#also back to start set will drop when i get current aus content

[noosayog]

002 get him back!

✧ wc: 4k

✧ warnings/content: miya osamu x fem!reader, sfw, fake dating au, angst to fluff,

✧ GUTS masterlist, regular masterlist

divider from @/cafekitsune

It all started when Miya Atsumu said that you would never be able to find anyone who could put up with you. And you would have taken that with a grain of salt, if Miya Atsumu wasn't your ex who also happened to be a thorough asshole.

“Well you dated me didn’t you?!” 

“And we broke up, duh.” he says flippantly. 

You clam up at that. You know he’s just saying things. He doesn’t mean it and he’s a complete moron. But it’s been almost a year since the break-up and not a single man has even offered to buy you a drink. Are you going to have to resort to making a Hinge profile? 

–

“I don’t know why ya let him get to ya. He’s just a moron,” Osamu says. 

“You have to say that, he’s your brother,” you grumble. 

“True. But he is an idiot.” 

You plop your face heavily into the elbow resting on the counter and blow raspberries in one big exhale. 

“Don’t get yer spit all over where my customers eat.” 

You grunt, turning over to watch Osamu work behind the counter. 

“Do you think I’m unlovable?” you ask.

“Huh?” 

“There must be a reason no one’s asked me out on a date in the past 8 months, right?” 

Osamu sighs, dropping off a plate of food in front of you. “I’m not gonna answer that.” Then he turns with his back facing you to fiddle with something on the other side of the kitchen. 

“Why not?” 

He exhales through his nose, quiet, but you hear it. 

He doesn’t get the chance to answer because the door swings open to reveal Osamu’s twin. You jolt up, fixing your posture, self-conscious about letting Atsumu think his words are getting to you. 

And rightfully so because Atsumu acts like a shark that smells blood. His lips curl up into what he thinks is a smirk, but resembles much more of a snarl. 

“What’s up with ya,” he asks oh-so-innocently. 

You have no good response and feel your face heating up in embarrassment when Osamu swoops in. 

“Are ya gonna sit down or just block my door? ‘Cause I got people that actually pay to eat here.” 

Atsumu starts yelling something at Osamu but simmers down into the seat next to you and mumbles something to himself, no doubt some choice words for his brother. It gives you momentary reprieve from Atsumu’s provocation which is the last thing you need right now with your self-esteem in the dumps. 

The break is temporary though, because like a true creature with short-term memory and a propensity for being a prick, Atsumu circles back to the topic when he’s done eating. 

“So, found a guy to take you out?” 

“What makes you think I’d answer that question,” you bite back. Weak, but it’s all you have. 

“Hah,” he scoffs. “I knew it. Ya can’t find anyone.” 

You feel the irritation boiling like a witch’s cauldron inside of you, brewing a mix of resentment, mortification, and the tiniest streak of competitiveness. Atsumu not shutting up for the rest of the night is the final ingredient that makes your red hot concoction boil over. It goes a bit like this: 

“Tell me if ya want me to set ya up with someone from the team. Might be the only chance ya get at this rate,” he teases. 

“No thanks,” you hiss. “I’ll have you know that I’m dating Osamu, widely known as the better Miya.” You point smugly at Osamu whose back is currently to you both. 

“What!” Atsumu yells. “Osamu? And you?” 

With Osamu’s back to you, you can’t see his face, but all your fingers and toes are crossed that he’ll play along so that you don’t burn up in a gas of complete humiliation. 

When Osamu turns around, his eyes go to you first. They search yours for something – what, you don’t know. He apparently finds it because he blinks away and tells his brother to mind his own business, neither denying nor validating your claim. 

It might as well be confirmation though, because Atsumu squawks in indignation, sputtering his disbelief. Osamu continues to bicker with his brother, keeping him occupied enough to not realize that he was slowly being backed out of the restaurant. 

When Osamu slams the door on Atsumu and twists the lock in a dramaticized show of finality, Atsumu finally gives up, yelling a muffled “I’ll be back.” through the windows. You could laugh at the duo if Osamu didn’t turn around and fix you with a look, similar to that of a responsible older brother scolding a child. 

“Now yer turn. What was that about?”

“Osamu! You heard the way he was talking to me. I just can’t stand it!” 

“Have ya thought this through? How’s this supposed to end, huh? We break up and Atsumu goes back to making fun of ya?”

You open your mouth to beg, because it’s always worked with Osamu. He always gives in. But he’s not done, apparently. 

“‘Least ya could’ve done is ask me out, not use me to get through yer petty grudge with ‘Tsumu.” 

That shuts you up. When you look at Osamu, he’s not looking at you. His eyes are downcast, distracting himself by wiping up the counter. It’s so brief that you convince yourself that you imagined the hurt in his voice. 

“‘Samu…” 

“Forget it. I’ll do it, but ya better have it thought out because I’m not helping ya anymore than this.” 

It should be a win and any other time, you would wrap him up in a bear hug and shower him with thanks, but the defeated way Osamu concedes makes you solemnly finish your meal. It feels unfitting to say thank you. 

–

Your first stint as Osamu’s girlfriend comes in the form of a friend’s dinner party. Since the night you forced Osamu to be your boyfriend, you have been back at Onigiri Miya to hang out, but have painfully tiptoed around the topic. The thought has occurred to you that you and Osamu should agree upon a backstory, but you haven’t had the courage to breach the topic after the way Osamu reacted. 

He had just nodded when you asked him to attend this dinner party with you. And with that, he had dutifully picked you up at your apartment, perfectly on time. You had expected a stone-faced Osamu all night, but he had surprised you with a sweet smile, one that you’re used to being on the receiving end of. But it somehow feels different tonight. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s supposed to be smiling at you as your lover tonight. It was easy, the way he had held out his arm for you, no awkwardness in sight. 

At dinner, Osamu makes no move to let go of your hand, going as far as to intertwine your fingers under the table. When any one asks how the two of you began dating, he squeezes to tell you he’ll handle this. You’re grateful and you feel undeservingly spoiled as you watch him. He looks around the room, drifts his gaze back to you where his lips flicker upwards for the tiniest second, then looks back at the crowd to flash a mysterious, close-lipped smile. You can barely hear the dinner table go wild with jeers and Atsumu squawking as you gawk at Osamu’s act.

And it goes on. 

As you eat, he keeps your fingers clasped between his, laid on his lap. Atsumu gives you two the stink-eye, questioning why Osamu was eating with his left hand. You’re pretty sure your eyes are bulging out of your head at this point, because Osamu flushes. Osamu is blushing as he reluctantly lets go of your hand, making a show out of placing your hand back on your own lap and mumbling a heavily-accented apology at no one in particular. 

–

When dinner finally ends, the party migrates to the living room. Osamu doesn’t need to ask, perfectly picking your favorite after-dinner drink of choice as he chooses a beer for himself. He has once again claimed your hand in his. His grip is tight and when you try to slip your hand out to get some space, he holds tighter. 

You lean up to whisper in his ear, “Osamu, my hands are sweaty.” 

He leans down to hear you better, but stands back up when he registers your comment. He ignores you, only squeezing twice, as if telling you to behave for him. Your head spins; you’ve never dated like this before. 

Being with Atsumu was like living in a comically unrealistic sit-com, like you were constantly finding yourself in situations and having conversations that belong in a Tom and Jerry episode. He argued with you about everything, had an ego, and a temper. A particularly memorable moment was when he was still courting you, trying to convince you to date him by saying, “I’m six foot two.” 

“Dude, nice try,” you had said. 

But somehow, right now, with Osamu standing by your side and towering over you, you think that if this younger twin used that line on you right now, you’d fold in half for him. As if you wouldn’t with all the sweet nothings he’s lavished on you in this one night. 

He only lets you get away when you embarrassingly whisper to him that you need a bathroom break. 

“I’ll walk with ya.” 

“No!” you exclaim. You lower your voice when he stares at you. “It’s okay, ‘Samu. I’ll be right back, okay?” 

He backs off and you finally get away from his orbit. 

Finally alone, you barely pull yourself together. You stare at your reflection in the mirror, slapping your cheeks lightly to pry the strange daze from your eyes. You can’t get carried away here. Osamu is doing you a favor, one he isn’t fond of. You can’t get used to Osamu treating you like this. It’s borrowed time. 

You splash water onto your face, waiting until the chill seeps into your cheeks that have been painfully hot since Osamu picked you up tonight. 

As you exit the bathroom, Atsumu is there waiting for you in the hallway. 

“I’m onto ya,” he starts. 

You scoff, immediately putting your facade back on. It’s easy with Atsumu. “Oh please, Atsumu. You’re just jealous.” 

It doesn't phase Atsumu the way you hope. “Such a weak comeback. Sounds like something you’d say to disguise the fact that yer playin’ my brother.” Your brother is the one playing me.

“Whatever, Atsumu,” you say, walking away, taking Osamu’s advice to not let Atsumu get to you. 

“I bet ya forced my brother to pretend to be yer boyfriend. I know my brother and I know you. Just admit it.” He smirks. “It’s okay that no one wants to date ya. Nothin’ to be ashamed of.” 

The fact that even Atsumu, even all of his stupidity, sees right through you makes you feel hot. You’re grateful that you’ve already turned away from him because you could not take much more damage tonight. Nothing would end you in a worse way than Atsumu seeing that he could make you cry.  

Or maybe it’s the fact that Atsumu doesn’t, for one second, believe that someone like his brother could fall for someone like you. Maybe no one does. Maybe everyone here just thinks that you’re making this up and they’re playing along to help you save face. 

It takes everything in you to keep your steps and breathing even as you take the walk back to Osamu to compose yourself. 

It’s useless apparently because Osamu seems right through you. He immediately offers to take you to the balcony, explaining to everyone that you need some fresh air to cut through the alcohol you’ve had. 

His silent understanding makes it worse because it makes it clear that you’re an open book. The act you put on is completely pointless because no one believes you anyway. 

Osamu guides you to the balcony and shuts the door behind him, leaving the two of you alone. 

He joins you at the railing, draping his jacket over you. You know he knows that you want to avoid looking into his eyes, just as much as he knows you want to avoid having this conversation altogether. He sighs. 

“Why do ya let him get to you like that?” 

You look back at him, eyes widening at the tone he rarely takes with you. His eyes are fixed forward, arms still dutifully wrapped around you, ever the dedicated boyfriend. But as his gaze flickers to you momentarily, you catch the weight of his question in his eyes. 

“Who?” you mumble. 

But Osamu’s not in the mood. He stays silent, letting the question hang in the air. 

“I don’t know… I just…” 

“Are ya still in love with my brother?” 

“No,” you answer honestly. 

Osamu raises his brows. 

“No, but I’ve known him for so long now.” You feel the need to explain. “He just gets under my skin. You of all people should understand – he’s your brother! You guys fight all day long.” 

“He’s my brother. We shared a womb. We were born to fight.” Osamu sighs. “You, though... Why can’t ya just let it go?” 

“I don’t know! I just…” you trail off. 

He continues to stare at you, not even knowing the effect he has on you. His earnest gaze pulls the truth out from under your skin. 

“I wanna get him back,” you admit. 

Osamu’s eyes go dark at that statement. His expression shutters.

“Not like that!” you quickly amend. “Not like I want to get back with him, I mean like, his face just pisses me off!” 

“Huh?” 

“I just wanna punch him in the face but I don’t think anything would give me more satisfaction than proving him wrong you know. And honestly, Osamu, you-” 

“Ya think that I’m the perfect person to piss him off for ya. ‘Cause I’m his brother and there’s no one else who would get under his skin more than if I replaced him.” 

You hear the disappointment heavy in his intonation. 

“Osamu…” 

“Am I wrong?” 

He’s not wrong, but you feel an urge to tell him how he made you tingle at dinner. It was in the way he catered to your whims, covered for you, and held your hand in secret. It was in the way he, as your not-boyfriend, made you feel loved and desired much more so than any other boyfriend you’ve ever had before. 

But when you look at his side profile, face now turned away from you and hidden by the shadows of the night, it doesn’t feel right to say any of that. Even in your mind, it sounds like an excuse. Because the bottom line is that he’s right. Your original intentions had been to use Osamu. And the fact that you might have developed a slight crush on him in the process doesn’t make you feel any less shitty and certainly doesn’t make Osamu feel any less used. 

His question goes unanswered. 

– 

The rest of the week goes by uneventfully. Actually, it goes by too uneventfully because Osamu doesn’t call or text once. Not that you’ve made an effort, but after how that last conversation with Osamu ended, you can’t find the courage to face Osamu. 

It doesn’t make you miss him any less. 

You can’t recall if you used to miss Osamu like this, think about him and wish he’d reach out even if it’s only been a couple of days since you’ve last met. You only know that right now, you wish he’d make the first move because you can’t muster up the nerve to see him, even if it’s all you wanted. It also makes you realize that Osamu has been spoiling you long before that night and long before he agreed to be your fake boyfriend. The reason you never had to miss him is because he is always the one who makes the effort to call, text, bring you lunch, pick you up from work, drive you around. 

The realization only made you feel worse about yourself.

And after days of mulling over realization after realization, each making you guiltier and guiltier, you made your decision. 

That’s how you end up running to Osamu’s apartment, late on a Thursday evening. Without pausing to compose yourself, afraid you’ll lose your momentum, you knock. 

The door swings open to reveal a very tired-looking, very handsome Osamu. He has his cap off, but his hair is unruly, as if his fingers have just recently run through it. His eyes are slightly bloodshot and his t-shirt is wrinkled. The urge to rub your thumb over his eyelids and smooth your other hand over this shirt is a sudden one you shove down because Osamu’s opening his mouth. 

“Hey, what’cha doing here so late?” 

There’s a momentary disappointment that strikes your gut. He asks you so normally, as if he isn’t plagued with thoughts of avoiding you. As if the couple of days that have gone by without any interaction between the two of you isn’t even a thought that occupies headspace.

“Uh,” you stutter. 

“Actually,” he sighs and glances behind him. “Now’s not a good time. Can ya-” 

“I don’t care about Atsumu,” you cut him off. It sounds like he’s preparing a rejection. Or he just doesn’t want to talk. Neither of which are favorable outcomes, so you barrel through to say what you need to say. 

“I don’t care about what he thinks. Not anymore and definitely not that night. I was actually thinking about you the entire time and Atsumu, well, he’s just-”

“Just wait a minute, okay-” 

“He just gets under my nerves because of the shit he says and I know he’s just saying stuff to rile me up and I’m a hothead, okay? He gets me because we’re like the same person sometimes, but I’m not doing this to get back at him anymore. It’s actually your fault because-”

“I knew it!” a voice yells from behind Osamu. 

You crane your neck to see around Osamu and curse Osamu’s big frame for taking up the entire doorway and blocking your view of the apartment because there is the older twin, grinning widely and walking up to where you’re both standing.

You instantly feel the panic rise in your system. 

“Atsumu,” Osamu begins in a warning tone. 

Ignoring his brother, Atsumu continues on. “I knew it. I knew the two of ya couldn’t be dating just like that.” 

Your nervous system goes into overdrive. Even you know how this looks. 

You barged into Osamu’s place randomly at night and picked the time when Atsumu coincidentally is here as well.

Your wide eyes meet Osamu, willing him to believe that you didn’t come to make a scene for Atsumu’s viewing. You didn’t come to confess that you might have a crush on him with this exact timing so that Atsumu would fall for the act. 

When Osamu refuses to meet your eyes, it brings your attention back to Atsumu, who continues to gloat about his victory. 

Your face burns in mortification as you take slow steps away from the twins, making room for your getaway. As Atsumu gets closer and Osamu continues to avoid your gaze, your courage wanes and the last bit of pride you’re holding onto propels you to turn away instead of retorting as you always do. 

“Aww, really let my words get to ya, didn’t ya? I knew all along-” 

Before you can start running, Osamu grabs your arm and pulls you into the apartment, the other arm shoving Atsumu out. 

“Hey, ‘Samu!” 

“Shut the fuck up, ‘Tsumu. Now that my girlfriend’s here to spend the night, get out.” Osamu shuts the door in his face. 

Atsumu’s protests fall on deaf ears, the sound of Osamu referring to you as his girlfriend echoing in your mind. He had taken your side, chosen to take the course of action that would embarrass you to least despite not having confirmed what your intentions were. The thought fills you with hope. 

He pulls you further into the apartment, sitting you on the barstool. After situating you on the chair, he makes to step out of your personal space, but you lean forward, wrapping your arms around his neck to keep him close. Your eyes start to sting in frustration that Osamu could somehow believe that this was all just another incident you had orchestrated to get back at his brother. This has all gotten so hopelessly messy. 

“Osamu,” you sniffle into his neck. “I didn’t come over here and say all that because I knew Atsumu was listening. I just-” missed you. 

He rubs soothing circles into your back, gently enough to make you want to cry more because you don’t deserve this but want it so badly. 

“You just…?” he prompts. 

The words won’t come out and your tears soak into his shirt. You want to tell him so badly that you’re not crying to garner his sympathy; you’re crying because you’re so angry with yourself. 

Osamu patiently strokes your back, letting you cry before quietly telling you, “Oh, baby. How long do ya think we’ve known each other? I know yer not the type to set up this whole complicated scenario just to show up my stupid brother. I believe ya.” 

His other arm is now holding your head to his neck, fingers running lightly across your scalp. “So can ya finish what you were about to say for me?” 

His words and his actions do what they always do to you. They fill you with so much hope that there’s no room to mistaken his intentions. They fill you with the courage to tell him. 

“Missed you,” you whisper. 

Finally, both of his arms wrap around your back to push you tight into his chest. He squeezes, gentle enough to keep you safe but firm enough to tell you he wants you there. It pulls the confession out of you. 

“And I like you so much, Osamu.” 

He chuckles lightly into your ear. You can feel the vibrations echo in his chest. When you squeeze back, he trails his arms down to your legs to guide them around his waist. He carries you with ease to the couch and sits you down to cry in his lap. 

You don’t know how long the two of you sit like that for, but when you finally calm down, you keep your arms wrapped around him and quietly ask, “why did you do all this for someone like me?” 

He stops stroking your hair. 

“What, ya don’t like it?” 

You pull away to protest, already too comfortable with him spoiling you again, only to find the corner of his lips quirked up in a smirk. 

He’s teasing, you realize.

You smack his face weakly and wind your arms back around him. 

You snuggle back into his neck but he’s the one who pulls you back this time. 

“Hey, seriously though,” he says. “Is this okay?” 

You nod shyly. 

“I need to hear it, sweetheart.” 

“I want it.” 

“Alright. C’mere then.” 

You oblige. 

“Can I tell ya a secret?” he murmurs into your neck. 

You nod. 

“There isn’t a man out there who’d do all that for someone he doesn’t love, ya know that?” 

It makes you flustered, but much of what Osamu does does that to you. His tenderness makes you want to try harder to meet him in the middle. 

“Can I do something?” you ask, taking a leap. Your face is incredibly hot and your heart is beating embarrassingly loudly against his. “Is it okay if I kiss you?” 

It’s easy when he responds, “You can do anything ya want to me.” 

You intend for it to be an innocent peck, your form of an apology. But he holds the back of your neck, the other arm wrapped almost all the way around your torso and doesn’t let go until you’re panting against his open mouth. 

He’s nonchalant when he shrugs. 

“You can do anything ya want but I’ll be doing the same from now on.”

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[ugh-yoongi]

the very last thing i decide | pjm

(or, the one in which a love exists that's easy and instinctual as much as it is painful and self-destructive.)

✘ PAIRING jimin x f. reader ✘ SUMMARY you learn what it means to love with blood on your hands. ✘ GENRE hitman/assassin au; angst, smut ✘ RATING explicit. minors dni. ✘ WARNINGS they are both hitmen (hitpeople?) so there's all the content that goes along with that: violence, death, mentions of blood (a lot) and weapons, murder, but no explicit gore. everyone is morally grey at best and downright psychotic at worst (especially yoongi). reader gets stabbed. no one knows how to be a functional human being. swearing, smoking, light smut (penetrative & oral sex), miscommunication and unrequited love but not really, i drop a classic tumblr meme in a line of dialogue. ambiguous/hopeful ending!! some of the themes here are kinda heavy and i am not entirely sure how to tag them so if you have any questions pls don’t hesitate to ask! ✘ WORDCOUNT 12k ✘ LISTEN TO manchester orchestra - telepath ✘ THANK YOU i cannot remember everyone i’ve showed this to over the years. @the-boy-meets-evil for looking this over and brainstorming with me today. @hot-soop for always being a help. @effortandmore because you told me an embarrassingly long time ago this was worth finishing. and i’m pretty sure i also sent this to @jihopesjoint at some point too. i did a quick edit of this on my own, but after nearly three years i just wanted it posted and out of my wips so i'm sure i missed things. pls ignore them. ✘ AUTHOR'S NOTE fic drops two days in a row?? who am i?? i started this in may 2021 and it was supposed to be a simple pegging fic. i abandoned it bc i was convinced no one would want to read it. between today and yesterday i have written thousands of words and made it across the finish line. i hope you like it. the violence is a metaphor for love or whatever.

[37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA]

Jimin’s hair had been red the first time he met you.

How fitting, he thinks, considering he’s currently bleeding out on a table.

Well, there’s still a bit of fight left in him. He hasn’t lost consciousness yet, which he assumes is a good sign; he can still hear Hoseok barking out orders quite clearly. The edges of his vision are fuzzy and the pain in his abdomen is sharp and unrelenting, but he still has enough brain power left to wish he’d died instead.

Because you’d saved his life. And now he’s further indebted to you.

(Jimin never leaves a debt unpaid, but he’s not sure how to make even on something like this.)

Jungkook and Taehyung are fetching supplies faster than Hoseok can ask for them. Two pairs of frazzled, spaced-out eyes. Four sets of trembling limbs. Namjoon’s wearing burn marks into the floor, his cuticles bloody and nearly worried to the bone since he can’t keep them out of his mouth.

And then there’s you.

Sitting cross-legged in a chair as you scroll through your phone. Jimin’s blood is still drying on your hands, leaving smears as you drag your thumb back and forth across the screen, and this doesn’t seem to faze you one bit.

Behind you, Yoongi takes a seat at the piano and starts playing Toccata and Fugue in D minor, and Jimin simply cannot die like this. He can’t die on a wooden table in a room with a piano on which Min Yoongi is playing Baroque organ pieces.

“What is this, a fucking funeral?” Hoseok snaps, though there’s a desperation creeping into his tone that Jimin does not like, does not want to hear. “Cut it out, Yoongi.”

Said man staunchly ignores the doctor, transitioning flawlessly into the fugue. Jimin barely hears the tinkle of your laughter but he hears it all the same, and he wants to pretend it doesn’t calm him, bring him back down to earth when he starts drifting too far away. But you do, and it does, and all he can think about is: will you miss him if he dies? Will it take you long to wash his blood from your hands?

Hoseok’s absolutely incensed, pushed to the limits of his stress at the thought of not being able to save Jimin’s life, and Jimin appreciates this, really, but not when Hoseok pushes two gloved fingers deep into the wound in his stomach so hard all he can do is cry. “Yoongi—”

You snort. You don’t even look up from your phone.

Namjoon, for all his leadership and stoicism and poise under pressure, is just as frantic and panicked as the rest. It’s not everyday one of his people is inches from death ten feet away from him. Most people usually die in the shadows. Kim Namjoon has faced down death more times than most, yet watching the life slowly fade from Jimin’s eyes is too much even for him. “Yoongi, please—”

But the fugue keeps going, tempo change after tempo change, the two pillars of this organization spiraling completely by the time the coda starts, unfocused and sweating and praying. To gods they don’t believe in, to hope, to chance—whatever and whoever might be listening. Jimin usually loves hearing Yoongi play. It’s the only thing that humanizes him, and Jimin had spent so many restless nights shoulder to shoulder with him on that exact bench in the blue hours of the early morning, hypnotized by the way the older man’s knobby fingers moved across the keys.

This is it, he thinks.

Jimin’s going to die with Toccata and Fugue in D minor playing in the background.

He’s imagined his death so many times. Stupid not to in this line of work. Violent, quick and painless, in his sleep, drawn out and gory, a message. And in all of those scenarios, it’s either jarringly silent or there’s someone screaming. Usually him, sounding much like he is now, two fingers stuck in his gut. In all of those scenarios, Min Yoongi is never playing Bach as everything fades to black.

You sigh. “Shut the fuck up, Yoongi,” you say, your tone as blasé and inconvenienced as ever.

Shocked at your audacity, one of Yoongi’s fingers slips and hits the wrong key, something dissonant and metallic as it rings out. But the music stops all the same, the silence nearly giving Jimin whiplash. Now he can hear the clinkof Hoseok’s tools, the squelching of his wound, Jungkook’s desperate pleading for him to just be alright, please God, just hang on. He wants the music back. He doesn’t want Jungkook’s crying to be the last thing he hears. Doesn’t want the sound of his own organs imprinted into his memory.

“What’d you say?” Yoongi asks, because no one talks to him that way. They wouldn’t dare. Most people try not to talk to him at all.

But you do.

And, inexplicably, Yoongi listens.

You roll your eyes. “You go deaf in your old age? I said shut the fuck up. Hoseok’s two knuckles deep in Jimin’s fucking stomach and you’re over there having your little Amadeus moment.”

He bristles. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” Yoongi repeats, and Jimin can’t see him, but he knows his eyes are narrowed, lips pulled back in a snarl, fists clenched at his side.

“Oh, princess,” you coo, and Yoongi’s fury is palpable, permeates every inch of this place, overrides all the fear and anguish. “I’m talking to you, baby. I know Jiminie’s busy trying not to die and that’s stressful for all of us, but please do try to keep up.”

Jimin hears the flick of Yoongi’s switchblade. Then he hears him say, “Please let me fucking kill her,” in that lazy Daegu drawl of his, like forming full words are beneath him. Not worth the effort when they’re directed at you.

Still seated, you uncross your legs and, through blurred vision, Jimin watches you grab Yoongi by his belt loops to tug him closer, grab the wrist that holds his knife and press it to your own throat. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Yoongi. Be a good boy and make it hurt.”

Jungkook’s near hysterics at Jimin’s side. “What the fuck is wrong with you two? He’s dying!”

Jimin tries to say I’m not, Kookie, I’m okay but the pressure on his abdomen is too intense. He can barely breathe, and Hoseok’s still digging around, still looking for that stupid fucking bullet, had to do something and do it quick so there’d been very little anesthetic and finesse, and he’s silently screaming for someone to just comfort Jungkook, tell him everything’s going to be okay, but instead—

“Serves him right for being a fucking idiot,” you say, words muffled by the knife still pressed to your throat. “What a painful, permanentlesson in not forgetting your fucking vest.”

“Stop it!” Jungkook sobs, fingers ghosting along Jimin’s matted fringe.

Yoongi’s still scowling. “Just say the word, Joon-ah. I’ll make it quick.”

You actually laugh at that. The kind of full-belly laugh Jimin would kill to be able to produce. “You wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

Someone snarls. Probably Yoongi. “You’d look so good gutted on the floor like a fish,” he replies, and if Jimin knows him at all, he knows he’s got that dreamy, faraway look in his eyes. The one he always gets when he’s about to kill—the one that makes him so unhinged and dangerous. “Left there to bleed out and die all alone like the trash you are.”

No one’s survived that look before, but you just grin, as if being on the receiving end of it is nothing more than another simple inconvenience. “Do it, then,” you prompt. “You’re so big and bad, yet here you are, waiting for Namjoon’s permission like some kind of pathetic fucking dog.”

“I’m no one’s dog.”

Your eyes slowly flick over to Namjoon. “No?” you ask, smile widening as Jimin watches you drag your heeled foot up the inside of Yoongi’s calf, his thigh, stiletto coming to rest in the center of his sternum. “That’s a shame, princess. That pretty neck of yours was just made for a collar.”

There’s no doubt in Jimin’s mind now that he actually died back in that penthouse and is now residing in whatever level of hell is watching you give his associate a semi despite him being a millisecond away from murdering you.

Yoongi would do it, too. No hesitation. You’ve been on his shit list for as long as Jimin can remember, and you’ve been daring him to put his money where his mouth is and just kill you already for just as long.

Taehyung groans. “Can you two just fuck already so the rest of us can be spared of this?”

You click your tongue, tone melting like butter. You’re fond of Taehyung, soft on him. “No can do, angel. Yoongi here knows I only have eyes for our Jiminie, and god does that hurt his little feelings.”

Your wicked smile gives away nothing—whether you’re telling a bold truth or just unnecessarily needling Yoongi further—but Jimin’s caught off guard and chokes on your words nonetheless.

Hoseok’s forceps still digging around in his stomach, there’s a quiet hurrah of triumph as he finally locates the bullet. Jimin feels nothing as he retrieves it and plucks it out, a reverberated clank! as he drops it into a kidney dish, your words the anesthetic he’s needed as they play on a loop in his head.

When he finally blacks out, either from the pain or the adrenaline or both, it’s your face that greets him. He never gets the chance to tell you why he forgot his vest.

[64.1466° N, 21.9426° W | Reykjavík, ICELAND]

Jimin’s hair is blue when it happens the first time.

It’s November. Namjoon has sent the two of you to Reykjavik and it’s dark all the time, the midnight hue of his hair blending into the impenetrable nighttime that surrounds you. Jimin works best like this—out of sight, part of the shadows. He’s light on his feet, lithe in ways no one else is, not even you, and he’s impossible to anticipate under the cover of darkness.

That’s why Jimin always takes care of the appetizers.

It’s your job to clean up the main course.

The two of you are two halves of the same lethal coin, working together flawlessly after years of carefully honed practice. Jimin slams an unsuspecting man’s head into a wall and you’re right behind him to put a bullet in it.

It’s just how it goes.

And he trusts you. He has to, otherwise he would’ve gotten taken out years ago. You’re not always in his line of sight, but he always feels you, senses your movements before you’re even on your feet. The times it’s gone wrong—and it’s gone wrong so many fucking times, despite how cautious and skilled the two of you are—you’re always right there to catch him before he even hits the ground. Just like a ghost, as if your only purpose in life is keeping Jimin safe and alive.

(It isn’t, but it sure feels that way.)

Tonight it’s another hit carried out in an overpriced penthouse overlooking the northern shore. You’re in and out, don’t waste a second more than you need to. Jimin doesn’t spare a glance at the carnage left behind. Nothing he hasn’t seen a hundred times before. All blood bleeds the same, but he still wonders, foolishly, if his looks different to you. If it feels wrong when it stains your hands and seeps into your clothes.

Jimin has never been covered in your blood before, but he likes to think it would.

The two of you don’t speak until you’re in the quiet safety of yet another hotel room, chain lock thrown across the door, deadbolt secured. A small arsenal of weapons is retrieved from ankles and waistbands and cleaned and packed away meticulously. Jimin’s the one who makes the call to Namjoon, tells him in code that the job’s done. You’ve barely broken a sweat, but under the fluorescent light of the bathroom, Jimin can see a small smattering of blood just along your temple when he closes the distance between you.

Someone else’s, of course.

Anyone who made you bleed your own blood wouldn’t be a quick, clean kill. Jimin would make sure of that.

There’s less to be done about the half-inch scar in the hollow of your throat—a pearlescent reminder of the twin scar he has just below his navel; a callback to the day your devilish mouth said the words Jimin can’t stop thinking about.

“No can do, angel. Yoongi here knows I only have eyes for our Jiminie.”

Maybe it’s stupidity. Maybe it’s the feral, years-long build up that’s been simmering between the two of you—low enough to keep warm, contained enough to never evolve into a rapid boil. Maybe Jimin’s just finally desperate enough to go seeking out answers to questions he’s far too scared to put a voice to.

(Really, Jimin knows it’s adrenaline. Nothing more than chemicals. The two of you high on it, heads floating above the clouds. Powerless; or, at the very least, indifferent to stop the very clear path that’s unfolding on the ground below.)

But, god, he needs to know.

Needs answers.

Needs to know if there’s even a chance you feel it, too: the magnetic ebb and flow the two of you have been dancing around for years. If you see how fondly he looks at you. If you have any idea how easy it is for him to get lost in you. If you know he’d let someone put a bullet between his eyes before he placed his life in the hands of anyone else.

Jimin knows he loves you. He’s known it for a long time, just like he knows all those other things that are second nature to him. Loving you is easy and instinctual as much as it is painful and self-destructive.

At least that’s what he’d thought. Until your devilish mouth said those devilish words and sent him into a tailspin he’s yet to recover from.

You have to feel it. God, can’t you? The way the air crackles between you. The way his skin ignites with a simple look from you. The trembling of his fingers at his sides, desperate to just reach out and touch you—fingers that have been bathed in blood, that have taken life. Fingers that now just want to graze softly across your cheekbones, catch on your bottom lip. Fingers that want to hand you the world on a silver platter. Jimin would do anything for you, give you whatever you wanted. You wouldn’t even have to ask.

Can’t you feel that?

He needs to know.

Jimin is composed, elegant. He kills with grace and still maintains as much of his softness as he can. Isn’t ruled by emotion the way Yoongi and Jungkook are. But now, as he teeters on the edge of the unknown, all he wants to do is jump. Wants to buck all his training, all his resolve and forethought, and jump.

“Did you mean it?” he asks, voice thick. Fingers curl into the expensive silk of his shirt just so they have something to do—something to keep them from reaching out and touching you. “Back in Seoul.”

You’re the smartest person Jimin knows. When you ask, “Did I mean what, Chim?” he knows you’re fucking with him. Dragging this out. You know exactly what he’s asking and he knows you’ll never give anything away so easily.

“What you said to Taehyung,” he answers.

You tsk, eyebrows raising in intrigue. As much as Jimin trusts you, as well as you know him, know all those dirty, dirty secrets he’d never tell anyone else, he’s never been so bold with you. “That those long fingers of his would look good wrapped around my throat? Yeah, I meant that.”

Jimin’s jaw clenches at your taunt. “Don’t play games with me.”

A smirk graces your lips. “Trust me, sweetheart,” you say, voice sickly-sweet as the affection starts popping at the last seams holding him together, “if I wanted to play with you, there’s nothing you could do to stop it.”

With Jimin pressed into the wall behind you, you turn to meet his eye in the mirror. Another smile, teeth bared as you run your tongue across your lips, and this one is his undoing. Makes his cock twitch in his dress pants. Makes him bold. “Do you want to, then?” He takes a step forward—close enough to smell the gunpowder stuck to your clothes, your hair. Close enough for the sulfur and metal to sting his nostrils each time he breathes you in. “Do you want to play with me?”

You love Jimin. Maybe it’s a trauma bond or the implicit, unwavering trust the two of you have in one another, but you know you love him limitlessly. But you also know you can’t love him the way he loves you, the way he deserves to be loved by someone, which is why your mask slips as you say, “I can’t give you what you want, Jimin.”

You try to make him understand that. Really, you do—because Jimin is the smartest person you know, and you know he’s thought about every possible consequence down to the most minute detail and has decided this is worth it anyway. You want to believe in something the way Jimin believes in you, even though he’s wrong. You want something worth throwing all of this away for.

Maybe it’s Jimin, maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s just been so fucking long since someone has looked at you with any gentleness in their eyes at all that when Jimin meets your gaze and says, “I don’t want anything more than you’re willing to give,” you take his hand and jump, too.

And there’s nothing gentle about the first time.

It’s all raw, urgent need, Jimin trying desperately to convince himself it’s more than it is while you convince yourself it’s less.

It’s the two of you finally giving up and giving in, letting yourselves be pulled taut by that invisible string tying you together.

It’s Jimin’s sharp intake of breath when you fully step out of your clothes, the sight rendering him immobile. Whatever plans he’d had before seeing the curves of your body, all the scars from years of working by his side, the mottled yellow-greens and purples from the bruises lining your skin—he has no plans now. Can barely think. Wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away from you with a gun to his head.

It’s the final bricks of the wall he’d built around himself—around his heart, around all those words and feelings he’d never put a voice to—crumbling into ash at his feet. Now he knows he can’t go back. Can’t return to a reality where this isn’t his truth. Where there’s no you and him, him and you. Where it’s just a physical exchange, a give-and-take, tit for tat.

And god, he knows he shouldn’t think like this; knows he’s keeping the truth buried somewhere deep behind lock and key.

…But now that he knows how it feels to move inside you, what else is he supposed to do?

You’re everywhere. Clenched around him. Your taste on his tongue. The feel of you on the pads of his fingers. The smell of you making a mockery of all logical thought. No—no, he can’t do a goddamn thing to stop the avalanche now it’s started.

“Fuck,” he whines, fingers digging into your hips. The soft skin he finds purchase in such a contrast from your hardened exterior, but Jimin knows. He knows you, knows the person behind the mask, sees straight through you each time it slips.

What stared back at him had always been just out of reach.

Taunting him.

Screaming come and get me, come make me yours, come and fucking take what you want.

Until now.

Now it’s tangible. Now it’s breathy, fractured moans that echo off tile walls. Now it’s the sound of his name thatleaves your lips like a prayer. Now it’s the sheen of sweat that covers both of you. Now it’s nails scraping down his back, tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck.

(And Jimin won’t tell you this, but those red welts are proof that this is real, this happened, and later on when he’s alone, when his mind is working overtime, he’ll look at them and he’ll smile. Because they’re real. Because this happened.)

Now, it’s the way blue becomes his favorite color. Because he can see his reflection in the mirror as he unravels and comes to his own demise as he spills inside of you; can see the fluorescent lights reflecting off the hue of his hair.

Jimin’s hair is blue when he realizes he’s in love with you.

[34.6037° S, 58.3816° W | Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA]

Jimin is blond when Namjoon sends you to South America.

The details had been scarce: a diplomatic advisor with a rap sheet of human rights violations that have been continuously swept under the rug and his equally-corrupt lawyer. A candid photograph paperclipped to another manila folder, Namjoon a fan of all those old cliches. Likes being a little cheeky that way when he can get away with it, because god knows he can’t get away with much, doesn’t have much of a sense of humor.

It’s a simple job. You and Jimin will have it dealt with in a matter of hours. Less if you’re lucky and the universe is agreeable. But the humidity sticks to your skin, has sweat seeping into your clothes and rolling down your temples, and if there’s one thing you can’t stand it’s the heat. Makes it hard to think. And Namjoon—Namjoon, who makes sure all of his agents want for nothing—is a cheap bastard. Rarely approves nice lodging, says it’s too risky despite your arguments to the contrary, that people don’t care what you do when you have money, so you’re stuck in some shithole motel room with an aircon unit that keeps blowing out stale, warm air.

And maybe you shouldn’t, maybe you should be more cognizant of Jimin and all his feelings, but it’s fucking hot, so you peel your shirt over your head and undo the button of your pants. Sit on the edge of the bed and try to think about anything other than the temperature, how it’s starting to prick uncomfortably at your skin.

Jimin clears his throat, keeps his eyes glued to the disgusting carpet. “Got a text from Seokjin-ssi,” he says, words strained. “Looks like they’ll be solo jobs.”

You groan. Leave it to Seokjin to change the plan at the last minute. “Tell Kim Seokjin he’s a useless piece of shit.”

“Done. Anything else?”

“Tell Kim Namjoon if he ever sends us to South America in the summer again I’ll kill him myself.”

Jimin has a laugh like an anodyne. A laugh that takes all those broken, bleeding parts of you and soothes over them like a balm. “Seokjin-ssi says he’s not passing along that particular message.”

“Tell him he’s a bitch, then.”

“He’ll kill me if I say that.”

“He hasn’t done field work in years and he’s probably too vitamin D deficient to leave the basement. He couldn’t even kill a fucking rat.”

There’s another laugh. More forced, less tinkling. You recognize it right away, the sound of anxiety. Solo jobs aren’t common for the two of you. For Yoongi and Taehyung, sure, but not you and Jimin. You’re a team for a reason, and though you’re more than capable of getting this done and out of the way, it doesn’t feel right. Settles in your gut like something rotten, knowing you’ll be without Jimin.

And you know he’s thinking it, too. How he turns the burner over and over in his hands, as if there’s some combination of words he can send back to Seoul to get Seokjin and Namjoon to reconsider. Plans don’t change often; not like this, anyway. These have been declared solos for a reason, and that’s a thought you can’t linger on too long.

“Are they leaving it up to us?” Jimin nods, still not meeting your eye. “Do you have a preference?”

He shrugs, tossing the phone on the small table in the corner. Nothing else to be done. “Not really. What do you think?”

“Nah, don’t care, either. Just toss me one.”

Santiago Aguirre… 47 years old… Resides in a high-rise luxury apartment in Retiro…

Your eyes skim the file, study the black and white photograph of the lawyer. Read over the list of all his high-profile, degenerate clients and all their high-profile crimes. You read about the previous attempts on his life, the seemingly never-ending list of people who want him dead. Your eyes go back to his photograph, frowning at the smug look on his face. What stares back at you is a man who thinks he’s invincible, who thinks a penthouse apartment on the top floor and a security team in the lobby means he’s impervious to harm. A man who has made money off people just like him: dirty, corrupt, hands stained red.

“Okay?” Jimin asks, looking up from his own file.

He’s so striking. So safe. And you know what he’s done, giving you the hit he thinks is easier, willing to risk himself on a solo mission to ensure you make it out. There’s no guarantees in this line of work, in life in general, but Jimin’s brand of selfless love is certainly one.

So you just nod, knowing someone slimy like this can quickly go sideways, and decide you can do the same.

“I’m gonna get ready,” you say. “The plan is the same as all the other solo jobs. Get in, get it done, get out as quickly as possible. Lay low. Don’t come straight back here.”

Jimin rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Anything else?”

You exhale. Try to quiet the nerves roiling in your stomach. Barely resist the urge to press a lingering kiss to Jimin’s forehead before you swallow hard and say, “Yeah. Stay alive.”

It comes out more like a plea.

—

You’re good at your job.

Rarely feel much guilt over it, either, which—well, you’re not sure what that means. That something is permanently broken in your psyche, probably. Being able to take life so easily and without remorse. It’s not natural.

Kim Namjoon is a man who plays God, is the one who decides who gets to live and who has to die. His word is the only law you adhere to. And that’s… that’s something. Makes it less burdensome, takes some weight off, because Kim Namjoon wouldn’t accept a morally-ambiguous job. He wouldn’t ask you to put your life on the line for some petty bullshit.

This is how you’ve lived for the last four years. Four years of blindly following Namjoon’s word, of being a good little soldier and doing whatever is asked of you. Four years of being responsible for not only your own life, but Jimin’s as well, just as he is for yours. Four years that have served you well, all things considered.

Until now.

Something about this job hits you hard. Doesn’t settle quite as quickly as the ones that have come before. For the first time, you’d looked down at the lifeless body at your feet and couldn’t stop the trembling, could barely quell the nausea. Thought what the fuck am I doing, what kind of life is this for the first time. Thought back to that day four years ago when Kim Namjoon saved your life and offered you a job and wondered, for the first time, what would’ve happened if you’d said no.

Now, as you suck on a cigarette, legs dangling off the roof of a building looking not far from collapse, a new thought:

Would Namjoon let you go if you asked?

He’s taken care of you. For four years you’ve wanted for nothing. Have socked away more money than you’ll ever be able to spend, even if you live to a thousand. You could go anywhere, become anyone, and no one would suspect a thing. There’d just be you and a million lifetimes’ worth of transgressions, alone under the weight of all that burden; alone, except for all the ghosts that come to greet you every time you close your eyes.

Doesn’t matter. Namjoon might be willing to let you go, give you the chance to salvage something from this life in the name of normalcy, but Yoongi would gladly put a bullet in your head before he let you disappear with all his secrets.

Doesn’t matter.

You stub out the cigarette and put the butt in your pocket. Make your way down to the street. Stay under the shadows—just visible enough to redirect any suspicion shot your way. You pretend to take a call, flawless Argentinian Spanish falling from your lips as you tell the imaginary person on the other end all about your fucked up day at work. How your manager never gets off your ass, doesn’t trust you, thinks you’re too fucking stupid to run a simple executable.

No one spares you a second glance.

Not here, on this nondescript street in a nondescript Argentinian neighborhood, and not when you stumble into the tiny lobby of your shithole motel. The poor kid behind the desk doesn’t even glance up, just mutters a good evening, miss under his breath that you return in a voice far too high-pitched to be your own.

Better to be seen and be unremarkable than draw attention to yourself trying to stay invisible, you figure.

The cameras in the stairwell are broken so you take the steps two at a time. Pull the room key from its place inside your boot, happy to no longer have it digging into your skin. Pause just long enough to make sure you don’t hear anything on the other side of the door before you’re unlocking it with your free hand wrapped around the trigger of your gun.

It’s empty.

Of course it is.

Jimin stashed the burner in a place no one but you would think to look. You text one simple word to Seokjin—Hey!—and you get two in return: Who’s this?

You know who it is, you fucking dickhead.

It takes a few seconds, but the reply is a simple—

Sorry.

Then you toss aside the phone and float in the darkness of the room. There’s nothing to do but wait, because you don’t dare to do anything alone. There’s sweat and blood and fuck knows what else stuck to your skin, your hair, but you can’t risk taking a shower. Can’t risk the water dampening your senses. Can’t risk being cornered in a moldy bathroom, only one way out. Can’t risk doing anything alone. Can’t take a fucking shower.

It’s this thought, more than anything else, that has your body flushing with rage.

What kind of life is this?

Namjoon had never mentioned repaying your debt. He’d never insinuated you owed him anything at all for saving your life, but you know something like that never comes for free. Namjoon doesn’t do anything just because. Has no goodness in his heart to do anything in the name of it. Watching Jimin nearly die in front of him had been the exception to his usual nature; a rare slip-up by an otherwise detached, uncaring man.

Still, whatever you owe him has surely been repaid by now. Tenfold, if the bloodstains along your collar are anything to go by.

It’s time for Namjoon to let you go.

—

Something is wrong.

Two hours have ticked by and there’s no word from Jimin. No word from Namjoon or Seokjin, either, which is the only reason you’re still in this nauseating motel room and not out on the streets searching for him. Solo jobs don’t go like this. The two of you are always in and out, tragically efficient. Back to where you started and then back on a plane, nothing left behind except a singular bullet hole and another fragmented piece of your conscience.

You’ve had a lot of jobs go wrong, but never two hours.

You’re about three minutes from coming out of your skin. Sick to your stomach with worry, anxiety weighing you down like an anchor. You wouldn’t be able to go out searching for Jimin like this even if you could, and there’s no point in dwelling on that, examining it further. All you can do is wait.

It’s another hour before you hear the click of the lock. You’re nearly on your knees in relief, but you stay rooted to the flimsy mattress. Try not to think about how you’ll have to sleep on it, even though you’ll be up half the night with residual worry. All those lingering ghosts.

Jimin doesn’t say anything, so neither do you.

[55.6761° N, 12.5683° E | Copenhagen, DENMARK]

Jimin’s hair is orange when you go to Copenhagen.

Not for a job, just to breathe. You wanted to see the city at Christmastime; Jimin’s never been.

You crack a joke. Point out buildings of similar color, have him stand in front of one as you take a picture. Everyone smiles when they pass the two of you on the street, Jimin’s eyes fond even though he rolls them as you pose him how you want. Still stands against an apricot-colored wall and flashes a smile and a peace sign, cheeks pink from the cold. Does a good job of pretending the two of you aren’t here just for fun, that this is something more.

It’s not.

The two of you fucked in a hotel room in Reykjavik and haven’t spoken a word of it since.

You nearly lost your mind over him in Buenos Aires and haven’t spoken a word of that, either.

Instead, his hand finds yours as the two of you walk around Tivoli Gardens. You marvel at the lights and Jimin marvels at you. You share mulled wine and spiced doughnuts. Jimin tries to drag you on the swings but you plant your feet and refuse, laughing through your refusals. As dangerous as your lives are, motion sickness might be the most. He gets his revenge and poses you in front of a giant nutcracker, then again in front of one of the endless Christmas trees.

Jimin pays for the two of you to decorate honey cakes. You’re surrounded by families with shrieking children and palpable adoration, and it’s all you can do not to wonder if anyone you’ve taken out had ever had something like this. Something that makes your soul warm; something that still lingers in your bones years later.

The two of you take a selfie when it starts to snow. It stings when you have no one to send it to, so it just lives in your phone. Maybe it’s enough.

On another day, Jimin holds your hand through Torvehallerne. This time you marvel at him while he marvels at all the food, eyes wide each time he turns to ask if he should buy something. You always say yes and he always shares, and it’s all you can do not to think about why you don’t have to budget yourselves. Why you’re able to walk through the market and buy whatever you want; how you could buy every item for sale and it wouldn’t make a dent.

(You pick up small trinkets for Taehyung and Jungkook. Not because you want to, but because it feels nicer than remembering that you have no one to buy gifts for. Not really. Not anymore.)

Jimin wants to ice skate, so you do. He holds your hand then, too. More out of necessity than anything else, and he has none of his usual grace. Someone hands you a free cup of hot chocolate, just because. Jimin pouts and then it’s his hot chocolate. It’s all you can do not to kiss away the whipped cream on the corner of his mouth.

Back in your lavish hotel, after countless days have blurred together and Jimin’s fresh from a shower, skin flushed, you finally ask yourself if it’s worth putting up such a fight. If it’s really all that bad to care for Jimin and be cared for in return. If it’s all that bad to be someone else, just for a little while: someone with a normal life who makes a normal living and has a normal capability to love. Someone who isn’t damaged beyond repair.

That will never be you. Not fully, and certainly not in this lifetime, but maybe it could be, a little.

“Jimin,” you say, because you need to try. Jimin loves you in ways you’ll never understand, and you want to be better for him. “We should talk.”

Your voice is small and hesitant, and Jimin hates it. Sees trouble where there’s only vulnerability, so he misreads. Shakes his head. Takes a risk and stands between your legs at the edge of the bed—yours, because there’s two—as he tilts your head back, thumbs pressing into the contours of your cheeks. The scar still sits in the hollow of your throat, and that version of you feels so far away. That life feels so far away.

There’s no violence here. There’s no blood, no fugues. There’s just you and Jimin, whose voice is small like yours when he shakes his head and says, “You should kiss me instead.”

The second time is nothing like the first.

Jimin moves delicately. Feels like silk lace, tastes like spun sugar. Moves both his mouth and his body fluidly, no hesitation, yet he still takes his time. Still pauses to look at you with endless devotion; with awed reverence. Makes a map of your body and marks all his favorite places with his lips.

“Tell me what you want,” he says. Speaks the words against the skin just beneath your ear. “Anything. I’ll give you whatever you want, just have to ask.”

What you want isn’t tangible, isn’t possible, so you stay quiet. Thread your fingers through Jimin’s hair, gasp when he mouths along the column of your throat. Jimin reserves all his softness for you. Bathes you in it. Would kill anyone to keep it that way.

So you say, “Want your mouth,” and let slip a quiet moan when he gives you what you’ve asked for. When he situates himself between your thighs and sucks and licks until you’re writhing, making a mess, grasping fruitlessly at the sheets, his hair, his shoulders, only calming when his hands find yours and your fingers interlock.

Jimin mouths at you until you’re trembling. Until you’re needy and desperate, hips moving on their own, fucking yourself against his face. Until nothing exists except the heat in your belly, the stars behind your eyelids, the heady, fucked-out sound of Jimin’s voice as he talks you through it, murmurs praise against your cunt.

Jimin mouths at you until you forget.

This isn’t your life. This is not something you can have.

But, in the grand scheme of things, what does it matter? You’ve made peace with death, and there’s only one of two ways it’s going to come for you in the end: by Namjoon’s hand or someone else’s. So what does it matter?

This time, Jimin fucks you slow. Kisses you with your taste still in his mouth. Thumbs over a hardened nipple just to see what earns him a reaction, and what you truly want is more time—something else that’s impossible.

Jimin’s hair is orange when you think you might be in love with him.

[ 48.8566° N, 2.3522° E | Paris, FRANCE ]

Jimin’s hair is pink when—

“Sit,” he says, gesturing to the toilet.

Soaks a washcloth in warm water. Wrings it out. Stands in front of you, and there’s water dripping onto the floor and Jimin doesn’t care, doesn’t seem to see anything in this moment except for you, your hands covered in someone else’s blood, and he reaches out, gently grabs your wrist. Palm up. Someone else’s blood. Everything smells like copper and iron. Looks too surreal beneath the fluorescent lights of this hotel bathroom for your mind to make sense of it.

There is care in the way Jimin cleans your hands. There is tenderness in the way he both refuses to see what you really are and the way he’s the only one to ever see you so entirely, when you look down at the blood he’s washing away and all you can see is stigmata. When all you see is sin.

“I know you don’t love me,” he says, and there is a conviction in his words that stuns you into silence. “Not the way I love you, anyway.”

That tenderness is still there as he says this. As he presses the wet fabric into the meat of your palm, wipes the stains away, and the warmth is as calming as it is undeserved. It feels like something forbidden. It feels like salvation and condemnation all at once, like whatever sick depravity permeates you is contagious, will take over Jimin, too, just from touching you.

Jimin is close enough to reach out and touch. Close enough to see the violence that he exists in alongside you: the rips in his clothes, the scars that decorate his skin. Close enough to know he smells sickly-sweet, just like death. Your hand shakes as it reaches for him and never follows through. Doesn’t want to contaminate him.

“I do,” you finally say. Whatever is in your voice is not conviction. “I can’t.” You suck in a breath, try to steady your breathing. This is where it all comes crashing down, you think, because in all the years you’ve done Namjoon’s bidding, you’ve never cried. You can take life so freely and without thought, but you cannot love Jimin. “Someone like me isn’t capable of it.”

Jimin pauses, the washcloth stuck in the space between your ring and middle fingers. “And who is someone like you?”

Water is still dripping to the floor. Serosanguineous: blood tainting something untouched. Not something one thing or another but both, watery-pink. Looks like Jimin’s hair. “I’ve killed a lot of people,” you answer. “More than I can count. More than I can name. More than the ones that come to haunt me at night.” Your free hand moves to your chest, covers your heart. “There’s nothing here, Jimin. I’m not sure there ever was.”

The washcloth drops to the floor, and all that blood belonging to a man whose name you never bothered to learn before you put a bullet between his eyes finds a new place to rest. “I think,” he begins, clasping your unclean hand in his own, voice dropping to a whisper, “you forget, sometimes.” You gasp as he places your palm to his cheek, drags it across his face, smears a stranger’s blood across his skin. “That we’re the same.”

Jimin is always overwhelming, but the love he has for you is even more so. It consumes you entirely, embeds itself beneath your skin, makes a home, would tear you apart, body and soul, to return to him.

[ 47.4979° N, 19.0402° E | Budapest, HUNGARY ]

Jimin’s hair is lavender when it all goes to shit.

“You’re being followed.”

Seokjin’s voice is garbled through the earpiece, tinny and metallic, and you roll your eyes. Some things don’t need to be said, because you’ve known someone was following you for the last three blocks. Average height, black peacoat, close-cropped haircut. Not the kind of person that’d stand out here, and that’s exactly why you’d sent Jimin in the other direction.

“No shit,” you respond in Hungarian, because you already know the man following you doesn’t speak or understand it. “Give me somewhere to go.”

It takes Seokjin a few moments to run the translation. “There’s a side street up on your right,” he answers. “It’s tight, but there’s an alleyway at the end. You can buy some time if you’re quick.”

“Where’s Jimin?”

You pass a vendor selling lángos and duck into the street behind the stall. Just as Seokjin had said, there’s a small alleyway up on the left, and your footfall is near-silent as you break into a sprint to reach it. “Safe,” is all Seokjin says.

You take a second to steady your breathing, knowing you’re good on time—the man following you was close enough to know where you’d turned, but, if you’re lucky, not much after that. That plays on a loop: if you’re lucky, if you’re lucky, if you’re lucky. What is luck, what does it look like, in a life left entirely to chance? In a life with no guarantees?

You tuck yourself away, focus on Seokjin’s metallic breaths. Think about his basement in Seoul, why he’s in it. Ask, “What happened in Addis Ababa?” because it feels important to know.

There’s not much you know about Seokjin’s life. Whatever happened in Ethiopia had been before your time, reduced to hushed whispers and gossip fodder after your arrival. No one spoke of it, Seokjin especially, but every now and then something would slip in the same way weeds grow in sidewalk cracks.

A job gone wrong. A bombing at the consulate with Seokjin inside.

His reply is simple, words spoken carefully: “I loved someone once, too.”

He can’t see it, but you nod nonetheless; an answer that doesn’t require a response, because you know. It’s enough to fill in the rest. What Seokjin’s trauma looks like. Why he doesn’t do field work anymore. Why he prefers the solitude of the basement, rarely a sound beyond the electric thrum of the server racks.

Who had gone in to retrieve him, and why Yoongi has the scar over his eye.

“You loved someone,” you conclude, “and he would’ve been willing to die for you.”

“Yes,” Seokjin says, and it’s like the word’s been punched out of him. Sounds like something repressed, something left to rot in the darkest corner of the world.

Love, to Seokjin, looks and sounds the same as death.

“I think most people spend their entire lives searching for a love like that,” he continues, and if you could see him you think he might look dazed, off-kilter. You think he might be an avatar. Seokjin is prying his ribcage apart, unwrapping the barbed wire from his heart, saying I once was in love and this is all I know of it. “But, to me, in this life, it’s a prison. Once someone is willing to die for you, how do you keep them alive? How do you—I kissed that skin. I worshiped it. I pressed my lips to it with whatever softness was left in me. How do you look at that same skin and know you’re the reason it’s mangled?” He exhales, all tremor. “You can’t. You can’t.”

You know this all too well. You know what it feels like to look at Jimin and know, intrinsically and subconsciously, that you wouldn’t even hesitate. You’d take and give life to keep him alive and safe. You know that when you exit this world at someone else’s hand his face is the last thing you want to see.

You know it’s a liability.

You know it’s a target painted on your back. Between your eyes.

You know there’s nothing left to say, that this particular conversation has run its course. The two of you sit in an amicable silence, and you hope Seokjin can hear the life that surrounds you, however mundane. Hope he can hear the lángos vendor trying to hawk his goods; hope he can hear a city 8,000 kilometers away; hope he can hear these regular, everyday people going about their lives and remember there’s hope beyond his four walls.

I think you’d like it here, you think, but you don’t dare to say it aloud.

Time passes in a meaningless blur. Could be minutes, could be hours. No one’s come to kill you, so you reckon you’ve long since been in the clear. And maybe it speaks to Seokjin’s idea that love is a prison, because you know something’s happened to Jimin long before Seokjin speaks it into existence.

You’re up and out of the alleyway before you’re told to move. Have no idea where you’re going, but you’re racing through the streets of Budapest with a panic you haven’t ever felt in your life. Feels like quicksand; feels like molasses; feels like you have to wade through all the blood you’ve spilled, now congealed, to get to him.

“Where am I going?” you demand. Your lungs are on fire. In the split-second of silence it becomes a desperate scream. “Seokjin, tell me where the fuck I’m going!”

“The—fuck, the wa-warehouse up on your right.” You can’t think about why he’s crying. “I don’t—I don’t know wha-what’s there, you need to be careful. Please, you have to—”

Twenty seconds and you’ll be there, you’ll be with Jimin, you just need to keep running. You need to keep your head on straight. Remember your training. Remember you’ve built a life in a viper pit.

A man in a uniform is unloading a shipment around the back of the building. Faces away from you, bent at the waist. Takes very little effort to smash his head into the stone exterior and knock him unconscious, pocket his badge. You can’t get stupid now. Tell Seokjin to make sure all the cameras are cut, ask what floor when you shut yourself inside the freight elevator, unwilling to take the stairs and run into anyone who might be waiting. All the way to the top, he says, so all the way to the top you go.

—

Over the course of your life, you’ve made peace with death. Have stared it in the eye more times than you can count. Have dealt it out, evaded it, shook its hand.

You are wholly unprepared for the sight that greets you.

Red. Everything is red—the walls, the floor, what used to be a beautiful parquet pattern in the wood. In the center of the room: two bodies, maybe three. Not much that’d be able to identify them beyond a pile of teeth, no saying whose is whose. Slaughterhouse scraps.

And this is not—Jimin doesn’t work this way. Isn’t his MO. Jimin’s kills are elegant and neat, topped with a bow. What you see before you is ultraviolence. It is unhinged, it is fury, it is a complete loss of control. It’s what love looks like to Jimin, because he sits at the very edge of a rotted chair, legs crossed. Face streaked with blood, clothes covered in it.

“Jimin,” you say, because what else is there?

He tilts his head to the side, smirks a little, looks at you beneath his lashes. Eyes that used to find you across a room and calm you. Eyes that have locked onto you in the throes of pleasure. Eyes you’ve seen yourself reflected in, bathed in love and adoration.

Eyes that now contain nothing.

“Jimin, what the fuck happened?”

He removes his gloves with his teeth and doesn’t flinch away from the taste of iron. “They said they hurt you,” he states simply, “so I did what needed to be done.”

“What—” Nausea claws at your throat; for the first time, it’s all too much. This isn’t Jimin. This isn’t your Jimin, who smiled as you posed him against apricot walls in Copenhagen, who took a bullet to the stomach to protect you and never, ever told you. This is not the Jimin who wasted the last of his goodwill on loving you. “What did you do?” you whisper.

He rises to full height and it makes you flinch. You are scared of Jimin for the first time in your life: scared of who he is in this moment, what he’s capable of. And he sees it, lets that brand of anguish overtake him. Reaches for you before he decides against it and lets his hand drop to his side. Says, “I would never hurt you,” as if the words could brand themselves into your skin so you’d never forget.

“No, you’d just—” You squeeze your eyes shut. Don’t think about how one of the men nearly embedded into the floor was the one trailing you earlier.

Instead, you think about Seokjin: Once someone is willing to die for you, how do you keep them alive? You think about: How do you look at that same skin and know you’re the reason it’s mangled? You think about: In this life, it’s a prison.

You drop to your knees. Let the blood seep through your clothes and into your skin, undeserving of shying away from it.

Namjoon should’ve let you go.

You think about the men in front of you. Who they were, who they loved. The grief all of this is going to leave behind, and it becomes impossible to breathe. You grasp at your throat, think about all the times you’ve been strangled and who’d been there to cut the rope. There is no limit to Jimin’s devotion, and you understand now, how it drove Yoongi to madness. How he loved someone so much he would’ve retrieved their corpse from a building and how that same person can no longer bear to look at the damage they’d caused.

“This isn’t love, Jimin,” you choke out.

He stands in front of you. Stigmata. You’re worshiping at the altar of some kind of devil. At least his hands are clean when he places his fingers beneath your chin, forces you to look up at him. “What is it, then?”

“Destruction.”

A quiet huff of cruel laughter. “See, this is the difference between me and you, darling.” He takes back his hand, runs it through his blood-streaked hair, and your chin sags to your chest without his support. “Because I already knew that. Because I have destroyed myself every single day loving you.” He squats down, eye-level, and he says, “I need you to listen to me when I say this, sweetheart: you do not love me the way I love you, because I would do worse. When it comes to you, there is nothing on this earth I would not destroy to keep you safe.”

He clears his throat. Collects whatever’s in his mouth and spits onto one of the bodies. “If this is enough to have you tucking your fucking tail between your legs, then go, because this doesn’t even scratch the fucking surface.”

You can’t bring yourself to say anything, and sometimes that says it all.

Jimin presses a kiss to the top of your head. Makes a call. Cleaners will be here soon, he says, better get going.

You watch him go.

[ 37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA ]

Jimin’s hair is black when Namjoon calls the meeting.

He takes the seat across from Namjoon’s desk because they don’t meet like this often. Assignments are usually manila folders slipped under doors, hushed whispers in hallways confirmed with a nod or a text on a burner phone. Assignments are not last-minute assemblies in conference rooms and offices.

But the way Namjoon is looking at him, with his clenched jaw and a gaze that’s meant to look barbed to anyone who doesn’t actually know him—Jimin doesn’t need to ask what this is about.

Had he bothered to look, he would’ve known by the way you stood in the far corner of the room, face obscured by the mid-afternoon shadows. Yoongi’s close to you, for some reason: dressed head to toe in black, perched on a lateral file cabinet, using a metal corner to sharpen his switchblade. Just like a harbinger of death. Some sort of fucked up omen, a warning that’s come too late.

Didn’t I tell you this would end badly, he hears Yoongi taunt in his head. This is what happens when you lay with trash.

Easy for Yoongi to say when he doesn’t know what it means to be cared for by you. Doesn’t know how it feels to give in to the freefall and plummet at your feet, stripped back and laid bare. Doesn’t know how it feels to kiss secrets into your skin like constellations, to map his tongue along every unspoken confession.

Easy for Yoongi to say, because he doesn’t have to survive the aftermath. Doesn’t have to feel the heartbreak, the agony of having you and watching as you slip through his fingers. Yoongi doesn’t have to struggle just to breathe, doesn’t have to endure the nights staring at the ceiling, watching as the daylight creeps into the corners of his vision. Doesn’t have to watch you looking so unaffected.

“Jimin.” Namjoon’s tone is flat, needlelike.

Behind him, Yoongi chuckles lowly. “What?” Jimin asks, his gaze trained on the painting behind Namjoon’s head. Looks like one he’d seen in Berlin, the time the two of you had gone just because and spent an afternoon ducking in and out of museums to escape the rain.

When he closes his eyes, he still sees the raindrops stuck to your eyelashes. The beads of water rolling off the sleeves of your leather jacket. How blinding your smile had been. The laughter in your voice as you ordered beer after beer after beer for the two of you in flawless Berlinisch. A brief, fleeting glimpse at normalcy. At the kind of life the two of you could have if you were just… different. Lived different lives. Were different people.

“You’ve gotten sloppy.”

Namjoon’s words are a cold bucket of water. Snap him back to reality, yank him back to the present where he’s forced to leave those river-lined streets behind. You’re silent and Yoongi’s still snorting laughter. “Okay,” is all Jimin can bring himself to say.

Jin had gotten sloppy once, too, and Namjoon stuck him down in the basement to work logistics. Might not be so bad, Jimin reckons. He’d be away from you, spared of this fucking misery. “So you know that’s unacceptable.”

Jimin just shrugs, resigned to his fate, whatever it may be. “I’m reassigning the both of you,” Namjoon continues. “You’ll both have new partners for your next assignments, since you clearly can no longer be trusted together.”

“Who?” Jimin manages to choke out.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, clearly having expected an argument. “You’re being sent to Shanghai with Jungkook. You,” he says, turning his attention to you, “are going to Moscow with Taehyung.”

She’s fond of Taehyung, Jimin wants to say. But you’d been fond of him too, once upon a time, and that’d only ended in heartbreak, so who fucking cares.

They’re cruel, the tricks Jimin’s mind plays on him. How he convinces himself you look pained. How his fingers wring together at the thought of entrusting his life in the hands of someone else, someone new. At your life being just as at stake; at Taehyung being tasked with keeping you alive. Would you die for him, too, the way you’d always told Jimin you would for him? Would Taehyung take a bullet to the stomach to keep you safe the way Jimin had?

Even more cruel is the way you scoff, pushing yourself off of the wall as you fold your arms across your chest and say, “That’s bullshit, Kim Namjoon.”

No one talks to Namjoon that way except you.

Yoongi’s knife stops twirling. Just like a bird sensing a storm, senses on high-alert as he flicks his gaze over to you. “I’m sorry?” Namjoon says. “What part of Jimin losing his mind and nearly outing all of us seems like bullshit to you?”

“Hm, let me think,” you retort, a manicured finger tapping against the hollow of your cheek. “The part where you’re reassigning me for someone else’s mistake?”

Which part was the mistake? Jimin wants to ask. Needs to know how much you regret. Was sleeping with you the mistake? Falling in love with you? Getting too caught up in all these daydreams and letting reality get away from him?

“This organization is more important than Park Jimin getting his goddamn dick wet,” Namjoon snaps. “Keeping all of you safe—keeping you alive—is more—”

You scoff. Take an entire container of gasoline and pour it right on top of Namjoon’s flammable ire. “Then perhaps you’d be so kind as to explain to me why Min fucking Yoongi can fuck damn near everyone in this establishment, yet I have to sit here and listen to your goddamn mouth—”

Jimin doesn’t think Yoongi even knows his arm is moving.

There’d just been the trading of barbed words. His own name being spoken into the ether. Yoongi’s arm moving away from his body, switchblade clasped tightly between his fingers as he plunges it into your flesh.

Jimin watches it puncture your arm in slow motion. Feels the bile in his throat, the heat in his belly. Looks first at Namjoon whose jaw has gone slack, skin pale, as he stammers over words that won’t come. Then he looks at Yoongi—expects to find shock or guilt but finds only a muted disinterest and flared nostrils.

Finally, he looks at you. Watches the white cotton sleeve of your shirt slowly turn red and sticky-wet. Watches as your lips move around syllables and vowels and consonants Jimin can’t decipher.

“—fucking piece of shit, this is my favorite shirt! I’ll never get all this goddamn blood out of it—”

Jimin thinks he hears Yoongi say you deserve it. But Jimin isn’t really thinking much as he clambers out of his chair and moves in Yoongi’s direction. Doesn’t think at all as he lets instinct take over, lets adrenaline steer him headfirst into yet another bad idea.

He’s always known there’d come a day he’d be face-to-face with the sight of your blood. Had always known it’d come from someone else’s hand. Had always promised himself that hurting you would be the last thing anyone ever did.

Jimin has his fingers wrapped around Yoongi’s throat and he finally understands it—the joy Yoongi finds in taking life.

“What’s the matter, Jimin-ah?” Yoongi taunts. Jimin tightens his grip. Suddenly hates that fucking scar across Yoongi’s eye. “You’re never on clean-up duty. Always make your girlfriend do the dirty work. Finally grew some fucking balls, huh?”

“Fuck you,” Jimin says stupidly. Can’t think of anything more to say. Not that he needs to. Wrapping your hands around someone’s throat sends enough of a message, he thinks.

Namjoon’s still tongue-tied as you yank Yoongi’s blade from your arm, immediately pressing your other hand over the wound to stem the bleeding. The sight of your blood is making Jimin dizzy; the smell of the iron hanging in the air. All he wants to do is choke the life out of the man in front of him, but more than that, he just wants to hold your hand. Wants to comfort you, even though he knows you don’t need it. Not from him, not from anyone, but he still wants to. Wants to press his lips to the sweat at your brow.

And Yoongi can see it, too, because he starts laughing. It’s an odd, fractured noise. Jimin isn’t sure if he’s ever heard him laugh before, decides he also hates the way it sounds. Feels all wrong watching it leave his crooked smirk. Makes Jimin’s stomach plummet to the ground.

“Oh, you’re fucked, aren’t you?” Yoongi teases around Jimin’s slackened grip. “You weren’t just fucking her, you’re in love with her.”

Weird how Jimin is the one with his hands around someone’s neck and feels like he’s the one suffocating.

[ 31.2304° N, 121.4737° E | Shanghai, CHINA ]

Jimin watches the life drain from an innocent woman’s face and feels nothing.

Jimin watches Jungkook cut a man down and feels even less.

When it’s over, he cleans up wordlessly and doesn’t eat for three days.

[ 37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA ]

Jimin’s hair has faded to brown by the time he returns from Shanghai.

The more complicated job had gone to you and Taehyung. Jimin had tried not to take it personally. The Russian hits are always unnecessarily violent and Jungkook still isn’t fully trained. There’s still a phantom pain in Jimin’s stomach that warns him of the consequences of taking on more than he can chew. So, sure, Shanghai had gone fine, but his mind had been nearly 7,000 kilometers away the entire time.

Good thing he’d returned to Seoul unscathed, too, because he’s sure Namjoon would’ve eliminated him without a moment’s hesitation if he’d fucked up again.

But Shanghai had only served to prove the leader right. Jimin can’t work with you anymore. Can’t focus, can’t stomach the violence, can’t keep his goddamn head on straight.

He sighs as he glances at Jungkook to his right. Jimin had watched him murder two men in cold blood not even thirty-six hours ago and now he’s doe-eyed and sucking down his third banana milk of the morning. It really makes his head spin, being paired with this grown-up infant of a man now instead of you, but for all of Jungkook’s apparent shortcomings, he’d kept Jimin alive. He isn’t dead.

And then you walk in with Taehyung and he wishes he was.

Because you’re laughing and Taehyung’s got his arm slung around your shoulder and you look happy. It’s the kind of happiness that should be contagious, bloom warmth in his chest, but it doesn’t. It just takes the last frayed strand of hope he has and sets flame to it.

You don’t look like you miss Jimin at all. Don’t look like you’ve lost sleep or skipped meals.

“Didn’t take you long, did it?” Jimin says, because he’s wounded and lashing out. Not because he means it.

You must know he doesn’t, too, because you don’t react. “Watch your mouth, Park Jimin,” Taehyung warns, because he doesn’t know, and this only sets Jimin off more. You don’t need defending. Or had you, and Jimin had simply thought it wasn’t his place to provide it? That you wouldn’t want it?

“Or what, Kim Taehyung?”

Taehyung is cherubic. It’s part of his charm, one of many reasons why he’s so effective. If you’re looking to die, you look for the guy who looks like Yoongi, not the one who smiles wide and warm like Taehyung. So when he sets his jaw and pokes his tongue into his cheek and says, “Or I’ll cut your fucking head off, you stupid fuck,” your attention is finally piqued.

“I’m so sick of this,” Jungkook wails, banana milk tossed carelessly in the trash. “All of you need to get your fucking shit together!”

Taehyung rolls his eyes at the same time you pretend to inspect your nails. “Is that why you’re so temperamental, Chim?” Taehyung prods, looking every bit the pretentious, murderous angel he is. “Because you got sent to China on a babysitting mission while the grownups did real work?”

“Fuck you,” Jungkook snaps, rising to full height. “I’m not a fucking child.”

“Oh? Could’ve fooled me.” Taehyung’s words are razor-sharp and smell like kerosene. “Tell me, then: were you on babysitting duty? Had to look after our precious little Jiminie while he nursed his broken heart?”

You sigh, full of faux-exasperation, and place a gentle hand on Taehyung’s forearm. Dig your nails in just enough to be a warning, and if Jimin hadn’t been looking he’d miss it: the way Taehyung deflates instantly, anger dissipating like smoke, back in control. Just because you’d touched him. Just because you were there. Jimin knows that touch, how it feels to be under your control, and it makes his chest ache. Makes everything feel like it’s sitting wrong in his stomach, and he’s either going to be sick all over Namjoon’s overpriced fucking rug or wrap his hands around Taehyung’s throat the way he’d done to Yoongi.

He’s out of his goddamned mind; he feels untethered. Helpless. Like it was always going to end like this, and maybe Jimin knew that and had just ignored it. Maybe now he’s paying the price—maybe he’s finally found something he can’t afford.

Jungkook’s still going off, nasty gaze set on Taehyung because he’s the only one playing along. They’re exchanging words Jimin can’t make heads nor tails of. Words he doesn’t care about. Words that ring empty and hollow because they sound nothing like the way you say his name. Shapeless, unlike the way your lips move around those syllables.

“Jimin,” you say, the sound finally registering and bringing him back down to earth. All he can do is stare. “Can we talk?” Taehyung and Jungkook are still trading barbs.

Wonders how he got here. Looks around the room and wonders if each and every one of them is destined for this same fate, this madness. Wants to tell you why he forgot his vest, why he was three hours late in Argentina. Wants to grovel and beg and leave this place and never look back.

More than anything, he wants to know what it feels like to actually be human.

So he shakes his head. Tries not to be haunted by the way your face falls at the rejection.

There is a scar on his abdomen and a scar on your arm that both tell the same story. There is a man in the basement who is in love with a man above ground and is too weighed down by guilt to do anything about it. There is a man here who plays god, has soldiers to do his bidding, and there is very little here that Jimin has only for himself.

The two of you will have that conversation, but he needs to be human, first.

[ 34.6901° N, 135.1956° E | Kobe, JAPAN ]

This is a waste of your fucking time.

Whatever Namjoon had thought would be here doesn’t seem to exist. Yoongi can barely tolerate you on a good day, threatens to stick a dagger in your neck at least twice an hour, but the more time the two of you waste chasing ghosts, the closer he comes to unraveling entirely.

“Stop fucking staring at me,” he snaps, blowing the smoke of his cigarette right in your face.

You tut. “But you’re so beautiful, Yoongi, I just can’t help it.”

He digs his switchblade from his boot. Makes a show of flipping it open. “I can cut your fuckin’ eyes out of your skull,” he intones. “Maybe that’ll help.”

In your ear, Jimin’s laughter rings like crystal.

Ricochets off of all the corners of Seokjin’s basement, makes the echo sound warped through the earpiece. “Please tell Yoongi-ssi to keep an eye on the man with the shaved head. In front of him, roughly sixty degrees to his right.”

You relay the message. Watch as Yoongi transforms—sharpened gaze, rigid posture, disappears into the shadows. More apex predator than man. “And me?” you ask.

“Backup,” comes Seokjin’s voice. “We haven’t found your mark yet.”

You hum. Pick up the cigarette Yoongi left behind and stick it between your lips. Smoke it nearly to the filter. “You got it, boss,” you tease, just because it flusters him.

“I’m—that’s not—knock it off.”

Exhale. Stub out the cigarette. Butt in your pocket. “Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Jimin says, and his voice is soft, sounds like spun sugar. “Stay alive, all right?”

Jimin’s hair isn’t dyed at all.

if you've read this far: thank you so, so much! i am more appreciative than i can put into words. this is very different from what i typically write, but i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless.

i would love to hear your thoughts if you have any. <3

#jimin x reader #jimin smut #bts x reader #bts smut #jimin imagine #jimin scenarios #jimin fanfic #jimin x you #jimin x y/n #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts fanfic #bts x you #bts x y/n

[seeingivy]

you belong with me

satoru gojo x f!reader

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

content: high school!au, gojo is a robotics nerd, reader is class president, emo nanami (my beloved), toji is ur shitass football playing boyfriend, typical cheesy highschool drama

an: tell me why posting this is giving me a tummy ache like I haven't posted for gojo in forever and now i think I suck at it :OOO anyways, please be nice to me about this and close your eyes if you hate it. also, totally reliving my high school days when I was senior class vice president (worst experience of my life) FDLJFKDSJFLS

--

You’re a hater. A self proclaimed, real-life, deep in your soul hater. 

What do you hate today? Being class president. 

You hate that you willingly ran, somehow won, had people up your ass all day about stuff that wasn’t in your control, and got stuck in the current situation you were in. Which was arguing with your boyfriend Toji, as you pace around your room and do your own fair share of screaming back. 

“You just did that shit because you were pissed at me.” 

“I did not, Toji. You know, not everything is about you. Other people needed the money and I put it where it was needed.” 

“To the color guard team? Babe, no one gives a fuck about the color guard team. Everyone is at the homecoming game to watch the football team. Not a bunch of idiots waving flags in the air.” 

“They’re also part of the game and all their equipment is broken. They need it more than you when you guys literally get donors and funding from the district and-”

“You’re just pissed about the sweetheart thing. That’s why you’re doing this shit and taking it out on everyone else.” 

“Toji, I’m not even mad about-” 

You’re met with the sound of ringing over the phone, signaling that Toji had enough and finally hung up on you. You flop straight onto your bed, pushing your face so hard into your pillow that sits uncomfortably against your nose and the smell of your laundry detergent makes its way to the crevices of your brain.

You hear a banging behind you and twist around to see Gojo pointing at his walkie-talkie, switching it on as you reach for yours. It’s still covered in glittery pink stickers from when you were seven, the silver coming off on your hand every time you grab it. 

“Come in, bunny.” 

“Loud and clear, Toru.” 

He smiles, setting his hardware down - probably for another weird ass robot he was making - as he holds it up to his face, talking again. 

“You okay?” 

“Yeah. Just arguing with Toji, again. I’ll start allocating some of our funds to get you some sound proof windows.” 

“Much appreciated, Madam President. That’s very generous of you.” 

You laugh, dropping the walkie talkie to lift your fingertips to your temples, lightly massaging the pulsating under your skin. 

“For what it’s worth, the color guard team is really grateful you did that for them. I know Utahime was so excited when the new flags came in, she was flipping them around on the field for hours.” 

“That’s why it’s even more annoying. I know what I did was right, but he just doesn’t see it that way. Uta dragged me down to the field to watch them and their choreography looks so much better with the multicolored flags. They were really happy about it.” 

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown?” 

“Heavy is the head that’s dating Toji Fushiguro.” 

He laughs as you switch your channel off, taking the last few seconds to study you before you draw your curtains. He can see the tension sitting in your shoulders and how clearly it hurts you to argue with Toji like this. And it infuriates him. That you even have to go to sleep angry and that the cause is the headass idiot you’re dating. 

Toji Fushiguro is lucky, far more lucky than he realizes. Not for obvious reasons. Yeah, he’s a great football player and yeah, he’ll probably get scouted for some really good university at the end of the year. He doesn’t have a shortage of friends or intelligence and for all intents and purposes, he’s loved (which Gojo doesn’t understand at all). 

He’ll probably be that scumbag that people see a few years down the line and then get infuriated at. Because if an absolute asshat like Toji Fushiguro can be successful, then truly all things have gone to shit. That the patriarchy is real, that society is broken, living proof that the asshole always wins and everyone else always loses. 

But no, those are common reasons to hate Toji Fushiguro - ones he’s heard echoed by Suguru and Shoko every time he does something that pisses the two of them off. Like scream obscenities in the hallways, block their parking spots when they’re going to class, call them names when they walk by. 

No. Toji Fushiguro is lucky because he gets to date you. Because out of the long list of girls he had to pick one, Toji just had to pick the one that was his. The girl he’s been in love with since he moved in right across the street and had a smiley neighbor excitedly waving at him through her bay window. 

To him, love has always been the pigtail braids you used to wear everyday in the fourth grade, the matching walkie-talkies you bought him in sixth grade when he got grounded, and that sweet smile you’ve had since the first day he’s met you. 

And when he sees those green curtains pulled against the bay window he’s stared at for years, where he’s loved you from for years, he lifts the walkie and says what he forgot to mention. 

I love you.

--

Thanks to your gracious ride, you make it to school thirty minutes early. Your intuition - that Toji was ditching you as your ride to school this morning - was correct. Luckily, you made it in time just before class started. 

Nanami’s already seated on the green bench outside the classroom, headphones plugged into his ears. As you walk up, you silently wonder how much hair gel it takes to keep his Gerard Way hairstyle in place. 

“Hi Kento! How is my best friend doing on this fine morning?” 

“We’re not best friends.” 

“Sure we are!” 

You reach forward and pinch his cheek in your hand, which he only swats off and rolls his eyes at. That’s how you know your best friends. Because if it was anyone else, Nanami would probably break their hand and walk away. But he always lets you tease him, because he know he loves you. 

“Are you still fighting with that dog?” 

“That dog has a name. And it’s Toji. And I’m not sure, he didn’t pick me up for school this morning.” 

“Did he at least tell you he wouldn’t?” 

“No. I was lucky enough that Satoru had walked Megs to the bus stop a little late and I was able to get a ride with him.” 

Nanami looks over, narrowing his eyes at you, as the hallway starts getting crowded with people. And you know what he’s saying, what he’s been saying for the past few months. 

“You know, it’s very normal to give your neighbor a ride when they need one. Not everything has ulterior motives, Kento.” 

“That’s true. Everything doesn’t have ulterior motives. But he does. I’ve seen how he looks at you.”

“How does he look at me, Kento?” 

“Like he’d kiss the ground you’d walk on.” 

You roll your eyes, reaching up to mess up his perfectly styled hair. It doesn’t budge and you get a handful of minty smelling hair gel.

“As if.”

Like you’ve summoned him by bringing him up, Satoru’s sidestepping to where you and Nanami are sitting, Shoko and Getou in tow with him. 

“Nanami~~ How’s my best friend doing?” Satoru says, bending over to totally obscure Nanami’s line of vision.

“Shut the fuck up, Gojo.” Nanami responds. 

Nanami stands up, giving you a look, before he stalks away to his next class. Leaving you, Satoru, Shoko, and Getou standing in front of your classroom.  

“So. I hear you have a robotics competition?” you ask.

“Yeah. Next Saturday. We always practice our hardware out the night before, throw a little party in the lab. You should come.” Getou says, smiling at you. 

Satoru smacks Getou in the stomach right after he invites you, clearly trying to tell him something with his eyes. And then when he catches you staring, he gives you a nervous laugh. 

You get it. He doesn’t want you there.

“Don’t act too excited to see me now, Satoru. Anything more and I might think you like me.” you bite sarcastically.

“What? No, it’s not like that. I just-” Satoru stutters, 

“So you don’t like me?” you say, smirking at him. Shoko and Getou are laughing, the tips of Satoru’s turning pink as he very adamantly tells you that he does indeed like you. 

“I have stuff to set up for the homecoming game that day, so I won’t be able to. But I’ll try my best, yeah?” 

“Okay. Next time?” Getou asks. 

“Sure, Sugar-u. I’ll see you guys around, yeah?” 

You give the three of them a polite smile as you trudge away, leaving to meet Toji at his locker and give him a piece of your mind for this morning. Which leaves Shoko and Getou to give Satoru the scolding of his life. 

“Are you fucking stupid, Satoru? You made it seem like you didn’t want her there.” Shoko says, smacking him on the back of the head. 

“I panicked! Plus, Haibara always likes to play Just Dance and I’d rather not embarrass myself in front of her.” Satoru responds, rubbing the now sore spot on the back of his head. 

“You’re hopeless, Satoru. She’s never going to like you if you keep rejecting her the way you do.” Suguru says, dragging him along to the robotics lab. 

“She has a boyfriend. Who isn’t me. As if she would even consider dating me in the first place.” 

And when the three of them pass you by the lockers, clearly getting yelled at by Toji, it only furthers their argument more. 

“Yeah, I’m sure she really loves him, Satoru.” 

--

Your argument with Toji hours prior simmers in your head, as you wait for the bus to arrive and for this godforsaken day to finally be over. You watch him pile into his car with Salma and the other boys from the football team, which only makes your anger fester more. 

He’s doing this to piss you off. Of course, he’s doing this to-

“Need a ride?” 

You look up and unclench your fists to find Satoru, sparkly blue eyes shining at you and a hand held out to you. 

“Thanks.” 

He leads you to his car, an almost demolished Honda Civic from his maniacal driving, and you climb in, immediately putting your head in your hands. You can feel him moving around you, the engine purring on and him backing out of the spot. 

“About earlier. I don’t not want you to come to the robotics thing. I just thought it was awkward the way he asked you and I-I didn’t want you to feel obligated to come, you know? And I-I’d like it if you came too and so would the rest of us.” he rambles, a hand in his hair. 

You look up, his ears tinted pink from the confession. 

“I was just teasing you, Satoru. I’ll try to make it by, okay?” 

He sighs, a clear breath of relief, and looks over to smile.

“Okay, cool cool cool. Now tell me why you and Toji are fighting.” 

“When aren’t we fighting?” you murmur, pressing your head against the glass. 

“But why?” 

And when you look over, his blue eyes staring into yours, in earnest while the light is red, you unload it all. 

“Do you know about the sweethearts thing they do at the homecoming game?” 

“Uh. That’s when the cheerleaders wear the jerseys right. And then decorate the locker room or some shit for the players.” 

“Yeah. Well, it’s not limited to cheerleaders. It usually is, but if you’re dating someone, that person can do it for you.” 

“So I’m guessing Toji doesn’t want you to do it for him.” 

“Not exactly. He was just saying that it’s more traditional for a cheerleader to do it since they’re also on the side of the track and he wants to see his name out there instead of running around, trying to make sure the game is running and all that.” 

You slump into the chair as Satoru frowns, a pitying look in his eyes, as he keeps driving. You can’t help but watch him, his silhouette against the window - defined jaw, the slope of his nose. 

He’s not the guy who ran away from kissing you in the eighth grade. He’s just ten times hotter. 

You shake your head, letting the thought spill from your mind, as Satoru looks over. 

“Jamoca?” he says, giving you a wide grin. 

You can’t help but laugh, nodding as Satoru makes a sharp left turn, making his way to the ice cream shop. 

Jamoca is your favorite ice cream flavor. Coffee, layered with fudge and almonds, became a proclaimed favorite when Satoru dragged you once in the sixth grade. After very sorely losing the class president battle, you moped in your room for five days - even going as far as borrowing one of Nanami’s My Chemical Romance vinyls to truly and properly mope. 

On day three of blasting the vinyl, Satoru called enough and dragged you to the closest ice cream store, claiming it was the closest thing to therapy that you normies could afford. Since then, any bad day was easily solved with two things. 

Jamoca and Satoru. 

When you make it to the store, Satoru’s excitedly dragging you out of the car, his hand pressed in yours as you both run into the store, giggling while you order your single scoops. And when he drags you out to the curb and you sit there, you silently think to yourself why you ever stopped doing this in the first place. 

Satoru leans over, digging his chocolate fudge covered spoon into your cup, before talking. 

“So. If you guys fight so much, why are you still dating?” 

“Dunno. Feels weird to initiate a breakup, I guess. I can’t see myself doing it.” 

“Even when he wants other girls to be his sweetheart?” 

“Even when he wants other girls to be his sweetheart.” 

You kick the pebbles into the broken parts of the pavement, leaning your elbows on your knees. 

“I don’t know, Toru. I guess he was just the first guy who ever liked me back and then I….spent so much time in the relationship and trying to make it work that it feels weird to let it go now.” 

Satoru swallows hard, eyeing his melting ice cream, as he ponders the best response. Because in earnest, he has two options. Support you or be selfish. Support you to stay with Toji, to do what you’ve been doing because he knows it’s what you want. Or be selfish. Tell you that he you deserve better, that he could be that for you if you just let him. 

He reaches over, flicking you in the forehead. 

“Ouch, asshole.” 

“You’ve got a really big brain in there. And you always have. You’ll figure out the right thing to do, just give it time.” 

And when you give him a halfhearted smile, reaching over into his cup for a bite of his ice cream, he lets it go. 

He can’t be selfish. Not when it comes to you anyways. 

--

After running around all day, you give yourself thirty minutes to go to Satoru’s robotics thing. After triple checking the microphones work, the yearbook team has access to the field, the glitter has been set out for everyone trickling in, and that everyone who could possibly need your phone number has it, you speed run to the other side of campus, to the robotics lab. 

And when you make it, the five of them - Haibara, Nanami, Shoko, Getou, and Satoru - are in the room playing Just Dance. Shoko’s sitting on top of the desk, flippantly moving her remote in the air, while Satoru quite literally is trying to give it all he’s got - and losing apparently. 

You lightly push the door open, which stops the two of them in their tracks, and you’re met with some very excited cheers as they all drag you into the room. You take a seat next to Nanami, giving his cheek a pinch, which he hates. 

“You’re Haibara, right?” 

“You know who I am?” 

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re friends with Nanami and Nanami and I are best friends.” 

“No we aren’t.” responds Nanami, now sulking two seats away from you. 

“Are too.” 

You throw the nearest object, a pencil at Nanami, as you turn back to Haibara and laugh. 

“I like your shirt. Flight of the Navigator is a really good movie.” 

You see Satoru, Shoko, and Suguru’s eyes widen in the back at your words and hear a considerable amount of groaning from Nanami behind you. And after twenty minutes, you find out why. 

Haibara really, really loves Flight of the Navigator. Almost too much. In earnest, you barely remember the movie - at most, maybe the weird little alien companion he has. But here Haibara is, reciting the cast, the directors, acting out the scenes and it’s clear to you that you’ve tapped into some monster they all keep hidden. 

Luckily for you, Satoru comes to your rescue. 

“Okay, Haibara. I’m going to steal her for you for some Just Dance.” 

“I don’t Just Dance Satoru.” 

“Oh yeah? You’re just saying that because you know you’re going to lose.” 

You scoff, knowing exactly what he’s doing. 

“As if, sweetheart. I distinctly remember you banning us from ever playing that game together after I beat you in the fifth grade.” 

“You’re rusty. Maybe we’ll start with something easy. Like Rasputin.” 

“I could do Rasputin in my sleep, bitch.” 

“Prove it.” 

You roll your eyes as you march over to the front, where they’re projecting the game onto the screen. And just for posterity’s sake, you take Satoru’s sunglasses from where they were flipped over on the desk and put them on, effectively blinding yourself from the screen. 

And when the songs start, you can hear them all laughing behind you, Satoru and you hurling insults at each other as you dance on. And somewhere around the middle, you’re sure Satoru must be losing because he grabs your hands and suddenly he’s swinging you around in the air, his hands on your waist as you laugh. 

And when you take your blindfold off and the song dies down, Satoru wins by five points. 

“You asshole. You literally cheated, Satoru.” 

“Did not. You’re just a sore loser, bitch.” 

“You kiss your mom with that mouth?” 

“Every night, sweetheart.” 

You put the palm of your hand in his face as you push him away, moving to sit on the desk. He joins you, the two of you now watching Haibara and Nanami have a very one sided dance battle. 

After forty-five minutes, Satoru’s phone buzzes three times and the smile on his face drops when he checks. You place your hand on his, squeezing twice before asking. 

“You okay?” 

“Huh. Oh, yeah. I-I think you should go to the field. Right now.” 

“Wait, what? But you hate that kind of-” 

He grabs your hand, dragging you out, as you both start running to the field. You keep asking as he pulls you on, getting almost no response and only a faster pace. 

And when you reach the field, you catch just the end of it and the only thing grounding you to that moment is Satoru and Utahime, who was surely the one who had texted Satoru, holding onto your shoulders. 

Salma, the cheerleader Toji picked to be his sweetheart, just asked him to homecoming during halftime. And he said yes. 

Utahime squeezes your hand three times, a soft look in her eyes when she talks. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I just thought you would want to know and I wanted to tell you because you’ve been nothing but nice to me.” 

You smile, moving into her open arms as you whisper a small thank you into her shoulder. She leaves, having to return to the color guard team waiting for her on the side, leaving you and Satoru standing on the pavement right by the field. 

“Take you home?” 

“Thanks, Toru.” 

“You want Jamoca?” 

“Not today.” 

He nods, a hand on the small of your back, as he leads you to his car, even going as far as opening the door for you and letting you crack the windows while you drive back - which you know he hates. 

At the first red light, he taps on the top of your head to get your attention. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” 

“Do you think there’s something wrong with me?” 

“What? Of course, not. Toji is just an asshat who doesn’t see you for what you’re worth and-” 

“No. No, no. Not like that. Do you think there’s something wrong with me because I’m not even the tiniest bit sad right now? I’m…relieved.” 

Satoru looks over, the red front the traffic light flashing on your face, and a blank expression staring back at him. 

“Of course, not. He’s a grade one idiot. Anyone in your position would feel that way, bunny.” 

“I know. That’s true.” 

“But?” 

“Does this make me defective, Satoru? Like, maybe I just can’t like people that much or something and I was the problem.” 

Satoru twiddles his thumbs on the steering wheel, pondering the same question he has been asking for the past few days. Encourage her or be selfish. 

He can’t be selfish with you. 

“Okay, Y/N. Close your eyes.” 

“Huh?” 

“Just do it.” 

“Okay.” 

He looks over, to find you eyelids fluttering shut, your face lit up by the streetlights outside.

“Now. Tell me about your dream guy, bunny.” 

“What are you going on ab-” 

“Just do it.” 

You sigh, before thinking hard about his question. 

“Someone I can be comfortable with. That’s my type. Like we can have fun together and play games but also being around them is comforting to me. Things might suck, but at least they are there to kind of pick me up at the end of the day. They’re nice to people and are surrounded by good company, because you are who you love and they try to be better each day.” 

After finishing, you open your eyes to find Satoru staring at you, an all-knowing look on his face. 

“Bunny?” 

“Toru?” 

“Does that sound anything like Toji to you?” 

You slump back into your chair, sinking down. 

“No.” you murmur. 

“You aren’t defective. Well, maybe in the higher level cognitive thinking part because you clearly have some impaired decision making but-” 

“Hey. Don’t be rude, asshole.” 

“Get out of the car.” 

You crane your head out the window to see you’re in fact not at your house, but at the ice cream store. And when he comes around to your side of the car, opening your door, he drags you out, the two of you eating you ice cream in the light of the dingy lamp outside the store. 

--

You knock hard on your window, only stopping when Satoru looks up from his desk, dropping the pencil he was just scribbling with. You point to your walkie talkie, switching on the channel as he grabs his. 

“Hi bunny. You look nice.” 

“Thank you. Are you coming tonight?” 

To homecoming. Because despite all odds and last night, you still have to go. And crown the homecoming king and queen since you’re the class president, which you’re sure will be Salma and Toji since the universe is very, very kind to you. 

“I’m sorry. Haibara needed help designing something for next week.” 

“Oh. Okay. I wish you were.” 

“I wish I was too. His hardware is Flight of the Navigator themed so wish me luck.” 

You laugh, giving him one last smile as he pulls the curtains to his window. And when you see his navy windows against the pane you’ve stared at him through for years, it only now occurs to you. 

When he asked you to describe that last night, he unlocked something. Bringing it to your attention, to the forefront of your mind. 

The person you were describing is him. You lift your walkie talkie to your mouth, press the button, and mention the words you forgot to say. 

I love you.

And then you turn on your heel and drive yourself to the dance. 

--

Satoru ponders it for thirty minutes. 

Support her or be selfish. Support her or be selfish. Support her or be selfish. 

Be fucking selfish. 

Satoru gets up, dropping the hardware he was making for Haibara, and pulls out the first suit he can find. He grabs his walkie talkie off his desk, convinces Megumi to go beg your mom (who loves Megumi) for your walkie talkie, and then goes ninety on the freeway to get to the school on time. 

He finds Nanami first, the glob of gel on his head somehow even worse than normal and sets his plan in motion. 

“Nanami.” 

“Please, for the love of god, not tod-” 

“Go hand this to Y/N.” 

Nanami and now Shoko are taking the walkie in their hands, flipping it over and inspecting it like they’re the fucking FBI. And more importantly, wasting time. 

Three feet away, you’re standing by the punch table, counting how many balloons are on the ceiling. You reach three hundred and fifteen when you’re approached for the first time that night, by Nanami and Shoko. 

“Nanami. What is going on with your hair? You can’t possibly need that much hair gel.”

“You would be shocked, Y/N.” 

“That's what I said to him too. But this is for you.” Shoko says.

She hands you your walkie talkie, the silver glitter coming off on your hand, as you flip it over. 

“Did you break into my house, Shoko?” 

“No. But I’m guessing Satoru did. He ran in here five minutes ago and basically yelled at us to give it to you.” 

They both shrug as they walk away and you look around, clutching the walkie talkie so hard in your hand you think you might break it. Satoru’s here.

And when you scan your eyes around the room, you see him at the front door, his eyes already fixed on yours. He’s smiling so big that it makes your heart squelch and suddenly you’re moving towards him. And as you both start walking (running) to each other, you can’t help but feel the anticipation of what’s coming. 

Except that’s right when Toji stands in the middle of the two of you, his characteristic slimy, sneer on his face. He reaches for your hand first. 

“Can we talk, Y/N?” 

"No."

You shrug your hand off, pushing right past him, as you walk closer to Satoru. You can hear Toji shouting something at you, but you’re too tunnel visioned on Satoru to pay attention. And when you reach him, you’re both smiling so big at each other, that it makes your face hurt. 

He lifts his walkie talkie to his mouth, talking first. 

“Come in, bunny?” 

“Loud and clear, Toru.” 

“I love you.” 

You can feel yourself smiling so big, so excited that you’re basically jumping on your toes, your walkie shaking in your hand. 

“I love you.” 

“Oh thank god. I was scared I was going to get a breaking and entering charge.”

You laugh, pulling him down by his tie and kissing him square on his face. And when he pulls away, ears pink and face red, you whisper against his lips. 

“It was always going to be you. I belong with you.” 

He smiles, that stupid smile you’ve stared at, loved for years and you can’t help but cheese, leaning forward to kiss him again.

--

the satoru as taylor swift songs series masterlist

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[jvngkook97]

Muse

synopsis; in which Jungkook is a contestant on a reality show for top artists in the nation and he asks you to partake in a FaceTime interview at the last second.

pairing; artist!jungkook x girlfriend!reader

genre; fluff, humor, established relationship, art of the soul au, drabble

warnings; suggestive dialogue

rating; 18+

w/c; 2,862

a/n; you do NOT need to read the art of the soul series in order to read this, but feel free if you wish to do so! i’ll even leave you a little link down below ;) also, don’t mind me posting this randomly, just trying to get back into the groove of writing again. enjoy~ don’t be a silent reader! <3 feedback is always appreciated and helps to keep this writer motivated to put out more content – like this! all the love, always.

Read AOTS Here -> 01

Calling Jungkook…

The call connects and you’re greeted by Jungkook’s dreamy smile. Your heart skips a beat at the sight of him. Even through a video call, he gives you butterflies.

You watch as his eyes light up when you join the call. His smooth voice is just as sweet as you remember.

“Hi beautiful.”

“Jungkook! Hey!” Your eyes greedily rake over his laxed figure that sits in a random chair. It’s been months since you’ve last seen him in person, the last being the day he left to start filming for the reality show he’s currently partaking in. “How do you look even cuter than I remember?”

“I could say the same about you!” He throws his arms out at you with a gusto, leaning forward in the chair to get close to the phone he precariously has propped up against a stack of decorative books that litter the mock living room set around him. His face morphs into one of disbelief at your own natural beauty he hasn’t had the pleasure of seeing for so long.

“I missed your face.”

You find yourself blushing; the words having slipped out of their own accord. This virtual reunion is stirring up more emotions than you expected. You want to reach through the screen and pull Jungkook close. He smiles softly and leans even closer to the camera.

“I miss yours too. So damn much.”

For a minute, you both just savor each other’s presence – even if it is only through a phone screen. Then, you break it, begrudgingly. You don’t know how much time you have left with him until the interview starts.

“Are you in the studio?”

Jungkook grins and nods, you stretch your neck as you try to take in the scene over his shoulder, as if the action itself could somehow make you see better…it doesn’t. What you can see in your limited view, however, is this. The space is bustling with artists, models, and crew members – filling the studio with chatter that filters in from the background through your own phone speakers.

“Yep! This is where all the magic happens. And the less than magical stuff, too.”

“I’d rather you come make some magic over here.” You give Jungkook a seductive look, and he returns a smirk. A fire ignites in his eyes that you’ve been missing since he left.

“I bet you’d like that.” You don’t miss the way his voice drops when he speaks next that has you subconsciously wetting your lips, reminiscing on previous intimate moments between you both.

Jungkook is sitting at what you believe must be his work station, but his attention is all on you. His model must be taking a break, so you’re both free to gaze into your phones like lovebirds for a while longer.

“I’m feeling pretty lucky that I get to talk to you in the middle of a shoot like this.”

“Me too! How long do I have you all to myself?”

Jungkook shakes his head with disappointment.

“Not long enough. I’m sure they’re going to barge in on us with cameras any second now.”

You pout cutely, it makes his bunny smile appear.

“We’ll have to make the most of this moment then.”

Jungkook offers a content sigh before a mischievous smile spreads across his face.

“Why do I suddenly have the urge to skip the rest of the challenge and talk to you all day?”

Your eyes light up with an idea. You snap your fingers at him, pointing.

“Just do it! Tell the hosts you got locked in the supply closet.” You present your suggestion with a cheesy grin, and you both laugh. It feels good to joke with each other, even just for a minute. Jungkook looks tenderly into the camera at you.

“I missed the sound of your laugh.”

He continues to look into the camera with adoration in his eyes. You spent a beat in silence, content to finally be chatting again, grinning madly. Inwardly, you’re cursing the stupid show rules that don’t allow phones in order to avoid any spoiler leaks.

“Thanks for doing this on such short notice. They literally didn’t tell us about it until there was already paint on our models.” He has a small scowl on his face, and you can’t help but laugh at the mental image of twelve frenzied artists finding out about their bonus challenge.

“No problem! I’m happy to be here, and uh–,” you fidget nervously, looking down at your fingers that sit atop the desk you’re currently using for this spontaneous interview located in your shared apartment with Jungkook. “Thanks for picking me.”

You feel a warmth in your chest as you say it, cheeks gaining a small tint to them at how flustered you feel about him choosing you of all people to be the subject of his interview. You flashback to when he first asked you, only a little bit ago.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

20 Minutes Earlier - Texting

Jungkook: Baby? Are you there? It’s kind of urgent 😬

Is everything okay? 😯

Jungkook: I’m fine! Just short on time.

What’s up?

Jungkook: I’m in the middle of a storytelling challenge. And they just told us we each need to video call a guest for an interview.

OMG am I your phone-a-friend???

Jungkook: Of course you are 😂

What an honor! I’d love to, I just wish I had a little time to prepare. Lol.

Jungkook: I know it’s short notice…it was a surprise to us too. The director said they want to introduce the top 10 and “share our stories.” There’s no one I’d rather have representing me….no one else gets me like you do. 👉🏻👈🏻

I’ll win the hearts of thousands of new fans for you 😉

Jungkook: I honestly think you would. When I’m talking about my muse, I’m in my best light.

I’m a strategic advantage 😘

Jungkook: I bet together we could shake off some of the negative attention I’ve been getting. I also, obviously, miss you like crazy. What do you think? Can you do it?

I’d love to! Do I get to tell everyone I’m your favorite person?

Jungkook: Of course you do ❤️

I might start gushing about you during the interview, hope you don’t mind 😚

Jungkook: I think I’ll get a gold star if one of us starts crying so….. 😉 Are you ready? I’m about to start the call.

Go ahead 😊

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

Present Time

Jungkook smiles warmly into the camera. His voice is tender, eyes sincere.

“I wouldn’t want anyone else. Plus, it means I get to see you. It’s so good to hear your voice.”

“I’m just happy I was actually free when you called, though let’s be honest–,” you shrug your shoulders. “I would’ve dropped anything to help you.”

“Thank you, baby. But seriously, right? They definitely thrive on chaos here.”

Jungkook shoots a glare off screen, presumably at the camera crew. He sighs as they move into frame and set up around him.

“Here comes Rick, I think they’re going to start the interview now.”

“Already? I haven’t practiced at all!”

Your heart pounds, but Jungkook eases your worries with a sly smile.

“Don’t overthink it.”

After the camera crew piles around him, a smarmy looking man with a microphone — Rick, one of the celebrity judges — slides into view and sidles up next to Jungkook.

“Hello! Thanks for joining us today! Now, Jungkook, who do we have here?”

Rick’s eyes dart between Jungkook’s and yours with an exaggerated air of excitement, something you’re positive he’s done multiple times being on camera cause he was used to it. However, with your line of work of being a model, you were not.

Interviews weren’t mandatory, only posing for pictures was. And that? You were an expert at. Jungkook could see you begin to fidget nervously and opted to take the attention off you, if just for a moment longer to get your bearings together.

Jungkook squared his shoulders and sat up straight, puffing his chest even a bit in pride before he spoke, his eyes never leaving yours.

“My guest is y/n. My muse.”

You try to swallow your nerves as Rick peers at you through Jungkook’s phone. Your only line of defense is to smile broadly and hope your voice doesn’t crack.

“Hello!” Seemed cheery enough you think, albeit a tad shaky, but if anyone noticed they didn’t say anything.

Jungkook offers a proud smile as Rick effortlessly dons his tv host persona. He speaks directly into one of the studio cameras, flashing a knowing grin.

“You know, I had a feeling Jungkook was going to call you today.”

“I heard Jungkook has been hyping me up.”

Jungkook shrugs as if to say there’s no denying it. He offers a humble defense to keep the mood light.

“I’m a pretty big fan.”

“Yes, we’ve heard a lot about you. If I didn’t know better, I might think Jungkook has a bit of a crush!”

You gulp, unsure of how to respond. Doesn’t he know you’re dating? Before you can figure out what to say, Rick laughs and gives Jungkook a playful nudge.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding! Y/N, I can tell Jungkook doesn’t use the word “muse” lightly. What’s it like to be such a source of inspiration?”

“I would say we both inspire each other. We energize one another, you know? Creatively and otherwise. We keep a fire going in each other.”

Rick nods knowingly, but your eyes are on Jungkook, who is absolutely beaming.

“What a beautiful sentiment. Is it hard to keep that fire going while he is away with us?”

Now it’s your turn to square up your shoulders in pride and confidence, voice strong and words absolute.

“If the episodes I’ve watched told me anything, it looks like Jungkook’s creative spark is alive and well.”

Rick keeps the interview moving at a clip, eager to ask his next question.

“It sounds like you two know each other quite well. How did you meet? Is there a story there?”

Now that you think about it, you don’t think you ever told the world exactly how you two came to meet yet. Though it’s nothing unique, the world will come to find.

“We met online, technically. I’ve always been a fan of Jungkook’s artwork and was interested in purchasing a piece of his. He asked if I wanted to see it in person before making a final decision, so we met up. Hit it off immediately and we’ve been inseparable ever since.”

Rick have a chortle with a shake of his head.

“Ah, the internet. It’s amazing how it brings people together.”

“It’s been a journey for sure! From sending a single message to–,” you gesture around you, eyes wide with disbelief and expression full of happiness. “–all of this!”

Rick raises a hand to his ear, ready for you to spill even more gossip and juicy details. The caricature of it all makes you want to laugh, but it puts you at ease at the same time.

“What is he like off set? Let’s give the folks at home an idea of who Jungkook really is.”

“He’s every bit as charming and fun as he seems on camera, maybe even more.”

“Here on set, we’re getting used to Jungkook goofing around before the challenges kick off. Some people thrive in the spotlight, and I love it almost as much as the cameras do!”

“You can always count on him to put a smile on your face.”

Jungkook gives a sheepish look, clearly flattered but with the fluster of feeling called out.

“Well, I’m not going to shut myself away with twenty other artists without making a few friends!”

The three of you laugh together before Rick clears his throat to ask the next question. Jungkook leans back in his seat with a satisfied grin.

“I understand your relationship with Jungkook isn’t purely an artistic one. Give us the juicy details!” Rick leans forward in his seat with a gusto, using his entire body to show exactly how much he wants you to give something for the cameras and for the show itself.

“We love to have fun and explore our creativity. He has this playful energy that’s so infectious. He isn’t afraid to get messy, so there’s never a dull moment.” You smile wistfully as you try to explain what you find so special about your relationship with Jungkook.

Your heart races as you recall memories of laughing together while you worked on his audition reel. You center yourself by keeping your eyes on him, trying to mirror his relaxed demeanor.

“We always have something exciting going on, televised body painting competitions included.”

“I’m sure the excitement doesn’t stop there.”

Rick gives Jungkook a teasing look.

“It sounds like you and y/n have something really special. How did you pull that off?”

Jungkook keeps his lax position, hands folded on top of his crossed knees. As he answers Rick, his eyes stay focused on yours, sending you a small bunny toothed grin that you can’t help but beam at yourself. Your entire body buzzes with warmth.

“I had some luck on my side the day we met, for sure, but – you’re right, Rick. This is really special. I’m grateful everyday to have y/n in my life.”

You let Jungkook’s words sink in, and they wrap around you like a warm hug. You could lose yourself in the sound of his voice echoing in your head, but Rick snaps you out of your gleeful silence.

“Now, y/n, why do you think Jungkook has what it takes to win the competition?”

That’s easy, you think.

“He can do anything he sets his mind too.”

“Thanks, y/n, that’s really sweet.”

Rick let’s out a sigh only one who has the privilege of being in love can make as his eyes dart between both you and Jungkook’s own lovesick expressions, completely disregarding the fact it’s being caught on camera for the whole world to see.

“What a fantastic way to close out this call, don’t you think?”

You nod, albeit reluctantly to have it end, wanting to spend as much time talking to (or about) Jungkook as much as possible. That interview turned out to be a breeze, and for that, you’re exceedingly relieved about.

“That is just about all the time we have, though. Thanks for joining us, y/n!”

You wave at the camera.

“Bye Jungkook. I miss you! Can’t wait to hug you again!”

“I miss you too, thanks for calling in!”

Rick all but skips out of view, a train of cameras following behind him. Jungkook holds his phone once again, taking a moment to say goodbye before returning to the chaos of the challenge.

“Wait, y/n! Don’t hang up yet!”

Jungkook’s whole face is one of pure panic as he sees you reach to end the video call, you believing that that was the unfortunate end to your time with him. You jerk your hand back away from the button in surprise.

“Oh! Sure! I’m here, I’m here!”

You throw your hands up in front of the screen so he can see, in fact, you’re not going to press anything. He lets out a puff of air and you both laugh a little at what just transpired. Jungkook looks over his shoulder to make sure Rick and the crew are gone before speaking.

“I couldn’t say this during the interview but–,”

“You have very sexy ideas roaming around your head right now?”

You waggle your eyebrows playfully, but the way you bite your lip has him know you’re half serious.

“How did you know?”

“Because I can’t stop thinking of your hands all over me either.”

Jungkook smirks, a hint of wildfire in his eyes. His voice drops with his next words.

“And what, pray tell, are my hands doing exactly?”

“Whatever you want them to do.”

He lets out a big exhale from his nose, nostrils flaring, and jaw clenching from hidden desire.

“I can’t describe it in words, but the next time we see each other–,” you swear you see his eyes turn a shade darker as he says his next words, no, promise. “–I do plan to show you.”

Your body vibrates in excitement and you can’t help but prod him further.

It’s been way too long.

“Can I get a preview?”

He looks around and rubs his neck nervously.

“Not right now, Rick would have a field day with this “scoop” if he overheard us.”

You chuckle. He has a point. With every contestant and crew member close by, the details of this conversation will have to wait. But you can tell from Jungkook’s face that the only thing he wants more than winning is getting some alone time with you.

“Guess we’ll have to wait then?”

“Not for long, I promise.”

You hear a faint voice call his name in the background that has his figure slumping in disappointment, face sullen.

“I gotta go, but I love you.”

He gives the camera a kiss and you do the same.

“I love you too. Text me when you win.”

And, he does.

#jeon jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook drabble #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bangtan boys #bangtan sonyeondan #bangtan family #bangtan #bts fic #bts angst #bts army #bts fluff #main; art of the soul #AOTS drabble #AOTS au #artist!Jungkook au #thebtswritersclub #btshoneyhive #kflixnet #kvanity #bangtanoasis

[tenderlywicked]

I got so impatient that I started filling my own prompt. Wild Blue Yonder AU: the Doctor and the Master get stuck with the Not-Things :)

It’s not like the Master has something against eldritch beings per se. Arms that are too long or a dropping jaw—it’s not as disturbing for him as it clearly is for the Doctor. He’s been an eldritch horror himself, not just once, so he can sympathize. Moreover, appreciate the ability to adapt and survive at any cost. It’s a matter for envy rather than scorn or dread. He’s not even that shocked to see his own face on someone else: after all, there had been six billions of him once.

But it’s plain ridiculous that one of these not-things is able to imitate his speech patterns almost perfectly, and yet gets it wrong how many hearts and knees he has. It’s a sign of hackwork, and he despises that. On the other hand, in the current circumstances such incompetence is in his favor. It means the creatures aren’t unbeatable, they tend to miss the most obvious things.

He’d be more content and optimistic about it, though, if the Doctor hadn’t been clumsy enough to get separated from him, ending up on some other level of technical corridors. It’s nothing but irritating because without the Doctor there’s no way out: the TARDIS will come back for him. He isn’t to blame for the spaceship’s baffling reconfigurations of course, but still, he should have been more careful.

To the Doctor’s credit, he’s now probably rushing about, trying to find his missing companion, despite the row they’d had before the TARDIS had run off on them both. (The Master is still of opinion that this time the Doctor’s indignation had been apropos of nothing. Yes, he’d summoned the Toymaker into the universe, so what? He’d played his final game and won, he’s alive thanks to that, and the blasted universe is fine too, more or less, despite a few tiny time paradoxes all of this had caused. Should he have just died from a stab in the back instead? No, thank you very much.) Anyway, no matter their disagreements, the Doctor will be looking for him, desperately, the Master is sure of that. Instead of doing the same, he unhurriedly goes searching for something else.

They’d discovered the bridge and the control rooms, but surely, there must be living quarters somewhere on the spaceship. It’s not as big as the Mondasian one, so it doesn’t take the Master much time to locate them, along with what he’d been hoping to find—another set of surveillance equipment. He turns it on, and there it is, the second dot on the screen, the Doctor still braving the labyrinthine corridors on his own.

The Master fumbles with settings and finally finds the right camera in the hall the Doctor is about to pass…right in time to see him stumble across the false Master. And is it really that surprising what happens next? There’s no sound, but the Doctor’s face is quite expressive—it’s easy to see when wariness turns into wavering. Then, sequentially, come incredulity, hurt…and hope?

“Oh for fuck’s sake, still falling for sweet talk,” the Master mutters aloud as the Doctor takes a timorous step towards not-him, only for what he must expect to be a reunion hug to turn into a chokehold.

The creatures won’t kill him, they know he might regenerate, the Master tells himself, switching between the cameras as he follows the Doctor being dragged back to the bridge. They are more likely to keep him for further research.

What had his doppelgänger told the Doctor to earn his trust so quickly? Theta, I missed you so much? The Master tries to persuade himself it’s just curiosity, but also, deep inside, he knows there’s a bitter feeling too, akin to jealously: he never seems to say the right words that would convert the Doctor to his side so easily. One of his silly regenerations had wanted to stand with the Doctor, but would the Doctor ever stand with him?

Maybe he’s not entirely fair, maybe that’s just his old resentment speaking. In his place, the Doctor would undoubtedly rush to rescue at once. In his own place, the Master chooses to see what happens next. He just has to find out how to turn on the sound.

That's the first part, more horrors are to come ;)

#doctor who #the doctor #the master #fourteenth doctor #simm!master #saxteen #thoschei #doctor/master #doctor who 60th anniversary #wild blue yonder #the doctor and the master #doctor who fanfiction

[sharaug]

𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒏 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒔

❝ everything beautiful comes with pain. roses have thorns, don't they? ❞ ─ unknown

AUTHOR'S NOTE ❳ this entire one shot was inspired by @skittlescripts triad au! please go check them out for more content on it, if you'd like! :>

➔ ᴅɪsᴄʟᴀɪᴍᴇʀ(s) :: this is my first time writing for anything lmk/jttw related, so forgive me if a lot of the characters in this are ooc. also, this whole thing is a completely self indulgent "what if" blurb on my interpretation of skittles's mc, so all of this is (obviously) not at all canon to their au aha-

mc in this one-shot is a mystic/demon monkey like wukong n macaque cuz i'm different (/j) also, in case it wasn't obvious already, she's based off of yor briar/forger from spy x family

blood, violence, and cursing will all be featured in this. i tried not to make it all too graphic, but i'd suggest reading at your own risk just in case if you're not a big fan of that stuff

not beta read + edited we die like my motivation to finish school work 🫡

NOT MANY WERE━━━brave enough to sleight the Great Sage Equal to Heaven these days, but Sun Wukong supposed that demons wouldn't be, well ... demons if they didn't make any foolish decisions every now and then.

Still, though, that thought couldn't possibly be enough to calm him back down into a more rational train of thought—especially when one of the 'foolish demons' just mentioned currently had a gun held up against his son's temple.

"Take one more step, Great Sage," mocked the bastard with a sneer as he pressed the weapon further against Xiaotian's skin, which in turn drew out a small whimper from the boy that made Wukong's rage flare even more. "Go ahead. Do it and see what happens to your kid right here."

This was frustrating. So frustrating—especially when his treasured staff was currently laying right in front of his feet, right where he'd dropped it after the demon threatened to pull the trigger if he didn't. Under normal circumstances, he could bless the world by ridding it of this pest's existence in under ten seconds flat, yet ...

Wukong's gloved hands tightened into fists at his sides.

The Great Sage, the Monkey King was immortal. His son, however, was not.

And mortality had always been such a fragile thing.

"Remind me, demon," Wukong began after wetting his lips. "What is it that you'll get out of all of this, exactly?" he asked.

The demon threw his head back and laughed, the action alone being enough to jostle the hold he had on Xiaotian. For a moment, Wukong allowed a small ray of hope to shine through for his son: believing that maybe he could use this as an opportunity to slip out of the large demon's grasp and run over into the safety that the arms of his father provided.

Unfortunately, though, that hope was quickly snuffed out when the demon sobered up and tightened his hold around the mortal boy he held captive. Xiaotian looked like he could start crying any second now, and Wukong had to internally count to twenty before all of his impulse control flew out the nearest window and set him loose to show this sorry excuse of a 'crime lord' what had made Heaven fear the Monkey King in the first place.

"Now, what kind of a question is that, o' Great One Equal to Heaven?" The demon grinned, revealing rows of sharp teeth stained yellow. Wukong had to wrinkle his nose at the sight. "I figured it'd be obvious what I want, considering the fact that it's what every demon in this cursed city wants from you," he laughed again.

"Oh?" Wukong rose a brow, playing dumb to stall for time. "And what might that be?" He tilted his head.

The demon's brow twitched. "Don't play dumb!" he snapped. "I want your title! This city! Everything you have!" he raved.

He's getting worked up now. Wukong spared a glance to Xiaotian, who was somehow even more stiff than before. That would be a good thing if it weren't for the fact he was holding my kid hostage right now, he thought with a "Tsk."

"So that's it, huh?" Wukong pulled out one of his 'politician' smiles, as Macaque liked to call them. "Well, how 'bout we make a deal then, yeah? You let my kid go, unharmed, and I'll see about getting you all of that and more," he offered, using the kind of tone of voice you'd have when joking around with a friend.

Wukong felt one if his brows twitch when he caught the demon rolling his eyes with a smirk, looking smug. "Do you take me for a fool, Great Sage?" he questioned.

Yes, Wukong desperately wanted to answer. Anyone with half a mind would.

"I know of your tricks. Hell, after all the preparations I've gone through to get to where I am now, I'd say I even know you better than yourself!" he confessed, practically radiating with confidence with the way he puffed his chest out.

Wukong barely suppressed a snort. He saw Xiaotian bite his bottom lip and look away, eyes half lidded and expression practically the very definition of unimpressed.

Wukong suppresses a grin at the sight. That's my boy.

"Now ..." The demon lifted the arm he was using to hold Xiaotian in place up to the boy's neck and pulled him closer, the barrel of his gun once again returning to his temple. "Seeing as how I have you right where I want you at last, I say we discuss your inevitable defeat to—"

The demon was cut off by the abrupt sound of his men screaming out in agony from outside the room, followed by a persistent, almost pleading, knocking on the door.

"Sir! Sir, please! It's an emergency!" the voice of a younger demon spoke from outside, sounding panicked.

Wukong turned to the door, brows raised and interest piqued just as the demon released a frustrated groan.

"You may enter," he told, albeit reluctantly.

In an instant, the door was opened, revealing the younger demon's disheveled appearance and the blood coating his skin and attire in splatters.

Wukong perked up slightly. Had the backup he called for finally come? (Took them long enough.)

"What is it?" The demon took a step back, obviously stunned by his subordinate's troubling appearance. "What's going on out there?!" He growled.

"I-I'm not sure, sir!" the lower demon answered, visibly shaking. "S-some broad j-just—"

He was cut off before he could even finish his sentence by a silver dagger abruptly piercing through his throat, taking the life of his eyes away and leaving only his corpse to fall to the floor in a pool of its own blood.

Wukong blinked, pleasantly surprised. Not at the lower ranking demon's sudden death, but at the fact that he had never seen any of his own men wield a dagger in that style before.

"N-no ..." Ears flickering at the crime lord's voice, Wukong returned his attention to him and nearly did a double take when he saw that he was now trembling where he stood: eyes wide and face for some reason more horrified that it had been when the Great Sage entered the room.

What ...

The sound of heels clicking against the floor and then coming to a stop behind him made Wukong's ears flicker a second time, and the Monkey King turned around to see just what—who had inspired such fear into the demon who had been so proud earlier before him.

He found his breath hitching in his throat before he could stop himself.

Standing in the doorway in a sleek black dress and thigh high boots, there stood yet another mystical monkey much like him and Macaque, yet so different at the same time.

"Excuse me, Cheng Xue of this sector's crime syndicate ..." she spoke, voice eerily calm and eyes luminous. "I'm terribly sorry for interrupting this little meeting of yours, but ... tell me ..."

She smiled, sharpened thorns made of gold glimmering in her hands as she raised them into the light.

"May I have the honor of taking your life this evening?"

Against his will, Wukong let a shudder travel down his spine.

The demon, too caught up in his own fear, stumbled further away from the ethereal beauty standing at the door, her whisper of death enough to make his pulse race and send his arms into an unexpected spasm that sent Xiaotian falling to the side on the floor right next to the very gun his life had been threatened with.

"N-no, you ... YOU CAN'T!" he cried, back meeting the desk and putting a stop to his tracks. "I RAN AWAY CENTURIES AGO! I OWE THEM NOTHING, YOU HEAR ME?! NOTHING!!"

The monkey draped in ebony stepped closer, her smile never leaving and her eyes remaining pinned on her target as though he were a silly little mouse that had fallen into a cat's claws.

"I WILL NOT DIE THIS WAY!" the demon continued deliriously. "I WAS SO CLOSE! SO CLOSE, YOU HEAR?! YOU CAN NOT DO THIS TO ME!"

Another step forward.

The demon flinched back violently and opened his mouth yet again, a shriek on the tip of his tongue.

All that followed after, though, was the mere sound of his body falling backwards onto the desk: his mask of horror, forever engraved on his face, now painted with a crimson that ran down his forehead from the thorn-like blade that had been thrown directly into the center of it.

The room was silent after that, allowing the occupants to take a moment to process what had just transpired until two of them snapped out of their stunned daze and ran to eachother—one of them tackling the other in a bone-crushing hug.

"Holy shit, kid." Wukong felt as though a weight had just been lifted off his shoulders. "I'm never letting you out of my sight again," he decided.

Xiaotian only let out a watery laugh in reply and snuggled further into his father's chest, his hands shaky as he gripped the fabric of his suit.

Amidst their heartfelt reunion, Wukong lifted his gaze up to the lady of thorns, wanting to ask if she was single thank her for stepping in when she did—even if she most likely didn't originally come here to save them some trouble.

What he quickly discovered, however, was that she was no longer there.

Instead, what once sat in her place was that of a red rose with thorns.

#lego monkie kid #sun wukong x reader #jttw triad au #triad au #skittles's triad au #sorry for the abrupt ending i couldn't think of anything else to add haha #might make a part two. who knows #one shot #sun wukong #qi xiaotian #mk #lmk sun wukong #lmk mk

[herohikara-wol]

FFXIV Write 2k23 - Day 29

Contravention - Emperor AU, Aymeric gets to be a little cutthroat, as a treat.

Aymeric had to fight down the familiar feelings of anxiety welling in the pit of his gut. This was supposed to be an invitation to tea with the leaders of the Eorzean Alliance, but he’d been in politics too long to not be a touch paranoid. It wasn’t a secret that he’d maintained his mutually beneficial friendship with Hero- even after he became the Garlean Emperor. The scions had helped Ishgard with Iceheart and maintained a vigil over the corpse of Midgardsomr, so Ishgard had opened her gates to them when turmoil cast them out of Eorzea.

When they uncovered a plot by his own father to become a primal and shackle the entire nation in servitude in order to put down the dragons once and for all? Aymeric gave them leave to contact the Warrior of Light- the Garlean Emperor- directly and come on diplomatic terms in order to foil his father’s plot. In the process he ended the war Ishgard had been embroiled in so long no one had recalled why it even started, set them on course for peace with the remaining dragons, and even offered trade agreements to help rebuild Ishgard and help her weather her new wintry climate using Garlean technology.

That last one was a point of contention with the Eorzean Alliance.

Still, he held his soft disarming smile as he was invited into the Sultana’s chambers and offered pleasantries as he took his seat with the other leaders. The conversation was light at first, the usual teasing over his tea being less sweetened with birch syrup and more tea-flavored birch syrup. Some questions about how the House of Lord and House of Commons were working together.

Finally Kan-E-Senna dropped the first of many barbs to come, “how has the Empire been treating you?”

“The trade agreement is doing well for us, if that’s what you mean, Elder Seedseer. We aren’t part of the Empire, and I would think you would have more respect for the current Emperor, given he is one of yours. Is he not? I believe he’s still got his white mage crystal and ceremonial robes.”

Her nose wrinkled and her smile faltered for just a moment, “he was trained in the arts by us, yes. The Elementals favored him, even when he was new to our lands. We weren’t aware he was in line to be the Emperor then-”

“Was he?”

She froze for a moment, glaring into her cup before regaining her serene composure. “No. He was not. He found out the day the Crystal Braves turned on the Scions.”

“I see no reason to assume becoming Emperor has changed him,” Aymeric had rehearsed the words in his head a dozen times, knowing he’d have to defend himself against them eventually, “correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t he help all three of you in his time as Eorzea’s Warrior of Light?”

Merlwyb scowled a bit, “people change, it’s childish to believe power wouldn’t change him. He has an entire military to back his every word, how can you believe he’s still the same person?”

“He did save me.” Nanamo spoke up quietly, before clearing her throat and raising her voice above her bell-like whisper. “He may have officially broken off from the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, but he still sent one of his men to save my life. He used his power to investigate my death and Raubahn’s imprisonment. He saved me from my slumber and reunited me with my General. Hero is the Emperor, but he is not the Empire though, he may have some power just as I do, but I doubt he is little more than a figurehead to them.” Just as she was to Ul’dah.

Aymeric found himself pitying her for a moment, a bird in a cage who’d come so close to being killed when she tried to sing the wrong tune. Of course she felt an odd kinship with Hero in his current position. Her words were enough to make Kan-E-Senna and Merlwyb squirm uncomfortably. “I recognize the struggles Eorzea has with Garlemald. I also recognize Garlemald has never directly threatened Ishgard, and in fact the Warrior of Light came to help Ishgard end our own war on an unofficial basis. That is to say, Hero still can teleport and according to his letters, his guard captain was in shambles over his disappearance for days.”

Nanamo snorted a bit, a playful smirk on her face indicating she too knew what it was like to slip her guard and do her own thing for a while. Her smile remained as Aymeric continued, “the three of you have offered help with rebuilding our nation, but I have yet to see anything beyond sums and loan offers from Ul’dah. Not even a word from the Shroud whom we share borders with, and the occasional Limsan tradesman asking for work through house Fortemps. I see no reason why we cannot trade with both sides, to my knowledge, several members of Ul’dah have been doing so since before Hero took the crown.” Nanamo’s smile fell and the other two ladies at the table bristled.

Clearly this was an open secret, “you got a copy of that report as well?” the young Lalafell put her cup down and folded her hands in her lap. “It was the first thing I got from Hero when I awoke. He sent me a list of Garlean companies that he’d figured out were shells owned by Ul’dan Monetarists that were double-dipping profits from the war. I’d had my suspicions but to see the names on paper was another thing entirely.”

“Clearly your new master is feeding you well on secrets and information, Ser Aymeric.” Merlwyb scowled and looked him dead in the eye. “Will you be telling him about this meeting in return?”

“I don’t report to Hero. In fact, when he came to Ishgard, of his own volition as the Warrior of Light, he gave me one of his journals as a show of trust. His black leather book.” All three knew which one it was, his blackmail journal. They knew he had a recording of every dirty secret he’d ever learned in case he needed to use it to defend himself some day. The last time he pulled it out, Hero managed to successfully browbeat Byrglaent, the head vintner of Wineport, into giving him a rare bottle of wine for Nanamo’s birthday dinner. They still didn’t know what he actually blackmailed the man with.

“Be that as it may, if you insist on continuing trade with the Empire, the Alliance will have to start imposing sanctions on Ishgard.” Kan-E-Senna seemed desperate to get things back on track, and when Aymeric chuckled it startled her. “Did I say something funny, Lord Commander?”

“Yes, of course, if we continue trade with the Empire then Eorzea will- and let me make sure this is clear. Eorzea will stop purchasing the chocobos that she needs for both travel and military applications? Is that what you’re threatening us with? I only ask because Ishgard has barely opened her borders for a few moons now, we have exported far more than we’ve imported and a change in trading patterns may be inconvenient but not impossible for us.” The message was clear, Eorzea needed Ishgard far more than Ishgard needed Eorzea.

“Mayhap we’ll talk this over in a more official capacity later. This really isn’t the kind of conversation to be having over tea.” Nanamo, Halone bless her heart, tried to settle the tension in the room by calling for another round of tea cakes. However the damage had been dealt. Aymeric knew where he stood with the three of them now, and if they intended to push the issue?

Well, Ishgard did have a reputation for being cold to outsiders as it was, he certainly had no problems leaning into it.

#ffxiv fanfiction #ffxivwrite2023 #emperor au #Can you tell the Alliance feels a bit betrayed by Hero? #It's not his fault and they know it #but as far as they're concerned #the fact that he didn't dissolve the empire immediately is #you know #a betrayal

[idleglowingpixels]

I Started Typing A Regular Post When Oops It Turned Into An Update Post (Mainly about MH-AU & XXY)

Just spent the last couple hours give-or-take on completing Cleo's profile, which I'm excited to be releasing later today! Her post is scheduled to release around noon EDT (I scheduled Lagoona's and it made things a lot easier to post her at a reasonable hour so I'm doing that from now on cause OH MY GOD :'D). She will be the last in the current set of character designs/bios I have prepared.

I have one teensy tiny more MH-AU goodie for Halloween before I get back to XXY full-time (dw I have been working on it in the background, progress has just been super slow cause I'm trying to finish the fic's outline). I will still be working on the MH-AU, don't get me wrong, just not as my top priority cause my PPG followers have been patient enough with me for more XXY content. I do plan on making another series of character design/bios, this time focusing on the mansters since they actually serve a purpose in the fics other than "the boyfriend" (Sorry they didn't do too much in a majority of the movies okay, I love them in the webisodes tho!). And once Cleo's post drops, I'll make a masterpost for the MH-AU since there's enough out now that I feel it necessary; keeps all the lore organized and junk. I'll have it linked in my general masterpost for quick access should anyone need it for reference. If they are updated at all later on, I'll make a post about it.

My current oneshot WIPs for the MH-AU are: - My equivalent to G1's New Ghoul @ School (tbh I might just use that name cause it's so iconic and I can't really come up with anything better lol), which might end up becoming a SMALL multichapter should it require that (3-6 Chapters max). There's a lot that goes on in Frankie's first week, more than the original series of mishaps unfortunately (poor Frankie :'D), and it also sets up a lot of stuff prior to the first week of school for them that I think is super important to their character. - Taking A Lycan To New Salem (Working Title), a short story about one of Clawdeen's human-side escapades gone wrong. (I want to talk about this one SO BAD but alas, it'll have to wait til I finish the fic. I'm already 1k words into it!) And I have several more in mind that I can't wait to write and share. Until then, I'll keep you guys posted!

(Random side note: I had no idea how many of these characters were gonna have a criminal record like holy shit dgfhgsddfg)

---

I've been in a super artsy mood so if I can manage to actually complete a sketch of the team, I really wanna post a drawing of XXY as a whole (I tend to ditch my sketches after 1-2 characters are drawn q-q). I also really wanna draw the "Normie Trio/3" as I call them, consisting of Robin, Mitch and Mike. I eventually wanna draw more characters that get redesigns from age, alterations in the case of the reboot villains, and such, but I think I just needed to get into the art mood again cause now I actually plan to do these things! :D

Also, while progress has been slow, I'm gonna assume from my current status that I'll be able to complete XXY's next batch probably around the end of this year, to be released in January. I'm so sorry to delay its release to January, but please understand I am really passionate about this story and wanna make it the best (and most fun) I can make it. And I'm not gonna go out and say "hey this is exactly how many chapters there'll be," but I might end up making about 70 chapters total including all the intermission/MultiPOV chapters, but that remains to be seen.

I do have good news for you guys, however; considering where the story is headed, I've realized I'm gonna need to throw in another intermission chapter at the end of this batch, with a new character's POV! They haven't shown up yet, and won't until that chapter, but believe me when I say I am VERY VERY excited to write it and I really love this character. The chapter name for them is super appropriate too lol.

While I'm here I'm gonna drop the chapter titles, as they don't really reveal anything. The previous theme was weather patterns, focusing on the coming and going of rain and shine. This one's flowers!

Chapter 8 - Gladiolus Chapter 9 - Hyacinth Chapter 10 - Spearmint Chapter 11 - Coriander Chapter 12 - Hibiscus Chapter 13 - Violet Chapter 14 - Jasmine Tobacco

Hope all the little tidbits I shared hold you guys over and get you excited for the coming months. Thanks as always for your patience!

#linposts #monster high au #xxy #blog update

[lewdo]

“I always call my parents, my parents call me. Still, my mom wants to hear my voice before I go and race. So that’s number one.” Lando Norris on the most important things to do on race day.

#NO BECAUSE I WAS LOOKING AT CLIPS TO MAKE A BACK TO THE START SET BUT THESE WERE TOO ADORABLE NOT TO GIF #🥺🥺🥺🥺 #ALSO THE PARALLELS TO HIS POST AD QUALI LAP #THEIR FAMILY AFFECTION IS NECK KISSES AND ITS HONESTLY SO BEYOND CUTE #ALSO THIS FUCKING QUOTE WHAT A FUCKING SWEETHEART I LOVE HIM #AS TRACY BEAKER WOULD SAY IM NOT CRYING ITS THE HAYFEVER #also back to start set will drop when i get current aus content #kinda annoyed I already did my rookies post at start of the year lol #like 2019 rookies I mean lol #lando norris #ln #cisca #adam #mclaren #f1 #formula 1 #my edits

[astralkoo]

The Snack Thief (M)

Pairing: Jungkook / Reader

Genre: neighbors au, smut

Rating: 18+

Words: 6.4k

Summary: in which your annoying, younger neighbor has a nasty habit of breaking into your apartment late at night and stealing your food.

Warnings: strong language, technically breaking & entering, broke college student struggles, older!reader, Jungkook saying noona, explicit sexual content; sub!jungkook, dom!reader, blowjob, kitty gets ate, sixty-nine, very mild degrading (jk gets called a slut like once), needy jk, fingering (m. receiving)

— author’s note; it’s been a minute, hasn’t it? i’ve been trying to get back into my groove so hopefully this is the start of a very active and productive summer for my writing. also! this is cross posted on my new wattpad account bckupbabies so if you see it on there, that’s me don’t worry!

You woke with a start, heart pounding, skin drenched in cold sweat, fear gripping at your chest.

There's someone in your apartment.

It was a split second realization, one that ripped you violently from the gentle thralls of sleep and had thick, stifling terror settling like heavy stones in your gut. Sucking your lips into your mouth to prevent your breath from coming out too audibly, you strained your ears, listening carefully. At first, all you could make out was the soft whirring of the fan above your head. But then—

Thud.

In an instant, you were out from beneath the covers, a shiver rushing down your spine as the cold night air nipped at the exposed skin of your arms and legs. Instinctively, your hand shot to the nightstand, rushing over the smooth wood surface, seeking out your phone. Only— it wasn't there. Shit. You must've accidentally left it on the counter last night. Shit.

Gritting your teeth, you stumbled through the darkness, bracing a steadying palm against the wall to guide yourself across the bedroom.

"Where is it, where is it, where is it?" You hissed, searching blindly for the item you're always sure to keep near your bedside in case of a situation just like this. It didn't take long before your fingers grazed the smooth rubber grip of your old-reliable baseball bat. You let out a cautious exhale and moved silently towards the door, careful to avoid the floorboards that squeak.

Keeping your back against the wall, you stepped into the short hall. You could hear more clearly without the separation of your bedroom door; the heavy footsteps and low grumbling voice. It wasn't just your sleep hazed mind playing a nasty trick; there was someone in your goddamn apartment. A combination of fear and rage heated the blood currently rushing through your veins, the thundering of your pulse almost deafening in your ears.

Another loud bang sounded through your apartment and your shoulders tensed.

Were they even trying to be quiet? What a shitty burglar. They should've done their research before busting in. You were a broke college student working at a freaking campus cafe just barely able to afford paying your rent every month. The most valuable thing in your apartment was probably the ultra soft two ply toilet paper you'd splurged on last time you went shopping for basic necessities.

And you'd be sure to bash the bastard's head in before he could lay his greedy fingers on your precious two ply.

Letting out your fiercest battle cry, you swung your bat over your head and launched yourself out from behind the wall, poised for the attack. The man in your kitchen, who was elbow deep in your snack cabinet, shrieked (incredibly un-burglar-like, you might add). The sound was so high pitched and sharp that you flinched, startled as he whirled around clumsily, not only banging his elbows but tripping over his own feet in the process. You were barely able to catch a glimpse of his face before he fell, disappearing behind the counter.

But something about that scream was vaguely... familiar?

"Jungkook?"

The top of his head peeked out from behind the countertop, familiar doe eyes blinking back at you sheepishly. "Hi, noona."

The tension in your shoulders immediately melted upon realizing that you in fact not being robbed by an armed lunatic— rather, you were being robbed by your annoying next door neighbor. Again.

"Are you out of your mind?!" You hissed sharply, frustration flaring, "it's fucking three in the morning! Why the hell are you in my apartment?"

"I was hungry!"

"That doesn't explain why you're here!"

"I was craving ramyeon but I ran out! And– and you always have extra anyway so I thought you wouldn't mind!"

"Ha! You thought I wouldn't mind—" You gritted your teeth, on the verge of seething when you noticed he was still ducked behind the counter. "Why are you still hiding? Get over here." So I can beat your ramyeon stealing ass, you added in your head.

"Drop the bat— then we can talk." He bargained, nodding pointedly towards your weapon, still poised for attack.

Grunting, you reluctantly released the handle, letting it fall to the floor with a sharp clang.

Jungkook let out a low breath of relief, before meekly stepping out from his position behind the counter. Your eyes immediately dropped to his hands, still desperately clutching onto two packets of ramyeon.

Pinning him with a glare meant to reprimand, you crossed your arms firmly over your chest. "Jungkook, you can not keep—" your scolding was abruptly interrupted by a low, thunderous rumbling, your gaze jumping in surprise to the younger boy's face, which was now donning an embarrassed blush. "W– was that your stomach?"

Sucking his lips into his mouth, he nodded, head dropping in shame.

A wave of sympathy washed over you upon realizing just how hungry he must be. Any anger at having your sleep ever so rudely disrupted quickly fizzled out, the tension in your shoulders dissipating as he shuffled his feet shyly.

"Geez, this brat." You muttered under your breath, trudging over to where he stood and snatching the ramyeon packets from his grasp. He looked up at you with wide, pitiful eyes, and you could tell he thought that you were going to kick him to the curb. Instead, you jerked your chin into the direction of the couch and said, "go sit down while I make these. Don't need you hovering over my damn shoulder."

It would be a lie to say your heart didn't flutter a little at the sheer amount of excitement that lit up his face, pink lips breaking into a wide, uncontainable grin. Deciding not to push his luck, he quickly bobbed his head and scampered over to the couch, tossing a bubbly, "thank you, noona!" over his shoulder as he went.

You scoffed, though the corners of your mouth tipped upwards in spite of yourself.

The kid was cute. You'd give him that much. With those big shiny eyes and that stupid bucktoothed grin. Even if he was a perpetual trespasser and a food thief to boot, you'd let his little indiscretions slide... for now.

The ramyeon didn't take long to make, but, even all the way across the room, you could practically hear Jungkook's stomach growling up a storm by the time you were pouring it into two separate bowls. He was squirming on the couch, peaking over the back of it with wide, wanting eyes, damn near drooling at the mere smell of the sodium soaked noodles.

"Don't spill," you warned with a click of your tongue as made your way to the couch, handing him one of the bowls, "eat this, then go home, alright?"

Jungkook was already stuffing his cheeks before you'd even finished speaking, but he paused to pout over at you upon processing your words. "Noona..." he gurgled in soft whine around his mouth full of noodles, making sure to swallow before he finished, "why do you want me to leave so badly? You're hurting my feelings."

You scoffed as he pressed a large hand to his chest, wincing dramatically as if your words had somehow truly wounded him. "Do I have to remind you that it's 3am? I was sleeping. I would like to go back to sleep. I was having a very good dream before you fucking broke in to my apartment and tried to rob me." You hissed, plopping down on the couch beside him and shoveling your ramyeon into your own mouth.

Damn. That shit was good.

"I wasn't robbing you." He protested weakly. You raised an unconvinced brow.  "Just... borrowing."

You barked out a laugh. "Oh? So you were planning to return all the snacks you were about to steal?" His eyes lowered, a guilty pout turning the corners of his mouth downwards. "Yeah, didn't think so."

"Still..." he grumbled bitterly, looking up at you through his thick lashes. "I'm much more fun than sleep."

You snorted. "I beg to differ."

There was an uncharacteristic lull of silence, and you spared a questioning glance in Jungkook's direction, not expected to be greeted by the astonished expression painted across his face.

He looked... genuinely offended.

"Noona," he sounded rather distraught as he set his half eaten bowl down on the coffee table before turning his body fully towards you, "how could you say that?"

Your brows lifted expectantly, confusion swimming in your gaze. "What?" You laughed lightly, not understanding why he suddenly seemed upset. You were just joking around... had you accidentally hit a nerve?

"You have fun with me." He insisted once more, a certain desperation to his words.

"Yeah... when it's not 3am."

"Liar." He scowled, gaze dropping to where his fingers were tracing miscellaneous shapes on the fabric of your couch. "That's when you have the most fun with me."

His voice had dropped into a low whisper at that last part, so you had to strain your ears a bit to make out exactly what it was he was saying. At first, you were confused. The most fun...? But then you saw the faint blush coating his cheeks, the shy fluttering of his lashes, the nervous fidgeting of his fingers...

And it clicked.

A few weeks ago, you did something stupid. Something you shouldn't have done. You'd given into urges that should have remained buried deep, deep inside of you.

"Jungkook." Your voice held a warning pitch as you growled his name. He shuddered ever so faintly at the shift in your tone and quickly turned away from you, snagging his lower lip tightly between his teeth.

"It's true..." he grumbled petulantly, kicking his foot lightly against the leg of your coffee table.

You stared at his profile through furrowed brows, gaze hard and unwavering as you set your own bowl onto the table. "We talked about this, Jungkook. We agreed not to bring it up again!"

"No, you— you made that decision all on your own." He protested quickly, thrusting an accusing finger in your direction. "I made no such promise."

"Jungkook," you sighed heavily, squeezing your eyes shut and pressing your fingers into your temples as they throbbed, "what I did—"

"We," he corrected, leveling you with a stubborn glare, "what we did. Stop acting like I wasn't a willing participant."

"You're a kid—"

"I'm nineteen! I can make my own decisions!"

"No. You can't."

At that, his expression hardened, lips pursing, fingers curling into tight fists, eyes flaring with determination.

"Watch me."

In the next second he was on top of you, straddling your lap, large hands cradling your jaw as he pressed his warm lips purposefully to yours.

Startled, your hands leapt to hold his waist, instinctively steadying him. The rest of your body remained stiff and unresponsive, frozen in shock from the sheer unexpectedness of the kiss. It wasn't until Jungkook let out a soft, pleading whine against your unmoving mouth that you were kickstarted back into motion.

"Jungkook," you gasped out his name, somewhat more breathlessly than you intended, hands rushing between your bodies to push him away by the swells of his firm chest, "w–what are you—"

"You want me." The younger boy swiftly interrupted, his warm breath caressing your lips as his fingers gripped gently at the back of your neck. "You want me. You can't deny it. You said so."

You were goddamn dizzy. "When did I—"

"Fuck, Jungkook. You have no idea how long I've wanted this. How long I've wanted you." It took you an extra second to realize that he was quoting back your words from that night. Word for fucking word. Heat rushed to your face, your hand gripping harder at the thin fabric of his top.

"How do you even remember that." You grumbled bitterly, embarrassed at having been called out.

The corner of his mouth curled into a small, teasing smile. "I have a pretty good memory."

"Bullshit," you scoffed, "I can't count the number of times you've forgotten to bring back the shit that you 'borrowed' from me. I bet you have a fucking closet full of my sweatshirts."

"I didn't forget... I just didn't want to give them back." He informed you in a soft, lilting hum, running his thumb over the smooth cut of your jaw.

"Thief." You spat, but the word lacked any real fire. It sounded weak on your tongue, a soft fluttering of breath that easily could have been mistaken for a moan. You saw his eyes drop to your mouth, desire pooling within them, so thick and dark that you felt it polluting the air around you, polluting your lungs with every jagged inhale.

He shifted on top of you, strong thighs squeezing around your hips. You tried to pretend that you didn't feel the press of something hot and hard against the top of your leg, but the tremble of your eyes and the clench of your fingers were not easily mistaken.

Jungkook sunk his teeth into the delicate flesh of his lower lip, and your gaze followed the motion unconsciously. You didn't even realize you were staring at his mouth until he spoke in that low, hoarse whisper, ripping you violently from your trance.

"Can I take a little more?"

Your brain was screaming at you to say no, screaming at you to not be selfish, to not be greedy. To not want something so terribly that you felt it trembling through your very bones. You shouldn't want this. Shouldn't want him. He was too young, too naive, too sensitive. You'd break the poor boy before he even realized what happened.

You should say no.

Mind made up, you opened your mouth, fully prepared to reject the boy and put a stop to whatever the hell this had become, right then and there. You were prepared to be the responsible senior that you needed to be, for both his sake and yours.

But what actually came out was something entirely different.

"Yes."

Jungkook barely had time to let out a happy whimper before his mouth was back on yours. A soft groan rumbled in your chest as your arms curled around his slim waist, tugging him ever closer. Long fingers tangled in your hair, he gently tugged your head back, leaning himself over you in order to deepen the kiss. You permitted him to do so without resistance, lips parting to allow his eager tongue to invade your mouth.

His body was hot and heavy above yours, but you didn't mind the added weight, the pressure on your thigh probably the only thing keeping you grounded. Because the heat between your legs was a anything but grounding. Sticky and wet, an accumulation of unspoken need and neglected lust that refused to be ignored for even a moment longer. A bleary haze fell over your mind, all the blood in your head suddenly rushing downwards to feed the growing flames in your groin.

The first roll of his hips was so minute, so slight that you would have missed it completely had it not been for the soft, airy moan that escaped his throat. The second was less than subtle, a hard, deliberate grind that rocked his already half-hard erection against your stomach. You felt it there, where your shirt had ridden up to expose a thin strip of skin, the front of his sweatpants growing thick and damp with his steadily increasing arousal. Your grip around him tightened, nails biting into his clothed hips hard enough to have crimson flowers blossoming across his golden flesh.

The sting coaxed a strained moan from Jungkook's inflamed lips, the rolling of his hips growing more frantic. You were quick to steady them, not wanting him to overexcite himself too soon.

"Calm down." Even in your own ears, you voice sounded thick and unstable, and you silently cursed yourself for having gotten so worked up by a mere kiss. But, in your defense, it was one hell of a kiss.

"I'm calm." He insisted unconvincingly through harsh pants, fighting for oxygen but not willing to pull away from you lips long enough to actually breathe. Quite the dilemma.

You chuckled softly, sliding a hand up to grip his jaw, preventing his mouth from finding yours for just long enough to soothe the fierce burn in your lungs. He took that opportunity to strip himself of his top, tossing it haphazardly to the floor.

You felt your stomach tighten, taken off guard by the unexpectedly display of glowing, sun-kissed skin you found before you, stretched across thick, toned muscle that flexed and tightened with even the most minuscule of movements. Subconsciously, your tongue slipped out of your suddenly dry mouth, dragging over your swollen lips.

Jungkook mimicked the motion, reaching down with ink embroidered hands to grip your wrists, gently guiding them up the length of his fit torso. "Touch me." It was a plea, the low whimper lacing the words a dead giveaway of his unyielding desperation.

You didn't hesitate to comply.

Pushing forward, you set vengeful teeth upon his prominent collarbone, biting down just hard enough to leave your mark. He moaned loudly, head falling back as your nails raked over his sensitive nipples. A violent shiver transversed his body, goosebumps rippling across his exposed skin that was set on fire by your greedy touch. He found the back of your head and neck with trembling hands, urging you closer without use of words. You kissed up the length of his taut throat, sucking and licking until you were content with the colorful array of bruises you'd left in your wake.

"Kiss me." You whispered against the defined curve of his jaw, wanting another taste of those pretty little lips. His head dropped forward obediently, mouth open and ready to be received by you. Fuck, he looked so hot from that angle; dark, hooded eyes pooling with lust so deep you could drown it it, kissable, rose petal lips glistening and swollen and just begging for attention, full cheeks flushed a dangerous shade of red that only enticed you further.

How could he look so ruined? You hadn't even touched his dick yet.

The thought roused a scoff in the back of your throat, and Jungkook pulled back slightly at the sound. "What?" He asked, the tip of his nose brushing yours.

"Nothing..." you grinned lazily, before kissing him slowly, deeply, lustfully; kissing him in such a way that the poor boy was trembling in your lap, gasping and whining by the time you pulled away with a lewd smack, lips wet and stained an erotic crimson. You chuckled as he swallowed, pupils blow and unfocused. Reaching up, you cupped his chin, rolling your thumb over his lower lip. He sighed, eyes fluttering as he teased the tip of the digit with his tongue.

"... just wanna put your dick in my mouth."

At that, his shimmering doe eyes popped open wide, shocked— then excited.

"Don't tease me." He pleaded weakly, hips stuttering over your thighs.

You reach between your bodies, taking the time to revere the fine-tuned slopes and edges of his ridged abdomen, before finally finding the hard outline of his flushed, angry cock straining against the thick fabric of his sweats. He gasped brokenly at the contact, forehead falling against your shoulder as he gripped desperately onto your arms, dull nails digging into your biceps. You turned, smirking lips feathering over the shell of his pink tinted ear.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

And then, he was on his back.

Jungkook let out a squeak of surprise, chest heaving as he attempted to process the sudden change in position. But you didn't give him the chance, slotting yourself between his spread thighs

"W– we didn't do this last time." He stuttered clumsily, staring up at you with those wide, dangerously innocent eyes that made you want to absolutely wreck him.

"No, we didn't." You confirmed, nipping lightly at one of his pert brown nipples. He jolted, letting out a low, unsteady moan of your name, a cry for your attention.

"S– sensitive, noona."

God, he is so fucking cute.

"I'll be gentle." The reassurance did little to soothe the violent thundering of his heart, the heavy thrum of it setting his every limb to shaking.

He was nervous. You could tell. Understandably.

Truth is— Jungkook was a virgin.

Key word: was.

As in, before he broke into your apartment at 3am on that fateful morning where you lost your cool because damn did you he look good in that skin tight black t-shirt that showed off those sexy tattoos and those thigh hugging black skinny jeans that squeezed his cute butt in all the right places. Of course, you didn't discover that until after the deed was done (seeing as he hadn't had the mind to tell you while your tongue was shoved halfway down his throat).

But god, you felt so guilty. You'd never taken anyone's virginity before. And you weren't so sure fucking on a kitchen counter was the most... romantic way of losing it. It had been quick, messy, all sweat and teeth and nails, the blunt edge of the cold counter digging into your ass.

Sure, it felt fucking amazing, and you'd received no complaints from Jungkook's end. But still. Had you known, you would've been... gentler. Or, at the very least, you would have had the tact to take him to bed.

You hadn't even blown him for fucks sake.

So, if you were doing this —and, as it appeared, you were most definitely doing this— then goddamnit, you were going to do it right and make up for all the things you hadn't done his first time.

You descended his body slowly, taking your sweet time licking and nibbling over all his lovely curves and sharp edges, marking the places you'd been with pink, flowering bruises. His head kicked back, mouth falling open around an onslaught of heady moans as he reveled in your unrelenting affections. Distracted, he didn't even notice you slipping his pants down his legs until the cool air hit the sensitive tip of his weeping cock.

"N– noona!" He propped himself up on his elbows, desperate to see you, to find your eyes through the disorienting cloud of lust he found himself engulfed in. Arousal spun his brain into useless mush inside of his skull at the sight of you between his legs, looking right back up at him, pretty mouth hovering just above his hard need, soft breath caressing the feverish skin.

"Relax, Jungkook. It'll feel good." You chuckled, pressing a soothing kiss to his hip.

"I– I know," he swallowed, and you didn't miss the dark blush creeping into his cheeks as his eyes fluttered shyly, "I just— I want to make you feel good... too... b- because last time you didn't..."

Last time you didn't...?

Oh.

Oh.

"Okay," you hummed simply, pushing yourself up with an easy smile, "I can think of a solution."

Jungkook watched with bated breath as you stood, damn near choking on his own spit when you abruptly shoved your pajama shorts down your legs. "N- no underwear?" He whispered, voice hoarse and strained as he stared unabashedly at the bare expanse of smooth skin between your thighs, glistening with sticky wetness.

You smirked faintly, appreciating the reverence glistening in his melting brown eyes. "For convenience sake," you teased.

He flopped down on the couch with a dramatic groan. "Fuck, you're killing me."

Leaning over the younger boy, you pressed a deep, purposeful kiss to his delicate, lovely lips, eliciting an appreciative moan from his burning chest.

"Don't worry..." you pulled back, breathing the words into his open mouth, "I'll do it slow."

"Fuck..." he squeaked.

Laughing softly, you dropped your knees to the edge of the sofa and splayed a hand over his toned stomach. He was hard and warm to the touch, and you liked the way his muscles flinched and fluttered beneath your palm.

"I'll tell you what I'm gonna do," you pressed your lips to his throat, feeling the way it bobbed as he swallowed, "I'm gonna get on top of you..." you walked your fingers down towards where his dick lay, red and leaking across his belly, "and you're going to eat me out," he moaned shakily against your cheek, hands lifting to grip your arms, "while I suck your pretty little cock. How's that sound?"

"S– so good. Fuck, that sounds so fucking good." He pulled at you greedily, begging you with wide, wanting eyes.

You caved to him all too easily, carefully maneuvering your body until you were situated above him, knees planted on the cushion on either side of his head. Hot breath rushed over your exposed core, sending shivers ricocheting down your spine. Hands gripped at your thighs, rough and calloused against your skin. He was pulling again, whining out soft, shuddering "please, please, please" as he tugged at your hips, trying to get you closer. Closer.

Teasingly, you kept your hips raised, just out of reach of his ravenous mouth, so eager to steal a taste. "Noona," he whined petulantly, "don't be cruel."

Cruel? You nearly scoffed. You haven't even begun.

Regardless, you decided to end the torture there, lowering your hips until you were within his reach. He didn't let a moment pass before his tongue was on you, lapping eagerly at your wet slit. You gasped, clutching tightly onto the thick muscles of his thighs, your own legs growing weak under his relentless ministrations.

Holy shit. You didn't expect it to feel that good.

It was only when Jungkook's hips bucked beneath you, a pleading whimper vibrating through your center, that you realized you weren't fulfilling your end of the deal. Stuttering back into motion, you encircled his hard length in an unsteady hand, feeling the raw heat of it throbbing angrily within your grasp.

"You're good with your tongue, baby." You chuckled breathlessly, pumping him slowly with the help of his spilling precum. He moaned in response to the praise, long fingers digging in hard to the flesh of your ass. Another, more violent tremble wracked your body as his tongue dragged over your sensitive clit, the responding rush of pleasure pulling a low groan from your chest.

Shit, if he kept that up—

Feeling that you'd given him enough of a head start, you dipped down, swiftly engulfing his glistening tip in your lips. Jungkook gasped against you, and you could almost picture his eyes snapping wide open, jaw going slack. The blissful pressure of his tongue gave way to cold air as he tensed and shuddered beneath you, all those hard, rigid muscles turning to jelly as he processed the mind numbing sensation of your mouth around his cock. It was an unwelcome absence, and you quickly found yourself growing impatient and —shamefully enough— needy, your aching core craving attention.

But Jungkook was a mess beneath you, moaning and whining pathetically as his hips bucked and spasmed, entirely overwhelmed. His arms were wrapped around your waist, holding you so tightly you were certain you'd be feeling it tomorrow. You felt his tongue, sloppy and uncoordinated lapping at your folds with a desperation that set your blood to flames. The vibrations of his sounds resonated through your clit, and you hastened your own movement, feeling yourself clench and throb with your impending release.

You pulled off of him with a lewd pop, a thin string of saliva connecting his swollen tip to your lower lip, before sliding your hands beneath his ample thighs and tugging.

"Lift your legs for me, baby."

He obeyed immediately, feet rising from the cushion, too lost in your intoxicating taste to second guess what you were planning. At least, not until he felt your touch shifting from his thighs to his ass, and a warm, wet dribble of saliva sliding over his hole. He flinched violently, a gasp shooting from his lips at the unfamiliar sensation.

"Ah–! N- Noona, where are you touching—" he yelped, trying to sit up and catch a glimpse around the shape of your body. Swinging your ankles up to rest against his shoulders, you forced him back down, looking back at him from over your shoulder with a cocked brow and a seductive grin.

"Where do you think?" You chuckling teasingly. "Are you clean?"

"Yeah..." he whispered shyly, and you could practically feel the heat of his blush radiating against your skin as he confessed, "I– I showered before coming over..."

"Good." You slid a single finger over the ring of muscle, watching in amusement as it fluttered and clenched in response to the unsubstantial caress. "Tell me if you need me to stop, alright?"

At first he only nodded, but choked out a soft "okay" when you pinched his thigh, urging him to use his words.

Purring out a low praise, you returned to his cock, licking a thick strip from base to tip as your index slowly circled his entrance. Jungkook whined and squirmed, still trying his best to keep up with pleasuring you. It was cute, feeling and hearing him struggle.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wondered what kind of face he was making beneath your dripping cunt. Were his eyes rolling to the back of his head? Was his tongue hanging out of his mouth? Was his feverish skin glistening with a mixture of his sweat and your arousal? Fuck, you were so curious.

In an attempt to stifle your frustration over not getting to see what kind of fucked out expression he wore, you sunk the tip of your digit into his hole, down to the first knuckle. Jungkook gasped at the unexpected intrusion, his already hard grip on your thighs tightening further. Even with just the tip in, he was clenching hard, and you allowed him a handful of moments to adjust to the sensation. You hummed around his length, swirling your tongue expertly over his sensitive tip to distract from any momentary discomfort he might've been feeling.

It seemed to work well enough, his body gradually relaxing around you as he let out soft, airy moans, delicate whispers of your name fluttering from his lips. "You can—" he whimpered as you licked his slit, "you can put it in deeper."

Heat coiled in your gut, a wicked smirk spreading across your face. "You want it deeper, kookie?" There was a taunting pitch to your words that had the boy curling in on himself, skin hot with embarrassment. When he made no effort to respond, you squeezed your free hand around the thick base of his dick, wrenching a cry from his throat. "If you want it deeper, you have to ask nicely."

"You're so mean, Noona." He whined hoarsely, the muscles in his legs tensing sporadically from the effort it was taking to not fuck himself into your closed fist.

"That didn't sound like a question..."

Jungkook groaned weakly, head tossed back in a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. There was a beat, and then you felt the shy press of his lips against your clit accompanied by a light flick of his tongue.

"P– please put it in deeper, Noona..."

"Mmm, good boy," you emphasized the praise by slipping the rest of your finger into his tight heat, spitting once more to ensure substantial lubrications.

"Ngh— oh f– fuck—"

"Does it hurt?"

"No it just..." he swallowed thickly, "feels a little weird."

"This should help with that," you murmured, more so to yourself than him, curling your finger in search of that small bundle of nerves that would make him—

"Ah! Oh fuck!"

A smug grin settled across your lips. Found it.

Jungkook moaned loudly, tossing his head back, hips bucking violently as you rolled your finger against his prostate, sending tendrils of white hot pleasure bursting through his body. That's more like it.

"Feel good?"

"Yes! Yes! Feels– ah! Feels so good, noona," he sobbed brokenly, clutching onto your legs. You thrust your finger into him slowly, making sure to ease him into the feeling of having something inside of him. If you played this right, perhaps he'd let you do more than just finger him. You had toys sitting in your closet that you were just dying to use. Who better on than the cute snack thief next door?

"Think you can take another?" You asked, a bit eager to stretch him out, to see how much he could handle.

He nodded quickly, grinding his hips greedily down onto your finger, wanting it deeper, harder, faster. "Please. Please. I want more."

"Needy little slut." You laughed dryly, nudging your middle finger against the rim of his wet hole. You sure as hell didn't miss the way his pretty cock twitched in response to the degrading words, and a whole new round of excitement festered inside of you.

You were going to have so much fun with him.

It took a bit of careful prodding before you managed to press the length of your second digit inside of him, his tight walls clamping down around the invading appendages.

"Please move." He begged pathetically.

You planted a steadying palm to his hips as they began to buck, holding them down against the cushion. "You're too tight, sweetheart."

"I– I can't help it." He whined, a distressed cry breaking from his heaving chest.

Sympathy swirled in your belly. You could damn near feel the desperation radiating from his body in thick, hot waves. Dipping your head, you pressed a light kiss to the swollen, red head of his shuddering cock.

"Then let me help you relax."

Jungkook sobbed as you took him into your mouth, the warmth of your skilled tongue tracing a slow ring around the underside of his tip sending his head into a tailspin. It wasn't long before you felt the tension in his muscles melting away, quickly snatching the opportunity to start fucking your fingers into him. The pace you set was slow and steady, but you made sure that with every thrust you were brushing against his prostate.

The amount of pleasure rushing through his body at that point was overwhelming, and he'd been reduced to a moaning, crying mess beneath you. Any words he managed to choke out between his sounds of bliss was broken and unintelligible on swollen lips. A small corner of your mind was concerned about your neighbors, wondering if they could hear his wailing through the dangerously thin walls.

"N– Noona— it's so good, oh my god feels so fucking good—"

Fuck. To hell with the neighbors. They should be goddamn grateful.

You sped up the pace of your fingers, burying them down to the knuckle with each thrust. He was writhing now, unable to control his body let alone keep still as he was engulfed in a mind numbing heat. It wrapped itself around his every limb, his every sense overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of his impending release.

"I– I think I'm gonna—" he couldn't even make it through his warning before he was cut off by his own whimpers. Luckily, you didn't need him to finish his sentence to know what he was trying to say. The signs were obvious enough, especially with the way his wall were throbbing around your fingers, the way he was pulsing between your lips, lathering the back of your tongue with an onslaught his salty pre-cum.

You hastened your ministrations, taking him off guard as your plunged down on his cock, stopping only when your lips met the sweat-slick skin of his pelvis. Jungkook cried out a shattered version of your name, unable to stop his hips from jerking up violently at the feeling of your throat constricting around him as you swallowed.

That seemed to be the last push he needed, because within the next second he was writhing and spilling hot cum down your throat, walls clamping down so hard around your fingers you worried they might break.

It was like nothing he'd every experienced before, he could feel it in every single part of his body. From his curled toes to his trembling finger tips, every last inch of him was devastated by the hurricane of erotic bliss. And unlike every other orgasms he'd experienced in the past, the high of it last way longer than just a few seconds. By the time it finally began to fade, he was still shaking.

You pulled your fingers out of him as gently as you could, but he still whimpered at the sensitivity, quivering legs squeezing shut. Maneuvering around so that you were draped over his chest, you whispered soft apologies against his throat and jaw, spilling soothing kisses across the flushed, perspiring skin. Jungkook curled into you, nuzzling his cheek against the top of your head.

For a while you stayed like that, letting him bask in the post-orgasmic bliss as you bathed him in the kind of tender affection that he wasn't used to receiving from you. But, you'd always considered aftercare a vital part of a good sexual experience so, even if it was a bit out of character, you were more than happy to tell him just how good he'd been for you. And he was more than happy to relish in your praise.

"Noona?" He called for your attention suddenly, after his breathing had finally evened out and the deep crimson coating his cheeks had faded into an endearing pink.

"Yes?"

Against your lips, you felt him swallow.

"You didn't cum, did you?"

"I didn't." You admitted after a beat, suddenly reminded of the ache between your legs. You'd managed to be distracted from it, entirely too focused on breaking Jungkook in all the best ways to be concerned with receiving any pleasure. But now, you found yourself very much aware of just how badly you were craving your own release. Subconsciously, you squeezed your legs together.

There was a pause.

"Noona."

"Hm?"

"Sit on my face."

The demand had your hooded eyes flying wide open, mouth freezing mid-kiss.

"... please." He remedied in a bashful whisper.

For a moment, your brain went blank, not fully processing the request. But when it finally did, there were only two words that flooded into your mind and rushed from your lips in a breathless, excited murmur.

Fuck yes.

#bts #jungkook #bts smut #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #bts x reader #sub jungkook #sub!jungkook #sub!bts #jungkook oneshot #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #bts imagines #jungkook imagine #bts jungkook

[cyncerity]

Sizeshifter!Tommy au where he noms SBI and Beeduo all at once? He grows just big enough to where they all fit nice and snug in there and he can feel all them. Big man just wants to hold his family close and keep them safe!

I wrote this as quickly as I could because this prompt gave me so much brain rot. It also gave me an excuse to write one of my favorite vore tropes: overstuffed preds 💖

tw: vore

“Yes!!” Tommy yelled after his 5th consecutive win against the rest of his friends and family in Mario Kart. He heard the rest of them groan as he laughed harder at their defeat. “Alright, Tubbo, you came in last, you know what that means…” Tommy snickered as he leaned closer to Tubbo. The brunette simply laughed as he shoved Tommy’s face back. “Yeah, yeah, I owe you, but I have a feeling you’re gonna wanna cash that favor in now, aren’t you?” Tommy grinned mischievously in response. “Oh, you know me so well.”

Tommy and Tubbo scrambled off the couch and went to the living room as the other 4 continued to play. In a matter of no time Tommy was a giant, approximately 45 ft in height. Not huge, but big enough so that Tubbo had room in his stomach. And as soon as he reached that height, Tubbo shoved his arm in his mouth with a sly, silly grin. Tommy’s response to this was to close his mouth around Tubbo’s torso and slurp the rest of him in like a noodle, making the now much smaller boy burst into giggles. He licked him for a few minutes before getting impatient and swallowing him down, the now familiar feeling of the warm, squirming lump traveling down his throat bringing the shifter bliss. Tommy laid back, closed his eyes, and put a hand on his stomach as he felt Tubbo enter his belly, fully content to lay their the rest of the day.

“Tommy, get back in here, we’re starting another game!!” Tommy heard Wilbur shout. He peeked an eye open. Surely they knew he was giant right now, right? They had to have known what he and Tubbo had gone into the other room to do, they’d have to be stupid not to know. Tommy sighed and made his way back to the dining room where Mario Kart was set up, laying on his stomach (which Tubbo didn’t seem to mind, surprisingly), only bothering to fit his top half in the room. “Oh, there you are! Can you still use one of these?” Ranboo held a controller to Tommy, who’s face remained deadpan as he lifted his hand to compare it to the controller, which was barely the size of his finger nail. “Right, I guess that makes sense…” Ranboo continued a bit awkwardly. “You wanna just watch this round then, Toms?” Phil asked. Tommy shrugged and nodded as Techno started the game.

A few minutes later, Wilbur came out on top, with Ranboo being the loser. Tommy chuckled as Wilbur continued to gloat his victory to patronize Ranboo, when the mocking finally died down and the attention was surprisingly turned to him.

“Alright, Ranboo, new rule for the night: you lose, youre sleeping in the giant.” Wilbur said nonchalantly. Tommy’s face turned to one of utter confusion before he laughed a bit as an argument broke out between Wilbur and Ranboo. Ok, this could be something he could get behind. He was always up for the chance to nom his friends.

Soon Ranboo stared at Tommy with tired eyes as he pushed his lips open. Tommy quickly closed his mouth around the teen and threw his head back as hard as he could and swallowed down Ranboo in one gulp, taking Ranboo by surprise and making Wilbur lose it with laughter. Tommy rearranged himself as he felt Ranboo enter his stomach and Tubbo move over to make more room so that he was now lying on his back, watching the tv upside down. He looked down at his gut.

He had noted a while ago that 50ft was the minimum height he could be to swallow both Ranboo and Tubbo, that being the minimum height where they weren’t crowded and Tommy still felt full while not showing any signs of having eat someone from the outside. At his current 45ft, though, his friends started to make a bump on his gut. Nothing too noticeable unless someone was looking for it, but there nonetheless.

A few minutes later, Techno lost. “Alright, rules of the night, Techno,” Wilbur said as he shoved his twin brother towards Tommy, “down the hatch you go.” Techno just rolled his eyes, not excited or anything but seemingly not opposed to the idea. Tommy was beginning to think this wasn’t such a great idea anymore. Yeah, having two people fill his stomach was nice, but he was fairly certain that two was his max. It was already a little cramped as it was. God, if he even managed to fit Techno in their, would it give him a stomach ache? Tommy negotiated the idea of growing bigger so there’d be more room in his belly, but he had never attempted to shift with people in him, so he dropped the idea.

Nevertheless, a few moments later Tommy found himself watching the bulge of his stomach grow slightly, maybe a half inch to him, bigger as Techno entered his gut. The organ growled around its new occupant, probably realizing (just as Tommy had) that there was already to much stuff in his belly. Tommy drowsily rubbed his stomach and felt internal rubs back as he heard Phil shout from the couch, their last race seemingly over. Wilbur stood up and began shouting for a rematch. Tommy closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Rematch or not, one of them was going to end up in him, and he didn’t know if he could physically take that. He wasn’t sure where the point of unhealthy weight in someone’s stomach was, but he was sure he was close to reaching it. He’d never felt so full before, and he didn’t know if that was a bad thing or not. It’s didn’t hurt like he thought it would, and so much motion under his skin made a shiver run up his spine and melt his muscles in the best way possible. Of course, that could all change once a fourth person entered his stomach. He’d only ever eaten three at most, and at that point in time he was about 150-200 ft tall, so this get entirely different.

Phil proudly and snuggly pushed Wilbur towards Tommy, who readied himself as he picked up Wilbur and carefully placed him in his jaws. Tommy took slow, small swallows just in case any harsh or fast movements would give him a stomach ache. Phil seemed to notice his sons’s dilemma, though, and moved towards Tommy to rub his stomach, trying to push his occupants aside to make room for Wilbur, and making Tommy let out a sigh and start purring, to blissful to even feel embarrassed.

“Wil’s idea cause you a bellyache, mate?” Phil asked, continuing to rub Tommy’s gut as it swelled even more with Wilbur’s entry, giving another, louder low growl at the added weight. Tommy groaned slightly and nodded. Phil gave him a sympathetic smile and he placed his hands on the organ to rub it, and felt a second pair of hands rubbing from the inside. Tommy seemed to be on the verge if sleep, the over-stuffing making him drowsy.

“Does it hurt, Toms?” Tommy shook his head. “Then, do you mind if I go in?” Phil said as he laid a hand on Tommy’s gut. Tommy nodded as he picked Phil up, begrudgingly standing as best he could and moving to the living room where he could throw the couch cushions on the floor and make a makeshift bed, feeling the most likely equally drowsy people in his belly slide down the walls of the stomach as their surroundings shifted. Tommy soon felt them start to try and get into a comfortable position after having been moved, and out of curiosity looked down at his stomach. He was surprised to see that not only had Wilbur added probably another quarter inch to his distended gut, but he could make out their movements from inside him. To him, it only looked like his stomach had swollen about two inches bigger, but he could just barely make out when someone pushed at him or leaned their full body weight against his organ. It might have been somewhat disturbing to anyone other than Tommy, but at the moment, the young shifter was to entranced by the fact that now he could actually feel and see what was going on in his belly to care.

Once they reached the living room, Phil got gently popped into Tommy’s mouth as he began to take the couches apart before he was swallowed down, reaching the stomach within seconds, everyone else who had been eaten already fast alsesp. Phil chuckled as he felt his world shift as Tommy laid back down, rubbing what he assumed to be the front of the stomach.

“Hey, Toms?” “Yeah?” “How about next time, best two out of three?” Tommy only chuckled, poking where he felt Phil rubbing his stomach. “Oh, it’s so on.”

#I broke my write asks in the inbox in sent order for this #the prompt was just to good #also thank you to the people on discord for giving me ideas #I literally wrote this in an hour and a half at 1 am and then re-read and edited it at school #also #as I was writing this I realized that there’s no longer story for sizeshifter Tommy getting nommed instead of doing the nomming #so I’ll probably do that eventually if I get good ideas or if someone sends me one #cyncerity #sizeshifter!tommy au #cynwrites #tw vore #mcyt g/t #mcyt gt

[cosmiclove-heavenstruck]

Midnight Quidditch Games | Harry Potter

Pairing: Harry Potter x Gryffindor!Reader (written with a female reader in mind, though the gender is not stated)

Wordcount: 3800 words

Warnings: none, just fluff and friends-to-lovers

Summary: Fred and George come up with the idea of hosting illegal Quidditch Games for all four houses every Friday night. Harry convinces Reader to play with him and they end up on the same broom.

a/n: No Voldemort Au, set in Harry's fifth year. English is not my native language, so there might be spelling/grammar mistakes. (Based on a headcanon by @/ murphcooper on tumblr)

Friday was my favourite day of the week, and there were two reasons for that: One, it was the start of the weekend, and two, we played Quidditch.

Up until fifth year, the most I had to do with the popular wizarding sport was cheering at the official school games for the Gryffindor team and attending the Quidditch World Cup in 1994. Then Fred and George came up with a very illegal, yet very exciting and fun idea, which was to host unofficial Quidditch games in the middle of the night that any student could attend. Whether it were First Years who could barely fly, or simple people that never made it onto their house's team, anyone was welcome.

The twins had planned it the first two months of their sixth year together with Quidditch fans from the other houses and had created lists for every common room, which wouldn't be readable by the teachers or Filch.

“It's illegal! What if something happens? What if someone gets hurt, how do you want to explain that to Dumbledore, or worse, to Professor McGonagall,” Hermione argued as soon as Fred and George had prompted their idea to us one Sunday evening.

“I'm disappointed. Do you really think we would work that sloppy?”, Fred asked.

“The house elves are in,” George explained. “Which means free food and free healthcare, all in one!”

“Awesome,” Ron said, and he should be proven right.

The only rules to attend were the duty to remain silent and to come in your pyjamas, just for the sake of it. Gryffindors and Ravenclaws would be playing against Hufflepuffs and Slytherins, Lee Jordan would be commenting as always and because Madam Hooch wasn't available, Hermione would be our judge. This was decided unanimously.

The first two games had occurred at the end of November, and they had been a complete mess. We had to raise the number of players on each team so everyone who wanted to play fit in, which led to three Keepers, six Chasers, four Beaters and two Seekers for each house. Furthermore, there had been a dozen of first years who couldn't fly yet and who had to be taught by voluntaries.

Those first two Friday nights I had spent with Lee, Hermione, Luna and Dobby on the commentary stand, cheering and eating chocolate biscuits. Once in a while, I had thrown a biscuit in the air for Harry to catch.

Because of the bone-chilling cold and pitch-black darkness brought by the Scottish winter, Fred and George had invented glass bulbs which carried bright orange, warm fire and hovered over the Quidditch pitch.

With the first Friday of December approaching, the excitement grew bigger and it was basically the only topic during every meal. Now that the rules and positions had set and the First Years could fly, we were awaiting the first serious game – as serious as playing Quidditch in pyjamas with Hermione as a judge could be.

“You have to play, too,” Harry said to me during lunch on Friday. My friends had tried all week to persuade me to play instead of only keeping Hermione company, while I had constantly declined.

“Yes, come on,” Ron agreed. “We know you can fly, you played with us this summer.”

“No, no way.” I shook my head and pulled the pumpkin juice jug closer.

“Why not?”, Harry asked, covering my glass with his hand. I raised my eyebrows, but he only grinned, which made my stomach tingle. But I glossed over the unwanted feeling and shoved his hand away.

“Because all positions are filled. And besides that, I would be a terrible Chaser,” I answered. “Or a terrible anything, really.”

“You could play as a Seeker,” Hermione suggested and poured herself a drink. “You're good at noticing details.”

“But Harry and that boy from third year are playing as Gryffindor Seeker,” I reminded her, cutting my toast in half.

“You could fly with Harry,” She said plainly. I stared at her with wide eyes. I should had known the moment I had told Hermione about my not-so-tiny crush on Harry that it had been a bad idea. Now she did what I should had expected: Trying to set me up with him.

“No, I – no.”

“But I wouldn’t mind,” Harry said. “And if you don't like it, I can drop you off at the stands again. Come on Y/N, say yes.” He nudged my shoulder, looking at me with sweetest puppy eyes. I couldn't say no to him, he knew that. I sighed.

“Fine.”

A content smile lit up on his face. “Brilliant.”

Around half past nine, we made our way out of the castle and down to the Quidditch pitch. Harry, Ron, Ginny, Fred and George, as well as a dozen other Gryffindor students had their brooms shouldered, following me and Hermione through the dimly lit corridors.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” I whispered, tapping the Marauders Map, which soon revealed Hogwarts’ grounds, ink lines flowing over the parchment. Filch was strolling around in his office, and so was Snape. McGonagall’s ink dot hovered in the East tower of the Fourth Floor. “Everything’s clear, but keep quiet,” I informed the others.

Hermione linked her arms with me.

“How are you?”, She asked, a knowing smile on her lips.

“Shut up. What was that at lunch?”

“Oh, come on, I just said what you were thinking. Everybody knows you have a thing for each other,” She said, and I quickly turned to make sure Harry was still talking to Dean and Ginny. Hermione chuckled. “I made a bet with Ginny that you will kiss after catching the Snitch together,” She added.

I swirled back around. “You what?”

“But Ginny thinks you'll snog in a broom closet afterwards.”

Before I could reply anything, Harry had caught up with us.

“What are you two whispering about?”, He asked, leaning closer so I could smell his deodorant.

“Nothing,” I said and was glad that the darkness hid my tinted cheeks. Hermione let herself fall back, leaving Harry and me alone at the front of the group.

“You're a terrible liar,” He said.

“Says you. Remember last year when we had detention with Snape –”

Harry wrapped his left arm around my shoulders, pulling me unintentionally closer, and placed his hand over my mouth to stop me from talking any further.

“You promised you'd take that to the grave.”

I grinned and pulled his hand away, though his arm stayed around me.

We made it out of the castle without any inconveniences, thanks to Peeves, who – on orders from the twins – created some chaos in the trophy room and distracted McGonagall.

We were the first to reach the pitch, and Harry unlocked the door under the stands with the key on the necklace around his neck, which led to the changing rooms and the spare brooms. Fred and George had stored the fire bulbs under a loose floorboard and were now freeing them so they could fly over the pitch. Hermione directed her wand towards the sky, sending out a Muffliato Charm, then winked at me and climbed up to the commentary stand with Lee.

In the meantime, the other houses arrived; the Hufflepuffs were followed by a tiny body of house elves carrying fast food on tablets over their heads. They spread over the stands, consorting with the students watching the game and providing them with hot meals and drinks.

“Welcome back everyone!”, Lee's voice echoed over the pitch and the crowd cheered. “And also welcome to everyone new here who wants to play or just likes to break the rules.”

“Hello from me too. We have some new players I want to introduce,” Hermione continued. “Marina Florence playing Keeper for Slytherpuff, Arthur Mitchell deputizing for Gryffinclaw’s Chaser Demelza Robbins, who is currently stationed in the hospital wing, and Y/N playing Seeker for Gryffinclaw together with Harry Potter.”

“That's ridiculous! Since when are we playing in pairs?!”, Draco yelled out of the crowd of Slytherin players.

“Since I'm making the rules, you daft idiot!”, Hermione called back, and laughing echoed over the field. Ron's language was clearly leaving a mark on her. “Now get on your brooms, everyone!”

“Make sure you don't slip off your broom in those silk pyjamas, Malfoy, ” Fred snickered loudly, and Draco held up his middle finger.

Slowly, the huge crowd of players on the pitch flew up into the air, positioning themselves on the right spots. I turned to Harry, who climbed on his broom. That was the part I had avoided to think about all afternoon: How would we fly on that thing together?

My heart drummed so loudly against my ribcage it was a miracle he couldn't hear it. We were friends, I reminded myself. And I would not ruin this friendship for the sake of some stupid feelings.

“Come on, Y/N,” Harry said, stretching out his hand. I grabbed it, and he helped me to climb onto his Firebolt, so that I was sitting in front of him. His fingers gripped around the broom stick, not very far from where I had placed my hands.

“You alright?”, He asked and I nodded.

“Brilliant,” I said, and he chuckled. He then wrapped his left arm around my waist before he kicked us off the ground and the Firebolt shot through the cold night air. My back got pressed against his chest, his knees squeezing my thighs, and out of shock, I held onto his arm around me.

I hadn't flown since last summer, and even then it had only been on Ron's old broomstick a few feet above the earth. This here was the complete opposite: Harry's Firebolt was a hundred times faster, and it barely took us three seconds to be the ones flying the highest over the stadium.

“I got you, everything's fine,” Harry said somewhere close to my ear as he had noticed my hand clenched around his arm, and a warm shiver ran down my spin. I looked down on the Quidditch pitch.

“It never looks that high when I’m down there,” I said.

“Are you afraid of heights?”, He asked, but I shook my head.

“No.” Not with you. I could feel his heart beating against my back and absently stroked over his hand on my waist, until Hermione's voice ripped me out of my thoughts.

“Okay, I want a fair game and no injuries, is that clear? And show some respect to the youngest players! Now ready, steady, GO!” With a wave of her wand, the trunk with the Quidditch balls snapped open and the Quaffle flew high into the air, followed by two Bludgers. For a short moment, I saw the Golden Snitch, then it rushed off into the darkness.

“So, what do we do now? Any secret strategies?”, I asked.

“No,” Harry answered, placing his chin on my shoulder. “We just wait and watch.”

A tingling warmth spread through my body at the subtle touch. Gently, Harry steered the broom around the pitch, while the others beneath us played.

“Katie wins the Quaffle – passes to Montgomery – Rick close to score, come on – YES, Gryffinclaw scores 10 points!”, Lee bellowed and loud applause erupted. “And Slytherpuff in possession – Blaise with the Quaffle – Josephine Gordon from Hufflepuff takes over, excellent Chaser that girl, and rather attractive – OW, I'm just stating facts!”

Hermione had smacked Lee on the back of his head.

“Anyways, Blaise in possession once again – now First Year Conan Ivory – Smith overtakes – and he scores. Ron, look at the Quaffle, not at Hermione – OW! – But Gryffinclaw still leads – Ginny overtakes – fights off some Slytherins – hey, careful Harry, Bludger coming your way –”

Harry quickly leaned over me and the Firebolt dropped a few meters, dodging the Bludger rushing over our heads. George (or Fred?) darted after the ball, calling a quick “Watch it, lovebirds!” at us, and hit the Bludger towards a Slytherin Chaser.

The other twin was close behind, shouting “Less snogging, more seeking!”

“Shut it!”, I yelled. For Merlin's sake, did everyone knew about my crush? Was it really that obvious for everyone except Harry? Not that I wanted him to find out – he would be embarrassed, he didn't think of us as anything other than friends.

Harry's arm slipped from my waist and he cleared his throat, but a broomstick did not provide much space, wherefore his chest was still pressed against my back and I could feel his rather fast heartbeat.

“Do you, uhm... want me to drop you off?”, He asked.

“Oh. Uh, no,” I said, trying to turn so I could face him, “I like it, but if you want to –”

“No! No, I just thought...” Harry’s eyes danced over my face like they had never before and we were quite close.

“ – Applebee has the Quaffle - and that's a score! Sixty to sixty!”, Lee called, and Hermione blew her silver whistle. I ripped my eyes off of Harry and looked down to the commentary stand. “Now, we’re gonna have a short break, because Dobby thinks you're gonna starve otherwise. All the first and second years are asked to go back to their dorms, because it's almost midnight – don't complain to me –”

Harry carefully steered his Firebolt back to the ground where he landed near Ron and Ginny. I climbed off and was glad to be spared an awkward conversation, because Ginny grabbed my arm and pulled me to the side of the pitch. The sudden loss of Harry's warm chest made me shiver.

“Now, have you ever thought about making out in a broom closet?”, She asked, a mischievous grin on her reddened face. I rolled my eyes at her.

“Hermione told me about the bet, so don't even try! No one's gonna make out in a broom closet,” I said.

“Except you and Harry,” Ginny replied. I opened my mouth to talk back, but was interrupted.

“What’s going on with you and Harry?” Cho had caught up to us, snatching a plate with fish and chips from a tablet an house elf carried through the crowd. “I have watched you, it's adorable, honestly.”

“First off, there's nothing to be adorable,” I said and stole a fry from her plate, “and second, you are supposed to watch the Snitch, not us.”

“So is Harry, but he only has eyes for you.” Cho smiled and tapped my nose with her finger. Ginny giggled and ate a piece of fried fish. In the same moment, Hermione breathlessly jogged up to us.

“What – were – you – waiting – for?”, She panted. I furrowed my brows.

“Huh?” Hermione sighed and shook her head.

“You were this close to kiss him, why didn't you do anything?”

“Is my love life this much more interesting the Quidditch game?!”

All three girls answered “Yes” in union.

“But he doesn't feel the same way for me!”, I argued. “We are friends –”

Ginny grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me around. “Do friends look at each other that way? I don’t think so.”

Harry stood a few feet away with Ron, Seamus and Dean, though he seemed not to listen to their conversations and instead stared over at us. At me. When he realised he had been caught, he waved shyly and almost spilled his pumpkin juice. I waved back at him before turning to the girls again, all of whom were looking temporising at me.

“Oh, I – I don't know. Even if you're right, I can't just kiss him out of nowhere on his broom.”

“No, you gotta snog him in a broom closet so I get my Galleon,” Ginny said smugly, and Hermione nudged her with her elbow and looked at her watch, before blowing her whistle again.

“Everyone back on their positions, break's over!” Then Hermione shot me a serious look. “Get the boy, we're all done of you pining over one another. Ron can get the other boys to crash somewhere else, if you need the dorm.”

“Hermione!”, I gasped, but she was already rushing back to the commentary stand.

“Good luck,” Cho said, and Ginny winked. I glared at them before making my way over to where the Gryffindor boys stood. I saw how Ron said something to Harry, patted his shoulder and flew off.

Harry turned to me, smiling. His hair was even messier than usual due to the wind, and he had put on a black hoodie over his pyjamas. He looked cute and hot at the same time, and I couldn't quite believe that he was supposed to like me back.

“Do you want to – or?”, He asked.

“Yeah,” I smiled and he got on his Firebolt, making space in front of him for me.

“Good. I mean –” He cleared his throat as I climbed on his broom. The next second, we were high up in the air, his chest against my back again.

“Okay, guys, game's on again! Go!”, Hermione shouted and waved her wand at the Quaffle, which flew upwards and was caught by Ginny instantly.

“And we're back – Katie passes the Quaffle to Valentina – She flawlessly dodges a Bludger – Back to Peters, almost made it onto the Ravenclaw team – and he scores! SEVENTY TO SIXTY.”

I took a deep breath and leaned back against Harry, watching the game unfold. He propped his chin back onto my right shoulder, like an unspoken routine.

“I think I'm gonna play again next Friday,” I said out of the blue.

“Really?”, He asked, sounding surprised. I smiled. The crowd underneath us cheered.

“Yes. If you save me a place on your broomstick.” I turned to look at him, and he smiled brightly at me. We were as close as earlier, maybe even closer. I held my breath, until I noticed something small and golden buzzing through the air behind Harry, illuminated by one of the fire bulbs.

“There!” I pointed at the Golden Snitch, and Harry's head spun around to assure himself.

“Do you trust me?”, He asked.

“Of course,” I replied. Instantly, his hand was back around my waist and he yanked the Firebolt around.

“ – Seamus throws the Quaffle to Dean – Dean passes Nott – and he scores! NINTHY TO EIGHTY FOR GRYFFINCLAW! And Potter seems to have spotted the Snitch, Draco, Cedric and Cho close behind – Come on, show them what that Firebolt can do!”, Lee's voice roared from somewhere deep down, but my eyes were glued onto the Snitch: It whirred through the ice cold December air and up to the left ring of the Slytherpuff team.

Malfoy had almost caught up to us; even though the Firebolt was the fastest broomstick on the market, it was obviously slower when carrying two people instead of one.

The Snitch twirled around the pole, then dropped down and headed for the floor. Harry followed, and now we where almost vertically flying downwards. Because of the sudden shift of direction, I swore loudly and clenched my hands tighter around the broom.

“I won't let you fall, I promise,” Harry called over air rushing past us.

“I know, but a warning would have been nice!”, I yelled back, and he chuckled.

The weight of two people on one broomstick also meant that we got dragged downwards way faster, which meant we were outdistancing Malfoy. The Golden Snitch took a sharp right turn and now buzzed two meters above the ground to the other side of the pitch.

“You have to catch it!”, Harry yelled.

“WHAT? No, I can't –”

“Yes, you can! I have to steer!” And hold you. But he did not say that. I swore under my breath and carefully loosened one hand from the broomstick, stretching it forward. The Snitch was inches away from my fingertips and I pushed myself up, Harry's grip around my mid tightening. The silver wings touched my fingers, I stretched my arm further and in the same moment my hands clasped around the tiny, golden ball, we fell forward.

“ – And that doesn't look – Oh, Potter and Y/L/N are on the ground. I can't really see, if someone caught the Snitch –”

As one tangled mess, we landed on the frozen lawn, rolling over one another and stopping with Harry half on top of me. My whole body ached and I would definitely get bruises from the fall, but that was something I could worry about later. I caught the Snitch!

“Shit, sorry, fuck. Y/N, are you alright?” Harry's face hovered over me, a bloody scratch on his cheek. I grinned happily and held up the golden ball.

“Yeah, more than alright.”

“Y/N caught the Snitch! TWOHUNDRED AND FORTY TO EIGHTY! Gryffinclaw wins!”, Lee bellowed and the crowd cheered and applauded loudly. Harry held out one hand to help me up, and I took it.

“I'm sorry, I know I promised, but I couldn't hold you any longer and –”

“Shut up.” I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him full on the lips. My hands found their way into his raven hair, and he hugged my waist, pulling me so tightly his fingers almost touched his own rips with the opposite hand. I kissed him, and he was kissing me back; it felt like someone had lit a firework in my heart, and for one marvellous moment, we were the only two people in the whole wide world.

Then the other players landed on the field, and we broke apart, catching our breaths. We were both grinning, and I felt drunk from the cold night and catching the Snitch and kissing Harry.

The raven haired boy bent down to kiss me once more, this time softer, and he intertwined our fingers before leading us over to our friends, where Ginny flicked a Galleon into Hermione's open hand.

“Took you long enough,” Ron said, who had both his and Harry's broomstick shouldered.

“Well, they got around in the end,” Cho added, leaning against Cedric, his chin propped on her head. “Sleepover at the Ravenclaw dorm?”, She added, and we all nodded in agreement.

While Fred, George and Lee collected the fire bulbs and Quidditch balls, and the house elves cleaned up the dirt with a snap of their fingers, we made our way back to the Hogwarts castle:

Ron alongside Hermione, followed by Seamus and Dean arm-in-arm, Cho with Cedric, one arm around her waist, Ginny carrying a tired Luna on her back, and lastly, Harry and me, holding hands.

“You know, I'm glad I agreed to play with you,” I said. Harry smiled.

“Yeah, me too.” He pressed a kiss on my cheek. In spite of the shivering cold, I had never felt more warm and comfortable than in this moment.

#fluff #my writing #oneshot #harry potter #harry potter x reader #harry james potter x reader #harry james potter #no voldemort au #quidditch

[flowerwrites06]

thinning thread — jjk

Plot: In the heat of a tumultuous rough path in their marriage, Jungkook is handed their last resort. 

Pairing(s): Jungkook x Writer!OC (Name: Belle)

Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+

Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series

Word Count: 2k+

Genre: Marriage!AU 

Tags & Warnings: angst, rough marriage, divorce, explicit smut 

Authors Note: sorry the reposting has been a little slow, everyone! the end of feb was a little rough but I’ll try to get the fics out as soon as I can. 

ALSO requests are currently open and they’ll close on Sunday! So be sure to fill the request form HERE

Days turned to, weeks turned to months the blanket of home they knitted together now stripped to nothing but a pathetic string. Both of them dangling and swinging on it pretending that the world around them didn’t just crumble beneath their feet. It started with regular fights over the lack of time they spent together; the usual reason most couple would go through a lovers’ spat. Then fights were followed with silent treatments lasting days on end to point where one of them would be out of the house completely.

Paranoia kicked in soon afterwards as Jungkook saw Belle chatting with one of her clients leading to yet another exhausting argument about her supposedly cheating. Jungkook left home that night for three days until he came back without saying a word. Belle spent more nights in her office using a glass of wine to loosen herself up and get some sleep while writing herself to near madness.

Her publishing company even asked her if she was okay after her latest manuscript submission stating it had a lot more disturbing themes than her usual works. Belle simply stated that things changed. Happiness wasn’t a fucking commonality anymore and the themes she wrote now seemed more realistic.

Jungkook spent hours in the gym, punching bags until the skin on his knuckles ripped apart breaking himself down enough to get some damn shut eye. He was getting a lot more complaints from his producers these days saying he had too much of a short fuse nowadays. Which, to prove their point, he ended up snapping and earned himself a break away from sending in anymore songs until he got himself sorted.

Swinging and swinging on this thinning thread, it all dwindled down into one night.

Instead of going back to her office for the night, Belle paid a visit to her lawyer about a set of paperwork that she needed organized. Thankfully the name she made for herself allowed the time to finish all these documents were significantly lessened. The next day after making her request she was able to have the papers in her hand.

-

As she walked into the apartment the woman realized how long it had been since she walked into their home at this hour. The twilight sky looked like a painting through the large panned windows, creating a beautiful silhouette of the city buildings. For a moment Belle could have smiled until she heard chain clanging and something thudding.

Jungkook began his attack on what could have been his fifteenth punching bag this fortnight, not caring about the world around him.

She sighed, placing her bag on the kitchen counter before stomping over to the man with her brown envelope in hand. “I need to talk to you.” Belle announced trying to sound louder than the punching bag thudding and clanging.

The man gave the bag one harsh punch before letting out a deep sigh, a droplet of sweat . “I’m not in the mood.” He mumbled immediately causing a rush of fury in her belly.

Belle tightened her jaw her whole body urging to just throw the papers on the floor until he sees it. But she took a long, drawling breath as she walked closer to the male who proceeded to assault his punching bag. “This is important.” She spoke firmly. “Just listen to me for one second.” She pursed her lips when Jungkook finally held onto the punching bag to pause for a moment.

Though the male still glared at her a little making her heart drop.

She remembered when he used to look at her with eyes soft and sparkling. Now all she felt was hate radiating from him. Belle handed the envelope over which he accepted, ripping off the top carelessly before pulling out the papers.

Jungkooks’ brows furrowed when he skimmed through the contents of the document. “What the hell is this?” He fumed.

“Divorce papers.” Belle replied simply.

He tightened his jaw still staring at the words on the pages instead of looking up at her. “I need a pen.” Jungkook muttered quietly before walking past her towards the living room.

Chest clenched tightly but she let out a quick breath before following him along watching him walk towards the sitting area.

Belle’s brows furrowed when she noticed they were walking away from the staircase to the study to get a pen. Instead she saw Jungkook pad towards the couches, to the fireplace sitting in front of them still running to keep the place warm and cozy. Even though the atmosphere was anything but that.

It didn’t take long until finally she saw Jungkook tossing the papers and empty envelope right into the fire. Stammering she watched the flames rise higher before dissipating the documents, their names burned away achingly slow. “Jungkook.” She tried to move past him to grab the remnants of the papers but both her arms were grabbed to keep her in place.

“Are you trying to hurt me now? Huh?” Jungkooks’ eyes burned into hers, hair matted to his glistening forehead.

Belle yanked out of his grasp which made his move his arms but he still stood dangerously close. “Don’t try to make me look like the bad guy here.” She seethed. “We’ve tried to fix this but it’s not working. You didn’t even want to talk to me when I walked into the room.”

“Because I thought you were going to start up another fight which clearly you were.” He gestured harshly towards the fireplace.

“Do you have a better idea?” Her vision grew blurry. “Because I don’t want to wake up another morning feeling like you hate me.” Belle hadn’t spoken about her feelings to the man in a long time. So long that expressing it now made her feel utterly exposed.

“You really think I hate you?” Jungkook spoke through gritted teeth. “You really think I’d still be in this apartment because I fucking hated you?”

“When was the last time you told me you loved me then? Hm?” Tears streamed down her face, mascara smudging at the corners of her eyes a little. “When was the last time we actually spoke to each other without yelling or crying?” Belle sobbed out.

“That doesn’t mean I stopped loving you.” He protested, his eyes glistening even in the dimmed warm light. “How did you even think I would sign those papers, huh?”

Belle shrugged weakly, smiling a little sadly. “Maybe you’d be happier without me.”

His eyes twitched as he pursed his lips together tightly. “Would you be happier without me?”

Her heart felt tired at this point tightening around itself as if trying to push out all the hurt or keep it all in. Happiness wasn’t a commonality for sure. But would it be any better if she couldn’t see him altogether? Spending years thinking of what could have happened if they just—kept holding onto that thread?

Without uttering a single word, Belle merely shook her head. In a second she was reminded at how well Jungkook still was at knowing what she needed right at that moment.

A small tear escaping down his cheek, Jungkook grabbed her by her cheeks and pressed a warm kiss against her lips. He could taste a saltiness on her dampened lips before his hands trailed down, wrapping them around her waist to cancel out any distance between them. He was fucking done being so far away from his baby, unable to touch her because they were too stubborn to say sorry. With a swift motion he picked her up and impatiently pressed her down against the fluffy rug.

Belle pulled at her scarf which was quickly pushed away and her cardigan lay as a blanket underneath. Fingers hooked on the hem of his cold T-shirt before pulling it over his head and discarding no one cared where. She felt his nails firmly graze up her thigh, hooking onto her panties and pulling it down only one of her thighs roughly. The thin piece of clothing dangling on her left ankle as Jungkook devoured her lips not wanting to unlock their tongues dancing.

His bulging shorts rubbed against her bare core making her moan against his lips. Jungkooks’ still wrapped hand pulled at her hair to press her further down on the floor. He watched her mouth part, small gasp passing through as his hips rubbed against her pooling core. “Look at me.” He spoke in a raspy voice, lust blown and glossy eyes piercing into her. “I want you to look at me.” He whispered, forehead pressing together as he carelessly pushed down his shorts to let his desperate cock free.

Belle felt his thick, wet tip rub up and down her sleek heat, walls already clenching to a get an aching taste of him inside her again. “Please—” A choked scream broke out of her when the man slammed into her. Her pussy swallowed up every inch of his cock, aching a little after being long-deprived from the stretch. She kept her gaze did not waiver however watching him contort his face in pleasure.

Jungkook could barely hear himself think after feeling his whole member hugged by that familiar heat. So deliciously tight and warm, he could stay like this forever if he could. “Fuck I missed you.” He whispered, hot breath hitting her face before he kissed her again, sighing in relief as he began thrusting into her. Every snap of his hips hit hard and deep wanting to make his movements embedded in their minds so they forget just how fucking good they felt together.

She grabbed onto his shoulders for dear life, legs spread out welcomingly for him to destroy her desperate heat. All her long hibernated nerves now jolted awake by the beautiful friction between them, electrifying her body.

He pulled apart the front of her dress, a few buttons flying off but Belle couldn’t care less. Neither of them could. This was the closest they had been in months. Nothing was going to stop them from spewing out all their bottled frustrations.

Belle felt his hot mouth press wet kisses on the curve of her breast, teeth grazing against the tender skin making her smile in bliss. Fingers gripped at the roots of his slightly damp hair reaching down to kiss his head. A gasp caught in her throat when he thrusted into her faster pushing to the limits of her release but she pushed him away.

“What’s wrong?” He breathed out staring at her confused but he quickly saw what she wanted.

Belle pushed on his chest to make him lie on his back before straddling him, the panties on her ankle slid away. She raised herself over his erect cock and slowly let her core devour him again causing a small groan under Jungkooks’ throat. His hands instinctively moved under the skirt of her dress, squeezing her bottom. Still her eyes fixated on him as her hips swayed, feeling his tip rub against her sweet spot making her legs melt.

She moved her hands to where his were and Jungkook immediately intertwined their fingers together. Belle carefully unwrapped the black cloth around his knuckles as the male sat up now, wanting to feel her closer.

Pressing a small kisses on his healing wounds, she quickened her pace.

Jungkook grabbed the back of her neck and intoxicated her with another kiss while his other hand guided her hips.

Belle held onto his shoulders now and bounced on his cock, the sheer pressure against her sweet spot could throw her over the edge in minutes. Arms wrapped around him as her teeth sunk into his skin, muffling her moans. Fingers ran through the hair on the back of his head, lips pressing messy kisses on his neck and cheek. “I love you.” She whispered in his ear.

The male grabbed the side of her neck again forcing her to meet his gaze. Thumb brushed the corner of her teary eyes, mascara smudging across her temple on his finger pad. Lips were barely hovering one another as Belle slowed her thrusts. “I love you too.” He sighed out the words, grabbing bits of her hair before pressing on her warm lips. “I love you so much.” His latter words were mumbled but Belle still heard them.

A small sob shook through her seeing that warmth again. One she hadn’t seen it in so long that it almost felt like dream but Jungkooks’ hands on her skin reminded her it wasn’t. This was all real.

Jungkook turned her around to lay on her stomach, legs straightened out and spread so he could sneak in between. His cock slid in on its own at this point with how fucked out her heat was and he didn’t waste a single second longer to continue the pace. He leaned into her, kisses lain on her shoulder and sweet words whispered in her ear.

He intertwined his fingers with a hand and Belle hugged it closer, his sweaty torso pressed firmly against her back as the onslaught of thrusts began. It was slow but it dug deep into her core and steadily patterned. Her belly pressed against the floor made it all the more easier to rub against her sweet spot and create some friction against her clit.

“Don’t stop.” She whispered giving Jungkook even more determination to torture her core with incessant pounding. Warmth gathered around her leaking heat and pleasure tickled under the skin of her thighs causing her moans to shake.

Jungkook drilled into her, his own moans melting with her as his climax now flooded his entire form, his hand gripping onto hers like it was a part of him.

Belle cried out, trying to muffle the pitch by pressing her lips against the back of his hand. The heated release making her legs shake under him uncontrollably. Cheek pressed against the rug now, she bit down her bottom lip, tears still flowing out of her from the force of her orgasm mixed with everything else.

He filled her up with his release uttering the most delicious whimpers and moan before kissing her cheek softly. “You okay, baby?” Jungkook whispered, caressing her tear stain cheek.

Belle smiled quickly, nodding even though fresh tears still fell turning to face him properly. “I’m glad you didn’t sign it.” She giggled through her light sobs.

Jungkook chuckled leaning in and lay a soft kiss on her salty lips. “I’d never leave you, baby.”

“Promise?” She asked in a whisper.

“Promise.”

Another thread now knitted with the one they had been dangling on, making them that tiny bit stronger than they were yesterday.

#jungkook #thebtswritersclub #jungkook imagines #bts imagines #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #bts fanfiction #husband jungkook #marriage au #bts marriage au

[sunnyville36]

Mamihlapinatapai {part 2}

Thank you all so sooo much for the kind feedback on part 1! Part 2 is coming at you now! 💜

Need to catch up? {overview} {part 1}

Pairing: Bang Chan x Female Reader

Themes: royal au, medieval au, court intrigue, arranged marriage, original characters, mutual pining, slow burn

Warnings: injuries, mentions of death/war/murder, emotionally abusive parents

Rating: Mature

Word count: 4.5k

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mamihlapinatapai - (noun, Yagán origin) a silent acknowledgement and understanding between two people, who are both wishing or thinking the same thing (and are both unwilling to initiate)

A Summer’s Ball  |  Kingdom of Gu, present day

The next few days were just as tumultuous as the first, Chan and Korenna slowly progressing from treating each other with complete silence, to short-lived bickering, to finally being able to hold a civil conversation for at least a few minutes.  You escorted them to more ceremony preparation meetings, then to councils with the foreign affairs ministers, the historians, the priests, each one stressing how this union would be a stepping stone in your two kingdoms’ relations and they should think of it as a huge honor.  You couldn’t help but feel sorry for the both of them, being reminded over and over how their lives were simply a means to an end, to be controlled at the whim of their fathers’ aspirations.

A turning point finally came when the three of you visited the city surrounding the palace grounds, the prince refusing to miss his weekly visit to the village market.  Chan loved to interact with his people, to support their businesses, to hear their grievances, to show he cared.  You followed behind the two of them as you walked through the plaza lined with stalls, Chan waving to each of the merchants, Korenna watching him with a mix of reservation and admiration.

“Your people seem to be thriving.  I wish I could say the same about our villages.”

You eyed Chan, knew he was forcing himself to hold back a biting remark, likely about how if Lajor’s people were currently suffering, it was the monarchy’s fault.  He finally came up with a question, trying his best to keep the conversation going.

“Have you brought up your concerns to your father?”

“I’ve tried, but he doesn’t want to listen to anything I have to say.  All he cares about is what he thinks is right, no matter who suffers for it.”

Chan nodded solemnly, “I can understand that.”

Korenna gave him a somber look and appeared to have something more she wanted to say, but was promptly dragged off by a small child wanting to show her his father’s bakery stall.

You nudged Chan’s arm.  “See, she’s not so bad, Your Highness.  If you give her a chance.”

He started in the direction of the princess, turning to walk backwards and smile at you with his arms out in a lighthearted shrug, “If you say so.”

***

That evening the king was hosting a ball, to celebrate the engagement of the prince.  You’d helped Chan dress, his midnight blue velvet ensemble and dark hair set off against the silver crown he wore making him look more like a deity of the moon than an earthly prince.  Then you had gone to assist Korenna.  You couldn’t deny how beautiful she looked as you watched her from across the room, her champagne colored gown and perfectly curled blonde hair standing out against the relatively muted colors worn by the other attendees.  She was standing away from Chan, talking amongst a group of noblemen’s wives and other high powered ladies, but her eyes never strayed far from his back as he talked with Minho and some other knights around a wooden table in the corner.

“You look quite stunning tonight, Y/n.  Purple is definitely your color,” came a deep voice on your left, and you turned to see Prince Felix approaching you, his small frame clothed in a breathtaking deep red suit.  The younger brother of Prince Minho, Felix had the sunniest personality of anyone you’d ever met, quite contrasting to his voice but in perfect harmony with the bright smile he flashed as he reached your side.  It had been several months since you’d last seen him, his studies as apprentice to your kingdom’s Chief Healer taking him to the academy in the highlands far away from the city.

“Prince Felix!” you exclaimed, arms reaching to pull him into a quick hug.  “I could say the same for you; that red suits you perfectly, Your Grace.”

Felix laughed, releasing you from his hold.  You and he had been close friends since childhood, ever since, at the age of 5, he’d stepped on the hem of your skirt and you’d pushed him into a mud puddle, causing guards to rush over and attempt to have you arrested.  His mother and the queen had stepped in, calming the guards as you remorsefully reached out your hand to help him up only to be pulled down into the mud next to him, the both of you dissolving into fits of laughter.

“I’ve missed the city.  And it seems the city has missed me for all the excitement it’s spun up in my absence.”  His eyes followed your gaze to where Korenna had made her way over to Chan, and watched as she led him out to the quiet balcony overlooking the gardens.  “How are you taking all of this?”

“I’m fine, Your Grace.  What reason would I have not to celebrate such a momentous occasion?”

Felix fixed you with a knowing look, but dropped the subject, content to stand with you at the edge of the dance floor.

“Y/n, I thought I told you not to let Christopher and the princess out of your sight,” came King Bang’s voice from behind you.  “The last thing we need is for them to get into one of their verbal sparring matches with the whole court present.”

You turned, lowering your head to the king.  “Of course, Your Majesty.”

You left Felix next to the king, his expression turned to one of distaste at his new company, and walked quietly out onto the balcony where the couple was talking.

They were standing closer together than you had ever seen them, leaning forward against the railing’s edge.  They seemed to be deep in conversation, Korenna actually reaching her hand up to place it on Chan’s back.  It didn’t feel right watching them without their knowledge, so you cleared your throat loudly, causing both their heads to snap up.  Chan looked slightly embarrassed, his head tilting forward, but Korenna’s expression was almost unreadable.  She stood staring at you for a few  seconds, then pursed her lips, nodded her head to Chan, and walked back into the main ballroom as you approached him.

“I apologize, Your Highness, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Trust me, Y/n, you didn’t,” came Chan’s tired reply.  You wanted to know if she had upset him, to know how you could comfort him.

“What were you discussing?”

A soft song started to make its way out from the half-open door.  Chan looked up at you, completely ignoring your question.

“Dance with me?”

Several seconds went by in silence.  He reached out his hand, eyes imploring you to say something, to say yes.

This was dangerous.  You couldn’t think of a worse position to be caught in, dancing with a betrothed man far above your stature.  But you also couldn’t think of a way to say no to him.

You took his hand and he pulled you flush against him immediately.  You tried to resist the urge to place your head on his chest, but the feeling of being in his arms was too much, made you feel so safe.  So you laid your cheek there and felt a low hum come up through his chest.  It was quiet for a while, the two of you simply swaying back and forth, not doing any particular dance.  You felt his head rise from where it had been resting on top of your head.

“I’ve always thought you were beautiful, but you look gorgeous tonight Y/n.”

“You told me that earlier, Your Highness.”

“I know.  I wanted to tell you again.”

Then he placed his head back down and you continued to spin in slow circles until the song ended.  He brought your movements to a stop, taking your hand and kissing the top of it as he leaned forward in an exaggerated bow, “Thank you for the dance, my lady.”

You looked at him with a small smile.  “You’re welcome, Your Highness.”

He returned your smile, turned, and walked back towards the party.  You felt your chest tighten, feeling a little too much like your dance had been his way of saying goodbye.

Thinly Veiled Threats  |  Kingdom of Gu, 6 years ago

“Watch out!”

You turned towards the direction of the voice just in time to see Chan break through the wooden fence in front of you, thrown off his horse by the force of the lance he just took to the chest.

The prince had just turned seventeen, which made him eligible to compete in the annual Four Kingdom Competition, where knights, lords, and even royalty from the continent’s four greatest kingdoms met to determine who among them would be crowned victor in a series of strength tests.  His father had of course insisted he enter on his first eligible year, which had led to the activity you were currently engaged in, training a boy who was used to classrooms, libraries, and diplomacy lessons the intricacies of hand to hand combat.  The tasks ranged from archery to sword fighting, wrestling to jousting, and while Chan knew his way around a broadsword and shield, it was clear that the latter of those was not going to be Chan’s strong suit.

You walked calmly towards where he sat on the ground, knowing he would only be more embarrassed by any attempts to rush to his aide.  He was sitting up, so you could tell he wasn’t badly injured, but his right hand still stretched across his abdomen to clutch at his left side.  He’d been hit there at least three times now, and if you had to guess, what was once a bad bruise was more likely a patch of broken skin at this point.

Voices floated around you as you pushed your way through the small crowd that had gathered around him, many asking the prince if he was alright or giving unsolicited advice on how to avoid the outcome he seemed to be cursed with.  You picked up on the voice of a squire, one who served the boy who had knocked Chan down most recently, as he nudged the side of the older boy’s arm.

“You could have gone a little easier on him, you know.  His mother just died.”

Great.  Just what you needed; a physically and emotionally wounded Chan.

“Alright, give him some room everyone.  His Highness is fine; go back to your own practicing.”  You shooed away the stragglers and knelt so Chan could wrap his free arm around your neck, hoisting him up and slowly making your way to the infirmary tent.  Leaning him against the side of a cot, you reached for the clean cloth and distilled vodka; this was going to hurt like a bitch, but Chan could take it.

“You’re pulling back too much and too early, it leaves your side vulnerable,” you said, carefully easing off his ripped tunic so you could tend to his wound.

He stayed silent for a few moments, fingers gripping harshly against your shoulder as you cleaned the cut and wrapped a bandage around his midsection.

“I…,” he trailed off, seeming to struggle to find the words he was looking for.  “I’m a coward.  I’m a failure and a coward and everyone knew it except me, until just now.”

His words knocked the wind out of you.  You knew he was ashamed (entirely unnecessarily) when he couldn’t hold back the tears at his mother’s funeral while his father maintained his perfectly stoic expression (that heartless bastard), knew he was self-conscious about his fighting abilities, but you’d never heard him express that insecurity so directly before.

“Your Highness,” you spoke softly but forcefully, hands cupping his face to make him look you in the eye, “you are one of the bravest men I know.  You have one of the hardest burdens a person can bear on your shoulders, have had it since you were born, and you carry it with grace and dignity and compassion.  You inspire me and countless others every day with your strength and generosity.  You are not a coward.”

He looked back at you, and suddenly you felt yourself being engulfed in his embrace, his legs parting to pull you close to him.  He wrapped his arms tightly around your chest, his head pressing into the crook of your neck.  Slowly you brought your hands up and began to rub small circles on his bare back.  This was the most emotion he’d shown since that night you stood beside his mother’s bed, watching as he held her hand and whispered all the things he wanted to tell her one last time.  You were a little overwhelmed, but mostly happy, happy that maybe he was feeling again.  Eventually you heard his quiet voice next to your ear, “Thank you, Y/n.”

Then he released you from his hold, donned his shirt, and walked back to the jousting pitch.  You watched him go, until a deliberate cough came from behind you, shattering your reverie.

“I suppose he’s lucky to have you.”  The words spilled from the king’s mouth, his signature gravelly voice seeming to chase all other sound from the tent.

“My apologies, Your Majesty, I hadn’t noticed you were here,” you spoke, bending into a curtsey.

“It seems it is quite easy for the two of you not to notice others when you think you are alone.”

You blinked, unsure of where the king was going with his remarks.  He sidled up to you, close enough you could hear him at a whisper.

“I may have owed your family a debt, but that has been repaid ten-fold.  I know my son, know he would never be led astray of his responsibilities unless you gave credence to those thoughts in his head, fed his intimate physical desires.  So do not delude yourself into thinking you can take him from me, little servant girl.  And if he ever does come to me, asking me to set aside our laws, our traditions, so he can marry you, I’ll know what you have done, and you will never see the light of day again.  Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Satisfied with your response, he left you there, his words staining your mind like the bloody cloth you clutched in your hands.

The Hunt  |  Kingdom of Gu, present day

How he managed to get his father to agree to this you had no idea.  But Chan always was very convincing when he needed to be.

You were preparing for a day’s long hunt.  In all honesty it was an excellent idea; it would give Chan space to be himself after having been shut inside the palace for two weeks, preparing for his impending nuptials.  Normally this was one of your favorite activities to do with Chan and the knights; getting to ride, to spend time in the woods, maybe use your bow.  But the one condition of the king’s agreement had been that Korenna was going too.

She’d been different with you, with everyone really, since that night on the balcony, avoiding attempts to make small talk and speaking harshly when she made requests.  You didn’t want your relationship with her to turn sour, seeing as you’d soon be serving her for the rest of her life (and yours), so you held your tongue and pressed on with your duties.

Chan’s black courser and your chestnut palfrey were saddled, and you were in the midst of preparing a well-tempered white mare for the princess.

“Good morning, Y/n.”

You looked up, seeing the dark head of hair and upside down smirk belonging to Prince Minho smiling down at you as he leaned over your kneeling frame.  “Good morning, Your Grace.”

You were not as close to Minho as you were to Felix, but you had always gotten along well, your similar sense of humor and affinity for archery solidifying your friendship.

He offered his hand to pull you up, which you accepted.  “I’m glad you will be joining us on this outing, Y/n.  I’m not sure I could handle Chan and Korenna on my own, even with 5 other knights to accompany me.”

You hummed in agreement, finishing attaching the bridle around the mare’s head.  “I’m not sure you could either, Your Grace.”

Minho let out his signature high pitched laugh as the rest of your party approached, and the two of you maneuvered to the front of the pack as you set off towards the nearby woods.  You all rode in silence for a while, riding not typically being an activity that required much talking, until you heard Korenna speak from her position next to Chan in the middle of your group.

“So, who is the best at the strength tasks of the Four Kingdom Competition?”

A strange question to ask so out of the blue, but you supposed it was somewhat relevant to the situation at hand.

“His Highness is an excellent swordsman,” you replied, looking back slightly in their direction.

“Sir Jeongin has given us all a run for our money in the wrestling ring,” you heard a voice from the back say.  He must be one of the other knights in your party.

Chan replied next, “Minho is a skilled horseman, beats me in the joust nearly every time.”

Minho’s eyebrows rose up at that, smirking as he rounded out the answers, “And Y/n here is an expert marksman.  She’s the best I’ve ever seen with a bow.”

You thanked him mentally, hoping he could read it in the look on your face.  You weren’t about to boast about your own talents to the princess, but it was nice to know that she was now aware you weren’t just some lovesick girl who followed the prince around, that you actually took your responsibilities seriously.

“Really?  And who taught you about archery, Y/n?”  You thought you heard a touch of menace in her normally high pitched voice, but brushed it off.

“I’ve had many teachers, Your Grace, but the first was my father.”

“How very… non-traditional.  Where is your father now?  I’d love to meet him.”

You saw Chan and Minho tense in their saddles, well aware of what your answer would be.

“He died, Your Grace.”

“Oh,” said Korenna, her voice noticeably softer now, “I apologize for bringing up a sore subject.”

“It’s alright, Your Grace,” you replied.  “It was a long time ago.  You couldn’t have known.”

An uncomfortable silence fell on the group then, but luckily your first planned stop was not far ahead.  A small grove of trees surrounding a clearing was where you usually began the hunt, splitting off in different directions and meeting back there before sundown.  But because you had the princess with you today, it was a more laid back affair, and you’d planned to have a picnic of sorts before you continued in earnest.

Everyone set about unpacking the sacks that carried your meal for the day.  You uncorked your canteen, taking a sip before heaving an exasperated sigh.

You’d forgotten to bring extra water for the horses.

You called over to Chan, where he stood spreading out a blanket for Korenna to sit on.

“Your Highness, I’m going to the creek to get water for the horses.”

Chan looked up and you could see the smile on his face from where you stood across the grove.  “I’ll go with you!” he said happily, only to have his arm tugged back by the princess next to him.

“You are not a servant, Chan.  I’m sure Y/n can go by herself.”

Your loud conversation had caught the attention of the rest of the group, who were all looking over at you in interest.  You were surprised by her bluntness, but she did have a point.  “Her Grace is right, I don’t need you to accompany me, Your Highness.  I simply wanted to tell you where I was going.”

Chan gave a side glare at Korenna, but agreed.  “Fine, but you shouldn’t go alone.  Sir Jeongin - “

A tall boy, clad in the red, black, and gold uniform of your knights, walked over to the prince.   He was no more than eighteen, must have only just taken his oath.  You remembered his name from the earlier conversation about the strength tests, impressed he was making a name for himself so early.

“ - please accompany Y/n to the stream to fetch water for the horses.”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

So the two of you set off, leaving the rest to their meals.  You didn’t really need a knight for protection, but your heart warmed at the gesture of Chan not wanting you to go alone.  You arrived at the bank of the creek and began filling some extra pouches you had brought with water.

“It’s so much quieter here,” Jeongin commented absentmindedly.

Despite the sound of the water running, you agreed it did seem calmer here than in the grove you came from.  As you knelt by the edge of the stream, you noticed large patches of grass surrounding some nearby trees had been pressed down.  Curious, you walked over to the area, observing the singed ground and muddy boot prints on the rocks, telltale signs of human presence.  You hadn’t run into anyone else on your walk over, but maybe there were some others out riding today.  Raising your head, you called to your companion, “Sir Jeongin!  Were there any other hunting parties out today?”

“Not that I know of, Miss,” Jeongin replied, his expression revealing he was rather confused by your question.

You looked around again, and that was when you noticed the torn piece of blue fabric latched to a jagged branch on a nearby tree.  Your blood ran cold and you grabbed Jeongin’s arm, breaking into a run.

“We need to get back to them.  Now.”

You’d made it about half way back to the grove when you heard a scream, you and Jeongin sprinting to reach the clearing.  But when you arrived, the scene was entirely not what you expected.

Your mind had immediately gone to the Lajorans when you spotted that piece of cloth on the tree.  But here you stood, watching men clad in your own colors raise their swords to clash with the group of knights who’d accompanied you and the royals.  Your eyes frantically searched among the chaos, looking for Chan, but before you could spot him you noticed Korenna, hiding alone behind a large rock at the edge of the treeline.  You pulled Jeongin back behind a tree, gesturing in her direction.

“Do you see the princess over there?  You’re going to grab her, get on a horse, and ride back to the palace now.”

Jeongin was looking at you with wide, scared eyes; his mouth was open, not making a sound.

You shook his shoulder.  “Sir Jeongin, do you understand me?  Do not look back at us, just take the princess and get her to safety.  I need you to do this.”

Your words seemed to finally reach him, and he set his mouth in a straight line.  “Yes, I can do that.”

“Good.  Go.  And don’t look back.”

He left your spot behind the tree and you turned back to the action in the grove, still trying to find the prince.  Finally your eyes landed on two men standing back to back, swords flying as they blocked the attack of about 6 different men.

Chan and Minho.

You started towards them, reaching for your own sword, when you spotted someone perched in a tree right outside the circle of men.  The attackers started to pull back from around the two princes, and you could see exactly who the archer had in his line of sight.

You screamed his name, sprinting to cross the clearing and threw your body in front of him, arms outstretched.

You felt a sharp pain in your left shoulder as you fell against Chan’s chest, his arms coming up to catch you.

“Y/n!  Y/n!”

Trumpets were blaring from the direction of the castle as Minho dragged Chan back, still desperately clutching you in his arms.  The attackers were dispersing and you heard the sound of a voice saying “Chris”; it took a moment for you to realize it was your own.

“I’m here, Y/n, I’m here.  Just hold on please.  You’re going to be okay, just please hold on.”

The last thing you saw were his eyes as your vision went black.

Of Flower Buds and Roots  |  Kingdom of Gu, 16 years ago

“Mother, when will they be here?”

You were standing in the open-air courtyard at the front of the palace, your mother’s hands on your shoulders.  The two of you had moved to the palace a few years ago, when your mother had gotten a job as a servant there after the war ended.  Today, you were told, would be the day you were to start your position there, as personal attendant to the young crown prince.

“I’m sure soon darling.  Remember we never rush royalty.”

As you waited, your eye was caught by a small boy standing with a large scary looking man.  He looked to be about your age and was holding a tiny bouquet of wildflowers in his hand.  The man seemed to be trying to take them away, but the boy clutched them to his chest.  A woman who you thought you’d seen before approached them, glaring at the man, who backed away from the boy as she took his hand.  Then, they started walking towards you.

Your mother tightened her grip on your shoulders, bending into a curtsey and pushing you down with her.  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty.”

“The pleasure is ours,” came the queen’s pleasant voice.  She knelt down between you and the boy.

“You must be Y/n.  This is my son Christopher, the prince.  You will serve as his attendant.”

You stared at the boy, his eyes even with yours, hair mussed and shirt covered in dirt.

“He doesn’t look like a prince.  He looks like me”

“Y/n!” your mother gasped, the queen chuckling slightly and calming your mother with a hand on her arm.

“You’re right, he might not look like one yet.  But it’s going to be your job to help him become one.  Do you think you can do that?”

You pondered her question and finally said, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

She smiled and stepped aside, placing her hands on Chan’s back and pushing him forward.

“Hi Y/n!” the boy said excitedly.  “My name’s Chris.  Or Chan.  Either’s fine!  I brought you these flowers!  I thought they might look pretty in your hair.”

He extended his tiny fist holding the flowers and you took one from the bunch, pulling back your hair and putting the flower behind your ear.

Chan’s face immediately lit up in the brightest smile you’d ever seen, his eyes crinkling cutely.  “I was right!”

From that moment on, you decided there was nothing you wouldn’t do to see that smile on his face.

{part 3}

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[itsallyscorner]

Just saw your little mix!reader au (LOVED IT) and I was thinking, what if y/n is kinda like Perrie aka the queen of leaking things and she's dating Tom and everyone makes fun of them bc they are THE couple that keeps spoiling/leaking stuff

Hello lovey!! Thank you for requesting and reading my other work, it’s very much appreciated!🥰 I love this request sm, omg. Happy reading, I hope you like it!💖

💌.

The King and Queen of Leaking

I had WAY too much fun with this request...enjoy!🥰

It had been a regular day in your household. You were in the kitchen starting up on breakfast while Tom was in his makeshift gym doing his morning workout. You were just finishing up on the eggs when your phone pinged. Glancing at your phone you saw that it was a text from Jade.

Jade💜: Babes! Check you email ASAP!!!

The texts in the band’s group chat began to flood in making you curious. Have you all done something to get in trouble with management? Maybe it was an awards nomination? Turning off the stove, you place the last pile of scrambled eggs onto Tom’s plate. After you set the plates on the table, you pull out one of the dining chairs and sit on it, pulling out your phone to see more texts from the girls.

Perrie🦋: Oh.My.God. I CANT BELIEVE IT!!!

Leigh-Anne😻: AHHHHHH THIS IS BIG!!! FIRST NUMBER ONE OF THE YEAR!!!

Jesy💖: I’m so so so SO proud of us!!! And our fans omg, they’re amazing!! I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH!!

Jesy💖: Where the hell is (y/n)???

Jade💜: Probs busy with Tom👀🍆💦

Perrie🦋: Has she not seen the news yet??

Leigh-Anne😻: Based on her lack of response, I’m guessing she’s busy😉

Jesy💖: (Y/N) I SWEAR HOP OFF TOM’S BLOODY DICK, SWEET MELODY IS NUMBER 1 ON THE CHARTS!!!!!

You gasp once you read Jesy’s last message. Your fingers move rapidly across your screen, exiting the messaging app to open up your email. The anticipation builds up in your body as you refreshed your inbox. Your leg bouncing as the little circle that went around and around popped up on your screen. For the last couple of days and weeks, your fans have been streaming Sweet Melody to top the charts and get it to Number 1. It has only been 10 weeks since “Confetti” has been released and the album has been getting an amazing response. Seeing your fans’ determination to get the song up the charts made your adore them even more and you just wanted to hug and thank every single one of them. You guys had the most amazing fans in the world, though many celebrities claimed that theirs were the best, Mixers were the crème de la crème in your eyes.

Your inbox refreshes and the first email you see is from the Official Charts Company, a company that celebrated singles that reached number one on the charts. You click on the email and carefully skim through the paragraph. When you read that Sweet Melody had officially charted at number one you let out an excited squeal. Tessa, who has been sitting beside your seat, jumped up to her feet the same time you did. Your crouched down as she happily bounced around you.

“Number one Tess! We made it to number one!” You squealed as you gently squished her face. She let out a bark before licking your face.

“Let’s go tell daddy the news, huh? Let’s go!” You couldn’t contain your excitement, the feeling rushing through your veins. You felt like your heart could burst from all the happiness you were currently feeling.

You practically ran to where Tom was, your feet moving as quick as your heartbeat. Tessa’s nails clicked against the wooden floors echoing in the hallway.

Tom, who had just finished his workout, heard the commotion outside. Your excited squeals and the sounds of both your and Tessa’s feet getting closer to him. The stomps came to a halt once you stopped at the doorway of his “gym”. He looks up from his phone and looks at you expectantly. You were beaming, like the sun that brought light into the room. His expression mirrors yours, but his smile was a bit more confused.

“Hi darling, what’s up?” He asks, removing his AirPods and placing them back into their case. You squeal excitedly once again as you run across the room and stand in front of him. Though, it was as if your feet had springs in them because you couldn’t stop jumping. Tom looks at you amused but was still confused.

“(Y/n), what did you do, love?” He asks. Maybe you were up to something?

You stop jumping for a bit and unlock your phone, shoving it into his face. He moves his face back so his eyes can focus but ends up taking the phone from you because you were moving too much. As you dance around the room, Tessa joining in on your little fiesta, Tom reads the email to himself. Once he reads the news his jaw drops looking up at you with wide eyes.

“NUMBER ONE BABY!” You scream before running into his arms. A look of shock is on his face before he screams “YES!” at the top of his lungs. Your legs wrap around his torso as his arms support your back and your bum. He starts shaking his hips and jumping around just like you were as you both celebrated your band’s huge success.

Your cheeks began to hurt from smiling too much, but you just couldn’t keep it off your face. You were too happy to keep a neutral face so you continued to smile. Tom looks up at you with the most proudest expression. He knew how hard you and the girls worked on every song on your albums, so to see that hard work being rewarded made him feel immense amounts of joy for you all.

You began to giggle as you hid your face behind you hands, Tom still carrying you. “I can’t believe this actually happened, oh my god.” Your voice came out muffled but Tom could still understand you. He chuckled while he placed your feet back to the ground. You leaned your head against his chest while his hands rubbed circles onto your back.

“Of course it happened love, you guys deserve it.” He places a kiss on your temple while he swayed you guys back and forth. His cheek resting against you hair as he held you. Your excitement boiling down to disbelief at the news.

He moved his head and gently removed your hands from your face. “Look at me.” Turns out you were silently crying, your tear stained cheeks making his heart drop, but then he noticed they were tears of joy.

You sniffled, smiling when Tom wiped some of your tears away. His hands cupped your cheeks while his eyes gazed at you lovingly, “You have no idea how proud I am of you— and the girls. You guys have worked day and night for this album to exist. I’ve seen you guys write each song and saw how much thought goes into each one, you guys are fucking incredible. Look at how much success it’s getting, you guys did that.”

You laughed as more tears ran down your cheeks. You groaned throwing your head back and wiping them away, “Well, I couldn’t have done it without you. You’ve been so understanding with everything and you managed to be one of my biggest inspirations for writing. Thank you. I love you so much.” You beamed at him before crashing your lips against his soft ones. You felt his lips curve up to a smile as his hands held your face. You suddenly pulled away, Tom chasing your lips, still stuck in your little moment.

“Oh my God! We need to tell the fans! They’ve been streaming for weeks!” You pecked his lips once more before rushing out the room. The excitement entering your body once again. Tom looks down at your phone in his hands smirking. He turned to Tessa, “Give her a few seconds.”

“MY PHONE!” He heard you exclaim in the hallway. Your head popped from behind the entrance. You skipped into the room and took the phone from Tom.

“I love you!” You sang, kissing his lips again, then skipping out to the hallway.

Before you can post anything of the band’s new achievement, you opened the group chat.

(Y/n)🌻: First off, I was far from Tom’s dick, I was actually cooking😌

(Y/n)🌻: Second, I love you all so much!!!!!! I can’t believe we did it, the amount of pride I feel to be part of this band is astronomical right now! Nine years together and we’re still making it, I love you guys!❤️❤️❤️

After you messaged the girls, you opened up Instagram. Meanwhile, Tom had joined you, dressed in new clothes and fresh out the shower. He hummed at the food on the table and pressed a kiss to your forehead, his way of silently thanking you. He sat in the chair beside yours and began to dig into his breakfast.

“Do you mind if I film a video real quick?” You ask him, looking into the camera as you fixed your hair. Tom wipes his mouth and swallows his food.

“Go ahead, tell the world you’re number one.” He teased you. You rolled your eyes though your lips were curved into a smile. You prepared yourself before pressing down on the circle.

Video:

“Hi guys! So I’ve just found out some amazing news and I thought you guys might want to hear it too—“ Tom began to drum on the table, making you look at him in amusement.

“Oh, that’s a good idea.” You nod, approving of his actions. When he stops drumming and points at you, you look back to the camera with a giant smile.

“Guys...WE MADE IT TO NUMBER ONE! SWEET MELODY IS AT NUMBER ONE ON THE CHARTS!” You announced, voice bouncing off the walls of your house. Behind you was Tom, also cheering equally as loud while he pumped his fists into the air.

“Thank you guys so much! The girls and I love each and every single one of you, you guys are the best fans in the world and we are forever grateful for you. Thank you!” You blew a kiss into the camera before ending the video.

You watched the video over then tagged the girls and the group’s Instagram. You quietly hummed Sweet Melody to yourself as you clicked around and added some stickers to your video. When you were content, you clicked on share and turned your phone off.

“Alright, celebratory breakfast.” You sang as you grabbed your fork and stabbed it into a strawberry.

Tom chuckled beside you and nudged your shoulder, “Then celebratory sex after?” You hummed at his suggestion, eyes teasingly squinting at him.

“Give me time to digest first. Then celebratory sex.” When Tom agreed you laughed and dug into your food. Everything was going great at the moment. Your song is number one on the charts, your career is flourishing, you had four amazing sisters, and you had the world’s best boyfriend. It was as if nothing could go wrong.

~half an hour later~

Tom had you pinned to the bed, light kisses scattering along your skin while his hands rubbed your thighs. With clothes still on, he was snuggled in between your legs, finding comfort in the tight space. He managed to get your top off leaving you in that red lacy bra he adored on you. His lips ghosted between the valley of your breast and down to your belly button. His lips stopping right above your sweatpants. He tilted his head back a bit to drink in your appearance. Hooded dark eyes, laid out before him, that red bra making your breasts look irresistible, you were perfect.

“Look at my pretty girl. Aren’t you stunning?” His voice was deeper than his usual chipper tone. The tone brought butterflies in your belly, the vibrations of his voice going straight to your core.

“I’m all yours, Tommy.” Your hand finds its way to the brown curls that rested on his head. You gently guide his head back up and pull his lips towards you. Your lips connect, first gently and almost innocent, but full of passion. The passion burns more when he presses his hard on against you, roughening up the passionate kiss, your teeths clashing and tongues wrestling. You were lost in his trance until your phone tinged.

Tom curses under his breath as you both jump from the sudden sound. You quietly apologize and mute your phone, not bothering to look at the notification. When you lay back on the bed, Tom’s palms press against you cheeks as he crashes you lips together. His hands move below you, tugging off your sweatpants. He was about to remove the last layer of clothing separating you two when your phone continuously began to vibrate. On the other night stand, Tom’s phone began to vibrate as well.

Your boyfriend groans plopping his head against your stomach. You sigh apologetically, hands now stroking his bare back.

“We should get that, seems important.” He kisses your stomach, hesitantly dragging himself off you. You roll over to your stomach and grab your phone.

Notifications

Jesy💖: We love you too my darling!! We miss you so much here in London:(

Perrie🦋: I would say let’s have a sleepover as soon as you come back from Atlanta, but the pandemic:( I miss you tons!!!🥺

Jade💜: I love youuuuuuuu❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Leigh-Anne😻: You absolute gem, I love you❤️

Jesy💖: (Y/n) what did you tag me in?

Jade💜: Wait, I’m tagged too.

Perrie🦋: I didn’t get tagged :(

Oh wait, I see it :D

Leigh-Anne😻: Why do I have a bad feeling about what she tagged us in?

Jesy💖: (y/n)?

(Y/N)!?

WHY IS SHE NOT REPLYING WHEN I NEED HER TO REPLY!

Perrie🦋: OIIII!!! AT LEAST IT WASNT ME THIS TIME🤪

Jade💜: Jesus, she’s turning into Tom, smh.

Leigh-Anne😻: She’s always been like this lmao

Tom’s only made her worse🙄

Jesy💖: (Y/N) DELETE YOUR FUCKING STORY ON INSTAGRAM THEY ARENT SUPPOSED TO KNOW THAT SM IS NUMBER ONE YET!!!!!!!!!!

Jade💜: I bet you NOW she’s busy with Tom

hehehe🍆💦👀

Leigh-Anne😻: Babes!!! Now’s not the time to be doing the deed with Tom!!

Jesy💖: Hold on let me text Tom too.

Your eyes widen as you read the messages from the girls. A string of “shits” with a mix of “fucks” fall continuously out your mouth. You struggle to turn around, getting tangled in the sheets. When you finally sit up properly you go to your Instagram and rush to your stories.

“Uh, (y/n)—“

“Yeah, I know, I know.” You frustratedly mumble as your thumbs fumble on the screen. You go to your story and don’t even hesitate to delete the video you posted just half an hour ago. Tom’s phone rings and you swear you hear him gulp. He answers it, putting it on speaker mode and holds it away from his ears.

“Tom Holland I blame you!” You hear Jesy’s voice through the phone. You double check if you deleted the story before turning your phone off and shoving your face into your pillow.

“I didn’t even do anything!” Tom defended himself, almost laughing. Honestly, as bad as the situation was, it was ironic how it was his girlfriend that leaked the news. You guys are really meant to be.

“The hell you weren’t! Literally drumming on the table, you div! I can’t with you two!” Jesy exclaimed. You knew she was joking by the tone of her voice. “Where is your girlfriend anyway?”

Tom giggle shoving the phone next to your ear, “My lovely girlfriend is right beside me.”

You hear Jesy gag, “Babe, did you even read the email properly?”

You lift your head from the pillow and take Tom’s phone. “No, I got too excited about getting number one.” You admitted pouting. Tom chuckles at you, moving to lay beside you. His arms wrapping around your almost bare figure and shoving his head in between your breasts. Nothing sexual but because they felt like soft pillows against his cheeks.

“They said they’re announcing it on Monday.” She informed you chuckling. You whined and facepalmed yourself. “It’s okay, hun. You were just in the moment, I know how you can get. Although, the fans absolutely love it.” She mentioned.

“Do they?” You asked stifling a laugh.

“Having an absolute field day, they’ve deemed you the Queen of Leaks. Apparently Tom’s been crowned as your king.” She teases. You feel Tom laugh against your chest, his shoulders shaking.

“Alright, I’ll go now, let you two get back to what you were doing. I suggest lurking through Twitter and Instagram, the fans’ reactions are hilarious.” You bid your goodbyes and hang up. Tom’s head pops up from your chest, “Can we please go through the reactions?”

“I was thinking the same thing.” You tell him already opening up Instagram. You go through your tags to see a bunch of memes. Tom shifts to sit beside you, throwing his arm around your shoulder.

Some fan reactions:

🖤 1,944 likes

Tom watching (y/n) make her video and being the supportive boyfriend he is🥺 They’re made for each other I swear

🖤 1,393 likes

The girls watching (y/n)’s story and finding out she just leaked the news. We stan our Queen of Leaks😌🙌🏼👑

🖤 1,838 likes

Tom realizing that (y/n)’s really the one because they both can’t keep secrets without spoiling them. This is why they don’t have good things smh.

🖤 1,878 likes

Jesy calling the police, not for Tom, but for her because she’s ready to shred that boy’s ass for turning (y/n) into him💀

You and Tom spend the rest of the day stuck in bed going through the different reactions from your fans. They were entertaining, making you and your boyfriend laugh at your fans’ humor.

While you sat in between his legs, your back against his chest, Tom leans down to nuzzle his face into your neck. He breaths in the scent of you mixed with your shampoo, something he would never get tired of. You feel that goofy grin press onto your skin making you look up at him.

“Why’s that look on your face?” You ask hun teasingly.

“Because the fans have a point.”

“That we both can’t keep shit to ourselves?” You laugh. Tom makes a sound of agreement pulling you closer.

“Well yeah—but when they say that we’re meant for each other, they have a point. You really are my soulmate.” The goofy grin on his face was permanently stuck to his lips. You giggled shifting to peck his lips. When he sees you struggle he meets you halfway, finally touching those soft luscious lips of yours.

“I guess I am.” You hummed contently, mirroring that lovestruck look on his face. There was no other person in the world that you’d be willing to spend this moment with. The more you stared into those honey brown eyes of his the more you believed your fans; he truly was your soulmate.

#marvel #mcu #avengers #Tom Holland x reader #little mix #jesy nelson #jade thirlwall #perrie edwards #leigh anne pinnock #tom holland imagines #tom holland fluff #tom holland one shot #tom holland drabble #tom holland headcanon #Tom Holland #tom holland imagine #ally’s requests #Tom Holland smut

[fific7]

Evil Twins - Part 4

Billy Russo & Aleksander Morozova x Reader

Summary: When two worlds which have already collided then collide with yours - that’s an explosive situation.

A/N: This does not follow canon, it’s mainly a mix of fluff and angst with quite a lot of lemon zest 🍋 My Fantasy Punisher/Shadow and Bone crossover AU.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW due to sexual content including oral and unprotected* sex between consenting adults. Some drinking & swearing.

This chapter is 🔥 rated from the get-go. And there’s some Guys being Annoying stuff too.

*Irl, please don’t go wild in the country without protection.

(My photo edit)

You closed your eyes, waiting.

But you should really have guessed that they’d both go for it at the same moment.

Aleks slid his cock fully into your mouth and Billy pushed inside your core simultaneously. Just as you gagged from Aleks’ cock hitting the back of your throat, Billy fully sheathed himself inside you and you gave a strangled gasp in response.

“Ssshh, ssshh,” soothed Billy, “you’ll get used to us in a second.”

He took a firm grip on your hips and began thrusting into you, while Aleks took hold of your head in both hands and began fucking into your mouth. The two of them then freed a hand and each grasped one of your breasts, kneading and massaging them in synchronisation with their thrusts.

Do they do everything in tandem? - a far part of your mind wondered.

Your eyes were watering by now as each stroke of Aleks’ was hitting you pretty hard, and so you decided you’d better try and relax your throat a bit otherwise he’d end up choking you when he came. At least, you assumed he’d come in your mouth.

You’d still been tensed up from their double penetration and you noticed that it was slightly more comfortable for you once you had managed to relax a little. Aleks was setting a ferocious pace, groaning and muttering foreign words you couldn’t quite catch. He was pushing your head even further forward against his thrusts, so you made yourself relax even more.

Billy, meanwhile, slid his hand in between your legs and began massaging your clit as he kept up his furious, deep thrusting. Each one was forcing a moan from you - partly stifled by Aleks’ cock in your mouth - but you knew Billy heard them as he whispered, “I hear you, sweetheart - get ready to scream!” And you knew you would, you could feel your orgasm building already.

Aleks suddenly grabbed your head with both hands again, jerking quickly against your lips, and you hastily swallowed the warm liquid you felt spilling onto your tongue in case it started dribbling out. Billy built up his thrusting and massaging of your clit to a crescendo, your climax hit you like a truck and you did scream, then felt his body tense and he was coming too a split-second later.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Stroking your hair and face, Aleks drew his cock slowly out of your mouth, leaning down to kiss you, “My good girl,” he whispered against your ear, “taking my cock the way you did and then swallowing all my come.” You felt quite proud of yourself and then wondered - with extreme irritation - why on earth you were thinking that way.

Billy pulled out of you, leaning down and you felt him firstly kissing then licking, licking and licking at your clit with that tongue of his until you were squirming again. “Hey, stop that,” said Aleks, “her next orgasm’s mine.” Billy sat up, shrugging, “Okay, but only ‘cause you haven’t had a perfect pussy like this for decades or whatever you were claiming.” Aleks huffed and began to square up to him, but you said (somewhat hoarsely and tiredly), “Don’t start, you two!”

They both backed down, and Billy slid himself along your body so he could kiss you. You could see Aleks stroking himself out of the corner of your eye but Billy distracted you by kissing you hungrily and running his fingers along your jaw. Suddenly you jumped, as the second hard cock you’d had inside you that night pushed its way into your pussy. You jumped again as you felt it continue to push fully inside you but Billy held you close to him, soothing you and whispering, “You’re doing great, baby girl,” as Aleks began to thrust into you.

Billy sat right up on his knees and straddled your head, and that’s when you realised that he had another erection too. Of course he did. He gently pulled your mouth open and pushed his tip inside, quickly following with his full shaft, and he also began thrusting so once again you tried to relax your throat a little while he held the back of your head, then slid his other hand down behind him to grip one of your breasts.

Aleks was forcefully thrusting in and out of you, and once again loud gasps were forced out from your mouth around Billy’s cock. Aleks had a grip underneath your backside and was pushing you hard against his hips, while massaging your other breast. Then the hand on your ass went between your legs, and his thumb pushed inside till it reached your clit and he began massaging it while continuing to squeeze your breast.

Billy thrust deep into your throat and gave a feral grunt, releasing his come into your mouth, and while Aleks was still working you, you were busy swallowing as quickly as you could once more. Aleks was still pounding into you and rubbing furiously at your clit, and your orgasm burst on you like a firework going off. He continued thrusting for a moment or two more then he climaxed, and a second load of come was released into you.

The three of you sounded like you’d just sprinted home past the winning line in the Olympics, and this time the two of them kind of collapsed onto you. Billy and Aleks both pulled their cocks out of you, and you took in some huge gulps of oxygen. “Oh, baby girl,” gasped Billy, “that was amazin’.” Aleks took in a deep breath, “Fucking amazing, as I think my charming brother would put it.”

Billy sat up and crawled down the bed on his hands and knees. “I think our girl needs another orgasm as a reward,” you heard. “No, I’m fine, thanks,” you said, but then felt your legs being parted anyway and a beard started tickling your inner thighs. Billy’s tongue made its way right inside you, and he licked you deep and long before adding two fingers to the mix. You began mewling - you couldn’t believe it but yeah, you were actually mewling - and then his thumb hit your clit and began rubbing you so hard you thought you were going to come right then. He worked you with everything he had for a few minutes longer before your climax hit you and you definitely heard yourself scream his name.

Billy’s face - complete with glossy lips and chin shining in the low light - popped up from between your legs with the biggest smirk ever on it. Then you saw a sulky-faced Aleks also crawling down the bed, “Move!” he growled at Billy, “I’m going to give her another orgasm too.” “No!” you squealed, you knew you were in imminent danger of becoming over-stimulated.

But Aleks’ dark head disappeared between your legs, while Billy climbed up your body and began using his teeth and tongue on your nipples. Once again you felt a beard scratching at your inner thighs then Aleks pushed a finger inside you, swiftly followed by a second and then his tongue. He worked you with those for a while before moving his tongue to your clit and roughly licking at you. It really didn’t take very long before you were orgasming again, and this time you remembered to scream his name (it was only fair after all, you thought.)

He emerged triumphant from between your legs, and Billy gave your nipples one last lick. Then the two of them collapsed one either side of you. Each gave you a long and open-mouthed kiss and told you in turn how truly fantastic the sex had been. They’d insisted on adding some graphic details as proof - like you’d needed any - assuring you they’d got deeper inside you and further down your throat than they’d ever got before.

Both yawning mightily, they each threw an arm over your stomach and promptly fell asleep, snuggled into your side, noses buried against your neck.

You lay awake on your back for quite a while after they’d fallen asleep, listening to their even breathing, occasional soft little snores and feeling little huffs of their breath on your neck.

Pondering on the current situation, while you were still annoyed that they’d ambushed you in your own bedroom and had ignored you when you said to stop, you had to admit to yourself that 1) right from the moment they arrived, they’d made you feel very horny and 2) you didn’t think you’d ever had better sex in your whole damn life.

You looked either side of you at the two dark heads next to yours on the pillows, and thought that the old saying “be careful what you wish for” definitely applied here. Only a very short time ago, you’d been bemoaning the lack of any hot men in your little town.

Now it seemed you had yourself two lovers. At the same time. And it was fucking exhausting.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You’d eventually dropped off to sleep - you didn’t usually sleep on your back but had had no choice in the matter - and when you awoke, the two men in your bed were still asleep. You needed to go to the bathroom, rather urgently, so you unhooked the two arms from over your stomach and managed to extricate yourself from the tangle of legs, standing up off the bed and grabbing your robe off the ottoman. They had both stirred in their sleep when you’d got up but neither awoke.

You tiptoed out of the room and made your way to the bathroom, nearly shrieking when you looked in the mirror and saw the love bites all over your neck, and again when you pulled your robe aside and saw even more all over your breasts. You then carried out a full body survey, and in addition to the marks you’d already seen, there were also fingermarks visible on your wrists, hips and inner thighs and your breasts and nipples were quite swollen and sensitive. Oh well, you thought, it was some night after all.

You’d washed your hands and were just finishing brushing your teeth when the door opened and in breezed a naked Billy. Damn! You needed to remember and lock the door, you never usually did as you lived on your own.

“Mornin’, sweetheart!” You were grabbed into a bear hug and a long kiss was planted on your lips. Then he strode over to the toilet, flipping the lid up before taking hold of his cock and letting go with a golden river of pee. He finished, giving his cock a shake, putting the lid back down and flushing the toilet. “See,” he winked at your shocked face, “I’m housetrained.” He came and stood next to where you were still rooted to the spot at the sink, and began washing his hands. “Got a spare toothbrush, angel?” You did as it happened, and took two out of the bathroom cabinet, one dark blue and one black. He whipped the dark blue one out of your hand, unwrapping it and grabbing the toothpaste.

A few seconds later, toothbrush busily scrubbing at his teeth, his dark eyes sought out yours and he grinned at you, mouth full of toothpaste. “Aleks was right though,” he said, dripping some toothpaste into the sink, “fuckin’ amazing sex, baby girl.” You blushed, still not having said a word to him, and he reached out his free hand, slipping it underneath your robe and rolling your nipple between his thumb and finger.

“Ready for another session?” he winked at you, “How about now?” He gestured at his stiffening cock. He rinsed out his mouth and dried his face with the towel, throwing it back over the rail before locking the door, grabbing you and pushing you up against the wall next to the sink. “No… Billy… I need to..” “You need to what, sweetheart?” His fingers grasped your jaw and he kissed you, heat building. “Get ready for me, that’s the only thing you need to do,” he smirked. And he untied your robe, pushing it down off your shoulders so it fell to the floor in a heap. He looked appreciatively at the love bites littering your skin, “Wow! We really did some territory markin’ last night, huh?”

His head went down and he fastened his lips onto a nipple, sucking at it then biting. He lifted one of your legs and held it at waist level before moving his by now fully hard cock to your core and guiding it inside you, forcing a gasp from your lips. “Mmmm, you like that, angel? Course you do. ‘Cause I know I do,” he whispered in your ear as he started to thrust into you. You found yourself nodding like an idiot. He pulled your hips even closer against his and he fucked you like that for however long, you lost track of time quite honestly.

He was biting and licking and sucking at any bit of skin he could reach, and you were sure your upper torso was just going to be one giant love bite by the time he was finished. He’d started rubbing your clit and your orgasm followed like clockwork, then he came shortly afterwards. Billy pulled out of you, placing your bare foot back on the floor and then kissing you tenderly. “The sex… it’s just outta this world, sweetheart.” He gazed into your eyes, “I’m not lyin’, you’re the best I’ve ever had.”

He grabbed a towel and began gently wiping your inner thighs and then your pussy. You felt yourself blushing - again! you thought, what the fuck’s the matter with me?! as you picked up your robe and put it back on, but before you could actually say anything, the door handle rattled and you heard Aleks’ voice demanding, “Let me in, I’ve got to go! And what exactly is going on in there?”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy unlocked the door and smirked at his twin, “Sorry, bro - just takin’ care of business,” before winking at him and brushing past him.

Aleks strode into the bathroom, standing there in just his boxers and suspiciously raking his eyes over you. Suddenly you felt like you had a neon sign on your forehead - ‘I’ve just been thoroughly fucked’. He frowned at you, “Oh okay… I see,” he said, managing to make you feel guilty for some reason. “Well, my turn now, darling.” You suddenly realised that having two lovers simultaneously really was going to be quite tiring.

In another case of deja vu, Aleks locked the door and you then witnessed the whole peeing/hand washing/teeth brushing scenario again. Then your robe was stripped off you once more, he stripped off his boxers, and Aleks was also looking at your love bites with a smile on his face, very impressed with him and his twin’s handiwork. What is it with guys and love bites, you wondered?

Aleks was now sporting a hard-on but in a change to the published programme so to speak, you were gently turned around and your backside pulled back against his hips before he assertively pushed his cock inside you, and he gripped your hips as he started thrusting into you. One hand slid up your abdomen to grab one of your breasts and he ran his thumb over your nipple, before beginning to squeeze your breast. His other hand kept hold of your hip, and eventually his hand left your breast and travelled to your clit. He massaged you to an orgasm before continuing to thrust for some time, but finally he came and held you close against him, kissing your neck and your jaw and your cheek as he pulled out of you.

“My little one, you truly are something else,” he whispered, also grabbing a towel and gently wiping your legs and pussy, just as Billy had done. How did they manage to mirror each other all the time? You guessed it must be the twin thing. He opened the bathroom door and the two of you emerged, and as you headed back to the bedroom you spotted Billy - black boxer briefs on now - lying on the sofa channel surfing. Aleks dropped down onto the other sofa, stretching like a big cat and ready to start watching with him.

So, you thought, they were back on your sofas in just their underwear again and looking very pleased with themselves. The two of them turned their heads and gazed at you as you walked across the living area, smiles on their faces, casting inviting and worshipful and lustful looks towards you.

But you forced your eyes away and headed to the now-calmness of your bedroom. The only thing you were going to do for the next few hours was sleep.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy and Aleks heard her close her bedroom door and looked at each other, matching self-satisfied smiles on their faces.

“Fuck, she’s somethin’ else, isn’t she?” asked Billy, and Aleks smirked at him, “Yes - and I just told her that in there,” he said, nodding his head towards the bathroom. His twin crossed his hands beneath his head and lay looking up at the ceiling, “You know, I really didn’t think she’d go for it,” he mused, “I really didn’t.” “Told you she would,” replied Aleks, “there was a ton of mutual attraction and sexual tension between the three of us.”

“Whaddya think we should do? Let her rest for a little while before we go back for more?” Aleks nodded, “Oh yes, definitely - I mean we can do with some R&R ourselves.” Billy nodded, “Yeah, true - I admit I feel like a truck ran over me. Haven’t had a sex marathon like that for a long time.” He turned his head and looked at his twin, “But I meant what I said to her, I haven’t ever had it so good before.”

Aleks nodded, “Me neither, I meant it too. The way she just took both of us at once. Amazing… not an ounce of fight in her. Well, not that much to speak of, anyway. Nothing we didn’t overcome in a heartbeat,” he shook his head in wonder.

There was a short silence, then Billy pondered, “I wonder if she’s into anal?” Aleks’ face screwed up, “Even if she is, I’m not!” “Don’t panic, bro - I’m not either. I just wondered if she was.” “Ask her!” Billy shook his head, “Nah. Don’t want to ruin a beautiful friendship.” They both chuckled.

“Anyhow, I don’t intend on giving up regular, mind-blowing sex anytime soon so I say we don’t leave her alone too long. She might overthink it, start having second thoughts about us being a threesome,” said Aleks, “I really don’t think we should chance it.”

Billy nodded, “Yeah, she might get cold feet.” Aleks looked at him, “What? But she’s got a big quilt. How can her feet get cold?” Billy burst out laughing, “It’s a figure of speech, you idiot! It means when someone decides they don’t want to do somethin’ they were gonna do after all.” “Oh, I see! Well, I think that’s a really stupid saying.”

His twin shrugged, “Whatever. But yeah, let’s give her - maybe two hours tops? - and then we go in.” He smirked, “In every sense of the word!”

Aleks laughed, “Okay, yes.” His eyes took on a dream-like expression, “I can’t wait to be back inside her.” Billy gazed back up at the ceiling, “I can’t either. I can’t stop thinkin’ about her. And havin’ sex with her again - for hours. All night. All day. Just all the time.” “Now that sounds like a plan,” agreed his twin.

They both heaved big sighs, thinking about the woman in the next-door room.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You were startled out of your doze by the rattle of a teacup on your bedside table. Lifting your head slightly, you realised your twin lovers were sitting on either side of you, naked and smiling down at you. Then your eyes dropped a little - two very erect cocks were looking back at you.

“No! I need some more sleep!” you protested. “We’ve brought you some tea to drink first,” said Aleks, soothingly. He picked up the teacup and held it in front of you, “I made it for you,” beaming proudly at you. Reluctantly you took the cup and sipped from it, finding to your surprise that the tea was in fact pretty good. “Good, yes?” asked Aleks, and you had to agree. “Drink it before it gets cold!” encouraged Billy, and you frowned at him. “Drink it so I can fuck you again, you mean!” you snapped. He grinned disarmingly at you, “You read me like a book, sweetheart!”

You struggled up a little more in the bed, carefully holding onto your cup. They were just gazing at you and you found it a little disconcerting. “Will you two stop staring at me!” Eyes still on you, seeing the swell of your breasts above the bedclothes, Aleks said in a breathy voice, “Oh… you’re naked.” Instinctively you pulled the bedclothes up, “I don’t want to have sex again right now, thank you!”

Billy lay down on his stomach, looking up at you with puppydog eyes and a pouted lip, “But we take such good care of you, angel!” Aleks leant in towards you, “And all we can think about is you, darling. And that perfect pussy of yours. We need more of it.” You pulled the sheet right up under your neck, “Well, you’re not getting back inside it right this minute, okay?”

You caught a look going between them, then both half-slid under the covers and lay beside you, arms on top of the bedclothes and heads in your lap. “We’ll just lay here with you and kiss you and hold you till you feel like it again. We can be patient because we love you, baby girl,” crooned Billy. Aleks stroked your knee above the sheet, “So much, darling.”

Laughing, you said, “Look, you guys really need to stop saying that bullshit. We’ve known each other for, what - two days?” Billy’s head popped up like a Jack-in-the-Box, looking indignant, “Have you never heard of love at first sight?” “Lust at first sight, you mean!” you replied. Billy nodded, “Yes, lust is in there, obviously it is… but we do love you,” he insisted, “you’re perfect for us.” Aleks was gazing up at you and nodding, “Perfect for us,” he echoed.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Baghra peered into the cracked and cloudy mirror which enabled her to see into the void.

She sighed, shaking her head. Those silly boys - thinking they were in love. They had been very impulsive in the feelings department when they were young, looks like the passage of centuries hadn’t changed things.

She had been aiming to have them materialise in what she thought was an empty flat, she hadn’t realised someone had currently been living in it. And certainly not a woman. It had been empty the one time she’d investigated it before she’d guided them there.

But maybe it was for the best. She’d been amazed when she realised they were actually sharing her - she would never have believed it if she hadn’t seen it for herself, them all sleeping together earlier that morning. Hopefully it would calm them down a bit, make them less aggressive - not least with each other. Surprisingly, she seemed to have an element of control over them, which impressed Baghra. Not that her boys realised that, she thought, smiling to herself, they thought they were totally in control.

Ah well, I suppose they deserve a bit of peace and pleasure, she thought. She put down the mirror and turned towards the nearby window, looking out into the dark night.

Bahgra was worried. There had been some unexpected and unexplained occurrences over the past couple of days, and now she wasn’t sure what might happen in the very near future.

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@aleksanderwh0r3 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @s1xthirty @tartiflvtte @slythvoid @edithsvoice @paracosmenthusiast @mizelophsun11 @eroda-harry @theshadowkingsqueen @kestrafagnor @thelightinmyshadows

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