your hair in effort to fix it and make it look as nice as it did before he ruined it. And his eyes drench again when you zip him up in the meantime. No one has ever done that for him. 

The warmth in his heart heightens. He doesn’t understand how it’s possible. 

Taking your hand, purse and your dress, he leads you to check out. Pays for it. Carries the bag. Pretends you’re his; pretends his duties are nonexistent and his morals have different colors—just for this night. Doesn’t let go of your hand, even as he orders a good bowl of soup for you and himself, even as you sit down together and wait for your food. Even as you look at him deep in thought. 

“You saved me,” you unravel, a soft, tender, drowsy mien gracing your face and his heart thuds against his ribcage, gratitude surrounding it, eyes wetting again. “Thank you. And for the dress. I’ll only wear it for you.” 

The thuds halt. And it’s the only thing that does—a tear rolls down his cheek and he can’t truly believe he’s baring his feelings like that for you, in front of you. He feels as though he was dreaming and he fears he’s going to stir to awakening any moment now. 

A waiter brings your food. None of you pay him any kind of attention, though you don’t forget to say your thank you’s. 

Jungkook opens his mouth to say something, despite the fact no words rise on his tongue, but something interrupts him. 

His phone rings. 

And it’s none other than his hyung himself. 

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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[horrorartsworld]

please can you write valentino with an abnormal obsession with the reader? like this man will sit there with vox watching her every move and catches her doing something she shouldn’t be (which will be left up to you 🩶)

⊹₊⋆ valentino x f!dancer!reader

warnings: smut. possessiveness. manhandling. somewhat gore?? (val pew pews someone), nippleplay, choking, degradation, daddy kink, very little proofread 😭

love me some obsessive vallll

You just so happened to be working the floor that night, wearing the most revealing lace set known to man with lace garters to match. Heels big yet elegantly chunky as you made your rounds along the stage giving sweet yet suggestive glances in hopes you’d find a dumb enough sinner that was willing to play with you so you could scrounge around and get your moneys worth. “H-Hey there pretty thing~,” Bingo. An old drunken who most certainly had the money and in his state would blow it just for some high quality ass. You instantly put the sway in your hips and approach, a big pretty grin on your face as he pats his lap for you to get on. A routine you knew all too well that was all apart of the business.

On the other side of the building where the V.I.P section stood in a big king pin like booth sat your boss and his charismatic side piece, Vox.

“Sooo whattda think of the new broadcast today Val,” He asks simply trying to make conversation over the blaring music, but Valentino wasn’t being responsive as his attention was elsewhere. Thigh hopping in frustration, face turned up in a scowl all while taking longer puffs of his cigarette barely getting a breath in as he watched your every move like a hawk.

Vox’s animated brows raise on his screen at the scene unfolding in-front of him. Your sweet figure mostly on display because of your attire, dancing thoughtlessly amongst the old geezer as he slipped some cash in the waistband of your panties. Which all seemed fine and dandy to Vox, but that wasn’t the case for Val. “Hey she’s doing her job…no need to act like an overprotective father about it..” He attempts at cracking a joke to lighten the mood, nudging Val’s shoulder as he takes a swig of bourbon, leaning back on the couch with his flat head leaned back. Valentino just scuffs, exhaling some of his smoke in the process, clouding the once clean airways of the booth with red tuffs of smoke.

“I know that *squeak* dickhead…” He grumbles knowing that sure he wasn’t your father, but he sure as hell was your boss and you his sweet golden girl that he would occasionally see on the weekends. Though something came over him making him suddenly sit up straighter when he sees you twist in the sinners lap facing him, moving your chest towards his face almost suffocating the man with your plush mounds covered in that delicate lace, but what had Val the most furious was when the man had lifted the lace to put his mouth on one of your perky buds making him spring up from where he was seated and stalked his way over to the two of you. Leaving Vox to eat up the drama from afar.

You let out a surprised mewl at the sensation looking down on the man with wide eyes, but before you could even react Valentino was towering over you two with a dark aura protruding from him and his eyes glowing bright red. Your body runs cold under his gaze not knowing he had been here this whole time and it’s then you get a slight glimpse behind him of a bright light shining in your eyes from the glare of the tv-headed man sitting on the other side of the room. You mentally curse at yourself for what you got yourself into, being then grabbed by the back of the neck and yanked off the man’s lap to stand behind Valentino. “If you know what’s good for you, you’d get the fuck out of my club before I throw your ass out…” Val says with growling undertones to his voice that sounded like he could kill. “Jeez m-man I was just having a little fun...” The older man slurs raising his hands for a split second in defense before he wobbly got off the chair. Val stares intensely at the man as he begins to walk out hearing him then mumble, “she’s a fucking skank anyway..”. Your eyes just about bulge out of your head, “Val b-baby let’s just g-,” before you could even finish your sentence Val grabs one of his revolvers and blows the man’s head clean off, blood splattering amongst everything and his limp body hitting the floor with a thud from the loss of life.

You stand there frozen trying to process what just happened as the party around you never missed a beat, being use to Val’s rage full tangents like this one, including Kitty his fizzbot who immediately started cleaning up the mess.

Val had grown deafly silent during this time, not saying a single word even as he grabbed your wrist to yank you off to god knows where. Passing Vox in the process who says, “Way to go mothy..,” still sipping his bourbon like a baby, though again Val didn’t even bother to respond till you made it to his back office where he threw you on the floor and slammed the door.

“I-I’m-” you chocked out, voice trembling, “Hush carñio..,” He shushes before you could even muster up the apology, towering over you once more to then suddenly scoop you up in his arms almost cradling you close to him before he brought you over to a loveseat where he sat you on his lap almost just like the man had you earlier. He just stares at you with a half-lidded gaze for a moment behind those sunglasses of his before he tucks some of your hair behind your ear in a foreign gesture, “You know you’re mine right…?” The unanticipated question making your mouth fall agape before you answered a meek, “yes..”

“So when another dead man touches what is mine…what do you think i have to do? hmm..” Dread bloomed in your chest as a million things ran through your head at what he could possibly mean by that, his hand lightly slaps your ass to gain your attention back as you started to drift too hard into what the answer could be, which you just settled with, “I-I’m not sure..”

He chuckles knowing you wouldn’t, eyes trailing your body a moment, “Then let me show you doll..”

Without warning the lace of your shirt is over his head, pushing off his hat and his mouth is latched onto your sensitive bud, sucking harshly. Your breath hitching as the feeling felt way differently from how the man had did it moments before, along with one of his other hands kneading against the one that wasn’t getting his mouths attention currently. When he unlatched from one a string of silva would still connect the two together and his expression would look loss in bliss as he would then lowly hum when he latched back onto the other one. Earning a soft whimper from your lips that reacted in Valentino’s hips bucking up into your needy cunt that was soaking your thin panties.

“T-tino…” You’d mewl out, hands running over his bald head desperately now needing him to show attention elsewhere as he igniting an undeniable heat within you.

He’d then lightly graze his teeth against your nipple to earn another little desperate plea before coming off of it with a pop. “Where you need it baby…” He’d ask huskily now tugging and tracing at the garters on your thighs teasingly.

“I-I need it inside..” You’d pout without hesitation, thighs twitching with each touch he made. He’d snicker at this, leaning back on the loveseat while pulling his hands away to hang his arms on the back of it with a smug grin, a confused look now forming on your face.

“Well the belt ain’t gonna unbuckle itself..” He nods motioning his head for you to do it while he looked down at the big heart belt buckle. Adjusting his hips once your delicate hands decided to fumble with it, eventually getting it undone and going the rest of the way to pull his cock out. “Mmm such a naughty little whore…,” He then suddenly grabs you by the neck giving it nice squeeze before pulling your mouth onto his. Long pointed tongue invading your personal space almost making it hard for you to breathe with his clawed fingers also digging into the skin of your neck. When he pulls away you almost feel dizzy from how long he had you there, both of you breathing heavily.

“My whore..” He adds mumbly, not failing to make your heart race even faster in the process as he then with two of his fingers tug down your panties and the bills tucked there falling with them. “And look how wet you already are baby..fuck” Turning his attention now to your exposed cunt that was practically dripping with your arousal onto his thighs.

You blush uncontrollably at the sight yourself, but that doesn’t stop you from lowering down onto him which he gladly let you. The stretch of his size feeling unbelievable when it’s finally enveloped in your warmth making you let out whiny moan once he was fully inside.

Val chuckled though it soon turned into a hiss when you had finally adjusted and moved your hips creating that delicious friction you both so desperately needed. A pair of his hands helping by gripping onto your waist and bouncing you up and down his length while the others kneaded against your breasts again. “T-too much..” You hiccuped, tears welling up in your eyes as the pleasure overwhelmed you, with his cock grazing your cervix each time he brought you down onto it. “Nonono…you can take it frme..”

You throw your head back as if throwing a tantrum with a pitiful cry following, only making him let you come down faster and earning a couple pinches at your nipples. “Aww is daddy breaking that little mind of yours… along with this pussy feeling like it’s getting split in two huh?” He coos, which only makes you huff.

“Mmph! P-please daddy!”

“Please what?”

You tried to form the words to think properly about what you were trying to spit out. Your mind being to foggy with only things of pleasure and the filthy sounds the two of you were making with your bodies.

You gasped, “I need to cum! please…i wanna cum!”

“Oh you wanna cum princess?” He says almost as a challenging question, making his movements faster feeling his own build up coming.

“I wanna cum daddy …” You pout, as you begin squirming in his hands with your orgasm so close.

“You wanna cum?” He repeats knowing that it was only getting you more relied up.

“Mmm! Yes!” You almost scream, biting down on your lip to conceal it, the right knot unraveling once the tip of his cock firmly pressed against your cervix. Your eyes screwing shut as you creamed around his cock, his name the last thing falling from your lips.

Val groaned, cock twitching before he painted your gummy walls white shortly after with his thick load. You cling to him for a moment just revealing in the feeling before it was gone.

Knowing how Valentino was you started to get up and get ready to head back out, but before you could get completely off of him he sits you back down, the sensitivity of your cunt making you whimper when it was greeted with his cock once more. He grabs your cheeks squishing them before he makes you look him in the eye, “Remember this moment the next time someone takes it too far…you hear me?”

“Y-yes sir”

“Good girl…Now how about you clean me off a little yeah?”

[thedovesaredying]

Monsters in the Dark | Nikto x Reader | Part 3

Third chapter of the Cowboy!Nikto series. Nikto has some emotions and has no idea what they mean or how to deal with them. Original Cowboy concept based on the AU by @ghouljams

A/N: Finally got enough time to work on this chapter after weeks and weeks of hectic stress with work and university. Thank you to all of those still following along with the story, I'll hopefully have the next part out soon. Fun fact: The story of a horse getting hurt running into a fence because they were so excited to see someone is from one of the silly yearlings at uni lol.

Warnings: Minor medical proceedures, Nikto getting a little jealous.

Masterlist: CoD Masterlist

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Nikto can’t help wondering if there’s anything that can ruin your seemingly perpetual good mood. Even with your body dripping with sweat and elbow deep inside of a cow, you’re still somehow grinning brightly at the farmer standing beside you. Doing a part of your job that some would consider... unpleasant at best, you’re able to act as if it’s the most exciting thing you’ve ever done.  

One of the other farm hands, a man about your age, if a year or two older, is acting a little too interested in what you’re doing, however, and Nikto’s jaw is aching with how hard he’s grinding his teeth together. They make a soft groaning sound as they suffer under the pressure he’s subjecting them to, but unfortunately, it’s the only thing keeping him from snapping at “Darren” when the man crowds close to you with what he must think is a suave grin.  

“Alright, I can feel the cervix now,” you hum, and he can see the way your arm twists slightly within the animal, “it’s pretty easy to manoeuvre it around.” You frown to yourself, seemingly oblivious to the way that annoying brat leans a little closer, “the reproductive tract isn’t very heavy.” 

“And what’s that mean, darlin’?” Darren asks, and Nikto can’t decide what he hates more, the tone the other man is using to address you, or the way he thinks it’s okay to place a hand on your shoulder. The gelding underneath Nikto snorts, shifting uncertainly as he likely senses the tension brewing.  

“Oh,” you blink at Darren, as if only just noticing him for the first time, “normally you wouldn’t be able to move the cervix around so easily if she was carrying a calf, I’d be able to feel at least a little weight to it.” You reach a little further into the cow, taking a few moments longer before adding, “I can also feel the horns of her uterus, and there’s no fluid I can feel inside them.”  

Darren is nodding, but his gaze is far from focused on the animal or what you’re actually saying to him.  

You pull you hand slowly from the cow, removing the palpation glove and dropping it into the bin beside the cattle crush. “Looks like this girl’s open, I’m afraid,” you say, grabbing the can of cattle paint and spraying a bright green streak across the animal’s tail, “and that’s the last of the girls done.”  

Pulling the release lever, the heifer is let out of the crush and into the holding pen with the rest of the females you’ve checked for pregnancies. While most of them have little blue marks to indicate a successful insemination, a few of the younger ones weren’t lucky enough to take this time around.  

Darren looks as though he’s about to say something further (more than likely something stupid and obnoxious), but before he can do anything more than puff up his chest, Mr. Roberts is snapping at him.  

“Darren! Get your ass into the paddock, boy!” The old man has a scowl on his face that would have recruits shaking in their boots and a voice with a harsh snarl to it from years of smoking. “The hell do I bother paying you for?” he grumbles, watching as the younger man near enough trips over himself in his haste to get back to work.  

Nikto can’t help admiring the man for his no nonsense approach to his work. He’s friendly enough toward those who work for him, and when Nikto was looking for employment, took him on board with no questions asked. The elderly cowboy has made it clear that he could care less about where someone comes from, only that they can do an honest day’s hard work.  

“Well, thank you for giving us a hand with the ladies,” the old man’s tone softens drastically, and he offers you a firm handshake, “I know those big business farms have all that fancy new technology and blood tests to make checking for calves easier, but I much prefer the old method.”  

Although he would never admit it aloud, it’s rather… sweet, the way you beam at Mr. Roberts and nod along to his words. “Of course! A blood test would be useful for determining how long the baby’s been gestating for, but there’s nothing wrong with the palpation method to find out if they’re carrying anything.” 

Roberts seems pleased by your response, offering you an elusive smile, before giving you one final nod, “I’ll see you around town in a few days, and I’ll drop your payment off at the clinic.”  

There are a few final pleasantries exchanged, all of which Nikto ignores. He was supposed to be getting the horse tacked down and set out for the day. Getting distracted by you while doing your job was just an unfortunate happenstance. He urges the gelding onward with a gentle tap to the animal’s side, leaving you to the business of packing up all of your tools in peace.  

He dismounts once reaching the stable, giving the horse a firm pat on the shoulder before leading him into one of the nearest stalls. He can’t know for certain if anyone else will need Murphy before the end of the day, seeing as the horse belongs to Roberts, but the least he can do is ensure he’s comfortable until he’s turned out for the end of the day.  

While “Murphy” isn’t exactly a name that Nikto would have chosen for a horse, given it’s a little too human for his own tastes, apparently, the gelding was named after Murphy’s Law, seeing as the poor animal seems to constantly be getting into trouble. Anything that could possibly go wrong for him can and will. He’s only just recovered from a nasty gash he’d received to the front of his chest after getting a little too excited to see Nikto coming to greet him and crashing directly into a barbed wire fence.  

Nikto starts untacking Murphy, starting with the bridle and moving his way backwards. He gives the gelding a quick brushing down and picks out his hooves to ensure there’s no stones or injuries that’ve gone unnoticed. He leaves Murphy to his dinner while he works on cleaning off the bit of the bridle and applying oil where the leather has begun to dry out. It’s a difficult job with only one properly functioning arm, but he’s not about to ask for any assistance with such a mundane chore.  

When he gets back, however, he’s startled to find you standing there, stroking Murphy’s mane while the horse happily munches on a mouthful of hay. You’re cooing at the animal happily, giggling when Murphy starts trying to nibble at your shirt once running out of food.  

You turn and offer him a smile, face still a little warm from the sun outside and with several strands of your hair poking out in odd directions. He finds that the look suits you, oddly enough.  

It’s only when you call his name that he realises that you’ve been trying to speak to him and he’s just been there staring at your face like a complete idiot. He shifts his grip on the halter he’s holding and clears his throat. “What do you need?” He settles on eventually, deciding that’s the least offensive way of telling you he hasn’t heard a word spoken to him.  

Thankfully, you don’t seem to be too upset by it. “I was just asking how poor Murphy is doing, I know he had a nasty scratch recently,” you’re looking at Nikto, but your words are said in the same, high-pitched coo you tend to use whenever you’re talking to Sputnik, accompanied by a rather overdramatic frown.  

He rolls his eyes at you, but finds he isn’t entirely annoyed by the antics. “Fine. His wound has healed well,” he says while reaching over to try and guide Murphy’s head a little closer. He may not be a trained veterinarian, but Nikto has seen plenty enough injuries in his life to be able to tell when one isn’t healing well. Murphy, of course, decides not to cooperate, instead trying to press the side of his fluffy face up against you.  

Getting the halter over the horse’s head with one hand is rather awkward, especially with the way the animal insists on moving about. You reach out, and he’s about to snap at you for trying to do it for him. He’s had enough of people trying to treat him like an infant recently, as though he’s not a dangerous killer.  It was suffocating enough when it was hospital staff and physiotherapists, but even a civilian thinking he’s too incapable to perform such a simple task? 

But then, you simply grab the buckle in one hand and hold it in position for him to secure himself.  

It would be far faster and more efficient for you to take the halter and do it yourself, yet you stand patiently without comment, and wait as he pulls the strap over the horse’s head and fastens the catch in place. He’s not sure why the thought of you specifically treating him like a weak child had him prepared to lash out quite so aggressively, especially when he’s brushed off similar actions by other people with only a few choice words and a particularly icy glare.  

You return to eagerly cooing at the horse before he can force himself to offer any kind of thanks, and he quickly pushes down the uncomfortable tangle of emotions trying to crawl their way up from his stomach.  

“Are you finished for the day?” You ask after a few moments of silence. He gives you a nod and you’re quick to ask, “how’s your girl been holding up?”  

“Our girl?” he asks slowly, forehead scrunching up. Do you think he has a partner or some kind? Why would you think there’s a girl in his life? Has he done something to make you think he’s married or dating someone?  

“Sputnik,” you clarify, and his face must do something odd because you snort at his reaction. “Why, do you have another girl?” 

Nikto can’t help automatically scoffing at the question, shaking his head at the very thought, “нет, we have no one.” He sees your eyebrows raise slightly, as if surprised by that, but you quickly school your expression back into its normal, carefree smile.  

Your expression quickly turns into something playful, however, as you add, “really? A big, handsome man like you?” He’s not sure how genuine your teasing tone is, “surely you’ve got the ladies lining up.” You have this way of joking around with him and asking questions in a way that doesn’t make him want to immediately tell you to ‘fuck off’. It’s a strange feeling, and he’s not entirely sure he likes it.  

“You are just crazy,” he counters, going to cross his arms over his chest, only to realise he can’t and instead settling for just letting them rest in place. He sees your eyes travel down the length of his damaged arm, stopping at where it abruptly ends. You don't comment on it, however, and he’s annoyed by how glad he is that you don’t. You likely didn’t even notice his injury until now, given he’s been wearing his prosthetic covered by long-sleeved clothes and gloves every other time you’ve met.  

“Wow, so rude,” you grin, trying to playfully shove his shoulder, only to pout when he’s entirely unmoved by the action. He’s been called rude many times in his life, but this is the first time he’s ever found himself pleased to hear it from someone.  

The sound of the stable door opening has you pulling your attention away from him and toward Roberts, who has just entered. You give Murphy a quick pet to the side of the neck, and Nikto a final grin, offering up a brief, “I’ll see you around.” 

Roberts waves as you leave the stables, waiting for the large door to close before he turns to look at Nikto, one of his bushy eyebrows raised. “So, when’re you gonna marry that lovely girl?” The old man asks, leaning against the stall door with an upward twitch of his lips.  

Nikto near enough chokes on thin air, whirling around on the cowboy with a startled, “что?”  

The old man just sighs heavily, shaking his head, “just make sure you do it soon, yeah? We need another vet living out here on a permanent basis,” he ploughs on, “she already knows the area and she’s a lovely young lady.”  

As quickly as he arrived, Roberts wanders off again, heading back to work and leaving Nikto standing in the middle of the horse stall. He takes a long moment, just staring at where the old man had been a few moments ago while his brain slowly processes everything. Surely he wasn’t being serious, right?

-

Translations

“да,” - “Yes” 

"что?” - "What?"

[universaln0b0dy]

Hello I was wondering if there can be a part two to Monster where the boys confront the reader about their overblot? You can ignore this if you to.

here we go!

(Aftermath of this: Monster

Summary: They saw what you're capable of and now you fear that they might hate you....

Note: angst n fluff (Leona, Floyd and Rook), very ooc- also I apologise if this isn't what you imagined or if it's too cringe. I finished writing this at three a.m.-

Leona:

You had tried your best to ignore the lion after the Overblot, the way he had fixated you while you were in your overblot form scared you. You decided to yeet your feelings for him in the trash and ignore him, so he wouldn't ask questions.

After a week of successfully avoiding the lion your lucky strike comes to an end and you found yourself in a kinda funny position. Trapped between his arms.

"Herbivore, why are you ignoring me?" Leonas tail flkvjed from one side to the other, hid green eyes staring into yours. Your poor heart was shattering into a thousand pieces as you realised he would question you about your monster form.

"Because I don't want to be questioned about my Overblot form. I can't explain it either." You mumble coldly, trying to free yourself out of his grasp, but Leona seems disappointed, like he wanted to hear something else. But the fleeting gaze was soon replaced by his usual grumpy frown.

"I don't care about that Overblot form of yours, I would just don't like being indebted to people." He snarles, moving both of his hands away from you. You could just make a fun for it, but you don't, so you decide to play abit obvious.

"What debt, there is no debt." You mutter, avoiding Leonas eyes. The male sighs. "You saved my life there, of course I am indebted to you." Something about the way he said that made you confused. Leona wasn't the type to admit he owed someone something, or come to that person to talk about said debt.

"How about I let you stay in my dorm over the winter. As far as I know Ramshackle can get very cold." You were about to slap yourself in order to check if you were dreaming or not.

"Are you sure? I don't think you would like a monster like me staying in your dorm." You mumble looking to the side, only to hear him chuckle.

"I have seen your Overblot form and let me tell you, your not a monster.... if I am honest you looked kinda hot."

"WHAT?"

Floyd:

"SHRIIIMPY~"

You had barely finished fighting Jamil and you most definitely weren't in the mood for explaining about your Overblot form. It made you uncomfortable how Azul and Jade looked at you, keeping their distance. You were exhausted and their judging gaze didn't help your case.

Floyd on the other hand had other plans. You should have expected this, he would be mad you kept such a big thing from him after all. You lean against a wall, breathing heavily. The eel stops right in front of you, looking at you with curiosity, but also a sour mood in his eyes.

"Why didn't you tell me you could willingly Overblot shrimpy?" Just as expected he sounded disappointed. You shrugged slightly, trying to keep your eyes open.

"I thought it would be better if I didn't tell anyone I was a monster." You mutter, leaning to the side. Floyd isn't content with that answer, as if he could sniff out the fact you were lying.

"That still doesn't explain why you didn't tell me shrimpy, I thought we had something special!" Hearing that takes you of guard and you look at him with tears. You were trying to fight them, but that didn't stop them from flowing.

"I'm sorry Floyd, you're right, I should have told you.... it was wrong of me to keep it just because.... I.... you.... stay.." you couldn't complete the sentence and your voice breaks in between. You were selfish, yes, Floyd was a moody eel and many people considered him a monster, but why should he be forced to continue to like one, just because you couldn't get your sorry ass to tell him about everything.

"I should have told you I was a monster, than you wouldn't have wasted your time on me." Floyds expression softens for a second and he pulls you into a hug.

"Dawww! Shrimpy! I still like you! You're still my shrimp, even once you are covered in ink!"

The only thing you can do is squeeze him back.

Rook:

Rook was eccentric and that was why he still liked you. There was a subtle shift in his behaviour after you had helped fight Vil, he stopped being overly entranced with Vil, going over to shower you in compliments. You didn't know how long that shift would last, but you enjoyed every second of it.

"Trickster! That was un suprise! You looked manifique!" You lean your head towards the side, cheecks burning with embarrassment. Vil eyed you both, smiling softly.

"I hope this will finally stop Rook from barging into my room just to talk about the fact that the prefect developed a new habit."

You heard Vil, luckily. If you hadn't you might would have expected Rook to just revert back to his old self, but this gave you hope, hope that you would be more than just his current intrest. You looked around, everyone seemed chill with the fact you just overblotted and turned back like it was nothing. It didn't matter that Rook was eccentric, you could always trust his gut feeling.

"Rook, are you sure that a monster like me looked... manifique?" You ask jokingly, Rook grasps his heart in an over dramatic motion. "Oui, oui! Mon dieu, If I ever hear you say something like that again I will make sure to cut you off before that sentence can get to your head!"

You chuckle a bit, before going back to serios. "No Rook, I really want you to know that it's okay if-"

You blink a few seconds trying to comprehend what just happened. Did Rook really just kiss you, or did you just imagine that? Your knees get wobbly, maybe because you were exhausted or because you were embarrassed, you didn't know.

"OMGWHYDIDYOUDOTHAT?" You manage to squeal and Rook chuckles. "I warned you trickster and mark my words I will do it again."

Vil, please get your hunter under control, the prefekts heart might explode if it has to endure this any longer.

[ben-talks-art]

Okay... This episode of Digital Circus almost made me cry... almost!

When I saw the first episode of this show I knew I was going to really like it, but I wasn't prepared for how much I was going to love it. This reminds me of when X-Men 97 premiered and even though we were only two episodes in I could already tell this was going to be something special.

I know it's super, super early to say this, but this might become one of my favorite shows. The way they handled this episode really worked for me in a way I haven't felt in a while.

From the very first scene things already start on a really strong note, with our main lead, Pomni, having nightmares about the worst-case scenario from the new situation she's in where she imagines herself being affected by the circus glitch and being abandoned by the rest of the cast.

This does a great job setting up her sense of isolation and how she thinks she's on her own even though they all should be on the same boat together.

This gets highlighted even more as another member of the circus, Ragatha, is seen constantly trying to show her support and getting Pomni to cheer up despite the dreadful situation they're in while Pomni herself just acts indifferent as if she had already given up on everything and everyone.

I found this characterization of hers so relatable because I also used to think for a while that my problems were mine and mine alone and that everyone trying to help me were doing that just out of obligation and not because they really cared.

For some reason it felt "safer" to just assume I couldn't count on anyone because then I wouldn't have to worry about being disappointed in anyone, after all, you can't get disappointed if you don't get your hopes up.

So imagine how hyped I got when I saw that they indirectly made Pomni realize why it's important to rely on people when they switched the roles and placed her on the position where she needed to be there for someone.

I wanted to jump and slam my desk while shouting "Perfect! Perfect! This is just perfect!!"

Everything that needed to be said was being said just in the right way, just at the right time, and with the right amount of emotion, just the right amount of seriousness and levity.

Cause here's the thing, the media often has this obnoxious tendency of portraying antisocial characters as people that need to just "Get over it."

A lot of writers enjoy lumping grumpy characters, and reserved characters, depressed characters, angry characters and all these stuff as people who just need someone to cheer them up and have them forget about their problems, as if they were babies that just need to grow up and learn to be less grumpy so they can join in with the fun alongside everyone else.

You notice that it's always a person in a bad mood + someone who's always cheerful, happy, and with a child-like joyful attitude to be their contrast or someone to call them out on their "grumpyness."

And that always bothers me because it makes it seem like they're downplaying someone's struggle or inner turmoil as if they were minor things that they latch onto to just because nobody has told them to let it go yet.

I like when stories showcase why people struggle so much to let go of this mindset, why they struggle to open up to others and find themselves cheering to their day-to-day lives again.

But I'm also aware that this is not an easy task cause it's basically asking to show someone being depressed for a good portion of your story, and if that goes on for too long or it starts diving into a too heavy of a territory, it can make it a challenge just to watch.

So yeah, I get it, it's hard to find the right balance.

To show why someone needs to overcome their personal demons, while also making it an enjoyable experience to go through.

You don't want a case like Legend Of Korra where Lin Beifong's issues were pretty much treated as a joke, but you also don't want something like the Beast Boy segments from Young Justice where every scene with him just felt the same thing for 5 or 6 episodes, even though they were realistic scenes depicting someone going through what he was dealing with and they all built up to an amazing conclusion with Black Canary... But it was still draining to go through that.

You need to find the right balance and I felt like this episode really succeeded in that. You get why Pomni feels the way she does and you get why Ragatha tries so hard to help her out and why it's important that she keeps trying even when it seems like there is no point.

I really like how Ragtha isn't just "Cheer up, Pomni! Let me show you the secret to enjoying life!", she's actually trying to be sensitive of her situation, giving her the space and time she needs, and being there for her but not forcing herself on her.

She validates Pomni's pain but also knows it's a pain that she needs to learn how to deal with, otherwise, she's just gonna miss out on her own life.

The final scene was the thing that really got me.

When Pomni finally realized that the same way she tried to help out that NPC when they were stuck, she also needs to let others help her out.

It took me so long to realize in life that I don't need to deal with everything on my own, that I had people there for me, that I'm allowed to be vulnerable and make mistakes and that the people around me who love and care about me would still be there for me.

It took way, way too long for me to realize all that, so to see that final shot of Pomni imagining herself falling just like in her dream, but this time she had trust that her friends would be there to catch her, it really hit me good.

I'm not sure how to explain it but for some reason I was really proud of her for learning such an important lesson so quickly that it took me so long to learn myself. Like, I know she's not real, she's a fictional character, but I felt an immense relief while thinking people would watch this, and learn from this, and not make the same mistakes I did.

I have no idea where this show is going, but I feel like I'm in safe hands and can't wait to see what else they're going to do and where they're going to go.

I'm very very hyped for this series!

Also, I know this makes me a monster, but this scene made me laugh. :)

[emberfrostlovesloki]

Criminal Minds June Prompts - First Meetings/Dates

All Photo Credits at the End

Good evening loves! We made it to Mayl! Here are some more Summer Prompts for June. This prompt list is inspired by the always amazing, @imagining-in-the-margins, who always make the best prompt lists. Her current prompt list can be found here (linked). I won’t write for all of my prompts, but I might for a few. I decided to go with a theme for these June Promts and it is First Meetings / Dates, and there are a few in here that I am very excited about.

The rules for using these prompts are that there are no rules! You could use any Criminal Minds characters, OCs, reader inserts, etc. You could draw, write, make mood boards, or imagine anything else. I have included 30 prompts for each day of the month. I also get inspiration from plain old words, so I’ve included 10 Summer words that might inspire something. Lastly, I’ve included a few dialog and art prompts too. If any of these prompts inspire you to create, I’d love to be tagged to see what you have made. This is all just for fun. I wish everyone a great start to the month. Please know I’m proud of you wherever you are right now - Love Levi ❤️

You can find all the prompts below the cut

General Prompts

Characters A and B try to decide on a first date spot, but they don’t seem to have the same taste in anything, so they have to compromise. 

Character A sees Character B having a meltdown for no apparent reason in public, so they go to make sure Character B is okay. 

Character A doesn’t believe in ghosts until they move into their new house/apt. Things get strange, so Character A invites Character B over for the first time to investigate. 

Character A doesn’t believe in romance until they set eyes on Character B for the first time. 

Character A is dressed for the wrong occasion, so Character B gives them a hand with a wardrobe change. 

Character A is on a run and gets hurt, so Character B gives them a hand. 

Character A gets called on a case to help the BAU. They didn’t expect to fall in love with a member of the team. 

Character A struggles with vertigo and Character B catches them before they can hit their head. 

Character A can’t let go of the past and neither can Character B, so they decide to meet again and pretend it’s the first time. 

Characters A and B go to a pride parade together and Character B has a revelation about their identity. 

Character A gets arrested at a protest, and Character B helps them out of their legal troubles. 

College tours are awful and draining as a parent until Character A gets a look at Character B, who has another kid on the tour. 

Insomnia keeps Character A up at all hours, they keep seeming to run into the same person on their nighttime strolls. 

Character A goes to pick up a roll of photos that were developed. They end up getting the wrong person’s [Character B] and Character A sets out to find whose pictures they are. 

Learning a new language is hard for Character A until they meet their new language tutor. Character B.

Character A is a hostage negotiator, and when they find out they are negotiating for a member of the BAU [Character B] the stakes are raised to a hundred.

Character A is in the park when a dog comes up to them, Character B is running around looking for their lost dog when they find their dog with a pretty stranger. 

Character A is getting married, but Character B knows a secret and feels they must tell Character A before it’s too late

A middle-grade science fair brings Characters A and B together for the first time. 

Character A has agoraphobia and character B, an online friend, agrees to meet them in person to help them try and meet new people. 

At a local fair, Character A has their palm read and is told they will meet the love of their life that evening. 

Character A lets their child paint their nails which leads to an interesting interaction with Character B later that day. 

Characters A and B fight over an item at the grocery store. When they see each other again the next it’s a bit awkward. 

An Amazon delivery driver sees some scary/suspicious things delivered to a house, thankfully they live next door to an FBI agent. 

Amnesia fic. 

Character A gets rudely told to shut up. Character B comes and finds them after to say they’d love to hear them talk more, maybe on a date. 

Character A is reading a book that is very complicated and unintentionally throws it into the lap of an expert in the subject in the park. 

Character A is trying to learn how to knit. They are expecting to class to be full of older ladies and are surprised when they see Character B is the instructor, who is young and attractive. 

A member of the BAU takes swimming lessons with Character B. 

Character A catches Character B saying they are touch starved, so Character A finds a way to fix that. 

Word Prompts

Summer

Last Day of School

Summer Camp

Date 

Flower Crown

Rock Star

Finish Line

Chemistry 

First Time

Reckoning 

Dialog Prompts 

“Sure it’s a date. Wait, it’s a date!"

“Now hold on a second. Did you just call me pretty!” 

“Listen, at weddings a single girl/guy is looking for one thing, a good time."

“Is there really a difference between pleasure and Joy?” 

“Life will never be the same without you.” 

“Run as if your life depends on it because it does.” 

Art Prompts

Any member of the BAU in a swimsuit  

Any member of the BAU with a pet or animal 

Any BAU kid running to Uncle Rossi

Any member of the BAU blushing uncontrollably

Text Break Banner by @cafekitsune

Tag list: (🩷) @tgskitten @geminitapestry @silk-spun

Want to be added to my tag list? Please check out this post (linked) 

Want to send in a request? Please check out this post, CM Request Post (linked)

Photo Credits

Top: Left (@emilyinsuits) Center (@kafkasdiariies) Right (@flowersforfrancis)

Middle: Left (@ancientsstudies) Center (@mickisnotclever) Right (@ex-injuria-jus-non-oritur)

Bottom: Left (@ex-injuria-jus-non-oritur) Center (@psykopaths) Right (@tokyocyborg)

[mar3ggiata]

professional help, c8. The big secret.

simon riley x original character.

trigger warnings: violence, sexual assault, mentions of rape, trauma, sexual themes, swearing, use of alcohol and drugs.

song to listen to when reading this: Un blasfemo, Fabrizio de Andrè.

abstract: sometimes I feel like I own the world and sometimes I feel so fucking alone the only thing keeping me alive is my dog, you know. sorry, it's Jude. I'm just saying, this is not a big deal anyways. enjoy.

Her vacation didn't last long, mainly because she wanted to know how the mission was going. She was scared something had happened. She stayed inside most of the time, only going out with Jinx. She tried to do some work, to read. She ended up eating instant ramen most of the time. She couldn't focus on anything besides the mission, and Arash, and him. Were they all dead? Did she get everything wrong, was Arash innocent all this time? Laswell surprised her by inviting her in her office on Monday. Something had happened then. She hadn't seen the woman in a very long time, she only called her for special communications. All the soldiers sent in the mission are dead, and it's your fault. She was early, in the parking lot smoking a cigarette, bouncing her foot nervously. This thing was going to be the death of her. She even had ballet in the evening, she was going to start her appointments with the patients on the following day… Un casino. 

'Hi Alba, how are you doing?' She had always liked Kate. She had a good heart, she was kind. She was inspiring. And she had always trusted 'Alba', from the beginning. From their first meeting, and their first… agreement. 'Good, thank you. How are you?' She sat down with Kate in her office. She was definitely a bit less tense now, seeing the woman sit down and smile at her. Maybe it wasn't bad news that awaited her. 'Busy, as usual…' she poured some water in two glasses on the table in front of her 'Alba, I wanted to personally thank you for your collaboration on the Al-Jareena mission.' Relief.

'I missed every single briefing, but Price reported everything to me yesterday night. Your theories on Tehrani were correct, they were able to spot some snipers that were waiting for them. If you didn't tell us about your suspicions many men would have died.' She smiled at Kate and nodded. Her heart was filled with joy. She was happy for the success of the mission of course, but happier for herself. 'I'm glad…' she replied. 'So, they didn't know we knew about the ambush? I figured Arash would tell the troops and they would change their strategy.' Kate nodded and her lips formed a straight line. 'I think so too… They were able to surprise them, but our target was no where to be found. They're still looking for him.' She opened her mouth to reply but Laswell's phone rang. 'Speak of the devil…' she commented.

Alba figured it was Price. 'Captain. Yes, I'm aware.' She excused herself and stood up. Alba took a sip of water. She wanted to know if they were all fine. All of them. She looked up as soon as Kate came back to the table. 'Sorry… he's updating me when he can…' she commented. 'They're looking everywhere for him and interrogating a few locals and soldiers they managed to detain, but nobody's talking. Maybe they moved Khorram when they found out we were coming.' Alba was very appreciative of Kate for sharing the updates with her, it meant she trusted her. They talked about the situation for a few more minutes before she asked Kate about the soldiers. She said there were a few injures, but all the 12 men made it and were continuing working. She was relieved. Her mood had improved significantly, even at ballet she had more fun than usual. There was still something wrong about the situation and she wanted to get the full picture, but for now, she was happy. She felt actual happiness for the first time in months. What validation can do to you hu?

On the other side of the world, Ghost wasn't having the best day. The desert air made it hard to breathe through his mask. The wind was making his eyes water and he felt the sand stick to him because of sweat. Plus, Khorram completely disappeared from Al-Jareena. They had looked everywhere, every house, every shop. The interrogations. He really didn't like inflicting pain to people. Common misconception about him, but yes. He hurt them, if he needed to. It was the only thing he knew how to do. But he didn't enjoy torture anymore, as he maybe did when he was a little bit younger. Plus, no one was saying anything, fucking hell. He ended up nearly killing two people out of pure frustration. His anger was spilling everywhere like a ripple. It was awfully painful, to see the deep faith and devotion to their leader. They would protect him at all costs. People roamed the streets like zombies after they took over, the troops defeated or detained. He saw kids begging him for water in a language he didn't understand, playing football in the same buildings he had fought and killed in. He was numb of any human emotion, he felt like his insides were rocks and dust. After two weeks in Jordan, they got back empty handed. Well, they didn't die, that was a win. Jude was right all along. Jude, Judy. After they arrived, snipers were already waiting for them. They still tried to defend the town, but Arash had probably helped Khorram escape before their arrival. Jude 1, Ghost 0. Speaking of Jude… He heard this crazy rumour about her. Johnny and other soldiers were talking about her one night, while they were outside smoking. 'One of my friends from my first deployment in Iran had a few sessions with her in 2021, he quite liked her. Said she was alright.'

'I think she worked with Price before, they know each other'

'Isn't she the councillor that followed the Billy Lunette case? Ex Lieutenant, back in 2019 I think. He went proper mad, he got hospitalised'

'You think she's married?'

'I don't think the army needs therapists anyway'

'Where is she from, she talks weird'

'I heard she took a year off cause someone pulled a knife on her'.

That was when he raised his eyes from the ground. The group had gone silent. The air was hot and fanning his face, but he thought he felt a light breeze on his neck all of a sudden. It reminded him of the girl, the cold air. She was an entity they just summoned, she had arrived. So that was the missing puzzle piece. 'Really? When?' the Scotsman was about to go get some sleep, but sat back down to enjoy the story. 'In 2022 I think, he was a patient.' The soldier who was speaking was way younger than him, around his mid 20s. Did he want to believe him? What if it was true, that would make sense, he took her home that night to make sure she wasn't being followed, and now with the Arash situation she had become tense again. 'I've seen this film before' she had said. She was scared to get attacked again? 'I don't know if it's true, no one really knows.'

'Who was the patient?' Someone else asked.

'I think his surname was Morrigan or something similar.'

'Yeah I think I remember him.'

'Yeah, she didn't go easy on him, there was a rape charge as well…'

'Nah, that's too much!'

He stopped listening. Not that he didn't care, he did. He didn't want to hear that stuff, it was gossip, it was useless. That was a big accusation, Jude. That's the thing, you do seem like the type to lie. You're a psychologist, you work with humans, you understand they minds. You're a manipulator. If it was true, then he might actually feel for her, if he tried hard enough. He didn't realise he was victim blaming, but he thought that's what you get, looking all pretty and working with veterans and men that kill for a living. He suddenly felt stupid for asking about it a few times. He really didn't think it could be such a serious thing, but it kinda made sense now. He thought about her in a different light, while on the flight home. Having that small new piece of information made him want more. How did you manage to get back on your feet, were you alone all the time, why did you come back to work in the same place? Was it difficult, did you cry, angel? You live alone, you don't seem to have any family, how did you manage? He had a soft spot for trauma survivors. (He doesn't realise this, but it's because he knows what it's like to survive trauma.)

He thought about that day, he realised he was one of the first people she saw after the attack. And she had to share a car with him, in the dark, through the desert, after she was just attacked by another soldier. He saw her right after it had happened. The thought made him shiver and want to throw up. He wanted to see her again, not that he didn't wish he'd run into her before... He wanted to talk to her again, but he doubted he ever would. Jude. Jude, Jude.

Shit happens.

notes: now you know.

notes: translation of song and concept:

I never bowed again not even over a flower, nor did I blush when stealing love (stealing love means falling in love with someone, them being in love with you)

from the moment that Winter convinced me that God wouldn’t have blushed stealing mine. (Winter always symbolises some evil entity. God not blushing means God will take your love and faith at whatever cost, just because it's owed to him)

(They arrested me) Because I said that God deceived the first man, He obliged him to travel through life as an idiot, in the enchanted garden He forced him to dream, to ignore the fact that in the world there’s good and there's bad.

When He saw that man stretched his fingers to steal the mystery of a forbidden apple, for fear that he no longer had masters, He stopped him with death and invented the seasons.

taglist:

@ummmmmwat @ghostlythots @sweetfemmefatal @natxpat @chavarriakeren647 @ravenmoore14 @farther-than-pleiades @internallyscreamings @hwromi @atoxicrat @cuti3maddi3 @deafeningkittenblaze @its-celeste @serene-hills @lexidoll12 @poohkie90 @lunatiquess

@warmedbythebody @katzykat @iristhemuse @azkza @keiraslayz @abbyandermine @jennyjencakes @dest-nai @corset-briefs @nutze-kekse @ilytsukiw @b3anspr0ut

@pondsblog @missyouzoe @fallenkitten @bigauthorrascalturkey @bethtay @angelynn-nicole @starluv @stargirlisworld @giyuuslittleslut @impossiblecupcakelight

@rkrivees-blog @ghosts-hoe @kam1snotverysmart @gauky76 @freyjaaasstuff @spicyspicyliving @scottpilgrimvsmyfists @courtney0-0 @shinchanboi @darling006 @my-therapist-hates-me

[dreamaboutwhathappens]

[wis-art]

little comic i made based on this ask @scyrus42 sent me

[tswwwit]

i have a counter argument to the 'only one person can boop bill' thing, mabel. she's the type of person to slap stickers on people, she would definitely be the type to also boop others occasionally and bill would be no exception. she probably doesn't do it to annoy bill like dipper would, but maybe as a form of a friendly gesture, kind of like those people who will lightly punch friends in the arm when they hang out.

You know what? Good point. Mabel would get away with more than most, as a fun-loving lady! Bill understands those impulses, and being a touchy person! He indulges in similar ones himself.

Though when Bill's not in the mood to be playful and gets booped anyway? The 'sister-in-law' status grants her considerable grace.

[icewindandboringhorror]

recent lounging babey images

[simplydnp]

Stop im rewatching why dan is leaving me bc of ur post theyre so disgustingly domestic i adore them

sometimes i watch that video just to feel something

[pepperpixel]

Hello everyone!!! It is aberration odium art dump time!!! Featuring!! wild tonal shifts! Cuz the first page of art I drew more recently.. but then I also had some tetack n somnix pics I hadn’t posted yet from when I was working on there playlists! So! I’m posting them all together! Even if it does cause emotional whiplash lmao

[communistkenobi]

don’t know if the fact that I cannot enjoy 99% of fanfiction I open is due to me being an adult with bills to pay or the fact that chronic academic reading has made me a very poor audience for low-stakes hobby writing or if it’s the depression or if I’ve just been cursed to only find shit I instantly dislike

[cookinguptales]

always so funny to me that ketamine in tv and movies is always like "omg party drug... but watch out!" meanwhile IRL I am preparing for my biweekly ketamine dose by wearing my softest jammies and cuddling up in a fluffy blanket with a heating pad and firing up stardew valley.

really living life on the wild side over here.