#whatever the state of that skin is i feel like it cannot possibly be comfortable

[vampcaprisun]

recovering from top surgery and starting scar care has really given me a new appreciation for how fucked up astarion’s back must be from those scars. like excuse me sir get over here and let me give you a massage bc i KNOW that skin doesn’t move the way it should anymore

[1980shorrorfilm]

sour times

click here. resources for palestine, congo, sudan, and other countries.

btw to the requests in my inbox; i see u. i hear u. 🙏

pairing…jackson!abby x gn!reader x ellie

in which…you confront your not-so-great relationship with abby after she had stolen your best friend from you.

before you read…angst *sigh.* brief sexual content (for the plot!! no smut) you’re kinda mean here but i forgive you. 🫶

“do you like her?” “i don’t…i don’t know…i think so.”

her perfect blonde braid taunts you. you believe this is what hell is, following the lead of abigail anderson while the biting wind howls around you, snowflakes hitting your tender skin. 

the landscape is a winter wonderland, but you can’t seem to enjoy it in this state. perhaps if you were in the comfort of your bedroom, hot chocolate in your hand, and ellie williams by your side, you’d be in heaven. but that’s not even achievable these days. her time is spent with abby, the two in the woman’s garage, doing whatever when you’re not around, and you never are. 

it’s torturous to be the third. you had ellie first, your first real friend in the small town. you weren’t hers, cat had that blessing. but regardless, it appeared no one could even crack the bond you two had. and then she came along.

strolling into jackson like a puppy with eyes that resembled a stormy sea, her long hair adorned in a neat fishtail braid. she was sweet, but not in the naive way. she stood her ground when challenged, she showed her strength when needed, and she proved just how valuable she was to your community.

she also had a face you could admire for days, like some goddess one would worship many lifetimes ago. tan freckles scatter across her nose like lilies in a field, compared to ellie’s that are like stars in a busy midnight sky. they make their way down to her chest, sprinkled on her shoulders, and dancing over her biceps— her fucking biceps. god. abby was just fucking perfect. it aggravates you.

maybe that’s why ellie took a liking to her so rapidly. you get it— you hate it. and last night, you couldn’t help but ask your friend about their relationship, asking the auburn-haired woman if it was a crush. such a silly word, you had thought as it left your mouth. ellie even laughed quietly at it, avoiding an answer. then, you had asked again, ‘do you like her?’ 

and ellie had answered after hesitation, ‘i think so.’

i think so. jealousy coursed through your veins at the simple and uncertain answer; but you cannot pinpoint why, exactly. you never thought you liked ellie in that way. there was no doubt she was attractive, ellie happens to own that word, but your friendship was simply that. 

a friendship. no delving into romantic territory besides some lingering touches and a bit too deep all-nighters. there was nothing that made you yearn for her, when you already had her in such proximity to you, at your very fingertips. abby did a good job fucking that up, though. 

so you sat there, like a void was sucking you up at her answer. the idea of them…being a thing…sent chills down your spine. a nightmare possibly becoming a reality, if the feelings are mutual. and that scares you even more, abby finding herself enamored by ellie. somehow spending even more time with her than she already does. spending nights and mornings in her bed. it was all wrong. 

something that has yet to happen, already terrorizing you. it just can’t happen.

abby slows down her horse to walk beside you rather than in front of you, “you’re quiet…something wrong?”

you meet her eyes, legitimate concern within them. you were never the most talkative with her, but abby isn’t stupid and the tension in the air is almost as painful as the harsh weather you’re enduring. she wonders if she’s the cause of it. 

did she forget to wish you a good morning at the stables, something she did every single patrol? give you the wrong impression when she stared at you, utterly captivated by you? make you feel weak when she pulled an infected off of you, hands wandering your body making sure you were okay?

you answer her bluntly, “no.”

she tries again, “you can tell me if i did something…”

“you didn’t,” you insist, and surprisingly, it’s only a half lie. it’s the conversation with ellie that’s hanging over you like a dark cloud, and abby happens to be the focal point of it. 

abby seems to accept your response, for now, and tears her eyes off you. the wind has managed to pick up, and the horses are growing slower as they trudge through the snow. 

“that house up there,” abby motions with her head, a red house amongst the beige ones that surround it, “let’s hold up there.”

a stubborn part of you wants to tell her that she can wait there, and you will continue home. but you’re not a moron, and you don’t exactly feel like dying today, as much as ellie tempted you with the morbid idea. you’re freezing and crave shelter, even if that means being stuck another hour or so with abby. 

you follow abby to the home, waiting on your horse as she hops off hers, lifting the garage door for you to enter. when you do, there’s immediate relief in your body, abby behind you whispering sweet words to her horse, stroking the golden fur as she does so. it’s, unfortunately, cute. you keep your smile to yourself, patting your own horse when you get off her, then reaching for your gun before entering the home. 

“wait.” you pause and look back at abby, who walks in front of you, taking the lead yet again. an innocent yet condescending action that irks you deeply, watching the woman quietly slip past the wooden door, scanning the area for any sort of threat. 

you’re not as quiet when you follow behind her, stepping on some wrapper that crackles beneath your shoe, abby eyeing you like you spit on her. you brush it off, “i’ll check upstairs.”

“i’ll go with you.” “jesus— i don’t want you to.”

your sharp tongue takes her back, but there’s no anger in her eyes, it’s that same concern from moments ago. it makes you feel bad, but instead of apologizing, you leave her there, going upstairs like you said you would.

the old stairs creak with each quick step that you take, you forget the purpose of you coming up here. you just wanted to get away from her. that’s the reason why you’re immediately against a wall, snarling in your ear from a rotten corpse trying to bite it off. 

you resist, holding it at an arm's length away with one hand, the other reaching in your pocket for your pocket knife. your hands are cold and shaky, dropping it the moment you pull it out, when the splatter of blood meets your face. the thing is dead, falling before you, eyes meeting hers.

“a-are you—” “i’m fine,” you say coldly, bumping your shoulder with hers when you take a step forward and continue on. abby is really fucking confused, remaining frozen in the hall, staring at the dead infected at her feet. her eyes trail to your pocket knife, then back to you. 

you push open bedroom doors as you pass them, hardly searching them for any more infected. you assume if they wanted to, they’d attack you right then and there, and maybe if you’re lucky, a blonde knight in shining armor will save you. she had an annoying habit of doing so. 

“hey,” abby jogs toward you, trapping you in a doorway, “dropped this.”

the metal glimmers in her hands, and you’re quick to take your beauty of a weapon from her. oddly, you’re protective of the inanimate object, a thoughtful gift from ellie herself. the handle is a dulled shade of your favorite color, and the blade is a bit rusted, but that doesn’t bother you. “thanks,” you mumble, waiting for her to move. she doesn’t.

“wanna tell me why you’re acting like this?” “like what?”

“like that.” “what’s that?”

abby blinks at you, and you remain unfazed. you can tell her calm demeanor is deteriorating before you, patience running thin. “what did i do to you?” she asks, “since i showed up in jackson…it’s like you hate me.”

ouch. the words sting you more than her, and you cannot blame her for believing in such a thing. what have you done to show her otherwise?

held back smiles when she made kind remarks, generous gestures, and stupid jokes? left her out of conversations, not daring to spare eye contact when it was you, her, and ellie, sitting together? made weak small talk that made her feel like nothing but an acquaintance in town, when she just wanted more? 

you sigh, “i don’t…hate you.”

“you make that really hard to believe,” abby replies, crossing her arms. this close, you examine how the tip of her nose and cheeks are a hue of red from the bitter weather. it almost matches her lips…her lips. you’re watching her lips. you catch yourself, and whatever this is, pushing her away. you swallow the dusty air, fast steps taking you right back downstairs. 

of course, abby is on your trail. “you know we’re stuck here, right?” 

like a flip had been switched, you’re once again snappy with her, “no shit.”

“you confuse me, you know that?”

you pretend to ignore her words, focusing on the fireplace in the living room. there are enough logs to last as you wait out the blizzard, so you tug your backpack off and drop it on the distressed coffee table. you search for your matches, that are always in the first pocket in your bag, but they’re not there. 

you’re trying to remember when you took them out, or if they fucking ran away on their own. it doesn’t matter— abby is already ahead of you, and an orange glow suddenly illuminated the dim room. you turn your head, seeing the obnoxious sly grin on her face. “you’re welcome.”

you don’t thank her. you sit on the worn-out floral sofa a few feet away, eyes boring into the flames that are quick to warm you. “do you want a blanket?” abby offers, which you shake your head at. “you hungry?” again, you respond a ‘no,’ with your head. 

the problem with abby is that she’s genuine. she cares about you even if you have not shown the same worry toward her. and maybe that speaks for you more than abby. 

you don’t notice her reaching in her bag, pulling out some crumpled up gauze, until she sits beside you and reaches for your face. you move away when you feel her touch, furrowing your brows at her. “wanna be stubborn and keep that blood on your pretty face?”

your cool cheeks heat up, hardened appearance softening just slightly, then allowing her to wipe the nasty fluid off. she’s soft as she does so, taking her time, and the opportunity to adore your features at such close proximity. you’d probably give her a scowl if you realized so.

“is it her?”

“what?” “ellie. did she piss you off?”

abby is too observant for your own good. there’s only one…two people in jackson that can invoke such strong emotions from you, even if you hide them poorly. “no…”

“you kinda suck at this lying thing,” abby calls you out, large hand on your cheek, turning it so she can clean up any remaining blood on the other side of your face. “if she did, i could kick her ass.”

the somewhat joke leaves you with a puzzled expression. and then you laugh. “yeah, okay,” your tone is nothing but sarcastic, “like you’d ever take my side over hers.”

“what do you mean?” 

you bite your lip, tearing your eyes off her and into the burning wood. it’s not a loaded question, but it’s a loaded answer. to explain to her that ellie is her priority, as abby is hers, and you’re just there. someone that was kicked to the curb, left for envy to grow on you like poison ivy. 

you keep it short, “you guys are close.”

“well, yeah, we’re friends.” for now, you think, a humorless chuckle quietly escaping your lips. abby catches it, opens her mouth, and immediately shuts it. she finally lets go of your face, tossing the crimson coated gauze on the floor, her pupils still trained on you. the loss of her touch almost bothers you. then she speaks again.

“do you…do you think i like her or something? because we aren’t…anything.”

seconds pass in silence as you debate the question dancing on your tongue, curious if it’s overstepping but more intrigued about the answer. even if it will hurt to hear, you simply need to know. “do you want to be?”

“no, of course not.”

guilt ruins through your veins at the relief that settles in your body, knowing poor ellie would frown at the unrequited feelings. but there’s something else that gives you hope…why the fuck do you have hope? you gulp, “okay.”

“do you like her?” “what?!” “is that what this is about?”

“no— no it’s not, it’s not that.” “then what is it?”

you, honestly, cannot give her a proper response. this isn’t about some stupid nonexistent crush on your friend, yet that would make the most sense for whatever these feelings of resentment are. 

you’re quiet as you try to think of something, and it doesn’t help that her blue-grey eyes are zoning into you, as if she’s trying to peel the complicated layers off of you. she’s trying to understand, she really is, and it painfully makes your heart swell. you truly do get ellie. 

your façade of disinterest is chipping away like the paint on these very walls, her gaze on you making you want to break— to give in —and the moment your eyes fall to her pink lips, you do exactly that. 

you close the space between you two, nearly crawling on the couch and in her lap when you gently grab the sides of her face, kissing her before you even realize that you’re kissing her. it was an urge you couldn’t simply couldn’t resist. and abby welcomes it.

she moves in sync, pushing her lips against yours deeper, surprised when you pull away. the moment hits you at once; you and abby. abby and you. it has your eyes widened and lips parted, searching for something to say. sorry? no…that doesn’t feel right. you’re not sorry. and abby doesn’t want you to apologize, she needs you to keep going.

as if you both read the others mind, you lean into each other, connecting your lips once more.

you think of ellie, what she had told you with such vulnerability, and then you think of abby. abby, who had a intense desire to taste you, and was making that evidently clear. the aftermath of whatever this is, will be dealt with when that time comes.

you swallow the guilt when your tongue mixes with hers, abby tugging you on top of her, gripping your shirt like her life depends on it. her eagerness sends shivers down your spine, more intense than the horrid weather outside ever could to you. 

it feels too good to stop, she feels too good. abby is unbuttoning her jacket, while you’re tugging yours off, the kiss suddenly messy as you’re both failing to multitask. you giggle against her lips when you both manage to do so, her callous hand cradling the back of your neck to draw you closer. if that were possible.

you deepen the kiss, your hands slipping beneath the knit long sleeve shirt she wears. you explore the abs you’ve only ever seen through tight shirts that had you in a daze, not that you would’ve ever admit that to her, though. she attempts to say your name against your lips, her voice weak and breathy.

you pull away and tilt her chin up with your fingers, trailing your lips down her jaw, to the side of her neck. the world outside vanishes as abby loses herself in the sensation of your lips on her neck, sweet kisses that shift to gentle bites.

it’s the tender spots that you suck, that earn hushed whimpers from her. and you make sure to do it over, over, and over again. like a damn vampire, sinking your teeth into her, and marking your territory, when she’s not even yours.

and then you stop, noticing the room was dark. the fire had gone out. “we should— uh,” you climb off of her, the woman catching the breath she seemed to hold still the entire time. 

“yeah…” she agrees, chest rising, licking her lips. 

the wind has calmed down by now, a tolerable ride home that’s extremely quiet, besides the occasional gust of wind. except it’s not awkward the way it was hours prior. you’re exchanging short glances at the other, small smiles when your eyes would meet. 

you make it back to jackson safely, both of you dropping off the horses at the stables, making small talk as you walk home. you’re not talking about what just happened inside that red house, both of you are too shy to bring it up, to ask if that meant anything to the other. 

it truthfully drifts from your mind as abby is explaining a childhood story, until your eyes fall on her. ellie, heading in your direction, toward you two. 

it’s when she gets closer, that her pupils fall to abby’s neck; the pale skin decorated with purple marks, caused by you. she had been so worried about you two, and now, she feels dumb. and hurt.

especially when you just give her a tight-lipped smile, knowing exactly what you have done. and more importantly, that you wanted her to see it.

[crumbledcastle28]

Javier Pena: Blowing Off Steam

Pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader (she/her; afab)

Summary: During one of the most important meetings of his career, Javier is relentlessly distracted by the drive over.

Excerpt: "That's the spot, isn't it hermosa?" he said into your ear. The smell of your sweat mixed with your perfume as well as the small groans you were releasing only spurred him on more. "Think you're in control, thought you had me."

Your eyes fluttered closed and your jaw began to tremble, digging your nails into his bulging biceps seemed to be the only thing giving you any sort of relief.

Neither of you heard the partition clicking shut.

He smiled at your state, kissing the crown of your head. "You do have me, cielo. But tonight I have you."

Warnings: making out, heavy touching, smutty smut smut, dirty talk, my attempt at Spanish, unestablished relationship, swearing, italicized=flashback/past, I am positive this doesn't actually work with canon, Javier is a simp.

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: I don't really know what to say besides I missed this with every part of me. Please enjoy this brain rot that has gotten me through the last three months.

If you would like to leave a like, comment, ask, or reblog, it would be much appreciated <3

Pedro Masterlist

General Masterlist

(gif from pinterest you cannot convince me that isn't a hickey on his neck bfibrifbiri)

Javier's taste buds were coated with a delightfully devilish mix of Cheval Blanc and red lipstick as he sucked in your heated breaths.

Your thighs fit so fucking perfectly in his hands as he gave them a squeeze. Your bare, sweaty skin squeaked against the leathered seats in response.

"Javi," you whined, and he shushed you gently. The streetlights passing by illuminated your smooth skin like music, and he was tempted to pull away only to stare at you.

Another whimper from your swollen mouth persuaded him against it.

He moved his teeth down your throat, pulling you impossibly closer to him. He could feel the heat of your core against him as you began to grind into him slightly, god did it make his lower stomach pulse.

He switched to the left side of your neck, pushing you against the car door ever so slightly as he cut his vision to the driver. The man's bald head had remained facing forward, his skin a deep tan. He figured limo drivers had to deal with this sort of bullshit all the time. A part of him enjoyed the fact that another man was learning just how liquid you were for him.

A bigger part of him fucking hated it.

It was this millisecond of inner turmoil that gave you the upper hand - pulling his mouth from your throat and bringing it to your own, sucking his bottom lip into your mouth, sliding your hand down his pants, tracing his happy trail as your fingers cupped him so fucking flawlessly -

"Agent?"

Javier sucked in a breath. His palms had practically soaked through the menu in his hands.

"Ye-yes?" he said, clearing his throat.

The Colonel scoffed. "Your head is not where your heart is, Peña."

"Fuck off," he whispered back, and stuck his nose back into the menu.

Carillo had called a meeting about a possible promotion for Javi, suggesting he was "too acquainted" with the night life of Colombia to be sitting at a desk all day. He felt Javi was needed on the ground, working within the system than around it. A true DEA agent, rather than a glorified secretary.

Hence whatever the fuck this dinner was.

Javi was surrounded by his superiors, men and women he had never seen nor met before, as well as what had to be hundreds of dollars in booze. The menu before him had words he had never even heard of before, as well as prices that seemed to stretch off the page if he unfocused his eyes.

He was the furthest out of his comfort zone that he could have ever imagined, while consecutively borderline emotional at the favor Carillo was doing for him. He was dealing with more emotions than he had allowed himself to in years.

You had looked too pretty that night not to blow off some steam.

-he could have come right then and there. He felt your smile against his lips as he jumped at the feeling, before practically melting into your hands. He could barely kiss you through his panting.

"Sensitive," you whispered as you dragged your teeth down his jawline, paying particular attention to the crease between his bone and his neck. The two of you had done this enough for you to know all his weak spots.

He gripped the fabric of your dress as you did before sliding his hands underneath it, resting his hands on your ribcage. You sighed at the feeling.

"I'm sensitive?" he whispered, moving his hands all the way up to cup your breasts. You tucked your face more into his neck as he did, but continued to trace his head and dick. This flipped the switch on him once again, chills etching themselves down his spine, and a renewed heat boiling his organs -

Javier came back to a woman whose name he had long forgotten asking him a question he absolutely did not hear.

But, he flashed his charming smile anyway.

"Yes ma'am," he said, and despite the woman's efforts, a faint blush crawled up her neck.

"And what makes you say that?" she said in reply.

He could feel Carillo's smile.

"Just a gut feeling," Javier said, and to his surprise, she smiled.

-that finally caused something in him to ignite. He felt out of body, watching himself as if from he was a fly on the ceiling remove his dominant hand from your breast and bring it between your legs. He only took a few seconds to enjoy the wetness that had culminated there before he teased your opening.

Your jaw fell open, giving him ample opportunity to stick his tongue down your throat as he finally fingered you up to the knuckle.

Your body convulsed against him, any and all air escaping your lungs the very second he began to pump in and out of you. It was messy, it was desperate, but god was it everything -

"And how exactly was that handled, Agent...." the man paused, before snapping his fingers in recognition. "Peña. Agent Peña."

Javier swallowed. "Well, we could never have pulled it off without the Colonel, as well as our other agents."

Javier had never spoken so out of his ass in his life.

"I was just a puzzle piece," he said before taking another sip of his bourbon.

The man appeared partially pleased, but unconvinced.

"And how exactly do you plan on being less of a puzzle piece going forward, Mr. Peña?" The man said this as he leaned forward in his chair, folding his hands onto the table.

Every eye at this goddamn table was on him, and for some reason, it made him think of you once again. The way you would whisper in his ear. Your unwillingness to appear afraid. You had told him once you couldn't afford to look afraid in a city like Bogotà.

"It's better to look stupid than afraid. It would eat me fucking alive," you had said.

He decided to take a page out of your book for once.

"I plan on being the person placing the pieces, sir," Javier said. "I can only do that by being more active in the streets. Fieldwork, groundwork, whatever you want to call it."

Javier leaned forward, mimicking the man's position almost exactly.

"How else can I see the full picture?" he asked.

The man's skin was as red as his wine, while his colleagues were as shined as gold.

-and more, prompting Javier to do what he seemed incapable to avoid doing whenever he was with you: lose complete control of his mouth.

"That's the spot, isn't it hermosa?" he said into your ear. The smell of your sweat mixed with your perfume as well as the small groans you were releasing only spurred him on more. "Think you're in control, thought you had me."

Your eyes fluttered closed and your jaw began to tremble, digging your nails into his bulging biceps seemed to be the only thing giving you any sort of relief.

Neither of you heard the partition clicking shut.

He smiled at your state, kissing the crown of your head. "You do have me, cielo. But tonight I have you."

You rocked up and down onto his fingers, whining into his ear as he used his middle finger to pump, and his thumb to caress your clit. He took the one he had around your neck down to your thigh, tracing the muscles, invigorating what you were already feeling between your thighs. It rose up and up to your breasts, forcing you to cup and play with them.

He smiled again, removing the hand from your thigh to bring it up to one of your breasts. He fondled one, while you fondled the other.

"Didn't know you could get this bothered from just my ha-"

"Shut the fuck up," you said and kissed him so hard your teeth clashed -

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Agent Peña," said the blushing woman from before. "I look forward to working with you in the future."

Javier was no dummy. He could very easily read between the lines of what she was implying. However, due to how much he could not get his mind off of you - despite the fact that he finally got the job he had been dreaming about since he was a little kid - he had a feeling that he would only disappoint.

"Thank you, ma'am," he said, and shook her hand firmly.

He said his goodbyes to his superiors before following Carillo outside the restaurant. The two men sat there, waiting for their individual limos to arrive.

Where the DEA got the money for shit like this, Javier had no idea.

Carillo patted Javier on the back in congratulations, which was more affection that Javier had ever seen the man give to his own wife, and Javier gave him a nod in return.

It was then that Carillo began to chuckle.

"Cual es tu problema?" Javier asked, slightly aggitated.

Carillo shook his head. "You could have at least attempted to hide your way of blowing off steam, Pena," he said, gesturing to his own neck.

Javier must have reddened, because Carillo only laughed harder.

-so hard he was shocked one didn't chip. The two of you stayed that way for some - grinding and kissing and pulling at each other - before the limo finally pulled up to his destination.

You pulled away from him as you felt the limo lurch into park. You looked behind him, eyes widening slightly at the sight of the restaurant Javier would be dining at. You then smiled at him, wiping at his face and his hair, as well as straightening out his lapel.

"You should have warned me," you said to him, "I would have gone easier."

He smiled. "No, you wouldn't."

You smiled back, giving him one last kiss. It was deep, but deep in a way that meant more than goodbye. He couldn't afford to look more into it than that.

"Good luck," you whispered, and he nodded before exiting the vehicle. He saw you wipe at your own face through the window, as well as give the driver your address.

He watched you drive away, his heart shifting from a delightful flutter to an anxious one.

He watched his limo pull up behind Carillo's, sucking in the last of the chilled night air.

"Good luck, Peña," Carillo said as he walked to his car, a slight slur in his voice from all the bourbon. "Go and fucking celebrate."

Javier grinned as he opened his limo's door, exhaling in relief at his prayers of having a different driver being answered. The driver didn't even turn around as he said in a thick Colombian accent, "Where to?"

Javier knew exactly where he was headed.

He was going to fucking celebrate.

Tag list: (if you would like to be added please let me know :)

@lovesbiggerthanpride @paintlavillered @xocalliexo @c4psicle @joelsflannel @thesmutslut @untitledarea @daphne-turner @queerponcho @leahkenobi

[sxcret-garden]

Jongho ღ Feverish [M]

ღ Ateez Jongho x fem-bodied!reader ღ words: ~1.9k ღ genre: smut ((mostly) soft dom!Jongho, fingering, oral (all reader receiving), unprotected sex, multiple orgasms) ღ warnings: they have sex while reader is sick

Desc.: You've been sick for days and also horny, and even though you know just as well as your boyfriend does that it'd be better to rest and to keep any indecent activities for when you're feeling better, you also both know how hard it is for him to say no to a request from you.

"You're sick, love. Not today."

"Please, just once, baby..." you whine at your boyfriend while you feel him running the back of his fingers across your forehead. Shooting you a kind smile, he leans in to press a kiss against that same spot, and then he adds,

"You're burning up again. I promise you I'll be there for you, but you have to get better first." You pout up at him, the fever clouding your mind, and when he lies down on the bed next to you, taking you into his arms and letting you rest your heavy head against his chest for a while, you know he's trying to comfort you, but really he's just making the situation worse.

You've been sick for days, and your boyfriend has been by your side every free minute to check up on you, bring you some tea or to simply offer his company in case you're feeling lonely or bored. However, none of that is of any concern to you now, because all you can feel is the way your body is begging you for some sex, and even though being both sick and horny doesn't mix well, you just can't help the state you're in.

"Please..." you start another attempt at convincing Jongho to lend you a hand. "Just one orgasm... I'm going crazy here..." You keep your voice low, feeling ashamed to be begging for it like this, but when your eyes meet his you can clearly see his resolve wavering. You know he only wants the best for you, and the best in this situation is for you to rest and sleep as much as possible, but at the same time this guy just cannot possibly say no to you. You give him big puppy eyes to push him just a little further to giving in, and as soon as he lets out a big sigh you know you've won.

"Fine..." he breathes, his hand finding your chin to tilt it up so he can get a proper look at your face. "What do you need me to do?" You gulp at his words - somehow that simple question is enough to make heat rush to your core in the state you're currently in, but you don't care. Without hesitation, you form a request,

"Want your cock..."

"Baby..." he sighs upon hearing you out, thumb now brushing against your cheek. "Shouldn't we take it easy...?" And once again you whine at him, but if you're being completely honest with yourself, at this point you'd take whatever he's willing to give you.

"Why not...?" you decide to pry, and you receive a kiss against your temple in return.

"Because I'm missing you too..." he mumbles, dragging his lips down the side of your face and eventually nipping at the skin underneath your earlobe. "I don't want to take things too far on accident." Rationally speaking, you should be thanking him for being so considerate, but as you feel his kisses against your skin and you're already starting to melt under his touch, there's really only one thing left on your mind. And so you reach for one of his hands and you bring it to your core, and as soon as he starts teasing you through the fabric of your pants you mewl at the pleasure and you decide to simply wait and see how far he's actually willing to go.

"Does that feel good?" you hear him ask and you immediately nod, moaning at his words in your haze. 

"Need more..." you mutter and your boyfriend doesn't hesitate to pull down your pants. He probably figures it's best to get to the point as fast as possible, so you could go back to resting soon, but to you it's all the same - you know you won't be satisfied after cumming just once, you just don't know if you'll have enough strength in your body to beg for more then. So for now you stick to whining at his touches, running your fingers through his hair as you bring him in to kiss him, and with your nails running down his back as he buries his digits further inside you, you're hoping to rile him up enough for him to at least give you a second round.

"So wet for me even when you're sick, huh..." he mutters next to your ear, and you can't do anything but nod.

"I need you so bad, baby..." you whisper, and you can already feel the knot in your stomach tightening.

"I know... I'll take care of you..." And then he presses one last kiss to your forehead, before throwing the blanket aside and crawling south. Not wasting any time, he pulls your pants and underwear off you, and you gasp when he throws your legs over his shoulders. "I'll make you feel good..." he mumbles as he leaves a trail of sloppy kisses up the inside of your thigh, and if it wasn't for the fever clouding your mind you could've seen the exact moment all will to resist has left him. 

Now feeling yourself trapped in his strong hold, you can only moan at the way his tongue feels against your core. Your body too weak to even reach down to continue playing with his hair, all you can do is wait as he's chasing your orgasm, humming at your taste and letting his lips do some magic. 

"Taste so good baby..." he praises you, having you whine in response. "I'll make you cum so good..." His words ringing in your ears as you throw your head back and press your eyelids closely shut, you're begging for him not to stop his ministrations in your mind, and when he finally slides his fingers back inside you with ease, you think you're going to lose your mind.

"R-right there..." you mewl weakly and he makes sure to keep going at his exact pace, until finally he can feel your walls contracting around him. You become a whining mess as your orgasm strikes, and when you're coming down from it, him still pumping his fingers in and out of you to help you ride it out, all you know is that your body is asking for more.

"You want more, don't you?" As if he could read your mind, Jongho pulls your shirt off you next, until you're completely bare underneath him and he kisses his way up your stomach and chest. Then, as he's hovering right above you and his lips are merely an inch away from yours, you see the way his pupils have darkened from lust, and you tense up.

"Please..." you mouth a silent plea, and when he connects his lips with yours you can feel the raw desire in his kiss. Reaching out and weakly clinging to his back you let him kiss you like this, submitting to his touch completely - even if you had wanted to resist, at this point he too knows exactly that he could do with you whatever he wants in this state, and when you feel his clothed hard on rubbing against your leg, it becomes clear you're not the only one seriously turned on by that fact. You watch through tired eyes as he rids himself of his clothes, and when he pins your wrists above your head with one hand, your heartbeat speeds up.

"Be good for me and spread your legs, love. So I can make you feel even better." He speaks quietly but clearly, and as you feel yourself growing smaller at the energy behind his words, you do as told without hesitation. He's watching you with that gaze he always wears when he knows he has you completely at his mercy, and the way he praises you just before he lowers himself makes a shiver run down your spine. You whine when you feel him pushing merely his tip into you, only to pull out again so he could see the desperate look on your face. A drop of sweat makes its way down your forehead, and with the heat from your expectations and your fever mixing, all you can do is simply moan at every single thing he does to your body. 

"Want you so bad..." you mumble, shooting him a pleading look. "Fuck me, please..." You can see his composure faltering, like control was about to slip out of his hands seeing you this small and desperate. And then he lets go of your wrists, already knowing you would keep them in place anyway, and instead he cups your face in his palm, running his thumb across your lips. Another kiss follows, feathery light but lingering, and when he pulls away from you, you can hear him whispering,

"Really wish I could ruin you right now... but I'll hold back until you're better." Putting an emphasis on his words, he caresses your forehead and cheek, and once he's supporting himself on both arms, he pushes into you fully. He goes slowly and carefully at first, yet it makes you cry out and causes you to throw your head back, and then when he picks up the pace you find yourself moaning in the same rhythm he's pounding into you.

Your head spinning, you somehow find the strength in you to claw at his back, and him groaning in response to the pain of having you drag your nails down his skin is only bringing you closer to the edge. Fire rushing through your veins, you simply let him fuck you, and when you feel him speeding up and he gradually becomes more vocal you know he's enjoying this more than he had planned to. But it fills you with a sense of pride nonetheless, and so you mewl,

"Feel so good... you feel so good..." You can hear him curse right below your ear as he clenches his fists around your bedsheets, and his hot breath hits your neck just as you see your next high approaching. Rolling your eyes back and moaning his name, your orgasm hits you, and as your body shakes from the pleasure and the increasing overstimulation, you let him continue to chase his own high. A few more thrusts and he cums inside you with a groan, and keeping himself from collapsing on top of you, he rolls to the side immediately after.

Each catching your breath, he wraps his arms around you in a safe embrace, rubbing soothing circles on your back and pressing his lips against your glowing forehead.

"You okay?" Jongho asks eventually, and you nod, feeling exhausted but otherwise filled with bliss. Then he adds, "If I'm sick tomorrow you'll pay for it." Though he manages to sound serious when speaking, a playful grin appears on his lips the next moment, telling you was merely joking, and so you give him a weak smile.

"Mhm... then at least we can cuddle all day..." you mindlessly mutter, and as you open your eyes to take another look at his face, you find nothing but a soft smile on his lips and adoration behind his eyes.

[copias-sewer-rat]

If you still do asks, (you can say no!), but could I request a Mm something with the different Papas taking care of/comforting reader who deals with digestive issues?

(I deal with GERD, acid reflux and some days I literally get symptoms/pain so bad I just curl up and don’t wanna do anything 🥺)

Hi darling! I do asks of course! It might take me a bit to write them because I don’t have much free time lately but I get them done in the end.

I am so so sorry you have to deal with that... to (hopefully) make you feel better here you have the Papas taking care of a reader that deals with digestive issues.

(I tried to make this as GN as possible, hope you don’t mind, I wasn’t sure if you were asking for a m/m relationship so I didn’t want to risk it.)

I. Primo

- Primo is an old man, that we know, but with age there also comes wisdom. He is no stranger to chronic pains or illnesses. His experience has taken him to create what most siblings of sin and even his brothers consider to be the most infallible methods to fight any sickness or health disruptions.

- For sure he has also dealt with gastrointestinal issues, not all foods that he eats stay the same in his stomach as when he was younger. Nonetheless, he has learned what things to avoid.

- Primo had helped you in the past, to the point of considering each other very close, even intimate. You had tried everything he had suggested to you previously, but lately your pain had become unbearable, you needed something else.

- When you come to his quarters in search of a “magical cure” for your pain, skin pale and glossy eyes, he leaves everything that he is doing in that moment to take care of you.

- He doesn’t want you to move an inch so he lets you sleep on his bed. He lends you one of his sleeping gowns, big, long and fresh so you feel all the comfort.

- Before that however, Primo makes you dinner in his private kitchenette. He knows the importance of an appropriate diet when dealing with those sorts of problems. His go to “remedy” is water with non-citrus fruits, he will add whichever fruit you prefer. He will also make you whichever food you might want (but it need to be appropriate for your condition so mostly salads or oats).

-Primo will make you sit on his lap and will feed you small bits so you can digest your food properly, whispering how good you are doing and telling you that you will feel better soon. With the dinner he also gives you one of his most potent remedies, one that also makes you sleepy.

-You need to stay awake for a bit making your digestion before going to bed so Primo will ask for you to tell him how your day was or any anecdote that comes to mind. He will listen attentively drawing circles on your back until you fall asleep in his arms, finally taking you to his bed for a good night of rest.

II. Secondo

-Secondo doesn’t know much about gastrointestinal issues. He smokes, drinks and eats all types of food and in such quantities that if done by any normal person it would leave them in a comatose state.

-However, when you come to him in search of comfort, he will research everything he can about your condition and how to make you feel better.

-He is hesitant about helping you because he considers himself to be a bit of a brute, but seeing you in such state gives him the courage to try his best.

-Secondo will follow down to the t every single tip he finds online. Whatever food might help you he will cook, whatever medicine might make you feel better he will go and find.

-If you cannot move much he will carry you anywhere and help you with whichever task: showering, bathing, brushing your hair, whatever you might need.

-Like Primo, he will carry you to his own bed to rest, hugging you, a pillow between you two, pressed on your stomach to alleviate as much pain as possible.

-If by any chance you wake up in the middle of the night with pain or in need to vomit he will be by your side, pressing a cold towel to your forehead, rubbing your back and arms in slow motions which makes your blood move.

-He will reassure you that everything will be fine, that he is not going anywhere and that the pain will pass.

-You believe him of course, how could you not when he smiles at you so warmly and with such confidence. His positiveness rubs on you and some of the pain fades away.

-The rest of the night you sleep soundly in his arms.

III. Terzo

-Poor Terzo doesn’t know what to do to help you, so he calls Omega to carry you around.

-He goes to Primo for help. Terzo bursts in first, screaming pleads with exaggerated stereotypical Italian hand motions. If you were not in such pain you would surely laugh at his antics.

-Omega is very tender with you, he moves slowly so as to not make you feel worse.

-Primo instructs Terzo in what to do, how to make you feel better and what medicines might be the best.

-If Primo told him 5 medicines that might help you, Terzo is going to get the five of them.

-As instructed by Terzo, Omega will carry you to Terzo’s bed after you have taken your medicine.

-They will let you sleep as much as you want and if you ask, both of them will join you in your slumber.

-Your body will be pressed against Terzo’s and Omega’s chests. You would feel like a cat nested in a fort of pillows, thankful for all the contact and pressure.

-The attention makes you forget most of your pain, only leaving the usual reflex. When those occur, Terzo will squeeze you tighter, signing Italian lullabies to you until you go back to sleep, safe and sound next to him.

IV. Copia

-Like Terzo, Copia is stressed™ at seeing you in pain.

-He sweeps you off your feet and takes you to the infirmary in a rush. He almost trips a couple of times and he got lost a few times also, which wasn’t the best for your condition but he apologized profusely every time something happened that made you wince.

-He rushes every nurse there to get you anything that might help.

-The nurses can’t help but roll their eyes at how stressed he is. He is making such a fuzz that the nurses threaten him with kicking him out if he does not behave.

-The nurses recommend that you stay the night in the infirmary, so of course Copia is going to stay with you.

-He takes an armchair and places it next to your bed.

-To make you feel better he sneaks in one of his rats for you to pet and cuddle with.

-As he feels you drifting off because of the medicine, he will also try to sleep in his chair, his hand extended to hold yours during the entirety of the night.

-If at any point you wake up in pain or in need to vomit, just like Secondo, Copia will be there for you, helping you in any way possible.

-After that he will even join you in the very small infirmary bed, holding you close, rubbing your stomach so as to try to ease your pain.

- You drift off to the feeling of loving kisses on the back of your neck, feeling so much better.

----

Hope this could help a bit, also hope you get better soon darling, lots of love to you🖤

For now my ask box is always open so do not hesitate to ask for something you might want to read.

[traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors]

TW / child abuse, involuntary stay, misgendering

When I was 17 I was put in a mental hospital for stockpiling medication. While I was there the girls were treated unfairly compared to the boys. Even though I am a transman, and I was actively taking testosterone during that time, I was put on the girls side. I was put in a room by myself, because if you presented LGBT+, they’d put you alone.

The first thing that they made me do when I got there was go into a room with 2 grown women that I did not know. I didn’t know what was happening until they told me to undress. This was my first skin check ever. One of the nurses called my chest “tits”. They were expressionless, mean, and I was scared. Afterwards I asked to use the bathroom and I cried.

Nurses and staff would make jokes and comments about how many scars I had, and not in a professional way. I understand wanting to lighten the mood, but they always said it with shock or amazement, like I was an animal in a zoo.

Another thing that happened there, the staff randomly stated that someone had a shank and we needed to be searched. But only the girls needed to be searched, because this was a “girls only” issue. They randomly chose a few girls to get completely naked, squat, and cough. Ages 8-17, maybe younger. I was told that I didn’t have to do this, because I was “trusted”. I think it’s because I was more grown than the others. There were no nurses present during this check.

I remember waking up to a girl screaming and crying for help

The entire time I was there I repressed my emotions and faked everything so I could get out of there. I don’t think I have been able to stop doing that. I am 19 now and I cannot properly express emotions. I had trauma before this but this added onto it. I am told by my psychiatrist that I have a flat affect.

It was always so hot and noisy at night

There are other things that happened but those stuck out to me the most.

Is this a normal experience? I know that mental hospitals are not the best places, but are they all like this? It was so bad, that I tell myself if I ever get admitted again, I will go through with my plan. I have nightmares about that place often. Am I overreacting? Is it possible to have PTSD from this experience?

I’m so sorry for the long post. I got carried away.

Hi anon,

What you went through is horrific and I'm so sorry you had to experience all these things. Please know that what you experienced isn't "normal" in the sense that it isn't okay, but while experiences at mental hospitals aren't 100% bad, what you went through can be described as "normal" because mistreatment at psychiatric facilities happen unfortunately often. Know that there is no need to apologize for the length of your ask.

I'm not a professional so it's not up to me to tell you whether or not you have a particular disorder, but it is possible that you could not only have trauma from your experience there, but it may fit the criteria for PTSD. As someone with PTSD, they (as in people who diagnose) usually say that these trauma symptoms must persist for at least 6 months, which can include things like trauma-related nightmares, rumination (thinking excessively about what happened), noticing certain triggers developing, etc.

I can understand how an experience like this may cause you to develop a negative relationship with therapy or the idea of it. However, I do think it could be incredibly useful to your healing journey to be able to work with a mental health professional such as a therapist, if you can access or afford it. They could help you process your experiences, explore the possibility of a PTSD diagnosis, and help you feel more comfortable expressing your emotions. Please know that you deserve the best care available, especially after everything you've been through.

I have not been admitted to a psych ward, mental hospital, or whatever other term may be used to describe it, so I apologize if I couldn't offer any direct comments regarding that experience. My sister was admitted at one point, but she told me that she had a positive experience there and made some friends (it's possible that her experience is simply lucky). If anyone would like to share their experiences, please feel free to add on. Otherwise, I hope I could help, and please let us know if you need anything.

-Bun

[ladysternchen]

Yet Were Its Making Good, For This- Part Two- Reunited

“Oh come on, love. You’re tired, and the only thing to do about that is sleep.”

Mablung savoured each word, unable to keep himself from grinning broadly. He had been forced to watch Elu’s quirks quietly for thousands of years and thus hugely enjoyed being able to openly tease him about them now. And -more importantly- look after him properly. 

Elu didn’t react at once but after a while said quietly:

“I miss my cloak.”

“I know. Let us share mine for now. The night is balmy, we shall not be cold, and then tomorrow we’ll see what we can do to give the Greycloak back his mantle.”

Elu smiled a little, and then pulled his tunic over his head at last. As he bared his torso Mablung’s breath caught in his chest.

“You bear your scars still.” he whispered. 

He had not heard of that before, safe in Maedhros, whose right wrist was still encircled with a fine scar, reminiscent of a silver-white bracelet. That scar, he claimed, meant something to him, for it had been Fingon who had cut off his hand out of love and so he bore it even in his new body. Mablung had until now put that off as something weird the Fëanorians would do, who could after all not deny to be Finwë’s descendants. Apparently, he had been mistaken about that. Apparently, bearing one’s scars was not only some Finwëan antic. 

He caught himself quickly, holding his arm out in invitation, and Elu complied by crawling over to him and lying down in the soft grass as well, arms crossed behind his head. Mablung could not keep his eyes from hungrily roaming his body, inwardly longing to just bend over him and cover every inch of his skin with kisses. He was so lost in thought that he almost started when Elu spoke once more, having apparently just coming out of his own line of thoughts. 

“Yes, I carry the marks of my death. I am not whole, not how I should be. That is, I think, also why I remember the time in the Halls when everyone else doesn’t.”

“That does make sense, yes. But I shall love you regardless. You can be the oddest elf there is, and the most marked, it doesn’t matter to me. I’ll love you on the good days and the bad ones. You know that.”

“I do.” Elu said simply. 

They lay side by side quietly for a while as night properly fell around them, then Mablung sighed.

“I could never forgive the Dwarves of Nogrod that. My own death, yes, but never what they did to you.” he said, pressing a gentle kiss to Elu’s upper arm.

“I insulted them, Mablung.” Elu stated quietly. “I behaved like the very worst possible version of myself…”

“No insult rectifies murder. You were alone and unarmed. Whatever it was you said, killing you there and then was never just, under no law within Arda safe perhaps that of the orcs.”

Mablung could not keep the heat out of his tone, as much as he tried to. 

“They might have declared war on Doriath, I’ll admit to that, but not kill its king.”

“I never said that they were in the right. But I had my hand in my own murder, there is no way denying that.”

Mablung knew that Elu was right, had in his mind scolded him many times for it, yet still he could not bring himself to agree now. Not now that Elu was so openly admitting to his own faults.

“You were ill then, Elu. Quite ill. You were not yourself.”

That, too, was no lie, and Elu sighed, nodding slightly.

“True. But put your anger to rest now, Mablung, at least that part of your anger that you feel on my behalf. They killed me swiftly, it was all over in a matter of moments. And they… I cannot be sure of this, but… I think they actually let me look into the Silmaril’s light. Which is strange, for they could in truth not have known what unspeakable comfort that meant to me, but they did not take it away, nor cover it before I was dead. So even in their wrath they showed me that act of mercy. 

So really, I bear no grudge against them and I never did. Well, no, that’s not true, I was -and am- quite angry about being robbed, about what they did to my people and my city afterwards, and most importantly about what they did to you and Elmo. But they paid heavily for that, and if their belief is true and they reside in Aulë’s keeping after their deaths, I am sure that Aulë will have dealt with those specific crimes. Or is still dealing with them, for I cannot imagine Dwarves being any less headstrong in death than they are in life.”

He laughed a little and Mablung grudgingly smiled, too.

“But after all, it was the Dwarves who built me Menegroth, and wrought me my sword and shield and armour that saved my life and realm in battle. I am loathe to being the one who sparked so much hatred between our peoples. Melian says that this was ever designed so by Ilúvatar, but I hate to be an instrument of his will in just such a way. That’s almost worse than all that strife being caused by my own temper after all. Or rather my failure to keep it.”

“That strife is settled now, though, at least in parts. Galadriel played a huge role in that, but most of all the grandson of Oropher. He is called Legolas and did great deeds during the defeat of Sauron. He even smuggled his dwarven best friend to the undying lands, believe it or not. Gimli son of Gloin was well beloved in Tol Eressëa until his passing and is mourned there still.”

Some of the tension seemed to leave Elu’s body at those words, and he shifted his position a little to smile gladly at Mablung.

“That is beautiful to hear.” he said quietly. “I should have liked to make Master Gimli’s acquaintance.”

Mablung chuckled.

“Oh, I don’t know. Legolas is bold for sure, but I think having to introduce his smuggled best friend to the legendary elf his father ever idolised… I think that might have been too much for the poor chap.”

Both again laughed, and the laughter drove out the last bit of shock at seeing Elu so scarred. Now Mablung dared, and carefully traced the scar that ran from Elu’s sternum down beyond his navel, feeling him shiver at the touch. Instantly Mablung made to redraw his hand, humming apologetically, but Elu quickly seized his hand, holding it steady on his skin.

“Don’t stop. Never not touch me, Mablung.”

Mablung stopped trying to pull away and allowed his fingers to relax, and after a moment started to caress Elu again, who closed his eyes for a moment to of relish.

“Alright.” Mablung whispered. “If you promise me to never not kiss me when my memories overwhelm me.”

“Promised.” Elu breathed.

They could no longer deny their longing for each other now, and Mablung spread his cloak over both of them, drawing even closer to his companion as he did so.

“Do you remember our first kiss?” he asked hoarsely.

“Of course I do. You took my virginity that day in more than one way, so how could I not remember? I cherished that memory throughout the Ages, both in Beleriand and Mandos.”

Mablung smiled.

“A part of me rued the fact, then, that it was not the first time for me as well. But then, had it been, I could not have pretended not to bond.”

“Aye, and it was clumsy enough with me having no clue. Imagine us both… nah, I’d rather not. I was so overwhelmed. Nobody had ever touched me, never before had I been at someone’s mercy. I felt so vulnerable then, but you… you were so gentle.”

“I wonder if it will feel like that again. Like the first time. After all, our bodies are not the same bodies that… well.”

Elu took a moment to answer, but then said:

“It is different, and yet the first time again. I… Melian and I could not keep off each other after I was re-embodied. It surprised even us, the longing we felt when we held each other again, as that was never the most important part of our relationship.”

“No…” Mablung smirked “… you cuddled. All the time. I guessed after a while that not every touch could lead to more, not given the amount of time you spent in court.”

Elu snorted, pushing himself away from Mablung a little so that he could look him in the face.

“Mablung, what exactly… have you been pondering my love life the whole time?”

He sounded both amused and indignant, which made Mablung laugh.

“What else should I have done when standing guard behind you? Why do you think I was so keen to take on the post as the King’s guard whenever I was off my hunter’s duty? Because then it was actually my job to watch you, and I could do so without it seeming odd.”

“And being horny that entire time?”

“Mh, maybe not the entire time, but often enough. But then, tonight, the tables shall truly be turned. I have not been intimate with anyone since Mandos, not even Beleg. This time, in this body, my first time shall be with you.”

“I’m honoured” Elu said softly, and then he pulled Mablung a real kiss at last. 

For all Mablung knew as they lay beneath the stars, loving each other, they might have been the only beings in the fathomless Void, for it would surly not have felt any different. Nothing was real anymore for Mablung safe Elu alone, and their entwined bodies, and touching him and being touched. He knew Elu thanked him for his love and patience with every tender caress, every kiss, every careful movement within him, and Mablung gave himself to his companion wholly, having never before known his pleasure to reach such heights. 

Only when he thought he would not be able to hold back another moment did he open his eyes again, cupping Elu’s face with a trembling hand. Elu, too, was shaking with his arousal, and by his ragged breathing Mablung knew that he could not be in any other state than he himself.

“I’m close now.” Mablung breathed huskily “And I want us to come together. I need us to come together.”

“Oh Mablung…” Elu panted, hiding his face for a moment in the crook of Mablung’s neck, until he had somewhat steadied his breathing. Then he looked up again, reached very deliberately for Mablung’s hand and interlocked their fingers.

“Eru be our witness, then.” he said hoarsely.

“Eru be our witness.” Mablung repeated, before he again lost himself in Elu’s embrace. 

He  knew that this was a life-changing moment, but just then he could not have cared less. He only cared about Elu moving within him, and his hands between Mablung's legs, and the words he whispered into his ear:

“You’re mine.”

Only once they had come down from their climax and somewhat steadied their breathing did Elu add:

“That is, if you want to be mine.”

Mablung laughed and kissed Elu passionately. This small double-take was so endearingly familiar to him that he could not help it.

“That is so you. Everyone else would have just left it there. I have always been yours, Elu. Since I could walk and talk, I have been yours. I admired you, I trusted you, I wanted to be close to you. Only my childish self did not recognise that feeling as love then. And I will remain yours forevermore. I love you.”

Elu smiled, sniffing a little.

“I love you, too. But now I am going to cry you know? As you said, the tables are turned. You cried our first first time, I cry this second first time.”

“You noticed? Then?”

Mablung was both touched and embarrassed. He had thought that Elu had remained oblivious to his tears back then, but apparently he had been mistaken. 

“Have I noticed… of course I noticed. Honestly, Mablung, how could I not notice? Do you think I haven’t watched you just as much as you watched me? It touched me so deeply to know what this first time meant to you. I cannot say how much I admired your strength, because I knew what you put yourself into. I’m so sorry that I could not give you what you needed.”

“No. No, love, you gave me what I needed. And we have each other now. Thanks to Melian, and I will never stop thanking her for that.”

A loving smile swept over Elu’s face as he nodded.

“I still cannot believe that I will truly have you both with me. And oh, I look forward to see you and Melian just… be together. She always put all her trust in you, and I love to see how that friendship will grow now that she is no longer your queen.”

For a moment Mablung just looked at Elu, then he laughed. Of course, he could know nothing of the relationship that had grown between him and Melian over the past millennia. Mablung chose not to mention that now, though. Elu would soon find out himself.

A content sleepiness came over them both now, and Elu had already turned back onto his back, lying with his eyes closed, strands of hair having come loose from his braid after their love-making. Mablung gazed at him raptly, marvelling at his beauty, yet also reminded painfully of Elu lying dead, and as much as he tried to calm himself, he couldn’t keep a small noise of dismay escaping his throat. Elu opened his eyes again in concern, and Mablung hastened to reassure him.

“Sleep. I’m sorry. It is just that seeing you like this… it brings back memories.”

Elu, to Mablung’s great surprise, smiled wryly and sighed.

“You’re like Elmo when he was a child. He could never bear to see me sleep, unless he lay with his ear over my heart. Come here then.”

Mablung wanted to protest, to tell Elu that he was not to be compared to the frightened little elfling Elmo had been at Cuiviénen, but snuggled into Elu’s arms nonetheless.

“I’m not your brother.” he grumbled, and felt Elu chuckle. 

“Of course not, my love. Otherwise I would hardly have bedded you.”

Mablung really wanted to argue some more, to tell Elu that unlike little Elmo, whose fear for Elu had been borne of the assault on their parents he had witnessed as an infant, his pain came from an entirely different experience. He had been the one to slide Elu’s eyes shut so that neither Melian nor Elmo had to go through that experience, had seen Elu lie in state, had stood hours and hours by his body in grief so profound that it was true physical pain. He wanted to tell Elu that it was for these memories that watching him sleep was painful, but Mablung found he was really too tired to talk anymore. The last thing he felt was Elu lay his hand on his head and stroke his hair tenderly and within moments he was sound asleep. 

[memurfevur-archive]

cadavertrolls​:

“You are safe here… Safe with me… No one will hurt you here, my dearest. Some may try but I refuse to allow it to happen…” Sovi held Khorne tighter just as he did, offering any security she could while her shoulders and neck caught Khorne’s tears. Her own wouldn’t fall just yet, when she ensured her love’s safety she will be allowed the privilege. In whatever state he’s in, her devotion is steadfast and true. The Werecrow comes first even before her own needs, emotions, comfort…

Comfort! She needed to make her Werecrow comfortable, and she could only do so much while exposed to the elements. But with the sun dipping below the horizon, they were in no rush to move, right? She could allow herself to stay in this embrace for longer… However she excused it, she took the opportunity to make herself familiar with Khorne’s new body. Her hands rubbed up and down his back over inked skin she would soon find was underneath the ill-fitting tartan, gently patting between his shoulders each time he spoke. His voice was now foreign to her ears, but it made her swoon all the same. The rich tone from his now functioning larynx made her heart skip and the flush remain in her face long after she caught her breath.

“Whatever was done to you, whoever did it, they cannot reach you here… Breathe deep, my Werecrow, match with my own…” She pulled ever closer if that was even possible, their chests flush against eachother so their respirations could become one.

“Sovi,” he sighed, listening now to his beloved nun’s voice and her breathing. This, too, was a sensation he almost could not bear, but he tried focusing on the feeling of Sovi’s breath. In, and out, pushing and receding against his own chest. He tried to match his just as she had instructed, but it was more of a conscious effort than what he would have liked. At first, he gathered in too much air and it made him cough. Then, too little air, and he lost his rhythm against Sovi’s chest. But, after several moments and attempts to readjust his respiration, at long last he fell into rhythm with Sovi and soon his tears ran dry.

He cradled her, and now that he was calmer he took the time to appreciate the feel of her skin, her clothes, and her hair. He bit back a mindless “pretty creature;” he was conscious now, and he had a wider vocabulary to choose from. Sovi deserved so much more than a monster’s mindless babbling. She deserved a song. She deserved to be immortalized through notes and hymns. Oh, if only a single word could capture this feeling of her warmth seeping into his chest, of her arms around him stroking his skin, of her scent that created a tingling feeling in his chest. The more he focused on her, the calmer he became; the storms subsided, and for once he could say he felt true peace.

“Thank you.”

As Sovi sprinted through the rows, her mind fogged over with images of all the possible dangers that could've befallen her dear Werecrow. As impossible and hyperbolic some of those scenarios were, they were real enough in the moment to leave the sharp edges of the corn leaves nicking her face and hands feeling like gentle caresses.

With her breaths heavy and lungs straining, she yelled for her love as she drew closer, terror-filled and desperate for his safety.

"My werecrow, my dearest?! Are you there?! I am near!"

He heard Sovi's call, but he had no energy to move towards it. He felt weak. Pathetic. Stripped. Humiliated. Each memory that surfaced from his time in Artilleron's labs left his willpower feint, and his exhaustion heavy.

"Pretty... creature...?" he croaked, but his voice did not sound familiar to him anymore. These were words pushed with real vocal cords, and breathing was not a feeling he was quite used to yet; the rumbling wet voice of the Werecrow had receded, leaving only a rich, cracked, husky tone.

Once arrived, Sovi would find the source: a shivering man who was more skeleton than scarecrow, but with Khorne's face, color, and horns. His ashen body was adorned with various designs and symbols in faded black ink, and he did not have the proportions expected of him-- rather, expected of the Werecrow. The smell of mold was feint, only traces of where the Werecrow had been lingered, but was otherwise none present. It left him cold and mewling like an infant on the steps of an orphanage.

Slowly, upon hearing the rustling of the leaves on the corn stalks, Khorne lifted his head and looked -- with both eyes, and a nose in the place of his patch!-- in Sovi's direction.

[unholyevilness]

In celebration of my first actual post, let's have something fairly fitting to myself; queerness. Prompt: Aot men being trans (nsfw) - Eren, Reiner, Zeke, Jean

cw. afab genitalia mention, praise and degradation, squirting, sex toys, armpit kink, golden showers, public sex, dubcon because alcohol

Reader is written gender neutral!

Eren

Eren struggles a lot with his mental health due to his gender identity, so it takes him a while to warm up. The testosterone played a big role in having sex with him more comfortably, he just cannot say no when you offer to suck his tdick like a starving whore, praising him for how big he gets when he's excited, all swollen and dripping at the same time. It's so very validating for him, but he also loves exploring you from the inside with his strap. It's rather average because he wants to keep it as realistic as possible, skin colored and 6 inches. Despite the mental fight with his body, Eren knows he has a pretty face without bragging or being an ass about it, purposely blessing you with his lewd expressions and putting on a show for you. He lets the sweat beads run down his face, and it makes him look like a God. You call him divine, and he squirts into your mouth.

Reiner

Our sweet sir Braun turns off his brain when he's having sex, and he doesn't even have control over it. You take advantage of it by shoving as many of your fingers as possible into his hole, teasing him about how wet he always gets and the obscene noises his cunt is making. He loves having you run your fingers through his pubes, it's such a natural way of being for him. It reaches his belly button, and you love tracing his happy trail with kisses and bites, having mastered the perfect balance of worshipping and humiliating him. When you stick your nose and face in the crook of his armpit for the first time, he moans more out of surprise rather than pleasure, but he quickly grows to love how experimental you are, always coming up with new ways to rock his world.

Zeke

Just like his brother, Zeke is very discreet about it. He's neither very comfortable nor proud of his body, so he doesn't have sex a lot. The issue is, he's a pervert, which doesn't really help the fact that he already struggles with opening up to someone about his gender identity; he fears rejection and usually receives it at the very latest when he reveals his dark desires. He's embarrassed about it, but he can't swallow the craving that comes with seeing you. He wants to cover your entire body with bottles of cumlube, piss on you, wholly destroy you in abandoned alleyways late at night when you've said your goodbyes to your co-workers. He's not confident enough to have you go down on him, so he does it for you religiously. It's one addicting way of scratching the itch within him without getting naked, so he moans obscenely, loves sending vibrations through your whole body, fully indulging in and devoted to messily making you climax. Sometimes when he's really horny, he shoves whatever he can get his hands on up his cunt, unable to function properly and giving in his primal needs.

Jean

Jeanny boy would buy the biggest packer he can get his hands on and bait you into thinking it's legit, feeling up your body and flirting with you at a party with little to no shame. After successfully dragging you home, he pours you two another round of wine and lets some of it drop onto his crotch. "Oops-" he says, "Guess I should get this off of me." and starts to fiddle with his pants, unzipping them teasingly slow as your hungry eyes follow his every move. He doesn't miss the adoration in your eyes, and grabs a fistful of your hair, gently positioning your head between his legs as he places each of them next to your body, left and right, both of you seated on his couch. It all happens too fast for you to comprehend it properly, Jean is riding your face in no time, mindless filth leaving his mouth. He's vocal, and you're left speechless. "You looked like you wanted to say something, I hope that's not true. Good toys don't really speak unless I am done playing with them." He excuses his behaviour by stating its his way of coping with his gender identity and you would punch him in the face for it, but he's far too handsome for you to miss out on this lay, and his pussy gets you hypnotised.

I totally wasn't projecting with this.

[writeshite]

Hi there, I just read your soldier boy fic and when I say I'm deeply in love with it I mean it! So I wanted to request something for the soldier boy with ftm reader...

{this is a small plot} Ben could be meeting reader through one of his friends or something and instantly has feelings for reader which progress to smut and after a time skip you see them getting married. Sorry if this too specific and if you don't feel comfortable writing it, it's okay. Thank you ❤️

My Love, My Life

Summary:

“Actually, he’d need to have a child to be classified as a DILF,” Frenchie voices. “What the fuck’s a DILF?” Ben asks. You and Frenchie exchange a look, then shrug, diverting the conversation elsewhere. You turn and lean over him to grab the TV manual and toss it at his face. You snicker, “Asshat.”

Pairings:

Soldier Boy x FTM!Reader

Tags:

FTM!Reader | Fluff | Marriage | Falling In Love | A Wee Bit Of Smut

Words: 920

Author's Note:

I've decided to take fanfic titles from ABBA songs because they're a bop. I left the Reader's body description as vague as possible - mainly to avoid my own dysphoria 😭.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Butcher’s not scary enough to deter Ben from doing what he wants; really, he only sticks around the guy and his crew because he has nowhere else to go, so telling him not to hit a hot piece of ass isn’t going to register in his mind, You’re one of them, on the run, probably traumatized and occupying Ben’s thoughts. Butcher told Ben to fuck off and play nice with his right hand; he was very adamant that you stay as far as physically possible from him. That went into one ear and out the other, “How do you work this thing again?” 

Ok, so playing dumb was a low blow, but it worked. You turned your attention to him, mock irritation on your face, “I taught you how to use the remote yesterday,” you stated. Ben shrugged, handing it over to you; he leaned closer, arm set on the back of the couch, “See this button up here, the red one, that’s the power button,” you explained in a child-like voice.

You point to the numbers on the remote, “And if you click these ones, you can type in whatever channel you want.”

He rolls his eyes, “I’m not a kid; you don’t need to explain it like that,” he jokingly sneers.

You pat his head, “I know, I know, but when you get around your age, things get confusing.” When he smacks your hand away, you laugh, settling back onto the couch; you shift closer, “Ok, jokes aside, just type in the numbers of whatever channel you want; it’s not that different from the TVs of your time.”

“My time…I’m not that old, asshat.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you quip, “Though it would kinda make you a DILF then, wouldn’t it?”

“Actually, he’d need to have a child to be classified as a DILF,” Frenchie voices.

“What the fuck’s a DILF?” Ben asks. You and Frenchie exchange a look, then shrug, diverting the conversation elsewhere. You turn and lean over him to grab the TV manual and toss it at his face. You snicker, “Asshat.”

It’s always like that; the two of you dance in some limbo; it takes some dutch courage for either of you to make a move. One that leads to the most mind-blowing sex Ben cannot remember; he wakes up to find you scratching your head and glancing around the room in confusion. When you look over at him, it takes a second for your brain to catch up before your eyes widen, “Holy shit.”

“Holy shit, good, or holy shit bad?” he inquires, sitting up as well; your eyes dart down to his bare torso.

“Definitely good,” you respond, shuffling close; you walk your fingers down his torso, “So….”

“So…”

“Are we fuckbuddies now?”

Ben purses his lips, pulling you close by the hip; he doesn’t answer the question; in fact, he does anything but - bringing you in for a kiss, leaving new love marks on your skin, and drawing out moans from you as he fucks you like there’s no tomorrow. Ben does remember this sex, he also remembers Butcher threatening to claw his balls with his bare hands, but that’s not important.

You arch your back when Ben hits the spot with his dick; he holds your waist, your legs around his own, and your hands around his shoulders. His hair skims against your skin with each thrust, your head is tilted back, and the headboard practically rams against the wall. Ben isn’t going fast or slow, but he teeters on the edge of both inconsistently, driving your sense through the roof; when he cums he holds you close, head above yours as he pants.

The important thing is you, and he add fucking to the equation.

“You’re a dick; you know that,” you groan, stretching your arms; Ben rolls over, arms under the pillow. He smiles that cocky little smile of his. “Thank god; we don’t have anything to do today.”

He chuckles, kissing your hip, “Even if we did, I’d still fuck you nine ways to Sunday.”

Missions get a little complicated; yes, Ben is aware you can defend yourself just fine, doesn’t mean he can’t help. For everyone’s peace of mind, the two of you get paired together when necessary; after missions are amazing because it’s just happy sex - happy that you both came back in one piece. He draws shapes on your skin as if to reassure himself you’re still alive, and when it tickles you, Ben will sigh, kiss your forehead and snuggle close. It’s during one such night that Ben looks you in the eye, “Marry me,” he says.

You draw back and look him in the eyes, “What?”

“Marry me,” he repeats.

You nod, the surprise look on your face morphing into joy as you hug him tight. The news goes about as well as one would imagine, mixed reception, but overall not as bad as you’d have thought. Neither of you feels the calling to a chapel; you kinda shotgun it, quick trip to Vegas. Ben slips the ring on your finger, it’s not much, but he doesn’t give a shit; when the Elvis impersonator announces you, husband and husband, Ben dips you in a kiss. Your hand comes up to his cheek, stroking it as you seal the deal; he whispers the wedding vows as you part and get back up, “Always.” It’s one word, and it may not mean much to anyone, but to you, it’s a promise.

End Note:

Hope I did alright, it's my first time writing Trans!Reader. Anywho, stay hydrated.

[becca-e-barnes]

so uhhh i need more(i think we alllll do) of bucky cumming in his sleep because of the build up. it gets me so hot i just- omg anywayssss

so no pressure, but a thought kinda popped into my mind. maybe reader is buck’s roommate or maybe they share a floor in the tower together(your choice obviously), but reader hears him one night & decides to go check up on him & what she finds is NOT what she expected. he’s soaked in his cum & his body is just glistening with a sheen of sweat. he’s moaning & groaning, gripping onto the pillow his head is on with one hand as he ruts into the bunched up comforter beside him. reader instantly gets horny(of course she does, like who wouldn’t?) but she decides to wake him up.

when she does, he’s fucking embarrassed….& he’s a mess- rambling about how sorry he is that he woke her up. but she just wants to help him because now she’s fucking turned on & cannot sleep with that image of him sewn into her brain.

if you end up doing this/writing something to this, you can decide on how she helps him. i know whatever you come up with will be DEVINE & will make us ALL horny. so i’ll leave you with this🥰

No I swear, this is my favourite thought in the world right now, I can’t stop thinking about it holy shit 🥵 Minors, do not interact

Like even just living on the same floor of the tower as Bucky and one night you’re walking past his room and you hear whimpers and pained groans coming from inside.

You know he’s troubled. You know nighttime is tough on him and you know that if you were having a rough night, he would be straight in to help you so you don’t even think twice about cracking the door open and peeking inside

But this wasn’t the kind of rough night you were expecting at all

No, instead, Bucky’s writhing on the bed totally naked, abs tight, groans strained. His flesh hand is squeezing the pillow beneath his head but his bare chest and abdomen are just dripping cum. It’s everywhere, rolling down his sides onto the perfect white sheets beneath him. His cock is still spurting endlessly, twitching as it pumps thick rivers of fluid from his aching tip, over his own naked body. His face is screwed up in pleasure and it’s absolutely the sexiest sight you’ve ever come across in you life.

But he’s asleep. And not even touching himself.

His hair is stuck to his sweaty forehead and you’re surprised his own grunts haven’t woken him, his hips bucking wildly off the bed as the orgasm finally subsides.

But his face doesn’t relax. While the steady stream of cum has eased, his dick hasn’t softened at all, his balls still painfully full. His metal hand had been fisted up in the duvet and before you know it, he’s rolled over onto his side, bundling the duvet up and humping it, slowly at first.

He can’t stifle his need, the pool of cum now spilling all over the clean duvet cover as he grinds shamelessly against the sheet. His moans are so sweet, dripping with desperation and longing. His hips rut even faster than you could’ve thought possible, chasing another high. After a moment, he reaches it with a little shout, presumably pumping another thick, excessive load of cum into the duvet.

The huge man is a wreck, still fucking the comforter, despite the fact you just saw him finish twice (and who knows how many times before you entered the room).

“Mhm fuck, ‘s good.” His eyes are screwed shut, sheer bliss on his face while he tries to drag himself closer to another release but you can’t let him. He can’t spill any more into the duvet. It’s not fair and it absolutely can’t be giving him the relief he needs. You want to help him and before you can even consider the implications it would have on your friendship, you’ve reached out, touching his back and calling his name to drag him from his sleep.

He looks so startled when he wakes up, rolling over and seeing your face, wondering if he’s still dreaming because he can’t ever admit it to you, but it was a dream about you that got him into this state.

But then he registers the shape he’s in. Naked, lying in a bed that’s flooded with his own cum. How long had you been there? Had he accidentally called your name? His only priority is to cover himself, hiding his shame and the fact he feels absolutely disgusting. He can’t even look at you, he’s so caught up in his own self hatred.

But you whisper his name and he drags his eyes up to yours and your face is so so soft. You’re not disgusted by him. You’re not embarrassed or ashamed like he is.

“I’m so sorry you had to, um…. I haven’t had a night this bad in weeks. Shit, I’m sorry.” His guilt is palpable but you stop him in his tracks.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about Bucky. It’s healthy, you need it and I’m happy to help. Any way I can.” He’s beyond shocked at your suggestion, your hand on his bare skin making him burn up.

“You can’t help me.” He whispers quietly. “The only way to make the ache stop is to cum until I can’t anymore.”

“That’s okay Bucky. If you’d like, I’ll help you take the ache away.” He can hardly believe his own ears, his cock almost answering for his brain. He’s wanted you for so long and now you’ve seen him like this and you’re making it clear that you want him too, despite what you’ve seen.

“Please. Only if you’re okay with it.” He’s nodding ever so slightly, but god, it takes everything in him not to cum again when you pull the sticky comforter back and take your little pyjamas off to straddle his throbbing length.

The moan that leaves his throat when you press your lips together is the sweetest you’ve heard yet, low and hoarse, showing just how badly he needs this.

You can’t tease him either. Neither of you need any foreplay whatsoever so why drag it out? You slide down on him with ease, a cry leaving him when he feels his oversensitive head rub against your velvety walls and he couldn’t even have dreamed you’d feel this good.

“O-oh, please tell me you’re on birth control.” He’s literally about to cum from this one smooth glide, his sweaty head buried in the crook of your neck.

“I am Bucky don’t worry. Can fill me as many times as you like.” It only takes two little rolls of your hips for him to explode with a whimper, his seed leaking from you, mingling with the mess already coating both of your bodies.

“G-god there’s so much cum. Fuck, you’re full already.” He flips you over onto your back to give you the slowest, sweetest thrusts. He does his very best to make sure that you cum as many times as he does after that and a few hours later when his cock finally softens, you have a tender shower together to clean each other up before both of you head up the hall to your room to sleep on some fresh sheets.

The rest of this: Part 1, Part 2

[yanderemommabean]

Mermaid? Yandere mermaid?! Shake mermaid (merman) yandere?! Protective, bitey, siren boi?!

You stir in the waters slowly, feet kicking to keep you afloat while looking to the sky as the sun begins to set. You didn’t want to leave the serene waters, the cooling sensation on your skin mixed with the near weightless feeling made you feel inner peace that didn’t come with everyday life.

You’ve been here for hours, skin warm and definitely burnt to an extent (sunscreen has never worked for you, no matter what, you always set sun damage) so you should at least give in and take a good nap right? Let your cells heal what they can before the burning sensation really kicks in and you regret ever existing at the same time as the sun?

You shake your head and splash back into the waters, wanting to be care free for just a bit longer while your friends pack up and clean. The waters here are secluded, deep and still during the day, save for a few small fish that pass by your feet or some bugs that won’t fuck off from landing on you.

“Dude! Seriously, you know swimming at night is dangerous!” one calls out, waving to try and get your attention, but you just dip your head back and let the water block out the noise of their nonsense. Yeah ok bad idea for your ears, but hey short time solution! You don’t want to go back to the crowded camper with noises that make your skin bristle and people who don’t understand low-social battery. You don’t hate your friends, no, but they seem to think they always know what’s best for you and having alone time wasn’t on that list.

Backstroking, you ignore their growing cries to get you back on land, something about the fish aren’t safe at this time or some bullshit. Whatever, you’ll get to them in a minute. You just wanted to relax a bit more before putting on a smile and pretending to give a shit about the festivities they had planned for tomorrow.

OK maybe you’re cranky from no good food but hey, they’re the ones who can’t cook.

While basking in the hunger induced anger you created, a tug was felt on your ankle. Wet, slimy almost, firm grip tugging you under the waves. You suck in a breath in panic, a yelp being cut off while your head goes under and you take in water. Below the surface, in the now darkened depths with scattered moonlight, you meet the eyes of a creature who drains the color from your face.

Big, black eyes, curiously looking at you. Human like, finger- like appendages grasping your calf and tugging you closer. You’re horrified, fighting to break free only for another arm to come up and grab you, holding you under. The beast's eyes are wide with wonder and awe as they hold onto you, letting go abruptly and letting you rocket back to the surface.

Coughing and sputtering, you feel your lungs burning while trying to call for help, your friends rushing to the waters in a rescue attempt. “Help! S-somethings got me!” you cry out, seeing the whites of your friends eyes in a slight moment of hope, only to be yanked under again, this time more aggressively. You clench your eyes shut, water surrounding you no longer comforting, but suffocating. Webbed hands come up to cup your face, lacing something around your neck. You hold your breath as you kick, however it’s useless. The zero-gravity effect makes any actual possibility of a painful contact a fantasy. You soon wear down, dread overcoming you as your body forces open your mouth to try and take one last breath. Eyes shooting open, you are met with the black voids of the creature before you.

And you’re in awe at the fact you can breathe. You, a human underwater, can breathe. No, no you’re just dying! You’re just hallucinating from lack of oxygen and are about to pass on! Right? No chance is given for you to gather yourself, behind you another being wraps their arms around you and begins to swim downwards to the abyss below, moonlight dissipating into nothing.

The last thing your eyes can make out are the kicking feet and splashing arms of your friends searching for you, helpless and horrified.

“Shh shh” One shushes, cupping your face as you’re brought to a small cave. Your chest was glowing a bright blue, illuminating some of the area as you were laid upon a sandy bank, like that of a grotto. Their heads poke out, watching you gather your senses to the best of your ability, kicking the sand as you cry out for help (in vain, but hope can cause a person to do crazy things).

“N-No danger” a voice croaks out, wincing at the echo your terrorized voice made. They didn’t like knowing you were scared, and the rest of the pod felt the same. More and more heads pop out of the water to observe you, wondering why on earth you were so scared.

Your chest felt like a drum, tight and beating much too loudly. They can TALK? Oh fuck they can talk- and in your language! What the hell is happening?! You just wanted an extra five minutes to swim, that’s all you fucking wanted! Why? Why is life doing this to you?! What is happening?!

You clench your hair and try to stop the ongoing panic attack, tears rolling down your cheeks in frustration and confusion, building up and coming to a head. You let out one more anguished sob before falling to the sand, passing out entirely.

“They’re scared, they don’t know what’s going on” one murmurs, crawling up to the bank and petting your hair back. “We definitely need to explain ourselves, but they can’t take much more stress. What’s our plan?”

The pod talks in chitters and clicks, debating on how to care for you and how to explain their actions. The crystal on your chest thrums with each passing second, indicating your current state of health while the merfolk observe and debate. Some fingers come up to play with your hair, or to feel your soft skin as you are moved to a more comfortable area they could still reach.

They’ve waited a long time to find a new member to join their species, magic being the only way they can reproduce, and seeing a cute, delicate human just waiting in their territory was too good of an opportunity to pass up. It’s a sign! You’re meant to be with them, become one of them and live a new life in the deep!

Of course you wouldn’t exactly take the news well. You passed out just from hearing them talk, you wouldn’t exactly be in a state to comprehend their needs and their dedication to keeping you with them. But they’re prepared! A newcomer is needed, for many reasons.

They survive by having bonded mates, yet cannot reproduce without the help of magic. And to be lonely and have no one to bond with is killing them, literally. They have to have a lover to survive, a second (and in some cases, a third) half to stay alive and well and merry!

One of the merfolk will choose you as their bonded mate, but only if you don’t try to leave. A mate leaving will end a life quicker than a harpoon in some cases! Other cases, it’s agonizingly slow and painful. They can’t risk you, a lovely specimen, leaving and dwindling their numbers even more. They need to make a plan to keep you, whatever it takes.

You’ll learn to love your new marine life! Just give them a chance, will you?

(-Mommabean, hi I wrote this at 4 am and on little sleep! Tell me what you think! )

[plush-rabbit]

Aphrodisiac Induced Reader + The Dateables

A/N: I had this thought and i really had to get it out of my head (it was org gonna be just simeon cause,,, i love repressed feelings so much but then i gave it to the rest!!) (all consensual btw!!)

Separated because it was gonna be too long with all of them, the brothers should come out soon

-

A/N: I had this thought and i really had to get it out of my head (it was org gonna be just simeon cause,,, i love repressed feelings so much but then i gave it to the rest!!)

You really should have known better than to take food that was offered by Beel. You know that he has the right intentions in mind- that him sharing food is a miracle of itself and rejecting him would have his brows furrowed and lips pursed into a pout- but he’s also gluttony. He can eat whatever he wants and as much as he wants without so much of a stomach ache. You, on the other hand, cannot. You should have seen this coming when the cupcake you bite into filled your mouth with such an indescribable sweetness that it made your teeth ache, the flavor otherworldly and leaving you hungry for me, taking greedy bites out of the cutely decorated pastry. There was a sharp pang in your stomach, your body on fire and sex dripping with every nudge that your body made.

You couldn’t be alone right now- or maybe you should have been left alone, maybe that would have saved you from humiliation of your dripping arousal that was leaking past your slit. You’re quick to rise, standing on shaky legs, curled over as your cheeks burn, sweat beading against your skin, only worsening the sensitive state that you are in. It’s fast-acting, making your breaths come out in heated gasps, and everything just feels a bit too much, just too good for it to be normal. An aphrodisiac- a strong one that is making you impossibly aroused. You suck in a sharp breath and go to the person who you know will treat you right.

Barbatos:

Barbatos is simply surprised that you chose to go to him in such a needful state. But soon, he realizes how… stressful it is to have you around. Lord Diavolo was kind enough to give him the day off, stating that he’ll be spending it with Lucifer before closing the door with quite an obvious wink. But now, you follow him around, holding his hand, begging for him to do something- to turn back the clock just a few minutes before you had that pastry. You even promised that you wouldn’t get caught but he remains steadfast in his decision, not wanting to risk another repeat of the last mistake.

There is little that can surprise the butler, but when you push yourself against him, grabbing his hand and placing it flat on your belly, his fingertips above the waistband of your shorts, he can feel his face grow hot. He sputters out for a second before regains his composure, simply pulling his hand away and commenting that he’ll make you something to dim the fire that is your body. But you don’t quit, you push yourself against him, begging for him to help you now, that you’re too hot, that your clothes are melting your skin and your flush against him.

He only has so much willpower when it comes to you. And here you are, pressed against him, begging for him to take care of you, grabbing his hand and placing his index and middle finger in your mouth. He visibly stiffens, and when your mouth closes you hollow your cheeks, the soft, slick insides pressed against his fingers. There’s a crackle of energy around and soon you're gagging on his finger, the manicured nails turning into claws, filling your mouth exponentially, spit sliding between the corners and your eyes pricking with tears.

You are much too needy to stand still, to even rest against him is something that you find difficulty in without resulting in your humping his leg. You beg him, twist your hand in his and remove his glove, holding it tight in your hand and begging for him to touch you- to make the pain between your legs go away and feel good. As quick as a blink of an eye, you’re against the wall, his fingers deep into your mouth, his smile softening for a second. He leans close to your ear, his other hand working on clothes on your back, stripping you with every gagging sound made when he pushes a bit further. His tone is almost dangerous as he tells you that you asked for him to take care of you and that is simply what he’s about to do. He pulls away, his smile still as he leans close to you, his lips ghosting over his knuckles, asking if this is really what you want and if you give him a moment, he’s sure he can make you a tea that can stop your arousal. But when you gag around him, your brows knitting together, looking absolutely like a piece of art with his fingers in your mouth and eyes full of tears, he simply nods.

His mouth is on yours, and he can taste the lingering effects of the aphrodisiac on you- the sweetness, the almost bitter taste that lingers behind, the totality of it all making him feel as if he’s going to go into a craze. You poor thing, no wonder you’ve been so needy. Barbatos holds you up, letting you rut against him, feeling your sex pulse and with a simple slip of his hand, your creaming against yourself and against him, clinging tight to him, calling his name out in such a lewd moan that it pushes away all rational thought and simply release his cock, pearls beading from the slit and you look upon him with doe eyes, kissing him once more as his tail wraps around your torso, the forked end of it teasing at your nipples.

Diavolo:

The Lord of Devildom has always been kind to you, understanding and accommodating to you even when he has always seemed so busy. It would make sense that you would go to Lord Diavolo, who welcomes you with open arms, a gentle hand on your back that makes your knees buckle. He realizes his mistake- his eyes narrowing as he sees your flushed state and it’s a wonder that you’ve even made it to him without a trail of succubi and incubi at your tail. He can smell your heat from miles away. It’s intoxicating, hanging heavy in the air and as sweet as candy itself.

He lays you on the bed and he regrets it all in that very moment. He sees how small you are in his bed, the way that your body curves and how your hands try to find something to grip onto. He has enough restraint to pull himself away from you, taking a step back only to realize that your scent is filling the room, creeping at every crevice and corner, latching onto his clothing. Your hips thrust against the bed and he bites the inside of his cheeks- something bitter and hot filling his mouth. You call his name and he has to remain strong no matter how sweet the sound of it is.

The bed is soundless as he sits beside you and your hands latch onto his jacket, pulling him close to you. He makes a noise of surprise but allows it, watching as you lay yourself on his lap, your back arched over his lap and eyes so hazy and lust-filled that he forgets for a second to avoid touching you. His hand curves and pets the top of your head, smiling when you push yourself against his touch but then you rise and he’s forgotten that you are desperate for the very thing he’s willing to give to you.

You’ve laid him down, sitting above his abdomen, your hand on his chest, as your lower yourself to look him in the eyes. Your fingers squish beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, feeling the soft tissue of the breast and he has to admit that it feels divine. Your breath is a phantom above his lips and his hands move to grab your hips. He should pull away, but he finds that his hands are stuck to you, unable to budge from where they rest. He shouldn't be kissing you, he shouldn’t be ignoring the way that your hips are rotating above his, how you’re whining and mewling at the very action of kissing him. But he does, and he lets you kiss him, lets you weave your hands through his hair and push yourself closer against him until you have to pull away, gasping for breath.

Diavolo has to be careful with you- he treats you like you are made of porcelain, because to him, you are. You are a human, weak and gentle, loving and giving, and he is a demon, a king. He holds you with tender hands, letting his lips burn themselves against your skin, until you’re crying his name, begging for him to just touch you. He’s unable to refuse you, kissing your lips and letting his hand wander to your sex, where with just a simple touch, you release against his hand. He pulls his hand away, kissing your tears and raising his head to glance as his hand that is now coated in thick, shimmering arousal. With a promise to take care of you, he kisses your lips and lets his hand play with your sensitive sex.

Simeon:

Possibly one of the best choices to turn to, Simeon is actually quite happy to know that you chose to spend your sensitive state with him- that you trusted him the most. He’s trying to make it as lovely as possible- as least without actually attending to your needs. He won’t try anything- not that he technically could. But he misjudged the situation. He’s heard of people taking aphrodisiacs but the ones he heard of were made by and for people, not by and for demons. And now as he stares at you, trying so desperately to not slide your hand beneath the waistband of your underwear, he realizes he might have been over his head just a tad bit.

You rest on your knees, your face hidden against the comforter of his bed, lower half raised and legs pinched. Pained whimpers come out muffled, your hands clawing at the comforter, knotting and twisting the fabric in your hands. He can actually see the darkening color of your shorts peek from your crotch. His body suddenly feels hot- whether it’s arousal or embarrassment, he’s not actually sure but he wishes that it were because of the latter.

He turns his gaze away from you, clearing his throat and at that moment he knows he made a mistake. You call his name in a breathy tone that is absolutely sinful. Your arm stretches out, fingers trying to grab at the leg of his white pants. He smiles gently at you, his stomach churning when he catches your gaze- lustful and mouth already open in small moans. He can’t touch you. You know that. He knows that. But you’re in pain and even in your aroused state, you beg for him, you call out and promise that whatever he does, it’s out of good intentions. It’s a lie, of course, but he can hear you slick click against your dripping sex with just the softest of movement. Whatever he does- he can lie that he’s doing it to help you, but he’ll know the truth.

He’s unaware of how and exactly what happened. All he knows is that you’re above him, holding yourself tight to him as your face is hidden in the soft curve of his neck, and he can feel exactly just how hot your body is. Your hips are moving above his, the fabric of his clothes creating a wonderful friction that only makes your pitiful humping quicker and sloppier. You breathe against his neck and he has to dig his hands into the comforter of the mattress to prevent himself from falling to sin. Your sex is bare above him, your body curling tighter onto him, as he can feel an orgasm shake throughout your body.

Simeon whispers a prayer under his breath, closing his eyes and muttering an “Amen” as his arms wrap around your body. You jerk against him, acting as if the simple embrace from him is orgasmic, your thrusts quicker than before, calling his name, repeating it as if it were the only thing on your mind and at this point, he’s sure that it is. He promises to you in a whisper that he won’t go farther than what he’s about to do, pressing a kiss against your head and letting his eyes close. His hips meet yours in a thrust, clothed sex against wet, bare sex, and you moan his name and he can feel tears that burn slide down his neck, your words repeating for him to not stop.

Solomon:

It’s difficult for the sorcerer. He couldn’t even get up from the position if he tried. You're on his lap, legs and arms wrapping around him, and you may think you’re being discreet with your humping disguised as itchiness, Solomon knows better. He’s trying his best to find a spell, to find anything that can cure you of your current ailment. But he’s coming up flat. You’re needy, pinching your leg together and pulling away from where your chin rested on his shoulder to look him in the eye. Your face is flushed, your hair disheveled and for the first time since you’ve entered his room, you’ve stopped your humping.

He’s always had an attraction to you- it went further than just finding you pretty, it passed the need for human contact when you both arrived, it was just him wanting to bask in your warmth, to have you fret over him like he was simply just another person and not a sorcerer who happens to be able to command seventy-two demons. And now, he has you where he has dreamed of countless times, imagined behind closed doors and hand fisted over his cock. He has you with a leaking sex, eyes that are on him and no possible interruptions. His mouth is dry and he is unable to think properly. His hands fall and the book he was keeping afloat falls with a thud to the floor.

The way you call his name, a breathy broken moan when you test your hips against his, your body shuddering and he realizes with disappointment that you had orgasmed already while above him. He had missed it. He bows his head, brows knitted and he can’t think clearly when you’re rutting against him, mumbling apologies beside him, your breath a gentle whisper and then in the same breath you kiss his neck, begging for him to touch you. And as much as he wants to, he can’t. He knows the state you’re in, your mind hazy and thick with everything related to sex, and you aren’t thinking clearly, you’re just thinking of having your sex toyed with. It’s a horrible feeling he’s stuck in.

It doesn’t take much to make him crack. You pull away, when he’s still for far too long, silent even as focused as he was, you could hear the muted moans that he refused to sound out loud. But he's silent now, and when you pull away, he looks crestfallen. You hold his face his your hands, your sex pressed against his, and you can feel his cock poking at the inside of your thigh. You try your chances against, leaning close to him, your mouth on his as you beg for him to touch you, your promises of you wanting this so serious in your voice that makes him willing to kiss your lips, his tongue slipping past and the sound that you make is perverse, loud and running your hands against his body.

Solomon looks at you through heavy lidded eyes, feeling your body rise and fall, your lips on him and his hands are moving, leaving your body burning with just the palm of his hand. Thin, calloused fingers sneak under your shirt and rub against your sensitive nipples, your mouth breaking from him, and your tongue peeks out, swiping at your lips to capture the feeling of his against your one more time. But you’re in pain, more than he is, and he’s pushing you against the bed, kissing your body, hearing you call his name with such want that it makes his cock ache. And then he’s staring at your sex, leaking and throbbing, and his mouth is on you, groaning when your hands knit in his hair and his tongue is swirling around your sex.

[iliveiloveiwrite]

A Truth Universally Acknowledged // Anthony Bridgerton

Request: Hi angel! I love all of your stories, especially your Bridgerton and work! Is there any way you could write something soft and fluffy for Anthony and a female reader! PLEASE AND THANK YOU - Anon.

A/N: I haven’t written for Anthony in what seems like forever! As much as I love Benedict, I do love writing Anthony fics. This isn't overly long, I just wanted to write something soft and fluffy that’s entirely domestic as well. I hope you all like! Title is a quote from the first line of Pride and Prejudice (further quotes from the book are in italics).

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader.

Warnings: none - fluff, books, marriage, happy relationships, cute.

Word Count: 1.6k

The house is silent as Anthony strides through the waiting, open door. He nods his greeting to the Butler, Wilkins, before letting the weariness that had haunted him all day settle over his bones.

“Wilkins?” Anthony asks; no need to voice the question. Wilkins knows.

“Lady Bridgerton is in the Green-and-Gold, sir.”

Anthony smiles at the Butler. “You really do know everything.”

Wilkins smiles; nods his head. “It is my job, sir. Lady Bridgerton has already told me that you will take your final meal of the day in there, too.”

Anthony takes the stairs two at a time; refusing to accept his laboured breathing by the time he reaches the top. He was not an old man yet; he was still a very active man.

Turning left, he wanders blindly to the Green-and-Gold room named for the colour scheme of the walls and the furniture. His late grandmother had decorated the room; so fondly remembered by her ancestors that each refused to change a thing in the room save for any upholstering that needed to be done occasionally.

He finds you sitting on the left hand side of the room; the comfier side as argued by everyone who visits the room. Your legs are curled underneath you as your eyes pour over the page of an open book in your lap. From here, Anthony cannot possibly hazard a guess as to what you might be reading, but he feels a twinge of jealousy at the attention being paid to the book and not to him.

Well, love makes fools of us all, Anthony thinks to himself. “Darling,” Anthony greets in one single breath, as if the sight of you makes it all the easier for him to breathe.

“Darling,” You smile, standing from your seat, coming to greet the man you love with every fibre of your being. “How was your day?”

Anthony groans as he removes his jacket before tugging at the knot of his cravat. “Long,” He complains, struggling with the neckpiece. You smile at your husband, batting his hands away from his neck so you can take over. You feel the heat of his gaze as your hands work to do undo the knot he had tightened with a single tug; as the fabric unravels under your nimble fingers your husband reaches out to squeeze your waist.

“Thank you,” He whispers, voice full with an emotion you can’t quite decipher. Love? Weariness? A combination of both? Anthony looked ragged as you run your eyes over his face.

“I’m sorry that your day has been taxing, my love.”

“It’s all the better now that I’m here with you.”

“Flatterer,” You tease with no real heat behind your words. Anthony beams at you; eyes crinkling in the corners from the force of it as his hands tighten on your waist and his head dips to capture your lips in the kiss he has been thinking about for the better part of his day.

Breaking away, Anthony plants one, two, three kisses to your lips in quick, chaste succession leaving you breathless and highly amused. “How was your day?” He asks, curious as ever to find out what his wife does when he isn’t at home to distract you.

“Dull,” You answer plainly, enjoying the feel of Anthony’s strong arms around you.

“Dull?”

You purse your lips, thinking over your plans for the day so far. “I suppose dull doesn’t work. It hasn’t been dull at all.”

“Oh?”

“I’m only saying it because I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” He murmurs, kissing you once more. “What are you reading?” Anthony asks when he pulls away, spying the book laid delicately on the couch.

“Eloise let me borrow it. She gave me it when I called to see her this morning,” You answer, leaving the comfort of Anthony’s arms to take your seat on the couch.

“Darling, you know we have an entire library full of books, don’t you?”

Fixing him with an unimpressed look, you counter, “Your sister read this and thought of me. The least I could do is read it.”

“Alright,” Anthony sighs, knowing a losing battle when he sees one. “Budge up.”

“Pardon?”

Anthony gestures to the couch. “Make some room for me.”

A puzzled look settles across your face, but you follow the request, nonetheless, shifting on the couch so Anthony has room to sit down.

Anthony settles with his head on your lap; offering you a self-satisfied smile when you raise an eyebrow at him. “Comfy?” You ask, voice laced with humour.

“Very,” He responds. “Will you start from the beginning? I don’t want to miss anything.”

Chuntering about high maintenance husbands, you mark the page you got to before returning to the beginning. “Anything else before I begin?”

“Nothing… Oh, one thing.”

“That is?”

“I love you.”

Any previous ire you felt towards your husband disappears at those three magical words. The frustrated slant to your brow evens out as you reach out to stroke a hand through his hair and down the side of his face.

“I love you too,” You answer earnestly, feeling the power of the emotion running through you.

A peaceful look crosses Anthony’s face as your words sink into his skin like a balm on an open wound. He had felt neglectful lately; not spending as much time at home as he would have liked. He felt bad for leaving you so alone. Without children, you were your own companion throughout the day, and whilst you had both discussed having children, Anthony was to be left mildly vexed at the thought of you spending your days alone until a child was born.

The opening of parliament combined with Anthony’s seat in the House meant that he was spending more and more time in Westminster and less time with you.

A ratio Anthony was not fond of.

“I’m ready when you are,” He whispers; eyes focused on your face so he can watch every reaction and see every syllable leave your mouth.

Flashing an annoyed look at your husband, you take a deep breath and begin:

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.”

“What?” Anthony asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“Hush,” You admonish half-heartedly before continuing.

“However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered as the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters.”

“This author is a genius,” Anthony exclaims, his voice awed as he tries to catch a glimpse of the cover to see the author’s name. “Who wrote this?”

“Are you going to comment the whole way through? I’ve barely read two paragraphs.”

“Sorry, darling, but I have to know. Who wrote this?”

“Her name is Jane Austen.”

“Well Jane Austen is a genius. In two paragraphs she’s captured what it is like to be a single man with a fortune in and amongst the sharks with unattached daughters.”

“Sharks?” You ask, highly amused at your husband’s words.

“Mothers,” Anthony shudders, remembering what it was like to go through so many seasons still unmarried. A Viscount with two seats of power combined with a hefty ancestral fortune – many mothers didn’t care whether Anthony would love their daughters; they simply wanted a fortuitus marriage that would leave them set for life.

Anthony thanks any and all gods and deities out there that he found his love match in you. You had taken him by surprise; Anthony had already resigned himself to a season with countless mothers forcing their daughters onto his arm. Until one evening early into the season, he had been listening to Gregory whine about the workload at Eton when his eyes met yours from across the room. In a total state of cliché, Anthony met your gaze, and he knew. He knew that he was going to spend the rest of his life loving you, worshipping you. He knew that whatever his future held, you would be right there weathering it alongside him. In a single glance from across the room, he knew.

You were married before the season finished; a special licence dispensed after a favour from the Archbishop called in. Anthony couldn’t wait; didn’t want to wait – he wanted to start the rest of his life with you as soon as possible.

Your light laughter breaks Anthony out of his reverie. “They aren’t all that bad,” You argue. “I suspect you’ll be worse than me when it comes to our children.”

Anthony snorts; doubting your words but loving the way you speak so openly about your hopeful future family. Clearing your throat, you continue to read on.

Anthony settles further into your lap; letting the calmness of your voice wash over him. After a moment of watching the concentration on your face, Anthony lets his eyes slip closed. He has no intention of falling asleep; he simply wants to enjoy this moment to its fullest.

“Mr Bingley was good looking and gentlemanlike; he had a pleasant countenance, and easy, unaffected manners. His sisters were fine women, with an air of decided fashion. His brother-in-law, Mr Hurst, merely looked the gentleman; but his friend Mr Darcy soon drew the attention of the room by his fine, tall person, handsome features…”

A snore interrupts your rendition of Pride and Prejudice. Pausing mid-sentence, you look down to your lap where Anthony has fallen asleep so peacefully. Smiling softly at the man, you close the book, placing it to one side before running a hand through Anthony’s ever-unruly hair. He hums contentedly, pushing his head further into your hand as you begin to scratch at his scalp.

As you watch Anthony doze dreamily, you feel your eyes lose the fight against the growing tiredness. Your hand stills in Anthony’s hair as you fall asleep alongside your husband, utterly content at the path your life has taken considering it led you to him.

*****

Bridgerton Taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore​ @dreaming-about-fanfictions​ @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown​ @janelongxox​ @aspiringsloth20​ @wallwriterstuff​ @magicalxdaydream​ @darkestbeforethedawn16​ @gryffindors-weasley​ @spideysz​

[toffeelemon]

something qwhite interesting

as one does i was hyperfixating on alexander and i noticed - are most, if not all notable poc characters in young royals set as half white?

obviously sweden is naturally a very white society, and i’d imagine even more so in upper class institutions like hillerska. i remember lisa defending diverse casting and speaking about representing a swedish society she would like to see, so i’m interested to know does she then believe/ is trying to say that in the YR world, poc still need a certain proximity to whiteness to be That Rich (and elite)

we know that felice has a white mother. (who still definitely displays some micro-racism to felice, yikes) i presume her dad, the black man, is the breadwinner of the family - but august still describes her as Modern Nobility. note modern. she’s rich, and elite, and of a desireable class, and yet she’s not of old money or nobility. i cannot be sure if her dad has generational wealth in sweden, or is what august would describe as nouveau riche, but her mum definitely displays social climber tendencies with the obsession with wille. note that felice is still, by western standards, relatively light skinned as a black woman. (still pretty cool that YR depicted a black girl as the desirable love interest to a nordic prince though - and the fact that all of wille’s love interest(s) are poc! excited to see will they ever address this power disparity and the white privilege he has against simon - amongst all the other privileges he has)

alexander (my beloved) has a white dad as we know, and a white passing name. his mother who must be EAsian/ SEAsian was never shown on screen (not that i remember of) and is not of importance to the story i guess. the rest of the society is white. i wonder is alex technically part of the society too - is he also noble born and first son? (although the casting rumours for a potential older sibling disputes that) i will then ask is alexander, the only poc in the society’s space, only allowed to be there because of his proximity to whiteness - east asians have a history of being viewed as unthreatening and submissive. like, if alex isn’t noble and first born, couldn’t august have just found a random white boy minion? honestly i’m still not sure how to feel about this stereotype being played up, but it is also partially realistic to a character who has to exist in such a racially imbalanced environment (rip)

nils is the one we’re not sure if he is half white or not. august described him as nouveau riche - so it is possible that he would be considered ‘immigrant’ instead of mixed white swedish. or maybe he’s second or third gen, and his family has been accumulating wealth in sweden for ages. we don’t know. i wonder if him not being mixed white swedish is what distinguishes him from the nobility of the society - he seems pretty comfortable with the rest of the guys, so i’m leaning towards him being pretty much Swedish instead of first gen or an international student

madison is the international student from new york, and being from the united states is pretty much her essence. the actress nathalie is of lebanese descent, but madison’s ethnicity is not mentioned at all in canon. (maddie speak arabic when!) we assume 1) she has ties to sweden, and 2) she is Rich, in order for her to end up in hillerska. i don’t know does this translate to her being mixed white swedish, but canon definitely portrays her as white (in my opinion?) another scenario is that she is Swedish, but her family just happens to live in the states for business or whatever reason. i’m leaning towards her being pretty much only connected to the states, since she seems pretty bewildered by all the old money european culture around class and monarchy, for someone of her wealth background

simon and sara are the outliers to this pattern because they’re not rich, and they pretty much portray the first gen (i say first gen because linda seems uncomfortable at times, so i’d guess she didn’t grow up in sweden) immigrant instead of the privileged mixed white swedish kid - they didn’t necessarily have to be half white, seeing that omar (as we know of) is Not half white, although i am glad they did not give him a drug dealing latino dad 💀 (simon falling into the drug dealing trope is bad enough… at least he can blame the white dad, oof) otherwise, it would have been nice for simon to Not be half white, to show that he could still be Swedish (and bagging the prince lmao) even though he is latino

i do wish that there are more explicitly Not Half White poc in the YR-verse though

there was absolutely no conclusion to this weird headcanon/ analysis thing but thanks for reading lmao feel free to steal this as fic material

[gguksgalaxy]

Stranded | JJK | E2L

Jungkook’s offer to help you study for your exam is unwelcome. His entire presence is unwelcome. You don’t want help from the guy who passes all his classes without even trying. It’s annoying — he is annoying. From the way he grins whenever he catches you staring at him, to the way his eyes shine whenever he smiles at you. Oh, and let’s not forget the way his tattoos shift when he stretches or the way his jawline sharpens when he’s focused. Nope, you definitely can’t stand him.

›› AU: Enemies to lovers, fuck/badboy!Jungkook ›› Genre: Fluff / Smut / Angst ›› Rating: NC-17 (explicit sexual content, 18+) ›› Pairing: JJK x Reader ›› Word Count: 13k ›› Jungkook Snuggle Drabbles. Warnings Include: A lot of swearing, heavy themes of miscommunication and strong judgements, Jungkook sleeps around a lot, university related stress, brief mention of past underage drinking, emotional and romantic angst, argument, the desecration of a mug.  Sexual content: Protected sex, blowjob, cunnilingus, face sitting/riding.

A/N: This one's for you @fallinforkoo I hope that you like it!! This is not something I would usually write but the idea popped up when seeing the request so here she is! A little cliché but I hope it's original enough. Let me know what you guys think!

“As your best friend,” Taehyung says sheepishly over the phone, “I really need you to do me a favour.”

You groan, leaning your head over the edge of the bed. “I don’t like where this is going.”

He hums. He doesn’t even laugh. There’s just a brief silence before he asks you the impossible. “I need you to invite Jungkook for the get-together on Friday.”

“Absolutely fucking not,” you spit. “Taehyung, my best friend, the platonic love of my life. I will do anything for you. Literally anything. I would suck your toes if you asked me, but I won’t do that.”

Now he laughs, loud and deep. It only makes you sulk more. Inviting Jeon Jungkook into your humble abode? To have him walk around with that smug—and delectably gorgeous—grin on his face as he finds something to make fun of? Not over your dead body. Not in a million years.

“Please, do it for me.”

You vigorously shake your head. “I don’t see how I would be doing you a favour by inviting him. You don’t even like him!”

“I mean...I really don’t mind him. But I like Jimin, a lot, and I feel bad for excluding his friend all the time, it’s starting to get weird. Can’t you just invite him over? I promise you won’t have to talk to him.”

Oh, but you do. Because Jungkook always manages to weasel under your skin and get you worked up to a point where you just have to say something. It’s not your fault that he’s such an ass. He just rubs you all the wrong ways. “I am in a constant state of wanting to rip his head off. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Jungkook is just so...You really cannot stand him. First of all, he doesn’t study. All he does is party and sleep around with random girls. Yet, he still somehow manages to be at the top of the class. Secondly, he’s a dick. He has no respect for both his elders and you. Any chance he gets he will make fun of you or blatantly insult you. And lastly, he looks too good and he knows it. Walking around campus just basking in the attention from all the girls, and guys, who want him despite his reputation.

Taehyung snorts. “If I were you, I would be more worried that you’re in a constant state of wanting to suck his dick.”

“I’d rather snap his dick in half.” Sometimes you wonder why you’re friends with Taehyung. After all, he’s the one who told Jimin to bring along his friend. Now, you’re regularly exposed to Jeon Jungkook’s incessant flirting with anything that breathes, constant whining about just about everything, and complete lack of personal space. Taehyung had been certain that if you got to know Jungkook outside of class, it would make you more amicable towards each other. However, it’s only made it worse.

“You know, sometimes people lie about something so often that they start to feel like it’s the truth.”

You roll your eyes, sitting up on the bed. It’s noon already. You really should be studying for your Psychology of Law exam. Also known as the course from hell. As a law student, you really can’t make sense of the material. All the mumbling about internal thought processes and stressors has your mind logging off. You’re chapters behind. You don’t even know where to start. Because unlike a certain someone, you actually have to study. Even with all-nighters, thorough summaries, and flashcards, you’ve still managed to fail quite a few classes. The future of your law degree literally balances on this one class. If you fail, you lose your scholarship.

“Are you still with me?”  Taehyung asks.

“Yeah, I’m just considering defenestrating myself. Anything better than studying for psych.”

“Even inviting Jungkook?”

“Anything but that.”  It’s not like Taehyung is completely wrong. Jungkook looks like a model when he actually decides to groom himself instead of showing up to class in sweats and uncombed hair. You’re way too aware that he works out five days a week. Or that he’s got tats lining his arm, intricate designs that—No. You’re not falling down this hole today.

Taehyung’s typing something up, probably studying for his own exams. “I will let you study then. Just please, invite him over. I will forever be in your debt. Be the better person.”

The sweet lining to Taehyung’s plea actually manages to work for once. He’s your best friend, after all. He would probably do the same thing for you. It’s just not that fun to be around Jungkook when part of you—as much as you may deny it—feels some type of way about him.

“I will consider it.”

“That’s not a no.”

“Don’t make me change it back to a no, Kim.”

He chuckles. “Someday, you will thank me. That day being the one when you finally come to terms with your feelings.”

“Bye, Taehyung,” you grumble, ending the call and throwing the phone down on the duvet.

So yes, maybe you do have a thing for Jungkook. Doesn’t make him any less annoying. If anything, it makes him even more insufferable. Why did you have to develop a weird crush on a guy you can’t even stand? The world doesn’t have to be cruel like that. But here you are. Not that it matters. Jungkook would sleep with just about any girl but you. Which says more about them.

Reluctantly, you get up and grab your books from your desk. Studying is easier in the living room, away from distractions.

Your peace doesn’t last long. Not even halfway through your first coffee, your doorbell rings.

Groaning, you get up and prepare your best ‘no I don’t want to buy whatever you’re selling’ face. Upon unlocking the door, that face falters.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you spit out the moment you see Jungkook’s big doe eyes. He’s standing on your doorstep like he’s supposed to be here. With his backpack nonchalantly slung over one shoulder.

He looks past you, into your apartment. “Oh, you started studying for psych?”

Your living room is a mess. “Well, I was trying to start, but I’ve been rudely interrupted by someone who has no invitation to be here.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m here to make sure that you don’t fail another class and have to drop out.” Like he owns the place, he pushes past you and waltzes inside. He drops his backpack and readjusts his baseball cap, showing off his forehead and chocolate brown hair. It’s really starting to get long.

“I don’t need your help.” There’s no way he’s here just to help you study. And even if he was, he’s just going to distract you. You’re not friends. He must have some ulterior motive for being here. Jeon Jungkook doesn’t study, let alone help people study. Not to your knowledge at least. “I can manage just fine on my own.”

He grabs his laptop from his bag. “What part of ‘having to drop out if you fail another class’ did you not understand?” He puts the device down and gets comfortable on your couch. As if he’s done it before.

You cross your arms over your chest. “Who told you about that?”

He shrugs. “Jimin mentioned it, he must have it from Taehyung. Does it really matter?”

“Yes, it matters,” you sneer. “I didn’t ask you to be here. I don’t want you to be here. There’s no way I’m going to get anything done with you around. Get the fuck out.” You point a finger at the door, waiting for him to leave. “Do you not hear me?”

“Oh, I heard you. I’m just waiting for you to get over yourself and realise that you actually need my help.”

“I don’t.”

“Can you tell me the difference between compliance and suggestion in the context of a police hearing?” he questions, leaning back and propping his clunky boot-clad feet onto the table.

You press your lips together in a thin line, thinking about a possible answer.

He grins. “Any idea what the Reid Technique is and why it is or isn’t ethical?”

“No,” you grumble.

“You know what the pros and cons are of an Oslo style eyewitness lineup?”

You shake your head, dropping your arms in defeat. He’s got you. You don’t know anything. Maybe you do need his help. As long as he tries to be nice, you can give him the benefit of the doubt. Another year of your degree is definitely worth it.

Jungkook pats the spot on the couch beside him. “Let’s get started, we’ve got a lot of ground to cover if we want to get you a good grade.”

And so you get to work. Jungkook makes himself a little too comfortable in your home. Aside from pulling out his flashcards, multiple summaries and annotated materials, he actually slips into the kitchen to make tea. He raids your pantry for snacks and pulls out your blanket from under the table.

“What?” He says, mouth stuffed with gummy bears while he unfolds the blanket. “I’m sorry, but your apartment is really fucking cold. Since you’re dressed as if you’re going to the North Pole, I assumed the radiator must be broken.”

“It has been almost a week now. My landlord is being an ass about it. Also, I’m wearing normal clothes that normal people wear when it’s cold outside. Unlike you, with your short-sleeves and thin coat.”

“It’s October.”

“It’s nine degrees outside. You’re insane.”

“No,” he says, sitting back down with the blanket around his shoulders. “I’m just hot.”

A reluctant smile pulls at your lips. Why must you betray yourself?

He leans in close, inspecting your face. “I can’t believe I lived to see the day. You actually smiled at one of my jokes.”

If he’s good at one thing, it’s definitely proving that he’s an annoying shit. “I’m laughing at how pathetic you are.”

“At least I’m not the one who tried to hide her smile.”

“And I’m not the one who forced his way into this apartment. I’d watch out, some people might start to think you actually like being around me.” You turn back towards his laptop, scrolling through the document to the next topic. Police hearings.

Jungkook puts his hand down behind you so he can get closer—too close—and look over your shoulder. “Maybe,” he whispers, “I do like spending time with you.”

You whip your head around so fast you nearly knock heads with him. He doesn’t move. Both your noses basically touching. At this proximity you can see all the fine details in his skin. The flecks of lighter brown in his eyes that really do shine. The moles on his nose, the scar on his cheek.

“Nah.” He pulls away. “I’m just messing with you. I still don’t like you.”

What on earth did you do to make him come over here? If he dislikes you so much, he shouldn’t have bothered. You’re not a charity case. “If you’d just let me fail, you wouldn’t have to put up with me again.”

He tuts. “Where’s the fun in that? I’d honestly miss your bad comebacks and petty remarks.”

“Excuse me, my comebacks are not bad?”

“They’re mediocre at best, ma’am,” he laughs, grin showing the fullness of his cheeks that make him look deceptively cute.

You shiver at the thought. He’s a lot of things, but he’s not cute. Yes, he’s probably a good guy deep down, but he’s not cute. Jeon Jungkook is and always will be an annoying, self-entitled, arrogant brat. Nothing is going to change your mind. Not even the way your heart beats faster from just having him so close.

“Don’t ‘ma’am’ me,” you bite.

“I’m not even going to give you any points for that. You didn’t even try!” He makes an exasperated gesture as he grabs another handful of gummies.

‘Childish’ should be added to the list. “Are you here to help me study or not?”

Jungkook nods, sitting cross-legged. “Just so I get to bother you for another year.”

The two of you get back to work. He takes you through a very detailed and too dramatic explanation of the Reid technique. You find yourself captivated by how passionate he seems. He sure does know a lot about the subject.

Jungkook turns out to be a very active talker. He makes very detailed descriptions and uses his hands to explain things. It’s easy to understand him, but it’s way harder to memorise it. As the material gets more complicated, he gets more serious and you start to lose track. His frown deepens, dimple-like creases appearing in his cheek that make him look sharper and older. You can’t help but stare.

He’s so handsome. The tattoos that circle around his left arm shift as he speaks. The same way that his earrings dangle as he moves. You get caught up in him, the way he talks, the passion that rolls off him in waves.

“Are you gawking at me?”  He says, stopping his movements mid-air.

Cheeks flushed, you try to come up with a smart reply. “I was thinking whether your head has always looked this big.”

His lips pull into a straight line. “I’m here trying to do my best to explain to you what the difference is between an Oslo confrontation and a sequential lineup, and you’re worried about the size of my fucking head?”

“I mean, it’s awfully big, no?”  You poke his forehead.

He grabs your wrist in return, pulling your body towards him. “Can you at least try to appreciate my effort?”

“I’m listening!”

Wetting his lips, he arches an eyebrow. “Explain the difference to me.”

Well, you weren’t listening that intently. “Uh, a sequential lineup has a lower chance of causing false positives.”

“That’s the last sentence I said, you can do better.” He lets go of you so you can lean back. For a second, he actually seems pissed off. Maybe you should try, he’s doing his best after all. It’s just hard when he’s here looking this good.

“Oslo confrontations feature the suspects in a lineup at the same time, whereas a sequential lineup shows them one by one.” That’s all you got.

“Well,” he says, throwing you a gummy from the bag. “You got one point out of five.”

Treat halfway to your mouth, you stop. “One?!”

He nods. “And I’m being generous with you. First of all, you cannot call them suspects, they’re candidates or possible suspects. There’s usually only one suspect and the rest are actors who look like the suspect. You also missed the part where, during the sequential lineup, the witness doesn’t get to see all the suspects. Once they pick the one they think is the perpetrator, they will not get to see the additional candidates.”  Why does this sound so hot when he says it?

God, you’re going insane. “Well, I’ll try to remember that and the seven-hundred other things you said. All the blabbering you do makes it really hard.”  It comes out harsher than you intended. From the way Jungkook stays silent, you know it must’ve hit home.

He gets up, making your heart sink. “I think it’s time for a break. You’re getting frustrated. Do you want to order pizza?”

“I don’t recall asking you to stay over for dinner.”

Jungkook takes a long, deep breath, closing his eyes. You can feel the anger build up. “Listen, I’m here to help you. The least you can do is fucking appreciate it. Be stubborn all you want, but you need this. You want a shot at this degree. I’m here, because as much as I can’t stand you, I won’t enjoy watching you get kicked off the entire program because you’re struggling with the material.”  There’s a heavy pause. You let his words sink in. The level of concern is surprising. It’s sweet. “So do you want to order pizza or not? Because I’m starving.”

You nod. “Pizza sounds good.”

The tension ebs away after that. Jungkook goes into the kitchen and comes back with a mug filled with milk, of all things. You bite your tongue.

“I want pineapple on my pizza,” he says.

Pausing, you raise your eyebrows. “You cannot be serious.”

“Depends. How much do you hate pineapple?” His shit eating grin returned like it was never gone. It gives him away.

Narrowing your eyes at him, you speak; “So, double pineapple for you?”

Suddenly, his face falters. “Whoa, you can’t actually do that to me.”

“You’re the one who said he likes pineapple!”

“It was a joke. No person in their right mind would put fruit on their pizza.”  He sits next to you, taking another sip of his milk. “I’m really not picky though, but the one with the jalapenos is good. Or the chili chicken.”  Jungkook scoots closer so he can scroll through the menu on your phone, hand brushing against yours.

This way, you get a clear view of the rose tattoo on his hand. It’s beautiful, detailed but still in a traditional style. It suits him, as do his other tattoos. Though this one has always stood out to you.

“I’m just going to get pepperoni,” you say after a while.

Jungkook sighs, then turns his head to whisper in your ear; “Boring.”

Startled, you shove him so hard he falls onto his back. “Don’t be such a child. I’m not going to make you eat it.”

When he sits back up, his shirt rises and reveals the edge of a narrow, toned waist. You look away, focusing on actually ordering the pizza. Jungkook really doesn’t have to be so casually attractive. He’s not even trying and you can’t keep your eyes off him, noticing something new every minute. A good reason to not spend any more time with him after this.

“Gimme.” He plucks your phone out of your hands so he can order his own pizza. With the utmost concentration, he scrolls and types in some things. No doubt using your pre-set credit card to pay for it. “Wait,” he says, sitting up straight. “Whoa, you’re friends with Yoongi? As in Min Yoongi? The guy who won this year’s mock court?”

Gasping, you dart over to grab the phone from him. “Don’t go through my messages!” With one hand on your chest, he manages to keep the device out of your reach. “Jungkook!”

His eyes move over the screen, reading your messages with the third year law student. “Why didn’t you just ask him for help, huh? He seems to like you, and that’s something. I don’t think Yoongi likes anybody.”

You try harder to grab your phone from his hands. It must look insane, your body bent over his, him trying to find ways to hold you off and keep the phone out of your reach. Somehow, you end up squashed between his—way too strong—thighs.

“Jungkook give me my phone back!” you whine.

Something on the screen makes him raise his eyebrows. “Are you two like—you know? Cuz I’ve heard some stuff and—”  

You shake your head, getting uneasy with the fact that he’s really reading your personal messages. “I don’t like Yoongi like that.”

Jungkook lifts his leg, using his knee to push you back. He’s got way too much strength in his body. “Okay, but I’m not sure that he knows that. He’s not a nice guy, you should steer clear of him.”

“Oh, and you would know how? It’s not like you’re such a gentleman.” Again, you try to jump for your phone, but he stops you in time by grabbing your wrist.

Face serious, he holds your gaze. “I’m not kidding. We run in the same circles. He’s a total asshole, you don’t want to get involved with him. You can do better.”

That sure is a way to silence you. You frown, settling back into your seat as Jungkook keeps scrolling through the chat. “I’m not into him, but he’s been texting me for a while. I was in his group for mock court.” Finally, you get your phone back, but your stomach feels uneasy looking at it. Perhaps Yoongi’s messages are a bit forward.

“I don’t know Yoongi well enough to be able to say for sure, but I know enough to tell you that he doesn’t talk to girls like you because he wants to be friends,” Jungkook says with a hand lingering on your thigh.

Way to make you feel good about yourself, Jeon. “What does that mean, girls like me?”

His face changes, eyes wide.

“What are you trying to say?” you press.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he leans forward onto his knees. “All I’m saying is that you don’t deserve to get played by some asshole who’s just trying to get into your pants.”

“Oh.” Is he being for real? He’s looking out for you? This is not how this is supposed to go. Jungkook shouldn’t be nice to you. He shouldn’t be helping you, or care about your wellbeing. He’s a dick and the two of you squabble and yell at each other. Yet, your chest warms at his words. Even if you weren’t looking to get together with Yoongi, it’s good to know he might have alternative motives. “Thank you.”

All he does is nod, before he grabs his laptop to resume where you guys left off. The awkwardness slowly dissipates as he takes you through the entire lineup thing again, just so you’ve got it down. After that you move onto the remaining subjects.

Today sure is strange. You never expected things to be so comfortable with Jungkook. Despite his exasperating personality and your on and off bickering, his presence is pleasant. It doesn’t take long for you to sink into the couch, drinking your third large cup of coffee.

Completely focussed on his monologue, you ask questions very sparingly, enraptured by him. You knew he was smart, he passes his classes with grades of 80% or higher for a reason. However, it’s different to see it in action.

Pizza arrives a little late, much to Jungkook’s dismay. Turns out he’s quite cranky when he gets hungry. He devours his pizza way faster than you can get through half of yours, and he’s quick to inch towards a slice from your box. You smack his hand away, reminding him of how he slandered you for your topping choice. He can have your leftovers from yesterday

“You call this pasta?” he questions in a disgusted tone, crouched down by the fridge

“Take it or starve. Your choice.”

He gets up, nose scrunched. “I’d rather starve, thanks. What exactly do you excel at? Since it’s not school, wit, or cooking.”

“Aim,” you spit, flicking a piece of pepperoni at him. It hits him straight in the cheek and you burst out into a fit of laughter. He stares at you in utter disbelief, removing the greasy piece of meat from his face. Tongue pressed to his cheek, he fights off his own smile—or an insult.

Eventually, he sits back down and goes over the remaining material while you eat. The end comes faster than you expected, his eyes darting to the clock.

“It’s getting late, I should probably go home.”

“What?” You pout. “How can you leave me to my own devices like this?!”

“Because I did what I could. I took you through all the material, now it’s up to you to try and memorise it. I’ve sent you my summaries and I’ll leave my flashcards here.” He grabs his things, meticulously stuffing them back into his backpack. With a heavy heart, you hand him his cap that had fallen to the floor.

Jungkook pushes his hair back, putting his cap on. He looks as nonchalant as he did when he came in. Backpack slung over one shoulder, hand shoved into his pocket. “Good luck. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah, I guess,” you mumble. “Thanks.”

“I’m glad my presence was enjoyed.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, I only endured you because I want to pass.” Part of that is true. Though, he wasn’t as bad to hang out with as you had originally assumed. Maybe it’s because his friends aren’t around to show off to. Or because he genuinely wanted to help. Which is still weird. “Good luck to you too.”

He waves you goodbye, opening up the door, only to be met with a gust of wind. The sound of rain enters your apartment. Water plummets from the sky by the bucket.

“Shit,” Jungkook peers outside, hesitating in the doorway. “If I don’t show up tomorrow morning, please assume that I have drowned.”

You would’ve laughed at the idea of him getting soaking wet any other day. He came here to help you study and now he has to walk home through the rain. No doubt he’s going to catch a cold dressed the way he is. Maybe you should listen to Taehyung and be the better person for once.

Getting up, you pull him back inside by the string of his backpack. “You can’t go out when it’s like that, you’ll get sick.”

He turns with a smile. “As much as I would like to see you squirm a little longer, I need to study too.”

“You study?”

“How else do you think I get good grades? Eat books for breakfast?”

You shrug. “We can study together tonight?”

Stepping closer, Jungkook forces you back inside. Almost nose to nose. Your heart skips a beat when his breath fans over your face. “Is this just a lame excuse from you to spend more time with me?”

“No. But I can only imagine the tragedy that will befall me if you catch a cold because you were out here helping me study.” You poke a finger into his chest. A grave mistake, it’s way firmer than you’d thought. “If I let you stay over, you no longer owe me one.”

“I’m sorry, but it really sounds like you just want me to stay.” Jungkook inches closer, backing you against the couch.

You open your mouth to say something when your phone rings. Looking over to where it lies on the couch, you see Taehyung’s name displayed. He can wait. You glance back up at Jungkook, who’s nearly chest to chest with you, and also has his eyes locked on the phone.

Then, he grins.

You act fast, snatching the phone from the couch and declining the call before he even gets a chance to touch it. Taehyung really doesn’t need to know that Jungkook is here.

Jungkook himself, however, picks up on this. He chuckles lightly, arching his eyebrow. “Are you trying to hide the fact that I’m here?’”

“I wouldn’t say I was trying to hide it, but I really don’t need my friends to think I’m hanging out with you.”

Jungkook drops his bag in the chair again, curious glint in his eyes. “And why is that?”

“Because,” you start, crossing your arms over your chest. “I don’t want to be associated with the likes of you.”

“What am I now? A villain?”

“No, you’re a stuck up fuckboy who does nothing but party and sleep with random girls and yet somehow still manages to pass all his classes. You’re annoying, egotistical, insufferable, pushy, invasive and disrespectful.”  You let out a deep breath. Yeah, maybe Jungkook’s been nice to you today, but he hasn’t changed.

He rolls his eyes. “Well then. I’ll have you know that you are nothing more than an average, boring girl struggling to get by. You’re opinionated, crass, entitled, standoffish, a bad listener, impossibly stubborn and a bit of an airhead.”  The words leave him as if they mean nothing. “It’s not like I’d want to be associated with the likes of you either. But here I am, stranded because of the storm. So you, my dear, are stuck with me tonight. You did offer for me to stay over, after all.”

“Whatever,” you breathe, “let’s just try to study.”

The two of you return to your previous position on the couch, but now, he faces you. With the flashcards in hand, Jungkook reaches into his bag and pulls out a container filled with Maltesers.

The rules are simple. You take turns asking each other questions. If you get it right, you get a chocolate, you get it wrong the person who asked the question gets a chocolate. Easy enough, right? Now that you feel a bit more steady with the material, you should be able to answer some questions correctly. Even if it’s just to rob Jungkook of the satisfaction of eating the entire thing on his own.

Two questions in and the bickering starts. Jungkook’s whining because he’s cold and you can’t turn up the radiator. But since he was the one to leave the door open, it’s his fault that it’s so cold in here to begin with. You’ve long hogged the blanket for yourself and you don’t intend on sharing it. It’s the only barrier that’s keeping you from touching his feet.

“Please,” he pouts. “I’m so cold, you can’t let me freeze to death in this fucking igloo.”

You pull the blanket closer. “No. It’s mine.”

He whines. “Come on, it’s big enough for both of us. It’ll be warmer if we share.”

“No.”

“You do realise I could just take it from you by force.”

“You would not.”

He sits up straighter, putting a hand on the edge of the fabric. “I’m giving you the option now. Either you share, or I’m pulling it from your cold, grabby hands. If you’re just afraid to snuggle with me, you can just say so.”

In order to not admit defeat, you give up half of the blanket so he can shove his legs under it. He extends his legs way past his side of the couch, his feet touching your lower back. You have no choice but to fold one of your legs over his, the other extended by his side. Indeed, it’s warmer this way.

“Now, where were we?” He flips to his next card. “Ah, yes. Weapon focus effect.”

That one you remember clearly. “It’s when a witness’ attention was so focused on the weapon present at the incident that they fail to remember any significant details about the perpetrator. It’s an involuntary process that often leads to inaccurate descriptions of the attackers.” You definitely got that one, no doubt. It’s easy.

Jungkook throws you a chocolate. “Good job, you’re doing well. It seems you listened to what I had to say after all.”

“I mean,” you say, popping the chocolate into your mouth. “I didn’t have that much of a choice but to listen, now did I?”

“You were visually undressing me the entire time. I had assumed your mind was busy with...other things.” He’s doing it on purpose, trying to get some type of reaction from you. Instead, you just bite your lip, not knowing what to say. “Oh, was I right? Tell me, what were you thinking about.”

You let out a sound, throwing a pillow at him. “I wasn’t thinking anything. And I wasn’t undressing you.”

“No, you were thinking of how big my head was, right? Would it,” he pauses, lifting up the blanket to peer underneath, “fit between your thighs?”

“What is wrong with you!” You scream, hands covering your face that quickly turns red.

He laughs in return. “You’re so easily flustered. I’d almost call it cute.”

Peering through your fingers, you frown. “Almost?”

“Yeah, almost. Not quite, because you’re still you.”

In a surge of confidence, you sit up straight and grab the stack of cards again. Not looking at him as you speak. “How about, instead of imagining what I taste like, you tell me what a flashbulb memory is.”

Inches away from choking on his spit, Jungkook doesn’t manage to come up with a smart retort. He just answers your questions with pursed lips and distant eyes. It’s correct though, so you get to throw him a chocolate. Which of course, he catches with his mouth. Show off.

It goes on for another while, storm raging outside. With the winds turned, you can now clearly hear the pattering against your window. You can’t imagine what Jungkook would’ve done had he been walking through this storm. It’s only getting worse.

Time ticks by fast. Soon, Jungkook is left with one last flashcard in his hands. And you are determined to get that last chocolate. He smirks to himself, probably aware that you don’t know the answer to this. But if anything, you are determined to prove him wrong.

“Tell me,” he trails, “what is the difference between compliance and suggestibility?”

You know this. He’s explained it three times. So you’re confident in your next words. “Compliance is when a witness giving a testimony willingly accepts a suggestion but is aware that the suggestion is wrong. Suggestibility is when they believe that the suggestion is right and thus take it for the truth. Both are problematic, but suggestibility is harder to expose.”

Jungkook tuts. “You got them switched around.”

“Huh?! That can’t be right!”

“Sure is, the last chocolate is mine.”

You snatch the bag away before he can grab it. “I don’t think so. Let me see that card.”

“Are you accusing me of lying?”

“For chocolate? I sure am. Let me see.”  You crawl over to his side, squishing yourself between him and the couch. “Jungkook,” you whine when he covers the card with his hand, “let me see. My grade depends on this.”

He chuckles at you. “It does not. I’m confident that you will pass regardless.”

You try to pry the card out of his hand, but it’s no use. The grip he has on the thing is too strong. He manages to hold you down without even breaking a sweat. It’s a few beats before you can realise that you’re now entirely pressed up against him. You can feel the muscles in his thighs shift, the soft skin of his arm against yours

“Let me have the chocolate and I will show you,” he whispers.

Flushed, you stop struggling. “Whatever, I know I’m right.”

Jungkook then reveals the card to you, showing you that you indeed, were right. “I’m glad you’re finally confident in your abilities. That’s the key to passing a test.”

Has he really been testing you this entire time? That’s sure one way to do the trick. Without replying, you sink into his side. Silently enjoying his warmth. It’s comfortable to sit like this, now that it’s night and the apartment continues to get colder. You don’t mind, really. Inhaling slightly, you catch a whiff of his fresh floral scent. It’s mixed with a sharp edge that suits him well.

As Jungkook grabs the stack of cards you got wrong to revise them, you don’t move. The two of you just get comfortable like that. It’s easier to see the cards the way anyhow. You can just look at them together. Plus, you’re starting to feel a little sleepy and don’t want to move. He seems equally as content, just reciting the questions and explaining why you got them wrong.

“Okay so,” you say, pointing at something on the card. “It’s not so much an issue on the witness’ side as it is on the police’s?”

Jungkook nods, looking at you. “They’re the ones leading the witness. It’s not the witness’ fault that they take on their opinion.”

You hum, meeting his gaze. He doesn’t falter, almost as if he’s searching your eyes. “Something wrong?”you ask, voice hushed, goosebumps appearing on the back of your neck. There’s a mole right below his bottom lip which is plump and looks soft. His top lip is more defined, making for a cute pout. The more you look, the more you notice all his moles. On his nostril, his cheek, his ear.

“No,” he answers eventually. Voice strained. “I think you have a pimple growing between your brows.”

“Get lost!” You shove your elbow into his side, pulling a pained groan from him. “You’re so stupid.”

For a moment he’s quiet, just rubbing his side and shifting so he can get more comfortable. One of his legs falls off the couch, the other still between yours. “You really hate me, huh?”

At any other given moment, you would’ve replied with yes. But now, it’s laden. Is he asking you that seriously? It’s one thing to tell Taehyung you can’t stand him, or to yell it in his face when he’s being a brat, but you can’t literally say it to him like this. Why, you don’t really know. The expectant look makes your stomach tighten.

“Why are you saying it like that?”

He shrugs. “No reason in particular. Just because,” he gestures at your bodies, “it doesn’t seem like you mind being around me that much. If anything I’d say that,” he stops, leaning in close to your ear. You can feel the barely-there graze of his lips. “You like being around me.”

You bite your tongue, looking up to find his eyes darker than before. Cocking his head to the side, he awaits your answer. You’re not willing to give him the satisfaction. There’s no need to stroke his already big ego any more. Yes, this is more pleasant than you’d expected. Yes, he’s nice to be around. But... “You’re still a pain in the ass. Sorry.” With that, you had expected him to look away, but he doesn’t. His eyes flicker down to your lips, and back up to your eyes.

“So are you,” he teases, lips stretching into a lopsided grin.

Within a heartbeat, your lips are touching. Jungkook groans. You gasp, pulling him closer. Closed eyes, your heart beats a million miles an hour, revelling in the feeling of his mouth against yours. How soft his lips are. The trailing of his fingertips up your neck so he can crane your head back.

He comes to life, parting with a brief look into your eyes and a deep breath. Then, diving in full force. Jungkook kisses you like he’s been waiting to—like he’s hungry for it. You can barely believe that it’s happening, still trying to register that he’s actually kissing you. That it feels this good.

Your entire body kicks into gear when he bites at your bottom lip. Shifting your body to face his, you wrap a hand around the back of his neck. Returning his fervor, your mouths part and tongues meet in a desperate clash. Jungkook lets out a deep, guttural sound that makes you shiver. He’s skilled, tongue swiping over yours in a way that you can barely keep up with. Deliciously hot, just edging on sloppy. There’s no room for pauses, no time for thoughts.

Gaining purchase against the armrest, you swing a leg over his to sit in his lap. Jungkook’s leaning back still, pawing at your waist now that he’s got full access. You take full advantage of the position, crashing into him and devouring him. Biting at his lips, sucking his tongue into your mouth. The feeling is nearly euphoric paired with the rough, firm touches of his hands all over your body.

He touches anything he can find. Gripping onto your thighs and ass, slipping under your tank top and sweater to graze the skin on your back. Sparks erupt everywhere.

Mid-kiss, he sits up. Twisting so he can firmly plant both his feet on the found. It’s the angle he needs to pull you right against him. Your hips make contact and you moan. He’s not quite hard but he’s certainly getting there and the thought makes your head spin.

“Fuck,” you gasp, breaking away for air while he grids his hips up into yours. “Jungkook—”

“No talking,” he mouths against your jawline. “More kissing,” his voice is so  raspy that it’s barely recognisable. Almost a growl.

You push his cap off. Grabbing his face with both hands and kissing him firmly. Angling his head back the same way he had done to you. Kissing him is way better than you could’ve ever imagined. He’s rougher, stronger, harder against your body. You need more.

Slipping your hands under his shoulder, you lift it. Tracing the hard lines of his chest, feeling how he jumps under your touch. It empowers you, makes you bolder. Your fingers reach a pert nipple, brushing over it only to hear him moan in the back of his throat. God, he keeps on getting better and better. Sensitive it seems, as you roll the bud between your fingers. His hips buck up into yours. Fully hard at this point, he must start to get uncomfortable in those jeans.

Jungkook’s resolve with kissing you slows, needing air. He breaks away with a smirk, cheeks flushed and panting. Holding your gaze steady, he pulls his shirt over his head in one smooth motion. Revealing planes of unmarred skin and tattoos you had yet to discover.

You take no shame in staring, reaching out to trace the dream catcher on his shoulder. Moving along the lines of thread and feathers that reach his elbow.

“Like what you see?” he whispers, pushing you closer with a hand on your lower back just so he can kiss your neck. You shiver, legs spreading. Leaning your head back to give him enough room to mark you up. The thought alone makes you whimper. “What’s that?” he mumbles, licking a hot stripe up your throat.

Fingers digging into his shoulders, you grind down onto him. He moans in response. “Stop being so smug.”

Jungkook throws his head back, looking at you through his lashes as you gyrate your hips more firmly. His body on full display. “I don’t know, it seems like you’re into it.”

“For fucks sake, shut up and kiss me.”

He listens, capturing your mouth with his. Everything moves fast after that. Between tongues and mouths clashing, Jungkook rids you of your sweater. He kisses down your neck and throat, leaving marks and enjoying the way that you quiver for him. You’re soaking through your leggings at this point. Jungkook’s doing no better.

When he pulls away, you take the opportunity to kiss down his neck, collarbones and chest. To get off his lap and kneel between his legs. His eyes widen as you do so. A hand immediately comes up to push your hair aside, tipping your chin upwards. When he traces his thumb over your mouth, you part your lips and swirl your tongue around the digit and bite down, making him hiss.

Spreading his legs to accomodate you, he relaxes against the cushions. Just like little pricks on the edge of your consciousness, you feel the nerves. You question your skills when you undo his jeans and pull them down his legs. Yet, the hazy look in his eyes tells you that he’s going to like this no matter what. He all but arches into you when you palm him through his underwear. Rock hard and leaking through the fabric, you don’t want to wait any longer to finally get your mouth on him. To hear him moan for you.

So you reach past his waistband, foregoing any teasing and pull the fabric down. His cock slaps up against his stomach, making him hiss again. The sight is gorgeous. Jungkook with his head thrown back, hair a mess, chest heaving and flushed even though you’ve barely touched him. It’s satisfying to know you did that to him.

You sit down on your knees, holding him in one hand and go slow. Mouthing at him first, giving him just a taste of what’s to come. He doesn’t hold back for you, reddened lips parting with all the noises he lets out. When you take the tip into your mouth, he jolts—groans and reaches to anchor himself on your shoulder. You have one hand on his thigh, the other around the base. That way, you steady yourself when you sink down on him.

“Don’t—Fuck, keep going.” A gentle hand winds into your hair, guiding you further onto his cock. You’re not usually one to do this but, seeing him feel this good spurs you on. It makes you want to take all of him. You don’t stop when he hits the back of your throat, gag reflex kicking in. He moans at the feeling, so you try to swallow. “Shit, fuck, don’t do that. Your mouth,” he pants, “so good.”

Feeling his grip loosen, you pull up, taking a deep breath when you let him out of your mouth. Spit dribbles from your mouth to the head, tears sting at the corners of your eyes. You look up, giving him the full vision, and you don’t look away when you sink down again.

You’re so wet. Core aching but unable to find any sort of relief. You end up trying to grind your hips without any payoff. Meanwhile, you start a steady rhythm. Hollowing out your cheeks and using your tongue on the underside. It works. You have him moaning out your name in seconds. His hand tightens in your hair again, not to force you, but spurring you on to take him a little deeper each time. Right until your nose hits his stomach. You hold there, to let him feel the flex of your throat one more time. Just so he remembers it. Then you take your rhythm back up, a little faster, a little tighter. Your jaw starts to hurt, but it’s worth it. To feel his thighs start to tremble and his stomach clench. How he tightens his hold on your hair, moans pitching every time you pass your tongue right under the head.

Your lungs are burning, but you can’t help but feel addicted to him. Sucking him harder and feeling him near that edge. You dig your nails into his thigh, breathing in through your nose. Jungkook’s hip start moving just a little, enough to startle you.

“‘M close,” he moans. “Fuck, can I—in your mouth. Shit.” He runs a hand through his hair, browns furrowed deep. When he opens his eyes you shiver. His lids are heavy, pupils blown and cheeks red. Just like his lips—he sinks his teeth into his bottom one when you resume.

He takes it as a yes, unable to stop his hips from pushing up. You let him take control, holding yourself still, hands on his thighs. Jungkook’s breathing picks up, moans mixing into one drawn out sound. You meet his eyes, mouth stuffed with his cock. That’s all he needed. He twitches and cums into your mouth. The taste is bitter and harsh on your tongue. You close your eyes, focused on the feeling of his body trembling. You’re the one who did that to him.

When he lets you go and you pull off him, he gives you a fuck-out yet expectant look. A cocky arch of his eyebrow when he sees your bulged cheeks. Waiting for you to swallow.

Instead, you reach for his mug that sits on the edge of the table and spit into it. Flinching at the leftover taste.

Jungkook nudges you with his knee. “Why are you like this?”

You set his cup down and reach for your own, take a big gulp of now-cold coffee. “I’m not swallowing your jizz.” The thought of doing that alone makes you want to puke.

“Don’t call it that.”

Rolling your eyes, you stand up on wobbly legs. “I just had it in my mouth, so I can call it whatever I want.”

Jungkook mimics your eyeroll. “Fine.” He pats your thigh. “Pants off.”

“What?”

He lies down on the couch. Surely he doesn’t expect you to ride him after you just fucked up your throat for him? What an ass. “You heard me, naked now. Chop chop.” He motions for you to hurry up and you just give him a blank stare. “Ugh, come here.”  Jungkook sits up just slightly again and pulls you closer by your waistband. He gives you a brief look. “Unless you don’t wanna get naked?”

You chuckle, pushing at his hands to get him to slide your leggings off. A hand slips between your thighs to touch you. Rubbing you through the fabric, your knees nearly buckle. He’s nonchalant about it, lying back, eyes focused between your legs. Yet, he’s too accurate, easily finding his target.

“Jungkook,” you whine, grabbing onto the back of the couch.

He smirks. “Let’s take these off too.” The snap of your panties to your hip pulls you back. You shove them down, taken aback by the feeling of a hand grabbing your thigh. You’re about to question him, when he scoots further back on the couch and lifts your leg past his body. “Have a seat.”

Mind absolutely blank, you let him guide you to sit over his face. You’re dripping and he can see it—feel it probably from the way you just grazed his chest. A small moan leaving your lips when he reaches up to kiss your stomach.

“Don’t be shy,” he chuckles. “I’ve got you.”

You shift forward, holding onto the back of the couch. His hands come up to your thighs, pulling you even higher so he can slot his mouth onto your core. You can’t help but moan.

Noisy. Jungkook is so noisy. He sucks your lips into his mouth, teethes at them until you’re shaking. You struggle to hold your hips still, the need to grind into him too strong. And he does nothing to stop you. No, he urges you on. Looking up at you with those big eyes and nodding against you. Jungkook opens his mouth, tongue darting out to tease at your clit just briefly. Then, the reigns are all yours.

He holds you by the hips so you can hesitantly start moving. You shiver. It feels so good; the wet warmth of his mouth against your core. He follows you, hands pawing at your thighs, hips, and ass. With eyes closed, Jungkook eats you out like he’s been dying to do it. There’s no teasing, no playing—he’s straight to the point. You move over his tongue as he sucks on your cunt, nibbling and flicking whenever he gets the chance. Anything else is irrelevant. The sight of his head blissed out between your thighs is all you can focus on.

The pleasure spikes, shooting up your spine and filling you with warmth. It’s embarrassing how fast he gets you on the edge. How good he is. The way he occasionally stops you to take that bundle of nerves between his lips and suck on it until you’re screaming—it’s mind blowing. Your entire body is on fire, sweat drips down your back. His name falls from your lips in cries that echo throughout the room. Louder than the storm raging against the window.

“Jungkook, I’m—” you pant, unable to finish your sentence with the moans that he pulls from you. Incapable of thinking from the second he swirls his tongue around your entrance and presses inside. You halt all your movements. Nails dug deeply into the couch, you reach for his hair with your other hand. He moans when you grip it tightly, his own fingers tightening around your hips. “Don’t stop.”

He alternates between fucking his tongue into you and sucking on your clit. The intensity is almost too much. The irregularity keeps you on your toes and has you nearly teetering over the edge. You just need to—Jungkook reaches behind you and plunges two fingers into your sopping core. The sensation of being filled along with his tongue flicking over you has your eyes rolling back. Everything goes white.

You double over on the couch, unable to keep yourself up and smothering him in the process. Trembling in his hold, he helps you slowly ride out your high. Short, gentle movements against his mouth. The rocking of your hips is as involuntary as the way your body keeps shaking when he lets you go. Breath high in your throat, you chuckle.

“Good god.” You fall down when he slips out from underneath you.

As you twist towards him, Jungkook wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, crawling over you. All your limbs still feel like jelly, your mind swimming. “Yeah, that good?”

You hum, eyes closing. Wanting to lie down, you turn on your back, hearing a sharp thud.

“Shit,” Jungkook gasps. He’s grasping his chin with a laugh.

A few seconds pass before you feel the soreness in your knee. “Ugh, I’m so sorry,” you whine, reaching up to touch him. But he has other plans. Jungkook surges down smiling, pressing your mouths together for the first time in what feels like hours. The stickiness on his face doesn’t go unnoticed. The reminder that he just ate you out, that he’s the one who made you cum that hard. You moan when you taste yourself on his tongue.

He kisses you deeply, smiling against your mouth. You finally get rid of your tank top, now fully naked. He mouths over your chest, twisting your nipples, spreading your legs so that he can fit between them. Pressing himself against you, hard and waiting. “Can you go again?” he asks, pulling away and searching your eyes.

You still feel floaty, but the sensation of his hard cock pressing against your thigh has you quivering. “Yeah.”  You’re aching to feel him inside, so you tilt your hips up towards him. Spreading your legs wider and inviting him.

“Wait,” you blurt, eyes flying open and pressing a hand against his chest. He stops with his hand around his dick, just about ready to slide home. “Condom.”

Jungkook curses, looking around the room. He locates his jeans that lie in a pile with his shirt and boxers. The fact that he’s actually got a condom in there is uncanny.

“You’ve got to be kidding me?”  You joke.

He shrugs. “I wore these jeans while going out last night.”

“You’re disgusting!” You slap his arm lightly, but he just chuckles in return. He knows just as well as you do that you’re waiting for him to fuck you. The clenching of your core attests to that.

No time is wasted, Jungkook puts the condom on and lines himself up. “You good?”  

You nod. “Just go slow.”

The slight oversensitivity just makes it feel even better. He stretches you out so perfectly. You feel every inch, every stutter of his hips as he goes deeper. Way deeper than you’d expected. Until his hips meet yours and he curses, burying his face into your neck.

“You feel good,” he mumbles, kissing your skin.

“You too.” Trailing your fingers up his back, you wait for your body to adjust to him. To feel yourself relax and pull for more. That tell-tale need for movement, friction. Jungkook holds steady, hips barely moving. “Go,” you say when your stomach clenches. “Move. Fuck me like you mean it.”

Jungkook growls, grasping onto the couch. Pulling out and slamming back in full force. You slide up the cushions, so fast you grasp onto him for support. Fingernails digging into his back, legs wrapping around his waist, you keen at the pleasure. Each thrust is better than the last. Harder, more precise.

Your back arches off the couch, mouth agape. Pleasure is constant, like your body is vibrating with it. Jungkook mouths at your neck, sucking, biting—teeth playfully tugging at your ear just to whisper something dirty that you can barely comprehend. Your mind can’t make sense of anything but his dick pumping inside of you. His hips slapping against yours and his mouth against your skin.

Until he kisses you. His mouth messily connecting with yours, movements slowing. With a hand on your ass, he hikes you up the couch, angling your body so that he can press your legs to your chest. Just like that, he picks up. Starting off slow, still kissing you, tongue laving over yours almost sweetly. You shiver, the slow drag of his cock as delicious as the harsh assault. He changes angles, just a hair, but it’s enough for him to graze that part inside of you that makes you see stars.

Throwing your head back, you moan. Fingers sliding through the sweat on his back, up to tangle into his hair, gripping tight. He groans. Head falling onto your shoulder, hips stuttering against yours.

“You like that?” you whisper into his ear, tongue darting out to flick at a pierced lobe.

He nods, teeth sinking into your shoulder as you pull hard. Hips picking up, chasing the pleasure.

Hearing him moan like that. So unabashed and loud, only adds to your pleasure. Toes curling, you close your eyes and let your head fall back. Hips meeting him thrust for thrust, helping him reach even deeper inside of you. To hit that spot every single time. Jungkook has perfected that balance between smooth and hard. Never slamming rough enough to jolt you, yet firm enough to make you capable of sounds you were unaware of. Rhythmic, never stopping or slowing. So constant you can’t do anything but fall into motion with him.

Bodies syncing up. Hands finding places to touch.  Nipples, lips, thighs, waists, hair. He is holding you spread open for him, your thighs starting to ache. But it’s worth it, because soon, you feel the pleasure spike.

Your stomach tightens, tingling at the base of your spine. “Jungkook,” you moan.

He answers by looking up, lips bitten red and parted.

“Can you,” you can’t finish the sentence, moaning and closing your eyes. Tapping his hand on your thigh is enough though. He releases you, instead pulling your legs around his waist. Closer like this, his chest slides over yours. It gives you just enough space to reach between your bodies and touch yourself.

He looks down at the sensation, cursing at the sight of your fingers playing with your clit while his cock slides in and out of you. The angle doesn’t let you do the same, but you can hear the slick slide clearly. You can feel it dripping down your ass.

The added pleasure is enough to put you on the edge, fast. “I’m gonna—Jungkook!” you yelp when he leans down and sucks a nipple into his mouth. “Fuck.” One hand between your bodies, the other holding his hair.

In seconds, your high hits you. Hard. Your entire body locks up, so much that Jungkook lets out a strangled moan. Fluttering around him he joins you in your peak. Thrusts stilling, pressed deep inside of you. He spills into the condom as you rut your hips, still coming down.

Spent bodies collapse onto the couch, Jungkook refusing to pull out immediately. He’s basking in the feeling of your aftershock, walls still clenching ever so slightly. You can’t blame him. It feels good. Having him inside of you as he lies down, pulling your hips against his, kissing you. His mouth is tender, laving over yours without much hurry. A hand combing through your hair, softly humming, smiling.

He finally pulls out, leaving you feeling empty and slightly sore. Grunting, he ties the condom and makes a show of throwing it into the same mug you used earlier. It makes him grin.

“I’m throwing that mug out.”

“You really don’t have to.”

“Oh, I really do. It’s been tainted beyond remedy. I’m not drinking from that, ever again.”

Jungkook presses his nose against your temple, still grinning like a fool. “You’re so weird.”

You snort. “Says the guy who just three-point shot a condom into a mug full of cum.”

No reply follows, only comfortable silence. Jungkook and you just lie like that for a while. Bodies coming down, breaths evening out, enjoying each other. Slightly sticky with sweat, you let him grab the blanket and throw it over you. Your heart swells.

Could it be possible that you’re not the only one who feels something more? Deep down, you’ve always known he’s not just an asshole. You’ve just never seen that side of him before today. All this time you’ve tried to ignore it. To not let yourself fall for that trap. A guy like him isn’t supposed to be good. Yet, maybe you were wrong about him. And maybe, he feels the same way about you.

Taehyung isn’t gonna let you hear the end of this, but you can’t help but wonder if there is an opportunity for more between you and Jungkook?

“You know,” he says after a while, “We should definitely do this again.”

Your heart shatters. That’s it. Reality crashing down on you. Of course Jungkook doesn’t feel anything for you. He’s just out for sex and you should’ve known.

You scramble up from the couch. Jungkook sputters out something you can’t quite catch, trying to grab a hold of you. “Don’t touch me,” you spit. “I can’t believe you.” Grabbing your panties and pulling them on alongside your sweater, you put distance between the two of you. “Is that what I am to you? Just another cunt to fuck?”

Jungkook’s hastily putting on his boxers, standing up, eyes wide. He opens his mouth, but you don’t care to listen.

“That��s why you were really here, right? To get into my pants. That’s why you had the condom on you.” It’s all falling together now. How could you have been so stupid? “All the fucking whining about Yoongi, but you’re no better than him.”

“Stop,” he rushes, shaking his head. “Listen to me—“

“Don’t!” you call when he reaches for you, grabbing you by the wrists and forcing you to look at him. You try to wriggle away, but he’s holding you steady.

“Listen,” he tries again. “I—“

You shove at his chest. “Let me go, Jungkook. Fucking let me go.”

He obeys, arms falling limply beside his body. Expression going soft when he sees you’re crying. “Please hear me out.”

“No, Jungkook. You don’t get it. I have feelings for you. Real, non-sexual feelings. I don’t just want to be another girl on your checklist.” There it is. Out with the truth. Your breaths come out short and ragged. Harshly wiping your tears, you grab your leggings off the floor. Jungkook just stares at you. “I was stupid to fall for this act.” It’s true. He doesn’t date. Sex. That’s it. You should’ve known, you should’ve protected yourself. Should’ve never let him weasel his way into your heart.

Jungkook deflates, head falling, hair shielding his eyes. “I’m sorry that you think of me this way.”

What a pretentious prick. “Forget it Jungkook, I’m not buying it.” You look outside, rain still pouring down the window. “You know where everything is. I want you out before sunrise.” You turn your back on him and storm into your bedroom, slamming the door closed.

The contents of your cabinet click, something falling to the floor. Your tears only get worse. Feeling the cold of your room wrap around your worn out body. To feel the remnants of him still cling to your skin. The marks, the soreness, and the scent. God, you’re so dumb. You want to call Taehyung, to hear his voice and have him comfort you. But it’s two in the morning and his sleep schedule is shaky enough as it is.

So you just opt for a shower, stripping and getting under the hot spray to wash away whatever you can. You douse yourself in your favourite clementine scented body wash. But it does nothing to clean the fresh tears. Nothing can. The realisation that your feelings for Jungkook had gone way past crush hurts. You let your guard down and he drove a knife into your back.

Sleep, you think. You need sleep. You need to rid yourself of these thoughts and feelings. Wake up tomorrow and just pretend like this never happened. Even if you know it’ll be evident. You can pretend.

You dry off and brush your teeth. Three times to be precise. Ending up in bed wrapped in your favourite teddy sweater, warm and cosy. Your chest still aches with tears that no longer fall. Heart heavy. Like you miss him close to you.

There’s not much you can do but close your eyes and will your mind to shut off. You don’t want to think about him anymore.

The creaking of your door opening startles you right as you’re drifting off. He better be joking. You refuse to move, holding tightly onto the blanket, hoping that he’s just checking in on you and will leave. You hear the door click closed, and then the bed dips.

You hold your breath. Jungkook doesn’t speak. He lifts the covers so he can scoot under them and pull you against his chest. It’s not a tight hold, but it’s there. A strong arm draped over your waist, legs grazing yours as you pretend to be asleep. The feather-light gaze of his lips against your neck makes fresh tears appear in your eyes.

“Jungkook,” you croak.

He shushes you. “I know you’re upset with me. I just don’t want you to be alone when you’re feeling like this. We can talk in the morning—if you want. For now, just get some rest.”

It’s true. You shouldn’t be alone, crying yourself to sleep. Even if he’s the one that caused it. You just don’t want to let yourself trust the gesture. He’s probably trying to make you feel less angry. Even if it doesn’t work, it’s appreciated, ill intent or not. Having someone here is calming, letting you fall into an unruly slumber.

The next morning, you wake up in his embrace. Closer, back pressed to his chest. His nose nuzzles into your hair. It’s so nice. Warm. Soothing. He’s a good cuddler.

Then, your entire body stiffens. The previous night coming back to you in flashes. Your bodies entwined on the couch, moans bouncing off the wall. You swallow tightly, lifting his arm.

“Hey,” Jungkook whispers. He must’ve already been awake, reaching for your hand and giving it a small squeeze. “Should I go?”

Yes. “No,” you mumble. You need answers. To make the story whole before you force him out of your life for good.

“Do you want to—”

“Why do you always act like such a dick around me?”

Jungkook takes a deep breath. “Because you won’t give me the time of day otherwise.”

You still, practically holding your breath so that you can hear every word.

“Every time I’m nice to you, you pretend like I don’t exist. When I push your buttons,” he sighs, “that’s when I get your attention.”

Attention? He wants your attention? Your mind’s running circles, afraid to turn around and see the look in his eyes and get swayed. Feel remorse for the pain you hear lined in his voice. That you can feel in the trembling of his hand encasing yours.

“Can you at least say something?” he asks.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

He sits up, the mattress shifting and your eyes closing tightly.  “Sit up, please.”  Grabbing your arm, Jungkook gets you to reluctantly sit up and face him. Though you won’t look at him, eyes on your knees that nearly touch his. You notice that he’s still in his boxers, but he’s at least wearing a shirt. He doesn’t force you to look at him when he starts speaking again. “I want to be honest with you.” He toys with the edge of your sheets. “But if you’re not going to listen to the whole story it’s not worth telling you.”

Your heart hammers. Tears threaten to fall. Taking a deep breath gives away your nerves. You want to tell him he can’t ask that of you. That he doesn’t deserve that. But if there’s even a slight chance of a misunderstanding—something your heart hopes for—you have to hear him out. Even if it’ll hurt. “Okay.”

“Thank you,” he mumbles. He’s nervous too. Breath shaky like his body, nearly curled in on himself. You never thought you’d see him this vulnerable. “Honestly, when I first met you, I was intrigued by you because I couldn’t have you. You just held up your nose every time I as much as looked your way. It made me want to know more about you. And the moment I did, it was over for me. I realised that you’re not just opinionated, crass, and entitled. You’re smart, a hard worker, and you’re such a good friend.”

You finally dare to look up. To see the desperate look in his eyes as he pauses. Shocked.

“I admire you,” he whispers.

“What?” you blurt. “You’re the one with the straight A’s, not me.”

He shakes his head in defeat, biting his lip and looking away. “The only reason I’m getting straight A’s is because I’ve taken these classes before. I’m not like you, I don’t work hard. I should be studying like you.”

You frown. “What do you mean, you’ve done them before? Do you already have a law degree?”

Jungkook avoids your eyes. “When I got out of high school at the age of seventeen, I got into a big university with a scholarship. The full ride. But I was stupid,” he croaks. “I wanted to fully enjoy the college ride. So I studied just enough to get by and dedicated the rest of my time to partying.” He says it like he’s disgusted with himself. Muscles in his neck tightening as he swallows impending tears. “I got arrested for underage drinking and lost the entire scholarship. Everything I had worked so hard for, down the drain.”

The words leave him pained, the regret for his past decisions clear in his eyes. Yet, he’s still here, studying this degree you know most students can’t afford. You have a scholarship too.

“So yeah,” he breathes. “I wish I had a little more discipline like you. I admire that you’re able to put school first. As much as I pretend to hate you just to get your attention, I like being around you. You’re a positive influence on people, including me.”

“So it’s my fault? For judging you?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen. “No, not at all. As I said, I was being an ass on purpose because I was curious about you. But when I got to know you,” he cocks his head to the side, “feelings happened. I just couldn't find a way to show you the better sides of myself. Which is partially why I showed up yesterday.”

“Huh,” you frown. So he did have ulterior motives? “How does that change anything? You still showed up here to sleep with me.” He’s talking in circles. You feel remorse for him, but you tell yourself to stay strong. His past doesn’t excuse his actions.

“I really wasn’t planning on sleeping with you. I wouldn’t do that to you. There just was no other way to get you to spend time alone with me. I wanted to show you a better side of me, hoping that you’d realise I’m not all bad and maybe would give me a chance.” A chance to what? “I like you,” he adds when you don’t respond, “a lot.”

What? He can’t be serious. After everything that happened.

“But I also care about you. I like being around you—bickering included. I genuinely wanted to help. I know how hard it is to start again, I didn’t want to see you go through that.”

You go silent. Trying to think over his words and not see the bad. To believe that he means it. He did help you after all. He studied with you for hours, never insinuating anything sexual. He was nice, comforting and believed in you. You never asked for any of that. And after all, you kissed him too. You could’ve stopped it. If he had just wanted sex, he wouldn’t be here.

But he is. “Jungkook, I’m so sorry,” you say, grabbing his hand.

“I’m the one who’s sorry. For making you feel used. I should’ve just been honest with you.” Jungkook laces your fingers together. “I know it was a dick move on my side to sleep with you. I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

“I played as much of a part in it as you did. So let’s just—how about we call it even. Bury the hatchet?” You cock your head to the side, rubbing your thumb over the back of his hand. It won’t be easy, you’ll need to do a lot of thinking, but your heart wants to forgive him. To see more of his gentler side.

He nods, lifting up your hand and pressing his lips against your knuckles. “Sounds good to me.”

The two of you get up after that, even if it’s a little awkward. It’s weird to not be bickering with him. You’re surprised that he actually cleaned the living room last night. There’s not a trace of him left aside from his clothes that are carefully folded on the table. Even that mug is gone.

“What do you want to eat?” you ask, reaching to the top shelve for another mug.

Jungkook comes closer. “Just coffee is okay for now.”

You turn, almost bumping into his chest, blushing heavily. Now that he knows you have feelings for him, he’s enjoying himself just a little too much. Smiling at you while you’re making coffee and some cereal for yourself. You eat in silence, browsing through your phone.

It’s when you get up to clean, that Jungkook speaks again.

“Hey,” he says, grabbing you back by the waist.

“Hi?” You turn around in his grip.

“You know,” he starts, hand coming up to brush your hair behind your ear. “As much as I regret what I said yesterday, I did mean it.”

“What?” You chuckle lightly. “You want to do that again?”

He nods, and you catch a faint redness dusting his cheeks. “I do, a lot of times, if you want.”

You laugh, twisting away from him to put the dishes in the sink. “If that is your way of you asking me to be your girlfriend, Jungkook, then I must say you’re not quite hitting the right angle. Seeing what happened yesterday.” He can’t seriously be thinking you just want him for sex after all that. You start cleaning, even if it’s just to avoid having to look at him and admit that you’re shy. Thinking about what happened last night—the good parts.

Sighing, he turns off the tap that you had just turned on.

“Hey!” You turn it back on, only to have him shut it off again. “What do you want?”

“I’m not saying that I want you to be my girlfriend. I don’t think I’m ready for that just yet.” He leans in, brushing his nose against yours, searching your eyes like he’d done the night before. Like he’s waiting for permission.

You couldn’t resist him even if you tried. So you kiss him, just briefly. “Then what are you ready for, big boy?”

He laughs. “For starters, I would love to take you out for dinner after the exam that’s in,” he looks up at the clock, “six hours.”

You groan, throwing your head back. “Don’t remind me.” It’s probably a wiser decision to take some time to think. See how you feel about this, but dinner won’t hurt. “I will still need some time to think about,” you gesture between you two, “whatever this is.”

“Oh,” his face falls. “Yeah, I get that. I just thought that—since you said you have feelings for me too.” Jungkook pouts. He fucking juts out his bottom lip and you haven’t seen anything more endearing in your entire life. Your heart does a weird little flip, and you know that you’re a goner. Even more so than you had been before last night.

Now you know that he is good. That he is worthy of a chance. So why not give it? Why would you sit around and let your mind think all sorts of negative things about him if you can give him the chance to prove to you that he’s a great guy. As he said, it’s just a date. Not a label. Yet.

When he turns away, you pull him back by his hand, slamming your lips to his. He grunts, both hands coming up to thread through your hair. The kiss isn’t deep. It isn’t anything like the way you kissed last night. It sweeps you off your feet, so tender and warm. When he pulls away, you’re out of breath and you can see the adoration in his eyes. You hope he can see it in yours.

Then, he pinches your butt.

You push at his chest. “Thanks for reminding me that you’re still an annoying brat.”

He chuckles, giving you a peck on the lips. “But you like me that way.”

“Sadly,” you grumble, winding your arms around his neck. “I do.”

Thanks to: @/fallinforkoo @knjkitten​ @yoongs-jeontae​ @wintaejk​ @guksweet​ @rynofpentacles​ @mikroparadise​ @jeonggukkiepabo​ @softlyjiminie​ Requested by: @/fallinforkoo + @hornyjailbonk​ + 3x Anonymous Taglist: @jiminskth​ @teresaisla​​ @yeontanie21​​ @tessanator97​​ @ladyartemesia​ @dayjeons​​ @djasheyash99​​ @the-rise-of-bangtan-boyz​​ @bbangtanlove95​ @zeharilisharaban​ @jungkooksgoodgirl​​ @topanga27​​ @pjmochii​​ @iwanttohitmyself​​ @veryuniquenamegoeshere​​ @bel-abysse​​ @jiminsreads​​ @jungkookspromise​​

© GguksGalaxy 2020 This is a work of fiction and is in no way meant to give an accurate representation of the idols included. Please do not steal, copy, redistribute or take uncredited inspiration from my work.