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willowser · 6 months

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you had only to look at me—

part two.

bakugou x f!reader

wc: 3.3k+

tags: nsfw (18+), childhood best friend bakugou, dry humping, implied virgin bakugou, a tad angsty at the end.

even before i was touched, i belonged to you; you had only to look at me. — the burning heart, louise glück.

this is a repost.

childhood best friend bakugou is probably a wrestler. a lil' rough-houser.

games of tag end with you tackled to the ground, squashed underneath him until you finally agree that he's the king of the world. whenever your hair is long enough to pull back into a pony-tail or little bun, he's yanking on it to get your attention, harsh, especially if you're ignoring him to talk to anyone else. scraped knees and bruised elbows, coming home missing a single shoe, shirt stretched out and wrinkled at the bottom corner: all katsuki's fault.

it makes you a little volatile, too, in turn.

not so much as him, but you grow up defending yourself; the first black eye he gets is from you (if you don't count the time he hit himself in the face by accident, when you'd started a slap-fight because he was trying to hold you down) and you very quickly learn how "unfair" it (apparently) is to kick him in the groin. your parents spend a lot of time separating you, putting you in opposite corners of the room until one of you stops crying and the other is ready to mumble out an apology. you're not allowed to sit next to each other at holiday events. whatsoever. under any circumstances.

he's your best friend. you wouldn't have it any other way.

in middle school, he's just as insufferable, hardly allows you to talk to any of your girl friends without butting in some how, too loud for anyone's own good. he tries to embarrass you in front of other boys, puts you in a headlock even when he's sweaty — which he is a lot at that point, during puberty — and calls you names that make you want to hide in the bathroom.

("why is he such a jerk?" your friends will ask, trying to fix the mess of your hair during lunch. all your butterfly clips are either missing or broken, crunched under bakugou's scrawny arm. "you should tell on him for being such a bully.")

nobody else treats you the way he does, and you don't treat anyone else that way, either; you never make ugly faces at your girl group, never punch them as hard as you can in the arm, aiming to leave a bruise. with all other classmates, you're — normal, trying to discover what that even means in the grand scope of things, who you want to be as the years pass. you avoid bakugou and his little posse of brats like the plague, because detention is what awaits both of you, should your paths ever cross.

things start to change, seriously, in high-school.

bakugou goes to u.a and you — don't; instead you continue on to the shizuoka high-school without him, along with your group of girls. his time at home and in the neighborhood lessens, even moreso when he moves into the dorms on campus, and the only time you see him becomes those few and far in-between family visits he has time to make; some holidays, he doesn't come home at all.

at first you think it's a good thing, because you've never gotten to flourish while trapped in his armpit. yanking at his hair until he finally lets go in the middle of the hallway has always garnered you some weird looks, odd stares, and you finally stop being labeled aggressive, too, with him gone. boys can talk to you without being stalked by your angry, wiry, chihuahua of a best friend, and you go on dates, ride in cars, have your first kiss.

you miss him from time to time, though you'll die before admitting it, and the yearning doesn't last long whenever he does come home. even when you're seventeen, eighteen, he still lays on the couch and puts his stinky feet in your lap and in your face, purposely puts things too high up on your shelves, leans against the front door so you can't get out when it's time to leave.

(he becomes an immovable object, much to your annoyance; in the past, you've always stood somewhat of a chance against him, knowing all his weak spots, like the clump of hair at the crown of his skull and how ticklish he is on his thighs, but now, after all the training he's been doing — he's huge, unfortunately.

if he grabs your wrists in one hand — like he's never been able to do — and holds them above your head, you're useless to defend yourself; there is an absolutely zero-percent chance you'll ever manage to overthrow him if he sits on you; tickling him is impossible, because his thighs have gotten so muscular that it's hard to grab him, and even if you do manage it, he can nearly crush your hand if he closes his legs together.

bakugou doesn't even look like your scrawny best friend anymore; he looks like the guy that ate your scrawny best friend.)

you graduate and go to college. bakugou graduates and goes to work for best jeanist, in the heart of tokyo. seeing each other means planning on it, making an effort neither of you have ever had to, and there's a lot of radio silence for months at a time. somehow it always comes full circle, though, and it always ends in violence, because you two don't know any other way to be.

you're twenty the first time his touch becomes tight, bruising, purposeful — for new reasons.

it's one of the few times he's off, and you haven't seen each other since his mom's dinner party four months ago. you only agree to come over because his patrol route had taken him through your campus and you'd spotted him across the street in the early hours of the morning, after you got out of class.

now you're both tired, lazing around despite planning to get lunch once the heat died down. together doing nothing; sometimes it's a little alarming how easily the two of you fall into each other, but you've been doing it for so long that it doesn't take a second thought.

bakugou strolls out of his bathroom with damp hair, in nothing but a loose pair of sweats, and you're laying on his couch half-asleep and he puts his wet towel over your face and you ball it up and throw it at him and then he tries to whip you with it.

"stop," you groan, serious, "you're so annoying." when he only twists it tighter, you stick your arm and leg out, deflecting against the wet smack he tries to leave against your skin.

his sharp teeth flash with his ugly little grin, and you try to grab the towel twice, ending up with an angry, stinging lick up the inside of your arm, before he gets too close and you can finally yank it from his hands. you sit up to get a better angle, but you're not as quick as he is, as adept at being a brat, and when he yanks on the towel, your whole body nearly comes off the couch, arms almost coming out of their sockets.

"bakugou!" you squeal, and he cackles, evil, and grabs your hands when you try to smack him. your massive, stinking, freight train of a best friend deposits his entire body on yours, crushing your lungs with his back as you cough, "get off!"

he doesn't say anything, choosing to pretend he's watching whatever is on tv and that he can't hear you — which you could believe, because bakugou likes trash television more than he lets on — and your hands are trapped at your sides and you can't breathe and so you bite him, right in the neck.

"ow, fuck!"

when he moves, he moves fast, and you're only hope of retaliating before he flips around and grabs your wrists and holds you down is to roll the both of you off the couch. his body thuds, deep and heavy, against the carpet, and you trap his hands beneath your knees as you straddle his hips, adjusting your full weight so you can at least try and keep him down.

beneath you, bakugou sneers. "you've got five seconds t'get off me before—"

"one!" you shout obnoxiously, rolling your eyes just to hear his annoyed snort. "two! three! f—"

his body snaps up into a sitting position, nose bumping yours as he rips his hands from beneath your legs. a scream tears out of your throat as you wiggle, surprised, trying your best to stretch your arms over your head and around your back so he can't grab them; if he does, it's game over for you.

"stop!" you shout, choking out a shock of laughter when he brings his legs up, trapping you in his lap against his chest. a little grunt leaves him as you jostle, but the tension at your back never lets up, not even when his mouth sets in a firm line and a sharp exhale leaves his nose. "let me go," you tell him, squirming again as he reaches for your hands. "i'm not playin' around."

"too bad, y'shitty nerd." he says, gruff, and when you stick your tongue out at him, he buries his face in your neck and bites, too, taking advantage of your shock as his fingers close around your wrists.

"no!" you scream again, trying in earnest just to get away from him completely, but he holds your hands behind your back and keeps you squished so tightly into him that you can only breathe shallowly, and his free hand goes to ball into your shirt at your side and —

— and his face is red, you realize, delayed. you can almost feel the heat from his cheeks with him so close, and you take in the flush of his neck, how it spreads down to his bare chest, crimson and fevered. his tongue darts out to wet his lips, nervous, almost.

"what?" you breathe, quiet, as if speaking too loud will break your playful bubble, and his eyes jump around his living room before landing back on you, narrowed and black.

"what?" he echoes, voice pitched and mocking. "you lose, dumbass." and even though he closes his eyes and grits his teeth, there isn't any hiding from how hard he's breathing. how subtle he's trying to be about spreading his legs.

all at once, everything kind of — falls apart.

bakugou is a man now, much to your horror; it feels like you've closed your eyes and opened them in the lap of someone else wearing your best friend's face. there's serious muscle definition in his shoulders and biceps, and you can feel yourself getting lost in the curves and valleys of him like never before. he's — you're — so close. more than it feels like you've ever been, even though you know that's far from true.

this boy used to pin you down in the yard and threaten to lick your face, the both of you grass-stained and covered in sweat. you've tackled him face first into the ocean on various vacations, running behind him quietly and plunging his scrawny, shirtless body into the waves as they rushed forward, uncaring of what you were wearing or how it twisted when you both came up for air.

saliva is still drying on your neck from where he bit you and, unthinking, your eyes dart down to his lips; plumper than you ever realized and parted, just a bit, enough that you can feel his breath on your cheeks. and you wonder —

bakugou grunts quietly, shuffling himself so that his back is leaned against the couch, and you half-expect him to just let you go because things have — changed. but he doesn't.

instead the new position has his legs a little wider and you've sunk a little further and you're now very aware of exactly what's changed, and how much. you can feel him twitch, just barely, and the hand he has at your side balls tighter into your shirt, jostling you minutely in the process.

and finally he opens his eyes and stares at you — cheeks burning, eyebrows furrowed — and you stare back — heat lighting up your body to an uncomfortable degree as your stomach flips.

you wonder what he would do, if you kissed him. what it would feel like. what he would taste like.

you move your hips with purpose, stuck on the new and foreign change it does to him; bakugou's always been a tough little brat, and you made him cry a handful of times when you were younger, but this weakness is — different. there's so much you know about him and yet even more for you to learn, and you find yourself consumed with the desire to explore this new, enticing territory.

his lashes flutter gently when you grind against him, tentatively, and then his head thumps back against the couch as the muscle in his jaw sets. half-lidded, his red-hot gaze jumps from your face down to where you're seated against him and back, and it's only after you move again that you realize — he's watching you, too. discovering.

the fist he has in your shirt loosens and his fingers burn your bare skin when they slip under the material to grip your hip. at any moment, you're half-expecting him to tell you to cut the shit, to shove you off and ask what the hell is wrong with you. why you're being so weird, doing things friends don't do to each other. but he doesn't.

you're almost certain that if you put your hands on his chest, you would be able to feel the mirrored, nervous pace of his heartbeat; it only takes the faintest tug of your hands for him to let you go, his grip falling to the other side of your hips. you can't tell if he means to hold you in place, or keep you going.

you spread your fingers out and, gently, as if you've never touched him before, run your hands up his chest, watching the bob of his adam's apple when you rest them on the sides of his neck. stabilizing yourself a bit, before testing the waters again.

bakugou's eyes are nearly black and when you don't stop, he looks down to resume watching the movement of your hips, the way his sweatpants bunch up and tug, and you feel a little zing up your spine with his every sharp inhale and sharper exhale. even his jaw falls a little slack and, fuck, you've never seen him like this.

you never thought you'd want to, but now — you don't think you'll ever see him any other way again.

his eyes go a little wide when you lean into him, brushing the tip of your nose against his. neither of you have said anything and maybe you should keep it that way, lest the bubble burst, but you feel like you're going a little insane.

quietly, around your own heavy breath, you ask, "does this — feel good?"

you can feel the temperature of his cheeks spike, but he nods shallowly regardless, and you press your mouth into his throat to bite him again, just lightly. it should be so that he's a little biter; the feel of your teeth makes him jump, has him angling his head so that more of his neck is exposed to you. when you soothe the barely-there indentation with the flat of your tongue, his breath hitches and his shoulders shake on a shudder and he groans, like he's angry.

"hah, fuck."

the friction in his lap isn't doing much for you, realistically, but his reaction is what has you aching, has you drawn tighter than a bow string. you feel yourself growing antsy for something that you won't name, because friends don't do that, though you can't help but to wonder if he's ever done it before.

you've had a few boyfriends. had a few experiences that ended quickly and left you feeling exposed and uncomfortable and a little in pain, and even though your girl friends insist that's normal — it's nothing like this. bakugou might not last much longer, if the grip he has on your hips is any indication, but not a single piece of your clothing has been removed and you're hot and getting sort of desperate and you know your underwear are a little more than damp.

you want to dismantle his long-standing composure. you want to be — maybe — the only one that gets to see him fall apart like this.

he's been your best friend your whole life, afterall; this experience should be yours. he should be.

the thought has you shivering a little bit and bakugou bucks up against you, pulling you down hard in his lap. dragging across the thick and solid length of him becomes even more clear and another, stronger zing has you letting out a breathy little sound into his ear. it makes him groan again, this one almost whiny, but he closes his mouth to muffle it and you don't want him to do that so you tighten your fingers in the hair on the crown of his head and — just to see, in a way you've never done before — you quietly whisper,

"katsuki,"

and he loses it.

one of his hands slips up your shirt to splay against your back, forcing you closer to him so he can bury his face in your neck, and his hips become insistent, urgent, rutting up against yours eagerly.

"fuck, oh fuck, fuck," he groans into your skin, fingers gripping you so tightly that you think he might actually leave burns behind, and his shoulders tremble before he goes totally still.

for a little while, you both sit there and let your breathing even out as reality sobers you from whatever lust-drunk haze you'd both been in. distantly, you think you wouldn't mind if he pinned you to the ground the way he always does, only this time to peel all your clothes off, right here on his living room floor. but he doesn't.

doesn't say anything, just shudders every now and again, and you think you're starting to feel the wet spot soaking into the front of his sweatpants.

you pull back just a little to look at him and he lets you, face just as red as he stares back at you, like he's the one waiting for you to freak. a little bit of red has returned to his eyes, though they're still swollen and dark with want.

when you lean in again, to bump your nose against his, bakugou snaps back away from you.

"wh-the fuck are y'doin'?" he shifts his eyes to the ground and they go wide. horrified, maybe. all the blood rushes in your ears and you don't know what to say, so he continues. "i-i don't have time t-to sit around all day, so—" bakugou shakes his head and you think he's going to kick you out, and he must know it, from how stiff you go. "so, you better know what the hell you wanna eat."

your bubble has burst; you nod silently and he glances up at you twice before swallowing.

"well, i can't get dressed with you sitting on me, so get off." when you remain quiet, he finally raises his head to look at you head-on, fisting the edge of your shirt again so that you'll look back. "d'you..." bakugou wets his lips before biting them, "need anything?"

"uh," maybe to shove your head down the drain and drown yourself, so that you can get rid of all the not-so-nice feelings that are creeping up beneath your skin. instead of that, you tell him, "just the bathroom, maybe."

"hurry up then," he mutters and even tries to roll his eyes, though it feels anything but casual. "don't...take for-fuckin'-ever."

and then he's up, quick to stand so that his back is to you as he disappears around the corner to his room, leaving you to yourself, trying to smooth out the wrinkle he's left in the corner of your shirt.

#this is my attempt at being a bit more organized akhfkahfa #the second part ends so abruptly that i'm tempted to extend it a little more............#if i don't put up the second part right away it's bc i'm thinking about it LOL #bakugou x reader #bakugou x fem!reader #i did not even check over this for typos whoops #not a one shot oh well #✿ willow writes #✿ one shot: bakugou

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meanbossart · 15 days

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You know the Hag casts Vicious Mockery, right? Some of her lines are really fucking mean, lol. To Astarion, she says, "Deep down, you like to be leashed, don't you?" and there's another about the stink of rats on him. To a male drow player, she says something like, "On your knees, boy, just like the matriarchs taught you." She's got something for every race and class, and special stuff for companions.

Anyway. What is something personal and deeply hurtful that she might say to Drow to derail him?

What are his triggers in general, if any? Stuff that will anger him "randomly", in the sense that someone close to him might not understand why he was triggered (and perhaps he might not understand either)?

I had know no clue actually LOL since I found out you can cast silence on her and kill her in two turns I have never given that woman much time to get a word in 😂

DU drow is, unsurprisingly, pretty volatile. Earlier in the campaign when he's fresh off the nautiloid I could think of a few things that may set him off quickly (later, and in ANE, he's much more subdued though, and it depends more on who says it and the kind of day that he's having lol)

Some things that get particularly on his nerves:

-Belittling him, implying that his body and attitude are just a front for his weaknesses. The fastest way to buy a fight with him is to just laugh at everything he says and does and not take him seriously at all. -He's at times insecure about making his loved one's (Astarion & Shadowheart's) lives worse by being around them. Present him any example of how that may be true and you'll have a very sad/angry drow. -Treat him like a wounded animal that just needs a hug and a pet and he'll get all better, it will annoy him even if you have good intentions. -Insist on something after he says "no". Even a little bit. Even if it's silly. You can speedrun any of these by being a female drow. SO for the actual crux of the question, here's a few strong contenders for Vicious Mockery lines that Ethel could blast DU drow with (CONTENT WARNING: IT'S AUNTIE ETHEL.) :

-"Bark, bark, bark, little dog, It don't make you look any scarier"

-"You trying to kill me or fuck me? Or kill me to fuck me? Or fuck me to kill me, pork-chop? "

-(Imitating a crying baby) "That's what you sound like to everyone around you, little boy."

-"Daddy's gonna be so, so disappointed. I'd clench up my hole, if I were you."

-"Such big swings for a drooling, inbred lech."

#ask #Auntie Ethel #DU drow lore

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moondirti · 8 months

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DEE IK THIS IS SO OFF THE BAT BUT IMAGINE RIDING MIGUEL’S ABS??!;!;?:?:? WHATS UR CRUMB ON THAT BCS IM LITERALLY ASCENDING INTO HEAVEN JUST BY THE THOUGHT OF IT😩☝🏼

SUMMARY: after the events of DOUBLE RAPTURE, we follow Mig back home and explore his less than ideal relationship with his world's version of you.

explicit (18+) | 1.5k words

part one / can be read as a standalone! WARNINGS: smut, ab-riding, handjobs, codependant relationships, submissive (?) miguel, ANGST, fear of commitment (on the reader's part), implied parental issues, drinking, anxious/avoidant attachment styles NOTES: did this take me forever to respond to? yes. have i been thinking about it every day since i received it? also yes. please have a little drabble as a sweet treat for your genius mind, anon. sorry i took it too far

This is how it is with Miguel.

Buttressed on a leather couch that isn't so much leather anymore, but cotton dotted with the flakes of black suede that've managed to hold on through the years since you bought it. It's old, unstable – somewhat an apt metaphor for your relationship to the man – and stands situated across a television with no cable. He shows up at your door on any unannounced night, where for once you wish he'd catch you with plans pre-made, and intrudes on your vain attempt to connect the old screen to your neighbour's internet.

And it's ironic that you should end up watching dated cartoons anyway, stuck inside your apartment that is a fraction the size of his, because he always opens on some variation of the same line – the very thing that woo'd you all those years ago, when you were younger and prone to any man's charm:

What's a pretty thing like you do in a place like this?

It's dark outside – night-worn inhibition being one of the main constituents to poor decision making – and his skin gleams golden in the dim lamp light. You can't refuse him for all your rationale on why, so he comes in and you pour a strong drink whose hangover tomorrow will take precedence over your guilt. He drinks too, perhaps to make your eventual rejection easier, and the two of you make-out on that tumbledown couch until your lips turn blue.

Sometimes, he comes up for air – only when he gathers enough courage to break away from you – to whisper filthy nothings and little promises on the shell of your ear. Neither are empty, you know. Miguel’s good at making good of every word when it comes to you. The push and pull gets to him, fuels his gears until he’s pouring proper work into making you happy. From what you can physically face – gonna have you creaming on my cock, cariño – to prospects that remain ever-frightening – wanna stay like this forever, you on my lap, sharing our home.

You’ve never had a reference to ‘our’. Commitment remains a fickle thing for you, instilled by parents who didn’t have the mind to give it. He knows as much, but you don’t think he understands just what keeps you around regardless. What keeps you at the door, waiting for an acknowledged three-knuckle knock. None of the in betweens, flowers, nor the heights you reach spread-eagled underneath him. It’s always just been exactly that – his return, done every time without fail.

(And there’s the ever-negging fear that one day he’ll grow sick of the cycle.

On one hand, you hope he does. It hurts him more than it does you, and you hate to watch him leave. Yet on the other, more volatile hand – you pray he fucks you so well you forget your reserve, that he breeds and carries you away from this hole you’ve dug yourself in.)

For now, though–

For now, you lift the shirt off his frame. He’s let his chest-hair grow since you met him last, and if you strain to remember, he’s gotten bulkier. Abs more pronounced, with pecs that bounce when you graze your nails down his side. It’s refined, a look that makes him appear older. You swoop down to lick his neck, moaning hotly once you reach his mouth.

“You been working out, Mig?”

“For you, hermosa. Figured you’d like me better like this.” He groans, kneading the flesh of your thighs. His fingers dip into the waistband of your underwear, snapping it on your skin in an explicit plea to take it off.

“And who told you that?” You say, acquiescing, working the lacey strip off your hips. Your cunt sucks at it, belligerent in letting go now that it’s soaked the fabric through.

“A couple I met. They remind me of us.” His head follows yours when you draw away from an attempted kiss. It’s unintentional, done to stand off and strip completely, yet his reaction to it sends little tremors of pleasure to your core. “Of what we could be.”

“Shhhh.” Once you’re completely bare, tits freed from your tank top, you straddle him again, a little higher this time. His waist is cinched enough to allow you to do so with little fuss, tendons at the top of your thighs aching only slightly. “Make me feel good, please.”

“Of course.”

His thumb presses down on your swollen clit, holding it in place while you arch your back and trap it underneath you – sandwiching it between your mound and his midriff. The pressure is electric, charged to fervency, buzzing as it lights every nerve ending from your waist below. And three thrusts forth and back see to it that he’s slick, lubed with the juices that gradually seep from your needy slit.

The sight, the sensations, the thought that he’s putting effort outside of this room for you – they all make you exceedingly weak. Your legs wobble, practically jello, spine made out of sand and unable to support you fully. Miguel stays firm, one large paw squeezing your breast and the other at your pelvis. You’d ask him to help, to move you against him until you see stars, but a stone lodges in your throat and prevents the words from finding clarity.

It’s guilt, of that you’re familiar, but for a number of things; the fact that he would help you seek pleasure in spite of his own – his erection left abandoned under the confines of his pants. The idea of desecrating his hard work, those muscles made pronounced, with your filth without fully appreciating it first. For everything, everything, and it’s so crushing that you stop moving altogether.

“No, no. C’mon, pretty. Keep going.” He begs, pelvis thrusting up with need. You shove your arm behind you, seeking out the zipper keeping him from you, palming his hard length with clumsy assurance “Don’t worry about me. Wanna feel you cum on my abs. Gonna lick you clean after. We have forever if you’d let me. There’s no rush.”

No rush. It’s far from the typical Miguel sentiment, and you blink in perplexed contemplation. But he just grins, brows knitting up with reverence.

“Did these people also teach you to take your time?” You struggle to say patience, because he’s always been patient with you.

“Something along the lines.” He mutters, suddenly sheepish. His fangs always intrude when his tone is quiet, like they’re intentionally making him difficult to understand. He knows he’s special to you when you try to decipher it nonetheless.

“Don’t be making me jealous, now.” You taunt, dipping to bite his lip. It’s fun to pull up, up, until he whines and shoves you harder onto him. Achingly empty and close to cumming on his abdomen alone. Slowly, you start to gyrate again, riding unrelenting sinew. And in the meanwhile, you manage to get his zipper undone, sneaking your hand beneath his briefs.

“I’ll explain lat… later, p-promise.”

“I don’t doubt it. F-Fuck,” Somehow, the pleasure is simultaneously heavenly and not enough, this little game you decided to engage in tiptoeing the line. He’s good even when he isn’t trying, just laying there, pinching pebbled nipples with enough callousness that it aches in the best way. On your first date – which wasn’t really a date, but a happenstance meeting at your father’s shady bar – he’d been hesitant to hurt you like you wanted. The best he could do was pepper your neck with sore hickeys, pocketed in the back alley, touch kinder than any you’d experienced before. “Oh my god.”

“Y-You’re so soft. My gorgeous girl. So soft and… and pretty when you do that.”

“Mig.” You wail, useless in properly pumping his pulsing cock. It’s all you can do to palm the head, smearing prespend all over his velvet tip. And it’s hard, like smelted iron, throbbing hot and heavy. It’s been so long since you’ve had it in you that you’re sure it’ll take some effort to fit. The abstraction fills you with desperation so poignant that you start moving faster, rougher, seeking an end where you’re stuffed full yet doing nothing to actually achieve it.

That is, until–

“What do you need?” He asks.

Your hole clenches. Your guts knot together. Your orgasm gathers, full and sloshing wet, trapped behind the wall he’s been breaking down since his arrival.

“You!” You finally admit. “You.” Softer.

And when you cum, soaking his middle with shameless indulgence, all he does is flip you over to settle beneath him. The couch rocks with the sudden upheaval, threatening collapse, so he keeps a firm hold of your shoulders, kneeling between your quivering thighs. His breadth bobs from over his pants – you don’t recall taking it out – purple with restrained pain and just waiting for your cue to allow him entry.

“I’ve got you, cariño.” Miguel hums, positioning himself onto the divet of your cunt when you give a frail nod. “I’ve got you.”

And you know, of course you do. He’s never backed away from a promise before. Because that is how it is with Miguel.

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kiame-sama · 10 months

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Random short thing that popped up in my head; what if Miguel's darling accidentally or casually called Miguel 'Daddy'?

Warnings; use of the word Daddy, yandere, yandere behavior, implied adult themes, implied adult behavior, gender neutral reader,

"Miguel," the sweet voice of Miguel's heart spoke up from where they stood by his office door, "can we go soon?"

He had been spending long hours at work and it got to the point that LYLA called in the only person Miguel would listen to, his beloved.

Out of every ill-tempered behavior or aggressive action that Miguel showed, they all seemed to fade away so long as (Y/n) was by his side. Every spider knew that their boss had a weakness for his beloved and they also knew that he was fiercely protective of them even from those who don't pose a threat. However, even if having (Y/n) near Miguel made him protective, it is leaps and bounds better than dealing with an affection starving and prickly Miguel. The longer Miguel went without his lover nearby, the worse his temper became and the more volatile his rage was.

Miguel could work for days with little rest if he needed to, but he was powerless to the pull of his sweet darling calling him home. Still, he wanted to somewhat get his experimental design working before he went home.

"Sí, amor. Just give me a moment to figure this stupid thing out."

(Y/n) frowned as they saw how stubborn Miguel was being and understood why LYLA had called them to coax him out of the office. Whenever he set his mind to something, it was difficult for him to break away even if it made him neglect his own needs. Miguel adored his darling lover and wanted to go home with them, but he was so close to figuring out what was wrong with his newest experiment that he couldn't give up yet.

A sly grin overtook (Y/n)'s visage as they haughtily shrugged and turned, calling over their shoulder to Miguel.

"Okay. Thank you, Daddy."

The words had an immediate reaction from Miguel as an apparent crunching sound was heard, the small electronic crumbling to scrap in his grip. Though it took a moment for his mind to catch up with the statement and fully understand it, his body was quick to warm in response to the sentence. His eyes seemed to burn red as they flicked over to the doorway where his darling had been moments prior, statuesque body flexing.

Much like a cat stalking prey, or a spider judging the meal caught in a complex web, Miguel turned to the door with a clear rigidity. Where he was lithe and flexible, his body was stiff and not fully within his control anymore. A kind of hunger seemed to take over the typically critical and determined man, replacing the respected leader with a savage predator that had a clear target.

LYLA saved and shut everything in the office down as Miguel rushed out after his dearest with little regard to his now ruined piece of tech he destroyed. Perhaps he would blame himself for it tomorrow as he takes in the damage he did while briefly under control of his instincts. For now, Miguel had a single goal and he was going to reach that goal regardless of the effort it took to get there.

#kiame-sama #yandere #x reader #yandere x reader #reader insert #tw yandere #yandere miguel o'hara #yandere miguel x reader #yandere spiderverse #gn reader #gender neutral y/n

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mr-president · 11 months

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I think one of my favorite Funtermina things is how it uses characters as narrative foils, specifically in how those characters interact with each other and everyone else.

Karin and Daan’s is the most discussed as it’s probably the most apparent within the text: their volatile opposing viewpoints on life via their upbringings (despite being extremely similar otherwise). When Karin and Daan interact, it’s like a person arguing with themself. They clash like ammonia and bleach, unable to reconcile how similar they are (haha cleaning chemical analogy) yet toxic in their association.

Marina and Levi represent the different realities of Prehevil, what with Marina’s privileged upbringing versus Levi’s absolute shitshow of an existence. And yet, they get along incredibly well and form a cadence with one another because through each other, they can reconcile their upbringings in Prehevil. Levi is the Prehevil Marina tried to escape—Marina is the Prehevil Levi hoped to return to.

Marcoh and Olivia are interesting because—and I will argue this to the death—their relationship is wholly as siblings. And they’re also deeply connected by their relationships with their sisters, specifically how those sisters formulated and defined how they see themselves. Marcoh has done nothing but live to protect his sister, while Olivia has forever lived in her sister’s shadow. Their identities revolve completely around their sisters, and this also colors their relationship with each other as siblings.

I wish it was explored more, but I think there’s a level of disenfranchisement when Marcoh fervently tries to protect Olivia the same way he protected his younger sister (edit: rb for amendment). He clearly sees her in that role, and Olivia’s already got guilt written into her about her disability making her a “charity case.” I say this also because of their different opinions on guns, power, and death: Marcoh has no bloodlust and seems exhausted when he has to hurt others, while Olivia becomes almost jubilant when she receives a gun. And those reactions to enacting violence are directly informed by their relationships with their sisters: a begrudging responsibility vs empowerment.

My favorite is probably Abella and O’saa as foils. As characters they’re probably my favorites, and their foil makes it even better.

Abella easily connects with everyone around her, ensuring that they’re all getting along (or not killing each other) and she tries desperately to help everyone, even at her own detriment. She cares, so much, even too much.

O’saa on the other hand, is the exact opposite. He actively chooses to connect with everyone as little as possible, to the point where you can kill someone in front of him and he won’t give a shit. This is, obviously, to his detriment in terms of his goal towards enlightenment. He cares too little, even if at all.

They perfectly represent the dichotomy between altruism vs selfishness, the mundane vs the macro, democracy vs individualism. Fundamentally, both Abella and O’saa get shit done, and what makes them so compelling as foils is how similar the results of their different processes are.

Both of them are the only two that are capable of saving everyone. Abella does so by interacting with many of the other contestants, while O’saa does this by ignoring everyone and just occam’s razoring that shit. They both get shit done and to the greatest net success, but in both cases, because they operate on extremes, it’s to the detriment of themselves. The game shows this literally because, well, they sacrifice themselves to Logic for the greater good, but the game also implies this detriment via their moonscorches.

Chaugnaur represents how others have reduced Abella to a sexual object for their pleasure or a mindless brute for labor. It is a physical manifestation of how interacting and connecting with others can be to one’s detriment because Abella often cannot control how people see and define her. Mastermind, on the other hand, is O’saa’s brain swelling and overtaking everything else on his head to the point where he is blind (save for the eye) and mute, only able to speak in mumbles. Mastermind is how O’saa values logic, knowledge, comprehension over anything else, becoming blind to other viewpoints save for his own. Additionally, it’s unable to communicate or connect with anyone else, only able to ruminate get never share its thoughts.

Abella is one of the first to Moonscorch; O’saa is one of the last. I love them as foils because even though they’re the most different in terms of anything, they don’t hinder one another at much all. They’re just kinda chill. And this makes sense because their dichotomies aren’t volatile like Karin and Daan’s, nor complementary like the others. Rather, they operate in balance—you cannot be too altruistic without some selfishness. To help everyone and to achieve enlightenment, you must consider both the mundane and the greater picture. Society operates on a shared democracy and on empowering individuals.

Still, the fact that even operating on the extremes has the greatest positive effect (in terms of utilitarianism) really says smth abt whether these values even matter. But I’d argue that they do matter, cause it’s that question of whether it’s worth it to suffer or even sacrifice for the greater good.

As a whole, each foil represents a central theme/motif of Fear & Hunger: internal vs external locus of control (Karin and Daan), environment dictating identity (Marina and Levi), relationships and their impact (Marcoh and Olivia), and the thematic shitshow that is Abella and O’saa.

Tldr; the game is about some girls and their boy best friends.

#fear and hunger termina #i could be stretching all of this and completely delusional but i wanted to do some thematic analysis on funger since i haven’t seen much :#feel free to add on #also for the record i don’t ship abella and o’saa mainly bc abella is a hunky lesbian and o’saa is highkey aro ace to me #they’re like the ‘can u text this for me? oh don’t be too mean tho’ besties if thag makes sense #mr president’s state of the union address #i’ll draw soon trust u gotta hear mh deranged analyses first tho

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apollodarling-writes · 1 month

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HUNTING GAMES

cws : dubcon, somnophilia, creampie, levi leaves the game, murder, code-breaking, i went over the word limit a little bit, implied manipulation and threats, dating sim! levi, levi gets a bit ummm sadistic?? at the end, college! reader, im still not happy with it but its been so long since ive updated, if i missed anything please let me know.

commissioned by anonymous.

MDNI.

there was a new otome game that had been all the rage recently. characterized by its cutesy, college-life approach, lurking beneath each syrupy-sweet word and blossoming friendship was a sinister undertone. the objective of the game was to achieve the best possible ending for the route you choose, however each love interest was desperate for your love, making said objective increasingly unattainable the further the plot progressed. you’d downloaded the game when your friend had shown you one of their favorite love interests, finding yourself hooked on the stoic culinary arts major, levi ackerman.

levi ackerman was the first route you’d ever chosen. although, in the beginning, he wasn’t too keen on raising your intimacy level. while looking at forums online, you realized that was just how he was. levi was harder to please, and by far one of the most dangerous and volatile love interests in the game. he wasn’t afraid to annihilate any other character to get what he wanted, and knew how to cover his tracks. it was hard to tell when he was on the cusp of snapping, what he liked and disliked, and where he was when he wasn’t pestering you about something trivial.

once you finally manage to get your intimacy level up to the point where his obsessive tendencies begin to show, his personality does a 180… with you at least. he’s more affectionate, gives you gifts for your daily check in — most of it being food he’s cooked just for you, and you find that he’s easier to fluster, stumbling over his words and a faint blush spreading across the apples of his cheeks. levi is still the same when he interacts with npcs, maybe a bit more on the protective and stand-off ish side when youre around. with love interests, however, levi is more hostile than ever.

you’d failed levi’s route many, many times, and had finally just achieved the good ending when you’d stumbled across something regarding a secret route of his. naturally, you wanted to see it to completion, but for some reason it just kept going. growing tired of this secret route, you chose to switch to another love interest.

this love interest in particular was very sweet, docile almost. armin seemed harmless enough, and you found that you enjoyed this route more than you had levi’s. although, after a little while, you noticed some easter eggs hidden in the back that made you feel a bit uneasy. there was a silhouette in the background of each interaction, watching everything play out, as well as a few npcs that seemed to disappear or avoid you altogether. the more you played, the more uneasy and afraid armin looked.

you noticed that armin’s eyes were often glancing around, his sentences shorter when the silhouette was more prevalent, and on a few occasions, he’d outright ignored you. once, you’d found him beaten and bloody in an alleyway outside of the boy’s dormitories, appearing half-conscious and you’d chosen the option to patch him up. after that, your intimacy levels skyrocketed and he was back to normal.

just before the two of you exchanged a kiss during one of the date events, the screen glitched and suddenly armin laid in a pool of his own blood. armin’s face became pixelated, which was unusual for this game since it was known for its graphics. was this part of the game? your heart skipped a beat, gooseflesh rising on your arms as levi entered the place armin was just moments before.

levi’s appearance glitched in places, the blood spatter on his face seeming to drip and become more realistic. that… wasnt supposed to happen. did the game have a bug? you think you see levi’s brow twitch, his lips tugging into a frown, but you cant be sure.

“[name]… why did you leave me?” levi is uncharacteristically upset with you, his face scrunched with what seems to be a mixture of frustration and hurt. “i thought you loved me.”

you knit your brows, trying to exit the route; to your horror, youre unable to leave. levi grows increasingly upset the more you click the button, “why are you on his route? can’t you see that youre mine? we’re made for each other!” he shouts, his voicelines glitching in places.

“why can’t i leave the damn route?” you grit out, one hand gripping the hem of your shirt. “what the fuck is going on?”

levi’s face falls, a far away look in his eyes as you are finally able to exit armin’s route. you groan, leaning back in your chair as you thread a hand through your hair. “is this part of levi’s secret route?” you wonder aloud.

after that, you didn’t touch the game for days. you searched forum after forum, site after site, searching for answers. why did levi suddenly appear on armin’s route? surely, it was part of levi’s secret route… right? your gut told you otherwise, but a game character being sentient? that was something that only happened in fanfiction, and certainly not to you.

a week had come and gone before you even thought about touching the game. you were busy with work, college, and still hadn’t found the answers you were looking for. maybe you’d be able to find them in-game… but what if levi kills another love interest? what if they don’t come back when the game resets? what if —

shakily exhaling through your mouth, you release the tension in your shoulders, cracking your fingers as you hover over the next love interest’s route. she was a very bubbly love interest, her smile bright and contagious enough to have one of your own tugging at the corners of your lips as you right-click on hange’s route.

the two of you interacted quite well, your natural dialogue choices furthering your intimacy level. hange was known to be a relatively easy route — not much reading between the lines, or even guesswork. she was very upfront for the most part. you found yourself forgetting about your secret investigation, genuinely losing yourself to the interactions between yourself and hange.

you only started getting suspicious again once you noticed the silhouette in the background once more. hange seemed to notice too, but she was more composed than armin had been. you squint as the silhouette flickers, your pulse thrumming in your throat as you quickly stutter out, “levi, leave hange alone or i’ll never play your route again.”

the silhouette rushes to the screen, stumbling over its words and blubbering about how it just loves you so much and can’t live without you! the anonymity fades, leaving levi in its place, and you realize that levi was more dangerous than you’d initially thought. hange is quick to take her leave once she notices the look in levi’s eyes, and you attempt to as well. levi’s anger flares up once more at the sight of your cursor clicking the exit game button.

“[first name] [last name], stop trying to leave me. why don’t you want me anymore? you can’t make me love you and then leave. you’re so cruel.” levi’s digits grip his collar, tugging it away from his throat as if he couldn’t breathe. “i-i learned things about you, for you — i tried my best to be the man you wanted, so why are you choosing other people?! am i not enough?!”

a chill shoots down your spine, cold washing over your body as your stomach tightens. you tuck your fingers into your palm, beginning to feel as if you were glued to your seat. how did he know your last name? you don’t remember putting that information in at all… maybe it was from your email? maybe the developers had a third-party thing going on?

levi becomes more frantic the more he speaks, pleading and begging for you to love him again. “i was your first route! you put the most effort into me! you can’t just leave!!” you have a creeping feeling that he’s looking at you — unlike most games, levi seems to lack a blank stare, and instead seems entirely focused on you.

“there’s no way he’s sentient.” you mumble to yourself, pressing a quivering hand to the damp skin of your forehead. “i’m just…. im just tired and stressed. yeah… i should just go to bed.”

you stumble out of your chair, body on autopilot and mind reeling as you put your monitor in sleep mode and push your chair under your desk, trudging over to your bed in disbelief. you tuck yourself in, and just before you’re able to fall asleep, you hear levi speak.

“you look so cute when you’re sleeping…” you hear his shaky breaths — the utter glee in his tone, as if he were more than content just to watch you. dread and unease fill your stomach as you realize you can’t ignore this anymore.

you shoot up in your bed, chest heaving and eyes blown wide as your gaze snaps to your monitor. could he see you? could he hear you? were you going crazy?

you slowly make your way over to your monitor and pull up your game, levi dreamily staring back at you as if you’d hung the stars in the sky. “are… you sentient?” your voice wavers as you ask this, fingertips digging into the hard plastic of your desk.

levi stills, his idle animation unusually stiff. for a moment you wonder if you should check yourself into the nearest hospital, but then, “you finally noticed… oh, baby, that makes me so happy— i’ve been trying to get your attention for so long!”

it’s your turn to still, your body going rigid and exhaling shakily. oh, you were royally fucked. if he was sentient, could he leave the game? god, you hope not.

“i’ve been watching you for so long! i even learned about your parents and your siblings for you! i know your address, the names of your friends; i know your all favorites, i know that you have a dog named rufus, i know that you like to listen to music while you clean —“

levi drones on and on, going over everything he’s learned about you during the time he’s been watching you. your breathing grows heavy and erratic; sinking into a primal state of fight or flight, you hurriedly try to uninstall the game from your computer, but it seems levi had already anticipated this. the screen glitches, flashing white as levi appears in different places — duplicates, different routes, pictures of you, npcs that went missing, hastily written notes all dedicated to you.

deciding that deleting the game wouldn’t work, you opt to unplug your computer. the screen stills for a moment, going completely black before a variety of coding begins to type out on the screen.

“leave me alone!” you shout, your voice cracking as you rip your monitors and pc off of your desk, throwing them across your room. they bounce off your dresser, knocking a few trinkets and such off, sending them clattering to the ground. you notice the coding slows for a moment, eyeing the shattered hardware scattered across your bedroom floor. “you’re just a game!! i don’t actually love you!”

“you’re wrong!!” levi’s voice is distorted and distant — glitching out in some places, or manifesting as a multitude of voices, some higher, some lower in pitch. “you love me — you do! i know you do!”

you panic, the cortisol and adrenaline running through your veins clouding your sense of judgment as you rush to your kitchen and grab a trash bag, picking up a baseball bat from a closet on your way back to your room. you hastily throw your setup in the bag and grip the bat, swinging the metal bat back and smashing the contents of the bag until you feel safe and can’t hear the whirring of the code any longer. you stumble back onto the edge of your bed, staring at the bag as you strain your ears for any signs of levi. heaving a sigh, you wipe the sweat from your brow and gather all the miscellaneous pieces of your setup that were strewn across your floor, placing them in the bag.

you feel disconnected from your body as you bring the bag outside, opening your garbage can and tossing them in. a drop on your face shocks you out of your stupor, but you realize that it was only a drop of rain. your fingers tremble still, your breathing still erratic as you try to calm your racing heart. how was any of this even possible?

you slowly trudge back inside your home, entering your room and collapsing on your bed. this must be a bad dream. it has to be; there’s no way that this could happen. you lie awake for awhile, your mind spinning round and round again. thoughts come and go, never staying for too long, and you forget them immediately after they depart. the events of the night had worn you out, your eyes growing impossibly heavy, drifting off into a deep slumber.

outside, the monitor screen flickers to life. code rapidly pans down the screen, sparks flying as a hand slowly peels out. carefully, levi drags himself out of the game and into…. wait, why is he in a trash can? surely, his beloved wouldn’t…? with haste, levi tracks his way inside your home, brows furrowed with quiet rage. how could you just throw him away like that?

levi takes his sweet time cleaning up, lathering himself in your products and sniffing your towel before drying himself with it. he runs his fingers along the countertops, walls, and doorframes, trudging along to your room as he admires your home. it isn’t long before he finds you sleeping soundly atop your bed sheets. levi’s breath instantly catches in his throat, his heart racing in his chest as he approaches your slumbering form. you were even prettier in person.

carefully crawling onto your bed, the pads of his fingers tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, trailing down to your shoulders. his eyes wander to your exposed flesh before flickering back up to your lips. one kiss couldn’t hurt, right? carefully leaning down, levi molds his lips to yours; his heart nearly stops the moment he tastes you. one kiss isn’t enough. he needs more! levi unbuckles his belt and ties your hands to the headboard, then drags his hand along your chest, swallowing thickly as he feels his pants tighten.

levi quietly positions himself between your thighs, burying his head in your neck as he leisurely grinds his cock into you. biting his lip to muffle his whimpers, he lifts your shirt, baring your breasts to his greedy eyes. levi immediately latches onto one, his tongue swirling around the erect flesh as he works your pajama pants to the side.

“need to taste you, baby.” he murmurs. levi kneels between your thighs, his tongue slowly lapping at the arousal that had begun to leak from you. he takes but a moment to shimmy his pants down far enough to fist his cock, slowly pumping it with his free hand. the man softly groans into your folds, a sleepy whine parting your lips in response.

as he continues lapping at you, levi feels his stomach tighten and stops all movement. he waits for the feeling to subside, then aligns himself with your entrance. he shallowly thrusts into your cunt, slowly working his way inside and bottoming out with a broken whimper. levi’s mind spins at the way your walls grip him — the feeling almost as if he were made to fuck you, as if you were made to take him. his fingers grip your hips as he attempts to control himself, pressing both of your legs further out for easier access.

it isn’t long before levi loses himself in the feeling; it is his first time after all. his hips snap into yours, whimpering and whining through gritted teeth all the while, and you slowly begin to wake. levi’s eyes roll back as the feeling in his tummy snaps, not once stopping as he pumps you full of his cum.

you let out a confused moan, your eyes slowly adjusting to see levi’s fucked out face gazing down at you. “f—feels so good…” he whispers, slotting his lips to yours. you attempt to shimmy away, but it was to no avail; the asshole had tied you up. you attempt to fight him off, but it’s to no avail as he’s stronger than you and has shackled you to your bed.

waves of unwanted pleasure course through your body, forcing soft whimpers and whines from your lips as levi unknowingly rocks his hips into the places that have your eyes rolling back. gazing down at you with something akin to reverence, levi presses the pad of his thumb to your clit, slowly circling his name and bringing you closer to your climax.

“cmon, baby.” levi groans, feeling your walls tighten around his cock. “cum f’me.”

you simply shake your head in response, screwing your eyes shut and murmuring through a whimper, “go fuck yourself.”

levi only chuckles at your words, seemingly amused, and lifts your hips; the man slings an arm around your lower back, one hand gripping the meat on your hip, and forces you to meet his thrusts.

nothing seemed real at the moment. you were unable to stop levi from leaving the game, and now the man was taking advantage of you. you suppose the only good thing in this situation is that despite it all, levi was going to make you cum.

your back arches as your fingers dig into your palms, your cunt pulsing and fluttering as your eyes roll into the back of your head. a high-pitched whine erupts from your throat, levi smirking victoriously at the sight beneath him, and you relinquish control; melting into his hold, you wordlessly beg for more.

you didn’t know what would come after this, nor did you know how you were going to fight your way out of it. the only thing you knew is that this felt good. somewhere deep in your mind, you knew you didn’t want this, but had decided to relish in the feeling of being desired for the time being.

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in-fair-verona-we-set-our-scene · 5 months

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The more I think about it, the more... not exactly sympathetic, but more understanding of the Narrator's frustrations because He is operating under an insane set of restrictions to convince us to slay the Princess without making her enough of a threat that she can fight back. He's not even trying to thread the incredibly tiny needle Himself, He has to guide you into doing it without you even realizing it.

Like, the core problem is that the Player Character's belief (and the Princess's) literally shape reality. To demonstrate how great a change even a small shift in perspective can cause by your own actions alone, taking the knife or not taking the knife results in the Princess having a different personality and skillset from the moment you enter the basement. Taking the knife implies she's a potential threat and even before she sees that you have the knife, she speaks far more threateningly. If you talk rather than killing her right away, which further reinforces all the ways she's a potential threat (she's aloof, somewhat cynical, intelligent, well-spoken, and outright threatens you at one point), there's no way to kill her and also survive. And if you let her kill you after freeing her and the Narrator hijacks your body, she shows herself to be skilled with the blade and unflinching in putting you down.

But if you go down without the knife (signalling you don't see her as a threat, not even a potential one) she's much sweeter when calling to you on the stairs. She sounds harmless, scared, but a little hopeful. And when she kills you after you free her, she doesn't know how to use the knife effectively at all. She kills you while crying and stabbing randomly. She both doesn't want to kill you and is incapable of being an actual threat. You have to hold still and let her kill you.

Unless, of course, you try to kill her anyway, which means she's now fully capable of beating you to death with her bare hands, likely because trying to kill her implies another shift in view (probably due to seeing her try to gnaw off her own arm). She is a potential threat now, and of course attacking someone comes with concerns about them trying to defend themselves--how capable are they of fighting back? And of course she'd fight back, who wouldn't? All the Princesses fight back when attacked except for the Damsel because by that Chapter the idea that she A. can't, and B. wouldn't, is locked in by her inability to put you down efficiently the last loop and the Smitten's unfailing faith in her.

So as early as Chapter 1, from the moment you enter the cabin and even during your interaction with her, your thoughts and beliefs are shaping reality and that ability is incredibly volatile.

And that's part of the Narrator's problem! The Princess needs to be helpless so she can't hurt you or defend herself but in that case, what justification do you have to kill her? So she has to be enough of a threat in the future to justify killing her, but not at the moment, and killing anyone comes with concerns about them fighting back. The Narrator has to walk a very fine line here because even thinking it's possible she might have the ability to fight back or kill you means she absolutely can, but you also have to believe that she could possibly be a big enough threat that you simply can't risk leaving her alive.

So the Narrator has to go "Okay. There is a Princess. She is harmless. She cannot hurt you or escape right now and you have to kill her. Why? Because she will be a great threat in the future. Not right now, she's perfectly harmless right now, but you have to kill her. No, no, you can't talk to her and ask questions because she'll trick you into not killing her. What kind of threat? The world-ending kind so even if you doubt me you can't risk it, there's too much on the line if there's even the smallest chance I'm correct and you must do it right now. How is she capable of ending the world? Don't think about it, please please don't think about it."

(I also think that's probably part of why the Narrator made her a princess of all things. The stereotype around a princess locked away is that they're fairly helpless in a fight, simply waiting for someone to come save them, but also you could justify killing her because she's an oppressive monarch, in title at least. And, indeed, that is a perspective the Narrator pushes and one you can agree with. Not to mention all the story tropes where royalty or a maiden of some kind is infused with a special connection to the world or god--a Princess who can end the world just by the nature of her being is not far removed from those tropes)

I mean, trying to get someone to kill another person without thinking them as an immediate threat or questioning anything too deeply is a monumental task. And everything from the ethical questions you might ask to risk assessment all have the potential to make the Princess quite a threat. No wonder it goes wrong so fast.

#slay the princess #slay the princess spoilers #like I'm just thinking is there anything the Narrator could've done differently to get us to kill the Princess and like... not really #He handled it pretty smartly I think. or as smart as trying to Kill The Concept Of Death can be #I genuinely can't think of anything else He could do to get us to kill her that wasn't likely to go wrong even faster

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die-die-mydarling-xx · 1 year

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Hewo! Saw y’all are taking requests :3

What would the Sinclair Brothers, Brahms, and Billy Lenz do if they see their s/o being made fun of by someone? How would they react?

Thank you and have a good one!

Hi there! Sorry it took me a little while to get around to this

How They Would React to Seeing Their S/O Being Made Fun Of

SFW, GN!Reader (sort of implied to be female in Billy Lenz)

Vincent Sinclair

They're dead the minute they decided to make fun of you

He wouldn't be too aggressive in the moment, probably just glaring at them from across the room

Or he'd move to your side, the silent anger in his face enough to shut them up

Later on they will die slowly and painfully <3

Once he's done with them he would come to comfort you, holding you in his arms and making sure you know how perfect you are and that you're the best thing that ever happened to him

Bo Sinclair

Again, they're dead. Duh

He'd come over to give whoever was making fun of you a piece of his mind, you could see him getting quite worked up

These people were just passing through, and you could tell they wanted to leave after that altercation, but their car had broken down just outside of Ambrose and Bo was their only hope of fixing it

He'd tell them he had to order the part and let them know where to stay nearby

So he could catch them off guard later. He wouldn't prolong their suffering that much, his anger overriding that urge

He'd come find you once they're dead as well, holding you a little closer to him that night. He doesn't strike me as someone who would give a lot of verbal reassurance, but you still can tell he cares

Lester Sinclair

He's the only one of the three who wouldn't outright kill them. Maybe directs them to his brothers though

He'd definitely step in in the moment as well, but he's a little calmer than Bo: he would defend you and try to make the people making fun of you ashamed of their behaviour

Would be sooo comforting afterwards, giving you lots of physical affection and telling you everything he loves about you

Brahms Heelshire

I don't imagine there'd be a lot of times where he'd see this happening, so I think he'd be a lot more volatile in this situation

You're perfect in his eyes, he's literally obsessed with you, so seeing you being made fun of would make him very angry

Honestly I think he'd just kill them right then and there. 😶

Unless you told him not to but he'll still leave them injured

After they were gone he'd be holding you, stroking your hair, and giving you all kinds of compliments

Billy Lenz

If you were being made fun of by specific sorority sisters, they would immediately become his next targets

I don't think he'd want to really step in; he doesn't like leaving the attic, especially when there are people up and about

He would call the house phone to try and interrupt their taunting

When they pick up, he'd immediately go into a tirade of profanities and threatening them

The sisters would hang up, shaking their heads in disgust, and you just smiled to yourself, knowing that this was his way of defending you

Later, after everyone's asleep, you go into the attic to see him. Like Lester, he's going to be very physically affectionate, stroking your face, your hair, your body and telling you how pretty you are and how important you are to him

I hope this is okay! I definitely struggled with the characterization of some of them, especially Billy 😭

#asks #number1120 #slashers x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x reader #lester sinclair x reader #house of wax #brahms heelshire #brahms heelshire x reader #billy lenz #billy lenz x reader #vincent sinclair #bo sinclair #lester sinclair

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silantryoo · 10 months

Text

BONUS [ LIKEALOOK ] — mansion parties

aeri uchinaga's mansion, gangnam-gu, seoul, korea.

WARNINGS ; intoxication, implied coercion, peer pressure, cheating, gaslighting, driving under the influence, drugs (cannabis usage), illegal substance use (5.1k)

yoo jimin loved parties.

she loved the faint smoke in the air, blurring the dim lights as swirls danced around above the twenty-something olds in the house. the rum, although cheap, gave her a sense of comfort that she knew all too well.

the dullness, the nausea. everything was perfectly disastrous. a concoction of all her dreams and hopes that amount to nothing but a strained knee, and years of aggravation to be overshadowed by her junior.

but most of all, she loved the smell of weed. it was almost as intoxicating as the leers girls would give her, undressing her with their eyes as she walked across the room.

she was wanted. she was loved.

jimin knew it was just for her body, for her face that she just happened to be gifted with. she knew that people would wage war just to look like her.

she was yoo jimin.

she hated it.

she hated the weight of her name, the last memory of her father dangling in front of her, mocking her like she does to herself in front of her mirror. she hated her face, the world too shallow to see the girl beneath, exhausted beyond belief. she hated her anger, volatile and quick to rise, none of which she had (nor wanted) control over.

she hated it. she hated herself. she hated everything. she hated the divorce, she hated the volleyball net that always seemed too high, she hated-

"minnie?"

she knew that voice.

it echoed in the back of her head when she didn't run fast enough, when she didn't play hard enough, when she looked at herself in the mirror and all she saw was a washed-out athlete.

it rang through her ears and into her veins when she saw jang wonyoung... when she saw l/n y/n.

jimin heart dropped, and despite her entire body screaming - begging, she turned, the heaviness in her chest crushing the remnants of her heart.

"yeji?"

y/n's anxiety was at an all-time high.

although part of her was ecstatic to finally stand her ground, a bigger part was terrified.

jimin was horrifying when she was angry, and y/n refused to see the sight of a blood-splattered, fist-shaped imprint on the wall again.

her eyes darted methodically, scanning the crowd of university alumni and students every few seconds before repeating.

once to the right, where choi yena was doing a keg stand near the kitchen (or trying to despite alexandra baek's very adamant demands for her to shut up and slow down), once to the middle where a sea of people crowded the entrance to the mansion foyer embellished with intricate swirls of gold and red, and once to the left where the room extended to a greater, much bigger hall that seemed to be the dining room.

there was no sign of jimin, and y/n didn't know if that scared her or reassured her.

"you okay?" minjeong grabbed her hand, squeezing it lightly.

despite the older girl's effort to reassure her, it only worsened the churning in her stomach. minjeong's icy hands were a reminder of her anxieties, and if it weren't for her iron grip, y/n would've pulled away.

"jimin's gonna kill me, unnie." y/n looked again. right, middle, left. "i shouldn't be here."

she's gonna kill me. she's really gonna kill me.

"you'll be fine." yuri grabbed her shoulder, smiling at the girl as if y/n's body wasn't screaming for her to leave the uchinaga residence. "just get drunk out of your mind and you'll forget all about her."

y/n shook her head, her palms tingling from the heightened fear.

being drunk meant lowering her guard, and that meant there was a higher chance of jimin seeing her.

y/n couldn't have a repeat of her last party at the uchinaga's.

"what if she finds me?" y/n felt like a colony of bees had overtaken her lungs.

minjeong looked at the two other girls, the worry etched on y/n's face setting waves of deja vu through them. she could feel the slight tremble of her hand, and the uncharacteristic waver of her voice.

she knew what this was. it was pure, unadulterated fear.

kim minjeong really hated yoo jimin.

"she won't." minju smiled, her eyes sincere despite the fear swirling through them. "we'll be here."

so will jimin. y/n couldn't help but think.

"yeah, unnie!" jiwon spoke up, her smile beaming past the others' dim ones. the younger girl was the only one out of all of them who hadn't truly experienced what jimin could do. "plus, i'm planning on staying sober."

y/n envied the girl, forgetting at that moment that she was dating the latter.

minju scoffed, her eyes rolling. "like i'm letting you drink."

jiwon glanced at her older sister, and that was enough for the girls' to know how the university freshman actually felt.

yuri crossed her arms, y/n scanning the right once more to hear the loud cheers chanting yena's name.

"you are such a buzz kill, kim minju."

minjeong followed the girl's eyes, grimacing at the older girl who seemed to be drowning in beer.

"the hell am i supposed to do?" minju's eyes scanned jiwon's face. "let her drink? she said she didn't want to."

jiwon looked at yuri, almost pleading with her to stop (or to continue. yuri wasn't that good at reading people).

"jiwon. baby kim." yuri squished the taller girl's cheeks. jiwon's face turned bright red, both from the proximity of yuri, and from the unsettling prescence of minju's anger. "do you want to drink?"

minju looked at her, an eyebrow-raising.

jiwon bit her tongue, not wanting to anger the older girl by commenting on how much she looked like their mom at that exact moment.

"um-"

minjeong's head turned back to the three, while y/n busied herself scanning the entire visible area for jimin.

she couldn't forget about jimin again. forgetting about jimin meant letting her guard down. y/n can't let down her guard, not when jimin is high, drunk, or both.

lily morrow knew what happened when y/n did.

"you can say yes, you can say no." yuri let go of jiwon's face, patting her shoulder lightly as smoke blew behind her. "but i'm only accepting it if it's your decision."

jiwon took a glimpse at her older sister, using the same guideline as she does with her mom.

one eyebrow arched was a warning, two eyebrows furrowed meant she was safe, and a frown meant she were in trouble for a light scolding. no expression meant jiwon was fucked.

minju currently had a frown.

"but minju-unnie-"

"fuck her." yuri inturpted, as if the vice president of the student council was no where near the two. "yes or no?"

jiwon stared at minju, trying to decipher her as y/n scanned the room again.

her sister's frown deepened at jiwon's hesitance, while yuri's appeared.

"...yes."

jiwon glanced.

minju had no expression.

"minjeong." yuri's voice dripped with pure happiness. "take her to the booze."

minjeong looked at y/n, then at yuri.

"why me?"

she didn't want to leave y/n when she was in this state, but god, did she love pissing minju off.

"you're the only one here that doesn't drink because of your ibs."

minjeong felt y/n stiffen, and for a moment she thought that the younger girl had seen the devil herself, but when she turned, y/n was staring at her... giggling.

"it's not ibs." minjeong felt her nose go red. "it's acid reflux, you idiot."

yuri shrugged, moving jiwon towards the older girl. "it still comes out of some hole."

y/n cleared her throat, and although minju was fuming, she couldn't help but let a chuckle escape.

"i'll kill you." minjeong let go of y/n, glaring at yuri as if her eyes were lasers. "minju, please stay with y/n so the yena groupie doesn't get her blackout drunk."

yuri punched the girl's shoulder.

"i think i should go with you." minju tried to reason, minjeong rubbing her arm as yuri stuck her tongue out at her. "jiwon's my sister-"

"i'll watch her." minjeong reassured. "i'm stupid, not irresponsible."

"but-"

"say bye-bye, baby kim."

jiwon grinned timidly, the dimple on her cheek not even showing. "sorry, unnie."

minjeong led the younger girl to the right, passing the keg stand that yena had absolutely failed at and making a beeline to the kitchen.

minjeong's eyes lightened as she ushered jiwon closer to what looked like spiked punch.

handing jiwon a cup, minjeong took a closer inspection at the pletohra of tiny, colorful bags with labels of THC printed on the bottom.

of course, the uchinaga family would have access to oversea's cannabis (not that minjeong minded).

thirty minutes later, the party was finally in full swing, the three-story mansion at full capacity, the bass of the built-in speakers shaking the it lightly.

zico played through the speakers while the smoke was starting to accumulate into a thick fog. the ceiling was covered in a light mist, flowing through the airducts and out to the many vents of the house. the smell of skunk was sure to stain the furniture for a couple of days, but aeri was sure that a couple (dozen) canisters of febreze would do the trick.

gaeul managed to squeeze the door open from the outside, smog immediately exiting as the other girl's entered.

"this is why you don't drink and drive, ahn yujin."

"i know." yujin blushed, closing the door with a sheepish smile. "we got it fixed though? plus the repairs are less than six hundred thousand won, so we'll be fine."

gaeul looked at her for a moment, rei shaking her head in the back as wonyoung scanned the area from right to the left.

"are you insane?"

"the road was blurry, okay?" yujin frowned, making her way in front of the shorter girl to push past the sea of people. "how was i supposed to know it was a curb?"

gaeul heard her name, and she waved to one of the girls that she had already forgotten the name of. she looked familiar, most likely from after a game, or practice, or class. gaeul couldn't remember.

yujin looked at gaeul.

"maybe with your eyes, unnie." rei rolled her eyes. she looked at wonyoung. "i hope y/n and them are still here."

wonyoung shook her head. "they might've left already."

gaeul scanned the room once more. ryujin told her she was gonna be here, and the setter wasn't in the mood to see her right now. her focus was on wonyoung, and getting the girl moderately tispy.

yujin bit her lip, looking at the tall girl with a frown. "sorry, wonnie."

"it's okay, unnie." wonyoung sighed, rei's eyes staring at the back of her head. "i don't think she even likes me, as delusional as i am."

delusional. gaeul knows that word too well.

gaeul turned to look at yujin, expecting her bright, puppy-like smile, but familiarity was something that was ingrained in her psyche, and there was nothing more familiar than the girl who ruined her life.

"she's delusional." yujin grinned, looking at the older girl. "right, gaeul-unnie?"

hwang yeji. all she saw was hwang yeji.

yujin stopped, "gaeul-unnie?"

she shouldn't have come today.

"hey, wonnie?" gaeul eyes were dull, just like the first day she met the younger girl. "wanna get shit-faced?"

jimin wanted to go home.

she wanted to feel the comfort of her ikea duvet, and watch the shitty drama that she'd fall asleep to on days when practice was hard. jimin wanted her laptop, where she'd rewatch her gameplay again and again, dissecting every little mistake until it eventually tore into her self worth. she wanted the glare of her phone, her heart fluttering as she texted y/n.

she wanted everything but this, everything but the reminder of yeji.

"jesus, jimin." aeri hobbled the taller girl into the living room, greeting the people she passed. "it's only one and you're already slurring your words."

"she asked me how i am." jimin laughed maniacally. "who does she think she is?"

aeri frowned, her hand patting the small of jimin's back.

"can you sit down?" aeri sighed, leaning over as jimin toppled onto her beige couch. "i swear to god, if you throw up on my carpet i will kill you."

jimin smiled.

"is that a promise?"

"stop it." aeri brushed her hair out of her face, the volleyball player's eyes trained on the dome-shaped ceiling. jimin wondered if she could play volleyball at this state. "i'm gonna get you water. you better stay put or i'll shove a vodka glass up your nostril."

jimin hummed, not hearing a response after.

she wondered if aeri had left, or if she was just staring at the girl in disappointment. it didn't matter. either way, jimin knew she was the latter.

sighing, she turned her head to the foyer, the door opening slightly as a figure managed to squeeze through.

huh.

jimin stood up.

the girl was her height. her face seemed tailored, almost too perfect to be natural but jimin knew it was. and her eyes. she knew them anywhere. the tired, unsatisfied swirl of dissatisfaction was a trait that she too, held.

it was like staring at a mirror.

"hey."

"um," the girl looked innocent, and jimin couldn't help but smile. "hello?"

"you're nakamura kazuha, right?"

kazuha blinked at her. "yeah?"

"yoo jimin." jimin pointed at herself, trying hard not to slur her words more than she should. "i'm yunjin's close friend."

close friend was a stretch that jimin was willing to take if that meant she was going to get laid.

"oh?" kazuha didn't look convinced. "yunjin's never mentioned you."

"i swear, that bitch." jimin laughed as if her and the middle blocker were anywhere near speaking terms. "are you looking for her?"

"yeah." kazuha sighed, tiredly. "is she here yet?"

jimin bit her tongue. she guessed that yunjin's phone had died a while ago, seeing as the girl had been here to help yena and her stupid pack of helpers set up for today.

whatever. her loss.

"not yet." jimin shook her head, the younger girl somehow believing her. "i could wait for her with you if you want. there's some jello shots and fireballs in the sunroom."

the ballerina looked at her, scanning her face and stopping at her mouth. a hunger, jimin deduced, was what she was seeing in huh yunjin's girlfriend.

jimin couldn't help but mentally thank aeri for letting her use her lip gloss.

"i don't think i should."

jimin's dark, hazy eyes captured kazuha's.

"it wouldn't hurt." kazuha hesitated. it took everything in jimin just to push once more, to not leave the girl alone. "c'mon, you're gonna let yunjin have all the fun?"

kazuha looked around. it was wrong to entertain a drunk girl, especially when she was in a relationship. "uh, i don't-"

"kazuha-ssi." jimin smiled, her teeth never showing and neither her intentions. "i'm not taking no for an answer."

jimin watched the girl, and the party roared as kazuha came to her decision.

"just one shot."

"good." perfect, even. "now, stay close. i don't want you getting lost."

kazuha looked at the side of jimin's face, and all she saw was a ballerina's dream. perfection.

"thank you, jimin-ssi." kazuha blushed.

jimin couldn't wait to see how this played out.

"thank you."

yuri had lost minju in the crowd earlier.

usually, the girl would've been aggravated, trying to find her vice president who seemed to like to wander the halls when she was drunk out of her mind, blabbering about her lover or something.

luckily, said lover had taken the girl away, and part of yuri finally understood why minju was so hung up on kim chaewon. the singer was always there, and so was minju. despite chaewon never saying the l word, her constant presence in minju's life was telling enough.

if only her and yena were like that.

yuri stumbled around, going through the pool entrance as a tipsy (drunk) y/n steadied her.

"alexandra!"

alex's face dropped as she talked to yena. "oh my god."

the international student turned to the very drunken girl, yena following her as if she hadn't just puked in the bushes of the uchinaga residence.

"holy fuck."

yena looked at her younger friend, wondering why she had kept this random girl away from her grasp.

she stood up, wiping the spit from her mouth as yuri approached. she needed to look at least put together if she wanted to pull, and not some alcoholic that got held back a year. behind her, yena recognized y/n, her cat-like eyes impossible to mistake for someone else.

yuri threw herself onto alex, as yena scanned y/n.

"aren't you wonnie's ex slash jimin's new plaything?"

plaything?

"unnie."

"what?" yena shrugged. the entire team knew about y/n one way or another, considering that jimin tended to dangle the girl in front of wonyoung like a dog treat. "is she not?"

y/n tightened her jaw. "i'm jimin's girlfriend."

"yeah, okay." jimin did always like them delusional. "that's what they all say."

yuri looked at y/n, part of her sobering up and ready to fight the love of her life if it came to (perhaps it would be a great story for their future kids).

"all?"

"unnie," alex nudged her. "stop it."

"what?" yena whined, tired of getting scolded by the younger girl. "she's not even jimin's type."

alex was at her limit.

"i will sew your mouth shut."

"no." y/n ushered, her brain not fully registering what was happening. jimin couldn't have been cheating on her. sure, she was an asshole, but jimin loved her, right? "let her continue."

alex closed her eyes, praying that yena would keep her mouth shut just for a moment.

"it's not my fault that jimin likes to fuck pretty things." yena muttered, her words loud enough to echo in y/n's brain.

"dude."

"it's not like she's actually jimin's girlfriend."

"are you dumb?" alex closed her eyes, yuri glancing at the younger girl beside her. "she is. and you just told her that her girlfriend is cheating on her."

jimin wouldn't cheat. she loved y/n. she was the one who stayed, the one who was there when wonyoung had left her many months ago. she was the one who held her close and whispered that everything was going to be okay as long as she had her.

jimin couldn't have.

"jimin's cheating on me?"

"um..." alex scratched her cheek lightly, unsure of what to do as yena undressed yuri with her eyes. "jimin likes people... things that look like her. so she can ruin them, i guess."

yena turned to her, frowning.

"should you be airing this out?"

"fuck yoo jimin." alex rolled her eyes, her brown irises glaring at the blue water in front of her. "she ruined my life."

"yeji ruined your life."

"she is yeji."

yeji. y/n had heard that name before, but never from jimin.

she had mentioned it in passing once, and jimin made her swear to never utter the word again. y/n held the older girl for the rest of the night, her thoughts lingering about who yeji was.

jimin told her not to worry about it, because it didn't matter. because jimin loved her.

"jimin wouldn't cheat on me."

"maybe she did, maybe she didn't," alex continued, watching as an exchange student from japan jumped into the pool head first. "but parties are her playground, and she doesn't stop at just one."

yena nodded, "she's like archie in riverdale."

alex turned to the older girl. "are you high?"

"yes."

"wh-" she should've stayed home and studied. "i'm going to strangle you."

y/n felt sick.

y/n turned around, leaving in a hurry to find the girl she was desperately avoiding since earlier. everything was wrong, and she needed wonyoung jimin. she needed her girlfriend.

"y/n!" yuri shouted, too tired to chase after her. she watched as the younger girl's figure disappeared into the crowd. "minju's gonna kill me."

"so," yena started, not caring that yuri's friend just had a massive breakdown in front of her. "wanna go somewhere private?"

yuri looked back at where y/n left, the sea of people erasing the girl's path without a trace.

minju was going to kill her, but she was going to kill herself for letting an opportunity like this pass.

"where the hell is aeri?"

there was something therapeutic about being high and drunk at the same time.

it had the same feeling of a midjump, where jimin's eyes were above the net, looking down at everyone who looked down on her.

she loved it.

"kazuha-ssi." jimin asked, downing another shot. "how long have you and yunjin been together?"

"huh?" kazuha was clearly drunk, her hand placed comfortably around jimin's waist. "a couple months."

jimin hummed, leaning in slightly so the younger girl could hear her better.

"do you love her?" jimin's hot breath grazed the hairs on kazuha's neck.

"i dunno." she didn't. "maybe."

"i see." jimin pulled back, assessing the disappointment that lingered in kazuha's eyes. the opposite hitter moved her hair out of her face. "you're really pretty, by the way."

"so are you."

jimin didn't need to be reminded.

"want some eddies?" she asked, her hand feeling lighter than usual.

"weed?" kazuha's dark eyes met jimin's. "i thought you weren't supposed to take them when you're drunk."

"it's fun when you're not supposed to do things but still do them." jimin said, her hand dangerously high to the ballerina's thigh. "right, kazuha-ssi?"

kazuha looked at her for a moment.

"where are they?"

and everything fell into place.

"let's go upstairs."

minjeong was a thousand percent high out of her mind.

she wasn't sure how much she had taken, but the way her head felt like it was going to explode was enough to say that it was too much. the colors around her seemed brighter, and she didn't know how long she had been lounging in the kitchen, but all she knew was people kept disappearing and appearing in front of her.

she didn't mind though, because jiwon was a talkative drunk, and everything that she was saying made minjeong want to pee her pants.

the girl looked at the five empty packets, wondering why they were all different colors and flavors.

"rei!" jiwon shook her, and it felt like she was getting time warped. "unnie, look it's rei!"

"yeah," minjeong couldn't stop smiling, despite seeing wonyoung. "i can see that."

"i was looking for you." rei frowned, earning a gag from yujin beside her. "it's been an hour."

"huh?" jiwon basically yelled, making minjeong giggle at her theatrics. "that's why my phone was dinging."

rei smiled. "are you drunk?"

"i think so?" jiwon grabbed minjeong by the arms, and the older girl felt them stop working. "minjeong-unnie, am i drunk?"

"yes." minjeong tried to nod, but it looked more like a bobble. "you are."

"where's y/n-unnie?" rei asked once more, wonyoung perking up despite minjeong's distaste.

"um, i dunno." jiwon shrugged. "she was with yuri-unnie and minju-unnie earlier i think."

minjeong leaned up, the weight of her head heavy on her neck.

her eyes made their way to the stairs, where she could see a faint smile on a familiar face, her hand wrapped around the waist of a stranger.

yoo jimin.

"oh." rei hummed. "so they're not here?"

"no."

"wonyoung!" minjeong could hear the taller girl getting called by yuna. still, she didn't take her eyes off jimin. "drink this, and let's go."

"i don't think-" wonyoung tried to protest, but yuna had already shoved the shot glass down her throat.

"drink."

wonyoung was dragged away, presumably to the front where a huge game of cham-cham-cham was happening.

"can you watch her?" minjeong looked at rei, yujin too distracted watching gaeul make out with girl #4 of the night to respond. "i need to see something."

"minju-unnie said to not leave me." jiwon frowned, her eyes wide like a cartoon character.

"then don't tell minju."

"okay."

wonyoung entered the bathroom, both pleased and surprised that there were neither people hooking up, nor a passed-out girl in the bathtub.

she just needed to stay here until yuna had gotten tired and found another person to harrass (most likely haewon, wherever that girl was).

she closed the toilet lid, sitting on it as she grabbed her phone. wonyoung had only been here for an hour and her feet were already killing her.

the door opened.

wonyoung yelped, the stranger covering her eyes. "sorry, i didn't know that-"

"y/n?"

y/n moved her hand out of her face.

"wonyoung?" y/n world slowed for a moment, and it was almost as if her guard broken down. she shook her head. "i can't deal with this right now. i have to find jimin."

"what?" that didn't sound right to wonyoung's ears. she stood up, pulling y/n into the washroom. "are you okay?"

"i-" y/n's face was flushed red, the hairs on the back of her neck clung to her like a koala on a tree. "where's jimin?"

"i don't know." wonyoung said slowly, ushering the girl to sit down on the closed toilet lid. "do you need water?"

"i need to find jimin."

"slow down." wonyoung guided the girl, her delusions pushed aside for a moment. "sit down. please."

"i can't." y/n shook her head, almost vomiting at how quick she did. "jimin-"

"can wait." wonyoung stated, grabbing her purse as she rummaged through it. "water? lipgloss? tissue?"

there was a moment of silence, and wonyoung was afraid she had hallucinated y/n to begin with.

"do you hold everything in your bag?"

"maybe." wonyoung smiled at the earnest chuckle y/n gave her. "so what would you like?"

"water."

wonyoung nodded, handing the girl a bottle of spring water that the volleyball player always had at least one of. y/n couldn't help but smile as the taller girl opened it for her.

wonyoung was the same, and she loved it.

she handed y/n the bottle, the older girl taking a sip before closing it. she could feel the heat from her cheeks emitting against the cold air of the newly renovated bathroom

"did you ever cheat on me?"

"what?" wonyoung's eyes buldged out almost comedically. "no, oh my god. i love you. why would i? did you think i did?"

wonyoung paused for a moment.

did she just...

"no." y/n shook her head, smiling at her in the way wonyoung remembered. "i don't think you did."

wonyoung hummed, pushing the shower curtain aside as she sat on the edge of the golden tub. "do you think jimin-sunbaenim did?"

y/n shrugged. "i don't know."

she didn't want to know, because she knew that deep down, she had hoped jimin did cheat on her.

sensing the uneasiness of the older girl, wonyoung scooted closer to her, the chattering of the other university kids muffled by the bathroom door.

it was almost surreal, if not for the scrubbing bubbles that aeri (or her many butlers and maids) had left on the counter.

"do you like the party?" wonyoung asked.

"huh?" y/n looked over to wonyoung, her eyes glossed over with thought, as if a sheen had covered its entirety. "i guess. it's loud, i'm drunk. you know."

"i do." wonyoung chuckled, her eyes falling down to y/n's hand. there was a slight fidgeting, but it was fading. wonyoung continued to talk. "have you tried yena-unnie's cotton candy shot yet?"

"no."

"it's good." wonyoung had been forced to drink it earlier that week, along with soy soju, apple cider rum and fish sauce vodka. "it tastes like that chocolate we had during first-year orientation."

"i remember!" y/n's eyes brightened in a way they hadn't before. "the one in front of the spanish club sign-up sheet."

wonyoung looked at y/n.

embarrassed, y/n began to fidget once more. "did i remember it wrong?"

"no." wonyoung shook her head. "i'm just wondering how you remembered it so clearly."

safe. y/n felt safe and warm.

the swarm of bees in her chest had morphed into butterflies, and everything felt like a 90s movie, just how she liked it.

just how wonyoung liked it.

"i miss you."

wonyoung stared at y/n.

"what?"

"y/n!" minjeong burst through the door, her eyes red and her stance wobbly. "wonyoung?"

wonyoung looked at the older girl, before minjeong grabbed y/n in a rush.

wonyoung followed them closely, not trusting the inebriated kim minjeong.

"minjeong-unnie?" y/n could feel her wrist starting to hurt. "where are we going?"

"somewhere." minjeong shoved past the swarm, earning curses and complains in her wake. behind her, wonyoung apologized as she continued to tail them.

minjeong turned around. "can you leave us alone?"

"no."

"fucking bitch." minjeong's grip tightened, making y/n wince slightly. "this isn't your business."

"you're high out of your mind right now." wonyoung countered, minjeong's eyes dilated beyond belief. "i don't trust you."

"very fucking original, wonyoung." minjeong laughed, her anger getting amplified by the substance inside her. "you want a medal? or are you gonna trade y/n for that too?"

"unnie."

minjeong turned around, yanking y/n upstairs faster than she could keep up. "let's go."

the older girl turned the first right at the top of the staircase, the lack of people making y/n feel unsettled. she shouldn't be here, this wasn't her house.

before she could protest, minjeong let go of her arm and gestured to the door.

"open this door." y/n could hear faint moaning inside. "open it."

"i don't know-"

"open the fucking door!" minjeong shouted, making y/n flinch into wonyoung.

wonyoung shoved minjeong slightly, but not hard enough to provoke the girl.

"watch what you're saying."

"oh suck me a dick, jang wonyoung." minjeong rolled her eyes.

minjeong hated how wonyoung was trying to play the hero in the story, as if she wasn't the cause of the entire ordeal.

not wanting to anger minjeong any further, y/n creaked the door open, the occupants too lost in their own world to notice a pair of eyes watching them.

y/n had felt this before, the day that wonyoung had left her.

"jimin?"

masterlist | next

taglist (CLOSED)!!

@serenitygrace24 @moontealemonpie @writingficsblog @kittyeij @cutieseo @limbforalimb @ahnneyong @yumtooki @lcv3lies @sserajeans @jiwoneiric @babycubchae @trsrina @xyxlyn @misumiausworld @slowlyturninggay291 @awkwardtoafault @captivq @ddeonutz @noiacha @sserabey @d7dream @slowlyturninggay291 @lvwr @perfectsunlight @forever-in-the-sky2 @juhyunsthirdwife @uzumakioden @txtbrainrot @rosiehrs @yunjinhart @skisk1 @bzeus28 @deeznutzryu @jisooftme @danistolemyheart @li0ilthecxnt @eggomi @ddoxhan @zhivaxo @sweet-dhrafts @livelaughloveyujin @luveuly @marimo-anura @yunnybunnyy @ivy-aurora @wonyoluvr

#jang wonyoung x reader #ive x reader #iz*one x reader #izone x reader #aespa x reader #kpop x reader #idol x reader #silantryo

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perrywrites · 6 months

Note

just a funny thought i had 😭 🙏🏾

[Y/N]: i just read this article about birthmarks and it says they’re marks of where your lover from another life kissed you a lot but neither of us have any so i guess we were both single in our past life lol

Shidou: You have them!

[Y/N]: Forreal? Huh, I never noticed-

Shidou: Yeah, you’ve got hellas, like, one on your ankle, your inner thigh, your right asscheek, under your chest and your back!

[Y/N]: .

Shidou: Your past lover must’ve been some kinda medieval perv lmao

“YEAH, you mean LIKE YOU?!”

You were glaring at him, an angry pout on your flushed face - you’ve never felt as embarrassed in your entire life as you do right now. Sure, you guys are lovers, yes. Fuck each other? Very much so, eagerly, yes, indeed.

But, to know he’s been looking hard enough to… catch all of those details…

Your ears burn up harshly, like angry metal ready for melding. Never letting him have a go at you with doggy style ever again!

“Awwh, are you implying I was your lover even in a past life? How romantic, sweetheart, didn’t know you were that sentimental.” Utterly unfazed, his shit-eating grin remains untouchable and undefeatable.

“You skunk ass jackass, what I’m saying is, the two of you are the same brand of mediaeval pervert,” you snap, before huffing and sighing deeply. Alright, maybe you’ll relent on this point. “... Or I guess you’re the same person,” you grumble, voice almost as low as a whisper, begrudging.

You glance at him, hoping to catch some sort of interesting expression on his face - but all you notice is his shit-eating grin widening and a familiar teasing glint edging itself into his eyes. “Awwh, that’s cute and all darling, but if it had been me, I wouldn’t have been so picky.” Shoulders relaxed, hands in pocket, he strolls over to you, eyes turning further mischievous with each step. “If it were me, I would’ve had your whole body covered in moles, marks of my love for you covering every inch of your skin…” His voice lowers, the raspy hint of it making you shiver as he loosely fingers a lock of your hair.

The blush on your face rages ever so vivaciously, for a different reason now, as your heart pounds like it was in the palm of his hands - because it is. Your heart is definitely in the palm of this volatile romantic, a man that at times turns you blasphemous, manages to convince you that you’re divine - your very own Rasputin.

Shidou Ryusei will either be your salvation or your damnation, you decide.

Maybe even both.

“... I suppose in my next life I might as well just be a huge mole because of you,” you murmur, an attempt to conceal how flustered you feel as you cowardly avert your eyes.

He laughs, loud and bright, his hand discarding the lock of your hair to cup your cheek - and you find yourself within his grasps as he looks down at you fondly, his eyes creased with a huge smile. “Well, either way it makes no difference to me. You have my claim on you now. Giant mole rat or not, I’ll find you and keep making you mine.”

Your cheeks are a living fireplace at this point. “B-by the way, I meant the mole as in beauty mark, not the other mole…” Excuses excuses, distractions, why can’t you ever just be honest in the face of his flirting? It’s not like he even believes in past or future lives, he’s told you as much. You know he’s playing with you.

“Giant mole rats are a funner interpretation, I like that better though, so I’ll stick with that,” he loosely asserts, before he pulls you in closer - hand still on your cheek. Clearly, he’s bored of this conversation now, because he’s not looking into your eyes anymore and just your lips.

“What do you say I one-up your past lover right now, huh sweetcheeks?” He smiles against your lips, so close to kissing you… What a tease. “Well, you don’t need to answer, it’s a rhetorical question.”

“No doggy-style this time,” you grumble against his lips, and he laughs right into your mouth.

Rude, perverted bastard. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Cutie ma’amz you really had such a funny ask 😭😭😭 the laugh I sputtered out when I first read that. This was really fun to write lolol, thank you for the fun request! I hope you enjoy this mini narrative, it ended up being less comedic and spicier than it was in my head though DHFJHGSFJHSGDF

#blue lock #bllk #bllk x reader #bllk smut #bllk shidou #shidou ryusei #shidou x reader #shidou smut #shidou x you

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yanderes-galore · 4 months

Note

Okay so I loved your draconic!friend Toothless, but what about draconic friend hookfang?

I assume you mean the fic named Draconic Friend with Toothless? Either way I ended up making this a concept as I wasn't quite sure if you wanted a short like Draconic Friend or not?

Draconic Friend - Clingy Toothless Scenario Here

Yandere! Hookfang Concept

Pairing: Platonic/Animal/Pet-Like

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Overprotective dragon, Clingy dragon, Jealousy, Violence, Implied death/murder, Forced companionship.

Hookfang would act cold and uncaring st times.

He typically bullies other dragons but that doesn't meant he doesn't care about others.

He seems like he doesn't care for Snotlout, his rider, but he does.

For this concept I imagine you are a friend of Snotlout.

As a result you are often in close contact with Hookfang.

Hookfang is definitely more teasing/aggressive with Snotlout, yet shows preference towards you

When he first met you he appeared uncaring.

Although as you interact more and even introduce Hookfang to your own dragon, Hookfang begins to care more.

Hookfang is known to be like Snotlout, it's why they work so well.

He's proud, mischievous, picks fights....

Snotlout and Hookfang are considered rivals to Hiccup and Toothless.

Something to notice is Hookfang isn't as volatile around you or your dragon.

He actually seems behaved with you, showing manners towards you and your dragon.

Snotlout may comment on this, showing envy at how well Hookfang behaves for you.

Which leads to Hookfang scoffing and nipping his rider....

Hookfang is mischievous so he may be teasing with you and your dragon.

Maybe he even shows envy of his own towards your dragon.

He playfully pushes you around in and attempt to pester you, he is also asking for affection.

I imagine in this situation Snotlout definitely rants to you about the fact Hookfang gets along so well with you.

Hookfang now comes to you for affection and is playful, while he is more cold with Snotlout.

You probably tell him it's due to the personality of him and his dragon... but things get weirder.

Since you mentioned Draconic Friend, I'll lean the plot to something similar to that.

Hookfang is no doubt envious of your own dragon at times.

He loves Snotlout but you are... much less annoying?

If Snotlout makes Hookfang upset the Monstrous Nightmare ends up finding his way to you.

The dragon looks annoyed when he sees you so close to your own dragon... flying around so gracefully.

Which may lead to Hookfang picking fights with your dragon, similar to Toothless in Draconic Friend.

You no doubt report this to Snotlout.

He tries to tell you Hookfang picking fights is normal but you aren't buying it.

He never did that before with your dragon....

Hookfang is also oddly clingy when you're around.

You'll be talking to Snotlout or your dragon, then Hookfang sneaks up and grabs you by the back of your clothes to drag you off.

Snotlout would whine to Hookfang that he's replacing him.

The thought is unnerving... yet might be closer to the truth than you would've liked.

Hookfang begins to show jealous and cruel behavior towards your dragon.

Things like smacking them with his wings or tail, maybe even nipping them.

When it comes to you? An uncharacteristic sweetheart.

He wants you to pet his head, he wants you to ride on his back.

He acts much different with you than Snotlout.

You try to redirect his attention to his rider but Hookfang only scoffs.

You know something has to be done the moment Hookfang flames up at your dragon.

You suggest to Snotlout that you isolate from each other for a bit.

Which leads to you riding your dragon to another island for awhile.

Whatever's wrong with Hookfang should be gone by the time you get back... right?

So you make a camp and live away from the others.

It's been weeks before anything happens.

You think things went okay, surely they did, right?

When you see a dragon you think it's the others telling you that you can come home.

You find it weird that they sent Snotlout with Hookfang... but maybe they wanted to explain things?

Maybe apologize?

The truth starts to creep in when Hookfang lands... with no Snotlout.

You feel your heart stop for a moment as Hookfang gives you a possessive look.

You want to ask what's wrong but your dragon quickly steps in.

Something's wrong....

You may not know it yet, but Hookfang doesn't plan on letting you leave with your dragon.

Truth is... he's claimed you since he became attached.

He escaped from the others to find you.

Now that he's found you...

He'll make sure he's the only dragon you have to rely on.

#yandere httyd #yandere how to train your dragon #yandere hookfang #platonic yandere

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sailoryooons · 7 months

Text

Lights | Episode 1 | jjk (m)

❀ Pairing: Idol!Jungkook x Producer! F. reader

❀ Summary: Meeting Jungkook was a chance of fate. A moment frozen in time, eyes meeting across a room full of lights. The more the two of you advance in your career, the more lost in the lights you become. What if you never find your way back?

❀ Word Count: 15,069

❀ Genre: Heavy angst, Idolverse, strangers to lovers, eventual smut

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

❀ Warnings: Discussions of manipulation in the music industry, there are gentle hints at the potential for Jungkook and reader to be addicts, general topics of competitiveness between kids growing up, recreational drinking, references to people using sex as advantage, allusions to topics of promiscuity, recreational drug use (weed), reader’s agent straight up trying to get her to have sexual relations with people, implications of using people, reader is aggressively goal-oriented, Jungkook and reader are a little naive and sort of love-at-first-sighting, explicit language, explicit sexual content, three sex scenes, sex in a public place (restaurant bathroom), oral (m. and f. receiving), spit play, spit in general, light degradation, rough sex, sex under the influence of alcohol (both are able to consent and want it), Jungkook drives after drinking (not implied or referenced that he’s drunk but he is driving after having glasses of wine), nipple play, vaginal fingering, reverse cowgirl, ass play (f. receiving), missionary, fucking from the side, a little bit of come play, voyeurism if you squint, a hint of possessiveness, literally so many bodily fluids like a ton, reader kind of being in something like subspace and being fucked stupid/to sleep basically, aftercare referenced, implied toxic relationships with past coworkers/current coworkers, references to vicious/toxic work industry, light depictions of cocaine use (not explicitly seen) by a side character, honestly Jungkook and reader are a lil cringe in this and moving very fast but they have addictive personalities idk what to tell you, there are hints to their addictive personalities, talk about social anxiety needing medication/alcohol to take the edge off (not good to do people!!!), very light hinting at traits that will be a problem

❀ Published: October 6, 2023

❀ A/N: This might be the most gratuitous thing I have ever written - it actually might be too much sex? At what point is it too much and just too much come and kissing and the word c*ck, genuinely? Anyway, my goal with this chapter wasn’t so much plot as it was to introduce how volatile these two have the potential to be. If you’ve ever known someone who has struggled with addiction, you will notice the little innocent behaviors that have the potential for utter disaster. These are two people who are wildly native and very much think they are in control of their life, but who are a little reckless. It will seem like they get together fast because they do with like.. Very little regard for anything else. I really hope you enjoy this story. I think it will become sort of a little thing for me to put parts of past traumas I have into it to finally let them go, maybe! Also - I am using the western naming pattern in this with first name last name because of the ambiguity of where this story takes place. ❀ A/N 2: This story was originally named ‘Hiraeth’ but after chatting with a kind anon, I realized that the definition and translation of the word did not fit and lost cultural context from its original meaning and thus changed the title to Lights. Thank you @here2bbtstrash for the loyal beta read and @gimmethatagustd for helping me get VERY unstuck multiple times by letting me talk in circles and offering words of wisdom.

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment, or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios. This series does not attempt to paint a realistic depiction of idols, or the industry, or draw comparisons. None of the scenes or elements in this series in any way reflect how I perceive the music industry and do not represent any opinions. This is not intellectual commentary, it is just straight-up fiction.

Jungkook looks like sin. It’s the first thought you have as you pause at the bottom of the stairs, eyes nearly blinded by the twinkling lights above. But there he is, standing in the glow of flashing purples and pinks, looking right at you.

He’s standing at one of the booths on the far end of the club, which has been rented for an event that you don’t remember the details of. His eyes land on you, and though you’ve never met, you suddenly feel a connection snap into place, something magnetic. For a moment, everything goes quiet, like in those romance books you used to read when you were a teenager.

Before, it used to seem a little silly. You didn’t think it was possible to suddenly see no one else in a room full of people except one person.

Now, it doesn’t seem that preposterous. You’re only able to take in a fraction of information in the second that your eyes connect with his: round face, long, wavy hair, and an arm full of tattoos with a drink held in his hand.

He is stunning. You already knew that from the other two times you’ve caught a flash of him at events, but every time you see him in person, you’re awed all over again by the effortless way he catches the eye.

The tension between the two of you breaks as someone knocks into you and you stumble, trying not to twist your ankle with the high heels you’re currently wearing. Too short to see over the rest of the crowd, you lose sight of Jungkook. Music comes rushing back to you, the vibration of the base and the hum of synth making it nearly impossible to hear what your agent says next to you.

“What?”

“Do you remember the list I gave you?” Mila demands, grabbing your wrist and pulling you through the crowd. It hurts a little as she drags you along, impatient after arriving at the event late because you had a problem with your wardrobe for the evening. “That list is imperative.”

“Yes.”

The list is impossible. You have memorized at least two dozen people that your agent expects you to talk to and rub elbows with tonight. Some of them are certainly doable - people at your own company, artists you’re familiar with. Others are ridiculous, including idols that are several calibers above your station as a newly promoted producer at ILIA.

Sure, you have the new glow of recent popularity after some surprising award wins and being likable on social media - which matters to your company as much as producing award-winning records - but you know what they all think. You know that they think your parents paid someone or that you fucked your way out of being a junior producer.

It helps that neither is true. It doesn’t help that you would have done it anyway, if it meant feeding the simmering hunger inside of you that never seems to fade, your desire to win outweighing everything else.

“You should catch up with your old friend Luna, she should be easy. You trained with her in the early building stages of ILIA.”

“Yeah,” you mutter faintly. “I remember her.”

You remember almost all of them. Something about spending your formative years with a bunch of teenagers being pitted against one another to be the best has made their faces and names permanent. Even the ones who didn’t make the cut or quit on their own.

Quitting is a foreign concept to you. It’s not as foreign as Mila kissing the cheek of some manager at some company you don’t know, pushing you toward them. You don’t care about who he is. There’s nothing he can offer you if he’s not someone who makes music. And as far as you’re concerned, you’re under the careful and powerful tutelage of the Suga.

Yoongi is a better connection than almost everyone in this building and you know it.

Suddenly you regret turning down his offer to stay at the studio and work. Yoongi has the agency to say no to scheming agents and public relations teams. He’s already paid his way to be able to do whatever he wants. Specifically, he’s paid in manipulation, blood, sweat, tears, and drama.

You are fresh meat swimming alone in shark-filled waters. Still, you look people in the eye as you shake hands and force smiles all night, going through your mental rolodex of names and achievements. You exchange phone numbers with a few actresses, promising to get drinks. You’re sure they wouldn’t want to if you weren’t fresh off an award-season win. Still, it’s something.

You spot Jimin in the crowd, feeling relief as you step up toward the series of booths that you spotted Jungkook near earlier.

“Finally someone tolerable,” Jimin yells when he sees you, tossing back the rest of his champagne. He has kohl smudged around his eyes, making his gaze far more intense as he gives you a once-over. “You look ravishing. Are you sure you don’t want to take me up on the offer to come home with me?”

It would be a lie to say you both haven’t flirted with the idea. There’s something genuine in your friendship, though. Something difficult to find, a twin-flame soul that you’d be hard-pressed to ruin for a bit of publicity. Even if Jimin is the most divine creature you’ve ever laid eyes on.

It’s out of the question, though. Jimin has become your safehaven in a house of cards world.

Looking him up and down, you let out a long whistle. His hair is freshly dyed bubblegum pink, glittering earrings looped through his ears that scatter the light. Tight black pants with a designer belt and a silk shirt tucked into the waist make him look elegant, the textured Chanel blazer cut perfectly to his narrow frame.

“Honestly, Mila doesn’t care whether we fuck or not. She still sells that rumor to the press. Doesn’t matter if it’s true. ”

Jimin makes a face at your agent's name. He glances over to where she’s talking up someone from X Entertainment. “She’s a fucking snake.”

“Well, she’s the snake assigned to me. It’s not like I picked her. As soon as they saw me as marketable, there she was hissing at my door and telling me I have to get in glam to wipe my ass.”

“So bite back. I know you have it in you.” You grimace and reach for a glass of champagne from a tray as it passes you. Jimin sighs as he looks you up and down. “I know you have fangs, little monster.”

You sip the champagne and make a face. It is far too sweet, fizzing on your tongue. “A dragon does not kill the sheep because it feels threatened. It kills when it pleases.”

“My girl. Let’s go around the room, shall we? I want to keep those rumors going.”

With a laugh, you take his hand and let him lead you around the room, passing Mila who grins at you as you go. You try not to leer at her, irritated with her obsession with your relationship with Jimin. When she first noticed that you and Jimin hit it off, she surprised you with an entirely new designer lingerie line. Just because, she had said. A girl should feel powerful and sexy.

After a few attempts, Mila has finally learned you’re not a dumb little lamb. You’ll take her advice when you want it, but you refuse to let it be at the expense of the single person you trust outside of Yoongi, though Yoongi does not entirely count. As your mentor and senior, he would be horrified to hear you call him a friend.

After nearly an hour of fake smiles, forced laughter, and far too much champagne, you’re tired and buzzed. You’ve talked to at least ten people on Mila’s long list of celebrities, execs, investors, and influencers that she’s pushed onto you. Another member of that list is standing a few feet away from you, laughing loudly at something Jimin says as she puts her manicured hand on his arm.

As you contemplate whether or not you should bite the bullet and risk saying hello to Luna, someone behind you says, “She hates you. I think she still holds it against you that you got a producer deal without debuting.”

Whirling around to identify the voice, you stop short. Jungkook Jeon stares down at you, his eyes just as dark and alluring as they were earlier when you made brief eye contact from across the room. This close, he is taller than you expect. His skin-tight white shirt leaves nothing to the imagination, showing the defined muscles of his stomach and chest, and his perfect, tapered waist.

It’s a face you’re familiar with, pasted across fashion campaigns and media outlets as he talks about his new single. Your heart is pounding as you drink him in. Soft lips, round cheekbones, and gentle eyes that darken considerably when he watches you look him over.

“Yeah,” you say back, swallowing the rest of your champagne. The carbonation catches you by surprise, making you cough as you swallow the sweet liquid the wrong way.

He laughs and takes the flute away from you, sticking it on a tray as a server passes by. “Bad swallower?” Instead of answering him, you put one hand on your chest as you cough and the other on his arm, steadying yourself as you lean over and cough, clearing your throat. “Damn, Mozart. You okay?”

“Yeah,” you rasp, feeling your face warm in embarrassment. You remove your hand from his arm and ask, “Mozart?”

“Don’t you do all that composing and shit?”

“I do that producing and shit, yeah.”

“It’s about the same. You’re Min’s prodigy, which means you’re Mozart. And he’s Haydn.”

“I’m sorry, you know the names of classical composers?”

He smirks. “I know your name.”

“Well, I’m afraid I don’t know yours.”

It’s a lie. You both know it is, and the grin that spreads across his face is downright devilish as he sticks his hand out. “Jungkook,” he says. You shake his hand, admiring his tattoos. And his fingers. But mostly his tattoos. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Pleasure is mine.”

“I would love to make that come true.”

You raise a brow. “Is this how most of your conversations go? Telling people that others hate them, name-dropping classical musicians, and making sexual innuendos?”

“Honestly? No, but I am having a great time. I will, however, drop the innuendos if they’re not your style.”

You smile. “I didn’t say that.”

His answering smile makes your stomach flip. “Want to get a drink?”

“Depends. Are you going to tell me about all these people who hate me?”

“This is my promise to you that I will only ever be honest with you. So yes.”

You gesture toward the bar. “Lead the way, then.”

Bodies press against you as the two of you snake through the crowd. Jungkook turns a few times to check on you and flashes you a quick smile to reassure him that you’re okay. It’s cute, you think. You don’t know much about him, but you’re impressed thus far.

And perhaps a little intimidated by his star power and reputation.

At the bar, the crowd pushes you closer, knocking your arm into his. He steadies you, keeping his hand on your elbow. “What’s your poison?”

“Vodka soda!” you shout back to him. He nods and leans against the bar, giving your order to the bartender. Jungkook draws attention like moths to a flame, people looking at him and whispering behind manicured hands. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you.”

You narrow your eyes as he waits on the drinks, one elbow propped on the bar, his other hand still on your arm. He bites his bottom lip, staring at you. “One might try and say you have something up your sleeve.”

“Nope, just my heart on my sleeve. You’re cute and I’ve heard nice things about you from Jimin. We grew up together.”

“Wait, really?”

That is a surprise to you. Jimin has never mentioned growing up with Jungkook or being remotely friendly of the sort. You frown as you think about it, wondering if Jimin left it out for a reason or felt that it was an unimportant fact.

“Mhmm.” Jungkook hands you a drink, the glass already sweating from the humidity of the club. “What, Jimin doesn’t brag about me?”

“We don’t gossip about people in the industry.”

Carefully, the two of you navigate back toward your section. Jungkook finds an empty booth and slides in, patting the seat next to him. You sit down and lean back, kicking your legs out in front of you and crossing them at the ankle. Your dress is short but remains modest, enough to keep people guessing. You take a sip of your drink, the burn making you hiss.

“I so rarely see you at events,” Jungkook says after a sip of his dark drink. “I’ve wanted to introduce myself for a while and then you came in and it was like we had a moment.”

“You mean you wanted it to be a moment.”

“Maybe I did.” He smiles. “So where have you been hiding?”

“Legend of Zelda isn’t going to play itself. I come to the events I feel like are worth it.”

Actually, you come to whatever Mila drags you to. Jungkook doesn’t need to know how most of your time is spent in a music studio with the caffeine shakes trying to perfect songs to make sure you don’t get tossed out on the street.

He narrows his eyes. “Tears of the Kingdom?”

“Obviously. I’ve been building weapons of mass destruction for days.”

Jungkook tilts his head back and laughs. “What other games do you like, Mozart?”

Talking to Jungkook is a pleasant surprise. He isn’t at all what social media makes him out to be. You find he’s incredibly kind, certainly flirty, but also wildly endearing. You feel a little guilty at assuming his veneer would be thin and made of plastic like the rest.

It certainly doesn’t feel like you’re talking to someone who went number one on Billboard the week prior. Jungkook doesn’t talk about other people he knows or ask about work. He flits through topics like a curious bird, quizzing your interests, scrunching his nose, and pouting when you say something he doesn’t like.

It’s cute. He’s cute, and you’d be lying if you said that the longer you sat next to him, you haven’t started to think about what it would be like to taste him. Even if he moves on the next day like his reputation has led you to believe.

But… there’s something there. A spark, though perhaps a trick of the lights.

“You want me to what?” you ask, lowering your voice as you lean into Mila’s ear.

A raucous chorus of Happy Birthday is being poorly sung on the dance floor. You hadn’t even realized this event was for someone’s birthday, and you have half a mind to ask who the hell you should be wishing a happy day of birth to, but Mila is bitching you out in front of the building’s restrooms.

Even tucked away in the hall outside of the bathroom, you speak in hushed tones, worried someone will overhear her scheming. She looks down her beaky nose at you, eyes like an eagle. “Fuck him,” she repeats slowly, drawing out the syllables like you’re a toddler. “He’s into you and it would be great for publicity.”

“I’m sorry, but since when do you dictate my sex life?”

Not only are you a little too buzzed to have this conversation, but the very implication that your agent thinks she can make you fuck Jungkook is hilarious enough to have you start giggling hysterically. Mila watches you with narrowed eyes as you cover your mouth, laughing behind your hands.

“You are not a naive little girl,” Mila hisses at you. “He wants to fuck you, so let him. He’s attractive, he has influence, and he’s with one of the big four companies. It would be good press.”

“You and the fucking press, you’re obsessed!”

“No, I’m right. My job is to be right and to tell you what to do, and right now I’m telling you that Jungkook is already known for sticking his dick in anything he can. He’s been staring at you all night. You’d be doing yourself a favor.”

You take a step back from her and hold up your hand. “If I fuck him, it’s because he’s hot and I want to. Not to play political chess for you, understood?”

“In my experience, you either become interesting or watch your career fade. Your time of being interesting is ticking. Your call. I’m getting out of here. Do what you want, like you always do.”

What Mila says hurts but you refuse to let it show, holding out a hand to gesture the way out of the hall. She walks by you brusquely, sweeping her blunt, black hair over her shoulder as she goes. You stand in the dark, the door to the bathrooms opening and closing, flashing bright light and then leaving you in with colors pulsing in front of you as your eyes try to readjust every few seconds.

A loud group of girls startle you as they stumble out of the bathroom, laughing raucously. They’re a tangle of legs and heels and sweet-smelling perfume, nearly running you over as they sway, a collective mass of bodies. They look exactly like the women you cut out of magazines and pasted in your journal as a kid, dragging your finger over the pretty dresses and the designer names listed in the captions.

Luna stops short when she sees you, straightening and brushing her freshly dyed silver hair out of her face. She is cherubic and beautiful, her round cheeks flushing naturally and doll mouth always rosebud pink. You feel trepidation as she regards you, the girls in her group hanging back a bit as she assesses you.

“How are you?” she questions, settling on polite while flashing you a pointed smile and holding out her arms.

Fake. Fake. Fake. Fake.

You feel a flicker of anger at yourself as you let her pull you into a hug, resentful that you must play this game. She smells like vodka and vanilla, and when she pulls away, you see the barest hint of white on her nose. You brush your finger back and forth on your nostril.

“Oh.” She wipes it off with the back of her hand, giving a short, shallow sniff. “Thanks.”

“You look nice,” you offer stiffly. Your tongue is heavy from drinking and you scramble for compliments to say, even if they aren’t true. “I like your new song.”

“Thanks! I have the best producers and writers available out there. They really know exactly what they’re doing.”

You feel the strain in your smile tighten. Moves and counter moves. “That’s good.”

“My team is great. I’m so thankful I had the opportunity to be with S3vn.”

Luna’s voice is polite. Happy, even. But you hear the double meaning in her words. Remember the way she cut your hair before a major review day when you were sixteen. She’s become better at being mean in a nice way. And you have become better at being unaffected, knowing it is her least favorite response.

“It’s nice to see you, Luna.”

Her smile drops when you don’t get upset. You turn and leave the hallway, palms sweaty and head spinning. Swallowing thickly, you wipe your hands on your exposed thighs and walk back to where Jungkook is sitting, surprised to see Jimin has joined him. He narrows his eyes as you approach, but his expression is overall unreadable.

You sit back down silently on the other side of Jimin, staring off into space. The room feels like it’s spinning. You’re toeing the line of buzzed and drunk, so you sip some water, letting yourself go silent as you absently stare into the crowd, watching the cascading lights, a little lost in them.

Jimin waves his hand back and forth in front of your face. “Are you listening?”

You blink a few times, turning to see him and Jungkook looking at you. “What?”

“Jungkook invited us to an after-party. J-Hope is having some people over.”

“Oh.”

Chewing on your lip, you let your eyes drift to Jungkook. He gives you a tentative smile, nodding his head in encouragement.

“You should come,” Jungkook encourages with a coy grin. “I’d have fun with you there.”

“Do you want to go?” you ask Jimin quietly, looking back at him. He still has a vague expression, one you can’t figure out. “I’ll only go if you do.”

“Sure,” he offers. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“So you’re Yoongi’s prodigy? No shit!” Hoseok asks, looking at you from the front seat of the van. City lights blur on the other side of the window and it’s hard to hear him over the screeching singing in the car and the blaring music. “You’re about as hard to meet as Yoongi is!”

J-Hope - Hoseok, as he has asked you to call him - gives you a bright smile. You just stare at him, shocked that he has any idea who you are. You make a mental note to thank Yoongi for even mentioning your name to him. Hoseok is an absolute powerhouse and someone you’ve followed for years. It’s a good connection.

“Told you that you’d want to meet her,” Jungkook says, voice deep.

Jungkook’s body presses against yours in the packed-tight vehicle. His hand is on top of your knee. His cologne smells like amber and sandalwood, making your eyelashes flutter as you breathe in. You lay your head back against the headrest of the seat, letting it roll to the side a little to test his reaction when you place your head on his shoulder.

He turns his head toward you, his breath fanning against your forehead. You smell his mint gum. If you look up at him right now, your mouths would be close enough to kiss. “Hi,” he says softly.

“Hi.”

“You have pretty eyes.”

“I grew them myself.”

Jungkook’s laughter is abrupt. You grin at his mirth. He has a cute laugh, totally at odds with the edgy tattoos and the way he carries himself. The paradox intrigues you.

“That wasn’t very smooth, was it?”

He shakes his head. “It’s honest. I like it. Your reactions are probably the most genuine thing I’ve seen all night. I like genuine.”

“There’s not a lot of that to go around.”

“I know. That’s why I’m glad we locked eyes from across the room.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, The Lonely Island.”

Hoseok lives in a luxurious apartment on the east side of the city. The entrance is private in a parking garage, away from wandering eyes. Everyone piles out of the car and when you slide to exit, you find a tattooed hand waiting to help you out.

Grinning, you take Jungkook’s hand. Your fingers tingle where they’re interlocked with his, warmth spreading across your palms. Once you’re out of the car, you start to let go. Jungkook squeezes his fingers tighter, urging you to look up at him. There’s a question in his eyes, gaze flicking down to where your hands are clasped.

A small grin lights up your face and you squeeze his hand back. He leads you toward the elevator, swinging your hands back and forth. You know this game well: Jungkook is priming you. The hand-holding, the compliments, and the staying near you all night are all his signals to you that he wants you to go home with him.

You want that too, but you also don’t want it to come easy. It’s a risk to make him work harder for it, but you want to see if he will..

“Cute,” Jimin mutters, raising a brow as he walks next to you.

Hoseok’s apartment is a dream. It makes sense for someone with as many writing and choreography credits across the industry as him, in addition to having two top charting albums, a clothing partnership with a popular designer, and countless brand endorsements.

It’s much nicer than the small but flashy apartment ILIA has put you in. Where your apartment feels like a model home that you can’t leave fingerprints in, Hoseok’s feels authentic. There are hand-selected pieces of art on his walls, a towering bookcase of awards and plaques, blankets and pillows thrown over the couches, books and video game controllers on the coffee table.

Someone gets control of the speaker system and starts pumping hip-hop through the two-story apartment. You navigate to the kitchen where you run into Hwasa pouring drinks. She screams when she sees you, abandoning her bartender duties and making everyone in the kitchen flinch and turn in your direction. You let go of Jungkook’s hand, casting your arms open.

“Helllooooo?!” She grips you tight, kissing your forehead and both cheeks. You laugh, immediately feeling yourself relax having seen a familiar face. The greeting is a little more than you expect, but she’s drunk and happy. You take it in stride. “I cannot believe you’re here and with… well isn’t that new?”

“Hello, Hwasa.”

“Jeon,” she greets, narrowing her eyes. She tucks you into her arm, pointing a finger at Jungkook. “You better not fuck with this girl, understand me? She is way too cool for your bullshit.”

He rolls his eyes. “What bullshit?”

“I’m so serious. I like her.”

Hwasa lets you go and laughs it off, giving Jungkook a quick kiss on the cheek before going back to her drink-making. Jimin is nowhere in sight, having drifted off to a corner of the living room to chat with Hoseok, leaving you with Jungkook.

Jungkook scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “Sorry about that,” he ventures.

“It happens.”

“Still awkward.”

“It is,” you snark. You bring your fist up to your mouth, speaking into it like you’re giving an interview. “Jungkook, how does it feel to be put on blast for your spicy endeavors right when you walk into the party?”

You hold your fist out to him, offering him the mic. “Spicy endeavors?”

“Promiscuous has negative implications and we are sex-positive here.”

“Wow, such forward-thinking media. I’ve never heard of that before.”

“You never will again, I’m afraid.”

Jungkook shakes his head and chuckles, gesturing to the drinks all over the counter. “You want a drink?”

“I do.”

With a drink in hand, you both return to the party. There’s dancing going on in a corner of the living room, a card game going on in the dining room, and a smoke session going on around the couches. Jungkook sits on the arm of the couch next to Jimin and another girl you don’t know.

You freeze up a little, unsure where to sit. Jungkook doesn’t seem to notice, reaching a hand out as he joins the conversation around the coffee table. You hesitate for a second, a little caught off guard before placing your hand in his and letting him pull you against him, leaning onto his thigh with your hips pressed together. His arm loops around the back of your thighs, hand resting on the outside of your leg. Your hand drops on his shoulder as you lean into him.

People you know stop and say hi, their eyes lingering for a long time on the way you and Jungkook lean into one another. You ignore them, content to let them wonder how it is a little producer from ILIA got her claws into Jungkook for the night.

When a weed pen is passed to Jungkook, you watch with curiosity to see what he’ll do. He takes it but looks up at you, raising his brow in question and holding it out like he’s asking for permission. You’re surprised but you nod - you don’t control what he does. It’s sweet. Surprising, but sweet.

Jungkook takes two short pulls, blowing the smoke in the opposite direction from you. The girl next to him whines, swatting at it and smacking his leg, giggling. You pay it no mind, unworried about the flirting. He’s not yours, and even if he was, it’s your waist he has pressed against him.

Jungkook holds the pen up to you and you make a face. “I don’t know whose mouth has been on that.”

He snorts. “Alright, Mozart. I have my own. Would you prefer that?”

“Yes, I would.”

Rolling his eyes but smiling, he passes it over to someone else and stands, your hand falling from his shoulder. “Come on, brat. We’ll go to the balcony so we don’t have to share.”

“Thank you, that’s what I deserve.”

He giggles. “You can’t even say that with a straight face.”

“Imagine if I meant it.”

Jungkook navigates the apartment easily. You follow him, not unaware of the gazes and whispers that pass. You lift your chin. Let them talk. The only opinions that matter to you are those of your bosses, Yoongi, Jimin, and occasionally your mother on a good day.

Right now, nothing else matters.

It’s cold outside. You shiver while Jungkook shuts the sliding glass door to the balcony just off the bedroom. Light floods in from the hallway into the room, casting a golden glow behind you. Jungkook leans on the railing, pulling a weed pen from his pocket and waving it in front of you like a prize.

You snatch it from him, sticking your tongue out. Bringing it to your lips, you suck gently on the tip, filling your mouth with acrid smoke as you inhale. It burns a little, making your eyes water as you let the air and remaining smoke out before passing it back to Jungkook. He echos your movements.

Leaning against the railing, you look out at the city. It is dazzling from this high up, a home made for a god to watch over their creation. Silence hangs between you, occasionally passing the pen back and forth. The wind feels good, though a little cold. And you appreciate how quiet it is, the sounds of the party muted through the windows.

Down below, the street looks mostly empty. It’s so far down that you’re not really sure. Your high starts to hit, dulling the edges of everything and making you feel a little soft and floating. You grip the railing a little tighter, looking at Jungkook from the corner of your eye.

Fuck if he isn’t beautiful.

“What?” he asks, a smile in his voice as he side-eyes you. “You’ve got a look on your face.”

“Nothing.”

“Mm. Not nothing. What?”

“You’re not what I expected. It’s a really nice change of pace.”

“Ah,” he answers, ducking his head. You grin, realizing that he’s blushing and trying to hide it. You poke his arm, laughing as you prod at him. “Stop, you’re making me shy.”

“You? Shy?”

“Oh yeah. I am a mess around people. I might seem good at it, but it takes champagne and sometimes a Xanax to get me to operate at a level that’s normal with everyone else.”

“And then do you stay up all night re-thinking every single interaction you had and punishing yourself like why the fuck did I say this very weird thing?”

“Yes!” he exclaims, frowning and tilting his head up toward the sky. “It is exhausting. Sometimes I’m so worried I’m going to embarrass myself that I skip an event altogether and take the fucking verbal beating from the company.”

“Ugh, Mila would fit right in.”

“She’s kind of a snake, huh?”

You hum. “Jimin called her exactly that earlier tonight.”

“My agent hates her. Says she’s a total control freak and vicious.” You snort. That is an understatement. “Makes her successful, though. She has some of the world's biggest names under her.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t choose her. She was assigned to me. Honestly, I don’t think she thought I had any potential to bring her success and be a household name until I won that award for producing Hwasa’s song.”

“It was a good song.”

You smile distantly, looking out at the hazy lights of the city. Everything feels a little slow and dreamy, your thoughts fluid. “I liked it. I want to do better - be better. A lot of it’s about connections though and I… am not great at that part.”

“I think you’re doing pretty okay.”

Jungkook shifts closer. He’s turned to you, so near that you’re almost touching. He looks down at you through long lashes, watching for your reaction. You look up at him, a little starry eyed and dizzy at his proximity. This close, you can see the freckle just under his mouth. You want to kiss him, but you hold back, feeling your insecurity worm its way in.

“Yeah?” you ask, a little breathy. “Are you saying there’s a connection here?”

“Uh-huh.” He tucks his bottom lip between his teeth. He reaches a hand forward and brushes the underside of your chin, tilting your face up toward him even more. “Come home with me.”

The breath leaves your lungs. You’re not surprised that he’s asked, and yet your body still reacts, adrenaline taking over. His gaze is hungry as he watches you, waiting for your response, finger still propped under your chin like he might kiss you.

“Take me on a date,” you assert. Perhaps it's the drinks and the weed that makes you so bold, but you want more than anyone else has had from him. You want to be different. “Dinner.”

He tries to fight a smile, tonguing the inside of his cheek. The action is wildly attractive for some reason, nearly making you waver and let him take you home now. “Do you like Italian?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” he says. “Tomorrow.”

“The day after. I’m busy tomorrow with work.”

He narrows his eyes. “Damn. Gonna make me wait in agony, huh?”

You grin. “I’m worth waiting for.”

“You very much are. Day after tomorrow at eight. Wear something nice.”

“Fine. Wear those necklaces you wore for your Vogue shoot.”

He cocks his head to the side. “Oh?” Jungkook purrs. “You like the necklaces?”

“I like to imagine what they look like dangling above my face.”

He shakes his head. “You’re gonna be the fucking death of me.”

“Good. The day after tomorrow.” You take a step back, a wicked grin on your face. He drops his hand, staring you down. “Don’t be late.”

Jungkook isn’t late and you wish that he was. Cursing over and over again, you pull the knee-high boot up your leg, thankful for the supple, flexible leather that fits your calf. You nearly fall over tugging on the next, finally getting your boots on and standing up straight in front of your mirror out of breath and flustered.

The outfits had not gone according to plan. Something about going on a date with Jungkook has you feeling all out of sorts, going through enough outfits that your bed is now covered in them. You refused to tell Mila that you were going on the date, knowing that if she caught wind of it, she’d send paparazzi. As it is, Jungkook has assured you he’s gone through the hoops for a private dinner at an upscale Italian restaurant near the river.

Turning in the mirror, you decide that the short, black dress over sheer black pantyhose paired with platform boots and a long, black peacoat will have to do. Grabbing your phone, you text Jungkook back quickly that you’re coming downstairs, apologizing for the delay.

Jungkook: Like you said, you’re worth waiting for.

Me: Oh, I can take longer…

Jungkook: Don’t make me come up there.

Jungkook: Actually, on second thought, make me come up there.

As you pass your kitchen, you double back and run to the alcohol cabinet, pulling a bottle of tequila down quickly to shoot back a quick swig. It burns your throat, making you cough and squeeze your eyes shut as you hack for a moment, corking the bottle and gasping for air.

At least it will take the edge off.

Wiping the traces from your chin, you rush out of your apartment, letting the tequila burn its way through you to set the first layer of calm. In the elevator, you take in a slow, deep breath for five seconds. Exhale for five seconds. Inhale for five seconds.

The elevator dings, making you flinch. Clutching your purse to steady your trembling hands, you step out onto the ground floor of the parking garage where you find Jungkook parked illegally and leaning on the side of the vehicle.

Slowing your steps, you appreciate the boy and then the car. Jungkook is dressed in black slacks with a belt at the waist and a black, tight-fitted turtleneck. The material of the shirt forms to his body, showing his defined arms and toned chest.

Jungkook’s hair is slicked back, a single dangling earring on his left lobe paired with the rest of his signature hoops. You have no idea how a single piece of jewelry changes everything about his energy, but your heart rate skyrockets as you approach him, a little shy.

He lets out a low, slow whistle. “Fuck. You are a knockout.”

“You look pretty good yourself.”

“Nah, Mozart. You look…” He shakes his head and scratches the back of his neck, laughing a little. “You’re gonna fucking wreck me.”

A nervous laugh escapes you and you chew the inside of your cheek as you stop in front of him, hands crossed in front of you. He pushes off the car, which is a sleek Porsche, and sticks his hand out to you. Tentatively, you place your hand in his.

Leaning forward, Jungkook places a kiss on your cheek. Your lashes flutter, skin warm. He pulls away with a small smile. “You look beautiful. I mean it.”

“You’re making me nervous.”

“No kidding, I feel like my heart is about to come out of my chest.”

He’s going to be the death of you. It’s endearing, how honest he is, letting what he’s thinking pour out of his mouth. You’re unsure if it’s part of his game or if it’s genuine, and it puts you a little on edge, trying to guess what’s going through his mind.

Lacing his fingers with yours, Jungkook escorts you around the car and opens the passenger. The interior of the car smells clean and is lined with white LED lights and red leather seats. You raise your brows as you slide inside, your coat protecting you from the cold leather.

Jungkook closes your door and rounds the back, slipping into the driver’s side. He turns to you, tilting his head to the side. You fiddle with the buttons on your coat. “What?”

“Kiss me,” he says, sounding breathless. “Kiss me so we don’t have to be nervous anymore.”

“You just want me to kiss you.”

Jungkook puts his elbow on the center console and leans forward. He looks down his nose at you, eyes focused on your mouth. You squeeze your thighs together, trying to fight a shiver of adrenaline threatening to take over. “So what?”

“Ask me nicely,” you murmur, leaning toward him. You look him in the eye, trying to still your hummingbird heart. This close, you see the flecks of gold in his irises, swirls of brown and caramel. They’re beautiful, framed by silky lashes. “I’ll take it into consideration.”

“Please kiss me.”

“Hmm?”

“I am begging you to kiss me.”

“Almost…”

“I need you to kiss me.”

So you do.

Jungkook’s mouth is soft. He laughs in surprise but leans into the kiss, slotting his mouth against yours firmly. It’s innocent and sweet, just a gentle brush of lips. You pull away, noses bumping against one another as he rests his forehead on yours.

It’s quiet and cold in the interior of the car, only the sound of your shallow breathing and the hum of the engine audible. Something electric courses through your veins, ignited by the feeling of his mouth against yours and you immediately want more. You’ve never felt this sudden, carnal desire before. This need to fall into him.

For a second, you fight it. Then, you give in.

Leaning forward, you catch Jungkook’s lips in a real kiss. It’s slow at first. You catch him off guard but he’s quick to keep up, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth greedily. Dizziness makes your world spin. You press up against the center console, sliding your tongue gently against his. Jungkook reaches a hand up to your face, cradling you as he deepens the kiss.

His mouth tastes like spearmint gum. Your skin is overheating, and you suddenly feel stuffy and constricted in your jacket. Jungkook breaks the kiss, panting against your lips as he presses chaste kisses to the side of your mouth and lips.

“Did you drink tequila?” he asks, voice husky. He starts kissing your jaw and your head lolls to the side, eyelids fluttering. “Tastes like it.”

“I was nervous,” you pant, almost moaning as his tongue flicks out to lick at your skin. “So I took a shot.”

“I make you that nervous?” His teeth pull at your earlobe. You sink further into the seat, starting to turn boneless. You feel like you’re melting at the joints, abruptly unable to string together a sentence under the attention of his greedy, warm mouth. “Cat got your tongue?”

“You’re supposed to take me to dinner.”

“Oh, I am. And then we'll order ice cream, and then we’re going home.”

“Oh?”

“My home. I have necklaces to show you.”

“Fuck.”

Reluctantly, Jungkook pulls away. His lips are wet and a little dark from kissing you, his eyes wild. You watch him from where you’re sunken in the seat, a little wrecked from just kissing. You realize that Jungkook has the potential to ruin you. To crack you open and devour you.

And you let him.

Reaching across the car, you cradle his face, thumb pulling at his bottom lip, damp with your lip gloss and spit. “Pretty,” you murmur. His tongue darts out, laving across your thumb. You grin. “Dangerous.”

“Not with you.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

“Well, I mean it.”

“We barely know each other.”

He shrugs. “I don’t care. I have a sense for these things.”

“Mmm.” You drop your hand from his face. “Dinner, then. And ice cream. And then home.”

Jungkook’s first lie is that he’s not dangerous with you. He nearly kills you several times on the way to dinner, leaning over at almost every stoplight to bring your mouth to his again. His mouth is addictive, each kiss intense and intended to make you fall further and further into this waking dream you’re in.

By the time the valet opens your door to a private entrance at the restaurant and helps you out, you think you might be entirely drunk on Jungkook’s kisses alone. He laces his fingers with yours, pulling you close as you walk up toward the back of the restaurant.

Inside is a dark hall, barely lit by fixtures in the ceiling casting gold light. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust as Jungkook gives the host his name. To your right is a curtain with the soft hush of diners and piano music. To your left is another curtain with no sound coming through.

“Thank you for choosing us, Mr. Jeon. Right this way.”

The host bows his head slightly, guiding you to the left curtain. He pulls it open and gestures for you to enter. You step through after Jungkook, raising your brows when you realize it’s a private dining room. It looks reserved for events and parties perhaps, but the room is furnished with a single table and rich, mahogany chairs.

Velvet drapery covers the walls and a large, crystal chandelier hangs over the table. The heels of your boots click on the hardwood floors as Jungkook leads you to your seat, letting go of your hand to pull out the chair. You flash him a smile, sitting as he helps you scoot in.

He sits across from you, adjusting his shirt sleeves. Your eyes momentarily get sidetracked when you realize he has on the layered necklaces you ask for, and you grin before averting your attention to the host who instructs that the chef and the sommelier will be with you momentarily to talk about your dining options for the evening.

When he leaves, it’s just you and Jungkook with the soft sound of piano trailing from somewhere distant. You level your gaze on him, watching him watch you. The setting feels intimate, leaving you a little overwhelmed but in a good way. You’ve gone on dates, but not like this.

“What?” he questions gently. “You have a look on your face.”

“I’m just impressed, is all.”

“It only gets better from here. I have so many ideas for dates.”

“Oh? Plural?”

“Mhmm.” He leans back in his seat, tonguing his cheek. “If all goes well, anyway.”

“So far so good.”

The sommelier and the chef arrive together, hands tucked behind their backs. It’s hard to pay them much mind. Jungkook is distracting, even as he gives them his full attention, nodding along and answering their questions. He looks to you for input, but you feel a little useless, barely listening to what they’re saying.

“Trust me enough to order?” he asks, leaning over the table conspiratorially.

“Well, you’re with me, so you must have good taste. I trust you.”

His foot nudges your ankle under the table playfully. He orders a round of appetizers and wine. When the sommelier asks you to sample it, you follow Jungkook's lead, inhaling the dark red lightly. It smells strongly of cherries and something sweet, making your mouth water. The taste is lush and wonderful, pleasing to the palate.

The sommelier bows and leaves the two of you alone, vanishing behind the curtain. Jungkook lifts his wine glass to you, smiling. “Here’s to our first date and many more.”

“Cheers.”

After a sip, you set your glass down and look at Jungkook from across the table. “Was it absolutely painful, waiting for today?”

“I hardly survived, to be honest. All day yesterday I lay in bed dreaming of today.”

“Hmm. Is that all you dream about?”

His gaze darkens. “Careful, Mozart. I dream very vividly.”

Jungkook does impress you. With his knowledge about a wide variety of topics, with the charming expressions he uses as he speaks, with… him overall. He’s multifaceted in a way you rarely get to see with others, and you feel giddy as you listen to him.

Though you have a similar experience getting into music, it’s nice to hear Jungkook’s story. You keep it light, avoiding the darker parts of going through trainee programs and how competitive and hard it was to be a kid, growing up while working.

He asks you about music. Not just the music you work on, but the music you grew up listening to, your favorite genres, and the technical aspects of making music. Jungkook is intelligent and familiar with the mechanics of making records. He asks questions and nods along, interested and curious in learning.

You can’t remember the last time you had a conversation go this well, even outside of dates. When you urged Jungkook to take you on a date, you weren’t sure you’d end up liking him. Now though, as he lets you take the last stuffed mushroom because you can have whatever you want, you realize that you like him.

It is such a dangerous game to play, especially with the rumors you hear about him.

Instead of thinking about it, you enjoy dinner. You both finish the bottle of wine and he orders another. You’re feeling loose and warm, laughing more often and giving him lazy smiles. Even without the wine, you want to drag him to the bathroom and get on your knees. Now with a few glasses in, you’re thinking about it more and more.

Dinner sobers you up a little, but it doesn’t remove the heat between your legs and the growing desire to kiss him again. You think about the way his mouth moved against yours, tongue gentle and talented. Your mind wanders into places less innocent, especially after dinner comes to an end and ice cream is brought out, as promised.

Jungkook carves the spoon through the dessert, leaning forward with it held out. You smirk, leaning to meet him halfway to let him slide the ice cream into your mouth. Cold vanilla melts on your tongue. It’s good and creamy, but you hardly pay attention to the taste, eyes fastened to Jungkook’s.

“Good?” His voice is deep, soft. “I want to taste.”

You pick up your spoon, picking up a small scoop. You hold it out to him and he repeats your motion, bending to meet you. His eyes don’t leave yours as he eats it, tongue running over the bottom of his lip after to catch any extra.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, getting up abruptly. He holds his hand out to you and you place yours in his. He hoists you up and surprises you by pulling you into his chest. “We’re going.”

You lean up on your toes, stealing his lips with yours. They taste like the wine you’ve been drinking. Your mouth tingles as you kiss him and your thoughts are cottony and slow, only focused on the way he hums, leaning forward to swipe his tongue eagerly into your mouth.

The kiss turns a little messy. You’re woozy, letting him bend you backward as he steals the breath from your lungs. Jungkook is intoxicating, your hand dropping his to wrap around his neck. You thread your fingers through the waves at the nape of his neck. They’re silky soft, sliding between your fingers. You tug a little, pulling a groan low in his throat.

“Careful or I will fuck you here,” he pants, spit-slicked mouth moving against yours. You run your tongue along his bottom lip, tasting more wine. “Devil.”

“What’s stopping you?”

Jungkook pulls away from you, holding you at arm's length. You stare up at him, eyes heavy. You feel arousal pool in your stomach with the way he looks at you, his mouth wine-stained.

“That’s how you want it?” His tone is threatening. Laced with something carnal. Your stomach flutters as you nod. You’re not thinking about anything but him, not worried about anything. “Fuck.”

Without hesitation, he grabs you by the hand and pulls you across the floor. You follow him eagerly, heart hammering as Jungkook all but kicks the private bathroom door open. He yanks you inside and spins you, pushing you toward an elegant sink.

The bathroom is dark. The walls are painted black and the gold-fixtured lighting is dim. It would be romantic if Jungkook wasn’t flicking the lock behind him and advancing on you. Just as he reaches for you, you surprise him, dropping to your knees and looking up through your lashes.

He raises his brows, looking down at you, heat behind his eyes. You lift your hand to the zipper of his pants, slowly pulling it down, pausing for permission.

“Go ahead, baby,” he murmurs, nodding. “Take what you want.”

Licking your lips, you do exactly that. Your fingers are nimble as you undo the button at the top of his pants. You pull them down a little, just enough to get them out of your way. You eye the hardening outline of his cock against his briefs, breath catching.

You look up at him. “You have a huge cock, don’t you?”

He sticks out his tongue between his teeth. “Why don’t you find out, hmm?”

Leaning high up on your knees, you lick the outline of his cock, watching as he shivers. You run your tongue to the tip of his cock, stopping to mouth at it. He curses, hips twitching as you soak the fabric with your mouth, placing your hands on his thighs.

Muscles twitch under your palms. You dig your nails in and scratch upward, the fabric hissing underneath your fingers. Reaching the waistband of his briefs, you pull down agonizingly slow. Jungkook’s fingers twitch at his sides, but he lets you do what you want, breathing heavily through parted lips.

Jungkook’s cock springs out. You feel your mouth water at his thick length, already hard from the barest stimulation. Pearly beads of precum decorate the dark tip. You hum, contented as you stick your tongue out and give a quick kitten lick to the base of his shaft.

He hisses, hips twitching forward. Teasing him, you trace your tongue along a vein on the underside of his cock until you reach the tip, circling the swollen head with your tongue generously. Jungkook closes his eyes, his head falling backward.

You grip him firmly, gathering saliva in your mouth before spitting on his cock. He moans out loud and you grin, pumping him slowly while ducking under your hand to lave your tongue across his balls. He curses and a hand shoots to your head, not pushing you, but fingers pressed tight against your skull.

“Fuck, you like being a little slut?” he growls.

“Mhmm,” you answer back, pulling his cockhead into your mouth. His salty precum melts on your tongue.

Jungkook fills your mouth. You feel the stretch on the sides of your lips as you take him in properly. You let spit pool on your tongue as you slide down his cock, slurping gently as you do. It’s messy and wet and a little clumsy, the wine making you uncoordinated.

It doesn’t matter. His fingers press into your hair as you set a rhythm, bobbing your head and sucking gently while your hand pumps what you can’t fit in your mouth. Jungkook pants above you, his soft moans echoing off the tile.

The sounds he makes spur you further. Drool runs down your chin as he succumbs. You watch him through misty eyes, the crown of his cock kissing the back of your throat as you try to take him further than you can manage. You feel your throat constrict, coughing a bit as you pull off of him, twisting your wrist as you work him and gasp for air.

Spit and precum connect your lips to his cock in a thick string. It breaks when you cough, eyes stinging.

“Yeah?” he asks, gritting his teeth. “Like choking on that fucking cock?”

You run the flat of your tongue over his frenulum, making him wine. “Like hearing you moan,” you admit. The slick sound of your hand stroking him makes you squeeze your legs together. “It makes me so fucking wet.”

“Show me.”

Jungkook’s hands go to yours. He pulls you up by the wrists. Your knees feel wobbly but he holds you steady, pressing you against the counter. He steals a searing kiss from you that is more tongue than lips, hands skimming up your arms and down your sides until he’s at the hem of your dress where he pauses.

“This okay?” Your eyelids flutter open. His nose is pressed against yours, eyes steady. “We can stop whenever or if you’re too drunk.”

“I’m not.” It’s true, you’re a little drunk off the wine, but your head is clear. You know exactly what you want and your thoughts are concise. There are no hesitations and you don’t care that you’re in a bathroom, face wet with mixed fluids. “Want it.”

“Mmm.”

Jungkook slips a hand under your dress, fingers brushing over your soft thighs. It feels good, his dragging touch enticing. Your head tilts back, allowing him to press hot, wet kisses on your throat. His fingers pick at the garter belt secured to your pantyhose, making him groan.

“I wanna see these later.”

“You will.”

He licks your neck. “Good.”

You close your eyes, enjoying the feeling of his mouth sucking gently at your throat while his hand slides to your underwear. He presses the pads of his fingers over the silk, just enough to make your thighs close around his hand, gasping.

“You are wet.” There’s a smile in his voice. He moves his fingers in a gentle circle, applying pressure to the damp spot on your underwear. “Sucking me off did that?”

“And the ice cream.”

“Oh? Watching me eat ice cream, huh?”

“Sorry about it.”

“Don’t be.” He hooks a finger and pulls your panties to the side, touching your sticky folds properly. A moan slips out of your mouth. You can feel your heart slamming in your chest so hard you think you might have a cardiac episode. “You can watch me eat your pussy later.”

Between the implication that there is a later and thereby more after this, and the way Jungkook’s fingers slip up and down your heat, you’re a goner. It feels so good, some of the pressure between your legs relieved as he teases your clit.

Spreading your legs wider, you lean hard into the bathroom counter. It hurts where it presses against your spine but you ignore it, content to let him push you until your head hits the mirror.

Jungkook’s fingers tease your hole, leaving your cunt clenching. You whine, bringing your hands to his face to pull him off your neck and to your mouth, biting his lip playfully.

“Fuck me,” you ask between kisses, mouths smacking loudly. “Wanna feel you stretch me out.”

“Can’t even wait until we’re home?”

“You can fuck me there too.”

He laughs darkly. “Demon.”

Jungkook removes his hand from between your legs and bends at the knee, grabbing you behind the thighs. You jump lightly and he lifts you, putting you on the counter. Your dress hikes up, baring your glistening cunt to him, underwear still pulled to the side.

Balmy air kisses your skin. It’s hot in the bathroom as he cages you in, tattooed hand pumping his cock. You’re bent out of shape, spreading your legs and feeling the strain of the straps on your garner belt as you stretch them.

Reaching between your legs, you pull your underwear farther to the side, ensuring they won’t be in the way. He shakes his head, eying your heat hungrily as he runs the tip of his dick up and down your messy folds. It feels good but it’s not enough, making you squirm and whine audibly.

He tuts at you, sliding his hand up to press the head of his cock into your dripping hole. Your eyes roll back, feeling the pressure of him splitting you open as he sinks in. The stretch of him aches in pleasure-pain, your pussy opening up for every inch that he feeds you.

“Shit you’re tight,” he gasps, falling forward to rest his head on your shoulder. His back muscles strain against his shirt as he pushes in the rest of the way, bottoming out until you’re stuffed full, walls fluttering around him. “God, I could come just like this.”

“Pussy whipped?”

“Fuck, I’m gonna be.”

One of your hands goes around his neck, nails pressing into his skin. He sucks in air sharply. Your other hand drifts to his ass, grabbing him and squeezing. “Please make me come. I need it.”

Instead of answering verbally, he starts to fuck into you. It’s not a slow build or something passionate. It’s needy and heady and desperate. He sets a brutal pace and you can’t help but let out a loud moan, the shape of his name escaping you.

The feeling is addicting. You cling to him, jostling against the sink as he fucks you. The wet sound of your cunt around him is loud and lewd, backtracked by your breathy moans getting louder and higher-pitched. You feel yourself shaking, fingers digging into him as he grabs your hips, holding you down to the counter.

Jungkook’s breath fans your neck, his face buried there. He curses, occasionally biting your tender skin, making you squeal. You can feel the ghost of a smile against you, his tongue soothing your stinging flesh.

Grabbing one of your thighs, he hikes your leg higher. You slide into the sink, nearly bent in half as he changes the angle. He hits your spot on the upstroke, almost sending you into an orgasm immediately. The tension in your stomach is so tight you think you’re going to unravel.

Instead, it climbs higher and higher. You can barely breathe as he straightens to fuck you even harder. The faucet digs into your back. You don’t care, grabbing the counter as you cling to it for life, babbling. Nothing that comes out of your mouth makes any sense and just when you think you can’t take it anymore, you come. Hard.

Everything in your body locks up. You spasm around him, squeezing his cock for everything it's worth. Your orgasm is swift and powerful, taking the breath from you for a long moment before you finally manage to gasp for air, sagging against the sink.

With a few messy pumps, Jungkook comes with a loud curse, head tossed back, hips slamming yours. You can feel your release between the two of you, sticky and running down your thighs. His thrusts slow until he’s left softening inside of you.

Come leaks when he slowly pulls out. The drip is obscene but you’re too fucked out to care, looking up at him in a daze. It smells like sex in the bathroom and a light layer of sweat covers your skin.

Carefully, Jungkook tucks himself back in his pants before ripping paper towels out of the dispenser to gently wipe at your thighs. You laugh and let him take care of you, grateful that he does. He swipes one greedy finger up your pussy and pops it into his mouth, making your jaw drop.

“Fuck, I can’t wait to eat you out later.”

You chew your lip as he finishes wiping the mess from your lower half. “So there is a later, still?”

He looks dubious. “I told you that you were coming home with me.”

“I know I just thought maybe…”

“That I was gonna fuck you in a bathroom and that would be what I wanted?” You nod. “I told you, I want more dates. Something about you, Mozart. Also, you letting me fold you in half in a bathroom makes me want to drop down on one knee.”

It pleases you to hear that more than you care to admit.

With Jungkook’s help, you ease off the counter. At a glance in the mirror, you burst into hysterical laughter. Your mascara is smudged, your mouth is wet, and you look wrecked. He laughs too, caging you in and reaching around you to turn on the faucet, running the tips of his fingers underneath and bringing them up to gently wipe under your eyes.

You smile at him as he attempts to make the running makeup less noticeable. When he finishes, he turns off the faucet but remains pressed to your back, arms looped casually around you. He has a small smile, staring at you in the mirror.

“What?” you ask, laughing.

“This is going to sound stupid,” he prefaces. “But I just feel something here. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Post-nut clarity?”

He presses his pelvis into you. “No. It’s just like this really silly… I don’t know. Crush. But it just feels right.”

Surprisingly, you understand what he means. This spark you feel with him is new to you. There’s never been anyone else you feel so natural with, so immediately attracted to. Certainly not enough to throw inhibition to the wind and suck them off in a bathroom.

Something about Jungkook lights you up, a candle catching fire and burning through the wick hot and fast. People might call it reckless and immature, but you don’t know how else to explain this innate desire to jump in head-first with him.

“I feel it too.”

He kisses the back of your head. “Come on. I’m not done with you yet.”

You feel lost in the lights on the way home. Jungkook’s hand settles on your thigh, thumb brushing back and forth. He’s a little subdued, focusing on the road. You don’t distract him, content to adjust the air conditioning so that it cools you off, your skin on fire from the wine and Jungkook.

The night certainly went in a direction you weren’t planning, but you don’t mind. Jungkook excites you. Perhaps it is a little rash and naive, but you don’t care, enamored by the layers of him. You want to peel back more, to dig to the core until he’s yours.

Whatever the madness is, it appears to be equal. When Jungkook pulls into the luxury apartment building known for high-profile celebrities and government officials, he’s on you again, pulling you across the car to meld your mouths together.

Dull pain blooms in your mouth, lips bruised from kissing him. You don’t care, eager to slot your tongue against his, brushing against the wet-rough feel of it.

“Come on,” he whispers, tugging your bottom lip with his teeth. “Let’s go upstairs.”

It should not surprise you when Jungkook swipes a key fob and selects the penthouse apartment, but it does. It shocks you even more when the elevator opens into a four-level home. Your mouth drops open a little as you enter, Jungkook’s fingers laced with yours.

Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch the entire four-story home. From where you stand in the entryway, you can see multiple open-concept rooms, each ornately decorated with a modern style and neutral tones. Nothing about what you can see screams Jungkook, suggesting that his label has put him here - has the money to put him here.

The thought itself is staggering, momentarily reminding you who you just let fuck you senseless in the bathroom at an upscale restaurant. Letting Jungkook’s hand go, you wander into the main room of the apartment, stepping down into the sunken living room with large, curved couches surrounding a coffee table.

Above you, a massive glass artwork of floating lights hovers. They’re turned off, but it looks like a sculpture project most likely commissioned by a wildly expensive artist. Jungkook joins you in front of the towering windows overlooking a wide terrace. The sheer curtains do nothing to hide the twinkling lights of the city.

It gives the illusion that you’re among the stars. Jungkook leans over and presses a button on the remote. The curtains quietly begin to roll open, revealing the view in full. It is breathtaking, much more magnificent than the view from Hoseok’s apartment.

“They really pulled out all the stops for you,” you murmur, turning to look at him. He toes the carpet, twisting his mouth as he blushes. “This is insane.”

“It’s too much.”

“A little bit. But it’s cool.”

He smiles and reaches a hand out. “Let me show you the rest tomorrow after breakfast.”

You take his hand and let him pull you along toward the winding staircase. “I want waffles.”

“And in the morning, I’m making waffles!”

You both dissolve into laughter at the Shrek reference. Jungkook pulls you up the steps until you’re on the top floor, which is made up of a spacious bedroom with windows that overlook the city, an ornate bathroom you can only see the door to, what you assume is a walk-in closet, and an additional terrace with an infinity pool, firepit area, and bar.

The bedroom is more of Jungkook’s style. It’s not nearly as pristine, the sheets and blankets rumpled, all dark grey tones. There are shoes by the closet door and a shelf in the far corner with action figures and collectibles that you don’t recognize.

In the middle of the room stretches an impossibly large bed with modern sconces on either side. Medication, a glass of water, and a watch are on the nightstand next to the bed. And no signs of other suitors, you notice, but you push the thought out of your mind as Jungkook pulls you backward toward his bed, smiling.

This time you’re slower. He sits on the bed, pulling you by the waist to straddle him. Your knees sink feather-soft into the mattress on either side of him, settling yourself on his thighs as you draw him in for a kiss. You hold him gently by the jaw, fingers spread and pressing warm into his skin.

Jungkook’s hands skate around your hips to your ass, squeezing gently as your tongues dance together. Your buzz from the wine is gone now, replaced with desire burning through you, hot as a torch. It doesn’t feel needy and crazed now, but a little softer. More intimate.

Carefully, Jungkook leans backward, taking you with him. You squeal into his mouth as you land on top of him, arms giving out. You crash into his chest, though not too hard.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. He places his hands on your waist and precariously rolls over, managing not to knock heads and limbs as he places you under him. His knee slots between your legs, hands leaving your waist to bracket your head. “God damn, you are beautiful.”

It’s strange. You feel beautiful - or at least, you feel desired under him. Perhaps it is not the same thing, but the way Jungkook looks at you with swollen lips and starry eyes, you feel powerful. Godly, even.

He dips back down, pressing a kiss to your mouth and one to your jaw. He leaves a wake of heat, stealing your breath away. Leaning back, you give him access to map the tender flesh of your throat and collarbones, threading your fingers through his hair.

Eyes closed, you let the world spin. His mouth is the finest delicacy, pressing kisses that are butterfly-soft all over your heated skin as he pulls the straps of your dress. You help him by slipping your arms out. He gathers the fabric and pulls down, sitting up as he does so.

Silk rolls against your skin. It’s cool in his bedroom, making you shiver as he reveals your lacy bra and matching garter. He tosses the dress, sitting high up on his knees as you lay splayed out for him.

“You know,” he ventures. “Normally I don’t like lingerie.” His fingers trace the swells of your breasts. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, goosebumps breaking out on your skin from the tantalizing touch. “But I could get used to it on you.”

“I only wear it on special occasions.”

Jungkook lowers himself, planting a wet kiss on the top of your right breast. “What’s the occasion?”

“I needed something to hold up my pantyhose.”

His laugh cools the fresh trail of spit he leaves on your skin, earning a violent shiver from you. He notices, eyes flicking up to look at you. They’re endless pools of dark, watching your every move as he slow-drags a finger up your stomach to the top of your bra. He hooks his finger over the top of the cup and pulls gently, the fabric scraping your over-sensitive nipple.

Everything he does feels overwhelmingly erotic. You watch, hypnotized and out of breath as he sticks out his tongue, circling your nipple lazily but not giving it attention directly. You let out a wavering moan, voice gone.

Oh so slowly, Jungkook flicks his tongue over the hardened peak of your nipple. You bow up into him, wanting more. He tsks at you and you go flat on the bed, fisting the sheets tightly to ground yourself as he grins, delighted.

“You listen well, huh?” You nod, head heavy. You can’t think of any words, thoughts bleeding together like liquid spilled across a watercolor canvas. “Is that how you like it? Being told what to do like a good girl?”

“Yes.” You suck in a sharp breath as Jungkook scrapes his teeth generously over your nipple.

“You weren’t a very good girl when you got on your knees and swallowed my cock whole in the bathroom.” He flicks his tongue back and forth, sending your eyes to the back of your head as you squirm underneath him. “You were quite the dirty girl, huh?”

“Both.”

Instead of answering you, Jungkook envelops your bud fully, sucking gently. Pleasure rolls through you, your pussy beginning to slow ache with arousal. Your head falls to the side, and you’re only able to pant and dig your nails into his sides where you grab him, either to hold him to you or push him away; you’re not sure.

Jungkook’s mouth is wicked, lavishing your tits. He sucks greedily, noisy as he slides his tongue from one breast to the other. When you look at him, you see sin. Your chest shines in the glowing light of the city with the evidence of his oral fixation, turning you on even more.

Your underwear sticks to you uncomfortably and your toes curl. It feels so good but you need so much more, dripping in a way that is maddening as he starts to trail his mouth downward. He is so so slow, tasting your skin, hands skimming your sides, scraping blunt nails across your sensitive flesh.

He’s hardly done anything and yet you’re shaking underneath him, more sensitive and turned on than you’ve ever been. You cannot recall ever being this close to falling apart from just having someone touch you and play with your tits.

But it’s the way Jungkook looks at you. The movements of his hands on your skin. The way every single brush of his tongue and every drag of his teeth scraping over you seems perfectly timed. Attuned.

It feels like Jungkook already knows every part of your body, and something about that both terrifies and excites you, kicking your adrenaline into high gear, heart rattling, pulse beating in your neck.

With hooded eyes, you watch Jungkook unclasp the garter belt. He is gentle and methodical, pulling every layer of clothing off with a touch so reverent that it can only be holy. He is solely focused on his task, tasting your skin when his mouth draws near enough to feel you.

When he has you naked and shaking, he sinks to the floor in front of the bed, hands pressing your thighs open. You feel how much of a mess you are, slick and cold as the air hits you. You whimper, pussy aching to the point of madness.

Jungkook chuckles. “Yeah? Does it ache, baby?”

“Uh-huh.”

He blows cool air right onto your pussy. The sensation is a pleasure-sting, making you twist in his hands, trying to angle away from him to escape the cold. He laughs again, pinning your hips firmly to the bed while he presses hot-mouthed kisses to your inner thighs.

“Eyes on me,” he murmurs into your skin. “I told you that you were going to watch me eat this pussy.”

With effort, you lean up on your elbows, watching with your mouth parted as Jungkook tilts forward agonizingly slow to run the flat of his tongue up your cunt. Your fingers squeeze the sheets, thighs flexing under his firm hands. It feels so good but it looks even better.

He smirks, dipping down again to slow-lick you from top to bottom. You’re hypnotized, feeling your stomach lurch violently at how good it feels and how good he looks sliding his tongue through your wetness.

“Taste just as sweet as that ice cream,” he murmurs, sliding his hands closer to the apex of your thighs to hold you open. He catches your clit with his lips, sucking softly. Your head falls back as sparks explode under your skin. “Mmm. Like this so much better though.”

“Feels so good,” you rasp, lifting your head to fixate your eyes on him again. “Fuck, Jungkook.”

His tongue dips into your hole, tasting you further, drinking you in. “How do you like it?” he asks, tongue slowly zigzagging upward to circle your bundle of nerves. You’re trembling under him, fingers going numb with how tight you hold the sheets. “Slow? Fast? Messy?”

“Messy.”

He hums and brings his entire mouth to you, sucking greedily, tongue laving back and forth. You fall backward, unable to support yourself as he complies with your request. You bring a hand up to cover your face, trying to catch your breath.

“Shit,” you gasp.

Jungkook presses his face into your cunt, licking and slurping at you. The sounds are pornographic and you don’t care, your other hand going down between your legs to card through his hair, pulling gently. He grunts in appreciation, fucking his tongue into you, wiggling expertly.

You feel thoroughly fucked. Your limbs are heavy, the world spinning as he devours you. He lets your hips cant against his face, encouraging you with soft little hums, mouth smacking against you.

“This fucking pussy,” Jungkook swears, sucking harshly at your folds. “Fuck.”

“Wanna taste,” you beg, thoughts sticky. “Lemme.”

“Fuck.”

Jungkook’s tongue slides through your folds before he stands up, leaning over you. You turn to look at him - his eyes are blown, the bottom half of his face shining with your juice. You whine and open your mouth, sticking your tongue out eagerly. He follows your lead, grabbing your jaw and squeezing as he gathers your slick and his spit in his mouth before letting it drip into yours.

You can barely taste yourself but you fold your tongue in anyway, closing your mouth to swallow. He seems dazed, pupils dilated and wild as he crashes his mouth to yours. Your teeth click together and you lick into his mouth, tasting yourself properly for a moment before he breaks away and drops back down, attaching his mouth to your pussy.

This time, Jungkook is vicious. He pulls you to the edge of insanity, your thighs closed around his head, his grip on your legs iron. He whips his head back and forth, tongue pressed hot and heavy against you. You climb climb climb climb -

You break.

Everything in you seizes. You writhe in his hands, coming hard against his mouth. He doesn’t stop, mouthing you through your orgasm until you’re screaming and pushing at his forehead, the stimulation morphing from white-hot bliss to pleasure-laced pain.

Jungkook lets you push him away only for him to climb up your body, ripping his shirt up as he goes. Your arms feel heavy and sluggish as you pull at his belt. Your fingers fumble, unable to work the button and the zipper, making him laugh.

“I got it,” he whispers, leaning forward to steal a brazen kiss. “You good?”

You nod, unable to form words. You are good, but you’re still dizzy from the orgasm.

Still, seeing him strip off his shirt has you ready to go again. You lean forward, hand running up the flexing planes of his abs as he shuffles out of his pants. His body is beautiful - cut lines meeting soft skin, whorls of ink staining his arm and chest. His thighs are powerful, flexing as he kicks off his briefs, freeing his hard, heavy cock.

You reach for him, grasping him in your hand and guiding him toward your messy heat. Jungkook groans as you run his swollen head up and down your folds, making his cock shine with your arousal.

“Just like that,” he rasps, nodding his head. “Make it nice and fucking wet.”

After a few shallow thrusts, you take the tip and press down into your entrance. You feel a slight ache as he stretches you open despite having fucked you less than an hour ago. You pant through it, watching between your legs as he presses in until his hips are flush with yours.

It is a tight fit. Full. But so, so good. Jungkook leans forward, placing his hands on either side of his head. You look up to see his necklaces dangling in your face, making you grin. You tug on them, bringing his mouth down to yours for a slow, gentle kiss.

When he pulls away, he smiles. “Wore them just for you.”

“Mmm good. Fuck me, please. Feels so full.”

Jungkook’s left hand goes down, hiking your leg up around his waist. This time is different. He sets the pace slow, pulling all the way out and then gliding back in. You’re drenched enough to make the slide easy, your walls stretching around him the more he fucks you, setting a steady rhythm.

Pleasure spreads from your cunt outward, unfurling like a blossom. The gentle drag of his cock is mind-numbing, your hands sliding up your stomach to cup your chest, squeezing your tits. He groans in appreciation, picking up his pace a little, the wet slap of skin against skin backtracked by your loud, heavy breathing.

Sheets cling to your damp skin. You feel your chest heaving, Jungkook’s skin sliding against yours as he pulls you closer. You raise your hips, rolling into him, meeting his thrusts. Your hands slip on his arms, trying to find purchase on anything to ground you.

“Fuck,” he gasps, trying to catch his breath.

He pulls away and grabs both of your legs, making you slip. He’s careful not to pull out, pressing your legs together and hooking them side-by-side over his right shoulder, leaning in. The strain on your thighs feels good and the angle hits deep.

You bring a hand to your mouth, biting into your knuckle. The pain is like a relief, an outlet to channel the pent-up orgasm building like an indestructible storm inside of you.

Soft, deep moans drip from Jungkook’s mouth. Your feet flex, your body curling as the pleasure spreads. It’s like you can't sit still, every part of you exposed and raw, sparking with electricity as he drives his hips forward relentlessly.

Your sweaty calf slips off of his shoulder. He slows and taps you on the leg. “Wanna ride me, baby?”

“Yeah. Wanna sit on it.”

“Good girl.”

You preen under the praise. He pulls out, leaving a wet trail of fluid as he does. You’re both a little fuck-drunk and uncoordinated, switching places as he tosses himself on his back, reaching up to grab pillows and stuff them under his shoulders and head.

Facing the windows, you throw a leg over his hips, surprising him by turning your back to him. He growls and slaps a hand on your ass, the sound loud in the room. You moan, spurred by the sting as you shift down to his hips.

Grabbing his wet cock, you hover over the tip, carefully sinking down his shaft. This angle makes him so much deeper - you swear you feel him in your stomach. Speared to capacity, you take a moment to breathe, overwhelmed and overheated. Jungkook doesn’t mind, content to knead your ass and hips, fingers pressing into muscle and relieving tension.

“That feels so nice,” you sigh, head rolling to the side. You close your eyes, pussy twitching and stuff full.

“Yeah? I’ll give you a massage this week.”

“You’re promising me so many things.”

“Have to keep you on the hook.”

“And on your cock?”

He squeezes the globes of your ass. “Definitely on my cock. Feel so good wrapped around me.”

Leaning forward, you put your hands on his shins, using him as leverage to slowly lift yourself. The drag feels delicious, and when you drop back down, it feels like the air is punched from your lungs. You fuck yourself on him at your own pace, listening to the sound of him falling apart, occasionally his hands cracking your cheeks.

Biting your lip, you drive yourself to the edge of madness, shaking as your head falls forward between your arms, his name dropping from your mouth. Jungkook slides his hands under you, adding his assistance as he lifts you up and down his cock, helping you bounce. It’s wet and nasty and you don’t care, enjoying every second of it.

“Can I play with this pretty little asshole?” he asks, voice rough.

“Uh-huh.”

Wet fingers slide between your cheeks. Jungkook presses a finger to your tight rim, not enough to breach but just enough to give mind-melting stimulation. You grind yourself in his lap, focusing on the way it feels every time you roll your hips. Jungkook’s finger circles your asshole in time, making you nearly sob as you work yourself to an orgasm, so fucking close to coming for the third time that night.

He encourages you softly, come on, baby, and yeah just like that, get yourself off dripping from his lips. It’s like honey to your ears, sweet and syrupy. You work him faster, fingers going tight in the sheets as you hit your stride, arching up toward another release.

It builds and builds until you’re right on the edge, so so so close that you’re nearly screaming, eyes squeezed shut, breath held, legs shaking.

You fall over the edge, barely able to keep your rhythm. You feel your pussy flood around him. You’re gulping down air, hips still moving, broken cries interrupted by mindless babble.

When you start to slow, Jungkook sits up. He nearly knocks you over but he catches you, carefully laying you flat on your stomach. You go boneless, barely there, and floating. Your last orgasm makes everything watery and opaque, Jungkook’s voice is like syrup when he speaks.

“You okay?” You nod vigorously, sticking your ass up a little bit. You’re a little bit useless, but you want him to come, want him to use you. He notices, laughing as he spreads your legs a little, mess running down your folds. “Such a good girl for me, giving me this swollen cunt to use. Fuck, you’re perfect.”

Tired and spent, you roll your head to the side, closing your eyes, just content to breathe as Jungkook starts to fuck you with abandon. It still feels good, making you tremble underneath him, bordering overstimulation. You toe that line of electricity, fingers twisted in the blanket, breath hissing.

Jungkook chases his orgasm, bending down to press a hot kiss onto your shoulder as he comes, tongue licking over the sweat and salt of your skin.

Time moves differently then - at least it feels like it. You don’t know how much passes between Jungkook’s orgasm and him pulling out, or him finally getting up and waking you up. You’re dizzy when you look at him, head cottony and full of almost-sleep.

Wordlessly, he takes you to the bathroom. You don’t have the mind to look at your surroundings or pay attention to what anything looks like, content to let him pull you into the shower and turn on the hot water. You’re barely there, lost between exhaustion and a post-bliss aura that makes you soft.

When Jungkook kisses you in the shower, it’s not with the intent to start something else, but it does wake you up. You become a little more lucid, kissing him sweetly, innocent. Afterward, Jungkook wraps you in a fluffy towel and guides you through his bedroom to another room in the house, too tired to change his sheets.

You crash down in the bed together, heavy-limbed and sated. Jungkook pulls you close, already half asleep, eyes shut and mouth parted. You curl into him, realizing you fit perfectly into the curve of his body. Like you were made for him.

Quickly you fall asleep, your last thought being that perhaps Jungkook is made for you.

Morning comes with a brush of a gentle mouth against your shoulder. You hum, turning your head toward the source of the touch. Jungkook’s lips press against yours, morning-slow, tired-soft. You’re sore everywhere - most notably between your legs - but you let him drag you into a lazy makeout session.

Neither of you are really awake. The sun has not come up yet, the world awash in dark grey. Warm blankets wrap around you, heat trapping between your body. Jungkook’s hand slides down your waist and dips between your legs. You part them, sighing as he swipes his fingers through you and groans when they come away wet.

No words are spoken. Only butterfly-soft breaths and gentle gasps of air as he sinks two fingers into your heat from behind. You open yourself up to him, falling into the feel-good stimulation of his touch as it brushes your G-spot.

It doesn’t matter that you’re tired and sore. You want more of Jungkook - cannot get enough of him. Already you’re thinking about the next time you can have him. Even as he lines his cock up with your entrance, pushing in slowly until he’s snug to your core, you’re thinking about how many more times you can take him. How many more ways you want to.

You’ve barely started and you’re addicted. Craving him. Reaching a hand around behind you to cradle his head to the back of yours, feeling his warm breath fan your ear as he fucks you slowly. Delicate. Far too intimate for the two of you, almost strangers.

If someone had told you two days ago that your night would start with locking eyes with Jungkook, a world-renowned artist, and end with securing a date that led to this moment, trembling in his arms as he makes you come again, you’d have thought they were crazy.

Now, you can’t imagine it turning out any other way. Can’t imagine not feeling him shift his hand around to play with your clit, bringing you swiftly to another cresting orgasm, leaving you shaking and broken and near weeping in his arms, coming down from your high as he finishes himself off, cock twitching inside of you.

Jungkook’s hand leaves your pussy, sliding up your stomach until he reaches the underside of your jaw. He grabs you, turning your face to his, stealing your mouth in a sloppy, searing kiss.

“Mine,” he mumbles against your mouth between kisses. “Mine.”

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