#free yourself from the confinement of caring what others think and indulge yourself!

[ridiasfangirlings]

is sarumi toxic?? genuine question, i dont know if its just the way certain fanmanga that ive read portrays their relationship. i love the ship with my whole heart, dont get me wrong. ive read lost small world, finished rok and season 1 (halfway through season 2). consuming all kinds of k stuff, i personally dont see it toxic as certain people do (knowing that theyve already reconciled). im super confused on who to believe so here i am asking you

I will say to start that I’m not exactly a neutral third party here, even with me being a filthy multishipper Sarumi is still my ‘main’ ship. That said, I personally don’t consider them to be toxic as a ship. There are definitely elements of their relationship as presented that are not good and could certainly lead to toxicity, but that’s also pretty understandable considering Fushimi as a character is not a healthy person and isn’t equipped to deal with relationships in a healthy way. If we look at, say, only season one Sarumi is a vacuum there’s certainly room to call it toxic, with the way Fushimi interacts with Yata by drawing out all his negative feelings and deliberately goading him into physical violence, but thankfully there’s a lot more to their relationship than episode five of season one.

When you consider the side materials the series is pretty clear that Fushimi’s actions stem from him being an abused and neglected child who clung to the one person who ever showed him affection and who has no idea how to handle things that other people would consider easy. When they join Homra and Fushimi doesn’t feel like he fits in he starts to assume a lot of things, that Yata’s leaving him behind, that he’s going to be rejected, because up until he met Yata Fushimi’s entire life has been him being rejected by the world around him and rejecting the world in turn because it’s his only method of coping. When he burns his Homra tattoo in front of Yata it’s a move intended to hurt them both, because the only way Fushimi knows of to break something that he loves is to do it spectacularly — Fushimi himself can’t break what he cares about so he takes on the persona of the person who could, of the guy who can flawlessly destroy what Fushimi Saruhiko loves every time. Fushimi is so afraid of losing his precious friendship with Yata that he feels like he has to be the one to break it first in order to save himself the pain of losing it. This is a toxic mindset but also a totally understandable one in the context of Fushimi’s character. 

Obviously Fushimi’s way of dealing with his emotions is not healthy but he’s not a healthy person, that’s well established. Are a lot of Fushimi’s problems of his own making? Very much so. Does he really owe Yata an apology for being a dick all this time? Also yes. But Fushimi’s actions are also very understandable due to his upbringing, and Yata himself says that Fushimi is trying to be better �� “You have a sense of guilt.” Fushimi’s relationship with Niki is a toxic one because Niki is abusing him and literally doesn’t care about the trauma he’s inflicting on his kid. Fushimi on the other hand is well aware of what he’s inflicting and tries very hard not to care, while still not being able to let go of Yata and still occasionally letting his mask slip (how he has difficulty dealing with a grieving Yata post-S1 for example, and how he still helps Yata in Missing Kings) and ultimately, Fushimi knows what he did was wrong and he and Yata start to reconcile. They aren’t a perfect pure and unproblematic uwu ship but I don’t consider them to be toxic just because Fushimi dared to be mentally ill, the Sarumi I ship isn’t the one where they hate each other and where Fushimi’s still constantly cruel to Yata, it’s the one where they make up and recognize their mistakes and Fushimi starts on a healing path that includes recognizing what he did to Yata and in his own fumbling way trying not to do it again even though it’s difficult for him. (And also frankly if someone does like the toxic version of them go for it, you do you. I really hate how people tend to throw around the word ‘toxic’ as some kind of forbidden brand, like if a ship is not perfect and healthy and wondrous it shouldn’t be shipped. Ship your fictional characters any way you want, as long as you tag things properly! Be free of the need to be judged!)

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Your Fate is Sealed With Mine: Chapter Thirty-Six

Your Fate is Sealed With Mine: Y/N Burgess is the granddaughter of Alex and Paul, and after having spent so many summers at their manor and always wondering why she was forbidden from entering the basement, she descends the steps into the world of the Order. She broke out the being that had been trapped in that glass cage, but what does he want with her now that he is free?

Warnings: Language, Gore Description, Reader Does a BIG No No in Front of Morpheus (On Purpose), Unnecessary Smooches (I Just Like Taunting/Pissing Morpheus Off).

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x Female!GranddaughterReader, based on Netflix’s ‘The Sandman’, Reader now has long-ish hair for plot reasons (Just so Morpheus can tug on it later).

Word Count: ~2.3k

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You didn’t like what you were feeling coming from the Corinthian, which is why you had decided to stay glued to his side for the next hour. Whatever he had planned for this convention, you knew that it was not going to be good. While walking to the auditorium, you stole a glance from him once more. 

“What do you want from all this?” You asked him while he turned down a hall, and you fell in step with him. “What do you get from having Rose destroy the Dreaming? You’re destroying your home, our home.” 

The Corinthian chuckled at glanced down at you with raised eyebrows, you stared up into his covered mouths with a petulant gaze. His lips curved at the corner. 

“Come now, Y/N, do you really think Dream cares about anyone other than himself?” The Corinthian replied, coming to a stop and facing you. “I was created as a black mirror to reflect humanity’s darkest desires and dreams that they’re too cowardly and afraid to confront. I’m telling them that it’s okay to indulge in those desires, no matter how dark.”

“People can’t just go on killing sprees, Corinthian.” You reminded him. “We need boundaries to keep order.” 

“Boundaries are the very thing that stifles people in submission, in both the sleeping and waking words. Boundaries are what confined me and now they don’t. I’m not gonna give that freedom up, would you?” He covered it well, but you could feel the pain that was seeping from his heart. Like a child who only lashed out because their parents didn’t give them the attention they wanted. It was sad that it had come to the Corinthian killing humans to try and rebuild this world in an image that he felt like he belonged to. 

“Boundaries, are what keep people safe,” You said evenly, your head tilting to the side as your face softened. “What you are doing… it’s not safe and it isn’t your purpose.” 

“Then what is my purpose, your majesty?” He questioned, both his tone and emotions were telling you that you were working him up with anger. How long had it been since he was scolded? Well, over a hundred years at the very least. “I’m a Nightmare, this is what I do, it is my purpose.”

“Your purpose isn’t to kill, Corinthian,” You reminded him. “You said it yourself, you are mirroring humanity’s desires and dreams. You can’t do that by killing them.” He didn’t respond but tipped closer, and looked down at you over his sunglasses so you could see his eye mouths. Your faces were only mere inches apart. 

“We’ll agree to disagree on that then, your majesty,” The Corinthian said softly, if he had human eyes, you would surely have seen disappointment in them. You could feel it, he was disappointed that you weren’t siding with him, but he still held hope that he could convince you to join him. You dropped your gaze and looked at your hands which were twisted together. “You don’t have to stay with him, Y/N, I know how hurtful he can be to his lovers.”

“We’re not—“ You started protesting. You stopped, pausing mid-sentence. You looked back up at him with pursed lips trying to hide the shiver of hurt. “I don’t know what we are, Corinthian, but we are not lovers. Lovers don’t treat each other like how we do. I’m not even sure we’ll ever break ground regarding our differences.”

“My offer will always remain open to you, not everyone in the Dreaming is going to push you back to him,” He gently told you, the emotions coming from him nearly caused a tremble to run up your spine. He wanted you, but not just on his team. His desire for freedom was strong and here you were, entirely capable of making that happen. The Corinthian reached up and brushed your chin with his thumb. “You really are too good for him. He doesn’t even see what he has and probably won’t ever.” 

He was no longer trying to manipulate you, you could tell that much, and it physically made your heart ache knowing that this arcana, one of Morpheus’s favorites, felt like this. The tense bubble between you was broken when a woman appeared, her heels clicking on the linoleum floor. 

“We are ready for you if you are,” She stated, eying the rather close proximity of your bodies and faces. You took a healthy step back from the Corinthian and watched as he plastered a charming smile on his face and pushed his round sunglasses up to make sure that his extra mouths were covered. 

“I most certainly am,” The Corinthian said, his smile going wider. As he walked for the package of the auditorium, he glanced over his shoulder at you. “Remember, Y/N, my offer will always be open to you.”

You stood frozen in place as he and the woman disappeared. 

Was everyone going to try and manipulate you into switching to their side? Because it certainly felt like it at the moment. You licked your dry lips and turned in place, heading for the hotel restaurant to get something to drink. Boosting yourself up into a seat at the bar, you ordered ice water and gulped half of it before setting it down. Did you have no one to go to speak freely? Because you were feeling like the favorite toy everyone was fighting over. Staring into your glass, you felt the Corinthian draw those in the auditorium into a dream state. Then a spark of lighting burst up your spine making you let out a gasp and hunch over in your seat. Morpheus had arrived. You started trembling in your seat, trying to fight the strong urge to go straight to his side. 

An excruciating sharp pain erupted in your right hand. Further hunching over in your seat, you bit down on the yelp of pain that crawled up your throat and cradled your throbbing hand. Blood dripped to the bar top from the long wound in your palm. It was the exact shape a stab wound from the Corinthian’s knife would have left. Morpheus, what are you doing? You felt the strong pull of the Dream that Rose no doubt had dragged everyone into upon falling asleep. You leaped into the Dream that Rose had created. All around you were the separate fantasies and dreams of the serial killers, they were reenacting their dreams, death, blood, gore, and all. You had but one thought: please tell me that little Jed wasn’t running around in this mess. You started running from dream to dream, heading towards the beacon that was Rose. 

You passed The Good Doctor, cutting into a man on an operating table. Another was sewing skins together, the next room was a man hacking away at body parts with a butcher's knife. The dream rippled around you and coming to a stop, you tapped into its essence to feel Rose manipulating it. She very quickly threw the walls she had brought down, back up. You jerked in your seat, still grasping your bleeding palm. The bartender had come over and was holding out a clean rag for you to take while his eyes were wide in panic. But you didn’t, your mind was too focused on the Corinthian and Morpheus. You had to stop this before Morpheus got himself killed. Sand swirled around you and you teleported out of the restaurant. You reappeared standing between Morpheus and the Corinthian. The Corinthian had taken his sunglasses off. Standing there, you saw him look down at your right hand which was still dripping with blood. The muscle beneath his eye twitched, knowing that by hurting Morpheus, he would also hurt you. 

“Enough of this, Corinthian.” You spoke out sharply, like a mother scolding an unruly child. “You are acting like a spoiled child demanding attention and affection from his parents.”

“A spoiled child?” The Corinthian chuckled. “Y/N you know firsthand what I am feeling.” He brandished his knife again and a ripple of his power emerged like a shield. “I’m not gonna stop.” A sandstorm picked up around you, swirling in a vicious tornado of emotion, Corinthian’s emotions. His emotions needed to be reigned in before he lashed out and caused you and Morpheus, and the waking world, any more damage. You pushed forwards against the winds and sand until you stood in front of him. Then you reached up and took his face in hand. Blood ran down your wrist. 

“Corinthian, you don’t need to do this,” You told him, your fingers brushing gently against his cheek. “We can work this out without causing irreparable destruction.” 

“Yeah, I do,” He replied and the sandstorm grew in strength. Behind you, you could feel Morpheus trying to fight his way forwards, without a doubt not pleased with your proximity to the Corinthian. Certainly not after seeing the slowly healing wound on your palm that matched his. It was still dripping with blood. “And you’re not gonna change my mind, Y/N.” Your mind quickly scrambled to come up with a way to end this, because he wasn’t going to listen. If Morpheus had an opportunity, he could end this, you just had to give him one. You decided to use the Corinthian’s desires and wants against himself. 

Stretching up on your toes, you pulled his head down with your hands and pressed your lips against his. The effect of you kissing the Corinthian had its desired reaction, the sand storm started to die back. By the time you could feel him returning your kiss the auditorium settled back into its regular state. Pulling away, you stared into the Corinthian’s mouths for a few moments before finding yourself sharply pulled back and spun around by a hand on your waist. Oh right, Morpheus did not like it when you kissed others and you had straight up just kissed his favorite creation right in front of him. The rage he had to be feeling right now… You found your feet scrambling to keep up with Morpheus’s manhandling and when you steadied yourself, you were behind him, sheltered from the Corinthian.

“If you think I'm going back to the Dreaming with you—“ The Corinthian started, fixing his mouths on Morpheus.  

“You're not going back,” Morpheus spoke, his voice eerily calm for the raging emotions you felt within him. “I brought you into this world to serve humanity. Not to feed upon it.”

“Do you know why I do it?” The Corinthian questioned back, his own emotions wavering. “So I can taste what it's like to be human. And you don't care about humanity. You only care about yourself and your realm and your rules.”

“I contain the entire collective unconscious. Without my rules, it would consume me. Humanity would be consumed.” Before seeing what the fates had shown you, you might have rolled your eyes and deemed Morpheus simply taking a moment for dramatics. But now you knew that he was truthful in this. 

“Or you might actually feel something.” The Corinthian threw back, you sucked in a breath, feeling those caustic words far more than hearing them. Then the arcana scoffed in disgust. “You managed to drive away the one person who will love you unconditionally.” You flinched where you stood and shrunk back, an action that did not go unnoticed by creation or creator. “Why would you do that? You think she is deserving to be treated like that? I am not the problem here, Dream.”

Stiffening in place, you brushed your thumb around the wound on your palm and did everything you could to not look at Morpheus. You weren’t even sure you wanted to hear his answer, knowing him well enough now. It was probably a stoic one, devoid of true emotion. His response was not one you expected. 

“You're right. This was my fault.” Your jaw might have dropped open if you weren’t standing so stiffly in place. Morpheus was admitting that something was his fault? Were you hearing this correctly? “Not yours. I had so much hope for you. But I created you poorly then. So I must uncreate you now.” 

Unbridled rage and anger poured from the Corinthian as Morpheus raised his hand as started reabsorbing him. The Corinthian started disintegrating and lighting up red, the power slipping from him and back into Morpheus, back into you.

“I am only sorry I won't be here to see Rose Walker do the same to you.” These were the Corinthian’s last words. Rose and Jed, you had nearly forgotten about them. You forced yourself to teleport away, feeling too cowardly to face what was only inevitable with Morpheus. An explosive fight that would leave you shattered for good.

Fully absorbing and uncreating the Corinthian, Morpheus looked at the pile of sand and bent down to pick up the little skull that was all that was left of his favorite creation. He held it in his palm. 

“Next time I make you, you will not be so flawed and petty, little dream.” Morpheus turned to look at you but saw that you were gone, the only evidence of you being present was the blood staining the floor. Morpheus looked down at his right hand, it was still in the process of healing and he knew that would be reflected on your body. Once again he had unintentionally hurt you “And I have much work to do regarding my relationship with my queen, should she choose to stop running.”

Appearing outside the hotel, you spotted Rose leading Jed to her car and jogged to catch up to them. 

“Rose! Jed!” You called out. They both paused in step and looked back at you. You caught up with them. “Are you alright? You aren’t hurt?” 

“No, we’re both fine,” Rose answered, squeezing Jed’s hand. Jed’s eyes zeroed in on your hand. 

“Are you okay Miss Y/N?” Bless that little boy, surrounded by serial killers and still selfless. You held up your throbbing hand and looked at the wound, it was still oozing but well on its way to healing. Being Endless had its perks. You smiled at Jed. “Oh I’ll be alright, I promise you, it’s just a scratch. Might I suggest we get on the road? I don’t feel comfortable with you two in this present company.”

“Wait, you’re coming with us?” Rose questioned. You nodded at her with a smile. 

“I do intend to keep my word, Rose, and unfortunately this is far from over.” You explained, your eyes flickering around. Rose nodded and began guiding Jed to her car, you following close behind. You chose to sit in the backseat so the siblings could have a chance to catch up, and while Rose was putting the keys into the ignition, a gun went off in the next car over. Jed let out a gasp and jumped in his seat. 

“Time to go, Jeddy,” Rose said, turning the car on and looking at you in the rearview mirror. You shared a look before she started driving away.

Date Published: 12/16/22

Last Edit: 8/20/23

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[limeade-l3sbian]

i found a movie on letterboxd a few days ago called "daisies" and everyone in the reviews was calling it genius and feminist. i tried watching it. it's about two hyperfeminine teenage girls "trying to be as spoiled as the world" by doing things like dating older men to "trick them" into giving them free food and then abandoning the men at the train stop or cutting "phallic shaped foods" with scissors. i thought this was strange. masses of people were suggesting that things like prostituting yourself (to some degree), performing entirely hollow gestures in the confines of your own room, or even just simply happening to be female were all feminist actions. there were even several comments suggesting that the characters' indulgence in femininity is "feminist," as well. it all struck me as familiar. relevant, even. so i decided to dig a little deeper.

the director said she wasn't a feminist and neither was the film, and that "individualist" fit her (and the film) better. male critics of the past deemed her film feminist, though. the reviews were conflicting on whether the film was anti-capitalist or anti-communist, clearly entirely depending on the political beliefs held by the person writing on it. i will have to agree with the director, however; her film does come across as extremely individualistic to me.

revisiting the reviews on letterboxd, it became incredibly clear to me that there were droves of people using the term "feminist" in a way that was completely removed from actual feminism. they were using it in the libfem way. when they said "feminist" they explicitly mean "i believe women and girls should be able to choose whether they hate the shackles of their oppression, or fully embrace them," rather than "i believe women and girls should not be shackled." there is no actual criticism of the powers that be. it is a hopeless ideology that seems to believe that the only freedom female people will ever have over their oppression is the "freedom" to choose between participating in it or complaining about it (to no avail, since "isn't it unfair to stop other people from indulging in it if they like it?").

this was solidified to me when i delved deeper into the reviews and spotted one particularly honest one amidst reviews celebrating the "boldness" and "feminism" of two teenage girls "taking advantage of creepy old men" (though surely such predatory men do deserve to be hurt, it's naïve and perhaps even misogynistic in of itself to suggest that teenage girls have the power to meaningfully take from men by giving them exactly what they want). it claimed something along the lines of "this is a feminist film" then clarified "but not a film for those man-hating "feminists"."

to tell the truth, i can't say i found the film to be all that politically intelligent, unless i am to believe "it is bad when other people are selfish and indulgent, but it is good when i or the people i like are selfish and indulgent (though we have to be careful, because other people simply won't understand that we are good people no matter what we do)" to be well-informed praxis. but that's precisely how many "leftists" think, isn't it? at least as of late. everyone for themselves. feelings above reality. if you're not having fun, that's your fault. and, really, aren't you just killing the mood for everyone else? that's a more unforgivable crime than anything else.

but i'll have to admit this is all a bit beyond my reach. i'm rambling because i don't feel i have total clarity on all this. that's why i'm reaching out. it probably won't go anywhere, but i hope it does.

You claim not to have total clarity but just perfectly made an example of the issue with choice feminism. Don't undercut yourself, anon. There's genuinely nothing for me to add because you said it perfectly.

[lucifers-horror-harem]

AYYY So I decided to indulge myself and write some new headcanons! I FINALLY watched The Black Phone yesterday so I decided I’m going to write for the Grabber now too! Hope y’all enjoy the dirty nasty filth, I tried to keep it entirely gender neutral and the only warnings are what’s on the tin so without further ado:

Stealing your Underwear Headcanons:

Freddy Krueger:

How on Earth did it never occur to you that if Freddy could tear up your clothes while you slept and you could take his things into the waking world that he couldn’t do the same?

You can hear his laughter in your head when you wake up the next morning after a night with him and notice the only thing between your thighs is the slick that had pooled there. Utterly embarrassed, you quickly go to clean yourself up, all while in the back of your mind you tried not to think of what that bastard would do with your underwear.

Actually, Freddy wouldn’t even mention that it happened as long as you didn’t. And if you did, he would shrug his shoulders and ask if you were sure you didn’t just go to bed without them. After all, he fucks you so good he’s bound to make you forget some things. You would roll your eyes at his bravado, as usual, and drop the subject.

But you were right. He had stolen them. In fact, they were safe in his basement workshop, available for him to admire whenever he pleased. Freddy would simply work them over in his hands, rubbing over the fabric when you were awake to keep himself occupied. 

Eventually, his lecherous tendencies would take hold, he can’t control himself any longer. He’d first have them pressed to his nose while he teased himself through his pants. Freddy can take the time to savor the moment when he wants to, and he absolutely wants to make it last. 

But even as a dream demon he was still only a man after all, and he can only hold out for so long. It takes no time at all for him to free his cock from the confines of his pants and fist your underwear over his shaft. He’d have his head thrown back, a vulnerable position he would never allow you to see, and simply groan in ecstasy as he savored the moment before he finally bursts. 

Once he’s had his fun with them for a few days, Freddy would probably let you stumble upon them in his workshop, nailed up on the wall with his other trophies. If you call him out on it, he simply gives you a toothy grin and says, “Oh those undies. I thought you meant the other ones.” Bastard.

The Grabber/Albert Shaw:

You had been down in this basement for weeks now, at least that’s what your captor informed you as you aren’t fully sure. The Grabber had been taking good care of you, or as good as he could while keeping you trapped in the basement of his home.

His kindness was limited to bringing you poorly cooked meals that were easy enough for him to make in a few minutes and watching you as you ate. Sometimes he came by to taunt you in a teasing manner, but overall he hadn't hurt you too much. Besides the time you thought he forgot to lock the basement door, that is.

Today he brought down new clothes. Nothing too fancy, just an oversized shirt, sweatpants, underwear, and socks. The Grabber seemed pleased when you thanked him. You found that it seemed to be the best way to get on his good side. He requested you change immediately, and only when he turned his back to you did you quickly shed your sweaty, filthy clothes.

When he held his hands out for your dirty clothes, it seemed like an obvious response. You had dirty clothes, he would take care of them. But the way his devil mask grinned ear to ear as if trying to ease you while his eyes were narrowed made you wary. Still, you had no choice but to comply.

What you didn't know, however, was the reason for this sudden act of generosity. In all honesty, it was a way to stave off some of the cravings he had developed since he had taken you into his care. Everything he had done for you was an act of kindness, the world was so cruel and he was saving you. However, Albert was still a man, and he had urges that needed to be satiated.

So there, in the laundry room, right in front of the open washing machine, he plucked your underwear out of the bundle of clothes before dumping the rest in. He found it cute how you tried to hide them from him, wrapped up tightly between your jeans so as not to be seen. Soon there would be no secrets between the two of you.

He couldn't help himself, grinding the growing bulge in his pants against the washer as he yanked his mask up and brought your underwear to his nose and inhaled as deep as his lungs would let him. All that could come to his mind was how exquisite your smell was, emphasized by how long you had worn them. His eyes rolled back into his head as he groaned lowly, dragging his crotch against the edge of the washer slowly. The overwhelming sensations were divine. He almost couldn't control himself. He needed more.

All it took was a couple of pumps of the underwear along his weeping cock and he lost control, thighs trembling as he slammed his free hand against the machine. Albert saw stars by the time he finally was in control of his limbs again, and he admired his work for a few moments before throwing them in with the other clothes. A shaky laugh bubbled up as he poured detergent and softener inside before shutting the lid. You would never suspect a thing.

Vincent Sinclair:

Vincent, while a bit on the shy side when it came to you, was not above the dirty thoughts that buzzed through his mind when he looked at you. As his muse, there wasn’t anything that was off limits in his thoughts, even if he was more self conscious bringing them to your knowledge. There was always the lingering fear in the back of his mind that you would be scared of him if you knew what he was thinking.

But nothing said he couldn’t indulge in his fantasies while you weren’t around. What you didn’t know couldn’t hurt you. One day he would let you discover some of his darkest secrets, but today wouldn’t be that day.

While you were the main person who did the laundry, Vincent often stepped in to help you, which you were very grateful to him for. He liked seeing how you smiled when he took one more thing off of your plate to worry about. You wouldn’t think twice about it, just thinking he wanted to take care of you. Which was true, but he had ulterior motives all the same.

You might not even notice the missing pair of undies for a while, especially if they weren’t a favorite pair. But after a while you might lament that they were missing, and whine to Vincent about how the machine must have eaten them. Yes, that must be it.

What you don’t know is that Vincent has kept them safe in a locked drawer in his workshop, so he can look at them anytime. He keeps them in the exact same condition as he got them from the laundry basket. As much as he’d love to feel them on his cock, he would much prefer your scent on it than his if he got too carried away. 

So instead, he keeps them pressed to his face as he leans back in his chair, legs spread as he languidly strokes his member, brushing his thumb against the weeping tip as he edges himself for as long as he possibly can. He saves this for when he knows he can be alone for an hour or so, something like this deserves his utmost attention after all. 

When he’s finished, the underwear get locked up again for next time. It’s a foolproof method that you will never need to find out about until he’s certain you won’t look at him in disgust with what he’s done.

[leakyrocktarot]

🐞 🎀 𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒞𝒶𝓇𝑒𝑒𝓇 𝐵𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝒮𝓊𝒾𝓉𝓈 𝒴♡𝓊? 🎀 🐞

𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚒𝚕𝚎. 𝙵𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞. 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝙿𝙰𝙲 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚐𝚢, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚝𝚑. 𝙸𝚏 𝚊 𝚙𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎��𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚎, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚐𝚘 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚌𝚞𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚜, 𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚐𝚞𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞.

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦. 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵. 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦 𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘨𝘦. 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦. 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

🍰 🎀 𝘗𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘖𝘯𝘦 🎀 🍰

𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘪𝘭𝘦, 𝘸𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘶𝘯, 𝘛𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘞𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘳𝘹, 𝘛𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘚𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴, 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘏𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘔𝘢𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘑𝘶𝘥𝘨𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘮 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘬.

I get the feeling that this pile may be geared towards people who want to work in the medical field or the judicial system. This pile would make great leaders, storytellers, outdoor workers, caretaker for people with disabilities, acupuncturists, forensic reseachers, pharmacists, government workers, or political leaders. This pile may be the pile to work with children, or be stay at home parents. I get the sense that some of you need to bring more joy into your lives. Some of you may be holding onto the past, lacking forward planning, growth, and adventure. Some of you may be doubting yourselves and your abilities, perhaps being unhappy with your decisions. This may leave you feeling as if you are pinned down, unable to move or go forward. Some of you may be afraid to deal with the hurt you are feeling, afraid that removing the swords will cause more pain, but how can you close and heal the wound if what made it is still there? I have the feeling that some of you are meant to be severing ties with some people in your life, not everyone is meant to follow us throughout our journey, it is ok to let go. Some of you may be feeling bitter towards failures, you may be afraid to take the next step out of fear of failing once more. And some of you may be focused more on being upset at the world around you rather than fixing what needs to be fixed. A lot of you may be feeling exhausted, unable to move forward, as if the universe has beaten the will out of you. I get the feeling that so many of you are feeling as if you are trapped, confined, that things are too uncertain. A lot of you are trapping yourselves with self limiting beliefs, I need for this pile to let go, let go of all that do not serve you. You have so many good things coming to you, it is not worth giving up, it is not worth missing it because you are limiting yourself and living within the past. You have to move forward and grasp what is yours. Your guides are pleading with you to find the strength and heal, find the motivation you need and take the next steps forward. Do not let your blessings pass you. You will have success, you will achieve your goals, you will be accomplished, there will be completions and fulfilments, there will be a sense of belonging as well. Your guides want to give you the messages and tools that you need to achieve this success, all you need to do is reach out to grab it. You are meant to be here, you belong here, don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Some of you will be needing to travel for this career path while others will be traveling for this career path. This pile is needing to do a lot of self evaluation, some are needing to have another awakening, and others are needing to make a decision. Some of you are needing to do something entirely new, while others need to practice composure. As a recap, this pile is geared towards the medical and judicial fields.

🍰 🎀 𝘗𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘛𝘸𝘰 🎀 🍰

𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦, 𝘛𝘸𝘰 𝘰𝘧 𝘞𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴, 𝘛𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘊𝘶𝘱𝘴, 𝘛𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘗𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘴, 𝘛𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘊𝘶𝘱𝘴, 𝘘𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘗𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘍𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘚𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘮 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘬.

I get the sense that the people in this pile would enjoy being in an industry involving planning and negotiations, perhaps the beauty industry, traveling, social working, wedding planning, retail trade, owning a business, being a manager, and perhaps being a police officer. I'm seeing management being repeated here. This may be a pile of business owners, potential models, makeup artists, or retailers and fashion designers. I get the sense that the people in this pile may be stuck between two choices, Some of you guys see the grass is greener on the other side, while others are experiencing wanderlust. I'm getting the sense that some of you will be suddenly leaving your current place of employment, or the current area you are living in. I have a feeling that this will be of personal accord rather than force. I'm getting the sense that there are a lot of people here feeling restless, wanting to do something but not being able to. I get the sense that some of you are being called overseas. I have a feeling that in your career, some of you will be reuniting with past friends. There will be an abundance of celebrations in this pile, a lot of socializing, a lot of gatherings as well. Please be careful of over indulgence. I get the sense that some of you will be meeting your forever partner through career, I'm seeing a lot of weddings and engagement parties. I get the sense that this pile will be rather successful, you guys won't have to worry about finances. I'm seeing that some of you will be receiving a large inheritance, some people here will be marrying into money,and others will be receiving an unexpected financial windfall. This pile is going to be receiving a lot of happiness and a lot of good times. I am seeing a lot of pregnancies in this pile, if that is not what you want please wrap it up! I get the sense that this pile will definitely be spending a lot of time with their loved ones. I'm getting the sense of creative ventures here, some people may take up sculpting. There is a lot of abundance and happy memories here. I'm getting the message that this pile is being warned against over competitiveness, be wary of any pent up energy, tempers, egos, potential conflicts. Take the time to step back and see the situations from other perspectives. I think this pile is being warned against having too much of an inflated sense of self, to be careful of how you view yourself and others in less fortunate circumstances. With the Chariot at the bottom of the deck, I get the feeling that the people in this deck knows exactly what they must do, I think there are some people who are still stalling, and some people who aren't relinquishing control to spirit. Take this as a sign and confirmation that you are on the right path, it is time to do the thing. Go ahead and do the thing.

🍰 🎀 𝘗𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘛𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦 🎀 🍰

𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦, 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘔𝘰𝘰𝘯, 𝘒𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘞𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴, 𝘒𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘚𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴, 𝘚𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘚𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘪𝘹 𝘰𝘧 𝘊𝘶𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘮 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘬.

This pile feels like the artistic pile. This pile might like to do night work, competitive work, jobs with a lot of activities, jobs that require high security, public speaking, investing, historians, or working with children. I get the feeling that this pile feels as though their dreams are only an illusion, as if the things you aspire are only imagination. Some of you may be afraid to take the next step, spirit may have made your path too vague, leaving you unsure and insecure about the security of your journey. Some of you may be facing some misconceptions about your journey, perhaps a misunderstanding of signs leading to deception of the self. Some of you may be making hasty decisions, you are needing to slow down and really think through the choices you make. Many of you may be seeking adventure, some of you are going to be traveling or moving soon, while other may be needing to travel or move in a career. A lot of you are needing to take a risk, be a brave, free spirited person. A lot of you are needing to be more confident, to have more excitement to life. I feel like most of you guys need to step up and accept the challenge. There are going to be some big opportunities coming, I need the people reading this pile to seize the moment and grab it. You are needing to mind your impulsivity, really think about your next course of action, use your intellect to the best of it's abilities. Many of you are going to have to rebel against others, go against the flow, be focused on your goals. There may be some people in this pile that are experiencing manipulation. A lot of you are needing to reevaluate the connections you have, not everyone is meant to be on the same path as you throughout your life, it's ok to let go. Some of you may be caught up in risky behaviours, I would suggest not to. There may be some cheating and lies going on around some people, some scheming, enemies spying, a lot of evil eyes prying. I would suggest that this pile do some protection spells, perhaps get some evil eye pendants 🧿 Many of you are needing to be resourceful and really protect yourself. The wheel is in your favor, many of you need to continue moving forward, others are needing to start moving. Allow fate to do what it needs to and relinquish control onto spirit. Some of you are needing to address the past, past connections, or questionable childhood experiences. Once you release the past and all that do not serve you, things will begin to move rather quickly.

🍰 🎀 𝘗𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘍𝘰𝘶𝘳 🎀 🍰

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘪𝘭𝘦, 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘱𝘪𝘭𝘦. 𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘏𝘪𝘨𝘩 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘍𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘞𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘳, 𝘒𝘯����𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘞𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘳𝘹, 𝘒𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘗𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘍𝘰𝘰𝘭, 𝘒𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘊𝘶𝘱𝘴, 𝘗𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘊𝘶𝘱𝘴, 𝘛𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘊𝘶𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘚𝘪𝘹 𝘰𝘧 𝘚𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘳𝘹 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘊𝘶𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘮 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘬.

I get the feeling that this is the most picked pile, we have 12 cards here, a lot of careers but also a lot of confusion. This pile may work as psychologist, endocrinologists, psychics, librarians, designers, florists, gardners, hostesses, music or film industry workers, entertainment industry workers, travelers, drivers, business owners, work with technology or electricity, social media workers, ceo's, doctors, singers, poets, artists, beauty industry, creative workers, scientists, and there are some people who are jacks of all trades. For this pile, there are so many things hidden, a lot of you guys aren't meant to know your full path as it may affect the outcome of said path. I see a lot of stability coming to this pile, a lot of wish fulfilment. I see that there may be some people slowly losing hope but please know spirit has a plan for you, you are being divinely guided, please do not worry. A lot of you may be stalling your own abundance, some of you are being rather arrogant, hyper, overly confident. Some of you are living within jealousy, my heart is feeling rather heavy, as if there is a hole here, some of you really need to work on your heart chakra. There is a lot of extremely hasty decisions being made, a lot of people here are lacking self discipline, lacking enthusiasm and ambition. There may be a lot of fearful energy within some of you. I get the feeling that many of you are needing to release all of this to spirit, the heart chakra and crown chakra are in desperate need of repair for this pile. Many of you are needing to abandon old ideals, I feel that some of you may be experiencing anxiety from the idea of jumping right in. You are needing to trust that spirit will carry you over to the end of the road safely. Many of you will be meeting your future partners through career, there will be a lot of courting, sending messages, passing notes, and it seems like this will be a new person. There will be a lot of celebrations here, a lot of new friends being made, many of you will be finding your soul tribe and family. I get the sense that these blessings are being blocked because some of you are refusing to move, refusing to address the problems at hand, some of you are refusing to heal as well. Many of you really need to stand your ground, many of you are being held back by trying to match the expectations of others. A lot of you need to rock the boat to release the negative energy around you. A lot of you are going to be facing major decisions here, many of you may be afraid to make a choice. I would suggest thinking through everything, pay attention to want your heart wants and follow it. Do not worry about the outcome, right now many of you need to just do.

[stutterfly]

Swipe Right 04 | Patch Notes | JJK (M)

Rating: M (Explicit 18+)

Pairings: Jungkook x Reader, brot7 x friendship

Genre: E2L, fluff, angst, humor, [eventual] smut, PersonalTrainer!Jungkook, fuckboy!Jungkook, Nerd!Jungkook, Nerd/IT!Reader

Word Count: 15.1K

Last time on SR03: You joined a gym to increase your confidence and things progressed the way you want with your tinder match. You ended up in an unlikely competition with your friends when you went new bar together, leading to some unexpected conversations and shenanigans.

CW & Other Tags: Drinking, anxiety/panic attack mentions, muscle tearing injury mention, fuckboy Jungkook, pining, flirting, pick-up lines, sexual tension, Joonie is still Y/N’s best boi, soft Jungkook

Series: Activate your SIMCard

Fic: Swipe Right (4/?- Ongoing)

Do not repost.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

When’s the last time you felt as good as you do right now? Jungkook has pretty much stopped bothering you since that night at Seesaw, your date with Jason went well, and you’ve been sticking to your early morning workouts. You definitely don’t push yourself as much as trainer Hwasa, and you know you should really take advantage of the free trial, but it was overwhelming to take in so much at once and the session made you sore all over for days.

At least your stamina seems to be improving and you’ve discovered post-workout endorphins are real. Tonight is your second date with Jason, a date you’ve uncharacteristically elected to host at your apartment. You can place some blame on those endorphins for your boldness, with pining and disappointment composing the rest of it.

While your first date ended without a kiss, there was enough flirting to keep you hopeful. Neither of you were brave enough to do anything about it then, but you’ve mentally coached yourself into pretending like you have an unbreakable spine with nerves of steel. Meeting him only solidified your attraction, and you’ve resolved to take the lead, even though you feel like you have no idea what you’re doing.

It’s not like you often make the first move, but your confidence in him to do so has waned. You’ve been talking and playing games together online for months without any physical touch. Despite how he’s said he likes you and wants to see you again, you’d still be waiting if you didn’t suggest today.

You’re determined to show him what he’s missing by being a recluse. That’s why you’ve picked out the sluttiest clothes and the strappiest heels you own, decorated your face with expensive makeup, and even styled your hair instead of just letting it do whatever it wants for the day. You check yourself out in the full-length mirror on your bedroom door for the millionth time and pull down on the hem of your dress like it will somehow magically grow longer.

You don’t need the heels; no part of the night calls for them. You’re going to be sitting on the couch with him. If you’re lucky you’ll even move it to the bedroom you spent so much time cleaning. But they’re cute and they make you feel sexy, so you’re going to keep them on until he’s peeling you out of your dress.

Nerves bubble in your stomach, but you have to pretend like they’re not there or you’ll fixate on how hard you’re trying to be confident and cool. You’ll fall apart when it’s obvious to Jason how hard you’re pretending to be everything you aren’t. Checking your phone doesn’t help; it’s almost time.

Taking a deep breath, you pace through the confines of your apartment as you wait, and answer group texts from Jennie and Namjoon. You offer up a selfie, hoping any compliments will build your confidence enough to stave off the anxiety in your gut. A few devil emojis later, some keysmashing, and more than a couple hamfisted compliments from Namjoon, your ego is adequately inflated but you can always use more hyping. Maybe you should send it to Jimin to fish for more compliments? He’d indulge you for sure.

Instead you flop on the couch and open Tinder. According to Jennie, Jason is stringing you along; it’s been months, but you hate to admit that she has a point. So you don’t. She’s been telling you for a while now that she thinks you should pursue other suitors. While you object to her assumptions, she has more experience with this kind of stuff. It’s not exactly something you want to believe, not when you’ve put in so much effort for literal months.

You want to believe in Jason being awkward and dorky and that’s why it’s taken so long for the two of you to hook up. He’s shy and super introverted, but so are you. So why are you the only one trying to make things happen? You want to believe, but at this point you’re uncertain enough to heed Jennie’s advice and keep swiping any time you find yourself in a situation where you’re waiting on him. Like now.

You have your reservations about swiping while you wait for your date to begin, but you can practically hear Jennie cheering you on. He’s late anyway, and it will keep you busy until he arrives. You open the discovery tab and swipe left on a couple incomplete profiles. Most of the guys on here don’t put in any effort. How are you supposed to want to give any of them a chance when you don’t even get a tiny snapshot of who they are?

When you pass on yet another fish pic profile, a blue frame appears around the next guy in line. It takes a moment for your brain to register the name along with the duck-faced photo as someone familiar.

[Jungkook said: Your legs remind me of oreos 🥴 wanna know why?]

How fucking dare he? You match with the intent to ream him out and leave.

You: I told you not to fucking find me on here

It takes only a few seconds before you see the dots move on his end, like he was waiting for the moment you would answer, and it keeps you tethered to the conversation.

Jungkook: Princess!! I couldn’t help myself how are you

Jungkook: Surprised you didn’t block me

You: Don’t worry I’m gonna

Jungkook: it’s bc you wanna know huh

You: ???

Jungkook: Your legs

Jungkook: Like oreos

Jungkook: I wanna split them n lick the cream from the center 😜

Electricity rumbles in your gut, carrying heat and a surge of excitement to your cunt that threatens to flood your panties. You swallow hard and squeeze your thighs together as you stare at the screen. Embarrassed by the response his antics elicit, you scramble to formulate a coherent thought.

You: I wish I could unread 🤢

Jungkook: Aw but that’s one of my favorites

Jungkook: Just like you 😘

You: 🙄

You: I hate you so much

Jungkook: So much that you matched with me?

You stare at the message like a clever response will come to you and when it doesn’t you bite your lip. He’s got a point. Haven’t you learned your lesson not to encourage him? Your eyes scan the top of your phone for any notifications from Jason. Nothing. At least this is keeping you distracted. That’s what you tell yourself.

Jungkook: You’re still here which means 👀

You: It means I’m tired

Jungkook: Of?

You pause for a moment. Namjoon and Jennie can’t know how anxious you are about Jason. It’s the guy’s last strike with them and he hasn’t even met them yet. Jungkook, an impartial third party, might be able to lend an ear. As much as you don’t care what he thinks, you need an outlet for the anxiety in your chest. You start to draft a word-vomit. Jason has been so hesitant to see you in person again and now he’s late. Maybe if you just put it out there to someone you’ll feel better.

Jungkook: If you need to sleep how about a massage?

Jungkook: I’m good with my fingers 🥴

Stupid. In what universe could you confide in Jungkook? Deleting your word-vomit before you can send it, you start to type something else, but your thumb accidentally taps enter at the exact wrong moment.

You: You know what? I want you

FUCK. Goddamn you, sausage fingers.

You scramble to rewrite the sentence but Jungkook is quicker. He has to know it was an accident, but you’re still fucking mortified.

Jungkook: 😈

Jungkook: My place

Jungkook: Ten minutes

You: *to stay off my profile

Jungkook: 👉👌?

You: YOU KNOW I DIDN’T MEAN THAT

You: 🤢🤢🤢

Jungkook: 😩

Jungkook: Now you’re just playing games with me princess

Jungkook: Can’t say I mind just fuck me up 🥴

You: Don’t you have a princess to fuck in another castle? Maybe she can stroke your tiny ego

Jungkook: Ouch felt that from here

He goes quiet and you close the conversation out. Setting the phone down on the cushion beside you lasts all of two seconds. When your phone buzzes twice, you know better than to answer, yet you feel compelled to look.

Jungkook: Hey quick question

Jungkook: Is this the most you’ve used the app to talk with someone you like? 👻

Just like that you unmatch with him and take a moment to seethe. Distraction or no, he’s not worth the mental energy. He always seems to draw you in like a pretty little thirst trap and drain you of your sanity. Not engaging is the safest option so why do you always end up doing so? Maybe it’s that shitty little part of you that gets excited any time he shows you attention.

There’s a gullible girl within you; she sets your pulse on fire when he feigns even the slightest interest, fills your head with wind when he brushes against you, and floods your eyes with tears when he walks away. Still, she wants him to look at you, even if it means he’s really looking through you. You hate her. Why can’t she learn that you deserve better?

You check the time again and wince. Jason is really late now. Not even a text. Or a phone call. Maybe it’s traffic?

Try to relax. Nothing bad is going to happen. You’re going to have fun tonight.

You start up a game to take your mind off the options available to explain his absence. When you’re invested in a game you often lose track of time, but tonight you’re hyper-aware of every minute that passes. You bite at your freshly painted nails during loading screens, chipping the red from their edges. Sounding casual is difficult when you’re worried, but you attempt it anyway via text. It’s ten more agonizing minutes of waiting before your phone buzzes with an answer.

The controller drops to your lap and immediately tears begin to sprinkle your thighs with the manifestation of your heartache.

He forgot.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

An earthy scent fills Namjoon’s apartment as he carefully transfers the last of his plants to a bigger pot, filling in the edges of its roots with fresh soil and patting the edges down with care. His plants have needed this, maybe even more than he needs the mini hangout that will soon follow. The kitchen table is covered in dirt, but at least he’s almost done.

It’s not his fault Jungkook showed up earlier than expected. At least he’s quiet now. It’s been a while, but he’s finally stopped asking about how much longer it will take, so he must either be invested in the show he put on or asleep on the couch.

“Almost done,” Namjoon loudly announces. “Can you text Tae?”

“Kay.” Jungkook yawns as he stands and heads towards the bathroom. “Jin was already cooking when I left so it should be ready soon.”

“Good. I’m hungry,” Namjoon says, carefully transporting the plant to the desk in his bedroom.

As he’s on his way to clean up the mess on the table there’s a soft rapid knock at the front door. The moment he opens it and finds you standing before him, he knows something is wrong. Even the ratty hoodie covering your shoulders can’t hide the effort you’ve obviously put into your appearance tonight. While your makeup seems to have fared rather well, your eyes are red and your cheeks are puffy. His mind automatically assumes the worst about your second date and his jaw tightens.

“What happened? Did he hurt you?”

“He never showed.” You throw your arms around him and openly sob.

“Oh, Y/N…” His arms are around you in an instant, hugging you close while keeping his dirty fingers at bay.

You press your cheek against his chest, letting the tears fall freely. “I’m sorry. I know you probably have plans tonight, but I wanted to stop here—” You choke out a loud sob and wipe your nose with your sleeve as you look down at the floor. “I didn’t want to drive upset but you weren’t answering and I just—”

“Shit. Exam today. I left it on silent.” He pats his pocket to make sure it’s still there, wiping as much dirt as he can on his jeans before placing his hands on your shoulders. “Hey, it’s okay. Deep breaths.”

Jungkook emerges from the bathroom quietly with a furrowed brow and pursed lips. Did he hear your voice or is it his imagination? Unsure if you’re some wishful remnant of earlier texts, he peeks around the corner.

Heels: black, strappy heels with a velvety smooth red undersole. Has he ever seen you in heels? If he has, it’s never been something as flashy as these. His gaze travels up the smooth, exposed skin of your legs until it hits the hem of a skirt. The dark fabric seems a little short; it clings to your thighs, riding up as you embrace his friend. It’s hard not to notice how well it accents the curve of your hips and more importantly: your ass. He’s definitely never seen you in something so revealing, not even on nights where you’ve joined them for dancing.

He pauses for a fraction of a second, eyes trained on the swell of your ass before moving up to find the disappointing sight of your favorite hoodie barring much else from view. Namjoon’s arms outline your shape, but the places his hands rest are far too respectable to glean much else other than simple blueprints.

With his dick leading his steps, Jungkook opens his mouth to announce his presence with a joke. He means to selfishly steal a glimpse of your entire ensemble with some snarky comment but you choke out a sob and his stomach lurches to form a whirlpool of apprehension. His mouth remains open, but his words are swallowed back into the dark swirling pit that now wrenches his gut in circles.

Namjoon looks up just in time to read the confusion and shock on his features. He shakes his head and cups yours against his chest, wordlessly signaling Jungkook to keep quiet.

“Is there anything I can do? Do you wanna talk about it?” Namjoon asks, hoping you don’t see the man behind you slowly backing away like he’s just approached a rabid animal.

You’re sobbing. Why are you sobbing? What happened? Was it what he said before you unmatched? Jungkook tiptoes back into the kitchen without a word. He leans against the counter and shoves his hands in his coat pockets, trying to piece everything together. Did he cause this?

You screw your eyes shut to try to keep the tears inside. It’s no use. They always seem to find a way out. “He didn’t show up and when I texted him, he… he said he forgot."

“What?"

“I thought it would be good after the arcade date, you know? Like, good chemistry. He’s weird. I like him! He seemed interested and we made these plans and he just—” you choke out another loud sob. “God. Am I really so fucking forgettable?”

You wanted your friends to be wrong so badly that you ignored the fact that it’s been like pulling teeth trying to get Jason to meet up again. For him to forget completely is like a kick to the face that leaves all the teeth intact, maybe a little bloody, but stubbornly intact.

“Y/N, no. It’s not your fault. You deserve better than this fucking guy.”

Jungkook swallows hard. This definitely doesn’t feel like a conversation he should be hearing, but it’s loud enough to carry through the entire apartment. Kitchen, bedroom, or bathroom: his options are limited, but he knows there’s nowhere to go to pretend like he can’t hear it. It’s not like he can just walk out the front door now.

“Do I? It’s seems like a fucking pattern, Joon. I fall for people so easily and they always make me feel like an idiot for trying. Donghyun. Seojun. Jason. Jungkook… It doesn’t matter. No one fucking wants me.”

Jungkook tenses. He may not know all the names on your list, but his is among them all the same. Has he really hurt you so much?

“Hey… Don’t think like that,” Namjoon says, his voice soft as he rubs your back. “You know your worth, and it’s not measured by how well someone else can see it.”

Every time you think you’re done crying, fresh tears begin to roll down your cheeks. “I’m tired, Joonie.”

“I know. I’m sorry. We'll get you home."

As you step back to look at him your ankle rolls, and you begin to fall. Hearing the scuffle, Jungkook winces and peeks around the corner. Namjoon has a good enough grip to stop you from fully tumbling to the floor, but you’re definitely not stable by any means.

Although you now face Jungkook, you’re too distracted by your ankle to notice the extra pair of eyes on you. He allows himself to stupidly linger within your line of sight, raking his gaze across your form to take in the details of your attire, right down to your choice of earrings. Even with a red nose and puffy, smudged eyes, the time you’ve spent on your appearance remains evident.

You did all that for some guy who didn’t even show? If that’s how you dress for your dates then his innocent perception of you is completely wrong. What kind of moron would pass up the opportunity to peel you out of that dress and dive into your cunt? You look incredible. What the fuck.

"God. Shit. Fuck! Fucking stupid heels!” You huff out your exasperation and let a small pitiful laugh pass your lips as you right your stance with Namjoon’s help. “You know, I spent hours getting ready and now I just look stupid. I feel stupid.”

“You don’t. You’re not,” Namjoon insists, his palm squeezing your shoulder.

“Namjoon, I shaved my entire body. Do you know how long that took?”

Jungkook forces himself to withdraw into the kitchen. If you see him now you might murder him. He purses his lips into a thin line and tightens his grip around his arms. In an instant he imagines hiking your dress above your hips and parting your legs so he might brush his cheek against the smooth expanse of your thigh all the way to your core. Are your panties as slutty as your dress? Are they cute? Lacy? Plain?

“Geeksquad…” Namjoon sighs loudly. “I really don’t need to know— Hold up. Wasn’t this the second date?”

“Are you slutshaming me?” The tired laugh that follows sounds more like you, but it still hurts his heart. “I’m stepping up my game.”

“Nah. You do you,” he says, a soft smile on his lips that’s obviously full of pity. “You want to stay and get some food? I think I have some sweats you can change into.”

Tires screech in Jungkook’s mind. Is he going to be trapped here for the night? Without dinner? What kind of karmic torture is the universe putting him through?

“No, I’m sorry,” you sniffle, wiping your face with the sleeves of your sweater. “Jennie wants me to come over but I—I didn’t think I could make it with having a full meltdown. You were on the way.”

“No need to apologize.” He pulls you into another tight hug. “Do you want me to walk you back to your car?”

“No, no it’s fine. I’m right in front. Thanks, Joonie.” Your phone begins to buzz in your hoodie pocket. You pull back and wave it at him, already on your way to the door. “It’s like she knew. I’ll talk to her on the way. Thank you for listening to me cry for the millionth time.”

“Always. Text me when you get there, okay?”

“Will do, mom,” you tease with a soft laugh.

“Zip up your hoodie.”

You grimace at him with narrowed eyes but heed his advice on your way out. You also pull your skirt down as far down your thighs as it will reach. Men are gross and you trust virtually none of them.

Jungkook waits until he hears the click of the lock on the door to breathe a loud sigh of relief. Namjoon rubs the back of his neck and stares at the door. He worries about you.

“Yikes. That Jason guy is a dick huh?”

Namjoon swivels on his heels and rounds on his friend. “Like you were so much better to her?”

Jungkook casts his gaze to the floor. “I didn’t stand her up.”

Even he knows that argument is flimsy.

“Guk.”

“It was always just a joke.”

“It’s not though. She really liked you, man. I asked you not to mess with her.”

Memories have warped Jungkook into a jaded man: untrusting although not uncaring. Guilt is the only thing churning in his stomach as he thinks of you. He never expected to genuinely hurt you. Somehow things twisted into a gnarled mess that never really felt like more than a playful game of tug-of-war. But these kinds of games only work when the people involved know that they’re playing. It’s shitty when one pulls another into the mud when they’ve never agreed to participate.

Faced with the reality of how you consider him now, it dawns on him that he’s dragged you into the mud face-first without even the slightest resistance. You’ve stood up and you’ve even yanked the rope in retaliation, but you never should’ve been in the mud in the first place. Regardless of his own emotional ineptitude, he knows you never deserved that humiliation. No one does. The weight of his actions sits heavy in his gut.

Still he tries to justify himself. “All I do now is make pass after pass and she’s the one who turns me down.”

“You said it earlier yourself,” Namjoon sneers, irritated by his friend’s immaturity. “It’s always a joke. You’re never serious and she knows it. Look, you don’t have to like her back. She’s my friend and so are you. Just don’t lead her on and stop with the mind games. Be honest with her. The least you can do is apologize for being a dick.”

“That’s— I feel like… I don’t know how.”

Jungkook can’t bring himself to tell him of your conversation earlier tonight. It just adds to the guilt piling on his conscience. Namjoon used his own words against him and the worst part is it makes sense. It’s so much easier when it’s a stranger at a bar or a random encounter at a club, but you’re neither of those things. He lumped you into that category all the same.

Namjoon clicks his tongue and puts an arm around Jungkook’s back. “Starting with ‘I’m sorry’ can go a long way. She’s a good person and I know you guys can get along. Things were going well until you made that bet, right?”

Jungkook opens his mouth to speak and then closes it. “Mmm.”

“Not every girl is a Jiseo, Jungkook.”

“Yeah.”

“I think…” Namjoon sighs and shakes his head. “I don’t know. Can you try to just... tone it down? Maybe try to patch things up?”

“Okay.” Jungkook’s brow furrows and he chews his lip as he mulls over Namjoon’s words. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out his keys. “You ready?”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Your head dips forward as your fingers glide across the keys. It's hard to concentrate on your task when you're this distracted by your own thoughts. You stare at the monitor with furrowed brows. Namjoon grabs the back of your chair and leans forward to tower over you.

"Went that well, huh? Did he blow the second chance he didn’t deserve?"

The motion jerks you backwards and you grip the armrests of the chair to steady yourself. Despite your best attempt to curb the irritation in your expression, your frustration remains apparent. You sit back and tilt your head up to look at him, trying to think of something to say, some excuse to not reinforce the "told you so" waiting in your future, not after you showed up at his apartment sounding like a dying whale a few days before. When no ideas come to your immediate aid, you click your tongue and let out a heavy sigh as you turn your attention back to the screen.

"Geeksquad," he presses. "Talk to me."

You exhale through your nose and briefly purse your lips before obliging his plea. The words are quick and quiet so you don't run the risk of bawling your eyes out again. "He canceled.”

Namjoon steps back and the pressure on your seat is gone. He places a large palm on your shoulder. "I'm sorry. Do you want to talk about it?"

Despite wanting to give the opposite answer, you shake your head. You don't trust yourself to speak, but you'd like to tell him. He's clever and you know he'll likely find a way to get it out of you with minimal effort anyway. Still, you don’t think you can manage the words without crying like a baby and you don’t want to do that when the morning has only just begun. Silence falls between the two of you as he gives you time to decide if you want to open up.

After a moment of tapping away you finally give in. You know you’ll feel better after you cry.

"He said he had to stay behind and help do clean-up for the party he was at. And that’s nice and all, but we had plans. I feel crazy. I should be glad that he’s so kind, right? Like that shows he’s a good person, right?” Your voice has cracked but it hasn’t quite broken.

He sighs and flops in the chair on the other side of his desk. “Y/N… I think you’re asking me for answers you already know.”

“But tell me anyway,” you press, tears welling in your eyes. “Our first date went so well. So why-y-” Your voice breaks.

“Hey.” He reaches across the desk and brushes his fingers against your arm. “I know you want me to help you make excuses for him... But you deserve someone who values your time. Clearly he’s just looking to waste it.”

“But—”

“Y/N, you don’t need someone like that. If this is what he’s like before you’re even together, then what kind of effort is he really going to put into a potential relationship? Not enough. There are so many people out there, people that would trip over themselves just to have the chance to be with you. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I think it’s a mistake that you even gave him another shot. He blew it. Twice. Delete his number. Forget him.”

“I know,” you croak. Tears fall from your eyes and you quickly swipe them away, focusing on the task at hand.

Namjoon is right and you know it, but you’re kind of irritated about it. You know it’s not really him you’re mad at, but Namjoon is a good enough placeholder while you try to sort through your hurt feelings.

You muster your most monotone voice as you stand. “I updated your drivers and deleted any cached files that might have been causing issues. Is that all?”

“Don’t be mad at me,” he pleads, rising to block your path as you step towards the door. “You have a big heart and I hate seeing it stepped on.”

In a matter of seconds you melt into his embrace and bury your face into his shirt. “I hate how fast I like people.”

“I know.” He pets the back of your head softly and squishes you against his chest. “It’s gonna be okay. How about udon later? My treat?”

“With beef?” you ask with a sniffle.

“With beef,” he agrees.

“Gyoza?”

“Mhm.”

“And takoyaki?”

“...You’re pushing it.”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

You slide the appetizer tray across the table towards Namjoon. “Here.”

He shovels a dumping into his mouth right before he speaks. “I could eat this every day for the rest of my life.”

“Could you afford it though?” you tease, taking a sip from the bottle of saké and crinkling your nose at it before passing it to him.

“Not if you’re joining me,” he snorts. “You’re supposed to pour it.”

“No, thanks.” You push the tiny glass full of liquid back towards him.

"Wow. Are you guys on a date?"

You know the source of the voice before you even crane your neck to see Jungkook.

"Pfft." Namjoon waves the question off with a deep laugh.

Despite finding the scenario of ever dating Namjoon absolutely absurd, you can’t help but feel a little insulted by the volume of his laughter. Namjoon’s hangout night was supposed to take your mind off of how unwanted Jason made you feel. Instead, the pit of insecurity within your stomach grows into a thick, tangled brush of hostility. Is being seen with you really so laughable?

“Why would we be?” you snap, turning your attention back to your bowl.

Heat settles in your face and you purse your lips, not daring to look at either of them. You try to wrangle some noodles to shovel in your mouth before you can say something stupid. Their eyes are on you. Jungkook is definitely confused but not alarmed by your hostility. It’s something he’s grown accustomed to. But Namjoon knows when he hurts your feelings, every time, and it’s easy enough to disarm your irritability.

“She’s way too good for a mess like me,” Namjoon says with a light laugh.

“Why are you here?” you ask, tone already softer than before.

"Post-work snackie," he answers, all too cheery for your sour mood. “Came for the noods. Mind if I join?”

He looks to the rosy-cheeked Namjoon for his answer, as you set your hoodie and purse down in the space beside you to give him yours. Namjoon betrays you by scooting over to make room on his side of the booth. You’d mentioned to him before that you’d eventually like to fix things with Jungkook, to somehow make steps for peace. But you only have so much mental energy left to give today.

“Not tonight, Jungkook,” you plead with a sigh.

The frustration in that puff of breath is enough to make Jungkook hesitate. He blinks a few times, wide-eyed. “What?”

“I just… can’t handle your bullshit tonight.”

Jungkook tries to break the uncomfortable tension with a grin. “No bullshit tonight. Promise.”

“No.” Your answer is firm and somehow so fragile that it makes both men worry their brows in the same fashion. “Please, just go away.”

He shoves his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and takes a few steps back. He doesn’t know what to make of your demeanor, but he can put enough together to know the basics. You’re upset, maybe not at him for once. However unlikely, that’d be a blessing. Maybe you’re still upset about that guy that stood you up a few days ago. If that’s the case, he probably shouldn’t stick around and risk letting on how much he knows about that.

He tongues the side of his cheek and nods, forcing a smile to his face. “Alright. I’ll just order it to go. Planned on that anyway. Catch you later.”

Guilt wracks your nerves as he walks away. The moment you look back at Namjoon, you’re faced with a wall of disappointment that threatens to topple the scale of decision-making in Jungkook’s favor.

“You’re judging me for that,” you mumble. The noodles between your chopsticks slip back into the broth.

“Little bit,” Namjoon admits, watching his friend sulk over to the entrance waitstaff. “You know he told me he’s trying to be nicer to you.”

“What? When?”

“The other day. We hung out.”

He keeps his answers short and ambiguous, hoping your curiosity has been piqued. Maybe this is the golden opportunity he’s been hoping for to patch your friendship.

“Was this before or after he harassed me on Tinder?”

Namjoon’s heart sinks into his butt. Of course Jungkook would make reconciliation harder than it needs to be. “When did he do that?”

“That night I showed up at your apartment like a big crybaby.”

“I went over his place for dinner after you left. Jin wanted to try a new recipe out on us.” That seems to at least make you pause.

“You guys talked about me?”

“Yup.” He goes back to chewing his food, knowing he’s got you hooked.

Your incredulous stare does nothing to pull information past his lips. “Joonie. What did you say about me? What did he say?”

“Mmm?” He slurps up a long noodle. “A lot of things. But they’re not really my words to tell.”

“No one likes clickbait, Joon.”

“Look, all I’m saying is that he told me that he wants to fix things. If you want specifics, maybe we can invite him to come eat with us. It might be easier for the both of you to talk about it over good food.”

You sigh, seriously considering his words even as you shake your head. “Joon, I’m already emotionally compromised. I really don’t want to cry in front of Jungkook tonight.”

“Why would you cry? This is a night for good things only. Namjoon-approved and protected. You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to... I just thought it might be nice to make some good memories with good friends.”

You roll your eyes but hold your pinky out for him. “Fine. But this is Joonie-Y/N time. You’re cutting into that allotted time slot, you know that right?”

Namjoon rests his elbow on the table, preparing to pinky swear to whatever you’re about to suggest. “Conditions?”

“He sits next to you, he doesn’t make fun of me if I cry, and…. he doesn’t get to talk.”

“Y/N.”

“Fiiiiine. He can talk. But he better be as nice as you say he’s trying to be.”

“We allowed to talk about Jason?”

“If it comes up…” you sigh. “You know, if he’s mean to me and I cry then you have to deal with it.”

He clasps his long pinky around yours. “Deal. But with how all that just went down, you gotta go tell him to come back. He won’t believe me if I do it.”

“Don’t let him be mean to me,” you plead, tightening your grip on his pinky and locking eyes with him. “Good vibes only.”

“He won’t be mean. Good vibes only.” Namjoon nods with a soft smile. “He really is a good person where it counts, Y/N.”

You push your things aside and force yourself to find Jungkook. He’s leaning against a wall near the entrance, scrolling through his phone while he waits for his order. You quietly request to your waitress that you’d like his food brought to your table. She’s nice enough about it, but your stomach churns regardless. It’s the anxiety.

You gingerly poke a finger against his shoulder as you approach. “Um. Hey.”

He seems startled at first, but smiles when he realizes it’s you. “Hmm?”

You take a deep quiet inhale, trying your best not to get lost in the butterflies his charming smile conjures in your gut. You try to tell yourself it’s anxiety and nothing more. Apologies are hard and scary. That’s all.

“I’m… sorry for being rude. I’ve had a rough week but I shouldn’t take it out on you. Come eat with us, please. Namjoon’s buying anyway.”

His eyes seem to light up with surprise and a warm smile deepens the creases around his eyes and mouth. The hope that these feelings of attraction would evaporate with time is a flame swiftly snuffed out and replaced with a burning heartache that deems denial useless. Even now, pangs of infatuation lurk below your feelings of disdain, breaking the tension of its surface with each beat of your heart.

“It’s okay,” he reassures you. “I shouldn’t have invited myself when I saw you guys. I should really get home and shower anyway.”

He looks so clean that you’d assumed he’d already showered. It’s not like you can smell him from where you stand. Maybe he’s lying, but at least you get the sense it’s coming from a place of politeness.

“Jungkook, I want you to come eat with us. Besides Namjoon wants someone to drink saké with him and I cannot keep doing it.”

“I see.” He offers a small laugh and rubs the back of his neck. “Are you sure? You seemed pretty against it before. What changed?”

“Namjoon told me you’re trying to be less of an asshole to me.”

“Did he?” he licks his lips and tries to hide his pleased smile. “I’m surprised you believe him.”

“He also promised me I could punch you in the dick if you make me cry,” you lie, completely stone-faced.

If he knows that’s a falsified statement, he doesn’t say anything. He looks past your shoulder to quirk a brow at Namjoon, who appears to be furiously texting at the table. Jungkook’s phone buzzes a few times against his palm and he’s fairly sure he already knows who it is.

“Come on. I already asked them to bring your food to the table.”

He reads Namjoon’s messages as he trails behind you.

NAMJOON: If you seriously want to apologize stick around, make her laugh, just listen when you need to

JUNGKOOK: Don’t worry

JUNGKOOK: I got u

Before Namjoon can send a text saying that Jungkook's response has the opposite effect, you’re peeking across the table, trying to get a glance at the screen.

“Who’s that?” you wonder. Namjoon’s not usually one to be so secretive with his texts.

“Hmm?” he raises his eyebrows at you and pours you a shot. “Stupid. Don’t worry about it.”

“Ha. Haha. Ha.” You gesture at your face. “You say to the girl with anxiety.”

Crinkling your nose at the glass he offers, you slide it across to Jungkook as he settles in next to Namjoon. “Here. I’m done drinking that stuff tonight.”

He regards it with a quirked brow. Something about your demeanor really has changed, but looking between you and Namjoon does nothing to answer the question of what that may be.

“Okay, so on reddit this guy was reaching. He’s going on about the symbolism in the red scarf—”

Your eyes gloss over the moment he mentions reddit. Is there anything you care less about than Joon’s favorite modern literary discussion threads?

“Got it. Not worrying about it,” you interrupt, bringing your bowl to your lips to slurp some of the broth.

Jungkook hides his smirk by throwing his head back to drink his shot. Namjoon is a genius. It might be scary if he ever decided to use his intellect for nefarious purposes. Lucky for the universe he uses it to protect others, like a real superhero would.

As the three of you dine together, you’re surprised to find that Jungkook isn’t being as annoying as he usually is. In fact, it seems the more he drinks outside of any competitive setting, the more affable he becomes. Maybe there’s something to Namjoon’s clickbaity words. He’s almost the person you remember meeting before the Halloween Party, maybe even more pleasant.

You’re grateful when the two of them start telling embarrassing stories so you can listen and laugh at the way they slur their words and interrupt each other. Laughter makes your heart feel light and full, and brave enough to take the last step to prove to yourself you’re done chasing Jason. As the two men fight over the last piece of gyoza and distract themselves over dessert, you quietly decide to clear your text messages from Jason. Your finger hovers over the delete icon for a second before purging his contact information from your device entirely.

It’s freeing to not have to worry about what you should send him. It’s frustrating to have tried so hard for so long and have nothing to show for it, but at least there will be no conversation history to pick apart anymore. It should feel perfect. That will definitely show him, right? You don’t have to reflect for more than a couple seconds to reinforce the memory of how little he actually reached out on his own.

He still has your number. The only time he ever called was on your first date. He never texted you unless you spoke first. He probably won’t even notice you’re gone. He’s probably relieved he won’t have to answer you anymore. He probably thinks you’re desperate for trying for so long. You don’t realize how well you wear your anxiety.

When you look up Jungkook is watching you while he chews with his mouth wide open. “Hey, why do-” He hiccups and swallows. “Why do you look so sad? You should have some ice cream.”

He scans the table for something to offer you, but he can’t seem to find what he’s looking for in his drunken stupor. After a few seconds his eyes finally land on his own plate where the other half of his red-bean cake sits.

“Do you want my taiyaki?” He holds the tail end of the fish-shaped cake out to you. “It’s really good!”

You can’t help but laugh at the unexpected sweet absurdity of the night. “Jungkook, I don’t want your half-eaten cake.”

He frowns and looks at the pastry. “Is it because I bit it? I’ll break off that part for you if you don’t want your mouth to touch that.”

Although Jungkook definitely is more drunk than Namjoon right now, the older man can’t help but be amazed by how well this is going. He loads up on green tea ice cream and digs his spoon in it. He shouldn’t have been so worried. Jungkook can put away the act when he wants to, especially once alcohol is involved and there’s nothing to prove. You guys are actually getting along. What a relief.

“No, really it’s okay.” You laugh.

Jungkook is already breaking the pastry apart in his hand, watching as it crumbles to pieces on his plate. He blinks a couple times and closes his mouth in a frown.

“I thought that would work.” He sounds utterly defeated.

The waitress walks over just in time to watch Namjoon stick a heaping spoonful of wasabi in his mouth. You're too busy laughing at Jungkook's forlorn expression to notice the way Namjoon's eyes water. His eyes drop to the ice cream he thought he shoveled into his mouth. Right next to the pristine, untouched scoop of green tea ice cream, he finds his spoon resting in the hunk of wasabi adjacent to it. He should really pay attention more. He pushes against Jungkook's side and motions that he needs to get up. The younger man spares a glance his way but Namjoon waves him off while mumbling something about the bathroom.

The waitress tries to keep her composure and looks between the pair of you. "How is everything?"

"Great! Could you please bring us some water?" you ask in your sweetest voice, realizing the two men with you should at least try to start sobering up.

You expected to have Namjoon crashing on your couch on a Friday night, or at least be dropping him off down the hall at Hobi’s place. Jungkook was not part of the plan, but you can’t exactly let him drive home inebriated. You know he’s not your responsibility but you’d feel guilty making him call for a ride home when you’re perfectly capable.

Although you hate to admit it, you’ve had fun tonight. If you’re being honest with yourself you’d like to see what he’s like without Namjoon nearby to police his moves. He’s been nice enough, but you want to know for sure this isn’t an act. You want to ask him if he’s made another bet, or playing some game since he hasn’t hit on you all night. Before you can get your line of questions in order, Jungkook turns to the server with large, pleading eyes.

"Oh! Can you bring some more dessert, please?"

He may be a grown ass man capable of charming the pants off of women everywhere, but right now he is little more than a child begging for seconds. Regardless of everything he's done, your heart softens, endeared and embarrassed by his drunken request to your server.

The waitress nods. "Sure, what would you like?"

His eyes fall to you for an answer. "What do you like?"

You blink at him. "Me? I thought this was for you."

He nods. "Mm. We can split it."

"Um, how about... tempura?"

"Banana?"

Jungkook’s voice is full of anticipation and his upturned eyebrows seem to bargain for agreement. It’s so hard to believe this is the same man who has been so cold to you for so long when he seems so open and warm now. You remind yourself it’s probably the alcohol. It’s probably some secret promise to Namjoon. Some bet with Hobi. Some game he’s playing. It’s probably anything other than what your dumb crush-stupefied heart wants it to be.

The waitress looks to you for approval and you give a nod. "Sure. Banana tempura."

The waitress awkwardly smiles as she gathers the empty platters and gives you a chance to break away from his endearingly drunken face. He smiles across the table at you and wrings his hands while you pick up your phone to check on those nonexistent messages. Maybe if you distract yourself enough you can ignore the feelings that are catching up to you tonight.

“Thank you for inviting me back over,” he says, reaching to the nearly empty bottle of saké to pour himself another shot. “I’ve... been wanting to talk to you."

"I’m surprised you didn’t blow up my phone.” It’s supposed to be a joke, but there’s a harshness in your tone that exposes a venomous bite beneath it.

He downs the shot and plants his elbows on the table, leaning forward on them. "I wanted to say it to your face."

“Oh, really?”

You don’t allow yourself to entertain the idea that he’s about to say anything groundbreaking, but you look away from your phone to meet those dark, twinkling eyes. Suddenly there’s hope in your gut. You’re desperate to put some distance between the feelings jumping to the surface.

“I’ve been a dick.”

“No shit.”

Though the fog of alcohol consumes his apology, his eyes focus on you with clarity. “I’m sorry.”

How long have you waited to hear those words? You never really thought about what you might say in response. His apology sits in the air between you for a moment before he speaks again.

“I’m really sorry. Namjoon is right. I am trying to be less of an asshole to you. We don’t…” he catches himself, “I don’t have a lot of close friends who are women.”

“You don’t say.”

That seems to cut through the fog. He hangs his head and focuses his gaze on the table.

“I never wanted to hurt your feelings.”

“Well, you did,” you mumble.

“I know... I’m sorry.” It’s like now that he’s said it once, he can’t stop saying it. He’s not sure how to make you understand. Maybe you do understand and you just won’t forgive him. Can he really blame you for that?

“Why?” you question; it’s the last barrier protecting your heart, the only thing keeping you from caving. “Why do you care now?”

Jungkook’s head lolls to one side as he sits back against his seat and stares at the nearly empty bottle of saké. “I don’t know. I guess I was thinking… I wish I had a save to reload. Before I messed up.”

It seems that’s the best you’re going to get out of him right now. The waitress sets down a beautiful platter of banana tempura meticulously arranged around a simple mound of ice cream, topped with a single cherry and drizzled with decorative chocolate. She places three waters on the table and you both take a moment to politely force smiles and pause your conversation.

He licks his lips and stares down at the plate and then back up at you. “Can we start over?”

“Depends. Are you gonna go back to being a dick when you’re not drunk anymore?”

“No, no. I mean it. I wanna try to be friends.”

“For real?” You swipe the cherry, pop it in your mouth and tilt your head to regard him. You can’t let yourself fully believe him. You want to. The earnestness in his drunken features charms you, but you hold onto a shred of disbelief as a crutch. You’ll wait for the moment he reverts. Hopefully this time you’ll be prepared for the whiplash that comes along with it.

“For real.”

You reflect on his apology as the pair of you dig into the dessert. “Maybe. Prove it.”

He perks up. He’ll take a maybe. Maybe means the damage he’s done might not be irreparable. The guilt weighing on his conscience feels lighter. It’s a start.

“I will. I’ll find some way to make it up to you.”

You roll your eyes, unwilling to put stock in his words. “Is this another bet with Hobi? About how quickly you can make me forgive you?”

Jungkook shakes his head furiously, wisps of wild black hair whipping his cheeks. “No, I mean it. I promise.”

You drag your lip through your teeth as you teeter on the line of acceptance. “What is a promise from a liar worth?”

He drops the flat of his palm to the table and he pouts. “Hey. I mean it…. Hm. If I break my promise…” His eyes scan the table for anything he can use to change your mind. He looks at his arm pressed against the table and then back at you. “You can choose my next tattoo.”

Your eyebrows rise into your hairline. “Really.”

He eagerly nods. “I’ll get whatever you want wherever you want. Just. Not my face.”

“I want that in writing,” you snort.

Jungkook glances around the table and pulls a napkin from under the plate of tempura. “Do you have a pen?”

“Jungkook, you don’t have to—”

“I’m serious.” He’s not taking no for an answer.

You shake your head and rummage through your purse to supply him with a pen. He smooths out the napkin he’s chosen to use as a conduit for his promise. When he’s finished writing he slides it towards you.

Princess

I’m sorry. I can make it right.

I promise. Please give me another chance.

If I blow it you can choose what & where my next tattoo goes.

As long as it’s not my face. Let’s be friends? #promise.com ♡ Jungkook

Of course he signed it with a heart. Despite his inebriation, his handwriting is still neat. Well, that’s one hell of a promise.

“Okay.” You fold the note and drop it into your purse. “We can try.”

His face lights up as he stuffs a piece of tempura into his mouth, happily chomping with his mouth wide open. He reaches for the saké but you slide a water in front of him instead.

“Friends don’t let friends get totally shitfaced at Hajime.”

He frowns at you but seems to accept your answer with a pout.

“Speaking of which… Where is Namjoon?” You crane your neck to look around the restaurant.

“Friday noodle nights common for you guys?” Jungkook asks, digging into the dessert between massive gulps of water.

“No, not really. We’re usually watching movies at my place or hanging with Hobi. But Namjoon wanted to take me out because I was sad,” you say, finally catching sight of your friend on the other side of the bar.

Jungkook’s chewing slows and he regards you with furrowed brows. “Sad?”

Before you can decide how you want to answer, Namjoon is scooting into the booth next to Jungkook and reaching for a piece of tempura. “Mmmm. What did I miss?”

“Y/N was telling me why she’s sad.”

Namjoon nods like he understands exactly what you’ve been talking about. “He’s a dick, right? Like how do you even stand someone up, not once, but twice? Makes no sense.”

“Joonie—”

“And I know what you’re gonna say, but I disagree. It has nothing to do with you or how you look, Y/N. You don’t need to workout like a maniac to try to change anything. Especially not for someone like Jason. I can’t even imagine—”

“Joon.” You click your tongue and slide a glass of water in front of him. “Please, shut the fuck up.”

As you glare at him, he looks at you with raised brows and wide eyes. Unsure what to do now that he’s obviously fubared the conversation, he casts his guilty gaze to his cup and brings it to his lips.

Jungkook stares at you with furrowed brows, trying to wait to let you fill in the blanks even though he’s itching to ask about everything. He picks another piece of tempura and stuffs it into his mouth, but when you remain silent the impulse to pry takes over. “Jason?”

“He stood me up…” you start, but you close your mouth when you realize you’re going to try to defend him. Your throat feels full, like you can’t get enough air through with a giant knot in it like this. You have to whisper so your voice doesn’t crack. “Twice.”

The couple drinking at the table nearby becomes a much more interesting place to rest your eyes than the two men across from you. Tightening your jaw doesn’t prevent the gloss from coating your eyes. Thinking about it makes you feel so stupid and desperate. Bending over backwards a thousand different ways to accommodate him couldn’t convince him to put in even a minimal amount of effort one time.

Jungkook’s eyebrows shoot up in genuine surprise. “Twice?”

The hurt you feel in your chest scorches your cheeks until anger is filling your head like a teakettle ready to release an unhealthy amount of steam right in Jungkook’s face.

“That’s what I get for giving people second chances,” you snap as you focus back on him.

Joon says your name like it’s a warning but you don’t need it. You feel guilty enough for projecting your anger onto Jungkook with a petty one-liner.

“Sorry. It’s not your fault. I just…” Your throat closes around the rest of the words.

Before an uncomfortable silence can settle over the table, Namjoon inches the bottle of saké with his fingertips until it’s in front of him. “Dating is tricky. Jason sucks. It sucks that he hurt you. But you don’t have to twist yourself into whatever you think he wants anymore. And that…” He pours the pitiful remainder of alcohol into a shot glass and slides it towards you.“...is worth celebrating.”

Jungkook silently nods his head in agreement. It’s obvious you’re on the verge of tears and he doesn’t want to be the thing that pushes you over the edge.

A soft smile curls the corners of your mouth. “That’s true, but…” you slide the glass back towards him and steal the last of the banana tempura. “I can celebrate back at my apartment. Finish your water so you’ll be awake enough to join me. Both of you.”

Jungkook perks up and happily reaches for his water while Namjoon gives you a proud, yet confused look. It seems like a new start to something. What that is remains to be seen.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Jungkook watches intently as the colors of the city shine through the windows. He runs his fingers over the soft blanket you keep in the backseat, mouthing the words to the song softly playing from your dashboard. Namjoon has been talking nonstop from the passenger seat, which is fine with Jungkook since he’s feeling a little tired. The last session of the day was a bit more intense than intended, but the client left happy and covered in sweat. A success. But Jungkook is sore and exhausted. Physically and socially.

A sense of relief floods him at the memory of his conversation with you. Things may actually be okay from here. Who would have thought crashing your noodle night with Namjoon could have yielded such results?

His head bobs to the music as his eyes wander across the scenery outside until he grows bored and they drift to the interior of your car. A graduation tassel swings from your rearview mirror as you turn. He follows the movement of the tassel when it swings towards you and his eyes land on your face, or at least what he can see of it from this angle.

You look focused and calm while conversing with Namjoon but your posture is a bit rigid and your hands remain planted on the steering wheel in complete control. There’s something about this candid snapshot of your persona that puts him at ease. Your voice is a soft contrast to Namjoon’s, but equally enthusiastic.

He tilts his head as he leans back in his seat, pulling the blanket over his lap and twisting the fabric around his palm. Your eyes flicker in the rearview mirror, catching his. He gives a tiny wave and rests his head against the cushion, fighting the temptation to close his eyelids for longer than a second. The more he listens to you laugh, the more he finds himself smiling. It’s goofy.

It’s also kind of cute.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Jungkook is surprised when Yoongi answers your knock; he thought he would be asleep. He’s even more surprised when you make yourself at home on his couch and guilt him with a puppy dog pout to make you a drink, and he complies. When Jungkook asks the same, Yoongi tells him there’s beer in the fridge while measuring out the ingredients for your cocktail. The suspicious sour ache of jealousy stabs his gut as he moseys to the fridge but he quickly shakes it off, settling on the floor in front of the tv with a beer in hand.

After a couple hours of drinking, laughing, and playing Jackbox games with the three men, you’re feeling much better about everything. Life is good. Friends are good. Alcohol is very good.

It doesn’t take much to get you drunk. You’re about as much of a lightweight as Hobi and for better or worse everyone has come to know that fact. What’s nice about drinking in Yoongi’s apartment is that you don’t have to walk very far to get home. Things don’t get awkward with the three of them together; it’s actually kind of nice, like a mini Saturday night pregame.

Soon Namjoon and Yoongi are snoring on the couch with a movie playing in the background while you stand in the kitchen with Jungkook. He pours another drink for himself, though he knows it will mostly likely remain unfinished. Tomorrow may bring a massive hangover, but tonight has been surprisingly pleasant. He feels like he’s finally on okay footing with you, maybe even on the road to serious repair. Amazing how well you get along when inhibitions are replaced by inebriation. If that’s what it takes, he’s determined to keep it up.

As he turns his back to place the liquor bottle in the cabinet by the fridge, you swipe a sip of the drink he’s concocted. He spins around in time to see you wrinkle your nose and stick your tongue out.

“Hey, that’s mine!” he pouts.

“Blegh. You can have it. Yuck!” Your face screws up again at the aftertaste.

He drunkenly giggles as he slides the drink closer to him. “What, don’t like sour?”

“Too sour!” You reach for the water bottle Yoongi gave you hours ago and attempt to rinse the puckering sensation from your mouth.

Amused, he tilts his head and watches you take gulp after gulp. He purses his lips and holds back the comment itching to escape, deciding to enjoy a sip of his drink instead. You shimmy out of your hoodie and tie it around your waist and his eyes lazily follow the motion of your arms, noting a slight difference in their musculature. Some errant thought about their shape leads him back to an earlier unaddressed comment that he’s finally comfortable enough to prod you about.

“What kind of workouts are you doing?” he blurts.

Suddenly you feel very exposed. You straighten in your seat and suck in your gut, hyper aware of every imperfection of your body on display to someone so in shape. You immediately begin to fidget with the sleeves of the hoodie you just tied around your waist.

“You don’t have to tell me. I just—” he pauses, exhaling a small breath and looking down at his drink as though he’s wary of continuing the thought.

“No, no it’s fine,” you assure him, too curious to say otherwise. “What is it?”

“When Namjoon said…” he sighs and takes a sip, smacking his lips and licking them before looking back to you. “I thought maybe I can prove myself to you by helping you come up with a plan.”

“You don’t have to do that.” You plant an elbow on the counter and lean on it.

“I want to,” he insists, reaching out for your arm.

His hand is like fire engulfing your skin and your eyelids flutter at the sensation. Instinctively you place a hand over his and rub your thumb anxiously over it. He looks down to where your thumb grazes his knuckles and then back up to your face with a surprised smile.

“Um… Everything,” you say, trying to sound as vague and nonchalant as possible so he doesn’t judge you for your lack of knowledge.

“Like, full body?”

“Uh...” You’ve managed to make a habit of going to his gym a few days a week while successfully avoiding him, but it seems that time is coming to an end. “I… machine.”

“Oh. Like at a gym? Did you join one?” He seems genuinely curious.

“Um, yeah.” Suddenly you pull your hand back when you realize the speed at which your thumb is moving.

“Which one?”

The more you say, the more suspicious you seem, but is saying less any better? Jungkook rests his elbow on the counter and simply looks at you but you don’t look back. A slow smile spreads his lips as the possibility dawns on him.

“Princess… Did you join Iron Kingdom?”

You puff your cheeks and force the air through the tiny opening of your mouth. You don’t offer any sort of confirmation and continue to avoid his gaze.

“And you didn’t tell me?” he playfully prods, drumming his fingers against your forearm.

“I… Yeah,” you admit, your voice small as you stare at the counter. “I didn’t want you to know.

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because?”

“I don’t want to give you another thing to make fun of me for.”

“I’m not gonna make fun of you.” When you don’t respond he tugs on your arm. The motion is enough to angle you towards him. “Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey.”

“What?” you grumble, staring at your lap even as you face him.

He takes your hands in his and drunkenly waves them around. “Heeeeeeeey. Look at me.”

He pouts until you reluctantly drag your eyes to meet his. “What?”

“Everyone starts somewhere,” he says softly. “Even me.”

The shift in his demeanor catches you off guard and you subconsciously lean forward as you relax. “Well I started with Hwasa, but I was too sore to ask for another session with her.”

He nods sympathetically, clapping his hand over yours. “You should try again.”

You shake your head. “I don’t know. I feel like…”

“Like?” he prods when you let the silence trail for a bit too long.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you sigh. “I feel like I don’t belong there. I look so stupid reading the instructions on the machines. I don’t even think I’m doing it right.”

“What?” He makes a sound between a laugh and a grunt. “There’s nothing wrong with making sure you don’t hurt yourself. Nobody knows how to instantly do things. If they tell you they do, they’re lying.”

“Or they’re Namjoon,” you say with a roll of your eyes, glancing over at your snoring friend.

He smiles and clicks his tongue against his teeth in thought. “I didn’t know what I was doing when I started.”

“Really.”

You’re skeptical. It’s always seemed like he was born in a gym. Or maybe hatched. He’s kind of inhumanly gorgeous. Maybe he sprouted from a flower like a mythical god.

“For real. First time doing squats. I think it was gym class? Yeah, I was like twelve or thirteen. I was… not very athletic. Didn’t play sports or anything. Kind of shy. Didn’t really have a lot of friends either…”

The way he trails off makes your heart hurt. Puberty isn’t nice to most people. It’s hard to imagine a world where someone like Jungkook isn’t instantly popular and naturally fit. While you’re not exactly the same person you were at twelve, a lot of your interests and personality quirks have remained the same. You’re still painfully awkward at times. How did he manage to overcome something like that? Is it not ingrained in him like it is you?

“Just a big dork, you know?” He laughs. “I see this girl I had a crush on, Amber. She’s looking at me. I think I have to impress her. So I’m stacking up weight and I think I’m hot shit and go too fast. Know what happened?”

“Please don’t tell me you dropped it on your foot or something,” you plead, squeezing his palms at the way he’s building up the story. The secondhand embarrassment is too real.

“I hear a pop.”

“No!” you gasp, bringing your hands to your face as if you can stop the past from happening.

“And pain. So much pain. I don’t remember putting the weights down but I remember ending up on my back, staring up at the ceiling.”

“Oh no. Knees?”

“Worse.” He points down to his crotch. “Pulled a muscle in my groin. Had to sit the rest of the day with an ice pack on my junk. Was not fun. My point is: don’t give up. You learn more as you go. Give Hwasa another shot.”

His anecdote gives you pause but you’re desperate to cling to the comfort of your anxiety. “My free trial with her is almost up and I don’t think I’ll be able to afford to keep at it.”

“More excuses,” he teases, taking a sip of his drink. “At this point I should just—” His eyes widen, a lightbulb practically forming above his head as he puts his cup down. “I’ll be your personal trainer!”

“Uhh…”

“No, no. It’s perfect. We’re friends now.” He smiles, proud of himself for finding a way to prove himself to you. “I can teach you everything you need to know about working out. I can set up a plan for you and figure out the best way to help you achieve your goals. Oh, man we’re gonna have to figure out your goals. What do you—”

“Hold on. Hold on,” you interrupt with a nervous laugh. “You’re missing the part where I still can’t afford it.”

He rolls his eyes and grabs your glass, holding it under the sink to refill it. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll cover it.”

You’re stunned into silence as you observe the expanse of his back, searching the black fabric of his t-shirt for the definition of his muscles. He sets the cup in front of you, waiting for your agreement. When it doesn’t come, he second guesses himself. Did he overstep?

“I mean if you’re okay with that. Would-would you want to do that?”

The innocent drunken sparkle in his eyes makes your stomach do a flip. When you woke up this morning you hardly thought the day would include getting sloshed with Jungkook and having him offer to take you on as a fitness trainee. It’s like he’s opened himself up just enough for you to see the soft mess beneath. You like it. You like it a lot and you kind of hate yourself for it. While you don’t know if you can trust him past the evening, you find yourself hoping you can.

“You won’t make fun of me?” you ask timidly before bringing the cup of water to your lips.

“It’s my job not to make fun of you. We start where you’re at and go from there. And like I said, I’ll cover the fees for as long as you want. No pressure.” He smiles at you. “What do you think?”

“...Okay,” you murmur with a nod of your head. “If you’re serious, then I’m… I’m in!”

His lips part to expose his teeth as his grin spreads. “Yes!”

As he brings his hand up in a sign of victory, his knuckles knock against his glass. You reach for the cup with impaired reflexes, hands fumbling over the slippery surface in conjunction with his. The sour contents spill across the counter as the pair of you struggle to right the glass. While he’s quicker at getting the glass upright, your brain is faster at processing what to do next and you already have a paper towel in hand, wiping up the liquid as fast as possible.

Your eyes follow the spill to the edge of the counter where it’s flooded over the side. Acting on instinct rather than rational thought, you quickly press down where the liquid has begun to pool in his lap. As you fold the paper towel over, you rub frantically as if the action will keep the stain from setting into the fabric. He shifts in his seat and squeaks out a sound so small that you can’t actually tell whether it came from him or the chair.

It only dawns on you how inappropriate your actions are when you glance towards his face and find his wide eyes gazing back at you. His cheeks, already flushed from inebriation, seem twice as vivid and his mouth is parted slightly as though he means to speak, but he doesn’t. Maybe he doesn’t want to embarrass you, but it’s too late for that.

Your palm stills against his crotch as the shape beneath becomes clear in your mind. For a second you’re frozen, but your lips work quickly to mumble an apology. It feels like an eternity before you will your drunken fingers to release the paper towel. The clearing of Jungkook’s throat is followed by a tiny giggle, then a full on snort. A grin spreads across your lips and you soon follow him into a fit of laughter. You thank the universe for the small mercy of being drunk enough to push your embarrassment to the side for the time being.

“I wasn’t thinking!” you wheeze, tears in your eyes from laughing so hard. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’ll dry.” He laughs, dabbing his pants and shirt in the absence of your hand. As he stands he pulls the hem of his shirt away from his torso and looks down at it. “Really. It’s my fault I’m so…”

“Sticky?” You quirk an eyebrow at him, a blatant flirtatious action thinly disguised as a joke as you eye the blot of liquor staining the lower half of his shirt.

Both of his eyebrows raise and a mischievous smile curls the corner of his lips. “...Wet.”

You consider his answer with a pleased hum and turn back to the counter to polish off the last of your water. You’re friends now, right? It can’t be that easy. But it kind of is. So what’s wrong with a little harmless flirting between friends?

Drunk brain, who happens to be a notorious hoe, assures you it’s great. Rational brain might disagree, but she’s taking a well-deserved nap. You’ve at least had a good night. You’re not sure it matters at this point who is giving you the attention you crave. It feels good. So good, in fact, you’re sure you can indulge drunk brain a little more.

You’re drawn to the inky shapes swirling around Jungkook’s bicep as he wipes the counter down. Every time your eyes begin to focus on an object marking his skin with some kind of meaning, he moves and you lose it. It’s brush strokes, isn’t it? You’ve definitely seen a paintbrush and mountains and a knife surrounded by roses. A swathe of grey and purple connects to each one you’ve seen, but you know there are more.

Before you can blurt that you’re dying to know how many he has and how bad it hurt to get them, he turns toward the sink and begins to work his t-shirt up his torso. You watch in awe as the toned muscles of his back are exposed. The image of the bright phoenix does little to hide their definition.

Trying to will yourself to look away is of no use; he’s hot and you’re drunk enough to acknowledge that fact. Of course he peeks at you just as the shirt slips over his head to find you open-mouthed and dazed, ogling him as though there isn’t any shame in the world that could pull your gaze from him. He turns to the fridge to give you a moment to compose yourself, nabbing a water bottle from the shelf in the process. You’re clearly not ready for the way he quickly spins on the balls of his feet to face you.

Y/N.exe has stopped working.

Your fingers hang in the air suspiciously until you lazily drop them. But Jungkook dons a toothy grin and has the audacity to look shy. He mockingly shields his chest from you with the shirt clutched in his hands.

“Princess! Are you… checking me out?”

Somehow you don’t let the fire in your face turn your brain to ash.“Pfft, no.”

“What’re you doing, then?” he teases with a laugh as he sits, scooting his chair closer to yours.

“Counting,” you reply simply, brow furrowed in concentration. To drive the point home, you poke at his flesh everywhere you can make out an object drawn into its surface.

“How many?” he wonders, watching with cloudy, amused eyes.

“Mmm…” You trail your finger down his arm and back up, following the curve of the brushstroke around his shoulder. “Can’t tell if this counts as one.”

He shrugs and rests his head on his palm as he leans against the counter. “What do you think?”

You hesitate when he quickly quirks a brow.

“I think… A lot.”

“Definitely accurate,” he says with a grin.

Awkward laughter steers the pair of you towards your waters. The TV in the background provides enough noise to steal your focus; you’re grateful for the distraction from the attractive man beside you. Drunk brain is telling you to touch him again, to grab his hand, to feel the touch of someone just for the night, to ruin every good thing this night has started to rebuild between you. Anything to stave off the emptiness of your bed, the 2AM thoughts of failure, and the drunken desperation to find someone, anyone, who will fall in love with whatever image you happen to project on your dating profile.

Heart pounding wildly in your chest and blood rushing through your ears, your fingertips tap against the countertop as they inch closer to where his arm rests. Luckily your futile attempts at nonchalance go unnoticed. Jungkook anxiously turns his water bottle over in his hands, trying to gather words in his brain before freeing them from his mouth.

“So…” he begins.

You jump at the sudden sound and retract your hand while he’s not paying you any mind.

“I was thinking. About that guy…”

You wish you could at least pretend you don’t know who he’s talking about. You’ve vented plenty tonight, but still your heart sinks. Deleting Jason’s digital footprint from your life was simple and quick, but the feelings of rejection and disappointment that swirl in the back of your mind spill forward the longer his pause continues.

“I know this probably means nothing coming from me. But I just— I know you liked him, but you can do better.“

Your posture stiffens at his reassurance and you find yourself grateful he’s not looking at you. Do you deserve better?

“You deserve better,” he affirms, as if somehow aware of your internal struggle.

“Thanks,” you murmur with a distinct lack of enthusiasm as you stare down your glass.

It's cry hours, isn’t it?

Realizing you don’t believe him, he takes a deep breath and nudges you with his elbow. “Hey.”

“What.” You refuse to look up because you know you’re on the verge of an irrational stream of tears over some guy you hardly knew. It’s stupid and you know it. But the wet warmth coating your eyes tells you it’s coming regardless.

“I’m... sorry that you don’t feel like you do. Some people can’t get over the weight of their own shit. But that doesn’t mean it’s on you to pick it up for them. If they can’t even bother to carry themselves to meet you halfway, then they’re not worth the effort.”

It’s a perfect time for your heart to seize up and it takes the opportunity to do so. The advice he offers doesn’t stave off the tears, but it resonates deep within you. Namjoon said something similar. It makes you ache to hear it again from someone else. It just leads you back to the same questions you keep asking yourself. What’s so wrong with you that people don’t even want to try? Is it your personality? Physicality? Is it a lack of confidence? What is it?

‘I can’t even get a shitty guy to like me. Maybe I’m the one not worth the effort.’ You don’t dare say those words out loud. Pity isn’t something you’re looking for. A warm body to fill your bed maybe, but not pity.

“Sounds easy when you say it like that,” you murmur, trying in vain to will the tears not to fall. You’re quick to swipe at them and force a smile. “I guess I have trouble giving up on people. It’s not that I’m naive. I try to be realistic. But no matter how many times I get fucked over I just... hope for the best in people. I can’t help it.”

He pats your arm reassuringly. “That’s why you deserve better.”

If only it was as simple as hearing those words and magically being able to believe it. A big chunk of your confidence has crumbled away and there’s no clear path to restoration. As the warmth of his palm comes to rest against your arm, you place your hand over his and squeeze.

“I don’t know if I believe it,” you pause and thoughtfully add, “but thanks for saying it.”

His eyebrows raise in surprise and he offers a tiny, “You’re welcome.”

A shaky chuckle passes your lips. All of his features seem to soften the more you look at them. Maybe it’s the drunken gloss coating his big brown eyes or the way his lips slightly part as he looks back at you. The tightly coiled nerves in your belly urge you to unravel.

Although it's a subtle gesture, he licks his lips as he smiles and it practically seals your fate. If you don't leave now you're bound to do something you'll regret.

"It's late. I should sleep."

Or masturbate.

The speed at which you launch yourself from the seat is unpleasant. You're not sure what's worse: the dizzying vertigo or waves nausea sloshing in your gut. Jungkook's reflexes may be delayed but he's a steady mass of muscle the moment you reach out to steady yourself.

"Whoa. You okay?"

"Maybe," you mumble, finding yourself drawn to the heat radiating from his skin. Instead of walking away, slump down to rest your cheek against his shoulder and sling an arm around him. You might be drunker than you thought. "I don't know."

"Hmm. What do you need, princess?"

"Just wanna stop spinning."

His stance shifts to better accommodate the additional weight you press against him.

"How about you take over Yoongi's bed tonight," he suggests softly. "He's passed out anyway."

"No, I should go home." You peel your cheek from the warmth of his skin.

“You gonna make it there?”

“Yes,” you say indignantly. The world may be a bit wobbly right now, but you’re certain you can handle the short stroll down the hall.

"Okay.” He smiles, loosening his hold. As you step back your foot catches on the leg of the chair and it drags loudly against the floor.

Despite Jungkook’s attempt to keep you standing by grabbing at your arms, he loses his balance and he drops to his knees. The chair clatters to the floor before your ass does. Luckily his grip keeps your back and head far from impact, but you’re too cramped to be comfortable.

“Are you okay?” he asks. Those big, dark doe eyes of his are frozen in fear and a frown adorns his face. He looks so serious it’s ridiculous.

You can’t help but laugh, wiggling backwards to make space between his body and the heat steadily building between your legs. “I’m fine. Stop making that face.”

“Huh? What do you mean?” He sits back on his feet and tilts his head to the side in confusion.

He breaks into a fit of giggles when you dramatically mimic his expression. You roll back onto your elbows, making another ridiculous face to further mock him.

“No, no. It’s more like…” Jungkook takes the opportunity to lean over you, reaching with one hand to squeeze your cheeks to pucker your lips. You blow a disjointed raspberry at him before pulling his hand off to the side.

While the clamor of the fallen chair did nothing to rouse the men on the couch, the sound of Jungkook’s hearty laughter is loud enough to disturb the rhythmic snores of Namjoon.

Jungkook sits back on his heels and peeks over the countertop. He seems miles away, even as you sit up and scoot in to bring yourself closer. Laughter fades into a quiet hum as Namjoon’s snoring resumes.

You're lost in the abyss of his gaze as he turns his head to look back at you. All that remains in your brain at this point is a foggy desire to tug on the silky spirals of his ebony hair until he presses himself against you one more time.

Your hand settles for following the curves of his bicep instead, wondering how it might feel to be wrapped within his embrace. Some might say liquor makes you bold and stupid, and they're right. They should say it. But it also makes you feel invincible, like a goddamn glowing Mario star power-up.

"Princess?"

Enraptured, his eyes follow the motion of your hand as it slithers around his arm and squeezes. Unable to ignore the prompt, he answers with a flex against your palm. His ego swells when you shiver and noticeably hold your breath.

You know it's a mistake. You know it goes against all of your sober judgement, but you find yourself doing it anyway. It doesn't matter that you still harbor a grudge that holds your heart hostage. Drunk hoe vibes are taking the wheel. You’re tired, drunk as hell, and just want to feel wanted. And he's here.

Every fiber of your inebriated being is singing in unison: Why the fuck not?

Heartbeat pounding against your eardrums, you attempt to gauge his reaction as you lean towards him. It's hard to tell from beneath half-lidded eyes, but you think he's leaning towards you too. If he isn't you suppose you can always play it off like you're just a mess. It's not far from the truth. Focusing on the tiny freckle below his lip, you allow yourself to finally close your eyes and go for it.

But the universe isn’t here for your dumb boozy bitch mistakes.

The front door swings open with the sound of jingling keys dropping to the floor. It snaps you back to reality and you freeze, realizing there's no defense that will save you. Jungkook is quick to disengage, poking his head above the counter to acknowledge Hoseok’s presence with a wave. But his friend is completely enamored with the company he’s ushering towards his bedroom.

“Yeah, baby? How bad?” Hoseok whispers to the giggling girl wrapped around his arm.

He pins the stranger against the door to drag his tongue across her neck. Their bodies move rhythmically in a slow grind, a precursor for what’s likely to come. Jungkook purses his lips. How long until one of them notices him watching? It’s not until the girl moans Hoseok’s name softly that Jungkook spares a panicked look towards you.

Oh shit.

You gesture for him to get down before he draws their attention. The last thing you want to explain is why you’re on your knees in Hoseok’s kitchen with a very shirtless Jungkook standing close by. He obliges your silent request, squatting down beside you.

“Feel how hard you made me?” Hobi chuckles quietly.

The girl giggles, her voice growing closer. “You gonna fuck me right here or what?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Naughty girl. What if my roommate wakes up? Looks like he has a friend over too. You really want them to see what a dirty slut you are?”

You can hear her giggle as he directs her where to go, failing to keep his voice down so you hear every filthy thing he says after. Your hands fly to cover your mouth. Is your skin made of lava? You want to blame it on the close proximity to Jungkook, but the only thing you can imagine is Hoseok’s dick and the eager mystery woman about to be impaled by it. Can you scrub your brain of this memory? How are you supposed to look at him after this?

Jungkook watches your face carefully, trying his hardest not to laugh. Your eyes look so big he’s pretty sure they could roll out of your skull any second. Are you really so innocent? The way you cover your mouth says you are, but maybe it’s just the shock. Maybe you’re just trying to not laugh. Or scream. Or breathe? It kind of looks like you might pass out.

Are you gonna make it, princess? he wonders.

Once you hear Hoseok's bedroom door close, you fuss your hands over your hair and scramble to your feet, releasing a big exhale. The hushed words fall from your lips while you scurry away like a timid mouse. "I should go."

Despite being too far to make contact, he reaches out as you round the counter. "Wait—"

As soon as the word leaves his mouth he struggles to come up with the rest of his statement. There’s no reason to keep you here, except to maybe laugh a little about what just happened to smooth over any second-hand embarrassment. So why doesn’t he want you to go?

He swallows down the blank space caught in his throat and searches every last crevice of his brain for something of import to say. Guilt weighs his gut down, though there isn’t a clear cause. He’s probably screwed something up again without realizing it.

“Thanks for giving me another shot,” he says softly.

You breathe a sigh of relief and offer a tiny smile as you half turn, your hand already on the door handle. “Don’t blow it.”

He nods with a smile. “I won’t. Goodnight.”

“‘Night,” you mumble.

As soon as the door is closed you practically sprint down the hall to lock yourself within your apartment. Maybe it will also lock out all the mistakes your brain has made tonight.

The world feels colder now that you’re not pressed against the human-shaped heater that is Jeon Jungkook. Thinking about him makes your heart swell and ache at the same time. Regardless of how badly you wish you'd asked him to bed, you know loneliness is fleeting and guilt would be a far worse feeling to be saddled with.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Jungkook picks up the fallen chair, finding your soft, worn hoodie draped over it. Rubbing a thumb over the material, he considers running it back to you, but he can't remember which door is yours. It's not like he's been here often enough to know. Instead he slips his arms through the sleeves before flipping the hood over his head.

He settles on the floor in the space he previously claimed for the night, pulling a blanket out from under Yoongi's ass. Yoongi rolls his head up, a scowl on his features though his eyes remain closed. He grumbles but lies down, facing the couch.

Jungkook regards his friend for a moment before deciding to drape the blanket over him instead of claiming it for himself. Jungkook rolls onto his side and fluffs the throw pillow under his head. As he watches the credits roll on the TV, he nuzzles into your sweater.

He closes his eyes, thinking of you. He knows he shouldn't linger on the little occurrences of the night, especially with how foggy his brain is. He can't trust anything about his memory.

Still he thinks of the way your fingers trailed along his arm and curled tightly around his bicep. He lets himself dwell on the tiny sound you made, the involuntary tremble of your body, and the subsequent hitch in your breath.

He smiles and inhales the subtle scent you've left behind. A new spark of adrenaline fans flames that inflate his ego, spreading warmth from his stomach up into his chest. The world may wobble around him right now, but the little magical warmth within his gut helps him comfortably drift off to dreamland like he's the world's most immovable object.

[retrievablememories]

too good to you | ten (m)

title: too good to you pairing: ten x black reader, slight xiaojun x reader genre: smut, angst, fwb-2-lovers summary: being friends with benefits is fun until it’s not. because you’ve always loved him, and you can’t pretend anymore. word count: 5.4k warnings: ten and reader being messy bitches who live for drama, conflict/arguing, cursing, oral sex, face sitting, fingering, protected sex a/n: the sequel to just as friends. i have absolutely not felt like writing fic the last few weeks, but i figure i should post something soon so...why not this fic since y’all will not let me live about it lmao

the whole first part of this fic was inspired by That One Ten Fancam because i saw some stans saying he looked mad during it. yep. that’s literally it. also, that scene with xiaojun is pretty self-indulgent but you ain’t hear it here

song recs: bussit - ari lennox | too good - drake & rihanna | hit different - sza & ty dolla sign

➤ tennie🐱: can i come over ? ➤ tennie🐱: actually i’m already on the way so

➤ y/n: thanks for the advance notice 🙄🤕

The sudden message doesn’t give you much time to get ready, but you do what you can before he gets to your place. When he messages you like this, you know he’s upset and is looking for your special type of comfort.

When Ten shows up on your doorstep, he’s still wearing his makeup and hairstyling from earlier that day; you know they’d had a stage performing Kick Back. The only indicators of his restless mood are the slight twitch of his lips and the weary expression in his eyes, which you don’t even get a good look at before he has his mouth on yours and is backing you into your house.

You kiss him back for several moments until you have to separate yourself from him so you can actually close the front door, because his hand is already ascending up your shirt and you don’t need to give the neighbors an eyeful. “I don’t know why you didn’t take the makeup off, it’ll just get fucked up anyway.”

“Because it looks good on me,” Ten responds, like it’s too obvious for words.

You roll your eyes and giggle. “Hmm...well, you’re not wrong.”

The corner of his mouth lifts as he steps close to you again. “And look, you’ve even got my favorite shorts on...” His hands are firm on you as he gropes your ass, pulling your body towards his. “You wanted to be a good little baby for me, didn’t you?” Those words make your stomach pitch, and you think of how ridiculously easy it is for him to get you just as pliable as he wants.

“M-maybe.” Ten presses his lips to yours again and cups his hands under your thighs so he can carry you over to the kitchen counter. You protest lightly when he sets you down on it, though it’s difficult to form a full sentence when he’s got his tongue in your mouth. “Here? I make food here.”

“We’ve already fucked here, Y/N, don’t act so fussy about it.” There is truth to it; he’s bent you over this counter more than a couple times before.

“But that’s different,” you sigh, listening to the smacking of his lips as he kisses along your jaw and down your neck.

“I don’t feel like walking all the way to your bedroom.” He’s pushed your shirt up above your chest now, his mouth trailing up your sternum and between your breasts.

“You’re so lazy, it’s only a few feet away.” It gets a bit harder to focus on your words when he latches his mouth to one of your dusky nipples, suckling it and teasing it gently with his teeth.

“Lazy?” One of his hands dips past your shorts and underwear, his fingers nudging between your lower lips. The soft touch over your clit makes you shudder, and he keeps his fingers there, rubbing it in a maddening circle. “All I do to make you feel good, and you call me lazy…”

Ten’s fingers dive lower still, pressing against your entrance and gliding through all the slick that’s already gathered there, then pushing in deep. You grasp the back of his neck, your hand sliding into his gelled hair as he simultaneously focuses his attention on your breasts and your pussy.

The pads of his fingers rub that honeyed, pleasurable spot inside of you as soon as he finds it, making your legs weaken, and you’re glad you’re already sitting down. He makes sure the knuckles of his other fingers slip across your clit as he fingers you, heightening the stimulation, and this motion drives you a little further up the wall.

“Ten,” you sigh, leaning back slightly as he scissors his fingers inside you and sucks on your breasts. His tongue rolls around your nipple, sending heated tingles through your body and down your spine. His fingers keep hooking into that sweet spot, and it makes your stomach get warm and your walls grow wetter until you are dripping around him and onto the counter below you. You have a vague thought about how you’ll have to clean this up later, but you know he gets his thrills from getting you this wet, and you can tell by the stiff outline of his dick pressing against his sweatpants.

And just when you are inching closer to feeling that rope of tension snap within your body, your chest heaving against his eager mouth, his fingers slide entirely out and leave you feeling empty.

“Wait, don’t stop,” you cry out, reaching for him as he steps back from you. Your complaint goes unheeded as he reaches for your waistband and strips your shorts off, but not your underwear. He slips a thumb over the black fabric of your panties, dragging it momentarily over your clit before pulling away; he smirks at the stickiness covering the pad of his thumb even through that layer of clothing.

Then he shoves his sweatpants further down over his hips, freeing his reddened cock from his confines. You didn’t see him pull the condom out but it’s there now, and he rolls it hurriedly over his shaft.

“Not even gonna take your clothes off? Ah...you must be really upset today,” you remark absently. An abrupt moan punctuates the end of your sentence when Ten pulls your panties to the side and pushes into you, his other hand gripping your thigh.

“Mm, don’t wanna talk about it,” he replies, but it’s mostly spoken into the side of your neck as he buries his face there and leaves over a dozen open-mouthed kisses. His grip on your thigh tightens fractionally as he begins thrusting into you, dragging his hips away until his tip is just kissing your entrance, and then shoving back in like he’s trying to bury himself wholly within you. “Just wanna forget...god, you’re so tight…”

He ends up laying you across the counter, one hand supporting you by the back of the neck for leverage as he thrusts into you hard enough to make your body shift up the counter slightly. His thighs smack against your own as he fucks you, and it is all you can do to let him pull one of your legs over his shoulder and continue pushing into you like a man starved. Your mouth parts in a silent, overwhelmed moan, and you let him push his thumb past your lips, sucking around the tip of his digit like you often do to his dick.

“Y/N, Y/N—Fuck.” Ten’s voice is a lot less steady than you expected it to be, especially with how nonchalantly he was talking earlier, and you get the inkling that he is already close to cumming. His hold on your leg tightens and his head tilts back as he mindlessly thrusts into you, using your body to get himself off; his thumb stays hooked into your cheek, keeping your mouth parted so you end up drooling on yourself and his hand. The furrow between his brows, the wild strands of his hair in his face, and the way he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth is sexy, but not quite sexy enough to get you off, which you want him to do, with his fingers or dick or anything else.

His tip hits your spot every few thrusts, and this alone could be enough to get you off, just a little more—you focus your attention on that single delirious point of pleasure and the way his hips crash against yours—

The palpable tension that was coming off him earlier unspools itself quickly as Ten spills into the condom, his pace stopping as he holds himself deep in you but flexes his hips for that barest hint of friction. You still haven’t come yet, though, and you’re irritated about it, especially with how he barged into your place fiending for sex. But then he pulls out and disposes of the condom in one deft movement, then strips you out of your underwear before picking you up off the counter again. His hands never leave your ass as he carries you to the couch. 

“Don’t worry, kitten. You know I always take good care of you. Don’t I?”

If you had it in you, you’d want to hate him for calling you by that pet name. It makes you delusional enough to think there could maybe be something more between you.

Ten had even taken to calling you kitten outside of the bedroom. It first happened in front of the WayV members, and you’d wanted to die of embarrassment from how everyone else gave either surprised or knowing looks. Despite the momentary panic of the situation, Ten found that his precious little name for you came way too easily off his tongue and kept on calling you that. And despite yourself, you did not tell him to stop—couldn’t even if you wanted to. It gave you something to cling to, no matter how slight.

“Don’t I?” he repeats, pushing his face into your neck to kiss your throat and feeling your pulse thump wildly against his mouth like a butterfly’s wings.

“You do, Ten,” you sigh. Then he plants a satisfied kiss on your lips in response, nipping at your bottom lip and sucking it between his own. His lip stain is almost completely rubbed off now, giving way to the natural pink of his mouth.

Ten pulls your body on top of his, tugging at your hips and coaxing you to move up more until your pussy is over his mouth. He looks up at you with eyes dark like charcoal, and just as hot.

He parts your lower lips with his fingers and dips his middle finger into you, creating a soft squelching sound from how wet you are. With his other hand kneading your hip, he pushes a couple digits into you to get them wet and pulls them out again to drag the wetness over your clit; he circles it lightly with only the very tips of his fingers, giving enough friction to keep you on edge but not enough to satisfy you. You take a deep breath, your hands moving restlessly against the couch arm, trying to be patient—and not just knock him on the head and tell him to eat you already.

Ten leans up and brings your pelvis down so he can lay wet kisses over your clit; he reintroduces his fingers and immediately goes looking for that bunch of nerves again, the button that will have you dripping down his chin. Then he shifts his hand from your hip to pull the hood of your clit back, exposing more of that sensitive nub, and he mouths at your clit so intensely that you have to focus on not clamping your legs around his head.

You’re already wound up from him fucking you earlier, and it does not take much longer to finally come, your inner muscles squeezing around his fingers as they stroke in and out of you. Your hands slip to his hair as he parts his mouth a little wider, like he’s trying to suck your entire pussy. You are not even embarrassed by the messy slurping sounds he’s creating—it feels good enough to push you over into another orgasm right on the heels of the first one.

“Woo, oh fuck, okay,” you choke out once he releases your swollen clit from the tight grip of his mouth. He takes his fingers out of you too and licks them clean of your cum.

Ten looks up from between your legs with his mouth messy with cum and his hair ruffled out of place, still looking very much insatiable even though he’s already fucked you once and eaten you out. You’re still holding onto his dark strands, and you slide one of your hands down further to thumb at the corner of his eye.

“Just like I said,” you murmur breathlessly, smudging some of the eyeliner that’s already running outside its lines. “You’re two seconds away from looking like a raccoon...go take a shower.”

He drops one last little kiss on your clit, and your legs tremble on either side of him. “Come with me.”

You go with him all while knowing that little actual washing will happen. And as you predicted, Ten pushes you against the shower wall as soon as you’re both naked and fingers you again until you have to slump against him to be able to stand. When he is done, smirking and dick hard against your stomach, you suck him off until he’s cumming down your throat and calling out some semblance of your name in a long, shivering moan. By the time you both get around to cleaning up, the water has turned cool.

Neither of you bother to put on any clothes once you get into bed.

“You better feel better after all that,” you say, blinking your eyes at him within the dimness of the room, trying to make your pupils adjust to the dark faster. Ten’s hair is damp against the pillow, and a distant memory sparks in your mind of that dream that became the catalyst for all this. Feeling suddenly disarrayed, you turn on your back and look at a spot on the ceiling, wondering what the fuck your friendship has transformed into.

“I do,” he hums, grinning. “You’re too good to me.” He draws his fingers up the length of your arm as he tells you this. His eyelids are already closing halfway, weighed down with sleepiness. Though he is beautiful with his stage styling, he is also painfully attractive scrubbed down to his bare face, and it makes your heart throb to look at him.

“Maybe I am,” you whisper back, closing your eyes.

--

When you wake up next to Ten the next morning, it once again feels like waking up to a boyfriend. You try to move out of his embrace, but he complains, half-asleep, and pulls you closer. You are too defenseless to reject the promise of his arms around you and allow yourself to mold your body against his once more. Somewhere between his arms gripping you more tightly and his hair fanning across your neck like down feathers, you fall asleep again.

Waking up the second time comes by way of him kissing your neck and shoulder—you with one of his arms around your back and your breasts pushed against his chest. When he notices you’ve woken up, he moves back to look at you and brings his hand to the side of your face. His own face is half-illuminated by the sun spilling through the crack in the curtains, some silly little smile on his lips and his eyes crinkled like he’s just seen the happiest, cutest thing in the world, and you decide then and there that you can’t do this anymore.

His nose nudges yours, like he’s about to kiss you. “Kitten…”

“Stop,” you say.

Ten’s face drops, and he pauses. “Stop what?”

“Stop this. I don’t want this anymore.” You successfully shimmy away from him this time. He lets you do it, but stares at you with a troubled expression.

“What...do you mean?”

“We can’t keep doing this.” You get off the bed to pick your robe off the hanger it’s on, and you wrap yourself up in it as if it will protect you from your own emotions.

Ten scrambles up from the bed, the sheets gathering at his waist. “Y/N, tell me why. I thought we...”

“I love you. I am in love with you. That’s why.” You cross your arms and look at him angrily. You want to cry, and you don’t know if you’ll be able to stop yourself if you do. You feel very small in this moment.

“...What?” He looks at you as if he’s been slapped, his eyes widening.

“I hate this, Ten. I hate it when we go somewhere and you call me kitten and everyone thinks we’re together. I hate how you always want to touch me, even when it’s not sexual—especially when it’s not sexual. I don’t want to know how it feels to have your hand in mine or your fingers on my cheek. I hate it how you wake me up in the morning like this, when you look at me like…” Your voice catches, and you belatedly realize that you are almost shouting. “...like this is more than what it really is.”

Ten’s face is a storm of emotions, and if you didn’t know any better, you might even say he looks frightened or panicked. What could he be afraid of? If anything, you should be terrified that everything is now ruined between you. “But...Y/N, we agreed to—not take things further.”

“Ten, you are the one always taking things further than they need to be. Stop treating me like I’m your girlfriend when all you want is sex! I don’t want to do this with you anymore.”

You expected him to be more upset about this, maybe even angry, but he seems untethered. It’s as if you’ve just left him out at sea with no knowledge of how to swim. Your words seem to spark some kind of realization in him, though you don’t know what that is.

“I’m...sorry if you misunderstood me, but it wasn’t my intention to make you think we were going to be together.” He speaks weakly, like he feels bad about what he’s saying. Maybe he thinks you’re pitiful and is trying to handle you with kid gloves to avoid hurting your feelings, and that thought makes you even more upset. Maybe you would’ve preferred it if he’d just gotten angry.

“Misunderstood…” You don’t know whether to yell or cry. “But what am I supposed to think when you…” You try to search for the words, but it feels useless and ridiculous. How can his actions not be obvious to him? “Just leave, please.”

So you watch him gather his clothes, redress, and leave your place. There’s a hesitation before he passes through your bedroom door, but in the end he just says I’m sorry again. It is still not enough and not the answer you want to hear, so you let him go for the sake of your own sanity.

You let the tears drip only after he’s gone, feeling like you’ve just experienced a breakup. The thought of the relationship-that-never-was makes you sniff angrily again. When you sink into your bed, the sheets pulled over your head, you try to convince yourself that you do it because you’re tired and not because the linens still smell like him.

The next two months after that day are the most awkward and annoying ones of your life.

Much to your own surprise—because you were sure everything would end in flames and rubble after that rejected confession—you and Ten try to go back to some semblance of your previous friendship. However, every interaction is strained and weird; he never acknowledged your confession again after it happened, and you refused to do so to avoid being rejected for a second time. You can’t shake the feeling that every one of his glances is filled with some odd sympathy, as if he just can’t believe you’ve gotten yourself into this unrequited love nonsense. There’s an even stranger anxiety in his demeanor, too. A nervousness you are unable to assign a meaning to.

You try to distract yourself from it all with hobbies; you even adopt new ones. You’ve never cared much about knitting or collecting postcards or scrapbooking, but you do those things now just to fill in the empty spaces and quiet the mess of your mind. You don’t have to wonder about what Ten is doing, because you already know; Kun keeps dry begging for your help, as if you want to hear about any of Ten’s business in the first place.

“To put it lightly, we’re dying in here. Maybe if you could talk—”

“Oh please. Sounds like he’s having fun with his new buddies, and who am I to stop him. Like he’ll listen to shit I have to say,” you say dryly.

“Having fun, sure, but I’m not. There was the guy he brought home last week—and the girl I caught him in the living room with even before that. And the others,” Kun sighs wearily.

Jealousy curls like a snake in the pit of your stomach, but you dig your heels in and try to throw it to the side. “Tch. Tragic, and also not my problem. If you’re that worried about noise complaints, talk to him yourself. Would hate to hear about y’all getting kicked out.”

“I’m not necessarily concerned about that, I’m talking about him sleeping with all these people because you two—”

“Oh, damn. I can’t hear shit. Looks like you’re breaking up. Talk to you later!” You feel a little bad about hanging up on Kun, but the last thing you want to do is talk to him as if he’s your therapist and discuss the mess between you and Ten that was never truly resolved. And as far as you can discern, Ten is not thinking about you in that way anymore.

Rolling your eyes, you toss your phone away and roll over in your bed with your face in the sheets, trying for the hundredth time to not think about what Ten is doing with people who are not you.

One night when you’re hanging out at WayV’s dorm and attempting to pretend there isn’t some weird tension between you and your (former?) best friend, Yangyang and Xiaojun talk you into going to the club. Ten tells you all he will meet you there later, and it makes you roll your eyes—because you know he has plans to pick someone else up, but also because everything he does lately makes you roll your eyes—but you’re also glad you won’t have to sit awkwardly next to him in the car on the way over.

The club is dark and hot and pungent with the smell of alcohol. Once you are inside, you suddenly feel a little lost within all the chaos. You also realize you don’t want to let Xiaojun out of your sight—Yangyang has already bounced off somewhere with someone he knows, otherwise you might’ve clung to him similarly—because you don’t want to be left alone, so you grip his hand and he squeezes back, pulling you onto the dance floor amongst the crowd of bodies. 

You aren’t sure when Ten shows up. One moment he’s nowhere to be found, and the next moment he is right there, attracting your eyes like a magnet out of all the other people in the club. While you’re in the mass of people with Xiaojun, dancing and trying to empty your mind of anything important, you spot something you would rather not see, and it makes your body come to a standstill.

Some girl is talking to Ten at the bar—maybe the same one Kun says he’s been seeing lately, you aren’t completely positive about it—and pressing her body against his. He’s likewise leaning into her, giving her that same look he’d lavished on you months ago. The one only reserved for lovers. It was never exclusively for you, you know that, but seeing it directed to someone else again after everything that’s happened only incenses you.

She whispers something into his ear and kisses the corner of his mouth, and he pinches her chin to kiss her back, full on the lips this time.

You turn your head away from them with your mouth screwed up. Xiaojun stops dancing when he sees what you’ve seen, and he looks at you with a frown. “I think I should leave.” Your voice sounds watery, and you hate reacting like this. Life would be a lot easier if you could just Bad Bitch your way out of this and forget about him on the other side of the room with some girl you don’t know from Adam, but you can’t.

“Wait.” Xiaojun grips your shoulders with a pleading expression. He acts like he’ll say something more but then abandons whatever that thought is and says instead, “I’m sorry, Y/N. Please don’t kick my ass for this.”

“Huh?” 

Xiaojun kisses you. 

You stand there unmoving and bewildered for a few long seconds, and it’s awkward. You think you know what he’s trying to do though, and it’s fucking nonsensical because Ten has clearly moved on from you so why bother, but you shut the rational part of your brain off and respond to the kiss anyway. It is surprisingly easy to reciprocate; Xiaojun is attractive, and he kisses you intimately, like you’re both true lovers instead of two people attempting a cliché scheme. His hands are on you, one on your nape and the other on the small of your back, though maybe slightly lower than it needs to be for this little act. When his tongue parts your lips, slick and hot and faintly mint-flavored, you begin to wonder if this is all just acting.

Then it all abruptly ends when a sharp voice cuts through the air.

“So you two are hooking up and didn’t think to tell me?” Ten stands in front of you both looking unimpressed, and you are genuinely surprised by this.

Xiaojun’s mouth moves aimlessly—his lips are noticeably shinier from your lip gloss—and you can guess he didn’t think far enough ahead to consider what he’d say if Ten really did respond to his impulsive trick.

“Fuck you!” you blurt out, and they both look at you. “I don’t need to tell you a damn thing.”

“Y/N, for fuck’s sake—he’s my groupmate! You don’t think that’s important to mention?”

“What do I owe you? You’re not my man, and we barely even act like friends anymore.” His face falters when you say this; a nerve has been struck.

“If you fucking hate me, just say so Y/N; I didn’t think you’d go this far.”

Xiaojun gives a feeble attempt to jump in. “Now wait, this wasn’t her—”

You laugh, though your expression is marred with anger. “Hate you? That’s the last thing I ever did, but you didn’t want what I offered.”

Ten looks pained at that. “You don’t understand, I…”

The rest of his words are lost to you as the song changes and the music’s volume rockets up further, and you have no choice but to shuffle closer to Ten to narrowly avoid being bowled over by a couple who dances too near to you, oblivious to their surroundings. This puts you close enough to him to feel the heat radiating off his body, to smell the hint of sweat mingling with his cologne, and you think it might’ve been better to just get knocked over.

Unbeknownst to you, Ten’s hand had instinctively reached for your back to steady you, though he stopped himself from touching you just before his fingertips made contact. Suddenly, it dawns in his mind that neither of you have touched each other in quite some time, hardly even in a platonic way, and this knowledge disappoints him.

“I think we should go outside,” Ten says, staring at you intently. It’s a look that’s far too serious for the context of standing in a hot and sweaty club, and it makes you feel peeled apart, much like that first time you both had sex. Xiaojun has turned his eyes elsewhere in a laughable attempt to look like he’s searching for Yangyang; he’s caught between your tension and feeling much like he’s witnessing something he’s not quite supposed to be seeing.

And even though you are angry with Ten and want him to shut the fuck up and explain himself all at the same time, you still find yourself staring back, your gaze catching on the way the lights glint on the smooth skin of his exposed chest. “Fine.”

--

A few minutes later, you’re sitting in the passenger seat of Ten’s car. His phone buzzes with an incoming call, and then a text message. And then another. You both watch the phone vibrate on the console until it falls into one of the cupholders.

Because it doesn’t seem like he’ll speak first, you say, “I think she must be calling for you. Go tend to your little girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

You shrug. “I don’t know. Go see what she wants.”

“I don’t care.”

You shift your head a little to glance at him, but you won’t yet give him the satisfaction of your full attention. “Now you don’t care? Didn’t look that way earlier...”

“None of that meant anything.”

“Oh…the same way with us, then. I get it.”

Ten grips the steering wheel and leans his head on it like he’s tired. “No. It’s not the same as us.”

“What’s different?”

“I can’t fucking forget about you,” he scowls. “I can’t forget how you taste, or how you look when you wake up in the morning, how you say my name when you’re happy or sad, how pretty you smell right out of the shower, how your mouth falls open in that cute way when you’re asleep and dreaming about something, or how you ask me to tie your scarf at night because you don’t feel like doing it.”

You sit back against the seat, unsure what to think of that revelation. “So what does all that mean. You miss the fucking and pretending? Because you experienced all those things and still only ever wanted to be friends.”

He sits up again to look at you. “No, it means I miss you and I love you and I’m a dumbass.” The way his voice softens reminds you of one of those chocolate candies with caramel in the middle, and you sigh shakily. Some unconscious part of you has already made up its mind about how this will turn out.

“Yes you are,” you agree instantly, although your heart pounds. You stare at the blackened tail-lights of the car in front of you and don’t know how to feel or what to say. Everything feels like a live wire right now, like the situation might explode no matter what move you make. Not the kind of explosion that destroys, though—the kind that clears the way for something reborn. “...I had to kiss Xiaojun for you to realize you felt that way? That was never even my plan.”

“Maybe I can be a little oblivious sometimes. And...I tried very hard to distract myself from...thinking about us.” 

“You could’ve just told me.”

“I thought you might’ve moved on or wouldn’t want anything to do with me anymore.” Ten slides his hand over top of yours where it rests in your lap, though it is a tentative move. “When was the last time we shared our dreams with each other?”

“You’re getting all sentimental now.” You look down at his hand on yours, and for the first time in months, it is the one thing that makes sense to you. “I don’t know. Definitely before any of this mess happened.”

“I miss you.” He squeezes your fingers tightly where they’re entwined with his. “Do you still love me?”

“Ten, please. As if I could stop,” you respond softly.

A quiet moment passes between the two of you. Finally, you turn your head to look at him, his silhouette illuminated by streetlights and the club’s neon signs, and he chooses that moment to lean towards you.

You hold your free hand up to his face. “Huh...no. You kissed that girl.”

He gives you an incredulous look. “And you kissed Xiaojun, but do you see me complaining?”

“Then we’re both even. But I ain’t kissing you tonight.”

Ten sits back in his seat and sighs, although there is a tiny smile on his lips. “Ugh. You kill me.”

You snort and tighten your grip on his hand, feeling the imprint of his rings against your skin. “But, you can still come home with me. I’ve missed just having you around...or whatever.”

He smirks. “Tell me how much you missed me on the ride over.”

“Don’t push your luck.”

[babbushka]

I’m excited to read all your Kylo AU Sinday writing! May I please request these with either medieval Kylo or archaeological Kylo?

“Swoon, I’ll catch you.” And “You have bewitched me..”

Thank you! 💛

A/N: Thank you so much for sending this in!! I hope you enjoy this fluffy smutty something! :)

2k; NSFW (skinny dipping, public nudity, sex in water)

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Bobbing ever so gently with the current of the river, you breathe in deeply, feeling the warm air of summer fill your lungs, your chest expanding and deflating in a rhythm dictated by the breeze. It it late in the afternoon, and soon you will be expected to return to the throne room, but you still have some time.

Intent on using that time to the fullest of capacities, you lay atop the water, your arms and legs spread out as your hair floats in a great halo around your head. Yes, you think as you breathe, smiling a little as the current whooshes in a calm push past you, you are quite content.

Until that is, a pair of strong arms grab you, making you splutter and snap out of your reverie at once, baring your teeth to whomever has dared disturb your relaxation.

“Unhand me at once or I shall -- !” You start, heart pounding in your chest, a million thoughts running through your mind as you think of the quickest way to incapacitate your captor...

Before you recognize the deep rumbling laughter that comes from the direction of your captor’s chest, and you sigh with fond exasperation, knowing he is not a captor at all.

“You really must learn to pay more attention, my pearl.” Kylo grins with all his crooked teeth, as if he has won some great victory in catching you off guard.

Oh, but he has, won a victory of a different kind. He is home early and the confident attitude he is positively brimming with tells you that it was an early win, another battle claimed by the Empire that you know and love.

You find that you cannot be angry with him for surprising you like this, for it is in his very nature, the element of sneaky silent surprise. So instead, you allow the joy at your husband’s return to fill you, as you throw your arms around his neck and kiss him for all that you’re worth, grinning with your own indulgent happiness.

“Swoon, don’t worry I’ll catch you.” The cheeky bastard teases you, and you can only chuckle brightly at the good mood that he is in. It is rare for him to be so good-spirited, he tended to scowl even on the best of days. But today was a day for celebration, and you have no intention to stop him now.

“Insufferable, you are,” Rolling your eyes teasingly right back, before shaking your head and kissing him again, and again, and again, your body pressing to his as you hum, “But so handsome. I missed you, your highness.”

“Here I am.” He murmurs against your mouth, his teeth nipping at your lower lip, hands not once letting you go as he holds you to him.

“Finally.” You agree with a sigh of relief.

Kylo looks at you then, really looks at you, and it’s the sort of look that makes you hold your breath in heady anticipation, as his chest puffs with deep panting breaths of his own. You wish you could see him free of all his many layers, knowing that the sight would be divine.

And then, almost as if on cue, Kylo decides he does not want to be confined by his clothing any longer, and he pulls away from you to begin stripping down. You grin, perching yourself on a large smooth rock that juts up from the pebbles and sand of the river floor, watching as he reveals himself to you.

His armor comes off in large sections, and he takes care to rest them on the bank of the river. It’s not a very wide river thankfully, so he doesn’t have to go too far. Next comes his tunic, and then his shirt, before he can struggle to shuck off his hose and boots. In just a few short moments, he is completely nude, and my what a marvel it is to see him in the light of day like this, you think.

You yourself are wearing your chemise, a small barrier between your naked body and the elements around you. It does nothing to hide the shape of you though, as the cotton goes completely transparent when wet. It is that transparency that has Kylo’s mouth watering, you find, when he surges back to wrap you up in his arms again, and you feel the hard length of his cock pressing against your stomach.

“Fuck, Kylo, here?” You look around with a giddy laugh, surprised by his lack of care for being so exposed.

“Why not, we are rulers of this domain, why should we not indulge in our pleasure wherever we’d like?” Kylo replies with another searing hot kiss, the muscles in his arms flexing as he presses you close to him.

You kiss him back, and before you know it, he’s lifting you up with the help of the water, bracing you against that large smooth rock once more, and pushing up the wet chemise that clings to your body. Helping him with a moan, you manage to lift it up enough to expose all the way up to your stomach, and without wasting much more time, your husband guides the head of his aching hard cock to your cunt.

“Oh how I have missed the feeling of being so full.” Your head lolls back on the makeshift pillow as he pushes in, a happy sigh of pleasure breathing out of your lungs.

The way Kylo fucks you is animalistic in moments like these -- his instincts take over, the primal urge to be close to you, to be inside you, it consumes him, and in turn, he consumes you. With a hand on your throat to hold you steady, Kylo bites and licks into your mouth, his hips wasting no time to begin thrusting in and out of your wanting pussy, your moans filling the air around you, carried down the river by the breeze.

“Kylo! Oh my darling, more, please give me more!” You cry out, the pleasure immediate and so, so delicious.

He doesn’t say much, doesn’t say anything at all, just grunts out his pleasure as his mouth covers yours completely, sucks down all your moans sighs pants grunts of pleasure, swallows them the way your cunt sucks in his cock, a vice grip, not wanting to let go.

It’s been weeks since you’ve last seen him, which means it’s been weeks since you’ve been properly fucked, and he knows that just as well as you. Holding your hips tight to keep them steady, he fucks you hard, fucks you with all the pent up sexual frustration he’s harbored over the time and distance between you.

You can feel the way his cock presses itself as deep as it can go, you whine as it knocks against your cervix, the force of his hips pushing you up up up the rock, your hands gripping his shoulders, fingers digging in the muscle there as you throw your head back and plead, panting, begging for him to take you harder, faster.

Kylo does, oh he does, touching you all over your body, stimulating you from every possible point. His hands leave your hips, one moves farther down your body to press his thumb against your swollen clit, eliciting a yelp of pleasure from your throat. The other reaches up to pinch and roll a nipple, feeling for the stiff bud from over your chemise where the wet cloth has clung to it.

It doesn’t satisfy him though, and so wordlessly, with all his strength he tears your chemise right in two, and you gasp, the sudden feeling of river water and his hard hot body pressing down on your bare skin. Kylo kisses all across your chest, sucking and biting in his wake, the newly exposed flesh begging to be marked.

“Yes, right there, oh please right there -- more!” You demand, and he’s all too happy to oblige, as he holds you down, pins you to the best of his ability, grinding his hips against yours on long thick drags of his cock.

Your hips lift, back arching off the rock, as your moans and whimpers grow more and more desperate. You’re so close, this close to coming, your body begins to tremble with the want of it. Oh how long had you waited for this feeling, you pant and writhe beneath him, as his cock drags against that spot inside you that has you seeing stars.

“Please, I’m so close, just a little more, please darling!” You can taste it, the edge of adrenaline in the back of your throat, on your tongue. Kylo knows exactly how to push you over, and he puts all his concentration into it, into getting the timing right.

When he rubs your clit in just the right way, his cock brushing up against your spot once, twice, three times, your body snaps up with sharp pleasure, and you shout loud enough that it scares the birds away from the bushes on the bank of the river. Kylo fucks you through your orgasm, making you moan loud loud loud, the pleasure overwhelming as he speeds his pace up.

Sometimes he’ll drag it out long enough that you can come a couple times on his cock before he spills inside of you, but you know he must be tired from the long journey home, so when he grunts and groans against your throat only a few minutes after, before finally going still, you only smile, glad that he too has come.

He begins to kiss you then, kissing you with an urgency that has you confused in your blissful state. Kylo crushes you ever so slightly, not wanting to move away just yet, and while you’re not complaining, you do have to ask,

“What is the matter?” You pant against him as his body is a solid weight against you.

Kylo is quiet for a moment, and you feel the current of the river washing away all the come and slick, carrying it away off to heavens knows where, cleansing you of this sweaty filthy act. You are almost compelled to ask again, but you know better, and that he will reply when he has the words.

Kissing you again, he tries to press these words into your very being, gentle with you yes, but still an edge of danger, of desire that he cannot shake. You kiss him back, letting yourselves let the water rush over your bodies, simply being together for a few moments more.

“You have bewitched me, body and soul...and I love,” Kylo punctuates these words with more kisses, soft and gentle atop your lips, across your face, “I love, I love you. I never wish to be parted from you.”

Oh how your heart beats for this man, you can’t help but think, for even after fucking you so hard that you can barely see straight, you can see how dearly he cares for you.

“Then by my side you shall remain.” You nuzzle your nose against his, and he only presses his hard cock deeper into your warm cunt in response. Smiling with bliss and joy, you card Kylo’s hair away from his face and kiss him, whispering, “There is a banquet prepared for you, a grand feast. After the performance you just gave, I’m sure you are hungry for it.”

“In a moment.” He turns to press a kiss to your palm, before hoisting you off of the rock, pulling you to his chest, encouraging your legs to wrap around his hips, “Let me hold you a while longer, just a little while.”

Resting your head on his shoulder, you let him do just that, until the water of the river turns chilly as the late afternoon sun moves across the sky. You would stay like that with him for all eternity, should he desire so, for with him so near, you know there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

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Tagging some Kylo lovin' friends!

@mochabucky @sacklerscumrag @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions @direnightshade @reyloaddict55 @thembohux @kylorenswhxre @sunflowersinthesnow @babayagakeanu @safarigirlsp @steeevienicks @materialisthicc @hswritingrecs @rosi3ba3z @chapterhappygirl @schopenhauerdeathsquad @loverofallthings @groovetoob @bxnnywriting @angel-bxby3 @smallgirlbigpersonality @lovelyyy-luna @2000andwhat @raddo1975 @cornmousequeen @metsienmenninkainen @caillea @painttheskylineforme @holding-on-to-starwars @kylo-ren-is-alive @caitlin-was-here @canikeepitonplease @icarusinthesea @princessflip @goddessofsprings @mrs-gucci @baubub @bucky-j-barnes @mindyoshiii @beachwoodmonet @darkhairedmenrule @eagerforhoney @nekonaomitard @einmal-im-traum @justlenastuff @0nihiime

[drwcn]

NEW!

《 Without Envy 》 storyboard 11 - concubine/sleeper agent!wwx & prince!lwj

Other snippets and storyboards can be found on [Master List]

Lan Wangji knew his Uncle and the imperial court and the elders of the royal family were never going to be okay with him making Wei Wuxian one of his concubines. The servant status is one thing, but that's not the crux of the issue. The issue is that there's already a rumour circulating about how WWX is a wily fox whose sole purpose in life is to seduce and befuddle the prince. Xue Yang: quite a reputation you've cultivated for yourself. WWX: *kuzo's meme*.........ah yes, everything is all coming together now.

Lan Wangji is a smart boy though. He knows how to get what he wants. As Wei Ying inched towards full recovery from his whipping, the autumn hunt is upon them.

The autumn hunt in the royal hunts ground was a competition. Anyone invited could compete if they chose to, and of Lan Wangji's household, Jin Ziyan, Luo Qingyang and himself were in attendance. Mianmian, being his concubine and a woman, had two escorts/chaperones accompanying her for propriety, but flashed him dazzling smiles of gratitude upon her horse.

"I'm very grateful, dianxia, for your allowing this indulgence." "Of course," replied Lan Wangji from his saddle. "My Luo-furen should have what she wants." "Dianxia, ce-wangfu." Qin Su approached them and curtsied in proper form. "I wish you all best of luck in the hunt." Then to Mianmian, she said quietly, "Be careful, Qingyang." Jin Ziyan paid the two women no mind, but Lan Wangji saw the hand Qin Su had clandestinely wrapped around one of Mianmian's booted ankles. Oh...well, this is certainly a positive development.

The rest of the noble women not participating in the hunt rested in their tented pavilions, with Meng Yao as their hostess. They drank tea and ate sweets and enjoyed their free time to themselves. Meng Yao noted Wei Wuxian's absence from Jiang Yanli's side, as did several other noble women, but Jiang Yanli only smiled and said, "A-Xian has been living at my father's manor for several years and is an excellent marksman. Dianxia thought it a waste if he were kept from participating."

The truth of the matter is like this: when Wei Wuxian cheated and lied his way into Jiang-fu, he'd told Jiang Fengmian and his family that he'd lived most of his life by the charity of a hunter's family, and so had trained to hunt game in the wild. After the hunter's family died of some infectious illness that plagued the region, Wei Wuxian had supposed made his way into the city and found employment as a shop boy. He couldn't reveal that he'd been trained in martial arts, but there is no need to hide his skill as an archer. At first, it was so he could use archery as a common interest to get close to Jiang Fengmian's son Jiang Cheng, but Wei Wuxian soon realized that it could also be used as a way for Lan Wangji to cultivate further interest.

"Lan Zhan..." Wei Wuxian stroked the snout of Lan Wangji's beloved ferghana horse and grinned. "You really want me to ride him?" "Mn." "You...won't be mad then, if I win?" Wei Wuxian's grin turned slightly wicked. "If I beat you?" Lan Wangji's brow twitched with interest, "Not at all. That's rather what I'm counting on." "Yeah? And why is that?" "Because while I can claim victory with the sword -" "- Very modest, you." Wei Wuxian teased, grinning, which earned him a subtle little glare. "- amongst my cousins, my marksmanship is not unrivalled. You may have a greater chance of winning with him. Huangxiong promised that whoever wins today's hunt will be granted one wish." A wish? Wei Wuxian mulled over this information. His own mission turned and circled in his mind. If I could but gain access to... ... Of course, Wei Wuxian glanced at the prince and the saw the light in his eyes. Lan Wangji is probably thinking of something entirely different.

And so it was inevitable that went the count of the hunt came in, Wei Wuxian's name was at the top. Lan Qiren's little mustache just about flew off his face the way he scrunched it up in displeasure.

Gentries, nobles, dukes and princes watched with envy and shock as a servant came forth to accept the Emperor's reward.

"Jiang-xiong," Nie Huaisang leaned close to Jiang Cheng while they watched from the sidelines as Wei Wuxian bowed before the Emperor. "Why do you look so smug?" Jiang Cheng played with the end of an arrow with an air of mock innocence, "I don't know what you're talking about?" Nie Huaisang pulled at the leather of his riding attire in discomfort - this was so not his style - and tsked, "I know you, Jiang-xiong, you're not subtle. What did you do?" "I was the one who told Lan Wangi that Wei Wuxian is an excellent archer when I went to visit Hanguang-fu." Nie Huaisang understood instantly, "Oh....oh I see..." "What? Don't judge me! You know what they did to him. String up like some unruly animal and whipped. I never agreed with my mother's plan to send him along with my sister anyway. Wei Wuxian may be lowborn but..." Jiang Cheng scowled. "He's too good for them. For Lan Wangji. He's clearly not going to do right by Wei Wuxian. I won't stand to see a perfectly good man wasted as some prissy prince's concubine instead of being where he could put his real skills to use." "Shhhhh, ancestors, Jiang-xiong, keep your voice down! Words like that are a great dishonor against bixia, you'll lose your head!" Jiang Cheng shrugged.

Xue Yang *at a later times*: so lemme get this straight, you won the Hunt, and then Lan Xichen asked you what you want as reward - WWX - as a good little servant I said "I want for nothing that wangye and Jiang-zhuzi hasn't already provided me" - XY *rolls his eyes* Right. And then Jiang Wanyin came out of nowhere and said - "陛下，魏婴乃微臣之家生子，是前管家魏长泽 的独子， 因幼年时父母过世一直遗留市井。上天庇佑，几年前父亲将他巡回。魏婴为人端正淳厚，虽未上过学堂，但头脑机智。陛下也看到了，他弓发出众， 是。。。如能加强训练，以后必会为我姑苏所用 - " Bixia, Wei Ying is this subject's home-born servant, the only son of our previous head of staff Wei Changze. Due to the unfortunate passing of his parents in his youth, he has been getting by doing odd jobs in the capital. Heavens be willing, Father was able to find him after these many years and brought him home. Wei Ying is kind and righteous; though never have been taught by scholars, he is sharp of mind. As bixia has seen, he is a great marksmanship, is ... If he could be granted proper training, he would be a great asset for Gusu in the future. - And what a waste it would be if you were left to twindle away within the confines of a harem. I bet Lan Wangji just loved that. The balls on Jiang Wangyin - I do love his style. WWX You're the only one. Jiang-shushu just about had a heart attack when Jiang Cheng dissed Lan Wangji in public. Madam Yu nearly popped a vein too. XY: Yeah well, he's got a point. You may be Jiang Yanli's companion, but you're not Lan Wangji's concubine, you're just a servant with a skill. Honestly why shouldn't they put you to better use than waiting to maybe spread your legs for a prince who might just as easily toss you aside after the newness fades. WWX *slaps him up the head* Rascal! I'm your shixiong. Don't be so rude. Anyways, Lan Zhan, he - he was willing to let me go. I think he loves me you know - XY: He what now - WWX: He said - Lan Wangji came to kneel beside Wei Wuxian and Jiang Wanyin and bowed to his royal brother, "Huangxiong, Wei Ying is the peijia of my Jiang-furen, a servant of my manor. I... I long knew he is an excellent marksman and should have submitted his candidacy for the ranks but -" Lan Wangji looked at him then, eyes huge with something unreadable. "Jiang-xiao-jiangjun is right. Wei Ying is good, his mind is bright. He would be more suited to militia than...than within the walls of the inner court." "Wangye, have you....have you grown tired of Wei Ying -" "Wei Ying, no -" XY: Oh barf. So please tell me you chose to go to bingbu (ministry of war). WWX: Going to bingbu was never the assignment. If yifu wanted me in the ministry of war, I would've infiltrated them from the start. I refused. And it had the intended effect. "No?" Lan Xichen leaned forward curiously. "Joining the ranks will elevate your rank to that of a subject of the imperial government, and if you are truly as skilled and talented as my brother and Jiang-xiao-jiangjun say, you may rise yet to stand in my court as an officer of the imperial military. You will have your own commission, your own manor, marry, have children - all things which will be forbidden to you if you remain as you are now. As you are male, you cannot provide for Hanguang-fu any offspring, and your low-born status has precluded you from the position of consort or even vice-consort. Have you considered your options carefully? " "I understand bixia, and my decision is made. Nothing would please me more than to stay by wangye's side. I regret nothing." XY: >_> And A this has absolutely nothing to do with the fact you're increasingly horny for Lan Wangji? WWX: Of course not. Because of Lan Qiren, I couldn't advance in Hanguang-fu. But now that Lan Xichen had given me his royal decree, I am Lan Wangji's sanctioned mianshou. XY: *insert eye emoji* So...y'all fucked? WWX *wistful, thinking about the night he spent at the autumn palace after the hunt* : We did, you pervert. Ya happy now? *WWX sighed* But I know who we are and what I must do. Yifu needs me by Lan Wangji's side, for what reasons I do not yet know. No matter how he and I are now... one day it will

all end. XY: *stares into the camera like he's on the office*

Note: yifu = Wen Ruohan, WWX's adoptive father.

[binniesthighs]

wetter | reader x minho

Pairing: self insert, gender neutral reader x lee minho 

Genre: smut, angst,  pwp 

Tags: harddom!minho, sub!reader, fuckboi!minho, fratboy!minho, waitstaff!reader, hookup au, degredation, penetration (r), oral and facefucking (m receiving), several mentions of gagging bc of deepthroating, fingering (r), semi-public sex (bathroom), quickie, cumshot (face), several allusions to infidelity 

Word count: 2.5k 

Requested: “hard dom!minho... with degradation...pls...”  &  “my thoughts are filled with hard dom!minho with degredation 🤤” (original ask)

There’s something intoxicating about hooking up with a person when the only thing that you know about them is the heat from their lips. 

Some would argue that this makes them less of a “person” but more of a fantasy. If you had know their name, it would’ve made other strings twist in the mix. If you had known their name, maybe you would have been inclined to look them up maybe, or even worse, fall asleep with their name running over and over in your mind. 

It was best when they tasted like sin and like the daydreams that you had never uttered. 

He wasn’t like the other men that you would lead into the spotless bathroom of the country club which practically shone from the hard work of janitors who were paid less than the meals served at the god-forsaken place. As a part of the wait staff, your pay was dismal, but at least you could get a good fuck out of it once and a while. 

Then men that would frequent the country club and golf course were always the kind that had starving hands and dicks that would twitch under their belts from the slightest brush of your hand. They were the kind of men who had wives, mistresses, and even handsome young men who could be at their beck and call. You liked to think that you were unlike those who they secretly craved. If anything, you were their daydreams. 

This man seemed to be no different--at least in looks. 

He sat with his legs spread where he socialized with his young friends on the veranda. The small group ate their salmon on bagels and caviar along with expensive cocktails that you barely knew the names of. A couple of them already had girls on their laps, and they fed them cherries which stained their plush (and likely fake) lips. 

This man sat alone with his cardigan and perfectly pressed pants and loafers that appeared to have never been worn before. He had barely touched his food, but rather seemed to satiate his appetite from the teasing and dumb laughter of his friends. Judging off of his chunky and extravagant watch, there must’ve been no way that he had paid for the thing himself. Daddy or Mommy’s money made him appear as if he was some heir or prince. He even smelled like one too. 

The male patrons would often follow the way that your hips moved when you walked to and from their table, or how your hands would rest on the crystal glass tables as you took their orders. You knew they must have been imagining what your fingers would’ve looked around their cocks. 

He even gave you the same look. 

You had guessed that he must’ve been college age or some kind of graduate. His friends wore Greek letters, so you assumed that he must have been one of the “brothers.” A long time ago, someone had told you to be especially careful of his breed of boy. 

“Care to accompany me away from this crowd?” He had whispered into your ear, tickling it, when you had reached across to grab the plates. 

 The other boys had decided to go to the pool or the gym--not that it mattered--and his hand crept behind your waist as soon as he had excused himself from the rest of the group. 

“I’ve got to call my mom real quick. If she wasn’t such a nag all the time...” 

He held your hand as if he had known you, but it was likely not to rouse suspicion. 

“Nice to meet you.” He sneers, looking back and passing the crowds of women in their feathered hats and other golfers in their finest designer polos and slacks. 

You nod, noting that his hand feels strong and domineering in your own, and you can’t even begin to wonder where he might be taking you. If you were lucky, they would take you to their rooms and lay you down on the California King Sized Mattress, then you wouldn’t have to bend uncomfortably. However, this wouldn’t always be the case. Most of them favored coat closets, bathrooms and powder rooms. 

You kept your head down as he pulled you further down hallways, praying that none of your coworkers would take notice. Some of them already had, however it wasn’t like any of them cared...not when they would often indulge in the same vice. Unhappy marriages were where most of you found some brief moments of happiness. 

The young man snickered finding his hiding place and promptly lead you along with him into the towel closet which had been unlocked by the pool boys. The door was painted white and louvered with slits for airflow. It was then when you knew this would have to be one of the times when you would have to bite your tongue back. 

He closed the door as quietly as he could, then turned to shove you back against it, and smear his heavy breaths over your mouth where he slicked his tongue against yours immediately. As he did so, his heated fingertips set to shrugging off your apron and hastily throwing it aside. You returned by sinking your fingers under his leather belt and jingling the metal around. If he was to see you bare, you wanted to see him too--something told you that he had something to show under his designer cardigan and this cotton shirt which must’ve cost a similar fortune. 

His abs were toned as you had expected, and they rippled under your fingertips. The young man popped the button to your pants, and you reciprocated doing the same. Just like the others, it barely took anything for him to get hard. His length swelled against your stomach and he grinded it into you too just so you could feel his eagerness. 

“You were practically asking to get fucked? Weren’t you? You whore.” 

The young man smiled out his poisonous words, but they felt as luxurious as they usually did when you had heard them grace your ears. He kissed you once again with a mixture of teeth and tongue that ran your lips raw while you pulled down his pants to his ankles and tugged at the elastic to his briefs. 

“Fuck, you really do want it that bad don’t you baby?” 

His hands palmed at your own quivering sex which had slicked with your own arousal from his greedy advances. His hand pushed at the confines of our underwear and pants where he started to rub incessantly, then ate up your shuddering moans which floated from your lips to his. 

All at once, he removed his hand and left your knees to buckle from the sudden lack of contact. With a deathly glare, he brought his fingers to your gasping mouth. 

“Wetter.”  He demanded before dipping them onto your tongue. You lathered them with your salvia where he twisted them around your muscle with the taste of bitter sweat and your own cum. 

Once he saw fit, he drew his soaked fingers back down to your waistband and resumed teasing at your sensitive skin. 

“You’d like to taste my cock wouldn’t you? Are you hungry enough for it, kitten?” 

You nodded, trying to hide your whimpering from his touch. 

“Get on your fucking knees then.” 

He nearly shoved your shoulders to the ground, but you didn’t need him to prompt you. You pulled down his briefs on your way down his body, springing free his hardened member that was wrapped in thick veins. You firstly jerked at his hooded shaft beading with his cum, and you kissed at his tip roughly too for good measure. 

“Did I say to tease me? Take me in your throat, you slut.” He slapped at your cheek, then aligned his dick with your lips. “What? Scared that it’s too much for you?” 

“No.” You answered while testing him from below. “I can take it.” 

“Show me.” 

You did so--even though his considerable length burned and stretched out your throat at first. You knew that sometimes they liked it when they saw you cry, so you let the tears well at their own will. You hummed against his dick while he pushed at your gag reflex. With your right hand, you took his shaft back to twist at it while your head bobbed. Your steady pace kept your gags at bay, but every so often he would jerk his hips a little with a grunt, and you would nearly loose your composure. 

“Is that as deep as you can take it? Fuck...here I was thinking that you would feel different...” 

The young man laced both of his hands to the sides of your face: the exact place to give a cue into his intentions. 

“Let me know if you need me to stop.” He growled. 

He fucked your face deeper and deeper, gradually working up to a pace that felt comfortable while you puffed up your cheeks. Gag after gag he teased, and the strings of your drool slicked and bubbled on his cock while dripping down your neck too. 

“Your pretty, tight, little throat feels so fucking good on my cock. Is that how you like it you cockslut?” 

Hot tears dripped down your cheeks while you nodded the best you could in response, and your feet startled to tingle where they had fallen asleep where you knelt. 

“Oh fuck yes.” 

All that you could do to steady yourself was claw at his lower back, then moan helplessly against his length which stretched you out so well, it was impossible that it had felt this good before. 

The young man pulled out after leaving your lips raw, pausing to pant like a wild animal while still firmly holding your head. You gasped, open mouthed, and sucked in air greedily while your spit strung from your lips to his cock. 

“Stand up.” He commanded, and pulled you to your shaking feet. “Ready to get fucked sweetheart?” 

“Y-yes.” You said, lightheaded, wiping the drool from your mouth onto your uniform sleeve. 

The young man smirked out before turning you face first into the door. “Good. Don’t make a fucking sound doll. That is, unless you want to get caught? To have someone see you fucked out like this?” 

“N-no...”  

“Lets feel then how tight this hole of yours is.” 

He let out a devilish sounding chuckle while bringing his hips to yours and coaxing his cock into your leaking entrance. He was just as thick in your hole as he had felt in your throat, and you squeaked out feeling the challenge. With your face pressed against the wooden door with ventilation slits, you could see the feet of those walking past, barely even knowing what had been occurring on the other side. Light from the hallway peeped in and striped over your whole body which the man ravished. 

“Spread your legs farther...that’s it...just like that.” 

The stranger thrust slowly at first, like he could just barely give you a taste of his full length; like you barely deserved it too. 

“Fells good, doesn’t it? Such an obedient little fucktoy for me, aren’t you? I bet you were dreaming of this happening weren’t you? ...Looking at me the way that you were...” 

“P-please...” You begged for him to quicken, but that wasn’t even your place. 

“Do you fuck everyone like how you fuck me? I should have guessed that you would put out for anyone with those coy glances. I’m no idiot.” 

“H-harder...fuck me harder...” 

“Harder?” The rich young man scoffed, “I get to decide when I go harder.” 

The man rolled his hips, and the patting of skin filled the darkened room. He gasped out while finding his rhythm, then reached around his fingers to tease at your lips once more. 

“Wetter.” He chanted. 

You did as you were told, he and rewarded you with the harsher grinding of his hips. Once his digits were properly wetted again, he brought them back to your throbbing sex, and rubbed at it with the same ferocity that he snapped. 

“Cum all over my fingers you whore, cum like you fucking want it.” 

His words were dizzying, and you gently rocked yourself over his hand and focused everything you could to drawing out your orgasm which was nearly there. 

“That's right. Fuck my fingers kitten.” 

The stranger too began to shake and you could sense that he had started to let go as well. The door rattled where he had you pressed against it, but he didn’t appear to care in the slightest. 

“Oh god,” You peeped as quietly as you could, and felt your orgasm begging wildly. 

He stopped for a couple moments to tap lightly into your arousal nearly on the edge, then laughed wickedly at the way that your whole body shook in response. All the while, his hips maintained their quick drags. 

“Cum for me.” He demanded once more, and you obliged, finally erupting over his fingers with the cream of your cum lathers over your thighs and wrapping around his digits. 

The words came out airy and broken, “S-shit....s-shit...” 

He had become unchained, then turned his whole attention to the way that his fingers dug into your hips and how he could graze you so deep inside, it was like nothing you had known of before. He then grabbed at your ass with the bite of his fingernails while he pumped with hitched breaths. 

“Back to your knees.” The command was sudden, but soon you found your shaking legs right back on the ground. 

The stranger jerked himself fervently with eyes screwed shut and his own soft moans trailing from his pink lips and wetted tongue. 

“Look at me.” He whispered. With one more flick of his wrist, he sent himself spewing his white and warm cum all over your face; ruining every feature. You closed your eyes to protect them but permitted your tongue to him freely where he jerked out the last of his milkly liquid directly onto your taste buds. His cum had painted your cheeks, and dripped from your jaw. At last you swallowed down the most you could with the bitter aftertaste that you had loved so much. 

“Well, that’s certainly a sight.” The man reveled at his work. 

You gasped out for him and grabbed a nearby towel to wipe the rest away, although he appeared somewhat disappointed by this. He too took a towel to wipe off his length and sweating forehead. After, he was silent picking up his clothes, and jingling his belt once more back over his waist. It often ended like this: the few words spoken in the moments before they left. 

“Thanks for that babe.” He grinned. “Name’s Lee Minho. ‘Hope I’ll be seeing you around again.” 

~🌹~ 

Bunch of (Ro)ses! 

@minaamhh @dazzlehoseok @synnocence @jjewibeans @hyunsluvv @unexceptional-h @bobawithchaitea @lechanters @sailorhyunjinz @silencefavarchive @lunarskzzz  @yourdaddychan @bubblelixie @spnobsessedmemes @lmhmins @eunaeiekim

[ecrivant]

tendresse | reiner braun

(reiner braun x reader)

a.n. –  dude!  you just posted tender, slice-of-life aot cringe!

in the woods, away from the world, you and reiner take a moment to yourselves to just exist; a tender respite in the eye of the storm. emotional catharsis, a consideration of what could have been.  

takes place during the marley arc, right after reiner’s confession at the campfire, but there are no spoilers.  reader is gender neutral.

word count: 1.4k

He sat alone, away from their temporary settlement, swallowed by trees and the oppressive nocturne which had long since appropriated the respite of the campfire in which the group dined.  Yards away, Warriors and the Paradisians together in repose—both groups, two-sided coins, unaware that their flipside lay in each other’s own counterpart.  He listened to their stirring bodies—their restlessness, indistinguishable.  The wind’s steady respiration rustled the trees, and his eyes, sensitive from the prolonged darkness, made out moving branches against the moonlit sky.   The relentless ether, pitch-dark but not void, hung precariously above the canopy, threatening to crush anything beneath it if its suspension happened to fail.  Perhaps he wished for such a swift end, one where everyone was stripped of their agency and had no choice but to submit and relinquish their will.  Only if it were that simple.

“Reiner?”

The sounds of footfalls against the detritus.  Each step, a tightening of the vise.  You extended a hand to touch his shoulder, trembling digits meeting tense muscles. His name, again, left your lips in a whisper.  He wouldn’t turn to look at you.  Or couldn’t.

His eyes stayed on the ground as you collapsed beside him, legs giving into exhaustion.  Despite everything, your auras still emitted a warmth the two of you could quietly share.  Neither spoke.  

An image materialized: one of you and Reiner, blithely inebriated after sneaking into the superiors’ liqueur stash, seated atop a once-virescent knoll, now bathed in the pitch of night.  Another moment shared in silence from years before. You frowned at your memory’s disquieting betrayal.  

“I don’t know how much more I can apologize.”

“Please, don’t.”  He finally turned to look at you.  The contours of your profile, tenebrous and barely there, the same he impressed upon himself years ago and returned to during all the sleepless nights in Marley, were still intoxicating.  Your brow, furrowed in frustrated thought.

You continued, eyes facing forward, “I’m tired of hating you.  I just want a moment without brooding.”

Reiner nodded.  He, more than anyone, wished for a moment free of the merciless despondency.

The groundcover rustled as you moved to sit in front of him.  Your eyes, pupils blown wide, bore into his.  He felt read by you, self-conscious under your gaze, but refused to look away. Your hand came to rest against his cheek, a touch that held all your unvoiced tenderness and compassion and betrayed your ocular intensity.  He severed your eye contact to close his eyes and feel—feel the warmth of your palm burning onto his frigid skin, feel the memories of your timid touch.  A quivering whisper, cracked:

“It’ll all be over soon, Reiner.  Then we can rest.”

Your words hung in the air, but you allowed the moment to move around you, through you, eventually taking your words with it.  

Different circumstances, and he would have married you.  He regretted the thought.  

“Why do you care so much about me?” he asked quietly, moving beneath your touch.  

 Your sternum imploded, winding you.  The prickle of tears bloomed in your sinuses, spilling over before you could compose yourself.  

His eyes opened, half-lidded, as your hand pulled away from his face.  He saw your lips parted in shock, quivering.

“Why do I care?”  A ragged query, laced with tears.  

Reiner looked at you with clouded eyes, and you pulled him into your arms, desperate.  You sobbed into his shoulder, and you cried for him. He sat unmoving before he eventually held you back, wrapping his arms around your form.  He felt grateful you couldn’t see his tears but then wondered why—in cathartic surrender, he allowed a sob to reverberate through his body, and then another, and soon his form gave way to violent palpitations that caused you to grip onto him tighter.  He wished, consumed by a twisted machoism, for this to last forever—to be held by you, flayed open and made raw, basking in your shared heartache and effusions.  This was pain he could endure eternally.

He was pulled back to the present as you murmured something, quiet ululations swallowed by your gasping breaths and tears: I love you, said over and over again like an ephemeral mantra rather than a confession.  Words that Reiner had unrelentingly fought against, suppressed; words that threatened to self-articulate and spill forth in the quiet interstices you shared, late at night, tucked away from the soldiers’ barracks; in the moments walking to and from the dining room at HQ; in the moments where you would laugh and his chest would swell and his face would flush and he would want nothing more than to take you into his arms and hold you; in the moments of silence pervaded by things unsaid.  

Now, in this moment, he loathed himself for not saying anything, for not being the first to say it.  To have exacerbated the torment of his betrayal in exchange for a few blissful moments of ignorance where you loved blindly and unabashedly—would it have been worth it?  Cruelly, selfishly, he wished he had done it.  He would have taken those moments to the grave.  

Your lips, still engaged in a distraught glossolalia, ghosted along his neck, voltaic, jolting him out of his ruminative daze.  He pulled away from you.

“Can I kiss you?”

His shaky whisper, boyish and innocent, silenced you.  You were faced with a younger Reiner—the subtly shy cadet who once carefully asked to hold your hand as he snuck you away from the grounds—and felt your heart seize.  Why couldn’t it always have been this way?

Your noses bumped as you leaned in.  The kiss was callow, both of you unsure of how to move against the other.  Reiner’s hands still rested on your shoulders and yours remained in your lap.  Awkwardly immobile.  He pulled away, and you were both smiling, flushed, teenage.  Even in the dark, his worry lines seemingly dissipated; you wish you had appreciated his youthful features years ago.  

He closed his eyes again, surrendering to bliss as your soft fingers traced the contours of his face. Up and down the bridge of his nose, along his lips, over his eyelashes; your lips shadowed your touch, softly kissing the tip of his nose, the side of his mouth, his eyes, one by one.  Delicacy that would never see the waking hours, instead confined to private moments in the obscurity of night—you both silently and implicitly acknowledged there was no room for tenderness in a world so inhospitable.  

“We would be married,” he began.  Realizing what he was doing, your heart clenched, eyes begging him to stop—but Reiner wanted to indulge.  Emotional machoism.  

“And we would have a home by the sea.”  His resolve fractured—his voice began to shake.  

“Reiner, please—"

“We could grow old together, and,” he paused, swallowing the tremor in his words, “we could even have a kid or two, if you wanted.”

You couldn’t look at him. To speak of dreams was linguistic torture, mental contamination: the vocalization and deception of an aching beauty, a deceptive chimera.  

“I would love you until there was nothing left.”

He grasped your digits, begging you to imagine it with him.  Your eyes shut.  The rhythm of undulating tides and the crash of waves, the scent of saline breeze.  Reiner on the beach, his fair hair full of sand and bright against the unbroken azure of the sky and the sea.  The warmth of the sun against your complexion, caressed.

The cruelty of reverie.

You sat together, awake, until the dim morning light edged over the horizon.  The blue dawn, cool and encroaching, enveloped the woods in an ethereal glow.  Fog hung low, and as the blue gave way to golden light, rays cut through the haze and the trees, collecting around you.  Reiner’s creased features returned, but his gaze remained soft.  You looked at him, intense as always, and saw him plead.  You respired slowly, focused on your beating heart, and apologized.  Neither of you knew exactly why.  

The others began to rise.  The coals of last night’s fire were grey ash, crushed and scattered underfoot.  You and Reiner blinked tears out of your eyes, sharing one last look, before joining the rest of the group.

—

wow!  reiner simps rise up!  thank you so much for reading this piece!  i legitimately think reiner has some of the most compelling character development ever + he’s hot, so who better to write something for?  

i haven’t written anything, much less fanfiction, in a very long while, so things are probably real rusty.  feedback and constructive criticism are always welcome but also… please be nice to me.  i have a very weak emotional constitution.  also, i honestly think i fell back into writing because aot s4 is getting to me and i need a place to process shit.  hope you enjoy a live view of my mental degradation.  feel free to shoot me a request for a piece here!

[writing-in-april]

Training wheels

Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: Years later after Spencer teaches Reader to drive even though he hates driving, Reader becomes good enough to ride a motorcycle they get him to come along on a ride.

A/N: hey heyyyy- this is my seventeenth fic for my 30 fics in 30 days for April! This fic is based on this request- which I decided to make smutty instead of full on smut so I could make it a bit more fluffy. Disclaimer- I know nothing about motorcycles and I can’t even drive lol so sorry for the lack of terminology. This ended up being gender neutral- I checked it over for the correct pronouns a few time but I could have missed something- please let me know if so! Feel free to give me your response by sending something to my inbox here. Thanks for reading and hope y’all enjoy.

Warnings: 18+- (if you are found to be violating this I will tell writers who you are), no full on smut- in the smutty/spicy category, a bit of grinding, implications about having sex in the future, In public sexual teasing (who’s fucking surprised), hints at Sub!Spencer, A few swear words

Main Masterlist Word Count: 2.0k

Spencer hated driving. He always shook whenever he couldn’t stop the racing thoughts about the dangers of moving vehicles. He knew he was a good driver, but it was easier for him to trust the metro which stayed on its tracks (most of the time). A car with no rigid path and with so many variables just made Spencer’s mind race too much.

You were the only person that could get him to get into a car, without any sort of coercion. At his job he had accepted it as a reality of his situation; there was no way that he could get around it. He agreed to teach you how to drive to your job, which happened to be where you had met him. You ran a small thrift store just walking distance from your apartment. There had been no need to drive anywhere, until you opened up another branch on the other side of town.

You had met Spencer there, he had come in at night, just before close. He shopped around for a few sweater vests and cardigans until you had told him that you needed to close. His mumbled apology had been so cute you remember it to this day.

When he noticed that you walked home in the same direction as his, he offered to keep you company. At first you thought he had done it out of guilt since he made you stay late, until you realized he liked your presence. It was not a romantic relationship (not yet at least), you both didn’t kiss or anything, but you did love to tease him.

He cared about you, and you about him, which is why he eagerly offered to teach you to drive when you mentioned that you were scared to learn with an instructor. You preferred to be taught by someone who you knew and knew was a good driver. Spencer was just that, even with jittery fingers and tapping feet.

Since then you had become a great driver, good enough that you felt confident indulging in one of your dreams. You had always wanted a motorcycle, the wind blowing in your face and the freeing quality it had, had always made you desire one. Despite Spencer’s protests about the potential for even more safety hazards than a car you still indulged your dream, confident in your skills that Spencer had laid the foundation with his excellent teaching skills even while slightly fearful.

You had taken to it like a fish to water, it had been even easier than when you had Spencer teach you. Now it was the time to show the master how the apprentice approved, though you highly doubted Spencer liked to be called a master at driving. More like a teacher, a nervous one.

It did take some convincing for him to agree to ride on your motorcycle with you.Somehow, through gentle persuasion throughout the last few months, you had done it. He had prefaced it saying that it would be the only time it would ever happen, and you made it your goal to change his opinion. You highly doubted he’d ever want to drive it, which was fair considering he couldn’t stop the thoughts of statistics about safety in his head. You hoped though, that maybe he’d like riding with you.

“Is it safe?” Was his first question as soon as he arrived at your small thrift store you owned, jittery with nerves.

“Well- hello to you too.” You sassed cocking your hip to the side while holding your helmet in the small of your waist. He blushed bashfully, then finally said hello before you assured him, “I wouldn’t be bringing you if it wasn’t safe- I wouldn’t be driving it if it wasn’t safe.”

“Ok- I trust you.” He relaxed a little, though he was obviously still nervous.

To cheer him up a little you pivoted the conversation onto a more jovial topic, “Will you wear a leather jacket?”

“Maybe next time- if you convince me to get on the death trap again.” It was rare to see Spencer tease you back, but you thoroughly enjoyed it.

Quipping back you said, “Maybe I could get you to drive it too”

“I think I’d need training wheels for that.” A snort came out of you at that; it was funny imagining Spencer riding a motorcycle with bicycle training wheels.

“That would be a sight to see.” You swung your leg on to mount the vehicle, ready to take him on a spin. You then prompted him while getting your helmet on, “Come on pretty boy, let’s do this- and get that helmet on.”

He was a little nervous just going by the shaking in his palms, but he still put the helmet on and climbed on- albeit a bit awkwardly.

He wrapped his hands around your waist snugly when you roared the motorcycle to life. Whenever you had to break he clenched tighter, maybe not enough to leave bruises, but enough that it would be implanted in your memory for a good long while. You couldn’t see him, but you could feel him.

You could tell he had slowly relaxed a little bit more even while keeping a strong grip on you as you made your looped path charted out in your head. Starting at your store and ending at your store, it was longer than maybe it should have been, considering Spencer’s grip on you had made your arousal spark to life.

You soon realized you weren’t the only one enjoying this, feeling something slightly stiff as Spencer shifted slightly at a red light. Oh, he was enjoying it. His cock confined in his pants was growing harder as the journey progressed.

“Did you have fun?” You questioned just as you pulled back into where you started, even though you already knew he did.

He squeaked out a measly, “Yeah!”

You smirked again, out of sight from his face. Biting your inner cheek in thought, you contemplated whether or not to act on it. It would be so easy to just swivel your hips and begin to grind down on his erection that had been pressing into you during the whole ride.

Fuck it, this might be one of your only chances to make a move. You tilted your hips just a smidge, leaning back just a little into him. You heard a hitch in his breath, his hands he had around you tightening back around you, pulling you in closer.

He whimpered when you sat back a little more, testing the waters just a little further. When he himself rolled his own hips once you had to ask, “Do you want me to keep going, Spencer? Do you want this?”

His helmeted head dropped into the crook of your neck, nodding into it as he began to rock into you a little. You gripped around the handles that you were still holding, all you had done was break so far. You were both in broad daylight perched on top of the vehicle. Turning your head as much as you could when you realized he hadn’t verbally responded you prompted sharply, “I need you to speak up, pretty boy. Do you want this?”

“Yes!” He gasped quickly at your prompt.

You then ground yourself back onto his bulge, rotating yourself slowly to feel the torturous friction. The fact that your bottom halves were still clothed only made it even more devastating. No one was around as it was the weekend, when you weren’t open and no one was really around. You still tried to stifle any noises you were tempted to make as his own hips started to undulate into your own.

A person could round the corner and immediately see two people grinding like teenagers onto each other. You both may have been completely closed, but it was quite obvious what you were both doing.

The extra friction you were getting was building a burning orgasm in you, the noises you had been trying to hold back were too hard to stifle. A moan came out of your mouth when Spencer moved down his hands from your waist to the outside of your hips, pulling you down on him with even more ferocity.

When his phone then began to ring you both let out a groan, your hips stopping any movement you had been making over his hard bulge. He reluctantly pulled out his ringing and buzzing ancient phone. Which you would normally find endearing that he carried around somewhat arcane technology, but your weaning arousal was wanting you to smash it on the ground.

“Hello? Hotch?” You groaned, knowing exactly what this meant. There was no way this was going to go further tonight, Hotch wasn’t calling him on the weekend just for paperwork. He was about to leave for a case.

You ripped your helmet off of your head out of frustration while he continued to talk. Grumbling while wiping the sweat that had started to accumulate, Spencer chattering away quickly at Hotch telling him he’ll be there in about ten minutes.

When he got off the phone he began to stammer in apology, this was the only time I’d ever want to cut him off, “There’s no need to apologize- go catch a bad guy.”

“Thank you- and thanks for-r the ride and- um the other thing… I’ve got to go now, I’ll uh- talk to you later.” He then awkwardly shuffled off, trying to conceal his obvious bulge even though you were the only one around to see it.

When he got into his car, you were happy he had brought it for once. You wouldn’t have let him walk all the way to his office from here, and you would have had to drive him with his bulge pressing into your ass again.

“I’m gonna need a cold shower.” You added, mumbled underneath your back as you put your helmet back on, ready to drive back to your apartment to hopefully freeze your frustration away.

—-

The next time you saw him- about a week later, a little blush immediately graced his cheeks, probably thinking about what happened last time. You kissed his cheek and felt how hot they had gotten just by being in his presence. He was here again, early this time, ready for you to open up your shop for the day.

“You’ve got to wait 30 minutes until you can buy something, I don’t open till then,” You then flashed a smirk towards him, he might die from being overheated if you kept teasing him. Still, you continued to do it, “Can’t be seen to show you any favors, pretty boy. Then everyone would want one.” As soon as the keys turned to unlock you didn’t open the door right away, instead turning back to face him. He fidgeted even more underneath your direct gaze, also averting his eyes. You let go of your hold on the keys, bit your lip and added, “Though, I think you’d be the only one I’d want to be my favorite.

He stuttered a bit at that, before changing the subject, “Um- I came here to actually thank you for last week… I had a lot of fun.”

You then cocked your head to the side in question, “Didn’t you already thank me last time?”

“Yeah.” He responded meekly, clearing his throat a few times while he collected his thoughts. “Can we finish what we started?”

You beamed, as it had been exactly what you were hoping for. You made your way back over to him, this time to pull him by the front of his shirt to press a steaming kiss to his lips. He moaned, letting your tongue run over his teeth a few times before you deepened it further. You were panting by the time you released him, but worked through the gasping breaths to answer verbally now, “Of course- come inside with me. If you won’t go on another ride with me after this while wearing a leather jacket, I’ve got a leather jacket you can wear while I ride you.”

Ask Me Anything

—-

Tag lists (fill out this form to join):

All Works: @shotarosleftpinky @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @spenxerslut @boxofsparklingmuses @katexrichardson@takeyourleap-of-faith

All MGG characters: @muffin-cup @willowrose99 @princesssmooshie @peterpanouat @anaagraceeberr @ashcakes1918 @reid-me-a-story @cosmic-psychickitty

Spencer Reid/CM: @calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss @spenxerslut @onlyhereforthefanfics @jareauswifey @princesssmooshie @peterpanouat

Sub Spencer: @thatsonezesty13 @pastathighs @virtualpeanutartisanjudge @calm-and-doctor @princesssmooshie @peterpanouat

[butcherknives-remade]

hello hello! love your writing, hope to see more soon 👀 I have a little request if you don't mind: a little size kink/size difference with f!reader and the dmc lads, maybe it's their first time together and reader really wasn't expecting them to be THAT big, well, everywhere 🥵

Hey, I’m stoked that you’ve enjoyed! Thanks for sending in a request. I hope this satisfies~

Sparda men and size difference

> very NSFW

Ft. Fem!Reader from the Devil May Cry Series

Dante has never given your height - or, perhaps more adequately, lack thereof - much thought beyond the occasional realization that he shouldn’t, perhaps, put the dishware as far back in the cabinets as he has in the past. (Wouldn’t want you to knock yourself out with a surprise, wayward bowl you couldn’t see from way down there.)

Has he teased you, called you pipsqueak, small fry, and tiny dancer? Yes. And although you scoff every single time, he always smiles at you with featherlight affection. You can’t possibly hold your irritation.

It would be a lie to say you hadn’t been interested in his height, although your reasons are of a more nefarious nature. You know that a man’s size doesn’t have to correlate with, well, other parts, but you’ve peeked. Of course you have. And for fuck’s sake, you’re not blind. In fact, more than once, you’ve felt the outline of his penis against you while you’ve sat in his lap and stolen the breath from his lungs.

When the two of you fall into bed with each other for the first time, his voice chocolate in your ear, you find your heart is thrumming. His erection is intimidating down the line of his pants and as you struggle to calm your nerves, you tremble with anticipation.

“You lead,” he tells you as he runs his hands down your bare arms. “Whatever you want, babe, I’m game.”

You don’t hesitate. You slide your palm over the strain of his cock and marvel at the size beneath your touch. He presses a kiss to the side of your head, encouraging you as he otherwise remains as still as he’s able while you explore the shape. Your mouth is watering.

God, but the moment you free his dick, your heart catches in your throat. Nothing could have prepared you for his girth. You brush your fingers along his velvety shaft while he hisses, and you marvel at how you’re unable to touch your thumb to your index finger.

There is no way this will fit into you, you think.

“We go slow,” he says and you realize you’ve spoken out loud. Your cheeks flush pink. “Lube and patience. Lucky for you, I’ve got plenty of both.”

He’s right, you find. As he hovers above you, your arms encircling his neck while he aligns his dick to the heat of your slick cunt, he pushes the marshmallow tip in until he catches around your muscle. He pauses. He waits. He watches your expression and you think you might die when you slap your hand over your mouth to smother your whimpers.

It burns so, so fucking good as he works you open. Further, further, until he’s buried in as far as your cute little pussy can take him.

Shit, you think as he drags his cock back with a slow roll of his hips. You are unbelievably lucky.

Vergil is tall, unfairly so, and he uses his size against you more often than not. Nothing overt - no, that isn’t his style - but in the way that he attempts to intimidate you by invading your personal space, his presence weighted by power.

Perhaps, then, it’s no surprise when he utilizes this advantage by crowding you into a wall, palm slammed above your head as he looms over you. “Let’s forgo the games,” he says, and you feel goosebumps tightening your skin. “You want me.”

You swallow, feverish. Yes, you answer before you can deny the truth. Yes, you want him so badly, you can’t stop thinking about him. And as you yield beneath his jagged stare that pins you where you stand, picks apart every vulnerable inch of you until your soul lies bare, you swallow frigid uncertainty.

“Should I indulge you?” he says, his gaze narrowing as if he’s found precisely what he’d sought. Right there. “Are you worthy?”

The next several second pass in a blur. You’re taking off your clothes while he watches; you think he’d ordered you to, although you can’t hear him over the percussion of your heart in your ears. Is this happening? Can this be real?

He tells you to get to your knees and you obey, your face now hovering beneath the crotch of his pants. Here, you can see the start of his erection; here, you can feel his heat. God, but while you stare, batting your eyelashes and craving his dick, he has his fingers beneath your chin. You tip back to catch his eyes.

You can’t tell what he thinks of you while he rolls his thoughts in his head, yet you sense the shift in his demeanor all the same. He’s tipping his head, mirth lighting his pale, otherworldly gaze, and you bite your lip.

“Well?” he asks, expectant. His brows lift, nodding only once to signal your move.

You don’t hesitate. You’re working him out of his confines, reaching into his clothes to cup his cock in your petite hand. You lick your lips and lead him out of his clothes, adrenaline sparking hot in your lungs, and as you come face-to-face with the thick, pink tip, you can’t help but moan your desire.

He’s massive. You’re throbbing at the sight. You salivate while you slide your hands around his shaft and exhale humidity against his soft skin. Perhaps it would be impossible to get the whole thing into your mouth but as you palm your breast, you want to choke him down. The thought has you spinning.

Eyes dimmed, you give him a curious lick and listen to his quiet, approving hum. With his permission, you part your lips and seal your mouth over him, and when you swallow him down to the back of your throat until you gag, until you’re squirming for air, you feel how wet you are.

You’ve never wanted anything more.

Nero is protective, not because he thinks you’re weak - no, never that - but because it’s in his nature to shield you from harm. Your size certainly plays a role, although he never admits this to you. You know him well enough to discern, however; especially when he tugs you close and tucks you beneath his chin as if to hide you from the world.

It’s incredible how much he cares for you, and you, likewise. Overwhelming, even, when he smiles at you as if you’re all that he can see and presses kisses to your crown. You sigh your content as he pulls you into an embrace.

When no one else is around, in those rare, private moments, Nero loves to be close. It’s why it’s no surprise to you that when he’s bending down to steal your lips in his own, he’s sliding his hand beneath your shirt. You gasp and allow him to coast up, your shirt bunching with his arm until his hand is grasping your breast.

You’ve dreamt of this moment. Of being trapped beneath him as he rolls on top of you, encasing you between his elbows and swallowing your moans.

You notice how he’s angled his hips away from you, how he’s hovering just out of reach, so you palm his ass and coax him down. You naturally spread your legs, and you jolt when you feel his heavy erection slot into you.

His name is on your lips and he’s groaning, nipping at you while he collects his bearings. “Is this okay?” he asks, but whatever uncertainty he feels is masked by his husky, steady tone.

“Yes,” you tell him.

He sucks bruises into your neck as you rock together. His fingers lace with yours, your right to his left, and you cry out as he applies pressure everywhere. You’re whispering your love to him and you can see the blush that reaches the tips of his ears. You want him wholly.

When you’re both undressed, you take a moment to stare at each other. He calls you cute - he always calls you cute. He’s tracing the lines of your body, memorizing the planes and contours while you press a kiss to his chest, and when his hand caresses your pussy, you shiver.

He’s running his finger up and down between your folds, smearing your juices up to your clit until he’s panting his lust into your ear. “Fuck, babe,” he murmurs as he slides a finger in. “You’re so wet.”

You arch your back and whimper, but you notice how his pupils dilate. How he’s staring at you with a wild look in his eye. “You’re really tight.” You shiver, licking your teeth, but he’s playing with your entrance, pumping his finger in and out until he can slip a second inside. When you cry out, he bares his teeth. “Shit. You’re gonna feel so good around me...”

His cock is heavy. Fully erect and bobbing with his movements. He’s right. He’s right. You’re incredibly tight; you’re so small. There’s no way, not a damn chance you’ll get that into you.

But Nero is thrilled. He’s pumping his fingers into you with noisy, wet squelches while he nips and kisses at your knee, at your thigh until his mouth is between your legs. Until his tongue is brushing against your core.

“Man, you’re even little here.” He hums his pleasure, long and low. “Better loosen you up.” You tremble as you spread yourself wider while he parts you with his fingers. “You gotta be able to take me.” He licks a long stripe and you reach for his hair.

He makes you orgasm and you find, oh, even though he’s broad, he slides into you easily.

[kiingocreative]

The Structure of Story is now available! Check it out on Amazon, via the link in our bio, or at https://kiingo.co/book

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There are some buzz words everywhere and, in the writing world, and it feels to me like ‘journaling’ is one of them. It’s something everyone seems to be doing.

It took me a while to build a journaling habit, and I wouldn’t say I’m quite there yet with my Journaling discipline, but whatever experience I’ve had with it has been incredibly beneficial.

What’s Journaling?

Back to the old trusted dictionary! Journaling is defined as:

To write in a journal or diary.

Simple, right?

For those of you with a penchant for etymology and random fun facts, the word ‘journal’ comes from the Latin ‘diurnalis’, or ‘diurnus’, meaning ‘daily’. In late Middle English, a journal originally referred to a book containing the appointed times of daily prayers. (If you use this as an ice-breaker at your next dinner party, please let me know!)

Nowadays, journaling is a lot more about keeping track of one’s praying schedule, and much more about recording one’s thoughts in an informal, free-flowing, stream-of-consciousness manner.

It’ll take different forms for different people, and the great thing about it is that (in my view) there isn’t a right or wrong way to journal. The only right way to do it is the way that feels right to you. As with any form of writing, craft or art in general, it’s all about individual preference, and highly subjective. And because Journaling is generally something that remains personal and private, you can do whatever the heck you want with it.

Pretty great, isn’t it?

Why Journaling is Good For You.

Based on my own experience, I’ve found a few benefits to journaling:

Pressure-free writing.

I’ve found that Journaling, because it follows no set rule and isn’t meant to be shared, is a great chance to write without any pressure. To write just because you want to write, with no other agenda than indulging in your love of putting words together on a page.

To me, writing without an outcome in mind is always liberating. It’s a chance to reconnect with your craft in way you might not if there was a clear purpose to it, like writing a book due to be published or a blog article meant to be posted online.

Experiment with your writing.

Journaling is also the perfect format to experiment with your writing, and try your hand at something new. Maybe you normally write fiction, and Journaling is a chance to give poetry a go. Maybe you generally blog, and your journal can start hosting plots and ideas for a novel, regardless of what you make of it later. Maybe you’ll want to try writing exercises—like jotting down ideas from a prompt or in a specific style. Or you could start recording dreams and memories you can remember.

Discomfort is where we grow, so putting yourself in those situations regularly is a great opportunity to expand your writing abilities and hone your skills. Who knows, there may be writing gold in there somewhere!

Never forget an idea.

I don’t know about you, but I often get ideas for my writing and beyond at the most inconvenient moments—in the shower, whilst cooking, doing the dishes, or picking up dog poop (I know, oh the glamour of a writer’s life!). I always think that I’ll remember these, but the truth is, most of them get forgotten, never to be retrieved again from the confines of my mind.

Journaling is a great way never to lose sight of an idea. My Journaling involves a lot of notes about random ideas I have for a plot, a story, a post, or life activities in general. They serve as inspiration for the future. Writing them down helps me rest assured that I can go back to that list and explore it later, whenever convenient.

Free your mind &notice trends.

One of the most important things I’ve notice happen when I journal, is that it helps me empty my mind fro ma lot of the never-ending thinking loops I tend to fall victim to. By putting thoughts down on paper, I’m able to see them more clearly, and my brain finally feels like it no longer needs to hold onto them. Jotting things down is a great way to break your pattern of thinking (or, if you’re like me, obsessing) and to allow yourself time to take a step back and look at the big picture.

Whether it’s something you’re stuck on in your writing, or in your life in general, journaling on it is powerful, especially if you do it regularly. Not only will you create more space in your mind for better and brighter things—say, your next brilliant writing idea!—but it’ll also give you a chance to notice trends and recurring themes. And that’s a great way to build awareness about your own patterns of behaviour, and start eradicating your most negative or toxic thinking habits.

Keep a record.

Performance coach Tony Robbins (yes, him again! What can I say, I’m a huge fan) says that ‘if your life is worth living it’s worth recording’. I couldn’t agree more. Journaling gives you a chance to be your own life historian. To keep track of where you’ve been and how far you’ve gone. To look back on those day-to-day accomplishments that may look minute at the time but all add up to something big and wonderful in the end.

Looking at your own existence and experience as something that’s worth keeping a record of also sends your subconscious mind a clear message: that’s you’re worthy. You’re enough. Every moment of your life has an impact, the good and the bad, and helps mould who you become.

I’d say there are few more powerful truths to embrace in your lifetime!

Getting Started with Journaling.

That’s all well and good, you might say, but where do I start?

Fear not, my friend, here are some suggestions to get you started.

1. Set a schedule — If you don’t make time for it, chances are it won’t happen, because life has a habit of getting in the way. Identify a time that works best for you—whether that’s morning, midday, evening etc.—and schedule it in your calendar, setting a reminder so you don’t forget about it. If finding time daily feels daunting or unrealistic, why not start with once a week, or a couple of times a week?

2. Make it a habit — Stick to it! Whether it comes naturally or not, be disciplined about it. Embrace whatever comes, both the joys and the discomfort of it. Set yourself a goal—every day for a week, every other day for a month etc.—and sit with it for the entire duration you committed to.

3. Set a timer — Journaling doesn’t have to take a lot of time. I tend to journal for about ten minutes at a time on average, sometimes less and sometimes more. If you’re unsure what duration to start with, set a timer for ten minutes and see what comes up.

4. Let it flow — As I mentioned above, Journaling may or may not feel natural at first. It may feel great or it may feel uncomfortable. Whatever comes up for you, let it flow. Why not journal about the sensations and feelings the experience of journaling brings up? It may end up being one thing one day and something altogether different the next. Whatever it is for you at any given time is what’s right. Be open-minded, remember this is unique and personal, and no one—not even you—should ever judge it.

The Power of Rituals.

If you’re still unsure about the value of journaling, or about getting started with it, let me say this one final thing: the most important piece of the puzzle, as with anything else you do, is defining your ‘why’—i.e. the reasons behind your decision to start (or continue) journaling. Ask yourself:

Why do you want to start journaling?

Why is it important to you?

How do you think it’ll make you feel? How do you want it to make you feel?

What difference do you think it’ll make to you, to your life, to your writing?

Clearly defining your ‘why’ and your intentions will help you maintain the habit. More importantly, understanding the value this holds to you will take journaling from a mere habit—which can feel like a chore—to a ritual of self-care. That’s the difference between doing it because you think it’s cool, or because everyone is doing it, or because you think you should do it, and doing it because you know for a fact, in your core, that this will make you and your writing better and stronger.

This will go a long way in making it more enjoyable. It’ll help you build rituals around it that are nurturing and caring. Get yourself to acknowledge why it’s good for you and why it’s pleasurable, and then set up the environment to make your journaling time feel like an absolute treat. Maybe that’s setting the scene in the room where you journal with a candle or some background music. Maybe that’s selecting a nice notebook if you’re doing this by hand, or picking your favourite writing spot, at home or beyond.

Eventually, these will all act as triggers to get you into the right journaling mindset whenever you’re sitting down for it.

And if you’re not quite sure what that all looks like for you… Well. Isn’t that a great topic to start journaling about?

[ickymichi]

I am in love with Issei and need a hug so here we go. Being sad or upset and just wanting to cry, so he insists on cuddling. He hugs you, and cradles you for a little while. He has you wrap your legs around his waist as he cradles your head. He sits on the bed, you in his lap just enjoying his company. Eventually he lays down and you wrap your leg around his legs and one arm is under you writing out what he loves about you on your back (you were too tired to notice, but he does this every night). And his other hand is rested on your head and he gives you sweet kisses all over your face. Reassuring you, telling you how much he loves, and insisting it’s time to rest now

he knew

matsukawa issei x reader drabble.

warnings: just talking about not feeling the best some times :)

word count: 437

note: this was really nice to write ty :,)) sorry it took a while bub <3 reblogs are greatly appreciated

on days you just couldn’t bring yourself to move from the confinement’s of the warm sheets on your bed issei always knew what to do. when to be there at your side and when to give you your space

he knew when he came home from work and all the lights were off, dishes still sitting in the sink and tv off. he knew that when he’d open the bedroom you’d be there where he left you this morning.

“hey pretty, y’ okay?” he knew he wouldn’t get much of an answer. but when you gave a shake of your head he nodded his own. “how ‘bout we just cuddle for the night, that sound nice?” without getting an answer he still moved to rid himself of his work clothes and into comfortable wear. “scooch over a lil’ gotta fit this dump truck somewhere,” in no time he was leaning against the headboard and pulled you up into his lap, letting you wrap you arms around his broad shoulders and legs around his waist—like a little koala is what he’d tell you.

he knew you loved his right hand. the hand you spend hours admiring the one that had the dark ink decorated across his fingers and the back of his hand. he’d always let you trace the art when you were feeling like this but this time he knew, he knew you just wanted to hold him close and let him work his magic. so he brought the limb to your head and rubbed up and down soothingly, occasionally pressing soft pecks to the crown of your hair.

he knew you didn’t need to talk to enjoy each other’s company, you could just indulge in the comfortable silence. every now and then he’d whisper softly in your ear, careful not to startle you.

he knew that after sitting up for so long his back would start to cramp—‘old age’ he’d always tell you. giving you a warning first, he moved slowly to lay on his back, careful not to move you to much. once you both lay flat his arm went to under you and wrapped around your back. your legs intertwining with his own, bridging your thigh to lay against his own.

he knew you couldn’t feel the way his fingers were tracing hearts and little ‘love yous’ into you back, the sleep you needed started to overcome your tired mind. careful not to move to much, he manoeuvred his free hand to rest against your head just like before.

he knew sleep wouldn’t come that easy, so when he heard soft little sniffles he knew to bring your chin up to face him, letting him plant soft kisses over your face, wiping the flowing tears away and giving you the words of reassurance you needed.

“‘s okay to feel like this y’ know. we all do sometimes, some may feel a bit worse and that’s okay. doesn’t mean it’s gonna last forever. but i think you know that i’ll be here forever, i’ll always be there when your feeling like this. you don’t need to feel like it’s a burden or tell me you want to lay in bed all day- i think we both now i love doing that more than i should. but, just remember that ‘kay. whenever you need me for anything, if you need me to reach the sweets on the top shelf or need me to lay here with you like we are now. i’ll always be there as quick as i can, i promise.”

he always knew what to say and what to do on days like this. you knew he’d keep that promise for as long as he can.

[luffles424]

Stay

☼ Pairing: Yoongi x reader

☼ Genre: historical!au, king!Yoongi, assassin!reader (it’s not what you think), light angst, fluff, smut

☼ Count: 3K

☼ Warnings: unprotected sex, creampie, teasing, biting, face fucking, dom!yoongi, bratty!reader, spanking, hair pulling, fingering, dirty talk, orgasm denial, soft sex

☼ Summary: Sneaking into the king’s quarters is as easy as breathing for you. The sneaking out though, might prove to be a little more difficult this time.

☼ a/n: Because we all thristy for our boy Agust D uwu Let me know what you think! My ask box is always open ~ ��💙💙💙

Yoongi enters his chambers, door closing on the guards posted out from and relief flows through him now that he’s finally alone for the day. If he had to have one more meeting or talk to another person, he might have just screamed. He itches to get out of his royal robes, feeling too confined by the luxurious silks and the burden they bring. The small golden crown is tugged from his topknot and he loosens the hair enough for it to hang in a ponytail instead of a bun, tossing the golden accessory to the small dresser with little care. His headband quickly follows and he rubs at his forehead, hoping that if he rubs enough maybe the ache will finally leave.

“You know, you should really fire your palace guards, your highness.”

Yoongi startles, whirling on the intruder, hand resting on the small dagger he keeps tucked away at all times just in case. He relaxes instantly when he realizes that it’s just you. You grin at him, lounging across his bed. 

“Or perhaps my assassin shouldn’t be sneaking around my palace.” Yoongi quips back, turning back to the dresser and shedding the rest of his accessories now that he knows that there’s no threat. 

“I merely seek to ensure your safety, your highness. That means testing your guards to ensure they’re capable of doing their jobs and protecting you.” You watch as he slowly removes the trappings that mark him as king, until he stands there in nothing more than a thin undershirt and his pants. He looks lighter like that. 

He turns to face you, head tilted and his scar stands out in the low light. The reason you're so adamant for his safety, the one time someone had gotten through all the defenses and not because they were just testing the guards. It hadn’t even been to get to Yoongi, but to get to you through Yoongi. You’ve never forgiven yourself for what happened to him. Despite his constant reassurances that he didn’t blame you in any way for what happened. 

But you still felt guilt and so you offered yourself to his service, in secret of course. They’d never accept a woman as a warrior, so Yoongi kept you in the shadows, which suited you just fine, you worked best in the shadows anyway. 

Yoongi draws you from your thoughts as he approaches, features softening. “Are you okay?”

You scoff and sit up. “Of course I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be, your highness?”

His lips quirk, he looks far too knowing. “Because you only stick to my title in private when something’s wrong.” He reaches out, fingers brushing your cheek. “What’s wrong, my moon?”

You lean into his touch, scooting over enough for Yoongi to climb onto the bed beside you. Instead of saying anything, your arms wrap around his neck and you pull him in for a kiss, hoping to distract him from further questioning.

“Missed you…” You murmur against his lips. 

You feel his momentary smile and then he’s deepening the kiss, hands grabbing your waist to pull you up and over onto his lap. He trails his lips along your jaw to your neck. “Missed you too…” His hand slides down to cup your pussy through your pants. “Missed this pretty little pussy too.”

“Yoongi, please.”

He chuckles, teeth nipping at your skin. “What is it you want? Anything and it’s yours, moon.”

You shudder at his words, trying not to think about the fact that you know he does mean anything. He would give you the world if it would make you happy. That thought is too scary, gives you too much hope. You swallow and ask for the small piece of him you’ve allowed yourself. 

“Want you. Fuck me, please?”

“Always, moon, always.”

His hands slide under your top and you groan at the contact. It’s been so long since you’ve gotten to touch and feel him. But you had to stay away, both for the sake of your mission and because he’s gotten married. A strange woman hanging around and sneaking into the king’s quarters would be hard to explain. The thought of his wife makes your skin crawl. 

You’re sure she’s a lovely woman, but the fact that she gets to be seen with Yoongi in public, gets to touch him whenever she wants makes you equal parts sad and jealous. You wonder if they’ve consummated the marriage yet and your stomach turns. It’s been weeks, it’d be odder if they hadn’t.

Yoongi’s fingers are firm against your cheeks, directing your gaze to his. “Focus on me, moon.”

You are both grateful and hate that he knows you so well. That he probably knows exactly where your thoughts are going. His gaze darkens and he smirks. 

“Seems like someone isn’t going to give me her focus, hm? Am I not enough to hold your attention?” You try to shake your head no, but Yoongi’s firm fingers keep your head still. “Seems like I’m just going to have to teach you a lesson.”

Your body heats at his words and you feel slick drip from your pussy. He pushes you off his lap so you stand in front of him and he leans back on his hands with a cocky smirk as his gaze trails over your clothes. 

“You won’t be needing those,” his gaze meets yours. “Strip.”

You fight down your own smile. “Right here, your highness?” you ask in your best imitation of sweet innocence. 

His gaze goes hooded. “Oh, darling, you don’t want me to do it for you. I suggest you listen.”

You strip out of your clothes slowly, relishing the way Yoongi’s eyes follow each movement until your clothes lay in a pile beside you. 

“You get more beautiful every time I see you, moon,” he murmurs, face softening for just a moment, leaning forward as his fingers trace along the scar that sits along your hip. It’s the matching one to the one on his face, in that you got them from the same person on the same night. You hadn’t even known you had it, too busy focusing on Yoongi. It wasn’t until panic crossed Yoongi’s face that you realized you’d been struck. 

His smirk grows once more and he’s tugging you forward roughly so you splay across his lap. He tugs your hair free of it’s bun, fingers carding through the strands for a moment before his hand trails slowly down your spine, leaving you shivering. He gropes your ass and then his hand is gone, the air quick to cool your warm skin. Quickly his hand is back, landing on your ass with a smack and drawing a gasp from you. Yoongi chuckles as his spanks you again, this time on the opposite cheek. 

“How many, moon? How many do you think you deserve?” he muses and you’re not sure if he’s being rhetorical or actually wants an answer. He rubs at the skin of your ass before smacking the flesh once more. “I think you deserve quite a lot. You’ve been exceptionally bad as of late, moon.” Another, harder than the others. “You’ve ignored me.” Smack. “Stayed away for weeks.” Smack. “For so long that I wondered if you’d died on something I sent you to do.” This smack is even harder, tears gather in your eyes as heat radiates across the skin of your ass. Yoongi’s voice wavers ever so slightly as he continues. “Thought I’d never get to see you again,” smack, “touch you,” smack, “fuck you.”

You squirm in Yoongi’s lap, a mixture of arousal and guilt churning in your stomach. You hadn’t thought Yoongi would have missed you so much. More so, you’d hoped that he would’ve been too busy with new duties to miss you. 

Yoongi catches your squirming, one hand pressing on the small of your back to hold you still while the other slips between your legs, fingers sliding along your damp folds. 

“Seems you enjoyed your punishment, moon.” He slips a finger in and you moan. “Oh, seems you enjoyed it a lot. Naughty little whore, hm?”

He pumps his finger a few times before slipping a second in beside the first, pressing harder against your back when you try to get his fingers to move faster. His fingers move agonizingly slow, seemingly content to prolong your orgasm for as long as it pleases him. 

“Yoongi please…” You whine, attempting to squirm in his grip again.

Yoongi just chuckles and slips a third finger in. “I don’t know, moon. Do you think you deserve my cock? I don’t think you’ve earned the privilege yet. You’re gonna have to work for it first.”

“Yoongi, don’t tease… It’s been so long, please, need your cock.”

Yoongi buries his fingers in as far as they go with a dark chuckle, hand leaving your back to bury in your hair and tug. He presses firmly to that spot inside that makes your toes curl and, hips now free of his hand, you squirm to feel them move and press just right. He indulges you, letting you fuck yourself on his fingers as he presses relentlessly against your g-spot. You gasp his name, orgasm so close you can almost taste it. 

Yoongi tugs on your hair, just shy of too painful. “Oh, did you think I just meant begging?” 

He pulls his fingers free of your pussy and you let out a noise of distress as your orgasm is ripped away from you. He drags the wet digits across your still burning ass and leaves a trail that cools and soothes the skin ever so slightly. He nudges you off his lap, directing you so you’re on your knees between his spread thighs, hand still in your hair and forcing you to tilt your head back to look up at him. “I meant you’re going to have to work for it, moon.” 

Your heels dig into the sensitive skin of your ass and you fight back a wince at the slight sting as Yoongi finally releases you and shucks his undershirt. Yoongi shifts and the tenting of his pants becomes even more pronounced and you lick your lips, reaching out to tug the offending articles off of him. He laughs, lifting his hips to help you shimmy his bottoms down, hard cock slapping against his belly. 

Your hands slide up along his thighs, the muscles flexing under your fingers and you smirk. “What would you have me do for it, your highness?”

His gaze drifts to his cock, hard and leaking against his belly. It’s been so long since you’ve seen it. It’s pretty, a cock truly fit to sit between a king’s legs. He’s thick, not too long, and your pussy clenches at the memory of how well he fills you. You want desperately for him to fill you again.

You wrap one hand around the base, holding it as your tongue darts out to taste the clear liquid gathering at the tip. Humming, you wrap your lips around him, bobbing your head. Yoongi groans, hand moving up to rest on your head, no pressure, just resting. For now. You’ve missed sucking his cock almost as much as you’ve missed him fucking you. 

You keep a slow steady pace, you know he hates slow and teasing after months apart. You also know that it means that he’s going to do something to fix your slow pace. 

Sure enough, you feel Yoongi gripping your hair a few moments later. There’s a growl in his chest when he speaks. “You know I don’t like it when you tease me when I haven’t had the privilege of using your slutty little mouth in a while.”

You hum in answer and you know he can feel the twitch of your lips as you suppress a smile. He hand tightens in your hair and he pushes you further down his cock, speeding your previous motions and forcing you to take him even deeper. Your fingers flex against his thighs and you glance up at him through your lashes. His head is tilted back, mouth opened in pleasure. He controls your movements, keeping you moving up and down his cock without giving you much of a chance to breathe. But even though you can tell that he’s losing himself in the warmth of your mouth, he won’t look at you. He loves watching you when you have your lips wrapped around his cock.

You squirm, you want his attention focused on you, to watch you while you pleasure him. You whimper as he holds you down, nose pressed into the hair at the base of his cock as tears prick your eyes once more. 

He finally glances down at you, a glint of knowing in his eyes. “Problem, moon?” You whine, squirming again. “Oh, my apologies. You can’t very well talk with your mouth full, hm?” He tugs you off, leaving you gasping for air as he chuckles. “Something you need?”

You pant, staring up at him with wide eyes. “Fuck me… Yoongi, please… I need it, need you cock. Please…” You feel a tear trail down your cheek. 

Yoongi reaches out, gently wiping away your tears. “Anything for you. Come here.” He helps you up onto the bed, laying you out on the silks that feel cool against your heated skin. He crawls over you slowly, settling between your thighs. His hair hangs down, creating a blonde curtain around you both. He dips down, lips pressing softly to your swollen ones. 

“Ask me again, moon.”

“Yoongi, fuck me please. I’ve missed you so much.”

He pulls back slightly, still close enough that your lips just barely brush, but far enough that he can actually see you as he finally lines up his cock and sinks into your pussy. You gasp, fingers digging into Yoongi’s back as he bottoms out, holding himself still while he holds your gaze. There’s emotion swimming there that you can’t quite place. 

You lean up to capture his lips in another kiss, anything to keep yourself from having to look into his eyes when it feels like nothing but love. The connection feels cruel when you don’t get the public half of it. You beg him to move and he complies, thrusts measured and languid, savoring the drag of your walls along his cock. Yoongi’s tongue slips into your mouth as his hand trails along your body until his fingers find your clit, drawing experienced motions around it.

“Cum for me, my moon. Cum on my cock. Fuck, it’s been so long, I’m not going to last.” Yoongi trails along your jaw and nips at your neck, leaving a mark as he murmurs his pleas in between. 

It only takes a few moments, your body tuned so perfectly to Yoongi’s touch, before your pussy is spasming around his cock as you cum with a cry. Yoongi is quick to slap a hand over your mouth with a chuckle.

“You can’t be too loud, moon. The guards will come thinking something bad is happening.”

Yoongi’s thrusts remain slow as you ride out your orgasm, whimpering against his hand. Once he’s deemed you through the peak of your orgasm, he speeds his thrusts up, fucking you hard and fast to chance his own orgasm. 

Yoongi cums with a whisper of your name against your lips, warmth spreading as he fills you with his cum. His forehead presses to yours, breath puffing against your lips. He kisses you softly, pulling himself from your pussy and moving to lay beside you. Pulling you close, he buries his face in your hair. 

Tentatively you wrap your arms around him. You can’t stay long, you have to slip away when the guards aren’t near so you don’t get caught. But you can at least allow yourself this moment, to pretend like circumstances were different and that you could always do this. 

You hear Yoongi’s breathing even out and you wait just a little longer before you’re carefully extracting yourself from his embrace. You’re just starting to tug on your clothes when his voice startles you.

“Where are you going?” His voice is soft but you can hear the hurt tinging the words. 

“I… was leaving?”

“Why? Stay with me.”

“Yoongi…” you sigh. “I can’t stay here. You’re the king. You’re married. You can’t just… have some random woman found in your chambers. Especially when she’s an assassin.”

Yoongi pushes himself up, tugging you closer again. “Except I can because I’m king. Moon, please… it doesn’t have to be this way anymore.”

You weakly attempt to pull away, but Yoongi’s hold remains firm. “”You’re married, your highness. We… We can’t be together anymore.” You feel off balance.

Yoongi remains quiet for a while. Your thoughts eat away at you. You shouldn’t have come. But you’re so weak for Yoongi. You missed him so much that you just had to see him again. You can’t do this again. This has to be goodbye.

“I’m not.” It’s Yoongi’s voice that breaks the silence. Voice low but firm. 

You’re confused about what he means. “What are you talking about…” You have a slowly growing suspicion of what he means.

“I’m not married. Not anymore.” He looks up at you, there’s such hope in his eyes that it feels like a punch to the gut. “We can be together.”

“W-what? Yoongi… you can’t be serious. What happened to your wife?”

“Nothing bad, I promise. She’s fine. Much happier not being married to me.” He chuckles slightly. He tugs you closer and buries his face in your belly. “I couldn’t stand the thought of being with someone who wasn’t you.”

You reel from his news. He left his wife? For you? Could you two really be together? You think that he’d face so much backlash. You can’t stand the thought of him getting hurt again because of you. But to finally be with Yoongi the way you have both always wanted. You supposed that if you were around him all the time, then he’d always be well protected. 

“Moon,” he calls softly, drawing your focus back to him. “Stay with me?”