#(I fucking love those things you can rip them from my cold dead hands-)

[trickstersshadow]

( I’ve been watching Sonic Prime lately and wondered for a moment about how I could do a thing for Akira with it and. I’m actually kinda considering taking the premise wholesale ngl-

At least the starting part of it. :) )

[hoseoksluna]

VAPOR, pt II. | jjk ft. myg

pairing: boyfriend!jungkook x steam!oc 

genre: smut, a great dose of angst

word count: 11.9k

summary: hard times ask for extra care and like the healer he is, jungkook doesn't fail to give you his absolute best.

pinterest board: vapor | playlist: vapor

warnings: heartbreak, lots of tears, oral sex (f. and m. receiving), praise kink, sucking fingers, female masturbation, fingering, oc is extremely wet and jk is rly rly hard for her <3, squirting, multiple orgasms, jk tells her off kinda and it's hot, pet names, raw and rough sex, the abandonment issues are heavy in one part, mention of a sex toy

note: hi, my loves. this was absolutely painful to write, but i know i made a good decision. unfortunately for those who are waiting for the next series—i'm sorry, but this will have another part. it's already so long and if i kept going, it'd have probably like 20k plus words and i don't want to take up your time. i think i can manage to post the last part THIS week, so look forward to this. one part of the happy ending done. <3 i love you, guys, i hope you like this. don't hesitate to let me know; i worked hard and i want validation skfjslkfjsklfs. enjoy, my loves. <3

A dead man for the fifth time, Jungkook finds the unfolding of the events quite ridiculous now. And he’s not surprised, how could he really be at this point, that there’s radio silence within the chambers of his heart. 

The food court is muted, the lights are ever still bright, but the corners of his eyes gain peculiar shadows that cling to the side of your face as you swirl your spoon in your hot soup. His phone is ringing and its obnoxious sound is but a vibration in his hand and the only thing that’s delaying him from sliding his thumb across his device is some sort of consent in your solemn, yet saddened features. He can see translucent threads lining your rounded lips that have sown your mouth shut, preventing you from speaking out your tender heart and it’s predominantly this thing, among the obvious other ones, that drives him to make a scene in front of all of these people crowded around him. 

If he has to, he will rip those wisps. Make it as painless as possible because whether he likes it or not, he needs you right now. Needs your word of advice, needs your consent in order to do what the entirety of his organs yearns to do. And if you say no, he’ll willingly turn his phone off and refuse to speak to his once-closest friend. 

Just for the sake of your mental health. Just to outrun fate and grasp her wrist to stop her from furthermore scarring your heart. 

You have enough of them and he has only one pair of lips to heal them. 

Lifting the spoon to your mouth, you keep your gaze on its silver coat and it unnerves him—the fact you won’t look at him, the fact that you so evidently don’t want to be in this situation. Your own boyfriend is chasing you around town, even though he transmitted waves of nothingness your way when he had you under his roof. He doesn’t fucking understand it. Doesn’t understand how he’s capable of doing such a thing and fury rises in his gut, soars high to his throat, which constricts around it so tightly that it forbids him from inhaling any oxygen into his lungs. And he fears that if he speaks, it’ll soak you. Make you even smaller than you are and he’ll hate himself for the rest of his life for it. 

However… 

He needs to talk to you. Time is pressing down on his shoulders once again and here and now, he’s too burdened, too fragile to bear it. His stoicism has long been fractured, its shards cracking cacophonously under the soles of his sneakers and… the singular tear rooting on his pale cheek hasn’t even dried up. 

“Tell me what to do, sweetheart,” Jungkook says, his voice a soft, deep murmur; a plea. His surroundings gain volume, little by little, the lack of air in his lungs causing his mind to spin. His body grows cold and, unwittingly, he bounces his leg underneath the table. “If you don’t want me to pick up this call, I won’t. It’s your decision.” 

He knows that whatever it is that will come out of your mouth and change the trajectory of his fury, he’ll protect you nonetheless. No matter what, no matter what it takes. He’ll unleash what’s been swarming in him for a long time in private sometime later if you ask for it—he’ll gladly tell his organs no and they’ll have to listen. That’s certainly not an issue. 

What will be an issue is if you remain quiet. He doesn’t know what will happen to him under that circumstance. He has very little trust in something that’s out of his grasp and he has  strong disliking for the looseness of it all. Doesn’t feel right. 

A quick, soft slurp of your soup. A lift of your weary eyes. A kick in his heart. “I don’t want to make any decision. If you want to pick up the call, you should. I don’t mind. If you don’t, that’s fine, too.” 

He must be dead because he’s staring at his own reincarnation. 

You’ve walked so far on your pathway of suffering that you reached the point that you don’t care anymore. Don’t care that there’s a risk Yoongi will see you or hear you. Don’t care about what’s going to happen when he does and about the events after. It’s as admirable as it is disturbing and a faint pulse begins to sound in his chest. Thrill nips at his skin; a sense of responsibility uncoiling within, linking to the surety of his instinct to protect you. To stand up for you. To make things right in a way, way different manner than he’s ever tried before and it’s those inclinations that drive his thumb to swipe across the screen. 

Though he doesn’t look at Yoongi. No, he looks at you, studying your features. It’s not that he doesn’t trust your words, he does and vehemently so, but this is a difficult situation that you’re both in and it would be only understandable if the gravity of it washed over you all of a sudden and you weren’t comfortable with this anymore. He wouldn’t hesitate to end the call right away. Fuck what Yoongi thinks. 

But nothing changes about your weariness. It’s a still pool of water, unmoving and utterly impenetrable, like the pond behind his cabin during cold, winter times. When this is over, he promises to get warm and dip his fingers in, permeate your skin with rosiness and coziness. Stall the change of seasons unfurling in you. 

And Jungkook pleats that promise into the palm of your hand as he takes it, his thumb against your head line. Watches you stuff your mouth full with noodles. His own stomach churns, the fury half parting, making a way for his hunger to suffuse his senses. He’s so happy you’re eating that all he can think about is how he’s going to make your life better with this one singular video call. 

He leaves you to it and focuses his gaze down on Yoongi. His once-close friend is driving in his car and despite the shit view he has of him, due to his service and the way Yoongi’s phone is angled, he can still see the way he’s swathed by murkiness. The purple marks under his eyes are a stark contrast to the pallidness of his skin and his hair is a mess, tufts of black strands sticking in different directions as if he had been on the verge of ripping his hair out. He has one hand on the steering wheel, while the other runs over his upper lip. Over and over, back and forth, waiting, patiently, for Jungkook’s attention. 

He starts speaking once he knows he has it. 

“Sorry to bother you, I didn’t know who else to call.” He sighs and explains that he’s calling because of you, the mention of your name causing his voice to crack. “I drove up to her apartment, but she’s not there. She told me she was going to her place when she… when she… left.” 

So he heard you loud and clear, and yet he didn’t have the decency to respond to you, make you know that you were heard. Jungkook looks at you and this time you look back at him, too. A tight, painful exchange of glances. He squeezes your hand, even as Yoongi continues. 

“She’s not picking up the phone. I’m worried about her—”

Jungkook is swift with his words. “You should’ve thought of that before you let her leave,” he snaps, his whole body tense, hanging yet again by the thread. He keeps his hold over your hand gentle, despite it all—despite the fact that his form yearns to explode. “You’re too reckless. Leave her alone.” 

Your eyes widen while Yoongi’s narrow, but he doesn’t regret what he said. He knows there’s utmost truth in them, something that should scramble his brain until he comprehends it. Yoongi’s mouth purses in a tight line and his fist clenches before he places it on the steering wheel with a thud. 

“Don’t talk to me like this. I don’t need this,” Yoongi mutters, pulling out his hyung card and while it angers Jungkook even more, he also thinks that’s the biggest load of bullshit that has ever come out of his mouth. “I need to know where she is.” 

He gazes intently at you as he says, “It’s none of your business.” 

And those big eyes of yours round in a good emotion that he can’t really recognize and slowly, you swallow down your noodles. Speechless, he deduces. A tendril of adrenaline courses in him, strengthening his responsibility and protectiveness over you, kissing it ever so sweetly when you squeeze his hand. 

A validation. 

Jungkook could stay like this. He wouldn’t mind at all—it feels too nice. Feels like you’re his. And perhaps at this very moment you are. 

The feeling is so overwhelming that he doesn’t give two shits about the fact Yoongi is detonating on the other side of the screen. He keeps his eyes on you. 

“What the fuck do you mean it’s none of my business? Is she with you?” 

It’s at this moment that a proud smile curls Jungkook’s lips. And it’s joy that absorbs his organs, his heart beating loudly and clearly. Even the people around him seem happier in his peripheral vision. He thinks this night tops in the best days he’s ever had. 

Tension has grabbed a hold of you, too. But he will make it better. He’s got you. 

He continues with the truth and he’s not afraid of it. Not at all. 

“Yes, she’s safe with me.” 

Those words, most peculiarly, soothe Yoongi’s rage. Silence fills his car, one that forces Jungkook to flick his eyes to his phone because he truly can’t believe what’s happening. Yoongi runs his hand down his face and nods once, the murkiness loosening a fair bit before it pulps him. It’s now that he becomes small. A tiny boy, at the hands of his own repercussions. Displeased, but relieved. A strange, strange sight.

“Good,” Yoongi says and Jungkook’s stomach drops. “She should be with you. You’re better than me in ways I could never be. She doesn’t need me anymore.” 

Your mouth parts and a vexation of your own clutches you. Enough for you to drop your spoon and lift your hand, palm up. The adrenaline in Jungkook’s system thickens. “Give me the phone.” 

Yoongi's head turns to the screen at the sound of your irritated voice and Jungkook’s smile widens, handing you the device. He knows what you’re about to say will put an end to this difficult situation and he’s eager to hear it, eager for it to happen. 

“Careful, don’t make him crash his car,” Jungkook whispers, ever so smug, just for your ears, but on the other hand, he doesn’t care if it finds a way to your boyfriend’s as well. You gaze at him most solemnly, fleetingly, and he can’t read shit in your expression. He’s not troubled by it, however; he wants you to let loose in whatever form of your choosing, of your liking. You deserve it, to be boundless like that. It’s been a long time coming.

His phone in your hand is too large and he finds it so cute that it helps him relax. Without withdrawing his hand, he hunches over his soup, getting his utensils ready. 

And his first taste of his meal is as good as the first words you hurl at Yoongi. 

“Are you joking right now? Is that all you have to say after everything? You’re actually unbelievable,” you spit, shooting daggers at the screen, your brows furrowed, a lethal glare directed at him. Yoongi doesn’t say anything, but he hears him sigh. “I’d like you to know that it’s my decision that I’m with him. Not yours. You’re not in control of it and you never will be again. I’m with him because I want to be with him, not because you let me be with him or because you think it’s good.” 

Your voice rises in volume ever so slightly, respectful of your surroundings, but untethering your heart free nonetheless. A tortured pain coats it, despite the fact you’re holding yourself strong and it drives Jungkook to let go of his spoon, unable to eat when he feels your agony in all its raw immensity. You struck his awe and all he can do is watch you make order of your life. For your sake and also, most remarkably, for his. A beautiful, beautiful sight.

Love unable to be real turning away, slowly, from the dead end. 

“So, we’re over?” Yoongi asks, small—small voice. Jungkook has never heard it before and butterflies zap his stomach with the strongest electricity they could come across. 

Your face doesn’t change and you don’t hesitate to unleash your next words. “I think you should go see other people and heal from this mess. You’ve grown too attached to your own fucked up impressions and you need a reality check.” 

Such coldness, such brutality. Jungkook can’t breathe—finds it hard to believe this is happening right now, that angels are by his side, keeping his bloodstream flowing. He feels as though he’s dreaming again due to the speck of vagueness in your answer. Yes, you’ve told him to go see other people, but he’s also aware that Yoongi needs the raw truth on a silver platter. If there’s anything he hates with all his being, it’s the abyss of obscurities. It’s the space in his brain for him to make up for the emptiness of your words. 

Jungkook intertwines his fingers with yours, his thumb fondling the crook between your thumb and your forefinger, giving you the little strength he possesses in him—the last of it, all he has. 

Are you breaking up with him or are you taking a break? 

Jungkook longs to know, perhaps he needs it, too, even though both options are more than merciful for such a wretched dreamer like him. A dreamer that has stumbled upon gold in a poor, poor world. 

“Honey, please.” Yoongi breaks into sobs and it’s now, now as Jungkook hears the sound of a raw emotion from such a detached person that he softens, his fury snuffed out in a blink of an eye, and he can’t feel his arms, nor his legs. He realizes, most strangely, that it’s his friend, one he spent the last ten years of his life with. The aftertaste of copper pools in his mouth again and his own eyes wet. Yours, too, your chin quivering the more you take in his devastated state. “I can’t do this without you. I–I don’t know how to.” 

Despite your tenderness, your words remain firm. “I think you’ve managed quite well these past few days. You’ve pushed me away, needed space. So go have it. I won’t suffer through it, though. I’ll do what I want, you should, too. You need to heal in the only way you know how. Alone.” 

Yoongi sniffles, taking long breaths to seemingly calm his shuddering lungs. And pity enfolds his heart, pity for his friend that he’s become such a wreck and that he’s a witness to it, more than the cause behind it. He puts the latter to the side, now is not the right time for it. 

He knows what will happen to him once he breaks the dam of self-blame. It’s not what you need right now and he will make sure to keep that dam of your own safe and stable. It’s his duty. 

“Will you wait for me?” Yoongi asks and Jungkook feels that question curl around his gut. With a light layer of sadness, he returns to his food, his stomach grumbling. 

You sigh, swiping your fingers under the skin beneath your lower lashes, perhaps so Yoongi doesn’t see your weakness. Jungkook watches you as he slurps on his noodles, nervous—terribly, terribly nervous. 

“I don’t know if I’m able to trust you like that again,” you conclude, taking a big breath and Jungkook chokes on his food, coughing so hard that you untangle your hand from his and slap his back. “Gotta go. I’ll call you later.” You end the phone call and gently lay down his phone, rubbing his back soothingly as Jungkook splutters. “Are you okay? What happened?”

What happened? You gave him life. Made a pathway for his dreams to come true. Gave him a leeway to walk upon this earth with no weight on his shoulders. Turned something inaccessible accessible. 

Love unreal becomes real, running headlong in the opposite direction of the dead end. 

The last of his aching coughs emit out of his throat and he swallows, lungs heaving with freedom and easy, easy breaths. The air is different, the oxygen much sweeter. You put his tall glass of water into his hand, encouraging him to drink, never letting go of him as Jungkook takes a big sip, the cold liquid washing away all of those dark ashes left from the fire of his fury. His vision blurs once he looks at you in this new, shifted reality and there’s a smile to his face, calmness surging through his body, exhilaration most needed twining around it. 

“You tell me,” Jungkook says, almost out of breath—out of his mind. “What just happened?” 

You go back to your soup, squeeze your fried egg open with your chopsticks. “I’m not letting him hurt me again. I don’t have to be strong and take it, do I?” With the yolk spilling in, you push the entirety of the egg white into your mouth, huffing in delight, rolling your eyes back and chewing, cheeks puffed up like a little squirrel. His own utensils go slack in his hand, watching you enjoy your food, his heart enlarging. But then you furrow your brows and stop chewing. “Fuck, it’s cold, but it’s so good.” You sigh and resume chewing, your eyes flicking across the table, your body bouncing excitedly in your seat. You act as though you didn’t just break your own boyfriend’s heart—as if you led a normal conversation with him, in which he was just checking up with you. Jungkook’s awe is so struck that he can’t speak. Can’t eat. Can’t do anything but watch you with all that love abounding in his being for you. And then you flick your eyes to his and the wrinkle between your brows deepens. “Why aren’t you eating? Is it too cold?” 

He calls your name, firmly. Leans back in his seat with a big sigh. Rubs his eyes with his fingers. “What just happened?” 

There’s simply no way this is real. 

You devour your noodles, swallowing spoonfuls of soup. “I ended things with him, Jungkook, and I’m not coming back to him.” 

His mouth dries, heart picks up speed. How are you saying this with such ease? Isn’t your heart split in two? Your devotion clung to his guy with every breath you took and back at his cabin, you wouldn’t let him play with you unless Yoongi was present. How come it seems like you’re anything but heartbroken right now? 

“Are you okay?” Jungkook asks in all honesty, confounded by your behavior. 

You push away your bowl, cradling your full belly. “Yes, I’m okay.” 

He doesn’t really believe you. Losing your appetite was proof enough. “Positive?” 

You look over to the side and your chin begins to quiver. There it is. Your hand flies to your face and you hide the rupture of your pretense behind it. The corners of your face, the only parts he gets to see, flush in red and Jungkook grabs your things with a heavy, sinking heart. Walks over to you and gives you his hand. 

“Let’s go home, sweetheart.” 

The weeping clouds have migrated not just to your eyes but to his, too. The night is deep and Jungkook feels it, ardently, coming to rest beneath his skin, floating on its back upon the stream of his tears that he’s stifling. He’s holding your hand and your purse as he’s leading you to his place. You didn’t want to see the face of your apartment. As a matter of fact, you couldn’t stand anything that reminded you of Yoongi and you begged him to take you somewhere you’ve never been before. Jungkook only nodded, brushing away the tears that managed to escape. Thought he’d bring you to any place you’d ever ask, just as long as you stuck with him. 

He’s gained what he wanted for a long time, but at what cost? The two people he loves the most are broken. One, his dearest, he’s grasping tightly so she wouldn’t fly away. The other is becoming but a memory, ten years going down the drain—never to be seen again, never to be continued. 

He has you, but he lost Yoongi. And the realization hangs, heftily, over his clavicles, swinging back and forth, kicking into his chest. 

He can’t stand the sight of him either, however. How strange. 

Once inside the warmth of his apartment, he can’t help but rid you of the hideous flannel of his that you’re wearing, bunching it up in his fists and throwing it away to the corner of his bench on the side of his wall without you knowing. With his hand on the small of your back, he guides you to his living room and he lets you skim your sight all around it, slipping his fingers under the hem of your tiny top, just touching you there. White walls, brown leather couch, a TV that takes up the most of the space alongside the kitchen with a plain dining area consisting of an old wooden, rectangular table with four chairs. A huge singular space of nothingness that has never felt home-like, not until you’ve stepped inside. 

Now, all of a sudden, it has colors. Vibrant, yet soft-toned with each inhale of his breath. You bring your oxymorons everywhere you go and they stay where you reside, even if you move someplace else. The evidence of it is in his very body. While he feels at his most fragile, he also senses himself to be strong. Strong enough to take care of you right at this moment, be there for you and give you anything you’d ever want. And while his eyes are still wet, cheeks bedewed by his softness, he also wants to break this place—self-blame creeping in, threatening to emerge from the hidden spots somewhere within the battlefield of his chest. 

This is his fault. Had he never said yes, you wouldn’t be in pain and neither would his friend be. But in that scenario, he wouldn’t know you existed. Wouldn’t have you. Would lead a forlorn life, with his paints and his alcohol. 

You would be happy with Yoongi. Radiant, glowy. With your glitters, your little dresses. Your nighttime robes and your little lingerie. 

Would you? Has he ruined your happiness? Has he ruined you? 

Jungkook turns you around to him. He needs to ask you; he needs to have the certainty, otherwise he won’t sleep tonight. Won’t even close his eyes—the thoughts would eat away his drowsiness. Leave only wakefulness in their wake. Jungkook presses his lips against your forehead, lingering there, formulating his words, carefully. His hands clutch your shoulders. Your frail, slender shoulders. 

Yoongi devastated your appetite enough that you lost all your soft fleshiness. He took it away and he doesn’t even perceive it. It was clear to him by the way you pushed your plate away, when your emotions rushed through; you didn’t have to say a word. And although he grieves the personal loss, still this is something he’ll never forgive him for. 

“Would you have been happy if you never knew me?” he asks, subduedly, torment clawing at his vocal cords. “Would you have been happy with him?” 

A teardrop spills down your cheekbone, plopping onto the material of your top, soaking it. You furrow your brows, seem angry at his choice of words and he regrets them, enough that his mouth rounds in a tender emotion that he’s too weak to stifle back. And then you bunch up his T-shirt, just like you did earlier in the dressing room, and there’s a tendril of relief that maybe he didn’t fuck up so majestically. He wants to weep; holding them back pains him too much and that ease, that repose is all he wants. It’s not that he’s shy or unwilling to let out his feelings—it’s just that he’s putting yours above his, deeming them more important. He wants to be strong for you, someone you can lean on—and how can he do that for you when he’s crumbling on the inside? 

“How can you say that to me?” you ask in disbelief and Jungkook wants to rewind back the time. Wants to keep quiet and just hold you through this fateful night. He winces, looking away, his own chin quivering this time and he can’t—he can’t hold back. He possesses no strength. A tear trickles down his cheek, one full of agony, hot against his skin and he whimpers, he whimpers when you cradle his face in your hands, step on your tippy toes and press your lips against his. Your mouth is so warm and he’s shivering with cold; silky while his are ruined by the constant biting he did in the car. He is a ruination—how can you want him? He ruined your relationship. And now even his tears have stained your angelic, pure face. 

“I feel like I’ve ruined everything,” he admits and his chest hurts, lungs tight, body trembling in that persisting cold. “I’ve ruined your relationship. I’ve ruined your life. Yoongi’s. Caused so much pain, so much trauma. Only because I let my friends convince me into going out when I came back from the military.” 

The wrinkle between your brows smooths down and you pout, caressing his face. Jungkook can’t halt the rivulet of his liquid emotions. Not when he feels your love so awfully intensely, embracing him around and around, tightening, giving him a sense of safety. 

“Can I tell you something?” You take his hand in yours and Jungkook already misses your warm touch on his face. He nods. “Where’s your room?” 

He leads you there and you crawl onto his bed, patting the space beside you, curling on your side. He mirrors your position and you prop the side of your leg on his, intertwining your fingers with his on the bedding, moving his hand to your mouth. 

And your words seep into his fist. 

“We were together for five months and I never met his family. Never met his friends, except you. I never really thought about it in depth because he kept me busy, despite the fact all we did was fuck. It was enough for me, I guess, because I’d been alone for a long, long time before I met him. And I’m a bit of a loner myself so I didn’t mind that we spent all of our time in his apartment, fucking and watching movies. It wasn’t until I met you, Jungkook,” you pause, taking a big breath in, fondling his knuckles with your thumb, soothing him, soothing the drowsiness that is suddenly falling upon him like a blanket, waving off his tears, drying them. “That I realized it’s not really supposed to be like this in my life. I remember that night when he was out with you and I was in the bathroom. I thought about when was the last time he took me out and I shivered. I shivered, Jungkook. It was the first seed sown and I didn’t know. And when you came into my life, I spent my weekends out with you. You took me to your cabin, you took me out to dinner dates. Even today you took me to the mall. I realized it’s supposed to be like this. Yoongi never did that.” 

Your words tingle across his fist and he’s quick with his own. “But were you happy?” 

So are you. You don’t hesitate. “I thought I was, but the way I’m happy with you can’t compare to the way I thought I was happy with him.” 

The truth wafts in the air, sweetening it and another onrush of tears come out of his tear ducts. He leans in closer to you, nose to nose, sniffling, sobbing quietly and you kiss his hand. Over and over, breathing against his skin. Light opens in him as the truth unfolds—with the little time he had with you, he managed to make you happier. Not just happy, but happier.

“I had a lot of time to think about this. It wasn’t just today that he didn’t speak to me. He barely did throughout the week, but today was the worst of it all and I couldn’t take it anymore. It hurt, it hurt so much,” you continue and Jungkook knows how much it pains you, when Yoongi abandons you over and over, clawing his fingernails in your scars. He’s glad, brims completely with that gratefulness that it also rolls down his cheeks, mingling with his tears, that you were strong enough to put a stop to it—as hard as it was. “And you know what I think? Yoongi needs someone like that. Someone who’s a much bigger loner than I am. Someone who’s okay with staying home, with keeping things casual. He needs a friend and I’ll continue being that for him, but not in the way he wants. I’ll be there for him, but not as closely as he was used to, you know? It has to be a process. I can’t just disappear out of his life. I don’t have the heart to do that.” 

Extending his arm, Jungkook invites you to rest your head against his bicep—only because he yearns to touch you. Without untangling your intertwinement, you lay against him, breathing in his scent and Jungkook wraps the same arm around your shoulders, cocooning you in. Body to body, his lips against your forehead. You look up at him and he looks down at you, a profound exchange of glances. The reality shifts once more, the energy deepens, filling it with something beyond affection and love—fate thickening the air, intense, earnest and impassioned. And submitting to it, Jungkook raises your chin and kisses you, deeply, slipping his tongue inside just briefly. Kisses your cheek, your neck, your shoulder, hides himself in that crook, breathing with you and nothing else.

A brand new reality. 

He can’t help but think about how smart you are. How admirable, how good. How well you handled everything, how well you made an order out of your life and ultimately out of Yoongi’s, too. Like Jungkook will take care of you, you will take care of Yoongi—not leaving him on his own with his shattered heart and mental health. He just hopes that sometime soon, he will be able to have a part in it, too. It’s his utmost wish. No matter how upset he was with him, how strongly he disliked him in certain moments, it’s still a person he loves, a person he spent the last ten years of his life with. A family, almost. 

“Do you think he’ll ever forgive me?” Jungkook whispers, squeezing you against his body, drawing you closer until your lungs and his gain that singular synchronization. Your leg straddles his torso and he grows greedy, needing you even closer. Needing to get underneath your skin. 

“I’ll try my best to make it happen,” you whisper back, running your fingers through his hair. The light that shines in your eyes faintly illuminates his shadowy room and it’s precisely the one he longed to see. Something tells him it’s here to stay and it drives his thumb to caress your wet lashes, the skin beneath your eyes, your rose-kissed cheek. 

Jungkook trusts you. You’re such a badass that you will succeed in anything you set yourself out to do. And he tells you. Asks you if you want to take a bath. Thinks it will distract your heart from what it knows, from what it’s used to. Teach it something new—something you will connect only with him.

And your reaction enlarges his heart to the point that it breaks his ribcage. Your eyes widen, its light erupting, blinding him, and you gasp, lifting your whole body and grabbing his shirt in your fists. He chuckles in endearment. 

“You have a bathtub?” 

And your eyes almost fall out of their sockets at the sight of it once he carries you to his bathroom and sets you down. He kisses the back of your head, his hands on your hips, guiding you closer to the bathtub, reaching over to lift the tap and let hot water pour down. You both need it after such an emotionally-exhausting day and Jungkook is eager to get in with you. 

“Stay here. Don’t strip. I’ll get your candle,” Jungkook says, lowly, squeezing your hips once and caressing your bum as he turns around and heads to the kitchen. 

He wants to be the one who takes off your clothes. Plans to do something with you he hasn’t done in a long while, something he deems you deserve after everything you’ve been through. He grabs your mango-scented candle, your bag of cheese balls, a lighter and a chair and returns to you. 

You’re crouching by the bathtub, your hand flowing in the hot water, its steam curling, tenderly, your hair cascading down your back. Jungkook pats the back of your head to announce that he’s come back and you smile up at him, your eyes big and twinkling, so magnificent that he grows weak in the knees, butterflies fluttering their wings in his stomach. 

Lighting up your candle, you watch as he does it, each three knots flaring up to life and suffusing the air with a balmy, tropical scent. He sets it down on the chair and, helping you stand up to your feet, he doesn’t waste a second. His fingers hook under the hem of your top and fling it out. And because he knows you’ve never bared yourself like this before him, he hides your nakedness by pressing you against his chest, your soft breasts a pleasure, his digits sliding beneath your leggings and dragging them down your hips, looking over your shoulder. You shimmy out of them, moving your hips ever so delightfully and before he knows it, he’s on his knees—kissing the apex of your thighs as he takes your feet out of the pant legs. And he thinks he could stay here all his life. 

Jungkook looks up at you as he removes your socks, kissing your knee without breaking the gaze, and he hopes that you can sense his love for you in it, the unyielding stability that he will cling to you with his body and soul—simply, with his entire being. 

Rising slowly, he kisses his pathway up, leaving behind the translucent evidence of that love. Your mound, which makes you giggle, a celestial symphony to his ears, your full tummy where he hopes your invisible rose tattoos still are, both sides of your ribs, the middle of your breasts, your sternum, your collarbones, your throat, your chin—up and up until his lips find yours. And he devours them. With such vigor that you hum into his mouth, your hands reaching for his shirt again. 

Oh, you want him to get in as well. Very well. 

He wanted to be the witness to your relaxation, but if it’s your desire that he shares it with you—by all means. He lets you take off his shirt, lifting his arms for you, and you’re quick to allow your hands to discover the parts they don’t know. His mole beneath his left pec that he caught you staring at shortly after that turn of events at the cabin. You press your mouth against it, unravel your love for it there by grazing your teeth against it before you lick it over with your tongue, going as far as marking the spot right beside it. Jungkook sinks his fingers in your hair, reveling in it, tummy tingling, holding you like that as you do what you please. Your own digits descend to his pants, setting him free from them and when you get on your knees just like him, his cock tightens in your face. 

And he dies, angels know for how many times today, when you rub your face in this intimate part of him, his heart bursting.

Not now—he can’t let you do that now. He wants your muscles to relax first before he can strain them all over again, in a much different way. 

“My sweetie,” he starts, sighing, rubbing your scalp. He takes you by the back of your neck, sliding his hand underneath your armpit, and drags you up. A healthy, radiant flush adorns you and he’s glad for the paleness to be gone. Glad his body is the cause of it. It makes his heart happy. “Not now. Let’s get in the tub.” 

Your stiffened nipples brush against his bare chest and he almost doubles over, loving the feeling of it. The sigh that leaves your mouth, so akin to his, too. 

“But you’re hard,” you whisper, tugging down his boxers until his cock springs free and you immediately wrap your small hand around it, squeezing him lightly. 

He can’t help but to grunt, the faint pleasure dizzying. He missed your hand, missed your touch. Haven’t had it in so long. It fits so well in your fist and he believes, in all seriousness, that it belongs to you. It’s yours. 

He brushes his lips against yours, but he doesn’t kiss you. His brain malfunctions a little bit, the pleasure you’re giving him zapping his dominance. “You like holding me like this?” 

You fondle his tip with your thumb and he hisses, sparks of electricity coursing down his body and he hums at the aftershocks. So good. He feels his arousal drip for you; feels himself lengthening in your hand. You nod, watching it happen, and while it feels nice to be looked at like that, he wants your eyes on him. He cradles your face in one hand, making you look at him, and he pecks you. At the contact, you finally nod your head. Jungkook envelops his palm around your fist and guides you to squeeze him harder, groaning onto your mouth. 

“You’re such a good girl,” he praises and embraces you, hiding himself in the crook of your neck again, inhaling you. Petrichor, mango, your personal scent. It’s all he wants to breathe in for the rest of his life. It’s what heaven must smell like. Actually, heaven must be what he’s hugging. 

You whimper and for it Jungkook tightens his hold around you. Skin to skin. He’ll never get over it. “I love being good for you.” 

He hums his approval, following the cascade of your hair down your back with his palm, rooting at your bum, grasping the flesh. “You’re the best girl. Let’s get you clean.” 

The loss of contact aches and he can see it even on your face, an adorable pout forming on your mouth. Helping you get in the bathtub, you wait until he joins you and it’s only then that you sit down, unsure of how both of you are going to fit in such a small space like this. Knees in between his, you exchange a few giggles in the awkwardness of it all before Jungkook kisses them and leads you to lean back against him, your spine against his chest, your body getting lost in his. 

Turning off the tap, the water is scorching but pleasant, his muscles relaxing, the very little remnants of the fight of his self-blame tearing apart at last. It must be as enjoyable for you because once you settle in and you take in the heat, the effect of the candle, the dimmed light and the soft shower of rain pittering against the windows, you let loose completely, your head slack against his sternum, breathing steadily, eyes fluttering closed. Jungkook wraps his arms around you, your breasts pressed against them, and he loves the feeling of your raw femininity in his hands, in such a nonsexual context. His arousal might be alive and longing for you, but that feeling, somehow, overweighs it in a way he’s unable to understand. 

He doesn’t mind; he could stay like this. 

And both of you do for some time, feeling each other’s top halves of bodies, resting, thinking of nothing, until you tip your chin and, puckering your lips, you ask for a kiss. Arch your back until your breasts bounce free from his hold. His cock twitches against your back from the sight and you smirk. 

Sly little girl. He cages them once again, though this time quite differently. One hand grabs the flesh at the base, the other sneaks to your chin, your other breast nudged in the crook of his elbow. His finger traces the lines of your lips, flattened now, kissing it every once in a while. And as if it was a signal for you to open up when he stalls his movement in the middle, you open up for him. And the feeling of your tongue, the suction of your lips, the sound of it all—it drives him to head down the path of absolute madness. 

He might have just found his ultimate weakness. 

Jungkook adds a second finger in, when you angle your body, so he can have a good view of it, your head propped against the bathtub wall, lidded eyes fixed on him. 

So much for relaxing. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, swiftly, causing your brows to knit in confusion. It humors him, but you’re not getting your way that easily. 

“You should relax,” he scolds in a teasing manner, not meaning a word of it. “You’ve had a long day of shopping.” 

You laugh through your nose, a soft smile gracing your lips and for a split second, Jungkook wonders if he didn’t ruin the moment again by altering the reality again, bringing back the memory of what’s happened. If he didn’t invite in your guilt, perhaps. You’re here with him, about to be made love to, while the person you still love is dealing with brokenness on the other side of the city. 

And he tells you in the form of a kiss sunk into your cheek, drawing your body closer to him, cradling the back of your neck, squishing you against him. It causes you to turn your body to the side, slightly, and Jungkook hikes you higher, letting you lean your face against his cheek like that, pecking you over and over again. There isn’t enough body of water to overspill from the tub, but your shifting caused small waves to lap at your body and Jungkook finds himself transfixed by the sight of it. It seems as though the ripples are worshiping your body and an inkling to do the same, to do better, rises in him—as well as the impulse to tell you with words this time. 

He should verbally communicate with you. Just to be safe. 

“Did I remind you of it again?” 

Your fingertips follow the valleys of his abdomen, half dipped in the water. 

“Remind me of what?” you say and there’s a striking gentleness to your voice, some kind of blissfulness that feels terribly foreign to him. “Of my freedom?” 

A bearable tightness clutches his chest, interlaced, most heartily, with the simplicity of his shock. Freedom. With his directions, you set yourself free. It should be something to perhaps honor and rejoice over—so why is there still a morsel of pity swarming in him? He needs you to tell him. 

A streamlet of tears blurs his vision. Because his clinginess to you intensifies with each move forward, for the most part. Because he feels bad for his friend, for the lesser. 

“Why do I feel so bad for him?” Jungkook questions, pressing you harder against him until there isn’t any more space to push you into. 

You plop your body onto his. Chest to chest. Tummy to tummy. His cock, a bit soft now, against your femininity. Nonsexually, in all its beauty. You drag your thumbs under his waterline, collecting his essence of pain. His heart constricts. 

“My freedom is his,” you say, still holding him like that—both palms on his cheeks. “We’d be stuck in a circle like this. We’d go round and round until one of us would burst and end things eventually. He’d never fully heal in this environment. He’d never look past his own insecurities, not when I’d continue to enjoy myself with you the way I always did.” 

He thinks the merry go round had already begun the moment he and Yoongi made up and tried again. And considering the last thing he said to him on the phone today, there’s nothing left to do but to accept it. 

Your freedom is his. Those words ring in his headspace, settling there. By unbuckling yourself from the seat of that ride, you did the same for him. And while you got off, Yoongi still remains seated. 

For now. 

He’ll get out of there. Jungkook believes in him. 

“I’m meant to be with you,” you say and his heart goes wild, violently, under your forearm. For you. You’ve said it. You’ve made it official. Brought it into this new reality and Jungkook could weep again—and he does. Touched by his emotions, you kiss his tears, sighing against them. “I’m yours, Jungkook. Have been the moment I looked into your eyes the very first time.” 

Your bare, boundless truth drives him to reveal his, too. Such power you have, such strength. 

“You know I have feelings for you, right?” he murmurs, an allusion to the way you wept together in the dressing room, brushing your hair back, feeling his tenderness radiating off of his eyes, immensely. How easy it is, to tell you something groundbreaking like that, even as absurdly as he did. “Don’t let go of me. Don’t let go of those feelings. Keep them safe.” 

Your own tears pool in your waterline and you nod, a smile glinting upon your lips. So you knew, felt the love like he did, enkindled by your mutual release. He wasn’t wrong. His heart pounds and for the first time upon this trajectory, this doesn’t feel unreal. It feels real. Alive, possible, full of life. 

“I do, too. Held them in for so long. Never admitted it to myself for his sake. But that’s over now. I’ll keep it safe. All of you, Jungkook.” 

You love him. 

His sobs gather in his sternum, his lungs too small to capture them in place. 

You love him. And it’s real. 

Gripping your hair, he kisses you, deeply. And both streams of tears turn into one river—and both of you can’t halt the hunger creeping in. The hunger for more, for your love to burst at last and absorb your reality. Tongues mingling, tasting something new. Teeth clashing, lips tingling. Breaths hard and ragged. Jungkook can’t take it. Can’t hold back his body from lifting off of the rounded wall of the tub, the water sloshing and splashing all around. 

And then you say something that grazes his madness ever so unmercifully. 

“Put it in.” 

He groans, biting your bottom lip, fingertips making dents on your small waist. Horny girl, asking for something you can’t handle. He swears, his arousal awakening yet again in full speed, taking over him wholly. “I haven’t stretched you out yet.” 

You grind your femininity against his tightening cock and he’s done for, feeling your pulse. “Stretch me out like this.” 

He squeezes your ass hard, making you moan onto his mouth, in effort to make you listen to him and submit to his better knowing. “It’ll hurt, sweetheart.” 

Your breath wafts over him as you close your lips over his, sucking. “I can take it.” 

Such a stark contrast to the words you uttered in the dressing room. His madness heightens. So much that he moans into your lip lock, dipping you in the water to make you laugh, clutching onto him as you yelp, your adorable laughter vibrating through the bathroom, bouncing off of the walls and sneaking, in the long run, into the chambers of his heart, coming to live there.  

This is happiness. 

And the vibrations are too, too much for him to handle. So unusual, so beautiful. 

“Hold onto me,” Jungkook commands as he wraps your legs around his torso tighter and rises, stepping out of the bathtub and reaching for a towel in his cabinet while his other hand holds you steady by his forearm under your bum like a child. 

Leaving you to your own strength for a second, he wraps the large fabric around you both, bunching the ends in his fist on your back, exiting out of the bathroom and laying you down onto his bed. Your hair sprawls on his bedding and he thinks you look like an angel, maddened just the same by something beyond lust, by something way purer. He kisses your lips, fleetingly, and begins to focus on your neck, unfurling his love there. He sucks your wet skin, licking it all over, scattering his hard kisses there—the ones that drive you wild, moaning loudly and bravely, deservingly so. And he marks this victorious day there with pretty, pretty colors of red and purple. Doesn’t stop. Not until you beg him, writhing underneath him, excited and eager. 

“Please, Jungkook, take me.” 

Such sweet, innocent words. He listens, cooing, dragging you further up on the bed, so he can lie on top of you and take his hard kisses further down, marking all the places where your invisible tattoos are, bringing them to life all over again. Above both of your nipples, especially on the right one, where that frilly rose was, covering the peak. And he feels you melt, feels you soak his lower abdomen when he sucks on that nub, flicking his tongue, making you cry out so beautifully, so desperately that his arousal for you rigidifies. And when he looks at his artwork, fists propped on either side of you like his knees, it steals all of his breath. 

“You look so beautiful like this. All mine.” 

All his, wet with the last drops of water, with the pearls of his saliva, with your essence coating your folds. Adorned with red tattoos. He has his own on his arm and hand, except on his chest and he thinks the one he gave you make up for it. Thinks they’re his as much as they’re yours and it causes his length to twitch against his stomach, so terribly needy for you. 

“And you look beautiful like this. All hard for me,” you mimic his words and he grows feral, even more so when you continue. “It’s all mine, isn’t it?” You take him into your hand again, but he pins both of your wrists down, above your head. And the smile you grace him with—it makes him yearn to make love to you like this. Bound, while the rest of you would remain the quite opposite. 

He growls, kissing you. “All yours. All yours for you to take and come around. All yours, my sweetheart. Always has been.” He kisses you harder and you whimper. Pulls away just to swirl his tongue around yours, open mouth and all, before closing his lips down again in a profound, warm and homely lock. “Spread your legs for me. I’m gonna get you ready for it.” 

He does it himself, folding you in half, the glistening of your folds visible even in the slight lack of light in the room. Oh, he can’t have you like this. Reaching behind himself, he turns on his bedside lamp, bathing you in a soft, yellow light that suits you the most. You’re holding your legs apart for him and he places wet kisses on the back of your thigh, ravagedly, to reward you for it, trailing them down until he’s face to face with your drenched princess parts. And it’s a groan of relief that emits out of him when he’s this close to you, hands pushing your knees down, spreading you even more to gratify his hunger. 

He’s starving. Terribly starving. 

And he rolls his eyes back when he takes the entirety of you into his mouth, tongue dragging upon your slit, up and down, drinking your dew, penetrating only a little bit just to tease you, just to mess around with your madness. And when he flattens his tongue against your swollen clit, you cry out. Surprise him when you grip his hair, enough to cause him to flick his eyes to you. Your mouth is parted, but grinning nonetheless, your own eyes heavily lidded, emitting light and joy and Jungkook simply decides to make this experience better for you. 

He lifts your hips in the air and devours you, lapping at your clit over and over again, letting you see what he’s doing to you without taking his eyes off of you, nose pressed against your shiny mound. You whisper your vulgarities and he’d let it pass if he didn’t consider this a holy, spiritual occurrence. He withdraws and it doesn’t go unnoticed by him, the way your slick trickles down your clit and your mound, rooting in the squishy part of your lower tummy. He hums, delighting in the sight. 

“Be good,” he scolds, smiling down at you and your grin widens. You nod your head, your hands still crossed above you without his to hold them down. Scratch his words—you’re already the best girl. He licks up the trickle of your essence trailing down your clit, making you writhe again. “Feel how wet you are for me.” 

Carefully, you skim your palm down your soaked belly, gasping, until your fingers reach your nub, the concoction of his saliva and your arousal seeping into your skin. He encourages you with noises of approval to keep going, bending you even more in half, your back leaning against his thighs, the pads of your fingers circling your center, eyes wide at the discovery, able to see just how celestially aroused you are for him. So beautiful. He bites onto the flesh upon the side of your thigh, only because he can’t help it, soothing down the sting with his tongue. And he hums at the sound of your moans, at the sound of your slipperiness when you drag your fingers down to your clit and stop there. 

“Hm, yes, sweetheart, rub that pretty clit for me,” he murmurs and his chest explodes at the principle that he’s able to say that to you. That he doesn’t need anyone’s permission or approval. That he can do whatever he pleases with you without any consequences to reap. That he’s free. You must be thinking about this, too, but in a different way, because you hesitate. He’ll destroy that dubiety. It won’t show its face again—as long as he lives on this earth. “You can do it, my love. You’re free.” 

The reassurance washes over you and rids you of that fleeting negativity. He understands this is new for the both of you—there’s some still getting used to, so it’s completely normal. He’ll try his hardest to make this as much of an easy ride for you as he can. It’s his duty. 

“Don’t be afraid,” he continues, adding your name, softly. “You’re here with me and you’re safe.” 

Jungkook leans over and kisses you. You nod into the kiss and he returns to his position, catching you rubbing your clit, slowly, with two fingers, the other spread on your folds. And both of you moan simultaneously. 

“That’s it,” he whispers, enthralled, making way for the sound of your slick to overpower the atmosphere. “That’s my good girl. Make yourself feel good for me.” 

You whimper his name, buckling your hips in his hold, squeezing your eyes shut and Jungkook can see the waves of pressure charging your tender body. Now is the time for his participation. 

He sinks his middle finger inside, making your eyes pop open and stare him down, just for you to submerge yourself under the surface of that sea of lust and let your irises whisk back. Your walls clench around him and he waits until you speed up your circles to join his other finger, biting his lip to push back his desire to sink himself inside you. He tries to pay little attention to the way he drips for you. 

But then you use the rest of your fingers to bring yourself to your climax and Jungkook takes it as a sign. Another finger in, he curls them, fucking you the way you like. Fast, grazing your sweet little spot that beckons your sweat out of your pores and when your pussy drools even more for him, he adds another. You gasp and he knows exactly how you’re feeling, how good this is for you. 

“You feel so full, sweetheart, don’t you?” he coos, jackhammering his hand harder and you drench it, completely. He flattens his fingers, allowing you to see the thick sheen and you mewl, a litany of his name spilling along. “You’re so wet. So horny for me, aren’t you? You’re gonna come?” 

You scream your agreement, squirming, strumming your fingers harder and this is it for him. He changes direction. Fucks his fingers up and down and your toes curl, chest heaving heavily and you just keep on screaming. A delightful sound. 

“Come for me, then. Like the best girl you are.” 

You clench around him. So much that he can barely move his fingers, sunk in so deeply. He just flexes them, drawing out your orgasm and you give it to him. 

And you’re wet all over again. Sprinkled by pearls upon pearls of your pleasure. He is, too, and it worsens his desperation for you. 

You’re panting, but he’s not done with you. Setting you down, he laps up the violent evidence of your orgasm, making you twitch in overstimulation and he eases the pressure of his tongue for you. Sucking on your folds, he decides to mark you there. Just below your hip bone, too. Such intimate places. Perfect for a temporary keepsake like this. 

Hovering above you, he circles his tongue tinged with your taste around yours, forcing you to moan again. And he kisses you softly. “You deserved that orgasm.” 

You whine, red all over, and Jungkook understands you need more. He pulls away, clutches himself to line up at your entrance, but you stop him. 

“I want you.” 

He smirks, longs to hear you be more specific. “How?” 

You huff. So adorable. “In my mouth.” 

He chuckles. Should’ve asked where, but he’s at your service—he’s willing to give you anything you want. “All right, but just for a little bit, okay?” You nod, vehemently, and he pats your cheek. “On your knees.” 

Oh, he’ll never tire of the view of your submissiveness, of your hunger for such a private part of him. He makes a mess for you on the towel, dripping more than he ever has, and he holds himself at the base, grabbing your jaw in his hand. Brutality, the one he’s obsessed with, swims past your irises when you gaze up at him. A feral animal, an angel in hiding—he’d love to embellish you with the sticky traces of his fixation, but he shouldn’t, no matter how much he craves it. He can’t stain you, not today. Can’t ruin the holiness. He’ll let you play with him before he seals it for all eternity. 

Tomorrow he will. Smear you with it until it’s all your pores know. 

Jungkook traces the lines of your mouth with the tip of his length, just like he did with his finger in the bathtub, and you hum, liking it. He can vividly see your yearning to rub your face against him again and he lets you, encourages you in fact, pulling you closer until you nuzzle your nose against his girth, his skin caressing your cheek, and you kiss him all over. Place your hands over his and suck him inside your mouth, drinking his precum. Only to withdraw right away, sit back on your legs without lifting your hands, and look up at him with the vastness of your overbearing innocence and love. 

“You’re mine,” you purr, fucking him with your fist. 

Jungkook nods, just once. Doesn’t even feel his butterflies anymore, too numbed by you, by the pleasure you’re giving him. “That’s right, my love.” 

You suck in a breath, biting your lip hard as if it took all of your energy not to make him come at this very instant. And you lengthen your spine, asking for a kiss again, and he bends at the waist, kissing you nastily, pushing your head back to his cock, inciting you to do what you truly crave to. 

And you take him so well, your cheeks hollow, and he’s unabashed, free to let out his male noises, whimpering for you, panting heavily as you bob your head, slurping him, spitting on him. You toy with his tip, tugging at his length, colliding into his fist and it isn’t until you rub your face against his balls that it becomes his undoing. He stalls his orgasm, strains to do so, just to please you and he pries your hands away from his length, lets you focus on his sack. The least he could do to last. But then you grab it into your fist, sucking his balls, one by one, into your mouth, even try to take both of them at once and that’s it. He can’t breathe, his heart wringing painfully with all the love that brims in him for you. No one has ever done that to him. 

You flick your tongue against them, your other hand wrapping around his tip again, tugging and he nears dangerously close to the bursting of his orgasm. 

“That’s enough.” 

He draws you away from his cock, using all of his strength, and pins you down. A splutter of your giggles waft in the air, your chin wet with your spit and he moves his mouth so rapidly against yours that you struggle to kiss him back, growing calm all of a sudden, as if overcome with the gravity of it all. 

He looks at you for a long while. Puffy, red mouth, that he craves to bite onto—and he does. Darkened eyes, full of freedom and exhilaration. Neck, chest, tummy and the rest of the delicious parts of you scattered with hickeys, with his own personal keepsakes. He loves you so much that he becomes frustrated, needing to let it out somehow. All of his muscles tense and he clenches his grip on your wrists. 

“You want me to die? Is that what you want?” he hisses, speaking of the sloppy blowjob you gave him, gliding his wet cock across your seashell. You lose a breath, drowsy eyes fluttering, spreading your legs for him. No wonder you’re tired—you gave it your all. He sinks his teeth hard into his bottom lip, his frustration rising, brows knitted. “You can’t play with me like that. I was seconds away from coming all over your pretty face.” 

“I wanted you to,” you say, loud and clear, and Jungkook is hot all over. 

Turning you over to your side, he squeezes the flesh of your bum until it hurts as a punishment, knowing you’re not ready for the full thing. It’s too soon. Your wincing breaks into a low, alluring moan and it fills him with adrenaline. And then you smile at him, light flashing in your countenance. You’re anything but punished; you’re pleased. 

Looks like you need another form of punishment. 

Fuck it, fuck all spiritual aspects of this. The angels in heaven need to look away for now and cover their ears. He’s going to make love to you in a way they’ve never witnessed before and it’s good that they never will. 

“What did you say?” Jungkook feignedly questions, pinning you back down and burying himself in your heat. Having stretched you out well enough, he gives you his half right away, but he doesn’t stop there, not when you lift your chest off of the mattress, not when you lose yourself in the sudden fullness and the music of your mutual moans. You grip him so tight that he forgets, for a split moment, what he’s punishing you for. 

You stammer, seemingly forgetting, too. And when his mound kisses yours, your words falter altogether—a crescendo into silence. Eyes wide, unblinking, taking him most courageously. Jungkook hums, immensely proud of you, slowly pounding you into the mattress with hard strokes. 

And when he gives you a particularly unmerciful one, you scream, shaking all over in his hands. 

“Yes, sweetheart, that’s what you get,” he purrs, grinding his hips, loving the way he toys with your senses, your peaked nubs digging into his chest, and you can’t catch your breath, your whole body tense. “Too deep?” 

You nod. “Too deep, baby, I can’t take it, fuck. It’s too much.” 

Cooing, he kisses you. The pet name, your tightness—he’s losing his mind and it’s your fault. Your wonderful, wonderful fault. You don’t even let him pull out, you keep him caged in, your walls fluttering against him and he whimpers, shaking like you, unable to continue kissing you. 

“Relax, my love, or you’re really gonna kill me,” he croaks out, ascending to heavenly places where they don’t, in most certainty, don’t want to see him. Sitting back on his feet, he thumbs your clit, helping you calm down. “Good girl. Feels good, stuffed full like this? My thumb rubbing your sweet little clit, hm?” 

It is a miracle, the way he knows your body and knows what to do with it because your walls loosen, enabling him to fuck you, sloppily, your slick squeaking along with your quickening breaths. You scream out your yeses, driving him to give you his all. 

“Just like that,” he whispers, approving, his balls tightening already, the pressure in his lower tummy becoming bigger. 

You deserve the full thing, though. Jungkook places your knee on his shoulder. And with each stroke, his mound stimulates your clit, getting you nice and fast to his level. 

He cradles your blissed-out face, the heel of his palm putting pressure on your throat. And onto that expression of elation, he uncoils his love for you, brutally fucking you until your whole body ripples beneath him. 

“Whose are you, huh?” he moans, driving into you, rearranging your guts. Sweat drips off of his forehead. “Whose pretty girl are you?” 

Your own sounds of pleasure rise in pitch and volume and he senses, he knows you’re about to come for him. 

“Yours, Jungkook, yours,” you choke out and he’s so proud of you that he hums, his balls slapping against your bum, and he kisses you, giving you his tongue. You suck on it, getting him right there to the edge of his orgasm. 

“Fuck, such a good girl. All mine. You know that I love you, right?” 

And the once reappearing absurdity of his choice of words pushes over that edge and you squeeze him, squeeze him hard, milking his cum out of you and he growls into your mouth. You take over each and every one of his senses, making them yours, and he fucks his cum into you, his mouth smacking against yours, as you whisper your I love you’s and he swallows them down. 

Heaven or something beyond. You created it and he wants to spend the rest of his life there. 

Panting, he kisses your jaw, marking you there for the last time. Unbelief grasping him that he finds himself in such a place glazed with love. “You love me?” 

You whimper, shuddering all over, your orgasm still seizing you. “I love you so fucking much.” 

He licks into your mouth, ending your release. “My best girl. I’ll take care of you. I’ll never let you go. You’re never getting out of my sight again.” 

Jungkook lets go of your wrists. They must be cramping, tingling and he massages them in the air, sitting back, his length still inside your homely heat. Your eyes wet again, sobs break out of your mouth and he shushes you most affectionately, his heart twinging. He lifts you and sits you down on his lap, hugging you close to his chest. Skin to skin. You cling to him with everything in you and he holds you together, so you don’t fall apart. 

“You’re my savior. My healer,” you wail, gripping his hair. As if your breaking wasn’t enough, your words hit him hard and his vision soaks along with yours. You’ve never told him that before—never told him the roles he has in your life. He appreciates them so much, holds them dear to his heart. Never wants to forget them. “Don’t ever leave me, please. I beg you.” 

It’s him who now breaks. Right there on your shoulder, beneath the waterfall of your hair. 

“I could never. You’re my life. You’re my everything. How could I ever leave you?” 

You sob harder, lifting your head, and the sight of your rawness makes him fall even more in love with you. Jungkook smooths down your hair and wipes away your tears. Kisses you, deeply, and lingers there. And along with the kiss, you and him exchange your last I love you’s for the night. 

Tub drained, candle snuffed out, cheese balls devoured, the rain finishing like that chapter of your life—Jungkook feels himself entering a brand new one with you, one where Yoongi isn’t present, as he dresses you in his clothes. For panties, he slinks your legs into his boxers, keeping them warm with a pair of his own joggers. Then, he tugs his hoodie down your head, pushing your arms through the sleeves. Smirks at the way his clothes fit you well. As if they were your own. At the way he matches with you. 

He overflows with a thrumming life. 

A brand new chapter filled with myriads of different, ecstatic possibilities. And you seal them to completion, when tucked in bed, lying on his chest, you sleepily utter the first prospect that you want to bring to life.

“Will you take me to your cabin tomorrow?” 

His breath hitches in his throat. He never thought he’d be returning there so soon, especially not with you. His mouth quirks up, body suffused with a foreign excitement, and right away he deduces the reason why you want to go there. 

“You really want that dildo, don’t you?” 

You merely laugh through your nose. 

Oh, he’s calling in sick tomorrow. Will take you there first thing in the morning. Will do absolutely anything for you. 

“I’ll fuck you hard with it until you completely drench it, then. Sleep for now, so we can get to tomorrow.” 

You kiss his clothed chest. Nuzzle your face in it. Whisper your thank you. Jungkook pretends he didn’t just get hard all over again. 

“Good night,” you say. 

He pecks your hair. “Good night, sweetheart.” 

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist

[teenandbeyond]

Can I request a predator smut with prompts 51,52 and 64 please?

Predator x Reader

Helloooooo, Briteny's back bitches 😌💅

Want more from me? Masterlist

☆*: .｡. .｡.:*☆

Hunter and Prey (Predator)

Warning(s): Smut, reader being chased, park smex (so that's nice, yeah), and idk how I wrote this in class, so have fun, the sparkly stars below are a scam, this is anything but cute

Your predator does what he knows best, hunt...

✨✨✨✨✨✨

“I thought I’d try something different tonight…”

With a tilt of his head, you knew your Yautja was intrigued as you leaned back into him.

“Play a little game, where I’d be your prey. Would you like that?”

You could feel the rumble in his chest, claws trailing down your frame.

“If I win, I do what I want with you—” your breath hitched as they grazed ever so delicately against your inner thigh.

“If I win?” his deep and gravelly English makes you smile. You were a good teacher.

“You do what a hunter would with any prey…” you trail off with a bite of your lip.

“Mm. Rules?”

“The first rule is you only have two hours after my 30-minute headstart. The second: No Bio-Helmet. It wouldn’t be fair to give you such an easy win.”

Then you felt the jump of laughter, you did always enjoy the sound of his laugh, even if it sounded absolutely anything but kind.

“I think I’ve got this in the bag. Your eyesight is shitty without that thing,” you grinned.

“Is that…a challenge? You know I love those.”

•─────⋅☾ 𝕻𝖗𝖊𝖉𝖆𝖙𝖔𝖗 ☽⋅─────•

And now here you were, being chased in the small town by your predator.

You’d made it a distance from your home, confident you would win this little game.

You were careful, the small town was dead at night…however, that didn’t mean there wasn't a risk you or your hunter would be seen.

But that made it all the more thrilling.

Soon, you were at the park, making your way through the crowd of trees.

Your head snapped behind you when you heard birds squawk…he was getting closer, you had to move.

On the other hand, your Predator was a little convinced you truly didn’t want to win, considering you were leaving clues.

Every half a mile or so, there was a piece of clothing he could see.

A hat.

A scarf.

One glove here, another there.

Your coat, he could see from the trees.

But he couldn’t find you. Yet.

He refused to lose, never once has he lost a hunt.

Then he heard the snap of a stick not too far from where he was.

There you were.

You knew you were fucked, you knew he’d hear you.

And he could smell your excitement fill the air at the thought of that.

Time was ticking, he smoothly leaped from one tree to another, getting closer by the second.

•─────⋅☾ 𝕻𝖗𝖊𝖉𝖆𝖙𝖔𝖗 ☽⋅─────•

“Shit…” you whispered, slowly lifting your foot from the broken branch.

You had to run.

You heard a couple of men not too far away murmuring lowly, maybe they could be the distraction. Hiding your body in plain sight.

You hide behind a tree, peeking out to observe them. Maybe you could stand close to them to confuse your body heat or—

With a gasp, you’re slammed into the bark, your mouth is covered.

He’s here.

His gaze pierced into yours, he leans into your ear, “I win. Twenty minutes left. What was that about… having it in the bag?”

You scoff, voice muffled by his hand, “Bite me.”

“If that’s what you wish..."

•─────⋅☾ 𝕻𝖗𝖊𝖉𝖆𝖙𝖔𝖗 ☽⋅─────•

“H-hah…So-So much…” you whimper as you get rammed into.

You were so hot, yet so cold all at once. The air was crisp, and it didn’t help that the only clothes you had were ripped to shreds.

Your legs buckled, hardly able to stand, but you did, knees brushing together with each jut forward.

As much as he liked holding you…he really loved when you were bent over, taking him in.

His grip on your ripped shirt was tight, he used it to tug you back into him.

You tried so hard to keep quiet, you didn’t want to be heard.

But you were the only one that cared, so.

He decided to be a little asshole and let some of his raw strength seep in, he was still in control of course.

He liked you too much to kill you this way…Now anyway.

And quite honestly, in this fucked out moment of yours, you wouldn’t have minded this being your way out.

A loud mewl—that he thought was very cute—slipped past your lips.

He rolled his hips, the circular movement hitting you deep.

You bite your lip to keep quiet best you could, but he was making it hard.

He’d make it even harder for you.

I mean, you did this much. Made him hunt you. In public at that, but couldn’t handle a few weakling men hearing you?

What would they do except scream before he kills them for seeing you in such a state?

He made his thrusts more deliberate, not really fast, but hardly gentle. Hitting that spot he knew would make you break.

Because if he didn’t make you cry with pleasure, he wasn’t doing it right.

If you weren’t babbling for more, then his job wasn’t done.

He wouldn’t stop until he got what he wanted. That was his reward. He won fair and square.

He loved conquering you, admiring your body, feeling it against his.

And he also loved reminding you that no matter how long you’ve been with him, how much you’ve toughened up…you were still the weakling little human who’d easily get drunk on his cock no matter how many times you’ve seen and felt it.

You tell him it’s because you love him.

Such a thing is foreign to him, he had mates, not love.

But make no mistake, if there’s one thing he understands. He loves your body.

His hand traces over your sides, your hips.

He loves every curve, dent, blemish, freckle, mole, the uneven skin tone in some places.

You are quite the fascinating creature.

He watches as your body trembles, you gasp for breath, fresh after climax.

But despite him going so hard on you, despite your behind being slapped so much it’s changed color, despite the dents his claws left behind, despite your throat being sore from taking him earlier…you still smile and say…

“Give me more…I know you’re not done yet.”

[lunathebee]

Just saw your dialog request thing! And can I say oh my god! Can you do 9 and 7 please, but no dying, I can’t handle angst 😂

Pairing: Namor x human!fem!reader

Warning: mention of blood

A/n: no dying?? hmmm,it took me awhile to come up with something lol

Dialogue prompt #7: "In k’áatech" ― "I love you?" ― "Your Mayan is getting better In yakunaj (my love)"

Dialogue prompt #9: "Open your eyes, my love, my moon. I'm begging you...please. The war is over; we won... but without you, it doesn't matter to me anymore."

"I should have known better." Namor shook his head and glared at Y/n, his eyes no longer soft and full of love anymore; they were icy cold and sleek like a dagger, preparing to strike. "You're just like all the humans on land, foolishly thinking some negotiation could solve everything."

Y/n takes a deep breath to control her rage. Namor has always been stubborn, ever since the first day they met; but she knows that beneath it all, he is a soft-hearted person, a king who cares about his people's well-being, and a charming man to say the least.

But there are moments like right now that make Y/n feel like her lover is a totally different person.

"All I’m saying is the war could be prevented, and NEVER compare me like that when I—I myself was willing to become a Talokanil for you... UgH..you know what? Fine" Y/n stormed off to put on her armor and breathing mask as Namor watched in disbelief.

"What are you doing?" He asks while following her with caution.

Y/n doesn’t answer as she picks up a spear, admiring how sharp the blade is before Namor takes it from her hand in anger. "Don’t make me ask again, In Yakunaj (my love)" He lowered his head and whispered in Y/n’s ears, watching her reaction.

"Can’t you see? If you don’t want peace and my advice, the least I could do is fight alongside you." Y/n smirks. "And maybe I can be there to watch how you lose the war that you started first."

Namor can feel his head fuming with anger for a moment; his lover sure knows how to mess with him. Namor has always taken pride in his superhuman strength and power; never in a million years would he think about losing a fight. "Nice joke Sirenita (little siren)"

Y/n likes it when Namor calls her by that nickname; there are many things that she has regretted in the past, but loving him is definitely not one of them.

“Now…can I have my spear back and go with you? Namora and Attuma must be tired of waiting for us In ajawo' (my king)”

===𓆝 𓆟 𓆞===

"¡Líik’ik Talokan!" Namor yelled out loud before watching his people jump fearlessly from the water onto land, easily overpowering all the enemies.

Y/n on the other hand is struggling to fight; after all, she is a human, and her abilities can't compare to a Talokanil warrior. 

"Tsk tsk, what do we have here? Your skin isn’t blue like those freaks" A guy ripped off Y/n’s breathing mask while forcing a knife near her throat. "You don’t need this, honey; you are a human, aren’t you?"

The woman gritted her teeth in anger, unaware of how the guy already had another knife digging slowly into her stomach.

"Y/n!" Namor’s voice booming from above caught her attention; it turned out he had been looking for her when she went missing, flying and scanning the whole area.

But it's not just Y/n who is aware of Namor's presence; the bad guy holding her hostage is as well.

"Fuck, you're dead to me" he muttered, and before Y/n could comprehend what was happening, she felt a sharp pain in her abdomen, causing her to cry out loudly.

Y/n watched the guy run for his life before being killed immediately by Namor's trident falling from the sky. "KILL THEM ALL!" The king yelled, furious at seeing his lover get hurt.

Y/n doesn’t know what is happening or what happen after that, but the headache and dizziness are making her slowly become unconscious. Is this the end?

"Open your eyes, my love, my moon. I'm begging you, please. The war is over; we won... but without you, it doesn't matter to me anymore" Namor cried out while holding Y/n close to him.

"I’m okay; I will be okay... But geez, it did hurt."

The sudden answer made the king widen his eyes in shock and happiness. His lover is okay, but how?

"The armor saved my life." Y/n smiled, as if she knew what Namor would ask. "Well... I would say that it didn’t do a very good jo-"

Her sentence was cut off by a deep and fierce kiss; the action took Y/n by surprise, but she happily joined in, deepening it.

Namor broke the kiss before pulling Y/n’s head closer to his, their foreheads touching. "In k’áatech"

"I love you?"

"Your Mayan is getting better, In yakunaj (my love)"

Y/n smiles at Namor's praise before pulling him closer, yearning for another kiss.

[imsososolesbian]

The Broken Axe

Jackieshauna

Warnings: Blood

Summary: Shauna still had nightmares. (Jackieshauna is around 25 in this)

Word Count: 2291

Thank you to @shaunashoochiebae for indulging in Lumberjack!shauna with me, without her this wouldn’t be a fic.

Shauna didn’t like the cold weather. It made her anxious. She felt like she couldn’t move whenever winter came and the snow started to fall. She also hated cabins; she couldn’t take the sight of them, especially when there was moss all over it and it looked old and shitty. Like when you step on a floor bored it makes sound under the weight of feet.

She had so much trauma relating to the two things. Yet here she was, standing in front of a cabin, an old crappy truck parked out front and her wife's arm wrapped around her arm as they both looked up at this cabin. They had bought a fucking cabin. They own a cabin. They are going to be living in this thing. They are going to have to face trauma year after year.

Yet they both wanted this. They wanted to be out of the public eye. They wanted to live a normal, or as normal of a life one can get when they spent months out in the wilderness and lost all semblance of human identity.

Shauna had vowed to Jackie that out here at this cabin, everything will be different. No one will be sleeping outside, there will be plenty of food. They wouldn’t have to cook over a fire, or skin animals or be caked in blood. Not anymore. They were gone from that. They could be normal now.

Shauna could feel herself being pulled back. It was like she was a teen again, and there she was in a small shed cutting up an animal again, and Jackie was struggling to regain strength from staying outside for too long. She could taste the blood in her mouth and the frosty snow biting at her toes, but worse of all? She could still feel phantom kicks from a baby long lost.

She is ripped out of her thoughts when Jackie squeezes her arm, and Shauna lets out a gasp. Her eyes scan the area, before looking at Jackie, a tired look on her face. She had driven the two for hours up to this cabin.

“You okay Shipman?” Jackie asked gently, rubbing her hand over Shauna’s arm as she looked at her. All she got from Shauna was a nod of the head. She was out of it once more in little more than a second. She felt like a scared teen still, it was like she could hear the dead's voices in her ears, like they never died and were just behind her.

Shauna can still feel the wind on her neck, and nagging of the cold. The call of the wilderness. The need to protect and give. The need to survive. The want of scumming to the land. To become like those before her, stuck in the ground, dead. Not living, nor moving, in a coffin, six feet under.

Shauna could feel the pull. The need to hunt, the blood caked on her fingers as she skins animals and cuts them up. The smell of blood in the air, the animal blood, and the taste of it. Wait no… that’s human blood. Why could she taste human blood? They didn’t get to the point of eating their own flesh out there, even in the dead of winter they didn’t. They still found animals at that point somehow. So why is she tasting human blood as she remembers what happened out there.

“Shauna? What’s wrong? Shauna?” Jackie had stepped in front of Shauna, putting her hands on her arms, and gently shaking her.

Shauna finally snaps out of it, she feels wetness on her cheeks and she has blood in her mouth. Her hair was in her face as she looked at Jackie. “Jax? What’s wrong?”

Jackie looked at Shauna in bewilderment, “You like got one of those flashback things again,” her hands fly up to Shauna’s face, and holds her cheeks in her hands, “You scared me. Lets go inside? Lay down? Tomorrow I’ll decorate and you have to get to work. My handsome, strong lumberjack.”

Shauna laughs, and leans down, kissing Jackie on the forehead, “I love you. Are you sure you are okay with living out here? There’s no one else out here, and what if something happens? We did tell Tai and Nat we moved out here right?”

Jackie could tell that Shauna was spirling and she just softly rubs Shauna’s cheeks, “Shauna, everything is fine. Tai and Nat know. We will be fine okay? We are strong and we’ve gone through so much together before. We got each other,” Jackie says, she hadn’t given a pep talk in years, but here she was standing before her wife, the love of her life, who looked like she was about to break down.

Jackie had then pulled Shauna inside, the heat was turned up. It wasn’t cold, Shauna could feel the difference. She didn’t feel cold anymore, she couldn’t feel the linger of death held over her head anymore. She felt safe, or something akin to safe. She could no longer feel the rush of heat blasting her in the face over the lake. She could no longer smell the scent of campfires at night. She could no longer feel the hunger in her veins. Or the dread of waking up each morning and stepping outside, and having to do chores and make sacrifices.

Shauna didn’t remember much of that first night. Her head was really fuzzy and she couldn’t think. The world around her was vast but yet so small. But Jackie had laid her down in bed, having helped her out of her flannel and jeans, and switching it for a pair of shorts and a tank top.

Jackie had a nightgown on as she got under the covers with Shauna, guiding Shauna’s head so it was resting on her chest, and ran her fingers through Shauna’s hair, lightly scraping at her scalp every so often.

Shauna had only gotten a few hours of sleep. Her mind wouldn’t shut off. Which was usually a good thing but these days it seemed to just be a constant curse she couldn’t get rid of.

She felt off that next morning. Her head was spinning, and her heart was beating out of her chest. She was woken up at the crack of dawn, to Jackie bumping into a chair in their room. Luckily for her she hadn’t fallen.

“Shauna, babe, wake up” Shauna heard as she felt a dip in the bed, and something long placed on her lap. She opened her eyes, letting out a goran.

“‘Morn dear…” Shauna grumbled out, her hair a mess as she sat up, leaning slightly on to Jackie, a soft smile on her face.

She had her body pressed against Jackie as she ate. Her movements are slow and calculated. She felt out of control of her own movements. She was starving yet she sat here, eating slower than she has ever in her life.

It took forever. The morning felt like it was years. She had finally gotten out of the house three hours later, at 8. The wind was a little chilly, and there was a little cloud of fog.

The truck crapped out on her. It wouldn’t turn on. She tried checking the engine and anything else it could have been. She was out of luck. She needed to walk to work.

Shauna got to work late. She was given an axe and told to get to work outside straight away. They didn’t tell her there was no fence anywhere and that it was just an open forest. they didn’t warn her that there could be wild animals.

She had gotten to work. By midday, the sun was beating down. She didn’t think it would get this hot. It was 5 c when she had left in the morning and it felt like it had gone up to 30 c.

Her flannel was tied around her waist as she continued chopping before she heard a crack and looked up. A weird creature looking at her, huffing, before it ran at her. Shauna had no time to think as she bolted, axe still in hand as she did so.

She turned her head back, seeing a large winged beast looming in front of her. It had the body of a bear, the face of a rabbit, with the legs of a wolf, antlers of a moose and a large wing span, dark black, and seemed to be coated in blood.

She stood in place, frozen before she turned and started sprinting, axe in hand as she heard the woosh of wings flapping as it followed her. She was glad she had stayed in shape after they were rescued. She could feel her heart beating, and the blood in her veins rushing. She could feel the hard ground under her work boots and the unevenness of the ground.

Her breath came out in puffs as she ran. She had run in the direction of their cabin. She had turned her head to look every now and then, before she came face to face with the beast. She had little time to think before she slammed the axe into its

chest, and ripping it out, blood gushing everywhere and spraying her in the process.

The thing didn’t die. It was still upright and breathing. Shauna once more swung her axe at the thing. It once more didn’t die so she went back to running.

She had been running for thirty minutes by the time she got to the cabin, dried blood on her face and blood dripping down her axe handle onto her arms.

Yanking the cabin door open she fell through as she closed it. She felt herself hit the hardwood floor before she felt rocks digging into her knees.

She looked up, there was the cabin. In all it’s brown and green glory. Standing tall and menacing over top of her. She felt a cold bust of air, and there was the monster once more. A coat full of blood as it once more stocked closer to her. The axe was nowhere to be seen.

She scrambled away, hitting herself off of a tree and her head bashing against the tree hard making her fall fully to the ground once more.

This time she found herself waking up, in bed with a man. A baby crying in the other room. She rubbed at her eyes as she pushed the covers off of her. The man looked like Jeff, but it made sense. Jackie was dead and she had a child with him.

She walked through the house to the small bedroom, where the wailing was coming from. She pushed the door open and walked to the crying baby, and picked it up.

It was a girl? She didn’t have a girl. Why is there a baby girl in her arms? Where was the baby boy she had? This can’t be her child, could it? Nonetheless she held the crying girl to her chest and rocked her in her arms.

“Shh… I got you,” Shauna murmured as she moved about the tiny room, keeping a careful hold on the baby.

That was until Jeff walked into the room. His body looked weird, it looked fluffy in a way. It was weird. He looked taller and bigger. A tail-like thing growing out of his back. “Put the baby down, Shauna, you know not to become a mother. It’s always ripped away.”

Shauna shook her head holding the baby tighter, but Jeff stalked forward, a glare taking over his soft face. Shauna gulped and raced back over to the crib, setting the baby down in it.

“Good job Shauna. But not enough” the monster charged forward, its claws slicing Shauna’s face and throat. “It's never going to leave you Shauna. It’s inside of you.”

That was the last thing Shauna saw before her eyes shot open and she let out a scream. Sweat beading on her forehead as she let out a cry. She looked to the side, Jackie was fine. She was alive. She was breathing fine next to her. Her skin wasn’t ghostly pale. She was fine.

There was a small pulling at her arm, and when she looked over, a small boy stood next to the bed. Shauna quickly wiped at her eyes and helped the boy up onto the bed.

Letting him rest between her and Jackie. He curled up next to Jackie. Shauna wiped at her face, calming herself down. Yes they were still in a cabin, but it was just the three of them. Her wife made it out alive, and her son didn’t die in childbirth. Everything was fine. She was okay.

She laid back down, laying an arm around her son to settle her hand on Jackie’s arm. She had promised last night that she would show her son how to chop a tree down.

Her breathing was softer now, less rapid. Everything was good. No one was hurt. Life was fine.

Her wife was asleep in bed and so was her son. She knew that the next morning she’d wake up, and find Jackie cooking breakfast, and her son at the kitchen table colouring. She’d be able to wrap her arms around her wife and lean her head into her shoulder as she cooks. She’d be able to have a hot cup of coffee. She would have breakfast with her family, and then change for the day.

She’d wear a flannel and jeans, her hair would be brushed and she’d pick out her axe for the day, getting a smaller one for her son.

Everything was going to be fine. Nothing bad would happen.

[newtstesco]

SMG4 FRIENDSHIPS THAT I FEEL LIKE WOULD BE VERY REAL AND ALSO IF YOU DISAGREE WITH ME I KILL YOU

FightingMario54321 and Meggy- they were both cops and have penchant for fighting, what more do i have to say? they set up play dates between Loaf and Cube

Luigi and SMG0- they both are so chill, and they’d probably discuss gardening and their favorite teas and have little tea parties and talk abt how chaotic Mario and Fred are

Niles and Kaizo- both have felt betrayed by someone they care about, and they’re both the bad boy trope fr fr, would listen to rob zombie together

Mario, Fred, and Spudnick- they are all super chaotic and love running around and causing problems on purpose, they’re not allowed to hang out a lot since they destroy so much when they’re together, but once a year the guardians allow a play date

Tari and EpicYoshiFan- i’ve always thought EYF was bit quieter and shyer than the other recolors, so i think he and Tari would get long great, talking about music and video games and staying up way too late doing things

XboxGamer997 and Melony- they both have this sort of main character energy with X’s omen sense and Melony’s fierce deity side, i also think X gets pretty tired frequently so they’ll just have lil sleepovers :3

Ruffman8890 and Boopkins- they’re both very high energy, and RM would love to watch anime with Boopkins because i said so fuck you

Karen, Toad, and Peach- tired of Mario’s shit and definitely need a break, they go drinking together sometimes

Jeeves and Toadsworth- weird old men gang! i am specifically thinking abt the 2018 video where Jeeves and Toadsworth were hanging out, they definitely would discuss like the weather and what the princess has been up to and how the milk is selling fr fr

Shroomy and Swag- once again, i am referencing a Christmas special, the 2021 one to be exact, they love going demon hunting on the weekends and blowing things up

Whimpu and Tari- they both like doing quieter activities and nerdy shit, so they’d definitely play pokémon together, Whimpu is a nuzlock GOD

Enzo and The Villager- they both recovered after the christmas crazies episode (a lot of christmas episodes, you can tell they’re some of my favorites) and now The Villager directs a children’s TV show (seen in the 10 year anniversary movie) and Enzo runs a birthday supplies store in bloopersville (source: my brain) and they have the same parole officer, and no one really understands what they’ve been through so they’re pretty tight

SMG3, Xboxfan996, and OiramOiram12345- evil dopple gang! they’ve mostly mellowed out tho, and 96 and OO live in bloopersville but come by the internet graveyard sometimes to get a coffee and talk about what’s new with them

SMG4, SLG4, and Minion- THEY ARE A FAMILY YOUR HONOR AND YOU CAN RIP THIS FROM MY COLD DEAD HANDS! Minion and SLG4 live in bloopersville, and since they’re all sorta related to SMG4, they’re like “yeah we’re family lol” so SMG4 sometimes shows up at bloopersville for their birthdays

Desti and Saiko- they would have been BESTIES you can’t change my mind, Desti would totally go to Saiko for help with asking out Meggy

MCGustavo and Bob- i can’t explain this but just trust me they’d be best friends they’d smoke together lol

Chris and Belle- they both want to smack the shit out of their former bosses (Sergeant Mark and SMG3, respectively), they both get a little tired of the chaos and just wanna talk to someone who’s also tired of it for once

Jub Jub, Frankie, and the Weegee doll- they play roblox together :D

Mario and Ruffman8890- they are both so chaotic and love running around and pissing off Toad lmaooo

Waluigi and Tari- after the whole T-pose virus thing, they both see each other at a rubber duck store and hit it off immediately, they love hanging out and playing with their ducks

those are all the ones i can think of rn but this is so real and you will agree with me now

[mxldito]

Dinner Diary #9

CW: Vague mentions of a suicide attempt, mentions of gagging, self harm, feeding off of a dead body, body horror, and a line some may read as blasphemous.

The world looks darker every time I see it. As though a dark cast has been thrown over my eyes. I can hardly see it, I see it stirring more than I see it itself. It's growing out of dead, muave muscle that still slowly pulsates with stolen blood. Everything below the waist is fused in and its arms strained against a thin membrane of stretchy tissue, and its skin was the same color as its prison. It could break free if it wanted to badly enough. And through the dimness, from behind the long black hair that hangs in its face, eyes of gold pierce through: "Do you remember when we first met?"

I didn't answer.

"I danced before your eyes, only for a second. You were scared. You got so scared. You thought you were going to be sick, so you heaved but nothing came out. There was nothing in you anymore." It throbbed with a sloshing sound. It was amused. "I turned our lights off so that your eyes would not burn in those first nights."

I say nothing.

"Do you no longer heave at the sight?"

"No."

"Are you used to me? Do you love me? Love me as if you were my father?"

"Burdens can't be loved."

It deflates just a little. "What you put in your mouth is mine…Do you remember the crystal? At his house?"

"We broke it."

"Yes. We broke it." Raising its head, straining against the muscle. It fusses like an infant, "You…You hurt me that night. My throat still stings, the line of pain has never left me. I want to live."

"It's all terribly loud."

Hissing, protesting even louder. The stronger of the two of us and it can't even complain in peace. All it does is beg and complain. Watch it carefully while it rears its ugly head.

"The dead man you put in your mouth is mine. Everything you put in your mouth is mine. The skin should be mine. The eyes should be mine. I fixed everything that was wrong with our existence. Now you can fuck, eat, and kill whenever the mood strikes you. You deny me. You only want me when you need something."

Pulsating faster now, it went on: "Who were you before me? A starving hermit looking at death with intent? A juvenile delinquent? The same little girl you were at First Communion? Marrying yourself off to a God you never met? To a God who damns you to carry the ancient wrath of somebody you never met?" Its teeth gnashing, voice ragged.

"I wasn't any of them."

"Then who carried you all the way here?"

I couldn't answer that because I didn't have an answer. I don't know who carried me here. But I know it wasn't the previous skin, even if I held all those memories with me. I am not The Star. I swear I'm not The Star. I'm just something that crawled out of her frozen corpse.

Its rhythm went on faster and louder than before. Angrily awaiting the answer that I wouldn't be giving. It was scared. It scared easily. It writhed against the inside of my chest and my cold synapses. Ripping a clawed hand out of its bindings to scratch at its face and neck. It didn't understand. It cried.

"What are we running from? I can't take it anymore! I'm scared! Why are we running? I don't want to look over my shoulder anymore! I'm scared! I want to live! Let me live! You're scaring me!" Wailing as it tormented itself, "I want to go home. Take us home!"

And the veil that covered the world was gone and all the sharp edges had returned. I found that I had been muttering to a piss-stained alleyway wall. I looked down to see I was still straddling the belly of a corpse I'd found on the street. I shouldn't be feeding from the dead. It was a disgusting thing to do. I couldn't help myself.

Maybe that's why the Passenger called out to me. I couldn't help myself. So it hides behind The Moon and catches me by the hair so I'll look at it. It'll have nobody else look at it.

I stand up, the body beneath me looked strange and pale. He appeared untouched despite the fact I'd pulled every drop of blood out of him. I'm not the one who killed him. I don't know how he died. Maybe he collapsed and never got back up. That's a feeling we know.

There was a manhole there. I struggled it open and dropped him in, like a coin to a slot. I heard his dead weight collide and break against the dirty and damp concrete down below. I'll take care of the rest later. I just needed to sit down for a minute.

Man, I feel like like shit. I want to go home.

-- Good morning.

[the-cult-of-russo]

Merry Christmas, Bunny

Pairing: Reader/Billy Russo

Warnings: Angst, cursing, death.

A/N: My first Billy thing in a long ass time and of course I come back with the angst, I’m super rusty writing for Billy but this came to me and I love my lil angry boy lmaooooo

—--------------------

Your eyes blinked slowly, blood running cold as you looked at the mess before you. The lights on the Christmas tree twinkled, red and green as if they didn’t have specks of blood all over them. Silent Night played softly in the background. It somehow felt fitting for the devastation in front of you. The living room was decorated but not only with Christmas decorations. Blood painted the room, staining every surface available. You felt like you could taste the copper tang in the air. Your dad was on the floor near the TV, on his front and sprawled out. A pool of blood spilled out from under him, a bullet hole in his head. Your mom was halfway in the kitchen and the living room. A broken plate and cookies scattered around her lifeless body and covered in her blood. And the bodies of your three brothers were around the tree. The puddle of blood from the three of them combined and seeped into the carpet. Your hands clenched and unclenched as you looked at them, an ice-cold feeling settling into your chest as you tried to make sense of your emotions. 

You had a strained relationship with your family. Your parents ended up having four children but decided they weren't supposed to be parents. They'd put all of you in foster care. You always held out hope for a happy ending with your parents. No one else wanted you and while you were in the group home, they'd come to visit you. Tell you it was for your own good that they put you there. That they couldn't care for you like you and your other siblings needed. They just weren't kid people. They'd tell you how one day you'd be able to come back and things would be good again. Once you were older, they'd be able to be there for you. And you'd clung to that hope. Even when they stopped visiting as often. Even when your brothers and sisters who were also in the group home ended up being adopted and you were left behind. No one wanted you. The weird quiet girl who didn't play well with others. The one who had a penchant for setting things on fire or stealing. So you’d been left behind. Once you aged out of the system, you hoped things would be better. But when you turned up to the place you once called home, your family no longer lived there. It took years to track them down. They were still in New York and eventually you found them. A friend had helped you track them down. They'd been shocked to see you but bridges had been burnt. The people that put you and your siblings in foster care because they ‘couldn't deal with children’ now had three other kids. Your brothers were 3, 5 and 7, and were now lying dead in front of their Christmas presents. You’d been hurt to see them as such a happy family when they didn't want you or your other brothers and sisters, but they'd tried to make excuses. You couldn't shake that bitterness though. The one that gripped you tight every time you thought of all those lonely nights at the group home with no one to care for you. And here they were with your youngest brothers, happy as can be. That white picket fence life you’d always dreamed of. You'd visit on special occasions, trying to quell the hurt inside of you every time you did. But despite everything they'd done to you, how much they devastated you beyond repair, you hadn't wished them dead. And now they were dead. Gone. No coming back. And you didn't know how to feel about it.

Your eyes drifted to the note, crudely scrawled on a ripped piece of paper that was tacked to the wall.

‘Merry fucking Christmas, Bunny.’

You’d recognize that handwriting anywhere, and the nickname was a dead giveaway. You felt a lot of confusing things, but most of all, you were angry. Because there had always been a part of you that hoped things would one day get better with them. The deep need to be loved by them clawing at your skin. And you’d never know if you'd get that now. You'd never know how it would have played out because they were dead. He’d killed them. You didn't even know he was out and about. The last you’d heard, he was laid up in hospital and in very deep trouble. But he was out now. On a rampage and seemingly unhinged. It was worlds away from the boy you knew at the group home. The only friend you'd had. But you knew he’d changed a long time ago. He’d turned into someone you had no interest in being around and you hadn't had contact with him in a while. Which is why you were confused why he'd do this. It was spiteful, knowing how much this would hurt you. And it worried you that he'd target you now he was out once again and a little less sane than the last time you saw him.

When you left the group home, you’d stayed in touch. He’d left first, being a little older than you and then off he went to the marines. You were the one writing him letters, sending him care packages. He was family to you. But then after he came back for the last time, he was different. And one drunken night he revealed what part he played in the Castles massacre. And you were mortified. You knew he saw those people as family. You’d met them a few times yourself. To know he could do that to people he cared deeply for, to his own brother, it scared you. You’d given him an ultimatum the morning after. He needed to come clean and turn himself in, or you were done with him. You were hoping given how close you were that he’d listen to you. You were wrong. He turned cold, telling you to keep your mouth shut or you'd be next. After that, you didn't see him again. Billy Russo scared the shit out of you. And that was before Frank came back and beat the shit out of him and ruined his face and mind. You weren't sure what to do. Part of you wanted to confront him, to figure out why he did this. But you weren't sure if you'd be joining your family in the afterlife if you did. There had always been a pull to Billy. You’d both been broken in the system and you gravitated towards each other. He was the only one to notice you existed. You'd formed a bond you'd once thought unbreakable but it had all been a lie. He was a wolf in sheep's clothing and you'd fallen for it. Yet even now, there was a tug pulling at you to seek him out. To try and see why he did this. To try and stop him before he wound up dead. 

You gave your family one last look before hurrying out of the house and getting in your car. You weren't sure where to look. Where to go. You found anger swirling around inside of you for what he did. He took your family away. And sure it had been broken and stupid but they were still your family. And he knew how important they were to you. So it hurt. It hurt so deeply that someone you once cared for did this to you. But you weren't sure why you were surprised after what he did to the Castle family. This was why you’d been scared. Why you hadn't tried to keep in touch with him after your ultimatum. Because if he could do that to Frank, he could do that to you. And now he had. He’d taken your family away from you. And now you were truly alone. No mom, no dad, no brothers and sisters and no Billy. It was just you. And you hated him for doing this to you. Your hands flexed around the steering wheel and you tried to take a shaky breath. Before you knew it, you were driving on autopilot. That tug inside of you making you pull into the cemetery. Your hands trembled slightly as you looked around, and you saw him them. Standing near the graves of the Castle family was a figure in a black hoodie with the hood up. You knew it was him. With a shaky hand, you reached into the glove box and grabbed your handgun. You’d never been a gun person before, but back before Billy went off the deep end, he’d insisted you got one for protection. He’d even shown you how to use it. You slipped it into the waistband of your jeans, concealed by your jacket before you got out of the car. When you slammed it shut, the figure turned towards you. He was wearing a weird white mask. Black cracks and holes painted on it. You felt your stomach clench uncertainly, your heart picking up as you slowly made your way towards him. 

He looked terrifying with the mask, his dark eyes peeking out of the eye holes and staring at you intently. His body was held tightly, standing rigidly in place and unmoving like a statue. You felt sick. You stopped a few feet away from him, unsure of how he’d react to seeing you here. Would this be how you die? At the hands of someone you once considered family?

“Hello, Bunny,” he sounded amused almost and it only set you more one edge. You opened your mouth but it floundered for a moment, not knowing what to say.

“Why? Why did you do it?” you asked, your voice laced with pain as your glassy eyes stared him down. He chuckled, shaking his head for a moment before he tilted it and looked at you once more. His almost black eyes were piercing as they pinned you in place.

“You know why,” he replied lowly. You blinked at him, a frown gracing your face.

“Is this some kind of punishment? Because I told you to turn yourself in?” you asked confused, hurt colouring your face. He was quiet for a long moment and your brain wouldn't let you forget the gun that was tucked away in your waistband. He slowly slid the hood off his head, before lifting the mask up. Finally, you saw him, for the first time in a long while. He had deep and painful looking scars all over his face and you swallowed thickly. It hurt seeing him this way. Seeing the lost and unhinged look in his eyes. But deep down you knew he’d deserved this. Deserved what Frank did to him after what he’d done to his family. He took a step closer and you took one back. Hurt flashed on his face before he chuckled darkly. 

“I really thought you were smarter than that, Bunny,” he murmured with a frown. An almost patronizing look on his face. As your face scrunched up in even more confusion, he took a step closer and you tensed but didn't move.

“I did this for you,” he said firmly, his deep and dark eyes feeling like they were penetrating you.

“You killed my only family… for me?” you asked quietly, a mere whisper in the wind as you looked at him incredulously. How far gone was he? He shook his head, face contorting in anger and your heart faltered for a moment. 

“Your family? Family? He asked with a snarl, he turned away, pacing a little as he tossed his mask to the floor and ran his hands through his short hair.

“They shoved you in a group home so they didn't have to deal with a bunch of kids. And then they decided to play happy families without you. They didn't love you. Never did. That's not family, Y/N. I’m family,” he spat angrily. A wave of rage swept through you. Despite the words being mostly true, it sent a spark of defensiveness through your entire being.

“You’re family? You left! You wouldn't do the right thing and then you threatened me, Billy! How is that family? Ad now you killed them. I have no one left!” you yelled, voice cracking as the lump in your throat expanded. 

A pained looked crossed his face, his head tilting at you once more, his eyes shiny and damp.

“I pushed you away to keep you safe! You needed to be far away from me or you'd wind up dead. And now… now I see things clearer. And you needed to lose your family ‘cause they were suckin’ the soul outta you. You’d never be able to move on from what they did while they were still around,” he muttered empathically. You felt far too much to make sense of, not knowing if you should trust his words about keeping you safe. Maybe it was true given all he’d gotten himself wrapped up in, but he could have just told you that. And now this new insane version of Billy thought it was excusable to kill your family like he was doing you a favour. You felt your chest constrict as you turned, ready to walk away, unsure of anything or the man before you. But he gripped your wrist in a vice-like grip, making you yelp as he turned you back around and pulled you closer to him.

“Don’t you walk away from me,” he growled, eyes flashing with anger and hurt. Your stomach was doing somersaults and not in a good way as you blinked up at him teary-eyed.

“Let me go,” you pleaded in a whisper. You didn't trust him. Couldn't anymore. You didn't want him to hurt you.

“You're not goin’ anywhere until you listen to me!” he bellowed, making you shrink under him as he still held your wrist. He saw your scared face and he blinked at you for a long moment. His grip on you relaxed a little but he didn't let go and he tried to school his face into a mask of indifference. 

“Just listen to me,” he murmured, his eyes imploring.

“Please let me just go. I don't want you to hurt me,” you sniffled, your heart clenching at what he’d turned into. He looked shocked at your words before a pained frown etched onto his features.

“Hurt you? I’d never hurt you,” he implored.

“You already have,” you replied painfully, voice wobbling as your tears threatened to break free. He took a large shaky breath, eyes flitting all over the place like his head was suddenly full and overwhelming. 

“No. No, no, no. I didn’t... I did it for you. I did it to help you. To get back at them for what they did,” he rambled quickly, looking like a lost boy.

“Billy, stop! You're not you right now. Just please let me go!” you pleaded with him. He snarled then, yanking you closer and jostling you about. You whimpered, looking at his angry and sad face. 

“I’m not me? Why? ‘Cause my face is messed up? ‘Cause I look like a monster?!” he growled angrily. 

Memories flooded your brain of the boy you once knew. When he taught you to ride a bike. The time you both set a fire in the small garden of the group home and he took the fall for it so you wouldn't get in trouble. When he stole you a chocolate bar because you were sick. How every birthday he’d buy you a stuffed bunny, adding to your collection. The boy that was broken and beaten down but had a heart of gold for you. The one who cared for you when no one else did. He didn't mesh with the man before you. The man who had killed people he cared about, devasted the life of someone he considered his brother, had killed your family and tried to justify it to say he did it for you. You knew he’d killed others. You knew these weren't the only people who died by his hand. 

“You don't look like a monster, Billy. But how you're acting right now… you're acting like one,” you lamented. His hand dropped you as if you'd burnt him then and he took a few steps back. His hands rubbed at his short hair, shaking his head as he looked confused and angry. 

“You… You have no idea. No idea what I’ve done for you. No idea what I had to do to keep you safe!” he yelled angrily, his eyes glaring at you. He took quick strides towards you then and you stumbled backwards, hand moving the grab your gun as your brain took over with the fear. When he saw the gun, he looked like someone smacked him. The look he shot you was one of pure betrayal. You weren't pointing it at him. Just holding it by your side as if showing him you were prepared if he tried anything. 

“You really brought a gun?” he asked, his voice eerily calm considering his very emotional face.

“To protect myself,” you uttered carefully. He laughed, but it wasn't pleasant. It was bitter and cold.

“To protect yourself from me?” he asked bitterly. You didn't reply, your hand shaking with the gun as you watched him carefully. 

“I did what I had to do and I did it for you. And now you're here, with a goddamn gun, like you need to be scared of me?!” He accused. You could hear the pain in his voice.

“You killed my family, Billy. I wasn't sure if I was next,” you replied tensely. He scoffed, his hands clenching and unclenching by his sides.

“I killed ‘em ‘cause they didn't deserve you. They hurt you and you had to let go of that stupid fantasy that things would be alright one day. I was doing you a favor!” he hissed. Your head felt a scrambled mess. The grief you felt for your family cut you to your heart, but you also knew that he wasn't completely wrong. In some warped way, part of you understood why he did what he did. When he was the one to pick up the pieces every time they’d come and spoon-feed you bullshit about happy ever afters. He was the one to help you track them down after you turned up to his apartment in tears that they'd left without telling you. His shoulder was the one you'd cried on when you found out they had a new family that didn't include you. 

So inside your own head, you didn't notice him creep closer. And then he was gripping your jaw, making you look at him. You blinked up at him, his dark eyes darting all over your face.

“I know it might hurt right now, but I know… deep inside of you, you feel relieved that they're gone. You're glad I did what I did,” he murmured knowingly, staring at you with such intensity you felt like you couldn't breathe. And shame crept into your bones as a little voice in your head agreed with him. And you hated it. 

“You got no idea what I did for you. What I sacrificed to keep you safe,” he muttered, a deep frown on his face.

“Then tell me. Because so far, all I know is that you killed my family,” you murmured, heart going a mile a minute as he still had hold of you. He stared at you for a long moment, raking his teeth over his lower lip. He looked deep in thought, a faraway look in his eyes. 

“It was you or them,” he replied after a long moment. There was no inflexion in his voice and your brows furrowed in confusion.

“Me or who?” you asked warily. He clenched his jaw, hand slipping from your face. He shook his head in an irritated way, rolling his shoulder before he looked at you once more. 

“The Castles,” he stated, his voice devoid of any emotion as his dark orbs pinned you in place. You looked at him dumbly for a moment as his words sunk into your head. 

“What…” you trailed off, a sick feeling churning in your stomach. 

“Rawlins told me… if I didn't help him with this, then it’d be you. And… and I loved ‘em. Maria… the kids… Frank… But… But I couldn't lose you. I-I couldn't. And I did what I did to keep you safe. So you can stand there and tell me I’m a monster all you want, but I did it for you and I’d do it again if I had to,” he said firmly, voice quivering as a lone tear rolled down his scarred cheek. 

You felt like someone chucked ice-cold water all over you. They were dead because of you. A nice and happy family, ripped apart because he picked you instead. You couldn't make sense of it in your head. That such a brutal act had been done for your sake. Much like your own family. You felt like poison to everyone around you. You felt the heavy weight of guilt pressing on you like a boulder.

"You should have picked them," you seethed, eyes raging with all of the guilt and shame you felt. A million and one things flashed across Billy's face at your words and he opened his mouth to retort. But it promptly snapped shut as he looked away, sucking in his cheeks a little as he clenched his jaw. After a small moment, he looked back at you. And the myriad of emotions that had just been on his face were gone. Replaced by a cold mask of indifference than unsettled you.

"Maybe I should have," he replied. Disappointment laced his tone and you weren't sure why his words hurt so much. You were the one to say it first. If it wasn't for you, the Castles would have had a happy and long life. The kids would have graduated, gone to college, had good jobs, had kids of their own. And it was all gone because of you. Yet Billy's words stung deeply. 

He picked up his mask, slipping it back on and you watched him, feeling like someone was pressing on your chest as he started to walk away. He stopped after a few steps, turning back to you.

“I gave up… so much for you. Because I love you. But now I get it. You're just like everyone else. You never really gave a damn about me.” he scoffed, shaking his head. You wanted to reply, to argue with him. Tell him you did care. The whole thing was overwhelming. He was clearly off his rocker and on top of that, you’d just found out an entire family got gunned down just so you could live. You didn’t know what to feel or think and your head was all upside down. So you didn't say anything at all. You watched him leave the cemetery, a pit in your stomach as you tried to digest everything that had happened. The guilt wrapped around you like an uncomfortably tight blanket and you felt you might get smothered. What were you supposed to do with that information? Where were you supposed to go now all your family was dead and you had no one? Nothing made sense anymore. You’d come here looking for answers from Billy and you only ended up with a sick feeling in your stomach and more questions than answers. You knew how much he cared about Frank and his family. You knew what he’d given up just so you could still be here, and it made you feel lightheaded. You wished you’d have said something. Told him you did care. That you loved him too and he’d always been family to you. But he’d done things you weren't okay with. He wasn't thinking right and if you were honest, he hadn't been in a very long time. There was no reasoning with this Billy. The one who thought killing your family was a gift to you. The Billy you knew was long gone and you felt grief tug at you at the memories of him. 

You wondered if you should tell Frank. Would he understand a bit more knowing just why Billy had done what he’d done? Would it be enough to stop him from going after him again? Would Frank want blood from you because of it? Maybe you deserved it. Maybe you should just go to him and seek your penance for being the cause of the death of his family. You knew Curtis would know where to find him. The guilt was killing you. You left the cemetery with a heavy heart and a rapidly beating heart. You didn't know what would await you when you saw Frank, but you’d take any punishment he saw fit after what you’d done. Since you’d stop talking to Billy, every time you thought of him it was tainted by knowing what he’d done. Thinking he was a monster now. A murderer. But he’d done it all for you. You’d turned him into the monster he was now and you had to face the consequences of that. 

Taglist:

(If you asked to be added but aren't here, it wouldn’t let me tag some people for some reason)

@kestrafagnor @eliwinchester-barnes @bisexualbilly @oeuryale @sam-hollandsgirl @xceafh @traditional-morrigan13 @juniebugg @xonickibaby @lillianastras @aleksanderwh0r3 @i-g-n-o-r-e--m-e @itsallaboutkey @papiazullll8 @not-too-tall-for-trick @kaleidoscopegirl @voyevoda-thejoy @s-corpionem @blanchedelioncourt @elleatrixlestrange @strawb3rrydr3ss @odetostep @crowssixof @katedrexel @primadonnasdream @fortheloveofallthatsholy​ @supernaturalcat7​

@honeyshores @tanyaherondale @acourtofsnakes @weallhaveadestiny @tomhollandisabae @carnationworld @nemesis729 @advictedtohim @lady4punk @thesandbeneathmytoes @kassandra-of-troy @blackbirddaredevil23 @nebulastarr @ilkaeliseb @runawayolives

[just-mebs]

Ooo can i ask what what Dell's role in your AU is? he seemed to worn and sad in the scene you posted I want to give him a hug

OMG 🥺yes of course! Link to scene

Okay so like I mentioned in in my mini summary, the entirety of the Penitent Father AU is focused on the idea of "What if Scout didn't come back?". For the most part it focuses on everyone 10 years later and how his death have impacted them. Some have dealt with it pretty okay, some struggled at first but eventually was able to move on..

And then there was Dell.

For Dell and Jeremy, they were really close, like REALLY close before he died. It didn't take a genius to figure out that they both liked each other, loved each other really. In my AU at least, Dell is the one that kind of saves Jeremy from himself. Helps him realize who he is and helps him actually like himself again. Jeremy does much of the same for Dell too, breaking down walls and barriers that he'd be force to build in order to be safe. They were in love and they cared so SO deeply for one another. The only reason they weren't ever together was because Dell got cold feet.

For the most part its because he can still see that Jeremy has SO much more pain he needs to work through (at this point Dell has no idea that Jeremy has a son) and doesn't feel like its right for him to enter a relationship until he's managed to work through those problems at least a little. On the other hand Dell is scared, he's so scared that Jeremy will leave him, or that he isn't good enough, or that he only likes him because of everything he's done to help him.

And so he pushed Jeremy away, left him thinking it was for the best, that it would be better for the both of them. Jeremy kind of relapses after this, though not long after he ends up dying. Dell isn't there when he dies, he's with the Administrator. He's the last one to find out that Jeremy is dead and is kills him.

The depression that hits him, hits him hard. He closes himself off from the rest of them, spends all his time in his workshop just building and building trying to distract himself from the grief that's ripping him apart from the inside out. By the time we see in the AU he's a shell of the man he once was, he can play the part of friendly southern engineer, but truthfully he hasn't smile honestly in over a decade.

Tavish is the one that eventually pulls him out of it, their entire relationship deserves its own post to be honest, but know that it takes a lot of time and patience for them to get somewhere happy.

Bonus facts about Dell that I wanted to share:

Both he and Jeremy are trans men, that's one of the big things he helps Jeremy with before he dies

He has a... bit of an obsession with building Scout bots in his retirement. He has so many, both life size and tiny ones, that help him move around/do things

Oh yeah, he ages really bad. A lot of it is the depression but other is just him taking poor care of himself

He fucking hates Emile (My Spy OC/Jeremy's dad/JJ's grandfather). He knew Emile was Jeremy's dad before Jeremy died but couldn't tell him due to it being confidential. He blames Emile for every bad thing that happened to Jeremy + his death itself

Interestingly, he has a poor relationship with JJ too. A lot of it is him just seeing so much of Jeremy in JJ (which JJ rejects a lot), though there are some other reasons too.

Sorry this got really long but !!! Thank you so much for asking 😭😭💗

[simulacraproject]

Getting Smaller

I'm just a face in the crowd. Nothing to worry about.

I ripped my heart open in front of her. I felt the last strands of my tainted body tear and snap under my claws as I dug, deeper and deeper, to be free.

But the world's so empty.

I'm empty, with it. Whatever I was, it wasn't me. No way to make that make any goddamn sense, but it makes sense to me on a level that words do not. I feel, as in with my skin and bones, what I feel, as in with my heart: empty. Everything's lighter about my body, and everything is heavier in my hands. I know it wasn't the Balefire pulling my strings all the time. A lot of those swings when I would fight were me.

Is this what it feels like to just not care? Because I...I don't anymore. I don't think I have anything to care about. Eleos was dead, his daughter hates me (and with... I don't know if I have the heart to say she has a good reason to, but I'm not exactly innocent either...), and it's not like Aria's coming back any time soon either.

I spent so long taking this world for granted and smashing everything up that I never realized just how little I had. There's...me. And there's uh. Well, there's my sword. Which is also me. Guess I should name it something at some point. It's got horns and a dark, sinful nature, just like me.

I just don't feel anything here. The me from a long time ago told herself that she'd fight for these people or protect them, but even then, that's just a cause she made up to make herself feel better.

Not like that's out of character for me. Eleos was about all I had in terms of a cause. I went along with him because it was easier that way. I didn't have to think. It was a simple sequence: Was Eleos being harmed? Then I passionately stood up and guarded him with my life. That mindset seemed like it gave me something to sleep at night for, something to look forward to the morning, but it didn't give me fulfillment. It gave me an excuse. It didn't fill the hole in my heart, it put a nice poster over it and hid my vapid nature from the world, and myself most importantly.

Walking the streets this cold as shit night though, it's given me a very, very stark reminder. I am alone. Not just in these streets, but in general. I'm alone. No one's a Skyfarer, or god forbid a Sintouched, though nothing makes me angrier than seeing so many of these god damn "Aur Ruhs" running around. They sure as hell come dangerously close. That's no help, either. Imagine walking the streets barely understanding what you are anymore, and seeing millions of people who look like you. Same horns, same scales, some even the same face. But they're not a monster like me; None of these people (to my knowledge, anyway; Hammer sure does change her form constantly) are weird shapeshifting blood monsters. I mean, I can be anything. I can turn my body into any goddamn thing I want. My sword's my fucking ribcage.

…Monsters, Sara? Seriously? Are we calling ourselves a monster now?

The line between a fucking puddle of my own blood and my own existence is thin, and that's something I don't think anyone has ever said about themselves unless they were seriously inebriated. This isn't human anymore. I'm not human anymore. There were human things inside this fleshy body before I pulled that fire out. Bones. Organs. Muscles. Hopes and dreams. Fears. ...Love. Maybe I'm right, maybe I am just a monster at this point. Because no human feels this way. In fact, humans feel to begin with. I...don't, anymore.

The Balefire was snuffed out, and in that moment, I was able to boast at my opponent like everything was fine. But. It wasn't fine. I was putting on a front for her. After all that fighting, the only thing I could think to do was tell her that I'm okay. It's easier to say "I'm alright" than to tell her the truth, that I probably just ripped out the very manifestation of my soul.

But I just feel so...

I walk through these crowds and I just feel so...distant. I hear everyone going about, happily conversing with one another, even in the dead of night. They used to annoy me, sometimes even anger me, but I just don't...I don't care anymore. Not in a good way, either, like being happy despite it, but more like I can't feel anything in response to it.

It's like I'm not welcome here. Like I don't belong, even if this is my "home" now. My real home's destroyed, and my "home" before that kicked me out before it was destroyed too. Everyone I grew up with probably hates me, and the woman I loved was stabbed to death by my hands because I couldn't hold that goddamn flame back. I think the Vee-Ayy border would be more welcoming to me at this rate. Maybe a stray bullet'd put me out of my miser-~~

The writing trails off. There's a jagged line as the word trails off, the page lying blank with several teardrops at the bottom of it. The lowermost right corner is torn, and singed at it's edges.

In an angry hand, the foot of the page simply reads,

...I'm so fucking sick of being alone.

[vaguely-yandere]

BROOOOOO girly yandere has my entire heart and i <3 them

Imagine girly yandere with a darling who goes along with girlys touchy feeliness, they’re just as affectionate! Always calling girly yandere their wifey, sometimes just holding their hand “just cause”, being comfortable enough to hug and maybe even sit on yanderes lap out in public with no worries cause hey! This is their bff, ofc they’re ok with it!

(Meanwhile Girly yandere is just absolutely eating up all this attention. Regardless of what darling thinks, girly sees this as darling claiming them so that means darling and girly are off limits! Especially darling, or else)

Carrying around cutesy bandaids for those “mysterious” cuts and scratches girly yandere gets sometimes! Cheerleading practice maybe, darling knows girly always pushes themselves out there. Always going to yanderes games, girly yandere and their team works so hard afterall! Maybe Girly yandere getting a little aggro and possessive when their teammates get a little too close for yanderes comfort.

(Darling is THEIRS and everyone knows that, EVERYONE)

Maybe darling is just kinda like that with everyone!!! They dont see what they do as romantic in anyway, but lately, it seems everyone has become aversive to darlings affection! It hurts darlings feelings when people they used to be able to hug and hold hands with and just be comfortable suddenly turn cold and practically bolt when darling lays a hand on them! But its alright, girly yandere doesn’t act like that! You can keep all your snuggles and affection for them

(Like how its SUPPOSED to be darling<3)

ANON IM GONNA KISS YOU!!!!!! ive been WAITING for someone else to be just as obsessed with more 'fem' yanderes!!!!!!

CW: graphic depictions of gore, violence and car crashes

sure, seeing you cry in their arms is hard, especially when you dont know why everyone is avoiding you and you go from everyones friends to just girly yan's but fuck, its so worth it to have you asleep in their arms, body pressed against theirs, face a little puffy from all your crying. (poor thing.. dont worry love, you just need me..)

its worth it to see you direct all of your loving attention towards them, to see you stop talking to all of those pathetic losers and to finally realize theyre all you need! just them! sure, its hard work maintaining this. every talk to a young athlete? theyre so arrogant, thinking theyre on top of the world, the strongest person in any room! the one that can do anything! so when girly yan, a 'measly' cheerleader threatens them, obviously they just roll their eyes and keep trying to talk to you, ignoring the way their skin prickles and the back of their necks go cold when girl yan glares at them.

so, all girly yan needs to do is show them their place, which is away from you and below them. maybe they'll spread rumors and get them expelled but thats only if the athlete stays on their semi good side. if the athlete goes out of their way to irritate girly yan? i already see the two racing, hearts pounding, screams ripping through their throats before girly yan wins and bludgeons them.

now, girly yan is a monster when theyre pissed! their kills are very... violent and overkill. they forgo simple weapons like a knife or gun and goes for anything that requires whole body use. axes, baseball bats, hatchets, rocks, anything that helps her release some of their pent up anger and after theyre dead, they'll keep going. hitting them over and over again, usually focusing on the head (if they still have one at this point, hehe!) or on their arms. usually their victims are barely identifiable, nothing but bits and blood, almost always having to be ID'd by dental records from the pure brutality and good luck with getting the cops to investigate, the head of police is their parent! besides, its a small town, probably just a drifter! (don't worry darling, i'll protect you!!)

and i love seeing girly yan quietly singing to Dolly Parton or some other country girl music while cleaning themselves up, watching blood go down the drain, hair up in a towel as they wash their face with facial cleanser, going about a normal girly night routine but with blood stains in the shower, a hand print or several around door knobs, clothes and shoes sitting in the hamper for tomorrow. its just so... horrific!!! <333 normalcy with some horror!!! we always see other peoples skincare routines, what they do as they get ready to sleep and recharge for tomorrow, how they go about their routine, their ritual with such ease, confidence, habit! how scary is it to imagine someone going through their ritual with a bloody axe sitting in their shower?! or self defense wounds covering their arms or blood under their nails!! just the subtly (and not so subtle signs) that something horrible went down!!! like the horrifying feeling of seeing someone get hit by a car, that singular bone chilling moment of seeing their skull hit the hood, see their body bend at impossible angles, the second you feel your mind exist your body to protect you from the trauma of watching how easily their limbs flailed, how easily their body just folded and bent like a ragdoll and then seeing them get up and act like they were fine (adrenaline darling, it does amazing things.) when they most definitely arent and you just feel like puking!!!!! <3333

okay, sorry, you really shouldnt think of car crashes like that, it was just the only thing i could think of when you feel something is just. wrong. and the only other person there acknowledges this and just keeps going on with their day.

i love girly yan so much,,,, def one of my more violent ones <3

i love writing gore too! one of my fav things to do but im always a touch worried about scaring ppl off so maybe ill just work on giving more trigger warnings when theres going to be gore

[gaysimpsstuff]

Could I get a Hawks in his rut headcanon?

No problem, Anon! I’m sorry this took so long, I wanted it to be perfect since I really like thinking about Hawks’ avian traits, and I know people really like it too. I hope it’s good! 

Hawks Rut Headcannons

Genre: fluff, smut

Type: headcannons (so... many... headcannons)

Warnings: animal traits, Keigo being possessive af, the commission being assholes, sickness, food, breeding kink, lots of horny times

Other: most of this is based off of real research, but some of it also comes from personal preference. @keilemlucent and their fic Best Nest very much inspired many other headcannons, check them outI They’re one of my favorite creators, and the linked fanfic is one of my favorites! Hope it’s okay I tagged you here lmao

NSFW Taglist: @smolchildfangirl @combat-wombatus @mandalorian-baby-bird @waffleareniceandfluffy (Lemme know if you wanna be added to or removed from the Taglist)

Remember to check if requests are open before sending in a request. This was made while requests were still open.

Pre-Rut Behaviors

Grooming and Preening

Before his rut, Keigo starts to feel dirty. He just seems to accumulate more dust and dirt during hero work than usual. He’ll come back home grumbling about blood in his hair and little bits of concrete in/on his skin.

He will insist you clean him off. So you get to brush his hair, put creams on his face, and wash him off in the shower.

Finally, there’s the preening. If he lets you preen his wings, then you know he’s in it for life. He loves and trusts you with everything he has. 

Expect him to press his nose against yours a lot.

Possessiveness and Protection

You’ll notice he gets more clingy, more possessive of you. He gets really controlling in the days leading up to his rut, so you’ll be annoyed a  l o t.

Just text all your friends and family that you’ve been swamped at work, it’d be a little weird to say “hey guys, sorry I can’t hang out, my boyfriend’s horomones are crazy right now and he gets really insecure if I so much as exist near anyone but him.”

You would come home from work and he’s already on you, sniffing your body to see who you’ve been around, and to see if any of them were attracted to you at all.

If he had any kind of sneaking suspicion that anyone posed a threat, he’s literally laying on you and rolling on top of you to try and get his scent on you. Even if no one will smell it except him, he’s gonna do it.

He’s so protective of you, and if something tiny hurts you or makes you upset...

He.

Is.

Angry.

Someone was rude to you? He’s screaming at them.

Someone tries to hurt or touch you? You’ve got to hold him back to stop him from ripping that person apart limb from limb.

All that x100 when he’s approaching his rut.

One person accidentally bumps into you? He takes it as passive aggressiveness even if they’re very apologetic about it.

You stub your toe on a table? He’s smashed the table and burnt it then thrown the ashes in the ocean. 

If you’re sad about something he can’t beat up, he feels horrible. He’s not the best at comforting people, so he’s just grabbing onto you and not letting go, telling you how much he loves and cares for you, and just how amazing you make his life feel.

If you don’t give him enough attention, he gets really huffy, and it gets worse leading up to his rut. 

You lifted your hands from his head to reach for your buzzing phone? He’s already whining and pouting and begging you to give him more head-pats again.

Nesting

He’ll leave hints asking for you to make a nest, usually saying things like “Our bed needs some changing, don’t you think?” “Don’t you wish our space was more personalized?” 

If you don’t get the hint, he’ll be very sad, and he thinks you’re rejecting him. So you’d better be good at reading into things and realizing he’s approaching mating season and wants you to build a nest.

He comes home one day and sees you piled blankets, pillows, and dirty clothes in the living room, sprayed with his cologne and you’re cologne and/or perfume. He pulls you into his arms and spins around with you, giggling and laughing.

He’s so happy you made a nest for the two of you. 

He starts putting pretty shiny things he likes around the nest. Your toothbrush went missing and you found it in the mountain that was your nest.

Once, you were in desperate need of a clean shirt, and the only clean shirt you could find was in the nest. So you picked it up to put it on, and two seconds later, Keigo was in front of you, hands in your shirt, staring at you with such a fierce intensity, you felt almost like a villain.

He was very mad at you for taking things from your shared nest.

He leaves feathers all around the penthouse, but they’re all piled mostly around the nest, they’re for your protection so don’t try and throw them away.

Noises

He also gets really noisy, so he’ll be ‘singing’ and squawking and cooing constantly. He feels really bad about it so he might get you some noise-blocking headphones for when he’s screeching into the sky in the dead of night about how “THIS IS MY FUCKING TERRITORY Y’ALL MOTHERFUCKERS STAY AWAYYYY!”

You really think bird’s springtime songs are about love? Nah he’s mostly screaming about how he’s gonna fuck his partner and how the neighborhood  practically belongs to him.

Someone called the police once, tired of all the shouting, but the officers backed off when they saw who was doing all the shouting. Most of your neighbors are used to the screaming during early spring.

Rut End-game

On the third and second to last day before his rut, he gets a sudden burst of energy and an increased appetite. He refuses to eat anything unless you’ve made it though, so let’s best hope you can cook at least a little.

When he was younger, his hungry times before his rut were spent either eating anything and everything he can get his hands on. The commission broke that behavior very quickly though, so he’d starve himself before his rut, which would result in him getting very sick from a lack of energy and sustenance. That plus the extreme arousal was a recipe for pain and suffering.

So when you noticed he suddenly stopped eating, you insisted on making food for him, telling him that you wouldn’t let him go hungry ever. That was the first rut in years that didn’t feel like torture.

You’re cooking almost all the time, and he’s constantly eating everything you give him, running around from room to room while he waits for his next meal. He’s basically a hobbit.

In the last day or two before his rut, he suddenly has no energy, and starts getting hot and cold flashes. He’s sniffling, curled up in your shared nest, dirty tissues surrounding him. He comes in and out of consciosness, and when he’s awake, he’s whining and complaining about exhaustion and aches.

Physical Changes

Most of these happen in the last few days leading up to his rut, so it’ll be very sudden. These physical changes is what causes the extreme hunger and sickness.

His feathers darken several shades, and they become super sensitive. They also seem to grow in size, so when you cuddle, you’re smothered by them more than usual.

He also gains an extra couple inches in height, so expect some teasing now that he’s just that little bit taller. His hair also gets thicker and stronger, that’s so you can pull on it when he fucks you.

His nails get longer and darker, and they’re impossible to file or cut. So when he holds you and touches you, he often scratches you on accident. He’s really apologetic about it, but honestly you could totally paint his nails and pretend they’re acrylics if you’re into that.

His teeth get sharper, and he starts biting you just for fun. Bites your finger, hand, wrist, neck, even your nose. He underestimated just how strong his teeth are, and he made you bleed first time he bit you.

His whole body is very sensitive, so head-pats, back rubs, wings, and even his touching his feet can get him to the verge of cumming.

his tongue is longer, and it’s a whole lot stronger. He could probably carry a full plastic water bottle with his tongue (which isn’t a lot, but for a tongue it’s very much a lot).

His voice drops a whole octave and a half- mans is sounding almost like Corpse now. Maybe Markiplier? Anyways, if you’ve got a voice kink, you’re in luck

His dick changes too, it gets bigger, and he grows a lump at the base of it, between his shaft and balls. His balls get smaller until they’re barely noticable beneath what he calls him ‘knot.’

His eyes become sharper too, so don’t try and hide anything from him. 

Rut (MAJOR NSFW)

Everyone already knows Keigo has a breeding kink, but he hasn’t brought it up with you until now. It just kind of- happens. As he’s drilling into you, he suddenly starts blabbering about fucking a kid into you, and how hot you’d look all round with his kids. Might be a little weird for those of you who physically cannot give birth to children (my lovely AMABS and infertile AFABS). 

He can’t control it, so it’s especially weird if you don’t even want kids. If you can get pregnant, you’d better double check that you’re taking your birth control. And get to know some good clinics just in case.

However, if you do want kids, if you want to start a biological family woth Keigo, fuck. You will not be able to handle his happiness and horniness in that moment when you beg him to get you pregnant.

He is going to mark you up. Hickies, bruises, hand prints, bite marks, plus his scent. He needs everyone to know that you are his. He wants to claim you, make sure you know you belong to him. No one else can have you but him.

Halfway through your fuckfest, he starts making animalistic noises. He’s growling, roaring, whining, chirping, etc. This is around the time when he stops thinking about you, so he’ll really rough you up during this phase.

This man was a virgin before you, so this is also the first rut he’s ever going to have with another person, so he’ll hold himself back a lot. He needs you to reassure him at every step, tell him how good you feel, how you want him to fuck you, how not only are you okay with him going all out, you want him too.

Did he just cum? You think you’re finished? HA! No way in fucking hell is he finished after one, two, five, ten... so many rounds. He just keeps going and going and going and how the fuck is he still hard? He cums so fucking quickly, so much, and then keeps going.

When he finally does go soft, his whole personality changes. it’s like he didn’t just fuck you stupid. He immediately goes into ‘protect’ mode, which includes cuddles, him spoon-feeding you, petting you like a dog, and singing to you.

He puts the nest near a window so he can keep an eye out for possible threats. Just like “gotta keep mate safe. Is that the mailman? NO FUCK NO GET OUT OF HEREEEE!” 

One moment, he’s fucking you, and the next he’s leaning halfway out the window, screaming at some poor dude walking his dog. Remember, he’s still naked. You learned your lesson after that and kept the windows locked, and warned the neighbors to stay out of sight of the window, at least for the time being.

You’re going to feel very dirty, because he does not want you cleaning off the sweat, cum, and tears from your body. He likes that you smell like him, and you washing it off makes him feel rejected. 

He’s going to break a lot of things, so move pictures and vases into another room and lock the fuck out of that room. Or else he will break all of it.

He thinks any clothes you’re wearing are mocking him, so wear clothes you hate when his rut starts, then get used to being naked for a couple days. 

Oh yeah, his whole rut lasts one to five days. He’s fucking you for about three days on average.

He fucks you until you faint, and then keeps going until he’s out of ‘fuck’ mode and into ‘protect’ mode. A few times, he fucked you unconscious in the middle of the afternoon and then kept fucking you until the sun rose. 

Yeah, he’s got that much energy.

Don’t worry, during the whole time, he lets out pheromones with a strong vanilla-chocolaty scent that keeps your body and mind relaxed. 

There’ve been times when he’s just fucking into you and your water bottle is just out of reach.

During his rut, he has no shame. Let’s hope your walls are soundproofed, or else your neighbors will all know how he fucks you. 

He will not restrain you or hurt you in any way during his rut. So no degredation, no collars or chains, the only thing keeping you in the nest is his weight on top of you.

He gets upset if you try to touch yourself, things it’s you trying to tell him that he’s not satisfying you enough. 

He wants you to cum as many times as him, which is difficult because of his increased sensitivity, so he’s using every skill he knows to get you cumming again and again and again.

Most of the time, he’s going hard, rough, and spilling absolute filth from his cock and mouth, but in the last few hours of his rut, he suddenly gets emotional.

He’s rocking up against you, holding you close to his body and blabbering about you

How much he loves you

How good you make him feel

How he wouldn’t want anyone else by his side for his rut

How you’re his mate for life

How he’ll protect you and keep you safe.

Please be gentle with him, he’s very vulnerable near the end of his rut, and he’ll cry very easily.

When he’s nearing his last load, he makes out with you sloppily, trying to talk as he shoves his tongue down your throat.

He finishes off by  pushing his knot all the way inside you, and stays there for an hour.

This is the softest moment, and he’s covering your body in kisses. 

His knot pushes these small eggs inside you, and you have the lovely job of pushing them all out the next day. 

Post Rut

When his knot deflates, he finally pulls out and starts cleaning you off. 

He’ll carry you around and finally gives you a bath, constantly making sure you’re okay.

He’ll give you lots of massages and he’ll cook for you. He’s constantly thanking you for helping him, telling you he didn’t deserve it.

Just kiss him on the cheek, tell him you had fun, and that you love him so very very much.

He needs the most reassurance now than ever before.

He’s also very tired, so you’ll be taking care of each other.

Then his ‘post-rut’ resets, and he sleeps for hours.

Then he gets super hungry, and the two of you make huge meals and just kinda binge eat for a day or two.

Then his physical changes go back to normal, and you have a happy lil bird boy who simps for you so hard

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

part i, autonomy in your coherence | c.g

With something like time that runs round with the world — ignoring it’s inhabitants and stealing things that you’d hidden away for safekeeping — you’ve taken up the hobby of art, furiously sketching faces that are six-feet under.

The skill is beautiful and horrific all the same, watching like a person with amnesia as the portraits begin to lose their depth, the freshness, the personality that came free with who you’d chosen to print on the page.

You’ve forgotten your feelings for Carl, because he didn’t feel the same.

You just wished you did a better job at it.

WARNINGS: mentions of death, suicide ideation

this is a continuation of watch you burn away and i recommend you read that, first! this is also part of a series, so here is the masterlist if you need it!

(cross-posted on ao3!)

Your father once told you he had a patient that died from heartbreak.

“Your heart can’t really break, though, right?” You’d said. A doctor for a father and a laboratory technician for a mother made you more than aware of things, seeing through the myths and pretty white lies of figures like Santa and the tooth fairy.

(They had gone through with it anyway, because although their child knew, it was a gateway to normality in such a busy home.)

Your father scratched his chin, unsure how to respond. “My patient had died from a broken heart, though the process wasn’t as simple as it’s term name. A broken heart — the nonliteral meaning — can be the cause and the domino toppling to many things that could lead to death.”

“Like what?” You’d said with little admission into the conversation, having been flicking through a novel you’d picked up a while back (which featured a one eyed pirate and his partner who’d ended up dying in the end — not that you knew, yet, at least.)

“I don’t know, er,” Your father swirled his coffee lightly, gesturing wildly with his free hand, “Mental health issues, for one. Erratic actions, depression, a lost sense of self. Obsession.”

“Huh,” You muttered, looking up at your father for the first time. “A lost sense of self? Really?”

“What is your father teaching you?” Your mother said, stepping into the kitchen with a questioning expression. The conversation ended there, without so much as a thought after.

You wish you pried your father for further answers. What you’d give to get the workaholic of a man to dump his duo psychology medical major thoughts unto you with little care.

The knowledge would be gold in your time of need, when pulling and pushing distance further between you was like venturing through a field of thorns.

(Perhaps you just missed your parents. But that couldn’t be it, right? They’d died and you had lived, their blood on your hands and the gun in your fingers, their glazed over eyes and your own that nearly matched, cold and willing without a drop of emotion.)

But you’d gotten through it for him— without him. Without anyone, quietly harboring scratches and bleeding from the field with little effort.

If someone asked, you would tell them with full and honest confidence that you harboured no more attachments. You were a naive teenager, running through your feet and over yourself for something that was just a crush.

Crushes are — in their whole singularity and purpose —  temporary.

They are brief, and momentarily something that causes ripples and waves in your thoughts, just the slightest mention or faint sight makes you detour down a road of sickly sweet dreams and fantasies.

He was first love (like? You didn’t love him, no, it was a crush and it was something for the unattainable and the inappropriate — in which with full truth, he was.) so you poured the honey glazed remembrances and rose coloured lenses over your memories, because he was a first love, and you know that those were cracks in the heart, growing vines and constricting the part that was him — the part that’d always, always be there, without a doubt.

(However much you didn’t want it to be.)

The leaves and the venomous flowers that sprout in decaying grooves come with age, and you are older now.

You bear fresh scars that litter your entire being and wear newly buried bones of people who were once not just that, the dirt still sitting in the crevices of your nails, and you seem to forget their voices with each passing day.

With something like time that runs round with the world — ignoring it’s inhabitants and stealing things that you’d hidden away for safekeeping — you’ve taken up the hobby of art, furiously sketching faces that are six-feet under.

The skill is beautiful and horrific all the same, watching like a person with amnesia as the portraits begin to lose their depth, the freshness, the personality that came free with who you’d chosen to print on the page.

More and more, the faces look like reference art rather than a taken from life picture, which was all telling them to sit still and watching their eyes crinkle at the edges when you show them the result, voices echoing and asking if they could have it.

Everyday, as it has become a peevish habit like biting your nails or obsessively reminding yourself your stove is off, you draw pictures of everyone.

If you are close enough with them, you ask the subject to sit and model for you, analyzing every breath and laugh they take when you crack a joke or engage them in meaningless conversation just to see how the light hits their brows when they raise, the shadows pooling in their aging lines.

Everyday, you wish and hope and even fucking pray that their portraits continue to be something of anxious routine, rather than trying to dump their image out of your head and onto paper so you can see their faces one more time.

His image seems to change with each moment he sits in for you, once a face with two piercing blues, then a patch and eyes that looked at the dusty wooden floor, and later, someone who looks at you straight, something that told you he was a survivor, who bore his battles proudly, the scar on the right of his face sitting ruggedly and bewitchingly.

You draw him, exactly the way you see him, and when you show him the picture, he laughs, and says “You made me look too pretty,” and you shake your head, “It’s exactly the way I see you.”

You do her, too, upon request. When she sits, you draw her almost like it was professional, drawing the curvature of her face with exact precision, intense shading, marking the features she holds. The dip in her nose, the straight of her hair.

(You often forget who you’re drawing in these moments, and when you step away from the canvas you’re hit with whiplash. It’s subconscious, the way you do these things to please him, wanting to see so clearly how his face spreads delicately with delight.)

It takes a little while for you to convince Ron. When you first propose the drawing, he gives you a confused face, before walking off to do shooting practice. He’s gotten better with the gun over the years, and doesn’t respond when you tell him you know why.

(His mother didn’t come out of it alive, and his brother didn’t come back without harm. The younger boy was alive, but would grow up with only his brother by his side and one less limb to account for.)

The second time, he makes a snide comment, albeit with no bite, about how ‘you must be a horrible artist, to ask me of all people to model for you.’

The third time, you’ve dragged him to the small office you makeshifted for the drawings in the garage. He studies every slit of paper you’ve ripped out of your book, the unfinished sketches or yet-to-be painted canvases piling up against the walls. Complete works sit proudly on your wall, displayed for the world to see.

His hands hover over the paints sitting on your desk, charcoal, dirt, sticks, paintbrushes, handmade dyes, wallpaper cut-outs.

“Why?” Ron says curiously.

“‘Why?’ what?” You echo, fiddling with a fork you grabbed from the kitchen, splaying out a thick lather combination of beet dye and cement onto your finger to check the consistency.

“Why do you draw these portraits? I get the others because,” He says, leaving the words “because they’re dead” hanging in the air between you two in mutual and regretful acknowledgement, “But you draw these everyday. You drag Carl and Enid off, or just sit on the benches and draw Maggie and Glenn knee-deep in the dirt.”

You sigh a dreadful breath, wiping the rest of the beet-cement mix onto the page with the pad of your fore-finger. “We’ll forget them one day.”

He looks at you, unblinking. The dead, the gone, and the soon to be long forgotten only existed in your memories, in your words, and when the time came that the world had moved on and stopped, they would cease. Their whole memory relied on the living, nothing about them able to reach and grasp life on their own. Memory was all that was left, and it was all you could do to wash away regret.

“And the rest?”

You bite your tongue hesitantly, your movements rigid, “You see their portraits. Everyday they get less and less coherent. When — when time comes , these drawings will be the only thing getting me by.” You whispered.

The ball had dropped. Coping and grief in it’s big and ugly form, preying on your conscious hungrily, taking shelter in your largest worries. Claws sunken in your flesh, the monster was a thing that felt like it would never go away, because it would loom right alongside death itself, watching and waiting for the moment they’d deemed someones time to have been enough.

(It would never be enough. Enough meant they’d pop in from next door and ask to borrow something, enough meant they’d swipe dirt across your face to make you angry — enough meant they would come in everyday and sit for their portrait once more.)

A creaking on the floorboard caught your attention, eyes watching as Ron’s feet walk to the corner of the room, before hopping onto the wooden seat with little effort.

“I’m not going. I never will. But — do it anyway. I’d… like to see how I look on paper.” He said cheekily, picking up a thin pencil off your desk and handing it out to you.

So you did. Seconds turned to minutes and minutes snowballed into hours in the dim lighting of the garage, asking the blond to turn his body, stretch his head and make different expressions, fulfilling and destroying the little worm of worry sitting in your head.

When you’re done with the charcoal, turning it around for Ron to see and to inspect, he asks, “What about you?”

“And what about me?” You say. His questions never make sense without further discussion, but the boy always has to wait for you to pry and ask him to elaborate.

“You don’t have any drawings of yourself. You’re the artist, the photographer, the one who makes these things that will stay longer than the memories and the words — so what about you?”

It’s rare that Ron delves into his emotions and the things he really means, but when he does, it’s something that stays, for a long while.

“I,” You didn’t have an answer for it. You weren’t one to do a self-portrait, it not being the same as having someone to sit and take from. “I don’t want to.” You finished simply, an ice cold realization coming to reality in you.

“Why?” He says the same words as before, but the words hold a heavy weight.

“I don’t know.”

You knew.

Maybe one day, you’d wished that you’d wash away like seafoam on the beach. You wouldn’t leave a single portrait behind of you, and the memories and the words were left mum behind his lips, because you knew how he got in a loss.

Quiet and unfeeling, it was so selfish of you that you’d counted on how he got in that state to leave you behind, neglecting you like the fruits of your memories you’d never get to bear.

Ron’s gaze bore into you like he knew exactly what you were thinking, telepathically taking in every thought you’d conveyed at your dispense.

“You should.” Is all he says, before stepping off the wooden stool and out the door.

What was wrong with you? You feel so… entirely foolish. Obsolete. Embarrassing.

You walked past the remnants of those who were gone everyday, obsessively creating canvas over canvas of them and the only thing you could think was that you’d wish to position yourself beside them?

This world was catching up to you, and fast, but you’d just have to run faster than it could.

[hotwings0203]

fighter Bakugo is so mean!!…..write more of him plz 🤲 (ALSO I LOVE UR STORIES SO MUCHH❤️)

OOOUUUU TYSMMM I’m glad you’re enjoying him hehe

Alright let’s see here…

Tw:noncon, implied death, assault, gaslighting

He forces you to come to every one of his matches, after he has his way with you.

It doesn’t matter how brutal the fight is, it didn’t matter if you’re flinching every time his fists make contact with the poor schmuck’s face, knowing damn well that any day it could be yours. It doesn’t matter if he’s shaking off pieces of broken teeth from his hair while you’re clutching your stomach and puffing your cheeks, and it sure as hell doesn’t matter when others clamor around you asking if you were okay, if you needed a doctor.

None of that mattered, because in the end all those scenarios ended the same way: with one of his feet planted on the unconscious body below him, a fist in the air and a mean smile straight at you.

You weren’t allowed to excuse yourself to the restroom or close your eyes when the men around him scream and need at him to either stop the match or to keep going Bakugo, knock the bastard out.

And when he won the match-which was every time-he would make a beeline straight towards your cowering, backing-away form and yank you by your wrist into the office to let out his excess adrenaline.

Your cries could be heard from the entire basement.

On one particular day however, you stop your compliance. It’s when you catch a glimpse of Katsuki’s opponent for the next day.

He’s a young man, no more older than you were.

He’s a meek guy, his smile is oh-so reminiscent of the man you used to like before Bakugo put him in the morgue.

You can’t have a repeat of last time. He doesn’t stand a chance.

“What’s got you all quiet today,” he gruffly asks you as he wraps a hand with tape.

You bite your lip and look at your feet. What’s the best way to go about this?

“You, um…y’know that guy that you’re supposed to fight today?”

“Yeah, what about it?” He raises an eyebrow in warning.

But you continue nonetheless. It’s not like your destiny was flock to change, hed still fuck you up regardless of what you do.

“He just seemed kind of…young.” You stammer and avoid eye contact.

It’s hard not to flinch when he stops wrapping his hand and walks over towards you. He crouches to your sitting position on the bed and lowers his head to look at your gaze on the ground.

“‘That remind you of someone?”

Crap. He’s not as stupid as you hoped for.

This time, you do look up at him, eyebrows scrunched together in a pleading way, and he laughs in your face at your pathetic state.

“Lemme guess, you don’t want me to fight him?”

You nod your head.

“Well, what do I get out of it in return?”

Your eyes widen as you comprehend what he’s saying. Was there actually a chance he’d listen to you?

“Hello? Answer me dumbass.”

Oh, right.

“Um, what-what would you like?” Fingers cross behind your back as you pray to anyone listening that he won’t ask for anything derogatory.

It’s almost laughable that you don’t know him well enough by now.

Bakugo walks around the bed and settles himself against the headboard, legs spread and arms crossed over behind his head. He smirks at you and nudges you with his toe.

“Dance for me.”

“D-dance? What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he sits up and leans towards you, his smile all teeth and cutthroat undertones, “I want you to shake your ass on my dick and give me a lap dance.”

Fire rushes to your face at his crude choice of words. You open your mouth to argue but stop when his unwrapped hand flexes, bones popping in place as he inspects it casually.

He doesn’t need to say anymore to get his point across. But if you had any doubts as to who was the one who wanted a chance in the first place, he reminds you with a curt “You can always say no. I’ll let you walk out this door and you can just watch me beat the living daylights out of him,” he shrugs and says it so easily, so casually that you’d think he was informing you of the weather.

You swallow hard and shakily rise to your feet.

Katsuki already locked the door, so you don’t need to worry about anyone coming in. You look at him and take a deep breath.

“How do I, like, y’know.”

He stares at you for a moment and bursts out howling , the bellowing sound echoing across the small room and making your head ring.

You look at him warily as he lessens his laughter, and tries to address you.

“I knew it. You really are a brain-dead, numb cunt,” he says as he wipes his eyes from tears. “Just fucking- I don’t know, sway your hips back and forth and put it in reverse on me I guess. Arent whores supposed to be good at these things?” He leans back down comfortably and leers at you while you grimace and then back around, ass facing him.

You’ve only messed around on your own time in your room before, shaking it to slow R&B songs or fast pop ones. How do you go about this with no music?

But within a minute you gather yourself and toss your dignity away. You start imagining a beat in your head and do exactly as he instructed, swaying your sides left and right while moving your shoulders with whatever rhythm you deemed easy.

He stifles a snicker behind you, and you dig your nails into your palm. It was obvious he was trying to be completely silent just to amplify the awkwardness and humiliation tenfold, but dammit if this is what he wants then might as well get it over with.

You begin leaning forward and sticking your rear out more towards him, simultaneously rubbing your hands up and down your sides and flicking your hair with ease in his line of sight. You roll your head and roll your ass in a circle, praying it wasn’t too jerky.

Katsuki wasn’t laughing anymore.

Your confidence starts to grow again as you hear him softly inhale when you crawl backwards slowly onto the bed. You drop your hips low and arch your back, rolling your spine and lifting your ass back up into the air, shaking it in his face as best as you could.

You stay like that, letting it bounce slowly and then faster while you hear his breathing lick up. The sheets around you pull slightly towards him, and from the corner of your eye you can see his fists balling tbe covers, shaking slightly.

Looks like this was having more of an effect on him than you thought.

Just to sell it home, you lower your pelvis back and against his crotch as you begin grinding on him.

His shirts are silky and thin, and as you drag your mound up and down his imprint you can’t help but moan. The way your puffy clit catches on the elevations and ridges of his clothed dick, the feeling of his length swelling beneath your moist panties makes your head spin and all precautions are thrown out the window.

Your ass lightly claps together on his slightly thrusting hips as his breaths become pants. You feel his hands slide up your ass and onto your hips as he growls, “Teasing slut. And here you had me thinking you didn’t know what you were doing. Strip.”

Your body stills and you blanch. Your head clears a bit as his own body stops moving against yours, and you realize what position you’re about to be in.

Your head turns slightly to face him. “Kats-“

But he yanks your hair from the ends back until you’re scrambling for solid ground against his toned chest. Your fingers grab your torn strands and try to yank them out of his unrelenting grip. Your eyes well with tears of pain as he gets more aggressive with your subtle hesitation.

“I said, strip, now.” He shakes your head for good measure and you yelp when you feel more hairs ripped out of your aching skull.

“Okay! Okay, I’ll strip.” You blubber, snapping your head forward when he finally lets go.

You look back at him tearfully, hunching over into yourself as his hands guide your shirt up over your stomach and begin massaging your tits.

You hurry to take your pants off before he can wound you any more in his childlike impatience, and he grunts in approval when you’re down to your panties and no bra.

“Bend over.”

This time, you don’t argue when you go on all fours and his rough hand shoves your upper back down until you’re in an arch that’s satisfactory enough for him. He lets his fingers dance over your spine and linger when they get lower down your back.

Your upper body shakes with anticipation as all goes silent, save for his soft inhales. You can feel his digits run over the crack of your ass and lift the top of your panty line up, your labia and clit being pulled up as well.

Katsuki smirks as you weakly moan beneath him, and he tugs harder upwards just to see your ass follow in pursuit. He rubs his knuckles over the damp spot over your clothed hole and pushes in ever so slightly, just enough to make you keen and whimper.

Then, he retreats his touch.

The air is still for a moment or two as the cold absence of his touch fades.

You have no idea what he’s doing or thinking. For the second time, you try to turn your head towards him.

“Wha-“

Crack.

You scream so loud you’re sure your eardrums pop, but your focus isn’t on your poor ears, no, it’s on the raging hot burn across your right asscheek as his reddened hand swivels in its socket in a warm-up stretch. You’re experiencing for the first time what the hands of a fighter can do.

“That’s what whiny bitches like you get. And don’t you dare turn back around, otherwise I’ll whip you within an inch of your life.”

Your body freezes at those terrifying words, and you’re caught off guard when the next slap hits the same cheek. You yowl in pain and grip the sheets tighter before you, knowing that writhing away would mean so much worse.

Years of cute and open wounds and cells revealing just to open again and regrow have caused his hands to hold a similar texture to hard leather. There is no mercy, there is no soft reprieve they hold on their grasps, and you take each lashing with the reminder that he deals these kinds of blows to less fortunate men, men who don’t get a hold-back from Katsuki Bakugo.

“The next time you-crack- bitch about who I’m fighting-crack, crack- I’ll make sure to fuck you in the ring and let everyone- crack- have a turn with you- fuck, stop fucking screaming!”

He covers your wailing mouth with one hand and grips your throat in the other, bringing your head back to his seething lips.

“You wanted this, didn’t you? What’s wrong, why’re you crying so fucking much baby? Didnt you want to spare one more spineless bastard?” He croons in your ear and strokes your cheek with one finger.

You shake in his chokehold, terrified and in pain. You squeeze the tears out from your eyes and try to steady your breathing. He shushes your sobs and cooes when you hiccup against his palm.

“Hmm, Y/N? Whaddaya say, you wanna spare one more dickless wonder? Or are you gonna chicken out and save yourself?”

He chuckles darkly when you shake your head. He doesn’t need you to speak to already know your answer.

“Alright then, whatever you want. But just letting you know, I have the next match with him, so I’ll have to make this fast.”

And as he fucks you to oblivion, and fucks over his promise, you laugh to yourself for ever trusting him.

Because Katsuki Bakugo is not a lover, but rather, a fighter.

[wish-i-wasnt-a-coward]

Family Cuddle Pile

a/n: I actually wrote this a while ago but it was perfect for the request. Theirs like, no content for this ship an I love it so much! Thank you for reading :) @arodynamic-enby

Pairings: romantic Anxceitmus and kid!Patton also super background Logince

Warnings: tattoos, less than ideal parent mentions, food mention, and light cursing

Word count: 1,844 

-----------------------------------------------

Remus flopped out of bed, throwing his body carelessly across the room. He hastily threw on his clothes. Short shorts, ripped fishnets, a vest that was more patches than original material, really big clunky shoes, and a ripped up band-t. He also hooked his favorite bone earrings in his tattered earlobes. 

He stomped into his apartment’s kitchen. He grabbed a stale piece of bread he soaked it in coffee. Yawned and grabbed his bag, racing out the door. 

His brother was waiting for him at the tattoo shop, sketching a new idea. Unlike him, Roman only had a few tattoos, including not one, not two, not three… but three Disney quotes, a frog on a mushroom, a rose on his arm, and a constellation. Most of his tattoos were covered by tasteful burgundy overalls and a white button-down shirt.

Remus’ tattoos were also mostly covered by his clothes. But he had a tattoo sleeve depicting the garden of Eden, a matching frog on a mushroom, a quote from one of Roman’s books, medically accurate bone structures on his hand, a realistic spider on his neck, and a snake wrapping around his non-sleeved arm. And those were just the visible ones. 

Suffice to say, the twins were very different. 

Remus threw his bag onto the floor in the backroom, “Ro, when’s the first appointment!!” he yelled. “Your’s? At 11. FYI, Jan n’ Pat are coming over at 12, for motivation” Remus smiled, fuckin’ superb. 

He busied himself in collecting the ink and preparing the tattoo gun. The client wanted a fucking orange on their wrist, it should only take an hour or two but Remus was not excited to do a frickin’ orange circle. 

The prissy orange bitch came in and Remus got to work. They didn’t move much and only cried a little bit when the needle started jabbing at their skin. Remus liked this part of the process, stabbing people consensually was his favorite thing ever… also the art part but stabbing people!

Almost exactly an hour later the door jingled open. “Dada!!” a tiny voice called back into the store. “I’ll be there in a minute patty-cake” Remus called from his spot hunched over the client's arm.

He added the final touches to the fruit and helped the orange bitch off the chair. Roman swept the client away, Remus practically ran to greet his partner and son.

Janus wore a leather corset over a black collared shirt and baggy pants, their long platinum hair framed their face under their signature hat. They were holding hands with a toddler wearing mostly pink and blue, his blond hair (that matched Janus’) was a mop of curls barely held together by a few butterfly clips. 

“Dada, Dada!!! I got you a flower” the little boy cried, letting go of Janus’ hand and stumbling towards the tall man who scooped him up. Patton giggled and held out a sweaty flower clenched in his chubby fist. 

Remus accepted the flower with a gasp, ”this is really for me?” he said joyfully. Adjusting the small boy in his arms Remus turned towards Janus who was looking at the pair with a disgustingly sappy expression. 

“What are you lookin’ at hot stuff?” Remus teased. “Shut it you,” Janus said, pressing a kiss to Remus’ check. Patton made a noise, “icky” he said pushing Janus away. They laughed, “yes darling, we’re very icky”. 

“When’s verge-“

“he’ll be home at 4” 

“Dope”

“Stop by the Sleepy Café before you bring Pat to the apartment?”

“Can do scootal-lo!” 

Remus turned back to the little boy in his arms, “looks like you're stuck with me squirt”. Patton beamed and snuggled into Remus’ chest. Janus smiled again, “I’ll see you, boys, at dinner,” they said, ruffling Pat's hair and peaking Remus on the lips quickly so as to not upset the toddler. “Bye-bye Janny!!” Patton called after Janus as they left for work. 

“Righty-o,” Remus said, carrying Patton into the back room. “I know Ro’s got a couple coloring books, wanna do those for a bit?” Patton nodded and reached towards the ground to be put down. Remus plopped Patton on the couch and pulled out the book and pens as well as a sketchbook off his own. They sat together coloring and drawing until Roman came back to hug Patton. 

“Ah, my favorite nephew!” Roman said, scooping up the little boy. Patton laughed and pulled Roman’s hair. “Roro, can I color your arm pictures??” he asked, pointing to Roman’s rose tattoo. Roman plopped the toddler back down on the couch and handed him a pen. 

Patton went to work on the rose, scribbling reds and pinks and greens across his arm. Roman gave him complements each time Patton paused, and each time Patton shushed him and went back to work. Remus finished up his sketch, adding it to the pile of tattoo ideas they were eventually going to put up-front, and sat next to the toddler. 

“That’s really good pat-” 

“Shhhhhhhh”

Remus nodded and mimed zipping his lips. He liked spending time with the kid. They weren’t biologically related but who gives a fuck about blood, unless it’s outside of your body, then it’s fun. 

---------------------------------------------------------------

“I don’ wanna” Patton wined his dad sighed “I know bubbles but we gotta go home to Papa and Janny, isn’t that fun” Patton considered this, “but Roro’s pretty arm picture” he argued. Remus scratched the back of his neck, “Pffffff- Ummm, how about this, we go home now and I’ll take you back to the shop tomorrow after pre-school” 

Patton brightened considerably, “ok” he chirped. “up please” the toddler’s chubby hands reached towards Remus who obediently scooped him up with a coo. After all who was he to say no to uppy hands. 

“See ya tomorrow, have fun on your date with the nerd” Remus sang as he snatched his bag juggling the still fussy Patton in his other arm. “Fu- Frick off Re. Say hi to your partners for me,” Romans said affectionately and waved as his twin left the building. 

Remus happily trotted out into the road. The tattoo shop was located on a quaint little street in the more commercial segment of their town only a short walk from Janus’ job. 

A light drizzle floated around them and the air was warm and comforting. Patton squealed as a large drop of water hit him in the head, prompting a laugh from Remus.

A jingle sounded through the peaceful cafe, the brown room was illuminated by those cool old fashion lights and a lovely array of pastries made the air smell of chocolate and blueberry scones. But the scones, as delicious as they were, weren’t the snack Remus was here for

“Hey babe- Remus why are you soaking wet”

“Puddle” Patton screeched. 

“Kid’s right, Puddle.”

Janus pinched their eyebrows, “ya know what, I’m not even surprised anymore. Just make sure Patton doesn’t catch a cold” they scolded. 

Remus nodded and saluted in mock seriousness, “yes captain” he said and pressed a kiss to Janus’ face over the cash register, “I’ll see ya in a bit” Remus grinned and led Patton back out of the cafe. 

Janus sighed lovingly as they watched their boyfriend and son turn to cross the street, Patton’s hand clasped around Remus’ happily. “Stop looking so happy, you're scaring the customers” Remy teased from across the counter. “Ha, Ha,” Janus glared and went back to work” 

Janus’ apartment was a cute two-bedroom space on the fourth floor of the building. The furniture was an interesting combo of vintage and things from the side of the road. The vintage parts came from their parent’s house, their father had died two years after Janus’ had run away and hadn’t thought to write them out of the will. 

The three of them had made a date out of customizing the few pieces that Janus wanted to keep. The customization mainly included darkening everything and adding more gothic touches. Virgil had done the fabrics, Remus the painting, and Janus moral support/ director. 

The three partners had also painted the kitchen/dining room/living room black with one yellow wall. Janus and Virgil’s room was dark purple instead of black with highlights in the same yellow. Patton’s room was the only one that didn’t  look marginally like a cave. 

The walls were a cream-yellow that lit up in the morning sunlight. After Janus announced that they were going to have a baby Remus had spent three hours painting the grey ceiling with white fluffy clouds. It was one of his favorite projects. 

Patton of course had no regard for the work put into the entirety of his home and was the usual menace of a toddler. And today a toddler with cheerios, truly a sight even god would tremble before. 

Remus plopped down next to Patton who was pushing cheerios around his highchair tray with an intense focus. He smiled at the little boy and flicked on the tv, “got any requests pip-squeak?” Remus asked. Patton looked thoughtful, “dead lady!!” he cried excitedly hitting the tray with his fists, cheerios flew everywhere. Remus nodded, understanding, “Corpse bride coming up!” he picked a few cheerios from the couch “you really are Verge’s kid” 

When Janus got home Patton was curled up on Remus’s chest. Both slept soundly despite the dead folk on the screen in front of them singing about the wedding. 

Janus smiled, their family was fucking adorable. They slipped off their shoes and snuggled up into Remus who hummed happily and pulled Janus into the hug still asleep. 

----------------------------------------

Three hours later Virgil trudged up the four flights of stairs huffing indignantly with each step. Of course, he could take the elevator… but it might break down and he would be stuck for hours. Or someone could get into the elevator with him and he would have to interact with a stranger. So stairs it was. 

He rummaged around his baggy hoodie, running his fingers through his dark purple hair in annoyance when he couldn’t find the key. Once he found it Virgil carefully (as he did everything) opened the apartment door. His combat books clunked satisfyingly against the hardwood floors as he entered his house. Virgil felt the tension leave his muscles, he was home. He glanced across the room, looking for his family. 

Virgil’s face lit up like a god damned Christmas tree. 

Across the room, both his partners and his son were curled up sleeping happily. Drool covered Remus’ face and Janus was snoring, they were the most precious thing Virgil had seen all freakin day. 

The three of them woke as Virgil wrapped his arms around them, Patton squealed in excitement. “Hello, darling” Janus mumbled sleepily into Virgil’s arm. Remus just groaned and nestled into the hug. The toddler wriggled between his dads squealing profusely. “Shhh, s’ sleepy time” Remus mumbled, rolling deeper into the cuddle pile and shutting Patton up. 

Virgil smiled and pressed a kiss to his partner’s cheek. “Mmm, love you” they purred. “Love you too Jan,” Virgil said, nestling his face in their neck. Virgil knew he would have to start dinner soon but that could wait, for now, cuddles.

[wh6res]

three's a crowd | nomin

synopsis. picking favorites is impossible when you like neither of them.

warning. read at your own risk. abuse, bullying, poly relationship, yandere themes, manipulation, nonconsensual touching, noncon, degradation, smut threesome oop

disclaimer. i do not condone whatever tf i wrote in this nor does it reflect my beliefs or values or morals and such. it is all pure fiction and i also dont think jaemin or jeno would act like this in real life.

note. this was meant to be a new year's gift lmao i obviously got a lil carried away 👀 anyway a late happy new year to you all! we survived 2020, let's start living in 2021, yeah? lmao if covid lets us grr mwah!

the relationship you had with the two of them was a weird one, bordering on taboo, but it wasn't as if you willfully chose to be who they wanted you to be and it took jaemin's unwanted pining and jeno's intimidating demeanor for you to fall right into their arms.

it was a joint effort on their part, you couldn't've possibly stood a chance.

"this many?" the cashier asked. "are you sure?"

stepping back and studying the whole situation, you figured you only had your addiction to caffeine and procrastination to blame. it was a chain reaction you didn't even know will lead up to your inevitable doom.

if you hadn't been slacking off during your first semester of junior year college, you wouldn't be forced to overwork yourself trying to catch up to the looming deadlines, but to be able to 'work yourself to the bone' you need your boost of energy… and that was when you met one of them.

"uhm," you scratch the back of your head sheepishly as you eye the six glass bottles of iced coffee. sure, it looks bad and you kinda appreciate the look of concern the cashier throws your way but it was none of his business.

"yes. now could you, like, you know… hurry up? i'm in a little bit of a time crunch right now."

screw it. although you hardly snap like that with other people on a daily basis, it'll be a whole different conversation if you were under a significant amount of stress and today, unfortunately, is one of those days.

now can he just fucking stop asking questions and give you your six bottles of death drink to keep your fucking brain going so you can pass an eight-page essay tomorrow? thank you very much!

the guy snickered, the beeping sound of a barcode being read sounding a thousand times more annoying than it usually sounds as he keeps his hand busy by punching your items out.

you fail to notice how he studies you through the gaps of his lashes, finding you interesting rather than threatening as you stood before him with your messy hair and oversized hoodie.

"haven't seen you around university grounds 'till today," he tries striking another conversation with you. "you new? i'm jaemin."

this was your first mistake, you shouldn't have been so… downright rude when you met him. if you were granted the miracle of meeting him a 2nd time, you would've acted more nice, throwing yourself at his feet even to blend in with the rest of his fangirls you didn't even know about at the time. you would've done anything to make sure he never gives you a second glance, to never pique his interest.

jaemin is the pep squad captain. flying over colored blue mats and doing tumblings in the air with no ounce of fear. he was the best in his team, that much was evident when your friend dragged you into watching a pep rally practice. his landings were clean, balanced, and executed to the best he can at all times.

no wonder he was popular, his talent is outstanding and his looks are a bonus. his killer combo of a smile and wink after pulling off a tough flip is enough to send them squealing in their seats.

he spotted you that day and since then, he snuck the quickest glances at the bench during practices. recognizing you as the coffee girl he met during his convenience store shift. jaemin tries not to let his disappointment show too much when he doesn't see you, but of course, a pair of cold calculating eyes could see right through him.

"i saw that," his boyfriend said, hand darting forward to hold jaemin's gym bag for him. "you kept looking at the crowd. do you want to see her that much?"

"but she reminds me so much of you, jeno!" he retorts, pouting at the slight grumpy tone the other boy used. "i can't help it. she doesn't seem to give a fuck around me so she's quite interesting. maybe she can even be a great addition to our relationship!"

"well," jeno replies after a beat of silence, plastering a small smirk on his face before slinging an arm around jaemin's shoulder.

"convince me?"

you don't like jaemin's attention. not in the slightest. and it seems that was enough reason for the reign of terror his little fanclub has subjected you too.

it wasn't the petty elementary forms of bullying like pulling at your hair or calling you names. they pale in comparison to the other things they do to you—beating you up, messing with your homework, "accidentally" dumping their food trays on you.

and you weren't stupid.

you knew exactly who was behind it, knew how jaemin spectates the whole thing from afar so that he can swoop in at the end to play your knight in shining armor.

"oh, you poor thing. do you need help?"

the first time you accepted his "help" you ended up in a supply closet near the gym during your free period, cornered and weak as your cries for help drowns under the squeaking of shoes and the booming sounds of rubber balls hitting the floor.

if it weren't for jeno appearing out of thin air and prying the boy off of you, you would've been painted blue and red from the death grip he had on your wrist, neck, and waist.

you can still remember feeling the soreness of your scalp from when he pulled your hair too hard. remembered feeling his teeth gnawing at your lips as if he wanted to tear them off.

that time hadn't been the first time you saw jeno. you've shared a few classes with him and it strikes you how polar opposites they are with one another.

while jaemin likes to bask in his professor and classmates' recognition by confidently reciting his answers, jeno would rather keep to himself. liked sitting at the last row, near the window, so he'd be the first to go once the professor ends their lecture. while jaemin loved the attention of his fangirls, jeno preferred solitude. while jaemin is impulsive and wild, jeno liked to think things through.

it was within these reasons that you decided to do what you did. but your judgement of character has never been more wrong.

you approached jeno one day in the library, tried to make yourself appear as stoic and confident as possible. but your constant slouching and averting eyes was a dead giveaway.

you came to talk to him about what jaemin has been doing, hoping there's one person left in this entire school that isn't under the cheer captain's trance. the one reasonable person that has already saved you once and (hopefully) is willing enough to save you again. the only one that probably has a certain level of control over jaemin, if the supply closet incident is anything to go by.

but you've overestimated lee jeno.

"you should've just given jaemin what he wanted."

"but—but aren't you two lovers? isn't it bothering you?"

you try baiting him, only for an uncomfortable shiver to start crawling down your spine when he chuckled humorlessly, pushing his school materials to the side while pinning you with an unreadable stare.

how can a person make someone feel so small just by a gaze alone? it was nothing like you've felt with jaemin. this is way worse.

"the only thing that's bothering me is why you're not ours yet."

you feel cold fingers creeping their way under your shirt, going higher and higher until it brushes against your bra. and when your eyes meet, the look on his face was unmistakable—what are you going to do about it, huh?

you stood up in lightning speed, the chair you've been sitting on scraping loudly against the floor.

you've never ran out as fast as you did.

and jeno swears it'll be the last.

you tried everything in your power to ignore them for the next following weeks but it soon became useless when the two boys took it upon themselves to give you your space.

although judging by the pinpricks you feel on your back, and the constant weight of a stare you feel on your shoulders, you knew they weren't done with you yet. far from it. and for some reason, you just knew they wanted to lull you into a false sense of security first before striking again.

and while they continued to ogle at you from afar like a hawk circling its prey in a desert, you took it upon yourself to return the favor. not because you were the slightest bit interested in those creeps but maybe, just maybe, if you look hard enough you'll find a way out, a weakness.

but what you realized made your insides churn in great discomfort—although it may seem that jeno holds the reins in the relationship since his reserved nature fits the role, it's actually the other way around.

jaemin might appear too self-centered, too focused on himself to give a fuck about his surroundings but in actuality, he has quite a knack for reading people. even more so than jeno. and it was scary how he used it to his advantage, and paired up with his devoted fangirls? it was hell on earth.

you found it alarming how the two seem to magically appear wherever you are.

although you weren't in the least bit surprised. for some reason, you can't take your eyes away when jaemin's devotees flock around him (and jeno) in a circle.

it almost reminds you of a shoal of piranhas, waiting for their meal to drop into the water before ripping it to shreds with their teeth. only their "meal" isn't actual flesh but the carefully crafted words jaemin says that drive them into a sick frenzy.

one that has them doing everything in their power to satisfy him like the loyal dogs they are.

so this was how he got them to bully you?

"oh, that? don't worry! yangyang just ran into me during cheer rehearsal. no biggie. my cheek stung a little bit, though…" is what he said but really he's telling them "scruff him up a bit for me, why don't ya?"

"of course, i can't be the best all the time. haechan is just too good, maybe even better than me…" is what he said but really he's telling them "can you remind him where his place should be?"

all the while jeno did nothing to hold him back.

no matter how wrong jaemin is, how much of an asshole he is, jeno will stick by his side through and through. so as much as jaemin is a puppeteer that gets a kick for controlling people, jeno is as much at fault for looking the other way.

because in jeno's perspective, why the fuck would he do shit when he can just get off from the entertainment that comes with jaemin's sweet little mind games?

we lost :(

you had been busy sorting through paperwork for one of your professors in the faculty when your friend texted you the results of the intercollegiate cheer dance competition. a frown paints your face, heart feeling heavy at the bad news.

in all honesty, you still supported the pep squad—you just hated the captain and his boyfriend. they've been practicing non-stop for this and prior to the weeks of the competition, jeno looked a lot more tense and jaemin less smiley than usual. you swore you even saw the latter snap at one of his fangirls.

not to mention, they paid less attention to you, too, and it was the best three weeks of your life.

tension starts rising in your shoulders, fingers absentmindedly running through the edge of the papers you had been sorting until you became immersed with your thoughts.

jaemin must be in the worst mood yet.

and jeno too, probably. if anything, that guy gets triggered the most when something bad happens to jaemin or when he catches snippets of people talking shit about his oh so "perfect" boyfriend.

jeno is a lot scarier when jaemin is in one of his mood swings, you noticed. he steps up in the relationship to offer comfort to the other boy and for outsiders? it isn't a great experience to go through—being on the receiving end of jeno's ice cold stare is a position you don't want to find yourself in after that time in the library.

he is still as much a threat to your peaceful life like his lover.

you snap out of it when the blinding headlights of a vehicle seep through the closed blinds. you hear the gentle hum of an engine switching off as the headlights vanished as quick as they had appeared. that must be the cheer squad's bus.

as you look around the empty faculty room, something in your gut tells you to ditch file sorting duty for professor kim tonight and fucking get the hell out of campus grounds as quick as you can.

after haphazardly throwing the unsorted papers back into the cabinet, you groan aloud when the keys to the office drop out of your skirt’s pocket.

the indoor gym where the cheering squad practices is right across the hallway. you sure as hell don't want to bump into jaemin. or jeno, too, if he had decided to ride along the cheer squad's bus on the way home.

you kept looking for the keys underneath the cubicles, cursing aloud when you heard the telltale squeaks of shoes rubbing against linoleum. you almost hit your head against a table when you quickly got back up your feet, darting forward to shut the lights for the faculty room.

they can't know you're here. alone. and if it meant sitting in the dark for a few hours 'till they leave, meant going back home a little later than usual is what you have to do then so be it.

you try not to react so violently when the door you're leaning on jolts when someone from outside slams their back against it.

"it's not like we didn't do our best, right guys? i don't have regrets. it might sound fucking cheesy and although i'm sad myself, atleast we did what we can."

it's jaemin. his voice clear as day.

you try peaking, craning your neck up from your place on the floor. only to see the back of his head leaning against the glass section of the door. someone else joins in on the conversation, followed by coach park himself, and you slowly tune out whatever they're saying as you stealthily start scanning the faculty room.

you curse under your breath. is there no other exit other than this door? jesus christ! even classrooms in this university had two doors—

"what are you doing here?"

the switch flickers on, basking the once dark room with light. only when you hear an echo of your name being called, did you snap out of it and quickly picked yourself up from the floor.

"i said, what are you doing here?"

their coach asks, drilling the question as he looks at you skeptically with his arms crossed. you try not to look at the people behind him.

particularly, not at his cheer captain standing on his right.

particularly, not at jeno, who stands out like a sore thumb with his blue hair, a protective arm snaked around jaemin’s shoulders.

this isn't your lucky day, too, you guess.

"i was…" you cursed yourself for stuttering. "i was, uhm, i was file sorting for prof—professor kim, sir."

coach park looked like he didn't believe you as he narrowed his eyes in scrutiny. your nerves are going haywire and you can feel the sharp pins of their stare with how close they are.

you kept juggling your weight with the balls of your feet, hands fisting and unfisting behind your back. you want to leave. you have to leave.

"file sorting… in the dark?" he asked incredulously.

fuck this.

"uhm, you can ask professor kim himself tomorrow, coach. for now, uh, i'll be going now. i'm sorry you guys lost…"

originally, the exit is on the right side, at the end of the hallway. but no, you are not going to pass by those two while on your way out so you ducked behind a random student standing on the coach's left instead and practically ran away from the scene.

everyone had been too busy. too busy looking at your retreating form to even notice jaemin and jeno exchanging glances, too busy to notice the latter untangling himself from their captain to slip away unnoticed, his hurried steps filled with a burning purpose.

you didn't know why you ran, but you did. your shoes practically booming against the floor as you sped away through darkened hallways. you're sweating profusely, heart hammering in your chest. you can worry about professor kim tomorrow but right now you just had to—

"why are you in such a rush, pet?"

crashing into jeno felt like crashing into a wall. if it hadn't been for his arm quickly wrapping around your waist, then you would've landed on your butt before him.

with the small distance between the two of you, jeno could see as clear as day through your eyes.

jaemin was right.

it was addicting to stare into them.

especially when he can see every single one of your thoughts flying through your pretty little head. but hey, it wasn't their fault you were so easy to read.

jeno barely conceals the wicked smirk on his lips when your hands come up to his chest, trying to push him away but to no avail.

he can see your eyes shifting from shock, to confusion, until it finally settles on fear—to which it's slowly becoming a favorite emotion of his to see on your face.

"you know, jaemin is in a really shitty mood right now. and we were wondering, maybe you can cheer us up?"

no. this can't be happening.

"jeno, please." your dilated eyes and disheveled hair made his blood run south. "let me go. you don't want me. you don't need a third party in your relationship."

you yelp when he lets you go, literally shoving you against a wall—which you found out is actually a door, as it swings open as soon as your body crashes against it.

with jeno looming unforgivingly before you in his full height, the tears stung extra hard but you won't let them fall.

if he wanted to bask in the image of your weakness then it'll be something you'll deprive from him for as long as you can.

"i don't need a stupid bitch like you to tell me what i feel." he scoffs. "don't fucking kid yourself, you little whore—i don't want you. i'm not jaemin."

the echo of the classroom door shutting closed surged through you like a wake up call.

this is really happening.

you've always led a decent life, had done nothing too questionable and you've always thought maybe life will spare you if you lived quietly enough. but the feel of jeno's freezing hands crawling against your skin felt like life itself had spat at you in the eye and left you to rot in a ditch.

"i've always liked how you wore skirts," he comments. playing with the ruffled hem of the soft fabric as he purposely grazed his knuckles against your supple thighs. "gives me easy access, don't you agree?"

you scream when he flips your skirt up to reveal the innocent pink of your cotton panties. it was as if a switch had flipped inside of you and the will to fight started coursing through your veins.

"stop! jeno! i don't want this!"

his brows furrow, grunting as he struggles to push the waistline of your skirt up higher with how much you're thrashing underneath him. you buck your hips, tried curling in on yourself, anything to prolong what he wants to do to you.

with your legs trapped underneath his, you blindly reach forward, relying on your upper body instead to push and scratch whatever your palms and nails reached.

you continue screaming like a banshee until he shoved two fingers into your wet cavern.

"stop fighting me," he sounded strained, as if he's holding himself back. you feel him fisting the fabric of your skirt and you fear he's simply going to rip it apart.

you tried responding to him, only the sound had been muffled, gurgled by the flat of his fingers pushing down against your tongue mercilessly. when you reach forward to push him away, your hands land on the apple of his cheeks, nails digging through skin.

until it slips and—

you lie rigid when red scratch marks in the size of your fingernails slowly appear on jeno's skin, his head turned to the side as he paused. your actions slowly start sinking in to him as he shuts his eyes and bit his lip 'till it looked like it was about to bleed.

oh no.

"jeno—"

the slap he planted on your cheek left your ears ringing. all those hard earned muscles of his put to good use—if the tears hadn't fallen for the last few minutes, then it definitely started falling now.

the hit had been so strong, a few of your hair flew astray, the buzzing feeling of your skin tempting you to reach a hand up to soothe your abused cheek.

until jeno let out a low growl and your hand immediately drops limp against your body, afraid of whatever else he can do to you other than a slap.

"that's more like it," he whispers under his breath. you let out the tiniest of whimpers when his hand darts forward to fist your hair. "do you know what happens to bad girls? they fucking get busted up. do you understand me?"

his patience is nonexistent.

jeno slams your head against the floor when you don't answer because you thought his question had been rhetorical. it felt like your skull had been split in two as you wail in pain.

"are you fucking deaf—i asked you a fucking question!"

the hand that cups your jaw is painful as he squeezed your cheek with his blunt nails. your hand shoots up to wrap around his wrist, silently pleading for him to let up as you sobbed out loud. you started nodding as best as you can despite his firm grip on your face.

your reply was nothing short of pathetic. with lips forcefully pursed and the steady stream of your tears and snot rolling down your face, your response is gargled and hardly incoherent and jeno seemed to thoroughly enjoy your anguish if the condescending curl on his lips is anything to go by.

"look at you," he whispers, his face coming close to yours as he holds you down. there was something in the way jeno stared so intently that it made your skin crawl.

"i think you're prettiest when ruined like this."

with his nose touching yours, he felt too close, bordering on intimate as you felt his hand creep back up your thighs, trailing up with feather-like touches that made goosebumps appear on your skin.

you tried wiggling your legs underneath him but one sharp look from jeno is enough to make you stop.

the hand holding your face moves. coming down from gripping your face to encircling his hand around your neck.

"do you like it when i touch you? freaky bitch."

his hands trail further up, up, up until you felt him slotting a finger underneath your panties.

jeno didn't like how frozen you were underneath him as he pulls at the hem before letting go. the elastic snapping back against your skin.

the action evokes a strong feeling through the young male, promising to have you writhing and screaming and begging because by the end of all this, you'll be so needy and frustrated that you will have no choice but to give in to what your body wanted.

"jeno, didn't i tell you to play nice?"

someone stands by the door, the minimal light from the hallway creating a silhouette with his form but you knew who he was. that deep voice, with the same annoying flippant tone, is a dead giveaway.

you didn't know why you even hoped in the beginning. as if there'll be someone who can save you from these two.

you thought the flash of hurt in your eyes was quick to disappear but jeno noticed it quicker.

in a span of seconds, he pulled you up from your position from the ground and tugged you towards his lap. you haven't even gotten the time to settle on your new position when he already smashed his lips against yours.

it was messy. too much saliva. too much teeth. no tenderness to it at all.

the fabric of his jeans felt rough, not to mention the ice cold belt buckle made you severely uncomfortable as it seeps through the thin fabric of your skirt.

when you attempt to hover over his lap, jeno grunts as he snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you back down without your lips breaking away from each other. you didn't know why he let out a whine, but you understood the moment you fully sat down on his lap and you felt a tent on his jeans hitting your clothed entrance perfectly.

in a normal circumstance, you would've found everything hot and might've actually gotten off from it but not when it's him who’s doing this to you and you didn’t consent to any of this.

you start squirming again. palms lying flat against jeno's chest as you attempt to push him away and jaemin sees this as the opportune moment to slot himself behind you, caging you in between them.

“i want my turn,” he hisses and without an ounce of hesitation, jeno stops to do what he's told.

jaemin doesn't waste any second to grab your face, awkwardly craning your neck up to meet his lips in the same feverish kiss.

while jeno had been all teeth and aggression, practically forcing you to open your mouth and kiss him back, jaemin on the other hand is more soft, more romantic, you daresay. he seemed to like taking his sweet time by clutching your face, kissing you like he actually meant it.

he pulls away slightly, resting his forehead against yours as he murmurs something incoherent under his breath and then he's kissing you again.

you think you heard something along the lines of, "finally."

you've been too distracted by jaemin to notice jeno's nimble fingers quickly fumbling with the buttons of your blouse. it was only when you feel the sensation of his tongue laving against the swell of your breast did you turn away from jaemin, jerking backward in surprise.

"no—!"

your scream is cut off by a hand cupping your mouth. jaemin pulls your back towards his chest, molding your body against his as jeno licked and suckled all he wanted, thankful to have the other boy there to not worry about restraining you and keeping you quiet while he has his fun.

"ah, ah, ah," jaemin teases, going hard over the pleading and teary look you sent his way. it looked pathetic, he wasn't going to lie, but it doesn't mean he didn't love it. "just keep still and appreciate jeno's efforts to take care of you, alright baby?"

you don't like how he talked as if this was all a mutual thing, how he talked slowly like you were some toddler who didn't understand anything.

it's cruel how jaemin giggled and basked in your vulnerable state as he kept his eyes pinned on you while undoing the zipper of your skirt. your muffled cries of his name only serving to egg him on.

the way he stared was similar to jeno, too intently and intrusive, like he wants to burn your image of despair in the back of his head.

you whined involuntarily when jeno got bored of all the licking and thus decided to start biting and nipping at your chest instead. he was hypnotised by how responsive you were, how every little bite and nibble made you shudder.

it was a shame that jaemin had to cover your mouth. he didn't get to hear your pretty mewls but it wasn't as if he'd let the night end without hearing them loud and clear.

jaemin is fast in undressing you, feeling slightly betrayed by how quick your skirt and blouse fell under his hands.

you know what he wants, what he's going to do, and the tears fall harder when you can't dodge away from him. forced to endure and accept whatever they give you.

"you act like you don't like it but look how fucking wet you are," you bit your lip hard when jaemin starts circling the pads of his fingers against your clit, fascinated by how more juices streamed down your thighs.

"jeno, do you see this? fuck."

you can only blink in defeat, staring off to the side as you force down any noise bubbling up your throat, forcing yourself to think of anything else other than what's happening right now.

you try not to think about how they managed to tear all of your clothes off while they're left completely dressed. tried not to think about the fingers lazily drawing up and down your slit to collect your essence.

if they're doing this as a way to further humiliate you, it's working.

"slut," jeno mocked, a wicked curl on his lips when he wraps his fingers around your throat. the moment he dives down to claim your lips again is the same time jaemin pushes two fingers inside you.

"look at how wet you are because of me," jaemin whispers hot against your ear and you feel a sick churn in your stomach when you feel his smile against your skin.

he purposely drives his fingers in and out quicker, settjng a brutal pace, wanting you to hear the lewd squelching sounds. "hear that? do you hear that, darling? that's because of me—"

"don't go talking big now, jaem," jeno retorts, pulling away from your lips to start nibbling on the back of your ear. "i was here first. did you see how she fucking reacted when i sucked on her tits?"

you're quick to catch how jeno particularly loved degrading you. but how he talks about you as if you're literally not in front of him naked made you hit a new all-time low.

you felt… filthy.

his hands find purchase on your butt—only because jaemin has already claimed the front. for now.

you close your eyes tight when he painfully squeezes the flesh of your ass. you swear, his blunt nails will paint your skin black and blue.

"i'm the favorite!"

"i'm the favorite!"

as someone who's part of a varsity team, you already knew a competitive nature runs through jaemin's veins. but never had you thought jeno would share the same sentiment. once again they prove that they're cut from the same cloth.

all of a sudden it wasn't all about claiming you as theirs anymore rather it was all about who can make you moan the loudest, who can make you cum the most, who can make you feel the dirtiest you can be.

you're absolutely terrified for the hours to come.

thankfully, they have yet to ask for your verbal opinion or validation. they let your body do all the talking—every repressed shudder and sharp gasp is enough.

but it's game over once they pop the million dollar question.

"who do you like best?"

you don't want to find out the consequences if you actually answered their question because you didn't know what could be worse.

jaemin's manipulation or jeno's aggression?

but it was all normal. trial and error is inevitable in order to build and mold you into the ideal lover for the both of them.

because adding someone new to the mix has never been easy—after all, three's a crowd.