#need to put on weight so they actually Fit around my calves but whatever

[coldbrewpup]

boots, btw

(she/it)

[bluesfortheredj]

A little extra to love.

Smut ahead.

A/N: Here we are; the last ever request. What an odd thing to type! Anyway, I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

The towel you’d wrapped around yourself in the bathroom gapes open at your stomach and you can feel the cool air on your skin before you quickly grab both sides of it and hold it together to preserve some sort of dignity as you rush across the landing to your bedroom. Ben was downstairs watching the telly while you were getting ready after a long day at work, and the thought of him catching a glimpse of you in this sorry state was stomach churning. You sit down on your bed and the towel opens up completely with absolutely no hope of bringing the two ends together across your protruding belly and a for a moment you sit there with tears stinging the back of your eyes at how disgusting you felt. It had been a tough year thanks to the pandemic, but what was even tougher for you was the weight you’d gained throughout your time at home; you were already big enough at the beginning of the year but now that you were two stone heavier you felt completely defeated. All you wore these days were men’s XXL t-shirts with jogging bottoms or leggings, and most of your wardrobe had been chucked out as soon as a charity bag had been posted through your door due to half of it not even fitting any more.

“You alright up there?” Ben calls out after a few minutes of you wallowing.

“Yeah… um, I don’t think I can go tonight though… I’m not feeling very well.”

“Oh love, is there anything I can do?” he asks as you hear him ascending the stairs.

“Uh, no, no, it’s okay. I’ll be down in a minute.”

“How about I make you a cup of tea?” he offers.

“That would be perfect.”

His footsteps retreat back down the few steps he’d climbed and you breathe a long sigh of relief as you look down at your excess paunch that had grown significantly the last few months. You’d been both jubilant and hesitant at reuniting with Ben after such a long time apart, especially as you could hide your extra chins on a video call, but he’d been as sweet as he was the day he asked if you wanted to be with him, and he somehow didn’t flinch at the sight of you. You quickly get dressed into your oversized pyjamas and head downstairs to find Ben already settled into the sofa with a steaming cup of tea waiting for you on the coffee table.

“How are you feeling?”

You hold your hand out flat and shake it from side to side to indicate you were feeling a little dodgy, then he reaches out a hand to your face and gently tucks your hair behind your ear.

“You do look a little pale,” he worries.

“Think it might be a migraine coming on,” you shrug, “I don’t know.”

“Well then I guess we’ll just be staying here and cuddling on the sofa,” he smiles, “and after months of not being able to do that with you, I’m certainly not complaining.”

A hesitant smile from you greets his excited grin, and he frowns a little at your underwhelmed reaction to the fact you’d be snuggled up with your boyfriend all evening but he lets it go and puts it down to you not feeling your best. You lean forward to the table to pick up your mug and adjust your top by pulling it away from your body as you sit back up again, making sure that none of the fabric got caught in your folds. The steam from your tea wafts up into your face when you lightly blow on the liquid and you keep your eyes focused on the television in front of you as Ben shuffles a little closer so he can drape his arm around your shoulders. He was a naturally tactile person whereas you were quite the opposite, but it still didn’t excuse the times you’d rejected his intimate advances purely for the reason that you didn’t want him to see what was lurking beneath your clothes.

“Relax babe,” he says quietly before kissing the side of your head, “I can feel how tense you are, it can’t be helping your head.”

You put your now empty mug back on the coaster on the table and lean back against his arm then purposely drop your shoulders to try and relax into the side of his body, and he brings his other arm over so his hand can rest on your thigh. His touch is soft, as if a blanket had just been placed across your lap, and it’s just as comforting too after being deprived of it for so very long. His fingers begin to tap a little before he gives your leg a purposely slow squeeze then he moves up just an inch and repeats the action but adds a kiss to your temple this time, and your eyes close at the feel of his hand moving higher while his kisses move lower until his lips press against yours while his fingers squeeze down between your thighs and rub along the outside of your pyjamas.

“Ben,” you moan involuntarily against his mouth.

“Mhmm,” he hums.

Your eyes fly open as you finally recognise the situation and you gasp as you pull away from him, “sorry, I can’t… sorry.”

You rise from the couch to take your mug into the kitchen as Ben looks on with a baffled frown; this wasn’t the first time you’d rejected his advances and after such a long time apart the only conclusion that made sense to him was that you must have completely gone off the idea of being with him during lockdown. He quietly follows you out to find you standing at the sink staring out of the window listlessly, and he clears his throat to gain your attention.

“If, uh, if you’re feelings have changed then you just need to say,” he mumbles, avoiding eye contact and choosing to look around the room instead, “I can leave if you want me-”

“Ben, I’m fat,” you interrupt him.

“What?” he scoffs.

“I don’t like you touching me because I’m… overweight, fat, obese, whatever you wanna call it. I’m that. And I don’t want you to feel all… this. Not before lockdown, and especially not now.”

“I… wait… are you serious?”

“Yes of course I am.”

“So… wait a minute… why do you think I asked you out in the first place then?”

“I really have no idea,” you sigh.

“Oh my god, (Y/N), come on! I fancy the pants off you! That’s why.”

You shake your head and scoff at his comment then attempt to walk past him but he blocks your path quite defiantly and wraps his arms around your body no matter how much you fight against the comforting embrace.

“Hey, would you please stop trying to wriggle away?!” he says, his muscular arms tightening a little more around you.

A defeated sigh is breathed into his t-shirt as you finally give up on trying to escape his cuddle, but you keep your arms by your sides in one last attempt at trying to show him you weren’t completely giving in yet, and he laughs a little as he rocks you from side to side.

“So this is why you keep pushing me away, huh?” he mutters into your hair, “well I’m relieved that it’s not because you’ve gone off me, and I’m also pretty glad that you didn’t succeed in trying to get rid of me.”

He leans back and holds you at arms length before moving the hair back from your face so he could see you properly, and you avert your eyes from his intense gaze in embarrassment. His hands leave your body and you look up at him just as he lifts his top up and pulls it over his head to then throw it onto a kitchen chair behind you, then your eyes move leisurely over his torso from his stomach until they reach his plump lips.

“Everyone seems to think I have a constant six pack,” he sighs, turning sideways and placing a hand on his small tummy, “as you can see, that is very much not true. I just really love food,” he shrugs with a wobble of his stomach.

“But that’s cute… mine is bleurgh.”

“Bleurgh?” he questions with a single raised eyebrow, “can I at least judge for myself?”

“I really don’t want you seeing my stretch marks Ben.”

“Then blindfold me.”

“What?!” you half laugh.

“If you don’t want me to see them then cover my eyes, but please let me touch you.”

Your mouth opens, then closes, then opens again as you try to get your head around what he’s suggesting, and he gently takes your hands before leading you upstairs to your bedroom.

“Ah!” he exclaims excitedly when he sees a silk scarf hanging from the door of your wardrobe, “perfect. Here; blindfold me,” he winks, handing you the scarf.

“Uh… right...”

He sits down on the bed and you kneel behind him before holding the piece of soft fabric between your hands and lowering it over his face to cover his eyes then eventually secure it at the back of his head.

“I’m gonna say this now before it actually happens; if I get an erection during this then please feel free to ignore it,” he forewarns.

“Do you think you will?”

“My hands on your body… yeah, I’m pretty sure I will.”

“Oh,” you giggle, startling yourself at the fact that a girlish laugh just escaped your lips.

Your weight shifts on the bed as you move to stand up again, then you quickly switch the light off and take your position in front of Ben who now has his legs wide open for you to stand in between, and your heart rate quickens as he tentatively lifts his arms for you to take his hands. There’s a few seconds as you hesitate, but you guide his hands to the waist band of your pyjama trousers and he hooks his finger tips inside the elastic so he can pull them down slowly. They drop to the floor then you step out of them as Ben’s feather light touch glides over your legs; up and down your calves the around your thighs where he massages your skin, and he leans forward to press gentle kisses along the dimpled surface. His hands blindly feel their way up over your underwear and swiftly pull that down out of the way, then continue their journey under the cover of your top while his lips caress the skin you were so ashamed of as it hangs down above your thighs with nothing covering it for once.

“Can I take off my blindfold?” Ben whispers; his lips tickling your tummy.

You look around the room and how much light from the landing is coming through the gap in the door, then carefully pull one end of the neat little bow you’d made with the scarf so that it slips from his face, and he’s left blinking into the dim light as his eyes adjust.

“Wow,” he exhales as his hands run up and down your sides to lift your top and give him just a glimpse of your flabby pouch; this was not the reaction you were expecting.

He lets go of you briefly to wriggle out of his jeans without moving you away too much, then he pushes himself up the bed so that he’s leaning his back on the headboard with only his boxers covering his growing bulge.

“Do you want to come and sit?” he asks, patting the thigh that was nearest to you.

You nod in response and pull your top down to cover the bottom of your stomach then get on the bed and crawl up to where Ben sits with a knee either side of his leg.

“You’re so beautiful,” he sighs as one hand slides up your thigh and the other caresses your face, “you don’t even realise how beautiful you are do you?”

“I’m not,” you reply shyly as you lean into his touch.

“But you are,” he insists, “I love these,” he pauses to look down at your thigh as he squeezes it, “and this,” he strokes the part of your stomach that hangs lower than the rest, “and everything about this,” he smiles as he looks up at your face; his thumb sweeping across your cheek gently, “and I’ve been dreaming about the day I can show you just how much when mere words are not enough.”

“Ben,” you chuckle self consciously.

“It’s true! Now come closer,” he invites, dropping his hand from your face to your hip and guiding you forwards as far as you can go, “do you want to keep that on?” he asks, tugging at the hem of your top.

He’s met with a nod and gives you a warm smile in return, then he weaves his fingers through your hair and pulls you in for a kiss as he bends his knee slightly to press his thigh against your exposed lips. You hum with pleasure at the feel of some pressure against you, then he allows one hand to travel down your back and come to a rest on your cheeks so he can encourage you to move back and forth along his leg; your slit naturally opening up wider and allowing your sweet spot to rub against the skin. Your hands are resting on his shoulders for stability but you take one away and drag it down his torso until your fingers are able to pull the waistband of his boxers away from his body and release his erection; your hand immediately wrapping around his length once it’s free and working its way up and down the shaft with your thumb circling his tip at every opportunity it gets.

“Mhmm,” Ben purrs into your mouth as his hips twitch.

Everything feels so natural with him and even though this was your first time being intimate with one another it felt as if you knew each other’s bodies already, and when Ben diverts his kisses down along your jaw and onto your neck where he gently nibbles at your skin you can’t help but allow a moan to erupt from your throat. You can feel his finger tips digging into the soft flesh of your backside as he motivates you to move a little faster and your body responds to his touch almost instantaneously with your hand sliding along his member to match the pace that you’ve set. Pants, moans and whines fill the room along with a warm, damp atmosphere thanks to the heat your bodies were creating, and you’re soon both completely lost in the moment without a thought for anything else until Ben rests his head on your shoulder and stills as his excitement drips over your hand. You carry on stroking him slowly while your own climax builds inside but soon you have rest your hand on his stomach as your core tightens like a spring, then releases with a series of pulsations that cause a short moan to escape with each one.

“Wow,” he repeats once more.

“Yeah,” you agree breathlessly.

The two of you clean up before sinking down onto the bed in a sleepy, tangled mess and the glow of the bliss you’d just both experienced seems to add more light to the room as Ben kisses your head between strokes of your hair. His other hand slips underneath your top and rests on your stomach where his thumb runs small, comforting circles right over one of your stretch marks, and a smile spreads across your lips at the meaningful gesture.

could you do a fic where Ben and the reader have been dating but she is very insecure about being overweight and they haven't been physical yet because of it. But Ben won't give up on her and finally convinces her that he really loves her and it ends in smut when they finally sleep together and its super fluffy, passionate and romantic?

@lv7867 @aynsleywalker @pink-lemo @itisjustmethistime @mamaskillerqueen @queenslandlover-93

[seancekitsch]

pizzatarian: a Diego Hargreeves x reader fic

Warnings: a lil toxic if you squint but not really, mentions of violence, no smut actually, self deprecating shit, high key based on ‘your honor’ by regina spektor, david even called diego a sobby fuckboy and thats what he is

You don't exactly flinch when you hear the jingling of keys, or the struggling noises on the other side of your front door at two in the morning. It’s just Diego. Diego who had a key to your apartment but didn't call you his girlfriend by the light of day. Diego that basically lived here but you have never seen where he actually lives. Diego who once he finally has the key in the door and is turning the lock comes stumbling in. You can hear the thudding of his boots grow louder down the hall as he reaches your bedroom, where you've been up reading, a cardigan draped over you as you fight insomnia. You try to beat him to the door, putting your book aside and jumping up, but before your hand can reach the handle, he’s pushing it open, quickly guiding his way through to your form, cutting off any questions you might have. You sink into the kiss, plump lips warm and inviting as always, kissing you with force that makes your brain fuzzy. Your arms instinctively come up around his shoulders, but you don't miss the way he flinches at your touch. Somethings off, but you push the thought from your mind as your tongue darts out of your mouth, ready to be welcomed into Diego’s mouth. But then you taste copper. Warm, slick copper. Blood.

“Diego,” you try to get his attention, but he’s adamant to keep his lips on you. So you push, hands coming to find his chest and push against him, at least enough to get an answer out of him. You fight his grasp, pulling your face away from his as his lips chase yours.

“Diego, wait, Diego stop,” you push him away, at arm's length when you finally get a good look at him. He’s got a split lip, the beginnings of a black eye which bloomed near his cheek bone and ended near his brow.

“What the fuck happened to you?”

“There was… a fight,” he offers, way more nonchalant than you want him to be right now. He lets you go, but stays close. He’s caught and he knows it.

“A fight about goddamn what, Diego?” your voice comes out strained, exasperated.

“I’ve been fighting for your honor, babe,” he offers to you, almost slurring from a hit to the mouth, but then adds, “You wouldn’t understand.” when he sees your puzzled face. Babe. That’s funny. Not the first time he’s called you babe, but it feels facetious coming from his lips. You would understand if it was just another boxing match, you would understand if it was bullshit having to do with that family he’s never introduced you to. But to somehow be fighting for your honor was alien, dishonest of him to say. Now, you know Diego is a lot of things, but a liar is not one of them. He’s holding out on you, holding back. So if he didn't want to tell you, why was he even here?

“I don't understand? You’re right, I don't,” and then, fuck. You realise what this is. He’s asking for help, showing vulnerability in his own little messed up way.

You sigh, deeply, crossing the floor in front of him.

“Hold on, your honor,” you snort, the ghost of an affectionate smile on your face, “I’ll get ice for your hands.”

If he was going to come up with some bullshit line like your honor, you were going to at least patch him up and give him the couch treatment. He doesn’t get bed privileges for bullshit excuses of kissing you with bloody mouth, you decide.

The walk to your kitchen in the dark is something you have memorized, the fuzzy blacks and greys of your apartment shaping into the furniture and corners you know by daylight. How different they are, shapes and their familiarity based on your perception of them. Your sock clad feet trace steps ghosted over by months of bumping around for midnight water, for candles during storms, for late night snacking. Your hands reach out, and meet the handle of the freezer mechanically, wrenching it open and fumbling for an ice pack or something frozen to help him. Your hands find a box that will do, just before you hear heavy steps following your path.

Diego grabs you by the hips from behind, but not harshly. You feel him wrap his body around you, molding to your form as his head dips and nuzzles against your hair, sighing as he lets himself enjoy the feeling of you.

“C’mon, baby,” he whispers, almost a moan, “Let’s just make love. Let's make love and go to bed. It’s the only thing that’ll make me feel better right now.”

Like hell it is. For someone who won't call you his girlfriend, Diego is a hopeless romantic, and has been the entire time you’ve been doing whatever it is you'd describe this arrangement as.

“Nope,” you say, popping the ‘p’ as you continue, “I don’t kiss people that lose fights.”

He scoffs, sounding legitimately offended.

“Lose fights? Baby, I won the fight. C’mon let’s just get you out of that sweater.”

He pulls the cardigan off of one of your shoulders, exposing you to the chill and his warm hand, immediately making you try to shrug it back up to its original location. This isn’t how tonight is going to go.

“Well, I don't kiss winners either,” you pull the box out of the freezer and close it, still not turning around to face him, “Instead you're making me play nurse.”

“I- I can leave. If y-you dont want me to be here.” he deflates, playful tone leaving, but he doesn't back away. You sigh, deeply.

“No, Diego that's not what I mean. But I’m not rewarding you for this. I don't fight for honor.”

You don't, and you wouldn't; and he shouldn't fight for yours. He shouldn't waste his energy on just a fling.

“So, nurse,” he’s back to joking, “What’s my charge? Gargle with peroxide? A steak for my eye?”

You laugh, actually laugh, and turn to face him, finally. You hold up the box in your hand, and he takes it.

“I’m a vegetarian, remember? It’s a frozen pizza pie.”

He laughs, and accepts it gratefully, looking like an idiot holding the pizza up to his face. You tell him to follow you, and lead him in the darkness to the couch, letting him sit and spread out, legs wide. You opt to perch on the cushion farthest from him, letting him own the space as it’s about to be his bed for the night. His hand that isn’t holding the pizza to his black eye brushes the back of the couch, reaching for you in the darkness. You pick at the fleece of your cardigan, white as snow. You’re lucky he didn’t manage to taint it with his blood, you think, but then dismiss the thought. Staining the cardigan and letting him ruin it would be fitting at this point.

“It’s because I care,” his voice comes out in little more than a whisper. You don’t say anything, hoping he’ll continue.

“It’s because I care about you. I don’t want anyone to get that twisted.”

You really hope his good eye can’t see how wide your eyes are right now, your eyebrows finding a new home in your hairline.

“Diego you— You don’t have to,” fuck, how do you say this? Your hands run through your hair, lip trembling in a way you don’t understand, “You don’t have to defend me, or anything like that.”

He turns to face you, whole body turning with the movement as he hikes a knee up onto the couch.

“You got me, or… whatever this shit is,” you sigh again, the weight of these words hard to pronounce on your tired tongue, “but it’s not like you've asked me to be your girlfriend or anything special. I’m like a common ho, a bootycall that you sometimes get brunch with, Diego.”

His hand along the back of the couch reaches for your hand, and your instincts tell you to rip your hand away from him, but you don’t. You let him hold your hand, let his fingers cage your own and hold them tight. Let your palms fit against each other.

“Just…” your mouth is trembling again, and you wish it fucking wasn’t. “Don’t get cut or anything for me, because it’s not going to change anything. I still won’t be a saint. Don’t be out there fighting for my honor when you haven’t made it yours to defend.”

Even in the dark you can see your words hit him like a freight train, and you wish you hadn’t opened your stupid fucking mouth. You wish you hadn’t been angry at Diego. You wish you had something better than a stupid fucking pizza for him to be holding against his face right now. He moves closer to where you’re sat curled in the corner, makes sure his thigh is brushed up and nestled under your calves. If you want to, you can rest on him. If you want to, you can be sitting in his lap.

“Y-you wanna know why I was fighting, baby?” he's deadly serious. “Because you’re worth it. You don’t need to be a saint. You’re my little pizzatarian that makes me hold deep dish against a black eye.”

You laugh, watery and trembling, and you let your legs relax against his.

“I w-want you to be my g-girlfriend. I want to fight everyone in the city with my bare hands if it means I get to be y-yours.” his voice sounds just as shaky as yours now. “Y-you know I love you, R-right?”

He loves you. You believe him. Diego Hargreeves is a lot of things, but he’s not a liar. You nod, not bothering to ask for clarity, or why he thinks you’re worth it. You just nod. He releases your hand, and uses it to pull you in against his chest. He lets you re-adjust to curl up and fit into his lap. Like it was made for you. You stay like that in the dark, resolving to reinstate his bed privileges.

“Let’s go to bed, Diego.”

You can feel him nod against you. He waits for you to get up, your hand outstretched and waiting for him as he rises to his feet with a groan. You walk by his side until you reach the threshold, and then stop.

“What is it?”

“You get comfy, your honor, I’ll be in there in a minute.”

[whaleofatjme1920]

Hello El!!

I bring my exchange info for an matchup. If say creepypasta/marblehornets matchup for this.

So my name is Shay, I go by Whiskey because it's a preference in liquor on my end. I go by they/them pronouns, AFAB and I'm bi and omniromantic, I do have an mild preference for men or masc aligned people. I'm a Libra sun, Virgo moon and Aquarius rising. I'm also introvert (INFJ-A) and I'm constantly sleeply. I do have C-PSTD, Bipolar II and GAD (Generalized Anxiety Disorder).

I'm Caucasian/White and I stand at 5'9. I have celtic and Danish heritage, My family where vikings. I'm really tall and legs double the size of my torso, as in my thighs are as big as my torso in length, same with my calves. I call myself spider legs because of that. I have this natural like wolf cut going on that is this dark green with my roots be my natural dark chocolate brown hair. My eyes are hazel with gold flecks that shift in color which I found out is normal for people with hazel eyes. I paint my nails black a lot because I find the color pleasing. My build wise is like a rectangle like shape with broad shoulders. I'm pretty strong and I'm proud of my strength. I'm currently starting to get into shape and lose weight so I have fit shape but not like over for. Just the right amount of fat over my muscles. I have a lot of stretch marks,, mostly around my waist and my biceps. I call them my stripes or lighting marks. I have plans to get snake bite piercings and wear like the ring ones in them. I'm getting an tattoo soon that is like this and then I want a burning match tattoo on my color bone. My ears are piercing and I like wearing fake gauges, spirals and then the ratings that have the dangly stuff and cuffs with them. I also wear like those stereotypical hot topic chokers. I wear a lot of long sleeves and skinny jeans, I do like ripped skinny jeans. I also love flannels and black boots like doc martins or converse.

I think you can assume by the statement of me liking whiskey I am the rebellious sort which is true. I have drank a bit and tried weed, I don't do it anymore tho.I have been told if people don't know me and see me from afar I'm intimidating to approach. Even being spooky and intimidating, I promise I'm just a big softie. I usually assume the mom friend of the group with my friends. I always worry about them and make sure they take care of themselves. Sometimes I do it so much I forget to take care of myself. I'm really gentle and compassionate, along with being extremely empathetic. I can be stubborn and bit judgemental at times, mostly working off first impressions myself when getting to know each other. I have an hard time being insertive and putting my foot down with my boundaries, scared to lose people even if the hurt me. I'm an introvert through and through, liking to watch from the back and observe the way things go on around me. I do my best to be an optimist because I can't see the point in see everything wrong in this world, it helps me to see the good. I love going on adventures with my close friends and love being a chaotic bastard with them. My dnd alignment is chaotic neutral and I'm Hufflepuff. I do live by the saying do no harm but take no shit. But I won't hesitate to fight someone for the right causes.

I do always constantly look like I am going to funeral of some sort because I own nothing but black. The color makes me feel really comfortable but it's not my favorite color. My favorite color is green but I like sage green, forest green, mossy green, etc. The earthy greens are my favorites. I have a love for the forest and woodlands, finding a sense of home in the woods. I do love archery and something I'm definitely going to be picking up along with playing the drums. I also smoke herbal cigarettes as well as alternative to smoking.

You know that I often get called a cryptid and at this point, I am just one. Cryptidcore, Midwest Gothic, and Pacific Northwest Gothic are my favorite aesthetics. I have a huge love for cryptozoology (the study of cryptids), parapsychology (the psychic phenomena and other paranormal claims), original creepypasta stories and to be honest anything like spooky and creepy. I want to be a mortician and I'm attending school for that. I also really love the dark, especially if I have some good music blasting through my earbuds. I am a sucker for long road trips and seeing things, filling the adventure heart I have. My favorite animals are coyotes and I also like horses. I like to write a lot as well. My favorite cryptids are The Beast of Bray Road, Not Deer, Jersey Devil and Jacklopes.

Thank you so much and I'm so glad I got a chance to reach out to you. It all started with me wanting to send memes to you and being a little 🌲 anon.

Also here is what the tattoo I'm am getting done looks like ↓↓↓

Your matchup is... Jeff!

Sorry this took me a hot minute, I've been out all day! But here's my part of the exchange :}

In general:

Alright, I read this over and just immediately thought about Jeff, mostly because of your personality!! I have so many things I want to get into and want to say though. SO, let's get right into that.

Things he likes about you:

Physically speaking, as that is how I always start, Jeff really, really loves your height and your legs make him fuzzy on the inside. He just loves it SO MUCH. Your hair is gorgeous, and he's never going to stop wanting to run his fingers through it. Whatever color it's dyed as becomes his new favorite, and he loves seeing your natural hair poke through as well. Your eyes are so gorgeous in his opinion and he finds himself getting lost in them. He thinks your nails being painted black is nice because honestly, he's prone to painting his nails black as well. He finds your body so great!! Wants to hold you and loves feeling new muscles when they get built up. Regardless, he just physically adores you. Your stretch marks are also something he adores as well, and he will fondly call them your tiger stripes and admire them in their entirety. He would love your piercings and the tattoo you want to get. Also really, really loves your choice in jewelry. Chokers are hot in his opinion lmfao. Ripped skinny jeans, flannels, black boots, converse!! just everything about your style works so well with him. And your personality!! That slight rebellious edge am slightly intimidating nature??? PLEASE

General cute stuff:

I feel like the two of you are going to spend some evenings in painting nails. Jeff is slightly touch starved and will absolutely run his hands over your body and just adore everything about you. I can also see Jeff working out with you as well!! He will be your number one supporter regardless of what you're going to be doing. He finds it so sweet that you take care of other people. Jeff also understands you being an introvert, because he's kind of the same way. He would absolutely would hang back with you and just exist. He likes observing as well. However, he also can be a bit of a chaotic guy and will go on adventures with you! Scary places, nature, wherever you want, Jeff will go with you. He'll also read up on fun little places and then go with you. He will absolutely get you green things just because he knows that you like that color. Jeff will also take you on walks in the woods, and he'll also let you wear his clothing!! Jeff actually smokes weed semi-regularly, so while you smoke herbal cigarettes, he's going to be lighting up alongside you as long as you're comfortable. He'd probably like the herbal cigarettes as well. Jeff would love to hear about your love of cryptozoology! He's met so many beings in his life that fit that that he'd just go buck wild being able to tell you about his stories and experiences as well. Parapsychology is also something he'd love to listen from you. He finds you going into the mortician business so incredible, and that you like the dark. Your music?? Please share that with him!!

You two as a couple:

Jeff knows that you are intimidating but so, so sweet. He finds you so admirable and honestly, he needs that kind of caring, loving influence in his life. He finds you being the mom friend of your group super fun and while he's not a dad friend, definitely loves saying things to remind all of your shared 'kids' to listen to you. He wants you to take care of yourself!! He wants you to be kind to yourself!! You being stubborn is something he understands because honestly he can be stubborn. Judgmental? He gets it but honestly might challenge the notion from time to time. He will remind you about boundaries and how important it is to set them. Time to time, he may step in just to help you out. He will also remind you to be assertive, mostly because he would hate to see anyone take advantage of you. Jeff will read up on C-PTSD, Bipolar II, and your anxiety simply so he can be more prepared to help you in any way he can. He deals with some things himself, but he doesn't always know how to handle others. So, he would definitely read up for you and end up becoming your rock when you need it. Honestly, just let him take care of you in his own way. Rough around the edges?? Absolutely. But he's so soft for you. He will help you in any way he can, whether it be weathering the bad days and loving the good ones. Let him adore you.

Closing Thoughts/Other Things:

Hi love bug, or as I will often fondly refer to you as, Dr. Cryptid! I was so happy to read all of this about you. Thank you so so much for sending this in and once again doing mine! I loved reading all about it, and I love talking with you. Thank you so much for that lil pine tree emoji and memes. Also, please take care of yourself!! There's only one of you in the universe and it's so important to love and cherish yourself. It's always okay to say no or know when to bail. Never take care of so many people that you leave all your energy with them and none for yourself. I look forward to our future convos and just friendship in general. As always, let me know what you think and I hope you enjoyed!

[downwiththeficness]

In the Bond-Chapter 14

Summary: Lilah often wished she’d never said yes to working with the Gecko brothers—usually while dodging gunfire. At no time was she regretting that decision more than when she’s hanging upside down from the ceiling, staring down a group of hungry culebras and one (1) extremely powerful sun god.

Word Count: ~7,600

Warnings: Drugging, kidnapping, violence, gore, blood, heavy sexual themes

A/N: This is an AU of my Story In the Blood, which can be read here. Basically, this fic explores what would have happened if Lilah had met up with Geckos before she met Brasa.

Taglist: @symbiont13

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They were standing around the familiar slab of the conference room table, a lull having settled over the group as they finalized the last few details of their plan. Lilah fiddled with the hem of her dress, a deep blue off the shoulder body con that she was assured (by Kate) would fit the bill for what they needed. The heels were not too high that she couldn’t run, the ankle strap keeping them firmly in place. She’d borrowed the clutch that held a switchblade and a few other accouterments that she might need throughout the night.

Seth crossed his arms, his gaze on her, “Are we all on the same page?”

Lilah nodded, looking to Richie and Brasa, who were also nodding. The subterfuge that they’d decided on was a little more complicated than strictly necessary, but it gave the brothers Gecko the opportunity to do what they did best—steal. At least, that was what they hoped.

Brandon Lyle had been maneuvered into place as best as they could manage without actually getting into a room with him. Brasa had bought his debt. Lyle had been offered terms, now they waited to see how he would react.

Lilah had her own thoughts about it, thoughts that she’d voiced several times over. It surprised her how Brasa had sided with both Richie and Seth, the three of them forming a bizarre unit that assured her that the plan would go exactly how they wanted. She found herself outnumbered and out-reasoned over and over in a way that made her jaw clench.

Their mark was an idiot, and too dumb to know he was so stupid. He’d gotten in deep with some pretty big players and thought that his money, or his looks, or his brute force could get him out of it. There was only one way to effectively deal with this kind of person—a con.

It wasn’t even really a con, per se, though Lilah was certainly not one to indulge in semantics when it came to crime. It was just an elaborate distraction that would give both teams the time they needed to perform the real work. Seth and Richie would be on site, in case he brought the book with him. Brasa and Javier would be en route to his father’s house in case it was still in the hermit’s library.

Either way, they were getting that book tonight.

Lilah had been clear that Branden’s father wasn’t going to be harmed in this. He was an eccentric old book collector, an appreciator of the rare and the obscure. He wasn’t responsible for his son’s debt, nor was he responsible for the way in which it would need to be collected. She made no such advocacy for the younger Mr. Lyle.

Seth reached down and grabbed his jacket from where he’d draped it over the nearest chair, shrugging it on and shaking out the fabric, “Alright. Let’s go.”

“Don’t forget your comms,” Lilah said, pointing that them, “You guys need to be able to hear while we work.”

Holding up both hands defensively, Seth gave half a smile, “Alright, alright, we’ll put the comms in. Anything else?”

“Yeah,” she shot back, “Don’t fuck around. Get in, get the book, get out.”

“Yes, mother,” Richie intoned with humor.

She glared, but said nothing further.

Seth laughed and took a step back, “You coming?”

“Actually,” Brasa cut in, “I have a matter I’d like to discuss with Lilah. It will only take a moment.”

Richie was already moving towards the door, Seth hesitating as he watched Lilah for guidance.

She nodded, waving them off, “Go. I’ll head to the bar in a few minutes. I need to arrive separately, anyways. It’ll be good to have some delay.”

Watching as they both sauntered out, closing the door behind them, Lilah shifted on her heels and turned to look expectantly up at Brasa. He stood not too far away, looking at her with an inscrutable expression.

Lilah grew nervous under those eyes, her shoulders rising up towards her ears. He looked at her a few moments longer, his fingers curling into his palms. Though he wasn’t a man of very many words, his eyes could say a thousand things that left Lilah struggling to interpret. She shifted in her heels, eyes darting away from that penetrating gaze.

When he moved, it was a series of slow, even steps that brought him within a few inches of her. He took her hands, holding them lightly.

“I like this dress,” he murmured.

Lilah felt a warm rush rise beneath her skin at the compliment, “Thanks. I thought it might be a bit much to sell the grift, but I think I’d rather be overdressed.”

“No,” he replied, moving further into her space, “Its not too much.”

She smiled shyly, “Really?”

Brasa nodded, dropping a kiss onto her bare shoulder, following the line of muscle to her neck, beneath her chin, to her lips. He kissed her lightly, with a warm reverence that hinted at feelings she wasn’t quite ready to name.

More kisses followed, soft and sweet. He shifted his grip to pull her into his body by her hips. Lilah draped her arms over his shoulders, letting the slow press of his mouth lull her into comfort. She touched her tongue to his, traced along it, tasting. The hands on her hips squeezed into her flesh, a little moan sounding.

Breathing in, he deepened the kiss, teeth nipping. Lilah gasped when he nicked her skin, sucking on the tiny wound. He gripped her ass, hauling her upwards as he dove in for another searing kiss, a growl sounding from the back of his throat. Lilah held onto him, almost all of her weight held by the strength of his arms.

In a smooth, fluid motion, she was lifted and deposited on the conference table. Her body landed with a muffled thud, her legs dangling over the side. She braced a hand on the wood below as she caught her balance, her free hand digging into his button down to pull him closer.

Lilah was quickly becoming overwhelmed. He was everywhere—his taste, his smell, his body—he overpowered every sense that she had until all she could think was that she needed to get closer, needed to get more. Greedy hands traced hard muscle, her ankles wrapping around his calves as he stepped into the space she’d made for him between her thighs.

The tight hem of her dress, already straining, finally gave up and rolled upwards towards her hips. The fabric cut into her skin, every second of discomfort worth it to have Brasa pressed against her. Nose pressed into her neck, he licked at her skin, teeth scraping. His hands steadied her, kneading her curves,  holding inexorably to him.

“Lilah,” he murmured against her mouth, a kind of soft desperation in his tone.

She pulled back a little, catching his eyes and lifting her brows in question. His jaw was slack as he worked to find words, his gaze tracing over the curves of her face. Smiling a little, she cupped his cheeks, kissing him quickly.

When she leaned away, she asked, “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

It occurred to her that she could just reach out to him, as she’d done many times, but Lilah’s gut told her that whatever he needed to say needed to be said out loud. She waited.

“Lilah,” he started again, his hands reaching down and gripping beneath her knees. He unwrapped her legs and set them down on the table, fingers pushing on her inner thighs to spread them wide.

She let him keep pressing her open, biting her lip to quell the feeling of being so exposed. He let the weight of his palms rest on the tops of her thighs, his eyes focused on the strip of fabric covering her mound. Lilah squirmed a little, couldn’t keep still when he was looking at her like that.

He said her name again, then, “Let me serve you.”

Staring at him in confusion, Lilah was about to ask what the fuck he meant, but comprehension quickly dawned when he dropped slowly onto his knees. She sucked in a breath as her pushed her dress further up her hips, the leather of his gloves rubbing sensuously over the newly exposed skin.

Brasa looked up at her, his head cocked to the side. Lilah felt her mouth purse as she tried to figure out what he was waiting for when she it suddenly clicked for her that he was asking for her to tell him ‘yes’. Huffing out a soft laugh, she grasped his forearms and nodded.

He looked...fucking delighted. Smiling so wide that she caught sight of his dimples, he leaned over and kissed her knee. He moved to the other side, his lips rubbing over her inner thigh. Here, he slowed, eyes half closed as he nuzzled her. The scratch of his stubble tickling, Lilah stifled another laugh as she carded her fingers in his hair.

Brasa laid a little path of kisses upwards, his thumbs pushing into her hips to tilt them forward. Lilah leaned back onto one hand, relaxing into the direction of his hands—she’d go wherever he wanted to lead in that moment.

With a strong pull, he jerked her closer to the edge. Surprised, Lilah let out a yelp and grabbed at his shoulder, the following laugh cut off when he dove in and licked a hot stripe upwards, his teeth catching. He lifted first one leg, then the other, over his shoulders, moving from side to side with wet, passionate kisses.

Lilah felt like she couldn’t breathe, her body warm and vibrating with anticipation as he made his way up towards her center. His fingers worked beneath the waistband of her panties, tugging them down. As Lilah was lifting her hips to help him get them off her as soon as possible, a knock sounded at the door.

“Lord Brasa,” came the voice that followed.

Her eyes closed, knowing that Javier would wait outside as long as Brasa wanted him to, but more than a little self conscious of him hearing what they were doing. She let out a long breath, disappointed but not surprised at the interruption. Without even looking at her phone, she knew that they were already behind schedule.

Brasa, for his part, didn’t seem to notice. He tugged again on her, eyes turned upwards to cast her a look of frustration. She looked down at the inky black, her breath catching as his hands flexed on her body. They stayed in that moment, suspended, the air sparking in a way that gave her a whole body shiver. He felt it, one side of his mouth quirking up in a self satisfied smirk.

Another knock, another call for his lord.

She smiled, unable to do anything but laugh as Brasa rolled his eyes and stood. Taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger, he dropped a lingering kiss on her mouth.

“This’ll be a quick job,” she said as he helped her down, her hands righting the fabric of her dress. “We do stuff like this all the time.”

Brasa took her hand, “You will be careful.”

It wasn’t a question, it was a directive. And, unlike most directives he gave her, Lilah was inclined to obey him. She nodded, smiling as she followed him out to where her car was waiting.

When she made it to the bar, Lilah took some time to get a feel for the room. The place was full of twenty-somethings, the music loud enough that any kind of conversation had to be yelled directly into one’s ear. She sighed, it was exactly as she expected.

Lilah pushed her hair behind her ear, using the motion to double check that her comm was secure. She took an extra moment to lift her toes in her heels, ensuring that they were as fitted to her feet as possible. The last thing she needed was to take a fall in her approach of the mark. He had to think of her as calm, confident—and, most of all, attractive. The set up wouldn’t work if he didn’t like her.

Deep breath.

Lifting her chin, Lilah began her approach. It constantly amazed her how people reacted to confidence, and a determined stride. If they weren’t too drunk to notice, most people got out of her way. The few that tried to catch her attention were quickly dismissed with the coldest look she could muster.

The VIP section wasn’t really so much as section as it was a few tables roped off with a bouncer nearby. Branden Lyle was sitting with several other men, a glass of dark liquor in his hand. He was dressed in a deep navy, a flash of gold around his neck. She managed to keep from rolling her eyes, but channeled her internal disgust into giving the bouncer a hard stare.

To his credit, the man didn’t seem bothered. He had about eight inches of height and a hundred and fifty pounds on her. Lilah had to crane her neck to look at him as she drew near.

“I’d like to speak to Mr. Lyle, please,” she announced genially.

Lilah found that the polite approach was usually the easiest way to get what she wanted when dealing with security. Too often, these guys were threatened, spit on, and pushed around by hot shots trying to get their way. A little civility was almost always unexpected, and almost always welcomed.

“No guests tonight, just business partners,” was his answer.

She gave him a winning smile and opened her clutch, pulling out the business card Richie had drawn up to give her a little more credibility.

“I am a business partner,” she asserted lightly as she handed the card over, “Mr. Lyle owes my bosses a debt. I think he’ll want to discuss terms as soon as possible.”

The bouncer looked at the card and then back at her before motioning for her to wait a moment. Hands folded in front of her, Lilah kept her expression serene as she watched the bouncer interrupt Mr. Lyle’s conversation, showing him the card. When the mark looked at her, she smiled a little, and bounced in her heels.

He laughed.

The little shit laughed. Lilah felt her lips press together as she resisted the urge to glare. Despite his easy dismissal, Brandon Lyle stepped into the first of many traps her team had in store for him tonight. He waved her forward.

Lilah sidled past the other ‘business partners’ as they left the table, her attention as much on the mark as possible. She sat demurely, setting her clutch on the table in front of her and fixing Branden with a friendly look.

He took her in, saying, “Ms. Corbett, I don’t think we’ve met.”

She lifted a shoulder, “We haven’t, but I’ve been told quite a bit about you by Mr. Pickerelle.” Lilah let that sink in, watching as his expression soured, “The good news for you is that you no longer owe him sixty grand. The bad news is that you now owe that money to my employers. They intend to collect tonight.”

Branden reached out and picked up his glass. He brought it halfway to his lips and paused, “If you’re here to threaten me, I can at least offer you a drink to soften the blow.”

Shaking her head, Lilah said, “What I said isn’t news. You were informed of the transfer of your loan two days ago. You were also informed of what my employers want to clear the debt completely.”

“Ah,” Branden replied around a swallow, “The book.”

Lilah echoed the last two words, “Yes.: She leaned forward on a forearm and cast him a coy glance, “Have you brought it, as we asked.”

He ticked his head to the side, “I did.”

This was good. It meant that the night would end early—thank God.

“Excellent. Do you have it here, or…”

Waving a hand towards the back of the room, “I asked the manager to lend me the use of his safe. Its downstairs.”

Trap number two. He’d not only disclosed the location, but he’d put it in the worst possible place to keep it—at least, when someone like Richie was trying to get at it.

We’re on it, came through her ear.

She breathed deeply, making a show of leaning back in her chair, “I think I’ll take that drink, now that you’ve shown good faith.”

The mark had absolutely not done that, but Lilah needed to buy the boys time to get in and get out. She put it at five minutes.

“What’ll you have?”

“Bourbon, rocks,” she answered.

Branden flagged down the bouncer and put in the order.

“While we wait,” Branden said with a curious gaze, “How about you tell me how you got into this line of work.”

Lilah considered the question, considered lying outright. It wasn’t necessary to come up with an elaborate backstory for this grift to work. She just needed enough surface details to convince him that she represented people who now owned his loan (which, technically, she did). He would fill in the other details on his own. Still, she needed to stall, and he looked interested enough.

“Well,” she said, crossing her legs and pretending to recall a memory. “I started out as an assistant at one of those cash advance places—you’re familiar?” When he nodded, she continued, “I showed some...aptitude, and I was invited to join a more lucrative venture.”

Branden lifted his brows, eyes dancing with surprise, “Aptitude?”

She smiled, as if laughing at a shared joke, “Yes, aptitude.”

He smiled along with her, “Would you mind elaborating?”

Lilah’s attention was diverted momentarily by the wait staff arriving with her bourbon. Branden took it from them and handed it to Lilah. She thanked him with a small salute, then took a sip. Like Seth, Branden had terrible taste in liquor. Unlike Seth, he didn’t seem to know it. Fuck, but it tasted like old sweat.

She barely concealed her grimace around a cough, “I’m adaptable. Very helpful in this business.”

Branden acknowledged her assertion with a dip of his head. He lifted his glass, “To adaptability.”

Loathe as she was to take another drink, Lilah gave a toast and sipped lightly. Swallowing was difficult, but she managed it. Glancing down into the glass, she eyed what was left. They’d poured her a healthy shot, a single cube of ice clinking against the sides.

“So,” Branden said, “You have to admit that its not just adaptability that got you where you are.” He leaned forward once more, saying, “You’re also beautiful.”

Her initial reaction was to dry heave, but she held it back. Instead, she gave him a small smile at the compliment, hoping that she wouldn’t have to actually flirt with him in order to hold his attention long enough to get the job done.

Not in the safe. Initiating Plan B.

Lilah felt anger rise up. The man had completely wasted their time. She set her jaw, narrowing her eyes at him.

“You’re right. Adaptability is not my only skill. I’m also a keen detector of bullshit.”

She stood, and wavered. Blood rushed into her skull, her eyesight blurring. Stomach roiling, Lilah had to brace her weight on the table.

“Clearly not good enough. Mikey?”

Hands gabbed at her, hauling her bodily up and over a massive shoulder. Panicked, Lilah screamed, the sound noted and ignored by the other patrons. Her stomach lurched and her head spun. Lilah had just enough energy to send out a call to Brasa as she was carried out the back door and thrown into the back of a van. Body limp, she could only stare at the streetlights as they passed by at an ever increasing speed.

She came to with a voice yelling in her ear, “Answer me, goddammit!”

Seth. Angry.

Her head hurt, her mouth dry. She swallowed painfully, “I’m here,” she croaked.

“Thanks to whatever god we haven’t met yet,” he sighed. “What happened?”

Lilah’s brain moved like molasses, her thoughts sticking together, “Drugs, I think.”

Everything hurt, her body shaking as she tried to get her bearings, “I’m in a room. Its cold. Fuck, its cold. I’m...tied to a chair. There are no windows.”

She could hear Seth repeating the information, though she didn’t quite understand why. As the seconds passed, her mind began to clear. The headache stubbornly remained, but Lilah blinked away the pain as much as she could. There would be time to feel pain later.

Shoulders moving, she tested the bonds of the rope. Too tight for her to get out of it. At least her legs weren’t tied down. She rocked from side to side. The chair was, unfortunately, pretty sturdy.

“How do we track your comm?” Seth asked.

Lilah sighed, “You got your cell?”

“Yeah.”

This was good, “Open it, code is two, seven, two, seven, two. Tap the ‘find me’ app. Click on my name, it should have my location, on it.”

From the back of her mind, she felt him growl. He pushed and pushed, until she couldn’t ignore the weight of him.

Querida…

“I’m okay,” she said back to him, the words filtering soundlessly. “A little banged up, but okay.”

Can you focus enough to let me through?

Through?

Yes, he urged, If you concentrate on the bond, I can get through to you. Fully. I’ll kill them, bring you back here.

Lilah’s vision swam with the effort of keeping the connection, “No. I can’t concentrate.”

Then, I will be with you shortly.

Lilah had just enough time to feel grateful before the only door of the room swung open and Branden walked in, Mikey strutting in behind. Lilah steeled herself, not sure where this would go.

“I think,” Branden began as he stood in front of her, “That you might work for powerful people, but those people wouldn’t give a shit if I killed you right now.”

Breathe.

“I think,” Lilah replied in a voice that was as stern as she could make it, “That you don’t know how wrong you are.”

He laughed, a high pitched, genuinely amused thing that grated on her very sensitized nerves. Behind him, Mikey also laughed. She sighed and crossed her legs, attempting to project confidence.

“You don’t have much time,” she continued, “I think you had better let me go.”

Branden’s eyes narrowed, though he was still smiling, “I know a bluff when I see one.”

Clearly, he did not.

“No bluff,” she shot back, “You don’t know what’s coming for you.”

Even now she could feel him nearing, even now that heat at the back of her mind was growing hotter and stronger. He was enraged, livid that he had not been there to protect her. She quieted him as best she could, but she knew—she knew. Lilah could not save these men.

“What do you want with the book?”

She shrugged, “I don’t want anything to do with it. I’m just here to acquire it.”

Mr. Lyle cocked his head to the side, “You do. You’ve been asking about it. You’ve been threatening about it.”

She breathed deeply, feeling sweat bead at her temples, “I don’t.”

“Mikey, let’s refresh her memory.”

Grabbing her hair, Mikey pulled her head back so that she was staring at the ceiling, one big hand coming up to cover her mouth and nose. Her lips pulled back from her teeth, but she couldn’t get the leverage she needed to bite down.

“How much is it worth?” Mr. Lyle asked, his voice coming from near her left side.

Lilah shook her head, trying to free her face from Mikey’s grasp, her legs uncrossing. Her heels kicked outwards, hoping to gain purchase somewhere. Her chest burned. Lilah was going to pass out, and soon.

“Its expensive, isn’t it?”

She felt tears form at the corner of her eyes. Her body jerked, failing to loosen Mikey’s hold. The lights flickered above her as her vision began to narrow. Sweat ran from her temples down her face and neck. The air in the room compressed over her body, her muscles contracting, knees coming up to her chest protectively.

“Let up.”

Mikey released her and Lilah sucked in air, body crumpling in the seat as she dropped her head down between her legs. She took several large gulps of air, wheezing and coughing. Behind her, Mikey laughed. Lilah hated the sound of it.

Mr. Lyle grabbed her hair and forced her to look at him, “What. Is. It?”

“I don’t know,” she coughed out, blinking as she tried to focus her vision. Everything was showing in doubles.

He gave her a hard shake and she felt hair come loose from her scalp, “Liar. Tell me.”

Lilah shook her head, “I’m not lying. I don’t know what it is. I was just asked to get ahold of it.”

Mr. Lyle let go of her hair and Lilah sat back, her hands folded uncomfortably behind her. The collar his shirt was damp. She doubted that he was sadist, at heart. He didn’t really look like he was enjoying this. He did look determined. Determined was worse.

Mikey moved around to her right, standing near enough that he’d be able to swat her down if she moved. She gauged the room. Mr. Lyle was between her and the door. Mikey could very likely snap her neck before she got there. Lilah was well and truly fucked for the moment.

“How much are you being paid for this?”

Lilah hesitated, eyeing Mr. Lyle. Her brain was working at half speed, and she couldn’t get a plan together to distract him. Though she was successful in keeping the panic at a minimum, she couldn’t quite draw upon her mental faculties to keep herself alive.

His hands were cold, bony, rough when they grabbed and held her up to him. Lilah grit her teeth, wondering if she could get her heel off to use as a weapon.

“How much?!” He screamed, and Lilah reflexively shut her eyes, a small sound of fear escaping her tight control.

Branden dropped her, she landed off center on the chair, falling to the floor. Stuttering breaths filled her lungs, a tear dripping down her cheek.

Branden sneered, “Let’s let her think about that for a bit.”

And then they were gone, leaving her curled on the floor. Lilah took a moment to draw on her courage, her wrists working against the rope. She pulled and yanked, until she was able to get her hand through the tiny loop, her skin chafing.

She looked at the binding, unwinding it. It wasn’t quite a weapon, but she’d take it. Struggling to her feet, she made her way to the door and gingerly turned the knob. It wasn’t locked. Another breath and she was easing the door open and peeking out into the hallway.

Brick on both sides and dimly lit. Empty. Careful of the sound of her heels, Lilah eased down the hall. All the doors were locked, except for the one that was open at the end of the hall. From it, she could hear music playing, and voices.

Lilah peered around the corner, cursing to herself when she clocked at least six guys talking around a card table. She only recognized Branden and Mikey. The others might as well be Agent Smith—all vanilla white boy who thought he was tough shit.

Standing in that hallway, Lilah closed her eyes and felt for Brasa, comforted when he responded eagerly, the whole of her body lighting up with heat. He’d find her, as he promised. But, Lilah couldn’t wait around to be rescued. It just wasn’t her style.

Adjusting her grip on the rope, Lilah squared her shoulders and strode out with far more confidence than she felt.

“We got a lock on you,” sounded from her comm, “Brasa took off, might reach you first. You hang tight.”

Lilah was not going to hang tight. She was angry at being cheated out of her goal, and she was even more angry that she’d been duped by some trust fund dickbag in an off the rack suit.

They noticed her, one or two standing as she moved through the room. There was a pull down garage door behind them (closed) and what actually appeared to be an exit to her left (also closed). Lilah ignored Branden’s opening jab about her being ‘wily’ and headed for the door.

Her heels clicked on the cement floor, her stride hard and quick. She didn’t stop when someone yelled, didn’t stop when chair scratched as more stood. What did make her stop was the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked.

Hands raised, the rope dangling, Lilah turned in a slow circle and faced them. Mikey had a handgun aimed at her, his finger on the trigger. Lilah glared at him, then turned her attention to their ringleader.

Branden was smiling as he approached, slowing about ten feet away, “Should have tied you up tighter.”

“Probably wouldn’t have worked,” she quipped.

He sucked his teeth, his smile morphing into something dark and angry. Lilah felt heat roll up her spine, a sharp burn that almost made her drop the rope.

“You have about ten seconds left to live,” she said. “Any last words?”

Branden laughed, “Funny, funny girl. How about I put a bullet in you and see if you have anything to say?”

It seemed he’d read the villain one-liner book, as well. Lilah rolled her eyes and waited for the inevitable.

The door behind her jerked off the hinges, air pushing hard enough at her back that she had to take a step forward to keep her balance.

“You’re not going to get that chance,” she rasped, her arms dropping.

A hand touched the small of her back, warm and familiar. Lilah leaned into it.

“Are you alright?” Brasa asked from over her shoulder.

She nodded, “I’m better, now that you’re here.”

Lilah could feel his gratification through the bond—that, and his anger. Fury, really. Hot, unrelenting fury.

Brandan was watching Brasa warily, his eyes looking to the door and back, “Boys? Let’s show ‘em what they’re up against.”

Lilah expected more weapons. She fully expected more posturing and some barbs back and forth. What she didn’t expect was a fucking semi-automatic rifle. Strike that, two semi-automatic rifles.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” she ground out even as she was moving backwards.

Gunfire is a weird thing. Its so loud. Disorienting. Your body moves without thought, jerking away from it, shielding your face. Lilah needn’t have bothered. Brasa moved, snakelike, turning her so that his broad body overtook her entire line of vision.

Bullets hit him. She could feel it. A staccato rhythm of impacts that had him grunting in her ear. He held her tightly, arms locked around her body so that he covered her completely. Face smashed into his chest, Lilah couldn’t do anything as the assault carried on—bullet after bullet.

Finally, when they stopped to reload, his arms fell away and he was turning to look at their assailants, “Out, Lilah.”

When she didn’t move, he turned his head and glanced at her over his shoulder, repeating the order. His eyes were blood red, looking angrily from under his brows. She’d never seen them like that before, and it opened up a dozen questions that this wasn’t the time to ask.

Knowing that she had no hope of actually helping the situation, Lilah ducked out of the room, sliding a little on the gravel as she went. More gunfire sounded, bullets breaking the windows. She covered her head and kept going until she rounded a lifted truck. Kneeling by one of the massive tires, she listened to the screams.

These weren’t screams of fear, not all of them. Lilah knew what a fearful scream sounded like. These were screams of pain. Lilah had seen that Brasa could tear a culebra in half with little to no effort. She didn’t really want to think about what he was doing to the human men who’d taken her captive.

While more guns went off, while the screams increased in volume and frequency, a familiar car came roaring up the drive. Relieved, Lilah stood up a little and waved to them.

Seth barely had the car in park before he was opening the door and heading for her, gun already in his hand. His face was a mask of worry, one arm outstretched to pull her into a hug.

“You’re not supposed to do this shit to us,” he exclaimed angrily.

Lilah rolled her eyes, pulling away enough to see Richie light a cigarette and salute her with it, “Its not like I planned to be drugged and kidnapped.”

The effects of the drug were wearing off—a product of either the low dose or the low quality. Lilah could still feel the fatigue beating at her, somewhat mitigated by the surge of adrenaline.

Seth held her by the arm and looked her over, “They hurt you?”

She shrugged, “Nothing I won’t survive.”

Mouth thin, his attention turned to the warehouse that had gone silent, “Brasa in there?”

She nodded, “Yeah. He, uh, looked pretty pissed off.”

Seth scoffed, “Not our fault that Lyle guy lied to us.”

Lilah gave another shrug and turned to see Brasa in the doorway, leaning heavily against it. He was hurt. Very hurt. She couldn’t even begin to count the number of bullets he’d taken for her, and Lilah knew that he had lost a significant amount of blood.

Feet moving, Lilah went to him, arms going around his waist as he struggled to support his weight. Even through his clothes, Lilah could feel the cold that confirmed what she already knew. He held himself stiffly for a few seconds, eyes squeezed closed, then let his arm fall to her shoulders as he took a step forward.

That step turned into a stumble, which turned into a fall. Lilah couldn’t hope to support him through it, landing hard on her knees, the gravel scraping.

She looked up at her friends, “I need help. He can’t walk.”

Richie flicked the cig away and stepped up to Brasa’s body. He lifted him with a choked off sound of effort and dragged him beneath the arms to the car. Seth reached down and helped Lilah to her feet. She followed Richie to the car, watching as he laid Brasa over the back seat.

“He needs a hospital,” was out of her mouth before her brain could catch up and tell her that the idea was so stupid that she should just shut up and never talk again.

Richie looked at her over his shoulder, “He needs blood. Lots of it, from the look of him.”

Lilah looked to Seth, “There’s blood at the bar. Javier will know what to do.”

Seth watched her face carefully, his eyes narrow, mouth turned down in a frown, then said, “Alright. Get in.”

Without hesitation, Lilah climbed in the back and knelt in the floorboard, reaching down to unclasp her heels. Her knees were bleeding, and her palms were scraped up pretty bad. She’d feel it tomorrow, no doubt.

The doors of the car slammed shut and the engine turned over, she rocked hard into the seat as Seth peeled out of the driveway. Rising up, Lilah touched Brasa’s face, tapping it a few times to rouse him. His shirt was completely soaked in blood, the material sticking to his chest. She unbuttoned it, hands hovering over his skin as wound after wound was revealed.

“I’m getting you a bulletproof vest for Christmas,” she grouched as she peeled up the fabric.

His chest contracted, flinched really, his voice coming out soft and scratchy, “I will heal.”

Lilah was half relieved that he was conscious and half angry that he seemed to have so little regard for his health, “You wouldn’t need to heal if you’d just, I don’t know, dodged the bullets.”

There was a definite sigh, and then, “Its only flesh.”

Incredulous, Lilah leaned over his body, grinding out, “I happen to like it when you’re not bleeding out in the backseat of a car, thank you very much.”

With a small smile, Brasa touched her cheek, “I am much harder to kill than this.”

“You don’t know that,” she said in a small voice, her fear coming through in the tone. “I don’t know that.”

Brasa dropped his hand and traced his fingers over hers where they lay on his still bleeding chest. His gaze was a little glassy, his breath slowing. She could see the remorse in his expression—she could also see that he was going to pass out.

“Hey, hey,” she called out, then to Seth, “How far away are we?”

Seth looked at her in the rearview, “Ten minutes, maybe fifteen.”

Lilah turned her attention back to Brasa, who was barely conscious, “Can you hold out that long?”

When he didn’t answer, she did the only thing she could think of to rouse him. She dug two fingers in to the bullet hole nearest to her. Brasa hissed, his body bowing, an angry growl sounding.

“Sorry,” she whispered, “You need to stay awake.”

Brasa inhaled through his nose, visibly trying to steady himself, “I’m fine, querida.”

“You are not fucking fine,” she almost yelled. “You’re bleeding all over the leather seats, you idiot.”

He gave a strained chuckle, “It was worth it.”

His eyes grew unfocused again and when Lilah dug her fingers into another wound, he didn’t respond. Lilah panicked, pushing off the floor of the car and straddling his body on the seat, trying to shake him awake.

“He’s not responding,” she said to Richie as he turned around to look at what she was doing.

Richie leaned further over, looking down at the sun god beneath her, “I told you. He needs blood.”

Lilah looked at Brasa, “I don’t…”

At a loss for words, Lilah struggled with what she needed to do and keeping some semblance of control in the situation. If he bit her, the venom would render her comatose. She’d already proven that she couldn’t cut herself open. She didn’t know how to heal him without breaking all the rules she’d set up for herself to keep her two lives separate.

“Here,” Richie murmured lowly as he reached for her arm. In his other hand was the switchblade he favored. “I’ll give you a little cut and you just hold it over his mouth. He’ll do the rest.”

Seth lifted a finger, pointing it at Richie, “She doesn’t have to do it if she doesn’t want to.” Then, to Lilah, “You don’t have to. We’re almost there. He’ll make it.”

The frigid body beneath her told Lilah that what he’d said might not be the case. She looked down at Brasa, then to Richie, and back.

“A little one,” she said, offering him her arm.

“I’ll be careful,” Richie assured her, his eyes focused on the blade in his hand.

It hurt. The pain of the cut spearing through the adrenaline running through her body. When it was done, Lilah had to stop herself from pulling the wounded limb into her body protectively. One hand on Brasa’s jaw to open his mouth, she held her arm over it and watched carefully as the blood dropped down.

It took far too long for Lilah to see the fluttering behind his lashes, for his throat to begin to swallow down what she gave him. Letting out a breath, she watched as he blinked his eyes open blearily his chin lifting in supplication.

Quick hands had her arm pulled down and his mouth fastened to the wound sucking hard. Lilah let out a yelp as she regained her balance.

“You alright?” Seth asked, his head craned around to see what was happening.

Lilah nodded, “Yeah, just wasn’t prepared for it to work like that.”

Black eyes looked up at her, his hands wrapped securely around her arm. The leather was stretched over his wide palms, torn in a few places from the fight. Lilah held his gaze, too relieved to care that he might leave bruises.

He let out a low moan as the pull of his mouth slowed, his tongue tracing along the wound. Lilah swallowed, pushing down the bloom of arousal at the sound that she only heard when he was either drinking from her or kissing her. In any case, now was not the time.

His eyes closed in pleasure, Brasa continued to drink, though there was none of the initial urgency. He savored every drop, his body growing slowly warmer. Lilah let him do as he wanted, too glad that he was conscious and moving to care how it might sound.

When he looked at her again, there was something playful in his gaze. Confused, Lilah felt her brows draw together. She started to say something when she felt him press his teeth every so softly onto her skin. Eyes wide, she leaned back, fixing him with a stern look that said, ‘don’t’.

His chest shook with restrained laughter even as he let off a bit, returning to the slow pull. Lilah relaxed, checking on the others. Richie was texting. Seth’s attention was on the road.

With one hand, Brasa traced up the path from her knee where it was smushed into the seat to her thigh, his fingers pushing up the hem of her blood spattered dress to grasp her hip. Without letting go of her arm, he shifted up a bit, until she was sitting squarely on his hips.

He was more alert, and the wounds on his chest had stopped bleeding. Lilah guessed that all the blood left in his body was either soaked into the seat or filling the erection on which she now sat. It occurred to her that she would need to tell Kate that she was, indeed, right. Feeding and fucking was the base instinct of both culebras and Xibalbans, even when close to death.

Rolling her eyes at him, Lilah pulled her arm away, ignoring his sound of protest. He tried to sit up, and she pushed him back down. He gave no resistance, probably couldn’t even if he wanted.

“You just lay there until we can get you to Javier,” she ordered.

Brasa lifted a brow, but settled back into the seat, staring up at her sleepily. Her arm tingled a bit, a by product of the venom he may have inadvertently injected. She shook it out, eyeing the cut. It was still bleeding a little, but the trickle was slow, already clotting.

A gloved hand caught her around the wrist, bringing her arm to his mouth. Lilah’s jaw dropped as she watched his tongue snake out and run along the line of blood, circling to catch all of it. Beneath her, his erection pulsed and the hand on her hip flexed to pull her more firmly against it.

Lilah very much wanted to lean down and kiss him in that moment, but she could feel how Seth kept looking back at her. Instead, she reached out into the bond, sending Brasa all the feelings she could, all the want and the relief she felt. The bond broke open with his response, her body lighting up with the images he was sending her.

Brushed with red and oranges, she saw how he wanted to yank down the neckline of her dress so that he could suck on her nipples. How he wanted to reach under her dress and rip the gusset of her panties so that he could push two fingers inside to test her wetness. How he wanted to sink his cock into her and make her ride him hard until they were both spent.

Lilah gasped, her body shuddering as she bit her lip to keep what she was sure would be an obscene sound quiet.

Seth half turned, “You okay?”

She gathered herself quickly, “Yes, I’m fine.”

“We’re pulling in now,” he called back, the lights of the entrance filtering in through the windows.

Brasa let her rise up off him, but his eyes were filled with promises that Lilah was sure he was going to keep—soon. As the car pulled to a stop, she had the door open, waving Javier forward.

Brasa was barely standing, his shirt open and hanging loosely beneath his coat. Lilah watched as Javier spoke to him in what she was now recognizing as Xibalban. When they disappeared into the elevator, she turned to Richie and Seth.

“Let’s go. We’ve got a job to finish.”

Richie eyed her bloodstained dress and bare feet, “Don’t you think we’re done for the night.”

Lilah jabbed a finger at him, “I did not get drugged, kidnapped, and shot at all in one night to not claim the prize. You can do whatever you want, but I’m going.”

Seth was leaning against the hood of the car, hands in his pocket. He eyed her levelly, “You sure you’re good?”

Lilah nodded.

He pushed to stand, rolling his shoulders, “Alright. I’m in. Richie?”

Richie’s smile was nearly feral, “I love it when she’s angry. I’m in!”

[icarusbuck]

30. just say it

FOX! 911

∞

"You wanna go for the title?" Buck said, eyebrows raised and that cocky half smile threatening to make an appearance.

Eddie rolled his eyes and looked away, raising his beer bottle to his lips for another sip. He took a split second to put their abilities side by side; from what he knew, Buck didn't have any formal training when it came to self defense. In a real fight, Eddie would prevail without question, and even in a wrestling match he still had the benefit of years of training.

After getting out of the army, he kept up with hand-to-hand combat as his chosen physical training. It was a great workout, incorporating whole body movement as well as setting muscle memory for the next time he needed to take someone down. Besides that, he'd been trained by men with years of experience in combat. The most he'd seen Buck do was punch a bag once or twice a week, and he had a sneaking suspicion that was only because he'd watched Eddie's workouts.

So yeah, he was pretty confident he could take Evan Buckley, even if the man was well out of his weight class. He couldn't stop himself from smirking around the mouth of the beer bottle, and started forming a plan as soon as they left the kitchen.

A couple hours later, after he'd given Buck a thorough digital beatdown in the videogame that always had Christopher in a fit of giggles, after Chris had fallen asleep less than half an hour into their movie, after Buck stood to go fetch another round - Eddie struck.

He carefully transferred Christopher's head down onto a pillow and let him stretch out. Drool already dripped from his slack mouth, and Eddie set his glasses aside so they wouldn't get smushed if he rolled.

Then he followed after Buck and tiptoed up behind him.

The floor creaked, giving away his position just a split second before hitting his mark. Buck turned, but it was already too late. Eddie tackled him, and Buck went down with a clipped yelp. He hit the floor with a heavy thud and was too focused on breaking his fall to prevent Eddie landing on top of him.

Eddie immediately brought his knees into Buck's ribs, grinning down at him.

"Cheater," Buck accused, but his eyes shined in anticipation. He drove his knee up into Eddie's ass, rocking him forward. He wrapped both arms around Eddie's waist and kicked off the floor, rolling them sideways. The moment Eddie's back touched the floor, he twisted and carried their momentum into another roll. He wound up on top of Buck again and came to a sudden halt when his shoulder hit the wall of the island.

"That's the thing, Buckaroo," Eddie winced, testing the socket with a quick roll of his shoulder. Buck huffed at the finger pointed in his face. "Dirty fighting is still fighting."

Buck narrowed his eyes and planted his feet, scooting his hips away from the cabinet. He created enough space between Eddie's legs to turn onto his side. He wrapped both his legs around one of Eddie's and yanked, breaking Eddie's straddle.

Eddie hooked his arm over Buck's shoulder, twisting in his grasp to get him in a headlock. The sound of Buck's frustrated laugh vibrated into him. Buck looked up at him, both puzzled and amused as he let go of Eddie's leg. Eddie scrambled more on top of him, tightening the head lock but not enough to actually choke him out.

"Come on, you can do better than this," Eddie teased, leaning far enough away to look down. Buck made a noise of frustration and dropped his hips to swing his feet up. He bent in half and managed to cross his ankles in front of Eddie's chin.

Eddie released the hold with a strangled noise, allowing Buck to leverage him away. He let gravity take him and rolled over one shoulder to put some distance between them. The air rushed out of him as he landed on his stomach, and he started to rise up, but realized too late that he miscalculated Buck's speed because suddenly he was there. His thick arms wrapped diagonally around Eddie from behind, like a seatbelt, and he locked in his grip by clasping his own wrists. He leaned his weight onto Eddie's back and spoke into his ear.

"You were saying?" Buck said, hooking one leg around Eddie's hips. He swung his weight backwards and rolled, bringing Eddie around to land hard on his side.

Eddie grunted and grabbed for Buck's joined wrists. He had the hold right, except for the positioning of his hands. Eddie pulled at his upper arm and created enough space to partially escape it, bringing his hips up off the floor to do so. Buck's other knee slotted underneath him, and he hooked his ankles together in front of Eddie's waist.

"Have you been studying Jiu Jitsu?" Eddie asked, turning his head to frown at Buck over his shoulder. Eddie jerked his shoulders, testing the strength of his arms now that he'd lost his grip.

"I took some classes," Buck admitted. He clamped down around Eddie, but it was unstable.

"Since when?" Eddie demanded.

"A while ago. After you got here. But I had to stop when I broke my leg," he said.

Eddie nearly laughed at the absurdity of having the conversation while grappled. He shook his head and set his hand on the floor, yanking free of Buck's grasp in order to sit up. Bending at the waist, he pulled Buck's ankles apart and scooted forward to gain some distance again. He twisted about to face Buck.

Buck scrambled backward, his socked feet struggling to get any friction on the floor.

Eddie was faster this time, having learned his lesson; he dove forward and put his weight into a knee on Buck's chest, one hand at his shoulder and the other at his hip. He didn't have time to establish a further hold. Buck tucked his knee and twisted, reaching between Eddie's legs to grab his own. He trapped Eddie's thigh against his body and rolled, sending Eddie back to the floor. Buck brought his other foot up and planted it above Eddie's knee, forcing his legs apart.

Buck used the momentum of the roll to trap Eddie in a twist, his knee planted in between Eddie's legs with his hips facing away.

"Ha!" Buck said, triumphant and a little surprised at his success.

"It ain't over yet," Eddie growled, but he had to admit that throwing Buck's weight around was getting harder. Going against someone bigger than you required a quick takedown, and he'd underestimated Buck's abilities immensely. He snaked his arm up between them and hooked it backwards around Buck's neck, but he didn't have the leverage to do anything more than pull his forehead to the floor. Buck resisted it easily by planting his hands on either side of Eddie, his shoulders bunching.

Buck lifted up off the floor and brought both knees around to Eddie's lower back, adding pressure to the twist. He threaded an arm through Eddie's hold to break it, wrapping around his neck in turn and trapping Eddie under his weight.

Eddie huffed, taking a useless handful of the back of Buck's shirt as Buck compressed his shoulders into the floor. He glared up at Buck.

"Why are you so goddamn heavy," Eddie complained, trying in vain to press his hips up off the floor.

"All muscle, baby," Buck crooned as he wrapped one of his legs up and over Eddie's waist, pinning him to the floor. He kept up pressure and kept turning until he straddled Eddie's hips. He sat up, releasing Eddie's neck. A grin split his face as he panted, cocking an eyebrow. "Are we done here?"

Eddie curled his lip at him. "Never said that," he growled, trying again to throw Buck off of him. Buck leaned over and put his forearm across Eddie's chest, bearing down with all his weight. He slid his knees further down and hooked his feet around Eddie's calves to pull his legs apart. The move prevented Eddie from lifting his hips any more.

He tried twice more to curl up, to get another hold, to do anything useful, but Buck was just too heavy. Eddie finally caved and flopped down to the floor in defeat.

"Just say it," Buck laughed, tilting his head. His eyes sparkled.

Eddie lifted his chin stubbornly. For a moment they just panted and stared at one another. "Fine," he muttered through gritted teeth. He reached up to pat the side of Buck's face.

"Nuh uh," Buck said with a firm shake of his head. He leaned closer and lowered his voice. "You gotta say it."

A shiver went down Eddie's spine at the gravel in his voice. He pressed his lips together and stared up at Buck as their breathing began to even out. His hand slid from Buck's cheek to cup the side of his neck, where his pulse beat quickly beneath the skin.

The air between them grew thin when Buck's smile faded. It was hard to breathe, and it had nothing to do with exertion or Buck's weight - almost pleasant, almost comfortable - pressing him into the floor.

Buck swallowed, and for just a moment, something unreadable flickered across his face.

The silence was broken by a familiar voice coming from the living room.

"Daddy?" Christopher called out.

Eddie closed his eyes for several unsteady beats of his own heart. "Yeah, buddy?" He called out. Buck was already pulling away, making space for Eddie to sit up. He missed the contact as soon as it was gone.

"Where are you?" Chris sounded lost and confused and half asleep. Buck looked down at the floor resolutely, and Eddie didn't know why it made his chest throb. He rubbed at it and rose to his feet, finding Chris sitting up on the couch. His hair stuck up in several directions already. "What are you doing on the floor?"

"We were just…" Eddie trailed off, trying to find the words to explain exactly what they were doing. He licked his lips.

"Looking for something," Buck supplied. He'd turned to sit and now rested his arms over his knees.

"Looking for what?" Chris questioned.

Eddie put his hands on his hips. "Uh…"

"Your dad's dignity," Buck muttered. Eddie cut a sideways glance at him, surprised and relieved to find Buck smirking up at him. But whatever look he'd seen before was gone.

"Okay," Chris sighed. He stretched back out on the couch and fell immediately back asleep.

Buck tapped his thigh with the backs of his knuckles, holding his hand out when Eddie looked down at him. He took it, and Buck seized his wrist, yanking him back down to the floor.

Eddie dropped down between Buck's knees and grunted at the rough landing. He had no time to recover before Buck's legs wound around his torso again.

"I thought we were done," Eddie gasped, exasperated. He put his hands on either side of Buck's head, looking down at him.

"Round two," Buck said with a grin. The look had returned, and Eddie's stomach flipped in anticipation.

[smytimagine]

Part II: Mystery Solved

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2,306

A/n: I know some timelines for videos etc are skewed but I just wanted to fit it into my narrative :) Also, I’m sorry it hasn’t gotten “exciting” yet, I just want to build the backstory for the characters. This will probably be a long story.

Part 1

The rest of the week went relatively as planned after the awkward moment in the gym. The boys were about to start filming a new video that would become their first series on their channel since their big announcement of not making regular weekly videos anymore. It had honestly felt like a long time coming, with all of the changes in their lives over the last year, something had to give. I was excited for them.

I was heading over to their house to start the day when my phone started ringing. I looked over at my screen to see Ethan’s name displayed.

“Hey E, what’s up?! I’m just on my way over now, sorry I’m a little late, I stopped to grab you guys some coffee and traffic is horrible”

“Oh, yeah no problem, we aren’t even home so no big deal” Ethan replied

“Okay, well where are you goons this early in the morning?” I joked

“We are actually just leaving the Mercedes dealership, so we might be getting back the same time you get there”

“Oh Lord, do I even want to know what you guys were doing at a car dealership?” I asked him sarcastically

“You’ll see Y/N, you’ll see. Just do us a favor and stay out of the driveway, we want to get some drone shots of us coming up the property”

“Alright, I can do that. I’ll just head in when I get there then” I nodded my head in agreement as if they could see me.

“Okay peace out Bro,” Ethan said

“Bye Dude,” I said as I hung up.

We always referred to each other as whatever came to mind at that moment. It had become a game to us honestly. I didn’t really care what they called me, they always meant it in a fun way.

________________

I was waiting just inside the glass front door as I saw Kyle pull up the driveway, park his car off to the side and hop out with the drone in hand ready to go. I knew this was going to be an interesting surprise.

Suddenly a big gray bus thing came rolling up the driveway while Kyle captured it on the drone overhead. These nerds bought a freaking cargo van, what the hell are they going to do with a cargo van?!

They finished filming and I stepped outside to try to figure out what the heck they were going to do with a cargo van.

“Uh, E? What the hell is that?”

“This?! You mean this beauty right here?! Well, Y/N she is about to become our little home on wheels!” Ethan said as he patted his hand on the exterior of the van beaming with excitement.

“Your WHAT?” I asked back unsure if I heard what he said

“Yeah, we’re going to turn it into a tiny home and drive it across the country,” Grayson said stepping out from the cargo area.

I felt my face flush. Again. This hadn’t happened all week since that weird interaction in the gym. This time I know Grayson hadn’t noticed because he had said that while turning to face the van after stepping out.  But much to my luck I found Ethan staring right at me with a shit-eating grin plastered across his face.  I shook off the embarrassment and continued to look around this new venture they had just driven up the driveway.

“You two can’t even get along in a 2,000 sq ft house, but you think you’re going to survive in a 100 sq ft van for a week?!” I asked sarcastically

“Eh, you’re coming along, so you can keep us straight” Grayson mentioned from the other side of the van

“I’m WHAT?!” I couldn’t help but raise my voice at this sudden news

They both just laughed, they knew I wasn’t going to be thrilled at the idea of spending a week in this tiny van with no bathroom with the twins and Kyle, but they knew damn well I was going to do it anyway. I was always down for their crazy adventures, even if the situation seemed iffy.

________________

A few hours had passed and Ethan and I were sitting out on the back deck in loungers making the most of the late afternoon sun when the back slider door opened and out came Grayson eyes glued to his phone screen.

“Hey, do you guys want to have a fire tonight? We can invite some of the crew over or something, maybe order some vegan pizza” He asked

“Yeah, Bro I like that idea, Y/N are you staying?” Ethan replied looking from Grayson over at me waiting for my response

“Yeah I’m in, but no vegan pizza for me. I want an extra cheese pizza, with bacon” I replied with the biggest grin I could muster, laying back in my chair folding my hands behind my head. I loved busting these two with their vegan diets. Don’t get me wrong, I had nothing against veganism, but I swear they thought if they didn’t mention it every 3 seconds their fans would forget.

Ethan faked a gagging noise while Grayson just chuckled and sat down at the end of the lounger I was sitting on.

“Put your knees up Y/N” he requested.

I did what he asked although I wasn’t sure what he was trying to do.

He leaned back against my knees and aimed his face up towards the sun.

“If you two are going to hog the loungers, I’ll just make my own” he laughed to himself while grabbing my ankles from behind him and tickling his fingers up my calves.

I giggled and squirmed at his gesture, all the while trying to support his weight on my legs. I don’t think this man knows he’s significantly larger than me, nor do I think he cares.

I glanced over to see Ethan, head tilted towards the sky, silently laughing to himself. It always felt like he knew something neither one of us did.

________________ As the night approached, Grayson was out in the backyard starting the fire in the pit while Ethan and I were trying to decide what to order for pizza. The crew had all texted that they were on their way, so time was of the essence.

“Hey Y/N I’m going to go grab a hoodie, do you want one? I know you get cold whenever we do these kinds of things” Ethan asked

“Yes, please! Preferably not the gross one you work out in all the time” I replied sarcastically.

“Hey! I’ll have you know my sweat smells like perfection, I’d bottle that shit up and sell it if I could” He laughed as I grimaced.

“Right, and I suppose you sparkle instead of sweat, Edward Cullen” I laughed.

“Hey if you play your cards right, I can show you how hard my bite is” he threw back at me as he walked down the hall.

What a goof, I laughed to myself. That was one of my favorite things about Ethan. We could banter, play flirt, and it never made anything weird. He just got me. He knew I was a sarcastic asshole and he gave it right back to me. There were things Ethan and I shared that I didn’t share with Grayson. It wasn’t on purpose, I just felt like we were closer than Grayson and I sometimes.

________________

After stuffing our faces with pizza, the twins sharing a vegan pineapple pizza while the crew mostly enjoyed sharing my non-vegan bacon one, we all sat around the fire laughing and just hanging out.

“Oh! I almost forgot! I have a surprise for everyone” I remembered suddenly as I stood up and headed back into the house.

I glanced over my shoulder as I was closing the door to see them all staring at me confused. I loved confusing a group full of boys, they made it so easy.

I gathered what I needed from inside in a little basket and started to open the back door to head out when I caught the end of a conversation they were having amongst themselves.

“Dude you have to tell her, it’s not really fair to do that to her” Ethan was saying, facing Grayson

Grayson had noticed I was heading back out and nodded his head in my direction so Ethan would know to shut up.

I wasn’t sure what they had been talking about, or who she was, but I had put that into the back of my mind for a minute as I headed towards the group

“First I’d like you all to tell me you love me” I started

They all groaned as they sarcastically pledged their love for me

“I bought you jerks stuff to make SMORES!” I exclaimed.

They all cheered as Ethan give me the biggest smirk

“Well that’s so nice Y/N but we can’t have…” he started

“I even bought vegan marshmallows and chocolate for you two dorks” I cut him off pulling the bag of vegan marshmallows out of the basket.

Ethan jumped up, gave me a peck on the cheek and ripped into the bag of marshmallows handing out roasting sticks to everyone.

I sat back in my chair and watched a group of grown-ass men roast marshmallows like children and I smiled. This was the life.

________________

A while later, I was sitting with my knees curled up to my chest with Ethan’s hoodie I was wearing pulled over them, and my hood pulled up over my head. The guys were talking shop when Grayson got up suddenly, phone in hand and headed towards the door. Ethan shot me a look that had what I swear was sympathy wrapped around it. I returned his look with a slightly furrowed brow of confusion until I heard it.

The back door slid open and I heard a high pitched voice, one that certainly wasn’t Grayson or any of the guys in the crew. I turned my glance from Ethan’s face towards the back door and my heart sunk.

Grayson walked out hand in hand with easily the most beautiful blonde I had maybe ever seen. She stood shoulder height to him, certainly taller than me, if you turned her sideways she might disappear from how thin she was, and her smile lit up even the darkness outside. I moved my glance from her to their joined hands and back again.

“Guys I want you to meet my girlfriend, Alyana,” Grayson said

I was seeing his mouth move, but I wasn’t sure I heard what he said. Girlfriend? Since when does Grayson have a girlfriend? Wait, why do I care? I don’t care. No, I absolutely do not care, I’m their friend, their assistant, nothing more.

The tall blonde gave a polite smile and wave to everyone and the guys all returned the gesture. I looked back at Ethan who was staring through me. I uncurled my legs, took my hood off and walked towards the loving couple. I extended my hand towards her “Hi, I’m Y/N, the twins assistant. Nice to meet you” I said trying my best to sound unshaken. She shook my hand smiling “Oh! I’ve heard so much about you! Gray says you’re the best cook, you’ll have to show me your tricks so I can make this guy his favorites!” She said placing her hand on Grayson’s chest. I fixated on her hand for a moment, looked up at Grayson, nodded in agreement and then excused myself to go inside.

Did I really agree? No. But she seemed way too nice to hate. Hell, I hated her for BEING so nice. No one is that nice. But of course, leave it to Grayson to find the needle in the haystack of fake LA bitches.

I was rustling through my bag in the living room when I heard the back door open.

“Y/N? Where are you?” A voice called out.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to talk right now. I still honestly had no idea why I felt upset. I had made it clear to Ethan that I had no feelings for Grayson, yet here I was with a green eye of envy shining brightly on my forehead.

“Hey there you are, what are you doing in here?” Ethan said, placing his hand on my shoulder.

My shoulder shrugged beneath his hand as I stopped rummaging through my bag, finding what I was after. I looked up at him with a sense of sorrow in my eyes. I didn’t want to show him I was upset, I always wanted to be the strong one for them, but I couldn’t help it. Ethan pulled me into a hug and rested his head on top of mine.

“I’m so sorry Y/N, I didn’t know either until tonight. It’s kind of weird he never even told me until now” Ethan spoke into my hair. I just stayed silent in his embrace listening to his steady heartbeat, letting it calm me for a moment.

After a minute I remembered what I was looking in my wallet for and stepped back from Ethan

“You won E, fair and square. Please tell the boys I’m not feeling well and I needed to head out” I said as I shoved something into his chest and his hands came up to grab it.

I grabbed my bag and headed towards the door while Ethan opened his hands to find the money we had jokingly bet on about Graysons phone mystery

“Y/N…” Ethan started but trailed off as I closed the door behind me and headed for my car.

[junghelioseok]

catharsis.

↳ no matter what kind of release you need, he’s there.

◇ jungkook x reader | ft. pjm ◇ smut | college!au | fwb!au  ◇ 23.5k [1/1]

notes: i don’t have a good explanation for this. i’m comprised of exactly 0% chill and i really wanted to write a jikook threesome, so here it is ft. too much plot and a whole lotta whipped kook, lmao. quick shoutout to @puellaigmotum, who has been supporting me and calling me out on my shit in equal measure during this process. thanks for listening to me ramble and making me suffer with pictures/gifs of the rude fucker aka jeon jungkook - i do appreciate it ♡

also, please read this on a computer if you’re able! the keep reading cut doesn’t always show up, and this fic can and will freeze the mobile app, believe me, lmao.

warnings: switch!jjk, kinda sleazy jimin, oral, slight overstimulation, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, masturbation, sexting, threesome (mfm), mild cumplay? who really knows!

Of two things, you are certain.

The first—and undoubtedly the most pressing—is that finals week is going to be the death of you. Tearing your gaze from the chemistry book on your desk, you flop down ungracefully onto your bed for a well-deserved break, extending one hand to rummage around the crumpled blankets for your phone.

The second—and really, you’re counting on this—is that Jeon Jungkook’s dick is going to keep you sane until graduation. Over the past year, you’ve called on each other so often that you don’t even have to scroll down in your text messages to find his name. A few clicks and a simple come over later, you throw your phone down and release a long, heavy breath before letting your eyes slide shut.

At some point, you must have fallen asleep, because you jolt awake to the sound of someone knocking. With a groan, you drag yourself to your feet and pad over to the front door, throwing it open to reveal one exceptionally rumpled Jeon Jungkook, his chest heaving.

You raise an appraising brow. “What, did you fucking run over here?”

Jungkook rakes a hand through his tousled hair—still damp with sweat—and adjusts the bag hanging over his shoulder. “Just got out of dance practice, actually,” he explains. “And your elevator’s out, so I had to take the stairs. Six flights is no joke, you know.”

Stepping aside, you let him in, watching as he drops his bag to the ground carelessly as soon as he’s over the threshold. “You better not be too tired to fuck me.”

His gaze darkens. You barely have time to register the change in his expression before he has you pressed against the wall, strong arms caging you in an ironclad embrace. “Trust me, baby, I’m wide awake,” he murmurs before leaning down to crush his lips to yours. His tongue finds its way into your mouth as he reaches up to cup your cheek, the other hand sliding down to rest at the small of your back and tugging you flush against his firm chest.

“Jungkook,” you breathe, pulling away from his addictive mouth only for his attentions to refocus on the crook of your neck instead. A soft moan escapes you as he nips at the sensitive skin, and Jungkook groans lowly in response, his grip tightening around you.

“I’m going to end up fucking you right here against this wall if you keep moaning like that, babe.” His hands dip down to the fleshy curve of your ass, squeezing as if to emphasize his point.

Your head falls back at the jolt of not-quite pain. “Wh-while that wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened,” you stammer, watching through lidded eyes as Jungkook grasps the hem of your shirt and tugs it up to expose your bare breasts, “why waste the perfectly good bed I have in my bedroom?”

Jungkook dips down to press a kiss to your cleavage, and you thank whatever god may be out there that you decided to forego a bra this morning. “Why indeed?” In an instant, he’s pulled your shirt entirely off, tossing it to the ground haphazardly before scooping you up into his arms. “Wrap your legs around my waist,” he commands, and you are quick to obey, winding your arms around his neck for additional support. His mouth finds yours again as he carries you into your room and places you gingerly on the bed, the mattress dipping under your combined weight, and as soon as you’re settled you break the kiss to reach for his white t-shirt, tugging it up and over his head. Throwing it aside, you greedily take in the sight of his bare skin, golden like honey in the soft light of your desk lamp.

“Pants,” you demand, grasping at his belt buckle, but Jungkook stops you with a laugh, much to your displeasure.

“No way,” he murmurs, hot breath washing across your cheeks. “It’s your turn.”

“We’re taking turns? What is this, elementary school?” you ask in disbelief, only for the complaint to trail off into a moan when Jungkook starts kissing a path down your bare stomach. Sly fingers find their way into the waistband of your sweatpants, and in a single, practiced motion, he peels them off along with your panties. You gasp loudly at the sudden rush of cool air, hands flying up to tangle in his silky hair as your body jolts in surprise. “Fuck, Jungkook!”

“So sensitive.” Jungkook chuckles, brazenly blowing a puff of warm air against your clit. “And already wet,” he marvels, drawing closer to your core. “You’re so needy, baby.”

A low groan escapes you, your hands tightening their grip on his hair. “Don’t tease,” you plead, canting your hips up toward his smirking mouth.

Obligingly, Jungkook leans down and licks a long, slow stripe across your entrance, ending with a teasing flick of his tongue against your clit. “So needy,” he repeats, his voice deceptively soft and bordering on a husky growl that sends shivers down your spine. 

And then his face disappears between your thighs entirely, his questing tongue dipping inside you with every slick motion. There is nothing soft or sweet in the way he eats you out, but that doesn’t stop your tummy from tensing or your thighs from clenching just a little tighter around his head.

A throaty chuckle escapes Jungkook when he feels you tighten around him—the sound rumbling straight to your core and drawing another gasp from your lips. Strong arms wind around your legs, hands settling on your knees to hold you open, and when you try to tilt your hips upward again you find that he’s rendered you entirely immobile, only able to take what he sees fit to give. “Jungkook, oh god—“

“How are you already this close?” the dark-haired young man murmurs in fascination, releasing your clit from his mouth with a wet, obscene sound. “I’ve barely touched you.”

You wriggle uselessly against his unrelenting grip, frowning when he doesn’t loosen up in the slightest. “And now you’re not touching me at all,” you grumble, petulant. “You getting tired on me, Jeon?”

Jungkook growls lowly at your provocation, dark eyes glinting. “Actually, I wanted you to cum on my cock instead of my tongue, but now I’m rethinking letting you cum at all,” he says, his tone surprisingly even despite the danger lurking in his gaze. “You wanna take that back, babe?”

“I don’t think you have any right to be threatening me when you’re that hard,” you retort, glancing pointedly down at the bulge straining against his faded jeans. Then your gaze wanders down further—past the thick muscle of his thighs and tight definition of his calves all the way to his feet, just hanging off the edge of the bed. “Hang on. Are… are you wearing Iron Man socks?”

The dark-haired young man flashes you a crooked little smirk and wiggles his toes in affirmation. “That a problem?” he asks.

You groan. “You’re such a fucking nerd.”

“Yeah, well you’re the one who texted this nerd at midnight to come and fuck your brains out, so I wouldn’t be mouthing off if I were you.” A thoughtful look crosses his face. “Better yet, why don’t you put that pretty little mouth to good use and wrap it around my cock?”

“Lose the socks first and I’ll consider it,” you reply, finally managing to free yourself from his firm hold.

Jungkook chortles, watching as you sit up. Slowly, he slides off the bed and straightens up to his full height, eyes never once leaving yours as he deliberately reaches down to pull off one red sock, then the other. Tossing them aside, he settles onto the bed again, lying back against the pillows scattered along the headboard and beckoning for you to join him with an outstretched finger. Obediently, you crawl over, pausing thoughtfully before throwing one leg over him and perching atop his strong, thick thighs. You find his belt buckle with deft fingers and practiced ease, a quiver of anticipation jolting through you when you finally free his erection from its denim prison.

“Fuck,” you breathe softly, not even realizing that you’re speaking aloud. It’s only when Jungkook chortles again that you realize your mistake, flushing as he tilts your chin up with his index finger.

“Trust me, I will be,” he assures as he reaches into his back pocket, amused gaze raking across your face before settling on your mouth. After a moment’s digging, confusion etches its way across his face, slowly morphing into despair when he rummages through his other pocket. “Shit. Do you have a condom?”

“Ran out last week,” you reply, taking perverse pleasure in the look of panicked anguish that creases his expression.

“Goddamnit. I thought I had one... Do you think the convenience store downstairs has any? I can run down and check—“

You lean forward, capturing his lips in a languid kiss before he can ramble his way off a cliff. Your thumb brushes across the head of his weeping cock, relishing the way he immediately twitches in your grasp. “I’m on birth control, you know,” you murmur, pulling back just enough to whisper the words against his lips. “And last I checked, we were both clean.”

His eyes widen to comic proportions, jaw slackening when he pieces together the meaning behind your words. “Do you mean—I mean, I can…?”

Smirking, you circle the tip of his dick with your thumb once more, spreading his slick precum over the head. “Fuck me raw, Jungkook.”

“Oh, fuck,” Jungkook breathes, awestruck. “Fuck, yes.” His hips stutter forward, seeking more friction, and you giggle as you obligingly wrap your hand more firmly around his length and give him a few good strokes. A hoarse groan escapes him at the added stimulation, and you break out into a satisfied grin when you notice just how prominent the vein in his neck is from the strained way he’s clenching his jaw. “Still want my mouth now, baby?” you murmur into his ear.

Jungkook lets out another groan when you flick the pad of your thumb over the head of his erection again. “T-tease,” he accuses, but there is no real bite in his tone. His hands curl around your hips, and your question is answered when he greedily pulls you closer, guiding your body until you can feel the velvety head of his cock slipping between your slick folds.

Still, you can’t help but torment him a little. “I’m going to take that as a ‘no’,” you murmur, trailing your hands down his chest and along the muscular ridges of his taut abdomen. The insubstantial touch draws a shiver from the man underneath you, his muscles twitching underneath your fingertips, and a pleased smirk stretches across your face when his hands tighten their hold on your hips.

And then, before he can even think to open his mouth to retort, you sink down onto his cock—all the way to the hilt in one smooth motion. The surge of fullness draws a moan from you, an answering groan leaving Jungkook’s parted lips when you immediately begin to move, raising yourself up only to sink back down again. “God, you’re so warm,” he sighs. “So warm and—nngh—so fucking wet. Christ. I’m never fucking you with a condom again.”

“Good,” you gasp, bouncing a little faster on top of him. Your ass meets the well-worn denim of his jean-clad thighs with every movement, and Jungkook lets loose another low groan when you reach up and rake your fingers down his chest, grazing across his nipples.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he encourages breathlessly, gazing up at you with darkened eyes. “Ride me, baby.” His fingers twitch against the supple skin of your waist, urging you to move even faster as he begins to snap his hips up in time with your thrusts.

A devilish whim strikes you then, a mischievous smirk stretching across your face as you immediately slow down your rhythm. “What makes you think you’re in control here, Jungkook?” you purr, grinding against him languidly. A shudder ripples through his body at the motion, sheer desperation seeping from every single pore.

“{Name},” he rasps, letting his hands flop down uselessly at his sides. His throat bobs as he tries to find the words to continue, and you stop moving entirely to watch his silent struggle.

“What is it, Jungkookie?” you tease, tracing the dips of his toned abdomen and grinning when he shivers under the insubstantial touch.

Jungkook swallows harshly, his breath stuttering in his throat before every ounce of desperation comes pouring out like a tidal wave. “Baby, please,” he entreaties, gazing up at you pleadingly with those wide doe eyes that are so incongruous with the rest of his body. “You look so good bouncing on my dick like that and I just… fuck. I wanna cum inside you so bad. I wanna cum inside you and fill you up all nice and pretty and—“

Whatever he was going to say is going to have to go unfinished, because you are surging forward to mold your mouth to his, desire flaring in your belly. Instinct has Jungkook snaking his arms around your waist to tug you flush against him, skin against skin as you deepen the kiss.

“Baby,” Jungkook breathes, pulling away just enough to mumble the words against your mouth. “I need you to move, please.”

Obligingly, you grind down on him, once, an electric thrill running through you when he immediately lets out a hoarse groan. You’ve never been able to resist how vocal he is in bed, and you are quickly realizing that you are in no state to tease anymore—not with the heat in your belly flaring up to unbearable levels. Whimpering, you begin to rock harder against him, your hands finding their way to his broad shoulders. You’re certain that your fingernails are digging vicious crescents into his honeyed skin, but he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest, his eyes hooded and darker than anything you’ve ever seen.

“Oh god, Jungkook—“

“Fuck, {Name}.” Jungkook’s head falls back against your pillows, mussing his tousled hair even further. “Fuck, that’s it, right there. Look at you, bouncing on my cock like that. You feel so good clenching around me, baby.” The words escape him in a rush, and the deepness of his voice is enough to make you shiver. He’s rolling his hips in time with yours now, the mattress springs squeaking in protest under your combined weight. Every thrust sends electric warmth coursing through you, and when Jungkook’s hand darts between your thighs to rub at your clit you almost lose your balance, tilting dangerously on his lap.

“Oh god, fuck—“ Your vocabulary is steadily deteriorating, but the heat simmering in your belly is reaching unbearable levels, coiling tighter and tighter with every deliciously heavy drag of his cock along your walls. Sweat gathers at your temples and slicks your neck, and a glance down at the young man below you shows that he’s faring no better.

Jungkook is staring up at you, transfixed. His breathing is growing ragged, his chest glistening with a light sheen of sweat, but he is absolutely relentless in the way he touches you. In the months that you have slept together, he’s learned exactly what you like—and with a flick of his thumb and just the right amount of pressure you are sent spiraling off the edge, lost in a wave of pleasure. Even as you come back down from your high, he doesn’t falter, his thumb still drawing determined circles around your sensitive bud.

“Jungkook—“ His name is a whine on your lips.

“Come on, baby,” he rasps. “I know you can take it. Cum for me again—you’re so pretty when you cum.”

“Jungkook, I can’t—“ you protest, but the words have barely left your mouth before you are tensing again, leaving you to marvel at how well Jungkook knows your body. Any protests you might have had turn into a series of keening whimpers and moans, and he barrels over the edge right alongside you, burying his face in the crook of your neck. Distantly, you hear him grit out something that sounds suspiciously like your name as creamy heat floods through you, his body going lax underneath yours.

For a few moments, the only sound in the room is your ragged breathing. You are still straddling Jungkook’s denim-clad thighs with his dick softening inside you, and from the way his arms remain wound around you, he has no intention of letting you go anytime soon. He hasn’t even raised his head yet, drawing a shudder from you as his hot breath washes across your sweat-slicked skin.

“Cold?” he asks, and you can hear the amusement lacing his tone, feel the way his mouth curls into a smile against your clavicle.

“Sticky,” you say honestly.

Jungkook snorts out a laugh and finally lifts his head, brown eyes crinkled with amusement. “Good thing you have a bathroom and a working shower, then.”

“Both of which I will happily put to use once you let go of me, you big baby.” You tap his cheek playfully, coaxing him to loosen his hold on you before wriggling off his lap, wincing slightly when his cock slips out. Almost immediately, your combined juices begin dripping down your thighs, and the way Jungkook’s gaze immediately zeroes in on the glistening trails doesn’t go unnoticed by you. Interesting. “Jungkook?”

He blinks twice, rapidly, and looks up at you with wide eyes. “What?”

“You were staring,” you explain, casually reaching down and scooping up a bit of the sticky substance. Jungkook follows your every movement, never once wavering from the droplet of white sitting on your fingertip.

“I—“ He clears his throat and tries again. “I was thinking about something.”

“Oh?” You cock a brow before raising your finger to your lips, delighting in the way his eyes grow even bigger. Without breaking eye contact, you open your mouth and touch the pad of your finger to your tongue, relishing the salty tang and the positively ravenous expression that overtakes Jungkook’s face. “What were you thinking about, baby?”

His gaze turns positively lurid, pure desire flashing in his dark irises. “I was thinking about making you gather up all that cum on those fingers of yours,” he growls, a thrill running down your spine as his voice drops an octave. “And watching as you push it all back inside that pretty little pussy.”

Arousal flares up in your core once more, but you tamp it down in favor of smirking coyly at him and scooting forward until you’re kneeling between his spread legs. “I’m sure we can make that happen,” you purr, leaning in and pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the sharp curve of his jaw. Then you pull back and stand up from the bed, taking perverse delight in the confused frown that crosses Jungkook’s face as you make to walk toward the bathroom. “But right now, all I want is a hot shower.”

A hand on your arm stops you in your tracks. Turning around, you find yourself staring down at Jungkook once more, heat flaring in your tummy when you notice the residual hunger still lingering in his gaze. But when he speaks, his voice is back at its usual pitch, soft and pleasantly melodious. “Mind if I join you?”

“Not if you’re just planning on fucking me against the shower wall,” you say dryly. “That thing’s freezing, you know.”

A smile twitches at the corner of his mouth as he stands up, tucking his spent cock back into his jeans for the sake of propriety. “I won’t, I promise. At least, not this time.” Then he breaks into a grin, his prominent teeth on full display. “Not sure I can even get it up again right now, to be honest. Hobi’s working us into the ground for this showcase. I’m fucking beat.”

The snarky retort in your head dies on your lips when you take a good, hard look at him—noting the bags under his eyes and the crease between his brows. You know that his dance crew—Neuron—is putting on their end-of-the-year showcase in just a few days. It’s a highly-anticipated event every year, and a welcome break from the stress of finals, but up until now you’d never really thought about how taxing it must be for the dancers. “Kook,” you begin, trailing off uncertainly when you realize you have absolutely no idea what to say.

“I’m fine,” he says, brushing you off with another smile. “Come on, let’s go shower.”

Dazedly, you allow him to guide you into the adjoining bathroom with a hand at the small of your back. He shucks off his jeans as you climb into the shower and turn on the water, joining you underneath the spray once it’s reached a comfortable temperature. Silently, you reach for the soap, watching as Jungkook grabs the travel-sized bottle of shampoo that he’s taken to keeping at your place. A few months into your arrangement and after many a late night rendezvous, you’d both agreed that it’d be far more convenient if he had some basic necessities here. And so, small bottles of Jungkook’s shampoo and body wash joined yours on the shelf, an extra towel hanging on the rod and ready for his use. Sometimes, he even joked that he should bring his razor, just in case he wound up staying the night.

But he never did, and you never asked. Somehow, it felt like crossing a line—and jeopardizing your friendly arrangement with the dark-haired young man is the last thing you want. Besides, you like having your bed to yourself, and Jungkook definitely seems like the type to sprawl out like a starfish in his sleep.

“Pass me the—?”

The last half of his request is lost to you in the sound of running water. “Huh?”

“The soap,” Jungkook repeats patiently, gently prying the slippery bar from between your fingers. “You were done, right?”

“Oh, right. Yeah.” Gesturing for him to take your place under the spray, you begin lathering your hair with shampoo. Quietly, the two of you finish washing up, Jungkook turning off the water while you step out, grabbing your towel and tossing him his. Drying off your hair quickly, you wrap the soft cloth around your body and meander back into your bedroom in search for your pajamas.

By the time you manage to locate clean underwear and a large shirt to sleep in, Jungkook is stepping out of the bathroom, buttoning his jeans and buckling his belt. “Have you seen my shirt?” he asks.

Glancing around, you spot it lying near your desk. As you pick it up, your open chemistry book from earlier catches your attention, reminding you that you still have a few chapters’ worth of material to cram on tomorrow. “Here,” you say distractedly, tossing the white tee in his direction. He catches it deftly, smoothing out the wrinkled cotton before pulling it over his head.

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” you reply, still staring at your chemistry book and your scattered notes. “Don’t forget your bag on the way out.”

A beat of silence. Then Jungkook huffs, drawing your attention back to him. “What, not even gonna walk me to the door?”

You raise a brow. “What, did you forget where it is?”

“Yes,” Jungkook says solemnly. “Your tiny, one-bedroom apartment is a fucking labyrinth.”

Rolling your eyes, you gesture for him to follow you out and into the hallway. “You’re a dumbass,” you tell him, picking up his bag from the floor and shoving it into his waiting arms. “There. Happy?”

Jungkook slings the duffel over his shoulder. “Satisfied.”

You can only roll your eyes again, reaching for the doorknob and wrenching it open. “Whatever floats your boat, Kook. Now go away, I need to get some sleep.”

He rakes a hand through his damp hair and shoots you a playful wink. “Why sleep? Let me stay, and I’ll prove that there are way better things to do in a bed.”

A disbelieving laugh bubbles up from your chest, and Jungkook grins, looking very pleased with himself. “True as that may be,” you concede, “I have a final tomorrow and I still have studying to do.”

“Who’s the nerd now?” Jungkook quips, earning himself a sharp elbow in the ribs and a very unladylike snort from you.

“Still you, Iron Man wannabe.”

He snickers. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, babe. See you later?”

“Later,” you agree. Jungkook offers you one last grin before turning to leave, and you watch as he jabs the elevator button a few times before remembering that it’s out of order and walking over to the stairs instead. “Oh, and Jungkook?”

The dark-haired young man turns to regard you curiously, his hand on the doorknob of the stairwell entrance. “Yeah?”

You take in the creases of exhaustion lining his face, suddenly wishing that you could smooth them away with your fingertips. “Don’t work yourself too hard, okay?”

A grin splits across his face, breathtaking and brilliant. “Okay.”

///

You are in the middle of haphazardly shoving every notebook you own into your bag when your phone goes off, the vibration unnaturally loud in the silence of your bedroom. Grabbing the device off your nightstand, you glance at the screen, a laugh escaping when you read the message displayed there.

[11:37am] Jungkook: if I die in the next few days just know that Jung Hoseok is the murderer

Another message pops up below it just moments later:

[11:37am] Jungkook: I’m serious. He may look all innocent and happy but the guy’s a stone cold killer. Might kill jimin too while I’m at it, he’s just as bad sometimes

[11:38am] You: So dance practice is going well then

[11:38am] Jungkook: clearly lmao

[11:38am] Jungkook: anyway what are you up to?

You giggle. Obviously, he only wants to know whether or not you’re available for a romp in the sheets—maybe put his newly-discovered cum kink into action. At the thought, the ravenous expression he’d eyed you with last night springs to the forefront of your mind and you have to blink a few times to dispel the image.

[11:39am] You: Sorry babe, got my chem final in half an hour

His response is immediate.

[11:39am] Jungkook: fuck, that’s the one you’re really worried about isn’t it?

Surprised, you read his message twice before typing out an answer.

[11:40am] You: Yeah. You remembered that?

[11:40am] Jungkook: hey I may not be as smart as you but I do know some things

And then:

[11:41am] Jungkook: good luck, you’ll do great

Warmth bubbles up in your belly, winding through your ribcage and settling around your heart. Tucking your phone into your pocket, you sling your bag over your shoulder before heading out, his words echoing in your head. You’ll do great.

You hope he’s right.

///

“So, how was it?”

You shrug out of your jacket, letting it crumple carelessly onto the chair before taking a seat and fixing your best friend with a mock glare. “Jesus, can’t I at least sit down before you start the interrogation?”

Jisoo laughs and raises her mug of coffee to her mouth, batting her lashes innocently at you from behind it. “Who said this was an interrogation? If it were, I’d be harassing you about finally getting off your sorry ass and dating Jeon Jungkook already.”

“We are not going over this again,” you sigh, exasperated. “We’re just having fun and blowing off some steam, that’s all.”

“Right,” Jisoo says, setting down her coffee and fixing you with a knowing stare. “And you totally don’t have the hots for him, and he definitely doesn’t have the hots for you. Are you fucking blind, {Name}?”

You huff. “My vision is fine, thank you very much. And I don’t have the hots for Jungkook.”

Jisoo just laughs again, delicately selecting another sugar packet and tearing it open. “You’re a terrible liar, sweetie. But, fine, all right. Back to my original question, then: how was your final?”

Relief floods through you at the return of a subject you’re comfortable with. “It was okay, I think. What about yours? You had bio this morning, right?”

“Yeah.” Jisoo stirs her drink thoughtfully, lips pursed. “I think it went all right. I’m ready for the weekend to get here, though.”

“We’re almost there. Tomorrow’s Friday,” you say kindly before snatching her cup away and helping yourself to a sip. She squeals in protest and you laugh, returning the mug to its proper place by her elbow after another generous swallow of coffee. “You going to Neuron’s showcase on Saturday?”

“I don’t know anyone who isn’t going,” she replies with a pointed look, daintily picking up her mug and moving it out of your reach. “And you have to go. Support your boyfriend, and all that.”

“Not my boyfriend,” you say automatically.

“Not yet,” Jisoo corrects with a wry laugh. “Mark my words, {Name}, it’s going to happen sooner or later. You two already act like a couple anyway, so would it really be a big deal if you actually started dating him? Jungkook’s a great guy.”

“I know he is,” you sigh. “Which is exactly why I’m not going to risk our friendship by trying to make it into something more. Besides, he doesn’t want a relationship either.”

Jisoo rolls her eyes. “Maybe not when you first met,” she concedes. “But a lot of things can change in a year, {Name}.”

“Not this,” you say stubbornly. “Not us.”

///

Three hours later, you are curled up on your couch with textbooks strewn around you, soft classical music floating from the speakers of the laptop balanced precariously on the armrest. A fresh notebook lays open on your lap, your pen scratching away as you slowly transcribe your electronic notes onto paper. The longer you work, however, the more the words on the screen begin to blur. After a fruitless minute of watching the black text swim unsteadily in front of your eyes, you heave a sigh and let your pen drop to the ground with a clatter.

Standing up, you are about to wander into the kitchen for a snack when there’s a knock on your door. Curiously, you approach and peer out the peephole, a smile breaking across your face when you see who is standing on the threshold. “Jungkook, what are you doing here?” you ask, swinging the door open to receive him.

Said man grins, raising a cardboard box in one hand and a tray with two paper cups in the other. “I come bearing gifts: pizza, coffee, and my dick if you want it,” he announces grandly, sweeping his arms out in a dramatic arc and sending the delicious smell of greasy cheese wafting your way.

You can only laugh at his dramatic declaration, gesturing for him to come in. “My three favorite things in one place? You’re a lifesaver, Kook.”

“Sure am,” he agrees cheerfully, following you into the kitchen and setting the food down on the counter. Immediately, you dive into the pizza box, ripping it open and tearing away a slice of cheesy goodness. Sinking your teeth in, you practically moan with delight, and Jungkook can only look on with amusement as he selects a piece for himself. “I’m guessing you haven’t eaten, then,” he remarks dryly, watching as you inhale the remainder of the slice.

You reach for one of the cups, washing down the grease with several gulps of hot coffee. “Considering how empty my refrigerator is right now, your guess is absolutely correct.”

Curiously, Jungkook opens the door of your fridge and pokes his head inside. “Have you considered maybe going grocery shopping to fix that problem?” he asks, voice echoing inside the cool space.

“I don’t have time,” you reply, ripping off another slice of pizza and taking an enormous bite.

“I don’t have time,” the dark-haired man mimics in a high-pitched warble, shutting the refrigerator door and joining you at the counter once more. “What’s with the pencil?”

You blink up at him, utterly bemused by the random question. “What?”

Jungkook reaches up, warm fingers brushing against your cheek as he tugs a yellow number two pencil from behind your ear. “This. Who the fuck still uses these? Everyone knows that mechanical pencils are way better.”

“Hey!” you protest. “They’re perfectly good pencils, and I like them!” Jumping up, you try to snatch the pencil away, but Jungkook only holds it up and out of your reach, his chest rumbling with laughter when you flounder against his taller frame uselessly. Pouting, you give him your most pitiful look, complete with fluttering eyelashes and clasped hands. “Jungkook, please give it back? I’ve been searching for it all afternoon!”

He cocks his head, lowering it slowly into your grasp. “All afternoon? Aren’t you done with your chem final?” Then something seems to click, his eyes narrowing. “You’re still studying?”

You drop your petulant expression and raise a brow, tucking the pencil back behind your ear for safekeeping. “I do have more than one final exam, you know.”

That earns you an eye-roll. “You work too hard.”

Before you can think of an adequate retort, Jungkook wolfs down the remainder of his pizza and grabs the open box. Walking out of your tiny kitchen, he starts in the direction of your living room before backtracking and poking his head back around the doorway.

“Grab the coffee, will you?” he asks between chews, his cheeks puffy.

“Ew, swallow before you speak, you heathen,” you reply, wrinkling your nose in distaste. Nevertheless, you pick up the two cups and follow your companion to the couch, watching as he carefully gathers your strewn notes into neat piles. You move your laptop—still playing soft strains of Stravinsky—to the coffee table, snatching up another slice of pizza before plopping down onto the couch. “So, what brings you to my humble abode?” you inquire curiously, glancing at the dark-haired  man who is making himself comfortable on the other end of the couch. “Besides trying to force your dick on me, that is.”

“Hey, I’ve never forced it on anyone,” Jungkook defends immediately. “Besides, you just told me that my dick is one of your three favorite things. No take-backsies.”

“No take-backsies?” you ask in disbelief. “Jesus, I can’t believe you just said that. Remind me why the fuck I’m sleeping with you again?”

“Because you need regular orgasms, and I’m willing and able to deliver,” Jungkook says smugly, munching on his pizza crust.

You snort, thwacking him on the arm. “Oh, please. This is a mutually beneficial relationship and you know it.”

He simply cackles in response, plucking up another cheesy slice before relaxing back against the cushions and slinging an arm over the backrest. The two of you eat in amicable silence for a few minutes with Tchaikovsky playing from your laptop speakers, the music broken only by the sound of soft chewing and the occasional sip of coffee.

It’s comfortable—spending time with Jungkook like this. In the last year, he’s rooted himself firmly in your life and your heart, and there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s become one of your closest friends. He’s kind, dependable, and ridiculously handsome—even with his cheeks bulging and pizza grease staining his chin. His sense of humor meshes perfectly with yours, and he knows your body almost better than you do. Just the thought of losing him is devastating—which is why you repress the tiny voice in the back of your head telling you that you’re already in too deep, and will your heart back into a regular rhythm whenever he looks at you with too much warmth sparkling in the brown of his eyes.

You’re friends. Just friends. Neither of you have the time—or the desire—for anything more.

“Hey, I never asked—how was your test?”

The soft question pulls you out of your reverie. “What?”

“Earth to {Name},” Jungkook says with a laugh, waving a hand in front of your eyes. “Your chem final, dummy. How’d it go?”

“Oh.” You think back to the two-hour exam, a frown pulling at your lips. “It was… all right, I think.”

“All right?” Jungkook echoes skeptically, raising a brow. “You really should give yourself more credit—you worked your ass off studying for that final.”

“I know,” you sigh, letting your head fall back against the cushions and staring up at the hairline crack running along the ceiling. “I just don’t feel like I did enough.”

Jungkook takes another bite of pizza, chewing thoughtfully. “Were there any questions you didn’t know how to answer?”

“No,” you admit.

He chuckles and pokes your cheek gently, making you look at him. “Then you’re fine! Stop being so hard on yourself.”

“Look who’s talking,” you say, retaliating by flicking his nose. “I’ve seen you during dance practice. You’re just as bad as I am.”

Jungkook wags a knowing finger. “But unlike you, I know when to take a break. Like right now, for example.” Grabbing the pizza box from the coffee table, he extends it to you like a peace offering. “Here. Eat the last slice and relax a little.”

You stare down at the remaining wedge, surprise etching its way across your face. “You… you don’t want it?”

He shrugs. “Nah, I’ve already had four. Besides, I’m not that hungry.”

“Jungkook, I’ve seen you put away an entire family-size bag of chips and six cups of ramen as an afternoon snack,” you point out. “On multiple occasions. There’s no way you’re not hungry.”

A huff of laughter escapes him, lips curling up into a grin that shows his prominent teeth. “Fine, you got me. Split it?”

“I’ll get a knife,” you agree, moving to stand up, but Jungkook wraps a strong hand around your wrist and stops you in your tracks.

“Why bother?” he asks, chomping off the slice’s pointed tip before handing it to you. “We can just take turns. It’s not like we haven’t exchanged bodily fluids before.”

You splutter out an incredulous laugh, but accept the pizza nonetheless. “Why are you so disgusting?”

“Hey, sex is a beautiful and natural thing!” Jungkook protests, a satisfied grin crinkling his face when you laugh again. “And we’re pretty damn good at it.”

You shake your head when he brushes a stray strand of hair away from your face, still chuckling. “You’re not gonna talk me into getting dicked down tonight, Jeon. I still have studying to do.” Taking one final bite of pizza, you extend it back toward your companion. “Here, finish this.”

Jungkook accepts the half-eaten slice and takes a bite. “Didn’t I just spend the last half hour telling you to stop studying?”

“Yes,” you say, standing up to collect the empty box and cups. Your companion trails you into the kitchen with crust still dangling from his mouth, watching as you break down the cardboard and shove it in the trash bin. “And I didn’t study for that whole half hour, so technically I did as you said and took a break.”

“Thazznawdalonnh,” Jungkook says around a mouthful of dough. You raise your eyebrows at him, and a smile twitches at the corner of his lips as he swallows and tries again. “That’s not that long. Of a break, I mean. Aren’t the rest of your exams next week anyway?”

“Yeah, but I have a lab report due tomorrow,” you reply, brushing past him to return to the living room. “Which I’ve barely started, thanks to today’s exam.” Collapsing back onto the couch, you gather up your notes and plop your laptop down onto your lap, waking up the screen. Your music resumes playing as you open up a fresh document, and Jungkook joins you a few seconds later with his black duffel in hand, dropping it on the ground as he takes a seat. You glance at him curiously as he begins pulling books from within, setting them on the coffee table before taking out his own laptop and booting it up. “Kook? What are you doing?”

He opens up one of the notebooks, his forehead creasing in concentration as he skims the contents within. “Studying, what else? I have finals too, you know.”

“But you never study,” you protest, confused.

He glances up, one dark eyebrow disappearing into his hair. “It’s cute that you think I’m some kind of academic whiz, babe, but unfortunately I’m not. Now hush, I’m trying to read.”

With that, he immerses himself back in his book, but you don’t miss the tiny smile that lingers on his lips. Shaking your head, you turn back to your own laptop and begin typing, the clatter of your keyboard and the rustling of Jungkook’s notes melding perfectly with the dulcet sounds of Vivaldi.

///

Friday afternoon finds you at the library, hunched over your laptop at a tiny, secluded table shoved halfway behind a shelf full of geography books. You’ve been sitting in the same place for nearly five hours now, and the hushed, monotonous atmosphere is beginning to drive you insane. Exhaling heavily, you let your head drop, hitting the table with a quiet thunk.

Unbidden, Jungkook’s face materializes in your mind’s eye. Tousled black hair falls into a face crinkled with mirth, his laughter clear and melodious as he lounges on the couch beside you, cracking inane jokes. You imagine the shape of his grinning mouth and scrunched nose, picture the way his eyes crease into crescents.

And then the image shifts. Jungkook’s eyes darken, his body shifting closer. You can feel the warmth of his lips on yours, imagine the exact way he would slip his hand into the waistband of your panties. There’s a damp spot growing in your actual panties by this point, and as your thoughts turn increasingly sordid, you find yourself scrambling for your phone and pulling up your messages.

[6:46pm] You: I wish I’d taken you up on your offer last night

Putting down the device, you try to refocus your attention on your notes as you wait for him to respond. After a few minutes of unsuccessful reading and no new messages, however, you grow impatient.

[6:49pm] You: all I can think about right now is how good you feel inside me

[6:49pm] You: And how I should’ve crawled onto your lap and sat on your cock yesterday

This time, your phone buzzes with an incoming text before you can even set it down.

[6:49pm] Jungkook: wow babe

[6:49pm] Jungkook: you’re really missing me huh? Fuck I wish I were there right now

His words stoke the fire inside you, pure want simmering in your belly and trickling down to your core.

[6:50pm] You: then come find me. I’m on the 4th floor of the library, what’s stopping you?

[6:50pm] Jungkook: Ugh, I have practice. I’m gonna kill Hoseok and Jimin I swear

Three dots appear at the bottom of your screen, indicating that he’s still typing. And then his new message pops up, the words sending a delicious shiver down your spine.

[6:50pm] Jungkook: god I wanna be inside you so bad

You can no longer contain your smirk, devious fingers already typing out an incendiary answer. Want you inside me too, baby. I’m so wet right now, you have no idea. I’m thinking about going into the bathroom and touching myself.

Almost immediately after pressing ‘send’, you see the telltale ellipses spring up at the bottom of your screen.

[6:51pm] Jungkook: fuck. Fuck fuck fuck

[6:51pm] Jungkook: you absolute goddamn tease

[6:51pm] Jungkook: do it. I dare you.

Your smirk widens, turning downright sinful. Oh, baby, I already am, you reply. Not quite true, perhaps, but you waste no time between pressing send and standing up, winding your way through the maze of bookshelves to the restroom on the other side of the library. It is thankfully empty upon arrival, and you immediately lock yourself in the stall furthest from the entrance, leaning against the door and checking your phone for Jungkook’s response. Right away, you realize that it must be a long message, because the preview on your lockscreen cuts off mid-sentence. And when you finally unlock the device and open up the full text, a delighted peal of laughter bubbles up from your chest and escapes into the open air.

[6:52pm] Jungkook: no you’re not. Are you? Jesus. fuck babe, you’re killing me. You’ve somehow beat jung hoseok to murdering me and now I must be in hell because all I want is to go over there and fuck you until you can’t remember your own name

[6:52pm] Jungkook: are you really in the bathroom right now??

Still giggling, you open up your camera, angling the screen so that it captures the telltale navy walls of the stall you’re standing in. Adopting a mischievous smirk, you tug your bottom lip coyly between your teeth and hike the hem of your shirt up to expose a tantalizing flash of skin. Your free hand snakes into the waistband of your jeans, now unbuttoned just enough to see a glimpse of the lace underneath. Snapping the photo, you send it off with just one sentence: What do you think?

His response is near instantaneous.

[6:54pm] Jungkook: damn it

[6:54pm] Jungkook: you’re really trying to ruin me aren’t you

He really is far too easy to rile up sometimes, you think with a grin. But you certainly aren’t complaining—not when heat is still curling in the pit of your tummy and the spot on your panties is growing increasingly damp. I have no idea what you’re talking about. But I do know that your fingers would feel so much better than mine right now.

[6:54pm] Jungkook: fuck, baby. Tell me what you’re doing

You wriggle your jeans down your hips and let your fingers trail downward, drawing light circles around your lace-covered clit. Why don’t you tell me what you want me to do instead?

[6:55pm] Jungkook: so that’s how you wanna play, huh

[6:55pm] Jungkook: i like your panties, by the way. sexy. why don’t you slip your hand inside them and touch your clit for me?

Your breath catches in your throat when you follow his directions, the pads of your fingers sliding through the gathered slickness between your thighs with ease.

[6:55pm] Jungkook: are you pretending it’s my hand instead?

[6:55pm] You: of course

And it’s true. You can picture the wicked tilt of his lips, can practically feel the warmth of his body caging you against the cool wall, one hand anchoring at your hip while the other rubs hard circles against your sensitive bud.

[6:56pm] Jungkook: good. god, I wish I were there. Slide two fingers into that sweet little pussy of yours and pretend it’s my cock filling you up instead

Clearly, Jungkook is in no mood to tease. Exhaling shakily, you do as he commands, savoring the feeling of your walls molding to the shape of your fingers. You dig in as deep as possible, head falling back against the wall as you raise your phone again.

[6:56pm] You: now what?

[6:56pm] Jungkook: move them. Slowly. And tell me what you’re thinking about

Your mental picture of the dark-haired man returns, imaginary hands sliding down to cup the sumptuous curve of your bottom as he lifts you effortlessly and pins you in place with his hips.

[6:57pm] You: thinking about you pinning me against the wall of this stall

[6:57pm] You: your pretty cock stretching me open

Letting out a soft whimper, you pick up the pace, thumb flicking over your clit in frenzied strokes. The coil in your belly winds tighter and tighter, ready to snap at any moment.

[6:57pm] Jungkook: fuck, babe. What else?

[6:58pm] You: ypour mouth on my neck

[6:58pm] Jungkook: want me to bruise you up all nice and pretty? Mark you as mine?

You barely manage to type out a coherent answer.

[6:58pm] You: g od yess

[6:59pm] You: nd fill me up with your cum

[6:59pm] Jungkook: christ. You filthy thing. You perfect pretty little tease, I’m gonna have you six ways from sunday when i get my hands on you

[6:59pm] Jungkook: fuck. I gotta go hobi’s starting warmups and I’m still half hard

[7:00pm] Jungkook: talk to you later. Think of me when you cum, okay?

His last few messages arrive in quick succession, a disbelieving huff escaping your lips when you read through them. Your orgasm—so close just moments ago—suddenly seems miles away. But his last message is still lighting up the screen of your phone, and so, with the thought of a half-hard Jungkook in mind, you let your fantasy take over again.

If Jungkook were here, he would be pressing even more urgently against you, hips snapping against yours as his thumb rubs hard circles into your clit. His mouth would be brushing along the column of your neck, teeth nipping at the delicate skin of your collarbone and the sensitive spot just below your ear. His thrusts would become sloppy as he nears the edge, and—

—It’s not the most satisfying orgasm you’ve ever had, pressed up against the metal wall of your university library’s bathroom, but it’s enough for now.

Besides, you still have a lab report to finish.

///

Ten o’clock comes and goes. Your keyboard clatters underneath your fingertips as you put the finishing touches on your report, scanning your conclusion for any errors before leaning back with a relieved sigh. It takes only a few more seconds to save your work and send the document to your professor. By the time you pack up your materials and head for the library doors—shooting an sympathetic look at any stragglers who remain—it’s ten-fifteen, and you are more than ready to head home and crawl underneath the fluffiest blanket you own.

Stepping outside, you suppress a shiver. Even though it’s springtime, the evenings are still rather chilly once the sun sets, and you curse when you realize you’ve forgotten to bring a sweater. Hiking your bag a little higher on your shoulder, you steel yourself for the trek back to your apartment. Every breeze raises gooseflesh on your skin, but you just walk faster, thinking about the hot cocoa packets stuffed away in one of your kitchen cabinets.

As you turn the corner, the performing arts building comes into view, glimmering in the darkness like a beacon. Low music thumps from within, and you wonder briefly at the sound before remembering Jungkook’s recent complaints about his long hours spent at the dance studio. Curiosity overcomes you and draws you closer, the music growing louder as soon as you step inside the building. Following the sound to a set of double doors at the very end of a dimly-lit hall, you debate briefly whether or not to knock before throwing all caution to the wind and pushing open the unlocked door.

The first sight that greets you is yourself, reflected in the long paneled mirror that stretches the length of the entire wall. A few chairs line the perimeter of the room and you immediately spot Jungkook’s duffel bag sitting on top of one of them, the sleeve of one of his many black sweatshirts poking out from the unzipped opening. The man himself is on the other end of the room, flanked on either side by two figures you recognize as Park Jimin and Jung Hoseok. None of them have noticed your presence yet—all three are immersed in the low, seductive beat still pounding from the speakers, perfectly in sync as they dance. Every movement is mesmerizing, flowing easily into the next as Jimin takes a running start and leaps over Jungkook to take center stage for his solo.

“Okay—cut!” Hoseok calls, raising a hand. “That was a lot better, nice job. Jungkook, just be sure to watch your hand movements during that last eight; you’re faltering a little when Jimin jumps. And Jimin, you’re still hesitating half a beat before the jump, so just speed that up and we should be good.”

Jimin nods wearily, raking his blond hair out of his face. “Got it.” Behind him, Jungkook stares at his hands for a full five seconds before repeating the section of the dance that Hoseok had specified, his shoes squeaking in protest against the hardwood.

Hoseok eyes him critically. “Yeah, that looks good. Cool. Should we run through the last song again?”

“Honestly, Hobi, I think we’re all pretty beat,” Jimin says, his head lolling against his shoulder. “We’ve been at this for over three hours now.”

Jungkook nods in agreement, swinging his arms overhead and shaking out his muscles. “Yeah, I think it might be time to call it quits for the day.” Then his gaze flickers up, catching sight of your reflection in the mirrors. “{Name}?”

Your face flushes at being caught. “H-hey.”

His mouth lifts into a smile, tired but bright. “Hey yourself. Waiting for me?”

You glance at Hoseok and Jimin before returning your attention to the dark-haired man. “Just poking my head in. I don’t want to interrupt or rush you, or anything.”

Hoseok grins, shaking his head. “Nah, you’re fine. I think we’re pretty much done here, anyway. We’ll just grab some water and cool down, and then you’re free to take him for the night.” He claps Jungkook on the back, and the two of them head for the water cooler in the corner of the room, conversing quietly.

Jimin chooses that moment to step forward, flashing you a crooked smirk. “Take him for the night, huh? Lucky guy, getting to go home with such a pretty girl.” He eyes you up and down, making no move to hide it, and you raise a brow at his boldness. The blond-haired man is a notorious playboy—well-known around campus for his various escapades and his reputation as a heartbreaker—but you’re still rather surprised that he’d hit on you so blatantly with Hoseok and Jungkook still in the room.

“Settle down, Park. Don’t you have some stretches to be doing?” You nod at Hoseok, who is now seated on the floor and reaching for his toes.

The blond man grins. “The only kind of stretch I want to be doing is stretching you open with my co—“

“You sure you want to finish that sentence?” A heavy weight settles across your shoulders, and you turn to see that Jungkook has draped his arm over you, his dark eyes glittering.

Jimin has the audacity to laugh aloud, honey brown eyes crinkling into gleeful crescents. “What? Can’t handle a little competition, Jungkookie?”

The dark-haired man rolls his eyes. “Fuck off, Jimin.”

“Fuck off?” Jimin steps closer, tilting his head in a perfect picture of mock innocence as his fingers find your chin, forcing your gazes to meet. “From what I recall, {Name} definitely wanted to be fucked earlier. What were her exact words—oh, something about a pretty cock stretching her open?” A grin splits across his face, wide and mischievous. “And believe me, princess, I’ve been told I have a very pretty cock.”

Jungkook’s eyes grow wide, abject horror painted across every feature. “What the fuck, Jimin? How—how the fuck did you…?!” His spluttering trails off into dismayed silence, his breathing quick and sharp.

You, however, do not hesitate to wrench away from Jimin’s grasp, your open palm colliding with the soft flesh of his cheek. The slap echoes in the empty silence of the dance studio, and Jimin touches the angry red handprint on his face gingerly before smirking up at you.

“Feisty, huh? That’s okay, I don’t mind it a little rough.”

It’s probably a good thing that Hoseok is already gone, because the litany of curses that leaves Jungkook’s mouth is surely something that would get him in trouble with the red-haired dance captain. “Jesus fucking Christ, Jimin, what the hell is wrong with you? And why the fuck were you reading my goddamn texts?!”

Jimin finally takes a step back, the salacious smirk dropping off his face as he puts his hands up in surrender. “To be fair, I didn’t mean to,” he says. “But you were being weird, sitting by yourself in the corner before practice started, so I got curious. And then I saw your phone’s screen in the mirror, and—“

“Shit, the mirrors,” Jungkook interrupts, sounding utterly defeated. “Goddamnit. Fuck, {Name}, I’m so sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Kook,” you reassure, patting his shoulder gently. “Park, here, on the other hand…”

The blond-haired man at least has the decency to look somewhat abashed. “I am sorry, just for the record. I really didn’t mean to read your messages, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t glad I did.” Jimin grins, boldly shooting you a flagrant wink and a smirk. “My offer still stands, you know, if Jeon isn’t up to the task tonight.”

Jungkook’s arm tightens around you. “Haven’t you done enough damage for one day, Park?”

Jimin throws his head back and laughs, far too hard for your liking. “What’s the matter, Jungkook? Afraid I’ll get her off faster than you?”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Jungkook’s eyes narrow to slits, and you watch as his mouth twists into a dangerous scowl. “In your dreams, asshat.”

“In my dreams?” Jimin chuckles, stepping forward and throwing a jovial arm around Jungkook’s shoulders. “Doesn’t have to be.” Then he turns to you, shooting you another wink. “What do you say, princess? Care to find out who can make you feel better?”

It should be easy to say no—should be simple to tell Jimin to go fuck himself and go home with Jungkook as you have so many times before. But there’s a tingle in the pit of your belly, something dark and insatiable that croons obscene suggestions that refuse to be drowned out by logic or reason. Beside you, Jungkook’s jaw is clenched, and you recognize the competitive glint burning in his gaze immediately. The dark-haired young man isn’t one to back away from a challenge, and you know from experience just how easy it can be to rile him up. And it seems Jimin knows it, too, if the triumphant smirk on his face is anything to go by.

“{Name},” Jungkook says, releasing you from his hold only to spin you toward him and cup your cheeks instead. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. I can just take you home—“

You cut him off with a finger, pressing insistently against his soft lips. “Take me home,” you murmur. “But we’re bringing this fucker along, too. I bet he’s all talk.” You nod in Jimin’s direction.

Jungkook’s face dissolves into mirth, a hearty cackle escaping his lips. “You know what? So do I.” He turns to the other man, quirking a brow. “Well? You still coming?”

Jimin grins. “I think we’ll all be coming tonight.”

“No thanks to you,” Jungkook quips, grinning when you giggle. Then he’s strolling off to grab his bag, with Jimin following suit and gathering up his belongings as well. As he bends down to pick his water bottle up from the ground, you can’t help but check him out—something he notices right away and remarks upon with a sly grin once he straightens up again.

“Enjoying the view, princess?”

Warmth blossoms across your cheeks. “I’m just trying to see what all the girls see in you.”

Jimin steps forward, stopping only when he’s mere inches away. “And?” he breathes.

This close to him, you can see the flecks of amber dancing in his honey brown irises. “Not impressed,” you lie.

The amused tilt of his head makes it clear that he doesn’t believe you, and you flush when his hand comes up to pat your cheek. “You’re cute,” he chuckles, brushing the pad of his thumb along the skin below your right eye. Then he turns away and begins shoving the rest of his things in his bag, whistling cheerily under his breath.

“Thanks, I think,” you mutter, mostly to yourself.

“You’re welcome, I guess?”

Jungkook’s voice comes from behind you, two strong arms winding their way around your waist and tugging you into a warm, familiar chest. “Talking to yourself is a sign of insanity, you know,” he murmurs into your ear, hot breath caressing your neck as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

“Good thing I was talking to Jimin, then,” you whisper back, craning your head so that you can look him in the eye.

He hums. “So you’re getting along.”

“As much as a girl can actually get along with Park Jimin,” you reply with a laugh. “Hey, you ready to go?”

He nods, dark hair bobbing. “Yeah.” Releasing you from his embrace, he keeps one arm slung around your waist as he turns toward the door, Jimin sauntering up to join you on your other side. Together the three of you head for the building’s exit, and when Jungkook pushes open the front door with his free hand, you shiver at the sudden burst of chilly air.

Wordlessly, Jungkook reaches into his bag and pulls out the black sweatshirt you’d spotted earlier, releasing his grip on your waist to drape it over your shoulders. You thank him with a smile, slipping your arms into the sleeves and giggling at how it dwarfs your smaller frame. Jungkook seizes the opportunity to playfully pull the hood over your head, tugging it down until it covers your eyes and breaking out into laughter when you whack him with your overly long sleeves in retaliation. With him distracted and you temporarily blind, neither of you see the knowing smile that curls Jimin’s lips.

The remainder of the walk to your apartment passes in mostly companionable silence. Jungkook and Jimin occasionally fall to bickering, but despite the high tensions earlier, it’s clear that the two are good friends. And you’re more than happy to walk between them quietly, bundled in Jungkook’s warm sweatshirt and listening to them talk about their upcoming performance.

“I don’t know, man, I always feel off during that second song,” Jungkook says, raking a hand through his hair and ruffling it even further. “I just can’t seem to get into the right rhythm.”

Jimin snickers and shoots you a sideways glance. “I hope you have better rhythm with {Name}, otherwise this night is going to be very disappointing.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Jungkook snorts, rolling his eyes. “I’m being serious, here.”

“Okay, you want me to be serious?” Jimin asks, reaching over and giving the younger man a reproving nudge. “You’re not off; you’re just getting in your own head.”

“That sounds like Kook,” you pipe up, pulling out your keys as your apartment complex comes into view. “Instead of getting in your own head, why don’t you relax and let me give you head?”

Jimin lets out a delighted laugh and raises his hand for a high-five, which you happily give him as the three of you step into the lobby of your building. “That was fucking amazing,” he declares, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. “Absolutely incredible. I think I just fell in love.”

On your other side, Jungkook is shaking his head in exasperation, mumbling something about god there’s two of them under his breath while jabbing the elevator button. The three of you pile inside as soon as it arrives, with Jimin still chortling quietly at your joke.

Jungkook takes the lead when the elevator doors slide open again, gently prying your keys from your hand. Striding down the hall, he comes to a stop in front of your door and shifts his gaze to you. His brown eyes regard you carefully, and you know that this is his way of giving you one last chance to say no.

But you don’t want to say no. Heat has been simmering in your belly ever since you left the dance studio, and now that your front door is the only obstacle between you and whatever the night may bring, it flares up, growing hotter and more insistent. You meet Jungkook’s gaze and nod.

He inclines his head and inserts the key into the lock, turning until it clicks. The door swings open.

The atmosphere shifts as soon as you cross the threshold, all jokes and jabs dissipating to leave only a thick, palpable tension. You can’t pinpoint the exact moment when Jungkook’s gaze darkened into obsidian or when Jimin’s hand found its way to the curve of your ass. All you know is that the air is positively crackling with hidden energy, sizzling and electric, and that the two men on either side of you are undoubtedly the source.

Jungkook kisses you first. His mouth brushes against yours briefly before descending down the column of your throat, tongue and teeth laving against your skin. Strong hands settle on your hips, guiding you backwards down the hall and into the living room until you find yourself being pressed down onto a firm surface, a second pair of hands joining Jungkook’s curled around your waist.

Turning around, you meet Jimin’s amused gaze, belatedly realizing that you are seated firmly in his lap. A soft laugh escapes him as he takes in your surprised expression, his fingers crawling down the expanse of your stomach to linger near the hem of your shirt, toying with the thin fabric. “I can kiss you, right?” he murmurs, leaning in close.

If you even so much as nod, your lips would meet his. “Yes,” you breathe, not daring to look away.

Jimin smiles crookedly. “Good.” And then he closes the gap.

Kissing Jimin is different. His lips are fuller than Jungkook’s, his movements more languid. One of his hands comes up to tangle in your hair, gentle but firm. The other slips underneath your shirt, rubbing tantalizing circles into your hip, and when it ventures farther up and trails along the seam of your bra, you break the kiss with a gasp.

“Still okay, princess?” Jimin murmurs softly.

“Still okay,” you confirm, sucking in a deep breath and shifting around until you are facing him, your legs straddling his thighs. Leaning forward, you kiss him again, and this time his tongue finds its way past your lips and flicks gently against yours. He explores your mouth thoroughly—hungrily—and by the time you break apart, both of you are gasping for air.

Jungkook’s hands return then, grasping at the thin material of your shirt before pulling it up and off entirely. Your arms settle back around Jimin’s shoulders, his brown eyes raking appreciatively across your figure as Jungkook lays a trail of soft kisses along your spine before coming to a stop at your bra.

“Wait a sec,” he mutters, pinching the elastic stretched across your back between two fingers. “How the fuck do you get this thing off?”

It takes you a good second to process his confused question, but once you do, you can’t stop the peal of laughter that escapes you. Jimin echoes your hilarity, snickering wildly as he fights to answer Jungkook. “Jesus, Jeon,” he manages after a few seconds, sucking in a lungful of air. “You’re adorable. Haven’t you ever seen a bra with a front clasp before?” As if to emphasize his point, he reaches for the clasp nestled between your breasts, popping it open smoothly.

Jungkook watches as the cups fall to either side of your body, your nipples hardening at the sudden exposure to the open air. “Oh, fuck off,” he grumbles, tugging the garment down and off your arms.

Jimin finally curbs his chuckles and returns his attention to you, squeezing at the twin swells of your breasts before tweaking the sensitive peaks. “Shit, you’re gorgeous,” he breathes, leaning down to mouth at the soft spot where your neck meets your shoulder. “How has Jeon kept you to himself for this long?”

You aren’t given the opportunity to respond, for Jungkook chooses that moment to mold his mouth to yours. His tongue slips past your lips, slick and familiar, and you moan into the kiss as his hands slide down your sides and anchor at your hips.

Jimin hums from where he’s sucking a purple bruise into the thin skin above your clavicle, laving across the tender skin before leaning back to survey his work. “Jungkook. Let’s get her jeans off, shall we?”

You gasp for air when the dark-haired man finally pulls back, his fingers sliding around to pop open the button and slide down the zipper. “Thought you’d never ask,” he teases, gently urging you off Jimin’s lap so he can wriggle the jeans down your thighs, your panties disappearing right alongside the denim.

“How is this fair?” you protest, suddenly very aware of how naked you are before the two men. “Neither of you have taken anything off yet.”

“So impatient,” Jimin chortles, straightening up and grabbing the hem of his t-shirt. In one smooth motion, he’s pulled it off, baring the smooth expanse of his toned torso. “Is that better, princess?”

You drink in each dip and ridge of muscle, following the defined lines of his pelvic bones to where they disappear into the waistband of his ripped jeans. “Better,” you confirm, flashing him a wink and a grin before turning your sights to the other man in the room. “Your turn, Jeon.”

“Yes ma’am.” Jungkook gives you a playful salute before shedding his shirt as well, grabbing it by the back of the collar and tugging it over his head. Flinging it onto the growing pile of clothes on the ground, he closes the distance between you and crushes his mouth to yours in another searing kiss. His warm hands find purchase on your shoulders, smoothing along the bony ridges of your clavicle before dipping down to grasp the curve of your waist, and you can’t help but melt into his embrace. Your fingers fly up to tangle in the soft hair at the nape of his neck, tugging him closer until you are molded against his bare chest, soft curves meshing perfectly with the hard planes of his torso.

The dark-haired man is in the middle of determinedly mapping out every inch of your mouth with his tongue when Jimin rises to his feet and presses himself against your back, his hands sliding down to the curve of your ass and giving the flesh a playful squeeze. “Being a little selfish, aren’t we, Jeon?” he murmurs, mouth at your ear.

Gasping, you break away from Jungkook. “Jimin!”

Said man presses a little closer, and your eyes widen when you feel his hardening length twitch against your thigh. “Screaming my name already?” he asks with a chuckle, his fingers now traversing the length of your spine.

You shiver at the gentle touch. “D-don’t get too used to it.”

Jimin’s entire face crinkles in glee, honey brown eyes disappearing into twin crescents. “Fuck, you’re really something else,” he chortles, nipping at your earlobe. “What are you going to do when I make you eat your words?”

Jungkook snickers and plants an affectionate kiss to the corner of your mouth before pulling away. “You sure you’re up to the task, Park?” he challenges. Nudging Jimin aside, he gently presses you backward until he can safely lower you down onto the plushy couch cushions.

The blond man simply grins and steps forward, jostling Jungkook away before he can make himself comfortable between your legs. “Why don’t you save the trash talk and let me take it from here?” he asks playfully, dropping to his knees. Warm hands settle on your thighs, urging your legs apart, and you watch as his tongue darts out to moisten his lips once you’re fully spread before him. “Fuck,” Jimin rasps, his voice dropping several pitches. “I bet you taste so sweet.”

“She does.” Jungkook’s voice comes from above you, and when your head lolls back onto the backrest, you see that the dark-haired man has stepped around to the other side of the couch, standing behind you with his fingers trailing random patterns across your bare shoulders. Every movement leaves gooseflesh and pinpricks dancing in its wake, and you shiver when he suddenly descends farther to mold his hands around your breasts.

“Fuck, Jungkoo—oh!”

A sudden flare of heat against your clit has you gasping and tearing your gaze away from the young man hovering above you. A glance down the length of your body reveals that Jimin has chosen that moment to bury his face between your legs, only his honey brown eyes visible above your mound. “Eyes on me, princess,” he commands huskily, raising his head just enough to give you a perfect view of his tongue tracing a sensuous trail across his plushy bottom lip. Then he’s dipping down to blow another cheeky puff of hot air against your core, and this time you can’t help the way your hips automatically cant up toward his mouth for something more substantial.

Jimin is more than happy to comply with your desires. His hands slide up your thighs slowly, heavy gaze never once leaving yours as he presses a kiss to the soft skin just above your mound. Then he’s sliding down, pink tongue flicking against your clit before plunging inside your weeping entrance for a taste.

“You’re right, she is sweet,” he purrs, pulling away briefly to wink at Jungkook. “So fucking sweet.”

You don’t have a chance to glance back for the dark-haired man’s reaction before Jimin returns his attention to you and delivers a playful nip to your inner thigh. The sudden sharpness of his teeth against the delicate skin sends a jolt of arousal straight to your core, and instinct sends your fingers flying up to wind through his silky golden hair. A crooked smirk etches across the blond man’s handsome face, and you can practically see the gears turning wickedly in his head when you stammer out a breathy, “O-oh god.”

“You liked that, huh?” Jimin slides two fingers through the slickness gathering between your legs, waggling them playfully in Jungkook’s direction before licking them clean. “I think Jeon liked it too. You doing okay back there, bud?”

With a start, you realize you hadn’t noticed when Jungkook’s hands left your body, but when you tilt your head back, you see the exact reason for their disappearance. The dark-haired young man is standing just behind your sprawled figure, his belt undone and jeans pushed down just enough to free his cock. One hand is wrapped firmly around his length, thumb flicking across the head, and a low groan escapes him when he notices you watching.

“Jungkook,” you breathe, tongue darting out to moisten your lips at the sight. “Why don’t you let me help you out a little?”

The words have barely left your mouth when Jimin suddenly tightens his grip on your thighs, taking your clit into his mouth and giving it a punishingly hard suck.

“Jimin!” you gasp, jolting in his grasp at the sudden burst of aching pleasure.

The blond man’s resulting smile could put Wonderland’s infamous feline to shame. “That’s more like it,” he croons, trailing his index finger along your drenched folds and chuckling when you squirm beneath him. “You sound so good moaning my name, princess.”

Your fingers tighten in his golden hair when he leans forward to bury his face between your legs once more, his name floating from your lips a second time when his wet tongue darts out to lave insistently at your core. Your tummy tenses under the sudden onslaught of pleasure, your thighs tightening around Jimin’s head as his questing tongue delves inside you experimentally. Seconds later, his fingers join in, two digits stretching you open as his mouth latches onto your clit with earnest.

“Who’s being selfish now?” Jungkook’s voice comes from somewhere above you, and a moment later his face appears in your peripheral vision, hovering above your prone body as he leans over the backrest to press an upside-down kiss to your mouth. Both hands wander down past your clavicle to squeeze your breasts, drawing a shudder from you when he begins rubbing slow, deliberate circles around the sensitive peaks.

“L-let me suck you off,” you offer, your voice coming out in little more than a breathy stammer. “I did—ah—tell you to relax and let me give you head, didn’t I?”

The dark-haired man shifts his attention to your neck—soft lips ghosting along the column of your throat—and you immediately tilt your head to give him better access. “You did,” he murmurs between open-mouthed kisses, warm breath sending gooseflesh and pinpricks dancing along your skin. “And you know how much I love your mouth, babe.”

You gasp when his teeth suddenly sink into the junction where your neck meets your shoulder, turning into a moan when he begins to suckle at the bruised flesh. At the same time, Jimin begins to lap at you again, licking deliberate stripes along your entrance that end with teasing flicks on your clit. “O-oh fuck,” you say shakily, fighting to maintain your train of thought as heat simmers in your belly. “Fuck. Let me make you feel good too, baby.”

Jungkook lets out a hoarse groan at your incendiary words, nipping at your neck one last time before soothing the bite with his tongue and straightening up to his full height. One hand descends to wrap around his hard cock, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he takes in the way you’re sprawled across the couch, your vision turned upside-down with the way your neck is arched over the edge of the backrest. After a few moments of deliberation, he carefully reaches out, brushing his thumb along the seam of your lips and urging them apart.

You are more than happy to comply, letting your jaw fall slack as he positions the head and begins to press forward into your mouth. Every move is slow and gentle, your heart swelling at his mindfulness as he gives you ample time to adjust to his girth and stops just short of the back of your throat.

“Doing okay, baby?” he murmurs softly, cupping your cheek.

You hum in affirmation, eyes fluttering shut under the gentle touch. Jungkook groans at the resulting vibration, his hips stuttering forward—and you immediately suck in a quick breath before relaxing your throat for the familiar intrusion.

The sound that Jungkook makes when he bottoms out is positively cavernous, rumbling through his chest. “Fuck, baby,” he hisses, the strain evident in his voice. “God, you feel fucking incredible.”

Heat curls at the base of your spine, crawling up and flaring outward. Reaching around, you curl your fingers around the backs of his thighs, smoothing along the tensed muscles to reassure him that he can begin moving. At the same time, you swallow around the head of his cock, eliciting a sharp gasp and a startled rock of his hips. The sudden surge forward has you spluttering to fight your gag reflex into submission, and you feel Jungkook begin to pull out before you squeeze his thigh again to keep him in place.

It takes a reassuring hum and several languid licks along the vein traversing the underside of his cock to reassure Jungkook that you’re okay to continue, but when you swallow around him again, something in him seems to snap. He surges forward until his hips are flush against your chin, and each subsequent thrust has you stretching out, desperate to open up more of your body for him to possess. “Christ,” he grits out, his fingers wrapping loosely around your throat and increasing the pressure on his cock lodged within. “God, {Name}.”

Jimin chooses that moment to renew his ministrations, diving back inside you with a vigor that puts any of his previous actions to shame. His tongue flicks furiously against your clit as his fingers delve further inside you in search of the spot that will have you seeing stars, and you moan brokenly around Jungkook’s dick when he finds it without a hitch. “Look at how greedy your little pussy is,” he croons, pulling away from your folds just enough to murmur the words. “Sucking my fingers back inside each time I pull them out. But I bet my cock will feel even better, huh?”

You’re in no position to give him a verbal response—not with your throat swollen with the entirety of Jungkook’s dick—but Jimin doesn’t seem to need one. The warmth of his body suddenly disappears from between your legs, and you wonder vaguely where he’s gone even as Jungkook increases his pace. Saliva pools in your mouth to ease the dark-haired man’s thrusts, and somewhere between the slick slide of his cock against your lips and his strangled cursing, you vaguely hear the metallic clack of a belt buckle and the sound of a condom wrapper being ripped open.

Jimin’s warmth returns moments later, the heat rolling off his torso almost unbearable as he leans over your supine figure. “Jesus, princess,” the blond man murmurs, laying a trail of kisses from your stomach to the valley between your breasts. “You’re fucking soaked.” As if to prove his point, he runs the tip of his cock between your folds, chuckling when you tense up beneath him in anticipation. “Greedy,” he remarks to no one in particular.

And then he’s lining himself up and sliding inside you, inch by torturous inch. The sudden surge of fullness renders you completely breathless, and Jungkook seems to sense your lungs’ desperation for oxygen just before you can choke on his cock. Pulling out of your mouth with a wet pop, he immediately drops to his knees and cups the back of your head, urging you to straighten up and allow your neck to bend in the right direction once more. “Breathe, baby,” he encourages lowly, tangling his fingers in your hair and massaging through the roots.

Obediently, you suck in a deep breath, only to release it shakily mere seconds later, when Jimin suddenly rolls his hips. A pleased grin stretches across his face at your reaction, brown eyes dancing with barely-contained glee. “Is that good, princess? You like being full of my cock?”

“God, yes,” you breathe, relishing the stretch as he pulls back until only the tip remains inside before snapping forward again. “Fuck, Jimin.”

His grin widens at the sound of his name. One hand flits down to the apex of your thighs, rubbing circles into your clit as he settles into a comfortable rhythm. The other curls around your waist, anchoring you in place firmly on the plushy couch, your body sinking further into the cushion as his thrusts become bolder and more urgent.

The air fills with the sound of skin against skin, your airy moans intermingling with Jimin’s grunts of exertion. Behind you, Jungkook refocuses his attentions on your neck, determinedly suckling another bruise just below your jaw as his fingers find the swells of your breasts once more. Your head lolls against the backrest at the mixed sensations, the heat in your belly coalescing into something sharper and more tangible with every passing second.

You aren’t sure how much longer you can last. Pressure is beginning to build in your core, your tummy tensing like a coiled spring ready to snap at any moment. Every thrust, every stroke of Jimin’s thumb on your clit, every nip and lick that Jungkook bestows upon your neck and shoulders—all of it drives you closer to the brink of what promises to be an absolutely explosive orgasm, and your companions seem to realize how close you are as well, doubly renewing their efforts to send you off the edge. Jungkook’s teeth dig into your skin a little harder, intermingling pain with pleasure, and Jimin tightens his grip on your waist and slams into you so hard you swear the couch scoots back a few centimeters. Your breath hitches in your throat.

And then you’re falling, your body collapsing into a searing wave of pleasure that starts in your core and flares outward like a supernova. A series of garbled moans and keening whimpers is all you can manage as your hands reach out desperately to ground yourself to earth—one flying up to wrap around Jungkook’s neck while the other finds purchase on Jimin’s arm. The blond man has not relinquished his grasp on you—if anything, his grip only tightens around your waist as he chases his own high. His hips stutter as you clench around him in the throes of your orgasm, and it proves to be too much when he follows you off the edge just a few seconds later, burying his face between your breasts and letting out a low, satisfied groan.

It takes you a few long moments to recover, your breathing labored. Jimin grins as you raise your head to meet his gaze, raising a dark brow and pressing a fond kiss to your sternum. “You’re cute,” he remarks, straightening up and rolling off his condom. Tying it off, he wanders away to toss it in the trash before returning to sprawl out beside you on the couch. “I see why Jungkook likes you so much.”

He says it so offhandedly that you barely even notice the way Jungkook stiffens on your other side, inhaling sharply. You are still feeling utterly boneless from your orgasm, your thoughts muddled and hazy as the pleasure recedes back into your veins. But when Jungkook suddenly stands up and walks around the couch to take up residence between your still-spread thighs, you finally snap to attention, your heartbeat quickening at the smolder in his eyes.

“My turn,” Jungkook breathes softly, reaching out to run a finger along your swollen folds and smiling when you shiver at the fleeting touch. “Christ, you’re already so sensitive, baby.”

“You’re welcome,” Jimin teases. “I did you a favor by going first, you know.”

Jungkook hums, grabbing one of your hands and absently playing with your fingers. “Did you?” he asks, a playful smile settling on his face when you immediately lace your hands together. “You don’t know {Name}’s body like I do.” And as if to prove his point, he leans forward and lays a trail of kisses along your jaw, paying special attention to the sensitive spot just below your ear that always makes your breathing stutter.

“F-fuck, Jungkook—“

The dark-haired man’s grin grows, prominent teeth on full display as he gives your hand one last squeeze before straightening back up to his full height. “On your knees, baby,” he commands, tonguing his cheek thoughtfully.

Anticipation coils in the pit of your belly, sizzling and electric. Jungkook slides a finger along the bony ridges of your vertebrae as you begin shifting into position, but before you can settle comfortably Jimin reaches out and stops you in your tracks.

“Why don’t you come sit on my lap instead, princess?” he suggests silkily, his fingers wrapping around your wrist and tugging until you are straddling his thighs. Your knees sink into the plushy cushions on either side of his legs, and Jimin smirks crookedly as he curls his fingers around your nape and tugs you down for a kiss. Behind you, Jungkook splays a hand flat against your spine, urging you to arch your back and leave your ass on full display for him.

“Christ,” he grunts, squeezing the presented globes of flesh in his large hands. “I love your ass so fucking much.” The tip of his index finger circles your puckered rim briefly—drawing a gasp from you and sending gooseflesh prickling across every inch of your skin—before he moves down into more familiar territory. “But I love this pretty little pussy of yours even more,” he croons, using his fingers to spread your lips apart before licking a long stripe along your dripping entrance.

“J-Jungkook,” you warble weakly, burying your face into the crook of Jimin’s neck as your thighs tense. The blond man chuckles softly at your predicament and lays his hands on your shoulders reassuringly, even as Jungkook’s hot tongue dips inside you for another taste. “God, please. Please don’t tease me.”

The dark-haired man laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest and sending vibrations dancing up your spine. “Want my cock, baby?”

“You know I do,” you keen into Jimin’s clavicle.

Another laugh. “Good.”

The air shifts behind you, and you deduce that Jungkook is straightening up to his full height and shucking his jeans off his legs from the sound of rustling fabric. Seconds later, his hands caress your waist, smoothing down along the soft skin to anchor firmly at your hips. You suck in an anticipatory breath, waiting.

And then Jungkook is sliding home in one smooth motion, and even though you can’t see him, you can perfectly imagine the tight clench of his jaw and the prominent vein in his neck as his throat bobs with restraint. “Jesus,” he hisses, his hips nestled snugly against the soft curve of your ass. “Fuck. How are you always this tight?”

You cannot find the words to answer, rendered breathless by the slow throbbing of his cock along your walls. Unlike Jimin, he’s forgone a condom—and you can clearly feel every ridge and vein as your body molds to his exact shape and girth. The anticipation in your tummy coalesces into something darker—something potent and heavy—and you finally find your voice again when Jungkook groans in a voice so cavernous that it sends heat spiking straight to your aching core. “Jungkook,” you groan, barely coherent enough to string together words. “Jungkook, please, I need you to move, please.”

“Fuck,” Jungkook snarls, gritting his teeth. “Fuck, baby, you know I’ll give you anything you want. God, you feel fucking incredible.” His hands tighten around your hips as he begins to move, rolling up into you with fluid, practiced strokes.

Pure heat coils in the pit of your belly, dark and heady and thrumming with the need for release. Jungkook picks up his pace, pushing in so deep that you can practically feel him in the back of your throat, a choked gasp escaping your parted lips as he pounds into you relentlessly. Every snap of his hips shoves you up against Jimin, his body taut and his face creased in a lascivious grin as he watches you descend further into delirium. Both of his hands find their way to your breasts, squeezing the supple flesh before he shifts downward to wrap his mouth around a hardened nipple, lapping at the delicate nub and grinning lazily when you reward him with a shaky whimper.

“Damn, princess,” he says, tongue darting out to lick his lips. “Keep rubbing up against me like that, and I’m going to end up needing a second round.”

Jungkook growls when he realizes how firmly you are crushed against the blond man, your chest and stomach sliding against Jimin’s bare torso with every thrust. One of his hands slides from your hipbone up to the base of your throat, splaying just below your jugular and forcing you upright until you are no longer pressed against the blond. The new angle draws a gasp from you, your hands flying up to brace yourself on Jimin’s shoulders, but Jungkook growls again and gives your neck a punishingly hard nip.

“Arms around my neck, baby,” he orders, his tone leaving no room for disobedience. Immediately, you snake your arms around him, drawing him close until his chest is flush against your back, and Jungkook rewards your compliance with a tender kiss to the soft spot below your ear.

“G-god, Jungkook,” you moan, quivering in his grasp as he picks up his pace. Every snap of his hips sends stars skittering across your vision, the delicious friction between your bodies driving you ever closer to the edge.

“That’s it, baby,” Jungkook rasps, the hand on your hip descending to your clit and drawing tight circles around the aching bud. “Cum for me.”

You keen at the additional stimulation, heat welling up in your core, and Jungkook’s hips stutter when your walls clamp down around him—your fingers simultaneously tightening their grip on the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

“Fuck, come on,” he grunts, recovering his rhythm quickly. “I’ve got you—just let go for me and cum, baby.”

With one last push, Jungkook sends you spiraling over the edge. The coil in your tummy snaps, releasing a wave of pleasure that surges through your veins like wildfire. A broken keen that vaguely resembles Jungkook’s name fills the room, and it takes you a few seconds to realize that it’s coming from you, your eyes fluttering shut as you shake apart in his ironclad grip.

Jungkook only manages half a dozen more strokes before his hips stutter again, this time faltering entirely as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. “Fuck, {Name},” he grits out, thumb still drawing circles around your clit even as he gives in to the tight, wet draw of your body squeezing around his cock. You can feel him painting your walls in spurts of creamy white, and even in your euphoric haze you still make sure to milk him for every last drop.

“Jungkook,” you whine, slapping his hand away when overstimulation sets in. “Fuck, I can’t.”

Obediently, he withdraws. His softening cock slips out from your entrance, and you groan at the feeling of your combined juices dribbling out and down your thighs. Jungkook zeroes in on the sight immediately and presses two fingers to your entrance to act as a stopper, his lips brushing tenderly along your shoulder. “Keep me inside you, babe.”

Your face flushes when Jimin catches your eye, his plump lips curving up into a shrewd little smirk. But you’re left with no time to wonder about the knowing look on his face because Jungkook is gently gathering you up in his arms to lift you off of Jimin’s lap, plopping you down next to the blond-haired man. He disappears for a few seconds before returning with a warm towel, and you smile when he gently begins cleaning you up, wiping at the mess smeared along your inner thighs. 

“Doing okay, baby?” he asks, and your heart swells with warmth at the concern lacing his voice.

“More than okay,” you admit, turning to press your lips to the sharp angle of his jaw. 

Jungkook’s bare chest rumbles with laughter, his mouth finding yours in a brief kiss as he finishes his work and collapses beside you. “Good.”

On your other side, Jimin is grinning. “Well, this was fun,” he remarks casually, running a hand through his mussed blond hair. Leaning over, he grabs your chin and tilts your face toward his so that he can plant a lazy kiss on your mouth before pulling back and winking. “If you ever wanna do this again, you know where to find me.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you say, a laugh creasing your face when he swoops down and kisses you again. “Jesus, Park, I’m starting to think you really did fall in love with me.”

Jimin’s grin widens. “You could make an honest man of me yet, princess. But for now, I’ve still got a reputation to uphold.” Standing up, he begins gathering his discarded clothes, pulling on his jeans and buckling his belt. You admire the smooth flex of his abdominal muscles as he pulls his t-shirt back over his head, and when he catches you looking, a delighted peal of laughter escapes him. “I’m just a call away, princess,” he reminds with a salacious waggle of his eyebrows. “If Jeon ever stops satisfying your needs, I’ll be more than happy to step up.”

“Oh, fuck off.” This time, it’s Jungkook who speaks, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth as he runs a hand through his dark hair. “Go find some other girl to harass, Park.”

“Testy,” Jimin says with a snicker. Slipping into his denim jacket, he checks his pockets one last time for his wallet and keys. “But I know when I’m not wanted anymore. You coming to the showcase tomorrow, {Name}?”

Suddenly cold, you grab the afghan hanging over the armrest and throw it over your naked body. “I’m going to try.”

Jungkook turns to you, eyes wide. “Try? Christ, {Name}, were you planning to study instead?”

Guiltily, you meet his dumbfounded gaze. “Maybe?”

“Damn,” the dark-haired young man mutters. “You really would be a complete hermit without me.”

“Would not!” you defend immediately. “I have Jisoo!”

Jimin perks up at the mention of your best friend. “Speaking of Jisoo—she’s pretty cute. What’s her story?”

“Oh, fuck off!” you and Jungkook exclaim simultaneously, turning to the blond man still standing in the middle of your living room.

He chuckles and raises his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. See you at practice tomorrow, Jungkook. And {Name}, I hope you do come to the show. Seriously. We’ve worked hard, and it’s going to be a great performance. Take a study break and live a little, princess.” Shooting you one last playful wink, he saunters out of the room. A few seconds later, you hear the front door click shut behind him.

“Jesus, he’s something else,” you remark with a giggle, turning back toward the dark-haired man lounging beside you.

Jungkook snorts and stretches lazily, one arm coming to rest on the back of the couch, just behind your shoulders. “Yeah, no kidding. You should see him after performances—he gets swarmed by girls and loves every fucking second of it.”

“He does seem like an attention whore,” you admit, grinning when your companion snorts again.

“You’ve got no idea.” Jungkook’s head lolls back, lips parting to release a yawn. Wordlessly, you offer him a corner of your afghan, which he accepts gratefully and throws over his lap.

For a while, the two of you just sit there in comfortable silence. At some point your head falls against his shoulder, and Jungkook quietly shifts to make more room for you against his side. Finally, after several minutes, you exhale heavily, straightening up and looking longingly at your dark bedroom doorway. “God, I’m exhausted.”

Jungkook follows your gaze. “I guess I should let you go to bed,” he murmurs, but there’s something soft and halting in his voice that makes you glance back at him.

“Do…” you start, trailing off awkwardly when his doe eyes lock onto yours. Fidgeting uncomfortably, you clear your throat and continue. “Um. Do you, maybe… want to stay? I mean, it’s pretty late and you live kind of far away…“

Jungkook’s face breaks into a grin. “Sure,” he says softly, reaching up to brush your cheek with his thumb—the motion so tender and intimate that your heart stutters in your chest. “That’d be nice. Thanks.”

“Yeah,” you mumble. “No problem.” Gesturing vaguely toward the bathroom, you add, “You know where the shower is, and all that.”

“I sure do,” he says with a chuckle. “Join me in there?”

You aren’t sure that you can handle being in such close quarters with him just now. “No, you go ahead,” you say, waving him off. “I’ll go after you’re done.”

Concern flickers briefly across his expression before he wipes it away. “All right. I’ll be quick, promise.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s something you want to hear from the guy you’re sleeping with.”

That earns you a hearty cackle. “You know no one else can fuck you as good as I do,” he boasts, standing up and allowing the afghan to fall away from his body. Jungkook stoops down to tap your cheek playfully before strolling off in the direction of the bathroom, whistling under his breath and seemingly completely at ease with his nudity. Shamelessly, you stare until his chiseled ass disappears around the corner and you hear the shower turn on. And only then do you flop backward with a groan, draping an arm over your eyes and allowing the couch cushions to engulf your body.

Already, you are beginning to regret inviting him to spend the night. Even though the two of you have never established any definitive rules against sleepovers, you still feel odd, as if sleeping—just sleeping—in the same bed will irreparably change something about your arrangement with the dark-haired young man. We’re friends, you remind yourself. Friends who also happen to fuck every now and then. That’s what we agreed on.

You still remember the night you came to that agreement—the night you first met Jeon Jungkook. You remember Jisoo squeezing you into one of her too-tight dresses and dragging you to the frat house, excitedly chatting about Neuron’s amazing first performance and their hot new member. You remember how you barely heard a word she said over the thumping bass. Jisoo eventually disappeared somewhere amidst a swirling haze of red cups and bitter alcohol, and you, in an attempt to escape the wandering hands on the dance floor, found your way up to the roof of the house.

The stars were exceptionally bright that evening. Autumn was settling in, and the damp chill in the air almost had you retreating back inside when you spotted a figure silhouetted against the night sky, his face upturned toward the twinkling, diamond-studded heavens. Curiosity piqued, you stepped a little closer. “I didn’t expect anyone else to be out here,” you say by way of greeting.

The young man startles slightly, wide eyes meeting yours. In the dim light shining out of the open window you’d just climbed out of, he looks exactly like what you imagine a deer in headlights would. “Oh! Yeah, uh, I was just looking to get some fresh air,” he explains, gesturing around vaguely. “It was starting to get stuffy downstairs.”

“No kidding.” You nod at the open space beside him. “This seat taken?”

“Nope.” Obligingly, he scoots over to make more room, and you shoot him a grateful smile as you settle down on the rooftop.

“I’m {Name}, by the way,” you introduce, carefully arranging your limbs until you’re sufficiently certain that you’re not flashing your new companion in Jisoo’s absurdly short dress.

The way his gaze lingers on your bare thighs doesn’t go unnoticed by you. Still, his voice remains even when he responds, extending a hand for you to shake. “Jungkook.”

“Jungkook,” you repeat suspiciously, releasing his hand and peering at him a bit more closely. “Why does that sound familiar?”

He chuckles. “I take it you didn’t go to the showcase this afternoon.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh, shit. You’re the new Neuron guy everyone’s been talking about?”

“Guilty as charged,” Jungkook admits, scratching the back of his neck.

You huff out a disbelieving laugh, tugging idly at your short skirt as you crane your head back to admire the night sky. “God. You’re famous, dude. Why aren’t you down there basking in the attention? This party’s for Neuron, after all. You should be down there with Hoseok and Jimin.”

“And drown in the sea of girls?” Jungkook snorts. “No thanks. I’ve had enough stress for the day.”

“Are you saying that girls stress you out?” you tease, giggling. “Because if that’s the case, you really aren’t ready for a co-ed college, bud. Or maybe you’re just not into girls?”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, and you’re momentarily mesmerized by the starry reflections glinting in their depths. “Very funny,” he says dryly. “And not that it’s any of your business, but I’d still like to state for the record that I do, in fact, like girls. The swarm down there’s just a lot to take, okay?”

“Okay,” you say agreeably, leaning back and resting your weight on your outstretched palms. The rooftop is rough underneath your fingertips, but you barely notice as you take the time to observe Jungkook’s profile, admiring the straight cut of his jawline and his dark mop of mussed hair. “Huh. I guess I can see why you’re so popular. Objectively, you are pretty hot.”

This draws another chuckle from your companion. “Oh yeah? In that case, you’re pretty cute too. Objectively.”

You grin at him, and he grins back. He looks rather like a rabbit with those adorably prominent teeth, you notice. But a glance down at his lithe body and strong thighs tells you that he is far from being a floppy-eared woodland critter, and you can’t stop yourself from wondering just what he might look like underneath the loose black t-shirt and ripped jeans. “Jungkook.”

He hums. “Yeah?”

It isn’t like you to be quite so bold, but you suspect the vodka swimming in your system plays a factor in the question that leaves your mouth next. “Do you want to have sex?”

The dark-haired man blinks twice in rapid succession, and you can practically see the gears whirring in his head as he processes your suggestion. “S-sorry, what?” he finally manages after a few long seconds, his large eyes meeting yours.

“Sex,” you repeat patiently, giggling when his eyes widen even more. “You’re hot, I’m cute, and we’re at a dumb frat party. May as well, right?”

Jungkook snorts out a laugh, lips twisting into an impish little smile. “So, what, do you just proposition every passably hot guy at the parties you go to?”

“Of course not,” you say with a grin. “Only the really hot ones.”

He throws back his head, eyes crinkling into mirth-filled crescents as he lets loose a delighted cackle. “You’re really something else,” he remarks, recovering from his bout of hilarity. “And honestly? I’ve been wanting to rip that dress off you ever since I saw you in it.”

His gaze shifts into something dark and ravenous, and you no longer know if the heat simmering in your belly is from arousal or alcohol. “Well,” you start, watching as he stands up and offers you a hand. “That can be arranged. Your place or mine?”

Jungkook grins crookedly. “How about neither? I don’t know where you live, babe, but my place is pretty far. And I’m pretty sure I passed an empty bedroom on the way up here.”

You take his outstretched hand, relishing the way his long fingers curl protectively around yours as he pulls you to your feet. “Lead the way.”

Mere minutes later, you find yourself laying on a stranger’s bed, Jungkook kneeling between your spread thighs and eagerly tearing Jisoo’s tiny dress off your frame. Clothes disappear in a flurry, and you are pleased to discover just how fit he is underneath his shirt, the muscles in his arms straining as he anchors your hips and pushes inside you.

Needless to say, he’s the best you’ve had in a long time—quite possibly the best you’ve ever had. Jungkook is outrageously open-handed when it comes to your pleasure, and between his generosity and ridiculous stamina you’re surprised you haven’t passed out in a haze of euphoric exhaustion.

“Jesus,” you groan when he finally pulls out.

“No, I’m Jungkook,” he corrects, flopping down beside you with a smug little smirk. The mattress bounces slightly under his weight.

Your answering laugh is equal parts incredulity and amusement. “Oh my god, shut up.”

His smirk only widens. “You’re not as mouthy after three orgasms,” he points out wickedly. You respond by whacking him over the head with the nearest pillow, and Jungkook feigns an exaggerated gasp of pain as he collapses flat onto the mattress in a tangle of naked limbs. “But you’re more violent,” he muses quietly, rubbing his chin in thought. “I don’t know if that’s better.”

“Depends on whether you’re a masochist or not,” you reply breezily, replacing the pillow and dragging yourself into a sitting position, glancing around for your discarded dress.

“I might be for you, babe,” Jungkook says with a chuckle, watching as you fish your panties out of the haphazard pile of clothing on the ground and slip them back on. “Fuck. I’d let you do anything you wanted to me as long as I got to be inside that sweet little pussy of yours at the end of it all.”

“That’s weird. You almost sound like you want this to happen again,” you remark, raising a brow. “Shouldn’t you be a fuckboy like those dance buddies of yours? One-and-done, or whatever the fuck you want to call it?”

He shrugs, the corner of his mouth lifting into another smirk. “That’d probably be easier,” he admits, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “But I tend to prefer a little more consistency in my sexual encounters.”

You finally manage to locate your dress, sliding the silky material over your hips and tugging until it lays properly across your breasts. “So what are you suggesting?”

“A mutually beneficial arrangement,” Jungkook replies, watching you struggle with the dress’ zipper for a few seconds before standing up to lend his assistance. Carefully, he brushes your hair away from your bare back as the zipper’s teeth glide into place. “Just sex, no strings attached.”

“Friends with benefits,” you breathe, all too aware of the way his warm fingers are lingering on your exposed shoulders. “That makes sense.”

“Not that I’m trying to force you into anything!” Jungkook’s hand slides to the crook of your neck, gently urging you to turn around and face him. “I mean, this is only if you want to,” he says hastily, and you have to suppress a giggle at his slightly flustered, wide-eyed gaze.

“I know that, you dumbass,” you tell him patiently, reaching up to pat his cheek. “And luckily for you, I do want to.”

A smile twitches at the corner of his mouth, all traces of hesitance disappearing from his face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you confirm with a grin. “Now give me your number so I can have you at my beck and call.”

Jungkook obligingly grabs his crumpled jeans off the floor and retrieves his phone. “Yes, ma’am.”

Still lost in your memories, you don’t hear the shower switch off in the bathroom or the quiet footsteps of your approaching houseguest. Only when a hand settles on your shoulder are you pulled out of your reverie, your startled gaze skittering up to meet Jungkook’s brown one. He’s standing before you with dripping hair, a towel wrapped loosely around his hips and another one folded neatly over his shoulder. “{Name}? You okay?” he asks, his forehead etched with concern.

You nod hurriedly, making to stand up from the couch. Jungkook looks skeptical, but doesn’t press the issue further. Instead he simply hands you the other towel so that you can wrap it around yourself on the way to the bathroom. A hot shower is just what you need to clear your head.

By the time you leave the bathroom, Jungkook is already sprawled out in your bed, the blanket thrown haphazardly across his bare chest. He grins lazily as you approach him, taking in the loose tee and lacy panties you’re wearing. “C’mere,” he murmurs, lifting a corner of the blanket so you can crawl underneath.

Quietly, you join him under the covers, careful to leave a few inches of space between your bodies, but that doesn’t seem to satisfy Jungkook in the least. One strong arm finds its way around your waist, tugging you flush against his warm body. The other reaches down to squeeze the curve of your ass playfully, drawing an alarmed shriek from your mouth. “Jungkook!”

He chuckles. “Couldn’t help it, your ass looks fucking incredible in this thing.” As if to emphasize his point, he slides two fingers underneath the elastic waistband of your panties, snapping it teasingly against your skin.

You retaliate with a sharp elbow to his ribcage, fighting to suppress the smile that threatens to curl across your face. “Go to bed, you pervert.”

Jungkook just laughs again, obediently rolling over to switch off the bedside lamp sitting on your nightstand. “Night, babe,” he murmurs as the room goes dark. You vaguely see his shadowy silhouette settle back down next to you, listening as the mattress springs creak underneath his weight.

But he doesn’t try to reach for you again, and you can’t explain away the sudden, aching emptiness that slithers between your ribs and settles in your chest, just below your erratically pounding heart.

///

When you wake up the next morning, it’s to bright sunlight suffusing the room through the open curtains and stifling warmth pressed up against your back. It takes you a full three seconds to realize that there is an arm wrapped tightly around your waist, and another two to identify the arm’s owner as Jeon Jungkook. All at once, your stomach drops to somewhere near your toes, your heart leaping up into your throat and threatening to burst forth from your mouth entirely. “Oh, shit,” you breathe, trying to wriggle free from his embrace. “Shit.”

By some miracle or perhaps just dumb luck, you manage to escape the strong arm banded around you without awakening its owner. All your previous assumptions about Jungkook sprawling out like a starfish in bed are incorrect, you realize. He’s no starfish—he’s a goddamn koala. Your sleep-addled brain conjures up an image of Jungkook’s head pasted onto a koala’s body, and the sheer absurdity of it sends you into a fit of convulsive giggles that you just barely manage to contain with a hand slapped over your mouth. Still chortling, you somehow find the strength to throw your legs over the edge of the mattress and rise to your feet.

It takes several seconds to recover from your outburst, but after a few deep breaths you glance back toward the dark-haired man still fast asleep in your bed. His mouth is parted slightly, his breathing deep and even, and for a fleeting moment you think just how unfair it is that his lips look so deliciously soft first thing in the morning. Personally, you’re in dire need of some chapstick and a toothbrush—not to mention some much-needed distance from your still-sleeping fuck buddy—and it’s with that thought in mind that you head into the adjoining bathroom, shutting the door firmly before slumping against it with a low groan.

You’re in over your head. It’s something you’ve known for a while now but have stubbornly refused to admit, telling yourself that your feelings for the dark-haired man extend no further than simple friendship. But now, with Jungkook sound asleep in your bed after spending the night, you can no longer deny the very real feelings bubbling in your chest.

“Shit,” you mumble again, dropping to the floor and pulling your knees to your chest. Your heart beats frantically against your ribcage like a caged hummingbird, and it takes every ounce of discipline you possess to not break down right then and there.

Instead, you take three long, deep breaths—letting your eyes fall shut and exhaling through your nose. You concentrate on the rise and fall of your chest—feel the way oxygen rushes into your expanding lungs—and when your heartbeat eventually settles into a more even rhythm, you clamber to your feet and reach for the toothpaste.

When you emerge from the bathroom ten minutes later, Jungkook is sitting upright in bed with an expression that’s halfway between a pout and a frown, his eyes still obstinately squeezed shut. At the sound of the door opening, he turns, one eye blinking open blearily to regard your figure silhouetted in the doorway. “Hey.” His voice is still raspy from sleep, a full octave lower than his normal pitch, and you can practically see the gears whirring weakly in his head, adamantly telling him to stay awake.

“Hey yourself,” you respond, carefully picking your way across the room to your dresser and trying to ignore the way his gaze follows your every move.

“I don’t have a toothbrush,” he murmurs sleepily. Turning around, you see that both his eyes have fallen shut again. “Can I borrow yours?”

You throw open the bottom drawer, digging through to locate your favorite pair of jeans and plucking them out from among the other piles of folded denim. “Gross.”

Jungkook chuckles hoarsely, one hand reaching up to rake through his already-tousled hair. “I had my tongue halfway down your throat yesterday, babe.”

“That is not the same thing,” you say pointedly. “You can have some of my mouthwash though.”

He hums in assent, stretching both arms overhead and groaning when something pops. “’S fine,” he mumbles, craning his neck and wincing at the resulting crack. “Hey, what would it take to convince you to come over here and give me a massage?”

“Baked goods. Probably at least an entire cake,” you reply, selecting a balled up t-shirt from your dresser and chucking it at his head. It unravels in midair and flops sadly over his face instead, and you giggle as he claws halfheartedly at the red material before shaking it off and tossing it onto the bed.

“A cake it is,” he says. “Can you come over here and get rid of this knot in my neck? Please?”

Not for the first time, you wish Jeon Jungkook wasn’t so goddamn irresistible. “Lay down,” you sigh, approaching the bed and watching as he sends you the most radiant, grateful grin you’ve ever seen before flopping down onto the mattress. Tentatively, you settle next to him, leaning over and placing your hands on his bare shoulders. “How’s that?” you murmur, rubbing circles into his warm skin.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he groans, melting under your touch. “Just for this, I’m making you two cakes. And a batch of cookies. Any kind you want.”

“You can’t even bake,” you retort. “I’m pretty sure you would just end up setting yourself on fire.”

He snickers quietly, his shoulders quaking underneath your fingertips. “How would I set myself on fire with an oven?”

“You’d find a way.”

Jungkook hums out a content sigh when you begin working on a particularly tense spot in his back. “Fine, so I might need your supervision.”

You snort, shaking your head. “I have a better idea—why don’t you just buy me all the desserts I want? Less babysitting, more instant gratification.” Teasingly, you poke him in the ribs, giggling when he wriggles away and nearly tangles himself up in the mess of blankets on your bed. However, the grin is wiped promptly off your face when he suddenly rolls over, two strong hands gripping your hips and dragging you down onto the mattress. In an instant, you are on your back with Jungkook hovering over you triumphantly, a smug smirk painted across his handsome face.

“Instant gratification, huh?” He leans down until his nose brushes against yours, his dark gaze penetrating. “I can help with that, you know.”

He’s being too intimate. Everything about this—the sleepover, the impromptu massage—is far too intimate. Too domestic. Too romantic—as if he’s your boyfriend and you’re in love. This close to him, you feel as if all the air has been sucked straight from your lungs, your eyes widening when you see him descending even further to press a kiss to your mouth. “Damn it, Kook,” you grumble, mustering up your strength and shoving him away before your lips have the chance to touch. “Why are you so horny all the damn time?”

Jungkook rolls off of you, stretching like a cat before settling on his side and propping his cheek in his open palm. “What can I say?” he murmurs, wide gaze raking across your sprawled figure. “I can’t resist you.”

There’s something unspeakably tender in his tone, something that sinks between your ribcage and takes up residence in your chest, winding around your heart and squeezing until you can barely breathe. “D-don’t say such ridiculous bullshit,” you stutter, unable to look him in the eye. “Don’t you have places to be, or something? Jimin said something about practice yesterday, didn’t he?”

You don’t see the way Jungkook’s eyes flash with equal parts hurt and anger. You don’t see the way his fists clench in the rumpled sheets, wrinkling the soft cotton. Your gaze is fixated firmly on the sliver of blue sky visible from your window, and you don’t dare look away until you hear him mumble a quiet yeah and feel the mattress shift underneath you as he gets up and walks into the bathroom. The door clicks shut behind him, and only then do you release the breath that you’re holding.

Minutes pass—minutes that you spend simply focusing on your breathing and trying to quell your tumultuous thoughts. You listen to the water running through the pipes in the ceiling while valiantly ignoring the sound of the shower in the adjacent bathroom—the sound that signals Jungkook’s lingering presence in your apartment. Groaning, you roll over onto your stomach and smother your face into the nearest pillow, but one whiff tells you that it’s the one Jungkook slept on last night and the realization sends you recoiling back and off the bed entirely.

You need to do laundry, and you need to do it as soon as possible. Anything to get Jungkook’s pleasantly musky, boyish scent off your sheets and pillows—anything to forget last night’s mistake of a sleepover and return things to normal.

Heart pounding, you back out of your bedroom and into the kitchen. The empty pizza box from the other night is still sitting in your trash bin like a taunt, and you resist the urge to flee again at the memories it brings up. Instead, you wrench open your refrigerator in search for a distraction, your gaze flitting across the empty shelves with growing distress. “Fuck.”

“You still haven’t gone grocery shopping, have you.” Jungkook’s voice suddenly sounds from behind you, and it’s not a question. Whirling around, you glance guiltily at his tall frame silhouetted in the entryway, one dark eyebrow raised at your predicament. “Jesus, {Name}.”

“I’ll go tomorrow,” you promise weakly. “I have some free time then.”

Jungkook shakes his head, closing the distance between you in a few short strides and tilting your chin up with his index finger. “For someone so smart, you’re absolute shit at taking care of yourself,” he says sternly. “What’s stopping you from going today?”

“I have to study,” you say, already knowing exactly how feeble an excuse it is when the first few syllables leave your mouth. “And, um. Your showcase is this afternoon.”

He brightens. “You’re coming?”

You swallow, hating how happy he suddenly looks—as if your presence at his performance means the world to him. “Y-yeah. I’ll do my best.”

Jungkook reaches up to cup your cheek, his thumb smoothing across the skin just below your right eye. “I’m holding you to that,” he murmurs seriously. For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you.

But then he’s pulling away again, his hand dropping back down to his side as he steps back and offers you a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You watch as he grabs his duffel bag, swinging it over his shoulder before patting down his pockets for his wallet and keys. And then he’s walking off, disappearing out your front door and leaving you completely and utterly speechless in his wake.

///

You can’t focus.

Admittedly, it’s hard to focus on the words swimming across the pages of your textbook when your stomach is constantly and loudly protesting its current state of emptiness. Grumbling, you snatch your phone up from the table, unlocking the device and sending off a text to your best friend.

[10:04am] You: I’m starving, wanna get food?

Her response comes in almost immediately:

[10:04am] Jisoo: Don’t move a muscle, I’m coming over!!

Jisoo bursts into your apartment thirty minutes later with two paper bags and a massive thermos, her mouth already open and ready to berate you for your lack of self-care.

“Look, I know it’s finals week and all that, but you have got to take better care of yourself,” she trills, slamming the thermos down in front of you. “That’s coffee, drink up. I’ve got breakfast sandwiches in here—“ she drops one bag into your lap, “—and some basic groceries in here so you don’t die in the next couple days.”

Turning on her heel, she marches into your kitchen and begins emptying the contents of the second bag. You watch as she pulls out a carton of milk and a small crate of eggs, shoving both into your refrigerator before taking out a box of cereal and placing it on the counter. “I didn’t tell you I didn’t have any groceries,” you mumble, awed by her kindness.

“No, but you asked if I wanted to get breakfast,” Jisoo replies, fixing you with a knowing stare. “And you never ask if I want to get food unless your fridge is empty. Besides,” she adds, pulling out a box of crackers and another of cookies, “you always neglect your health when it comes to final exams. I kind of figured you’d already be half-starved to death by now, so it’s honestly a wonder you still look okay.” Her gaze skitters over to the pizza box in your trash, one perfectly arched brow raising. “Did you order pizza?”

You bite your lip. “Jungkook brought it over.”

“Thank god,” she sighs. “At least your boyfriend is taking care of you so I don’t have to worry so damn much.”

“Not my boyfriend.”

Your perfunctory response only earns you an exaggerated eye-roll from the dark-haired girl. “Yeah, yeah. Your fuck buddy then, whatever.” Pulling two mugs out of the cabinet, she joins you at the table, grabbing the thermos and pouring generous helpings of hot coffee into both before sliding one to you. “Did he bring it over yesterday?”

“Day before,” you murmur. “But… he was here yesterday too.”

“Of course he was.” Jisoo settles back comfortably in her chair, taking a long sip of coffee and nodding at the brown paper bag still sitting in your lap. “Hand me a sandwich and tell me everything.”

So you do. You detail all the events of the last two days—from your impromptu pizza dinner and study date to Jungkook’s departure just a couple hours ago. Jisoo listens intently the entire time, her eyes widening when you tell her about Jimin’s involvement, and narrowing in smug satisfaction when you mention the sleepover.

“God, it’s about time. I was wondering when you’d finally let him spend the night.”

“That’s not the point!” you exclaim, slamming your mug down onto the table a bit too vigorously and sloshing hot coffee across the wooden surface. “Fuck. I just… fuck. It shouldn’t have happened. I shouldn’t have let him stay.”

Jisoo flinches back at the sudden spill, her eyes widening. “{Name}, it’s fine. It was late, and you were just looking out for him. No big deal.”

You shake your head. “Jisoo, he’s never spent the night. What if he gets all weird about it? What if this ruins our friendship?”

She raises a brow. “Honestly, sweetie, it looks like you’re the one getting weird. Besides, he wouldn’t have agreed to stay if he didn’t actually want to.”

You are about to open your mouth to protest again, but Jisoo cuts you off with a raised finger and a fistful of clean, slightly crumpled napkins.

“Nope, no more talking about it. I’m going to clean this mess up, you’re going to open that box of cookies I brought over, and we’re going to watch shitty reality TV until you’re not overthinking things anymore. Got it?”

You sigh and turn toward the kitchen, having learned long ago how useless it is to argue with Jisoo once she’s made up her mind. “Fine.”

///

There is already a sizeable crowd forming in the open lot behind the performing arts building by the time you and Jisoo arrive. Music blares through the loudspeakers, the bass boosted high enough to vibrate the ground beneath your feet. A makeshift stage sits at the very edge of the lot, steel gray beams rising up against the cloudless blue backdrop of the sky to hold aloft a simple white banner with Neuron emblazoned across the front in bold black text.

“Let’s get closer to the front,” Jisoo suggests, grabbing your wrist and dragging you forward until you are practically toeing the flimsy metal barricade corralling the audience.

“I’m gonna go deaf,” you lament, distastefully eyeing the speaker system sitting just a few feet away on the grass.

As if on cue, the music dies down, and Jisoo nudges you playfully as Hoseok ascends the steps to the stage, followed by Jimin and Jungkook. All three are decked out in ripped jeans and loose-fitting shirts with the topmost buttons undone, no doubt to expose a teasing flash of collarbone with every movement.

“Hey, everyone!” Hoseok steps up to the front where a microphone is set up, giving it a few taps before flashing his dazzling trademark grin. Cheers ring out, and the red-haired man beams. “Welcome to Neuron’s spring showcase!” he continues once the noise has died down. “I know we’re all busy with exams, but the three of us really appreciate you guys taking the time to come see us. We’ve worked incredibly hard on this routine—I’m sure Jimin and Jungkook can vouch for that—and we’re really excited to show it to you guys today. So thanks for coming out, and we hope you enjoy the show!”

Applause breaks out, and Hoseok’s beam widens as he turns away from the microphone and strides back to join his fellow dancers. His emerald green shirt billows in the breeze as he takes his position on Jungkook’s left and leaves the youngest member in the center—sunshine yellow shirt standing out like a beacon against Hoseok’s green and Jimin’s royal blue. The music starts up again—something low that pulsates with a bass line so heavy you can feel it rumbling in your chest—and you watch in fascination as Jungkook strides forward, each step as calculated and graceful as a prowling cat. One hand rakes through his hair as the other trails down his chest, and when someone in the audience whoops, an absolutely devastating smirk stretches across his lips and settles there.

Hoseok and Jimin join him then, flanking the younger man on either side and joining the choreography seamlessly. One by one, the three dancers fall to the floor, catching on their palms and kicking outward before sliding to their knees. The hip thrusts that follow send the audience into a frenzy, but you barely hear the boisterous cheers over the sound of your pounding heart. Jungkook’s gaze is roving across the crowd intently, and somehow, you know that he is looking for you.

The performance continues. Jimin leaps over Jungkook as the song changes, landing neatly and rolling his hips in time with the new, sultry rhythm. Without missing a beat, Jungkook rises smoothly to his feet and falls back alongside Hoseok. His eyes are still flitting across the audience, and for a brief, insane moment, you consider ducking behind Jisoo and using her as cover.

And then his gaze finds you at last, his brown eyes alight with a fire that you rarely see in the normally mild-mannered young man. You are unable to look away from his piercing stare, the erratic thud of your heartbeat against your ribcage a stark contrast to the smooth, seductive beat still pouring from the speakers. The pounding bass echoes heavy in your ears, the music wrapping around you like a blanket as you watch Jungkook move across the stage, each move flowing effortlessly into the next.

Before you know it, raucous applause fills the air. Startled, you tear your gaze away from Jungkook, taking in the furiously clapping audience surrounding you. To your left, Jisoo cheers heartily, tugging on your arm and grinning so hard you fear her mouth might fall off entirely. “That was their best performance yet!” she shouts. “I can’t believe you get to experience those hips firsthand, you lucky bitch.”

You flush at her insinuation. “Oh my god, Jisoo.”

She simply laughs, flicking her long hair over one shoulder. “Shut up, you love me. Are you gonna go congratulate Jungkook now?”

“Oh.” Glancing back up at the stage, your heartbeat picks up when you realize that it is now devoid of all three dancers. The intensity of Jungkook’s piercing stare is burned into your memory, and you can’t even begin to pinpoint the emotions roiling in your tummy at the thought of talking to him. “I, uh. I guess I should probably find him.”

Jisoo beams and waggles her fingers in farewell. “Well, don’t let me keep you from loverboy,” she singsongs cheerfully. And before you can berate her for the nickname, she’s already skipping off, tinkling laugh echoing behind her.

You heave a sigh, watching her disappear amongst the remaining members of the audience. People are milling about, all smiles and cheery chatter as they enjoy the reprieve from final exams. Hoseok’s distinctive hair catches your attention immediately, shining like a cherry-red beacon in a large group gathered near the stage. Expectantly, you scan the faces surrounding the dance captain, but the one you’re seeking is nowhere to be seen.

“Looking for me?”

Whirling around, you find yourself face-to-face with a thoroughly amused Jimin, one hand tucked casually into the pocket of his tight jeans while the other rakes through his ruffled blond hair. “Because if so, there’s no need to look further. I’m right here, princess.”

You snort out an incredulous laugh and roll your eyes. “Dream on, Park.”

“Believe me, after last night? You’ve been showing up plenty in my dreams,” Jimin replies with a wink. When that only earns him another eye-roll, however, he tucks both hands into the pockets of his jeans and relents with a good-natured chuckle. “Anyway. You enjoy the show?”

“It was incredible,” you say honestly. “Really. I’m… I’m glad I came.”

Jimin’s face stretches into a smug grin. “Glad you came to see Jeon?”

Ignoring the knowing look in his eyes, you shrug. “Needed a study break.”

He chuckles and reaches out to ruffle your hair. “Sure, princess.” Then he’s turning around and hollering for Jungkook, his grin widening when said young man immediately extricates himself from a nearby group of students and jogs over. “{Name}, why don’t you tell Jungkookie here what you were just telling me?” Jimin claps the other man on the back and offers you another saucy wink before strolling off. His golden head of hair quickly disappears amidst a group of squealing girls, leaving you alone with a wide-eyed Jungkook.

“What were you telling him?” the dark-haired young man asks, his brow furrowing.

“Nothing!” you say quickly. “I mean, well… I was talking about how incredible the show was, but then he made it all weird. I don’t know.” Huffing out a sigh, you meet his gaze. “You guys were great, though. Really great.”

A small smile twitches at the corners of his mouth. “Thanks.”

“Yeah. You’re welcome.”

For a few seconds, the two of you simply stand there. Jungkook shuffles awkwardly, scuffing his heel against the asphalt, and your gaze finds his sneaker-clad feet before darting over to your own toes. A crumpled beer can rolls by, buoyed by the spring breeze. You tuck a stray strand of hair back behind your ear.

“So, I guess I should go—” you start, making to walk away.

Simultaneously, Jungkook plants his feet and blurts, “D-do you want to go out?”

Both of you stop, blinking owlishly at the other. “What?” you ask dumbly, certain you’d misheard him.

Jungkook’s cheeks flush pink. “I… um. Fuck, I’m really not good at this.” Sheepishly, he scratches the back of his neck, brown eyes flickering up to meet yours as he sucks in a deep breath and slowly releases it again. “Look, I know this is kind of shitty timing. Really shitty timing. And I know you might, uh—well, you probably don’t feel the same way. But I…”He swallows, his throat bobbing anxiously before he exhales the next six words in a rush. “Fuck. I really like you, {Name}.”

Your voice, when you find it, is little more than a confused stammer. “Y-you… wh-what?”

Jungkook shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose and huffing out a self-deprecating little chuckle. “I’ve ruined everything haven’t I? Shit. I’m sorry. I’m just so into you… but I totally understand if you don’t want to see me anymore. It’s just—I just couldn’t hold it in any longer, you know? And seeing you with Jimin drove me fucking crazy—“

“Kook.”

“—I mean, it was hot and all, but it also made me realize that I want you to myself but that’s probably not possible now. Fuck, sorry. I’ve ruined everything and I’m s—“

“Kook!”

The dark-haired man finally pauses in his rambling, eyes wide. “Y-yeah?”

Nervously, you tug your bottom lip between your teeth, worrying at the delicate skin. “You… like me?”

Jungkook sucks in another long breath before giving you a tiny nod. “Yeah.”

“But you said… before, back when we first met…” you mumble weakly, mind still whirring to process his confession. “You said no strings.”

“I know,” he says, running a frazzled hand through his hair. “But… things changed, you know? We got to know each other better and I realized how incredible you are—how smart and funny and nice and—and I just…” He sighs. “I had to tell you how I feel. But I know you don’t want a relationship, so I’m just gonna leave before I embarrass myself any more…”

He trails off, already turning to walk away when you snap back to your senses, reaching out and grabbing ahold of his hand. “Wait!”

Jungkook blinks. “Huh?”

“You didn’t even let me talk, dummy,” you admonish gently, squeezing his hand.

He glances down at your intertwined hands, his expression morphing into one of tentative hope as he waits for you to continue. Your heartbeat thuds rapidly in your chest, threatening to burst out from your ribcage entirely as you search for the right words.

“I… I think you’re incredible too,” you finally manage after a few seconds, wincing at how awkward you sound. Jungkook, however, doesn’t seem to mind the stilted nature of your words. His face melts into a crinkly, full-fledged grin—one that shines brighter than his yellow shirt, brighter than the sun overhead.

“Yeah?” he asks, squeezing your hand. His grin doesn’t falter for a single second.

“Yeah,” you confirm, unable to look him in the eye. “And, um. I... I like you too. In case that wasn’t clear.”

Jungkook bursts into laughter, releasing your hand in favor of wrapping his arms around your waist and tugging you close. “You’re so cute,” he says, leaning down to pepper kisses across both of your cheeks before finding your mouth.

“And you’re a dumbass,” you mumble, your face flushing when he just lets loose another delighted cackle and kisses you again.

“But I’m your dumbass,” he retorts playfully once he’s had his fill of your mouth. “All yours. What do you wanna do for our first date?”

You hum thoughtfully, fisting your hands in the soft material of his yellow shirt. “Well, you did promise me baked goods this morning.”

“I did, didn’t I? Then that settles it—let’s go grocery shopping.” Jungkook’s hand finds yours again, and when he laces your fingers together, you cannot help but think that nothing has ever felt more perfect. Still, you’ve never been able to resist an opportunity to tease him, and your new relationship status isn’t about to change that.

“Gave up on the idea of baking me cake already, huh?”

“Hey, I never said that. I just figured going to the store would be quicker.”

Your dark-haired boyfriend—because yes, he’s your boyfriend now—glances down at you, the beginnings of something wicked glimmering in his eyes.

“After all—we’re going to need a lot of sustenance with the way I’m planning on fucking you tonight.”

⇢ a bit more [prequel].

[spunknbite]

1920s, Crowley in a flapper dress

She’d found Aziraphale sitting at the bar; leaned into his shoulders from behind - well, fell into his shoulders, really - the sound of her Mary Janes skittering across the polished parquet floor echoed the tap tap tap of the cymbals on stage, resonant even amidst the clamour of the band’s horn section.

“Angel!” And she was drunk, drunker than Aziraphale had ever seen her, possibly drunker than anyone’s ever been and survived. What did the locals call it? Smoked. Zozzled. Ossified. Out on the roof. She was drunk enough that Aziraphale was more shocked by that, by her graceless stumble and flushed cheeks, than actually seeing her again after decades of one-sided, desperate attempts at communication.

I visited. You weren’t there. You haven’t been home in years.

She was laughing, whether at the very sight of him here of all places or just because of the alcohol poisoning her blood, Aziraphale wasn’t sure. It was uninhibited and musical, a cheerful allegro like the jazz of the club, and she straightened up only to fall into him again, laughing more, face pressed into the back of his neck. “It’sss good to sssee you, angel.” Aziraphale shivered; he could feel her breath, smell the acrid alcohol on it, and he pivoted off his stool before she could fall again, and took her by her bare arm. Such a recent trend, these bare arms, and despite living lifetimes upon lifetimes before modesty had even been imagined, the speakeasy seemed to dim around him at the feel of Crowley’s naked arm - the bony length of it peppered with tan freckles so delicate Aziraphale thought that if he were to blow across her skin, they may get caught in the air and drift away like dandelion seeds; the soft curve of her forearm tapering to a delicate wrist; an elbow that begged to be held, guided, offered support - it would have been so scandalous a thing only a few decades ago, this exposed skin. Bolts of fabric separated them at their last meeting.

“New York suits you,” he’d told her as he helped her onto the stool next to his, lifted her up at the hips as though she weighed nothing. She was more chiffon and beads and pearls than body, the sort of slight figure the decade craved, a Fitgeraldian muse made real. She leaned into his touch, and Aziraphale would have said something else, God only knows what, had she not swayed so. 

The speakeasy was a shrine to dangerous pleasures. It’s as if it was made for you. Perhaps it was made by you. A church, no, a cathedral; a place of congregation and worship, of communion. Communicants partook in the Eucharist with poorly distilled spirits that reeked of carbonic acid; the altar was laid with dirty glasses and ashtrays. Did Crowley inlay the mosaics of this basilica with jazz music, press sharp notes into its walls and ordain them with hymns from a tenor saxophone? 

It was a place that venerated the prohibited: the drinking, the gambling, the dancing, the skirts and their hems creeping higher with every passing year, and the men who pushed them higher still in intimate moments on the dance floor, men who slipped drunken hands between nyloned legs and women who let them with airy laughs. 

That dress suits you, he thought: the fall of it over her thighs, the way the tassels spread out over nyloned knees leaving glimpses of skin through sheer fabric, and Aziraphale made a point not to think of her bent over a bed some hours prior, pulling the silk stockings over smooth calves and up her thighs, hooking them into tightly cinched garters. The embroidered beads were stitched in geometric Art Deco patterns across her bust. Architectural. The Chrysler Building they’re engineering on Lexington Avenue, a modern Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore, a wonder.

He grasped her by the elbow and remained standing next to her. “Going to catch me if I fall?” Her words were slurred, her eyes alight even behind shaded glasses.

Syncopation. That’s what made jazz jazz, or so Crowley would later claim over drinks on another night, in another decade entirely, in a different city. It was the unexpected parts of the rhythm, the off-beats and backbeats, oddly accented notes and chords, disturbances in the flow of the tempo, the surprise mid-song when the audience anticipated the direction - verse, chorus, bridge, as it almost always went - but the music veered wildly askew, and the ending was nowhere near where the beginning projected.

Aziraphale didn’t hear the off-beats but he finished his gin. The Body of Christ. Amen.

Crowley was still swaying, possibly to the music. She smiled at Aziraphale’s concern with a sort of condescending fondness that made Aziraphale hold her elbow tighter, and she signaled the bartender, who must have known her because in short seconds a whiskey, neat, was delivered.

It smelled foul. It wasn’t properly distilled, maybe wasn’t even actual whiskey - industrial grade alcohol - but Crowley downed it in one go and then idly smoothed the points of her bob, attention back to the stage.

“Bad day at the office? I’ve never seen you so - ”

But she wasn’t listening. “The band’sss good tonight.” Her snake was showing. Well past her wordy phase then, past a bottle or four in the backroom. Past reminiscing about eras forgotten to recorded history, past animated declarations and debates on subjects no one on Earth but the two of them recalled. She was quiet drunk now, calm drunk. Listen to music and fall asleep on Aziraphale’s settee drunk. 

“You’re aware drinking is still legal in London? It’s not made in bathtubs there. Trifle better quality, I’d - ”

Crowley was still smiling warmly, and she placed a finger against Aziraphale’s lips to hush him, leaned close so that her lips grazed his ear, “It’sss good to sssee you, but don’t drown out the music, angel. This one has ssswing.” And Aziraphale was rendered silent, not for the music, which he supposed wasn’t as intolerable as he’d first thought, but because her pulse seemed to beat in time with the song’s tempo, and it reverberated up her arm and into the tips of Azirapbale’s fingers still on her elbow. They listened together, Crowley to the band and Aziraphale to the rhythm of Crowley’s body. 

The song ended and an equally bombastic one began, and the dancers behind them rallied for another. “Not as good,” she said, almost catching Aziraphale’s eyes as her glasses slipped down her nose. “Been a long, a long, long - ” she stumbled for the word.

“Time?” Aziraphale offered, then nodded. “Yes, rather.” The decades had lurched by, fussy ruffles shortening to sleeveless dresses that fit her so elegantly. When did you start dressing this way? How much have I missed? 

Crowley seemed unfazed and she signaled for another drink. “Why New York?” 

“Business. Seeing a Mrs. Rockefeller about opening up a gallery of sorts. Promising work. Thought I’d have an evening out, see what all the fuss is about.” The bartender passed her another whiskey. “And what brings you here?”

“I like it here.” She swallowed her drink.

“New York or the Cotton Club?”

A hum, then, “Both.”

“Have you been here long?”

“I just hopped over to unwind after the war.” 

“The war ended ten years ago.”

“Needed to unwind a lot, I guess.” She reached across to him and loosened Aziraphale’s bow tie just a smidge, eyebrow cocked in a challenge, quirked lips dripping a ruby-lipsticked smile. “You ssshould unwind a little.”

Aziraphale dismissed the gesture. “Listen, I’m dreadfully sorry about that business in St James’s - ”

“Nah, nah, none of that.” She waved her arm and toppled into him.

“It’s just that it’s been so long and I never intended to upset - ” He’d practiced the words on the steps of Crowley’s flat, whispered them to a closed door.

“Ssstop it, it’sss done.” She was still leaning on him, close enough that Aziraphale could see under her glasses to eyes heavy with charcoal and the weight of millennia. 

Aziraphale wanted to finish - This isn’t fraternizing. This matters, whatever it is that this even is, but Crowley wasn’t receptive, and he wouldn’t drag her through it when she was hardly able to sit up without falling. It was enough to be in her company again. “Are you planning on staying much longer? I’m sure there’s plenty of tempting to be done in New York.” And Crowley laughed again, a little hysterical this time, as Aziraphale helped her sit back up on the stool.

“Nah, wouldn’t work. Can’t leave London for good.”

“And why’s that, my dear?”

It was as if his words absorbed the alcohol and she was suddenly cool-headed, straight-backed, words exacting, cutting. “You’re in London,” she said on the off-beat, and Aziraphale reeled from the tempo change, from the dissonant chords. A bent note played by sliding between the established ones, a jolt away from the assumed.

She started as if to signal the bartender again, but Aziraphale slipped his hand around her wrist.

“Time to sober up, I’d wager. Can’t be good for you, all this counterfeit alcohol.”

“Don’t want to hear the truth?” She was still slurring, but her face was hard and composed.

“Best to stop before you say something you’ll regret.”

“I’ll regret saying it or you’ll regret hearing it?” She’d removed her glasses in public for the first time Aziraphale could recall in centuries, and her Kohl-rimmed eyes were bloodshot.

“Both, I imagine.”

She flung herself off the stool and into the crowd, glasses back on, wobbling only a few steps in her heels before Aziraphale caught her by the arm.

“If you’re unwilling to sober up, at least let me help you home. Where are you staying?”

She pulled into him, took his hand like they were dancing, like they were the sort of people who danced together often enough they were good at it, tuned to the other’s movements and rhythm, and she said to him, “You’ll put me to bed?” Her voice was thick with whiskey and mourning. “Isss that all you want, angel?”

He could picture it, there on the dance floor holding her hand like they might be lovers, like this might be an unremarkable evening out like any other. He could envision coming home to a shared flat, unlocking the door and flipping on a familiar light switch in a hall decorated with both their things. He’d remove her coat, glide it off her shoulders and down now bare arms, and the fur lining would caress her naked skin. She would lean against him as he hung her coat in a closet, and whisper to him, “Put me to bed?” Too drunk to do little more than be scooped up and carried to their bed, where he’d cushion her against velvet pillows so she would be comfortable, her short hair fanned out around her like a halo, and he’d hike up her slip and dress - God, she was so beautiful in that dress, all right angles and hard corners longing to be softened, a dress he could have bought her in this little fantasy, purchased it at some unseemly shop that reputable people would never visit, and he would have left it on their bed in a gift box for her to find and unwrap some afternoon - it would have been the first time she wore it out, and it would be a shame to take it off now when it clung to her like a second skin. So he’d shimmy the beaded fringe past her garters, and over jagged hip bones, sharp like a note, like a semitone step up on a work of sheet music. “Bed me, angel?” She’d ask as he lifted her hips up to drag her knickers down, and she’d make the sweetest sound when he’d dip his tongue into her, musical like her laugh, an elegy for lost and wasted time, an open cadence, an unfinished song, uncomposed and wanting.

Aziraphale said nothing but still held Crowley’s hand. The final notes hummed through the club and someone announced the next performers to a temporary lull in the music. Crowley pulled back and gestured wildly at the stage. “Don’t like jazz, do you? It’s because of the polyphony - you know what that even isss, angel? Ever study any mus-music-musical theory at the opera? It’sss when competing melodiesss overlap. When the Goddamn bass playsss opp-oppos - ” She slurred, shaking her head in frustration, “When the bass or sssaxophone or piano or what-the-fuck-ever playsss counterpoint to the trumpet or some other instrument, and it ssshould be a fucking messss, and it is if you’re listening to the individual melodies only, but if you can get past the fucking dissonance of it, you’d sssee it’s fucking harmonious and it all fits together.” She took a step back. “You can’t listen for ssshit, angel.”

“Crowley - ”

“I’ll come back to London when I ssstop hearing the harmony.”

The band picked back up and Crowley left.

[chonkychornes]

Open Arms Part 4

Synopsis: You come back broken from a mission, and the one person who could barely put himself back together is the one who is trying to help you.

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Language? Angst. Smut…eventually.  UST. 4 of ? parts. How’s this as a warning: this is my first reader insert fic and it was a challenge, y’all. So, as long as it isn’t the worst thing anyone has ever read, I’m still doing okay! I hope you enjoy it!

Also, this is really for @quant-um-fizzx​ I couldn’t have/wouldn’t have done any of this without her help and guidance.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

You’re not sure when it happens, but James Barnes has somehow become your closest confidant. You don’t blame yourself; he’s always around. Meeting up with you after therapy sessions, sparring with you in the gym. Walking with you around the grounds of the compound and leaning on your kitchen counters while he watches you cook. 

No, you don’t blame yourself; you blame Steven Rogers. 

Steve hasn’t been keeping up his end of the bargain. That bargain that he proposed. He hasn’t been available after therapy and you actually can’t remember the last time the two of you had dinner alone. 

This is Steve’s fault … so he’s going to fix it; no matter what. 

“Steve, get him away from me. I’m begging you.” You’re pacing in the office Steve has and it’s currently on lockdown. No extra ears and no one can enter without permission. It was the only way you could talk to him without being interrupted

He’s leaning back in his desk chair staring at you amusedly. You have no idea what strikes him as funny in this instance, but it’s annoying. “Hon, I don’t know what you want me to do about it? You struck a deal with the both of us and it sounds like Buck is just making you stick with it since I can’t always be there.”

“How convenient,” you’re getting huffy. “I don’t need a babysitter, Steve.”

“Is that really how you see him? Think of this as accountability.”

The snort that emanates from your body is so out of character, that both you and Steve pause before he chuckles. 

“What do you have against Bucky anyway? He, like all of us, is just looking out for you.”

You plop down in the chair opposite Steve’s desk and sigh, frustration evident across your face. “I don’t have anything against Bucky,” you spit. “And I don’t need Bucky looking out for me.”

Steve stares at you for a moment and a smirk creeps up to his face. “You called him ‘Bucky.’”

The two of you stare at each other for a few beats and you suddenly realize that you can’t read Steve like you used to. Unspoken conversations were a common occurrence between you both along with anticipating each other’s needs or wants. 

Nope, you’re now experiencing this with James fucking Barnes. 

For a brief moment, you wonder if a quick roll in the proverbial hay will clear anything up between you. Something hard and fast to clear the cobwebs. 

You know that’s exactly what you need, except the man sitting across from you isn’t who you want. 

You want Bucky Barnes. 

And it hits you like several tons of bricks. 

You have what can only be classified as the hots for the man with the metal arm. 

But … it’s not just that, is it? That man really understands you and doesn’t placate you. He pushes you just enough and makes you want to be better. You can laugh with him and you can cry with him. Sometimes the two of you talk for hours on end and you don’t feel the anxious pull to get away; you just feel comfortable and content. 

It doesn’t hurt that he’s ridiculously good looking even when he isn’t trying to be. 

And truth be told, even though you’re complaining to Steve right now, you wouldn’t trade any of your time with Bucky for anything in the world. 

So, this is it, you think. This is what legitimate feelings for someone feels like? You’d have thought that there would be mental fireworks or something. 

You look at Steve, eyes wide with wonderment and he grins. “There it is. I was wondering when you were going to figure it out.”

You can’t have these feelings for Barnes. You’ve got to draw a line in the sand right now. 

Why couldn’t it just be a simple little crush? He looked so good in his suit and you could carry that for months until he said something completely asinine. But actual feelings? Nope, this won’t do.  Might as well make a fool of yourself now and deflect from that little revelation. 

“You know, I wanted … a moment a few weeks ago, before you left.” You shake your hair back from your face and look over at Steve.

“Wanting something because it’s familiar is understandable,” he throws his legs up on his desk and crosses his ankles. “Ignoring something that could be real and long and true … well, I think that’s just stupid.”

“I’ve gotta go,” you move towards the door and unlock his office. “We’re not talking about … any of this, okay?” You shoot him a smile and you mean it. You’re embarrassed, but he won’t give you shit for this. He won’t think you weak or crazy; he knows you’re just scared. 

“Sure thing, hon,” he smiles back and it feels like old times. “Don’t forget, movie night tonight.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m bringing cupcakes.” You release the lockdown protocol and move to swing out the door.

“I know what flavor he likes!” Steve’s laughing at you as stop and turn to look at him.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you give him a middle finger salute and saunter down the hall. 

You have no idea how you’re supposed to get through your therapy session or the following gym circuit. 

Now that you know how you feel, how are you meant to focus on your feelings in therapy? 

Oh. You guess you could talk about these feelings. 

But then how are you going to spar with James? Because you know full well the man fully equipped with Bluetooth will be waiting in the gym for you.

Then there’s movie night, where you always end up sandwiched between the two super soldiers on the too-small sofa in the common room that Stark refuses to replace because “it fits the space just fine, I wasn’t planning on having two of them here”.

You don’t have time to think about that right now. 

You have a therapy session in twenty minutes and if you text Steve right now, maybe he’ll agree to put Barnes on some paperwork and meet you in the gym himself for the first time in three months.

Then maybe you can cut the session short so you have plenty of time to make cupcakes in whatever flavor is James’ favorite because it’s probably the least you can do, right? He’s been really good to you these last few months and he deserves a treat.

And put on some makeup.

And do your hair. 

And remember to shave your legs in the shower! 

Wait … 

You whip out your phone and send Steve a text asking him what flavor his best friend likes most. 

When he texts you back with his answer and a series of heart-eye and kissy-face emojis, you tell him to kiss your ass and meet you in the gym in an hour and stomp off down the hall for your session. 

Fifty minutes after pacing through your therapy session and talking about your feelings, you find yourself warming up in the gym waiting on Steve. 

You feel good today and most of that is probably from the virtual weight that’s been lifted at the revelation that what you’re feeling for James is real. 

That came to you about twenty minutes into the session and the shrink couldn’t hide her smile when you stopped dead in your tracks and just stared out the window. 

Because you can joke all you want and be crude and make it all about sex, which as you had been saying, would be so nice at the moment. 

But the truth is, James is the type of guy that, when you let your mind wander to that happy idea, you always imagined settling down with. A little place all to yourselves, with a dog for sure. Kids were an open-ended thing that you never really thought that much about, but you’d think about them for him, wouldn’t you? 

Retiring from the superhero life, hanging up the suits, and living peacefully while other people saved the world from chaos. 

You could live a version of that life with him, and you’d love it. 

Would he? Could he eventually leave this life behind? Would he want to with you?

Does he want you?

You think back to all the times you’ve been with James, alone or around the others, and it always ends up with you two together. Talking, sitting, eating … whatever the situation is, someone has to pull one of you out your own little bubble to get any of your time. 

You think about the night you finally left the compound and how you’re still sure the night wouldn’t have ended with a kiss in the restaurant. No, that would have been an awkward drive for Happy as you and James tried to keep your hands off of each other. 

That night would have ended with evening clothes strewn all over one of your bedroom floors. 

You’d take the bet that James wants you. It’s just a matter of if it’s just sex for him or something more. 

Your head pops up when someone enters the gym and your brow furrows when Natasha walks in. “What are you doing here?”

She smiles and being s quick series of stretches, “Girl talk.”

You stand there staring dumbly at her, “You don’t do girl talk.”

She smiles coyly at you, “I do when it benefits me.”

She runs you through 3 circuits and while she’s stretching out your calves on the mat, she verbally pounces. 

“So, what’s up with you and the ghost?” She grins as you try to twist away from her. So far you’d been able to avoid her questions and quips, but now as she basically has you pinned, you have no escape. 

“Why do you continue to call him ‘the ghost?’” Ah, deflection, an old friend. “It’s rude, Natalia.” 

She flips you over and puts you in a deep headlock and grips your hair at the base of your neck.

“I know how you are, stop it,” she grunts into your ear as you wrestle against her. “I already know you have a thing for him. A blind person could see that.”

You free yourself, but you’re certain she has a chunk of your hair in her fingers. As you crouch low and circle her, you choose your words carefully. 

“Maybe I do, but the point is I don’t know how he feels,” You lunge at her, but she sidesteps and you correct yourself to circle her again. 

“Oh, of course, he likes you. He almost mauled you in a restaurant,” When your eyes go wide and you relax slightly, she lunges and flips you over her shoulder. When you’re on your back, she looks over you and smiles. “Yeah, I’ve heard all about that. Look, I need you to make a move, that way I can finally make a move on that patriotic piece of ass.”

You stare at her in shock as you pick yourself and shake it off; you legitimately had no idea that Natasha wanted Steve … but it makes perfect sense. 

“Is it really any surprise?” Nat throws a punch that you easily deflect and you laugh. 

“I suppose not,” you crouch low and swing a leg out, knocking her off her feet in a practiced move. “I always wondered why you stayed around for so long. It’s not like you to put down roots.”

Nat pushes herself up and jumps to land on your shoulders and tries to wrap her thighs around your neck. 

“If you were interested why didn’t you make a move sooner?” You’ve already got one arm around her right thigh, so you lift and toss her off you. 

She breaks her fall on the mat with a cartwheel. 

You smirk and laugh when she pops upright and turns a pirouette. 

“Okay look,” she puts up her hands in a familiar signal that says she doesn’t want to play anymore and plops down. “You and Steve were doing your thing and I know you weren’t monogamous or anything, but I just figured things would get really complicated if I jumped in the mix.”

“He really cares about you, Nat. It would have been really weird.” You’ve conceded that whatever was between you and Steve is over and you can both talk about it, but this discussion? It’s hard and it’s weird. It sucks. 

“Which is precisely why I didn’t do anything,” she looks over at you and smiles softly as you sit next to her. “But now? You’re different. He’s different. I think it would be pretty stupid of me ignore something that could be real and long and true.”

Natasha and Steve are already so in sync, it would disgusting if you didn’t love them both.

You’re both silent for a long time. Shadows move across the room and you finally clear your throat. 

“You don’t need my blessing,” you turn to look at her dead on. You can see hope and hesitancy in her eyes and wonder just how long she’s harbored these feelings, but that’s for her to divulge. “Steve is always going to be my friend. I’m hoping he won’t be the first person I think of when I need something or want to share something.”

“Bucky could be that for you,” Natasha nudges me with her shoulder and I can feel the heat rise on my cheeks. 

“I don’t know how to even go about this! I mean, Steve and I just, I don’t know, we just sort of happened. There was nothing else behind it.” You laugh at the memory and cringe along with Natasha. “I just … what do I do?”

After she’s convinced you of a game plan, you head back to your quarters to take a quick shower and start on phase one: Cupcakes.

[buckyownsmyheart]

Worth Fighting For [one-shot]

⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 5.6k (I can’t help it I’m sorry)

Summary: As a new recruit trying to pass the enrolment tests, you need to prove to everyone that you deserve to be a part of the team. To do this, you push yourself to your limits, and get some help from an onlooker.

Warnings: A bit angsty, swearing as per, I was feeling some emotions when writing this

A/N: This is for @yslbuckyx ‘s writing challenge! Congrats on 1k! My prompt was “I’m sorry, I got a little too carried away” 

⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎

You ran purely on spite. You were tired of people telling you that you couldn’t, so you did. You joined S.H.I.E.L.D. 4 weeks ago, to spite your father who said you couldn’t, and had just passed the tactical and mental challenges. These had always been your strengths, learning and memorising new information was something that you enjoyed doing. It sounds nerdy, but frankly you had gotten over being called that since way back in high school. People were always going to talk, so you might as well do what the fuck you want, and for you, that was absorbing knowledge. Since high school, you had learnt Spanish, Japanese, Russian and were in the process of learning Cantonese. Your ability to pick up new things had meant that you were finishing top 5 after 4 weeks in the selection process. At the beginning, there were 60 new recruits, but by the end of the next 4 weeks there would be 10. It was a brutal process, on the first day they lined everyone up and split them in half, and then sent half home, saying that they don’t recruit unlucky people. From those 30, 10 would be removed after the intellect test, and 10 after the next step, the physical test, which was the part that you were most worried about.

 You had never been strong or particularly sporty. You often ran, enjoying the hours of solitude that it gave you, allowing your brain to sort through anything that it might be pondering or struggling with. There was nothing like the feeling of fresh air on your face, or the relief when you stop, and your calves relax and stretch out. But this wasn’t going to get you through the push-ups or sit-ups or whatever else they made you do, so you had to be smart about this if you wanted to make it through to the final 10. You had started trying to build up your strength, but so far you felt you hadn’t made any progress and it was infuriating, but your time was up, and you were absolutely shitting yourself.

 For the next 5 months, you would be put through hell. Testing your physical strength, your resilience and your adaptability to environments. For each month that passed, the 2 people at the bottom of the rankings would be sent home, and you weren’t sure you could face your father if you were sent home, you knew what he would say. “I told you so sweetheart, you’re just not cut out for that sort of thing, why don’t you try something a little more for you? A little more gentle.” You were going to make it through these challenges.

The 20 recruits stood in two lines of ten, some were turning to their neighbour and chatting, but you didn’t feel much like small talk, so you hid yourself in the backrow at the end, trying to avert all attention away from you. Maybe if they thought you were no one from the beginning, and let them have low expectations, then you might be able to surpass those expectations with what little strength you have. Everyone snapped to attention when Captain America and Black Widow walked into the large space you were all standing in, eyeing each and every one of you. You tried to stand tall and not shy away from their gaze, knowing that this was probably just a scare tactic, trying to spot the weak ones straight away. Luckily, from years of practice at school, you had become adept at blending in and becoming invisible, not too proud, not too shy, somewhere in the middle.

 “Recruits,” Captain America addressed the lines, “Today we’re going to start with some basic fighting, I’m sure you’ve all got some experience, so we’re going to pair you up and test your skills, let’s start with a warm-up.” Shit. You had close to no fighting experience, unless you count that one time in your debate class where a boy named Jimmy had tried to hit you, so you kneed him in the balls. That was when you were 12. Why hadn’t you thought about this. You assumed that they would teach you all the basics once you got in, and that this was just to gauge your fitness levels, not to put you up against each other and judge from that. You turned to the girl next to you, her beady eyes located a little too close together on her rather square-looking head. Her biceps looked like they could strangle you by giving you a glance. You looked wildly around but saw that everyone else had already paired off. You gave her a small smile, and Cap started the warm-up. Luckily, at this point there was no actual fighting, and you actually just seemed to be warming up your muscles. You copied your partner’s every move and looked around the room to see how other people were doing it. There were practice punches being thrown, body twists to focus on technique and some more cardiovascular exercises to get your heartrate up. You were glad about your runs, because although sweat was running down your forehead, your breathing was still pretty steady.

 “Alright everyone,” Black Widow’s voice carried across the room, causing instant silence. “We’re pairing you off against each other, this is a no-rule fighting situation. Nothing dirty, but all styles welcome. You two, up first.”

 You realised she was gesturing to you and your terrifying partner, there was no way you were escaping out of this alive. Your legs seemed to move of their own accord, jumping up onto the mat and dropping into a fighting position.

You gulped, took a large breath in and released it, trying to calm your heart thumping in your chest. It might give the opposition a confidence boost to see your chest shaking with how hard your heart was beating, and you couldn’t be giving them any more advantages than they already had. The two of you padded around each other, your fists were raised in a protective stance, and your opponent looked like she was ready to pounce at any moment, and then she did. You dodged the first attack, jumping around her arm and bouncing on your feet. After a few more circles of each other, she lunged again, her fist narrowly missing your torso, but as you were on the back foot, she delivered a kick to your knee, which immediately brought you down to the mat. You leaped back up, bouncing on your aching knee to try and get the pain to go away, and ran over to the other side of the mat.

 “Stop dancing!” A voice shouted from the side, and you shook some hair out of your face to try and focus. People around you were murmuring.

 “There’s no way she can do this.”

 “Look how weak she is!”

 “Hasn’t thrown a single punch.”

 Anger bubbled up inside you, this wasn’t your fault. It was unfair. But you wanted to show them that you could do this. Prove them wrong. And so, you dove back into the fight, trying to put as much weight behind your punches as possible and tightening your core. You got a few hits in, but your opponent was too quick and too strong. She blocked your hits after the initial surprise and fought back. Hard. A volley of punches hit you all over and kept coming as you stumbled back. They merged into one as the floor beneath you spun, and your vision became blurry. When the punching stopped, you realised you were on the floor. Everything hurt, your vision was still cloudy and there were still leers behind you. Determined, you got up, and raised your fists once more, trying to get the world to stop spinning. You focused on the woman in front of you and willed your legs to move. On shaky legs, you moved forward, before a hand was on your chest. You looked up to see Black Widow looking down on you.

 “Alright, show’s over. That’s enough for today. 0530, tomorrow, sharp.” As people left the room, you were still trying to make your legs obey you. You couldn’t appear any weaker in front of the one person you needed to impress, but her hand was still on your chest, holding you back. “Are you in the right place? Do you even want to be here?” Her voice was harsh and scathing, and it felt like a ton of bricks on your chest. Of course she didn’t believe in you either, you had made a fool out of yourself in front of everyone. You’d be surprised if they allowed you to stay to the end of the month, maybe you should have stuck with an intelligence desk job. But that voice in your head that doubted you also reminded you of all the other people that doubted you, and you’d be damned if you let them win. You raised yourself up and looked her dead in the eye.

“This is where I’m meant to be, and I’ll prove it to you. I’ll be in the top 5 by the end of the selection.”

Her voice softened, “You’ve got fire in your belly. Use it.” And with that, she left you, where you remained alone, wondering what you had just gotten yourself into.

 ⁎⁎⁎

Bucky was sitting down on the sofa, watching an episode of Brooklyn 99, his new favourite show, when Nat came in and slumped down beside him.

 “You know, for a world-class assassin, you have very little finesse.”

 “Says the guy who tripped over the very flat floor yesterday.” She sighed, “There’s a new recruit, she’s weak and can’t fight for shit. I don’t know if she’s ever fought before, but she’s so determined, and it breaks my heart that she won’t make it to the end of the week, because she’s exactly the type of person we want here. Someone with defiance and will do anything to break the odds, but the stupid recruitment team don’t think traits like that are valuable. They want meatheads, the intelligence tests they have to do are just making sure they can do high-school maths, and still half of them fail. Apparently, she was top after that, knows something like 3 languages, but they’re already trying to kick her out and move her to intelligence.”

“Wouldn’t intelligence be better suited for her if she can’t fight?” Bucky replied, looking up at Nat confused.

 “But we need strategists, leaders, not people that will follow every word we say, because we’re not going to be around for ever, and if the next generation only follow our orders, who’s will they follow next? She’s different, she thinks for herself, but Fury’s already on my ass about picking favourites, so I’m just going to have to let her go.”

 Bucky nodded, not sure what else to say, and they both watched the rest of the episode in silence. He did think about the new recruit though, he wondered who they must be to have made such an impression on Natasha, she wasn’t often one to care about people she didn’t know, but by the next morning, all was forgotten as Bucky headed down to the gym.

⁎⁎⁎

After visiting the medical bay, 5 stitches and lots of codeine later, you collapsed onto your bed. You had each been given a dorm along a single corridor, with shared bathrooms at either end. Now you had expectations to live up to and a top 5 to be in, you needed a better plan. One that was going to get you there, but first, you needed to learn how to throw a punch. Tonight, YouTube was going to be your best friend. You watched videos of fighting styles, how to perfect your technique, how to maximise your strength, how to read your opponent. There were tips and tricks on everything from making people make mistakes to building up muscle quickly (naturally of course, you didn’t think anabolic steroids were the answer here). By the time you had gone through these, standing up to practice and do slow run throughs of the moves, it was past midnight. You set your alarm for 4:00, if you were going to do this, it was best to start how you mean to go on.

Your alarm blared as you sat up, feeling like you had only had a few minutes of sleep. You rubbed the tiredness out of your eyes and threw on your gym kit. Before your brain could wake up and tell you what a terrible idea this was, you found yourself in the gym, starting the warm-up that the Cap had shown you all yesterday, and then building on it from the things you had learnt. For an hour you practiced, sweated, and improved. By the time the rest of the recruits had got down, you had had a shower and changed into some fresh gear, ready for the day. The day of training continued, and you found yourself doing exercises, punching bags and using a range of the different fighting techniques. The assessors moved around, taking notes and judging styles.

The days continued like this, but the end of the first week was rapidly approaching, and there was no way that you were not in the bottom two. Although you had improved massively, everyone else had such a big head start, that you were still being beaten in every fight you were put in. You struggled to meet Romanoff’s eye. It had become rapidly known if they called her Black Widow she would kick them out of the programme immediately. On the Sunday, you trudged down to the gym before the others, and saw that the list had already been published. Your heart stopped beating, and then thudded against your chest. Trying to breathe evenly, you looked at the list of names and the rankings. You were 18th. Somehow, you had made it through to the next week. Two names at the end that you didn’t recognise, but then again, you hadn’t really bonded with the rest of the recruits, were in red. Disbelief filled you, how could you still be in? Was the tiredness finally kicking in, and you had reduced your brain to hallucinating? Shaking your head, you looked at the words again, but you were definitely not being kicked out. You were sure others would be sad about losing two members, but you were glad they were gone because it wasn’t you. That’s the thing about running on spite, it doesn’t leave a lot of room for love in your head. You went over to the punching bag and started your routine. What you didn’t know, was that someone had accidentally stumbled onto your morning escapades and was impressed.

 Bucky looked onto the new recruit, smiling. He had first seen her the morning after their initiation into the compound, where he had gone down to the gym early to try and burn off a nightmare, to find someone already there. This must have been the recruit that Nat had been talking about, the one that had had her ass handed to her, but still found the strength to challenge Nat. He knew that although she would never admit it, Nat saw herself in that recruit, and wanted to get her through this process. As Nat was in charge of the selection process, she couldn’t pick favourites and help only them. Bucky, however, wasn’t related to the selection process at all, and so he did as much as he could to help you get through. That week, it was just telling Nat that you had been down here, sweating every morning, watching videos and trying to get your technique up. She had visually seen the improvements and had decided to keep you on. Bucky knew though, that this next week was more fight orientated, and that you needed more than the internet to get you through it. So, he took a deep breath, and approached you for the first time in a week.

 “You want to engage your core a little more, try not to throw your shoulders into the punch so much, rotate your entire body.” Okay, Bucky, you could have started with something a little less harsh, the whole getting people to like you thing Sam was talking about.

“I’m sorry, you are?” There was a hardness to your voice, but your face was soft and open. Seeing you up close, he could appreciate the finer details of your face and the subtle movements of the muscles as different emotions intertwined themselves within your features.

“Sorry, Bucky Barnes,” he stuck his hand out to shake, which you hesitantly took after removing a glove, “I want to help you get through to the next round.”

 “Why?” You asked, still looking unsure at Bucky’s face, and then around as if you were looking for other people around him.

 “Let’s say I’m helping a friend out. I’ve seen you here before everyone, and staying after they’ve all left, and I’m impressed. If you want my help, I’m happy to give it to you.”

 You narrowed your eyes at him, and Bucky thought you might turn down his offer, “Isn’t that cheating?”

 He couldn’t help himself but laugh a little, “Darl, this is life, there’s no cheating, only people who find ways to cope and people who don’t.”

 You didn’t respond, and Bucky could see the conflict in your brain as cogs turned. You considered him, and then shrugged, “Okay, engage my core, what else?”

And that was that, your training together started.

⁎⁎⁎

You were beyond sceptical of Bucky and his help. He coached you for an hour, and all the pointers made sense, but you couldn’t help but feel something was off. Why was he being so nice? His excuse didn’t really make any sense, and you didn’t trust someone without motive, because people always had motive and if you didn’t know it, then it’s most likely to be against you. Until you could figure him out, you decided to take all the advice you could get and try and stay in a little longer.

 When you came back from your shower after parting with Bucky, the group of other recruits had gathered early to see the list. There was an uproar and shouting, people mouthing off the system, and you. “She cheated, there’s no way she’s still in.”

“They need to take likeability into these tests.”

 “Diane and Charlie shouldn’t have been the ones to leave.”

 “I saw her with the Winter Soldier just now, trust her to sleep her way to the top.”

 With the last one, you froze, your blood turning cold. This explained Bucky’s motivations, he was not only trying to get you kicked out, but he was going to make your so-called teammates hate you along the way. Maybe he thought if he spread enough rumours about you, you would leave all by yourself. You weren’t going to let that happen. With 15 minutes to go until Romanoff arrived to start that days training session, you backed away from the murmuring people, trying not to let their words get to you, and trying to use the anger that was bubbling up inside of you to build your motivation. It wasn’t until you got into the changing rooms that the anger faded into irrevocable sadness that often lingered behind the emotions that surfaced. Trying to cough out the lump in your throat and looking determinedly at the ceiling, you focused on the good. You were here, you were through, you were improving day-to-day, and you had already proven people wrong. This was your dream, and you were going to get there eventually. Placing the palms of your hands in your eyes, you tried not to think about the deep loneliness that had etched its way into your bones, chilling you from the inside out. You tried not to think about the last time you had been touched that wasn’t violent or pitying. Repeating to yourself like a mantra, you affirmed, “You can sleep when you’re dead, and you can love when you’re finished.”

 “That seems an awfully lonely way of thinking, sweetheart.”

 Bucky’s voice startled you out of your trance, and you got to your feet, only seeing red. This was the man who was trying to sabotage you, spreading lies into the wind to break you down, and you were going to show him exactly what you thought about it.

“How dare you come in here, pretending like you’re not trying to sabotage my career, my life, by telling the world that I was sleeping my way to the top, and you have the audacity to call me sweetheart? Get out of my face, I never want to see you again.”

 “Woah, woah, woah, where has this come from?” You went to storm past him, rolling your eyes to hide the tears that were building again, but he stepped back, gently placing his arm in front of you. “Look, I don’t know where you’ve got all this from, but I promise I would never tell anyone anything that wasn’t true. I haven’t told a soul that I’m going to help you, and I would never make up something as obscene as you were repaying me with sex? I swear on my ma’s grave that whatever you heard; it wasn’t from me.”

 You looked at him calculatingly, trying to read his expression and find any tell-tale tics that he was lying, but his face was relaxed, his eyes open and almost pleading that you believed him. You had no idea why he cared so much, he had known you for all of two hours, and no he was pretending like you had some sort of trust between you? As if reading your mind, he spoke again.

 “Look, I know we don’t know each other but I’ve read your file, I know about you, about your life. You’re smart, and the sort of person we need as an agent here, Nat said so herself. I know she sees herself in you, but she can’t do anything about it so I’m here to help you. I want to help, I promise I would never do something to hurt you, and I will kick the asses of all of the other recruits for spreading shit about you.”

You couldn’t help but give a small smile at this, sniffing away some stray tears that you didn't realise had fallen. He did seem genuine, and everyone knows that there’s always a leap of faith at some point in everyone’s story, maybe yours was with Bucky.

“Is that a smile?” He asked, “I know this is a new age, but damn, it seems like pigs might be flying!” An unwanted laugh escaped your lips, unable to keep it at bay. How on earth had someone been able to cut through your mask so quickly? You blamed the lack of sleep and ignored any other point your brain might come up with. “You should get back to the other recruits, this week is strength and fitness, and if you don’t beat at least 3 people up that climbing wall then I’m making you get up an hour earlier each day this week.”

 He turned to walk out of the door, and as he opened it, he turned back to you, giving an award-winning smile. Were there butterflies in your stomach? Yes. Were you going to ignore them for all eternity? Also yes. Bucky had been in your life all of two hours, he wasn’t going to be the reason you failed, all because you were touch-starved and lonely. Shaking those unwanted feelings out of your head, you braced yourself for the onslaught of accusations that would be thrown at you, but somehow the prospect of facing them seemed a little lighter than they had before.

⁎⁎⁎

Over the course of the week, you and Bucky had spent over 25 and a half hours working together, not that you were counting. An hour and a half of that was on Wednesday, when there had been an unfortunate incident where you broke down and accidentally spilled your guts to Bucky, telling him everything that had ever got to you. You told him about your father never accepting who you were and pushing you into some mould by sending you off to some faraway school. You talked about how you weren’t even sure if this was right for you, and that you chose what to do next by seeing what people said you couldn’t do. Your hopes and fears spilled out, accompanied by too much snot and a slightly bewildered Bucky. To his credit, he comforted you, remaining silent until you had calmed yourself down. Before you had a chance to apologise, Bucky spoke in a collected but soft voice. He opened up too, telling you about his nightmares, about how after Steve left, he felt the pressure to become the hero that everyone expected him to be. You could still hear his voice crack as he laid himself out on the table, just as you had done.

 “After all I did as the Winter Soldier, I struggled with the idea that I could be a hero like everyone else. I felt I didn’t belong, and I pushed away anyone that tried to reach out. Then I realised that you accept the treatment you think you deserve, and you belong where you allow yourself to belong.”

 Through sleep deprivation, pushing yourself through limits and emotional sharing, you two had become closer than you had with anyone before. The butterflies in your stomach turned into smiles when he walked into the room. At night, you found yourself preoccupied with thoughts of him. Of stupid jokes he’d make throughout the sessions, featherlight touches that stayed hot for minutes after he moved and ways in which you could ease his night-time turmoil’s. He had been kind to you when no one else had, and you let him in where no one else could be. He was your light in darkness and the warmth within your veins, and you had a feeling that you were also his.

Although Bucky had eased your self-deprecating thoughts, they still surfaced every now and again. Frustration often triggered them when you struggled to see progress. You knew it had been such a short period of time, but you knew Bucky must be getting frustrated at you too, and you couldn’t deal with his disappointment among everyone else’s. Although he didn’t know, he had become the thing in your life that held you together, and if he left, you were certain you would fall apart.

 This was all whirling around your mind on Saturday afternoon, until Bucky’s voice cut through your thoughts.

 “No!” Bucky shouted at you, “You’re leaving your side exposed, someone can come in here.” He jabbed you and you let out a growl. You had been training for hours, Bucky putting you through your paces after making you get up earlier than usual, and then stay later afterwards. Today seemed to be one of those days where everything that could go wrong, did. You couldn’t seem to get anything right and were getting more irritated by the second.

 “Can’t you see I’m trying!” You yelled back at him, repositioning yourself to try again. As you lunged at him, he stepped you easily.

 “Too obvious, again.”

You rolled your neck to release some tension in your shoulders and tried again. You jumped to the other side, but Bucky pushed one of your shoulders, “Keep balanced!” You ignored him and went in for another punch. “Legs!” He shouted, sweeping at your ankles, making you stumble back into the wall as his arm crossed over your chest, pinning you down. You felt tears brim in your eyes, the overwhelming emotion from the past few months coming to the surface again. You couldn’t breathe past the lump that was stuck in your throat, and looked Bucky defiantly in the eye, daring him to say something else, because he was just like everyone else. He would leave when he realised that you weren’t going anywhere, and you would be left alone again. It was your fault for getting your hopes up. Instead, his face fell, concern lacing his features.

 “I’m so sorry (Y/n), Oh god,” He said softly, releasing you from against the wall, “I’m sorry, I got a little too carried away. Did I hurt you? Are you okay?” He looked up at you, searching your face and brushing some sweaty hair off of your forehead, “I just really want you to get through, I want you to be in this team. Let’s stop for today, yeah? That was too much.”

You looked up at him confused, watching his shaking hands as they moved away from your face with curiosity. His words were a stark contrast to all the other voices of people that had told you that you were too weak, not made for this sort of world, that you couldn’t do it, but those voices rang louder in the back of your head. Before, they had spurred you on, but now you felt like maybe they were right, and you were stupid to try and prove them wrong. Bucky’s intentions resurfaced in your mind again, and you began doubting the friendship you had formed, wondering what he was doing helping you. You shoved him back, trying to fight back the tears that threatened to pour out of your eyes. “Why are you helping me? Is this some joke to you and Romanoff? See how far I go before I break? See how much I believe I have a friend, before realising you were making it up?” Every doubt you had about him was threading itself into your words, trying to hide your feelings deep under insecurities, and hiding those insecurities under anger and spite.

 He looked at you, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open slightly in a small ‘o’ shape. Then his eyebrows furrowed, and he took another step back. He pointed his finger accusatorily at you, “What have I got to do to show you that I mean it? That I care about your outcome? I’ve known you for less than three weeks and you already occupy every space in my brain. I can’t stop thinking about you (Y/n)! And all you can say is that I’m not sincere? Not genuine enough for you? Shock horror, not everyone hates you, some love you, open your goddamn eyes.”

 Bucky’s voice was filled with a mix of passion and anger, his words shaking and his hands falling limp by his side as he finished. His chest was moving up and down heavily and realisation hit you. This wasn’t a one-way street. You had been so caught up in yourself that you failed to see the obvious. The way that Bucky was also getting up at ungodly hours, making training plans, preparing sports drinks and high energy snacks. He had shown you love in a way that you had failed to recognise because you had never been taught to look for it, and now he was pouring his heart out to you and all you could do was stare back at him. You had no idea what to say, what could you reply to that? How could you tell him that you couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him behind, so you tried to kid yourself that it was all nothing? That he was the only thing keeping you going through this? That he was the person to replace your motivations of spite, to motivations of love?

“Kiss me.” Your voice said, sounding small, but Bucky didn’t need telling twice. He pinned you back against the wall and crashed his lips to yours. Your bodies moulded together, and your lips moved against one another. You both trying to express the repressed feelings, you your gratitude, and him his pure intentions. And whilst no fireworks went off, you felt a sigh of relief exit your body as he kissed you. The tension releasing from your shoulders, and the threat of tears subsiding from your eyes. When you finally broke apart, you looked at him, a small smile appeared on his face.

 “Now that, was worth fighting for.”

 “Bucky, I’m sorry,” you tried to say, but he cut you off.

“I know, I am too, I didn’t mean to raise my voice, I’m sorry if I scared you.”

 “No, you shouldn’t apologise, I’m sorry for not appreciating you, you gave me everything I wanted, and I gave attitude back. I never could be scared of you. The only thing I was scared about is that I might fall in love with you, because that’s a terrifying ordeal.”

 He gave you a soft kiss on your forehead. “You showed me you appreciated me in your own way, you talked me through my nightmares, brought two towels because you know I always forget mine and laugh at my jokes no matter how stupid. You embolden the light inside me by encouraging me to be me. Maybe we both need to work on our communication a little more, but we also speak in a language that the other understands, so it’s okay.” You rested your head on his chest, finding solace in the steady beating of his heart and his hands stroking your hair. You could feel his lips moving against your hairline as he spoke again, “Come on, let’s get some food, too much shouting makes me hungry.”

 You couldn’t help but laugh, “Barnes, breathing makes you hungry, you’re an ogre.”

“A sexy ogre that’s going to take you on a date and ask for Nat for special treatment to pass you through the stages, because I am done with early mornings. I will train you in weapons myself at a reasonable hour.”

“That’s definitely cheating.”

“Maybe so, but it’s more fun.”

 ⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎

[shanastoryteller]

Hello Shana! I was wondering if you might have any thoughts/cathartic words you could share on the topic of body-positivity and loving yourself at any size, because I'm trying here but it's just... really, really hard. So yeah.

UUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHHH oh god i’m just. the worst person to ask. at this point i’m just like yolo, so i don’t, uh. okay. 

1. never feel guilty for putting food in your body. it doesn’t matter what food, how much you’ve eaten, or how much you’ve exercised today. all food has nutritional value and freaking out over eating a slice of cheesecake helps no one. just enjoy the cake. 

2. clothing sizes are stupid and you shouldn’t worry about them. i’m a 2x/18 in most clothes, except when i’m not, and then i size up or down as needed. the label on your clothes doesn’t change your body. if i put on a size 16 it doesn’t make me skinnier, and if i put on size 20 it doesn’t make me fatter. your body doesn’t change shape with your clothing size, so you might as well just wear whatever feels/looks best and not get hung up on it. i have to size up in my favorite pair of jeans from torrid, and i had to size down in the jeans i bought from charlotte russe (rip). it doesn’t matter. size is just a number. 

3. i feel best about myself when i work out regularly. i’m not looking to lose weight. in fact, considering the fortune i’ve spent on my closet, i would be really pissed if all my clothes stopped fitting properly (losing weight would not make my clothes “fit better” because i buy my clothes to fit me now, not an imaginary, skinnier version of me). but i love aerial yoga and plan a significant portion of my stories while zoning out doing cardio. i appreciate my body more when it does things for me, like helping me to a back flip out of an inversion of setting a new time at the gym. how can you hate something that lets you do such cool and fun things? 

4. wear whatever cute skinny girl style you want and don’t worry about it. i wear crop tops and bralettes and see-through clothes and bodycon dresses. i wear tight clothes and short skirts and low cut tops, i let my arms be fat and calves jiggle, and it doesn’t matter. no one laughs at me or is disgusted. i get compliments on my outfits all the time. i’m cute. you’re cute. we’re all cute, and we can wear cute things and feel pretty and dainty and adorable. 

5. get ready in the morning naked, or in underwear. start walking around your house in a yoga bra and sweatpants. just get used to what your body looks like. i promise you it’s not actually that different to other bodies. there’s nothing scary or horrifying about your fat. there’s nothing about your body that’s so bad everyone will be repulsed by you. it’s all okay. get used to seeing yourself in your own skin. get used to existing in your own skin. 

just fake it till you make it, babe. lie about loving yourself for long enough, and eventually it won’t be a lie

[mariisseething]

Analyzing Hero Costumes: Girls of Class 1-A

My obsession has spiraled out of control. Let me roast analyze these babes. I’m dumb. I’m tired. I’m gay. Let’s do this.

Warning: I’m a cynical, lazy-ass critic with no consistent taste. Don’t expect a fair analysis.

(This is just for fun, please don’t get mad at me for being an undereducated weeb! I went into writing this with only the knowledge I’ve obtained through watching the show and reading the manga. I don’t know everything about the costumes, and I don’t want to either)!

Ashido Mina (Pinky)

Babe, imma be frank here.

I love her, but—

that shit ugly.

Funcionality: Mina’s quirk (Acid) comes from her hands and feet. If I remember correctly, she has passages in her shoes that her...foot..acid.....can pass through, and her hands are fully exposed. So her costume is “practical”, and works with her quirk.

Design: As I said before, that shit ugly. The body suit has the worst pattern and color combination I’ve ever seen. (Like if Sully from Monster’s Inc. was turned into a cow and hated it). Her tiddies should be popping out any second now, which isn’t great. Her weird armpit vest with it’s stupid fluffy collar is quite reminiscent of Hawks’ jacket, which leads me to believe that their costumes were made by the same designer. (Many of the designers in the BNHA universe put calling-cards in their costumes). Her white mask is pointless, but at least it matches the fluff on her collar. Her boots, though they have a purpose, are ugly as sin. The pale yellow doesn’t match any other piece in the ensemble, and the Dabi-scar colored purple makes me sad. Hate that.

Total Score: 2/10

Her costume does almost nothing to enhance her quirk, and it’s hideous. The only reason it got two points was because of the shoe holes, and the possibility that it’s connected to my boy Hawks.

Seriously, this is some Seasame Street lookin-ass bullshit.

No hate on Mina, she’s lovely, but her taste is atrocious. (see: her bedroom).

Asui Tsuyu (Froppy)

Okay, okay bitch I see you.

I’m here for this.

Funcionality: Tsu’s quirk (Frog) requires a decent amount of flexibility from clothing. Spandex works for that I guess. Normally, I would automatically fail this costume for having goddamn toe “socks”, but for Tsuyu they’re nessecary. Having her individual toes chiseled out helps her grip onto shit when she’s kicking ass. It looks like her gloves are attached to her body suit, which is rad, but I’m not sure what the purpose of that waist belt-thing is. If anything, the chunky pieces of her costume would make it harder for her to swim. I also have no fucking clue what that head piece is. I once thought they were like binoculars or something, but she’s never put them on her face so...they wouldn’t fit....on her face..huh.....I’m so stupid bro.

Design: Lets start with a positive, the color scheme slaps. Everything goes together, and the dark green even matches her hair. The bodysuit has a cool structure, and I can definitely appreciate the slight turtleneck and boot-esq feature; however, the chunky wrist pieces, belt, neck/chest-thing, and head piece confuse me. I guess they’re there for fashion, gutter fashion. Shitty crap face fashion. Ugly butthole fashion. FILTH! I need to calm down holy shit—

Total Score: 6/10

The look honestly only lost points for the random ass statement pieces. Water terrains are Tsuyu’s specialty, and a clunky outfit would certainly slow her down underwater.

The toe shit, turtleneck, thigh-high “boots”, and color scheme are pretty dope though.

(Also, she only has three toes but frogs have four).

(My Hero Academia: Cancelled).

Hagakure Toru (Invisible Girl)

So, here’s the real question.

Is she naked?

Short answer: I dunno.

Funcionality: So she’s invisible, right? A good costume would emphasize that. I can only assume she wears the boots and gloves for comfort and so her allies can see where she is. If she wants to go full invisible, she just has to take them off. At one point, it was confirmed that she was topless during the sports festival, but we’ve had no further updates on her costume. A few people have theorized that her costume is made of her hair (assuming she has hair). We know that this is possible, as Mirio’s costume is made of his hair so he can remain clothed while his quirk is activated. The only issue would be making an outfit out of something you can’t see. If I were Toru, I would choose to fight nude because, I-uh...hmm, I-I can do what I want SHUT UP!

Design: There’s not much to critique here. The shade of blue on her gloves is cute, and the pink stripes don’t make much of an impact. The shoes are just about the most boring thing I’ve ever seen, like why are they beige??? What are they supposed to match? I just—ugh, beige??? What the fuck Horikoshi...smh.

Total Score: 5/10

Since we don’t know if the “hair-costume” thing is canon, I can’t rate it any higher. If that is true, it would be an 7/10. The outfit does its job, but I’m bored and beige sucks.

(Btw I don’t trust her...)

(Sketchy chick right here).

(Sketchy chick with some ugly-ass beige shoes).

Jirou Kyouka (Earphone Jack)

Aww.

She’s cute!

Look at her little face, d’awwwweeeeee!

Funcionality: The lovely Kyouka’s quirk (Earphone Jack), makes absolutely no sense to me. Like, I get that she can hear better and can eavesdrop really well, but how does she...make loud noises??? With the speakers??? Plugging earbuds into a speaker doesn’t make............noise, and the speakers aren’t part of her body. Whatever, back to the analysis. The speakers on her hands and calves amplify sound somehow, and her earlobes are exposed. It’s works.

Design: The speaker boots are basic, but acceptable. She’s got some comfy looking black pants, and a trendy salmon-colored top. Her jacket is iconic, and she’s wearing a choker. (+1,000,000 points for that). The white gloves don’t match shit, but they’re fingerless so I’ll let it slide. Her headphones almost match....meh. I don’t care. (+10 for the face paint).

Total Score: 8/10

Listen, I’d give her a 10 but this costume just isn’t....gimmicky, enough for me? She’s a superhero for fucksake! Now’s the time to dress your goddamn best! The look is practical, and seems to be her taste, I just disagree with her choices. Sue me. I’d either wanna fight in the wackiest most dangerous getup you’ve ever seen, or completely naked. Either way, I’m getting arrested. Jirou needs to get on my fucking level.

Uraraka Ochaco (Uravity)

I don’t know boys,

it seems like she might be...

round.

Fuck sharp angles!

Funcionality: Ochaco’s quirk (Zero Gravity) only requires her hands to work. More specifically, her fingertips. Uh, yeah those are some nude fingertips. *Ahem* moving on. Actually wait, since she often uses her quirk on herself it would be helpful for her to eliminate as much extra weight as possible, so I’m hoping that all of the accessories are hollow. They better be, or I’m gonna start throwing hands with Kohei Horikoshi.

Design: When Ochaco first got her hero costume she was surprised by how tight it was, even saying that it wasn’t supposed to be that tight. Bitch, how could it have been loose? I don’t...fuck it. I like the colors, I like the boots a lot actually, but who cares about that, I wanna talk about her fucking chastity belt. Who she keepin out? (Jesus Christ she’s a child, tone it down Mari). Do you think it’s comfortable to walk around with a chunk of plastic on your crotch?! I don’t know, seriously, is it? Maybe she’s trying to hide something...a hip dip perhaps?! Jk hip dips are stupid, that’s how bones work, don’t be ashamed. Her wrist...spheres... have handles on them, no comment, and whereas I usually LOVE chokers—that one is stupid and I hate it. Curvy little shit.

Total Score: 8/10

I like it overall, but some things are just too strange to overlook. (i.e. the chastity belt, wrist cuff handles, and the ugly choker). This costume doesn’t really scream Uraraka to me either. It’s a bit unoriginal to me.

I just don’t love it.

(Why are her fists clenched? Is she trying to fight? I could snap her like the twig she is and steal her girlfriend).

(Assuming she has one).

Yaoyorozu Momo (Creati)

Oohooohohohoho

hooohohoho

hoooooo mAN do I have some WORDS for this one!

Funcionality: Momo’s quirk (Creation) does require quite a bit of skin to be exposed, but I’m not sure why that skin HAS to be her boobs. She’s got thighs, a stomach, a back, an upper chest, and arms. Why do her Russian nesting dolls have to come out of her tiddies??? Okay, actually, she doesn’t make that many things with her tits. So....why’re they out? This costume definitely lets her quirk run wild, maybe too much.

Design: The red is pretty, and I can tolerate the sandy yellow. Her shoes are unimportant, so let’s just gloss over those. Now, WHAT is that thing? A makeshift, tan colored, plastic tube mini...skirt? I know she has a shelf on her ass that she carries books on, but doesn’t she have a cellphone? Google? Can’t she just remember the molecular make-up of a cannon? (Because she only makes cannons now for some reason). Have we ever even seen her reading those books? Can she read? A large portion of her midsection/chest is exposed up to another one of those weird chest pieces and a neck jacket. Maybe she should cut the neck coat off and glue it to her tiddies.

Total Score: 1/10

Listen, Horikoshi clearly understands what Momo’s costume needs, but he has no idea how to make that. This outfit IS inappropriate, no matter how you look at it. She’s a minor, and I don’t like the idea that she’s running around 75% naked. The only part of this that I like is the shade of red. That’s not good.

I really like Momo, she’s a good character, it’s unfortunate that we have to sexualize her so much. Can’t girls just be smart without also being eye candy for creepy 30 year old weebs?

——————

That’s it for this analysis. I plan on posting more stuff like this since I enjoy writing it so much! You should totally follow me so you don’t miss my future ramblings! 💖

Unless you hated it.

I wouldn’t blame you.

[hexlikesramennoodles]

All Yours (All Mine)

Pairing: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington Rating: T Warnings: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse Word count: ~2.3k

At some point during their off again friends, on again fuckbuddies phase, Billy had rolled over in bed and said to Steve, You know, you’re pretty and all, but you’re also kind of weird-looking.

It was the kind of comment that was intended to be as insulting as it sounded. They had a routine, and they stuck to it. A routine where Billy would end up in Steve’s bed and things would shift for a night, and then they’d come full circle. Billy would try his best to put his foot in his mouth, letting slip to Steve something like, I’ve had better sex with girls or don’t think this means I actually give a damn, Harrington and instead of walking home with a full belly of pancakes (or whatever other stupid romantic venture Steve has in mind for their mornings after, Billy never stays long enough to find out), Billy would walk home with a split lip and bandy legs, and that dangerous shift—cosmic, spiritual, physical, personal—would be corrected.

It’s better that way, Billy reasoned. Saner. Neither of them can afford to get too comfortable.

“What are you drawing?” Steve asks.

His foot is touching Billy’s under the table, in full view of the cafeteria. Billy doesn’t look up. His chocolate pudding sits unopened next to his elbow, the fingers of his other hand curled protectively over his napkin, hiding it from Steve’s line of sight.

“Nothing,” he huffs.

Steve arches an eyebrow, plastic spoon protruding from the corner of his mouth. He looks fucking adorable. Billy presses the tip of his pen into the napkin, rendering the shape of Steve’s lips in violent navy slashes. It’s not his best work. He’s no Van Gogh.

But. It’s something.

“Show me,” Steve says. He’s got that look in his eye. A wet shine, like light winking off a sharp edge. He knows Billy well enough by now to just understand.

They’re more on than off, these days.

“Shut up,” Billy says, wrenching his hand away. “Sit still.”

Steve slumps back in his seat, rolling his eyes at the ceiling as if he’s saying, get a load of this guy. Billy ignores him. Tries to. The spoon of Steve’s pudding cup rolls between his lips. He slips it out and licks it clean, licks the handle, sticks it all the way into his cheek with a loud squelch.

Billy scribbles on his napkin. He draws porcupine quills for Steve’s ridiculous hair; big, flat gingerbread buttons to match Steve’s doe eyes. His stomach rumbles. They’d left Steve’s house together that morning, Steve wheedling Billy the whole way. C’mon, Billy, at least have a bit of bacon. He may as well have been asking Billy to stay. Asking him to let himself be coddled, spoiled, babied. Like Billy’s some empty-headed broad who needs to be reassured by that sort of thing. Come on, Billy, lemme make you breakfast, huh? Come on, Billy, sell your soul to me, be mine, all mine. What’s the worst that could happen?

Wouldn’t Steve like to know.

He does know, but only the carefully curated snippets that Billy feeds him. He knows that Neil counts his calories and weighs him twice a week. He doesn’t know that if Billy’s not up to par, Neil gives him a smack on the chops. One smack per pound gained. He doesn’t know that Neil’s all lean, mean muscle, with a thumping lefty. Billy’s thicker around the middle, stockier. Steve doesn’t know that Neil says Billy gets it from her. It’s never ‘your mother’, it’s always Her.

“Am I still allowed to read my comic?” says Steve.

“Do whatever the fuck you want,” Billy says, still scribbling. “I don’t give a shit.”

“Uh-huh. Sure,” Steve says, insolent, but low enough that Billy can pretend not to hear him.

Just for a second, he dares to look up. Steve’s distracted, pudding wobbling from the end of his spoon as he turns a page. He’s holding one of Billy’s comic books open, flattening the spine against the table with his palm. It’s one of those Chose Your Own Adventure rags, its pages bisected into maze-like algorithms of different scenarios that you trace with your finger. Steve loves them. Billy used to love them, too—when he was about twelve years old. He collected them and stored them in a wooden chest in his room, not just the ones where the reader gets to decide the outcome of the story but issues of The Amazing Spider-Man, MAD, Weird Tales Magazine. Turns out, Steve didn’t grow up with any comics; his parents only read National Geographic, and hold anything lesser in high contempt. When Billy gave Steve a whole binder’s worth of his old comics, he informed Steve it’s only because he felt sorry for him. That it’s pretty pathetic, Steve never having read The Amazing Spider-Man until he turned eighteen.

“My nose isn’t that big,” Steve says.

He leans all the way over, hand moving from his comic book to push Billy’s aside. His mouth contorts into a bemused frown as he takes in the picture Billy’s drawn on his napkin, the little stick figure Steve staring back up at him from behind a pair of smudged Ray Bans.

“Yes, it is,” Billy says. Patiently, like Steve has the cognitive capacity of a second grader.

Steve tugs the napkin out of his grip. “It’s huge!” he exclaims. “You literally drew a triangle for it. I look like a witch or something.”

Billy balances his pen on his upper lip and waggles his eyebrows. “You know what they say about guys with big noses.”

“They’ve got big dicks?”

The pen drops from Billy’s lip. He glares at Steve with mock reproach. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Harrington.”

Picking the pen back up, he draws a tiny speech bubble next to stick-figure Steve’s mouth: Hey, asshole! Stick-figure Steve is shaking his fist at some unknown aggressor. It’s how Steve looks when he’s mad enough to give Billy a smack on the chops of his own: eyebrows scrunched in a furious line, teeth bared, face blotchy. About as intimidating as an angry kitten.

“You like my nose,” Steve says softly.

His foot brushes against Billy’s under the table. Comfortable, warm. Billy wants to ignore the shiver that runs up his thighs, but it’s difficult. Less than four hours ago, Steve was kissing him there. Starting with Billy’s ankles, mouthing over the balls of his feet and his calves before moving gradually to his knees, then his thighs. He’d stopped maddeningly short of his groin, laughing when Billy had bucked his hips and called him a cocktease.

As if Steve knows what he’s thinking—as if Steve’s thinking of the same thing, of kissing Billy’s thighs, the two of them sprawled in a cozy tangle on Steve’s sheets—he draws his foot up, somehow worming the tip of his sneaker underneath Billy’s jeans. Billy imagines kicking him in the shin, just for the hell of it. Steve should know better. Especially when they’re in fucking public, in front of a hundred of their own classmates, for fuck’s sake.

“It’s weird,” he insists.

“That’s why you like it,” Steve says. He licks his spoon again, slower. The hair on Billy’s thighs is standing up, tingling as if charged by static electricity; he presses them together, almost groaning at the sensation of denim dragging against his skin. He’s vaguely aware that he’s watching Steve’s mouth avidly, his own mouth tasting arid, parched for something that can’t be quenched with water.

He wonders if Steve ever sees himself. If he ever looks in the mirror before leaving the house and asks his reflection, hey, is this even appropriate?

Because if Steve had any decency, any sense of shame, he would. And he’d also stop staring at Billy like that—eyes heavy at the corners, bottom lip jutting out around the edge of the spoon. When Billy had called him weird-looking, what he’d really meant was confusing. Steve’s nose is slender but somehow bold, angular; his cheekbones are high, and his mouth is pointy and pouty but also, not. It’s a man’s face but there’s a softness to it, too; a femininity that strikes Billy as not only personally offensive, but downright fucking nonsensical. He doesn’t understand how someone can be so oddly proportioned yet so in proportion at the same time.

Billy likes his life ordered. He likes things to fit neatly into their little boxes; it means he’s in control. It means that Maxine is scared shitless of him and his dad’s a bastard for all eternity and Susan’s Susan and Steve Harrington is off, not on. Inside this strict, organized reality of Billy’s creation, Steve’s foot certainly wouldn’t be touching his knee right now and he wouldn’t have brought him an extra pudding cup because Billy refused to eat the bacon and eggs Steve cooked for him that morning and Steve wouldn’t even prefer Billy to be a little heavier, he’d want Billy to be more responsible with his weight, have some respect for his body—

“You like my mouth, too,” Steve’s saying. “And my hair. My eyes, of course you like my eyes. Why else would you have gone to all this effort?” Crooking the spoon upwards, he reaches across and taps the stick-figure Steve with his pointer finger. “You like me, Billy.”

God, Billy’s created a fucking monster. 

“You’ve got pudding on your face,” he blurts out. 

The words aren’t Billy’s words. They don’t come out nasty—they’re not even remotely scathing. Things have shifted again, but Billy can’t tell if it’s in Steve’s favor or not. He has as much to lose as Billy does, after all. 

Steve smiles at him, gentle. He doesn’t swipe the stray pudding from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand; doesn’t stammer or withdraw or furrow his brow. It’s as if Billy’s shown his hand already, but that frustrates him, because he doesn’t know when. He can’t even tell if Steve’s bluffing, trying to back him into a corner he’s not aware of. Shit, Steve’s not bluffing. He can’t be. That wouldn’t be playing fair.

Steve lifts the comic book, placing it next to his ear. “It’s all yours, Hargrove,” he says.

He cups his chin with his hand, waiting. Billy’s stared at Steve’s hands for perhaps as much time as he’s stared at his face, trying to figure out how it’s all supposed to work. He suddenly wishes he could draw better, so he could get Steve’s hands on paper properly. Immortalize them, or whatever. 

He thinks he could teach himself to draw Steve’s hands. He knows them off by heart; knows their feel and their weight and their specific warmth, how they look around Billy’s neck. The marks they leave behind, deep, ingrained marks, like flowers pressed into the pages of a book. Billy can touch them and think, look: here Steve was, is. Here you can be loved, if you know what’s good for you.

For as long as Billy can remember, his father has called him a mistake. Said he’s mismatched, crooked, wrong like Her. Steve’s hands are crooked; so is his hair. But he makes Billy laugh, and, when Billy asks for it, he makes him cry. Tenderly. When he does that, Billy doesn’t feel so wrong; he feels stripped naked, made anew. That, by holding him and kissing him and smiling at him like he is now, Steve’s drawing all the bad blood out. Hands wringing him clean.

Steve shakes the spoon at him, his mouth and eyes shining with strange, cryptic light. They’re mismatched, Steve’s eyes. One has slightly more hazel in it than the other. Billy’s chest is heavy and warm, as if Steve’s placed his foot over his ribs instead of his leg. They’re mismatched, him and Steve. Whatever the fuck they have, on or off, is scrapped together haphazardly from different pieces of their lives, like an old quilt sewn from other old quilts, scratchy and smelly and a little ugly, but snug nonetheless. Good shelter for storms and shadows. 

Billy leans forwards, closing in on that secret space between Steve’s mouth and his ear. All around them rises a rabble of voices like vapor from the forest floor, kids laughing and catcalling to one another across the cafeteria. Steve holds the comic book upright, shielding both their faces. When Billy kisses him, he tastes the sweetness on Steve’s lip from where his pudding spoon missed his mouth, but it was never about that. When Billy said, You’re kind of weird-looking what he really, really meant was, I like you, a lot, and when he kisses Steve now what he means is, All mine.

[sm-entertain-me]

Dance With Me (M)

Contains: Jung Hoseok x (f) reader, smut, dance instructor!au, unprotected sex (don’t be a fool, wrap your tool kiddos), fingering

Synopsis: You mistakenly went into the wrong dance class but didn’t realize it would be the best mistake you had ever made in your life.

You watched as all of the dancers around you paired up with the ones who knew each other best, forming large groups that even reached to six per group, while you were left alone in the back of the room, you staring down at your sneakers. This was the first time you had ever tried to go to an actual dance class with a professional instructor, not just trying to teach yourself in your bedroom with the mirror that barely fit your whole body into it to watch your movements to see if they were being done in the way it was supposed to, so you weren’t really surprised that no one flocked to you to be your dance partner. But that was fine with you as you knew you weren’t here to make friends, you were here to prove to everyone that doubter you that you could make it as a dancer. Everyone around you had doubts about your potential dance career, insisting to just go to college like regular people and get a degree in something that carried weight in the world. This was your chance to prove that you had the potential to hang with the big dogs of the world of dance, and you weren’t about to give up on your dreams just yet.

Everyone was talking amongst themselves while you sat on the floor and spread out your legs into almost a split, showing off your flexibility as you reached over the length of your leg to grab the midpoint of you feet. You kept control of your breathing as your eyes closed, feeling the muscles in your body begin to loosen as you prepared for at least an hour of agonizing dance moves. Although you were enrolled in the beginner portion of the dance program they had offered at this establishment, you were not the one to underestimate anything in your life, so you stretched extra well as to not feel the painful tinge of muscle cramps later on tonight. As you were in the middle of your intense stretches, you heard the studio door open loudly and turned your head to see what was going on. In walked the most handsome man you have ever laid your eyes on; a man that was sort of tall in average standards, clear skin, smooth brown hair that clung to his forehead slightly, pair of sunglasses hanging loosely on the tip of his nose, a slight muscular build to his exposed biceps... Completely breathtaking. You could tell that by the way everyone had quieted down when he entered the room that he was indeed your instructor. Interesting.

The man crossed the area of the laminated hardwood floor, stretching his arms as he walked and moved to set his duffel bag down in the front of the studio, his arms stretching out to grab the ballet barre that mounted to the huge wall of mirrors. He made sure to look at everyone one by one, taking in their features as if he could tell how good they would do in his class by just their physical appearance. Some people earned light smiles, others earned bows to acknowledge their slightly older age than the man, while you didn’t earn anything but an intense stare as he tilted his head at you. He hadn’t seen you before in the program he had been teaching for at least two years, which was concerning for him since he could name every single person in the room with him, except for you. No matter, he held himself against the ballet barre as he began with introductions, “Hello everyone, I am Jung Hoseok, but you can call me Hobi or J-Hope, whatever suits your fancy. And I’m going to be your advanced modern dance instructor for the remainder of our time together.” 

Did he just say advanced modern dance instructor? You quickly looked around the room in panic as you forced yourself to your feet, rushing over to your bag that lay on the opposite side of the room off to the right of the lines of dancers, earning looks from nearly each one of the dancers. Digging through your duffel bag, you pulled out your phone and looked frantically through your notes that would shine some light as to why you’re in the wrong class. “And what do you think you’re doing?” You heard a dismissive voice come from right behind you, your frame tensing up as you could feel your legs starting to grow limp. Slowly, you stood up from the bent over position you were previously in, still gripping your phone in your hand as you returned the stare that Hoseok imbued onto your eyes, stammering as you spoke, “I-I think I’m in the wrong class, sir. I was j-just trying to figure out where to go.” Hoseok looked you up and down, taking in your features as he stopped on your toned calves, tight core, and slightly muscular arms, impressed to say the least, “I could tell from the moment I walked in here that you were in the wrong class. But this is your lucky day, you get to take my class for free instead of that measly beginner class across the hall, which you should be grateful for because this class usually costs $700 more than the beginner one. Now, take your place in the front of the room next to Raven and Eric and let’s see what we’re working with...”

By the end of the class time, you were a sweaty, panting mess that was ready to fall onto the floor and sleep for eternity. Hoseok wasn’t kidding when he said the class was advanced as he forced all of you to go through intense dance combinations, testing how flexible each and everyone of you were just to get a feel for what dance moves he could put you through before any of you would cry out from the pain, leaving no time for rest during any parts of the songs he was training you guys for. The whole experience was intense as you held onto your knees, doubled over from exhaustion as your forehead glistened with sweat, your feet aching, head pounding, heart racing... Hoseok saw how exhausted your were and instructed everyone to take five as he sauntered over to you, you being afraid he was going to yell at you for giving up on him after he allowed you to take part of this class at $700 less than the standard rate. Instead, he picked your chin up with his index finger and looked at you, a bright smile on his face as he handed you one of his water bottles, “You’re doing great by the way, I’m very impressed. But you still need to drink some water, even the most advanced dancers can’t go on without proper hydration.” “Thank you,” You breathed out hastily as you grabbed at the water bottle, you fingertips touching Hoseok’s warm and oddly comforting hands. As your fingers lingered on the top of his hand, you couldn’t help but feel tingling feeling flutter from your finger and start creeping up into your heart. It was something you weren’t used to feeling. In fact, you can’t really recall the last time you had ever felt something like that.

Hoseok seemed to notice the feeling as well as his eyes softened under you staring up at him, him clearing his throat as he let go of the water bottle into your hand, “You’re welcome.” With that, he turned back around and focused his attention to the whole class instead of just you as he decided to call it a day, “Great job everyone! Everyone is looking amazing and I’m very impressed with all of you and how far you’ve come since the last time I saw you guys. Keep up the good work, I’ll see you guys next week.” Sighing in relief, you waited for everyone to clear the area with all the duffel bags on the wall, finally reaching yours as you began to pack up all your things while simultaneously deciding if you should take a shower in the locker rooms that the institute provided or just wait until you get home. That was, until you felt a hand grip your shoulder softly.

You jumped at the sudden contact with your shoulder, startled even, “Jesus Christ!” You quickly calmed down as you turned around and came face to face with the handsome dance instructor, biting your lip lightly as you saw the way the seat glistened on his upper chest area. Hoseok laughed at your reaction to his touch, “Wow you scare easily... Just out of curiosity, where did you learn to dance because I have never seen someone dance with as much passion or precision as you and I’ve been doing this for a while.” Returning his kind smile, you slung your duffel bag over your shoulder before you responded, “I’m self taught. I really want to be a dancer but my family never approved of it, so I decided to take some professional lessons to see how I stack up. I guess I’m doing pretty well if I can hang with the advanced dancers and get complimented by the instructor. Do you always compliment your students like this? Like, take the time after class and say it to their face?” Hoseok shrugged his shoulders as he gripped the bottom of his white muscle shirt and reached up to dab his sweaty forehead, exposing his well defined abdominal muscles that caused you to suck in air abnormally fast. When he was satisfied, he let his shirt fall back down to cover his abs as he answered you, “Not really. None of them are as impressive as you, both in dance and in appearance.” That was sure to make you blush.

“Oh, well thank you,” You said as you pulled your head away to look at your aching feet, not wanting to show how red your cheeks were since you weren’t dancing anymore or working up a sweat to provide an excuse for you. Hoseok reached out to your crimson filled face, picking your chin up with his finger like he had done previously, parting his lips to say something but ended up being lost in your eyes before saying anything. Not that you minded because you too felt yourself become lost in his eyes, absolutely enamored with everything about him. Just then, Hoseok closed his eyes lightly and leaned in to you, his lips finding their way to yours as you smiled into the kiss, dropping your duffel bag to the ground with a loud thud as your hands found their way to the back of his neck. Hoseok’s hands wrapped around your slender waist, circling the small of your back lightly as he walked you backwards until your back came in contact with the wall behind you, making sure he didn’t overdo it and cause you to hit your head. You could feel yourself heating up as Hoseok’s tongue slid to your bottom lip, licking it slowly to ask for permission. Although you admit this was moving pretty fast for what you were used to, you figured that this could be an exception for you.

When you granted him access, Hoseok’s tongue slipped into your mouth and found yours, sliding over your muscle with his and essentially mixing your saliva together to form a sensual product that you both enjoyed. He made sure he left no part of your mouth unexplored as he made sure you felt the raw passion he had been saving for you ever since he locked eyes with you when you were in the back of his class. Hoseok then slid his hands from the small of your back to the bottom of your ass, gripping the skin in his hands only covered by the thin layer of your black yoga pants that he desperately wanted to rip off of you. “Can you take these off for me?” Hoseok groaned as he had pulled his lips off of yours and found themselves onto your neck, the vibrations of his voice sending chills down your spine, referencing your pants. You were too invested in how his lips moved gracefully over your neck to answer, so you just allowed him to do whatever he wanted with you as you gripped at the flesh on his back, digging your nails slightly into his back as he teethed a particularly sensitive area of your neck. Hoseok could sense that you wanted him to take them off for you while you relished in his sensual touches, slipping his hand in between your skin and the two layers you had on your lower body, looking up at you to get your consent before moving forward. You nodded at him with hooded eyes and a smile, watching as he slid the black fabric of your pants and your multicolored underwear down the length of your legs, pooling at your ankles before you kicked them to the side. 

“Fuck,” Hoseok muttered as he looked at your lower half, licking his lips in response as he stared longingly at your already slick sex as some of your essence as trapped between your thighs. You smirked at him as you gripped the top part of his sweatpants, cocking an eyebrow at him as you mimicked his previous tone, “Can you take these off for me?” “Yes ma’am,” He responded with a smirk as he basically ripped off his pants to reveal his throbbing length, the tip red with anticipation and need. Before you could do anything or react properly to his impressive length, his lips found yours again and kissed you passionately while his hands teased down to your hips before moving towards your core, circling the area just above your entrance. You tried to buck your hips at him to get him to touch you where you needed it most, but he pulled away, chuckling at how needy you were for him to fuck you. He admired your persistence and couldn’t say no to you and how you looked, a writhing mess in his hands as he hadn’t even touched your dripping sex yet, finally granting your wish of proper stimulation.

Hoseok’s hand slipped in between your legs, his thumb latching onto your swollen clit as he slid one lengthy finger inside of you, goading out a sharp moan as your thighs clenched uncontrollably at the touch. A smile lay on his face as he watched you intensely, testing to see what kind of touches, what kind of rhythm, and how many fingers he had to push into you to force out another barrage of moans. Your hands gripped at the back of his shirt as he pulled your leg around his waist to allow for you to spread out properly as he slid his third finger into you, you clamping down on your bottom lip to stifle the impending moans but were no match for your pleasures as the moan came out loudly, signalling to Hoesok that he had found the perfect formula to turn you into an absolute mess. “Hoseok please, no more. I need you to fuck me now,” You begged as your legs throbbed underneath his control, his thumb working your swollen bud in circles that drove you made with desire. Hoseok smiled as you as he pulled his fingers out of you, coated in your wetness as he licked them lasciviously, “All you had to do was ask.”

He grabbed you on either side of your hips as he raised you off of the ground effortlessly, moving a step closer to close the gap between your bodies as he ordered you to wrap your legs around his waist and hold on. You did as you were told, wrapping your legs around his waist tightly and holding onto the back of his muscle shirt as he slid you down onto his length, a gasp falling from your lips as your grip on his shirt tightened due to him stretching you out to lengths you could only dream of achieving. Hoseok’s cock filled you to the brim, reaching deep inside of you as he gripped onto your hips to keep you in place before he could start ramming himself into you, “You ready?” You nodded into his shoulder, still gripping onto the white clothing as if your life depended on it. With your approval, Hoseok drew back, sliding his length out of you slightly and ramming back into you, lewd sounds of skin smacking together filling the room. He continued to fuck you hard up against the wall of the studio, throwing his length into you at rapid speeds that you moaned loudly to every time he did it, you digging your nails into his skin instead of gripping onto his shirt. The amount of cursing and the sheer volume of your moans would make even a nun blush as you let the whole world know just who was fucking you and how hard you were being fucked, convinced that Hoseok would ram himself into your so hard that you would go through the wall.

“Hoseok!” You cried out as your legs wrapped around his waist the tightest they had ever been since you two had started your sinful activity, trying to hold off cumming for a little longer to feel the pleasure building inside of you rapidly. You looked down in between your bodies as Hoseok’s cock would bury deep inside of you, you biting your lip at the sight as you threw your head back from the delightful scene. Hoseok was absolutely enamored with the faces of pleasure you were making and was determined to force more out of you, but even he knew he was approaching his limit. “Baby, I’m gonna cum soon,” He groaned out as he continued to ram himself into you, smacking his hands on the wall behind you to get the maximum amount of depth he could out of you. Instead of responding with words, you felt the band holding back your eventual orgasm snap as you cried out his full name, gripping his back hard enough to draw blood as your walls tightened around his throbbing cock buried deep inside of you, pulling greedily at Hoseok’s cock inside of you to usher out an orgasm of his own. The minute Hoseok saw your face twist into the shape of ultimate pleasure, he couldn’t hold back as he blew his load inside of you, painting your walls white and mixing his cum with your essence to produce a sinful liquid. Hoseok helped the both of you ride out your highs as he gave small thrusts inside of you, slowing down to calm himself down as he pressed his sweaty forehead onto yours, his chest rising and falling against yours as he panted loudly. 

“That... was amazing,” Hoseok said in between breaths as he let your legs fall to the floor, him pulling out of you and watched as the liquid poured out of you and ran down your leg, rushing to the opposite side of the room to get you a napkin to clean yourself up properly. You gladly took the napkin and wiped up from your mid thigh up to your sex to rid yourself of any evidence of the amazing sex you just had with your instructor, nodding at his statement, “I agree.” Hoseok watched you with a kind smile as you put your pants back on, struggling to keep your balance as the whole ordeal made your knees a little weak, but you were determined to not fall. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself as he watched you, thinking about how all of this happened. Maybe it was fate that brought you into this classroom, fate that had Hoseok take you under his wing (and ultimately under him, lolol) and show you new techniques to which you mastered almost immediately. Whatever it was, you were glad it happened, and you couldn’t wait for next week’s lesson. 

[mensbodybuildingtips]

How Training Frequency Can Help or Hurt Your Muscle Growth

How frequently do you have to educate your muscular tissues to make gains in the fitness center? Keep reading to locate out.

Optimal training frequency is a fiercely discussed subject.

Some people think that you need to train your whole body 2 to 3 times weekly to earn gains, whereas others think that such an method will just result in overtraining. Additional making complex the matter is that individuals have made all kinds of crazy training regimens "job" in terms of structure muscle mass and also strength.

Recommendations run the range from exceptionally reduced exercise volumes (1 or 2 collections per muscle group) repeated several times weekly to incredibly high volumes (20 to 25 sets each muscular tissue team) done much more infrequently.

Well, the fact is optimal training frequency as an all-natural weightlifter depends upon what you're carrying out in each exercise, both in regards to volume as well as intensity.

Finding scientific assistance on the matter of ideal training volume is difficult due to the number of variables entailed, yet something of an answer can be found in a large review conducted by scientists at Goteborg University.

I'll get right to the point and also price estimate the research study:

" Overall, modest volumes (-30 to 60 reps each session for [Dynamic External Resistance] training) show up to produce the biggest responses."

While progressed lifters seem to be able to stretch this variety a bit, it has a great deal of unscientific support and also is commonly advised by enlightened, experienced weightlifters and body builders. If you consider a number of the popular, tried-and-true regimens available, the regular workout quantity typically falls in there someplace (30 to 60 reps carried out each major muscle mass team each week).

For example, my Bigger Leaner Stronger program has you do 9 to 12 sets of 4 to 6 representatives per significant muscle mass group. You relocate up in weight when you get 6 reps (which typically knocks your next put down to 4 reps), so the exercises range in between 45 as well as 60 high-intensity reps. And individuals make fantastic strength as well as size gains on the program.

My program for innovative weightlifters, Beyond Bigger Leaner Stronger, requires doing about 60 to 75 representatives each exercise, with a combination of extremely high-intensity, high-intensity, and moderate-intensity work. This exercise quantity-- both the number of associates and the intensities used-- has both scientific as well as unscientific proof on its side. It works, period.

So, if that's the exercise volume, let's obtain back to the matter of training frequency.

In Bigger Leaner Stronger, for circumstances, I suggest people lift weights 5 times per week and take 2 days off weight training. Each body part obtains its very own day (breast, back, shoulders, arms, legs), as well as therefore each body part obtains straight trained once weekly. (Bear in mind, nonetheless, that due to the period of compound lifting you're carrying out in the program, you're educating a great deal greater than the main muscular tissue teams daily. For example, the Deadlift as well as Squat trains a great deal more compared to simply your back and legs.)

Well, some people believe that such a technique is doomed-- that each muscle group requires at least two full workouts per week to expand bigger and also more powerful. Both unscientific evidence and scientific study claims or else, though.

I have ratings of success tales to show that training each major muscle mass team as soon as each 5 to 7 days generates remarkable results, and research shows that appropriate workout quantity as well as strength show up to be extra essential than frequency.

That is, your muscle mass can just take a lot of a beating each week and whether you complete that in one workout or 3, the outcomes will be essentially the same.

The bum rap that "one-muscle-group-per-day" divides get is mostly due to bad program design: inadequate workout selection, associate range focus, and workout quantity. A lot of one-a-day divides entail excessive seclusion deal with reduced weight for high representatives, which leads to reduced workout intensity with volumes that are far as well high.

" However just what regarding healthy protein synthesis rates?" you could be thinking. "Aren't muscles completely recovered in 2 to 3 days, prepared to obtain struck again?"

Well, research has actually revealed that muscular tissue protein synthesis rates surge at regarding 1 Day after an exercise as well as go back to typical by about 36 hrs. This suggests that theoretically you need to train each muscular tissue group when every 2 to 3 days to boost optimum muscular tissue growth, and there are weightlifting programs constructed around this principle.

These kinds of programs can work, but an usual problem individuals run into with them relates to healing. As training quantity as well as intensity rises, so does the quantity of time it takes for your muscular tissues to completely recover, as measured by performance capacity.

Research has revealed that even in resistance-trained, college-aged males, complete muscle mass recovery could take anywhere from 48 to 96 hrs depending upon just how they trained, consumed, and also slept, in addition to other physical elements like hormonal agents and genetics.

If we consider various other recovery-related studies, we see that most individuals's muscular tissues take closer to 72 - 96 hours to fully recover from an intense weightlifting session, that older guys need even more time to recover than young, as well as that larger muscle mass need even more time to recover than smaller.

Furthermore, muscle healing is just component of the picture.

Intense weightlifting places a whole lot of stress on the nervous system, and study has shown that this fatigue could "collect" from workout to exercise. If it ends up being as well fantastic, overtraining signs embeded in, which consists of a significant decrease in efficiency, anxiety, sleep disruptions, as well as more.

The profits is the mix of appropriate training quantity and also high exercise intensity utilizing a once-per-week split works extremely well when done properly. Right here's a really typical Monday to Friday method:

Day 1:

Chest and Abs

Day 2:

Back and Calves

Day 3:

Shoulders

Day 4:

Arms and Abs

Day 5:

Legs

Day 6:

Cardio or Rest

Day 7:

Cardio or Rest

Rest days can be interspersed:

Day 1:

Chest and Abs

Day 2:

Back and Calves

Day 3:

Rest

Day 4:

Arms and Abs

Day 5:

Shoulders

Day 6:

Legs

Day 7:

Rest

The order of muscular tissue groups trained could be tweaked as well:

Day 1:

Legs

Day 2:

Chest and Abs

Day 3:

Arms

Day 4:

Back and Calves

Day 5:

Shoulders and Abs

Day 6:

Cardio

Day 7:

Rest

If weak factor training, which I chat about in Beyond Bigger Leaner Stronger, were included, it could look like this:

Day 1:

Chest and Abs

Day 2:

Back and Calves

Day 3:

Shoulders

Day 4:

Arms and Abs

Day 5:

Legs

Day 6:

Shoulders and Back (weak factors)

Day 7:

Rest

So, in the end, discovering the best training regularity for your body is going to entail just trying various divides and also seeing exactly how your body reacts.

That claimed, whatever your split, if you're emphasizing hefty weightlifting in your exercises (as well as you must be), I suggest that you restrict your weekly reps to the 50 to 75 range.