Things Escalated Quickly Yet Softly????? Taehyung Is A Cutie??????? But Also A Jerk??????

things escalated quickly yet softly????? taehyung is a cutie??????? but also a jerk??????

I kinda adored - in a confusing way - this dynamics of e2l. it's not anything new I am a big fan of degradation this trope and this surprised me, specially because of the tension the two characters had. if i were oc (and it's totally acceptable bc i already worked in a lab as a chem student) I'd lose my patience pretty quick too, giving the amount of effort we are used to make things perfect (and when I mean perfect, it is perfect).

also labs are good places for people to do filthy things and i think you should write a pt2 about this 🥺🥺 (please) but if you don't tysm for writing already 💖

Love Isn’t a Science

Pairing— Kim Taehyung x female reader   Genre— Smut, angst, college au, enemies to lovers au, laboratory au (? I’m sorry there’s gonna be some lab stuff), some comedy and fluff if you squint maybe Warnings— Taehyung being a dick, fingering, oral (fem receiving), sex in general, some name calling (but like baby and babygirl), light spanking, some alcohol intake, swearing   Word Count— ~8k Summary— Working in a lab was going smoothly until a cocky upperclassman decided to show up 

A/N— I hope you guys enjoy this! I wish something like this happened to me during my undergrad lab days. The super cool banner was made by @kimtaehyunq! As always, don’t be afraid to leave any comments or feedback!

Finding an undergraduate research position at a top tier research University is no easy feat. However, you managed to find one that was perfect for you, plus the PI offered to pay you. That’s basically like finding a needle in a haystack. You were beyond ecstatic to begin working your first lab job, especially since you weren’t sure if research was for you. This was the perfect opportunity to weed out possible careers for after graduation. 

That was a year ago. Now, you’re the most trusted undergraduate student in the lab. You’re often given your own samples to work with, on top of helping out the graduate students and postdocs. Taking pride in the high expectations placed upon you, you worked diligently every day to prove yourself to your older coworkers. Over the course of the past year, the lab director had given you at least four other undergraduates to mentor. They were told to follow you around as you showed them the ropes. Initially you were happy with the new responsibility. You did your best to answer any questions they had, and always showed them how to do everything step by step. 

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it’s a family thing~  ( ᵕᴗᵕ ) for anon ♡ (cr. dwellingsouls and rei51244)

well THAT was amazing

not tonight | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: Two people trying to find their hearts.

warnings: language, est. relationship, questioning life, there's sex but it's more about feels; Yoongi’s POV; lyrics are from 'more than life' by machine gun kelly ft. glaive, fits the story, doesn't it? 2k drabble

-

damn, I can't wake up happy I just took a knife to the strings that attach me

“How many people do you think would care if I died?”

“At least one.”

She stared at him.

He smiled back, humorless. “I only know about me, after all.”

“You’re a dork.”

Humor crept into his smile, saying nothing. She tried to turn her head away but he reached up and placed a finger on her chin, pushing it back towards him. Her narrowed eyes and raised eyebrow greeted him in return.

“My opinion is the only one that matters.”

She scrunched up her face, taking a moment to consider it. A half-sigh and a shrug, relenting to his words. “Quality, not quantity, huh?”

“An important distinction when it comes to opinions, not orgasms. You need both.”

And then she laughed, breaking out of his hold, but that was the goal, his smile becoming a smirk, watching her shake her head and lean back, her hair spilled over his pillows, stark contrast to the usual emptiness. His choice. He hated fake people. Most people were fake and shit at sex.

Yeah, most people weren’t worth the ten minutes of mediocrity.

He asked the question.

“Nightmares?”

Expectedly and unfortunately, her laughter died. “I wouldn’t call them that. Or maybe I’m desensitized and don’t feel anything unless it’s really fucked up.”

“You definitely feel something. I’m really fucked up.”

Her lips curved into a wry smile. “Mmm, is that so?”

“You’ve heard my mixtapes.”

“Is this a dick swinging contest on who is more fucked up?”

“Pretty sure mine is bigger than yours on the sheer basis that you don’t have a dick, but feel free to prove me wrong. I’m flexible.”

“You’re annoying is what you are.”

“Attacking character is the laziest form of insult and therefore negligible.”

“It’s only an attack of you think it’s true. Otherwise, it’s just funny.”

It was strangely easy, almost carefree. Words parried back and forth, dancing around reality.

He smiled. “I’m dying laughing here. Do you care?”

The side of her lips curved upwards.

He used to think everyone was fake, but at least one wasn’t, even though she was trying very hard to be, all so that she could feel some semblance of real.

“Immensely,” was her reply.

She rolled towards him, bringing her heat and lips to his.

He felt it sometimes. It simply hung in the air. A kind of burning restlessness that lived in her energy when she had bad dreams. It would persist all day and late into the night. She would avoid sleeping, presumably to avoid the dreams. The context of them didn’t really matter – or perhaps it did, but he was no dream analyst or crackhead psychic – all that mattered was that she had them and they would keep her wide awake even when she was dead asleep.

He knew the feeling.

Probably not the exact feeling but there was a reason that he had dark circles.

He could taste it on her lips, on her tongue, trying to be innocent but she didn’t know the meaning of the word and neither did he, because soon her body was pressed against his and his arms were gliding around that waist, fingers of one hand dancing up her spine, the other sliding down to grab a handful of her plump ass.

Everyone wanted to feel special.

She wanted to especially feel nothing, which meant she felt everything.

Her hands slipped into his long hair, her fingernails sliding over his scalp.

Most people tried to avoid pain. Most people. She made it a point to sleep with him, because most people thought he was the definition of pain. They thought. He made sure that she never felt malice from him. She never expected him to be that way, so he was. From bracing herself for the pain to slipping into his arms to avoid the bad dreams that reminded her she still had demons. She told him, I can’t be what you want me to be. He told her, I don’t want you to be anything but you. She never promised she would give him forever and a day, so he gave it to her instead. At least, as much of forever as he could. It wasn’t like his dead body would know forever was over.

She loved him, raw and fierce.

He could feel it in her touch and in the way she faked it and pretended to be okay when she wasn’t.

“Yoongi…”

She murmured his name, dreamlike, and so he became the dream, chasing all the bad ones away by keeping her up, breathing her name into her skin, a promise to never break her heart, not that it mattered. It was broken already. It came that way. Maybe even before she knew she had a heart. He liked to say he didn’t have a heart, but they were both liars.

One broken, cannot feel.

One heartless, hiding it deep within.

Maybe that’s why it worked.

He turned them over, just to see her hair on his pillows again, nipping at her lower lip, listening to her sound. A soft breath, not one of those pathetic guess-this-is-what-men-want fake moans. He hated that shit. He believed it was lazy and, sure, maybe that kind of thinking was childish, but he could spot a liar when he saw one because he had seen many and been one himself. He was sick of those pretending simply to impress him, simply because they wanted something from him, simply waiting to use him to feed their own egos.

Never for a second did he question her intentions.

He grabbed her wrist and she fought back, twisting her arm and locking their fingers, reflecting his open-mouthed smug smirk. She remembered the things he liked. The playful dance, her body rising to meet his, skin-to-skin, her lips grazing his jaw, kisses down his neck, and he remembered the things she liked too, his head turning and warm breath against her cheek, letting his chuckle rumble through his chest.

“If you’re dead, we can’t fuck.”

Her other hand was trailing up his side. She squeezed their interlocked fingers.

“Heh, guess that’s true. Who’s gonna fuck you as well as I do?”

“Nobody and that’s the problem.”

He hated people because they hurt him for some reason or another, thinking he had a hard enough heart to feel nothing, but instead they craved scars into the hollow, nothing there to brace them, and then she came into his life, broken heart and all, the words on the tip of her tongue, who are you?

And he found, for the first time, that he wanted to know the answer too.

He pressed their interlocked fingers into the bed, kissing her long and deep, her hair spilled over his pillows. He had spent so long hiding his heart that even he had no idea where it was anymore. She said to him that she didn’t care, that she was sick of caring, that she was tired and broken and there wasn’t much left, but there was a little. Just a little. Might as well. She pressed him on top of her, crushing her body with his weight, and he kept it off her, distracting her with his mouth, devouring her nightmares or bad dreams or whatever-the-fuck-they-were with his possessive tongue, her shudder coursing through him too, sound morphing into adrenaline that ignited his blood.

She held onto him.

He wasn’t made to be held.

Or was that something that was craved into him by the scars caused by others?

Her fingers traced his back, her thigh sliding between his, the other tracing the outside of his hip.

“Yoongi…”

He hated it when people said his name, because everyone was fake, but he loved it when she said his name, because she wasn’t everyone. She was his and that was more than everyone else did for him. He placed his lips on her throat and her legs locked around his thigh, preventing him from moving too far down.

He sucked on her skin and felt her moan vibrate his lips. Her fingers tangled in his long hair, tugging in it, leaving strands of black over his vision. Her nails dragged down his back while he marked her throat with his teeth. Bodies interlocked, pain into pleasure, neither one letting go.

He told her before that his heart was an empty hole full of scars.

She climbed down into the darkness and traced them with her fingertips.

He didn’t talk about them, not really. The past was the past. But she knew they were there and she was mindful of them. He warned her of the dark with in. She said she liked the dark. It meant she couldn’t see how broken hers was. She stayed with him, even though he fell into familiar patterns, catching him before the train of thought could wreck him. She recognized those patterns and she caught him, giving him that moment of recognition as well so that he too could see them.

Yoongi hoped one day he could tell her how grateful he was for that.

He found himself wondering where his heart was, now and again, until one day he realized it was standing right there the whole time, in the dark, surrounded by scars in his hollow, fingertips mindful of all those that hurt him before.

He held her broken heart together and they shared it.

His hands were in her hair now, spreading it over his pillows, filling the usual emptiness of his bed with her presence.

She rubbed her thigh in between his legs and he sucked in a breath, surfacing from his bite, coming back up to kiss her again, making his breath disappear and giving it to her instead. Emptying his lungs, every wisp of air pushed out, and she took it all away, breathing him in so that he was lightheaded while her smooth skin rubbed against his hardening length, her fingertips fanning over his hip.

Who are you?

She had asked him then and he had smirked and replied with his name, but her eyes weren’t satisfied with his answer, watching him, who are you, and, for some reason, he himself thought, who am I, in the middle of their lips touching and their bodies talking. I don’t want to care about anything, and he said, me neither, and they didn’t want to but they did anyway, already. Bodies can only speak truth and they were already tangled in each other’s legs, staring into each other’s eyes.

He told her he was full of dead dreams and hollow scars.

She told him she wasn’t made quite right and everything came broken.

He locked his fingers with hers, right beside the remains of the condom packaging and slid into her wet, tight heat, staring into her eyes, knowing who he was.

Yours.

She never promised she would give him forever and a day, but she promised never to lie and her body told him she was his. The way she raised her hips and rammed back into him, the way she clenched her core and her jaw, grinning at his gasp, the way she met his pace and escalated it, faster, harder, rougher, wilder, thin breath and chasing pleasure, the world becoming nothing but them and this moment.

Who are you?

The one who chose to love you.

She didn’t ask him to, but he didn’t really care either. He didn’t ask her to love him, but she did, even though she said she couldn’t, even though she came broken, even though she doubted her ability to love, but she didn’t know that the simple act of tracing his scars and being mindful of each and every one was enough. Everyone else saw the hollow and thought it was the abyss, thought he had nothing to give, and he hadn’t even realized that he, too, had begun to believe he had nothing to give.

Nothing but scars and darkness.

But she liked scars and darkness, and she stayed.

not today, not tomorrow, not tonight, I don't wanna die.

-

drabbles masterpost | masterpost

Train Me - JJK - Drabble

Pairing: TrainerJungkook x AuthorReader

Genre: Fluff. Maybe a tad of angst in Reader’s insecurities

Word Count: 1.2K

Rating: PG 

Warnings: Kissing and implied other goings on for later. :) 

a/n: couldn’t help myself with this one and Kook’s love for boxing. 

if you like what i write, consider buying me a ko-fi!

Train Me

—-

“Better.”

You look up at him from under your dripping and sweaty bangs. Your trainer of six months wears his typical uniform which is a pair of loose sweatpants and black tank. It had taken you awhile to get comfortable with how many of the guys at the gym just went sans shirt, but you liked to think that you’d adjusted well to abundance of skin.

When you stare at the curve of arm muscles (and those tattoos) a little too long, he clears his throat. You’re already super red in the face from the workout, so the blush that appears made no difference. 

“Did you just give me a compliment?” you ask finally, hands on your knees as you try to catch your breath. You see him four times a week and Tuesdays are the worst. That’s cardio day. 

 Jeon Jungkook, or JK as he liked to be called, is a drill sergeant in the worst way. You know he is aware of your weaknesses as a person, but he still pushes you well past what you think you can do. And he hadn’t blinked once when you’d walked into the gym and asked to be trained only because you wanted to be able to write boxing accurately for the novel you were still researching. 

“No,” he answers. “Stand up, we’re not done.”  He walks over to grab fist pads to cover his hands. You straighten up and walk over to your bag to slip on your gloves. As he jokes with fellow trainers, you watch him. He wore his dark hair long and wavy, currently it was pulled back into a tiny ponytail. Unlike a lot of the guys that frequented the gym who looked more like orangutans with the inability to put their arms down at their sides, he was slim in waist and hips, his arms and legs toned, but not overkill. 

If it wasn’t for the pretty brown eyes, he’d be pure masculinity. He also had a great laugh and toothy smile.

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jimin x flowers ♡

bonus 🥺

(cr. qdeoks & dwellingsouls)

there's nothing like a Portuguese swearing so puta que pariu meu deus do céu

I ended this chapter held by thin strings preventing me from SCREAMING holy shit so much happened and I'm still processing let me brEATHE

(I'll obviously not breathe and read the next chapter now bye)

maybe i do | kth. IV

➵ summary :  maybe you love each other, maybe you don’t. when a deal between your fathers leaves you forcefully wedding kim taehyung, arguably seoul’s most powerful CEO, you’re prepared for a loveless marriage of eternal regret and unhappiness. but maybe, it doesn’t turn out that way after all.

↳  part of the high-class series!

➵ pairing : taehyung x reader

➵ genre :  arranged marriage!au, ceo!tae, s2l!au, eventual smut, fluff, angst

➵ rating : 18+

➵ word count : 16k 

➵ warnings : swearing, light angst, loads of teasing, you kick tae once LMAO, sexual tension :o, kissing, heavy making out, straddling, marking, dry humping, light possessiveness, some jealousy, slight exhibitionism (?), mention of a name kink, descriptions of acrophobia (intense fear of heights)

➵ a/n: i’ve returned with another loaded chapter i somehow made angsty, a lil smutty and yet soft? idk what i’m doing anymore i stg taehyung and this trifecta will not leave me alone. as always, feedback is appreciated my loves!

chapter four : “feels like a river’s rushing through my mind”

prev. ↞ || ↠ next  ||  masterlist

“Jimin, we had to leave early because a lot happened last night, okay?” Taehyung tried to reason with his friend over the phone, rubbing his temple tiredly as he leaned back against the kitchen counter.

“What the hell else happened?” Jimin asked on the other end. “You two put on quite the show before you left.”

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