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#and besides idk how to write in order i've just been. writing.

hoseoksluna · 29 days

Text

BLUR | myg ft. jjk

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

genre: smut

word count: 17k

summary: one encounter with both of the males heals you enough that you don't become anything but joy.

pinterest board: blur

warnings: dom/sub dynamics, marking, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, cuckold kink, toying with the idea of polyamory, daddy kink, punishment, nipple play, oc gets triggered, face riding, ass play, male masturbation, multiple orgasms, use of butt plug, raw sex, cum eating, clit rubbing

note: i want to thank oc. i've always wanted to pinch jungkook's nose and i got to do that through her. LMFAOFSJLDKFS ANYWAYS—this is the LAST part of the steam series, whoop whoop. finally. this took me so fucking long to write and idk if it even makes sense, which is why i need you guys to let me know everything that you're thinking, feeling, hating, loving. I NEED IT. so pls, send me asks. spam me. thank you. ENJOY READINGGGGG. ₊˚⊹♡

A thin layer of sweat coats your hairline. And inside your skull, momentarily, there aren’t any thoughts—none, whatsoever. They have been swept aside as the feverish evening wind carries your boyfriend’s words through the aroused energy pulsating around your naked form. Around Jungkook’s, too.

Yoongi is still the only one fully dressed. And, adamantly, he’s taken the role of a watcher, shifting the dynamic in such a frantic way that the sole impulse that you find opening within you like buds of tree flowers is to obey. To submit to the role, externalize one that will fit it. To play along like he did, when he caught onto your scheme.

Even though you don’t know how to particularly go about it.

And when Yoongi walks over to the armchair in his living room, plops down on it, angles his head slightly to look at you and waves a hand towards the couch across from him, inviting you to sit, your nescience claws at you. Brutally.

You don’t know if there are any shadows thickening in his headspace because you deem there must be a reason behind his sudden decision to turn things around. He’s been okay with every practice done so far in the playtime—he validated all of them, was in charge the whole time until he gave that control over to Jungkook. You can’t help but worry if there perhaps isn’t a catch.

And the lower your disquiet sinks inside your gut, the higher your distrust of yourself springs, lodging in your throat. You’re not sure anymore if you’re right about anything. What if there is something you’ve done that you completely overlooked in the middle of your pleasure? In the middle of Jungkook’s pleasure?

Once you exchange a heavily-charged look with the puppy, you hope to find a hint in the tenderness of his eyes that would help you figure it out. Though, the more you deepen the scrutiny, the more you’re met with absolute blankness.

He’s as clueless as you.

Bewildered, mostly, that Yoongi let him have the upper hand.

Your finger itches to hook around his, but you only angle your head in the direction of the living room, dubious to listen to your body, intentionally wary. You make the first move and you don’t sit down on the couch like Yoongi motioned you. No, you sink your knees into the space beside his on the armchair, the leather creaking beneath you. Wrap your arms around his shoulders. Study the depth of his gaze as he focuses it on your face, looking for the hint, for anything that would lead you to it. Bury your fingers into his night-tinged hair the way he likes it, the way you like to do it, too. Pull it a little to make known to him that you’re bubbling with uncertainty.

Yoongi merely watches you, borrowing his friend’s stoicism.

You click your tongue, disliking it. “Yoongi,” you drawl out, cupping the sides of his neck, willing his attention to be more of an intimate sort. Just you and him. You need to talk to him about this. Need a peace of mind in order for you to enjoy this. In order to please him in the process as well.

He turns his head behind him, though. To check the whereabouts of his friend. And when you follow the same direction, you discover that his dining space is empty.

You don’t detect any panic in you. Perhaps it’s due to the fact Jungkook never abandoned you before. Or perhaps you’ve healed to the point that it doesn’t bother you anymore, no matter who does it. And what’s more, you think he probably went to pee.

With two fingers on his jaw, you turn his attention back to you. Leave them there. His lips curl up as he tries to purse them, his stoicism fragmenting. Eyes gentle, moonbeams swimming. The sight is so endearing to you that your own mouth mirrors his, butterflies awoken, fluttering their wings in your tummy. This is the man you love. This is the man that’s yours. Yours, only. And you’re alone, intimately, cordially. Just like before.

“Is something the matter, honey?” He tips his chin, irises dilated and looking up at you. Latches his hands onto the fleshiness of your thighs, just below your hip bones.

With your inhale of breath, you muster as much courage as you can. “Have I done something wrong?”

Perplexity writes itself on his softened face. Could it be—

“No, why do you think that, hm?” He narrows his eyes at you playfully, tapping his fingers on the side of your hips. You exhale a breath that loosens your worry a little bit and your mouth rounds. He leans in to peck it. “You’ve been perfect.”

Have you? You’re not so sure—on the contrary, what you’re sure of is the fact you can better yourself. You have to, in order to make your worries dissipate all the way.

And you can fulfill that if you know what role to play.

“Tell me what to do.”

One corner of his mouth tugs ever so slightly to the side and one brow quirks in confusion. “You’re about to get eaten up. Enjoy it—that’s what you are to do.”

You sigh, realizing you should’ve worded it better. That’s precisely what you want to do—enjoy it, but you can’t risk getting lost again. Can’t risk getting submerged. You need him to tell you who you are to be in this new dynamic he established and you don’t want to hear that you should be yourself. If you relax your boundaries, you’ll step into a dangerous territory—and you’ve been there before.

So has he.

“Yoongi, no, I meant—”

He squeezes your muscles. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here, you hear me?” he murmurs, one hand coming up to your hair and curling it behind your ear. And it’s these words that unwittingly, little by little, drive you to drop your own hand, your guard and your worries. The fact that he doesn’t even want to hear your better wording, too, because he understood you the first time. It guides you to think it’s not worth speaking out, not when he evidently knows better.

And it feels nice. To have someone intelligent enough that they know. To have someone care enough that they don’t let you immerse yourself in doubts because they know the type of shit your thoughts consist of sometimes. He remembers everything you unraveled during the therapy sessions. And that feels nice. More than nice.

Your mouth rounds again and you repeat it after him. To acknowledge yourself with it. To swallow it so it streams down your body, where its meaning can unfurl. “You’re here.” Your voice is subdued, unsure, the words foreign on your tongue. You knit your brows while you taste them, unable to identify the flavor. That is until you realize it could offend him. You relax your features right away.

But Yoongi merely watches you with a sympathetic look, one that makes you feel terrible for reacting the way you did.

Not for long, though.

“I know I’ve made a mistake in the past, but that’s not happening again. I’m not leaving you on your own this time,” he says and you realize that is precisely what you needed to hear, what your body needed to consume first in order to recognize the flavor of his reassurance. You caress his face in deep emotion and you try again.

“You’re here.” It’s a mere silken sound for only the both of you to hear, but it matters—it’s enough, it’s perfect. In the distance, you hear a shuffling of feet in the kitchen, the song of the wind gaining momentum, inclining to listen to the expression of love between you—to be a witness of the right thing being done at last. And you can taste the sweetest wine of the ripest of grapes, spiced with the most vibrant of roses. You can taste home; his stability you can lean on.

Yoongi smiles in your grasp, noting the way the words sounded different—more secure. The moonbeams liquify in his waterline. “That’s right. And because I’m here, I’m not letting history repeat itself.” He pinches your cheek, knocking your head back and forth with the well-meaning, ferocious movement. Erases completely the lingering presence of the guard and fears you’ve dropped. You laugh, softly, relieved—so fucking relieved. Joy fills your empty body, energizing you, roses rising in you. Your roses, the ones you know, fraternizing with the unknown flowers that Jungkook planted in you. And you discern that it’s you who’s in your comfort zone, in your safety zone. The males have stepped inside theirs and now you have. You inhale fresh air in your new lungs, exhale your relief. “Say it. So I know you understand.”

“You’re here and you’re not letting history repeat itself.” Beautiful, beautiful words—beautiful consolation and kindness. A pillar of the most exceptional magnificence. Mentally, you rest against it, rest your enfeebled, exhausted body of all your needless worries and false thoughts.

You didn’t do anything wrong. Didn’t make a mistake. Though, if it weren’t for the weak moment, you wouldn’t be here. Wouldn’t have gotten the comfort you didn’t know you needed.

So peculiar, the newness. It dawns on you that it should’ve been like this in the beginning. Healthy conversations, reassurance. Why hadn’t you done this? Why did you jump headlong, bringing along such darkness of—

You close your eyes fleetingly to shut down those thoughts. Forgetting is taking place. Newness is here. Old is gone. Like the verity that he’s here, you repeat it to yourself again and again in your heart. You can’t change what’s happened. You can only move on with the eternal perception that you’ve changed, that you’ve learned. And that’s enough.

You brush your thumb upon the column of his neck. Back and forth, like he did with your cheek. Thankful for him. “You’re here and you’re not letting history repeat itself.”

Yoongi isn’t puzzled you whispered it to yourself again. In fact, he embraces it. Kisses you tenderly, deeply to seal those words. They spread roots in you. Rake through the earth so the roses, the flowers can grow healthily, happily, luminously. You feel them lean into the satin touch of the butterflies that elongate their dusty wings before they curl the membranes around their radiant petals, forming a protection circle. A dose of healing you didn’t expect to receive. Not from him, not now—not now when you’re about to be eaten out by his friend.

It’s so surreal to you. To feel protected like that. To feel safe. Safe to now roam freely in your undiscovered sexuality because you have someone to look out for you, to possibly guide you back if you lose your way. The stability that envelopes you—you can’t bear it; it’s too good to be true. And when you take a deep breath and those roses tremble with excitement in you, in the circle, there’s nothing left for you to do but to accept it because it’s so strong, because it’s unyielding. You couldn’t move it even if you tried. It won’t let you—it’s here to stay. Here to be alongside your boyfriend, protecting you as you venture out on your perverted adventure.

You’ve worked hard to get to this point. And now you get to reap what you’ve sown.

Yoongi grins after the long kiss, proudness emanating out of him and you feel like weeping. You’ve done the right thing, for the very first time. “That’s my good girl.”

The praise does something to you. Stirs you violently, magnifies the intensity of the flapping of the butterfly wings in you. Sends back feeling to the ache between your legs, propped against the linen of Yoongi’s pants. Throbbing, slapping, memories of what has been done to your pussy—you’re a meadow of wildflowers and you’re ready to be pleasured again, however you register a matter that pulls you away from this notion for a moment.

There’s no catch.

Because Yoongi created a new realm for both you and Jungkook with his sense of safety and comfort, there’s nothing for you to fret about. There’s no role for you to play. And, furthermore, who you are meant to be upon this ground is who you’ve been throughout the whole trajectory of your relationship.

A good girl.

Only this time it’s entirely different.

You didn’t want to be yourself because, if anything were to backfire, you thought you’d have the responsibility for it. In addition to that, you thought the normalcy of your sexual life was a no-gone zone for Jungkook, which is why you’ve been racking your brain, trying to come up with ways you could differ it, so Yoongi wouldn’t get jealous.

But things changed so drastically that because Yoongi took control, now you don’t have to be in charge of that. You’re not the artist, you’re not choosing colors for the palette. Yoongi is.

There’s still one more thing that doesn’t add up. And you voice it out. “If you’re not letting history repeat itself, though, why are you letting Jungkook be in control?”

Yoongi grabs your hands and holds them. “I’m letting him be in control of how he does what I tell him to do. I’m in control of the whole situation, honey.”

You suck in a breath. To protect himself, he won’t make the same mistake again; that’s just the person Yoongi is. He’s allowed Jungkook to have the freedom of a bird in the pleasure he wants you to receive from him, but he won’t hesitate to ensnare him if he runs up against something he doesn’t like.

You find that immensely, immensely attractive.

Hot.

The pillar of stability, the warmth of reassurance, the absolute fucking boss—that’s your man. You lid your eyes, swearing, leaning forward to suck onto his lip, kissing him with utter desperation and he lets you. Lets you kiss him. Lets you show him how much you liked that. Growls when your hand creeps to his neglected, clothed length and squeezes it. Hums when you feel him up until you find his tight balls. Responds to your touch—bucks his hips so you focus on them more and you go mad. Interminably, mad.

And when you swirl your tongue around his, you feel a cold, wet hand on your back.

The magnet to your madness. The healer stands by the side of the armchair with a dew-sprinkled face and there’s a feigned, playful jealousy that you feel when you regard him, for the only dew you want on his face is one that’s your own. He washed up in the bathroom—you reckon he did it to cool his desperation, to cool the sweat of arousal that lines his skin, much like yours. You note that it didn’t work, at least not fully, because when you roam your gaze down, you discover he’s still painfully hard. Much like your boyfriend.

You wrap your hand around him and the forbidden, exhilarating feeling of having two cocks in your grasp is too brief for your liking because Jungkook pulls your hand away again. Holds it and leads you towards the couch. You frown at him with a puckish smile, but while he tugs you away, you steal a kiss from Yoongi. A hard, quick kiss that makes him twitch—something that you get to feel before Jungkook grabs you by your pits and throws you on the couch.

You let out a string of giggles, loving the feeling of being manhandled; loving the feeling of Jungkook being in desperate need to eat you out. Your face heats up, your body following suit, the ache between your legs worsening. Yoongi smirks, validating your enjoyment and he adjusts in his seat, which you think is dismal. You don’t want him to be neglected. You want him to be pleasured, too.

The words tumble out of you before you can think them over. “Can you touch yourself for me, baby?”

Yoongi licks his lips. Pauses before he responds. Tortures you like he tortured Jungkook. You spread your legs to provoke him, giving him a show of the shine on your folds. It’s enough for him to palm himself briefly, as if he lost control for a split second. He takes his hand away and places it back on the armrest. “I’ll consider it.”

The boss at play. You swear, closing your legs to squeeze them, to give yourself some sort of relief from the ache you feel. Butterflies go rampant in your tummy, but despite the buzzing tension, you feel content, safe and utterly elated. Happy.

You expect Jungkook to say something, though he merely props a knee on the leather of the couch and spreads your legs how he wants them. He doesn’t lift them, only parts them as far as they can go. You go to grab his length again because you feel a certain magnetic pulling to it, but he catches your hand in time.

“Behave.” He presses your hand firmly to emphasize his scolding before he lets go. Such a stark contrast to the playtime of before. You remember how he wanted you to do the complete opposite. To misbehave. Your body heats up even more, the fire compulsing your hips to sway, asking for attention.

Another set of words tumble out of you unwittingly and you place your hands under your thighs. “I’m sorry.”

The surprise that floods Jungkook’s features is overwhelming to you and in response, you grin, coyly. He strokes the adorable fat of your cheek. “Good girl. That’s what I like to hear.”

You purse your lips and before the fire of that praise can lick your whole body, Yoongi speaks up, too. “Good job, honey. You learned your lesson so well.”

Shock comes first, then fire—vibrant blue fire that scorches you whole. You blush, deeply, squeezing the leather of the couch—the praise and the validation from both males so profuse, so profound that you can’t take it. You hide your widening grin beneath your palms. “Stop,” you drawl, the sound muffled and soft, even though you don’t want them to do anything of the sort.

Jungkook coos, pulls your wrist away, uncovering your rosy, glowy face. Then, he pets your head, fingers sinking into your hair. He forces you to look at him, to see the smile of endearment that bathes his face in light, but he does it so gently that you purr, his hold so stimulating, so titillating—his countenance so lovely, so darkly angelic. Eyes crinkled but still round, still so tender. “Who taught you to have such good manners, huh?”

You swipe your tongue along the top arc of your lip, his gaze flicks to it and and the answer thrums in your belly warmly like a sip of a good wine. It doesn’t unnerve you, doesn’t make you afraid. In fact, it’s so tranquil and so right that you relish every syllable. “Both of you did.”

The rays from the light side penetrate the dark one and healing takes place. Healing that you never thought you’d ever be a witness to. You know that the act of forgetting was supposed to fully sink in all three of you, but your words diverged its path. You swallow warmth and you swallow relief, watch as Yoongi gets up from his seat and mirrors Jungkook’s position, one knee on the leather, hand under your jaw. A soft set of tears rush in at the attention and the realization of what’s actually happening, and when the healer sees them, he lets go of your hair and brushes his thumb across your brow, hand spread across the side of your face. You lean into his palm, so terribly emotional, and when Yoongi plants a delicate kiss on your cheek, your chin begins to quiver. He felt it, too. Felt the gravity of those words that now dulcify his intention to make things right this time. And he kisses you again, prolongs the peck, as if to thank you for your goodness.

When Yoongi lifts his head and bores his mellow gaze into you, it is the same relief that you’ve swallowed that you see saturating his face in effulgence. At last, it has come for him, has come to live in him. At last, it’s here.

You’ve done it, all three of you. Healed from the pain.

Jungkook knits his brows at the sight of the first tear plopping down onto your skin as if it physically pained him to see you cry. And before you can register the movement, he swipes the liquid emotion away and kisses the residue of it, as if it were fate itself that wrote it was meant to pour down on the right side of your face—for Jungkook to collect, for it to seep into his fingerprint.

So much love. The air is thick with it. Your lungs tremble as you take a deep breath. The wind billows in and out, but doesn’t carry it off—intertwines its translucent body with it instead, bringing in a fresh gust of briskness into the atmosphere. No more tears stream down your cheeks; you smile at both of the males—the healer and the boss.

Yoongi remains standing beside you. Takes your hand in his. Says a myriad of silent words of great importance that you cannot decipher as he exchanges a look with Jungkook, who merely nods at them in plain understanding. You don’t have to wonder long what was behind it. Jungkook turns your jawline to him and kisses you softly. Doesn’t let go. Prolongs the kiss until he whimpers onto your mouth, softened, too, by the healing that occurred. No tongue, just the warmed silver of his lip ring, the smooth tenderness of his mouth and the most affectionate emotion exuded into the kiss.

The pop of the withdrawal is all you hear. You keep your eyes closed. Feel him take that kiss onto your neck, your collarbone, to your sternum. Feel the tightening of your boyfriend’s grip around your hand as Jungkook drags his lips down your tummy, where the healing vibrates and he says hello to it with his tongue, makes it feel safe. Feel the tightening compulsion to watch him as he does it and you obey your body.

Jungkook is kneeling before you. Brows furrowed, expression so terribly serious as he understands how significant this part of you is. Sinks his whimpers into your skin while he sucks it and it’s only when you run your fingers through his silky hair that he looks up at you. And the sight of his wet eyes breaks you.

He’s as emotional as you.

Your throat constricts. If it weren’t for him, none of this lively beauty would take place—and if it weren’t for Yoongi, too. It is their work of art and you’re the one doused in colors of most resplendence. And you tell them, your body urges you to, while you squeeze Yoongi’s hand and caress Jungkook’s hair. “I’m so grateful for you both.”

The healer whimpers again, letting go of your skin, leaving behind a purple memory of this heartfelt loveliness. His tears don’t escape the confinement of his waterline—he blinks them away. Blinks them even more rapidly when Yoongi places a hand on Jungkook’s bare shoulder and he gapes at him in disbelief—in disbelief that his closest friend is touching him with such gentleness after everything. You don’t allow yourself to think of the past, of the last violent touch that you saw, but you can’t help the emotion rushing in your eyes. You let go of Yoongi’s hand to clasp the one on Jungkook’s shoulder, deepening the love.

And you press a loud, exaggerated kiss on Jungkook’s forehead to make him laugh—like he did that one time by talking about his worm. To distract him, if there are perhaps any overbearing thoughts in his mind.

Now his disbelief is directed towards you. Mouth parted, wrinkles between his brows. You burst into laughter and it triggers his. Yoongi’s, too. It’s your breasts that bounce now and none of the pairs of eyes flick to it, fixed still on the glamorous gracefulness that blossoms out from your face. Jungkook shakes his head, cheeks awash with redness, irises glinting with a spark you’ve never seen before, and you consider your job done. He tells you to lay back down, but his grin lingers.

Yoongi takes your hand back in his and you perceive that he needs it, that he needs to hold you. You smile at him, fluttering your lashes, blowing him an air kiss, and he nudges his nose against yours to remind you to enjoy this. You begin to prepare yourself, taking a deep breath—

It hitches in your throat harshly. Jungkook kitten licks your clit with deep pressure, just once, lifting his head to watch your reaction. The reverberation of the pleasure causes you to moan and he smirks at you—what’s worse, he winks at you, so terribly smug that he coaxed such sound like that by one lick and it makes you tremble, needing more. He can see it, but he tortures you, keeping his hands on your thighs.

And when Yoongi reaches behind himself and sinks your headband with yellow kitty ears into Jungkook’s hair, you’re done for. You must’ve left it there when you were doing your makeup. Jungkook doesn’t acknowledge it, however. Too drunk by his first proper taste of you to do so, glossy eyes transfixed by that flesh of yours.

It suits him so well that you coo at him, grasping his neck to pull him back to your cunt, but he doesn’t let you. Your heart begins to thump with hard beats and you grow desperate, whining, looking at Yoongi to make him do something.

He merely smiles at you. “Be patient.”

At his words, Jungkook lifts your legs and begins to focus on the back of your thigh, marking it, groaning against your skin, inhaling your mango scent. He roams his tongue all over and you whine louder, finding it so unfair that you have to wait for it, that he reinforces your neediness by those hard kisses and sucks, by his sounds, breaths and control. You grind your hips, the ache between your legs made unbearable by your helplessness and Yoongi stops you by placing his hand on your lower belly.

“Did I not tell you to be patient? Be good,” Yoongi scolds, lowly, rubbing the place in slow circles. Your whine is bratty, but you nod your head, pouting, halting all your movements, becoming still like the wind that has come to stay and observe the unfolding of your daydream.

At your submission, Yoongi creeps a finger to your wet clit, testing you. Doesn’t do anything beyond that and once he sees you’re well-behaved, he plunges the same finger into your mouth, giving you a taste of Jungkook’s saliva. You mewl, sucking it. The healer watches the act in deep thought, your skin in his mouth, and you’re certain an idea flashes in his mind.

Jungkook straightens to his full height, proving you right and the feeling is utterly gratifying. Reaches behind him and grabs the tall glass filled with water that you never noticed he put on the coffee table. Yoongi withdraws his digit and inspects his friend’s doing with curiosity. Jungkook takes a small sip of it without taking his gaze off of you, tips it to your mouth right after and you realize he did it more so it wouldn’t overflow, as you take a well-needed sip of your own, rather than to refresh himself. That is until he does something that completely shocks you, ripping away your delightful proudness of being proven right.

It is something between a yelp and a moan when the coldness of the water drops onto the skin of your chest, scattering it with tiny, pellucid pearls that almost pool by your violent heart. The demo before the full game; your breathing gains as much speed as the throbbing in your clit. Jungkook inclines the glass again, holds it as a longer, thicker trail trickles down your body—from the middle of your breasts, across your tummy until it reaches your cunt. And the contact of the liquid with the hotness of your swollen seashell? You groan, rolling your body. So much that you slap your hands down on the leather, gripping it with all your might, needing something stable to hold onto, to release your pent-up desperation.

Amused, Jungkook sets the glass down and kneels back down. Licks a long, torturous stripe from your clit up to those pearls, following the path he mapped out while zeroing his stare into yours. You part your mouth, your madness closing around you again, puffing out short breaths and subdued, desperate moans and when Jungkook closes his lips over your neck and begins to suck, you turn your head towards Yoongi and roll your eyes back. Struggle to keep them open as you feel that muscle of his tracing patterns on the sensitive skin and Yoongi knows. He knows how good it is for you and he kisses you like he means it, mimicking what his friend is doing around your tongue.

Your sounds grow in volume. Your desperation, too, in intensity.

“Please.”

Jungkook emerges from your neck but wraps a hand around it, nonetheless. Is as close to you as your breath, his nose bumping into yours. He squeezes your column firmly before he curtly turns your jawline away from Yoongi. You wonder if he can feel your heartbeat under his forearm, if he can feel how desperate she is for him, too—in a way you don’t understand. “Please what?”

He opens your mouth wider and spits.

Shock comes first like a thunderbolt, spreading across your veins, paralyzing your body. Then it blurs into a tumultuous arousal that seizes you whole, that makes you beg for more. No one has ever spat in your mouth, not even Yoongi. You’ve never liked it in porn, but experiencing it first-hand gives it another meaning. The dominance, the absolute film of lustfulness caking his face, the estimable seriousness that wafts off of him. He’s turned you into a boneless putty, his putty, and you want him to do it again.

“Spit in my mouth again, please—please.”

Jungkook grunts. Shadows surround your vision as you narrow your eyes in sheer pleasure at his sound, biting your lip to cage in your worsening desire for him—but he saves your lip, pulls it away from your teeth and opens your mouth wide. You ogle him as he sloshes his saliva in his mouth above you before he taps your tongue, signalizing you to stick it out for him. Once you listen, he spits hard onto the muscle that waited for it. You moan, satisfied, swallowing it right away and showing him.

He pokes his own tongue in his inner cheek, fire blazing in his as equally narrowed eyes, the act of spitting in your mouth making him beyond fucked out. You can sense it deep in your core and your obsession with it grows.

“You’re filthy, but so good. It’s making me lose my fucking mind,” he says, hazily, fingers squeezing your throat for a heartbeat. The momentary lack of oxygen gives you a perfect demonstration of his words and the moans you let out are so breathy, so choked out that he takes your madness and makes it his own—loosening his grip and kissing you nastily, licking into your mouth, both hands traveling south to your breasts and kneading them harshly, pressing your nipples between his fingers.

And when you utter the words rising vehemently in your throat, he takes the demonstration to otherworldly levels. “Thank you, Daddy.”

Jungkook cocks his head at you and drags his teeth painfully across his bottom lip, swearing. His eyes darken, at last. Thrill sizzles beneath your skin and you feel an upsurge of adrenaline, the aftertaste of the title so sweet, so delicious on your tongue. “As if you didn’t deserve it already, I’m gonna take you to heaven for that.”

You laugh softly, brushing your fingers through his hair, anticipation joining the adrenaline. “You like me calling you that?”

He hums his agreement and you don’t feel Yoongi, you don’t even feel his hand; your vision, surroundings, persona blurring so rapidly. “Daddy’s gonna make you feel so good. All you have to do is come for him as many times as you can. Thank him that way. Is that clear?”

You shiver at the use of third person. Never thought you’d find it as alluring as you do. Brush your thumb across his brow like he does it to you. He coos, kissing your hand, sinking his body lower. Touched by the gesture. “Yes, Daddy. That won’t be too difficult for me to do.”

Jungkook gives you a smile that envelops you in an aura, where it’s just you and him. You don’t have the brain cells, nor the will, the desire to stop it. “That’s a good girl. On her best behavior for us.”

It wakes you up and the feeling of Yoongi’s grip on your hand returns, the circle of the aura withering. Disappointment descends in your gut, one that is soon forgotten when Jungkook sucks your clit into his mouth.

The squeak you let out would be embarrassing if you weren’t so out of your mind, but the confidence it came out with, the seductiveness and beauty—Jungkook shows you how much he liked the sound by humming against your sensitivity, the appreciation smothering every fiber and nerve ending of your body, hoisting you up towards the canopy of clouds. He swirls his tongue around the flesh, sucking deeper before he opens his mouth wider and licks you all over, closing his eyes and moaning, reveling in the feeling of you, the scent of you and the warmth of you. He toys with your lips, chuckling in delight when he acknowledges himself with them, burying his mouth completely in them, kissing them, caressing them with the puffiness of his pillows.

He’s pussydrunk—and the sight of it intoxicates you just the same.

And then he pauses. Kisses your clit. The peck so ardently earnest that he sucks it in the process. Does it again and again until he tinges your femininity in the faintest, daintiest, most dreamiest tone of red, prettier than any flowers you’ve ever seen—so akin to the wash of color scattering along his cheekbones. Then, he rubs his face in you, vigorously, moaning against you so intensely that your sounds become one.

Raising his head, features drenched in your dew—just like you wanted it—his chain taps your cunt in long staccatos. The pleasure is so dizzying, along with his looks, that you feebly jump at every contact. It reminds you, vividly, of the spanks you like so much. “Pussy so fucking wet and pretty for me. I’m gonna destroy you.”

It’s only at this time that you hear Yoongi smug but quietly laugh. He draws close to your ear and his hardened breath steals your attention from his friend’s praise. “He makes me wanna taste you, too, and make you come repeatedly on my tongue. Fuck, honey. I want that so bad.”

You mewl, about to burst at the seams, unable to take the double relish given to you from both men. Yoongi latches his mouth onto your neck, causing your eyes to roll back, and it sparks up some kind of competition in Jungkook, for when he dives back in—you scream.

The flicks of his tongue are so brutal that your lungs heave. You take many breaths but you can’t catch them, the heat from Yoongi’s kisses and the rapidness of Jungkook’s movement numbing your body to the point that you’re rendered powerless.

Jungkook alternates between fast flicks and long swipes from your entrance to your bundle of nerves, parting your lips so he can have easy access. And being spread like that, attended to by two males that you have strong attachment to, the kitty ears bobbing up and down as Jungkook devours you—your orgasm chases you down, the knot in your lower belly pulled so taut that it takes a mere heartbeat for it to snap completely.

And when you come, Jungkook laps you up, grunting in insatiable need for more. Your body violently shudders, but he keeps going, widening his swirls of tongue around your clit before he rubs it with the tip of his nose and—

He begins to fuck you with his tongue.

You don’t feel anything. Not your heartbeat, not your struggling lungs—just the hard jabs of his tongue inside your hole, pushing you closer and closer to paradise. Not heaven, you’ve been there, but to something beyond. A paradise of the warmest color and sunlight, swaying trees and a pool of the most refreshing water.

And Yoongi’s noise of joy is the bird that flies past in that place, dipping to its reflection. “Daddy’s so good he’s giving it to you better than I ever did.”

It’s those words that make you come again.

He laughs, fondles your nipples, holds you steady as Jungkook prolongs your orgasm by strenuously sucking your clit and you sob hard, tingling all over, senses gone, everything gone. You feel so lightweight, so airy, dopamine and oxytocin making your head all fucked up. Happy, satisfied.

Jungkook withdraws, kissing your clit one last time, licking it slowly. “You came so hard for Daddy, well done,” he praises, mouth wet, face as colorful as the meadow of flowers in you, gleaming iridescently. “But I’m not done with you.”

You moan, wanting more, badly. Take him by the neck with both hands and draw him closer to you, the chain stimulating your breasts. You kiss him hungrily and the taste of your dew causes you to let out such obscene sound that Jungkook and Yoongi growl simultaneously. Dulciness, with a hint of piquancy that makes you even hornier—the slipperiness of his mouth making it worse. “I want to ride your face. Please, please, let me.”

Jungkook smiles at you, pecking your lips, faintly. Cocks his brow at Yoongi. “You’re gonna give the princess what she wants?”

Your eyes follow the sharp line of his jaw and you bite your lip. Don’t think twice about taking that skin into your mouth, licking it over, watching as Jungkook closes his eyes at the contact. Musk, the forest, wood—you carry your still lingering hunger and unravel it upon the spot beneath that strong jaw, devouring that scent of his, aware of how his breath lodges in his throat. You mimic what he did to your clit there, enjoying every second of it, enjoying his reaction as he hums and thumbs your clit, waiting for Yoongi’s approval.

And you quicken it by begging for it, squeaking little sounds, beckoned by that slow motion of his digit. “Please, Yoongi. I want it so bad.”

Badly enough that you force your head away and look at him. As much as you thought there would be puzzlement to his face, what you detect is far more sinister. His smirking mouth tells you that he is simply pleased with the way you’re begging, with the way he gets to torture you. And not just you, but Jungkook as well. Ego high—his control at full play. You don’t blame him, not at all. It must be delicious to him in the middle of all this healing.

“Ride him well, make me proud.”

The joy springs in you so fast, but you don’t have the time to take in it. Yoongi gets up from the couch and you apprehend that you were very, very wrong.

You haven’t healed to the point that it doesn’t bother you when Yoongi leaves.

Your panic is so enormous that you rise, your movement so rigid that Jungkook stumbles, his arm quick to wrap around your chest, pulling you back onto the leather beside him. And you don’t see the twist of his brows, the deep clefts of his dimples while he scowles. No, you watch your boyfriend’s back as he makes his way to the dining table, your heart expanding in your throat.

“Tell her at least where the fuck you’re going,” Jungkook grumbles, ever the healer who senses your emotions and the fact he stood up for you like this makes you mouth merely round, your otherwise triggered trauma unsettling the rest of your feelings.

Yoongi returns a moment later with the butt plug and lube in his hand and with a solemnly guilty face. Kisses the top of your head in apology, but it’s not enough. Not when you can’t hear your heartbeat. Not when you can’t swallow. Not when your mind is so numbed by the recurring panic that you cannot even hear your mind.

“Don’t do that to me,” you whisper, but the words are firm, piercingly sharp, important and gravely, so much that Jungkook, with sticky hands by his sides, stills next to you.

Yoongi cups your chin, a dominant gesture, but you glare at him—masculine strength being the last thing you need right now. You may have foolishly thought your healing was complete and as much as it knifes you to be proven wrong, it’s the fact you expected more from him that hurts the most, especially after he promised you he’d be here. But maybe it’s foolish altogether, to be in hidden demand of him to tell you of his whereabouts, notably when you never voiced it out for him, not once during the therapy sessions, not once during the course of this perverted adventure—the matter of the gravity of your abandonment issues.

You point your anger at yourself and fall to a dark, dark abyss.

And you pushed yourself there on your own because you were incapable of reminding yourself of Yoongi’s reassurance, mind too blurred, too fucked out to remember.

“I’m sorry, honey. I’m still here. I never left you.”

You nod because he’s right. “I know now. I didn’t remind myself. It’s my fault.” It’s as much of a surprise to your ears as it is to Yoongi’s. He widens his eyes at your honesty before tenderness swims past. “I’m really sensitive right now.”

Jungkook rubs circles on your back with his thumb and you welcome his touch, his warm energy.

Yoongi caresses your face. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault. What we’re doing here is pretty overwhelming. But I’m here. I got you.” His words hold the same firmness that yours did and it’s difficult for you to grasp how they’re mending you, how they’re swooping that darkness in their arms and flinging it away from your reach. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Not one thing. Let me make it better for you, hm? You want me to make you feel better?”

Emptiness plummets down your body, in place of the darkness and the anger, and the moonbeams in his eyes engulf it, filling it with its pale light. All you can do is nod, too weak to express any other form of affirmation.

Yoongi kisses the place on your cheek beside your ear, slipping inside his words. “Good girl. The best. I’ll make you feel better. I’ll make you happy again, my love.” You sob at the pet name, at the tenderness, at the comforting feeling of Jungkook’s hand on your arm, pulling you back so you lean against his chest, participating in your healing. The round valley of his tattooed bicep nudges you in your cheek as he cages you in and you nuzzle your face into it, hooking both of your hands on his forearm. Musk, forest and wood suffusing your senses, along with a strong dose of safety. “That’s it, lean against him like that. Daddy will help you forget, too. Spread your legs for us.”

You do as he says, needing what he’s promising you—needing it from them both. Maybe then, when it’s from such a vast source, will you get your full healing.

Yoongi squirts a good amount of lube on his fingers, smearing it on your pussy. The coldness of it enlivens you and you lean your head back against the hardness of Jungkook’s chest, pressing your lips against his bulging muscles. And when Yoongi begins to massage your clit in slow circles, the healer tightens his hold around you, hand gripping your shoulders, the other one gliding down your tummy and staying there. Nipples pebbled against his forearm, breasts full and squished, your form safe, tucked, pleasured in the whole enormity that he is—you relax, giving yourself over to the delight of your boyfriend’s fingers.

He sinks two of them inside you, stuffing you to the brim and pausing there. Jungkook sneaks his towards your bundle of nerves, resuming the circles, breaths hot against your scalp, gaining pleasure from pleasuring you, especially so when your healing is the primary goal behind it.

And when Yoongi begins to fuck you, his hand drops from your shoulder and settles over your tit, pinching your nipple between the knuckles of his thumb and forefinger. You cry out and it drives your boyfriend to pump his digits harder—to the point that you can’t see the in and out motion, the pace so fast it becomes a blur.

“Let go, honey, come on, let it go for us,” Yoongi murmurs, putting his whole body into his intention; you would move along with him, too, if Jungkook weren’t holding you so tightly. “You feel so good around my fingers. So tight, so wet. Such a good girl, getting what you deserve.”

Jungkook quickens his circles, gruff groans muffled against your scalp. “You can do it, sweetheart. I know it feels good when we touch you like this.”

Your body drips in sweat and only when Yoongi agrees, pistons his fingers faster into you do you fully let go. Your anger, your trauma, your darkness leaves you in the form of your dew and Yoongi collects it in his hand. Doesn’t stop fucking you, in fact encourages another one and you spill until your wetness overflows from his hand. Eyes rolling back, hips lifting, legs spreading even further apart. Both men praise you, but you can’t hear them—your senses silent.

They come back to you when Yoongi licks his digits clean, swallowing your pain. Doesn’t waste time and turns you around, your sore, sensitive body colliding into Jungkook’s. And like him, he dives into your pussy, licking you clean, not having enough of your darkened taste.

You’re so out of it that you can only focus on the brush of Jungkook’s hand down your hair and the overstimulation that seizes you, that you can’t do anything about other than take it. “Coming so well, so many times for us. You feel better?”

You can’t answer his question, not when Yoongi begins to trace your tiny, virgin hole with his tongue, giving you a new kind of pleasure that you’ve never felt before. Your eyes whisk to the back of your head and Jungkook cradles it, understanding whooshing past his eyes—understanding that you can’t speak, not when you’re experiencing something so extensive. He smiles down at you, squishing your cheeks. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Fuck, you look so pretty.”

Your choked out moans are enough of an affirmation for him. He coos. Then, a squirt of lube. A finger slowly going in. A gasp, a warm breath that Jungkook inhales, feeling it with you. The uncertainty in your eyes that he instantly smooths out. “You can take it. You’re such a good girl, why wouldn’t you be able to take it? Just relax. I got you.” He kisses your nose and you want to weep in joy, so overcome with it all.

Per his reassurance, your round muscle relaxes and sucks him in. And when he begins to fuck you, you can’t contain your sounds. So lewd, so dirty, and Jungkook emboldens you by scrunching up his features, groaning with you, taking breaths with you. You give in, entirely, feel another orgasm coming, but Yoongi rips it away. Wants you to come around the thicker toy.

The coldness of it makes you tremble, although the hunger both of the males awakened in you for it drives you to move your hips back, helping Yoongi insert it in. It takes a few tries, a few ins and outs before you welcome in it, before the fullness enthralls you so much that you become even needier, even more confident and seductive.

Yoongi presents you to his friend, but each movement you make causes you to be more desperate than you’ve been the entire sultry night. Everything is heightened—every touch, every enjoyment of praise, every sliver of attention and all you want is to be fucked. Brutally, ravagedly fucked.

To absorb the sight of you as you’re positioned on your hands and knees, Jungkook begins to make love on the skin of your behind with his tongue. You feel every word of apology compressed into it. For every bruise, for every red splodge, for every acute pain caused, no matter how much you enjoyed it in the moment. It’s just between you and him, shielded by the premise of desire stirred by your adorned tiny hole. And you keep it that way, whimpering for him sweetly, validating it for him. Tucking it safely into every chamber of your heart.

Then, he strokes the flesh, replacing the bad memories with good ones—replacing the past with the present time. Lies down between your legs and pushes your hips down onto your face.

And you ride him. His tongue, his nose. Fondle the kitty ears askew on his head. Let his moans envelop around those chambers of your heart, protecting them. Let his eyes seal your scorching, enchanting femininity with all its spirited confidence. And once he pacifies the grinding movement of your hips and takes control, palming your breasts, lips sucking your clit, tongue toying with it, you come in seconds that are not pathetic in nature, but outright exhilarating.

You lean back against Yoongi, out of breath. He wraps his hand around your throat. “What do you want now, honey? You want to get fucked?”

You hum, the idea clutching your body in tight excitement. “Yes. Badly. Please.”

At your words, Jungkook begins to tug at his length and the needy movement reverberates throughout your entire body. You coo at him, enjoying the view and you get on your knees in front of the couch to watch him, inhaling his sounds like he did yours.

“You want us to take turns? He stops, as if he was seconds away from coming, and you wrap your lips around him, letting him know how much you like the idea—at which he trembles, pulling you away. You grin at him in pure joy. “Like the sound of that?”

“Fuck yes. Please. Both holes.”

Jungkook hisses, round, dark eyes rolling back for a split moment, losing himself—thumb swiping across your mouth once he comes back. “Daddy’s so fucking needy for you. Come here.”

He manhandles you. Like a child he carries you to the dining space and bends you over the table. You turn your head to see where Yoongi is and he slowly swaggers towards you and Jungkook, popping his button open and pulling out his length. Tip red and painfully swollen, length long and hard—longer than you’ve ever seen it—balls tight. And when Jungkook begins to fuck you sluggishly with the butt plug, you grip the wood of the table with all your strength, fingertips white, and watch as it drives Yoongi to fuck his fist.

The same fist he cups under your chin when he reaches you. “Spit.”

And you do—at the same time that Jungkook forces out the silver toy, tongue immediately coming to whirl around the stretched muscle. Like before, as Jungkook fucks you there, Yoongi fucks his fist. The sounds that spill out of all three mouths are simultaneous, creating a harmony fitting just right for the paradise you find yourself in. It’s such a vigor that he eats your ass with—he does it much differently than Yoongi. Hungry and feral, he again buries his face in your ass, squeezing the flesh, before he drills the muscle with fast, strong jabs. You can’t see anything, the pleasure so intense, so darkly intense and heavily pressured that your vision remains perpetually in the back of your head. Your orgasm closes down upon you swiftly, at once, when he rubs your clit with all four fingers, not expecting it at all as no flashes danced across that night-doused canopy of nothingness before your eyes, no body heat nor pressure rose. Jungkook secures your release by slipping the butt plug back in, smacking his mouth in delight. You slump against the table, boneless.

Jungkook takes your arms and pins them behind your back, angling the hot tip of his cock at your entrance. “You ready for this?”

Your yes is but a tweet.

Jungkook hums, breaths hard. “You want this cock?”

This time, your yes is a louder screech, vibrating through the whole apartment.

“Hm, I’m gonna stretch you out for him. Make your hole nice and big for all the cum we’ll dump you with. You’re gonna take it all like the good girl you are, aren’t you?”

Both of your holes, your muscles, your organs clench at his words and you can’t halt the litany of vulgar words and agreement from pouring out. His grip around your intertwined forearms is deathly and when he fills you to the brim, tip kissing your cervix, walls stretching around his thick girth little by little and gives you a singular, hard stroke that shakes the table, you scream so loud that the sound echoes around the room, carrying it out into the feverish night.

Your words are jumbled, a perfect mess, and it takes more than a few tries for you to get them out coherently. “You’re—you’re giving me all of it?” you ask, because if there’s more inches for you to take, you’ll die.

Jungkook chuckles, darkly, lips at your ear, his body heat enveloping yours like a chunky blanket. Sneaks a hand to your hip bone. Sinks a little deeper until his pelvis touches yours, his heat spreading into all of your pores. You gasp. “I’m giving you every.” Thrust. “Fucking.” Thrust. “Inch.” Thrust. “And it’s all yours, sweetheart.”

You’re breathless, weak, and it’s a slow crescendo, the way he begins to roll his hips, the way he straightens and the fresh wind goes for the imprint of sweat of your and his origin on your back, cooling it, though he rips the briskness away almost instantaneously, repeating his hard stroke, the table banging against the wall. Doesn’t give you the time to prepare.

“Can you take it?” he asks, along with that dark chuckle again. Your hands begins to tingle due to the way he’s gripping your wrists, your blood at a standstill. “Can you take us both, huh?”

Brutal thrust. Just what you wanted. He takes you by the throat and presses you against his chest, kissing you with such vulgarity that you moan into his mouth, the fullness you feel only heightening it. He grinds in response, hands descending to your breasts, kneading them, pinching both of your nipples between his knuckles and thumbs. “Pretty fucking girl.”

You whine.

He withdraws, then. Motions over to Yoongi. The loss disappoints you.

A man of his word, Jungkook stretched you enough for Yoongi to easily slip inside you to the hilt. You expect him to give you a few strokes before giving you over to his friend, and you prop your hands on the table to ready yourself for it, for Yoongi’s hunger as he’s the only one who hasn’t felt any pleasure over the course of the adventure.

But Yoongi only grips himself and pulls out.

A thicker length. To the brim. A slender one. And they repeat it until all you can hear is the madness of their aroused laughter, their grunts and their pants. Hands all over you. The feeling is so overwhelming that everything becomes a blur. You don’t know whose hand is touching you, whose mouth is kissing you, whose cock is drilling you, senses ascending to a place beyond the paradise—

And then you feel both of their tips toying with your abused hole, acting, feignedly—drawing in and out, never fully penetrating.

A short-lived moment that causes you to forget who you are.

“Oh, god,” you drawl, slumping against the wood, helpless. They continue to take turns in fucking you fluidly, the symphony of your slick so loud, so filthy to your ears. You’re numb to the point that you don’t peep a sound, disoriented and so adrift in the place beyond paradise that they took you to.

Jungkook takes control once he hears your call for help. Begins to piston his length inside you rapidly until stars take shape across your vision, wrapping a forearm around your neck similarly to the way he did in the middle of your healing, digging crescent moons into your shoulder. Stops your head from knocking back and forth furiously. You feel his sweat drip down his pelvis—and with each hard thrust, its pearls jump over to your skin, trickling down your trembling legs. The pressure in your core is but a heartbeat away from bursting. You sense it—and you sense it vehemently.

“Are you gonna come around my cock or around his, hm? Whose is it gonna be, sweetheart?”

Your body answers him for you, your walls tightening around him so resolutely that Jungkook stills, whimpering onto your neck. You come so hard that there is absolutely nothing else that you hear but that whiny sound—and all you can see is the stars gaining vibrant colors to their pointed shapes, various, various colors that blind you. Colors that, like you, get dumped with hot, ivory, thick cum.

Your orgasm triggered his.

You mewl like a little kitty cat, so pleased that he came in you, so pleased that you felt it, that you felt the twitching of his cock. Pleased that when you gape at him, you can see how spent he is, content and illuminated like those stars.

You want to lick him up. You want to taste that glow on your tongue.

His cum drips out of you when you turn around. Jungkook collects it with two of his fingers and pumps it back inside you. The look you give him is almost predatory, so awfully fierce that he grows faintly timid, post-nut clarity cocooning him in a soft aura, bringing his puppy nature back to him.

You sit back down on the table and spread your legs for your boyfriend, but your gaze remains fixed on him. Blindly, you reach for Yoongi’s hand, drawing him closer, and he happily obliges your silent command. Lines himself up at your entrance and pumps Jungkook’s cum deeper into you.

You let the puppy see the exhilaration springing up your body, tugging the corners of your mouth to each side. The glint in your eyes. The pure joy that you feel. Then, the falling of that expression as it blends into a depiction of your pleasure—furrowed brows, pout, narrowed lids. You don’t take your eyes off of him. Not even for a second.

In fact, you curl your fingers in beckoning. And when he comes to you, you lick a stripe of the sweat coating his defined abdomen, tongue rolling around the valley of his hard muscle. Kiss the skin before you suck it into your mouth, moaning when Yoongi goes all in—fucking you with all of his energy. The taste of his glow only betters the experience, but you don’t think you can come again. You enjoy it, nonetheless.

And when you turn your attention to your boyfriend, deeming he deserves it—Jungkook steals it in typical fashion. “Feels good?” Light, much bigger than yours, covering his eyes. You nod, humming, girlishly so—the sound pitched. “You’re gonna come again? For him?”

You consider it an impossible task, but for him you’ll do anything. “I’ll try.”

Jungkook makes a sound of approval, leans in and kisses you gently. Yoongi turns your chin to him and as soon as your lips touch his, you feel his cock twitch. Unlike Jungkook, he fucks you through his orgasm, groaning loudly into your mouth and you reach to the place, where you’re connected and squeeze his balls, wanting his cum, needing it.

And when Yoongi emerges from his bliss, he smiles at you, breathing out a soft laugh. Features relaxed, drowsy. You give him a smile, too, the same tiredness engulfing you.

Slinking out of you, you discover he came so vastly that his male essence trickles out of you. You graze a finger across your slit and you gather so much of it that as you take your hand towards your mouth, it plops onto your stomach. You giggle, high on the hormones released through your body, high on the happy males watching you, high on life—high on rightness. The joy doesn’t even let you wrap your lips around your finger, adamant on showing them how well they gratified you by keeping them stretched in a dopey grin.

They’re so endeared by you that the same expression graces their faces. Exchanging a single glance, they start at once—picking you up like a child. Yoongi by your legs, Jungkook by your pits and it’s him, the healer, who leads the way to the bathroom, walking backwards hurriedly.

Though promptly, when putting you down, your legs are so sore, so weakened that if it weren’t for their arms, you’d fall onto the tiles. Giggles and obscenities are swallowed by the crooning sound of the streaming hot water in the shower and you sigh so deeply once it touches your skin. It alleviates the ache of your muscles, alleviates the throbbing memory of the last time you were under that burning cascade—especially when Yoongi twists your body, making you face Jungkook; especially when he says the words that quicken your heartbeat.

“Wash her clean.”

Making things right. Erasing that afternoon that ended in blood and bruises.

The wet, puppy eyes you give to Jungkook are enough for him to do as Yoongi says, mirroring your mien, greatly affected by the permission, by the act of something so forbidden untangling its inextricable knot. It happened so suddenly that he doesn’t truly believe he’s allowed to do it, hands shaking by his sides, clenched into fists. It is only when Yoongi begins to shampoo your hair that he’s spurred to do something.

And you help him. With a thudding heart and tight emotion lodged in your throat, you hand him your favorite almond-scented body wash. He doesn’t tear his gaze away from you when he spreads the aroma on your sternum. Doesn’t blink once, doesn’t let his eyes wander south to your body—as if it was sacred, as if it was not meant to be looked at with lust in this intimate scenario.

And you don’t feel fire when the heat of his hands glides down your neck, your shoulders and your arms. You feel something else entirely, something you can’t really pinpoint. Something holy, something so immensely heavenly. Maybe it’s brought about by the fact that he doesn’t touch your intimate parts—not your breasts, not your vulva. The only time he comes near to it is when he leads you into his chest and carefully, while peeking down, tries to pull out the forgotten toy. You sense Yoongi’s hands on your backside, watching over, and the feeling of being rid of it is so uncomfortable that you cringe against his pec, squeezing him hard, hugging him with everything in you. Jungkook makes gentle sounds for you, encouraging you and it relaxes your body enough that it lets go of the toy.

Grabbing your shoulders, he studies your emotions. Sees only your same old tiredness and he pecks you, descending onto the tiled floor to cleanse you of your stickiness. Isn’t grossed out by the male essence that isn’t his. Kisses your trembling muscles on the apex of your thigh. Cradles your foot, massages it. The other one, too.

And when Yoongi rinses out your shampoo and the bubbles of your almond body wash, Jungkook tells him, gravely, “Wash her where she needs it.”

You’re so touched by the fact he doesn’t dare to lay a hand there in a non-sexual environment that it doesn’t leave any space for shock to come through. Your finger itches to hook around his, but you take one step further—you slide your hand into his. And like a child, you let yourself be washed in between your legs as Jungkook, like a father, watches over it.

Once you’re clean, the males take their turns. You observe the bubbles, the white foam, their veined hands gliding along their glistening bodies and, alternating, you touch them, helping them in a way. Touch the love bruise upon Jungkook’s abdomen; touch the indistinct happy trail on Yoongi’s. Rinse them off.

Needing to be held, you guide Jungkook’s hands to your waist and fold your arms around Yoongi’s shoulders, but both males think differently. Squishing you in the middle of them, they hug each other, each head buried in each crook of your neck. You feel their hearts beat as one and it nearly lulls you to sleep, its healing beauty soothing you to the point that your lids become heavier. And the three of you stand there, in a cozy, homely embrace, until coldness wraps around you, too.

They let you do your thing on your own.

Once you come out of the shower, Yoongi kisses you and asks you if he should bring you any clothes. You merely shake your head and he leaves it at that, following Jungkook out of the bathroom.

You lather your body in your mango butter in your aloneness. Blowdry your hair. Do your skincare. Note that there aren’t any thoughts in your brain, just deep, content silence swimming around with happy hormones. You’re so grateful for it that you could weep.

To bed, you wear your newest purchase. A pink lacy camisole with matching bodycon shorts. You slide your feet into your fluffy slippers and as you make your way into the living room, you hope with all your heart that Jungkook hasn’t left. You haven’t exchanged many words after the sex and because of that, you knife yourself with the expectation to find only Yoongi lounging around in the sitting area.

Midwalk, you bind it all into a loose braid. Don’t use a tie to seal it. Merely flip your hair back—with the futile wish it would untangle.

And it does when you find the males smoking on the balcony with the door wide open. Jungkook, fully dressed in the outfit he came in. Yoongi, wearing his pants. You let out a quiet breath of relief, stooping to the ground to pick up your robe and the cheese ball, a dreadful twinge in your lower body alarming you. And then, you notice that someone folded your little sheer outfit neatly on the chair.

“I wasn’t able to touch her after you,” you hear Yoongi say, the wholeness of the starry night plating his low pitch. You still your breathing, the perplexity from his words forcing you to whisk your head in his direction. “All I saw was my shortcomings… and—and I didn’t know how to please her anymore because you showed her new things. I felt less than. Unable to be the right person for her sexually.”

Your heart shrinks so much it pains you. Yoongi never told you these things during the therapy sessions. He mainly spoke about the sexual moments at the cabin, but never about the ones after, never about what truly bothered him on his healing journey. He bottled it up. Your throat fills with bile.

“Has what we did tonight changed that?” Jungkook asks, shoulders tense. “We practically did the same things and she was more than pleased.”

Your heart grows back to its full size at the positive mention of you. You rise to your full form, flinging the cheese ball into its empty bowl before folding your robe. Your ears perk in waiting for his answer.

“I think so.” The bile sinks back down, along with the pain coated with sadness. “I also think we should do this again.”

Your mind doesn’t allow your body to exult, knowing the reason why he said it.

He wants to either finish the hidden healing or… check if it has come to an end.

The tension doesn’t ease in Jungkook’s shoulders. “Only if you work hard and focus on her. I’m not consenting to this if you only touch her with me being present.”

Silence in your heart—a skipped beat. You don’t want to hear any more of that conversation. You put away your robe and grab the dishes, washing them in the sink.

No matter how much dish soap you use, you can’t scrub away the healer’s magic off of your hands. It pelts under your skin, to and fro, over and over as you repeat his words in your mind. Gives strength to your fingers as you hold the unusually heavy plates and bowls, the tiredness a hefty burden on your shoulders, weighing you down.

Such a good man. You’re so grateful to know such an extraordinary being like him. A good friend, the best you could wish for Yoongi. A good lover, too—

“I think it’s way bigger and deeper, this relationship and how I feel about it. I can’t help it—” Jungkook’s voice no longer a far-off murmuring, he halts his words at the sight of you. Calls your name. “I thought you were asleep already.”

You turn off the tap water, ignoring the question in your body about the incomplete sentence he uttered while being under the impression you were beyond hearing distance. Think you’ve learned and come about plenty enough of things tonight. You want to go to bed. With both of them.

You don’t say your reasoning behind why you’re here. Deem it’s pointless. “Let’s go to bed.”

You reach out your hand for him, but it is only the wind that encases your palm. You drop it.

A chaos of shoulds and desires swarms in him. You can see it, vividly. “I should go home.”

You’re having your way, you don’t care. “No. Stay.”

Jungkook calls your name again. Yoongi licks his lips, smiling, fondly. Walks towards you and grabs your hand, leading you towards the bedroom. The puppy stays fixed on his feet, not comprehending that you want him to sleep in Yoongi’s bed and not on the couch.

You raise your hand again for him. “Come, you’re sleeping with us.”

Jungkook has gone commando under his jeans. You eye the sliver of minimal hair on his pelvis and before you can ogle his worm, he cups himself.

Unabashedly, you click your tongue in disappointment, even though the recollection of your private decision to have his boxers as a keepsake, approved by him, suffuses your exhausted body in delight.

You get under the sheets, right in the middle, watching as Yoongi hands him his gray sweatpants to wear, holding your breath when Jungkook turns around and you gain a perfect view of his round, toned ass.

You’re certain that man will be the death of you.

Yoongi crawls into the bed, nuzzling into the crooks of your body that he knows well, cuddling to your arm. You hear him inhale the scent of your shampoo. “You smell so good.”

You stroke his forearm with your fingernails, transfixed by the way the waistband of the forbidden pants hangs low on Jungkook’s hips, by his slow, seductive walk that you don’t particularly think he’s doing on purpose. That’s just what makes him him, which worsens it all.

In similar fashion, he lays down beside you, but he doesn’t turn to his side as your boyfriend has done. No, like you, he rests on his back, hands by his body, touching you without meaning to. His warmth environs you, but you notice that a good half of his body isn’t covered by the sheets. You fix it right away, tucking him in—tucking the fabric right under his chin.

He gives you a strange look that makes you giggle. “You want me to burn?”

Oh, men and their body heat. You’ll never grow tired of it—it’ll forevermore fascinate you.

You shush him. “Sleep.” Pinch his nose, deepening his funny scowl. “Goodnight, sweet dreams.”

Yoongi begins to purr beside you and you know he’s halfway on his journey to dreamland. You lay back down, hip to hip with both males, hands on your tummy, your eyes languidly fluttering closed.

A hand on your thigh. You open them fleetingly, surprised at the contact, before they close on their own.

“I’ve missed his purring,” Jungkook whispers, thumb brushing across your smooth skin. Just once. “Haven’t heard it in a while. It’s better than brown noise.”

You laugh, softly, agreeing with him in your heart. Submit to the call of your own dreamland and you turn to your side, facing Yoongi, propping the back of your hand under your chin.

But then Jungkook folds into your form.

Mirrors your position. Arm around you, hand relaxed on the mattress an inch away from your tummy.

It makes you feel funny. It makes you wild, your body gaining the tiniest tendril of energy. You curse him, mentally, although you don’t mean a single word.

You feel his gentle breath fanning the nape of your neck. Along with it arrives the need for him to touch you. You purse your lips, burying your head deeper into the pillow in effort to shake that off and focus on relaxing your body—

“Hyung?”

He hums in response. You curse him, too.

“She didn’t come when you fucked her.”

Your eyes fly open. The audacity this man has—

Tense, tense nothingness. It thrums uncomfortably under your skin.

“Lemme make it right.”

Radio silence in your heart, its profound waves shaking through your entire body, tearing off its drowsiness.

“Okay, Jungkookie.”

Your gasp is so minimal, yet Jungkook feels it. He presses his palm against your stomach, pulling you closer to him. Yoongi turns to his other side, as if giving you the privacy for what Jungkook wants to do to you.

Reposing halfway on his back, halfway on his side, he maneuvers your form to mirror his position. And for the longest time, you both just lay there while Jungkook brushes his fingers along your clothed body. Back and forth, in circles, in peculiar patterns that soothe you. You thought you’d fall asleep this way, but the touches keep your body awake, promising it things in a silent language that it so evidently wants.

And it isn’t until Yoongi begins to snore that you perceive Jungkook waited until he entered his deep slumber. The breath you let out is loud, absorbed by your boyfriend’s much bigger ones, but it makes Jungkook hold your jaw steady as he draws his lips close to your ear.

“I didn’t like that he used you,” he whispers and his words fill your body with something foreign, something that drives your brows to knit, your muscles to clench, for butterflies to stir awake, although you disagree with him. Yoongi didn’t use you. You don’t really think he did. When you motioned him to take his turn, you expected to come again, but your body was so spent that it wasn’t able to do so, which is completely okay in your opinion. “If I fuck a girl and I come first before she does, I don’t stop until she creams all around me. Even if it hurts.”

You remember him pushing you away when you wanted to keep going after he orgasmed. “You don’t like to be overstimulated, though.”

He snickers again, softly and lowly. “And yet I don’t stop.” Both hands on your tummy, he glides them down, towards your hips, towards your thighs before he drags them back up. Lifts up your camisole this time around, getting a feel of your skin. Rubs circles. “I want to make you come like you deserved to. Can I?”

“I came a lot of times. I don’t know if I can.”

Jungkook caresses your bottom lip with his thumb, angling your jaw towards him. “We can try and see if you can.”

We. He kisses your cheek and you pout in his hand. Brain turned off, too numb by all the orgasms, the attention and the affection you’ve received, you take the other one and slide it beneath your shorts. Feel an onrush of freshness in your lungs when he whimpers at the contact of your lips with the pads of his fingers and you move your hips back against him, gaining another sound of similar nature that willingly tempts your madness to return to you.

He’s hard.

You grind your backside against his thick imprint, loving the feeling of it, loving the soft noises he makes as if he was trying to stifle them, but you were making it awfully difficult for him to do so.

“Don’t do that or I’ll cum in Yoongi’s pants.”

Your laugh is feral. Quiet, gentle. An oxymoron that could only belong to his name. To his art. The idea of him coming in your boyfriend’s pants drenches you and he gasps once he discovers it, teasing your entrance.

“You want me to come like this?” he asks and you hum your agreement, his fingers ascending to your clit, stroking it in slow, slow circles. His breath hardens in tandem with yours and he swears. “But I don’t and you will listen to me.”

He pulls out his hand and you whine, catching his wrist, bringing it back where it belongs. On your clothed, now swollen clit. You grind your hips with more fervor, just to work him up, just because you enjoy it and he fists the material of your shorts, stimulating you with the seam, dominating you through and through.

You merely beam at him, illuminating the room, fisting his cock. “Don’t stretch out my new shorts.”

“Don’t provoke me and we’ll reach an understanding,” he retorts, swirling his tongue around the bone of your jaw before he kisses it. Responding to it, you grind your pelvis back, angling your hips so his cock fits just right in between your cheeks. He tuts in disapproval, shifts a little bit more to his side nonetheless, pulling you flush to his body. “No, other way sweetheart. Grind your pussy against it.” You try it, placing your hand on top of his, unsure and he helps you, guiding your hips with his, grinding upwards, as if he was fucking you. You mewl at the pleasure permeating your veins and with his free hand, he clamps your mouth shut. “Yes, that’s it.” He tightens his hold on your shorts, hoisting it higher. “Feels so good like this, doesn’t it?” You nod, your noises loud, only slightly muffled by his clammy hand. He shushes you, breath hot against your ear. “You gotta be quiet. We don’t wanna wake Yoongi up, do we?” You shake your head ‘no’, squeezing your hold on his hand. Jungkook lets go of your shorts and slides beneath them again, fingers spreading your new arousal on your clit. You squeak again, terribly sensitive and turned on, bound in his arms. “I told you to be quiet. Do you know what happens to girls who don’t listen?”

You’re glad to hear he didn’t add “to me”, for some deranged reason and for that, you don’t peep a sound.

“They get punished,” he answers for you and you can’t stop the moan from escaping your throat, the idea of getting punished by him again making you utterly, utterly delirious.

He strains his fingers around your mouth until it hurts, but that’s not the reason why you draw it away. You do it so you can speak. “Teach me a lesson, please. I need it.”

You wish you could see his reaction, but the darkness keeps it to itself. You can only hear the sharp inhale of breath he takes—and you can feel the twitch of his cock against you that divulges to you that he’s gone mad just the same.

While silence takes place, he drags your shorts down to your thighs, the tight cotton preventing you from spreading your legs. He moves you so you lay on your back and from this position, you sense Yoongi’s body heat and the lift and fall of his chest, though he still remains facing you with his back. Jungkook lifts your camisole until your breasts are exposed. And then, he props the back of your head on his bicep, clamping your mouth back shut. He looks down at you and you can only slightly make out his features. The glint of his lip ring irradiates him. Mercifully.

You want to kiss him so bad.

“How does Yoongi punish you, hm?”

The question shocks you, coaxes out a string of your arousal to drop down your clenched thighs. Whilst he waits for your answer, he grazes his palm down your sternum, your stomach, your mound. Leaves it there.

It’s your body that responds out of its own will, not your brain. You can’t, for the life of you, think. He allows you to speak. “With his words. His cock. And… with pussy spanks.”

Jungkook hums. Puts the covers out, revealing you to himself. “Show me how he spanks you.” Your hand trembles as he lifts it. He brushes his thumb across your knuckles while he places it on your cunt, taking control of that expression of nerves. Wraps the other hand around your throat.

When your fingers collide with your clit, you hiss in sensitivity. Decide you will only show him this way. You can’t take any more. “Like this. Gently, but firmly. So it doesn’t hurt. He doesn’t like to cause me pain.”

He exchanges your hand with his and spanks you. With bigger firmness than Yoongi ever used. You arch your back, not expecting it with your dumb brain. He pinches your right nipple between his knuckle and thumb, making you moan softly, not having enough and enveloping it with his mouth, sucking briefly before he swirls his tongue around the nub. Your wetness rushes out, along with your noises that you’re just so incapable of stopping. You grip his hair on the back of his head and in response he flicks the muscle. Your hips buck, asking for attention.

Jungkook withdraws, stares you dead in the eye. “I’m punishing you for making a sound and yet you do as you please?”

You swear, eyes wide. “I’m sorry.”

He spanks your clit. “Sorry what?”

Remembrance flashes through your mind. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“Hm, that’s right.” He rubs your clit rapidly. Spanks it again. Your moans come out in strained breaths. “That was for the curse word. Say you’re sorry.”

But then, you can’t help but mewl at his fatherliness. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

He pecks you, deeply. For the title, for your good manners or perhaps to silence you—you don’t know. “How sorry?”

His fingers find your clit again, strumming it, lips moving against you in a passionate kiss. Your brain malfunctions. “So sorry,” you whisper onto his mouth, gripping his hair.

He spanks you, softly, for pleasure, then continues. “You won’t say it again?”

“No.”

A sound of approval. “Good girl.” He sinks his middle finger inside you as far as your restrain allows him, fucking you slowly. The pressure of delight begins to build in you. “One more?”

“Yes, please, Daddy.”

Ring finger joins in, instantly. “Such a good girl. I love hearing you say that.” He jackhammers into you a few times before he stills, thumbing your clit. The fullness, the stimulation on your most needy part—it’s enough to make you come and you feel it chasing you again, nearing and nearing. “I want to fuck you like this with my fingers and have that toy on your clit. The one we used the last time. Keep the setting low, so it wouldn’t wake him up.”

A curse word rises on your tongue, but with the last brain cell you have—you swallow it down. You’re tiptoeing before the edge, knot tight in your tummy, pressure so enormous, and you tell him. “I’m gonna come.”

He lifts his thumb. “Hold it.”

You panic, faintly, standing still before the edge, face to face with your orgasm, close, terribly close. “I can’t.”

Jungkook shifts. “You will.” Bends you in half while keeping his fingers inside you, mouth latching onto your soaked cunt.

Takes control of your orgasm as he begins to toy with it, building it little by little with sluggish circles on your clit with the tip of his tongue. Then, he wraps his lips around it, nibbling on it and resumes the movement of his fingers, fucking you steadily.

The pleasure is so new, so different that you feel as though you’re levitating in heavenly places. You grind your hips against him, meeting him, but briefly. When he sucks your clit, he stills your motions and spreads shakes across your entire body. “Come for Daddy, sweetheart.”

He flicks his tongue—and you do. You come so violently for him that you grip his hair with all your might, surprised that he isn’t wincing in pain. And he doesn’t stop.

He keeps going until all that’s left of you is nothing but the cordiality of your high and those shudders, licking you up, devouring all that you’re giving him, wet fingers spread on the back of your thighs.

Then, he sets your legs down, straddles you and kisses you nastily. Makes you taste yourself on his lips, on his tongue and he enjoys the principle of it all. Enjoys giving back to you what you leaked for him. “I could have you come on my tongue all night.” He pecks you, swirls his tongue around yours. “You kept quiet through it all. Good girl. You learn so well.”

You’re speechless, satisfied, sensing something approaching you that you fail to understand. Something bigger than attachment, but smaller than feelings. Connected to his healing gift or perhaps invented from it. Something that’s smack dab in the middle, growing in you, and you submit to it, unafraid of it.

A certain desire fraternizes with it. You push at his shoulder, wanting him on his back. As if he senses what it is, he stays put. Solid as a rock. In both ways.

But you’ll have your own.

You tug the waistband of Yoongi’s sweats down his hips and grasp him in your hand, spreading his thick arousal down his length. Jungkook’s breath shakes, but his words don’t. “When did I tell you you could do that?”

You grab him with both hands, squeezing him. He hisses, muscles bulging along his arms on either side of you. “I’m sorry, Daddy. Can I?”

He coos. “Only because you’re so well-mannered.” Nods at you. “Keep going. Make your Daddy feel good.” Your Daddy. The fire it sparks in you, you put its wholeness into your movement—jerking him off, twisting your wrists, using all of your strength. “Hands off.” He spits on his head, the trail long and delicious to your eyes and you’re quick, you’re desperate, to resume and make him come, ache pressing down on your pussy all over again.

The slickness, his stifled noises, the snug warmth—you understand all of a sudden how he’s able to feel your pleasure because you’re experiencing it. You are pleasured because you’re pleasuring him. But still, you want more. You press him against your clit. “Fuck my hands like this, please.”

He repositions your hands. Slides them lower on his length, so his tip can stimulate your bundle of nerves. And when he begins to thrust, you’re transfixed.

By the roll of his hips, the clenching of his abdominal muscles, the evident delight overwhelming his body. You can’t take your eyes off of him. Especially not when he lets his guttural vocality loose.

You smile. “You should be quiet.”

He laughs down at you, softly. It vibrates in your core. He kisses you, humming into your mouth. “You’re right, but it feels so good like this. Doesn’t it feel good on your pussy?”

You nod, biting his lip, angling your head and devouring his mouth, plagued by his arousal, by his pleasure, by his response to your little slyness. He fucks your hands faster, gliding across your clit, not lasting for a moment longer. He shoots out his hot cum onto your tummy, cock twitching in your hands, his noises muffled by your mouth.

And he remains there. Even as he fingers you so fast that you come in seconds. Even as he takes those drenched digits, collects his male essence and plunges them into your mouth. “‘Atta girl. So good for me.”

He cleans your folds and thighs with his tongue. Dresses you, like a child. Fixes your camisole. Puts the covers back on you and spoons you.

Yoongi remains soundly asleep. You succumb to slumber faster than you came but before you do, it’s Jungkook’s words that lead you to that dreamland. “Goodnight, sweetheart. Sweet dreams.”

In the morning, you wake up first. And the sight you see is so profoundly beautiful that you take a moment to gape at it, folding it into your heart.

Jungkook drools in his sleep. Celestial countenance, tousled hair in all directions, broad chest lifting and falling in absolute tranquility. He twists his features for a split second, as if he was dreaming about something uncomfortable and you’re so affected by it that you look away.

Turn your gaze to your boyfriend instead.

Still snoring, mouth parted. Ebony hair brushed back, exposing his forehead. The corners of his lips tug up and stay and you think angels must be playing with him in his dreams. You kiss his arm, crawling back, painfully, until your feet hit the floor.

You take a long, long shower. Practice your gratitude, recollecting last night’s events and words spoken by Jungkook that weren’t as private as he thought. Hearing them, they were too fresh to be consumed, but now that you think about them—your own smile finds your lips and you agree with him in your heart. You can’t let him walk away after this. Can’t let him return to his normal life that exists without you, not when you’re something along the lines of attached to him. Hell, you can’t return to your own normal life without him. Without his touch, without his celestiality. Without his attentiveness and healing gift.

This has to be a continuous relationship.

Jungkook was the one who called it that way and it feels right. Even as you taste it on your tongue, it’s the most delicious thing you’ve ever swallowed. It fills your body with verve, one that you deem is essential at this point. One that you will need every single day from now on.

You have to talk about this with Yoongi. The idea doesn’t scare you, despite the fact you can’t really picture his reaction. Can’t imagine which way it will gravitate towards—whether to light or to dark. You don’t mind at all, in fact you look forward to it and you wash your body with greater care than you ever handled it with before.

With a face mask on, you take your cosmetic bag and do your makeup in the living room. The sunlight spills in, kissing your ebullient mien, and you imprint its red marks with a touch of blush across your cheeks, its lovely color with glitter on your eyelids and you finish the job with a few brushes of mascara upon your lashes and a singular swipe of a glimmering lip gloss on your lips.

It is only then that Jungkook appears in front of you.

“He still sleeps like a bear.”

You’re so happy to see him that it manifests on your face.

“Don’t try to wake him up or you’ll get eaten.”

Placing your cosmetic bag on his lap, he sits beside you. “I wouldn’t dare.” Examines your face for a good moment. “Why are you putting this on? You don’t need it.”

“I enjoy it,” you say, watching fondly as he takes out each makeup product and scans them. Once he comes across your tiny tubes of glitter of various shades, light flickers in his eyes. Your heart does the same thing. And a somersault right after.

“You wear glitter?”

You nod, a precious, girlish smile stretching your glossy mouth. “I’m wearing it right now.” You close your eyes for him, letting him see the small sparkles, resplendent of the sun. He praises you, the word ‘pretty’ embracing you tightly in all its snug simplicity, forcing your eyes open. A brighter spark shines in his irises. You brim with the yearning to doll up his eyes to match it and, having your way as always, you steal the tubes from him. “Which one do you want?”

He doesn’t even fight you. As a matter of fact, he’s already decided. Doesn’t waste a second to reply. “The silver one.”

Excitedly, you quiver all over. Dab the applicator on the back of your hand and lift your sight to catch him smiling cutely at you like the puppy he is. Your hand itches to ruffle his hair. Grab his cheek and bite into it. Go for his nose next.

Whirling the pad of your finger on the splatter of glitter, you hover it above his lids. “Close your eyes.”

He listens, immediately. You pat the imitation of his glint across that soft skin, but you focus on that beautiful, pouty smile of his. Think you’ll save his lips for last and savor them as you eat them.

You swipe your finger for more and adorn his other eye. Take the rest and speckle it on the highest points of his cheekbones—this time with his attention all on you.

You lean back to observe your artwork and find that something is missing. You know right away what it is.

You dab the applicator on his cupid’s bow and drag it down his collarbones. Take care of that first before you move over to his lips. You blend it there with utmost care and he lets you, zeroining his gaze into yours. Deep, but gentle. Loving.

To finish it, you kiss him. And it’s not because you were driven by your emotions or by that stare of his. You do it because you want to. Kiss him again, so the highlight is perfectly blended.

He’s puzzled when you draw away, but you’re not unnerved by it. You’re firm and stable in your decisions, happy in the outcome, any hints of repercussions or doubts far, far away from you. In another world, in another galaxy. It has long forgotten your name and you’re glad for it.

“We shouldn’t do this.”

There he goes with ‘we’ again. It makes you weak.

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” you say, soothingness coating your voice, penetrating his negative emotion to the point that he relaxes. Before he can say anything, you continue. “I heard what you said last night. To Yoongi. That this relationship is way bigger and deeper.” Surprise and timidity bleeds into the glitter on his face and he’s unable to look you in the eye. You grab his palm, holding it with both of your hands in your lap. “I agree with you. I feel it, too. This wasn’t just a one time thing. I don’t think it was ever meant to be just for one night.”

There’s rawness to your words that make him reciprocate your eye contact. He gnaws at his lips, as if to eat away his nerves. You squeeze his hand harder and are about to continue, but the creak on the hardwood floors stops you.

Yoongi. With his wrinkled face and puffy, but awake eyes. In a pair of boxers and nothing else. You stand up to your feet, dropping Jungkook’s hand, and you go to meet him halfway, but you don’t make it far. The soreness between your legs won’t let you.

He grins at you, wrapping his arms around you. “Can’t walk?” His taunt is loving and scrunch your face at him. “Good morning, honey.”

You kiss his bare chest. “Good morning.”

Yoongi moves over to Jungkook and places a hand on his shoulder. “Sleep well?”

Wet softness in his eyes. “The best sleep of my life.”

“So, I want two boyfriends.”

While Yoongi made coffee for all three of you, you were more than happy to make breakfast. Scrambled eggs on avocado toast—one that Jungkook chokes on upon hearing your words and one that flings out of Yoongi’s mouth because he bursts into a violent laughter.

You laugh along with him—so hard that tears well in your eyes, slapping your palm down repeatedly on the round wooden table. Yoongi mirrors your movement on Jungkook’s back as he fights for his life, red in the face, eyes wide.

“What did you say?” the puppy croaks out, bewildered, letting go of his bread and you feel terribly bad for him, for shocking him so enormously.

The decision came upon you suddenly while you cooked. Easy, smooth. Appeared on your heart that sprang it up to your mind. Gave it pros and cons—good friendship, good sex, good time; Yoongi might get jealous and/or possessive, nothing else. It made sense to you, grazed your attachment ever so sweetly. How else would you keep last night continuous? Even Yoongi went around the matter when he talked Jungkook’s head off, asking him if he’d been with other people after you.

Boyfriend simply means that. No other people—just you and Yoongi.

You weren’t going to keep it to yourself. Even if there was a risk of it going downhill.

It’s not relief that you feel upon hearing Yoongi laugh—it’s a river of liberation, concocted with absolute joy, coursing in your bloodstream. He woke up in a good mood. Woke up happy. And you fold that fact into your heart, hoping it stays for a long time.

“Eat your toast, silly,” you say, smiling, eyes crinkled. Take a bite of your own. Happy that Yoongi is happy, happy that you’re eating your favorite fruit, sitting again at the table with your two favorite people. “You heard me.”

“Oh, fuck,” is all Jungkook says, whisking his eyes to Yoongi, who’s chuckling, bending down to pick up the piece of toast he was in the middle of chewing.

You look at him, too, waiting for his response.

Yoongi brushes his hair back, a lazy smile on his mouth. “I think it’s a fantastic idea.”

You grin so hard that your cheeks hurt. The river in you speeds its stream. “Thank you,” you exclaim, rubbing his arm, quivering with excitement. “I say we mess around and have a good time. We can go on dates.”

Jungkook relaxes a little bit, furrowing his brows as he chews on his toast.

“She wanted two cocks, don’t tell me you didn’t expect this,” Yoongi says to his friend, patting your thigh. “I did.”

Perhaps that’s why he had such a hard time in all of this. He knew it was inevitable—and he worked his way through it until he ended here. Fine with it. Healed.

“When did that happen?” you ask, sliding your hand down to his.

“When I decided the first time I was gonna give it to you. Then, again when I promised you we were gonna make this work,” he says and you pout at him, so grateful, so touched. He squeezes your thigh, looking at Jungkook. “I can see your questions all over your face. Out with them.”

Jungkook has finished his toast, brows still furrowed as he swallows. He leans back in his chair, manspreading, hands intertwining behind his head. Pokes a tongue in his cheek, smirking. “Don’t kill me for this, but,” he starts, showing his teeth. “Do I get to have her to myself? Without you? And vice versa?”

Your heart beats ferociously in your chest. Yoongi pauses for a moment, thinking about it. He let him do it last night, he let him have you to himself, though under different circumstances. You figure what Jungkook meant is whether he can fuck you without asking for permission and the idea exhilarates you.

And the vice versa part. Jungkook is one sly—

“It won’t be instant, but we’ll work hard. Work our way through it until we’re all comfortable and happy,” Yoongi finally says and you kiss his hand.

You’re so overwhelmed with joy that your blood buzzes.

Jungkook nods. “Of course, I understand.”

“Is this something you want?” Yoongi directs the question at you and you nod.

“Yes, once you’re ready.”

Silence settles like fine dust. You finish your toast quietly and as soon as you’re done, you deem Yoongi should know about what happened in the late hours. “We didn’t fuck last night. While you slept. It didn’t even cross my mind and I wouldn’t do it unless I had your… blessing.”

Yoongi cackles at your choice of word. “Good girl,” he praises. “You’ll get your blessing soon. I promise.”

You look at him for a long time and you wonder if there’s anything he wouldn’t do for you.

“So, it’s settled, then,” Jungkook says and places a hand on the table, opens it for you. You grab it and he squeezes you. “Let’s celebrate.”

BACK to masterlist / READ part one, READ part two, READ part three

#jungkook x oc #yoongi smut #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 x oc #yoongi x reader #yoongi imagine

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nvrsaidiwasinurcloset · 3 months

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hi!! so idk exactly how to describe this but i was wondering if you could write an ethan landry x fem!reader fic with a scene of ethan describing like his fantasies with the reader and what he touches himself to. idk what the story around that would be… maybe this is just something he babbles out during sex, or it could even lead to them trying out his fantasies. like i said, i dont really know. i just like the idea of ethan telling the reader what he imagines doing to her, or more accurately, what he imagines she will do to him, in order to get himself off. idk, have fun with it! tysm!!!!

Hi! If you want more to this, let me know:) I feel like it needs more, but I wanted to make sure this was in the direction you wanted it to go lol. If it's not, I can rewrite it. If it is, I'll definitely write a part 2, just let me know!

What's Your Fantasy? - Ethan Landry x Fem!Reader

This contains SMUT - Minors DNI

Part 2

Summary: You discover something on your boyfriends laptop, and you get curious about what his fantasies are.

A/N: I've been super busy, but I'm trying to get caught back up. My sweet bun that I've had for 7 years that always relaxed on my bed with me while I wrote passed away, so I've been a little in my feels. I hope ya'll like this:)

It was the first time that your poor boyfriend had ever been drunk. He ended up going shot for shot with Chad at a party, as you stood by watching them. Once he stopped making sour faces and yelled “This tastes like water”, you decided to leave the party early and take him home. You knew he was moments from blacking out, and in the high chance he could projectile, you preferred for it to be at his apartment and not all over the rest of the party guests.

Projectile he did, into several bushes and a random trashcan on the walk back. Once you got him back to his place, you knew you couldn’t leave him like that. You helped him get undressed and put on sweatpants before you changed into one of Ethan’s extra-large shirts that he kept specifically for you to sleep in when you stayed over. He sat in his desk chair as he started to get a little dizzy.

You grabbed a trashcan, putting it beside the bed, and grabbed some water for him. You washed your makeup off in the bathroom, before heading back to him. You were going to spoon him so he wouldn’t throw up on you, and if he moved, you knew it would wake you up. You knew exactly how the night would go, or so you thought.

“Babeeee, I don’t know if I submitted my assignments,” he said, or that’s what it sounded like he said.

“Where’s your laptop?” you asked, looking around the room for it.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled, “I don’t feel so good.”

“Do you think you can make it to the bathroom?” you asked, as he stood up and stumbled to the door.

You barely made it there with him, just in time. You grabbed an ice-cold wash cloth and put it on the back of his neck, and started to rub his back as he continued to throw up. When he finally stopped, you helped him up and took him back to his bed.

“I fucking love you,” he mumbled, as you rolled your eyes at his heavily-intoxicated state.

“I love you too babe. Lay this way in case you get sick, I just need to find your laptop and I’ll cuddle with you in a minute,” you said, scanning the room before seeing a corner of it sticking out from under his bed.

You opened it and put in his password, clicking on the tab for his schoolwork. He did submit everything he was supposed to, but you saw something interesting on the other tab, so you got a little, well, very nosey. When you opened it, you saw that it was porn.

You looked over to Ethan, who was lightly snoring. You felt like you had an angel on one shoulder, telling you not to watch it. A devil on the other shoulder, telling you to see what kind of porn he liked to watch. You sort of felt like it was an invasion of his privacy, but you just had to know. You made sure the volume was low as you clicked play.

You noticed that the girl in the video, who had a few similarities to you, was giving some guy head. You thought ‘Oh, I’ve done this so many times for him’ until the end of the video, when the guy pulled out of the girl’s mouth and showered her face in his cum. Your eyes went wide as you watched it and wanted to know what else he liked to watch. You weren’t going to go through his history because you already felt bad enough about this, so you decided to have a talk with him later about things he’d like to try. You clicked back to the tab for his school stuff, before shutting his laptop and sitting it on his desk.

You crawled into the bed beside him, covering him over with a blanket and wrapped your arms around him. You kissed the back of his head, his curls tickling your face, before resting your head against his upper back as you spooned him.

You didn’t sleep well, waking up at least once an hour to check on Ethan. He slept peacefully, which you were thankful for, even if you were worried about him all night.

When he finally started to stir awake, he groaned out. “Fuck, my head hurts.”

“That’s what happens when you take as many shots as you did,” you said softly, both from the exhaustion and not wanting his head to hurt worse.

“I don’t remember anything except walking into that party,” he mumbled into the pillow. “Thank you for taking care of me, baby.”

“Of course. Do you want to take something for your head?” you asked, running your fingers through his hair.

“Please,” he sighed, as you got up to grab Tylenol from your purse.

After he took the medicine, and you knew he was okay, you desperately needed a few hours of sleep. You curled back up on your designated side of his bed, pulling the blanket over you. You quickly dozed off, as he snuggled back up to you.

When you woke up, you noticed that Ethan was no longer with you. You went to look for him and found him on the couch watching tv. He started making grabby-hands at you the second he saw you.

“Come here,” he said, grabbing your hips and pulling you down to straddle him.

“Someone’s feeling better,” you giggled as his hands rubbed your sides under his shirt you were wearing.

“I need a shower, want to join me?” he asked, as you felt him pressing against you through his sweatpants.

“I’ll race you there,” you smirked, jumping off him.

You heard his footsteps right behind you as he grabbed you by your hips and turned you to face him the second you made it to the bathroom door.

“You cheated. You had a head start,” he laughed, as your arms wrapped around his neck.

You smiled as you stood on your tippy toes to kiss him. His hands ran under your big t-shirt and over the curve of you ass, pulling you even closer to him.

“I thought you wanted to shower?” you giggled, noticing the look in his eyes. The one that he always has when he so desperately wants to fuck you.

“Fineee,” he sighed, letting go of your ass as you backed away.

When you were in the shower with him, you couldn’t stop thinking about the video you watched the night before. Ethan is very confident with you, but he tends to hold back when it comes to sex. When you felt his hard cock resting against you as he kissed you under the flow of the water, your lips moved to his neck as your hand went to his erection.

“Fuck,” he said, as your hand wrapped it and started stroking.

“Hey baby?” you asked, placing kisses along his neck.

“Hmm?”

“Do you have any fantasies about me?” you questioned, innocence in your tone as your hand started to move faster. His breath hitched in his throat, both out of nervousness and how good you were making him feel. “Come on, baby. Do you ever think about things you want to do to me? Or things you want me to do to you?”

“Yes,” he answered, his breathing getting faster.

“What do you think about?” your teeth started to graze his neck, the feeling making his whimper.

“Oh fuck..uh… I love to think about cumming on your face when I’m trying to get off. And every time I see you take your birth control, it makes me want to cum inside you so bad,” he said, as you smiled against his neck. “I cum so hard whenever I think about my cum dripping out of your pussy.”

“You want me to let you cum on my face, baby?” you asked, dropping to your knees in front of him.

“No..fuck..yes I just don’t want you to think I’m degrading you,” he finally got out, as the simple licks to his tips turned to you swirling your tongue. “I don’t want you to think you have to do stuff like that to make me happy.”

You pulled away, your eyes connecting with his. “Even if I’m down here on my knees begging you for it.”

“Fuck, baby,” he said, his cock aching at your words.

“Tell me what I do to you when you think about me like this. Walk me through it, baby,” you said, leaning forward to lick his tip again.

He intently watched you as your hands went to his thighs, holding on to them as you balanced yourself. You’d always been in charge when it came to sex, just because he was usually so shy. Seeing you like this in front of him made him wish he would’ve said something sooner. Even though you initiated it, he still felt like he was in control.

“You suck on the head of my cock,” he whimpered, as you took his sensitive tip in your mouth, gently sucking.

You kept doing it, waiting for him to tell you what to do.

“Then you take more of it in your mouth, not too much though,” he said, eyes intently on you as you put him further in your mouth. Your head was moving back and forth, as his hand went to your hair.

“Take the whole thing, baby. I know you can do it.”

When you started to gag around him, his fingers tangled in your wet hair, as he gently thrusted into your mouth. Your wetness mixed with the water from the shower dripped down your thighs as his whimpers got louder.

“Just like that, baby. You’re doing such a good job,” he praised, as you moaned around him. Your clit was throbbing as you put one of your hands in between your legs, giving your needy bundle of nerves the attention you were craving.

“Oh shit, I’m gonna cum. Stick your tongue out for me,” he groaned, starting to release in your mouth. He pulled back, your tongue sticking out as he stroked himself and he shot the rest of his cum on your face. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

His eyes kept trying to close as the euphoric feeling washed over him, but he fought it, not wanting to miss a second of you on your knees in front of him with his cum on your face as the water started to wash it away.

You smirked as you stood back up, standing directly under the flow of the water to rinse the rest of it off your face. You grabbed your face wash, cleansing your skin with it as you felt his hands wrap around your waist.

“Did you like that?” he asked, as your mouth turned up into a sweet smile.

“You have no idea how wet I am right now.” Your lips connected with his as his hand reached between your thighs. “What else do you want to try? After we go to your room and I let you cum in me, of course.”

#ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry smut #scream smut

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appleblueberry-pie · 1 month

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Yandere GF Yuki +Yandere JJK Harem

A/N: Please just read these first few sentences if this is too long for you. I intended for Yuki and reader to have some sort of dom x sub relationship. Like it runs in her blood to be at least slightly masc. I've been fantasizing about this idea for much longer than I realize. But being able to do this with a literal bad bitch at the top of the OP podium is a dream come true and a treasure. Like I don't think you guys understand, I seriously think Yuki is for the girlies. I see so much queer potential in her, it's not even a joke(hence, the photo). The Yandere Harem includes briefly mentioned Platonic Yanderes(Yuji and Nobara) and more in depth juggling of the mentions of the Romantic Yanderes(Yuki being the main, and the rest taking whatever crumbs they can take. So, Shoko, Gojo, and Nanami). I feel like this isn't going to be organized whatsoever because I usually just write whatever with no kind of order, soooo......idk.

Yuki was all you needed in a person, in your opinion. No one knew you better besides her. You knew her and she knew you. If you could, you'd stay in her arms until your muscles hurt from staying in the same position for so long, and maybe then, you'll be molded together for eternity. That's how much you love her. But of course, her infatuation with you is so much more than a slight obsession for the one you are closely connected to. Everyday when she sees you, she feels both of your spirits connecting. When you two approach each other from different sides of a room, both of your cursed energy seem to blend together like food scents combining to make one sweet aroma. Two separate things colliding so well together.

She can't even fathom the idea of you not being hers. She can't think of a moment where you'd ever leave her either. Her confidence in your devotion and love towards her continues to sooth her mind and body. And she wishes it was just the two of you on this planet, but of course, people try to break you two apart every day. She tries not to mind it, knowing how to handle these types of situations and knowing you know how to hold your own as well. But it seems like everyone loves to test her patience.

Speaking of patience, everyone can tell Gojo was quickly running out of patience that somehow still remained in his body. You two have been together for four years, why haven't you broken up yet?! Not a single one of his relationships lasted this long. Ever. But you two continue to stare at each other as if the other created the sky and water. It's supposed to be you and him doing that. Not you and her. It's not fair and he was getting mad again just staring at the two of you. He tried everything. He tried to give his best flirts with you, tried to get you alone, which worked a few times, but you stayed strong and continually told him no. Fuck, he even fought Yuki. But you found the two of them battling to the death and he'd seen you so angry, he had to step back. The way you stared at him is a face he never wanted directed at him ever again, so he stopped trying to intervene. Only sticking to the waiting game, and it was taking too long.

Nanami was better at waiting. He was better at staying in his place, staying quiet, acting innocent and holding up face. But even he wanted to step out of line to see what it takes to get you to pay attention to him. To get you into his arms. He used to bring the two of you coffee every morning when you showed up at work together, struck conversation with the both of you, spoke with Yuki more than he did with you to try and steer away possibilities that he was trying to get at you. He thought he was good at what he did. It shook him to his core, disturbed him, when he was pulled into a dark room by you-know-who and was asked of his real intentions. "What? Did you want a threesome? Trying to break us up?" She taunted him, telling him he was just like Gojo, trying everything in his power just to get at her girlfriend. Told him it was obvious when he stared from across the room, crossing his legs to hide his boner like a teenage boy. She laughed in his face and cornered him into a wall, threatening to tear out his jugular. "She likes you more than the other rats scattering around us." But he knew better than to assume that would ever be a green light to continue with his tricks. She told him to keep silent like he usually is, and he won't lose the only life he has. He gave up.

Yuki and Ieri formed an alliance. If she keeps an eye out to protect you from the horndogs that constantly surround you, she can talk with you as much as she desires(as much as Yuki allows her to). But in your eyes, Shoko is a weird case. Because you see her more than you do the rest of the men at Jujutsu Tech. And even though Yuki always tells you to watch out for Shoko, she only lets you freely hang around her more than everyone else. You assumed they spoke of something alone because Yuki almost always pulls her away to have a secret conversation about something you can't ever think up an answer for. Shoko was great to you though. Always gave you snacks, was hilarious and knew how to make you laugh. She never smoked around you, saying she doesn't want you to breathe in the flames. And not only that, she flirts with you constantly. But Yuki never seems to care much when it happens. Maybe they became friends not too long ago...? You can't put your finger on it.

It doesn't help that she likes to show you off. It really doesn't help. Often, everyone follows the both of you to get a chance to talk to you. But when she's right there as your guard dog, it brings their chances back down to a zero. And they would just push her away and bribe someone to just throw her in the ditch, but Yuki isn't just a regular shmegular person to fuck around with. She is, in fact, a special grade sorcerer who would fold a good 85% of the sorcerers in her area if she were pushed to do so. So, you are just a beauty to see from afar.

Complimenting your cute outfit before the two of you go somewhere in town, making you spin, squeezing your ass and making you laugh. Kissing your sweet lips and being able to breathe in your scent. They see it all and can't help but fucking fume at not being able to have you. They probably won't ever have you.

Yuki also wishes you'd stop talking to the brats that constantly berate you. Nobara and Yuji are constantly in your space like little puppies excited to see their owner after a long day. Nobara will whine excessively if you are about to be pulled away, or is pulled away. You love to give her hugs and even little gifts that you know she's wanted for a long time. Yuuji consumes every snack you give him in exactly one second, and you tell him every time to please chew it slowly(he never does). He has such convincing puppy eyes and requires you to stay with him for an extra three minutes, which for each minute, Yuki plans to threaten him to leave you alone(they almost fight every time). You treat those two as if they were your children and people can't help but feel extremely jealous every time. Of course you give the younger ones affection, of course they get your snacks, attention and loving. And of course they get the OK to do it because they're young. It makes everyone else sick to their stomach with anger.

Her biggest concern right now is you're telling her about your new friend you've made(that she can't find and stalk for some reason). You say he has long and healthy hair, is very sweet to you and you two talk about religion all of the time and that he has very interesting "political" views. She knows he's a sorcerer because she can smell it on you every time you come back from an outing alone. She knows that this asshole wants you and makes it known by bringing you back to her smelling completely different and she can see his lingering energy surrounding you. It pisses her off. She's definitely gonna have to do something about it.

Anyways. Yuki has it best, obviously. Her only goal is to get you out of sorcery and to just become hers full-time. Not like you need anything else to worry about besides her. I mean, she could just provide for you entirely. She tells you every day that you're lucky that she doesn't have a real dick, because things would definitely be different if so. It makes you squirm happily and she loves teasing you about it every time with her wolfish grin. She knows she'd get some soon if she says it with that playful and hungry tone you love.

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shxtodxroki · 1 year

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𝙻𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝙽𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝙻𝚎𝚐𝚘 𝚂𝚎𝚝𝚜

Warnings: Swearing

Send me the name of your favorite character and I’ll write a drabble for them! :)

“Keigo, what the fuck are you doing?” Your harsh tone startled your boyfriend, jumping up in surprise at your sudden appearance in the living room entryway as a bashful smile immediately made its way across his face. He immediately raised his hands in mock surrender, knowing better than to push you past your mental limit at this late hour.

“Sorry babe, I was trying not to wake you up but I just had to get out here and build this Lego set.” He responded sheepishly, your expression only growing more unamused as you glanced pointedly at the clock, both of you staring at the bright red “2:33 AM” reflecting across its screen. Your boyfriend only shrugged in response to your hint, however, eyes immediately diverting back to the Lego set he had just begun building. “How was I supposed to wait, they made a Lego version of my agency! Look, there’s even a mini Hawks Lego figure!” He added smugly, holding up his miniature Lego self to show off to you.

“You asshole, we were supposed to build that together!” You shrieked, eyes now wide to show that you were more than awake thanks to your oh-so-wonderful boyfriend’s late night antics. “You suck so much Keigo, waking me up at 2AM only to find out you started the Lego set without me, I can’t believe you!” You shook your head disapprovingly to up the dramatics, wanting Keigo to know how much of a massive betrayal this was to you.

“I’m sorry babe, it was just so cool! How was I supposed to wait to build my own agency out of Legos when it's just sitting here in our living room?” He asks as if the answer to his question was obvious, grinning despite his attempts to be serious and dramatic along with you. “You could always join me now, you know. I only just started, so we could still build it together.”

You took another glance at the clock at his words, knowing that you really should be getting back to sleep, but also knowing that you didn’t really care.

You still had to pretend that you did, though, so with a huff of fake disappointment and an exaggerated roll of your eyes, you muttered a, “Fine, if you insist on doing this now, then I guess I’ll join you.” as you sat down right beside him.

The way your body instantly leaned into Keigo’s warmth gave away what you both already knew, though; you were never truly mad, you were more than happy to spend this time with him, even if it meant waking up far too early in order to do so. And as your hand made it’s way to his, fingers locked tightly together as he pressed a kiss to your knuckles in silent apology for the early wake-up, you both knew that you’d never want to be anywhere else but here in this moment, placing a Lego figure of your infuriatingly adorable boyfriend onto the base and grinning at the real life Keigo right beside you.

Request - Anonymous said: said: ohhhh for the ask game, my favourite it's keigo if you write something cute for him i'll love u foreverrr 😭💞

A/N: I thought this was a really cute idea hehe, idk why but I've had Lego sets on my mind recently and have been wanting to build that, so I decided to write this to sort of quell that urge lol. My requests are still open right now, so if you have a request of your own please feel free to send it in! :)

Taglist: @applepie-macaroon

If you’d like to be added to any of my taglists, you can fill out this form here! Thank you for your support <3

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iamnmbr3 · 1 month

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what are your thoughts on a Deathly Hallows AU where draco joins the trio on their quest? plausible/not plausible? more interesting for draco or no? i honestly wish sometimes jkr had branched out from the trio and brought draco in, but idk if it could've been pulled off.

I think that would be delightfully great fun. (One of the many things that could've also spiced up canon a bit and broken up the interminable camping scenes with a bit more drama and tension). I've even thought of writing one. If we're sticking to canon I could see it happening after the Manor sequence.

Like maybe Dobby shows up in the cell a little earlier, while Draco's down there to get Griphook. At which point Harry realizes that in order to stop the alarm being sounded they will have to put Draco out of commission. Of course he also realizes that this means he will take the brunt of the blame for the escape. So naturally he opts for the incredibly impractical solution of overpowering Draco and grabbing his wand, but then stunning him and having Dobby take him along to Shell Cottage too as their prisoner. C'mon Ron. He can't just leave him there to die. He would do the same for anyone. No really. Ok maybe not Wormtail or any of the other Death Eaters but honestly there's nothing special or different about how he feels towards Draco. There isn't.

And then of course they can't send him back because he'd be in even more trouble. But surely they can't take him with them. Even if Harry's sure deep down he's feeling conflicted they can't trust him. But he is a Black by blood. And maybe they realize he could be useful in getting into Bellatrix's vault. And besides, they can't really leave him with Bill and Fleur; that puts them at risk and this was Harry's stupid decision so they shouldn't be stuck with it. Cue uneasy alliance and growing bond and Draco eventually making his choice and saving Harry. Bonus points if in this version of the Room of Requirement Sequence Draco chooses his side and hurls the diadem into the fire.

Alternately, another way it could go down is Voldemort figures out the the stuff about the Wandlore much earlier in canon, and unlike in canon he makes the connection that Draco is the Master of the Elder wand, not Snape, because he disarmed Dumbledore. So he decided that obviously he needs to pop into Malfoy Manor for a quick spot of murder. And Harry sees this in a vision. So when they stage their escape he takes Draco with them because of course he does. Now that he's disarmed him he's pretty sure he's the Master of the Elder Wand and that's fine because Voldemort already wants to kill him. But he's also pretty sure that Voldemort will still kill Draco, esp bc he's 1) really mad about Harry's escape 2) because he now suspects Draco of maybe helping Harry Potter and 3) because he wants to kill all potential claimants on the wand just to be sure.

Obviously he doesn't want to tell Draco any of this so at first they keep him tied up and blindfolded and under the Imperius Curse. But Draco's fighting it and Harry hates holding someone under and Unforgivable like that. And it's not practical. But they also can't have him pressing his Mark. Eventually they do start loosening some of the restrictions. And also tell him enough to get him to believe Voldemort will murder him if he finds them. And again. Cue uneasy alliance and redemption and eventual drarry.

And there are many more ways you could do it as well. So yes. Very here for it.

#thanks for all the great asks you guys send!#asks #Harry Potter #Draco Malfoy #drarry #harry x draco #h/d #harco #harry potter and the deathly hallows

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fics-n-stuff · 2 years

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Molly Ringwald is an Absolute Babe

Pairing: Robin Buckley × Reader (fem)

Summary: Y/N comes into the video store every weekend, and Steve is convinced that she's been flirting with Robin. Robin isn't so convinced, until a certain movie selection prompts a shift in their dynamic.

Word Count: 3k

A/N: Despite my bisexuality and crushes on many a female fictional character, this is the first fic I've written for any of them. Idk how much I like it but Robin was occupying alot of brain space and I needed to write something.

You pushed open the door to Family Video and headed straight for the desk. It was right before closing on Friday evening and you were worried that they would be getting ready to close up shop, but Steve was behind the counter with a smile as you walked over.

“Hey, do you have the movie Personal Best?” You asked.

“Uh... not sure, let me check.” He replied and turned to the computer. You waited as he typed it into the inventory search. “No, doesn’t look like it. If you want, I could order it in for you, it would probably arrive in a couple of weeks.”

“Yeah, that would be great, thanks. It’s from 1982, Mariel Hemingway and Patrice Donelly.”

“No problem. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“No thanks, I’m just gonna grab a couple other movies.” You smiled and stepped away.

You did a bit of browsing in the romcom section and settled on The Breakfast Club, before making a beeline to the familiar shelf where they kept The Rocky Horror Picture Show and grabbing that too before you returned to the counter. You set the tapes down on the counter and handed your ID over to Steve.

“Rocky Horror again. What’s that, four times?” He joked.

“Five I think.” You chuckled. You looked around the store, your eyes searching for the other employee, as Steve checked out your movies. You spotted Robin talking to a mom and daughter over by the kids’ animations and smiled subconsciously.

Steve passed your ID back to you and you handed over the money for the movies, turning to leave with a thanks and an exchange of goodbyes.

“Robin!” You called across the store, and she turned to find the origin of her name. When she spotted you, she smiled. You smiled back, giving a wave before heading out the door.

Robin finished up with the mom and daughter and found the place empty after they left. Her and Steve started cleaning up, getting ready to close up shop. While she was sweeping the floor, Steve came up beside her.

“I’m right.” Steve said smugly, leaning against the counter. “I’m right and you know I’m right.”

“Right about what?”

“Dude! Y/N likes you!”

“Steve, no. We’ve been over this, okay? It’s not the same for me as it is for you.” She replied, shaking her head.

“Yeah, I know that Robin, but listen. She is here every weekend and if I serve her then she makes sure she says hi to you, but if you serve her then I only get a hello if I spot her first.”

“So she likes me more than you, big whoop.” Robin shrugged and went to put the broom away. Steve flicked off the lights and grabbed the key, and they closed up shop and headed to Steve’s car.

“Robin, Y/N likes you. I promise.”

“You can’t promise me that, Steve. In fact, you can’t even promise me that she’s gay.”

“She rented Rocky Horror for the fifth time in four months today. And every time she comes in she rents something with a babe in it; this time it was The Breakfast Club, and you can’t deny that Molly Ringwald is an absolute babe.” Steve argued passionately.

“She could just have easily have gotten it for Judd Nelson.” Robin refuted.

“For god’s sake Robin can you just open your eyes for one goddamn minute? She’s gay! She’s gay and she likes you. I’ve had enough girls like me to know what a girl looks like when they like you.”

“Wow, that wasn’t a casual brag at all.”

“Not the point.” Steve groaned in annoyance.

“Well, no offense Harrington, but you’re not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed and I don’t feel comfortable taking your word on something so important.” Robin said. “I can’t risk making a move without being certain that she likes girls.”

“I am certain that she likes girls.”

“Well I’m not.”

Steve rounded the last corner onto Robin's street and pulled up to the curb outside her house. She reached over to grab her bag from where she had dumped it on the backseat and pushed her door open.

“All I’m saying is, you’re never gonna get a girlfriend if you’re too paranoid to realise when a girl likes you.” He said as she climbed out of the car.

“Okay, thank you Steve.” Robin droned.

“Molly Ringwald!” Steve called as she swung the door shut. She responded by flipping him of through the window before heading up to her house.

+ + +

“Hey Steve! Did my movie come in yet?” You asked eagerly as you came up to the Family Video desk, handing over the tapes that you had rented the previous weekend: Victor/Victoria and Back to the Future.

It was Saturday morning and it had been two weeks since Steve had ordered Personal Best in for you, so you were hopeful that it had arrived.

“Yes, it did.” Steve smiled, producing a tape from under the desk and holding it up triumphantly. “I read the blurb on the jacket, sounds interesting.”

“Really, you think?” You questioned, knowing full well that the blurb revealed that it was a movie about two female athletes who fall in love.

“Yeah. I like a good sports flick.” He put the tape down on the counter and slid it over to you. “Let me guess, you’re gonna go pick out a musical before you check out?”

“Ugh, you know me so well Harrington.” You smiled, snatching up the tape and stepping back from the counter. He chuckled as you walked away, off to browse the shelves for a musical that took your fancy.

As you rounded a corner you came upon Robin tidying up a shelf and stopped dead in your tracks, your heart stopping for a moment. You steadied yourself with a deep breath and headed over.

“Hey, Robin.” You greeted and she turned away from the shelf to face you.

“Oh, hey Y/N.” She smiled. “Come for your weekly movies?”

“Of course.” You chuckled, holding up the tape in your hand. “I’m especially excited about this week, Steve ordered this one in for me special.”

“Oh yeah, he mentioned. He said it was something I might like but I never got around to reading the blurb.”

“Here, read it now.” He held it out to her and watched as she took it from your hand. You watched her closely as she read it wanting to see how she reacted to the gay detail. She made a little gasp and her eyebrows rose slightly, presumably as she got to that reveal, but there was no indication of whether that was a positive or negative reaction. You held your breath.

“Yeah, I guess Steve was right.” She laughed slightly, handing the tape back to you.

“Sounds like something you’d enjoy?”

“Yeah. Maybe I’ll rent it myself when you’re done with it.” You smiled at that, hoping to God that this meant what you hoped it meant. “Anyway, um, I better get back to work and you probably want to find your second movie.”

“Yeah, I should probably do that.” You laughed a little awkwardly and shuffled around Robin in the aisle. “I’ll see you next week then.”

“Yeah, see you next week.” She smiled, then you turned and headed down the aisle and she turned back to the shelf.

You picked out The Sound of Music and checked out with Steve before leaving. Your best friend, Lisa, was waiting for you in the car and she gave you an in credulous look when you skid in behind the wheel with a sigh.

“You still didn’t ask her out, did you?” She questioned, but already knowing the answer.

“No, I couldn’t. But, I am almost one hundred percent certain that she’s gay now.”

“Oh, really? How come?”

“Well, when she read the blurb for Personal Best she said that it was something that she would like to watch.”

“Oh my God, Y/N, that was the perfect opportunity to ask her to watch it with you! I can’t believe you missed that shot.”

“I was nervous, Lisa! I let it get awkward because I didn’t know what to say.” You pouted.

“Whatever. Can we go to Jessica’s party now?”

“Yeah.” You huffed, starting up the car and manoeuvring out of your parking space.

“Next week. You have to do it next week.” Lisa said. “Otherwise you’re just gonna chicken out of it forever.”

“Yeah, okay. Next week.” You muttered.

+ + +

When you walked into Family Video the following Saturday, you were both happy and terrified to see Robin standing behind the counter. You walked around the store to give yourself time to work up the courage to say what you wanted to say to her, picking out your movies for this weekend.

With one last deep breath, you mustered your most confident smile and headed up to the counter.

“Hey, Y/N.” Robin greeted happily as you approached. “How you doing?”

“Good.” You nodded. “How about you?” You slid the tapes you were returning across the counter to her and placed the ones you were checking out down too.

“Good.” She echoed. You watched her put into the records that you had returned last week’s tapes before grabbing the other two off the counter. “Rocky and Mary Poppins.” She read the titles aloud with a chuckle “Interesting pairing.”

“Well, my brother asked for Rocky and I decided that I’m on a bit of a Julie Andrew’s kick.” You smiled.

“Nice.” She nodded. You handed over your ID to check the tapes out and took another deep breath to psyche yourself up.

“Hey, so, Robin, I was thinking maybe you’d wanna catch a movie with me tonight?” You said quickly before you could chicken out. You saw her hands falter as she checked out the tapes and hoped to God that you weren’t making a huge mistake.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” She sputtered, a surprised smile slowly growing on her face. “I’d like that.”

“Great.” You grinned, letting out a laugh of relief. “The theatre just started showing Pretty in Pink, I can pick you up after work?”

“Sounds great. Pick me up after closing, about 8:15?”

“Okay, I’ll be back in a few hours.” You smiled. Robin handed you the tapes and your ID and you exchanged slightly awkward goodbyes before you left.

“What was that?” Steve asked with a suggestive smirk as he returned to the counter and sidled up beside Robin.

“Um, you don’t have to give me a ride home from work today.” She answered a bit shyly.

“Wait, seriously?” He checked. Robin bit her lip to suppress her grin and nodded. “Oh my God, that’s awesome! What are going to do?”

“We’re gonna go see Pretty in Pink at the movie theatre.” She answered.

“What did I tell you? Molly Ringwald.” Steve said smugly. Robin smacked him in the arm before they promptly ended their conversation as the next customer stepped up.

You arrived back at the video store at 8:10, a huge grin on your face as you pulled up to park outside. Most of the lights had been turned off but you could still see Robin and Steve tidying up through the window.

You waited patiently for Robin to come out, your fingers tapping on the steering wheel to the beat of the music playing out of the radio. Your window was filled down slightly, so you heard it when the door to the video store opened and Robin and Steve stepped out, bickering about something or other.

You watched Robin as she locked the store, and smiled when she turned in your direction and spotted you. Whatever comment she had been making to Steve died on her lips as she smiled back, raising her hand to wave at you. You rolled your window down further.

“You ready?” You called.

“Yep.” Robin nodded, finding her feet and starting towards you.

“Alright, you kids have fun.” Steve smiled teasingly. “See you on Monday, Robin.”

“Yeah, okay, bye Steve.” She waved hurriedly, walking around to the passenger side of your car. He looked at you and gave you a wink before heading for his own car. You rolled up your window and turned to look at Robin as she slid into the passenger seat of your car and put on her seatbelt.

“The next showing is at 9:00, so we’ve got some time to kill.” You said.

“That’s okay, we can just talk.” She replied apprehensively. You smiled again and nodded before starting up the engine and heading out of the parking lot. “I’ve never, um... I’ve never been on a date before.”

“Me neither.” You said. “Well, not a proper one, at least; I technically went on one date with Bobby Harris when I was thirteen but that was...” You trailed off, finishing your sentence with a performative shiver that made Robin laugh. “So does Steve, like, know..?”

“Yeah.” Robin nodded. “I told him in summer. He’s cool, if you were worried about that. He actually figured out that you like me before I did, so.” She added with a nervous chuckle. You thought it was cute. “Do any of your friends know?”

“Yeah, my friend Lisa. She’s captain of the debate team.”

“Oh, Lisa Jennings. She seems nice.”

“Yeah she’s the sweetest. She’s actually been pushing me to ask you out for, like, two months.”

“Really? Wait, oh my god, how long have you liked me?” She questioned, a look that mixed shock and amusement on her face.

“No, you don’t need to know that.” You chuckled with a gentle shake of your head.

“Please? I really wanna know. I feel like it would be good for my self confidence.” Robin smiled sweetly. You bit your lip nervously, glancing between her and the road, before letting out a sigh.

“Okay. You remember that time last year that band and theatre both thought they had the music room booked?”

“Yeah, it was a shit show.” She nodded.

“Okay, well, while the teachers were bickering about who actually had the room booked, you made a joke. I don’t even remember what it was, but the face you made when you made the people around you laugh was... really cute.” You explained.

“But that was, like, seven months ago.” She commented, and you stayed silent, pursing your lips as not to show how embarrassed you were at revealing just how long you had liked her. “Oh my God, that’s adorable.”

“Let’s not talk about that.” You mumbled.

You pulled into the parking lot of the movie theatre and slotted right into an empty parking space. You shut off the engine and checked your watch.

“We’ve still got half an hour.” You said.

“That’s okay. Gives us time to get popcorn and still get the good seats.” Robin replied.

The two of you headed in and bought your tickets and snacks, chatting happily as you went. You let her pick your seats and she sat you pretty much right in the middle of the theatre. You had expected the place to be a lot busier, given that it was a Saturday night showing of a big new movie, but there were only a handful of other people in the theatre so far. You supposed there was still about fifteen minutes for people to turn up before the showing started, but still. It was nice though; made you feel less nervous about being on a date.

You settled into your chair, a small bucket of popcorn on your lap and your drink in the cup holder next to you. Robin had the same, and she smiled over at you as she chewed a few kernels of popcorn.

“I guess I should have asked before I got here but, are you a fan of romcoms?” You asked her.

“Yeah, I mean, who doesn’t like a good romcom?” She nodded. “But I tend to prefer horror or, like, a mystery thriller. What about you?”

“I don’t know, I just like movies.” You shrugged, then added in a whisper: “Bonus points if there’s a pretty lady in it.”

“Oh, yeah, a hundred percent.” Robin giggled.

More people filtered in as the last minutes before the start of the showing passed, and eventually the theatre was just over half full.

“I’m really glad you asked me to come here with you.” Robin whispered, leaning in closer so only you would hear. “I would have been too nervous to make the first move.” She leaned back with an awkward smile, and you felt a goofy smile pull at your lips too. You went to reply, but the lights went down before you could open your mouth and the screen lit up as the first ad started to play through the speakers.

You had a faint smile on your lips throughout all the ads and trailers, sparing glances over at Robin every minute or so. When you looked over at her as the movie was starting, you caught her looking back at you. She smiled as she tossed another piece of popcorn into her mouth, and you suppressed the urge to grin by taking a sip of your drink.

Robin turned back to the screen, and your eyes lingered on her side profile for a moment before you followed suit. Then, as Molly Ringwald put in her earrings and applied her mascara, you felt Robin’s hand meet yours where it sat on the armrest.

You kept your eyes on the screen, smiling again, as you linked your fingers with hers, moving your arm to tuck your joined hands under the armrest to hide from any wandering eyes. You heard Robin let out a quiet sigh of relief and squeezed her hand slightly, very much looking forward to what was to come for the two of you.

#stranger things #robin buckley #robin buckley fanfic #robin buckley fluff #robin buckley x reader #robin buckley x y/n #steve harrington #robin and steve #robin stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things 4 #stranger things season four #stranger things fanfiction

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blacknidstang · 9 days

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spn related but rather personal vent

For various reasons i've been needing to distance myself from spn in particular beside spending less time on social media and it's been because of number of extremely harmless little things that weren't even upsetting even but making me feel down a bit and now i suddenly remembered one of them was s5 and how sam was treated, how everyone was calling him incompetent and shit when he was literally offering to get himself locked in hell for eternity with satan himself, how that was their biggest worry. I think while i think undeniably Bobby did care about Sam and i mean, i think it would be so fucking absurd to claim Dean was ok with Sam jumping into the pit, but there's this persistent dissatisfaction of how these were never.. expressed.. and i love s5. I love swan song. It still wrecks me but there's a growing annoyance.

But here's the thing, when a thing or two about a show start to piss me off i just rather pull back. Clear my head. It's not that important. I dont like to log into tumblr and cry about spn's writing and a be a bitter samgirl™️. I dont wanna spend my mental energy on something quite destructive, for myself at least (and i'm sure that wouldnt make me a joy to be around anyway). Anyway. Why am i saying these? Idk. I think i'm trying to accept that i have issues with the show that really forced me to break out of heavy obsession and become more normal about it. I think admitting it gives me some peace bc i still love the characters and i still love so much of this show so unironically, even that cursed s5 itself is forever a favorite of mine. But at one point the dissatisfaction of it wasn't worth the stay. I'm still sticking around tho but i needed to vent it out in order to go back and focus on things that i love.

#spn #personal rant

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trishlia · 1 year

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Coffee Crush.

characters: chandler bing, monica geller, rachel green. (chandler x yn)

context??: one shot, cute adorable stuff idk.

words: 594 (its so short I'm sorry)

a/n: sorry for not posting or being online!! I've been busy for the past few days. qwq please enjoy this and give me some ideas to write more!! ty for the likes from my previous chandler one shot! (I read it and I cringed so bad qwq)

*** y/n pov first person.

I walked across the streets and enter inside a coffee house, Central Perk. I'm a usual customer there, I buy myself a cup of coffee and head to work. I don't go there just for a coffee though.. A person. A tall man, a tall brunette who sits on the orange sofa at the end of the coffee house. Who make sarcastic jokes to his group of friends. Its just a coffee crush though, it's not like I get to be with him. It looks like his close with the black haired girl. I'm pretty sure her name is Monica.

As I order my latte, I sat beside the window, near the coat hook and read the daily news. I'm usually early and wait for the man, but its mostly because I'm always running late. The waitress came to serve my coffee, its one of the brunette's friend, Rachel's her name. As she place my coffee on the table I checked to see if it were the correct order. Gladly it was.

The man I've waited walks in the coffee house with his friends, they all sat down at their usual spots. The brunette sat close with the black haired girl, I'm not gonna lie, I'm jealous but at the same time I'm happy he has someone. I continue to read my paper as I take a sip of my coffee, I was pretending to mind my business when I'm actually just listening to the man's voice. He did a sarcastic joke which made me laugh behind the paper.

After a couple of minutes, I glance at my watch. I should be heading out finding a cab before traffic gets worse. I finish my latte, fold the newspaper and place it on the table. I stood up from my seat and pay the cashier. I was about to head out as I wore my coat when suddenly somebody touched my shoulder, 'Uh, hi.' he said.

I turn to see who it was, a tall brunette, the brunette who I listen to everyday in the coffee shop, the brunette I wait every single day just to see him from a far. 'Oh- h-hi.' I stuttered. It's not normal for a girl to get interrupted by a man they've been spying.. or stalking.

'Hi, hi. Uhm, Chandler. Chandler is my name, uhm. Hi!' He also stuttered which made me force to hold a weird smile that is creaking from my face. 'Nice to meet you, Chandler.' I greet him, funny how I knew his name before I even get to meet him properly, 'Y/N, if you're wondering. How can I help?' I asks the taller man, I said way to fancy for a guy like him. God, why am I so awkward?'

'Y/N.. It's uh very nice name. Well, I thought I could uhm, ask you out? Like a date. If you can, of course.' He said, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. I stared at him like it was a dream come true, 'Sure!' I replied, 'What time?' His nervous emotions turns into something positive than before, 'What about 5 pm, today? Dinner's on me.'

'That'll be great.' I said, 'Wanna meet up here?' I point my hands to the ground. 'Yeah, see you, Y/N.' He walked away and did a hand motion dance to his friends. I smiled widely and walked out of the coffee house fixing myself into my jacket as I try to find a cab. I guess I have some luck in life after all.

#chandler bing #chandler x reader #friends #one shot

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thefreakymunson · 2 years

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hey!! i was wondering if you could write an eddie munsunxreader where they have the type of friendship where he’s super touchy/sweet and they both have a thing for each other? I was thinking maybe the reader saw eddie flirting with someone else, got jealous, and has been avoiding him because of it? maybe he shows up to her room and it gets a little smutty? idk, dealer’s choice!

"Boo!" Eddie shouted, grabbing your hips as he walked up behind you. A slight squeal left your lips at the intrusion as you carefully reapplied your lipstick in the little compact mirror you carried.

"Jesus, Eddie!" You shouted.

"Yeah, it's me. Don't cream yourself, princess." Eddie smirked, "What are you doing?"

"Fixing my lipstick," you said, huffing as you seen the red smudge left by his playful attack, "Or I was trying to fix my lipstick. You smudged it."

His brown eyes gleamed with mischief as he looked over at you, "Oh...if I had smudged it, it would look a lot messier than that."

A slight blush reddened your cheeks as he winked at you. If he only knew the thoughts you've had about him doing just that.

"Sounds like a fun time, Munson." You laughed.

"It would be if you ever gave me the time of day," he nodded, "Maybe one day you'll see me as more than just your freakishly good looking friend."

"Oh, shut up." You laughed.

"You coming to hellfire tonight?" He asked, leaning beside of you. He was so close you could feel the warmth radiating off of his body. The scent of his cologne and cigarettes filled the air around you. You found your heart beginning to race a bit faster.

"I planned on it." You nodded, "Am I allowed?"

"You're goddamned right you are." Eddie smirked, "You only have to ask me permission for anything when I've got you striped naked finally."

"Such a tease," you tsk'd at him.

"Do you need a ride home?" He looked down at your reflection in the mirror.

"Yeah. I do, actually." You nodded, closing the compact as you turned to look up at him, "Mind giving me a lift?"

"I don't, actually." He mocked you, making you laugh, "I'll be back with the van in a minute. Stay right here."

You done as he said and stayed in your spot as he walked off towards the parking lot. Next thing you knew, nearly fifteen minutes had passed and Eddie hadn't shown up with the van. You sighed and decided to walk to where you knew he normally parked.

On the way there, the Dio patch he wore on the back of his vest caught your eye. He was standing next to another girls car, propped up with one hand. Heather Dixon. You knew her - everyone knew her. The conversation looked intimate and when the girl playfully pushed at his shoulder, you felt your heart drop. She was flirting with him and he was eating it up. Of course he would. The girl was gorgeous.

You decided you weren't going to wait on him any longer, especially not if he was going to be flirting with other girls while he kept you waiting on the corner like some fucking dumb bimbo.

Angry tears fell down your face as you walked the few blocks distance back to your home. You shed your bookbag and shoes at the door before you ran upstairs to your bedroom and slammed the door shut behind you, collapsing into your bed with a angry grunt.

What more did you have to do in order for him to get the hint? How did he not see that you lit up whenever he was around? All the flirting you done with him seemed to be missing the point. He couldn't have been that oblivious, could he?

It was a few hours later and you were laying in bed, mindlessly flipping through the few channels your TV got when you heard a slight tap on the window.

You looked over to see Eddie perched up on the small bit of roofting that hung under your window. If he got you in trouble with your parents...

You sighed and pushed the blankets off your body, walking over to the window. He didn't he ask permission as he stepped into your room. There was a perplexed look on his face as he stared down at you.

"You're not dressed?"

"Dressed? For what?" You shrugged nonchalantly even though you know exactly what he was talking about.

"Uh...for hellfire?" He squinted his eyes, watching as you walked over to the bed and sat back down, "Where did you go earlier?"

"I got tired of waiting on you so I walked home," you shrugged, picking the remote up and leaning back against your headboard, "Figured Heather was more interesting than me anyway, so...why wait around just to watch you flirt with another girl?"

"Huh?" He shook his head slightly, "What are you talking about?"

"I seen you and Heather Dixon talking when you were supposedly going to get your van. She was flirting with you and you ate it up...just like you do every other girl who flirts with you." You said as he sat down beside of you, "Every girl except for me."

His brow furrowed, "You don't flirt with me, Y/N."

You scoffed and shook your head, angry tears filling your face as he took the remote from your hands. He was completely blind to your feelings.

"I don't flirt with you?" You shook your head, "What the hell, Eddie?"

You bowed your head, hot tears streaming down your cheeks now. You didn't know why it bothered you so much. Maybe you liked him even more than you realized. Maybe it had moved past just a "crush" phase...maybe it was genuine feelings now.

"Why are you crying?" Eddie frowned. He wanted to reach out and touch you or hug you but he knew you were angry with him. It hurt him to know that he hurt you.

"I don't know," you said softly, wiping your face as you looked up at him quickly and then back down to your hands. Those big brown eyes of his were too hard to look at, "Just hurts that you're not into me, I guess."

"What?" He scoffed, irritation evident in his voice now, "Who said that?"

Even more tears fell as he slightly raised his voice. You were always the worst when it came to discussing your feelings to others.

The two of you were quiet for a few minutes as you sat there, silently crying and hating yourself for it. You hated showing vulnerability. This wasn't how you pictured your evening going by far.

"Please stop crying," Eddie said, playfully bumping his shoulder against yours, "I don't like seeing you upset. I miss that pretty smile of yours, Y/N."

And even though you were mad at him, or maybe just mad at yourself, you leaned your head down on his shoulder as he hooked your arm over his.

"For what it's worth," Eddie said, "I am into you...I think we both just have realized we're both not very good at expressing our feelings. I think you're one the coolest girls I know. And you're fuckin' beautiful...and I'm a little shocked that you're this upset over me talking with Heather Dixon about weed, but...you know...I get it, I think. I'm sure it did look weird from your prespective."

"It didn't look like a drug deal," you said, looking up at his face, your cheek smushed against his shoulder.

"It was, though. I swear to you." Eddie gently ran a finger down the length of your jaw and cupped your chin in his hand, "Heather Dixon isn't my type."

"She's everybodies type, liar." You snorted.

"Not mine." He shrugged.

"Then what is?" You asked, your eyes locking onto his, noticing just how close your face was to his.

Soft full pink lips pressed against yours, his hand flattening against the side of your face as he gently pulled you against him. It was soft and sweet. A slow and gentle dance of mouths as his free hand moved to rest on your lower back.

"You are," he mumbled between kisses, "Y/N...you are."

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson x reader #Stranger things #Stranger things fanfic #Eddie Munson fanfic #thefreakymunson #Fluff

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daemonicdorset · 5 months

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I went through your disdain tag and I just wanna say that IMO you are absolutely right. I always had an rancid feeling about him. And idk, as someone who was a victim of sexual violence from someone taking advantage of me when I was inebriated (like Asmo), I find that whole ordeal pretty unforgivable. People like Solomon so much, so I thought I'd give him chances, but thanks for reminding me that I don't have to.

Pacts can basically make the demon your slave (whether a human actually uses the demon as a slave or not is up to them). Using the fact someone is blasted to make one (and then force them to build your temple and do god knows what else) and spiking someone's drink to have another one (after legitimately harrassing and borderline stalking them) is fucking foul.

And people always hc him as being MC's protector, but he openly thought the situation in which they could be eaten at any moment was funny. I legit think Solmare straight up re-conned his initial personality for NB, because I found him straight up creepy and unbearable in S1 and S2. I just wish they could have given us the option to tell him to fuck off and die.

Another thing is that people point out MC "tricked" the brothers into pacts too, the worst example being Mammon. The difference is that MC was an utterly powerless human at the mercy of even the least powerful demons, and their protector wasn't doing jack shit (at that point in time). Besides Levi basically making them get the pact anyway, it cannot be compared to Solomon's experiences with making a pact with Asmo at all. The rest of the brothers gave their pacts willingly, even when they knew the didn't know the whole reason MC was making pacts.MC never roofied someone to get a pact or took advantage of them being unable to consent (and the Mammon/MC pact situation isn't even comparable).

Anon, can I make out with you platonically for being the most based person in this fandom? /lhj

[For those who prefer not to see posts discussing this analogy, I've created the tag #daedor disdain as a way to help others avoid reading posts that I make about it. Otherwise, I remind you that you are choosing to read my content.]

Yes. Yes. Every single point here yes.

I think people often forget just how much control over a demon that a pact with them gives a human. MC doesn't tend to use them malevolently, but we know that Solomon has been established as someone who absolutely will not hesitate to manipulate people if it gets him what he wants; specifically, power and/or things that he can use as leverage against people.

You're especially right about MC's pacts- the demon brothers knew full well at the time of making them that MC wasn't being fully honest about their true intentions in forming pacts with all of them, and they chose to make those pacts regardless.

MC's pact with Mammon in particular, you're right about that as well. Aside from the fact that Levi essentially pressured them into making it in order to get his help (if I recall correctly), MC was in a life-threatening situation. They had been summoned to a completely new and very dangerous realm which they had been explicitly told was hostile towards their species.

Solomon already had as many pacts as he does, so his pact with Asmo is created solely out of power-hungry greed.

There's also the fact that... pacts are the entire point of the game? Barring the romantic aspect of it being an otome game, it's called One Master to Rule Them All for a reason. The main plot is based solely upon MC making/having pacts with all of the demon brothers.

I've said this before, but I really don't think that this analogy is one that's unintentional. And I don't entirely get Solmare's point in choosing to write that rather than anything else. Solomon could have shown he was a manipulative person in any variety of ways besides that, even just with the point of his pact with Asmo.

But instead, Solmare basically committed murder to his character for several people in the fandom because a lot of us simply find his actions unforgivable. Which is a damn shame, because he's fascinating as a character, but his actions completely ruin any chance I had of liking him due to my own thoughts on them.

#obey me #obey me!#obey me game #obey me! game #obey me shall we date #obey me! shall we date?#obey me solomon #om solomon #daedor prattle #daedor asks #daedor disdain

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scriptlgbt · 1 month

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How would you feel about us opening the ask box?

So... we have a giant backlog of years-old messages. Some of the questions may or may not be relevant anymore to their askers. Some are from deactivated blogs. Some are things we've struggled to answer. Etc.

The backlog of asks has prevented us from opening the ask box.

So we want to ask you as readers and writers what your opinion is. Longer explanation below.

Life happens, and this is all volunteer-run. But I am sorry for all of you who wrote to us over the past few years only for us to not have the capacity to answer at the time.

Something we have done in the past was briefly open asks to help us get the momentum going, while we chipped away at older asks that required more research or reaching out to guest mods with identities we don't have. Or slowly getting to answering questions about our own trauma in order to help someone else write it in a way that respected its gravity.

With opening the ask box then, it also meant that the mountain continued to grow large. In an ideal world, we'd be able to answer every ask quickly.

I realize folks will see this and reply with, "why not just get new mods?"

Taking on new mods requires figuring out what an application looks like, reaching out to demographics besides our own (and knowing where to do this, and the right way, considering this is an unpaid gig), interviewing, and training new mods in how the ScriptFamily group of blogs operates. And generally, even when people go through all that process, very few people are able to maintain activity on the blog. Which is understandable! We are all in that boat! (ALSO. This isn't a sideblog, so it requires logging in and out, or using another browser, pls advise if you know a workaround. ) So the balance of labour put in to bring on new mods, vs. labour saved by it, is a HUGE roll of the dice.

I say all this not to discourage people from asking tough questions. Only to hopefully give some insight into why some asks take so long, and that it's because I've been researching Molly Houses from their heyday for like 5 years and figuring out what a Bavarian asexual man would call himself in 1920 using repatriated texts from the Magnus Hirschfeld Institute, typed manually and auto-translated. And also... someone asked about the omegaverse, AKA the A/B/O trope and transness this one time and... we all have a lot to say, haha. It's a lot to unpack! But we're passionate. And I hope as we work through asks in the future, our archive will help us better be able to help you.

But IDK, what are your thoughts on all this? Should we just go through the backlog very slowly (regardless of the age of the asks)? Or do you want the ask box opened for your current questions?

#mod stuff #mod post #mod nat #writeblr #writing advice #scriptlgbt

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samiwife · 7 months

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I NEED SOME DATING HEADCANONS WITH ROBERT SMITH PLEASE 🙏🙏🙏

OMG, I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR SOMEONE TO ASK FOR HEADCANONS!!! THANKS 4 THE REQUEST

Headcanons and Preferences 𓆩⟡𓆪 (Ft: Robert Smith)

𓆩♡𓆪= Smut

ੈ✩‧₊˚= Fluff

⋆ ★= Angst

𓆩⟡𓆪 = Headcanons

Robert would wake you up in the morning by wrapping his arms around you. You'd be surprised by how messy his hair is.

Lipstick smudges EVERYWHERE

Would take your lipstick without asking

You hear him sing in the shower constantly

You would always steal his oversized sweaters

He would try to teach you guitar but you always fail

You'd be the one with lipstick stains on your face, clothes, and bed.

During sex, you pull on his hair HARD

He's very quiet during sex

Occasionally he whimpers your name, and you LOVE it

He would take you to his favorite writing spots

You would always order tea for him even tho he feels bad about it

Robert believes "a man should always pay"

Would be upset if you didn't eat a proper meal

Would always bring an extra piece of food just in case you got hungry

Would doubt himself in holding your hand

He loves praise and cuddling

Would watch old black and white movies with you

Would fall asleep at your place every time on dates.

Always chews bubblegum and would blow bubbles

Would stick his tongue out at you

Would randomly take 0.5-angle pictures

Would take random photos of you

He likes it when you play with his hair

He loves it when you sing or do anything music-related

Would get silently jealous when you talk to guy friends

When he's mad he gives you the silent treatment

Loves flowers and would try to plant them in the backyard

Would randomly talk to strangers on the street

He would take you to see musicals and plays he likes

He would randomly eat plain bread

He wears oversized shirts, jackets, and everything.

When the weather is cold he would wear scarfs and make you cookies

Sometimes late at night, he would read books with pictures

When he can't sleep, he lies next to you in bed playing with your hair

Would make silly faces at you

Would widen his eyes when looking at you far away

Write poems on small sticky notes and stick them around the place

When he's sick, he stays in bed surrounding himself in blankets and pillows. So he looks like an old lady.

He has VERY cold hands

He also has very veiny and pale hands

Doesn't go outside much besides writing and gardening

Hates going shopping at malls and grocery stores

Hates hot weather (thinks it ruins his makeup)

Would creep up behind you and give you hugs

Loves to rest his head on your shoulder

Asks for you to paint his nails

Would always rant about his hatred for Morrissey

Would sleep like a vampire (haha jk)

He's very weird but in a good way

Never smiles but when he does it's for you

Loves animals, especially cats

Doesn't know how to use chopsticks

For Halloween, instead of matching. He would dress in drag like wigs and makeup

He would say "oh la la" when you take your clothes off (HAHA I'M SORRY)

He would also say "oh no no" when he messes something up

Would unironically say "yippie" or "yay" when he accomplishes something

And lastly, he would be a sweetheart while dating you. He would buy flowers, candy, etc for you. Hold your hand, hug you, etc. He'll just be an all in all sweetheart.

WOAH okay, this is my first time making headcanons so idk how to end it? So, I hope you enjoyed this attempted headcanon? Anyway, THANKS 4 READING!!!

#fanfiction #headcanon #80s rock #80s music #robert smith the cure #robert smith #robert smith headcanons #the cure #the cure headcanons #the cure imagines #robert smith imagines

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itsclydebitches · 11 months

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Can someone ezblain why we had that whole roy vs jamie over keeley fight revived? I was happy that they were being friends. Then they went to keeley's house and wer liek you pick and I was so sure she was going to be like why not both? I was on that train. Her canon reaction made sense but then made ask why bring it up at all? They were doing fine. Their relationship grew beyond fighting over a girl, after what they went thru togtherr? Idk

I really wish I could explain it, anon. Personally, I think the problem started an episode before when they suddenly introduced the "I don't want to just be friends" conflict when, from where I was standing, Roy and Keeley had already gotten back together, concluding the journey we've known they were on since the start of Season One. Keeley starts falling for Roy, they date, have some struggles, overcome them, and presumably conclude the series as an item, demonstrating that Keeley can be a strong, independent boss while also indulging in the romance she's been interested in since her introduction.

But then, suddenly, their night together + Rebecca's realization doesn't mean they're dating again. Okay, weird to introduce that in the literal final hour, but I guess they wanted one last conflict for the finale. I got ohhhhh so excited when Roy admitted to being anxious about "stuff" because what could that possibly be except him grappling with feelings for Jamie too? He and Keeley JUST slept together, he JUST wrote her a love confession, he JUST said overtly and without reservations that he wants more than friendship, so there's nothing Keeley-only related that he'd be this nervous about. It's got to be the poly plot-line that's been happening in the background. This is why everyone looks to Jamie during Colin's coming out scene. This is how we confirm Beard's reminder that there are more queer people in the room. This is why we see Jamie's bedroom with a sexualized Keeley AND a poster of Roy right beside it, positioning them as equals. This is why we got moments like Jamie attending Roy's uncle party because yeah, they haven't just become friends, they've become intimately close. Holy shit, Ted Lasso's actually gonna do it!

So I went into the bar scene not liking the regression to jealousy -- and I hated that Jamie used the video to try and one-up Roy, especially after all the good work the writing did with that: having him apologize and keeping that information from Roy when it was none of his business -- but I figured this was just the messy way the story was getting us to that poly ending. They need to act in the traditional Manly Fashion over the girl, going so far as to demand that Keeley choose one of them, in order to access the opportunity for her to say (and I could hear it so clearly in her voice): "Why should I choose just one?" The lead-up to this could have definitely been done better, I thought, watching the three of them sit down at the table, Like, I hate that we're suddenly regressing to set this up, it's stupid, but a canonical poly ending will be worth some missteps. Hell, I'll forgive a LOT here because we almost NEVER get that representation and in a show this popular? Hot damn, that's amazing.

And then Keeley just kicked them both out.

Thank god she remained single, like she always should have been. Strong and independent! I've seen a lot of fans say post-finale and I'm just in my corner going wait, I'm happy for you, truly I am, but I'm asking in the nicest way possible if we watched the same show?? The one where Keeley has ALWAYS wanted a romance? How she's an amazing character in part BECAUSE the writing allowed her to love romance and sex and being a badass boss? Where she and Roy were set up to be the True Love story from the very start? How a Keeley/Roy/Jamie story has been happening subtly in the background, now primed to become canon in the season largely focused on queer identities? How Keeley did not need to be the narrowly defined strong, independent, single woman when Rebecca Fucking Welton was right there, loving her life post-divorce, and instead the story decided to give her a man and a little girl at the last possible second?

They'll at least address that and have Keeley announce her intentions to stay single for a time after that mess with Jack, as a way of wrapping up her story, I thought and then that never happened.

They'll at least address Jamie and Roy's lingering feelings for Keeley because surely, after that bar confrontation, resulting in an actual FIGHT, they won't just shrug this off over some kebabs, I thought and then that never happened.

Well, it sucks that we didn't get a poly couple, but I suppose it was always a long shot--

[Dani slams in with two model women we know nothing about, just literal arm candy at a wedding where Beard marries his abuser that, intentionally or not, is kinda framed as a dream and wait wait wait THAT'S the canonical poly rep we're ending on??]

I've seen a couple people say that they enjoy the finale more after a re-watch and hell yeah. More power to you. Wish that were me. Unfortunately, outside the stuff I liked right at the start, I've enjoyed the finale less and less the more I've returned to it. So much just feels like it came out of nowhere, regressed the characters, contradicted long-term setups, and generally left me feeling disappointed about things they I believe we had good reason to expect from the show. These weren't things we simply hoped for and thus fans are in need of a reminder that this is not their story. This was stuff Ted Lasso textually and thematically implied... and when you're the feel good show of the quarantine era, pulling back from those implied promises feels even worse. The long-running couple break up in the most confusing, backsliding way possible. The last episode cruelly teases one of the most popular ships. Nate's entire redemption arc was rushed/had key moments pushed off-screen, giving him almost no time to re-connect with Ted. The established abuse plot-line is played straight at the end. Ted goes back to Kansas and, according to the montage, full-on abandons his found family in the name of doing right by Henry -- a level of sacrifice I don't think this kid needs or, if given the chance to have a say in all this, would necessarily even want.

Idk, there were a LOT of fantastic moments (the sign reveal makes me SCREAM!!!!!) but overall the bones of the finale left me feeling sad. The Roy/Keeley/Jamie situation is pretty reflective of that feeling.

#Ted Lasso #Ted Lasso spoilers #Keeley Jones #Roy Kent #Jamie Tartt #mymetas

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pandora15 · 9 months

Text

okay I didn't sleep very well which means that this is the perfect time for me to write a very obnoxiously long post about my very complicated feelings about ahsoka (both the show and the character).

there will be vague spoilers for what we've seen for the show so far (as of this writing, the first three episodes).

okay

also this will definitely be ramble-y and probably a bit controversial? idk man it's the star wars fandom, I'm sure to piss someone off regardless of what I say here, and I don't really care.

anyways

I'm gonna start with a simple statement.

I don't like the idea of one Jedi being better than another.

Clarification: Obi-Wan is by and large my favorite character of all time. He is my favorite Jedi. However, in my eyes, that does not make him better than all the other Jedi. That does not make him a better Jedi than all the others that we've seen in canon, just because I (or a lot of us in this specific fandom circle) like him.

make sense?

okay cool.

In a similar sense, Ahsoka is not better than all the other Jedi, including all the ones who taught her and helped shape her to who she ultimately becomes. Don't get me wrong, she is an incredible character who has gone through so much and has survived it all. And I take comfort in her character nearly as much as I take comfort in Obi-Wan's.

The way the show is going so far seems to imply that the approach that she's taking with Sabine by training her at all, when Huyang has said multiple times that the Jedi of old (ie. up until the end of the Clone Wars) would not have trained her, is absolutely the right and wonderful thing to do. So the fact that Ahsoka has previously taken this chance on Sabine and is doing so again seems to imply (to me, at least) that she is better than all the Jedi who came before her, since all of them would not have done such a thing.

The whole Sabine being practically Force-null thing but still trying to be a Jedi is a whole other conversation for another post, but…a part of me is intrigued by the idea, I guess? But I still feel like it steps back on her characterization in Rebels, and I am worried about the direction they're ultimately going to take with her.

Add this to the fact that the show demonstrates that Ahsoka has complicated feelings about the Jedi Order and being a Jedi. The fact that she calls Sabine her Padawan (a Jedi term afaik) eases my concerns slightly, maybe? I don't think it's clear quite yet how she feels about the whole thing.

But all of this stems from what happened to her during the Wrong Jedi arc.

And in the lead-up to this show, I rewatched that arc. On this rewatch, I felt a lot of sympathy for what Ahsoka goes through. She's on her own for most of the time that she's on the run, and obviously I can't say what would have happened if she'd chosen not to run away and investigate to the extent that she did, but it does seem to pile up even more evidence against her — but it also gave Anakin the stepping stones that he needed to figure out it was Barriss and Barriss the opportunity to sort of expose herself as the culprit. Like if Ahsoka hadn't run away to the lower levels to try to figure it out, would she have been better off?

We don't know. I'm not gonna make assumptions.

As for the Order and the Council, I'm going to say about that arc what I've said before: they were placed in an impossible situation. The war has drained them of the trust the public had once had in them, their dependence on the Senate made it so that they couldn't go against them.

Ahsoka says in the arc that she believes that no one in the Order fought for her, besides maybe Anakin. Yet we literally see Obi-Wan tell the Council that they can't expel her, we see the Council invite her back after her name is cleared because they still see her as one of them. A Jedi.

And yes, maybe they could have done something differently to change things. Maybe they could have taken a stand with Ahsoka against Tarkin and all the other Senators who called for Ahsoka's expulsion/trial. Maybe they could have refused to expel her to prevent all of that from happening.

But I can't imagine that things would have gone well for them or for Ahsoka if they'd done that.

Needless to say, Ahsoka could have done things differently to lead to a better outcome, and the Council could have, as well — but we don't actually know if it would have worked.

Putting all of that aside though, the way Ahsoka's character is approached after the Wrong Jedi arc aired is changed drastically, compared to how it was approached before that arc. Which makes sense, since she walks away from the life she knows and has to figure things out and all that. I know it must have been really tough for her, walking away.

Ahsoka's arc in Rebels is beautiful. I love it. The way she contends with the knowledge that Vader is Anakin, ultimately leading up to her duel with him and her sacrificing herself so that Ezra and Kanan can get away? It's so heart-wrenching to me, even now. Learning that Ezra ultimately saves her with the WBW made me so happy because she is such an important character to me, and to see her ultimately die at Vader's hand would have been completely heartbreaking.

And to see her again the Rebels epilogue, with the implication that she survives the events of the OT, was one of the most glorious endings I've seen in Star Wars. Just thinking about it makes me smile.

But after this is where the cracks begin to form for me.

We go back to Season 7 of TCW. I found the Martez sisters arc pretty fun, having rewatched it recently. However, there is this plot point of Ahsoka seeing that the Jedi are not doing anything for the people of Coruscant, since they're. you know. busy fighting a galaxy wide war and all that. (Also like the welfare of Coruscant's people is not strictly the Jedi's responsibility like assuming Coruscant has a Senator or maybe even the Chancellor would also have some level of responsibility, yeah? but people love to blame the Jedi for their problems, in and out of universe).

Anyways, the arc indicates that the Jedi are in the wrong, even though, once again, they're in this impossible situation for one thing, and they're also being "blamed" for things that aren't even their fault? And Ahsoka is like the only person who can see that so now it makes her better than all of them?

We see that play out a bit at the beginning of the Siege of Mandalore arc (which is still incredibly painful to me, thanks). We see Bo-Katan take shots at Obi-Wan for literally just saying that he has to speak to the Council about her request (I could be remembering wrong, I'm trying to double check this but youtube is literally refusing to load right now), and Ahsoka just stands there and lets it happen because "wow why are they not helping us how dare they be busy with a war omg after everything they've done to me"

And to be fair to ahsoka, it hasn't been that long since TWJ and it's totally valid for her to still be upset about it! I guess it's just painful to see especially for me because I've always loved Obi-Wan and Ahsoka's dynamic and it was just. yeah.

And yeah, Ahsoka decides to do the same to Obi-Wan later on when he says they have to go to Coruscant because their people are in danger, and Ahsoka's upset that they're not prioritizing Mandalore's people over Coruscant. Which like. Coruscant's people literally includes the two sisters you became friends with last week Ahsoka what do you mean —

anyways

in those opening moments of the siege of mandalore, it's clear that she still has a lot of emotions over what happened, and Obi-Wan takes the brunt of that. let's also not forget that she doesn't seem to want to talk to Anakin until later on, yeah?

and the way it's framed in the show, they really make it seem like ahsoka's in the right for treating Anakin and Obi-Wan like this. Like they deserve it for doing something differently than her.

When Mace Windu calls her a citizen when she LITERALLY called herself that first, people say he deserves to die? like what the fuck? it's not that serious y'all.

It's like Ahsoka has suddenly become the perfect character who can do nothing wrong ever and any time another character tries to go against that, it's implied that she's in the right and she's better than them all, actually. it's canon because dave filoni says it is.

skipping over the mando and tbobf episodes mostly because I don't have much to say about those episodes as it relates to this topic, this brings us back to the ahsoka show today.

I think it's a beautiful show with incredible music. like I'm obsessed with the end credits music. the premise is extremely interesting. I do think it should have been animated, even though the actors have worked extremely hard to get the characters down and I've literally seen how excited and passionate they are about the project while watching their interviews in-person at star wars celebration, I don't think it would ever feel the same as having the original voice actors back for all the characters.

that being said, I'm enjoying the show so far, but I am concerned. I'm worried about what the show is going to communicate about the Jedi Order and that it's going to continue to imply that Ahsoka is better and knows better than all the Jedi who brought her to where she is now.

I hope that the show is able to communicate that Ahsoka wants to be respectful of those Jedi, instead, and that they paint the concept of being a Jedi in a more positive light, instead of continuing to imply all this negativity.

I love the Jedi, and I just wish we got to see more of them in a positive light in canon.

#ahsoka tano #ahsoka spoilers #ahsoka show #so tldr if you see me like. contradicting myself a lot when it comes to this show it's because that's literally how i feel about it #i like it and i love it but i also am deeply concerned about it and i don't like what they've implied about the jedi order so far #it's complicated #and i think my complicated feelings all stem from me not liking the concept of a single jedi being better than all the rest #and just to be clear. ''better'' doesn't equate to having higher force sensitivity or anything like that #i think that's obvious from my post but. yeah.#anyways i'm gonna get up now it's a reasonable time for me to be awake now afslkjadjklfkjlakfldsaf #rip to my sleep schedule #long post

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theladyofbloodshed · 2 years

Note

Prompt-

Nessian sickfic ( cause I love angst and fluff and sicfics are my ultimate guilty pleasure ) where maybe Nesta is sick but she ignores it (cause she is stubborn and refuses to admit that she's unwell & she doesn't want to bother anyone) and goes about her day as normal ( training and all that ) continuously covering up for any ' slip-ups ' (like being slow during training and brushing it off when it's pointed out or something) and then she like maybe passes out infront of everyone at family dinner ( with the IC and the valkyries and all) or something and they all freak out ( cause I've decided that Nesta is truly cared for and loved in this fic ) and go mother hen on her cause she deserves to be coddled.But then there is also Cassian whose upset she didn't say anything and all that stuff...idk I think you can execute this idea better.

It is one of those fics I've always wanted to see (where nesta is coddled and cared for in a domestic sense) but have never found one.

It's okay if you don't want to write this though.I understand that it can be a weird request for some😅

Thanks for the prompt!

Black dots swarmed Nesta’s vision. She gripped the ledge harder, willing her body to right itself. She took another drink of water to steady herself.

‘You alright?’ Emerie narrowed her eyes at her, eyeing the shake in her hand as she pressed the cup to her lips.

‘I think my cycle is coming,’ she grumbled.

A look of sympathy passed Emerie’s face. Nesta still wasn’t used to fae menstrual cycles. They were less frequent at least than when she was mortal, but they were much, much worse. She had woken with dizziness. For once, she was thankful that Cassian had left the bed earlier than her because he’d only fuss at her staggering steps or the way her hip collided with the door frame. Nesta had pressed her face to the cool tiles in the bathroom, tamping down the temperature that had bubbled up in the bedsheets.

Since being turned, she’d only experienced two cycles and they’d been hell. This one was different however, already making her toes feel numb, her movements slow and laboured before it had really begun.

‘Do you need to stop?’

The other priestesses were still hard at work; Azriel oversaw the new recruits with his quiet, patient manner, while the tyrant was barking orders at the other end. Nesta had already snapped at Cassian for taking his bad mood out on the rest of them. For that, she’d had to drop and do twenty push-ups. Not doing them meant she was undermining him – and Cauldron forbid she endure Emerie and Gwyn’s teasing over preferential treatment if she didn’t. So, Nesta had gritted her teeth and forced her body down then back up, even when the whole roof was spinning in her vision. She thought her mate might have noticed her struggling when he put her out of her misery and stopped her at eighteen then ordered her to take a drink.

‘I’m fine.’ But she wouldn’t be if Cassian carried on drilling them this hard. He’d had an argument with Rhys over something and had taken it to heart. ‘I’ll speak to the slave-driver.’

Cassian had his arms folded, brows furrowed, watching the priestesses sparring with each other. Nesta came to stand beside him. The arm she looped through his was not a comfort – it was for her own stability.

‘Will you tone it down?’

‘Going too hard on you, sweetheart?’

‘You know exactly how hard I can take it,’ she murmured, admiring the way his pupils flared at her words. ‘But you’re working with priestesses from the library, not battle-hardened Illyrian males. Ease up or when you’re pushed off the roof, I’ll feign ignorance.’

Sweat ran down the females’ faces. Gwyn was puffing and panting, too breathless to even talk. The harsh din of their swords smashing together was beginning to make Nesta wince. Each clang struck against her temples.

‘Why don’t you show me just how gentle you want me to be?’

The challenge in Cassian’s eyes would have been something Nesta would rise to meet usually, but she wanted to be under a blanket. If she voiced any sort of hurt, he’d fuss too much. A few weeks earlier, she’d twisted her ankle and he’d acted like her life was hanging by a thread, forcing them all to stop, carrying her across the roof, demanding Azriel fetch Madja. Nesta shuddered at the memory.

It was just a cycle. It was normal to feel absolutely horrendous, but everybody got on with it. And so would she. Nesta let out a sigh and retrieved her sword. ‘Must you turn everything into foreplay?’

Cassian grinned at her. ‘One track mind.’

It was not unnoticed by Cassian that she moved more sluggish than usual or that her arm continued to drop. He only chided her for staying up late with her book. When he managed to disarm her lazily, due to her slow reaction times, he forced her to pick up her sword again and again.

‘Complacency will get you killed.’

‘That’s preferable right now,’ she muttered. The throb in her head was growing worse. If there was anymore pressure, her head might explode. She told herself to toughen up, that some of these priestesses might even be on their cycle right now and they were not causing a fuss. It hadn’t felt like this before though, she hadn’t been so nauseous and dizzy, so hot then cold.

‘Again,’ Cassian demanded. ‘Try and disarm me.’

Every time that Nesta lunged at him, her stomach churned more. Her whole body was drenched with sweat. The sage advice he offered went over her head because she was too focused on staying upright.

When she had finally managed to disarm him – thanks to a distraction tactic from Emerie and Gwyn – Nesta raced towards the nearest bin and hurled up her insides. Black encroached on her vision again as she sucked in air, kneeling with her arms wrapped around the bin.

Cassian’s hand was too hot, too heavy on her neck although he meant well. Worry nibbled at his expression already. ‘What’s wrong? Are you sick?’

‘I’m fine,’ she clipped, pushing up from the ground. ‘Pushed through a stitch.’

A cool shadow brushed across Nesta’s forehead then returned back to Azriel. He watched her carefully then said, ‘It’s probably time to stop for today.’

The priestesses who’d been drilled by Cassian all sagged with relief or dropped to the floor clutching their stomachs, making her lie more believable. This was the time where her mate would go around offering generous praise sprinkled with advice while they stretched to ensure each priestess left satisfied rather than groaning. They had started letting whichever female was bravest lead the cool down too which helped grow their confidence.

It had become a ritual to wait until all the priestesses had departed before she went inside herself, to not leave them with Cassian or Azriel alone. The males would never touch them, but if her presence eased their worries then Nesta was happy to stay.

‘What time should I come for the dinner?’ Gwyn asked, rubbing her hands together.

‘Six,’ Azriel replied swifter than Nesta could process the question.

‘You’re welcome to come earlier,’ Cassian added. He gestured to Emerie. ‘Emerie will be here too.’

They had only had a few dinners altogether; Nesta had spent them sandwiched between the two females at the far end of the table enjoying their own private conversation. Usually, she’d look forward to it – to at least have fun while the inner circle stroked their own egos – but with every passing moment, she felt worse and worse. Taking that excitement from Emerie and Gwyn’s eyes was an abhorrent thought though, so Nesta straightened up and continued on.

In the few hours that followed, Cassian returned to Illyria – likely to run off the end of his bad mood on some poor unsuspecting male there. In a sheepish voice, Emerie asked if she could take a shower and a nap in a spare room since she was exhausted from training. Nesta almost tore her arm off in eagerness at the offer.

Instead of seizing the opportunity to catch up on sleep in a tranquil House of Wind however, Nesta ended up clutching the toilet again. She had tried to breathe through the cramps squeezing her stomach while the bed felt like a boat on a tumultuous sea, until she’d raced to the bathroom to retch up every last drop of that morning’s breakfast. If she fixated on a spot on the wall then the whole house didn’t feel as if it was tipping on its side. One moment she was fevered, tearing at her clothes for some relief and the next, her body trembled beneath a blanket. Just a cycle, she told herself again.

When they were all seated at the table, the smells wafting from the kitchen heightened her nausea. The conversations swirled around her. Mor’s ringing laughter was like the peal of a high-pitched bell scraping in her mind. The deep rumble of Cassian’s voice shook her eardrums so violently that Nesta fought the urge to clamp her hands over her ears. She did, however, grip her forehead.

‘Are you well, Nesta?’ Elain asked, her hand stilled as it reached for a dish.

‘Fine. I forget how loud those two are.’ Cassian and Mor were like a pair of hyenas together, one high-pitched and yipping, the other capable of shaking the room with his voice.

Lucien smiled. The motion had the scar on his face tightening. ‘I’m glad we picked this end of the table.’

The heat from the dishes rose around the table. Nesta had worn a plain grey gown, suitable for the autumn day, but it suddenly felt too thick on her body. Her armpits were turning into a swamp and she fanned her face.

‘You don’t look good.’

Nesta blew out a breath through her pursed lips. ‘That was rude.’

Gwyn shook her hair from her face. ‘I mean that you look sick, Nesta.’

‘I’m absolutely fine,’ she lied, reaching for the dish of buttery parsnips.

The idea of putting anything in her mouth already had her gag reflex pulsing, but Nesta was nothing if not iron-willed. She forced down a forkful of her dinner then another. She sliced into the tender cut of lamb on her plate, barely chewing before swallowing that too. Heat radiated from her skin. Her dress was clinging to the sweat pooling on her back.

‘You’re sweating,’ Gwyn whispered.

‘Meat sweats,’ replied Nesta, waving away her concern. She jerked the cut of her dress from her chest, flapping it a few times to try and cool herself. Her skin was clammy, speech slurring. ‘It’s hot in here, isn’t it? I need a window.’

It was a mistake to stand so quickly. The floor shifted under her feet so the table appeared as if it was rising into the air as her vision swam. Nesta took a step closer to the window, forcing her feet to move, hoping the blurriness marring her sight would right itself.

Black swamped her. At first, she thought it was Cassian engulfing her with his mighty wings, but her feet kept moving, almost running forwards to save herself. Each beat of her heart was slower, weaker, like a feeble fluttering in her chest.

***

‘Has she been drinking?’ Mor murmured, kicking him under the table.

Cassian jerked his head towards the far end of the table where Nesta was rising unsteadily. Feyre frowned. Beside him, he felt Rhys tense.

‘Hot here. I’m need. Window.’

Nesta’s head lolled to the side as she slurred her speech. Cassian shot from the chair, hurdling towards her, but not quick enough. Nesta fell forwards as she fainted, face smashing into the windowsill on her way to the floor.

‘Shit.’

‘Cauldon, is she alright?’

‘I’ll get Madja.’

‘Oh my goodness!’

Cassian turned Nesta over. She’d taken a chunk out of her eyebrow and the gash was bleeding steadily, but she remained unconscious.

‘Lift her legs,’ Lucien advised, joining him on the floor beside her.

He followed the male’s commandment, raising Nesta’s legs by the ankles and holding them aloft. His throat was dry. Blood pounded in Cassian’s eardrums.

‘She’s only fainted,’ he reassured though it didn’t help. He’d not been quick enough to get to her.

It could only have been thirty seconds at most, yet each one was drawn out to an eternity. Finally, Nesta’s eyes opened groggily. She tried to push up then flopped back down, groaning and clutching the handkerchief Lucien had pressed over her wound.

‘I’m not sick,’ she announced.

‘Like hell you’re not,’ Cassian fumed.

Azriel appeared by them, face knotted with concern. ‘Carry her to bed, she needs to be somewhere soft.’

Elain hurried ahead of them opening each door then peeled back the duvet for Cassian to tuck his mate into – but her skin was like a furnace. The window latch clicked as Emerie opened both to allow the cool evening breeze in.

‘How long has she been sick for?’ Feyre strode from the bathroom brandishing a damp cloth and pressed it to her elder sister’s forehead.

Guilt writhed in Cassian’s stomach. She’d been lethargic in training, but he’d put it down to the fact she’d been awake until the early hours with her book. Damn Azriel for buying her that tiny faelight booklight which meant she’d lay there with the blanket over her head reading and reading until exhaustion took over her body.

‘I’m fine,’ she protested. ‘We can continue dinner.’

The dribble of blood down her face together with the rapidly swelling lump did nothing to convince any of them that Nesta was fine. Her golden hair was damp with sweat. Nobody missed the way she screwed her eyes shut and took shaky little breaths each time she adjusted position.

A rumble of power in the room alerted them to Rhys’ return with the kindly healer, Madja. They swept the growing crowd from the bedside and Cassian inwardly grimaced at the mess he and Nesta had left it in. If she was in a fit state, she’d be shooing them all out of the room rather than let them see her personal things.

‘How long have you had symptoms for?’

‘I’m not sick,’ Nesta repeated. ‘There’s no need to fuss.’

‘Let Madja clean your eyebrow at least,’ Rhys suggested. Feyre had come to stand by him, her mouth twisting with worry. He rubbed her arm with soothing circles.

Dependable Nesta who never let anything pin her down for long, was still putting up a fight. She forced herself upright, clamping her jaw together as she did so. After steeling her nerves, Nesta swung her legs onto the floor and pushed herself to a standing position. The simple move had her sweating with exertion, but she would not meet the eyes of any in the room.

‘There,’ she said shakily. ‘Fine.’

Madja made a noise that could have been a laugh. ‘Walk to the bathroom for me, Nesta.’

The healer jerked her chin towards Nesta as a sign they should flock around her. His mate made it all of three steps before her knees began to quiver and she fainted again. This time, Lucien and Elain had their arms around her, guiding her unconscious form back to the bed. Gwyn lifted Nesta’s ankle and wedged a pillow beneath them.

‘Why won’t she let us take care of her?’ Feyre murmured.

Because Nesta never wanted that to be held over her, Cassian thought. Because Feyre had hunted for her, and all of them had used that to guilt-trip Nesta for a couple of years. She hated depending on anybody. It had taken months before she would let him make her something to eat or help her with sharpening weapons. She’d always eye him suspiciously, worried that he might only be doing it because he wanted something in return.

‘Do you know what symptoms she’s been displaying and for how long?’

At the healer’s question, Cassian could feel his cheeks burning. No, he hadn’t realised his mate was sick. If she’d felt that way for a while, she’d hidden it from him. Shame washed over him.

In the corner, Emerie cleared her throat. ‘She said her cycle is coming.’

‘She vomited during training,’ added Azriel.

Madja placed the back of her hand to Nesta’s forehead. Her magic crawled over her, seeking an ailment. ‘It’s not her cycle. She has a virus. A nasty one. And because of this,’ she gestured to the gash on her brow, ‘I’d wager a concussion too.’

Her magic, a pale, yellow glow, knitted Nesta’s skin back together once the wound had been cleaned with antiseptic.

‘There’s nothing to do except let the virus run its course. Fae sickness is different to mortal ones - it is good if she is able to fight it with her own immune system.’

‘What can be done?’

‘Rest,’ Madja replied to her high lord. ‘For the nausea, bland foods. Try and get her to eat small amounts at a time. Plain toast, bananas, apple sauce. Don’t force her to eat if it makes her sick.’

‘Tea?’ Mor suggested.

‘Ginger can settle a stomach. Peppermint can be useful. Keep her in bed.’

‘Cass will have no issue with that,’ Rhys joked.

Over the laughter, Madja continued, ‘She must rest. No intercourse. While her body fights it, she’ll need lots of sleep. I can provide a tonic that will help her to sleep through fevers too, and another for the pain.’

The room quietened down with Mor, Azriel, and Lucien filing out with the healer. Mor had rustled through the cupboards but only found black tea, which she’d brewed anyway and rested on the bedside table before departing. Feyre loaded up a tray of leftovers and brought it into the bedroom. They picked at food quietly while Nesta slumbered in the bed. Elain perched on the edge of the mattress, holding the cold compress to her sister’s head and taking every opportunity to smooth the blankets around her body.

‘What can I do?’ Rhys asked.

Feyre drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair she’d dragged in from the living room. ‘We have ginger at home, I think. Maybe even peppermint tea. Could you fetch that?’

‘Anything else? Bananas? I can ask one of the twins to make fresh bread. What kind does Nesta like?’

‘Seeds,’ Cassian said. ‘She loves the loaves packed with seeds.

‘Emerie, do you want to stay? Or I can take you back to Illyria?’

At the address from her high lord, Emerie blushed but held her head high. ‘Could I return? Can I come back in the morning? Before training?’ Gwyn nodded eagerly at her side.

The two Valkyries departed, leaving Cassian with all three Archerons. Feyre had taken up the space on the other side of Nesta; both sisters keeping a vigil by the eldest who was stirring slightly. Cassian sat in the chair, fighting against the instinct to move both Feyre and Elain away from his mate so he could be the one beside her. But she hadn’t told him she’d felt unwell. The pain of it was a raw wound, sensitive to touch. He’d forced her to drop into push ups for complaining. Pushed her hard enough that she’d vomited because Nesta would never back down from anything.

‘She never gets sick,’ Feyre mused. She’d folded together a loose sheet of parchment into a fan which she used to gently waft a breeze over Nesta’s blazing skin.

Cassian hadn’t known her to get sick either. Mortals generally were sicker than fae; their bodies were weaker, more prone to picking up illnesses and infection. Even at her lowest, with not an inch of fat or no food in her stomach, Nesta still wasn’t sick.

‘She does,’ Elain countered. ‘But she tells her body she’s not and pushes through.’

‘Only Nesta’s mind could disagree with the rest of her body.’

‘One time when you left… to Prythian, Nesta had the flu but she still went out and chopped wood for the fire. She wouldn’t take a rest, just snapped at me in that way of hers that she was fine.’

Cassian wanted to ask why their father hadn’t gone out to do it, to let his daughter rest when she was unwell. Or why Elain herself had watched Nesta do it rather than volunteering. It was not the time to reopen old wounds, but Cassian still carried grief over the struggles Nesta had been forced to endure in the broken-down cottage they called home.

Rhys returned with an entire banana tree. Its leaves brushed against the ceiling and the house seemed to stretch upwards to accommodate its size.

‘A whole tree, Rhys?’

‘Day Court,’ he puffed, dragging it into the bedroom by its large, ceramic pot. ‘It will be better for Nesta if the fruit is fresh.’

‘A whole tree?’ Feyre repeated.

From thin air, Rhys produced a bag. ‘Ginger tea. Peppermint tea. Peppermint and spearmint tea. Ginger and peach tea. Lemon, ginger and honey.’

‘Fuck, Rhys how many did you buy?’

He set them all out on the desk, swiping away Cassian’s carefully organised paperwork. ‘The shop was closing, but stayed open for me. I'd feel guilty if I only purchased one kind.’

‘So, you purchased every kind they sold?’ Feyre queried.

‘Nesta’s unwell.’ That reason seemed to cover everything.

Before they all departed for the night, Rhys had brewed another pot of tea. Feyre had sliced up bananas and lightly toasted bread while Nesta groggily woke in bed. Elain helped her to sit up through the protests that she was fine to do it herself.

‘Why is there a tree in my bedroom?’

‘Rhysand was worried about you.’

Nesta blinked at Elain, the reply not quite answering her question.

‘Madja recommended bananas to help settle your stomach,’ Cassian explained, sitting in Feyre’s vacant position on Nesta’s left. He stroked a wide hand across her face, feeling the searing heat beneath. ‘Do you want to try and nibble on toast? Feyre’s making some for you.’

‘There’s ginger and peach tea here too. You used to love peaches.’ Before Nesta could protest, Elain was lifting the cup to her lips and cradling her jaw. ‘You must keep your strength up.’

‘I have strength. I disarmed my mate earlier.’

‘Through cheating.’

A spark lit up Nesta’s eyes as she caught his own gaze. ‘It doesn’t matter how the battle is won, as long as it is.’

Once the final three departed, Cassian slunk an arm around Nesta in bed. Her skin had cooled, but she remained sleepy and lethargic. He fed her chunks of cold toast that took her an age to chew. Her eyes were closed, head tilted towards his chest.

The question had been brimming on his lips for a long time. He had waited until the others had departed to give his insecurities a voice. ‘Nes, why didn’t you say anything?’

‘I didn’t want you to fuss. I’ll be fine tomorrow.’

‘Maybe I wanted to fuss over you,’ he said. ‘Maybe I want to take care of my mate. It hurts me that you didn’t think I would take care of you. I feel horrendous that I made you train today. And do not say that you are fine.’

Nesta let out a long sigh after sipping at her tepid tea. ‘I know you’d take care of me. You flap around like a mother hen if I get a papercut.’

‘Because I love you. And seeing you in any pain causes me distress. I just want you to be safe and happy and well.’

‘It’s just my cycle.’

‘Madja said you have a virus. And you are staying in bed tomorrow. Maybe even the next day.’

‘What about training?’

‘Az will do it. I’ll be here with you. Emerie is coming in the morning along with Gwyn. So let us take care of you like you deserve.’

#nessian #sick fic #one shot

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