#i have zero regrets bcs i WILL write this

[icejello]

So I was thinking of what Kavehtham fic i can write that is inspired by a different story or media

And then it just hit me in the face like a train

A TSOA inspired Kavehtham fic

[tracybirds]

made my friend (@echoofheartbeats) who's heard me chatter away about thunderbirds for four years now identify the characters

she could not

so she renamed them xD and it was the funniest conversation of my life so i made a comic sans powerpoint <;33

(for tumblr newbies open the first image and use the arrow keys or scroll through for the best effect :D)

[hoseoksluna]

MURK | myg ft. jjk

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

genre: angst, smut

word count: 16.9k

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

pinterest board: murk

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You keep it clenched in a tight fist. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You step into the shower, needing to get away. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You put a stop to it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you ask him. “Why are you here?” 

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

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

Stillness in his features. “So did I.” 

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

“Tilt your head back.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then it hits you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gasp. “No, Yoongi, I didn’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yoongi hasn’t come back yet. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You drift to sleep during the ride home. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did he tell you?”

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

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

“Did you?” 

“No.” 

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

It’s better than to feel nothing. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And again. 

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

He became obsessed with it. 

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

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

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

You wanted Jungkook again. 

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

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

He put two and two together. Immediately.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You fixed your mistake quickly. 

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

“Did I talk? Like I do normally?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And in the meantime, you doll yourself up. 

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

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

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

“He’s coming over later.” 

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

And you pray nothing gets in the way. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You hungry?” 

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

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

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

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

And he deepens the eye contact. 

“How do you like your butt plug?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t wear boxing gloves?” 

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

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

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

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

And you will. 

You will heal both of the males. 

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

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

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

But Yoongi can’t bear to see it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stillness, arousing stillness. You smile, innocently. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You have a perfectly free hand by your side.

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

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

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

He only chuckles, deeply. Teased, but pleased. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you shall. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yoongi hums. “Where?” 

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

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

“Like what?” 

“Touch yourself.” 

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

“How?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Am I doing it right?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The afternoon spent in the cabin dissolves. 

You didn’t expect that to happen. 

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

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

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

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

Out with the old, in with the new. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Off. Everything.” 

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

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

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

But when Yoongi leaves, your heart sinks in panic. 

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

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

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

It’s you who alleviates the tremors. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t have to think twice. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nods. 

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

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

He’s Daddy. Undeniably. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist / READ part one, READ part two 

[specific-dreamer]

stay gold is for darry too

“when you’re young and the world is new / it’s easy to forget when you’re trying just to make it through”

bc, cmon guys, darry is twenty. 20, two-zero. idk how different college was back then, so bare with me.

he’s from tulsa oklahoma, the south, and he’s twenty years old. assuming he didn’t take a gap year (i’m going off the musical sayin he had to drop out, instead of not go all together) he would’ve been in his second year of school.

(i’m putting a break here because this turned more into a headcanon than an analysis i fear)

and we know darry’s a lil extroverted social butterfly, i’m sure he made so many friends. do you think he told them he was going home for the weekend but would totally be back for that frat party? or do you think he had a best friend on campus that he couldn’t wait to introduce to his family and the gang because he just knew how’d great they’d get on?

because he’s at a state college likely, there’s gonna be greaser/soc rivalries still but chances are so high that the max tension will be arguments. so it’s likely he even got to (freely, and guilt free) make friends with socs.

his biggest worries sophomore year was if he would finish his homework and papers before the weekend so he could go home for his birthday. his biggest worry was working up the nerve to still his dad he blew his allowance that month on some girl. his biggest worry was struggling with being a first gen college student, juggling his papers and football practice, and his work study.

i’m willing to bet he didn’t even tell his parents he’d be home that weekend. i’m thinkin he told dally, because dally would likely forget to tell the others he was comin and everyone else can’t keep their mouths shut for shit.

i think he went to Oklahoma State, which is only 2 hours from tulsa. so, i’m thinking he caught the greyhound really really early that morning, like crackass of dawn early. and when he gets there it’s probably 6:00 and through the window darry can see his parents rousing soda and pony up for school. (school may start at 8:30, but they got two rowdy teenage boys one of whom hates school to get ready, they’ll wake up an hour earlier than necessary)

darry, in all his older brother glory, probably waits for the perfect moment to make his grand entrance. he’d wait until he hears ponyboy loudly complaining that “darry doesn’t have to wake up this early” and he fuckin grins because that’s the most perfect entry for him.

but he can’t get excited, not yet. he’s gotta act like it’s no big deal that he’s here, so he opens the door all casual like and starts toeing off shoes as he closes it behind him. and in his arrogant, i’m-the-eldest-of-course-i’m-right voice he says, “you’re so right, little brother. i actually woke up three hours ago.” and darry tries his damndest he really does, but he can’t help the way his chest loosens and his grin widens and it feels like every stressful thing he’d been worried about rolls off back when he hears the gasps and “sweet mother mary” from his family when he announces himself.

he probably doesn’t even get his second shoe off before he’s knocked to ground by pony (soda would have too, if he was anymore awake, instead he’s just staring at darry in confusion).

i’m gonna write a fic BUT BACK TO WHAT I WAS SAYING

do you think darry feels guilty for not having called ahead of time? do you think he wishes he stayed at school that weekend so parents wouldn’t have gotten in that wreck? do you think a small of darry, a part that he hates as each day passes, wishes that he let the social workers take his brothers? only to instantly regret that train of thought when his brothers crawl into his bed at 10pm trying to stop shaking and crying so they don’t “wake” darry

do you think that it was in that moment, that all those childhood jokes with his parents and phony arguments with paul suddenly became real. that sodapop and ponyboy are his babies. they may not be his in the same way that curly and angela are tim’s kids, but his friends at school are always sayin darry needs to stop referring to pony as his “littlest”.

we know darry didn’t cry at the funeral (or at all, at least to pony’s knowledge) but i really think college was such a breath of fresh air for darry that he was probably holding back sobs when he called his schools admission office to drop out.

i think before they could bury their parents properly, darry had to convince his brothers to go down to school with him so he could pack his things up. (i say convince because i think pony might’ve cried himself hoarse thinking that darry was going back to school and leaving them alone)

do you think darry cried the night before they went down to oklahoma state? because his friends were finally going to meet his littles that he could never seem to stop talking about. he’d have to find some way to apologize for missin the frat party (and his 20th birthday, hell, darry thinks his might’ve been more excited than he was) because saying his parents just died and he legally became a father of two is a little too comedic to sound real despite things.

or do you think he avoided his friends like the plague because he knows he’d break down if he saw their pitying eyes? he knew he’d break down if that one girl he couldn’t keep his eyes off of from his psych class saw him and soda carry his boxes to the car and stopped and ask him why he was leaving.

do you think after the funeral when darry made sure his brothers were alright, tucked in for bed and knew they could go find him if they needed anything at all, instead of going to his room he went to his parents room? just to feel their presence one last time. he probably went under their covers too, in the middle like when he was a kid so he could turn left and smell his daddy’s cologne or turn right and smell his mamas rosy perfume, just so he could get one more hug from them. just one more hug before he had to let them go

(do you think when ponyboy inevitably came lookin for darry to scare his nightmares away later that night he got scared when darry wasn’t in his room? do you think he started crying all over again unable to be tough because what if darry’s dead too or worse what if he really did leave them? do you think that’s when pony started sleeping with soda instead. that that’s when his image of darry being a hero cracked because what kind of hero leaves when people are still needing to be saved?)

[blueberrylixie]

yes, professor

professor changbin x fem! student reader 

word count: 9,903

content warnings: oral sex (m and f receiving), vaginal penetration, pussy job, fingering, overstimulation, unprotected sex, creampie (use protection kids!), professor kink, pet names (princess, angel, baby), light degradation (bin calls her a slut mostly), spanking with hand and a ruler, classroom sex.

let me know if i missed anything in this one-shot bc i tend to miss stuff! if you want to skip to the smut, scroll to the white heart divider!

Your first day of your last year of college was already off to a bad start. 

Not only was it already eighty-eight degrees out at only ten in the morning, but you had tripped and fallen on your way out of your dorm, and skinned your knee. The cut still hurt like a bitch, even as you traipsed the fifteen minutes to your first class of the day. 

And that was really the cherry on top of this miserable summer day. You had to attend your first and only college math class. And you were absolute shit at math.

If you had your way, you wouldn’t be taking this course at all. Not only were you bad at the subject, but you hated it. You wanted to become a technical writer, which 90% of the time didn’t actually require you to know any math. Writing? Love. Science? Fine. Even history was passable, Cs get degrees and all that. But math, for lack of better words, was the bane of your existence. You even struggled to pass back in high school. 

So no one could blame you for putting off this class until practically the last second. You didn’t want this to be your very last course before graduation, because that would be absolute torture. So you buckled in to take it your fall semester instead.

And oh how you were regretting it. 

Now, you stood outside the classroom. The little window on the door was covered with white paper, so you couldn’t see inside. If you could, you would probably have run away. 

Instead, you steeled yourself, straightened your shoulders, took a deep breath, and pushed it open. 

You had arrived a few minutes early, a little later than you usually were to other classes. You had admittedly stalled back at your dorm for as long as possible, knowing what was in store. 

You took a seat in the second row, a few seats away from a quiet-looking guy with dark hair. You pulled a notebook and pencil out of your backpack, before looking up at the front of the room.

And that was when you saw him.

He was standing facing away from you, writing something on the chalkboard. He wasn’t very tall, but he was incredibly built. His broad shoulders flexed in that navy blue button-up as he wrote, and you couldn’t help but check him out. His movements were confident and sure, like he knew he belonged up there. 

You’d never had a hot professor before. Maybe that was about to change.

Of course, he could have an unattractive face, you reminded yourself. Or even worse, a shitty personality. Just because he was ripped didn’t mean he was hot.

Then, he turned around.

Dear God. Your heart rate picked up immediately, your chest contracting as you gazed upon him rapturously. You didn't want to look behind you to see if anyone else felt the same way. There was no way they didn't. 

His dark hair was styled casually, wavy bangs sweeping across his forehead. He had kind, intelligent, yet humorous eyes, adorned with thick-framed black glasses, and small but full lips. Your eyes kept zeroing in on them, and you found yourself wondering what they would feel like against yours.

You shook your head, instantly clearing that thought from your mind. You could not be imagining your professor in that way. Even if he was young, maybe five years older than you at the most. You could not think about him like that. You were terrible enough at math as it was, and you couldn't afford to get distracted.

But when he smiled at the class, your mind went blank, forgetting your little pep talk. God, how could a man look so fine by simply existing?

“Good morning, class,” he said, pointing up at the board. My name is-“

Seo Changbin. 

You read the two words, written in a rushed, messy scrawl. You almost mouthed his name, wanting to feel what it was like to say it. But you kept your mouth shut. 

“My name is Seo Changbin, and I’m your professor this semester,” he continued. “This is a mid-level calculus class, so if that’s not what you’re here for, then you should probably leave now.”

You inwardly sighed. Taking a mid-level math class when you hadn’t taken math in four years seemed dangerous. And honestly, in any other situation, you might have hopped up and left, off to find the easiest possible course the school offered.

But how could you pass up the chance to be around this absolute specimen of a man for an entire semester?

So you stayed put.

“Good.” Changbin moved his hair out of his face, and you watched with a fervor you never thought possible. If your friends could see you, they would call you a simp. For this man, hell yes you were. 

“Now, I’ll be coming around with the syllabus.” He held up a stack of papers. “We’ll go over it, and then jump into the first lesson. Don’t worry, it’s nothing crazy. Yet.” He smirked, and your breath stuttered in your throat. Every time you assumed he couldn’t get any hotter, he inevitably did.

He started making his way up and down the rows of students, handing them the small syllabus. He greeted a few who he must have known from a previous course, asking them how their summer was. 

So he was an attentive teacher, too. Dammit.

Finally, he reached you. When your eyes met, just the hint of a smile graced those perfect lips. You held his gaze, unable to look away. Your entire body was on fire, and you crossed your legs in what you hoped was a casual manner. 

For a split second, you could have sworn his eyes flicked up and down your body, once, checking you out. But it was so fast, you couldn’t tell. Your face was so hot, you couldn’t think straight.

“And what’s your name?” he asked, coming to a stop in front of you. 

As you introduced yourself, he took a step nearer, leaning down. He wasn’t even that close, but you instantly felt the need to pull him to you. You weren’t sure if he felt it too, but the energy between you was magnetic. 

“Are you new here?” he asked curiously. “I’ve never seen you in my class before.”

“No, I don’t usually take math classes,” you responded. “This is my first and only one, actually. I’m an English major, but it was required.”

“So you’re a senior?” he chuckled. “Waited till the last possible minute to join us, did you?”

You shrugged, embarrassment threatening to overwhelm you. But you didn’t let it show, simply shrugging and smiling at him. “Math isn’t my thing.”

“Well, hopefully I can change that,” he grinned, handing you a syllabus. “Welcome.”

As he started class, you became enthralled with how knowledgeable he was. While most everything went over your head, you found yourself wanting to understand what he was saying. You wanted to impress him, wanted him to be proud of you. So while you would usually space out and succumb to boredom, you actually read the syllabus in its entirety, and took vigorous notes. Even if it was boring, you wanted to hear every word that came out of Changbin’s mouth.

When class was over, and you were packing up, Changbin walked over to the desks, saying goodbye to some of the students. You ignored him, not wanting to come off as too eager.

“It was nice to meet you, Miss English Major,” Changbin said, and you looked up, shocked that he remembered anything about you.

You glowered at him, rolling your eyes playfully. “Is that all you’re going to refer to me as from now on?” you teased.

He shrugged, straightening his shirt and smiling. “Once I get to know you, I’m sure I’ll refer to you as something else. For now, have a good day, Miss English Major.”

——————————

Two weeks passed uneventfully. 

Changbin’s calculus class had started ramping up, and you were barely surviving. Everything was very confusing, and you found yourself blacking out for most of class just staring at your hot professor, instead of learning. All your other courses were a breeze, which left you tons of time to focus on failing to understand basic math. 

You and Changbin had continued to talk, a little bit every day after class. He would ask you about your other courses, mostly about writing and all kinds of grammar. He seemed genuinely interested in you and your life, which was so opposite from any other teacher. He even wanted to know about your personal life, like your family and friends. You told him everything. Except the fact that your friends were dying to meet your aforementioned “hot professor”. It felt nice knowing that he supported you, even if you were inevitably going to fail his class.

You fell into a nice groove, of sorts. You would act cool, funny, even effortless, to his face, and when you got back to your dorm, when none of your roommates were back yet, you would touch yourself to the thought of him. Fantasizing about his rough, strong hands holding your thighs open as he ate you out, or him caging you in between his huge arms as he pounded into you from behind. You couldn’t help it, you were infatuated by him. You wanted him, no matter how terrible you were doing in his class.

All that changed on the Monday of your third week.

“Next week, we’re having our first test,” Changbin announced as he stood at the front of the room. He turned on the projector to display a PowerPoint presentation with information about the test.

It would be thirty percent of your overall grade. One test?? Thirty percent??

You felt your mouth hanging open as you stared up at the screen, then down at Changbin. How could such a kind, handsome man do this to you? Was he trying to make you fail?

Changbin met your eyes, and a smile graced his lips. You snapped your mouth shut, feeling your face warm. He definitely just saw you gaping at him like a fish. Totally smooth.

“I know some of you may be worried, and some of you may not,” he said. “And if you’re one of the former, I would love for you to stay after class and talk to me about it. I know you all have the ability to pass this test. Every answer to every question is in your notes. Study those as hard as you can, and you’ll be more than fine.”

You could feel your heart rate picking up as you thought back on the dozens of pages of notes you’d taken over the past four classes. You couldn’t think  of anything that made sense. How were you supposed to take a test and pass? Let alone one that was worth so much of your grade?

For the rest of the lecture, you could scarcely pay attention as you continued to spiral. Clearly, you should have just taken a different class, hot teacher be damned. To be fair, you hadn’t expected the class to be this hard. 

As the class ended, you started packing up in a daze. You had a morphology course - one of your favorites - next, but you were thinking about skipping it so you could study for this test instead. Even a week straight of studying probably wouldn’t be enough for you to pass, so you needed all the time you could get.

You were so wrapped up in your thoughts that you didn’t even notice someone calling your name, over and over again.

“Miss English Major! Miss!” Changbin finally called, and your head whipped around to face him, your cheeks warming at the nickname.

“I-sorry, what’s up?” You stumbled over your words, trying not to look completely flustered. From his look of understanding, you knew you had failed.

“Would you like to study with me tonight?” he asked gently, approaching your desk. 

“Ah, why would you think I need extra studying?” you asked quickly.

“I have eyes,” he said with a quiet laugh. “And you look like you’re about to pass out. Really, the test isn’t going to be hard. But like I said earlier, I’m more than willing to tutor any student who needs help. I have the time.”

You sighed. “Am I really that obvious? Or do I just look like an idiot?”

Changbin shrugged, moving so he stood in front of you. “I can tell you’re really smart. You just don’t believe in yourself. So… I’ll see you at six tonight? I’ll bring donuts?”

You relented, grinning. “If you bring glazed donuts, I’m in.”

“Are there any other kinds?” he winked. “See you tonight.”

Oh, you were so done for.

——————————

You arrived at 5:55pm, terrified of being late, or wasting Changbin’s time. You assumed he was so busy already, and you didn’t want him waiting on you.

Seeing as he wasn’t there yet, you just stood awkwardly at the side of the room, unsure if you should pull up a seat by his desk, or just wait for him.

He arrived a few minutes later, carrying a cardboard box from the campus donut shop. Your heart leaped when you saw him, dressed in a casual black t-shirt, zip-up hoodie, and jeans. He would have fit right in as a student. 

“Oh, you’re already here.” Changbin grinned at you, and your face heated. He was so hot when he smiled. 

“I’m always on time,” you pointed out.

“You’re always late to my class,” Changbin chuckled, shaking his head.

“Maybe it’s because I don’t like your class,” you countered.

“Ouch.” He came to sit at his desk. “Here, sit with me.” He motioned to the chair next to his. 

“So, what would you like more help with?” He asked when you got settled.

You sighed. “What don’t I need help with?”

He frowned, tilting his head. “Am I really that bad of a teacher?”

“No!” you said hurriedly. “Math just really isn’t my thing. I probably made a mistake taking a mid-level class. Everything is just really over my head. It’s not your fault.”

“Well, we can start from the beginning,” Changbin conceded. He glanced down at your notebook, which was covered in your neat but hurried scrawl, and even a few shitty doodles at the top of each page. “May I?” he asked, pointing at them.

You nodded, pushing them towards him. 

He took it, and flipped back to the beginning. “You’ve taken really thorough notes,” he complimented, and you blushed. At least you were doing something right.

“I’m trying to pay attention to you.” You smiled weakly.

Changbin started pointing at things in your notes, trying to explain them as thoroughly as possible. You had to admit, he was very good at dumbing down every concept, and even gave you examples of when they might be used in the real world. That tended to be your struggle with math. None of it made any practical sense, it was so abstract. At least with words, they always correlated to a real-world thing, or concept. Math was filled with what-ifs, and you hated that.

As he pointed at your notes, he moved closer and closer to you, his arm brushing yours. Your skin tingled from the touch, almost desperate to feel more of him. His arms were so firm, entirely made of muscle. Of course, you had known that from hours of staring at him. But being this close to him, getting to touch him, was intoxicating, making your mouth water. If only you could reach out and-

“Are you even listening to me?” Changbin’s voice snapped you out of your lusting. 

“Yes! I was just uhh…” you paused, unsure what to say.

He raised an eyebrow at you, pushing his glasses higher up his nose. 

“Ah, no I wasn’t. I’m sorry.” You ducked your head, unable to meet his gaze.

He turned his chair to face yours. “I’m sorry, this is all probably way too much all at once. I should have realized that,” he apologized. “Maybe we should take a five? Then we’ll get back into it.”

You brightened, nodding quickly. “Yeah, that would be great.”

He grinned, sitting back in his chair. “You’re nothing like my usual math students, you know.”

You raised your brows at him. “That sounds like a badly veiled insult, Professor Seo.”

His eyes darkened for a moment at the way you said his name, but he seemed to shake it off immediately. “No, it’s just an observation. You’re very different.”

“How?” Your eyes drifted over to the box of donuts, which sat untouched next to you.

He shook his head at you. “Because of stuff like that. You’re very easily distracted. Just have one, or I’ll never get your attention back.”

You smiled apologetically, before tearing the box open and grabbing a glazed donut. “I can’t believe you actually brought these for me.”

“For you??” Changbin exclaimed. “Nah, I wanted them. You were just an excuse. Pass one here.”

You glared, taking a bite. “Okay that’s rude. I would think you cared more about your struggling student.” You handed him a donut.

He laughed at that before taking a bite too. “Of course I care about you.”

You gazed into his eyes, watching the way his throat moved as he swallowed. Your eyes flickered back up to his, wondering if there might, just might, be a hidden meaning behind that. 

Before you could stop yourself, or fully process what you were doing, you felt yourself moving imperceptibly closer to him, like there was an invisible force pulling you. 

Your face was a mere foot away from his, your eyes remaining locked with his. “How else am I different from the others, Professor?”

He groaned, a low sound deep in his throat, and you saw a flame flicker to life in his eyes. A flame of desire, you wondered? Did he want you just as badly as you wanted him? Had he thought about you in the same way you thought about him? Your stomach twisted with desire, hot and potent. 

Your hand reached out to grip his thigh, desperate to touch him. But before you could make contact, his hand grabbed your wrist, stopping you.

“What-“ you began.

“We can’t do this,” he said. His voice was quiet, but firm. 

“What are you…?” you trailed off, your heart thudding so hard your head hurt. Was he rejecting you right now? After that almost animalistic noise came from him, just by making eye contact?  A noise that would most definitely be used to fuel your nightly desires? “But you were just flirting with me!”

“I was,” he paused, licking his lips. You wanted to know what that tongue tasted like. “But I can’t. You’re my student, and it was incredibly unprofessional of me. I’m sorry.”

You pulled your hand from his grip, moving your chair away from him, fighting to keep your voice steady. “Yes, you’re right. Let’s continue studying.”

“Okay.” Changbin nodded, picking up your notebook again. “Onto lesson two.”

You continued the study session for another hour, before bidding him farewell. He promised that he would continue to help you study for two hours every night, and you agreed. He also demanded that you take the rest of the donuts home, but you refused. It felt wrong, somehow, to take something from him. 

You walked back to your dorm, body burning with shame.

——————————

For the rest of the week, you dutifully attended each study session with Changbin, carefully avoiding any kind of physical closeness with him. You knew that if you got near him again, you wouldn’t be able to control yourself. 

Your thoughts were plagued by images of him. The way he smirked playfully at you when you got a question wrong, the glimmer of pride in his eyes when you got one right. His strong arms as he leaned over your notes, and his tight ass and muscular legs when he stood in front of the chalkboard to write every morning, or give lectures. 

No matter how hard you tried to ignore your growing feelings for him, you couldn’t help it. Every night, you found yourself desperately touching yourself to the thought of him doing unspeakable things to you, imagining it was him ravaging you instead of your vibrator. Him straddling you from above as he pounded into you with that thick cock, instead of your fingers. At this point, you knew it would never happen, but the forbidden, risky aspect turned you on even more.

Finally, the day of the test had arrived. Your heart had been racing with adrenaline. The night before, you had left this very classroom, saying goodnight to Changbin before cramming even more. 

“Good luck, Miss.” He’d smiled at you on your way out.

“Thanks, I’m really gonna need it,” you had replied.

“No you don’t,” Changbin said as you left.

The test had been shockingly easy. You weren’t sure if it was because Changbin purposely made the questions simpler than usual, or if his study sessions really had helped. But you whizzed through that test like never before. It gave you hope that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t absolute shit at math after all.

Now, Changbin was passing out the test results. You hoped your gut instinct that you’d done well was right.

He placed the test on your desk, shooting you a faint smile.

“Well done, Miss English Major,” he whispered, so quiet you could barely hear him.

You peeked at the top right corner, almost afraid of what it said. 

92%.

Your head whipped around to face Changbin, who was now a couple of desks down. 

Holy shit. Not only had you passed, but you passed with an A! How was that possible??

You wanted to run over to him and leap into his arms, but you had to hold yourself back. No one, including Changbin, wanted that.

You would wait until the end of class to celebrate.

As you packed up your bags, Changbin cleared his throat. 

You looked up to see him motioning you towards him. Of course, you couldn’t help but obey.

After the other students had left, you approached him, a huge smile plastered across your face.

“I passed!” you exclaimed, suddenly breathless. “I-I can’t believe it! Thank you.”

He shook his head, unable to hide his smile. “It was all you. You studied harder than I’ve ever seen any student do before. You earned it.”

Before you could stop yourself, you wrapped your arms around his midsection and hugged him.

“Seriously, thank you,” you said quietly. “I’ve never gotten an A on a math test, ever.”

Changbin laughed, and for a split second you thought he was going to hug you back. His arms raised to grab your waist, and your heart thudded in anticipation. You had thought about what it would feel like to be in Changbin’s arms countless times.

But instead, he pushed you away. His movements were gentle, respectful even, like he didn’t want to hurt your feelings.

It did quite the opposite. It stung more to know that he wasn’t an asshole who just wanted a girl's attention, but he thought he was doing the right thing in rejecting you for a second time.

“Well… thanks again,” you said lamely, moving away from him. “I’ll see you next week.”

You practically ran out of the room, tears stinging your eyes. You wouldn’t let yourself get hurt again.

——————————

Changbin stood at the front of his classroom, preparing for that day’s lesson. It was two months into the semester, and about time for another test. The last one had been almost a month and a half ago, and his students were beginning to get complacent. It was his job to make sure they didn’t get too comfortable.

It had also been about a month and a half since he’d properly talked to you. Ever since you had thanked him for all his help on that first math test, you had avoided him. 

He wished you wouldn’t. But you were right to. He would have done the same thing if roles were reversed.

He had rejected you, twice. Those glorious five days tutoring you were some of the best times he’d had in his entire three years as a professor. He’d never met someone half as bright, witty, or funny as you. 

Or as beautiful. 

Let’s be real, fucking sexy.

That first day of class, when he’d turned around and met your gaze, still stuck with him. Those curious yet guarded eyes of yours instantly drew him in, and he’d had to inwardly slap himself just to focus on his job. He’d never let anyone distract him from work before, let alone one of his students. He’d worked hard to get where he was, and ever since he got the job, he’d made a promise to himself never to date a student. From watching his colleagues, it never ended well.

And no one had ever made him question that promise. Until you.

Everything about you intoxicated him. The way you rolled your eyes at his cringey jokes, that little crease in your left eyebrow when you were focusing extra hard, the dimple on your left cheek when you smiled. Your determination to be good at whatever you put your mind to. And something he hadn’t expected: your desire to please him. 

In a strictly professional sense, of course. Or so he convinced himself. Until you two had almost kissed. And he’d told you no. That had to be in the top five of his stupidest moments, and he had a lot of those.

For that whole week, he’d found himself wishing that you would try again. He couldn’t stop thinking about you. When he went home to his empty apartment, he found solace in his hand, thoughts solely on you. About the way it would feel if it was your hand instead of his, gripping his shaft as you stroked him up and down, those nimble fingers knowing exactly where to place more pressure, where to be gentle. That pretty mouth of yours wrapped around him, taking his thick cock to the hilt. And he would cum to the thought of you, knowing that he couldn’t have you.

Even when you hugged him after the test, he still rebuffed your advances. Why? What the hell was wrong with him? He wanted you, you wanted him. It was legal, you were both adults. And yet, he had still rejected you. 

He still thought about you, obsessively so. The more he came to the fantasy of you, the more he became reliant on your presence, craved it, really. He looked forward to seeing you everyday in class, even if you didn’t speak a word to, or barely looked at him. But your beautiful self walking to his class by yourself, gave him a sense of security.

Today, he arrived at class, eagerly awaiting your presence. When he turned around to face the door, slightly concerned because even two minutes into class, you hadn’t arrived, his stomach quite literally dropped.

Because you weren’t alone. 

——————————

Hwang Hyunjin was the smoothest man alive.

You’d noticed him sitting a few seats away from you since the first day of class. He was incredibly smart, but tended to keep his mouth shut. He was always busy writing or drawing something on his notes instead of paying attention, and when you weren’t busy staring at Changbin, you found yourself watching him instead.

The two of you had been paired up for a class discussion, and he mentioned that he loved art. Being the creative that you were, you asked him what he liked to draw, and he showed you some of the doodles he did during class. They were good, really good. 

When he asked you out for coffee a month into the semester, you’d had no choice but to say yes. And you had a great time. 

It was clear that Changbin had no interest in you, so who could blame you for wanting to spend time with another hot guy? Who cared if you still thought about him in the privacy of your dorm, late at night? That was just a phase. Every college girl had a crush on her professor at some point, right? 

You and Hyunjin weren’t really seeing each other, it was casual. So you had never come to class together, or showed any sign that you were interested in each other.

Until today. 

Hyunjin had walked you to class, after treating you to coffee. You were even later than usual, but you found that you didn’t mind.

But when you walked into the classroom, and Hyunjin suddenly grabbed your hand, it was clear that someone minded. They minded a hell of a lot.

Changbin’s eyes seared into the two of you, his gaze roaming over both your and Hyunjin’s faces, before landing on your connected hands. His jaw clenched and unclenched, a vein ticking in his forehead, but he stayed quiet. His fists were pulled tight at his sides, those huge arms flexing in a most mesmerizing way. You couldn’t help but stare. Was there the potential that he was… jealous? 

Of you. Being with another guy.

Before you could think about it further, Changbin cleared his throat, and Hyunjin sat next to you for the first time that semester. 

You should feel giddy that this gorgeous man was sitting with you, but you couldn’t pay attention to anything, except your stud of a professor glaring at Hyunjin like he wanted him to disappear. 

“Today, we’re going to be discussing next week’s test,” Changbin ground out, his teeth gritted so hard you could hear them scraping against one another. “Mister Hwang, do you remember what our first unit after last month’s test was?”

Hyunjin paused next to you, brows furrowed. How was he supposed to remember what you’d learned over a month ago, off the top of his head?

“No Professor, I don’t,” he said evenly. “If I could just check my notes-“

“No, you may not,” Changbin snarled, his eyes narrowed as he stared Hyunjin down. “Clearly, you weren’t paying close enough attention.”

“Professor!” you exclaimed, blood pounding. Why was he targeting Hyunjin all of a sudden? You thought he liked Hyunjin.

“What?” Changbin sneered. “Trying to protect your boyfriend?”

“Just don’t.” You rolled your eyes, looking away from him. 

For the rest of the class, Changbin continued to pick on Hyunjin, calling on him for the hardest review questions, and actually laughing at him when he couldn’t remember.

Finally, when class was over, the two of you made to leave. 

“Miss, please stay behind,” Changbin practically growled, gaze hot on your back.

“Will you be okay?” Hyunjin asked, glancing between the two of you.

You nodded. “Yeah, don’t worry about me. I’ll see you later.”

Hyunjin followed the rest of the class out, casting one last look back at you.

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

You stood behind your desk, staring at Changbin. He stared back at you, expression unreadable. Was he upset? Of course he was. He wasn’t very good at hiding that during class. 

He walked to the door and slammed it shut, the force startling you. But when he clicked the lock in place, your chest seized up. What was he doing? 

“Come here.” His voice was soft, yet you could hear him clearly. His face looked calm, but you could see the fire in his eyes as he gazed at you. Your breath caught in your throat as you wordlessly obeyed, coming to stand in front of him.

Was this really going to happen? Was he-

Before you could formulate a proper prediction, his lips were on yours. His hands fumbled at your waist with a desperation you didn’t expect, even in your dirtiest fantasies. He picked you up, grabbing your ass roughly as his plush lips forced your mouth open, sucking and biting with enough pressure that would leave marks in the morning. 

“Fuck, I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” Changbin growled against you between kisses. Your hands slid into his hair, clinging to him as you kissed him back with equal strength. 

“What took you so damn long?” you gasped, pressing your tongue into his mouth and rolling your hips against him.

He groaned, the sound low and guttural, before setting you on his desk as gently as he could. He slid a finger under your tank top strap, pushing it down slowly, his gaze devouring your skin rapturously.

“I’ve been so good, so in control,” he breathed as if you were torturing him, his mouth coming to land against the shell of your ear. You shivered at the sensation. “Until today, when you decided to bring that poor Hwang boy along with you. What are you, boyfriend and girlfriend?”

You shook your head quickly. “N-no, it’s casual,” your voice shook despite yourself. “We’ve just been hanging out.”

“You like that he’s willing to give you attention when I wouldn’t?” He leaned down, nipping at your shoulder and collarbone. “Has he fucked you?”

You moaned softly, closing your eyes. “No, of course not,” you whispered. “And even if he had, why would you give a shit? I made a move on you, and you fucking rejected me, twice!”

Changbin let go of you, stepping back. For the first time, he looked embarrassed. Good, as he should. 

“I'm sorry, Princess.” He slid a hand down your arm, skating his fingers across your skin. “I thought I was making the right decision. But… I want you all to myself. Is that so bad?”

You glared at him. But no matter how long you tried to play hard to get, you knew damn well how this was going to end. You needed him too badly.

“Well, you better prove how much you want me, then.”

His mouth curled into a smirk, and your core dampened at the sight. “I thought you’d never ask.”

He pushed you back against his desk, shoving your legs apart, before tugging your denim shorts down your legs and ripping your panties clean in half.

“Changbin!” you gasped. Those were your nice panties, too.

“What? You won’t be needing them,” he smirked, holding them to his nose and inhaling a hungry breath, before tossing them away. “And from now on, you will call me Professor, not Changbin.”

You gaped at him for a moment, before you realized he was watching you expectantly.

“Y-yes… Professor,” you said weakly.

He smiled, kissing your cheek in an uncharacteristically tender way. “That’s my good girl. Now I’ll make you feel the best you’ve ever felt.”

He traveled down the length of your body, pressing kisses to your bare thighs as he went, admiring every inch of you. Your breaths came in short gasps as you laid in anticipation. You didn’t know much, but you were sure that Changbin was experienced when it came to sex.

As he gazed in appreciation at your soaked cunt, he tore his glasses off and set them on the desk, licking his lips. “Gonna need to get close and personal, huh Princess?”

Oh yeah, he was most definitely experienced. 

But nothing could prepare you for the sensation of Changbin’s tongue against your center. He pressed his mouth flat against your clit, swiping his tongue up and down in broad strokes. He covered your entire pussy with his warm, wet mouth before sucking and licking in earnest. 

“Holy shit, yes,” you gasped, your eyes widening as your hips jerked up against his movements.

He grabbed your waist to stop you, his tongue fucking in and out of your cunt as his lips pressed against the sensitive nerves above it. You moaned, your hand finding purchase in his hair as your vision sparked in and out, stars flashing before your eyes.

“Fuck, faster, please,” you begged, tugging his hair as you tried to pull him closer.

“What’s my name again, Princess?” he rasped against your core, his voice interrupted by his continued slurping. 

“P-professor, please,” you whimpered, gazing at him with wide, pleading eyes.

“Fuck, how could I say no to you, Princess,” he snarled against you, yanking your legs open even further as his tongue moved impossibly faster, two of his fingers sliding into your pussy, adding even more squelching sounds to the mix.

The addition of his fingers nearly sent you spinning over the edge, your free hand gripping the side of his desk as your legs shook, your thighs trying to squeeze his head.

“Stay nice and spread for me, Angel,” he sucked hard on your clit, and you sobbed his name over and over, clutching at him like your life depended on it, your entire body vibrating.

“Professor, I-I’m gonna cum, please let me cum!” you begged, squeezing your eyes shut as you ground your hips up against him, this time Changbin allowing you.

“Cum for me, Princess, let me hear you,” Changbin ordered, pressing his tongue in just the right way against your throbbing pussy.

With a strangled cry, you rode out your orgasm against his mouth and fingers as he thrusted them in harder and harder, working you through your release as you crested the peak and came tumbling over, your whole body falling onto the desk in a trembling, sobbing mess.

“Was that good enough for you, Princess?” Changbin licked his lips as he gazed at you smugly, coming to his feet and gazing down at you.

You rolled your eyes, standing up to meet his eyes properly. “It was amazing, Professor,” you murmured against his lips, before kissing him forcefully. The taste of you lingered on his lips.

He kissed you back hungrily, his fingers traveling back between your legs to rub your clit gently, his tongue slipping into your mouth. You licked his bottom lip, grinding against his fingers as you moaned into him. 

“Let me return the favor,” you whispered, pushing him against the desk this time, before kneeling in front of him.

“Let’s just hope you’re better with your mouth than you are at math,” Changbin teased. But you could see the desire flaming in his gaze as he caressed your hair with a rough hand, fully pushing you down onto the floor.

“You don’t have to worry about that, Professor,” you said sweetly, and he groaned, eyes flickering shut.

“No more dawdling Angel, open up.”

You unzipped his black work pants, tugging them down to his knees. Even with his dark gray boxers on, you could tell he was huge, and already hard. Pulling his underwear off, his cock sprang free, angry and red, leaking precum.

Your eyes widened, and Changbin kicked his pants to the side, smirking down at you. 

“Big enough for you, Princess?”

“Perfect, Professor,” you breathed, gripping the base with one hand.

“Ah shit,” Changbin gritted his teeth, his hand already tangled in your hair. “Don’t make me wait too long, Princess. I’ve already been waiting for months.”

You giggled softly, sticking your tongue out and kitten licking the pretty pink tip. He was quite thick, so thick that your hand could barely fit around him. He was about seven inches long, with a pretty vein running along the right side. Your core throbbed at the sight, imagining how well he would fill you up. 

“Fuck,” he snarled, thrusting into your hand impatiently, a bead of precum dribbling onto your skin. “Are you asking me to punish you, Princess?”

You felt your core clench at his words, and you almost hoped he would just flip you over and spank you for disobeying him.

But that could happen later. Instead, you slid his entire length into your mouth, taking him so deep your nose hit his hips. Coarse brown hair tickled your face, and you shut your eyes. 

“Holy-“ Changbin choked out as you began sucking hard and fast, using your hand to rub the base where your mouth couldn’t reach. Your saliva instantly became sloppy, running down his cock and onto his waist.

“Oh fuck yeah, just like that,” he grunted, tugging your hair roughly as he thrust his hips against you, driving his cock further into your mouth. “I bet you just love being my little cockslut, don’t you Princess? You like me using you like this.”

“Mm,” you moaned, sending vibrations up his cock. He shuddered at the sensation, his huge, muscular legs flexing next to you. One of your hands gripped his thigh, the other squeezing his taut ass as you fucked your mouth up and down on him so he didn’t even have to move.

“Oh shit, you do know what you’re doing, don’t you, Slut?” He ran his hand through your hair, and you felt a tinge of pride shoot through you. A thin line of tears dotted your lash line and your jaw hurt, but you didn’t care. He was impressed with you, and that was all that mattered. 

“Only for you, Professor,” you gasped as you took a quick breath, before sliding him back into your mouth. Your hands moved to cup his balls, and he growled, loud and animalistic, against you.

“Fuck Angel, you’re such a good girl for your professor, aren’t you?” he moaned, pulling your hair into two makeshift ponytails as he started fucking against you in earnest.

You started to choke on his harsh ministrations, but you didn’t want him to stop. Your core was so wet, arousal was dripping onto the ground. 

“I’m gonna cum, Princess,” Changbin growled, as his hips stilled. “But I don’t want to cum in your mouth. I want to breed that little pussy of yours. How does that sound?”

“I-it sounds amazing, Professor,” you breathed as you pulled his rock-hard cock out of your mouth.

He grinned, yanking you into another bruising kiss. “That’s my good little Cockslut,” he murmured, picking you up and setting you back on the desk. “This is exactly how I imagined fucking you for the first time. You look so beautiful lying there, all wet and ready for me.”

You whimpered softly, shooting a seductively innocent look at him.

“Fuck, do you know what you do to me, Angel?” He closed his eyes, his body trembling at the sight before him. “Even better than my imagination.”

“You’ve thought about me, Professor?” you said faux-shyly, grabbing his hand and placing it against your core.

“Of course I have, Princess,” Changbin chuckled, opening his eyes again as his fingers roamed over your clit gently. You shivered at his touch. “Who wouldn’t think about ruining a perfect girl like you?”

“I'm not a virgin, Professor,” you pointed out. 

“I know, but you’re perfect,” he responded, stepping closer. “Just look at you.”

“Professor?” you asked softly, gazing at him. “Can I ask just one thing?”

“Anything.”

“Can you take your shirt off?”

Changbin’s eyes flickered in amusement. “Do you like my body, Princess?”

You nodded vigorously. “I love your body. I think about it all the time.”

“I like the sound of that,” he murmured, leaning over and pressing harsh kisses against your neck. “What do you think about?”

“Fuck me, then I’ll tell you,” you breathed against him, starting to undo his shirt buttons.

He tugged the shirt over his head hurriedly, before coming to hover over you again, those perfect, muscular arms of your dreams caging you in. You whimpered at the sensation alone, pulling him closer to you so you could grab his cock, stroking him a few times.

“Fuck yes, Princess,” Changbin choked out, before lining himself up outside of your core. “I need to be inside you right now.”

“I need you inside me too, Professor,” you begged, moving your hips back and forth against his hard cock, wet squelching sounds ensuing as his cock rubbed through your slit. You threw your head back at the overwhelming sensation, moaning into his shoulder.

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he pulled your face up and kissed you once. Then, screwing up his eyes, he slid his entire cock into you in one harsh thrust.

“O-oh shit!” you cried, eyes widening and hands coming to grab his broad shoulders. He filled you perfectly, his girth stretching you deliciously, that vein rubbing against your walls just right. “Fuck Professor, you feel so good inside me.”

“God, you feel heavenly Princess,” he croaked, his voice hoarse. “Can I move? Please, tell me I can move.”

“Please move, now,” you gasped, fingernails digging into his back. “Don't be gentle with me, Professor. I can take it.”

“Yeah? We’ll see about that, Angel.” Before you could say anything else, he pulled all the way out, leaving you feeling incredibly empty, before thrusting back in with all his strength. 

You squealed, fingers scrambling for purchase against him, as he pounded in and out of your tight, wet pussy over and over, filthy noises filling the classroom. 

You whimpered against his neck, pressing harsh kisses against him as he thrusted in and out, balls slapping your pussy as he went harder and faster. His cock slammed against the spongy part inside of you, causing you to cry out and clench around him.

“Ah shit, Princess, ease up a bit!” he grunted, nipping your neck as his hips stuttered against yours.

“Y-you just feel so good,” you sobbed. “Please fuck me harder, don’t stop, please, Professor.”

Changbin listened, continuing to hit that sensitive spot over and over again until you were a babbling mess, unable to say anything except “Professor”.

“Fuck baby, can you stand?” Changbin demanded into your ear.

“Y-yes Professor,” you breathed, and before you could stop him, he was carrying you over to the chalkboard, and setting you down, so your face was towards the board, ass presented to him.

“Well shit, don't you look like a treat,” he whispered, slapping your ass with a calloused hand, before trapping you between his arms once more, his mouth against your neck. 

You gasped at the stinging sensation of his hand against your skin, but it wasn't fully because of the pain. Him slapping you felt good. What did you have to do for him to do it again?

His fingers traveled between your legs again, feeling the dripping wetness that gathered there. You felt him smirk against you.

“Did my Princess like it when I spanked her? Does she like it when she gets punished?”

You nodded vigorously, closing your eyes. Was he going to think you were disgusting for liking something so violent? 

Changbin started chuckling, and you glanced back at him. Did he find this funny?

“I might have underestimated you, Sweetheart,” his hands traveled up to your breasts and squeezed, making you squeal. “I guess you were right. You’re more of a whore than I thought.”

“N-no Professor, I’m a good girl,” you gasped, rubbing your ass against him as you begged for him to hit you again. “I just need you so bad, please.”

“You want me to hit you again?” Changbin snickered. “Okay, I can hit you again. Anything for my princess.”

He stepped away from you, leaving your skin cold. You missed his hulking presence warming you, his huge arms caging your body. 

You watched with wide eyes as he stepped back to his desk and picked something up. What was he doing? He couldn’t leave you hanging like this.

But when you saw what he had in his hand, you knew he very much was not leaving you hanging. He was just getting started.

“A ruler?” you said softly, staring at the wood strip in his hand. Your core pulsed at the sight, causing more arousal to slide down your thigh. Fuck, you wanted it.

“You said you wanted to get slapped, didn’t you, Princess?” he challenged.

You nodded, trying to hide your desire. If Changbin saw how much you needed this, he might deny you.

“Yes, Professor,” you responded, not moving from your position at the chalkboard.

“Good, Angel,” he approached you with a satisfied grin on his face. “So, are you ready for your test?”

“Test?!” you squeaked. You hadn’t expected that. You’d hoped he would just slap you with the ruler a few times, then fuck you silly.

“You’re going to have a math test in a few weeks, aren’t you?” He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you want me to tutor you still?”

You nodded furiously. You would fail without him.

“Well, consider this our first session.” He came to stand behind you, running the ruler up and down your thigh a few times. 

You shivered despite yourself. You would do anything he wanted at this point.

“So, answer this problem, Princess. The axes of two right circular cylinders of radius A intersect at a right angle. Find the volume of the solid of intersection of the cylinders.”

You gasped at him, speechless. You had no idea what any of that meant. Solid of intersection? You were an English major, for god’s sake!

“I-I don’t know Professor!” you whispered, body quivering as you waited for his response.

Changbin tutted quietly, pacing back and forth behind you. You tried to watch him, but he kept going in and out of your line of sight.

“What a shame.” His voice was dangerously low. 

Suddenly, the ruler came slashing through the air, landing across the center of your ass. You let out a loud gasp, covering your mouth before you could curse or yell. 

“Chang- Professor, what the hell?” you exclaimed, whipping around to face him.

“Did that stir up any potential answers?” Changbin said smoothly, ignoring your protest. “Please turn back around, Angel. We're not done yet.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but you caught that steely look in his eyes, and obeyed. 

“Well?” he prompted. “Anything?”

“N-no, Professor,” you said meekly. “We haven’t learned anything half that difficult yet.”

This time, as the ruler made contact with your ass again, you were prepared. You bit your lip so hard it almost drew blood, but you had to admit, it felt… nice. The stinging sensation it left after the pain was gone was incredible. 

“Fine, if you can't come up with even a guess, how about this. What is the mathematical perception of the gradient said to be?”

You paused, thinking the question over. You knew Changbin had talked about this in a lesson at some point, but it had been a while ago…

“Is it tangent?” you said with a little smile. You knew the answer was wrong but… you also didn't mind.

“I’m sorry, Princess,” Changbin grinned, and the stinging pain of the ruler raced across your skin.

You let out a stifled moan, squeezing your eyes shut as hard as you could. Oh god, did Changbin hear that? He was going to think you were such a whore.

Changbin set the ruler down on his desk and slid a hand around your waist, breaths coming hard and fast against your neck. You whimpered softly, unable to look back at him. 

“I knew you liked that, you little Pain Slut,” he snarled into your ear, nipping the lobe. “You're my little Pain Slut, aren’t you?”

“Y-yes, only yours!” you exclaimed. “P-please Professor, fuck me again.”

“Mm, you're just insatiable aren’t you?” he snickered, his hand coming down onto your ass cheek, sharp and hard. “Now say thank you, Professor.”

You cried out, your core soaking wet. “Th-thank you Professor!” You forced out through the blinding pleasure.

His hand came down on your other cheek. “Again.”

“Thank you, Professor!” you moaned, turning your face to him and pressing your lips against his. 

He didn't pull away, as the hand he used to spank you wound around your leg, lifting it up so your body was still facing the chalkboard, but your lips were attached to his. 

“I’m gonna fuck you like this now, Angel, down and dirty. I’ll bet you like it like this, don't you? Seducing your poor professor, and letting him have his way with you in his classroom. That's exactly what you wanted, wasn't it?”

“No, I didn't mean to seduce you,” you mumbled against his mouth, as he positioned his hard, heavy cock outside your entrance. “You're just so hot and smart, and I wanted you so bad. But you kept rejecting me so I gave up, remember?”

“How do I know that little boyfriend wasn't just part of your plan to get me to change my mind?” Changbin challenged, finally breaking the kiss. 

“Well, if it was, it worked, didn't it?” You teased him. “Now are you going to fuck me or not?”

Changbin growled deep in his throat, thrusting his hips slowly against you, running his cock through your wet folds. “I’ll fuck you when I’m ready to fuck you, Princess. Not sure you deserve it, with all the stunts you’ve pulled. And you didn't even get that easy math problem right.”

You giggled softly. “If I get it right, will you fuck me properly? Nice and rough?”

He paused, like he was pondering the question. “Sure, Angel. What’s the right answer?”

You turned around, pressing your lips against his ear gently. You watched in satisfaction as he shivered. Thank god he was holding your leg up, or you would be numb by now. “It’s the slope,” you whispered to him, lips curling in a smile. You knew you were right.

“Mm, you knew the right answer the whole time, didnt you, Slut?” Changbin shook his head at you, a hungry glint in his eyes. “But you were a good girl, listening to your Professor so well. So I guess you get a reward.”

“Yes please, Professor.” You immediately started begging at the prospect of his cock inside of you. “Please fuck me now.”

“It takes a lot of self control to stay away from you,” Changbin groaned. “Self control that I clearly do not have.” 

This time, he thrusted into you nice and slow, one inch at a time. You gasped loudly as he shoved you up against the chalkboard, still holding your leg up, as he began pounding in and out of you mercilessly. 

“Fuck, this pussy was made for me, Angel,” he hissed into your hair, breathing deeply as he did so. “So tight and wet, squeezing me perfectly. You hear that? This pussy is all mine.”

“Yes, it’s all yours,” you wailed, fucking your hips back against his, forcing his cock to impale you to the hilt. “You feel so good inside of me, Professor.”

“Mm, hell yeah I do baby.” His huge arm wrapped all the way around your waist, trapping you entirely as he hammered in and out, the lewd sounds of his length thrusting turning you on even more.

“Fuck, Professor please touch me!” you begged, grabbing his arm that was holding your leg up and sliding it towards your clit. 

“You’re such a greedy little girl, aren’t you?” he sneered, pressing rough kisses up and down your collarbone, sucking harsh bruises along your soft skin. “I can’t deny you though, can I?”

His fingers slid over your sensitive nerves and rubbed in rushed, frantic circles as his hips pounded against yours, causing the entire chalkboard to shake and rattle. 

“O-oh yes Professor just like that,” you panted, your legs nearly failing as he turned your entire body to jelly. 

“Don't give up on me now, Princess,” Changbin warned as he spun you around and picked you up, not removing his cock from your throbbing pussy. “You don’t cum until I do, you hear?”

“Of course, Professor,” you whimpered helplessly, the new position hitting spots inside of you you hadn’t known even existed. “Please go harder!”

“Just for you, baby,” Changbin ground out, and he started bouncing you up and down on his huge length.

The vein on his cock slid against your nerves addictively as you wrapped your shaking legs around his waist, clinging to his beefy arms desperately. Your core throbbed as you tried to be a good girl and hold your orgasm back, but it was coming.

“Please Professor, let me cum!” you pleaded, pressing kisses up and down his huge pecs, sobbing into his chest. “I’m so close, I’ve been so good!”

Changbin grunted against you as he bullied his cock deeper and deeper into your cunt, hitting your g-spot over and over while you pleaded incoherently to please, please let you cum.

“Shit, okay, cum for me baby,” he hissed.

You didn't need to be asked twice. Your hips shook against him so violently you thought you were going to pass out. Stars blinked in and out of your vision as you cried, “Professor, please!” once, your pussy clenching around his cock like a vice, as he pounded his cock infinitely faster. His fingers pressed against your clit, and you were done for. You exploded around him in a puddle of whimpers and moans, clutching onto him for dear life.

“Holy shit baby, you’re so fucking hot,” Changbin panted, squeezing his eyes shut, his thrusts becoming more jerky and unstable. “I’m so fuckin’ close, Princess, gonna cum inside that slutty little pussy of yours, yeah?”

“Oh fuck, please give me your cum Professor!” you begged, moving your hips in time with his. “Want you to breed me like the good girl I am!”

“Fuck Angel, you really want it?” Changbin hissed, his hips stuttering as his lips smashed up against yours again. “You wanna feel my hot cum inside you?”

“Yes Professor, please, I need it,” you breathed against his mouth, biting his bottom lip and sucking it into your mouth. 

Changbin thrusted sloppily in and out a few more times, his breaths stilted and hoarse, before halting entirely inside of you. You felt his warm cum fill your pussy, ropes and ropes of hot, sticky liquid, and you let out a shaky moan, closing your eyes at the sensation.

As he was about to put you down and pull out, you shook your head, gripping his arms.

“P-please, stay inside.” Your legs tightened around his waist. His softening cock felt so good, keeping his warm cum inside you. You didn’t want him to let go, not yet.

“You like me cockwarming you, Princess?” Changbin’s cock stiffened at your actions, and you nodded.

“You feel so good inside of me,” you sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“I bet I do,” he said cockily, and you slapped his arm.

“Way to ruin the moment, Changbin,” you glared.

He laughed, finally letting go of you and setting you back on the ground. 

“I'm kidding, baby.” He pressed his lips against yours, much more tender this time. You melted against him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him close. 

“I like the confidence.” You giggled against his lips, before breaking apart. “I should probably go. I've got another class in an hour, and I don’t want to walk in looking like this.”

“I wouldn't want that either,” Changbin observed. “You might get dress-coded. Or arrested.”

When you were both dressed and semi-cleaned up, you waved goodbye to Changbin.

Changbin waved back, a little smirk on that handsome face of his. 

“So, we on for another study session tonight?”

You smirked, biting your bottom lip before replying: “Yes, Professor.”

laska's note — wow, this one shot took me forever to finally finish! but i wanted it to be perfect you y'all, so i spent a long time figuring out the plot and exactly how i wanted everything to go. i really hope you enjoyed it, because i'm kinda proud of how this turned out. i'm sorry for the slow ass updates, but again it's just supposed to be for fun! hopefully i'll get some more content out soon. leave any comments about what you liked, i love reading them! until next time... 😏💋

[cursedzucchini]

Sandwiches taste better be without ketamine — part 1

Y'know all those Danny is in wayne mansion and Alfred drugs him (bc they're sus of this dude, Bruce wants to interrogate him whatever).

Well i had a thought and i think i wanna write it haha

Tw: drugging, disasosiaction (from first pov), overall Danny is not in a good mental space

--------

It was evening.

Danny wasn't sure where exactly he was, nor even what year it was. The mansion he broke in was huge and fancy, all the gothic aesthetic this city seemed to be almost worshipping and the slimy smell of money, included.

At first he hoped no one will notice him, as foolish as it was with his luck. He wasn't all that suprised when an elderly man in black suit tapped his shoulder and asked if he would want a 'brunch'. If Danny didn't have ghost sense, he'd suspect he was the ghost of a butler or something, but no. The man was very much alive, if not a little liminal. But at this point who wasn't.

:read more:

And yes, Danny can admit it was stupid not to ran the moment he noticed the man, but... was it so wrong to hoped maybe for once he met nice people who wouldn't try and vivisect him?

Feeling the familiar artificial feeling of fatigue, yes, yes it was.

In the private of his mind, he couldn't help but feel disappointed. The man seemed nice, but more importantly his food was divine. God, if his existence wasn't banned by the government, he might've even take the drugging for the food.

Yes, he might be disasosiacting. Not like he has any other choice, if he doesn't want to destroy this place.

“Is something wrong sir?” the elder (he introduced himself, but Danny figured trying to drug someone made him loose name privileges) asked, a great imitation of genuine worry lacing his voice. The boy had to give it to him, he was an excellent actor (who tried to drug him. Put something in his food and he didn't notice. Wanted to do who knows what with.him. druGgeD hIM lIKe tHE gIv dIiiiIIiIi—)

Danny blinked. It was getting harder to keep his eyes open. He opened his mouth to speak, but the ever boiling anger was now even stronger than normally. He wanted to scream and punch the man. He wanted to take the tasty guacamole toast and throw it so hard it cracks the wall. He wanted to destroy and wail and-

Instead he continued staring at the man, no emotions visible on his face. Danny didn't want to say anything, or even move, because what if that was the catalyser for him to break and just... do something he might regret later. But the longer was sitting on the stool, the stupid toast in front him, the man's eyebrows scrunching in fake worry—

"If there is anything I can—"

"is it normal for you to drug every guy who visits, or am I just that special?" he could hear himself say. Or well, Danny knew he was saying this, but it was as if it was beyond his control. Like he was just a onlooker in his own life.

The butler blinked, but other than that no surprise showed on his face. So it wasn't a mistake, Danny noted, ignoring the rising tension in his body. Some part of him sighed, already preparing to fight the grandpa before him.

"it appears there was some sort of—" the boy jumps over the island, zeroing onto the older man's hand. He wrenched the stun gun out of his grasp, not afraid to bite or scratch, all the while dodging a kick to his side. The other man had suprisingly strong grip, but it was nothing in face of Danny's rising suspicions and surprise attack.

The boy swiftly got as far away as he could, dismantling the weapon without taking his gaze away from the butler. The man was watching his action, apparently already gotten over Danny's surprise attack. A shame, he hoped he'd be able to overshadow the elder when he was in shock. He wasn't otherwise suprised, when he brushed his mind before, he could feel his mind was strong.

The familiar haze of pills was starting to take over Danny's body. He had to leave quickly. He couldn't leave without injuring the older man. If he didn't do something right now, he will fall unconscious.

Snarky quips it was than "If you wanted to get rid of me, you could've just called the police like a normal person y'know" the words came out more bitter than he wanted, but even that didn't shake the man before him. The butler was still watching him, positioned in something Danny vaguely recognized as fighting stance, face impassionate. That fact alone made him add "Or just... Tell me to leave. Literally anything but putting anesthetics in a perfectly good sandwich" only to see him squirm. The way he was so unbothered... Well it made Danny uncomfortable. (No one who drugged a kid, even if they had white hair and glowed, without showing an ounce of remorse was not a good person)

His eyes were closing, and he could feel his grip slipping on his power. What was the old man thinking?? The average human would probably be dead if they ate this much ketamine... This was getting more and more dangerous by the second, he had to... He had to... He...

"I apologize for all of this, but anyone able to enter this mansion unnoticed, cannot simply leave before some... Conversation happen" and didn't that sound ominous as hell. His vision was swaying, and he couldn't stay on his feet anymore. The panic was the only thing keeping him conscious. The moment he fell asleep, he wouldn't be able to keep his ecto signature in check, meaning They would immidietly know where he is. He would no longer be putting only himself in danger, but also the old man (as much as he deserved it for drugging him).

And he didn't know how his powers worked after everything. He could easily destroy this whole mansion, just by unravelling his true appearance.

"No... I- I have to... I..." his core was screaming. the similarity of this situation was a reminder of how he changed and what he used to be. He try to move towards where he thought could be the outer wall, but his limbs were so heavy. The boy didn't even bother to look at the old man anymore, just trying to get out of here. He turned on his stomach, crawling away from the man, tears gathering in the corner of his eyes. They stung in anger and hopelessness that once again filled him.

"It will not take long, you have nothing to worry about child" if he was little bit more aware, he might catch the pity in his voice, but he wasn't. All he could hear were threats and scorn. A noise, that wasn't entirely human, build up at the back of his throat. He couldn't stop the pathetic high pitched whines that escaped his mouth, even as his eyes were closed and body no longer moving.

And exactly in that moment the door to the kitchen smashed open, a burning core answering his own "What the fuck is going on here?!"

---

Yeah idk this was just something on my mind, idk how this would even continue lol

Uh some more stuff i thought of for this

Danny wouldn't have a good relationship w Alfred at first. Like dude wouldn't trust him at all, not his food anything he says, and all. Idk the batfam could feel guilty, or it'd just be a cool new experience it doesn't matter

On that note, their relationship would probably get better, but i just wanted to acknowledge that someone drugging u is super traumatizing even if they do it w good intentions

Danny got kidnapped/sold to giv it doesn't really matter, but what is important is that he's full ghost. Why? Idk i just think it'd be so terrible for giv to see this Schrodinger's boy and went "yo what if we made him full ghost" and them succeeding. Like first of all that shit would destroy Danny and also it'd be such a terrible situation. Also batmans reaction to Danny dying, surviving (kinda) and than dying again would be so interesting

Also the person to come in is obviously Jason. He heard a kid screaming and felt it, and the pits went "baby >:((("

No idea what happens after, but at some point he stays at the manor and stuff happens. Idk what yet but it could be anyying

Where's batfamily? In batcave probably idk

I'm so tired i just finished writing this an holy wow kill.me. it's been a rough week haha. Hope u liked this i might continue this but probably not

[alwayssassydreamer]

bad decisions lead to pleasant outcome

Before you continue: english is not my first language so please bare with me. Also this is the first fic I’ve ever posted and I’m still trying to improve so sorry if this is a little chaotic and so darn long. I actually got a little carried away. Sorry about the rushed end I’m horrible at writing smut. And i only write fem!reader at least for now sorry about that. And the picture does not belong to me. Oh and the story is not proofread cause I'm lazy af.

For the story: in this story you will have a devilfruit which has no name bc i suck at names but nonetheless it allows you to „die“ without dying – yeah i know makes zero sense. No seriously what i mean is that it’s kinda like in a video game where you have 3 lives before it’s game over and that’s exactly your power. You can die up to 2 times within 24hours before you need to „reload“ otherwise it’s game over for you. Yep now that I’ve written it down it sounds super weird but it’s too late to change it….so have fun.

Warnings: i have no idea – swearing, maybe a little violence/threat of death, smut-ish at the end (consent), MDNI

Shanks x Reader

You’ve been pirating around with your crew for quite some time now earning you a pretty nice bounty on your head, though not as spectacular as some strawhat you’ve heard of. If someone outside your crew would’ve to describe you they’d probably say you’re cocky, overconfident and a little ruthless. But that’s what you had to be to survive in this world. Your crew, on the other hand, would describe you as a caring, loyal and fearless captain, capable to fight off enemies stronger than you just to defend them. Your devilfruit being rather useful in that case. After a long time out on sea everyone was glad to finally catch sight of an island. You and the crew decided to celebrate this with your remaining alcohol. When you set your first steps on this island you already started to regret drinking so much. You weren’t completely wasted like some of your crew but walking a straight line was kinda difficult. Therefore you decided it would be best if everyone remaind either on the ship or the beach till you all would sober up. After a few hours passed by you decided that it was time to check the island and refill your stocks. The island seemed pretty calm with no sign of someone bothering you when you’d take what you needed. You got to a small town and decided that after still feeling alittle giddy from drinking, it would be better not to cause any drama – steal what you need and then get back on the ship and sail off. In your head everything would work out perfectly, the crew would split up, some distracting the towns people while the others take what you needed. As soon as the people realize that they’ve been robbed you’d be long gone. But of course things did not work out as you planned. A few of the towns people recognized you from your wanted poster, followed by catching 2 of your crew mates stealing some alcohol. Just your luck. You had to fight the unexpectedly good armed and trained enemies off leading to a destroyed bakery, some knocked out men and a boost of your ego. You called for your crew to pack up the stolen stuff and get back to the ship. With a shit eating grin you looked around the town, then made sure that none of your crew gets left behind. „Thanks for the goods and the entertainment“ you shouted dripping of arrogance. As you hurried back you smiled to yourself, thinking about how easily you defeated these people and why you didn’t fight them off in the first place. You were so caught up in your thoughts that you didn’t see the other ship that had arrived at the island, nor the men that have been watching the whole scene that just happened.

As you got closer to the beach a strange feeling started to spread through you. Out of instinct you reached for your sword but you didn’t have the time to pull it out when you heard a deep voice behind you. „Better keep your sword where it is. Wouldn’t want your crew to get hurt“ the voice grumbled. You immediately looked over to your crew and saw that they were held at gunpoint by some men you couldn’t quite recognize from the distance. You took a deep breath, you didn’t mind that someone was threatening you, you still had your devilfruit but what got you really nervous was the safety of your crew. If they get shot they’re going to die and that was a thought that made you a little scared and at the same time kinda angry. How dare some asshole threatening you and them. You let out a small angry huff and slowly turned around ready to attack that fucker behind you. But as soon as you turned around you felt the tip of a sword at your throat. You gasped. Not because of the sword but because you saw who was holding it. Red hair, scar over his eye, only one arm and an expression that made it clear that he was in a really bad mood. „Shanks“ you mumbled to yourself. You had never met the yonko before but you’ve heard a lot of stories about him and his men. For a moment you lost all your confidence, you were intimidated by his appearance. Fear struck you as you looked into his eyes. You bit your lower lip and looked over your shoulder to your crew before taking a deep breath. You knew you couldn’t let him see that you were in fact scared of him. Not now. Not with your crew in danger. So you did the only thing you could think of – be a pain in the ass. The most arrogant smile spread across your face as you looked back at him.

„Think that’s funny little lady?“ He hissed low and threatening. „Kinda,“ you said still with that smile on your face while deep inside you were shaking. „So it’s funny for you to have a sword at your throat and my men holding your crew at gunpoint“ he said pushing the sword a little into your skin drawing some droplets of blood. You gasped still trying to remain as cocky as you could. „Well, the thing is i could easily kill you right now. Sure you would probably slit my throat in that process but unlike you i won’t die“ you replied as you looked him deep in the eye. He raised a brow and looked over to his men then back at you. „I know“ he calmly hummed catching you by surprise. „I’ve heard of you and your devilfruit and i know that you have to be killed more than once but i think that doesn’t apply to your crew“ he said nodding over to them. „It’s up to you how this is going to end“ he added. You nibbled on your lips, looking down at the sand then over to your crew before looking down again. Well you knew you were screwed. There was no way to win this fight without losing either your lives or worse losing your entire mates. „What do you want?“ You asked defeated, avoiding his gaze. „You and your crew caused a lot of trouble in my territory“ His territory?!? How could you not see that this was HIS territory. You cursed yourself for being such an idiot and not realizing this. You vowed to never drink again when you reach an island. „See the people on this island depend on my protection therefore i cannot let you leave after destroying the bakery and fighting the towns people“ he growled as he leaned closer. You swallowed hard, his stare was so intense you were sure he could see inside your soul. At the same time you felt something else, something you haven’t felt in years. You had to look away, heart beating so fast you thought you’d lose one of your lives due to a heart attack. „What happened to that cocky attitude. Don’t tell me you’re scared“ he taunted and that’s when you snapped. You launched forward pushing the sword away from your throat with one hand, leaving a cut on it, while grabbing for your own with the other. Needless to say that was a really bad idea because just a few seconds later you heard a rumble from where your crew and then found yourself laying on your back in the sand, sting on your neck. „Don’t kill them, everything’s fine here. Seems the little lady got a bit offended“ shanks shouted over to his men. „Maybe you should stop playing around before someone gets hurt“ a tall muscular man with greyish hair and a scar on his face yelled over to shanks. „Calm down beck, I’ve got everything under control“.

You let out a small squeak when you felt shanks‘ sword move over your stomach up to your heart at the same time feeling blood run down your neck. Luckily for you the cut wasn’t too deep – no life wasted. „You almost got your crew killed“ shanks continued to taunt you. But he was right that was a close call and you finally had to admit it – there’s no way out of this. „Next wrong move and they die“ he scolded. „Just tell me what you want and stop being an asshole“ the words just blurted out of your mouth but shanks just looked at you amused. „Well if you’re that eager, i want your crew to rebuilt the bakery, give everything you’ve stolen back and i want them to stay here and help out for as long as it takes to humble you.“ He said kneeling down, his knee right next to your head. „If you think we’re“ you started but he interrupted you „I’m sorry, guess i didn’t make myself clear. I want your crew to stay here. You, little lady, will come with us“. You stared at him with wide eyes, mouth open to yell at him. But you couldn’t no words came out.

God no one ever told you what an attractive man the yonko was. No. You shook your head, now was not the time to swoon over him, he attacked you, threatened to kill your crew, he’s an asshole, a good looking one though. „Be a good girl and stop being a pain in my ass“. Shanks said with a cheeky smile, ripping you out of your thoughts. Does he know what you’re thinking, can he read your mind? His scary and intimidating expression seemed to fade as he put the sword away. „Now we will walk over to your crew and you will tell them that they’re going to stay here until we come back“ he commanded offering you his hand to help you up. For a moment you wanted to take it but then decided against it, shoving it away and getting up yourself. „Still being a brat huh“. You glared at him as he took a step closer. „Maybe I’ll have to teach you a lesson once we get on the ship“ he whispered in your ear, making you gasp and shudder. After explaining to your crew what’s going to happen and watching them walk back to the town accompanied by two of Shanks‘ men you felt the strong urge to run away. You didn’t want Shanks to teach you a lesson, nor to stay on his ship. Well you didn’t get far when suddenly two strong arms wrapped around you and threw you over his shoulder „Not so fast little lady.“ The man you recognized as benn beckmann scolded. Shanks and his men just chuckled as you tried to wriggle out of beckmanns grasp to no use. Once on the ship, beckmann followed shanks into a cabin. „She’s a spirited one, better be careful“ beckmann said to shanks as he put you down. „Don’t worry I’m gonna tame her“ Shanks said devilish grin on his face, while you started to feel a knot in your stomach. Tame you? What is that supposed to mean? Is he going to torture you? Now you started to panic but tried your best not to show it. Beckmann stepped closer one hand reaching for your sword the other grabbed your chin with one finger to make you look up at him. You swallowed trying not to break the eye contact between you two. After what felt like an eternity of him burning holes into your soul he let go of you and left the room without another word as you looked after him. „I can ask him to join us later on if you want.“ Shanks said with a small laugh looking you up and down. „But by the way you’re looking after him it seems you wouldn’t mind“

You just looked at him dumbstruck only now realizing that you’ve been biting your lower lip while your hands had a tight grip on your shirt. „But first I’ll have to teach you a lesson for what you did today“ he grabbed your waist and pulled you closer to him. Out of instinct you put your hands up and on his chest. You were so close you could feel the warmness coming from his body. You knew you couldn’t resist him forever, especially not if he was this close. You looked down at his shirt, hands carefully moving to it’s buttons opening them one by one. Shanks watched you unbutton his shirt while his hand moved under yours caressing your stomach, making you twitch and gasp at the ticklish feeling. Once you were done he let you remove the shirt from him. „Now take your clothes off“ he commanded as he let go of you. „Make me“ you teased not sure if that was a good idea (given your streak of bad ideas it probably wasn’t). „I thought you wanted to teach me a lesson“you continued feeling as cocky as you did when you fought the towns people. But when you looked into his eyes you immediately started to regret saying that. They were full of mischief and his smile was devilish. You didn’t have time to react when he launched forward grabbing your hair and pushing you onto the bed behind him. „I wanted to go easy on you but i feel like you need someone to put you in place right now“ he hissed, as you tried to wriggle away. „Where do you think you’re going.“ He teased as he grabbed your ankle pulling you closer to the edge of the bed. He unbuckled his belt and got on top of you. „Keep in mind that everything happening now is your own fault“ he growled as he ripped your clothes from you. In an instant you were completely naked underneath the yonko. The sudden air on your exposed skin made you gasp. He leaned closer kissing around your breast while his hand moved on your inner thigh drawing circles getting closer and closer to your private part. You let out a moan as he bit down on one of your nipples, feeling a smile spread on his face. „You will be sorry after I’m done with you. Now let me hear you scream my name little lady“ he said as he kissed a way up to your face until his lips brushed yours as his hand finally made contact with your center. He got you so riled up but then denied you and that went on for some time till you were a begging and pleading mess. After Shanks thought that you’ve learned your lesson he made you cum over and over again. Needless to say that his name was heard all over the ship. As you went from one high to another you thought that maybe the decisions you made today weren’t that bad after all.

[aingeal98]

so, steph in the canon text choose to carry her pregnancy to term and give her child up for adoption. this is generally understood to be bc the writer of that issue/run was pro life, but taking the text at face value, what does it say that steph chose what she chose? is it coherent with her character? could it be read as another symptom of internalized mysoginy? or is it incoherent with her character/would it be more thematically interesting to have her have an abortion?

Really really good question I've been mulling this over in my head for weeks. To answer the last question first, I honestly think the issue with the pregnancy arc is less about the choices Steph makes and more to do with how clunkily anti abortion Chuck Dixon is. Like I do think it's very possible to be fully pro choice but also unwilling to abort your own pregnancy. I fought alongside my friends to repeal the abortion ban in Ireland but at the same time I can never picture myself ever getting one, because for me the second I become aware of it it's real to me, not just a clump of cells. But I know full well that's just my own sentimentality and there's no scientific backing, like logically it IS just a clump of cells and also there's a whole patriarchal society dedicated to stopping women from having bodily autonomy, which is why I'd never try and push that belief on others or discourage them from whatever choice they feel is best. So basically I would struggle hard to ever do it, but if you want to, hell yeah abort that thang! No judgement from me or moral reasoning needed from you.

And because of this I could see Steph being the same. I could even see certain story beats playing out the same if they were allowed just a bit more nuance instead of being a conservative after school special. Steph lashing out at her mom and counsellor for suggesting an abortion, not because it's a Bad Thing to do but because it feels to her like her mom is already trying to sweep this under the rug like it never happened, and Steph herself hasn't even come to terms with it. Steph feeling isolated from her peers, again highly plausible it just needs better dialogue than what we got in the original. We could even have scenes of Steph grappling with the idea of an abortion, and wondering how much of her aversion to it is her own choice and how much is internalized misogyny. I think her arc of deciding to have the baby and give it up works best, although a well written abortion au would be super interesting to read.

So basically for me the choices Steph makes in the original run are very coherent with her character, and what actually makes it fall flat is the clunky dialogue and heavy handed anti abortion writing. If Steph was written by someone other than Chuck Dixon during that time, I could see her being pro choice while also being unwilling to abort the baby herself. And it could have been written with a lot more nuance and acknowledgement of what teen mothers go through, instead of just what Chuck Dixon thought Good Teen Moms should do and say in this filthy world of liberal values.

From what we got in canon, I'd say Steph probably grew out of the anti abortion mindset as she got older. I don't think she'd ever regret her decision, but I do see her looking back and cringing at some of the ways she acted because wow the internalized misogyny JUMPED out. And if she ever came across another sobbing teenager with a positive pregnancy test, I'd say modern adult Steph would make sure they knew all their options with zero judgement. And helping that young girl would probably dredge up a million different emotions that she would struggle to name.

So tl:dr, taking the text at face value Steph has boatloads of internalized misogyny specifically around abortion. But I don't actually think her choices are out of character, more so that the entire narrative is written less as a story and more as a moralizing conservative rant on pro life where everyone feels like a caricature. It would actually be quite simple to tweak the dialogue and clunky scenes and end up with similar character choices just... better written. Where her mom and counsellors aren't evil for suggesting abortion but Steph still feels hurt and lashes out anyway. Where her peers say the wrong things and leave her feeling alienated. Where she weighs her options and gets more narrative space to mull over all the consequences. It would be my preferred way to rewrite the arc, but there are a lot of changes that could be made and I'm open to reading about all of them.

Thank you for the ask! Sorry it took so long to respond I was chewing over the whole concept haha.

[sadlybeans]

ok but now i need to write down these! (disclaimer: this is a compilation of things i’ve seen + a couple of mine, so you probably know a lot of them already)

✨Batdad headcanons✨

So we all know the classical ‘wouldn’t notice if some other random kid started living in his house’ thing, right? I personally think it’s true to some point. Like, he would notice there’s a new kid he definitely did not bring into the house, BUT he immediately (and mostly correctly) assumes said kid is here because their life sucks otherwise so he pretends not to see. (Bc like, come on, the Wayne family is anything but functional so if this is an improvement, what was their life like before they came?)

He doesn’t really care what the kids do with his money??? If they come up to him and ask “Hey B! Can I have a million bucks?” he would pull out his phone and wire them 2 million without question. The only one who has absolutely zero trust and must say explicitly what he wants is Damian, for obvious reasons.

He says he doesn’t have favourites but everyone knows he does. Cass, of course, and Jason (Do you seriously think he could carry guns with little issue if he didn’t have favourite son privileges?).

In reality, he’s absolute shit at handing out punishment/scolding the kids. He does try, to his credit, but they know how to manipulate their way out of it or bend the rules to their favour.

He tried his best not to swear in front of them as they grew up (still doesn’t swear at all in their presence), but at some point he just gave up on scolding them for it. So while on patrol, he’ll just sigh every time Jason screams “motherfucker!” into the comms, but back in the mansion may god help them if Alfred hears them.

Ever since Dick was a kid he started carrying snacks with him on patrol. Nowadays he needs to be prepared and carry all the specific varieties they like. (He forgot Dick’s mini cereal bags once and he still can’t hear the end of it).

I personally think he would let the public think all the kids are his bio kids. Gotham thinks he’s just really an idiot when it comes to birth control, because surely all those black haired, blue eyed children are his. (The only ones whose parentage is truly questioned are Duke and Damian, but as he grows up Damian looks more and more like Bruce so the speculation dies down).

As a follow up, at first people tried to claim they were pregnant with his kid, but actually it was the Wayne children who shut it down by unsubtly implying all of them were planned and wanted, not accidents. (Which is technically true…)

He may be give Tired Dad energy 90% of the time, but there’s a reason all his kids are insane, reckless, diabolical little terrors. They learnt to be THAT overdramatic from him.

Like, come on. Bruce “I dress as a bat to beat up clowns” Wayne, a responsible and sensible adult?

HA.

He’s always excited to receive AND give gifts to his family. Half the time he just receives drawings of bats, exactly one sock with a silly pattern, or a cheap scented candle from the dollar store but you can bet your ass he treasures every last one of them.

Because of how much he spoils his own kids, he cannot be left unsupervised with anyone else’s children. (Too many times has this warning been ignored— Wally’s still salty that Barry dragged him back home. Jon has his own bedroom in the mansion)

He may have difficulties with accepting he has emotions but he loves all his kids just the same and he never regrets becoming a dad, even if do drive him mad sometimes.

[cherryredstars]

PLEASE WRITE SOMETJINT WHERE THERES A TRANSMASC READER AND MIGUEL FINDS OUT BC THEYRE AT THE BEAFH FOR TJE FIRST TIME AS A DATE AND READER TAKES HIS SHIRT OFF AND MIGUEL IS LIKE PANICKING LIKE “Reader? Did someone hurt you??” AND READER IS CONFUSED LIKE “what do you mean” AND THEN READER LOOKS DOWN AND NOTICES WHAT HES TALKING ABOUT AND PANICS TOO LIKE “Miguel I- didnt want you to see them-“ AND MIGUEL IS LIKE “What do you mean?? What are they??” AND READER IS COVERING HIS TOPSCARS LOOKING AT MIGUEL KIND OF WITH AN ASHAMED LOOK ON HIS FACE AND HES JUST STANDING THERE, AND FINALLY MIGUEL FIGURES IT OUT AND HES LIKE “are those top surgery scars?” AND READER NODS AND ITS JUST CONFUSION ALL AROUND AND THEN MIGUEL IS FINALLY LIKE “I support you” AND THEN JS GO FROM TJERE PLEASE

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x Transmasc!reader

Warnings: Mentions to Top Surgery Scars, Fluff

Summary: Miguel is basically mesmerized by you. 

A/N: I can’t tell you how excited I was when I got this request!

Word Count: 725 (Not Edited)

You’re so comfortable in your body.

It’s to the point that you forget that your body wasn’t always yours. That you had to give it those few moderations to make it the one you’ve grown so comfortable and proud of. It feels like the body you’re meant to have. That you deserve to have. And you love your body and your journey and how far you’ve come so much. It makes it hard to remember that some people won’t. That some horrible, miserable people think it’s disgusting and sinful and something you’ll wake up regretting some day. 

But you don’t think about that. You know in your heart of hearts that you love your body and this is who you’re supposed to be. This is who you want to be. So you don’t really think when you pull your shirt off. You’ve reached that point in your life where you aren’t anxious about it anymore. 

Or, you thought you were. You’re throwing your shirt to the side when you hear Miguel’s muffled noise of panic. You turn quickly to him in alarm, asking him if something’s wrong. You fuss over him, questions spilling out of you as you scan his body for injuries. But his eyes are zeroed in on you. More specifically, on your chest. 

You follow his line of sight, staring down your body. Your eyes catch sight of the slightly raised and discolored skin and you cringe. You don’t remember the last time you did that. You let go of Miguel, stepping back a few paces. It’s weird-- to feel self conscious after so long of thriving in your body. Your hand itches at your side, and you instinctively bring your arm across to hide the scars. You instantly drop your arm though. I don’t need to be ashamed, you think to yourself. It is not my problem if my body makes him uncomfortable. 

“Are… do they hurt? Are you hurt?” Miguel asks, the panic is still in his voice, but it has died down. It’s more confused, unsure of himself. 

Your brows furrow until it clicks. He’s not judging you, he’s concerned. He… cares. “Wha- no. They’re healed. They’re from, uh… surgery?”

Miguel’s brows furrow too, eyes squinting as he looks more closely at them. They do look more precise, purposeful. They’re not jagged like knife wounds. They’re clean and simple. He can tell from the scar pattern where stitches used to hold the skin together. Surgery… top surgery. His eyebrows raise in understanding, nodding subtly to himself. He looks back to your face, feeling guilty for the guarded look you have.

“They… they look like lightning. El rayo.” He whispers, “Rayo hermoso.”

His words make you flush, whispering out a small thank you. He nods, not really listening. His eyes shine as he stares at you. Like he’s amazed by your presence. That your very being is something special. But, maybe your eyes are tricking you.

“Do they…” you start but you rethink your words. “If they make you uncomfortable, we can leave and go our separate ways.”

Miguel is quick to shake his head, stiff expression covering his face. He looks you in the eyes, something genuine and pure on his face. “No, they’re beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

You’re bashful when you smile at him, shaking your head as it faces the ground, “Good. That’s… good.”

A silence comes over the two of you as you process the moment. It’s broken when a beach ball falls near the two of you. You reach down and grab it, serving it back to the group of teens who wave their arms to gain your attention. Miguel is at your side when you stand up, his arm hesitantly slinking around your waist. You smile up at him, taking his sunglasses from the top of his head and putting them over his eyes. He smiles back at you, his grip getting stronger. 

“Come on, it’s hot. Let’s go into the water.” You tell him, grabbing onto his hand as you try to lead the way into the ocean. 

Miguel pulls you back, making you hit his chest lightly in the process. You stare up at him, leaning into his touch when his hand cups your cheek. He leans down, kissing the corner of your mouth lightly.

 “Eres el hombre más guapo que he visto, mi rayo.”

[linddzz]

Whooooo! I found ya! Down to business:

Are there any fic recommendations for baggin/shield or pitch/frost that you like(d)?

I am absolutely feral

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaand…..

What are 3 of your most favorite fics that you’ve ever read?

Ya found me! Let me say that the notifications of someone going through old fics and commenting are ambrosia. You are a treasure and a saint of a person!

And oh man I had to dive into my old bookmarks for these! I'm good at remembering snippets or vibes of fics but not the fics themselves. I will warn that a lot of my fave pitch/jack stuff tended to be pretty dark. It's not like, a thing I regret or say is wrong, and I still enjoy/love a lot of it! I was in a dark place mentally and that reflected in the stuff I was reading and creating. Who actually has a good time in their early to mid 20s?

Mostly warning because most of my stuff since then skirts the edges or flirts with the darkness but doesn't feel that need to go deep diving.

Second warning is there may be less here than you'd think! The more I write for a ship the less I read, because my brain gets very dumb and the self doubt gets Real Bad. This is all non-exhaustive of course! I wouldn't even say this is my Best of The Best it's just what's coming to mind at the moment. There's way more in the AO3 bookmarks

Pitch/Jack fics

In the Dark - series by @charmed7293 romancing the monster under the bed is maybe not always the best idea

The Syntax of Programming Languages, and, Why Some Code Talks in Accents - by Midievil. I'm biased here bc this was a gift fic inspired by my The Device Has Been Modified, but it done showed me up bc it was written by someone who knows more about actual coding than me

Shadows and Light - this series by @not-poignant is The Classic of the ship. Since you liked Things That Were you'd most definitely like this one. And unlike me, Pia actually finishes things!

I swear to God there were a lot of fics by @insufferablearchanist that I loved but they nuked their old AO3 and I can't ever remember shit.

Thorin/Bilbo fics

Prayers to Broken Stone - @avelera the beauty and the beast flavored au you didn't know you wanted

Comfort in the Sound - by northerntrash. Ok. Yes. It's Bilbo/Thorin/Bofur but like. Trust me on this. Road trip throuple shenanigans

Patchwork Robe - @hallsofstone2941 I am not immune to stupidly adorable modern college au one-shots

Possession - aljira. You liked Sanzigil, you'll like this :)

Marriage in the Manner of Dwarves - series by diemarysues

Other Fandom Faves (that come to mind. I've been reading fanfic since like 2002 ok there's a lot that has made impressions over the years that I just lost track of dkdjdk)

Taking Everyone For A Ride - by Nonymos. Venom/Eddy+Anne/Dan. typical Eldritch shenanigans plus polyamory. Unhinged and weird, just how I like em

The Only Way Out Is Down - @avelera Newt/Hermann. The second PR movie was so bad I wanna erase it from my memory but my god did it spawn some AMAZING fics, including this one that rewired my brain

After Zero - by what_alchemy Newt/Hermann. A bunch of delightful smut

The Wine Dark Sea - @moorishflower Dream/Hob. Siren! Dream au. Jesus Christ. Holy fuck. Goddamn. Gorgeous, monstrous, surreal, Unhinged4Unhinged behavior. Listen. I work with octopuses. I know what their arms feel like and that has ruined almost all tentacle shenanigans for me ok?? This fic got past that hangup.

If I Please You - @moorishflower Dream/Hob. It feels like a modern retelling of an old medieval fairy romance goddamn

And finally. This series. The series.

So. I very recently refound this series and I'm almost hesitant to post it. Because as I was reading it again I kept having to put it down and sit in horror at the realization that I read this fic when I was in college and it actually rewired my brain. I realized everything I have written was trying to recapture what this fic did to my synapses. I was chasing after vibes that I did not realize originated in this fic for me. Me sharing this risks everyone who reads it and has read my stuff also going "ooohhhh you're just doing this again huh?"

It is the very specific combination of "Character A: openly unhinged, obsessive, violently romantic and unnerving/Character B: seems so chill and just happily rolls with CharacterA being insane, because they are also secretly insane." It's the combo of a codependent bonkers relationship with humorous banality of their day-to-day.

It's also a Johnlock fic.

Anyway, The Paradox Series rewired my brain so deeply that I didn't even realize it rewired my brain until over a decade later. I swear I have been unaware of how much my writing has been leaning on what this did to my brain.

[evansbby]

GIRLIE GIRLIE GIRLIE LISTEN LISTEN LISTEN. I HAVE AN IDEA FOR A REQUEST.

[Its also 03:57AM and I’m crying my eyes out, so I might regret this when I woke up lolllll]

Hear me out, hear me out, hear me out. See the visionnnnn. So, this is my request:

Sugar daddy!Ari AU. This is a little after the reader becomes his girlfriend. The reader hasn’t really gotten it into her head that she’s not just his sugar baby, but she’s his love, so she tends to hide her feelings and pain and raw emotions from him because she wants to sort of keep up the image of her being his sexy personal nymphomaniac because she thinks he’ll leave if she’s real with him.

So let’s say, something happened. Maybe an argument with her terrible family or her shitty friends gossip about her or she’s burnt out from taking care of others or someone shames her for something, idk, you’re the author, you decide what happens, but anyways.

Something happens that made her extremely sad and miserable, but she’s trying to hide her feelings from Ari, she pretends everything is fine (it’s not lol), she’s acting a little weird cos she’s trying to keep up appearances so that he won’t dismiss and discard her, etc. But Ari, being her daddy and the smart motherfucker he is, knows that something is wrong with his precious girl.

So basically, shit goes down with her and Ari and he soft doms her (maybe a little hard dom too) and comforts her and reassures her that she’s his girl and not just a plaything and all that lovey dovey shit. Oh, and aftercare lol! Only if you want to.

This probably could’ve been said in fewer words, but I’m crying my eyes out and it’s a little cathartic to type this out lol, sorryyyy. Thank youuuu! Love your writing!

Oh I would love to read this 😭😭😭

But you see I’m insane so I need to make it more sad so if I were to write this…

I’d make it so that reader is very insecure and she thinks she’s not good enough to be Ari’s girlfriend (kind of along the lines of what you said) and she thinks she’s only good enough for sex bc she has zero feelings of self worth 🤧🤧🤧 and no matter what Ari says or does to reassure her and uplift her, she just doesn’t believe him😔😔

And she keeps pushing herself away from him, bc she thinks he deserves better bc he’s such a nice guy and it’s not a normal sugar daddy relationship bc Ari doesn’t even expect sex from her (although they do have great amazing perfect sex) but Ari just loves talking to her all night, getting to know her interests, buying her special gifts that match her interests… And reader is overwhelmed bc she’s sooo insecure and she thinks she doesn’t deserve this happiness. She’s scared of letting herself be happy in case Ari “wakes up” one day and realises he can do better and leaves her🥲 (he wouldn’t but she thinks he will).

So then one day she gets so overwhelmed that she breaks up with him impulsively. But we all know what a strong mature wise perfect daddy Ari is, so he’d be like “let’s talk this out” and she bursts into tears and tells him that he deserves better and that she’s broken and she needs to go away so he can start living his life instead of always worrying about her 🥲🥲🥲 and Ari tells her that he’s in love with her and he couldn’t live without her and then they have sex 🥺🥺🥺 where Ari is being a soft dom and sooo perfect and sexy and reader needed this bc she needs him to tell her what to do so she can relax and stop worrying. Her mind never turns off during the day and she’s wracked with insecurities and fear, but with Ari… he lets her mind go blank so she doesn’t need to think, and she feels okay.

But then she’s up all night and Ari is asleep and she watches him and all her insecurities come back and she thinks that he deserves better and he can’t spend his whole life with her as a burden just bc she’s so insecure all the time 🥲🥲

So she leaves… without a note or a phone call or anything. In fact, she moves far away to live with a distant relative and deletes her social media. Ari calls her and texts her every single day, begging her to pick up or come back etc and she changes her phone number 🥲🥲🥲 some of her friends tell her that Ari is miserable and he’s still looking for her and waiting for her but she hopes he will move on soon.

Anyways then reader starts working on herself, she gets a job in an industry she likes and she makes some new friends. She starts seeing a therapist and slowly, bit by bit, her confidence starts to grow. She realises she deserves love as much as anyone else does. And she misses Ari so much bc he really was the love of her life 🥹🥹 it’s been a whole year now and one day she decides she wants to see him again. She wants to try again and hopefully he’d be open to getting back together with her.

She shows up at his door with Chinese takeaway (their favourite meal they’d have together) and Ari answers the door and he’s shocked to see her. And she says she thinks she’s all whole again, she thinks she’s fixed and she’d like to give it a try with him once more. And she got food 🍲

But then she looks beyond his shoulder and sees another girl. And Chinese takeaway already on the table. He’s moved on. She’s heartbroken. But she smiles and tells him she’s happy for him. He tries to stop her but she leaves.

THE END 😭😭😭😭

[fr-wiwiw]

well, to indulge myself i'm writing this post to ramble and share a bit of my Gahan barbarian!au. it's going to be a bit of a long post i think, we'll see.

i saw noel's post about their gladiator!yohan & prince!gaon (check it here!) and it makes me miss writing the arranged marriage barbarian!au i have, it only has what.. 3 or 4 chapters I think. you can read it here.

i've always been fascinated by the visuals of medieval, historical, period era. even post apocalyptic future settings like Horizon Zero games franchise.

i think i started au bcs i've played too much Assassin's Creed Valhalla— i haven't finished it yet, too preoccupied with Monster Hunter World— but i have sketched my female Eivor several times in my sketchbook. this was when i'm curious and interested enough to draw human but haven't fully grasped the gesture, anatomy, shapes and all. i usually draw what i take interest on and it helps me tremendously, to keep on learning and push through my frustrations.

and of course.. my Gahan brainrot picked it up. hence the barbarian!au for TDJ born

i have sketches of Gahan in this au, i think i've shared them here too but i'll re-share here. it doesn't catch many eyes, i admit it's a bit of a bummer but I like the idea anyway. I used to imagined them before I went to sleep, now it's idol/celeb!gaon x mysterious husband!yohan that's occupying my mind. but anyways! here are the sketches.

1st sketch is me trying to see his body proportion in viking/barbarian attire. the upper left sketch was me wanting to see modern Yohan stripping off his clothes ig haha.. anyways, between Gaon/Jinyoung and Yohan/Jisung, it's VERY difficult to nail down his face. less lines doesn't resembles him at all and add some more lines he looks too realistic to my simplified version of Gaon/Jinyoung. it was hard trying to find the balance for these characters to be in the same picture and look like they belong in the same style. i want to do Yohan/Jisung's pretty face justice but i still struggled in this sketches. i think this was 2021? 2022?

2nd sketch— his long protruding neck lmao i haven't fully grasped how a person can pose naturally but it came out as if he has turtle neck syndrome going on. well done Yohan! you are a turtle apparently according to my hand. all jokes aside, this was me attempting to paint his face bcs i never really attempted to paint gahan. i doodled and sketched more than i paint/rendering and i'm on my way to learn more of rendering daily if possible, alongside with my daily sketches. you can also see i've tried to give some color to his attire and some medallion or such. do you see a braid there? i will get there, the braid is something significant in this story ;)

3rd sketch is basically me planning out his character design as a barbarian/viking chief. you can see bits of references cuts here and there, took me quite some time bcs i just started to really try my hands on concept character design properly— i love cloaks and capes and vikings has exactly just that, and the winter times are especially my favorite type of attire on them so i thought why not give Yohan polar bear fur as his official formal attire while still flaunting his wonderful body to the world be it summer or winter lmao. here's where you know it's fantasy. i'm sure people back then drink ales and what not to keep their body warm so they can go bare-chested in winter even but i'm sure the day after that they will regret it. but i make Yohan and his clan to have special abilities for living in cold places. doesn't mean i don't make them wear winter attire but this is only bcs i want him to be bare-chested xD the one I post here was before i dabble on the sketch a bit more. hopefully one day i can share it again with more updates for this au.

now.. onto Gaon's sketches.

he's a Prince in this story. his parents, the King and the Queen, arranged a marriage for him for political reasons. but they have special reasons as to why they pick Yohan, aside from political purposes, to be their son's betrothed and gave him away to Yohan's barbarian clan.

1st sketch (ignore the upper left, that's Jinyoung from his other drama). i want to see him in medium and long hair length. there's a purpose to this. he has his canon Gaon hairstyle when he was the Prince in the palace. but with time and some adjustments living with Yohan and his barbarian clan rubs off on him. perhaps it's due to that, or he's grown tired to cut it off again and again (he has no one to groom him properly now unlike in the palace), practical reason is to maintain heat around his neck while in winter, or it's his idea of adapting and blending in with the enemy. you can't blame him for being wary. he's whisked away from his comfort place and home and married off to a fearsome and famous barbarian on the land at that time, almost willingly got raped by Yohan on 1st chapter (yes, you read that right). other reasons why he grows his hair, as i mentioned the culture rubs off on him, is something to do with the hair braiding too. and personal reason is that i want to see pretty Gaon in long hair lol

2nd sketch on the left was him on early days on Yohan's fur beddings. the right was him perhaps laughing out loud by some surprising and amusing thing Yohan said after living with him for some months, you can see the different hair length there. gosh he looks unalive in here lol idk why.. my sketches were still rigid here

3rd sketch is them after establishing a genuine intimate relationship and Yohan has to be away to fend off some unexpected visitors. unfortunately it cost Yohan some of his men's lives. but he made it back to his clan and his betrothed. i make it as if Gaon was anxious waiting for him and one of the barbarian shouted for Yohan's arrival and he ran immediately. lunged at Yohan perhaps, the barbarian Chief managed to catch him but didn't quite have the strength to carry them both upright as the weariness sinks into him post battle & adrenaline wearing off of him. he's home now, in Gaon's arms.

now.. the hair braiding.

barbarians/viking has long hair and braids on their hair. styled cascading down or up into a pony tail or a mohawk and such. idk if this is historically correct but i'm winging most of this anyway but the idea of braids in this story is that it's significant to lovers. it's a mark between special intimate relationship (like lovers, spouses, soulmates). one can have a braid or braid their lover's hair should they wish to, it's very intimate and special for them. jeweleries might have certain status symbol for them and their ranks but I also prefer these barbarians have something simple to symbolize their intimacy. something that can get overlooked but enough for their significant other to know (and some people) what it means.

I like the idea of Yohan having accessories for his attire but his hair is clean from braids. clearly it's saying something if you've read this far and seeing my sketches for their different stages of relationship. over the years of them finally developing feelings and genuinely established a relationship, despite already being married an Gaon almost got raped by Yohan, they are lovers.

yet Yohan never really initiates anything about him wanting to have braid(s) or braiding Gaon's hair. he might have explained about what braids are to Gaon when the bambi was curious or off-handedly commented something about it. Gaon really finds out the real meaning from Yohan's ppl and he wonders why Yohan never asks or wants braids from him. then he realizes Yohan has always been respectful to him, even years after that night he almost raped him. always keeping healthy distance, outside of their sex and other intimate physical affections, he usually waits until Gaon ask first regarding intimate things. not that he never initiates things, he figures something as serius and committed as this is something Gaon wants to have an option to bail out from. they were arranged to have marriage for political reasons after all, Gaon has the freedom to not have feelings for him as long as he stays within the wedding pact rules Yohan make with the King & the Queen ( for Gaon's sake too). He never expects to have feelings for the Prince and he always keeps the option of Gaon falling out of love of him one day. it is only fair, he thinks.

but then Gaon asks him if he wants Gaon to braid his hair. the Prince never ceases to make him falter. it still shocks and amuses him, to have someone have this much effect on him. even with nervousness and blushing state Gaon is in now after uttering those words.. Yohan wonders what he has done to have this kind of luxury to have someone this precious in his arms.

and if his people noticed a single braid just near the back of his neck when wind swept his hair or if he pulls his hair into a ponytail on hot summer days? they will all grin smugly.. Yohan likes to keep it a bit hidden from view mainly bcs it's practical and he doesn't want ppl to accidentally graze it off when he's having friendly wrestle matches or axe practices. or even having people cut it off when he's at war. he doesn't hide it per se, it's visible when it's visible. Gaon smiles sweetly and adoringly when he finds this out bcs to him, it feels as if Yohan is unconsciously protecting it. protecting their relationship, protecting Gaon.

and if Gaon walks out of Yohan's tent, that days when he asks if he can braid Yohan's hair, with a braid or several on his hair? visible to everyone? the people cheer and roar in celebration. they throw a huge feast and toast to their relationship, congratulating the power couple. wishing the gods to give these two their blessings and to protect them. they're finally able to see their Chief have a partner that is equal to him. it's a memorable day

but if you think this story doesn't come with heavy angst, tears, pain and betrayal.. well think again ;))

i will stop here. thankyou for reading! i hope i can pick up this au again in my drawings & writings

[girlboybug]

trash magic

"boy, you wanna hold me down and tell me that you love me?"

or the one where you get a tattoo for joel and he shows you just how much he appreciates it.

what’s playing 🎧 trash magic by lana del rey

pairing : joel miller x reader

word count : 2k

*unedited*

CONTENT WARNINGS : SMUT, joel is sooo super turned on by your tattoo, size kink, overstimulation, mentions of unspecified age gap, unprotected sex, tit-fucking, lots of heavy petting/groping, praise and hints of degrading, joel is a dirty depraved man muahaha

TRIGGER WARNINGS : uhh none come to mind but if there’s something that is triggering plz let me know. otherwise enjoy <3

a/n : hi guys i’m so sorry it took me FOREVER to update, i just wanted to post smth small bc i felt bad abt my lack of presence on here. i wanna say thank u so much for the love and support on my work it means the absolute WORLD to me. life has just been so draining and writing has fallen to the back burner and i HATE it but here, i hope this slightly makes up for it, i promise i have a lot in store!!

it had been just a little over a month. a little over a month without joel was time spent cruelly—longingly. and in all honesty, most people in jackson wondered why you were so distraught over his lack of presence, unable to comprehend why a young, pretty girl spent all her time trailing behind a stone-faced old man. but he was your stone-faced old man. his hard glare, monotone responses and hands that were perpetually stuck in fists, were all aspects you loved about him, despite the fact that they seemed to act as a wall to block everyone out.  but what people didn’t realize was that those walls came right back down the second it came to you. 

you figured their judgment lied in the point of view that they had of him. they only saw cold joel, unfriendly joel who had zero time for anyone except ellie and, maybe you. but they didn't see the way he was when you were alone. they didn’t see the way his face would drop all its coldness when he'd look at you, his fists following in suit and unraveling into gentle hands that would tighten around your jaw to pull you up for a kiss. instead, all they saw was a hardened old man leading on some girl young enough to be his daughter. 

and even if he was, you didn't care. it was hard to care about anything when he'd press his mouth over yours, enveloping you in and cleansing you of everything you've ever worried about the second his tongue pushed past your lips. you replayed the way his scruff felt against your skin, your bare tummy…your inner thighs. you squirmed around in the booth at the tipsy bison, ignoring the comments about how you're going to regret getting the tattoo that you did, how joel is nice and all, but he's the last guy you should be getting a tattoo for. 

you didn’t fucking care, the only thing that you did care about was how he would feel about it. and god, you hoped he liked it. you are definitely not one to handle pain all that well, and with the limited supplies cat had after tattooing ellie, you were extra nervous of all that could go wrong. but you missed joel so much, you needed something, anything, that felt like a piece of him was always with you. 

the moth sticker on the neck of his guitar always did catch your eye, and when he was gone, you’d cradle his guitar, hold it the way he would and simply stare at the sticker. you imagined him the day he stuck it on, the way he’d look down at it, and maybe even smile to himself. it made your heart just about ache at the image. 

you grew antsy to show joel the more you thought about it, but maintained what little patience you had left. you decided to keep it a surprise until you both got home, feeling as though the reveal was something that deserved to be private for you two alone. 

—

“i have a surprise for you.” you whispered excitedly, clambering into his lap. he smiled up at you, pushing his glasses into his hair and shutting his book. his eyes fell to your fingers that slowly took their time unbuttoning each little button on the flannel that…suspiciously looks a whole lot like the one that went missing from his side of the closet. 

“that so?” he hummed in that low gruff voice of his, a hot feeling stirring in his lower stomach as he watched the flannel begin to part the lower you went. 

“mhm. i hope you like it.” you murmured, swallowing hard when you pulled the flannel open. his eyes lingered on yours for a moment before traveling down to the valley of your breasts, gasping when he saw a moth decorating your skin. 

“are you out your goddamn mind?” joel exhaled in disbelief, tracing his fingers over the moth splayed across your sternum. 

your hands gripped the fabric of your flannel, fingernail rolling over the button with nerves. “are you…are you mad?” you unintentionally whimpered, and he shook his head, sitting up with you in his lap, leaning forward and pulling his glasses back down to look at it better. “no baby no but, i…i coulda given you the sticker i had,” he laughed, unable to peel his eyes off of the tattoo. you rolled your eyes jokingly but in the back of your mind, fear was starting to settle in. 

did he hate it?  

“do you like it?” you asked quietly, praying he said yes. “oh, baby i love it,” he uttered heavily, bringing his stare from your chest up to your face. he pulled you by your chin, smile still on his lips while he kissed you. you cupped his face, thumbs circling around the stubble on his jaw, a giddy feeling beginning to bubble in your tummy. 

“did it hurt?” he questioned with his lips still close to yours. you nodded, pecking him. “yeah. but i just thought of you the whole time,” you admitted truthfully, smiling fondly down at him. he shook his head, kissing you again. he made a sound of sympathy, running his thumb along your bottom lip. he stared at your chest before something clicked in him, making him flip you on your back.

he wasn’t phased by the surprised yelp that left you, instead he was focused on stopping your hands from trying to hide your bare chest with the flannel. “unh unh don’t cover up now, too pretty to be doin that,” he chastised lowly, devouring you with his eyes. you grew hot under him as he continued speaking. “looks so good on you…real good, wish i was there with ya while you got it done baby,” he groaned, hands groping your breasts, thumbs straying to caress the wings of the moth. 

you whined hushedly, arching your back into his touch. “i do too but you were gone,” you formed something like a pout, pushing an upset finger into his chest. he tsked, holding your accusatory hand to kiss your palm. “i know, i know, already said m’sorry baby,” he murmured, taking advantage of the way you softened at his actions. he trailed kisses down your jaw, murmuring more apologies for his absences. his words were enough, and all you could do was just lean into him, taking every touch and kiss he gave you happily. 

“can’t believe you did this,” he breathed out, pressing his growing bulge to your clothed core. you whined, sitting up on your elbows. your ankles lock around him eyeing him from under your eyelashes. “i just wanted to feel like you were always with me, i missed you so much joel,”

he breathed in sharply at your confessions, his cock twitching and heart racing. “oh baby,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead lovingly. “missed you too. thought about you all the time.” his hand rubbed your outer thigh making its way between your legs. “thought abt this,” he exhaled, feeling you buck down into his palm with a sweet little moan from your lips. 

“missed it s’goddamn much, missed you the most though,” he muttered, the familiar twange in his voice sparking a smile across your face. he pushed your panties to the side, gathering your slick with the pads of his fingers, his cockhead weeping with precum when it registered just how wet you were with such small touches. 

he pushed his middle finger in and wasted no time in fucking you with his digit just the way you liked. you cried out, gripping his wrist while he fucked into your little cunt with his finger, groaning to himself at how tight you felt. 

he leaned down, kissing all over the tattoo, licking and nipping at your breasts while you tangled your fingers in his hair. 

“joel—fuck, just, just—please fuck me,” you breathed out, the patience you’d been struggling to keep had finally ran out, and you couldn’t wait anymore, you needed to have him the way you’ve been craving all this time. “shit—alright, need it tha’ bad huh,” he grunted, pulling himself from out his boxers. 

he held your waist with both large hands of his, pushing inside you, burying his face in your chest and groaning loudly at the way you grip him. you cried out, nails digging into his wide back, teeth grazing his shoulder while you tried to catch your breath. 

the stretch burned and tingled, rippling through your skin and nerves in a way you hadn’t felt in so long. he pushed in and out of you slowly and gently, shaky little breaths that sounded obscene, fanned out over your lips from his parted mouth, and you breathed them all in, pulling him in closer. 

his forehead rested on yours, kissing you while his hips grounded down into yours, taking his time to appreciate how fucking good you felt all around him. utterances of f-fuck, baby poured into your mouth from his, casting a warm sensation to spread across your cheeks. 

he rocked into you, somehow going deeper with every thrust. knowing that he was filling you to the very brim sent him into a mindless delirium, and in return fastening the way he fucked you. gentleness morphed into rushed, desperation to feel you, every single inch and crevice and to make up for lost time. 

you took him in, tightening your calves around his lower back, tugging at the back of his hair while his tongue lapped at your tits and sternum, losing his mind at the fact that you’ve marked yourself as his with this moth. your bold declaration of love and dedication to him turned him on in ways he couldn’t even begin to fathom and the more he thought about it, the harder his hips crashed down into yours. 

“missed me so much you had to get something that reminded you of me tattooed on ya’,” he grunted, grabbing one of your legs and haphazardly throwing it over his shoulder, shuffling even closer to fuck you harder. you couldn’t even reply correctly, all you could do was tearfully babble, nodding stupidly. 

“love you so much joel,” you hiccuped, entire body being nearly fucked into the headboard, tits bouncing mesmerizingly with each thrust joel sends into you. 

“say it again,” he groaned, cock twitching at your open admissions. “i love you, love you love you so much,” you cried, leg beginning to tremble on top of his shoulder. 

“‘love you too baby, love you so goddamn much,” he breathed out in a rasp, shuddering a heavy sigh when you tighten and pulse all around his cock. 

he loved the way his hands just engulfed you, his hand almost covering the entirety of one of your breasts, palming your soft flesh. you were so easy to squeeze, to pick up and hold and fuck, and joel took full advantage of his strength and how palpable for him you were. 

with ease he pulled you up along with him, still impaled on his fat cock, feeling a familiar cockiness spread in his chest when you whimpered at the feeling of him so far inside of you. 

he rested on his haunches, keeping you upright with his hands gripping your hips tight, face falling into your chest once more, his beard tucking the valley of your breasts. 

your bodies flowed into each other’s fluidly, hips rolling and meeting each and every thrust like clockwork, his hips coming up only to be met with yours crashing down into his. it was addicting, you couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, could barely even remember your own name, the only thing you could manage was fucking yourself onto joel. 

“so deep,” you cried out through a series of whines and he laughed, bringing a big hand to your tummy, rubbing over where his cock bulged. you keened, lips trembling while you squeezed his shoulders. “i know baby i know,” he crooned, plastering an open mouth kiss onto you. 

he slid a hand between your wet grinding bodies to rub circles over your soaked little clit, chuckling to himself when you choked on a sob at the contact. you shook like a leaf in his arms, his sweet little angel so close, he felt it in the way your cunt gripped his cock, and it filled him with pride knowing he was the only one who could unravel you like this. 

“know you needa cum baby—you gonna ask me?” he growled in your mouth, biting your bottom lip testingly. you whimpered, arching your chest into his, a little pathetic nod following your actions. “s-sorry joel, please please let me cum, feels so good i-i dunno if i can hold it,” you whimpered, trying to fuck yourself on his cock. 

the swirls from his fingers over your clit persisted and it made you vibrate in his hold, your impending orgasm making you lose what little control you had over your own body. 

“c’mon baby give it to me, cum all over it,” he grunted gruffly, and you shook wildly, squeezing your eyes shut and collapsing in his arms while your orgasm reverberated all throughout your limbs  

“joel—oh my—fuck!” you sobbed, bouncing on his cock while you rode out your orgasm, feeling milked dry as he rubbed your clit into over sensitivity. 

“good baby, so fuckin’ good,” he drawled out lowly, patting your poor abused clit with his long fingers. “wanna do somethin’ for me?” he panted and you nodded eagerly. 

“lie back for me,” he ordered and you obeyed, laying back down onto the pillows beneath you. he begrudgingly pulled out of your tight cunt, shushing you when you whimpered at the loss of him inside you. 

he straddled you, feeling his cock ache in his rough palm when you stared up at him, resting on your elbows, cute tits perked and barely concealed from his flannel. 

he shoved the material away from your flesh, jerking himself off before he put it between your tits. “push ‘em together f’me—ahh shit, y-yeah just like that—oh shit baby, keep lookin at me like that—“ he growled under his breath, fucking your tits with hard pistons from his hips. 

“gonna cum, gonna cum on these cute fuckin’ tits baby,” he groaned, throwing his head back while you egged him on, whimpering and squeezing your thighs together at how he used your chest to cum, it was so hot seeing him fall apart on top of you, looking glorious and gorgeous even in such dirty circumstances. 

you wrapped your lips around his leaking cockhead, the corners of your mouth peeking upwards with smugness at the way he gasped and shivered at your actions. “shit,” he groaned, his own orgasm taking over his body. 

he came in your mouth, your tits still engulfing his shaft. he twitched on your tongue, whimpering to himself at the way you sucked on his tip. he pulled himself away from your plump lips, starting to soften from how sensitive he was. 

he laid beside you, pulling you into his arms once more, feeling content and right with the world when you nestled into your rightful place on his chest. 

“still in awe over you.” he murmured, running his fingertips up and down your arm. “you’ll get used to the tattoo soon,” you giggled and he shook his head. “meant you…you as a whole baby.” he whispered and you looked up at him, pupils dilating into hearts. “joel,” you uttered, leaning up to kiss him. “i love you,” you mumbled sleepily. he smiled, kissing your clammy forehead. “i love you too baby.” 

[buckevantommy]

I also learnt about bi buck through beloved blogs of mine collectively losing their shit on my dash 😂 they all revealed themselves as secret 911 blogs and I just couldn't hold back the curiosity and needed to give the show a go! and like many people I loved it and now it's slowly consuming my life and my tumblr 😅

I'm also loving and really appreciating how on the same page we are with our 911 journeys! 🥰🚒 I had also found out about the Buckley family secret and the lightening strike through fic because I couldn't hold myself back anymore lmao. I had fun though! and knowing ahead of time hasn't diminished the watching experience any! so what's our moto? Who cares!

Watching S4 Buck, who's going through so much and wants to be loved so bad, who's hurt and finding his footing -- knowing he'll find his family, and his sexuality, and really settle into himself and his place is honestly so heartwarming 😊🥰 Buck is my fav character for sure, I love his journey 😍

It makes me feel a lot better about not being 100% caught up knowing someone else is right there with me 😅 I see sooo many people on my dash saying they've been in the fandom for years, that they've watched the show since the beginning, but are only diving into fandom now etc etc so I feel a little like 👁️👄👁️ on the edges of fandom. I just need to keep telling myself it doesn't matter how late I joined, just that I'm having fun and enjoying the excitement of a new show and a new fandom. That there are other people right there with me 🤝

You're so right about fandom being SO different with a show that has a weekly release schedule. The gap between episodes is amazing! It gives me time to catch up, to enjoy the theories and art and fic. That's the kind of shit that fandom feeds off, and it's really refreshing. I can't wait for S8! 😍🚒📺

Tommy is such an amazing character, he's so interesting and intriguing even with just the little of what we've seen of him. I am eagerly awaiting seeing more of him 👀 it would be such a waste to write him out tbh. His relationship with Buck is amazing, he's so in depth as a character, a breath of fresh air! I also want to see cool and weird helicopter rescues lmao. Him all cool and confident behind the controls bc I am only a woman 😂

Anyway. Sorry this got long 😅

Buck Begins Anon. (BB Anon? lmao hopefully you know who I am)

oh yeah i'm so glad i was here for the live freakout bc nothing holds a candle to watching folks lose their minds on the dash when something good happens in their beloved media. 🤩🫶 i was surprised how much i love this show - i was half expecting to just follow along with the bi!buck storyline, but then the first ep i watched i was like: oh no (oh yes!) i'm hooked. (angela bassett and kenneth choi got me good). this used to be my multi-fandom/life blog but now it's transformed into a 911 zone and i have zero regrets.

i am truly a buck girlie. and yes, knowing what happens in season 7 makes season 4 buck’s journey that much more significant. i am loving it so far. 💕

i’d love to follow more new 911 blogs who are experiencing it for the first time - consider this a shoutout! and i gotta say my fave thing about seeing longtime fans on the dash is the way their minds connect dots - because not only have they watched the entire series, a lot of them have done so multiple times so their knowledge of whowhatwherehowwhy is really cool to see, whether it be in asks or meta or gifsets or crackposts or fic or spec. 🤯🫡 and there are so many great blogs on here (use that filter and block who you need to, but..) i hadn’t expected to dive headfirst into another fandom but i am having a blast and it really comes down to curating your dash with the people who vibe with your vibes, you just gotta find your people. 😎🥳 

i really am so thankful for the gap 😅 i’m so glad 911 is still a network show and not a streaming show. fandom thrives of the gap! 

10000% agreed on your tommy thoughts. i think it’s safe to say he’ll be around for all of season 8 and we’ll just have to see what happens at the end.. 🚁💕 

‘tis the hazard of conversational asks where each one keeps getting longer! 😅🫶 all good BB!

[rllybadfanfic]

You know what, actually? As a writer, I just keep going back to writing the things that people comment on. I had one fic that I was so excited for and it got absolutely zero reception and you know what? I haven't written anything on it since. I have another that I updated after a couple years, immediate enthusiastic response, I haven't been able to stop writing for it.

If you like a fic, leave a comment. That could be the difference between seeing it finished or seeing more from that author in your fandom in general.

I actually kind of regret signing up for a fandom event in one fandom bc I'd rather be writing this fic for another bc the other fandom reliably comments more and it is a spike of endorphins every time. That is especially effective for me bc I have ADHD, the 'can't produce endorphins correctly' disorder.

If you don't know what to comment, literally just key smash or leave a smiley face or quote your favorite line. You could literally leave the same comment on every fic or every chapter, it doesn't matter as long as you leave something. It's just to show that you were there and the time you spent meant something to you.

Thank you to every single person who comments on fics, you are really making someone's day.

And P.S. to fic writers, when you get a comment, responding goes a long way in making people want to continue to comment. Even if you just slap a 'Thanks for reading!' and/or a 'I'm glad you liked it!' when appropriate.

Fandom is about community interaction, so don't be afraid to interact with your community!