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theladyofbloodshed · 9 months

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Neris Week - Day 4 - Love

High Lord Meeting from Eris’ POV (aka the first time he sees Nesta) - Majority of the text is word-for-word from ACOWAR including all of the events, but switched to Eris' POV rather than Feyre's.

There was just enough time to glimpse the polished, marble floor and the deep-cushioned oak chairs arranged in a circle that his father would recoil at. Delegates from Winter, Day, and Night had already assembled alongside Thesan’s number. They were gathered around the gem of the chamber; a reflection pool with pink and gold water lilies floating upon the dark water. The atmosphere was tense enough to be cut with a knife. Eris spotted Mor, thin-lipped and pale, refusing to glance their way as he filed in behind his parents. The Night Court had their hackles raised though they were not the only court which had stiffened at the arrival of Autumn. It was to be expected for a court in a state of perpetual decay.

They had come as allies, not enemies. Apparently. Hostility seeped from those gathered but Beron merely gave a brief glance to the high lords. Eris noticed his mother’s shoulders stiffen as her head swept through the room. No Lucien. That was the only reason why she had petitioned and begged to be allowed to attend the meeting. All of those nights pleading and needling at her husband, promising to behave and do whatever he wanted, for a son who was not here.

His brothers sneered which ruffled the feathers of the Peregryns and had one of the Summer Court princes baring his teeth in warning.

‘Enough,’ murmured Eris, pulling them back into line since Beron wasn’t about to do it. He needed today to go well. Needed to prove to the Night Court he was worth aligning with. He had heard rumours of the mortal sisters forced into the Cauldron; one had been blessed with foresight, the other was more complex. The world had shuddered when that one came out. Eris imagined something grotesque and wicked, warped by the might of the Cauldron.

Beron paused halfway through the room, surveying it again with his keen, brown eyes. Disgust had his top lip curling.

Rhysand stood. ‘It’s no surprise that you’re tardy, given that your own sons were too slow to catch my mate. I suppose it runs in the family. Mate—and High Lady.’

The female levelled a flat, bored stare in their direction. Eris met it with an amused, if not bland smile. He had known the instant that Feyre Archeron had crossed into his court thanks to his smoke hounds. It would have been too easy to drag her before his father. No, Eris had his eyes on a bigger prize. He could feel the burn of Cassian’s eyes on him. Eris deigned a glance at the Illyrian general and inclined his head in invitation, subtly patting his stomach. It was always too easy to push the general’s temper. To see how she’d react, Eris turned his amber eyes to Morrigan. A blank stare was his only response. Her white-hot anger writhed beneath the surface, but it had been her own blood who had driven the nails in, not him.

Thesan, as host, began once they had all seated. ‘Rhysand, you have called this meeting. Pushed us to gather sooner than we intended. Now would be the time to explain what is so urgent.’

Rhys blinked—slowly. ‘Surely the invading armies landing on our shores explain enough.’

‘So you have called us to do what, exactly?’ Helion challenged, bracing his forearms on his muscled, gleaming thighs. ‘Raise a unified army?’

Unification? Beron would rather see all of Prythian turn to ash than stand alongside the Day Court.

‘Among other things,’ Rhys said mildly. ‘We—'

Like a crack of lightning, vicious as a spring storm, Tamlin winnowed into the chamber itself. Now this meeting would be interesting, Eris thought. Never one for opulence, Tamlin did not bother with the landing balcony, or the escorts. He did not have an entourage. He had never needed one to assert his dominance; the size was enough and the brute force.

Absolute silence. Absolute stillness. Shields locked into place. He felt the soft hum of his father’s covering all of them. Tamlin was not to be underestimated. They'd chased naga from the border only to run them into Tamlin's claws where they were shredded like ribbons. Eris did not want to be on the receiving end of those. His clothes were too expensive.

Eris skimmed his eyes over the Night Court, tantalised with anticipation of the expected maelstrom headed their way. Rhysand appeared bored but Eris could see the tightness behind his expression, just as he used to wear when carrying out another of Amarantha’s more savage punishments. The ever-dramatic Morrigan made a show of her disgust, but it was the female beside her that Eris was more interested in. The cold caution on her face made her look as though she was made of ice, but there was a flame in her heart that flared. Eris felt his own chest go tight at the sight of her, the breath catching in his lungs on an inhale. Pale gold hair was drawn into a neat coronet to highlight the sharp planes of her elegant face. There was no mistaking the relationship to the high lady of the Night Court, but while the latter was more restless and freer, the sister seemed steadier. There was a sophistication to her; a trained stillness that ought to come from holding court. Her grey eyes flicked towards him, noticing the attention. For all the steady calm she displayed, those eyes churned like storm clouds barrelling his way. She was the riptide waiting to drown its victim and Eris would be happy to step into her path.

Thesan rose, his captain remaining seated beside him—albeit with a hand on his sword. ‘We were not expecting you, Tamlin.’ Thesan gestured with a slender hand toward his cringing attendants. ‘Fetch the High Lord a chair.’

He was more used to sleeping on floors as a beast, Eris thought. Tamlin did not tear his gaze from his runaway bride. His smile turned subdued—yet somehow more unnerving. More vicious. Eris knew the male well enough; enough to know that he could shred his enemies quicker than any spell could be cast. He wore his usual green tunic—no crown, no adornments.

Beron drawled, ‘I will admit, Tamlin, that I am surprised to see you here. Rumour claims your allegiance now lies elsewhere.’

He was feeling brave because Tamlin’s gaze had not moved from Feyre Archeron. It landed on her ring finger then the tattoo beneath the glittering, pale blue sleeve of her gown. Then it rose—right to that crown on her pretty, little head. Rhysand’s play thing, all dolled up for the show.

The attendants hauled over a chair—setting it between Autumn and Day. Alastar was smart enough not to physically recoil as Tamlin’s arm brushed against his own as he took the seat.

Helion waved a scar-flecked hand. ‘Let’s get on with it, then.’

Although Thesan cleared his throat, no one looked toward him.

‘It would seem congratulations are in order.’ Tamlin’s words were flat—flat and yet as sharp as his claws, currently hidden beneath his golden skin.

Rhysand only held his once-companion’s stare. Held it with a face like ice, and yet utter rage roiled beneath it. Cataclysmic rage, surging and writhing. This would be a fun day, Eris thought. Perhaps there was a bet to see who was most likely to draw first blood. His money was on the holier-than-thou Night Court who were always above any restrictions.

‘We can discuss the matter at hand later.’

Tamlin said calmly, ‘Don’t stop on my account.’

‘I’m not in the business of discussing our plans with enemies.’

A pissing contest between the high lords then, that was what it was to be.

‘No,’ Tamlin said with equal ease, ‘you’re just in the business of fucking them.’

Eris pressed his lips together to fight back a grin. Tamlin had never been one for subtlety. Despite the mounting tension, Eris found it all highly amusing. These fragile males and their egos. Tamlin had spent years in war bands; his words could be crass and brutal.

‘Seems a far less destructive alternative to war,’ replied Rhysand.

‘And yet here you are, having started it in the first place.’

Claws began to slide from Tamlin’s knuckles. Eris measured the space between himself and his mother – how quickly he could winnow her away if Tamlin leapt across the pool to rip out Rhysand’s throat. He wasn’t the only one calculating the space. Kallias had drifted a hand over to the arm of his new wife’s chair.

‘If you hadn’t stolen my bride away in the night, Rhysand, I would not have been forced to take such drastic measures to get her back.’

Feyre said quietly, ‘The sun was shining when I left you.’

This was better intel than any of their spies had managed. Perhaps they should make these meetings a regular thing.

Kallias asked, ‘Why are you here, Tamlin?’

Tamlin’s claw dug into the wood, puncturing deep even as his voice remained mild. ‘I bartered access to my lands to get back the woman I love from a sadist who plays with minds as if they are toys. I meant to fight Hybern—to find a way around the bargain I made with the king once she was back. Only Rhysand and his cabal had turned her into one of them. And she delighted in ripping open my territory for Hybern to invade. All for a petty grudge— either her own or her … master’s.’

‘You don’t get to rewrite the narrative,’ she breathed, colour dotting her cheeks. ‘You don’t get to spin this to your advantage.’

Tamlin only angled his head at Rhysand, a cruel glimmer that Eris was familiar with lightened his green eyes. ‘When you fuck her, have you ever noticed that little noise she makes right before she climaxes?’

A bit of a low blow, sharing bedroom habits. This was a war between two egotistical males, he supposed. Eris had no doubt that his father would be grinning.

It was the shadowsinger’s cold, deep voice that spoke. ‘Be careful how you speak about my High Lady.’

Surprise flashed in Tamlin’s eyes—then vanished. Vanished, swallowed by pure fury as he realised what that obscene tattoo coating her hand was for. ‘It was not enough to sit at my side, was it?’. A hateful smile curled his lips. ‘You once asked me if you’d be my High Lady, and when I said no …’ A low laugh. ‘Perhaps I underestimated you. Why serve in my court, when you could rule in his? They peddle tales of defending our land and peace. And yet she came to my lands and laid them bare for Hybern. She took my High Priestess and warped her mind—after she shattered her bones for spite. And if you are asking yourself what happened to that human girl who went Under the Mountain to save us … Look to the male sitting beside her. Ask what he stands to gain—what they stand to gain from this war, or lack of it. Would we fight Hybern, only to find ourselves with a Queen and King of Prythian? She’s proved her ambition—and you saw how he was more than happy to serve Amarantha to remain unscathed.’

An impassioned speech, but Tamlin had never been a wordsmith. A razor-sharp claw through Rhysand’s skull was a better avenue for his rage.

Rhys let out a dark laugh. ‘Well played, Tamlin. You’re learning.’

Ire contorted Tamlin’s face at the condescension. But he faced Kallias. ‘You asked why I’m here? I might ask the same of you.’ He jerked his chin at the High Lord of Winter, at Viviane—the few other members of their retinue who had remained silent. ‘You mean to tell me that after Under the Mountain, you can stomach working with him?’ A finger was flung in Rhysand’s direction.

He supposed Tamlin had a fair point. They had all been at the mercy of Rhysand’s tyranny for fifty years and he had certainly delighted in selecting members of the Autumn Court to enact his punishments on as if that might have bothered Beron. He cared little for his people, only saw them as possessions himself.

‘We came here to decide that for ourselves.’ The soft, silvery glow that had been emitting from the Lady of the Winter Court had dimmed somewhat under Morrigan’s scrutiny. Eris knew there was a bond there. An old one, rarely used, but strong. Did Morrigan know how many children died under Rhysand’s command? How much Winter Court blood soaked her cousin’s hands.

Rhysand said softly to them, to everyone, ‘I had no involvement in that. None.’

Kallias’s eyes flared like blue flame. ‘You stood beside her throne while the order was given.’

Eris remembered that day. It was near the end – although there had been no signs that the end was near. The guilt and horror had threatened to drown him. Worse was the relief that it was not their children. Not Autumn Court children. Another court would pay the debt for rebellion. Another court would bleed.

‘I tried to stop it.’

‘Tell that to the parents of the two dozen younglings she butchered,’ Kallias said, voice as cold as the season he owned. ‘That you tried.’

‘There is not one day that passes when I don’t remember it,’ he said to Kallias, to Viviane. To their companions. ‘Not one day.’

‘Remembering,’ Kallias said, ‘doesn’t bring them back, does it?’

‘No,’ Rhys said plainly. ‘No, it doesn’t. And I am now fighting to make sure it never happens again.’

Noble. Noble to say when he was stood on the winning side until the tide changed – as did his allegiance. It wasn’t his court which bled. It wasn’t the Night Court who prayed to the Mother that their children would be safe.

Viviane glanced between the two high lords. ‘I was not present Under the Mountain. But I would hear, High Lord, how you tried to—stop her.’ Pain tightened her face. She, too, had been unable to prevent it while she guarded her small slice of the territory. It was a miracle, really, she had survived unscathed without Amarantha – or Rhysand – finding her.

His father snorted, unable to suppress his comment. ‘Finally speechless, Rhysand?’

‘I believe you,’ said Feyre.

‘Says the woman,’ Beron countered, ‘who gave an innocent girl’s name in her stead—for Amarantha to butcher as well.’

That one had given Eris nightmares. The damn mortal female had locked eyes with him as she begged one of the fae to help. It still happened sometimes, even now. He’d wake in a cold sweat after dreaming he was back in that place with a young woman crying and begging for her life even as she bled out across the obsidian floor.

‘When your people rebelled… She was furious. She wanted you dead, Kallias.’ Viviane’s face drained of colour at Rhysand’s words. He went on, ‘I… convinced her that it would serve little purpose.’

‘Who knew,’ Beron mused, ‘that a cock could be so persuasive?’

That was too far, even Eris could acknowledge that. He did not fancy his father’s odds with the Night Court staring him down. He had no love for his father, but his mother didn’t deserve to be hurt in the crossfire.

‘Father.’ Eris’s voice was low with warning.

But Rhysand went on to Kallias, ‘She backed off the idea of killing you. Your rebels were dead—I convinced her it was enough. I thought it was the end of it.’ His breathing hitched slightly. ‘I only found out when you did. I think she viewed my defence of you as a warning sign—she didn’t tell me any of it. And she kept me … confined. I tried to break into the minds of the soldiers she sent, but her damper on my power was too strong to hold them—and it was already done. She … she sent a daemati with them. To …’ He faltered. Rhysand swallowed. ‘I think she wanted you to suspect me. To keep us from ever allying against her.’

How convenient for Amarantha – and Rhysand – that there was another daemati in play all that time. One who had never stepped out of the shadows. Eris picked at his nails, bored by the tale being spun.

‘Where did she confine you?’ The question came from Viviane, her arms wrapped around her middle.

‘Her bedroom.’

‘Stories and words,’ Tamlin said, lounging in his chair. ‘Is there any proof?’

‘Proof—’ Cassian snarled, half rising in his seat, wings starting to flare because he could never quite manage those emotions.

‘No,’ Rhysand cut in as Morrigan blocked Cassian with an arm, forcing him to sit like an obedient hound. Rhysand added to Kallias, ‘But I swear it—upon my mate’s life.’

Tamlin rolled his eyes. Eris was not convinced either. He had seen enough schemes, enough masks, to know when one was not truly honest. It wasn’t Eris that Rhysand was trying to persuade. Whatever Kallias read in his face, his words, it was believed. He pinned Tamlin with a hard, blue stare as he asked again, ‘Why are you here, Tamlin?’

A muscle flickered in Tamlin’s jaw. ‘I am here to help you fight against Hybern.’

‘Bullshit,’ Cassian muttered. If the Illyrian learned to hold his tongue, amongst manners, he might not be as uncouth.

‘You will forgive us,’ Thesan interrupted gracefully, ‘if we are doubtful. And hesitant to share any plans.’

‘Even when I have information on Hybern’s movements?’

Silence. Tarquin, across the pool, watched and listened. For one young and inexperienced, it was the best option. Maybe they’d battle it out amongst themselves and he and Tarquin could rule a new Prythian.

Another sharp-toothed smile was offered by Tamlin. ‘Why do you think I invited them to the house? Into my lands? I once told you I would fight against tyranny, against that sort of evil. Did you think you were enough to turn me from that?’ His teeth shone white as bone at Feyre. ‘It was so easy for you to call me a monster, despite all I did for you, for your family.’ A sneer towards the beautiful sister, who was frowning with distaste. ‘Yet you witnessed all that he did Under the Mountain, and still spread your legs for him. Fitting, I suppose. He whored for Amarantha for decades. Why shouldn’t you be his whore in return?’

‘Watch your mouth,’ Mor snapped.

Tamlin ignored her wholly and waved a hand toward Rhysand’s wings. ‘I sometimes forget— what you are. Have the masks come off now, or is this another ploy?’

‘You’re beginning to become tedious, Tamlin,’ Helion said, propping his head on a hand. The low timbre of his voice had Beron stiffening. ‘Take your lovers’ spat elsewhere and let the rest of us discuss this war.’

‘You’d be all too happy for war, considering how well you made out in the last one.’

‘No one says war can’t be lucrative,’ Helion countered.

‘Enough,’ Kallias said. ‘We have our opinions on how the conflict with Hybern should be dealt with.’ Those glacial eyes hardened as he again took in Tamlin. ‘Are you here as an ally of Hybern or Prythian?’

The mocking, hateful gleam faded into granite resolve. ‘I stand against Hybern.’

‘Prove it,’ Helion goaded.

Tamlin lifted his hand, and a stack of papers appeared on the little table beside his chair. ‘Charts of armies, ammunition, caches of faebane … Everything carefully gleaned these months.’

That was priceless intel. Autumn was already exposed to Hybern sweeping in from Spring and Summer; they needed that information.

‘Noble as it sounds,’ Helion went on, ‘who is to say that information is correct—or that you aren’t Hybern’s agent, trying to mislead us?’

‘Who is to say that Rhysand and his cronies are not agents of Hybern, all of this a ruse to get you to yield without realizing it?’

The gorgeous female carved from marble murmured, ‘You can’t be serious.’

‘If we need to ally against Hybern,’ Thesan said, ‘you are doing a good job of convincing us not to band together, Tamlin.’

‘I am simply warning you that they might present the guise of honesty and friendship, but the fact remains that he warmed Amarantha’s bed for fifty years, and only worked against her when it seemed the tide was turning. I’m warning you that while he claims his own city was attacked by Hybern, they made off remarkably well—as if they’d been anticipating it. Don’t think he wouldn’t sacrifice a few buildings and lesser faeries to lure you into an alliance, into thinking you had a common enemy. Why is it that only the Night Court got word about the attack on Adriata—and were the only ones to arrive in time to play saviour?’

‘They received word,’ Varian cut in coolly, ‘because I warned them of it.’

An interesting development. Now, what business would a prince of the Summer Court have with the Night Court? Especially as Eris had heard a whisper on the wind that blood rubies had been sent north. Tarquin whipped his head to his cousin, brows high with surprise.

‘Perhaps you’re working with them, too,’ Tamlin said to the Prince of Adriata. ‘You’re next in line, after all.’

‘You’re insane,’ breathed Feyre to Tamlin as Varian bared his teeth. ‘Do you hear what you’re saying?’ A trembling finger pointed towards her sister. ‘Hybern turned my sisters into Fae—after your bitch of a priestess sold them out!’

It was true then, the rumour carried on wings. Two mortal women went into the Cauldron and a pair of high fae emerged, one beautiful, one terrible. Eris surveyed the female again. Her spiked ears were hidden amongst the soft threads of her hair. She was more than high fae. He could not explain it. Her eyes were different; a never-ending grey that spelled the end of worlds. The elegance of her face would not be out of place in an ancient tale. It was one that could spark wars; a face that males would die for. Her attention flickered to him again, eyeing him warily like a predator deciding whether he was worth the chase.

‘Perhaps Ianthe’s mind was already in Rhysand’s thrall. And what a tragedy to remain young and beautiful. You’re a good actress—I’m sure the trait runs in the family.’

The female, Nesta, let out a low laugh. Hatred simmered in her expression. ‘If you want someone to blame for all of this,’ she said to Tamlin, ‘perhaps you should first look in the mirror.’

Tamlin snarled at her. Cassian snarled right back, ‘Watch it.’

Oh. The brute had set his sights on this one then. She was too good for a bastard like him. Tamlin looked between the pair —his gaze lingering on Cassian’s wings, tucked in behind him. Snorted. ‘Seems like other preferences run in the Archeron family, too.’

Surely this beauty wouldn’t truly sully herself with a male like Cassian? He had no love for Illyrians but surely a shadow singing one was better than the average, grunting one.

‘What do you want? An apology? For me to crawl back into your bed and play nice, little wife?’

‘Why should I want spoiled goods returned to me?’ Tamlin growled, ‘The moment you let him fuck you like an—’

One heartbeat, the poisoned words were spewing from his mouth—where fangs lengthened. Then they stopped. Tamlin’s mouth simply stopped emitting sounds. He shut his mouth, opened it—tried again. No sound, not even a snarl, came out. There was no smile on Rhysand’s face, not a glint of that irreverent amusement as he rested his head against the back of his chair.

‘The gasping-fish look is a good one for you, Tamlin.’

The others, who had been watching with disdain and amusement and boredom, now turned to Rhysand. Now possessed a shadow of fear in their eyes as they realized who and what, exactly, sat amongst them.

‘If you want proof that we are not scheming with Hybern, consider the fact that it would be far less time-consuming to slice into your minds and make you do my bidding.’

Only his damn father was stupid enough to scoff and draw attention to themselves. Eris angled his chair, ensuring he would take a blow from Rhysand rather than his mother.

‘Yet here I am,’ Rhysand went on, not deigning to give Beron a glance of acknowledgment. ‘Here we all are.’

Absolute silence. Then Tarquin, silent and watchful, cleared his throat. ‘Despite Varian’s unsanctioned warning…’ A glare at his cousin, who didn’t so much as look sorry about it, ‘You were the only ones who came to help. The only ones. And yet you asked for nothing in return. Why?’

Rhys’s voice was a bit hoarse as he asked, ‘Isn’t that what friends do?’ A subtle, quiet offer.

‘I rescind the blood rubies. Let there be no debts between us.’

How terribly boring.

‘Don’t expect Amren to return hers,’ Cassian muttered. ‘She’s grown attached to it.’

Rhysand turned to Tamlin. Were they enemies or allies now? Eris couldn’t tell. He doubted they would never see eye to eye again. Rhysand dipped his head. ‘I believe you. That you will fight for Prythian. War is upon us. I have no interest in wasting energy arguing amongst ourselves.’

Beron said, ‘You may be inclined to believe him, Rhysand, but as someone who shares a border with his court, I am not so easily swayed.’ A wry look. ‘Perhaps my errant son can clarify. Pray, where is he?’

Beside him, his mother sat straighter in her seat, hope lifting her. Just one glimpse of Lucien. That was all she wanted. All she ever asked for. I just want to see my son while he still lives.

The curt reply from Feyre was, ‘Helping to guard our city.’

Although his brother could wield a blade as good as any, Lucien had spent his patrols charming females, singing to their mothers or slipping away from their fathers. His life in Spring had been no different. But, perhaps, if a mate had been created by the Cauldron for him, Lucien might have turned over a new leaf. Eris snorted and surveyed Nesta, who stared back at him with steel in her face. He liked this one. He fancied testing her mettle.

‘Pity you didn’t bring the other sister. I hear our little brother’s mate is quite the beauty.’

Mor replied smoothly, ‘You still certainly like to hear yourself talk, Eris. Good to know some things don’t change over the centuries.’

An unnecessary jab from a female who still clung to the past like a shield so she never had to face the truth. Eris’s mouth curled into a smile at the words, the careful game of pretending that they had not seen each other in years still in play. ‘Good to know that after five hundred years, you still dress like a slut.’

The wood shattered beneath him. His head met the floor with an agonising intimacy as scarred hands wrapped around his throat. A wall of blue was in his blurred vision as the Night Court’s shadowsinger unleased his wrath on Eris.

A knee pressed into Eris’s gut. It was the silence that unnerved Eris most. Not wholly the shadowsinger but the entire room had fell into quiet.

His vision began blotting as he choked for breath. A blur of orange met the blue shield but could not manage against the writhing shadows.

Azriel stopped.

The high lady was there, a hand against the shield. Eris gasped for air as those scarred hands loosened. She extended a hand to him, but the rest of the room was revulsed. Mor, the female that Azriel wished was his, had gone pale and shaky. Eris hid his gloat.

‘Come sit beside me,’ the high lady crooned like Azriel was nothing more than a child.

The shadowsinger leaned in towards Eris as he sucked in breaths. His voice was low enough for only for Eris to catch it. ‘Your father will be interested to know about your alliance with us. Yours and your mother’s.’

He wouldn’t. Azriel wouldn’t implicate his mother in a plot that had nothing to do with her. The shadows around them lightened to sunshine but Eris was sick to his core. It wasn’t only his life on the line by gambling with the Night Court. His mother would be an unwilling pawn in their blackmail. Lucien’s life balanced against hers.

Beron struck—only for his fire to bounce off a hard barrier.

A smug look was plastered on Feyre’s face. ‘That’s twice now we’ve handed you your asses. I’d think you’d be sick of the humiliation.’

Helion laughed at the comment. As Eris expected, Mor had recoiled from Azriel. She looked as if she’d like nothing better than to be away from this room, from him.

Feyre took a deliberately slow walk to the table to fill a glass of wine for the feral one. ‘They are my family,’ she said, handing Azriel the wine. She met Eris’ gaze. ‘I don’t care if we are allies in this war. If you insult my friend again, I won’t stop him the next time.’

With his mother’s neck at the mercy of the Night Court, Eris straightened the lapels of his jacket. ‘Apologies, Morrigan.’

Thesan rubbed his temples. ‘This does not bode well.’

But Helion smirked at his retinue, crossing an ankle over a knee and flashing those powerful, sleek thighs. ‘Looks like you owe me ten gold marks.’

Helion waved a hand, and the stacks of papers Tamlin had compiled drifted over to him on a phantom wind. With a snap of his fingers—scar-flecked from swordplay—other stacks appeared before every chair in the room. ‘Replicas,’ he said without looking up as he leafed through the documents. A handy trick—for a male whose trove was not in gold, but in knowledge. No one made any move to touch the papers. Helion clicked his tongue. ‘If all of this is true,’ he announced, Tamlin snarling at the haughty tone, ‘then I’d suggest two things: first, destroying Hybern’s caches of faebane. We won’t last long if they’ve made them into so many versatile weapons. It’s worth the risk to destroy them.’

Kallias arched a brow. ‘How would you suggest we do that?’

‘We’ll handle it,’ Tarquin offered. Varian nodded. ‘We owe them for Adriata.’

Thesan said, ‘There is no need.’ The High Lord of Dawn folded his hands in his lap. ‘A master tinkerer of mine has been waiting for the past several hours. I would like for her to now join us.’

Before anyone could reply, a High Fae female appeared at the edge of the circle. She bowed quickly, displaying her light brown skin and long, silken black hair. She wore clothes similar to Thesan’s, but her sleeves had been rolled up to the forearms, the tunic unbuttoned to her chest to show a golden hand. It clicked and whirred quietly, drawing the eye of every immortal in the room as she faced her High Lord. Thesan smiled in warm welcome.

‘My Lord.’

Thesan gestured to the female standing tall before the assembled group. ‘Nuan is one of my most skilled craftspeople.’

Rhysand leaned back in his seat, brows rising with recognition at the name, and jerked his chin towards them. ‘You might know her as the person responsible for granting your … errant son, as you called him, the ability to use his left eye after Amarantha removed it.’

Nuan nodded once in confirmation, her lips pressing into a thin line as she took in the Autumn Court delegate. They weren’t the ones who caused it, Eris thought bitterly. That had been Tamlin sending his emissary into the lion’s den and expecting Lucien not to argue back. His little brother had never learnt to tame his tongue in matters of love or war.

‘And what has this to do with the faebane?’ Helion demanded.

Nuan turned, her dark hair slipping over a shoulder as she studied Helion. And did not seem impressed. ‘Because I found a solution for it.’

Thesan waved a hand. ‘We heard rumours of faebane being used in this war—used in the attack on your city, Rhysand. We thought to look into the issue before it became a deadly weakness for all of us.’ He nodded to Nuan. ‘Beyond her unparalleled tinkering, she is a skilled alchemist.’

Nuan crossed her arms, the sun glinting off her metal hand. ‘Thanks to samples attained after the attack in Velaris, I was able to create an … antidote, of sorts.’

‘How did you get those samples?’ Cassian demanded.

A flush crept over Nuan’s cheeks. ‘I—heard the rumours and assumed Lucien Vanserra would be residing there after … what happened.’ She still didn’t look at Tamlin, who remained silent and brooding. ‘I managed to contact him a few days ago—asked him to send samples. He did—and did not tell you,’ she added quickly to Rhysand, ‘because he did not want to raise your hopes. Not until I’d found a solution.’

Always so clever and ahead of the curve, that Lucien, the clever fox. He had kept Eris on his toes when they were younger. Their chess games would last for hours with only a handful of pieces even moved across the board.

Nuan went on, ‘The Mother has provided us with everything we need on this earth. So it has been a matter of finding what, exactly, she gave us in Prythian to combat a material from Hybern capable of wiping out our powers.’

Helion shifted with impatience, that glistening, white fabric slipping over his muscled chest. Thesan read that impatience, too, and said, ‘Nuan has been able to quickly create a powder for us to ingest in drink, food, however you please. It grants immunity from the faebane. I already have workers in three of my cities manufacturing as much of it as possible to hand out to our unified armies.’

Tarquin asked, ‘But what of physical objects made from faebane? They possessed gauntlets at the battle to smash through shields.’ He jerked his chin towards Rhysand. ‘And when they attacked your own city.’

‘Against that,’ Nuan said, ‘you only have your wits to protect you.’ She did not break Tarquin’s stare, and he straightened, as if surprised she did so. ‘The compound I’ve made will only protect you —your powers—from being rendered void by the faebane. Perhaps if you are pierced with a weapon tipped in faebane, having the compound in your system will negate its impact.’

Quiet fell. Beron said, ‘And we are supposed to trust you’—a look at Thesan, then at Nuan—'with this …substance we’re to blindly ingest.’

Eris’ toes curled in his shoes, bracing himself for whatever would spew from his father’s lips next. He did his best not to grimace.

‘Would you rather face Hybern without any power?’ Thesan demanded. ‘My master alchemists and tinkerers are no fools.’

‘No,’ Beron said, frowning, ‘but where did she come from? Who are you?’

The others assembled weren’t old enough to remember little beyond the war five centuries ago. Beron’s memories ran deeper. The war had been brewing for a long time with small battles, ambushes and assassinations. He had only spoken of it a handful of times to Eris as though the words had fought their way to the surface. Beron had only been a boy of eleven years when his own father was betrayed and taken to the Continent. They only knew he had been murdered when the magic transferred to Beron. Then, his tar-dipped head was delivered to the boy high lord days later.

‘I am the daughter of two High Fae from Xian, who moved here to give their children a better life, if that is what you are demanding to know,’ Nuan answered tightly.

Helion demanded of Beron, ‘What does this have to do with anything?’

Beron shrugged. ‘If her family is from Xian—which I’ll have you remember fought for the Loyalists—then whose interests does she serve?’

Helion’s amber eyes flashed.

Thesan cut in sharply, ‘I will have you remember, Beron, that my own mother hailed from Xian. And a large majority of my court did as well. Be careful what you say.’

Before Beron could hiss a retort, Nuan said to the Lord of Autumn, her chin high, ‘I am a child of Prythian. I was born here, on this land, as your sons were.’

Beron’s face darkened. ‘Watch your tone, girl.’

‘She doesn’t have to watch anything,’ cut in Feyre Archeron. ‘Not when you fling that sort of horseshit at her. I will take your antidote.’

Foolish, he supposed, or a way to freeze them out from the antidote. The effects of the faebane were catastrophic. If the caches couldn’t be destroyed, the Autumn Court needed access to the antidote.

‘Father,’ murmured Eris. He was met with those hollow, chestnut eyes as Beron lifted a brow.

‘You have something to add?’

Eris didn’t flinch, but he chose his words very, very carefully. ‘I have seen the effects of faebane.’ He nodded toward Feyre Archeron, thinking of her bumbling through his court with her stolen powers stripped away. ‘It truly renders us unable to tap our power. If it’s wielded against us in war or beyond it—'

‘If it is, we shall face it. I will not risk my people or family in testing out a theory.’

‘It is no theory,’ Nuan said, that mechanical hand clicking and whirring as it curled into a fist. ‘I would not stand here unless it had been proved without a doubt.’

Conscious of the storm cloud grey eyes trailing over his face, a moment of rashness overwhelmed Eris’ sense. ‘I will take it.’

Beron’s gaze promised retaliation when they returned to their lands for speaking too boldly.

In that unflinchingly cold voice of his, Beron only said, ‘No, you will not. Though I’m sure your brothers will be sorry to hear it.’

Rhysand said simply, ‘Then don’t take it. I will. My entire court will, as will my armies.’ He gave a thankful nod to Nuan. Thesan did the same—in thanks and dismissal—and the master tinkerer bowed once more and left.

‘At least you have armies to give it to,’ Tamlin said mildly, breaking his roiling silence. ‘Though perhaps that was part of the plan. Disable my force while your own swept in. Or was it just to see my people suffer?’ The claws came out once more. ‘Surely you knew that when you turned my forces on me, it would leave my people defenceless against Hybern.’

The high lady had no words to offer.

‘You primed my court to fall,’ Tamlin said with venomous quiet. ‘And it did. Those villages you wanted so badly to help rebuild? They’re nothing more than cinders now. And while you’ve been making antidotes and casting yourselves as saviours, I’ve been piecing together my forces—regaining their trust, their numbers. Trying to gather my people in the East— where Hybern has not yet marched.’

Surprising Eris, that beautiful female beside Feyre said drily, ‘So you won’t be taking the antidote, then.’

Tamlin ignored her, even as his claws sank into the arm of his chair. Eris braced himself to move if needed. She was too gorgeous to see her neck shredded by the beast.

Thesan cleared his throat and said to Helion, ‘You said you had two suggestions based on the information you analysed.’

Helion shrugged, the sun catching in the embroidered gold thread of his tunic. ‘Indeed, though it seems Tamlin is already ahead of me. The Spring Court must be evacuated.’ His amber eyes darted between Tarquin and Beron. ‘Surely your northern neighbours will welcome them.’

Beron’s lip curled. ‘We do not have the resources for such a thing.’

‘Right,’ Viviane said, ‘because everyone’s too busy polishing every jewel in that trove of yours.’

No. Nobody was allowed in there. His father believed everybody to be a thief and would entrust none to the vault.

Beron threw her a glare that had Kallias tensing. ‘Wives were invited as a courtesy, not as consultants.’

Viviane’s sapphire eyes flared as if struck by lightning. ‘If this war goes poorly, we’ll be bleeding out right alongside you, so I think we damn well get a say in things.’

‘Hybern will do far worse things than kill you,’ Beron counted coolly. ‘A young, pretty thing like you especially.’

Kallias’s snarl rippled the water in the reflection pool, echoed by Mor’s own growl. Beron smiled a bit. ‘Only three of us were present for the last war.’ A nod to Rhys and Helion, whose face darkened. ‘One does not easily forget what Hybern and the Loyalists did to captured females in their war-camps. What they reserved for High Fae females who either fought for the humans or had families who did.’ He put a heavy hand on his wife’s too-thin arm. ‘Her two sisters bought her time to run when Hybern’s forces ambushed their lands. The two ladies did not walk out of that war-camp again.’

Any trace of colour drained from his mother’s face as she stared down at the reflection pool.

‘We will take your people,’ Tarquin cut in quietly to Tamlin. ‘Regardless of your involvement with Hybern… your people are innocent. There is plenty of room in my territory. We will take all of them, if need be.’

A curt nod was Tamlin’s only acknowledgment and gratitude.

Beron said, ‘So the Seasonal Courts are to become the charnel houses and hostels, while the Solar Courts remain pristine here in the North?’

‘Hybern has focused its efforts on the southern half,’ Rhysand said. ‘To be close to the wall—and human lands.’

At the mention of her previous home, Nesta’s face tightened. He saw the grief for the mortality that had been stolen from her.

Rhysand went on, ‘Why bother to go through the northern climes—through faerie territories on the continent, when you could claim the South and use it to go directly to the human lands of the continent?’

Thesan asked, ‘And you believe the human armies there will bow to Hybern?’

‘Its queens sold us out,’ Nesta said, voice hard. She lifted her chin, poised as a trained emissary. ‘For the gift of immortality, the human queens will allow Hybern in to sweep away any resistance. They might very well hand over control of their armies to him.’ She gave a sweeping glance to the courts assembled. ‘Where do the humans on our island go? We cannot evacuate them to the continent, and with the wall intact … Many might rather risk waiting than cross over the wall anyway.’

‘The fate of the humans below the wall,’ Beron cut in, ‘is none of our concern. Especially in a spit of land with no queen, no army.’

‘It is my concern,’ Feyre said. ‘Humans are nearly defenceless against our kind.’

‘So go waste your own soldiers defending them,’ Beron said, dismissal ringing out in his tone. ‘I will not send my own forces to protect chattel.’

A crackling of magic was felt in the airy room along with a deathly silence.

‘You’re a coward,’ breathed Feyre to the High Lord of Autumn.

Eris clenched his jaw, unable to believe her daring. It had to be ignorance to ever speak against him that way.

Beron just said, ‘The same could be claimed of you.’

‘I don’t need to explain myself to you.’

‘No, but perhaps to that girl’s family—but they’re dead, too, aren’t they? Butchered and burned to death in their own beds. Funny, that you should now seek to defend humans when you were all too happy to offer them up to save yourself.’

Blood and bones. The girl’s wet breathing. Her sobs as she lay broken on the dais. And a family home burnt to cinders.

‘As my lady said,’ Rhysand drawled, ‘she does not need to explain herself to you.’

Beron leaned back in his chair. ‘Then I suppose I don’t need to explain my motivations, either.’

Rhysand lifted a dark brow. ‘Your staggering generosity aside, will you be joining our forces?’

‘I have not yet decided.’

His own amber eyes pleaded with his father to see reason. If war came to their shores and Autumn didn’t take up arms, they’d stand alone in times of turmoil.

‘Armies take time to raise,’ Cassian said. ‘You don’t have the luxury of sitting on your ass. You need to rally your soldiers now.’

Beron only sneered. ‘I don’t take orders from the bastards of lesser fae whores.’

A wave of rage and disgust washed over many faces in the room. His father’s prejudices ran thick and oily through his blood.

Despite the burn in Nesta’s eyes, she said coolly, before any other had a chance to speak, ‘That bastard may wind up being the only person standing in the way of Hybern’s forces and your people.’

Hm. Maybe Eris hadn’t read the situation fully. She didn’t so much as look at the male but his gaze was trained on her like a moth to the flame, pride blazing in his hazel eyes.

’Get out if you’re not going to be helpful,’ clipped the high lady of the Night Court.

Beron ignored Eris’ stare that was a desperate plea for him to stop talking. ‘Did you know that while your mate was warming Amarantha’s bed, most of our people were locked beneath that mountain? Did you know that while he had his head between her legs, most of us were fighting to keep our families from becoming the nightly entertainment?’

Tarquin murmured, ‘That’s enough, Beron.’

Beron ignored him. ‘And now Rhysand wants to play hero. Amarantha’s Whore becomes Hybern’s Destroyer. But if it goes badly…’ A cruel, cold smile. ‘Will he get on his knees for Hybern? Or just spread his-’

Fire exploded out of Feyre. Raging, white-hot flame that blasted into Beron like a lance. The shield went up quick enough to shield his father, but Eris’ clothes smouldered. Beside him, he heard the sudden gasp of his mother as red, blistered skin covered her arm. He shot to his feet torn between burning the world to ash and taking his mother far from this place. Eris pulled her out of her chair and onto her knees so she could plunge her arm into the cold water of the reflection pool in the centre as gold and silver fish scattered from them. He was only vaguely aware of the battle raging between his father and Feyre Archeron or the yelling around them.

‘That was how you got through my wards,’ Tarquin murmured as the magic in the room ceased.

Beron was panting so hard he looked like he might spew fire, but Eris helped his mother back into her chair.

Helion rubbed his jaw as he sat down once more. ‘I wondered where it went—that little bit. So small—like a fish missing a single scale. But I still felt whenever something brushed against that empty spot.’ A smirk at Rhysand. ‘No wonder you made her High Lady.’

‘I made her High Lady because I love her. Her power was the last thing I considered.’

Helion asked Tamlin, ‘You knew of her powers?’

Tamlin was only watching the happy lovers, eyes glinting with hatred. ‘It was none of your business,’ was all Tamlin said to Helion. To all of them.

‘The power belongs to us. I think it is,’ Beron seethed.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Feyre, eyes landing on his mother clutching the angry red splatter of a burn on her moon-white skin.

Beron spat, ‘Don’t talk to her, you human filth.’

Rhysand shattered through Beron’s shield, his fire, his defenses. Shattered through them like a stone hurled into a window, and slammed his dark power into Beron so hard he rocked back in his seat. Then that seat disintegrated into black, sparkling dust beneath him. Leaving Beron to fall on his ass. Glittering ebony dust drifted away on a phantom wind, staining Beron’s crimson jacket, clinging like clumps of ash to his brown hair.

‘Don’t ever speak to my mate like that again.’

Ah, so the Night Court could enact violence for those they loved, but not the Autumn Court. As always.

Beron shot to his feet, not bothering to brush off the dust, and declared to no one in particular, ‘This meeting is over. I hope Hybern butchers you all.’

But Nesta rose from her chair, that beautiful pillar of steel. ‘This meeting is not over.’

Even Beron paused at her tone. It was rare for him to listen to a female in any matter, especially not a once-mortal one, but there was something ancient and other worldly in her tone like the lure of a siren. Eris sized up the space between them. If his father reacted, sought retribution for his wife on the sister of the high lady, Eris would have a split second to send his own fire against his father’s to shield her. She stood taller than he expected, almost reaching his chin, and as beautiful and devastating as a storm.

‘You are all there is,’ she said to Beron, to all of us. ‘You are all that there is between Hybern and the end of everything that is good and decent.’ She settled her stare on Beron, unflinching and fierce. He’d like that spirit. Or scorn her for her lack of manners. It was like flipping a coin each day to know which Beron would greet him in the morning.

‘You fought against Hybern in the last war. Why do you refuse to do so now?’

Beron did not deign to answer. But he did not leave. Eris subtly motioned his brothers to sit and listen to her. If she could command their father here, she was a female worth listening to. Nesta marked the gesture—hesitated. As if realizing she indeed held their complete attention. That every word mattered. And it did matter. Eris wanted to hear everything she had to say. He gave her a small nod of encouragement, the corners of his mouth turning up at their interaction.

‘You may hate us. I don’t care if you do. But I do care if you let innocents suffer and die. At least stand for them. Your people. For Hybern will make an example of them. Of all of us.’

‘And you know this how?’ Beron sneered.

‘I went into the Cauldron,’ Nesta said flatly. ‘It showed me his heart. He will bring down the wall, and butcher those on either side of it.’ Nesta’s face revealed nothing. And no one dared contradict her. She looked to Kallias and Viviane. ‘I am sorry for the loss of those children. The loss of one is abhorrent. But beneath the wall, I witnessed children—entire families—starve to death.’ She jerked her chin at her sister. ‘Were it not for my sister … I would be among them. Too long. For too long have humans beneath the wall suffered and died while you in Prythian thrived. Not during that—queen’s reign.’ She recoiled, as if hating to even speak Amarantha’s name. ‘But long before. If you fight for anything—fight now, to protect those you forgot. Let them know they’re not forgotten. Just this once.’

Thesan cleared his throat. ‘While a noble sentiment, the details of the Treaty did not demand we provide for our human neighbours. They were to be left alone. So we obeyed.’

Nesta remained standing. ‘The past is the past. What I care about is the road ahead. What I care about is making sure no children—Fae or human—are harmed. You have been entrusted with protecting this land.’ She scanned the faces around her, imploring, begging. ‘How can you not fight for it?’ She looked to the Autumn delegate as her voice ebbed away. Eris was mesmerised by her. If he was high lord, they would already be marching to war with banners of crimson streaming behind them bearing Nesta’s alluring face on them. A champion of the quietest voices.

Beron only said, ‘I shall consider it.’

The look on his father’s face was the signal to leave. They hadn’t packed to stay. He wouldn’t ever leave his court overnight. Eris’ heart was tangled by duty and desire. An alliance with the Night Court meant more opportunities for his path to cross with Nesta Archeron. His people’s blood would water the earth if it meant he could ride into war beside her. He dipped his red head low, eyes meeting her simmering gaze as he winnowed away.

#the sjm bits are the ones with ten thousand dashes fragments of sentence and ellipsis #this was actually painful to flip POVs #but i kept in all the times feyre noted something about helion's muscled physique so it looks like eris is thirsting after him #neris #nesta archeron #eris vanserra

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the-stove-is-divorced · 20 days

Note

So, hi again

Ok first, congratulations on your 100 subscribers!!! That's an amazing feat to achieve!

Second, my question is this, do you plan on making more ben 10 fic in the

Future? Why yes or why no (no judging don't worry)

Another question is, do you know Danny phantom? Do you ever think about joining the fandom and making a fic for it?

Also last thing (sorry so many questions I'm excited)

For you bnha fics, do you have any hidden lore? Or random facts you head canon about a character that may or may not be included into the fic? (Loved inko's beef in nursing school lol) And what is Yagi's pov in this whole thing? I'm imagining it as complete comedy

If you ever decide to write something for your fic but in his pov, it has to be completely crack treated seriously with him missing every flag of his student having a meltdown and a walk toward the dark side lol

Sorry for the long ask, will be waiting for your reply!

Don't worry about a long ask, I adore any asks I get (´꒳`)♡♡♡ !!! I just take a min to answer, haha. Especially rn, but thank you sm! I'm very happy about it, it's so delightful!!! ( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡ ♡ ♡

I do want to write more Ben 10, but it's lower on the priority list. Batman brainrot had me a chokehold for a hot min there, and it just loosened, so I wanna get back on track on my bigger ongoing wip's, like my SUF and Invincible fics, and maybe even a Blue Beetle fic. They're both overdue for an update, and I've been itching to post for a while but just Couldn't from responsibilities, bleh.

If I had my way, I'd update those two fics, and then possibly muse about a oneshot of Albedo and Ben having to spend like 10 hours together, 'cause the enemy/friend dynamic is so yummy to me! Forcig them to interact like Albedo is internally hissing like a wet cat backed into the corner and Ben is just trying to vibe! Hostile, loathing force meet nonchalant, friendly energy, fight. Plus, I really want to write one more comedy-like fic since I've gotten incredibly rusty. As for my already existing Ben 10 wip, I'm quite not sure where to take it? I suppose I've run out of steam for the moment? Again, my more comedic style is incredibly rusty, so while I do have 1k of a draft, it's undoubtedly going to be scrapped and reworked to hell before it's even polished. And that's still lower on the priority list, compared to Invincible and SUF, which I'm still struggling to update.

AND I LOVE DANNY PHANTOM! I've just never had a proper fic idea for the series, admittedly. I'd also need a rewatch to keep in tune with Danny's voice/characterizations. I also read a lot of DP x Anything crossovers, and got really sick of them by proxy. It'll take a bit for me to write anything for it, I suppose? I'd need to reignite a interest!

And oh YAY! It's been a very long time since I thought about that fic, and a lot I make up as I go and try tying back together, kinda like building the railroad while I drive the train, haha. So not sure if I had any hidden lore, especially none I can think of at the top of my head? But, like anything, I can think of some!

a) Inko and Hisashi are still technically married as they never got officially divorced, Inko kinda kicked him out and he's still yearning. He admires her ability to be cut throat, and loathes her strong sense of morals. b) Inko and Hisashi met while Inko was in med school, nearly graduating! She threatened to stick a pen through someone's throat for mocking her, and he was enamored. c) Izuku gets his determination from Inko, not Hisashi. He also gets the ability to burst into tears from her. The quick obsession is all him though. d) Hisashi left when Izuku was just young enough for his parenting to still linger, aka quirk fascination, but still early enough Izuku doesn't quite miss him when he's lived so long without him.

Yagi is ABSOLUTELY having a swell ol' time looking at Izuku succeed from the sidelines. Go, Izuku go! Number one cheerleader in the distance. He would be oblivious to Izuku's slowburn sanity depletion, if not incidentally encouraging by misunderstanding, since I think that's silly. Probably offer some advice Izuku takes in a whole another direction, or comment on Izuku's quirk to be encouraging, which makes Izuku incredibly tight lipped and sweating bullets. Which is to say, completely correct assumption from you, haha!

I did have a draft of the next chapter I never ended up finished, if you'd like :D below!

Izuku has been cackling madly for a solid minute. Maybe it’s the exhaustion still clinging to him like a teddy bear cactus after seeing its first fleshy human taxi, or the sweet, sweet euphoria of a miraculous, and marvelous step forwards, or maybe he’s simply lost his sanity, but eventually, it winds down to giggles, chuckles until it’s nothing but a bright grin stretched over his cute little cheeks.

“Shigaraki!” Izuku whispers delightfully. “Shigaraki, Shigaraki, Shigaraki!”

Unfortunately, chanting someone's name while cackling, does sound like he’s reciting the next person he’s gonna curse to have their toes swapped with their fingers or having their spine crumble like a wad of wet paper towels squeezed into a tiny ball, so Izuku does exhibit one tiny glimmer of self awareness to simply stop doing that. The magic of sleep, he supposes, brings the wonderful gift of self awareness!

He should sleep more. Probably. Maybe. He’ll see.

And while yes, okay, there is technically literally no one in the house except for him to see him like this, his All Might figure could be judging him! He can’t disappoint them! They’re limited edition. And oh, he should wipe them down soon. Gotta keep them in good condition! Just imagining one of those delicate, glossy figures being cracked and broken just makes Izuku wanna do the same thing to someone’s spine, which is ridiculous!

Izuku would simply never allow them to get damaged. Ever.

#asks #tysm for the ask i love these!!!!#hope ya didn't wait too long! :D #i think i answered everything? if not tag/dm/whatever have you

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the-boy-meets-evil · 2 years

Text

tell me how it got this way (ch.1)

pairing: jungkook x f.reader, hoseok x f.reader genre: fwb to lovers/friends to lovers, love triangle | non-idol!au, angst, smut, est. relationships rating: 18+, minors dni (for the finished fic) warnings: swearing, mentions of heavy drinking, mentions of hook-ups, hobi is kind of a dick, explicit smut in later chapters (will update when that comes up), yoongi is a snarky friend, jungkook is a fwb, i think that's it for now word count: ~6.2k (1st chapter) summary: once upon a time, hoseok was your best friend, until The Fight. now it's been 5 years and you're a successful writer with some supportive friends, a steady not-boyfriend, and an editor you love. but your past friendship isn't content to stay there. a/n: i started writing this way too long ago, had kind of given it up because it got Too Long for a onrshot. then picked it back up for a series of chapters, i hope you enjoy. i'm sorry about hobi in chapter 1 but i promise it gets better if you stick it out. thank you to @playmetheclassics for being a wonderful beta reader and to @ugh-yoongi & @hot-soop for always putting up with my bullshit (aka early versions of this). masterlist | next

Your phone beeps, letting you know a message has come in, but you know you’ve only got another couple minutes of focus, and you’re determined to get all your thoughts onto the page before the caffeine buzz wears off. It’s a bad habit, worrying more about getting the words onto the paper than how they actually come out, but you know at this point there’s really no hope you’ll change. Besides, as you tell your editor, isn’t it always better to have to polish something up than to have lost an idea entirely? He distinctly mumbled something about needing to find a field with more structure and left you alone, at least that time. At the end of the day, he isn’t going anywhere, and, really, you don’t want him to. Finding the right editor had been a long enough process as it was. There was no way you were going through that again.

As your fingers fly across the keyboard, desperately trying to keep up with your too-active imagination, your phone beeps again. It’s hard to tell if it’s a reminder for the message or if another message has come in. It doesn’t really matter. You aren’t going to look right now. There had been a whole chapter missing right in the middle of your latest work, and it was driving both you and Namjoon insane, for very different reasons. It wasn’t for lack of trying, it just wasn’t happening, and Namjoon wasn’t having it. But if you’ve told him once, you’ve told him hundreds of times. If he wants something forced, it isn’t going to sell the same as if he just gets off your ass for a second and lets you work. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know that this is why the two of you work. He’s organized, structured, and likes deadlines, while also being able to keep the peace with nearly anyone. You, on the other hand, are not organized, don’t do well with structure, and feel like deadlines are the death to artistic creativity. Yes, as much as you hate to admit it, you need Namjoon.

Your thoughts are now drifting more than usual, and you figure it’s time to call it quits, at least for the moment. It’s getting late, and you know that you shouldn’t drink another cup of coffee to stay up until the early hours of the morning writing. But inspiration keeps flowing, and although you will never tell him, Namjoon is right. There’s a deadline coming up, meaning there needs to be a solid middle to the book tying everything together. You stretch your arms over your head and tilt your head to either side, trying to uncoil the tension in your body that always comes from sitting still for too long. It’s like this every time, and you make a mental note to schedule yourself a massage.

Almost as if it senses you want a break, your phone beeps again, and you guess it had been more than just a single message that came through. Namjoon is always giving you a hard time about not silencing your phone when you write. In your defense, the one time you had, he had actually needed to reach you urgently and nearly had a panic attack that you didn’t answer. Sometimes there was no winning.

You reach out to pick up your phone and tap on the screen to at least see who is trying to get hold of you so that you can decide if you want to answer first or get another cup of coffee and something to eat. All thoughts disappear when you see the screen. Three messages all from one person, someone you have actively tried not to think about in years, someone who hurt you far deeper than any ex could have.

Without thinking, you slide your finger up the screen to unlock it and go straight into the conversation, which is empty apart from these three messages. That’s very unlike you. Usually, you keep every conversation, never delete any messages. But this had been wiped clean after the last time you spoke 5 years earlier.

Hoseok: hey, it’s been a while … Hoseok: I hope you haven’t deleted my number Hoseok: I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately, and I was hoping we could meet up, you know, two old friends.

At that moment, your brain jolts your body back into action, and you’re mad, maybe unreasonably mad, but you’re seething. How dare he? After all this time? After everything that was said? How fucking dare he act like the reason you hadn’t spoken all these years had been something mutual rather than something that was entirely on him. No, you hated Jung Hoseok. Hate him more than anyone you’d ever known. Hate him more than the ex that cheated on you with some fucking yoga instructor. Hate him more than your ex, who had decided you weren’t “marriage” material, whatever the fuck that meant. This is different. It had struck you so deeply and changed the entire way you saw everything, the way you interacted with everyone.

When you and Namjoon started working together, he had commented that it felt like you were an entirely different person than whoever had written the pages in front of him. That person was vibrant and funny, and open. You seemed closed off, even cynical, despite being so young. You had shrugged it off, and he hadn’t pressed, likely because he appreciated the talent in the work he was reading. This was the reason, though. Jung Hoseok. It’s been 5 years of carefully putting it in a box and tucking it away. And they’re good boxes you used, very sturdy. It’s been such a long time since he crossed your mind that you thought you were over it all, all the pain, hurt, and betrayal.

You have to fight the urge to throw your phone across the room, knowing that the lecture you’d get when you tell Namjoon you need a new one isn’t worth it. You want to scream, but it’s nearly midnight, and you have neighbors that would likely hear. Not that you care, exactly, but the last thing you want to do is explain to them that someone you’d known years ago randomly popped back into your life like it was nothing and you can’t cope with it. So you keep running down the list of options for how to react to this and wish you knew how to handle something like a normal, well-adjusted adult. You can’t stop your brain from running down yet another list, about a mile a minute, of every possible reason why he’s reaching out now. Why is he thinking of you? What does he want? That’s the reality, after all this time, it isn’t just to catch up. He must want something and think he’ll be able to get it from you.

It’s impossible to tell if you’re angry at him, yourself, or both. You’re stronger than this. You’re a legitimate author now, and you weather comments from the critics like they’re nothing. That had been the biggest surprise to Namjoon. Your first book hit the shelves, and the reviews were mostly positive, with a lot of raves thrown in there. When you asked to see the negative ones, he hesitated before ultimately relenting. You laughed and shrugged, handing the tablet back with a line about how you couldn’t ever please everyone. His reaction is still imprinted on your mind. So no, you might be mad at him for reaching out, but you are definitely more mad at yourself for the reaction. What does he want?

Then another thought hits you. Oh god, what if he's getting married? Your stomach drops at the thought of being forced to sit through him marrying that woman. You can’t even force yourself to call her a bitch in your head, even though she deserves it. And even though you want to blame her for losing him, you also know that as awful as she was, it had been his decision. But that isn’t comforting. That means that the pain is all rushing back to the surface like he holds all the power still, just like he did back then. And even though you have no idea what he wants, your brain latches onto him getting married. And if he invites you, you can’t say no. The rational part of you knows that you’re busy now and have every reason to turn down something like that. You aren’t friends anymore, haven’t talked in over 5 years, and it’s perfectly rational to turn down an invitation. The louder part screams that he would somehow know it’s still affecting you if you don’t show up, which means you have to go.

You’re not quite sure how you got there, but you’re sitting on the floor of your kitchen, the cool tile making contact with your bare legs, stretched out in front of you, back against the cabinet. At least you’re not curled up in the fetal position, you think. It could be worse. The reality of how affected you still are sinks in, and you just feel paralyzed. Paralyzed that you reacted that way, paralyzed by the fact that you’re not over it like you thought you were, paralyzed at the overwhelming feeling of aloneness that washed over you just at seeing his name. ----------------------------------------------------------------- Five years earlier

Things have been a little different since you both graduated from college, which you knew they would be, but you still have your best friend, and honestly, you feel like you could take on anything knowing he’s there by your side. Through four years of college, you’ve been through highs and lows, accomplishments and failures, exciting opportunities and near misses. What was more, Hoseok’s family had become almost like your own, which was so comforting. So yeah, things had been busier, but that was okay.

The only slight issue that the two of you had run into was Hoseok’s new girlfriend. It was a weird sentence to say. Usually, he dated someone for a couple of months and got bored, or they went crazy on him, or the schedules were too tough, and it just fizzled out. Through it all, nothing had changed between you and him. And why should it? Okay, yes, you’d slept together that one time when you were super drunk the summer between your first and second years. But, you’d just gone through a breakup and he had something on his mind you couldn’t remember. You’d laughed in the morning and agreed never again and that you’d never tell anyone. There was so much love in the friendship that you thought you could weather anything.

She was making it different, though and you were trying really hard not to dwell on it. Tried not to worry that you might be seeing a bit less of Hoseok, that things weren’t as carefree as they had been. Now you had to make plans to see him. Even though he’d still drop in on you at your apartment unannounced, as you’d always done, you couldn’t do that anymore. You were thankful that she was away for the weekend with her parents, though. Hoseok had commented that it was convenient timing since he had to pack up his apartment that weekend to get ready to move into their new shared space (still ugh, but you were dealing with it). Of course, you immediately let him know you were available and happy to help. Did you love packing and cleaning? Not even in the slightest. Your own apartment was untidy most of the time. It was nice to get time with your best friend, though.

The morning had gone easily. You showed up with coffee and breakfast and earned a grateful smile for having thought about it. There was not as much packing as there was reminiscing about making it through college together. At the moment, everything seemed fine to you, but later, you’d look back and realize it was all wrong. You were talking about college as if it were a phase in the past, something to look back on, not something that moved forward.

As the morning turned to afternoon and you were actually getting things boxed up, you figured it was a good idea to spring the surprise you had planned on him. At the last minute, you’d manage to score tickets to one of your favorite bands. They were playing in a small venue with only a few hundred people, and the only way in was to win. Well, you had gotten around that. A guy you had slept with a few times throughout the last year of school interned at the radio station and had offered you two tickets as an excuse to see you again, which you’d gladly taken and tried not to feel too bad at the way his face fell. He would be there anyway, though, even without the ticket.

“Soooooo,” you’d said, drawing it out to pull Hoseok’s eyes to you. He looked up, curious at the tone of your voice. “Do you remember that concert we were dying to get into?”

“Yes,” Hoseok said, eyeing you suspiciously.

“Well, I forgot that idiot I was sleeping with like on and off all year worked for the radio station,” you said with a flip of your hair. You were expecting him to be beyond excited and maybe a little bit proud as you pulled the tickets out of your back pocket. “Sorry, but packing is gonna need to take a break. We’re going!”

That was your first indication, at least at the moment, that something was wrong. Instead of jumping around like idiots, the way you would any other time you were getting to go see live music, he was standing rooted to the spot and just looking at you. Music was legitimately one of your favorite things. What the hell was happening?

“Uh, Earth to Hobi,” you said. “Did you hear me?”

Hoseok was still quiet, looking down at his feet and rubbing the back of his neck. It was seriously starting to worry you as you watched him. The smile that turned his face into a heart was nowhere to be found. You hadn’t exactly expected him to be eternally grateful (okay, maybe you had), but where was the smile?

“Look, I really appreciate it, but I don’t think I should go,” he finally said, and you physically flinched as you took a step back.

“It’s just a concert, Hobi. We do this all the time,” you reasoned.

He rubbed the back of his neck again like this was uncomfortable, like he was explaining something you should already know. “I just don’t know that we should be going to concerts anymore, you know since I’m dating Gen now.”

“I’m not really sure what one has to do with the other,” you admit.

“It looks kinda bad, doesn’t it? Having a girlfriend and going out with other girls?” He was still not meeting your eyes, and it took a lot of effort for you to not snort.

“We’re not going out. We’re friends, hanging out. It’s no different than you hanging out with Jongin or one of the other guys,” you said, still unable to fully process his words' meaning.

“It is, though, isn’t it? I haven’t slept with Jongin,” Hoseok said quietly, and your eyes went wide.

“It was one time years ago, and we both agreed not to bring it up again. So I don’t see the problem...unless,” you trailed off as realization dawned on you. “Please tell me you didn’t tell Gen that we’ve slept together.”

“I did. I had to,” Hoseok said, not seeming to grasp what he had done.

“What the fuck? No, you didn’t have to? We agreed, and you just blindside me, saying ‘oh yeah, by the way, I told my girlfriend we’ve fucked.’ Like, are you kidding me?” You were at a complete loss for words. What was going through that empty head of his?

“I had to tell her! I told you, it’s different with her,” he began.

“I can see that,” you cut across him.

“I love her. I can’t keep secrets from her,” Hoseok said.

“It isn’t a secret, Hobi. It’s something to protect our friendship,” you said. “It happened once, almost 3 years ago, and it didn’t mean anything.”

“Well, she thinks that maybe it’s a bad idea for you and me to stay friends with what’s happened. And she’s right. I guess it’s not normal for us to be as close as we are, you always coming to my family functions, us going out to dinner, to concerts. It’s all very couple-y,” Hoseok said, and you felt like you had been slapped in the face.

“Or, it’s things friends do,” you responded, dumbfounded.

“I don’t know,” Hoseok said and looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. Maybe you would have been too. “Gen thinks it’s weird that we’re so close. She thinks that she should be my best friend and I shouldn’t be closer to another girl than her…”

“Oh, well, if Gen said, then it must be true,” you had scoffed, more annoyed than hurt, just for a moment.

“Don’t be like that. She’s right! Our friendship is weird. It never really made any sense anyway. And now I’ve got Gen, and we’re both going down different paths. Maybe it was just one of those things that we’re only friends in college.”

And you were back to hurt, back to a pain you had never expected to feel, not from him, not from the one person in your life who had never let you down. He was the one person who was always there, and you recoiled.

“Excuse me?” It was all you could ask. Surely you had misheard him.

“Well, it’s kind of weird, isn’t it? You showed up to college thousands of miles away from home, not really close to any of your friends or family from back home and just kind of clung to me and my family and my friends,” he said as if it were nothing.

And there it was, the pain that you had been fighting since showing up on campus nearly four years earlier, thrown back in your face by the very last person who had ever expected to do something like this. He fucking knew what you had gone through just before college, knew why you didn’t speak to any of the family you had left, and knew why it had been hard to really bring friendships with you from high school to college. That fucking asshole knew why you had wanted to start over, and he stood there like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t just said the most painful thing.

“Fuck you, Hoseok,” you said through gritted teeth as you fought harder than you ever had to keep from crying.

“You wish you could, I know, and so does Gen. She can see it on your face when you look at me that you love me,” Hoseok said, and your face contorted.

“Of course, I fucking loved you, you fucking idiot. But not like that. Not in a way that your precious fucking Gen should’ve worried about. I loved you like family, like the closest friend I ever had, the one person in my life who knew all my scars and still accepted me,” you shouted at him.

“Did you ever think that maybe that was too much to handle at 18? Did you ever think maybe I didn’t want all that thrown at me?” Hoseok shouted back at her.

“God, you say that like I had a choice of going through it. Do you think it’s what I wanted? But how the fuck was I supposed to know? You were kind and caring,” you responded. “I thought we were friends. I always had your back.”

“Yeah, and that’s exactly why Gen and I both think you’ve been secretly in love with me all along,” Hoseok retorted, and you gave something between a snort and a derisive laugh.

“Let’s not forget, that night we fucked, I was drunk off my ass, but I know you told Jongin you’d barely had anything to drink, so be careful throwing around accusations of secret crushes,” you shouted.

“No, I hadn’t had that much, but you practically threw yourself at me. What was I supposed to do?” Hoseok asked, and you let out an almost manic laugh.

“Yes, absolutely fuck me. That was clearly the only option. I’m so sorry it was such a burden on you, all these years being friends with me,” you respond, beyond tears at that point and running on pure adrenaline.

“I didn’t say….” Hoseok began, but you were over it.

“No, that’s right, your precious Gen said. Gen, who’s a fucking bitch to literally everyone she meets. Gen, who treats servers like trash and everyone like they’re beneath her. Gen, who you’ve been dating a couple of months when we’ve been inseparable for four fucking years, Hoseok,” you reminded him.

“I knew you didn’t like her.” Of course, he would latch onto that.

“No, I don’t fucking like her. I never made that a secret. She’s a bitch, but I told you that I supported you being happy because that’s what friends do.”

“Friends don’t hate the person their friend is dating….”

“Don’t you fucking talk about this stupid crush you and her have dreamt up,” you said, your tone threatening. “You know what, why don’t you grow a set of fucking balls and think for yourself. If it’s too much to be my friend and to have my back, then just man the fuck up and tell me. Don’t hide behind your girlfriend like a coward.”

“I’m not a coward!”

“Hoseok wasn’t a coward, but I don’t know who this is standing in front of me.”

“Maybe she’s right and you’re just jealous that I’ve managed to find a stable relationship.”

That felt like a slap across your face and it must have shown. Hell, you were surprised later that you didn’t have a red mark on your cheek. Because, again, he knew all your shit, why you couldn’t handle letting someone in like that, and how hard it had been to let him see every part of you. It was college. No guy you dated wanted to wade in that deep. That had been what made Hoseok so special as a friend. He could see right away that you were almost irreparably broken and didn’t care. No matter what, he was there.

“What?” Your voice was small then, and you hated it.

“It was all fine when I wasn’t ever serious about anyone, but now I’m serious about Gen, and you’ve just got your series of hookups and one-night stands and the guy who you managed to get those tickets off of, which who even knows what you said to him,” Hoseok said, and you knew that you were seconds from crying. That was the last thing you wanted him to see, but he went on.

“When we were both just fucking around and doing whatever, it was fine. Now I’ve got Gen, and you know you’ll be the third wheel, left out. And you hate it. Because you can’t ever keep a guy around for more than a few months.”

You couldn’t take any of it anymore, could not stand looking at him for one more second. You didn’t want to remember the way his face which normally had his heart-shaped smile contorted looking at you. You didn’t want to remember the things he said. You didn’t want to admit that you were just as alone now as when you were 18 years old. It was worse this time, though. Someone had actually shown you what true friendship was, how a family was supposed to support you, and what it was like to be loved by people who didn’t want anything in return apart from your own happiness. It had scared you how easily you fell into step with Hoseok, and the decision to trust him flew in the face of everything you thought. And now it seemed that 18-year-old you had been right. To trust someone was asking to be hurt.

The rest of the day and even the weeks that followed were mostly a haze. You had gone to that concert alone, even though you knew that you had friends you could ask. Everyone would have asked where Hoseok was and why he didn’t want the ticket, though, and that was absolutely not a conversation you wanted to have. So you went alone, and you vaguely remembered whatshisname being happy that you had shown up alone after all. Your body moved in time with the music, you drank way too much, and you woke up the next morning in an unfamiliar, yet familiar, apartment. Thankfully whatshisname was still asleep, and you could sneak out, only stopping to take in the horror of the posters on the walls.

Drinking was definitely the order of the day in the weeks that followed. It started with glasses of wine before moving on to mixed drinks and landing on straight whiskey. Nobody had seen you in person in weeks. You had your groceries delivered for when you felt like cooking, which was not often, honestly, and ordered in when you didn’t. Really, though, it was fitting. You wanted to be a successful writer, and could you really say you were without a drinking problem, being a recluse, or both?

*******************************************

The present version of you is still sitting on the kitchen floor, now with your legs pulled tight against your chest and arms wrapped around them. Years. It’s been years since you’ve been in this much pain. You had been absolutely positive that you weren’t broken like that anymore. It was all fine for a twenty-two-year-old recent grad to lose her shit over someone that she used to know. It is not fine for a twenty-seven-year-old successful writer to completely fall apart over the ghosts of her past that didn’t want to stay in those not-so-sturdy boxes they had been packed into.

Almost like a reflex, you reach for your phone and start digging through the folders in your photos. You had buried them in folders inside of folders inside of folders, layers deep, so it’s too much effort to stumble across them without wanting to. Still there waiting when you want to see them or feel compelled to look back to remind yourself that you aren’t crazy and you had been as important to him as he had been to you.

The progression from awkward college freshmen to confident seniors who actually knew what they were doing is painful in more ways than one. You try to focus on the clothes and the hairstyles, the bad make-up choices, the stupid faces that you thought were cute. God, what was 2012 you thinking, really? All too much blush, no contouring, sheepskin denim jackets, and jean shorts basically up your ass.

That’s just your mind trying to distract you, and it isn’t working well, or at all, really. There are hundreds and hundreds of pictures of you with Hoseok, always happy, always smiling, sometimes doing stupid shit, sometimes at concerts, sometimes on vacations with his family. The loss of his sister and his parents stung almost as much as the loss of him, especially with how often you went shopping with his sister. He would always act put out by it when he came along, but he ended up buying more than either of you...combined. And you would always just be able to call up his mother if you needed a parent’s advice, something warm and comforting. The happy memories make your heart hurt more, and you close the phone forcefully.

Your heart constricts, your chest feels tight, and you just want to scream again. You feel fucking pathetic that a few words from someone unravel you this way. You’re stronger than this. You’ve developed healthy relationships since then, despite the mess he left without a care. You know you’re in your head, and you’re your own worst enemy. So you force yourself up off the ground, phone in hand, and finger hovering over the dial button to Namjoon. Then, thankfully, you check the time and see it’s now nearly one in the morning.

Fuck, you have a meeting with him in the morning. No, you can’t call him. Not only because he’ll kill you for calling so late but because he can’t know you were this much of a mess this late at night without the finished chapter. Well fuck it, you think, better call the only person you trust and who’s always up at this time.

“You do know how late it is, right?” There’s no hello, no asking how you are, just the typical short, couldn’t-be-bothered attitude, same as always.

“Please, like you know how to go to bed before 4 am,” you respond, almost managing to sound like your normal self.

“I do when Jimin is here,” Yoongi retorts.

“Which he’s not,” you answer quickly. Bickering with Yoongi makes you feel normal, and there’s something oddly comforting about it.

“How do you know?” The challenge in his voice is clear, but it just eases your anxiety further, and you huff.

“Jimin texted me that he was worried about your sleep schedule or you actually eating,” you begin, stopping when Yoongi scoffs.

“Because you’re so much better about that than I am,” is all he says.

“That’s what I tried to tell him, babe. We’re both hopeless,” you say and actually get a laugh out of that one from your friend.

This is what you love most about your friendship with Yoongi. He absolutely knows that something is wrong and is still just as happy to let you ramble to him about whatever you want to chat about. He’s not big on feelings, talking about them or hearing about them. He cares enough to distract you, though.

You ask about his upcoming showcase and how many pieces he still wants to finish before then. Really, you did this more because of the reaction and to have him tell you, for the millionth time, that art isn’t planned or outlined. It was just created when he feels something. That was the difference, he said, between his work and yours. He waited until he had enough pieces to take up part of a showcase and then went from there.

Somehow, you still end up crying on the phone about your former best friend. And while Yoongi likes to pretend he doesn’t have time for emotions like this, you know it’s a lie. That had also been before Jimin, though, and before he was, quietly, happy and in love. The exterior is still prickly. Yoongi does not like to make time for everyone. The interior has softened enough that he lets you cry into the phone without being cruel or cold about it. He knows about Hoseok because you’d drunkenly talked about him before. This is different. Yoongi has never heard about him like this while you were sober, which should have made you uncomfortable.

All you think is that it’s nice just to say the things you have been holding in for so long to someone who genuinely cares about you, even when he has a weird way of showing it. On some level, you had spent the last five years feeling like you were unworthy of that kind of love, weren’t worthy of having someone see every part of you, and still want to stick around. Break-ups were hard. This was infinitely harder. With break-ups, maybe you aren’t right for each other, maybe there was no spark, maybe you have different values, or maybe you want different things. People break up all the time. But friends are supposed to be people that see all of that, know your values, your motivations, your quirks, and agree to be there no matter what. That was different when someone told you that they didn’t want to be your friend anymore. How do you keep from that cutting to your very core? What was more, it had seeped into every relationship that you had since then. You purposely date guys who either you don’t get too attached to or who you know will ultimately not want commitment and so they’re safe. And, honestly, it was why you had initially been drawn to Yoongi. Everything about him seemed like he’d never get deep with you, and so he was the perfect choice for a friend. When that hadn’t turned out to be the case, you’d been secretly thankful because he was a great person to have in your life.

In an actual surprise, Yoongi has advice on handling it, which you aren’t expecting. At most, you figure he’ll listen to you before the two of you move on to something. And he doesn’t give advice, so you’ll move on to something else. It’s actual advice, thought out as if he had been thinking about this for far longer than you had been crying to him. It’s wrong to underestimate him. Yoongi is a great friend and always there in the middle of the night when you need someone, both of your sleep schedules are beyond fucked.

“I think you need to see him again,” Yoongi says after a thoughtful pause.

“Wh-what?” You stammer the question out.

“You do. You’re never really going to be able to put it behind you and move on without giving him a piece of your mind,” Yoongi says, and you chew your bottom lip.

“I guess that makes some sense,” you concede.

“Maybe you can figure out a way to unexpectedly run into him on purpose.”

“And you’re back to not making any sense.”

“Course I make sense,” Yoongi says easily. “Like if he’s in the area, just bump into him, that way, when you look all put together, it’s less like you were preparing.”

“I don’t hate it,” you admit.

“You could bring your flavor of the week with you. Make him jealous.” You hear the smirk in Yoongi’s voice and visualize that glint he gets in his eyes. It only makes you roll your own.

“Okay, first, he’s not a flavor of the week, and second, I’m not bringing Jungkook,” you say dramatically, and it sounds like Yoongi chokes on the other end.

“Jungkook? You’re still fucking him?”

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Yeah, why?”

“Hasn’t it been a couple of months?”

Ah, you see where Yoongi is going. “Yeah, but Kookie isn’t annoying. He doesn’t bug me about not having enough time or making plans or any of that. Plus, the sex is good, like really good.”

“Huh,” is all Yoongi says.

“Besides, I'm not trying to make Hoseok jealous because I’ve got some hot guy hanging around. We were friends.” You feel this is the millionth time you’ve emphasized this point.

“Just think about it,” Yoongi says.

“Of course, I’ll think about it,” you respond, and mean it. Yoongi doesn’t give advice like this often. “He is pretty, though, don’t you think, Yoongi?”

“Who? Hoseok?” Yoongi asks, sounding distracted.

You audibly sigh. “Jungkook.”

“I guess so. Jimin definitely thinks he’s attractive,” Yoongi says simply like it’s nothing.

“Oh fuck,” you say suddenly, looking around for the clock.

“What?” Yoongi asks, an actual alarm in his voice.

“What time is it?” This earns another scoff from Yoongi.

“The fuck do think I am? A clock?”

“Fuck, it’s late. I’ve got breakfast with Namjoon in the morning to talk about my book,” you say and start to pull yourself off the kitchen floor.

“He’s going to kill you,” Yoongi says, with a noticeable hint of enjoyment in his voice.

“No, he’s not,” you respond immediately.

“Have you finished the chapter?” Yoongi asks, and you swallow hard, not trusting yourself to answer. You earn a barked-out laugh in response. “Yeah, he’s gonna fucking kill you. Good luck, nice knowing you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, trying to hide that you were actually nervous. “I’ll text you tomorrow.”

“Sounds good,” Yoongi says.

You hang up and immediately strip to get into clothes for bed. Your mind is occupied with thoughts of Yoongi’s showcase, which you still have to find a dress for, and how Namjoon is going to react when you have not, in fact, finished the rough copy as you promised. Hoseok isn’t on your mind any longer, and you are happy to be able to drift off quickly.

please let me know your thoughts ❤️❤️

#bts fic #bts fanfic #btscarnivalnet #kvanity #fanfic #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #hoseok x reader #jungkook imagine #jungkook scenarios #hoseok imagine #hoseok scenarios

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floral-poisons · 2 years

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pairing: malleus draconia x gn! reader word count: 1k words warnings: n/a notes: the third, and final, of my pining fics dedicated to my followers. thank you for allowing me to hit the 100 follower milestone! but also this is coming in quite late and i’m amazed at how many people enjoy my writing. thank you all so much!! 💗 the title is derived from the song of the same name by tokio hotel. ao3 link: 🎻🎻🎻

He flicked the wood of the violin, seeing his own reflection in the polish. Music wasn’t something he was used to. At least, music without magic anyways. Briar Valley was a magical place and naturally, everything was supplemented by magic. Trying to learn an instrument without magic would not be difficult but he would definitely need to dedicate time to it. He also learned that keeping his nails short would prevent him from messing up.

You were partial to the violin, always. Honestly, you wished you had continued lessons but your parents stopped because they couldn’t afford to keep sending you to them. There were still plenty of songs you memorized thanks to muscle memory. You listened to the music in your spare time and while you studied. Grim wasn’t a fan but who needed his opinion anyways?

Malleus has noticed that you really liked the violin and were impressed with a student who played. And you started talking to that student. And Great Seven have mercy if Malleus was going to not try to win you over instead of this random student who you were spending a lot of time with. The violin was the key to your heart and his pale hands clutched onto that key tightly.

“Malleus, dear, don’t you think it would be easier to try practicing with magic instead?” Lilia cocks his head to the side.

“That won’t work. (Y/N)’s used to the violin without magic. If I am to impress them, then I will learn how to do it myself.” He mutters as his horn accidentally hit the instrument.

“You must learn how to place the violin on your shoulder properly then.” Lilia adjusts it for him. “Without your horns hitting the wood.”

“It is made of sturdy material.”

Malleus had learned to multitask while trying to play the violin. Reading notes was not a problem. Naturally as a prince, he had been taught to read music and be proficient in music (influenced by magic of course). He used magic in order to turn the music sheets while focusing. It took a few days to understand the art of a string instrument however. Tuning was something he was familiar with but somehow, he seemed to always be slightly off with the note and it took about a hundred tries to get it just right in order to satisfy his heart.

“Child of Man, what would you say is your favorite song?” he asks one day while the two of you are in flying lessons. The both of you are watching, with amusement, Azul clinging onto his broom for dear life.

“My favorite song...That’s difficult.” You ponder the thought before telling him.

“An interesting choice.” He notes.

“Why do you ask Malleus?”

“No real reason.” He purses his lips, seeing you raise an eyebrow at his statement before you attention goes back to Azul’s horror with flying.

You had picked an interesting, and quite difficult, song to master. By the end of the week, practicing straight every day after school and clubs, his hands were calloused and still recovering. It was also noticeable that his hands had undergone some kind of damage. You noticed but didn’t say much because he insisted that he was practicing his magic in his spare time.

Malleus didn’t stop practicing until he memorized every note and until he had mastered the violin. The last time you two had tea time together was over two months ago aka. when he first started learning the violin in order to impress you. He wasn’t going to lose to the random Ignihyde student you found practicing that one day. “He won’t be able to measure up.”

How long has it been since you last had tea with Malleus? “Why’d he stop all of a sudden?” Grim huffs. “If you ask me, it’s suspicious. Very suspicious.”

“Grim, you worry too much. Enjoy your tuna and I’ll be back soon.”

“Don’t die.”

“I won’t.” You gently scratch him behind his ears and his paws gently hold onto your hand.

“Why can’t I go with you?” He whines.

“Because it’s supposed to just be me and Malleus. We’ve done this before anyways.”

“I just think it’s suspicious.”

“Well if something bothers me, I’ll tell you when I come back, okay?”

“Okay.” Grim submitted to defeat.

Tea time with Malleus was a great time to get to know him as well as just enjoy his presence and eat some good food. The tea was always amazing and also very fragrant. “Child of Man. You came.” He smiles.

“Of course. I wouldn’t want to miss this because it’s been so long.” You smile back and take your seat.

“Before we begin, I have something to demonstrate. I’ve been working on this for the past three months.” You were surprised to see him summon a violin. The dark wood, the shine. It was the kind of violin you wanted. “Just listen.”

Rather than focus on his form, you close your eyes, letting yourself relax in the seat as he began playing. It eased his nerves that you weren’t looking. He was afraid you might comment on his posture or that his fingers were moving weirdly. You could feel the music, and you recognized the song. Your favorite song. How wonderful! Malleus was graceful, his violin in tune, and his playing was gentle. It was refreshing to listen to him and it caused shivers to run down your spine. It was hauntingly beautiful and you didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing.

When he was done, you opened your eyes. “Malleus, that was the most beautiful thing ever.” You whisper.

“Is it? I’m happy to provide you with such talent.” He leans closer to you. You could feel your face heat up from embarrassment with how close the two of you were. You’ve never been this close.

“And you learned it for me?”

“Of course I did.” He looks down at you fondly. “I’d do anything for you.”

#twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #diasomnia #malleus draconia #malleus draconia x reader #fluff #pining fic #twst oneshot #twst fan #gender neutral reader #romance

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Text

Beautifully Spent

aka Five Times Lan Qiren Left The Lan Sect Behind

- Chapter 2 -

A/N: As a note, each of these chapters is a separate story with a different point of divergence from canon timeline.

When Lan Wangji was six years old, and Lan Xichen nine, their mother died, breaking their hearts. Even Lan Qiren, who had never liked He Kexin and might have even hated her for having ruined all his dreams of travel, felt her absence keenly – he kept thinking of her at odd times, a matter of irrepressible habit. I should tell her about this next week, he would think as he watched his nephews accomplish something, or, upon receiving an offer to go night-hunting, We can’t go because we wouldn’t be able to make it back in time for the monthly visit, and then he’d abruptly remember she was dead and there would be no more monthly visits.

One time, sitting and watching Lan Wangji carefully practice his calligraphy during the time that would normally have been their monthly visit, he even found himself inexplicably wiping tears out of his eyes. It had been a struggle, but they’d finally gotten Lan Wangji to stop going to her door, ignoring snow and chill to wait there as if simply willing it would allow the door to open again, but he remained overly quiet, even quieter than he’d been before, the loss hurting him deeply, and seeing him hurt had hurt Lan Qiren. He tried to be subtle about it, to hide his abrupt display of emotionality, but before he knew it, Lan Wangji had come over to stand by his side, his little hands holding his own, earnestly mumbling, “Don’t cry, shufu, it’ll be all right” in an echo of what Lan Qiren had been trying so ineffectually to say to him.

“Yes,” he said, wiping harder, and ultimately giving up entirely and letting the tears stream down his cheeks, hiding his face entirely behind one of his sleeves. Lan Xichen found them at some point and curled up into Lan Qiren’s other side, tears starting to slowly seep down his own face; trying to hold back their strange shared grief was like trying to stop the tide. “It will be all right, eventually. I promise.”

He had made that promise too soon, it seemed: less than a week later, one of the elders remarked that it was time for Lan Xichen to take up some of the duties of running a sect.

“What?” Lan Qiren asked, blinking. “You’re joking. He’s nine.”

“He’s the future sect leader,” the elder said, and his gaze was cold. “Never forget, Teacher Lan, that although you fill the role now, you are only a custodian in his name.”

“That’s not the point I was making,” Lan Qiren said, frustrated; he had never been very good with words or with people. “Of course he will inherit the position, given time. But he is not even old enough for his own sword, and years away from night-hunting – why would you burden him with sect business? He’s far too young.”

“He is at exactly the right age to begin. How else can we ensure that he will not fall into the failings of his father or the crimes of his mother?”

“He is a child,” Lan Qiren stressed, wondering what he was missing. “We can only teach him to the best of our abilities, and hope that he does well with it; there’s nothing else that can be done.”

The elder shook his head. “We cannot take the risk of another generation of disaster. He must be trained, and trained now, trained well. If we do not take action, it may be too late, and he will be ruined.”

As you were, he didn’t say, but Lan Qiren felt keenly the burn of humiliation. He had never lived up to their expectations the way his brother had, and then his brother had gone and failed them all, too.

“What exactly are you thinking?” he asked, trying to dismiss the feeling of foreboding in his belly. An introduction to the burdens Lan Xichen would eventually face would not be so far amiss – a shichen a week of helping to transcribe simple letters, perhaps, or running errands, the sort of thing a boy could do and not be bored; that wouldn’t be too bad.

That wasn’t what they had in mind at all.

They wanted Lan Xichen to start tackling political problems at once, forcing him to make real decisions, deal with paperwork, and then also three times the usual lessons in sword and music, all the skills he would need to have. And all this, of course, on top of his regular lessons –

“We can assist, of course,” one of the elders said to the others, ignoring Lan Qiren’s aghast expression entirely. “But the sooner he grows accustomed to the work, the sooner he can step up –”

“You’ll crush him!” Lan Qiren exclaimed, interrupting, and he never interrupted the elders. “He’s a child, and a child who just lost his mother at that – how can you even suggest this? He would have no time to study in depth rather than shallowly, no time to think, to become his own person –”

“We will polish him into a perfect jade,” an elder said. “Him, and the younger one, too. What more do they need than to be of service to the sect?”

It wasn’t that Lan Qiren disagreed that service to their sect was the highest good, or that scholarly and martial pursuits were of the highest caliber, far more important than aimless play. He was a teacher, a strict one, and the sect rules accorded with his understanding: Learning comes first. But at the same time, there was learning and then there was learning – he was a teacher who cared for his students’ well-being, too. He knew that the approach proposed would not polish Lan Xichen into a jade but mold him instead, brutally pruning away any part of him that did not accord with the elders’ wishes.

It was just what they’d done to Lan Qiren the moment he became acting sect leader, after all.

They’d loaded him up with responsibilities until he’d nearly worked himself sick, refused to grant him the slightest freedom to travel even in a small and supervised manner, and they’d tried to force him to recant even those few things he did enjoy – composing music, teaching children. If he hadn’t already been as old as he was when it started, he wouldn’t have had the strength of will or determination to preserve even those few little things of his own…

“He should move into the hanshi soon,” another elder agreed. “If we expect him to take on the responsibilities of an adult, he should be treated as one.”

“Agreed. The sooner he disengages from messing around with his peers, the better. They will only distract him from what he needs to do.”

“I do not agree with this,” Lan Qiren said. “I am his guardian and his teacher. I do not agree.”

“I’m disappointed in you, Qiren,” one of the elders said, and Lan Qiren felt an automatic wash of shame, instinctive and ingrained after all these years. “You took the sect leader position with the knowledge that it would not truly be yours, and now you wish to preserve your personal power longer?”

I never wanted the position, which offers only power in exchange for its brutal demands! I still don’t want it! But to put it onto a child, any child, much less my own nephew who I love – how could I agree to that?

“You must not be selfish, as your brother was,” another elder scolded him, and normally Lan Qiren would be the first to agree. Being like his brother was his worst fear, and one he would do anything to avoid – but at the moment, the reminder felt wrong, as if they were using it as a tool to manipulate him rather than expressing what they really thought. “Do not cling to power and authority, after all. You cannot and must not steal what belongs to your nephews, Qiren. Never forget your place.”

Lan Qiren stared at him mutely. His place?

He had never been selfish. He had sacrificed everything – he had been filial and loyal, obedient to his elders, and they had taken everything from him, just as they planned to do to the two children that had been entrusted to his care. The only difference was that Lan Qiren had been allowed to live freely for a little while, and even that freedom was only because the elders had utterly ignored him in favor of his more talented brother, who had been protected by the love of his powerful father; for his nephews, who were all but orphaned and left only in his inferior care, there was no such defense.

This time, it was clear that the elders meant to rectify the situation – this time, they wouldn’t even leave Lan Wangji his childhood, let alone Lan Xichen.

They would hollow them out and leave them as little more than puppets, blindly obeying the rules without having the time to contemplate their meaning. They would squeeze out every moment of every day, turning each endless shichen into a joyless burden, transforming the rules into little more than a yoke to chain them – his nephews wouldn’t be Lan, who chose willingly to obey because they loved the rules and loved their sect and wanted to give everything for it. They would be little better than slaves.

Perhaps, Lan Qiren thought suddenly, it was not his selfishness that the elders were constantly seeking to correct. Perhaps it was their own.

He tried, first and foremost, to argue with them, but they did not listen to him. They had never listened to him, not from the first moment he had yielded to their wishes over his own desires and allowed himself to be trapped in the Cloud Recesses as the new sect leader. No – it was even older than that, from even before then, from as far back as when he had been small and helpless and crying out for help in his own way, not even knowing what was happening to him and why…

They had always turned their faces away.

Lan Qiren had tried his best to please them, and had failed. He’d thought the blame lay with him, but now he wasn’t so sure – now he thought that it didn’t matter what he did, that he never would.

Lan Qiren’s nephews were the ones who were small and helpless now, and unlike the elders that should have watched over him, he would not turn away.

The plan he hatched was ruthless in the extreme, but there was nothing else he could think of in his desperation. The Lan sect had always been very secretive, in its own way, keeping outsiders from knowing their personal business; although everyone within the sect knew that it was the elders who held all the real power, even if they disdained the work of it and left much of that for Lan Qiren to accomplish, from the outside it appeared as though Lan Qiren were sect leader, invested with all the powers of one.

To be a sect leader, in their day and age, was to be a tyrant.

No need to look at Wen Ruohan, the chief example of this trend, a man who made his sect kneel and touch their heads to the floor upon hearing that he was coming. It was enough to look instead at the Jiang sect, whose sect leader Jiang Fengmian whiled away his days waiting for his old lover to write, ignoring his wife despite her maternal family’s power and influence within his territory. Look at the Jin sect, where Jin Guangshan bedded every prostitute and poor young lady within range, surrounded by a cloud of rumors regarding whether he’d bothered to get all of them to consent – rumors there might be, but no one dared to make any trouble for him over it without actual proof. Look at Lao Nie, whose sect, elders and all, sighed and shook their heads over his excessive fondness for dangerous people, but could take no action to stop him.

Look at Lan Qiren’s father, who had spoiled one child into madness and neglected the other into near despair, and had trained his whole sect to accept it as a given. Lan Qiren was working to repair that damage, to lead by example, but it was a hard upward struggle – rot might start at the head, and healing, too, but the healing was harder than the rotting.

A sect leader, in short, was a tyrant.

And as far as the world was concerned, Lan Qiren was the sect leader.

Lan Qiren bided his time until the next discussion conference. It hurt him to wait, seeing poor Lan Xichen get stretched thin under his new duties and constantly reminded to keep a serene smile on his face throughout, seeing poor Lan Wangji so stressed at his brother’s misery and his own amplified lessons that he'd started biting people again, but he knew it was necessary. A discussion conference meant outsiders, and outsiders meant not losing face; it was the one time that Lan Qiren was actually treated as a sect leader by all around him, the one time no one would gainsay anything he said, even if they would later tear strips off of him in private.

It was his only chance.

"I have an announcement," he said mildly, presiding over the large gathering that marked the conclusion of the discussion conference. His Lan sect was the host of this conference, and he was accordingly seated at the head of the room, equal with the other Great Sects but given additional deference in view of the location - it was easy for his voice to carry, despite his quiet tone, and all the sects turned towards him to listen. They were probably expecting something anodyne, some additional prize or information about the weather to keep in mind as they departed. "I have decided that my Lan sect's ties to the rest of the cultivation world have grown stale, seeing each other as we do only at these times and the common people only on night hunts. As a result, in my authority as Sect Leader Lan, I intend to make a journey throughout the various sects, taking along my nephews to introduce them to your families. In my absence, the Cloud Recesses will be managed by my cousin, Lan Yueheng -"

Talk exploded in the whole audience, furious and loud, all but his own Lan sect which was calm and stone-faced as always, though of course that was only their pride and concern for face overwhelming their shock. Poor Lan Yueheng was the exception, of course, his jaw dropping open like a weight dropped from a great height until his neighbors noticed and elbowed him in the side to make him stop - Lan Qiren mentally apologized for not having warned his cousin up front. He hadn't dared to risk it.

" - and accordingly I will be leaving alongside the rest of you at the conclusion of this conference," he concluded, for once relieved that his voice never varied far from a monotone; he sounded cool and calm and in control, and like he hadn't noticed the way his sect elders were trying to strangle him with their gaze even as the maintained decorum. "Our first destination is the Nie sect's Unclean Realm, with Lao Nie as our host."

Lan Qiren hadn't warned Lao Nie, either, but he knew him well, and to his relief hadn't misjudged him - the other man didn't spare so much as a moment to blink in surprise, instead grinning broadly at the other sect leaders.

"You bet you are," he laughed, his voice booming and loud. "And don't think I'll let you leave so quickly, Qiren - not until your nephews are best friends with my sons, and not until you've had a chance to work your magic on my sect's younger generation and turn them from little beasts into proper gentlemen!"

Lan Qiren barely resisted rolling his eyes - he still didn't know who it was that had come up with the nonsense about him being able to turn the most hopeless waste into a gentleman, but it was rank exaggeration. But to his surprise, the first person to respond was the head of one of the more distant small sects, Baling Ouyang, a young man with an excitable temperament; he leapt up to his feet and exclaimed, "Will he really? Sect Leader Lan, I insist you visit my Ouyang sect next, if you haven't made firm plans - I scarcely recognized my little hellion nephews after a season in your care, all grown up, careful in thought and action, compassionate and upright...and no more pranks!"

Another exaggeration. The Ouyang twins had been troublesome only at the start, until Lan Qiren realized that what they longed for most was recognition as separate beings rather than a collective whole; as soon as he'd treated them with respect, and showed them how to act in return, they'd taken to his lessons like a desert to water.

"Sect Leader Lan's skill in teaching is very well known," Sect Leader Yao said, always first to speak after his friend from the Ouyang sect. "You'll really come to our sects to do it, rather than our children to the Cloud Recesses? And you won't charge, of course...?"

"Naturally no," Lan Qiren said, a little puzzled by their enthusiasm. Was it so expensive to send children to the Cloud Recesses? He’d never charged for his lessons, although he supposed there was the cost of travel and maintenance to the standard preferred by students, and of course guest gifts were customary, although he never made any demands. "I would be your guest, and enjoying your hospitality – room and board would be more than sufficient…"

"In that case, you should come to Pingyang next -"

"No, Yueyang!" someone else called, and before Lan Qiren knew exactly what was happening, the sect leaders were arguing over who he should visit first. The most enthusiastic were the ones whose children he had taught already, but the others were quick to catch up, loathe to miss out on what they perceived to be a good deal - even Wen Ruohan, never one to lose out to others when it came to something perceived of as desirable, extended an offer with a smug, snake-like smile.

Lan Qiren provisionally accepted all the offers with a growing sense of relief: with such public acceptance, the Lan sect would lose more face by refusing to let him go than in allowing his unorthodox action. It was just as he has hoped, and more successful than he'd dared to dream; the other sects had fixated on his teaching skills and in doing so had ignored the strangeness of a sect leader taking his heirs and all but running away from home.

That relief carried him through to the end of the meeting, when everyone divided up to pack up their things, and Lan Qiren returned to the inner parts of his sect to do the same.

"What are you thinking?" one of the elders demanded the second they were alone. "Have you gone mad?"

"Did you see the reception of my idea?" Lan Qiren replied, hiding the giddiness of relief under a facade of calm. "The sect will benefit greatly from the connections we will make."

"That's no answer!"

Lan Qiren was a filial child; even if they were wrong, he would not tell the elders so to their faces. Instead he only bowed deeply and said, "What's done is done. I need to get ready, and quickly; it would be embarrassing if we weren't prepared."

Of course, he'd already packed everything he thought he'd need, determined to take Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji with him no matter what - it was only luck that his plan had worked as well as it had, allowing him to pretend to some move of subtle strategic genius rather than a retreat out of desperation. Still, he needed to go through the motions.

"Fine," another elder spat out, although their demeanor made it clear that it wasn't fine at all. "But did you have to announce that the provisional leader was Lan Yueheng? He's completely unfit!"

By which they meant that he wouldn't listen to them - that he was brash and lacked tact, said what he thought and cared for nothing but his experiments, his wife, and his children. Out of all of Lan Qiren’s cousins, he was the most thick-faced, shameless to the extreme, essentially immune to criticism or guilt.

That was, of course, exactly why Lan Qiren had picked him.

"He's good at math and accounting, and at arranging provisioning," Lan Qiren said, picking the more acceptable reason. "That's the key responsibility left over, isn't it? Everything else, I can do through correspondence."

The reassurance that Lan Qiren would still be doing his duty to the sect - would still be accountable to them - helped settle some ruffled feathers. It wouldn't be pleasant to try to do the work of sect leader from abroad, Lan Qiren knew; it would mean a lot of sleepless nights slaving away by candlelight, with no support from any aides, bearing all the weight himself. No doubt the elders knew it too, and figured that he'd soon enough lose interest in what he heard them calling, in hushed voices where they thought he could not hear, his "little show of rebellion".

Lan Qiren didn't care. The sooner they left, the better the chances that the elders would continue to be deceived into thinking that Lan Qiren was doing all this for his own sake - some last stab at achieving his long forgotten dreams, doomed to inevitable disappointment - instead of what it really was, which was freedom for his nephews. They couldn't be assigned work or classes from a distance; their education would be wholly in Lan Qiren’s hands.

He'd take a thousand sleepless nights of overwork if it meant they got to be children a little longer.

"Are we really going to the Unclean Realm?" Lan Wangji lisped, looking even more rosy-cheeked and excited than usual. "Will – will Nie-gongzi will be there?"

"Yes, Mingjue-xiong will be there," Lan Xichen said, and grinned at Lan Qiren over his brother’s head. He looked more carefree than he had in...possibly years, and Lan Qiren briefly regretted how long it had taken him to do this. "Since you like him so much."

Lan Wangji turned bright red at once.

"Both of the Nie boys will be there," Lan Qiren said. "The younger one is closer to your age, Wangji. You can get to know him as well."

Lan Qiren went next to the library pavilion, looking for books on their sect rules - he might not trust his sect elders, but he loved his sect, loved their rules and traditions, and he wanted his nephews to love it, too. He wanted them to see the Cloud Recesses as a refuge, as a haven - not a burden.

He would give his nephews the freedom he'd longed for, and when they were older...when they were older, more resilient, more sure of who they were, he would bring them back and he would ensure that they obtained their rightful inheritance. In full, not in part - Lan Xichen would be a real sect leader, not a puppet for the elders, taught only to be pleasant and yielding and to perform well with his cultivation, swordsmanship and music only for the purpose of impressing outsiders. Lan Wangji would be his brother’s right hand, would love and respect him and be loved and respected in turn.

Maybe, Lan Qiren thought to himself, amused, they would even find some compatible child on their way and one day return to bring them home as a dao companion.

He couldn't wait to find out.

#mdzs #lan qiren #lan xichen #lan wangji #sect leader nie #my fic #my fics #beautifully spent

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cinnaminsvga · 4 years

Text

Dumbo | Jungkook (M)

→ summary: you know what they say about boys with big noses...

{or alternatively: jungkook has a big dick but he doesn’t know how to use it, but luckily you’re there to help.}

→ genre: humor/crack, smut → warnings: they talk about dicks a lot (i.e. jungkook has a big dick), DICK MEASURING CONTESTS (aka jk gets his dick appraised... just boys bein’ boys), explicit sexual content, semi-public exhibitionism, handjobs, blowjobs, sub!jungkook, whining, light dirty talk, mild pain play, mutual masturbation, jungkook has piercings, accidental edging (you’ll... understand), oc doesn’t have a gag reflex lol → words: 17.2K → a/n: @jincherie... you are my enabler and i will die on this hill only if you die on it with me. but of course i know you will die with me. because we only have one braincell and if either of us die, we both do. thank you for commissioning me to write this btw... even though i was already writing this so you just basically sent me money for free. ANYWAY... WORLD IS FUCK BUT I LOVE RHA!! ALSO JUNGKOOK HAS A BIG DICK!! EPIC!!

The club lights make it difficult for Jungkook to see anything. He doesn’t understand why club owners can’t just jack up the lighting for once; it isn’t like you’re going to be able to find a hook-up through echolocation or something. Though, judging by the way people seem to be groping their way through the masses, perhaps there really is no need for illumination anyway.

Jungkook normally hates this kind of scene. Drinking is all good and fun, especially when he’s with his hyungs, but going to overly crowded places makes his skin crawl with anxiety. It takes almost three shots during pre-game for him to get anywhere near this kind of place and it’s all thanks to Seokjin. That hyung thrives in these kinds of environments, like a clipped butterfly relearning how to fly.

“I’m gonna get shit fucked wasted!” Seokjin hollers, his arm looped carelessly around the only other person who hates being here as much as Jungkook does. He watches passively as Yoongi tries to bite a chunk off of Seokjin’s hand, but despite his inebriation, their eldest hyung is able to dodge it quickly.

“Not before I kill you, then everyone else in this place, and then myself, first.” Yoongi growls, nudging Seokjin off his smaller frame. If the world hadn’t been swaying underneath Jungkook’s feet, he might have offered to help his small hyung do the deed. If there’s anyone who hates nightclubs more than Jungkook, it’s Yoongi. Jungkook is frightened to know how Seokjin managed to convince Yoongi in the first place, and he’d prefer not to find out what sort of terrible blackmail the elder must have under his sleeve to accomplish such an arduous feat.

Just as Yoongi is about to connect his steel-toed boot up Seokjin’s freshly bleached asshole, Jimin returns from the bar with three glasses held precariously in each of his fists. Jungkook wonders yet again how this is possible due to the sheer tininess of Jimin’s hands, but then again... What can’t Jimin do when it comes to alcohol?

“I’m back! Here you go, Jungkookie,” Jimin says, seamlessly handing Jungkook a glass of what he hopes is just a regular beer like he asked. Knowing Jimin, he probably ordered the strongest shit they have. He peers at it suspiciously, but it only takes half a sip for Jungkook to confirm his guess. He grimaces, nearly coughing out a lung at the strength of the poison running down his throat.

“That tasted like fucking metal polish! What the fuck, Jimin?”

“I know! It’s great isn’t it?” Jimin smiles angelically, handing Yoongi one of the drinks. Yoongi looks at the swirling piss-yellow liquid as if it holds the secrets to the universe. It appears as if he’s decided something when his eyes light up.

“Oh my god, this drink is gonna kill me,” he says, not an ounce of fear in his voice. Jimin nods, not even trying to hide his deception.

“I promised the bartender a blowie if he could give me the strongest shit they had,” Jimin shrugs. “Dude literally went to the back room and took out this bottle that looked like it came from Napoleon’s secret stash of hooker piss.” He sniffs the drinks thoughtfully. “Yea, I could believe that.”

“I hate this!” Jungkook cries at no one in particular.

“Tough shit! We’re in this together!” Yoongi groans, downing the entire contents of his drink in one go before promptly being swallowed whole by the crowd. Seokjin hoots, hastily waving goodbye to Jungkook and Jimin before following Yoongi and diving into the sweaty masses like a seasoned Olympian.

“I hope they don’t die like last time,” Jungkook sighs, forcing himself to take a big gulp of his drink. It sears against his throat like a brand, which probably has an inscription saying “Jeon Jungkook has bad taste in friends.”

Jimin shrugs his shoulders. “Well, like Namjoon said a while ago, we’re gonna meet by the bar in 2 hours to check if everyone is still alive and we’ll find out then. Okay, Kook?”

Jimin has reminded him of this for the umpteenth time, though he can’t blame him for being extra careful. Last time the whole gang went to the club, Hoseok had gotten stuck in an elevator at his hook-up’s place and had cried for 5 hours straight before one of them thought to look for him. The time before that, Taehyung had ingested two times his bodyweight of margaritas and he had found himself in Japan the next morning with an extra $500 in his pocket.

Yeah. They’re idiots, but at least they’re idiots who will try not to make the same mistakes as last time. Key word being “try.”

Jungkook looks around the club, but he can’t find any awkward looking lanky people anywhere. “Where is Namjoon-hyung, by the way? Haven’t seen him since we split up.”

“Who the hell knows?” Jimin laughs, the sound drowning out when the DJ suddenly decides to play a death metal version of Dance the Night Away by Twice. Jimin’s eyes light up. “Ooooh shit! This is my song! See ya later, Kook!”

“W-wait, those drinks! Aren’t they for the others––“

“Bitch, you think these are for them?” Jimin begins to double fist his alcohol with the thirstiness of a man in a desert, or a twink confronted with two dicks. Either or.

To Jungkook’s horror, the crowd has seemingly grown thrice in size since they’ve arrived and he watches as Jimin’s body is slowly getting consumed by the masses, though he doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest. He leans into a random guy's back, a look of bliss on his face. He salutes lazily at Jungkook. “Anyway. See you in 2 hours, Kook! Try to have fun!”

Try to have fun, his ass.

Unlike Jimin, Jungkook doesn’t particularly feel like being crushed by sweaty hormonal bodies; instead, he chooses to head to the bar. He surreptitiously dumps his drink into the trash, feeling kind of bad for discarding a free drink, but Jungkook doesn’t want to get shit-fucked wasted like the rest of them are. Perhaps he’ll be the designated driver today, even though his vision is still kind of swimming. Well, he could probably walk in a straight line if he used all his brainpower. Which isn’t a lot, but you know. People learn to make do.

It takes him a while to find an empty stool by the bar and he is unlucky enough to be squished between two couples who don’t seem to be aware that public indecency is a crime. He has to endure being jostled for five minutes straight until the bartender finally notices him and allow him to order his can of coke.

(“Sorry, kid. The banana milk is all sold out. Some girl ordered our entire stock for her friends a few hours ago.” And just like that, Jungkook wants to die all over again.)

He does not know for how long he sits by the bar. Well, that’s a blatant lie, because he knows that he’s been sitting there for 18 minutes and 34 seconds exactly. He’s checked his phone religiously every 2 minutes to see if 2 hours have passed already, just so he can ask one of his stupid friends to go home with him. Perhaps he could coerce Jimin into turning in early for once (which is a pipedream, not when the DJ seems adamant to play Jimin’s favorite Christina Aguilera song 70 times in a row.)

So in short, Jungkook is miserable. He could go home by himself, but also he doesn’t want to end up having to walk to the police station the next morning to bail his friends out after one of them inevitably destroys public property again.

Fuck. Maybe he shouldn’t have thrown away his other drink.

He’s so deep in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice that one of the couples beside him have already left and that another person has taken their spot. He is jarred from his musings when a well-manicured hand is placed delicately on his shoulder, urging him to swivel the barstool around to face his soon-to-be acquaintance.

“Hey,” you say, a sultry smile on your lips. Jungkook feels his mouth immediately fill with cotton as he stares at your beautiful face, the dingy lighting of the club doing nothing to suppress the wicked glint in your eyes.

“Uhh… hey?” Jungkook replies, as charming and verbose as ever. If it isn’t obvious enough, Jungkook is a little lacking in the girls department, or at least, when it comes to girls-who-are-blatantly-flirting with him department. He normally isn’t this socially inept around the opposite gender, but given the connotations of this circumstance, his overactive male brain can only be restrained so much before it starts wandering towards dangerous territory.

It doesn’t help that the neckline of your dress is bordering on obscene, and Jungkook is afraid that if you move one more inch towards him, something very embarrassing might happen to the both of you (probably more so for him, if he’s being quite honest.)

“I couldn’t help but notice you from across the club and thought I should introduce myself,” you explain, gaze unashamedly trailing down his body. Jungkook can feel the heat from you radiating in waves, burning him from the inside out as he tries not to melt into a puddle in a pathetic attempt to get the fuck out of there.

“You saw me? But it’s… so dark in here…” Jungkook wants to fucking murder himself. That’s what he decides to say to you? God, no fucking wonder he’s a virgin. Good looks really aren’t everything when he doesn’t have a brain controlling the rest of his body. There might as well be a fucking hamster running laps inside of his skull for all he knew.

Thankfully (or unthankfully––God knows Jungkook’s stress levels aren’t lowering any time soon), you find his response funny enough to warrant a chuckle. You bat your eyes salaciously at him, which Jungkook didn’t even think was possible. People can be sexy? When they blink? Apparently, you can do that.

You shrug your shoulders. “That’s true. You caught me in a lie, I suppose. I actually knew you were coming even before you arrived.”

Jungkook chokes on his own spit then, nearly spraying you with his saliva like the dog that he is. His eyes bug out of his sockets, his body going tense with nerves. "You... you knew? What... What does that even mean?"

You point over your shoulder, gesturing vaguely at the crowd on the dance floor. "I'm friends with Seokjin over there. He mentioned you were coming with him to the club tonight so I decided to tag along."

"You know Seokjin-hyung?" The alarm bells in Jungkook's head start ringing wildly out of control. Nothing good ever comes out of being friends with Seokjin, especially since his presence alone has the power to make the creases in your brain to smoothen. Take it from someone who's been there, done that.

"Yep," you say, popping your 'p.' "I met him in my first-year English course, though I still don't know why a third-year like him was taking it in the first place."

"It's because he doesn't know how to read," Jungkook says plainly.

"I can tell. He uses voice-to-text exclusively and Siri can never spell Asian names correctly," you shrug your shoulders. "Either that, or he just doesn't know how to spell your name."

"Yea. I'm permanently John Jung Cock on his phone," Jungkook replies. He shakes his head. "Hold on, we were talking about something before this."

"Oh. About how I casually revealed to you that I was stalking you through our mutually insane friend?"

"Y-Yea, basically." Jungkook doesn't even understand what the fuck is happening right now. "I mean! Not exactly? Like, for all I know, you could've just asked hyung who he was coming with and he mentioned my name and––"

"Listen, kid. I straight up just told you I'm stalking you. Let's skip the foreplay and get to the meat of it: I'm literally following you," you say, without an inch of regret, embarrassment, or morality in your tone of voice.

Jungkook, who despite being filled with so much fear and tension enough to kill the small hamster inside his brain, is somehow able to keep his calm in front of the psychopath in front of him. Either that, or he's already in the middle of a stroke and he's lost all his fine motor skills.

"I... I don't know what to say."

"You don't need to say anything, baby," you murmur, leaning even closer to him until your chest was practically pressed against his. The thin layer of your dress and his well-worn cotton tee does nothing to help the situation (both in general and the one in his pants). He can feel your every curve, can smell the sweet perfume you're wearing; you were enveloping his senses. If he tried hard enough, he could probably count your eyelashes if he so desired with how close you were.

He knows he should probably be running away in terror right now, but he finds himself stuck resolutely to the barstool, unable to move. Maybe Jimin was right... Maybe he did have a fear kink or something.

("Isn't that just called masochism?" Jungkook asks, brows raised.

Jimin only laughs, patting him on the back condescendingly. "Nah, dude. You just straight up wanna die by the hands of a hot person, and I can respect that homie. We all have been there.")

“W-what do you want from me?” Jungkook asks, sweat lining his brow. You’re still looking at him like he was a meal, but he finds he probably doesn’t mind being devoured by you.

Your wicked grin returns, full force. “I just want to play, Jungkook. But why don’t we discuss this… somewhere more private?”

Thunk. Was that the sound of his heart dropping out of his ass, or his brain pressing against the left side of his skull, or his dick hitting the roof? Jungkook isn’t sure, but he does know he wants to see where this night will take him.

He lets you lead the way, squeezing through sweaty bodies and elbowing a stray hand or two. Jungkook swears he feels a guy grope him on the way out, but before he can even sock the guy in the jaw, you’re already one step ahead of him. You hiss menacingly at the dudebro, raising your long acrylic nails in a show of dominance like you’re from some wildlife documentary. The guy audibly whines, running away from the two of you with his tail between his legs.

Jungkook stares at you incredulously. “How the fuck did you––”

“I’ve gone to tango classes with that dude. I have his mom’s phone number,” you explain nonchalantly. Instantly, Jungkook feels himself hardening in his pants.

You manage to get to where the washroom stalls are. You brazenly walk past the line of girls at the women’s section, but Jungkook is even more confused when you also pass by the men’s section. You turn the corner, where a bunch of tables and chairs were being kept. Then, you begin to knock down some of the extra chairs stacked against the wall, which is where Jungkook discovers there is an unused wheelchair accessible washroom.

“Why is this washroom being kept hidden?” he wonders aloud, sneaking guilty looks over his shoulder. No one seems to have noticed that the two of you are blatantly trespassing property, but you don’t look all that stressed about it.

You look at him weirdly. “Dude. You can barely walk in this club without getting groped, poked, or doped. As much as I’m all for accessibility, I don’t think wheelchair-bound people are gonna have much of a good time here.”

Jungkook feels as though he should be saying something profound about the need for establishments to be accessible or something, but the strain in his pants really wasn’t doing many wonders on his verbosity right now. Maybe next time.

You make quick work of the barricade and you get the door open in no time. You push him hastily inside, making him yelp as he tries to find his way around the darkened room. You flip the switch on somewhere behind him, illuminating the washroom to find… a toilet. That’s it.

“Well, they certainly didn’t think about interior decorating,” Jungkook says, laughing nervously as you click the door locked. He turns, watching as you pull the black elastic that was on your wrist and begin to tie your hair. You smile cheekily at him, the implications of what is about to happen very much apparent.

“Nah, they didn’t. But the room gets the job done and that’s all we want, don’t we?” You purr, taking the two short steps you need to get close to him once more. You trail a well-manicured nail down his chest, circling around his nipple teasingly but not doing anything more. His breathing turns more shallow, and he knows for sure that his eyes must look crazed to you right now.

You bring your finger lower and lower, grazing the top of his belt buckle and staying there. You look up at him, licking your lips as your gaze trails down to his own. Once again, he feels paralyzed as you take him in and he wishes for all the horny gods from above that you would finally end the torture and finally close the distance.

Taking some pity on him, you rest your lips against his throat, suckling gently enough that Jungkook knows it won’t leave a mark. His hands instantly come up to grab your waist, as if urging you to go harder, to make it hurt.

You smirk against his skin, deciding at that moment to bite down, hard. Jungkook yelps, before the sound morphs into an unabashed moan. His cheeks pinken, embarrassed at the volume of his voice.

“I-I…”

“Don’t worry, Jungkook…” you whisper, soothing the bite with your tongue. You pop off his skin, your lips slightly redder than before. “I’ll take good care of you, darling.”

See, Jungkook doesn’t doubt you in the slightest. As for his own skills at taking care of you when the time comes… now that’s a little bit of a gamble.

Jungkook isn’t a virgin, per se… He lost his virginity during his last year of high school to some girl he met at a party, and suffice to say, he didn’t last long. He’s had a few girlfriends in the past, but none of them ever wanted to get with him once they saw his dick. You see, he had a bit of a problem…

He wasn’t small, by the way. Don’t get him wrong. In fact, he was kinda––

Jungkook is pulled away from his thoughts when you suddenly drop down to your knees, your hands grabbing onto his thighs for support. He’s almost worried that you’d injured yourself from how fast you’d dropped, but you don’t seem all that bothered by how deftly your fingers moved to unbuckle his belt.

When you get it loosened, your hands stop by the button of his jeans and you look up at him with expectation. Jungkook almost whines when your hands drift back to your lap.

You snort, amused. “What? You think I’m gonna do all the work here, buddy? Come on, strip for me.” you say, sitting on your haunches as you wait for him to move.

The strain in his pants was getting downright painful at this point, so Jungkook is more than eager to follow your orders. Still, his hands are shaking the entire time, so it takes him a few extra seconds before he can finally unbutton his stupid jeans and pull down his stupid zipper. Even through his loose boxers, the outline of his dick is very apparent, with a small wet spot already staining the front of his boxers a darker blue.

“Uh, I have to say a disclaimer first though,” Jungkook squeaks, suddenly shy under the intense gaze you were pointing straight at his dick. It twitches slightly, and your eyes follow it like a cat ready to pounce. “I’m… kinda on the bigger side, so I just want to ask if you’re sure––”

“Baby, I was sure even before I came to this club,” you say, trance-like. Your fists clench and unclench by your sides. “Now, shut up before I change my mind.”

“But––” Jungkook doesn’t get to finish his sentence, stunned to silence when you quite literally rip his boxers off of him like a magician trying to prove something. His dick springs up half-way, still not fully hard as it’s always taken him a little bit more goading before he can get to full mast. Yea, he was that big.

You stare at it for a moment, going cross-eyed as you stared at his tip head-on like some sort of perverse gun barrel. You don’t move for so long that Jungkook is afraid that he might have freaked you out with the size of his cock, though you wouldn’t be the first in a long shot. He’s about to apologize, prepared to pull up his pants in shame and walk home with half a log in his crotch. He’s already shifting his jeans back up when you place a hand on his wrist, stopping him in his tracks.

“Wait. Are you, like, only half-hard right now?” you ask, voice quiet.

Jungkook flushes. “Y-yeah… It gets a little bit bigger when I’m fully… You know…” he says, trailing off.

You’re still looking at his dick, but after further assessment, Jungkook realizes that you don’t look horrified in the slightest. In fact, you look pleased. “Jesus fuck you’re huge! Like… almost abnormally so.”

Jungkook literally feels like he’s going to die (and he hates that it’s kinda making him even hornier). “I guess so?”

“That’s a fucking log! You could stand on that thing!”

“I don’t think that’s possible, but––”

“Seokjin had told me you were huge, but I didn’t believe him because, well, the way he described it was that you had a literal third leg hiding under there. Who would have thought that Seokjin isn’t full of shit after all,” you say, awestruck.

“I’m really not that big––wait, Seokjin has talked to you about my dick? What the fuck? Since WHEN?” Seokjin was just out there in the world? Telling strangers about his dick? That hyung is seriously getting smashed WWE style the next time he sees him, and it’s NOT going to be sexy.

You wave him off. “Oh, don’t worry. He doesn’t just tell anyone. He let it slip because he was defending your honor,” you shrug.

In the midst of Jungkook’s mental breakdown at the realization that one of his closest friends just told a random girl that he’s got a meter long King Kong dong, he doesn’t notice that you’ve already stood up from where you were kneeling. You pull down the toilet seat cover, seating yourself on it and rubbing your reddened knees with a pout. “Ouch. Damn, I’m not used to kneeling for men anymore. Sorry, where was I? Oh right!”

You snap your fingers together, smiling gleefully at Jungkook. “So! I dragged you in here to give you my proposition, you see. I have a deal to make with you.”

Jungkook looks down at his cock, which was still red and dripping pre-cum, before turning back to you. “And this has something to do with… my dick?”

“Precisely!” you cheer, glad that he seems to be on the same page as you when he was in fact, not. “Sorry about tricking you, by the way. I’ll suck your dick after this if you’re still game, but only if you agree with my plan.”

“Your plan?”

“Yep,” you say, popping your ‘p’ once more. “You see, I have an ex-boyfriend. His name is Lee Taeyong, ever heard of him?”

Jungkook vaguely knows the upperclassman, though he can’t say he’s ever spoken to him. “Kinda. What does he have to do with me?”

“Well, if you really heard of him, then you’d already be one step ahead. Seeing as how it’s not already connecting for you––” you point to his dick, poking the sensitive head with the grace of a 5-year old at a petting zoo, “––then you don’t know that Lee Taeyong has the biggest dick on campus. Allegedly.”

“Allegedly,” Jungkook repeats. He still doesn’t follow.

“Well, I wouldn’t know either because I’ve never seen his dick, so––”

“Wait wait wait. Wait.” Jungkook’s hamster brain is running a mile a minute. There have been way too many absurdities spoken in the last five minutes and he doesn’t think he’s drunk enough to deal with your insanity right now. “Let’s dissect this one at a time, shall we? First of all, how can you not know how big your boyfriend’s dick is?”

“My ex-boyfriend. And we only dated for like three days, and I don’t fuck until a week has passed, okay? I don’t play like that,” you say as if you didn’t just lure Jungkook to this dingy washroom only to give him blue balls and trauma.

“Okay, whatever. So what if he has a big dick? What does that have to do with me?”

You roll your eyes. “How can you not understand yet? I’m on the hunt for our university’s biggest dick, of course! And you, Jungkook, might just be my ticket to the number one prize.”

There is a long pause. Jungkook stares and stares at you, waiting for you to shout “Surprise! You’re being pranked, bro!” and for all the cameramen to come out and shower him in confetti and dollar bills or something. But no, nothing like that happened. He just continues to stand there with his dick out, while you sit on a dingy toilet seat with your legs crossed comfortably as if you were just two friends having a regular conversation.

After a while, Jungkook comes to a conclusion. “You’re being serious.”

You snort, annoyed as if you were the one being inconvenienced. “Of course I am, dude. I don’t stalk just about anybody to see their dick. I’m not that insane.”

Jungkook feels as though your judgment on sanity should probably be taken with a grain of salt. “S-sure. Right. You’re definitely not insane.”

“And you have a big dick! I’m glad you can see where I’m coming from,” you say, nodding sagely. You peer at his dick once more, brows furrowed as you think deeply to yourself. “Hmm… Yea, I’d say you’d be at least equally as big as him. If all else fails, I can split the winnings and get half the amount of money if you––”

“No,” Jungkook says.

You raise your brow. “Yes?” you try.

“Yes–I mean, what? No!” Jungkook repeats, shaking his head furiously. "Are you even hearing yourself? You expect me to get into a dick measuring contest with your ex just so you can, what? Get revenge on him or something?"

"Not for revenge." You lean closer to him, face inches away from his dick but you don't seem perturbed in the slightest. "It's for money," you whisper, grinning slyly.

"Money," Jungkook repeats.

You clap your hands excitedly. "Exactly! So Taeyong and I didn't actually break up on bad terms. We only got together to make Doyoung, his crush, jealous enough to confess his feelings. But now, that dumb bitch thinks that now that he's with Taeyong, he can make fun of me for not being able to handle Taeyong's dark horse cock––"

"Can you please stop talking like an insane person," Jungkook pleads. His comment remains unheard.

"––so we made a bet that Taeyong doesn't actually have the biggest dick on campus and that I'm dating a guy with an even bigger meat thermometer than he does," you finish, snapping your fingers with a flourish. There's a twinkle in your eye: it's misplaced excitement coupled with extreme insanity, Jungkook realizes.

"That's good and all, but there's just one problem."

"What?" You tilt your head, confused.

"We're not exactly dating, are we?"

"Details, details... What Doyoung and Taeyong don't know won't hurt them," you say, shrugging your shoulders.

Jungkook rolls his eyes. "Of course," he says, leaning against the grimy bathroom wall. He goes to tuck Jungkook Jr. back into his pants, his dick finally softening after the last ten minutes of psychological torture courtesy of yours truly, but you're quick to slap his hand away, making him yelp in surprise.

"No! I like looking at it," you say. You stare at his dick with rapt fascination. "It's kinda like looking at a weird, deformed baby leg. Beautiful, but haunting all at once."

Jungkook huffs, staring at you in equal parts disbelief and awe. If he thought Seokjin was mentally unhinged, then you're definitely on your way towards uncharted psychotic territory. It was kind of amazing how you could just say shit without any brain to mouth filter, in your own twisted way. "Listen, lady. I don't even fucking know what your name is, but I am not helping you win some stupid bet and showing my dick to even more strangers than I have to, okay?"

You consider him, lips pursing slightly. "Why, do you have any other plans this weekend?"

Jungkook falters. "I... No, I don't––"

You shrug your shoulders, as if that's the end of that problem. "Then it's settled! I don't see why you can't just do this out of the goodness of your heart?"

"For the last time, I won't do it even if––"

"I'll split the prize with you? 50/50? That's $1000 for having a huge dick! Every incel's wet dream!"

Jungkook pauses in his rant, choking on his spit. His jaw drops comically, unsure if he heard you right. "Did you say one... grand?"

Hook, line, and sinker. You know you caught him the moment his eyes bugged out of their sockets. You smirk, crossing your arms triumphantly as you gaze upon his desperate and broke college ass (and dick). “So? Having second thoughts?"

Jungkook is quiet for a moment. He opens his mouth, then closes it. He tries to wrap his head around the number, unsure if he should be worried about how ready he is to drop his pants for money. Have I completely lost it? Am I that much of an idiot? he wonders, but then again… He’d be an even bigger idiot for letting free money go down the drain.

“Where is this money even coming from?” he asks, even though he knows his guard is already dropping quickly.

You wave your hand flippantly. “Oh, Doyoung is filthy rich. I imagine that $2000 is nothing to him,” you say, picking at a hangnail. “It’s not much money to me either, but my pride is mostly at stake here. If you want, you could take all the money as a prize, so long as you make that bitch eat his heart out.”

Jungkook feels his dick twitch and he knows that you notice. “Two… thousand…” He accidentally moans, gripping his thighs to prevent himself from nutting. “That’s…”

You tilt your head, arching a brow. “Not enough? I could put in an extra $500 if you’re really against this whole thing. To be fair, I wouldn’t wanna expose my coochie to a random person either––”

“Two thousand five hundred? Are you fucking insane?” Jungkook exclaims, voice cracking at the end. He clears his throat, but it still feels like his lungs are on fire.

“Okay, three grand it is but I’m not going any higher than that,” you huff, shaking your head. “Mr. Jeon, you really do drive a hard bargain, though I always notice that well-endowed men tend to think they deserve the universe, so I’m not surprised.” You chuckle to yourself, as if anything about this situation is worth laughing at. Jungkook feels like that one time he had inhaled an entire helium balloon in one breath when he was younger: kinda nauseous but also kinda euphoric. Is it bad that his dick is stirring awake right now? Hello?

You put your hand out, looking at him expectantly. “Well? Do we have a deal or not?”

Jungkook takes a deep breath and accesses his options carefully. Does he:

Give up his low self-esteem for money and enter an actual dick-measuring contest with some stranger;

There is no other option. Jungkook wants money.

He exhales, a migraine already throbbing incessantly in the back of his skull. He thrusts his hand forward, gripping yours harshly in a firm handshake. “I’m in,” he says, without missing a beat. Your smile brings a shiver down his back, and he can’t help but wonder if this is what Judas felt like when he betrayed Jesus, except he’s betraying no one but his own self-worth.

Well, he always did wonder how much his life was worth and three grand doesn’t seem like that big of a stretch. Oh well.

“Nice,” you chuckle, seemingly vibrating from excitement. You slip behind him, grabbing his phone from the back pocket of his jeans (which were still, by the way, pooled around his thighs because his dick was still out. Just to remind you guys in case you forgot. OP doesn’t want you to ever forget about it.) You flick open his phone, cackling maniacally when you realize he doesn’t even have a password on.

Jungkook squawks. “Hey, what are you––”

“I’m saving my number on your phone,” you explain. He can barely see what you were typing into his phone contacts, but he doesn’t miss the way you attach a heart emoji beside your name. You open his texts, sending yourself an octopus emoji that just so happened to be Jungkook’s most frequently used emoji. You snort. “Octopus emoji, huh? Seems appropriate… Can’t help but think it was a sign that this might have been destiny.”

“I just like takoyaki…” Jungkook defends himself sulkily.

“Yea? Well I like cock,” you say. You pause, furrowing your brows. “Oh, I meant to say chicken. Same thing.”

You hand back his phone, grabbing your small purse that you had thrown aside onto the washroom floor. You straighten your dress, looking to all the world as if you hadn’t just offered a stranger three grand to show his dick. “Well, it was nice meeting you, Jungkook. I expect to see you soon, maybe this weekend if you’re free. I’ll text you the details of when we’ll meet next. Toodles!” you wave, sending him a flying kiss for extra measure. Jungkook’s eye twitches, and he wonders not for the first time tonight if he was trapped in a coma and was slowly passing away.

Just as you are about to head out the door, you stop in your tracks, turning back to face him. You give him a curious expression, gaze dragging downwards until you were staring down the barrel of his dick once more. “Hey, sorry about leaving you hanging like that, by the way. I would love to help you finish, but I have a ride to catch. Raincheck?”

Not waiting for an answer, you saunter away with a spring in your step. The door swings back closed, leaving Jungkook alone for the first time in what feels like forever: just him, his dick, and the promise of three thousand dollars on the horizon.

“I’m so fucking stupid,” Jungkook groans, sliding down to the floor. He fists his cock in his hand, groaning loudly when he feels the pleasure jolt up his spine like electricity. As he listens to the sounds of his heavy breathing and the slick mess in his hands, he can’t help but wonder if Jimin was right… Maybe he did have a thing for insane hot girls who were out to kill him.

x x x x x

After Jungkook cleans himself up, he marches out of the washroom with as much dignity as he can muster. Which is to say that he walked out of there with his head bowed in shame, meekly navigating the crowded club in search of his friends.

It isn’t hard, considering that Jimin was currently hanging on the fucking ceiling from a disco ball. A group of men stand at the bottom, all of them eagerly eyeing his fat ass as Jimin dangerously humped the shiny ball of metal like his life depended on it.

“Okaaaay guys! The moment this disco ball drops, whoever catches me first gets to fuck me tonight so try your best to grab me~!” Jimin singsongs from his perch, howling madly as all the horny motherfuckers scramble all over each other, desperate to catch him lest he meets his maker.

“I. Hate. My. Life.” Jungkook sighs, striding past the group of men easily with his superior upper body strength. “Move, incels. This twink isn’t letting any of you simps touch his ass. He just likes the attention.”

“Aww, Jungkookie! Don’t ruin my fun~! Unless you wanna catch me and we can finally fu––” Jimin screams mid-sentence, just as the cord holding him and the disco ball snaps. All the guys step over themselves to catch him, but Jungkook is stronger and faster. He catches Jimin mid-air, snatching him in an instant and hoisting him over his shoulder. Everyone cheers and hollers, clapping for him as Jimin continues to giggle hysterically into his back.

“Yay! Jungkookie is gonna fuck meeeee,” Jimin pats him on the ass, but Jungkook ignores him. He goes around the club, searching for the rest of his friends until he has five dangling bodies hanging off his body like some six-headed freak.

Well, it’s soon going to be five-headed after he beheads Seokjin, whom Jungkook is certain just vomited all over the back of his jeans.

“I can’t fucking find Yoongi-hyung.” Jungkook grits his teeth, his nose assaulted by the stench of Namjoon’s armpit as the elder contorts himself into a more comfortable position. “Stop fucking moving, you long-legged bastard. Why’d you have to be born with such good body proportions?”

“And why are you so hot, Jungkook?” Taehyung swoons from somewhere underneath Hoseok, who seems to be either passed out or dead; Jungkook didn’t pause to check for a pulse.

“Pretty sure Yoongi went home,” Seokjin slurs, a second wave of nausea hitting him as he struggles to keep the alcohol inside of him a bit longer. “Ugh… Said he saw his roommate and they went home together.”

“God, it better be his fucking roommate and not another person trying to sell his organs again.” Jungkook sighs. “Either way, we’re all going home. We’ve done enough damage for tonight.”

“Jungkookie, did you have any fun at all tonight? Didn’t see you around,” Namjoon quips, managing to wriggle out of Jungkook’s grip and fall face flat on the curb. He whines pathetically, not making a move to stand up again. “Ugh. I didn’t even drink a lot tonight so why...?”

“It’s because you’re Namjoon,” Jungkook supplies helpfully. He lets the rest of his friends down, making sure they are leaning against the wall for support (or sitting against the wall in Hoseok’s case). “Alright, I’m calling cabs. Seokjin-hyung, I’m staying over at your place tonight.”

Jimin, who was already slowly falling asleep where he stands, perks up in attention at that. “Wait, you’re coming home with me and Seokjin? Are we reaaaally gonna fuck?” Jimin tries to wiggle his eyebrows suggestively, but to Jungkook, it just looks like he’s having a stroke.

“I’m done nutting for tonight. We are sleeping once we get home and that’s it,” Jungkook snorts, crossing his arms.

“OOOOOOOH? JUNGKOOK GOT FUCKED AT THE CLUB!”

“GET IT BOY!”

“OH SHIT HE FINALLY USED HIS PURPLE-HEADED YOGURT FINGER!”

“DAMN DUDE? DAMN? DAMN?”

“AW, YOU FUCKED SOMEONE WITHOUT ME?”

Jungkook swears he had heard Hoseok speak amidst the yelling from his friends, but his hyung still remains mysteriously hunched over and dead to the world. “None of your businesses. Anyway, a cab is coming soon and I swear to God, if any of you piss or vomit in that poor man’s vehicle, I will make sure none of you live to see the light of day, okay?”

Jimin turns to Taehyung, who just happened to be beside him. “Not gonna lie, but I kinda jizzed in my pants just now. That was kinda hot.” Taehyung only nods in agreement.

An hour and thirty minutes later, Jungkook manages to get the last of his idiot friends home, leaving only him, Seokjin, and Jimin as they tiredly trudge up the steps to the apartment. It takes an additional twenty minutes for Seokjin to figure out where he’d left his keys, only for Jimin to raise his finger for them to wait as he hid behind some bushes while unbuckling his jeans. When he comes out of the bushes, pantless, he has a key raised with a victorious smirk on his face.

“Don’t ask where I keep this,” is all he says and Jungkook is glad that he had rejected Seokjin’s offer to permanently move in as their roommate.

They all stumble into the apartment, with Seokjin falling immediately onto the couch. He curls up into a little ball, snoring the moment his eyes shut. Jungkook wants to shake him awake, eager to interrogate him about what happened between you and him just a few hours ago at the club. Even if he wanted to wake him up, Jungkook is sure nothing can rouse the elder; this fact is confirmed when Jungkook dumps water on him, only for Seokjin to keep sleeping soundly like a baby.

“Well, hyung is dead. Guess it’s time for me to die too,” Jimin says sleepily, the horniness and insanity from the club already wearing off. He pats Jungkook gently on the head, pointing towards Seokjin’s room. “Sleep there. I’ll hand you an extra blanket because I wouldn’t trust that hyung’s sheets. Let’s sleep, yeah?”

Left with no other choice, Jungkook heads to Seokjin’s bedroom, jumping onto the unmade sheets and pretending not to notice the crusty unknown substance on the corner of the bed. He can’t fall asleep, not when he’s left haunted by the weight on his chest (and dick). Jungkook fiddles with his phone, staring wide-eyed at the name displayed tauntingly on his screen.

Y/N L/N.

He was gonna have a nightmare tonight, that’s for sure.

x x x x x

Jungkook wakes up early, much to his chagrin. He’d really like to stay dead to the world for much longer, but the smell of coffee brewing and bacon cooking is kind of a hard deal to pass up. Jungkook shifts in bed, cringing when he realizes he went to sleep in his jeans, and more importantly, that his pants felt a lot stickier than he remembered.

He lifts the blanket up, confirming his suspicions. “Fuck!”

Well, guess he didn’t have much of a nightmare last night after all.

He shucks off his clothes, disgusted by the mess he finds in his underwear. He hobbles over to Seokjin’s closet, cringing when he finds only one (1) clean pair of shorts left, which just so happened to have “PEE IS STORED IN THE BALLS” stamped on the back in cursive font. Beggars can’t be choosers, he supposes.

Jungkook tiptoes out of the bedroom, confronted with the sight of Jimin pouring three mugs of coffee and Seokjin still slumped over the couch, a substantial amount of drool dripping down from the side of his mouth and forming a puddle on the floor. Jungkook takes a photo, saving it for later.

“Morning,” Jimin smiles from the kitchen, offering Jungkook one of the cups. Jungkook is certain that Jimin has no recollection of the events from last night, though such is Park Jimin’s way of life. He drinks to get fucked up, then he forgets, and then the cycle repeats itself anew. Jungkook wonders how Jimin always manages to wake up without a hangover, though God might have just given him a super liver in compensation for his lack of height.

“Hyung is still dead,” Jungkook states plainly, walking over to Seokjin and peering at him closely. Jungkook sticks a finger into his agape mouth, collects some of his spit, and then proceeds to give him the wettest willy of his life. Still no response.

“Let me try,” Jimin says, sauntering over to Seokjin with one of the cups of coffee. Jimin leans down, hums gently into his ear. “Hyung, wake up. We have coffee for you!”

Seokjin mumbles incomprehensibly in his sleep, snuggling deeper into the couch stuffing. Jimin tilts his head, still smiling. Then, he dumps the scalding cup of coffee all over Seokjin’s crotch.

In an instant, Seokjin screams with the pitch of a banshee, swinging his arms wildly about and nearly knocking himself out with his own fist. Jungkook and Jimin watch passively from the sidelines, waiting for the elder to finish fanning his nutsack before greeting him a pleasant morning.

“WHY ARE YOU BOTH LITERAL DEMONS?” Seokjin hollers, jumping to his feet with his scorched balls and all. Taking pity on him, Jungkook walks over to the fridge, tossing his hyung a bag of ice. And by toss, it’s more like he pitches the bag straight into his dick with the ease and speed of a seasoned baseball player, eliciting another round of pained howls.

“YOU––ASS––” Seokjin seethes, clutching the bag of ice to his nether regions. He sits down on the adjacent loveseat, expression contorting as he cups his balls gingerly. “God, it’s almost like you guys don’t think I deserve basic human decency.”

“That was just a small part of my revenge for you, after you gave my contact details to an insane woman,” Jungkook sneers, miming a punch onto Seokjin’s handsome face. Seokjin doesn’t even flinch, too busy staring at Jungkook’s legs.

“Hey, are you wearing my thot shorts?”

Jungkook looks down at the neon pink monstrosity around his hips. “You call these your thot shorts?”

Seokjin shrugs. “I got dicked down in them once. You should try.”

“Oh, did I hear something about revenge? I smell tea in here,” Jimin says, coming back from the kitchen with his own cup. “Well, I have coffee but same shit. What happened?”

“This––” Jungkook points an accusatory finger at Seokjin, “––asshole sent my location information to an insane stalker lady last night after he told her that I had a huge dick!”

Seokjin squints at him, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about Y/N! She said you told her about how big my dick was and when she asked you where I was, you told her I was going to the club with you last night!”

“Oh.” Realization dawns on Seokjin’s face, which was quickly replaced by incredulity as he stares at Jungkook. “I assumed she asked for your contact details because she had a crush on you. I was just trying to get you some pussy, bro.”

“Yeah, Kook. Not gonna lie, but I’d be dicking down girls left and right if I had a dick as big as yours,” Jimin says, eyeing the bulge in his teeny tiny shorts with interest. “In fact, I’d probably be a top if I had a dick as big as yours.”

Seokjin laughs, nearly shooting out phlegm from the strength of it. “Oh god, don’t tell me. You couldn’t get your dick hard again? Don’t worry bro, if I had a dick as big as yours, it’d take ages for it to fill up too.”

Jungkook flushes, stomping his foot in embarrassment. “That! Wasn’t the problem! The problem is––”

“––that Jungkook nuts too quickly because he doesn’t have any practice,” Jimin tuts sadly, patting the younger with a pitiful expression. “Don’t worry, Kook. Hyung is open to giving you some pointers.”

“That’s not it either!” Jungkook screams, groaning in annoyance. “She came up to me because she offered to pay me $3000 to enter a dick-measuring contest!”

Jimin and Seokjin tilt their heads in tandem, still not getting it. “So?” they both chorus, giving him a blank-eyed stare.

“Are you guys out of your mind? I got bribed into showing my dick to some strangers like some kind of weird prostitute!”

“It’s not prostitution if you’re not engaging in sexual activity,” Jimin muses, taking a long sip from his coffee. He shrugs his shoulders. “Honestly, I don’t see how this is a problem. You show some girls your dick, and you get money. Dudes would kill to be in your position.”

“Oh my God, don’t tell me,” Seokjin leers at Jungkook, and the younger almost can’t stop himself from landing another blow against the elder’s abused crotch. “You got roped into some bukkake orgy and now you’re asking your hyungs to help you? Don’t worry, Jungoo… You came to the right people. You see, Jimin and I have some experience with––”

“LALALA I CAN’T HEAR YOU!” Jungkook jams his fingers into his own ears, screaming hysterically to drown out the sounds of Seokjin and Jimin’s combined laughter. Jungkook pouts at them, glowering pathetically. “Seriously, hyungs! Do you not see how fucked up this is? Who follows a stranger to a club, pretends they’re going to give you a blowjob, only to offer 3K for you to show some strangers your dick?”

“A regular Friday night if you ask me,” Jimin says, shrugging once more. Jungkook stares at him, realizing that maybe it was the wrong idea being friends with these two lunatics in the first place. Knowing Jimin, he’d probably been in much more lewd and compromising situations than Jungkook will ever have. Rumor has it that Jimin had once done a keg stand while having his dick sucked while on vacation in Japan.

“Well, if you were really against it, then you could have just said no?” Seokjin points out, wagging a finger at him. “I know Y/N, and yeah she’s kind of demented, but she still knows that no means no. Surely, you haven’t considered the fact that you are 1) a pushover and 2) horny for her?”

“Well, yea––No, what––No!” Jungkook splutters, stammering wildly. His two hyungs grin salaciously, gazing at him knowingly. Jungkook can only groan, as he knows that they kind of have a point. He’s always been too weak for girls and money, so when you put those two things together…

“I might be addicted to the BBC tag on Pornhub, but you my friend… You’re in it for the BBCC,” Jimin snickers, patting Jungkook comfortingly on the back. Jungkook groans into his hands, slumping onto the loveseat beside Seokjin, whose icepack had long since melted and caused the seat to be uncomfortably damp.

“BBCC? I’m almost too afraid to ask.”

“Big black credit card,” Seokjin pipes up, wrapping his own arm around Jungkook’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, bud. We all have been there.”

That’s the problem: somehow, Jungkook finds himself much too ready to accept his fate, eagerly awaiting when you’ll text him next.

x x x x x

After a much-needed shower at Jimin and Seokjin’s place, Jungkook tiredly makes his way to the nearby bus stop, ready to go home and sleep the entire weekend away. Screw his Biochemistry midterm on Monday––if he really is going to whore himself out to you, then he’s going to need all the self-care and therapy that he can get. His phone itches in the pocket of his shorts (yes, he’s still wearing the thot shorts), and he wonders if he should text his therapist and ask for an extra appointment later in the day.

Just as he’s about to pull out his phone, he senses it vibrate once, twice. He freezes in his steps, walking out of the way of busy pedestrians on the sidewalk and into a random clothing store. He sees the lone cashier staring at him from the corner of his eye, but he does not check if her gaze is filled with disgust or disgust. Probably disgust, he surmises.

Flicking his phone on, he sees two new messages from you and his heart immediately starts to hammer in his chest. No one has ever made Jungkook equal parts scared and excited, though he imagines you might have that effect on most people, what with how you look like the type to tie up unsuspecting victims to harvest their organs in your summer cottage up in the mountains or something. Or maybe that’s just Jungkook projecting.

from: y/n l/n ❣️ hey! sorry for taking so long to text you. my roommate tried to make cheesecake at 3am last night and i had to supervise in case he burned down the apartment.

from: y/n l/n ❣️ anyway, i was wondering if you were free later? some time after 5 maybe? let me know!

You already want to meet so soon. Jungkook exhales heavily through his nostrils, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to calm himself. Alright, this is fine. Jungkook is a big boy: he can handle going to a girl’s home without losing his mind. You didn’t say anything about this being the actual dick-measuring contest yet, so he can only assume this is just you asking for something else. Maybe to talk more? Maybe he’ll get a down payment for the prize money? Maybe you’ll follow through on your raincheck? God, is it wrong for him to have his dick plumping up in his shorts when you haven’t even done anything to him yet?

(On the contrary, you could say that you have done a lot for him over the past twenty four hours, though maybe not in the way most people would expect.)

from: jjk yeah i can meet you at 5. what’s this for?

from: y/n l/n ❣️ oh, nothing! i just wanted to talk to you about the actual competition and stuff. plus, i want to actually measure your dick, just so i can see how much you’re actually packing down there ;)

from: jjk ….yeah, fine. whatever.

(This really isn’t a “whatever” type of situation, but honestly, Jungkook doesn’t really know what to say anymore. He’s officially lost his singular brain wrinkle. He’s smooth brain McGee over here.)

You follow up by sharing your location with him, and he’s surprised to find that you aren’t that far away from where Jungkook was right now. He really did mean to go back to his apartment first and get changed into something more… morally acceptable, but since he hasn’t been arrested yet for public decency, he should be okay with going to your place in Seokjin’s thot shorts.

There’s something invigorating about going to your place, dressed the way he is… Maybe the shorts are somehow giving him brain hemorrhage by indirect association with Seokjin. Either that or Jungkook simply loves torturing himself by embarrassing himself constantly. Well, at least he showered and combed his hair before leaving his hyungs’ place.

He inputs your address into his phone map, taking his sweet time as he walks the short distance to your apartment. As he passes by the buildings and street corners, he can’t help but think that he might have been around this area before. He tries to rack his brain, forcing himself to remember why this route seems so familiar.

“Oh right. Yoongi-hyung’s new apartment should be around here,” he muses to himself. He wonders if his hyung had gotten home safely last night. He should probably text him to make sure, but he’s got a literal dick appointment to attend to first, so he’ll remember to check up on Yoongi once he finishes up with you.

Does that make him a shitty friend? Probably. But would Yoongi do the same if Jungkook was in his shoes? Probably.

Yeah, Jungkook and his group of friends aren’t exactly role models for a sensitive and loving relationship, though that’s not much of a surprise to anyone.

He arrives at a decent looking apartment complex, complete with its own little water fountain at the entrance. He walks through the automatic sliding doors, peers at the shiny caution tape barring him from using the elevator. He stares at your address on his phone, groaning loudly when he sees “1603” much to his annoyance.

“No wonder she had such great thighs,” Jungkook mutters angrily to himself, preparing himself for the long and arduous journey his glutes are going to endure.

Years later, Jungkook finds himself at your door, his lungs jumping out of his throat as he struggles to catch his breath. He hunches over, elbows digging into his thighs as he wipes the sweat trailing down his neck. He can see your door just near the end of the hall, but just as he’s about to crawl his way over––

“Oh. Oh my,” a familiar voice says from behind him, and Jungkook looks over his shoulder to see…

“Yoongi-hyung?” Jungkook exclaims incredulously, mouth gaping at the sight of his thought-to-be-dead hyung coming out of the elevator. He splutters for a few more moments before pointing an accusing finger at Yoongi. “You used the elevator?”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow, turning to look at the elevator with a thoughtful look. “Oh right. The elevator works. The maintenance people just forgot to remove the safety tape from last week.” Yoongi looks back at Jungkook, gaze lowering to his legs. “I see that Seokjin has provided you with his thot shorts.”

Jungkook doesn’t even try to cover himself, used to his friends seeing him in varying degrees of undress. Like, what was Yoongi going to do? Take a photo of him and post it to his Twitter for his thousands of followers to see? He wasn’t that cruel...

Snap! Yoongi pockets his phone quickly, clearing his throat. “So,” Yoongi walks up closer to him, peering at Jungkook curiously. “What brings you to my apartment? Not that I’m happy to see you, but I assumed you and the rest of our idiotic gang would have died of alcohol poisoning the night before.”

“...It’s a long story,” Jungkook says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Say... Where did you go last night, by the way? I tried to look for you, but Seokjin said your roommate brought you home?”

“Yeah. She went to the club with a bunch of her friends. She offered me a ride with her because she knew how much I hated it there,” Yoongi says, frowning. “Fuck you, by the way.”

“What the fuck? What the hell did I do?”

“I don’t know. You’re wearing Seokjin’s shorts and my ape brain told me to retaliate out of instinct,” he explains. He takes another long, good glance at his shorts. “Color me surprised that they fit you, by the way. I’d assume your huge ass would be making it rip the seams, or perhaps your dick would be saying hello.”

Jungkook pats his junk proudly. “I know, right? Big guy decided to cooperate, for some reason.”

“Will you guys stop yapping it up out in the hall? I’m pretty sure Mrs. Sy can hear you two idiots from the first floor,” a voice from behind Jungkook hisses, causing the two boys to jump up in surprise. Lo and behold, your head is peeking out from behind your door, a perfectly stenciled eyebrow arched in annoyance. “Well? Are you two coming in or what?” You return back to your apartment, assuming that they’d soon follow.

Yoongi looks at Jungkook. “Wait. You know Y/N?”

Jungkook looks at Yoongi. “Wait. You know Y/N?”

Yoongi squints his eyes. “She’s my roommate. She’s a mutual friend of––”

“––Seokjin,” Jungkook finishes. The two of them pause, a metaphorical light bulb glowing above their heads.

“Ah.”

“I see. The demoness has roped you into some hare-brained scheme, hasn’t she?” Yoongi nods sagely, rubbing his beardless chin. “Can’t say I feel sorry for you since I have to live with the wench.”

Jungkook grimaces. “Man. She’s insane around you too?”

Yoongi shrugs, walking over to your shared apartment. “I’m dating Seokjin, remember? Everyday, I suffer. Everyday, I feel my arm.”

When Jungkook steps into your apartment, he can’t help but be a little surprised. Of course, he shouldn’t have expected to see a medieval torture chamber in the middle of a metropolitan city, but he wouldn’t put it past you to somehow make it happen. Instead, he finds a fairly cozy-looking home, with comfy couches and filled bookshelves, complete with a small balcony that had a few fresh herbs growing in little pots. It looks…

“Yoongi-hyung. You definitely decorated, didn’t you?” Jungkook snorts, fingering the little kitty-patterned throw blanket draped on your couch. It’s soft and expensive, and definitely something only Yoongi would buy. The elder doesn’t even bother looking embarrassed; he just throws Jungkook the middle finger as he walks towards the kitchen.

You come out once more from one of the connecting rooms at the other end of the apartment, presumably your bedroom. You motion for Jungkook to come in. “Yoongi, you’re gonna bake all day, right? Mind if you let Jungkook and I speak alone in my room?”

Yoongi waves his hand disinterestedly. “Whatever. If you guys are gonna be freaky in there, I’m gonna start playing clown music to drown you guys out, alright? And I mean the remix versions with the extra clown honks.”

You roll your eyes. “Yea, yea. We get it. Grandpa needs his special time alone too.”

Jungkook’s heart jumps when you don’t even bother correcting him. Does that mean you guys really were going to do something freaky? Hopefully, Yoongi has learned to differentiate screams of terror from screams of pleasure, though it’s hard to tell if he’d care otherwise.

He follows you into your room and immediately notices the perfectly made bed and the neatly organized desk. Your curtains are drawn close, but the sheerness of it allows the mid-afternoon sun to brighten the room regardless. Your bedroom smells faintly of vanilla and cinnamon, and he notices the small scented candle still smoking from when you’d put it out.

Nothing in the room indicates that he was inside the room of a psychopath, though maybe Namjoon or Taehyung would argue that anyone who makes their bed every day might be a little out of it. Jungkook continues to stand awkwardly by the door, unsure of what to do next except to stare.

You plop onto your bed, giving him an expectant look. “Well? Are you just gonna stand there by the door and have Yoongi see us measure your dick or what?” That gets Jungkook to move. He closes the door, pausing for a second before locking it for good measure. Then, he takes the short two steps that he needs to stand right in front of you.

You crane your neck, appraising him silently as he fidgets from the weirdness of it all. Your gaze trails down and Jungkook is not surprised when you stop to stare at his neon pink shorts. You snort, thumbing the edge of his shorts lightly. Jungkook shivers even though you’re barely touching him and he knows that you notice.

“Trying to get back at me for leaving you with blue balls yesterday?” you muse, letting go of the thin material. Jungkook wants to bring your hand back to his thigh, but he forces himself to keep still.

He looks down. “Not really? But I mean… Is it working?” He can’t help the hopeful lilt in his voice.

You laugh, patting him lightly on the thigh. “No worries, Jungkook. I did promise you a little something last night, right? I admit it was shitty of me to leave you like that, despite what you already might think of me. You probably think I’m just some insane bitch, right?”

Jungkook stares at you. “Do you want me to be honest or...?”

You roll your eyes, but you seem more amused than anything. “Save it. I know I’m weird. But, a promise is a promise…” You trail off, winking at him. “Besides, this works out for the both of us, right? I wanted to measure your dick before we meet up with Taeyong and Doyoung tomorrow, and I can help you blow your rocks right after. Seems like a deal?”

“Is it bad that I’m so ready to have you suck me off that I’m honest to God accepting your offer without any sense of dignity?”

You consider him for a moment. Then, “Nah. I know dudes who would do worse things for three grand and to have their dick sucked. I’d say you’re just doing you.” You place your hands back on his hips, thumbing around the garter of his shorts.

Jungkook groans, not even flinching when you rip his shorts and boxers off in one rough flourish. His soft dick dangles heavily between his thighs. “See, I’m not entirely comforted knowing that you agree with my moral dilemma.”

You clap your hands together, excitement glittering in your expression. “Who cares! Let’s get you all hard and ready, shall we?”

Jungkook squirms under your gaze, getting dick stage fright. “H-hey… This isn’t like porn… I can’t just get hard when I want to, you know? I need… stimulation or some shit.”

You nod, humming thoughtfully. “You’re right… And I remember you said something about taking a long time to get fully hard, right? That’s gonna be a problem indeed.” You lean forward, “So. Tell me, Jungkook. What are your kinks?”

If Jungkook was drinking water, he’s sure he’d be doing a spit take right now. Instead, he just chokes on his own saliva, coughing out his lungs at your sudden inquiry. “M-my kinks? What for?”

“To get you hard, duh.” You leave featherlight grazes around his thigh, leaving goosebumps in their wake. It stirs something inside Jungkook, but not enough to do anything yet. You tsk, your brow crumpling as you decide what to do next. “What if I…”

You dig your nails into the meat of his thighs and inadvertently pull him closer. He stumbles forward, his breath knocked out of him despite how little you’d done so far. “W-wait,” he wheezes, shock running down his spine. “I––”

You smirk at him, digging harder until you’re sure to leave white little crescents littered around his thigh. “Aha. I guessed you’d be into that. You liked it when I bit you yesterday, didn’t you?”

Jungkook can’t even answer. He’s trying to keep his breathing steady, squeezing his eyelids shut. He hears you shuffling in front of him, and he soon senses your body press closer to him, alerting him that you have stood up. You wrap your arms around his neck, bending his head down until he can feel your breath fan across his lips.

Are you going to kiss him? But the contact doesn’t come; instead, your hands snake up to his hair, massaging his scalp for a moment before tugging on his roots harshly. It pulls a whine from his lips, the response surprising even himself. “S-shit,” he grits his teeth, urging you to do it again. He opens his eyes slightly, sees you watching him with rapt attention.

You lick your lips, looking at him like a meal ready to be eaten. The heat in his stomach builds, but Jungkook doesn’t have it in him to be embarrassed anymore. He doesn’t really have any more room in his brain anymore other than his unabashedly horny thoughts.

“Pain slut, huh? Somehow, it suits you.” You sound breathy, as if you were the one being pleasured instead. It makes Jungkook’s cock twitch a little, coming to life in front of you as you continue to assault his nerves.

“Do you like pain everywhere?” Your hands leave his head, coming down to the edge of his shirt. It’s a silent request, and Jungkook allows you to lift up his sweater, leaving him completely bare before you. You throw it somewhere to your right, eyes raking him up and down. Something about you still being fully clothed makes Jungkook’s inside light on fire, and it rushes blood down south before he can even understand why.

You chuckle, looking at his hardened nipples with interest. “Pierced? What a naughty boy you are.” You flick him there experimentally, and when Jungkook’s breath hitches, that gives you a go sign to do more. You fiddle around with the rosy bud some more, circling it with the pads of your fingers until Jungkook was a whining mess before you. “Sensitive… What a prize you are, Jungkook.”

Jungkook keens at the praise, even though he knows you didn’t really mean it in a good way. He finds himself wanting to please you: to get himself hard for you, to make you want him like how he wants you. He honestly can’t tell if you’re enjoying this as much as him, other than the way you’re watching him closely like a hawk.

He’s nearly half-hard, his cock jutting against your stomach. You peer down, figuring out your next move as he holds his breath, afraid he might do something wrong. Your fingers move once more, tracing shapes across his stomach and causing the muscles there to contract. He anticipates your next movements, his dick steadily throbbing.

“I suppose the easiest way to get you hard is to touch you here, right?” you murmur lowly. You grip him by the hips all of a sudden, your thumbs placed firmly into his Adonis’ belt. You inch closer and closer to where he wants you the most, and you watch him amusedly as he clamps down on his bottom lip, unwilling to sound desperate so early in the game.

(Was it early though? He’s been thinking about this exact scenario since last night, even plaguing his dreams. Still, it wouldn’t look cool if he just… busted a nut just from having his dick out. Even he knew that was kinda sad.)

Despite his best efforts, perhaps the desperation is apparent on his face because you eventually do take pity on him. You wrap your fingers around his length, not moving just yet. You smile secretly to yourself when you hear Jungkook exhale and swallow audibly, but you’re waiting for something. You look up at him, batting your eyelashes innocently as if you didn’t have his dick in your hands.

“What do good boys say when they want something?” You’re fishing, but your teasing tone breaks Jungkook down enough to release a ragged moan. He places his hands on your shoulder, using you for support as you slowly inch your hand down to the base of his cock.

He can’t keep the whine out of his voice when he says, “P...Please. Move?”

Your grin is wicked. “Of course, baby.”

Yeah, if you keep this up, Jungkook is going to come embarrassingly fast and he doesn’t think you’ll be quite pleased with that.

There is pre-cum leaking at the tip of his cock, dangerously close to pooling over and dripping all over your carpet. You are quick to swipe it off with your thumb, dragging it down his shaft for an easier slide. Jungkook’s abs tense, his teeth clamping on his bottom lip so aggressively that he almost splits it open. His grip on your shoulders tighten, but you don’t mind. You keep stroking him languidly, not going fast enough for Jungkook’s liking, but the concentration on your face is enough to make Jungkook release a stilted moan. It doesn’t take long until the wet squelch of your hand jerking him fills the room, coupled with the sound of Jungkook’s labored breathing.

“You’re really wet,” you chuckle, watching with fascination as your words urge another drop of pre-cum to collect at his tip. “Are you always like this?”

“N-not… Really?” It takes a while for Jungkook’s brain to connect, caught between wanting to keep his eyes shut and wanting to stare at your cute hands trying to wrap around his dick. Your fingers can’t even circle the girth of his cock, the realization almost making Jungkook come there and then.

He’d never been one to be overly confident about his penis size, to be honest. He doesn’t really go around proclaiming it to the world, and his meager body count doesn’t help the fact that most people are unaware of the extent of his package. He isn’t itching to tell people either, but he’s starting to see why people would be envious of having a large dick. The sight of you struggling to pump his cock really makes for a pretty picture.

“Ugh, my arm is getting tired,” you complain after a while, getting frustrated when you realize that Jungkook is almost fully hard, but not quite. “Jeez. Your dick is so huge that it really takes a minute for the fuel tank to fill up, huh?”

“I-I’m sorry?” Jungkook wheezes, nearly crying out when you flick your wrist in just the right manner. Your hand pauses by the head of his dick, squeezing tightly enough not to be painful, much to his disappointment. Jungkook is still too shy to ask for more.

You let go of him all of a sudden, causing a guttural whine to escape Jungkook’s lips. Ignoring him, you nudge him back a few steps, Jungkook complying wordlessly. He’s still confused until you reach over to your bed, grabbing one of your pillows before dropping to your knees. Jungkook’s jaw drops, spluttering incomprehensibly as you cushion your knees with the pillow.

You look up, giggling amusedly. “Reminds you of last night, huh? Not gonna lie, I’ve been itching to have your cock in my mouth, though I’m not even sure if any of it can fit. That’s not gonna stop me from trying.”

Oh God. Oh Geez. Jungkook is going to die, isn’t he? He vaguely remembers his dream from the night before, how your pretty pink lips had stretched over his dick, barely going past his head. He whines pathetically, another string of pre-cum finally dripping down and landing on your thighs.

You hold him by his hips, preventing him from moving as your hot breath fans across his wet head. You lick your lips, taking one glance up at him before giving his tip a quick peck. It’s nothing to write home about, but the way Jungkook’s breath catches is enough to encourage you to do more. You suckle his head a little, suctioning your lips and moaning slightly at the bitter tang. Your eyes flutter shut, tongue swirling nondescript patterns as you greedily engrave his taste into your mind.

The image of you enjoying yourself is enough to get Jungkook fully hard. He feels like he’s on fire, from his flushed cheeks all the way to his groin. He doesn’t know where to put his hands, unsure if you’d allow him to pull on your hair.

You must have noticed his plight, because one of your hands leaves his hips to grasp his own, bringing it to your hair. You pop off his dick for a second, lips already redder than before. Jungkook wishes he could kiss you, but he’s still so unsure. “You can pull my hair, but if you push me down further than I’m willing to go, I’m stopping immediately, okay?” Your voice is authoritative and your gaze is steely, but it only prompts Jungkook to moan in reply.

He nods, nearly getting whiplash from how quickly his head bobs. You smirk, appeased by his obedience. You return to your ministrations, rewarding him by going further down and bobbing your head at a snail’s pace.

Jungkook’s sanity is barely hanging onto a thread. He wants to thrust into your wet mouth, never having felt this sort of pleasure in his life. He’s beginning to understand why Jimin is such a slut, and he wonders why on earth he’s been denying himself things like this. His eyes are half-lidded, but he’s determined to watch you as your masterful tongue brings him to the edge of hysteria.

When Jungkook doesn’t think your mouth can go further down, you surprise him once again. You go lower, and Jungkook feels your throat swallow around him until he nearly screams. Drool pools in the inside of his mouth, as if Jungkook’s body doesn’t know what to do with the pleasure. His legs nearly give out, but your hands keep him mounted.

His toes are curling, thighs trembling. “Fuck,” he whines, unable to stop himself when he thrusts a little into your mouth. “Shit, I didn’t mean to–”

You glance up at him. Your eyes are tearing up, but otherwise you look unperturbed. You flatten your tongue on the underside of his dick, tracing the vein there as you slowly come up for air. You swallow the mix of saliva and pre-cum in your mouth, licking your lips like you’ve just had a 5-star meal. You look absolutely debauched, though Jungkook knows he’s probably not doing much better.

“No gag reflex. It’s fine,” you shrug, as if you’d just told him about the weather. Your voice sounds hoarse, roughened by the assault of his dick on your throat. “Are you close?”

Jungkook doesn’t want to admit it, but– “Yes,” he says. He’s breathing like he’s just run a marathon, sweat dripping down his neck. You observe it drip down his body, as it curves down his neck and to his chest.

“You aren’t coming until I say so, got it?” You warn. He nods, cock twitching in desperation for your mouth to continue what it was doing.

But instead, you reach back to your bed, and Jungkook finally notices the tape measure that you’d left there. Oh right. Jungkook is brought back to reality, suddenly remembering why he’d gone here in the first place.

“This will only take a second, baby,” you whisper lowly, and Jungkook’s conscience is shot out of his head once more. Call him baby one more time, and Jungkook is sure to bust his load. He’s worried he might gain a Pavlovian response to the word; getting hard every time someone so much as utters “baby” for whatever reason.

You unravel the measuring tape, placing the end of it near the base of his member. You drag it over his length, whistling in awe as the number keeps growing and growing. “Shit, you really are huge,” you gasp in amazement, peering closely at the measurement to make sure you aren’t reading it wrong. “Nearly nine inches. Are you insane?”

Jungkook chuckles in embarrassment, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s… nothing?”

You snort, shaking your head at the pure audacity of this boy in front of you. “No need to humblebrag, baby. Unless you want me to degrade you, then stop being coy with me.”

At the word “degrade,” Jungkook’s erection twitches with interest. Of course, you notice. “Oh? You want me to degrade you?”

Jungkook’s face heats up, forever astonished by your brazenness. “N-no! That’s not what I–”

“You want me to call your cock pathetic, huh? Is that what you want?”

Jungkook whines, shifting from foot to foot as he tries to avoid your lustful gaze. “I…”

“Want me to call you names, huh? Took your cock so long to get hard, struggled so much to get it up. What a useless dick that you have…” you trail off, covering your mouth behind your hand to hide your grin.

Jungkook feels like he’s about to fall over. The pressure in between his legs is reaching his breaking point, and Jungkook really doesn’t want to embarrass himself by coming untouched. He has a sinking suspicion you’d enjoy it if he did, however.

Your hand slides back to his crotch, cupping his erection once more. You run your palm along him once, enjoying the way his breath hitches. He’s undeniably close and it fills you with pride knowing that you did this to him. “You’re close.” You say it like a fact.

Jungkook squirms. “Please… Faster… I’m so close, Y/N. Just a lil bit more, please…”

“I love it when you beg,” you laugh, sounding a little mean. “But since you’ve been nice all this time, I’ll let you.”

Your hands speed up, twisting and pulling him in ways that Jungkook isn’t sure are possible. He’s full-on panting like a fucking dog right now, humping shallowly into your hand like he’s lost his mind. He’s so unbelievably close, the heat in his stomach climbing higher and higher until––

“SHIT! Y/N!”

You stop, confused. That shout didn’t sound like Jungkook. You turn to your closed door, ears straining for the sound again. “Yoongi?” you call out. “Did you say something?”

Muffled footsteps come rushing closer. Your doorknob jiggles, but Jungkook had thankfully locked it when he’d come into the room earlier. Yoongi huffs from behind the door, banging loudly on the frame. “Y/N! Help! I fucking dropped the cheesecake!”

“He dropped the cheesecake,” you repeat dully to yourself. You share a look with Jungkook. The banging doesn’t stop.

“Y/N PLEASEEE THE KITCHEN IS A MESS!” Yoongi screams, uncaring of whatever he was interrupting. “YOU OWE ME! I PAID FOR YOUR RENT LAST MONTH SO YOU GOTTA HELP!”

“I hate that bastard,” you sigh, defeated. You let go of Jungkook reluctantly, giving him an apologetic look. Jungkook wants to cry. “I’m… really sorry for leaving you again like this. I…” you hesitate, looking at the door then back to him. “I do kind of owe him, so…”

Jungkook exhales shakily, bending down to the floor to pick his shirt up. He dresses quietly, cheeks burning. Why must you keep torturing him like this? He thinks his balls might explode at this point. “It’s no problem… I’ll just take care of myself at home.”

You peer at him, feeling incredibly guilty. “I have a connecting bathroom. You could use it if you want?”

“That’d be great, thanks.” Jungkook says before hurriedly rushing out of there. He refuses to look at you as he slams the bathroom door shut, breathing slowly through his nostrils in an attempt to calm himself. He waits as he listens for you to leave before his hands scramble back onto his dick, loudly crying out as he tugs himself to completion.

His legs give out from under him as he slides down to the floor, spurts of hot cum flying past his fist. Wave after wave of pleasure tingles down his spine as he slides up and down his cock. After his dick shoots its last droplet of cum, Jungkook slams his head against your bathroom wall. He’s exhausted.

He closes his eyes, thinks about how his life has led him up to this moment. Jizzing in some near stranger’s home while one of his best friends cleans up his fallen cheesecake.

“Jesus fucking Christ I hate it here,” he says. He gets up unsteadily, washing his hands of his mess.

x x x x x

Fully dressed and unsatisfyingly sated, Jungkook exits your bathroom with a flush down his neck. He keeps his eyes averted from you, but not before glaring heatedly at Yoongi as he turns to leave. Yoongi cocks his head to the side, annoyingly unaware of what he had done.

“You okay, dude? You look like a bull ready to pummel me,” Yoongi snickers, bemused by Jungkook’s flared nostrils. “Seriously. You okay?”

You slap Yoongi on the thigh, huffing angrily as you stay squatted on the floor, your other hand busy wiping off the cheesecake from the floor with a paper towel. “Shut up. You’ve done enough shitheadery today.”

Yoongi looks at the mounted clock on your fridge. “It’s only 7PM. My shitheadery doesn’t clock out until 10PM today.”

Rolling his eyes, Jungkook waves his goodbye. “Well. I guess I’ll see you guys,” he murmurs, inching closer to the door. He walks out in silence, no longer bothering to hide his pouting. He takes the elevator down, ruminating on his existence. When he reaches the ground floor, his phone immediately dings with a notification.

from: y/n l/n ❣️ hey. please don’t hate me. i’m really sorry. raincheck?

Jungkook snorts, stopping in his tracks. It’s always just rainchecks with you. He types up a quick response.

from: jjk it’s not your fault. it’s fine.

from: y/n l/n ❣️ you sure? you got off well by yourself at least, right?

from: jjk yeah. don’t worry about it.

from: y/n l/n ❣️ if you’re down… i could help you through the phone? when you get home? :( i just feel really bad. like, genuinely. yoongi is an asshole.

The offer sounds interesting, but sadly, Jungkook is out of juice for the day. He’s got a lot of stamina for many things, but it turns out he’s out of practice when it comes to his own dick.

from: jjk nah it’s fine. thanks though.

from: y/n l/n ❣️ i hope you’re still down for the contest? doyoung texted me while we were busy a while ago and said that they were free tomorrow after 12?

from: jjk no worries. i’ll be there.

from: y/n l/n ❣️ <3 ty you’re the best!! <3

He groans, slapping himself in the face. God, he is so fucking whipped.

x x x x x

The next day, Jungkook wakes up with a burning headache. He feels hungover even though he didn’t drink at all the night before, and Jungkook wonders if his brain had somehow deflated overnight with how hollow he feels. He grabs his phone from his bed stand, sees a new text from you reminding him of what he’d promised.

You had sent him an address to another apartment complex just a few bus stops away from where he lives and he assumes this must be either Doyoung’s or Taeyong’s place. He shuts his eyes for another few moments, trying his best to remember how to live.

It’s already nearing noon, so he needs to get going if he doesn’t want to be late. He shudders to think what you might do if he ghosts you. Despite how guilty you were yesterday for leaving him mid-nut, he doesn’t think that debt will cover him if he chooses not to show up to the dick-measuring contest.

On the bus, he fidgets in his seat, picking at the rips in his jeans and doing anything to keep his mind busy. He keeps thinking that someone knows what he’s up to, paranoia eating him from the inside out as he darts his eyes left and right, hoping no one can actually read minds. The bus is relatively empty, with only him and an elderly couple sitting near the front. They seem none the wiser, though Jungkook fears what they would think if they knew what he was up to.

He almost wishes he was wearing Seokjin’s thot shorts, as the skimpy excuse of clothing had somehow given him some sort of confidence the day before. Gone is that false sense of (misplaced) bravado; instead, Jungkook is filled with anxiety at the prospect of showing a couple of strangers his dick.

(A fairly human response, but that doesn’t help Jungkook’s current case.)

He arrives at the apartment complex in record time, and he sees you standing by the entrance. You look well-rested, your hands fiddling with your phone. Jungkook has only ever seen you when you were wearing that revealing dress from the club and your pajamas from your home, so he’s kind of shocked to see you look cute in your simple white dress and jean jacket. Not that you didn’t look good those other times, but seeing you look like a normal university student is astonishing, for lack of better word.

You almost look like a regular girl just waiting for her date to pick her up.

“Hey!” You greet him cheerily when you see him approach, waving at him. He waves back, the apples of his cheeks dusted pink from his previous thoughts. She’s not your date, you weirdo. Wait, she’s the weirdo. Get it together man! This shit is fucked up.

“This is their place, I assume?” Jungkook asks, looking at the building. It appears almost identical to your own apartment complex, minus the mini water fountain at the front. Ah, the wonders of living in a concrete jungle.

“Yep,” you nod. You start walking towards the entrance, with Jungkook following closely. “You ready? God, I can’t wait to see Doyoung’s stupid face. He’s gonna be so pissed!”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Jungkook mutters, vibrating with nerves.

You both make your way to the apartment, with you humming quietly while he sweats profusely beside you. At least one of you is having fun, he thinks grimly to himself. You reach apartment 322, knocking three times before a boy with neat black hair opens the door.

“Y/N! Good to see you,” the boy says, reaching for a hug. You hug him back enthusiastically, ignoring Jungkook’s bemused stares. If this boy is either Doyoung or Taeyong, aren’t you supposed to… hate both of their guts? Or at least, not be friends? What even is going on?

When you step back, you point at Jungkook offhandedly. “Oh yeah, this is Jungkook. The guy I’m dating.”

Jungkook nearly chokes on his own spit, but luckily the boy doesn’t notice. Right… You guys are supposed to be dating. It’s not real, though. Get a grip! “Hi, I’m Jungkook,” he wheezes, shaking the other guy’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you…”

“I’m Doyoung,” he introduces himself, a small smile on his lips. “Nice to meet you too. I’ve heard… a lot about you, so to speak.”

Jungkook squeaks, earning a chuckle from Doyoung. “No need to be embarrassed. I think we’re way past that point now. Sorry for roping you into this, by the way. But when Y/N wants to fight, well… Let’s just say I’m not going to be the first one who backs down.”

“Says the dude who couldn’t even beat me at arm wrestling,” you snort, pushing past Doyoung and walking into his home. Doyoung rolls his eyes, gesturing for Jungkook to come in.

“Props to you for dating her, by the way. I’ve been friends with that demon since elementary school, so I know what she’s like. You must be a guy with strong willpower,” Doyoung says.

“I’m… Sorry for saying this, but I’m kind of confused? I didn’t know you guys were friends,” Jungkook says, examining Doyoung’s apartment. It’s a lot bigger than yours, though he does recall you saying that Doyoung was filthy rich. It’s a lot more modern looking for sure, as Jungkook can see that Doyoung has two industrial-sized refrigerators in his kitchen. What kind of university student needs two industrial-sized refrigerators?

“Yeah, we are. She actually only dated Taeyong because she knew we both liked each other but I was too stubborn to make a move, so she did the only thing she knew how to do: be an asshole,” he explains simply. Jungkook nods, needing no further clarification.

“Jungkook! Come with me,” you pop out from one of the doorways deeper in the apartment, beckoning him closer. You point at Doyoung, “And you. Get Taeyong ready. I’m gonna need a few minutes to get Jungkook in tip-top shape!”

Doyoung chuckles, shoving Jungkook towards you. “Well, that’s my cue. I’ll introduce you to Taeyong later, I guess. He’s in my bedroom, so we’ll come out in about 20 minutes? That should be enough time, right?”

Yeah. Right. Jungkook walks numbly towards you, arms rigged by his sides as you pull him into Doyoung’s spare bathroom. You lock the door close, whirling around to face him with your hands on your hips. You’ve rolled your sleeves up, appearing like a demented surgeon preparing to dissect him. “Well! Strip!”

Jungkook is clumsy when he unbuttons his jeans, his entire body feeling like it’s being weighed down by pounds of lead. He shucks them off, leaving him in his boxers (thankfully, with no holes in them. He made sure to double-check before he left this morning.) You appraise him silently, thinking of what to do next.

Before Jungkook can say anything, your hands are already on his chest, pointer fingers placed near his nipples. His piercings are visible through his thin shirt, much to your appreciation. You circle them lazily, much like how you did yesterday.

Jungkook can’t relax long enough to enjoy it, however. His shoulders are tense, fists clenched behind his back. He’s trying to stop thinking about what’s going to happen, trying to enjoy your touch. He grits his teeth, swallowing thickly.

“I… I can’t do this, Y/N.” he mumbles. “I don’t think I can get hard. I’m too nervous.”

You pause in your movements. “You’re nervous?” you purr, voice lowering. Jungkook stops fidgeting to stare at you, sensing the shift in your demeanor. “How can I alleviate that, hmm?”

“What?”

You pinch his nipples, hard. He gasps, whimpering right after from the jolt of pain. “I think I know how to calm you down,” you murmur, staring him down like he’s nothing more than a delicious snack.

“You want me to hurt you, huh? Is that it? Answer me, slut.” You say those words, but there’s a small bit of hesitation in your expression, like you’re worried if he truly likes it. When he nods enthusiastically, urging you to go on, you smile softly at him. His heart hammers in his chest, a small case of butterflies beginning to erupt there. You look kinda cute, even if you have his nipples in a twist.

“If it’s too much, just say ‘dumbo’ and I’ll stop, okay?” Jungkook nods once more, eager to get going.

You smirk, letting go of his nipples and gripping his hips instead. Your thumbs stay innocently above his boxers. “Do you like it when I call you names too, huh? You like being pinched and prodded?”

Jungkook whines, already turning needy. The anxiety from a while ago slowly drains away, leaving only lust to cloud his mind. “N-no, I just…”

“No?” You laugh, your thumbs catching on the garter of his boxers and pulling them down until the tip of his cock peeks out, already in the midst of getting hard. “Then what’s this?”

“Nggh…” Jungkook can’t say anything, can only stare helplessly at you.

“Pathetic. You have a nine-inch cock but it’s good for nothing except earning me a bit of money. Shame, isn’t it? Would be nice if you knew how to use it, then maybe I’d let you fuck me,” you say, edging closer to him until your lips find his exposed collarbones. You suck harshly, giddy when color immediately blooms at the spot. You thread your fingers into his dark, fluffy hair – and tug.

It’s too much all at once – Jungkook isn’t ready for any of it at all. He’s panting, whining, drooling a little. He shimmies his hips a little, his boxers sliding down his thighs and onto the marble floor. His cock springs free, already dripping pre-cum but still only half-hard.

“Ah, there it is. Your big useless cock. My, my… Already dirtying Doyoungie’s floor with your slick, huh? You gonna make the floor wet, baby?”

Jungkook garbles something; did he say something? Who knows. All he knows right now is that 1) you’re making him lose his marbles and 2) he’s embarrassingly close. He’s never gotten this hard so fast in his entire life, and he might be suffering from blood loss or something. His head feels light, like he’s floating. His entire body is thrumming, senses filled with nothing but you.

You gently lead him closer to the bathtub where you sit, still paying no attention to his weeping arousal. Your mouth is dangerously close to it though, but you make no move to hold him in your mouth. Instead, you hike your skirt up until it reaches your waist, revealing your white panties. Jungkook zeroes in on the darkening patch, a shuddering breath leaving his lungs. He’s screwed.

“Show me how you pleasured yourself yesterday, when you were in my bathroom,” you say, caressing the front of your panties. You grind against your palm, eyelashes fluttering as your jaw drops into an ‘o’. You exhale through your nose, laughing breathily. “If you do well, then maybe I’ll show you what I did when you left, hmm?”

Jungkook has never moved faster in his life than he did then. He takes his erection into his hands, sighing with relief when he begins to pump. He moves slower than he usually would, unwilling to finish so soon after getting this far. He’s already wound up from your teasing (and if you count the past few days, then let’s say he’s been edged long enough.)

You study him with sharp eyes, focusing on the movement of his hands. “That’s it. It must be easy jerking off with how wet you are, huh?”

“Y-yeah.” Jungkook speeds up, flicking his wrist and focusing on the sensitive tip of his cock. His attention is pulled when he sees you shift from the corner of his eye. His grip stutters when you push your panties to the side, giving him a full view of your glistening core. He licks his lips, aching to put his mouth there but only if you’d allow him.

“Why’d you stop?” You stretch your leg out, using your foot to urge his wrist to keep moving. “Come on. I want to see you.”

You circle your clit leisurely before dipping your fingers into your pussy two fingers at a time, wet enough for the slide to be smooth. Jungkook quickens his pace, wanting to match your speed. He watches, mesmerized, at the sight of your fingers pushing in and out.

The obscene sounds coming from the both of you is loud enough to mask Jungkook’s desperate mewls. He’s going faster now, wanting nothing more than to cum all over you and your pussy. You’d look good in his cum, the pearly droplets would look good in contrast with your perfect skin.

Your thighs are shaking, your own breathing shallow as you quickly approach your end. You’re moaning in tandem with him, your arousal coating your fingers generously as it begins to run down the back of your hand. You’re scissoring yourself, but it’s barely enough when you compare it to Jungkook’s cock. No, nothing would be enough to prepare you to take him. He’d ruin you, and the thought of him breaking you is enough to help you tip over the edge.

“Fuuuuuuck,” you moan, eyes screwing shut as you are wrought with the strongest orgasm of your life. More wetness drips out of you as you rub frantically at your clit, riding your high. You look at Jungkook through your eyelashes, lips parted. “Fuck,” you repeat.

Jungkook can’t hold back anymore. He knows he shouldn’t cum but the pleasure is skyrocketing at an unparalleled speed. His balls tighten, the heat in his abdomen building until he can’t hold back even if he tried. He shudders once, twice, before jets of his cum spills from over his fist, some of the droplets making their way onto your thighs. He moans at the sight, doesn’t try to change his trajectory as his mind is completely hazed with lust. “Shit, I’m–” Jungkook grinds one last time into his hand, before promptly slumping down onto the floor.

“Jesus, that was a lot of cum,” he hears you say, but he can’t bring himself to look at you. He’s ashamed, having cummed without your permission. He can feel his dick softening underneath him, and he dimly remembers that hadn’t been the plan at all. He was supposed to get hard, have his dick measured, and then finish if he was allowed. And now, he ruined everything because he couldn’t hold himself back.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” he mutters quietly, hiding behind his cum-stained hands. He cringes when the mess enters his eyes, wiping his palm somewhere on his leg. “Fuck. I messed everything up. You were just… It was too much… You…”

“Should’ve used your safety word, Jungkook.”

“It wasn’t because it was bad,” Jungkook’s cheeks flush, “It was… too good.”

You kneel beside him, cradling his chin and forcing him to look at you. He had been afraid to see disappointment in your eyes, so he’s absolutely surprised to see you look… amused. You’re even giggling a little.

“Sorry. I went a bit overboard. Even I get horny sometimes,” you shrug, wiping a bit of cum away from his forehead. Your own fingers are slick with your own cum, so really, you were just making a bigger mess of his face. Jungkook can’t say he’s opposed to a little mess. “You just looked so good that I couldn’t help myself.”

“You… enjoyed yourself, too? I’m not insane for thinking there’s something between us?”

“Honestly, you’re at least a little bit insane,” you laugh at his dumbfounded expression. “What? I’m cuckoo, and you know it. The fact that you got turned on by me even after all I’d done to you… Really puts you into perspective, huh?”

Jungkook grumbles, but he’s no longer frowning. “I guess. My friends tell me I have a type, and I guess you fit the bill.”

You laugh wholeheartedly at that, and it brings a smile to Jungkook’s face. He likes it when you laugh, he decides. “Same here. I guess you’re my type, too.”

You peer down at his flaccid dick. “Too bad about your meat flute, though. Unless you can get it back up in the next 2 minutes, then I don’t think you’re getting that three grand.”

“Please don’t call my dick that,” Jungkook says before shrugging his shoulders. “And it’s no worries. I had the biggest nut of my life and that’s good enough to me. Plus, you said you’d give me one thousand dollars if I agreed to help you out, so you better not back out on that.”

You snigger, patting him gently on the shoulder. “Yeah, whatever. But not before we get out of here and you fuck my brains out, got it? You need to work for it, baby.”

Is it bad that his cock was already beginning to stir once more? Unprecedented, as it usually took Jungkook ages to get back up. Maybe you really were the one for him.

“Deal. Let’s get out of here?”

When the two of you finish getting cleaned up and leave the bathroom with no evidence that you had even been there, Doyoung doesn’t even bat an eye as you walk past him, eager to get out of the door. Taeyong is lounging on the couch with his dick… mysteriously still in his pants, as if he had no intention of taking them off in the first place.

“Sorry, we need to leave. There’s an emergency we have to attend to. See you, Doyoungie!” You tug Jungkook along, who waves his own hasty goodbye.

The door clicks shut, leaving the couple alone once more. Taeyong grins up at Doyoung, “You really are amazing, Doyoung. How’d you know she’d end up with him?”

Doyoung flicks open his phone, showing Taeyong his text messages with none other than Kim Seokjin himself. “All according to keikaku, my love. Kim Seokjin always wins.”

#networkbangtan #armiesnet #btsghostie #jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #bts reader insert #bts fanfiction #bts scenarios #bts #jungkook scenarios #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bts jungkook #bangtan #bts fanfic #no more smut for 2020......... NO MORE #next fic is angst idc anymore I NEED TO CLEANSE MYSELF AHHHHHH

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relaxxattack · 3 years

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Someone's probably asked you this before but how long did it take you to plan out the plot for knifetrick? What did you do to come up with everything and do you have any tips for other writers who are struggling to put together their own fics?

after checking out my history lol,

it seems i did serious brainstorming and research for about a week before i started writing.

what happened first was that i had in my head the funny idea of ran failing to kill jackie and them getting tax-benefit married (to make ran feel guilty and admit his plot)

and once i realized i wanted to make it into an actual story, i had to change some of it and come up with plot and reasoning.

the first thing i did was ask my followers for song requests, lol. i asked specifically for “songs about futuristic settings or being married to/loving your assassination target”

i listened to a lot of that music to get my brain juices flowing. i had to put together a couple of Reasons for why things happened. i also knew i couldn’t just write the fic on the assassination alone, or else ran would have nothing to distract him and be the overarching plot, lol

the music helped me picture scenes and concepts. i then just jotted down a bunch of stuff i thought would be interesting to happen (possible scenes)

a couple thoughts on this image— for one you can see that i originally wanted to name my fic after a movie. i looked up ones where assassins grow endeared to their targets and fail to kill them. but i realized i didn’t want to name the fic after a movie in case it was controversial or something, so i ended up going for a song instead. ALSO, as you can tell, some of these points got dropped! again, this was just brainstorming for things i wanted to include

the next thing i did was ask for ranjack classpects, lol. for those unfamilliar with classpecting, it’s sort of like personality types for really sad nerds (/lh). aka, hogwarts houses but more complicated.

@dyketubbo wrote some INCREDIBLE classpects for ran and jackie. it was based off what we knew about their personalities (which wasn’t much) but it also helped us infer a lot MORE about their personalities by figuring out where they could go or how they probably think in their minds.

if you don’t know classpects you can probably do this with personality types. or, just, figure out your characters personality some Normal way. i wouldn’t know.

there was a lot more brainstorming i did (where i came up with ms. laramie, scoots, and clementine) and tried to come up with a basic plot of what would happen and what they would do. during this i did some research on a proper three-act story structure so my plot would hit just right.

during all of this, i watched a bunch of spy and futuristic flicks (not too intensely, just had them on in the background to absorb the vibes).

i then made a plot map once i figured i knew what was gonna happen

(the last few chapters are on the other side of the paper, so you don’t get to see them haha)

a lot of this stuff got switched around or dropped completely as i was writing. honestly, the details don’t matter too much— the FLOW of the story is what’s important.

i’m very flexible with my scenes— literally what happens in a chapter is completely up in the air until i FINISH the chapter. sometimes they’re entirely different from my original ideas. it’s not too important to me what exactly happens, as long as it makes sense and i like it and it fits in with the rest.

in my mind, the events themselves are not as impressive as the characters in them. as long as i’m still developing the characters the way i need to throughout the story, and they eventually get to the plot points i need them to, i don’t worry too much about the specifics! as long as they’re fun.

i also didnt write chapter-by-chapter— i mapped the plot first, and then drew little dividing lines where i thought it would be good to end the chapter after. chapters are useful to me as pacing tools, but i didnt want the plot to seem too episodic by Planning it as chapters.

after i wrote the plot map, i did research on deserts, cities, and fantasy politics for DAYS. (i also watched videos on how fantasy militaries should work.) i ended up not using most of that information i came up with, but the parts that do leak through into my current writing do wonders to make the world feel real and alive. each character has a personality and a life, they aren’t just there to be background characters for ran and jackie.

then, i re-read a few books by authors who really inspire me. to get their narration voice fresh in my mind and feel really inspired

eventually we got to where we are now— i write the chapters and i post them!

as i’ve mentioned, i’m very flexible with my plot— so while i’ve foreshadowed certain things since the beginning, some parts of the story have only come perfectly together towards the end. and i have @shrugofgod to thank for that!

my wonderful editor is always willing to chat with me about what scenes and bits work and are most satisfying story-wise. of course lyssie also EDITS my chapters after they’re drafted — to make them more polished, and also ask me questions about things that are going on to clarify them.

many thanks to lyssie shrugofgod for making the story so much better :D

because my chapters have a tendency to get away from me and do whatever they want, if there’s certain plot things i need to hit in a chapter, i’ll outline the chapter before i write it.

also, recently, (after coming up with one too many REALLY COOL scenes and lines in my head while cleaning, but then completely forgetting them later) i’ve implemented a protocol for myself to jot down anything that comes to mind WHEN it happens so i don’t forget.

these are unprofessional and have spelling errors and all that, because i just wrote them really quickly, often while doing the dishes or laundry, lol.

so in conclusion:

um yeah that’s how i write knifetrick! i’ve never done this much work for any other fic though, so don’t feel like YOU have to. i did so much research for knifetrick because it was very out of my wheelhouse.

at most all i think is necessary for a good story is a plot map, and a hell of a lot of inspiration. (i got mine from music, movies, books, and drawing ran and jackie a lot, haha!)

make sure you’re having fun with your plot. writing won’t always be fun, but you should at least like your PLOT. because if you don’t then you won’t be inspired or enjoy it at all!

#knifetrick #writing process #tutorial #og post #sorry for rambling so much this probably wasn’t very understandable ^^;;

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pinkczennie · 3 years

Text

Dirty Mind | Yuta (m)

Part of this playlist fic!

Pairing: Yuta x female reader

Genre: smut

Word count: 2k

Warnings: 18+ only, mature language, explicit sexual content, protected sex

She’s got a dirtier mind than my mouth.

Holy fuck, the man is hot as hell. I’d let him absolutely rail the shit out of me, you thought to yourself when a mutual friend of yours, Mark, first introduced you to his friend, Yuta, after a victorious soccer game.

“Nice to meet you, y/n,” he smiles, showing off his pearly teeth, as he extends his hand out for you.

His long, black hair tied in a low ponytail that you imagine threading your fingers in between to pull on, and his long fingers painted with black nail polish that you want shoved knuckles deep in your pussy.

You can’t believe you’re having such impure thoughts about someone you just met, but you couldn’t help yourself in the presence of such an attractive person.

“Nice to meet you too, Yuta,” you take his hand in yours and shake hands.

When his attention is no longer on you because someone else came to congratulate Yuta on his win, you continued to gaze at him from afar until you felt a nudge against your arm, snapping you out of your dirty thoughts.

“Hey, are you staring at Yuta?” Haechan asks as he follows the direction of your eyes.

“What? No, I wasn’t,” you quickly deny, hiding your flustered face.

“Oh my god, you totally were!” he gasps.

You groan, “Okay, yes I was staring at him. Sheesh, I didn’t realize how obvious I was making it.”

“Holy shit, are you into Yuta?” he asks.

“Maybe… god, he’s so hot,” you reply honestly. “He probably has a huge dick. Fuck, I would let that man rearrange my guts in all kinds of positions.”

“Ew, okay, I didn’t need to hear that,” he grimaces, disgusted. He wishes he didn’t have that visual in his head.

You meant it though. Bless Mark for introducing you to such a fine ass man.

As a celebration for winning the game, his frat house throws him and the other soccer players that are in the fraternity a party.

Thankfully, you had some connections, aka Mark and Haechan, so you only knew about the party through him and were able to get invited.

Throughout the party, as you mingle with other people and some friends, you couldn’t help but occasionally search the crowd for a certain someone.

Your eyes wander from people to people until you finally spot him with a beer can in his hand while chatting with his friends. Yuta sports a white tee and ripped black jeans, looking fine as always.

Your head is empty besides the thought of riding Yuta’s thighs, staining his pants with your juices while he showers you with praises for being such a good girl.

“Why don’t you just go up and talk to him instead of staring at him like a creep?”

You look at Haechan with narrow eyes, “And say what?”

“I don’t know. ‘Hey I think you’re hot. Wanna fuck?’” he suggests.

“Are you crazy? I just met him like a few days ago, there’s no way I can say that.”

“I mean it’s better than just staring at him like a creep,” he mumbles.

Was I being creepy? You wonder and mentally slap yourself.

You tried, emphasis on ‘tried’, to keep your staring to a minimum of just a few quick glances, but unfortunately, you were not very good at being subtle with your staring because, damn, was it hard for you to look away from Yuta sometimes, so said man has caught you multiple times. He notices you staring at him, and honestly, you peaked his interest. He wonders what you are thinking about when you stare at him like that.

He finds it cute how you would awkwardly look away when Yuta catches you staring, your face turning a shade of pink pretending like he didn’t just catch you.

“Dude, she’s been staring at you all night,” Jungwoo states as he leans against Yuta.

“Yeah, I know,” Yuta says as he takes a sip of his beer. “She’s pretty cute.”

“I can tell she’s into you. I even heard from Haechan that she talks about you.”

“Oh yeah?” Yuta perks up at this new information. “What does she say about me?”

“How you’re hot and that she’d let you rearrange her guts in all kinds of positions,” Jungwoo repeats Haechan’s words.

“Damn, that’s fucking hot,” Yuta mumbles as he bites the nail of his thumb to suppress the grin spreading across his face.

“Why doesn’t she just make a move already? She’s practically making it obvious.” Jungwoo wonders.

Yuta doesn’t think you would dare approach him first, so Yuta knew he had to make the first move.

I want to be the person that you do it to

After way too many drinks, you needed to pee so you excuse yourself to search for the restroom. You’re pretty tipsy but you can walk a straight line, so you can manage yourself just fine.

After using the restroom, you walk down the hallway, passing by the frat member’s rooms, and stopping dead in your tracks when something captures your attention.

You don’t mean to be intrusive and just walk into someone’s room, but when you notice a soccer jersey hung nicely on the wall with the last name ‘Nakomoto’ in full display, you realize this must be Yuta’s room.

You peek around to see if anyone is looking before carefully making your way into his room and close the door halfway behind you. You won’t stay long enough for someone to see you in the room, but you just wanted to see what his room would be like.

His room is quite simple, a bed, a desk, a laptop, a closet, and soccer gear scattered around his room. It was a little messy, like the blanket messily tossed on the bed, and some papers and textbook thrown around the floor, but honestly it was what you typically imagined a male college student’s room to look like. Honestly, it kind of just screams Yuta in your opinion.

You walk up to examine his soccer jersey, imagination running wild with thoughts of Yuta fucking you while you’re wearing his soccer jersey.

Oh, what you would give to make that dream come true to let Yuta do nasty things to you until you’re fucked dumb.

After examining his room and jersey, you turn around to leave but your heart almost leaps out of your chest when you see Yuta leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed around his chest staring intently at you. How long has he been standing there and how did you not even hear him?

“Hey, you. Whatcha doin’ in my room?” The man asks.

“Oh...I-uh was just- um- I wanted to admire your jersey up close,” you laugh awkwardly, cringing at your very lame and probably unbelievable excuse, but it was the best thing you could come up with under pressure.

“Oh really? What do you think about when you look at my jersey?” he asks as he slowly starts to approach you.

You gulp when he’s getting closer and closer to you. “I just thought about how cool you were when you won that soccer game.”

“Oh really?” Yuta stops when he’s standing right in front of you, blocking you from any escape routes. “I think you’d look cute in it.”

Are you just hearing things or did Yuta just say what you think he just said?

You blush, “O-oh, thanks.”

He unhooks his soccer jersey from the hanger and turns to you, “But you’d look even cuter wearing it while I rearrange your guts on my bed.”

You feel your heart skip a beat before your face turns beat red now as you stare up at him with wide eyes.

“So..I heard that you think I’m hot and you’d let me fuck you,” Yuta takes a step closer until his face is right in front of you, looking down at you with dark eyes, “Want to turn that fantasy into a reality with me?”

You feel yourself clench around nothing, and you feel something snap inside you. This devilishly handsome man right here is asking if you wanted to have sex, and who were you to say no? There was no way you were letting this opportunity pass.

“Fuck, yes,” you breath out as your lips attack his in a hungry kiss.

She just wants to fuck me all the time

That’s how you ended up in Yuta’s bed, wearing only his oversized soccer jersey, with your face down ass up, while his dick slams into your soaking cunt at an animalistic pace.

Both your lips are swollen red from kissing and eating each other’s mouths. Your original clothes and his clothes are discarded all around the floor as you both try to strip as fast as possible. You get into his jersey while he rolls a condom on.

The party is still going on outside but the door is locked, so no one can interrupt you two. But honestly, you and Yuta probably would not be opposed to leaving the door unlocked for someone to walk in on you while you’re in the middle of the deed. It just adds to the thrill of being caught.

The blaring music from the living room helps drown out the sound of skin slapping against skin, the moans, and the bed creaking with every thrust.

His length is stretching your walls and filling you to the brim that you can feel every ridge of his dick.

“Damn babe, you feel so good,” Yuta breathes. “Your pretty little pussy being stuffed full of my cock.”

“Y-yuta,” you whimper.

“God, I could fuck you all day until you can’t walk for a week and you’re covered in my marks to let everyone know what a dirty little slut you are,” Yuta purrs.

The dirty talk is making you even more turned on. You can’t believe that this man is actually fucking you right now after fantisizing about this moment for so long.

Yuta watches his member disappear inside of you as he thrusts forward. You look so small in just his jersey and he wants to absolutely ruin you. He couldn’t help but slap your bare butt, causing you to yelp.

You grip the bed sheets and throw your head back when Yuta repositions himself and brushes against a certain spot that had you seeing stars. The bundle of nerves in your lower stomach is ready to burst and you disregard any thoughts of holding back your voice. You were so overwhelmed with pleasure that you could cry. Your mind is clouded with lust and desire that you can’t think straight anymore.

“I’m close,” you breathe.

Yuta’s thrusts become even more harsh and his grip on your hips will surely leave marks. He bites his lips when he feels your walls squeezing around his dick because he feels his release coming soon as well.

With one final thrust, a silence scream escapes your lips as you release all over his cock while Yuta groans as he shoots his seeds inside the condom.

You both pause for a moment, just catching your breaths while Yuta remains still inside of you. Your heads are spinning after that intense climax just now. You both stare at each other’s exhausted and sweaty state.

After a few seconds, he pulls out of your entrance, leaving you feeling hollow and you whine a bit which makes Yuta chuckle. He discards the used condom into his trash bin and settles next to you on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

You turn to admire post sex Yuta, his hair stuck to his forehead due to the sweat that accumulated on his skin and his chest rising up and down as he inahles and exhales oxygen.

You smile before climbing on top of Yuta to take a seat on his lap, surprising the man.

“Round two?” You suggest.

Yuta stares at you with wide eyes, shocked by your stamina of wanting to go again, before bursting out into laughter. “Ride me this time.”

Hopefully, no one will be looking for you or Yuta because you two might be at it for a while.

#yuta smut #nct smut #nct yuta smut #nct fanfic #nct scenarios

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itsany62 · 3 years

Text

SteveTony - Alternate Universe

Here are some Alternate Universe fics that I love. Don't forget to leave kudos and nice comments in every fic!

Food for the Heart, by LagLemon, 14 k >, Cooking, No Powers.

After being introduced to a gourmet food on a budget blog by Pepper (a gift for her elderly, cheapskate mother) Tony starts cooking again. The recipes are good, but the blog owner is even better. Still, Tony isn't so sure Captain America, the guy who runs the blog, can compete with Hot Bagboy, the gorgeous blond who works at the grocery store.

"Free to Good Home" by Captain_Panda, 7 k > words, Alternate Universe - Animals.

"Oliver and Company" AU.

There's a great big world outside the box.

But it's a dog-eat-dog world, and Tony's just one cat. Then a stray dog comes along, looking for a friend.

A Day In Principal Stark's Office, by nannersmelo, 10 k > words, Steve Single Parent, Director Tony.

Tony Stark has his hands full with not only Stark Industries, but also his beloved mother's life project: The Maria Stark Academy, and as he enters his office in order to deal with a ferocious mother whose son was apparently assaulted by one of his brightest students, he was sure this day would culminate in nothing but a heinous headache. Little did he know - he was in for one hell of a surprise.

I Am the Night by gottalovev, 6 k > words, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Vampire Tony Stark, Wizard Steve Rogers.

That's it. Tony is doomed. He rolls on his back, crosses his wings over his belly and closes his eyes. He'll await death here, misunderstood by the world to the bitter end.

C is for Calculus and Compromise, by heydoeydoey, 11 k>, Gifted AU, Post-Divorce, Angts with a Happy Ending.

Steve's just trying to give his prodigy daughter a normal childhood. Enter a meddling school administrator, Tony Stark, and too many lawyers.

tell you my love for you by jelliebean, 22 k > words, Alternate Universe - Normal High School, Based on Love Simon.

A guy at Shield High comes out on tumblr, anonymously. Tony thought he was the only gay guy on campus--not out, because of Howard--and sends him an email.

“Hey, Flying. Same here. I’ve got a secret too, and it’s like I’m hiding who I am, every day. From everyone. All the closest people to me. But I just can’t tell them. I’m gay, too. It feels like I’m putting on this mask, this shell of who I think they want me to be. Even though I don’t think my friends would judge me. I don’t know why. I just. I’ve got a secret. –Shell”

The guy seems great--amazing, even, and then Hammer has to step in and ruin it all.

Mergers & Acquisitions by Robin_tCJ, 33 k > words, Angst, sex as currency.

Steve Rogers is the CEO of the Rogers Corporation, which he built from the ground up. When he learns that Hydra International is making a bid for a hostile takeover of Stark Industries, he decides he has to do what he can to stop Hydra from overtaking the market and becoming an unstoppable, unethical conglomerate. Tony Stark asks for something Steve isn’t sure he should give, but he does it anyway – and it completely changes everything. But when Hydra keeps coming, Steve and Tony realize there’s more to this than they’d realized.

Meeting the Monsters by itsallAvengers, 23 k > words, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters.

Tony's at public school with kids his age for the first time in seventeen years, and he is determined that this year is gonna be his year. He's going to make friends. He's going to be popular. People will like him.

Unsurprisngly, none of that actually happens.

He does sort-of-maybe fall in love with a vampire in his class that everyone is terrified of, though. So... there's that.

(I Want You To See) The Darkest Side Of Me by ann2who, 45 k > words, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Post-World War II.

In Monte Carlo, Steve meets the wealthy widower Anthony Stark. It’s love at first sight—at least for Steve—and he can’t believe his luck when Tony asks him to live at Stark Mansion, his large estate in Malibu. Never in his life had Steve thought something like this was possible… never had he been this happy. However, soon Steve realizes that Tony is still deeply troubled by the death of his first wife and haunted by the many ghosts she left behind. The longer Steve lives in her shadow, the more he understands that… He can never be what Tony’s wife had once been for him. And Tony might never truly love him.

Gift With Purchase Remix by sabrecmc, 43 k > words, Alternate Universe - No Powers, hooker Steve, Sugar Daddy.

Gift With Purchase Remix wherein Steve actually is a hooker. But for a Really Sympathetic Reason.

The Little Glass Screwdriver by ann2who, 19 k > words, Cinderella AU.

When Prince Steven is forced to find himself a bride, true love gets in the way. As the night of the grand ball unfolds, the prince meets a mysterious knight who might just change his entire life in a way he could have never imagined.

**Cinderella AU**

Covered in Lines by royal_chandler, 3 k > words, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Alternate Universe - College/University, Age Difference.

He can’t lose sight of pale, deft hands that gesture on transitive verbs, an ink-stained thumb edging underneath Tony’s ribcage with an affection that can only be called dangerous.

half-wild and glimmering by deathsweetqueen , 15 k > words, Alternate Universe - Western, Prostitution.

“Give me a drink, Tasha,” Tony sighs as he lands in front of the bar. “I’ve had one hell of a day.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “Have you really?” she asks, loftily, sliding a tumbler of whiskey along the well-polished wood.

Tony lets his head hang, the sweat beading on the back of his neck. “You wouldn’t believe what I’ve had to put myself through today,” he sighs, wearily.

“I would not know. You will not let me work the rooms,” Natasha retorts, her voice a little strained, busying her hands in a dirty glass.

“I don’t let you work the rooms ‘cause you’re liable to kill anyone who touches ya the wrong way and we can’t lose that much of our business,” Tony reminds her, wryly amused, sipping at his whiskey. He shakes his head at the burn. “We peddle flesh, darling, not death.”

peers, fears and holiday cheers by jacobby, 24 k > words, Parent Tony Stark.

“He’s only two years older than you,” Tony finally says when the silence becomes too much to bear.

“Dad, Teddy is turning twenty-seven next year.”

“I am not dating your husband—”

“I’m not implying you are. I just want you to be...aware that he’s practically the same age as my husband.”

AKA

Tony Stark's new boyfriend is only two years older than his adult sons. Telling them is one thing, introducing them is another. What Tony doesn't expect is that the past always has a way of catching up to him, of biting him in the ass when he least expects it. Well, at least they're all together for the Holidays. What more can he ask for?

A Higher Form of War by sabrecmc, 292 k > words, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Historical Romance.

Tony is a King with a surprising number of people out to kill him. Steve and the rest of the Avengers are fighting for Pierce's rebellion and end up with Tony as their prisoner. Oops.

you can call me babe for the weekend by complicationstoo, 10 k > words, Alternate Universe - No Powers, actor Tony Stark.

Tony left his small town for Los Angeles after high school, leaving behind everything to pursue his dream. Ten years later, he comes back for the first time and finds that some things are impossible to let go of.

Lord, What Fools These Mortals Be by iam93percentstardust, 72 k > words, Alternate Universe - Theatre.

Famed director Phil Coulson brings Shakespeare’s beloved play, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, to Broadway. This production though comes with a twist: a brief but passionate love affair between the faerie king, Oberon, and his attendant, Puck. In the roles of the two star-crossed lovers, Coulson casts America’s darling Steve Rogers, fresh off his third Academy Award, and Broadway royalty, Tony Stark. Steve quickly finds himself falling for the quick-witted and sarcastic actor but Tony is dating the stage manager. Unwilling to come between the seemingly happy couple, Steve steps back but all isn’t right behind the scenes and Tony may need him when everything falls apart.

and so we rebuild by raeldaza, 26 k > words, Alternate Universe - Star Trek Fusion, Soulmates, Mutual Pining.

Sometimes, a voice whispers: you will never atone for your mistakes.

Tony believes that, believes it so strongly some days he drowns in it, but he still tries. Tries through Starfleet, tries through inventions, tries through missions. Then, one day, he meets his new Captain, and things change.

and teach this heart (how to beat with light), by starklystar, 40 k >, AU Hospital, Single parent Steve.

Eight years ago, at a funeral with a baby's cries ringing in his ears, Tony Stark decided to turn his life around. He's a genius, billionaire, philanthropist. What's so hard to adding 'doctor' to that list? And after that, it can't be that hard to add 'husband' and 'father' too, right? But the past has a way of haunting even the very best of us, and in any universe, Tony Stark and Steve Rogers have never had an easy love.

Featuring: drama, chaos, Peter's scheming, meddling friends, and doctors learning again that the heart can never be as simple as four chambers and four valves.

Catching Lightning in a Bottle by sabrecmc, 120 k > words, Alternate Universe - Sweet Home Alabama Fusion.

College student Tony meets janitor Steve at MIT and they fall blissfully in love, until Howard happens and things fall apart. One divorce paperwork snafu courtesy of the ever-helpful Jarvis, and ten years later, Tony has to get re-divorced from Steve.

This does not go as he imagines.

Or, the Sweet Home Alabama AU that no one--well, okay, a few of you--asked for.

The Night Shift by weethreequarter , 16 k > words, Alternate Universe - Hospital.

Welcome to the Emergency Department of San Antonio General where Dr. Tony Stark joins the team fresh from his most recent tour in Afghanistan and - much to the consternation of the other staff - strikes up an instant rapport with Nurse Steve Rogers. Meanwhile, new resident Bruce Banner refuses to give up on his patient, and Dr. Sharon Carter learns something from her own patients. Throw in a pissed off hospital administrator, Clint using the coffee pot as a mug again, and a major car crash and you have, well, just another night shift.

Cake It Till You Make It by ChocolateCapCookie, 10 k > words, Kid Fic, Alternate Universe - Bakery.

Steve Rogers and Tony Stark have a lot in common. They're single parents, they own rival bakeries at the center of town... and they both hate each other's guts.

When a mix-up at Peter and Morgan's school has both fathers scrambling to prove they're the better baker, they do the mature, adult thing and compete in a bake-off. Between the mixing and the creaming, the baking and the icing, Steve and Tony find that hate is actually not that far from love.

Looking for Heaven by foxxcub, 31 k > words, Alternate Universe - Regency, Marriage of Convenience.

When young Lord Anthony Stark learns Steven Rogers has enlisted in the army, he thinks he's seen the last of his tiny, headstrong, haughty stable boy. But four years later, Lord Stark gets an unexpected visit from Steve, whose mother has fallen gravely ill and into financial ruin. Even more unexpected, Steve agrees to a shocking proposal: they will marry, giving Steve the necessary funds to save his mother, and Tony the much-needed reprieve from harassing would-be suitors. It is a business arrangement, nothing more. But as time goes on and circumstances arise, Tony begins to learn that keeping his heart away from his husband is easier said than done.

just a guy, standing in front of another guy by theappleppielifestyle, 12 k > words.

“It’s not real,” Tony says, still smiling, jaw twitching with effort. “The fame. It’s - I’m just a guy."

(Or, Notting Hill AU, with a twist.)

Mother of Exiles (A Titanic AU) by BladeoftheNebula, 21 k > words, Alternate Universe - Titanic Fusion.

“You’ll never guess what just happened!” Steve said, taking a deep breath to try and calm his breathing. “I met someone. A guy from first class.”

Dublin 1912: Steve Rogers is barely making ends meet, living in the tenement slums of Dublin. But a stroke of good luck gives him and his best friend the chance to change their fortune. Two tickets to America on board the RMS Titanic.

The Devil You Know by shetlandowl, 17 k > words, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Author/Novelist.

Best selling author Tony Stark revives the bodice ripper genre for a modern audience. From frisky gay cowboys to ravenous lesbian pirate queens, he consistently delivers riveting thrillers full of romance, drama, and the filthy, unapologetically kinky sex that has become his trademark specialty.

Tony has everything a man could dream of - horny, adoring fans, and boatloads of money. Or that's what he thought, until Detective Steve Rogers walks into his life and turns it all upside down.

Bears and Mountains and Lumberjacks Oh My! by justanotherrollingstony (adoctoraday), 24 k > words, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Lumberjack Steve Rogers.

It was supposed to be easy--go meet the reclusive artist and buy some art. And then came the broken down car. And the snowstorm. And the lumberjack with a face like a greek god. So yea, Tony is stuck in a cabin in the woods with a hot lumberjack till the storm clears. Could be worse.

Series: A Furious Vexation by Annie D (scaramouche), 18 k > words, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse.

A Steve/Tony post-apocalypse AU that exists pretty much just for the smut.

That Feline Beat by Tito11, 5 k > words, Alternate Universe - Animals.

Presenting Steve and Tony in the Aristocats!AU

Tony and his three kittens have been kidnapped from their fancy Upper East Side apartment while their owners are away and deposited on the mean streets of Harlem. Unsure of where they are or how to get back home, they'll have to rely on street cat Steve to guide them. Will they get home safely? Will Tony's fear of abandonment cause him to drive away the best tomcat he's ever known? Only time will tell.

do you fondue? by calciseptine, 16 k > words, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting.

Tony has done crazy things in the name of food, but falling in love with Steve Rogers really takes the cake.

a glimpse of heaven's love by parkrstark, 13 k> words, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Terminal Illnesses.

The child begins to empty his pockets. He starts to count coins on the counter. Tony huffs a little impatiently as he realizes most of them are pennies.

The cashier actually humors the kid and counts along with him. They reach 3 dollars and 54 cents before he shakes his head sadly. "Sorry, kid. There's not enough here."

The kid sounds close to crying. "I need these paints for my Papa. It's Christmas Eve and these...he doesn't have any. The doctors said he doesn't have long. I want him to have these. In case he meets Jesus tonight, I want him to paint one more time. Please."

Tony takes a step forward, arms still full of toys he's buying just because. He can cover this child's gift for his dying father. Money. Money is what he's good for.

"I'll buy them."

Or, the Christmas Shoes AU no one but me asked for.

If you survive first impressions, you're good to go by itsallAvengers, 3 k > words, Parent Tony Stark, Alternate Universe - No Powers.

The first time Peter Parker-Stark sees Steve Rogers, he may or may not be standing in direct path of the man's motorcycle.

His daddy is really not going to be happy about that one.

A Rat-ional Conclusion by BladeoftheNebula, 6 k > words, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Veterinarians, Parent Tony Stark.

He had a strong flurry of patients throughout the morning and by the time it rolled around to noon, he was just about worn out.

He walked out into the reception, stretching until he felt a satisfying pop. “Are we done?”

Bucky checked the screen. “Just about. One more before lunch - a rat, singular.”

Steve breathed a sigh of relief. Hopefully straight forward then. “Great, let me know when they-”

He was interrupted by the bell over the door and looked up to see a little girl cradling a small animal carrier, being shepherded through the door by easily one of the hottest men he’d ever seen in real life.

Oh wow.

Tidal Pull by sabrecmc, 97 k > words, Octopus Tony Stark, Alternate Universe - Shipwrecked.

After the American Civil War, Union soldier Steve Rogers takes a chance on an opportunity to sail with the Stark Trading Company down in the Caribbean. During a terrible storm, his ship is lost. To his surprise, he survives, and ends up stranded on an island that isn't quite as deserted as he first thinks.

Or, a reverse Little Mermaid tale where Steve has to fall for the fish-man.

Twelve Days by elysianprince, 22 k > words, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Ghosts.

In which Tony finds himself in a town that looks like it crawled out of a Hallmark Christmas movie, trying to sell an inn he didn't know he owned, all while dealing with Steve Rogers, the resident ghost who has returned to haunt the inn each December during the twelve days of Christmas for the past seventy years. Tony has only one logical solution that benefits them both: break the curse that binds him - but falling for a man almost a century old wasn't among his plans.

She kissed me by S_Horne, 1 k > words, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting.

“Your mom kissed me.”

Steve blinked awake and lifted his head from his pillow to look over at the silhouette in the doorway. “What?”

“Your mom,” Tony reiterated. “She kissed me.”

“Yeah,” Steve said simply, “she does that.”

#stevetony #stony #fic rec #tony stark #steve rogers #my recs

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charmed-asylum · 3 years

Text

RUMOR HAS IT

DARK STEVE ROGERS X OC MINI FIC

Reqested by @sage1998c request: Hi I was wondering if you would please consider doing a dark Steve high school au story starting Kat Graham as the main oc/face claim. I would really appreciate it if you would think about it.

WARNING: ALOT OF CRAZY SHIT!!! I never did a dark fic I am going to miss a few but let start with the basics NO ONE UNDER AGE OF 18 SHOULD READ THIS. BLACK MAIL/ SEX/ YANDRE/ RECORDING OF SEX WITHOUT SHARE AGRREEMENT/ ETC ETC

SUMMERY: Life was perfect for American boy, aka Steve Rogers. Great friends, hot cheerleader girlfriend, love and adore by everyone. Everything was perfect till senior year when Angelina came around and an anonymous gossip column, Rumor Has It, threatening to expose everyone's dirty laundry.

~ MASTERLIST~

SNEAK PEEK // Angelina OC

TAGGED: @geralt-jaskier20 @hypersonicxd-blog @muralskins @readermia @muralskins@david-winters-93@alagalaska @SAGE1998C

Thick FOG COVERED Rear WINDOWS of his navy blue 1967 Chevy Camaro. A deep moan came from his mouth as he digs deeper into her wet centerfold. His colossal hand holds tighter to her tiny neck, trying to take all his thoughts else were. “OHHHH FU FUCK. HARDER,” Jane shout from behind his thick fingers. His eyes squeeze tighter; he was close still but so far. Think think think of something Peggy beast No. Jane wet means you sure hit new heights with her. She is enjoying it. He opens his ocean blue eyes and gazed back at Jane; her back was arched, moving closer to his cock. Trying to get more. Greedy bitch.

He couldn’t wait until he was destroying her. By the end of her fifth orgasm (pushing her fourth ), she would know to never mess with him again. She ends this fuckin blog once together. Finally, end his bad luck streak. All this was messing with him mentally and psychically. Maybe after this, he can finally get in with Angelina. Fuck now; she was a piece of art. Body carve from god himself. He thought Peggy was an angel, his perfect dame, but then Angelina came back into his life. Right when he needed her. It’s been forever since he saw her. Just then, Jane let at whining cries for him. That and imagining it Angelina and her virgin pussy finally help him release. God, that’s it, he thought to himself. It has been happening a lot. Lately, he felt he was in love. He knows it even though he is young. No matter what it is, he was thinking about her. He can’t sleep, eat, think.

Whenever he had a chance to stop thinking of her, it’s about this FUCKING BLOG. RUMORS HAS IT. STUPID SHIT! It already got a few of his friends, and even though he is unstoppable invisible. His fears he was going to be next. That’s why Jane has to be the person behind it. No one else knows Thor secret besides him, Thor and his family, her, and that child’s family. So stupid. So Thor was involved in an accident and drunk and got a child in a fucking coma. With one peek at the camera, he stares back at the feedback, good he is still out of frame.

Jane utters another whimper. Almost there, he thought to himself. Jane’s sparkling baby pink cat claw nails scratch deep into his pecks and across his ample shoulders. The sight of her nail polish reminds him of a dress Angelina once wear. The last time he saw her, matter of fact, was 12 years ago. She was only three years younger than her. He can taste the chunky chocolate chips that melted into the cookies. He can hear the playful voice she uses when she would pretend to play house. He was daddy, and she was mommy. No matter what he did, she always looked up at him like he was god-like. He was the only one who could ever make her feel safe. Even as a weak, pathetic boy like him. Maybe she was that high he felt once and had been trying to get ever since. He can remember like it was yesterday when they share their 1st kiss. She wanted it; she kisses him sweet dreams of a cloud 9 type of kiss. He would have relished that kiss if he had any common sense instead of screaming around like an idiot. He accidentally pushed her away and made her hurt herself. Even though he was the cause of that pain, it was him she looks at to save her. Make her feel better. Fuck, where did that pretty brown eye with pink tails in tutu little girl go?

She turns into a fuckin unstoppable beast, a storm of everything that drove him crazy. Everything he saw was wrong with the world. Still, he wanted more. Man, he had to get Jane to understand she was messing up his chance to be with his little angel. God’s gift to him for what he has done what he has accomplished.

“OH STEVEEEEEE” Jane shouted, her legs clenching tight around Steve waisted her mouth in the notch of her neck. Five

“I told you I could make you come at least five times. Having the best sex you ever got, huh. Tell me I’m better no one can ever fuck you. Not even your stupid boyfriend, Thor,” Steve said breathlessly.

Jane nods and whimpers softly. It’s you.

“A no. Doll, I need you to shout it louder for the camera,” he whispered into her ear.

So far into her sexual bliss high, she did not hear him say that but instead agree with him.

He smiles, now holding the camera close to her wet fold. Jane lay back, eyes close, dazed. With a flash, her eyes peak open to see the phone filming her. She pushes up only to be pushed back down with one finger by Steve, still holding the camera. One hand holds down her arms above her head. A Pitch of Steve’s sweat drips onto her.

“Come on, Jane Baby. Say hi to the camera. Man, I made many sex tapes, but you are the first girl I made come without much effort. That is how much of a gold digger slut you are. Your boyfriend hasn’t even cleaned out his locker, but you are already begging to suck my cock. Tiss. Now now, what are we going to do, huh? One-click, and this goes quicker than one of your rumors. By the time you get out of this car, everyone will know what a dirty slut you are. No more Thor, no more ivy school options. The only thing you can do is give yourself to homeless people. Right, where you belong” Steve chuckle watching Jane cry, begging him to stop.

“But why Jane baby, you were holding me with an iron fist singing my name to the high heavens. Haha, you bitch. It would be best if you had someone to teach you—the right way. Don’t worry; I do that. Mmm. Would you like me to show you the right way? Show you how to be a lady, not trashy dirty whore” He said, proceeding close, sniffing her dark locks. Could Angelina still smell like sweet sugar and honey? Wonder if she uses a different shampoo than whores like Jane or Peggy. I bet she sounds different too.

“Please don’t. Do this I. I. I do anything. Please don’t post the video,” Jane said between each sob. Her tiny wrist was starting to burn from the tight grip.

“Oh, no amount of tears or begging to go to stop me. No. You are going to shut up and listen to me bitch. One-stop your blogging, shut it down, and then redact it all. I don’t care what you say, but you end this shit. THEN you’re going to be Thor’s slave. Do whatever he wants behind closed doors, and in front, you will hold tight to his arm to every court hearing throughout the trials. I don’t care if you miss school; I look or hear you miss anything. I’m posting this gem here. Understand,” He said, tilting his head to the side.

“Bu Bu bu it was not me I not the person behind it. I promise I got mad at Thor yes, he was flirting with girls at all the games. But I promise Steve I never do that. But I admit it if that what you want me to do,” She said, crying with chubby tears. He looks deep into her eyes, trying to see if she was lying. Maybe she didn’t. She was like him in a way, using Thor to better herself. He loosens his hold but remains on top. He savors this for future use, but he won’t tell that. Yet. No, he was going to have a bit of fun with this one.

“Not enough. Huh, I guess that’s bye-bye to a bright future. Or else. You come here and show me just how much you want me to keep this little homemade video a secret. Huh. Make it quick. I got a date with destiny, or should I say, little angel. Remember, you use those pearly whites teeth, or don’t swallow all of it up. Bye-bye future, “Steve says with a huge grind and dark eyes darker the midnight sky.

#dark marvel #dark fic #dark steve rogers #dark steve x reader #dark steve x you #steve rogers #steve x you #chris evans x you #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x black!oc #Angelina oc #jane foster #captain america #marvel #rumor has it #dark marvel fic #mini fanfiction #request #dark steve

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harrysgloves · 3 years

Text

This Will Be Our Year

Summary: Harry comes home with you for your family New Year’s dinner.

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: Language. Shitty families. Smut/ Harry’s got a filthy mouth.

A/N: Okay, lets all pretend that I got this out on Saturday instead of Tuesday... Big shout out to @meetmeinfleetwood for making this “to lovers” fic challenge. It was the first fic challenge I’ve ever done! And I loved trying to figure this one out.

I picked ‘Friends to Lovers’ with the prompts: “You think anyone heard us?” & “You keep that photo of us in your wallet?”

>>>

You didn't miss the upward turn of your best friends' lip when you anxiously readjusted the hem of your dress for the millionth time. You didn't even bother trying to steady your shaky hands as they tugged down on lacy black fabric that touched a few inches above where you normally wore your skirts or shorts

"Stop it." You huffed as he let out the tiniest breath of a laugh at your struggle.

"Sorry, love, think y'look great." He smiled that lazy half smirk that made your stomach flutter but you had no time to worry about that right now. No, right now, you were on your way to visit your parents for the first time in a year.

The excuses of being busy with work, having no time to travel, not having the money for it, or literally any other excuse you could come up with had finally stopped working. Your mother fully demanded for you to come back home for the traditional New Year's dinner your family had every first weekend of the new year. You would have said no, but the second her disappointed voice floated in from the other end of the phone, you knew there was no way out.

You deeply loved your immediate family. It was the extended family that you could go without. The bitchy cousins who always seemed to be doing better in life than you. Know-it-all Aunts who gave you unwelcomed dating advice or worse, they'd sit and examine why you didn't have a man

"Yeh sure 'bout this?" He asked from the driver seat, his hand grasped on the wheel so tight you could see his knuckles turning white. "We could fake sick or somethin' if yeh want out. Bad gas station sushi, maybe."

A smile broke across your solemn face. The snort of a laugh that creaked out of your lungs washed a bit of relief over Harry. His hands gently lifted pressure from the wheel.

"Gas station sushi is the best you could come up with?" You teased from beside him, head turning just in time to see that dimpled smile you loved so much.

"Wha' not believable?" He grinned, playful green eyes shot your way before focusing back on the road.

You shook your head no as silence fell over the car again. Only one more turn and you'd be there.

"If yeh get uncomfortable, just tug on my shirt and we'll go, yeah?" He said as the gravel from your parents driveway crunched under the car's weight. Your stomach churned at the sight of everyone else already there. Anxiety flaring deep inside of your body, your chest suddenly felt tighter even when you let out a deep breath.

"It'll be okay." Harry said after a moment of letting you try to calm down. His ring filled hand enveloped your own shaky hand that rested on your lap. A calm washed over you from his touch. His warm hands melted away the troubled feeling that was lurking in the depths of your soul.

"I'm sorry in advance for whatever they say." You mumbled, giving his hand a squeeze. You missed the small up turn of his lips from your action, the way his cheeks tinted the softest shade of pink. You thought his cough was to dismiss what you'd said, not knowing it was him trying to himself that you only saw him as a friend.

"'M pretty sure I can handle them, love." He smiled even though you shot him a very unimpressed look. "Wha'? I survived Simon Cowell, think I got yeh family."

"Shut up." You chuckled as you brushed your hand off your leg. The other flung open the car door before you had a chance to chicken out.

>>>

Dragging Harry along for this dinner was the best idea you'd ever had in your whole life. Your family's attention was so far off you that you barely talked the hour before dinner and Harry was handling all the attention like a champ. His hand pressed to your lower back as your uncle grilled him about every famous person he'd ever met.

"Wait, so you're telling me that you know The Mick Jagger?" Your uncle looked a second away from breaking into a full out fangirl attack. Your lips rolled in your mouth to stifle the laugh that was bubbling in your throat before a harsh squeeze on your hips from Harry had you glaring daggers into him.

He nodded his head full of soft flowly curls, that you always wanted to run your fingers through, before shooting a smirk down to you.

He was living for this. He loved being able to touch you, lead you around to talk to people. Adored when you playfully shoved him with your shoulder when he said something embarrassing about you. He tried to be as cool, calm, and collected as he could but when you fully leaned into his side his breathing caught in his throat. His hand pressed tighter into you, mostly to hide how much it was quivering from your closeness.

He had tried for over a year to come up with a way to tell you he wanted to be more than a friend. If he was being honest with himself, he wanted to be more since the night you two met, but he was too insecure about himself to speak up. You were just so vibrant. Your laugh, your smile, the way you talked with demand but was always such a sensitive soul.

He was absolutely fucked for you and you had no damn idea.

You always thought he was too out of your league to even begin to entertain the want of something else with him. He was the great Harry Styles and well, you were just you. You, who happened to be friends with Glenne, who dragged you to a bar for a karaoke night almost two years ago. The rest between you and him was history. You'd gotten along so well and at first, you thought, it might have turned into something more, but he never tried anything more than stupid flirty banter which he seemed to do with just about anyone. So, you dropped it. Moved on. Now he was just Harry, you're really good, super hot, you may think about him when you meditate late at night, friend.

"Gonna get more wine." You said after you drank the last drop from the glass in your hand. You were going to need so much more wine if you were going to be listening to your uncle for the next 45 minutes until dinner was ready.

"Will y'bring me some too?" Harry asked with a glimmer of desperation in his eyes. You figured maybe he'd need the alcohol more than you did tonight. He had been putting up with a lot of crap from your family.

You nodded your head yes before taking off through the hallways you used to run down when you were a kid, towards the kitchen. Your mind lost in a hazy of memories of you learning to ride your bike on your mothers freshly polished floors while the babysitter sat on your house phone with her boyfriend all night. The time your brother told you carving your names into the fancy trim along the bottom of the floor meant you two would live forever.

The memories came to a screeching halt when you finally rounded the corner to the kitchen. Your cousin aka the bitch you hated most in the world lounged casually on the counter, her back towards you as she chatted with a friend she had brought along.

"Didn't think I was going to meet Harry fucking Styles. Would have at least done my hair." The girl you didn't know huffed out as you pressed your back to the wall. Desperate to get away from both of them. Suddenly you felt 12 again, hiding from Shannon before she had a chance to torment you.

"Not like you even need it. You already look better than Y/N without it." Shannon snorted out that nails-on-a-chalkboard laugh as your stomach sank.

"True, girl is a bit mousy."

"Don't forget annoying. Can't believe someone famous is hanging out with her."

A part of you wanted to turn around and walk away, but the other part was morbidly interested in what she said behind your back. Maybe, whatever she had to say, was what everyone said about you two when you weren't around.

"Think they're dating?"

"Fuck no." She scoffed with so much certainty behind her voice it made you cringe. You knew it was a bit dumb, especially since you tried to not picture yourself with him as much as possible but it still hurt. "Y/N's boring and bland as hell. He's probably too nice to tell her that he isn't interested and he feels bad that she never has any friends or a boyfriend."

You knew you should have walked away when you had the chance. Every word that was uttered by the voice that caused your childhood trauma floated into your mind with daggers.

Every bad thing you thought about yourself. Every reason you thought Harry would never like you was now confirmed by someone else.

"It's like his charity work for the year or something."

The last sentence was the one that broke you. Your eyes filled with tears as your feet finally unglued themselves from the permanent spot they seemed to be in. You ran for the safety of your childhood bedroom. Your mind too preoccupied with the thought that maybe, he did feel that way about you, to pay attention to anything else around you. You didn't register that Harry was only a few feet away from you when you slammed yourself into your old room.

The knocks on your door didn't bother you. You could care less to explain to our mom right now about what happened but tried your best to pull yourself together anyways. Your crying turned to quite sniffling when the knocks came again.

"Y/N, wha's wrong?" His anxious voice echoed through your door causing all tears or sniffles to stop immediately in their tracks. What the hell were you going to tell him? Your mind panicked for some lie you could use to cover up the fact you had a breakdown when the door opened, the hard metal of the door knob pushed you out of the way.

"'M sorry fo' comin' in but I saw yeh cryin' and I had to check on yeh." He mumbled uncomfortably from beside you as he shut the door again. "Wha' happened?"

"'S nothin'," you said as you dried your own eyes with the back of your hand. "Just, my cousin saying shit. I just took it a bit too personal for no reason."

"'M sorry, petal." He cooed as his hand stroked the rest of your eyes off your cheeks away. Your head instantly nuzzled into his warmth. "Wha' was she goin' on 'bout?"

You tried your best to not tense up. Your eyes remained shut, head buried harder against his hand that still hadn't moved from your face.

"Told you, it's nothing. Really, it was dumb and I just- it's stupid H."

"'S not stupid if it made y'cry." He frowned deeply as he lifted your chin up. Your eyes finally fluttered open to see disappointed written all across his face.

"She just-" you sighed, feeling dumb for being caught up in the moment. Her words stung but your knee-jerk reaction to cry was a bit over the top. You were embarrassed, your skin heated as his eyes trained on you. You desperately tried to look anywhere but him- the floor, the dresser, the door- anywhere. "She just… she said some things to her friend about how boring and bland I am. Said I had no friends and blah blah blah. Just dumb stuff."

You shrugged, feeling uncomfortable talking about what had happened. You gave him the geist of it without having to divulge into the whole story. You figured it was better to leave the part about you being charity work for him out of it. An angry Harry was the last thing you wanted to deal with today.

"Yeh the least boring person I know." He said, finally breaking the silence. "And yeh far from bland. I mean, look at yeh," he gestured to your outfit, his eyes sparked as your face heated from the attention he was giving you.

"Shut up." You groaned, hands covering your burning face as he wrapped you up in a hug. His chest vibrated with chuckles as you buried your head into the crook of his arm.

"Come on, don't be embarrassed." His chin rested on your head as you fought to keep the pink blush across your face at bay. "Know I think yeh pretty. Prettiest petal've ever met."

You could feel his body straighten up. Almost as if he got uncomfortable with being so forward with you. His hands held around you just a bit tighter and you could physically hear his heart start to race. You started to realize, maybe, just maybe, you'd been reading all the signs wrong.

You pulled away from him slightly, your lips rolled in your mouth as you peered up to him. The blush that lingered across his nose ran to both cheeks. His jaw clenched together, shifty eyes finally met yours after a long moment of avoiding your gaze. You could see gears turning in his mind.

"H?" You barely breathed out before he surged forward, his lips met yours with so force you were almost thrown off balance. Your hands quickly grabbed on his forearms to steady yourself. Your nails dug into the soft silk fabric of his sleeves as your mouth desperately tried to keep up with his frantic movements.

It was everything you'd ever imagined kissing Harry would be like. Soft, amazing lips pressed to yours. Warmth flooded your system, almost like he was bringing you back to life. His hand rested on your cheek as he pulled you closer, other hand around your waist, helping you keep balance on your tiptoes. Even if it was a bit rushed, it was perfect to you.

But then you felt him go rigid again.

"I shouldn't 'ave done that. 'M so sorry, Y/N, I know yeh don't like me like that and I got caught up and, and-nd, fuck 'm so sorry-" he rushed out in a ramble the second his lips parted from yours. Your eyes barely opened by the time he'd finished his rushed out speech. His hands ran nervously through his curls. Panic radiated off him.

"Who said I didn't like you?" You asked, halfway out of breath. His hands fell from his perfectly messy hair, down to his side. His mouth gaped open as he blinked slowly at your words.

"I, well, I thought-" He trailed off as you both stood there completely dumbfounded.

You'd both liked each other this whole damn time.

"We're idiots." You giggled. Quickly ceasing the opportunity to close to space between you two again.

Your arms wrapped around his neck as you pulled him to your level. This time, he was the one pleasantly surprised. The light humph out of him only fueled your fire as you dominated the kiss. Your tongue ran across his bottom lips, begging him to let you in. Tongues danced together in an unknown language as his arms circled you again. Holding you close as your fingers ran through the back of his hair.

It was quick. Both of you moved so fast, desperate for more. More touch, more skin contact. You felt that desire you'd pushed to the side flame to the surface as you both stumbled for balance. Your back was pressed tightly against the door after you both got your footing.

Kissing was easy, but kissing passionately in an unknown space when you could give two shits-less about anything but each other, was hard.

It wasn't long before the scruff on his face was burning into your sensitive and puffy lips. He'd taken over control over your mouth so long ago you had no idea where you started and he ended. Your hands, along with his, roamed uncharted territory of each other's bodies. Small gasps and light whimpers were flooding the room but you couldn't be bothered with caring right now. You were finally getting what you wanted, him.

"We should stop." He groaned, half annoyed with himself for trying to be considerate to your family. His forehead rested against yours as you both breathed in deeply.

You whined in protest at his words, your hips involuntarily grinded against him in a sense of desperation. He had winded you up like a damn play toy. He breathed a laugh at your neediness, his head shaking but you could see those dimples popping out when you stared up at him with doe-eyes.

"Don't wanna fuck yeh fo' the first time in your parents house, lovie." He smiled widely as you let out a disappointed huff. Sure, you understood his point but that throbbing in core wasn't going to be going away any time soon.

Harry considered it for a moment as he looked down to your glistening chest that was heaving in deep breaths. The swells of your breast had always been mesmerizing but, fuck, right now they look irresistable. His sight finally moved off your chest to your swollen and puffy mouth. He groaned at the sight, his mind instantly wondering if your other lips would look as beautiful when he was done with them.

His hand moved on it's own accord. Slipping up your dress, to your absolutely drenched panties. Your lip tucked under your lip, hips bucking in a need for more when you heard the most glorious moan fall from his lips.

"Can't leave y'like this, now can I, pup?" His lust filled eyes seemed to darken when you shook your head no. Your ruined underwear pushed to the side by his fingers, his breathing catching in his throat from just how fucking wet you were.

You whimpered and whined as he took his time leisurely circling around your clit, his finger skimming across your needy hole only teased you further. You could feel your nipples pebble against the roughness of your bra, feeling left out of the action, but you weren't complaining.

"Quiet, or yeh gonna get us caught, sweetheart." Harry tried to scold you but you didn't miss the smug look of pride that sat on his lips. "Gonna have to keep you quiet, sweet girl." His free hand moved from the door, to your mouth. Three fingers tapped against your lips for you to open and holy fuck, you didn't think this would be happening today.

A chill went down your spine as his fingers sat heavy on your tongue. He licked his lips as he watched you mimicked how good you'd suck him off later when two fingers entered you quickly.

"Fuckin' hell," he breathed out, the situation in his pants grew impossibly bigger while you moaned wildly against his fingers. "Jesus, fuck, yeh so tight. Gonna 'ave to prep yeh fo' me later, sweetheart."

You could barely register his words as he pumped into you again. His thumb pressed against your aching numb. He was reaching places inside of you that you'd never been able to reach. Places that you had no idea could feel this good. All sense of control left you as he hit that spot. His hand quickly pulled from your mouth to cup over top of it.

"Sing so pretty fo' me, puppy. Can't wait to hear how you sound when y'on my cock." Your walls quivered at his words, your juices dripped further down your leg as you began to quickly approach your end.

"'M ruin this little pussy later, gonna fuck y'until yeh can't handle it anymore." He started to ramble about how good you felt, how tight you were, how he was going to stretch you over his cock so good tonight that he'd ruin you. Your legs started to shake as your mind melted into a goo of pleasure.

"Fuck, yeh like when I talk to yeh like that, don't yeh sweetheart?" You weakly nodded at his words, his hand around your mouth making it impossible to say anything but it wasn't like you'd be able to speak right now anyways. His fingers curled inside of you, pumping, his thumb switching from light touches to hard pressure. "I'd let y'talk to me like that later tonight but my dick is gonna be shoved in all the holes I can get into, puppy."

You could feel your eyes roll into the back of your head as the overwhelming flood of your release washed over you. Blinding white lights of adrenaline ran through your veins as you let out a guttural moan from a depth you had no idea existed inside of you.

You were a panting hot mess when his hands finally left your body. Sweet kisses pressed to your lips to calm you down.

"Do y'think anyone heard us?" Harry asked, his lips still hovering over your mouth as you let out a croak laugh.

"You think I care about that right now?" Your eyebrows raised as you peered up to him. His smile growing by the second as he wrapped you in a hug. "Come on, let's go, you have a few promises you made about tonight that I want to hold you to." You giggled as his cheeks flamed red, your hand reached for his but he didn't move. His boy glued in place as his eyes scanned around your old room.

"What?" You asked as you turned around to see him studying every inch of your childhood.

"I didn't get to see it earlier." He shrugged a bit, trying to not seem like he was hyper focused on every detail. Your pile of old notebooks your mother kept "just incase you ever wanted them again", your old dresser that you'd painted at some point, your rose pattern bedspread, the mountain of books and magazines that were shoved away.

"Wha's this?" He pointed to the huge wall that was covered in nothing but pictures.

"Oh, uhm, I used to put pictures of me and my friends on my wall. You know, like people used to do before Facebook." Harry chuckled as he shook his head at you. His hand fished into his back pocket as he moved away from you.

"What- what are you doing?" You asked, your eyebrows furrowed tightly together as you moved towards him. The picture of your and Harry's drunken photo booth session from New Year's last year in his hand.

"You keep that photo of us in your wallet?" You finally asked after he pinned it on your wall. His cheeky smile across his face as he threw an arm over your shoulder.

"Yup." He smiled widely as you chuckled from beside him. Your arm rested around his waist.

"Dork."

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