#pinterest boards are being worked on too!

[milliesfishes]

⋆౨ৎ𝓢𝓽𝓪𝓻 𝓖𝓲𝓻𝓵 (𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓮𝓮)⋆౨ৎ

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ [fem reader] contains: kidnapping, blood, angst pairing: billy the kid x fem reader summary: troubles throw a wrench in yours and billy's plans author’s note: tagging @phantomamor because <3 babes you really helped me with this last part and with this entire au <3 thank you all for being so lovely and supportive of this series! my apologies for the wait on this last part <3 enjoy! Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

The fascination anybody felt with you was everlasting, bound to stretch the eternities just like you.

Billy could feel it now as you spoke to the vendor before you, the diamond he'd so dangerously retrieved in your hands. The man had given him a decent price, but you'd stepped in, starting to speak to him in a language Billy only knew bits and pieces of. Your tone was firm, but still with a tint of sweetness to it. You were still you after all.

The second you'd begun to speak, he'd stepped aside, unsure exactly what you were doing but trusting you anyways. The vendor looked a little taken aback, but he finally nodded, saying something begrudgingly. You smiled and turned to Billy. "He's gonna give you eighty instead."

His eyebrows shot up, lips parting. "Eighty?" That was twice the original price, three times what he'd expected to get.

You stood on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "You worked so hard to get the diamond, you risked your life. The least you could get is more money for it."

Billy laughed a little in disbelief, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "You're a wonder darlin', honest."

While waiting for Billy's reward to be counted out, you leaned back into his chest, his arms around your collarbone. He'd been hesitant about taking you outside the ship given the status of you with his gang, but figured this was an early enough time of day that it wouldn't do any harm.

You were no longer wearing one of his shirts- the first thing he'd done upon landing was go find a kiosk selling dresses and fetch one for you. He had to admit that he missed seeing you in one of his button downs, but you were ethereal in the blue, flowy thing he'd picked out, as radiant here as you would have been wearing a ball gown. Just peeking out the slit of the dress when he looked down, there was pretty garter hugging your thigh, the point of a glass dagger restrained by it.

Billy had presented it to you just before leaving today, and the excitement in your eyes was a lovely thing to behold. He'd smiled as you tucked it under your dress, telling you it was "Just a precaution, angel." He wasn't going to have his girl walking the streets unarmed, even though he wouldn't be letting you out of his sight for a second.

He was glad he'd brought you out- the way you were looking around so excitedly was worth it alone. The way you bounced excitedly on your heels and squeezed his wrist whenever you saw something you liked was ecstasy. There weren't enough words in any language to emphasize how much he loved you.

Indeed it had been a time for firsts.

Before last week you had never kissed before, had someone to lie down with. These were beautiful things he got to teach you about.

He didn't consider having to teach you about bad things too.

One night you'd sprung upright in bed, clutching your chest and gasping, eyes blown wide for someone who'd been asleep a few seconds ago. Always a light sleeper, Billy had woken with you, seen your distress and pulled you into him. He wrapped his arms around you like wings and held you tight into him. "Shh. Baby, you're okay. You're safe, you're okay."

"I was having...a...dream," you hiccupped, fisting his shirt. "And then...it...turned...bad."

"Slow down, sweetheart. Deep breaths." Billy rubbed your back, breathing deep in and out so you would do it too. "You're gonna work yourself up." He kissed your hair, scratching your side gently.

You slowly but surely began to calm down, holding his wrist in your hand. Billy rocked you back and forth, watching the storm within you quell. "Shhh, sweet girl. It's okay."

When your breathing was steady again, you looked up at him with wide eyes, and he knew what you were asking. "'S a nightmare," he whispered, barely disturbing the quiet of the ship. "Like a dream, but scary."

Brow knitting, you cuddled back into his chest. "I've never had one before. It felt real."

"'F course it did, sweetheart," he murmured, carefully lying back down with you. Billy lifted the hem of his shirt, maneuvering it around you until it was off, tossing it away. You pressed your cheek to his chest, the sensation of his skin on yours untensing your muscles. He slid his hand under the shirt of his you were wearing, settling a warm palm on your lower back. "D'you wanna tell me what it was about?"

You were quiet for a moment. "You. You were gone." The confession shredded his heart in two, and he buried his nose in your gold-streaked hair.

His stomach dropped. Truthfully, when he'd imagined what scenarios would play out in your subconscious, he'd imagined something like your kidnapping, what the Seven Rivers had done to you. He didn't even stop to think you might be worried for him.

"'M right here, baby." Billy reached down to your waist, pulling you to rest between his legs with your head on his chest. You let out a little sigh, shifting to get comfortable. He was content that he had been able to calm down. But it terrified him that he couldn't protect you from everything.

Reaching up now, you touched his arms, thumbs rubbing him there. He kissed your temple. Ever since the day he'd been injured, you'd been clinging to him like he was the last thing in the world, trying out what he'd taught you. Your lips had touched every bit of his face and then some, every kiss setting his heart blazing. He loved that you wanted to have him near like this.

As he looked at you now, light as the air and happy as always, just watching the surrounding crowd, there was such an air of innocence about you.

You were glowing in the light of day, a goddess in your own right. Billy couldn't help staring- it didn't matter how many times he woke up next to you or even looked at you. He would always be enchanted by every little detail you exuded. The best of the universe gathered together in your shape.

Turning in his arms, you kissed him lightly, smiling adorably afterward. Billy's own smile was sparked by yours, and he lifted you up by the waist, letting you stand on his boots so you could reach. "Hi angel," he murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. In the sunlight you shimmered like glitter, and he swore whenever you walked a trail of magic followed like fairy dust.

When the vendor passed him his money, Billy shoved it in his pocket, turning his attention back to you. You clung to his arm, squeezing him there and smiling adoringly up at him. "Everything okay?"

"Perfect." He took your hand, unable to stop touching you for more than a few minutes. "C'mon sweetheart. I owe you some cuddles."

You bounced on your heels, a spark lighting in your eyes. Billy was about to lead you away, wishing the walk was faster. He could practically feel the mattress under his back already, his hand maybe sliding up your skirt-

There was a shout from nearby, and he froze mid-step, startled by it. You squeezed his hand, and he pushed you a little behind him, protective instincts flaring like a fire.

A crowd was forming a little bit away, and you stood on tiptoes, trying to see what was going on. He smiled. His curious girl.

"Let's see what all the fuss is about," he said, rubbing your fingers and letting you lead him over to the crowd. When you were still craning your neck, he slid his arms around you, lifting you up to his eye level. A smile bloomed over your face at the motion, and he pecked your cheek, turning to the scene finally.

What he saw made his veins freeze like ice.

A woman restrained, her hair golden and loose, struggling against the surely rough hands of an officer wearing the official patch of the IJF. He was shouting, but the brazen remarks fell blurry on Billy's ears.

There was a man standing a few feet away, his yelling adding to the chaotic swirl. He was holding his arm, a gash dripping crimson onto the cobblestone. "She stabbed me. Did you see? She stabbed me-"

"My blood isn't yours to take," she snarled, shiny freckles catching the light as she whipped her head to look at him.

"Both of you shut it," the officer barked, restraining the woman in handcuffs. Now her chest was heaving, and he could see the fear in her eyes. It reminded him of-

Turning to you, he saw your round eyes and stiff limbs. You slowly lifted your gaze to his, a wild desperation in it. That was a woman just like you, another person of the stars, the same blood running through her veins. She was practically a sister. He could knew what you wanted to do before you moved.

Billy's arms tightened around you, and he swung one down to lift your knees, anticipating your next actions. "Let's go."

You struggled, looking over his shoulder as he began to walk away, boots clunking rudely. Tugging on his shirt, body twisting in his arms, your breathing sped up, voice nearly tearful. "We have to go...we have to help her-" Billy shook his head once, and your fist pounded his chest. "Billy. Billy put me down-" your voice was as serious as death, and you sounded mad.

"You can't do anything for her now...honey..." He patiently held firm to you, sucking in a breath when you tried to undo his hand from your waist, nearly making him drop you. "Don't do that, sweetie."

There was a tear on each of your cheeks like sunspots, and his heart broke. Your breath hitched and you began to cry, taking his face in your hands and trying to turn it back toward the scene. "Take me back...please..." Every syllable was broken, like a crumbling bridge.

Painstakingly, he ignored your words, not pausing once in the journey back to the ship. Having been involved in a crowd often targeted by the law, he knew if not anything that in the heat of the moment, two people in the same group would be seen as one. He wouldn't risk the officer seeing you and finding some reason to take you away too, especially if you tried to help the other star-woman he was detaining.

No matter how right you were to try.

Billy only put you down when he was in the ship, shutting the door quickly. But at that point, the fight had been taken out of you, and you stood in front of him, eyes trained on the ground ashamedly.

He moved cautiously to you, reaching out to grasp your hands. You still wouldn't look at him. Taking in a breath, Billy was about to say something comforting maybe, when you rushed forward, burying your face in his chest.

Warm tears bled into his shirt, and he secured an arm around you, pressing the other to your head. There was no need to say anything.

In all his years collecting bounties, he'd never held anything near as precious. For all the places he'd travelled, his eyes had never taken in anything as beautiful. You were the reason the word treasure was invented.

And he was no fool. He knew what he had and he knew to keep you safe.

You made his lap look like a throne.

Sitting with your legs on either side of his on the mattress, skirt pulled up your thighs, kissing him slowly, he could have mistaken you for a deity. Your hips were rocking slightly back and forth into his, as if you weren't aware of it. One of his hands was tangled in your soft hair, the other on your thigh, rubbing up and down. You liked those little comforts during kisses, he'd learned, and it only made him love you more.

He kissed your nose, pulling back for a moment. Wrapping his arms fully around your waist, Billy rolled you over, making you laugh as he held himself up above you, dipping his neck to kiss your forehead. Then your cheek. Then your nose again, just because you were so cute.

Neither of you had spoken about the day in the market since, although it had shaken you, he could see. Knowing you didn't want to bring it up, he showed you he cared instead, giving you extra loving day and night.

Both of your arms was flung above your head atop your hair, which was spread out like a halo. Billy gave you a fond look, kissing your collarbone and letting his chin nestle between your breasts. The dress you were wearing was cut deep in the neck, and so he had plenty of access to your skin.

You hummed, your chest vibrating under his chin. "Billy?"

He kissed your tummy. "Yes, angel?"

That got a little smile out of you, and you slid a hand into his hair, scratching his scalp gently. "Don't you have to be to the other ship in twenty minutes?"

"Ah-" Billy kissed your tummy again with a smack, sliding his arms under your waist and rolling you over, making you dissolve into giggles. "But that's in twenty minutes." Your hair fell on either side of his face like a curtain, and he stroked your cheek, nudging your face closer to his. "So gimme some more kisses, darlin'." He knew how much you loved them.

You giggled again and pressed your lips to his, eliciting a satisfied hum from him. He blinked lazily at you, gathering some of your hair and pressing it behind your ear just so he could touch it. Where you had been hovering over him a bit before, now you let your body nestle in, chest pressed to his as you rested your chin on folded arms. "I don't want them to suspect anything."

"They won't suspect a thing." Billy sat up, his big hands under your arms to steady you. He pressed one, then two kisses to your nose. "Ain't the first time I've been late cause I was kissin' you."

"Yeah?" Your knees were bent, positioned under his arms as you sat facing him between his legs.

"Yeah." He stroked your thighs, and you smiled sweetly before untangling yourself from him and standing up, leaving him with his legs sprawled out on the bed. Billy made a disapproving noise, reaching for you again.

You straightened your dress that he'd artfully messed up, adjusting the top back over your chest. "You should hurry and get it over with."

Billy held out his arms, playing his final card. "You sure? We could have some cuddles 'fore I leave." He said it in a tempting way, shifting comfortably on the bed.

When you bit your lip, he could practically hear you considering. You loved cuddling more than you loved kisses, which was saying something. He'd never met anybody who liked physical affection as much as you, and it heartened him. That was something he could give in abundance.

For a moment he thought he had you, but then you shook your head. "No. I wanna have longer cuddles later."

Sighing, Billy dropped his arms, swinging his legs to the edge of the bed and reaching for his boots. "Alright, alright." He stood, stopping right in front of you. You were giving him a look that suggested you were expecting him to pull you back into bed for just a few more minutes.

Instead he pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead, reveling in your glow for just a brief second. "I'll hurry, angel. Won't be gone longer 'n an hour."

The stars in your eyes were a supernova.

They were burned into his vision the entire walk to the Seven Rivers ship, and he kept your imprint on his heart close as he handed over the dealings to Jesse. "You get a good vendor this time?"

"No, just decided to take more blood." The words were foreign in Billy's mouth, and they felt strange coming out. He reminded himself that he was just playing a part, even though it made him feel awful. He'd repent with extra kisses later. "There's another job I took a little out of bounds. Figured I'd get you the money for a few weeks' worth for while I'm gone."

It was a half-lie. Billy was planning on going out of bounds, but really he was spiriting you away for a little while. Some time with his girl without the looming threat of the gang hanging over your heads.

Jesse raised an eyebrow, but nodded, looking back down at the money. "Seems right. Y'know, prices for this stuff've been goin' up. Don't know why." Billy swallowed, remembering the incident in the market.

His eyes lifted to a healing scratch on Billy's arm, one he'd obtained while stealing the diamond. "You have some trouble gettin' it?"

"Gettin' what?"

"The blood." Jesse gave him a funny look, nodding at his arm. "She scratch ya or somethin'?"

Billy followed his eyes. "No, ah...shirt caught on a corner. Got me bad."

His friend looked wary, leaning back in his seat. Jesse's makeshift office on the ship contained nothing but two chairs and a large crate that acted as a table. Right now it was strewn with papers and coins. Still, Billy felt himself shrink back, feeling as though his mind was being read.

Jesse clicked his tongue. "Y'know...after we had her aboard and got blood out of her the one time our fingers were stained for weeks with gold." He looked pointedly at Billy. "Ya'd think for all the blood you're gettin'...your hands'd be shinier 'n silver."

Billy couldn't help looking at his clean hands even though he knew what he'd see. Roughened but not dirty. He bit the side of his cheek, scrambling for an answer. "Well...I had to figure out a new way, y'know? Didn't want blood all over me all the damn time." He was playing defensive and he hoped it wouldn't come across as fake. Jesse was better than a hound when he wanted to be.

Holding his breath, Billy watched the other man watch him, eyes boring in. He could have beamed a hole through Billy's chest with that stare. Mind racing, he prayed he would take the bait, be satisfied with his money and not bother to discover how he got it.

Finally Jesse stood, holding out his hand for a shake. "Well, good on ya for figurin' it out. Ain't that somethin'?"

Withholding a sigh of relief, Billy smiled, nodding and standing, clasping his friend's hand. "It is."

But the conversation didn't leave his mind for a long while as he meandered back to his ship, cutting through the marketplace. Maybe Jesse had let it go for now...but what if he decided to come check up just in case? What if you were alone when he did? Billy's blood ran cold as he imagined you defenseless against the same group of men who'd attacked and kidnapped you.

He drummed his fingers on his thigh, looking around. The crowd wasn't as thick as it usually was whenever he walked through here. He could clearly see the vendors and their wares, their tables of goods. The memory of you raising his pay for the diamond rose up, and he smiled, remembering how impressed he'd been. How he'd wanted to shout to the world that that was his girl.

Then he remembered the look on your face as you'd watched the woman arrested for protecting herself. The way you'd cried quietly after you thought he'd gone to sleep, his arms wrapped around you.

Suddenly the desire to get back to you was paramount. Billy was about to move forward when something caught the corner of his eye, making him pause and turn to look at it fully.

Red boldened letters stamped to a piece of paper already worn by the climate. When he turned back to the side, he saw dozens more plastered to walls and even the poles of vendor stands.

Billy's brow furrowed. Was there a new policy he was unaware of? Something that would limit his comings and goings? He thought anxiously of how he'd been planning to take you away. His permit to travel so far wasn't valid for at least a few more days, and he wondered if whatever was posted all over the city would prohibit it.

Tearing the poster from the clumsily hammered nail, he scanned the contents of it- one enormous headline and fine print scrawled underneath.

Something doused him like a bucket of ice water, the hair on his arms standing at attention. Billy could feel his heartbeat in his ears, and he crumpled the paper into his pocket, breaking into a run for the ship.

Star People To Be Apprehended

"Anyone fitting the description of a Star Person will be detained upon sight. Citizens are encouraged to alert the authorities if they see a person or persons they suspect may be of this variety in exchange for a monetary reward. The punishment for harboring a Star Person is detainment for life."

By the order of the Intergalactic Justice Forces

"Fifteen minutes?"

"Fifteen minutes."

You pouted, folding your arms and giving him doe eyes. "Why can't I just come with you? If it's not even going to be that long?"

Billy gave you an exasperated but fond smile. "Because I've gotta stop for a few things on the way back. Can't have you in the market out in the open, sweet girl." He looked down at you, head in his lap. He'd been absentmindedly playing with your hair, braiding a strand the way you taught him how. There was a flower in your hair, stem woven around your ear, completing the vision. You were heavenly, even when you were frowning so adorably up at him.

"Maybe I can go to the market while you're getting the permit," you said, looking up at him hopefully. The messy bedsheets pictured you so perfectly.

He rubbed his thumb over your cheek, watching you melt into his touch. "No."

Huffing, you sat up, giving him a longing look that pulled at the loose threads of his heart where he'd stitched it up from the last time you'd pulled that face. "I haven't left the ship in three days Billy. I wanna go outside."

"I know, honey," he soothed, hand on your thigh stroking gently. "But we're gonna be outta here as soon as I get back 'n then we'll go far, far away from. We'll land somewhere real pretty." He said the last part hopefully, wanting to placate you for now.

But if you were a flower, your petals would be wilting. He could see your spirit dissipating like a misty cloud. Even on the road you'd been able to come outside provided you stayed in the vicinity of the ship.

But Billy wasn't about to take a single risk now.

He clasped one of your hands, meeting your eyes. It felt like every time he did he was starstruck by your sheer beauty. There wasn't a way to turn it off and he didn't want it to. "We'll be gone soon. It'll all be okay. Yeah?" Billy cupped your cheek in one hand, his palm shadowing your golden freckles.

You looked tired. He felt a pang of guilt, the emotion chewing at the corners of his organs. It had been a constant weight like a stone in his core ever since he'd seen the notice.

Asking around, he'd found out it had been triggered by the incident he'd seen with you. The Seven Rivers member he'd talked to had made it out to be a good thing, like your people were a vermin to be exterminated. "Lotsa folks’ e been feelin' the same way," he'd said proudly, adjusting his holster. "'Bout time someone did somethin' bout it. Filthy bastards."

It'd taken a massive amount of self-control to walk away.

The notice angered him beyond belief. It was well-known, if not acknowledged, that the Star People were treated as less than all because of the value of their life source. And now the law was using one incident to determine the fate of your entire species.

There had been whispers of the IJF selling blood in the past on secret markets. But Billy hadn't subscribed to it-he'd had no reason to. Now his only reason for anything was being threatened because of it.

He was grateful that the two of you were planning to leave anyways. Only he was damn certain that wherever he was taking you, he wasn't coming back. He'd wire Jesse and tell him that you had passed from blood loss (though the thought made him sick) and the two of you would be free forever.

There had only been the matter of his permit, and now, on the day he was set to pick it up, liberty was so close he could taste it.

Even though it was for a brief period of time, Billy couldn't stand the thought of you being miserable. He felt like a jailer, keeping you hostage aboard this ship even though it was for the best.

You never said anything of the like about him. No, you were too sweet, too good. It wasn't in you to resent him. But he resented himself for it.

The instinct to get you off this planet as soon as possible was surging within him now, and so he reached for you, relieved when you let him pull you into his chest. Your arms wrapped around him, warming a fire in his chest like always. Billy dug his nose into your hair, kissing your part. "I'm sorry. It's been tough, huh?"

"Yeah," you breathed, your fingers trailing up and down his back. His lips nudged your hair once more, and you looked up, a tiny smile on your face. "It's okay though."

Billy shook his head. "We can do better than that, angel." He framed your face in his hands, growing your smile a little bit more. "We will. There's lots of flowers where we're goin'."

"Lots of flowers?"

"Lots," he promised, thumbing your cheeks. "'n they're all growin' there, waitin' for you, sweetheart."

Now your smile had spread tenfold, and you tilted your chin up, your darling way of asking for a kiss. He indulged you with a smile of his own, and you muttered against his lips, "You should get going then."

"There's my girl," he chuckled, giving into the urge for one more kiss and standing up. You fluttered your fingers at him, and he tipped his hat as he put it on his head. "I'll be back soon, angel."

"Mkay," you hummed, rolling over onto your stomach and playing with a strand of your hair. He let his eyes linger on you before he left, your memory following him like perfume.

The exchange for the permit was fairly quick, and he whistled as he went about his business in the market, ignoring the guards blatantly stationed at the edges. They were eagle-eyed, scanning the perimeter and clutching their weapons. Always wary of the law, Billy kept his eyes down as he made his purchases.

He had been about to make his way out of the area that was now so tainted in his eyes, when a circlet with a simple star affixed to it caught his eye. Stopping to examine it, he nearly lit up from the inside out. Oh it was perfect for you. Something pretty to mark the start of your new life together.

Unfortunately, the line for that particular stall was long, and Billy thought about backing out a few times before ultimately deciding to stay. You deserved something nice after the hard few days you'd had. Besides, he knew you would love the bracelet. Jewelry was something you were utterly fascinated by, and he'd have you dripping with it if he could.

Finally he was able to pay, pushing through the hot crowd in a hurry. Where he had said he'd be gone fifteen minutes it'd now been nearly forty. Billy could only hope you weren't worried, that maybe you'd fallen asleep and he'd be able to crawl into bed with you in a few minutes.

Turning the bend into the grove where his ship was parked, Billy shifted the bag on on his hip when the scene before him made him freeze cold.

The door to the ship was open. And Jesse was kneeling on the ramp, holding a familiar flower between his fingers. One that had been lying amidst the stripes of gold in your hair almost an hour ago.

The bag slipped from his arms, and he hurtled forward like a meteorite, grabbing Jesse by the shirt collar and pinning him to the doorframe, breath hot as an angry bull's. "The hell did you do with her?" Billy demanded, grip tightening by the second. Images of the Seven Rivers Gang turning you in for a cash prize filled his mind, only furthering his rage. "Where is she?"

"I don't know!" Jesse held up his hands, eyes like saucers as he took in Billy's white hot rage. "Swear. Promise. I just came by-"

"Did you see who took her?" The words tumbled from his mouth like dominoes.

"She was just out here," Jesse managed, looking between Billy's eyes. His hat was askew, and he was clinging to the wall, collar pulled taut as he backed into it. "By herself. She was just standin' here. 'N then one 'f the IJF came outta nowhere and got her."

The IJF...no... Billy let go of Jesse's collar, the world spinning beneath his feet. He stumbled back, turning to look into the distance as if he could spot them taking you away. No no no...how had they found out? How did they know...? Someone must have seen you with him in town... But it didn't matter, not really. All that mattered was that you weren't safe.

There was a hand on his shoulder, and Billy nearly drew his gun. But it was just Jesse again, a strange look in his eyes like he'd never seen before. His friend was known for being cutthroat, a gang member down to his details. But now he was softened like butter in the sun. "She was your girl?"

It didn't matter anymore. "Yeah."

Flatteniing his lips, Jesse nodded. "Figured. Came by here to catch you in the act. Or somethin'."

Billy said nothing. He felt utterly despondent now, every sense blurring him. You must have been worried, wondering where he was. Maybe you would have wandered into the marketplace in search of him. Eyes falling to the plank, Billy noticed a spot of gold staining the metal that hadn't been there before. Something constricted in his chest, and he shut his eyes.

"Hey." Jesse shook his shoulder, his mouth set in a rigid line. "We can get her out."

"How?" The single word was dry, void of any emotion. All he could think of was you, terrified and helpless in a faraway place. Who knew where they had taken you, if you were even still alive?

"I know where they hold prisoners." Billy perked up, eyes lighting like fireworks. Jesse nodded again, patting his holster. "Ain’t the first time I’ve needed to break someone out. If we both go in, it'll be an easy take. You'll have 'er and then you can get outta here fast."

As Billy looked at his friend, turned foe for a while over the greatest love of his life, a flash of memories flooded him. All the times Jesse had stood up for him, helped him when nobody else would. He'd forgotten the brotherhood of bearing arms together, of making a hard living over and over while living in close quarters.

He'd forgotten his first friend.

Straightening up, Billy nodded, brows knitting together. "Lead the way."

With a half-smile, Jesse clapped his shoulder, turning to walk off the ship. The sun was setting, and it outlined him in gold. Billy couldn't help but think of you, the way you glowed without the radiance of any star behind you.

You were the star.

Jesse was right. It hadn't been a problem getting in. Two guards were taken out no problem, passed out in the dirt from the force of his punch. He and Jesse found a corner to hide behind, shoulders pressed together as they watched the passing patrols.

The structure was surprisingly simple, hidden not too far from the marketplace in the trees. And, he realized with an ache, terribly close to where you had lived when you'd first met him. The concrete walls were made for secrets of the law that he didn't even want to imagine, and he realized how lucky you'd been not to be eyed by the IJF before.

It was hauntingly silent, like a dug grave. Billy certainly felt six feet under as he looked down the hallway, at the row of doors, numbers written in chalk below the tiny windows.

There was no way to know which one you were behind, and he took in a frustrated breath as he thought about it. Sneaking through the forest, he'd caught glimpses of your ancestors winking down at him against the darkened sky. Billy had begged in his head for them to keep you safe, to protect you as best they could until he could get to you. I'll take over from there, I'll never leave her alone again.

Jesse nodded at the empty hallway, Billy's signal to start moving. He crept carefully into the area, glancing briefly through every window for your distinct glow. It ached his heart that he did see a few shining people similar to you, those who had gold in their veins. But they weren't you, and so he pressed on, thinking of the way you'd tried to run to the woman in the market that day.

You were brave, boldly beautiful in every one of your desires. He hadn't ever told you that, he needed to tell you that. Billy chided himself. You weren't dead. He would tell you when you were snuggled up in his arms again, far away and safe.

Approaching the last door, his heart fluttered hopefully. You had to be in here. There weren't any other cells in the facility, he'd made sure of it. But it hit him like a gut punch when the square space was empty.

Dread fell on him like rain, soaking every bit of his mind. You weren't here. A thousand other possibilities swam through his head, most of them assuming the worst. You'd been taken from him without doing anything wrong, and it was like ripping an angel from heaven and sending it to hell.

Grasping the door handle, eyes combing every bit of the space as if he'd somehow missed you. As if he couldn't have picked you out of a crowd of millions. No, no you had to be here. How...

No.

He didn't know what they had been planning on doing with those they captured. The rumors of blood use swam before his eyes. They wouldn't...they couldn't...

His heart sank, a stone in a river. As it thudded at his stomach, his mind unwillingly produced visions of a life without you. A life missing you. Billy had tossed aside all prophecies of what he'd thought his life would be before he met you. But now they were swimming to the surface, poking their heads up and waving. He would never find it in him to reach for any of them, put them on his mantle of dreams.

Knees weak, he shut his eyes, feeling faint. Oh claim him, stars above. Send him to be with you in the sky, your natural sphere. Or tell him at least which star was yours so he could gaze upon it every night. He'd settle for it, he'd get on his knees and thank your ancestors for that. If only to keep some semblance of you in his life.

He could imagine himself old and gray, no longer your handsome outlaw, staring up at the sky and hoping you remembered that he loved you. As unworthy as he had been, he had gotten one thing right.

Jesse came up beside him, gun drawn, and Billy forced himself to look up, not caring if his friend saw him in the depths of despair, where he would remain forever. Maybe he'd take him back in, to live on the Seven Rivers ship. Billy couldn't imagine going back to his ship, where he'd kissed and loved you so obviously. Your memory would haunt those hallowed halls, a spirit he would never be able to hold the same way again.

"C'mon, we've gotta go." Jesse didn't look excited about it, his eyes heavy. "They're gonna find us if we stay any longer-"

A scream tore into the night's poetry, blood seeping from the pages. Billy's ears perked up, and his heart grew lighter, floating back up to its place as he realized. Maybe it was a lover's instinct, but he knew.

It was you. It had to be you.

Turning to Jesse, Billy said, "Cover me." Hardly a pause passed before the other man nodded, holding his gun at the ready. Billy no longer cared about being quiet as he clomped through the halls, guards springing up from nowhere and aiming, firing shot after shot. Billy's gun was ruthless, and he shot without thinking, head only in one place. The scream had come from the furthest end of the prison. He could see the door in the distance, the only one in the area. When he'd searched the area earlier he'd assumed it was just an office.

Jesse shouted something and Billy ducked, narrowly missing a well placed hit. His feet couldn't move quick enough, and he grew impatient of the guards that kept coming up. It was endless, it seemed, especially when you were waiting at the end of the hallway.

One guard tossed aside his weapon and tackled Billy, knocking him flat to the ground and sending his own gun clattering. He was beefy, thicker, and Billy struggled under his arms, fists swinging. Firm knuckles smashed into his nose, and he winced, eyes watering, the familiar wetness of blood on his lip.

Adrenaline surging, Billy jammed his elbow up into his chest, hitting the sweet spot and making his opponent wheeze, body going limp. In a quick motion, Billy was able to shove him to the side and grasp his gun, scrambling to his feet and sprinting toward the door. It was like a golden beacon in the distance.

There were shots behind him, but he didn't risk a look back Jesse was a more experienced fighter than he was, and he could hold his own against a great deal of men.

Heaven was the touch of the doorknob under his fingers, cool metal on his hot skin. You were inches away, practically in his arms already. Billy swung the door open, gun drawn and ready to end whoever was holding you hostage.

The sight that greeted him nearly made him drop it again.

A body on the floor in a pool of scarlet leaking like a waterfall from the wound in his chest. Punctured by a glass dagger.

And you standing over it, hands over your mouth, dress a mess of gold and crimson.

Relief cascaded Billy like an avalanche before he had a chance to dissect the scene. He said your name once, voice gravelly, and your head snapped up, eyes going round. The tear tracks on your face may as well have been rivers. Your lower lip trembled. "Billy."

He stumbled towards you, taking you in his arms and collapsing to his knees. You were shaking like a leaf in autumn, shivering against his chest. Billy held you so tight he was worried you weren't able to breathe. But you clung to him, crying desperately into him.

Billy looked down at the body, recognizing the dagger and going still, realizing what had happened. He said a silent thank you to whatever had inspired him to get it for you.

No matter the reason, you were stricken with something beyond what Billy had seen in you before. Something he hadn't been able to protect you from, something he should have been there to defend you against.

Following his instincts, he stood, bringing you up with his arms supporting your body. You weren't walking out if he had a thing to say about it.

Jesse appeared in the doorway, blood on his clothes. He hardly blinked at the scene before him, instead gesturing to Billy. "Hurry. Think I got 'em all for now but there's more coming."

Before Billy could start to run, you reached up, burying your face in his neck and fisting his shirt. Your words were muffled, but he felt them. You were a language he was better versed in than his native tongue.

"I left the ship." The blame in your voice broke his heart.

Billy pressed his lips to your forehead, wincing when some of the blood from his lip came off on your skin. With your ancestors as his witness, you would never see another drop of blood, yours or anyone's again.

"No, I left." He heard footsteps in the distance and started to run, keeping you tight in his arms. "And I'm never doin' that again."

Exquisite things came in abundances in nature. Billy needed more than two hands to count them all, especially on this planet.

It was the epitome of peace, with towers of greenery, cities of flora and fauna as if a storybook had come to life. The wildlife was abundant and willing and beautiful, fluttering through the air and lying down in patches of sunshine.

He couldn't have dreamt up a better place to settle with you.

Here where he was standing on the porch of the cottage he'd built you, ship a greyish dot in the distance, he had a clear view of you in the field before the house, gathering flowers into bouquets of your own marvelous creation. There were flowers on just about every flat surface of your home, but he wasn't about to tell you to stop bringing them in.

You brushed your hair over one shoulder, grass tickling your calves as you moved to the side to pluck the perfect flower from the earth. Beautiful things find beautiful things.

This was one of his favorite things. To watch you in your element, when you were quiet, content in your heart. It had taken months since everything to get to this point.

He didn't know if you would ever forget that night. The things you'd been forced to do. Billy would suck that memory from your mind with a straw if he could, only leaving you with happy things. Every night that you woke up crying from more nightmares, which had become frequent, he pleaded with some higher power to put all the pain on him. He would bear your cross and let it weigh him down because it was yours. And if you ended up consuming his being he wouldn't complain for a second.

Billy began to make his way to you, never in a rush. He'd done enough running in his life. Now was a time for staying. Wanderlust was a thing of the past. Maybe he hadn't realized that he'd really been searching for something. And that something was looking up at him now, beaming like a sun and holding up a handful of flowers.

Reaching out, he smiled when you wrapped your arms around his neck, nuzzling into his chest. The star bracelet on your wrist caught the light, as did the gold in your hair. He inhaled softly, your ambrosial scent overwhelming his senses.

Thick and thin. The worst of the worst. He'd do it all over again if it meant he got to have this forever.

There was a wire from Jesse waiting inside. Likely something lighthearted, letting Billy know the comings and goings of Seven Rivers as usual. He smiled at the thought, but then you leaned up and pressed your mouth to his and he decided it could wait.

When you bounced on your tiptoes, Billy lifted you up and your legs wrapped around his waist. You leaned forward and nudged your nose against his. "You know, I think we'll be a constellation someday."

"Yeah?" The idea turned the future from silver to gold. "When you're in the sky again I'll be there too?"

You giggled, a swan song, and kissed him again, murmuring into him, "I'll hold onto you so tight that you can only come with me."

That sweet sentiment crawled over Billy like a vine, and he let his fingers glide up your back, eyes melting like warm chocolate.

"You hold onto me as tight 's you want angel. I ain't goin' anywhere."

[milo-is-rambling]

Chronic pain really got me going to bed before it’s even dark out (also my little pink unicorn lights Millie got me look so cool in the second pic)

[talesfromthebandgeekmafia]

Holy shit I love my job. Today is Tea loving her job day.

[fereldenshero]

why am i fighting off tears rn ERMMMM

[hoseoksluna]

WINE | jjk

pairing: fuck buddy!jungkook x f. reader

genre: smut

word count: 4.7k

summary: both of you have a party to go to, but jungkook makes you needy again.

playlist: it's jeon time / pinterest board: wine

warnings: forced drinking, neck kissing, dom/sub dynamics, use of pet names and one particular title <3, degradation and praise, reader has daddy issues (like the writer), sensual dancing, dirty talk, spanking, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, orgasm denial, squirting, rough sex, plushie used during intercourse, hair pulling, jungkook needing to be in control, the importance of dom/sub role-play being just a role-play and not extending past the sex practice, aftercare

note: this was meant to be a fluff fic with jimin but then jungkook x calvin klein happened and i was fucked. my libido was awakened by that man, my ovulation triggered by his seductiveness and fucking godly beauty. this might be tmi, but i genuinely felt turned on while writing this, so i hope you enjoy. my bestie who always reads my work first said that my jungkook fics are vastly different from the ones with other members, and i agree. the sole reason behind it is the simple fact that jungkook owns my sexuality. so, yeah. please, show some love in the comments. happy reading!!

side note: HAPPY BDAY HOBI ᡣ𐭩

“A bit tipsy, aren’t we?”

You’re twirling. Twirling in golden circles as the late afternoon sunset traces the curves of your figure with its fingers, giving willingly a brisk dose of vigor to the movement as your delicately tousled curls spin around you. The warm light hits the shimmer on the highest points of your cheeks—coalesces with the glitter and you smile at the sun, fluttering your eyes shut. The ardent giggle spilling out of the mouth of your close friend is the music you dance to, and it helps your smile to grow in width.

You have somewhere to be. Both of you do. But you deem this is more important—it is your pregame after all, even though the wine glass in your hand is empty. Small drops of the white nectar make traces on the parquet floor, leaving behind the evidence of your joy, light as a feather somewhere within you. 

Freshly showered, Jungkook watches the show you put on for him. With one shoulder, he leans against the large wardrobe and rolls his sleeves upwards on his forearms, wrists adorned with golden bracelets that tinkle with each effort. He does it slowly, blindly. Prefers to focus on you, and not on the task he’s done too many times. You face him, aware of his warm gaze, and you lean your glass towards his chest, tilting your head to the side. 

“Barely,” you say. “Had one glass. Have another one with me?”

Jungkook smiles fondly, dropping his eyes to his wrists as he fixes the stacking of the thick gold. The cherry wood accentuates his countenance in a way that magnetically pulls you closer to him. Your legs act on their own, feet making their way to his. Something about the way they are shod in shiny dress shoes and yours are bare, toenails painted in cotton candy pink, drives a certain scarlet hue to go mad upon your dew-kissed face. Or maybe it’s the fact you two fucked hardly an hour ago that does it. You’ve always liked the scene, in which you’re naked and he’s fully dressed. Or it’s your ever persistent daddy issues and your obsession with Lolita. Maybe it’s a mixture of both.

You notice a ring on his pinky finger as he sweeps his ebony hair back. It wasn’t there when he had those digits wrapped around your throat in missionary. You take his inked hand to get a closer look, noticing the engraving of his last name. His father must have the same one. You caress it with your thumb. Its yellow gleam seeps into your skin—illuminates you and envelops you in its aura, fixing a heavenly halo above your head. You find yourself smiling when you look up at him and find that he’s been gazing down at you the whole time, his very own angel.

“If I were to have a glass of wine with you,” he mutters, and the mischievous twinkle that appears in his eyes excites you in a way that angels shouldn’t be provoked. “Then, there would be no party to go to.”

You know what he means, but you play dumb. You want to hear him say it.

“How so?” you ask and you widen your eyes softly to appear more alluring. You’re not sure if your body would handle another round, but you do enjoy the teasing—you enjoy the talk, the chase, the fuzzy feelings in your tummy.

Jungkook straightens and reaches for the bottle on the coffee table four steps away from you. Sinks the body of the glass onto his palm, pouring a good amount of the liquid inside. Nibbles his bottom lip as he stalks towards you, handing you the nectar, although he doesn’t let go. Your fingers wrap around his and it’s him who does the first move—lifting his arm to tilt the glass to your mouth. He’s gentle, a safe distance away to watch his whimsy unfold, but firm. He doesn’t lower his hand until the spillage of the gilded liquid trickles down your throat. Only then does he chuckle, setting the glass down. Satisfied.

Dizziness stirs your mind and you hardly have time to take a breather before Jungkook latches his mouth onto your wine-stained neck, tongue coming out to play—cleaning you up in figure eights that cause you to roll your eyes back. The ends of your curls tickle the back of his hand as he brushes his fingers along the dip of your spine, the skin bare in the open back of your knitted dress—made perfect for his sly touches.

He doesn’t press you against his body when he begins to suck on your neck; he still keeps the distance. Perhaps to make you needy, perhaps to make you ask for more. And it’s working, the magnetic pull does its thing once more and you roll your chest against his, aching to fit in the spaces of his figure that you know full well are there for you to hide in. Your nipples perk up at the slight attention, and electrifying sparks glide down the perimeters of your form in a way that you wish his hands would.

Absentmindedly, you touch them and Jungkook notices as he switches to the other side of your neck, the more sensitive one, the one that always leaves you dripping with your essence. You let him know, vocally, how much you like him there, and the sounds of pleasure you utter into his ear force him to pull out his phone from his pocket, steal your hand from your breast and place it in your palm.

He withdraws with a pop, plump lips coming to trace the shell of your ear. “I think we need some music,” he whispers, fingers skimming the curve of your ass. “Can you play some? Can you do that for me?”

Oh, that degradation kink of his. He knows he flung you out of his world into a pretty pink planet somewhere out there in the universe with that skilled tongue of his. He knows how dumb you get when horniness flushes your body with heat—he knows it intimately, for he’s the one who fucks you, the one you give yourself to when you blossom with the need to do so. He’s the one who opens the petals one by one, never to tear them, but to smell them, kiss them, hover them over the tender skin of his face just to be close to you. He knows you and he knows how to play with you just how you like it.

And you like to get into this state of mind. You like to be degraded, even though you’ll never admit it. You particularly like to get degraded by Jungkook.

Because of that reason, he likes to awaken it in you, beckon it to come out. How he found out is beyond your understanding. You reckon he sensed it while having your orgasms in his control. Somewhere in that dynamic, he found a little nook of a library and its contents fell into his grasp when he sank his fingers inside of you. All he had to do was read. And, also, listen.

Your bodily and vocal reactions didn’t protest.

You can’t even see his lockscreen, the numbers as you type in his mother’s birthday because Jungkook begins to toy with your earlobe, nibbling at the flesh ever so slightly. The pleasure, the wine getting into your head—it’s all suddenly too much. Paradoxically, you find the app somehow without looking out of a habit you learned throughout the months you’ve been casually seeing him, for Jungkook never fucks without his ‘It’s Jeon Time’ sex playlist. And he always wants you to pick out the first song. 

It impacts what he does to you later.

You scroll and you tap on a random song.

No BS by Chris Brown.

You return the phone and Jungkook begins to pepper soft kisses on your throat, pocketing the device. A sudden throbbing on your bundle of nerves makes you tenderly whine and in your head, you curse him out for making you needy again. He pretends not to hear you, making a way to your chin. He kisses it. Ghosts his lips over yours, puckers them to tease you and hums in appreciation for the song. You grab him everywhere you can. Hair, neck, shoulders. Squeezing. As if he hadn’t fucked the soul out of you earlier. As if you weren’t spent. And he just laughs.

No matter how soft the sound is, it forces all of the peach fuzz on your body to rise.

Oh, you’ve made him horny. You’re fucked.

No party for you.

“Good little girl,” he coos, grabbing your ass and pulling you flush to his body. The praise before the degradation—the calm before the storm. “Can always expect the best from you. You never fail to please me.”

His hardness greets you first, pressed torturously against your mound. You mewl at the feeling, but he silences you. His lips are second to say a playful hello as they delve into a firm kiss, hand grasping your hair in his fist. He inhales against you and before the two of you know it, you’re moving your bodies to the slow, sensual rhythm of the song. Jungkook kisses you again, parts your lips with his and slips his tongue inside. 

Just to taste you, briefly.

He spins you around. 

Towering over you, he wraps his arms around your middle and sways with you, pushing your hair to one side, so he can focus on your neck once more. Gliding his lips up and down your neck, nose nuzzling into the safe space there near your ear, he inhales again, your scent being the translucent ship that gets him to heavenly places he dreams of every now and then. He guides you with his hips, needing to be in control of everything, even of something as insignificant as a simple, intimate dance. You love it, you could never get enough of it. The stability being the foundation that holds it is what attracts you to it, the stability that you never had, the one that your inner child deserves. 

Palms flat on your tummy, Jungkook drifts them down and stops at your hips, fingers reaching your mound. 

“Those hips will be the death of me,” he murmurs, caressing your sides while continuing guiding you, pressing you just right against his prominent length. “Did you really expect me not to get hard seeing you dance like that?” 

You bite your lip, furrowing your eyebrows, rotating your hips to the chorus of the song, head empty. 

Jungkook grunts. The sound intoxicates you even more.

“My princess doesn’t really know what she’s doing to me, does she?” He hooks his fingers under the hem of your dress. “Too horny, too needy to think, hm?”

Shamelessly, you nod. “Want you again. Want to feel you inside of me.” 

Jungkook hums, then breaks into a gentle laughter. Lifts your garment and lets his fingers roam on your clothed folds, the white fabric drenched in your dewiness—pellucid enough to show the beauty of your flesh. 

Aware of how wet you are, he clicks his tongue. “You filthy girl, how many times do I have to fuck you in order for you to have enough?”

You grow silent. Brimming with a woozy desire, you opt to grind your ass against him again. Your brain cannot come up with any smart answer that would please him, so this is the best you could do. Jungkook curses under his breath, leans back to watch you. He meets each and every movement of your hips and completes them, creating waves that spur the butterflies in your belly to life. 

“Filthy”—He spanks you—“Fucking”—Another spank—“Girl.”

Knees bent, Jungkook grinds against your core, cutting short your hissing. He turns you around and bends you against the wardrobe, places your hands flat on the cherry wood. Takes off your panties swiftly and lets them pool by your ankles. Spanks you below your ass cheek, moaning at the lift and ripple of your plumpness. Does it again on the other one, letting out a sound that makes your dewiness, similarly like the wine down the sides of your neck, leak and stick to your inner thighs. Something between a dark chuckle, a moan and a purr of endearment. 

“What am I to do with such a greedy girl like you?” he says, fingers tracing each curve of your ass to etch the memory of it deeper into his brain. “You deserve to be fucked like this. Mercilessly, for my pleasure. Like the little slut you are. But I’ll be good to you.” 

He pushes your left inner thigh, guiding you to spread your legs. Cups your pussy, digits spreading your essence all over you. 

“I’ll be good to you because you just can’t help it, can you? Poor little baby is just a slut for this cock.”

You mewl at his words, but then you discover that he didn’t lubricate your cunt for you, but for himself.

You yelp when you feel his tongue right there on the softness of your inner thigh, licking up a stripe to drink you. You didn’t expect him to do it so quickly and your whines increase in volume when Jungkook buries his head in your pussy, the deft muscle swirling around your pulsating bundle, licking between your folds and teasing around your hole. You push your hips back, wanting him there more than ever, but he spanks you, bites your flesh before he soothes the pain with his kisses. Big kisses as he calls them, the ones with full tongue. The nasty, the dirty. Big kisses for big girls with experience—those he teaches. 

Jungkook stands up and wraps his fingers around your jawline, holding you like that as he draws closer to your ear. 

“Looks like you can’t go out with your little pussy wet like that and those pretty panties soiled like they are, can you?” He turns your head so you look at him and you let him see your star-filled eyes, damp with the cosmos. “What would they think of you?”

“Koo,” you cry out.

He purrs in mock sympathy. “I left you alone for what, half an hour? And your pussy is needy again. That’s not right, is it? You should stop and think about this. Daddy’s not fixing it for you.” 

As if he hadn’t spoken a word, he sinks his fingers inside of you. Middle and ring. Jackhammers them until you scream, then he pulls them out and spanks your pussy once, twice. With all four of his digits, he rubs the entirety of your femininity, sloppily and rapidly, the drops of your essence joining the company of the drying wine on the parquet floor. You’re seeing white, your orgasm inches away from you.

“Jungkook, please, don’t stop—” Your mouth rounds, voice breaks into a moan. “I’m gonna come, please, please—” 

He withdraws his fingers. Entire body, too. Like a starved animal, head tipped low, he stares you down. 

You struggle to catch your breath, swallowing dryly, leaning your head against your forearms.

“You said—you said you’d be good to me,” you croak out, throat dry, eyes lidding, mind absolutely fucked out. 

“I am.” 

The meaning of his words eludes you, but you soon forget about thinking when he licks his fingers clean. Wraps those pretty, puffy pillows around his slender fingers and sucks them. Then, he undoes the few buttons left of his ebony shirt, slowly and precisely. You clench around nothing, walls pressing together tightly. You’d slip a finger inside if you weren’t holding the side of the wardrobe for dear life.

“Get on the bed, now,” he orders. “Leave the dress on. Panties, too. I’ll show everyone how much of a little slut you are.” 

Without a second thought, you do as he says. 

You sit down on the edge of the bed and spread your legs as wide for him as the undergarment enfolding your thighs allows you, the ivory material pulled taut—your dewiness on show. Jungkook walks into the room like he has all the time in the world, like you aren’t gripping the flesh of your sides in order not to touch yourself. His shirt is fully unbuttoned now and the fabric lets you see a slither of his defined abdomen and fine black pubic hair peeking out of his Calvins due to how low his slacks are fixed on his hips. You lick your lips, dig half-moons into your skin until your knuckles turn white.

You need him. You need him so much that tears pool within the cosmos of your eyes.

“If only they were to see you right now,” he mutters. “So desperate for me. It’s too bad only I get to see you like this, isn’t it?” 

He worsens your desire with that mouth of his. It’s extreme. You scratch your nails down your thighs to relieve yourself at least a little bit. 

Fists on each side of you, Jungkook leans towards you. His simple gold chain swings in your face and you bite your lip to keep your needy mewls at bay.

“Am I talking to myself?” 

You shake your head ‘no’. 

“Did you forget how to talk?” He cocks his eyebrow. 

“I need you so bad. I can’t take it anymore,” you whine out, the best your brain could muster.

Jungkook puckers his lips at you in feigned sympathy again and you expect the worst to come out of his mouth, but he surprises you when he says, “what do you want me to do to you?”

You gasp almost soundlessly. Your heart skips in your chest happily. Fire of the starlight shines in your eyes and a brand new flush finds its way to your cheeks, hotter than the one from earlier when you were dancing with the sun. Before you can think you answer through, it slips out of you.

“Lick my pussy, please.” 

Jungkook smirks and the blush of roses smears across his cheeks and nose as well. He wipes at his mouth as if your answer made him drool—cuts the anticipation and kneels down at the bed, pushing your legs back. 

“Who am I to deny you?” 

The butterflies within your tummy go berserk. 

Tongue flat, he licks up your cunt. Over and over, lapping up your wetness, moaning, seizing your girlishness and rolling it over in his mouth. You tip your head back between your shoulder blades and your arms begin to shake, holding all of your weight. Like you were previously grinding against him, you do the same movement now into his face. Recreate the waves as he rides his tongue against your clit. 

He stops when you catch his gaze.

You cry out for him, bucking your hips. He shakes his head, eyes never leaving yours. His puffy lips glint in the dimmed light, the sun rays seconds away from saying their final goodbye.

“Needy little whore.”

Jungkook flicks at your little seashell, wraps those pillows around the muscle out of habit, but decides against it. Denies you the pleasure, knows too well you come too quickly from the suction. Decides to flutter his tongue instead, the pressure light, making you tremble like a butterfly wing. Retracts. Starts the torture again, alternating between light and hard. Fucks with your brain. Fucks with you.

“This feels too good, Daddy, oh my god.” 

You watch him at work, mouth parted open, sounds of gratification coming out freely. He’s never done this to you before. It’s new, it’s different and it feels otherworldly; it feels like he’s transporting you back to pink planet again. The faint pleasure, the build up, the hard intensity at last before he starts again. He pins your hips down to prevent you from getting ahead, lidded eyes zeroing on yours, and the cord in your belly tightens. You near to the edge, gusts of gasps and ragged breaths flowing out of your mouth. 

“I’m coming, Daddy, I’m coming, oh fuck.” 

The harsh light of stars comes down slowly upon your eyesight. You’re almost there. You roll your hips to meet his tongue one last time, despite the deathly grip he has on your hip bones, but he lifts his head. Rips the orgasm away from you.

“No.” He wipes his mouth with his hand.

Your vision blurs and frustration burns you hot.

“What?”

“You’re not coming.” 

You stare at him, eyelashes flittering. At loss for words.

“We have a party to go to, don’t we?” 

You scrunch up your eyebrows. You thought you weren’t going anywhere?

“And if you’re good, I’ll think about letting you come tonight.”

Your mouth falls open. 

“Close it before I fuck it.” 

He cups your chin, closing it for you. Wraps his fingers around your throat and pushes you back on the mattress. Your hair fans all around you and you hold your clothed breasts for emotional support, your brain not really registering that you’re getting fucked and that you’re not allowed to cum. You sob tearlessly at his cruelty, lifting your head to look at him. 

Jungkook unzips his slacks. Doesn’t bother to lower them, only pulls out his heavy length out of the tight confines of his boxers. His precum shines prettily on his mushroom and he spreads it all around him, jacking himself off, grunting, groaning, throwing his head back. All while being completely ignorant to your inner turmoil. 

“Look at what you’ve done to me,” he whispers, letting go of his cock to show you just how hard he is. 

Your head spins. His tip reaches his belly button and the thickness of his shaft obscures most of his pubic hair. You moan, aching to have him inside of you. Feel your slick trickle down onto the bedding. 

“So hot,” you say, lifting your eyes to catch him focused on the reactions painted on your face with his bottom lip sucked between his teeth, chest heaving quickly. “You’re so beautiful.” 

Abruptly, Jungkook flops you onto your stomach. Crawls over you. Straddles you. Veiny forearms, partly shielded by the waterfall of your hair, come to stay on either side of your head. 

He reaches for the white bunny plushie resting against the pillows and hands him to you. Brushes your hair away from your face to whisper into your ear, “you better hold onto him.” 

You clutch him to your chest and bury your face in his soft fur. 

“Remember the rule?” he asks and you feel him drag the tip of his cock down the line of your ass—you feel him stop at your tight hole. 

Your breath shakes. “I can’t come.” 

Body reacting on its own, hips lifting, you allow him to glide down to your pussy.

Jungkook hums in appreciation. “That’s right. Look at you, so good for me already.” 

He chuckles darkly and you hate your life.

“You only know how to behave yourself when you want to come, don’t you? Such a slut.”

He punctuates his sentence by sheathing himself inside of you. You grip your plushie tight, groaning into his fur. He does it all in one go, not stopping once to let you adjust around him. He huffs against your hair, mocks your sound, eyelashes fluttering at your tightness, mouth agape. It’s otherworldly how he fits. It’s otherworldly how you can make out his expression, how you see it clearly behind your closed eyelids—how him mocking you and imitating you makes you drip even more, the lewdness of your juices encouraging him to go balls-deep. 

He rams into you. 

You scream into the bunny.

He rams into you in staccatos, the headboard of the bed colliding over and over again into the wall. Swift jerks. Hard. 

You feel so full.

“Slutty fucking pussy,” he whispers, gathers all of your hair into his fist and pulls your head back. Begins to fuck you evenly, picking up the pace. “So tight around Daddy, fuck.” 

You must be floating. Somewhere out there within that pink planet. All your surroundings are bleary, distorted, but so vibrant. Just as your hair is pulled back so are your wings retracted in the same way, held by your captor. You feel his lips at your temple, parted, breath hot and heavy. You can’t even hear yourself amidst your pleasure and his, but somehow—all of a sudden—you hear the voice of your favorite singer echoing in the living room.

Do I Wanna Know by the Arctic Monkeys. 

Little by little, you feel yourself returning back to planet Earth. Drool wets the corners of your mouth and you don’t have the strength to wipe it off, focusing all of your strength on stalling your orgasm, the voice of your beloved Alex pushing against you in a fight.

Jungkook lets go of your hair, but wraps the same arm around your shoulders, plushie and neck, his weight coming on top of yours. Continues to slam into you without any care of the world, heedless of the way you’re fighting for your life.

“If I’m not mistaken, this is your song, baby, isn’t it?” he breathes into your ear, slowing down his pace, hips rocking against you to the rhythm.

You sob at the mercy, the ferocity of your incoming orgasm dwindling away. 

That is until he starts pounding you into the mattress again. 

You scream out. White vision begins to chase you again, the cord tightening in your full lower tummy. 

“Jungkook, please, I can’t—I can’t—” 

He grunts at your helplessness, hand gripping your mouth. Pace so fast your head knocks back into his shoulder. 

“You can take it. It’s your song.” He squeezes your cheeks. Grinds his hips slowly. You roll your eyes back, feeling him nudge your cervix. 

He begins to kiss along your jawline, your earlobe, the contours of the shell. You do the same, peppering kisses upon his forearm as your position allows you. 

“We could be together, if you wanted to,” he huffs the lyrics into your ear, just for you to hear. 

The cord snaps. 

Wetness gushes out of you; a sweet stream of your dewiness forces him to pull out of you—and your wet orgasm triggers his. He paints your open back white with his hot spurts of cum, sealing you, completing you. Jacks himself off with one hand while the other rubs your pussy, spanking it. You’re squirming, screaming, the orgasm long and so intense that you don’t even know where you are. Jungkook fingers you with three digits and coaxes another surge out of you. Slacks destroyed, dress soiled, bodies spent—your screams silent. 

He caresses the roundness of your ass to calm you down. 

“Breathe for me, baby,” 

You try, but you can’t. 

Too exhausted. 

You feel him leave, but in a moment you sense the mattress dipping beside you. The coldness of wet wipes on your skin, getting rid of the evidence of his pleasure. The warmth of his thumb on the tear-stained skin under your eyes as he turns you to your side. 

A glass of cold water is in his hand. You suddenly feel parched. His touch brought your senses back to you. 

“Sit up.”

You finish the glass in gulps. Some of it leaks down your throat. Jungkook smirks. 

“Well done.”

You hug your plushie tighter. “I’m sorry for coming.” 

Jungkook caresses your hair. You’re sitting on your legs while he’s standing by the side of the bed. Running his fingers through your disheveled, ruined curls. 

“I fucked you that hard on purpose,” he murmurs, curling a strand of hair behind your ear, finger coming to a stop at the beginning of the line of your jaw. “It was my intention to make you come.” 

You lean into his touch. Kiss the edge of his palm. Drowsy, droopy eyes still bearing into his. 

“Like I said. You did well.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “Arms up.”

He takes off your dress and slinks your arms through the sleeves of his black shirt that he had discarded while fucking you. Your eyelids are shut when he lays you down on the cold side of the bed, tucking you in, and you’re halfway through the footpath to your pink planet when he promises, “I’ll make it up to you about that party.” 

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist / read part two

[catmask]

Can i asks how u draw buildings? Or like, how u learned!! I need to be able to draw sum fur the game im making but ive been avoiding it because idk how

i actually dont know myself which is why im practicing!

the truth is ive been drawing minecraft houses because its fun for me and pushes me to draw somethign thats otherwise really hard for me.

part of the trouble of drawing any inanimate object for me has always been figuring out the 'body' or the 'shape' of that thing. ie 'how do i simplify this in a way that conveys what its supposed to be, while not being too detailed or not detailed enough'.

minecraft houses work really nicely for that in my practice because theyre already simplified in a sort of cartoony way, but theyre still definitively 3d objects with space, depth and figure. how much detail i add or take away is up to me and the individual drawing.

after i draw minecraft houses for awhile, i plan to 'graduate' to drawing buildings i think look cool in a similar style. i have a pinterest board where i save buildings that iwant to try drawing someday. i also sometimes walk around my city irl and draw some of the more historical townhomes and buildings there, so i get life study practice too!

anyway, long answer but in short: im still learning! im not done learning yet, i dont think i ever will be, but this specifically ive just started taking a crack at. its scary but we can learn... *extends paw* together

[pinkchrissysposts]

||☆•2 week affirmation challenge for beginners•☆||~(request)

<Hey guy it's been quite while,I shifted for a whole month(which will be 2 days here in my CR) in Koizora DR,for a break from my CR,anyways from the result from today's votes,>

Firstly something we all struggle as beginner to manifest is,obsession,desperation,doubts, procrastation and methods. But guys don't worry it's just a normal phase everyone go through after knowing that we can HAVE ANYTHING we want,logical or illogical. But here me out you don't have to force yourself to get completely rid of those negative,because they are always gonna come up,what YOU have to do is be in control of those thoughts,which mean don't let those thoughts guide you to get in a state of lack. You are more power then that so,flip that shit and focus on the new thought or new story.

I get as someone new to law you will be confuse on what to do,or what to manifest,but the most common is thinking HOW. How do I start,"how do I manifest it into my life?","how is it even possible,will it work for me?". It definitely will you've been manifesting your whole life,but since you are new that's why you're finding it hard to manifest. But let me tell you it's simple,if you are not able to embody state,use SATS,being etc.

So here is the routine you have to follow for the next 2 weeks.

🥗. Create a Pinterest vision board look at it,everytime you feel like you need external validation,or motivation.

🥗. Start your day with affirmations,and use this subliminal and loop it as you affirm. Use the sub atleast 1 hour or more while doing your morning routine and robotically affirming.

🥗. Now robotically affirm as you go on with your day. You can talk with others don't have to shut the world out as Sammy said. Or you can do 30 minutes affirmation 1 hour rest session.

🥗. On free time use this morphic field and continue affirming for atleat 30 minutes headphones are not needed foe morphic field so no need to use one since Sapien recommended himself. Also do atleast a proper 1-2 hour saturation session,you can also do other activities.

🥗. OK you have come so far don't give up take some breaks in between.

🥗. At night use these two subs by SLADE,and fall asleep as you affirm. You can loop is overnight too but it's upto you how long you want to use it.

🍋‍🟩That's it so let's see in brief.

★. Affirm as you wake up with the subliminal above.

★. Affirm for 30 minutes and take 1 hour rest or do robotic affirming the whole day.

★. On your free time use morphic field and do a proper saturation session of 1-2 hour.

★. As you fall asleep use two subs and loop it as you affirm to sleep.

Also you don't have to worry about all the emotions you feel,you wanna cry then cry,feeling guilty it's fine,feeling desperate it's fine. Let the emotions pass,people have affirmed while crying,to the point they throw up(me💀) with desperatation,you can obsess over your desires it'snot a big crime. But the biggest crime is not persisting and checking 3D also procrastinating. Also don't get discourage if 3d shows you something you don't like affirm against it because you are more powerfull then those thoughts.

[zot3-flopped]

Sylvia Plath did not stick her head in an oven for this! When Taylor Swift took the Grammys stage last month to claim her award for Best Pop Vocal Album for Midnights, she saw that spotlight as an opportunity to announce her 11th studio album: The Tortured Poets Department. The follow-up cut to audience members—Swift’s music industry peers, mind you—told us all that we would ever need to know, and the collective disinterest across the crowd echoed through our TVs.

Folks from all walks of life took to social media to express a multitude of reactions. Swifties clamored to their beloved monarch’s forthcoming era, while others lambasted the terminally cringe title and artwork and ridiculed Swift for making a night recognizing musical achievements across an entire industry about herself—knowing perfectly well that it would send her fanbase into a surge that would, no doubt, overpower the excitement around the ceremony itself.

Quite a few people questioned whether or not that moment suggested that a critical—definitely not commercial—tide would turn against the world’s most-famous pop star. And, perhaps it has—but, to most, it will look like nothing more than a single ripple in Swift’s ocean of successes.

Swift remained relatively hush-hush about The Tortured Poets Department up until its release, leaving her fans, admirers and haters alike with nothing but an album title to ponder about. And it’s a bad title.

If you have never been in Swift’s corner, her taking the route of labeling her next “era” as “tortured” was likely catnip for your disinterest. If you are a fan—not necessarily a Swiftie, but even just a casual lover of her best and brightest work—you might be beside yourself about the first Swift album title longer than one word in 14 years.

In terms of popularity—certainly not always in terms of quality—no musician has been bigger this century than Swift, which makes it impossible to really buy into the “torture” of it all.

This is not to say that Swift being the most famous person in the world makes her immune to having multi-dimensional feelings of heartbreak, mental illness or what-have-you.

But, she has made the choice—as a 34-year-old adult—to take those complex, universal familiars and monetize them into a wardrobe she can wear for whatever portion of her Eras Tour setlist she opts to dedicate to the material.

Torture is fashion to Taylor Swift, and she wears her milieu dully. This album will surely get comparisons to Rupi Kaur’s poetry, either for its simplicity, empty language, commodification or all of the above.

And, sure, there are parallels there, especially in how The Tortured Poets Department, too, is going to set the art of poetry back another decade—as Swift’s naive call-to-arms of her own milky-white sorrow rings in like some quintessential “I am going to take pictures of a typewriter on my desk and have a Pinterest mood-board of Courier New font” iPhone fodder. 2013 called and it wants it capricious, suburban girl-who-is-taking-a-gap-year wig back!

Soaking our book reports in coffee or having our moms burn the edges with a kitchen lighter cannot come back into fashion; the cyclical notions of culture cannot make the space for such retreads.

There is nothing poetic about a billionaire—who, mind you, threatens legal action against a Twitter account for tracking her destructive private jet paths—telling stadiums of thousands of people every night that she sees and adores them.

Tavi Gevinson says it well in her Fan Fiction zine: “When 80,000 people are also crying, you become less special, too.” If Swift can return to one of her dozen beach houses across the world, kick up her feet and say “I’m a poet of struggle,” then who is to say that millions—maybe billions—of people with access to a notes app and a social media account won’t dream that dream, too?

Maybe that looks like a net-positive, but it’s inherently damning and destructive to take an art form that has long stood on the shoulders of resistance, of love and of opposition to power, systematic injustice and climate warfare and boil it down to the new defining era of your own 10-digit revenue empire. “My culture is not your costume,” yada, etc.

The Tortured Poets Department does begin with a shred of hope that, just maybe, Swift knows what she’s talking about—as she sneaks in a cheeky “all of this to say,” textbook transitional phrasing for poets, on opening track “Fortnight.”

But “Fortnight” unmasks itself quickly as a heady vat of pop nothingness, though it isn’t all Swift’s fault. “I was a functioning alcoholic, ‘til nobody noticed my new aesthetic,” she muses, attempting to bridge the gap between a behind-the-scenes life and on-stage performance—only for it to occur while propped up against the most dog-water, uninspired synth arrangement you could possibly imagine.

Between producer Jack Antonoff’s atrocious backing instrumental and the Y2K-era, teen dramedy echo chamber of a vocal harmony provided by out-of-place guest performer Post Malone, “Fortnight” chokes on the vomit of its own opaqueness.

“I took the miracle move-on drug, the effects were temporary,” Swift muses, and it sounds like satire. This is your songwriter of the century? Open the schools.

The Tortured Poets Department title-track features some of Swift’s worst lyricism to-date, including the irredeemable, relentlessly cringe “You smoked then ate seven bars of chocolate, we declared Charlie Puth should be a bigger artist / I scratch your head, you fall asleep like a tattooed golden retriever” lines glazed atop some synthesizers and drums that just ring in as hollow, unfascinating costuming.

Aside from the Puth nod, which I can only discern as a joke (given the fact that he is one of the 150-most streamed artists in the world and is one of the blandest pop practitioners alive—I don’t care if he can figure out the pitch of any sound you throw at him), I think Antonoff should stick to guitar-playing. Get that man away from a keyboard, I’m begging you.

Synths can be, if you use them correctly, one of the most emotional and provocative instruments in any musician’s tool-box. There’s a reason why keyboards defined the 1980s; they rebelled against the very oppressive nature existing outside of the cultural company they kept. There’s resistance in electronic music that, while they brandish an aesthetic that, to a layman’s ears, seems like technicolor hues for any infectious pop track, it’s a genre that aches to tell its own story. That is simply not the case here, and that electronica hangs Swift out to dry when she drags us through the lukewarm “I laughed in your face and said, ‘You’re not Dylan Thomas, I’m not Patti Smith’ / This ain’t the Chelsea Hotel, we’re modern idiots” lines, only to hit us with a softly sung F-bomb that sounds like a billionaire’s rendition of that one Miranda Cosgrove podcast clip.

I used to rag pretty heavily on Reputation—mostly because I thought (and still do, mostly) that it sounded like Swift had given up on making interesting, progressive pop music; that, in the wake of her (arguably) best album, 1989, it seemed like she’d lost the plot on where to go next. But as she’s put out Midnights and The Tortured Poets Department back-to-back, I find myself clamoring for the Reputation-era more than ever—at least seven years ago, Swift wrote songs like she had something to prove and even more to lose.

That was the always-obvious charm of Reputation, even despite the downsides—that she took a big swing from the echelons of her own musical immortality, that the comforts of winning every award and selling out the biggest venues in the world were no longer pillowing her aspirations. Even though that swing didn’t land, she still made it in the first place—and Swift is at her best either when she is clawing upwards (Reputation) or faced with nowhere to go but into the studio and noodle with the bare-bones of her own sensibilities (folklore).

You get something like The Tortured Poets Department when the artist making it no longer feels challenged, where she strikes out looking.

The mid-ness of The Tortured Poets Department will not be a net-loss for Swift. She will sell out arenas and get her streams until she elects to quit this business (a phrase decidedly not in her vocabulary, surely).

She will sell more merch bundles than vinyl plants have the capacity to make, and rows of variant LP copies will haunt the record aisles of Target stores just as long as Midnights has—if not longer.

Perhaps, in five or six years’ time, we will speak of this record just as we now do of Reputation. But right now, it is obvious that Swift no longer feels challenged to be good. The Tortured Poets Department is the mark of an artist now interested in seeing how much their empire can atone for the sins of mediocrity.

Can Swift win another Album of the Year Grammy simply because she released a record during the eligibility period? The Tortured Poets Department reeks of “because I can,” not “because I should.”

On “I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can),” Swift tries stepping into the shoes of the country renegades who came before her—the Tammy Wynettes and Loretta Lynns of the world. But her self-aggrandizing inflation of importance, glinting through via a seismically-bland bridge, is backed by a minimal set dressing of guitar, drum machine and keys.

“Good boy, that’s right, come close,” she sings. “I’ll show you Heaven if you’ll be an angel—all mine. Trust me, I can handle me a dangerous man. No, really, I can.” On “Florida!!!,” Swift calls upon Florence + the Machine to help her sing the worst chorus of 2024: “Florida is one hell of a drug / Florida, can I use you up?”

Even Welch, who is a fantastic pop singer-songwriter in her own right, delivers a grossly watery verse: “The hurricane with my name, when it came I got drunk and I dared it to wash me away.”

Not even the typos on the Spotify promotional materials for this album could have foretold such offenses. I won’t even get into the sonics, because Antonoff just rewrites the same soulless patterns every time.

What separates The Tortured Poets Department from something like Reputation is that, on the latter, Swift made it known what was at stake and who she was making that album for—herself, in the aftermath of her greatest long-standing criticisms (“Look What You Made Me Do” triumphs exactly because of this).

On The Tortured Poets Department, there is a striking level of moral nothingness. The stakes are practically non-existent, and the album sounds like it was made by someone who believes that they had no other choice but to finish it, as if Swift fundamentally believes that her creative measures are firmly embedded in the massive monopoly her name and brand currently hold on popular music. That’s how you get meandering pop songs about hookups, wine moms, Stevie Nicks comparisons, Jehovah’s Witness suit mentions, hollowed-out, tone-deaf nods to white-collar crime in lieu of empowerment and, topically, Barbie dolls.

(Don’t even get me started on the Anthology lyrics, which feature these absolute barn-burners: “Touch me while your bros play Grand Theft Auto” and “My friends used to play a game where / We would pick a decade / We wished we could live in instead of this / I’d say the 1830s, but without all the racists / And getting married off for the highest bid.”) This album and its hackneyed grasps at relevance exist as “Did I just hear that?” personified, but in the most derogatory sense of the notion.

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys” features another low-point in Swift’s lyrical oeuvre, as she sings “I felt more when we played pretend than with all the Kens, ‘cause he took me out of my box”—perhaps a measure of her capitalizing on the Barbenheimer mania that none of us could escape, not even the musician who spent most of 2023 flying across the world from one country to another.

But you, us, the listener—we want to believe that Swift makes these records because she has the artistic will, drive and interest to continue giving us parts of her story in such ways that they exist as an archival of her life.

But the problem is that, on The Tortured Poets Department, Swift is packaging her life into a form that is easily consumable for the 17 or 18 years olds who pour over her music. Just because her Eras Tour film is on Disney+ doesn’t mean she has to strip her songwriting (which we know can be, and has been, phenomenal) down for the sake of it being digestible by a wide spectrum of ages.

And, sure, maybe that makes the work accessible. But on The Tortured Poets Department, Swift makes Zoomer jargon her bag—titling a song after one of the most popular video games in the world and conjuring flickers of “down bad” and “I can fix him”—and it feels like she’s cosplaying because the Fountain of Youth was out of order.

Now that Swift is in her 30s, it sounds like she is infantilizing her own audience more than ever before—that singing to them at a level that could force them to reckon with something more akin with adulthood would be some kind of kink in the coil or her consumeristic threshold, that writing lyrics that sound like they were penned by a 30-year-old would, somehow, deter the interests of the billions of people who adore her.

If making one, continuous coming-of-age album is what Swift has been doing for 15 years, folklore and evermore were hiccups in the timeline—existing as the most fully-formed renderings of Swift’s own insecurities and concerns. They mirrored our platitudes towards an uncertain future with sweet, stirring remarks about isolation and heartbreak and the unavoidable, hard-worn truth about getting older. On those records, her larger-than-life living seemed, for once, to truly feel as close to the ground as ours.

Now, though, Taylor Swift is at the top of the mountain. Far better artists have made far worse records than The Tortured Poets Department, but you can’t read between the lines of this project. There is nothing to decipher from a place of quality.

Sure, Swift’s fan base will pour over these lyrics for the rest of their lives—insisting they know, for certain, which song is about who. But you cannot place a bad album on the shoulders of lore and expect it to be rectified.

We are now left at a crossroads. Women can’t critique Swift because they’ll run the risk of being labeled a “gender traitor” for doing so. Men can’t critique her because they’ll be touted as “sexist.”

And, sure, Swift is probably too easy a punching bag in this case—and most of the time, I would argue she is undeserving of being a victim of such barbs. But, you cannot write about someone being a “tattooed golden retriever” and get away with it and still retain your title as the best songwriter of your generation. You just cannot.

Sisyphus should be glad he never got the boulder to the top of the mountain—because Taylor Swift is showing us that such immortality and success ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. And, when you’re standing on the peak alone, who else is there left to hit?

In a recent interview with The Standard, Courtney Love said that Swift is “not interesting as an artist,” and I think The Tortured Poets Department proves as much. She has nothing to fight for, no doubters left to drown.

So where does she turn? Well, to boredoms of celebrity thinly veiled as sorrow everyone and their mother can latch onto—because we’ve all had to “ditch the clowns, get the crown” at some point in our lives, right?

The billionaire is having an identity crisis, but there are no social media apps for her to buy up. So she sings like Lana Del Rey and writes meta-self-referential songs about looking like Stevie Nicks.

What’s hollow about The Tortured Poets Department is that the real torture is just how unlivable these songs really are. No one can resonate with “So I leap from the gallows and I levitate down your street, crash the party like a record, scratch as I scream ‘Who’s afraid of little old me?’ You should be.” And normally, that wouldn’t be an end-all-be-all for a pop record—but when your brand is built on copious levels of “I’m just like you!” as the demigod saying it to their fans does so from a multi-million-dollar production set, it’s hard to not feel nauseated by the overlording, overbearing sense of heavy-handed detritus we’re tasked with sifting through on The Tortured Poets Department.

Love’s words to Lana, her advice to “take seven years off,” should be applied to Swift. Now, that doesn’t mean that, to make a good album, you must sit on material for years and labor extensively through the sketching, shaping and recording in order for it to be transcendentally landmark. But it’s obvious now that not even Taylor Swift wants to be the head of an empire—that she, too, can’t outrun the damning fate of being plum out of ideas by hopping in her jet and skirting off to God knows where.

See you at the Grammys.

****

[adviceformefromme]

YOUR RE-SET

So your life isn’t looking and feeling how you envisioned. You see the TikTok and IG girlies living that life. You dream about luxury travel, pilates on a Saturday morning, drinking overpriced green smoothies, driving a sexy car, and living your fullest most authentic life…But in comparison, you’ve grown to mostly hate spending time with your friends, you’ve out grown them and notice how much they complain about life and generally are low vibes, you’ve spent all of this months wages already, and still have 2 weeks left until payday so your bank balance is no way supporting the life you dream of, to add, your dating life is a mess not consisting of your dream guy that provides for you. No, instead it seems too much effort for him to message back, let alone take you to that sexy spa you’re dying to visit. So in short your life is a far cry from what you want. The life you’ve created right now is absolutely not what you would want for yourself for the next year, or even five years. So in order to completely shift from where you are to where you want to be. You need a fucking RE-SET. 

The re-set is basically your metamorphosis. Think of being the caterpillar, heavy, slow sluggish (currently you right now). In order to become a beautiful butterfly you need to completely transform, undo, take time to reorganise so you can re-emerge as nature intended. 

The Re-set might look slightly different for everyone so take what you need from this: 

2-3 months stepping back from the people around you. 

THE CORE ESSENTIALS FOR YOUR RESET - A DAILY PRACTISE  

Meditating daily to clear you mind so you can hear yourself, your own voice and drown out any external noise. (I recommend insight timer app, or mind app both for meditations)

A journal, to document your feelings and emotions, empty your thoughts, and a space where you can become your own best friend and create a connection with yourself. 

Movement. - you need to move your body this is KEY, you might pick up running, stretching at home, pilates, yoga, HIT, whatever it is just fucking do it. Your body needs the movement to replenish its energy and move you out of stagnation. 

Healthy diet. Less alcohol more greens. If it’s processed, if its fizzy, if its sugar, if its cake, if its chocolate, if its ice cream (you get the picture), cut that shit OUT. You need food that supports you, cleanses you, energises you in order to thrive and clear your energy. 

FAITH in something bigger than yourself. If you’re religious, great lean into your faith with prayer, scripture, faith music. If you’re not religious maybe you believe in the universe, the love all around you, faith in something unknown, something guiding you, protecting you, even if you believe this is part of your own psyche - lean into this. Your faith is your support system. Your faith is the unseen that will guide and protect you on this journey. 

The above might seem overwhelming, and it will be if you don’t already incorporate those things into your day already. The worst thing you want to do is try and do everything at once and feel disappointed when you don’t succeed. So start with one thing if that’s all you can manage and focus on doing that one thing consistently and then add from that. 

The purpose of the first 2-3 months is the cleansing. You want to start slowly removing what doesn’t serve you, and start creating space for yourself, your thoughts and visions so you have space to start planting new seeds of the life you want to live. 

What your first steps in your journey might look like: 

Saying no to going out for drinks with friends, instead you go for a long walks in nature listening to an empowering podcast, go home journal and meditate. 

Weekends might look like not seeing friends, maybe even family. Doing exercise, making healthy food, researching recipes, creating a vision board on Pinterest and doing a guiding meditation, affirmations and mirror work. 

Having a prayer practise, reading books/ passages that support you in your journey 

Deleting your social medias or even doing a detox day / weekend so you have a break 

PART 2 - COMING NEXT….(Here)

[pseudowho]

Post-ShibuyaAU! Grey Nanami Kento...

🎄Christmas Headcanons

(help me find the Nanami artist in the banner, for crediting and thanks/permission!)

As an accompaniment to my story, Grey (link here); an AU where Nanami survives Shibuya exploration because I'm never going to be over his loss.

Merry Christmas, from Haitch, @silkspunweb and Greynami

Part 1 of Greynami Headcanons, link here

Part 2 of Greynami Headcanons, link here

Warnings: Severe injury (burns, eye loss), PTSD, alcohol use, depression, light smut, angst, AU headcanons

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Before he met you:

AU!Nanami Kento who is barely holding himself together on the first Christmas after the Shibuya Incident, healed but not.

AU!Nanami Kento who spends most of his December evenings drinking himself to sleep, in a sleepy haze on the sofa while Christmas specials run quietly in the background.

AU!Nanami Kento who starts hunting Curses of his own jurisdiction, losing track of the days as he sweeps from case to case, kill to kill, nobody's servant.

AU!Nanami Kento who finds a family home and all of its corpses while he's on the hunt for a Curse; stepping over the bloodied threshold, shoes crunching on stained broken glass, he only realises it's Christmas Eve by the stockings hung out and the little broken bodies of their owners beneath them.

AU!Nanami Kento who cries himself to sleep.

AU!Nanami Kento who works through Christmas despite being ill, trying to numb his fear and loneliness, isolated but unable to ask for help.

AU!Nanami Kento who ends up in Shoko's care again; not taking care of himself, not sleeping, and not eating, so a cold grows into an infection and he welcomes in the New Year in a feverish daze in a Jujutsu High hospital bed.

AU!Nanami Kento who declines all visitors, the curtains pulled round his bed.

AU!Itadori Yuuji, Ino Takuma and Gojo Satoru, who leave Kento's gifts by the door for Shoko to collect.

After he meets you:

AU!Nanami Kento who would have planned to keep his head down and keep working, ignoring the Christmas lights and music...if not for you, so excited as the holiday approaches, making his heart swell.

AU!Nanami Kento who grasps your joy with both hands, clinging desperately to the hope for a happier life.

AU!Nanami Kento who lets you know he's ready to partake, by quietly sending his Christmas playlist to you. You never mention it, but begin a silent exchange of each adding new songs to the playlist. Kento hears you giggling in the kitchen as he adds a new one while brushing his teeth.

AU!Nanami Kento who looks at Jujutsu High, and all of its orphaned, abandoned or lonely children.

AU!Nanami Kento who kisses you back into the sofa cushions when you give him an unequivocal yes to his cautious Christmas Day Grand Plan proposal, with you, laughing and squeaking as he nuzzles with glee into your pyjama collar.

AU!Jujutsu High Staff and Kids, who begin to receive lovingly handwritten Christmas Day invitations from Kento and you.

AU!Nanami Kento who brushes off any offers of compensation from those who accept his invitation- and everybody accepts. Just bring yourself, he insists.

AU!Nanami Kento who doesn't take a mission for weeks; he's far too busy making lists, ensuring everyone attending has gifts to open, making recipe and aesthetic Pinterest boards and sharing them with you. Your evenings are spent toe-to-toe on the sofa, feet affectionately rubbing against each other's, discussing recipes and decorations.

AU!Nanami Kento whose love for you only grows when you throw yourself wholeheartedly into making preparations with him. You take up crochet; Kento becomes a plant dad, keen for his home to look more homely.

AU!Nanami Kento who sets his alarm early on Christmas morning, only to find you've beaten him to it and are already in the kitchen. He can't resist sneaking up on you, and you shriek in a puff of flour when he picks you up from behind, spinning you and popping you up onto the counter, scarred face blowing raspberries into your chest as you hit at him with a wooden spoon.

AU!Nanami Kento who starts the Christmas playlist, spinning you round the living room for just one song; there's just so much to do.

AU!Nanami Kento who bakes the gingerbread and pastries while you prepare the dinner, flicking flour and potato peelings at each other as you sing along (badly) to Christmas music.

AU!Nanami Kento who has a momentary pang of anxiety about his scars and eye patch, before you hand him the ugliest Christmas jumper he's ever seen in his life. He looks at you in disgust, but his face breaks into a smile as you step out in your matching jumper.

AU!Nanami Kento who struggles weakly as you pin him against the wall, pulling his cardigan off him and replacing it with the jumper. He struggles a little harder when you replace his eyepatch with a Christmassy one.

AU!Nanami Kento who can barely reach the Christmas tree light switch, for all the presents stacked around it.

AU!Nanami Kento who is overjoyed when people begin pouring through the door, shedding coats and scarves, bearing gifts of food, drinks, and board games, with Inumaki bringing his whole carefully packed games console.

AU!Nanami Kento whose home is suddenly, overwhelmingly full of love, laughter and merriment, watching you ensure everyone has drinks and snacks while he finishes dinner. Being in the kitchen makes it easier to hide that he's tearing up a bit.

AU!Nanami Kento whose dining table ends up too small to hold all of the people, so it holds the food instead, and the people find perches on chairs, the floor, footstools, in a giant Christmas picnic.

AU!Nanami Kento who is too full-up to move...but never too full to thrash Inumaki and Yuuji at Mario Kart.

AU!Nanami Kento who gives Maki some more burn ointment and a short one-armed squeeze, while she and Yuuta warm up the mulled wine in the kitchen.

AU!Nanami Kento who is just so bad at charades.

AU!Nanami Kento who almost weeps with laughter watching you, Nobara and Megumi play Twister after too much to drink.

AU!Nanami Kento who has left mistletoe above an unreasonable amount of doorways, starting a drunken cheek-kissing competition between the party attendees. Takuma Ino is winning, ambushing all passers-by in the bathroom doorway, male or female.

AU!Nanami Kento who was, of course, happy for Yoshino Junpei to bring his mother too; she spends the evening smoking and laughing by a garden firepit with Shoko, while Junpei, Yuuji and the others begin an irresponsible arm wrestling competition.

AU!Maki who wipes the floor with everyone.

AU!Nanami Kento who spirits you away to a dark, quiet nook, peeking round the corner before pulling the cupboard door closed, kissing you deeply and sinking his fingers into your hair to the distant sounds of revelry, which might as well be a hundred miles away.

AU!Nanami Kento who, to his surprise, welcomes Satoru as a late attendee. There is a quiet exchange at the door, before Kento allows Satoru to pull him in for a hug. Just one. It's Christmas after all.

AU!Nanami Kento who must accept many more hugs before the night is over, everyone overjoyed by their gifts.

AU!Nanami Kento who chokes up a little bit when he opens his first present from you; a tie, identical to his leopard print one lost at Shibuya. Found it on eBay, you insist as he pulls it on over his Christmas jumper to applause.

AU!Nanami Kento who waves everyone home with you, snuggled beside him under one arm, until the house is finally quiet and still, the love still remaining in every nook, every cobweb, every scrap of wrapping paper.

AU!Nanami Kento who curls up on the sofa with you, warm and whole under a blanket, until the kisses get deeper and hands start wandering-- let's get to bed, he insists, discarding your Christmas jumpers on the floor.

AU!Nanami Kento who has finished off Christmas in the very best way (in his humble opinion); in between your legs, gazing at you in unadulterated adoration as you whisper your love to him in the lamplight.

AU!Nanami Kento who reaches over you into his bedside drawer, just before sleep washes over you; just one more gift, he hushes behind your ear, and your heart leaps into your throat as his fingers unfold in front of you, to reveal a single tiny square box.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Merry Christmas, you beautiful little sausages.

-- Haitch xxx

[mixtape-racha]

boyfriend!chan thoughts

chan would be the best bf so yeah | sfw and nsfw under the cut

warnings: mention of having a period and taking medication, mentions of getting engaged/married, moving in together, mirror sex, shower sex, public sex, hickies and marking, voyeurism, home videos, pegging, somnophilia // minors dni, 18+

sfw

boyfriend!chan who learns all the names of your stuffed animals because you have specific ones for specific circumstances (if you're sick, tired, stressed, etc.)

boyfriend!chan who tells you he's going to marry you one day at Least three times a week - and the thing is he truly means it!! he's just waiting for the right time to really propose

boyfriend!chan who wears a necklace with your name/initials on it so everyone knows he's entirely, wholeheartedly and 100% yours in every way, shape and form

boyfriend!chan who has reminders on his phone for any medication you take and when your period is due - just in case you forget to take them or forget to track it. he even messages you to remind you when he's away on tour

boyfriend!chan who gets a tattoo of a heart that you've drawn on his chest, right above where his heart is, because to him you ARE his heart and he wants part of your close at all times

boyfriend!chan who wished you happy national girlfriend's day before you were even together because he knew he wanted you to be his girlfriend from the moment he met you

boyfriend!chan who proposes to you when you're in his hotel bed in a foreign country - because to him, the fact that you'd even consider flying out to see him on tour just because he missed you is the biggest green flag he's ever seen

boyfriend!chan who makes a joint pinterest account with you to make inspiration boards for your dream house, and tries him damn hardest to make all those dreams come true when you finally move in together

boyfriend!chan who sweeps you off of your feet and carries you to bed even if you only seem slightly tired or unwell or achy. like, literally carries you bridal style from the front door and tucks you into bed, refusing to let you move and literally carrying you tho the toilet and back if you need it

boyfriend!chan who can't keep a secret from you At All !! like even if he tries to tell a white lie, or tries to hide a surprise date or anniversary or birthday present, it just doesn't work - crazy how a guy is so in love that he literally cannot tell a lie

nsfw

boyfriend!chan who loves fucking you in front of a mirror so he can make you watch how you fall apart on his cock - drool, makeup and tears everywhere

boyfriend!chan who is capital o Obsessed with shower/bath sex !!! in the mornings while you're getting ready, late at night when you need a break from the test of the guys, when you take a bath together to relax - he just loves it

boyfriend!chan who marks you up so often you've never Not had hickies since you got together. he loves seeing the traces of your late night activities on your neck and chest, and knowing that you trust him enough to make you completely his is such a turn-on

boyfriend!chan who drags you into a club bathroom so he can flip up your tiny skirt and pull your thong to the side so he can pump you full of his cum - don't worry about being quiet, baby, no one's gonna hear over the music anyway

boyfriend!chan who has a video camera hidden in his wardrobe purely for making home videos with you - and by god, there's a lot of them over the years. all the tapes are kept in a shoe box under the bed too

boyfriend!chan who doesn't stop pounding into you when one of the boys accidentally walks into the room. in fact, it gets him going even more and he nearly busts a nut when he sees hyunjin's flustered face and hears your moans get more choked up and high-pitched

boyfriend!chan who adores it when you cuff him to the bed and put a blindfold on him before riding him. it sends all his other sense into overdrive and overwhelms him in the best way possible - especially when he hears the wet slaps of your pussy leaking all over him

boyfriend!chan who gets so high on the adrenaline of performing that he physically can't contain himself from picking you up onto the nearest surface and eating you out the second he comes off stage... and mayb he goes back on for the encore with your juices all over his face, his dick straining in his pants

boyfriend!chan who got caught fucking himself with a dildo when you came home one day, and know his favourite form of stress relief is having you peg him, an god he looks so pretty with his back arched for you

boyfriend!chan who ruts against you in his sleep, little whines and whimpers spilling from his lips and reminding you just how much of a cute puppy he really is, and if you stick a hand under his boxers to help him out, who has to know?

taglist: join taglists here @pretty-racha @chubbyanarkiss @taeriffic @mits-vi @chanssmiles @5kayzee @queen-klarissa @fawnpeaks @bangtanmix73 @savluvsmingi @boi-bi-ahaha @torixx80 @skz-streamer

[libraryofloveletters]

Stuff It

Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader

Warnings: cheesy boyfriend charles, horrible artistic skills, pascale knows you two are just idiots in love, first christmases together.

Word Count: 661

Author's Note: charles seems like the type of guy to go to his mom when he's stuck on what to give as a gift so here we are lmao

--

Charles goes a bit over board seeing that it’s your first Christmas with him, as his girlfriend that is. He revives an old tradition you two had as children.

The thing about lifelong friendships, they often leave a little to no room for a surprise.

So on you and Charles, your lifelong best friend, finally being to date, there isn't much he could do to surprise you.

It's your first Christmas together as a couple officially, and Charles just wants to do something to make it special for you. He's tried to do everything he could think of, from googling to Pinterest to asking his brothers, who let's be real, weren't much help. He finally turned to the one person he knows would have an answer for him.

"Maman, je ne sais pas quoi faire." (Mom, I don't know what to do.) Charles's chin rests on the palm of his hand, watching as his mom cuts the fruit at the kitchen counter

Pascale hums, as if in thought for a moment before she speaks. "Why don't you stuff a stocking for her?"

"I'm not 6 years old, maman." He huffs, his brows furrowed and she smiles - he looked exactly like he did when he was 6 years old right now.

"I know that Charles, but when you guys were little you used to exchange stockings, remember? You draw her a picture and we put sweets and little toys in for her."

Charles tries to think, it sounded familiar and he nods. "Yeah, okay."

"Are you staying for lunch ?" The woman asks and he shakes his head, kissing her cheek after he gets up. "I'll be back tomorrow, love you!" He shouts to her as he heads out the door.

He has the shops with one thing in mind, find you a stocking that suited you best. He searches and searches and with no luck does he find one with a picture that suits you. Finally in a last ditch effort, he ends up in some random shop that sold random odds and ends for Christmas.

There's a blue stocking with snowflakes, and printed along the side of it with your initials on the top; Charles thinks what is his luck to find this.

He pays the man at the counter and heads home with the stocking shoved into the bag. He had picked up a few things he thought you'd like while he was at the other store.

The stocking sits on the coffee table, filled with all your favourite beauty products, sweets, and a few other odds and ends that Charles thinks that you might need or like.

He was working on the last thing that he wanted to put in, a drawing of you and him in front of his race car, which was, in his words, rather poorly drawn.

He folds the paper carefully, slipping it into the side of the stocking before picking it up to put it away before you come home.

It was as if he summoned you, the front door opened and in you came with a bag in hand. "Hi love," you smiled.

Charles's hands are behind his back and he's a bit shifty. You look at your boyfriend with raised eyebrows. "You okay?"

"I have something for you," he says, pulling the stocking out from behind his back.

You can't help but laugh, a big smile on your face as you reach into the bag that you brought in with you. You pull out a red stocking with Christmas trees on it and show Charles.

"Did you talk to my mom?" He asks, as you two switch stockings. You nod, smiling, "I guess you did too."

It was no surprise that you and Charles found your way to each other, you are identical in almost every way. The stockings contain a few of the same things, the same sweets, the same drawings.

To be fair, your drawing was a bit better than Charles' but it's the thought that counts.

Your hand rests on his jaw, giving him a kiss. "thank you baby, this is the sweetest thing you could have done."

[starryevermore]

the house of snow ✧ a royal coryo au

the king of panem is in search of a bride. and, for reasons you can never understand, coriolanus snow has set his sights on you. it would never be a happy marriage, you’re sure of that. but none of that matters, because when snow decides he wants something, he will do everything in his power to ensure it is his. (AO3) (pinterest board)

series warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, royal au, regency au, arranged marriage, rivals to lovers, obsessive!coryo, jealous!coryo, protective!coryo, eventual smut, eventual pregnancy, more tags to be added later 

TOTAL WORD COUNT (up to this point): 58,860

i DO NOT consent to my works being reposted, translated, or published on any third party site or app. if you see my work posted on any platform that is not my tumblr, my wattpad (starryevermore), or my ao3 (illiterate), it has been stolen and reposted without my permission.  

reblogs and feedback encouraged. 

my blog is strictly 18+. by clicking on the links or read more, you are agreeing that you are an adult. any minors found interacting with my blog will be blocked. 

chapter one

your parents are convinced that you will marry the king by the end of the social season. and so, too, it seems does coriolanus snow. 

chapter two

though you want nothing less than to marry coriolanus snow, he seems intent on finding you a reason to comply.

chapter three

coriolanus will make you fall in love with him one way or another. 

chapter four

you realize there is more to this than snow just wanting a bride.

chapter five

snow does not like the idea of others playing with his toy.

chapter six

now that he knows of sejanus’s interest in you, coriolanus can only think of how to keep you away from him. 

chapter seven

snow is pushing his luck with you, but you will not let his attempted slights go by. 

chapter eight

sejanus crosses a line.

chapter nine

he is in love.

chapter ten

coryo haunts your every moment.

chapter eleven

finally, coriolanus can call you his.

chapter twelve

you can’t believe that this is truly a good thing. 

chapter thirteen

coriolanus doesn’t understand why you've shut him out. 

chapter fourteen

you try to reconcile your feelings. (you fail.) 

chapter fifteen

you cannot seem to stay away. 

chapter sixteen

coriolanus gets to enjoy you.

chapter seventeen

finally, you enjoy your honeymoon. 

chapter eighteen

you say the words coriolanus is so desperate to hear. 

chapter nineteen

you and coriolanus return to the capitol. 

chapter twenty

the ton learns of how its king adores the queen.

chapter twenty-one

changes are coming.

chapter twenty-two

you and coriolanus adjust.

chapter twenty-three

you ask for something coriolanus is not willing to give. 

chapter twenty-four

coriolanus becomes obsessive.

chapter twenty-five

coriolanus’s obsession brings distance, and you are not sure you can handle such a thing. 

chapter twenty-six

you are not doing well without coriolanus, nor is he without you.

chapter twenty-seven

you reach your final straw.

[cerridwen007]

Hard pill to swallow.

*pics above are from pinterest and are used for aesthetics only.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Word count: 2.4k (18+) MINORS DNI!

Summary: Joel helps you fix your problem with swallowing pills.

Notes/Warnings: Smut, Fluff, Soft!Joel vibes, lowkey daddy Joel vibes too, Joel being a teasing, filthy mouthed menace because I said so, mentions of pills (vitamins and hayfever), mentions of gagging/gag reflex, Joel lifts reader, but Joel is huge and hella strong so he can lift anyone, cumplay, oral (m receiving), finger sucking, praise/ nicknames, swearing, no y/n.

A/N: Disclosure, this is fully self indulgent and based on my struggle with swallowing pills and me wanting Joel Miller's dick in my mouth all waking hours.  Was meant to post this before Valentines, but time got the best of me. But I suppose you can consider this my Valentines present from me to you, even though it's not related to valentines at all. I swear this is the second time that writing about my struggles in a fic with Joel, it’s pretty much solved them. He is truly that man. Quickly edited, as always, so sorry if there are any mistakes. Anyways, enough babbling, I hope y'all enjoy, and any interactions with posts are very much appreciated, and I love yall so much. Have a good day bebes. 🫶❤️

*********

You were embarrassed, to say the least, and annoyed and frustrated. For all of your life, you could never do that one thing that was a simple skill for most people, a simple and usually essential at that. You couldn't swallow pills for the life of you. Many frustrated mornings, well into your early adult years, were spent at the breakfast table with your parents, growing more and more impatient and irritated at your ‘talent’ for not being able to swallow pills no matter how hard you tried. And It's not like you didn't want to swallow pills. No, not at all. 

In fact you wish you could, it would have made your life a hell of lot easier. You would take swallowing pills over having to grind up the assorted pills for hayfever and vitamins into your drink and being forced to intigest the horrible tasting yet beneficial substances, the ones that made your eyes water and your stomach gurgle with just how bad they tasted. 

And trust me you had tried everything, sticking the pill right down your throat, damn near breaking your neck with the force you tilted your head back (to catch your gag reflex “off guard”) nearly watering boarding yourself a couple times, thinking the more water you swallow the easier right? You felt like the oblong white tablets were just ridiculing you at this point. 

You had achieved so much in your life yet you were brought down by your inability to swallow a tiny little thing for your benefit. You had not managed to find a shortage of adults and family members alike telling you, “it's all in your head” and suggesting unwarranted advice. Advice you ended up trying over and over again, knowing it wouldn't work. “It's just like swallowing food” they would say. But you knew damn right it wasn't. I mean you couldn't even swallow gum, so how were you supposed to swallow this?!

Because of all these judgemental looks and passive aggressive comments when it came up in conversation that you couldn't swallow pills, you tended to avoid the topic of conversation completely. It wasn't till a handsome man named Joel Miller came into your life, did you finally manage feel comfortable and unjudged about your inability. 

It had been a while that the two of you had been dating, nearly a year and you had never felt happier. Recently you had moved into his place and had just unfinished packing. It was a peaceful morning in Joel’s and now your own house, the morning sun shining down, warming up the frosted green grass as the birds chirps and, the smell of fresh brewed coffee filled your nostrils. The two of you sat opposite each other, drinking in the peaceful morning. This movie-like paradise was soon brought down in mood as you remembered it was time to take your daily vitamins and tablets. 

You sighed, a frown growing on your face as you anticipated yet another painful morning attempting to swallow some tablets. Joel's face mimics yours when he looks over at you from across the breakfast table. 

“What’s wrong baby?” He asked, concerned.

You sigh before explaining yourself.

“I just..I just suck at swallowing pills and I almost always end up having to crush them into a drink or whatever I'm eating and then it's disgusting. I know I'm an adult, I should be able to swallow them by now but I just can’t.” 

You try to blink away the tears from frustration as you talk, not wanting Joel to see you get so upset over something so little and stupid.

He listens with a soft frown on his face and you half expect him to scoff at you and belittle you for not being able to do something so easy. Then he locks eyes with you and sees your watery eyes and instantly his face softens.

“Aww baby, come here.” He holds out his arms and you quickly get up walking round the table to straddle his lap, burying your face into his shoulder, seeking his warming embrace to comfort you. You look up at him, when you feel the tears aren't going to spill out.

“You're not making fun of me or think that I'm being a baby?” 

He cups your face, forcing you to keep his warm gaze. “Now what would make you think that I thought that darling?” He questions.

You feel your throat constricting as you try to explain yourself, cheeks growing hot with embarrassment.

“I don't know…I just thought maybe before… you were frowning cause you don’t believe me or something.” You softly respond, embarrassed over the state you're in all over some silly little pills.

“Sweetheart of course I believe ya. I was frowning cause I hate to see my girl upset and struggling, and I was trying to think of some way to help ya.”

You sigh with relief, before resting your head back on Joel's shoulder, you sit there holding each other for a while before you're interrupted by the soft rocking back and forth of Joel's chest as he tries to quietly chuckle underneath you. 

“What’s so funny.” You ask, feeling a little irritated.

“Oh, nothing.” He responds, still with a wide grin.

“No, tell me.” You say, pouting.

He clears his throat and before he speaks in a dark tone, close to your ear sending shivers all throughout your body.

“Just thought of how good of a girl you are when you suck my dick, and how you don’t seem to have a problem swallowing my cum, do ya honey?”

Your eyes widen with the sudden lewd topic of conversation, your cheeks heat up and you lightly slap his chest.

“Joel!” you warn him, but you can't help but let the corners of your mouth lift up a little.

“That's different though.” You say quietly after a beat.

“Oh yeah? Why's that?” His eyes pierced through you, waiting for your answer.

You feel your cunt fluttering at his question, your panties dampening.

“Cause…cause I actually want to swallow your cum.” You softly admit.

He breathes in shakily as a growl-like sound softly rips through his chest. His head falls back and he slowly grinds up into your needy clothed cunt. 

“My dirty little cum slut, aren't you baby?” He groans as he cups your face with his hand.

You nod and he puts his thumb on your bottom lip, slowly dragging it downwards. Your tongue shoots out to lick it before your head dips it to take it into your mouth. You start sucking on it, needily. Needing to have some part of Joel in you.

“Needy too, apparently. Just how I like ya.” He murmurs to mostly himself as he pushes his fingers in deeper and pushes down on your tongue.

Your cunt is throbbing now, but the only thing you can think of right now is taking Joel’s fat cock into your mouth. You try and tell Joel as his thick fingers are stuffed in your mouth, so it ends up coming out as a garbled mess.

“What was that baby?” Joel teases you.

“W-wanna sl-suck your c-cock d-Joel.” 

“Can’t get enough of this fat dick down your throat can you sweetheart?” Joel growls as he removes his fingers.

You shake your head, your hands trailing over Joel's strong chest and biceps. You suck on the spot on his neck that drives him crazy, his hips start lightly thrusting up into you as a result. You grin devilishly, seeing and feeling Joel become a vulnerable mess, under your control is one of your favourite sights in the world. 

You slowly make your way down Joel's body, feeling and touching on every part of him that you can, except where you and him both want too most. When your knees finally hit the floor, you look up at him with an innocent smile. Although Joel knows your the exact opposite, he can’t help his breath stuttering and his heart racing at the stunning sight below him.

You bite your lip as you look to Joel belt, his prominent bulge just below it, silently asking for permission. He nods, spreading his legs wider. You place your hands on his knees and slowly trace your hand over his legs up to his hips, your eyes switching between looking up at Joel and his bulge that has your mouth watering. 

You unbuckle his belt, slowly, loving to tease him. But taking your time and going slow seems to make you more impatient than Joel himself, so you make quick work of unzipping his jeans and shucking them down his thick thighs, while your mouth waters. You swallow harshly, as you uncover Joel's thick and rock-hard package perfectly framed by his black boxers. 

Reaching below his elastic waistband to pull out his cock, you find yourself transfixed once again by his beautiful cock, tip flush dark red, shaft slightly curling upwards as it heavily bobs, just begging to be sucked. Your tongue darts out to slicken your lips. Your hand carefully grasps his length, Joel softly gasps, before your thumb traces over his slit and the white drop of precum, oozing out of it. 

You grin as you lower your head, placing a few teasing kisses around his head before you raise his cock up high enough that you can lick from between his balls all the way up to his slit. He shudders above you, his hand gently caressing your hair, grounding himself and connecting himself more to you, as if his dick in your mouth isn't enough. 

You let your saliva gather to the front of your mouth before slightly parting your lips to let the warm glob drip onto his flesh. You see his thighs flex from the corner of your eye as your palm encases him, spreading your moisture all over the veiny muscle. Starting out with slow hard strokes, and building it up faster, your hand struggles to meet around his girth. 

Your mouth finally latches onto his tip, tongue swirling around the bulbous head, making Joel groan deeply. You help unleash even more depraved sounds from deep in Joel's chest when your other hand reaches out to massage his hefty balls. All this encompassing stimulation has Joel racing towards the edge, his mouth spewing out dirty words and praises as he comes oh so close to his high.

“Ugh. Fuck yeah. Atta girl.”

“Just like that baby. F-fuck me that feels g-good.” 

“Fuck… I love the feel of your hot, wet mouth on my cock.”

“Going to make my heart go out on me, with how fucking heavenly your making me feel, baby.”

He clenches the muscles in his body as he tries to starve off his release long as possible, needing to tell you something first.

“Sweetheart, look at me. I-I’m going to need you to hold all my cum in your mouth baby when I finish-h. C-can you do that for me s-sweet girl?” He chokes out.

You nod slightly and moan around him, before returning to bobbing wildly on his pulsing cock. Loving the salty, musky taste of him, your pussy clenches thinking about the even more salty and delicious load soon to be filling your mouth.

You take him as deep he will go, your eyes tearing up as your throat constricts around him. You feel his balls tighten under your hand and you let his cock out ever so slightly so only his tip is encased by your stretched lips.

And before you know it Joel’s coming, a long string of curse words and moans pouring out his mouth as he does so. Your hand continues to stroke him, milking him for all he's worth. Till he is hissing through his teeth, his now spent cock sensitive and raw. 

The urge to swallow his spend is strong, but your need to listen to and please Joel stands stronger. You keep it all in your mouth, cheeks bulging out a little with how full they are.

Joel, still breathing heavily, bends over you so he can inspect your warming checks and watery eyes, you look completely wrecked and he loves it. He hums in delight seeing you patiently sitting beneath him waiting for his next instruction.

He reaches over the table to where you were sitting before leaning down closer to you again. His thumb and forefinger reaches out and takes a hold of your chin, tilting it a bit higher.

“Did so good for me sweet girl, but I need you to do one more thing for me, okay?” He whispers, his warm and inviting eyes making you melt further into the floor.

You nod in response, watching his other hand come down in front of your face, opening up to reveal your pills. He softly demands you to open your mouth, to which you oblige, before carefully placing the few pills into your cum filled mouth.

He tilts up chin so your mouth closes and seals your lips with his thumb, before moving his hand to the side of your jaw, rubbing soft circles over your cheekbone.

“Okay, I'm going to need you to be a good girl and swallow that for me.”

You give the best soft smile you can muster with a mouth full of cum before you begin to swallow Joel’s cum in small amounts, your eyes fluttering close in concentration.

 “That's it…. Good girl. Swallow it all, baby. Don’t wanna waste a drop do ya now?” He encourages you, eyes transfixed to your throat swallowing all of his cum and the pills.

The pills going down so easily you didn't feel them shocks you, as you open your eyes to a smiling, starry-eyed Joel looking down at you softly. A wide smile mimicking his, spreads over your face, before you open your mouth to reveal it, now empty, to Joel.

He reaches down to pick you up from your armpits, placing you on his lap again. You giggle as he places lots of kisses all over your face and nuzzles his nose into yours.

“I’m so proud of you my sweet, darling girl. Did so good.”

“Thank you, Joel.” You coo back, sighing softly with relief and happiness over your achievement.

“Guess we know now how to get you to swallow your pills every morning, don't we baby?” Joel teases you, holding you close to his chest as he kisses your temple.

“Indeed we do.” You reply, giggling, before resting your head on Joel's warm and sturdy chest, basking in the love and warmth of your lover.

***********

[fangweaver2099]

𝐅 𝐀 𝐖 𝐍 𝐓 𝐄 𝐄 𝐓 𝐇 - Prologue pt 3

MINORS DNI 18+ FIC

You’ve always liked the idea of having a dominant partner - BDSM was something you’ve read about, watched videos about.

Something you made Pinterest boards and aesthetic tumblr posts about when you were 18 and curious, the idea always sounded nice, but you’ve never done it in practice, not really. Sure you bought fuzzy handcuffs at a gag gift store once, but that didn’t really count.

You’re still a virgin.

You’ve always had that chronically awkward, workaholic type of vibe that made typical dating near impossible at worst and frustrating at best. Normal dating apps have proven fruitless and agitating. So poor curious little you talked yourself into making a fetlife account. You weren’t looking for true love, but at least you could get laid.

DM Request from: 10:13 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Hello, Fawn.”

College was for new experiences after all.

CW: BDSM heavy/centric fic. Safe, Sane & Consensual. Miguel is your professor, but you both don't know that. Age Gap (Y/N is 23, Miguel is mid 30's)

TAG: @slut4oscarissac23 @iamtheprincess227 @haveclayeveryday @sphynxfoxslut69 @junehasnotbeenfound

PART 1 - PART 2 - CHAPTER 1

It had been almost two months since Web first messaged you. As it turned out, you liked not being the caretaker for once. Considering you grew up the eldest of your six siblings, you were the second mom, the babysitter, the caretaker . 

Being the eldest daughter was a curse. 

You still had embarrassing flashbacks while laying in your bed of your father screaming at you over getting a B in AP physics in your junior year of highschool. 

You liked not being in charge. No responsibility, no obligation, no pressure. Web gave that to you. 

He’d become a friend as much as he was a dominant. You found yourself asking him about mundane things, restaurants he liked or opinions on your going-out clothing. 

He never really broke character, or, well - what you assumed was a character. Suave, domineering with a hint of playful possessiveness... you weren’t entirely sure if you were ready to sacrifice as much clothing as he wanted to rip off you. 

Clothes were expensive and you worked too hard to let him rip apart your nice lingerie.

Still, you weren't entirely opposed to the idea of him tearing apart clothes that he bought you. You thought about suggesting it once, but chickened out as he'd already spent a decent amount on you. Asking for more felt selfish, and you would not reduce yourself to being anyone's sugar baby. 

(Even if the thought did tempt you, sometimes.) 

He had plans for you - or so he said. You got the hint that he enjoyed that you were new and that he was the one ‘teaching you the ropes’,  but he took it seriously. He made you buy an ebook and learn about your nerves and blood flow. 

He didn’t want you to risk nerve damage and went out of his way to ensure you knew to see the signs. 

You had even suggested buying your own rope and testing some self ties, but Web refused. Worried that you’d mess something up and end up losing a limb, he expressly forbade any experimentation that you’d otherwise have tried. 

He hadn’t really revealed much of himself other than he traveled occasionally for work. You had about a dozen different photos in your telegram media chat of him in different hotel bedrooms, but he never told you why he was traveling - just that he was. 

You still hadn’t gotten an answer out of him of what he did for work. He was more active when he was traveling - during the week he practically disappeared but when he was traveling, you’d get a good extra half an hour or so to chat with him. You got used to the routine and you may or may not have adjusted your sleep schedule to spend the most time with him.

Your roommates were beginning to notice, though. It was obvious, with how you started taking much better care of yourself. You dressed up more - did your makeup regularly, you always walked to work… 

You began cooking, for god’s sake, breaking out your grandmother’s precious recipes and putting them to use. 

You tried to not think about the improvement of your mental health hinged on a 36 year old man bossing you around and making you fuck yourself silly on a toy he bought you. 

Aurora had dubbed you ‘Dorm Mom’ despite the fact that the five of you didn’t live in a dorm. Technically your house was a duplex that was converted to one house for college student rentals. 

He hasn’t asked you to use the lovense yet. It was pink and had a weird wider clamp bit you assumed held it in place. You hadn’t tried to put it on, remembering Web’s words.

“No using them without my permission, understood?”  

So, obviously, you didn’t. You didn’t expect yourself to be so rule compliant - you’d convinced yourself you’d be a brat or sassy like a kitten. Now you just fantasized about sitting between Web’s legs as he called you a good pet.

You still hadn’t decided what you were - dog, kitten, bunny? No clue - so he just started calling you pet. It was kind of hard to roleplay being nonverbal online. You had sent him a few videos now - happy to take it nice and slow. 

He made it clear he was comfortable with that. He was always direct and clear with you. You found yourself adoring his communication skills and learning a thing or two. It was refreshing compared to your singular previous relationship - he… he was sure a teenager.

Clear commands were comforting in an odd way, even if said commands were some of the filthiest things you've ever had sent to you. The commands he gave were easy to understand and impossible to fuck up without distinctly trying. 

 He made you nervous, but that was from anticipation, not from anxiety of making yourself look like a total idiot.  

He'd scold you and punish you if you'd call yourself that anyways, and your hand still hurt from the first round of lines he'd made you write in a notebook he also made you go out and get. Punishments long distance were difficult, but that was a surefire way you wouldn't forget his instructions and rules anytime soon.

It was a Thursday night - Web had told you he’d be around at 9pm, so you’d been twiddling your thumbs agonizing over the wait as you stared at the clock. There were a hundred things you could be doing to pass the time, but none of them seemed particularly fun against the rising concoction of excitement and dread churning in your belly. Instead, you figured you’d clean your room - the stage in which you’d male your grand debut. 

It was hardly the first time he had seen you, of course, but it would be the first time he’d see you live. You remembered how the first video you sent accidentally included the messy pile of clothes in the corner of your bedroom that you had forgotten about for an embarrassingly long time. He must have thought you a slob. You nearly cried a day after sending it when you scrolled through your conversation and saw it in the thumbnail. 

Not again. No, your room would be fucking spotless , if you had anything to say about it. 

First thing first, the hamper. Heaving the pile into your lattice-work bin, you trucked it over to the laundry room, the half-faded writing on its handle reading your name to make sure no one accidentally swapped clothes.

Next thing was vacuuming, and not just turning on the communal roomba and letting it wander for a few minutes in your room like the last time you ‘cleaned’. Your eyes lingered on the pink disc affectionately dubbed ‘Kirby’ by the household. Not this time, old friend.

You were a mostly clean person. Mostly. Maybe it was time to get back on your anti-depressants, you mused, picking up another glass to bring to the kitchen. 

After a half hour you felt pretty satisfied, your room looking better than it had in… Probably since a week after you moved in. Maybe you were messy?

The thought was interrupted by the click of a door closing in the living room. You winced. No, this could not be happening. They were - were supposed to be out tonight! Didn’t they all have a show to be at?

You peeked your head out your door to spy who had come in, feeling a tad like a ninja without the skills or cool costume or, really, anything that would make you a ninja. 

It was Aurora - huffing as she made her way inside. As always, the strawberry blonde had that characteristic coloring, all colorful care-bear themed clothing and highwaisted jeans, a literal rainbow shaped into a person and set loose to run wild. She was scowling, but that quickly evaporated when her brown eyes met yours. 

“Looks like you’re stuck with me tonight. The drag show ended early because one of the Queens made one too many jokes about cops and I guess some guy had a brother that was one.” She rolled her eyes, “‘Throwing bricks is assault’, he said. ‘Yeah that’s the point’, the Queen replied. You know how it is.”

“The others are bar hopping, but I have a doctor’s appointment in the morning so I have to turn in soon. Don’t mind me if you uh.. Had something special planned with all of us out, wink wink,” she said while literally winking. You wished you exploded on the spot.

“S-Something special? No-no, why would you think that?” you stammered, stepping out from your bedroom, hands growing clammy and wet.

“Because it's not often you have the apartment to yourself. You don’t maybe.. Have a boyfriend coming over or something?” She leaned forward, lips curling into a grin as she leaned closer. 

“ NO, ” you replied firmly, definitely too firm. It wasn’t a lie, he wasn’t exactly a boyfriend and he wasn’t coming over either. 

You were just going to get naked in front of him on camera and masturbate. 

Now you just had to do that with your roommate a few doors down. 

This was fine.

Everything was fine.

(everything was definitely not fine, and you could feel yourself getting paler, a bit lightheaded.)

“Suuuuure you don’t. If I hear knocking on the door - or in your room - I’ll just turn up my laptop while I watch netflix.” She hummed to herself, waltzing over to the fridge to grab a snack before she disappeared into her equally brightly colored bedroom.

This… complicated things, but of all the people to be home while this happened, you supposed Aurora was the least bad. She was a heavy sleeper and she wore earbuds when she watched stuff in her room, so it was possible that she wouldn’t notice at all. 

Your eyes darted to the clock as she left, checking the time. It was past time. You had been so busy worrying that you -

Shit. 

Rushing back to your bedroom, you snagged a towel on the way there, spreading it on the floor as you moved in. There was a risk of you needing it later, and you really, really wanted to be prepared. 

Taking a deep breath, you settled, laptop in hand, sitting cross legged on the towel. You opened your laptop, setting it down in front of you and taking a big, deep breath, losing any of the composure you’d gained all at once as you saw the notification waiting.

 9:10 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Are you free, pet?”  

“ I am. ” - Fawnteeth - 9:18 PM

 9:19 PM - WebRigger2099 - “I’ve been thinking about the video you sent me a few days ago.”  

“ Oh? I just did what you asked, Sir. ” - Fawnteeth - 9:19 PM

 9:19 PM - WebRigger2099 - “That you did, and you looked so nice squirming with those clamps on. You have very beautiful breasts, Fawn. Are you enjoying all the toys I provided you? Which is your favorite?”  

“ Thank you. I am, but I don’t think I have a favorite yet. ” - Fawnteeth - 9:19 PM

 9:19 PM - WebRigger2099 - “How are you adjusting to the dildo? Can you take it completely to the flare yet?”  

“ Same as last photo I shared, so not quite. ” - Fawnteeth - 9:19 PM

 9:20 PM - WebRigger2099 - “As much as I’d like to hilt myself in you when we meet, I understand that’s not always realistic. Don’t feel too bad if you reach your limit. If you do, however, I’ll need to get you something bigger to practice on.”  

“ I’m happy to keep trying with encouragement. :p ” - Fawnteeth - 9:20 PM

 9:20 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Aside from praise, is there something I can offer as a reward?”  

“ Pics, maybe. I do quite like the praise. ” - Fawnteeth - 9:20 PM

 9:20 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Alright, how about this: You get a picture for every inch you can manage starting at four. That’s twp potential pictures total if you reach all six.”  

“ I like that. ” - Fawnteeth - 9:20 PM

 9:20 PM - WebRigger2099 - “How would you like to show me your progress live?”  

“ I can try another video, I wish we could just facetime or something. ” - Fawnteeth - 9:20 PM

 9:20 PM - WebRigger2099 - “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about tonight, actually.”  

“ Oh? ” - Fawnteeth - 9:20 PM

 9:20 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Zoom. I will be muted and you still won’t see my face.”  

“ Can I ask why? ” - Fawnteeth - 9:20 PM

 9:21 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Why do you wear your mask?”  

“ Because I’m a college aged woman posting nudes on the internet. Point taken, I guess. ” - Fawnteeth - 9:21 PM

 9:21 PM - WebRigger2099 - “We all have our reasons. Would you like to or not?”  

“ Yes, sir. ” - Fawnteeth -  9:21 PM

 9:21 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Good girl. Always so polite.”  

“ I try. ” - Fawnteeth -  9:21 PM

 9:21 PM - WebRigger2099 - “It saves me some time disciplining it into you.”  

“ We’ll see, I like the idea of being a brat, remember? Just hard to do across the web. ” - Fawnteeth - 9:22 PM

9:22 PM - WebRigger2099 - “I’ll try not to scare you too much the first time I show you the crop then.”  

“ So scary :p. ” - Fawnteeth - 9:22 PM

9:22 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Let’s see what you think when you’re crying and you can’t sit for the next three days.”  

“ We’ll just have to see. ” - Fawnteeth - 9:22 PM

 9:26 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Get your lube, lovense and dildo. Find somewhere comfortable where you won’t be interrupted. Join when you’re ready: [Zoom code]”  

“ Okay, can you see me?. ” - Fawnteeth -  9:30 PM

9:30 PM - WebRigger2099 - “There’s my pet. Yes, I see you beautiful.”

Web’s video flashed on, bare enough to give you a generous view of his muscular frame, sculpted torso painting him like some god in human form. A pair of gray boxer-briefs were all that he wore on his bottom half, the bulge of his flaccid penis intimidatingly large. The man was a shower, not a grower. Even soft as it was now, it strained against the fabric and ran down his leg, head nearly threatening to peek out from the leg-holes. 

It was unfair how hot he was.

As always, the frame cut off before you could see his chin. Just what could a man like this have to hide, truly? So mysterious.

You found yourself staring for a moment, hunched over in your baggy t-shirt and underwear. All the confidence evaporated from your body - you didn’t realize he would have his feed on. 

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry, struggling with the camera of your laptop. 

“Can you hear me?” you asked. 

The man leaned forward, the barest hint of his chin coming into frame only to be obscured by a simple medical mask. His long fingers typed something out and a moment later his message pinged into existence.

9:30 PM - WebRigger2099 - “I can.”  

Your eyes rested firmly on the mask for a moment, your brow raised. 

“Same idea, but mine is easier to breathe in.” You pointed at your own mask, black cloth and far more comfortable. 

It was technically made to be worn over a medical mask, after all. You were trying so hard to play it cool, as if you couldn’t feel sweat sticking your hair to the back of your neck. You sit up and back far enough you’re in view of the camera but you can still see his text.  

9:30 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Here I thought you might ask me where I got the idea from. I hope you don’t have a copyright.”  

You grinned under your mask, eyes scrunching. “I don’t. I-I’m glad you got the idea from me.” Flinching at the stutter, you glanced around the room, one of your hands brushing over your mask and down your neck awkwardly. 

9:31 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Nervous, Fawn? It’s normal to be. This is your first time doing something like this, isn’t it?”  

Sat there, you stalled, before nodding as physically hard as you could - you didn’t want to stutter again. Your hands eventually grabbed at the edge of your shirt and twisted it together, revealing a hint of your stomach.

9:31 PM - WebRigger2099 - “We can go slow, pet. Remember our safety tools. Shall we test them?”  

“I- yeah. Sorry. I want to. Just… It feels more real, ” you admitted.  

9:32 PM - WebRigger2099 - “This will make it easier when I meet you in person. A stepping stone. I want you to feel comfortable. Safe.”  

You know he couldn’t see you blush, but you sure felt your face warm, your eyes drifting over his hands as they disappeared to type. 

“I know. I trust you,” you finally spoke, voice a bit more sure. 

9:32 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Color check. How are you feeling?”  

“Green,” you answered, hands moving to finally wrench your top over your body, tossing it… somewhere.

Idly, your gaze brushed over your hips, fingers touching the half-faded marks that you had written on yourself the week before at Web’s instruction. 

9:32 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Still not fully faded, I see. Good thing it was a compliment and not something else.”  

“What would something else be?” you asked, again cringing at your stumbling of words.

9:32 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Some pets prefer degradation. ‘Whore’, ‘Slut’, ‘Stupid Bitch’. You seem like the type that works on praise.”  

Your brows furrowed, “What do you prefer?” 

Belatedly, you realized that it was probably a terrible idea to ask. You knew you’d try desperately to enjoy whatever he liked. 

9:32 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Depends on my mood, and how bratty they’ve been. You��re a good girl, aren’t you Fawn? Stay like that and we’ll keep doing praise.”

Slowly, Web reached down to his thigh, thick-veined hand sliding across the bulge of his member which had slowly begun to swell and harden.

9:32 PM - WebRigger2099 - “You’ve barely done anything and you’ve already started to get me hard. Your voice is beautiful, Fawn.”

You swore you felt your heart skip in your chest, shifting on your knees almost uncomfortably. You felt the urge to sit up straighter - it was hard to tell if it was to hide the rolls on your stomach or because you felt lifted by his compliment. 

He was almost inhumanly attractive. You swore a man like him couldn’t be real, but here he was. 

“I.. Uhm…,” you stumbled over your words, glancing at the toy laid out beside your hip. 

9:32 PM - WebRigger2099 - “How about you start taking off the rest of your clothes for me, Fawn? Show me your beautiful body.”

Web’s hand shifted, fingers hooking the edge of his underwear and dragging it down enough that you could begin to see the neatly trimmed bush of pubic hair leading to his manhood. It lingered there, just an inch away from revealing the base of his cock to you. 

In all honesty, how wet you already were was more than enough humiliation alone for you to squirm - he didn’t need to contribute. You reached your arms back, struggling for a moment to unclasp your bra. It was on instinct as you tossed it down and wrapped one hand over your breasts. 

You tried to not notice him typing one-handed, knowing it would be like that for the rest of the night. 

9:33 PM - WebRigger2099 - “There they are, those pretty breasts of yours. Don’t hide them from me, pet.”

“I’m trying ,” you admitted, squirming in your kneeling position. You were hunching forward ever so slightly, eyes waiting for his next message.

9:33 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Color?”

“Green,” you mumbled, forcing yourself to drop your arm and sink your fingers into your thigh. 

Part of you was thankful the AC in your room barely worked so it wasn’t freezing to be naked right now. 

Taking the initiative for the first time in weeks, you shifted, sitting back on your haunches to display the wet spot quickly spreading across the seat of your panties. 

9:33 PM - WebRigger2099 - “So wet for me already, eager little thing. Take those off too; Show me your pussy, Fawn.”

You tried… so hard to do it quickly - sexy, y’ know? Smooth. Hooking your thumbs under the waistband and tugging, just like he had, but…

Instead of a smooth descent, your underwear caught at your knees, and you froze, shifting back on your hips to try to dislodge them, but that only had you falling quickly off balance. It took both arms to catch yourself and keep you from toppling over, panties still tangled at your knees, and you whimpered, trying desperately not to look at your screen while you smoothly (read: jerkily) kicked your underwear off.

Now nude, you had to take a moment to soothe your panic. You were convinced that, to some extent, he was charmed by your awkwardness - he'd all but told you as much a few times, but it didn't stop your cheeks from burning and your mind from considering hanging up, giving up, and hiding away from the rest of the world for the next year or so.

For a moment you lingered half-laid before rolling back onto your knees, now completely nude. Eager to pretend that nothing happened, you raked your hair from your face, risking a quick glance to the screen, and - 

You swore you could see his chest rise like he was chuckling at you. It was almost enough to make you wish he could see you pout. 

Crossing your arms, you frowned, all too cognizant of how the motion propped up your breasts for him while he typed. 

9:33 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Good girl. Take those tits in your hands now, squeeze them. Pinch your nipples for me. Do what you would want me to do to them. Color.”

“G-green,” you managed to get out, wiping your sweaty palms over your torso.  Taking a deep breath, you reread the order, before letting your eyes drift back up to his video. Watching the broad, built man palm his crotch, squeezing his massive cock through his pants,you couldn’t help but remember that the black dildo was two inches shorter and more than a bit thinner. 

He was massive.

Slowly, your hands uncrossed and cupped your breasts. Hesitantly, you tweaked at one of your nipples, cautious and careful. You had always been sensitive, it was hard to even sleep without a bra much less masturbate. Now Web was telling you to… oh dear. Your eyes pinched close, thumb and pointer coming together to squeeze the sensitive bundle of nerves between them. 

You massaged it gently as you felt electricity run up your spine, forcing a little gasp from your throat. You straightened your back, tensing and releasing the nipple with a whimper. Your fingers lingered again, knowing every touch would jolt through you like lightning.

9:34 PM - WebRigger2099 - “You seem hesitant. Color.”

Taking in a sharp breath, you swallowed, glancing between the chat and the camera. It took effort to maintain ‘eye contact’, but you forced yourself to do it, to open your mouth and answer him. 

 “G-green.” 

A pause, and then-

“‘M sensitive ,” you managed to mumble, twisting your head away from the camera.

9:34 PM - WebRigger2099 - “So it seems. Do you have the clamps I bought you nearby? Maybe it will be easier hands-free.”

You glanced back, leaning forward to read his words. On instinct - you went to type your reply, only stopping yourself at the last second

“I- yeah. I think so,” you shift on your knees and grab one of the ‘secret’ boxes from under your bed where the dildo and lube was stored. Your hips were the only thing in view to Web. 

When she turned around with the clamps in hand a new message awaited her.

9:34 PM - WebRigger2099 - “So pretty. Turn around for me first, let me see your ass. Spread your cheeks and show me your pussy.”

Your cheeks burned and you were thankful for your mask, but you doubted he needed to see your blush to know how flustered you were.

“I-O-Okay,” you stammered, stumbling over your words, warring between your nervousness and excitement, hands pressing down on your floor to help you turn. Before long your rear was facing the camera, cunt on full display. As you buried your face in a pillow, your arms reached back to grab your own butt. You took a deep breath and pulled your cheeks apart, giving a teasing wiggle as your back arched for him. 

You sat there, face pressed into your pillow for maybe a minute before finally turning around, checking his response. The sight of his cock on full display greeted you, properly hard with a hand stroking it lazily as pre-cum beaded at his tip. It was one thing to see it in a picture, but on video… Your hands went up to your face, covering your masked cheeks out of pure instinct. 

9:34 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Such a nice, wet pussy. Are you eager for me to fill that hole with my cum, pet? Show me where you want my cock.”

You swallowed again, resisting the urge to roll over and squeal like you did sometimes when you two were sexting. You were not sexting - well. 

Kinda. 

Cybering? Yeah. You were cybering. 

You moved your hands down to your pubic mound, fingers lingering in your curls before sinking your fingers into the flesh, pulling upwards to expose a hint of your labia.

9:34 PM - WebRigger2099 - “That’s it, good girl. My lovely Fawn, so obedient.”

“Thank you, sir,” you gasped out, forcing a deep breath and settling your voice. “I-I want to be a good girl.” You rolled your hips back, showing off more of your groin. You weren’t exactly soaked - but you were wet. It was getting worse as you watched him stroke himself. You wondered what it would feel like under your touch.

9:35 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Now put the clamps on, Fawn.”

Swallowing hard, you nodded grabbing at the clamps you had left sitting on the floor beside you. The black tweezer tips were soft to the touch, colder metal giving way to a small adjustable crank that could tighten them into place. The two clamps were held together by a string of metal link, quietly twinkling as you brought them up to yourself. .

Your nipples were already hard, small buds poking out from your breasts like they were begging to be pinched and pulled. It would be so much easier if he was here himself, you thought. Then, you wouldn’t have to worry about spasming each time you brushed against them. He could make you do whatever he wanted. His hands looked strong, those arms clearly able to pin you. 

You felt saliva pool in your mouth, and you swallowed. Hard. 

You winced as the first clamp tightened onto your nipple, the sensitive flesh burning with pain as you adjusted the tightness. Too tight - you let a sigh of release loose as the pain relieved itself, more of a comfortable ache than an outright pain. You liked this sort of discomfort. 

The next one quickly followed, you biting your lip as you pressed your breasts together with the sides of your arms to show the clamps off to Web.

“How’s this, Sir?”

9:35 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Good, Fawn. Now pull on that chain for me.”

You clenched your teeth, eyes shutting for a moment before nodding. Mean. He was mean . 

You really shouldn’t have liked it as much as you did. 

A hand rose, sheepishly curling a finger over the chain and pulling ever so slightly. It was enough, forcing you to gasp aloud.

“Ah! Fuck .” You couldn’t help the curse, tears beading at the edges of your eyes from the sheer sensitivity.

9:35 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Good girls don’t curse. Do I need to punish you for that foul mouth? How about this: Again. Harder this time.”

You nodded again, pulling harder and locking your hips into place to help stifle the powerful jolt of pleasure through your spine. It still had you nearly jump, butt clenching and shoulders shuddering.

9:35 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Again. Color.”

All the while, his other hand had been stroking his intimidating length, swollen veins running along his tan shaft while his dark balls hung beneath, drawing tight and high. You could almost imagine how close he was to his peak, just from watching you. 

“Green. Green,” you gasped, releasing the chain as your body shivered. 

9:35 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Good girl. Sweet little Fawn. How about you start using some of that lube now, get yourself ready for your dildo? You want to show me how you’d take my cock, don’t you?”

“Yes, Sir.” 

For a moment, you sat there, glancing over at the small lube bottle and the black toy. Slowly, resisting the urge to squeeze the dildo like a stressball, you picked the thing up, staring at it. 

He was seriously bigger than this? 

Instead, you squeezed out a palm-full of lube and applied it generously to the dildo, stroking over the toy until it was coated in a layer of slickness. Next was yourself, though you gave yourself a minute to breathe before inhaling a lung-full of air and nodding. The somewhat cold liquid alerted your senses as you lathered it across your opening and slipped your fingers inside yourself.

 You were already wet, but lube could hardly hurt . It’s not like you were used to taking insertions like this, only ever really using your fingers before now - and even then, that was sparing .

You had ridden the dildo a few times by now - but only ever in short, contained clips for Web, and never in front of anybody like you now were. 

9:36 PM - WebRigger2099 - “That’s a good pet, prepare that pretty pussy for me. Let’s see how deep you can take it.”

Your hand shook a little as it rested on your lips, dildo in hand to tease along your seam, the slightly curved edge giving it an ever-slightly realistic shape. Teasing yourself like this was agony, you would have far preferred to lay back and let him do whatever he wanted to you, but you were eager to please.

“Oooookay. Just.. might take a minute..,” you managed as your hand lingered, nervousness freezing your muscles in place. 

You could take a few inches without much issue, you knew that mechanically. Objectively. Experimentations had proven that you could get pretty far down, if you were relaxed and tried hard enough. 

You could even film it for him, but to do it while he was watching, stroking his cock openly in front of you? Your eyes shifted back to the screen, the man’s hand tightening around the shaft of his lengthy member. He had said before he was eight inches. This dildo was six, and that was already scary. 

You swallowed hard, watching him pump out a few strokes to you, shifting your hand placement so that he would have a better view of your pussy. Slowly but surely, the lube did its work and before you even meant for it to properly slide inside there it was, an inch deep.

Your butt clenched, thighs quivering while the arm supporting your weight behind you shook faintly, an aching soreness beginning to spread.

“I want you, Sir,” you admitted, biting your lip as you half teased him, half tortured yourself. It was the most you could manage, and despite the burning at your cheeks you were proud. You could see by the way his cock twitched in his hand he was too, his massaging strokes growing more rapid.

9:36 PM - WebRigger2099 - “That’s right, Fawn. Put it inside. Show me how you want me to fuck you, pet.”

You inched yourself down, feeling the dull ache intermixed with pleasure as the toy pressed into your pussy. You let out a ragged gasp, pausing to lift your hips back up, slowly settling back down. You settle into a shallow rhythm, desperately trying to not play the pathetic, anxiety ridden virgin you really were. 

Right now, you were Fawn.

You stuttered for a moment in anxiety, rolling your arms to settle your hands back behind you as your legs shivered in discomfort. After a moment, you tried to force most of the dildo into you, forcing a gasp to leave your lips as the aching pressure only got worse. 

You could barely take 3/4ths of this damn thing - you sure as hell couldn’t think about trying to take Web right now. Thankfully, your furrowed brows were mostly out of view. 

Web was muted, but you swear you could hear the clap of the edge of his hand against his balls, each pump up and down his cock faster than the last. You took it as encouragement, a small smile forming on your lips despite the pain inside you. You were never too worried about pain, it so often came hand in hand with pleasure to you. 

Rolling your hips, you half-rode, half-ground against the dildo as you lifted your butt higher, desperately searching for that special nook that promised your peak. 

Eventually, a little surprisingly, you did. Your slender fingers and sensitive body could only do so much to yourself, but this was perhaps as close as you had ever gotten to a proper orgasm. You leaned into it, smile widening as you took control of your own pleasure. Up and down you bounced against the dildo, each drop sending it deep inside you. Surely you could reach a new record tonight and earn those rewards he promised, you mused to yourself. Or you would later, since your brain was quickly becoming putty in the present.

As nice as this was, it wasn’t sustainable, not forever. Your legs were quickly getting tired, aching muscles ready to give out. You had to readjust, your torso leaning forward so that you could sit on your knees and ride it that way, hands and knees holding you up.

As your weight shifted, you underestimated just how much pain your thigh would spike with. The adjustment made it kick out, foot striking the bottle of lube and knocking it into your bed frame with a loud bang. You winced, mortified, head whipping around to look at what had happened. Your second mistake. The quick motion had you collapsing on your ass, falling straight on your tailbone and sending a jolt of pain up your spine. You cursed. 

Loudly.

Your cheeks burned . You half wanted to dive for the computer and shut it, but his message popped into view just in time.

9:38 PM - WebRigger2099 - “You okay, Fawn?”

“I’m so fucking stupid,” you muttered, not even thinking about it as you lurched and grabbed your aching tailbone. Your whole body hurt now and you were pretty fucking positive Aurora would have heard that. Desperately, you sat up on your knees, looking over the laptop at your barricaded bedroom door. 

“I-I fuck. Fuck, I’m dumb. Should’ve expected, honestly,” you were just rambling to yourself at this point as you went to retrieve the slightly spilled bottle of lube, clipping the cap closed and sitting back on your knees. Eyeing the computer, you frowned, seeing that Web had paused and was leaned forward, both hands on the laptop. You glanced down at his text.

9:38 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Stop. Breathe. Don’t you dare call yourself that again, understood?”

“Sorry,” was all you could manage to say. You took a deep breath, unsure what to do at this point. Your hands basically wandered around the floor as you sat back down on your knees. Anxiety was completely eating you up at this point.

“I always fuck everything up,” you mumbled again, moving to pick up the black dildo, assuming that well - you two were done. You ruined the mood and you hated yourself for it. 

9:39 PM - WebRigger2099 - “You don’t. You’re beautiful and - fuck - I nearly came. Good girl, it usually takes me a while. Take a moment. Deep breaths.”

He had obviously stopped stroking himself at that point, but his head was slick with pre-cum, his cock twitching with sensitivity as it stood hard as a rock despite the miscalculation. You could see just a hint of it as he shifted in his seat. You couldn’t tell if it was a bed, couch or something else. 

You took a deep breath again, wiping your teary eyes. “That’s good,” you sighed. You rubbed over your arm, fingers drawing over the massive tattoo on your upper arm. The fawn’s teary eyes sure fit how you felt right now.

9:39 PM  - WebRigger2099 - “Set the dildo aside, get out the lovense.”

You remembered setting up the controls when you first got it with him, but you had been too shy to bring up trying it just yet. To do so live would be exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. A simple slide of his finger on the app and the toy would start buzzing harder. 

Doing as you were told, you placed the dildo on a towel you had set on the ground nearby quickly followed by your bottle of lube. Producing the lovense, you looked it over, frowning. The big device was like a big U shaped hook, the big bulbous end seemingly meant for insertion. The site called it an egg vibrator. With the sheer amount of lube still coating you, you skipped pumping out another squirt and instead pressed the fat end against your entrance, slipping cozily inside with ease now that you had been stretched open. 

The device went deeper than you were expecting, but it wasn’t uncomfortable by any means. What did alarm you is where the smaller hook had ended up resting, the thinner tip nestled right up against your clit. 

You got the feeling it wasn’t just for keeping it in place anymore. You swallowed hard, looking back to the camera and clearing your throat.

“I’m-I’m ready, Sir,” you said sheepishly.

9:41 PM  - WebRigger2099 - “We’ll start on a low setting. Let you get used to it.”

Nodding to show you saw the message, you hummed, eyes watching him produce his cellphone - a sleek black android without a single decoration, even the case plain and boring. You couldn’t help the snicker that almost left your lips - of course he would have an android. 

His thumb slipped across the screen and without delay you felt a vibration against your walls. 

Subconsciously, you clenched, grimacing at the unfamiliar sensation. It wasn’t bad , just strange, awkward. 

 9:43 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Color.”

You shifted on your knees, ignoring the discomfort still in your tailbone and hip. 

“G… Green,” your voice was softer now, more nervous. Every so often, you risked a glance at the door, but nobody showed, blessedly. Maybe everyone was watching a movie together or something. 

 9:43 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Eyes on me. Focus, fawn.”

You saw Web raise the settings a tad without warning, a small punishment for your distracted glances. You clenched around the toy, sitting back and glancing at his feed.

His hand had returned to his cock, slow kneading strokes trailing the length of his manhood up and down while his other hand held the phone. As if simulating his own strokes, the thumb at his phone drew up and down, sending waves of vibration inside you. It had you bite down on your lip, leaning forward and placing a hand on the floor. 

Clicking a button on his phone, the vibrator returned to a constant, dull stimulation before he went to type out another message, his cock bobbing as he released it.

 9:44 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Should I turn it up higher, pet? Color.”

“Green, please,” you gasp out, placing your other hand down on the floor to steady yourself. 

He turned the settings up bit by bit, sliding his finger slowly up the phone. The buzzing within you grew intense, almost unbearable, but it was reaching a spot you had finally discovered today after so many sessions of sheepish masturbation attempts and picture taking. You felt a deep ache within you waiting to finally be released, pent up frustration building like steam in a kettle.

 9:44 PM - WebRigger2099 - “More?”

“Please - fuck , please,” you begged, your fingers digging into the carpet beneath you, desperate for something to cling to.

 9:44 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Language.” 

He scolded you, his message was dripping in the warnings of swiftly approaching punishment. Would he push the settings to max, watch you squirm uncontrollably as the vibrator made you buck?

No. Everything stopped, that blissful feeling inside you halted all at once. He had turned it off. You could scream, you wanted to snap at him for his cruelty. You were getting so close and he - he robbed you of your peak. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled, not particularly meaning it. It wasn’t hard to tell there was no regret in your tone, not with how petulant you sounded. 

 9:45 PM - WebRigger2099 - “I’ll make you sorry. Turn around and spank yourself. Hard. You’ve said that word six times since we’ve been on video, so you’ll give yourself six spanks.”

You whimpered audibly at his command, begrudgingly turning around to expose your oozing cunt to him.

“ Is… Isn’t edging me enough ?” you complained like you could hear him reply.

Of course you were only speaking to the air. You had already turned around, obedient as ever to Web. You did things without fully thinking them through often times, his daily commands overriding any natural instinct or desires that usually distracted you one way or another. He kept you responsible and healthy. He was good at this. 

Your thighs were slick with arousal by now, a desperate need for his cock suffusing every thought in your brain - what thoughts were left, anyway. Your torso collapsed forward, a forearm being used as a pillow against your face while your other arm reached over to squeeze your own rear tentatively. 

You lifted your hand high, arm trembling as you tried to aim for your own cheeks without sight. This wasn’t the most humiliating thing he had asked you to do, this should have been easy… As long as no one interrupted and saw you spanking yourself in front of a computer screen, all would be fine. 

That was not a conversation you wanted to have with any of your five roommates, especially Taylor. 

She was just - judgmental sometimes. Not that she didn’t engage in stuff like this herself in person, probably. God knew she brought home enough girls to your house to convince you that she dabbled in some questionable stuff. She just… Well, you didn’t need your roommates to know what you were doing right now.

Your arm stiffened before coming down, a light clap sounding in the air. You winced in pain, the aim clearly off as you smacked against hard bone instead of soft flesh. You adjusted your aim, wrist trembling, and crack ! Another down, aim better this time. It had you hissing from the sting, surprising yourself at your own strength - or maybe your sensitivity. 

You opted to be a tad gentler for the rest, firm enough to leave a red blush but not so hard as to sound like thunder and disturb anyone. You had to be at least a little careful with the noise. You were thankful your bedroom was so far away from everyone else’s.

When you turned back around, Web’s latest message was waiting for you.

9:46 PM - WebRigger2099 - “You’re lucky you won’t have to be the one spanking you when I meet you in person. Your inexperience is showing, Fawn. Still, you did well for a beginner. Good girl.”

Web had stopped stroking himself by now, hard cock still in clear view but untouched. Almost as soon as you finished reading his message the buzz began again. It took you a fraction of a second to realize it was on max settings.

You nearly buckled then and there, your knees turning to jelly.

You bit your lip to stop yourself from cursing again. The last thing you needed was another punishment. Instead, you simply collapsed, face in view of the camera and eyes shut tight as your hands went to your sex to help rub out the swiftly approaching orgasm.

Your own touch was nervous, as if you had never masturbated before in your life. This simple little toy was a godsend, or maybe it was Web’s skilled manipulation of both the toy and you, you weren’t sure. Whatever the case, your head touched the clouds as you climbed your peak for the first time.

You were too dazed to speak when it was over, the contractions inside you clenching around the toy as your hips weakly spasmed. Tears from your hard orgasm blurred your vision, breath shot as you took in inhales with stuttering gasps.

 9:49 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Good pet. So obedient. You did very well today. How did you enjoy my gifts?”

“Yes,” you croaked out, voice tired and worn, rolling your head to the side as you watched his messages. 

 9:50 PM - WebRigger2099 - “You’ve earned yourself some rest, Fawn. I won’t keep you. Message me when you wake up tomorrow, understood? I have much to think about. I’ll have a treat for you to wake up to.”

You took a moment to stabilize yourself, pulling the toy from your vagina with a gasp and just letting it drop to the floor. You’d clean it in the dead of night… later. Slowly you lifted yourself up onto your arms and nodded. 

“O…okay. Uhm.. goodnight,” you said, eyes still on his torso, seeing that he was breathing hard. 

 9:50 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Goodnight, Fawn. You did very good. I’m proud of you.”

His screen clicked to black an instant later. 

 9:50 PM - WebRigger2099 - Has gone offline.

So, you tossed the wet toys and lube in the small plastic tote to take out after everyone went to bed, wiped yourself off with baby wipes and redressed. You ended up checking on your roommates and found them all home from the bar, somehow and extremely invested in another Chris Chan documentary on youtube, using the projector as a TV hooked up to Taylor’s laptop. 

So, thankfully nobody noticed. You got water, you cleaned your toys and hid them back under your tiny bed. 

The first thing you did the next morning was check your messages, a hand covering your face as you smiled and blushed at the image sent. 

Web’s torso was on full display, cock angled up so she could see its undercarriage. Along his stomach and past his belly button was a pool of sticky white, stray spurts seemingly shot further up his torso before the main gush was emptied out. The text with it was simple:

 7:04 AM - WebRigger2099 - You gave me a lot to think about. 

 7:04 AM - WebRigger2099 - Message me when you wake up and we’ll discuss how everything went.

You could squeal in joy. You did that to him. You did that despite falling on your ass and nearly bruising your hip like an idiot. 

You were not in love - who could fall in love with a stranger on the internet so quickly? - but damn did it help you feel good about yourself. 

[hoseoksluna]

MURK | myg ft. jjk

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

genre: angst, smut

word count: 16.9k

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

pinterest board: murk

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You keep it clenched in a tight fist. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You step into the shower, needing to get away. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You put a stop to it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you ask him. “Why are you here?” 

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

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

Stillness in his features. “So did I.” 

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

“Tilt your head back.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then it hits you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gasp. “No, Yoongi, I didn’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yoongi hasn’t come back yet. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You drift to sleep during the ride home. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did he tell you?”

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

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

“Did you?” 

“No.” 

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

It’s better than to feel nothing. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And again. 

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

He became obsessed with it. 

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

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

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

You wanted Jungkook again. 

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

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

He put two and two together. Immediately.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You fixed your mistake quickly. 

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

“Did I talk? Like I do normally?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And in the meantime, you doll yourself up. 

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

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

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

“He’s coming over later.” 

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

And you pray nothing gets in the way. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You hungry?” 

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

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

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

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

And he deepens the eye contact. 

“How do you like your butt plug?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t wear boxing gloves?” 

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

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

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

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

And you will. 

You will heal both of the males. 

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

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

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

But Yoongi can’t bear to see it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stillness, arousing stillness. You smile, innocently. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You have a perfectly free hand by your side.

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

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

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

He only chuckles, deeply. Teased, but pleased. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you shall. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yoongi hums. “Where?” 

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

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

“Like what?” 

“Touch yourself.” 

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

“How?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Am I doing it right?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The afternoon spent in the cabin dissolves. 

You didn’t expect that to happen. 

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

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

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

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

Out with the old, in with the new. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Off. Everything.” 

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

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

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

But when Yoongi leaves, your heart sinks in panic. 

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

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

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

It’s you who alleviates the tremors. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t have to think twice. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nods. 

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

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

He’s Daddy. Undeniably. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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