#its so petty but it gets under my skin so bad

[welcome-home-official]

"TRUE _____ stories!" And it's so obvious the 'encounter' is as fake as pleather. Like what do you MEAN you somehow remember a conversation you had with someone word-for-word 5 years ago right before your alien encounter???? I'm about to unfollow all of the "true stories" youtubers because of this. I think it's pretty easy to tell a fake story from a real one (how descriptive they're being for EVERYTHING, somehow remembering little details, super obvious contradictions, ect)

[lovieku]

MOTHERFUCKIN’ TRAIN WRECK! ⋆ 정국

𐙚 if you were my boyfriend… and you were my girlfriend…

when renowned fuckboy jeon jeongguk catches feelings, he loses his mind. only when it comes to you, though.

based on this ask

from the grande series ୨ৎ

pairing: fuckboy!jk x fem!reader

genre: fwb au

warnings: small smutty moments (cunnilingus, fingering, tiny boob play), angst, fluffi maybe idk, whipped and jelly koo, ft. namjoon!!!, oblivious oc, deep down she feels it too but jk is simply too much of a simp so it doesn’t look like it at first, he’s also so petty and sassy, jokes about ending it if oc doesn’t give him a chance </3, he’s just a little shit, peep the lyrics from boyfriend hehe, oh btw happy ending!!!

word count: 18k

a/n: wowww i’m so sorry for this pile of nonsense, it’s so bad i vomited a little in my mouth. i hate every single thing about it but i didn’t wanna leave you guys starved. i love u sm and thank u for the support, but u’re allowed to leave hate asks for what u’re about to read rn ❤️ also i’m SO SORRY for being unable to write a jungkook who isn’t a simp

🏷️ perm taglist: @ceellliiinee @jaytheatiny @dolligguk @luvismenu @theyloveyams @stillwjk-channie-lixie @bookstoread199 @girlygguk @vieviela @myngiii @angelxkoo @nnybtitts08 @mpbrinkss @https-mei @lyywst @mhdelu @apobangpogirlyyy @khadeeeeej @awrkive

────୨ৎ────

Jeongguk was only supposed to clean you up. That’s what he calls it when his angelic face finds its place between your spread legs, sinful eyes locking with yours, paired with a smirk you can hardly ever survive.

After all, he’s a man of simple devices. Why bother fetching a towel when he can use his own mouth? When he can let his tongue lap at your juices, slurp every last trace, have an excuse to taste you again, and again, and again?

It’s barely even effective as a way to clean you up, of drying the slick mess that sticks to your inner thighs from cumming three times under his merciless doings— you both know that. Then, how does he expect you not to break a fourth when he runs his wet muscle so torturously along your slit, getting ever more soaked?

Jeongguk is not really trying to end the night. He’s drawing it out. He already had you unraveling in phases— first on his fingers, then all over his cupid lips, ending with you convulsating just another time around his thick length.

It was rough, left purplish marks of his harsh hold digging into your sides, a faint trace of a forbidden hickey just under your collarbones, where you can easily hide it.

In all fairness, he couldn’t help it.

It was you who provoked him. You always do, getting under his skin, teasing him about his skills, downgrading them with playful indifference and nothing more than a meh, as Jeongguk rasps in your ear, clearly affected by your session of foreplay when asking, “Does this make you feel good?”

You’ll be sent straight to hell for lying like that, with seemingly no remorse, but you’re unable to resist the dangerous game and the familiar thrill that comes from it. Nothing compares to the dark wave that takes over his hooded eyes, his motions ever more intentional, almost overwhelming.

He moves to prove something to you, to show you there’s no one quite like him, even with all the guys in your phone, on your lips, inside your sheets.

Jeongguk is your fuckbuddy, and your friend on top of the rest. So, when he first laid his lips on yours, the bottom line plumper than his cupid’s bow, it had taken a great amount of alcohol to flow through both of your veins and blur the lines, let instinct take over.

From there, it was like you couldn’t help yourselves; the physical attraction was undeniable, it’s what brought you here in between the mess of his bed. If you ignore the silly crush you had on him during the first year of college, this was perfect.

Your fuckbuddy contract (Jeongguk hates calling you that, he prefers my friend who makes me cum a lot) includes a heavy emphasis on a no-strings-attached relationship, that can be interrupted whenever one of the two feels uncomfortable, and that should not come before your friendship. On top of all, you both are not exclusive. No commitment, no jealousy. You’re perfectly free of meeting other people, fucking other people. Unless you’re going to date one of those, of course. Then, bye-bye friend who makes me cum a lot.

These rules were established almost a year ago, after your hands couldn’t help themselves from roaming hastily all over his body, pulling him impossibly closer. It was the second time you allowed yourself to feel him, following the night when he initiated things under the clouded lights of a club.

You couldn’t help it. You had been thinking of that moment for weeks now, and when you were left alone with him in his dorm room, pulse racing, it’s all your thoughts were reduced to. Kiss him, kiss him, fuck him.

You felt guilty. A friend shouldn’t be thinking of another friend like you were about Jeongguk. Especially after you promised yourself you wouldn’t let your buried crush resurface and ruin what you had built— even if the memory of that infatuation is honestly just laughable now (you would never think of dating him, pft).

But Jeongguk, ever the gentlest when it comes to you, assured you it was okay to feel as you did, because he felt it too. And was dying to touch you again. His words, not yours.

It’s only sexual. A casual, sexual relationship. Two friends who happen to find each other irresistible.

So when he reacts with a flash of competitiveness at the mere suggestion he might not be the best you’ve ever had, it’s… weird, the feeling that overcomes you. You acknowledge it for a split second, as if you’re searching to name that something inside you stirring, but before you can, it seems to make you fall apart immediately, your grip tighter, back arched, moans high-pitched.

He basks in his silent victory, in the factual demonstration that he in fact can’t be compared to all your other guys.

Except, there’s actually no other guys.

Back when this friends-with-benefits arrangement first started, you were occasionally fooling around with an older guy from campus named Mingyu. Jeongguk knew him, given that they’re in the same photography class. He was also aware of your casual fling with him. And yet, Jeongguk still kissed you. Actually, did so much more than just that.

Either way, the line has always been clear: he has no right to question who you spend time with and what you engage in, Jeongguk isn’t a saint either.

You love him, you truly do. With time, he has become one of your closest friends, and you honestly can’t see yourself getting through college without him.

But there’s no denying the fuckboy allegations, the ones that are constantly thrown at him all around campus. He is a fuckboy. It must be his easy charm, flirting as natural as breathing, tripping out his tongue with seemingly not much thought. At some point, the majority of the girls in your campus got to have their moment with Jeongguk, either because of mindless teasing or one night stands, occasionally turning into casual arrangements.

You have accepted it as part of who he is. You know his fuckboy habits haven’t magically changed when you two started fucking. He doesn’t really spend much time talking about it with you, occasionally mentioning his doings every now and then, but you don’t need to know; his friends and the people whispering in hallways and lecture halls fill in the blanks.

That is exactly why you’ve let Jeongguk believe that your sexual life is equally as busy, floods of boys from your inbox to your sheets, as if you aren’t too much of a hopeless romantic to even think of anything that isn’t exclusively monogamous.

But this isn’t the case. Jeongguk isn’t yours, you aren’t his. It’s just about sex, and you’ve accepted that. You don’t want anything more from him. You tell yourself the only reason you’re not seeing anyone else is that the idea of it makes you uneasy. That you’re more than satisfied with Jeongguk being your friend-turned-into-fuckbuddy, and you don’t need other ones.

Jeongguk is more than enough. Oh, he is.

“Fuck, Gguk. You’re gonna make me cum— Ah, shit— again.”

Your head is thrown back in his pillow, legs weakly tightening around his head nestled so close to your core, and it’s clear his goal has completely shifted from getting you clean and neat when the tip of his tongue moves to flicker on your sensitive nub, relentlessly abusing it with casual kissing and sucking.

He opens his mouth to take more of you, his wet muscle tracing your slit and teasing your entrance for— sadly —the shortest second, and the way he hums approvingly against you brings you even closer to the breaking point.

You’re a fragile mess, overstimulated from the previous orgasms but desperate to chase yet another climax, his hands roaming up to find your breast only spurring you further.

Jeongguk knows you by now, and is aware of all the subtle gestures that make you come undone under him. He knows just what to do to push you over the edge, and when to do it exactly.

You’re a sucker for dirty talk and praise, and occasionally, when the ideal situation comes, you love being degraded. It’s a side of you that only ever arises during sex, mind hazed and irrational, the delirious need for release clouding all your usually composed senses.

At first, he teased you for it. Not because he’s not as much of a fan as you are of talking during sex, but because he never pictured you to be the loud type. And you truly are.

Jeongguk pinches your nipples in hopes of you getting the message and lowering your volume, but it only makes you whine higher, your moans surely not going unnoticed by the other students in the dorm.

It can only be worse when he decides to speak against you, his voice a low, almost unintelligible growl, “Pussy’s so fuckin’ good. All mine, fuck. Want to taste your cum once again, c’mon babe. Give it to me.”

And you, always obliging and well-behaved, let go for a fourth time, hips furiously rutting against his face, his words making your surroundings spin, the way his nose would brush your sensitive nub having your eyes roll to the back of your head.

Your gasp is strained when he retreats with one last wet stripe between your puffy lips, sealing the orgasm with a kiss on your clit, and when he finds your face again there’s a cockish grin spreading across his, chin coated with your juices.

He immediately meets your mouth then, sharing your own taste, and you both moan shamelessly at the action.

Jeongguk collapses next to you, his body warm and relaxed, pulling you closer by your waist and almost making you straddle him with the force of his hold. He sighs into your hair, kissing the root of it, “You did amazing for me, pretty girl.”

A pleasant shiver runs down your spine at the praise and the pet name rolling off his tongue with ease. It’s ridiculous.

With your cheek pressed against his chest, you glance up at him through your lashes and a lazy smile threatens to take over your face, but your playful pout is more prominent, almost convincing, “I’m never letting you do that trick on me again. Next time, I’m just going to take a shower like a normal person.”

The laugh he lets out is rich and unguarded, his chest rumbling under your ear, and it makes you pull away with a mock glare, brows knitted together as you swat at his toned stomach, “Don’t laugh. I hated that.”

His dark eyes soften as they dance with amusement, the corners crinkling, and he hums, going along with your blatant lie from the way your lips struggle to contain a grin, “Oh, absolutely. You were screaming in horror, couldn’t stand it.”

“Whatever,” you mutter incoherently, standing up to escape from the inevitable loss. The slick between your thighs reminds you of why you need that shower in the first place, causing you to awkwardly wobble your way to his bathroom.

Jeongguk watches you with a lopsided smirk, stretched out on the bed, his brown hair a messy halo on the pillow, and it completes the concept he goes perfectly with, the one of a devil dressed up as an angel, even more when his voice drips with faux desperation, “Hey, come back. I need my cuddles.”

“You’ll live,” you toss back before pulling the door shut behind you and stepping into the warm embrace of the shower. The hot water stings at first, then soothes you, sliding down your skin.

Jeongguk already knows the outcome of what he’s about to do isn’t going to turn in his favor, but he tries his luck regardless, standing up hastily and limply making his way to his bathroom door.

He only knocks twice, then puts on his best begging voice, talking loud enough to be heard over the shower, “Toots?”

“No!”

A scoff filters through the steamy air, followed by the unmistakable creak of the door handle as he steps inside. He’s relentless, voices his thoughts with the kind of logic only he would find convincing, “C’mon, we’ll save water!”

You stand with your back to him, his body wash traveling down your skin in soap bubbles, the scent filling the air, and you let your shoulders shrug. You don’t turn around. Number one, because you’ll give in. Number two, because you can hear the pout on his lips, and that’s the reason for number one.

You try your best to sound annoyed, “Jeongguk, just leave. You don’t even pay for it.”

“Our poor earth pays for it,” he quips, stepping further into the cramped space, body still bare, and that’s maybe a number three for you, “Because you wanna be so unfair to your best friend and leave him out in the cold.”

“You’re not my best friend.”

His gasp is dramatic, you even hear it echo through the tiny room, and you fight hard to contain the giggle locked inside you, but it escapes in the shape of a snort, which you quickly try to conceal by clearing your throat. You even further go with the lie, “You heard me.”

“Unbelievable. I’m kicking you out the second you’re done here,” he tries his best menacing tone, the threat barely harsh and effective, closing the door behind his back with an exaggerated thump, followed by unintelligible grumbling.

You take your sweet time in his now steamy bathroom. You shampoo twice, deliberately squeezing out a generous amount of his own fancy product in your palm, making sure the squeak of the bottle is heard through the door so he knows you’re helping yourself. His high-quality hair dryer blasts warm air over your damp hair until it’s only mildly wet. And you even rummage around his cabinet, indulging in his collection of expensive skincare creams. These little luxuries are exactly why you never pass a single occasion to shower over at his dorm room.

And the second you’re done in there, he doesn’t kick you out like he threatened. It takes a moment for him to move his attention from his phone to your figure, wrapped around in his fluffy robe, and he doesn’t even try to keep up the menacing act. Still spread on his ruined bed, his furrowed brows relax, and his lips break into a grin. He scans your face, then giggles, “You’ve got a massive pimple on your forehead.”

“Fuck you. I’m taking one of your hoodies.”

“It’s called borrowing,” even in the midst of checking out your freshly-washed naked body, now being stripped from his bathrobe, he’s still committed to the game of banter you two always play.

“It’s not if I’m not giving it back,” you counter, voice muffled by the fabric of one of his many black sweatshirts you’re already pulling over your head, quickly shuffling into your jeans, helping them up with some small hops that make him grin.

He doesn’t seem bothered by your comeback, too used to losing his own clothes to your closet; rather, he watches you move with what seems like hurry around his dimly lit room. He shifts higher, letting the sheets slip to reveal his still bare, and slightly sweaty torso, “Wanna hang out together at the party tomorrow?”

”Hmm, I’ll just see you there,” you don’t pay him much attention, using your phone camera as a mirror to wipe away any smudged mascara under your eyes. “I’ve already got a partner, actually.”

Jeongguk fully sits up now, vision a little blurry from the hasty and sudden movement, phone forgotten, “A partner?”

The way you casually let a smile tug at your lips while talking about a man is new, “Yeah. A guy from my English class asked me to go with him. He’s pretty cute.”

You’re too busy shoving your belongings in your bag and mentally cataloging every single item to notice the expression your best friend is currently sporting, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. Tank top, makeup, laptop… where the fuck is— oh, here. Lip balm. What else?

Jeongguk thinks you’re forgetting something deathly important. A fucking explanation, maybe? He’s known you to occasionally fool around with random guys, but he thought it was just that. Occasional and random. When did it get to having a partner? That sounds silly. Or maybe a little too formal, a little too real. What the fuck does having a partner even entail?

You’re blissfully unaware of the stubborn storm taking over Jeongguk’s thoughts, especially because you’re not exactly sparing him a second glance, moving with single-minded focus, hurrying to leave. Because apparently it’s so bad to want to spend the night with your best friend. Share a bed, watch a movie, talk gossip (it’s been so long since you’ve updated him the way only you can about the latest campus stories, ugh). Amazing, yes, that’s totally fine with Jeongguk.

And he does manage to sound unbothered, “What’s his name?”

“Namjoon.”

Jeongguk focuses on your slim fingers slipping your lip balm into the front pocket of your bag, syllabes leaving his lips in a slow mumble, “Ah, Namjoon. I know him. I guess.”

Fucking Kim Namjoon. Of course he knows him. 6 feet tall, polite, model student Kim Namjoon. Shit. Great choice. No, really, he’s the perfect catch.

“Hm? Well, I think he’s very nice. And hot as fuck.”

He grimaces, “Gross.”

“You’re one to talk,” pulling the hood over your head, you finally meet his eyes. You’re completely oblivious to the thoughts gnawing at him, so you think his disappointment is only caused by your next words, “I should get going now.”

“What? You’re not staying over for dinner?” The way he looks up at you with doe, puppy-dog eyes almost makes you trip on your own resolution, but you only ruffle his hair from your stance next to his bed, hoping the small action is enough to satisfy your hunger. Not for dinner.

“Nah, sorry Gguk. Gotta get up early for English class.”

He scoffs, moving stubbornly from your soothing touch, “Sure. English class with Joohyuk.”

“…Namjoon.”

“Right, that’s what I said. Namsun.”

You raise an eyebrow, half-laughing, “No, it’s Namjoon.”

“Namgi.”

“Namjoon.”

“Whatever, don’t care.” The words have barely any space to roll out through his pout, and along with his petty little slip-ups it’s the most childish act you’ve seen him pull so far. To be completely honest, he seems to break a new record every other day.

You fight the urge to roll your gaze at the ceiling, finding it impossible to deal with pouty, hungry and cuddle-starved Jeongguk. You sigh, muttering, “Insufferable.”

“Give me a kiss, brat.”

The teasing comes so naturally that for a second you don’t ponder on the demand being something a normal friend wouldn’t exactly ask. But it isn’t one you’ll deny.

You bend down to meet him as easily as he let the request out, muttering a playful Oh, I’m the brat now? before brushing his pushed lips with yours in a sweet, short kiss, enough to draw a soft sigh from both of you. You hum against it, voice warm with something that contradicts your words entirely, “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“Sure,” rolling your eyes, you grant his cocky figure that little win, too tired to put up a fight, even if you almost rethink it when he confidently leans back against the pillows, smirking up at you. You decide to cut it short, it’s for the best, throwing your bag over your shoulder as well as one last look at him, before readying yourself for the walk of shame through his frat.

────୨ৎ────

Namjoon is, by all standards, the perfect guy. He’s genuine, smiles sweetly with his dimples showing and his eyes crinkling into crescents that make him seem both wise and youthful.

Careful, even protective over you, making sure you’re comfortable. With your drink, with your seat, with your conversation.

Almost too attentive, which should calm your nerves, but instead you feel yourself unable to fully let go. Open up to him like he’s doing with you, like you think you want to do.

You’re not sure. You can’t feel that mysterious spark everybody talks about. That spark Jeongguk admitted he’s never felt with anyone so far, no matter the number of girls he’s been with. The one he’s confessed he’s desperate to feel. The one you hope he can find.

Wait, why are you thinking about Jeongguk?

Said boy has yet to acknowledge you, standing across from you in the crowded living room of your mutual friend’s house. Each weekend, the same ritual brings you back here, whenever Taehyung’s parents head off for one of their rich-people, luxurious trips. The space is familiar, a backdrop to countless parties, all too often ending in someone’s drunken confessions and stolen kisses that’d become the talk of campus until the next party came around.

As tradition would want, with the clock ticking its way past midnight, you’d be drunk out of your mind already. Tonight, however, you’re not even sure you want to be here.

Namjoon is keeping close tabs on your drinks, monitoring each glass you reach for, and you know he means well; ordinarily, you’d find it sweet, endearing even. But it only seems to heighten your anxiety now. It just reminds you of how out of place this whole thing feels. You want to drown your awkwardness in a wave of liquid courage, and the irony isn’t lost on you: the very reason why you’re nervous is keeping you from numbing it.

Namjoon makes you way too aware of yourself. You wish your first proper hang out wasn’t at a filthy frat party, the blasting music causing you both to lean into each other to make conversation. The proximity makes your palms disgustingly clammy, and you hope he doesn’t reach for your hand.

You also think this isn’t the type of scenario that best suits Namjoon. You would have loved to be with him somewhere softer, with less noise and more light, talking over coffee instead of loud techno, his poetic speech lulling you into infatuation. Maybe then, this would have gone like you had imagined it might. Like you wanted it to go, just to prove something to yourself. You’re still not sure what exactly.

But this house — this party — is a natural habitat for people like Jeongguk. It’s a playground he navigates with ease, his charisma amplified by the darkened rooms and faint cigarette smoke that seems to follow him, just like everyone around him. They exist solely to orbit his mood.

It’s as he saunters back inside after yet another smoke break that you spot him again, his focus entirely on whatever girl is currently at his side. With Namjoon leaving to grab a drink for the two of you to share, you take the short moment to be a shameless creep and study your friend’s movements from the other side of the room.

You can’t help but feel a sting of irritation. Jeongguk is fully aware you’re here. You’d texted him earlier, just something casual to say you’d arrived, maybe even expecting him to meet you or give you a quick wave. Instead, there’d been no reply.

Just like the TikToks you’d sent last night, after you told him you wouldn’t be staying over at his, that also went ignored. You didn’t think too much of it, figured it was probably one of his petty acts. You aren’t any better: it’s not like you’ll go up to him to say hi, not after he ignored you. Those videos were funny, too. He’s the one missing out.

But now, your eyes squinted to try and get the best possible view on each detail of the scene in front of you, what you notice is nothing about him and everything about who he’s currently spending the time he could have used to acknowledge you with.

It’s not just whatever girl. It’s Haeun.

You haven’t seen them hanging out together in what feels like months, and frankly, you’re thrown. Maybe that’s also the reason why he suddenly had no time for you. You scoff.

You’re just confused, really. Jeongguk didn’t mention a thing about her, and it’s not like he’s ever kept his hookups or flings a secret. But Haeun was never just that. She was the one he seemed almost ready to get in his first serious relationship with, the one girl you thought could make him forget all about his usual habits.

When Jeongguk had first started hanging out with Haeun, he’d seemed uncharacteristically interested. You naturally found yourself rooting for him, hoping he’d take a leap and start something real after many failed attempts.

At that point, your casual arrangement with him had been going on for a while, but you knew it wasn’t built to last. You’d expected it to end sooner rather than later, and you were okay with that. You just wanted him to be happy with himself and his choices.

But on the night he was supposed to take Haeun out on a date, the one that could have changed everything, it’s like a magic vacuum turned on and sucked all his progress away. He’d shown up in front of your door instead. No explanations, no details about what had happened; he didn’t want to talk. He only wanted to be near you and sink into silence.

That night you laid next to him, his head on you, hair sprawled out on your stomach, and said absolutely nothing.

Since then, he hadn’t mentioned Haeun at all, and you’d assumed it was over. The right side of your brain was irrationally glad for that, greedily geeking at the prospect of still getting to keep Jeongguk close in ways that go over a simple friendship. In ways that have you thanking God for not taking your friend’s sex skills away from you; in ways that have your nose scrunching whenever he leaves small, delicate pecks on the side of your neck as you watch a movie cuddled in his embrace. If he had decided to go on that date, you would be denied all of this luxury.

The left side of your brain is a little less greedy, a little more rational. The half of your mind responsible for keeping some logic instilled in you even thought it could have been a good thing for Jeongguk to experience a different side of relationships.

You’ve always sensed there to be deeper reasons beneath Jeongguk’s carefree front. You’ve watched him jump from girl to girl, dip in and out of flings with seemingly no thought, as if he’s not trying to bury issues he should find a different answer for, to avoid whatever insecurities he’s run too far away from to face.

He’s never had to spell it out for you. You never pressed him on the topic either. And you think he’s grateful for it, for your silence that offers him the stability he won’t admit he needs, for simply staying and understanding. For allowing him to be vulnerable.

You wish you could give him more than that quiet comfort. Wonder if you should try your luck and push him to see that he does deserve something real— more than the distractions he uses to keep his fears at bay.

Jeongguk would make an incredible boyfriend. He always spots the small details, the slight changes in your mood, and he picks them up before you can even notice yourself, caring in a silent way that doesn't go unnoticed. Not by you.

It’s easy to imagine him being the kind of partner who’d cater to his girl’s needs effortlessly, even in quiet, even if hidden. You know he could be that person if he could just let anyone in beyond sex. When he’ll find the one, it’ll be clear it’s all he was made for.

Right now though, if anyone were to ask you that, you’d advise them to just go and look for another one, because he’s a little, lying piece of shit. You’re just a tad bit upset about it, if your crossed arms and furrowed brows are anything to go by.

You don’t understand why he’s now there, standing next to the girl he himself stood up, the one he looked ready to fix everything for, and then wasn’t. Leaning in close as if nothing had ever happened.

Why couldn’t he tell you, at least give you a heads-up if he was reconnecting with her? You know it shouldn’t bother you as much as it does, but the fact that he’s hiding it stings. Are you overthinking this?

When he lifts his head from her ear and scans the room, his eyes landing right on yours for a brief second just to look away, you don’t think you are. His attention shifts back to Haeun as if he hadn’t seen you at all. What the fuck?

You question what’s the point of having eyes to see when you are now forced to witness Jeongguk leaving the room with Haeun hanging her draggy weight on his arm, his smile cockish as he helps her up by her waist, fingers digging dangerously close to the curve of her perfectly shaped peach.

Their chemistry is undeniable, hands finding skin with unpracticed ease. It must be the way Jeongguk can effortlessly work his charm with any girl he deems attractive enough to fuck, his smirk and the way he lets his nose scrunch almost timidly, as if you can’t see right through him, making women potty in his sculpted hands.

The prospect of your best friend getting laid by the girl he was almost ready to change it all for should make you happy. Smile, at least.

Instead, you frown, mindlessly taking long sips from the straw in your glass and letting it stir your too watered-down cocktail that lacks any real flavor. You don’t even try to find answers as to how another drink landed right on the counter you rest your back on, but you’re glad for it.

You’re more upset at the fact that he decided not to tell you anything. You would have helped him through it, supported him, advised him on what to do, how to move in such a situation. But even if he didn’t need any of this, you would have appreciated just knowing. From him.

The ways in which the two of you are intertwined right at this moment don’t exactly allow him to completely leave you unaware of his actions. It’s not fair.

But then, are you even supposed to feel like this in the first place? Is only sex supposed to have this impact on you? Is even the smallest cell in his brain producing a thought that might take him back to you, and could it compare to a third of what you think and feel?

Does he not get that tingly sensation with you, ‘cause he’s used to it? ‘Cause you’re nothing too different nor special from all the choice he has laid at his feet, nothing out of the usual routine?

A gentle hand on your arm jolts you out of your thoughts. The touch is delicate, but the way it pulls you from your spiral is rough, making you stumble on the already wobbly stool you’re sitting on. When you look to your side, Namjoon meets you with a warm smile.

You hadn’t even noticed him being back next to you, and you figure that’s probably how that drink found its way in your hands. You’re a deer caught in headlights as you look at him, then down at the almost empty glass, then back at the boy. Your eyes widen impossibly more, and you struggle with finding a louder volume to your voice, almost fading with the music, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to finish this all by myself.”

You remember him saying he’d get a drink for the two of you to share before leaving you with your haunting thoughts. He just laughs in a way that should soothe your nerves, but it doesn’t, “It’s okay. You look like you needed it. I’m getting another one for me and catching up with some of my friends over there. I’ll be back in a bit, alright?”

“Yeah, totally. No problem,” your words roll out your tongue in a slurred hurry, face already turning to the opposite side of the room, and you’re not even sure what you’re agreeing on. You just feel Namjoon slip away from the seat next to yours again.

The brief interaction was enough for Jeongguk to have time to completely disappear from your strict observing, and just like the boy who should have had your undivided attention tonight, he equally slips away. From your vision, from the party. And from you. He’s with Haeun now, after all. And you’re alone.

Being truthful, Jeongguk is once again slipping away from his problems only. He doesn’t know how he ended up with Haeun by his side, but when he found your big, confused eyes in the midst of what should have been his escape for the night, he thinks he could name a few reasons.

It’s suffocating, the grip you have on him. He can almost feel one of your slim, delicate hands around his throat. He’s a dirty little sadist, of course he enjoys the pain. But he shouldn’t, so he runs from it until his back hits the wall, and the hold only gets tighter.

There’s nothing to do but face the truth. And you’re in front of him, eyes lost and inviting him to tell you. What should be easy for him to say, what he owes you. But the words get stuck in his throat, right where you’re pressing, and he feels like he might stop breathing.

He could die like this, with your narrowed orbs pitying him, and he badly wishes you would call him a coward. The hold is just enough to hurt him, not to make him lose his senses; if anything, it only makes his head spin around the one thought he wants to avoid. You.

With the quickest distraction he could get his hands on, he keeps adding to it: Haeun clinging to his side, he steps out the packed room to light the nth cigarette, the smoke clouding his vision and making the image of you fade from behind his eyelids. You release your hand from him and disappear. He almost whines. He misses you already. But the faint ache is a reminder.

Instead, in front of him is the only girl he should have truly avoided. Haeun is another reminder. Not because she looks similar to you, you’re way prettier. You’re beautiful.

No, it’s just because he remembers Haeun being his first victim, using her to bury something stronger growing inside him. But it didn’t work then, and it doesn’t work now.

She’s the only girl he tried his luck with to avoid his now unavoidable feelings for you. Then, he physically couldn’t touch another woman beside you. So he started flirting with more cigarettes and alcohol. Maybe some joints then and there.

Jeongguk would love to know why he prefers destroying himself rather than just be the confident man he lets everyone else think he is, go up to you and be honest, like you make it so easy for him to be. The fact that it almost slipped out of him more than a couple times scares him.

It shouldn’t. He wants to fall into that soothing caress, but could he even handle the possibility of you simply, and rightfully if you deemed it the correct choice, rejecting him?

The answer is no. He can’t afford losing your touch on him, your lashes fluttering when you look up at him, your fingers tracing secret maps on his back. He wonders if you’re outlining the safest ways for him to escape from the maze he himself created, of which he forgot the exit to.

With Haeun pressing herself to his side, he thinks he’d rather stay trapped there at this point. A maze built by lies, letting you believe he’s fucking other girls on the side when he feels sickened just by the thought of it, his hand now coming up to push the girl back to a safe distance. Built by insecurities, preferring having you think that you’re simply one of the many he has when he firmly believes you’re the only one that the universe has especially assigned him to.

It’s making him lose his mind, while you live unaware, free from the truth. He’s sure in the stretch that went from yesterday, when you told him about your fucking partner, and tonight, seeing you so close to said partner’s face, your dress custom-made by the hands of every angel populating heaven, Jeongguk developed some kind of clinical illness. The flame of jealousy in his toned tummy has eaten him whole.

And he feels slightly ashamed of himself knowing this is how he found himself circling back to his first poor attempt at running away from you, in the form of a short girl, her eyes now questioning him just like yours had done earlier. Haeun furrows her brows, “Are you seriously doing this again?”

Jeongguk sighs, glancing away to take a long drag from his cigarette that fills his lungs and almost aches. He avoids the eye contact that would be needed for a conversation like the one he’s forced to have — one that wouldn’t have occured in the first place if he could just be a normal person — instead he looks back to the room through the glass doors, “I’m sorry, Hae. I— I can’t do this—“

“Yo, Gguk. You need to come with me now. ___ is throwing up in the bathroom.”

It’s Taehyung sliding the glass door open with more force than what he usually puts, and right now nobody would tell he’s the same one always advising his friends to be delicate with it. The look on his face is panicked and it quickly reflects in Jeongguk’s eyes, flickering between his friend and Haeun.

Next, his reflexes are quicker. He steps inside the house, skipping past Taehyung and the flood of college students dancing their Friday away to Usher and seemingly not caring about the urgency written all over his expression.

He makes it to the bathroom where people have started to crowd around as if lining up to an unmissable show, and he doesn’t care if his pushes are too rough as he makes his way through.

You’re quite literally hugging the toilet, your face one with the lid as a few girls try and help you with your hair. The moment they see Jeongguk, it’s like they know he’s the one that you need, that he’s finally here and you’re in good hands. He shoots them a quick nod as they step aside and then, he’s immediately crouching next to you, gently gathering your long locks into his fist.

He moves some stray strands behind your ears while you keep letting it all out, and as much as his broad back is enough to hide you from watchful eyes, he can still hear murmurs from onlookers.

It’s as Jeongguk is debating whether he should cuss them out or keep his attention on you that Taehyung comes to promptly clear the crowd, closing the bathroom door behind him only after making sure his friend doesn’t need any more help.

Jeongguk appreciates the gesture, knowing how overwhelmed you can get in these scenarios with too many people around. Although, no matter how calm he appears for your sake, his heart races even as you seem to settle and sit on the tiled floor, your back resting against the cool wall.

You gulp down a few times, squeezing your eyes to try and ground yourself, the way you can feel Jeongguk’s hand hold the side of your leg, his thumb delicately brushing the inside of your thigh, definitely helping.

“Toots,” he whispers, face close to your own, “Hey, doll. You’re okay now, hm? What happened?” His voice is low, slow, almost scared of flowing past his lips.

When you open your eyes he’s directly in front of you, squatting down to stay on your level, and his brows are drawn high in worry.

You sniff, your voice still rough from the scratching on your throat, “Fucking— Jimin. I met him in the kitchen and we mixed too much shit together—“

“Weren’t you with Kim Namjoon?” Jeongguk interrupts you, both his tone and the way his eyebrows now dip inquisitive.

You shrug, looking down at your fingers fidgeting, “Dunno. Why the fuck am I still not sober,” the way you tone the question doesn’t make it sound like one, and you end up giggling at yourself, hiccuping in the process.

Jeongguk sighs, unconsciously tightening his hold around your leg, his fingers digging and making you whimper subtly. He notices, soothing the skin only to take both his hands to scoop you up by your armpits, lifting both your bodies on your feet.

You yelp, throwing your weight on him with another one of your senseless chuckles, looking up at his bothered face through your lashes. He straightens your posture with wide palms on your waist, throwing one of your arms around his shoulders and causing you to step out of the small room on your tiptoes. He grumbles, “I’m taking you back to the dorm now. And we’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

“Talk about what?”

“Namjoon.”

You stay quiet as the both of you, your body snug against his, walk through the party and out the house to reach Jeongguk’s car. Your thoughts are sluggish, failing to grasp why he’d even want to talk about Namjoon. Isn’t he just a nice guy? You’re more concerned with Jeongguk’s seemingly irked tone and the distressed way his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek.

A soft, involuntary whine escapes you when you think you might be the reason for that, shuffling yourself closer into his warmth, but the contact is brief as he gently settles you into the passenger seat and clicks the belt, then he closes your door and circles the car to the driver’s side.

Awkward. The only sound that can be heard is the soft hum of the engine, beside the fuzzy buzz in your ears. You feel laughter bubbling up in your chest but you hold it there, turning to study Jeongguk’s side profile. Inhaling, you start, “Can you— can I put on—”

“No.”

Your smile falters, “What? C’mon, give me the aux.”

“The last thing I want right now is to listen to those songs.”

Any previous tipsy instinct that made you want to laugh at the situation fade with his words and the way his grip on the steering wheel says more than what he’s letting on. You’re hazy, but his clenched jaw and laser focus on the road make you sit up straighter, adjusting your slouched posture and the skirt of your dress with it, pulling it further down your thighs.

The tension coming off him feels so heavy that it leads to irrational, childish tears pricking your eyes, and you sound defeated when you whisper, “Are you mad at me?”

He brakes a little too hard at the red light, and you both lurch slightly forward. Jeongguk seems to realize just now that he’s unfairly taking his anger out on you, and the way you let out the question in the smallest voice makes his heart speed up, turning to you with apprehension, “No, toots. No, why would I be? I’m mad at that fucker.”

“He was just talking with some of his—”

“He left you alone. He was supposed to take care of you. Not let you get fucking wasted.”

Jeongguk sounds final, his tone allowing no more condoning nor excuses for the tall guy now left behind you, back at the party. But you don’t seem to focus too much on the meaning of his words, rather you bask in the consequences of them. He’s not upset with you!

That spurs you to contradict him further, this time on the accusation he threw at you, but it’s less than credible when you say it through a sheepish smile that unconsciously made its way on your lips at the protective edge to his tone, “I’m not fucking wasted.”

Jeongguk only sighs, but you can see him visibly relax, shoulders going down and leaning against the back of his seat, right hand coming to pat your bare knee with a small smile on his pierced lips.

You share a look that fully sobers you up only to get you high all over again off his doe eyes, the artificial lights dotting a universe of their own in those orbs, undiscovered galaxies and planets inviting you to move there, even with no water, no oxygen, no way of surviving.

When the soft hue of the red light reflecting on the side of your face morphs to green, he moves his attention back on the road, taking his hand with it to shift gears. Then, he concedes, “Put on the playlist.”

You blink, a little taken aback by his sudden shift in mood, but just as quickly you recover. Your brain seems to be able to focus on one thing at a time either way, so you don’t ponder on your insides collectively moving at the way he looked at you and instead reach for the aux cord, fingers tapping on your phone screen absentmindedly, with a conscience of their own.

Music interrupts the quiet, and you can’t help but join, “The night we met I knew I, needed you so. And if I had the chance I’d, never let you go. Sing with me!”

Jeongguk breaks into a grin, no matter how much he fights it, “You’re so fucking wasted.”

“So won’t you say you love me? I’ll make you so proud of me. We’ll make ‘em turn their heads every place we go, so won’t you please,” Be My Baby by The Ronettes fills the previous silent tension, which you seemingly already forgot everything about, using Jeongguk’s free hand as your own personal microphone, folding it in a fist between your palms.

Jeongguk would never say it out loud, especially now, after he only pretended he had to be begged to put it on, that he’s actually grown attached to this playlist. Started as a little mishap and turned into something that got under his skin, much like you have.

Its creation came about from a comically embarrassing moment that gave you ammunition to tease him for weeks. Although, he’s glad for it when he reflects deep enough: the whole episode helped shape the bond between you two, adding to its foundation.

He still doesn’t know how you managed to slip so sneakily into his dorm that evening, but what’s sure is that he wasn’t expecting you, taking the time of his life in his bathroom, fresh out of the shower. Simply following his usual routine, one that you wouldn’t have exactly considered usual since you only ever knew him as an avid Drake listener, he hummed along to Elvis Presley’s Can’t Help Falling in Love flowing softly from his phone speaker.

It wasn’t just that, of course, because then he started styling his wet hair in an exaggerated pompadour and fully got into character, strutting dramatic poses in front of the mirror and even practicing Elvis’s iconic curl of the lip. If his soul was by any chance watching over the scene, you’d hoped he’d agree with you that Jeongguk was truly giving Austin Butler a run for his money.

The private show sadly ended when he caught sight of you in the foggy glass, your lips sealed shut to try and hold your delighted laughter, but it got ripped out of you in the form of an obnoxious snort the moment his eyes went wide in horror and his face crimson in shame.

It was hell for a few weeks after that. You didn’t let him off so easily, teasing him for being a secret softie with a love for old-school romance under all the layers of his tough fuckboy image that only ever seemed to handle trappy beats.

When you jokingly suggested he might as well get fully into the act and start calling you toots or something, he didn’t back down from the tease, scoffing at you with narrowed eyes. Somewhere along the way, the dry, sardonic tone with which he first used that pet name on you stuck, and it became less of a joke, more of an endearing way to refer to you, and only you.

Before either of you could second-guess it, the playlist was born. You two crafted it together in fits of laughter and late-night texts, with Jeongguk suggesting songs from his secret stash and you contributing the ones you grew up on.

It quickly became the soundtrack to many of your aimless car rides, something that neither of you acknowledged outright but silently cherished. Sometimes, you’d get so carried away and slip into the roles of a ‘60s couple, playfully reciting cheesy lines back and forth.

No matter how much Jeongguk pretends he hates it to save what’s left of his bad boy reputation, he really doesn’t. Not even a little bit. Even the way he rolls his eyes and groans isn’t enough to hide the spark in his eyes when you sing along.

He feels worse than a pubescent teenager when he lets his guard slip to hear you hum words he can only imagine are just for him, meant in the way he wants. You swing side by side and smile up at him with dimples digging long slits into your cheeks, and he has to act as if it makes him feel completely normal and not like he’s going to crash his car any second.

Each lyric that spills from your mouth feels like it’s tying him down, even with your sweet voice a little unsteady, thanks to whatever is still left from the night’s drinks. You’re so not aware of what it does to him.

Your eyes are on the road, but Jeongguk’s linger on you, his fingers unconsciously tapping the steering wheel to the tune.

“I’d save every day like a treasure, and then, again, I would spend them with you.”

Jeongguk purposefully veers off onto streets he doesn’t need to take, buying himself a few extra minutes with you, but you don’t notice and he pretends to not know either. Would never admit it’s because he wants to hear you sing a little more, and that this ongoing joke between the two of you might be his favorite thing in the whole world.

“But there never seems to be enough time to do the things you want to do once you find them. Hold on, this one’s a little lower. I’ll find my note, wait,” you’re mostly talking to yourself, cheek pressed to the cool glass of the window, but you glance at Jeongguk as if seeking for approval, clearing your throat, “I’ve looked around enough to know that you’re the one I want to go through time with.”

Just as Time in a Bottle by Jim Croce fades out, Jeongguk pulls into the campus parking lot, turning the engine off and cutting the music with it. None of you move right away, accepting the stillness in the car.

You don’t accept the silence, though, letting your mind speak a thought that has been nagging at you, “Can you fuck me here? Right now?”

The way you voice the request would make anybody who didn’t understand English think you’d just asked for something as mundane as a glass of water, your eyes unfaltering, a small smile on your waiting lips, voice barely slicing through the quiet. It’s almost as if you don’t know it’s the kind of thing that could derail Jeongguk’s entire thought process.

Jeongguk lightly chokes on his own breath, giving a few coughs before turning to you, his tattooed hand messing his hair further, “Jesus Christ, ___. You know I can’t.”

You tilt your head, considering him, as if this is a serious debate rather than drunken rambling, “Why not?”

Jeongguk can only sigh. He takes in your disheveled state and notices the way your exposed skin prickles with the cold, reaching for the leather jacket he carelessly threw on the backseats before heading to the party, having had no idea you’d be the one wearing it by the end of the night.

He wraps it gently around your shoulders, moving sticky, stray strands of hair from your face, “You’re so drunk. Look at you.”

“I told you I’m not,” you protest weakly, but your confidence falters when his fingers ghost over your face.

“There’s vomit in your hair,” he shuts you bluntly, tone softer than the honest words.

“Oh,” your stubbornness doesn’t work this time, and you’re mortified as you glance down at your lap, where his fingers fall to mindlessly play with the zip of his bomber jacket, brushing your tummy in the process. Your voice doesn’t sound so sure now, especially when each subtle graze sends small shocks through you, “That’s disgusting.”

The soft chuckle he lets out has you stealing a look upward, and when you catch his expression your slowed down brain can only come to the conclusion that maybe he doesn’t find you all that disgusting: he sports a rare, wide curve of his bunny smile, eyes crinkling when that same fondness finds its way onto your lips. You can’t help what they do next, a mind of their own as you rest them on his own mouth, the tip of his nose tickling your cheek.

It’s the faintest of kisses, and it’s delicate, fleeting, over far too soon, but you’re the one to pull back first no matter how much longer you need it to be, “That was probably disgusting too.”

As you rest your back on the seat again, his eyes are still closed, and they flutter open as slowly as a smile stretches on his mouth when he meets you. You’re giving him a look he doesn’t deserve, one he shouldn’t lean into.

His voice is a whisper, and it fans over your face, still close to his, “Not at all.”

Gleaming eyes scan every angle of you, as if trying to find anything that’ll hold him back from what he really wants to do. But, of course, his need only grows when he lets his gaze wander down, then up again.

He glances to the side with a gulp, moving his body back to reach for the car door handle, “You think you can walk or should I carry you?”

“Carry me, please,” you mumble, not even pondering on the first option, and the moment the sound leaves your lips he’s out and reaching for your side, opening your door and scooping you up like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The walk to his dorm is a blur, with you dozing off in his warmth and being lulled by the hums escaping him and reverberating through his chest, melodies of the earlier songs playing against your ear.

You regain awareness when a splash of warm water cascades over your now naked body, the sensation startling enough to make your lashes flutter against your damp cheeks. The water runs over your face, washing away the remnants of the night, the drowsy yet oddly light sensation taking over you causing a giggle to echo against the walls.

You’re still too disoriented to process the tenderness with which Jeongguk’s hand moves, brushing through your soaked strands of hair and moving them from where they flattened on your face, combing through the sticky locks.

With half-open eyes, you’re met with the sight of him in front of you, standing close enough without needing to step into the small space with you, his brows furrowed as he works the shampoo through your hair. It’s a soothing, slow motion, the one he massages your scalp with, and it only melts you further into sweet slumber.

If it weren’t for one of his hands resting tightly on your hip, grounding you as the scent of the shampoo mingles with the steam curling around you, you would have gladly swayed into his palm, letting your weak body fall into his strong one.

You sniff, leaning into his care, voice small and oddly sincere, “I’m sorry for,” hiccup, “taking you away from Haeun. You two seem close again.”

Jeongguk stills for a moment, his fingers pausing in your hair before resuming their soft motions. He pretends he didn’t hear, and you pretend you never talked in the first place when he guides you to steady yourself as your knees wobble, “Hey, stand still. You’ll get shampoo in your eyes. Close them.”

You obey, letting your eyelids drop shut as you feel his hand gently tilt your head under the spray, his touch as tender as the words he isn’t saying.

If you weren’t a victim of both sleepiness and alcohol at this very moment, your thoughts would be racing each other like eager contenders in the Overthinker Marathon, each one fighting tooth and nail for the gold medal. They’d be dissecting every little detail of the night— the way Jeongguk had ignored you, his lingering hand on Haeun’s waist, only to be there the second you needed him, the girl from earlier not even worth mentioning.

Instead, your every thinking cell has taken a rare vacation, lounging together on an imaginary green field, clinking glasses filled with leftover cocktails from earlier, lazily watching clouds drift by.

Although there’s one cell in particular, too tipsy to sit still. It hops around gleefully, urging your lips to move before the Thinking Cell General can intervene. The way it jumps up and down, up and down, makes you giggle as you blurt out, “I don’t know if it’s the water, but I’m very wet.”

The silence that follows is thick, punctuated only by the sound of water cascading down your back. Jeongguk freezes as if the words have physically reached out and yanked him into stunned stillness. He can only let his throat bob in a visible swallow and look away, warning you in a strained mutter, “___. This is your last warning. Stop teasing me.”

You whine, pathetically wiggling your weak and pliant body in his hold to seek for some kind of reaction, but he doesn’t budge. He’s uncharacteristically focused on his tasks, ensuring every trace of shampoo rinses from your hair, rather than your hardened nipples bouncing with your stubborn movements.

But you recognise the way his jaw clenches so tight it must hurt, how he refuses to let his gaze wander lower where the steam of water outlines your form. His restraint is razor-thin, yet he holds it tightly, breathing only slightly uneven.

You’re not deterred by his warning; you never are. It’s the tiny tracks in his resolve that keep you pressing forward, voice laced with a vulnerability that makes his hand twitch against your scalp, “Just… I just need your fingers. Please.”

Jeongguk exhales sharply through his nose, but he doesn’t answer. Instead, he angles the spray to wash the last suds away, hyper-focused on the practical task as though it’s a lifeline to his dwindling self-control.

But you’re persistent. You reach behind you, fingers messily finding the knob to twist the water off, and with the spray halting you’re left only with the hum of the bathroom fan and the faint drip of water.

Your other hand finds his, guiding his wide palm to rest on your lower stomach, just above where your want is written in every inch of your body. You whisper, plead clear in your tone, ”You know I want this. Won’t ever regret it. I’m conscious enough to be sure of that.”

Jeongguk huffs, his chest rising and falling as he stares down at you, fingers flexing slightly against your skin. He closes his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply as if accepting defeat. He can’t win this battle.

The brown-haired boy steps into the shower, the small space shrinking even further with the addition of his broader frame, forcing you to back up against the wall. Fully dressed, water clings to his fabric, and the contrast of his damp clothes against your bare, exposed skin makes you irrationally wetter.

Jeongguk keeps silent, and at this point you don’t care how desperate you look, pushing yourself against him and getting his clothes wetter in the process. It pushes him to initiate a torturous path along your skin, using his middle finger to trace a journey from your chest, savoring the way your breath hitches, down to your warm core.

The droplets of water he collects on the way are used to spread your puffy lips and press right on your sensitive nub, making you gasp. You’re a trembling mess from the simple motion, and he has to use his free hand to steady you against the wall.

Your breasts aren’t left without being taken care of, because the moment he begins circling motions on your clit that have you seeing stars, he lowers his head to envelop one of your tits in his ravenous mouth, teeth teasing it punitively, all while looking up at you with sliced, sinful eyes.

He’s greedy, and you can’t believe he managed to hide it so well until now. But his resolve crumbles the more he revels in the way you fall apart for him, and he loses control on your chest. The sensation is sharp, delicious, and the contrast between the harshness of his bite and the softness of his tongue has you whimpering.

You’re ashamedly aware of how close you already are, his digits picking a fast speed that urges you to let go and coat him in your juices. He knows, simply from the way you let your mouth fall agape and release loud moans in the steamy air, pushing your nipples further in his swollen lips.

When he inserts one finger in your warm hole, you jolt in his secure hold, eyebrows shot upwards in the shock of your sudden orgasm, one that hits you all too harshly. It drags on deliciously, Jeongguk never wanting it to end, the slurping sound of his sucking on your tits making your surrounding spin, along with his thumb accompanying the way his single digits thrusts into you.

He only stops when you unconsciously run from his doings, slim hand wrapping weakly around his wrist, and he retreats with one last wet stripe along the curve of your boob, promptly collecting your taste from his fingers, and he thoroughly hums around them, eyes closed and cheeks hollowed.

You think you could come again from the sight alone. Panting, you smile through your ragged breaths, “Fuck. Thanks.”

Five minutes later, no one would bet you’re the same girl that begged him for his fingers and came in record time around them. Now, you sit serenely on the toilet lid, wrapped up in Jeongguk’s warmest hoodie. The oversized fabric swallows your frame, knees tucked under it as you hug them close to your chest. You look as innocent as ever.

Jeongguk stands in front of you, meticulously brushing through your damp hair with practiced gentleness, each stroke of the comb a soothing lullaby. You rest your chin lazily on your folded arms, eyes closed, the edges of sleep blurring your thoughts.

You let out a contented sigh before murmuring, words unfiltered, “You’d make the perfect boyfriend. You always take care of me. And kiss me when I need it.”

The motions of the brush stop for a fraction of a second before resuming, and what you hear next is Jeongguk’s throat clearing, his voice low and almost shaky, “That sounds so very wrong, toots.”

“What do you mean?” You don’t open your eyes as you ask the question, the warmth of his presence and the excuse of the last traces of alcohol still flowing in your tired body making you bolder than usual.

“You want me to be your boyfriend?”

“In another life, maybe. Yes,” you don’t waste time replying, words carrying a dreamy quality, “I mean, would be cool.”

“Cool?” He chuckles, but it’s the kind that’s half-exasperation and half-something else entirely, voice strained with an edge of desperation too, “God, I don’t even know why I’m still putting up with you.”

You only nuzzle closer into the borrowed hoodie, giving voice to your next thought, your thinking cells now hosting a 60s themed party, “Be my, be my baby. My one and only baby.”

The sound of your singing fades under the whirring roar of the hairdryer, and Jeongguk is quietly thankful for the way it drowns your sweet hums completely, fearing if he hears another one of those tipsy love confessions leaving your lips he might drop to his knees, undone by something he knows he can’t claim.

You rest your head against his stomach, full weight leaning on his standing figure, his long digits pulling through your strands. If you’d look up at your best friend for even one fleeting second, you’d probably laugh at the concentration on his expression, his only goal drying your hair enough to not have you waking up with a headache the following day.

You sniffle and snuggle impossibly closer to him, the heat radiating from his tummy and the white noise lulling you further into drowsiness, every careful motion of his hand coaxing you closer to sleep.

When your phone pings from the bathroom counter, the sudden buzz makes you jolt slightly. You lift your head sluggishly and gesture toward the phone, mouthing up to Jeongguk, “Pass it.”

He hands it to you without turning off the hairdryer, keeping an eye on your sleepy movements. You blink at the bright light for a moment before your expression shifts, eyes widening.

You’re completely jolted awake at the only notification on your home screen: it's Namjoon.

You tap Jeongguk’s stomach with the heel of your hand— softly at first, then with increasing urgency. The repeated motion forces him to stop the device and place it on the counter as he looks down at you, trying to peek at the screen, “What?”

You hiccup and sniff before blurting out, “Namjoon. He texted me”

The boy that was just now carefully drying your hair scoffs, arms crossed over his chest, “What does that asshole want?”

The response to the rhetorical question doesn’t come, either because you decide to ignore it purposefully or unconsciously: you look totally engulfed by the words on your otherwise empty chat with Namjoon, and Jeongguk can’t help but subtly lean his body lower to read the same texts you’re going through.

Kim Namjoon [4:26 a.m.]: Hey. Sorry for texting late, I heard from someone you threw up back at the party. I’m so sorry. I completely lost sight of you in that mess. Are you feeling any better? Very sorry again.

Kim Namjoon [4:27 a.m.]: It’s totally okay if you don’t want to hear from me again. But I wouldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t at least try to make it up to you.

Kim Namjoon [4:27 a.m.]: I’d really like to take you out on a date. Would you let me?

Jeongguk kisses his teeth irkedly, “Why the fuck does he text like Prince William? Fucking English major,” and he truly tried his best to sound unaffected, but the words leave his mouth before he even knows he’s thinking of them.

Luckily, you don’t seem to notice, reading the message aloud like you can’t quite believe it yourself, “He said he’d like to go on a date with me. Like, he asked me on a date. And said he would like it. To go on a date—”

“Yes, we got it.”

“He doesn’t hate me, Gguk!” Once again, his petty comments go unnoticed as your face lights up, eyes crinkling with joy as you practically beam up at him.

Jeongguk wants to be annoyed, but he simply can’t when he’s met with all the stars in the universe right in your glossy, tired eyes. He swallows hard and forces a soft chuckle, “No, he doesn’t, toots. Anyone would be crazy to hate you.”

The grin on your lips only widens, nose scrunching adorably as you let your cheek sheepishly brush against your shoulder, “Oh my god, Gguk. I’m going on a date with him! Heh.”

“That’s nice,” he says, picking up the hairdryer again before your words can settle too heavily in the space between you. “I’m not finished with your hair, though. Stay still.”

The device roars to life once more, its noise filling the room and covering your excited giggles. Jeongguk keeps brushing through your hair with steady motions, his face impassive, but he feels something tighten, heavy and unyielding in his chest.

He tells himself the noise is a blessing, a shield from the silence he wouldn’t know how else to fill—or from the sound of his own voice, betraying him in ways he can’t afford.

────୨ৎ────

“I’ll miss the sex when Namjoon will ask me to be his girlfriend.”

In the quiet of the library, your sudden whisper startles Jeongguk. The chair screeches under him and it gains the both of you a few annoyed looks. He nods in apology at their way, moving closer to the table again, and he has to blink a few times before he can even meet your eyes. The scattered pens all over the white surface looked more interesting either way.

“When he— his— what?” He feels pathetic for being unable to even form a senseful sentence, but there’s no absolute way he blames his brain for that. It’s his heart, stuttering along with the barely intelligible question.

It cracks at the middle the more your grin splits your face in half, nose scrunching adorably, and he may be a horrible friend but he can’t bring himself to return your irony, nor the masked excitement under it.

If he were handed pen and paper and asked to write about how he feels right at this moment, he wouldn’t put down a single thing. Not because there isn’t anything to say. He fears your innocent teasing has done something catastrophic, snapping that one damned string that connected his brain to his heart, and the two aren’t communicating. Jeongguk is in the middle of two angered parents, fighting and on the brink of divorce. That’s what he gets for being a total pussy.

You shrug, frowning slightly when all you’re faced with is his blank expression, eyes unresponsive and detachedly looking elsewhere, but you keep yours on him, studying even the small movements, “I mean, he’s a nice guy. I think he’s serious about getting to know me.”

The word serious causes an involuntary twitch of his head, tilting almost imperceptibly to the side, and he sounds way too defensive, “And are you?”

Furrowing your eyebrows at his unexpected reaction, you return to your previous mindless doodling, keeping your voice low, “Well, he’s cute. Let’s see where this thing goes.”

“What about me?”

The question catches the both of you off guard. Your pencil halts as you glance at him through the corner of your eye, and even if you can’t see him clearly, the way his dark orbs widen is almost comical that you would laugh in any other situation. But now, the air is oddly tense and it makes your nose scrunch in awkwardness.

He breaks it with a chuckle, a subtle tremor in it that luckily goes unnoticed by you but that will probably keep him up at night for the next five years, and he lightly shoves your shoulder in an effort at feigning ease, “You really wanna pass on this dick?”

“God, you’re gross,” the annoyed roll of your eyes has Jeongguk releasing a breath he didn’t realize he was holding; it’s odd, but that’s just who he is.

The second you return to weightless banter, he’s back in his element. He can smirk, tease and deflect— these are tools he’s mastered over the months. But the thought of stripping naked for your eyes to see, and not in the sexual way you two engage in almost every night, terrifies him.

The waters are safe for what seems a fraction of a second before you pull him down in the deep, dark seas again, this dynamic between you foreign. While it is a simple, innocent question, your deceptive tone triggers unfamiliarity within him, “Besides, how’s it going with you and Haeun?”

“Huh? Oh. Haeun, yes,” his attempt at buying himself extra time is laughable, especially when Mr. Brain is now yelling at Ms. Heart for always wanting to get in the way of things he can handle alone, “Wonderfully. We— She— Huh, kissed me.”

Ms. Heart is furious. She has no other choice but to reach in her purse and slap the divorce papers on the dinner table, the glasses clinking against the plates, and Jeongguk flinches. Brain is speechless, clueless on how to react.

You only seem slightly taken aback, eyebrows raising in mild surprise, “Really? That’s nice.”

Jeongguk is equally clueless, subtly squeezing his eyes shut as if hoping to wake up somewhere else entirely, maybe in an ideal world where Kim Namjoon doesn’t exist and Mr. Brain and Ms. Heart are happily married.

Instead, he’s still in the library, and you’re still sitting next to him, scribbling on your English textbook. He frowns, getting pitiably lost in the view of your side profile, “Yeah, nice. Huh, when’s your date?”

When you glance up at him, you seem to be realizing just how odd it is for the two of you to spend this much time talking about your respective hook ups, and you cringe slightly at the unusual formality, wishing Jeongguk would just tease you like he usually does when you tell him about your untruthful and made up sexual adventures.

You purse your lips in thought, “Tomorrow, actually.”

“Oh. He’s going fast.”

“I like that.”

“I know you do.”

No matter the effort you put into trying to hide your amusement, a snort escapes you, and you quickly look away to recover from the childish grin spreading on your lips. You shake your head, closing the book in front of you, “You’re fucking disgusting.”

Jeongguk only smirks in an oddly proud way, nodding at your flustered state when he realizes he successfully managed yet again to shift the conversation from topics he doesn’t want to hear or talk about. He shrugs, “You just said that.”

“And I’ll say it again.”

“Whatever,” a small chuckle follows the dismissal, his hand coming to brush through his fluffy hair, getting too long for his liking, “I really wanted to see you tomorrow.”

Once again, Jeongguk is way too honest, way too easily. Ms. Heart is marching hastily with Mr. Brain walking close behind, trying to make sense of the situation and pushing her to reconsider her actions, but it’s no use: she’s tired, and sick of being walked over, again and again.

He doesn’t like the underlying meaning behind that, and wishes Mr. Brain would grow a pair and just swoon her back into love again. Jeongguk doesn’t like the genuine surprise etched across your face either, or, well, he doesn’t like the effect it has on him: it’s almost unbearable to accept that the blush dusting your cheeks, the one you’re probably unaware of, is caused by his unfiltered honesty. Because sincere bluntness isn’t exactly something he tries to show. Then, why does it spill out of him uncontrollably? Why— why do you look so beautiful like this?

“Hm,” your smile is small, but your dimple betrays it, Jeongguk’s whole resolve cracking with the way you sound dangerously decisive, “Too bad. You’re late.”

Jeongguk shouldn’t overthink this. You’re simply engaging in the usual dynamic, teasing him like always, no reason for his palms to sweat. He shouldn’t panic over the way nothing about what you said feels simple, nor usual, and your tone carries more than what you both want the words to mean.

He doesn’t know if it’s a warning or a test—or worse, the truth. Maybe he’s imagining it. Maybe Brain just misinterpreted the comment, too distracted by its constant squabble with Heart, both of them ignoring Jeongguk, who is still sitting at the cluttered kitchen table with his plate half-full, surrounded by a mess of inky emotions he doesn’t have the courage to clean up.

The sound of forks clinking against plates grates against his ears, drowning out the hurried excuses spilling from your mouth, the ones you’re babbling and making up along the way of gathering your things and standing up from the round table, shouldering your bag in the same hurry you left his room with before the next time he saw you was nose to nose with Namjoon.

You huff, giving a small, tight lipped smile that should be meaningless, but to Jeongguk it isn’t, “I’ll go now. See you around?”

“Huh, sure. Let me know how it goes with Namsun.”

You roll your eyes at the playful attempt, his grin just as empty, “Right. Bye Gguk.”

You’re off the hallway before he can add anything else. Not that he would have been able to. Your bag swings with your big steps, slim hands coming to absently tug your plaid skirt lower, and Jeongguk thinks and thinks.

He realizes he really doesn’t want to know how your little date goes. Would rather shoot himself rather than hearing you talk about another guy taking you out to dinner, stealing you from him and sealing the end to whatever the two of you have.

His options are narrowed. He either commits in front of you and forever changes the trajectory of your life or does something about Namjoon. But why does the option of ending his life sound much easier than stepping up to big, buff Namjoon, infatuated with the same girl he likes?

Oh.

The admission jolts him. It’s a physical reaction that causes his chair to shriek again under his movements, but this time he’s not polite enough to apologize for it. He must look crazy, wide eyes burning holes into his hands planted steadily on the table in front of him.

The girl he likes. You’re the girl he likes.

And every signal is there. The spark he sought for now lights a nervous feeling in his stomach, its fireworks interrupting Brain and Heart’s incessant arguing.

Does he look stupid not doing anything for the girl he likes? Not fighting for the girl he’s been falling for all this time?

────୨ৎ────

It should be easy. It is easy.

Jeongguk can’t let the sleepless night spent reciting lines to his ceiling go to waste. He’s sure not even theater kids could match his determination. And as he marches across campus toward the gym, where the squeak of sneakers and the echo of grunts will lead him to the person needed to put the plan into action, he reviews step by step what he’s told himself to do. It’s a well-rehearsed script, each word, every calculated expression—he’s gone over it a hundred times, accounting for every reaction.

Step one, be casual. Friendly, even. Approach Namjoon like there’s nothing calculated about this interaction—no ulterior motives, no scheme brewing beneath the surface. Just a casual catch-up between two guys.

“What’s up, Kim,” when Jeongguk spots the slightly taller boy exercising at a steady walking pace on the treadmill, he immediately hops onto the free one beside him.

Namjoon startles slightly, then smiles with those stupid, charming dimples of his, and it’s one that Jeongguk would probably only give if forced, “Hey, Jeongguk. Long time no see.”

The brown-haired boy nods, setting the speed and quickly catching up to Namjoon. He keeps his tone deliberately cool, even borderline disinterested, “You been good?”

On his left, your almost-boyfriend shrugs, jogging along, “Yeah, just studying, man. What about you?”

“Pretty much the same,” he hasn’t cracked open a book in weeks, and that study session from yesterday was just an excuse to be with you. But he can’t afford to let his thoughts linger on you too long or he’ll lose focus. He needs focus. “You catch that last game?”

Step two, pretend to care about what Namjoon is saying and then proceed with the acting skills only to suddenly remember something totally random he wanted to mention.

“Fuck, don’t remind me. I was so sure we would win,” the sweating man sounds way too affected by the recent football match, and Jeongguk fears if he asks one more question for the sake of pretending he’ll never get to the actual point.

So, he goes straight to it, “Yeah, it was rough. Oh, by the way. You know ___, right?”

The simple mention of your name causes a small stutter in Namjoon’s step, but he recovers with the stupid smile from earlier, only this time it’s wider, “Of course I know her. Why do you ask?”

Step three, just be honest. He just has to lay it all out. Be straightforward. Tell him the truth about how he’s felt for so long and what this whole thing with you is doing to him. It’s not a confrontation—it’s a conversation. Jeongguk will politely explain that he’s liked you for a while now, that he’s been in your life long before Namjoon, and, as a courtesy, he’d appreciate it if he would step back from pursuing you.

Civil. Calm. Totally chill. There’s absolutely nothing to get worked up over.

"You really don't know? Have no idea?" Jeongguk asks, his voice dropping, tone more pointed than he intended.

Namjoon slows his treadmill slightly, glancing over with furrowed brows and a faintly amused smile. “No, man. Enlighten me.”

“She’s my fucking girlfriend.”

What. The. Fuck.

That wasn’t the plan. Not even close to the plan.

────୨ৎ────

You feel stupid.

Wrapped around in your warmest coat, you still shiver. It could be the way your legs are exposed under your wool dress, high black boots reaching just beneath your knees. But there’s something else to the chill, making you shake in fading jitters. The excitement of the evening you told yourself you were looking forward to morphs into anxiety, and the passing looks of people mean more than they should as minutes tick and tick; they seem to glance at you for too long, their looks heavy with what you can only imagine is judgment.

A young girl swaddled in small but striking details from head to toe — delicate earrings that catch the light, a scarf knotted perfectly at the neck, polished nails clutching the strap of an expensive-looking bag, hair done up in a neat slicked bun — glancing nervously at her surroundings can only mean one thing: she’s been stood up.

Namjoon was supposed to meet you in front of the cozy cafè just outside the campus, its warm tones and surely even warmer ambience so very inviting. Maybe you’d go in, order a steaming hot chocolate for yourself, and chalk this up as a lesson learned. But instead, you chose to wait outside, shifting on your tiptoes every so often, scanning the crowd for a glimpse of the first man to ask you out in what felt like ages.

You feel as though you’ll be forever destined to wait more when thirty minutes go by and Namjoon is nowhere to be seen.

You frown, swaying on your heels. What you feel is not disappointment— not at first. But that only causes you to feel worse about yourself when you realize you’re almost relieved the tall man hasn’t shown up, and he’s not here to turn fears into even scarier realities. The date would have given a concrete meaning to your actions, and the thought stirs something not exactly pleasant within you.

The scratch at the back of your mind grows harder to ignore, and no matter how much you try to shake it off, your subconscious finds ways back to it when your hand instinctively dives into the depths of the expensive purse you had specially chosen for this occasion. A purse meant to complement your carefully selected dark ensemble— an effort that now feels entirely wasted. You spent so much time getting ready for something you’re not ready for at all.

Pulling out your phone, your thumb scrolls to Jeongguk’s number with a natural automatism, typing before you even register why he’s the first person you feel the need to tell.

You [9:39 p.m.]: hi

You [9:39 p.m.]: namjoon stood me up lol

The typing bubbles appear faster than you anticipated, and as you watch them dance across the screen, you burrow deeper into the fragile warmth of your jacket, the tip of your nose numb from the cold.

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:40 p.m.]: Whattttttt????

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:40 p.m.]: He’s such an asshooooooole

Your first instinct is to snort at his reaction, a childish grin tugging at your lips, but it turns into a scowl when the more you reread the text, the more it sounds weird. He usually never texts like a six-year-old using his mom’s iPad.

You [9:40 p.m.]: yes he is

You [9:40 p.m.]: why are u textin so weird btw lol

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:41 p.m.]: Wym weirddd

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:41 p.m.]: I’m totally normal

You [9:41 p.m.]: wtv

You [9:42 p.m.]: u still wanna hang out?

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:42 p.m.]: Yes please

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:42 p.m.]: Want me to pick u up

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:42 p.m.]: Where are u rn

The head tilt is unconscious, but you feel it click in place. You’ve mentioned how Jeongguk is caring, how he can read your needs like no one else and caters to them quietly, but he’s never this pliant, this malleable. You like him because it’s hard to get him to bend (and you’d rather die than let Jeongguk know about this).

You [9:43 p.m.]: is ok

You [9:43 p.m.]: i’ll just walk

You [9:43 p.m.]: be there in 10

The walk usually takes you less than 10 minutes, but before meeting him, you decide to head back to your dorm and change out of these stupid fancy clothes you picked out for the date.

You keep your head low as you walk through the hallways, the full glam you put on impossible to miss as it sparkles under the fluorescent lights, just as your boots' heels echo through the corridors.

Taking off the dress and heels feels like peeling away the embarrassment of rejection, the weight of disappointment settling in as you realize you couldn’t prove to yourself that you could do it, that you can do it, take the leap and let something serious into your life.

You question whether you're even cut out for it when the guy who seemed perfect ended up proving the opposite.

Now, back in more comfortable clothes — Jeongguk's black hoodie from the other day and baggy sweatpants — you feel a little more like yourself. Scared of emotions, scared of commitment, no matter how many hours of your day are spent daydreaming about it.

The second you click the door of your room open, it’s like you can smell a weird shift in the air. And you do, literally sniff, scanning your surroundings for any hint of something burning or out of place.

But it’s not about the dorm in its physical state, no— it’s the odd silence that you’re met with, the people you’re used to sharing the space with now uncharacteristically careful with their volume.

“Oh my god, ___,” that is probably why you’re visibly startled by the sudden voice coming from your side, Iseul looking like containing excitement is the hardest task she’s ever been asked to deal with, just like the few other girls behind her, all practically vibrating, “You’re finally here.”

You furrow your brows, chuckling confusedly at the unusuality of it all— well, it’s not like you don’t get along with these people. It’s just that you’ve never gone over meaningless jokes and talks about the state of the dorm, plus you’ve never exactly been the center of attention like this. It feels off, and it reflects in your uncertain tone, “I am?”

“I’m so happy for you,” Binna chimes in next, grabbing your shoulders with way more enthusiasm than the level of your relationship with her would normally allow, and the way all of their heads nod along that it feels like a coordinated performance is starting to scare you.

“You’re… happy for—”

“I’ve always known you and Jeongguk were perfect for each other,” the affection dripping from Binna’s voice sickens you, maybe even more than the words she’s speaking.

Huh?

You swear you feel your heart skip a long beat before you mask it with an obnoxious, nervous laugh, only growing more when none of them crack a smile or react, “Me and— okay, is this a fucking joke?”

“C’mon, ___,” Iseul says, her sweet voice doing nothing to calm your tension, and if anything it only heightens it, “You don’t need to hide anymore, Jeongguk told Namjoon that you’re his girlfriend.”

Oh. So this must be a fucking joke.

And you can’t stand it.

You barely manage to shake off their relentless curiosity, the entire dorm suddenly buzzing with an interest in you after years of peaceful and civil indifference, and it only overwhelms you to the brim.

Fury boils in your chest as you step out of the building, the cold air failing to cool the anger that flares up within you. With every step, your frustration grows, and you hastily type on your phone as you make your way toward the one person that’s responsible for your temper.

You [10:07 p.m.]: what the actual fuck jeongguk

The response comes so quickly, almost as if he were waiting for you to type it, and you scoff in disbelief. In that moment, you feel a twisted sense of understanding with serial killers. It makes you question how much control you actually have over yourself.

sassy queen 💁🏻 [10:07 p.m.]: What’s up?

You [10:07 p.m.]: why’s the whole dorm asking me how's it like to be your gf?

sassy queen 💁🏻 [10:08 p.m.]: Eeehhhh???

sassy queen 💁🏻 [10:08 p.m.]: That’s so weird

You’re actually gonna fuck this man up.

You [10:09 p.m.]: jeon jeongguk.

You [10:09 p.m.]: they’re saying you told namjoon i’m your girlfriend.

sassy queen 💁🏻 [10:09 p.m.]: Don’t use my full name and the period please 🥺

You [10:10 p.m.]: i’ll fucking kill you.

sassy queen 💁🏻 [10:10 p.m.]: You’re so hot when you’re like this

You [10:10 p.m.]: shut the hell up.

The banging on his door comes shortly after, and Jeongguk doesn’t even flinch. He knows it’s you, and frankly he was even expecting your arrival to be louder, hit him a little harder than it does. And when he lets you in, you storm in his space with no room for oxygen, door closing behind you but unable to contain the volume of your rage private.

“Can you explain why the whole campus thinks we’re dating? ‘Cause you’re not my boyfriend, and I’m not your girlfriend, and this is not fucking funny.”

But Jeongguk evidently does find it funny, chuckling under his hand coming to cover his mouth while the other one lifts to show you the bright screen of his cracked phone, “Really? The uni Instagram page is shipping us.”

“Shipping us?” You snatch the device from his hands, eyes widening as you scroll through the amount of stories posted in the last hour, everyone and their mother feeling entitled to weigh in on your nonexistent relationship. You whine, a hand resting at your forehead in disbelief, “Oh my god, this is ridiculous.”

“What, are you ashamed of me?” Jeongguk asks casually, walking back and sitting on the bed with a soft thud, his whole demeanor relaxed with a nonchalance that makes your left eye twitch.

You scoff, unwilling to grasp how this is even an actual thing happening to you, tossing the phone back at him, “A little bit, yeah. You think this is a fucking joke, huh? I’m now apparently dating the uni’s most popular fuckboy.”

The damned boy in front of you leans on his forearms, pouting just for show, “Hey, that’s mean. I’m no fuckboy.”

Bag thrown to the ground with a violence that it does not deserve, you start pacing back and forth in his room, letting out a borderline insane laugh, not knowing whether to scream or cry, “Yes, you are. You went through every single girl in this building.”

“Do you really think of me like that?”

The sudden sincerity that you think you spot in his tone makes you halt your steps, body turning to him as he sits straight again, his head tilting slightly.

You sigh, frustration mounting, and you throw your head back at the ceiling for any signal from the universe that this is indeed a joke, a bad, huge joke on you, “Jeongguk. Please.”

Silence fills the room next, but it doesn’t make it any easier to think nor does it quite register in your brain, mind racing with jumbled and chaotic thoughts, barely coming through as coherent words, getting intertwined with one another.

But the more you walk from one side of the room to the other, the more you’re almost able to untangle the mess, just enough to start processing what’s happening.

Then, a nuclear bomb wipes it all out, Jeongguk’s words the missile, his quiet tone the explosion, “I don’t want you to see nobody else.”

“What the fuck?”

The aftermath of the destruction is not only loud, ears ringing with a shrieking alarm going off, your figure stiff with shock, but you feel its heat burning your whole body in consuming flames that threaten to swallow you whole if you don’t let them take over, rise, flood every nerve until all you can feel is the rage boiling in your veins when you practically scream at him, ”What the hell does that even mean? You're being selfish!”

“Am I?” Jeongguk asks calm, calculated, gaze locked on yours as if daring you to challenge him further. His tone is maddeningly measured even as he pushes himself off the bed and closes the distance between you.

It’s like he’s planned this— attack after attack designed to destabilize you completely. Not only did he thrust you into the spotlight without warning, claiming you for the whole campus to see as if you’re worth nothing more than a stupid prank and a few laughs.

But now he talks with a grace that belies the chaos he’s stirred, as if his words are just another fact, something as simple as the weather, “I haven’t been seeing anybody since this summer. Since we started using no condom.”

Your pupils tremble with something far more complex than just anger, though you refuse to give it a name. He’s practically towering over you, his stance purposeful, making you feel small; as if the intensity of his gaze is not enough that it makes you falter, as if the humiliation he’s putting you through isn’t either. Head shaking, your voice does too, “That’s— not true. You’re a fucking liar. You— What about Haeun?

“Nothing even happened with her.”

The speed of his denial sets you off, an incredulous scoff breaking free as you roll your tongue against the inside of your cheek—a habit you’d picked up from witnessing his easy tempers, “Then why did you tell me you kissed?”

“Because—” Jeongguk hesitates, and the pause is so out of character that it almost gives you whiplash. The boy who always has something to say suddenly seems unsure. His hand flexes at his side, a nervous tick you hadn’t noticed before, and he exhales as if the words are fighting their way out of him, “‘Cause— I was jealous.”

“Jealous?” Your voice cracks on the word, a laugh bubbling out of you that’s sharp and fractured, borderline unhinged. It cuts through the room like broken glass, and his expression tightens, jaw clenching. But he doesn’t interrupt.

“Jealous,” you repeat, louder this time, your incredulous tone thick with rage. “You’re telling me you made up that bullshit because you were jealous?”

He doesn’t respond, and it pushes you closer to your limit, on the verge of exploding. You don’t know how you find it within you, but with a long exhale and a quick prayer up at the ceiling, you meet his gaze in an almost patronizing manner, “Jeongguk, we are not exclusive. I thought that was well implied. You don’t get to act like this. You don’t get to be jealous.”

Nodding along to your words, Jeongguk’s brows draw together, his expression somewhere between anxious and defensive. There’s something in his eyes, something close to fear, but fear of what, you can’t quite place.

When he speaks, his voice is softer than yours, as though he’s trying to keep it from breaking, “I know. We both agreed to that, yes. We’re both allowed to see other people.”

The words feel rehearsed, like he’s repeated them to himself a hundred times. But with the silence stretching, it’s clear he’s struggling to say more. His lips press together briefly, and his gaze flicks to yours, searching. It’s as though he’s waiting — no, hoping — you’ll interject, offer something to fill the space.

You don’t. You hold firm, tilting your head slightly, your confusion evident. Your wide, questioning eyes, so big, so honest, pull the truth from him in a way you don’t intend, and he exhales like it’s been forced out of him.

“But I don’t want you to.”

The sheer audacity of his words hits you like a slap, the kind that stings more because of its unexpectedness. You snort, although there’s nothing particularly amusing about your heart cracking at the middle, but you manage to keep it from resounding in your words, "That’s so fucking mean. Do you even hear yourself? You get to fuck whoever you want, and I’m kept hostage? And now—now everybody thinks we’re dating!"

"That’s good," he says, simple, unflinching.

You blink, disbelief coursing through you as your lips part in a strangled gasp. "What?" The word is half a whisper, half a shout, and it escapes before you can temper it, "You’re so selfish. I fucking hate you.”

The emotion is foreign from what you’re used to showing him, softness in quiet ways, affection in silent gestures. But now, it’s all loud rage, the opposite of love spilling out of you in volatile waves. Your hands curl into fists at your sides, itching for release, something, anything to make him feel the way you’re being forced to feel, to cut through the weight of his seemingly impassive expression showing only the barest twitch in his brows, a crack too small to satisfy your anger.

It isn’t enough. You need more.

Your palms find his chest, shoving him with the force of every burning feeling inside you. “You’re stupid,” you spit, watching him take the push without exactly budging, like he’s made of stone. It only stokes your frustration further, your hands pushing again, harder this time. “And dumb.”

Jeongguk doesn’t step back, doesn’t fight you. He stands there, his chest steady, absorbing your hits without a word. His lack of resistance only makes the storm inside you rage harder, and the tears you’ve been holding back threaten to spill over.

You scramble for more, anything to turn the reality of what you truly feel into the illusion of anger, “And— and— Why the fuck are you silent! Say something!” You aim another punch at his chest, but it’s impossibly weaker, the exhaustion showing in your useless attempts at getting at him.

You sniff, and you know you lost against his indifference, your voice wavering feeling like a confession you didn’t mean to make. “Asshole. You’re being so mean. You’re making me cry.”

That’s what finally breaks him. Only the tears slipping rapidly from your eyes get his resolve to crumble. His hands are on you instantly, gripping your shoulders gently but firmly, refusing to let you squirm away. You slap at them weakly, but his touch is steady, his fingers brushing strands of hair from your face, cupping your chin to tilt it up toward him.

“Toots, no. Hey, hey,” he whispers, his tone soft in a way that disarms you completely. His thumb swipes at a stray tear, but your face turns away, evading him like it’s your only line of defense. He doesn’t back down, “Stop crying. Hey, look at me. Will you?”

“Stop calling me that!” You finally snap, jerking your face away again. The tears are spilling faster now, no matter how much you want to fight them, no matter how much you want to cling to the fury. “I hate you. You’re fucking all the girls in this college, and I’m only fucking you, because— because—”

“God,” Jeongguk groans, exasperation dripping from his tone. You’re about to hurl another half-formed insult or maybe even take a swing at him again, aiming low, but his next words stop you cold.

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” His tone is quieter now, more deliberate, the vulnerability in it cutting sharper than anything else he’s said. “I like you. I broke the rule.”

You’re sure your heart will fail you today. It misses at least four beats, and it steals the oxygen from your lungs, along with the color from your face.

You stammer, eyes widening as your pulse picks up again and pounds in your ears. “Don’t—don’t say shit like that. I swear to God, I’ll actually fuck you up. Stop���lying to me.”

“What the fuck, ___? I’m not lying to you,” Jeongguk’s voice attempts to be steady but it can’t hide the desperation, as if he’s holding on by a thread. “Why would I?”

The question is simple.

Why would Jeongguk lie to you? Does he have a reason to fake this?

The world seems to tilt, the ground beneath you shifting in some irreparable way.

You should feel scared. You should feel repulsed at the thought of commitment, the weight of his words pressing against you like a cage. But you don’t.

Instead, your eyes dart between his, searching for cracks in his sincerity, like a frantic spectator watching a tennis match, every glance like a volley in the game of something bigger than either of you. The matchpoint sends a thrill through your chest, something overwhelming and terrifying but not unwelcome.

Jeongguk watches you closely, feeling the weight of the silence between you stretch on longer than he can handle. He knows he’s the one that should break it, knows the truth he’s holding inside has to be spoken now.

It’s now or never. He can’t keep pretending—this isn’t just some casual thing to him, and he’s not ready to let it slip away without a fight. You’ve become everything he didn’t know he needed, and yet here he is, paralyzed by the fear of rejection, of being vulnerable, of watching the one thing he wants most slip right through his fingers.

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? If he doesn’t speak up now, he’ll lose everything. His fear has no place in this moment anymore.

It’s a long exhale before his voice drops in soft honey, shaking with the weight of the truth, “Look. I know it’s hard to trust me. You’ve seen me fuck up multiple times over this stuff. But I want to stop this cycle. I want to allow myself something good,” his eyes search for any signal that he should stop talking, but in yours he finds every reason for him not to, “And you’re everything good that life will ever concede me. I can't… I can't let you go. I can't lose you.”

"Jeongguk…" His name slips from your lips like a prayer you've been too afraid to speak aloud until now. But you see it— he’s ready to find every solution, even if it means confronting the fear that has held him back for so long.

“I like you so much it’s killing me,” he admits, voice low and raw, every syllable cracking with vulnerability.

It’s a slow realization, like a tide that comes in quietly, softly. You’ve felt its caress for so long, and now that it embraces you wholly, you feel your heart expand, filling with the same warmth, the same longing.

The words you wish you could say are caught in your throat. You look up at him, eyes wide, trying to comprehend, to take in what he’s offering. You’re almost afraid to ask, as if the answer will shatter something you’ve worked so hard to protect, “You like me?”

“I lose my fucking mind when it comes to you.” His confession is a rush of honesty that sweeps through you, his eyes not leaving yours, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he blinks.

The world feels like it’s slowing down. There’s so much you’ve been holding back, but you don’t know how to make the words fit, how to make them sound right.

Jeongguk takes a small step back, his voice quieter but still heavy with emotion. “It’s okay if you wanna end it here,” he murmurs, his words barely above a whisper, like he’s bracing for the worst. “At least it wasn’t because you got with some other stupid guy.”

You shake your head, the thought of losing him too painful to bear. “Stop—” You let out a frustrated sigh, hands curling into fists at your sides. “God, you’re so dumb. This could have been so much easier if you’d told me sooner.”

He looks at you, confusion flickering across his face. “What do you mean?”

You feel your chest tighten, the truth slipping out before you can stop it. “I like you too,” you admit, the words finally leaving your lips hastly, like they were just waiting for the right moment. “I agreed to the date because I thought you were still… fucking around.”

His face softens, and there’s a flash of relief in his eyes. “I wasn’t. Haven’t been in so long.”

“...No Haeun?”

“Hell no. I don’t want no kiss if it isn’t from you.”

You laugh, a low sound that fills the air between you. “Cheesy fucker,” you tease, but there’s a warmth in your chest now, a feeling you can’t ignore. “Well, if you want to know, I wasn’t seeing anybody either. Namjoon asked me out randomly, but I haven’t been with anyone else since… this started.”

His eyes widen slightly, and for a moment, everything is quiet. He looks at you like he’s just heard something he never expected to hear. “Oh,” he says softly.

“Yeah.”

Jeongguk steps closer to you, his hands reaching for you, voice thick, “I’m so sorry, baby. I never meant to make you cry. It’s breaking my heart.” His thumb brushes across your cheek, gently wiping away the remnants of the tears you hadn’t even realized had fallen. “I’m so sorry.”

You shake your head, your heart swelling with both regret and tenderness. “It’s okay,” you say softly. “I’m sorry for yelling all that stuff at you. I don’t hate you. I…”

Before you can finish, his lips crash against yours, and all the confusion, all the fears, prove themselves to be worth this moment.

They dissolve into something real, the kiss trying to make up for lost time, for all the things left unsaid.

When you pull away, your foreheads resting together, Jeongguk’s voice is quiet but determined. “Come here, baby. You’re mine.”

“Prove it.”

[nightingale-prompts]

Danny lives in a horror movie-DC x DP prompt

Based on my favorite book series "tales from the gas station"

It's not every day that a mission requires the league to travel to middle America in a bid to obtain a highly cursed artifact but it certainly is today.

Locating the Seal of Silent Ashes was a task usually given to Justice League Dark but Constantine was currently busy. So that meant it was left to the poster boys to get this done. They dressed in civilian attire to investigate the last location of the seal starting with the first building on the edge of town. A small dusty gas station near the woods.

The inside had an awful smell, like death and cleaning fluid. The lights gave off a greenish-blue tint. Rats could be seen out of the corner of your eyes. Most of the chips were offbrand and crappy.

Behind the counter was the teenage boy chewing gum. He looked up at the group before going back to reading his book. He had clearly seen better days but didn't show signs of caring about the state of his hair or bags under his eyes. He drank his coffee.

The air felt off.

"Hey kiddo, do you mind giving us directions?" Clark started.

The kid narrowed his eyes as he popped his gum.

"You're not from here. That or you're from that cult in the woods. Listen I'm not joining. Seriously, cosmic nihilism and fatalism sounds doomed. Hey wait-" the teen checked his notes " No, the cult killed themselves in that mass suicide 2 weeks ago. I forgot, sorry."

The teen didn't say anything else as he went back to his book.

The horrified look of the adults shared was almost hilarious. At least to the teen if he looked up.

"Oh, and stay out of the woods. I don't want the police to come back and ask about who saw you last. Seriously if whatever is in there tears you apart I won't feel bad. I put those signs out forever ago and if I get one more girl covered in blood running in here screaming about her dead friends I'll get a headache." The teen shrugged turning the page.

"What do you mean?! Why would-?! Who's killing people?!" Barry asked frantically as Bruce serched for more reports of missing people in the area.

"I don't know. Why would I know? If you want to go in the cursed forest go ahead. I mean that's how they all die. It isn't my job to stop you. My job is to sit here and watch this store." The teen huffed in annoyance.

Before anymore questions were asked the signal of the radio was disrupted and a demonic howl screeched through the radio.

"God damnit. That cunt is back. Stay here." The teen growled as he grabbed his bat from under the counter and walked out the back door. "String bean! Get off the fucking roof you bastard! You know that radio is all I have here!"

A chattering laugh like a death rattle was heard and the sound of 2 sets of feet was heard on the roof then they lept down.

"Come here so I can beat you to death!" The teen ran around the building towards the front of the gas station chasing-what the fuck is that!

It was like a human that was twisted to crabwalk on all fours backwards. Its face was contorted into a black stretched-out smile with no teeth. It had no eyes just black sockets. All its limbs were stretched out to an extra meter in length. It was a skinwalker of some kind with chalk-white skin. It was skittering away from the teen who was swinging his bat at its head.

"Stop running! I told you before what would happen if I found you fucking with me again!" The boy meant it as he finally landed a hit and began wacking it over and over it.

The skin walker screeched and tried to run for its life but couldn't.

After reducing the monster into a black puddle the black-stained teen came back inside to sit back down not paying anymore to the monster blood he was covered in.

"Sorry about that. Most of the freaks around here have learned to stay away from this place. That one is new and he doesn't listen. You'd think they'd learn but Sting Bean thinks he can torment me. Petty bastard." The teen sighed "anyways are going to buy anything or are you going to waste what oxygen we get in here with this shitty ventilation.

Diana couldn't help but admire the boldness of the boy. He had no hesitation or fear against the beasts of this area even if was crude.

"Does Constantine have a cousin or something? Just a more angry one" Barry whispered to Hal.

[thesuperiorrobin]

𝐒𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝~

❥Pairing: Damian Al Ghul x Wife!Reader

❥Word count: 1.0k

❥Warning: mentions of blood but very brief, mentions of killing, mentions of kidnapping

❥S: Damian worst fear is losing his beloved wife (I wrote this in an hour. It’s 3:20 am rn☹️)

“This is so unlike you” Damian grumbles under his breath as he lies on a bed, a green silk robe hanging off his shoulder as you tend to a deep wound on his midsection with a needle and thick thread in hand. There’s sweat dripping down his forehead. A part of you feels bad but at the same time, he decided to have you tend to all his wounds after coming home from a mission his mother or grandfather sent him on.

Some days he’ll come home with a scratch or none and other days he’ll come back with gashes and marks that’ll stay permanent on his tan skin. As the needle in your hand digs into his skin once more—it hits a nerve that has him griping your wrist tightly and hissing loudly. Despite being an assassin, despite going through every single hard training process there was, a torture process, he still feels his pain.

“I’m sorry” you watch as Damian lets out a heavy sigh, letting go of your writs and gripping a metal handle beside the bed. “Just a few more so please bear with me” Minutes had felt like hours to Damian once you finished. And with your help, he sits up straight, groaning as we do so. One last step was to wrap the now stitched-up wound with bandages. His arms are up slightly as you reach over his back with the long white strips and bring them back to his front repeating the same process a few more times.

Once done, you help with his robe, gently as ever. You pat away any dust that drapes his shoulders. There’s still anger that clouds his eyes when he looks down at you “What happened?” Your hand grazes his cheek softly before placing your cold palm up against his warm cheek.

“It’s nothing, Zawjati. Come let’s go to bed” Your heart throbs at the sudden name. His hand reaches up to your hand, the sliver hand on his finger shining brightly as you gently peel it off his face, kissing it softly before he places it back down at your side. A visible frown finds its way on your lips as he walks past you with his head down.

“It’s clearly nothing. I can see it in your eyes” It’s a mumble but Damian can hear it loud in clear. Your eyes connect for a moment before you sigh—averting your eyes away from his “Let me clean up first, I’ll head back in a bit”

Damian leaves without saying a word to you. It takes a bit longer, mostly because you take your time cleaning and sanitizing. It takes thirty minutes before you’re heading back to your shared bedroom. You expect him to be asleep after being away for so long, but he’s wide awake when you enter the room, sitting upright on the bed rob long gone and with a book in his hand waiting for you. He places it down, on the nightstand beside him.

“You should be asleep” You shake your head, making your way to your side of the king-size bed.

“I can never sleep peacefully knowing you aren’t by my side” he lifts the silk blanket from your side—waiting for you to get in the covers.

You waste zero time as you jump in, head landing on the soft pillows. A sigh of relief leaves your lips once he throws the blanket over your shoulder. He watches as you snuggle closer, eyes closing. Damian’s arm reaches for the small lamp on his nightstand. The once-dim room turns dark within an instant as he turns it off. The wound on his midsection has Damian getting under the covers carefully. The shuffling stops and the room goes quiet. Damian thinks you are fast asleep, but when he feels your fingers tracing gentle shapes on his biceps he thinks otherwise.

Goosebumps cover his body. He can’t sleep either, not because of you tracing his skin, but because his mission early has him thinking. His target threatened you, threatening to take you from his side permanently. The assassin can handle petty little threats, but when they’re about his wife, all he sees is red. His wound was just the aftermath of his outburst. They’re all dead—every single one of them.

He has nothing to worry about—so why is he still worrying about it?

How many others, how many of his enemies feel the need to target you just so they can take him and the rest of the league down?

How much more does he need to paint his hands red just to keep you safe and sound, far away from harm's way? Damian would never say it out loud, out of fear and out of his reputation, you are the most saint and innocent thing to ever happen to him in his life. Someone so innocent and pure belongs to him, someone who’s the exact opposite—someone who can paint an entire city red with his bare hands if he needed to— have you sound asleep beside him—acting like he can’t break you with just his thumb.

When he looks at you—all his worries disappear just like that. Your breathing clams him down. Why worry, when he has you safe and sound right beside him? He takes one glance at your sleeping figure beside him, so peaceful and beautiful, curled up against his arm. His other arm reaches over to brush a few strands of your hair out of your face. He lets out a small breath as he watches you snuggle closer. He moves a bit, arm sneaking its way under your neck and over your shoulders, head on top of his arm using it as a pillow.

“I promise I would never let anything happen to you, beloved. Not now nor ever” A single kiss goodnight on your forehead and he closes his eyes, the darkness following soon after.

[dolicekiss]

slight drabble ♡ about will fucking graham because im horny and he's the prettiest man i have ever seen and i think he'll fuck me good under stress

CW; noncon, dominant will, bratty reader, filthy unprotected sex, primal instincts, degrading, hair pulling.

Will Graham had enough on his plate, especially with the constant feeling of being a failure nipping at his core. He didn't need a bratty bitch like you to add more to that beautifully decorated plate, yet here you were. Using your tongue to spew out all sorts of petty things directed towards him.

At times Will would imagine himself grabbing you by your hair and slamming your face right down on the table. Bending you over and fucking some manners into your tight little cunt right there but then he'd inhale a breath of air and let it all go.

Too bad that wasn't going to happen today.

“You fuckin’ piss me off.” Will grunted, taking a step forward.

You smiled in victory. “Yeah? Telling me all that like I care.”

Will ran a hand over his face in frustration, hoping you'd stop. It wasn't like he didn't try to bite back his own quips but he simply couldn't. You were too tempting — he couldn't back out from putting you in your damn place.

“Did no one ever teach you basic manners, you impolite little girl? You're this close to getting it.” Will had taken another step while you stood besides the book shelf, coursing through the files.

Everyone knew Will Graham was a petty bitch but you, you were his fucking competition. They all knew it was either going to be you or him. You both couldn't survive together.

“I'm terrified.” You mocked, an ill mannered giggle slipping.

Something inside him snapped when he heard you let out that fucking sound of ultimate victory. Before you knew it, Will had slammed your head into the book shelf while his body pressed up against you. His hands tangled in your hair.

“What the fuck?" You gasped out, feeling pain blossom in the side of your head. Will didn't care anymore.

These were only the repercussions of your own actions. Will pulled you by your hair towards his wooden table and bent you over it, all while you struggled. Tiny fists punching at his hands.

“Let me go!” You whined, throwing kicks and punches everywhere but Will was stronger. He was rougher as he slammed your frame down on the table once more and held you in place with one singular hand. “Fucking asshole, let me go!”

His other reached to unbuckle his belt and pull out his cock. It took him a few seconds to pull up your tight knee length skirt and slide your panties aside to drive himself into your cunt. You cried out and Will groaned, feeling the wetness of your warm pussy drape him.

“So fucking tight and wet. Do you get wet by talking back to me?” Your tears profusely streamed down in rivulets but he didn't care. Instead he found himself to be enjoying your cries and pleas.

The same fucking bratty bitch who was now stuffed with his fat cock and crying from it.

Will pulled your face up by tugging on your hair, his other hand gripping your hip tightly. His hips snapped at a rough pace inside you and your cunt throbbed from the ache. Will’s cock had stretched your little cunt out like no other.

“Fucking slut. The whole of FBI should know how big of a whore they've hired.” He spat, the sound of his skin smacking against yours reverberating throughout the walls of his office. “Pathetic thing. That mouth runs a lot, doesn't it? How about you use it now, but for something better? How about sucking a cock, my cock once I'm done with your slutty little pussy.”

You could only sob, drool accumulating around your mouth as your mascara streamed down. Feeling his cock drill into your pussy was too much for you, especially when he hadn't even prepared you.

Will growled, his beautiful curls clinging to his forehead due to the perspiration. His blues swallowed by blown out pupils. A predator ravaging its prey. His cock throbbed from the sheer self control he had held onto in your presence.

But not anymore.

“Runnin’ that mouth around only tells me you wanted this. Christ, what a fucking cockslut you truly are.” Letting go of your hip and hair, Will reached over and shoved his fingers into your mouth.

Holding you from behind, he fucked you silly and you felt yourself choke a little from the way he was holding you. By shoving his fingers into your mouth. Saliva and drool covered his fingers but that was the least bit of Will’s concern.

He let out a laugh, feeling himself come near. “Yeah–fuck yeah. I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum inside this greedy pussy and then I'll make you walk around with it inside you.”

You were all over the place. Hair strands sticking to your face, fingernails grazing against the wooden table. Scratching the material and your knuckles had gone completely white. This had thrown you off the edge. You disliked Will Graham’s sassy personality but this? You never expected this to happen.

“Oh—oh pretty whore. I'm close, I'm so fuckin’ close—” Will stuttered, letting out whines now as he felt your velvety walls clamp down on him. His balls were hot and ready to pump you full of his cum, so he did. Loads of white erupting inside you as Will’s breathless whines and growls filled up the room.

Your whimpers and cries were drowned down soon when he forcefully clamped his hand around your mouth. He couldn't have you moaning like a bitch in heat for the whole of the agency to hear. Especially when he'd taken you in such a primal, immoral manner.

When Will was done, he pulled his cock out of you and spread apart your ass cheeks with his thumbs. Watching as your gaping hole spurted out white, hot cum. Relishing in the sight of it.

As he stepped back from you and fixed his cock back into his pants, you lost balance due to your wobby legs and fell down to the floor. Will stared at you, broken and abused. Precisely done hair now a total mess with strands sticking out, black smeared around the eyes and spit surrounding your lips.

Tears had stained your flushed cheeks. Your soft cries expressing the assault you'd just faced by the hands of your colleague.

“Talk back to me next time if you wish to get your throat fucked too. Brain dead little whore.”

[crguang]

Hi! Congratulations on your milestone! Can i please request no 30 from the smut list for kafka x fem!so x himeko? Thanks a lot!😆

thank you. thank you so much for this. i needed this bad.

cw: she/her pronouns used, fem!reader, sub!reader, fingering, oral sex (r receiving)

You can’t catch your breath. Your lungs stutter with every half-breath you take through your nose because Himeko has taken hold of your mouth with hers and refuses to let you pull away. Each of her exhales is shared with one of your own as her lips firmly press against yours, she swallows the pitiful sounds that escape you and muffles the breathy moans that leave you by slipping her tongue past your lips. Her gentle hand cups your cheek and further guides your head to deepen her languid kisses. You feel a teasing mouth on your neck trailing to your bare shoulder, its lips slightly parted without kissing your skin. It’s a deliberately soft, slow touch while taunting fingertips brush along the curves of your waist. The room is warm and you’re only getting warmer with two bodies pressed on each side of you, wandering hands and lips fueling the heat between your legs. Your chest is heavy, your thighs squeeze together and you lie helpless under their expert ministrations. Himeko’s breath and tongue are hot on your wet lips and Kafka’s fingers dig into the flesh of your hip in a possessive grip, your head spins and leaves your mind hazy with lust. Your vocal cords can only produce needy little sounds that get squashed almost instantly by Himeko’s insistent mouth. A low chuckle rings near your ear and you feel your earlobe pulled between sharp teeth. 

“Let her breathe, won’t you?”

Kafka’s amused drawl isn’t meant for you. Himeko’s lips leave yours in the next instant and the string of saliva connecting them breaks on your chin. Her eyebrow twitches, displeased at the interruption, but she allows you to catch your breath nonetheless. She gazes down at you with lidded eyes as her thumb traces the curve of your open mouth, a rosy tint to her cheeks. 

“If she wanted to breathe she would have told me,” she replies without tearing her eyes off your glistening lips, “right, sweetheart?”

“How could she with your tongue in her mouth?” 

“She likes my tongue in her mouth.”

Kafka cups your jaw with three slender fingers and turns your head to face her cocky smirk. “I don’t doubt that. My turn, though.”

She claims your mouth with a fierce kiss. Her hold on your jaw keeps you where she wants you, her fingers tilt your chin up so she can kiss you better and she doesn’t ask for permission before slipping her tongue in your mouth and taking control of yours. Himeko watches the movement of your mouths for a moment, golden irises dimmed with desire, before her hand sneaks under your tank top to feel the expanse of your stomach. She feels a petty sort of pride when it grabs a handful of your breast and you stutter, briefly unable to match Kafka’s relentless pace. You can’t think with her greedy fingers squeezing your chest as Kafka takes what she wants from you, uncaring how dizzy you’re getting despite her earlier concerns. The ache between your thighs grows with every sloppy kiss, every manipulation of your hardening nipple under Himeko’s thumb, and you’re becoming restless. You squirm, fingers curling around soft magenta locks. Kafka hums low in her throat at the pleasant tug of her hair. She pulls away with a bite on your bottom lip. 

“Getting impatient, baby?” She enjoys how needy she makes you. You can’t stand the smugness radiating off her, but you’re too far gone to do anything that will delay your sweet release. 

You nod, biting your lip, and it gets the expected result. Himeko coos, leaning closer to kiss the corner of your mouth and up your warm cheek, her hand leaving your chest to slither down your stomach. She plays with the waistband of your pyjamas and Kafka straightens up with an eye roll next to you. 

“You spoil her.”

Himeko suppresses a smile as she meets your eyes, sending you a subtle wink. She loves opposing Kafka in every way and if that means giving you everything you ask for, she will. Her fingertips slip into your pants, doodling irrelevant patterns above the band of your underwear. Your thighs part to encourage her to go lower and her lips stretch into a white smile. 

“She’s so needy,” she says towards the other woman, removing her hand from your pants and sitting up on the bed, “Why don’t you do something about it?” Himeko cups your cheek, addressing you this time, “Sit up for me, sweetheart.”

You obey her gentle command. Himeko settles against the pillows behind you, chest flushed to your back, wandering hands already lifting the ends of your top over your head. You feel her breath behind your ear as she presses a loving kiss there and snakes her arms around your frame to keep you pressed against her. Kafka looks at you, you raise victorious eyebrows, and her eyes narrow. She wears a smile that tells you you’ll regret your cockiness soon enough. For now, she sighs like her hand is being forced and crawls between your spread thighs, kneading their soft flesh.

“Oh, fine. I guess I can be of help.”

You lift your hips to assist her in taking off your clothes in one motion. You’re left completely bare under their hungry stares, and you get uncharacteristically bashful. They’re both still fully dressed and being uncovered this way makes you feel a little shy. Ignorant to your temporary struggle, Kafka uses two fingers to spread your wet labia, tongue briefly passing over her lips at the sight. You forget all about the power imbalance in front of her apparent desire. She stares up at you through her lashes as she lowers herself to your cunt and teasingly licks a stripe up your slit. You squirm a bit, thighs twitching to close around her head and a quiet moan spilling from your mouth. Himeko’s hands run up your torso to your chest and squeeze your breasts at the same time. Her palms are warm and your nipples brush against her skin deliciously. Her mouth trails down the side of your neck, you tilt your head in response. 

Kafka’s tongue licks between your folds unhurriedly, enjoying your taste and the little sounds coming out of you. She laps you up before wrapping her lips around your aching clit and sucking hard. You can’t contain a moan or stop your hips from bucking further into her mouth. You don’t realize how much you’re shifting, your mind is a blur from her ministrations and Himeko’s fingers twisting your nipples this way and that. Your eyes flutter shut as Kafka teases your clit and runs a finger down your slit, properly coating the digit in your slick before the tip circles your dripping entrance. The sensation has your hips jerking upwards and your thighs close around her head. She hums, pulling away from your puffy cunt. 

She uses her hands to firmly keep your thighs apart, pinning them to the mattress. Her lips shine with your slick as she speaks a low warning to you. “Stay still, don’t move your hips. Don’t make me tie you up.”

The look in her eyes says that she’ll make good on that threat, so you nod somewhat shakily. 

“Here,” Himeko grips one of your thighs with a hand, fingers digging into the flesh. Kafka grabs the other. “Let me help you, darling.”

Kafka’s mouth returns to your needy pussy and your teeth sink into your bottom lip to bite back a whine. With Himeko’s nice kisses on your neck, her occasional lovebites and Kafka’s broad tongue swirling around your clit while her digit teases your entrance, you can’t do much except try to obey the order you were given. It’s hard, your thighs quiver with every stroke, and when her finger inches into you to the knuckle, a choked noise escapes you. Their combined touch has the coil in your stomach taut, the need for release bypassing your every thought until you’re a moaning mess for them, whimpering please’s and fuck’s over and over. Himeko kisses your ear, shushing you softly, and your brain doesn’t even compute the sound. Her fingers leave your perky nipple to cup your jaw. They stroke the skin there, and when Kafka adds another finger inside your cunt, causing you to cry out, two of them push into your open mouth. You don’t expect the sudden intrusion; you make a surprised noise around her digits before you suckle her fingers like she wants you to, eyelids drooping. 

“That’s it…” Himeko murmurs into your ear, “We don’t want to wake up anyone, do we?”

Kafka rubs your clenching walls as she sucks your clit, staring up at you all the while. Your breathy moans are muffled by Himeko’s fingers, they press down on your tongue and sensually rub the wet muscle. Your orgasm is imminent. Your mind is in a fog, your chest heaves with the effort it takes to keep your thighs spread for Kafka’s mouth, and you can’t hold your release back from crashing over you any longer. You come hard with a whine, body shuddering from head to toe. Kafka’s satisfied hum sounds in your ears but you can only focus on the pleasure coursing through you. She swallows everything you give her even as you start to come down from your high, licking you through your orgasm. Her digits have to stop moving from how tight you’re squeezing them. Himeko’s nose nuzzles behind your ear, murmuring soft praises under her breath. Sweat clings to your skin and gives it a mesmerizing glow in the dim light. 

Kafka slips her fingers out of you at the same time Himeko does. She licks her lips, raising her head to drink in the fucked out expression on your face. She kneads your inner thighs in soothing motions, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

“Aw, don’t get too tired now. We’re far from done with you, baby.”

[lyfeofbilly]

Tyrant

warnings: smut, smut, smut! (minors do not interact!)

summary: infidelity had snaked its way into your crumbling marriage. another night with your favorite mistake couldn’t hurt…..right?

author's note: my first time writing smut, so pleaseee bare with me. this is soooo fucking trifling i know, lmao. to them anons, this for yall.

taglist:@koffeesfancy @bubbleblowinggirl @pvnks0ul @solanaszn @onyxstones-world @blacksapphhicmaddonna

Rianna smirked at her phone as she read your text.

You up?

It had been weeks since you last seen her. The clock read 3:15 AM and you were craving her. Your body aching just to feel her touch again, the mere thought of it making your skin grow hot. Ever since you first got a taste of her you’ve been hooked. Her kisses were laced with a drug that you could not get enough of.

You never wanted it to go this far, to be in so deep. You loved your family- well your children. You and your wife have been on a rocky road for years now, "We're just in it for the kids." y'all would say. The both of you knew that excuse was bullshit. It caused more harm than good and your kids noticed. The resentful arguments, passive aggressiveness, and cursing matches were something that you wished your children would not have had to witness.

Your wife sent the kids to her mother's house while she disappeared to Lord knows where. You stayed home under the guise of having to work early mornings for the rest of the week. It was all just an excuse to have her. Your need for intimacy overtook the guilt you would normally feel in this situation.

You were sprawled across the bed, awaiting a response from Rianna. An hour had flown by since you sent your initial message. She wouldn't deny you and you knew that, she just loved playing the cat and mouse game. The excitement and sneakiness of it all ignited a fire deep within her. The three dots eventually turned into a text, causing your phone to ding.

The Mrs gone tonight?

Your eyes rolled at her text. The pettiness that woman possessed was something that needed to be studied. Her slick remarks and snide comments were something you hated yet loved about her. Another text came across your screen shortly after.

Leave the door open for me baby, I'll be there soon ;)

That sentence alone caused an ache between your legs. The power that she had on you was something else.

A sly smirk was plastered across Rianna's face as she tiptoed through the front door, softly shutting it behind her. Pictures of you and your family were displayed all around the living room. The image of you and your wife engulfed in a kiss is what caught her eye the most. The two of you looked young, happy, so in love. The frame had your anniversary date engraved on the bottom. It made Rianna sick, she wondered when exactly did your marriage turn sour. What was the straw that broke the camels back?

Rianna sighed and shrugged her shoulders as she placed the picture face down, "Fun while it lasted."

You nor Rianna would have ever thought things would get as deep as they were. Your relationship was innocent, at least that's what you thought, at first. You tried to play the flirting off as being friendly for your conscience's sake. The seductive stares, unnecessary touching of each other, playing footsy under the table, the list goes on. Cheating had never crossed your mind, no matter how bad things had got, but when you found yourself face down in the back of Rianna's car after a night of drinks all of that flew out of the window.

Truth is, Rianna wanted more. More from you, to be more than a late night endeavour, to be more than the other woman. She was more jealous than she would like to admit. The thought of you even laying next to your wife made her seethe with anger.

She continued throughout the house, strutting down the hallway, and finally through your bedroom door. When she entered, there sat you on the edge of the bed, body bare and exposed, anticipating her arrival. One thing that Rianna loved about you was your obedience. Your habit of doing anything that she asked and melt at her words boosted her ego by a thousand percent.

Your bottom lip trapped between your teeth, chest heaving up and down, eyes glued to her. A sight that Rianna loved to see, you so eager and ready for her. She slowly made her way over to you, taking your chin into her palm, her grip was anything but gentle, forcing your face up towards her.

"Three weeks and I don't hear from you?" She growled as her eyes burned holes into you. You would be lying if you said it didn't turn you on tremendously, "What kinda shit is that?"

A whimper left your throat as her hand travelled down to your neck, squeezing the sides of it. Your hips rolled against the comforter underneath you, your clit was throbbing, begging for the tiniest bit of friction.

Her head dipped to your neck, breath hot against your skin, "Missed my touch that much, baby?"

You so desperately wanted it, you needed it. Having her was the only thing that would calm the excitement between your thighs. Her touch alone pushed you more and more over the edge. The spot where you sat became drenched in your arousal.

Her lips began to attack your neck hungrily, and they felt amazing. She nibbled and sucked, sure to leave marks by the next day. Her free hand roamed your body before it grazed the inside of your leg. She drew circles agonizingly slow. Her fingers wandered up, running between your soaked folds. She strategically avoided your clit, wanting to push you to the edge, and boy was she succeeding, "You so damn needy, I ain't even fucked you yet."

With that she suck two fingers into you, causing you to let out a cry, "i nee-fuck!" You threw your head back into the pillows behind you, tears beginning to form in your eyes.

Your slick made it easy for her to open you up. She scissored her digits into you with precision, a loud sloshing sound filled the room, your juices drenching her hand. Her eyes met your half closed ones, "Hm? what you needed baby?"

She watched you struggle underneath her, your legs shaking and face contorted into one of pure ecstasy. She knew you were close, "Tell me what you need mama." You were at your peak, your walls clenched around her digits. A strained cry leaving your throat with every thrust she did.

A wave of dissatisfaction hit you when she snatched her fingers from your center. "P-Please baby i was so close." You whined.

Rianna took her silky fingers and ran them across your lips before sticking them in your mouth. Drool ran down the valley of your breasts as you sucked your juices off of them. She grinned before pushing them farther down your throat, causing you to gag, "Imma give you what you need baby, I promise."

She removed herself from you and stripped, revealing a scarlet red lingerie set that hugged her toned body. The arousal between her thighs dampened the middle of the thong she wore, strings of wetness connected it to her aching pussy as she dropped them to her ankles. She lay her self on the bed legs wide open so you could see all of her, and God was it a sigh to see. Your eyes were her stuck to her, mesmerized by the sight that lay before you.

You crawled towards her, hair falling and framing your face. In this moment you would do anything she told you, entranced in a spell of hers. You dipped your head into her sex, tongue swirling around her clit ever so slowly. her taste possessed you, you would stay down there all day if you could. you moaned as you sucked her throbbing bud, the vibration sending Rianna into a frenzy. She took your locs in a fistful and stuffed your face deeper into her, rocked her hips into you.

"You mm- you like this shit dont you?" her breasts bounced up and down, a layer of sweat starting to form on her skin. Her bottom lip was trapped in between her teeth, eyes locked onto you. Rianna loved watching you underneath her, seeing you please her drove her crazy, "You l-love getting your face fucked d-don't you?"

The grip on your hair got tighter as you continued to coax out her orgasm, "Eating it so g-good f'me baby. "The rocking of her hips became spasmodic as her thighs began to clench around your head, "Shi-shit, oh fuck!"

Her body stilled and her legs shook as she stopped to catch her breath. She pushed your head away and walked over to the bag that she brought. A few moments later she came back with her strap attached to her waist.

"You know how i want you."

You happily obliged as you got on all fours, arching your back so she could have access to all of you. Arousal dripped from your aching pussy down to the sheets. Your body shuddered in anticipation, waiting for her to fuck you silly. She rubbed the tip against your bundle of nerves, resulting in a gasp. Rianna was such a tease. She wanted to make you squirm and whine before she fucked you, needing to see how your body reacted to her.

"S-shit! ri p-please!"

A low chuckle left her, "please what? tell me what you want baby."

She was being mean and she knew it. A smack came down hard on your ass, and another right after. When it came to sex Rianna got off on hearing you beg, she wanted you to tell her everything you desired from her. Silence was never an option when it came to being intimate with her.

“Wa-want you to- ah fuck!”

Rianna teased your entrance with the tip of the dildo, slamming it in seconds after. You could’ve swore you saw stars. She was stretching you immensely, and you loved every second of it. A low chuckle left Rianna's lips, one of satisfaction. She began to push deeper inside you, massaging your gooey walls, hitting your spot just right.

“S-shit ri!” The covers underneath you began to tangle in between your fingers, “J-just like that!”

She gripped both of your forearms, pulling you back up towards her. Your head rested in the crook of her neck as she pecked wet kisses along your jawline.

“Doing so good f’me baby." she rasped in your ear.

Rianna's speed was killing you. She made your pelvises kissed with every thrust that she did.

"F-fuck ri baby please!" Your pleads held no weight with her. She had you right where she wanted.

"You look so fucking pretty when you beg."

the coil in your stomach was threatening to snap. The speed nor force of her drilling never let up.

Your orgasm was creeping up on you and Rianna could tell. Your breath hitched as you clenched around her, "Im about to f-fucking come!"

"Let that shit out," The sound of your bodies slapping against one another filled the room. "Tell me, that bitch fuck you this good?"

It felt like all the air had been knocked out of your chest. Between the pounding you were receiving and that question, you forgot how to breathe. Dirty talk wasn't new to you and Rianna, you fucking loved it. She knew exactly what to say to make your fountain run over. You and your wife's sex life wasn't an exciting one to say the least. It felt like a monotonous chore.

You shuddered against her, "Mmph- fuck!"

"I asked you a question." One hand snaked down your front and swirled your swollen bud in between her fingers, "She fuck you like this baby? She make that pussy feel good like i do?"

You hated to admit it, but your wife had nothing on RIanna, nothing at all. "Fuck n-no! She don't m-make me feel like you do baby!"

Tears ran down your cheeks as your orgasm washed over you, the coil in your stomach finally snapping. After a few more thrusts she pulled out of you, caressing your back as you came down from your high.

Steam filled the bedroom as the bathroom door swung open, out came you in a towel that clung to your dripping body. Rianna lay sprawled out on the bed, typing on her phone. You two knew the drill, she had to be out by noon.

"Alright Ri.....you already know how this go."

She cut her eyes at you and sighed, irritation beginning to rise. She pretended like she didn't hear you, initially ignoring you. The typing on her phone becoming more aggressive.

11:15 came and she still made no attempt to get dressed and out of your home. She did this every time, wanting to get you back in bed again and not worry about the responsibilities you had to face after your rendezvous.

"Rianna, seriously get dressed."

A groan left her mouth as she tossed her phone on the side of her, "This shit again? When you gone leave her? Ain't like y'all a couple anyway."

"Excuse me?"

She stepped toward you, her being short in stature didn't affect the intimidation that you felt in the moment.

"Don't give me that shit. Y'all don't even sleep in the same bed, and you want me to be gone before she get here? What type of shit is that!"

She was right. You and your wife haven't shared the same bed in months, let alone even touched each other.

"That's my wife rianna!"

She scoffed, "Yea a lousy one. That bitch can't do half the shit I do for you, yet you still fucking stay."

You threw her shirt and pants at her, "Get fucking dressed. You were supposed to been gon-"

The bedroom door swung open, a loud slam following behind it as it hit the wall. There stood your wife, arms crossed and face red with anger.

"Fuck!"

[bbyboybucket]

Beds

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: While sharing a hotel room with Reader, Bucky has a nightmare.

A/N: Surprise. Bet y’all didn’t expect a fic from me. How longs it been? Too long. Anyways, I’m rewriting one of my old fics, or more so taking the same concept but doing it more in character. Also I think this is the first time I’ve written something where we don’t see Bucky’s pov, so I think that’s kinda fun. Btw I’m rusty so don’t judge me if it shows. Also I think this is gender neutral but I’m not sure?

Warnings: language, sexual references, nightmares, ptsd, panic attack (not too intense), allusions to some hydra stuff but nothing graphic, hurt/comfort, frenemies to lovers, Bucky is moody, the one bed trope™️, no use of “y/n”, kinda sappy

—————————

A loud sigh came from the left of you just before the elevator dinged and the metal doors creaked open. You ignored him, you chose not to engage in his passive aggressiveness. You weren’t going to accept the invitation of a petty rant hiding behind that sigh.

You walked down the hallway with Bucky stalking behind you, like an angry pitbull trailing after its owner.

“I don’t even know why we got a fucking hotel in the first place.” Bucky grumbled, and you could practically feel the weight of his eye roll, even though you couldn't see it.

“Here we go.” You muttered under your breath. “What did you want? A safe house? It’s not like we’re on some high stakes, undercover op. Anything more than a hotel would be excessive.”

“Anything more woulda had better sleeping options.” He whined. “Coulda at least got us separate rooms.”

“My god, give it a rest Bucky, you’ve been complaining all day about this.” You we’re exasperated, it was about the third time you’d heard him gripe that day.

“Well, I’m not a fan. Us sharing is the stupidest fucking idea Sam’s ever had.”

“Bitching about it isn’t gonna change anything. And, it’s not like we have to sleep together or anything, I’ll be in a whole different bed.” You said, unlocking the room door. You had been looking forward to chilling out and resting, but as soon as you entered the room, you realized that your night would be anything but restful.

“Fuck.” You laughed, humorlessly, knowing you were about to hear an endless rant. “I take that back, there isn’t different beds.”

Surprisingly that rant didn’t come. Bucky weirdly seemed calmer than he had before and merely shrugged. “‘S fine. I’ll take the floor.”

“Well, one of us can try the couch?”

“That thing could fit a toddler at best.” He gestured towards the small leather love seat as if it was the most ridiculous suggestion he had ever heard, and in all honesty, he had a point.

You pinched the skin between your eyebrows. “Sam said he booked a two person room.”

He shrugged again and then blankly said. “This is why he shoulda booked separate rooms.”

“My god Bucky, I’m not that bad of a roommate. I don’t snore, I don’t sleep walk, and it’s not like I’m gonna kill you in your sleep. It’s one fucking night. Just-“ You took a deep breath and tried to mellow out. “You can have the bed.”

“No, you can have it.”

“You’re obviously more tore up about this than me, so it’s yours. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“No.” He refused, his eyes held an odd stubbornness. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“I literally don’t care, I’ve done it a million times. Plus, your grumpy ass probably needs some good sleep.” You half teased, trying to do the nice thing. You unzipped your bag and pulled your belongings out. “I’m gonna go change clothes.”

When you came back from the bathroom, Bucky was already in his boxers and a T-shirt, positioning a pillow and blanket on the floor.

“I told you the bed was yours.”

“Okay, and?”

“Why are you getting down there?“

“Why the fuck are you arguing?”

“Because you’re all pissy about this whole situation, so I’m trying to make your life easier and give you the bed.” You didn’t understand his defiance and odd aversion to the thing he’d been complaining about restlessly: the better sleeping option.

“I don’t want the goddamn bed, just shut the fuck up about it!” Bucky snapped. His outburst caught you off guard, he acted as if you had been purposefully pushing his buttons.

“Damn, fine.” You held your hands up in defeat, almost offended at the way he lashed out. “I get you’re trying to be all gentlemen-like but ya know, the aggressiveness defeats the purpose.”

“It’s not about being a gentlemen. Don’t get it twisted, I’m not being nice, I-“ He grunted. “Never mind I don’t owe you a fuckin’ explanation. Just get in bed.”

“I will, thank you, cause I’m tired. Especially tired of whatever the fuck is up your ass and has you so bitchy.”

You said it with full sincerity, of course you were used to bickering with Bucky but it always was in a playful manner, even when annoyed with each other, it was always friendly fire. There had been no sign of that all afternoon, Bucky was purely hostile and treating you like his greatest burden.

“You running your damn mouth and arguing isn’t helping anything.” He spat as he turned off the lights.

“Wow, sorry. Didn’t know offering you the bed was so fucking rude and offensive.”

“Shut the fuck up.” He groaned.

You muttered “fucking dick” under your breath.

“I heard that.”

As you settled into the bed, you couldn't help but roll your eyes in frustration. You found yourself pondering what you could have possibly done to provoke such a strong reaction from him. You couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't entirely about you. Maybe something else was going on and you were standing in as Bucky’s punching bag, just being the unfortunate catheter for his anger.

It didn’t matter. You had to force all the worry and aggravation out of your head because his attitude wasn’t worth losing sleep over. The last thing you need was to be exhausted on a mission.

—————————

You were jolted awake by a sudden, loud gasp, followed by a soft groan emanating from his direction. Rubbing your eyes, you opened them to find him sitting upright, his knees drawn close to his chest. He looked so small, a stark contrast to the huge stature and borderline intimidating presence you’d become so familiar with. His breathing was audible despite the distance between you, it was quick and shallow.

“Buck?” You concernedly called out to him but he didn’t answer. You then got out of bed, and flicked on the nightstand lamp.

“Bucky?” You tried again when you were closer.

Out of all the time you’d known Bucky, this was the first you’d seen him vulnerable. He was trembling harshly, hyperventilating too. He seemed equally dazed and terrified, but also distant as if he were lost in his head. You always thought Bucky had rather sad eyes but right now, the way they were widened with fear and slightly watering, took it to a whole new level.

You knew what was happening and seeing it felt like a stab to the heart. You slowly sat down in front of him, keeping space between you as to not worsen his panic.

“Buck, it’s okay.” You cooed. “Can you hear me right now?”

His gaze shifted to you, finally making eye contact, which gave you an answer.

“Okay, can you try to breathe with me? Deep breath…in 1…2…3” You exaggeratedly took large, slow inhale to lead him. “Out 1…2…3…”

You repeated the example, guiding until he finally started to follow along with you. “Good, you’re doing good. Do you know where you are?”

“….hotel. We’re on a mission?”

“Good, that’s right, good. It’s okay. You’re safe.” With a gentle and caring tone, you spoke to him, hoping to bring a sense of peace to the turmoil that was raging within him. Your heart felt heavy as you seen the pain that was laced within him, and you wished so badly that you could erase it all. You’d been scared you weren’t doing the right things, but his increasing improvement made you more confident.

“Can I touch you?”

He nodded.

You supportively placed your hand on top of his, stroking your thumb over his skin in a soothing manner. He initially flinched but didn’t pull away. “Starting to calm down now?”

“Yeah.” He released a long heavy breath and wiped the wetness off his eyelids with his free hand.

You sat silently with him, providing that tender, tactile support as he as he worked to regain his composure and steady his breathing. As he gradually calmed down, you noticed the shame creeping over him, causing his cheeks to flush red and his gaze to avert from yours.

“I didn’t want you to see this shit.” He finally said after minutes of silence.

“It’s fine-“

“Fuckin embarrassing is what it is.”

“No, stuff happens. I’m not gonna judge, ya know? I understand. I know what having panic attacks is like.” You revealed in attempt to make him feel more seen.

He slightly shook his head, at himself instead of towards to you, but he stayed silent.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” He paused for a moment, he licked his lips and hung his head even lower. “‘M used to it. Get ‘em bout every night.”

“The panic attacks?”

“Nightmares. Those sometimes comes after though.”

“Oh.” You whispered, feeling like something in you had just shattered. “About hydra?”

“Yeah.”

“You wanna talk about it?” You offered carefully.

“Nothing you should hear. My head’s a fucked up place.” He laughed humorlessly.

“Try me.”

He hesitated for a moment, you assumed he was debating on wether or not he should trust you with such a heavy part of himself. “Basically all memories. Not so much dreams, more so just stuff that’s already happened. Flashbacks I guess.”

As his mouth parted to speak, only to close again, you knew that he wasn’t finished so you waited patiently, allowing him the time he needed to gather his thoughts.

“Most of the time it’s…you know…what I’ve done. People I’ve killed. It’s….of course it’s horrible. Pretty gruesome but uh….I’ve gotten better at dealing with those, it’s still….I just get em so much that I can calm down faster now. But sometimes…it’s the shit Hydra did to me and it’s just….I’d get punished a lot. Some kinda torture or beatings, I’ll spare you the details.”

You continued to stroke his hand and stayed silent, not wanting to push him.

“But uh…they had this chair. Um, I’d get strapped down and they’d electrocute me. That’s how they’d…ya know. And I’d always end up there for a wipe after I fucked up. Or even if I didn’t. I don’t what’s worse honestly…the sick twisted shit they’d come up with or the wipe but…but reliving all that….”

“That’s fucking terrifying.”

“Yeah. Yeah, terrifying is an understatement. Sometimes…it’s hard to feel safe after that.”

His breathing started to pick up again. The cracks in his voice made it clear he was starting to get overwhelmed.

You then firmly grasped his hand, giving it a supportive squeeze. “It’s okay, you don’t have to keep going if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t like to think about all that. I try to never actually. It’s like…obviously it’s…I can’t describe how fucking awful. But at the same time, if I do think about it, it’s like I’m ignoring all the evil shit I’ve done. And that’s not fair to everyone I’ve wronged. So then….if I never think about or deal with the torture….when I have to relive it in these goddamn nightmares…it just fucks me up worse. And my fucking luck is one of the few times it happens is when I’m sharing a room with someone.”

Your heart sank to the floor, your own eyes were watering at this point from getting just this small glimpse of his pain. “I’m so sorry, Buck. Hell, I don’t even know what to say right now. I wish I could do more to help.”

“You’re doing enough.“

“You didn’t deserve it, ya know? I don’t know everything that went on but you never deserved to suffer like that.”

“Half-debatable. At certain point it had to become karma for the suffering I was causing myself.” He shrugged solemnly.

“That’s not true. You had no control.”

He sighed exasperatedly, filled with a sad frustration directed at himself. He put his face in his palm. “We’ve had that conversation. You already know I don’t see it that way.”

“Yeah but I hope one day you will. And I’ll die before I stop trying to get it through your head that you’re innocent. You know you’re strong, right? So damn strong to be holding it together right now. After going through all that pain and to still be here and be a good man? To come as far as you have. I’ve never met anyone as strong as you.”

“We can agree to disagree but I appreciate it….and thanks sitting with me and calming me down and all that.”

“Of course.”

“I’m sorry about earlier. This is why…I didn’t wanna share. And this is….one…of the reasons I don’t like sleeping in a bed. Makes the nightmares worse sometimes. That’s not your fault though, so I shouldn’t’ve…I just didn’t want you to know.”

“It’s alright. I get it now.”

“I shouldn’t’ve took it out on you. I really am sorry.”

“Buck, I get why you were upset. Well kinda, I honestly can’t imagine even a fraction of what you go through.”

“Goin a little far with the pity.” He grew a tiny smirk.

“Compassion.” You corrected. “And I can’t help it, I mean…not to get all sappy, but I care about you. A lot.”

His smirk morphed into a smile and you mirrored it. You wrapped your arm around him and laid your head on his shoulder, Bucky then slowly encircled you with his own arms. You knew the hug was Bucky's way of wordlessly affirming that he cared about you too.

“Didn’t know Mr. Grumpy was capable of hugging.”

“Consider it a one time gift.”

You chuckled in response but then an idea entered your mind.

“You think it’d help if I slept with you?” You asked softly.

He gave you a cheeky grin. “Could at least take me out to dinner first.”

“You know what I meant.”

He sighed. “Not to be an ass but I literally just told you I don’t like beds?”

“No dumb ass, I mean down here.”

He tilted his head and gave a tight lipped frown. “You don’t gotta do that.”

“No. But if it’d help you feel more comfortable, then I want to.”

He didn’t answer at first but because his face had always been an open book, revealing every emotion with striking transparency, he wore an expression that was etched with heartbreaking gratitude.

“Yeah…we can try that.” He whispered, as if he was in shock.

With gentle movements, you plucked the blanket and pillow from the bed and nestled yourself beside him. As you lay towards him, your faces drew closer, until they were mere inches apart. You could feel his warm breath caressing your skin. In that moment, time seemed to stand still as you both gazed into each other's eyes, it was almost hypnotic. There was no awkwardness when it should have been expected, instead, a comforting feeling washed over you. You were consumed by excitement, tinged with a soothing calmness. Sure, it was paradoxical, but it was consuming and left you lost in the moment.

“Um…” Bucky started hesitantly but then cut himself off, he bit his bottom lip nervously.

Before you had a chance to even consider the words, they spilled from your lips. You were surprised with your own spontaneity, but the question had already slipped. “You wanna cuddle?”

It was as if you read his mind, you could practically see all the anxiety melt off Bucky before he pulled you into his chest. “This okay?” He asked.

“Mhm.” You replied, allowing yourself to sink into the comforting warmth of his body, all while listening to the soft thumps of his heart beating. It was a new intimacy that strangely felt familiar and natural, like everything had suddenly fallen into place.

You heard him yawn and you hummed fondly at how cute it was. “Goodnight, Buck.”

Tenderly, he leaned in and softly placed his lips upon your forehead, holding them there for a fleeting moment before settling his chin atop your head.

—————————

Bucky straddled your lap, his hand cupping your face as he devoured you in a passionate kiss that unraveled you with each flick of his tongue. His other hand roamed to less innocent regions of your body, exploring them with a touch that was both bold and tender.

He repositioned and pressed you down onto the couch, towering over you as his tongue continued to dance in your mouth. You were both breathless, and desiring more. He proceeded to plant kisses on your jawline before moving down to nibble on your neck.

He suddenly stopped, muttering against your skin. “You wanna move to your room? Have a little more space for this?”

“You know what’s funny?”

“Hm?”

“How before we got together, you hated beds, but now you want in my sheets every damn second.” You teased.

“Well…feels a lot more pleasant now.”

“Weird way to say ‘I’m always horny’.”

“I’m making up for 80 some years. And like you aren’t, you’re worse than me half the time.”

“Definitely worked up now, so get me to the bed and we’ll go as many rounds as you want, pervert.”

“Fuck you.” He laughed.

“I’m waiting for it.”

[moongothic]

Re-analyzing Crocodile in Marineford

So when I started falling down the Crocodad rabbithole, I did start by rereading Marineford to doublecheck the claims about whether or not Crocodile's behaviour truly was odd during the arc. And I did go into it with a good amount of scepticism, trying to find holes in the theory after having just learned about it. Well, it's been like a year now. I do feel like I've formed a strong idea of the Crocodad theory in my head, what we need to assume for it to be a viable theory, what supports it and where its weaknesses lie.

The thing about storytelling though is that you can read into things in truly wild ways if you want to find a way to support a theory, while also failing to understand/forgetting the pre-existing lore and what we know about certain characters.

So I want to reread Marineford again, but this time, having an understanding of the theory, I want to rethink how the Crocodad theory actually applies to this arc, and compare it to a more neutral reading, based on what we know about The Man of the Hour and what Oda actually (probably) wanted us to take away from the events of the story. So we're re-analyzing Crocodile in Marineford, but from two angles. The Normie Neutral Angle and the Crocodad Propaganda Angle.

Is this partially because I want to just prove to myself that I am actually delusional about Crocodad and been reading into things in the completely wrong way? So that when Oda finally debunks the theory I will be emotionally ready for it because otherwise the disappoinment will shatter my heart into a million pieces? Yes. Yes, that is why this post exists. But also I have wanted to do this for a while now because I did think it would be fun to return to this arc now that I'm MORE than familiar with the theory. Point is, I'm not here trying to ruin the fun for my Fellow Crocodad Truthers. I'm here to lower my own expectations and give myself a reality check.

So immidiately after arriving in Marineford in Chapter 558 Crocodile makes his way to Moby Dick to kill Whitebeard. Luffy forces him to back off for a second so the two can have a chat before he storms off to get to Ace. At this point, Sengoku gives everyone orders to kill Luffy because he is Dragon's son, making sure everyone on the battlefield knows too

Propaganda: The lack of Crocodile's reaction here is incredibly suspicious. So much so I wrote a whole metapost about that subject on its own.

The lack of Crocodile's reaction however could be just chalked up as his reaction not being important in this moment. Crocodile doesn't care about Luffy, he's only here to get Whitebeard's head and thus has more important things to worry about in this moment than that rubbery idiot.

Next time we see Crocodile is in Chapter 560. He's been blown away and off the Moby Dick. And while he is trying to get back on the ship so he can fight Whitebeard, he is failing miserably at it (being hindranced by mere goons) and is clearly fucking annoyed about it

Propaganda: His gloomy expression and hidden eyes are suspicious, considdering this is soon after hearing Sengoku's announcement. If Crocodile just learned Luffy is his son, then in the past few minutes we haven't seen him he has gone from learning that truth, to realizing he nearly killed his own son with his own hand (three times), to knowing Luffy has ran off straight into the lion's den and most likely certain doom, and understanding that even if he wanted to help Luffy, Luffy fucking hates his guts and wouldn't want his help anyway (+Luffy wouldn't know about their blood relation, now would not be the time to break the news, if ever). Luffy does have help in the form of the rest of the WB Pirates, Jinbei and Ivankov, so it may be for the best to Crocodile to try to focus on what he came to Marineford to begin with; getting his petty revenge and taking WB's head. But still, that shocking revelation could be getting under his skin, he might be having a bad time digesting everything.

Croc's petty revenge gets distracted by Jozu blasting Crocodile off and Doflamingo joining the fun by annoying Crocodile even more, until Crocodile sends the pink bastard flying out of his sight. He seems to continue trying to reach Whitebeard without any progress until WB gets stabbed by Squard, which causes Crocodile to burst out with a shocking amount of emotion

We know Crocodile has trust issues. We don't know what caused them, though a likely assumption might be that he may have been betrayed by someone (if not multiple people) in the past. Although impossible to confirm, if that is the case then watching Whitebeard get betrayed by one of his own could be a bad reminder of what may have happened to him in the past, not helped by Whitebeard immidiately choosing to forgive his son, something Crocodile might not be able to accept as easily.

Additionally, we know that Crocodile lost to Whitebeard when WB was in his prime. In this moment Croc would realize and have to face the fact that Whitebeard is an old man, he's not the same as the Primebeard who crushed Croc so long ago. Meaning, whatever catharsis Crocodile may have yearned for, he would not be able to actually get. There is no satisfaction to killing a weak, dying man.

Propaganda: This moment may have forced Crocodile to reflect on his weird relationship with his extranged son. Whitebeard forgave his foolish son for stabbing him, and while Crocodile may have no lingering grudge against Luffy for thwarting his plans in Alabasta... would Luffy ever forgive him for all the things he did? Could Luffy forgive him?

Crocodile then proceeds to stop Ace's premature execution attempt, and when confronted about it by Doflamingo, Crocodile confirms he has not taken Whitebeard's side.

This reinforces our understanding that Crocodile loathes the World Goverment so much he'd rather spare one of Whitebeard's own than let the WG get what they want. This is not a pro-WB move, this is just an anti-WG move

Propaganda: For one, Croc's hate of the WG could support to the idea he may have been involved with the Rev Army at some point, even if just temporarily. But most importantly, indeed, he did NOT spare Ace for Whitebeard's sake, which leaves us with only two other options; he did it for his own sake (=spite against the WG), or for Luffy's sake. He has seen the desperation and the efforts Luffy will go to for his loved ones, so Crocodile could only imagine the heart break Luffy would go through if he lost someone dear to him. So, even if his son hates him, he can't just sit by and watch Luffy get shattered right in front of him

As he is rushing to reach Ace, Luffy uses his Conqueror's Haki by accident to stop another execution attempt, which leads Whitebeard to order all his men to back up Luffy. As he runs, Luffy is almost cut down by Mihawk, only slowed down by Daz Bones and then finally stopped by Crocodile

Considdering Mihawk's earlier comments about Luffy's terrifying power of bringing people together to follow him, this is meant to be just a call back to that; not even Sir Crocodile is immune to Luffy's draw, much to Croc's own annoyance. Which isn't great, considdering he's already in a horrendous mood over Whitebeard, who had just now given his approval and acknowledge'd Luffy's value on the battlefield (after having ignored Crocodile nearly this entire time)

Propaganda: If Luffy is Croc's son then of course he would not let Mihawk kill him right in front of his face. Crocodile's foul mood and solemn expression is also explained by the realizations that hit him after Sengoku's announcement (as I explained earlier)

The war continues, Ace is freed and then killed by Akainu, causing Luffy's brain to shut down out of shock. Crocodile seems to watch Whitebeard's final stand though where he is and what he's doing exactly is vague during this time.

Jimbei however announces he has chosen protect Luffy with his life and is on the run with Luffy in his arms, while Akainu pursues them, eventually catching them and wounding both, severely.

Crocodile jumps in at last second, cutting Akainu in half and blasting Jimbei+Luffy out of his reach, allowing the two to finally escape.

Crocodile's comments here are calling back to two things. The latter is about his hatred of the World Government and not wanting them to have what they want, especially after WB finally kicked the bucket and they took Ace's life. Not wanting the WG to get the third bird with the same stone, Croc is making it his personal duty to be the biggest thorn in the WG's side right now. But the former, "if you want do protect something, do it right" calls back to Alabasta. Crocodile made it clear then and there that weakness is a sin, and only the strong can afford to have idealistic views (like Vivi wanting to save her people and her country). Crocodile berating Jimbei here is a lecture; if Jimbei claims he's going to protect Luffy with his own life, then actually put your money where your mouth is and do it. Jimbei, a (former) Warlord just like Crocodile, should be able to do better than this.

Propaganda: Crocodile''s comments at Jimbei are a confession; he has someone he wants to protect no matter what (and that's his son). Also, the phrase "love is always a hurricane" has been repeated over this Saga numerous times, and while it has been in reference to romantic love... What did Crocodile save Luffy's life with if not a sand twister, a hurricane?

The war ends and we see Crocodile looking solemn over everything that has transpired.

Maybe he is quietly paying his respects to Whitebeard and taking it all in.

Propaganda: The last Crocodile saw of Luffy was the unconcious, wounded boy being taken into a submarine that vanished into the waves, followed by Kizaru and Aokiji's attempts to sink the ship. Crocodile has no idea if the ship survived the attacks or has already sunken, but even if they managed to escape, between the grave wounds Luffy had recieved and the trauma of Ace dying, the boy's survival was not quaranteed. The war could break Luffy, forever. And there'd be nothing Crocodile could do about it. It was out of his hands now.

After taking some time to recover, Luffy, together with Jimbei and Rayleigh go have some fun in Marineford and pay their respects to Whitebeard, ending up on the news that even Crocodile gets to read about.

(Sidenote but Viz's official translation here is a bit off, "The cheeky rascal" isn't about Luffy but is directed at Daz, so it should be "You cheeky rascal")

He has recovered from his wounds and the frustrating disappointment of Whitebeard dying (and not by his hand), but is ready to set out into the New World, Luffy's infectious energy seemingly having inspired him once again to see what the seas have to offer.

Propaganda: Daz's comment here is strange, as he makes it sound like Crocodile had been like... what, moping? Sulking? For the past few weeks after the war? Crocodile's reaction to Daz's comment ("Are you sassing me you little shit") doesn't help either. It certainly makes it sound like Croc had been in the dumps, but considdering he would've had no idea what fate fell upon his son until now, yeah, him being worried and depressed would make sense. As would the way he immidiately perks up after finding out the idiot son is just fine

And that's it, that wraps up Summit War.

It's kind of sad, really, how when you get down to it Crocodad does make perfect sense in all of these scenes (maybe some more than others). But the Crocodile acts during this arc isn't weird when you get down to it, his behaviour is completely reasonable considdering everything else that is going down around him and the little we do know about his view of the world. And that fact makes Crocodad so easy to just brush aside as looking too deep into things when it's not meant to be that deep

But also, Oda is insane, and you can never fucking know when something WAS meant to be that deep from the begining until he gives out the full truth and spills the beans

Did I come here trying to debunk Crocodad for myself? Yes. Did I succeed at doing that? Not really. Did I have fun regardless? Yeah, and I hope this was at least vaguely interesting to some of you

[respectthepetty]

Pride Petty Watch (SOTUS) 4.5/5

I'm almost done watching my second blacklisted shows (Love in the Air and The Untamed are the others), but what was only supposed to be a five part rewatch for my former sworn enemy SOTUS has magically turned into six because the last half of this show is AMAZING! I suffered through four other parts to be here in this glorious moment (first, second, third, fourth), so what was supposed to be the fifth and final part is now two parts since I'm saving the finale for its own post.

I'm so fucking hype! LET'S GO!

The picture on Arthits vanity is of The Beatles and their song "HELP!" but I feel that image is speaking directly to me and Arthit because this queer crisis is hurting us both, and I need this boy to kiss another boy RIGHT NOW!

She dated Bright?! BRIGHT?! You know what? It makes sense. I would've done it to.

This awkward tension at the wedding is fucking delicious. Can't even stand next to each other without making it everyone's problem.

The fact that I forgot everything about this show even though this second half is doing everything I love is very telling of the fallout of the Krist bullshit. I'm not elaborating on that drama because if you know, you know, and if you try to gaslight me saying it never happened or try to defend him in retrospect, you can miss me with that bullshit, but in a way, I'm glad I forgot this show because I'm sitting here in 2024 losing my shit over Arthit grabbing Kong to stop him from walking away.

And making small talk about colors to keep Kong standing there because Arthit just needs Kong near him but can't sort his feelings out long enough to understand why he needs him. This is my special brand of drug.

And this is why confessions change things. Arthit can't just be nice to Kong anymore because it will give Kong hope. They can't be like before. Arthit can't have a friend because Kong doesn't want to be just friends. I am seated, sat, and sitted for this pink moment!

AND NOW WE ARE GETTING THE BRIDGE SCENE! Arthit is saying how awful he is and can't understand why Kong would like him, but baby, he likes you BECAUSE YOU ARE AWFUL! He likes that you yell at him. He likes that you push him around. He likes that you drink pink milk. HE LIKES YOU BECAUSE YOU'RE YOU!

Can he accept you?! Kong is the smartest boy in his class and possibly the school, and he wants to fuck you so badly that he looks stupid! So can he accept you?! BITCH, ALL HE WANTS IS YOU! HE IS LIVING AND BREATHING FOR YOU! HE DOES NOT EXIST IF YOU AREN'T TELLING HIM TO EXIST! KISS HIM ALREADY!

That Krist fallout involving kisses is popping back up to attack me and the show is trying to sell this kiss as something big with this background music (MUTE!), but I'm going to give it a pass because, in this moment, it works. Kong is surprised. The kiss is quick. Arthit is still reserved. I can work with this kiss under these conditions.

This entire sequence is saving the kiss moment. Kong is a puppy trying to play, and Arthit is not having it. My GIF is shitty, but the dynamic is elite!

And now Kong is fully embracing his BDE, and everyone in their friend group should know what's up because if I can feel the tension from my screen eight years later, they had to have felt the shift in the air in that hallway.

Kong drinking pink milk. Arthit trying iced coffee. Kong giving Arthit his heart. AND NOW ARTHIT IS GIVING HIS HEART TO KONG. My hair is shining. My skin is glowing. My immune system is thriving!

Yes, he did! It's their kink and they are embracing it. LET THEM LIVE!

Homophobe-to-homo Arthit understood this eight years ago, and some of y'all are still struggling with this today. Sorry I didn't recognize your evolution, King.

Singto and these damn eyes of his! This man can act, and I feel bad for his acting partners because they look weak in comparison to him, which is why He's Coming to Me is my number one Thai BL. Ohm and Singto were breaking my heart with just one glance, and here in this moment, Singto is telling me that Kong felt that icy shift from Arthit when he mentioned kids. The United States had barely implemented marriage equality the year before this, and now I'm in my feels all because Singto can fucking act.

And now that string bracelet is right there between them with Arthit saying Kong could take it off because IT'S DIRTY (break their bond because it's something bad), and Kong saying Arthit was the one who tied it (brought them together), and I NEED A DRINK BECAUSE I'M IN MY FEELINGS over eyes, marriage equality, and string bracelets.

I know I just wrote Singto can act, which implies Krist can't (and it's partially true and why I dislike him - I wrote what I wrote!), but Krist acting out Arthit's uncomfortableness when Prae sees them together is sitting in my throat in a way that makes me want to explode. He keeps shuffling back, crossing his arms, and looking away, until Prae asks if they came together, and even though Kong just said they were on a date, and even though Arthit was so happy about that, he immediately says NO and that they just randomly bumped into each other, and every queer in the audience is ready to breakdown over the trauma of our youth.

This episode is beating my ass on a Sunday while I was just trying to enjoy my tea. The barrier between them during this meal. The stunted conversation. All of it hurts, but what gets me the most is Arthit didn't switch his meal with Kong's. He didn't berate Kong for his 'baby food' choices. If Kong wasn't in pain before, he is definitely in it now because if there is one thing that Kong needs in this moment is reassurance that Arthit cares about him even if it's through punishment, yet Arthit is giving him nothing. Poor little masochist is really going through it at this table.

The way Arthit yelled at Kong to not touch him! This is so good. The second half of this show did not need to go so hard especially after that lackluster first half, yet here it is, giving me everything and more.

ARTHIT IS IN PINK! He is pink and telling his best friend that he likes a guy but doesn't want to ruin that guy's life because Kong is smart and handsome and could be with anybody, but Knot said what every BL boy needs to be reminded of is that Kong wouldn't be happy with anyone else but Arthit. Arthit cannot sacrifice himself when that would make neither of them happy. Arthit is exactly what Kong needs. Now go punish him so he knows you care.

Unlike Bright's casual use of "fag," this "queerbag" feels right. It's from one queer to another and it shows me that Arthit has accepted himself as a queer. Am I getting emotional over a man screaming "queerbag"? Yes.

Kong wrote Arthit a love letter where he states that he is disobedient, self-absorbed, and teases Arthit to the point that it stresses Arthit out, but only Arthit makes him happy, and the kink is staring me directly in my eyes. It is breathing down my neck. It is reaching into my soul. It is touching the deepest part of my heart, and I am in love with this!

The face that Kong (Singto) made when Arthit untied the string was the perfect way to punish this disobedient boy because two seconds later Arthit replaced it with matching bracelets and declared them as boyfriends in front of all his friends and God, and that's how you treat a masochist. That's the thrill you gotta give them. It's pain then pleasure.

I LOVE THIS FUCKING SHOW!

I love it so much that I'm excusing Kong's "I don't like men" because it feels right that he doesn't like men, only Arthit. Once again, watching this from a kinky lens has changed the way I view this plot. Before, I saw it as a BL and this felt like a cop-out, but now it makes sense that he doesn't like anyone. He only likes the one person who reprimands him and rewards him.

He is a dog, and I mean that with all the affection in my entire body.

Much better kiss. The first kiss was a test. The second kiss was a promise.

The smile after the kiss and the way Arthit scrunches up his body to be smaller because he is shy. My heart is exploding. I'm dying. I'm dead. I've died. Deceased.

I did not remember that Arthit spoke to Kong when he was applying to schools and convinced him to stick with engineering. This is so Thai BL of them, but I have no energy to complain about it because Arthit finding his home and queerness in a safe place and giving that to Kong is what I'm taking away from this.

Now to the finale and my final thoughts.

[theoldoor]

“fenrir are you FUCKING STUPID”

“MAGAWWUFHUHUHGU YYOU…DID YOU SAY YES!!?!? ..ghguughhghg.h.uuhuhgh.h.g.h. ”

“YES????”

(more doodles below jus bear w the ramblings pls)

This is when Fenrir asked for Aventurine to teach him avgin-sigonian for his Masters in linguistics - it took him a lot of courage to do it because Aventurine has a 50/50 chance when it comes to asking about his Avgin heritage, he either feels like 10 bajillions daggers and his ancestors coming to beat his ass or he feels appreciated and seen for his dead culture and this gambler is the only man fenrir couldn’t read fully.

fenrir is not the type to gamble, so of course he came up with a plan

They started out normally but fenrir keeps beating around the bush to kind of get aventurine pissed off so that he couldn’t feel sad, like too focused on being angry to hate himself type shit. As they are, they’d probably end up in a fist fight cuz yk, if you got recycled, youll still get the marks of what you once were (talia lore) the question dropped in the middle of the fight and aventurine just said yes on a whim- fenrir broke down and just be liek ‘HELL YEAH VASHA YOURE THE GOAT’

— THEYRE MY EVERYTHING IM GOING TO DIEEE (colored + full + no beating each others up version) - lil writing below too :3

i know i talk a lot about how caring fenrir is towards aventurine most of the time but that isn’t really how they act “canonically” UHGF

Theyre bicker, pester and shit. theyre the only one who can get under each other’s skin and sometimes their little momentarily bantering do distract their self esteem bc they lowk find the other person more annoying (when the suicide hotline hung up on u and ure too confused/pissed to kys typa dynamic). they act petty and would often annoy the other but would never say a bad word and would still do anything to save them. because in the end, fenrir and aventurine still considered each other family (old married couple with early love beef) considering their journey through talia together.

they still know that the reason why they found comfort in each other so easily despite all the tension is because, really, they are the same side of two coin. They are each other’s foil, they emphasize each other’s character - which is something both fenrir and aventurine HATE (self-loathe hell yeah jigsaw) but also they found that there are also others with the same wound.

They bite each other, but its their teeth that stopped the bleeding.

(or more like they bite each other’s open wound in hope to hurt the other, but actually found that the scars are from the same pair of teeth and found comfort that they don’t have to bite themselves to stop the bleeding anymore)

(do u get it pls cuz aventurine has the same pair of teeth as his masters because he probably learn more from his old master than his parents cuz he spent more time with the masters than his family haha - applies to fenrir too ahahahahaha)

i feel aventurine is charming and he compliments everyone bc thats gonna get them to grow on him - yk ppl likes compliments. if theyre not affected by compliments? money. if theyre one of those “i dont like compliments and money” he’ll just act crazy, putting himself on the line and bending them to his will by other forms of manipulation. i don’t feel like aventurine values relationship because he doesn’t even value himself, which is an important factor in a healthy relationship (regardless of romance or not). Most of his connections would mostly be transactional and he does have very few people he kept by - Dr Ratio, Trailblazer, etc.

Fenrir? he hates himself too much for compliments to work. he’s too talented to need money and he’s also a master when it comes to manipulation. As they are, same sides of two coins. fenrir has the same issue with aventurine, none of his tactics worked, he couldn’t bend aventurine to his needs so easily. so with the forced proximity, stranded in the desert with no one else but each other, they learn to co operate rather than to use one another. Both Fenrir and Aventurine would be forced to not see their relationship as transactional - and thus create a foundation for a more genuine relationship.

The only way they can break out of their habits of seeing everything being out of obligations is when they’re forced to turn their head a different way. if they were given the permission to stay, they will stay in the hellhole that they found comfort in rather than the ground where they can walk freely because they never learned to walk without the weights - they will fall because they can’t balance themselves.

—

“only a madman can beat a master.” what if theyre both madmen?

“genius on the left, lunatic on the right?” what if they’re a genius because they’re a lunatic who manage to prove the crazy theories and the other is a lunatic because they’re a genius who can come up with the crazy theories without answers?

what if theyre the death of me

[fullmoonandstar]

Nine Days in Hell

Chapter 1: An Ignored Invitation

Raphael x afab!Tav Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Rating: R Word count: 1.5 k Cw: masturbation, second-person perspective Summary: Haarlep's frequent use of your form leaves you pent-up and frustrated, but Raphael offers a solution AN: I had my period and was out of my mind horny. Enjoy

You woke up with a start. The dim light from the window barely illuminated your room but it was enough to check for anything out of the ordinary. Your armour and clothing was still where you had left it the evening prior, your weapons on the racks gleamed and you were alone. Nothing was amiss, no threat in sight. When your sleepy mind caught up with your body you felt what had woken you up. Your thighs were damp and your core throbbed with desire. But it wasn’t your arousal you were feeling.

You sighed deeply willing down the dull arch, shoving it into a corner of your mind as best as you could, and crawled out of bed. The cool water in the basin refreshed your spirits enough to start this day. You pulled the curtain on the window back and to in the view over the lower city of Baldur's Gate. It had been six months since the defeat of the Elderbrain and the city was still not what it had been before. Something you had done shortly before was the cause for your uneasy nights. You had broken into the devil Raphael’s home, the House of Hope, and beat him within an inch of his life to steal the Orphic Hammer. To get the hammer, however, you had also made the bad choice and the consequences were still haunting you. You had shared the bed with Raphael’s personal Incubus Haarlep to get information. That’s what you told yourself, anyway. You should have simply beaten that Incubus to death, curse your soft heart. 

You had places to be today so you packed some amour, fresh clothes and a towel. The cold air bit into the exposed skin of your face but you welcomed the distraction from the sticky, warm desire that lingered in your body. 

The bathhouse was one of the oldest buildings in the city but well maintained. Even at this early hour, some people already made their way to the front door, and you joined the queue at the front desk. The air was warm and wet inside the building, and you shrugged your coat off.

"Good Morning, 3 gold please," said the halfling behind the front desk. He wore a robe that was nothing more than an elaborately wrapped piece of clothing. His right breast was exposed and you hurried to pay up because you could feel your overstimulated body react to how firm his chest looked.

"Have a relaxing time."

He said with a bright smile, and you fled. For a moment, you closed your eyes, thinking: "Please get it together. You can't think about bedding everyone -"

You bumped into someone and heard a shriek. 

"You?!" a familiar voice thundered. "Do you not have eyes?"

"Yes, I have eyes, Lord Cummings." you confirmed under the glares of his entourage. "I will make sure to pay attention to the smell of sewage next time."

Lord Cummings was a thin, old hawkish looking man and if it had been in your power you would have chosen anyone else but him to run into. He had high standing with the elite of the city and despite having been one of the biggest supporters of Gortash, he had mysteriously never faced any consequences for it. He was petty and slippery, in a word you hated him. 

Red spots blotched his face, but he held his tongue.

"I will see you at the Lord's meeting, peasant."

He nodded to his escort and they strodded off to the dressing rooms. 

You left your clothes in the dressing room, grabbed the towel eager to cleanse yourself and forget everything. The room opened into the entrance hall where corridors lead to the central pool but also to the smaller more secluded spots. The bathhouse was a place where many deals were made because its secluded smaller pool rooms offered privacy and the house was considered a neutral space, not belonging to any one organization. That day you hoped for some quiet alone time in the relaxing chambers submerged in the clean waves. 

You passed the fountain and made your way down a side corridor checking the rooms for an empty one. The walls transitioned from bricks to chiselled rock as the hallway burrowed into the hill under the upper city. You found an empty room near the end of the corridor and pulled the curtain at the door close behind you. Torches lit the room and their flames reflected in the pool at the centre. The circular hole in floor was about twice your height in diameter, with narrow stairs leading down in to the spring water. 

In the corner stood a small washbasin filled with fresh water to clean yourself before you could plunge into the pool. You grabbed the ladle and rinsed your body. Your hand mechanical splashed the water around your nether regions, and you groaned disapprovingly at the slickness between your folds. You washed it away and when you were satisfied with your level of cleanness you walked to the edge of the pool.

Runes glowed in sea-green at the bottom of the pool, warming the cold spring water to a gentler temperature. You descended into the pool and let its cool embrace sooth your soul.

The light from the torches reflected on the disturbed surface of the pool and you watched the patterns form and fade away, only for new ones to emerge in their stead. You lost yourself in the moment, sitting on the under water ledge and letting the water lap at your hot skin. 

A touch ghosted up your ankle and your eyes snapped down. You were still alone and nothing seemed to be touching you, and yet as you looked you felt it again.

"Oh gods, again?" you hissed.

Your body tingled all over with pleasure that wasn’t yours. Your core pulsed, screaming to be filled. You wanted to cry, you wanted to scream, you wanted to wring a neck.

"I’m going to kill that insolent Incubus."

You checked that the curtain was still closed and listens intently for any movement outside, but there was nothing. The hallway was silent, and no sound from the next room either. You could almost feel the stretch of something entering you, but it wasn't satisfying, no, it made your arousal worse. You bit your lips in frustration, but you had already decided on a course of action.  Your hand found its way between your legs, and you pushed them into your hot, slick hole.

After you finished, you lay still on the edge of the water, feeling the opposite of relaxed and clean. Footsteps clattered along the hallway, stopped in front of the curtain and an employee of the bathhouse, a human woman, came into the room, eyes to the floor.

"Excuse the interruption, dear patron, but a letter has arrived for you. I’ll leave it on the table."

She bowed out, before you could ask who it was from, and left you with the mysterious letter. You dried off your hands and picked the parchment up. The paper was heavy, expansive.

"The Lady in pool room 16" was written on one side in an elegant script and dark red ink, but no sender was indicated, just a red wax seal with a design you didn't recognize. You broke the seal and opened the letter. In the same elegant handwriting, the letter read:

"Meet me at Sharess' Caress tonight

   -R."

"R?" you asked out loud. A smell hit your nose, and you held the paper closer to get another whiff. Brimstone.

You were adamant to ignoring the letter and went about your day as if nothing had happened. For the rest of the day you helped out Vicar Humbletoes at the Stormshore Tabernacle, swiping the floors, buying fresh flowers and throwing out one or two troublemakers. Like this, you spent your day and when evening came you went back to your house as normal. While you lit a fire in the oven, part of you expected that your evening would be interrupted, but nothing happened, and you turned in for the night.

Two more days passed without any signs of the devil. That did not mean however that Haarlep gave you a rest, and you wondered who they were luring into their bed all the time, as every few hours a shiver ran down your spine and the arch flared up in your gut. You tried to relieve yourself from time to time, but it seemed to be less and less effective.

In the evening of the third day, after you had received the letter, you were back at the bathhouse in an empty pool room deep in the bedrock, maybe it was even the same one you had accepted the delivery of the letter from Raphael? You had not paid much attention to the room numbers.

The last night had not been very restful and the consecutive day did the rest, you hoped the bath would sooth your spirits. You stepped into the crystal clear water and let its gentle waves cool your heated core. Hopefully, you had a few hours before Haarlep used your body again. You closed your eyes and cleared your mind for a round of silent prayers to Helm, the God of Protectors and Guardians for some peace. 

Footsteps came closer, but you didn’t think anything of it until you heard the curtain rustle and a sultry voice said, "You don’t mind some company, do you, pet?"

Part 2

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[vacantgodling]

the quest for perfect a labyrinth honey loaf

cuz of the ask multi sent me i got inspired to write a little thing. i’m not narratively confident in this wip yet cuz i mostly build i don’t write 💀💀 but i thought it would be fun to write a lil thing so.

wip: the chronicles of lathsbury (tcol)

character(s): sir mukul brio & miona winfrey

mukul once again fails to temper labyrinth honey 😅

notes: miona is from diisai and has an accent and by god i will write it out :) it’s not as bad as erik’s or papa’s so yall will live lol

“Right—issit safe tha’t A’m standin’ in here with you then?” Miona’s voice cracked a little on the last word, and she had very noticeably gone from amiable and chipper to apprehensive the moment Mukul told her what was bubbling away in the boiler on the stove. Mukul grunted. “That’s not a yes!” She said—but even she could admit, it smelled absolutely heavenly; syrupy almost, but richer in depth. Miona found it hard to put her finger on what exactly the scent was, but that only added to her worry: there was only one reason that her friend and sort-of guild superior, was standing in the kitchen with a full helm and suit of armor on, underneath a ridiculously scorched apron—standing near a foot away to swirl a ladle through the boiler’s contents… he was dealing with live Labyrinth honey.

That was the funny thing about Labyrinth honey—it was sort of a creature of its own… or at least as best as any Terranean bestiary for the past few hundred years could guess. It possessed a small level of ars, and enough sentience to act as a sticky trap for its prey—usually smaller creatures or bugs. But still a sticky treat just like honey. It wasn’t fully on the mimicry scale since unlike other creatures it didn’t have the ability to shift beyond this particular capability—but in lieu of being able to hide it had exactly one defense mechanism….

“Mukkie… A’think it’s starting to boil over…”

“Shut up.” He hissed, but his voice sounded worried. He reached out with his ladle and pushed the sentient sap back into the pot, but it clung to the spoon. He tried to shake it off, and the monster pulled, turning into a full tug-o-war match. But as he was distracted, Miona noticed the inevitable.

“Mukkie, it’s gonna pop!”

The knight looked up from where he was wrestling with the ladle and dropped it. “Mio look out!” He was across the kitchen in two bounds and threw his armored body around her just as the entire pot exploded in a fantastic display of heat and pettiness.

When the dust settled, he pulled back. Miona reached up and yanked the helm off of his head. His tan skin was already covered in a fine layer of soot.

“What did’a say about makin’ Labyrinth honey at the guild!” She demanded, though she sounded much nicer than she intended. Mukul muttered something about making it outside under his breath but Miona couldn’t hold the facade for long. She collapsed back against the door, laughing heartily.

“What’s so funny?” He asked, but there was a tired grin in his voice. He kicked the helm for good measure, his whole body tensing when the shock of pain tingled up his spine, only making her laugh more.

“Issit the third batch today?” She asked. “How long do you plan to go on!”

“Well—that’s my last attempt seeing as I don’t have any more honey.”

“Oh poor dear.” Miona strode over and pinched his cheek, wagging it back and forth like an old aunty would. “Do you need me to tell Felicity to get you some more on her next supply run?”

Mukul didn’t say anything for a long minute. Finally, he heaved a heavy, heavy sigh.

“I’ll make you eclairs in return.”

Miona whooped, skipping eagerly out of the kitchen, already thinking of her eclairs as she mentally began the write up for an in house quest.

[becauseimanicequeen]

I read your hilarious post on your bad taste and couldn't believe you mentioned Xena. That was my favorite show as a child too! We have similar taste in qls too.

What are your favorite ql characters though? I tend to like the darker kind. It would be interesting to read your thoughts.

Have a nice day.

Hi, Anon.

Glad to meet a fellow Xena lover.

When it comes to QL characters, my taste is similar to the QLs in that post you mentioned. I’m usually drawn to the bad bitches. So, here are the…

Bad bitches that have me in a chokehold.

My memory is a bit fucked, but these are the ones I can remember off the top of my head right now.

*spoilers ahead, so read at your own peril*

Tan/New (DFF)

Everything started with his brother disappearing and ended with him torturing the people responsible with their worst fears and deepest secrets. All the while having a backup plan knowing his closest ally would turn on him. New is no dumbass. He's a determined, prepared, avenging manipulator. And this bad bitch was determined to avenge his brother (and his own suffering) even if it killed him. I don't know about you, but I love a man who knows what he wants.

Todd (Not Me)

On the topic of manipulation... This prince charming put his lover (you can't convince me they weren't) into a coma while manipulating his lover's twin brother to join a gang whose mission is to take down the man who stands in the way of making Todd the king of Thailand's business world. Master manipulator at its finest (and he's fine as fuck). What's not to love?

Black (Not Me)

He was put into a coma by his lover (again, you can't convince me they weren't) and paid back in the same coin because this bitch is petty as fuck. And I love him for it.

Ai Di (Kiseki: Dear to Me)

This colorful and feisty little shit had me in a chokehold from the first moment I saw him. He runs head-first into fights, can kick ass (and do), and is often manhandled by his "adoptive" brother/best friend/crush while kicking and screaming. And let's not forget he's petty and admits it.

Vegas (KinnPorsche)

This bitch with daddy issues is a walking, talking toxic issue from start to finish in KinnPorsche. He drugged Porsche to assault him (and get under his cousin's skin), killed Tawan whom he only hooked up with to take down his cousin, captured and tortured Pete only to fuck him when the pet hedgehog died, not to forget he sat in Tankhun's seat at the dinner table (I mean, where are his fucking manners? lol)... And this is just a summary. But it's also because of all of this that Vegas is my favorite character in KinnPorsche.

Boston (Only Friends)

He's a slut. That's it. He doesn't need more context. Give me a slut, and a toxic one at that, and I'll love them forever. I know, I've got issues... But so does Boston, which is why I love him.

And the most recent bad bitch to come into my life…

Ming (My Stand-In)

It's too soon for me to say anything substantial about Ming (since only one episode is out and I haven't read the novel). BUT. It took less than an hour for this man to grab me by the throat... and I let him. It took him less than an hour to claim ownership of my soul... and I let him (I even begged him to during the scene in the gif above). This man is trouble. And I love trouble. I won't defend his actions, but I will love him.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again... I need this bad bitch to break Joe’s heart into a million little pieces (because we all know it’s happening anyway). I need him to be toxic. I need him to be a problem. I need him to the THE PROBLEM.

And when he realizes what he's done, I need him to pay for it by crawling through hell, only to beg on his knees for forgiveness when he realizes Joe is back, and then pay with his own blood when he tries his utmost to stitch Joe’s heart back together. Just give me the pain!

I love every single one of these characters. And I love that I love them.

I know, it’s a me-problem. But at least I'm aware of it.

I’m sure I’ll remember more characters that have me in a chokehold as soon as I hit publish on this. But, at least this is a start for now.

Thanks for your ask.

[luvliewriting]

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A More Worthy Prize

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18+ MDNI!

Pairing: Low Honour!Arthur Morgan x F.Reader

Warnings: a little bit of plot but mainly just porn, choking (kinda), a little cnc, rope, fingering, penetration (p in v), a little bit of knife play

Summary: A pretty heavy bounty was placed on your head at least to Arthur's knowledge, but when he finds out how much your bounty actually is, he decides there's another way that he can be repaid

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Something was so erotic with the way you felt his fingers dig into the skin of your wrist so tightly, sure to leave a bruise not that it was to matter, you would be caged like a bird not much longer. The devil stranger was here for a reason, for a little weight in his pocket and a noose to be placed around your throat. Your crime wasn't anything bad even if the sheriff tried to make it seem so horrid; you killed a man after he got too handsy on you in a saloon and now you were to be hanged for your justice being served, as you saw it.

You knew of your arousal between your legs when he chased you from your hiding spot, making you wish he would just grab you and treat you like a ragdoll. Onto the leaf covered ground of fall, he towered you, rope in his steady rough hand as his other hand gripped your wrist. You stared at the man, the man that would cause you to be hanged, and it turned you on in the most erotic way any person ever had. This game of cat and mouse, the thrill, you knew he felt the same but was trying to deny it.

"How much is the clown paying you?" was all you had asked, trying to pull your most innocent act possible staring up at the man, feeling the skin of his palm against you and how tight his grip was on your flesh. It made your mind rot, thinking of how the rest of his skin would feel, how tight he would be able to hold onto your throat...

He smirked, his hat tipped down to hide his gorgeous lust filled eyes, "money is money, Vixen." His foot buried itself under your side before he kicked softly, pushing you down onto your stomach as he stepped behind you, pulling your hands behind your back as he tied them, making sure to tighten them just a little harder seeing your helpless form, "quite a petty crime though, killing a drunken fool?"

"Drunken fool had it coming, he deserved every drop of blood that came from his throat," you spat. Your wrists ached from the burn of the rope, a chuckle erupting from his throat as he knelt down in front of you. His hand grabbed the back of your neck forcing you to look up at him, into those darkened eyes of lust. Your hair was touselled and messed, covering most of your face as you felt his fingers move across your face, moving your hair out of your face. He stared at you, some sort of feeling was evedent on his face as he shook his head, "last I checked it wasn't a worthy price, I can pay you more if you release me sir."

He was in thought, the brim of his hat covered those eyes again as he felt his need grow within his pants, he knew what he wanted and no money could make him pass something as beautiful as you up. He licked his lips, hand going from the back of your neck to your lips that he traced with his thumb, "would you submit to me?"

"Submit?" was he getting at what you thought? You weren't so sure but if it was, your body was already given off the answer.

The Bounty Hunter stopped what was doing and calmly pulled himself up, sounding almost surprised by your words, "you've peaked my interest Vixen." A knife was released from its holder on his belt, tracing down your spine making you shiver before it reached in between your wrists, pulling as you were released from the ropes. You released your hands from behind your back, your eyes catching his as he smirked, a hand reached down to you, "Arthur."

"Y/N," your hand met with his, pulling you to your feet and off of the dirt that covered your torn outfit. Arthur backed you into the bark of a nearby tree, his eyes scanning your body as you suddenly felt so small, pressing yourself against the tree as he captured you.

"I know," was all that was said.

A moment of silence followed as his voice echoed through the poorly lighted woods. For few long seconds, Arthur's face remained emotionless as an ice mask, gazing at you from the height of his taller stature. He gave a deep sigh, rising his hand to your chin as he gently took it between his fingers, bending on you so to bring your faces closer. Your heart leaped as your lips almost touched, and you swore, his breath seemed to change when the sides of his mouth suddenly curled into a grin, "I'm gonna need payment."

Before you could even answer nor notice it, Arthur's lips leaned on yours. A sweet taste of bourbon inhaled your senses, his knee slipping in between your legs parting them under your torn skirt. He had one hand on your neck, light pressure against your veins and the other was tracing down your body to underneath your skirt raising your left leg to wrap around his own, pulling Arthur closer.

His hips grinded against yours, earning a gasp as his crotch started to press right between your legs. You felt the tingle go through your body and meet between your legs, the most twisted way you've ever been turned on. Just a few minutes ago he had you tied up and on the ground, now you were craving him to be inside of you. The bark of the tree digging into your skin as he tugged at the laces of your corset, pulling it loose along with your shirt. Now in only a skirt as the air bit your barren skin, too hot from Arthur's lips leaving yours to assault your throat to notice the cold.

You bit your lower lip, clenching your fists hard by feeling him kiss all the way down along your jugular, eventually finding a very tender area near the crook of your neck. His lips sucked hard on that special spot, teasing the bundle of nerves underneath before starting to pull at the skin, menacing to leave a noticeable lovebite. His other hand moving past the cloth of your skirt to between your thighs, his thumb caressing the skin over your undergarments.

"May I?" he asked so tenderly when he left your throat, his free hand holding onto the strings that kept your skirt together. Unable to release the words, you watched him chuckle before he pulled on the string, the skirt falling to the ground with the leaves. His hand returned back between your legs, teasing you.

He was still clothed, a sort of abuse of power rushed over him. Seeing how vunerable you were, almost totally barren to him. Anyone on the trail could have ridden past and seen you like this with him, and it excited him. He wanted people to see, he wanted people to see him with you, your hand clasped over your mouth as his thumb circled your clit over the fabric.

"Let me remove this for you," you didn't fight it, you just sat there and watched as he removed the fabric that kept him from having full control over you. Now you were truly naked, he looked at you as he licked his two fingers and brought them down south. Not like he needed to with how aroused you were by him. It was practically dripping down your thighs.

Your mouth opened with a suffocated gasp, eyes staring wide at the dark night sky. Your hips quivered at the new sensation, not having the time to even get used to it as his fingers hooked and moved gingerly out and in, hitting that exact spot. You balled your hand into Arthur's shoulder at a bruising grip, your mouth covered by your hand to stop your moans. Sucking air between clenched teeth as you grew hotter.

His fingers stopped inside of you, you felt his other hand meet your chin making you look at his face as he purred, "I want you eyes on me vixen." His fingers shifted again, slipping out of you to your clit that he circled slowly. You wanted to snap your eyes shut but he stopped you, removing your hand from your mouth, "let me hear you."

Your body shivered, staring your eyes into Arthur's. You trusted him, you felt safe with him. It was the oddest feeling. But you didn't get to focus on it long. His hands went underneath both of your thighs picking you up of the ground and wrapping your legs around his waist. He leaned you against the tree, removing his cock from his straining pants.

You squeezed your eyes shut as another moan made its way up your throat, unmuffled by your palm. You heard Arthur hum, feeling his cock against your folds, lubricating himself in your wetness, the warmth radiating from your flesh as he felt himself throb, wanting nothing more than to bury himself in your flesh.

"You ready?" He asked, making you look into his eyes.

You nodded, feeling his lips attached to yours as he buried himself into you slowly inching in more and more till he was balls deep into you. Feeling your cunt squeeze his cock so deliciously he could have finished right there, but he wanted enjoy this, unknownst if he was ever gonna enjoy the feel of your flesh again.

"Fuck woman," he murmured into your lips, leaning his forehead into yours as he moved his hips against yours, hearing the small whines and moans leave your lips. Like a sweet kind of poison, was it wrong? Sure but a poison that he would go back to over and over again if it made him feel this amazing.

"Arthur-" you mueled, so innocently, "harder, please."

You were gorgeous. To the point Arthur almost couldn't believe all this was actually happening for real. The sounds of your whines and moans were all he could listen to an dnevr get tired of, the feel your skin and lips, your cunt made him drunk.

Your nails dug into his shoulders, not that he complained. That was a pain he would do with later, if anything the feeling spurred him on further as he went faster, harder, your skin smacking his was beautiful music to his ears.

Arthur typically a more quiet man but right now, he couldn't stop th groans leaving his mouth as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. The tightness dizzying him to the point to notice only few seconds later the considerable amount of fluids that were now trickling out from your cunt that squeezed his cock.

That was the tipping point for Arthur, the feel of your cunt squeezing and lubricating him more made him ram himself as deep as he could bury his cock inside, feeling the euphoria of his finish. He knew it was a bad idea to finish inside but he couldn't help himself, and you didn't seem to mind all that much with your heavy breathes and whines in his ear.

Against you, a standing man held you up, trembling. His body still connected to yours, his body unmoving except for the irregular shudders that worked all their way through you. His cock was still pulsing with aftershocks, a consequence of the overwhelming orgasm. He let out a throaty sigh, expression of his relief as he waited to look up from the crook of your neck to your face.

He moved out of you slowly, letting your feet meet the ground again, seeing you cling to the tree for support. He helped you redress yourself after tucking himself back into his pants. A strand of hair in front of your eyes that he tucked back, catching your chin between his fingers as he left a lingering sweet kiss on your lips.

Whistling, a mare came to his aid. He tipped his hat at you now fully clothed and able to contain yourself. Arthur gave a sort of sweet smile, "I'll see you again soon, Vixen."

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Thank you for reading, please like and reblog as it really does help me out and keep me motivated to write :)

Taglist: @margofiore

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[megamindsecretlair]

I know you’ve seen Mea Culpa👀

You know I did 🫠

It was good! It wasnt AS bad as I was thinking. It definitely couldve been better. Idk why Tyler Perry thinks its a flex to write, direct, and produce these movies in 20 days but he clearly has no real friends. No one's telling him to fn quit. And he needs some real therapy.

Its becoming abundantly clear how he really feels/thinks about Black women and men, specifically dark skinned Black people.

Either he wanted to fuck Trevante or wanted to be that character, maybe some combination of the two, but lawdt. I have more questions at the end of this than answers. But I'll take more Trevante. 🥵 baby, the way I want to rewrite that entire movie 🫠🫠🫠

Like forgive my ego, but it couldve been handled so much better! Spoilers under the cut!!!

See, me personally, I feel like Kelly played it entirely too cold. She was cleary bitter about her aint shit husband and I dont condone cheating, but if there was ever a good reason for it 😪

The mom was entirely too fuckin nasty towards her and Charlise. Entirely too much venom. Especially considering that you don't find out why until the last 30mins of the movie. And it comes off like emotional incest, because why is she that invested her in sons' lives???

I still dont know what happened with the blood and bone fragments found in the paintings. Sure you can say it was planted by the brother in law, but I needed that explicitly stated. Why were there paintings in the brother in laws house? Why did Zyair paint all over that lady's portrait?

Were they together? Chuz he said they werent and then referred to her as a gf? And why was Hydie hiding out in the DR, scared out of her mind if Zyair posed no threat to her?

I also dont know why TP loves hitting on Black women. Like that part of it was sooo unnecessary. Her WEAK ass husband didnt have to hit her in the end. And TP petty as hell for the bill scene. You KNOW that was in response to his BS commentary on how Black women need to be happy with the bare minimum.

Zyair could have been more interesting. He came off so pushy? More worried about getting her in bed than the seduction. The corruption. Slowly driving her insane with lust. I didnt like that she hopped on him after fucking the snow patrol, and in response to her weak ass husband. Like he shouldnt have been a factor. Fuck him 🤷🏽‍♀️

Plot holes aside, I genuinely did like it. I juss wish there was more than one sex scene between them. Because fuhhh that was hot 🥵🥵 Ill be honest, I wanted a court drama 😪🤣🤣

I do like that she didnt stay with him in the end and he continued bout his fuck boy activites. Hes so disrespectful. Jeebus, I need him 🥵🥵🥵