#its the little things that make my face scrunch up in just so much discomfort

[sugary-daydreams3]

Quiet inbetween [Sukuna x Reader]

Summary: Collections of quiet, cozy, intimate moments you share with Sukuna, who thinks you two won't last a year. Someone who used to live a wild, fast-paced, loud lifestyle couldn't possibly be fit for a long-term relationship. But he doesn't know that you're the one he needed this whole time.

Word Count: 3.7K words

Rating: Mostly fluff with a little spice (sexual content) at the end, but no full explicit content. Mostly T with a little M.

A/N: Happy holidays y'all. This might be my last fic posted in the year so I hope you guys transition into the new year safely. Goodness, do I love writing my A.U. version of Sukuna. So fun and flirty that he makes me blush sometimes and I control what he says. But I guess that's a good thing, right. Sadly my next fic is dealing with a not so fun topic, haha. (It's Gojo-centric, so you might know where I'm going with this) Anyways, stay safe out there and I'll see you again in 2025. Enough yapping from me, enjoy!

Normal, quiet moments tend to bring discomfort within Sukuna. Dating trouble as a teen limited his time to sit and enjoy the small pleasures of life. He was all about the grand, overwhelming, taboo pleasures that one wouldn’t dare chase but rather daydream about. Or worse, make simulation games about and live out their guilty pleasures vicariously through fictional characters. But with taboo pleasures come consequences which landed him in jail for some time.  

Within the year after his release, he met you which slowly inspired him to alter his fast, vicious lifestyle. You introduced him to things he never would have found himself participating in. Things he used to tease his twin brother for being a sheep for society for. A mom-and-pop coffee shop was one of them.  

“How do you drink this shit?” Sukuna sticks out his tongue. Tanned liquid trapped in your mouth almost spills. Air blows from your nose, signifying your amusement at Sukuna’s first experience with coffee.  

Swallowing down the first sip of your coffee, your eyes admire Sukuna’s childlike distaste for your go-to morning beverage. “Because I order mine with cream, sugar, and caramel. You’re pretty much drinking burnt black water.”  

“Why didn’t you tell me that before?”   

You give him a “really?” look. “I said you should start out with the caramel Frappuccino but you said, and I quote.” You notch your voice down several pitches lower. “The hell I look like drinking that sissy shit.”  

“You could have recommended me any other drink but this. This was a terrible first impression.”  

“I can order you another one to make up for it.”  

Sukuna pouts. “I’ll pass. I fear I’ll be disappointed again.”  

“Sukuna, you just drink straight black coffee, you can’t write the whole thing off just because you had one variation of it. That’s like saying “I hate potatoes” because you ate unsalted, lukewarm fries.” Sukuna scrunches his face.  

“That’s not the same.”  

“Yes, it is. It’s a perfect comparison.”  

“It’s two completely different scenarios. You really thought you schooled me with that, huh.”  

“Shut up. I’m ordering you a new drink.”  

Waiting for his redemption cup, Sukuna stares at you typing away on your laptop computer. Your hair curtains over part of your face, tempting Sukuna to reach over and fix it. Yet the messy hair curtain highlights your beauty so effortlessly, he couldn’t stop adoring your natural radiance.  

The strong smell of roast occasionally makes its mark. Ranges of chatter mingle with the loud cycle of brewing and baking. Quirky, cheesy posters hang all over, providing a drowning sense of positivity and relatability. Generic chill music slithers through the atmosphere, failing to chill Sukuna’s social anxiety. Thankfully, his new drink just came to save the moment.  

Taking a drink from the flat white laced with sugar and cream, he sits back to allow his brain to register. His eyebrows raise with a small smack of his mouth, giving you some hope that coffee redeemed itself on the oh so great Sukuna’s tastebuds.   

“Well?” You ask impatiently.  

“Not bad. Could use more sugar but it’s drinkable.” Sukuna reviews. A pleased smile killed your worry. “I’m glad you gave it a second chance. I hope we can have more coffee dates like this.”  

Sukuna narrows his eyes. “This is a date?”   

Your eyes roll. “No this is a job interview.”  

“I’m not one for customer service but if I get to look at you all day long and the pay is good then sign me up.” You hate that something as corny as that made you blush.  

“Hush Sukuna, of course this is a date. This is like our twelfth time seeing each other, I like to think all of the time we spent together so far wasn't a waste of time.”  

“Ooh someone’s no-nonsense.” Sukuna smirks, large arms crossed.  

You sigh, “I’m just over the hookups and the flings. Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t just one-and-done me.”  

“Eh, all of the one-night conquests and strictly sex ordeals were starting to get stale. You got a nice face with a body to match. You’re on no bullshit and are fun for the most part. You haven't bored me yet so I don’t mind continuing this.”  

“Yet?”  

“I tend to get bored with my women so I wouldn't hold hope of this lasting past a year. Just letting you know so the heartbreak will hurt a little less.”  

You smirk, amused by his lack of filter. “Well, a year will be record breaking compared to my recent relationships these last few years. So bring it.”  

Your polished nails navigate the grassy fields of dusty pink, natural hair oil inked on your fingertips. Your poor thighs are weighed down under his dumbbells for arms. Your other hand caress Sukuna’s right bicep, fixating on the jet black tattoos contrasting with his pale skin. He rubs your left knee as he rests against your stomach.  

Sukuna releases a deep sigh, letting go of the temporary stresses of life. He’ll rather die than admit it but this is what he mostly looks forward to when he goes about his day. It took him a while to get used to you being positioned behind him, often side eyeing the first few times you two were like this.   

Call it trust issues. Slam the non-medical diagnosis of PTSD resulted from a rough upbringing and life as a criminal. Or if we’re really getting psychological, throw out the fancy “internalized misanthropy” word. Re-fucking-gardless, he’s always been highly aware and on guard whenever people are in close proximity to him, ever since he was a kid.  

Now, the more he allows himself to turn his brain off in your lap the easier you hear him lightly snoring within several minutes. You giggle as his resting figure emits loud snores thirty minutes in of scalp scratching and head caressing.   

“Sweet dreams.” You reach down to peck warmth on his forehead.  

Your wishes go unnoticed as child-like ease warps itself across face tattoos and a sharp jawline. A surprisingly dynamic clash.  

Your laughter saturates the kitchen space accompanied by music from the vintage radio. Flour dressed your behemoth all over, making it the sight of the century. Sukuna frowns as he attempts to smooth the pizza dough with the rolling pin. Tears edge your eyes; the catastrophe he was causing was funnier than any standup comedy.  

“Hush. You're breaking my focus.” Sukuna was struggling to knead the dough enough to be a thin foundation. It usually ends up shaping to be a deep dish or just a regular sized pizza. This was his third effort to mold the pizza, with two “epic failures” baking in the oven.  

When your laughter demoted to light chuckles, you rub his arm for support. “You know I can help you shape the dough. It took me fifteen tries before making an objectively decent pizza.” Sukuna shakes his head.  

“That’s because you were the one making it. It’s gonna be perfect this time.” Sukuna smooths out the dough and smirks at his “perfectly” thin pizza. You roll your eyes and walk over to gather the cheese and other toppings.  

The pizza rises within the oven, gluing the toppings within the cheese. Sukuna watches it carefully from the kitchen island, like his life depended on whether this Thursday night dinner was great or not.   

A marathon of T.V. commercial ramblings was bugging background noise as you tidied up. The other two pizzas sat on the cooling rack, being forgotten tasty mistakes. Flour ages his hair many decades, snowing down his chest with every tiny movement. He turns to see an unlikely troublemaker look down at him, a small hill of flour ready to be thrown from your palm. Sukuna narrows his eyes with a challenging look.  

“You’re playing a dangerous game, darling.”  

“Game on.” You threw it, igniting a two-man war.  

The remaining time for the perfect pizza to cook filled with flour fights, spotting majority of the kitchen with white powder. The cooking timer goes off as you two lay across the table exchanging flour and zeal between prolonged smooches.

This epic fantasy was seducing your imagination during the mundane hours of the late evening. You sense Sukuna spying on you and your book from the corner of your eye. However, the clever arrangement of words trailing above your bookmark helps you ignore him.  

“How do you read these things? That shit looks bigger than The Bible.” Sukuna pokes at the spine of your novel, trailing over the gold-engrained lettering.  

“I don’t judge stories based on length. If it’s engaging enough then I wouldn’t mind reading three hundred-plus pages of something.”  

“Where do you find the time to invest in a story that long?” Sukuna wasn’t even teasing at this point; he was genuinely curious.  

“People watch 10 seasons worth of television or animes with more than 100 episodes.”  

“Watching TV and reading are different no matter how much you try to make them feel the same. I can simply turn on the T.V. and watch 100 episodes of something without exerting much energy. You have to sit up, read so many words, and decipher hundreds of pages worth of story. It’s not the same.”  

“True, I’ll give you that. I just find it funny that people draw the line at consuming a story through reading only because you have to put a little more effort in it.” You bounced back.  

Sukuna rubbed his chin. “I remember being into poetry and haikus a lot as a teenager. But I started getting involved in other shit so I lost interest along the way.”   

You snap to him, no longer being a silent witness to a passionate kissing scene. “You like poetry?”  

“I suppose. I always liked how poets managed to craft thoughts so elegantly. Perfectly describing the complicated or unsaid.”  

“You know the local bookstore down the street has a whole section of poetry books. What’s your favorite poets? I could buy you some of their latest work.” Your comforter became a temporary bookmark with your book lying face down.  

“Hmm, I don’t really have a favorite poet. I used to buy a bunch of random poetry or haiku books and kept the ones that stuck with me. There is one writer that I really like though...”  

You wait in anticipation as you witness him in thought. Simple things like racking his brain makes him a cutie. Sukuna snaps his fingers.  

“Ahh, Yosa Takahama is his name. His work is usually written in Japanese but some translators re-publish them in their mother’s tongue. His work is hard to find around here though. I don’t even know how I managed to snag one of his books in the first place.”  

Despite the challenge, you were determined to get it for him. “I’ll figure out a way to get you one. That way we could be reading buddies.”  

“You don’t have to do all of that, doll. You’ll rip your hair out trying to find those books. I’m fine watching you ignore me in favor of a book that can knock your teeth out.” You chuckle.  

During the rest of the night, you noticed the boredom on Sukuna’s face as he mindlessly consumes television. The least you can do is try to hunt down this haiku book for him. Dating him for some time, he confessed to losing touch with so many hobbies he grew up with over the last few years. You wanted to bring that inner child back to life, killed by proving to the world how tough he was.  

Getting him to read something that actually interests him can be another way to embrace the innocent pleasures in life. You can tell he misses that wild delinquency some days, but you hope he doesn’t miss it enough to end this relationship over. If you can find it, hopefully it can be a building block that rebuilds his new path after leaving the old behind. Anything to help you be closer to him.  

6 weeks later 

Sukuna emerges from the bathroom. The odors of the food he cooked from his restaurant today were replaced with standard soap and his natural scent. Like every other night, you sat with your book, seemingly ignoring Sukuna’s lingering stare.  

After dressing himself, he sinks on the mattress and attempts to lay against his pillow. His thick neck isn't met with the soft cushion but instead a hard surface in the middle area. He stares at his pillow, offended for it not providing comfort, so he lifts it up. A white hardcover book reveals.  

“What’s this?” He asked, not turning to you yet. You shift from the words to your boyfriend’s confusion. “I don’t know where that came from. Maybe the book fairy paid you a visit.” You played dumb.  

“You’re so corny.” He holds up the book.  

“A corny girl you’ve been dating for almost a year now.”  

“Quiet. I’m trying to see what this is.” Sukuna didn’t even examine the title, the pages of the book flutter until he lands on a random page. He reads aloud.  

“Vindictive winter / A white, mighty rabbit looks / betrayed by the king / ...wait.” Sukuna looks at you and you copy his shocked expression.  

“This is Yosa Takahama’s stuff. How did you even get this? This must have cost you a fortune.”  

“It was costly and took me weeks to find a readable copy but the look on your face right now makes it worth it. I wanted you to read with me instead of being a T.V. zombie. Even if that means reading mind fuckery haikus.” You chuckle.  

Sukuna grabs your waist from the side and unleashes many wet pecks around your cheek, neck, and upper chest. You giggle as you brush his hair and hug him back.  

“I appreciate it.”  

“No big deal.” You replicate his cool cat version of “You’re welcome.” that he usually throws at you. Sukuna smirks at the playful imitation.  

The rest of the evening is spent with you two lost in your own worlds of literature. Your brains mixed imagination, broadened perspectives, and emotional intelligence from honeyed words inked against the white.

“I’m too big for this tub. You barely have any room to stretch your legs.” Sukuna commented.  

He adjusted his position behind you, the bubbles shifting from his large body. Your feet rested on the tip of the tub to keep from smushing against the porcelain. You turn to him, offering a reassuring smile. He snickers at your ridiculous face mask, particularly the cucumbers concealing your eyes.  

“No, you’re not. You say that every time you get in with me. You’re fine Kuna, really.”  

Sukuna rests his arms around the top edges of the tub, leaning back to make himself comfortable in his slightly cramped soak. The warm water, Epsom salt, and meditation music playing from your phone kneads away the hidden tension that plagues his body from the everyday.  

“Before I met you, I haven't taken a bath in almost fifteen years.” He confesses.  

“That sounds so disgusting out of context.” You cringe. Sukuna chuckles.   

“You know what I mean.”  

“I can’t imagine going that long without a bath. Baths are way better than showers.” You admitted.  

“Showers are for a quick wash. Baths are more for relaxation.”  

“I shower for fifteen minutes minimum, thirty-five minutes max. I spend about three minutes just letting the hot water hit my body and think about whatever. There’s no way I can just shower for ten minutes or less.”  

“Is that why you’re so smoking.” Sukuna flirted. You shake your head, “That was so corny, Kuna. C’mon you can flirt better than that.”  

“You’re right. I just wanted to see your reaction.”   

You two enjoy each other’s company. The heat protects you from winter and the sheet of bubbles float around and pop within. Sukuna arms lay over yours, rubbing over your wrist. Sukuna focuses on your face and develops a sense of mischief.  

“Babydoll.”  

“Yeah?”  

“Turn around for me.”  

You quirk a brow but obeyed by slowly turning his way. In a swift motion, Sukuna moves forward and bites off the cucumber sitting on your right eye. Your right vision sees Sukuna munching on your edible eye mask.  

“Really, Kuna? You couldn’t resist temptation to eat that?” You scolded. You take off the other cucumber, abandoning your hopes to keep your eyelids nice and fresh. Sukuna steals the other cucumber from your hand and flings it in his mouth.  

“You’re impossible to relax with sometimes.”  

“Thanks for the snack.” Sukuna mumbles through chewing.  

You sigh then lay against his chest and close your eyes. If he was going to interrupt your beauty routine the least he can do is be your pillow.

Sukuna big toe hugs your own after caressing your right foot. Both of your feet poke out from the thick blanket, suffering from the gentle lashes of the nippy air condition. You rest your head on his squishy but firm chest, goosebumps forming from his rough hands brushing your skin.   

“We should light the fireplace.” You suggested.  

Sukuna let out a lazy sigh, “What you really mean is that I should light it.”  

“Yeah, you should.”  

“I could but I fear I’ll turn into a popsicle.”  

You giggle. “Hey, at least you’ll taste good.”  

Sukuna smirks, “I already taste good. You should know out of anyone.”  

You playfully shrug. “Eh, you’re alright. No fine dining though.”  

“Oh really?”  

“Yep.”  

“How about you taste this then.”  

Sukuna leans down and traps your lips in the moment. His lips were smaller than yours yet they managed to govern the heat stirring between each lingering kiss. The frigid air in the room is forgotten in your minds as you and Sukuna make out under the grey blanket. After a couple minutes of sensual touching and lip pulls, Sukuna goes for your neck.  

“Well?” Sukuna lands soft bites inches under your chin.  

“I was just kidding earlier but that was...”  

“Better than fine dining?”  

“I don’t know what’s better than fine dining but, yeah, better than that.”  

Sukuna chuckles, “Glad to remind you.”  

Sukuna “accidentally” lands a hard bite just above your collarbone, caging a pleasured groan within closed lips. Sukuna kisses the forming red patch, “Sorry baby, got a little greedy there.”  

“I hope I give you a brain freeze.” You joked, trying to take your mind off the aching spot.  

Sukuna hooks his finger around the side of your silk underwear, his other hand slowly appreciates your ass. “I’m sure it’ll be worth it.”

Your body slowly rocks on top of him, the yellow and orange from the fireplace illuminate your dips and curves. The aftershocks of your second orgasm calm down, giving you the signal to stop riding him. One hand caresses the trimmed hairs sprinkled across Sukuna’s chest. The other traces the small gold chain decorating his pecs. Sukuna squeezes the body fat from your hips then pats your left butt cheek.  

You hop off and lay down on the blanket you set down for your second round. Sukuna pulls off the condom and gets up to throw it away. The contained fire warms your naked body from a distance, defending you from the army of white cold. You hum while the fire entertains you until Sukuna comes back. He’s wearing the boxers he had on earlier with the embroidered knife patterns. Where he got those kinds of boxers you may never know.  

Sukuna drops the pillow he stole from the couch then sits down on the blanket. He pulls you towards him and you two lie down together. You perform his signature trait, pushing his hair back, enabling his wild look. Sukuna traces your spine, quietly admiring both how strong and weak one’s bone structure could be.  

“I never thought I would enjoy silly things like sitting in front of a fireplace during winter.”  

“It’s silly?”  

“Not really. I guess I just associated this with Christmas activities. Christmas always seemed too cheesy to me so I associated things like this as silly holiday stuff.”  

“Yeah, I get it. Sex in front of the fireplace, just silly wholesome Christmas activities.” You joked. You instantly felt Sukuna’s laughter rumble throughout his chest. After calming down he gives your arm a light pinch.  

“You know what I mean.”  

“I’m just happy you allowed me to bring some mellow in your life. I remember when I met you, you were always in some crazy illegal trouble. It seemed like I could barely keep up with you and your fast-paced lifestyle.”  

“Yeah, it was fun for a while, I’ll admit. Even getting caught had some sort of thrill. Now that I’m pushing thirty, I just feel over it.”  

You chuckle, “Not a spring chicken as you used to be.”  

“Yeah. I suppose every hot shot has their limit.”  

“Well, I’m proud that you’re beginning to settle down. I know your brother is too.” You rub his cheek.  

“I was surprised when he offered to help me set up my fight clubhouse. He’s usually against violence and shit.”  

“Maybe he thought that it would be a nice distraction from your life with crime. Even if it meant supporting you doing something he also doesn’t like. Like a lesser of two evils kind of thing.”  

“I never knew someone so predictable yet unpredictable at the same time more than him.” Sukuna said. You giggle then sprawl your hands across Sukuna’s abdomen, trailing over the ridges in a playful matter. Sukuna tender gaze studies your features as he softly pulls little cushions of your skin.  

“Thank you for sticking with me.”  

You look up to see the wild orange shadowing his strong features. His usual too cool-for-school attitude was replaced with a loving nature only reserved for you. A nature molded by small, seemingly insignificant moments sparked by a mutual agreement of casual dating. You plant a few kisses against his jawline then lay back on his chest.  

Before your eyes close for the night, you slur a few words that gets a smile out of Sukuna. “Guess you’re stuck with me now.”  

[sea-buns]

Brennan's uncanny ability to be the shadiest bitch in the room is actually the most terrifying thing

[whats-it-mean]

Period cramps? Never fear, the great 707 is here ☆

i just got my period and i am n o t having it and yknow what i want. i want someone to give me blankets and hot chocolate and tea and hsdksjdl. Also the mysmes brainrot is real so why not combine the two !! its a bit short today but im tired so whatcha gonna do

C/W - Reader is suggested to be AFAB (it's a period comfort fic, what did you expect) but no pronouns or specific gender

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── 

Although he ultimately struggled to express it sometimes, Seeing you all bundled up on the couch, face scrunched up in discomfort, he could feel his own mood souring. You had your nose buried in whatever manga you’d wrapped yourself up in this time, but your focus was all over the place with how much your abdomen hurt. There was no way to think straight through the pain, no matter how much you tried to ignore it, and it bothered him almost as much as it bothered you. It had been a bit since he had slipped out through the entryway with a promise to return soon, with the grin on his face that only meant he was up to something, but you still couldn’t bring yourself to pay too much mind to it.

After about a half hour of you sitting on the couch, stomach aching and barely even reading your book anymore, the jingle from the doorway ensuring your boyfriends return had you directing your gaze to the hallway that led to the door, where said red-haired boy poked his head around the corner, watching you for a reaction.

“Seven…?” You asked, confusion evident on your face as you stared at him, manga now forgotten as it lay abandoned at your side.

He smiled at you, eyes closed while he beamed. “I got you a couple things~” He said, reaching out a hand to showcase the full shopping bag that dangled from his arm.

“Eh--? Why did you--”

He strode over to you, sitting down on the floor next to the couch you sat on as he shushed you, before turning to open the bag. He seemed rather proud of himself as he pulled it open, reaching in and handing you a freshly bought, fluffy blanket in your favorite color, offering it to you with the cutest grin on his face.

“I got you a better blanket, some extra supplies, some hot chocolate…” As he spoke, he laid each item out in a pile, eyeing you from time to time to make sure you were watching him and his little performance. “I got you a heating pad too, Jaehee mentioned once that those are useful. Do you want me to make you the hot chocolate now, or wait a bit?”

You stared at him, completely still as you watched him stare right back, puppy dog eyes on full display. “W- What is… Why……?”

He grinned at you as if it was obvious. Leave it to Seven to make you feel stupid even on your period. “You looked uncomfy, so I wanted to help~ Is that okay?”

Well, how are you meant to say no to that?

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───  End

[roomsofangel]

. . BY YOUR SIDE / DESTROY YOU

# CHAPTER TWO !

synopsis in which you were always the type to push down and never confront your past and the feelings that came with it — all of the pain and regret. but now you’re back at where it all started, having no choice but to face it and feel everything all at once

warnings y/n has a panic attack but its not detailed, only showing an implication that she is but the scene ends before it goes further

wc 1.4k

if you’d like to be added to the taglist please either send an ask in my inbox or leave a comment to be added to the taglist! reblogs and comments are also very appreciated! ^_^

you stretched out your body as someone would an old childhood shirt, bones cracking and falling into a more comfortable place with a quiet satisfied groan before rolled your shoulders back, looking around at the warehouse that was an agreed upon meeting destination. the nostalgia weighed heavy, you could swear you saw droplets of memories splattered around the scene outside and you cringed.

as if your mind was being read, you felt a warm calloused hand on your shoulder, “yeah. me too.” you glanced to see seonghwa who had a similar gaze that mirrored yours, lips pressed together in an attempt to give you a thin lipped but reassuring smile before he patted your back and continued on with his bass that was in his hand, resting in its own case.

part of you wanted to change your mind, but music was your passion. even when things fell apart back then, you still craved music and the arts of being on stage again someday kept you going. however ever since him, you struggled making a name for yourself after. for your own band after he left.

sometimes you could still taste the smoke if you focused hard enough but hongjoong snaps you into reality with a few calls of your name, you follow shortly after with an unsettling feeling in your stomach. just ignore it. you didn’t eat today so that could be it. just ignore it.

“you okay?” mingi noticed your discomfort, his voice a bit lower to keep the conversation between the two of you as he put his drumsticks in his back pocket and you nodded in response. “yeah, just nostalgic.” and he hummed, laughing a bit as a response as the two of you started to walk again to catch up with seonghwa and hongjoong. “yeah.. i feel that.”

you returned the small laugh, looking ahead and watching how hongjoong and seonghwa talked and looked at each other with stars in their eyes even after all these years, even after the three years all of you separated. at times, it feels as if none of you parted ways for that long. you could feel the lump in your throat, but you swallowed it down harshly and kept going. “so, we set up here and then what?” mingi’s voice prompted when the two of you made it to the others

“explore a little, we haven’t been on this side of town in.. what? three years?” hongjoong’s features scrunched up when he attempted to recall, seonghwa mumbled a confirmation while he was kneeled over tying his shoe and making sure everything was settled. “a lot has changed, and trapnest wont be here until another hour so we have time.” hongjoong continued

sooner rather than later, you found yourself walking the same streets that you swore you would never even think about again, much less be back where the air is suffocating and your clothes now felt tight. a lot has changed, only the dread stayed the same. it was a bittersweet atmosphere.

“oh! check it out, sakura boutique is still going strong,” seonghwa’s head motioned ahead, your gaze followed to see the light pink and beige clothing boutique where you used to spend some of your time with the owner. you wiped your damp palms on your hands, “crazy, do you think keomi still works there?” mingi asked before pausing to light the cigarette he had between his teeth, covering enough to block the wind with his hand until he lit up and continued walking.

“beats me, its been three years.” seonghwa shrugged, shoving his hands in his jacket’s pockets. you wondered if keomi still did too, but the last time you two talked she was eager on following after your footsteps and had a ticket to leave with you. the guilt was overwhelming, maybe its best to convince yourself she moved a long time ago and there was a new bubbly employee taking her spot.

exhaling the nicotine, mingi chuckled, “we should stop by there sometime.” he voiced his thoughts out loud as you all continued walking, seonghwa muttering a somewhat agreement while hongjoong only nodded to acknowledge the suggestion but not voice if he would be down for the visit or not. sharing a stolen glance with hongjoong, he lifted his finger to his head and swirled his finger to mimic a ‘this guy is crazy’ expression which made you snort, rushing to brush your hand over your mouth in an attempt to cover it up

“what’s so funny back there?” seonghwa teased, glancing towards you and hongjoong who smiled and tilted his head towards mingi who was focused more on looking around at the familiar shops and some if the new ones you assumed came long after all of you left.

the four of you looked around a bit more, deciding to wander around the shopping center you all used to hang out in a little too much that it seemed as if you lived there. and you weren’t sure how you got here, why your feet began to wander further and further away from your group until you walked into the bittersweet record-shop. you cringed at the scent that filled your nose rather then relished in as before, forcing a smile when an employee greeted you.

your manicured nails grazed some of the records, nearly scoffing at seeing a trapnest vinyl propped up with more of their works, noticing how blackstones were scattered around nearby. even now, you were living in someone’s shadow.

“there you are,” seonghwa chuckled, you only smiled in response, setting the vinyl down and giving him a bit more attention. “here i am,” you voiced back with a soft sigh. “can you believe they still have blackstone albums here?” you questioned with a slight smile and head shake, and seonghwa looked where you head motioned towards with your head and smiled

you noticed his eyes graze over and scan the more bigger shrine for trapnest, “used to be us.” he chuckled, his tone playful, “but it’s nice to see people see listen to us even after..” his voice trailed off and you knew exactly what he was referring to. no one liked to talk about it out loud, or even mention it fully unless it was like this and you only nodded.

“where’s mingi and joong?” you asked to steer the conversation into another direction, the two of you starting to walk down more of the aisles and looking around at more of the albums and vinyls. “food court, came to get you.” he replied, fixing his hair back up into the small ponytail he had it in and you nodded, “yeah i could use some food before going back.” you laughed, patting his shoulder and he playfully nudged you to the side causing the two of you to laugh a bit more before your attention faltered and wandered towards a specific part of the store

the lump in your throat was more prominent than ever, heart racing and stomach dropping. “what are you looking at?” seonghwa asked, before he followed your gaze and his face dropped as well as yours had. “y/n, come on,” he tried to drag you away so you didnt hurt yourself more by staring but you shook your arm out of his grasp

you swallowed harshly, unsure of whether it was okay to move yet or if you needed to hold onto something, “did you know?” you managed to croak out and seonghwa shook his head. “none of us did.” he reassured, voice barely audible and you couldn’t rip your eyes off that poster.

it was a band of five, four guys and a girl who you assumed to be the vocalist but your eyes weren’t on her, they couldn’t seem to hold on anyone except one member with a familiar lock necklace that you still had the key to even now, mockingly staring at you.

mouth dry, you blinked away tears and pulled seonghwa along out of the record shop in a haste, and seonghwa didnt hesitate to follow and the two of you walked and walked with no sign of stopping until you got to the food court where you saw concern gazes immediately from hongjoong and mingi when they noticed

“what happened?!” hongjoong asked, bringing you into his arms immediately and you could feel your knees giving up. no no, you cant do this here. why here? why now?

seonghwa looked at mingi and hongjoong, swallowing before speaking, “san is in trapnest.”

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taglist (open) @yoichiislovie

[jawritter]

If It’s Meant to Be

Chapter 14 (Final Chapter)

Summary: Bad things happen to good people, that’s just the rule of thumb. But sometimes, things happen for a reason, and that reason is so you can find the person you’re meant to be with…

Pairing: Alpha!Beau Arlen x Omega!Reader

Warnings: 18 + ONLY!!! Smut, a little bit of aggressive smut, abo dynamics, knotting, scenting, claiming, marking. Just a smidge of dirty talk. Language. Beau caring a little baggage from Carla’s ass. 

Word Count: 2468

A/N: This fic is completely unbeta’d, so all mistakes are mine! Please do not copy my work! Enjoy!

My Masterlist          Series Masterlist

When Y/N first woke up, she didn’t know what had awoken her from her slumber. For the first time in what felt like years, but was really only about two weeks, Y/N had actually slept. Which is probably why she woke up more than a little disoriented; coupled with being in mostly unfamiliar surroundings. Still, she could not pinpoint what had woken her up, until she sensed it. 

It wasn’t a huge, drastic change in the atmosphere. Nothing Earth moving or world shaking as some better, more colorful worded Omegas than herself had often described it. It was subtle. It was a slight change in his scent, the sudden stiffness in his shoulders, even as he slept soundly next to her, it was the heaviness in which his chest moved with each breath, and slight crease between his perfect brows. The suppressants had worn off, he was in a full rut now. It was time. 

It should have scared her more than it did, and maybe if she were honest with herself, she was a little afraid that somehow, they’d fuck things up again, but she wasn’t afraid of him. She wasn’t afraid of what they were about to do. 

In fact, the more she thought about it as she watched him sleep, knowing well that his rut would get stronger, and it would wake him up soon, that she was sure this is what she wanted. 

When she helped him through the first round of his rut, things were nothing but a blur of hormones and the task at hand. This time, she was able to experience the calm before the storm. She was able to get a glimpse of what the real Beau Arlen looked like. She was able to experience the calm, comforting, safety that she’d have to wake up to in the morning, instead of a cold bed, and another day at a job she didn’t really want to be at. He really was her person. She just didn’t see it at first. She did now. 

Beau grunted heavily, and shifted in his sleep, tightening what was the loose resting of his arm around her waist into a tighter grip as he subconsciously fought to hold onto the first good night’s sleep he’d had in almost as long as she’d been without it. 

The thought of what was to come seemed to light a fire somewhere under her skin, and it burned deep and low in her belly, long before he even opened his eyes to look back at her. 

Still, she felt robbed, not only for herself, but for Beau as well. This is how it should have been from the start. Not the nightmare of an experience that it was for them. All this time they’d spent fighting, misunderstanding and hurting one another, could have been spent just being together and learning one another as an Alpha and his Omega. They couldn’t get that back, so she would just have to settle for making up as much lost time as she could. 

Beau grunted heavier this time, a sound that came as a deep rumble as it made its way up to his throat from somewhere deep down in his chest, and his legs moved as the discomfort started to settle in, and his face scrunched before his olive-green orbs opened slowly, settling on her face. She let herself get lost in the soft, sleepiness of his gaze, knowing well that in his waking moments, that humanity would start to wain more, and the Alpha would start to take his rightful place. 

“Morning,” she said, testing the waters to see if he would even respond, and to her surprise, he smiled softly at her. 

“Mornin’” he murmured roughly, clearing his throat before closing his eyes tightly again. 

“It’s almost time, isn't it?” she questioned, and he nodded before swallowing thickly and opening his eyes to search her face, the slightest hint of a yellow hug starting to form just around his iris, and she knew she had minutes, if that long, before Beau was going to go on hiatus for a while. 

“Almost,” he admitted, “are you sure you’re okay with doing this?” 

“Are you really gonna ask me that, Beau Arlen?” she questioned. “After everything we’ve been through?”

Beau shrugged, letting go of a breath she didn’t know he was holding. “Guess I’m just a gentleman to a fault.”

“We’ll see about that in a few minutes,” Y/N teased, and he snorted, his eyes rolling dramatically. 

“I didn’t exactly hear any complaints last time sweetheart,” Beau shot back, and Y/N laughed out loud at his sudden boldness. 

“Okay, okay, you got me there,” She relented, not wanting to challenge the Alpha, knowing full well that it wouldn't do well to irritate him right in that moment, as badly as she wanted to tease him. 

Beau shifted again, this time she could feel the hard outline of his already half hard cock pressing against the thin fabric of his tight fitted black boxers that he was wearing when they had fallen asleep the night before, and just like that, as if someone had flipped a switch, her body already starting to produce slice for her Alpha and he hadn’t even laid a hand on her. 

Beau nosed along her hair line, and down the shell of her ear, breathing deeply, and allowing his lips to leave a hot trail just over her throat as he descended to her shoulder. 

“I don’t know what’s gonna happen, you know, when we start, Carla used to accuse me of being forceful or mean, so you do remember where the gun is if you feel scared don’t you?”

“Beau,” Y/N growled as she sat up slightly in his arms so that she could see him better, and she could almost see the anxiety and fear rolling off of him, it made her sick to see him that way. She never wanted to stranger Carla more than she did at that moment. Typical Narcissistic bitch. She said and did everything she did to Beau to make him question everything about himself, even if it wasn’t true. Which makes her line of work make a lot more sense now that Y/N thought about it. 

“I stayed with you for days when your rut hit you unexpectedly, and you were in enough control to not only not hurt me, but also resist the instinct to claim me. So, for her to say that you’re too rough? That’s utter and complete bullshit. You never once scared me, and you never once hurt me.”

Beau stared at her, trying to figure out whether or not she was telling the truth. She was pretty sure he could tell that she wasn’t lying, because his features softened after a moment before he reached for her face, letting his fingers trail the soft skin of her cheek before he tucked the loose strand of her hair behind her ear. 

“I’m so scared I’m gonna fuck this up,” Beau admitted. “Like I fucked up my last relationship.”

“Beau, that woman did NOT deserve you,” Y/N said tracing her fingertips across his freckle dusted chest, and she’d be a lair if she said she wasn’t a little proud when he shivered underneath her touch, and his sharp, green eyes rolled slightly. He wasn’t going to be able to hold on much longer, and fuck, she was looking forward to watching him just let go. It was a beautiful sight if she did say so herself. 

“She abandoned you when you were at your lowest, when you needed her the most, because you were hurt and grieving. No mate does that. She was a self-absorbed, narcissistic abuser, the only good thing that came out of that WAS Emily. You did nothing wrong, she did. It wasn’t you that tore apart your marriage to her, that’s just what SHE wants you to think.”

She had a feeling Beau didn’t believe her, but she also knew that he was losing the cognitive focus it took to argue the point to the impending physical need that was about to take full focus. She could tell he was straining to hold himself back as long as possible with every quick breath he took, his scent was so strong now that it was hard for her to even concentrate anymore, but she needed him to know that she wasn’t Carla, and this wasn’t going to end the way that did. 

Beau’s eyes closed tightly again, and his grip tightened on the sheet that was resting under his left hand, even though he was now laying on his back, and she was mostly sitting up next to him, she could see the outline of his hardness just under the sheets. This was it. It was time. 

He just needed to let go. 

“Alpha,” she voiced finally, after a moment of watching him struggle within himself, and when he looked at her, his eyes were no longer green, but instead, they were almost black, completely blown wide with need, and hormones, only a ring of slight golden glow rested around them. “It’s okay, let go.”

As if a switch had been flipped in him, in what could only be described as almost a predatory movement, Beau slowly moved to sit up in the bed next to her, his strong hands gripped her hips tightly, and moved her flush with his chest as he scented her deeply, his teeth scraping roughly over her mating gland. 

“Mine,” he growled, deep and low. It made her empty cunt pulse around nothing and slick track down her into her now ruined panties. 

“Yours Alpha,” she agreed, “now, take what belongs to you.”

Without another word, Beau ripped the underwear and bra from her body before she could even really react, leaving her completely bare before him. His hungry eyes raked over her body like she was a meal and he was a starving man. 

“Present Omega,” he commanded, “we can play later, right now, but right now, I need to mark that pretty little neck of yours. That way everyone know just who the fuck you belong too.”

Y/N’s body moved without her consent, damn near falling into position for the Alpha, that moved behind her, easily shedding his boxers, and slapping her hard on the ass, sending a moan cascading from her lips, and a chuckle rumbled behind her as the bed dipped under his weight. 

“Like that Omega?” he questioned, running his fingers through her already dripping folds, testing the water to find she didn’t need any pre-work from him at all. “Already so fucking wet for me baby girl, such a good girl.”

She keened desperately, her back arching as his thick cock head slipped through her folds, gathering her slick to the head of his pulsing length. “Please Alpha,” she whimpered, and a deep growl rumbled low in his throat. 

“I’ve gotcha Omega,” he said, slamming home in one swift thrust, damn near knocking the wind out of her and would have knocked her flat on her stomach had his arm not been around her waist bracing her. 

“Gonna knot you, claim you, mark you up, you want that baby girl?” he questioned as he started at a punishing pace, ascending every word with a heavy thrust of his hips. 

“Yes! Please Alpha!” she all but screamed, and his pace quickened again, every powerful muscle in his lean, sculpted body used to drill into her mercilessly, until his knot started to swell with every thrust, and the coil in her gut became tight to burst. 

Beau lifted her flush against his strong chest, his thick tongue lapping at the place that would soon hold his claim as his knot popped, and her orgasm washed over her with the sinking of his teeth deep into her neck, her body quaking in his arms as he filled her up, and she wasn’t really sure what happened after that, because she was pretty positive she blacked out. 

When she came to herself again, just as quickly as the storm had started for the pair of them, it had subsided. Beau had her on her side, his arm draped over her as best as he could, keeping her still as his knot slowly started to subside, and his tongue worked to clean and heal her new mark. 

Everything felt different just that fast, calm, better. She was at peace. Suddenly, just so fast, the inner struggle was gone, and there was nothing but safety, love and comfort left in its wake.

Neither said anything, cause neither could really, all that they could do in that moment was experience this new, connected feeling that, even though Beau himself had been mated before, had never really felt. If either of them had to put a word to it, they would probably describe it as ‘complete.”

When Beau’s knot finally let go, Y/N turned carefully in his hold to face him, bright, green eyes meeting her own, and a tired, yet calm freckle dusted face greeted her. The rut was gone. His suffering had ended. 

“Hey,” he voiced after a moment, his voice hard and dry, dripping with exhaustion. 

“Hey,” she answered him, reaching up to run her fingers through his sweat-dampened hair. 

“You okay?” he questioned, and she nodded, suddenly remembering his shoulder, which caused her to shoot upward to check him, but all seemed fine, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she settled back down next to him. 

“I'm fine,” he assured her, “just really tired.”

“Then sleep Alpha,” she encouraged, “I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

“Guess I’m gonna have to thank Donno,” he admitted, “because if he would have never shot me, I would have never stopped being stubborn and claiming you. I was too stuck in my own issues.”

Y/N’s eyes shot open, and she stiffened in his hold, causing him to chuckle, his eyes closing and opening, becoming heavier by the minute. 

“Donno shot you!” 

“Yeah, it wasn’t the driver of the truck. Donno was hiding in the bushes, he was mad cause I didn’t claim you, and he shot me. I figured I deserved it, so I just let it go. Had he not done it though, I might have lost you forever.”

Y/N sat there in thought for a long moment, boarding between angry and grateful. God, she had a love hate relationship with Donno, but now, she really did owe him everything. As the sun sank down behind the clouds on her first day as Mrs. Beau Arlen, she had to admit that she really did owe him everything. They really were meant to be. 

Forever:

@wittysunflower

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[wizisbored]

Hello. Yes I do want to see the weird version. So much.

fuck yea weird time

When he manages to steel himself to look down, Charles is met by the sight of that tiny version of his dead wife’s face scrunched up in discomfort. The creature cringes, and twists, and tries to hide its face. Cowering against him.

“Oh- Oh good Lord, um- Hold on-”

He moves his hand, finds the crook of its knees, and braces himself to lift, managing to get his shirt quite wet in the short time it takes to turn and set the homunculus down on the towel he’s laid out. It’s shivering now. Or trembling? Is it cold or scared? He has no idea how to tell.

“Alright, it’s okay, just a minute-”

He scrambles to grab the pruning shears again, wanting to cut the rest of the plants off before he wraps it up. It’s whimpering again, eyes still shut tight, scared or uncomfortable or hurt or a great number of other bad things, and though logically Charles knows it’s probably something akin to a baby crying at its birth he can’t keep feeling he’s messed up already. His hands shake as he snips at the vines.

Something large moves behind Charles, something that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Betelgeuse, in the shape of a pale lioness now, pads around him to the little creature’s side. He (or she? Charles had never been quite sure how to interpret Betelgeuse shifting outside of the usual male forms, and the demon only ever laughed when he asked about it) lays down, forelegs either side of the homunculus. And as Charles watches in confused silence, he lowers his head and begins running his tongue through its tangled hair.

“I know, buddy,” the lioness rumbles between the licks. “I would be a bit pissed off if I got birthed into a squishy mortal body too.”

He tries to move on to its shoulder, and it whines, squirming a little. Betelgeuse pauses, sniffs at its shoulder, and then experimentally licks his own leg.

“Fuck. Why is my mouth made of sandpaper?”

“I- I don’t know. Is this what you’re supposed to do, licking it?”

Betelgeuse rolls his eyes, “No, I’m doing it for fun.” He holds his head up for a moment, cheeks puffed out, before he licks at this leg again. “Better. C’mere, kid.”

He nudges the homunculus closer with his chin, and goes back to lapping at it. Soon enough it’s quieting down, curling up against Betelgeuse’s chest despite being buffeted by his cleaning efforts and having worryingly sharp lion teeth rip away the vines still coiled around it. It’s an especially fragile looking thing, maybe a little more than four feet long, skin almost deathly white and wrinkled around its hands and feet from the months-long soak, and patterned with stretch marks just about everywhere. But rather than silvery or purplish skin, the stripes are bridged by what looks like plant fibres. It would make sense, Charles reasons, given all the vines.

“Should you really be being so rough with it?” he asks as the demon licks at its shin with enough force to lift its foot off the ground.. “It’s so thin…”

“I’m tryin’a wake the damn thing up a bit,” the demon grumbles. He nudges the creature’s head away from his leg, barely letting it get out a whine before he smacks his tongue into its eyelid. It grimaces and cringes, But he doesn’t let up until finally, for the first time, it’s opening its eyes to look around itself in confusion. Eyes that Charles thinks are an especially dark brown, at first, but as it blinks up at him he realises that there are in fact big blank spots of black where irises and pupils would be.

“Jood job, kid,” Betelgeuse says. He doesn’t hide his relief well. Charles says nothing. For a moment he holds the homunculus’ gaze, paralysed by it, but then Betelgeuse puts his jaw around the back of its neck in a way that makes Charles cringe. With the creature lifted half off the floor by the scruff he shifts onto his side, before dragging it around beside his ribs. It dutifully curls up against his side instead. Betelgeuse nudges its head with his nose again. “Alright, buddy, just gotta- there ya go.”

With that, he lays his head down with a long, tired breath. It takes Charles a moment, but when he spies the subtle movement of the homunculus’ jaw it’s suddenly obvious why Betelgeuse chose a lioness. The little creature is nursing.

For a few moments, they sit in silence. Charles isn’t sure what the protocol is, here. Does he even still need to be in the room? Should he leave them to themselves? He feels, very much, like he’s intruding on something not meant for him. The way he often felt in this workshop, but far greater. It was always Emily and Betelgeuse, in these matters. In most matters, actually, but this one in particular. Emily and Betelgeuse. And now, he supposes, it will be Betelgeuse and this strange little clone of hers. Her legacy, entirely separate to Charles, already bonded to the demon in a way that he doubts he could ever hope to understand.

“You, uh… You weren’t joking about the food being for you, then?” he asks, needing to say something.

“When would I ever?”

“Right…” He sees the meaningful way the lioness is looking at the bread he brought from the kitchen, and moves it closer. It’s gone in one gulp. And then Charles watches as the crass, irreverent demon he’s come to know reaches down and ever-so-gently, even curiously paws at the homunculus’ hair as it nurses, snuffling against his side.

“How did Emily talk you into wetnursing?” Charles can’t help but ask.

“What, you don’t think I’m the very image of an ideal mother?”

Something must have changed in Charles’ face, because  Betelgeuse snorts, and shakes his head.

“She was Emily. That’s all there is to it.”

“Of course.”

There’s no elaboration needed. Looking to the supplies he gathered, desperate for some contribution to make, he reaches for a towel. As Betelgeuse watches on he wraps the homunculus up as best he can, careful not to interrupt its feed as he tucks the towel around its scrawny frame. And then he sits back, and takes a breath.

“It’s… it’s a girl?” he asks quietly, not entirely sure if there’s some nuance in homunculus anatomy he’s missing.

“Probably,” Betelgeuse half-agrees.

“Does she have a name?”

“Dunno. Em was trying to decide, heard her callin’ it Tadpole a couple times.”

“Right.” It’s a very… Emily nickname, if nothing else, and it makes something twinge in Charles’ chest. He looks down at the girl’s face again, pressed into Betelgeuse’s ribs like she’s trying to hide in them.

“Betelgeuse, is… is she going to live?”

“I dunno. But I fuckin’ hope so.”

[snowbaamgyu]

Soogyu emeto draft

WARNING ⚠️: this includes references to emetophilia so,, if u don't like emeto this way please don't read!!

It all started when Soobin announced he felt sick after eating dinner, he obviously overdid it with how much food he could handle but, after being starving the day before and today for a photoshoot he thought he deserved to eat just a little more.

For Beomgyu those words made everything in him start running faster, excitement and anticipation made him immediately start creating scenarios on how Soobin's discomfort would progress.

"Take some pepto and go lay down, you'll be fine" Yeonjun advised him, sure Beomgyu didn't want any of his members hurting but when it came to someone feeling nauseous he couldn't help but get a bit excited about it. When he watched Soobin doing as Yeonjun told him to, deep in him he wished that damn pink liquid didn't make effect.

Soon after everyone went to their rooms, Beomgyu had the luck to share room with Soobin so when he finished washing up and went to his bedroom, his heart started thumping faster at the sight that greeted him.

Soobin was laying on his side, curled up, with his shirt raised a little reveling his slightly bloated stomach, it wasn't that big of a difference but knowing Soobin usually had a flat belly you could notice there was something going on. The final touch was Soobin's face scrunched up in pain, sweat pooling in his forehead, shaky deep breaths, useless attempts to calm down the revolution inside his guts.

"Are you feeling better? The medicine should be kicking in by now" Beomgyu took the courage to ask without his voice showing any emotion other than worry. "No, I feel bad, worse if it's possible." Without saying anything, Beomgyu made his way to the older's bed and positioned himself beside him, in a spoon way.

He wanted to touch him, try to feel the rumbling, Soobin's stomach made a sick gurgling sound. He couldn't resist it anymore.

"What are you doing Gyu?" Soobin asked as he felt the other's hands making their way to his abdomen, his aching stomach felt a slight pressure and a burp made its way up. "Just trying to help, maybe rubbing it will make it better, don't you think?"

Beomgyu kept rubbing circles, adding pressure, and Soobin kept burping each time Beomgyu pressed into a specific spot, if you asked Soobin, it was indeed relieving each time some air came out, he felt like a deflating balloon. But things changed when the younger applied more pressure than necessary out of curiosity of what would happen, his answer was a really big burp that almost turned into a retch, Soobin desperately taking his hands off and sprinting to the bathroom, having to stop midway because another retch made its way up and vomit slipped through his fingers. Beomgyu obviously followed after him, not wanting to miss out anything, he watched as Soobin's back convulsed trying to suppress another gag as he continued his way to the bathroom to at least finish there, Beomgyu shamelessly went behind him and just stood there at the door frame when Soobin immediately lifted the lid and started retching again, a thick and large wave of undigested food making a sickly splash sound.

Soobin knew someone was behind him, watching what was currently happening, so he turned around a bit until the next wave came, and saw Beomgyu, the latter just watching with curious sparkly eyes that desired some more, that wanted to be closer to the scene displaying in front of him, wanting to help his hyung clean his chin which was covered in vomit and spit, little chunks at the sides of his mouth, vomit-snot running down and pooling on his cupid's bow, wipe away the tears that the effort brought to his eyes and down his cheeks, but also the desire to feel how he convulsed with each gag. Beomgyu wanted to be close.

And Soobin let him, he extended his arm in a "take my hand" way and Beomgyu understood the invitation, and as soon as he positioned himself behind Soobin once again he put his hands where they were before but didn't move them or anything, he was just there hugging him. When Soobin brought up more undigested food Beomgyu fully hugged him, wrapping both arms almost possessively around his middle and resting his head on the space between the older's shoulder blades, inhaling deeply even if the smell was one of the worst, Beomgyu just wanted to be there, close.

Fifteen minutes went like that, the door was locked the moment Beomgyu entered the bathroom so the rest of the members took care of the mess Soobin made earlier; Beomgyu was still hugging Soobin who at that moment had run out of something to throw up so once the retches were reduced to dry heaves Beomgyu stood up, the younger didn't have any bad intentions, he did as he had thought so, grabbing a towel and dampening it a little to carefully wipe his hyung's face, whispering sweet nothings from time to time to let him know everything is okay.

The two of them got out of the bathroom after Soobin washed his teeth and went to the older's bed again, this time the tummy rubs were gentler and without thinking much about Beomgyu's behavior Soobin just fell asleep with the image of his dongsaeng caring deeply about him.

[posthocpaganda]

More TMNT post hoc propaganda because this tournament has me in a deathgrip

@tmnt-crossover-polls

My AU's song is Dentist from little shop of horrors. A very fun choice to work with for sure. I'd look it up for some context on this

Raph sat on one of the benches of the practice rooms next to Chase, taking care not to rumple his dress, arms crossed as he watched House rehearse his part of the song

He didn't like how much enthusiasm he was putting into the lyrics.

Donnie and Foreman stood in front of House, seemingly doing another review of the script both of them sported focused, instense expressions as they wrote a few notes on it

Behind him Mikey was giggling, spinning around in his own lilac dress, clutching its skirt with both hands.

Raph frowned unhappily at the sight. He was going to end up stretching the fabric if he kept doing that

"You're having a lot of fun with that" said Cameron suddenly. The faint undercurrent of surprise in her voice made him narrow his eyes at her

"What, you've got a problem with it?" Said Raph with a snarl, not missing a beat

"No, of course not" She immediately denied. Since she seemed to be telling the truth he backed down, relaxing on his seat once again "And they don't either I just haven't met many teenage boys so excited to try on a dress"

"That sounds like a them problem" Called Miley loudly, spinning faster and faster trying to make the fabric flare up

At that moment House hit a particularly loud note and Raph's attention drifted naturally back to him, to the way the man sang the creepy lyrics almost too gleefully...

Was he the only one unsettled by this!?

Normally Leo would be the first one to be wary of these things but… it seemed that he was too focused on the musical thing to care, even sneakily encouraging House to crank up the psycho act, intent on winning the competition. He even spent most of the time practicing his part, when he thought no one was listening

Really, most of the reason Raph was even humoring this was because all that enthusiasm. Leo was clearly very invested in this for some reason

House hit another loud high note, face twisted in a huge, unsettling smile.

Raph scrunched his nose in discomfort

"It's a bit creepy isn't it?" Said Mikey, walking to his side with unsteady steps and flailing arms, clearly dizzy after all the spinning.

Raph was about to nod, thankful for the support when the next words came out of his brother's mouth, freezing him in place

"Thank god dentists aren't real" He said, absolutely seriously

Every person in earshot of that statement turned their heads so fast it was a wonder none of them got whiplash

"What?" Asked Cameron, blinking dumbly

"Yeah" Affirmed Mikey non-pulsed, like nothing was wrong about what he had just said

"Mikey" Raph managed, looking at his brother in disbelief "Mikey dentists are real"

His little brother squinted at him for a second before relaxing one more

"Pshhhh" He said rolling his eyes "I am not falling for that one again bro. You're not gonna scare me with that"

Chase spoke next, leaning forwards slightly, expression slightly manic as he said the next word

"They are real"

At this Mikey froze, looking between the three of them with an expression that quickly changed from scepticism to pure horror as he the realization set in

"No" He said, absolutely horrified

The three of them nodded silently

"Why aren't we doing something about this?" He asked in a high, breathy voice

"You… want to do something about the dentists?" Asked Chase, clearly confused

"We can't let them get away with this" Confirmed Mikey grabbing Raph's shoulders before storming off to find Leo

For the next half an hour they had to stop the rehearsal, as Leo tried to convince Mikey that no, they couldn't go around beating up every dentist in New York no matter how much Mikey insisted that they were already used to fighting evil scientists

[hrodvitnon]

Shamhat Quickies Preview

In which Maia explains to San what “shark week” is and he intends on becoming a living TENS machine.

"So, how's it work?"

"I just attach those pads to my lower stomach and it delivers small electrical impulses to reduce the pain."

"That's it?" San chucks it onto the bed with a laugh.  "Pssh!  I can do that, easy!  Ya don't need some gadget – plus we can cuddle!"

"Uh, wait a second..."  Maia pauses, remembering the fact that Ghidorah can reduce people to ash or power up Vegas on its own, and holds her hands up a little nervously at San's approach.  "Slow down, cowboy, I'm not sure that's such a hot idea..."

San stops, the pupils in his eyes flickering yellow for a second.  "Why're ya scared?"

"I mean, usually Ghidorah uses electricity to vaporize people, right?

"Oh... yeah.  Duh, me.  But I won't do anything to hurt you, honest!  I'd sooner take a bath in hydrochloric acid!"

But even then, hydrochloric acid probably won't do much damage to something like Ghidorah, let alone a single 'head' of it.  San's reassuring expression falls a little when he senses that Maia isn't entirely convinced; he supposes she can't be blamed for it, though.  Instead he picks the TENS machine back up for another scrutinizing, attaches the pads to his lower stomach.

Maia blinks at him.  "Uh, San, what...?"

"Wanna get a feel for it so I don't do anything to hurt ya."  San gets the machine on.  His hair briefly, and humorously, fluffs up in reaction to the first level impulse tapping into him.  "Ooh, tickles!  How high does it go?"

"Only up to 20, which shouldn't be anything compared to what you're probably used to."  Maia gives San a smile and gestures for him to approach, the big disguised Titan happily taking one hand into hers.  She doesn't know what in the name of God she did to deserve San charming his goofy way into her heart, but she's damned grateful for it.

"Feels like my belly's gettin' a text," San jokes, and that elicits a giggle out of Maia.

He gradually makes his way up the levels, making all sorts of silly noises that bring bigger and bigger smiles to Maia's face; she guffaws a little when he waggles his eyebrows during the lowest levels, commenting how it actually feels kind of good and could be used for something else... though she sobers up and rubs his knuckles with her fingers when San's face finally shows some discomfort.

"Ooh, uhff.  Felt that one in my nuts.  Why – why's it punching me now?"

"Because Mother Nature's a bitch."

Now they're well into the double digits and San's face scrunches up every other level – he's definitely used to pain, but experiencing a simulation of one's own body causing internal pain is a new, different, and altogether unpleasant feeling.  It's only upon reaching the maximum level that his whole body goes taut, Maia instinctively rubbing her hand up and down his back.  Titan pain thresholds really are something else; if he were a human male, San might be doubled over, face gone beet red and drenched in sweat, screaming in agony.  As it stands, he just looks like he stubbed his toe, and Maia envies that.

"Whew!" San sighs as Maia shuts off the machine and removes the pads from his abdomen.  "Woof, that was weird.  Thought I felt my soul for a second there.  How high do you go with this?"

"15 on a bad day.  Right now I think it'd be an 8 or so."

"Would it be okay if I made it better?"

He's already gotten a feel for the levels of electrical impulses a TENS machine can provide for pain relief, and San has certainly displayed a knack for turning things on and off by just snapping his fingers without causing any negative impact.  Maia decides to trust him on this, lets him pick her up in a bridal carry and take her over to the bed.  She gets into a fetal position with San curling up behind her, one of his big hands slipping under her shirt to rest just below her navel.   Suddenly Maia flinches when a very slight jolt runs from San's fingertips to her belly.

"Too much?" San asks.

"No, you're good.  Give it a minute."

[desmondellis]

Desmond listened to her words as they filtered down to him, who had slumped his head and shoulders it would seem in admitted defeat. He was still unsteady on the porcelain of the edge of the tub, feeling the shift between his own imbalance and the one growing with her. Of course she sounded upset, and even though he knew little of her he knew that was already on its way as he picked her up and struggled to sit.

There was a scrunch in the curve of her nose and her face tightened in upset, but her tone told him everything he needed to know. It wasn’t as serious as she was making it out to be and so he dismissed it, practically before it ever came out of her mouth. “Not much to impress when I barely have use of my legs and need you to carry me.” He added between her rantings. He knew he wasn’t doing much of making anywhere near a good impression, and Jazzmyn would never know how different a man he was outside this interaction. For now, he just looked stubborn and distrustful.

As much as he would have loved to prove his competence and make right on the goodwill that she had offered to him, it would also come with the alternative end to a knowledge he didn’t want her to come in contact with. Outside of being almost entirely evasive with human contact, Des restricted most of his interactions to those who knew he was a hunter, most a part of the organization. Outside of that was a liability, and she was already doing too much to keep him alive as it was.

Moments later, when her words had blurred and mingled with the depths of his thoughts, he felt her unsteady wiggle, fingers clasping him the same way he’d just done moments prior. She was slipping and took him with her, Des feeling the wind and open fall as he anticipated his back clashing with the bottom of the tub. In trend with the rest of this night, Jazzmyn rushed her hand to hold the back of his head before they met the water, soaking each end of the bathtub to the floor as it pooled over the tiles.

Almost instinctively, Des hissed. But not because he was in any pain himself, though he could feel the sharp pain in his back that only added itself to the growing list of things that were of no fault of her own. “Yeah I’m fine,” he grumbled. “It’s just water.” He’d learned to redirect his pain, focus it somewhere else which might have been easier had she not been so adamant on relieving it. The sound of discomfort formed a groan in his chest, breath coming out hot.

“Your hands.” He chastised her, his turn to reprimand her for her help. “Are your hands okay?” He felt her appendages on the back of his head and reached for them, sloshing the water around them in ripples as he ignored her worried questions. He pulled them from cradling his head, bringing them forward for further inspection and thumbing over each limb carefully. He saw no bruising and looked up at her with a tired sigh. “I survived half dead in the Romanian sea, I could’ve hit rocks on the shore..” he mused, returning her hand back into her possession, eyes flicking back up to hers. “You think the bath is gonna take me out?” He gruffed, adjusting himself in the tub, suddenly aware of how she was positioned above him.

She had already buried his face in his chest and coddled him, but it felt more jarring now they were face to face. “Really just taking no for an answer, huh?” He chuckled through the nervousness. One of his hands moved to adjust her at the waist but he was too weak to pluck her from the tub, groaning at the action itself, laughing again out of how little control he had of the situation, smiling through the sting of passing pain. “I feel like you’re trying to injure me so you can bathe me yourself.” Flushed and embarrassed his hand even made the movement towards her waist to move her, he ran his hand through his hair from getting in his face.

Without her knowing, he started to crack a smile under the stretch of removing his shirt. He heard her theatrical gasp and how she teased him again, wanting to laugh under the fabric. It was comical all of the alternatives she came up with when he denied her help. It had everything to do with what he lacked and less about her individually. If she knew all that he did maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to explain, but then she’d know the real him, and that was somehow worse.

He didn’t think she would linger long, steam already collecting in the air and disappearing on the ceiling, the mirror already fogging. It was the first* thing he felt he looked forward to, and maybe part of it was that with this at least he could do alone. He didn’t have to feel inadequate in how debilitating his recovery was, he didn’t have to come up with some excuse as to why he was so resistant to touch.

For the first time in the short time he’d been awake, Jazzmyn stuttered, voice unsure and dismissive. From what he knew of her, her words splayed out like endless generosity like she might be able to express her warmth through voice. She reached for some towels like she was in a hurry, no doubt from his voiced hesitation. He saw it happening before it did, the way her feet hit the floor and how moments later she would careen to the floor. In full health, he might have caught her fall but as of now, he was next to useless.

Still, he felt the shame of another instance of his helplessness and it pained him. Expecting a fight, Des narrowed all his focus into his body and how to mask the inevitable ache of lowering his body on his own. It would mean admitting he needed her help again and further than that, do next to nothing to alleviate her burden. “Now you’re just trying to make me feel bad.” He sighed, letting the breath veil itself as anything but a release of silent effort as he leaned down, bent on one knee, one arm extended to pick her up. Holding her weight on his end, he lifted her from the floor and avoided her elbows which by now would be sore. He didn’t pant or groan but his body was screaming to do so, all throughout his time holding her which felt much longer for him than it actually was.

When he did stand he wanted to do it less than he ever had in his whole life. Not wanting to seem anymore weak he tried to sit on the back end of the curved edge of the tub, but as he shifted on the ceramic he felt himself slipping. It was clumsy, a grunt falling from his mouth before he adjusted himself or she held on tight enough, whichever helped more. One of his hands, the free one, held on to the edge for dear life, the other resting on her upper arm.

“We really can skip this,” It wasn’t as dire as it felt but he lessened his hold at once, sighing collectively all of the breath he held before. His hand slid down to hold hers and it was warm in the way that shouldn’t have given him comfort. He wanted her to know he was appreciative, but he couldn’t form the words. He leaned forward and felt her warmth up close, keeping as much distance as his body could bear. “I’m not this useless usually.” He excused himself, feeling like a child who didn’t want to be clean, head down in defeat. Not wanting to rub her the wrong way even if his intentions were good, Des pulled his hand from her own and cupped it on his ribs. “I came out of the water so I’m good….God this is so fucking embarrassing.”

[ava-achlys]

The Boyz NSFW Scenarios

Kim Sunwoo - Hands Off [Requested]

softdom!Sunwoo x gf!reader

Request: Sunwoo likes to play with his girlfriend's breasts

Warnings: mentions of bullying, body image, underage drinking, anxiety (very brief), titfucking

Long overdue request for @ace-seventeen-world , I hope you like it! Also first time writing anything about titfucking, I hope it turned out alright. 🙏🏽

Sunwoo loves you even when you don't feel like loving yourself.

Being well-endowed since puberty hit meant you received a lot of unwanted attention from all genders. Some would pass judgement, calling you desperate for attention; and some would ogle and make lewd comments. This led to you coming to school wearing oversized baggy clothes and even turtlenecks no matter the weather. The less your body was apparent for people to judge, the better, you thought. Except the comments never stopped. You were so sick of your body being the talk of the student population of your small-town high school that you couldn't wait to graduate; and move far away to start afresh in college, where you futilely hoped that people would be more mature about these things.

Moving away for college turned out to be the best decision you made. You made a whole bunch of new, more mature friends who taught you to embrace and appreciate your body. Inappropriate comments from strangers still came your way, but with your new, reliable support system, you learnt to shut them out, and your girlfriends would even try to fight them for you, which made you feel very touched and grateful. Apparently, this sincerity didn't stop with just your good friends. That was also how you met your current boyfriend. Your friends had convinced you to come with them to a party during your first semester, and you allowed them to doll you up, upon much pestering. You were dressed in a nice blouse and skirt, which turned some heads at the party, and though you felt rather self-conscious in the beginning, you loosened up after a few drinks and dances. From there, you didn't care if people paid good or bad attention to you; all you wanted was to have fun with your best friends.

One of your friends introduced you to a gaggle of other first- and second-years, who were very loud and goofy, except for one; who had previously been laughing boisterously along with them until he set his eyes on you. He abruptly stopped laughing when you made eye contact, and you could have sworn he developed a light flush. With pouty lips and dark eyes, and a mop of fluffy black hair, he smiled shyly at you, nodding in acknowledgement and softly introducing himself. His voice was deep and had an attractive drawl and a pleasant raspiness. His name was Sunwoo, and you ingrained it into your memory easily, smiling shyly back at him. You mostly kept to yourself as the rest of them chatted, nursing your drink when a flurry of words and a loud slap shook you. You whipped around to see one of the boys, with cotton-candy hair and sharp feline eyes rubbing his arm and muttering under his breath next to Sunwoo, who was staring at you while whispering something to the boy - Eric, was it?

"Apologize!" Sunwoo hissed, nudging him. You tried to back off but Eric nervously came forward and rubbed his neck sheepishly, stuttering an apology while avoiding your eyes. He didn't specify what he was apologizing for, but you already had an inkling. All your friends were now staring at you, confused as to what had transpired. Unable to handle the stifling awkwardness, you quickly murmured "It's fine, Eric," before speedwalking away to get some fresh air, unaware that a certain dark-haired boy was scurrying after you. You turned to the nearest balcony and hurriedly gulped some fresh air to calm down, all-too-familiar feelings of panic and shame drowning you. You fought back tears, ignoring some of the smokers occupying the same space, who were looking at you with a mixture of confusion and pity. You managed to calm your breathing, and blink back tears, when a figure slowly comes to stand next to you. He doesn't look at you out of courtesy, fixing his gaze straight ahead. "Are you alright?" he asks softly. You nod firmly, trying to seem completely calm. "Eric... sometimes says things without thinking, but I know that's not an excuse. I just want to apologize again, for making you uncomfortable." His voice is gentle and soothing, and you tilt your head to face him, since he was a bit taller.

"It's not your fault, but thanks Sunwoo. And don't worry, parties aren't really my thing, I just came cause my friends were begging me to join them," you chuckle softly, to which Sunwoo gives you a lopsided grin.

"I feel you on that. I'm here to look after my idiot friends."

You share a good laugh, and spend the rest of the evening getting to know each other, but conversation comes easy, like you've known each other for years.

You and Sunwoo's paths seem to cross often, apparently because his faculty was right next to yours, and soon your friend groups merge and become one massive group, and you've even forgiven Eric. Days turned into months, casual meetups turned into lunch and movie dates, and soon you and Sunwoo are constantly switching back and forth staying over at each other's apartments.

Ever since you two started dating and you've gotten used to wearing more comfortable clothes around him, you've noticed him staring at your chest every now and then, but at least he had the decency to look apologetic and embarrassed whenever you catch him. You started to tease him, and he would bashfully hide his face and whine cutely. To get back at you, he'd purposely keep his hands cold and hug you out of nowhere, just to hear you squeal, knowing you're ticklish. Sometimes he'd be even bolder, trailing his hands up your sides and cupping your breasts under your shirt, especially when you walk around the house with no bra on. He'd do it when you're cuddling on the couch watching a movie, or worse, when you're trying to study. You didn't mind it usually, since you appreciated the support from his hands since the weight of your breasts takes a toll on your back, and you weren't fond of wearing a bra 24/7. Except the little shit likes to tease, jiggling them around and squeezing them when he's being extra playful, even grazing your nipples with his fingertips; chuckling lowly in your ear when you gasp or squirm in pleasure.

One night in bed, you confront him jokingly. Your period was on its way soon, and your breasts were feeling extra tender and swollen, something you had complained about, so your dear boyfriend very happily obliged, massaging them gently to ease your discomfort. After a while he gets bored, and starts prodding them, round eyes watching intently as they bounce. You can't help but laugh at how adorably fascinated he looks, so you ask him why he's so enamored by your boobs.

"They're just.. fun to play with, yknow? Bouncy and squishy. Can't help myself okay, you're just so perfect," Sunwoo grumbles, blushing again since he got caught.

"Yeah? What if I lose weight and they get smaller? Will you still like me then?" you ask, feeling rather self-conscious, irrational worries that he only likes you for your assets filling your mind. You try to ignore them, knowing your relationship with Sunwoo was much more than superficial, but trauma and bad memories keep causing you to doubt yourself.

"Of course I would!" Sunwoo gasps, reaching up to hold your face urgently but with such a tender gaze in his eyes. "It's still you, and you'll always be perfect, and I love you no matter what."

Tears welled up in your eyes when he said those words. Few people had treated you with such genuine kindness and you were so grateful to have him as your partner. You squished his cheeks together and pressed a kiss to his lips, surprising him. "I love you too, Sunwoo," you whispered, a small smile on your teary face. A cheeky grin slowly replaces the shock on his face. "Shall I show you just how much I love you?" he drawls, crawling on top of you, making you lay down on the bed. Sunwoo positions you to nestle comfortably against the pillows, helping you take your shirt off afterwards.

Your cheeks start to heat up at Sunwoo's intense gaze raking over your body, and your arms habitually come up to shield your breasts, but he's quick to catch them, gently pulling them away. "Don't be shy. You're the most beautiful girl I've ever met, inside and out," he murmurs, making you blush even harder. He kisses you deeply, before trailing his lips down, pressing light kisses down your neck and across your chest, gently nipping at the skin just above your right nipple. He resumes massaging your breasts, admiring the way your face scrunches up cutely in pleasure, his warm hands on your skin making you sigh happily. He leans down again, tracing a circle around your areola, making you shiver. He teases you a little more, flicking your hardened nub with his tongue before finally latching on and suckling on it, rubbing it periodically with his tongue. His hands are still massaging your breasts, twisting and tugging on your other nipple.

He pulls off with a satisfied 'pop' when you whine, pleased with how raw and puffy your nipple has become, glistening with an abundance of his spit. He dives back down to subject your other nipple to the same treatment, but this time, his free hand creeps down your tummy and between your thighs. You moan when he grazes your clit with his fingertips, and you can feel his plush lips smirk into your skin, obviously proud of himself. You willingly part your legs, and he dips his middle finger straight into your folds, your juices coating his finger instantly. He raises his head to look at you, eyebrows raised cheekily. "So wet already, babe? Always knew your nipples were so sensitive," he chuckles, slowly pumping his finger in and out of you. You shut your eyes, the stimulation of his mouth on your chest and his hand on your pussy clouding your mind. He inserts another finger and pumps you faster while he drags his teeth against your puffy nipple, making you shiver and moan even louder.

He starts leaving hickeys and bites all over your decolletage, looking forward to seeing those pretty marks bloom purple tomorrow morning. Finally, he eases up on his ministrations on your chest, and focused on fucking you hard and fast with his fingers, slamming three digits into your core, gleefully watching the way your breasts jiggle from the impact. He glances up at your face, finding your head tossed back, soft mewls and moans falling from raw, bitten lips. You're clutching the bedsheets in a death grip as Sunwoo starts sucking on your clit as he fingers you. He sucks hard, nudging it with his tongue every so often as he slows down his thrusts, opting to scissor you open and drag his fingertips along your walls, rubbing hard against your g-spot when he finds it, indicated by your shrill yelp. "B-babe, gonna c-cum," you gasp, still writhing in pleasure. "Go on, love, cum for me," he mumbles against your core, and soon you're clenching on his fingers, coating them with your cum, and he continues to fuck you through your climax.

Gasping for air, you wince as he pulls his fingers out, pussy clenching on nothing as you watch him idly put them in his mouth, sucking them clean. He smiles lazily at you, telling you how sweet you taste and even gives you a kiss, making you taste yourself. Your cheeks turn crimson again, and you decide you want to return the favor, having felt his hard cock pressing against your thigh when he leaned down to kiss you. You eye the tent in his jeans, and start unbuckling his belt. He looks at you in alarm, grasping your hands to stop you. "Baby, you don't have to do that, this is about you," he smiles gently. You pout at him. "But I wanna help you too! I have an idea that I always wanted to try with you…" Sunwoo takes a moment to consider, making sure you were genuinely comfortable doing so, and his eyes glimmer with anticipation when he nods in agreement. You beam wordlessly at him, helping him out of his jeans and boxers. You can't help but lick your lips at the sight of his erect cock.

Sunwoo's dick always made you feel good, whether it was fucking your pussy or your throat, but you always wondered what it would feel like sliding between your bountiful breasts. You pull him up to straddle your chest, and his eyes widen when he realizes what you want him to do. "Really?" he gasps, dick twitching with excitement when you readily nod. He chokes on a moan when you swipe your finger up his cock, gathering his dripping precum to slather it between your breasts. He slowly slides his dick into the valley between your breasts as your hands push them together, making it even tighter around him, and he groans lowly. Sunwoo thrusts shallowly, loving the way the smooth skin of your breasts feels around his aching cock. He begins to take over, his larger, warmer hands replacing yours, squishing your tits together as he rocks his hips faster, becoming addicted to the the feeling. It wasn't much physical stimulation for you, but you felt yourself getting hot again watching his face contort in pleasure, his tightening grip on your tender, sensitive breasts rather arousing. You can't look away, mesmerized by how good he looks with his lower lip caught between his teeth, grunting softly as he uses your tits to get himself off.

"You look so hot like this Sunwoo," you murmur, your hand resting on his thigh as he continues to piston his hips. He barks out a breathless laugh, "Have you looked at yourself properly? You're fucking gorgeous, babe, don't you ever forget that. Although, I'm down to remind you all the time." he winks. You smirk at him, and your hands come up to squeeze his muscular ass, the same way he likes to squeeze your boobs. He's got a nice butt, you had to admit, toned and sculpted from years of various sports, and it was your weakness the same way your breasts were his. He moans louder when he feels you groping his ass, hips stuttering as he approaches his climax. He throws his head back as he fucks erratically, squishing your tits even tighter together and you keen at the rough treatment. You coax him in a soft whisper to cum all over your tits, and soon he does, painting your chest white as his hips slow down, and he's gasping for air. A little bit of his cum has spurted onto your lips, but you willingly lick it up and smile up at him, your hands still soothingly rubbing his cheeks as he comes down from his high.

You grab some wet tissues from your bedside drawers and clean up your chest as best as you could, wiping away all the cum before Sunwoo flops next to you, resting his head on your chest the way he usually loves to. You lay there in comfortable silence for a while more, stroking his hair and you feel him smile into your skin, his finger absentmindedly tracing the hickeys he's left across your breasts. Maybe going to that party all those months ago was the best decision you ever made (second only to moving here for college), and maybe you and Sunwoo finally get out of bed to shower, and maybe you go for a second round in the bathroom, filling the steamy air with echoes of wet skin slapping and soft proclamations of 'I love you's.

[holdyourwine]

Praise The Heavenly Goddess and Her Love.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ featuring Poseidon and Hades

YOUR FONDNESS, LORD POSEIDON ; masterlist

(.n) Divination is also the agent which brings about good relations between Gods, because it knows what aspects of love. With the words that helps the couple from Hades’ wise head, it is how their love started to appear.

“So, she just flew away to Demeter’s place as soon the news reached her ears?”

Silver strands of hair swayed following the direction of his head, glancing to the bored expression that etched upon his brother’s face. A small thud aired after Hades lets his frame fall atop of the cozy sofa, earning a frown from the sea God. Those ocean eyes of his move up from the pile of papers on his desk, gazing at his older brother’s strong presence. “Yes, so you may go.”

A deep chuckle grumbles under his breath, “Why so? I did come here to see my Little One, but I do have another Little One here, am I correct?”

His face scrunches in disgust as he notices what Hades referred to was he himself. Hours prior, the sea God was savoring the only time he secretly enjoys in his day ; being with that little Goddess who he demanded to stay in his manor longer than what the agreement with Morpheus and Hera said— with a reason that she still needs learning for she is still very mortal, though every souls who stands upon Olympus could say, how divine she already is and how wise she is as a half, within just 2 years.

Poseidon had to witness how the beam spreads in second within those cheeks of hers, gleaming orbs distracted from him upon the arrival of the Underworld couple in the Heaven, and the very courtesy she granted before those feet bring herself hastily to where the spring Goddess is ; she is very fond of these two, even in her early day of immortal, for her, Hades and Persephone are the closest deity she claims to have a human relationship with herself, since many Gods do not have much benevolence towards others— Poseidon, as in example.

“Out of curiosity, I may know her development, since Melinöe and Morpheus did talk about the work involved with her.” Says Hades, never grows tired of wasting his words for his dear brother.

“Ask her yourself. I did not remember anything.”

A squint in Hades’ eyes brings a slight discomfort to the sea God, as those piercing eyes of his glance to the opened luxurious box in an empty rack of his bookshelf, filled with hand-picked finest pearls of his ocean, messily rearranged in a gold thin chain as if someone tries to stringing it into a necklace. “Then, mind telling me about that feminine thing?”

Poseidon lets out a grunt, slamming a hand to the table as seconds prior he used it to let his face rest upon. It is clear that he does not want to answer, whilst he himself scolds his reckless act for not hiding the stuff, did not expect his brother to come in without any arrival announcement. “There is nothing.”

Hades nods to himself plenty of times, observing the room while his pointer finger taps upon the armrest. Though the words that left his brother’s lips are bold and stern, he himself can dive down to the look that Poseidon has each time Hades mentions the Goddess’ name. Not to bring only warmth to the sea God, the elder deity does have a peculiar sense of being affected by the way a love does change him.

For the ruler of the Underworld, the first 6 months after her ascension were not always filled with the tenderness of his fatherhood— instead what lies beneath is vigilance he showed in his mien before her. With his very brotherly instinct, and for eons he watches the God of the sea ; who has never lowered those eyes of his to any Goddesses, let alone a half-blooded one, it is plausible to aim that he is cautious with what awaits ahead. Does she serve to attract luster for herself? Does she desire the gold crown to be claimed as the one in his reign? What makes his little brother accept her?

O, darling Hades. With only 3 months of association, the very obviousness poured its wet realization to his own version of herself ; whilst his dearest wife— the spring Goddess, Persephone, does take the fascination upon her company around with twinkle within her eyes that speak, “Husband, if only I can wish to meet her before Lady Hera did and be the one who escorts her to this very stage.”

It is truly the power she has in her full consciousness ; what enchants any mortal to immortal lives to take a look with their adoration and astonishment. No one expected that her perfect facade managed to break down the most fearsome God alive— Poseidon himself.

“I found no mistake in being smitten, brother mine. Let alone denying what your heart already urges.”

He witnesses the growth of their chemistry, how the light shines brighter in her face when she encounters her loved one, how something equivalent with affection writes itself within his eyes each time he sees her, how the atmosphere goes dreamy and fluff with the two of them. There is no mistake, they are in love.

“What do you want, Hades?” The sea God seems to grow fatigued with his own brother’s fuss in his place ; while he puts down whatever engages him, he lets those cold blue eyes meet his other ones.

He shrugs his shoulders, “I see the stars shine within those cold blue of yours each time she is before.”

“What an ugly statement. Try again.” His sharp tongue throws a sarcasm which pulls a chuckle from Hades’ lips.

“My, for I certainly cannot say what greater blessing there can be for any man or God To have the right of heavenly Goddess and her love.” An amused glint is shown upon his eyes as Hades notices how his brother’s chiseled body grows tense with the mention of the sweet one who has dwelling inside his mind every day since the 2 years.

Those soft lips go in a thin-pursued line, eyelashes illuminating the softening look he tries to hide from Hades with his usual stern demeanor. “The love that belongs to the heavenly goddess is fair and fairer than any gold, hence those who are showered with the love revealed doing something graceful too.”

“I alone am already—“ “We all know it, Poseidon. You are becoming more humane around her, which is holding the grace in the art of living as a perfect God. Do take care of your own loneliness. Even the wisest king does have a caring hand of a woman who sincerely stays in a marriage.”

His jaw tightens as a form of response to his brother’s insolent sentences— but what holds him back? Is it because it came from the lips of the first one who gained his whole respect as his equal? Or is it also because what he said is true?

“What makes the heavenly love fair, since it compels the lover to take great care with regard to his own excellence and the beloved to do the same. All belong to that sweet goddess, when will you take it to be yours too?”

“You know nothing. I demand you to stop telling me what to do for I am the one who has the right to give myself an order.” Poseidon throws a menace in his gaze, yet the tone that wraps his voice is evident for anyone who hears it, that he just is protecting his pride.

“Said the little brother to his older brother who has been married for eons, having the greatest love with his only eternal flower that blooms in my dead atmosphere?” A frustrated sigh leaves his lips as he gets up from the cozy sofa, walking closer to where his brother sits

Hades puts a gentle smile upon his face, though Poseidon can not witness it for he is dismissing his sight from him, which brings the God of the Underworld a giddy feeling of seeing the sea God being his little brother. “Do not ever waste the time, Poseidon. never thinks of you procrastinating on claiming her heart before her light leaves your world. let it surge like your sea to your veins.”

Before Poseidon can slam whatever force he has within his fist or summon his trident, the elder God gives a soft pat upon his fluffy blond head before disappearing to wherever the God of the sea does not know, not even like he wants to think about it too.

He lets his body fall to the backrest of his chair, eyelids flutter close to conceal the sapphire eyes. It is only a half of the day, yet his brother’s visit did waste his energy. But what a shame, Poseidon finds himself recalling what Hades had said to him, connecting the dots by the end he meets her name echoes within his head. Indeed, she is a goddess. Each sway of her legs, the universe yields to her. Her wise wings which cradle the world, not even he realizes that she cradles him too.

If only Hades did not mention how he might lose her at any time, Poseidon would not let his head full of many things related to her. He remembers how the sun always beams upon her cheeks ever since they first met and until this very day, and how it grows sweeter and delicate with her loving touch, that speaks to him, speaks of her love. How silly, he himself declared God needs no companions as for he might not understand what is so great from being in love, since the matrimonies around him are filled with treason that brings only pain.

Or maybe, if it is as strong as her pleasurable love and with the high tenet I have for living without betrayal, it will not be a really sorrowful union. What did I think?

What a tiring coversation— no, he really wants her. And it does help to encourage him.

***

“Oh? You are finished with her?”

Pulling out one of his hands from his pocket, Hades waves his hand playfully in the air as soon as the sight of a gleaming Goddess enters his range. The satin fabric of her simple dress flows as her legs bring her hastily to him, with a smile full of blithesome she puts in her face to greet the God.

“Yes! I remembered I have not said anything to Lord Poseidon but ran away hours ago, and I feel bad.” A soft chuckle leaves her lips as she tiptoes her feet many times to cease the flooding feeling inside ulon seeing whom she respects after Poseidon, for a month did not meet him due to the business.

He bends his body down, close enough to make her shoves her head back with a funny expression ; a mix of embarrassment and disgust. “So you neglected my wife, hmm? What a bad kid.”

She hurriedly puts her hands atop of his shoulders, forgetting the small gap between them as the panic rushes her countenance. “It is not like that! We sure did spend a good amount of time with tea and sweets, though Lady Persephone wanted me to stay a little longer, but I do think I have to give Lady Demeter her time with her daughter.”

A laugh breaks under his breath as he lets his hand fall upon her head, giving it a soft stroke while he straightens himself. “Sure, sure. Papa knows what my ladies think. So, I will take my part now?”

Hades offers his arm to the younger deity, insisting her to come with him for a talk— which she gladly accepts since she knows the sea God will be fine with or without her presence around, oh, he may not care at all about her though. As she wraps her arm around his, her small giggle splits the air. “Yes, the special time for a special God.”

A sweet and full of joy coo comes from Hades whilst he dramatically lets his other hand clenched around his left chest. The walk is not so long, though it looks like the God who escorts her, it is her who actually points the direction to her private chamber ; not the bedroom, but another room for her to paint, to sculpt statues, and play instruments. It is specially made for the Goddess, under the demand of the owner of this manor himself— Poseidon, as he wants her to feel comfortable in working here.

The smell of hyacinth, and the mildness of vanilla ; the usual scent that trails her body wherever those feets wander shrouds his lungs, with the hint of jasmine essential oil on the table for stuff, acrylic paint fumes and clay— not so strong and intoxicating. The room is in a medium size, with many finished to half finished paintings of the sea under any skies and colours, the soft touches from any subtle silk that hugs the Divine's body, and the majestic within the sea that he notices to be the one God deserves her art ; Poseidon. In the middle, a fancy sofa stands still with a small table that is decorated with a vase of white roses, which she kindly welcomes him to sit above.

“Little one, is there something you want to tell me?”

With an usual amused grin, Hades watches the younger deity pour an exquisite teapot to two teacups, revealing a brown clear liquid that has a mild smell of jasmine. A confused mien showed within her face as she let her body rest upon the soft cushion of the sofa in front of him. “As in what?”

Sipping the sweet tea for a moment, he lets the taste explode on his tongue with its warmth. “Hmm, about my brother? Do you need any help?”

As for her, any emotions can be shown clearly upon her face ; and this time, the shock and embarrassment show. Not very dumb, she knows what the God meant with his brother, and where this conversation leads. “No … ? Why is it about Lord Poseidon?”

A deep chuckles grumbles in his chest as he finds it is enticing to see how the little Goddess tries so hard to conceal whatever she has inside from him, when in fact it is obvious how the butterflies break free from her lower tummy whenever their skins colliding in a small form of physical touch, or when those blue eyes find themselves in her eyes.

“Shan’t you keep your feelings to yourself?”

Teeth against her lower lip, she calms her breath before those orbs glance back to his other ones with wavering sparkles. “He is not someone worthy for me, it is what it is.”

Oh, Hades tries back a snort upon the funny statement— or at least for his ears. If only she knows what he can see through his little brother. “No one deserves to say such a thing, sweet. I am baffled now, why do you two keep denying it?”

“Because he will not want me, and I do not want to get hurt!”

The demi-Goddess seems to not recognize the words you two as she unconsciously cries out with the frustration she tries to suppress all these years with her pure devotion solely for him. “It is love who is concerned with the good and finds fulfillment in it in the company of temperance and justice, whether in the earth or here amongst the gods.”

With the guilt starts eating her up ; for the insolent act, she finds no harm within Hades’ face instead a care that speaks so much. “And with the fulfillment and what I have for him, which I am confident enough to say to be the fairest sense of adoration, it is enough to not desire his heart to be mine.”

As I thought, what comes is the greater blessing from heavenly Goddess and her love. “For if, instead of gratifying your love with only existing in the same divinity equal with Goddesses, as he does claim to be, why not honor both you and his heart?”

The silence pours a cold water all over her sense, for how the astonishment shines within her visage— Hades finds it as a sweet scene inside his head ; how he feels a sense of proud over his apathetic brother, who now has the greatest love and lets any warmth she can give surge into his marble heart, not to mention her true nature where the red that was running through her veins prior. To how such a Divine can hold a majestic loyalty for years, never lets the fatigue eat her, and shower The Poseidon with the given clarity in her love.

“Do speak your heart, little one. For what he has you shall know it if you’re willing to be open first.”

“What if it does not go the way we hoped it …”

The faint voice sounds holding a concealed despair within, as those small hands clench the fabric of her dress. She does not know, though with all the affection she has and the many days she spent with Poseidon— never did she be brave enough to say that the sea God returns her feelings. To even when Poseidon is well known to shove people away from his gate, putting thick and tall wall around, but how he was willing to sleep in her chamber, listening to her worries, or how he often offers his arm to escort her in a hall full of Divines, as if she is his consort. She only thinks it is a courtesy he shows to one who stays loyal to him.

Afterall, he is Poseidon. A hard God to approach and crack. No one is to blame if the Goddess thinks that way.

Hades gets up, doing the same thing he did to his brother ; patting her crown softly before he walks his feet around the room to appreciate the arts. “Trust me, as his brother.”

A puff of breath leaves her lips as she chooses to give up, accepting the advice he gave her as she follows his steps. The king of the Underworld has his fingers upon his chin as his eyes wander to a painting that does attract his attention ; somehow it speaks Poseidon, with the light blue sea water that glimmers under the sun, which is slightly disguised beneath dark clouds, and the rest of the sea seems dark for its unthinkable depth. “You do love him so much, too much, little one.”

She giggles in flattery as she stands beside him, ready to give him a guide to her small gallery. “And is it a bad thing for being too much?”

Hades tilts his head to her direction, a gentle smile is displayed upon his strong, handsome face. He feels proud of her to finally admit what her heart desires, to show it with confidence lies in it.

“Never in heavenly love.”

[] nesi’s note : AHHH IT FEELS NICE TO POST AGAIN!! i hope you all enjoy this hihi btw for references i read plato’s symposium lmaoo so yeah if you feel like reading his mind, yes you are <3

[awakeshedreams]

sugar and spice ( 1 )

pairing : resident bad boy!jjk x model student!reader

setting : highschool!au x stepbrother!au

summary :

a messy highschool!au x stepbrother!au where model student reader who has quite a few dirty little secrets sees her world take an unexpected turn when her mother comes home one day with an engagement announcement, to the father of none other than the school's resident bad boy.... Jeon Jungkook.

genre : smut, for laughs, kinda pornish, slow burn with collosaly overwhelming sexual tension

rating: soft m ( for now ) due to adult content

warnings : unconventional relationship of sexual nature, tropes and clichès, teenagers partaking in porn-esque activities, made up things with made up people happening in a made up world, don't like don't read XD

wordcount : 2.3K

a/n : i've been fighting in a long standing war and I have lost. the man known as jeon jungkook had his foot on my neck for years and today, I have finally submitted to my fate and surrendered to his reign.

yes. after a hundred years, i'm writing again. specifically, writing for bts. particularly, writing for jungkook. its been a long time coming.

life just took over and I transitioned into an adult and kind of grew out of the state of mind I was in before. but. sigh. jeon jungkook has been tormenting me the whole time. it was only a matter of time before i relapsed honestly.

so here I am again. in mind, body and spirit, a different person from who I was before but still the same in the sense that with the way bts have my whole heart, jk will always be the demon in the corner of my room that I invite to bed for a cuddle even though it's (probably really) not good for me.

do not misconstrue. I love him more than I can say. but. sigh. he has me in a chokehold, loves. please try to understand where I'm coming from.

anyways, enough with this ranting. you all came here for the nitty gritty so let me not hold you hostage with my dilemma rambling any longer. here's to the first bts fic i've posted in literal years. introducing- sugar and spice.

1 2

Unless they told someone, no one would have been able to guess it.

At school they were complete strangers.

She was the nice head girl with a clean record, all smiles and straight A’s. He was the mysterious bad boy with a track record, all tatted up with bruised knuckles.

She wore plaid skirts with neat pleads in them and pastel sweaters with bows at the collar. He wore jeans with rips in them and leather jackets with studs.

They couldn't have been any more different.

As far as anyone was concerned, they existed on two extreme ends of a vast spectrum.

What they didn't know was that they shared a dirty little secret.

.

You were a girl with many dirty secrets.

For instance, you used to sell nudes online. It was a side hustle you did.

Not because you needed money.

Your mom was a renowned doctor so there was more than enough of that in your life.

Not because you needed validation from people online either.

Even without the constant compliments and the praises you knew you were visually blessed with a pretty face and a nice body too.

All things considered, you simply thought you had a nice pair of tits and you took pictures of them sometimes.

Posting the shots you snapped online came much later when you heard about this website where people were getting paid crazy money for posting racy things.

‘It’s just so degrading…’ It was one of your friends, June, who sneered, pretty nose scrunched up. She fixed her long ponytail and rolled her brown eyes while looking in the mirror at her locker. ‘Who would do such a thing, am I right?’

She said this, but June was the girl who has slept with more boys than she could count on her two hands. And those were the ones she told you about.

Like every other time, you said nothing. Even when it carried on to lunch with the rest.

‘Pretty desperate if you ask me.’ Mei the stellar track runner shrugged casually as she stretched her limbs like routine.

‘Where are their parents?’ Nina the library nerd shook her head in disapproval as she fixed her glasses so it sat right on the bridge of her nose.

‘Um… I don’t think it’s … appropriate… to talk about ….’ Kiko the one who always carried a cross and bible around mumbled into her sleeve.

All your friends spoke of it in derision and repulsion of course. This was a school for proper children so they were proper girls. At least they were supposed to be.

Regardless the conversation sparked a curiosity in you.

So you made an account and uploaded your first picture. Nothing bizarre. Just your tits in a pretty lace bra.

You made sure to keep your face out of the frame because that was the smart thing to do and you were nothing if not the smartest student in school.

In all honesty, you weren’t expecting anything out of it. In fact, in between work with student council and tutoring your juniors with finals right around the corner, you even forgot about it for an entire month.

It was by a complete whim that you decided to open the app while you’d been unwinding at your desk following a tedious day at school.

To say you were amused by the response you found waiting for you would have be a grave understatement.

You were staring at the four figure digit that now sat in your bank account.

Reading through the comment section was even more interesting.

There were all sorts of people there who had all sorts of things to say. Ranging from honestly sweet to downright dirty.

You had never been brought to tears laughing in her life before until then.

It was just so funny to see people misbehave and lose their minds over a pair of tits.

From then on it just sort of became a thing.

.

But that wasn't the worse of your secrets.

You were making a name for yourself on the crude web months later.

The next step was naturally to move from making taking pictures to making videos. Since you was already in too deep you didn’t see why not.

So you upgraded and opened another account. An amateur one where your touched yourself for an audience.

You were no prude.

You might have never been touched by a boy before but you had touched yourself plenty times. Stress and frustration came hand in hand with being head girl. Since you couldn’t quite vent it out at the annoying troublemakers at school, this was your second best option.

Third was watching porn, but that was mostly when you were extremely bored.

But that wasn’t where that little endeavor ended.

Later on it became a lot more risqué.

.

It all started when your mom hit you with a marriage announcement.

She met a guy on her business trip who she really liked and she was convinced he was the one.

Your mom had a tragic history of being a bad judge of character.

You’ve had this conversation at least five times since you became old enough to understand that boys and girls who were just friends didn’t kiss and sleep with each other.

Most times, it felt like she was doing it because she thought you needed a dad around.

You might have once, when you were younger and your mom was too busy with work to be there. But she worked from home these days and you were soo busy with school to worry about things like that.

This time it was like she was doing it for her. You were glad.

Your mom looked genuinely happy when she spoke about this guy.

Who were you to get in the way?

.

She spent almost the whole weekend in the kitchen. It was the longest you’ve seen her in there in your entire life.

She was excited for the dinner on Sunday.

Mr Jeon was the name of the chosen man.

He was coming over with his kid. A son, his only family. His wife passed away years ago.

You wore the dress your mom picked out for you, something cream in color and off the shoulders that brushed your knees. She looked pretty in her champagne dress. It was different from the office slacks and loose blouses you were used to seeing her in.

You stood by her at the door while the guests came through.

Lifting your head from a polite bow, you found herself staring straight into an achingly familiar pair of glinting dark eyes and went completely still.

‘Sweetie,' Your mother said sounding delighted, a soft hand on your stiff shoulder. 'This is Mr Jeon and his son Jungkook.’

Ah. Fuck.

‘Jeon dear, this is my daughter. Isn’t she lovely?’

.

Dinner was a mild affair, with small talk and the occasional clinking of cutlery on fine china.

From the outside looking in, you probably looked the picture perfect family already.

Only if no-one looked close enough.

Arms crossed, tongue in cheek. Your discomfort could be detected from miles away.

The two adults were oblivious.

The dark eyed boy with the slightest wave to his nape touching, brow grazing, ear covering onyx hair sat across you though; he took note of this with a passing glance and wordlessly returned to his food.

Jeon Jungkook had a countenance that betrayed his reputation.

Even though you’ve never talked, you knew plenty about him and you were sure he knew a lot about you too.

You went to the same school.

Dressed as he was in a crisp white dress shirt buttoned at the wrist and dark tailored pants with a fine belt on, it might have been hard to tell what kind of person he really was.

You lifted her gaze from your plate to look study him wordlessly, idly twisting the noodles with your fork.

People either called him the black sheep or the dark cloud but for you, Jeon Jungkook was the school’s resident lone wolf.

He smoked in the secluded areas on campus, sometimes playing his guitar. Beat up people who got on his nerves, sometimes using his guitar. Slept in class the rare times he was there, many times on his guitar.

Being his senior, you had never seen any of any of that for yourself. But you received plenty reports weekly to come to a sound conclusion.

There was no way people hated him enough to join hands in solidarity and make this all up.

It was quite the contrary actually. He had an alarming number of fans.

On the surface level you couldn’t see why. Most times you saw him, he looked bored out his mind and honestly, intimidating.

Maybe it was the tattoos. Or the ripped skinny jeans. Or the leather jackets with studs.

Maybe it was the domineering height and fit frame and structured face.

Maybe it was the intense dark eyes or the silky ruffled hair.

Even then, you failed to see the irresistible appeal in him. All those things that made him up only added to his unapproachable aura.

Bottom line was, he was bad news.

.

You didn’t want to be a spoil sport.

But how much of a thug your mom’s boyfriend’s son was shouldn’t be something that would make her like him less.

They were both their own people. Right ?

It was just that you just didn’t want her to be shocked and devastated if something happened later. When it happened.

Yet it seemed the serious conversation would have to wait.

After dinner your mom suggested you head to the living room to chat over wine and cheese.

You stayed back to do take out the dishes.

Earlier, your mom had stood to do it instead at first.

‘Don’t bother with that, dear.’ She reached for the plates in your hands. ‘Let me do it.’

‘It’s okay, mom.’ You smiled a little. ‘This is your night. I’ll meet you in the living room.’

'Sweetie...' Your mom looked close to tears. ‘But there’s so much of it…’

‘Jungkook,’ his father's voice had cut through the moment. He was a serious man in a crisp suit with a stoic countenance. His voice was just naturally authoritarian without him trying ‘Give her a hand.’

Jungkook stood, almost robotically.

‘It’s fine.’ You said. Politely. Nicely. Tightly. ‘I can handle this much.’

You left without another word.

That had been moments ago and now you were done with cleaning.

You stood at living room entrance for a while, taking in the scene.

The two adults were exchanging moon eyes and whispering in each other’s ears at the love seat.

Jungkook was sitting on a solo seat, but he was on his phone, completely unbothered by what was happening.

Your mom seemed to think it was the perfect time to pull out the photo album right then and there upon seeing you.

It was embarrassing but at least you knew you didn’t have to worry about the pictures spreading at school.

Jungkook was looking, picking up a picture occasionally to rove over, but he wasn’t the type to do that.

He also wasn’t the type to stare but you felt his glance shifting to you and lingering multiple times.

Once, you caught his eyes and he just stared at you across the coffee table wordlessly with a curious tilt to his head, idly flipping a picture of you dressed as a knight in glitter shining armor for Halloween at eight in his hands.

Honestly, it was starting to get annoying.

But you endured. For your mom’s sake.

.

Your alarm went off at exactly ten.

As subtly as you could, you excused yourself with an apology to the guests, saying you weren't really feeling well.

In hindsight you probably should have used a better excuse.

Your mom was notorious when it came to worrying, especially when it comes to your health.

Also, you probably should’ve locked the door before undressing just for good measure since people were over.

But in the moment, you were too busy setting your camera up where you were kneeling on the floor at the foot of the bed to be concerned about that.

That day you were testing out a new toy.

.

Distractedly, you took note of a couple of people asking you if that was your boyfriend’s shirt you had lifted over your tits.

You ignored them.

Couldn’t a girl own an oversized tee without getting any flack?

Trivial comments like that aside, a good majority of the audience are fawning over how wet you were and how perfect you bouncing tits look being played with.

Your head fell back and your eyes fluttered shut.

You were sitting there, knees raised to your chest and legs splayed, your gushing pussy in full display where the toy was stuffed deep into her tightness, vibrating pleasantly.

‘I’m close…’ you mumbled throatily, squeezing your tits and pinching your stiff nipples in between your moving fingers. You moved your hips move faster, feeling the toy buzz against fluttering walls. You took a hand off one of your tits to rub at your engorged clit. ‘Fuckfuckfuck…’

Deep in your high, you didn’t hear the door open and close with a foreboding click.

You only heard your name being called by a deep, smooth voice through the heady haze.

Instantly you stilled.

When you snapped your head to look over her shoulder Jungkook was there, hands in his pockets, leaning against your doorframe with his sleeves drawn up to his elbows, muscle roped, inked skin on full display.

When he tilted his head to the side a little, appraisively, you dared to say as a quaking chill ran down your spine and your entire body felt like it was about to burst into flames, a bit of his hair fell over his face.

His eyes were like two black in the dark as he took you in, dragging his gaze up and down your exposed body languidly.

In the back of your mind, you wished the ground would part and swallow you whole.

‘Your mom,' he starts, capturing your attention wholly, dark gaze finally flickering to your face, his voice suddenly lower, hoarser. ‘She sent me over to check on you.’

It took you a moment to realize where you were, who you were, who he was.

It was like a bucket of cold water had been dropped over your head.

Jeon Jungkook, the school's resident trouble maker, soon to be your step brother, just walked in on you fingering yourself in in front of a recording camera.

Well. Yeah.

You gulped.

You were royally fucked.

depending on the response I get I might ( most probably will ) delete this. not because I'm ashamed of my work. because I'm embarrassed of myself. I really swore to never write again and here I am. sigh. yes, I have seen my previous works and noticed just how terrible they were and this is a big reason why. so sorry for putting you through that. a million apologies.

also, that's right. I have adopted a new style which might not be to everyone's liking. another reason why.

anyways, if you liked this filth ( i know it seems mild but I can tell you it's very likely gonna get worse ) please idk uh... fuck this isn't ao3. hm.

like and drop by in the ask box if you liked it and want to see more. it makes me happy. its like serotonin fuel to me.

have a nice day. see you next time ( maybe ). stay fresh. yeah. 💜💜.

[filthforfriends]

Chapter 3

Read previous chapters on my Masterlist

Damiano x fem reader

Word count: 5k

Summary: alpha-omega smut

When you wake up, it's early morning. Damiano is sound asleep in the bed next to you. If your sensory input was a circuit board, there would be an electrical fire right now. You lay very still, trying to take stock of everything you feel. It's like you have this maddening itch that you can’t scratch, but it's deeper than your skin. You can especially feel it in your reproductive organs, so its not really an itch, but more a feeling of malaise. There is something deeply off that needs to be fixed, but you can’t mend it or even pinpoint what needs fixing.

You know you’re in heat, but this isn’t what you thought it’d feel like. You feel genuinely sick, feverish. It's like a sunburn, everywhere, even inside. The fact that you don’t feel steady, that your emotional reactions are heightened, isn’t helping either. Sure, you can smell Damiano now. Each deep breath makes you feel a little drunk and you want to give him a bath with your tongue. However, that’s the only thing living up the hype. You’re intensely uncomfortable in your own body, so you get up to take a freezing shower. It's so ineffective at regulating your temperature that you don't bother with clothes before getting back into bed. The only thing that helps is turning on your side and tilting your face so your nose practically touches the scent glands behind Damiano’s ears.

It seems that you’ve barely fallen asleep when you wake up again, this time on your back, working harder than you should for air. It's not entirely dissimilar from a panic attack, which means something must be very wrong. Heat is supposed to feel good, albeit intense.

“Dami, Dami, Da-” you wheeze. He flips over before you can finish the second syllable, eyes immediately scanning you in detail. “Somethings wrong. I’m sick, I can’t breathe! I have a fever!” He immediately moves on top of you, caging you in with all four of his limbs.

“How long?”

“I don’t know! It was like this before and I got up to take a cold shower.” Of all the reactions from Damiano, you didn’t expect anger.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” You open your mouth to speak, but he cuts you off preemptively. “You said I was your alpha, why aren’t you letting me protect you. I take care of you. Why aren’t you letting me be your alpha?” He was growling by the end of it, nose scrunched up like an animal. You squirm, shifting your legs then hitting something moist and recoiling.

“What is that?” Damiano rips the comforter back to reveal a sizable wet spot right where the crux of your legs had been. You curse yourself for forgetting to wear a tampon, or liner or something. Rushes of slick were just another symptom of heat, but still embarrassing. The omegan body produces plentiful, often excess lubrication in anticipation of receiving penetrative sex from alphas. “Sorry, I totally forgot. I was just so hot that I didn’t -”

Damiano moves as if in a trance. He reaches his hand down and runs his fingers through the puddle of slick on the sheets, bringing it to his face. He first smells his hand, then sticks all four digits in his mouth to taste. Dami’s eyes roll back in his head and he rocks back and forth at the intensity of whatever he's feeling. Watching it, knowing you have the effect, shakes you. Not because you’re afraid, but because you like it too much. After a moment, Damiano recovers and speaks, eyes black, irises over taken by pupils.

“You’re naked,” he husks. Damiano lunges forward, pinning you to the bed with his body weight, sticking his tongue in your mouth as he kisses you, hard. Instead of breathing getting more challenging, it eases, like he’s the source of your oxygen. The general discomfort lessens, not yet manageable, but no longer agonizing. Every cell of your body sings for him, for closer and more and harder and make me take it or so help me god I don’t think I’ll survive. Your alpha is the anecdote, and the nearer he gets, the less the remaining space becomes bearable.

Damiano moves to pull away, giving you room to breathe, but you don't let him because you don’t want any room from him at all. The idea that you will always be two separate entities, never truly unified as one being, makes your eyes well up.

“Wait, wait, don’t!” In a flurry of limbs you throw your legs around his waist and your arms over his shoulders, trapping him against you. In the flex of his muscles you can feel the strength to throw you off of him, but he lets you cling.

“Better, now?” You practically purr in response. Your arousal has likely seeped through his boxers onto the stiff cock pressing into the hinge of your thigh. It's less that you want his dick and more that you want every part of him. Less that you want to be his omega and more that you want to be owned by your alpha. Less that you want to fuck him and more that you need to for your own personal comfort and sanity.

“You said I smell like heaven?” Damiano gives you a look that has you sinking back into the bed, sheets be damned. He’s boxing you in again, lips by your scent glands as he snarls softly, reminding you that he’s more alpha than human right now. You feel like a lioness, knocked on her back in a fight for dominance, with her opponents gnashing teeth at her throat, holding her life in the balance. With his canines at the column of your neck he’s demanding your total submission, the handing over of power. Damiano is reminding you of his capability to rip open your jugular while you’re pinned underneath him.

“Looked like I tasted like heaven too.” His teeth scarp at the tender skin of your neck and you can feel another growl rumble through his chest. The tendons in his hands flex as he tries to channel some of the kinetic energy into his grip on the mattress. His scent glands are close to your nose too, in this position, pheromones turning you into putty: a musk that is also piny with some distant notes of French cologne. Everything about his smell is telling your body to give in, but your mind wants him to force you to submit.

“Do you think I’ll feel like heaven?” Immediately, Damiano bites down on the meat of your trapezius muscle, nearly breaking the skin. You yelp in pain.

“Careful little omega,” he growls. “Would hate for you to get hurt.” He’s dangerous, and he’s telling you that, but you have no self preservation instinct. Provoking him into a reaction is taking priority over everything. You want to be endangered by Damiano.

“I wonder if -” Immediately he’s savagely pressing his tongue into the sore spot.

“I will flip you over and make you my bitch. This is you last fucking warning, michetta.” The words rip from the back of his throat with a primal snarl that makes you shudder in delight. He pulls away from your neck just enough to make eye contact that momentarily paralyzes you. Everything is completely still: in your embrace, in the bedroom, in the apartment. Then, holding eye contact like a disciple gazing at Christ, you slowly part your legs. Dammiano settles his hips between your thighs and you part them further still, until lack of flexibility prevents you.

“Now, I would like to create a system of consent, but you’ve used up all my patience, so we’re gonna establish a safeword instead.” The concept that omegas could rescind consent during heat was seen as new-agey. Omegas in heat weren't viewed as human in the same way they were outside of heat. Of course, even in rut, feeling himself as a cocky alpha, Damiano prioritized your autonomy. You wanted to run the tip of your tongue along the scent glands on his neck, and the ones between his legs, afterwards.

“Huckleberry.” You say the very first thing that comes to mind.

“Too long. Try for one syllable.”  Your brain feels like sludge, all you can focus on is how Dami’s cock is one layer of fabric away from being inside you. And for the first time ever, raw. You let out a huff of irritation.

“Can’t you just tell me one?” None of the primal aspects of Damiano’s expression soften, but he does look at you with affection.

“No, no,” he tsks. “You have to come up with it yourself so you’ll remember it.” You look up to the ceiling, trying to recall your last few thoughts. Everything is fuzzy around the edges except your alpha. He’s crystal clear and pulling all focus.

“Lion.”

“Lion,” he repeats, as if to feel how it falls from the tip of his tongue as the muscle moves from the roof of his mouth. “I like it.” He smiles, and despite knowing it to be an urban legend, his canines do look longer, sharper.

“And I’m your lioness,” you beam.

“No, you’re my cub.” The correction is swift.

“I’m your mate.”

“You’re my omega.” He gives you that paralyzing gaze again. “Above all else, that's what you are. If you’d like to be.” You manage a small nod. “You’d like me to make you my omega?” He cocks an eyebrow, waiting for your confirmation. You nod again, knowing what he’s asking, and wanting it desperately. “Then tell me what you want.”

“I want you to fuck me raw,” you breath. Damiano arches an eyebrow.

“And that's it? I’ll be sure to pull out then,” he taunts. A swell of animalistic anxiety makes your chest heave, compromising your airways again.

“No, no, no! You can’t! You have to come inside me to mark me. You have to mark me, you said you would.” You can feel the tears well up in your eyes again at the prospect of being left cold and empty after your first time.

“My little omega wants me to mark her with my semen then? he muses, turning his head to the side, as if to observe you in a new way.

“Yes, yes!” Damiano smirks at your submission, pushing it ever further.

“So independent,” he teases. “Are you sure you want to be owned?” You imagine being in a coffee shop, the day after your heat has passed. Alphas not even bothering to look at you because they can smell Damiano. He could be across and still be with you, in you. Maybe a past omega would recognize his scent on you and feel heartbroken that you had stolen her alpha. The territorialism was so intense that being owned sounded like a solution instead of an issue.

“Yes I want you to own me,” you confirm, to Dami’s delight. “I want you to ruin me with your seed.”

“Ruin you I will, michetta, but first, I want to taste you pure.” He crawls down your body to rest between your legs, shoving the comforter out of the way. He gets settled then yanks you down the bed so your cunt is in his face, throwing both legs over his shoulders. Leaning forward, Damiano maintains eye contact as he swipes his taste buds against your clit. It's such an intense jolt of stimulation, that you spasm, and Damainos hands tightly grasp the top of your thighs, holding you still while he administers this sweet torture.

The tip of his tongue traces the edges of your clit, slowly moving in a circular motion. He’s got you so worked up so fast that you’re feeling feverish again. Having him so far away, at at the end of the bed, is its own kind of torture. You can recognize your primal instinct to mate, but it goes beyond that. Even sober you were most excited to share this intimacy with Damiano, to strengthen your bond in and outside of heat. Suddenly the situation feels so dire that you start tugging on his hair.

“Dami, Damiano. Baby come back. Up here, baby.” Your voice comes out broken and hoarse. He meets your eyes again and you can see the razor sharp focus in his expression. He moves away from your pussy and you think you’ve won, but instead he starts roughly licking your upper thigh. Watching you intently, he cleans both sides from the earlier rush of slick, working meticulously. Your breathing picks up in anticipation of him reaching your scent glands and with his tongue so close to your pussy, your yeaning comes into focus.

“Baby please mark me. Please? C’mon, you said I’d feel better when you did. Dami,” you whine. He pauses for only a moment before gently licking your left scent gland with the tip of his tongue. You shudder, almost as sensitive as him tracing your clitorous.

“You know, one day I’m going to touch you here.” He rubs the pad of his thumb on your clit. “While tasting your sweetness here,” emphasizing his words with a broad swipe of tongue along your scent gland. Heat has you so hypersexual that if he would do any movement consistently for about two minutes you could cum. He moves his lips to your center and begins eating you out like it's his last meal. First swirling around your hymen, he goes in with his entire tongue, face applying delicious pressure to your whole vulva. Sometimes the bridge of his Roman nose even brushes your clit.

“Dami -” you mewl, but are interrupted. Damiano sucks at your entrance, viciously, drinking from your body. He actually moans as he does it, loudly. Obscene slurping noises fill the room, punctuated by his sounds of pleasure. He undulates his tongue inside you, before pulling it back and creating a seal for him to draw out as much slick as possible. Moaning again, he pushes his face more snuggly between your legs. The hot, moving muscle of his tongue reminds you of what else you’d like inside you, more than anything. You could feel your capacity to get overwhelmed right now. By what, you weren’t sure.

“Damiano please. I want you to mate with me,” you begged. The change of language got his attention and he looked up from your cunt.

“I can taste that no ones ever marked you before. Are you sure?” His demeanor has shift again and you were getting whiplash.

“Yes, I’m fucking sure! I wouldn’t be here, with you, if I wasn’t sure. And if you get all purity culture of the untouched omega on me, I swear to god, I’ll -”

“Heard,” he interrupted, nodding. “But if you’re sure, say the words.” The way he looked at you, you’d ever felt so much an object of someone’s attention in your life. He was trying to read every micro-expression, decode every feature. God yes. To finally voice this, and mean it, was a relief.

“Breed me.” It's a dizzying request, but once you’ve admitted to the ultimate desire, it consumes you. “Breed me, breed me, Damiano.” His gaze darkens and he licks his lips. You can feel yourself about to be overtaken by whatever that thing is, pushing you towards the edge ever since you woke up this morning. “Breed me! I can’t - I need you to.” You look around the room frantically to articulate what precisely is wrong, but just let out a whine of frustration as tears spring to your eyes.

The next moment you’re in Damianos arms. He forces his hands under your back and holds you to him as he sits back on his heels, your legs straddling his thighs. For a second your arms hang limp as he crushes you against him. One arm is around your waist while the other is up your back, his hand supporting the base of your skull. Again, his proximity makes it better. Being thrown around like a ragdoll and fucked on every flat surface in his apartment is what you’d expected from an alpha in rut. Not Damiano humming in your ear as he rocked you back and forth to calm you. It was so tender that you wanted to bite him, an admittedly strange reaction to affection.

“I wanted to memorize your taste, because it's never going to be like that again. So I can compare how it is after, find the exact difference. I need to know precisely how it tastes to have bred you, to have put my seed in you.” He’s speaking softly in your ear. “It’s hard to explain, but...if something happens I need to know exactly how you’ll always smell like me.” The confession makes your breath catch in your throat. You pull away enough to hold Damiano’s face in your palms.

“My love,” you coo, “I’m not going anywhere.” You try to catch his gaze, but he puts a wall up, puffs out his chest like an alpha.

“I know, just in case,” he quickly justifies.

Putting your lips against the shell of his ear you whisper, “baby, we don’t need a just in case.” He lets himself smile as he nods in agreement. You nod with him, beaming.

“You’re right,” and he kisses you. It escalates quickly, one hand gripping your thigh, fingers digging into the flesh, and one on your back. He lays you on the bed, careful to adjust the pillow so your head lands there. Shucking off his remaining clothing, you're surprised his cock doesn’t make an audible slapping sound as it hits his stomach. Torn as to whether to reach for it or reach for him, you give your dominant hand to his cock and the other to his hair. He’s noticeably more engorged and you're tempted to ask him to finger you, but instinct takes over. You curl your legs around Dami’s waist as he comes to rest on his forearms above you. He hesitates a moment and opens his mouth to speak.

“Yes,” you preemptively interrupt, giving him a mix of adoration and annoyance. Lining up your bodies wasn’t challenging. You’d done this plenty, but the weight of the situation had you jittery. Unprotected sex between an alpha and omega, regardless of medical intervention, was playing with fire. Hormone control couldn’t contend with the body’s natural response. You’d thought that, realistically, you would never get this close to Damiano. You were about to taste forbidden fruit and that excited you the point that slick was smeared down to your mid-thigh.

The velvety head of his cock nudged your hymen. You let out a forlorn whine in pain. Having him so close, but not yet breeding you was excruciating. The difference between the sensation and latex was minimal, but every sense was turned so far up that it was perceptible. You tilted your hips up to meet him, and Damiano pushed forward. His cock breached your walls, so lubricated with slick that the stretch was delicious and easy. Your nails raked down his back, branding him as your own.

When he pushed to the hilt you expected to feel like the air had been knocked out of you, but it was the opposite.The feeling of unsteadiness lessened and your fever decreased. Whatever had been pushing and pushing at your sanity was soothed by this joining of forms. You wondered how you didn’t realize that this was what you needed all along. Of course it was. One body craves the other.

Using your grip on Damiano, you try to lift yourself off the bed, bringing your body closer to his. With the amount of testosterone in his veins he doesn’t notice the pull of gravity, just the desperation of your embrace. He does another intense scan of your form with his eyes, checking that his omega is in good health. Damiano is able to maintain razor sharp focus while you're unable to curb the strangled, animalistic whimpers coming from the back of your throat. His thrusts were slow, deep, steady. His manhood pulsates inside you as your walls spasm, intern. The ability to relax is beyond you and you’re bearing down so hard you’re surprised he doesn’t let out a noise of pain. Damiano meets your eyes and you can see that this puts him at ease too. His breathing is more regular, even as he glistens from exertion.

“Why didn’t you -?”

“I’m your alpha, pushing you for my own comfort isn’t protecting you. Christ,” he whines, shoulders shuddering with pleasure. You’re feeling greedy, this reasonable pace wasn’t enough.

“Stop making love to me and breed me if you’re my alpha.” You can almost see the switch happening, Damiano taking the back seat to his instincts, letting them win. His nose scrunches up in displeasure, like he’s about to snarl.

“How are you still so feisty?” He snaps his hips forward in a mercilessly powerful thrust. It moves you so far up the bed that he pulls out to scoot lower, hauling you with, down onto his cock. When he pierces you, he uses it for emphasis. “Why can’t you be a good omega?” He uses a vice grip on your hips to bounce you up and down on his cock. Theres no point in stopping him because you’re so enraptured in pleasure that you coudln’t fuck him this thoroughly if you tried. You’re trembling, eyelids fluttering. You can feel your cunt engorged too. “Huh? Answer me,” he growls, leaning down to nip at your neck again.

“More, more, more,” you chanted. Letting out pathetic whines and moans and he forces your body to conform to his. It wasn’t just about the pleasure, or the sexual hunger so insatiable that it made you feel ill. It was about relief from existing in your own body, all alone, for your whole life. All the physical discomfort of loneliness, of needing another, and finding no one, was fucked out of you with every thrust. Damiano in rut had the key for your locked door. This was why people spoke of alpha-omega relationships with a quiet sanctity. You understood it, finally, because you’d never been less empty in your whole existence. For the first time in your life, you didn’t resent your biology.

You get a handful of Damiano’s hair and use it to pull his face from your neck, to look him in the eyes. It feels like there's an invisible string connecting your two hearts. His eyes are half lidded, flushed red, and he’s sweating so profusely that it's collecting in the valleys of your body. But he looks at you nonetheless, every thrust, driving his cock into you with passion. His colorless eyes suspend you in time, away from the rest of your senses. He’s demanding something of you, but what else can you give?

“You’re not giving in to it,” he growls. “You’re all in your head.” His voice is husky and demanding, so you focus on sensation. Every pass, you echo with pleasure, an echo which reaches the core of your being. The drag against the walls of your pussy, brushing to and fro on your g-spot, makes you spasm intensely. Your heels have been pounding against his back without your permission, you can feel every nub of his spine, every flex of muscle. You press your breasts to Damiano’s chest for the sweet friction of his sweaty abdomen against your hardened nipples. He dips down every in-stroke and you time it with arching your back. This time you meet him with your tongue, licking the moisture from his skin. Thinking this will be enough to convince him you speak again.

“I want to be your mate, I want you to breed me. I want -”

“Shut up,” he commands. “You’re just saying the words, but you don’t really mean them.” That's an exaggeration you disagree with, but he’s right that you’re in different places. Every time he growls you can feel it. Damiano slows his thrusts to a stop. He may not have meant to, but the hysteria that rips through you at the thought of him leaving you empty is an effective reality check.

“Come ‘ere.” He hauls you off the bed, rearranging your bodies so you’re straddling him. He gives you a look which says that you’re his entire world at this moment, nothing extends beyond you and him. “Do you trust me? Do you really trust me?” The intensity is scalding.

“Yes. Of course, yes,” you answer, honestly.

“Then submit,” he growls. “I can’t breed you if you don’t submit, michetta.” When he uses the pet name, the head of his cock twitches inside you. Your body responds of its own accord, spasming in reaction to the movement. It's obvious that some parts of you are totally synched up.

“I want to, but -”

“There's no controlling yourself in this.” The thought of giving up all control during heat, a time when everything was wildly intense and foreigh, delivered a pang of fear in your chest. He could see it all over your face and you gazed at him, looking for an answer.

“I can’t just totally let go of the reins! What's gonna happen then?” It was a battle of wills in your head. Your body was already in harmony with Damiano’s. “I’m in heat! Who's gonna -”

“I will,” he asserted, with total confidence and finality. “Whatever it is, I’ll do it, on your behalf. Protect you? Help you regulate? Address your symptoms?” Every time your brain supplied you with a hypothetical situation, you knew Damiano was capable of solving it. He’d already paid such close attention. He was quite literally the anecdote to most of your ailments. The scent omitted from his glands, the weight of his body, his musculature, his cock whose entire length was inside you. There were your remedies. Each had a live pulse, beating in your ears.

“Okay, okay.” It was somewhere between a concession and a confession of your true desires. “But how?” Your hands were balled into fists where they rested on Damiano’s back.

“I know you’ve spent your life fighting your biology, michetta, but the submission of heat can release you from that anxiety.”

“I give everything over to you,” you murmur in wonder. “I’m free.”

“Yes,” he purred, kissing the top of your ear, then your cheek. “I have control, so you don’t have to.” Damiano’s warm palm rubs up and down your back, to the same tempo as the kisses on your neck. Every hair on your body stands up and you shiver in satisfaction. He starts nipping at the skin again, and you let your head lull back, lips parted. Seeing your reaction, things get more intense. Damiano starts thrusting up to meet you, and his teeth sink into your skin. You let out a yip of pain, but let him continue. Still biting you, he sucks down, and you realize that he’s leaving a mark, his first mark.

“Undo your fists, omega. Now.” He is still using that affectionate purr which you’ve developed a taste for. The depth of his thrusts has increased, creating a porographic slapping noise. Now he’s brushing your g-spot everytime and you’re shaking, but Dami has you in such a tight embrace it doesn’t matter. It takes all of your focus to bring your attention away from where your bodies meet. You manage to get your left fist open and flat on your alpha’s back, but the other you can barely get unfurled. Your brow is furrowed with the effort, but your mind keeps slipping back to where you’re being bred. Eventually you make a high pitched sound of frustration, not wanting to fail him the first change you get. Calmly, he pulls your right off his shoulder and uses his two hands to open your fist the rest of the way.

“I’m sorry,” you squeak, tears in your eyes. Damiano’s face is red with exertion, the vein of his forehead visible. He kisses your palm before returning his hands to your hips. Your slick is dripping over the sides of his upper thighs, so plentiful that you slip when attempting to get your own momentum going. The next thrust is so powerful that it knocks you forward, where you let out another disillusioned whine.

“It's okay, michetta. My little cub is doing so well.” The rush of serotonin at his praise is more like a wave, or a tsunami, and all you want is more, more, more. “Play with your nipples for me, principessa.” Your skin stings as you pull your arms, the sweat of his back having joined the two surfaces. Instead of planning your next move, you bring both hands to your breasts and wait to see what your body wants.

“How should I touch my nipples, alpha?” You moan and mewl and struggle to hang on to consciousness.

“Rough,” he growls, licking between the valley of your breasts. You yank and pull and pinch so hard that you mewl in pain. “Gentler, don’t hurt yourself.” You expect him to snicker, but instead his hot breaths hit your cheek. You recognize this breathing pattern, he’s close to cumming. Now, your hands are carlmer, twisting and rubbing the pink buds of your nipples. You find the perfect combination and start to get tunnel vision, groaning desperately.

“Look at my sweet omega making herself cum.” He coos, but Damiano’s own voice was hoarse. At the next in-stroke you grind down hard on his dick, stimulating your clitorous and sabatoging his rhythm by frantically rubbing yourself back and forth along the delicious friction of his pubic hair. You expect to be reprimanded, but he helps you instead, purring in your ear. “Aww look how bad my omega wants it? Such a fucking slut, only for me, and doing such a good job too.” His praise could be a salve to any wound, you could survive on it alone. Without food or water, just your alphas voice.

“My pretty little cub,” he continued. You felt such earth shattering adoration for Damiano as he leaned towards you. That earlier instinct surfaced and you were so enraptured in the moment that your frontal lobe didn’t catch it in time. You pitched forward and sunk your teeth into his neck. You tasted blood and came so hard you lost consciousness.

Notes: yeah so I strongly dislike this chapter, but I've spent too much time on it so whatever. didn't proofread the last bit because I'm tried of this this bitch she's annoying. am meticulously planning the next chapter. BUT thank you for reading!

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[missgeniality]

Opaline Moon (m)

“The Moon can never breathe, but it can take our breath away with the beauty of its cold, arid orb.” - Munia Khan

➺ Banner: @hobiandsprite​ 💕

➺ Pairing: Seokjin x Female Reader

➺ Trope: Friends to Lovers, Idol!AU

➺ Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff

➺ Rating: 18+

➺ Word Count: 11.2k

➺ Summary: You are ingrained to love Jin, right upto the blood that courses through your veins. Confessing, however, is a whole other game. So it’s a good thing you’re bad at keeping your hands to yourself, because happenstance can handle the rest. 

➺ Warnings: talks about dance floor fucking, making out in the bar bathroom, fingering, pussy slapping, passing out drunk, daydreams about thigh riding, reader masturbates, they make out A LOT, neck kissing, a hickey, nipple play, some biting, cum eating (kind of, you’ll see), blowjob, protected sex!, reader and jin are corny, the hurt is real but the sex is real-er

➺ Author’s Note: My lovely, lovely moots - @taegularities​, @kithtaehyung​ and @baepsaetan​, thank you so much for betaing this and hyping it up, your comments made this fic a hundred times better! As I mentioned on the teaser, this fic took a lot out of me, but I thoroughly enjoyed writing the angst and will write more whenever the story aligns! I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing, and I hope this lovable Jin reaches your heart! (ngl, in usual fashion, I will come back and edit it again, so if you see a spelling mistake, your eyes are lying to you) Do let me know what you think, your asks and comments make my day!

This is the second part of my Dress Down series, find more at it’s masterlist!

ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ | ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

Sweltering heat. Blaring traffic. Little to no sleep. Through all things wrong, one man’s thoughts wrapped around you like a cooling breeze, a shield to protect you from the vicissitudes of reality, to draw you back into all of him. Unfortunately, your reality may never see that day come to light.

Kim Seokjin.

Kim Seokjin, the man who cooked you up a greasy break-up meal at three in the morning with not a sight of discomfort, putting your needs above all.

Kim Seokjin, whose puns make you roll your eyes heavenward, half awed at how he manages to pull one out of his collection at a moment's notice, and half irked by the untimely laugh it brings out of you.

Kim Seokjin, the man who will never be yours, and you have no one to blame but yourself. 

One could argue that the miscommunication that had caused this present condition was two-way. If you had stopped him, corrected him, let him know the truth… you wouldn’t have to resort to the extreme measures you’re currently entangled in. One would also say, you are trying to redeem your mistake by trying too hard. Surely, everyone and their mothers could see through your ruse. 

This is the fourth time you’re visiting Jin for his BE shoot - a shoot taking place two hours away from the city, disguised under various layers of secrecy to prevent any leakage of the album concept, or Jin in general. Of course, you had been made privy to such exclusive information, because you and Jin were ‘best friends’. 

Best. Friends.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Best friends. The term you coined for (and forced upon) the bond you had. The bond that was too close to sprouting into something new, something fresh, something that was filled with glimmering allure and dragged you in like quicksand. But also, it reeked of commitment, of shadows, of newness that you hadn’t felt in the longest time, and fear of already being far too deep in without even taking the first step. 

The loud thrum of some internet kid’s new hit pulses through the air of the club as bundles of couples occupy the dance floor, laughing and gyrating to a song that, in your opinion, most definitely does not suit gyrating. But with enough of the weekend happy hours intake combined with hormone-riddled minds, one could very well throw it back to a church choir. 

You weave through the drunken bodies, trying not to spill the precariously held three drinks in your hands, making your way to your inner circle, the only people to blame for dragging you to this slosh-fest.

“Y/N!” 

Somehow Hoseok’s voice can echo across the club, but you didn’t even need his addressal because Jin’s laughter is loud enough to navigate anyone to your table. Seeing you struggle with the glasses (and mostly the crowd, with some of them living their exhibitionist dreams), Hoseok gets up to assist you.

“I swear, if I see one more couple pretending to be dancing as they rub one off of each other’s thighs, the black market will have my eyes.”

“Oh yeah?” Jin’s breathy voice interjects your black-market dreams, still bursting in short laughs from whatever sent him rolling before your arrival. “Why don’t you go join them?”

“And whose thigh is she taking, yours?” Yeji snorts out, one hand holding her nebula blue drink, the other wrapped around Hoseok, urging him to come closer. Jin’s features scrunch into a cringe, and you’re thankful for the dim lighting because the disappointment in your features does not reach them.

“The only action these leather pants are getting is in the damned laundromat,” he points to his shiny trousers, “some jerk dropped his drink on it.”

“You could be the first person to give some chick an orgasm and a yeast infection.” Hoseok giddily adds, his fifth shot clearly making a mess of his brain cells. 

Jin claps and gets up to move away from the group. “Better than a pregnancy!” he yells, before zigzagging through the crowd, possibly to the restroom. He is on his third cocktail, and you’d think cocktails are lighter drinks. But in this bar, their taps just seem to flow with tequila, and it is very evident in the way Jin is currently walking.

His absence hits you harder than you think, but it might be the alcohol talking. Jin has always been the mood-maker of the group, the one who brings everyone together. Of late though, his magnetic persona has been an irritant in your life. Any outing you two take, any chance you have to come clean about the burgeoning crush you have on him, is effectively disrupted by one of his posse. And today, Hoseok and Yeji took that trophy. 

“Earth to Y/N. Has the cocktail finally broken you?”

You flutter your eyes in a manic fashion, to disperse the daydream you were indulging yourself in, and bring your attention back to the couple calling for you. Surprisingly, they have stood up, Yeji emptying the last of her neon drink. 

“What happened?”

“We are going to the club nearby, they have better stuff. And that’s code for ‘they actually add water to the drink and the surround sound doesn’t shatter your ear drum’.’” 

She isn’t wrong. The cocktails and music here are a 19-year-old frat party dream, not something the working class can digest. But you’re tired at this point, and don’t want to be smothered by someone else’s love life when your own is down the dumps.

“You guys carry on! I’ll tell Jin where you are and he’ll meet you there!”

You watch as Hoseok and Yeji lead each other to the exit, hands circling their partner’s waist. They giggle on and on, about nothing and everything, and it only hardens the emptiness you feel inside you. 

Why can’t you gather the balls to spit your feelings out? What could possibly go wrong? Yes, you may lose one of your closest friends, but is this friendship really worth the agony? The bitterness you feel when you see any couple enjoying themselves? The anger you harbor whenever Jin tells you about his dates? The heartache, when he hugs you and tells you that you’re the best thing that’s happened to him… as a friend? Is it? Your plastered brain tells you to not make any rash decisions, so you don’t, instead choosing to get up and search for your best friend. 

The corridor leading to the washrooms is dimly lit, throwing a merlot filter over your eyesight, making you squint in search of your friend. You being shitfaced does not help, and while relishing in your floating wooziness, you see Jin come out, and feelings you’ve held at bay for so long slither through your currently porous defenses. 

He has always been good-looking. He himself has said so a dozen times.

But wow.

His hair lays messily atop his beautiful face, unkempt, like a breeze of beauty swept across his mighty looks and displaced every strand, causing disarray, but even the disarray only frames his superior looks and adds to its potent charm. The black, patchy sweater hanging loose off his broad shoulders makes you feel things you shouldn’t feel as a friend. That stupid gut of yours is currently screaming, yelling for all hands on deck, trying to block all the feelings from gushing in and sending you into overdrive.

By the time you can gather yourself to stop from giving in to those dangerous thoughts, Jin has crossed the distance between you, coming close, too close. Chocolate-brown eyes peer into your soul, searching for whichever fantasy you chose to lose yourself in. His eyes flit down to notice your rumpled dress that has found its way a couple of inches above its designated spot. His gaze returns to yours, but not without a newfound hardness, an almost steely glaze over the kindness that you usually find in the chocolate pools, accentuated under the garnet lighting. 

“Hey, umm…” You beg for a reprieve, from your thoughts, from your filthy mind, from the way he is eyeing your cleavage, or just for the burning between your legs. You’re about to make some serious mistakes, you can feel it down to your bone.

You’re far too overdressed. 

You knew it when you were in the process of getting dressed, but right now, you feel it much more - you look like a shiny disco ball orbiting amidst the plethora of loose tees, leggings and flannels. Everything screams comfort, because the amount of work they’re putting into this begs for it. 

The strappy lace sundress you wear is extremely out of place, the halter-neck tie behind your neck fastened a little looser than necessary, giving your breasts the exposure they deserve, a nice valley view. Your dress skirt, adorned with pretty frills and dainty flowers, cut across your thigh to frame your petite hips. You are one floppy sun hat away from an extravagant Greek cruise - and in the moment you wish you had one to hide your face in shame. 

You’re just out here, trying to escape the zone. 

“Oh, would you look at the time, it’s tits out Tuesday already?”

Your eyes roll before Sanghoon even finishes his sentence, because you wouldn’t expect anything else from him. On the team of the set design, he is carrying a whole drapery worth of plush, mauve curtains, struggling with the slipping fabric. But apparently not struggling enough to stop him from getting his nose into your business, it seems.

“Literally not even a time you just mentioned. Can’t get one thing right.” You can’t stop yourself from stretching a hand out to feel the curtain fabric, the satiny sheets begging to be touched. Before you can though, Sanghoon moves away, not allowing you to shift the focus of the conversation.

“Don’t steer away from the facts. Your tits.”

“That’s the fact?”

“They’re out.” He bucks up, trying to point with the hand stuffed underneath all the cloth. “That’s the fact.”

“Ugh, can’t a girl dress up once in a while?” The pointed attention makes you uncomfortable, because everything he’s insinuating is true. With every passing staff member, you count a new shade of grey, interspersed with occasional blacks and greens, a stark contrast to your floral overtones. Amidst the thousand footsteps taken in your vicinity, only yours are pointed heels, echoing across the studio with every clack. But you’re a stubborn one, refusing to give in to his totally valid argument. “I just woke up early.”

“Girl.” Like light through frosted glass, he sees through your bullshit, but only partially. “You put an alarm to dress up? I have nightmares of the boss brandishing her whip and telling me to get into position, and even that doesn’t wake me up.” 

“Have you ever considered… not announcing your kinks to everyone and their sisters?”

“Ehh,” he simply shrugs, “nothing is new when you’ve serenaded your boss drunk in a karaoke bar and still managed to keep your job. Wait. Is that highlighter?”

“Stop staring into my tits!” You can’t believe you got caught, but also, who can you blame? After testing this outfit out from the crack of dawn, you decided your cleavage needed some extra help. Three YouTube tutorials and one TikTok lady - who make it look far easier than it is - down, the contouring brought out the swell of your breasts, and against the light fabric of your dress, it does look too good to be true.

Memories of that night in the bar come in billows and waves, of how enamored Jin was with the way your boobs looked at that time. Even under the dingy lighting, in the cramped space, under heavily inebriated scrutiny, you couldn’t miss the flicker of heat in his gaze every time it passed your chest. 

One thing led to another, and it was a cascade none of you could stop. The heat of attraction between you two does not help your wandering mind, and the fever drowns the knowledge that what you’re feeling is, beyond a shadow of a doubt, crossing some lines that can never be mended back again. With the proximity, his musky scent invades whatever defenses you were trying to patch, piercing through all your inhibitions and you pull him into you, claiming his lips to be yours. 

With his wobbly knees and your wobbly heels, you somehow find your way to the washroom - mostly he does, you give in halfway to wrap your legs around his lean waist, his sturdy legs balancing your weight on them as your back hits the wall, and his lips tear down your walls. 

“You look so fucking sexy today,” between bated breaths and indulgent sighs you confess, “just driving me nuts.” Letting your hands drag along his abdomen, feeling the ups and downs of his abs, you attempt to rid him of the sweater that’s been on your hit list all night. But to your dismay, your endeavor is blocked, when Jin gathers your wrists in his palm, turning you around to bend you over on the countertop, the smooth marble chill hitting your braless chest, perking your nipples under the cold. 

“And you?” Jin bends to give your earlobe a languid lick, progressing very slow, a complete contrast to the movement of his hips as he ruts against your ass, your already short dress bunching up with every move. “You think it’s smart to have your tits torment me like this?” Grabbing a handful from behind, he tests the weight of each fleshy mound, and by now you are certain your perked nubs can pierce his palm. 

His free hand, not yet torturing you, decides to get in on the action and disappears under the counter, swiftly crossing the bunched fabric of your dress, gaining easy access to your pussy. The cold touch of his pads sears against the heat of your core, finding your pleasure button and languidly fiddling with it, with no intention to cross you over the brink in sight. The only pleasure you can indulge in is the reflection of him abusing your nipples, pinching and tugging them down, whispering filthy words into your ear as he takes in your fucked out countenance. 

You feel lacking, weak hands balancing your dizzy self, finding purchase to keep you upright - but you’re both drunk on alcohol and hypnotized by his beauty to do much more than stare at his mirrored counterpart. “For fuck’s sake, kiss me.” 

How he understood your slurred words, you don’t know, but you are glad he did. In a moment you’ve been displaced, the hurried motion sending your neurons into a flurry. Once your back meets the hard marble, and your eyes have the privilege to see his, you pull him in closer, the force enough to hold you against the wall while your legs wrap around his lean waist. 

Originally not a fan of drunken misadventures, that side of yours is strangely mute to the going current onslaught. Well, you don’t have much breath left to say anything, because Jin is efficiently stealing it all, his teeth clashing with yours as you engage in the messiest kiss ever known to mankind (or at least, to you). He changes pace often, dragging his tongue leisurely against your lower lip, conveying tacit words, just to switch it up with a sharp bite and reel you in. 

One corner of your senses can feel his fingers messing around your cunt, and playing with the wetness your thong can barely contain. It makes you shudder, the damage that his fingers can cause solely circling around your hole. 

“Fuck me.” 

In your drunken stupor, you don’t know if the words leave you right, but you get confirmation when his long fingers finally penetrate your cunt, giving your walls something to clench on - although nothing could possibly compare to what you imagine you can get from his dick.

“God, you feel that grip,” he grunts, with two of his fingers in you, and Jin’s smile is the most sinister you’ve ever seen. “I think we should take this home,” is what his lips utter, but his fingers delve deeper, searching for the spot that crumbles you. The base of his palm grinds against your throbbing clit, and you are forced to bite down on this sweater, lest an embarrassingly loud moan escapes you and cues outsiders into your filthy doings. 

“Now,” you half-hiss, half-growl as you grab the cusp of his legs to feel his half-hard erection grow under the pressure of your hand. Your palm sliters up just to go down again, this time without the blockade of his pants, but you are stopped short of success when Jin’s fingers slip out of you to give you a sharp swat. 

“Stubborn, aren’t we? Can’t fucking wait,” he whispers into your ear, and as he envelops your lobe with his cushiony lips, he continues, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

No, no, no. 

Your brain rejects logic, chews and spits it out before any of the rationale seeps into you. You have wanted this for far too long. The need inside you for a meaningful relationship materializes in the form of recklessness, desperately looking for surface-level relief for the moment. A night of sewing sutures to your battle-worn heart, stitches that may come off at the slightest strain - but right now, that will do. 

“Please, Jin,” your tantalizing tone riles up his cock again, eagerly waiting for your next words, “can’t you feel me dripping? Come on, I can take you.”

“Fuck, hear that wetness.” He lets his palm slap against your sopping entrance, not stopping with one. With every slap, droplets of your arousal splash out, the insides of your thighs coated in the sticky sweetness, but your body is an endless reservoir producing plentiful more for Jin to play with. “Have you been sitting with this all this time?”

Two long fingers invade your channel again, leaving you with no response other than a gasp. They scissor incessantly, preparing you for what could be the railing of your lifetime. One curl inside and his fingertips hit the spot he was looking for, making you warp your body to take the pleasure coursing through your veins. His tongue seems to mimic the actions, looping around your earlobe as he sucks it inside, both ends of your body engulfed in all the attention he could provide. 

Your cunt is weeping against the assault of this man’s hands, tears of your cum flowing down your legs with every pump of his arm. You are getting there, the sweet swell of release inching closer and closer.

But something doesn’t feel right.

The tightness in your belly, that is to a point caused by Jin, is harboring other sensations that are not entirely pleasant. Maybe you’re anxious about the happenings. Maybe you haven’t had a good orgasm in a while and have just forgotten how this thing works.

Or maybe, the bar should have the water tap actually give out water.

Either your eyes close, or your brain does, but suddenly all you can see is darkness.

 Again, you are just trying to escape the zone.

“Step under those studio lights,” pointing at the too-bright stage lights being set up at the moment, Sanghoon continues, breaking your daydream, “I bet you could signal to aliens with the booby-reflection. Call them to Netflix and chill.”

“In about five seconds, my heel will be puncturing your eye. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” 

Sanghoon’s drivel was cut short, and so were your murder plans, with his entry. “Oh look, he’s on set. Gotta go!” 

It’s like the lights, earlier threatening to burn away your skin, dim down in reverence of the glow of his face. The twinkle of his eyes when they meet yours. The shine of his smile when he throws you one. The vibrance of his tone when he calls out your name. Everything he does now threatens to burn you whole and it’s a wonder you’re not scalding, but the singe hurts you deep inside.

“Y/N! How do I look?” It’s a bathrobe. Like satin, or silk. Fucking hell, your brain could explode with the adjectives coming up, a whole chunk of them very much inappropriate to utter out in the current scene. Your arms want to rise, engulf him into you, and you have to physically halt the muscles from doing anything stupid. Brain, quick! Say something snarky and spicy, as best friends do!

“What’s the theme, unicorn puke?” The safest way to deflect is to attack. So you do just that. “You look like you dressed out of Hannah Montana’s closet. Which if it's true, I really need to see it. There’s a top that I’ve been eyeing for decades!”

“Don’t say decades.” Jin’s eyes crinkle in humor. “Makes me feel so old. Your dress is pretty cool too!” 

Cool.

You find out how difficult life can be when you count every single minute of yours. So far, you have counted 4,310 minutes. That is two days, twenty-three hours, and fifty minutes. Ten more minutes and it will be three whole days since you and Jin spoke. 

Yet again, you can’t blame him. When you came to the next day, you were in your bed, clad in the same shimmering silver bodycon that you had donned last night. The same one that had been privy to the colorful deeds you had committed in what was a dreary, colorless setting. 

One ibuProfen and ginger ale, downed with some severe recollections of the previous night, and you had been ready to throw it all up again. 

I don’t want to hurt you.

Words couldn’t describe what you were going through, and numbers weren’t invented to count the endless thoughts racing in your brain. You don’t know what is more upsetting. The fact that you actually had a chance to open your heart and you totally let your pussy think instead? Or that he was the one coherent enough to stop you from getting too far, and you let your desperation get the best of you? Everything about that night was wrong. And all the wrongs lie on your side. 

I don’t want to hurt you.

In the moment, it was physical, he had to have meant that. But there was a tremor in his voice, you can remember clear as day, a slightly shaken side of him had emerged through the intoxication, and the words he had breathed were not shallow. There was a gravity to them, that you’d stupidly ignored in the heat of the moment.

And now, here you are. Counting up till the last minute, after which you can effectively call the friendship ruined. Stirring your tea mindlessly, you try to focus on the show on TV, the variety show comedy not striking the usual funny bones that they could 4,311 minutes ago. 

The programmed ding of your phone bursts your thought bubble, a sound you have missed the past 72 hours. The ring you dedicated to Jin, that always had you running to receive because anything he sends brightens your day. But unlike those happier times, this ring has your gut fall into a pit of despair, struggling to choose between dispersing the suspense or remaining blissfully unaware of the damage you caused.

Jin: Free tmrw? We could grab coffee Jin: And talk

Talk. How? You barely remember what went down, save for fleeting moments that you recollected with great difficulty. Your fingers type back, trying to mimic the nonchalance in his text, that is very much absent in your actual demeanor.

Y/N: Sure. Paik’s at 1? Jin: Yup. See ya

Three texts, zero laughs. Of course, you’re not expecting him to land his jokes in this situation, even someone as talented as he can’t flip this tension. You’re just going to have to wait for tomorrow, when he decides whether you have a place in his life or not. 

The painstakingly worn outfit, accessorizing the whole look, the straps of your heels digging into your toes, the specks of makeup dust lying stale on your collar bones, the shine faints at that word. Cool. A perfectly normal phrase for a normal friendship. You are left maimed, while he absent-mindedly tends to the rope of his robe, blissfully unaware of the cyclonic emotions churning inside you. All you can possibly do is gulp it down. 

He runs his hands through his hair, beautiful locks coming out of place, and from one corner of the set, a groan of anguish emerges. 

“Oppa! Don’t play with your hair and face.” A masked lady runs forward waving combs that look like artillery, “We just got done setting it!”

Some finger guns, a happy apology, and some silly jokes later, all the stylists merrily round up to undo his doing, and Jin signals to you to catch up later. And as he walks away, the strings tugging at your heart reappear, as they do every time you come to meet him.

You have a masochistic streak in you, putting yourself through this every day, when he had made it clear, that you two never stood a chance. 

As if things aren’t already difficult, he looks like a dream. 

Soft, snowy skin gleaming like it has personal lighting wherever it goes, you get flashes of the rarely witnessed sweat on his skin, from the ferocity of last night. He’s blowing away the foam of his cappuccino, and tiny bubbles float into the air before falling flat on the table, like an animated shine that follows him along. God has His favorites, and God makes sure all the lighting in the world is perfect for these favorites. 

In no hurry, you wait at the counter to get your latte. After receiving it though, you can’t linger any longer and drag yourself to the table of doom.

“Hey.”

If the rasp in your voice is evident, he doesn’t show any recognition on his face. But you’ve learned to never trust an acting major. 

“Hi. How are you doing?”

Inadvertently, a snicker escapes your lips. “Are you interviewing me for a job?” you joke, trying to disperse the heavy air, filled with unspoken words. “If so, at least know that I’m very expensive.”

The familiar windshield wiper laugh does not greet you. Dead silence does. The half-smirk he painfully gives you is heavy, and the furrowed brows haven’t an inkling of joy. It shoots daggers in your heart, to know that you are the reason for this jolly man’s despondency. 

“Listen, I don’t think we should skirt around the issue too much. It happened, these things happen. You think Hoseok and Yeji didn’t have sex before making it official?”

His matter-of-fact nature isn’t new to you. Jin has always been a very practical man. Regardless of his inane sense of humor, his logical point of view has always been flawless. 

But right now, at this very moment, logic isn’t what you are looking for. You are looking for answers, but as far withdrawn from logic as possible, to take the edge off of the tension-laden air that surrounds your table.

“Yeah, but even… unofficially… we aren’t a thing, right?” 

Your abrupt question takes Jin unaware, almond eyes widening, like a toddler caught in an act. 

“No, no! Of course not! I would never!” 

His confession slips out with an ease that hurts you, digs deep to carve out the part of you that dreamt of anything more. Your eyes fall to your knees to avoid his perceptive gaze, the sting clear as the sky on a summer day. 

You force a smile and continue. “Then there’s no issue. Anyway,” you gulp your coffee down, burning your throat, but it's a distraction from the burning inside, “I need to get to work. Anything else?”

He’s still searching you, for what, you can’t possibly fathom. From the looks of it, he should be happy with this homeostasis; he doesn’t even know what this means for you. To still stay suspended in limbo, not being able to move up or down, to continue having thorns digging into your beating soul as you watch him like nothing bothers your already frail feelings. Scene by scene, you can visualize the future, him distancing himself from you as he finds the one he calls his, with you left in the shadows. Your knees tremble in fear of the impending future.

Seeing you in a tizzy, he calls out, the voice too loud for the cafe and your mind’s prison cage. 

“We’re still best friends, right?” If you knew better, you’d say his expression is that of sadness, of regret. But your judgment is clouded with your own bothers, and you interpret it as a look of pity. Like a lovesick puppy, kicked to the streets, with nowhere to call home. 

“Yeah! Always.” You give it as much enthusiasm as you can muster. 

Best friends.

Ropes wind around your heart, tugging and causing the deep ache that sets in as you walk back into your dreary building. Each string pulls you into a different dimension where you could move on, where you could be okay with the setting you had just agreed to. Where you would keep up your end of the promise and truly remain friends with him.

But no matter how strong the tug, your heart never yields, never lets go of the castle of dreams you built, staying steadfast in its own misery, choosing to hope, choosing to live the life of unrequited love.

“And that’s a wrap! Good job everyone!”

Applause and hurrays echo across the set to bring you back to the present. The shoot has officially concluded, which means it's time for your most favorite and least favorite part of the day - Jin and you doing best friend things, like grabbing lunch, gossiping about obnoxious coworkers, threatening to disembowel each other (in Mortal Kombat, of course) and other friendly activities. 

Ever so respectful, Jin takes his time thanking every member of the set, regardless of whether they moved a cushion or held the reflector screen for hours. All the women gush over his beauty, reminding him of how, even amidst the glowing ornaments, his face was the brightest. His responses vary, from quiet little giggles, to complimenting the crew for making it happen, to straight up owning his charisma like a boss. That’s your man. 

Well, not quite. Not one bit.

After exhausting the handshakes and hugs to be received, Jin walks to you, hands pushing his robe back to give it a cape like effect. You’re just glad that the man’s child persona still stays with him, no matter the situation.  He guides you to his green room, cracking his bones on the way, (very sexily, might you add).

“Holding a pose for that long gives me cramps! You’d think dancing breaks my back, and you’d be wrong.”

You’re desperately avoiding looking at his fingers, and keep your eyes below them - shoot! His ceaseless stretching gives you a glimpse under his shirt - it is dragging your memories back to the last time you saw them, and you’d rather not. It is hurting you in more ways than one. 

Eye contact is your safest bet. Looking up, you give him a lopsided grin. “Your grandfatherly days are approaching, Jinnie.” 

“Hey!” 

The rest of the conversation was less speaking, more yelling and chasing after each other to the green room, Jin taking mock-offence at your jab at his age, and his fingers reaching out to flick your forehead in retort. In your noisy, messy fashion, you both finally enter the room, dim gold light bulbs and shiny mirrors meeting your huffing self. 

One hand on your knee, you hold on to Jin’s arm with your other, gasping for breath. 

“Your grandmotherly days are already here, Y/N,” he snorts, and earns a kick on the shin, but that doesn’t stop him from bursting into snickers.

“Wow, why does one man need 4 mirrors?” You gape at his current green room, mouth wide open. It looks better than your entire apartment, with the counter carrying top-of-the-line makeup products. Only the best for this man. “So you can admire yourself from 4 different angles?”

Jin has disappeared into one of the inner rooms, but you can hear him snort at your comment. “Come on, I’m not that conceited. When the whole crew shoots together, the extra mirrors help.” The last part of that sentence is muffled, and that cues you into an important fact. 

Jin is currently changing into something more comfortable.

A process that includes him getting naked.

Well maybe he doesn’t get fully naked, top on, top off, bottom on, bottom of-

Still. You’re sweating like a whore in church. 

And things only get tougher when he finally comes out. 

The ocean blue sweater he dons is tucked in. Who tucks in sweaters? Kim Seokjin. Why does he tuck sweaters? Oh, because he’s got an amazing waistline that he should most definitely show off, and the heat between your thighs becoming increasingly potent is a testament to that. You pretend to adjust your heels, giving the right expressions to show you’re in pain, but in actuality you are bringing your legs closer to get you some relief, just any relief. 

Ripped jeans too. You get a peek of the thighs you were denied access to the night of the fuckening. Ridged and beautiful, not a speck in sight to mar his perfection. You are glad the facial expressions for pain and pleasure are not far apart, because your thighs, albeit very lacking, are helping the imagery in your head. Just Jin, seated on one of these leather chairs, and you straddling his thigh, clit aching against the strands of the rips in his denim, the fabric soaking up the wetness, with every push forwa-

“Now that you mention it, I do look dashing.”

And there goes that dream. 

You pinch his cheeks in adoration, the vulgarity of your thoughts getting whitewashed by his silliness and blooming heart-shaped flowers in their stance. You feel your own pinch in you, wondering if this scene would be the same had you blurted your feelings out that day at the cafe.

It's times like these when you remind yourself why you choose to quieten that side. This dynamic cannot reincarnate in any other form. Any imbalance to this equilibrium could cause a serious case of best-friends-turn-awkward-acquaintances, and you don’t know if that’ll hurt you more than you currently do. You don’t plan on finding out.

But on God, he tests that resolution every single day.

Jin doesn’t even hint that he knows of the turmoil blasting behind your eyes. He nonchalantly fixes his hair, gives you a one-over as you are mentally undressing him, nonchalantly as well. Then he moves to grab his cologne, and two spurts disintegrates all the whitewashing and takes you back into the obscenities you were unfolding. 

“So I’ll just go over the shoot photos, and then we can leave! You’re cool waiting here?”

“Hmmn, yeah!” You don’t let your mouth run any longer, fearing what might slip out. 

He gives you a wide, innocent smile. “Great! See you in a bit.” Poor guy. If only he knew how debase plans you were conjuring just from the aroma of his cologne. 

It is musky, like cedar or pine, perfectly suiting him. It is the same scent you remember inhaling, face stuffed in his sweater when he was fingering you to the tenth circle of hell. As he walks away, the fragrance diminishes, save for the slightest hint of lingering. You search for the source, and find the culprit strewn across the sofa.

The outfit Jin wore for the shoot held remnants of the perfume, and when you bring the shirt close and take a long, deep whiff, you transport yourself to the land of your dreams. You relish the fever smell of his cologne, mixed with his own natural scent, deciding that this is what you wish to smell like every waking morning.

Your longing for him has crossed way beyond physical boundaries. You longed for his love, longed for his attention. Longed to be the one that brings the light to his face. From morning rays to the darkness of the night, you wanted to experience it all by his side. To be his lone star, shining bright beside the moon. 

Your hands are moving without your control, disrobing you of your thirst trap of a dress and putting on Jin’s shirt instead. One look at the mirror and you let out a silent groan - it fits you just right. Just enough to cover your ass cheeks, loose enough to let the air conditioning hit your heated pussy. While well-fitting shirts have never been the cornerstone of a successful relationship, your delusional mind takes whatever wins it gets.

Adding layers to your pipe dream, you don the robe that gave you a tough time throughout the shoot. When you press the tails of the robe to your cheek, the softness of the material is soothing. Soft, like Jin’s eyes, like his hugs, like his smile. Like him.

Leaning against the counter, you steady yourself, mind split in titillation. Your fingers find their own path, drawing circles on your breasts over his shirt, imagining Jin’s long fingers in place. While teasing your nipple to pointed peaks, you slip your other hand under your panties, trying very hard to mimic his digits, twiddling your clit between your fingers. Alas, the effect isn’t achievable, because Jin seems to know how to play you better than yourself. 

The scent is getting stronger, without any provoking, and it is doing wonders for your immersion. You let out a loud moan when your fingers press inside, and you’re just glad no one can witness this.

“Y-Y/N?”

Fuck.

You are pulled away from your dreamland that was so impenetrable that you didn’t hear Jin step into the room. All the blood gushing to your nether regions has made a U-turn to flood your brain to think of a plausible explanation for this position. Instead it makes you giddy, and when you try to stand you wobble in your heels, to be rescued by what you think is a very scandalized Jin. 

Time stands still when your eyes meet, and what you see are blown out pupils trembling, many questions fluttering between you two. Jin crosses a tenth of the distance between you, lips flutter as they try to make a decision - do they want to part and give way to the voice of question? The voice of reason? The voice that will break this hush, burst this bubble where he has the one chance to give in to his longing?

You bring your lips closer, and cause immense disquiet in his dome, the way of his heart gathering speed against rationale. Your eyes dance between matching his gaze and finding his lips, every fraction of an inch you cross sending tremors through you. You can feel the shockwaves traverse through your body, making a pitstop at your lips, tingling them awake. They move downwards, passing your heart, beating it wildly against its cage, and then to the pit of your stomach to tighten in anticipation; finally reaching the tip of your toes, where you stand right now, a nanoscopic distance between you. Each one of you is afraid to cross the bridge, unaware of the other’s desires. 

Finally, Jin acqueises and meets you on your side. 

Atomic explosions ring through your head, clearing out every single thought that is not about Jin’s lips on yours. The ropes that held your heart from beating to the tune of your want, they’ve loosened their knots to give you the leeway to love freely. As your lips exchange positions, his teeth lightly drag across your plush petal, and it brings back the most important part of that night that you couldn’t recollect - the one where his lips sang wordless songs of adoration against yours. Blind as a bat, you were.

You dig your fingers into his hair, not minding your residual arousal coating his locks, and you feel his hands doing the same to you. With your eyes closed, you feel a rough edge to his cushiony soft lips, but Jin fixes that mistake - one stray strand of hair trapped in the middle of your indulgence - he pulls it away to give you all of the kiss. The hand tucked in your tresses pushes in, silently demanding more access, and you’re nothing but ready to give it.  

His tongue sneaks in to play a game with yours - when you seek it, it goes into hiding, finding perfect pleasure in soft, sweet kisses, but when you stay, it comes back in, awakening your tongue to deepen again. Everything he is doing is too much and not enough in one go, and you whine into his mouth in desperation, seeking some well-earned relief after months of holding back.

Amidst the flurry of your lips, your back hits the vanity countertop, and Jin pushes away everything on top to make space for you, not caring what expensive item flies down the counter to accommodate your ass.

As if you’ve made up for the months of holding back, the softness of the kisses erodes, teeth coming into play more and more, reminiscent of the night that went by in a blur. He swallows every mewl you give in return, blissed out beyond repair, your neediness making his cock strain against the denim. 

His hand snakes down, spreading his fingers to get a hold of your back to push you towards him, covering any gap that dared to intervene. Now unworried about the shoot, your hands have effectively ruined his perfectly placed locks and messed them up to resemble the craze he let you spin in.

Before he can glide his tongue back in, you break the kiss, lest you lose yourself in it to the point where you forget to breathe. With attached foreheads, you take deep drags of air, letting the oxygen flow to your brain before you make some ill-advised, unclarified decisions.

“I- I was jus-”

“Shhh. Wait,” he breathes out, wanting to take a second and fully savor the moment. You nod in return, making his head move along with yours.

After sufficient air fills his lungs, Jin starts. “Y/N, we should stop.”

Last time this had happened, you had tried to force your way through his barrier, without giving his feelings a second of consideration. So this time, you don’t repeat your mistakes. “Tell me why.”

“Because, I don’t know what you’re looking for, but I’m way deeper in this than you think.”

“Jin, I-”

“Let me finish.” He stops you before you can explain how much you reflect his emotions, possibly more. He doesn’t seem to want to listen now. “Let me finish, or else I’ll chicken out, for the millionth time.”

You’re dumbfounded. Millionth time? When was the first? Acting majors, by God. 

“I love you, Y/N.”

No, now you are dumbfounded. Your hands, holding his precious locks, drop down in shock, at sheer disbelief that all this time, he has been ready and waiting to return you the favor. Jin though, misinterprets it as a look of disdain. 

“I-I know I do, and I’m sorry that I do. I know you don’t feel the same way. You can hate me all you want, but this is the truth.”

“And yes,” he continues, refusing to halt for even half a second, afraid that the courage he mustered to confess would dissipate the moment he does, “I’m attracted to you, and I don’t know what went down here --” flicking his wrist to mention your (his) outfit, “--but I’m looking, okay? And I’m hard as fuck. But that’s not all there is to it.”

“I need all of you.” He takes an audible gulp, trying to stymy his emotions from overpowering him. “I want to take you out, I want to hold you hand, I want to bring you to all the places I love. I want to introduce you to people, not as my best friend, but so much more than that. It hurts me,” bringing his hand to his chest, he emphasizes the point of pain by clutching over his heart, “hurts to call you that because I’m lying through my fucking teeth.”

You break eye contact, because there are tears smarting your eyes at his heartfelt revelation. You can’t believe the idiot that you have been all this while. The man of your dreams stands in front of you, baring his soul, and you can’t even do him the decency of telling him what you felt yourself before jumping his bones.

And you love him, too. Maybe you haven’t said so, even to yourself, but you’ve known all this while.

You love him.

“If you are just looking for a fuck, or want any sort of a ‘benefits’ situation, we should stop. I can’t lie to myself anymore.”

“Jin, my God,” you half-sigh, half-laugh, feeling a burden lift off of you after months of pining.

“You don’t have to pacify me, it’s okay, I’ll be fine.” Even in this moment, he is looking out for you. His lips are curved upward to show you that he’s okay, but his pupils are shaky and restless, not in sync with his smile. You hope your next words can fix that for him.

“Pacify you? Hate you?” You shoot him an incredulous look, one you will explain to him very soon. “You are a much better person than I am, Jinnie. For months now, I’ve loved you, but even at this point, I didn’t stop to tell you.” The guilt of letting your hormones cloud your judgement for the second time lays heavily on your conscience. “I’m sorry for not making this clear earlier, but let me now. I love you, Kim Seokjin. I have for way too long. I want you, I need you. You have me, in every possible way.”

It feels unparalleled to get that off your chest. The leaden weight of your emotions immediately disappears - or the fact that it's shared, makes it much, much lighter. But then you look at Jin, and he still seems to have not put two and two together. You patiently wait for him to process all the information. 

When he finally recoups, he yells, “What?!”

You let out a loud guffaw, the first one with no inhibitions in the longest time. “What?”

“Why didn’t you say anything that day at the cafe?!” 

“You said you’d never date me, asshole!” You punch his chest softly, before slipping your hands behind him and pulling him closer. “I might not look like it, but I have some dignity.”

“I said that?” Jin brings one hand to pinch his nose in annoyance. “What an idiot. I think I was just inverting everything to make sure I don’t accidentally slip up.”

You lift your head to meet his eyes again, letting him see the tears you were hiding. You find a couple in his eyes, too. But the smile on your face is genuine, and that is all that matters. “I was blind too, so don’t beat yourself up about it.” 

Flitting your eyes down to find the contour of his cock against his jeans, you ask him innocently, “How about we make up for lost time?”

“Fuck, yes, please.” And with that, your lips are engulfed again.

When you have all your guards down, the kiss tastes sweeter than before. Mere moments ago, while thoroughly enjoying the kiss, a sense of reticence had clouded your pleasure, holding you back from luxuriating in the headiness. A series of what-ifs had plagued your subconscious without your realization, but with all that cleared, you wholly submit to the kiss, emptying your mind until nothing but his name remains.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Jin gasps out, when you bite into his pillowy lower lip, “I thought you looked the prettiest in the dress earlier but,” after pulling away, he drinks your current attire in, “you look the most beautiful in this.”

You snicker. “Even more than World Wide Handsome?”

His eyes bore into yours, no hint of the joking lilt he always carries in them. 

“So much more.”

Your hands find their place amidst his shaggy hair again, and you lodge his face into your neck - a command Jin acquiesces to with great pleasure. After a long, wet lick to your collarbone, he lays feather-soft kisses on the trail he left, starting from your shoulder and working inward, until he brushes against the back of your ear. You grasp at his sweater, because his lips feel so good. Your breaths are short, sucking in every time he allows your skin the luxury of a soft peck.  Once he lays a kiss on your forehead, he brings his gaze down to one of the main reasons that causes his cock to stir.

“Fuck, look at your nipples under my shirt.”

Gazing down, you can see the two pointed peaks that caught Jin’s eyes. 

“That tends to happen when I’m thinking of you.” 

He twists a nipple over the shirt, hardening it further, and you throw your head back in the satisfying pain. “Yeah, I remember.”

You are unraveling every second, the ache swishing amongst the bliss his fingers are bringing in you. He’s switched over to drawing circles around your nipple, until he snaps and tugs your shirt up, finally revealing the palmfulls of flesh awaiting his hands. 

“Ah that night, I didn’t get to do this. Take this off.” But then, he makes you put on his robe again. You throw him a questioning look, to which he responds with a sheepish smile, “Just so, you know… you don’t feel cold… or something.”

“Just say you like me in your clothes and move on.”

“I love you in my clothes,” he admits in a heartbeat, his expression that of anguish, “can we move on?”

“God, gladly.”

Unexpectedly, he bites the side of your boob - not hard at all, but feeling his teeth against your skin sends your head reeling backward. Your involuntary response is to wrap your legs around his waist, grinding your core against him. His teeth continue to nip you lightly across the expanse of your breasts, the trail of saliva he leaves cooling parts of your flushed body. Finally, finally, he latches onto your left nipple and gives it a long, pleasurable suck.

“Ahh, Jin - you’re too - God damn it - you’re too good at this.” 

Without stopping the onslaught he is unleashing on your breasts, his fingers begin to move - but soon, they stop, hesitation rippling off of their tips. His pace falters, and his mind is fighting on the next course of action.

“Can I-”

“Finish what you started that night?” you complete for him, already prepared with your answer. “Yes, please.”

All forms of uncertainty shoot out of his touch, and he confidently trudges forward. Playing with the band of your panties, he gives you a well-intended chuckle, murmuring, “As far as I remember, I was so good you passed out.”

“Boy,” You groan, intended in jest, but his teeth slide against your jaw and it mostly comes out more wanton than jovial, “let me see you have tequila for dinner and remember much the next day.”

“Fair fair,” he gives in, shifting to buss the valley of your cleavage, feeling your heart thud against your ribs holding it in place. “Well today,” he starts without moving his face, his nimble fingers moving past the barrier of your underwear, pressing two fingertips directly on your clit, and hissing like it's him at the receiving end, “I’ll give you enough to remember.”

You pull his sweater off and chuck it away, not wanting to be reminded of any blockades that kept you apart, and your hands roam the expanse of his back remembering the touch of his skin from the night at the bar. His body isn’t new to you, but the circumstances make it feel different. 

Finally, his fingers find their way inside you. 

Yes, this. This was what was missing from your drunken tryst. With your heads in place, your ardor intensifies, and you move his lips back to yours needing to release your animalistic desire into his mouth. Pleasure surges through both of you as you threaten to swallow him whole.

You can feel him being more present, and considering the merciless finger-fucking you had earned that night, this is taking it to a whole other degree. 

The night at the bar, his fingers did their best to ravish you, but now, Jin is paying attention, close attention to the way you respond. Every muscle movement is recorded in him as you struggle to accommodate three of his lengthy digits. Leaning close, he gives your peaked nipple the lightest feather lick - the suddenness sends shockwaves through you as he continues to tweeze the other, talented pianist hands performing his musical piece on both ends of you.

His fingers pump into you with determination, finding new depths to explore that he missed out on, and with a curl of his pointer, you blank out, screaming in the orgasm that is washing over you. Every skincell of your body feels the quiver of lust spreading, your cunt squeezing for an eternity, milking the orgasm out to the extent that you can. 

When you look down, your metaphorical orgasmic flood manifestes as a deluge of your arousal leaking on the table. And when you look back up, you can see the salacious ideas making their rounds in Jin’s head as he looks at the inundation you released. 

Hurried hands still convulsing from the intensity of your orgasm, you undo his belt, followed by his jeans and finally - getting the pleasure you were heartlessly denied of - his cock is out, in all its glory, twitching as the cool air hits its naked skin. Jin’s plans don’t go hand in hand with yours though.

“Are we just - holy fucking shit - just, umm, leave that to waste?” he lustfully looks down to your leaking core, and someway, through your hold on his dick, he tries to steer you into his plans.

“I don’t know about that,” you cheekily reply. You have the right idea to satisfy both of you, and get down to the task.

With the flat of your palm, you swipe across the droplets of cum you released, gathering them to transfer them onto his thick length. Jin thrusts into your hand, the wetness jolting him into attention, and he places an arm on your shoulder to steady himself. 

“You’re going to taste yourself?” he asks as you continue your vacillating motion, twisting at the base of his head with the wetness you graciously provided yourself. You give him a nonchalant look, something he is trying to do to you as well. 

“Who said I’m gonna suck you off?”

His look changes, and the one you get in return is cocky, arrogant, downright rude if you were honest. You expected him to play on with your banter, but one raised eyebrow and the lazy smirk he gives, to what he probably thinks is a joke - Zeus could land on earth and not be able to stop you from gobbling his meat. 

Your mouth is filled with his dick even before your knees hit the ground. Jin staggers back, but your suction on his dick is funnily strong enough to pull him back before falling.  You switch positions, having him balance himself against the counter, all while you refuse to leave his cock out. His giggle of endearment has you pouting, but it swells your heart and makes you want to give more, more of anything and everything. With your renewed vigor, you push yourself in until his pubes tickle your nose, and his tip tickles your throat. 

“Your-”, “I-”, “uhh-” 

Every new sentence Jin starts crumbles to your actions. You furrow your brows both in concentration on your blowing skills and trying to decode what he is trying to say. 

Jin takes a large gulp, adamant on making this one a coherent sentence. “You know, I used to imagine this, and in my dreams I used to be very sexy and suave, talking my way throug-oof-” You run your tongue over the tip of his leaking dick, emphasizing the point he is coming to, “Now I can’t even complete sentences here.”

“You being you is super sexy in itself.” And you curve your tongue to match the arch of his cock, letting the incoming saliva pool on it before letting it run down his shaft, dripping down from his balls. Strings of his precum connect to your lips, and you swipe your tongue through them, relishing the salty goodness before going back in for more. 

“Y/N, shit, did you just moan?”

How couldn’t you? The fact that he is horny for you, so much so that rivulets of precum don’t stop drizzling down your throat, has you preening. You hum your assent in response, not willing to let go even for a moment, but Jin pulls you off before you can get a chokehold on the base of his cock again. 

“Never had a woman moan while sucking me off. It’s sexy as fuck,” Jin breathes into your lips as he dives in for a kiss.

Your chest is heaving, catching the breaths you lost when you were down. “Then why’d you stop me?”

“Are you kidding me? I was about to lose it right there.”

“Jinnie, come on,” you break the fragmentary kiss you were sharing, looking into his glassy eyes, “let me feel you come on my tongue.” To emphasize your conviction, you lick his lips, persuading him of the sinful deeds your tongue is capable of doing if he’d just let you.

“Oh man, stop. What’s worse than busting a nut in your mouth? Busting it while you’re kissing me. Making me feel like a teenager.” You erupt into a loud laugh, soon followed by Jin as well. It is so him to joke about this. 

“And babe,” all hints of embarrassment vanishing from his tone, “I’m only going to come inside you.”

“Fuck, fuck, yes. You got a condom on you?”

“Yeah, let me grab my wallet.” The instant he moves away, you feel naked, shivering from the comfort stolen away from you. But then you hear Jin grumble, “I hope I don’t have the bacon-flavored one.” And the absurdity of it all puts you at ease again.

“Ew, stop, even you can’t make that sexy. My lady boner is dying.”

He envelops you again, and you can feel the laughter echoing in his lungs before making it out to your ears. He brings your attention to the familiar rustle of foil wrapper. “Thankfully, we got chocolate.”

“Mmmh, gotta love chocolate.”

You take the condom out of his hands, and roll it onto his stiff length, flattered that he’s holding his erection for so long. 

“Okay, stick it in me!” And you smack your ass in readiness, and a very flabbergasted Jin breaks out chortling.

“Y/N, stop being my best friend for like, five minutes!” His brows are furrowed in pretense exasperation, but you can see his lips holding back a genuine smile through the grimace, just happy that your dynamics haven’t changed the slightest, even though everything else has shifted.

“Okay okay,” you try and suppress your own laughter, before continuing, “how do you want me, baby?”

“Bend over on the vanity. And keep your eyes on the mirror.” And as you move into position, his palms grab your ass and squeeze it hard, feeling your glutes push back against his grip, and he pushes you forward till you're on the tips of your toes. You watch him through the mirror, watch him admire the way your ass curves over the table edge, how your toes struggle to keep you up, and how the dimples of your back are deepened by the arch, peeking under the bunched up robe tails, just waiting for him.

“Jin.” Your hushed whisper puts him in action.

Pushing the head in is anguish and relief at the same time. His bulbous head stretches your entrance; even with your preparation, you feel it sting. The searing gets better and better with every inch slipping in, and when he finally lodges inside, you let out a heavy breath, still panting and keeping yourself from screaming bloody murder in pleasure. Jin bends forward to paint the back of your neck, sucking the flesh till the circular bruise comes to surface. 

“Can you- can you-fuck, no, wait-” Your brain is at war with itself, battling between adjusting to his girth and having him pump you into adjustment. 

You can feel Jin’s snicker from behind you, and he finally makes the decision for you. “I’ll wait, I have things to do here,” he says before playing around the patch of skin, spreading from the base of your hair to the expanse of your back, his teasing licks relaxing your walls and accommodating his girth. The pain is almost gone, expect for the lingering ache that only helps you.

“You can move now, babe.”

“Okay, okay.” Your words snap him out of the painter’s dream he was in, and he twitches inside you. Something about the ease at which you both have adopted nicknames for each other softens his heart and hardens his cock. 

Pulling out till only the head rests inside, Jin himself struggles against the third degree grip your pussy has on him. As he is thrusting inside again, your walls tense up, making it harder and harder for him to hold back. 

“Y/N, sweetie, relax. I got you.”

“Jin, I’m-” You have tears running down your eyes, the pleasure and unsurmountable happiness rolling out in fat hot drops. “Fuck me harder. I won’t last.”

“Shit. Okay, hold on then.”

To what? Is what you’re going to ask before Jin unleashes his carnality onto you. Your breasts, dripping in sweat and saliva, are plastered to the countertop, which in itself is jiggling to the beat of Jin’s thrusts. His dick is curving inside to hit you repeatedly, and you have to gather the satin fabric to wipe your eyes to keep your gaze fixed on him. 

He looks majestic. Forehead embellished with beads of sweat, his hair coiffed up, lips sanguine red after your vicious kisses - you swipe your tongue along your own lips to find them battered in response. His honey chest is heaving with every push, and a particular one hits you just right. 

You let out a guttural groan, and Jin takes note of it immediately. 

“Up,” he commands, and loops an arm under your belly to you pull you up and closer and now every thrust hits deeper into that spot he has found in you, your back connected to his chest as the two of you move in tandem; this is the most together you’ve ever felt with anyone. This moment is to be etched in your memories forever.

You scream into your fist to muffle the sounds, the edge of the table digging into your hip bone as you feel yourself getting closer to the brink. One swipe to the clit is all you have left to bring you to your release. 

And from some telepathic force, or from the clutch your pussy has on him, Jin beats you to it. His fingers come down and carefully find your swollen nub, pinching it between his fingers. If he thought you’d shown him your hardest clench, he was wrong, because right now your dam has broken, and the iron-clad grip you give his cock sends him reeling, too.

You are gushing on his dick, the rubber dripping with your wetness. Jin too releases into the condom in stuttered gasps, his thrusts becoming shorter and shallower as he comes down from his high. 

Petal-like kisses fall on your back as the two of you regain your breaths. The mirror that served you two well is covered in a fog of hot breath and perspiration, blearing your vision of yourself, but somehow, it sparkles with Jin’s reflection. His nobility-esque visuals use the haze as a valance for his appearance, framing them to make him look like you’re among the clouds. And in some way, you actually are.

“Ah, let me go.” You jiggle your shoulders back to make the man above you move. “Fuck, can you check if my spine is in place? I think you dislodged it.”

“Shut up and come hug me, I’ll squeeze it back in place.”

Now this is something you could get used to.

As he ties and throws away the used condom, you flip over to face him and fall back into his embrace, broad shoulders promising to protect you, making you feel safe in his care. Jin on the other hand is simply ecstatic to feel you on him, feeling your thumping heart beat for him, after months of pining and pondering whether anything would become of the seed of your tumultuous friendship. Now, it has blossomed to a garden of prospect and promise, every petal of every flower here reading a new opportunity to tell you how much he adores you, cherishes you, treasures you. How much he loves you.  An opportunity he doesn’t wait to use. 

“I love you.”

The pink tinge of your cheeks either comes from the sex, or from his comment, but either way, he is glad its from him. 

“I love you too, Jin. So, so very much.”

If your heart could leap out of your chest, it would do so, to find its way to his and fuse into one. But for now, your entwined bodies give you all you want. 

You hear Jin stifle a laugh, and pull back in question. He points to something odd on the countertop.

“What is that?”

The cream white surface of the table, that was maligned by your ignoble deeds, now sports two glistening, wheatish semi circles that look very similar to the sizes of one person who was splayed on top of it just moments ago. 

“Is that…” Jin is trying to contort his lips and halt the looming snicker, and he brings his eyes down to your chest (trying not to get hard again), “Did you have makeup on your chest?”

“Shut up.” All you can do is fall closer into his arms, hopefully masking the tint of embarrassment highlighting the apples of your cheeks. “I wanted to make them look extra good for you.”

He’s given up on holding back, the full-bellied laugh that resonated from him echoing across the room. But it dwindles down fast, coming to small chuckles of tenderness, and he slips his digits beneath your chin to have you meet his gaze.

“They always look good,” he whispers, his admittance setting your chest aflame, “trust me, I’d know.”

Taglist 💛:  @little7bitchh​, @afangirllikeme-blog​, @h34rt1lly, @marpotterhead​

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[ghirahimbo]

55 - RevaLink

I always love people interpretations of them figuring out how to kiss

I'm way too lazy to go look up the exact wording of the prompt, but it had something to do with awkward kisses? So here you go :D

Word count: 1363. Rated... T, probably? Could be any established revalink, though I had Pinesong-verse in mind.

--

The soft chirp of restless crickets signaled yet another nightfall, their high-pitched calls insistent, yet distant enough to fade into gentle ambiance. Wind whistled through the leafy forest, not as cold as the breezes through Rito Village that carried the chill of Hebra, but still cool enough that the Hylian sprawled across Revali’s chest was a welcome source of warmth and not an unbearable furnace. With the dinner fire burned down to embers, Link had laid his bedroll out beneath a tree and promptly abandoned it in favor of crawling into Revali's hammock instead—a tradition now, on cool nights like this one.

Though Link often fell asleep the instant he curled up, tonight he laid awake, his silence somehow thoughtful as he ran his hand along Revali’s beak. Revali was too far gone himself to think much of it, herded gently towards sleep by the rocking hammock and rhythmic stroke against his face.

Stroke… stroke… stroke… poke.

"Can you feel that?"

The rhythm disrupted, Revali’s bleary eyes cracked open.

"What?"

"Can you feel that?" Link repeated, poking Revali’s beak again.

...The insufferable man actually needed an answer. Grunting, Revali shifted around beneath him until his wing was freed.

"Inane," he muttered, flicking a finger at Link's nose. "Can you feel that?"

Scrunching up his face, Link went on undeterred. He'd long since learned not to take Revali’s moods too seriously.

"It's just—" Link stretched one leg out as far as it would go, pressing the tip of his largest toe against one of Revali’s long talons. "I don't think you can feel this very well… so I wondered if it was the same up here?"

He stroked the length of Revali’s long beak up and down again in demonstration, and it took everything in him not to shiver. Ah.

"No, it's…" How to explain while caught beneath that distracting caress? "I can feel that you're touching my talon, if not much else… but the beak is more…"

"Sensitive," Link finished, catching it in both his hands now. This time Revali did shiver, his feathers ruffling lightly.

"Mmm."

Presuming Link's curiosity satisfied with no further questions forthcoming, Revali closed his eyes, seeking out that soft space of sleep once more. His heart thumped just slightly harder than normal, and he breathed in deeply, hoping to settle—

"But is it the same all the way up?" Link asked, poking now at the tip of Revali’s beak, and his eyes snapped back open. Walking his fingers again up its length, Link met Revali’s baleful stare with a questioning look. So he was feeling experimental tonight, was he?

"I could still banish you to your own bed," Revali grumbled, though Link didn't even bat an eye. With an explosive sigh, he knocked Link's hands aside to brush at his own beak vigorously, trying to relieve some of the tingle of stimulation. "I feel things… less… towards the tip, and more along the base. Does that satisfy your midnight inquisition?"

"Almost." Though Revali couldn't quite make out his face in the darkness, Link's voice was just a bit too innocent as he inched up Revali’s chest, propping himself on his elbows for leverage. "So you're saying that this doesn't feel as good as this?" And he pressed his lips twice against Revali’s beak—first at its very tip, and again three inches up. 

Revali gave himself a moment to clear his throat before responding.

"They're both… fine," he said. In the dim light of the stars, he could just see Link’s lips purse.

"Fine," Link repeated, and placed another Hylian kiss halfway up his beak. The tip of his tongue peeked out this time, leaving the smallest impression of wetness behind. "But this is better?"

"Marginally." Revali spared a moment's pride for how collected he managed to sound—not at all reflective of how he felt. "To be honest, the difference is too minuscule to really—"

"This is better, though," Link said decisively, his kisses moving closer to the corner of Revali’s beak. From the floundering depths of his mind, Revali agreed, though whether from the placement of the kiss or its confidence he couldn't have said even to himself. "And this…"

He ran a devious finger down the underside of Revali’s beak, and Revali very nearly whimpered. Link had discovered that particular point of sensitivity early on, standing just short enough beside Revali to reach it easily.

"This spot should be the best of all—"

As Link's treacherous lips approached, Revali quickly turned his head. He stopped short, and a taut silence stretched between them. Then he sighed, drawing back to rest his head again on Revali’s chest. From so close, Link couldn't possibly miss his fluttering heart.

"It does feel good, right?" Link asked, his quiet voice muffled by feathers. Swallowing, Revali nodded. "But you don't like it." Another, shorter pause. "Are you really that tired?"

"I can't… reciprocate," Revali said stiffly, finally trusting his voice enough to speak. "Your way of kissing. I can't…"

He had observed the Hylian method of kissing before, watching more astutely in recent days now that it had practical application, and—well, putting aside how messy and strange that mashing together of soft lips seemed, he was nonetheless incapable of replicating it. As for the Rito method of nuzzling, he had tried it a few times and Link had put up with it well enough, but without the friction of rubbing beaks he suspected there was little exciting about it.

"I don't feel comfortable receiving where I cannot give in return," Revali said at last, hoping that made his point clear. He thought it had, though Link still huffed against his chest.

"I can't exactly reciprocate when you braid my hair," Link pointed out dryly. "Or at least, you wouldn't want me to."

Despite his discomfort, Revali couldn't help but grunt in amused agreement. If size equalled dexterity then Link's tiny Hylian fingers should have made the tightest, most intricate braids, but that had so far not proven to be the case.

"It's not the same."

"Well…" Link's voice grew more muffled as he pressed further into Revali's chest feathers, and Revali had to lean forward to catch his words. "Well, um. I mean. You could try that, uh… nipping thing? I've seen other Rito do it." His last mumbled words were barely audible. "With their beaks."

"Nipping," Revali repeated blankly, casting around in his mind for what Link might have seen. "You mean grooming? Because I already—that is, you don't really have any feathers for me to…"

"Oh!" Link said weakly. Intrigued, Revali noticed that the face pressed against him had warmed considerably—practically a furnace now despite the cold wind. "Is that what they were…? No, it's fine." His voice strengthened, his head lifting a fraction. "It's fine. I don't mind if you can't kiss me back, you know. If you don't like it I'll stop, but… I like to think I could make you feel… good."

Craning around again so that he hovered at the point where the underside of Revali's beak met his neck, Link still waited the long moments it took for Revali to jerk his head in assent before moving in further, nipping at the tender spot with his lips again and again as Revali’s breath caught. This… wasn't so bad, really. Loving Link had always felt like some form of surrender. Maybe this once he could just… accept.

Nipping…

Link's slender ears hovered just to the side of Revali’s beak, turned pink by a mixture of cold and fading embarrassment. Those had proven sensitive to the brush of Revali’s feathers before, so maybe…

Experimentally, he pulled his beak free to nip at one of the tips, not hard enough to break the skin but still firm enough to be felt—and Link let out a strangled gasp. Interesting.

"Oh," he breathed, jerking back to stare at Revali wide-eyed. "Oh, yes."

Very interesting.

This time, it was Revali who pursued with a devious look of his own—not that Link put up much of a fight, taking to surrender much more easily than Revali ever had. Maybe there was reciprocity to be found here after all.