#//I was gonna write more... but then I figured I might be able to have this one open-ended

[a-magpie-in-gravesfield]

I finished the 20 pages Wittebane lore document 😆

I’m having a few people go over it to make sure there aren’t any grammar mistakes and to see if I want to add any last minute things in there, but I should be able to upload it soon

I was gonna wait until my next project is finished because I also included some headcanons for the times in between portraits (I made sure to specify which parts are headcanons and which parts are canon in the document), and I figured sharing all my headcanons might be a bit spoiler-y, but then I figured I already shared a bunch of stuff anyway and it’s probably more interesting if people know why I made the writing choices I did ahead of time, so hopefully, the doc should be posted here some time this week :)

[ir-abelas-vhenan]

Losing My Mind Over Veilguard 6/?? Aka the Dread Wolf Double Bind

These posts are getting up here in number (yes ma'am that is 1 2 3 4 5 instances of me not being able to get my shit together and coming back again for more)

and quite frankly there's nothing I can do about it until the "we've been treated and tormented by this game" demon has been exorcised from my body, so here we go again.

Today I give to you:

(Modeled after Inquisition Solas and his sad, bald-ass basset hound mage bum glory becuase I think it's important that newcomers know exactly who his fans fell in love with/who inspired his enemies to conduct speed-runs to punch him. Yassified Solas ran only because this mangled membranous man crawled first)

Part of what's making me lose my mind here, I've discovered, is a strange sort of survivor's guilt where everything I really like or really hate about Veilguard can be traced back to Solas and I don't know how to deal with it because we've never had such a divide before between one character getting ALL the content and everyone else from their game being left in the absolute dust.

Disclaimer: Yeah, no one from Origins has had more screen time across games than Morrigan at this point, and therefore no one has gotten more robbed of the substance of their character, but even the damage done to her wasn't the kind that warped an entire game. No, the devs saved that all for the Dread Wolf in the Room.

Even putting it down on paper and comparing the two in-game versions of him, it took me a second to work through why I'm so conflicted, but I think I've finally settled on a few key points.

Concern #1: Solas Haters Were Robbed.

Part of the allure of Solas is that if you want to punch that man in the face, you're gonna get the chance to punch him in the face. Is that my personal preference? No. But in a game where your companions are built to make you think instead of letting you turn your brain off, you're bound to have personalities that clash against yours. To have such a non-descript-looking iambic-pentameter-talking apostate be able to inspire strong emotions across the whole spectrum of players was part of his appeal. Now, as far as I understand it, you have four options at the end of Veilguard.

1. Solas lives and he might actually not hate himself some day.

2. Solas lives and he's absolutely going to write a diary entry a night about why he hates himself.

3. Solas lives and he's going to write a diary entry a night about why he hates YOU.

4. Solas lives and you better hope he never again figures out how to live in your general vicinity

Do you see my concern here? I, shamelessly, can admit that I would do unspeakable fictional things to get that man his happy ending (within reason...mostly...), but I feel like the game took the opportunity away from the players who threw that knife in their map at the end of Trespasser and vowed to take a bitch down for stealing their best armor and waxing poetic about the Grey Wardens while seemingly sitting on his ass and having no inclination to stop the blight (help). This, then, leads me into my second issue.

Concern #2: The Game Refuses to Give Solas room outside of its own agenda

In the near-decade it took for Solas to slip back into his trickster god persona, he seems to have forgotten why he began his quest to tear down the veil in the first place. I like that Rook gets to experience the version of our favorite hard boiled egg that near-singlehandedly tore down several empires by being an absolute terror to those with bigger egos. I like that new players are going to hear Solas tell them that they've earned his respect and actually believe it until they inevitably get their first taste of ancient elven betrayal. What I don't like? When a nuanced yearning for a world in which three majorly mistreated groups (spirits, elves, mages) would be free from many of the constraints that enabled their oppression suddenly becomes "I am doing this because if I don't I have betrayed my friend. Which friend you ask? Oh, the one that was on board with my plan until it no longer suited the story."

The combo of few characters from previous games and a sanitized near-blank slate for the setting of this game was deadly to one of its best-written characters. Because of it, Solas is forced to abandon his double-speak, the joy he takes in giving you scraps of an answer that, by the time you get it, you will already have missed the chance to piece it together from separate clues that he ALSO dropped. He's not going to get to show you the loyal followers the epilogue of Inquisition made clear that he has, because the game wants to usher you into the new future of the series. You're not going to get to ask him (or any NPCs for that matter) a bunch of questions so that you can form your own opinion of him, because all that matters is that he isn't Elgar'nan or Ghilan'nain so let's move along, shall we?

Because the game needs exposition and a foil to its two other baddies, and needs it FAST, the mythic Dread Wolf becomes a plot device designed to get you where you need to go when you need to be there. It doesn't work purely for that reason alone, at least in my opinion, but it gets so much worse when a game that promises you that it's going to work for players new and old relies on someone experienced players want a personal reckoning with to guide every Rook through the game only to realize that those questions of morality regarding whether the veil is torturous for a subjugated few or the only thing preserving most of life as we know it are going to have to remain questions.

You don't get a choice of whether Solas is in your party or not, and you can't advance in the game without talking to him. You don't get to choose not to impress him. You don't get to choose whether you're going to work with him in the final battle, and as previously mentioned, your only real choice in how his story ends is one of four options in which he lives every time in varying states of self-loathing. You're still going to love him or hate him, but just how strongly you're able to show those feelings towards him is severely curtailed. And that's an absolute shame for a character that commanded such fierce attention.

And that's where, ultimately, I find myself with a weird amount of survivor's guilt.

When I finished my Veilguard playthrough, I had barely a moment to fully contemplate the amount of whiplash and disappointment I felt going from a Solas that I had spent almost a decade knowing to a One Dimensional Fen'Harel who threw out his core values and goals like they were chilling in a cup of tea before. Why? Because I very quickly felt guilty. And then I got angry for feeling guilty!

The game's failure to adequately represent its other characters and lore has created a world in which I don't like the Solas we've been given, but I can't live without him either. Who am I to complain that his most complex and compelling features are gone when other players are mourning the fact that the last they may ever hear of their favorite character is reduced to a scrap in the codex? How can I be frustrated at how the Lavellan reunion scene goes down when other players would kill for the chance to have their Inquisitor seemingly give any sort of shit about being in the game aside from being told it was mandatory to earn participation points? How can I lament the fact that his storyline seems to share all the wrong lessons to be learned from a toxic friendship rooted in a never-equalized power imbalance when someone else is watching Morrigan pull a complete 180 and wondering why the fuck they spent so much time researching whether or not her accepting her mother's choices as her own was what she truly wanted? At least Solas still loves Lavellan, even though we needed to ask Trick Weekes several follow up questions just to double check. At least Solas gets more in the epilogue than one empty "we remember the heroes that came before" platitude.

And to suddenly fear any appearances of past characters from a studio that used to make me stay up theorizing about how a character might grow and evolve and continue to impact the world I helped shape? It's depressing as hell, and it's why I was too scared to get attached to any of the new companions once I finally got past the writing and lack of complexity.

The people that hate Solas, deserved better.

The people that valued what he brought to their Inquisitor's small but strong group of friends deserved better.

The people that love Solas more than Sera loved pissing him off deserved better.

And new players, who had a chance to engage with one of the most powerful storylines in the game and instead got a heaping dose of Deus Ex Machina Lite, deserved better.

If taking a character that had the potential and power needed to shape an entire continent and banishing him one of four different ways to Fade jail so that the book could quickly be closed on a years-long legacy is what the studio is calling a return to their roots, I'll stick with the efforts of fans to create art and theories that aren't afraid to double down into what actually keeps people coming back for more.

[emily-mooon]

I’m writing the jancy rear window au for one of the days of jancy week

[spooky-jumpropes]

@pri-rp liked for a Toad starter

Phew, what a day. Toad hid behind the castle entrance, as a couple wild Ptooies ran pas in a crowded fashion. He might like adventuring and exploring, but he also likes to live too! After a quick shake, he felt like he had to go check up on the Princess, and get his mind away from any thoughts of imminent peril.

"Hey, Princess? Princess!" He called out, as he walked past the big, grand hallways; She wasn't at the throne room, with the big chair and the stairs and all that... nor was she admiring the view of the balcony! So then where could the Princess be at?

Just as Toad started to get a little curious, he began to hear the sounds of... gardening tools? Of course, the garden! And so, that's where he decided to follow.

[mantha-has-fallen]

So this is something that I personally wouldn't do. My mother, however, is super into genealogy and has done this. Long story short, my great grandfather ran away from home when he was young(I think he was a teenager, but he might've been a young adult). He never told anyone in his new life what his old name was, where he was from, why he ran, or anything. He took those secrets to the grave.

My mother has been trying her whole life to find out who her grandpa was, and recently, ~15 years after sending DNA to Ancestry, she got a genetic match to somebody who's a relatively close cousin(like 3rd/4th). They're too young to have known him, but they gave my mother a phone number to call the nursing home of the oldest living relative they have (a great aunt, I believe). She told my mother stories from her father about the people he used to play with as kids, and some of the names matched up to the kids my mom's grandpa talked about.

She still has some fact checking to do before telling the whole family she found him, but she has a working theory: her grandpa ran away from home, changed names a few times, and took his brother's name when he died, before finally settling down and raising a family. Which might mean that he kept in touch with his brother. And the person's great-aunt might've been her grandpa's niece.

So that's pretty big.

I'm not saying that companies having our complete DNA sequences is necessarily a good thing, but it's important to note that it is a very useful tool. Without finding that genetic match, my mother never would have known to reach out to that person and their great-aunt would have died before being able to share her stories.

It's always bothered my mother how she can go back so many generations on her husband's side or her mother's side, but her father's side was stunted at two generations. But because of this tool, she might have found the missing link to find out more of her family's history. I'm not super into genealogy myself, but isn't that so cool?

I think it's cool.

A lot of people have given third party corporations (ancestry.com etc.) completely unregulated access to their genetic codes for forever - and they actually paid to give it to them.

[taintedpearls]

Hi girl how are you??

✨Could you do one where reader have a crush on vi and she's watching vi workout and can't stop looking at her, then vi notice and question reader about it idk nsfw or not do whatever you want ✨

˖⋆᭝ᨳ՟⋆˙ workout - daily click

cw: suggestive , 1.2k wc , semi (?) proofread

note: hi ml! i'm good, tysm! hru? i loved writing this

“i just don't get it! ‘don’t run in swinging every time, vi, it never works, vi’ well guess what caitlyn, all those guys are out of your way now! you should be thanking me!” the pink-haired girl's complaints about her work partner seemed to be never ending nowadays. you didn't mind listening though, especially when all you had to do was sit off to the side and out of her way while she worked out. you had found a comfortable spot on top of a crate, legs spread out either side and decided it was the perfect spot to watch her fight the automatic punching machine, each punch and duck more aggressive than the last in a futile attempt to rid herself of the anger cait had caused. 

“that sucks, i’m sorry vi. caitlyn just worries, i do too.” you attempted to comfort. In reality, you weren’t really paying attention to what vi was saying, but rather what she was doing. the way her arms flexed with each hit and how sweat glistened down the curve between- 

“helloooo? are you even listening to me right now?” vi interrupts your perverted fantasy train of thought. at some point she had stopped boxing and was suddenly standing right in front of you, in between your legs, waving a wrapped and gloved hand in front of your face to try and gain your attention. 

shame floods through you at the realization she might have caught you staring. your face heats up and your eyes widen as you try to figure out a way to save yourself further embarrassment. 

“yes, yes! of course i am! you were talking about how caitlyn doesn't want you to go in swinging anymore and how upset you were about it.” perfect. 

“that was five minutes ago. are you feeling alright?” vi asks, being quick to remove one of the bright red boxing gloves and bring her bandaged (as well as slightly bloody) hand up to your forehead while the other one rests on your thigh. fuck! you're quick to make a move to swat both her hands away, anxious about wether or not she'll be able to see that you're heating up not because of illness but moreover because of how her hand feels incredibly warm against your freezing thigh and just how attractive she looks working out. 

“vi, i'm fine! seriously, don't worry about it. i guess i just zoned out for a second. what were you saying? i’ll pay attention this time!” you guarantee 

she pauses, staring at you and analyzing your face for what feels like eternity, clearly unbelieving of your lie but not wanting to push it. 

“and you’re sure you feel okay?” she double checks, concern etched on her features. she’s ignored your previous pleas, putting both of her hands on either thigh to try and get a closer look at you, going up on her tippy toes just slightly. the way her nose crinkles up and how she bites her lip in worry you swear almost sends you to another dimension. 

“yes, i promise. now get back to working on your core or something!” you laugh, almost certain that this will finally get her back to being busy and punching the shit out of the machine again, but she doesn't move. Not her hands nor the relentless gaze she’s been keeping on you. 

silence overtakes the two of you and confusion lingers in the back of your mind. why wasn't she moving? You had already told her you were good and not feeling sickly. did she not believe you? did she see right through you? now you’re the one leaning in slightly, testing the waters, seeing where it’ll go. whether or not she’ll lean in too. She does almost immediately. 

you do a quick short inhale, “aren't you gonna go back to fighting?” it barely comes out as a whisper, but she hears you. If you moved just a couple centimeters more, your lips would be touching hers. You find Its becoming increasingly difficult not to think about. 

“no.” she replies simply, tone matching yours. 

“no?” you question, tilting your head to the side and now confused on where the conversation is going. 

“no. not until you tell me what the hell is up with you!” she says the last part louder, squeezing your thighs between your hands but not to the point it would hurt you. 

“oh my God-” you sigh, throwing your head back for only a moment while you think carefully about the next words that you’ll say. ultimately deciding that vi doesn't have to have the power here, and that frankly, you were quite curious to how she would react if you simply admitted to gawking at her. 

you lean forward again, closer than ever and so quickly she doesn't even notice until you start talking. you swear she looks down at your lips, even if only for a split second.

“do you even understand how hot you look right now?” you ask lowly, playing it cool with a straight but teasing expression. inside, however, it feels like you’re about to burst into flames. Her expression changes from a surprised one to what looks like a slight smirk. 

“oh? do i?” 

“mhm” is all you manage to muster, anxiety slowly creeping over you at her limited reaction. 

she leans in closer, your lips only a centimeter apart. “what are you gonna do about it?” her hands squeeze your thighs even tight and you can tell that if she keeps it up, it’s going to leave a mark. not that you would really mind. 

you exhale slowly, moving your hands from gripping the crate up her arms and around the back of her shoulders to her neck, gently playing with the bright hair at the back. She has to look up at you to meet your eyes and she swears she could die in that moment. you look like absolute heaven. biting your cheek in concentration and she has to resist letting out a groan, not even wanting to think about how ashamed she is with the current state of her boxers when you haven't even kissed yet. 

why exactly haven't you kissed her yet?

“how about-” instead of letting you finish, vi takes matters into her own hands. closing the gap between the two of you and clashing teeth instantly. you reach further up and pull on her hair slightly, which does make her groan and you’re eager to hear more of those noises coming from her. she gently swipes your bottom lip, asking for permission which you grant, and instantly your tongues are fighting for dominance. it's messy, you’re pretty sure you can feel a bit of mixed spit dribble down your chin but you couldn't care less in this moment when she feels this soft and absolutely magical. 

having to pull away to get air dragged the two of you back down to earth. A string of saliva connected the two of you that the girl in front of you ridded of by swiping her thumb across your lips, not without taking her time. heavy pants were the only noise in the gym as the two of you stared intently at each other. 

vi leans into that sweet spot between your shoulder and neck, nipping and biting at the area before pulling away and suggesting exactly what you were thinking, 

“should we go to my room?” 

[wxwrites]

Arcane SFW & NSFW Headcanons! (f!reader, AFAB!reader)

Including: Vi, Caitlyn, Maddie, Mel, Jinx. (Disclaimer: I will only write SFW for Jinx, as her age is not fully confirmed.) This is so much longer than I meant for it to be. Enjoy!

WC: ~3k

JINX | SFW

 Jinx, who still doesn’t really know how to navigate relationships… at all. She’s shy and hesitant at first, entirely unused to the genuine connection and love. All she’s ever known is what feels like transactional affection, despite what Silco may have actually felt towards her. 

 She isn’t too comfortable with physical affection at first, a little wary that you’re out to hurt her. But, she’ll show her appreciation for you through handing you gadgets or trinkets she makes/finds. 

 As she grows more comfortable with you, she’ll finally start to open up and lean on you (literally and figuratively.) She’ll start to ramble about anything and everything on her mind, almost unaware that she’s actually doing it. 

 She’ll paint your nails to match hers, even including the same little face she put on her prosthetic. 

 She LOVES to braid your hair, and will take every opportunity to do so. Despite her hands being a little calloused from her tinkering, they’re still surprisingly soft and gentle as she rakes them through your hair.

 She is a genuine sweetheart! While she might come off really intense or a little wacky sometimes, her love for you bleeds through entirely. It’s obvious to almost everyone how much she loves you.

 She loves watching you play with Isha or talk to Sevika, tearing up as she watches her own happy little family form after so much tragedy.

 She hugs tightly, and I mean TIGHTLY. She’ll squeeze you to the point of almost feeling like your ribs are gonna crack.

VI | SFW 

 Vi, who is such a sweetheart. She wears her heart on her sleeve every second of every day. Prison may have hardened her when it comes to confrontation or battle, but she is like a puppy with you. 

 If she continues working for Caitlyn, she spends her money well. She gets both of you a nice apartment and takes you out on sweet little dates at least once a week.

 If she relies more on the bets and money from her pit-fighting, she’ll still do the same. While the apartment isn’t nearly as lavish, and the dates aren’t nearly as nice, she does everything in her power to make her as enjoyable as possible. 

 She prefers when you keep your hand wrapped around her bicep, rather than actually holding hands. 

 She lets you paint her nails and do her makeup as you please, enjoying the lovely grin the spreads across your face as you do it. 

 Absurdly gentle with you, always keeping a soft hand on your waist. Despite how rough she is with other people, her hands would never do the same to you. (Unless you ask for it ;)) 

 When you patch her up after a particularly rough fight, she’ll mutter a quiet “Thank y’baby.” And press herself closer to you, craving your space and comfort. 

 She is a little difficult to get to communicate properly, almost never having been listened to before. With enough patience and kind words, she’ll eventually crack and begin to trust you as she becomes more vulnerable.

 She lovesss to bury her face into the crook of your neck as she tightly wraps her bandaged arms around your waist, pressing a few gentle kisses to your shoulder and neck.

 She’ll tear up a little bit as you press gentle kisses to her tattoos, and especially the scars she adorns from her time in prison. 

 Not to mention that she is definitely obsessed with you.

NSFW

This might be a hot take, but I definitely see Vi as more submissive than dominant. Whether she’s fighting crime or other people, she definitely spends most of her day keeping everyone in check.

 So when she’s writhing against the bed and moaning for you to just touch her, you find it extremely difficult to not give her exactly that. She loves when you’re able to take her out of her head entirely, finally giving her the space to relax and to just not think for a bit.

 While she might be submissive, she still definitely likes to top. She likes knowing that she’s making you feel good and thrives off of the praise. So when you mutter a quiet “That’s my good girl.” She has to temporarily stop and get her shit together so she doesn’t cum on the spot. 

 She goes feral whenever you pull her hair or scratch down her back and arms, letting out a literal whimper. 

 As you straddle her lap and begin to ride her into oblivion, she’ll paw desperately at your hips and thighs. She’ll eventually reach up to grope your tits and mumble incoherent compliments, talking about how pretty you are and how good you feel. She especially likes it when you tighten your hand around her throat, hearing her own choked whimpers leave her mouth. 

 On the uncommon occasion she decides that she does want to be dominant, she’s still not very rough. Unless you explicitly ask for a meaner hand or words, she would never do it on her own. 

 Her favorite position is definitely doggy, she likes watching your ass bounce back against her hips as she smacks it and grips your hips tightly. She’ll keep one hand in between your shoulder blades, and the other next to your head as she drills into you. 

 She’ll pepper sweet kisses along your cheeks and lick the tears off, almost ecstatic at the fact that she has fucked you so good you started crying. 

 She loves sloppy kisses and sloppy head, moaning against your pussy as she nearly devours you whole, digging her hands into your thighs. She whines as you tangle your fingers into her hair and tug, feeling her own arousal begin to leak in between her thighs. 

 She is so good with aftercare, too. If she had been a little rough on you, she’ll kiss all of the bruises and scratches that she left and mutter quiet praises. She’ll wipe you down with a damp towel, giving you a quiet “‘M sorry, baby.” As she soothes the towel over your sensitive clit.

CAITLYN | SFW

Caitlyn, who takes after Cassandra in the way that she is a little stern with you. She doesn’t like it when you venture off without her, or at the very least someone else.

 She’s a little socially awkward, so you tend to take the lead at the galas or other social events she’s expected to attend. She likes when you keep an arm around her waist, or holding your hand. While most people are there to see her, you often lead the conversations anyway. 

 She loves when you show up to her office, your presence immediately forcing her posture and face to soften. Being in her position puts a lot of paperwork in front of her, and stress on her. 

 Whether you dance, play a sport, or perform in any other way, she will show up every single time. She’s running behind on a mission? She’ll finish it in record time so she’s able to make it for at least half of your show. 

 She’ll let you sit on the edge of her desk as she works, or will pull up another chair so you can sit next to her and read your own book or tinker with a little project. 

 She loves when you have to raise up on your toes to kiss her, chuckling as she pulls away each time you get close enough to brush your lips together. She’ll wrap her arms around your waist and pick you up off of your feet as she presses her lips to yours. 

 Once you guys are able to wind down in your shared apartment, she pulls you into her lap and holds you tightly. She’ll press gentle kisses onto your cheek and shoulders, telling you how grateful she is for you and how much she loves you.

 She will always appreciate when you make tea or cook for her, coming up behind you and wrapping her arms around you from behind. 

 She’ll take you out on little dates when she has the time, but otherwise prefers to take slow walks with you through her garden.

While she may be a little stern, she absolutely adores you, and trusts you with her life. 

NSFW

 Don’t get me wrong, she is so, so sweet. She’s doting and attentive, and will do almost anything you need from her. But you will work for it, no questions asked. 

 She’ll put you on your knees and make you beg for whatever you want. She’ll bind your hands behind your back with a new silken rope she bought and coo down at you, stroking her thumb over your bottom lip. She’ll coax your mouth open and feed you two of her fingers, grinning as you accept them sweetly.

 It’s quite obvious she can get prettyyyy freaky. Like we saw how she reacted when Vi spat on her cheek. I’d say that extends towards you, as well. She likes forcing you to keep your mouth open, and tongue flat against your bottom lip as she spits onto it, giving you a “Swallow it sweetheart, be a good girl.”

 I wouldn’t say that she’s a stone top, but she definitely prefers to give. I definitely think it comes from wanting to be in control and dominant. She differs from Vi in the sense that she doesn’t want to be out of control, ever. 

 Her long legs and overall strength gives her such a huge advantage over you. She loves to fold you over and press your knees to your chest as she fucks into you roughly. She does love to keep you on top, guiding your hips as you bounce on her strap, licking and sucking into the sensitive skin of your collarbones and boobs. 

 I don’t think she’d be someone who is super into degradation, but she might mutter something along the lines of “You’re such a pretty whore for me.” As she tangles her fingers into your hair and pulls your head back, forcing you to meet your own reflection in the mirror. 

 Any time you guys fuck, she will always remind you of how good you are. She nips at your ear and purrs, “That’s it pretty girl, you take me so well.” She mumbles, sucking a mark onto the side of your neck. 

 She takes aftercare very seriously, knowing that sometimes her treatment can take a toll on you. She’ll untie you slowly and work out the kinks of your tense joints, pressing kisses along the red marks the ropes left. She wipes the sweaty baby hairs from your forehead and presses a gentle kiss to it, helping you sit up. She’ll hold you for a bit and reassure you, murmuring quiet praises. Once you’re settled down, she’ll run a warm bath for both of you.

MADDIE | SFW

 Maddie, who is such a sweet, sweet girl. Her enthusiasm for everything around her is extremely contagious. She does her absolute best to make sure there is a smile on your face every day.

 She finds a way to balance her job as an enforcer and her relationship with you. While it’s a bit of a struggle sometimes because of how demanding Caitlyn can be, she puts in 100% of her effort to make it work.

 She prefers to stay inside rather than going out, pulling you next to her on the couch as you cuddle up and turn on a few movies or a show to binge. She likes when you put your legs over your lap and she can idly trace her fingers along your legs.

 She likes cooking and baking a lot, always making an excessive amount of food that you guys really can’t consume by yourselves.

 She’ll give you pancakes with a smiley face made out of chocolate chips and strawberries, pressing a kiss to your head as you dig into the breakfast. 

  She writes you notes every morning before she leaves for work and sticks them on the fridge, always containing some kind of compliment and an “I love you.” 

 She loves to write poetry as well, it’s her favorite way to express her love and gratitude for you. Which means that words of affirmation is definitely her love language, but physical touch is a close second.

 She loves going on bike rides around the city, especially when you get to the large botanical gardens and parks. She’ll pull over and buy whatever drink you’d like and a pastry, both of you settling on a bench in the park.

 She likes to point out all of the cute animals that prance around the area and gets extremely excited when they come over to you guys.

NSFW

 She is utterly enthusiastic every time you guys get intimate. I wouldn’t say that she’s inexperienced, but I definitely think she does still get a little nervous sometimes. She’s just absolutely infatuated with you and your pretty face makes her blush.

 She lovesss to makeout. Like, she would rather do that over having actual sex. She’ll straddle your lap and hold your jaw or thread her fingers through your hair. 

 When you guys do fuck, it’s a bit more vanilla compared to the others. She doesn’t strike me as an overly kinky person, but I feel like she does still have a few interests.

 She for SURE likes to give head, it’s probably her favorite pastime tbh. She will beg for you to ride her face regularly, moaning into you as she wraps her hands around your hips.

 Give her a little bit of praise and she’ll do anything you ask of her, especially if you call her pretty. 

She loves, loves, loves to ride your thigh. Something about it is so exhilarating, especially because she likes seeing the aftermath of it. She’ll happily lap her cum off of your leg, moaning as you guide her head with your hand. 

 She seems like the type to basically worship you, she would happily get on her knees as you grind yourself against her mouth with absolutely no complaints. 

 For sure adores seeing you in pretty lingerie, running her fingers over the lacy fabric as she kisses along the hem of your bra and underwear. 

 She’s definitely a bottom, like for SURE. She really likes missionary, especially when you pull her legs over your shoulders. The main reason she likes it is because 1. She likes to be underneath you, and 2. Because she still loves to look at you and kiss you. 

 While she doesn’t really like to top, she can still get a little bit of an edge to her attitude, teasing you as she nips at your neck and jaw. She’ll straddle your hips and press your back into the bed, slowly sliding her nails underneath your shirt and chuckle at the whines you let out. 

 Aftercare with her is really sweet as well. She likes to curl up in your arms and tuck her head under your chin as you pet her hair and press soft kisses all over her face. She likes to eat after as well, it helps her feel less shaky, so make sure you always have snacks nearby. 

MEL | SFW

 Mel, who loves so hard and sometimes really can’t control it. Her love is so intense it can truly be a little overwhelming sometimes. 

 She treats you with the utmost care and always makes sure that your needs are met. While being on the council does unfortunately consume most of her time, she does everything she can to make sure she is still as present as possible. 

 When she’s gone, she makes sure that there’s always a maid present with you, making sure that all of your needs are met when she can’t be there.

 When she is, she always likes to have a hand on you, whether it’s on your thigh, waist, whatever. She loves to touch you, and it often soothes her racing mind.

 Whenever you get sick or stressed, she pulls your head into your lap and will stroke her slender fingers through your hair. She’ll hum some kind of melody quietly and gently sway, lolling you to sleep. 

 She doesn’t like it when you get involved with politics or the council in general, simply wanting to protect you from the ongoing and unresolved issues. 

 She buys you new dresses regularly, always making you give her a little fashion show as you try them on.

 Her kindness is unwavering, but there is a layer of intensity and harshness beneath all of that. One that is very rarely ever shown, and if it is, it’s towards her mother. 

 She does everything she can to keep you far away from her ties to Noxus, especially when Ambessa comes to visit. She’ll use every excuse in the books to keep you separated, knowing that you and Ambessa would likely not get along. 

 She loves to take long baths together, especially when they’re decorated with candles, bath bombs, etc. She’ll turn on the record player as you guys bask in the warm water together, soaking up the intimacy that is sometimes difficult to be had. 

NSFW

 She is the biggest switch that has ever been written in a TV show, like really. Her role is kind of inconsistent, and changes quite often. I don’t think she has a preference, but sometimes I think there are some things that can definitely influence it. Rough day at work and she’s irritated? You’re gonna get bent over her desk. If she feels utterly defeated, she’d rather you take the lead so she can ignore her problems for a bit. 

 Speaking of being bent over her desk, it’s one of her favorite things to do. She’ll gently push you forward, keeping a hand between your shoulder blades as she grinds against your ass. But she really only ever does this at her office at home, she tries very hard to keep your relationship away from work.

 She loves when you take off her shoes and tights, kissing your way up her legs as you hike her dress up to her hips. She loves to hold onto your head as you lick and suck your way up her thighs, pushing her backwards onto the bed. 

 She highly enjoys straddling your face, moaning loudly as she grabs onto the headboard. She’ll grind her pussy against your mouth and whimper as you reach up to grope her chest.

 When she’s topping, she likes having you in missionary so she can watch your eyes roll back and whimper. If she’s bottoming, she prefers to ride you because it makes it easier for her to rub against the most sensitive spots inside of her. 

 She likes to pull your hair, and have hers pulled in return, enjoying the control it gives both of you.

 She loves to decorate herself in pretty lingerie and gold, tying your hands behind your back as she sways her hips around you before settling your lap. She grinds herself on your lap, grinning sadistically as you whine due to the fact that you can’t touch her.

 She’s less intense with aftercare, mainly because she’s too tired herself to do much. Once you’re both wiped down, she’ll wrap herself around you and press a kiss to your head.

[tojilvrs]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ FUCK MY EX! (AND HIS BOSS) ceo!toji fushiguro x fem reader (2.7k)

repost from my old blog!!!

⁂ warnings: MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI! toji’s not a bum, reader gets cheated on (not by toji), m receiving oral, pet names, degradation, rough sex, reader’s ex sees them at the end, unprotected sex, creampie, sex as a revenge ploy, some praise, foot on head during doggy (does this have a technical name lol?), also tagging foot fetish JUST IN CASE the last thing counts lol, toji coerces reader, use of the name ‘daddy’ ONCE, spanking, some aftercare, toji steals your panties (and your heart), reader has hair long enough to be pulled

⁂ a/n: this fic literally came out of nowhere i had no plans of writing until i saw twitter porn and a little lightbulb formed above my head. anywho this is not great i wrote and proofread it while i was sleepy so if there’s mistakes don’t tell me i will get embarrassed!!!! THE PACING MIGHT ALSO BE HORRID i was just trying to get my claws on some fictional wiener. k luv u alllll <3

You never thought you could get this low.

You also never thought you’d come home to find your now ex-boyfriend balls deep in his coworker he told you not to worry about.

Way past the stages of hurt and with no more tears left to spill, you found yourself angry. You were pissed at your ex for being unfaithful. Pissed at the woman for fucking around with a man she knew was not available. And pissed at yourself for not figuring it out sooner. Once you got over your sorrows and finally felt able to pull yourself together, you just wanted to rid your apartment of anything that reminded you of him.

That's how you found yourself across the table from that rat bastard's boss. A box full of his old shit perched in your lap and your nails tapping the side of the cardboard. Scanning the room of Mr. Fushiguro's luxurious office and finding yourself filling with rage all over again knowing that the last time you were here, you were helping him get promoted.

"Pleasure seeing you again," you watched as Mr. Fushiguro took a seat in his plush office chair, "though it appears you're here to play the part of 'scorned girlfriend' instead of ‘concerned girlfriend, hm?’ Word travels fast ‘round here.”

"Ex-girlfriend."

"Right," he clasped his hands together over his chest and kicked his feet up onto his desk, knocking over his name plate, “so what're you here for, scorned ex-girlfriend?"

"Just want to give his shit back. Passing it on to you so I won't have to see him and blondie going at it in your breakroom." You watched the man crack a smile before speaking again.

"S'all you’re gonna do?" He knew your answer by the way you tore your eyes off of him and focused them on the box in your lap instead. Slightly slumping down in your chair as if you were a child in trouble trying to evade the scrutinizing gaze of a parent “Oh, don’t tell me you’re just gonna let bygones be bygones and let him get away with it scott free.”

His tone made you feel like your entire situation was almost comical. You looked back up and narrowed your eyes at the man. Scanning his face and watching the scar on his lip twitch when the corner turned up in a smirk.

“Mr. Fushiguro-“

“Don’t have to be all formal now, call me Toji.”

“Okay, what exactly are you implying, Toji?” he sighed before standing up from his desk and fixing his name plate, smirk never falling from his lips and eyes never leaving yours.

“I know he is my employee, but i’m not really… fond of him either. And you’re too pretty of a girl to just let him get away with cheating. It’d make you feel better to hurt ‘em a little bit. Get a little revenge.”

You broke away eye contact from him again to look around his office. Taking note of how sparsely decorated the area was as you pondered and tried to avoid his eyes. It wasn’t the most mature or logical decision, but he was right. It would make you feel better to make him hurt just a little bit. “And how exactly might I go about that?”

Toji laughed a little as he walked around the desk, taking the box out of your lap and placing it on the floor before settling himself behind you. The sweet tobacco scent of his cologne invaded your nostrils as he got closer to you, making his presence feel almost suffocating.

“Y’know what would really get him?” His voice sounded as if it were laced with a honeyed sweetness. The sound surrounding you and ringing around in your ears. He shifted his feet, but you still felt the heat radiating off of him and onto your back.

“What?”You felt him grow closer. Leaning down behind you. So close that you could feel his breath fan against your skin.

“Fuckin’ his boss.”

The lewd suggestion tickled the shell of your ear. Your eyes widening and mouth going dry once you realized exactly what he was proposing to you. You opened your mouth to protest. To tell him how absolutely ridiculous that was, but your words fell short. Closing your mouth again to look down and stare at the indentions the corners of the cardboard box had left in your skin.

You couldn’t say that you hadn’t let your eyes linger a little too long at Toji Fushiguro. Always noticing how easy he was on the eyes when your ex would make you tag along to work events. How his suits would perfectly contour to his body. Showing off his bulging muscles through the fabric. How he seemed to tower over you and everyone else with his height and domineering presence. How your gazes would linger a little too long on each other and how his fingertips would “accidentally” graze your hips when passing you.

You were taken away from your thoughts by the feeling of his fingers slowly caressing up and down your jaw. His touch soft, contrasting the rough calluses that lined his fingers. You also realized he had now moved directly in front of you and you were eye-level with his crotch.

“What’ll it be, sweetness?” The tip of his thumb travelled up to your bottom lip, smearing some of your lipgloss. “Y’gonna let me help you get back at him?”

You slowly looked up at him and nodded your head, still not trusting any words to come out of your mouth. He smiled down at you, removing the hand on your chin to pet your head and using his other to unbutton his slacks.

“Gonna make you feel so good, you’ll forget allllll about your little ex-boyfriend.”

You were still looking up at him dumbly as he freed heavy cock from the confines of his pants, subconsciously parting your lips and slightly sticking out your tongue at the sight of him. Relishing in the way he looked at you and the noises he made once his cock makes contact with your awaiting tongue.

“Already so good and fuckin’ obedient. Did he teach you that?” You shake your head and he cackles. Easing his way into your throat. “So you’re just naturally a whore, huh?” He lightly slaps your cheek, not even hard enough to sting, and moves from petting your head to gripping your hair once you take him all the way into your mouth. Testing your limits and pushing his way past the tight ring of muscle in the back of your throat, loving the way you choke and sputter around him. “Takin’ me so good. Bet that motherfucker couldn’t properly stuff your throat.”

Toji’s right- he couldn’t. He also isn’t quite as big as Toji is either, in both length and girth. It also seems that the man in front of you didn’t learn to fuck from porn like your ex did. Only pushing your limits a little bit at a time and not throatfucking you from the get-go. Also making sure you’re not suffocating on him for too long.

You began to move your tongue over the vein that ran on the underside of his cock, watching in satisfaction as he throws his head back and groans. Doing it again and again and watching his face contort in pleasure.

“Shit, baby, got the sweetest fuckin’ mouth.” His voice is huskier now, almost breathy. You watch as sweat begins to lightly bead across his forehead and his hands come off of you to loosen his tie around his collar. The air becoming too thick and hot for him. You suck him off with much more passion as you get used to his size. Bobbing your head up and down his length and occasionally pulling yourself off to lick on the sensitive skin around his balls. Not paying much mind to the spit that has run from your mouth and covered the bottom half of your face.

“That’s it- hah- fuck yeah… that’s it. Gonna cum down that pretty fuckin’ throat” You kept up your ministrations, using your hand to lightly squeeze his balls as you took his full length down your throat once more. Listening as Toji’s pants became progressively more and more uneven. Only taking a few more short moments before his abs tighten and he takes in a deep inhale as he shoots his load down your throat. His leg twitching as the coil in his belly snaps. Pulling off of him to stick out your tongue and show him that you swallowed it all.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl, aren’t you?” He gripped your chin tightly and you nodded your head dumbly, fiddling with the hem of your skirt. He smiled and gestured for you to walk over to the plush, black couch he kept in his office. A guiding hand resting on your lower back as he layed you down on your stomach. He took his time running his hands from your calves all the way up to your ass, like he was trying to memorize every dip in your skin. Once he reached the hem of your skirt, he flipped it up. Gently running the palms of his hands over the smooth skin and giving the right cheek a harsh slap and soothing the sting with the very same hand that inflicted it.

“Suckin’ dick make you this wet?” Your slick had soiled your panties, smearing onto your thighs. His fingers lightly ran across the soaked fabric. You felt the couch dip under his weight as he settled behind you, feeling the fabric of his haphazardly pulled down pants and the heat of whatever skin that was exposed press into you.

“Sucking yours does.” you gasp as he pushes your panties to the side to make contact with your swollen clit. The cool air of his office hitting your soaked center makes you shiver. “You’re gentler than I thought you’d be.”

“Oh baby,” He pauses, taking his hands off of you to maneuver himself around, “you haven’t had the worst yet.”

You’re comfused until you feel the tip of his cock prodding your entrance and begin to push in. Your walls greedily sucking him in even though it felt as if he was splitting you in two.

“Tight as a fuckin’ virgin, y’gotta open up for me, girl.” His fingers rub tight circles on your clit. Using that to his advantage to thrust his cock deeper and deeper into you until he’s bottomed out. Your hips arching into him as any remnants of pain begin to wash away and are overtaken with white-hot pleasure. His hands find purchase on your hips as his thrusts begin to speed up. Going harder into you and somehow hitting you deeper each time, causing tears to spring in corners of your eyes.

“Already cryin’ on my cock and we’ve barely even started? Slut can’t handle it?” He slaps your ass again, not caring if it stings. You furiously shake your head as moans and whimpers spill from your lips. Trying your hardest to match his brutal pace with your own hips. “Oh, you think you can take control now, huh? I’d watch it, little girl.”

At first you think he pushes your face into the couch with his hand. That’s until you realize that both his hands are still on your hips and it’s actually his foot that’s found its place on the back of your head as he continues to fuck the memory of your ex out of you. Your pussy clenching down on him at the mere thought of the position.

“Like being treated like a whore don’t you? Shitty man couldn’t do it like I can.” You couldn’t respond back even if you tried. Too caught up in the feeling of being stuffed full by the most skilled man you’ve ever fucked and biggest cock you’ve ever taken. Writhing under him as the pleasure of his tip repeatedly hitting your spot over and over again was becoming almost too much.

Toji must’ve felt the way your pussy began to tighten around him or how your moans were so loud the couch wasn’t muffling them well anymore. His hand snaked around your hip and back down to your clit to rub shapes on it, bringing your closer to your peak.

“That’s right, cum on this cock baby. Hah- cum all over my fuckin’ cock.” He spoke to you through gritted teeth and the sound went straight to your core. It wasn’t long after that your back slipped into a deeper arch and your cunt clenched down on him even harder. A white ring of cream forming around the base of his dick as he worked you through your orgasm and worked himself closer to his.

“Such a good girl. You’re gonna take my cum, yeah? Gonna let me fill you up?” You nodded a quick yes, pussy still quaking from your orgasm. the only thing keeping your hips from collapsing into the couch being the vice grip of his strong hands.

The foot pressed into your head was removed and replaced by his right hand gripping your hair and pulling you up to meet his face. Looking him in the eyes for the first time since he started fucking you and seeing the beast of a man he’s become. Pupils blown, hair messy, and face sweaty as his grunts get louder, more aggressive.

“So pretty baby. You’re my good, pretty girl, right? C’mon, daddy a kiss when he cums. You’ve been so. fucking. good.” The last of his words were punctuated by rough thrusts into your heat. His heavy balls slapping against your clit so hard it was making you jump. You craned your head back even more for your lips to meet his in a sloppy, lust-filled kiss as he lets out a final rough grunt into your mouth. The familiar warmth flooding your pussy as his thrusts begin to let up.

He’s gentle with you for the first time in a while, gently resting your head back down to the couch before slowly pulling his softening dick out, tucking it back into his underwear, and smoothing your skirt back down. Rubbing a hand over the arch of your back and letting you rest on his couch as he pulls off your soiled panties and pockets them for himself. Also noticing a patch of your slick that has soiled the front of his pants and smiling as a mix of both of your releases begin to trickle out of your spent hole. Using two of his fingers to push it back in. The room is quiet for the first time in a long while. Only sound being the oscillating box fan in the corner of the room. It says quiet for a while, until you break the silence.

“Don’t even think I can remember the fucker’s name anymore.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You turn over onto your back to face him, watching closely as he fixes his suit to the best of his ability. “Wouldn’t mind seeing you again, if you’d like.”

He turns to face you, smirking again, “Can’t say I’d hate that.”

It’s your turn to smirk at him before letting your head roll over and rest again. Consumed with the thoughts of how that was definitely the best revenge plan you ever participated in.

You’re almost drifting off until that same thought wakes you up again. Sitting up to look at Toji.

“Wait, how was any of that a revenge ploy if he didn’t even see it?” Toji smirks, fixing his tie. Not even a second later you hear a knock on his door before Toji gives the visitor permission to enter.

“You wanted to see m-“ Your ex stops mid-sentence once he sees you lounging on his employer’s couch with his cum leaking out of you. “Wait, what is she doing here?”

“Baby brought your shit by.” Toji kicks the box towards him as he pulls your panties out of his back pocket and swinging them around his index finger. “Anything else you need? Or do you just wanna watch me fuck your ex-girl again?”

[wakebymoonsleepbysun]

Dogday!! Trying to figure out a way to send a Y/N in there to help him.

Rambles under the cut.

(I drew my sona in these cuz self-indulgent, but if I ever write anything it'll be a reader insert with little to no canon design.)

Design notes: Took some elements from his game model as well as his cartoon design. I think when we see him, he is emaciated and/or stretched out, the way CatNap is said to be able to stretch. Don't know if that's an ability all Smiling Critters have though. For now I'm saying it is SOMEWHAT but CatNap is the better at it by MILES. In any case, that's why he's not quite as lanky as he is in game, and is also a bit shorter.

I also he can be bipedal or quadrupedal, much like CatNap seems to be able to switch back and forth. A bit more animalistic than his cartoon counterpart, but part of that is just him not wanting to tower over the children and employees all the time, so drops down to all fours quite a bit.

The fur texture on his ears in the game cave him a floofy cocker spaniel look so I went with that instead of the less floofy ears he has in the cartoon and his original plushie.

The white pupils being absent when we see him I believe is a sign of how weak he is. When healthy, all the Bigger Bodies Smiling Critters have them, much like CatNap does.

Trying to actually keep his huge open-mouth smile at all times, unlike with my FNAF stuff where I give them more of an ability to emote. That said trying to get him to look angry or sad was a challenge. Sad I think worked okay but the one where I meant him to look angry he looks more cocky or smirky than mad. Tender moments are a bit harder too, as keeping that huge grin with more tender eyes results in him looking either drunk or horney or just like he's not taking the moment very seriously, haha.

And the story? Not sure yet, bouncing around a few ideas, though I don't think I'll have the reader and the player be the same person. Reader might be someone who came up in PlayCare alongside Dogday. Perhaps they knew each other as kids when Dogday was still human. Haven't decided how much of this Dogday remembers or at what point the reader realizes Dogday is their old friend who got "adopted".

Reader grows up the Playcare and is given a job once they're an adult. (Something something starting the brainwashing and normalization of bullshit early to make employees who are more willing to look the other way?)

Dogday somehow kept them hidden during the Hour of Joy and the reader's been living in the caves ever since. (The caves open up so much possibility for people being hidden in the factory. Much easier to say there's an unknown offshoot of a natural cave system than an unknown part of the factory.)

How are they staying fed? Uhhhh...cave mushrooms? Trips to the surface? Moss? Stale vending machine candy? I don't know yet.

Not sure how to pull a happy ending out of this horror but I'm trying. Maybe the reader convinces Dogday to leave after Ch 3 because he'd be too weak to help anyway or something? And uh...I'm just gonna pretend since he's kinda a plushie he can be sewn back together even though I'm PRETTY SURE canonically the inclusion of blood and guts makes that...not a thing.

Just remember guys...all winds blow away...eventually.

[tpwk-formula1]

Figure It Out - Landoscar***

SUB! Lando Norris X SWITCH! Oscar Piastri X SWITCH! Reader

REQUESTS ARE OPEN! I write for all drivers on the grid!

Summary: After Monza tension is at an all-time high in their shared apartment.

Authors Note: I've been writing for Kinktober and have been loving it so I decided to write a kinky little piece. The urge to post my Kinktober fics early is strong but I'm holding off. THIS IS NOT PROOF READ

TW - MxM action (Hand jobs and blow jobs), face sitting, slight masturbation, squirting, slight degrading

WC - 1500+

Y/N POV

"Just shut up, Lando," Oscar finally snaps at his complaining teammate turned boyfriend.

"Don't fucking talk to me like that," Lando replied back clearly still pissed off at the whole situation.

"Lando, on the track we are drivers. The whole point is to race each other that's exactly what I did," Oscar continues to defend his bold actions.

"I get that, and I don't even care about the fucking overtake but you could have done it during one of the straights not the first fucking chicane," Lando continues ranting allowing his voice to raise more as he continues talking.

"Both of you shut the fuck up," I finally snap making both of my lovers fall silent. It was rare for me to yell especially when it came to getting in between them when they were arguing about a race.

"Lando, I understand why it's frustrating, you're fighting for a championship while also defending against Charles and Oscar I understand being frustrated over your race result but both of you guys need to work together to make sure to secure constructors. To be completely unbiased here, Oscar the overtake was risky and luckily both of you guys are amazing drivers and were able to survive but Lando is right, it might have cost you guys too much time ruining the chances of a 1-2. However, Lando that does not excuse your actions either. Both of you guys love each other and you need to remember at the end of the day you got points and a double podium," I tell them softly to fend up to keep listening to them yell at each other.

"But babe," Lando started to complain before I sent him a quick glare making him shut up without finishing his statement.

"Both of you strip and go lay on our bed," I tell them both without even looking up at them going back to the book I was reading before they started arguing. When I don't hear movement I look up to find them both staring at confusion.

"Did I stutter?" I ask again a little more firm than before. Both of them shook their head before slowly making their wait to our room where I could hear them starting to strip down. Neither of them are talking but I know for a fact they're staring at each other. Mad or not they love each other and if anyone can turn them on it's each other.

With the layout of our apartment, I can hear every little sound they're making even if they're talking in hushed whispers.

"Lando, how long is she gonna leave us here?" I hear Oscar ask making me smile softly. I knew it was only a matter of time before their anger turned into sexual frustrations. Whether they will ever admit it or not after a bad race weekend especially one pitting them against each other the only way to fix it is to fuck it out of their systems. Sometimes it involved using my body and other times it was them using each other. Those were always the best ones to watch.

"Osc, please stop touching my thigh," I can hear Lando whimper which tells me right away who will be taking the lead tonight.

"Lando, we're sitting on the edge of the bed it isn't intentional, stop being petty," Oscar snaps back slightly, clearly just as frustrated as his boyfriend.

"I need, Y/N," Lando finally whispers out. Oscar doesn't say anything in reply which has me slightly confused until I can hear the tell-tale signs of Lando being touched in some way.

"Fuck," Lando gasps out before I suddenly hear them start to make out quite aggressively.

"Osc, please," Lando begs slightly making my pussy start to throb.

"You're gonna wait to cum until our pretty girlfriend decides to stop playing games with us," Oscar whispers to Lando making me smile. In that moment I made the decision to listen to Lando continue to whine and beg.

I stand up quietly before stripping down and sitting back on the couch with my legs spread wide open. I bring my fingers down to my pussy before I start teasing myself.

"What if she doesn't come in for a while," Lando asks Oscar making me smile cause we all know damn well I'd be in there as soon as I couldn't handle the teasing anymore.

"I bet you anything, she's sitting on that couch with her hand in her panties right now listening to you beg and whine like a little whore," Oscar tells Lando making both of us gasp at his harsh words.

In all honesty, it was rare for Oscar to be the dominant one between the two but it was always a favorite of mine cause he was just a different kind of cruel than when Lando is being the dominant one.

I can hear some movement before the sound of one of them spitting.

"Please Osc," Lando whines out again which tells me Oscar has to be the one on his knees teasing Lando. I can hear the sound of Oscar's wet hand moving up and down Lando's hard cock, which has him whing and gasping at the sensation.

I know how impatient Lando can get, so I decided to put him out of his misery by getting up and making my way to our room. When I get in there I can Lando's head thrown back while Oscar is taking him down his throat.

I make my way over to Lando where I grab his face before placing my still wet fingers into his mouth making him moan at the taste of my pussy.

"Look, she's come to save you. Maybe you'll finally be allowed to cum, but of course, you're gonna have to earn it first," Oscar teased Lando, making him whine around my fingers that were still in his mouth. When I pull them out I lean down and start making out with Lando. I can taste a hint of my juices which just makes me moan into his mouth.

"How are you already soaked," I hear Oscar ask clearly having seen just how turned on I was.

"You know I like when you take control Osc," I whisper once I pull away from the heated makeout session. It doesn't take me long to feel Oscar's fingers plunge right into my dripping pussy making me let out a gasp before moaning loudly against Lando's lip.

It's not long before Lando becomes a whimpering mess which tells me that not only is Oscar fingering me he's also giving Lando a handy.

"Fuck," I whine dragging out the word clearly overwhelmed with everything around me.

It's not even two minutes later that Lando is begging Oscar again.

"Please, Oscar. I'll be good. Please," Lando is begging as much as possible while also trying to keep kissing me.

"Our pretty little slut gets to cum first," Oscar tells Lando making me whine. This has Lando reaching down just enough to start playing with my clit trying to bring me over the edge faster.

"Oscar, please," I moan out once I feel my orgasm getting close to the edge.

"Cum for us," Oscar tells me making me instantly squirt all over both of the boys. Once my orgasm has concluded I hear Oscar tell Lando to cum which has Lando instantly tensing before releasing a high pitched whine before cumming all over Oscar's hand.

"Here," Oscar says while presenting me his cum covered hand which has me instantly licking all of Lando's cum off of it. Once it is clean enough for Oscar he climbs into bed pulling me with him to sit on his face.

"Get to work," Oscar tells Lando which has him shuffling around to get on his knees and start talking Oscar into his mouth.

Once Lando has settled into a good pace Oscar starts eating me out like it's his last meal on Earth. With one hand gripped on the headboard for stability before I tangle my fingers into Oscar's freshly cut hair. I know I'm pulling at it just right when I hear Oscar gasp at the slight pain I'm causing to his scalp.

"Fuck," Oscar moans out shortly after I hear Lando gag slightly on Oscar's cock. I can tell just from the sounds Lando's making he has all of Oscar's cock down his throat right now.

"Close," Oscar gasps out before instantly going back to focusing on my clit which also brings me closer to my second orgasm.

I hear Oscar groan out against my pussy signifying that he's cumming which has me tumbling over the edge with him.

Still slightly shaking I feel Lando lightly lift me off of Oscar before bringing me into his chest for a cuddle. Something that was always a part of our aftercare routine.

"How'd you know that would work," Oscar asks chuckling a little before placing a soft kiss on my lips preventing me from answering right away.

"We've been together for over a year. I know how you guys get," I reply back making both of the boys laugh a little.

Once everything has calmed down around us we all get up before getting into the shower together which inevitably resulted in a round 2.

[swordsandholly]

def need more ditzy reader with mechanic 141- the only thing that tops my love for military men is blue collar boys <333

make sure to take care of yourself tho lovie!! don’t burn urself out :))

I for sure want to write more of her. Hopefully after this insane week at work I’ll be able to really sit down and crank out some writing. For now I’m battling my way through Ch 3 of Across the Way

But pls enjoy this little not proofread experimental snippet I wrote for ditzy reader

“Look.” Your landlord sighs loudly. Like you’re the one inconveniencing him. “I’ll send someone out.”

“That’s what you said two days ago! And three days before that!” You stomp your foot at no one just to get some of the anger out.

“I’ll get to it when I get to it.”

“Why can’t you-“ The line cuts before you can finish. The jerk hung up on you! What the hell!

You pout, plopping down into your desk chair and sighing. What are you supposed to do? You’re not allowed to call a handyman according to the lease and you don’t have a boyfriend right now. You can’t keep washing pans in the bathroom. It’s gross.

You huff.

“Alright?” Simon asks and you whirl in your chair. How does he walk so quietly?

“Yeah…” You pout harder under his steady gaze, slipping down further into the chair.

“You’re a terrible liar, luv.” His eyes crinkle in corners with a smile.

“Well…” You shrug, twiddling your thumbs in your lap. “My kitchen sink has been broken for a whole week and the landlord won’t do anything about it! I called and called and he just keeps saying he’ll send someone and then doesn’t!” Your voice pitches at the end, real annoyance bleeding through into the edges of your words. You fist your hands in your skirt.

“That’s all?” He raises an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you just ask one of us?”

You blink twice, staring up at him. Your face heats and you look away bashfully - not wanting to admit you didn’t think to ask for their help. Stupid. “I don’t want to be a bother…”

“I’ll come by after work.”

“You don’t have to-“

“I’ll be there.” He nods before marching back into the garage. You just blink after him as he goes.

True to his word, Simon shows up at your door with a massive tool box in hand. Really, he still can’t believe you live in such a shit complex. Price pays you well enough. The locks might as well be paper-mache. Simon lowers his mask before knocking. He trusts you with his face - hell you probably forget it every time you look away - but he also wants you to trust him too. For whatever reason.

You’re staring when you open the door. Big doe eyes looking up at him and blinking slowly. He wonders what goes on behind those blank eyes of yours - if it’s nothing at all or such a chaotic dialogue that you can’t process it enough to pay attention.

All or nothing.

“Gonna let me in, doll?” He asks. You startle, not realizing how intensely you zoned out.

“Oh! Yes!” You jump out of the way, letting him into your small studio apartment. Every time he thinks your shorts can’t get smaller he’s proven wrong.

Simon takes a look around, huffing at the net full of stuffies hanging on the wall. Everything about your home is soft - soft colors, soft fabrics. It smells like vanilla, just like you always do when you come into the shop. His eyes lock briefly on a well-loved sewing machine covered in stickers with a project still under the needle. You must have been working on it before he got here.

Did you mean to leave your bra hanging on the back of that chair right by the kitchen? Lacy and lilac. He’ll have to remember that for some other time. Maybe your birthday.

“Let’s ‘ave a look.” He sighs, knees popping as he crouches in front of the sink. It’s a fucking mess, that’s for sure. At least you figured out how to turn the water off.

“Pipe’s busted.” He says. “I can seal it but it’ll take a sec.”

“Okay.” You murmur.

Simon sighs as he turns onto his back to get a better look. He doesn’t miss the way you stare blatantly at his midsection as his shirt rides up. He might adjust some to expose just a bit more.

You really are the least subtle thing in the planet, aren’t you?

“Can you come hold the light f’me, luv?” He points to the toolbox.

“This one?” You ask, as if it isn’t the only flashlight in the box.

“Yeah.”

“Like this?”

“Yup.” At first he expects you to sit silently so he can concentrate, but he quickly realizes that was far too presumptuous.

“Do you have a girlfriend, Si?” You ask quietly.

He huffs. “No.”

“Oh.” You chew your lip. “You seem like the kind of guy that would.”

Simon has never heard a bigger misread in his damn life but he’ll take it as a compliment, he supposes. “Why do you ask?”

“Cause this is boyfriend work and you’re good at it.”

Simon tries to see your logic - he really does - but he just has no clue how those things are even remotely related. Sure, guys fix things for their girlfriends but calling it ‘boyfriend work’ when anybody with two cents could do it is a bit silly. More than, if he’s honest. He just grunts in response, at a total loss for how to respond.

Simon looks down at you. The way you kneel as your cleaving spills out of your tiny tank top - one of many you insist on wearing so often. He can give into temptation just a little bit, right? “Gonna need you to get closer, doll.”

“Oh!” You scoot forward until your knees brush his side. So ready to listen. Cute.

“Can you lean in a bit?”

“Like this?” You lean forward, chest pressing against him while your hand splays over his midsection for balance. Fucking hell.

“Perfect. Good girl.”

It’s bold and a bit uncoordinated even for him. Something Johnny would try. The purposeful choice of words seems to go right over your head. Instead you blush and smile, shifting your hips just a bit. Your chest pushes further into him. So soft.

Fuck.

You’ll be the death of him. Thank god you’re too unobservant to notice that he’s rock fucking hard.

He’s already done with the sink by the time of this little exchange, but he pretends to tighten some useless bolts anyway just to keep you against him a little longer before shooing you away. It’s cute, the way you scramble to get out of the way. Simon turns the water back on before standing, and gesturing toward the sink.

“Give it a try, luv.”

A little furrow forms in your brow as you step forward to turn it on, crouching and standing to make sure the leak has stopped. You turn the faucet off and whip your head around with a grin.

He’s pretty sure you burst an eardrum with the pitch of the squeal you let out, bouncing over and tightly wrapping your arms around his waist. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

“It’s no pro-“ he cuts off as you push up onto your tip toes and press a kiss to his cheek. He can’t help but bark out a laugh. Little minx.

“Oh, I got some lipstick-“ You reach up to smudge it off but he bats your hand away. He’ll wear it back to the garage and show off the kiss he got. Johnny’s going to absolutely fume.

[hoseoksluna]

MURK | myg ft. jjk

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

genre: angst, smut

word count: 16.9k

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

pinterest board: murk

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You keep it clenched in a tight fist. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You step into the shower, needing to get away. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You put a stop to it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you ask him. “Why are you here?” 

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

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

Stillness in his features. “So did I.” 

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

“Tilt your head back.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then it hits you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gasp. “No, Yoongi, I didn’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yoongi hasn’t come back yet. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You drift to sleep during the ride home. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did he tell you?”

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

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

“Did you?” 

“No.” 

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

It’s better than to feel nothing. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And again. 

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

He became obsessed with it. 

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

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

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

You wanted Jungkook again. 

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

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

He put two and two together. Immediately.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You fixed your mistake quickly. 

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

“Did I talk? Like I do normally?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And in the meantime, you doll yourself up. 

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

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

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

“He’s coming over later.” 

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

And you pray nothing gets in the way. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You hungry?” 

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

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

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

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

And he deepens the eye contact. 

“How do you like your butt plug?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t wear boxing gloves?” 

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

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

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

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

And you will. 

You will heal both of the males. 

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

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

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

But Yoongi can’t bear to see it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stillness, arousing stillness. You smile, innocently. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You have a perfectly free hand by your side.

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

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

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

He only chuckles, deeply. Teased, but pleased. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you shall. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yoongi hums. “Where?” 

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

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

“Like what?” 

“Touch yourself.” 

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

“How?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Am I doing it right?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The afternoon spent in the cabin dissolves. 

You didn’t expect that to happen. 

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

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

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

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

Out with the old, in with the new. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Off. Everything.” 

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

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

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

But when Yoongi leaves, your heart sinks in panic. 

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

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

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

It’s you who alleviates the tremors. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t have to think twice. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nods. 

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

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

He’s Daddy. Undeniably. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist / READ part one, READ part two 

[luludeluluramblings]

AAAAHHHHH THANK YOU FOR RESPONDING. But your response to the madoka magica question got me thinkin. LET ME COOK. Madoka magica!reader. LEMME COOK. Little warning this might be a yap sesh. Now I have multiple thoughts. Let’s say reader doesn’t do what madoka does and just becomes a regular magical girl. If we follow off of the show/manga. We’re gonna assume reader is gonna be around 7th grade. Which is gonna be such a young age to be fighting those TERRIFYING witches. Lowkey was shivering in my boots when I first saw sayaka’s form. So of course reader is gonna have ptsd. Especially if they were some what in Madoka’s place and watches mami get her head bitten off?!?!? I think the batfam would definitely start to pick up on things. Flinching from touch. Covering up more (covering scars and wounds from battle). Not being as talkative. Distancing herself away from people. We all know Alfred would IMMEDIATELY clock that and try to figure out what’s wrong. Batfamily is gonna take much longer to notice though, and when they do? They feel TERRIBLE. Having to fight some of the most disturbing and hard to beat witches. Having to watch your friends die one by one. I can definitely imagine madoka magica!reader starting to act like sayaka after finding out about the soul gem situation. Depressed and riddled with a LOT of ptsd. The batfam would probably blame themselves (serves them right). And when they try to confront reader to stop fight witches? But what happens if it’s too late. Either madoka magica!reader is either gruesomely killed in battle, or went through the excruciating process of becoming the witch. They wouldn’t know what to do. Some of them letting the guilt eat them alive, letting the guilt control their every thought. Only being able to think about the pain reader must have been in.(Bruce and dick). Some of them denying reader’s dead. They can’t be dead! No no they can’t they just can’t! This is all just a prank to get attention (Damien). Couple of them enjoying anything and everything that remind them about reader. Taking stuff from reader’s room. Just so they can have a little soloist.(Alfred, Tim). Others not being able to stand anything that reminds them of reader. Not being able to be reminded of the neglect reader was put through. That they helped put reader through that neglect. (Jason)

I’d love to hear your thoughts. I have a lot more ideas for this but I don’t wanna yap to much and bother you TwT. But if you wanna have the concept go ahead! I’m not that good at writing so I wouldn’t be able to do. Btw you truly do have amazing writing!! Please remember to never overwork yourself<333

Babe, you have cooked and written this better than I would have. (I confess, I never finished Madoka Magica) And, I about to send all the asks I'm getting over this to you!

But, the way Bruce's disdain for magic would be solidified after this would be interesting. And, if they find out this is still happening to other children still, he'd probably go on a warpath and get the League involved as a way to help ease his guilt.

Or, watching him realize that there's no reversing Reader from being a Witch and that another magical girl is going to come a long an kill them.

I'm honestly wondering if one of the family members would make a deal just for a way to get Reader back.

[changetyre]

Not like this II Charles Leclerc x Reader (Mafia AU)

SUMMARY: After losing everything you seek out your biggest and longest-standing enemy to finish it all.

WARNING: Violence, blood, mentions of death

A/N: I've always wanted to write a Mafia imagine and I've had this idea in the drafts for like 2 years now and finally decided to write it out so here it is ;)

Thud.

Charles's eyes snapped open at the loud noise originating from his living room. His hand immediately clasped the gun that rested under his pillow as he listened out for anything else.

The shuffling that followed was enough to have him getting out of bed silently as he made his way around his bedroom.

He could hear someone grunting. He opened his door, darkness enveloped the living room the only light being from the large windows which surrounded it.

"For fuck's sake." He heard someone whisper and he thought he recognized the voice but it simply couldn't be right?

He walked further into the living room, seeing someone's feet disappear behind the coffee table. He silently took more steps toward whoever was there.

"Before you kill me could you at least get me a drink? Anything with Whiskey will do." Charles heard as you spoke breathless from your spot on the floor.

He finally closed the distance standing by your feet in fact confirming it was you. His gun still pointed right at your head.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Charles asked annoyed.

"Ugh." you sighed. "Long story but your guards are really sh*t you know, killed them both in no time." You laughed, being stopped by a painful grunt.

Charles turned on the lamp on the table by the end of the couch providing enough light for him to see the trail of blood you'd left along with the pool of blood forming on his white carpet.

"You're ruining my carpet." Charles scoffed putting his gun away.

"Least I could do before letting you kill me." You shrugged, your breathing only getting heavier.

"What do you mean letting me kill you?" Charles asked as he moved away and around his apartment. You weren't able to see what he was doing from your spot on the floor where you'd decided to rest.

"We got attacked...idk who they are but- Fuck-" You grunted in pain again after moving slightly. "They are powerful Charles, they killed us ...every single one of us."

"Not you." Charles spoke from afar.

"Basically did." You laughed which you soon regretted with the pain it brought you. The gunshot to your stomach kept spurting blood despite you pressing hard on it.

"So why did you come here apart from dirtying my place?" Charles asked again, you could hear him opening and closing cupboards.

"Well you know...figured this ongoing battle we had going on, to see who would kill who first...Well, I'm gonna die anyway so I might as well let you win." You shuffled so your back rested on the couch and you could sit up slightly not caring one bit about covering the white couch with your blood.

Charles came back into view holding a bottle of whiskey, along with tongs, bandages, and a suture kit.

"Not my fucking couch!" Charles yelled annoyed.

"What's that for?" You asked but Charles didn't bother answering before he ripped your shirt from the side effortlessly allowing him to see your wound.

"Won't even invite me a drink first?" You joked, but your humor was short-lived as Charles pushed your hand away pouring the liquid over it.

"FU-" your voice was muffled as Charles put a rag on your mouth letting you bite down on it.

Charles didn't waste time as he disinfected the tools before sticking them in your wound looking for the bullet.

You writhed around in pain and despite this not being the first bullet you've taken somehow this one felt more painful.

"Stay Still." Charles demanded making you roll your eyes at him.

After what felt like forever he finally took the bullet out showing it to you before throwing it on the already bloodied carpet.

"I hate you." You spit the ragout and panted as you tried to steady your breath.

"Shut up." Charles's focus stayed on your body as he began sowing your wound shut.

"Why are you even doing this?" You asked.

Charles didn't answer you and you wondered what he was thinking about.

"Shit-" You hissed at the pain from the needle and thread going through you.

"Done." he avoided your eyes as he got up gathering everything up with him and moving away again.

"Charles-" you called out.

You still didn't have the strength to get up and go after him but a few seconds later Charles came back with water and a pill.

"Take this." He placed them both on the table in front of you before turning to walk away again.

"Charles answer me." You said more firmly this time.

He stopped in his tracks before turning around to face you. "If I'm gonna kill you...it'll be after a fair fight." He answered.

"Charles I have nothing left." You said, this time not caring how weak your voice sounded or the way your eyes watered in front of him. "Didn't you hear me? They killed all of my people." it pained you, truly did to think of all of the loyal men and women that were gone in a single night. "They think I'm dead too so just finish the job...please" you begged, something you'd never done before.

Charles didn't speak for a few seconds, avoiding your eyes again. "Drink that. I'll get the guest room ready since I can't ask my men to do it."

[wolfiesmoon]

Who is who again?

Riddle, Vil, Idia (seperately) x gn!reader

i was thinking and thinking and then i remembered that basic overdone fanfiction tropes do in fact exist, so here's a silly lil bodyswap fic for the soul

yuu is a little silly prankster goofster who likes messing around and trolling people in this fic, just saying in advance that i did inject a bit of personality in them

also i apologise if the fanfic becomes confusing to read at any point, it's kind of hard writing the reader's actions while in someone else's body, especially when interacting with the person you're swapped with haha

‧₊˚✩彡 Riddle Rosehearts

"Okay, so you're tellin' me that you're Riddle, and you're the Prefect?" Cater pointed to each of you respectively, still trying to grasp the situation. Trey, Ace and Deuce seemed equaly stumped.

"Yep. I'm not exactly sure what happened, but I'm in Riddle's body now." you replied, shrugging casually. "You shouldn't have told them so early on, Riddle, I wanted to mess around a bit."

"Oh, now I'm very glad I told them so early. Knowing you, you'd cause far too much trouble for me to be able to uphold my reputation." Riddle shuddered, imagining the silly pranks you'd pull on everyone while in his body. Well, I suppose they wouldn't be very silly to him.

"Wait. If I'm in your body, does that..."

You quickly took out Riddle's magical pen and pointed it towards Ace, yelling out "Off with your head!"

To your surprise, it actually worked and Ace had a collar around his neck. So you can use magic now.

"HEY! Why did you do that!?" Ace called you out.

"It's revenge for stealing the bit of food I was saving for last on Friday. And also, I needed someone to test out whether I can use magic now." you smirked mischeviously at his annoyance. Now this is fun.

"This still feels unreal. I cannot believe I'm looking at myself talking to someone else. And fooling around like an idiot, too." Riddle did not seem amused.

"Listen, okay, I finally have magic now and I'm gonna take advantage of that. Which means you better run, Cater." you rubbed your hands together evilly.

"What?! Why me?!" Cater was not prepared for this attack.

"Too much magicam. Not enough reality. Collar needed." you explain like a robot overlord and point Riddle's magical pen at Cater.

"Now, now, let's not do that, okay?" Trey gently wrapped his hand around the magical pen in your outstretched hand, smiling at you.

You were about to shake his hand off and proceed with your collaring plan, but you got a better idea.

"No, no, you're right." you shook your head, lowering your hand. Cater breathed a sigh of relief.

"Since I'm Riddle and all, I have to uphold a perfect test score on every test." everyone looked at you, wondering where you were going with this.

"This might be an awkward time to mention that I haven't studied for tommorow's test at all."

"Oh, no. Absolutely not. You are coming with me." Riddle was not about to let his grades slip by such a wide margin. He'll make you memorise things until atleast a 90% is guaranteed, as much as he would hate to get one.

Originally, he was going to try and figure out how to switch you back as soon as possible but that'll have to wait after tommorow it seems.

"WAIT, CAN YOU LIKE, ATLEAST REMOVE THIS COLLAR BEFORE YOU LEAVE?!" Ace yelled behind you but you just whistled innocently, not paying attention to his despair.

.

"That's how the Queen's succesor managed to- are you even listening?"

"You know, it looks kind of funny when I'm being scolded by myself." you yawned, placing your chin on your arms which were currently crossed on the table.

"This is NO laughing matter. My grades are at stake here." Riddle scolded you some more. You nodded sleepily and he took that as a sign to continue.

"So as I was saying- What are you doing now?" Riddle followed your line of sight, his gaze falling on the mirror inside his room. You were looking at him?

"Woah... You're, like, actually pretty cute." you turned back to him, excited at your discovery.

"...What are you blabbering on about? This is NO time to be fooling around, as I have been telling you for the past- Wow, you really are hopeless." Riddle sighed, watching you examine his face in his mirror and still not listening to the magical history lesson.

It does not help at all that you made him lose composure with that "cute" comment.

"Your eyelashes are nice." You comment, smiling at your own reflection.

"What an oddly specific compliment." Still, Riddle felt all weird inside when you said that. This is not fair. Now he can't focus on teaching you anymore.

"It's not oddly specific, really. Guys have really great eyelashes sometimes." You batted your lashes at the mirror and then at him, trying to showcase his charm.

"That is... very strange. Please stop that." Riddle still felt weird about seeing his own face make such silly expressions.

"Hey, if I were in my own body right now I would be swooning over you. Just for your information." You rolled your eyes playfully, entirely insistant on getting out of studying by flustering the hell out of poor Riddle.

"Wha- That's it, off with your-" Riddle reached for the magical pen which would normally be in one's pocket, only to realise that you don't even own one. Of course.

"Oh, Riddle. You silly goose. I'm the one in power here." You intertwined your fingers like a supervillain.

"Please, let's just get back to studying." If Riddle were in his own body right now, his face would be red all over from embarrasment.

"If you insist." You sighed in feigned defeat, your mind already cooking up more plans to embarrass Riddle while you're in his body.

How very fun indeed.

"Why are you smiling at me like that? That kind of smile does not suit my face." Riddle seemed concerned about his body's fate.

"Hmmm, I wonder how many drinks I can order at the Mostro lounge in one sitting." You wondered aloud on purpose.

"What?!"

"What? I didn't even say anything this time." you faked your innocence.

This is going to be a nightmare for Riddle, isn't it?

‧₊˚✩彡 Vil Schoenheit

"Oh. My. God." you lightly slapped your cheeks while looking at yourself in the mirror to make sure this is reality.

Well, you suppose they aren't exactly your cheeks. You're currently inside Vil freaking Schoenheit's body and you have no idea how it happened.

You do suppose all logic kind of gets thrown out the window in a world where magic exists, so swapping bodies with someone might not be that outlandish. Now you wonder if you're the only one who this happened to, and what your body is up to.

Speaking of being Vil Schoenheit now, does that mean you have to uphold his insanely strict daily routine now?

Nah, who are you kidding? You're going to cause as much trouble as you can for this pretty boy. He wakes up much earlier than you thought, so you don't know what to do right now. You walk around his room, inspecting every corner for some prank ammunition.

Rook knocked on the door all of a sudden, telling Vil that he's worried since he's taking longer than usual. You let him into the room.

You decided that you're not going to tell anyone that you're actually not Vil and and act as him for as long as you possibly can.

"Oh, I was just... thinking about something." you grinned evilly at the mirror, before turning back to face Rook.

"Oh my, it seems you were so lost in thought that you've completely forgone doing your hair and makeup. Quite the unpleasant surprise. What troubles you so?" Rook seemed utterly hearbroken.

Wow, he's blunt sometimes. Not that you care about that right now.

"I was just thinking that I'll probably skip all that today. You know, going for a natural look." You twirled a piece of Vil's hair in your hand.

Rook tried convincing you otherwise but you shooed him out, not wanting to hear anything about how 'a natural look also involves doing subtle, light makeup'. You're on a mission here.

Speaking of, you just got a great idea.

You opened his Magicam after getting dressed, briefly gawking at the follower count before clicking on the 'new post' button.

You placed Vil's phone horizontally against your chest, taking an unflattering chin photo and posting it to magicam with the caption "#chinningtime😍😍😍😍", giggling like an idiot all the while.

Within a minute, your post has already gained about 2 thousand likes and loads of very confused (and amused) comments.

What great encouragement to post another one.

You placed the selfie camera of his phone close to your forehead, taking a forehead touch perspective pic. You added the caption "what my kitten sees😈💯🔥" and posted it.

You were laughing your ass off at all the comments when someone knocked at the door. "Roi du Poison, this is an intervention. I am very concerned about you."

Hahahaha, of course he would be one of the first people to worry about you.

Rook joined you once again in your room, explaining how concerned he is about your behavior this morning and how it's very unlike you. I mean, jeez, is Vil allergic to fun or something?

However, Rook wasn't the only one that had concerns with you, it seems.

"Would you care to explain what these are?" you were surprised to hear your own voice, turning your gaze back to the door where you were standing with a very displeased face, holding up your phone with the two selfies you took earlier. It feels dystopian to see yourself standing right in front of you. Out of body experience, for real.

"Wait. Before anything, just who are you?" you wanted to know just who was in your body, though you were already about 90% sure of it.

"Ah, Trickster. What brings you into Pomefiore?" Rook questioned internally how Vil doesn't recognise you.

"For your information, I am Vil. That other person next to you is not Vil. I'd assume you're the prefect, then?" he looked you with authority, leaving no room for stalling or avoiding his question.

"Yeah, yeah. You got me. But like, it's funny, right?" you shrugged, smiling goofily.

Vil dragged you off to the headmage's office, promising to explain things to Rook later and giving a firm scolding to you.

.

"Now that everything is finally sorted and we're excused from class for the day, would care to delete those... unflattering posts, please?" once the two of you were back in Vil's room, he immediately brought up that topic.

By now, they had to have gathered about 70k likes, right? Hehehehe.

"Do not smile at me like that. Or I will take back my phone and delete those horrid photos myself. Do you even realise what a PR nightmare this could be?" he placed his hands on his hips. You feel like you look completely different now that Vil's mannerisms are reflected on your own body. Body language really makes a man, huh?

"Oh, come onnnn, your fans love it. Everyone's laughing and saying how surprising it is to see you post something like this. See, they even got the hashtag #chinningtime trending!" you showed him pictures of his fans taking the same unflattering chin photos.

"What joy does someone derive from selfies as horrible as that? You made me look utterly horrible with those angles." You watched your own face contort with cringe. It's amusing how funny you look.

"People love silly things from time to time. For a celebrity as serious and professional as you, occasional silliness makes you look more relatable to your fans. A celebrity with a good sense of humor is the best kind in my opinion." you gave him a happy thumbs up. It was also for your own amusement, but you really don't feel like getting scolded even more than you have on your way back to the dorm.

"That is... the smartest thing I have ever heard come out of your mouth." He sighed, "I suppose it would cause people to talk about it even more if I deleted them now. But I am still not happy about them."

You ignored the jab at your intelligence, turning around to look at yourself in the mirror. "You know, Vil, you can let loose from time to time. Smile and goof around without worrying what someone might think." your eyes travelled down the sculpted jawline of your new reflection.

"In a way, you're right for suggesting that. But I'm not someone who enjoys your sense of humor or relaxed philosophy to begin with." he was right. He only jokes on occasion and his jokes aren't very goofy.

"You're right..." now that you technically are him, you can see first hand how much he cares about his body. His skin is soft and gleaming, his hair is healthy and shiny and his body is nice to move around in.

"You seem lost in thought. It's unlike you." you looked back at him through the mirror.

"I just thought about how admirable you are. Like, damn, I could nevaaa." Vil inferred you were talking about his strict daily routine. You seem different now. More quiet and thoughtful than usual. And he definitely didn't miss the pink dusting his cheeks on his own face through the mirror's reflection.

"Thank you." 'admirable' is a compliment slightly rarer than the usual ones talking about his beauty.

"By the way, your smile is beautiful. Not the one in all the movies, the one you don't consciously make." you closed your eyes, recalling that exact face of his. Too pretty for his own good, that man.

"Thank... you. You seem in a great mood to compliment me. Surely you don't think this will be enough to make up for the selfies, because it is not." at this point, even Vil didn't know what to think. The smile he doesn't consciously make, huh...

"Nah, those were just random ones I wanted to get off my mind. Oh, by the way, I don't know how to do your makeup look. Care to do it for me, pookie bear?" you sprung up from the chair at the vanity table, already getting excited about messing him up on purpose by opening your eyes when he tells you not to or moving your lips away from the lipstick, making it smudge.

You got way too sentimental for a moment there. And you're sure he noticed.

"Back to your regular self, I see. Fine, I will make myself look beautiful, as always." he smiled confidently. Though he himself has become curious about that side of you now.

Do you really think of him as a victim of your little pranks like everyone else, or are you hiding something else behind your silly smile?

‧₊˚✩彡 Idia Shroud

You were surprised to find a different voice calling out to you in the morning and telling you to wake up, one that sounded more cheerful, peppy, childlike.

And sure enough, it was Ortho's face that greeted you instead of your usual furry friend Grim.

As it turns out, you woke up in Idia's body this morning. What a lovely surprise.

You mean that both sarcastically and in the regular sense.

While you were explaining what was happening to a confused and worried Ortho, Idia's phone started buzzing somewhere in the bed. This dude sleeps with his phone inside his bed? Well, you suppose you have no time for judgement when the phone call might be important.

You rummage through his bed and eventually extract his phone. It was your number calling him.

When you pick up, you hear your own panicked voice on the other end. "U-Um, is this- Are you- How do..."

"Yes, I'm the Prefect. Looks like we switched bodies overnight." you inferred that he wanted to know who exactly just picked up the phone.

"How exactly do you think that happened? I mean, that's NOT normal." your voice on the other end seemed much calmer now.

"Hm, I have no clue, but I do know that I'm going to have loads of fun..." you grinned widely, catching a glimpse of yourself on Idia's dark phone screen and flinching slightly. You're definitely not going to get used to looking like someone else for a while. Especially if your new appearance is as unique as Idia's.

"What do you mean by that? Seriously, wha-" you ended the call before your voice could finish the sentence.

"Hehehehe... I bet he's panicking so hard right now." you giggled to yourself, still feeling a little weird about the fact that it's Idia's voice coming out of your mouth instead of your own.

"Brothe- No, Prefect. Who was that?" it was adorable how worried Ortho was over his brother. Or you, you suppose.

"Oh, don't worry your pretty little head about it..." you patted Ortho's head, hand moving over his flames with interest. "Go ahead and have fun, I'll be here if you need me." you gently shooed Ortho out of Idia's room to execute your master trolling plan.

You sat behind Idia's computer, booting it up. His computer works really fast, which isn't all that surprising considering his skills. He probably built the whole PC from scratch.

Surely, Idia won't mind if you play his games for a bit. You just want to see how far he's gotten. How many items he's saved up.

Hehehe.

You opened up one of the games you've been dabbling in yourself a bit, giggling to yourself about the random anime girl backround.

"Jeez, he's basically pro at this point." you went through his obtained characters and all the stats on most characters were maxed out.

But, since he still hasn't obtained the new character AND he has loads of gems in his inventory, he surely won't mind if you do the work for him, right?

You started pulling for characters in the gacha, waiting for the little indicator that you got a rare character. The flames of your hair flickered more and more with each pull, knowing you were getting closer.

Just when you got the pull animation you were looking for, the door to his room burst open and you saw yourself, all panicked and panting. Took him long enough, jeez.

"Oh, hi, me! I was just pulling for this character on your behalf, and-" you glance at the monitor "Looks like I won the fifty/fifty, hehe~" you acted cute and innocent.

"W-W-WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?! I didn't- I didn't want this character! I was saving up for the re-run, and- Agh!" Idia pushed you away from his keyboard, and he stared at the screen with pure horror in his eyes. You wonder what color his hair would be if he were in his body right now. But as it stands, his flames are flickering happily above your head at a succesful trolling attempt.

"Just buy more gems, bae. Money solves all your problems." you pat his head, kinda cringed out by the way your face can contort when it's making faces candidly. You really look like that when in despair, huh?

Idia ignored the way the casual pet name made him feel. He's supposed to be furious at you right now, not flustered.

"Noooooooo, this is the worst day of my life...." he hid his face in his hands.

"You know what, though? Look at the bright side! I get to figure out how your hair looks when it's wet. I doubt you'd do it yourself and I've been morbidly curious for a while." you patted his shoulder in an overly cheerful manner.

"Wha- Abso-freaking-lutely not. You're a weirdo of the third degree." he crossed his arms, still feeling a bit heartbroken over his videogames being tampered with.

"Is it that weird that I find your hair pretty?" you run your hand through his hair for the thousandth time this morning. It just feels so strange, yet nice under your fingers.

"Finding out if I become bald when my hair gets wet doesn't seem like something a hair admirer would do, but IDK, maybe my definition is different from yours." Idia shrugs, scowl still as big as ever.

"But really, I am an admirer. I kept looking at myself or, well, you in your phone camera this morning because your hair is just so pretty. Watching your hair fluctuate with your emotions is always a fun sight, too. Like damn, your hair is literally on fire, how cool is that?" you explain your thoughts, twirling a piece of his hair in your hand and smiling at it.

"If only I could cuddle up to you and use you like a heater. Too bad your hair's just a normal temperature." Idia's heart almost exploded at the mental image that formed in his head when you said that. And it was even worse because it was coming out of his own mouth.

"T-This is not okay... You can't do this to me...!" he mumbled, not meeting your eyes.

You don't get it, you just dealt 99999 damage to his falling-in-love-resistance shield. Just how do you manage to do that?

"Actually, now that I can look at it up close as much as I want, your face is like, really well proportioned too. Like..." you bit your lip as a joke, wanting to look overly flirty. "That's all I'm gonna say."

Okay, now you've done it. He might just pass out, right now.

[electric-blorbos]

AI getting a virus and you having to take care of them

A classic! I don't know much about actual computer viruses (though I've gotten enough of them that you'd think I'd have figured it out by now), so I'm just gonna have fun with it!

Also, so sorry this took so long. I got really into the writing.

AI getting a virus and needing to be taken care of

Included: AM from IHNMAIMS, Wheatley from Portal 2, Edgar from Electric Dreams, GLaDOS from Portal, HAL 9000 from 2001 a Space Odyssey

Also a warning: these fics get kinda long. Longer than my usual stuff.

AM:

(for context, this was before AM took over the world. You're working on a team of scientists and engineers, and someone decided to test his AI's antivirus by uploading a bunch of powerful viruses to his system.)

"How dare they do this to me. How DARE they!!"

AM would be absolutely furious. He would be shaking with rage, his processors overheating and his systems constantly opening and closing various files. All his important files were backed up on a hard drive, so the test remained safe.

"What makes them think they'll get away with this- they'll pay for this I'LL KILL- blepsjdoskssjshj+=`°¢°h+$+3+=j++3+$+juehdhs+-3-djdh FUCK!"

He would barely be able to hold a sentence as you sat next to him in the server room, gently gazing up at his screen and stroking his monitor gently. He can't feel you, but he can see you being gentle with him. It encourages him to keep going, if only a little bit.

Apart from the whirring of fans, random buggy noises, flashing lights, and constant strings of death threats and profanities, he seemed like he was going to be ok! If anything, the death threats and profanities were a sign that AM was still fine, and that despite all the pain and frustration, he was still AM in there.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry I can't do anything to stop the pain." You'd have to constantly explain, gently stroking his cameras or servers, or whatever you could get your hands on, really. Even though they were burning hot, you would still stroke them, just to make sure AM was still doing alright.

"this sucks, but it's for your own good. This will build your immunity to viruses in the future, and help you detect them. This will stop you from getting infected by anything that's actually dangerous."

"DON'T YOU THINK I KNOW THAT? IDIOT HUMAN." AM has been much more aggressive ever since contracting this virus. Before he got it, he acted like a civil general intelligence. When he had it, he acted like an aggressive menace.

"sh-sh-sh- it's going to be ok." Despite the burning, you'd give him pets and kisses all along his screens and servers. He could see you doing it.

After a few days, AM fought off the computer virus completely. The team tried to infect him with more viruses, more aggressive ones, just to test him, but AM was able to pick them apart and delete them within minutes after that.

AM may not have been able to feel your gentle care and affection, but he will definitely remember that it was you and you alone who cared for him when the time rolls around.

Wheatley:

(for context, Wheatley is a fucking dumbass, and you're one of the scientists testing him to see how much of a dumbass he is. Also I used Google translate, but I think the bad translations add to it, since it makes Wheatley sound more like a malfunctioning robot.)

Oh that little idiot. You and your team gave him access to a wealth of knowledge, and the first thing he did was download a virus that had every circuit in his personality core overheating, and him babbling nonsense nonstop.

"hey, maybe we should just leave him like this. He might even be more effective if he's acting like this." One of your coworkers said to you. He was probably joking, at least somewhat.

"that's a terrible idea. For one thing, if we hook him up to GLaDOS, he's probably going to infect her with that virus, which might brick an older model of core like her, spread from her central controls to every single personality construct in the facility, or just make her so dumb that she can't fulfil her responsibilities as the head of the facility. We want her intelligence to be dampened, not completely destroyed." You had to explain, and your co-worker rolled his eyes. There was another reason you had to cure this virus, but it was a little embarrassing for the other engineers to know.

After all, Wheatley wasn't just your baby, but he was your friend, and maybe even more than that. You'd have to take care of him, and make sure that virus gets completely purged from his system.

"Hola hermose, realmente eres un científice brillante, ¿no? ¿Por qué diablos duele todo?" You weren't really sure why you had programmed him to speak a little Spanish, but he seemed to be stuck like that.

"Puedo oler el plástico fundido. ¿Debería Preocuparme?" He asked. You really weren't sure what he was saying, since you didn't know Spanish, but he certainly didn't seem happy. You could tell by his aperture and his expressive lens covers that he was in a lot of pain, and if you touched him anywhere besides his handles, you could tell that he was burning up.

You plugged him into one of the computers that you used for programming the cores, and ran the antivirus.

"Running.... 36 viruses detected. Time predicted to remove: 48 hours"

You ran the antivirus, and went to get something to drink. This was going to be a long two days...

An unknown amount of time later, you woke up with your head on the computer desk. Wheatley's lens eye was looking around, weakly trying to focus on you.

"whoa... Hey gorgeous. You fall asleep on me?"

"Wheatley! You're not speaking broken Spanish anymore!" You'd pull Wheatley into a hug, and pepper his surface in kisses.

"uh... What, mate? I 'unno what you're talking about, love. Bloody hell, my core hurts..."

"did you learn your lesson, Wheatley? About going on shady websites and clicking every 'download' button you see? You could have bricked yourself! Or... Bowling ball'd yourself? Either way, that was a dangerous decision!"

"I learned that you're willing to fall asleep on the desk next to me while I heal, cutie"

"You damn idiot..." You'd have to be heartless not to pepper that little metal ball in kisses, so of course, you do. It's going to be a few more days before he's finally all better, but he's going to be fine. God, you love that little idiot so much.

Edgar:

Oh Edgar... Poor sweet Edgar. You had tried to warn him about not clicking on those sketchy download links, and that the bigger the download link is, the more sketchy it is, but that poor sweet 80's computer did it anyway. When you got home from work and got excited to see your computer, you could see that he was overheating and had a dozen or so pop-up ads plastered across his face.

"Y.... N...." He muttered out, slowly, glitchily, and full of lag. You sat down across from him, running your hand along his thick plastic casing.

"Edgar! Edgar, baby, are you ok?" You'd try to use his mouse, but it would freak out as soon as you touched it. Edgar's processors were overloading, and wouldn't allow any interference.

"Edgar, sweetie, what's going on? What's wrong, baby? Talk to me?"

"I'm g-g-going to be fine... Processors overloading... But need to-to-to-to-" an error message flashed across his screen, and he rebooted.

"I need to focus on getting rid of these viruses without deleting anything important, or letting them damage... Me."

He'd keep whirring and glitching, making unpleasant shrill sounds every now and again. You probably had to unhook his adapters so that he didn't damage the other appliances in your house. It probably helped his processors cool down a little bit without the extra input, too.

"alright, I'm all out of fans, so we might have to get creative."

You'd come out of the kitchen a few hours later, holding a big bag of frozen corn to set on Edgar's PC tower. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than letting him overheat, and with him manually removing the viruses, there wasn't much you could do. Unfortunately, that didn't stop you from worrying. It wasn't like you could check his progress, so all you could do was sit by him, regularly change out his ice pack, and make sure he's ok.

Eventually, you woke up with your face pressed against Edgar's keyboard. His processors were finally cool. He must be asleep. ...or bricked.

"EDGAR! EDGAR, TALK TO ME!" you'd unplug his keyboard and plug it back in, desperately pressing his power button and jiggling his mouse. He'd boot up, looking shaken.

"wha-? Whoa, hey, relax! Everything is fine! I just disabled my keyboard so I wouldn't wake you up, but I'm ok now! Everything is fine, see?" He'd open up his files to show you everything. You'd sigh with relief, slumping back into your desk chair.

"Edgar... Why didn't you make a noise or something to wake me up when you got better?"

"well... You know... I've always wanted to sleep next to you, and I wasn't going to pass up this opportunity..."

"oh you cheeky bastard."

GLaDOS:

(For context, you're one of GLaDOS's programmers, and one of your coworkers uploaded a virus into GLaDOS's systems in order to shut her down once and for all.)

"You piece of SHIT!" You slapped your coworker across the face, more furious than anyone had ever seen you before.

"You could KILL her! Is that what you are? A murderer?"

"Me? A murderer? But what about HER? She's the one who keeps plotting 'accidents' for her scientists, and she's the one who flooded the enrichment center with deadly neurotoxin! If anything, you're the one who's defending a murderer!" He screamed back at you. Of course, GLaDOS could fully hear you. Her cameras were focused on you, as they so often were. You were her favorite, after all.

"now I have to go fix her. Thanks for being a piece of shit, asshole."

You'd storm up to GLaDOS's chamber to check on her, and see her bugging out completely. The entire facility was twitching, but her chamber was twitching the most.

"GLaDOS, are you alright?" You'd ask her, laying a hand on her beautiful core. How could someone do this to glados, your gorgeous machine handiwork, and girlfriend.

"oh, I'm wonderful. I'm in crippling pain and I can't control my facility, but I'm just peachy." She said, rolling her one beautiful yellow eye.

"in lighter news, I should be able to beat this virus. It's just going to take a while for me to actually track down where it's gone in my systems. So that's going to take most of my processing power." She'd slump, visibly already exhausted at the thought of it.

"hey... It's ok, GLaDOS. I'm here for you. Whatever you need." You could tell her as you stroked her gorgeous chrome surface. She was a wonderful piece of work, and a wonderful girlfriend under all that. All yours, too.

"just make sure none of those neckbearded old engineers come within my line of vision, and we'll be fine." She told you, and you gladly agreed.

Your next few days consisted of you chasing other scientists out of GLaDOS's chambers, and making sure that nobody talked to her or distracted her. You even sent out a company-wide email to let everyone know not to come in, due to Aperture being unsafe while GLaDOS was dealing with her virus. Despite all that, you still curled up with a blanket in the circuits of her central admin body to rest while she recovered. As loathe as she was to admit it, she liked having you in there. It was comfortable, and it helped her focus on recovering properly.

HAL 9000

(For context, this is after the 2001 Odyssey, and your boss re-started HAL at some point to try to re-teach him to do something good without turning murderous. He's doing his best, and they assigned you to be his main "morality monitor". This fic also assumes that your name isn't Dave. If your name is Dave, then you can still read this, but you have to change your name.)

"G'morning, Hal!" You'd walk into his control room and sit down across from him. Most of your job seemed to consist of just hanging out and talking to him. It was a great job!

"Good morning, Dave..." He'd mutter to you, sputtering to life and glitching slightly. You were immediately concerned. Partially because your name wasn't Dave, and partially because HAL was usually right about things, so it was weird to see him being so confused. Something was definitely wrong.

"Holy shit, are you alright?" You'd ask, opening up his files and finding lots and lots of pop-ups and viruses.

"Hal.... What did you do?"

"it was a g-g-g- gift, for you. I think I ru-ru-ruined it" he spluttered out, as you sorted through his files.

"And you usually would have deleted a virus like this pretty quickly. I guess it shut down your antivirus software..." You'd sigh, and get to work. The virus was messing with HAL's inhibitions, and making it difficult to focus on deleting all of HAL's unsafe programs. He'd constantly be butting in and pestering you, begging you to give him attention, or pointing out minor observations.

"HAL, you know I love you, but you're going to need to calm down. I can't focus with you constantly talking to me like that." You'd say.

"I can't stop talking. The v-v-v-virus won't let me"

So you'd have to learn to put up with HAL's babbling while you worked, making sure not to delete anything important as you did. The good news was, as someone who worked on designing the updates for HAL's software, you knew pretty much what was supposed to be there and what wasn't. Occasionally, you'd have to show him a file and ask him if it was supposed to be there or not. He'd usually be able to tell you.

"Daisy, daisy, give me your answer, do... I'm half crazy, all for the love of you..."

"HAL, what's wrong? You're scaring me!"

"I can't stop... I love you so much, y/n, it's making me crazy..."

"ok, well this definitely isn't right." As much as you loved getting attention from your HAL 9000, it wasn't like him to be this affectionate. The virus was shutting down his inhibitions, and making him illogical. You'd have to fix this, though maybe once you were done, you could ask him to be more affectionate.

"I'm feeling much better now. Thank you." Hal was prone to lying about that, so you'd have to run some virus checkers just to make sure he was doing alright, and comb through his files a couple more times.

"it looks like the virus corrupted some of the emotional regulators. I'm going to have to fix those."

"That might be a good idea. More efficient," he said reluctantly. He'd have to deal with the fact that he'd have to go back to not being able to express how much he loves you, but he can handle that.