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Mon Amour (M) - KTH

Summary: The Parisian air has a way about it. To some it’s romantic, to others a source of peace and escape. To Taehyung it spells pent up frustration, heavy balls, and much needed assistance from his girlfriend. Unfortunate for him, you won’t let him touch you. Based on this from the Drabble Game:

#22 “i know i upset you, but you haven’t sucked my dick in 5 days now”

#40 “i’m so horny right now, i couldn’t stop if i tried”

Genre: Pureeeee Smut, Domestic

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Masturbation, Dry Humping, Sex, Spitting, Foot play, Fingering, Oral (m. receiving), Squirting, Fucking FRENCH TAE!

A/N: A spontaneous little thang because @softyoongiionly royally fucked me up with the whole French Tae thing in her fic ‘La Grande Maison: A Mystery in Three Acts’. So big up to her, and as always, enjoy x

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Mon Amour (M) - KTH

Summary: The Parisian air has a way about it. To some it’s romantic, to others a source of peace and escape. To Taehyung it spells pent up frustration, heavy balls, and much needed assistance from his girlfriend. Unfortunate for him, you won’t let him touch you. Based on this from the Drabble Game:

#22 “i know i upset you, but you haven’t sucked my dick in 5 days now”

#40 “i’m so horny right now, i couldn’t stop if i tried”

Genre: Pureeeee Smut, Domestic

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Masturbation, Dry Humping, Sex, Spitting, Foot play, Fingering, Oral (m. receiving), Squirting, Fucking FRENCH TAE!

A/N: A spontaneous little thang because @softyoongiionly royally fucked me up with the whole French Tae thing in her fic ‘La Grande Maison: A Mystery in Three Acts’. So big up to you, and as always, enjoy x

It’s the nicest day since you arrived, you’re sure of it. The sun angled just high enough and without the veil of clouds like it had been previously, that your balcony is set alight with the heat of white rays, the plants beginning to wilt in the corner because you hadn’t tended to them and your skin, in all its nakedness, goldening.

Maybe it’s the Parisian air, not that cliche romantic kind of air, but that feeling of spontaneity and carefree that has your robe strewn in the bathroom and your breast decorated in the 2pm sun. It also helped that your balcony was set high enough above the level skyline, perched a little too far to the north of the city and up a slight hill, so that your nudity falls dead to the world.

The click of the front door dispels the peace, though.

A rustle and the thump of bags in the kitchen tell you Tae’s trip to the market was more successful than yours was, but then again, your boyfriends French was on par with the native speakers who line the stalls.

“Ma chérie?”

The book that you’d left flattened and faced down, when sunbathing became more interesting, suddenly finds its way into your hands. It was a novel recommended by him, and something you promised you’d finish by the end of the day, so suddenly your eyes scan the page as though you’re immersed in the plot line of traditional French romantics.

“Y/N?”

“Oui?” You prop yourself in a certain way on the chair, finding the angle that has the rays of light beating your skin in the most attractive way, and give a ruffle to the locks that litter your bare back.

It’s a small apartment, the kitchen meeting the bedroom and bedroom meeting the balcony all in one open plan space - it’s not like you had anything to hide with him - so it’s not long before his footsteps fall onto the concrete of the outdoor space. It’s the clunking of ice that has your lips turning upwards.

“They didn’t have the peach, but the woman recommended the citrus. Said it’s good when the weathers like thi-.”

You take it from where it’s hovered over your shoulder, and immediately the condensation hits your hand, ice cold droplets making their way from fingers to wrist to elbow. Your nipples harden at the sensation.

“Thank you.”

“Baby?”

“Mmm,” it’s both an answer to his call for you and an answer of satisfaction at the bitter liquid, cold and moreish, down your throat.

You know he’s eyeing you. You know his hands are lingering against his sides, fighting desperately against the desire to trail fingertips over the curve of your shoulders and down to your breasts. Your nakedness is another level of tempting he’s not sure his hormones can contend with.

And you know, even more, you’re petty. Teasing to prove a point. Letting his eyes wander and fingers jitter, but not letting him touch.

It wasn’t petty at first, not when your sister’s wedding - second wedding, but the more honest coupling of the two - was sidelined thanks to your boyfriends drunk hysteria. Your dance with one of the groomsmen, a high school friend, had caused jealousy to mix with alcohol and for Taehyung to reach levels of anger you hadn’t seen since his dad left. In short, it was bloody. So, no, your distance was justified, and the absence of his touch was as punishing to you as it was to him. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t play with it a little, string it on so that honest resentment did, in fact, become a little petty.

“Y/N, baby,” he doesn’t know what he’s asking, or maybe it’s just a plea with himself. But his cock stirs as icy droplets find their way between your breasts. It’s like they’re asking his eyes to follow them. Down, down, and further down, until there lies your bare cunt. He didn’t know you had it in you, but he’s suddenly cursing himself for ever realising you did.

“Fuckkkk.”

You know where his eyes are. They burn a little bit more than the sun that rakes over your body still, so it’s a calculated move when you uncross your legs, slowly, temptingly and you probably taste salty down there from the accumulation of sweat and arousal.

The strength in his neck goes all at once and his forehead drops to your shoulder, an uncomfortable curve in his back, but your scent makes up for it. It’s heady and wholesome and a mix of sweat and shampoo, and he can’t help his hands wander.

The tips of his fingers tingle, and when they meet the skin of your arm, your hairs stand on end. As much as you’d teased him in the last few days, you’d been teasing yourself, fighting inner battles every morning at how his morning wood pressed into you, or how you wanted to french kiss him when he spoke with the native Parisians. Mostly it was the way Paris suited him. It made you want to tangle with one another in your sheets with the balcony doors open and the sun exposing all of you. So his touch effects you and you don’t push it away, not this time.

“Ma beauté, please,” his lips are soft on your shoulder. His teeth not so much, but you know it’s a habit he has when he requires self restraint. “Please.”

His fingers are still light and apprehensive, but they know what they want, dragging southward so he intertwines them amongst yours. He first pulls them up to his mouth, so a kiss meets each knuckle - you know it’s a form of apology, for his mistake, and for what he’s about to do - and then your collective grasp makes a steady path behind you. His shirt is loose, and so are his shorts, and they’re thin enough you feel him heavy, hard and wet with his precum.

“Please.”

His grip fastens around yours, a tight mould that closes around his erection and he gasps, fully and unabashed as though he hasn’t been touched in days. Because, he hasn’t.

“Shit.”

So you take the initiative and work your hand on your own, the fabric harsh against his skin, but he likes the burning pain and vocalises that.

“Fuck yeh, please keep going, please.”

You’ve never heard him plead with you as much, voice still low and gravely as ever, but it’s a whine either way, and it keeps you hand tight to his dick, twisting a little so his balls get caught up in the material too. There’s a light thrust of his hips that calls for more, and he begins hissing and panting into the skin of yours shoulder, his hands occupied with their fierce grip on chair.

“Let me touch you baby.”

“Mmm,” you want that, his hands, his lips, everywhere, forever, but there’s something rooted within you that calls for more of his whines, and another part that wants to prologue his torture.

So the hand working his erection, finds his shorts seam, but much to his disappointment, you don’t venture under the barrier, instead you find yourself pulling him round the chair so his back is lit with the heat of the midday sun and his face, ridden with need and eyes that dart straight to your core, fills your gaze.

“Fuck you’re hot,” and naked, and all for his eyes. But eyes only.

“Kneel on the floor for me,” if you could say it in French, you would, it turns him on no end, but you hadn’t reached that level in your vocabulary book yet. Another day, you think, another day.

It’s almost comical the way he obeys so quickly, so devoted to your every word, it’s love but it’s mostly desire. Particularly now he’s level with your pussy.

“Such a perfect cunt,” he whispers, loud enough you hear, though

“Take your shirt off for me,” he begins at the top, “slowly.” His hands fumble between each button, but he won’t look to aid the cause, his eyes are drowning in the wetness between your thighs. The lust within them is enough to have you own hands wandering.

Your drink was forgotten a while ago, but the lingering ice cold wetness between your fingers is beautiful as they skip from hardened nipples to your stomach. It caves a little at the cold and Taehyung chokes a profanity when your pussy clenches at the same time.

“Mmm,” he’s bare now, with his top half rid of the shirt that marred your view of his body - torso beautifully golden thanks to the good weather and chest lifting too harshly with how his breathing stutters.

“Y/N please.”

“Mmmmm,” it’s so so good when you touch your clit, a gentle roll between your thumb and index finger, and you eye his hands, fists more like from the way they clench, imagining it’s his between your legs instead. Your sticky with sweat, but it’s good, and when a sinker sinks in shallow to your hole, it’s even better.

“Oh my fuckkk,” he’s subconsciously leaning forward, a primal instinct that has his tongue lapping at his lips and a tingling all over that calls out to fucking taste you, and now! He’s horny, too horny, yet there’s nothing that’s going to take his eyes away from where you finger yourself.

“It feels good Tae, so good.”

He literally whimpers. And there’s a sensible part of him, that’s thinking whether or not it’s worth cumming in his Gucci shorts.

But you moan, and he caves.

“Baby, please, let me touch you, please. I’m so hard, want it so bad. Want your hands on me, your mouth, anything, fuckk.”

One of your bare feet finds his bare abs, pushing gently because he didn’t realise he’d leaned it far enough to smell you.

“You want my mouth?”

“Mmm,” he licks his lips.

“Where?”

There’s a shaking to his hand, but it takes your foot firmly and drags it southward until it perches on where his cock sits high and hard. You smirk and he moans.

“There?” He twitches when you push harder.

“Fuckk.”

“You upset me though. Properly upset me Tae.” And it’s the first time his eyes meet yours in favour of your cunt.

He’d known he fucked up, bad and big. He’d known you cried the first two nights when he slept on the sofa at the other side of the room, you’d woken up with puffy eyes and had two cups of coffee that morning - you hate coffee. He’d known he’d wait until you were ready, emotionally and then physically, pushing back every instinct to drown you in his love, with his words, his mouth, his hands, because, like he said, he’d fucked up big.

And if that all meant keeping his hands to himself, his dick tucked away painfully, and resist the urge to taste you even when your fingers are sinking deeper with every twist, then, fuck, he’ll do it.

It doesn’t make it any easier though.

“Hmm?” You push harder again, foot to straining erection.

“Fuck, baby, I know I upset you, but you haven’t sucked my dick in 5 days. It’s painful, I’ll do anything.”

You scoff a little, then proceed to curl your toes around his head so he gasps out and flutters his eyes closed. They open to your pussy gushing dangerously around three fingers now.

It’s good, the friction, inside you, on your clit, hot and cold and so, so good. You’re moaning lightly, out of pleasure but also to string along his pain. Tae loves when you’re vocal.

“Just suck me a little, or let me have a taste. S'il vous plaît, mon cherie, s'il vous plaît.”

Fuck, you might know Tae but he knows you better, and the baritone of his voice, lustful and pleading, and in French, you release your foot and loose every internal battle.

“Come here.”

Giving in never tasted you good, his mouth meets your fingers first, salty, wet and so fucking delicious on his tongue, before you pull him by his hair so you kiss. And kiss hard. Starved and deprived means everything is on the line in a single few seconds of being joined at the mouth, and your moans is a trigger for him to dive deeper.

His hands feel bigger than they ever have when they wrap around your thighs, searching for a secure purchase before you’re lifted and swung around, roles switched, and him finding place on the chair. Neither of your tongues leave one another, and the way he’s open mouthed, breathing erratically, the kiss is sloppy, beautifully messy and his hips bucks when he thinks of something.

“Baby,” you’d sneaked a hand between you, and he’s not prepared when you squeeze him wholeheartedly, “f-fucking shit Y/N.” So you do it again, and again.

“Fuck, baby, please.”

“What Tae,” your tongue still laps at his.

“Spit in my mouth, I need it.”

You pull back, a little caught off guard by his desire. It’s not that deep and not that dark of a notion, but my god, if you don’t want to get on your knees and suck him dry at the thought. “Jesus.” So, with one hand firm on his dick, the other presses his cheeks harshly until they hollow. You suppress the desire to choke him, and instead collect your saliva, both his and your, aiming the spit deep into the back of his throat.

If it’s possible for a guy to cum without ejaculating, then that’s exactly what Tae just did. He tastes you, so far back in his gullet, and swallows, and moans.

“Good?”

“So good, please, more.”

So you do, again, finding his tongue with your spit and his hips begin to set a pace beneath you, into your hand through the layers of his shorts. They desperately stutter.

“You’re that horny huh? Won’t stop until you cum in your pants huh?”

“I’m so horny I couldn’t stop if I tried.”

“They’re Gucci, Tae, fuck that.”

He thinks it must be Christmas when you sink down beneath his thighs, spread and shaking from the torrent of blood rushing up to his dick. You’re fast on the zipper and faster at latching your mouth to his dick once they’re sufficiently down his legs.

“Holy fu- shittt.”

You take him straight down in one, the only teasing part being your fingers kneading at his balls, too gently for him to moan like he does when you twist them. But he growls, instead, when your throat constricts and quakes around his head and the vibrations travel everywhere through him when you moan at having him so deep.

“Baby, hold up a bit, pleaseee. I’ll cum.”

You twist his balls.

“Fuck, oh my god, oh my god, baby, I want- ohshit, I wanna be in you.”

Your pussy throbs enough that you take him up on his want, prepared to discard every last piece of restraint you’d kept up for the last 5 days, because you’d forgiven him before he’d even fucked up.

“Wowow, wait, just, I’ll cum too quick, just-”

You hover, panting a little from when you’d sucked him so your lungs dried up.

“Okay,” tenderly, one of your hands, shaking from the pent up hormones, finds his cheeks, his hair, his lips, easing him and lulling him, “calm, you’re good.”

He presses a fleeting kiss to your palm, and then licks a stripe up his own, salty from sweat but it reaches for something saltier. It cups you with little reservation, heading straight for your clit whilst two fingers nestle deep inside you. His eyes finally open to watch the way yours roll back.

“Oh fuck.”

“Yeh?”

Three fingers. And deeper.

“Shit, Tae. Yeh.”

He eyes where his hand sinks into you, and the image doesn’t help how his stomach is clenching his orgasm away. He starts bucking into the air instead, possessed by your moans, your wetness, the way your body begins to drip, golden in the sun.

“Fucking hell that’s good.”

He loves when you’re vocal.

“Tell me you love me, baby, please.”

It’s hard. He’s curling his fingers, eyeing you with a need that borders on crazed, yet your heart beats faster from his words, not just the way the need to cum is creeping up on you.

“Mmm, je t’aime, mon amour, je t’aime.”

“Oh fuck,” you almost gush when his dick replaces his hands, too fast for you to unclench and make way for his length, and he chokes, dropping his head in between your breasts and squeezing your back. His hold is enough that you’re lost, drowned amongst him, and his thrusts make you fall limp.

“I’ll cum, Y/N, I’ll cum quick, holy s-” his head throws back when you hand finds his neck and squeezes, it mirrors your cunt.

“It’s okay baby, cum, please, I want it.”

Tae’s on a mission, to find his end and yours, planting his feet and becoming delirious as he drives into, so fast you can’t actually moan, or scream, because he’s in your throat, big and hard. It hits you in that place you want, once, twice, again and again.

“Oh my god, Tae, oh-”

“So good, fuckkk.”

He thumbs your clit too hard for you to prevent your orgasm and the gush that cums with it. It’s so powerful that you shake, and force his dick out of you all at the same time.

“Fucking hellll.”

The sight sets him alight as well. His hands too occupied on holding you upright that he cums untouched, over your stomach, over your pussy that quivers with wetness, he doesn’t stop either, leaking endlessly, because 5 days worth of blue balls had really kept him on edge.

Breathing is all that ensues. A silence that has you both trying to ground yourself. The cum, everywhere, is a little distracting.

“Messy.” You pant, tired, spent, but not quite exhausted enough that you don’t play with his cum. No, it’d be a waste, so you drags two fingers to the head of his cock, he hisses, and through the pile collecting on your stomach before you drag it deep inside of you.

“Fuck that’s hot.”

It hurts but you thrust them in and out a few times, relishing in the notion he’s deep and set inside of you.

“Baby, stop or I’ll get hard again. And I’ve been hard for like four days straight, it’s not fair.”

So you peck his lips.

“Sorry.”

And kiss him again.

“Me too.”

You stay naked, together, the whole day. You remain embraced and bare into the night also. He cooks for you with his cock hard between his legs, and he doesn’t even have to ask when you get on your knees at the dinner table. He fucks you in the bath. You fuck him on the bed.

And three days later, when your bags are packed, the plants on the balcony are dead and Tae has fucked you enough to make up for the 5 days missed, the lovely old French lady on the front desk, in the most beautifully sweet accent tells Tae,

“s'il te plait, ne baise pas sur le balcon, certainement pas nu.”

You’re glad you’re not fluent.

Ohhh I went to the list lol please Sasha and Jk “Please tell me, this is not why you woke me up.”

Oops I guess this is three drabbles.... I got carried away.

Story: The Secret Song Series, but can stand on its own Characters: gf Sasha and bf idol JK Length: 2333 words Warnings: Blood, injury, references to sex and masturbation

Sasha had starfished across her bed as soon as Jungkook was done with her, out so fast after her orgasm that she hadn’t even gotten to see Jungkook’s smug grin as he went to fill their water glasses, his with a lid because he was “weird” about the taste of water, she claimed. He just didn’t like the taste of dust!

He wasn’t quite ready for bed. Usually cumming hard like that put him out more than it did her, but occasionally, like now, it gave him a second wind of energy.

So he played games on her desktop for a while, and then on the Switch, and then contemplated sneakily jacking off because he was feeling horny again Oh, he realized, maybe that was the difference. Yeah, that made sense, he needed to cum again. One time hadn’t quite been enough to put him to sleep.

He sat in her desk chair and debated. He’d obviously never masturbated in his girlfriend’s room while she was sleeping before. He debated the ethics of it. He debated the horror if she woke up and caught him. 

He decided to do it in the shower instead. 

But just as he set foot out of Sasha’s room to sneak to the bathroom, he heard the tiniest squeak just as his foot brushed something furry.

Slowly he pulled his foot back.

He turned on the light on his phone and shined it at the floor where a small mouse had curled up and lay there, trembling.

I killed it was his first thought, followed by a full body shudder that he might have crushed a mouse to death beneath his foot.

But it was squeaking –pitifully, he thought– so he dug around the kitchen for a Bento box –sorry, Michele-noona, he’d replace it– and scooped the mouse into it with a tissue and some rice and a carrot. It hid under the tissue, still trembling and occasionally squeaking, but otherwise just seemed stunned. Not bleeding, from what he could see.

Then, not sure what else to do, he went to wake up Sasha. He hovered over her, ignoring for now the way the blankets bunched under her bare chest. She must have moved while he was out. Damn how lucky was he to get to sleep with her naked?

Yeah well soon he’d address that. First he nudged her shoulder, gently at first, and then more firmly.

“Sasha,” he called. “Sashaya?”

“Hm?” She yawned and rubbed her eyes, pushing up. “Yeah?”

“I found this,” he said, sticking with English since he wasn’t sure she’d understand Korean half asleep. She looked into the box and blinked and leaned closer, then gasped and shuffled away. Belatedly he realized he did not know if she was afraid of mice.

“Please tell me this isn’t why you just woke me up,” she said, pulling the blankets around her. “Where– that was in the– how did you catch it?!”

“Ah, you are scared?”

“I’m not scared of mice usually but what the hell, you woke me up to shove a mouse in my face?!” She gave a short laugh and pressed her hand to her face.

“I step on it,” he admitted. “I think it’s scared. What do I do?”

“Huh?”

“Um… where do I take him?”

“Oh. Um…” She seemed to be waking up more now. At least she wasn’t screaming, but she was still curled away and clutching the sheets. “I guess… outside? Like on the street?”

“Ah yes yes, ok…” That made sense. He felt bad to just toss it outside but hopefully the streets would be kind to it. As he contemplated the mouse’s possible fates, she leaned forward and looked curiously into the box again, and moved the tissue. 

“Aww, you gave him food?”

“I stepped on him.”

“Really?!”

“Not on. Um… next to.”

“Good prepositions,” she smiled. He didn’t know what those were. But now the mouse was starting to poke around more, coming out of its own middle of the night stupor. The similarity to Sasha suddenly made him snicker. It nudged the rice, then pulled back beneath the tissue. Jungkook felt mean to be holding the box in the air like this, in case the mouse could tell and was scared about being held in the air in a small box by a giant. 

“Um… ok I will go.”

“Shit, this means we have mice in the apartment,” she sighed. “Guess I’ll call the landlord in the morning… I can’t believe you woke me up in the middle of the night to shove a mouse in my face.” 

He carried the bento box outside, and found a little space with shrubs, and dumped it all out. The mouse took off running, leaving the tissue and snacks behind. Jungkook took the tissue back so as not to litter but left the snacks in case the mouse came back for them.

Then he went back upstairs to see if Sasha was still awake and maybe interested in –well, maybe she wouldn’t tease him as much about this if they had sex too and he could insist he woke her up for that! She’d told him he could!

Nothing changed and she teased him anyway, eager to tell all their friends how Jungkook woke her up at two in the morning with a mouse in her face.

***

Jungkook was passed out cold; mouth open, lips cracked, snoring like a chainsaw. He’d been up for too many hours after not sleeping enough while they traveled and now he finally was wrapped up in Sasha’s warmest blankets, face smothering in the pillow that smelled like her shampoo. 

It felt like he’d only just knocked out –though in reality it had been several hours and was now a short time after two in the morning– when a hand shook him awake.

“Koo. Koo, wake up. Wake up quick,” she said, her Korean strange to him. Maybe it would always sound strange to him to hear her speak his language, but right now he thought it had more to do with a racy dream and her moaned Russian suddenly interrupted by shaky sounding Korean. “Jungkook, please.”

“Yeah, yep, I’m awake,” he grunted, pushing up. His hair fell into his eyes and he shook his head to clear it unsuccessfully, and smacked his lips, all before he found the eyelid strength to lift them.

Sasha sat on the edge of the bed, cradling her hand currently pooling with blood.

“Please tell me this is not why you woke me up.”

“Jeon Jungkook!” she gasped. “I’m bleeding!”

“Ah… it’s a lot of blood…” he admitted, belatedly realizing the joke might not have been well timed. She’d teased him so long about that damn mouse though!

“How are you so calm right now? I think I might faint…”

“Don’t faint, noona.” It really was a lot of blood. She had her hand cupped and it pooled in her palm. He grimaced and pushed up from the bed. Blood didn’t particularly bother him, though obviously it was bad to see that much of his girlfriend’s outside of her body. He felt very quickly awake as he took her wrist.

“I don’t think it’s actually that bad,” she said as he dragged her through to the bathroom. “I just got nervous. I didn’t get it anywhere. Sorry. I shouldn’t have woken you up…”

He shoved her hand under the running water. She must be really shaken, because usually Sasha was exactly the person who knew what to do at a time like this. He definitely didn’t, except that he’d had enough big cuts to remember. He quickly eyed the cut up the side of her hand.

“Ah,” he said.

She grimaced and gave him a kind of sweaty look, “It doesn’t look that bad, right?”

“Eh… it’s bad, aein.”

“Ok. I have a first aid kit, we can–”

“Aya, I’m not a doctor,” he laughed. “Let’s go, we have to go to the hospital. You need a doctor.”

“What? No. No, we really don’t. Let me see,” she said and peered around him. But her face was looking a weird shade of pale and she stared at the cut in a weird way, like she couldn’t see it. Ah. Shit. He knew what someone looked like before they fainted. He wrestled her onto the counter so lean against the mirror and dug bandages out from beneath the sink. They were old but he just needed something ot help hold the towel against her hand in case she fainted since he couldn’t do it while he was driving.

“What did you do?” he asked her as he wrapped. It wasn’t bleeding as much as he thought it should be, but the edges were far enough apart, she definitely needed stitches. It reminded him of the cut he’d had on his ankle. He was clumsy but tight with the wrap around the face rag. He hoped this wasn’t the wrong thing to do. 

“I was building my new desk and I slipped with the knife–”

“Why do you need a knife?!” he asked, avoiding reminding her right now that he’d told her to wait and he would help. There were heavy pieces to it he didn’t want her trying to lift because he could just see them crushing her and anyway, it was an opportunity to show off. She wasn’t the only one in this relationship who could build things! 

But now he needed to show off his ability to take her to the hospital in the middle of the night. At least there would be fewer people there. Still risky but he’d mask up and hope for the best. 

She had answered but he didn’t hear it as he pulled her down from the counter and and shuffled her through the apartment towards the door. He could already see blood; maybe the bandage wasn’t tight enough or maybe it was starting to bleed too much anyway. Time to go before she actually fainted and he had to carry her into the hospital. Useful to know Sasha would nearly faint at the sight of her own blood though. He hadn’t expected that actually… But he was relieved at how calm he felt right now. His heart was beating a little fast, but yeah, it would be ok. He had this. It was bad but it was just a hand cut; at least she hadn’t cut a finger off or her wrist or something!

“Let’s go.”

“I really don’t want to go,” she insisted. “I don’t like hospitals. Or doctors.”

“I will go with you.”

“Yeah but… but I like really don’t like hospitals.”

“It will be ok. With me the whole time, ok? No choice. I will hold your hand for stitches.”

She grabbed his arm with her other hand, easily since they were close together because he was holding her cut hand. He expected her to admit she was afraid again or say how much his caretaking meant to her; it was obvious in the anime look to her eyes. 

Instead she said, “You aren’t wearing a shirt and I don’t have pants.” 

That was true. She’d been building in her underwear and a tank top and he’d been sleeping in sweatpants. He hadn’t even noticed, so distracted by the blood.

“Ah.”

It took a few minutes to get their clothes on. She was definitely bleeding through the bandage, and slow moving, and had a tremble that he wasn’t sure if it was from pain (she said it didn’t hurt that much but then also said maybe it was getting better, so he didn’t believe her) or hospital fear (she just kept saying she didn’t want to go) or because it was three o’clock in the morning. 

“I’m sorry about this,” she said as crossed the parking garage to his car. “Maybe I can drive myself.”

He just shook his head and joked, “Maxi warned me about you.”

“Oh there was way more blood when I woke him up. It was both my hands. That’s why I really don’t think I need to go to the hospital–”

“Go.”

Sasha sighed and slumped in. Jungkook yawned and rubbed his eyes and slid into the driver’s seat.

Yeah, he was definitely going to text Maxi when they got there so he could tease Sasha, hopefully for longer than she’d teased him about the mouse and subsequently denied booty request.

***

Jungkook shook Sasha’s shoulder to wake her up. She’d taken a long time to fall asleep, partially because he kept shaking the bed with poorly suppressed laughter as he scrolled on his phone instead of going to sleep. But she’d drifted off, sinking into a hopefully-dreamless slumber until:

“Sasha. Sasha, wake up. Quick! Look!” His voice sounded urgent

She popped her head up, looking at him through the tangly nest of her hair, instantly alert for whatever emergency led him to rouse her from hard-won slumber. It could be anything: a Grammy nomination, an emergency with his parents, their relationship had leaked, one of her friends was calling her because of an emergency. She was too sleep-addled to tell whether the urgency in his voice was good or bad.

“Ah, good, look.” He turned his too-bright phone right to her face and showed her a video of a child in a blue shirt screaming. She squinted as a woman’s voice laughed and assured the child it was just a frog on his arm. Suddenly the frog jumped onto the boy’s face, splatted across his upper lip, nose, maybe a leg even in his mouth. The boy’s scream turned into a shriek and the video cut off.

Jungkook’s snicker turned into full laughter. His shoulders rocked, his teeth sparkled in the glow of the phone, his eyes were crinkled shut.

“Please tell me this isn’t why you woke me up.”

He kept laughing and patted her head, “Ok grumpy Sasha… it’s funny but ok…”

“Sleep with one eye open tonight, Koosha.”

Absolutely loved it!

Would love to see an alien fic with jungkook 🙈

Woo, this was so fun to write! I hope you like it and it's not too weird...

Warnings: talks of injuries - none of it graphic but I feel like I should still point it out.

-

It is definitely here somewhere. You saw it fall only a minute ago. Had rushed inside first, only to grab a torch and then turning on your heels you’d run straight back outside to where you saw the thing fall through the sky.

Saw the man fall through the sky.

It’s dark, the torch cutting a tunnel of light through the night. The grass long, you have to wade through it like its water. You’re careful, not wanting to step on anything, but also you need to be quick. You may already be out of time, mere minutes since it happened, but someone just fell from a height, surely to be dead on site.

The fact that there’s no where for the man to fall from doesn’t go through your mind. The fact he’s fallen from such a height he’d surely be dead now doesn’t go through your mind. The fact you have no medical experience, that even if you find the man you won’t be much help to him doesn’t go through your mind. All you think about is finding him, all you think about is helping him.

Your grow frantic, start to shout out in the hopes he can hear and reply. But you hear nothing, see nothing.

You stop, panting, eyes frantically dance around the large field as your torch light follows behind, breaths panting in the cool air.

There.

Your torch dances back to the spot you think you saw something. A hint of something. A glimmer.

You push through the grass, flatten every blade in your wake. The torch is by your side, now you’ve caught sight of him – or what you hope is him – you don’t need the bright light to guide you. The moon is enough, the man himself like a beacon calling to you.

You drop to your knees when you get to him. His head is haloed by the fallen grass, his eyes closed, lips popped open, a scattering of moles across his face, one delicately placed under his bottom lip. He looks godly, like a fallen angel.

Your force your eyes away from his face, hands dance centimetres above his skin, just avoiding contact, as your eyes do an external examination. You don’t know what you’re looking for, but there are no twisted limbs, no blood pooling under him, and as if by some miracle, his chest is lightly rising and falling.

Alive. He’s alive and your heart gives a leap at that fact, only to fall a second later. You may not have much medical knowledge, but you at least know that external injuries aren’t necessarily everything. Just because he looks ok doesn’t mean he is.

You pause, your hands just above his shoulders as you refocus on his face. He looks so peaceful. But it could all be a lie. You fingers itch to touch him, but then would it be any better to wake him? You should call for help, but out in the middle of nowhere you know you’ll be alone for a while. You need to make a decision and you need to make one now.

You press your fingers delicately to his shoulders, your touch so light that nothing happens.

“Hello,” you press your fingers a bit harder. “Are you ok?”

You sound dumb as your fingers curl to grasp even a bit of his broad shoulders, shaking him ever so slightly. But you need to say something and they’re the only words that come to your head as you lean in towards him.

His mouth moves. You lean in closer as if to catch the words you can’t hear.

“You’re going to be ok,” you reassure him. “You fell, but you’re going to be ok. I’m going to make sure of it.”

His lips move again, this time you here the whisper of something. You lean in closer, your face getting closer and closer so that now your elbows are nearly leaning on his chest.

You can hear him now, can hear his mutters, but they make no sense. The ramblings of a man gone mad. But more than that, the words aren’t anything you’ve ever heard before, no language you know.

Something cold runs down your spin. Everything slowly seems to add up in your brain, but it’s not enough for you to pull away, at least not yet.

“What’s that?” You whisper out, now so close you don’t need to be any louder for him to hear.

Your hands are still clamped onto his shoulders, your body fully leaning over his. His words get louder. The k’s are harsh, the s’s soft. Something seems to click in the back of his throat on some words. There is no language on earth like this, though you may not know every language, you at least know that.

His eyelids flutter and you’ve drawn too close, are too curious to pull away.

“Are you ok?” You whisper out again, the words struggling up your restricted throat.

His eyes go from closed to fluttering to wide open in a matter of seconds.

They’re wide, round, take up a large amount of his face. But none of those things are what makes you pull away. No. It’s the fact that they’re yellow that makes you retreat.

You can’t draw your eyes away from them even as you scatter away from him. The fact he fell from seemingly nowhere. The fact his body is still alive, no broken bones or blood. The fact he’s not speaking any language you’ve ever heard. The fact his eyes are yellow. It all clicks together. He’s not human.

Your knees scrape on the ground in your rush to get as far away as possible. Your hands start to draw away from him. But through it all your eyes remain connected. You looking at him. Him looking at you. And you’re not quick enough, let out an audible gasp when his hand moves impossibly fast to grasp your wrist. Not hard, not enough to hurt you, but enough to stop you from moving any further away.

He speaks. The words clicking and contorting, a sort of panic in his eyes as his words grow louder. You don’t know what he’s saying though, don’t know if he’s in pain or if he’s warning you about something.

“I’m sorry,” you say over him, the words sounding soft over his harsh clicking.

He pauses, his eyes wide as he looks up at you. It’s like he’s only just realised that maybe you don’t understand him. His hand tightens around your wrist, still not hard enough to hurt. And then he starts to move.

I definitely wouldn’t mind a series ❤️❤️❤️

Helloo rach!

May I request a drbble pt.2 for previous alien fic with jungkook🥺ofc if you have the motivation to

I enjoyed writing part one so much that of course I don't mind writing a part 2! For anyone interested here's part one. I hope you enjoy.

Warnings: idk could be classed as horror/thriller?

-

His movements are fluid, the complete opposite to his harsh language. And also the complete opposite to your movements, because he’s still grasping your wrist and as he stands you have to follow.

Your knees sting as you push into the ground, give a groan of protest as you straighten them to stand. But you’re standing, wrist still encompassed, breeze lightly blowing the long strands of grass, torch dangling in your free hand.

You look up at the man – can you even call it a man? He looks like a man, he looks human, but you’re pretty sure that he is almost definitely not human.

A shiver runs through your body, not from the cold night but from shock setting in. This is why you don’t live alone in the middle of nowhere. This is why you don’t go running out to investigate strange things in the night. This is why you should have called the police first. But what would you have said? That you saw a man fall from the sky? Your mind hadn’t even fully comprehended it until recently and you know, even if subconsciously, that you couldn’t have explained what you’d seen to anyone without sounding mad. So that’s why you’re here, alone, seemingly captured by an alien.

“Wha – what do you want?” You stutter out.

His grip tightens on your wrist and he tugs you towards him. You let out a little whimper of shock, scared about what’s about to happen. Images from films flick through your mind, thoughts of his jaw contorting open to reveal rows and rows of teeth, images of a beam of light coming down and sucking you into the sky.

None of that happens. As you lean away, he leans towards you. His wide yellow eyes search your face and while you want to look away you can’t.

He opens his mouth, but rather than rows upon rows of teeth, rather than him leaning in and eating you, he speaks. That harsh clicking and rough k’s sounding out again, but this time you understand it.

“We have to leave.”

You jump, all the blood seeming to leave your body. You jerk your hand out of his grasp and the movement is so quick, so unexpected that he doesn’t have the time to keep his grip. You stumble away, push back into the long grass and hold your torch out in front of you as if a weapon.

He looks pissed. Where his features once didn’t seem threatening, they now contort into a grimace. His arms flail in the air, his gaze solidly on you even though his hands seem to be pointing at things you can’t see. And that harsh clicking sounds out, louder now as if he’s shouting at you. But unlike a second ago you can’t understand any of it.

You’re trembling, have to grasp the torch with both hands to make sure you don’t drop it.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” you say with all the strength you possess, voice still wobbling.

He doesn’t stop, continues to rant at you in a language you can’t understand, continues to point. You inch away from him. Start to move backwards, eyes firmly on him, you saw how fast he moved his hand to grab you and you are under no illusion that you are unarmed in the presence of an alien.

His eyes grow impossibly livid when he notices you backing away from you. He stops talking and the silence is more terrifying than the noise coming out his mouth.

You stop, prepare yourself for what’s to come.

He moves towards you, a blur of movement. You scream, throw the torch at the blur as if to better stop it. And then turn and run.

You’re sure you’d beat Usain Bolt in this moment, your feet have never moved so fast and yet you saw the blur, you know how fast the alien can move. He should have caught you and yet you’re still running. Still free.

You head for your house, throw open the door and slam it closed behind you, turn the lock though you’re unsure what help it will be. Hot breaths leave you in pants, your chest racks up and down.

You don’t feel safe here, you can’t stay here. You move around your house, pull things into empty bags, grasp anything your hands touch. Within minutes you have some essentials packed. But you can’t help that niggling feeling that he let you go. You know he could have caught you and yet even after all that ranting he just watched you run.

The last thing you grab is a knife before you go to the front door, ease it open as if expecting the alien to be stood there. When he’s not, you run to your car, leap in and start the engine.

As you drive down the drive you look in your review mirror, can faintly see the alien standing where you left him, a small blob in the distance. Your heart banging, you twist in your seat, use your own eyes rather than the mirror to try and work out what he’s doing. He’s not moved from where you left him, is just stood staring in your direction as if to make sure you’re leaving.

We have to leave.

Those words, the only ones you understood, ring through your head. You’re leaving. Doing what he wanted, though leaving him behind.

You swallow, turn to focus back on the road, the fear still so strong that it swallows the guilt. You put your foot on the accelerator and leave your house behind. Leave the alien standing in the field.