#all the angst was a little overbearing at times but it was well paced
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praying the takoyaki party movie turns out better than the last one i really can't handle a flop like that again
#it's not that i hate it and i'm not expecting osomatsu san to ahve the most coherent of storylines#but the first movie set the bar too high i think#all the angst was a little overbearing at times but it was well paced#and the hipipo fruit felt too wild? lacking direction? whenever i thought i knew where the story was going it just kept changing#and i think it also ties with the lack of direction season 3 had and i REALLY hope they sort it out with this movie and s4#but both had atsushi content and cameos so i wont shit on them too much <3#text
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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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No one else
pairing; joel miller x reader
rating; 18+
warnings; the tiniest bit of descriptive smut, kinda angst, basically fluff
divider; cafekitsune
summary; it was never meant to be complicated, no more than hooking up.
word count; 990
note; I suck at proof reading and editing just in general, this was just a little short drabble, something to attempt to get the creative flow going. this had better potential tbh.
Joel is in pure bliss. Love. In love. He was never the man for domestication and settling down. It has always just been him and Sarah, never needing anything more. Until you showed up. Wrapped under his younger brother’s arm being dragged to him. Shades of pink flushed your cheeks as you two were introduced. That night you two hit it off good. So good you went home with him.
That night turned into a bunch of nights spent together, but only nights. You two only confined in each other between his sheets and calloused fingers.The space between you two is only filled with the sounds of pleasure and begs. Please Joel. More. Please. Please. Please. That solitude only lasted 7 months.
His breath was rugged, staggering into your ear. A soft moan escaped your lips as you dug your nails into his back, anything to pull him closer. Euphoria ripped through chest, his pace not slowing down. His fingertips danced your back and his lips kissed your jaw, “ you could be my entire world, “ he whispered into your ear before moving down to your collarbone and placing a kiss. You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t say anything. Your eyes squeezed shut and hissed in a breath. It was never supposed to be like this. It was never meant to get complicated, it was never meant to turn into anything.
Joel’s pace became relenting, his hips snapped into yours, balls smacking against your ass. He became louder, his moans more erratic. His hand rode up the side of your rib to the swell over your breast. Taking your hard pebble between his lips, his thrusts became sloppy. “ Tell me. Tell me you’ll let me have you. “
You choked back tears. This couldn’t happen. This can’t happen. Not with Joel. This can’t get messy. “ J- Joel. “ You hand trailed up his back and onto the base of his neck. Anything to distract him Anything to make this encounter quicker so you can make your dash for the door and return his messages, leaving him to wonder where it went wrong. He must’ve taken his name call for more, bringing his lips back up to clash with yours. All teeth, spit mixed into each other's mouths. Joel was always your favorite taste at the end of the day. Always tasted like whiskey, but never overbearing. Maybe just a quick glass before you two get tangled between the sheets.
He was close, pushing himself over the edge. Whatever he felt in this moment absolutely wrecked him, sent him to another planet. He groaned as he tensed up, painting your walls white with his spent. He placed a softer kiss against your lips as he tried to catch his breath, pushing sweat soaked hair out of your eyes. You met his gaze and the reality set in, you have to end this. You have to break his heart to protect your own.
“ Joel. We can’t. “
His brows furrowed in confusion, “ can’t what. “
You pushed his shoulders slightly, pushing him off of you. Bringing the sheet up to your chest and sitting up, turning your head to look at him. “ This. We can’t do this anymore. We can’t do anything. You don’t want me. I’m no good. Used damage. “ Pushing the sheet over, you slid off the best, grabbing your old t-shirt off the floor before slipping it on.
“ Now hold on a damn minute. Baby - “
“ Joel, please. Please don’t make this complicated. “
“ Have you ever thought about what I wanted? What I wanted in this? I want you, baby. All the time. All. The. Fucking. Time. I’m distracted. Always distracted. I’m shit at work. I fuck things up now and Tommy has to fix it. When I first met you, the very first time I saw you, saw you under Tommy’s arm. Well, well baby I wanted to run away. We clicked, something that night just did it for me. I wanted to run away because I knew if we started doing this, we would never stop. I’d never want to stop.That’s exactly how this is, that’s exactly how it has been. In no universe would I want to let you go, would I ever let you go without fighting for you. “
Your eyes started to become glossy, shaking your head, you hissed in a trembling breath. You were about to crack. About to become a sobbing mess if he didn’t knock this shit off.
“ J-Joel. Please. I’m begging- don’t. “
“ I want you. I want to be with you, on you, in you every second of the day. I dream of a life with you. A life that could happen. I could make it happen. I could make you happy. We could make each other happy. I want to marry you. I’d marry you tomorrow if it would seal the deal you were never leaving. I want to add you to my health insurance. I want to buy groceries on things you like. I want to have your trinkets littered around the house. I want the closest stuffed full of your clothes. You have nestled deep into my heart. I need you. I want to play it cool, tell you i’m not obsessed but I’m head over heels for you darlin’. “
You will never witness a love like this. Never again and never from a man like Joel. Your heart swelled, you needed him, even if you left and never spoke to him. You’d mourn what was there, what could have been. He didn’t think of you as baggage, as used up damages. He thought of you as a flower, delicate and full of life. Filled with different emotions you tackled him, arms wrapped tightly around his neck, you let out a breathy laugh that was filled with tears.
“ You, Joel Miller, are the most magnificent thing that has ever happened to me. Be gentle with me, Joel, that’s all I ask. “
#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel x y/n#hbo the last of us#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal x you#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller smut#joel miller fic
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Risk it all
Summary: Andy and you are a closed book. Right?
Pairing: Andy Barber x fem!Reader
Warnings: angst, mentions of former break-up, fluff, a little angst, very implied smut
<< Trustfall
You wake in Andy’s arms, feeling warm and relaxed for the first time in weeks. He insisted on staying the night.
After you didn’t stop crying over your ruined wall paint, your breakup, and life in general, he didn’t want to leave you alone.
“Morning, peanut,” he nuzzles his face in your shoulders and runs his hand over your arm. It’s the first time you feel his hand on your skin without his wedding band. Andy told you he took it off some time ago, but you didn’t dare to look at his hand for too long. “How do you feel?”
“Better. Less…pathetic,” you sniff. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you because of the paint.”
“You’re not pathetic. Y/N, you cried because you were hurt. I hurt you, and you have all the right to be sad, mad, and angry. This is all on me for being too scared to admit I’m deeply in love with someone after I lost my family.”
“Andy,” you whisper his name. “Taking off the ring doesn’t fix things between us. I don’t know where we go from here. You hurt me and left me. Suddenly you came back and gave a house to me. I’m so confused and a little scared.”
“I’m fucking terrified, Y/N,” he’s choking the words out, afraid you don’t believe him. “I don’t want to lose you. All this time without you was hell. I drank too much, didn’t eat and I fucked a case up too.”
“What are we doing here, Andy?” You turn around to look at Andy. He has tears in his eyes when you stroke his bearded cheek. “Andy.” He closes his eyes, afraid to wake from a dream when you press a soft kiss on his lips. “I don’t know what to do.”
He sniffs. “Honestly, it’s the first time I don’t know what to do myself, Y/N. All I know is that I don’t want to live another day without you in my life.”
You run your hand over his cheek, his neck, and down to his arm to grab his hand. Squeezing his hand tightly you sigh. “We are both clueless then.”
He chuckles. “Do you still hate the neon pink kitchen?”
You scrunch up your nose. “It looks ridiculous, not cute as I believed it would. I wanted it to look like the kitchen I saw on a blog. The owner painted the kitchen pink and had cute pink kitchenware.”
“Hmm…I’m not a big fan of pink,” he grins when you give him a stern look. “What? I think every couple therapist tells you the first thing you need to do is be honest with your partner.”
“I hate the house,” you bite your lower lip. “I know you meant well, but the kitchen is a mess, the windows are leaky, and we don’t want to talk about the front yard.”
He laughs at your attitude. “Seriously? You said you love the house.”
“That was before I realized that I’ll be the only person who will fix things in this house will be me. I don’t have a guy around who can lift heavy things and repair the broken window in the bathroom.”
“Peanut, I’m the worst craftsman you can imagine. I won’t be able to repair things,” he grins when you give him a stern look. “I’m good at other things.”
“What other things do you mean, Mr. Barber?” You poke his chest with your index finger. “So far you only showed me that you kiss a girl’s lips instead of her burned finger.”
“I can take very good care of my girl if she lets me,” he presses a kiss on your forehead. “I promise to be less overbearing, peanut.”
“Stop calling me peanut,” you pout. “I’m not that small.”
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
He chuckles. “I’ve missed this.”
“Me too,” you chuckle. “How about we sleep in today?” You run your hand over his chest. “I’d love to stay in bed for a little longer…”
“I…we should talk. What happened this morning was—” You stop pacing the room to look at Andy. “Sex was a bad idea. I mean…the sex was great, but it doesn’t solve any problem we have.”
“Come here,” Andy holds out his hands to help you sit in his lap. “Relax, you are working yourself up again.”
“Maybe you should’ve bought the house you liked.” You whisper. “You can still sell this house and hopefully get your money back. I’ll stay at my apartment.”
“No.”
“Andy,” you sigh deeply. “I shouldn’t have accepted the house in the first place.”
“What if,” he runs his hand over your back as you get comfortable in his lap, “we sell my apartment and your house. We could buy a new home we both like. A fresh start with a new place to live in for the both of us.”
“A fresh start,” you repeat. “I spared money too, Andy. If we want to buy a house, I want to pay my part.”
“How about you spare your money for the naughty things we want to buy,” he smirks cockily. “Like a sex dungeon.”
“Andy,” you slap his shoulder. “That’s not funny!”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” He quirks a brow and grins. “I’m going to chain you up in the sex dungeon and tease you until you cum all over my face.”
You squirm in his lap. “Sex won’t solve anything, Andy. We need to…” You sigh again. “You know what I mean.”
“I know, Y/N.” He wraps his arms around you. “If want this relationship to work out, we need to talk about a lot of things. I’m willing to try. Maybe we can see a therapist too.”
“I’m willing to try too…”
You will work on your relationship, and even see a therapist over the next months.
Andy and you decided to wait a little longer before you buy another house. But you moved in with him.
#andy barber#andy barber x reader#andy barber x you#andy barber x female reader#andy barber x y/n#Risk it all
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"Now How Come I've Only Found Out About This Now?" [G.W]
[Pairing:] George Weasley x Fem!Artist!Reader
[Summary:] So far, George Weasley knows three things about his new potions partner; So why not make it four? Or five?
[Warnings:] use of mudblood, a bit of angst, a bit of swearing, a pov change at some point in the end, idk-- fluff?? (is that a warning??)
[Word Count:] ≈2.7k
[A/N:] i used @buckystrenchcoat 's fluff plots for george weasley: 2. George finding out you can draw (kind of got carried away but oh well :D--) (ps just imagine that classes in hogwarts includes all of the houses together, thanks <3) Y/H = your house. (dk the timeline or what year george and the reader are in but i'd say between 3rd-5th year)
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The Weasley twins were becoming reckless and apparently, Professor Snape has had enough. The constant explosions on the other side of the dungeon and the numerous attempts at drowning his hair with shampoo has eventually led him to the decision of assigning the entire class their partners.
Thus halfway into the semester, the Weasley twins are never to be seen together again... that is until the end of 2nd period where they will go back and cause mischief elsewhere.
Fred was assigned to a Slytherin girl who George couldn't figure out if she's madly in love with his brother or wants to rip out his guts. While he on the other hand was assigned with Y/N. Truthfully, he never gave much thought to her, but after their first double potions lesson as partners, he began to wonder why he never gave much thought to her.
She was smart but never overbearing, made jokes here and there, sniggered when he made even the cheesiest of puns, and is wicked attractive. Their first task was to brew a calming draught and whilst adding in a smidge more of lavender, she proposed that they should make more while the majority of the class was still struggling.
"Why in Merlin's beard are we going to make more? We can just pass this and leave class early?" He asked, bringing a smile to her lips. "Yeah, yeah, that's what you want, don't you Weasley?" She quipped, looking back up to the red-headed boy who's now readying their vials.
"Just thought that we could make some for people, like, your brother. Poor guy, reckon he's going to rip his hair out getting partnered with Tuttle." And with that, George let out a laugh, a laugh that cost Gryffindor 5 points. Though, all was well when they were the first to finish and send their little vial of calming draught into the hands of Severus Snape, garnering 5 points each and an opportunity to leave class 10 minutes early.
And that was it, that was their relationship; potions partners.
George Weasley learned 2 things that day. One, his potions partner was someone he wanted to know more, to be with more, and two, one should never put a liberal amount of peppermint in a calming draught. (Fred learned that the hard way.)
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She was the epitome of beauty and brains. So far, that's what he knew about his potions partner. But a little incident in the corridor made two into three.
It wasn't unusual for Fred and George Weasley to skip class, especially if the class was History of Magic. And it also wasn't unusual for them to hide behind a tapestry whilst a stinky dungbomb was set in the first-floor corridor.
What was unusual though, was George not wanting to move from their hiding place, forcing Fred to also not move. "George, mate, wha-?" "SHH!"
Whatever Fred's question was supposed to be, it quickly got answered by the presence of a certain someone whose walking to the Muggle Studies classroom, his brother's potions partner perhaps? Fred grinned mischievously, nudging his brother in the abdomen, and earning a wince.
"Oi mudblood! Was that you?" They heard from a distance, heavy footsteps following the girl he's teasing his brother with. From their point of view, they could tell that the girl stopped in her tracks, sighing heavily as though this was a regular thing.
"Was that me, what?" She asked, clearly annoyed. "Was that you who did it? Or d'you just shat yourself? It smells horrid. Would make sense, as you're a filthy little mudblood."
George's blood was beginning to boil, fingers formed into a fist, knuckles white. Especially when they got to see the silhouette of the two arguing. Perfect, Winnifred Tuttle, his brother's potions partner bullying his Y/N Y/L/N. He had an urge to protect her. To avenge her. To show her how much he cared for someone who's supposed to be his potions partner.
"Was that supposed to be an insult, Tutts?" Y/N spat back, pulling George out of his trance and making Fred shut his mouth. Now he's the one staring intently. "It's honestly just sad. A 'pureblood' like you should know the difference between a dungbomb and a piece of shit. Or perhaps you're probably just that daft?"
The boys were fixated on their conversation now. A hand on their mouths, hopefully covering up their shock even if they're hiding behind a tapestry. George's heart was beating faster now.
"Me? Daft? Well, if I'm daft then why are you taking muggle studies?" Tuttle sneered, an ugly grin splattered across her face.
"Bit hypocritical, isn't it, Winnie? Bye-bye!" She turned her back away from the Slytherin now, walking into the Muggle Studies classroom, holding a few books in one hand and her middle finger in the other.
He knows three things about her now; She's bewitching, she's a whizz, and she's a muggle-born who doesn't take shit.
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A few more lessons in and one could say that Y/N and George are starting to become friendlier to each other. Acquaintances, sure, but, friendly nonetheless. But the Gryffindor wanted to live up to its name, to its values. He might've just gotten to know a bit about her but he was completely and utterly entranced.
Nothing's going to stop him now.
His right hand held his wand as he stirred the concoction in the cauldron. She, on the other hand, was cutting up the stewed mandrake. The easy silence between them was broken by none other than the lion himself.
"Hey," he called, lifting his gaze from the potion to the girl right next to him. "Hi." She said back.
"So... Today's a Friday, right?"
She looked at him, confused, recounting a particular time in which she looked at a calendar today. "Yeah, I think so."
"And we can go to Hogsmeade after classes?"
"Pretty sure you can, why?"
"Want to go on a date?"
She looked stunned which kind of hurt George's ego but as soon as the slightly parted mouth of hers became a cheerful grin, he felt a whole lot better.
"As long as you stop staring at me and not over mix our potion, then sure, I'll go out with you." She smiled, making George give a shy little grin back before attempting to put all his concentration on the brew. Mind boggled on the way she said 'our potion.'
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Going to Muggle Studies felt utterly useless now that Y/N's been promised to go on a date right after. But having George by her side, walking her to the class just seemed to be the best part of the day.
He recounted the time when he and Fred hid behind a tapestry and told Y/N all about it, giving a hot feeling to her cheeks. They stopped by the door frame of the classroom, Professor Burbage was waiting inside, pacing around her study as George's hand slyly held Y/N's.
"I'll pick you up later?" He asked with the same shy smirk plastered on his face, cheeks pink and ears flushed. "Yeah. Thanks for walking me here. You shouldn't have." She uttered, heels rising and falling as she bounced on her toes.
"Just making sure that Tuttsy's not going to ruin your day, love." Y/N felt heat rising to her cheeks and ears, as well as an uncontrollable grin. Her heel turned to make her face the concrete walls of the castle, hands covering their face and body slightly swaying from side to side. It was ridiculous, really. Dumb. Very.
"You're adorable when you're flustered."
"Shut up, Weasley." And with that, she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, leaving him slightly startled, stunned, and very red in the face. "You're adorable when you're flustered." She quipped, walking into the Muggle Studies classroom and taking her seat.
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Muggle Studies felt oddly slow that day. Usually, it lasted an hour but today it felt like a century. Professor Burbage's talk about electricity and muggle technology went in one ear and out the other.
If you'd ask why Y/N chose a subject she already knew plenty about, her answer would be that she wanted to see things from a different perspective. But truthfully, she just knew that she'd be good at it and it'd be an easy O.
So there she was; A scrap piece of parchment laid on the wooden desk and a pen since Professor Burbage discouraged the use of quills.
Her mind wandered off the moment she sat down on her chair. Feet either bouncing up and down or stuck straight onto the floor, she wouldn't know. What she did remember was her non-dominant hand posing itself as the other one scribbled on the piece parchment.
Her fingers played with the hazy light and the ink added depth. Soon she started sketching other things; The student in front of her, a study of Professor Burbage, a head with a moderately strong jaw and beautiful, short, messy hair. A male side profile with a big nose that has a slight bump on its bridge matching a cheeky grin with dimples. Her hand posed itself once more but this time she wasn't making it look like hers, she was making it look like his. Something she's seen many times before, and guiltily stared at once, twice, more than she could recount.
She was adding in the cluster of freckles when the worst happened; "Miss Y/L/N, still with us?" Professor Burbage stood at the front of the class, standing straight, clearly thinking about her posture. "Miss Y/L/N?"
She felt an elbow nudge her arm, and that was the thing that brought her back into reality. Her head whipped itself to face her seatmate then to her Professor, giving her a funny-looking nervous grin.
"Charm would get you nowhere, Miss Y/L/N. When was the first electricity generator introduced in Britain? And where was it installed?" She has to have something in that brain of hers. It must've been taught sometime when she was in muggle school. "Err-- 1900s something, Surrey--?"
Professor Burbage meekly chuckled, "Nice try. 1881. Godalming, Surrey. A point from Y/H then, I'm sorry."
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George was faithful and stuck to his word. Even being 5 minutes early after asking Professor Grubbly-Plank if he could go to the bathroom and have a wee, saying that the unicorns would definitely mind if he pissed on their trees.
He did not go to the bathroom but instead went straight to the Muggle Studies classroom. Leaning the side of his body onto the wall by the door. Trying his best to peer into the room and find his potions partner and soon to be his date and maybe even his. But he was getting ahead of himself.
The bell rang and he heard a loud shuffling sound of chairs being pulled back. The door was opened as students from all of the houses started pouring out and there she was. Looking beautiful as ever with her bag slung on her shoulder.
"Glad to see you're alright there, dove." He cooed, earning once again another shy smile. "Anything happened there?" He asked, pointing to the now open classroom.
"Felt way longer than usual, and I lost a house point." She said matter of factly. George chuckled, his heart filled with pride as he turned his head towards her.
"And what have you done to lose said house point?"
She smiled before reaching her hand into a pocket of her robes, pulling out a folded piece of aged parchment before handing it to the curious redhead.
"What's this? A love letter?" He bantered. "Just open it." And so he did. His nimble fingers unfolding the parchment, then he was stunned. Seeing his face drawn in ink with lines crossing over more lines was the last thing he expected. It looked like him. And it didn't look like Fred. It is him.
"I was just drawing in class but then I sort of blanked out and got a dumb question wrong." She paused, looking back up to see if the redhead was still listening. "Hello? Earth to George?"
"You drew me?" He was on a fine line of disbelief and awe. It truly looked amazing. She drew her hand at least three times before he recognized his was also there. She even got the little freckle he had on the middle of his wrist. The full body of ol' Professor Burbage brought so much of her energy and even the way her scarf wrapped around her neck was perfect.
Her cheeks were heating up again, realizing what she just did. "It's not that good. Just-- drew what I saw and, err-- whatever came to mind, I guess." Bad execution, sloppy excuse. "Okay, you've been looking at that for way too long now--"
"This looks bloody brilliant! Now how come I've only found out about this now?"
"Flattery would get you nowhere, Weasley." She joked, but he was serious.
"S'not 'flattery' if I'm stating what's true! It's amazing, you're amazing." She felt her heartbeat increase by a mile.
"Well then, I'm flattered." She said, adjusting the strap of her bag to hopefully let out some adrenaline. "And to answer your question, it'd be terrifying if I just started drawing in Snape's class. I swear that man has eyes at the back of his head. That's why this is a new discovery for you."
"Fuck, this is amazing!" He uttered.
"It's really not that good--"
"'S'really not that good' Some shit standards you have there. I'd put this in a museum!" He said loudly, extending both his arms and imagining that the piece of parchment was displayed on the Hogwarts walls. "If you don't like it then I'll keep it." George joked, expecting disapproval, which, to his shock, never came.
"Are you actually giving this to me?"
She shrugged, "I mean if you'd like a photo of you drawn by a teenage girl then be my guest." He smiled, genuinely smiled. He looked so pretty at that moment and there shouldn't be any holding back now.
"...But," She started, his gaze looked intently at her, ready to listen to whatever comes next. "There's a price."
"Between Freddie and I, we have 26 galleons and a few sickles." He said, earning a hearty laugh and a shake of her head. "Don't really think he'd like me to give all of it to you, I'm sorry. If you want I'd pay a bit then I--"
"No, George." She said, tugging lightly on his tie to gain his attention. "How about... a kiss? Perhaps?"
He grinned. His hand hovered itself across her face before landing on her cheek, thumb gracing itself on its apples, slightly squishing the skin whilst his eyes looked for any signs of discomfort; there was none.
They slowly leaned in, eyes locked on lips before their lips locked onto each other. His lips were slightly chapped but it felt like the softest thing on Earth. He smelled of cinnamon, firewood, gunpowder, and other indescribable scents, but it was nice. It was short but meaningful, gentle, even. His other hand was wrapped around her waist and once again, his thumbs were running up and down whatever part of her body it's laid on.
He learned two more things about the girl that day; she's artistic, and she felt like home.
He never thought there'd be a time in his life where he'd be thankful for Severus Snape. But life goes in unexpected ways.
"If you'd like to tip me then I'm just going to say that I love cauldron cakes." She grinned up at him as they pulled away before settling her face in his chest. George chuckled to himself before wrapping his arms completely on her waist, placing a sweet kiss on the top of her head.
"Yeah, yeah, come on." He said, pulling away to let her shake herself up as he held onto the piece of folded parchment which graced his face, giving it a small peck before putting it in his pocket, patting it three times.
"Better sign that drawing for me, Y/N. How much does an autograph cost?"
"Double the original price—?"
"And the tip?"
"And the tip."
#george weasley fanfiction#george weasley fluff#george weasley x reader#george weasley x fem!reader#george weasley x ravenclaw!reader#george weasley x hufflepuff!reader#george weasley x slytherin!reader#george weasley x gryffindor!reader#george weasley fic#george weasley#george weasley x y/n#oml this is long
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late│technoblade
summary: three times you said i love you, and the one time technoblade says it back
prompt: “I’d do anything for you, whether or not you ask me to”
warnings: fluff and major angst, blood and death descriptions, dsmp spoilers
pairing: in-game romantic!technoblade
a/n: this is my entry for @burntcilantro‘s 500 writing event!! much love and congratulatory to min, they’re an amazing writer and an even better person (they’re so nice, give them the support they deserve)
also i separated some of the dsmp events and spaced them out (so there’s more time between for plot purposes lol)
wc: (2.0k) - m.list
“Why are you so stupid?”
You were sat on top of a chest, holding one leg with your arms while the other was currently being wrapped by Technoblade. While you giggled at his insult, you winced once he tightened the gauze on your ankle with a glare.
“It’s not funny, y/n.” He leaned down to bite off the rest of the wrapping, finishing the fold as you huffed at his seriousness.
“I told you to watch the house, not climb onto the roof and play a fun game of risk. What were you thinking?”
His stare was heavy and made you feel little as he looked down at you. The tone of the room changed as you lost the humor in the situation, his concern overpowered by the anger laced in his voice.
“I just wanted to help,” you stated, turning your face away, discouraged, with your arms crossed. “You’ve been getting the all the resources lately and haven’t let me even step off the damn property.”
Looking down, you fiddled with your fingers as to avoid his gaze. “I wanted to try and fix the wood panelings that have been leaking, that’s all.”
The silence was harsh, and you swallowed deeply at how uncomfortably stiff the air became. Technoblade opened his mouth to speak but quickly closed it shut with no words to voice.
With a shaky breath, you gripped the edge of the wood and slowly lowered yourself onto your foot; you didn’t plan on staying here just so he couldn’t say anything more. Technoblade was quick to steady his arms around you in case you fell, but you immediately pushed his hand away aggressively and stood with all your weight on your healthy foot.
Arms out to balance, as you tried to take the first step on your bad foot, you crumpled into your self with a yelp from the pain and collapsed. Ready as always, Techno caught you from behind and guided you to the nearest chair.
You flinched from the small movement but sighed once sitting again. Techno crouched in front of you to check how you physically were, but your eyes were closed shut as you tried to collect your breathing.
“Y/n,” Techno call out. Calming yourself down, you opened your eyes to meet his; he was much more sincere before, his face soft as he spoke gently to you.
“Hey, I’m sorry.” Looking down, Technoblade paused as to gather his thoughts before explaining himself further.
“I know I’ve been overbearing since the attempted execution,” you reached a hand towards his cheek when he mentioned the recent event, which he leaned into as he continued with closed eyes, “but please know it’s from a place of concern. I just- I don’t want anything to happen to you. I can’t let anything happen to you. I-I…”
“I know. Trust me, I know.” You spoke for him as you pulled him into your chest, hugging his large frame as best as you could. He relaxed into your hold with a sigh of relief.
“I love you, Techno.” You kissed the top of his head, and he only burrowed himself deeper into the hug.
“I’m so sorry, love.”
Technoblade was hunched over on the front lawn, hands on his head while trembling from the overwhelming pain of the voices. He whimpered at your words, indicating he heard you to some extent.
He had come home, alone, and fell to his knees at the sight of you when you opened the door. Immediately, you had rushed over to him and skid to your own knees to comfort him, but he grunted from your attempts to touch him; even when under the influence, he was still conscious enough to fear for your own safety relative to the blind rage of the voices.
You had tried talking to him, attempted to get him to give you any context to what was causing his anger, which he answered with snarling growls in return. “Tommy… left… betrayed. Chose government.”
While broken into murmured words, you understood instantly and tried to bring him back in spite needing to quench your own anger from Tommy’s departure. You rested your palms into the snow, lowering your head as much as possible to meet his bowed head.
You peered up at him despite his own eyes screwed shut from the unbearable chaos that roared within his head, and called out to him as softly as you could. It was a stretch, but you hoped you could soothe him down by talking.
“Hey bubs, just listen to my voice, alright? You hear me now yes? You can understand what I’m saying?” Patiently waiting, you watched him closely until he gave the smallest nod, fists still pushed against his skull and twisting from the ache.
“That’s good, that’s really good, love. You hear my voice, now listen to my words.” Slowly, you leaned close enough to whisper to him directly.
“I’m here, okay? I’m so sorry about Tommy, I know how much you cared for him. I still care for him too, and I know it hurts right now, but rest assured I’m still here. I’m here Techno, and I’m never leaving you.”
With clenched teeth, he let out a sob at your declaration and pushed his head against you. You took his permission to touch him promptly, gripping him with as much strength as you could carry so he felt stable and secure.
You squeezed him, desperate to ground him from slipping further, and rocked the both of you. He released a shuttered breath, and you kissed his skin gently.
“I love you, you know? I will always be here and I’ll always love you, no matter what.”
He clutched you with his entire being, your words and presence more than he could ever ask and want.
“Why do you have to be too reckless for your own good?”
You grinned widely at his words, smile almost sadistic as you glanced at him with your arms propped on the axe you carried above your shoulders.
“What ever could you mean?” Despite the roll of his eyes, he did nothing to hide his own amusement to your eagerness to the upcoming destruction you were to bring. He chuckled, his deep laughter making you smile more softly to how genuine he was as you walked besides him. Hand raised to wave his rocket launcher, he focused ahead proud.
“We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?” Turning to look at you again, you stared at him adoringly and smirked slightly while bashful to his confident manner. “We are indeed.”
It became relatively silent as you walked through the layered snow, feet crunching from your steady pace. You continued to take random glances at him, Technoblade doing the same until you both heard a loud groan.
“My god, you two are insufferable, I can’t deal with this right now.” Dream sneered at you specifically, as if you were the cause for his own discomfort, and walked through you both.
“I’ll meet you guys there instead, but hurry.” Swiftly, he pulled out an ender pearl and threw it a few yards ahead towards the portal, his figure disappearing altogether.
You stared in disbelief from his actions until a cough interrupted your thoughts once more. “You know what,” Phil avoided looking at you both, his hands tapping together awkwardly as he walked ahead as well but turned to address you while moving backwards.
“I’ll see you guys there too, just, be sure to be quick?” You both nodded wordlessly, and he took his leave in fast haste.
Standing there alone, you risked another glance at him and met his eyes, laughing loudly at the circumstances.
Technoblade held a hand to his face, body shaking from his laughter while you were endlessly giggling, holding your stomach from the pain. Eventually, your fits faded with large smiles, and you faced him with a shake of your head.
“I didn’t realize we’d be one of those couples.” Technoblade sighed, though you could tell it was for play, and nodded. “A shame really, I never thought this day would come.”
You giggled again, and chose to move closer, tilting your head upwards at him with a sweet beam while leaning onto your axe. He gave you a small smile in return, however his faded immediately after.
Lifting his open hand, he cupped your cheek and bent down to kiss your forehead, touching yours together after with his eyes closed. “Promise me you’ll be safe? I trust you to protect yourself, but for me, stay safe when things start to go bad?”
While you knew it was impossible to guarantee you’d stay away from the majority of the danger, you knew better than to leave his concern unanswered and open.
“I promise,” you murmured, “for you, I promise.”
He pulled you against his chest this time, engulfing you completely and holding the back of your head earnestly to his heart.
“I love you,” you voiced, your words muffled into his armor and coat. He hummed while looking ahead, his eyes trained on the glowing portal that called towards him. This was a war he refused to leave with mercy, the price of your peaceful lives together on the line.
“No…”
There was too much blood. The thick liquid stained every surface and soaked through his coat that he pushed against your wound.
Internally panicking from your tight expressions of discomfort, Technoblade desperately searched through his inventory for something, anything, that could heal or at the very least help you. He was forced to face the reality that he used all his potions during the midst of battle and combat. He couldn’t do anything.
“Why, why why,” he snarled, his eyes clouding with an outset of tears he couldn’t care for. “Why are you so stupid.” His voice caught in his throat from his conflicted emotions and he tightened his hold on the fabric pushed against your stomach; the pain had faded at this point, and you were numb to the constant pressure he tried to hold.
“I’m so sorry, love. I lied.” Your voice was light and strained, but Technoblade refused to accept the situation for what it was. He turned to a perched crow, screaming at it to get Phil and scaring it away with a slash of his sword, before tucking his head down in an almost silent plea.
“Why do you have to be too reckless for your own good?” he whispered. Though he tried to be delicate, he couldn’t help how tight he held your hand.
“I’d do anything for you, whether or not you ask me to.” You gave a tired grin as your eyes began to droop, hand tightening on his, however incredibly weak in comparison.
“I asked you to be safe,” he cried, body stricken with grief as he abandoned his hold on your stomach and instead shakily held your face, your own blood smearing against your skin from his callous fingers. “I needed you safe.”
You placed a hand over his, using all your strength to relish in his touch and kissing the inner of his palm. “Yet you needed my love more.”
He choked out a sob from your admittance, and pulled you into his chest, your body limp, as he rocked you slightly. “I’ll always be there for you, and love you more than I could for my own safety.”
The ruins echoed the wails of a tormented heart on the broken landscape of a haunted battlefield that called for death and devastation. The smoke and clouds of destruction reigned above, and despite the final end to the corrupted nation that was built on nothing but lies and deceit after a helpless man’s death, Technoblade couldn’t bring himself to care.
“I love you,” he uttered, the words he struggled for oh so long to express finally free from its cage. “I love you, y/n. I love you so much.”
His words fell on deaf ears, and he screamed in agony at the truth that laid before him.
He was too late.
#technoblade x reader#technoblade x you#technoblade x gn!reader#mcyt x reader#mcyt x you#dream smp x reader#dream smp x you#dsmp x reader#dsmp x you
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Silent Treatment (AE-3803 Scenario)
Warnings: Slight fluff, slight angst.
Anonymous Request: CAW: 3803 for once is the embarrassed one who's acting stubborn beyond words and won't admit she's wrong. With a twisted ankle she ignored 1146's earlier advice to giver her delivery to another and finished her job with stubbornness unmatched except for the severe pain she's now in. Now she's been discovered by a rather quietly miffed 1146 who refuses to talk to her or put her down as he carries her in his arms the long way home for all the world to see. She thinks he must be punishing her.
.
.
.
“Umm, Mr. Neutrophil?”
No response.
“Mr. Neutrophil?”
This time, AE-3803 manages to get a response. Unfortunately, it’s not the one she’s looking for.
U-1146 grunts, readjusts his hold on 3803, and keeps walking.
The redheaded blood cell took a deep breath, steeling herself. “Mr. Neutrophil, I’m fine. Honest!”
This time, that actually garnered a reaction. Grinding to an abrupt parade halt (which mildly jostled the erythrocyte in his grasp), 1146 glanced down, an unreadable look in his eyes. For a moment, 3803 feared that he was going to drop her—or worse, look even more disappointed—but she need not fear. He only held her gaze for an impossibly long time before taking off in the same brisk pace he had started off with.
Miffed and mortified beyond words, 3803 couldn’t believe that she was given the cold shoulder, the silent treatment from her friend! How could this be possible? Usually, 1146 was the sort of cell who would not stop fretting until his charge was either shipped off to an infirmary or swaddled in the kind arms of macrophages.
Although, 3803 began to think guiltily, she had been pushing him to his limits this time.
To be fair, she only sprained her ankle by just a little bit and the next delivery was only two micrometers away! How was she supposed to get her deliveries done if she relied on another red blood cell to do her work for her? Not only would it be embarrassing, but it would also paint the picture that she was still the frightened erythroblast in the bone marrow.
And now, because of her hubris, she was being carried to the nearest infirmary like she hadn’t matured at all! Normally, she wouldn’t have minded the assist, but there were onlookers from every direction, which prompted the red blood cell to pull the brim of her beret over her eyes.
It was unfair.
But, she supposed, it was also unfair of her to push 1146 away even though he knew what was best in that situation.
It rankled at her insides, but she knew that despite how overbearing his behavior was at times, he meant well. After all, childish behavior aside, she knew what the consequences would be—she just chose to ignore it in favor of trying to prove something to her past self. Now, because of her rash decisions, the body was down an able bodied red blood cell and she wouldn’t be able to fulfill her quota. Someone else would have to pick up her work.
And that humbled AE-3803.
With great reluctance, but with a determination that she often carried in her day to day duties, the young red blood cell raised her head and tried to make eye contact with the white blood cell. Despite his avoidance in meeting her gaze, she knew that he was listening.
“Okay… I’m sorry.” She swallowed past the lump that had spontaneously appeared in the back of her throat. “It was foolish of me to continue running even though I was injured. I just… I just wanted to do my job.”
Her voice broke at that last part and this time, when 1146 stopped, he didn’t jostle her. A bit startled at the loss in movement 3803 gaped up at her friend until his eyes and lips softened into the semblance of the cell she had befriended so long ago.
“You’re more than just your job, Miss Red Blood Cell. Remember that.”
And maybe it was the simplicity of his words or the fact that he meant each one of them that had her choking up. As a cell, her duty was her life. What was she without the efficiency and capability that characterized every cell in the body?
And yet…
1146 made it seem as if she mattered more than that.
And that felt good.
“Does this mean—”
“I’m still carrying you to the infirmary.”
“Fair enough.”
.
.
.
If you want to donate a Ko-Fi, feel free https://ko-fi.com/devintrinidad.
HATARAKU SAIBOU (CELLS AT WORK) MASTERLIST
#cells at work#hataraku saibou#caw#ae-3803#ae3803#3803#u-1146#1146#u1146#WBC x rbc#ae-3803 x u-1146#dearestones#devintrinidad
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I’ve had this Elucien fic rolling around my brain for a while and decided to put it out there. No warnings with this one. Just angst and bits of hope for possible futures (I swear I write things other than angst all the time - haha).
Happy Sunday everyone!
Word count: 2,807
Themes: Angst/Hope
Choices
Lucien couldn’t believe it. He could not believe that another Winter Solstice ended in utter ruins because of his mate. Because of his godsdamned mate and he’d had enough. He would end it, and end it now.
“Elain!” He shouted at her retreating figure.
But she pulled the ruby red cloak tighter around her shoulders and quickened her steps. Fresh snow remained mostly untouched on small front lawns and sidewalks of Velaris as he ran from the front door of the Riverside Estate after Elain. Most families and friends likely hunkered down in their homes enjoying fires and brandies and gifts and laughter with no cause to go out walking as the last hours of Solstice crept by entering the darkest hours of night before the dawn.
The longest night of the year. The longest three years of his life. Three years of being both rejected and not rejected by his mate. And he couldn’t take it anymore.
“Would you stop,” he growled as they reached the gate, “You owe me one conversation.”
Elain stopped. Her spine snapped straight. She turned and glared at him, her eyes molten with pure hatred.
Lucien had chosen his words carefully. Tempers he could handle, he’d had enough practice over the centuries with a hot headed High Lord. He could handle master manipulators and sweet talkers. He could handle battle worn generals and courtiers of the most delicate constitution. He could handle gossipers and those genuinely interested in friendship.
But what he could not handle was nothing. He could not handle the looks that went right through him. The unanswered questions. The blank stares. The Solstice presents delicately placed to the side and left alone as if they didn’t exist at all.
“I owe you nothing. Leave me alone.”
“I won’t. You are my mate -“
“I don’t want to be your mate!”
“Then reject me and reject he bond!” Lucien yelled, his voice echoing through the silent night.
The stars glittered in the black sky, now completely clear after the fast moving snow clouds from earlier in the evening had dissipated. It brought just enough snow to coat the city white before moving on. As if the Mother heard every prayer from the younglings of Night Court for a white Solstice, and then granted their wish.
Elain’s nostrils flared and for a moment, the briefest moment, her eyes flashed an emotion he couldn’t quite place but had seen before. And it hit him. She’d possessed the same look of bewilderment when she’d still been sopping wet from the Cauldron’s waters, Nesta clawing at her sobbing. The look of knowing but not knowing.
“Reject it,” he rasped, the fight and fire receding slightly, “Reject it so that I can move on. You think I enjoy this? You think that any of this has made me feel good over the last three years?”
“I didn’t choose you. I didn’t choose any of this. I didn’t want any of this,” she cried.
Lucien took a breath. It was rare he lost control like this. He’d spent centuries honing his reactions and temperament to be the Fox and mold his features and behaviors into whatever he’d needed in order to ferret out information, or to keep his own secrets safe. But he couldn’t do that around her, his mate.
“I didn’t choose you either,” Lucien said.
She flinched, and looked away down the street. She crossed her arms and shivered. Her cheeks flushed a pink as if kissed by two rose petals and once again her beauty struck him like a slap across the face.
“I know you were in love with another male -“
“Stop it -“
“I know you hate being Fae. I know what you did to try and turn yourself human again -“
“I said stop it,” Elain growled through clenched teeth, “Stop it. Why are you doing this?”
“Because I can’t take it anymore,” Lucien stated, willing himself to be calm, to stop shouting.
He needed this conversation. They both did.
“You wouldn’t know this because you refuse to ever speak to me but I was in love once too,” Lucien said and took a step closer to her, “I was in love with a female and planned to marry her. And my - And the High Lord of Autumn had her killed in front of me and I couldn’t save her.”
Elain’s lips parted in a silent gasp. Her brow furrowed. For a moment he thought she might ask a question, but instead she closed her lips and looked down at he ground.
“I didn’t choose to live without her. I didn’t choose to run away to another Court and make a home there. I didn’t choose a life of intelligence work, books, sparring, warring, and everything in between. But we don’t always get a choice, Elain. What we can choose is what we do with the things that happen to us.”
Lucien paused but she remained silent. Because of course she would stay silent. Fine. Maybe it would be easier this way.
“I chose to deepen my friendship with Tamlin and to truly be a part of his Court and I made the best of it. I chose to continue my education of Courts and history and everything in between so that I could help keep the peace as much as possible. I chose to become trained as a warrior so that I could be as strong and prepared as possible for any situation. I chose those things to make the best of my life. I chose not to wallow in the what-could-have-beens for centuries because no one can survive that way.”
Lucien took another step towards her so that they were only a few inches apart. He could see Elain’s breathing had increased slightly. Her arms tightened across her chest. But she did not move away.
“I did not choose to be your mate, no one gets that choice,” Lucien whispered, “But we can choose, together, whether we want to reject this mating bond to try to lessen its effects as much as possible. It will never go away completely, but if we officially reject it then we can at least bury it and move on separately and away from each other.”
“Is that what you want?” Elain whispered, and she glanced up at him, her eyes somehow still sparkling as if the sun reflected in them.
Lucien’s heart ached. It was the first question she’d asked him since asking if he could hear her beat those years ago. And she’d been so broken then, he could barely breathe around the memory of seeing her in such a state. So he told her the truth.
“What I want is for you to talk with me and be honest with me,” he began carefully, “I want to know why the Cauldron and Mother saw fit to pair us together. Do you know that mates are equally matched and often so is their magic, their power?”
Elain glanced away and nodded. She shifted on her feet slightly.
“I’ve done some research on it.”
Lucien leaned closer to her and clasped his hands behind his back. He didn’t need her or those obnoxious bats, whom he knew lurked in the shadows, to think he would touch her. Overbearing babysitters the lot of them, even if their hearts were in the right place.
“No one knows what I’m about to tell you Elain. You could use the information against me and spread it to the Inner Circle, or anyone who might wish me harm, or you could tuck it away for private reflection. But I have much more magic and power than anyone thinks. I only let a very little bit show in the company of others. And since we are mates, I have a theory that you are the same. You only show a small bit of what you are actually capable of and have hidden the rest away. Your sisters are powerful, Elain, and I find it very hard to believe that you would be different. I also think that one of the reasons you are so unhappy is because it scares you. I could help you discover what you’re capable of - learn about it, grow with it, strengthen it, control it, and use it. You were not given a choice to become Fae and I am sorry that neither Tamlin nor I realized what was happening until it was too late. You have no idea how sorry I am. And I am sorry that you lost the love of your life in the process. I’m sorry.”
Elain stared at him. Stared and stared.
Lucien could scarcely breathe. His heart lurched forward in his chest, begging him to tug on the bond, to bring her nearer. To touch her. Kiss her. Love her.
But he forced the instinct down. Even though every beat of his heart echoed, my mate, he shut all of it down.
“There are options other than rejection,” he began slowly, “If you would like, Elain, we could discuss it, but it can’t only be me talking. And if I’m being honest, it kills me that I don’t know you. Feyre used to talk about you all the time at Spring Court when she lived there. And over the past three years I’ve gotten bits from her and Nesta, on the rare occasion I speak with her. But those are their perspectives. I would like to know first hand, about you.”
Elain looked away and cleared her throat, “What is it you want to know?”
Hope sparked in Lucien’s chest. He tightened his hands behind his back. Carefully. He had to tread so, so carefully.
“Well, for starters, I’ve always wondered if there is anything other than gardening you enjoy? What do you like? What are your passions? Your dreams? What makes you happy? Upset? Do you have any religious or spiritual beliefs? Do you enjoy sports? Do you have a favorite season? Hobbies? Preferred genre of music? Books? I want to know about you, Elain, and not from anyone else. I want to experience you. I want to know why the godsdamned universe decided why you and I should be together.”
Elain let out a breath that could have been a laugh or a huff of annoyance. He wasn’t sure which, and it killed him that he didn’t know his mate well enough to know which it was.
“I hate winter,” she whispered and looked up at the sky, “I hate the cold. I never want to be cold again. I’ve had enough of it after living in that godforsaken hovel all those years. Spring has always been my favorite season. Is … how is it there?”
Lucien frowned slightly, “Improving at a glacial pace.”
“I remember the night Azriel and Feyre came to rescue me at Hybern’s camp,” she whispered, her arms tightening around her, “And I remember Azriel holding on to me as I held on to that poor girl and watching in horror as those beast things closed in on my sister. I thought she was dead. And then Tamlin came out of no where and saved her. Saved us. I think of that quite a bit actually.”
Lucien stared at her. What the hell was he supposed to say to that?
“If he needs assistance with his gardens, I could help. I’m bored to tears in winter here and I don’t think the High Lord of Spring should have flagging gardens, do you?” Elain asked and met his eyes then.
Strength shone in them. Her chin tipped up slightly and Lucien lost his breath. A shiver ran along his spine as he realized his assumption on her untapped and hidden power had likely been correct. He did not stare into the eyes of a doe but a Wolf. Of course a godsdamned Wolf would would lurk under her skin. She was an Archeron sister after all.
“No, I don’t think so either. It might help Tam, to have his estate restored a bit,” Lucien suggested carefully, “If you ever wanted to get away from the cold of Velaris during winter, I could arrange it.”
Elain looked away again and whispered, “I’ve been so lonely. I don’t know what to do.”
Lucien frowned as pain wrapped around his heart, and realized with utter horror, it was not his pain but hers. Gods, had she been living with this?
“Elain,” Lucien murmured, “All I’m asking for is to share one meal. One conversation. I’m not suggesting we get mated or married or any of it. Hell, I’m not even asking for a date. I’m only asking for one conversation so that we can both maybe decide if rejecting the bond really is the best thing or if maybe, maybe, there might be something here worth exploring, growing, tending like one of your gardens. No expectations. Just …”
“Just time to decide what kind of choice we want to make with what the Cauldron gave us?” Elain offered quietly.
A breath he didn’t know he’d been holding rasped through his lips. His gold eye whirred. He blinked and golden light swirled around Elain hedged with blush pink and warm vermillion. She looked like a goddess inside the sun, and gods did he want to worship her. But was she worth worshiping? He desperately wanted to find out.
He blinked and his eye showed her as any one would see her once again. Lucien nodded his agreement.
Elain cleared her throat and looked down the street, “I didn’t eat. Did you?”
“Not much, those fools love their drink on holidays,” Lucien offered with a small laugh, “They’re a happy lot though aren’t they?”
Elain shrugged, “I suppose. Are you hungry?”
Warmth spread through his chest. Lucien allowed a smile to touch his lips.
“I could eat.”
“Do you think any of the restaurants are open?” Elain asked.
“You want to have this conversation now?” Lucien asked incredulously.
A smile bloomed across her face. Her rosy cheeks pinked further and he’d never wanted to kiss anyone so badly in his life before.
Elain released her arms and crooked an elbow to him. He stared at the offered arm. Was he dreaming?
“Well, Fox?” Elain asked, “Shall we?”
Lucien’s heart leapt in his chest. He closed the last few inches between them and looped his arm through hers. Suddenly, the weight of a thousand stones of grief and dejection lifted from his shoulders. His heart felt so light he could have wept.
“I know of one restaurant that will be open. It’s not the best, but it’s decent and within walking distance,” Lucien began, “And after this conversation, if you would like to have another - if we would both like to have another - then I can take you to my favorite restaurant. It is in the middle of the largest botanical gardens in all of Prythian.”
Elain raised an eyebrow, “In the middle of winter?”
Lucien grinned at her and winked, “It’s in Summer Court.”
She nodded, “I would like that, if,” and softly cleared her throat, “If we both decide we would like another conversation after tonight that is.”
Lucien nodded, “Very well, Lady Light. Are you cold?”
A small smile. An even smaller snicker.
“A little.”
“Give me your hand,” Lucien offered his free hand to her, palm up.
Elain stared at his open palm. Lucien felt a small lick of pride at how still she became, like a true Immortal creature, she’d mastered the art of preternatural stillness.
Then, she lightly rested her hand against his. Lucien maintained eye contact with her as he closed his fingers around her hand and touched the spark of fire within him. Elain gasped and her eyes widened.
“How did you do that?” She murmured, and a small laugh escaped her, “I’m positively toasty.”
Lucien’s heart fluttered but kept his tone airy, almost bored, “A small bit of magic for me. It’s a gift not everyone possesses. Not many know I can do it. Shall we eat? I’m rather hungry myself.”
Elain nodded, “I would like that, thank you.”
Lucien nodded and let go of her hand but tightened his arm still hooked around hers slightly. He didn’t bother to hide the widening of his smile as she gently squeezed back.
He sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Mother as they walked arm in arm down the street, their tracks the only pair as they made their way away from the High Lord and Lady’s Riverside estate and into Velaris.
Lucien didn’t know what choice she would make in the end. He didn’t know what choice he would make in the end. But at least, for now, there was a sun dawning to end the longest night of the year. And he’d never been happier to see its light.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
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Listen To My Voice
Pairing: Sam Winchester X Reader (she/her)
Word Count: 595
Warnings: major character death, blood, injury, angst
Summary: "You two stay safe and get home in one piece"
A/N: I was feeling a little violent today oops
The first thing Sam did when he got back to the bunker and the safety of his room, was to take out his phone and take a seat on his bed. Y/N had left him a voicemail; the thought of listening to it was the only thing that had kept him through the day.
"Hey Baby! I know you said you'd be busy this evening because of the vampires in town so I just wanted to check in real quick with you and ask if it's okay if I just spend the night at the bunker? Your bed's more comfortable than mom's couch and I will tear my head off if I have to listen to any more complaints about my job choices. Or better: hers. Though then I guess I won't be able to sleep in your bed because then I'm in prison. Damn. Anyway, sorry for gnawing your ear off. You two stay safe and get home in one piece. Love you!"
The slight annoyance was evident in her voice as she talked about her overbearing parents and Sam couldn't help the smile that made its way on his lips. Y/N always loved to talk with her entire body and he could almost see her pacing the length of her parents' living room, phone pressed to her ear while she was leaving him a message.
Without making the conscious decision to do so, Sam had pressed the 'repeat' button and the recording repeated itself. Now, he made out the smile in her question, the sheepish expression she always got when she felt like she was asking for too much. Of course, she never did. His girl was surprisingly shy at times and then not at all in the next moment. Sam had been the proud witness when Y/N had rendered not only Cas and Bobby but Dean as well speechless with her comebacks at a man that had been trying to intimidate her into silence. Sam was still smiling at the memory.
The recording played again and Sam was listening to it with the same focus when he had checked it the first time.
The first tear fell directly on the display. It stayed there for a moment, wobbled and then slid down the lit up surface, obscuring the letters. Not that Sam would have been able to read them anyway, his vision too clouded by more unshed tears.
The voicemail was three months old. Three months since she had been gone. Three months since Sam had come back from a successful smoke out of the vampires' nest a town over. Three months and six hours since Y/N's mother had called him frantically from the phone she had found with a cracked screen on her porch.
Three months and half an hour since Dean had found her, bloody and broken in an alley. Unblinking eyes staring up at him, not focusing, never focusing on anything again. The same eyes that had been filled with so much warmth and affection merely twenty four hours earlier.
Dean had to carry him out of that alley. Physically carry him. Sam couldn't bear to move, couldn't bear to leave her there but his brother refused to let him just lie down next to her and wait for her eyes to open again.
The fourth time the voicemail was playing, Sam couldn't take it anymore. He shut off his phone and threw it across the room. It hit the stone wall and the screen shattered.
Sam didn't care.
Y/N was dead and Sam wasn't. Not physically at least.
General Taglist: @immrbrightsideeee , @fandomfoodiedancer , @lovesfandoms , @nyotamalfoy
Sam Taglist: @tiggytaylor , @danzalladaggers
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#sam winchester#sam winchester x reader#sam x reader#sam x you#supernatural#spn#angst#tw blood#tw injury#tw death
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Tenth Anniversary recap
So, as my little celebration of the Ninjago 10 Year Anniversary, here’s a little recap of every single season, including the pilots and a few bonuses. I also added totally arbitrary scoring based on my own preferences. Ready? Here we go!
The Pilots:
Local man joins gang to save sister, gains awesome powers and dragons along the way. Featuring the Wise Old Mentor(C) and Generic Evil Overlord(C), as well as FIYAH, the main character with a firey temper, AT-AT, blue guy with motor mouth, Frosty, local “real boy” who is super aloof, and Bucket of Rocks, who is the “leader” and has a personality like a rock. Is that a compliment? You decide!
Choppy animation and okay storytelling, but excellent characterization creates a surefire laugh fest!
0/0, they were trying their hardest, so no ranking for you.
Season 1: Rise of the Snakes
Ninja team angers young and bratty boy, who unleashes snake army. Prophecy threatens to tear the team apart at the seams with contests to prove who is better. Winner ends up being FIYAH’s sister, but instead of becoming The Chosen One(C), young and bratty boy (henceforth known as Green Angst) gets the title.
Animation is slightly better, and the storytelling style leads to an okay season.
3/13, Room for improvement.
Season 2: Legacy of the Green Ninja
Green Angst gains superpowers, ages up, and beats up his dad, who has become possessed with evil. Plot of Return of the Jedi ensues, dad is good, and everything wraps up.
Thinking this was going to be the last season, the showrunners pulled out all the stops, and it shows. Good job!
5/13, This makes a good ending.
SIKE
Season 3: Rebooted
Series tries to pick up where they left off. Unnecessary love triangles and robot battles ensue. Frosty dies, totally for realsies.
The whole atmosphere feels a bit rushed, and about half of the story is there for unneeded drama.
1/13, did not age well.
Season 4: Tournament of Elements
In stunning turn of events, Frosty is not dead. Ninja must battle in hunger games in order for Colonel Sanders to release him. FIYAH develops a crush on his daughter.
A fun season with quippy writing and tons of lore, it works really well!
8/13, this season ages wonderfully.
Season 5: Possession
Ghosts are a thing now! Green Angst gets possessed, and so the ninja must learn ghost fighting to fight ghosts. Also, FIYAH’s sister (From now on called Water Girl) gains water powers.
While a neat story concept, the fact that Water Girl has only NOW been told about her powers kinda starts to weaken the story for me.
4/13, could do better.
...
...
Oh, and Bucket of Rocks is a ghost now. But the writers don’t care, so lets move on.
Season 6: Skybound
AT-AT gets a season, where he had to battle a genie pirate while Water Girl tries to be a Strong Independent Woman(C) despite the love triangle fiasco. Season ends up retconning itself out of existence.
While a good season pre-redesign, some of the story choices cause it to feel a bit drawn out in hindsight.
6/13, a fun season concept.
Day of the Departed:
Bucket of Rocks cant catch enough of a break to get a season, gets Halloween-ish special instead. In it, he becomes No Longer A Ghost. Hooray for... writing?
There’s not much to say about this one, it is what it is, and for a while, this was the only content we got centered around good ol Bucket of Rocks.
0/0, a ranking of this one wouldn’t be fair.
Season 7: Hands of Time
Angst! Drama! Time Travel! Technology jokes! Old Mentor is dying from Too Many Secrets, so Green Angst must lead team. FIYAH and Water Girl find their parents. I bet that’ll be important later!
The story feels choppy, and leaves a lot of threads hanging. It’s still fun, but less so that what came before and what comes after.
2/13: Guys, you had one job.
Season 8: Sons of Garmadon
The ninja get a facelift, and Green Angst gets a girlfriend! Guess which one is permanent. Evil Ex summons Evil Overlord(C) 2.0, causing Green Angst to loose Green and gain Angst.
The animation bump is stellar, the new voice actor for Green Angst really shines, and the story, while not new by any stretch, is filled with plenty of twists and turns.
9/13, Stellar Season.
Season 9: Hunted
The OG 4 in Mad Max on one hand, while Green Angst and Water Girl resist against tyrannical overbearing ruler on the other. Now with even more daddy issues, inspiring speeches, and of course, ANGST.
The storytelling and atmosphere increases in quality, and the show does a good job of balancing angst and hope. Also, then end is really cool.
12/13, Great Atmosphere.
Season 10/March of the Oni
Everyone teams up to stop faceless CGI army! Wait, does that count if everything is CGI?
There’s not much to say on this one either. It feels both too short and too fast, and many of the story beats don’t hit like they should.
(6 1/2) / 13, Pretty OK.
Season 11 pt 1: The Fire Chapter
Local team gets lazy, unleashes witch, FIYAH looses fire, Frosty dies again. OR DOES HE!?
Even better animation, and the voice actors are really having fun for this season onwards. It’s one of the weakest of the newer seasons, but the shorter episode time helps every episode pack a punch.\
7/13, Would recommend as a starter season.
Season 11 pt 2: The Ice Chapter
Frosty becomes Frostbite and commits genocide. Is redeemed by power of friendship and amnesia. Let’s move on.
Character development, great moments, and thought provoking storytelling!? This season has all that AND a good grasp on the aesthetic!
10/13, Please forgive Frosty. He didn’t mean it.
Season 12: Prime Empire
AT-AT gets his own season again, enacts plot of Tron Legacy, but better! Also, Frosty becomes a detective.
The obligitory videogame plot is done really well. Lots of fun is poked at videogame mechanics and it makes for a quippy and fast paced season. Just like AT-AT!
11/13, videogame movie(?) done right.
Season 13: Master of the Mountain
Bucket of Rocks finally gains own season, proves that he is the best character. Gains a best friend and beats her dad in combat.
Beautiful set pieces, awesome character development, lore, jokes, and heartfelt moments, I consider this to be the single best season of the newer ones, and possibly even the whole show.
13/13, amazing season
BONUS!
The Lego Ninjago movie:
Kung Fu High School AU with a dash of Star Wars. Different from the series? Sure. Super fun? Absolutely!
8 out of 10 Meowthras.
Wu’s Teas:
Wise Old Mentor(C) opens teashop. Shenanigans ensue.
10 out of 10, if you don’t laugh at at least one, something is wrong.
#lego#lego ninjago#lego ninjago masters of spinjitzu#ninjago#ninjago masters of spinjitzu#ninjago 10th anniversary#lego ninjago 10th anniversary#Lloyd Garmadon#ninjago lloyd#Cole Brookstone#ninjago Cole#Jay Imperial Walker#see that's where the AT AT joke comes from#ninjago jay#Zane Juilian#ninjago zane#Kai Smith#ninjago Kai#Nya Smith#Or is she Nya Walker?#IDK#ninjago nya#recap
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always (l.r.h)
a/n: hi everyone! this is a lil angsty piece i wanted to get up. i just want to say again how sorry i am for not getting anything up for the past two weeks, i’ve just been overwhelmed with some stuff for my classes, but i am starting to get back in the swing of things now. also, this is unedited as i was rushing to get it up in time. i do plan on posting something else tomorrow night and hopefully i’ll be posting pretty consistently from now on. also this does end kind of abruptly but i wanted to leave it like that because i’m a sucker for angst, with that being said i would be happy to write a part two if that’s something you’d be interested in. anyway, feedback and comments are appreciated as always and i hope you’re all having an amazing day/night. enjoy! - emmy <33
pairing: luke hemmings x fem!reader
summary: luke recounts his mistake and hopes he can patch things up with his always.
warnings: very brief mention of sex, cursing, mentions of alcohol, luke’s being an asshole, mention of pinching (idk), slight insecurity from the reader, lots of angst :(
word count: 2.6k
Luke had always hated the quiet. That’s when his thoughts were the loudest. That must be why he had never really liked being alone with himself.
Tonight in particular, his thoughts were practically screaming, one word over and over again.
“Y/n”
For the past two years that name had acted as his most favorite word, one that he would utter whenever he had gotten the chance. Whether it be to brag about your recent accomplishments to his friends, to catch your attention from another room, or falling from his lips with a sigh of pleasure as he reached completion with you laying breathlessly beneath him.
Now the word seemed torturous, the last time he uttered it replaying on a relentless loop in his head.
It was your 2nd anniversary. Dinner had been laid out on the table for an hour. Two glasses of wine sat untouched in front of a vase of roses you had picked out at the florist earlier that morning, and there was no sign of Luke.
You were wracking through your brain as you watched a petal fall from a rose and land lightly in one of the glasses.
Had you gotten the time wrong?
But you were sure that the two of you had agreed on 8:00 for dinner, that way you had time to get everything ready after getting home from work, and Luke wouldn’t have to rush to leave the studio.
Yet somehow you found yourself staring at the now cold dinner at 9:30, with absolutely no word from Luke. You wanted to call, if for no other reason than to check he was still alive and breathing, but your nerves stopped you from doing that, not wanting to take on the role of the overbearing girlfriend.
Your stomach growled hungrily over the light music that was playing through the house speakers. So, begrudgingly you took a bite of the pasta on your plate before downing your entire glass of wine.
Luke arrived home about 2 hours later, a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand. He caught sight of the table, with one setting completely untouched as he hung up his coat, causing guilt to pang in his chest.
“Baby,” he called out, carrying himself to your shared bedroom.
When no response came his heart rate sped up in fear that you had left.
“Y/n” he called, louder this time with a sense of urgency clear in his voice.
That’s when he spotted a person sized lump underneath the duvet. Releasing a sigh of relief he moved towards you, peeling the blankets off and leaving a soft kiss on your shoulder.
This caused you to stir a bit, eyes fluttering open to meet him.
“Hi, my love.” he cooed.
A frown was prominent on your face, and a crease separated your eyebrows as they furrowed angrily.
“I’m sorry I’m late. We got a bit carried away in the studio, but in good news the album is coming along great. M’so excited for you to hear it”
You had always tried to be understanding of Luke’s job for many reasons. One being that you both reaped the benefit of his success, you wanted for essentially nothing, had a nice house, the opportunity to travel, and Luke often spoiled you with gifts even if you asked him not to. Another being how happy it made your boyfriend. Music truly was his passion, and he was so talented that you wouldn’t want for him to ever put his work on the back burner for you.
With that being said, you made a point to take time off to spend time with him whenever you were able to. You had even changed jobs because your last one hadn’t allowed you to go on tour with him, which he had been adamant about, insisting, “There’s no way I can be away from you for that long.”
And you were happy to do all of those things, because you were in love, and you felt incredibly lucky to even be a part of his world. But you did start to question things as your relationship went on. It felt like Luke didn’t even consider your job. He only saw it as something that took you away from him.
You had worked hard to get where you were in the occupational field. Without your job all you would have to do is sit around and wait for Luke to be ready for you, and you just couldn’t live like that.
Luke turned on the lamp on your nightstand as you slowly sat up in bed.
“2 weeks Luke, we’ve had these plans for two weeks.”
“I know baby I tried, but you know how it is when inspiration strikes.” he dismissed while sitting the flowers on the ground.
“No, I don’t. Do you not think that I have things I could be doing for work? Cause I do, and I choose this over all of that.” you huffed in frustration.
Luke took a deep breath while subtly rolling his eyes.
“Y/n, I’m sorry for missing dinner, but you don’t understand the pressure I’m under, from the fans, the label, management, and the band.”
“I know that you work hard and I know how important this is to you, and I’m so proud of you, but I’m proud of us too and I would’ve liked to have a night for just us.” you tried to explain. “Not to mention the fact that I’m under pressure in my job too and I always find time for you, no matter what.”
“Yea, you have pressure from a job that you don’t need.” his voice rising in anger with each word as he paced around the room.
“How many times do I have to tell you Luke? It’s my job, it’s a part of my life and I don’t plan on giving it up anytime soon.” you shouted.
“Great.” he replied sarcastically. “Then you should understand that I won’t give up my job anytime soon.”
“I’m not asking you to, I’m just asking for a bit of consideration, and just a sliver of your time.”
“I’m working to make us more money.” he stated.
“Luke, we don’t need any more money. You should be working because you enjoy it and because it’s your passion.”
He let out a condescending laugh before turning to look in your eyes.
“Yea, well you don’t seem to mind all the money when you're sitting at home in the house that I bought, and leeching off of my bank account on the daily. D’ya think you could afford all the shit you have just based on your salary?” he spat crudely.
You physically leaned back as if the words had just actually been thrown at you. They must’ve, because the pain they caused felt far too real to just be emotional. You opened your mouth to fight back, to scream, to do something but the lump in your throat prevented anything to come out other than a sad, and pathetic squeak.
Was that what he thought about you?
This had caught you completely off guard. Sure, you were expecting an argument, you’d even say you were expecting a big one, but you would’ve never guessed he would throw this in your face.
You felt betrayed. It had always made you insecure that you were making such little money compared to your boyfriend.
Some days after receiving your paycheck you would go out and spend it all on Luke, solely because you wanted to know that you could contribute too. You would do that whenever you got the chance, to reassure that your work was important, and valid. And mainly to show Luke that you appreciated all he did for you.
He would always reply, “You don’t have to do this, love. I like spoiling my girl.”
Yeah right.
“I wasn’t, I m-mean I don’t try to lee-,” you paused, the word feeling too gross to repeat back.
“Well, you do whether you're trying or not so the least you can do is give me a break occasionally.” he spoke casually, while changing into sweats as if he wasn’t ripping you apart with every word.
You kept a blank stare at the bedroom door, your eyes already stinging with unshed tears. You wished you could be angrier but his words left you questioning and feeling guilty.
As hard as you’d tried to provide for yourself and make your own way you couldn’t help but wonder if you had subconsciously started leaning on him, more than you had ever wanted.
Luke continued getting ready for bed, not taking a second look at you since hitting you with his harsh words.
“I-I’m sorry.” you croaked.
“It’s fine, Y/n I just wish you could’ve been slightly more understanding.” he continued, still not facing you.
“I think that maybe, I mean, um I gotta go.” you were speaking through tears, as you abruptly stood from the bed and hurried to leave the room.
This caught Luke’s attention causing him to spin in your direction at lightning speed, finally taking in your emotional state.
“Going? Going where? I-what are you talking about?”
You didn’t reply, grabbing your keys, bag, and shoes as you continued to speed to the front door.
“Y/n!” he continued, following closely behind you.
You paused at the front door and turned to meet his eyes. His stressed appearance subsided as you allowed him the opportunity to talk.
“You’re upset.” he concluded, reaching a hand out to hold your cheek.
You leaned away from his touch and shook your head lightly, “M’not.”
His features softened and he took another step closer to you, “You are. I’m sorry, I was harsh.”
“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Didn’t know?”
“I don’t want t-to leech” you stuttered out.
This rendered Luke speechless, realizing how cruel his words had been. You had taken this as an opportunity to exit the house, quickly running to your car. Luke made it to the driveway just in time to see you drive away.
“Fuck” he snapped, jogging back towards the house to get his phone and call you in hopes of convincing you to come back.
After calling you at least 20 times with no response he conceded and decided he should try and get some sleep, that way he was rested enough to get you to forgive him in the morning.
His body fell naturally to his side of the bed, but his eyes lingered on where you typically laid.
Rolling onto his back, eyes finding the ceiling he muttered to himself, “I’m an idiot.”
Eventually he was tiring out, the bedroom ceiling growing extremely boring after staring for so long. He turned on his side to hug your pillow to his chest. As his hand slid under the pillow it came into contact with an envelope that had been hidden underneath.
He sat up and flicked on a lamp to read the front, “To my Lu”
He could tell that you had taken your time penciling on your words, each letter was flawless and written delicately. Before ripping it open he hesitated, questioning whether or not he even deserved to see what was inside after the way he spoke to you. The selfish part of his brain won for the second time that night.
The first thing he saw after opening was two airline tickets situated just in front of a folded piece of notebook paper.
He held his breath as he brought them into the light, two roundtrip business tickets to Sydney.
He rushed to read the note you had left with them, unfolding it quickly.
“Lu,
Happy two years, my love. I can’t believe I’ve been lucky enough to call you mine for this long. Not a day goes by where I’m not in complete and utter awe of you and everything you do for me. I know how hard you work and how much you miss home and your family while you continue to grow in your music, and in yourself everyday. I know these aren’t the best tickets you’ve ever had by any means or the most extravagant vacation you’ve taken, but I wanted to show you how much I love you and how much I know you deserve, and need a break. We have 2 weeks, we leave tomorrow. I’ve worked it all out with the guys and your label. I know this is just a small way to repay you for the way you’ve taken care of me and the way you’ve loved me so selflessly for so long but I hope it shows you just a sliver of how much I love you.
Yours always,
Y/n”
He traced the letters of your name repeatedly as he blinked back a few stinging tears, before falling asleep, the note clutched tightly to his chest.
That was a week, and about 100 missed calls ago.
About two days after you left, your friend had called to let him know that you were safe and staying with her for the time being. It had slightly lessened his worry, but the guilt he felt grew exponentially each day he had no reason to say your name.
He had claimed your side of the bed as his own in hopes that it would bring you closer to him. When he had finally dragged himself out of bed to shower he used your body wash and as embarrassing as it sounds nearly cried when the room was flooded with the familiar rose scented steam. And tonight while scouring through the liquor cabinet and feeling completely sorry for himself he had come across a bottle of tequila that you had purchased on your most recent vacation.
Luke had put a serious dent in it by the time he was done scrolling through all of his pictures of you, and his finger began to itch with the need to call you.
Through blurry and clouded eyes he located your contact, a breath hitching in his throat when he clicked the call button.
With each unanswered ring he pinched his wrist, willing himself to wake up and discover this was all just some horrible nightmare, that he would just roll over and see you curled up next to him, warm, and sweet, and perfect. So fucking perfect.
“You’ve reached y/n. Sorry I can’t get to the phone, leave a message and I’ll get back to you. Thanks”
But it’s not his nightmare that got him here, it’s his mistake.
“Y/n,” he croaked, his voice hoarse and scratchy as he hasn’t used it much in the past couple of days.
“I don’t know what to do anymore, I miss you and I’m sorry. I-” his heart was pounding and his intoxication numbed him from the feeling of the hot tears that streamed down his face as he continued. “M’selfish baby. I’m so selfish and I was talking out of my ass that night, of course you’re not leeching. That’s fucking ridiculous, you couldn’t be, I give you nothing compared to what you give me. I just don’t know how to admit I’m wrong and the money is bullshit, it doesn’t matter, we could both live without it.” his chest felt tight as he took a large gulp of air. “I-I can’t live without you, really I don’t think I can. I need you and I love you. I love you so much. Just please come home to me, please baby. I need you with me, and I want to fucking give you the world and I know you don’t need me to give it to you. I want to. I just-I want to give you everything, anything. You can have it all. It’s yours. I’m yours, alwa-” his pleads were cut off by the dial tone.
“Always.” he repeated, staring at the black screen.
pt. 2
#5sos imagine#5sos imagines#luke 5sos#luke hemmings#luke hemmings one shot#luke hemmings imagine#luke hemmings imagines#luke hemmings angst#luke hemmings x reader#luke hemmings x fem!reader#luke hemmings x you#luke hemmings x y/n#5sos angst#5sos one shots#5sos one shot#luke hemmings blurb#5sos drabbles#5sos preferences#5 seconds of summer imagine#5 seconds of summer one shots#5sos blurbs#5 seconds of summer#5 seconds of summer one shot#luke hemmings one shots#5sos
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"If you'd just leave me alone that'd be great" + Clint Barton
Prompt: “If you’d just leave me alone that’d be great”
Character: Clint Barton
Warnings: Descriptions of panic attacks, some severely unedited angst
You were livid. Beyond that even. Maybe that was selfish; Being angry with Cling when it wasn’t even really his fault. But how else should you handle the terror thrumming through your veins?
When you’d started seeing Clint, you knew about the dangers of his job. He made sure of that from the very beginning. You knew just how often he laid his life on the line for the safety of humanity as a whole. It was always so attractive to you knowing that you were dating a hero in the purest form of the word, but you were bound to worry. After all, that was only natural when he came home beaten and bruised more often than you cared to think about.
You were grateful to be with someone so attentive as well, so constantly aware of how you must be feeling when he was facing danger head on. Your messages never went unanswered for long, your calls never unreturned. Just a little bit of patience, and he’d check in with you as soon as he could.
So you were patient, you waited all day long. A handful of messages and one phone call for the day. After no response from the time you woke up ‘till the time you laid down for bed, you were reasonably concerned. You woke up the next morning with worry simmering in your stomach, and hope floating in your chest. You would hear from him today, you were sure of it.
Morning brought more of the same results. Panic was settling in now, and you called a few more times. You tried Natasha’s number too, then Coulson’s until finally you were left with one daunting option.
You paced your room so many times that you were convinced you’d wear a hole straight through the floor. Every ding of your phone sent you into a flurry, a predictable chain of events; Hope that it would be Clint, fear that it would be bad news, and then crushing disappointment when it was only your friends checking in on you.
You couldn’t control your thoughts as you called numbers and searched the news channels. You kept calling, leaving voicemails until voicemail boxes were full. Maybe you were being too overbearing, but you didn’t care. Finally you gave in, sitting on the floor with a tearstained pillow clutched tight against your chest. You tapped the contact, giving in to the terror and facing your worst option. The name flashed as your phone began to ring.
N. Fury
As the hours dragged on, you found yourself growing used to your calls going unanswered. You were helpless, trapped with nothing but the worst case scenarios in your head. You loved being in love with a hero, it was a constant reminder that the world was in good hands. But this was simply too much to handle. The next few days ran together, a mess of tears and nightmares broken up and held together by protein bars and coffee.
Somehow, with all of the knowledge you had of Clint’s life outside of your relationship, with all of the missions he’d gone on in the past, you had never properly given any thought to what would happen if you lost him.
Your phone said it had been nearly a week without hearing from him. Your tears had run dry, but the sobbing never seemed to stop. It was mid-afternoon maybe? Sunlight tried weakly to filter through the closed curtains. You were simply staring at your phone, not looking at anything in particular. There was a knock at the front door, loud and sharp. You ignored it, but the silence only lasted a few minutes before it came again. Three loud raps, slow and steady. Persistent. You refused to move, you weren’t entirely sure if you could move at this point. The quiet lasted longer now, and it was oddly stifling.
You were sure that whoever had come was one, but then it came again. This time was louder, practically rattling your eardrums. So you dragged yourself to your feel, all of your stiff joints and underused muscles screaming in protest as you trudged to the door. The fourth round of knocking was cut short as you pulled open the door.
Standing there, right in front of you, was none other than Clint. He was beaten and bruised, but most definitely alive and on your doorstep.
“You’re here.” You whispered, not entirely sure how to feel. “You just show up now? After all of that radio silence?”
As you asked the questions, tears once again pricked your eyes, and sheer panic and rage settled in your chest. He couldn’t even be bothered to leave a message? Couldn’t be bothered to ease your worries. You thought he was fucking dead for god’s sake. He let you believe you were going to be all alone again. Had he thought of you?
“Come on, let me explain. (Y/N), please.” He tried to step inside, but you didn’t budge. Tears were free falling now, sliding down your cheeks and dripping off your chin as you gasped for air. You shook your head frantically.
“No! I don’t...don’t wanna hear it. If you’d just leave me alone, that’d be great.” You whimpered. You pushed the door closed with shaky hands. You leaned against the door, sinking to the floor and hugging yourself tight as you let the sobs wrack through you.
Clint listened from the other side, each sob and gasp for air making his heart shatter in his chest. He ached to hold you and fix it all. It was his fault that you were crying, his fault that you were scared. He’d let his guard down, gotten himself caught on a routine mission.
“Please let me in, baby. I need to see you.” He begged. You clapped your hands over your ears. Everything was too much, even the sounds of your crying was too loud, and every inhale hurt your chest. The room felt like it was spinning as you scooched out of the way of the door so he could swing it open. There was a pause as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Then he was at your side, knelt close enough to be in your line of vision but not touching you just yet,
“I’m so sorry. It was an accident, I promise. I didn’t mean to leave you alone. I didn’t mean to keep you in the dark, I’m sorry.” He mumbled slowly, finally bundling you against his chest. Your hands fisted into his shirt, as if you would lose all of your sanity otherwise.
Clint had helped you through plenty of panic attacks, he knew how to help. He rubbed slow circles into your shoulder, gently reminding you to focus on the feeling. He continued talking, throwing you a rope to pull yourself out of the spiraling thoughts.
It was a handful of dragging moments before you found that the terror had subsided, and the crying was giving way to exhaustion. You leaned closer to him, not able to force words out in this state. You’d scold him more in the morning when you had more energy.
“I’m not leaving. I love you.” Clint promised. You nodded weakly. With his arms secured tightly around you, and his familiar scent wrapping you up tight, you knew that he meant it.
#clint barton prompt#clint barton imagine#clint barton x reader#clint barton angst#clint barton#hawkeye imagine#hawkeye prompt#hawkeye x reader#hawkeye angst#hawkeye#marvel imagine#marvel x reader#marvel angst#marvel#mcu imagine#mcu angst#mcu prompt#mcu x reader#marvel cinematic universe imagine#marvel cinematic universe x reader#marvel cinematic universe angst#marvel cinematic universe#x reader#prompt#angst#imagine#reader insert#wandas-sunshine
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san francisco vapor
☀︎ pairing: apollo!eric x fem!reader
☀︎ genre: reincarnation au, fluff and angst, slice of life au, greek mythology au, enemies to lovers au (sorta), immortals au (WARNING: mentions of arrows being shot from a bow)
☀︎ wc: 1383
☀︎ plot: It was coincidental that you ended up being in the mortal world because of the punishment that you had implemented on yourself. However, for some reason it seems as though fate had other plans, because now you were stuck on Earth with the one person that you were running away from in the first place.
☀︎ a/n: hey guys!! welcome to week 2 of my summer project, aka the storms of broken hearts collection!! for this week, this is my piece that is a part of @wavesmp3‘s tale as old as time collab, in which it is the modernized version of apollo and daphne’s myth. i hope you guys like this piece for this week, since next week i’ll be posting the prequel to ride along!!
STORMS OF BROKEN HEARTS | TBZ MASTERLIST
San Francisco, the Golden City.
You were currently writing the rest of the menu for your cafe onto the chalkboard that was supposed to be hung on the wall as you felt some sort sensation at the edge of your fingertips. The start of a new season was always an exciting time for you as the thought of the new customers that were already lined up at the start at the door after hearing about the new boba place that you just so happened to own.
After years of perfecting different recipes and creating different pieces of baked goods and drinks, you were finally able to open the little cafe that you named, Sunlight’s Apollo. The cafe was meant to heal people, as a way to put them at ease of their troubles and worries of the world, but for some reason you wanted to stick with the concept of the sun and Apollo since it felt more familiar to your heart that way.
You wanted to remember your first life, for as many centuries that you have remembered living through in multiple lives, but nothing had worked. Not a single memory of your first life could spark, and you wonder if it was because of something that might’ve happened back then that might be preventing you from remembering.
However, all that you could think of was how excited you were to open your cafe in a few moments of time, and how accomplished you felt for just doing so all on your own with the help of your friends that just so happened to be your coworkers as well.
The day already flies by like a blink of an eye as customers come and go, waves of these individuals rushing in and out of the small place with smiles on their faces made you feel pleased. You were doing something right, you think to yourself as you glanced at the clock to see that it was already 6 in the evening, the golden hues of the sunset falling in through the glass windows and into the place.
It was quiet and peaceful as there were probably four customers that were enjoying the last few sips and crumbs of their treats, your two friends already leaving since it was almost time for closing and you wanted to close for the night. You could’ve sworn that one of them, Sunwoo, had turned the sign to close, because the moment that you see the next minute pass by, a new individual walks in with a step in his pace.
You looked up from where you were cleaning the back counter to make eye contact with them, ready to greet them when you suddenly noticed something as soon as you locked eyes. A wave of nausea somewhat hits you as flashes of memories started to appear in your mind, from sitting by a body of water to being shot with an arrow that you presumed to belong to Eros, you assumed that this was your first life as you remember begging your father to turn you into a tree to run away from him.
Him, who had finally walked through the door of your cafe with pride on his face.
“It seems as though I have found you again.” He greets with a smile on his face, stopping in front of where the register was with a flower in his hand, and you could only let out a scoff at his manner, your entire happy mood from the entire day being ruined with his presence alone.
“You have some nerve to show your face here, Apollo.”
His human form seemed to scream everything about his God counterpart, which made you realize that it must’ve been the reason why the sun suddenly seemed brighter today and how familiar the name of your cafe seemed. Everything about him was everything that you could think of from all the times that you’ve described to your ‘friends’ the ideal boyfriend that you wanted, but it was all wrong in your eyes. You despised him for as long as you remember, and you could only think that it might be because of all the right reasons.
He seemed more confident in this form, ready to have stuff given to him at the tip of his fingers and you didn’t want to fall apart at that and become his victim. However, deep down on the inside you knew that there wasn’t a reason for him to show up unexpectedly if he didn’t want anything, and something in you had a hunch that it had to be about you.
“You can call me Eric, you know, just like how people call you Y/n, rather than Daphne,” He muses, leaning against the counter and you raise an eyebrow at how forward he was being, and for once you were intrigued with what he might’ve wanted, but it was all shut down with the next few words that left his lips.
“I want to talk about what happened to us, because it’s my fault that you ended up like this.”
Your face contorts with confusion with a hint of anger, eyes tearing away from his to realize that there weren't any more customers, but instead a locked door as it was now only the two of you in the cafe. Your eyes go back to his and there was something about the gaze of his that made you feel as though you should give him a sliver of a chance to explain, given that he had used all this time to find you once again in this life.
It wasn’t until you saw that there were two arrows that appeared into his hands and you recognized it to be the arrows that were used to be hit the day that it all happened; a golden one and a lead one. He holds them out for you to see and a moment of silence passes by, until he decides to break both of them against his knee and as if it were magic, all the hate and spite you held for him was gone.
Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as to why it had vanished, but you notice how his eyes had watered as he gazed at you with a longing look, making your heart beat louder in your chest as you weren’t sure what this could mean for you both. The silence felt overbearing as you didn’t know what to do, or whether or not you should move closer to him, however you could tell that there was some sort of tension that was present between you two that was ready to be broken by the sound of one’s confession.
“I spent millenia looking for you, from the moment that I heard you reincarnated… If I had known that I was the one making you suffer the entire time… I would’ve never tried Eros in the first place.” He whispered quietly, his voice slightly cracking at his own words and you could feel a lump in your throat as the urge to wipe his tears away felt overwhelming.
“I’m sorry that you suffered because of me.” You whispered back, looking away from him momentarily to collect your thoughts when suddenly he flashes in front of you as you blink, where you were now just inches apart from one another.
Everything seemed to flash in your own mind as you stared into his golden brown eyes, pieces of what could be your future together and it seemed risky. You were technically a deity, even though you had been reincarnated after being a tree for many centuries, and you could live for as long as you wanted if you stayed with Eric, but you wondered what would happen if you didn’t stay with him as well.
A touch of his lips onto yours had seemed to make your mind even more hazy as you felt as though kissing him was the missing puzzle piece your heart had been yearning to find. It was intoxicating, a vapor that seemed to have filled your lungs as you could only think that he was the one person that you wanted forever, no matter how bad your past might’ve been together.
“Want to start over again, and rewrite our history?”
#destinyverse#ficscafe#kpopscape#deobiwritersnet#tbznetwork#kdinernet#the boyz imagines#the boyz scenarios#the boyz fluff#the boyz oneshots#the boyz angst#tbz imagines#tbz scenarios#tbz fluff#tbz angst#eric sohn#eric imagines#eric scenarios#eric fluff#eric angst#eric oneshots
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metanoia; 01 | kth
Title: Metanoia
Pairing: Taehyung / Reader
Part of series: Waterlilies and Japanese Bridge
Genre: angst I collage!au
Pairing: student!reader x photographer!taeyhung
Word count: 4,7k
Summary: Vante, a household name among photographers became known for his minimalistic photography style that came along with his secret persona. Never showing his face on his own exhibitions fueled the public’s desire to learn more about him which skyrocketed his fame. While preparing for his next exhibition Vante went missing. Disappeared into thin air and even now a year later was never found.
Author’s note: I am very conscious of any grammar mistakes. Although I have read this chapter three times I am sure I’ve missed some so bare with me.
On another note, I have switched the dates of the chapters for Saudade and Metanoia. Since this story got more attention compared to Sauade I’ve decided to write it before the date.
This is my first attempt at writing on this platform and I hope it will reach out to a wider range of readers and catch your interest. Any feedback is greatly appreciated.
Taglist: @ggukkieland @honig-und-millch , @deliciousdetectivestranger ,
Masterlist
Metanoia masterlist
< intro | next chapter >
You sink into the overaged draggled yellow chair, catching second-hand embarrassment at the sight before you. The boy walked about, his thrusts were not enough to keep the neon hula hoop from falling. He attempts to fumble his way out of the mess, but it was too late. The left ankle twists itself and before you know it, he hits headfirst against the wooden flooring. The professors rush towards him, medics following behind. The boy tries to pull himself up but fails his body slumping against the stage. To your left Mingi snorts, stuffing his face with popcorn amused by the scene playing out.
“I don’t mean to sound rude or whatever, but people need to search up the meaning of talent before their eyes skip to the word show.” Minnie ruckles her nose, her mouth loop sided.
“I find this highly entertaining,” Mingi speaks up, mouth full of food. He takes a sip of the cold beverage rested in his lap and shakes the mixture before swallowing.
To his left Yeonjun shudders at him, “Talent or not I would rather replay that scene than watch Mingi be a slob. It makes me want to bleach my eyes out.”
Mingi rolls his eyes ignoring Yeonjun as he pops more popcorn, oblivious to his own weird antics. Although the four of you are friends for years, Mingi managed to take you all by surprise with his uncanny behaviour.
The second act starts and suddenly you contemplate your university choice. Reasonably the overbearing staff of your university wanted the timid first years to feel welcomed hence this so-called show. In hindsight, you think a friendly party would’ve been just as good.
Halfway through the act, you feel a light tap on your shoulders, professor Kim Namjoon stands there like a sore thumb in the mass of students’ bodies. With his hovering height, freshly dyed purple hair and the rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose he was sure to stand out. He shifts his footing from one to the other foot anxiously waiting for you to follow him, few students commenting on the disruptions that his appearance caused.
You observe him for a second, accompanying him out of the theatre into the cold November air. He fumbles through his leather briefcase before fishing out a small, crumpled flyer. Opening it he shoves it into your hands while tweaking his glasses.
“I have a favour to ask you Y/N. There will be a course taking place here and I would love for you to attend it with your peculiar friends.” He says emphasising the word peculiar.
You knew that Mingi gave Namjoon the creeps even though the latter denied it.
“No.”
You push back the flyer spinning on the balls of your feet ready to join your friends.
“Y/L-…”, Namjoon groans, “Do it for your brother-in-law.”
Widening your eyes, you look at him shaking your head.” This isn’t the time to use our family relations to bribe me into a stupid course.”
“Did you even read what’s it about?”, you take the flyer from his hands skimming through it.
Photography course
Length: 10th November till 10th June
Time: Friday, 6pm -8pm
Attendance: Third years and above
Equipment not needed for the course
Your eyes pause at the date, laughing releasing itself from your chest. Surely Namjoon was kidding when suggesting this. You were in your last year which meant you would soon be flooded with work for your final project. In conclusion, there was barely enough time for you set foot out of your studies let alone attend another one of the university’s poor attempts to make a course for students to bond over.
“You understand I’m in my last year. I don’t have time to go out and have fun with my friends. How in the world did you think I would fit a whole-ass course?”
Namjoon releases a breath running a hand through his thick hair, desperation evident on his face.” I am sorry to have to do this, but I am cashing in my favour.”
You become stiff mouth agape, incoherent vowels coming out of you. It takes you a few seconds to gather your thoughts, “you promised to not cash it in. You gave me your word.”
“And you gave me yours.” Namjoon retored sassily, finger pointing at you, “I won’t tell Sunmi if you promise to do me a favour when the time comes.”
Pushing your tongue against the palate, you try to control the boiling anger.
The incident happened four years ago, back when you were still figuring out your college life. Namjoon and you were acquaintances, sharing one elective course called German Literature. Needless to say, both of you suffered greatly.
By the end of the year, you noticed your sister piqued Namjoon’s interest. Grossed out by the idea of your older sister engaging in any kind of relationship/activity with a twenty-three-year-old, you kept your distance until the faithful day.
Choi San was the synonym for the devil himself. With his fiery red hair and dazzling cat-like eyes, he lured you into his messy life of illegal parties and binge drinking. You still find yourself cringing at his pathetic excuses of professing his undying love to you when it was all under false pretences. His eyes bearing into your naïve soul, pulling your heart out and wrenching it until your friends came to pick up the pieces.
Sitting in the police station you counted down minutes before your older sister would burst through the door and finally decide to disown you. With your head nested between your knees you suck in the tears threatening to spill, the euphoria from the alcohol long gone. You’ve dialled Mingi’s number first, the others were a no go when it came to answering their phones. He picked up in a matter of seconds. After explaining the situation, you figured he would bring his own parents to bail you out instead Namjoon comes first, after him a stressed Minnie trying to keep up the pace with him and a Yeonjun who’s pulling his masks further over his nose in a lame attempt to be unrecognizable. Mingi idly meanders behind them in his pyjamas with not one care in the world. Namjoon pulls a small amount of money handing the police officer and not long after you were free.
At that moment you’ve truly recognized your friends as the people you wanted to keep in your life forever. Namjoon jokingly said he would someday cash in his favour. Little did you know the joke would get over your head.
“You’ve waited for four years to cash it?”
He shrugs and nods lightly. Quickly he composes himself, washing his features of playfulness and switching them up with hopelessness. “It’s really important for me that you and your clique of friends attend this course. Professor Seojoon organized it-“
At the mention of your favourite professor, your eyes light up making Namjoon shudders. The little “crush” you harboured didn’t go unnoticed by him. Putting his hands on your shoulders he gains your attention again before continuing, “his brother is the one to hold the course so you must come. I will put in a good word for you all. Maybe he will go easy on you during quizzes.”
You roll your eyes knowing fully well that you didn’t need Namjoon’s intervention although it was greatly appreciated. Putting the flyer in your back pocket you throw a thumbs up to Namjoon, “Well Minnie and I don’t need any favouritism and I am almost certain you can’t do much for Yeonjun and Mingi seeing as they are in different departments.”
“Oh?” Namjoon’s brows shot up at the revelation, totally dismissing the idea that you know each other any differently than through the classes you attend, “I thought Yeonjun was in the literature department, as for Mingi it’s far-fetched but I didn’t want to sound rude.”
“Actually, Yeonjun is in the Vocal department while Mingi is in the Physics and Astronomy department. He’s also on top of his class, both are.”
Namjoon seems stunned at the information you threw at him, but he recovers swiftly, “Bunch of nerds.” He chuckles at his own jokes before both of you bid goodbyes. You slowly make your way to the cafeteria mind set on pursuing your friends to join you and Namjoon running to the staff meeting hoping to extinguish the chaos caused by the talent show.
Pushing past the mass of people on the campus your sneakers squeak against the pavement, the chatter between the students becoming louder as you push the cafeteria doors. Making your way towards the table in the further left corner you spot Yeonjun’s eye-catching hair. The pink shade fits well against his pale skin making him noticeable from afar. The boy throws a piece of chips at Mingi, the latter catching it mid-air.
The rustling of your chair brings them out of their bubble. Minnie plops her elbows on the table, hand supporting her cheek as she lays it there, eyes staring at you amusingly. Mingi continues to catch Yeonjun’s chips, his attention now slightly focused on you. “How was the talk with professor Namjoon.”
“I need a favour to ask you.”
“Last time you asked for a favour we had to bail you from jail,” Mingi adds face void of any emotion causing Yeonjun to almost choke on the piece of chicken from his plate. Minnie reaches for his head hitting him hard on the back.
“That was four years ago for God’s sake.” You yell, a few students turning bothered by your loud voice disrupting their meal.
Slumping further into the seat, cheeks reddened from the heat of the sudden attention you gained you say quietly, “there is a course taking place this year and I would love if you could attend it.”
Mingi was the first to read the flyer once you push it in the middle of the old table. He hums a couple of times and gives you a thumbs up, unlike Minnie who scoffs.
“A whole semester? Y/N you know this is impossible to juggle this with our final project. As much as I would love to participate you know what you’re asking for is too much.”
You bite your lower lip remembering Namjoon’s words. “I know but professor Seojoon is organizing it, and don’t you think having him on our good side would mean a lot?”
Minnie shrugs and pops the strawberry into her mouth. “I understand, but it’s on Fridays. The only time I can spare for parties and clubs, and you’re asking me to spend it studying something I am not even remotely interested in?”
You turn towards Yeonjun knowing if he agrees Minnie will crumble under the pressure of your group. He scans it quickly and shakes his lightly head from left to right before agreeing to accompany you making Minnie collapse her shoulders in defeat.
“Fine but if it takes too much of my time I am signing out.”
“I love you guys so much.”
“Cut it with the sappy shit, I have piano lessons.” Yeonjun gets up telling you goodbye before he disappears in the ocean of students his pink hair no longer visible. A distant scream could be heard a few seconds after, “I love you too.”
You smile feeling the love of your friends.
“We love you too.” Mingi gets up and places a carton of freshly squeezed apple juice in front of you sending off a small smile. Just like Yeonjun, he’s gone.
-
Nose buried deep into the book; Taehyung tried his best to mute out his brother’s lame attempts of starting a conversation he never intended to finish. Legs resting on the polished marble table he did his very best to further fuel Seojoon’s irritation. The older one pacing back and forwards provoking Taehyung’s headache.
“If you would just listen to me.”
Kim Taehyung detested surprise, especially those he didn’t catch on early. This one though topped the cake. “There is no need to listen.”
“Quit being stubborn.”
“Oh, the irony.” Taehyung looked up catching his brother’s burning gaze,” contrary to your beliefs, I must say you are the one who’s stubborn here. When a person asks for space and time you give them that instead of forcing them, wait sorry what was the word again? Yeah, lightly pushing them into holding a course. One which they never asked for or showed the desire to hold.”
“You needed a little push in the right direction.”
“Arranging a one-year course isn’t a push you idiot,” Taehyung shouted; the book was long forgotten and tossed aside on his couch. His yell echoed in the empty room causing Seojoon’s to scowl. He found comfort in a small armchair adjacent to the marble table. “You can’t bury yourself in books and spend your days in the atelier. It’s not healthy Taehyung.”
“I don’t remember asking for advice.”
Seojoon was on the verge of giving up, letting the course get cancelled before it even happened hadn’t it been for the twelve people that signed up and Namjoon’s effort to recruit them.
“Look-“he takes a deep breath calming himself, “You can think of it as a one year course, but in reality, it’s eight months. When you count Christmas, New Year, Easter you can cut one month coming to seven months in total. I’ve gone all out for this course, please don’t make me go and explain to my higher-ups why it’s cancelled before it even started.”
Taehyung shut his eyes trying not to feed the growing frustration inside him. Seojoon takes the time to look at his brother, the embodiment of pain. The eyes that used to shine brightly at the sight of new opportunities were now dull and empty, almost as if his soul left the body. It tore him apart to see Taehyung like that, powerless and what added more to his pain was the inability to help him.
“It’s been a year since I’ve held a class.”
“I know you Taehyung. You are a man of many talents and there is nothing that can convince me otherwise. You need to move forward and face the fear you’ve been holding onto. It’s been a year. Nobody will judge you.” Seojoon’s eyes soften as he walks up to his brother ruffling his hair, hoping that his sincerity got through to him.
“I don’t know Joon.”
Before Seojoon could even start talking Taehyung shakes his head and moves hurriedly reaching for the knob. Seojoon takes a step towards Taehyung, but he doesn’t even give him a chance to speak as he runs right out of the door leaving him alone in the atelier.
The water drips from Taehyung’s wet hair down his face creating a false comfort, the sound of water coated a perfect cover to hide his emotional baggage. It became a habit of his to seek solace in the bathtub surrounded by lavender soaps that Yuna bought. A tradition carried on from their mother to them. The scent took Taehyung back into his childhood spent in his family home in Busan. Carefree of responsibilities and the heavy burden the world carried.
He recalls the delicate touch of his mother’s fingers untangling his locks while singing Elvis’s song can’t help falling in love. Her voice heartening Taehyung as he wept over a dispute he had with his second brother Hyungsik. The vivid memory of his mother placing a kiss on the crown of his head before wiping away the tears from his cheeks.
“Siblings are there to teach you about life,” she whispers softly, “They teach you what it means to be kind, to be fair and to know you will not always be right. They teach you about teamwork, conflict resolution and most importantly Tae they teach you what it is to love and to be loved.”
Opening the door of Seojoon’s study, Taehyung is greeted with a sight to behold. Leaning against the door frame he watches Yuna and Hyungsik dancing in the middle of the muddled room, furniture pushed aside to create more room. They attempted to follow Yuna’s new choreography, Seojoon’s seated in the leather armchair grading assignments although he would glance up occasionally laughing at the duo. More like laugh at Hyungsik’s failed attempts but he didn’t need to know that. Noticing Taehyung’s presence, Yuna runs over linking their arms and pulls him forward oblivious to the slight tension between him and Seojoon.
“Idol my ass, “she scoffs at a gasping Hyungsik, “Taehyungie I need a dance partner for my new choreography. Hyungsik can’t even learn the basics.”
“Not my fault the younger generation goes overboard with their dances and outfits and singing. In my time we relied on our charms, and not how you call it? Fairy ending? What is even that?”
“It’s when idols finish the song, and the camera pans on of them giving them some more love and screen time. Right?” Taehyung looks at Yuna for approval. She places Taehyung’s hand over her shoulder, linking her arms around his waist while he kisses her temple and puts his cheek on top of her head.
“Admit it you’ve gotten old Hyungsik.” Seojoon derides.
That was enough to motivate Hyungsik to crack his fingers and reach for the tablet, “Give me the goddamn tablet. I’ll show you who’s old.” burying his nose into the gadget, he replays the video repeatedly.
By the time he made it through the first segment of the dance, Taehyung was sure he could blindly replicate the choreography himself.
“Couldn’t you ask one of your professors or other idols in training to help you?” Taehyung asks as the two observe Hyungsik’s rusty moves.
“One friend is busy finishing school projects and Jungkook-a has too many events lined up to help. I haven’t seen him since last Friday and I don’t feel comfortable asking Jimin-ssi to practice with me.”
“Isn’t he your professor?”
“Yes and no. He helps the idols which have already debuted in our entertainment company, that’s Jungkook. Jimin-ssi does occasionally step in when other professors are prevented from teaching. But his job is being a full-time professor at the EQ Royal Dance Academy.”
Taehyung nods, the information flying over his head as Hyungsik messes up a move and topples to the floor. He erupts into fits of laugher for the first time in weeks and Seojoon is suddenly reminded what’s it like to be happy. He knew bringing Yuna home for the weekend would do Taehyung some good. The sight warms his heart, his siblings bickering loudly, breathing some life into the old room. Resting the assignments on the nearby table, he sits up to join them. Catching Taehyung’s gaze he looks towards the boy, brows raised.
“I’ve thought about it and-” Taehyung stops for a second, but Seojoon’s soft gaze prompts him to continue. “I’ll take the job.”
“Well, you better get ready because it starts in two hours.”
“What?!”
-
There were many ways you could spend your Friday night, like partying for instance yet here you are sitting in your car listening to Minnie whining. Mingi’s soul stuck somewhere on his iPod the second he set foot in the car, his head bobbing to the music blasting from his AirPods. Yeonjon was the only one not present. Due to his idol actives, he was held back by his vocal coach, but he promised to be there for the second lecture.
Placing your analogue camera on the desk, you tug your hair into a ponytail mentally preparing yourself for two hours of dullness. Minnie sits to your right while Mingi takes the chair to your left. The three of you seating yourselves in the front of the classroom, Namjoon’s words bunch of nerds playing in your head.
Shaking the thought away you see the watch tick eight pm as the door swings open.
When Namjoon told you professor Seojoon’s brother would hold the course you had expected a man either older than him or somewhere around his age, not a handsome make you take a double look type of a man; two or three years older than you.
His features were nothing short of a Greek god. He stood head and shoulders over you even when you were seated, confidence radiating from every fibre of his being as adjusts his bag over his shoulder. Pushing his brown curls away from his face he allows you to look at it. Perhaps you were exaggerating but you never saw such a gorgeous man. Straightening himself up you take notice of his attire for tonight’s lecture. An orange blazer draped over a white shirt brought out his sun-kissed complexion paired with the same-coloured trousers. A type of anonymity laced itself with every step he took in your direction, his stare a mixture of coldness and determination.
He comes forward, eyes scanning each one of you before he sets his gaze on you. It lingers there for a second, his expression unreadable before he breaks it.
“Hello, my name is Kim Taehyung and I’ll be your lecturer for this course.”
For the first time, you see Mingi’s focus entirely on Taehyung. His presence demanded to be felt and a part of you was sure he knew it. Taking the camera in his hand he turns towards you.
“I assume you have at least once taken a photo, whether with your phones or camera. Moreover, I am positive you have attempted to make an aesthetic photo for your Instagram feed. How many of you were successful?” laughter filled the lecture hall,” The goal of this lecture isn’t to make a photographer out of you nor to help you improve your skills. The point is to make you fall in love with photography. The rest will come easy.”
He walks around the desk and opens an old leather binder. Walking towards your table he places it in front of Mingi allowing the three of you to peek at the content of it. There neatly stored in a plastic sheet were his photos. Mingi pushes the portfolio in front of you, allowing easier access to both Minnie and you. Slowly leafing through the pictures, you stop in total awe. Eyes trailing over a simple photo of a ray field, caught somewhere in later November or early December judging by the snow. The contrast was striking, the clash of the colours and the depth of field creating an imaginary line between the ray and the sky.
Taehyung observes your dumbfounded expression, intrigued by your sudden amazement he ambles to your side. He rakes over the photo, which was a thereby sheer mistake, panic rushing through him. In a reckless attempt to stop you from further prying into the photos he grasps the portfolio out of your hold knocking over your camera in the process. It hits the floor shattering the lens into pieces, the film rolling down until it stops near his feet. Cursing himself for his abrupt action, he looks at you. Your eyes drift from the broken camera to Taehyung’s face.
He hurriedly squats picking the pieces, analysing the damage. Beyond repair.
“I am so sorry. I-” he says placing the parts on your table trying to come up with more words of apology.
“It’s alright.” You shuffle awkwardly in your seat not liking the spotlight put on you.
“I’ll be sure to repay you the coasts of a new camera.”
You shake your head; the camera was already outdated, and you were sure Sunmi would let you borrow her digital one from the gallery. “It’s fine.”
Taehyung puts his lips into a thin line, the confidence he marched beginning to leave his body. Although you showed no anger or resentment towards him, he still felt the need to apologize. Swallowing the awkward moment, he paces towards the centre.
“Today we will start with simple terms such as ISO, Aperture and Shutter speed. Three things you should get familiar with.”
Fetching his Nikon camera from the case he turns it around. Swirling the button on the upper part of the camera he adjusts the mode to manual. Pushing another button towards himself the camera shows three circles in the middle of the screen.
“The first circle is shutter speed. That’s the speed at which the light of a camera sensor is exposed to light when taking a photo. Slow shutter speed captures the blur of subjects in motion. It’s valuable for night and landscape photography. On the other hand, high speed allows you to freeze a single millisecond in time.”
Pointing to the middle circle he continues. “This is an aperture, the opening through which light passes through the lens to enter the camera. Its size can be modified to control how much light reaches the sensor.”
Lastly, he shows you the third button. “ISO represents the sensor’s sensitivity to the light. The higher the number, the more information will be captured in other words the picture will be brighter.”
Taehyung fumbles with the camera for a few seconds before he focuses it on you and with a click and shutter of light, he takes your photo. With no time to recover you feel a blush creep at the thought of how the picture turned out. “As you can see this is the perfect setting for the indoor portrait. Now if we put the shutter speed high and the ISO low-“
He again takes a picture of you turning the camera screen to the students. The photo was dark, your features barely visible but still your figure could be distinguished. “This is an underexposed photo. Now if we set the shutter speed to let’s say 1/40 and places the ISO high-“
Expecting his move this time, you look up at the camera. Taehyung halts his action for a slight second before he presses the button. Looking at the photo, the brightness is overbearing. “This is an overexposed photo.”
He places the camera in front of Mingi, Minnie and you allowing you to take your time and compare the three photos he took. “Why am I showing you this? Because for your next assignment that’s what you will do. You will take three photos of the same object. The object you choose should be something that left a great impact on you. That can be your family, your friends or an inanimate object such as phones, books etc. The choice is yours.”
Pulling out stacks of paper he leaves them on the corner of his desk.” These here are today’s study notes. I don’t expect you to write down notes while in the class, but I do expect you to finish your assignments. That will be all for today.”
The students began leaving the room each taking one paper, Taehyung stood there, hands in his pocket looking through every pupil that passed by. Minnie was first in line, her flirt mode on. You see them exchange a few words, Minnie’s behaviour suddenly going from sweet to sour in seconds. You dally your way to the desk aware of his gaze burning holes in the side of your head.
“Sorry, Y/N was it?” You peek up not expecting him to spare you a second let alone address you.
“Yeah?”
Taehyung scratches the back of his neck awkwardly.” I am sorry for what happened to your camera. I know you said it’s fine, but I feel responsible for it. I would feel better if you let me repay you by buying a new camera or at least participating in the coasts.”
“No, really it’s fine.” You laugh as you say it for the fourth time today.” I will borrow my sister’s camera for the course. If I do find myself in a need to buy a new camera, I will let you know.”
Before Taeyhung could protest you nod politely and leave the room. Biting his lip, he couldn’t help to feel bad about the wreck he made knowing full well how much an analogue camera costs nowadays. Taking the Nikon one from your table he swipes through the photos deleting each one before he pauses on the last one. It was the first black and white photo he took of you.
Your eyes were focused on Taehyung, although taken aback by the light they held their composure your mouth pulled into an affiliative smile. The white light made your baby hair stand out in the black background. For an unexplained reason, Taehyung felt a small tug, one he couldn’t pinpoint the meaning of. Shutting off his camera, he exhales through his nose and throws the bag over his shoulder.
The first lecture was done, thirty-three to go.
all rights reserved @moochi0park
#taehyung x reader#reader x taehyung#kim taehyung x reader#bts fanfiction#taehyung fanficiton#taehyung moodboard#kim taehyung fanfiction#taehyung au#kim taehyung au#yeonjun x reader#mingi x reader#g-idle x reader#g-idle#bts au#taehyung angst#taehyung fluff#bts x reader#yoongi x reader#got7#jimin x reader#y/n#jungkook x reader#vante#saudade#metanoia
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Drabble challenge- 46 and maybe extra angsty please 🥲🥲🥲
Hiiiiiii!
Ok, I don't think that I really pulled off the EXTRA angsty, but there IS angst involved!😆 Then I had to throw in the hurt/comfort/fluff. I also changed up the quote a little bit, I hope you don't mind! This is from an unnamed universe I'm currently working on 😌🥰 Hope you like!!!! Thanks for the ask! 🤗🤗🤗
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46.) “I thought you were dead!”
Jon was losing his damn mind.
Dany never went this long without responding to his texts and calls, especially when he was out of state for work and he only had technology to rely on to reach her. He wasn't possessive by nature, but ever since learning of her sometimes fragile condition - to which she insisted was not the case - he couldn't and wouldn't dare let his protectiveness be put by the wayside.
She was too important to him, and he really didn't know what he would do without her. Couldn't even begin to outline a picture of what his life would even look like without her right by his side in it.
He'd left the project early so he could return to the rental house and try her again. His boss had all but tossed him off the property by the hem of his pants because he'd been not only obsessively checking and rechecking his phone, but he was far too distracted and had already nearly drilled his thumb into a roof.
It was all in support, however - his boss knew Jon well, and understood the situation, and wouldn't sack him just because he loved his wife so hard it made him physically ill to think she might be in some form of danger. He didn't even care if she'd suffered a paper cut. He'd disinfect and bandage the shit out of that, too.
Gods, he was just as bad as her father had been, wasn't he? The very hovery, constantly-looking-over-shoulder person that Dany loathed and grew up with. He tried not to be, and most times he was successful. But he also wasn't typically eight hours away, halfway across the country, either.
He paced the living room, the other line just ringing and ringing with no answer. Her silky voice in the form of her voicemail passed through his ear again, and he sighed heavily. "Dany, I don't know what's goin' on, but you're really freaking me out. I'm sure you'll have my head when you see all the missed calls and messages...but please just let me know you're ok. You can send me the middle finger emoji for all I care. Love you more than anything. Bye."
Thumbing the red "END" button, he chewed on his lip and looked around the mostly-barren room, save for his suitcase which was still packed with his clothes. Tomorrow was the last day he needed to be here before flying back home...how crazy would it be to catch that night's red eye, anyway? And how livid would Dany be that he ditched this huge contract at the tail end?
His heart was made up before he could even try to rationalize it.
"Davos? I'm gonna take off...it's not like her to-," he chuckled nervously, while Davos commanded him to 'say no more and go get your girl'. "Thanks, mate. I'll keep you updated."
He wasn't sure Davos wanted to know any more than whether or not he found Dany safe and sound with all of the sulking he'd been doing the last several days.
Jon gathered up his toiletries from the bathroom in one hand, while his other was busy weaving around the airline website to book the soonest flight. To his relief, there was one in an hour and a half, which would give him just enough time to call for a rideshare and zoom his way over with thirty minutes to spare.
After the typical hell that was the airport and boarding process, plus the hole he burned through his credit card in just two hours alone (beyond worth it), he was in the air. Another torture was the distance; he managed to get himself a nonstop flight and shaved off two hours but still…
Naturally, he refused to sleep. His phone was clutched in his hand so the moment he landed, he could check it to see if he’d gotten any responses.
No luck.
He rushed through baggage and had already scheduled his next rideshare prior to his flight. Now that he was in his homeland and a mere twenty minutes from home, the anxiety and nausea were really setting in, the what-ifs and the endless possibilities; he wouldn’t know what he’d do if she wasn’t at the house…
When they pulled up, he was flooded with relief to see that her car was in the driveway, had he couldn’t have grabbed his luggage and get to the front door fast enough. He rifled for his keys and jammed it into the lock, Ghost’s howls instant and persistent until he got the door open and he whined upon seeing Jon walk through.
“Hey boy,” he greeted quietly, giving him a few good scruffs before haphazardly dumping his stuff on the floor and locking up behind him. He paused and strained his ears, exhaling when he heard the shower running upstairs.
Once he was in the conjoining bedroom, Ghost hot on his heels, he took his time shedding some layers and kicking off his shoes. On the nightstand sat a brown paper bag, folded shut, which was a little odd, but everything appeared to be in normal order. Their regular things skewed about as it was when they were there, Dany’s pajamas laid out on her side of the bed.
As he was going through his drawers to find some pajama pants, the bathroom door opened and he spun on his heel, just to confirm that she was there, safe and in the flesh.
A gust of air gasped into her mouth, her hand flying to her towel-clad chest as she jumped backward. “Seven hells! You scared the life out of me!” She breathed, her cheeks pink from the warm shower and damp hair tumbling about her shoulders. Even just the good-natured joke made him wince; it was the dormant worry that had been on his mind for hours now.
Then, a fond smile came over her face. “You’re home early.”
He was exhausted, and maybe that was why he couldn’t find it in him then to be playful, his brows twisting and her face falling a fraction. “You didn’t answer my texts or calls,” he said as gently as he could, but the fatigue was evident in his tone.
Dany blinked, then crossed her arms over herself, but she was still trying to keep it light. “Missi and I went on an impromptu girls’ vacation after my test and...,” she paused and stepped over to the mysterious paper bag, rustled her hand in it, then withdrew her phone and wiggled it, “dropped it into a pool.”
Jon took a moment to himself to shuck off his jeans and slip into his pajamas. He didn’t want to admit it...didn’t want to give her the ‘w’ word, but they were honest to the bone with one another. It was just how they programmed. He was still a little cowardly, avoiding her eyes when he said it. “I was worried sick about you.”
He heard her huff, and finally lifted his eyes to get a read on her. Clearly she was irritated, but not entirely furious. “There was nothing to worry about, Jon. I was stupid and dropped-”
“Not stupid,” he chided, cutting her a stern look. She was anything but.
Now she rolled her eyes. “It was only a little over a day; I didn’t think it was such a big deal if I just waited until I got home to try and fix it. All the stores were closed by the time I got in. And it was only a little over two days,” she defended.
Slowly, Jon frowned, and it grew deeper by the second. “A lot can happen in a little over two days, Dany,” he stated, tossing his jeans into the hamper in the closet.
“What did you expect had even happened?” She laughed humorlessly, getting more agitated by the second. Then she buried her phone back in the bag, which he now realized was full of rice, and disappeared into the bathroom, returning with her hair brush and began to detangle the damp knots.
He grit his teeth, fists clenching and loosening at his sides. “I don’t know, Dany, but I always get this terrible feeling in my gut after a period of time passes and I don’t hear from you,” his voice rose a hair. “I know you don’t want to hear it, and it’s bloody ridiculous on my end, but it kills me that I can’t turn it off. I worry when you’re at work, when you do a grocery run and I’m not there…,” he huffed and shook his head, running his hands down his face and briefly hiding behind them. He was overwrought with jet lag and lack of sleep and emotions on high, but he’d opened the floodgates now.
“Well, I’m not a fragile piece of glass that needs to be in a bubble day in and day out,” she returned, “or maybe I am, who knows! But I don’t want to be thought of that way. You know that. It makes me feel worse about myself and what I’m capable of and gives me heightened anxiety. I worry when you worry and it’s a vicious cycle!”
Closing his mouth, he forced himself to inhale a lungful of air through his nose, releasing it between his lips. “I do know. But it’s how I’m wired; I can’t help it sometimes.” Dropping his arms to his sides, he sighed. Gods, of course she wasn’t fragile. She was, far and away, the strongest woman, the toughest human being he’d ever had the pleasure of knowing let alone sharing a life with. He made it a point to remind her of that every single day, with all sincerity. She was the best thing that could have ever happened to him, bar none.
Some days he wondered how and why he’d gotten so damn lucky, such as now. He was doing the very thing he swore he wouldn’t. Her father had been overbearing enough. And it wasn’t all-consuming always, but sometimes his nerves got the best of him.
Dany’s eyes narrowed. “Did you think I died or something?”
The dagger twisted in his stomach once more. “That’s where the worst of my thoughts went, yes.”
With a hard look and silence, she went back into the bathroom. For a while there was nothing but the sound of her trying to feed her brush through her hair.
“Dany.”
“What?” She asked through her teeth.
Maybe he ought to give her time and space to breathe for a few minutes, but gods, he needed her so, so bad. Just to physically hold her and know she was safe and whole and unhurt, but also that he had made a colossal fuck-up. He’d seen the tears welling in her eyes before she could hide them away, and it broke him. He was a blistering idiot. She had texted him that her test came back normal, and yet here he was with frazzled, totally frayed nerves.
Dany had one too many brushes with death in her young life, and he knew how she felt about that, too.
He crossed the room and stopped at the threshold, discovering that she was having a hell of a time getting the tangles out, and her face was scrunched adorably. Without a word, he reached for the brush and took it from her. A little stubbornly, her arms fell to her sides, defeated. Jon parted her hair in half and twisted it up out of the way while he gently began with the under layers first.
He could feel her eyes burning through him in the mirror. “I’m sorry,” he murmured as he looked her straight in the eyes, his voice thick and gruff.
Wordlessly she spun around and curled her arms around his shoulders, nestling her face into his neck. In return, he secured her against him, nuzzling into her half dried hair and kissing the top of her head several times.
All of the fear seemed to evaporate off of his shoulders having her gathered up in his arms, grounding him, and maybe even herself. They stayed like that for a while before Jon moved them to the bedroom and he had her sit, then crawled up behind her on the bed to finish her hair. Nobody spoke for a time, but it wasn’t a tense silence, at least.
Once he finished, she reached back to squeeze his thigh, then stood to her feet and dropped her towel. Although his body reacted as it always did, it was evident that they both needed a good rest. He scooted to the edge of the bed and after she’d pulled on her silky sleep shorts, he motioned for her to lift her arms, and he slid on the matching top.
Before he could move again, she stepped between his legs and curled her arms around his head, holding him against her abdomen while he, happily, linked his arms around her middle and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry, too,” she whispered. Softly, she hushed him when he made a sound to argue. “I wish I didn’t get so defensive. Maybe it’ll get better with time.”
Shifting his head, he planted his chin on her breast bone and peered up at her, while she gazed back down on him and raked her fingers through his hair. “I don’t want you to change, Dany. Not anything, not ever.”
She studied his face for a few beats, her other hand cradling one side before she leaned down to kiss him sweetly. Jon did not consider himself a religious man, but she was the closest thing to heaven that he could conjure up. Rolling back, he took her with him fully onto the bed as she squeaked, and situated them so he could lay beside her. There was barely any part of them that wasn’t touching, their limbs a tangled mess.
“And anyway…,” he smirked slyly, “S’kind of sexy when you put me in my place.”
She quirked one thick eyebrow, her index tracing over his facial features. He was seconds away from completely passing out, the heaviness looming over his eyes. “Is that so?”
“Mhm,” he conceded lazily, sliding his hand under her shirt to smooth over her warm back, her velvety skin a contrast against his worn hands and making her shiver under it. “How was your vacation?”
Dany pulled a face, lifting one shoulder. “Fun, but I bet I missed you more than you missed me.”
“I doubt that very much,” he croaked, blinking slowly now, but fighting it. “Has your boss ever thrown you out of your workplace for moping over your husband?”
“Jon!” She gasped, perfectly affronted and pinching his cheek.
He chuckled sleepily, then buried his face in her chest, kissing at the exposed skin there. “I think it did everyone a favor, honestly. And it was almost completed anyway, so…”
“So, you risked a job you adore and traveled eight hours unplanned, all because my arse was clumsy and let my phone go for a swim?”
“No,” he resurfaced from the warm haven of her skin, tilting his head up to see her properly, “because I love you. And don’t think I wouldn’t do it again,” he frowned in thought as an idea formed, “maybe we should get you one of those old people phones that you can wear like a necklace.”
Dany tossed her head back with a burst of laughter, and Ghost materialized on the bed to see what all the ruckus was about, until he decided he didn’t care anymore and stole Jon’s side of the bed. Jon grinned madly, rolling onto his back. Dany folded her arms over his chest while she caught her breath, her hair a silver curtain around them. “You wouldn’t dare,” she challenged quietly, leaning over to switch off the lamp, then curled herself around him completely, her breath tickling his cheek. “I love you so much,” she whispered, her hand returning to his face to caress.
The dull moonlight filtered in through the window, casting one half of her face in a faint blue. She pulled him closer and he poured all of his words and soul into his kiss, giving her a few small pecks afterwards. “I love you more than anything in this world, Daenerys.”
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Love?
Min Yoongi x Plus size reader
Disclaimer: Anything I write is purely fiction.
Tags: Angst, Established Relationship, and cursing.
Summary: Everyone has there limits and Y/N just found Yoongi’s.
A/N: I write the reader pretty undescriptive. I tend to use female pronouns, so you’ll probably have to specifically ask me for something with male pronouns or gender neutral. But the reader can be any race you are and be related to the characters through adoption or whatever helps you move the story along. I want everyone to feel like they can read my writing.
The lights were flashing, blood was bumping, and the noises were deafening. There was a thin layer of sweat coating your body, and mixed with the hot lights shining upon you, you glowed. With poise, precision, and wild abandon, you hit every dance move and wreaked the stage. You commanded the stage with your wild energy and your fans loved it. You never thought in a million years you would be preforming as a musical artist, let a lone at MAMA as the opening act. But here you were rapping and singing your songs for your fans. Your new style was a diamond in the rough theme, with flashy accents here, grungy tones there, and punk black filling everywhere else. You are probably wondering how you got here, well it all started a little less than a year ago.
It had been two years into your relationship and on your end, it seemed like everything was going wonderfully in it, but you were very wrong.
You were a sweet doting girlfriend. Ever since you were a child you loved to care and help people as much as you could. That was sweet and all, but some people found that overbearing, that’s why you didn’t have too many friends growing up. You got better at reining it in enough to get a friend, but you still had your moments.
“Y/N, you know he’s busy, so give him some space. The boys will be there for him if something happens so calm down.” Your friend sighed, exasperated with you for staring at your phone instead of enjoying each other’s presence at your favorite café.
“I know, I know. But I still get worried and he hasn’t texted back for about a day and the longest he has ever not responded was an hour.” You looked up at you friend with pleading eyes, “He’s been doing this for a while now and I don’t know why.”
F/N abruptly stood up and snatched your phone out of your hand. “I’m doing this for your own good.” You were staring at her in complete shook as she sped walked out of the café.
“WAIT!” you said running after her. When you finally caught up with her you confronted her actions. “Why did you steal my phone and where are we going?” you asked out of breath.
She smirked looking at you, “Somewhere you can relax,” and looked forwards again walking with a purpose.
Back at the BTS dorm there was tension flowing rampantly. Yoongi had turned his phone off yesterday and it has been off since then. He was already irritated from the soon approaching comeback, and it would only get worst if he turned his phone back on.
It was a known fact that Yoongi was a patient, caring, and overall nice person. Don’t get me wrong, he did have a cold aura but underneath that was a very nice man. But everyone had their limits, and Yoongi was getting close to his.
He genuinely loved his girlfriend and was nothing but grateful of her caring and supporting nature, but it was driving him crazy at the moment.
Currently he was stressing over finishing the last track of their new album, when there was a knock at the door. “Come in,” he said not caring who it was.
Jimin poked his head in the door cautiously knowing that his hyung was in no mood for any unnecessary distractions. “Hyung,” he called out nervously, “There has been a change in the schedule today and they need us right now at the dance studio.”
The growl that came from the rapper after did not ease the unfortunate messenger of the bad news from his nervousness. Taking a few calming breaths Yoongi respond to Jimin.
“Ok. Tell them I’ll be ready in 10 minutes, okay?” he said tiredly to his dongsaeng.
Jimin gave him a faint smile and nod then left as quietly as he came.
Thinking this would be a good way to let out some tension he got ready to go to the dance studio, unfortunately it was everything but. On the drive to the studio, he was under the impression that they would make slight adjustments to the dance routines. Instead, when the boys arrived at the dance studio they found out that the choreographer changed about half of the whole dance.
And that isn’t even the worst of it. Yoongi was messing up almost all of the new moves, which resulted in them staying longer. It wasn’t until 4 hours later that the new dance was perfected. The boys left the dance studio at about 9:30 PM and they were exhausted, more stressed then before they got there, and starving. On the drive home some of them took a nap and some were too restless to even let their consciousness slip away and obviously Yoongi was one not taking a nap.
As the boys were making their way back, you were finishing up getting food for the guys, knowing they aren’t taking care of themselves because of the comeback. Not to long ago, you and F/N split ways after leaving a cool new karaoke place you had been dying to go to. On the short walk to the dorms, you were bubbling with excitement to see the boys, especially your boyfriend.
You truly did love him. He was your rock and you were his marshmallow. He made you feel so good about yourself when you were down about your weight and you made sure to be there for him when he needed some help. You guys just worked so well together.
The boys got back to the dorms a few minutes before you, and that was enough time for the storm to start and wreak havoc. As the boys left the car slightly dazed and confused, Yoongi left his phone in the car, but Jungkook noticed and got it.
“Yoongi-hyung,” he called as he walked in the house last.
Yoongi turned around wondering what the maknae wanted but froze a little seeing the younger boy turning on his phone.
“Here you know our higher ups don’t like us having our phones off. Be careful.” He playfully scolded with his bunny smile not knowing what he had truly done.
As soon as the phone was in Suga’s hand, it started blowing up with multiple texts, missed calls, and voicemail notifications. And that is when Min Yoongi finally reached his limit. Shouting curses, he threw his phone lucky missing any of the members and or walls in his anger driven actions.
“I’m sick and fucking tired of her bullshit!” he was pacing at this point wanting to break something but trying to channel his anger in to just shouting. All the other boys were a little terrified at the out burst and didn’t know what to do or what it was about.
“Fuck!” he was stopped facing the boys and unaware of the person who snuck in after Jungkook.
“I mean fucking hell! I can’t do anything without her worrying me with her worrying about me for 5 secs. She’s over bearing, overly sensitive, and just plain annoying. She has been blowing up my phone with constant texts and I’m reaching my wits end with Y/N.” He finally finished his anger fueled confession, not knowing that the last person he wanted to hear it heard every word.
You couldn’t believe you ears. During his whole outburst, you were in the kitchen. You were about to fix him a plate of food from the dinner you had brought him and the boys but were stopped by the loud volume of his voice. You knew you could be a little much and you came to terms with that even tried to fix it but hearing that the love of your life couldn’t even handle you really hurt.
Your body was visibly shaking with all the emotions running through you, but the most overpowering emotion was heartbreak. Silent tears fell from your eyes and they wouldn’t stop coming. Amazingly you were able to quietly make your way out of the house without being notice. As soon as you were out in the cold with only yourself and your thoughts, you cried hysterically and ran all the way home, running like you never have before.
Meanwhile back at the dorm, Taehyung had caught a waft, during Yoongi’s explosion of angry words, of delicious food. When Yoongi had settled down a little, the vocalist went to find out what the source of the smell was and left towards the kitchen. With Tae’s sudden movement, everyone broke from their stunned states noticing the smell of food and were soon following in behind him, even Yoongi.
Upon arriving to the kitchen, the boys found a big feast packed in multiple containers filled with their favorite foods. They all were confused on where it had come from. On closer inspection they noticed a uncomplete plate filled with some of Yoongi’s favorite foods and all came to the same realization.
“Fuck,” the oldest rapper cursed under his breath. Before anyone could make a move, in the silence, a single text notification was heard that made Yoongi’s blood run cold. Slowly grabbing his phone like it would bite him if he touched it. He unlocked it and saw the last text he would get from her for a long time.
My Love: Enjoy the food. I hope you guys have an amazing comeback. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be a bother. I promise I won’t anymore.
A/N: I might add more to this but I’m not sure. I just want to get some of my WIPs out there.
#min yoongi x reader#plus size imagine#plus size reader#bts x reader#bts x plus size reader#min yoongi x plus size reader#chubby reader#min yoongi x chubby reader#bts x chubby reader#bangtan boys#min yoongi fanfic#bts fanfic#poc reader#fat reader#overweight reader#bts x poc reader#min yoongi x poc reader#kpop ambw#ambw#ambw bts
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