#i had to pace around my room from all the emotions this made me feel
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[Tetora Nagumo] What I Like 4☆ — The Back of a Man Among Men
Writer: Nishioka Maiko || Season: Winter
Character appearances: Tetora, Arashi
"What about you, Tetora-kun? Have you found anything you like yet?"
Translation under the cut
Tetora: Hmhmhmm…♪ I’m back~
Arashi: Oh? Tetora-kun, welcome back.
Arashi: Are you done with work already? You're back surprisingly early. Didn't you say you might be late? I thought for sure that you wouldn’t be back until late at night.
Tetora: Ossu. That's what I thought, too, but I got done earlier than I expected~
Arashi: I see. Well, I'm glad you got done without any troub—
Arashi: Kyaah!
Tetora: Woah!? Wh-what's wrong? You startled me just yelling all of a sudden, y'know?
Arashi: Tetora-kun, this is bad! Your ear! Your earlobe!
Tetora: Huh?
Arashi: Your earlobe is bleeding!
Tetora: Hm…?
Tetora: Ah, it really is. My piercing hasn't healed all the way yet, so I guess it might be bleeding because my earring got caught on my clothes or something.
Arashi: Uh-uh. You can't just wipe it off so casually like that! What if it gets infected!?
Arashi: Okay. Come here. I'll give you a hot soak.
Tetora: H-'hot soak'…? What's that? It sounds kinda like 'hot soup' in English, so I guess it's something yummy?
Arashi: Nope. A hot soak is when you use warm salt water on the affected area to help it heal better.
Arashi: Piercings are delicate, so you can't use regular disinfectants.
Arashi: Don't worry, this won't hurt. Come on, come here and sit still.
Tetora: Ossu. I'll take you up on that, then.
Arashi: Dab, dab…And, there.
Arashi: Oh? This earring…It's not the one you usually wear, is it?
Tetora: Ah, yeah. Today's work was kinda formal, so I wore this clear one that isn't really visible from a distance.
Tetora: I wonder if this piercing is even worth it for me if it’ll keep getting caught in my clothes~. It probably started bleeding because it got caught on something in a weird way.
Arashi: Hmm, that is strange. I wonder if it keeps getting caught on things because you’re not used to it yet.
Arashi: You can’t take the earring out until it heals up, though, or the hole will close up…
Arashi: I know. How about we go shopping for new ones the next time we’re free? I’ve been meaning to look for some small ones for myself, too.
Arashi: I can recommend you a shop, but would you be okay with that?
Tetora: Oh. Can I? If it’s one you recommend, I wanna go, too!
Arashi: That’s decided, then ♪ Let’s go out the next time we’re free.
Arashi: Kyaah ♪ All of them are so cute. With this many choices, I’ll never be able to decide.
Arashi: Oh, well~. Even though there are so many cute things, I want to save money this month…They’re all so tempting.
Arashi: Ah, I can’t get distracted and have fun on my own like this. I’m not here to shop for myself today.
Arashi: What about you, Tetora-kun? Have you found anything you like yet?
Tetora: U~myu. Let me think…Ah, these are nice and simple.
Tetora: I like this kinda thing, but I don’t know how fashionable they are…
Tetora: I don’t really have much of a fashion sense. That’s why I wanna hear your opinion. What do you think of these?
Arashi: Hey. You don’t need to worry about every little thing like that. After all, the most important part of fashion is wearing what you like!
Arashi: Besides, it’s not like you don’t have a good fashion sense. These earrings are nice, aren’t they? I think they’ll suit you.
Tetora: You think so? If they have your seal of approval, I’ll get them~♪ That said, which ones do you like, Narukami-senpai?
Arashi: Me? Well—
Arashi: I like these, and earrings like these are nice, too…Ah, these! I like these ones. Mmm, it’s too bad I can’t buy them. I’ll have to come back when I have some more money.
Arashi: Oh, well, that’s okay. Our main goal today was to get you some earrings. We did achieve that.
Tetora: Ossu. I’ll go pay for these, then!
Arashi: Okaaay, see you in a bit. I’ll go look around that clothing store over there. Please do call out to me once you’re done.
Arashi: I’m so glad you could find something you like.
Tetora: Ossu! It’s just as I’d expect from a store you like. All the accessories there were designed really well. It was really neat.
Tetora: I wanna go there again. Thank you so much!
Arashi: Hehe. Just hearing you say that makes it feel worth recommending it to you.
Tetora: —Also, here.
Arashi: Huh? What’s this package?
Tetora: It’s thanks for today. I’m sorry it’s so small.
Arashi: Huh!? You don’t need to thank me, though!
Arashi: But…thank you. I’m glad. Is it okay if I open it?
Tetora: Of course!
Arashi: —Oh, my! These are the earrings I liked from that store! When did you…
Tetora: Heheh. I’m not great at giving presents, so I wasn’t sure what would be good enough as thanks, but…
Tetora: Obviously, you’d want to give anyone something they’d like, right? That’s why I didn’t buy anything beforehand. I just quietly did my research and bought these earlier.
Arashi: …You’re amazing, Tetora-kun.
Tetora: Huh? Did you say something, Narukami-senpai?
Tetora: Ah! Are these not good enough as a thank you!?
Arashi: Nope. Not at all. I’m really happy with these. Thank you so much. I’ll treasure them ♪
Tetora: I’m really glad you like them! Let’s go home, then.
Arashi: (Mm~…And I thought you were still just a cute junior. I really look forward to what the future holds for you…♪)
Tetora: ? Narukami-senpai, what’s wrong~? You almost got left behind, y’know~?
Arashi: Yeah, yeah. I’m coming, Tetora-kun!
#so can we talk about the tetonaru dynamic#and more importantly about the name of the story vs the end with arashi looking at tetora's back#the symbolism of it all. expect a ramble on my other blog tomorrow#the moment i read this (earlier today) i knew i had to tl it. my friend and i have 4 hours' worth of messages of us just screaming about it#i had to pace around my room from all the emotions this made me feel#<- most normal tetora fans#enstars#ensemble stars#tetora nagumo#arashi narukami#enstars translation#an's translation
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𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒 | feyd-rautha
(gif credits to @pascow)
— summary: an arranged marriage with feyd-rautha in the name of reconciling your houses was something you were not expecting, neither was the soft and light way he seemed to behave towards you and only you.
—pairing: feyd-rautha harkonnen x female!atreides!reader
—word count: 3k
—warnings: arranged marriage, feyd being gentle and calm because the reader is the love of his life (as it was written), probably ooc!feyd (sorry but i just love to see the most savage and feral men fall on their knees for their s/o)
writer’s note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!
ᯓ★ part one ── part two ── part three (coming soon)
Your arranged marriage to Feyd-Rautha had been the reason for House Atreides and Harkonnen to strengthen their alliance, ensuring that neither would stab each other in the back, which was most expected from the Baron. Your Houses had been wavering on a faint thread that separated you from a war and this marriage arrangement had pacted a reconciliation. It had been your parents' idea and obeying your parents was the most important thing for you, right after protecting your family and indeed that was what you were doing, guarding your family.
Your twin brother did not like the idea, he was not very fond of Feyd-Rautha and his House, moreover, he found him rather... repulsive. For Feyd was a savage, a ruthless and bloodthirsty man.
However, he had to admit that, next to him, you would be basically untouchable, after all, it was like having a guard dog, the most possessive and protective dog, a dog that was ready to kill and ravage for you if necessary.
“He's scary.” Paul's voice echoed inside your head as together you walked along the vast hallways of the Harkonnen palace, at the end of it, Feyd-Rautha stood, engaged in a conversation with your parents, forever as stiff and somber as he had been since you had first met him.
“Just look at him, you'll have to wake up next to him for the rest of your life.” Your brother insisted, throwing you a knowing and concerned look. “We can fix this without you having to marry that man, sister. There must be something—”
“Enough.” you interrupted him, finally dragging your eyes from your betrothed to your anxious brother pacing beside you, you made an effort to offer him a reassuring, soft smile, grateful that he was always so caring and concerned about you and your well-being. “There's nothing else we can do. You know about my visions and what they foresee. Our House will not endure if I do not accept this offer.”
“We will do whatever it takes to survive for now.” You added, holding Paul's gaze, noting the sadness and pity behind his dark eyes, and like the good sister you were, you sighed softly, leaning closer to him to bring him some kind of reassurance. “Our turn will come to make our move and win, brother.”
“Whatever it takes.” He echoed, nodding his head, fingers brushing your clasped hand around his forearm, as you were accustomed to do when you walked side by side.
“The marriage will take place two weeks from now.” The Duke's voice gave out the news once you were all inside the assembly room, with the Baron at the head of the table, of course, looking uncharacteristically approving and pleased to hear the announcement.
The massive man showed his approval with a hint of a phantom, twisted smile, plump fingers taping the edge of the black table in front of him. “We will have the princess as a guest in our home for a week and then the na-Baron will visit her home for the last week, prior to her coming to live here.”
He planned the whole thing and there was absolutely no one in the room who had the idiotic courage to be against his command, so, it was settled.
Once you said goodbye to your family and gave a tight and emotional hug to your brother, you were left alone in the dark and gigantic planet of the Harkonnen family, feeling like an outsider, like a small prey surrounded by bloodthirsty predators. Although, the place possessed an indescribable and incomparable beauty, the sun was black, and the light that irradiated was whitish, giving it a beautiful contrast with all the black buildings rising majestically. But the place was rather... depressing, quiet and somewhat eerie, it was nothing like your home.
You soon felt out of place, and everyone who looked at you could see it too. It was as if you had some kind of golden aura, glowing among all the darkness and gloom of the place.
Feyd-Rautha watched you attentively, analyzing every expression and emotion you let be shown across your face, catching the look your eyes possessed, that special little gleam that flashed in your orbs as you admired Giedi Prime as if it were one of the most beautiful things you had ever seen in your life, his home.
“Do you like it here, my lady?” His husky, raspy voice managed to snap you out of your trance, and your heart skipped a beat once you trailed your gaze from the horizon beneath the balcony to him, meeting his deep, dark gaze. He always seemed to look at you with those eyes, captivated, as if you were some form of strange spectacle.
And indeed you were, you stood in perfect contrast to the planet, your eyes were bright, lively, your aura was vivacious and hopeful. And because of that, he liked to look at you, study your face, your body language, every little reaction you had in response to something. You were fascinating.
Whenever you entered any room, his deep blue eyes were pulled to you like a magnet, drawn to orbit around you like his planet circling the dark sun.
Feyd noticed out of the corner of his eye how your hands clasped lightly around the balcony fence in front of you, skin contrasting against the blackness of the material.
You nodded your head very slowly, twisting your body just enough to be able to look him directly in the face, big eyes looking up at him, not with fear, but with expectation. “I do.”
Even your voice was the opposite of his, keeping that soft and delicate tone, as elegant as you.
He seemed satisfied with your positive response, and so, he dared to lean against the balcony fence right next to you, but careful not to cause you to feel too uncomfortable or intruded upon. His eyes never left you for a second and he was quite pleased that you were bold enough to hold his powerful and intimidating gaze.
“Good, it will soon become your home too.” Feyd answered you, in a tone that oscillated between amusement and fascination, you didn't quite know how to decipher the expression on his face either, naturally.
He was very complicated to read, even if you tried extra hard, the many tutoring and lessons with Lady Jessica didn't seem to do much use, with him. Perhaps because he made you feel unnerved, he made your soul tremble like no one could, stepping beyond your walls and standing where none of your senses seemed to work. Where the eye could not see.
“Are you mocking me?” Still, you had the courage to ask him that bold question, one eyebrow rising on your forehead and your head twisting slightly, defiant face and all.
Your bravery made him laugh slightly this time, a noise that was heard almost unnaturally, with a small crooked smile on his lips that looked all too unusual and strange on him. For not even his strongest and most powerful enemies had had the courage to stand in front of him and challenge him like you were doing right now. You were a fierce girl. And he liked that.
“I wouldn't be likely to mock you, my lady.” Feyd-Rautha replied calmly, his tone of voice the exact same, as if you were a spectacle. Your eyes lowered to his hand, which snaked slowly to the edge of the balcony fence, fingers stroking the smooth surface. “I'm just stating the obvious. You'll be living here with me soon. It will be our home and you will reign with me when it's my turn.”
You narrowed your eyes slightly at his response, not yet quite convinced that he would behave so calm and composed with you, when not more than two days ago you had seen him slicing men to pieces in the arena. “You are not bothered by me invading your space?”
You asked that question because you knew how... eccentric men usually behaved, you could see it in basically every man with any power you had ever met, in the so many meetings with the Duke back home. You could see how they treated their wives, how they looked at them and how they talked to them, as if they were dealing with a servant. You feared this marriage was like that too.
Even your parents' marriage was broken, since Duke Leto kept close to his heart another woman who was not Lady Jessica, he did not love her as he loved that unknown woman. You had grown up seeing an empty and cold marriage, merely to fulfill a duty.
You understood that your marriage would also have that basis, and therefore, you knew that duty was the death of love. But for some silly, innocent reason, you wanted to think there might be love here. As the naive, young girl that you were.
Feyd-Rautha shrugged, not taking much interest in the matter of the question, “You'll be my wife, my space is your space.”
A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips when he saw that his answer pleased you. You could begin to understand that to him the whole arranged marriage thing wasn't as important as it was to you, or maybe it was, but it didn't seem to bother him or disagree.
“Does this marriage bother you?” It was his turn to ask, staring down at you, noticing how beautifully your skin reflected the pale natural light of the black sun. He could see how frustrated you were now, to be there, with him. “Does it bother you to be my wife?”
You sighed heavily, peeling your eyes from Feyd-Rautha and returning them to the beauty of the landscape below, pondering the questions. His dark eyes followed your every movement as your body turned forward again, hands gripping the balcony fence as if your life depended on it.
“Do you care much for my opinion of you?” You decided to answer him with another question and that seemed to annoy him for his frown deepened and his fingers halted on the fence, devoting himself to glaring at you with his azure eyes, mirroring the pallid light of the gloomy sun.
“Woman, I will marry you and live by your side for the rest of my life, of course your opinion is important.” He took a couple of steps closer to you as he spoke, hand closer and closer to yours, managing to make you even more nervous. “Don't speak nonsense, it doesn't suit you. You're a smart girl.”
Seeing the expression on your face, he leaned even closer and out of the corner of your eye you watched as his hand rose to your face, resting on your chin and turning it ever so gently for you to look at him, but your eyes lowered, fleeing from his.
It seemed astonishing to him that you didn't even flinch away when you sensed the approach of his hand to your face, as if it wasn't the same hand that had slaughtered so many and slit so many necks by the same motion.
“Don't take your eyes off me.” He demanded in a low, raspy tone of voice, you could feel his breath brush against your face. “Look at me.”
When he whispered your name in that delicate, nearly pleading tone, you finally summoned the courage to look at him, allowing him to cradle your chin between his fingers and allowing him to be so close to you that you felt suffocated by the warmth of his body against yours.
“You fear me?”
He asked in that tone of voice, whispering, silently asking you to have mercy on him, not to fear him as everyone usually feared him, not to see him as the monster everyone saw, but as your husband, your protector and your lover.
He saw how your eyes watered slightly as fear peered into your usual stoic, cold face, and Feyd-Rautha was used to beholding that face, was used to fear, because it was always the last look of his enemies.
“I'm afraid. Of leaving home, of living on an unknown planet, of marrying someone I don't know.” Then you shook your head softly, looking up at him through your long eyelashes. “But I am not afraid of you, Feyd-Rautha.”
“You're very bold... and emotional.” He whispered in a disapproving but gentle voice, fingers tracing barely a caress along your lower lip before he reached up and dried the couple of tears that had managed to escape from your pretty eyes. At the closeness, you could begin to see through the mask he always carried, hiding his emotions. “You can't let yourself look like this in front of your enemies, it will make you appear weak.”
“I can't let myself look like this in front of my future husband?” his dark eyes lowered to your lips as you modulated the question, pupils dilating slightly. You swallowed as you saw desire and lust darken his orbs even more when you referred to him as your husband. You sniffed, feeling suddenly embarrassed by your outburst of emotions. “I'm s—sorry. You shouldn't see me like this, my lord.”
“Don't apologize.” He again reprimanded you in that passive-aggressive tone of his, like a hiss of a snake, shaking his head a little. Even after he wiped away your little tears, his hands remained in the same place, cupping your face, each of his thumbs resting on your flushed cheekbones.His fingertips were surprisingly gentle against your skin, sending shivers all over your body beneath their path. “You can be like this only with me, you understand? You can trust me, I want you to trust me.” His fingers took a lock of your hair and pulled it away from your face, running it carefully behind your ear. “But I really don't like to see you cry, my wife-to-be.”
After barely a second of silence with his azure eyes again flicking down to your parted lips, he spoke again, muttering, his raspy voice indicating that perhaps it hurt his throat to talk like that. “Pretty girls like you should cry out of pleasure only.”
He studied your face once more, not missing the way you blushed at his open flirtation and suggestive words, how you bit your lower lip, pupils expanding in thick blackness. You weren't used to so much attention, let alone men saying those kinds of words to you, it was evident. You were so innocent that it provoked a rare feeling of tenderness in Feyd-Rautha.
Perhaps it would be the closest thing to an act of consolation you would get from him and it was likely the only time in his life he had ever done that.
Promptly, you managed to make him smile again. “You Atreides are so strange and delicate... but then again, you will soon be Harkonnen, the prettiest na-Baroness, my pretty little wife.”
From his voice, his careful choice of words and the way he was looking at you, you expected him to kiss you right there —perhaps that was what you wanted, amidst all the tumult of emotions that shook your little heart, beating in rumbling noises inside your chest, pumping fiery blood through your veins.
But after a few seconds, he pulled his hands away from your face and backed away from you, taking a few steps back and offering you a look that you managed to perceive as soft rather than harsh. You knew that he was controlling himself well in maintaining a good demeanor, perhaps because his uncle had ordered him to do so; to do his best to make a good impression and not bring shame to the family. And also because he wanted you to have a good image of him, he was a prideful man, he was used to boast of his virtues and his power, and he was above all, protective of his own person and his glory.
He made a short gesture with his head pointing to the open balcony door, his hands clasping together behind his back pragmatically, as if he were presenting himself in front of a superior. “Now come, pretty girl, I'll show you the palace myself. You're future home.”
You walked towards him, a little smile curving your lips, the first smile on your face during the entire conversation, and he admired it in all it's glory.
“You don't have to be all stiff when you're with me, Feyd.” You eyed his posture with light eyes as you passed him and made your way inside the guest room with graceful steps, him following close behind.
He wasn't very fond of being addressed by name directly, of having his name used so freely, but the way you pronounced his name made him so utterly proud to be called that, he suddenly was wishing you would just call him that, in that tone of voice, tongue savoring his name as if it were the most delightful thing to say.
You turned to look at him for a few seconds, your tone of voice becoming reassuring, something he wasn't quite used to, yet he heard and savored it as if it were the sweetest thing in the world.
“If you can see me cry, then I can see you relaxed. It is only fair, no?”
Feyd-Rautha received your words positively, causing him to deepen his breathing into a snorting chuckle, eyes sparkling with amusement now behind your back.
“I'll try for you.” His response made you smile once more.
#dune 2#dune#dune part two#dune imagine#dune movie#dune one shot#dune x reader#feyd rautha x you#feyd rautha x reader#feyd rautha#feyd rautha harkonnen x reader#feyd rautha harkonnen#paul atreides#paul atreides x reader#cosmictheo#feyd x reader#dune part 2#feyd x you#feyd oneshot
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*contemplates existence for a second*
Hissy Kitty
Part 3
Part 2
Alastor X Reader
Warnings ⚠
⚠ we love seeing a man lose his mind, mentions of stabbing, poor noodle bean Pentious ⚠
As the shadows in the room grew, Alastor paced back and forth with his hand covering his mouth.
His mind jumping from one thought to another.
I don't understand what's happening! I should know what's happening! Why don't I know!?
Walking faster, he laughed and moved the hand that was on his mouth to run his fingers through his hair.
There were flashes of you appearing in his thoughts. That cold hateful glare, your eyes glowing radiantly as you hissed at him. The way you stood your ground in a powerful stance as the ears on your head were pinned back.
God you looked terrific.
NO!
He shook his head.
Angry, confused, anxious, happy. Emotions battled within him as he continued to pace.
"Oh fucking hell.", he gripped his hair on the sides of his head. "Holy fuck, whatever shall I do with this?"
The Radio Demon was feeling something new and he didn't know what to do with it. He didn't know what it was and that made him upset.
He had to know.
Needed to know.
To be in control.
He couldn't have his emotions taking hold of him. He couldn't have you messing with his heart head.
"The¥ Ωe€d +o &θ.", he growled out with a clenched jaw.
Now he knew why Husker didn't want them around.
They are a distraction, a detour in his plans. Too much trouble to have nearby. A weakness.
He stopped at that.
A weakness..
The static grew even louder, causing the widows to crack and break.
"Ha..hahaha.", he dropped his arms and leaned against his desk with one hand. "Hahaha-AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!", he laughed, moving a hand to his stomach as he bended inwards. "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
He scratched deep claw marks into his desk.
"Ha..."
The room got quiet.
Not a single sound came from him, there was no static or laugh track as he realized what the new emotion filling his chest was.
This wasn't part of the plan..
"This can't go on. I must extinguish this disgusting feeling.", he furrowed his brows. "How absurd. To think such a demon could make me doubt myself."
Removing his claws out from the table, he flicked his hand to rid of the wood chips that stuck onto him.
Fixing his coat and snapping his fingers, he had his creatures get to fixing the windows.
"Let's get to work boys. I need this place to be spotless.", he said without so much as a glance, making his way to the trap door.
"Everything needs to be in perfect θrd€r."
The latch closed as he exited the radio tower.
.
You sat on one of the dining table chairs.
The Princess had asked Niffty to make you a uniform and you were waiting for the little demon to show up.
"Oooh! I'm so excited! I've already got all of tomorrow's activities planned out!", Charlie said and bounced in place. "I hope you don't mind wearing the hotel colors."
"I don't mind at all.", you smiled. "I just hope I can get at least three shirts."
"Let's check in with Niffty when she gets here.", the blonde said looking at the door before glancing back at you. "You know.. I'm curious about something."
"What's up?", you give her your attention.
"Are you and Alastor like...you know.", she waves her hand around. "Together?"
Blink blink.
"What?"
"It's just that I see him around you almost all the time, and Alastor is very picky with who he touches.", she explains. "I mean if it isn't dancing then he wouldn't really engage in contact. Sure he's patted me on the shoulder once or twice but honestly that's really it.", she then leans a little closer. "I totally understand if you don't want to say anything but I support your relationship."
You just stared at the Princess, not sure what to say.
Thankfully you didn't have to as Niffty ran into the room.
"I've got my needles!", she smiled wide. "Who am I stabbing?"
"No, no!", Charlie waved her hands as to say stop. "Not stabbing! We need a uniform."
"Oh, ok!", the cyclops pulled out a tailors measuring tape. "Up! Up! I need to take your measurements!"
You got up and walked over, letting her guide you to make it easier to get the right measurements. As the little demon measured your arm, you thought about what Charlie said.
He only did that to annoy Husk, there's no way he likes me in that way. Why am I even thinking about this? It's so obvious that I'm just something to play with to him. You spread your arms out so Niffty could measure the back of your shoulders. Maybe it's because Charlie thinks so. I know it couldn't happen.
The cyclops moved to measure your waist.
Yeah, it would never happen.
"All done!", Niffty pulled out a sewing needle. "Now for the fun part.", she grinned.
"Do you think you could make me two or three shirts?", you asked. "It's ok if you can't."
"I can!", she said and sprinted out of the room. "I'll leave them in your room when I'm done!"
You waved to Charlie as you left, making your way over to your room.
I hope there's no bugs on my bed again. You shivered at the memory. That was so gross.
"Exsscusse me.", someone said from behind you.
Turning around, you saw Sir Pentious.
"Oh! Hi Pentious! What can I do for you?", you asked with a smile.
"I'm..uh. I have a question, if that'sss alright?", he asks, fidgeting with his fingers.
"Sure! What's on your mind?", you replied.
"Are you being courted by the Radio Demon?", he asked.
...
"What?"
"What?"
You held your hands out as to say stop and shook your head with a laugh. "No. What in the world gave you that idea?"
"Well.. he'sss been around you so often and he takess care of you.",the snake demon explains. "I just thought with sssuch actions, he'd be trying to attract you."
Someone else thought Alastor and I were together? Does it really look like that?
"Why the question?", you asked.
"Um..I want to know how to court ssomeone.", he said shyly.
You gasped excitedly.
"Oh! Do you have a special someone!?", you took hold of his hands. "Do I know them!?", you asked.
Before Sir Pentious could say anything, you were yanked away from him.
"Woah!"
Your back was pressed against something warm. Static buzzed loudly, making the fur on your ears and tail tingle. The shadows got darker and started to take shape of sinister creatures.
"H@πd$ øff."
The vibrations from his radio voice came from his chest, which you felt rumble through you.
"Alastor?", you said nervously.
"W-wait!", Pentious backed up. "All I did wass asssk a quesstion!"
"I'm &o¡ng t⁰ ©0ok ¥∅u |ik€ ®oti$serie ¢hick€n!", the deer demon threatened.
"Alastor!", you shouted and turned in his hold to grab his face, tilting his head down. "Damn it! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?"
Finally he stopped, red eyes dimming the glowing and now focused on you. Pentious took this as a chance to escape and slithered off quickly.
"What just happened?"
*goes back to typing* I'm good.
~Seline, the person.
Part 4
Taglist@
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ML for Alastor🎙 | HK ChL😾
#alastor#alastor hazbin hotel#hazbin alastor#hazbin hotel alastor#x reader#alastor the radio demon#gn reader#the radio demon#alastor x reader#fanfic#husk hazbin hotel#older brother husk#hazbin hotel husk#cat demon reader#protective older brother husk#hazbin hotel#sir pentious#charlie morningstar#niffty hazbin hotel
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"i'll always come when you call"
gojo satoru x reader
summary: when you're gravely injured on a mission, your best friend finds you just in time
w/c: 1.35k
tags/warnings: friends to lovers, obviously reader is hurt but nothing is terribly graphic, though there are lots of mentions of blood, hurt/comfort, fem!reader, no use of y/n, lots of emotional distress for gojo, he punches a wall, ft. a very worried yuuji and gumi
a/n: home boy is in pieces at the thought of losing us. i make myself emotional
masterlist
check out my latest work for gojo here
it wasn't supposed to go like this. not hardly, not half.
a simple mission turned into an ambush. what was originally one mid-grade cursed spirit became several. you lost count somewhere around the fifth.
rain patters against your body, washing away the crimson that's seeping from numerous wounds. at first everything hurt, but now all you feel is a foreboding numbness spreading throughout your limbs.
you hardly remember slipping your phone from your pocket or dialing his number when you hear your best friend's voice ring out from the speaker. "hey, princess. how'd it go?"
you try to speak, but no sound comes out. eventually, you manage a choked cough and the faint sensation of liquid flowing from the corner of your mouth accompanies the effort.
you barely make out his worried tone calling your name before your phone clatters to the ground, screen going black as it lies in a puddle of pale red.
you fight to keep your eyes open, you really do, but you're incredibly drowsy and the coldness has begun to ebb away, replaced by a comforting warmness.
you always imagined the light that welcomes you into the afterlife would be a blinding white, but instead, it's a familiar shade of blue.
an unsettling feeling had made a home in the pit of gojo's stomach long before he received your call. he's pacing, his eyebrows furrowed with inexplicable worry when his ringtone fills the room.
relief floods through him once he sees your name on the screen, but it's short lived when your end of the line remains quiet. he hears you sputter and it isn't a second later that he teleports to the city where your assigned mission is.
his heart is hammering away, a dull thudding in his ears, as he follows the traces of cursed energy that grow stronger with each long stride. he covers ground impressively fast, though as soon as his eyes land on your body, it's as if everything shifts to slow motion.
it feels like he's fighting against an invisible force as he approaches the spot where you lay. he can hear someone howling your name and it's not until he feels the hoarseness in throat that he recognizes the voice as his own. his knees crash painfully into the pavement at your side.
the situation is worse than he could have imagined. it's looks like you, sure, but it can't be you. not when your eyes have just fluttered shut, no movement beneath your lids. not when your body is still, no steady rise and fall of your chest. and certainly not when it looks as if you're—
"wake up," he begs, shaking your shoulders. "please, wake up!"
not wasting another moment, he gathers your limp body in his arms, one arm behind curling around your shoulders, the other hooking behind your knees.
he teleports directly into the infirmary and shoko nearly scolds him before she takes in your dreadful state. the cigarette that was hanging between her lips falls to the floor. "get her on the bed."
she moves around the room in haste, pulling drawers and cabinets open wildly.
"she's going to be okay, right? tell me that she's going to be fine," he implores, panicking when the brunette fails to reassure him. "..shoko!"
"get out, satoru!" she barks. she can't concentrate, not while one of her oldest friends is hysterical with worry and the other is lying there half dead.
"please, i can't—"
"now!"
he stares at you for a moment before turning on his heel and retreating to the hall. his fist meets the wall with such force, the drywall crumbles to the floor. gojo himself follows suit soon thereafter.
the commotion catches the attention of yuuji and megumi, who round the corner just seconds later.
"sensei—" yuuji begins to question, but the words die in his throat.
gojo's crouched down, his face buried in his hands. they're still covered in your blood. he wants to scream and yell and curse the world, but instead, he clenches his jaw so fiercely it's a wonder his teeth don't crack under the pressure.
the boys share a look, both startled by the present state of their usually frivolous teacher. neither of them need to ask who's behind that door, they know there's only one person who could elicit such a reaction from gojo.
megumi approaches him cautiously, swallowing his own concern, and places a hand on his shoulder. "she'll be okay."
the white haired man doesn't look up, just nods weakly in acknowledgement. megumi joins yuuji who is already sitting on the floor with his back pressed to the wall, and the three of them wait together in silence.
gojo hardly moves until the infirmary door opens, which makes him rise so quickly it leaves him dizzy. shoko surveys the three of them before speaking.
"she's.. she's still unconscious, but you should be with her. she's been calling for you in her sleep—"
she scarcely finishes before gojo makes his way through the door. shoko stays in the hallway to update yuuji and megumi, giving the two of you a bit of privacy.
pulling up a chair beside you, he threads his fingers between yours, your skin still frightfully cool. though it's not until he hears you mumble his name that he truly falls apart.
his free hand flies to his mouth in an attempt to stifle his sobs, his shoulders shaking. this all could have gone very differently and the thought makes him sick to his stomach. he should have gone with you, or at the very least, he should have gotten to you faster.
"'toru?" your raspy voice fills his ears.
when he looks up to find you peering at him through tired eyes, the tension that'd been weighing heavily in his chest dissipates and he exhales deeply. still, his voice trembles. "hey, sweetheart."
every part of you aches, but it's nothing compared to the guilt you feel upon seeing gojo like this— his eyes red and swollen, your blood painted across his hands and face.
you have a vague memory of everything that happened. you remember just barely exorcising the last cursed spirit. you remember being sure you weren't going to survive and using your last bit of strength to call him. "you found me."
he nods, his hand squeezing yours. "i thought i was too late.. i.. i thought i'd lost you."
his voice cracks and it nearly shatters your heart, tears welling up in your eyes. "i'm so sorry, 'toru. i'm sorry i wasn't strong enough, t-that you had to come save me."
you attempt to sit up, but he puts a hand to your shoulder and shakes his head. "don't you dare apologize. i'll always come when you call and i'll always be there when you need me. you have to know that."
the intensity of his gaze forces you to look away and the conviction in his voice makes you feel woozy. thinking about it, there really never had been an instance in which gojo wasn't there for you. he's the person you've sought out time and time again and he's never once let you down.
his hand finds your face and he cups your cheek gently, his thumb wiping a tear from beneath your eye.
"i love you," you blurt out.
you stare at each other with wide eyes and the seconds tick by markedly until he finally whispers, "say it again."
"i love you."
he had no idea how much he needed to hear those three words fall from your lips until he nearly lost the chance forever. truthfully, it makes him feel a bit foolish, but now was hardly the time to dwell on that.
he smiles for the first time in hours, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to your forehead. "i love you, too."
and he always has— he knows that now.
"you should get some rest, angel," he suggests tenderly. "i'll be right here when you wake up."
#m!writes#gojo#gojo x reader#gojo imagines#gojo satoru#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru imagines#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen imagines#jjk#jjk x reader#jjk imagines
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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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This request is so middle school core but I'm such a sucker for this trope, could you do how the toxic Slytherin boys would react to either them finding out they were a bet or you finding out you were a bet? I <3 your writing
Slytherin boys – You find out you are a bet/They find out they were a bet
Warning: Toxic Slytherin boys and physical abuse (Tom Riddle), so please proceed with caution. Otherwise have fun reading!
Also: Not proofread.
A/N: Thank you for your kind words! Honestly, same – I love those tropes that are all over TikTok. 🙈 Glad you enjoy my writing!
Mattheo …
… clenches his jaw when you glare at him with tears in your eyes, angry at himself and angry at whoever told you about the stupid bet. He watched you shake your head in disbelief before taking something out of your pockets. It was the money they had bet on. You flung the money in his face before storming out of his room. Mattheo just closed his eyes, his anger reaching a new peak as the money made contact with his face. How dare you throw something into his face?
He wouldn’t bother running after you. You’d be crawling back to him in no time.
Theodore …
… scoffs at your accusations. “Do you really believe them over me? Do you have that little trust in me?” He raises his brows, mock hurt all over his face. Theodore would make you feel bad for doubting his love for you. If his friends were the ones who told you, he’d have to talk with them. If your friends somehow found out and told you, he’d make you question their loyalties. “Don’t you see, bella? They’re trying to rip us apart. You know your friend still has a crush on me, don’t you? I didn’t want to tell you, because I don’t want to see you hurt, but it is true, cara mia.”
And just like that, you start apologizing to him. With a heavy sigh, Theodore pulls you into his arms, holding you close to his body. “I forgive you. But please – never doubt my love for you again.”
Bullet dodged.
Lorenzo …
… rubs his hands over his face as he paces around in his room. You have been trying to talk to him – apologize for your wrongdoings – but he simply wouldn’t listen. Lorenzo had already known about the bet – he was the mastermind behind it after all. He had been watching you for a while but did not know how to approach you without appearing too needy. So, instead he told his friends to make a bet with you – the goal: You have to seduce Lorenzo Berkshire. You had actually agreed and given it your best. Enzo had enjoyed the advances you had made; all the attention you had given him.
And this whole drama of him ‘finding out’ and you tearfully apologizing was just a positive side effect. It was his way to ensure your emotional dependency on him.
“How could you do this to me?” He cried softly as he slid down the wall, face in his hands as he forced himself to cry. You immediately ran to him, falling to your knees in front of him as you tried to pry his hands from his face, apologies falling from your lips like a mantra.
When you finally uttered the magical words, he had hoped for he bit back a smirk before removing his hands from his tear-stained face. Please, I’ll do anything you ask of me!
Draco …
… stared at you in disbelief. How did you find out? Raking his hand through his hair he stared at you silently. For once, he didn’t know what to say. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Because he knew that nothing he said would make it better. After a minute of silence your tears finally fell, your bottom lip trembling at the betrayal. How could you do this to me.
Your voice came out in a broken whisper before you walked out of his room, leaving the blonde to watch you leave with sad eyes.
Blaise …
… was honestly impressed when he found out about the bet. He never would have guessed you to engage in silly things such as bets. He’d underestimated you. Blaise would tell you that he knew – he’d let everything play out and watch your reactions whenever he mentioned words such as ‘bet’, ‘honesty’ and ‘loyalty’.
“I love you so much, babe. I really appreciate your honest and good-natured heart.” Blaise whispered against your lips before passionately kissing you. When he wanted to pull back, you followed him with your lips not wanting to part yet – not ready to look him into his eyes yet. You were obviously ashamed for hiding something from your boyfriend and Blaise knew. Oh, he knew, and he would enjoy watching you squirm and do anything to please him. And if you ever got mad at him for something or denied him any request, he’d throw the truth into your face and make you pay.
Tom …
… is deeply disappointed when he finds out. The more he thinks about it, the angrier he feels. And when you finally walk through the door of his dorm – he is filled with blinding rage.
“I didn’t think you’d stoop so low … how pathetic.” He grit out, his steps slow as he walked towards you with a dark look on his face. You stared at him with confusion written all over your face, your eyes wide with fear as he pressed you against the wall, trapping you between his arms.
“I can’t believe I didn’t find out sooner – and don’t you dare deny it.” He spat, clenching his jaw as he penetrated your mind. Your eyes widened when he found what he was looking for. He knew.
“Yes. I know.” He murmurs, dragging his nose from your cheek to your ear – and before you know it, one of his hands moves to your throat, fingers gripping tight as he smashes your head against the door.
“Time to reap what you sow.”
#slytherin boys#toxic slytherin boys#slytherin boys imagine#slytherin boys headcanons#draco imagine#draco malfoy#draco malfoy x reader#draco x reader#theodore nott fanfiction#theodore nott x reader#theodore nott imagine#lorenzo berkshire#lorenzo berkshire x reader#lorenzo berkshire imagine#enzo berkshire x reader#enzo berkshire#mattheo riddle imagine#mattheo riddle#mattheo riddle x reader#blaise zabini x reader#blaise zabini#tom riddle#tom riddle x reader#angst
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Unconventional Flowers Event - May
Mother's Day Lilies ft. Megumi
A/N: May prompt for my Unconventional Flowers Event. Note that Megumi is still a young child here, like maybe 8 years or so.
Rating: E, safe, fluffy, cute
Word Count: 939
Megumi had technically lost not one, but two mothers. His birth mother, frail in health, passing away shortly after his delivery, and then Tsumiki’s mother, who abandoned them. All in all, not a great experience on the mother front.
It was hardly a surprise that Megumi withdrew from you when you and Gojo started dating. Tsumiki, more in need of a maternal figure, grew attached quickly, but Megumi avoided you altogether. You didn’t blame him. After getting the whole story from Gojo, you felt your heart going out to the little boy but decided to give him more time to approach you.
You started slowly, asking him to watch a movie together, bringing back his favorite snacks whenever you visited Gojo, and helping him with his homework. You never tried to fill that motherly role, and eventually, Megumi started warming up to you, realizing you were not trying to pretend to be anything more than Gojo’s girlfriend. It gave him the emotional reassurance he needed, that you were not trying to fill the shoes of his lost mothers, but that you would be there if he needed you.
You made sure to show affection to him and Tsumiki though, doing little crafts with them, taking them to the park, and poking fun at Gojo whenever it was appropriate. They grew attached to you, and they weren’t your kids, but they were yours.
You hadn’t planned on unintentionally becoming a maternal figure to Gojo’s wards, but now you couldn’t imagine a day without them. Your heart almost floated out of your body with joy when Megumi asked you what your favorite flower was.
“Lillies,” you said with affection in your eyes as you looked at the quiet boy, tall and slim for his age. He nodded solemnly and you couldn’t control your actions and pull him in for a squishy hug.
“You’re so adorable Megs.”
“Stop that! And don’t call me Megs!” Megumi wriggles only half-heartedly, trying to escape, before quieting down and letting himself be hugged. Deep down, he’s glad you’re here.
Megumi hunts down the prettiest lilies he could find in time for Mother’s Day. His eyes are alight with excitement. Gojo said you were around somewhere on the estate, and he's practically running to find you, carefully cradling the bouquet so that it doesn’t get crushed. He passes Tsumiki on the way, who sees the flowers and quickly stops him.
“You’re giving these to Nee-san?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I don’t she’ll like these for Mother’s Day. Lilies are usually given at funerals. Do you want her to get the wrong idea? What if she leaves us?”
Megumi’s face crumples at his sister’s words. “But…they’re her favorites…”
“It’s not too late to get her something else.”
Megumi quickly runs back towards his room. How could he have known? He’s glad Tsumiki stopped him. What if he had found you…and given you the lilies? It was the first time he and Tsumiki had anyone even closely resembling a mother for an extended period. The thought of you being upset because he had been dumb enough to get such sad flowers for Mother’s Day…
“Megs?”
He freezes when he hears your voice and tries to hastily hide the flowers behind his back as you walk up to him.
“What’re you doing?”
“Nothing!”
You see his shifty nature and the heads of the white flowers sticking out from behind his back.
“Who are the flowers for?”
“No one!” He backs up a few paces, trying to put distance between you two.
“Megumi.” You catch up to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Why are you being weird?”
Caught, he looks away, trying not to tear up. “Please don’t be mad.”
“Mad? About what?”
“I got you flowers.”
You look at him quizzically. “Why would I be mad that you got me flowers?”
“They were for Mother’s Day.”
If your heart wasn’t already full, it certainly was now. You feel warmth expanding in your chest at the admission.
He was giving you flowers for Mother’s Day?
You try not to tear up and clear your throat. “And why do you think I’d be mad?”
Megumi’s face carries so much guilt that you want to pull him into his arms and reassure him but you give him a minute to find his words.
“I got you lilies. Because you said they were your favorite.”
“They are my favorite! Megs, why do you look so upset?”
“Well…I was told that lilies are given at funerals and that you’d be mad if I gave them to you today. Please don’t be mad.” He looks at you with such sad eyes that you can’t contain yourself any longer.
You pull him into your arms, cradling him protectively. “Oh, my dear little Megs. I’m not mad at all. You got me flowers? On Mother’s Day? Do you have any idea how happy I am?”
Megumi’s eyes widen in realization, comforted by your hug. “Really?”
“Yeah! I’m so happy you like me enough to get me flowers for this holiday.” You can’t find the will to let go of the boy and he doesn’t try to break free.
“You’re not mad?”
“Not the least bit.”
“So you won’t leave us right?”
You nod, feeling like your body is made of air. “You’re stuck with me I’m afraid.”
Comforted, Megumi finally shows you the bouquet which you accept delightedly. “You’re better than Gojo. He didn’t get me anything.”
“He’s a moron.” Megumi shakes his head. “I’ll talk to him.”
“I know you will.”
You ruffle Megumi’s hair before the both of you start walking back to the house.
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#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#megumi fushiguro#megumi fushiguro x reader#jujutsu kaisen megumi#jjk nanami#megumi fushiguro fluff#megumi fushiguro angst#megumi fushiguro x you#fushiguro megumi#jjk fluff#jjk angst#megumi x reader#jjk megumi#vee writes
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Until Morning
Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader
Summary: A quiet moment between you, Ben, and your newborn daughter.
AN: Welcome back to the BMD verse, lovelies! I know I promised a longer “family dynamics” one-shot after Strong as Blood, but let’s start with this.
**This can be read as standalone, but you can also find the chronological reading order of this series collection on the Break Me Down Masterlist.
Word Count: 650
Tags/Warnings: Fluff and comfort, new parent feels.
When Ben woke in the dark, your side of the bed was empty.
His eyes quickly adjusted, taking in the digital red numbers of the clock on his nightstand. It was a fucking ridiculous hour of the morning, but he soon realized what woke him up.
He heard the dulcet tones of your voice drifting from down the hall. Letting out a deep breath through his nose, he debated if it was worth getting out of bed.
But he heard his daughter make a sound of distress, followed by your gentle shushing.
Ben peeled back the warm comforter and got up.
He didn’t bother with a shirt and just padded out to the nursery down the hall in his sweatpants. He found you dressed in one of his old shirts and nothing else, a messy bun atop your head.
You were slowly pacing back and forth across the room with the baby cradled in your arms.
“If I didn’t care,” you sang, “more than words can say… If I didn’t care, would I feel this way?”
Ben crossed his arms and leaned against the open doorway. He watched you in silent contemplation; his sleep had once again been interrupted, but this felt right.
And once again, his entire world was in this room.
You glanced over and shot him a tired smile, but you kept singing until the infant fell asleep in your arms.
“Would my every prayer begin and end with just your name?” you continued. “And would I be sure that this is love beyond compare… Would all this be true, if I didn’t care for you?”
Your last notes fell softly on Delilah’s head, where you laid a gentle kiss. In your exhaustion, you didn’t realize that your husband was behind you until you felt his hand on the small of your back.
“She’s knocked out,” he said, keeping his voice low. “You can set her down.”
You glanced at him over your shoulder. You bit your lip, as you had tears brimming, threatening to trickle over and fall.
“I don’t want to,” you said. Emotion was clogged in your throat, in your shining, tired eyes.
Ben’s thumb soothed against your back.
“She’s all right," he said. "She's asleep. You need to do the same.”
You probably hadn't slept a full night since before getting home from the hospital weeks ago.
You sniffed, trying not to succumb to the sheer feeling of overwhelming in your chest. You knew Lila would be fine if you put her back down, but you also couldn’t help the need you felt to hold her close and know that she was safe with you.
More than anything, you didn’t want to mess this up. You didn’t want to miss a moment where she might need you.
With a short sigh, Ben grasped your shoulder and guided you back with him. Not to the bedroom, but to the plush rocking chair in the corner of the nursery.
He sat down first, then guided you into his lap. His arm wrapped around your waist and tucked you in close. His free hand went to brush over Lila’s downy hair, which was already as brown as his. And he cradled her as well, supporting your hold.
You allowed yourself to relax against his warm chest with a sigh. He rocked the chair back and forth until you too fell asleep, along with your daughter.
Ben brushed back your messy hair away from your forehead, where his lips lingered. He ended up dozing off a little, but mostly he stayed awake.
He made sure you and Lila both slept until morning.
AN: 🥹 Do you guys like the name Delilah "Lila" for short? I did a lot of deliberating and that was the name I settled on.
BMD Fun Facts:
Lila is the heroine's name in the OC version of this story on Ao3.
There's a nice little callback to "If I Didn't Care" by the Ink Spots.
And with the title, there's a sort of callback to BMD Part 7 - "Until Midnight." 😆
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@this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26 @spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort
@xoxovienna @katherineann814 @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28 @nancymcl @ashbatz @secretdreamlandmentality @kristophalis @wonderland2022 @emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow
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@spnfamily-j2 @im-a-slut-for-fluff @lacilou @venicesem @mimaria420 @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @tearsfortheyouth @agalliasi @chriszgirl92 @kazsrm67
#Until Morning#soldier boy x reader#soldier boy#comfort#Soldier Boy imagine#new parents feels#BMD verse#the boys#soldier boy/ben#soldier boy x female reader#soldier boy x you#Break Me Down verse#zepskies writes
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Hey I have an idea for "Get Off My Screen" what if Y/N starts talking to Vox less and less and he is so confused so he goes through her phone to try and figure it out and sees her Instagram announcing a new bf and Vox is soooo jealous but she basically ignores his protests and so life goes on as normal for them both until one day he gets nosy and checks her texts on her phone with her bf and finds nudes from her and then he gets annoyed and lectures her about it which leads to her getting angry and ignoring him but then a few weeks later he checks Y/N and the bf's chats again and sees him threatening her
On a completely unrelated note I luv this series and also definitely need a Vox of my own in my phone cause I can't write or spell for shit lol
You Could Do Better(With Me)
Protective!Vox x CollegeStudent!Reader
WARNINGS: Mentions of Alcohol, Nudes, Blackmail, Manipulation
A/N: Okay this was actually pretty angsty, more on Vox's side because he's just dealing with a lot of emotional whiplash- most of which he doesn't really deal with well but he powers through it to be there for you. At this point in time he's kind of certain he likes you, but not that he loves you. Kind of like the: "Oh I'm really fond of this person, I want to make sure they're safe and happy." Without realizing the romantic implications nor how deep the level of attachment really is. So far, Reader's only kind of had a puppy-love crush on Vox but has blatantly disregarded it because well- Vox is fucking dead so what the hell are you supposed to do?? That and Vox constantly gets on Reader's nerves with his shenanigans so even if she gets the Cupid valentines filter when he cranks up the charisma- his stupid hijinks quickly do away with it and make him seem idiotic(cutely) again. The story also has a lot of emotional stuff so if you'd rather stick to the comedy feel free to skip this interlude and the one directly after it.
A/N: Either way, that's currently the pace these two are at- and this is a songfic! If you want to listen to the tune while reading- here it is! "Need You Now" by Lady Antebellum. The story itself is slightly different from the prompt since I made it centered around how Vox perceived things were going. As always, I hope y'all have fun and enjoy! Happy Reading!
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Vox wanted to pretend everything was okay.
Walking through the halls of the Vee tower, he really wanted to play it off like nothing was bothering him.
And still, he found himself checking his phone for any updates or messages from you.
Day by day you were starting to slowly disappear from his routine.
He didn't notice it at first, how you were pulling away-
It was just the little things initially.
One word replies, emoji spam-
Vox figured you just weren't in the mood to listen or talk.
Did he do something that hurt you?
Up until the point that you both didn't really have any meaningful conversations anymore.
Which, as much as he tried to start anything proper-
It would always fall flat.
Were you still even trying?
He woke up one morning and followed his routine, shooting you a greeting before he started the day.
It just so happened that once he was finally able to check his phone to shoot you a wish goodnight-
You hadn't even replied to his morning message.
He was busy throughout the day, so he wasn't given the opportunity to worry about you.
But now, worry he did.
Vox quickly made his way towards his monitor room despite how late it was.
He went through your files, your pictures-
Wait.
Wait a goddamn minute.
Who the fuck was that?
He glitched slightly when he saw how that guy grinned in the picture.
It reminded him of his own, just so fucking fake.
Not to mention the air the person had around them.
They just exuded a great sense of showmanship and arrogance.
One Vox was all too familiar with.
That wasn't even the first picture you had with that person recently.
And the more the overlord looked, the more worked up he got.
He wasn't sure if it was anger, envy, irritation, or just a mix of everything under the sun.
Holding your waist, hugging you close, in some pictures your faces were so close together that you were almost kissing.
He was glitching in his chair from the emotional overload.
Who did this guy think he was to be able to treat you like that?!
Vox definitely punched a few screens from fury and jealousy.
Come the next day when he confronted you about it-
More like became a clear pain in the ass that you really couldn't ignore-
Making your computer practically unusable even-
Was when you revealed to him that you didn't mean to hide something like this.
You just simply forgot to say anything.
Vox didn't know if that was worse than if you tried to deceive him.
"Geez, so you have a boyfriend now?"
"Oh come on, you act like I'm not allowed to date. I'm a responsible adult Vox, not a kid."
The tech overlord only stared at the screen.
Was that really all you saw him as?
A digital guardian?
Just... someone who treated you like a kid?
He scoffed, he could count more times where he was the childish one.
That was stupid.
Besides that, he had more pressing matters to deal with.
What was this... horrible sinking feeling that was running through his systems?
It was like a weight that made him struggle breathing.
"Vox?"
"I'm still here. Can't believe you would forget to tell me something as important as this."
His claws dug into his armrests, he should've been happy you found yourself a partner.
If that partner just didn't remind him so much of himself.
"I'm sorry okay? I was really busy the last few days."
"The last few days? How long have you even been talking to this guy dollface?"
"Months? Probably? I've known him for a while now, he was the school crush when I was back in high school."
Vox wanted to convince you that this guy was bad news.
A walking red flag if you will.
He... should know.
Vox was at least aware of himself that much.
Still, he swallowed it all back and just replied to you again.
"I don't mind the fact you're off the market, hell- congratulations even! Just don't get into any sketchy shit. You know, anything that could be used against you as blackmail."
"Yeah yeah, I know what I'm doing Vox. Seriously, don't worry about it!"
You simply brushed off his worry, typical.
That just made the suffocating feeling even worse.
He didn't even know where it came from, or why.
"Oh yeah! I've got a boyfriend now!"
Those words replayed in his head like a bullet to the skull.
The day hadn't even started.
And Vox already wished it was over.
This just continued for a while, your presence in his schedule became negligible and Vox was falling back into his old vices.
He became snappy, irritable, just downright intolerable to be around.
The employees were feeling it, the Vees were collateral-
Not even Valentino could placate Vox's current horrid state.
It's been a week.
Vox stopped bothering to message you in the morning.
But he didn't stop checking if you would message him even once or twice.
It was pathetic.
And another.
Vox broke more than a dozen phones from just throwing them around.
He drank himself to sleep every night.
Valentino and Velvette were getting tired of having to dump his wasted ass on his bed every time.
And another.
Vox holed himself up in his monitor room whenever he wasn't needed.
No one could get him to come out.
Not even for food or water.
If he needed anything he would get it himself.
It was a long day of broadcasts and meetings, another monotonous cycle in his fast-paced life.
Vox intended to just drink until he passed out again, but he somehow found himself drunkenly stumbling through the halls of the Vee Tower into his monitor room.
He honestly didn't even know what he was doing this time.
The overlord fought to keep his own head up as he collapsed in his chair.
He glanced over to the side your computer's screen was connected to and let out a shaky sigh.
God, he fucking missed you.
Against his better judgement, Vox connected himself to your devices again.
He went straight to your playlist and just pressed start.
Picture perfect memories, scattered all around the floor~
Vox spun around in his chair, letting the music ebb and flow into his brain.
He took another swig from the bottle of alcohol in his other hand, squinting at the screens.
Everything was just kind of fuzzy.
Reaching for the phone cause, I can't fight it anymore...
It took him by surprise when one of the screens showed your living room.
Had you connected him to your TV again?
"Vox...? Are you there?"
And I wonder if I've ever crossed your mind?
He was too out of it to properly say anything, Vox couldn't recall if the words that stumbled out of him were even coherent.
"Dude... you look like shit."
Listening to your voice gave him a slight moment of sobriety.
"Likewise dollface."
For me it happens all the time...
"Are you wasted??"
"Erm, not really. Just buzzed."
He was able to take a good look at you then, your eyes were red and puffy like you'd just been crying.
It's a quarter after one, I'm all alone and I need you now...
"What the hell happened to you?"
"Uh... well... you know that guy I was dating?"
Vox took a swig of alcohol before he replied, there was no way he was making it through his conversation unless he was drunk out of his circuits.
"My personality copycat? Yeah, what about?"
Said I wouldn't call, but I've lost all control-
"Your personality- what??"
"Dollface, do you seriously think I wouldn't notice how much of a walking red flag that asshole was?"
You paused as he took another swig of his drink, Vox didn't miss that look of guilt and pity in your eyes.
"But you just called him your copy."
"And? I know I'm a piece of shit. Takes one to know one."
And I need you now...
"Whatever, I don't think you'd stoop as low as he did."
"That's for me to judge, what did the bastard do?"
He saw the slight tremble in your posture, your voice cracked as if you were holding back sobs.
And I don't know how I can do without-
"I- I knew I should've listened to you. I sent him compromising pictures and he... he-"
"You sent him nudes and he used them to blackmail you didn't he?"
You flopped back down on the couch and his unfocused eyes met your watery ones.
So that's why you'd been crying.
I just need you now...
"It doesn't feel good to have your trust broken by someone you gave your heart to I'd reckon."
You scoffed at him, wiping away your tears as they continued to fall.
Vox so badly wanted to make it stop, but he didn't trust himself to be lucid enough to say the right words.
"Well wouldn't you know? I'd bet the women over there would throw themselves at your feet."
Another shot of whisky, can't stop looking at the door...
Vox couldn't tell if it was his imagination or not that made it seem like he heard jealousy in your voice.
There wasn't any reason for you to feel envious anyway.
He took another swig of alcohol before meeting your gaze once again.
Wishing you'd come sweeping, in the way you did before~
"So what if there are? I'm too busy to pursue a dedicated relationship. I mean- have you seen the amount of shit I have to deal with every day?"
You looked dejected by his answer, or at least that's what Vox thought.
Yeah, he was absolutely wasted.
And I wonder if I ever cross your mind?
"So what did you do? Did you break up with the guy?"
"Can't. If I do, he'll release all my pictures online."
Vox hummed, pulling up a window on your computer for you to interact with.
He was a paranoid man as is, but this just proved it didn't hurt to have precautions in place.
For me it happens all the time...
"What is that?"
"Something I made for all your files months ago."
"What does it do?"
Vox took another swig from his bottle.
It's a quarter after one, I'm a little drunk and I need you now...
"A safeguard, all files you send from your devices can be irreversibly corrupted remotely. An encryption thing, I tried to tell you about it but you didn't respond."
He wasn't surprised that you pressed the prompt to start the file corruption process on those pictures you'd sent.
Hell, everything you sent the rat bastard that broke your heart.
Honestly, the fucker didn't even deserve you.
Neither did Vox if he had to be honest with himself.
Said I wouldn't call, but I lost all control-
The overlord stayed silent as he drank once more from his bottle of booze.
It was nearly empty at this point, not that he cared.
He could only assume you were watching the progress bar load which was why you didn't say anything.
And I need you now...
Vox just watched as you eventually got up and used your phone to call someone.
A smug smile worked onto his face when he realized who you were talking to.
After all, you'd only curse like a sailor when you were genuinely mad.
And I don't know how I can do without-
"You're kind of hot when you get angry you know?"
"Pfft, is that why you like to piss me off then?"
"Maybe, though I usually do just to get a reaction out of you anyways."
I just need you now...
Vox saw you roll your eyes, a smile finally gracing your face and he couldn't help but return it.
"I just became single again and you're already hitting on me huh?"
"Whaaaaat? I would never."
Vox humored you well into the morning hours.
The both of you talking once again like old times.
Like nothing even happened.
Eventually it got to the point you had fallen asleep on the couch right in front of the TV during one of Vox's stories.
The overlord let a soft genuine smile appear on his face at the sight.
At least you were okay again.
He swirled the remaining alcohol in the bottle and threw his head back as he downed the rest of it.
Finally feeling the exhaustion catch up to him, both emotionally and physically-
Vox's screen dimmed as he succumbed to slumber right alongside you in his chair.
A/N: HOOOOLY SHIT THIS CHAPTER IS LONG- this was an absolute UNIT of a segment but it gets better in the next one I promise, besides- I don't want to doom Vox and Reader by the narrative, that would just be a sucky ending. We'll still have more emotionally vulnerable stuff in the next interlude so if that's not your cup of tea feel free to skip it too.
#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel vox#hazbin vox#vox#vox x reader#hazbin hotel vox x reader#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin vox x reader#vox x you#Get Off My Screen Series
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baby don't cry (c.j)
pairing: bf!jiung x f!reader
genre: smut 18+ mdni
warnings: crying, dacryphilia, bruises, pinv
words: 0.7k
a/n: first exam tomorrow (today actually.. it's past midnight) but i can't stop thinking about him ;c my first time writing jiung hehe enjoy xo p.s. i hope i made you proud @xhdream <3
you've always had such a hard time controlling your emotions, feeling heat rush to your cheeks and tears brim your eyes at any minor inconvenience. the smallest things made you feel so defeated, needing someone to put the pieces back together. luckily you have jiung, who lives to make it all better for you.
as much as he loves wiping your warm tear-streaked cheeks with the pad of his thumb and watching the corners of your mouth turn up as he whispers sweet things in your ear, another part of him perks when he senses you're about to break. to jiung, there's something so sweet in your expression of initial shock, those few seconds where your eyes get wide as you try to hold back tears, and how you always fail, lips jutting out in a pout before fat tears start rolling down your cheeks.
"jiunggg" your voice on the verge of tears makes him look up from his computer. one of your hands is extended towards his face, showing him four manicured nails and one broken one — the same nails he spent last night painting for you, "it broke"
and there's that pretty, heartbroken look on your face, pouty lips and glassy eyes. his heart swells in his chest at the way you look at him expectantly, how much you rely on him to fix everything. he didn't understand when you told him about your previous relationships, how your other partners found your neediness a burden. it might be jiung's favourite thing about you — he's dreamed of a girl like you, who follows him around like a puppy and needs him like she needs air to breathe.
"come here, baby. let me see" he doesn't ever coo at you, always calm and collected in contrast to your distress. "don't cry, pretty girl" he says without meaning it, his lips turning up in a lopsided grin as your tears start to fall. he guides you to straddle his lap, big hands smoothing up and down your sides as your sobs wrack your frame.
maybe it's the way you can't control yourself, your chest heaving against his broad one, arms wrapped around his shoulders and head buried in his neck, your gasps brushing his skin. maybe it's the way you're hyper-sensitive to his touch, your hiccups turning to soft whines as his slender fingers sneak under your shirt. you attach your lips to his neck, soothing yourself by getting him as close as possible, pressing your hips down to press your tummy against him.
maybe it's how vulnerable you get, mentally exhausted and physically malleable. maybe the blood rushing to jiung's cock is just an indicator of what you need to calm down, and not just an indicator of how much he likes seeing you cry. that's what he tells himself anyway as he carries you to bed, maneuvering your limbs out of your clothes and pushing your knees apart.
his gaze is set on your face when he eases his cock into you. maybe the fresh tears on your cheeks shouldn't turn him on as much as they do, but he can't help but think you look like he's already fucked you, your cheeks flushed and pupils wide, looking at him like he's the only person you see. he can't hold back the deep groan that leaves his chest as he bottoms out in your heat, slick walls squeezing him so tight. his pace is slow but unrelenting, pulling small breathy whines from you between your sniffles, sounding around the room with the steady beat of his hips against the backs of your thighs.
you're so perfect for him like this, jiung thinks, your puffy lips parting without hesitation as he pushes his thumb into your mouth, your moans getting muffled as you suck around the digit. and when he bends his neck down to bring his lips to your chest, sucking and nipping harshly to mark your skin, you just take it without so much as a few high pitches mewls. the bruises he leaves on your skin match your flushed cheeks and bloodshot eyes, and he's left slack-jawed as he finishes with you, wondering how your sweet sensitivity could ever burden anyone — his perfect girl.
#jiung#choi jiung#p1h#p1harmony#jiung x reader#jiung x you#jiung smut#p1h smut#p1harmony smut#p1harmony drabbles#p1h hard hours#piwon smut#piwon imagines#p1h hard thoughts#p1harmony hard hours#p1harmony hard thoughts#mine
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Can we have a Katie McCabe x reader where the reader comes back to arsenal and is upset after not qualifying for the Olympics with the Lionesses and gf katie comforts her?
not your fault
katie mccabe x reader
i wrote this the day after the scotland game and have only just finished it up now so i’m sorry for the wait!
a sort of cloud loomed over you as you made your way through the arsenal gym, which was usually a place of comfort to you.
today was different. it had been a few days since the lionesses’ game against scotland and the realisation that you hadn’t qualified for the olympics had only just started to sink in for you, and unlike your teammates, who seemed to just bounce back from it and move on - everything around you football related was just a screaming reminder of the failure. your failure.
you should’ve done something. anything. to create more chances, create a different outcome. you had let them down, and you didn’t know how to live with that.
you hadn’t answered any of the messages you’d received online or elsewhere, not even those from fellow players, instead obsessing over the negative ones, that did nothing but confirm your doubts.
eyes were locked on you as you swiftly crossed the room, a specific set particularly burning.
you had yet to face your girlfriend, never mind speak to her since the loss, despite her best efforts, and you weren’t entirely sure that you could without absolutely crumbling.
your pace increased - exiting the gym as you heard the all too familiar sound of her footsteps trailing behind you, your initial hope to get through the day failing immediately as tears pricked at your eyes.
“y/n wait up!” she called after you, her walk becoming a jog and her irish accent filling the corridor as you made another turn.
she was always quicker than you, and you knew that she’d catch up to you with ease - a thought that was confirmed almost immediately after it crossed your mind as hands grasped at your shoulders from behind and guided you into an empty room, before turning you around to face her.
your eyes remained glued to the floor, in a desperate cling to the remains of your composure, which had pretty much vanished the minute you heard her voice.
“hey, look at me.” the softness of the tips of her fingers against your chin as she guided your head upwards to lock eyes with her own, was enough to make you completely melt, and the previously threatening tears to break free, spilling down your flushed cheeks.
her frown deepened as she took in you, freezing for a split second before pulling you into her arms, rocking the both of you gently and brushing away any stray tears.
the pair of you remained in silence as you cried into her shoulder, and she cradled your head, stroking your hair and pressing the odd kiss to it, letting her lips linger in an attempt to soothe you.
you knew that this was all part of football, and being many years into your career, you had expected yourself to be well adjusted to the times where things don’t go exactly how you planned, and losses - but you had always been over critical and unnecessarily hard on yourself, and katie knew this too.
“it is not your fault okay?” she finally spoke after letting you feel your emotions.
“i know you’re not going to believe me, but please try to trust me when i say that there’s nothing more you could’ve done - you played incredibly well. and i know that it hurts like hell, but sometimes things just aren’t meant to be, and i’ll be here for you through it all. but what i won’t allow is you blaming yourself for this, and i doubt any of the girls’ would either. now what do you say we head home sweetheart.”
“thank you”
“there’s my girl. i’m so proud of you baby, you know that? let’s head off then, i’ll look after you.”
-
katie was incredible at everything she did, no matter what it was. but her looking after you was something that she managed to do just perfectly, every single time.
she never once let your hand go as she lead you through your shared apartment, guiding you to the living room, where a fresh bouquet of flowers sat in the vase on the coffee table, and a card that read “so proud of you always - love, katie”
she never tried to force a fix to your issues, and let you feel your losses and low points, knowing that she couldn’t take away the feeling exactly, but she could take care of you, and remind you that she loved you, and would be by your side through anything and everything that life threw at you, and ultimately of your worth - which she would never let you forget.
and she just always knew exactly what to do, ushering you to sit down on the sofa, putting on your comfort show and insisting that you relax as she rushed around, running a bath for the pair of you and ordered your favourite takeout.
losses would always hurt, and you would undoubtedly be hard on yourself every time.
but with katie by your side paired with pizza and bubble baths you knew that you’d be alright, and you’d get back up and fight back to the negative voices in your mind, every time.
-
really wanted to finally finish this so the ending is kind of rushed - sorry! hope you enjoyed anyway, and please send me more requests!
#katie mccabe x reader#katie mccabe#arsenal wfc x reader#arsenal wfc#katie mccabe imagine#woso x reader#woso imagine
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Happily Ever After
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader
Summary: Y/N is feeling conflicted on her wedding day. Despite the expectations of her family, Y/N realizes that her heart belongs to another. Encountering Bucky before the ceremony, Y/N confronts her doubts and ultimately decides to follow her heart, fleeing the wedding and running into Bucky's waiting car.
Word Count: 1,7+
A/N: Bucky is a knight in shining armour. Please comment and let me know what you think!
A wedding day was supposed to be a happy day filled with love and joy. A day to remember for the rest of your life as one of the most important events. Everyone was supposed to be smiling and shedding happy tears throughout the day, making memories that would last them a lifetime.
But why did it feel so wrong?
Y/N was pacing around in her room, biting her nails, no doubt the manicure she had gotten yesterday was already a bit chipped and messed up. She didn’t care, though. Her body was trembling, she couldn’t breathe properly and she didn’t have anyone around that could calm her nerves.
Her parents had been joyous at the engagement and at the time it had felt right. At least she kept telling herself that. Reminding herself of everyone else’s happiness. But she had never truly been happy in the relationship.
Perhaps the real truth had always been there. The relationship was something that happened over the course of many years, mostly due to her mother’s and future mother-in-law’s meddling.
The older women had been neighbours for years and when they found out their children were similar in age the matchmaking had begun. Y/N had to admit that Robert was handsome and a true gentleman, but he hadn’t ignited something deeper in her soul. Not like someone else had in the past. Someone that her parents had deemed wrong for her many years prior.
A soft knock was heard on the door and she turned around coming face to face with the culprit who had stolen her heart and who her soul belonged to.
“Bucky? What are you doing here? I thought you said you weren’t going to come,” she smiled softly at Bucky and took in his attire. He was wearing his usual black leather jacket, but underneath it lay a black button-up shirt instead of his usual colored henley.
Bucky Barnes was the most handsome man she had ever seen, and the way he looked at her right now made her question all of the life choices that had led her to this moment.
He came closer to her, shaking his head as he took her in.
“Wow, doll,” he said in a whisper, his voice cracking and she swore she could see tears in his eyes.
“You look breathtaking,” he placed both of his hands on her cheek, making her look up at him.
She was right, his eyes were glossy, and seeing him so emotional made her own eyes start to tear up.
He whispered her name softly, as the first tear fell from her eyes.
“Don’t cry, it’s supposed to be a happy day.”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. Grasping onto his hands that still held her face.
“But why does it feel so wrong?”
He sighed as he placed his forehead on hers. They stood there for a while, completely in silence and taking in each other’s company.
“I’m going to wait for you in my car if you end up choosing to go against your family.”
Y/N opened her eyes at that, smiling at Bucky. They had had this same conversation two days ago.
“Bucky, you know I can’t do that.”
He abruptly pulled away then, shaking his head at her comment. There was a storm behind his eyes and Y/N knew he wasn’t pleased in the slightest about the predicament she was in. His fingers were shaking as he paced around the room, obviously angry.
“Why? Why do you have to put everyone else’s happiness above your own? What about your happily ever after” He asked as he pulled at his hair, avoiding the smaller ones' gaze.
Y/N looked away from him, tears flowing easily now. He had a point, she knew it, but she couldn’t risk losing her family. Bucky was giving her a choice she could never accept.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered and Bucky looked at her then. He sighed and moved closer to her once more.
“I meant what I said. I’m going to be waiting for you. I’ll wait until I see the doors open and you both walk out hand-in-hand. Only then, I’ll leave. But if at any moment, any at all, you finally decide to choose your own happiness before the ceremony is over, I’ll be ready.” He closed the distance between them and laid a tender kiss on her forehead, before leaving her alone in the room once more.
15 minutes later, Y/N was walking down the aisle, after having successfully fixed her makeup and removed any obvious signs of her breakdown.
She had noticed her parents first. Their proud smiles and her mother’s nod irked something in her, but she tried her best to ignore it and kept walking further. She noticed Robert next. He looked good in his grey suit with a satisfied smile on his face, and suddenly she realised that he was not the one she wanted to be waiting for her at the altar.
No, he didn’t have the ocean eyes that left her breathless whenever he looked at her for more than a second. He never looked at her as if she had hung the stars and the moon up in the darkened sky and lit up the whole world.
No. Robert just looked.. Pleased.
She had had an inkling that Robert had only agreed to propose because her own family had a better income. Bucky had once mentioned it to her, a fact that left her uneasy. She had brushed it off, but seeing the way he looked at her now, as if she were a walking cash check, made her stomach churn.
She stopped dead in her tracks. Robert frowned, the guests gasped and her mother looked at her with a stern face, slowly shaking her head.
“Y/N, don’t do it.” Her mother voiced and she just grinned at everyone.
Y/N turned around and with a laugh and a newfound energy she had never felt before, ran back down the aisle towards the brown wooden doors. She could hear her mother screaming at her, but she didn’t care anymore. How had she almost gone through with the wedding when it was never something she truly wanted?
Y/N opened the door and quickly ran down the stairs, noticing the black SUV that Bucky drove. He was there like he’d promised.
The window rolled down and Bucky’s handsome face appeared.
“Do you need a ride?” He asked with a smirk, before leaning over the middle console and opening the door for her.
She sat in quickly, before looking behind her shoulder and seeing Robert and their mothers already running out of the church door.
“Go, go, go,” she yelled at him and he drove off before she could even buckle herself in. The car left the sidewalk just a second before Robert could reach her.
They sat in silence for a few seconds before both of them burst out laughing. She leaned back in her seat, feeling the rush of adrenaline still coursing through her veins.
“God, that was the most exhilarating thing I’ve ever done,” she shook her head in disbelief looking over at Bucky, who was already looking at her.
“Where to next, princess?”
The whole world was upon her now, but there was only one place she could feel the happiest.
“Take me home, Buck,” she whispered and he gave her a funny look, not understanding why she’d want to go home out of all the possibilities.
“Your place,” she corrected herself and Bucky was speechless for a second before a wide grin set on his face.
“To home it is,” he said with a proud voice.
They had driven for 30 minutes until they finally arrived at Bucky’s cabin. It was a lovely place, perfect in size and a bit further from the city, that gave them the perfect amount of privacy.
“I’ve always loved your house,” Y/N whispered as she stepped out of the car and started walking towards the house. She yelped suddenly when she felt her legs lift off the ground and found herself in Bucky’s arms.
Bridal-style.
He was smirking at her mischievously and Y/N raised an eyebrow at him.
“It’s customary to carry the bride over the threshold after the wedding,” he said and she rolled her eyes ignoring the bubbling feeling inside, loving the feel of his arms around her.
“What wedding? I don’t remember attending a ceremony,” she chuckled and he tightened his grip on her.
“Well, you’re still wearing a wedding dress.”
Once inside, he lowered her to stand, but still left his hands lingering on her waist, holding her close.
“Y/N,” he whispered her name and it sounded like honey to her ears. She closed her eyes and sighed, not remembering the last time she felt this happy. There was only one thing that could make this day better.
“Can I finally kiss you?” She opened her eyes at his question, smiling at the man in front of her.
Her one true love.
“I was just about to ask you the same,” she admitted and the smile that appeared on his face could’ve lightened up the whole room.
Without another word, Bucky closed the distance between them, his hand reaching out to gently pull her in. His touch sent shivers down Y/N’s spine as she leaned more into his embrace, her eyes fluttering closed.
And then, their lips finally met in a tender kiss, igniting a firestorm of emotions neither of them could contain. It was a kiss filled with passion, longing, and a depth of feeling that transcended words.
Time seemed to stand still as they lost themselves in each other, their bodies pressed together as if trying to merge into one. Y/N ran her fingers through Bucky’s soft hair, letting him pull herself closer as he deepened the kiss, savouring every moment of their connection.
“I love you, Y/N. Always have and always will.” He said against her lips with so much emotion that Y/N felt tears in her eyes again.
“You’re my happily ever after, Bucky. I love you.”
And as they stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, they knew that this kiss was just the beginning of their wonderful fairytale together.
thank you for reading & reblogs are appreciated <3
#bucky x reader#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes x you#sebastian stan x reader#bucky barnes x reader#sebastian stan x you#sebastian stan imagine#bucky barnes x f!reader#bucky barnes wedding#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes one shot#bucky barnes fluff
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favour
word count: 746
trope: boyfriends best friend
summary: ethan found out you slept with your boyfriend, chad and made sure to remind you who you belong to
warnings: smut!, p in v, degrading kink, dirty talking lmk if i missed anything
a/n: i honestly felt so dirty writing this, if you like fluffy smut, click off honestly.
𐙚 mdni!! ↓↓ 𐙚༘⋆ೀೀ
he takes off his mask, and points the stained knife towards your neck, ever so slightly smiling like a psycho
"you know y/n.. i was really starting like you. then you just had to go sleep with chad." his eyes got teary, his hand shaking while he looks down
“why are you doing this?! i don’t even like you” you scream, disappointed and disgusted. "and why am i supposed to believe you?" he sticks the knife up in the air, close to your chest “ill do anything, just please” you cry out "just promise me you won't sleep with chad again, y/n." he puts the knife down and embraces you
“what the fuck?” you scream out "Promise me, Y/N. You won't give Chad another chance," he
whispered into your ear, his warm breath tickling your neck. You can almost feel his heartbeat against your chest, thundering with emotion. “i wont” tears streaming down “ill have sex with you, just please!” "Then prove it to me, Y/N. Tell me you want to be with me, and I promise I'll make it worth your while." he looks at you with hopeful eyes, his grip on the knife loosening as his trust in you begins to grow “i want to be with you” you lie, afraid of what he might do.
"Really?" he smiles warmly, his eyes bright with joy "I knew you'd come around. Now, let's make some memories." he takes your hand and leads you into his room, locking the door behind him. he smiles down at you, his eyes gleaming with anticipation as he backs you up against the wall, pinning you there with his tall frame "So eager to please, huh?" he leans in close, his body heat enveloping yours, he quickly strips naked, and orders you to do the same, you do as you’re told. ethan continues to grind his hips against your ass, pushing his length deeper inside of you with each thrust "God, Y/N... you feel so good." he bites down on his lip as he reaches around to grope one of your breasts roughly, you cant help but slip out a silent moan "Fuck yeah, baby. Take it all." he picks up the pace, slamming into you harder and faster "Tell me you want this... tell me you want my dick” “i want it” you whisper "Good girl." he smacks your ass, the sting mixing with the pleasure as he continues to fuck you against the wall "You're so tight." he pulls out of you, causing a loud slap as his thick member slaps against your wet pussy “fuck” you say in between breaths "That's it, baby. Take my cock." he thrusts back into you, filling you up once more "You like being fucked by your boyfriends best friend?" “y-yes” you drag out the words "Good." he grabs your hair, pulling your nead back as he slams into you harder and faster "You're going to be my little slut from now on." he groans, his hips slapping against yours in a rhythmic cadence “o-okay” "That's how it's going to be, huh? My little slutty Y/N?" he smirks, his hand slipping down to grip your ass cheek "Fine by me." you groan at his words he angles you so that his cock hits your g-spot with each thrust, sending waves of pleasure through your body "You belong to me now, Y/N." he kisses you hard, his tongue invading your mouth as he continues to hammer into you "Say it.” “im yours” you drag out "Yes, you are." he leans down to whisper in your ear "And I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk straight tomorrow." he picks up the pace again, slamming into you with a force that makes the wall shake. you loudly moan "That's it, baby. Take my cock." he grabs your hips and starts pounding into you, his hard length hitting against your cervix with each powerful thrust "You like that? You like being fucked hard?" you nod, thats all you could do honestly. "Good girl." he slaps your ass, leaving a red handprint on your pale skin
"Now, why don't you show me how much you love being fucked by me?" “s-so much” he grins, his eyes dark with lust "So sweet." he pulls out of you, leaving a small pool of your arousal on the wall "Now, get down on your knees." you follow his orders "Good girl." he watches you lower yourself down, his eyes filled with anticipation "Take my cock." he stands up, his hard length glistening with your juices as you reach out to grab it" you dive in, bobbing your head up and down "Fuck yes." he groans, his hands gripping the wall tightly as you take him into your mouth "You're such a good cocksucker." he starts thrusting his hips forward, fucking your face with his cock, you spit on his dick "That's it, baby. I love the way you take my cock." he grabs your hair, pulling your head back and forth on his shaft as he starts to lose control
"You're going to swallow my cum, aren't you?" you nod. "Good girl." he thrusts his hips forward one final time, hitting the back of your throat as he releases a load of hot cum into your mouth
"Swallow it all." he holds your head in place, making sure you take every last drop he pulls out of your mouth with a pop, his cock slippery with your saliva "There's my good girl." he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace, you groan. "That's right, baby." he starts to fuck you again, hard and fast, his cock slamming into you over and over
"Fuck yeah. You like it rough?", you nod eagerly. "You're such a dirty little slut." he groans, pushing deeper into you with each thrust "I'm gonna cum all over your tight little pussy” his pace quickens, his hips slapping against yours as he drives his cock deeper and deeper into your soaking wet pussy "Fuck, you're so tight." he reaches down, rubbing his throbbing erection along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh “fuck!” you scream
"Here it comes, baby." he pulls out of you suddenly, his cock erupting with a loud moan as he cums on your stomach "Drink it all in, slut."
he slams you into the bed "ethan i can't anymore". "Yes, you can. You're a strong girl, remember?" he pushes you onto your back on the bed, keeping hold of your hair "Now spread those legs, or l'l give you something to scream about." you do as your told "Perfect." He grabs a condom from the nightstand and rolls it onto his cock before positioning himself between your legs "Here it comes, baby. I'm going to fuck you hard and deep." you, filling you up completely as he starts to thrust hard and fast "God, your pussy teels so good around my dick."
you start rubbing your clit
"Fuck, yeah! Do that, baby. Rub your clit and cum for me." He picks up the pace even more, his hips slapping against yours as he reaches around to grope your ass "You're so tight." you cum on his dick "Yes, cum for me!" He continues to thrust into you, feeling your body shudder and tremble as you climax all over his cock "Fuck, that feels good." He grunts and moans, his own release building as he continues to fuck you hard “i-i cant” you say, seeing stars "You don't have to. I'm close." He pulls out of you, his cock still covered in your juices and cum "I'm going to cum all over your pretty face.” He aims his cock at your face and shoots his thick, hot cum onto your cheeks and nose "Now lick it up." you do as he says "Good girl." He smiles at you, running his fingers through your hair "You're such a good whore." "I can't wait to do this again." He climbs off the bed and pulls off his condom, tossing it onto the floor
"But for now, you rest." He pulls the blankets over you and switches off the light, leaving you in the dark", you silently sob in his arms "Shh... it's okay, baby girl." Ethan climbs back into bed behind you and wraps his arms around your waist "You did great." He nuzzles his face into your neck, trying to comfort you as you sob softly
#ethan landry#ethan landry smut#horror#loren campbell#scream#ethan landry smut non con#scream iv#scream franchise#scream 6#jack champion smut#jack champion
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I Don’t Just Like You - Trevor Zegras x Hughes!Reader
Hockey Masterlist
Warnings: swearing, tension/fighting, jealousy, Dixie lmao
Words: 2161
Summary: Tension builds with Trevor over his new partnership until the two of you confess your feelings.
A/n: Y'all I am so not doing well rn. I am processing a break up and questioning my social circle and im so lonely that I needed to write some angst to cope with it all. Hope yall like this one and maybe it'll get a smut part two depending on whether or not I can handle writing that rn lol. Enjoy!
Moose: call me ASAP
Me: sorry Luke. can’t rn
Moose: Awesome 😎
My hands quake with anxiety as I fiddle with the tarnished silver ring adorning my pointer finger. The moisture of my skin eases the movement of turning the ring around my finger. I hiss when the gemstone catches on the skin of my middle finger and immediately drop my hands.
Currently, I’m staring down at the risky text I just sent Trevor. About an hour ago he had messaged me:
Trev: hey sorry can’t swing tn after all
Trev: rain check?
My jaw tightens with contempt and I huff out a sigh as my bottom lip trembles. I feel pathetic for just how impacted I am by his every word. I angrily hit the digital keys of my phone’s keyboard as I type my reply.
Me: really?
Me: again??
Trev: don’t be like that
I’m not the most confrontational person. On any given day some might say I’m the furthest thing from confrontational. To put it rather plainly, I just don’t like it. I hate the way I get anxiety butterflies in my stomach. I hate absorbing the emotions of the other person, especially when rejection is involved. I hate what projections I’m opening myself up to receiving from the other person. There are too many pitfalls and not enough landing pads. Which is why it’s so out of character for me to press him on this.
Me: like what Trev?
This is the third time in a row Trevor has cancelled plans on me. I don’t know if he’s aware of that. I don’t even know what he’s been up to lately. He’s refused to tell me what he’s been doing instead, which didn’t raise my suspicions by any means until mom sent me an article. She knows about how my crush on Trevor has had roots in our childhoods.
Trev: you know what I’m talking about
After I stopped playing hockey with my brothers, I was still always around to notice Trevor’s presence in our home. When I moved to California for college, I wanted to chase my music dreams but I didn’t realize it would come at the expense of my support system. Being long distance with my family put me in a hard spot, but having a familiar face to rely on made the adjustment easier. As we spent more time together independent of my brothers, Trevor and I became close friends. The problem was my crush has been growing ever since we became friends, hence why mom sent me an article called, “Did Dixie D’Amelio admit to dating Trevor Zegras?”.
Me: at least say it with your chest
Sent. Delivered. I wait. Trevor’s response bubble appears for a second. It disappears, then reappears, then disappears again. I’m about ready to toss my phone across the room when his message delivers.
Trev: call me
I groan out in frustration and this time actually end up chucking my phone onto my bed. I run my hands through my hair, along the warm expanse of my scalp. A self-soothing gesture by all means. I pace to one side of my room before using the momentum of my steps to start back towards my phone. Just as I have it in my hand, Trevor’s contact picture covers the screen and illuminates in my grasp. I scoff out a sort of half groan and then answer.
“What, Trevor?”
“Hey, Y/n I’m great. Thanks for asking! How are you?” He responds sardonically to my cold greeting. I bite my tongue, torn between tearing into him and the stronger desire to laugh through my rage. He takes my exhale as a cue to continue. “What’s going on, Hughesy?”
In a single moment, my anger dissolves. The tenderness of that nickname, which was once reserved solely for my brothers, now belongs to me. In this moment, I find myself thinking about how grateful I am that Trevor was there for me as I transitioned into college. But the looming threat of a smile quickly vanishes as I remember how that care is nullified by Trevor’s abundantly active dating life.
“Y/nnnn?” Trevor hums into the phone.
“What?” I respond dryly.
“What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong is you cancelling on me for the third time in a row.”
“Is it really the third time in a row?” He asks under his breath, indicating he may not have intended to say it out loud at all. I roll my eyes, still actively fighting the urge to just lay into him.
“Yes, Trevor, it is!” I can practically hear him wince through the phone at the fact that I’m calling him Trevor instead of the default nickname permanently programmed into my phone.
“Who’s that?” I hear softly over the phone. My heart flutters like a coal mine parakeet in a cage and I bite my lip, willing myself not to cry if it turns out Dixie is on the other side. Trevor whispers back,
“It’s Y/n.”
“Hey, Y/n!” Mason’s on the other end.
“Not a good time,” Trevor tells him. Mason curses and then apologizes before retreating from Trevor’s general area. “Sorry, you were saying?” Trevor tells me at regular volume.
“You were cancelling on me again.”
“Oh. Right. I…” he switches the phone to the other ear, “I…don’t know what you want me to say.” Hello?! Could he be any more oblivious?!
“I want you to tell me what is going on!” I whine into the phone, “What is it you’re so busy with doing that you can’t see me for a week, huh? I get that you’re a professional athlete and you have a busy schedule. But I know your schedule and I know you still have a decent amount of free time. So what have you been doing?” Trevor breathes, in, then out and says,
“I’ve been seeing someone lately…” I feel my heart shatter into the tiniest fractals of what it once was and I cover my mouth to choke back the growing lump in my throat.
“I can’t do this right now,” I say with the utmost hurt lacing my voice, pulling the phone away from my ear to abruptly hang up on Trevor. I toss my phone on my bed once more, ignoring how the screen lights up with Trevor’s contact picture. It’s a new breed of psychological torture to sit here and ignore the calls, so I leave my phone in my bedroom as I go to splash cold water on my face.
When I reenter my bedroom, I ignore the buzzing device to put on a comfortable pair of pajamas. He’s called once, twice, a fourth, and a fifth before finally giving up. Despite my phone being silent, I don’t trust it enough to take it with me and leave it to charge on my bed. I settle on the couch to open my new pint of Ben and Jerry’s, putting on my favorite show in the hopes of laughing through the pain.
Somewhere between first and second episode, I had dozed off after returning the ice cream to the freezer. I’m not sure what it is about crying that knocks me on my ass like that, all I know is that it works.
I’m abruptly pulled from my sleep when I hear the harsh banging on my front door. I jump up from the couch, the spike in adrenaline carrying me out of my sleepy haze. When I get to the front door, some of the tiredness catches up with me again and I groggily open the front door. Behind it stands Trevor, with sad puppy eyes and a sheepish expression. I can’t help the scowl that comes to rest on my face when I see him, but he doesn’t falter. Instead, he pushes past me to come into the apartment and sits on the couch expectantly. Since there’s no way to physically remove him from my space, I bargain, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch, as far from Trevor as I can manage. He doesn’t let the cold gesture phase him, and scooches obliviously into the center of the couch.
“What’s going on Hughsey?” I scoff at the nickname and Trevor cringes in frustration. “What is this?”
“I don’t know what you’re referring to.”
“Why are you icing me out all of a sudden?”
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” I ask, spiteful, with malice.
“Clearly not since I’m here spending time with you.”
“Was that so hard for you to do? I mean, with your busy schedule and all?”
“What are you-” Trevor pauses for a split second. “Wait, are you… jealous? Y/n?”
I want to protest. I want to scream and rant and bite back, how he could be so conceited to think I’d be jealous of a relationship that I previously thought was rumored? But I can’t.
Because he’s right.
I bite my tongue. There’s nothing else I can do. Not unless I want to make an even bigger fool of myself than I already have.
“Oh my god, that’s totally it. You’re jealous.” Trevor says, complete with a laugh and a sigh. The shame of actually being jealous of a girl I’ve never met, the disappointment of finding out Trevor is dating someone, and the exhaustion from already having cried earlier comes collapsing down on me at once. Hot tears well on the lining of my lashes and I stare at the ground, afraid to draw attention to myself. Upon seeing me cry, Trevor’s smile immediately vanishes and he scoots closer once more.
“Hey, shhh, it’s okay.” He envelops me in a hug that I’m too overwhelmed to reciprocate. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry.”
I merely shake my head, unaware of what I could even say in this moment.
“I was… I was just laughing ‘cause I should’ve known.”
“Should’ve known what?”
“That you’d be jealous.” I wriggle out of the hug and look at Trevor sincerely.
“How would you have known?”
“You know, for as long as I can remember, your brothers have talked about you having a crush on me.” I cower in humiliation, my face glowing hotter than the surface of the sun.
“I wish they wouldn’t have.”
“No?” Trevor asks, genuinely.
“It’s embarrassing,” I confess, fully recoiling from the physical contact he had initiated before.
“It’s cute.” Trevor earnestly admits as he takes my hand in his. I scoff instinctively but don’t pull my hand away again.
“I don’t need your pity, Trev.” I say so softly he nearly misses the sentiment. Once he processes my worlds, I feel him physically relax next to me at the sound of his familiar nickname.
“Well, what do you need? I’m here now.”
“I honestly don’t know.” I finally dare to meet his eyes. He’s looking at me so sweetly, earnestly. As if I hadn’t just chewed him out two minutes earlier. Then, I look away before I can say what I’m about to say next. “I don’t just like you.” Trevor’s face lifts ever so slightly. The extent of which, one might miss had they not known him a lifetime the way I have.
“You know… the only reason I started seeing her was to get over you.”
“What?” I ask, sharply whipping my head to stare at Trevor, as if awaiting the reveal that this was just some elaborate prank from the start.
“Yeah. I started dating Dixie because I thought dating someone different would distract me. You know, it’s not a good look to have a crush on your best friend’s little sister.”
My heartrate picks up with his confession. This feels too good to be true. As if real life is waiting for us right outside the front door. The real life that doesn’t see me and Trevor together ever in our lifetimes. Terrified of the change that would occur from letting him walk away, I reach up and hold his face in my hands, kissing him passionately. Trevor wraps his hand around my wrist and kisses me back with twice as much fervor.
We break apart, out of breath and full of smiles. Trevor looks at me for guidance and we fizzle into a nervous laughter. I reach up and brush my thumb tenderly across his cheekbone. He grabs my hand and turns his head, placing a sweet kiss on my palm. I then reach up and break the moment by ruffling my hand through his hair to mess it up.
“Hey!” He yells, grabbing waist to dig his hands into my sides. I screech with laughter as I try to escape. Trevor eventually yields and slips his hands from my sides to interlace with one another and pull me closer. I scoot in to sit against him, sitting half on top of him as our breathing falls in sync.
“I don’t just like you, too, Hughesy.” I smile.
“...You should probably call Dixie.”
“Oh shit.”
***
A/N: not my best work but not my worst either!
#Trevor Zegras#Trevor Zegras fanfiction#Trevor Zegras fanfic#Trevor Zegras fic#Trevor Zegras smut#Trevor Zegras fluff#Trevor Zegras angst#Trevor Zegras x reader#Trevor Zegras x y/n#Trevor Zegras imagine#Trevor Zegras one shot#Trevor Zegras oneshot#Trevor Zegras blurb#Trevor Zegras drabble#Trevor Zegras writing#NHL#NHL imagine#NHL fanfiction#NHL x reader#TZ 11#TZ 46
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SILENCE IS GOLDEN — EDDIE MUNSON.
SUMMARY: “I'm gonna fuck that attitude right outta you, pretty girl.”
WARNINGS: PURE FILTH AHEAD. SMUT AND SMUT. ROUGH SEX. LANGUAGE. MINORS DNI.
So I reread this entire thing and it makes me question my own sanity. I mean do you all really enjoy reading my work? It's days like these where I just question whether I should just stop and reflect. But writing keeps me sane when all I feel like is constantly drowning. Thank you all for your continued support. Let me know what you thought. Reviews and reblogs appreciated.
Silence is golden.
Silence is golden.
Silence is golden.
It threatens to consume you, this aching sensation that pushes you towards the precipice of no return—a firm warning silences your pleas of mercy, “Jesus H. Christ,” teeth graze the shell of your ear, “—so fucking tight.”
You can't breathe—the sheer intensity behind his gaze rendering you a helpless, quivering mess of tangled limbs and jumbled thoughts, barely clinging unto reality as his hips set off at a brutal pace—taking without question, pushing you towards the edge, vigorously pounding into you.
“Fuck,” it surprises you, these emotions that run rampant, so lost in the euphoria rushing through your veins that you almost forget exactly where you are, head banging against the hard surface of the door. “Fuck!”
“You wanna get us caught, don't you?”
It lingers at the forefront of your mind that being caught having passionate extra-curricular activities during school would bring about the end of the world for you and the beautiful boy railing you against the bathroom stall—and yet at that moment, seeing and feeling nothing but him, well all rational thought flew out the door the moment he had gripped your hand, tugged you down the hallway, pushed you into the girl's bathrooms, and then proceeded to eat you out like his life depended on it.
It was only at the sound of footsteps echoing closer that Eddie had managed to come to his senses, grinning down at your flustered face, “I told you,” a shrill yelp had tumbled from your lips as he yanked you off the basin counter, silencing your protests with a firm kiss that made your nether regions pulse and burn, “—I'm gonna fuck that attitude right outta you, pretty girl.”
His tongue had invaded your mouth, pushing past your parted lips, firm fingers tangling through your hair, “You won't walk for a fucking week.”
You barely registered moving, only feeling his arms wrap around you with a strength that made your desire only grow, all but stumbling into the furthest stall in the bathroom, slamming the door shut just as shrill giggles resonated through the air.
You can't focus, not with his lips slanting over yours, stealing every little sound you offered him, shaking fingers desperately seeking to find the firm hardness pressing against you, “I mean did you see what she was wearing? Talk about wardrobe malfunction—.”
You can't focus—to which leads you where you were now, completely and utterly helpless to the onslaught of absolute pleasure reigning down upon you by a grinning Eddie Munson.
You aren't sure when or how he had managed to free his aching, pulsing member, gasping at the sensation of his fingers spreading you apart, thumb circling your throbbing clit—well who could blame you for throwing modesty to the wind when your only warning was a smug grin, a firm hand slapping over your mouth, and the other lifting your leg to dangle off his hip and then he bottomed out with one singular thrust.
His cock, filling you to the brim, pounds into you at such a pace that you fear being discovered, head banging against the hard surface of the door, no longer caring to be subtle, as you both found yourselves too lost in the feeling of each other than to care about the looming silence that followed after your cry of pleasure echoed through the bathroom, “Fucking fuck!”
“Get a room!”
Eddie barks a laugh the moment murmurs and cries of disgust echo through the bathroom, swallowing your moans as he shifts slightly, pulling out before plunging back in, “We did!” and somehow this union between the two of you makes it so much exciting.
You can't find it within yourself to feel mortified, instead focusing on the growing heat bubbling within, “Yeah that's it,” he grunts against you, panting heavily, “—take what I give you. Let the entire fucking school hear it. Let them know it's Eddie fucking Munson who's balls deep in this pussy.”
You fucking snap.
It hits you without warning.
“Jesus fuck!” You aren't given the chance to come down from your high, shaking and trembling, barely aware of him cursing profanities that would make a sailor proud—only feeling a brief moment of emptiness as his cock leaves you empty and hollow, yanking you around, back flush against his chest, “Give me one more. Just one fucking more.”
And then his fingers glide over your hips, digging into flesh, before burrowing himself deep into your spasming cavern, “Scream my name, pretty girl.”
But you can't, too consumed with his hips snapping forward, slow, hard, rough—and it drives you insane. “Fuck me, Munson. Fuck me like you hate me.”
“Be careful what you wish for.”
It was there and then, as his cock drove into you at an unforgiving pace, that you vowed to never ever not push his limits. If it took only a few simple words for him to snap like this, well you doubted that you'd ever be able to walk again.
#Eddie Munson Imagine#Eddie Munson x Reader#Eddie Munson Smut#Stranger Things Imagine#Eddie Munson x You#Stranger Things Smut#Eddie Munson#Reader Imagine
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DEVOTION
a/n: this is just pure filth. literally no plot, but it was needed at this point. i've been back on my moon knight shit for awhile now and am working on several fics for them in the new year. so please enjoy the small interlude of smut before i get back to my regularly scheduled angst. (also yes this gif was necessary). everyone thank dia for dropping some of the best lines in this fic. her mind is unmatched.
co-conspirator/writer: @softanon🖤 (this is literally just the conversation we had word for word)
summary: marc needed to relax, but things don't go as you expect them to.
word count: 4.2k+
pairing: marc spector x f!reader
warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, filth, p in v sex, gratuitous oral (m receiving), bondage, slight dom!marc, rough sex, cum eating, cumplay, biting, edging.
“You’re meant to be relaxing,” you said, watching as Marc paced around the living room for what felt like the millionth time that night.
“I am.”
You scoffed, setting your glass of water down. “You’re going to wear a hole in the floor if you keep going.”
He didn’t find your comment amusing, opting to ignore you in favor of doing another lap. After days of donning his suit and title as Moon Knight, you asked him to stay home. To relax with you until the next day where his routine would start all over again. Except you never accounted for the fact that relaxing was not a term Marc understood well. In fact, you were fifty percent sure that he didn’t know what it meant in the first place, constantly exerting himself in favor of actually resting.
Eventually your patience would run out—you knew that much. So, when he decided to turn around one more time, heading straight for the kitchen only to do exactly what he’d been doing for the past twenty minutes, you snapped. Getting up from where you sat, you reached for his arm, gripping it so tight he froze midstep. Normally you held a tight reign over your emotions, never allowing them to slip free. You just couldn’t handle seeing him unable to do the one thing you wanted for him.
“Please sit down before I tie you to the chair.”
If he wasn’t listening to you before, he was now. “Tie me to the chair?”
“Yes…” The incredulous expression he wore faded, a new one taking over. One you’d seen before. His lips curved upwards, eyes lighting up as he took in the sight of you slightly frazzled and on edge.
“You want to try?” His smile widened and you couldn’t decide between kissing him or actually going through with what you planned.
Tying him to a chair shouldn’t have been too difficult. Sure, he possessed immense strength and powers, but you had one thing over him he never saw coming. You smiled, tilting your chin up—the defiance burning in your eyes—and you saw him waver. You watched his eyes dilate, his chest heaving as he inhaled a sharp breath. He was captivated by you, a sight he’d never tire of seeing. Which made tricking him easier for you than even he anticipated.
“I really do Spector,” you breathed, emphasizing his last name in the way you knew he liked.
He liked knowing that he was what you wanted. That while you loved Steven and Jake as much as him, it was Marc that met you first. Marc that made your head spin in that first kiss, brought your walls down with a single look, and captured your heart with his gentle touch. He belonged to you. He knew that from day one.
Tugging on his shirt, you pulled him towards you, capturing his lips in a kiss that melted him. You’d always say kissing Marc was entirely different from kissing Steven. Where Steven hesitated, Marc took, he devoured you—leaving nothing behind. He yanked you closer, his tongue sliding against yours as you breathed a heady moan into his mouth. Marc would never tire of your taste, always craving the flavor of your favorite tea on your tongue, the slight mint of your toothpaste.
All that together mixed with the perfume he bought you and suddenly he was at your mercy.
He stumbled, feeling you push against him until eventually somehow you ended up in the bedroom. Kissing you stopped time; everything ceased to exist except you. You and your soft hands and warm skin. He moaned, palms sliding up into your t-shirt, delighted to find out that you had forgone wearing a bra today. That combined with the fact that it was his t-shirt you wore made his head spin even more. He was throbbing in his sweatpants, his heart racing so fast he was certain you could hear it.
One last push sent him tumbling into the overpriced desk chair you bought him (well technically Steven but sharing was a part of the deal), followed by you climbing on top of him. He didn’t care where he sat, couldn’t even coherently tell you with confidence where he was. All his brain let him comprehend was your tongue that slid along his, your hands that tugged off his shirt before they reached behind him for something.
By the time he realized what exactly you were doing it was too late. He pulled back, accidentally nipping too hard on your bottom lip, as you finished adjusting the leather belt that was wrapped around his wrists. Binding them together.
His eyes flew open to see your pleased smile as you adjusted your spot in his lap. Purposely grinding down on his hard cock to hear that soft grunt you loved. Normally it was you at his mercy, willingly complying to everything he wanted. But to finally be helpless to you (or as helpless as he could be with superpowers), made his whole body heat up. His cock throbbed when you licked along the prominent vein in his neck. A gasp leaving his lips at your touch.
“Relax,” you murmured, pulling away from his head that tilted up towards yours in an effort to catch your lips in a kiss.
“Baby c’mon,” he replied, his words tinged with a pleading tone he’d never used before.
He watched your eyes light up, your smile deepening at the sound of him begging and he knew he was done for. He’d give you anything to get you to look at him like that again. The unfocused look in his eyes told you exactly what he was feeling. After all, he’d seen the same look in your eyes each time he gave you an orgasm so intense it caused your brain to short circuit.
Not feeling the need to respond, you slid out of his lap until your knees hit the floor—his leg parting unconsciously to give you room. The sight caused his mouth to part, his chest heaving with every breath he took. Marc wanted to render you incapable of speech. He wanted to watch you fall apart in his arms while you came on his cock. He wanted you, and he tugged on the tight bind the belt had on his wrists.
Your eyes snapping up to meet his gaze with a glare stopped his movements.
“I said you need to relax,” you sniped, hands sliding up his thighs and stopping right below the waistband of his sweats.
“Let me fuck you and I will,” he replied, grinning breathlessly at the sight of your eyes unfocusing for a moment. “This was fun, but I promise I’ll relax much more if you—”
The words died on his tongue as his breath was punched out of his chest, a groan ripping from his throat. Marc’s head fell back against the chair the second you pulled his sweatpants down and took his cock into your mouth. There was no warning, no foreplay where you stroked him until he was a mess in your hands. Somehow that made all of this hotter. You wanted him to relax your way by giving him this.
He gasped when you pulled back only to engulf him in the wet heat of your mouth again. His gaze fell back down to you and he had to refrain from cumming then and there. Your eyes were glassy with tears, spit trailing down your chin as you came up for air every now and then. Marc was leaking, practically dripping down your palm and that somehow made all of this worse. Yet he silently begged you to keep going. The taste of him was salty and intoxicating, causing you to moan with each spurt of precum that landed on your tongue.
Licking at the head of his cock you watched his mouth fall open, a whiny breathless moan hitting your ears. His hips jolted with each lap of your tongue, a broken please falling from his lips. Pumping the rest of him steadily you watched him grow closer to the edge. Each drag of your lips along his cock—tongue pressed to the thick vein that ran beneath it—dragged him towards a climax that would leave him incoherent. He could practically taste it on the back of his tongue.
“Fuck baby,” he gasped, his head tilting back as his hips attempted to thrust up into your mouth. “I’m—shit—‘m gonna cum.”
He felt the familiar tug in his stomach and right as you sunk down lower on his cock, taking him into your throat with a muffled moan, he knew he was done for. A shout left his lips, but was cut off suddenly, the feeling now fading. He whined, eyes focusing on you sitting back on your heels with a shit eating grin on your face.
“What the fuck?” he whined. “Why…why did you stop?”
Pressing your head down on his thigh you watched his cock jolt from your close proximity. “You wouldn’t listen when I said you needed to relax.”
“So you decide to edge me?” he asked, trying not to snap at you.
You giggled, kissing his clothed thigh. “Had to make sure you were paying attention.”
If he wasn’t so keyed up he would have melted from that sound alone, but his body was thrumming with the loss of an orgasm. His arousal now spread like liquid fire through his veins. He wanted to cum. No fuck that. He needed to cum. Tugging on his restraints again, he felt tempted to summon up a part of the suit—just to break himself free. But you blowing air on his cock, your hand wrapping around him again, silenced that thought immediately.
“Are you going to relax now honey?”
He’d do whatever the fuck you wanted. “Yes,” he breathed, watching wide eyed as you wrapped your already swollen lips around his head.
A shiver wracked his whole body at the soft kitten licks you were giving him, his eyes threatening to close.
“Are you going to be good for me?”
The words didn’t even register in his mind before he nodded frantically, his hips pushing up into your mouth when you took more of him.
“Yes,” he panted, his hands tightening into fists. “I’ll—oh fuckfuckfuck baby that’s so fucking perfect. You’re perfect.”
The words were falling out of his mouth faster than he anticipated, his head now empty of only one thought. How it felt when your cheeks hollowed, tongue licking at his slit each time you pulled up. The pressure was building once more. Blinding pleasure spreading through his body at a rapid pace as you built and built his orgasm. For a moment he forgot that you had pulled away before—he allowed himself to relish in what was to come.
Only for it to fade away once again.
He cried out as if in pain, his cock throbbing so painfully that he was sure you saw it. It was red, leaking, and begging to be put back in your mouth. Yet you still shifted back to where you were before. Only this time you didn’t wear a grin; your eyes were dazed, watching the drop of precum slip down to his balls. Your chest was heaving with each breath and you had half a mind to let him finish. To finally indulge yourself in the taste of his spend.
However, you were too fucking stubborn to give in now.
“Fuck please,” he begged, desperate for some reprieve from the onslaught of pleasure.
But then he saw it. The sinful mischief in your eyes that had his toes curling. Marc knew what he was in for whenever you looked at him like that. The last time he had almost cum in his pants from the sight of you in lingerie so see through you might as well have been standing before him completely bare. His breath caught in his throat, your name a moaned prayer falling from his lips.
“Marc,” you teased, finger trailing down his cock lightly to watch it jump. “You’re so pretty like this.”
“Yeah?” he asked, trying to keep hold of the thin strand of control he had left. “I’m even prettier when I cum.”
He heard the sharp intake of breath and knew he had you in his hold. Or at least that’s what he thought. You tutted, pulling away entirely before once again taking him into your mouth. His whole body jolted as if he was electrified, the blinding pleasure he sought now being shoved his way as you doubled down. The wet sounds of you pumping his cock filled the room, combining with his whimpers and moans. He couldn’t tell up from down, whether he was on the precipice of cumming or being torn away from it even further.
You moaned, your hips rolling forward into nothing, and that nearly sent him over the edge. Tears tracked down your cheeks, spit now spilling down your throat. He had never seen a sight so beautiful before. You tightened your grip, sucking the head of his cock into your mouth, and he cried out—his balls drawing up so tightly it was accompanied by a slight sting of pain.
“Fuck!” he shouted, hips jolting up and causing you to gag as he hit the back of your throat.
He was right there.
Then as it did before…the feeling began to fade.
You practically heard his control break in half, his head snapping up—eyes meeting yours with a hardened expression you’d only seen him wear when he was fighting. The black of his pupil began to glow white, the familiar wrappings now trailing up his arms as you heard the belt snap, clattering to the ground.
He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.
His gaze held you in place as you tried to scramble back on the floor to somehow escape the consequences of your actions. A guttural growl tore from his chest, his now bare hand latching onto your leg and yanking you back until you were spread out on the floor underneath him. Pulling at your shorts, he managed to get them down to your ankles, allowing you to make the final choice and kick them off all the way.
“Marc,” you started, the remainder of your sentence dying on your tongue as he fixed you with a glare.
“No,” he spit out. “You wanted me to relax. So I’m going to relax.���
There was no room for you to argue. Not that you wanted to either way.
Hoisting your leg over his shoulder, he gave you no warning as he lined up his cock and pushed into you in one thrust. You cried out, fingers searching for purchase on his forearms as he pulled back until just the tip remained inside of you. His hips shoved forward, filling you up until you were barely able to breathe. This wasn’t him tenderly making love to you, this was him chasing his release while breaking you apart beneath him.
“Ah—Fuck! Marc, r-right there.” Your head fell back, eyes squeezing shut when he sped up, his pace brutal and unforgiving.
Fingers wrapped around your chin, gripping tight in order to tilt your head towards him. “I want you to look at me,” he rasped, his voice deeper than before. “Can you do that baby? Can you be good for me?”
Your words being thrown back at you sent a thrill shooting through your body—your pussy clenching down around him. He groaned, hips ramming into yours with a fervor that mimicked your own. While you liked being in control, seeing him like this, fully ripped apart from your actions, was far more appealing. His eyes squeezed shut, mouth parting as he unexpectedly dropped his weight on you, striking against that spot that made you see white.
Choking out a sob, you dug your nails into his bare back to find something to ground yourself. You were drowning in him and he loved it. His lips slotted messily against yours, spit trailing down your chin, and he moaned when he tasted himself on your tongue. Marc no longer had control of his actions, too desperate for a release that had been out off for far too long. Yet you loved it all the same.
“You’re dripping for me,” he murmured, fingers dropping to swipe through your folds and press against your clit. “Did you like sucking my cock that much? Hm?”
His words barely registered in your mind before your whole body tightened. A breathless grunt was punched out of him as your pussy clamped down around his cock, your orgasm nearing with each stunted thrust of his hips. You keened in his arms, your head falling back—mouth dropping open—and he almost gave in entirely. If there’s one thing Marc loved more than anything else, it was seeing you fall apart on his cock. Tonight however he would deprive himself of that experience.
Because his stubbornness outweighed yours every time.
“No!” you gasped, head shooting up as he pulled away entirely. The pleasure began to melt from your body, leaving you feeling empty and hot. “Please. Marc, please. I want to cum. I’ll be good for you. I promise—” You were babbling, saying anything to finally make him give in, but deep down you knew this was his own form of payback.
“I know baby,” he breathed against your lips, thumb running along the top of your cheek. “I’ve got you.”
His hands gripped your hips, turning your body with practiced ease and pulling you to your knees. Your chest was against the floor, head turned and cheek pressed down to see what he was doing. Although you knew what he was doing.
Marc got to his knees, gripping his cock to slide against your dripping folds before finally pressing into you again. This way he sunk into you deeper, hitting spots that made your toes curl before he even began to move. You moaned, pushing back until his hips met your ass, smiling at the sound he let out. Both of you may be stubborn as hell, but when it came to this—being so full of him that you would feel it for days to come—you finally relented.
Pressing a wet kiss to your spine, he started the previous pace from before. He shoved sounds you didn’t even know you could make from your chest with each thrust, as pleasure streaked down your spine. You felt the way he stuttered when your walls began to tighten around him again; knew that he was on the very precipice of cumming. With a shaky hand you began to touch yourself, rubbing your clit in time with his thrusts—causing your pussy to clamp down even tighter.
“Fuck,” he grunted, fingers digging in painfully into the skin of your hips. “I fucking love you.”
You cried out unabashedly, uncaring if the neighbors heard you. “Marc!”
“Yeah?” His hand gripped the back of your neck, using the leverage to push you back onto his cock. “I’m the one making you feel good.”
He felt it before you did, the familiar tightening of his lower abdomen, his cock throbbing as the orgasm began to wash over him and he tried to stave off. Just a bit longer to finally give you what he denied you. Baring his teeth, he fought against the sensations, forcing himself to be edged one more time. Fuck, even now you still held a tight grip around him, still the one in complete control and he loved it. That alone made him nearly fall off the edge of the cliff.
“Oh shit,” he groaned, getting ready to pull out and spill over your ass as he usually did. Your hand digging into his hips stopped him.
“Cum inside me please,” you whimpered, tears tracked down your cheeks from the amount of pleasure wracking your body.
“What?” His eyes went wide.
A slow smile crept up your lips, eyes lighting up with the same mischief as before. “I want you to cum inside me.”
Marc wasn’t sure he heard you correctly, but his body was already working towards exactly that. His right hand slapped against the floor beside your head, forehead dropping to press against your temple as he gasped for any amount of air.
“Gods. Fuck.” he grunted, hand reaching up to grip your chin—meeting your lips in a messy kiss.
“No gods,” you hummed. “Just me.”
He felt your hand dig into his hair, holding him close to you as his hips rutted into you in sloppy strokes. Each drag of his cock along your walls sent you even higher—the echo of your slick and skin slapping against skin became a filthy symphony to your cries of pleasure.
“Cum for me gorgeous,” you breathed, watching his face contort, eyebrows pulling together.
His mind went blank, vision blacking out and body going taut. Euphoric pleasure ran through every inch of his body as he finally let himself go. A cry of your name was muffled into your shoulder, arms giving out while his whole body shook from the waves of mind numbing bliss that filled him. He spurted into you, filling you until some began to spill out and drip down his balls, and you begged for more.
The breath caught in your throat when he broke for you—his cock pulsing inside of your wet heat. You wanted to shout, tell him how much you ached for him, how much you belonged to him, but the words were stuck in your throat. He hadn’t made you cum, but somehow you were flying just as high as he was. Unable to form a coherent thought.
Your walls clenched around him when he finally caught his breath and pulled out slowly. A trail of his cum dripping down your inner thighs.
Whimpering, you tried to fight off the urge to finish yourself off, because if there’s one thing you knew about Marc it was that he refused to let sex end until you finished. That still didn’t stop your eyes from shutting when your body practically shook from the overstimulation of being edged yet again. He heard you though…loud and clear.
“Oh baby,” he breathed, hand running gently up your thigh.
“Please…” You were silenced by his hands sliding up to your ass, spreading you for his eyes to see.
“Look at you.” His fingers swiped through his cum that steadily dripped out of you. Only to drag it towards your clit that pulsed with need. “Beautiful.”
Gasping, you pushed back onto his fingers, desperate for any amount of attention he gave you. But soon it wasn’t enough. Your body was so worked up that his fingers alone couldn’t bring you to that edge and he knew it. You sobbed his name when he pulled away, nearly on the verge of bursting into tears. Only for your back to bow, a moan ripping from your throat, when his mouth sealed over your pussy.
“Fuck!” Your nails scratched along the floor, legs shaking as he sucked your clit into his mouth.
He moaned against you, the vibrations going straight through you and causing your toes to curl. It wouldn’t take long at all for you to violently fall over the edge. Which is why he sped up. Slipping two fingers into your pussy, he sought out the spot that would send you to the quick end. Each swipe of his tongue forced a moan from your chest—the breath leaving your lungs faster than you could keep it.
Marc was licking you clean of the mess he made and that single though alone paired with his fingers striking gold finished you off. Your mouth dropped open in a silent scream, eyes rolling back as your body convulsed with the power of your orgasm.
For a moment you lost all sense. The blood rushing through your ears and white flashing behind your tightly shut eyes. But when you came to you found Marc still going. Drinking down every last drop of you and him combined with a fucked out dazed look in his eyes. You knew if you didn’t stop him now he’d continue until you were unraveling beneath him, but your legs were already shaking from the strain of being on them.
“Wait,” you panted, hand shooting out to grip on his wrist. “I-I can’t.”
His teeth sunk into the skin of your ass in response. “You taste so good.”
That brought a smile to your face. “You don’t taste so bad yourself, Spector.”
Gently, he turned you until you were laying flat on your back, his chest pressed to yours as he laid over you. His lips met yours in a soft kiss, tongue sliding along yours. You moaned at the combined taste of you and him. It made your head spin.
Exhaustion riddled your body and you could see that it was the same for him. Tomorrow he’d have to go back to being Moon Knight; somehow having to find a way to sleep in between giving Jake and Steven the body. But tonight…right now, he was yours. Yours to love, yours to care for. So, you pulled him closer, your leg slinging over his bare hip as you kissed him languidly—relishing in the closeness.
#marc spector x f!reader#marc spector x reader#marc spector x you#marc spector x y/n#marc spector#marc spector smut#moon knight#moon knight fic#moon knight smut#my writing#posting this unhinged and unedited#fuck it#we live and die by the pen
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