#i'm not sure if any of this made sense of was spelled right

[rowarn]

I just know that after that night, Victoria tried to call ONCE. Why once tho? Because Simon answered the phone in the middle of a very intense session, whispering in reader's ear to moan louder for him. After she heard the loud noises and Simon's soft voice she never tried to call him again.

simon riley / reader — set in the please love me universe!

fucking while on a call, jealousy, creampie, possessive!reader, vocal!simon <3

you were completely lost in pleasure, eyes rolled back in your head with simon's large body blanketing yours. your hand was clasped tightly in one his as he rutted his hips slowly and deeply, making sure to angle his hips just right so he could hit that sweet, gooey little spot inside you that made your entire body shiver with pleasure.

simon was obsessed with forcing your body to show every bit of what you were feeling. holding you down so you couldn't do anything but twitch and shake, forcing you to look at him so he could see the way your eyes filled with tears when he hit a little too deep.

he's slowly working you up to your 3rd orgasm of the night when the spell between the two of you is completely broken by the shrill ringing of his cell phone on the bedside table.

both of you freeze. it's not the ringing that comes when someone from the task force contacts him. the two of you share a brief look of confusion before he reaches over and grabs the device off of the night table.

you could see the second his facial expression changed and a sense of alarm rushed through you.

"what is it, si?" you ask, tugging his hand down so you could see his screen.

the number was immediately familiar to you -- it was her again. victoria. her name burns as it goes through your head.

to your horror, simon slid the call button over and answered, ignoring the indignation on your face. there's a coy little smile playing at the edge of his lips and you want to wipe it off because it's making you angry.

you can hear her shrill voice yapping away the second he answers, pressing the speaker button and tossing the device onto the bed.

you try to tune in to what she's saying but he starts rutting his hips, grinding his pelvis against your clit while he's got his cock snug inside your gooey cunt.

your eyes roll back at the feeling and you can't help the way you gasp from how good it feels.

"that's it, baby," simon coos, sitting back on his heels so he can bring his thumb down to lightly pet the swollen bud of your clit. the makes you moan louder and you faintly hear her voice from the phone ask, "si? what are you doing?"

hearing her call him that - so familiarly, like she has any claim over him makes you seethe.

simon grins when he sees that jealous flare in your eyes. he thinks it's cute - that you of all people are jealous. don't you know that he's completely and utterly devoted to you?

he pulls out just a little bit only to stuff his cock back inside. that pulls a beautiful moan from you that makes her go silent on the line. she calls his name again, clearly growing more agitated and humiliated.

"c'mon, sweetheart," he coos to you, "hold your legs for me, let me get real deep, yeah?"

you immediately do as you're told, wrapping your arms around your knees and pulling them back against your chest. the position allows him to get even deeper, pressing against that little spot deep inside that makes your toes curl and cries of pleasure rip from your chest.

he starts fucking your properly again, sticky sounds coming from between your thighs from how wet you are. your creamy arousal coats his cock and drips down his balls, making a mess of him all over but he loves it.

"oh! i-i'm gonna cum, si," you squeal, legs twitching in your hold but you don't let go, scared that if you move at all your orgasm will be lost and you'll have to start all over, "j-just like that, please don't stop!"

simon grits his teeth, biting back a moan of his own when he hears how sweetly you beg for him, "i know, baby. i'll get you there, you know i will."

you nod your head, eyes wide but vision blurry as it builds and builds until your entire body is tense. with one little pinch to your swollen clit, you cum with a wail of his name.

"shit. shit!" simon groans, tossing his head back to moan, "fuck, that's it. cum on my cock, cum, baby, cum. oh shit, i love you. i love you, i love you, i love you."

his body falls over yours, face buried in your neck as he fills you up just right, his cum oozing out from around the tight seal your cunt has around his cock. his pace gradually slows before he comes to a stop all together.

he reaches over to grab his phone, panting and trembling from how hard he came. when he looks at the screen, he snickers, turning to show you that the call had been disconnected.

you just hope she stayed around long enough to hear that he loves you and took the hint <3

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon riley smut #ghost x reader #ghost smut #cod x reader #cod smut

[markster666]

Alas I have fallen for the radio demon! He is perfection and so is your writing! I’m sure you’ve got a lot of requests but I was hoping you could do an Alastor X fem! reader where she likes pulling/gripping his hair while he *ahem* breeds her? Her kink is bearing his demon spawns! = u =

Mmmm gotta love the Radio Demon! Saw this request at work and was like "I'm immediately writing this when I get home" sooo here we are! Thank you so much for your request and hope this is what you were looking for. Lots of love.

ALASTOR THE RADIO DEMON X READER (SMUT/18+) - Breeding B*tch

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader

Tags: Shameless Smut, 18+, Breeding, Hair pulling, Porn without much Plot, Pet kink, Pet play, Impregnation kink, etc.

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Word Count: 878

A/N: Thank you so much to @lingeringherealways for taking time out of your day to put in this request and trust me with it! I absolutely adored this prompt the second I read it and had to write it out before I head to bed. Unedited, so apologies for any spelling mistakes. Requests are open.

The entire Hazbin crew (except for you and Alastor) decided to go on an outing. Charlie wanted to try and recruit sinners on the streets and offer them refuge in return for possible redemption. She invited you and Alastor to come along, albeit last minute, you both declined respectfully as somebody had to keep watch over the hotel while they were away. Alastor could easily do it by himself, sure, but you were burdened with the thought of sleep. As soon as they left, you slumped onto the lobby couch and shut your eyes.

Alastor waltzed into the room, his microphone staff hitting the ground with a thud every step he took. You opened one of your eyes to get a look at him, only to see he made his way to the edge of the couch, staring right at you with the same, expressionless wide-grinned look he masked all the time.

"Everything alright, Alastor?"

"Mmm, may I speak to you my Dear?"

You groaned and sat up lazily, rubbing your eyes.

"It's kind of a bad time, I'm half asleep."

His ears furrowed back and he sat at the edge of the couch, making sure to keep a good few feet of distance between you two. You could feel his demeanor shift promptly as he started speaking,

"Ah, yes, well, I'll make it quick. You see, I've been having this insatiable urge to... um... how do I speak of this-"

You raised your eyebrow as you waited for him to continue.

He sighed.

"I need to breed."

Your eyes widen in shock. Of course, you knew he was an animal and it would make sense as to WHY he had these desires but...

"And... why are you telling me this?"

He laughed.

"Hah hah hah! Because I want to breed YOU my Dear."

You stare at him open mouthed, unable to process what he just said. You have had fantasies about him for awhile, sure, but never in a million years did you ever expect it to finally be happening.

"O-Okay Alastor, but only this ONE time-"

He cut you off as soon as you gave him full permission to do what he wanted. He set his microphone down and pounced on you, his tall figure covering your entire body.

"Mmm, thank you my Dear, but I don't think one time is going to be enough for that pretty little body of yours."

You were about to say something before he crashed his lips down onto yours, forcing your mouth open with his tongue and intertwining it with yours. You moaned into his mouth as he tore open your clothes in a couple fluid motions. He stopped kissing you as he ran a finger in between your folds.

"My my! Look how wet you are! Oh how I've been CRAVING to ravish you. I hope you don't expect me to take my time."

He quickly undid his pants zipper before instantly slipping his length inside of you, his ears pinned to the sides of his head trying to hold back grunts of ectasy. You were whining, going non-verbal from how full you felt. Every time he thrusted, it felt like you hit a new stage of bliss, and suddenly you didn't care about redemption into Heaven.

You were already in it.

He gripped your hair and held you close to his body, his face burrowed in your neck and shoulder crease as he aggressively, yet sloppily thrusted into you. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and your legs around his waist so he could thrust as deep as he could.

He finally let his pleasure take control and started grunting animalistically. He was nipping at your collarbone and squeezing you into him as hard as he could, sweat being combined between your two intertwined bodies as the heat filled the space.

"You feel so gooood, you truly are a BITCH in heat. Let me hear more of those pretty little sounds of yours, Love."

He whispered into your ear before kissing your jawline quickly, smiling against your neck. Your eyes rolled back in pure pleasure and you could not contain your mews.

Your hands moved up to his hair, gripping it very aggressively out of pure passion and need.

"P-Please, Alastor, breed me. Impregnate me. I want you to mark my womb with your seed. Please-"

You senselessly babbled into thin air, gripping his hair harder and tightening your legs around his waist.

"Your begging is music to my ears! As you wish, Dear, stay still for me."

His thrusts quickened in pace before becoming sporadic. He finally unleashed all of his seed into you, making sure his cock was as deep inside of you as it could go. You were a panting mess, slowly loosening your grip on his hair, and he was making a bunch of radio static, also trying to catch his breath.

After a bit, he pulled out slowly and watched as his cum dripped out of you. His smile widened,

"Make sure you lay like that for awhile, Love, to make sure it all stays in."

You didn't ever want to move again. Everything was just bliss in that moment.

"Oh, and by the way my Dear, this will not be a one time thing. Expect it frequently!"

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

A/N: Thank you so much for everybody who has read! Your support means the world to me. If you didn't know, I will be participating in Kinktober (except in February lol) with some pretty smutty prompts starting February 1st and going on all month, so if you like my writing and want some more Alastor x reader smuts, please consider following. Lots of love.

#hazbin hotel alastor #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #18+ only #alastor x reader smut #shameless smut #hazbin hotel fanfiction #18+ mdni

[vanteguccir]

Sleeping inside her | Matt Sturniolo pt. 2

Matt Sturniolo x reader

Summary: Where Matt wakes up the next morning and just wants to fuck Y/N.

Warning: Smut (mdni), somnophilia (consented!), p in v, fem masturbation.

Author's note: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

Part 1

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Matt felt his senses slowly return the next morning. The sun that came through the cracks in the blinds kept the room warm and welcoming, warming the blanket that covered his body. The sounds of birds outside and Y/N's light breathing filling the space.

The boy tried to move, holding his breath for a moment as he felt his cock being pressed by his girlfriend's walls, keeping him warm and hard, then remembering how they went to sleep the night before.

His blue eyes closed as Matt tried to focus on anything but his completely naked girlfriend next to him as his cock was buried inside her, the scent of her skin keeping him high. But all his self control was lost when his girl's hot, sticky walls squeezed him tightly while she was still asleep, seeming to want to expel him out or bring him in more, Matt wasn't sure.

The boy wrapped his left arm around Y/N's waist again, careful not to wake her, before lifting his own left leg and placing his foot on the bed, so that he could guide his movements more easily.

Matt pushed his hips back until only his head was inside, before slowly inserting his length again, letting out a breathy sigh at the delicious sensation, thanking Y/N for using lube the night before, which along with her wetness made the contact easier and more pleasant.

Matt rested his forehead on Y/N's shoulder, closing his eyes and focusing on the sensation, his hand going to one of the girl's tit on instinct, massaging the area carefully.

His hips seemed to take on a rhythm that he was already very well accustomed to and would never tire of doing, a calm and slow one, specific to moments when he wanted to love his girl and feel every little part of her perfect body.

His back flexed with his movements, sweat starting to accumulate on the back of his neck and biceps as low pants fell from his lips.

The wet sound that Y/N's pussy made with each thrust was the only thing that filled the room, increasing Matt's arousal.

It didn't take long for the girl to wake up, a moan escaping her lips before her eyes even opened.

"Matt- Fuck." Y/N moaned slowly, pushing her hips back against the brunette's pelvis, eliciting a low moan from him.

"Morning baby." Matt said in a low voice, the fingers of his left hand now able to pinch his girl's hard nipples, pulling them, making Y/N arch her back so that her ass was completely pert and her chest was fully forward.

Matt's right arm, which had previously served as a pillow for his girlfriend, was now around her neck, forcing her head back so that he could see her expression over her shoulder. Y/N's right hand quickly snaked its way until it stopped on Matt's arm, which served as her special necklace at that moment, squeezing the spot tightly as she licked her lips, wetting them.

One of the greatest pleasures for the boy was watching his girlfriend's pleasured features as they fucked or made love, the way her eyes rolled back and her eyelashes fluttered, the way her mouth opened in a perfect circle as her tongue lolled out or arched inside her mouth at the sensation, sometimes her full lips being bitten hard by her teeth in an attempt to silence her loud moans.

Matt was able to adjust his feet so that his thrusts were deeper and stronger, but keeping them slow, not wanting to break the spell of the moment. His cock moving in and out of Y/N at a single pace, taking out almost everything and then thrusting his entire length until his red head hit the spongy spot that made his girl see stars.

"Does it feel good, baby? Does it feel good to feel my cock moving in and out of you so easily? 'Was made for me, hm?" Matt whispered against Y/N's ear, hearing her gasp and moan in response.

The girl took her left hand to Matt's back, grabbing his ass and forcing him to go deeper, rolling against his hip and Matt followed her movements, Y/N's eyes rolling as she felt his dick hit points inside her that she didn't think was possible

Sex, fuck or love was always like this with Matt, no matter how many times the two got intimate, the boy always managed to surprise her.

Matt moaned hoarsely when Y/N made a specific movement that made his dick twitch, feeling suffocated by her moist walls. He lifted his left hand, which was previously on her tits, and brought it to her bare shoulder, removing the strands of hair stuck there by sweat, planting kisses on the area, his blue eyes opening and closing constantly, feeling like he could drown in the intense pleasure.

That same hand snaked down his girlfriend's body, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind, stopping at her hip momentarily, where he squeezed tightly, smiling at the idea of ​​being able to look at the area later and see the imprint of his fingers adorning her skin in a perfect way, almost like an art.

Y/N felt unable to form coherent words, moans, and murmurs escaping her lips along with gasps and sighs, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration and pleasure, wanting to stay there forever.

Y/N's body twitched on its own as Matt moved his fingers nimbly across her clit suddenly, his hand going from her hip to her pleasure point in seconds, moving his index and middle fingers in circles and then up and down at its own pace, his hand acting automatically as if that action was already engraved in his memory.

"Fuck, look at you, I could watch you like this all day." Matt murmured, his blue eyes fixed on Y/N's face.

His hand acted quickly to lift his girlfriend's left leg into the air, his fingers pressing the inside of her knee, starting firm and faster thrusts, looking for his own orgasm, wanting to reach it with his girl. Matt took his cock out only halfway and came back in with force, making Y/N feel each of his veins massage her walls and his head press against her magic spot. Her hip movements became more frantic and uneven as her head fell further back, slamming the back of it against Matt's shoulder, telling him that she was close to her orgasm.

"Please Matt, I need- Please..." Y/N begged, unable to form a complete sentence, only able to think about reaching her peak.

"Do you want to cum, babe? Are you going to give me one, hm?" Matt asked against the top of her head, closing his eyes as he felt his own orgasm begin to rise.

"Please. Please, Matt, please." Was all Y/N could say, her hands clenching into fists in their respective places, marking her boyfriend's skin and crumpling the sheets.

"Cum for me, love." Matt whispered and his approval was what made Y/N collapse, her legs shook incessantly as her stomach contracted, the fingers of her hand taking on a white color with the strength the girl used in her grip, her head pushing firmly against Matt's shoulder as her eyes rolled back tightly, her mouth open in a perfect O as loud moans escaped her rosy lips.

The image along with the way Y/N's pussy squeezed Matt's dick tighter than before brought him to his own orgasm, strong and hot jets reaching the depths of his girlfriend's pussy. His left hand went down from the girl's knee to her thigh, squeezing the area tightly, while his right hand, still around her neck, clenched into a fist in pleasure. His own thighs shook from the intense orgasm as his mouth opened and gasps and sighs came from his lips, along with some moans and calls of his girlfriend's name.

A few seconds passed and the two felt the waves of pleasure gradually diminish, their minds becoming active again as panting echoed through the walls of their shared room.

Y/N opened her eyes slowly, her vision adjusting to the brightness of the room that was almost imperceptible before, lowering her leg that was still in the air.

Matt took his length out of his girlfriend slowly, afraid of hurting her, knowing how sensitive she would be, his left hand going to her stomach and caressing the area affectionately, kissing her shoulder repeatedly.

The girl lightly squeezed Matt's arm one last time, before taking her hand away, turning on her boyfriend's bicep so that she was now facing him. Matt's right hand quickly found comfort in Y/N's hair, caressing it.

"Hi." She smiled big, her eyes shining with love.

"Hi." He responded, laughing lowly as he brought his face closer to hers, his lips finally finding the ones he loved so much, his tongue passing through Y/N's closed lips, wetting them and asking for passage, which was granted.

A slow kiss began, the kind that makes you want to stay there forever, the kind that allows you to breathe through your nose calmly, lengthening the time of the gesture.

Y/N broke the kiss, placing her forehead against Matt's and closing her eyes, breathing in, absorbing the natural scent of the brunette's skin and the lavender of the blanket.

"I love you." Matt whispered, his left hand making a calm and affectionate path from her thigh to her waist, touching his nose to hers in an eskimo kiss.

"I love you more." She responded, letting out a low laugh at the gesture and moving closer, pressing their bodies together, her face settling against Matt's chest so that the top of her head was under his chin, her right arm wrapping around his waist. A sigh of relief and comfort escaped her lips, her mind convincing her to enter a state of sleep again.

"Sleep, baby. Today, we have the day to ourselves." The brunette muttered, knowing it was Saturday, so she had no work, and he had no videos to record. His lips found the top of her head, kissing the area for long seconds while he inhaled through his nose, instantly relaxing, being able to enter the world of dreams again.

#x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #love #sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #imagine #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo fanfiction #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo fic #matt sturniolo x reader #matt x reader #matt au #matt fanfic #matt #matthew bernard sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo x yn #matt sturniolo x you #smut #fluff

[neptuneh0rn]

morning reflections | fire lord!zuko x reader

(gif not mine)

warnings: fluff, one kiss, tears (very brief), advisors being mean :(, fire lord zuko ;)

summary: trying to get zuko out of bed leads to unexpected confessions.

word count: 0.6k

A/N: this is a very short drabble that's been sitting in my drafts for way too long, so enjoy! English is not my first language, so I apologize for any grammar/ spelling mistakes. feedback is appreciated.

“Honey, let go, we have a meeting with your advisors in 30 minutes.”

In answer, Zuko grumbled, tightening his arms around your waist and drawing you closer to his bare chest.

“Zuko,” you exclaimed, giggling, “we have to be there! You’re the fire lord, remember?”

“Exactly. I'm the fire lord, therefore I get to decide whether or not I attend I meeting,” he replied smugly, “and right now I’m deciding that I want to stay in bed with my beautiful wife.”

“Flattery isn't going to work, Zu. Don’t even try. Besides, your advisors have finally agreed to allow me to attend this one. I can't be late. That would hardly provide for a favourable first impression."

You had not been looking at Zuko's face when you said that, but you felt him stiffen at your words. All sense of playfulness eviscerates from the air.

"What," Zuko enunciates.

You shift your gaze back to his face, perplexed at his tone. "What?"

"What do you mean, 'my advisors are finally letting you attend this one'?"

"Oh," you replied sheepishly, "just forget I said that."

Zuko gave you a pointed look and sat up straight, resting on the headboard of the massive bed. You followed suit, suddenly taking an obstinate interest in his warm hands, fiddling with his fingers. He took one of his hands from yours and raised your chin with his index finger, urging you to make eye contact with him.

"You want to inform me," Zuko spoke softly, "or should I ask the advisors myself?"

"It's nothing," you started, "it's only that… every time I ask if I can attend the meetings, your advisors refuse. They tell me that these are not affairs that concern me."

Zuko always thought you didn't join meetings simply because you weren't interested in these affairs. His visage distorted into one of rage, and you felt compelled to calm him down, fearful of what he would do to his advisors.

"But it's truly not a problem! It makes no difference to me, honey. As a result, it should not concern you." You ran your hand along the nape of his neck, tenderly running your fingers along the hairs resting there.

"Why didn't you tell me? I could've handled it," Zuko inquired, his voice concerned.

"What would it look like if I came to you with all of my problems? I need to show your advisors that I'm capable of being the fire lady you deserve; that the fire nation deserves," You muttered solemnly. Your head bowed low as if you were ashamed to admit this.

Zuko's heart ached at your confession. How long had you been feeling like this? It's been a year since Zuko took you as his betrothed, and it angered him to just find out now.

"Sweetheart," Zuko started, taking your hand and placing a kiss on your knuckles, "you don't need to prove anything to anyone. You are already the fire lady that I deserve and that the fire nation needs. Your presence and input in these meetings are valuable to me, and I want you there by my side. I should have made that clear to my advisors from the start."

You looked up, tears forming in your eyes, "Really?"

"Of course," Zuko replied, wiping away a tear with his thumb, "I'll speak to my advisors and make sure that they understand your importance in these meetings."

You leaned in, pressing your lips to his, revelling in the softness of his lips. Zuko deepened the kiss, his arms wrapping around you tightly. You felt relieved that you no longer had to hide your frustration and disappointment about being excluded from important meetings.

"Thank you, Zuko," you whispered, "you always know how to make everything better."

Zuko chuckled, holding you close, "That's what I'm here for, my love."

likes, comments, and reblogs are highly appreciated♡

#zuko x reader #zuko imagine #zuko x y/n #avatar the last airbender #atla x reader #atla zuko #fire lord zuko #zuko fluff #fire lord!zuko x reader #atla x you #atla x y/n #a:tla

[hoseoksluna]

MURK | myg ft. jjk

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

genre: angst, smut

word count: 16.9k

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

pinterest board: murk

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You keep it clenched in a tight fist. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You step into the shower, needing to get away. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You put a stop to it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you ask him. “Why are you here?” 

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

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

Stillness in his features. “So did I.” 

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

“Tilt your head back.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then it hits you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gasp. “No, Yoongi, I didn’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yoongi hasn’t come back yet. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You drift to sleep during the ride home. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did he tell you?”

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

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

“Did you?” 

“No.” 

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

It’s better than to feel nothing. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And again. 

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

He became obsessed with it. 

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

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

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

You wanted Jungkook again. 

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

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

He put two and two together. Immediately.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You fixed your mistake quickly. 

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

“Did I talk? Like I do normally?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And in the meantime, you doll yourself up. 

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

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

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

“He’s coming over later.” 

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

And you pray nothing gets in the way. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You hungry?” 

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

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

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

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

And he deepens the eye contact. 

“How do you like your butt plug?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t wear boxing gloves?” 

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

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

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

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

And you will. 

You will heal both of the males. 

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

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

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

But Yoongi can’t bear to see it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stillness, arousing stillness. You smile, innocently. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You have a perfectly free hand by your side.

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

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

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

He only chuckles, deeply. Teased, but pleased. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you shall. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yoongi hums. “Where?” 

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

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

“Like what?” 

“Touch yourself.” 

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

“How?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Am I doing it right?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The afternoon spent in the cabin dissolves. 

You didn’t expect that to happen. 

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

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

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

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

Out with the old, in with the new. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Off. Everything.” 

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

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

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

But when Yoongi leaves, your heart sinks in panic. 

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

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

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

It’s you who alleviates the tremors. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t have to think twice. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nods. 

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

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

He’s Daddy. Undeniably. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist / READ part one, READ part two 

#jungkook x oc #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #btscreatorscorner #kpop smut #jungkook one shot #yoongi smut #yoongi x oc #yoongi x reader #yoongi imagine

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matchmaker, matchmaker - azriel x reader

↳ mor drags azriel to velaris's resident matchmaker, only for him to fall for her instead of his potential suitors.

↳ no major warnings apply! just some fluff and cuteness. not grammar or spell checked. sorry hehe

↳ requests are open! check bio.

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azriel and mor sat at a cafe table in the heart of velaris, steam rising from the tea cups in front of each of them. this was not an uncommon occurence by any means and the pair frequented the many shops and restaurants throughout the town. however, this time, there was an air of tension between them which caused their waitress to carefully place their drinks away from the edges of the table.

"you're telling me you won't even consider seeing her? do you know all that she's done for velaris, az?"

"she's just high fae, mor. she's not some prophecy teller that can see mating bonds between people. i don't understand what she could even do for me."

ah, yes. the topic of conversation was azriel's love life and mor was desperately trying to convince the spymaster to see her friend, the matchmaker of velaris.

what azriel was saying was true. she did not have some special power that allowed her to see the invisible string connecting mates. she could not look into her mind and pull out the best partner for someone. she just knew how to read people and how to do it well. she was responsible for a lot of the matches in velaris, even predicting nesta and cassian long before anyone else could.

"you're lonely, azriel. i can tell! you want to dance with someone at rita's and have a date to parties just as bad as anyone else. you just won't admit it," mor declared. her voice softened and she continued, "i want what's best for you, az. we all do. will you see her for me? please? even if nothing works out."

azriel sighed and took a drink of his tea which was still too hot for his mouth. damn mor and her awareness of the people in her life. and damn him for the way he'd give in to her so easily. "fine," he mumbled. "i will try. but no promises."

that next week, azriel came back from a trip to the mortal lands and immediately, mor was at the door to his room, badgering him about the meeting she set up for later that day. she declared that he could not reschedule or miss the meeting and that he should dress in something nice.

begrudgingly, azriel took a long bath to make sure he looked and smelled fine enough to get a potentially good match from mor's friend. he chose more "normal" clothing as instructed by mor and flew down to the bright townhouse fast enough to reach the door just as his appointment was set to begin.

she surely sensed him because before he even got the chance to knock, she threw the door open and greeted him.

"azriel, right? spymaster of the high lord's court," she said sweetly. "i am quite honored to have you in my home."

azriel felt too awkward for his own good and just nodded with as polite of a smile as he could muster.

"come on! come on!" she ushered him into her home which was brightly decorated in all sorts of eclectic decor, a lot of it being hearts and other love motifs. "can i get you anything?" she asked. "water? tea? snacks? wine?"

"no...no. i'm good, thanks," he said, quieter than he meant to. his eyes raked over the matchmaker, finding her to be a lot younger and more spry than he imagined. mor spoke so highly of her that he thought she must be ancient, having made matches for velaris since the dawn of time. she was also quite beautiful and the way she spoke caused some odd feelings in azriel's chest that he didn't like. his shadows noticed his attraction to her too as they whipped around his chest before hiding behind him, sometimes whispering things in his ear.

"suit yourself," she joked. she sat down on a large armchair and gestured to the matching one in front of her. azriel obediently sat down and watched her moves. she pulled out a frilly notebook from a drawer along with a pen. "has mor told you anything about what i do?"

"not really," azriel admitted. "just praises your name and forces her friends to come to her." the matchmaker laughed and azriel felt incredibly proud of himself for making her laugh.

"well, i just want to know a couple things about you. nothing crazy. just your inner thoughts and desires. and i take that information and compare it to other people and see what comes from it! simple, easy, and usually pain free but i have a feeling you may be a little more introverted than most." azriel shrugged in response. "so, my first question is what are your must-haves in a relationship?"

azriel fiddled with the hem of his shirt as he thought about the question. nobody had ever asked him that before and he honestly hadn't even thought about it. "um...someone who's nice. understanding, i guess. i have a lot of responsibilities in my job so someone who doesn't mind that i'm gone a lot," he thought for a second more. "what do people usually say?"

the matchmaker thought for a moment. "well, i would say my must-haves are patience, kindness...someone who's fine with staying inside," she paused and smiled, "definitely has to own some kind of awesome ancient sword or blade that i can play with."

azriel clocked her statement as a joke but some part of him, deep down inside, wishes that he had truth-teller displayed on his chest for her to see. he was patient, he was a homebody, he was...relatively kind. oh god...what was he thinking?

"all jokes, of course. but really, it's just anything you want in a partner. maybe you want them to be strong and abrasive and can hold their own. it's all up to you, azriel."

she moved on to the next question, which he was very grateful for. this one, however, was harder than the last. "what are you looking for here? do you want me to hunt down your potential mate? do you want something fun and casual? committed? i can do it all."

azriel felt like she was stripping back his layers, one by painful one. all to find someone he can kiss. this was crazy! and he didn't even know her name. "i don't really know, honestly. i...i guess my mate but that seems hard considering it could be anyone. i don't really desire anything. mor just made me come here."

she leaned forward and her big eyes seemed to look into his heart. "i know that's not true, azriel. everyone wants something. you have this...look in your eye that tells me you really want this to work out, that you want to believe in this. you just have to be open with me, 'kay?"

azriel let out a breathy chuckle. "how can i open when i don't even know your name or anything else about you?"

she thought for a second before nodding in agreement. she laid the notebook down on the side table and leaned back. "fair, i guess. my name is y/n, i have lived in velaris all my life, i enjoy pastries, reading, and tea, i started matchmaking as a silly way to keep my friends and i entertained until it started working too much to be a coincidence. i spend all my time finding love for other people but haven't found the one for me. ironic, isn't it?" she smiled at azriel. "there. does that make you feel a bit better?" he nodded. "good. now, let me repeat my question."

azriel and y/n continued their conversation, knocking out the questions she had prepared with relative ease. he felt comfortable opening up to her and being honest about his desires for love. he was completely unused to expressing his feelings like that but it came to him easily in her presence. the way she easily leaned in, eyes focused and gaze unwavering...it did something to him.

eventually, though, the questions ended and azriel knew he had to leave her home. he stalled on the last question, having her reword it over and over even though all she had asked was what his habits at home were like.

"well, azriel, thank you for answering all my questions. from here, i will start comparing your answers to other people i've met with and i will reach out to you with your first match up. you'll tell me if you're interested and if you aren't, we'll move on to the next!"

azriel panicked internally at her words which clearly signaled the end of their conversation. he rose at the same time as her but subconsciously placed his body in front of hers so that she'd have to step around him to leave the room. "so, do i come see you again at all? or...or is this it?" he cursed himself for sounding so awkward.

she laughed. "you can if that is what you prefer. if you want to talk about your dates and how they went then i don't care to. did you enjoy this a little more than you anticipated?" she joked.

he nodded and scratched the back of his neck. crap...crap, crap! he had to do something, right? she was single, she said so. but is it wrong to ask the matchmaker on a date? after she poured so much work into finding him a match? he thought for a second, eyes trained on her. in his ears, his shadows whispered encouragingly. this is it...come on!

"is everything okay, azriel?" she asked innocently.

"so i know that this whole thing was to find me a match but i actually really enjoy your time and i think you're beautiful so would you want to go on a date with me instead of sending me on dates with people that i couldn't care less about?" his words came out at lightning speed and he was pleasantly surprised that she understood everything.

a blush came to her cheeks and it matched the pink and red hearts around the room. "seriously?" she asked. he shyly nodded. "i'd love to. tomorrow night? you come by?"

he breathed out a sigh of relief. "yes, tomorrow night. thank you."

the two of them made their way to the door.

"so, no matches at all? not even helga down the street in the butcher shop? she's been looking for someone for yearssss," she said in a sing-song voice.

"cauldron, no. i want you." he was shocked at the confidence that leaked through his words. she blushed again and rose on her toes to press a soft kiss to his cheek.

"i'll see you tomorrow. tell mor that my services worked, if you'd be so kind." azriel flew off then with no intentions of telling mor anything that happened.

#acotar #acotar series #acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fluff #azriel fanfic #azriel imagine #azriel acotar #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury

[changbinsboiledegg]

skz with a very needy!sub??? 👀

btw your so cool i could give you a big smooch on the cheeks please never stop being cool

Thank you for thinking I am cool. What are we?

GN? Reader X SKZ

(Tried to keep some terms general, if that makes sense. No specific body parts were mentioned except for, yk, d1ck.)

MDNI!!!!!!!!

Warning: Dom x Needy Sub dynamic?, swearing, usage of vulgar language, teasing, some are hard doms, some are soft, usage of seggs toys, semi-public seggs mention, smut (only a little), protected or unprotected seggs— that’s up to you. Lol.

Note: I’m so sorry this is late, it’s been a shit month (year). I’ll learn to spell s*x properly when I’m rich. Until then, it’s SEGGS. (Joking) But regardless, here you go lovely. As always, if no one has told you, Ilyyyy 🫶🫶 If you see any typos, please bypass them I'm sorry.

♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎

Chan

He doesn’t give in easily when you’re very needy. Surely you’re aware of this by now.

But that doesn’t stop you from trying everything under the sun to turn him on and need you just as much as you needed him.

“Please!” You begged, literally on your knees in front of him. He just looked down at you, unphased.

“Please what?” His gaze held you captive.

“Please…” you couldn’t finish that sentence, you brain turning to mush. You mentally cursed, hating that he made you nervous after you so confidently stripped in front of him slowly.

“Come on. Can’t fuck you if you don’t know what you want.” Chan stood firm on his role as your dom.

“Please fuck me.” You finally mustered out, meeting his gaze. Chan smirked.

“Well, since you asked so nicely.”

Lee Know

Minho knew you were needy when it came to sex, but he specifically knew when you were needy.

He always knew what to do to make your neediness increase. He loved seeing you get so turned on.

Of course, he wasn’t evil. He always gave you the satisfaction you wanted, however, he definitely was going to play with you first.

You squirmed in your seat, trying to control your breathing as Minho remotely controlled the vibrator inside of you. He continuously changed modes, either sending you close to the edge or fueling your need for more.

“Had enough yet?” Minho asked. It was clear that he enjoyed teasing you. You whimpered as the vibrations send shivers through your body.

“I want you!” Your tone a pleading one. Minho took in the sight of you for a moment— a complete mess for him by him.

“I guess you’ve earned it. Come here.”

Changbin

When you were needy, Changbin didn’t waste a second. He wanted to give you what you wanted while still being in control.

You came to him, being extra clingy, knowing the second Changbin became just as touchy with you, he would make you feel so good that you would have trouble remembering your name for the minutes that followed.

You started out slow, mindlessly playing with his hand before it ended up resting on your thigh. Then slowly, he’d find himself sliding it towards your inner thigh, gripping and squeezing the flesh under.

Then he’d feel the result of your neediness and within a few seconds, he’s inside of you, taking you hard to satisfy your neediness.

At least in that moment, that is.

Hyunjin

He’s used to your neediness by now and even enjoys the fact that he’s able to turn you on without having to do anything.

He loves seeing the way you react to his actions, no matter how simple. Hyunjin doesn’t like making you wait, though.

One minute he’s running his fingers through his hair, the next he has you bent over and taking him so well, you forgot about everything troubling you.

“Hnng! Hyun-Hyunjin!” You felt his hand clasp over your mouth as he took you harder— faster.

“Shh, don’t want the others to hear you cum, right?” He whispered sharply close to your ear. You shook your head, but in the back of your mind, you thought about how you wouldn’t mind anyone else hearing how good he’s making you feel.

Han

“Can we sneak to the bathroom or somewhere private?” You asked Jisung, feeling particularly needy that day. Turns out you tend to feel needy at the wrong times.

“Why? What happened?” Jisung was oblivious at first, showing genuine concern. He thought you were having a good time at this party, and you were, but you wanted a different kind if fun.

“It concerns your dick.” You whispered, feigning innocence for the partygoers around you two. By the look on his face, he seemed just as needy to be inside of you in some way.

“Okay, I see now…” he immediately looked towards the nearest bathroom. “What if someone hears—“

As soon as you caught his gaze, you pulled him towards the bathroom. Jisung chuckled, “you know I’m in control, right?”

“This isn’t about control,” you shut the door and locked it, then immediately lowered to your knees. “It’s about need. And I need you now.”

Felix

You’d begged all day, the need for him to touch you in any way that he could was gnawing at you.

And still, Felix continued to tease you, making you beg more just for begging in the first place.

“Felix, please. I’m going to die if you don’t—“

Felix drowned your next words out by crashing his lips onto yours, his hand cupping your jaw just enough to keep your head in place, but not to hurt you.

“Tell me, darling. What is it you want exactly?” Felix’s breathy voice filled your ears once his lips departed yours.

“I need you. Whether it’s inside of me or-or…” you were trembling. Not from fear, but from the aching feeling between your legs. Felix kissed you again, softer this time.

“Lay back. I think you’ve earned it now.”

Seungmin

“No.” Seungmin said, not wavering in his response to your neediness. He knew you’ve been in a constant state of arousal since the event started but he wasn’t about to cut it short just to give in to your desires— or his, for that matter.

You felt a wave of disappointment but understood. You just wished he would do something immediately.

Seungmin looked over at you and discreetly placed his hand on your thigh underneath the table you two were sat at.

“Don’t look so sad. I’ll reward you when we get home.” He winked before gently squeezing your thigh, leaving shivers of need running up and down your body.

“Can you hold out for another hour?” He added in a low whisper, “or are you going to be impatient like last time?”

You wanted so badly to answer ‘yes’ to the second question, knowing your release would be delayed, but at least he’d start immediately.

But your patience always earned you the best orgasms. Fuck. You had to think carefully, and Seungmin was awaiting your response with a half raised eyebrow.

“I can hold out.”

Seungmin smirked, “good.”

I.N

Jeongin was never one to make you wait or delay your release whenever you were particularly needy for him.

Sometimes you wondered who was the dom and who was the sub.

of course, when you two were alone, you were reminded of your role as he filled you up while his hands tightly gripped your wrists, pinning you down into the mattress.

Even as he pounded into you, your body feeling the shocks of relief from the pent up tension between you two, you still felt needy for him.

“Ohmygod—“ you gasped, leading into a wordless cry of pleasure as you felt that familiar knot building up in your stomach.

“You’re so cute. You act like this is the first time I’ve fucked you like this.” Jeongin grunted, his pace unrelenting.

You knew by now that you were in for a long night.

#stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids reactions #skz reactions #skz scenarios

[mrsmikaelsxn]

What Did You Do

masterlist

pairing: tom riddle x female reader, voldemort x female reader

warnings: angst, tiny bit of fluff

summary: throughout your years at hogwarts, you and tom were inseparable, now as a professor you see what happened to him at the battle of hogwarts - requested by anon

a/n: i'm going to age down voldemort and the reader (meaning because mcgonagall is a little younger than voldemort, the reader would be so old lmao. so i'm just imagining the reader is like remus' age, it wont affect the time line, idk if that makes sense sorry)

song: the night we met - lord huron

Tom was brilliant, so were you. You were both the top of your classes since your first year at Hogwarts.

That's how you two started talking. You would be partnered with each other in most of your classes, you made an excellent pair.

Throughout the years there, you two had grown a bond. Eventually, you both had feelings for each other.

You knew of your affections towards him, you didn't tell him because you didn't want to ruin your close friendship. But Tom had been in a sort of denial, seeing as how he was conceived under a love potion, he didn't think it was possible.

Around your sixth year, he had come to terms with how he felt. You two had confessed to each other after one of Slughorns dinner parties, he had attended as your date.

It came as a shock to most students when the news of you getting together spread.

They had know he had a soft spot for you, but he had never shown any romantic feelings towards anyone before.

It was seventh year and Tom had confessed to you of his plans and becoming Lord Voldemort.

He asked you to join him and be his partner but you couldn't. It was wrong and you knew it, he knew it deep down too.

You figured this was caused by his horrible childhood at the orphanage, he told you all about how he was treated.

He asked you one final time to join or he would have to continue without you.

You stood there in front of him with tears streaming down your face as you shook your head.

He wanted to wipe the tears from your beautiful face, but he knew it would make him tempted to give up the plans he worked so hard for.

So he turned his back on you and left you behind while you cried and begged him to stop what he was doing.

After that night, you hadn't seen him again.

"Harry!" you call your student, a student who was like a son to you.

You knew of how he got his scar, as did everyone else. It broke your heart each time you thought of what had caused it.

"Harry, be safe, I'll be right behind you," you kiss his head. He goes and runs off to find Voldemort as students and staff start to fill the courtyard and go into a circle.

You quickly walked through the empty halls of Hogwarts, making sure there were no student that needed help.

You finally went outside and saw Harry and Voldemort in a duel.

You gasp at how he looks, this wasn't your Tom. You hadn't seen how he looked since that night so long ago.

You rush over ignoring the calls of people to stop.

"Tom! Stop this!" you yell with angry tears forming in your eyes.

Voldemort blocks Harry's spell and sends one to knock him out for a little while he drops his arm to look at you.

People watching were frozen in their places as they took in the scene in front of them. There were very few people who were aware of your past relationship with Tom.

"Y/n."

"What did you do," you cry. He almost winces at the pain in your voice.

He slowly walks over to you and stops about three feet from you.

"I got the power I've always desired," he explains in a monotone voice.

"Tom... we could have had a future together, look what you've become," you whisper.

"You didn't wish to join me, you didn't expect me to drop everything I've worked for, did you?"

"Yes, I did, because you could have and I would have done the same for you," you try your best to keep your voice from cracking.

He knows you're right. He couldn't look you in your eyes. He looks around at the faces watching as he tries to not think about how beautiful you still are.

You had grown into a stunning woman, and well, he felt embarrassed by what he had come to.

"Stop!" Voldemort shouts, annoyed at his now conflicted emotions.

He feels tempted to stop and apparate you and him somewhere to stay, like how you always dreamed of.

He couldn't, not now. He decided an apology was the only thing he could do, as he went to apologize to you, he suddenly felt pain all over.

He turned his head to see Harry with his wand pointed at him. It was then you both realized he was truly gone.

As he starts to turn to stone, he uses all the energy left in him to look at you, in the eyes this time.

He watches as so many emotions flash through your eyes. He memorized your features in the few seconds he has.

You look at Voldemort on his knees, almost all stone. You see him mouth something, it looks like 'I'm sorry', but you can't be sure.

You watch as he looks you dead in the eye, finally turning completely to stone and dissolving into nothing.

People around you start cheering and hugging as they all celebrate.

Harry turns to you and sees the devastated look on your face.

"I'm sorry that you lost him," Harry says as he hugs you, "not Voldemort, but Tom," he continues.

"I'm sorry too, but you're safe, along with everyone else," you sigh, "that's all that matters," you kiss his forehead and hug him back.

It took you a while to finally accept that Tom- Voldemort, was gone.

Things slowly got back to normal. Hogwarts was rebuilt and repaired. You continued your teaching career there.

You were sat in your room, in a cottage where you and Tom were supposed to be living.

You decided that if he couldn't be there to live life, you would do it for the both of you.

You pick up some letters he would send you when you were dating, you had saved them all. You look at the box and see one that hasn't been opened. Your eyebrows furrow as you open it. Then, a tear slides down your face as you read it.

My y/n,

If you are reading this, that means I have become Lord Voldemort, and am likely dead now.

I need you to understand that I am not the Tom you once knew. I also need you to understand that I have regretted walking away from you each and every day since I did so.

You were my family, my love, my everything.

I'm sorry I threw that away for power. I know now that it is far too late to go back.

I wish I could though, and spend life with you in that place you always use to tell me about. Unfortunately, it isn't possible. But know that if it was, I would take that opportunity in a heartbeat.

Stay true to yourself, don't turn your back on the people you love, I regrettably made that mistake.

You are a beautiful person, my love, I hope you accomplish all of the things you use to rant to me about.

Please forgive me.

Yours always,

Tom Riddle

#nina writes 🤭💗 #tom riddle #tom riddle x you #harry potter #harry potter x you #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle oneshot #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle fanfic #tom marvolo riddle #harry potter fanfiction #death eaters #angst #harry potter angst #tom riddle angst #voldemort #voldemort x reader #voldemort imagine #voldemort angst

[wonderlandwalker]

Frozen Solid | Finnick Odair x Reader

THG Masterlist / Taglist / Inbox

Summary: Your past is haunting you, but Finnick is there to remind you it's going to be okay

Content Warnings/Tags: Nightmares, trauma, ANGST, character death, happy ending though dw, hypothermia, mentions of violence

Word Count: 2.6k

Requested by Anon: Do you think you could do something fluffy with Finnick Odair x Víctor! Reader where the readers games were in the extreme cold and they say something like “I don’t think I’ll ever be warm again” to Finnick

A/N: Please send me more requests! I am dying to keep writing but I don't have any more ideas. Also my spell check keeps telling me it's 'realized' not 'realised' and now I'm doubting my entire knowledge of the English language. Did not read this after writing it so praying my brain worked properly

To say the games left you with issues would be an understatement. But this particular memory always seemed to keep haunting you. Maybe that was because this had happened before you taught yourself to close yourself off from your problems. Maybe it was because you hadn't figured out how to find closure yet.

Maybe it was because you were still afraid. Afraid of the tribute towering over you. Even though you weren't a kid that hadn't hit your grow spurt anymore. Even though you weren't that defenseless, innocent child anymore. The tribute was still bigger, and simply the memories made you feel powerless.

The familiar trees surrounded you, but they didn't make you feel safe like they used to before. A layer of snow covered the leaves like a warm blanket, except it was anything but. You were shivering, trembling, not sure which one. So you ran, your fight or flight instincts trying to contradict the memory

So you ran from the man who had said he would help you. You ran from your problem. You ran from your fear.

But it didn't work, it never did. You ran out of the forest, but before you even realized, you were right back inside. Every time you ran you just got stuck again. But they were all different spots. All the ones where you had camped for the night, all the places where you sat silently, too scared to light a fire to warm yourself, not willing to take the risk of eating any food that needed cooking. They all made their way into your imagination, but they all had one thing in common, they made you feel afraid. For most, you thought, childhood memories should resemble a sense of ease, of making you feel secure.

But that feeling had disappeared for you when you first entered the arena. You could still see it in front of you as if it was a crystal clear picture. Your platform had come to a stop, and at first, you were blinded by the light, the bright sun. Your mind had tricked you into thinking the sun meant warmth, and comfort. But when your eyes adjusted, and you saw the frozen lake you were placed over. You saw the cornucopia, on a frosted island in the middle. It had weapons and food, but most importantly, it had thick coats and fur blankets. You wonder sometimes if you should have gotten one, if it would have helped you, but the risk was too great, so once you heard the canon, you immediately ran in the opposite direction, for the forest behind you.

The first thing you did was look for a freshwater source, but everything, everything, was frozen. When you had become desperate, you had started to punch a hole into the thick ice. It took a long time before you broke through the surface, your hands weren't strong enough, but you didn't give up. There was a small crack, and it gave you hope to continue. When you had managed to get to the water, your knuckles were bleeding, and you could see bruises starting to form. But it didn't matter. You had done it. You cupped your hands into the water and felt the cold come over them once again. It was soothing, in a way. Your hands had become warm from the strain, but it was the first time you had felt any sense of warmth since you entered, so you were disappointed to lose it. 

You brought the water to your lips, and took a sip from it. You could feel it course through your body, and while it satisfied your thirst, it felt as if there was ice inside your veins. You had been cold up to now, but it was nothing compared to this. You could feel your insides losing temperature from the icy water.

You saw him walking your way, and even if you tried to forget, you could see his face in so many details. From his freckles that you had always admired to the dark look that filled his eyes as he came closer

You knew there was no use in running, but you still did, not wanting to confront him, having avoided doing so for as long as you can now remember. But all it did was pull you back into the forest. 

He came from the same district as you, he had said you reminded him of his little sister, and he had offered a pact. You still weren't sure why, you didn't have much to offer him. But now you guess it must have been his own memories, his own innocence wanting to help the girl that you made him think of, made him think there was still good left in him. And so you accepted, and in a way, you were grateful, because you never would have won without him, but the turmoil that stuck with you was heartbreaking. Maybe it would have been easier if it had all been over then.

He was still walking towards you, and even though he wasn't saying a word, you could tell what was going on inside his head. You could see it by the way he walked, how his arms stayed tightly next to his body. You could even hear him yelling at you in your head.

You walked backwards until you hit one of the trees. You started calling out for help, even though you were fully aware no one would come. There was no one else left. You screamed, asking for someone to help you, and the fear made your voice shiver. You knew it was the fear this time. Your body had stopped shaking from the cold after a few days. You had thought that was it, your body had given up, the cold finally having overpowered it.

You stood up, scrambling to your feet. For once, you felt warm again, you felt the blood dilating your vessels, but you knew better than to get hope. You have seen this. You had seen this in other tributes. Your body making a last attempt to warm you up, giving you a boost of power right before it would all be over. In a way you were grateful, it would finally be over. You didn't even want to win anymore, you just wanted to be warm. 

But your instincts still told you to run, and with the extra energy coursing through you, you did. 

You ran to the frozen lake, to where it had all begun, it was the only thing you could think of to go to. You ran, you ran until could no longer even feel your legs moving. He followed behind you, of course he did. He was close behind, but you were smaller, you were leaner, and you might not have as much stamina, but when it came to a fast sprint you could only just outrun him. You didn't even watch where you were going anymore. The more you ran, the colder you started to feel again. You wanted to stop, to not lose any more. To keep this little bit you had been given, but you weren't sure it would even stay if you did. 

The trees started to disappear, and before you knew it, you were on the lake. When you had first gotten here, the lake had seemed peaceful, tranquil. But now, it was nothing short of a battlefield. The bodies might have been taken away, but the blood still stained the ice, and the axes and spears still stuck out of it like weeds disturbing the carefully crafted landscape. 

You ran as far as your fleeting body could carry you. You felt it before you saw it. Ice freezing cold. This was it, this was the end. It wasn't a haven to be at peace, it was even colder than you had been. Your clothes were clinging to your body like the blankets of snow you had first noticed. Your hair was stuck to your forehead and your neck. 

You remember in the beginning, when you would run, and you would sweat. It was the first time you had carefully appreciated it in your life, the warm droplets gracing your skin. But not anymore, if your body even had the energy to sweat, it was cold, it stuck to you like the first rain of autumn. The brisk wind in combination only making you shiver more. 

So you opened your eyes, if this was the end you had hoped for, you didn't want it anymore. You opened your eyes and focused on your senses. You saw the lake, but it had risen. You had fallen in it. You looked around you and saw the cracks in the frozen surface. 

The fights, the violence, it hadn't just taken a toll on you. The ice was suffering just as much. It was hard to see from the snow that covered it, but from where you were, you could see it from the footsteps that had disturbed it. You looked behind you, and you saw him again. He had seen you fall in, and halted. You could see relief come over him. Relief that he wouldn't be the one to have to kill you, that the water would do it for him. You almost felt bad for him, he hadn't wanted any of this either. And if you had been in his situation, you weren't sure you wouldn't have done the same thing. 

But the water was your friend, at least it used to be. 

In your district, you grew up surrounded by it. Going to the sea in the summer, swimming until the sun went down. You remember you used to get so cold when it disappeared and you were left on the beach alone. But now you longed for it. 

So you swam, you swam until you felt your hands meet the solid surface of ice again. You had been light before you came here, the lack of food taking a toll on everyone you know, but it was worse now. The only thing you knew how to get was fish. You knew how to fish, but anything else you had counted on was not there. There were no berries on trees, there were no plants that could survive in this environment. And so your frame had become even slimmer. Your arms were trembling as you tried to lift yourself. You weren't sure if you would manage. This couldn't be the end. If it ended like this, your body would float away in the water like the ice that was floating on it, and you would always be cold. 

With a surge of motivation, you lifted yourself onto the surface and as soon as you did you fell down on your back. You looked up, thinking you had done it, you could rest now. You looked up at the sky, the sun was there, but you didn't trust it anymore. 

You heard something else move, and it made your head snap up. He was still there. 

He considered his steps, he couldn't reach you from where he was. But it was just the two of you, and something had to give. So he walked around the hole you had fallen into. He traced around it. He stood in the footsteps that had already been placed in the snow. 

But you didn't care anymore. You had gotten yourself out of the water, and you laid your head back down, looking back at the sun. Trying to recall the memories it held. But you couldn't feel it anymore, you couldn't feel the radiating heat. So you made peace with being cold, at least it would be over soon. 

If he had left you be, your body probably would have given up before his did. But he wanted it to be over too, he didn't want to wait any longer. He took another step, and you could hear the crack that echoed through the empty space. You looked at him, and you saw him realising his mistake as it happened. The footsteps had looked like a path, but really, they were weak spots. The steps had caused the ice strain, and it had decided it had had enough.

The cracking sound continued, until you could see the ice start to get lopsided. It started to slide towards the open water you had fallen into. You could see his eyes plead, he had convinced himself he had already won, and he was watching all his hopes disappear with one shift of snow. He fell in the water, but he wasn't friends with it. He trashed and tried to move forward, but his body was too broad, and all it did was exhaust him further. You wanted to reach out for him, to help him. You knew the cold that engulfed the water and you didn't want him to die that way. But all it would do was drag you in with him, and you found yourself watching. You watched him as his head sank under, you kept watching as if he'd come back out. You watched until you heard the last canon. 

It made you feel even colder. You thought it was over. But you could feel your heart stop, it didn't stop beating, it stopped giving you warmth. The last piece you had, had sunken down with him. Your head was filled with panic. You would never feel warm again, you don't think your body knew how to anymore, and your mind was too frozen over to even try. And just as you felt your heart slow down, just as you thought you would die in this permanent state of despair, you heard a voice calling out to you

It sounded familiar, but you couldn't place it. It felt like a star calling to you, telling you to follow it into the sky, to fly, to be free, free of this fear.

It told you to wake up.

Before you knew it the smell of pine left you, being replaced with a mix of sea salt and jasmine, it smelt like home

You felt someone shaking you lightly, and you realised the smell wasn't bound to your surroundings, but the person that was next to you.

"Sweetheart, you need to wake up, you keep shaking." He told you in a sleepy, but still gentle voice.

As you started to get a better concept of your environment, you realised that in your distraught state, you had woken him up.

"I didn't mean to wake you I'm sorry, I know you haven't been sleeping well lately." You said, guilt already entering your mind.

"Hey, look at me, don't you dare apologise" He looked at you as if your worry pained him, and you couldn't stop the next words from leaving you.

"I'm scared I'll never be warm again Finnick" You started to cry, and he took you into his arms.

"If you're having nightmares, I will stay up with you until the sun rises again." He smiled down at you. And that's when you realized, he wasn't a star in the sky, he was the sun, he was your sun. His smile warmed you, and his arms around you made you believe again. He was your sun, and as long as you had him, he would warm you.

#finnick odair fic #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x y/n #finnick odair x you #finnick x reader #finnick x y/n #finnick x you #finnick angst #finnick odair angst #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair fanfic #finnick fanfic #hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #finnick fluff #finnick imagine #finnick odair imagine #angst #fluff

[public-trans-it]

Fighters should have magic

I mean this shit 100% seriously BTW.

An impassioned rant about Fighters' place in modern campaigns.

There is certainly an argument to be made for sometimes not giving Fighters access to magic! In a low magic setting like Dark Sun (yes, I know the magic situation in that setting is more complicated than that), it makes perfect sense that Fighters wouldn't go anywhere near the stuff! In some of the more old school low fantasy focused DnD editions, or some OSR systems, it makes sense that magic would require years of practice for even the most basic of spells, and so Fighters wouldn't bother with it.

That is not, however, the bulk of modern campaigns. Be it DnD, or Pathfinder, or so many other fantasy heartbreakers out there nowadays, most campaigns are fantastical, filled with wonderous magic and queer tieflings and rogues who literally cloak themselves in shadows and jumping between planes to save the world and so much more!

In these campaigns, Fighters should know magic!

If your setting is even close to treating magic as commonplace, where having a level 1 wizard under the age of a billion fucking years old is considered within the realm of feasibility, than EVERYONE should have access to magic!

Any adventurer in such a setting who decided to start a life of wilderness exploration, and DIDN'T learn the spell Prestidigitation, is nothing short of monster bait. "Oh yes this spell that starts campfires and cleans my clothes and seasons my food and is THE MOST BASIC SPELL IN EXISTENCE certainly isn't worth my time!" - The words of someone about to get eaten by a coyote on their first night. Not even a fun magical creature, just a regular ass coyote because they are THAT unprepared. Even if it wasn't a cantrip and required 5 minutes of focus to cast, every adventurer should know this spell by heart.

But obviously, that isn't unique to just Fighters.

Fighters are focused on being masters of weaponry! They study the blade, learn it inside and out! They don't have time for magic... right?

No. They don't have time to learn SPELLS. That you could absolutely make an argument for. A fighter doesn't have to learn to shoot a fireball, because that's not how they fight. Not knowing magic that augments their fighting style, in a setting where magic is commonplace, is equivalent to that fighter going "Oh I'm too busy to learn to fight with weapons. I dont have time to learn to sharpen one properly." THAT IS ASININE. WHAT REASON DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE FOR IGNORING A SKILL DIRECTLY LINKED TO THEIR CHOSEN PROFESSION? Spells like True Strike are things a fighter would learn! But even if not spells, magical augmentation to their skill are something a Fighter would absolutely embrace! Anything that helps them further the effectiveness of their weapons should be fair game for their practice. Even if it worked like Paladins or Rangers where you typically just don't get the spells until higher levels.

And the games already reflect this! What do Fighters need to maintain damage pacing and ability as they grow stronger? That's right. Magic. In the form of Magic Weapons and Armor.

Magic armaments are considered commonplace in these settings, being handed out like candy. They are an expected part of character progression, and the games are balanced around the expectation that a fighter will be using them. So why, then, is the master of weapons and all they embody completely ignorant on the front of magical weapons?

Sure, a fighter might not be able to craft magic weapons. Not every fighter has to be a blacksmith. But much like how it should be expected that a fighter should be able to at least MAINTAIN their weapons, a fighter should absolutely be trained in the kinds of magic that are APPLIED to weapons. A fighter should be able to take a single glance at a weapon in a chest, and turn to the party and go "Hey this thing is cursed as fuck, don't touch it."

In worlds that are so fantastical and magical, it does not make sense to have a guy who's whole deal is knowing how to fight, and have him completely ignore A MASSIVE segment of fighting styles they will be going up against.

If your setting is magical, then your Fighters should be magical too, damnit!

#text essay #ttrpg

[sanjifucker42069]

Stuck - Zoro x Reader

Word Count: around 2700

Haha….I've never written Zoro. This will probably be a bit shit.  Oh well. If you see a spelling/grammatical error, no you didn't. It's 2am lmao.

Warnings: NSFW MDNI, you get stuck in a wall, reader has a vagina. P in V baby, stuck in a wall, sorta dubcon, some light spanking, established relationship. My normal blend of Reader being a dipshit, (you're submissive tho this time so that's something).

Zoro was lost. Again. He didn't get it. Everyone was exploring some ruins they'd found. He'd seen you wandering off, claiming you had seen an animal they could catch and eat. It made no sense. You should be around here somewhere, right? 

Wait, didn't he pass that column already? Fuck.

The swordsman roamed some more, finding himself at some minor ruined building. It was a wreck. Only two walls stood standing, with remains of a third smashed against them, debris strewn about. There was hardly anything left, nature having collected everything else. All he could see was the pale cream crumbling bricks, the dirt floor, tufts of grass, and the rear of a human, legs bent and hanging from a hole in the wall.

A human?

No. That was you. 

Zoro would recognise that ass anywhere.

"Babe, any reason you're crawling through the dirt." You mumbled something unintelligible. "Wha?"

Zoro really had a way with words.

"I'm stuck." Your voice was louder this time.

Zoro laughed. "Stuck? How the fuck did you get stuck?"

"I tried chasing that stupid animal! I was gonna catch it, but…it dove through this hole. I was sure I'd fit!"

"You got tricked by some kinda fucked up squirrel?" Zoro was shamelessly staring at your ass, highly amused at your predicament.

“Will you shut the fuck up and help me out you asshole?” You snapped, trying desperately to pull yourself out.

Zoro felt his throat go dry. Your weak attempts at escape looked downright sinful from his view. He watched with rapt fascination as you bucked your hips, curving your back deliciously, the way your hips snapped forward and back, a desperate attempt to get free. All it did was jiggle your thick thighs and make your skirt flutter around your ass, the fabric rising and falling with your frantic attempts.

Fuck.

"Zoro?" Your voice pitched up, terrified he'd abandoned you. You tried to twist your position, all that did was flip your skirt up. A blush rose on your cheeks. You squirmed harder, trying to get the fabric to fall back down.

Fuck! 

Zoro choked back a groan, eyes landing on your white panties. The chaste cut and untouched cotton somehow looked more lewd than possible. Zoro felt his brow tic as he took in how the fabric stretched deliciously over your ass. Your struggling shifted the garment, pulling it obscenely tight and digging into you. If he truly focused he swore he could see your folds, the thin fabric clinging to and highlighting the form below it. Were you trying to kill him?

"Zoro, you didn't leave did you? You motherfucker! When I get out of here I'm gonna kick your fucking ass so help me-" 

Hands settled on your hips, thumbs digging into your hip bones deliciously. You froze deathly still. Terror plunged your heart into your stomach, the feeling of burning static clawing at your lungs. A low voice grumbled behind you, clicking his tongue.

“You’re being a brat for someone who can’t defend themselves. I’m right here.”

All at once the fear you felt subsided. You knew you would be safe. You breathed out a sigh of relief.

"Ah, my hero! Baby I knew you'd never leave m- whathehellareyoudoing?!"

The way you flipped your attitude brought a grin to the swordsman’s face. Zoro began trying to pull you out, his large hands branding fingerprints into your hips. He heaved, pulling you harshly. Ow! Fucking ape! He really couldn’t be more delicate with you, could he? You clenched your fists and braced yourself. Despite his tugging, there was no movement towards escape, just the feeling of you being slingshotted back and forth in the few centimetres of leeway you had.

The noises that tumbled out of the mouth were driving Zoro insane. You were whining and huffing, the protests sounding obscene out of context. Flailing, trying desperately to get purchase, your legs periodically kicking out, jutting with the escape attempts. Fuck, the way that you couldn’t even ground your feet, suspended in the air! As it was you were on your tiptoes, at such an angle where it was obvious they were barely skimming the hard earth below you.

Fuck.

Zoro was definitely hard now.

He felt disgusted with himself. It’d be so easy to just touch you. You couldn’t fight back, he could just take you. Shit, he could probably just slide straight in. Would you like it? Would you clench deliciously against him? What was wrong with him?

Zoro cleared his throat. “Hey.”

“Do you think I’m stuck here?”

“Nah.” He rasped out. “Nah, we’ll get you out. Wanna try something?”

The moss haired man didn’t wait for you to ask what, he trailed his hands to caress your thighs. He dipped his thumbs inwards, the digits dragging down your inner thigh with a featherlight touch. You immediately responded, thighs quivering beneath his touch. He heard you suck in a breath.

“Are you serious Zoro?! Now?” Your voice came out as a hiss. Zoro immediately felt himself grow defensive.

“If you were seeing what I was seeing, you’d want to too.”

Silence. Ugh, Zoro hated when it got awkward like this. He opened his mouth to apologise.

“Fine.”

What.

What did you mean ‘fine’? Zoro frowned. Could you be more vague? The swordsman became aware of his hands still clasped around your spread thighs, the way your skin had goosebumps. Interesting. When the silence showed no sign of being broken you groaned.

“Fine Zoro! I’m not gonna beg. Do what you want, just…” Your voice trailed off, hesitating on what to say. “Make it quick, and make it worth my while.”

That forced a light chuckle from Zoro. He resumed trailing his hands up and down your thighs, relishing in how you whimpered.

“I don’t think you’re in the position to be making demands, babe.”

Zoro was not a man for properness, or waiting, or being appropriate really. He tore your panties down your legs, letting them hang lewdly around your ankles. You squealed in surprise and embarrassment, snapping your legs shut and teetering from the lack of balance. The underwear fell to the ground, wet and ruined. You bobbed back and forth, a perverse see-saw. You felt mortified at the situation.

You squirmed, knees glued together and ankles flared apart. It was obvious you were trying to hide yourself. Zoro watched with amusement at how you clenched your asscheeks and tilted your hips down. It was, of course, hardly of any use. Your entire ass was completely on display, and Zoro was getting impatient at only being able to see half your puffy lips. He clamped his hands just above your knees, loving how you jumped at the feeling. He saw you clench. 

Right.

Zoro pried your legs apart, perverse satisfaction flooding him as more and more of you became exposed. You rewarded him with a loud squeal, followed by a ramble of something. Zoro wasn’t really listening. No offence, but he had much more pressing things to attend to than your embarrassed whining. You were already slick with juices, glistening appetisingly. Your pussy was clenching around nothing, no doubt caused by your embarrassment and the cool air that hit it. Poor thing.

He could warm you up.

Zoro dragged a finger up your slit. You whined, shivering beneath him. He prodded and petted at you, grinning at the lewd noises that fell from your mouth. Sliding his fingers back up, he pulled back to one finger, sliding his first finger around your hole, picking up your essence and tickling you. Experimentally, he slipped a finger in. You cursed. He pulled out, immediately causing you to whine.

A smirk. Good.

Zoro wasted no time, plunging his two middle fingers into your pretty pussy. He knew you could take it. The squeal that rewarded him brought a smirk to his face. He quirked the fingers upwards, watching as your ass jiggled when you squirmed, a moan escaping. Zoro resumed his work, languidly rocking his large fingers in and out of you with one hand. With the other he harshly grabbed your asscheek, squeezing and groping it. Your symphony of sinful noises spurning him on. He kneaded the flesh, relishing as you squealed when he pulled at you, spreading you fully for him.

“Stop that!” You ordered weakly, trying to angle your hips away. Zoro laughed, the way you tried to sound intimidating was cute. 

“Sounds like you still haven’t realised the problem you're in.” You could hear the smirk in your lover’s voice, causing you to bristle. Zoro removed the hand on your ass

“It’s embarrassing!”

Swat!

“Zoro what the fuck!? AH!”

Swat!

Your complaint pitched up into a surprised whine as he spanked you. Not too hard, he didn’t want to hurt you, just enough to get what he wanted. Zoro felt a bead of apprehension, technically he had never bought that up before. Did you hate it? Your body answered for you, Zoro’s eyes widening at how you lightly fucked yourself on his fingers, desperate for anything. 

Oh.

Zoro rubbed at your ass, soothing where he’d swatted. With the hand that was pleasuring you, he snaked his large thumb up, prodding at your clit as a reward. You startled, gasping at the addition. He resumed pleasuring you, fingers pumping and thumb working circles into your nub, You whined and moaned, praises tumbling from your lips. Zoro’s fingers began to cause a squelching sound with their ministrations as you throbbed around him, the two of you both taken aback. Shit, you were really enjoying this. Zoro stilled, completely in awe.

“Z-Zoro? Come on! Do something! Anyth-”

Thwack!

“SHIT!”

The way you clenched around his fingers had him salivating. Shit, shit, he needed to be in you now. He removed his fingers from you. You whined at the loss, trying to chase him with your hips. 

Zoro couldn't get his pants down quick enough, fingers clawing at the fabric like they were on fire. Worst still, you were whining in front of him, goading him into acting sloppier than he'd like to.

"Baby! Zoro!" No response, your cute act dropped. Zoro, meanwhile, had finally got his thick cock free, letting the garment pool at his feet. "C'mon dude that isn't cool! I am going to bite your arm off when I get outta he-"

Zoro rolled his eyes, hands back on your hips. You were so fucking overdramatic sometimes. The protests died out at his touch, bringing a grin to his face. You wiggled your hips, clearly having caught on.

Unfortunately, you really were mouthy.

"Oh shit! Did you…have you got your cock out? You gonna fuck me? Fuck yeah!"

Zoro groaned. 

"I'm starting to wish I was on the other side, if just to shut you up."

"Hurry up and fuck me man!" Your offended gasp and annoyed bite managed to earn a small laugh. "I heard that chuckle, asshole! Made you laugh. Gotta fuck me now, pirate's law."

Swat!

A little spank, hardly any heat. You laughed. Zoro supposed he was glad you were enjoying this, shaking his head at your silliness. He lined himself up, dragging his cock down your slit to prepare himself, coating himself in your juices. You shivered.

"Ready."

Zoro didn't wait for you to say something absolutely stupid and ruin the vibe. He pushed in, relishing in how you stilled and sucked in a breath. You were left dizzy by both the pressure of the intrusion and the hot groan you heard from him. He stilled when he bottomed out, a deep grunt escaping. Zoro let you adjust, cringing at the feeling of you clenching and unclenching around him. That certainly couldn't have felt good for you. You moaned.

Huh.

Maybe it did.

"P-please move Zo." 

Well, Zoro guess he always knew one way to make you quieter.

He began a slow pace, deep thrusts forcing your hips to slap against the sides of the hole you were stuck in. He tried to keep up the slow pace, really he did, but you were clenching around him so hard, he could hear you muttering curses, trying to push your hips back to set a faster pace.

Who was he to deny you?

"Tch. Brat. You're gonna have no one to blame but yourself if I hurt you." Zoro warned, a breathy laugh rewarding him.

"Yeah? I'm falling asleep over here. Speed it up sword-boy."

Zoro growled, setting a pace that made you see stars. You moaned, amusement audible. He grabbed at your ass roughly. With a bruising grip, he fucked into you hard and fast. 

"Do you have to, hah, be so…hah…" Zoro groaned through breaths.

"Annoying?" You panted. "Only for you babe."

Zoro wanted you to crumble. He wanted you to feel as affected as he did. (You were just as affected, of course. You were just a little shit.) He began attacking your clit with one of his hands roughly, thumb massaging the bundle of nerves. The squeal of pleasure and surprise that rewarded him flooded his ego. You clenched down on him, constricting him.

"Fuck Zo! Shit! C'mon, please say you're close?" A grunt. "Fuck! Good! Can I cum? Wanna cum on your cock. Please baby!"

Your filthy whines spurned him to rut into you harder. You blanched, you didn't even think he could go harder. His movements on your clit became clumsy, clear he was caught up in his own pleasure. Oh, he was close. You knew his tells by now. So when you felt him lean forward, trying to get more skin against skin, you clenched. Hard. A fucked out grin stretched your cheeks at the curses you heard. Zoro swatted at your ass, harder than other attempts. Fucking bastard! You moaned at the pleasurable sting. 

At once you felt the thumb back on your clit, still clumsy, but trying to pleasure you. Your legs shook. You were so close.

So close.

Zoro felt his balls become painfully tight.

So close.

"Be a good slut. Cum on my cock (name)."

You gasped at his vulgar request. Zoro wasn't one to use your name often, preferring nicknames or just 'babe'. The use of your name sent you wild. The tether snapping, white filling your vision.

Zoro felt you clamp down hard before you began spasming around him. He keened. Fuck. He hurtled over the edge, cumming deep into you. His hands must hurt you, the iron grip on your hips desperate. He felt his seed shoot from him, painting your walls. Like after an explosion his senses dampened. All he could hear was  a high whine. Yours, he assumed. His senses were dull, pleasure overriding him. You were milking him for everything he had, the spasming pressure almost too much. Fuck. 

The swordsman slumped forward,resting his chest against the wall above you. He greedily sucked in gasps, trying to get his breath back. Senses coming back, he could hear you panting, trying to regain your bearings.

A comfortable silence, save for your combined breaths, filled the area. Zoro cringed as he pulled his softened cock out of you, the drag overstimulating, and he heard you wince. He began redressing quickly, and within moments was decent.

You, on the other hand, were not. Cum was leaking out of your abused hole. Zoro wished he could take a picture, keep it with him forever. Instead, he tried to commit the view to memory. Fuck. That was hot.

"Can you let me out now."

Zoro groaned. 

He took your fallen panties with one hand, and lightly lifted one of your feet with the other. Quietly he redressed you, feeling a perverted smirk as he pulled the underwear back over your ass, the cum sticking to the fabric. Eh, you could get clean when he got you out. Was definitely hot to see you, with his cum leaking out of you, so full that is was spilling out of the legholes of your underwear. If you weren't careful on the walk back it would gush down your thighs, obvious you were his. 

Fuck.

Now was not the time. He pulled your skirt back down and took a step back. 

Hmm. 

"Zoro?"

"Yeah, hang on. Let me think. What if I try to just…punch a bigger hole in the wall?"

You sighed. You were going to die here.

#zoro x reader #zoro roronoa x reader #one piece x reader #one piece smut #smut #lmAO ZORO IS SO HARD TO WRITE??? #anyway...bone apple teeth

[judasgot-it]

There Was Only One Bed

"We tend to get into these situations a lot, now, don't we? Shouldn't the hotel managers have known better at this point?"

Kaldo Gehenna Ver. Here

You and Orter had some sort of curse that had kept you working together for over two years now. Always, without fail, he would end up needing your help - last time it had been a flying mantacor, this time it was a violent unicorn who someone was keeping illegally in their home.

He can stop a violent beast from killing civilians but he couldn't stop property damage appearntly. That was too much work for him, it was just a 'clean up job' for a big and important guy like him. After all, he's the Desert Cane. That job was for the poor.

And for you.

You ran and kicked the back, watching him fold like a chair. He barely gave a shout, he merely stumbled and fell, his palms and knees scrapping against the cobblestone against your feet.

A laugh escaped you. Small revenge for that comment earlier.

”I'm about ready for a nap, I don't know about you.“

You stood over him, watching him search for his glasses. He was practically blind, his hand waving in the air as he searched for his lenses.

He looked pitiful, if only he hadn't said such a rude thing about your job earlier. But you gave him pity anyway, handing him his glasses back and watching as his eyes reappeared, giving you the meanest glare he ever had.

”What are you, an animal?“

He said this as he was still sitting on the ground, truly proper behavior from a stuck up who cared about the rules.

”No. But it's funny and you deserved it.“

You smiled, your face splitting apart in a shit eating grin.

“I don't think people deserve to be kicked.”

“They do when they insult others. You should try it sometime.”

Standing up, you offered your hand. Surprisingly he accepted it, pulling your down if only a little on purpose.

His grip was strong. It felt like he was trying to squeeze your bones out of your hand, and as if he were trying to pull you down with him. Payback.

"Let's go. I booked us rooms so we don't have to travel all night."

He stalked forward, walking ahead of you. There was a rush to catch up, your smaller steps having to leap in order to match up with his strides. He didn't acknowledge it, just nodding and continuing his pace.

What an asshole.

"How far is the inn?"

"Close. I'm not telling you."

Orter kept walking, his eyes focused on the path ahead of you.

"What? Why."

He scoffed, reaching around to flick your forehead. You dodged the onslaught, swatting his hand away.

"You would just kick me and try to get there first. Seriously, you don't have any respect for social decency."

Huffing, you tried to kick him again - your foot only made it halfway there until it was encased in a prison of sand.

Orter looked back at you, adjusting his glasses as his yellow eyes focused on your form. You could swear he was smirking, but it was wiped away in a second - maybe it was the glare you were sending him, who knew.

"Maybe you really are just an animal."

"Or maybe you're just an asshole!"

Stupidly, you pulled out your wand in hopes to cast a small spell at him. It was pointless, seeing as he had you disarmed with his stupid sand.

"You know we're in public, right? This just looks bad on your part."

Orter scoffed, letting you languish in his pile of inescapable sand if only for a little while longer. He reached over, gently hitting his knuckles against your head as he tried to physically knock some sense into you.

"Ow! What the hell!"

"I'm doing you a favor."

He gave a couple more knocks, as if it would make sure that you had some sense knocked into your head. You groaned, rolling your eyes as you felt his knuckles travel across your face, from your brow down to your cheekbones.

"What are you doing?"

You felt your face flush as his eyes traced your figure, golden eyes analyzing your form - it made you feel naked, and you could only escape by averting your gaze. His small huff of amusement made the feeling worse, your cheeks warming underneath his touch.

"Checking to see if you really have a brain underneath that skull. Seems like it's there, but I'm not sure."

There was no chance to retort as he dropped you roughly on the ground, leaving you to sputter and choke on offensive insults while he walked away, heading towards the hotel.

What an asshole.

-

This was a nightmare.

"Just take the bed, I'm not planning on sleeping anyway."

Orter looked at you with a straight face as he said this, pulling out a novel the hotel provided and tucking himself in a corner, as if that would be comfortable enough to be there for eight hours.

"Absolutely not. We can share, can't we?"

The bed was big enough for the two of you - maybe if you squeezed in, but you both paid for it, and it would be impossible to sleep knowing that there would be a man in the corner killing his neck while you laid down comfortably all night.

"I'm the man here. It's only proper that I allow the lady to take the bed."

"Excuse me? Are you really pulling that card right now?"

You took one of the pillows off of the bed, throwing it at the man. He seemed unphased, used to your outbursts.

What the hell was that about? Was he really going to treat you differently just because you were a girl?

"It's just the rules. I don't make them."

"Doesn't mean you have to follow them, ass!"

You slapped another pillow at his face. There was a struggle as he caught it, pushing you towards the bed and trying to subdue you - it had already turned late into the night, and your shouting was most likely disturbing the other guests.

It didn't matter to you. Orter deserved to be embarrassed.

Flipped him over, you tried to shove the plush cotton pillow over his face, struggling against his force. You felt him shift underneath you, his arms blocking your assault and preventing you from playfully suffocating him.

Your defense had been weak, perhaps too playful against your opponent. It was swiftly that he had worked to subdue you, his palm pressing against your shoulder while his knees worked against you, pinning you down against the soft bed.

The pillow was forgotten, with Orter merely staring down at you with his wasp-like eyes.

"This is rather improper of you-"

Growling, you threw your hand up, not really aiming for anything. It was with a shock that you felt your palm connect with his nose, and his weight fall against you as he took the hit on his face.

It was a moment later that blood began to drip down, making you cringe at the moment.

"Oh gods, I'm sorry."

Orter sat up, his hand attempting to cover the blood that began to drip from his nose. It was futile as it fell onto your shirt - the feeling was unpleasant, but you ignored it in favor of overwhelming guilt.

"Here. Um..."

There was nothing to aid him, besides your already soiled shirt. You handed the fabric to him, taking his bloody hands away from his face and trying to stop the bleeding that you caused.

He glanced at you, batting his dark eyelashes as he tilted his head down and ruined your shirt further. The fabric pulled against your ribcage as you both held it in place - at this point, it would be easier to take it off and hand it to him.

"fhanks."

"Thank you. For ruining my shirt."

"Is' nod my fauld' thad you hid' me." Orter's words were muffled by the shirt, and it was with a horrible ruttering sound, like an old rusty engine, that he tried to breathe in through his clouded and bloody nostrils.

Still ruining your shirt.

"You deserved it!" You deflected like it was breathing, "You're an asshole, manhandling me like that."

Drawing the fabric over your head, you shoved it in his face the best you could, still feeling his weight pinning you down at your hips. You would kick him if you could, but clearly, he had planned for this, not having moved from his position on top of you.

It took a moment to sink in the mistake you made, making eye contact with the man as he stared at you - making great effort to stay on your face and not look anywhere else.

He got off of you quickly, looking to the side and avoiding looking at you as if you had the plague. For once, you didn't shove his face for his perceived misdeed, instead taking the opportunity to cover your chest with the forgotten pillow, staring as Orter sat on the farthest edge of the bed, his warmth now sorely missed.

It had now gotten colder as it moved on in the night, no thanks to also having lost a shirt. There was nothing to say about that, as you would have to get up in order to get your day clothes - exposing yourself further to the man.

"Don't look at me." There was a crack in your voice as you said this, but you hoped that he would have been too distracted to really care about your state.

He glanced at you. The usual dull look on his face was painted red, his eyes wide as he turned away again, finding the floor much more interesting.

For once, he was speechless. No annoying taunts or a lecture about society - it was as if seeing your chest made him silent for once in his life.

Silently, he got up, his eyes still trailed downward. It was an awkward few minutes as you debated between getting up while shirtless and he struggled with forcing his bloody nose away with a pure force of will.

Despite being a double-liner, the man hadn't learned any spells to dispel such a pesty and annoying problem. How unfortunate.

It wasn't until a shirt was thrust into you direction were you broken out of your thoughts.

"Here. Sorry, just," Orter placed the shirt on your lap, turning to look back at the wall again as fast as he could "Take mine."

There was a long moment of silence.

It was a nice gesture. And you did feel bare, even underneath the pillow.

But this was Orter's shirt.

"Thanks. Um...we should go to sleep now."

You threw it on, trying your hardest to not focus on anything as you tried your best to straighten the fabric around you best you could. The shoulders were too large for your frame, making the buttoned collar fall too low on your skin.

It was better than nothing. At least you weren't forced to wear your dirtied shirt, which you assumed was somewhere off on the floor at the moment.

Silently, you forced yourself to lay down, going through the motions as you pushed the pillow underneath your head.

There was no body lying next to you. Instead, there was light breathing just below - it seemed like the asshole was still stubborn.

"Orter. I said we can share."

"I'd rather not. It's improper."

"I am literally wearing your shirt, what could possibly be more improper?"

"Sharing a bed."

You groaned, frustrated.

"Shut up, virgin."

That got the man up, unlike any other insult you had said. He crawled up onto the bed silently, his form dropping itself with a huff down onto the soft mattress.

"You are insufferable."

"Now that is improper."

The lights in the room went off, and you felt a light smack against your face.

"You should sleep."

"I am, Orter."

"Right."

His hand went up, feeling your face, as if to physically check for signs of your rest. His fingers trailed up and down your skin, tracing your nose and cheeks gently in the dark.

You could feel his thumb caressing your lips, as if you weren't still awake.

What a strange, strange man.

Anon asked for either or but I thought I could make it funny with Orter since he seems like such a rule guy. The vision is here. No confession and reader is kinda a tsundere cause idk...the vibes match.

Hope y'all enjoyed it. This is for my Valentine's event, it's still open and has slots open. go. ask away. do what you please.

#mashle x reader #orter madl x reader #orter madl #theres like no tags.... #anyway did this take forever to write? yea #sowwy.... #judas valentines event

[kanmom51]

Moment of clarity (?)

Just sitting here watching Jikook song edits, cause I'm missing the hell out of those two, and couldn't help but think how stupid and futile all the accusations and claims and ensuing discussions about one's reaction to the other, or one's behaviour to the other or any kind of interaction they had that didn't suit what fans (usually solos on either side of the picture) expected of them. You know what I mean. All those judgy claims and comments about how JK reacts or treats JM and vise versa, same about JM 'forcing' himself on JK or the likes of that.

How dumb those people look (and should feel as well if they only had a sliver of common sense) right now.

Inserting themselves into a relationship (whatever form it may have had) to know what these two people were all about, their interactions, their reactions towards each other, without truly knowing them, without seeing anything but a few recorded seconds (all while ignoring not only many other recorded moments but also what they themselves say about each other and to each other).

But you see, this isn't something new to me, and I did address it when answering mostly annoying asks (something I haven't been doing for some time now seeing just how futile it is - you cannot convince the inconvincible).

No.

The reason I had this specific moment of clarity while watching them was because things have changed.

Well, changed since those two have made it as clear as can be that they want and need each other's proximity.

That they will do whatever it takes to not only enlist at the same time, but to do so together. To spend their entire service together. 24/7. Together. Knowing EXACTLY what and how it looks like. Knowing EXACTLY what people (so many of them) will think, even if some will not say it out loud or spell it out. No other member did this with another, and neither of them did it with any other member, how ever close we know them to be. Because no one is closer to them than they are to each other!!

And why don't we add to that, them going on a trip together just before enlistment, to Japan, you know, that same destination they went to back in November 2017. The same trip they both could not stop telling us about.

Yeah, I know there's a travel show coming (which we have no clue what will look like - if vlog-like or actual Bon Voyage style or something in between), and most of what they do could be explained away (and that's the point, they are clever that way), but let's be real here for a sec. The show, it's a very clever way to kill two birds with one stone. Literally. Getting to travel together before enlistment (I can assure you that 90% of what they got up to we will not be seeing, and they travelled first and utmost because they wanted to travel and do it together, and anyone who claims otherwise, that this was forced in some way on one or both of them is an idiot, well they probably also believe that they enlisted together against their wills) all while under the guise of doing it for work, and at the same time creating content to be released while they are away. It's a win win, or like I said, two birds one stone.

So yeah, their travelling will be in a show, but they travelled together because they wanted to travel together and not because there was content to be made. Content being the bi product of their genius idea of guising their trip as work...

Bottom line, point I wanted to make here with all of this is that those dissecting every single moment between them miss the whole picture. It's not about this moment or another. It's about what they bring together as a big picture, one that they have been telling us and showing us for years now. And if we didn't see or hear it before, well they made sure we would now.

Because being together during these 18 months was more important to them than hiding who they are and what they mean to each other.

Fuck the consequences (and fuck the haters too - JM literally said it in SMF pt. 2)...

#Jikook #kookmin #minkook #jimin #jm #jungkook #jk

[wolfiesmoon]

HELLOOOO!!!

I like, just read your work, and I SUPER DUPER LOVE IT!!!!

(very slay)

So like, I'm so happy you're doing requests!

Could I do a request for a jealous Lilia Vanrouge? No problem if you don't do it fast, or even don't do it! No stress or pressure!

hahahah hiiiiiii!

idk why but i absolutely love ur vibes!! u seem so silly (very fitting for a lilia kisser)

i actually had a bit of trouble thinking about a plot for this, i don't see Lilia as the type to get seriously jealous (atleast not the current lilia, still in blissful ignorance abt book 7) so i made it a different, more silly type of jealous in the end

"Ahehehe, he's so pretty..." you smiled at your phone, sat on Lilia's bed at the moment. After coming to Twisted Wonderland and obtaining a phone, you realised that you have a whole new world to explore. A whole new world of otome games.

Recently, you've been obsessed with this one guy in one of the otome games you're playing. He's just perfect, and that's all that is to it.

On the other hand, your good friend Lilia has been feeling a strange sense of unsatisfaction whenever you talk about that fictional crush of yours.

He invited you over to his room with the intent to converse with you deep into the night but you're just rolling around on his bed and freaking out over a fictional character instead of gazing at him with interest as he talks about one of his travels.

Not that he blames you for getting so worked up over video games, no no. He himself finds a lot of enjoyement in playing them. They have an appeal, and he gets it. Though he hasn't experienced an otome game for himself yet.

But he still thinks that it is quite rude you are not talking to him right now. Not to mention the strange feeling that boils inside him when you giggle at your phone for the umpteenth time.

He'll have to gain your attention in the way he knows best.

He soundlessly climbs up on the bed behind you, making sure you didn't notice him before grabbing your shoulders from behind and playfully yelling "Boo!"

"Ack! Lilia!" You yelp, turning back to see Lilia laughing heartily at your reaction.

"Hahahaha, that was quite the reaction!" He seemed very pleased with himself.

"What was that for?" You furrowed your brows, pouting at him.

"Well, I invited you to my room so we can enjoy eachother's company, is all." A subtle invitation to start a conversation. His eyes travelled to your phone screen for a moment and he saw the fictional guy you're freaking out about.

Hm... he could probably do better. Atleast in his humble opinion.

"In a minute, in a minute... just gotta finish this chapter." You turned back to your phone with excitement shining in your eyes. Excitement that wasn't directed at him.

Oh, he sees how it is. He'll just have to win you back the hard way.

He casts a spell on your phone, making it float out of your hands. You tried to reach above you to catch it but it just kept floating higher and higher, just out of your reach.

"Lilia! Stop that!" You knew it was him doing it, mainly because he was laughing joyously, watching you jump around on the bed, trying to catch it.

"Oh, but I'm enjoying myself very much right now. Is it so wrong of me to have a bit of fun?" He smiled at you mischeviously. There was a glint of something you can't quite place shining behind his eyes.

"You seem oddly worked up." You comment, giving up on the phone for now and plopping back down on the bed.

"Whatever do you mean..?" Lilia acted innocent. While you were inspecting his face to find any suspicious expressions, he used magic to poof your phone away. There. Now there's no more distractions.

"Wait... my phone! What did you do to it?!" You realised it's gone a tad too late, head whipping around the room to try and find it.

"Kehehe, don't worry. I put it somewhere safe." Lilia assured you. Now you can focus all your attention on the one who's right in front of you, on him.

"O...kay? Why are you smirking evilly at me?" you were now especially suspicious of him.

He moved next to you on the bed, wrapping his right arm around you. He seemed awfully delighted when you looked at him in the eyes.

"Now, we can talk for hours. I have lots of things I want to find out about you." he punctuated the 'you' with a playful poke to your forehead.

"O...Oh, all right. What do you want to talk about?" you were still kind of processing the entire situation, but you were glad Lilia was in a talkative mood. Conversations with him are always enjoyable, even if you didn't get to finish that chapter you were really looking forward to.

"There, now I have you. I'll make it worth your time." he seemed very satisfied at the return of your interested gaze on him. Now he just has to make sure it stays on him for good.

#˗ˏˋ ★ ♡ 「Wolfie’s other works」 ♡ ★ ˎˊ˗ #twisted wonderland x you #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x yuu #twst x reader #twst x yuu #twst x you #twst x mc #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia vanrouge x you #lilia x yuu #lilia x reader #lilia x mc #lilia x you #gender neutral reader #fun fact i was originally gonna have him tackle you and then have silver walk in and be like “WTF DAD????”

[mulberrimouse]

Part 2!! Thank you guys for all the love and support on part 1 :)

Part 1 here!

Info and warnings!!: Friends to lovers, Andrew x FemReader, HEAVY smut (MEANING SEX) , non-scientific terms (such as cock and pussy, etc etc). Breeding kink and nipple play if you squint and tilt your head to the right a little. Making out, teasing, praise and devotion, and the fluffiest of fluffy aftercare.

This is my first time writing real smut in a long while so please be gentle! It'll be clunky and I don't really know how to use replacements for genitalia and whatnot.

Again, thank you so much and sorry for any grammar/spelling mistakes :3

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Andrew pulled you the rest of the way down the hall and got to your room. Your heart was pounding in your chest and you were pretty sure he could hear it. As soon as he had the door shut behind you, he grabbed your waist and shoved you against it, flooding your senses with the feel of his hands and the scent of cologne.

You felt butterflies at the familiar aroma. You've spent so long with it stuck in your house and even your sheets after letting him crash at your place. Everytime you breathed in around him, you felt your chest get warm at the smell. You felt heartache when it lingered around your house after he was gone.

You were pulled from your thoughts when Andrew spoke up.

"Are you okay, sweetheart? You seem distant."

You look up and see his worried expression and feel a pang at your heart. Sure, you definitely wanted him. You've spent months feeling almost ravenous at the mere thought of him. However, you really did love him.

"I'm alright Andy. Just a little overwhelmed is all."

He hummed and smiled before leaning down to kiss you, softer than he had all night. You smiled into his lips, causing him to smile. The both of you broke out in giggles and he backed up slightly, his hands loosening.

"You're sure you're okay, though? We don't have to do anything."

"Yes Andy, I'm alright. I just..." You trail off, suddenly bashful. You desperately want to tell him how happy you are, how relieved, but the sight of his messy hair and heaving chest are causing your brain to short circuit. Not to mention his hands still resting on your hips and his messy makeup. "I'm just very happy is all."

"I'm happy, too sweetheart. I can't tell you how long I've wanted this. We'll go slows alright? ... At least for now."

You nod and wrap your arms around his neck to pull him into you. As he kissed you, you felt dizzy and lovesick all over. He pulled you off of the door and led you over to your bed where he laid you down, lips not leaving yours even once.

When he pulled away, he giggled a little bit. You were confused and slightly mortified, wondering what could be making him laugh right now.

"What are you giggling about, Andy?"

"Oh nothing. It's just my face paint."

"What do you mean?"

He opened his mouth to speak but he quickly shut it, instead pulling out his phone and opening his camera. Before you could say anything, he snapped a picture and turned the phone so you could see. His makeup was smeared around you mouth. You giggled at that, too, and grabbed his phone.

"You should see yourself then!"

You took a picture and showed him how he looked. He let out a full laugh and took the phone back to place it on the night stand.

"Should we clean this off, first? I wanna do this right and I don't know if that includes smudging makeup everywhere"

You both walk over to the bathroom and you hand Andrew the makeup wipes in your bathroom cabinet. He pulled one out and turned to face you. He grabbed your face gently and you close your eyes as we swiped the cloth over your face. When he was done, he pulled out another and did the same to his own. After throwing them away, he turned to you and grinned before leaning down and capturing your lips with his. He guided you back to your bead with out breaking contact. Eventually, you both made it to your bed and you laid down.

Andrew kissed you and started to make his way down your throat, paying extra attention to your collar bones. He left as many marks as he could, thoroughly enjoying the idea of people seeing them the next time you go out. Every nip and lick drew a tiny whimper from your throat that drove him insane. Once he was satisfied with the bruises, he pulled away and slipped his fingers under the collar of your sweater. He paused and looked up at you.

"Remember, you can back out at anytime, sweetie. Okay?"

"Yes, Andy just please!"

He laughed and shook his head, mumbling just loud enough for you to hear. "Needy little thing."

He pulled at your collar to leave a few more bites and small marks before you sat up enough to yank your sweater off. At that point, Andrew might've stopped breathing. The dark green lace bra you were wearing made you look devine to him. You heard him let out a groan before he was licking and biting your tits through the fabric.

"Fuck- Andy. Jesus." You give out a surprised laugh. "Give me a second and I can get it off."

"Fuck, angel," his words were slightly muffled as he refused to pull away. "You're so god damn beautiful."

"No more candy nicknames, huh?" Your words came out through whines and puffs of air as he continued assaulting your chest.

"It's what you are. A fucking angel."

Before you could say anything back, Andrew managed to unclasp your bra and pull down the straps enough for it to slide off. As soon as he saw you sitting bare for him, he lost it. He shoved you against the bed and immediately starting kissing and sucking at your chest. You heard muffled moaning leave his mouth and looked down to see him rubbing his cock into your mattress.

"Fuck- Andy, baby please! Need you."

He groaned and looked up at you, his eyes half lidded and loose strands of hair falling out of his bun. "Say it again. Now. Please angel."

"Need you t'fuck me."

He nodded and sat on his knees. The cool air and spit made you squirm. The laughed and swiped his thumbs over your nipples lightly, not expecting much. However, you whined and arched your back, silently pleading for more.

"Oh really, angel? You want that?"

"Yesyesyesyes please Andy please!"

He used both hands now, curling and pulling at the buds of your tits as you moaned and whimpered. It didn't take long before he couldn't stand it.

"M'sorry angel. I can't take it. I need you. Now."

You nod your head embarrassingly fast and move to take your skirt off. His mission of removing his tie and getting off his shirt goes completely abandoned when he sees you wearing panties that match the lace and color of your bra.

"Shit..."

You look up, confused and slightly worried. You see Andrew staring down at you, pupils blown wide. His arms drop at the same time he does. Before you're even sure of what's happening, he's on his knees in front of you, pulling you closer to him by your waist. All he does is look into your eyes. You nod your hair and he instantly ducks down and sucks your clit into his mouth.

You throw your head back and arch your back, gripping at the sheets. Through your own moaning, you hear Andrew whimpering as he slides down a little to teas around your entrance.

"Oh god please Andy, please!"

You're a little surprised when he doesn't put up a fight or tease you in anyway. He fucks his tongue into you as much as he can while he circles around your clit with his thumb. You can feel yourself on the edge, just about to fall off.

"Please please please don't stop- I'm so fucking close!"

He hums and nods his head as much as he can, moving back up to suck on your clit and flick his tongue back and forth. The vibrations send you over the edge. You nearly scream, but clamp your hand over your mouth, aware again of the people just down stairs.

He slowly settles his movements, letting you come down. You were panting at this point, heart pounding as you tried to come back to earth. When you did finally return, Andrew was still on his knees, watching you like a feral animal.

"Was that good, angel?"

You nod and laugh a little, astounded that he would even have to ask. He smiled and nodded before standing up and crawling over you.

"Do you think you could cum again? On my cock this time? Please?"

At that, all you could do was yank him down and kiss him. He spoke quietly against your mouth, begging for an answer.

"Yes I can just- please fuck me."

He manages to quickly take off his tie and unbutton his shirt enough to yank it off. His hands go down to the button and zipper of his pants but you away them away. He chuckles lightly as you start to unbutton them for him, eyes widening as you see the strain on his boxers from how hard he is. You worry slightly that it won't fit or it'll hurt too much but Andrew's hips jerk forward and he whines a little before he cuts himself off, slightly embarrassed.

You pull the pants down his thighs before he stands up to pull them off. He dips his fingers under the band of his boxers and slips them off, quickly walking over and getting on his knees on the bed. You look down and gasp a little. His cock was long, which you could've assumed after what happened at the party earlier, but fuck. The tip was red and he was leaking precum.

He leaned over, propping himself up with hands on either side of your head, and you looked up at him, eyes wide and slightly glossy. He kissed you, all teeth and tongue, buying your bottom lip and moaning into your mouth. He grabbed his cock and slid it through your pussy. He found your entrance. As soon as he pushed the tip inside you, you fell back. He kept going, pausing momentarily to let you adjust to his length.

When he finally pushed in all the way, he stayed completely still. You finally opened your eyes and saw that his were still shut. He was breathing heavy and his arms were shaking a little.

"Andy, are you okay? Baby?"

He nodded and opened his eyes to look at you.

"Yeah, just- shit... You feel so good. Don't want this to be over immediately."

You nodded and assured him he could take his time. After a few deep breaths, he pulled back and pushed back in. He lost it, falling towards you and holding himself up on his forearms.

He tried to stay slow, he really did. He didn't want to hurt you in any way. But the sounds you were making, the begging and whining, scratching his back with tears forming in your eyes. It got to him. He leaned back and pulled your hips onto his thighs and smaller into you, over and over. You grabbed the blanket and pulled it up so you could bite down on it, desperately trying to muffle your screams.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck, you feel so god damn good, angel. Jesus fuck- so soft and wet and warm. God... I'm close."

You nod and let out an embarrassing long whine before gripping on to his hand. The pressure that had been building up in your stomach easy about to explode and you knew it'd be extreme. He reaches out a little so it's easier before speaking again.

"Where- Jesus christ. Where do you want me to cum? Hurry, angel."

"Inside! Please inside, Andy!"

He groaned and his movement stuttered. He started going harder somehow, and nearly growled.

"Yeah? Inside? Fuck, you're gonna get it all, angel."

You cum right after he finishes speaking, back arching and eyes squeezed shut. He feels you squeeze around his cock and after a few more thrusts, he's cumming too. He shudders and starts bucking his hips uncontrollably, using the last of his energy to ride out the high for as long as possible.

Finally, he comes down. The both of you are sweating and hot but neither of you care. He collapses down on top of you and breathes into your neck. You hand goes straight into his hairs combing through the locks and scratching his scalp. He hums and practically melts into your body. You feel sleep take hold and the last thing you hear is "I love you." before you pass out.

-------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, the house is quiet. You come back to your senses and you feel a pair of arms wrapped around you, holding you close. You feel quite gross as you remember you hadn't actually showered, but your pure joy at finally having Andrew greatly outshines it.

You check your phone and see a text from your friend, sent the night before.

"I saw you head up the stairs with HIM. Don't be a pussy. I'll clear everyone out in a little bit. Love you!!"

You giggled and sent a little thank you before shutting off your phone and leaning back into Andrew. He hummed and grumbled a little bit before his eyes fluttered open, instantly looking for you. He smiled and pulled you in closer.

"Good morning, sweetheart."

"Morning, Andy."

You whisper sweet things to each other, never seeming to be able to stop grinning. He kisses you as much as he can, holding your face close to his. It's slow and gentle and full of love. After a while, you both agree to hop in the shower.

He washed your hair and runs conditioner through it. He gives you a small massage as you scrub off your body. He let's you scratch and massage his scalp with shampoo before kicking you out to let you dry off and get into bed.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes! You're tired. Go lay down and wait for me, okay? I'll be out soon."

You eventually give in, leaving the bathroom and changing into a tee-shirt and clean underwear. Eventually, Andrew comes back out, sweat pants hung low and hair still damp but not dripping. He climbs into bed with you, immediately warming you up. He kissing your forehead, eye lids, then cheeks and chin, before connecting with your lips. He sighs and you can feel his shoulders relax.

The rest of the morning is spent in bed with him, talking about nothing.

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OKAY!!!! DONE!!!! This one was significantly longer and I hope you enjoyed!!! Lots of luvvvvv :3

#hozier #andrew hozier byrne #the hoziest #hozier smut #hozier fic #hozier fanfiction #hozier fandom #hozier x reader

[samsno1]

A/N: tried not to use any gender-defining pronouns for the reader in this one but if I accidently left any in here, I apologise, force of habit yk

"Hey, Sam, come here for a second" Dean calls him and the youngest looks up from his laptop to his brother, who's standing a few feet away, leaning against the door after coming back from the kitchen, where he got a pack of beer for the three of you.

You, on the other hand, were focused in your books, reading lore about creatures purely to be more wise when it came to either finding out who or what was disturbing the peace or killing it as quick as possible so that the torment would be gone.

Sam reached for your wrist and gently held it for a moment so you'd look at him. You raise your eyes to his face, your beatiful orbs almost knocking the air out of his lungs. "I'll be back" He says gently and you give him a tiny smile, nodding in approval and going back to your task, fully concentrating into it to the point you didn't even feel Sam's hand letting go of your arm.

Sam glances at you one last time and slight smile graces his face before he got up from his chair, walking towards the oldest. Neither of you see it but Dean rolled his eyes at the interaction, making a disgusted face.

Once Sam got closer, Dean adjusted his position against the door, standing upright to seem taller and take on the 'older, wiser brother' role.

"Yeah, what's up?" Sam asks his brother and Dean lifts an eyebrow. He raises a hand and flattens it against his brother's back, hitting him lightly, guiding him to the kitchen again. Sam walks along, the sting on his back ignored as he's suddenly confused and, at the same time, worried.

"Hey, Y/N, we'll be right back, if you need anything, we're in the kitchen!" Dean yells at you, turning his head slightly over his shoulder so you'd hear him clearly. He hears your faint 'Okay' and continued guiding Sam, this time to sit at the kitchen table.

Sam sat down and stared at his brother — who looked out the kitchen door to guarantee you were still studying — and made a confused face.

Once Dean was sure they were alone, he turned to his brother, arms crossed.

"Dean, is everything—?"

"You gotta' stop this man" Dean interrupts and Sam frowns, even more confused. Dean rolls his eyes, again, this time visible to Sam.

"Stop...what?" Sam inquires.

"You know...That! Why don't you tell Y/N instead of staring like a creep as if you're under a love spell?" Dean lowers his voice so that you wouldn't listen.

Sam opened and closed his mouth, trying to find a way out of this. "I don't know what you're talking about"

Dean face drops and he looks almost angry at Sam's stupidity. He sits down in front of him, flattening his uper arms against the table and crossing his fingers from each hand.

"Y/N might be naíve but I'm not, Sam. Actually, I'm very aware. For months. The looks you give, the 'let me make you breakfast', the way you get so jealous when people stare at bars—" Sam opens his mouth to counter but Dean raises a finger — like he would do to a toddler — to silence him "—and don't say you don't do that because every time we go to bars or clubs you suddenly get in a mood when you see someone looking in a different way."

Sam stays silent. If even his brother knew than you probably did too, right? He sighed and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

"And what am I supposed to do, hm? I'm not going to ruin our friendship for a...crush or whatever. Y/N isn't even into me anyways, why bother?" Sam says matter-of-factly and Dean has the urge to punch some sense into his brother right then and there.

"Isn't even— How are you both so stupid?"

"Who's stupid?" You suddenly enter the room, a book in your hand — one of the ones you were studying. Sam swallows harshly, scared that you heard anything and silently glared at his brother.

"You are" Dean replied and you roll your eyes playfully at him. At the same time it wasn't a lie, you didn't know the whole truth.

"Haha, very funny Dean. Anyways, I need to steal Sam back for a moment, are you guys still busy?" You ask, looking between the siblings, your eyes lingering for a while longer on the youngest, noticing Sam staring daggers at his brother. Dean shrugs.

"He's all yours" He says and you thank him, nodding. Dean leaves the kitchen saying something about Baby and you approach Sam.

You lay your hand softly over his upper arm, your touch burning through his clothes and against his skin. He looks at you then, seeing that little worry line between your eyebrows. He loved that. He thought about kissing it — if he could — to smooth it away anytime you looked at him that way.

"Is everything okay?" You ask, your voice soothing. He almost melts right then and there.

"Yeah, yeah, it's fine...What did you need?" He reasures you and you relax. You remember what you were doing here in the first place before getting distracted and showed Sam something in the book that you didn't understand, asking him about it.

He started to explain it to you but you could barely pay attention to what he was explaining. You stared at his face, completely lost. The way his lips moved, the slight stubble from his beard already visible, and his finger dancing against the letters in the paper while he tried to make you understand were so...distracting.

You loved how passionate he was about books and lore. He was smart and you found that amusing. It was one of your favorite things about him.

Once he finished telling you about it he looked at your face to see you zoned out while you showed the faintest smile. He smiled too.

You woke up from your trance and, when you noticed he was done and you were just mindlessly staring at him, you felt your face heat up. You cleared your throat and looked down at the book again.

"Thank you" You said.

"No problem, anything else just ask" He replied, knowing you hadn't paid attention to a word he said.

You looked at him again and nodded. You got closer and gave him a kiss on his cheek and Sam heard alarms going off in his head.

"You're the best" you said, smiling, and walked back to the library, leaving Sam speechless in the kitchen, wide eyed.

One day you were gonna be the death of him.

A/N: Yay, another drabble! Giving you guys this while I finish writing the p. 2 to Dream Of Me (which already has 4k words and I didn't even get to the good part 🤭). I love awkward idiots in love, my favorite troupe and I think it fits Sam well. Anyways, tell me what you think! 🫶

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