#I used to have very long hair (pretty sure it reached my thigh) and the size of my hair bun is about that big (more or less)

[nu-suave]

WHAT IT'S LIKE DATING SATORU

word count: 992

a/n: hi. i wanted to write satoru being emotionally vulnerable so-!

The thing with Satoru is that, despite popular belief, he doesn’t know how to be casual. If you’re in a relationship with him, he’s not going to be casual about it - once you get to know him, it’s not hard to tell that he’s cripplingly lonely. Letting someone into his life? Consider yourself lucky. Seriously. Dating him comes with a lot of vulnerability on his part. The last person he’d let this close was Getou, and it took months of flirting with him before he opened up about the man. He doesn’t have anyone to talk to about his desires, his insecurities, he has no one to be truly vulnerable with before you; it takes a long time to start dating because of it, but when you finally get there the gates flood open.

If you thought he was affectionate before you started dating, you’re in for a surprise. Any reservations he had previously (of which you didn’t even know he had) very quickly evaporate. It doesn’t take long for his favourite thing at the end of the day to become draping himself over you, head on your shoulder and arms wrapped loosely around your torso as he discusses his day. If it’s not that then he’s reclining on the couch, head cradled on your thighs as he looks up at you as you’re on your phone, watching in content silence. He’s seemingly always got a hand on you, and you consider it just a quirk of his until he quietly confides with you one day, voice thick with sleep, that he’s terrified he’ll find you not real; that you, the fragile tenderness he shares with you, the happiness and content Satoru associates with you, will not be there - either by a fiction of his imagination or something crueler, death or abandonment or any number of awful things.

Satoru loves physical intimacy - not necessarily sexual in nature, just the constant reminder that you’re there with him. He finds himself unwilling to let go of you, like it’ll shatter that intimate bubble he nurtures every time you’re together, private or otherwise. 

“Satoru, I can’t move,” you say, more a meaningless complaint than an actual accusation. He’s accosted you in the kitchen when you’re in the middle of making dinner, swooping  in after his day at work to demand your attention. As per usual, his head is nestled in your hair, one hand spread at the curve of your waist as the other sits innocuously on your shoulder. You turn towards him - forcing him to loosen his grip even as his hands slide to settle on your hips - to press a kiss at the corner of his mouth. “If you’re going to crowd the kitchen, you might as well help me cook. Grab a pot for me?”

“I’m only here to do chores for you,” he whines, lips pulling up into his characteristic smile. He’s lost the blindfold, and the bright, piercing blue of his eyes light up his pretty features, giving him a more boyish look than his typical fashion. “Be honest, do you even like me, or am I only here to be bossed around?”

“Of course I love you,” you say plainly. “Don’t play dumb. Aren’t you supposed to be the strongest? Surely you can boil some water.”

“You misuse my skills,” he replies, pressing a kiss to your temple before moving to do as asked. He never actually puts up a fight when you ask him to do things; you could even say a part of him thrills at the notion of you bossing him around the kitchen, indulging in the mundanity that Gojou Satoru, the Strongest, is very rarely allowed to experience.

Whenever you reciprocate his affections - reach out first, lean into his side, ply him with sweet words and even sweeter actions - his heart feels it could burst out of his chest. Whenever you initiate anything, whether it be tugging him closer before you fall asleep or suggesting ideas of where to go out to eat, a part of him is newly thrilled and flustered each time. He’s not used to this tenderness, this reciprocity. He treats it in his heart like something delicate that he’s terrified of losing, and ecstatic to experience over and over.

He tries to keep things relatively light-hearted, tone constantly dipping into teasing or playful and veering away from solemnity. It’s his way of preserving this bit of peace he has, shuttering his heart away from the almost inevitable breakdown of your relationship. It takes you a while to pick up on it, but once you do, you’re quick to call him out on it.

“Don’t do that,” you scold, and for once you sound genuinely annoyed. “You think I can’t tell when you’re trying to play it off? You need to tell me when these things upset you, Satoru. I’m not a mind reader.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, the apology sweet on his tongue, “I’m not used to having good things stay in my life. Can you blame me for trying to preserve it?”

You huff, letting him pull you closer through your linked hands. His fingers lace through yours properly, flexing and unflexing against your own. “The best way to preserve our relationship is to be honest with me, Satoru. I’m not going to be upset with you for being bothered by things.”

Even then, he’s painfully concerned that he’s misreading things. He tries not to make it obvious, but he can’t help it sometimes. Satoru reaches out to pull you closer, he’ll text you something dumb just to see your reply, and he’ll call you at the end of the day just to hear your voice. Sometimes, he needs something more than that; voice thick with exhaustion, fingers tangled into your hair, he’ll whisper the words into your skin; I’m not misreading things, am I? You really love me?

Of course, you reply every time, how could I not?

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #gojou x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojou x you

[baldursyourgate]

Minthara's Hair, by Wiktoria Kubien via Artstation

#reference #minthara #minthara baenre #baldur's gate 3 #I used to have very long hair (pretty sure it reached my thigh) and the size of my hair bun is about that big (more or less) #so Minthara's hair is pretty long

[hoseoksluna]

MURK | myg ft. jjk

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

genre: angst, smut

word count: 16.9k

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

pinterest board: murk

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You keep it clenched in a tight fist. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You step into the shower, needing to get away. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You put a stop to it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you ask him. “Why are you here?” 

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

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

Stillness in his features. “So did I.” 

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

“Tilt your head back.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then it hits you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gasp. “No, Yoongi, I didn’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yoongi hasn’t come back yet. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You drift to sleep during the ride home. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did he tell you?”

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

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

“Did you?” 

“No.” 

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

It’s better than to feel nothing. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And again. 

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

He became obsessed with it. 

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

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

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

You wanted Jungkook again. 

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

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

He put two and two together. Immediately.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You fixed your mistake quickly. 

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

“Did I talk? Like I do normally?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And in the meantime, you doll yourself up. 

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

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

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

“He’s coming over later.” 

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

And you pray nothing gets in the way. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You hungry?” 

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

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

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

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

And he deepens the eye contact. 

“How do you like your butt plug?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t wear boxing gloves?” 

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

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

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

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

And you will. 

You will heal both of the males. 

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

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

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

But Yoongi can’t bear to see it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stillness, arousing stillness. You smile, innocently. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You have a perfectly free hand by your side.

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

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

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

He only chuckles, deeply. Teased, but pleased. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you shall. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yoongi hums. “Where?” 

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

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

“Like what?” 

“Touch yourself.” 

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

“How?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Am I doing it right?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The afternoon spent in the cabin dissolves. 

You didn’t expect that to happen. 

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

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

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

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

Out with the old, in with the new. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Off. Everything.” 

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

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

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

But when Yoongi leaves, your heart sinks in panic. 

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

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

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

It’s you who alleviates the tremors. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t have to think twice. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nods. 

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

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

He’s Daddy. Undeniably. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist / READ part one, READ part two 

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

[tojjist]

‘1-800-fix it felix !’

in which; When your boyfriend has a problem he knows who to call! Can you fix it? featuring: s.gojo x afab! reader contains: masturbation, face time s3x , reader shows her br3asts over the camera, bathroom masturb@tion, pet names (babe, baby), reader being a tease, gojo being js a little bit subby

Satoru thinks of you all the time. He thinks of the new perfume you bought last week, of the pretty dress you wore to your last date. He thinks about how pretty you look when your hair is done all up, and about how sweet your voice sounds in this voice note you just sent him.

Fuck. He’s hard.

Can you blame him? You just woke up and for some inexplicable reason thought sending him a voice message while he’s at work is a good idea. Do you not notice the way you sigh your half-coherent words? Do you not notice the way you sigh out your words, barely coherent? Satoru swears he can feel his ears tingling at the longing in your voice for him.

You’re not making this at all easy. 

Just as you start to drift back to sleep, there's a buzz somewhere around your head. Curses slip from your lips as you grope around the duvet, trying to locate your device with your half-asleep senses. With your eyes barely open, you try to read the contact name.

Of course it’s Satoru. Of course it’s a facetime call. He can’t settle for a damned text. It’s his brand at this point. You appreciate the attention, of course. But you’re sure you told him you’re going back to sleep in that voice note. 

As soon as your finger swipes the little green icon to answer the call, you begin to speak, “I swear to god Satoru-”

“Hey baby,” he cuts you off. It sounds like he's in a confined space. A toilet stall, maybe? You're too sleepy to dwell on it. “I missed you”

“Mhmm..” You yawn. “‘Missed you too…”

The camera on his end is slightly shaky, and so is his breath. But in this sleepy state you can barely notice it really.

“What's up...?” you ask, flipping over and adjusting the phone, ”is everything okay?”

“Yeah—fuck—” his eyebrows furrow, giving you a moment of confusion. "You're looking so pretty—hah—baby."

“Satoru…” realization dawns on you, excitement stirring within. “Show me.”

The camera trembles as it takes him nearly a minute to respond to your request. Finally, his finger hits the flip camera button, giving you a shaky view of his fist wrapped around his length, stroking himself vigorously. 

Pearly precum oozes from his tip, a thumb moving to spread it slightly before he goes back at it again.

“Oh? Is this all f’me?” You grin, observing his subdued grunts. It would be such a shame if someone were to come into the bathroom right now. “This early in the morning, too? Couldn’t you wait to get home at least?”

“Sh– hah– shut up,” he picks up the pace, starting from the very base, “at least make yourself– useful.”

Your tongue glides across your lower lip, considering your next move. While you love watching Satoru struggle on his own like this, relishing at the revelation that it’s the thought of you that makes him like this, you also think a little assistance wouldn’t harm. 

“What do you wanna see?” You smirk smugly, enjoying this ordeal.

“Fuck– fuck– baby,” he’s quiet resilient with it, strokes increasing in pace little by little. “Sh-show me your tits, baby.”

“Hmm? What if I don’t?” Undeniably, you’re gonna regret this later. You savor the moment nonetheless. There’s a certain sort of zest in the control you have over this moment.

“Fuck you,” his fist tightens around his dick, veins popping out. You love the view. God, you wish you were there to help. Your thighs tighten to squelch the heat growing in your core. “Please, baby, ‘wanna see my girl’s pretty– shit– tits”

That’s enough to convince you. More than enough, actually. Without hesitation, you lift your t-shirt up, showing him a view that nearly makes him faint. He can almost feel the warmth of your skin against his. He feels his climax reaching. You move your fingers, massaging your breast. That was his endgame.

A string of curses begins to slip past his lips, along with a grunted “I’m gonna- fuck- I'm gonna cum-”

Your grin widens, biting your lower lip. “Mhm… so hard for me, ‘Toru..? Wish I was there to help…” Your words come out stretched, all on purpose. It causes a robust groan to thunder through him. The view begins to totter. With a final groan, milky robes seep out of Storu’s shaft, running down his white knuckles and onto his thighs. His breathes even out as he comes down from his high.

“You’re welcome,” you hum, satisfied. You put the phone to your side, pulling your shirt back down. When you picked the phone back up, the call was hung up. You almost feel offended, rushing to text him a ‘what the fuck?’

Before you could text him the half-angry message, your phone vibrates again.

‘sorry babe someone came in’ - 8:46 am  ‘ill call u later’ - 8:46 am ‘love ya’ - 8:47 am

You roll your eyes, definitely planning on bringing this up later. Going back to sleep will be hard with the stain on your underwear. 

Maybe you’re going to be the one to call this time so he could fix it.

#bella writes #gojo satoru #jjk #gojo x reader #jjk smut #gojo #gojo smut #gojo x reader smut #jjk x reader #jjk x reader smut #gojo satoru x reader fluff #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader smut #satoru gojo #satoru gojo smut #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru smut #one more time hopefully

[sameschmidtdiffname]

Easy Money

Derek Danforth x AFAB!Reader

Summery: Minimum wage is a joke these days and we've all gotta make rent somehow. And who knew blonds could be so fun?

Tags: AFAB/Female pronouns reader, no use of y/n, voyeurism, sex worker!Reader, drug use (marijuana), sex while high, drinking, cursing, bisexual Reader, fetish party, reader plays with several people, tempature play/improper use of ice cubes, sex toys, possessive!Derek, dick piercing (I will not debate this,) face fucking, breast play, oral sex (male recieving), thigh riding, cock warming, cowgirl and doggy position, praising, pet names, edging, rough sex, spanking, vaginal fingering, degradation, dumbification if you squint, dacrophillia. There is no plot. This is just porn. Straight up.

Notes: Y'all begged to me, now y'all begging to your man. You're welcome. Also, please consume substances responsibly. Do NOT assume an edible ain't shit. They ALWAYS are.

                       •°○《▪︎☆▪︎》○°•

The gig is simple. Stand there and look pretty.

The woman who had hired all of us was very clear on the rules; serve drinks, talk to the men, don't have a brain, and if Derek Danforth gives you an ounce of attention, you return it. Sex was optional, but they pay less if you do not engage.

I was just there for the check. Times are hard, but this dress is easy to fit into... if I don't breathe. Jesus, it's tight.

The architecture of the mansion is beautiful. Really, if I wasn't working this party I'd be studying every room for an hour each. High ceilings, detailed woodwork. It's a shame it's all bathed in purple blacklights with everyone wearing neon glowsticks.

The people in attendance are in various states of undress. Some wear their clothes fully, some wear nothing at all. Most are in various states of undress, including the waitresses.

All of our dresses are the same- tight, black, and an easily detachable top with nipple pasties underneath in the shape of blacklight activated glow stars. It's tacky, but the girls who have removed their tops are getting way more tips. And with the debt I'm in, plus the security making absolute sure no camera are recording anything, what's the harm in if I join them? It's more money for me.

The various trays contain different things. Some drinks or shots, others different foods. Then there's the drugs. Oh yes. Cocaine, pills, capped needles on at least one tray I noticed. On mine are several marijuana joints, blunts and even edibles. Our employer had told us we were allowed to indulge, but any damages caused due to our inebriation would come out of our check.

Edibles usually aren't shit for me, so I feel quite safe.

A strawberry cube is tucked safely under my tongue, taking a long while to melt. I can feel my muscles relaxing, making me smile more to the guests as I work my way through the crowd. The beginning gentle buzz helps me to forget the way these people leer at me, some even reaching over to touch me before retracting their hands quickly.

"These guests are quite used to casual sex," the woman had informed us. "There's a code here. You'll each have a pendant around your neck. Depending on the color you choose it will inform them of your preference. Red is for looking only, green means you're okay with sexual touch. It's up to your verbal communication if that touch leads to penetration."

The party was tacky, but at least consent was key.

My color currently is red. It will take more of this edible for anything to change. And currently I see no one making the trouble worth it, anyways.

Right now, anyways.

A man with bright, blond tipped hair and a loud outfit works his way through the crowd. Laughing and speaking with some, taking in the different women serving different items. There's a confident swagger in his walk, one that normally I would scoff at when sober. But with the melting cube quickly joining my bloodstream, I simply stare curiously. It's unintentional, honestly. But he takes notice, narrowing his eyes in reciprocated curiosity before making his way over.

"You're new," he says. I offer him the tray.

"I don't know what you mean," I say politely. He picks up a large blunt, taking out his own lighter instead of using one of the complementary ones on the tray. He takes a long pull, shoving the item back into his snakeskin jacket pocket that doesn't match his zebra print, silk looking button up with black leather pants.

"The other girls have been working here for awhile. Who brought you here?" He asks after taking a long pull, holding it.

"Riley," I answer. He nods, exhaling.

"She's worked here a couple years. You two close?" He asks.

Not particularly. "We're friends," I answer. He smiles a bit, taking another hit.

"You like the party?" He asks.

"I like the lighting," I answer. "And I can't say no to free edibles."

"You take some?" He asks. In answer I scoop the edible onto my tongue and stick it out for him to see. "Good girl, that shit will make you relaxed."

"How much is it?" I ask curiously. Can't be too much, surely.

"Told my guys to pick up 1000mgs," he answers, taking another hit.

... what?

My confusion must be obvious.

"You not used to that?" He chuckles, leaning against the wall next to me.

"I induldge regularly, just... lower amounts," I answer. He exhales, laughing.

"You'll have fun then. Especially if you change your color to green, but that's completely up to you," he says. There's a moment of silence between us before I speak up.

"Nice outfit," I say. He raises a brow at me.

"Yeah?" He asks, scanning me up and down. "I think I prefer yours."

"It matches better, that's for sure," I say. He laughs, then sticks out his hand, his smile confident.

"I'm Derek, by the way."

"Ah," I say. Derek.

Derek!

"Nice to meet you, Mister Danforth," I say, accepting his hand. It's warm and large, strong against mine.

"I don't want to hear Mister out of you unless you change colors, pretty girl," he says, squeezing my hand. I feel myself smiling, heart fluttering a little.

"And what would happen if I did change it, Mister?" I ask politely. His grin widens.

"Well, with the way you look already I'd say people would have a fun time with you," he says, stepping closer. "I wouldn't mind a taste myself. I like my girls warmed up, though."

"Warmed up?" I ask, raising my brow.

"I'll tell you what," he says. "You're welcome to leave your tray anywhere, as I'm sure they've told you. You can change your color to green, enjoy your edible and just let the crowd guide you to me. I promise they will." His eyes roam over me, taking me in with a hungry gaze, his mind distracted by obvious thoughts. I wonder how well his shoulders would hold me.

Shit. He's right, this is strong. The herbal smell on his breath is inviting, and I'm already leaning in. Plus, his outfit is beginning to make visually stimulating sense.

"Isn't it polite for a host to show his guest around?" I ask, batting my lashes. I can feel my eyes drying out, my cheeks buzzing and my body beginning to feel the bass of the music just a little bit more than I was a second ago.

"It is, pretty girl," Derek says, taking another hit. "But you're not a guest, are you?"

No, I'm not. I begin to pull away when his hand catches my pendant.

"You want me to get that for you?" He asks, exhaling through his nose.

"Yes sir," I answer with a smile, placing my tray carefully on the table beside me.

"Good girl," he praises, changing the color with a quick flick of his thumb. "You'll fit in just fine."

Before I can respond, his lips attach to my neck, sucking earnestly and harshly. I can't help the small cry that escapes me, my hand finding his hair and burying itself in it as he pins me against the wall.

His hand cups my breast, kneeding it carefully as he creates patterns across my skin with his mouth, licking at the newly bruised flesh before moving on to a new, unmarked area. He holds his blunt up for me, trying to keep it still enough to allow me to take a hit. I accept, holding his hand steady by the wrist, inhaling as much as I can.

His lips detach from my throat, his eyes red and glazed over as his lips graze mine.

"Care to share?" He asks lowly, his fingers still tweaking at my nipple. I'm vaguely aware that my pasties have been removed, where they've gone to I've no clue.

Obediently, I blow the smoke into Derek's mouth, his hand leaving my breast to cup my jaw, holding my mouth open with his large thumb. Once I'm done he takes his own hit, holding it for a moment before pressing his lips against mine, sealing them together before blowing the smoke into my mouth as well. His tongue slides against mine, tasting of whiskey and smoke. I don't hate the way it blends with the sweet, surgery strawberry cube still melting under my tongue.

He pulls away slightly, breathing heavily.

"You taste sweet," he says. "Mind if I try some?"

"Go ahead," I answer. I expect him to take an edible from the tray, but instead he leans in again, his tongue searching for the half melted candy. He finds it under my tongue, slipping it onto his and then pulling away, smiling in satisfaction.

"Oh," I breathe, batting my lashes in surprise.

"I'll trade you," he says, pressing a small kiss to my cheek as he passes the blunt to me. "Just let the crowd lead you, sweet girl. I'll see you in a bit."

Before I can even think of a response, he slips amongst the crowd, gone in the blink of a hazy eye.

Alright. This is fine. Great, actually. I take a hit of the sour tasting blunt and begin walking amongst the crowd.

Derek was right, I am an eye catcher. Or maybe these people aren't particularly picky. But it doesn't take long at all before people are touching me, sliding their hands over my hips as I pass by, stopping me for a moment to press me against their bodies, leaving a mark or three on my skin. The attention makes my mind blank, smiles on my lips as I whisper 'thank you's, the patrons slipping tips into the tight pockets of my skirt as they release me, letting me blend into the crowd once more until someone else catches me.

I should be revolted, I know this. But the people aren't hard to look at, and with as much as I have flowing through my system all I can really think about is how amazing I feel. My joints feel like air is passing straight through them, my head feels light and free of racing thoughts. The lights entrance me, making me easily distractable until a woman guides me gently towards her group, placing me on her lap as she talks with what I'm guessing are work colleagues. Or something. Fuck if I care.

Her hand strokes my back carefully, not speaking to me as I continue hitting my almost burnt out blunt. She glances at me from time to time, smiling sweetly as she watches me.

"Can I have some?" The older woman asks gently. Her lips are painted a dark black, revealing white teeth underneath. Her features are sharp, contoured by heavy makeup. Her hair is shaggy and black, and God, she's... broad. Muscular and looking like she could eat me alive. I wouldn't mind if she tried.

I hand her the last little bit, letting her have what remains as I begin to focus on her hair. It's soft, feeling amazing between my fingers.

"You have anywhere you need to be for the rest of the night?" She asks, her voice deep.

"Derek," I breathe, barely focusing. She and the other women amongst her let out a noise of recognition, some even laughing a little.

"He likes his girls pent up," Another says, nodding. "Says he likes them used, but we all know that's not true."

"Derek likes to go for hours," warns a woman with blue hair that glows in the blacklight. "Hope you have a lot of energy saved up. If he likes you, you won't go home for days."

The woman with black hair is finishing the blunt, flicking away the last little bit and letting it land wherever.

"You mind if we help you?" She asks.

"No," I answer, my hands running over her broad, leather covered shoulders. "I don't mind."

The women aw over me, moving closer and touching different parts of me.

"Focus on my thigh, good girl," says the dark haired one. "Just rock yourself against it and let me know when you're close." She turns to the second woman, nodding her head towards me. "You want to taste her?"

The second woman nods, joining me on her lap and grinding herself against the first woman's other thigh before bending over to wrap her lips around my nipple, moaning as she does.

The third woman, the one with blue hair, simply watches, continuing to talk to the dark haired woman, stroking my back as she does. The first woman seems engaged in the conversation, occasionally sucking on my other breast before responding to the blue haired woman. The second woman is fully engrossed in tasting me, sucking and nipping at my breast eagerly, moaning as she does.

The stimulation feels amazing, my head tilted back as I rock on the dark haired woman's thigh, my body feeling things it never has before. The feeling of two women sliding their tongues across my sensitive nipples, sucking on them at the same time at different paces is almost enough on its own to make me cum. I can feel how wet I am even through my underwear, surely staining the first woman's clothes.

"Shit, Ava. She may not make it to Derek at this point," laughs the blue haired woman. The first woman, Ava, simply smiles, admiring me.

"Should we let you cum, good girl? Or do you want Derek?" She asks, bouncing her leg as she does.

I moan loudly, my mind unable to form a response. This is lovely, just absolutely wonderful. But something tells me that if I waited, if I edged myself like Derek seemed to prefer, then I would be well rewarded.

"Wait," I pant, still rocking my hips against her thigh. The three women groan, laughing a little more as they begin to give me space.

"You think she's good enough for him?" Ava asks the second woman.

"If she's not, he's out of his mind," she says, tearing herself away from my breast and standing to move onto the blue haired woman's lap instead.

Ava guides me off of her before standing tall and admittedly terrifying. She pulls me up gently, taking my hand and leading me through the room. "Follow me, sweet girl," she says. "I'll take you to the main event."

The other two women wave at me, smiling wickedly before turning their focus onto each other. As the drugs begin to hit harder, just a little ways from my peak, I begin to wonder what it is I've really gotten myself into.

A pair of double doors reveal the same dyed blond man on a plush couch, lounging lazily as he speaks to a small group of people in the private lounge. Upon seeing me guided into the room, he smiles eagerly, quickly sitting up.

"I told you you'd find me," he says, setting his whiskey glass in front of him on the small, glass table.

I smile warmly at him, trying to keep my balance as I walk around to him.

"You get her all ready for me, Ava?" He asks, gently placing his hands on my hips and guiding me to sit on his lap, my back pressed against his chest.

"I did," the woman says, joining us. "She's pretty pent up."

"Did she get you pent up, pretty girl?" Derek asks, laughing softly. I can feel the blush in my cheeks, my eyes barely able to stay open as I lean my head back onto his shoulder.

"Feel her if you don't believe me," Ava offers. Derek obliges, dipping his hand between my thighs, pushing my thin panties to the side.

"Fuck," he groans. "You weren't kidding."

Derek guides my legs to spread open, one hand keeping me open for everyone to watch as his other hand explores my vulva.

"Don't worry about everyone else," he whispers in my ear. "We're all just here for a good time. Right, pretty girl?"

I nod, moaning as his finger swirls around my clit. He continues speaking to his friends, drinking casually as his hand toys with me.

"You want some?" He asks, offering me the glass. I shake my head. I'm fucked up enough.

"Water?" He asks. At that I nod, and with the quick snap of his fingers it only takes a blink before he's holding a water in front of me, complete with ice cubes inside.

"Go ahead," he says. "Take a drink."

I obediently lean forward, placing my bottom lip on the edge as Derek tips the water into my mouth. It's soothing at first, my body relishing the cold rush it gives me. Derek's hand glides up and down my folds, teasing my entrance.

"You like the cold?" Derek asks. I try to respond, forgetting the glass in front of me. The water spills down onto my body, freezing and making me cry out in shock at the sudden sensation.

Derek and his friends laugh, his lips pressing soothing kisses along my shoulder blade.

"I'm sorry, were you not ready for that?" He asks sweetly, smiling at me. I shake my head. He places the glass on the table in front of us, collecting a couple of ice cubes before leaning back and adjusting me to face him.

"Let's get you prepped then, yeah?" He asks, popping one into his mouth and chewing.

My eyes widen, mouth opening in question just before Derek wraps his own lips around my nipples, sucking gently and swirling the quickly chewed cube around the hard bud.

"Fuck!" I cry, leaning backwards. Ava catches me, stroking my hair as she watches.

"I knew he'd like you," Ava says in my ear. "He likes breaking in the new girls personally."

Derek's fingers tease my entrance, threatening to dip in while he sucks on my breast, moaning around the cold flesh. He swirls his spit around, rubbing my clit with his thumb.

"You taste amazing," he moans, his breath cold. "Love to taste more."

I moan happily, spreading my legs more and bucking against his hand.

"Take me," I moan. "Do whatever you want."

"Jesus, she's excited," he laughs. "How long has it been, sweet girl?"

Too long. Much too long.

It must be obvious based on the way he trails lower, kissing and sucking on my skin as he begins to slip my skirt and underwear off of my lower body.

"Is this okay?" He asks, looking up at me expectantly. I nod eagerly, rolling my hips towards him impatiently.

"I don't think she likes teasing, Derek," Ava comments.

"No?" He laughs. "Do you like teasing, sweet girl?"

I shake my head slightly, whining. He and Ava laugh, Derek placing a kiss on my stomach.

"Well, I don't want to go too fast, new girl," he says. "Could break you, you know."

"No you won't," I whine. Derek sucks sharply on the spot, leaving a dark mark.

"Gonna have to teach her a thing or two, aren't I, Ava?" He asks. "You know where that toy is?"

"What toy?" I ask.

"Don't you worry about a thing, pretty girl," Derek instructs. "I'm gonna take care of everything for you now. Just relax."

Ava removes herself from the couch, disappearing to look for something. As I'm distracted, Derek slips an ice cube into my warm cunt.

"Ah!" I cry out sharply, arching my back as my hips roll automatically, unsure what to do to relieve myself. "It's cold."

Derek simply laughs, sitting up straight and dragging me onto his thick thigh.

"It's supposed to be," he says mockingly. "That'll work in the meantime while we wait for Ava to come back."

I start to grind against his thigh, my cunt clenching around the cold cube rapidly as I feel the melting water begin to drip out of me. Derek pulls my hair, tutting his tongue against his teeth as he shakes his head.

"Stay still, that's an order," he says sharply. Someone offers him a cigarette, which he takes with no hesitation. When someone offers me one as well, he waves them away.

"She's had enough," he says. He keeps his hand in my hair, keeping a close eye on me to make sure I don't move.

"You enjoying the party?" He asks me.

"Yes," I say.

"Yes what?" He asks, taking a drag.

"Yes, sir?" I say. He smiles.

"Good. You're smart." He turns his attention to a man asking about some account, rambling something about bitcoin and such. Ugh. I don't know why I'm surprised.

I keep my hands clasped behind my back, pressing my chest forward to allow him easy access. This pleases him, his smile growing genuine whenever he glances my way. Once he bounces his leg, making me squirm for more. At that, he pulls my hair, shaming me for breaking the rule.

"Behave," he commands sharply. A few minutes later, however, he bounces his leg again. This time he doesn't stop.

The jolting motion sends shockwaves through my system, the drugs making me weak and stupid. He's not watching me, seeming involved in the conversation, and this ice cube is nearly melted inside of my cunt, dripping more and more. I can't handle this.

I shift my hips subtly, testing the waters. He doesn't notice, and if he does he doesn't care. I do it again, slightly harder against his thigh. Derek is talking about some party in Havana, laughing about a different conquest. I work slowly, making sure he won't turn his eye onto me. Finally, after a few minutes of grinding against him, I feel confident enough to begin a slow, steady rhythm against his thigh, his leg still bouncing against me.

My body feels amazing. Light, stimulation pounding throughout me, it only takes a few minutes before I'm on edge again, my pussy making his thigh slick and easy to grind against as I ride him. My cheeks burn with heat, my eyes eyes fluttering shut as I lose myself in the rhythm, fully focused on how hard his leg is bouncing. The vibrations go right to my clit, making my pussy seize around nothing now as my pulsing heat had caused the cube to disappear. I begin to grind faster and faster, desperate to cum. I don't realize I've begun panting, moaning as I ride him, and the attention in the room has turned towards me in full with Derek rubbing his hand up and down my back slowly, grazing his nails across the skin of my back as he watches with a look that makes him look like the cat who ate the canary.

"You close, sweet girl?" He asks me. My blush deepens, my eyes fluttering open in realization. Derek simply quirks a brow at me, exhaling his smoke into my face as he waits for my answer. My hips stutter, hesitating to continue.

"Don't get shy," Derek scolds. "You were just fine fucking yourself a moment ago. What's a few dozen people watching you?" He asks.

People are chuckling now, making small comments of encouragement.

"You looked so pretty, baby. Fucking yourself stupid on my thigh," he says as his lips tease my tits. "Didn't she look pretty, everyone?" He asks the room, glancing around at the people who respond with affirmations.

I lean forward, trying to hide my face in the crook of his neck. What had I been doing? In front of this entire room? I'd just needed a few quick bucks, that's all this was supposed to be. This was exponentially further than I'd ever planned.

Derek tuts, pulling me away from my hiding place. "Oh no, you wanted to cum. I'm going to make sure you cum," he chides. "I wonder how you'd feel on my cock. Would you like that? You'd feel better if you were on my cock, wouldn't you?"

I nod shyly, my eyes avoiding everyone but Derek. He glances around the room once more, noises of encouragement growing louder.

"You wanna get me ready, baby?" He asks encouragingly, taking one of my hands from behind my back and guiding it to his stiff, clothed cock.

I gasp lightly, squeezing it and grazing my thumb up and down his dick covered by the tight, leather material.

"You look big," I mutter.

"Feel big too," he chuckles. "Go on, try it out. I think you'll like it."

I think I will.

It's hard to see in the odd lighting, so my hands struggle with the hidden zipper.

"Try getting closer," Derek teases, his breath warm against my ear. "It doesn't bite like I do." To emphasize his point, he sinks his teeth into my neck, harsh and quick before releasing me, leaning back in his chair. The sudden movement makes me dizzy, my mind reeling as I automatically sink to my knees in front of the plush, velvet sofa.

Once his pants are opened, he springs out, no underwear confining him. Jesus. He's mostly average, leaning towards the larger side. It's mostly the piercing that surprises me.

"Like it?" He asks. I glance up at him, his grin cocky as he takes a drag from his new cigarette. Hey, man. What happens if I swallow this?

I stammer, opening my mouth and trying to say something.

"You need help?" He asks, wrapping his hand decorated with several rings around his shaft. "Open your mouth again," he commands. I do so without hesitation. His other hand guides my head down, forcing me to swallow it halfway down. I moan in satisfaction, my eyes slowly shutting as I take in the taste of his skin.

"Atta girl. Take a minute if you need to," he says casually. I can smell the thick smoke near my head, his hand stroking my hair gently. Ava must have returned because he's telling someone how warm my mouth is.

"You ready, sweetheart?" He asks. "Wanna show you off for my friends."

Taking a deep breath and opening my eyes once more, I lower myself slowly to his base. He's just long enough that when his piercing collides with my uvula I cough, nearly choking on him. More gentle laughter escapes the crowd, Derek praising me as he begins to thrust into my mouth.

"Just stay there, sweetheart," he says. "I'll do the work."

True to his word, Derek begins pumping his dick in and out of my mouth, whispering something in Ava's ear. I begin taking in the other people around the room, most of them watching us eagerly.

"Watch me, sweetheart," he commands, snapping his fingers and pointing at himself. "You don't have anywhere to look but here."

I obey, keeping my eyes trained on him as he smokes his cigarette which rests between his lips, his jaw gritted as he rolls his hips into my throat, his eyes glazed over in pleasure and who knows what else.

Without warning, someone begins fingering my cunt. A startled moan escapes me, vibrating around Derek's throbbing cock and making him moan, his face confident.

"Don't worry baby, it's just Ava," he says, stroking my hair. "You like Ava, right?"

I moan again, Ava's fingers quick and shallow in my tight pussy.

"Ava certainly likes you. Almost stole you from me, isn't that right?" He asks her, tapping his cherry carelessly onto the floor behind him.

"That's right," her deep voice purrs in my ear. I moan again, my eyes almost fluttering shut from pleasure until Derek grabs my hair, fucking my face roughly to bring my attention back to him.

"Hey now, don't get too happy," he scolds, but he's smiling. "You still like me more, right baby?"

I moan, pressing my tongue to his underside as he slides in and out. He tastes sweet, his jewelry creating an interesting feeling in the back of my throat. Ava withdraws her fingers, quickly replacing them with a vibrating bullet instead.

"Mmph!" I moan, my eyes nearly fluttering shut again. The speed increases, making me drip and writhe my hips against nothing.

"God, she's fun," Derek moans. "Ava, book her for Cabo," he says.

Cabo??

"You like her that much?" Ava laughs. Derek simply glares at her. Is this a thing? Trading girls, fighting over them? What is this?

"Just fucking talk to whoever about it," he spits, his dick quickening in my throat. I'm gagging around him, barely able to catch my breath as I press my hands desperately against his thighs. "Anyone else fuck her tonight?"

"Don't know," Ava shrugs. She brings her face close to mine, her breath hot in my ear. "Did they?"

I moan, trying to shake my head. Derek nods, smiling.

"Perfect," he drawls. The bullet inside of me is driving me insane, enough to keep me on the edge of pleasure but not enough to tip me over. My eyes look up at him, wide and begging, tears beginning to spill from my waterline and streaming down my face.

"You're killing her," Ava scolds him. "Is he being mean?" She asks me. Yes.

"She can take it," Derek says. "You like it a little mean, don't you baby?" He asks, smiling. Yes.

"See?" Derek says. "She's just fine."

Actually, I'm about to hit my peak drug wise, and I can't fucking breathe. But all it does is make me want more, my throat taking him as deep as I can as I moan around him, my tongue moving desperately, eager to swallow his load.

"Think I should cum down her throat?" He asks Ava, his head tilted back in pleasure, cigarette nearly burnt out between his lips.

"Would you like that?" Ava asks, setting the speed of the bullet to max. I scream around Derek's cock, overstimulated and stupid. "I think that's a yes."

"God, you're amazing," he praises. "Such a perfect fucking slut."

Right before he reaches his edge, he pulls me away, admiring the long, thick string of spit that still connects my swollen lips to his cock.

"Look at that," he says. "Should take a picture of that someday."

His hand drags me up by my hair, guiding me to return to his lap. Once I'm straddled across his lap, his fingers delve into my cunt, fucking me quickly as he presses the bullet against my g-spot.

"You like my cock, pretty girl?" He asks.

"Yes," I moan, my voice and throat raw.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent."

His fingers remove the bullet, and he quickly replaces his hand and bullet with his pulsing cock, both of us moaning at the feeling.

"Jesus, fuck," he moans. "You are fucking tight. I can feel everything."

My cunt spasms around him, eager for whatever friction he'll grant me. He stays still, something that's clearly a challenge for him.

"Gonna stay there for awhile," he says. "Wanna make sure you're ready, baby."

My spit on his dick makes for excellent lube, his piercing comfortable against my cervix. His hands run up and down my thighs, squeezing here and there, eventually moving to massage my ass.

"The crowd loves you," he praises, pulling me close to his chest. "Think I love you too."

I'm very high. I'm very horny. I will do whatever this fried hair, cocky ass motherfucker tells me to do.

A waitress walks behind the couch, offering us a tray of joints. Isn't that my job?

"Go ahead, take one," Derek instructs me. I do so, reaching for the lighter on the tray.

"Don't bother, I have one in my pocket. Thank you," he says to the waitress, dismissing her. He reaches into his coat, taking out the lighter before discarding the jacket, leaving him in his zebra printed button up that shows off his chest hair along with a white gold sparkling chain.

He holds the lighter for me, lighting up the joint as I hold it between my lips.

"You're gonna smoke me out, okay angel?" He says, leaning back against the couch, his arms stretched out along the back. I rest one hand against his chest, taking a hit and holding it for a second before leaning forward and blowing it into his mouth.

One of his hands find my hair, pressing my lips against his, his cock twitching inside of me as his tongue slips into my mouth, establishing dominance before allowing me to pull away for another hit. Then another. Then another.

As he inhales the last hit, his hips begin rolling into mine, his voice low as he groans.

"Go on and start riding me, angel," he moans, completely lost in the pleasure. "Show me how you want me."

My hands grasp his shoulders, clinging desperately as I begin to glide up and down his length, his cock twitching against my most sensitive spots with each glide.

"You ever fuck a pussy as good as this?" I ask, watching his jaw shift subtly from side to side as he focuses on my tightness.

"Oh, she speaks now?" He asks, smirking. "Grow a fucken brain, princess?"

His tip slams into my cervix, making me gasp and press my tits into his face. His mouth works quickly, biting and sucking at the tender mounds as I ride him.

"I'm just making conversation," I say. I'm high enough my filter is gone, my brain rotted to the point I'm only focused on my pleasure. He moans against my tit, looking up at me while he buries himself in my body.

"I can't say I have," he says, grinning. "Why, that turn you on?"

Immensely. Not that I'd tell him that.

"Say it," he dares, his cock slamming into me. "Don't hold out on me."

"Maybe I will," I tease, tugging his hair. My hips speed up, riding him hard enough I can feel the couch rocking ever so slightly.

"You're fun," he chuckles. "Say it."

"No," I say, slamming my wet cunt against his base, making him groan loudly.

His teeth sink into my skin, pulling on my nipple to the point I'm on the razors edge of pain and pleasure.

"I don't mind waiting," he says, his tongue flicking against my nipples. "I like causing pain."

His teeth sink in deeper, his fingernails dragging down my back slowly as he slams into me, making me bounce hard enough I can feel it in my stomach.

This is a hell of a paycheck.

"I like it," I say. He chuckles.

"That's not enough," he says.

"I wanna be the best girl you've fucked," I add.

"Mm, need more details." His teeth release my nipple, leaning forward and quickly catching it once more, sucking on the almost raw flesh hard enough it feels like I won't be able to wear a shirt for the next day or two. One of his hands return to my hair, gripping it and pulling it hard enough I can see the people behind us, some of them still watching, some focused on each other, most people switching between the two as they fuck each other.

"Come on, you were just so confident," he laughs against me before returning to his task. My chest burns with want and embarrassment, my eyes glazing over as I give in.

"I wanna make you pussy whipped," I moan. "I wanna glance at something and get it from how desperate you are to get the chance to fuck me."

He chuckles lowly. "I think we'll get along for a while," he says in a satisfied tone, finally releasing my tits from his torture.

"Gonna get me on payroll?" I ask, smiling as I throw my leg onto the back on the couch, giving him better access to fuck me.

"Play your cards right and I'll get my surname on you, pretty girl."

It's an evening of drugs and sex, come morning I'm sure he won't even remember my eye color. But for tonight, can't a bitch dream?

"Go ahead and laugh," he dares. "I get what I want."

"And you want me?"

"Fuck yeah."

He forces me to my side, turning me onto my stomach and hiking my ankles onto his shoulders.

"Jesus!" I cry, feeling his cock bury into me from behind, slamming straight into an overwhelming spot that makes me blind with pleasure.

"Too much," I cry. "Fuck, too much!"

"And that's a problem?" He laughs, abusing me as he smacks my ass, admiring the way my skin reddens.

"Yeah, you're not getting another dick ever again," he decides, his hips chasing after a high that tears screams from my throat. I'm so overstimulated I don't even know if I can cum, my eyes crossed and ass feeling his palm bearing down on the sensitive flesh time and time again, growing more rapid in succession, forcing me to clench his length harder with each new hit.

"Come on, pretty girl," he growls, pressing his chest against my back, his hands keeping my hips pressed against him with no chance to escape. His balls smack against my clit, making me moan in stupidity. "I know you want to."

I cry out, tears streaming down my face, hair stuck to my wet skin as I feel my cunt begin to throb in warning, my stomach clenching as the knot inside me begins to snap, my mind growing fuzzy and static as I pant eagerly.

"Fuck, she's close," Derek moans to someone, small whimpers escaping him as he pumps into me, his teeth digging into my shoulder, sending me over the edge.

Someone's screaming, and I have the vague idea it may be me. I can feel Derek's front soaked in my cum, his dick slamming into me in a way that I just know I'll have a migraine in a few minutes.

"Good girl," he praises. "Fuck. Amazing girl. Taking good dick like a fucking pro."

His cock throbs in me as he cums, deep and right next to my cervix, keeping himself buried as his seed pumps into me, hot and thick.

"I wasn't joking, sweetheart," he mutters in my ear, his voice exhausted. "You and I are going to become good, good friends."

I groan as I feel him slip out, his fingers pushing any cum that drips from my folds back into me, then placing a plug into my aching cunt. His hand grips my hair, pulling me back up to sit on his lap as he accepts a new drink, his cheeks flushed as he tries to regain his breath.

"Let's get something to get your energy back up, hmm?" He asks, pressing a firm kiss on my sweaty forehead.

▪︎《•☆•》▪︎

Cabo doesn't sound all that bad, Danforth. Not bad at all.

Masterlist

I wrote this instead of sleeping. Anyways, see you next time for Mike Schmidt. Stay safe pookies <3

#josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson fanfic #derek danforth #derek danforth smut #derek danforth x reader #derek danforth beekeeper #the beekeeper #derek danforth x you #jhutch #josh hutcherson x reader

[nyxoz]

Modern day Eddie request! He ends up fingering you after he catches you sexting a boy while he’s sat right next to you 😈

here you go lovey! i love modern aus they are so so much fun hehe 

Eddie Munson x Reader

Reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns 

Word count: 2.2k 

Warnings: Smut, Vaginal fingering, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Best Friends to Lovers, Modern AU, Sexting, Swearing. 

*

Your phone dings as the movie you and Eddie are watching plays on your living room tv. You admitted to Eddie that you had never seen ‘ The Shining’ and he made you promise that you’d watch it together tonight. 

You’re leaning back against the armrest, with your legs lying across Eddie’s thighs. His socked feet are resting on your coffee table and his hands are playing with your anklet. 

Your phone dings again and you finally reach for it from the coffee table to check it. 

“Don’t get distracted.” Eddie says, eyes still on the screen. 

“I can multitask.” You say as you unlock your screen. 

“This movie isn’t a multitasking movie, it requires your full attention!” Eddie grabs your foot and shakes it. 

You kick at him a bit but don’t reply as you tap to open your messages. 

The text is from Jackson Sommers. He’s a guy you’ve hooked up with maybe once or twice. He’s nice, and pretty well endowed if you remember correctly. 

Jackson 9:47pm: You up? 

You glance up from your phone to look at Eddie and see he’s still very much glued to the tv. He’s now massaging one of your feet absentmindedly. It feels really good. 

You 9:49pm: Yeah

Jackson 9:49pm: Come over ;)  

You 9:49pm: Got a friend over, can’t sorry. 

Jackson 9:50pm: :( 

You don’t reply to that and lock your phone, going back to the tv. It takes up until Danny writes Redrum on the bathroom door until your phone dings again. 

Jackson 11:43pm: Been thinking about you all night.

You snort at the message. It’s so obvious. 

Eddie looks over at you but you ignore him in favour of humouring Jackson. 

You 11:43pm: Yeah? What have you been thinking about? 

Eddie tugs on your big toe. “Y/N! Watch it.” 

“It’s so goddamn long.” You whine out. 

“But it’s so goddamn worth it.” 

You turn your phone to silent and your brightness way down before you lock your phone, waiting for Jackson’s response. It takes him about two minutes to reply. 

You sneakily unlock your phone and open the message, looking up quickly at Eddie’s side profile. His hair is in a bun at the base of his neck and a few strands are hanging around his face. He looks really soft and cute, especially with how his big brown eyes are glued to the television. 

You go back to your phone and aren’t really shocked to see a dick pic but still kind of in awe at how fast he sent it. 

Jackson 11:45pm: [Image] 

Jackson 11:45pm: Thinking about how good you looked with my dick in your mouth. 

You can’t help the feeling that travels through your core, that white warmth that you get when you see something you like. And you like Jackson’s cock. It’s a good cock, it especially felt good inside you as he bent you over the vanity in a bathroom at a random house party. 

You 11:46pm: That all for me? How’d I get so lucky? 

Apparently, Jackson isn’t into foreplay. 

Jackson 11:46pm: Show me your tits ;) 

You sigh out and quickly look up to make sure Eddie doesn’t hear you and look over to tell you off. Luckily his eyes are still on the tv. 

You open your images and scroll through your phone for an old picture you’ve taken of yourself showing your tits. The random nudes you have on your phone are the number one reason no one’s allowed to scroll through your camera roll, not even Eddie. 

You select one where you’re laying on your back, and just your breasts and the bottom of your mouth are visible. You’re squeezing one of your breasts, and the other has your nipple pebbled out and pink from being tugged on. 

You 11:48pm: [image] 

Jackson 11:48pm: Fuck they are so hot. Wish I could have them in my mouth. 

You squirm a little at the thought and squeeze your thighs together. Eddie looks over at the movement and you smile at him apologetically and pretend to look back at the movie. Your phone buzzes again and you try not to be too noticeable when you unlock it. 

Jackson 11:49pm: Are you touching yourself 

You 11:49pm: Yeah

You aren’t. But he doesn’t need to know that. You can feel the wetness a little in your panties and you want to press your thighs together tighter to relieve it a little but you don’t want to risk Eddie noticing. 

Jackson 11:50pm: Fuck that’s so hot. 

Jackson 11:50pm: Wish you were here. Want to see you bouncing on my cock. 

You 11:50pm: Need your cock in me so bad. 

Jackson 11:51pm: Want me to fuck you like I did in the back of my car ? 

You think back to the last time you hooked up. He had picked you up after your shift at work (Something Eddie usually did), and drove you to lover’s lake so you could ride him in the back of his pickup truck. You remember him kissing your tits and bucking up into you every so often. You had to make yourself come by rubbing your clit, but you didn’t mind too much. You haven’t slept with many men that have made you come themselves, so it wasn’t that unexpected. 

You 11:51pm: Yeah. Was so good. Loved feeling your fat cock inside me. 

Jackson 11:52pm: I’m getting close 

You 11:52pm: I wanna see you come. 

Just because you can’t touch yourself now, doesn’t mean you don’t wanna do it later. 

Jackson 11:53pm: Want a video? 

Jackson 11:53pm: I’ll send one if you tell me what you’re doing to yourself right now. 

Before you can reply your phone is snatched out of your hand. 

You literally shriek. “Eddie!” 

“What’s so important you can’t watch one of my favourite movies?” He questions, looking down at your phone. 

You lunge at him and land across his thighs as he leans over the armrest and holds the phone out. 

It’s dead silent as he looks at the screen and scrolls up the messages. 

You bury your face in his thighs and groan. 

“Jackson Sommers, huh?” He finally says. 

“Give it back.” You whine and try to reach for your phone again but it’s no use. 

You sit up and stare at him with warm cheeks. 

He looks at you and then back at the phone again. He hands it back to you. 

“Reply to him.” He says. 

“No.” You say. “It’s fine, I’ll watch the movie.”  

You turn and face the tv, sitting with your back against the back of the couch. You can still see Eddie staring at you from the corner of your eye. After a few seconds, his hand lands on your thigh, just below the hem of your skirt. 

“Reply to him.” He says again. “Tell him what you’re doing to yourself.” 

You feel the warmth from your cheeks flow down your neck. You’re embarrassed. 

“That’s not funny, Eddie.” 

“I’m not being funny, Y/N.” 

Crossing your arms, you turn your head to look at him. His pupils are dilated and his lips are shiny from where his tongue has traced over them. His hand squeezes your thigh. 

“Reply to him.” He says a final time. 

Unlocking your phone, you stare at Jackson’s messages again and go to type a reply when you feel Eddie’s hand push further up your thigh, towards your crotch. You pause as you look past your phone screen to his hand. 

The tip of his finger traces your clothed cunt. 

“What are you doing?” You whisper. 

“Tell him what you’re doing to yourself.” He says. 

He presses his finger more forcefully against your panties. 

“Eddie.” You whimper. 

“Tell me to stop and I will.” 

You look at him and stay silent, he presses his fingers firmly against you. 

“Get to typing.” He says. 

Typing out shakingly, you reply to Jackson. 

You 11:58pm: Touching myself over my panties. 

“Fuck, you’re almost soaked through.” Eddie says as he rubs his fingers along the material. 

You 11:58pm: I’m so wet. 

Jackson 11:58pm: For me? 

No. For Eddie. 

You 11:58pm: Yeah 

Eddie’s fingers slide over to the side of your panties, tickling along as he does. He pulls them to the side slightly as he wiggles his long fingers underneath. 

You whimper quietly. 

“Keep texting.” He demands. 

His fingers run along your slit, lapping up your juices. 

Jackson 11:59pm: What else are you doing 

You 11:59pm: Rubbing my fingers through my wet pussy 

Jackson 11:59pm: Bet I’d slide in so easy 

Just as that message shows up, Eddie’s finger pushes into your entrance. 

You gasp as the first knuckle penetrates you. He pushes his finger up and slides along your wet walls. He fucks you a few times with one finger before adding a second. 

“Don’t forget Jackson.” Eddie reminds you as he curls his fingers meanly. 

You 12:00am: I’m fingering myself 

Jackson 12:00am: You wish it was my fingers? 

You don’t. Not one bit. 

Eddie looks over the screen and snickers. 

You 12:00am: Yeah. 

His two fingers start fucking harder into you, pressing along your spongy walls. You can’t help dropping your head back and moaning. 

Your legs have opened wide for Eddie, giving him as much access as possible. Your head rolls along the back of the couch to watch him, his eyes are fixated on his fingers disappearing into you, and you can’t help but notice the bulge pressing against the zipper of his jeans. 

He stops fucking you just to slide his fingers up to your clit and rub firmly against it. 

“Fuck!“ your eyes squeeze shut, “Eddie!” You moan. 

“Yeah, say my name.” He whispers. 

Opening your eyes, you see him staring back at you. His cheeks are red and his hair is still framing his face deliciously. You want to pull the rest of his hair from the bun. 

He keeps rubbing at your clit as he leans in a bit closer, you think he’s going to kiss you. 

“Jackson’s waiting.” He smiles. 

You moan again and bring your phone up to your face. 

Jackson 12:01am: What else?

You 12:03am: Rubbing my clit, feels so good 

Jackson 12:03am: I’m so close baby 

Eddie starts rubbing a little faster against your clit and your phone slips from your hand and you reach to grab onto something. You land on Eddie’s other arm, holding on for dear life as he toys with your clit. 

“You’re such a dirty little slut.” Eddie says. “Sexting right next to your best friend? Fucking filthy.” 

“M’sorry.” You mumble. 

His fingers come down to tease your entrance again. 

“No, you’re not.” 

You shake your head not really sure if you’re disagreeing with him or not. 

“C’mon, you wanted this.” He says. 

He pushes three fingers into you this time and you squeak out a gasp. 

“You wanted to be caught.” He continues, “wanted to see what I would do.” 

His fingers stretch you out and you relish in the subtle burn they give you. 

“ Eddie .” 

You mewl and cry as he keeps fucking his fingers into you, searching for that spot inside you that makes your stomach dip and your toes curl. He slides across it, making you gasp. 

“You’re making such a mess.” He says. 

You can feel your arousal dripping down your crack, making a wet patch on the couch. His movements sound slick and wet each time he presses into you. 

“Bet you taste so fucking good.” He pulls his fingers out of you and you whine at the loss. 

Your eyes follow his fingers as they come up to his lips and he sucks them clean. 

“Mhhhhm, yeah I was right.” 

Your skin rises with goosebumps as you watch him, you’ve never been so turned on in your life. 

His hand comes back down to your cunt and he slips back into your panties to your clit. He laps up the wetness slicking you up and continues circling your nub. 

Your whole body slides toward him, your face now pressing into his chest near his collarbone. You’re on fire, you can feel the white warmth growing hotter in your core. You’re so close and Eddie can tell by how you’re gasping against him. 

“You gonna come on my fingers?” Eddie asks into your hair. 

You nod against him, your face smushed into his shirt. You breathe him in, he smells like home to you, like nicotine, body wash, and a smell so specific to Eddie you don’t know what to call it. You wish you could bottle it up for later. 

His movements become faster and you cry out as the feeling in your tummy explodes and you come with a groan. 

“That’s it. Good girl.” He whispers, slowing down as he milks your orgasm from you. 

The strands of hair that frame his face tickle at your ear as he presses the side of his head against you. He breathes you in quietly as you lay against him. 

After a little while you sit up straight and Eddie removes his hand from your panties and wipes them on his pants. You try to straighten up as best you can and look up at the tv to see Jack smashing down a door with an axe. 

“This scene is iconic!” Eddie exclaims. 

Your phone buzzes and you pick it up only for Eddie to grab it from you. 

“Hey!” You say. 

“What’s good ol’ Jackson got to say now.” He asks. 

He laughs as he looks at the message and holds up the screen to you. 

Jackson 12:10am: [video] 

Jackson 12:10am: Did you cum ? 

You roll your eyes at him and grab your phone to tap out a response. 

You 12:10am: Yes. 

*

Part Two

#eddie munson #modern!eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #joseph quinn #oz writes #oz writes eddie munson #nxyoz

[sxfthannie]

His Angel

↦ pairing: idol!coups x idol!reader

↦ summary: you are a kpop idol with such pure image that everyone would call you an angel. Choi Seungcheol who took a liking to you wondered if you'd still look like an angel once he breaks you.

↦ warnings: coups and reader are not in a relationship, reader is a virgin, usage of pet name (angel), dom!coups, sub!reader, unprotected sex, oral, fingering, rough(?) sex, includes reader crying a little during sex.

↦ word count: 1.3K

↦ part 2

You were with no doubt a very soft spoken person. Both idols and fans alike agreed and often referred to you as an “angel”, acknowledging that it didn’t only apply to your personality but also your visuals. You had such a pretty face with a calm expression all the time, Choi Seungcheol wondered how you’d look if he ever breaks you.

And he did.

“If only they could see the state you’re in right now.” A light chuckle escaped his lips as he laced his fingers through your hair, watching as you sucked his cock. This was your first time and he was very well aware that you weren’t even that good at what you’re doing right now. If it was anyone else, he would’ve already gotten up and left but what had him turned on and on the verge of cumming into your mouth was the satisfaction feeling of having your pretty little lips; that spoke nothing but innocence, around his thick cock. “Fuck.” He pushed your head lower on his cock, your nails digging into the flesh of his thighs at the feeling of his tip on the back of your throat as he released himself inside you.

“Swallow.” He demands.

Once you do, a soft “good girl” slips out of his tongue as he pulls you up from the ground to lay you on his bed before pressing his plump lips against yours. His fingertips trailed down the outline of your body before finally reaching your exposed clit. He presses his fingers harder against you that had you whimpering into the kiss. Breaking away from the kiss, he pushes his middle finger into you, his pointing finger follows right after. He planted a kiss against your forehead as you slightly whimpered in pain of having his fingers inside you.

“Gosh, you can’t even handle my fingers, are you sure you can take my cock?” He teased while moving his fingers in and out of you, preparing you for what’s coming next. “I can,

I can take you.” You were desperate for his cock, for him, and he knows it.

Seungcheol laughs a genuine laugh out of endearment. “I know you can, angel.” He says, his fingers curling inside you and hitting the right spot. “You have to.” And he keeps curling his fingers at the same spot, knowing damn well that it had you arching your back for him. Once he decided it was enough preparing you, he moves into a better position on top of you, lining up the tip of his cock against your slit. “Wait, you’re not using condoms?” He raises his eyebrow at your question. “I’ve waited for this moment for too long. I can't bother myself with condoms, angel.”

He let out a soft sigh as he saw you hesitating. “Wait for a while then. I probably have some–”

“It’s alright. Let’s just do it like this.” You cut him off. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He wastes no more than a second to line up the tip of his cock against you once again. “Okay?” He questions, to which you nod your head. You expected him to push himself into you little by little but god were you so wrong. His thrust had you gasping, hands gripping the bed sheets below you tightly.

He places another reassuring kiss on your forehead and wipes away the little amount of tears that formed due to the sudden pain. “I just had to see that expression on you.” He only gives you a few seconds to recover before he starts thrusting in and out of you, every hard thrust of his leaving you on adrenaline. “Wait…s-slow down.”

“Slow down?” He repeats. “Angel, I came here to break you. If you really want me to stop then you know the safe word?” With your head still spinning from receiving all the pleasure, you hurry to fish out the memory of both of you deciding on a 'cute' safe word moments before sex.

You know you probably wouldn’t be using it because it’s Choi Seungcheol we’re talking about. You’d gladly and shamelessly take everything he has to offer.

“Cherries.” You reply. “Yes, cherries” is all he says before increasing his pace. His hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers together as he brings it up to his lips to place gentle kisses along your knuckles.

One thing you learned was that his gestures and words does not match the way he fucks you.

He leans down, lips finding your breast as he rolls his tongue around your nipple while his fingers fiddle around with the other side.

“Cheol.!” The moans of his name coming forth your lips and nails digging on his shoulders only turned him on more. “God, you’re so fucking hot.” Having you wrap your legs around him, he moved from your breasts to your neck, leaving a bite mark on your skin which he knew you were going to get in trouble for if anyone ever finds out but right now, he couldn’t care less and neither did you.

“You like being fucked like this on your first time?” You could only nod your head, but Seungheol wasn’t having any of those.

“Speak. Use those pretty lips of yours.”

“Yes..I l-love it.” As soon as you manage to choke out those words, his fingers immediately find themselves inside your mouth. He presses his fingers on your tongue, making you gag and causing more tears to form in the corner of your eyes.

“Suck.”

You did as told, rolling your tongue around his two digits while looking up at him through your blurry vision.

“You definitely need more practice but at least you’re a tad bit better than before.” Even though you were self aware of your lacking skills in this particular matter, hearing it directly from him made your cheeks burn in embarrassment. “No need to be embarrassed.” He read you like a book. “It’d be my pleasure to teach these things to you, my angel.”

He said my angel.

“Are you about to come?” He asked as he felt your walls clenching tighter around his cock. A soft “yes” leaves your lips and Seungcheol places a kiss on your tear stricken cheek. “Do it. You don’t hold back anything.” After a few more thrusts, you let yourself in on the pleasure. Seungcheol continues to fuck you through your high, chasing his own. More whimpers and tears escape you at the over stimulation and fortunately, he released inside you not long after, his thrusts finally slowing down.

Pulling his cock out of you, he very lightly pressed his thumb against your clit and let out a genuine innocent laugh as you wriggled away from his touch.

“I knew it.” He spoke, tucking your hair away from your face and wiping away your tears. “You’re the prettiest when you look like this,

or I dare say only now you look like a real angel.” Blood rushes up your cheeks at his words so you try covering your face with your hands but he was quick to stop you. Pinning your hands above your head, your heart skips a beat while he takes another closer look at your face. “I haven’t even fucked you that hard considering it’s your first time but look at you, already so drained out.”

“Not hard enough you say?” He nods.

“Next time, it's gonna be rougher, angel.” He says before locking his lips together with yours in a much softer kiss than the previous ones. You pulled away from the kiss, slightly pushing on his chest to get a better view of his face.

“What makes you think I’m gonna let you fuck me again?” You question and he laughs. “What then? Are you going to say no to me? I'm sure you won’t.” You tilted your head. “Again, why are you so sure?” He flashes you a sweet smile, fingers fiddling with your earlobe.

“Angel, do you think I never noticed your love stricken face whenever you see me?”

#seventeen #seventeen fanfic #seventeen smut #svt fanfic #svt smut #choi seungcheol fanfic #choi seungcheol #scoups #scoups smut #choi seungcheol smut #scoups x reader #seungcheol x reader

[eternalsams]

Cherry Pie ⇴ J.Seresin

pairing: Jake Seresin x fem!reader

content/warning: 18+, smut, fwb situation, swearing, alcohol consumption, boys will be boys, 'love' confession, just a bit of angst, no use of Y/N, pet names like "honey" or "sweets", COMMUNICATION IS KEY.

summary: You just moved in San Diego and you needed help with all the boxes and furniture. Naturally, you called Jake to give you a hand and that's it, right?

words count: 2.0k

notes: this is my contribution to @roosterforme's Rocktober playlist, just as asked, the fic is inspired by the song but you don't need to know it to read this, obviously... Also, English isn't my first language so please take that into your consideration. (I've spent the whole day writing this because I knew I'd never get it done before the end of October)

ITALICS ARE FLASHBACKS

masterlist

"Oh, by the way, didn't you tell us one of your friends just moved here?" Rooster said as his eyes were fixed on the pool table where they were playing. Jake scoffed and sighed, trying to suppress the smile creeping up on his lips. "Oh yeah, you said that! What was her name again?" Fanboy pointed out with a light smirk. Jake was about to answer him when Payback clapped his hand on his shoulder, stopping him on his track. "Bagman's got a female friend? I don't believe it!" He laughed loudly. "I do have a female friend, I'm not that big of an jerk." Jake got up and slapped his hand flat on the table.

"We're still friends, huh?" You asked as his lips made their way down the column of your neck. Another moan escaped your lips as you felt his teeth nibble at the sensitive skin. "Yeah, yeah... Still friends." He muttered before slipping his hands under your thighs and wrapping your legs around his waist. His lips found yours once again and he didn't wait another second before slipping his tongue between your lips and tasting you. "I called you so you could help me unpack." You scolded him as your hands grabbed the hem of his shirt and in one movement, the garment was on the floor of your new kitchen. "Oh, sure, sure... Let me just...unwrap this first." He said as he unzipped your jeans and slid them down your thighs, revealing your lace panties. You chuckled and he put you up the counter before kneeling down in front of you, between your parted legs. He started kissing your left ankle, then your calf and he pecked kisses up your thigh until he reached your soaking underwear. "You're so pretty, why did I wait this long?" He murmured, mouthing at your clothed core. "Fuck..." You moaned as you hooked your legs around his head. Your fingers gripped his hair tight as he slipped your panties to the side and he licked your wet folds before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking, hard.

Everyone looked at Jake with raised eyebrows, not believing a single one of his words. Rooster was the first one to crack up and laugh. "Yeah, right. And I'm the frickin' Queen of England." Jake groaned and looked away, trying to hold himself back from punching his wingman in the face. "Excuse us for not believing you, but we only know you as a ladies' man. In front of 'womanizer' in a dictionary, there's your picture, man." Javy chuckled before taking a sip of his drink and adding something. "Also, shouldn't I know about her if she's as dear as you say?" Jake sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, glancing at the front doors another time, checking if you've arrived. "She's from my home town, we met in college and she just accepted a very nice job here. She's not here for me, she's here for work, we're just lucky we're in the same area for once since college." He cleared his throat and checked his phone for any signs of you. "Sounds like a romantic tragedy." Phoenix commented, noticing the longing look on his face as he checked his texts. "No, we're not like that. We're friends, remember? Just friends."

"To friends. And to a new life in California." You said as you held your glass of champagne high. "To all of that." Jake chuckled before taking a sip of the alcohol, not breaking the eye contact with you. You just finished unpacking everything for your living room. You still needed to finish your room and the bathroom but the biggest part was done. "Oh, wait!" You put down your glass and went to the kitchen, getting a little basket of fresh cherries. You took two peers and gently put them in both your glasses, turning the simple champagne into fancy home-made cocktails. "Champagne with cherries? That's weird." Jake laughed and grabbed his cherries before putting one in his mouth, pulling on the stem to detach it. "Maybe, but it's really good." You chuckled and did the same, staring into his eyes. "It shouldn't surprise me that the first things you have in your fridge are cherries. You've always loved them." He spat back the cherry stone and took a sip of his drink.

"You wanna see something cool?" You asked and he simply nodded, eating his second cherry. You grabbed his stem and pulled on it before putting it on your tongue and closing your mouth. Jake watched you carefully, mesmerized by you. You then grinned and pushed the, now knotted, stem between your teeth. "Holy shit..." Jake scoffed, grabbing the stem but you bit down on it to keep it in your mouth. His gaze went up to your eyes and he saw that special spark in them. He delicately removed the stem from your mouth and traced your lips with his thumb before slowly pushing it between them. Your tongue gently licked his finger and you took a bit more of it in your mouth, sucking softly. "Shit, honey..." Jake rasped. He then felt your tongue circle his thumb before you sucked a bit more and he could feel his cock harden in his pants. He adjusted himself in his seat and you chuckled, releasing his thumb and gently kissing the pulp of it. Jake moistened his lips and wrapped his hand around your neck to draw you closer to him. He crashed his lips on yours and immediately parted your lips to slide his tongue in your mouth. He could taste the cherry on your tongue and swore he could never get tired of your taste.

"Hey Penny Dear, could you get a Cherry Bomb ready for my friend. She's gonna be there soon. Put it on my tab." He softly tapped the counter before turning to the front doors. He couldn't wait to see you walk past those doors, as if he didn't see you the night before. As if he didn't feel your walls flutter around him as he brought you to your fourth climax of the night. He snapped back to reality when a hand landed on his shoulder. Javy sighed next to him and followed his gaze to the doors. "So... You're gonna tell me when you're gonna ask that girl out?" He then took a sip of his beer. "Never, it's not like that." Jake grumbled as his phone vibrated in his pocket. "Oh, I can see that it is". He chuckled without noticing Jake wasn't listening anymore. The blond pilot was frenetically typing on his phone, answering your text and telling you where to find him in the bar. The next thing he heard was the front door opening and your heels clicking on the floor. He raised his head and grinned when he caught your gaze through the crowd. He stuffed his phone in his pocket and made his way to you. "Not like that, my ass." Javy scoffed and gave back his empty beer to Penny who thanked him and went to another patron.

"You made it!" Jake exclaimed as he approached you. "I made it!" You laughed and hugged him tight. "Come on, I ordered your favorite already." He kissed the top of your head and led you to the counter where Penny introduced herself and gave you your drink with a wink. Not so far, Phoenix and Rooster were watching you both with frowns. "Are they dating? They look like they're dating." The woman asked her friend. "I don't know if they're official but they definitely like each other." They both straightened up when they saw you walking to them, Jake's arm around you and leading you. The pilot introduced you and you shook hands with all of them. "We've heard a lot about you." The man called Payback smiled at you and you grinned widely. "Jake talks about me?" You chuckled and turned to your friend who winced. "But we didn't believe him when he said he had a female friend." Fanboy chuckled as he scratched the back of his neck. "A bit of a ladies' man, isn't he?" You laughed, giving a light slap to Jake's ass who then glared down at you. You chuckled a bit more and took a sip of your drink, the cherry flavor invading your taste buds. You grabbed the cherry on top and bit it, detaching the stem and keeping it in your hand.

The conversation went on and when you stood up, calling for a bathroom break, Jake only noticed now the knotted stem in your empty glass. He picked it up and made it twirl between his fingers. "She did that?" Javy scoffed, looking at the stem in his friend's hand. "Yup. With her tongue." Jake chuckled slightly before dropping the stem back in your glass. "Come on, man. I know you said you're not dating but the tension between you is too strong for friends. Are you hooking up with her?" Rooster leaned over the table as he lowered his voice a bit. "I am not. We're friends and that's it. She's just like that, all clingy and shit. Always have been." Jake gave his friends a little smile before he felt a hand on his shoulder. "I'm a bit tired from work, I'm going home sooner than expected." Your voice surprised him and he hoped you hadn't heard what he said just before. Because if one of you was clingy, it was certainly him. "Do you want me to walk you back to your car?" He asked, standing up. "I'd love to." You smiled at him and said bye to everyone before you waited for Jake to pay his tab and join you outside.

When he passed the doors, you wrapped your arm around his and you two walked silently. "Can I ask you a question?" You asked hesitantly. "Always. Tell me." Jake's other hand stroked your arm soothingly. "Are you ashamed of our...relationship? I heard what you said and I didn't really like it." Jake slightly winced at your words and as he thought you would let his arm go, you didn't do such. You kept him as close as before. "I'm not...ashamed. They just... They spent the whole afternoon teasing me about you, asking if we were dating and talking badly of me. I just wanted to shut them up." He tried to explain and you stayed silent, that wasn't really you. "Are you mad?" He then asked when he saw your car in the parking lot, scared you might leave without giving him a second glance. "I'm not. They're your friends, you know how to handle them. I believe you when you say you're not ashamed of me." You squeezed yourself against his arm. "How could I ever be ashamed of you, Sweets? You're amazing, honestly you're the best thing that's ever happened to me." You laughed at his words and dug into your purse to grab your car key. "The best thing, huh?" You smirked and looked up at him. "The best of the best." He nodded, sliding his hands on your waist. "Then you wouldn't mind picking me up tomorrow at seven? I saw a nice restaurant I wanted to try with you." He was surprised of your boldness but didn't complain. "Like...like a date?" He asked for confirmation and you smiled a bit more. "Like a date." He quickly looked away to hide his excitement but you noticed his blushing cheeks. "I wouldn't mind at all picking you up and taking you on a date. Would you allow me to kiss you before I let you go home?" He lowered his voice, as if he was scared someone else might hear how sweet and loving he was for you. You nodded eagerly and grabbed him by the neck before colliding your lips with his and swiping your tongue over his lips. And just as always, he could taste the cherry on your tongue and he loved every bit of it.

#top gun rocktober #jake seresin #hangman #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fanfic #jake seresin imagine #hangman x you #hangman x reader #hangman fanfic #hangman imagine #top gun #top gun maverick #top gun x reader #top gun x you #top gun imagine #top gun fanfic #top gun maverick x you #top gun maverick x reader #top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick fanfic #glen powell #glen powell x you #glen powell x reader #jake hangman seresin x you #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin fanfic #jake hangman seresin imagine #glen powell imagine

[sadhours]

gamer boyfriend with kurt

kurt x female reader

cw: 18+ minors dni, virginity loss, oral (m receiving), no use of y/n, awkward dirty talk, p in v (unprotected)

“Ya know, if you actually stream the gameplay and not just your face, people might watch,” you tell him as you sit back on the bed, plugging in your phone.

Kurt looks down at his lap and then back up at you, looks like he’s connecting the dots and you’re right. Like he’s never thought of that before. He pouts, “Yeah well maybe when the money from Spree gets to my bank, I’ll look into it.”

You huff, propping yourself up on your elbow so you can watch him. You have no idea what game he’s playing, video games aren’t really your thing. But it’s a bunch of dudes running around with guns. You’d have a better chance guessing if the games were listed on a board and you threw a dart at it. Who you think is Kurt’s character isn’t very good, though. The dudes running around in circles and not shooting. Gets shot several times in the few minutes you’re watching.

“Are you winning?” you ask, bored.

“No,” he mumbles.

You sigh and pick up your phone, scrolling through Twitter absentmindedly when some porn pops up and out of curiosity, you don’t keep scrolling. An idea pops into your head and you reach your foot out to poke Kurt’s thigh. “I know how to get some attention online,” you purr.

“How?!” he asks excitedly, glancing briefly at you and then his eyebrows furrow. “I’m talking to my girlfriend, not you guys!” he screeches into the mic. Then his eyes roll, “Yes, she’s real.”

You giggle, stroking your foot up his thigh and back down. His cheeks flush as he continues in the mic, “We haven’t had a chance yet.” He sounds embarrassed and you can assume they’re asking if he’s slept with you, in not so nice words. And you two haven’t. Not for a lack of trying on your end. Hell, you would’ve blown him in his Spree the first time you met. Granted, you were drunk but you thought Kurt was cute and really, you would’ve invited him in if he wasn’t so awkward. So you left him your number on a napkin but he never called. And for about two weeks you wracked your brain trying to remember his instagram handle that he repeatedly rattled off to you and your drunken friends. They thought he was cringey but something about Kurt intrigued you. He was sweet. And really goddamn good looking under that mop of greasy hair and clothes his mom picked out for him.

She was really the reason you guys hadn’t done much more than rushed handjobs in his Prius. Kurt’s mom was… protective. Babied the hell out of Kurt. Treats him like a teenager and not a 23 year old man. The door has to stay open when you’re over. Like that would stop two adults from fooling around.

“We’re busy, I don’t know,” Kurt’s mumbling interrupts your thoughts. “No! She wants to. She definitely wants to.”

You get up from his bed and get yourself between his thighs, purring into the mic, “Oh, I really want to.”

Kurt’s face lights up, cheeks flushing as they swell with a bright smile. You giggle, and close his laptop, ending his stream. Something like this will get him banned, and you’re pretty sure he’d cry over it. He starts to protest, “Wait! What are you—“ it dies in his throat as you palm at his crotch over his pants.

His eyes roll back the harder you rub and yours glance up towards the door, making sure his mom isn’t being nosy. But she works a lot so when she gets home, she tends to pass out watching TV. You’re probably in the clear as long as Kurt keeps quiet. Your fingers work to unbutton his jeans, pulling down the zipper before grabbing his waistband and tugging his pants down. You can see the swell of his dick chubbing up in his briefs and you rub your nose against him, looking up to see his pretty, full lips falling open. He’s gripping the controller close to his chest and his eyes are on you. Sweetest brown eyes you’ve ever seen.

Mouthing at his boner, you hook your fingers into his briefs and start pulling them down his thighs. Kurt’s impressive length flops out and rises with arousal, filling out quickly. Kurt hasn’t admitted he’s a virgin, but you’ve come to the conclusion he is. Which is a first for you and it’s exciting. The thought that you’ll be his first is intoxicating and has you soaking through your panties. You wrap your fingers around his cock and stroke him slow and tight, mouth watering at the sight of it. His cocks huge. Pretty. Thick and long with a pink head and it gets wet. Never seen a man leak so much. You lick his slit, giddy when he whines and grips the Xbox controller tighter.

“Maybe I am,” he mumbles into the microphone and smirks and you laugh softly, squeezing his dick tighter. More precum bubbles out of his slit and you’re quick to lick it up.

“Tell them, Kurt,” you bite your lip, “Tell them what I’m doing.”

He looks shy, eyebrows raising as his cheeks ruddy even more, “She’s literally touching my dick right now.”

He whispers it, barely audible and you wrap your lips around his tip, sucking softly as you look up at him. Wide eyed. Kurt whines again and then says, “I’m not lying!”

“Shh,” you hush him when you pull off his dick, “We have to be quiet.”

“Sorry,” his eyes are so so sweet and apologetic. You need him. Can’t handle it anymore. You stand, pushing down your leggings and underwear before climbing into his lap. He grunts, looking at you all wide eyed and confused but it just spurs you on more. You’re almost feral for it. For him. For Kurt.

“Shh,” you repeat, “Need you, now.”

You grip his cock, lining it up with your entrance and sinking down on him. You whine from it and Kurt moans, loud and shaky. Slapping your palm over his mouth, you look at him with wide eyes before looking over to the doorway.

“Kurt… keep it down, baby. Okay?” you whisper, gazing into those beautiful brown eyes. He nods, and you grab the controller, dropping it to the floor and guiding his hands to hold your waist. He grips you tightly, looking up at you with stars in his eyes. You smile, stroking his cheek with your thumb before lifting up and slowly lowering back down on him. Kurt looks amazed, eyes and mouth open in absolute awe. You build a slow and gently rhythm, wanting this to last at least five minutes.

You connect your lips to his, pushing the headphones off his head and they fall around his neck. Riding him steadily, you deepen the kiss as you slide your tongue along his lower lip. But Kurt’s Kurt so he doesn’t get it and you have to press your thumb to his chin and pull his mouth open. When you lick inside his mouth, he moans and digs his fingers into the small of your back. Thank God his cocks so long, it prods at your g-spot perfectly, hooked just right. You’re sure you can cum if you time it properly. So you kiss him filthier before picking up the pace, sucking on his tongue and licking against the roof of his mouth. Kurt’s completely falling apart, whimpering and messy. You bounce in his lap, adjusting the angle to ensure he’s slamming against your spongy bit just so.

His gaming chair squeaks under the weight, rhythmically mirroring your thrusts. You gasp, pulling back from the kiss and whispering in his ear, “Talk to me, baby. Make me me cum.”

“Oh!” he whines, “okay, uh… I’m fucking you. With my dick.”

It’s almost sweet and dorky enough to work, it makes you smile and you nod as you whisper back, “Yeah, baby. You are, your cock is so big. Filling me so deep, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” he whimpers, “Filling your pussy up.”

“How’s my pussy feel, baby?” You coax him along, knitting your fingers in his hair, slowing your movements.

“Good. Really good,” he struggles to get stay quiet, voice wrecked and shaky, “It’s wet and so good.”

“Yeah?” you hum, kissing along his jaw, “You wanna cum in my pussy, baby?”

“I—fuck,” he grits out, wrapping his arms around your waist while he holds you still, spurts of hot cum shooting from him inside you.

Well, you tried. You nuzzle against him and repeatedly kiss his jaw as he rides out his bliss. “That’s it, Kurt. Fill me up.”

He lets out a pathetic sound, face all contorted as he thrusts his hips up at you. Then his arms fall to his sides while he lets out labored breaths. You keep kissing his face and stroking his hair.

“Let’s go to mine. And we can do that some more,” you say and Kurt laughs, full of excitement and disbelief.

#kurt kunkle smut #kurt kunkle #kurt kunkle x reader #Kurt kunkle x you

[lexsssu]

Treasure (Akira Kurusu | Ren Amamiya)

TAGS: Akira/F!reader, yandere, obsession, praise, breeding, smut, oneshot Ao3 ver.

“Thank you for the curry, Akira-kun. It’s delicious as always and the coffee is perfect…!”

“Nothing less for my favorite patron of course~”

“Oh stop it, you! Using your charms won’t make me order another serving of curry”

“Darn. Guess I’ll just have to try harder next time then~”

“Of course you will. But I hope you know that the reason I keep coming back here is because of the food and not because of some pretty-boy cafe owner…!”

“Mhmm, I know very well that it’s only the food and drinks that keep you coming back. So that means all I have to do is make everything on the menu irresistible so you’d have no choice~”

“....Smart-ass”

Akira chuckled at the adorable pout you sent him, feeling his heartbeat seemingly getting faster as you played along with him. How your innocent little smiles and colorful blushes sent his heart into overdrive, reminding him constantly that the thief had been the one stolen from instead. 

You stole his heart and you didn’t even realize it.

So it was only natural that he would steal yours in return, right?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Isn't she an adorable little thing?

So small

So soft

So ripe for the taking

Don't you just want to sink your teeth into her pretty little neck?

Leave your mark on her

You know you want to

She's practically begging for it

All you have to do is take the first step 

You know full well that she wants to be moaning beneath you

She wants to choke on your cock

She wants you to stuff it inside her tight pussy 

Give her all your cum, make sure you fuck it all straight into her womb

Do it. You want it. She wants it. Stop pretending like you're a good man when we both know you're the farthest thing from one.

And none of that matters, because you'll have her anyway.

WE'LL have her.

Whether she wants to be ours or not.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“It's too dangerous for you to go home in this weather. Why don’t you stay the night here instead? I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if anything were to happen to you…”

Those were Akira’s words when he dissuaded you from traveling back to your own apartment as the thunderstorm raged outside of Leblanc. 

Yet...how did it turn out like this?

“Aren’t you my precious little treasure? Do you feel how tightly your pretty cunt is gripping my cock? It’s your first time and yet it’s swallowing up everything so happily...I just knew you were made for me~”

Arms wrapped around his strong neck, you hang onto Akira for dear life as he spears his girthy length into your sopping wet core, spreading your lower lips while the veins that pulsed along its length scraping against your previously untouched walls. He had your sinfully thick thighs wrapped around his narrow waist as he bucked up into you, basically carrying the entirety of your weight with his surprisingly strong arms.

For a man who supposedly worked full-time as the proprietor of a little cafe in Tokyo, Akira had both strength and a build beneath his unassuming clothes that clearly stated his physical prowess.

Not that you had any capacity to think about that when the man was flooding your insides with his thick, gooey cum. Your eyes are glazed as you panted, inhaling lungfuls of air as a heady mix of your clear love juice and his pearly essence dripped onto the wooden floors of his bedroom atop the shop.

Aside from the half-hard cock that plugged you up, you clearly felt the heat of his potent cum in your lower belly after the curly-haired male made sure to cum while he was balls-deep inside you. 

“Good girl. That’s my good girl. Taking my cum so eagerly...you’ll treasure my gift to you, won’t you? Because you’re my treasure and I want to leave my mark in you… ”

You should be scared at how things reached this point all of a sudden, but you find that you don’t care.

Not when you’d also long held a torch for the charming barista.

It was only your own insecurities that prevented you from ever saying a word. Why would you when Akira was so handsome, so charming, so smart as compared to your...mediocre self?

“Yours…♥” Smiling dazedly at him, you press a chaste kiss to his soft lips before nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck as a wave of drowsiness overtakes you.

There’s no need to ask questions. What matters is that he loves you as much as you loved him. So you don’t think about it anymore, simply relishing in the fact that the object of your affections returned your seemingly unrequited love.

“ I’ll protect you. No one will ever take you away from me. Don’t worry, my dear. You’ll be taken care of for life. Now that you’re mine...you’ll be treated like the priceless treasure you are~ ”

Eerie olden orbs glowed in the darkness, sometimes glinting with an unspeakable malice but they mostly shone with tenderness they were seemingly incapable of whenever they were trained on your sleeping figure.

#lexsssu writes #persona 5 #akira kurusu #ren amamiya #akira kurusu x reader #ren amamiya x reader #persona 5 joker x reader #p5 joker x reader #p5 x reader #persona 5 x reader #crossposted on ao3

[hxxsxxng]

ENHYPEN HYUNG LINE KINKS

MINORS DNI

Genre:….. self explanatory by the title

Contents: i don’t want to spoil it

SUPPORT BY REBLOGGING if you want

heeseung - breeding kink

i am not lying when i say heeseung LOVES to pump you full of his cum. seeing your thighs turn white when it spills out of your cunt is his biggest weakness. DEFINITELY likes it messy.

he bent you over the kitchen counter and fucked you senseless. his cock slid in and out so easily with how wet he had made you. using your hips for mobility, he would pound deeper into your pussy, brushing your cervix, making you cry out with how good he was making you feel. when he felt himself almost reach his peak, he lifted one of your legs up onto the counter and filled you with his warm seed. “i love seeing you stuffed full with my cum, baby girl” he turns your head to whisper into your ear. he pulls out and admires the white painting he created.

jay- choking

jay would take any chance he could get to wrap his hands around your precious neck while y’all are fucking. your inability to form words while you are in his grip is so attractive to him.

he always put you in missionary for the sole purpose that it was the easiest to choke you in that position. your legs resting around his waist, with his hips ramming into your thighs. he slid his hand from around your waist up to your neck and grips it, pulling your face closer to his. he looks directly into your eyes “you look so fucking hot taking my dick like this” he says while slamming your head back into the mattress, hands remaining around your throat.

jake- begging

jake kind of has an inflated ego when it comes to fucking you specifically, because you make it very clear that he makes you feel good. he loves when you practically get on your knees and beg for his cock.

your eyes were admiring jake for a little too long once he got out of the shower. “staring problem” he teases. “oh n-no” you stammered. “hmm sure”. your eyes were burning holes into him and he could feel it. he walked over to the bed and planted a few kisses on your neck, his hot breath made your legs tense, creating friction between your thighs. “need me that badly already” he mocks. he pulled away to continue his after shower routine. “no come back” you pleaded. “please?” he corrects …. “yes please, i need you now”

sunghoon- edging

hoon could have sex for hours. he loves torturing you by not letting you cum. he lets it all build up over maybe 10 almost peaks, then let’s you release all the tension at once, making music to his ears.

his tongue was dancing across your pretty clit, having two of his long fingers inside of you. curving his finger up, pressing against your sensitive spot. you gripped his silky black hair, making him groan. the vibration made you feel all the better. you throw your head back in pleasure “hoon… i’m about to cum”. he pulls his wet fingers out of you and pulls his tongue away. “not yet you aren’t”.

#enhypen #enhypen niki #enhypen sunoo #heeseung #heeseung smut #jungwon #kpop #stray kids #enhypen x reader #enhypen jungwon #sunghoon #jay park #park jay #jake sim #sim jaeyun

[rosenbergamot]

“Gri, how do you feel about Mumbo?” Scar asks one day as they’re cuddling against one another.

Scar’s legs have been hurting him more than usual, so Grian is taking it upon himself to massage them. He’s on the calves right now, planning very stealthily and sneakily to move up from calf to thigh to somewhere much less PG than this. He stops his massaging, fixes Scar with a look. 

“Why do you ask?” 

His grin is bright. “Oh, well… I was just thinking about him. He’s pretty cute, isn’t he?”

He could tell from his tone where this was going to go. The way his face starts to warm up is indicative of his answer, but he knows that Scar likes it when he actually tells him things even if he can always understand otherwise. “Well… of course he is. He’s Mumbo.” 

Scar leans in closer, urging him on with a nod. “Mhm? And?”

“And-- and I really like Mumbo, Scar. You know this.” 

“I do, I do!” He waves his hand. “But how much do you like Mumbo?” 

This makes him continue his massaging, if only to get away from those knowing eyes. Why now of all times does he bring this up? “I like him a lot, Scar.”

He bats his pretty eyes at him, “as much as me, Grian?” 

Deciding not to give that a response, he continues to talk. “I mean, I’ve known him for a long time, and I’ve always felt differently towards him. He’s… special to me. I can’t imagine my life without him. Can you imagine me without Mumbo? It’s sacrilegious, Scar! I wouldn’t survive! Heck, he wouldn’t survive!”

“Gri…” Scar’s voice is soft and syrupy. He reaches up to card a hand through his hair. That forces his eyes away from his legs, up to his face, and the way he smiles makes him melt. He leans into the touch. “Say, I like Mumbo a lot too. A lot a lot.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “How about we break the question to him?”

His mouth falls open. “You like him too?”

“Grian! Have you seen the way I look at him?” 

Oh. Now that he’s thinking about it, he absolutely has. Scar looks at Mumbo with a certain kind of reverence, a shine in his eyes, a longing that he hasn’t seen since the desert, since the two of them would lay centimetres apart underneath the desert moon. For having experienced that firsthand, he sure did forget what it looked like.

Oh, plus he also looks like he wants to devour Mumbo sometimes, a fact which he had attributed to him being a vex rather then him being insanely attracted to him. God. How much has he been missing?

“Huh.” And just like that, a smile starts to form on his face. “Let’s do it, then!” 

Scar cheers and pumps his fist, the movement jostling their comfortable position. He leans over, pressing a kiss to his cheek, warm and solid and sweet. “I didn’t think you were ever going to go for him! So proud of you, G.” 

He moves to kiss him again and Grian stops him with a hand to his chest. Scar pouts. He tries to put on as serious a face as he can muster. It doesn't really work. “Yeah, yeah, that’s all well and good, but how about we talk about you and Cub now?” 

Scar straightens up immediately, face screwing into something that Grian can only describe as dread. He checks his empty wrist, makes an astonished face. “Oh, goodness, would you look at that! I’m late for… for a meeting!” He rolls off of Grian, falls to the ground with a solid thunk. “And my legs feel so much better, Gri! It’s like magic. You’re so good at massaging them and I love you so much and I can't wait to have Mumbo be with us and-- goodbye have a good time!” 

He’s out the door before Grian can say anything to him.

That’s okay. He’ll get him next time. 

#they are poly your honour #mumscarian #hermitshipping #scarian #hermitfic #anyways this is my communication WIN fic #desert duo #rosie writing

[mystellenia]

Telling ellie or abby shes pretty if she gets really close to you, you could even say she's so pretty she's hard to talk to

shy!abby getting nervous at your compliment ୨ৎ

summary: after finishing up a workout with abby, you guys head to the locker room to get ready to leave. inside the bathroom, abby freezes up at your sudden flirtiness.

content: unestablished relationship, but you guys are long-time friends and have gotten quite flirty lately. no nsfw content, like barely a drop of flirting

notes: so i'm actually so sorry to the anon who requested this bc i totally forgot about the part saying she's so pretty it's almost intimidating.... i hope it's not too big of a difference. guys should i try my take on like a series?? i feel like i'd be so bad with updating frequently enough but like i'll finesse it

(wc 0.7k)

you swipe your towel across the back of your neck, wiping sweat off as you watched abby do her last rep of overhead dumbbell presses. you gawked at her shoulders constricting with her every movement, her loose muscle tee leaving her toned back on display. hands on your thighs, you kneaded them as they threatened to give out in retaliation of today's focus on quads.  

propping your hands on your hips, you lift your gaze up to the mirror to find her already staring at you. she doesn't look away, though—at least not immediately. you keep your eyes on her, scanning her face and the strands of hair that have fallen from her loose high bun, stuck to her skin by sweat. 

she finishes up her rep, doing the very last one slowly to 'feel the burn,' as she always says. you watch her heavy breathing while she tilts her head back to take a swig of water, her throat bobbing at the movement. 

"god, i’m tired," she huffs, swinging her gym bag on to her shoulder. "let's go to the lockers." 

you trail behind her, teasing her when she looks back to make sure you were close behind. 

the two of you enter the bathroom, her heading to the sinks to wash her face and you plopping on the wooden stools lined up on the wall. you check your phone for the time, smiling at the stupid picture of you and abby covered in food after a dare lighting up your screen. 

"who you smiling at, huh? you got yourself a little boyfriend?" abby teases, peeking at you through one eye with the other closed to avoid getting soap in it from her face wash. 

"you're the boyfriend, abby," you say while standing up to walk to the sinks, leaning on a nearby wall and crossing your legs at your ankles. "it's just that picture of us i have as my wallpaper." 

you swear you see her previously playful smile falter before she purses her lips and closes her eye to continue washing her face. 

once she finishes, she turns the sink off with her elbow and flicks the water off her hands into it, then reaches into her gym bag for a fresh towel. she pats it across her face to dry her skin before setting it down and leaning on the counter to look in the mirror at you with your arms crossed across your body. 

"you ready for me to drop you off?" she asks, zipping up her bag. "we can grab food if you're hungry." 

"you look so pretty, abs." you murmur, your eyes darting across her face to take it all in, to take her all in. 

her hand stutters with the zipper, looking up at you with furrowed brows. "what?" 

"you look pretty," you repeat, uncrossing your arms to begin a torturously slow walk towards her. despite her attempts to look unbothered, her face grows hotter and redder with every step you take.  

"you know, normally people would say a thank you back, but maybe you're just a little flustered. maybe i flustered you. yeah, i think so," you mock, dragging your finger down her tense arm. "do you not get compliments often, abs?" 

she finally catches on to your cheshire cat grin and the evil glint in your eyes and throws her towel at your chest. "god, i hate you, you know that?" she says, rolling her eyes. 

"ughhh, it's just so fun to rile you up," you laugh and toss her towel on top of her gym bag. "do i make you nervous, abigail?" you prod, your face falling flat again as you look up at her through your lashes. 

"i'm seriously about to hit you, dude." 

"okay, okay! you wanna get some greek food from that place by the park?" 

"oh, hell yeah," she exclaims while opening her bag to put her towel and water in and to retrieve her car keys. 

"hurry up!" you say, nudging her hip with yours as you pass her to leave. "i want my feta salad and if they close before we get there, i might just throw a tantrum." 

"and i might just drop you on the side of the road to hitchhike home," she murmurs. "come on, let's catch them before they close." 

notes: i actually need to see abby in a loose high bun so bad...... do any artists follow me 👀👀

@picklesarenice69

click here!! oh and here too!! ˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶

#mystellenia 𐑂°‧₊ #shy!abby #gym!abby #ellie #ellie tlou #tlou ellie #ellie the last of us #ellie x reader #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #ellie williams #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams the last of us #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x you #ellie williams fic #ellie williams fluff #abby #abby tlou #tlou abby #abby the last of us #abby x reader #abby x you #abby x y/n #abby anderson #abby anderson tlou #abby anderson the last of us #abby anderson x reader

[hardly-an-escape]

A Close Shave | Dream/Hob | 2150 words | Rated G

tags: retired!Dream, shaving, unmitigated yearning and longing, the pining is probably mutual but you only get Hob's POV

“Been meaning to ask," Hob says. "How are you feeling about... this?"

He gestures to his chin, the stubble there, and across the table, Dream slowly puts down his spoon. Even more slowly, he raises one hand to his own chin and runs the backs of his fingers along the newly-grown layer of hair there.

It’s been a little over a month, and by now Hob is used to the speed – or rather, lack thereof – with which Dream finds it necessary to live his freshly-human life. A month, since Dream had chosen to live, and chosen to live with Hob, taking over the spare room and filling it with books and soft cardigans and snacks as he learned his own likes and dislikes as Dream-the-human.

It still feels to Hob as though there’s a minor miracle sitting across the breakfast table, now thoughtfully fondling the brand-new beard on his chin.

“Ah,” Dream says eventually. “You mean this. The hair on my face. Yes, I have noticed it.”

“I’ve never seen you with a beard before,” Hob says neutrally.

“I suppose I never felt the need to manifest one when I visited the Waking World,” Dream says. He returns most of his attention to his oatmeal. It still requires some concentration, to hold the spoon steady; to make sure it reaches his mouth without spilling. Hob watches for a moment, impressed all over again with Dream’s willingness to try.

“Does it bother you, having one now?” he asks.

“Why would it bother me? It is a part of my body, is it not?”

Hob, wisely, refrains from mentioning the other body parts and functions – the sunburn, the stubbed toe, the sensations of hunger and dizziness and nausea, the need for sleep and to relieve himself – which have bothered Dream an inordinate amount over the past four weeks.

“But do you like it?” Hob presses gently. “I mean, one of the great things about being human is that it’s pretty easy to change our looks, generally speaking. Maybe not as easy as just… manifesting. But still. You get to choose what you look like, whether it’s a beard or clean-shaven, or, or pink hair. Or anything. Infinite variety.”

Dream puts his spoon down again and brings both hands up to his face. His palms cup either side of his chin and his long, narrow fingers stroke gently, from the downy hairs peppering his cheekbones, down into the hollows of his cheeks (not quite as gaunt as they used to be, Hob notes with a swell of gratitude), and then along the line of his chin to where it ends in a devastating little point.

In the morning light, with his face framed by those artistic fingers and a look of such solemn concentration on his features, he looks like a statue; a religious icon, perhaps, contemplative and blessed. His eyes are closed and his rosebud of a mouth is very pink and very slightly open.

Hob has to dig his fingernails into his own thigh to stop himself from reaching out and running his own fingers down Dream’s cheek, or brushing his thumb along that unfairly soft-looking bottom lip.

“Hm,” Dream says finally. “I do not think I dislike the beard. But equally, I am not sure that I like it. I am not sure that my face… feels like me.”

“Well,” Hob says. “You can shave it off, if you want. See if you feel more like yourself. I can – I can help you. Obviously.”

Obviously. Obviously. He supposes it is obvious – it must be – how desperately he wants to help Dream. How abject his desire to make this fragile, human life a little more bearable, in any small way he can.

“Yes,” says Dream. “I would… like that. Thank you.”

Hob drags a kitchen chair into the bathroom. Digs out his softest hand towel and wets it with hot water before wrapping it carefully around Dream’s face and neck. He chatters idly as he gathers his supplies: random recollections about his favorite Turkish bath in London, which had gone out of business during the Great War, and the Russian steambaths and Finnish saunas he’s seen during his travels.

He doesn’t use his old straight razor much anymore, preferring a good reusable safety razor for himself when he’s going clean shaven, but he’s always found a well-honed, old-fashioned cutthroat to be more comfortable when shaving someone else. And he keeps his razors, like any tool, in good condition whether he’s using it regularly or not; the mother-of-pearl handle is clean and polished, the joint moves smoothly, and the blade gleams.

Dream watches through hooded eyes as Hob strops the razor and mixes up the suds of shaving foam. He loads up the soft bristle brush before removing the towel and making sure Dream is positioned in front of the mirror.

“Here’s what I’m thinking,” Hob says. “I’m going to start by just doing your neck and cheeks, clean up the edges a bit. You might like it more when it looks like an intentional beard, not just a couple weeks’ worth of shaggy growth. And if you’re still not feeling it, we’ll shave the rest. Sound okay?”

Dream nods, and Hob goes to work.

Touching Dream is – not difficult, not exactly. If anything, it’s too easy. Hob’s fingertips hunger for the soft brush of Dream’s skin, for the fluff of his dark hair, for his stubble and his slender hands and the little creases in the corners of his eyes. In those earliest mad days, when Dream hadn’t even been strong enough to walk on his own, Hob had manhandled him matter-of-factly. He’d helped him walk, and dress, and eat; taught him how the bathtub worked and washed his body, cheerfully ignoring the furious flush on Dream’s face at the indignity of needing to be cared for. They’d gotten through it.

He’s mature enough to admit to himself that he misses it, now that Dream has gained enough strength of body and mind to do it all for himself. There’s something so intimate about that contact with another person: about being needed in that particular intense way. It’s heady. The longing for it almost chokes him, sometimes, with how badly he wants it: to hoist Dream in his arms and cradle him against his chest. To wash his hair and rub him gently dry. To hold a cup of water or warm milk to those perfect lips.

But Hob, for all his faults, is trying so hard not to be an asshole these days. So he doesn’t touch Dream that way, now that it isn’t needed – now that he isn’t needed. No matter how much he might like to.

Until now.

Now, for just a moment, he lets himself indulge. Runs his hungry fingertips along the soft, vulnerable curves of Dream’s throat and the firmer lines of his jaw as he brushes on the shaving foam. Tips his head gently this way and that, revels guiltily in how biddable Dream is as he sits quietly in the chair.

Hob takes his time with the actual shaving, both out of caution (perhaps even a bit of terror, that he might inadvertently mark that precious skin) and out of a desire to linger over the experience for as long as he can get away with. Unfortunately, shaving just a person’s neck doesn’t really take that long, regardless of how carefully one does it. Within just a handful of minutes, he is carefully wiping the last spot of soap from the hollow of Dream’s throat and turning him fully toward the bathroom mirror.

“What do you think?” he asks.

Dream doesn’t answer right away. He turns his head from side to side, surveying his reflection. Then he tilts his chin up and runs his fingers down the newly-soft skin of his neck. Hob’s fingertips tingle. He knows the sensation Dream is experiencing, knows it intimately: the smoothness of the hairless skin, the slight tackiness of the moisturizer. Knows it from his own face, and from the faces of lovers over the decades, and even from poor, long-dead Robyn’s face, when he’d taught his son to shave.

He doesn’t say anything, and after a moment Dream meets his eye in the mirror.

“I think I would like to have the rest of it off,” he says. “If you would not mind…?”

“No problem,” says Hob softly.

They go through the whole ritual once more: the hot towel, mixing up the foam. Hob strops the razor again, just to be sure. This time he carefully rubs a little pre-shave oil into Dream’s beard to soften the hairs as much as possible, then covers his face with the thick foam.

“I don’t really know if the oil does much,” he admits, “but the last time I went for a proper shave at a barber’s, the bloke who did it swore by the stuff. I guess I’m a sucker for a good upsell. And it does smell nice.”

It takes much longer this time, of course. He finishes the first pass, wipes Dream’s face, lathers him again and goes for a second pass. He leaves Dream’s sideburns mostly alone, just taking them up enough to blend in with the hair falling shaggy over his ears – if Dream wants a haircut that will have to be another adventure, to a real barber or a salon, because Hob doesn’t trust himself with that kind of artistry, not where Dream is concerned.

He narrates as he goes, describing the best angle to hold the blade, how to gently pull the skin taut to avoid nicks, when to go with the grain of the hair and when to scrape against it. Reminiscing further on his favorite barbers and spas and on a broad history of facial hair and shaving. He is babbling a bit, he knows, but he tells himself it’s for educational purposes; that this kind of general knowledge could potentially serve Dream well as he navigates a new human life.

He’s certainly not talking in order to distract himself from the sensation of Dream’s skin and the soft sounds of Dream’s breath, or to stop himself from saying something much more revealing and embarrassing. Like how he wants to take care of Dream for the rest of time. Or how badly he wants to see if his skin is as soft all the way down as it is in the tender place just behind his ear. Or how fiercely grateful he is that Dream has chosen to live, to try, to be here, to sit in a kitchen chair and eat oatmeal, to sit in this bathroom and let Hob run his fingers down the line of his jaw, over and over, trying to memorize the feeling of every inch of skin he’s allowed to touch as he runs the razor over the valleys of Dream’s cheeks.

He will never run out of words to say to Dream – or words he wishes he could say – but eventually he does run out of skin to shave. At his direction, Dream leans over the sink and rinses his face with cold water, then gently pats in aftershave while Hob meticulously dries his razor and clears away the shaving tackle.

Then it’s quiet in the little bathroom for a long, long moment while Dream reexamines his face in the mirror.

“Well?” Hob says eventually, so low it’s almost a whisper. He allows himself one last touch. Drops his hand onto Dream’s shoulder and squeezes gently.

Dream makes eye contact in the mirror, and Hob is shocked by a swift bolt of recognition. Here, in front of him, is Dream – his Stranger, his centennial mystery – so different, so human, and yet, suddenly, so familiar. It could almost be 1489 again, save the electric lighting; his hair is nearly long enough, and the imperious pout is back on his lips.

And then he opens his mouth.

“Hob, I –” he trails off. Breathes. “I am me.”

Hob squeezes his shoulder again. “Of course you are.”

“No, you misunderstand. I – I recognize myself,” Dream says, unconsciously echoing Hob’s thoughts. “I see a man, and he looks like me.” He meets Hob’s eye in the mirror once again. “I – thank you.”

Dream’s eyes are, unaccountably, welling up with tears, as beautiful and delicate as the rest of him. Hob does the only thing he can think to do, which is to drop his chin to Dream’s shoulder, lay his own hairy cheek alongside Dream’s newly-smooth, freshly-scented face, wrap his arms around Dream’s bony chest, and hold him.

One of Dream’s hands comes up and wraps itself around Hob’s wrist, and they stay that way for a long time: Dream in the kitchen chair, in front of the bathroom mirror, and Hob behind him, holding him, crouched somewhat uncomfortably, but exactly where he wants to be.

---

this has been languishing in my drafts for absolute ages and I wish it hadn't taken me so ding dang long but it is what it is || this two cakes situation is inspired by @watercubebee's art and dedicated to her and @valeriianz 🎂🎂 || art, Kris's ficlet (plus part two)

read on AO3 >>>

#hello I am once again posting barely edited fics in the wee hours AS IS MY WONT #do you know how long I've had a tab open with the wikihow article on shaving with a straight razor?? it's been WEEKS #someday I will improve on my current writing speed of twelve words per day smh #my writing #dreamling #the sandman #dream of the endless #hob gadling

[eggtartz]

✧ 21th October ✧

Ran Haitani // Girth Of An Object (f! girlfriend reader)

kinktober masterlist

warnings : mentions of sex toys, baton play, penetration with baton, slight aftercare, dirty talk

you rummaged through ran's closet because twice a month, you'd agreed to have a cleaning day in the apartment. you opened up the last dusty box as ran dusted the whole place and helping throwing away the trash. "found anything, babe? some memories from the past perhaps?" his voice was muffled as he adjusted the mask over his mouth.

"there's this one box, i think it's your tenjiku stuff" you said, sweating behind your mask. "oh? oh shit, it is" you could hear the smile in his voice as he looked through it. "oh babe, look. it's me and rin! and kakucho! look, mochi's hair looks ridiculous!" he cackled.

"said someone who had braids like annabelle" you snickered as he glared. "shut up, it was cool. i miss my long hair" he ruffled his currently lilac hair. you smiled as you went through more of his things "woah ran! is this your baton? you used to use this?" ran smirked "oh babe.. you don't know my history with this baby"

he took the piece of metal, still clean and not rusty. it had a black and white stripes, a small R.H. carving on the handle. you smiled at the look of the weapon "you know what that oddly looks like?"

"what?"

"my dildo"

ran spat out his spit. "what the hell babe, you horny?" he raised his eyebrow "no! tell me it doesn't look the same" you cackled, reached over your drawer and pulled your pink dildo, the one ran bought for your anniversary. he has done a custom piece, a R.H carving on the tip. "tell me it's not the same!" you compared the objects side to side. "well, the baton has a wide girth i think. wanna test it out?"

again, it was cleaning day so you two were a sweaty mess as you ended up making out on top of each other on the couch. since the mattress is getting dried under the sun. you made small whimpers as ran nudged the head of the baton right at your pussy lips. "let's see.. we're gonna start slow alright, sweetheart? or you're too greedy for that?" he purred againts your ear. "just fuck me with it, ran" you hissed, eyes pleading.

"i knew you were such a greedy one" he chuckled, playing with your clit so you'd be stimulated enough for the metal to pierce through your walls. "that's it, take it in. imagine, it's my cock." he cooed. "you're doing so well, keep it up sweetheart" he gave slight slaps to your oversensitive clit making you writhe under him.

his baton was almost half inside you yet you felt like being split in half. the width of the baton stretched you sooo deliciously, you groaned at the lack of movement since ran's moving so slow. "hurry, ran.. need it inside me, please" you raised your hip, rolling it for any fraction. "oh shit, look at that" ran spat on your pussy "it's so pretty, stuffed and wet" he cooed, one hand caressing your inner thighs. your cunt gushed around the foreign object when ran finally picked up his pace, using the baton to thrust inside.

"ah! oh, it's so much better than the dildo!" you smiled drunkenly as ran smirked "does it now? what a freaky sweet thing you are" he caressed your clit, flicking it softly and gently. he often spat on your pussy to make sure it's lubricated enough despite not needing so since your slick is coating the baton very well.

"ran! oh, i can feel it.." you moaned with a high pitched voice "feel it where? in your tummy? your insides?" he bought himself down to have one tit in his mouth, flicking your nipple with his tongue. you grabbed his hair, as you felt a wave of intense stimulation coming. your pussy convulsed as you came undone, thighs shaking with pleasure. "there we go. you did good" he mumbled, taking your other tit while soothing your clit in circles, taking out the baton slowly from your pussy.

he bought the baton to your mouth as you licked it, tasting yourself as you traced your tongue to clean up your own mess. "there we go, still think this one is better than the dildo?" he raised his eyebrow. "yeah.. much better than the dildo" you smiled.

"but it can't beat this one, can it?" he patted his crotch, a bulge already apparent behind his sweatpants. "oh no, this one is the best" you purred, slowly rubbing him. it's safe to say that on the cleaning day, you two did nothing done.

#tokyo revengers #tokrev #tokyo rev x y/n #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x yn #tokyo revengers smut #ran haitani #ran x reader #ran imagines #ran smut #ran haitani x reader #ran haitani smut #ran haitani imagines #kinktober entry ♡˖

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

LOTR and The Hobbit NSFW Headcanons pt 2.

(y’all bishes hoooorrrrnnnnyyyyy)

Part 1

Pippin:

- loves when you ride him

- wants to grab and hold every part of you that he can

- forcing him to be a good boy in public and keeping him nice and hot for as long as you can

- whispering really dirty things in his ear in public but following it with a sweet kiss on the cheek so people just think you’ve said something lovely

- ass kinda hobbit

- sitting in your lap and playing with his cock

- “such a good boy for me” you whisper while he cums on your hand

- loves when you grab at his hair during oral

Merry:

- likes to be man handled but in a playful way

- exhibitionist kink

- sweet and playful caresses while he fucks you from behind

- his favourite meal is between your legs 😏😏😏

- will tell you how good you’re making him feel

- buys you pretty night gowns and aprons so he can watch you bake in them

- loves when you put on a show baking, bending over and sitting in his lap while you feed him the cake mix

- holding his face nicely while you bounce on his cock

Lindir:

- degradation and praise all at once

- make him cry! Make him cry! Make him cry!

- overstimulation is his favourite thing

- tie him up and make him cum over and over again

- will beg you to stop but that’s because it makes him horny

- if it was too much he’d use his safe word

- “please mistress, I can’t take it anymore, it hurts too much please!”

- wants to be pegged so badly

- will suck your strap

- it’s so fun to grind up against him and make him cum in his pants

- you do it on purpose but then you tease him about it and he loves it

- “did you just cum in your pants? You’re such a dirty little pathetic thing aren’t you, Lindir?”

- he goes so pink

Frodo:

- has a thing for human partners

- likes feeling small and taken care of but elves are too big

- loves him a squishy partner

- would live laying on your boobs or on your thighs if he could

- pretends he can’t do things like open jars or reach things but home boy gets horny when you take care of him

- playing with his hair is foreplay

- lots of whimpers, light moans and quiet pleas

- if you tug his hair however he’s screaming and eyes are rolling back

- he lives in your lap

Arwen:

- oral queen 👑👑

- could honestly live between your legs

- whispers the dirtiest things to you and yet it sounds like poetry

- talks elvish in your ear while sitting behind you and taking her time playing with you

- the softest dom in the whole world

- like is literally only dominant because she wants to take care of you

- passing you dirty letters while you try to read peacefully

- loves watching you touch yourself

- she won’t say anything but her eyes won’t leave yours or your body

- breathy moans

- loves having her nipples sucked

Meludir:

- sweet innocent boy

- surprisingly kinky but only in a proper relationship

- praise kiiinnnkkk!

- tell him he’s a good boy and he’ll just melt

- “oh you’re doing so well for me, baby, such a good boy”

- kinda likes being hurt but will need a lot more aftercare than usual

- likes being tied up and edged

- is into watching you get fucked by someone else but only if he can join later

- wants Legolas to join you but turns into a blushing mess every time you talk about it

- sit on his face pllleeeaaaaassssseee! He doesn’t care if he can’t breathe

- craves kneeling before you during oral

- wants to feel like your sweet little servant

Glorfindel:

- size kink!!! He’s a huge dude and honestly loves how tiny you are (you could be tall and still be tiny to him!)

- loves being called ‘my lord’

- you don’t have to thank him when you cum but he sure does love it when you do

- degrades you and praises you in the same session

- he likes degrading you and being rough when you give him oral but if he’s fucking you (especially from behind) he wants to tell you how good you’re taking his cock

- gives you very sweet names during very dirty times

- “you’re just such a sweet little thing for me” he tells you while your face is covered in cum and spit

- bounces you on his lap while you ride him

- lots of loud grunts

- rag dolls you around into different positions

- is either fast and rough or takes his time and worships you

- thinks both giving and receiving hickies is really hot and will show them off with pride

#lotr #lord of the rings #lotr headcanon #lord of the rings headcanon #the hobbit #the hobbit headcanon #pippin #pippin x reader #merry #merry x reader #Lindir #Lindir x reader #Frodo #Frodo x reader #Arwen #Arwen x reader #Meludir #Meludir x reader #Glorfindel #Glorfindel x reader