#if there is a single ah yes reference on this post or bashing of any kind you will be blocked and blacklisted good vibes only thank you | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

snackhobi · 4 years

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pairing: min yoonji x reader / word count: 9.7k / genre: f x f smut, assassin!au

summary: a fic inspired by this post and that’s pretty much it-

warnings: sexually explicit content (NSFW), talk about death/assassination (nothing graphic dw! but they are assassins, so), mild violence, unnecessarily sexually charged lipstick application, face riding, fingering, multiple orgasms, oral (f giving/receiving), use of restraints, overstimulation, squirting, kind of dom!yoonji?

a/n: this is an entirely self-indulgent fic I wrote as a gift to myself for my bday, it’s a lil rushed bc I wanted it done for today! women are so very beautiful and I am so very weak, thank you ladies for all being so amazing ily. this was meant to be a short pwp and now it’s almost 10k but I have no regrets bye

la petite mort French literal meaning: ‘the little death’; also an expression used to refer to the brief loss or weakening of consciousness, specifically the sensation of orgasm as likened to death; an orgasm.

“It’s just unacceptable.”

The woman in front of you is clearly wealthy. Her dark hair is perfectly styled and her pale nails are perfectly shaped and her subtle makeup is perfectly flattering; she’s starting to get older but rather than shy away from it, she’s leaning into it, and she looks almost imperious in her beauty, eyes sharp and set of her lips severe. Park Dahye was born into wealth and has clearly thrived in the life that she’s been afforded.

“Mmhm.” You try not to yawn.

“He’s flitting around with some young, silly thing on his arm, with no consideration for the family’s reputation— my reputation,” she continues. Her posture is perfect, from the set of her spine to her crossed legs to her folded hands that rest on her knee, somehow demure and yet highlighting all of her beauty and riches; the jewellery on her wrists and fingers, the expensive heels on her feet, the slit of her haute-couture dress, no doubt tailored for her and her alone. “I’ve already spoken to him about his behaviour, but he’s just ignored my warnings. We may have agreed on the divorce but we’re currently still husband and wife— has he no shame?”

“Awful.” You don’t even try to hide how bored you are, but Dahye is so quietly incensed that she doesn’t even notice as she launches into the next part of her queenly diatribe, and you muffle a sigh.

That’s the problem with rich clients. Sure, they’re willing to fork over stupid amounts of money to you, but they also think that their issues are of paramount significance— like they’re the centre of the universe and their problems are the only important ones in the world. Like you’re interested in what they have to say. Like this is the only job you’ll ever do that holds real weight or meaning.

For them, it’s a life-changing (life-ending) decision.

For you? It’s another Tuesday.

“Yes, yes, that’s just so terrible, gosh, I don’t know how you manage it,” you say once she pauses to take a breath, using the opportunity to cut her off before she launches into another part of her articulate rant. “Anyway. Would you prefer if his death was embarrassing or quiet?”

For the first time since you’ve met, she seems unsettled. “Pardon?”

Namjoon is much better with people than you, smooth and charming with his boyish dimples. Normally any discussions would go through your handler, but this woman had demanded to meet you personally and had been willing to pay for the privilege: so here you are, with your relative bluntness instead of Joon’s winsome smile.

“You know,” you say, gesturing with your hands. “When they find the body. Do you want him to be caught with his trousers around his ankles—literally or figuratively, that’s up to you— or would you rather it seemed like something natural and unpredictable? Like a sudden heart attack in his sleep, for example.”

When it comes to rich clients, a lot of it is about reputation. When someone’s shuffled off this mortal coil, it’s not just that they’re removed from the equation, it’s also about the ripples that their death leaves in the high society that they’ve lived in. Does she want her (soon-to-be) ex-husband made a mockery of, or does she just want him out of the picture?

She can’t see your face, behind your mask as it is, but you can see hers in perfect clarity. For all that Dahye seems put together and almost impassive, you see the tiny flicker in her eyes. Ah. She’s not just mad because he’s ruining their reputation. She’s hurt.

Man, that sucks. Honestly you bet it’s easier being an assassin than a rich housewife. At least when it comes to backstabbing you can literally involve a knife to sort your problems out. (Well, knives are messy, but you get the picture.)

“I’d prefer something quiet,” she decides. “I’d worry that it could lead back to me, otherwise.”

You’d be offended at the idea that you’d leave any trace that could implicate anyone or that this man’s sudden death was in any way suspicious, but she’s paying you enough that you find that you don’t care. You take pride in your work, but for the amount of zeroes involved in the fee you’re being paid, you think you can take an unintentional insult or two. Or three. Or ten.

You like money, what can you say.

“Sure thing,” you say, giving her a lazy, two fingered salute. You’ve been reclining against the desk of the hotel suite, flicking the complimentary, heavy metal pen between your fingers, twirling it like the world’s most underwhelming baton. You straighten up and let the pen drop back into the pen pot—wait, no, of course it’s a handmade porcelain jar, an alarmingly well-made Joseon porcelain replica. Everything in here stinks of money. “RM will confirm where the money is to be deposited. Half of it now as collateral, and half upon completion of the job,” you say. “If you change your mind between now and then, we’ll be keeping the original 50%, but if for some reason something goes awry, you’ll receive that money back. Sound good?”

She seems surprised at your directness. “I—”

“Fabulous!” You clap your hands together, although the sound is muffled by your gloves. You’re not about to leave your fingerprints everywhere, geez. “Alright, time for me to skidaddle I suppose! I’ve got work to be doing, people to be watching, men to be killing!”

Dahye flinches imperceptibly, but by this point you’ve already slipped out onto the balcony and into the night.

Being an assassin is hard work.

Technically, everyone has the capacity to kill another human being. But killing as a job involves a lot more than just caving someone’s head in with a rock—that’s why Cain isn’t referred to as an assassin, what with how he’d just bashed his brother Abel with a convenient stone that happened to be lying nearby. He was just a straight up dick.

No, when you kill professionally you need to be familiar with an array of different techniques, each one far more sophisticated than the last. You need to know how to be stealthy, how to blend in as you watch your target, how to set up the scenes of their death in a way that doesn't arouse suspicion. Or, instead, how to set the scene up in a way that lets any onlookers know that this person had been offed by someone who knew what they were doing, and knew it well. There's a difference between being a killer and being an assassin and you are firmly in the latter category.

So, if your client wants her husband to be shuffled off quietly, then that’s what she’ll get.

They really have pulled out all the stops for this charity gala. Everything is shining, glittering and bright: the surroundings, the food, the people. Especially the people. The rich elite have come together for an extravagant and exquisite night of ostentation and luxury, all in the name of raising money for some needy cause. (You try not to think of the irony and/or hypocrisy behind that.)

It’s almost laughable how easy it is to blend in here. Namjoon had secured (forged) invitations for you both, and so you hang off his arm as you make a slow sweep of the room, trailing unnoticed after your target. You’re not planning to make a move right now but you want to feel out exactly what he’s like: the more information you have about the person you’ve been contracted to assassinate, the better.

Plus it’s an excuse to dress up nice and eat free food— though that last part is mainly Namjoon.

“God, these canapés are so good,” Namjoon moans quietly to you, hoovering up the flaky pastry crumbs from his fingers with single-minded intent. You dig your fingers subtly into his arm.

“I thought we agreed on not eating tonight, Joon,” you mutter to him, although you say it with a beatific smile in case anyone is watching; the place is heaving with people but you’re always on guard. (Even if Namjoon is right. The hors d’oeuvres that are on offer do look incredibly tempting.)

“You have a glass of champagne,” he points out.

“And you may have noticed that I haven’t drunk any of it.” You titter, as if he’s just told a funny joke, and lightly slap his arm. Again, you’re fairly certain no one is watching, but you can never be too careful. “It’s all about creating a facade, Joonie. It’s what we in the business call a ruse.”

Even throughout your back and forth, you’ve kept your eyes on your man of the night: Park Minjae, a middle-aged businessman who’s been greeting people and getting swept up in conversation, all while a slip of a blonde clings to his arm, stuck to his side like a pretty limpet. She’s cute, sure, but she lacks the poise that Dahye has, so you frankly don’t get it. Then again, not everyone finds strong women as attractive as you do. Weirdos.

You’ve been focused on Minjae but your eyes have also been flitting around the room, drinking in your surroundings, drawing up a detailed map of your environment (of course you’d scoped out the building before tonight, but with all the banquet tables and chairs around the layout is a little different). The people, too, have been subject to your scrutiny, although so far they all seem summarily unimportant and uninteresting, just as you’d suspected. You lift your glass to your lips and pretend to take a tiny, demure sip, glancing up through your eyelashes to scan the room again, and you freeze.

Holy shit.

You take back what you just said about everyone being unimportant and uninteresting.

The woman who’s just walked in is fucking stunning. Her sleek dark bob is unstyled, but perfectly frames her beautiful face: sharp eyes, soft nose, flushed lips. Her cocktail dress lets you see almost every inch of those perfect legs, the line of her thighs to her calves and— oh, you swear you could shed a tear of joy. She’s already tall and she’s made even taller by the heels she wears, towering above most of the men here, a fucking Amazonian goddess who looks powerful and undeniably elegant at the same time.

(Thank you for your service, tall women.)

You don’t know who she is, but goddamn, do you want to. She’s scanning the room, and for a brief moment, your eyes touch. A tiny thrill shudders up your spine at the darkness of her keen eyes, that quick and astute gaze.

It’s only the tiniest of moments that’s over as soon as it’s started. The dark-haired beauty looks away and is already disappearing into the crowd before you realise, and it’s only then you notice that you’re staring, utterly drawn in by her cool poise and presence. You’ve been frozen in place with the rim of your champagne glass resting against your mouth, and your eyelashes flutter as you blink and glance down.

The imprint of your lower lip has been left on the glass, stark red visible against its edge, and you squeeze Namjoon’s bicep.

“How does my lipstick look?”

He takes one look at you as he swallows down another tiny vol-au-vent. “Like half of it is missing,” he says, and you frown.

“Ugh. I’ll go touch it up in the bathroom. Keep an eye on our guy, I’ll be right back.”

It’s not until you’ve made it to the toilets that you realise that you do not, in fact, have any lipstick in your ridiculously small clutch bag. When it comes to your actual work, you’re meticulous and thorough and well-planned, but for some bizarre reason, a tube of lipstick is never the top of the list when it comes to equipment. Unbelievable. (You knew you should have worn the 24/7 stuff, but it was always such a nightmare to get off.)

You’ve been so busy rummaging through your bag that you’re completely caught off-guard at the sound of a quiet voice from behind you.

“Lost something?”

Oh, fuck. It’s her, your dark haired and dark eyed beauty, meeting your gaze through the mirror when you glance up from where you’re resting your bag against the marble counter (marble, marble, marble, it’s all marble: the floors, the counters, the sinks; why do rich people always love marble?). She looks altogether too amused at your plight and at how your eyes have widened perceptibly upon seeing her again. But can she blame you? Her presence is so graceful and commanding and she’s so dizzyingly attractive it’s insane. Surely she must get this all the time.

You stare for a little longer than is probably polite, and even behind her fringe you can see how one of her eyebrows rises.

“Sorry for staring,” you say once you notice. “You’re just so beautiful.”

She pauses as she takes in the compliment. You see how her eyes flicker over your face and settle on your mouth; your upper lip, tinted burgundy red, while the lower is faint and smudged.

“Lipstick problems?” She cocks her head at you, still staring at your lips in the mirror. God, she’s so hot.

“Can you tell?” You sound rueful as you glance down at the reflection of your mouth, touching your bottom lip lightly with a fingertip. “I forgot to bring any with me so now I’m stuck.”

She finally looks away from you. You hear a small, metallic click as she unclasps her evening bag— marginally larger than your own— and lifts out a small tube of liquid lipstick. “Would you like to use mine?”

Fuck yes you would.

“Oh, would that be alright?” You finally turn around, and you have to tilt your head back to look at her, taller than you in her heels. Jesus Christ. She’s going to be the death of you. Why are women so gorgeous? Who gave them the right? “I’m not sure the shade will match, though?”

You watch her beautiful mouth curve up into a small smirk as she pulls out a tiny pack of makeup remover wipes from her bag, and you swear could propose to her there and then. Beautiful and tall and organised? Holy shit. What a woman.

She’s got her bag in one hand, while the lipstick and wipes are clasped in the other; her hand is held up in such a way that you think she means for you to take them from her, but when you reach out she shakes her head.

“I’ll do it for you,” she says. The quiet note of authority in her tone makes you go weak at the knees.

Thank god the toilets you chose aren’t the main ones, because it means there’s no one around to see how she tilts her head at the marble counter in the universal gesture of get on there. It’s entirely unnecessary, but you, of course, immediately comply. You brace your hands against the cold stone before hitching yourself up, careful with the draping folds of your dress; the cold touch of the stone is noticeable through the material of your dress, but it’s instantly forgotten when your enchantress steps closer.

You spread your knees so she can stand between them. Holy shit, she’s even better up close. Her lashes are wispy but they’re the perfect frame for her gorgeous eyes, which are dark and intent. You suppress a shiver. You hold yourself still as she leans forward and around you so she can put her clutch and lipstick down, trying to ignore how close she is, but there’s no way she can’t realise what she’s doing. Your heart is pounding. You wish you didn’t have a job to do tonight because you would so much rather be getting, ah, acquainted with this woman rather than following some old businessman around.

The only noise in the bathroom is the sound of peeling plastic as she opens the tiny packet of wet wipes before she curls one around her finger, glancing at you through her lashes.

“Open,” she instructs.

Your mouth drops open immediately. She sweeps the wipe over your lips, bottom, then top, touch firm but careful, drawing away the red from your skin; you stare at her as she works, how her eyes are cast down as she stares at your mouth. She’s using her free hand to grip your chin and you feel deliciously powerless in her grasp.

You purse your lips a little to try and help her, watching the way her eyes flicker as she pulls the wipe back over them— somewhat firmer, this time, with more intent. Lingering. The only barrier between her finger and your mouth is soft and flimsy, the texture of the wipe against your lips like cotton as it drags across them, and it would be so easy to pull it out of her hands.

She flicks the dirtied wipe aside, heedless of how it lands on the unsullied marble, before reaching for her lipstick. She twists the tube in her fingers, motions of her hands precise and deft, and you’ve never been so attracted to how someone’s uncapped something before.

You watch her hands. (She watches you.)

Your eyes trail over the wand as she pulls it out, dragging the doe foot against the rim to catch the excess before turning it towards you, putting the tube by your thigh, near where your hand is bracing against the marble. She takes hold of your chin once again. You stay quiet as she starts to sweep the lipstick over your lips, painting them the same flushed pink as her own. Once again she’s staring at her work so you’re free to drink her in, almost drunk from her beauty, eyes catching on the tiny moles on her pale skin, the smallest freckles that are only noticeable because you’re this close.

The squelch of the applicator sliding into the tube is almost lewd in the silence of the bathroom, and this time you can’t suppress a shiver when she pulls your chin down to open your mouth so she can go back in again on your lips, drawing a sharp, crisp line. Tracing the edges of your lips, the flushed swell of them, the peak of your cupid’s bow.

She glances up. For a moment you’re both still, staring at each other, tension in the air palpable, but then she smacks her lips and you copy the motion, evening the application of the makeup on your mouth.

“Perfect,” she murmurs. “One more step.”

A small, confused frown flits over your face. She’s put the lipstick aside but then she lifts a finger and points towards your still parted lips. You take in a small, shuddering breath when she speaks again and you realise what she means.

“You don’t want to get lipstick on your teeth, do you?”

Both of her eyebrows have risen and she’s looking at you like you’re being silly if you disagree with her.

“No,” you say. You’re not about to deny her. “No, I don’t.”

Your eyes remain locked. You lean forwards, taking that perfect, long finger into your mouth, dragging your lips upwards so that any excess lipstick is caught against her pale skin, a ring of deep rose circling her bottom knuckle; you curl your tongue around her, hot and wet, feeling the crease of her knuckles and pad of her fingertip against your taste buds as you slowly, slowly pull away.

It’s undoubtedly indecent and risqué and you can feel the flush of arousal settling in your lower belly, an almost embarrassing flush of wetness leaking out of you at the taste of her skin. She, however, remains unmoved, although she lets her finger linger just for a moment on your bottom lip, almost rough against their softness— but before you can swallow those fingers back down and ruin her meticulous work, she pulls away, lifting the discarded wipe to sweep it around her finger, catching the lipstick you’d left on her skin.

“Done.”

She steps back and you feel like you can finally breathe, a breath so deep you can feel how your lungs fill, oxygen rushing to your brain so fast you feel lightheaded. You watch as she sweeps everything back into her bag, clicking it shut with a note of finality; the sullied wipe is cast carelessly into a tiny, chrome bin with a flick of a wrist, her every motion regal.

You slide off the counter. You still can’t take your eyes off her and you don’t want to. It feels like whatever heaviness was in the air has dissipated, gone in an instant with a turn of her head— normally you’d let it slide, even if you feel disappointed, but she’s just so magnetic.

“Thank you,” you say. You can see yourself in the mirror now and to your complete lack of surprise, your lipstick is perfect. The shade is lighter than one you’d have chosen for yourself but it’s beautiful on her, of course.

“You’re welcome.” She’s in the middle of washing her hands, but she glances over her shoulder at you, and the firm set to her face lightens a little as she smiles. It’s a small, sly thing, and you realise with a start that she knows exactly what effect she has on you.

I’m coming back for you, you think to yourself. You have work to do tonight, but—

“What’s your name?”

She pauses. She shuts off the tap with a quick motion, reaching forward for a rolled hand-towel, a neat stack on a metal tray nearby. You wonder if she’s not going to answer but then she speaks, looking at you instead of the soft cotton she’s rubbing over her skin. “Yoonji,” she says. “I’m Min Yoonji.”

Min Yoonji is the most gorgeous fucking woman you’ve ever seen.

“I love your dress, Yoonji,” you say, and it’s true, you really do— but you’d prefer it if it was off. Not that you’re about to say that, of course.

She lets out a breath of laughter. “I know.” Oh, god, you love confident women. “What’s your name, darling?”

You have that same split second of hesitation, similar to Yoonji’s only moments prior. You use a codename when you work, of course, and you have a plethora of fake identities that you use and are intimately familiar with— but the idea of your real name falling off Yoonji’s flushed, petal lips? Woof.

“Y/n L/n,” you say.

Oh, Joon would be so unimpressed right now, giving some mysterious woman your full, real name just because you think she’s the sexiest thing since sex, but whatever. What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

“Well, Y/n,” Yoonji says. You were right, your name sounds so good falling from her mouth, the mouth that’s turned into a small, almost smug smile. “I certainly hope to see you at the charity ball in a few weeks?”

“Of course.” Your schedule has been magically cleared and you’ll definitely be in attendance for whatever ball Yoonji is referring to, even if you have no idea what it is. You only come to these things if you have to for work but for Yoonji you’ll make an exception. You’ll make a hundred thousand exceptions. A hundred thousand quinquagintaquadringentillion exceptions. “I’ll make sure to remember my lipstick next time.”

And there it is, the thing that seals the deal, the final nail in the coffin: Yoonji glancing at you out of the corner of her eyes, a sharp, dark touch that shoots through you as her smile edges into hunger.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I’m sure it won’t stay on your lips long enough to matter.”

The thing you’ve discovered about Minjae is that, with his divorce due to be finalised soon, he’s apparently lost any sense of routine and is revelling in his new found freedom, which is kind of irritating when you’re trying to tail the guy. Sure, you’re still going to take him out, but you prefer it when targets have some sort of schedule that they adhere to— makes it easier to set up a kill.

“You’re certain that he’s going to be here tonight?” You’d been sceptical considering how the guy’s apparently thrown his schedule out of the window, but Namjoon had been certain.

“Positive.” He’d said. “He’s there every Tuesday night. You’ll have plenty of time.”

The house appears to be deserted. The driveway is empty and all the windows and doors are locked tight. It’s just one of the properties that the Parks own in the city, and for all its size and lushness it appears as though this one is rarely frequented; you imagine that the cleaners and gardeners spend more time here than the owners themselves.

It doesn’t take you long to evade the watchful eyes of security cameras to pick a lock and slip inside. You're grateful for the dying evening light that helps cover your tracks from any onlookers from the street, although you imagine the high walls do good work at preventing people from seeing into the grounds anyway.

There’s still enough light to navigate through the house, the golden tinged sunset casting warm shadows across the spotless furniture and fixtures; you take a moment to let your eyes slide across a huge canvas hanging on a wall that spans two storeys, some impressionist piece that’s surprisingly ugly for all the talent that’s obvious in its brushstrokes. Maybe that’s why the Parks are never here? You’d certainly try to avoid seeing this thing if you could. Eurgh.

Even though the building is empty, you’re careful as you start to make your way forwards. You always place your toes down first whenever you take a step, soundless as you start to map the house out in your mind; there are so many rooms you can hide in, but you’d prefer to be close to wherever Minjae ends up. Saves faffing around later.

You’ll overpower him, inject the toxin into his blood and wait for him to die before setting him up on the toilet— it’s surprisingly common for people to die while on the shitter, the strain leading to an untimely heart attack, especially in older people. The poison you’re using tonight will mimic the symptoms of a heart attack in the case the coroner decides a post-mortem needs to be undertaken.

(Being found on the bog might not be a particularly graceful way to die but when you’re dead it’s kind of hard to be embarrassed.)

You’ve eased the door open into a large bedroom, and you’re just inspecting if it looks like this room sees more use than the others when you pause. It’s deathly silent in this building, the air still minus where you glide through it as you move, but there’s a feeling in your gut, some instinct that makes all the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You freeze, ears straining to catch any noise to let you know if there’s someone else here, when—

There. In the reflection of a burnished pot, the tiniest shifting movement.

You react almost faster than the eye can see. You spin to parry a hit that was aimed for your head, and the strength behind it shudders through your arms. You only have a second to take in the details of your assailant— dressed in dark clothing, masquerade style mask in place, a professional just like you— before you’re deflecting another flurry of blows, flipping backwards out of reach before spinning into a kick, hooking that burnished pot with your foot and sending it flying towards the other assassin.

They dodge it. You both ignore the sound of clattering metal as you lunge forwards, trying to catch them off guard after their sidestep— your fist makes contact with their palm instead of their face, your hand engulfed in theirs, and you startle at their speed. You might not be the strongest but you’re damn fast.

There’s a pause, and you can only see a slither of their eyes through the sockets of their mask, but you can tell that they’re impressed. And honestly? So are you.

The moment shatters when they use the hand they're holding to twist you, locking an arm around your neck and putting you into a chokehold; they’re strong, stronger than you, cutting off your airflow. You need to get out of this before you fall unconscious, but if they’re trained as well as you then they’ll know how to combat the usual ways you’d use to get out of this.

So, in a demonstration of your flexibility you kick a leg up, using the strength of your thighs and calves to slam it into the arm that’s around your neck. Your assailant lets out a noise of surprise and pain as you slip out of their hold and cartwheel across the room before spinning to face them.

There’s a beat. The air is tense. You get another chance to take in the details of whoever’s just tried to choke you out; you stare at her as she stares at you, the two of you poised and ready to strike, watching and waiting.

Knives might be messy but of course you’re not unarmed. You have multiple sheathed weapons in your clothes, though you don’t make a move to draw any of them. Yet. “I suppose you wouldn’t tell me who your employer is, would you?”

Your opponent tilts her head. “You don’t know?” She sounds amused, even through her mask. “Minjae took out a contract on the assassin who has a contract on him.”

Your lip curls back from your teeth. The only way Minjae would have heard about your contract is if Dahye had told him. Presumably to try and shock him out of his behaviour, or something, who knows. “This is the last time I’m accepting a job from these rich old farts,” you mutter.

“That’s for certain,” she says.

She starts to move and you catch her arm just as she goes to unsheathe a wicked looking blade, knocking it aside before she overpowers you and you start to wrestle. It’s messy and graceless but sometimes you just have to fight dirty.

Whoever this woman is, she still has the upper hand because she was expecting you and you weren’t expecting her; she knocks you onto the bed and pins you down, swooping the knife up from where it had been thrown onto the mattress. You go utterly still as she holds it against your throat, towering over your from where she’s straddling your waist and kneeling on your arms. Any sudden movement from you now could lead to your untimely demise— and, unsurprisingly, you absolutely want to avoid that at all costs.

Namjoon would never let you live it down if you were killed on the job.

You hum. “It seems like we’ve reached an impasse.”

She doesn’t respond. The knife doesn’t dip any lower, though; you’re undoubtedly at her mercy but you notice she’s careful to keep the knife still, hovering above the skin of your neck, but not making contact.

“Well,” you continue. “At least I’m going out the way I’d always hoped to.”

Even in the dying light and with how her face is covered, you notice her face shifting behind her mask— a silent, questioning raise of an eyebrow. You give her a cheeky smile that crinkles your eyes.

“In bed with a beautiful woman, of course.”

At this she huffs out a laugh. “Do you flirt with every person who tries to kill you?”

You’re trying to look as non-threatening as possible to keep that knife away from your jugular. The longer you talk, the longer you live, even if you can’t see a way to get out of this situation right now. “Only the pretty ones.”

The small laugh she lets out this time seems more like a scoff. “You don’t even know what I look like.”

“Please.” You roll your eyes. “Any woman who can fight like you and knows how to handle a knife? Automatically hot. I don’t need to see your face to know that.”

The knife still hasn’t moved. She continues to stare you down and you go tense when her free hand moves. She tugs the cloth of your mask down to reveal your face, the air of the room almost cold against the suddenly bared skin, your breaths free to curl out unhindered.

“Usually I like to be taken out to dinner at least once before we get this intimate, but for you I suppose I’ll make an exception.” You’re still grinning cheekily at her, but your mind continues to race as you try to think of a way to get out of this, especially now that she’s seen what you look like—but you suddenly notice that she’s gone very, very still.

“Y/n?”

The grin freezes on your face. Oh, you’re so boned. You’re so very boned. Like, yeah, you’ve been seconds away from death for the past, hmm, five minutes, but this is somehow worse. How the fuck does she know your name?

You’re given the answer almost immediately. She withdraws the hand from your chin and reaches for her own mask. Your eyes widen and your breath stutters in your throat once you see who it is.

“Holy shit,” you breathe.

Yoonji is staring down at you. She’s every inch as imperious and stunning as the last time you’d seen her— hell, even moreso now that you’ve seen what she’s capable of. No wonder you hadn’t been able to find out anything about her after you’d met at that garish charity gala. Because she’s untraceable, just like you.

“Well.” You stare back at her, not even attempting to keep the surprise off your face. “If anyone has to kill me at least I can die satisfied in the knowledge that it was you. Can I make a request? I’d be eternally grateful if you smothered me to death with your thighs. Just a suggestion, feel free to ignore it if you want.”

Yoonji cocks her head. Her bob is tied back, but there’s a loose lock of hair curled by the side of her face that shifts at the motion. Your fingers twitch. If she wasn’t kneeling on your arms you know you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from tucking it behind her ear. Any excuse to touch her. “Do you always talk so much?”

“Hey, if it means I get to feel your legs around my face before I die, I’ll give a full fledged TED talk,” you say. “I have to admit, though. When I pictured us in bed together I didn’t think it would be like this.”

The knife still hasn’t moved from your throat. She continues to stare, as if considering what to do next, though her face remains impassive. “What did you think it would be like?”

“Well, you know. Less knives and clothes involved and a lot more making out,” you answer. “You, telling me what to do. Me, entirely at your command. Anything the lady wants, she gets.”

The human body is a fickle and strange beast. Ever since you discovered who’s straddling you, you’ve been growing wetter and wetter, even if you’re trying not to let on that you’re steadily growing more aroused— you’re still distinctly aware of the knife that’s only centimetres away from your skin, but somehow your body is more focused of the fact that the woman you’ve been daydreaming about is finally in front of you again.

(Well, less in front of you and more on top of you, which is an admittedly preferable option, sans the knife involvement.)

You see how Yoonji’s eyes are darting over your face. No doubt taking in how your pupils are dilated, how your breaths are a little shallower, quicker— signs of fear and signs of arousal are surprisingly similar. You wonder if she can identify which it is. Probably. You’re not exactly very subtle in your attraction to her.

“I forgot my lipstick again,” you add, and Yoonji’s passive mask finally breaks when she rolls her eyes.

“Didn’t I say you wouldn’t need it?”

Even the way she throws the knife aside is gorgeous. The sharp undulation of her wrist as she sends the blade skittering across the polished wood floor is careless and fluid. Her hands cup your face as she bends down, and you send up a mental thanks to any god or higher being who might be listening before Yoonji presses her lips to your and your brain goes blank.

Apparently Yoonji likes it messy. One of her hands is grasping your chin in a mockery of the last time you’d met and she’d painted your lips— your mouth is open and she licks past your lips as you shudder beneath her. She’s still got her knees pressed into your arms, pinning you down, but you desperately crane your head towards her, chasing that kiss; you tilt your head to deepen it, and the whine that leaves you when she pulls away is almost embarrassing.

The sun has finally dipped below the horizon and the room is dark, painted in shades of grey and deep blue. You wish you could see Yoonji properly and you can’t help but wriggle a little underneath her, but then you watch her raise her hands and clap three times in rapid succession before the room floods with dim light. Sound activated lights? Damn.

Yoonji’s mouth shines, covered in a sheen of your mixed saliva, her pretty lips flushed rose pink; even without makeup they’re beautiful and their colour is deep, the blooming petals of a flower. Your eyes trail over her face, down her neck, over the fall of her chest and stomach— you’re both far too covered up in these stupid ensembles of yours and you want to strip the clothes off her. You want to see every inch of her beautiful, majestic body, bared for your lips and hands.

Fuck, she’s so gorgeous.

“Not to, um, ruin the moment, but my hands are going numb.” The weight of Yoonji’s body being pressed into your arms has pretty much cut off the blood flow to your fingers and you can feel the telltale sensation of pins and needles spreading through your skin. “Can I have those back, please?”

Yoonji lifts her knees just enough for you to slide your arms out from underneath them. You immediately shed your gloves and go to grab her ass but she gives you a sharp look and you freeze, slowly settling them on her thighs instead, which she allows with only the slightest raise of her eyebrows.

“Watch,” she commands, and who are you to disobey?

She reaches for the tie in her hair, tugging it out and letting her dark locks fall to frame her lovely, beautiful face. You hungrily swallow down each sight that she feeds to you, the skin that’s revealed as she shrugs off her layers of clothing. She unbuckles the weapons hidden underneath her clothes as she sheds them; she’s a veritable arsenal of firearms and knives, all cast carelessly aside until her upper body is finally, blessedly naked. You’ve been staring at her the whole time, the graceful column of her throat, the delicate lines of her collarbones, and your gaze falls to her breasts, small and perfect, nipples dusty pink and hard. You want to put your mouth on them.

“Holy shit, you’re perfect,” you say.

She smirks. You watch as she rolls her body, lifting up from her knees and standing up, towering above you on the bed—your hands fall to the mattress as she pulls her trousers down, tight material dragging against her skin as she slides it over the curve of her hips and down her long legs. There’s a dagger strapped to her thigh, which she unbuckles and lets fall to one side, but god, if she used it to kill you right now, you would die a happy woman. The image of Min Yoonji towering above you in nothing more than some flimsy underwear is one you want to take to the grave.

You can see how the material around her entrance is darkened with her arousal, and you feel your own body react to the sight, pussy throbbing, your own lower lips slick underneath all your layers of clothing. Yoonji hooks her thumbs into her panties and pushes them down, and you’re enraptured as you watch how the wetness clings to them, before that last bit of clothing is cast aside too.

You moan, unable to stop the sound bubbling up in your throat. From how she’s standing above you, legs spread from how her feet are either side of your hips, you can see everything—how her cunt is flushed, how wet she is, her folds shining. You bet she tastes so fucking good.

You let your mouth fall open, tongue lolling out in a way that’s obscene. You see Yoonji’s eyes flicker as she traces the motion, the way she takes in your expression: wide, hungry eyes, parted lips, wet tongue. Your hands skim up the back of her calves as she shifts forwards and returns to her knees, her naked core so, so close to your mouth, and you dig your fingers into her skin.

“Bon appé-fucking-tit,” you murmur, and then you pull her onto your face.

Yoonji gasps.

(You were right. She tastes so, so fucking good.)

You’re utterly shameless as you slurp up her juices, the wetness that continues to leak out of her as you bury your face into her cunt, tongue lapping over her entrance as your nose brushes her clit. Your hands have moved to the flesh of her ass and you encourage her to grind against you, rolling her hips towards your greedy mouth; you’re staring up at her, drinking down her reactions, the way her face twists with pleasure and the shuddering breaths she takes in, perfect little breasts jumping at the motion. There’s a flush spreading down her neck and chest, pale skin blushing pink, and it’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen.

You purse your lips against her clit, circling it with your tongue before dipping back down between her folds. Each time you breathe in all you can smell is her scent, heavy and dark, all your senses filled with Yoonji, Yoonji, Yoonji. When you hum against her, Yoonji arches her spine and throws her head back, so when you press your tongue into her you hum again, letting the vibrations shiver through her.

“Yes,” she gasps, rutting against your face. “Yes, yes—”

Her thighs tighten around your head. You redouble your efforts, watching her face as you continue to swipe your tongue up her slit and through her folds; you wish you could swallow each of the noises that are falling from her lips as she reaches the crest of her pleasure, the little gasps and moans each time you move your tongue in a particularly wicked way.

“There,” she says. “There, there, just like that—”

Your jaw aches but you don’t even register it, too intent on keeping your mouth open and hot and wet against her. It only takes a few more swipes and flicks of your tongue before she shudders violently, canting her hips towards your mouth as her legs go tense and she cums. She continues to straddle your face as she rides out the waves of pleasure, and you swallow down the wetness that flushes out of her rippling cunt, ignoring the throbbing between your own legs.

You can’t talk, muffled by her as you are, but your mind is singing. Look at you, you think. Look at how gorgeous you are. God, I could eat you out all day. (What a blessed life that would be.)

You can tell when Yoonji’s edged into oversensitivity, jolting when your tongue sweeps over her swollen clit; she settles back, knees spread as she rests against your heaving chest, legs tensing each time an aftershock shivers through her. Your mouth is open as you pant in air, but she watches as you swipe your tongue over your lips, catching the lingering taste of her on you, your chin opalescent with her arousal.

“Okay,” you say, breathless. “I’ve done everything that’s worth doing. I’ve peaked. Everything is downhill from here. You can kill me now.”

You’re only half joking, but your thighs instinctively go tight to rub against each other when you see how Yoonji’s eyes darken.

“I’m not done with you yet,” she purrs.

Yoonji might be naked while you’re still clothed, and so still armed, but she’s undoubtedly the one who’s in control right now. You are so, so okay with that. You watch with wide eyes as she shifts back, her hands grabbing the material of your jacket to tug you upwards, but before she can strip off your clothes you capture her lips with your own.

The taste of her is still heady and deep in your mouth and you nip at her bottom lip before pressing your tongue forwards. The kiss is already slick from Yoonji’s wetness and when you pull away, there’s a thin string of saliva that connects you for a moment before it breaks, which Yoonji wipes away from your chin with the pad of her thumb.

“Dirty girl,” she says, and you bite back a moan at the unabashed lust in her voice. Her grip on your chin is firm. “Did I say you could kiss me?”

“No,” you answer. “I couldn’t help myself.”

She tuts, as if disappointed, and every one of your nerve endings feels electrified, ready and anticipating whatever Yoonji is going to do next. “Such a shame,” she says. “You just can’t keep your hands or mouth to yourself, can you?”

“Can you blame me?”

Yoonji huffs out a laugh through her nose. She strips your jacket off in one sharp motion and then your shirt is similarly pulled off with single-minded intent, along with every other piece of equipment cinched to your arms and body. When you reach for her, though, she captures your wrists, her face stern.

“If you keep moving without permission, I’m going to take that privilege away from you.”

You don’t have to see your own eyes to know how your pupils will have dilated from that statement, blood thrumming through your veins, and you can tell Yoonji has noticed when her expression shifts.

“Oh.” A small, triumphant smirk appears on her face. “I see.”

You lift your arms up so she can pull your sports bra off (of course if you had known you’d been running into Yoonji again you would have worn something nicer). Rather than touch your heaving chest, however, she pushes you down onto the mattress, a hand around your wrists so they’re held above your head.

“Keep still,” she says.

She reaches for the holster that you’d had around your upper arm, lazily casting the knife aside before looping it around your wrists and pulling it secure.

Yoonji’s fingers ease under the nylon as she checks the fit. It’s tight, but not so much so that it’s painful or dangerous, and there’s a hushed moment when the realisation hits you— Yoonji and yourself are both skilled enough to know that you could easily free yourself if you wanted to. It would only take a little motion of your wrists and hands and you could slip them out of the makeshift cuffs in an instant.

You melt into the mattress. Yoonji’s eyes shift away from your wrists as she takes in the way you’ve gone utterly relaxed and limp below her, staring back at her. You see an expression flit across her face faster than you can see, before she slides down your body so she can push your legs apart.

You lift your hips to help her strip your trousers off. Her hand lingers on the concealed holster around your thigh, eyeing the small pistol nestled inside it, before that too is stripped off and cast aside. Her hands trail over the soft skin of your hips and stomach, eyes skimming over the bared length of your body before settling between your legs, the slickness of your inner thighs.

“You got this wet just from eating me out?” Her pretty mouth is curled into an expression that’s almost mocking, and your legs jolt as she runs her fingers lightly over your lower lips before rubbing her fingertips together to feel the wetness she’s gathered. “I haven’t even touched you yet.”

Your nails dig into your palms as your hands twist against each other and you shift your legs further apart. “Please, Yoonji,” you plead, shameless from desperation and arousal.

She laughs at your obvious hunger. “I suppose I should return the favour, shouldn’t I?”

You watch breathlessly as she lifts her fingers to her lips, swallowing them into her mouth to get them slick and wet. The motions of her tongue are languid as she licks across her fingers. You’re like a livewire, thrumming with electricity, and the sensation of her finally sinking one of those fingers into you sends sparks throughout your body.

Yoonji’s maddeningly slow. Your body takes her readily, her long finger gliding easily in and out of you, but she makes no move to speed up; you let out a small noise and she moves upwards to kiss you, as if indulging you, and you’ve just relaxed against her mouth when she plunges a second finger in.

She swallows your gasp as her fingers speed up, before she starts to kiss across your jaw, your neck, between the valley of your breasts and then closing her mouth over one of your nipples— she times the flick of her tongue with the thrust of her fingers, and then you feel how she takes her thumb to press your clit at the same time and you’re gone, falling over the edge faster than you’d expected. Your orgasm is fast but deep, your walls clenching tight around the fingers that continue to curl in and out of you, but she doesn’t stop.

“Yoonji,” you gasp. “It’s too— oh—”

Those two fingers continue to rub your sweet spot as you edge into oversensitivity but Yoonji doesn’t let up. She continues to lick and bite at the skin of your chest, putting her mouth to your other breast and circling the hardened bud of your nipple with her tongue before kissing down your stomach, your pubic bone, and then pressing her lips to your swollen clit.

You whimper. Her pace of her fingers has quickened, and she curls them each time she almost pulls them out, the squelch of their motions obscene as they slide through the cum of your first orgasm. She stares up at you, lapping at your clit with her tongue, and you can feel the saliva that’s dripping from her mouth and over your flushed core, every inch of you oversensitive but screaming with pleasure.

It’s almost painful, but you can feel an orgasm creeping through that ache; you wring your hands together and sob as Yoonji continues to finger fuck you without mercy, her pace almost bruising, the thrust of her knuckles against you each time she bottoms out just one more layer on top of that overwhelming pleasure.

“Yoonji,” you gasp. “I’m g-gonna cum again.”

She hums against you, and you make an incoherent noise at the feeling of that sound against your clit, almost too much— and then she presses one more finger into you, and that’s it, that slight burn and stretch sending you hurtling over that edge again. When you cum, your hips buck and you gasp, air rushing into your lungs before it escapes you in a moan of ecstasy; the only sensations registering in your mind right now are the ripples of pleasure spreading through your cunt as Yoonji pulls her fingers out of you, pressing down on your clit in a way that’s almost cruel, and you sob as your legs instinctively try to tighten but are prevented from doing so by Yoonji’s unyielding presence.

She’s staring down at you as you start to go lax, and you think she’s finished with you, but you watch with widening eyes as she takes her ring and middle finger to run them through your sodden folds. You sob again when those fingers plunge back into you, palm pressing against your clit each time she curls her fingers, and you squirm underneath her.

“Yoonji, it’s too much,” you cry.

“One more.” Yoonji’s leaning back and staring at you, taking in the sweat that’s beading across your skin, the tears that are gathering in your eyes and threatening to spill down your face and into your hair. “You’re doing so well, darling, you can give me one more, can’t you?”

Your reply is incoherent, a small noise that shudders out of the back of your throat. You’ve never been thrown so thoroughly into pleasure like this, overstimulated and aching, but there’s that flicker of pleasure still between your legs, growing each time Yoonji beckons with her fingers, curling over your abused sweet spot again and again and again.

“Just say the word and I’ll stop,” Yoonji says, the wet plunge of her fingers into your abused pussy so messy and loud but not enough to drown her out. “One word and I’ll stop.”

You don’t say anything. You just let your eyes roll back into your head as you cant your hips towards her, trying to latch onto that thread of pleasure that’s thrumming through you below all your screaming nerves, and the noise Yoonji makes is pleased.

“There we go,” she praises. “Look at you, so good for me. Pretty darling.”

You can feel how your pussy clenches around Yoonji’s fingers, how the coil in you is squeezing tighter and tighter, how another orgasm is somehow creeping up on you— you tilt your hips towards that feeling, towards Yoonji’s hand, and then she’s pulling her fingers out of you in an almost rough motion and you’re cumming harder than you ever have before.

“Oh, fuck!” You sob.

It’s indescribable. The sensation rips through you as your back arches off the bed and you’re cumming and squirting and gasping and you can feel the wetness that slicks out of you, your toes curling as your brain goes blank from the staggering pleasure and static consumes every one of your senses. Your entire body feels like nothing more than a vessel for the ecstasy that’s shooting through your veins, spreading out from your core and to every corner of your insides and limbs.

It takes you a while to come back around, aftershocks wracking through your body. You feel sluggish and slow as your mind slowly clears, focusing on the sensation of warm hands stroking over the skin of your stomach and hips and thighs; your eyes flutter open and when you glance down you can see the shine to Yoonji’s skin, evidence of your pleasure painting her in a thin sheen of liquid.

“Oh my god,” you moan. “Holy shit.”

She smiles. “You were so, so good for me,” she says. She leans down to press a light kiss to collarbones and you shiver. “So beautiful. How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve died and gone to heaven before coming back again,” you reply. “Oh, that was so good, Yoonji. I’ve never squirted before. I didn’t realise I could. God.”

Yoonji laughs lightly. You can’t help but watch the way it transforms her face, the way her chest jumps at the motion, every inch of her gorgeous and majestic and cute and pretty. “You did so, so well,” she praises, before she kisses you, her mouth so soft; you barely notice the sudden easing of pressure around your wrists as she releases you, more intent on the sensation of her soft petal lips against your own.

You stare up at her as she pulls away. Powerful, amazing Min Yoonji, kneeling between your legs, naked but not helpless. Definitely less vulnerable than you right now. And yet she’s still making no moves to grab one of the many weapons littered around the bed so she can finally finish her contract by completing the kill. It would be so easy for her.

The silence of the room is suddenly broken by a tiny buzzing noise. You both glance over at the sound, one that Yoonji doesn’t recognise but you do— the communicator in one of your wristbands, the one you use to keep in contact with Namjoon.

You watch the twisting of Yoonji’s body as she leans over the bed to hook the band with a finger before proffering it to you. You pause, but then grasp her wrist and lightly pull so she ends up pressed against you, softness of her breasts against your own, and you hold the communicator between your faces as you accept the call.

“Thank god you answered.” Namjoon’s voice is obviously frantic even through the tinniness of the small speaker. “Dahye cancelled the contract because Minjae wants to reconcile with her, but apparently he’s already put a hit out on you— tonight was a ruse, Minjae isn’t going to be there, you have to get out of there—”

“Bit too late for that,” you interrupt. Yoonji’s hair is tickling your cheek. “Don’t worry. I have it in hand. Send some flowers to Minjae for me, will you?”

“Flowers?” Namjoon sounds understandably confused. “Why?”

“As a thank you for taking out a contract on me,” you say. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m a little busy.”

“With what?”

“With me,” Yoonji says, and you hear Namjoon’s surprised intake of breath before you cut the line.

You end up laughing to yourself. “Oh, he’s going to hate me for that,” you giggle. Yoonji’s hand trails up your stomach and you continue to giggle at the ticklish sensation. Her skin is still slick against yours, and you suddenly realise how cold it is in the room, the air touching the cooling liquid that’s rubbed off against your skin, and you shiver. “Mm. I think it’s time to clean up. Want me to scrub your back in the shower? I give very good massages.”

Yoonji’s eyes are dark and warm before she presses her nose to your neck, lips soft as they touch the delicate skin of your throat. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

#yoonji x reader #min yoonji #yoonji smut #cypherwritersnet #bts smut #bts oneshot #one day I'll learn how to efficiently use tags... one day #joy.masterlist

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procancelled · 4 years

Text

It’s Hard To Be A Diamond In A Rhine Stone World 2008

Something I’ve noticed is that the majority of BOTDF songs address the listener instead of a specific person in the song. This is concerning given how sexual the songs are and how young the fanbase is.

Slash Gash Terror Crew Anthem!

- Fandom name.

- Violent

- Anthem for the fanbase is very sexual despite fanbase is young.

Bend over

Shake those titties

- Gross and demeaning

Pull over

Hello Kitty

- This is a FUCKING CHILDREN’S CARTOON CHARACTER!

Back it up like a U-Haul truck

Sock it to me

Rub my junk

- Anthem for fanbase asks them to do sexual things to Dahvie

You’re a freak… like me!

- Trying to connect to the audience and make them relate to him

Save the Rave

You can talk

You stupid tricks

- Demeaning to people who criticise him or come out with allegations against him

I’ve taken the pills

Giving into cheap thrills

- Normalising drug use

I fell in love with a girl

At the dance club

She said what! As I’m kicking

Up the party drugs

- Connecting relationships, ‘love’ and drug use

Shoot up this place

- Violent

S My D

- A whole song dedicated to Dahvie’s oral sex fixation

I’m probably gonna lick

Feel you up until you drip

- Oral sex fixation and overly sexual

Do you like my sexy hair?

- Wig, shitty, mouldy, stinky wig.

I’m not wearing any underwear

- So it’s easier to get your dick out?

- Also, this is said in a very childish tone instead of trying to sound sexual

S my D

Pop it out like lipstick

- Childish sounding when referring to his oral sex fixation

Take the bottles, pop ‘em out

- Connecting alcohol with sex

Gimme gimme more on the dance floor

- Sex in public, exhibitionism

Turn around, what the hell

Go real fast, break it down

Do it ‘til you touch the ground

Want it slick, want it sure?

- Fast semi-violent sex

Bitch I know you want some more

- Disrespectful and also sounds very rapey

So open me up like Christmas

- Childish sounding which is very gross

S my D motherfuckin’ bitches

- Disrespectful and demeaning

Suck it good

Suck it hard

Suck it right

- Demanding

- Oral sex fixation

- If you want good oral sex then maybe you shouldn’t try to get oral sex from underage virgins, most of which don’t know or understand oral sex

Ima Monster (Heart On My Sleeve)

- Yes you are

I’m banging with the b-o—t-o-dizzle

With wiffles

- What the fuck does this mean?

‘Cause I dribble like I’m rubbing on nipples

- Obsession with breasts

- Why would rubbing nipples make him dribble so much? He’s not seen boobs for the first time, he’s an adult

Gotta get out the pickle

- Childish sounding and gross

Make it rain with the ripples

Let my candy rum trickle

- Linking alcohol and sex

Get you buzzed with double triples

Getting head, in rentals

- Oral sex fixation

- Car sex again

Avoiding the parentals

- Why would adults need to avoid parents? Because an adult should be having sex/a relationship with an adult so parents aren’t an issue right? Unless this is actually because he is avoiding parents because he intents to pursue a minor

They be hatin’ us

Cause we glamourous

They be hatin’ us

Cause I’m fabulous

- Uses things like jealousy as the only reason he/the band are hated

Can’t stop me once I’ve started

- Sounds rapey as fuck

Baby got me retarded

- Slur

Chop, chop, chop you up

- Violent

Eat you like a cannibal

Spit you like an animal

- Violent

- Dismissive, uncaring and disrespectful

Slice, slice, slice you up

Cut you up, I’ll slice and dice

- Violent

Serve you up as cold as ice

- Gloating

Go ‘head girl, shake that butt

Make me freaking bust a nut

- Overly sexual

- Objectifying

Let’s get wasted, super UHW

Guess what honey, I’m a freak

I’m a freak, inside the sheets

- Links alcohol and sex

- Saying he’s a ‘freak’ is reminiscent of how he uses BDSM as an excuse

Rough, tough, naughty nurse

Rip it up, make it hurt

- Normalising rough sex to a young audience that doesn’t know much about sex

- Telling fans what he likes and what he’s like (supposedly) sexually

Don’t stop, get it, get it

Last for hours, not for minutes

- Demanding

- Yeah as if you could Dahvie

Open wide for my surprise

- Oral sex fixation

Scratch and blow for your grand prize

Smear it on your plastic face

- Rude

- Marking who he’s with sexually

Leave you with a sweeter taste

- He has told girls that his cum tastes like ice cream, young girls.

Super soaker on your chest

Let it drip down on your breasts

- Breast obsession

- At shows he would pour drinks on girls chests. He would also spit on them, mainly whichever girl he decided he wanted to have sex with

Haters make me famous

- He indoctrinates his fans to think this way so whenever they see people criticise him or talk about what he did to them they will just replay that their ‘hate’ is just making Dahvie more famous

- They aren’t haters and Dahvie is famous for all the wrong reasons

It’s Hard To Be A Diamond In A Rhine Stone World

Slash Gash Terror what?

Slash Gash Terror who?

Slash Gash Party Crew

- Violent name for fanbase

You know how we fucking do

- Telling fanbase how to act

Pull over, that ass is so phat

You makin’ me clap

- Overly sexual and demeaning

I don’t know how to act

- He really doesn’t

I do it in the front

I do it in the back

Shake it down like that

Make that booty go clap

- Overly sexual while sounding childish and not sexy in any way

Can’t knock it, I’m profit

- Money obsession

- Uses money and parents connect to the cops in his area to get out of any repercussions

I got paper to chase

I got money to make

- By scamming fans

Squish, squish on your chest

- Childish sounding

Rub those titties, super breast

- Ah yes, one single super breast, the other one is mediocre

- Breast obsession

Ah, ah lost my breath

Ultra sex you’re the best

- Overly sexual

I’m packing

- Doubt

I’m stacking

Some rated x action

Strawberry whip cream

We can be a sweet team

Bang bang choo choo train

Show me how you work that thing

- Childish sounding while being overly sexual

This is how we fucking do

In the Slash Gash Terror Crew

- Addressing fans

- Telling fans how to act

Keys To The Bakery

Haters block

- ‘Haters’ = valid critics

- Ironic since he blocks anyone who comments on his posts with the allegations against him

And snitches rock

- Does he mean rock in some kind of bad way?

- He calls anyone who confesses what he did to them as a snitch to make it sound bad so his fans go after them

Yo pass me the cup

I’ll drink till

I throw up

- Unhealthy behaviour being normalised to a fanbase where the majority can’t legally buy alcohol

I get you wetter than Hurricane Katrina

- Hurricane Katrina happened in 2005, three years before this album came out. People were still suffering.

- Hurricane Katrina caused 1,200 deaths and $125 billion in damages

- This line is said eight times in this song

Cuddle leads to trouble

When you’re up in my bubble

- Sounds incredibly rapey

I don’t chase em

I replace em

- It has been reported that over 100 people have reached out with stories about how they have been hurt by Dahvie

- If Dahvie couldn’t get what he wanted from someone he would stop contacting them

- He would also stop contact if he felt at risk of being exposed

Stackin’ hoes

Like dominoes

- Disrespectful

Make a rumour

- Constantly calls the allegations ‘rumours’ so they seem less valid, especially to people who don’t look into them further

Sense of humour

- Nothing about rape or paedophilia is funny

Entertain with my life

Make me popular over night

To be famous is so nice

- Acts as if the allegations just gain him fame. He is the literal embodiment of ‘HaTeRZ MaKE mE FaMOUs’

Reeses pieces butter cup

- Random and childish sounding

Mess with me

I’ll fuck you up

- Threatening violence

- Many victims have said he is a violent person

This is how we party up

- Saying the way he acts is normal

She licked it like a lolli pop

- Childish sounding

- Oral sex fixation

Don’t stop till you hit the spot

- Demanding

You got me crazy or maybe

Get smashed

- Linking sex and alcohol

I can’t stop

Till I pop

- Sounds rapey

- Only cares if he gets off, doesn’t care about the other person

There’s danger on the spot

- Dahvie is the danger

Got money in my hands

Mad dough! Cash flow

Got the diamonds that glow

We be popin’ Champaign

Like we won the damn game

- Obsession with being rich and flaunting that

- He hasn’t got anything now. He’s poor and lives with his parents

Mosh and Roll!

When I step in the club

Everybody shows me love

- No they don’t

- And now some places, not just clubs, won’t let him in

I’m in the business of terror

- Being honest there

More metal than Slayer

- HA! HA! HA!

- THE FUCK!?!?!?!?

I got money and hoes

- Demeaning

In different area codes

- Has victimised women in many states and even different countries

Cause haters make me famous

- This stupid narrative again

But love will make you shameless

- Dahvie doesn’t understand love and he also should feel shame

I’ll slash, gash this party bash

- Violent

Gotta get that money cash

- By scamming?

Up and down with no breaks

We as in, I’ll make you shake

- Gross and overly sexual

We’re gonna burn this town

To the ground

- Violent

I’m not a trend sweater

I’m a trend setter

- This is an actual line that is spoken

Girl you better pop an umbrella cause

You’re making me wet drip, drip

I gotta get that lick

- Oral sex fixation

For the centre of the tootsie pop

- Childish sounding

You know I can’t stop

- Sounds rapey

Shank you with my bling brass

- Violent

Stacking up on my money cash

- Obsession about money

Do You Want To Be A Superstar?

Ummm… Mic check…

One… Two… Um… Fucking twelve

- Again this is an actual line that is spoken

My fashion is so siq

- He dresses the way he does so he looks younger

My fashion will make you lick

- Oral sex fixation

Watch those panties fucking drip

- Gross and overly sexual

Scene hair weave

- Scene hair wig you mean

Scene attitude so fucking mean

- Acts like being mean is okay and normal because of being part of a certain ‘culture’

Get on the floor

Get on the whore

- Demanding and demeaning

Pull down your pants and drop your drows

- Demanding

(Like Oh My God Dahvie you’re so obscene)

- Acts like everything he does is just because he’s ‘obscene’ which is like him saying that how he treats women while he forces himself on them is BDSM

Bitch I’m the motherfucking war machine

- Violent

Don’t give a fuck just bust your grill

- Doesn’t care about being violent

Throw them hoes

- Demeaning and dismissive

Throw these motherfuckers who get too close

- Violent

Porn star bash

Porn star splash

- Porn obsession

My porn star cash

- Dahvie isn’t a porn star

Pretty damn stoned

- Linking drugs and sex

Pretty fucked up? Yeah I know

- Acts like everything he does is a big deal

Do you wanna be a super star?

Get fucked up and go real far?

- Acts like if you’re famous you are going to get ‘fucked up’

Or do you want to be a porn star?

Fuck for money and go real far

- Demeaning sex work

Wet from dreams

Wet from screams

Wet from sex and dripping with cream

- Overly sexual

HOT HOT SEX!

HOT HOT BREASTS!

HOT WHITE TIGHT SHIRTS

BUSTING OUT YOU’RE CHEST

Double D titties

Double D pretties

- Obsession with breasts

- Objectifying women

Girl got them thighs

You’re pretty damn fine

- Objectifying

I don’t give a fuck what I say

I don’t give a fuck I do it everyday

- He literally doesn’t care as long as he gets away with what he does

Yes I’m different

Yet I’m unique

- ‘Uwu I’m not like other predators’

Mess with me

I’ll grind you like meat

- Threatening violence

Let’s get wasted, super fucked

Go head girl shake that butt

- Childish sounding

- Linking sex with alcohol

(Let’s get wasted)

Make me fucking bust a nut

- Demanding

Wet Dream War Machine

Operation get crunk, I'm in love with your trunk

- Combines sex, alcohol and ‘love’

Get me fucking love drunk, baby girl I want

Drugged up like party monster, sexed up so grab the condoms

- Links drugs and sex

Boom, Boom, Boom

In my hotel room

- Raped underage girls in his hotel rooms while touring or would book a hotel room to take underage girls to

I'm the teenage bloody dream

- ‘Bloody’ is he trying to be British or violent

- He isn’t a teen and also shouldn’t be encouraging teens to want to be with him

Everybody fuck me

- No

Getcha drink on

Take your clothes off

Let’s get down and dirty

- Normalising drunk sex

- Demeaning

Mad Rad Hair

- You mean wig

I'm fenny not a faggot!

- Slur

With extensions so thick

- It’s a wig not just extensions

You can suck my dick

- Oral sex fixation

So get in my chair

Let me pimp your hair

- Used cutting hair as a way to spend time with underage girls. Arrived at a time when the parents would have to go to work so he could be alone with the underage girl

- He couldn’t cut hair. He called himself Dahvie The Elite Hair God on MySpace but he had not talent. I would think it’s the same with makeup. During this time his makeup wasn’t very heavy. It was only when Jayy joined the band and the band was more successful that his makeup got more extreme since he could afford a makeup artist, and Jayy actually can do makeup.

Let’s get wasted super fucked

- Alcohol reference

My hair is better than yours

- IT’S A WIG!

So just fuck me on the dance floor

- Demanding

- Exhibitionist

Everybody gettin' tense

Feeling up my body

- Overly sexual

I love this filthy

Life to get CRUNK ALL NIGHT!

- Linking alcohol and sex

My hair’s looking so tight

- WIG!

In case you didn't know

I'm a really big deal

- He wasn’t overly famous outside of MySpace at this point

So shut the fuck up

- Demanding and disrespectful

And take your clothes off

- Using fame to get people to have sex with him

Come' a MySpace whore

- Demeaning

- Telling his fans the kind of person he’s interested in

- Being scene was a way for him to look younger and prey on young girls

Change your name to

XXGORE

- He gave some of his victims their MySpace name

#Blood On The Dance Floor #dahvie vanity #kawaii monster #anti blood on the dance floor #anti dahvie vanity #trigger warning rape #tw: rape #botdf #anti botdf

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kob131 · 5 years

Note

New "So This is Basically X" video from Jello Apocalypse is on RWBY, and it's a bunch of pretty much crapping on the show.

(Note: read the Edit section for my recollected thoughts. I’d jus rewrite the post but that’d be like covering my mistakes)

… You know what? My dog just died so I am in no mood to tolerate this bullshit.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K3vYbF3_TAk

A. ‘Added into the show at the last minute’ he says as his own fucking image directly states that the ‘last minute’ was the fucking Red Trailer. AKA the fucking psuedo-pilot. He had so many other chances like Neo or ABRN or the fucking Maidens but nope decided to do the ONE wrong thing.

B. ‘Hoitty Toitty Princess’ Yeah, because she was abused by her dad for years as well as watched her mother degrade into a lifeless husk. Again, could have made an actual point but decided to just spew out the most basic shit ever.

C. ‘Lose every fight she’s been in.’

*cough* WHITE TRAILER *cough*

Also: Fucking Missed Oppritunity: 3 *ding*

D. ‘Weiss hates Ruby’

That stopped in Volume 1, try again

E. ‘How many ears do they have?’

2 or 4

‘Human ears?’

Always

‘Animal ears?’

Sometimes

‘Neither?’

That’s you

‘BOTH?’

Sometimes

‘Why do some of them only have tails?’

Genetics

‘Humans are racist against the Lagoos’

Says the man who tried guilt tripping half the population through racism accusations.

Missed Fucking Opportunity: 4 *ding*

E. What couldn’t find say bullshit to spew about Yang? Missed Fucking Opportunity: 5 *ding*

F. Those are fucking one offs characters. Homer’s Vegas wife isn’t referred to as a side character, why should most of these be any different?

Also: ‘Never explores any of these!’ *shows team CFVY who are getting their own fucking book*

Good to see you still suck at making a point.

G. ‘Show isn’t about the characters!’

We get it, you’re slurping the anti-RWBY crowd’s cock. Make a valid point that not everyone and their grandmother’s grandmother made years ago.

H. *tries citing Neptune, a character that had about twenty minutes of screentime total as ‘eating up’*

Are you gonna do SOMETHING worthwhile? Because these jokes fall flat with a basic knowledge of the show.

I. ‘It’s about the over the top spectacle fights!’

Which not only were far less frequent in other ‘similar’ shows but they sometimes just #ate up screentime.

Missed Fucking Oppritunity: 6 *ding*

J. *butt metal!*

*cites Flynt, a fucking JAZZ musician*

What’s next? ‘Durr, marvel movie orchestra? BAD1′

K. ‘durr, clipping issues!’

*Slaps Fist Of The Blue Sky: Re:Genesis onscreen*

Come back when you make a point.

L. Jello, at the 2:10 mark you’ve done nothing but either say the same standard bullshit (which gets disproven within a minute of research*) or make shitty Take That! jokes.

About fucking RWBY. Egoraptor’s Ocarina of Time and ScottFalco’s Pokemon videos are mocking the shit out of you because you somehow made a worse version of both, about a less subjective medium with a fucking barrel full of fish. Guess that ‘Vote’ video must’ve fried them braincells huh?

M. Dust is elemental gunpowder, how is such a basic concept too complex for you to handle?

N. ‘Steal Dust and never bring it up again!’

Probably because the ending of Volume 2 was the END GOAL of stealing the dust you dumbass.

O. The magic comes straight from the fucking gods, Semblance and Dust have been used in Remnant science. Or is my cheap ass phone magic because someone from the 17th century doesn’t know how it works.

P. *points behind Jello at the massive burly man with the title ‘Lord of the Rings’ on it’s chest*

Have fun with him.

Missed Fucking Opportunity: 7 *ding*

Q. Wanna bet if the RWBY haters didn’t slurp Chibi’s cock he’d be bashing hibi instead of praising it.

R. *join the plot*

Ruby is the fucking plot.

S. So I’m guessing you’d call Hercules’ rage against Olympus and Hera ‘him getting a little mad?’

That’s okay, just like how you’d say your little ‘vote’ video was just ‘you having a little brainfart; amirite?

T. Ah yes, Volumes 1 and 2, which had the least defined characters, the most wasted screentime, the least plot, the least likablke versions of the heroes, the most side characters (INCLUDING NEPTUNE WHO YOU MOCK)-

Literally EVERYTHING you��ve spewed out your mouth was in the first two Volumes and 4 and 5 are the worst ones. Sure.

Missed Fucking Opportunity: 8 *ding* (Should actually be about 8001)

U. ‘Speaking of garbage *which is a segway I could put anywhere in this video’-

Good to know you’re aware of the piss poor quality of the video. Now if only you’d learn to keep your trap shut.

V. Ozpin was never suppose to be morally grey, next.

W. …

*pulls out Qrow and Ruby and replaces it with Yang and Liar Bitch McMass Murd-I mean Raven.*

Wow, context kicks your ass.

X. Jello.

What is the plot of RWBY?

No ‘Well there IS no plot’ bullshit. Tell me. What. The plot. Is.

… You can’t can you? This is the fucking Vote video all over again. You’re talking about a subject you have no clue about, spouting off whatever you think will get you the most positive PR and did no research whatsoever, Except with the video so infamous you had to DELETE it, politics is an inherently difficult subject matter that is easy to screw up (well, not to your extent.)

This is a web show.

Made by two drunk interns and an animator who took inspiration from BLAZBLUE.

And you have NOT made a SINGLE valid point.

The closest you got was the lip movements but you CLEARLY weren’t talking about the Volumes where it mattered so fucking credit.

Y. Blah blah blah ‘Bumbleby bullshit because pander’

Z. Qrow: ‘Oh ad my sister sold me and the daughter she abandoned twice before to the literal devil. Also why I am saying the bird thing is a curse? I defended Ozpin. My sister is the one claiming it to be a curse. Because she wanted to get away from the immortal pseudo-Greek villian which is a common feeling most people would think to do since it appeals to the inherent pragmatism in humanity but I overcame it through my niece’s determination to do the right thing in the end because just being pragmatic and doing what is most likely to succeed goes against one of the few things that make human beings what we are!

… Now I’m gonna go say my political opinions like I’m an important figure and not a walking punchline only known for mildly entertaining content that has suffered such a drop the Simpsons are looking at me in pity because I have a massive ego. And then when people call me out, I’ll delete the video and mock them like the child I am.’

*cracks open a beer* I don’t care if that’s cruel. He wants to talk like he knows shit? He can take it.

Edit:

https://twitter.com/alle1304/status/1137340212315643904

Well I owe him an apology. Over thinking he was pandering to the hate mob as well as my stupid attitude.

However I still stand by a lot of what I said: He missed a LOT of opportunities to make a good point and instead went with the lowest common denominator stuff. Like with making the joke about Weiss hating Ruby. It’s not funny because the joke is based on heavily outdated information and is just blatantly untrue.

There’s a reason why his ‘Welcome to *Website*’ videos are funny. Because while it is an exaggeration of what happens on the websites, it’s still basically true. Humor works when it strikes hard, either by throwing something so absurd at you that you’re forced to laugh because you don’t understand it, so raunchy that you laugh at the absurdity in which something so wrong was said so earnestly or by saying something so true that you’re forced to laugh to make light of the situation.

Jello’s video doesn’t do any of that. It either says a bunch of basic stuff that doesn’t work with knowledge or is saying things in a satricial way that people , EARNESTLY say, basically invoking Poe’s Law on himself. (The law of ‘Without a clear indication, a satire of X can easily been taken as an earnest belief in X.’)

This isn’t to say I was justified in what I did: it’s just even in a rational state of mind, the video is too flawed to be funny.

(Also no, I don’t regret what I said about the Vote video.)

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renegade-skywalker · 5 years

Note

i wasn’t 100% sure if you wanted prompts for the prompt list or you were reblogging it for your own reference, so if you didn’t want prompts (or if you just don’t feel inspired for this one) feel free to ignore this! anyway, 2 for finnrey!

Ahh thank you! I meant to say that I was open to prompts but was also bookmarking the post for future use regardless if anyone asked, but I’m so glad you did! This was actually really fun and really easy to write. Finn/Rey just comes so naturally to me, it was a pleasure doing this!

2. “I’ll keep you warm.”

The cockpit was frigid. Or maybe it was just Rey.

Perhaps it was the lack of sleep, the stress on her spirit, and her anger beside it, still roiling beneath her outer calm. No, not calm. Exhaustion. Exhaustion and pure disappointment.

Arms wrapped around herself, holding onto something, anything, she sunk into the pilot’s chair and stared out at the mottled blue-white of hyperspace.

In all her years on Jakku, not a single day had felt as long as this one had, nor as fruitless. Not the days where she went without food, or water, or kept herself holed up in her AT-AT or some other wreck while she waited for a storm to pass. Even with nothing else to pass the time than count the grains of sand or guess at just how many waking breaths she had left, nothing had prepared her for the past day… or was it a week? She didn’t know any more. And what did it matter?

The room was empty, and she wasn’t surprised. Hardly any of the Resistance had made it out of Crait alive. She had only seen the Resistance up close once, and even then she was far too worried about Finn to take stock of what and who else was in the galaxy, and whose side she was on.

Finn.

She last spied Finn bringing one of the Falcon’s sorry excuses for a blanket up around a fallen soldier, careful to tuck it around her shoulders, the flip of her hair spilling out over its frayed edge. Chewbacca had exited the cockpit, setting the ship on autopilot before embracing General Organa in a hug, a wealth of loss shared between them as they held one another, stoic and silent. Rey thought it best to leave them be while the others took stock, and sought to be by herself again. For once.

But she craved him, here, like they had been once, before Takodana, before Starkiller Base, before… all this.

She ached for the kindness in his eyes, his gentle hand, the one thing she found she missed in her time away, met only with the empty eyes of the lost Luke Skywalker and the dark, deceiving ones of Kylo Ren, who she now regretted calling Ben as if she could bring him back from the brink.

But Finn had grown up at the brink. He was brought up at the edge of the abyss, familiar with its darkness. It was all he knew. And still, he had the heart to step away from the precipice and steel himself against its pull, defiant despite it.

“Mind if I join you?” a voice pierced the quiet, deep but gentle and probing.

Rey turned, her face blushing.

“Finn,” she said, almost shrinking, afraid he’d heard her thoughts but knowing she was silly for thinking so.

“Are you…?” his question hung in the air as he hovered in the threshold, unsure. “Are you okay?”

Rey nodded, words failing her, though the look on her face must have said otherwise. Finn slumped into the copilots chair, his arm twitching slightly, as if deciding whether or not to reach out for her again.

“I’ll be alright,” she resigned, watching him struggle and wishing he would stop worrying, that they would all stop worrying - not that they had any reason to do otherwise.

Finn watched her, raising a brow.

“You look cold,” he said, almost sad, his voice wilting.

“Well, maybe a little, but-”

She was used to Jakku and its relentless days, noontime being the worst outdoors but the evenings even worse for the trapped heat. But the nights were unforgiving, the sands grown bitter cold once the suns sunk below the horizon, and now she didn’t feel quite different. She hadn’t the proper clothing then, and she didn’t now, but what she wore was familiar, comfortable. Wearing anything else would feel… strange, alien. But the shivering? Perhaps that was more than just the cold.

A wealth of thought played over her face as Rey struggled to express her inner thoughts, and Finn inched closer, extending a hand this time.

“C’mon,” he coaxed, his hand - sprawling and warm - gently probing at her elbow. “We’ll find something.”

Rey didn’t want to leave, but she also wanted to stay with Finn this time, not leave him like she had before.

After a moment, she nodded, allowing Finn to lead her from the cockpit to…

They paused at the end of the hall, Finn’s eyes darting left and right, unsure of where to go next.

“There’s a supply closet that way,” Rey said quietly, leaning into Finn’s hand still at her arm, guiding her.

Finn flushed, his eyes looking at her sidelong before looking left.

“Right,” he said, clearing his throat, “This way, then.”

Rey couldn’t help but laugh at Finn’s mock expertise, clearly putting on a face for her benefit, or perhaps for his as well. She saw how he had comforted the sleeping girl back in the main hold earlier, the way he exchanged looks with Poe and with Leia. She could tell there was more stirring inside - worry, fear… but also hope. She smiled shyly, just out of sight as Finn meandered the hall, waiting for Rey to tell him just where the closet they were looking for was.

She pointed again when they came upon it, mouthing the word there as if she were a sprite guiding him despite his teasing (yet somehow still genuine) chivalry.

“Ah yes, of course,” Finn said again with mock severity, feigning a knowledge of the ship he spent less than a day with Rey on, mainly keeping to the hold and the cockpit, and nothing else.

Finn rummaged around, unsure of what he was looking for and unsure of what he was moving around, while Rey watched him, smiling all the while. He finally came upon a cloth, perhaps meant as a towel or a rag to dredge up oil while doing repairs, but he held it up for her inspection, his expression hopeful but hesitant.

“That will do,” she found herself laughing. Finn smiled, still shy, still unsure of how to act around her after all that had happened and all that remained unsaid. But when he draped the cloth around her shoulders, it felt as it did back on Crait, when the rocks parted and suddenly Finn was there, and a moment after he was in her arms again, the second part of a half finally whole again.

“This’ll keep you warm,” he said, tugging at the corners so the fabric barely covered her forearms. Rey stifled a laugh, smiling at him despite it. “Or maybe… I’ll keep you warm.”

Finn blushed, his skin growing hot to the touch. Rey’s arms prickled, suddenly alight with his bashfulness, though he did not shy away.

Warm indeed, she thought, nodding in agreement as they found a quiet corner of the ship, and got to talking, Finn’s presence at her side like the heat of the sun at midday, warm and steady all the while.

#thanks for the ask!#finnrey #finnrey fridays #finn #rey #star wars #my writing #fan fiction

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lady-divine-writes · 6 years

Text

Klaine Advent one-shot - “Deserve” (Rated NC17)

Blaine has spent a lifetime in a wheelchair, hiding himself away, not wanting to be considered a burden by anyone. But he longs for intimacy, and has desires he has trouble admitting to himself, let alone anyone else. So he calls a professional, hoping that will help ... only he's not sure that the intimacy he craves is one that he necessarily deserves. (2209 words)

Notes: Written for the Klaine Advent 2017 prompt 'limited', and based off of a few personal interactions with previous clients. It just took me a long time to write. Dom/sub. Dom Kurt. sub Blaine. disabled!Blaine.

Read on AO3.

“I get paid by the hour, the first hour upfront, as I outlined in my email,” the man says, strolling through Blaine’s apartment as if he owns it, pulling back curtains on the windows that Blaine doesn’t want to admit he closed on purpose before the man arrived. As sun floods the living room, Blaine’s fingers curl uncomfortably into the arms of his wheelchair. With the room brightly lit, the man can see everything – Blaine’s guitar and his piano sitting in their corner, neglected over the past few weeks as pain in his fingers has kept him from them; his heirloom furnishings, which he doesn’t particularly like, but which he doesn’t have the motivation to replace; family pictures documenting a life that became progressively more disappointing as time went on ...

The man can see him, and everything that’s wrong with him.

“Y---yes,” Blaine says, fingers tapping subconsciously as the anxiety in his brain spreads to the rest of his body. “I understand …”

“But?” the man infers, taking his time examining the view out of the last window, which overlooks Central Park. It’s a glorious view – part of the reason why Blaine chose this apartment in the first place. Blaine never thought he’d find a view to rival it until this man came along – handsome, refined, wearing an air of debonair sophistication and a designer suit, the long line of his back straight and strong, his face positively sculpted, his eyes intelligent, the soft upsweep of his highlighted hair a work of art. He could be an actor, or a model, in Blaine’s humble opinion. Either way, he’s too good for this.

Too good for Blaine, and what Blaine is paying him to do.

“But I’m beginning to think …” Blaine swallows hard. It hurts his chest “… that maybe I’m wasting your time.”

The man looks over his shoulder, fixing Blaine with his unique blue-grey eyes, quizzically framed by a single arched eyebrow.

“Is there something wrong with me?” he asks – not self-consciously, but matter-of-factly. “Because if there is, I can refer you to someone who might suit you better.”

“No!” Blaine says, incredulous. Wrong with him? How in the world could he think there’s anything wrong with him? This man, sashaying away from the windows to join Blaine in his chair, looked like something out of a high-end fashion magazine. Blaine didn’t think that men like him existed in real life, but here he was, stepping out of the shadows of a vivid daydream. “It’s … it’s not that. It’s not that at all. I mean, you’re … you’re …” Blaine stumbles through adjectives, his mind cluttered with his own insecurities and self-doubts, unable to navigate the words that identify those feelings to find one that comes close to defining this man “… perfect.”

The man grins, stopping a few feet away from Blaine with his arms crossed. “Well, if I’m perfect, then what’s the problem?”

“I … I would have to say that … you know … I’m the problem … Sir.”

The man standing before Blaine isn’t smug, nor condescending. He’s simply confident. And his confidence isn’t an act. He wears it like his skin, probably one of the reasons why he’s so good at what he does, why he comes so highly recommended. Blaine wishes he could have a bit of that confidence. Dressed in shoes and socks indoors, khaki slacks, a button down shirt, a sweater vest, and a cardigan, Blaine still feels vulnerable.

Naked.

“Kurt. Until we get things started, you can call me Kurt.”

“Kurt,” Blaine repeats, though it seems sacrilege to call this imposing man anything but Sir.

“That’s right,” Kurt says, his tone softer. “So why do you think you’re the problem, Blaine?” He must immediately notice Blaine’s discomfort with that question, because he switches gears, asking a different one in a blink. “Better yet – why don’t you tell me what you know about BDSM? Give me a little insight into what about it appeals to you.”

“I don’t know much,” Blaine admits. His eyes leave Kurt’s face and drift to his hands, which he folds in his lap. “I only know what I’ve read on the Internet, mostly on Tumblr.”

“Ah,” Kurt says, a thread of sympathy in his tone that indicates he knows exactly what types of blogs Blaine has been visiting, what pictures and gifs he’s seen … and why they might make him feel like he – bound to his wheelchair, a little soft around the edges, mostly content to sit at home and re-read the same novel fifteen times than venture outdoors and explore the city – isn’t good enough to participate in Kurt’s world.

“And I’ve been to … you know … classes … but they made me uncomfortable. So I thought that maybe a one-on-one experience would work better in my case.”

“Why were they uncomfortable?”

Blaine peeks up at Kurt’s face and his curious expression. “I just … I didn’t want other people to know that I was interested in this.”

“Because they might judge you?”

“In a way.”

“Was anyone you knew in those classes?”

“No.”

“Did anyone you know know you were going to them?”

“No, it wasn’t that. It’s … the people in the classes … they weren’t like me … and I didn’t want them to know …”

“… that you want this?”

“I …” Blaine didn’t realize his cheeks had gone red, but the more he reveals, the hotter they become. He can’t remember the last time someone has been as blunt with him as Kurt is being. Most of the people he interacts with, his doctors and his psychiatrist included, tend to coddle him. The people he does business with go out of their way to make things easier for him than they would for everyone else. They want him to feel comfortable, to ease his stress, and he can appreciate that. But it doesn’t make him feel comfortable.

Quite on the contrary. It makes him feel like a leper.

“Yes,” he says quietly, ashamed of his own cowardice. He expects Kurt to laugh at him, chide him for acting immature. So many of the blog posts he’s read have told him that if he can’t ask for something he wants, he shouldn’t get it.

What Kurt says instead is worse, because it bares the roots of his feelings to light.

“Because you don’t think you deserve it. You don’t think you deserve to find pleasure this way … or at all?”

“M---maybe,” Blaine answers in a shaky voice. He attempts to laugh it off, but the chuckle he forces becomes an unattractive cough. In his daily life, he tries not to be handi-centric, plays his disabilities off, but mostly because he doesn’t want people to think he’s whining. His mom was a staunch proponent of, “Yes, you have it bad, but other people have it worse,” never allowing him to acknowledge how bad he actually did have it. Blaine often felt she said that to assuage her own guilt more than to help him out of his depression.

It was her way of shutting him down.

Blaine never blamed his mother for his disability. She couldn’t have prevented it. But her constant insistence that he be grateful for the life he did have embedded its hooks deep. It made him believe that no one would want to deal with him the way he was, accept him flaws and all, if he couldn’t find a way to just be happy. If he owned up to his pain, his bitterness, his feelings of frustration and disappointment at the way his life turned out, people would see him as a burden.

Then he would end up alone for the rest of his life.

His mother meant well but, in many ways, her attitude did as much damage as the stroke that put him in his chair.

Since he doesn’t have the energy to constantly put on a brave face, especially around strangers, he hides himself away. He doesn’t want to be a burden, but he doesn’t want to be an inspiration, either. Unfortunately, he’s discovered, those are the only two holes disabled people are given to fit into. He just wants to live in peace. And his method works, but only because he fulfilled his own prophecy.

He ended up alone.

“To be honest, I … I’m not even sure why I want this.”

“If I had to hazard a guess, it’s because you feel deprived of something.” Kurt takes a step closer, then another, gauging Blaine’s level of comfort with his proximity. “Something was withheld from you, and you weren’t consulted. You were helpless to stop it - muscle control, sensation, physical strength. Now you want to take something back, to say you’re in control of what’s left.”

Blaine darts his eyes away, bashful over Kurt’s emphasis on physical strength – an insinuation that Blaine is strong in other ways. If Kurt were anyone else, Blaine would think he was flattering him. It’s Kurt’s job, after all, to make Blaine feel a certain way. That’s how he makes his money. But from his bio, his references, and their prior communications, Kurt doesn’t seem like the kind of man who wastes words on empty compliments.

“But, if I submit to you, aren’t I giving up control?”

“It might seem that way, but in BDSM, the submissive has a majority of the control. I may want something, something I’m convinced will make you feel good, but unless I clear it with you beforehand, I can’t do it. I can’t force anything on you. And once we begin, you have the power to stop things at any time, as do I. We’ll be equals in this arrangement more than you realize.” Kurt takes a knee. It brings his face below Blaine’s eye line, but only barely. Kneeling in front of Blaine doesn’t erase any of his confidence. There’s an incredible amount of dominance in the way Kurt’s eyes lock shamelessly onto Blaine’s, so much so that it’s difficult for Blaine to maintain that eye contact. Kurt raises his hands, palms hovering over Blaine’s legs, an inch or two above his knees. “May I?”

Blaine stares at him, momentarily confused, but when he realizes that Kurt is asking for permission to touch him, he nods … and holds his breath. The last person to touch Blaine’s legs was his physical therapist, Tony. Tony is a kind man, a handsome man, and he happens to be gay. But they have a strictly professional relationship. The way Tony touches Blaine is nurturing, comforting, invigorating even, but it’s nothing like this. It never turned him on, even though there were times Blaine prayed it would. He might have to change therapists after that, but it would be worth it for one moment of arousal.

So he’d know that it was still possible.

With Kurt’s hands making their way to Blaine’s hips, apparently, it is.

There’s a sensuality in Kurt’s touch that he exudes effortlessly as he kneads Blaine’s muscles … and a tenderness, too. Kurt has experience. He knows how to touch him, and he isn’t apprehensive about doing it. It’s magical, this intuition he has. Underneath Kurt’s talented fingers, Blaine doesn’t feel ungrateful, or lesser, or ashamed.

And he doesn’t feel alone.

“I’m … I’m limited,” Blaine says, reminding Kurt as if he may have forgotten in the last few minutes, as if part of their initial contact didn’t include Blaine detailing the extent of his injuries, the length of his convalescence.

“You have limits,” Kurt corrects, “but guess what? Everybody does. I do, too. We’ll work around them. I’ll teach you. Wouldn’t it be exciting to explore those limits? Discover once and for all what your body is capable of?”

“I … I guess.” Nervousness splits his voice, overwhelmed by an excitement he hasn’t felt since he was a teenager. “It’s just difficult for me to think of myself that way.”

“As what? A sexual creature?”

Blaine chews his lower lip, bites back a smile, and Kurt smiles at the innocence of it.

“Blaine, your body belongs to you. You deserve to enjoy it. You deserve pleasure, intimacy.” Kurt stops massaging Blaine’s left leg and takes his hand. He lifts it to his lips and kisses it gently – the knuckles first, then the fingers, lingering on the sensitive web of flesh in between. His next words are a whisper against Blaine’s trembling skin. “You deserve to do what you want with it.”

Kurt continues to kiss a trail down one finger and up the next. When he gets to his thumb, he turns Blaine’s hand over to plant a kiss in his palm, and another on his wrist. Kurt’s kisses ricochet throughout Blaine’s body – up his arms, across his shoulders, down his spine, in his groin. Nerves fire that have been numb for as long as Blaine can remember. None of this will make him walk or help him stand, but he doesn’t feel so confined anymore.

“Then, for the next few hours” - Blaine closes his fingers around the kiss in his left hand as Kurt starts kissing the fingers of his right - “I’m handing it over to you.”

#klaine fanfiction #klaine fic #klaine #frankie writes

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drv3imagines · 7 years

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Hey, what up friends of this blog. If you were expecting Mod Ouma, But Ironically (Mod Tojo) to answer an ask, I deeply apologize because that’s not what this post is about… HOWEVER. I would like to pay special attention to a few characters we’ve missed out on for birthday bashes. I was waiting until Rantaro’s birthday to go ahead and compile the birthday bashes we’ve previously missed out on. I had no intention of JUST doing Korekiyo, Ryoma, and Kirumi (Everyone deserves the love the killing game didn’t give them). I’m gonna go as far back as Angie Yonaga, Kokichi Ouma, Tsumugi Shirogane, Shuuichi Saihara, and finally our boi who’s birthday is today! Rantaro Amami! No one placed these asks in our boxes, so technically we aren’t obligated to write for them? But, I like being fair, and those poor kids deserve more.

So without further ado. Have a VERY LONG POST.

Angie Yonaga You weren’t exactly sure what to get Angie, which is a little more complex than you thought it should have been. She found a lot of gifts from you pleasing through the eyes of Atua. New art brushes? Atua thanks you for the offering of tools to further Angie’s craft for His eyes. Cute hair pin? Atua says that s/o is kind to bring forth ornaments to decorate Angie’s hair~ Once you tried to make her dinner, but that didn’t work out too well… Atua said it sucked and you ended up ordering out instead. Atua was right on that one, pizza was much better than eating burned meatloaf… You didn’t want to separate Angie from her religious views, but you honestly wanted to hear what she had to say for once. Even though you’ve been dating for so long, was it possible to hear just her thoughts on something? Especially since today was her birthday. That’s when you started to formulate your plan… Angie had just finished leading a prayer, when you stopped her just before she could go off. “Hey Angie, y'know what today is right?~” You asked in a sing-songy voice. The artist closed her eyes -probably asking Atua- before humming out the answer. “Atua says… Today is the day we celebrate a devout follower!~” “That’s right! And I got you som-” “S/o finally wants to donate blood for sacrifice!” A twinge of panic caused your heart to leap. Not that you didn’t wanna appease her wishes in donating…it’s just that you already agreed to do that nearly four times this month…any more blood and you’d end up in the hospital… “Maybe…next month…or three. Actually, it’s your birthday~ And I got you something! I think you’re going to really love it this time, Angie!” “Ah, but Angie already loves everything you offer. As s/o’s kind heart is pleasing in Atua’s eyes. He sees you and loves how you treat his dear children.” Perhaps…Angie really does appreciate everything you do behind her religious veil…if this is the best she could do to admit her feelings then you’d just have to accept it. You’d love her either way… You pulled your gift to her out of the bag anyway and she squealed. “It’s an avocado!~ Thanks!~ The gracious avocado is a blessing that Atua sends to Angie’s island as a gift for our devotion to Him! However…Angie thinks the best gift she has received from Atua…is you, s/o.” You blush at her comment before muttering, “do you think you can ask Atua if I can kiss you?” Angie pretended to think for a moment before cheerfully giggling, “Atua grants you permission~”

Kokichi Ouma It was never a quiet day at the Ouma household. Your boyfriend was as childish as he was in high school, always the jokester and prankster. Still cuter than a button, and a huge tantrum throwing crybaby at times, but that’s what made him special. Who cares if he’d grow to be a man-child? He was loving and cared for you like no other. That’s why you reserved all your rest for his special day. Each year since you’d known him he’d been a guy to go all out- But… When you woke up this morning…it was quiet. You immediately thought he just got a super early start and wasn’t here, but you found him in the kitchen making a breakfast. It was a tad cleaner than when he normally cooked but- “Okay, who are you and where’s my energetic boyfriend?” He turned to you with that infamous devilish grin of his accompanied with his ‘evil laugh’. “Nishishishishi~ Good morning s/o~ I decided this year I’d shake things up for my birthday~” What. This was automatically suspicious. What was this dork planning? “Awww, don’t you trust me, s/o?” No Well, of course. But if Kokichi made an unexpected change, something very bizarre was going to happen…you’d just have to keep a close eye on him for the day. Unfortunately…you were left with nothing. Your boyfriend was completely unreadable all throughout the day. You spent a whole day with him, indulging in activities you wanted to do??? Was it like some April Fool’s Day prank he was pulling?! But it isn’t April… maybe he’s got something really strange planned up ahead…better brace yourself. Yet nothing happened. It was actually well into the evening and the two of you were having dinner at a restaurant the two of you would frequent on really special date nights. Okay, seriously what is going on?! “Kokichi…are you alright? We spent your entire birthday doing things I liked to do? Did you do something I need to know about?!” That same smirk he gave you this morning reappeared, but it was softer…and very loving… “You’ve been so suspicious of me today, s/o,” he whined, “don’t you trust me?~” This time you vocalized your answer, “yes… I trust you, Kokichi. Please tell me why you’re doing this?” “Well, since you’re so nosy today~ I guess I should spill, huh?” For a moment you thought he blushed, but whatever it was, it immediately disappeared. “You’ve trusted me this long. I guess I should start acting like I like it or something. Every year you’re always making my birthday memorable, so I thought I’d be selfish and make this next memory one I create for us~” You didn’t have the slightest clue of what he was talking about until he pulled out a small box from his pocket and kneeled down at your side.

Tsumugi Shirogane Plain. That was the single thing your girlfriend asked from you on this day. She wanted the day to be a reflection of who she was. Plain. No surprises. No cake, unless it made a specific cameo from her favorite anime episode. And definitely no parties. Definitely no. She just wanted to cuddle her human dakimura and watch some of her favorite classics. Even though Sailor Moon was typically for normies, she was glad the remakes were staying true to the classic. You decided you would obey her demands…for now…and cuddle your otaku til her heart’s content. Eventually, noon rolled around and you had started to get hungry. Offering her lunch was pointless when she was fully immersed in whatever you two had been watching (Sailor Moon had to go when a new episode of her fave was on), so you took it upon yourself to make her something cutesy. While you were cutting up vegetables to put on her side, you checked your cell phone really quick before returning to your otaku. You thought you heard her mumble something, but you figured it was about the show, and started your at lunch. Just as the next episode began, the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” even though it was pointless to announce when she wasn’t paying any mind.

Tsumugi had finished her lunch a while ago, but her focus was on this crucial exchange between the protagonist and the antagonist. It would determine whether a successful escape would be possible for the protagonist and the future of anyone else who received this fate, or if the antagonist would have the advantage and would continue their plot even after death. She figured it would be a pretty cool reference for her next cosplay. Maybe she should discuss this matter with someone who had appreciated her– Oh? But… where had you gone off to. Tsumugi paused the episode, worried that she had lost your interest by being to delved into her favorite show. Even though it was her birthday…she should have considered your feelings too. Deciding she’d apologize, the cosplayer picked up her plate and placed it in the kitchen, before searching the house for you. “S/o? I-I’m sorry I got lost in the show again… Ill do my best to give you more attention if that’s what you- Oh?” Had she somehow reentered the fictional reality she just left? Blinking repeatedly, she made sure she was awake, but nothing had changed. You stood before her, dressed as her favorite character, but not only that, you turned your shared bedroom into the world the character came from. It was nearly perfect, almost as if she had done the work herself. “I know you said you didn’t want a surprise, but I just wanted to do something special for my not-so-plain girlfriend. I had a speech prepared, but I think I’ll wait to deliver it when I’m not in character.” Her heart is completely overwhelmed at the work you put into impressing her. You’re almost worried she might faint, so you embrace her gently, steadying her balance. “Th-thank you… For not only taking the time for putting this together… making my belief that cosplay is an expression of love real.”

Shuuichi Saihara Today is my birthday. Shuuichi thought to himself. A few years ago if he said that to himself, he’d have mixed feelings about it. He didn’t really like big social gatherings and only kept the celebratory matters amongst his family members. And even then, he insisted they kept everything on a low profile. That is…until he met you. You were very exciting, and persistent. You always helped him out of his shell every now and then, allowing him to comfortably be able to celebrate this renewed day knowing love and care. He couldn’t wait until he found out what you had in store to- He turned over to see your side of the bed very much empty. It wasn’t even like warm, meaning you had been absent for some time. Curious of the situation, Shuuichi climbed out of bed and began to investigate. And investigate was definitely something he was going to have to do today. He smiled at the sticky note on his door, a symbol scribbled on its surface. So this is what he had in store today. After getting dressed, Shuuichi had accumulated nearly twelve sticky notes all of which had some kind of symbol scrawled on it. But he was at a dead end when he collected all of the notes. This can’t be right, none of these sheets have words on them. Shuuichi closely examined each of the notes splayed across the table, then he examined the area once more before his eyes rested on an out of place book. It looked like it had been recently removed from the shelf as the other books were more settled. Shuuichi removed the book finding his guess to be accurate when he discovered a sticky note with a smiley face tacked on the first page. It was a book of codes, you’d bought him for his previous birthday. He didn’t want to spoil himself as to what could be in store next…but he was practically bouncing in his shoes with excitement at his guesses. Turns out he was right! You had used previous gifts to give him clues as to where you could be hiding…all leading up to the final destination. Shuuichi saw you patiently waiting underneath a gazebo in a local park…the scene had looked vaguely familiar to him… but he couldn’t recall why… After your normal greeting, Shuuichi followed your movements carefully, trying to note what was it about this place that was ringing so many bells at once?! “Would it be too much trouble to ask you out on a tea date next time? I could perhaps bring my novels and we could talk about our favorite characters.” Almost on instinct, Shuuichi replied, “that wouldn’t be any trouble at all. If it’s with you, I would-” Oh. My. Gosh. You were recreating the moment when the two of you first met! “I see the light bulbs going off Mr. Detective, have you finally solved the case?” “I think so. I think the culprit is definitely you this time. The crime you’re being charged with……stealing my heart.” He’d have to look up some better pick up lines next time! He was not prepared at all, but at least you blushed. Maybe even-…even after all these years you still took his breath whenever you kissed him.

Rantaro Amami “S/o!~ Rise and shine (ursine…//shot).” You grumbled in response to the cheery voice, turning over to put your pillow over your head. “Come on, s/o, you promised.” You could almost hear the pout he was doing. Rantaro was easy to understand in these moments… But it is his birthday today, so it was understandable. And, honestly, you were looking forward to it. Heck you were really excited to celebrate with him……but this year he had a little something daring saved up for this afternoon. And that thing was rock climbing. We aren’t talking about your basic run of the mill indoor plastic walls with artificial hand and foot holds. No, we are talking a real terrain. A real terrain with steep cliffs. A real terrain with natural sharp rocks. That kind of extreme rock climbing that only your boyfriend would suggest. You trusted he would make it safe for you since your skill was no where near his, but you still had your doubts. The bed sunk as you felt an extra weight approach you. He was getting persistent. You mentally sighed; it wasn’t fair for you to lie in bed and make him go by himself…especially on his birthday… “Okay, okay… I’ll do it for the birthday boy.” You mumbled in your half-sleep state. Whatever he was planning, stopped and he immediately retreated. “Great, I’ll see you at the rendezvous then?” Wait?! We’re leaving now?!? “By that I mean breakfast~” he chuckled and headed out of the room, leaving you to reluctantly get ready.

“Rantaro…are you sure you want to do this today? Have you checked the weather? Do we have enough supplies? What if we get lost and our phones die? Or they lose signal?” Your worried state didn’t phase your lover as he winked to you and passed a slice of cake to you. “It’s early, but consider it our last meal together.” He stated gravely, holding back a laugh. “Rantaro, that’s not funny! I’m being serious!” Your green haired lover froze at the graveness of your tone. It was silent for a moment before he turned back to the counter and moved the entire cake to the center of the table. You weren’t sure what he was up to, and became even more confused when he returned to the table with some candles and a lighter. He offered you some of the candles and you begrudgingly assisted him. Once he lit each candle, he gave you a small smile, then closed his eyes and blew out the candles. “Hopefully, that will keep us safe and not make you worry any more.” Huh? “What are you talking about? What did you wish for?” “If I told you it might not come true and we really could die~” “RANTARO!!!”

#Tfw you write for some of the shadiest characters in the game but you gotta act like they're pure for the sake of their fans #RIP Mod Tojo #also really sorry that I used the infamous Monokubs phrase... I've been playing V3 and I can't stop thinking about it lol...#Also shoutout to all you vine fans who caught what I did in Angie's story #lol #Rantaro in-canon actually has a pretty dark sense of humor #I think it's during his character introduction that he makes a light joke about their situation lololol #of course it was due to spoilers but it was still funny #Mod Tojo is so cheesy...but it's 1 am on a Tuesday I've extorted all my 1am resources lol #¯\_(ツ)_/¯#Mod Tojo #Angie Yonaga #Kokichi Ouma #Tsumugi Shirogane #Shuuichi Saihara #Rantaro Amami #Happy Birthday Rantaro #long post

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junioradventure · 7 years

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[FANACCT] IMFACT- Tension Up Fansign+Fanmeeting (IMFACTORY) 170521- PLUS tips for these events! (Fanboy)

Hi everyone~ I’m here to share my amazing experience at IMFACT’s Fansign + Fanmeeting Event! If you were looking for reasons to stan IMFACT, I’m here to help you. Simply put, IMFACT treats their fans very well, and especially care for their international fans, as they want to have many opportunities to perform in all the countries around the world.

I love this concept; it’s so bright, vivid, and screams energetic!

TIME TO START THE FANACCOUNT! Information about this event: - IMFACT has not had an actual fansign event in Korea for a really long time, probably since “Feel So Good” era. They had a CD signing event in Japan not too long ago, but they said it was not the same as a real fansign event. So this was a special event prepared for fans, and doubled as a fanmeeting (involves live performances). - The event participation was carried out first-come first-serve to 120 people. - To apply for this event, the process was different from the traditional fansign process. Instead of buying an album on-site or online, two requirements had to be fulfilled: * We had to send Star Empire Ent. an email with the appropriate information (name, account number, Daum fancafe ID, etc.) before the deadline * We had to send the money (20,000 won) through an account transfer at the appropriate time slot. In this case, when it hit 8pm on the day the payment period started, we could proceed with the account transfer. Because of this, having a Korean bank account was extremely helpful and made the process much easier. - The staff provided the CD on-site, which made sense because we had to do an account transfer instead of the usual process. The CD had no wrapper and might be a special edition for this event. Nothing seems different about this album than a normal one, except the fact that it seemed like it was opened (plus there was no photocard, idk if the actual album has one or not). I transferred my money right when it struck 8 and played the waiting game. After worrying about getting in, I finally found out that I had gotten in... Thank goodness. I was waiting for a chance to meet them since “In the Club” came out. ON THE DAY OF... Okay. So the event would start at around 2pm according to the post on the fancafe. I woke up at 10ish and left right before noon. The event was held at a Catholic Youth Center (of all places) in Hongdae. I knew Hongdae somewhat but not the exact whereabouts of this site, so I wanted to leave earlier just in case I wandered too much. It turns out, the location was very easy to find, so I grabbed a bite at the convenience store and then went to the Youth Center. I had to say, at first when everyone was lining up, things were a bit confusing. We were told to go down to the lobby floor (accessible by staircase) to check-in. Apparently, the staff were calling us in by numerical order, but on the fancafe post with the official list of participants, there weren’t any numbers by our names. Instead, we had to manually count down the list of people to find our number, and we would tell that to the staff. That must have been a bit annoying for the people who were farther down the list, especially in the 100′s. Luckily, I was only number 40. The order of our names was actually our seat order. That means I was in seat 40. The staff called us in by groups of 5-10. I confirmed my identity with only an ID needed to prove it. Once I was verified, the staff gave me a piece of paper with my seat number and a bottle of sparkling water (how thoughtful!) Then it was waiting time again.

Don’t lose any piece of paper, especially one with your seat number, given to you by staff at the event. They also gave us a complementary sticky note where we write our name. We would stick this on the inside of our albums, opposite of the photo pages for the members’ reference when they sign your album. I brought extra sticky notes to mark where each member would sign. You should always bring spare notes because you can use this chance to ask the members a question or write a lovely note for them. Note: Some groups do not allow questions, so always follow the rules and read the information carefully on fancafe updates. After a bit more waiting, we could go in! I should probably get started on the actual event and the members. OK! We were waiting when all of a sudden, THE LIGHTS JUST DIMMED AND TURNED OFF. LIKE WHAT THE. The room was silent until “Please Be My First Love” CAME ON AND IMFACT WALKED ONSTAGE, SINGING IT LIVE! My heart died for a little instant, as my brain struggled to comprehend and process what was happening. Everyone seemed to be shook because there was not a single noise from the audience when IMFACT began singing. That was such a nice surprise and ahhhh I just love that song so much. Listen and love it lots.

After that impromptu performance, the boys sat at the table for the start of the fansigning. They greeted us and said a few words, thanking us for coming to this long-awaited event. Jian tried to add some things, but he kinda hesitated and seemed so cutely awkward like awww it’s okay, you’re so precious!! ONE RANDOM CUTE NOTE: The members commented about how many people came to this event, specially international fans (there was a handful of English-speaking fans there, and a lot of Japanese fans ((yay!))) BUT SANG ACTUALLY ANNOUNCED, “There’s a male fan here too!” AND THAT WAS ME Y’ALL. I WAS THE ONLY MALE FAN THERE AND AHHH I FELT SO SPECIAL. I waved like crazy when Sang said that, and some fans laughed. Taeho and Jian seemed pleasantly amused at this. Soon, the fansigning portion officially began. Let’s move on to individual member interactions I had~ (warning: FEELS AHEAD!!) The order was like this: Jeup→Ungjae(bias!!)→Sang→Taeho→Jian HANDSOME MAIN VOCAL, PARK JEUP ★ Jeup was so friendly and talkative!! Even though my Korean isn’t perfect, we talked the whole time. What really makes me appreciate a group is when they take into consideration your level of Korean if you’re an international fan. Some groups (not going to name names) make the situation awkward for international fans because of the language barrier. I’m not bashing these groups just for that reason, but it still is disappointing when you want to be open and flexible to your diverse fanbase, wherever they may be from. What I mean is, I had an experience with an idol group or two where members did not talk to me much, in English nor Korean, even when I was trying my hardest to speak in Korean. Thankfully, Jeup complimented my Korean skills. Anyway, he asked when I became a fan of them. I told him ever since “Feel So Good” era, and that I especially liked that track. I asked him, what was his favorite song, and he first replied, “Tension Up”, but also added, “In the Club” and “Please Be My First Love”. I agreed, saying that the trio of songs were all great. I commented that I especially think of PBMFL as 강추 (strong recommendation). Jeup burst out in laughter and complimented me again, saying that I even knew slang like “강추". He also asked where I came from, which is like a customary question we international fans get from idols. I told him America, specifically Hawaii, and pointed at the post-it note for him.

Translation- Q:This isn’t a question, but please come to Hawaii! A: All right. We’ll definitely go. (YAAAAAAAAAAAS PLEASE COME AND VACATION IN HAWAII!!) Jeup looked at the note and actually said he really wants to visit Hawaii. I advertised the islands to him, saying that the weather is nice, the sceneries are great, and he added, “the beaches are good too”. So, he expressed that he wants to take all of the members there to have fun. Please do, we’ll welcome you warmly~ Finally, I told him his hairstyle was really nice today. It was spiked up and it really suited him! He thanked me, and I asked what he personally thought of it. J: I like it. Styling the hair upward is very masculine. Me: Right, I agree. Do you prefer having your hair styled up or bangs down? J: *thinks for a bit* I think both is good, but now, having your hair styled up is rather cool now. So I personally like it this way. Me: Yeah! Especially since nowadays it’s quite hot, right? J: Right! Then I told him I’d continue supporting IMFACT in the future. Such a cool guy~ Gonna hold you to your words, Jeup. See you guys in Hawaii. A hui ho! BOYFRIEND MATERIAL/GENIUS LYRICIST/SHY CUTIE BIAS, NA UNGJAE!! ❤ Okay, I’m already dying of feels again and I haven’t even told you guys my interaction. So I can’t believe I was actually meeting Ungjae. I spazzed about him so much recently before and I had so many feels, but it’s always so different when you meet idols in real life. I told him I’m from Hawaii, like I always do. U: Hawaii? Wow. Me: Am I the first fan from Hawaii? U: *kind of confused* Sorry? Me: Am I the first fan from Hawaii that you’ve met? U: Ah, yes *laughs* Me: *proud* U: And you’ve come all the way to Korea. Me: Yeah, I’m actually an exchange student. U: Wow, really? *impressed* You’re really good at Korean. Me: Ah, thank you. I still got a long way to go. But I’ve been in Korea for around 9 months. And, since this was a golden opportunity, thanks to my friend’s suggestion, I decided to just wing it and see what would happen if I wrote my bias a cute joking question.

Translation: Ungjae-yah, I like you the best ㅎㅎ Wanna go shopping together later? (I’m older so I’m using banmal/informal language) Bottom right corner of signature: Thank you!! I WAS SO SHY WHEN HE KEPT LOOKING AT THE NOTE, I WAS LIKE OMG OKAY MAYBE I SHOULDN’T HAVE WRITTEN IT, WHAT IF HE REPLIES NEGATIVELY?! But that was just my panic mode. Most idols with a good heart would play along! But since this was the first time I met my bias face to face, I was slightly worried what he would think. This is how the convo basically went: U: Ah, shopping? *curious* Me: Yeah *laughs uncomfortably, shy shy shy af* U: *genuinely interested* What kinds of clothes do you want? Me: I like casual clothes U: *smiles* Ah, casual? Ah, I like hip-hop style so... Hongdae has a few places, not a lot. But for casual clothes... *recommends some stuff but I forgot what he said exactly, sorry bb* We talked a bit more about stores and things. It felt more like he was giving me recommendations HAHA but since he wrote, “Cool~!” on my note, then I’ll take that as a yes ❤ Anyway, I got pretty bold at this point and thought, well, might as well just go all out. Me: Actually, you’re my favorite member. You’re really handsome. U: *shyly smiles* *bows head slowly in appreciation* AHHHHHH HE WAS SO ADORABLE WHEN HE WAS SHY, SUCH A QTPIE I SWEAR. SUCH CHARISMA ONSTAGE BUT IN PERSON HE’S JUST A CINNAMON ROLL AHHHH STAN UNGJAE STAN IMFACT EVERYONE. Lastly, I asked him about his work as IMFACT’s lyricist. Me: So, you’re in charge of composing lyrics? U: Of course. Me: When you write lyrics, where do you usually draw your inspiration? U: *thinks* hmm... Well, I just draw inspiration from real life. When I’m thinking about something or when I watch a show or drama, I just get thoughts and write them. It was time to move on, so I gave him one last firm handshake and moved on. Thanks to his sunny smile, I was able to feel accomplished after talking to him. I officially didn’t mess up royally in front of my bias! THE SUNSHINE OF IMFACT, LEE SANG ☀ LOVE, LOVE, LOVE THIS GUY. HE WAS SO NICE!! He already pointed me out in the beginning but seriously, this guy is awesome. Right when I moved to him, he extended his hand out and gave me a big, friendly handshake. He greeted me, “What’s up?!!” in English. S: Ah, Hawaii~ my sister went to America. (I love that random transition of topics) Me: Really? Where in America? S: *says in English* America. For study. Me: *internally: I know Sang, I’m asking where* Where, in America? *says it again* S: *I think he didn’t specify, or he forgot, but he said she just studied abroad, and came back. I just accepted that answer lol* Me: You should come visit Hawaii!! And then he proceeds to tell me that he really wants to go. He looks at my post-it.

Translation- Q: Do you have a favorite Nine Muses song? (NM and IMFACT are same company) I told him that I really like Namyu and that they’re my favorite group, and since the two groups are the same company, I wanted to ask him what his fave song from them was. He wrote Drama, and ofc I love that song too. Darn, I forgot some other little things I might have talked to him about. But here’s another thing~ (I was just speaking my mind at this point) Me: Since there’s a lot I don’t know, who is the visual in IMFACT? S: Actually, we leave it up to the fans, who see members as visuals in their own viewpoints. Like, if a fan watches us, they’ll think “Ah, I like this one! He’s a visual!” These kinds of thoughts. So it’s an individual’s preference. *how precious is this* Me: Really? Well, honestly, I think you’re the visual. S: Ah, really? *short shy moment, gives me another handshake for the compliment* Me: Yeah, you’re really, really handsome. I can’t stress this enough, THIS GUY IS SO GREAT!! I forget what else we talked about, but at the end, I got flustered lol just.... ahhhhhhh > < NEXT, MAIN DANCER BUT TRYNA SNATCH DAT MAIN VOCAL POSITION, KIM TAEHO ♦ Taeho is really cool and just polite and nice~ I just loved his reaction when I said I was from Hawaii. He was like, “Wa, Hawaii?” like aw. And I had to tell him about how cool it was that he got more lines this comeback. Seriously, seems like all the vocals in this group can be main. Me: Also, I really like how you got a lot of parts this time around. T: Ah, really? *smiles* You like my vocals? Me: Yeah! Compared to the older songs, you got a lot of parts. Isn’t it nice? T: Yep~ *high-five* Thank you~ Me: Hm, how are the parts distributed, anyway? T: Actually, we each get together and divide the parts based on who fits the lines the most. We come to an agreement and split the parts that way. Like we say, “Oh, I think you would fit this part well”, and so on. Me: Wow, that’s nice~ What do you honestly think of the title track, “Tension Up”? T: I do like it. It’s really exciting. I also like In the Club and especially Please Be My First Love. That kind of style. *sly self-promo as always* Me; I agree! T: We have more songs in store, so please anticipate them. Me: Ah, could you give me a little hint about the next track? *COMEBACK SPOILER EXCLUSIVELY FROM TAEHO* T: Compared to “Tension Up”, the next one is a bit... slower tempo. It’s hip-hop, but more... relaxing? Chill? Me: Ah, really? Sounds exciting. I’ll continue supporting IMFACT in the future~

I don’t remember much else that we talked about, but that was still a lot~ Such a sweet guy. Really cares for his fans, like all of them. THE AWKWARD BUT SWAG RAPPER LEADER, LEE JIAN ♠ Last but definitely not least, I met Jian~ Awkward little greetings ftw. Me: Hi~ Jian-ssi~ Oh, where’d your note go? JA: Hi, it’s right here~ *looks at said note* Me: Oh *flustered af, drops head in embarrassment*

Translation- Q: Is an IMFACT X Nine Muses collab possible?? A: We’ve done one! On the picture: Nine Muses Noonas are coming back soon, so please give them lots of support, and if a chance for a collab presents itself, we’ll do it for sure! In response to my surprise at his answer, we had a convo. JA: We collaborated before. Me: Oh right, "Dream”, right? (referring to Sang x Keumjo’s duet) JA: Actually, during the Star Empire Family Concert in Japan. Me: Oh, really? JA: Yeah. It was me and Keumjo-noona, we did a collab. Me: Ah, which song? I didn’t know. JA: Taeyang-sunbaenim’s “Eyes, Nose, Lips”. Me: Oh, I’ve never seen it. Do you think it would be on YouTube? JA: I think it’ll come up if you search it there. I told him about Nine Muses being my favorite girl group, and he mentioned that they helped IMFACT a lot, and he really appreciates them. AND HERE’S WHEN I LITERALLY SAID WHAT HAS BEEN BOTHERING ME FOR SOME TIME LOL HEAR ME OUT, OKAY? Me: Okay, this isn’t an insult, but I have something to say... JA: Okay, what is it? Me: When I look at you, Jian, I think of Euaerin. You remind me of her a lot. Like your tone... And I remember when you impersonated her. JA: Ah, really?~ *smiling* Actually, I really look up to her. She’s helped me a lot. *I forgot what he said specifically, but he was really chill and nice about this LOL I hope it didn’t offend him cuz they could be counterparts! Killer rappers and amazing dancers.*

Like look at this goddess

And then look at this hunk! LOL. Their sharp features stand out, and they’re really charismatic. (God I miss Euaerin now). And then it was time to continue my attack on Jian. But this time, I wanted to give him a direct compliment~ Me: But Jian-ssi. JA: *interested* yes? Me:You’re really handsome. JA: *amused at my straightforwardness* Ah, thank you~ *laughs* Me: Yeah, especially this... *gestures at the amazing tie he’s wearing, bless his outfit and his whole existence* It suits you very much. Did you pick it yourself? JA: Actually, the stylists did it... Me: Oh, well it still looks good! Then it was time to go *sad face* Me: *reads Jian’s message on my album* Ah, but don’t worry~ I’m not just a Nine Muses fan, I’m also IMFACT’s fan~ I’ll support you in the future! JA: Thank you! See you! Me: Bye bye! JA: Bye~ Junior~~ Just the way he said my name at the end made me so warm on the inside hehehehe~ they are all sweethearts. It took a long while to go through all 120 fans, but it was great. They had a little game session with the fans, where they would draw something on a notepad and then the fans guess the answer. The ones who answered would get a chance to take a selca with them. *ahhh jelly* Honestly, during that game, I was confused AF about what they were drawing LMAO I did not know how the fans could get all the right answers! I was stumped. Then IMFACT performed some songs, as this was the “fanmeeting” part of the event. They performed some fan favorites- Tension Up (of course) and Lollipop. And during Lollipop, Sang was EXTRA and ran offstage momentarily and I GOT TO TOUCH HIS HAND AGAIN~! HE’S SO GREAT WITH FANSERVICE. LOVE YOU SANG!! Seriously, they know how to charm their fans and make them feel loved! It was almost time to go, but IMFACT asked the staff if they could do one more encore stage of Please Be My First Love. The fans were cheering, wanting it, AND SO WAS I, LIKE THIS SONG IS SUCH A TREASURE. BEST CHILL SONG RIGHT NOW. Refreshing like a breath of spring air~ Their vocals were on point and it was cute because in the middle, when Ungjae started rapping, his mic turned off for some reasons and had some difficulties but the members helped and lent him a mic until it started working again. So talented and thoughtful agh. Then, it was time to go~ they waved goodbye and the lights dimmed and turned off again, just like the beginning. Just as they had come. They all disappeared backstage, except Jeup who straggled and stayed back a little to say one last cute farewell to the audience. And that was it. A great day well spent. It was so worth the trouble of applying, even if it was a different format than I was used to. IMFACT is so underrated, and I think Star Empire is not doing the best that they can to help them succeed. Like, the members are all charming and talented and exceptional, but their title songs are not innovative, unique, or otherwise outstanding to really catch the public’s eye. Star Empire failed ZE:A and they messed up Namyu, and I feel so bad for IMFACT. But hope remains, and I will keep supporting them in their journey. I wish them all the luck for stardom. Please give IMFACT a try. Listen to their b-sides too, they have really good side tracks, which seem to be the real hidden gems of their music. RECOMMENDATIONS FROM ME: Woo Please Be My First Love (If I didn’t stress this enough) In The Club (an excellent r&b, more somber song of theirs) Mirrorz Feel So Good (a really underrated title track, really hype-worthy) And that’s it for my fanaccount!! It’s super long but it’s all my thoughts~ I’m going to make a video for this whole experience, hopefully by tomorrow. I spent so much time on this, hahaha. Until next time~

#imfact #fansign #fanmeeting #fanaccount #fanboy #tensionup #kpop

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