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littlest-w01f · 2 months ago

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Clubs

"Triple penetration" with:

Batboys x Reader

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

Summary: Morden AU, working in a strip club, you got your fair share of customers who offered you payment for vip services even when you never did, until you finally chose to.

Cw: Illegal clubs, strippers/escorts, oral! Both F and M receiving, fingering, double penetration, triple penetration, Smut 18+ MDNI

The dim red lights cast an intimate glow on the stage as you sashayed your hips to the pulsing beat. Your hair swayed with each step, framing your face and eyes that seemed to hold secrets behind their sultry gaze. As you twirled the pole, dancing freely, enjoying yourself, the sequined fabric of your skimpy top glittered, drawing attention to your cleavage straining against the material.

Your audience roared with approval, bills fluttering onto the stage like confetti. But one man stood out, a tall, muscular figure lurking at the edge of the VIP section. His intense violet eyes locked onto you with an unmistakable hunger. As you continued your sensual dance, the music reached a crescendo. Sweat glistened on your skin, adding a tantalizing sheen to your curves.

With every sway of your hips, you felt the heat of hundreds of male gazes burning into her flesh. You relished the power and control you wielded over these men and women with nothing but your body and a strategically placed dance. As the final notes faded away, the roar of applause enveloped you, a symphony of approval and desire.

After the dance, you retreat backstage where you find your favourite manager waiting for you, a wide grin plastered across her tanned face. "Damn, y/n! That was incredible," She exclaimed, clapping you on the shoulder. "You had them eating out of the palm of your hand."

She leaned in closer, her voice taking on a more conspiratorial tone. "I've got a special request from one of our VIPs. He wants a private show." A sly smile played on her lips as she gestured towards the door leading to the exclusive area.

You hesitated for a moment, eyeing the doors warily. While you'd received countless offers for private shows, you rarely accepted. You raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the prospect. "Who is it?" you asked, curiosity piqued.

"Let's just say he's a very… generous patron," your manager replied with a knowing wink. "He's willing to pay top dollar for a little extra attention from you. He's been eyeing you all night, trying to book a private session with you."

Your eyebrows furrowed slightly as you considered the offer. Private shows were not something you typically indulged in, preferring to keep a certain level of professional distance between yourself and your clientele. However, there was something about this particular client that piqued your interest, perhaps it was the intensity of his gaze during your performance.

Curiosity getting the better of you, you agreed to meet this mysterious patron. As you entered the VIP lounge, the air thickened with anticipation. You spotted him, the imposing figure from the main floor, now sitting in the middle of the room, his piercing violet eyes landing on you.

Seated around the room, were two other men, built a little bigger than him but it was clear he was in charge, legs spread wide, with eyes that locked onto you the moment you entered. He wore a black tailored suit that accentuated his broad shoulders and chiselled jawline. You then knew he was Rhysand. He was a very popular man, beautiful beyond belief, dangerous too with his job in the life of crime, not that the club you worked in was much legal.

Rhysand moved to tower over you, his commanding presence evident even in the casual setting of the lounge. A shiver ran down your spine, there was something undeniably dominant about him, a raw power that drew you in despite yourself. "What do I get for this?" He asks as he slides his black credit card between your lips, before you even acknowledge him properly, or his two close men, Cassian and Azriel, from what you could tell.

With the black credit card still held between your teeth, you slowly drag your tongue along its length, maintaining eye contact with Rhysand as you do so. "For this much money, whatever the fuck you want," You purr pulling the card out, eyes noting the number and authenticity of the card.

Rhysand's eyes darkened with lust as he watched you drag your tongue along the length of his card. He took a step closer, invading your personal space as his large frame loomed over you. "Good girl," he purred, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine.

His fingers brushed against your cheek, tilting your chin up to force you to maintain eye contact. "Now, let's talk about what I want." His other hand trailed down your side, grazing the curve of your breast through the thin fabric of your top. "First, I want to watch you strip for us."

As if on cue, Cassian and Azriel rose from their seats, moving to stand on either side of you. With the three men surrounding you, you felt a thrill of excitement mixed with nervousness. They exuded an aura of raw masculinity, their eyes raking over your barely covered body with undisguised hunger.

Taking a deep breath, you began to move your hips sensually to an imaginary beat, swaying your body. "Then I suggest you men take a seat back."

Each man settled into their places, their faces alight with anticipation as you made your way around the circle. First, you positioned yourself between Cassian's thighs, pressing your breasts against his chest as you ground your hips against his crotch. He groaned, hands instantly groping your breasts as you worked your lace off your body, leaving your breasts bare for the man kissing down your neck.

Rhysand watched intently as you teased Cassian mercilessly, grinding your barely clothed body against the growing bulge in his pants, making him groan and grunt. He licked his lips hungrily, transfixed by the erotic display unfolding before him. When you finally peeled off your top, revealing your perfect breasts to Cassian's greedy hands, Rhysand couldn't help but reach down and adjust himself discreetly.

Next, you moved to sit astride Azriel's lap, his strong arms wrapping around your waist as you moved against him seductively, whispering all sorts of nasty things in his ear, draping yourself across his lap. Your pert nipples grazed his chest as you rolled your hips. Azriel gripped your ass firmly, scared fingers hooking around your thong, already tugging at it, squeezing the supple skin of your ass as he buried his face in your cleavage, groaning. You moaned softly, relishing the sensation of his hot mouth on your sensitive skin, helping him get your thong off from under your tiny skirt, throwing it over his lap.

Finally, you turned your attention to Rhysand, straddling his lap as he sat in his chair. His large hands gripped your hips possessively as you leaned in, brushing your lips against his ear. "And for you, Rhysand?" you whispered huskily. "What would you like me to do?"

Without waiting for a response, you began to unbutton his suit jacket, revealing the powerful muscles of his chest beneath. You kissed and nipped at his collarbone, working your way down to his belt buckle. With deft fingers, you popped open the button and slid the zipper down, freeing the impressive cock straining against his trousers.

Rhysand let out a low growl, his hands tightening on your hips as you wrapped your fingers around his thick shaft, stroking it slowly. "Fuck, darling... You're playing with fire..."

His large hands slid up your thighs, pushing your tiny skirt up to expose your slick, heated cunt. "You're dripping wet already, hmm?"

Rhysand smirked as he felt your slick arousal coating his fingers. "Such a needy little thing, aren't you? Desperate for me and my men." He brought his coated fingers to his lips, sucking your essence off them lewdly. "Mmm, delicious."

Suddenly, he grabbed your hips and flipped you onto your back on the plush sofa in the room. In one swift motion, he ripped your flimsy skirt off, exposing your glistening cunt completely. "I'm going to devour this pretty cunt until you're screaming," He growled, spreading your thighs apart.

Rhysand descended upon you, burying his face between your legs. His skilled tongue delved into your sopping entrance, lapping at your juices greedily.

As Rhysand feasted on your aching cunt, Cassian and Azriel closed in, their hands roaming your curves possessively. Cassian cupped your breasts, kneading the soft mounds roughly as he pinched and tugged at your stiff nipples. Meanwhile, Azriel pressed his hard body against Rhysand's, his face sliding between your thighs to join Rhysand's ministrations.

The stimulations were almost too much to bear. Pleasure coursed through your veins as the three men worked you into a frenzy. Their mouths and hands seemed to be everywhere at once, worshipping every inch of your trembling body. Rhysand and Azriel continued to thrust their tongue against you, swirling and flicking against your most sensitive spots as Cassian groped your breasts.

The intense sensations overwhelmed your senses as the three men ravaged your body with expert touches. Cassian's rough handling of your body sent jolts of pleasure straight to your core while Rhysand and Azriel's talented tongues drove you wild with ecstasy.

Your hips bucked involuntarily, grinding your dripping cunt against their eager mouths. "Oh god, yes! Don't stop!" you cried out, fisting your hands in their hair. The obscene slurping sounds filled the air as they feasted on your cunt, their chins glistening with your juices.

Cassian released your abused nipples only to trail his hand lower, rubbing firm circles on your throbbing clit, biting and sucking on your neck and shoulders, leaving marks. The added stimulation had you seeing stars, teetering on the brink of a mind-blowing orgasm. "Come for us, y/n."

Your climax hit with the force of a tidal wave, your body arching off the couch as waves of pure bliss crashed over you. A high-pitched wail tore from your throat as you came undone, your inner walls clenching rhythmically around Rhysand and Azriel's probing tongues.

They lapped at your spasming cunt, drinking in your release with greedy abandon. Cassian rubbed your clit relentlessly, prolonging your ecstasy until you were quivering and spent. Only then did they pull back, leaving you gasping and drenched in sweat.

Rhysand sat up, his eyes blazing with desire as he looked down at you. "That was just the beginning, love," he promised, his voice low and husky. "We've only just warmed up."

Rhysand guided you to stand between Cassian and Azriel, your legs shaking, who immediately surrounded you, their muscular frames closing in. "Time to show these two how well you can please a man," Rhysand purred, his hands gripping your hips possessively.

He pushed you forward slightly, so you were facing Cassian, and then reached past you to unbuckle Cassian's belt. With a swift tug, he freed Cassian's thick cock, which sprang up eagerly, the tip glistening with precum.

"Now, y/n, I want you to suck Cassian off while Azriel eats your cunt again," Rhysand commanded, his voice brooking no argument. "Make sure you give me a good show."

You sank to your knees in front of Cassian instantly, at eye level with his cock. Wrapping your hand around his girthy shaft, you gave him a few slow pumps, admiring the weight and heat of him in your grasp. Then, without further preamble, you took him into your mouth, your lips stretching obscenely around his thick girth.

"Fuuuuck…" Cassian groaned, his head falling back as you started bobbing your head, taking him deeper each time. His hands instinctively went to your hair, guiding your pace. "That's it, baby girl… Take my cock down that tight little throat…"

Meanwhile, Azriel knelt behind you, his strong hands parting your legs. You felt his hot breath ghost over your sensitive folds before his tongue delved between them, lapping at your dripping slit.

You moaned around Cassian's thick cock as Azriel ate you out from behind, his talented tongue bringing you right back to the edge. The dual stimulation was dizzying, your mind hazing with lust as you surrendered yourself fully to their carnal desires, hand reaching between your legs to stroke Azriel's cock to pleasure him too.

Rhysand watched the display with rapt attention, his own impressive cock free of his trousers, now in his hand. "Look at you, taking both of them so well," he praised, his voice heavy with arousal. "Such a perfect little slut for us."

Cassian grunted as you hollowed your cheeks, sucking harder. "Shit, shit, so good," He moaned, his grip on your hair tightening. Behind you, Azriel redoubled his efforts, sealing his lips around your clit and suckling intensely, hips stuttering, pushing his cock further in your fist.

The combined assault on your senses quickly pushed you towards another shattering climax. Your muffled moans vibrated around Cassian's cock as Azriel drove you higher, his wicked tongue flicking mercilessly over your swollen bud.

Soon you felt the blunt tip of a cock ghost over your cunt, Rhysand grunted above you, "You ready to take me?"

You moaned around Cassian, trying to nod as Azriel kept licking over your clit. Rhysand pushed in, instantly setting a strong pace as you squirmed between them. Trembling at the simulations.

Just as your orgasm crested as time went by, threatening to consume you whole, Cassian suddenly pulled you away, off of Azrial and Rhysand, ruining your orgasm making you whine. "Not yet, sweetheart," he growled, hauling you to your feet. "I want to feel this sweet cunt squeezing my cock when you come."

In a flash, he spun you around and bent you over the edge of the pristine bed in the lounge. Azriel moved aside just in time for Cassian to notch his fat cockhead at your entrance. With one brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt in your fluttering cunt, the breath punching from your lungs at the sudden intrusion.

You screamed as your toes curled, "Fuck- Fuck Cass! More!!" Pressed under his weight, eyes bulging out slightly. "Ugh-"

Cassian set a punishing pace, pounding into you with long, powerful strokes that shook your very foundation. Each savage thrust knocked the wind from your lungs, sending bolts of pleasure zinging up your spine, he pulled you up, pressed you against his body as he kissed over the bite marks on her neck. Your breasts bounced wildly with the force of his pounding, drawing Rhysand like a moth to a flame.

He stepped closer, grasping your swaying breasts and tweaking your nipples sharply, taking your breasts in his mouth, marking them up in lovebites. "That's it. Take his cock like a good whore," Rhysand taunted, turning you to face him, pulling you both on the bed, rolling the stiff peaks between his fingers. "Squeeze him with this greedy little cunt like you did me."

Azriel joined in on the bed, pressing against you too. His clever scared fingers found your neglected clit, strumming the engorged nub in time with Cassian's thrusts.

Lost in a haze of ecstasy, you could only moan and writhe helplessly as the three men used your willing body for their pleasure. Cassian's relentless hammering struck a primal chord within you, stoking the flames of your need ever higher.

Rhysand's cruel pinch on your breasts sent delicious shocks of pain mingling with pleasure, pushing you closer to the precipice. And Azriel's fingers on your clit, the way he played your body like an instrument nearly had you in tears.

"Yes-yes-YESSSS!" You wailed, feeling your climax barreling towards you like a freight train. Every muscle tensed as you braced for impact, your nails digging into Rhysand's shoulders as he stood before you. "Don't-stop-don't... stop-don'tstop-"

Your scream echoed through the room as Rhysand's thick cock thrust alongside Cassian's inside you, your legs going wider, stretching your tight cunt. The sensation was overwhelming, a delicious kind of agony that left you panting and trembling.

"You're so fucking tight, love," Rhysand groaned, his hips surging in sync with Cassian's. "Taking our cocks like you were made for it." He leaned down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue plundering your mouth ruthlessly.

Beside you, Azriel's hands roamed your body, caressing your sides, anything to heighten your pleasure. His fingers never left your clit, stroking and circling the sensitive bundle of nerves in time with the dual invasion of your cunt.

The triple stimulation proved too much, your orgasm hit with the force of an eruption, your cunt clamping down viciously on the twin invasions as a torrent of fluid gushed out to coat their pistoning cocks and splash onto the bed below.

"Ahh, fuck yes! Look at her squird!" Cassian bellowed, his hips snapping furiously now, chasing his own release. Rhysand followed suit, slamming into you with wild abandon as he chased his peak.

Azriel spread your folds, watching Cassian and Rhysand's cock pound in and out of you, "You think you can take another in this tight cunt?" He taunted, his cock in hand, already nudging against your dripping entrance.

Before you could even catch your breath, Azriel's words were proven true. Rhysand withdrew slightly, leaving Cassian still plunging into your quivering depths. "Don't knock it till you try, darling." He kissed you softly to form a little distraction.

"Get ready, darling," Azriel purred, his eyes blazing with lust as he notched the broad head of his cock at your entrance. With a single smooth motion, he sheathed himself inside you, his thick cock filling you to capacity, not even fully in you, stuck.

"Fuck you're so tight!" Azriel groaned, "I can't even move." He tried pulling out slightly and then pushing back in, head nuzzled in your neck, marked and bitten by Cassian and Rhysand.

Your back arched, a choked cry escaping your lips at the sudden fullness, Cassian held your arms back when you tried to cover your mouth to quiet the moans. "Oh gods, oh fuck... So big!" You gasped, your inner walls clenching reflexively around the new intruder.

Rhysand stroked your clit over to soothe the fullness in your cunt. "Shhh, love, you can take it... Just breath."

Azriel held perfectly still, letting you adjust to the intense stretch as Rhysand's soothing touch calmed your frantic heartbeat, scarred hand storking over the bulge in your abdomen. "Easy, baby," Rhysand cooed, his thumb circling your sensitive clit with gentle pressure. "You've got this. Breathe through it."

Slowly, your body began to relax, with the help of Cassian kissing your back, accepting the unyielding presence of Azriel's cock. It wasn't comfortable, but there was a twisted sort of pleasure in being so thoroughly stuffed, so completely owned by these three dominant males.

With a low groan, Azriel started to move, withdrawing until just the tip remained inside before plunging back into the hilt. The slow, deliberate rhythm allowed you to accommodate his size, your slick walls gradually relaxing to cradle their cocks snugly. "That's it, sweetheart,"

You whined, head pressed in Rhysand's chest, the sensations were overwhelming, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure and pain radiating through your core. Tears streamed down your face as you clung to Rhysand, your body shaking with the effort of taking them all.

"Look at me, love," Rhysand commanded gently, moving inside you gently, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. His eyes were filled with concern and tender affection, a stark contrast to the brutal pace of their coupling. "You're doing so well, taking us all like a champ. Such a good girl for us."

His praise washed over you like a balm, easing the sting of the overstimulation. You focused on his handsome face, losing yourself in the depths of his violet eyes as they continued their relentless assault on your senses.

Rhysand's praise seemed to embolden you, and you met his gaze with a shuddering breath, a faint smile playing on your lips despite the torment of your overfilled, drooling cunt. "Mmm, yeah, look at her go," Cassian growled approvingly.

Azriel's movements grew more confident, his hips picking up speed as he fucked into you with increasing urgency. The trio of cocks stretched and filled you to the limit, each stroke hitting that perfect spot deep inside, sending sparks of ecstasy shooting up your spine.

Rhysand captured your mouth in a passionate kiss, swallowing your moans as his tongue danced with yours. His hand slipped down to join Azriel's, both fingers working in tandem to stimulate your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge once more.

As the first wave of heat flooded your cunt, signaling Cassian's release, filling your cunt up fully. Cassian cried out, pressing deep into her cunt to spill his cum inside you. You felt Rhysand's cock twitch inside you, following close behind. Azriel groaned, pushing you down on the bed as Cassian pulled away, slamming into you over and over again. You gasped and groaned, eyes rolled at the back of your head as Rhysand and Azriel took you together.

"Gods baby," Cassian dropped in the bed beside you, brushing away your sweating hair away as he watched your face contort in pleasure, "You look gorgeous."

"I'm close, darling," Rhysand growled, pushing in fully inside you, groaning at how hard you squeezed the twin cocks inside you. Azriel's cock pulsed deep within you, their hot cum adding to the already overflowing mess of Cassian inside your stretched, convulsing cunt.

The sensation of being so thoroughly marked, so completely claimed by these powerful men, sent you hurtling over the brink once again. Your own orgasm crashed through you like a tidal wave, your vision blurring as your body shook and spasmed in their embrace.

The sheer volume of cum pumped into you was staggering, threatening to overflow from your overstuffed cunt. It leaked out around their cocks, dribbling down your thighs in a sticky trail as you lay there, limp and spent, utterly consumed by the intensity of your multiple orgasms. As the aftershocks slowly subsided, the three men carefully withdrew, their softening cocks glistening with your combined fluids.

You lay there, a boneless heap of satisfaction, as the men admired their handiwork - the mess they'd made of your cunt, the evidence of their possession dripping down your thighs. A contented sigh escaped your lips as you felt their cum still trickling out of you, a constant reminder of what had transpired.

Rhysand gathered you into his arms, cradling you against his chest as if you were the most precious thing in the world. "Such a good girl, taking everything we gave you," He murmured, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "You're ours now, in every way possible."

Cassian and Azriel exchanged a look, their faces alight with male pride and possessiveness. Cassian mounted you again as Azriel leaned back against the headboard, stroking your hair in comfort.

"How do you plan to spend this?" Rhysand hummed as he waved his card in front of your dropping eyes, "I suggest buying some sexy lingerie for us to ogle you in."

A lazy grin spread across your face as you took in the sight of the credit card, the promise of indulging in some decadent shopping sprees hanging tantalizingly in the air. "Hmm, us...?" You questioned aloud, your mind already wandering to the various stores and boutiques you could visit, the sinful delights waiting to be purchased.

"You're ours now..." Cassian whispered as he rubbed their mixed release into your skin, "Rhys could pay you more than this little job of yours."

"Should you decide to join, of course." Rhysand purred with a feline grin.

You felt a thrill run through you at the mention of joining them permanently. No more long hours at the club, dancing from morning to night, no more dealing with difficult clients or micromanaging bosses. Just endless days spent pleasing these three devoted men, indulging in every carnal fantasy under the sun.

{General Taglist- @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria @paleidiot @dee-writes-smut @adalia-jaycee @anarchiii @alwayshave-faith @velarisnightsky444 @minnieoo @mellowmusings @daughterofthemoons-stuff}

{Acotar kinktober Taglist- @romanticatheartt}

{Rhysand Taglist- @yeonalie}

{Cassian Taglist- @yeonalie}

{Azriel Taglist- @fxckmiup @annamariereads16 @saltedcoffeescotch @satorusemepls @fieldofdaisiies}

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pinkroseblooms · 9 months ago

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Boy Toy

Sugar baby!Toji Fushiguro x Sugar mama!f!Reader

Summary: You try to break things off with Toji; needless to say, he does not take it well. wc: 5.1 Warnings and tags: this story contains smut, dirty talk, cursing, rough sex, begging, emotional manipulation, toxic behavior/relationships, some soft!dom/bratty!sub elements, a clingyyandere!toji, possessive behavior, obsessive love, some angst, some fluff, all twisted af.

a/n: I see a lot of Sugar daddy!Toji content and wanted to switch things up a bit with some emotional feels. I also ended up listening to Rick Montgomery's "Boy Toy" on repeat and got ideas. Personally I headcanon that if Toji ever did somehow develop genuine love for another person it wouldn't necessarily help him chill out this time around, he'd just become more unhinged.

His things are in a pile, close to the solid red oak door; they’ve been packed away in brand new luggage carriers and on top is the duffle bag Toji had initially used to carry his stuff in for overnight stays.

If it were anyone else, Toji would have expected the various articles of clothing and personal items that had steadily accumulated inside your spacious home to be thrown out carelessly like trash on your equally spacious lawn. That or burning in the firepit.

If it was anyone else but you, it’s what Toji would have expected, but you weren’t petty that way; even now as you stand before him, arms crossed, gaze almost blank, you radiate a certain measure of dignity. It’s one of those things Toji’s come to admire about you over the past year. It’s effortless, that magnetizing charm you exude; he liked it right away.

“You can keep the bags, sell them if you want.” Your lips form a small but rueful smile. “I sent you a check; call it a severance fee.”

“I thought I didn’t work for you anymore.”

Toji hasn’t considered you a client in months, though really, a mark was more accurate. You were disgustingly wealthy with a cute face and that was all he needed to pounce on the offer to be your bodyguard and occasional companion to the odd social events. Even cleaned up and polished, Toji was able to keep others away in droves, exactly what you were aiming for; you found social obligations tedious and his handsome yet intimidating presence kept everyone around you from lingering too long and insisting on taking up too much of your time and attention. Toji spent the first three or so months in your company essentially as an employee and he was satisfied with the arrangement. It would have been so easy and simple, it should have been, had you not burrowed your way into his head, like a bullet piercing bone.

Dammit he never should have fucked you. Toji had every intention of keeping things professional. He should have kept his distance, he certainly shouldn’t have let his fingers trace your skin after zipping up your dress, and damn you by the way for looking over your shoulder at him with those pretty doe eyes and not telling him off when the second you caught Toji leaning in, almost like he wasn’t realizing he was doing it, to get a whiff of your scent mixed with the perfume he had said was his favorite.

“You don’t have to keep the charade up anymore; it’s insulting at this point. I won’t force you to stay here.”

“You’re dumping me.”

“No. That would mean we were actually dating. Toji…Fushiguro-san, I made a mistake.” You’re almost talking to yourself as you look over Toji’s tensed shoulders to the entrance of your home. “I was fooling myself, thinking you could open your heart to me. But, I knew what I signed up for. So, no, I won’t leave you without any job security until you find your next meal ticket.”

“You’re not-”

“I heard you. Please, it’s not like you to back track on your words, so don’t start on my account.”

Toji was bragging over the phone, giving a verbal middle finger to an asshole of a former employer who demanded Toji’s services for a hit. You overheard him refer to you as a “piggy bank” with a pretty face, among other things. Shortly after ending the call, Toji left to work out (he couldn’t get too lazy, got to keep in shape to protect his favorite girl) and grab some food (on your card) only to return to this. You didn't even give Toji a chance to greet you with the usual flurry of kisses and a bear hug before telling him point blank he was leaving and now.

Even as Toji struggles to wrap his mind around your abrupt change in demeanor, with that practiced look of almost serene impassivity, you look so good to him, wearing an oversized sweatshirt and tiny bike shorts. You always dress down at home, in comfy, baggy things. Toji supposes you packed away all the sweatshirts you’ve collected from him with everything else of his.

“You won’t even let me apologize?” Toji stands stiffly in the foyer, next to the bags; behind him is the front door, still open, as if waiting for him to step outside. “It was all shit talking. I didn’t mean how it sounded.”

“That doesn’t make it better and it’s not just that. You’ve been hot and cold lately. Admit it: you can’t bring yourself to acknowledge me as anything but an obligation.” You exhale slowly, rubbing your temple. “I’ve tried to be understanding; you lost your wife and I realized it would be hard. I knew that, I knew there was a chance that no matter how close we became, I was never going to be enough for you.”

You put up a good front, but Toji can recognize the faint tremble in your voice, see how your jaw locks slightly, as though you’re holding back curses. He’s hurt you.

“Baby, c’mere?” Toji opens his arms with a pleading half smile. “You’ve been stressed lately, that’s all. You’ve been working hard and I haven’t been showing my appreciation properly, is that it?”

“Oh spare me. Listen, I won’t swear revenge or sick henchmen on your trail.” You go on, calm as can be, not budging an inch. “The check won’t bounce and all your things are there; if I missed anything, I’ll send it to you. You’re free to go.”

Toji stares at you in disbelief, arms dropping to his sides. You could have just as easily said "you're dismissed" with that cutting tone of yours.

“Are you fucking serious?”

When you fail to respond, he suddenly turns from you, but not to storm off. Instead, Toji slams the front door closed so hard, it’s a wonder the whole structure didn’t come crashing down. You don’t so much as flinch when Toji strides up to get in your face.

“I want my stuff out of these bags.” he snarls. "Now."

“There’s no need to make a scene. It’s not like you’ll be without a benefactor for long; I bet you could find another meal ticket just walking down my driveway. The whole neighborhood is full of lonely rich women, you can have your pick.”

“You’re not a meal ticket. You know that, you know I didn’t mean it dammit!”

“Enough.” You raise a hand up, your voice clipped. “Fushiguro-san, you have your things, plenty of money, and my own promise to leave you in peace. What more could you possibly want? What exactly is it that you’re holding out for? You don’t expect me to fund you indefinitely, I’m sure.”

"Why are you acting like this? Like you don't even give a shit?"

Toji’s hands clenched into fists; he’s radiating power and murderous intent, but you don’t look swayed or even scared. You know he wouldn’t strike you. Just the idea sickens him; no, it’s not you he’s actually angry with.

“I’m a fucking idiot who wanted to show off, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? Fine. Now we’re gonna talk this out like adults, I’ll put this shit back-"

“No, you will not. I want it gone. I want you gone. Don’t you understand?” You tell him firmly, eyes finally averting to the pile of bags. Toji’s puffed chest deflates at the sadness that finally touches your inflection. “I’m disappointed enough as it is; can’t you do this one thing for my sake? Why are you insisting on dragging this out?”

“I want to put it all back.” Toji blurts out stubbornly, so loud his voice echoes in the high ceilings. “You can’t do this to me, I want to stay.”

“Excuse me?” You snap. “What exactly am I ‘doing to you’?”

“Come on, this is so silly, kicking me out over a misunderstanding.” Toji lowers his voice, a smile coming to his lips as he attempts to charm you once again, hands coming up to gently grasp your shoulders. “You’re breakin’ my heart here. You said it yourself, it’s a been over a year, you know me-”

“Do I?”

“Yes!” Toji steps forward, a strained grin on his lips. “You do. You know me and you know you’re my best girl.”

“Out of all the others?”

“Best and only; I haven’t been with anyone else in months.” Toji rubs his hands over your arms but you only give him a look of derision. “I’m not lying; tell you the truth, ever since we went out to the beach, it’s only been you. Remember that trip?” he grins softly, nuzzles your temple; he knows you want to lean into him, you’re just being stubborn. How adorable. He loves when you get grumpy and need his help relaxing. “I showed you how to make a fire and we fell asleep outside on the hammock. That night was something else...you’ve been the only one ever since. Baby, I swear, there haven't been any other women.”

Toji inches closer, hands shaking slightly where they grip your shoulders; his love bites are still visible, some more faint than others; his arms ache to hold you. You’re so close, so what’s with this wall you’re putting up?

"I want to believe that."

"It's the truth."

Toji isn’t sure how or when it began, but before he knew it, you were calling just to talk and ask how he was doing, if he needed anything. You requested he join you not just for meetings as extra muscle or posing as a date, but on walks and meals, having conversations about the weather to debates about the nature of man to whether toast was better with jelly or jam. You’d take Toji out randomly on shopping trips and end up buying him pretty much anything that caught his eye. Anything Toji wanted, he got, and along with it you increasingly showered him with praise and affection.

When the sex began Toji thought he got you out of his system the first time, only to end up not just repeating these trysts, but staying longer and longer after he fucked your brains out. It was borderline embarrassing, how quickly Toji found himself lulled in by your pillowtalk as you encouraged him to sleep in, promising you’d have breakfast ready for him in the morning. Sometimes, Toji would come over when you weren’t even home with the spare keys you gifted him and promptly burrow himself in your bed until you were due home. The whole room smelled sweet and it was so cozy being wrapped in the down blankets. Toji's eyelids would get heavier as he wallowed in your scented sheets ike a pig rolling in mud until the combined aromas of your perfumes, lotions, and natural scent clung to his nostrils, soothing and oddly familiar; within minutes Toji would be out like a light. After some of the best rest he had ever gotten, Toji would wake up to you stroking his head, petting him like a dog, and asking him what he would like for dinner.

Eventually, inevitably, came the point of no return. During that beach trip Toji told you about his past; he didn’t go into too much detail, mainly that he had loved someone and he was pretty sure lightning only struck once. You didn’t get jealous or angry; you simply kissed his knuckles and put your hand over his, not saying much of anything while Toji spoke. That night on the beach you held his hand and allowed him to reminisce at his own pace into the early hours of the morning, until he was too exhausted to do anything else but hold you and the two of you stayed that way until noon.

That peaceful, almost unreal night, Toji realized you actually gave a shit about him and he didn’t know what to do with that. Regardless, you made it clear you didn’t expect to own his heart and soul. You only promised to take care of him.

“I was being stubborn, you know how I get sometimes. You’re my one and only, baby, can’t we just forget about it?”

“I want you to leave.”

“No.”

“It wasn’t a request.”

“No!”

Toji’s hands cup your cheeks and he winces at the disgust in your eyes; why are you looking at him like that?

“Okay, okay, let me make it up.” Toji’s voice is sweet as pie; he leans in, practically purring in your ear. “Let’s go upstairs. I’ll show you how sorry I am.”

“Get. Off. I knew you were shameless, but this is...”

You might as well have slapped him across the face; Toji’s smile falls as you glare like he’s some repulsive insect, a leech, like the thought of him touching you is making your skin crawl.

Toji’s hands retract from your face, expression blank. “You’re really serious.”

“Don’t give me that kicked puppy look. As if you don’t have women on speed dial to call up. Why don’t you make up with one of your other meal tickets? I’m sure they’ll have forgiven you by now for however you wronged them-”

“I told you there isn’t anyone else. Don’t do this.” Toji mutters, head hanging; his chest throbs, he can feel sweat trickle down his temple. “Don’t make me go.”

It’s doubtful you could forcibly remove Toji from your presence, but that’s beside the point. It doesn’t mean anything if you don’t want him.

“I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted.”

“No, I’m really sorry.” Toji falls to his knees. “Don’t make me go.”

“Hey, wait, what are you…?”

Toji wraps his arms around your thighs, face pressed into your waist; you stiffen but he hangs on tighter, fingers digging into your hips almost painfully.

“Please, don’t make me. I wanna go upstairs, back to our bed. Listen, I,” Toji pries himself away from you just enough so he can look at you with glassy eyes. He’s panicking now, babbling and frantic as you try to pry off his arms. “Stop that! Baby, I got all messed up about getting too attached and I-I didn’t mean anything I said, you gotta believe me.”

“Toji, let go!”

A cold sweat makes Toji’s already tight shirt stick to his tensed back muscles; he feels like he’s being choked. How could you do this to him? All he wants is to stay with you, whether it’s as a bodyguard, a hired companion, a fuck toy, hell, he’ll settle for being your pet if that’s what it takes to get you to take him back.

"You promised you'd take care of me." he mutters, ignoring your vain attempts at freeing yourself from his unyielding hold. "I don't...want it to be anyone else."

Toji won’t let you go. You’ve made him lazy and spoiled with your pampering; he doesn’t have to work if he doesn’t want to, never has to worry about money or food or rent, and he never has to wake up alone anymore. Whether Toji’s angry, tired, bored, or as of late, happy, you’re the first person he thinks of. You give him everything and now you’re trying to cut him off.

"You let me go right now!" You slap at his shoulders, try to pull back his head from where it's pressed into your midsection. "Are you even listening?!"

With a distressed moan, Toji nuzzles your tummy, kisses the skin peeking out from your sweatshirt riding up under his forearms; his rough hands relax their grasp a fraction to caress your hips.

“Let me stay. I won’t answer calls from my old bosses, I’ll quit betting. If I look at another woman, gouge my eyes out. All you have to do is tell me how to fix things.” Toji smiles at you, one he knows makes women weak in the knees. “Don’t be mad at me anymore. I’ll make it up, I swear. I’ll do anything you want.” he promises between kisses and nips to your skin. “Why are we wasting time arguing? You know, I can make you feel so good. My poor baby, spending all day working so damn hard; you deserve better. I'll help take the edge off...you’d like that, wouldn’t you? I can help, just-”

“Toji, stop-”

“Just let me dammit!”

Toji feels you freeze up; you’re looking back at him with wide eyes. His stomach drops like a rock.

“Sorry…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

No. Now you look scared, maybe a bit concerned; is that for him? Toji can feel some warmth creeping into his chest in spite of everything; you’re so good to him. You went to so much trouble for him and he has no idea why.

You can’t do this. You can’t treat him like a thing to be cherished and then take it all away. Toji just wants things to go back to how they were that morning, with you feeding him berries and syrup drenched pieces of fluffy pancakes, giving him teasing kisses in between each bite, asking what his plans were for the day as he lounges in your lap, wondering what he did to deserve to be so content and full and happy. You made him so happy.

“Shit.” Toji sniffs; he can feel them coming but can’t stop the tears leaking from his eyes. “Shit.” he curses again, bowing his head until it’s resting against your tummy again. “You can’t…you can’t leave me. I won’t let you. I won’t let you abandon me. I can’t-”

“Toji, calm down.” Your voice softens considerably. “Look, do you understand why I’m upset with you?”

“I know, I know I fucked up okay?” Toji croaks, still clinging to your legs. “So what the fuck am I supposed to do, huh? I already said I would do anything you want, so just tell me!”

“Sh, come on, breathe. I need you to calm down, alright?” You bend at the waist slightly, to card your fingers through his damp hair. “Okay, I believe you. I do. I believe you, Toji.”

“Are you gonna kick me out still?”

“No, I won’t for the time being. We can sit down and talk about-whoa!”

Toji wastes no time; he has you lifted off the ground in his arms. You quickly wrap your arms around his shoulders as he makes a beeline for the stairs.

“Slow down!” You glance backward in disbelief at how easily he bounds up the carpet steps. “How are you so strong? Don’t drop me, okay?”

But Toji doesn’t answer; he practically bolts, finally reaching the next level, races down the hallway until he’s at the door to your-the bedroom he and you share. Toji’s heavy boot easily kicks the door open, somehow without breaking it off the hinges; in record time you’re on the bed, but shockingly, Toji doesn’t start stripping you down.

“Toji?” You ask tentatively; he seems fairly out of it and you can’t help feel worried. “Toji, what are you doing?”

“Baby, I’m tired. Let’s just go to bed, huh?”

Toji kicks off his boots, gently sits you down in the middle of the mattress among the fluffy pillows and the cheap plush bunny he won for you at a crane machine. Nearly hyperventilating, Toji climbs into bed after you, snatches the sheets and comforter to wrap around the two of you in a soft cocoon. Toji grabs you, cradling you in close as he tries to even out his breathing; for a fleeting second you wonder if this is what stuffed animals felt, if they could become sentient, when children held them tight for comfort. Your attention is brought back by the man rubbing his face into your hair insistently, as if he could tell your mind had briefly wandered.

“Hey, are you-?”

“Don’t make me go.” Toji cuts you off hoarsely. “You love me, right?”

“I do.”

“Say it.”

“I do love you.” You confess sincerely, words muffled slightly due to your face being squished into his chest; his heart is beating a mile and minute. “I was hurt, alright? I want to be good to you, Toji. You have to let me though; you’re not the type to dance around an issue. I just want you to be honest with me and yourself.”

“Yes, yes, I want that. You’re so good to me, baby, thank you.” Toji wraps his legs around yours; if there was a way for you to mold into him he’d make it happen. “Can I move my stuff back in?”

“I…” You hesitate. “Maybe we’re moving too fast.”

“What? No we aren’t. If anything, we're not moving fast enough. Are you still thinking of leaving?” Toji grabs your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him; his eyes look crazed. “You’re not right? You just fucking said you loved me-!”

“Hey, hey.” You put your hands over his gently. “If you really meant what you said before, you have to listen and be good. Can you do that for me?”

Toji nods quickly. You smile for him, finally, and it's a sight for sore eyes. How do you always look so pretty? Toji’s chest throbs and he hugs you, making your ear press against his heart; you can hear it, right? It almost stopped dead when you were glowering at him, Toji still can't believe he was so close to losing this. It's not going to happen again.

“I wanna touch you.”

Toji separates from you as abruptly as he had squeezed you to him; he hovers above you, tugging on the band of your shorts, your panties. He groans pitifully when you still look unsure. Toji hikes your legs up until your ass is pressed to his chest and he’s face to face with your pussy, still covered up. That won’t do: wordlessly, he rips the seams of your shorts apart and pulls your panties to the side. Gently spreading your pussy lips with his fingers, Toji makes sure to look you in the eyes while he lets a long trail of spit trickle from his tongue to your exposed clit.

“See?” he licks a long strip over your slit, salivating at the taste. “I’m drooling for it, just like a dog….heh, I can be your dog. Is that what you want? I’ll fetch and roll over and beg.” he traces his tongue around your swollen clit. “All you gotta do is ask.”

You can barely form words, forget making requests, as Toji slobbers, licking and sucking until you’re dripping wet. Your hands grip the pillows and your head rolls back and forth; you can hardly speak and you’re more squealing than moaning when Toji starts using his fingers to fuck your soaked pussy.

“I’m loyal too. You’re not ever getting rid of me.”

Toji pulls back, kisses and nips the inside of your thigh as he watches his fingers disappear inside you over and over again. He’s smiling down at you, dumbly, in a daze as you let out soft cries with every pump of his wrist, every time his thumb rubs a touch too hard on your clit. He’s the only one who gets to see you like this, composure gone, face flushed, eyes wide, hardly able to do more than moan and whine at his touches. Toji’s smile turns devilish; he purposefully pulls his fingers out and shoves them back in to draw out the squelch sounds from how wet he’s made you. He slowly drags his fingers out all the way and you inhale sharply from the sensation.

“It’s my turn to spoil you.”

Toji lowers your hips down on the sheets and quickly shrugs off his sweatpants and underwear; his cock bobs when it’s released and you’re a bit shocked at how hard he is despite not touching himself.

“Let me fuck you.” Toji rocks his hips, cock over the inside of your thigh. “You still want me, right?”

And if you think he’s going to stop at one round, if you think for a second one time is going to be enough and you somehow still plan to have him out on his ass, maybe you don’t know him. Toji’s fingers dig into your ass; he’s rutting now, throbbing and dripping precum all over you and the bedspread. It brings a twisted grin to his face, like he’s marking his territory. After all, this is where he belongs. If you won’t be persuaded by his touch and words alone, Toji has other ways, he just doesn't want to resort to making you afraid of him.

Because he meant exactly what he said: you're not getting rid of him. If you try to, Toji will just come back. If you run, he'll chase, if you hide, he'll come looking. You've made him into this.

“’M being good, yeah?” Toji lowers his head to your chest to slobber over your nipples next, barely able to speak with his lips sucking and his tongue flicking over them. “I can keep making you feel good, just let me fuck you, let me put in in, let me wreck you-”

“Toji, I want to ride your cock tonight.” You play with his hair and kiss his jaw. “Can I?”

Toji doesn’t hesitate; he throws himself back to lie on your pillows, getting even harder as your scent hits him. He licks his lips in anticipation as you straddle him, stroking him once before lining the tip up with your pussy. Toji’s eyes roll in the back of his head as you slowly sink down, clenching tight; he has to grab at the sheets and force himself to be still, has to keep telling himself this is for you, he’s going to go at your pace and show you how good he can be, obedient and careful. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger and he loves it-

“It almost hurts. You're so hard.” You gasp when you’re fully seated on his cock. “Oh, Toji…are you going to cum soon?”

“Nah, don’t worry about that baby.” Toji grins up at you, face flushed and hands shaking as they cling to the pillowcase. “So good…it feels so fucking good when I’m all the way inside. Go on, use my cock to cum, ride me until your pussy can’t take it.”

You tilt your hips so the tip of Toji’s cock rubs against that spot that makes you see stars and your clit gets rubbed against him with every thrust. At first you have your hands over his chest, but when Toji tries to slide his hands up to grab at your tits, you stop him.

“Huh?”

“No, you don’t get to touch me.” You pant out, gently but firmly holding Toji’’s hands above his head. “Tha-that’s your punishment.”

Toji’s brow furrows; he’s practically pouting. He knows he said "anything", but he wants to touch you so badly. Your tits look good enough to eat, nipples slick and begging to be played with, and your skin feels like silk on his fingers. Toji watches, biting the inside of his cheek, tasting blood when you start bouncing, thighs taut and face contorted in pleasure as you get closer and closer to making a mess on his lap.

“Baby,” Toji groans. “Come on, let me, you’re close right? It’ll feel better.”

“I can cum like this.” You say playfully as you tap his pursed lips with one finger. “You said you'd be good.”

“Just wanna touch you....” Toji’s hands twitch but he doesn’t shake off your grip; he raises his hips and you let out a whine. “Please?"

You stop moving and Toji grits his teeth, staring at you with wide eyes.

“Hey…why did you stop?”

“Sorry,” You smile in genuine delight. “You’re really adorable, you know that?”

“Fuck, keep goin’,” Toji nibbles the tip of your finger before you pull it away. “Come on, keep making my dick wet,”

“So cute.” You cup his face and press a long, loving kiss to his forehead. “I love you, Toji, I really do.”

Toji can’t stop himself; he yanks you down, traps you in his arms and thrusts up.

“Ah!”

“Sorry, ‘m sorry baby. I gotta,” Toji slurs. “Ah fuck it.”

You shriek as Toji flips you over; he has your legs spread and lowers his face down to suck and kiss and bite at your breasts, slamming his cock as deep inside your pussy as he can go. He briefly touches your hair, patting your head as you scream and writhe, smiling down at you so warmly even as his cock splits you open.

“Can’t help it. Need it, need this so fucking bad.”

Toji latches onto your neck, sucking so hard you think he might tear the skin; you cry out and your nails accidentally scratch long, red lines down his back and shoulders. You’re clawing and sobbing, completely overwhelmed underneath him. He’s fucking you like an animal with no regard for pacing or rhythm, holding you down and open for him to slam his cock inside your swollen little pussy. Toji straightens up to grind himself into you just the way he knows you like best, gently rubbing away at your clit, smirking at the way you gush around his cock. You’re so pretty like this, flushed and messy for him.

“Tell me again. Tell me you love me and I’ll make you cum so hard your legs shake.”

“Love you,” You gasp, arms wrapping around Toji’s bulging neck, drawing him in closer; you press kisses over his cheeks, nose, chin. “I love you, I-ah!”

Toji is done being patient; he keeps his thumb pressed down on your clit, rubbing it harshly as he grinds his cock right into that spot, deep and hard; you’re never going to forget how his cock feels. Toji kisses you none too gently, lips prying your mouth open as he shoves his tongue down your throat; he really doesn’t even mean to be rough this time. The desire to devour you is overtaking him.

He’s so close. Your pussy’s soaking, his head’s spinning; just before Toji’s about to cum, you muster up enough energy to hold him back tightly and pet his hair, moaning softly into the kiss, wrapping your legs around his waist. Toji wanted to last longer, but it’s too much. Abruptly, he breaks the kiss and his mouth goes to your jugular; Toji swears he can feel your pulse under his teeth.

“Cum inside me.” You plead, whimpering into his ear. “I want it…want you, Toji, no one else.”

“Shit.” Toji presses his forehead to yours, hiking up your thighs; the bed is creaking and shaking with the force of his thrusts. “I love you so fuckin’ much.”

Toji goes rigid and still as he cums, cock suddenly painfully sensitive; when you smile tiredly and kiss the palm of his hand, actual tears well up in the corners of his eyes. It’s all too much. He didn’t know he could even still feel like this, feel much of anything anymore. You shudder from his hot cum gushing inside you, but Toji doesn’t pull out just yet and you don’t seem in a hurry to move him anyway.

“I think you broke my dick.”

“...pardon me?”

“Pretty sure your pussy drained me dry…fuck.” Toji chuckles tiredly, very slowly pulling himself out, smiling in satisfaction as his cum seeps out of you and onto the sheets. “Did you like that?”

“I loved it.” You tell him softly, just beginning to catch your own breath as Toji uses his shirt to gently wipe you clean between your legs. “Toji?”

“Yeah?” Toji tosses his shirt somewhere and lays over you. “You want me to get you something? I bet you’re real tired after that.”

You pause; you look very serious all of a sudden, all business once more. “Toji, we really should talk about ‘us’. I don’t think we can just return to what we were.”

“What? But you said you loved me.” Toji raises his head to glare at you. “You’re not seeing other men, so put that idea out of your fucking head.”

“That is not what I meant!”

“Okay…what is it then?”

“I was going to say, are you sure this is what you want?” You ask carefully, looking into his eyes. “Is this really what you want?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods?” Toji can’t believe you even have to ask; he frowns and clicks his tongue impatiently. “Fair warning, I’ll find you if you try to leave before I wake up.”

“I don’t doubt it, you’re an excellent tracker.”

“I mean it.” Toji mumbles into the crook of your neck, his heavy arm over your stomach. “You run, I’m hunting you down.”

“I wasn’t planning on making a grand escape; I was thinking something more along the lines of breakfast in bed.” You suggest and smile at the way Toji’s visibly perks up. “Oh, have you had dinner yet?”

“No, I came straight here from the gym.” he lies, eager to have you fuss over him. "I'm really hungry..."

“I’ll order in something; what do you want?”

“Anything, just get lots of it.” Toji squeezes you. “But don’t go yet though. Wanna stay like this a little longer.”

“Whatever you want.”

In minutes, Toji is snoring and curled up in your sheets like a tuckered out puppy; his leg even kicks randomly. When he wakes up to the smell of warm food and your nails gently scratching his scalp, Toji yawns with a groggy smile and opens his mouth for you to feed him, licking crumbs off your fingers greedily. You really do spoil him.

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puzzled-pegasus · 9 months ago

Text

WoF beauty and hygiene related tribe headcanons :)

Obv the beauty standards are different in every tribe and different tribes have different things they do to alter and/or maintain their appearance

Dragons occasionally like to paint their scales or nails using a product they call scale polish, and they make a little design on their scales. They don't normally do all of their scales at once because that's really expensive and looks horrible when it starts to rub off, but I could see a very high class Jewel Hive HiveWing trying to make a statement lol

Dragons also sometimes etch patterns into their horns. Many of them also sand and buff them, keeping them smooth and shiny. Uncommonly, dragons will paint them.

Since SandWings started wearing black eye makeup for sun glare reasons, they've started to experiment with styles. They also paint black patterns on their body scales, or get tattoos.

Dragons, especially IceWings, sometimes wear neckties on special occasions or to their jobs.

Salons are mentioned in the series but not elaborated on. A salon may offer such services as scale buffing, polishing, and painting professionally, as well as horn maintenance, body and ear piercings, etc.

As well as SandWings, SkyWings also sometimes get tattoos. Feathers are a popular tattoo symbol for SkyWings, they also like to get a lot of edgy skulls n stuff

SeaWings are culturally very worried about the health and beauty of their scales and they need them to constantly be smooth and sleek and most importantly, moist. If they spend a lot of time on land their scales dry out and they need Products. They probably use coconut oil. They also would likely emphasize the importance of fat in the diet because of their need to maintain a layer of blubber for underwater

NightWings really like a dragon w glasses I don't know what it is they just go nuts lol

IceWings have been talked about in canon as constantly maintaining the shimmeriness of their scales so yeah

They also occasionally paint their spikies and they also like to wear furs

RainWings just try to be the brightest they can, but sometimes wear flowers and feathers for additional pretty.

#wof #wings of fire #wof headcanons #this idea sounded better in my head but i hope its good lol #sorries

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ratatouillewastakendammit · 4 months ago

Note

HAIII :3 I absolutely loveddd the love quirk fic you wrote for Hawks and I was wondering if you could make part two but it's Hawks that gets hit this time🗣️

Enjoy 🫡

I’d never mind

Pairing: Hawks x Reader

Warnings: Language, slight smut/suggestive, Hawks gets supperrrr clingy

Word Count: 3.5k

Click click click

The keyboard chirped as your fingers glided over its surface, lowering themselves just slightly every so often on a specific key. Almost like magic, the letters appeared on the screen, each one following the other in tandem as they melded together and formed the sentences you desired.

Click click click

You paused, eyes grazing over the screen in contemplation, your thumb slowly finding its way to your pointer finger to fidget in the short spout of reprieve.

Writing emails had never been very interesting, especially since most of them consisted of you attempting to come up with the most creatively professional ways of conveying ‘screw off.’

Although not unusual, the shady paparazzi sending in emails for a much too personal interview always left your boss annoyed. He had actually given you the go ahead to tell them to mind their own business, an opportunity that had unfortunately bothered your well-mannered temperament far too much, so you were left to do the proper tweaking.

After years of schooling, you would have been perfectly content to avoid writing anything longer than a paragraph all together. Regardless, the unusually high pay tethered to the application for the number two’s secretary was much too alluring to pass up.

Working for Hawks had been surprisingly enjoyable, although you did have to get used to the smell of fried chicken wafting through the lobby every afternoon.

And the quiet attraction you held for him gnawing at your conscience.

Without mentioning his level of physical appeal, which was most definitely high, he had been quite friendly and kind to you, a far cry from what you had to endure from previous employers.

Seeing as you had found yourself working predominantly in the customer service industry, though, maybe that wasn’t so impressive.

Each flirtatious remark he shot your way left you craving more, although you were determined not to let it get to your head, especially with all the tabloids going on and on about his playboy lifestyle.

It wasn’t like it made you important.

With a sigh, you pressed the ‘period’ key, sitting back to inspect your work with a thoughtful eye.

After taking a moment, you found yourself fairly satisfied with the contents, clicking send and slouching into your chair with another breath.

A peaceful silence echoed through the agencies entryway, wrapping its arms around your mind and weighing down your eyelids with a gentle pull.

It was nice, tranquil.

The doors burst open.

You stood, fully expecting blood or a broken bone to come along with the gaggle of yelling. There had been a few times where an upcoming pro had entered through the door with battle injuries, and if this was one of those instances, you were sure it wouldn’t be the last.

Today, though, everyone seemed fine.

Hawks, along with the small group of heroes behind him, appeared to be absolutely unharmed.

Hands in his pockets, he walked backwards, words geared towards the long, white eared woman yelling from behind him. “-worries too much.”

“Uh,” you cleared your throat. “Is everything okay?”

Mirko scoffed. “Yep. I just work with an idiot.”

It hadn’t taken long to adjust to the woman’s straightforward attitude, especially since most insults weren’t directed at you. Surprisingly, the hero seemed to have taken a liking to you, something strikingly close to what you may have defined as friendship, so you were content to sit back and watch her quarrel with Hawks instead.

The man in question threw his coworker a vulgar gesture before turning around to face you, freezing as his eyes met yours.

You shuffled your feet, becoming self conscious as his full attention seemed to pierce through you.

“Are you oka-”

Pushing off the balls of his feet, Hawks shot forward, clearing the large expanse of the lobby within seconds.

The action barely registered in your mind before he reached you, hands sliding underneath your back and knees as he pulled your body into his, lifting the two of you in the air.

Instinctively, your arms wrapped around his neck, tightening as your stomach dropped.

It wasn’t until your shoes touched the marble that you loosened your grasp. The one Hawks held on you didn’t seem to waver, however, his biceps pressing you into his chest.

He pulled back enough to face you, sporting an exceedingly charming grin that had your heart thumping. “Fine, just missed you is all.”

You paused.

“Huh?”

Somewhere in the background, Mirko let out a sigh, the sound fuming with a mix of relief and pride. “I fucking called it.”

“I’m sorry?” You called, attempting to withdrawal out of Hawks’ hold, your strength doing barely anything against his.

“Nothing.” The pro lifted a hand to her mouth, concealing what you could’ve sworn was a laugh. “He got hit with a love quirk.”

“He what?”

“I’m fine.” Hawks waved her off, golden irises still locked on you.

“He was helping some civilian out of a car accident and go hit with it,” Mirko replied, itching the back of her elongated ear. “They said he should be fine by tomorrow, and since it hadn’t taken effect yet, we figured it be fine if he brought him here.”

She bent at the waist, inspecting the way you were still attempting to wriggle from his clutches before continuing. “Maybe not.”

“So… what am I supposed to do with him?”

She sighed. “Not sure. Good luck, though, I have to go write some reports.”

And with a small wave from Mirko, you were left alone, regardless of the pleas that followed her down the hall.

Surprisingly, it had taken a mere polite request from you to get Hawks to detach himself. He definitely wasn’t as compliant when you pulled a spare chair next to yours before attempting to finish your work for the day.

He watched you, face contorted in thought for a few moments before a grin fell over his features.

You hadn’t noticed what he was doing until his arms snaked under yours, lifting you up as he slid into your spot and plopped down. Next, he grabbed your waist, pulling you forward into a sitting position, thighs straddling his.

Warmth blossomed in your face as you tried to slide off, the hands pressed firmly on your hips easily denying you the escape.

“Oh, come on, sweetheart. You don’t have to be shy,” he chided, nuzzling his face into your shoulder.

“It’s just, uh…” you craned your neck to the side, trying to take a look at the front door. “Anyone could walk in, ya know?”

“So?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Whoever doesn’t know you’re mine yet is an idiot.”

You remained silent, heart jumping at his words, but continued to wait for any moment that his grip would loosen, giving you a chance to slip away.

Still, you had no doubt he would be quick enough to catch you again.

Not that you would particularly mind.

At some point you gave up, shuffling the chair around and starting your work once more, pretending to ignore the way your body fit into his, or the soft, affectionate way he was playing with a strand of your hair.

The two of you fell into a quiet lull, the sound of your fingers against the keyboard the only noise. Thankfully, the back of your chair was short enough for you to see your computer, making for a surprisingly straightforward setup.

“Do you like someone else?”

His works made you pause, hands hovering above your desk. “What?”

“I’ve liked you for months and you barely give me any attention,” Hawks huffed. “Is it that dumbass pro from the next town over?”

“No, that’s because I-” The words made you pause, words faltering as your mental gears began to turn.

Months.

That doesn’t make any sense.

The quirk made him like you, sure, but was it messing with his memories as well?

You glanced down at him, ignoring the small laugh bubbling up your stomach at how dejected he looked, a far cry from the usually cocky attitude you had come to know and enjoy.

Still, the statement led to far too many things not adding up, the dissonance boggling your train of thought until the rest of your productive workday became impossible.

“I need to go talk to Mirko." You pushed the chair away from your desk, pleasantly surprised when Hawks agreed to let you go.

Regardless, it didn’t take long for him to lace your fingers through yours, guiding the both of you to the first floor elevator.

You entertained him for the ride up, the skin of your palm tingling against his.

It was when you arrived to the doorway of Mirko’s office, however, that you had a problem.

Bringing your pointer and middle finger to your temple, you massaged the skin in exasperation. Hawks had become quite adamant on not leaving your side, despite your exasperating protests. “Can you just wait out here for a few minutes? Please?”

It took a few moments but the look of distress slowly morphed into one of wicked glee, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Alright, fine. But you have to give me something first.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Okay… and what would that be.”

“I think you can guess.” His eyes flicked down to your lips.

Oh shit

You swallowed, almost fearful if you opened your mouth to speak, he would hear your heart beating up through your throat.

It’s just a kiss, right? No harm done?

The words seemed useless amidst the power of your nerves, the best course of action fighting its way to the forefront of your mind.

No way no way no way no way

Lifting up your heels, you took a sharp breath, pressing your lips against his for a mere moment before pulling away, scurrying past the doors to Mirko’s office and shutting them with a slam.

The woman looked up from a stack of paperwork, eyes shining in excitement at the distraction, and probable drama you were bringing. “What can I do for ya?”

There were a few seconds of silence, those in which you used to collect yourself, before you answered. "I was wondering if the civilian, the one with the love-quirk, I mean, told you anything else about it? Besides how Hawks will be better tomorrow and stuff."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Such as?"

"Well," you hesitated, taking a moment to remind yourself that it was alright to tell her, a woman who had become dangerously close to your friend, despite the warnings that came along with close relationships with heroes. "He said that he's liked me for months and that just doesn't make sense, especially if the quirk only really affected him a few hours ago, right?"

“I was just…” you sighed, taking a moment to compose your words before continuing. “Did you ask the quirk user if his memories would be influenced at all? Like would they be different than what’s really true?”

“Nope.” The lack of knowledge left your chest heavy, pulling your face downwards to focus on your wringing hands. “They did say that Hawks would only be affected if he looked at someone he had feelings for, though.”

Your eyes shot up. “Huh?”

Miraculously unbothered, she was now inspecting her nails, currently painted a soft gray and shaped into points that you couldn't imagine would be practical. "Uh-huh."

“And you didn’t think to say anything?”

“I figured it would be best to let him tell you himself, even though I only really had a half guess that he liked you,” she replied in amusement. “And since he technically did tell you, I’m off the hook. Figured I’d let you two weirdos work it out.”

She propped her left foot on the edge of her desk, using the momentum to push her chair backward before standing. With a wave of swagger, she made her way over to you, placing a hand on each of your shoulders before spinning your body around and prompting you towards the exit.

Squirming away didn't seem to make a difference, especially considering that her left bicep seemed to be about the size of a tree trunk.

"Wait-"

"Have fun!"

Opening the door, she pushed you out before locking her office, leaving you to glare at the foggy glass.

Are all heroes this manhandle-y?

An arm snaked around your waist, the sudden contact making you jump. "How'd it go? Figure out what you needed?"

Taking a moment to slow your heart, you turned around to face Hawks. "I, uh... yeah, I did."

Looking up at him now was an oddity you weren't sure you were ready for. You were almost sure he didn't reciprocate your feelings, the actual possibility being something you had pushed away in fear of rejection, the concept becoming foreign to you.

Now, it was hard to believe you weren't dreaming, almost as if the soft smile and longing glance he was giving you would slip through your fingers if you didn't hold on tight enough.

The thoughts infiltrating your mind had you distracted, a soft sting of embarrassment hitting you when you realized you both were dangerously close to one another in the middle of the main office floor.

Regardless, when you glanced around, you were met with a quiet destitution, a stark difference to the usual business the agency saw on a Friday afternoon.

"Um, where is everyone?"

He cocked his head to the side, a small chuckle erupting from his lips as he took your chin between two fingers and pushing it slightly toward the left. At first, you weren't sure why, but the clock sporting a 7:27 fell into your line of sight. "Only the workaholics stay this late and we don't have many of those here."

Guess I was going through emails for longer than I thought "Oh. I suppose I should be going home too, then."

"Can I come?"

You almost laughed at his question, the thought of someone of his social standing, and economic one, asking to come to the small apartment on the edge of the city you called home. "You definitely wouldn't want to."

"Then why don't you come back to my place?"

The request made you pause, drawing a feeling of unease into your system despite the lightheartedness it was delivered with. At this point, you knew he liked you, but the idea of going to his house left you anxious.

As far as you were aware, he was an individual of solitude, not even Mirko, whom you perceived to be a fairly close friend, had been to his abode.

For some odd reason, the idea made you feel icky. You sure as hell wouldn’t want to wake up surprised to someone sleeping next to you in your home, someone who you had unknowingly let in while under the effects of a quirk no less.

Seemingly able to notice your hesitation, Hawks offered you his hand. "Follow me."

He didn't exactly wait for a response, lacing your fingers through his and tugging you towards the elevator with a gentleness you wouldn't have believed to be possible with him.

With each button lit, a floor fell beneath your feet, every ding bringing you closer to what you were sure was his office.

It was quite large, the metal doors opening directly into the fully windowed room. White and gold furniture lay atop the marbled floor, polished to a shine.

The birch desk and swivel chair took of most of the space, but he had some other things laying about, such as the mini-fridge and air fryer to your right.

You were almost positive what went on there.

An ivory couch, just about the same width as a twin sized bed lay along the left wall, its creamy pillows and a lusciously looking soft blanket thrown on the side.

A moment passed before you understood what was happening. "Are you… are you sure that's even big enough for both of us?"

"Don't worry about it, songbird." He shrugged his jacket over his shoulders, grasping your arm and pulling you towards the sofa. With exhausted grace, he fell over it, tugging you with him until your body lay over his.

Fuck

With the outer layer off, the fabric of his shirt was just thin enough to feel the ripple of his muscles between your fingers. The soft heat radiating off his skin was nothing short of addictive, the warmth something you were tempted to bask in forever.

And the thing was, you were sure he would let you, if he asked.

The thought was sweet, but it didn’t take long for your mind to wander, to imagine what else he would do for you; would do to you.

"Are you turned on?"

That sure broke the peaceful daze. "What?"

He sat up, golden irises burning in excitement. "If you wanted to do something, you could've just asked."

"I'm not." The words came out exceedingly more nervous than you anticipated.

"Liar." A wicked grin laced his features. "I can tell, ya know, when you're in the mood."

Heart dropping to your stomach, you blinked up at him. "You... you what?"

"Mhm." Hawks placed a hand on your chest, fingers toying with the top of your shirt. "Your heart speeds up just so. I can hear it.”

“You’re bullshitting me.” Somehow, you suspected he wasn’t. The details of his quirk were unknown to you, but you had heard of the heightened senses tethered to those feathers he possessed.

“Ouch, so vulgar,” he waved off the assumption, using his left hand to draw gentle circles on the skin of your stomach. “But keep telling yourself that. I can be patient.”

Your brain filled in the blanks.

I'll wait until you’re begging for it

You tried desperately to ignore the thought, to quiet your frenzied mind and think of something, anything else. Curiosity, it seemed, was your saving grace, another question blossoming in your mind. "So, if you knew about... ya know, why didn't you say something.”

"Liking someone and being horny for them are two different things, gorgeous." He flashed you another grin, identical to the ones on the tabloid covers that inspired thirst tweets and tumblr stories. "Besides, I’ve heard it isn’t very hard to want me in bed, figured my sweet little receptionist wouldn’t be any different."

You snorted. "You're an idiot."

"But you don't mind, right?"

The question came across as playful, but there were wisps of insecure longing strewn amidst his tone.

"No, I definitely don't."

Your affirmation seemed to meet his standards, the man burying his face in your shoulder and pulling you back down onto the couch. Golden locks tickled your cheek, the soft hum of the air conditioner lulling your eyes to a close.

Minutes passed before the two of you fell asleep, surprising seeing that you were usually quite the night owl. Regardless, the way his wings enfolded around the both of you, blocking out the remnants of the evening sunset and any other distractions made you feel disturbingly safe. You would have been content to die here, his arms wrapped around your torso, shielded from the rest of the world within the scarlet plumage.

Chests moving in tandem, each breath undisturbed and hushed as the hours ticked by.

Upon waking, the first thought that entered your mind was how cold it was. That plush blanket you had been eyeing earlier was wrapped snugly around your form, but the fabric seemed to pale in comparison to what you had enjoyed last night.

Your eyes flickered open, straining under the sun streaking past the windowed walls. It took a moment for them to adjust under the harsh lighting, but you jumped when you glanced around to see two golden irises staring back at you.

Hawk's head was propped up on his arms, each balancing on the side of the couch, a few centimeters away from you. A smirk twitched at the corner of his lip at your reaction. "Good morning."

"What the hell are you doing?" You groaned.

An unbothered shrug tugged his shoulders upward. "You look pretty when you're sleeping."

Sitting up, you rolled your joints, stretching the rest of the tiredness away. "Hasn't anyone ever told you watching people while they sleep is creepy?"

"I've never found anyone else as good looking to feel the need to do so." He tilted his head to the side, flashing a boyish grin. "Besides, I thought you ladies liked that sort of thing. Isn't there a movie about that or something?"

You rolled your eyes, sitting up with a yawn. “So… uh, I’m guessing you’re back to normal then?”

"Yup," he replied, popping the 'p' at the end. “Why? Miss me hanging off your shoulder twenty-four seven?"

Yes.

“Shut up.”

He grinned, seemingly unaffected by your fatigued harshness. “So, are you gonna let me take you out today or what?”

“You still want to?”

“Well obviously,” Amusement laced his tone, a quiet ardor brewing among his features. “Unless you’d just like to skip all that and fuck.”

The thought had heat blooming in your cheeks, “You’re so vulgar.”

“And you love it.”

“Maybe.”

You did.

#mha #bnha #bnha imagines #mha imagines #mha x reader #hawks #hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #keigo x reader #keigo takami #mha hawks #hawks x you #boku no hero acedamia #my hero academia #bnha x reader #keigo x you #not as much of a part 2 ig?? but whatevs

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galaxiasgreen · 5 months ago

Text

🍺🖤This Hell We Create

Sebastian x F!Muggle!Reader with eventual smut [E-Rated, 3.6k words]

"It's hot." "No, and here I thought it was the Arctic." When he makes no move to do anything, you raise your chin, glaring up at him. "No shirt, no service." "I am wearing a shirt." A glint of mischief pierces briefly through his mood. "You know, most women usually ask me to take off my clothes—"

The freckled stranger has been visiting your pub for three months now, drinking to forget the worst times.

You might be the person he needs to remember the best.

[MASTERLIST][NEXT] [read on AO3, read on Wattpad]

TW: swearing, alcoholism, grief, discussions of death.

1: stupid questions

The freckled stranger has been in your pub every day for the last three months.

It never matters whether it's windy, raining, or overbearingly sunny. It never matters whether it's busy, tables crammed, the counter sticky with spills, or if the tax on drink has gone up. It never matters if he's in a good or bad mood. Every day, right as expected, he shoulders inside Ye Olde Hen House, ignores the chorus of greetings from the tipsy regulars, lumbers to the bar and orders a drink. His choice is always the same: cold stout, brought over in as many glasses he can take before he's one whit away from passing out.

You're used to hauling out drunkards. In this part of the old city they trundle in after labour shifts, seeking to forget the day's worries, and wind up on the floor by hour's end. You pity them their weak constitutions and poor decision-making, and the wives who will have to suffer their company upon their brazen return in the middle of the night.

To his credit, the freckled stranger has never been that drunk.

Yet you pity him most of all.

The first time he steps foot inside the pub he immediately draws your eye. Most of the regulars are in their forties, pot-bellied and cheerful like Christmas adverts of St Nick – but the freckled stranger is around your age, five-and-twenty, with youthful skin, a smooth gait and broad, firm shoulders. His hair is a bed of chestnut curls, and the ends shadow his eyes, also a dark brown, like coffee. Stubble grows in patches over his sharp jaw. In the heat of summer he wears only a linen shirt rolled up at the sleeves, and you can see muscle there, and tattoos, though you force yourself to look away before you can determine what they are, burying your curiosity behind professionalism.

When he makes it to the counter, he slaps down a handful of change and sinks onto the barstool, looking at you, gaze burning expectantly but not with disdain.

"Pint of beer, please."

"Two pence."

He pushes all his coins over. You extract two pennies, then fill a glass to the brim. He drinks quietly but greedily, siphoning the beer like it's his first liquid in days, and when he finishes, every drop consumed, the glass clatters to the countertop in a white-knuckled grip, pronouncing the veins in his hands like cobalt forks of lightning.

"Another, please."

You raise an eyebrow. "Knock that back any faster you might see Heaven before you mean to."

"What makes you think I'm going to heaven?" He throws out a few coins – pennies and halfpennies this time. "Pint of beer, please."

He drinks slower and slower each time as the alcohol alleviates his worries. You feel pity, strong and true. Same age or abouts, and people would look down on you for having a peasant's job, but at least you're not wasting your life away like the freckled stranger.

At least of yourself you make a name, whilst the freckled stranger makes a fool.

By his fourth, sometimes fifth drink, he's spread-eagle on the countertop, playing with the pocket change between his fingertips, wide-eyed with fascination.

"Don't fall asleep," you tell him, squeezing a cloth over a soiled plate. "Or I'll kick you out."

"Not sleepy," he slurs, flicking a half-penny into a tailspin. "Am pensive."

"Pensive... right."

"Pensive about pennies." He chuckles to himself. "Your coins are so funny. What's the point of half-pennies and farthings?"

The use of your is unusual, but he's drunk, so what's new. "Why don't you ask King Edward?" you say humorously.

"You say it like he's only next door. Know him, do you?"

"'Course. We're best mates."

"Put me in contact. I'll change— more make sense."

You purse your lips. He's too drunk to respond coherently, though there's still about three fingers left in the glass, which he eventually works up the means to finish, leaving his lips sticky with cream. By this point it's almost closing time and he struggles to get to his feet. You don't help him. Why should you?

"Ta," he hiccoughs roughly in your direction, and staggers out the door, out of view. You wonder where he goes, what he does in the daytime, whether he has family, or friends, or a pretty girl who pities him too.

He's in a mood on a particularly hot June evening, when he walks into the pub with his shirt unbuttoned.

Do not look. Despite being a complete wastrel, the freckled stranger, you hate to admit, is extremely well-built, with a finely-toned chest and brawny arms that could easily win many wrestling matches, and many hearts too. Maybe he already has. The long stripe of flesh between the two front panels tease a wide chest tattoo, inked over his pectorals like fine canvas – what appears to be two runic symbols and the number 706.

You quickly glance away. That's already too much. Just because a man is attractive doesn't mean you should be staring. You compose yourself and make your way over before he reaches the bar.

"Shirt," you say. "Button it up."

He halts, drinking in the sight of you. Up close, all you can smell is his musk, salty like the sea, and just as powerful. His hair is soaked with it too – there are dirt marks there, like he's been in a scrap, but he appears uninjured.

"It's hot."

"No, and here I thought it was the Arctic." When he makes no move to do anything, you raise your chin, glaring up at him. "No shirt, no service."

"I am wearing a shirt." A glint of mischief pierces briefly through his mood. "You know, most women usually ask me to take off my clothes—"

"Do up your shirt," you grind out, "or get out."

The mischief dissipates as his eyes narrow, but he reluctantly buttons up the front. The shirt is ratty and torn at the elbows, but still smells enticingly like him, and he doesn't bother going up all the way, leaving an annoying glimpse of that unusual scrawl of symbols.

"Happy now?"

You go around the counter, ignoring him. "What do you want?"

"What do you think?"

Your eyes narrow. "You know the cost."

A hand slips into his pocket and produces a handful of coins, which he dumps out flippantly. They clatter to a stop in a wide arc.

Impertinent. Your lips flatten. Two can play that game.

"You've been here enough times to know the correct change by now."

He snorts. "Every bloody coin looks the same."

"It has Britannia wielding the trident on one side."

"Who the hell is Britannia?"

You roll your eyes. "Edward is on the other. Know who he is or have you really been living in the Arctic?"

"I remember your best mate." Finally he takes two pennies from the pile. "You could've just said it was the biggest bronze coin and saved yourself the hassle."

You could've also told him it literally says penny on the rim, but who knows if he's able to read – or whether he can right now. "You don't learn if you don't figure it out for yourself." You take them from his proffered hand. "Pint or half-pint?"

"Another stupid question."

"In that case, I won't serve you—"

"Wait." He grunts in annoyance and holds out the pennies again. "One pint of beer, please."

"That's better."

He takes the drink, and your gaze dips to the hand clenching the glass – you've never seen a drunk with such... muscle definition before. His frame is broad, his chest like full barrels of whiskey. He looks like he knows how to handle his body – how to use it to full advantage.

Shame. If only he didn't have the personality of a wet rag.

You serve another few people before he motions for you again, and this time you pour him the drink without saying a word. He exchanges the right money for the glass.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, before you go away again. "I've been rude."

You hesitate, suspicious. "Yes, you have."

"You're just doing your job."

"Yes, I am."

"Can you forgive me?"

That same glint of mischief there, except this one is charming – this one prods a little more insistently at your mental walls. You snort.

"This time."

He takes a sip, leaving a trail of foam on his mouth – he thumbs it away and licks the tip.

Hastily you look away.

"How long have you been working here?" the freckled stranger asks one Tuesday night, when the pub is dead.

You slap your cloth to the countertop, soaked with wood polish. You've talked to him a few times now, but this is the first that's been more than polite greetings, menial chatter, and get out, you're completely sozzled.

"Why?"

"What d'you mean, why?"

"Why d'you want to know?"

He leans back, lips tugging upwards. "I know you but I don't know you, if that makes sense."

"And it should stay that way."

"I just think it would be nice to properly appreciate the woman who serves me drinks every day."

You roll your lips. He's a good talker when he wants to be – when he's sober. "Been working here longer than you've been drinking here, that's for sure."

"A year? Five years? How old are you?"

"Careful."

"I'm twenty-six."

"Didn't ask."

His gaze on you is lowered but penetrating when he braces his chin in a hand. You can't help but feel a little flushed.

"Do you own this fine establishment?"

"I do."

"Not your husband?"

"Not married."

"But you're so old."

"Do you want to get kicked out?"

His smile curls. "Put-off marrying because it will mean handing all your assets to your undeserving husband?"

You pause to glare at him. "So you know the lack of women's rights but you can't figure out which coin is a penny?"

"Women's rights makes sense. The coins don't. Why do all the bronze ones look the same? I'm still waiting on a meeting with Ed about that, by the way."

"Oh, the lack of women's rights makes sense, does it?"

"I said women's rights makes sense. I'm on your side."He shrugs. "Personally, though, I'm more of a supporter of women's wrongs."

A laugh gutters out of you, and with a self-satisfied, feline grin, he drinks.

Something is very wrong when he comes in on his four-month anniversary.

If rain could embody a person, the freckled stranger would be a barely-contained hurricane. He looks the worst you've ever seen – dark crescents beneath red eyes, skin frighteningly wan, burst blood vessels webbing across his cheeks like crinkles on a flattened wad of newspaper. He glowers at anyone who looks at him askance, a clear signal to stay the fuck away.

He slumps bodily onto his normal barstool – and there comes the pity, an avalanche crashing through your body.

"Beer."

You don't move.

He lets out an annoyed sigh. "Pint of beer, please."

You pour it. "What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing."

"Fine. All the same to me." It's not all the same – he looks like the truth might kill him from the inside. "Stout's out. I've got porter."

His eyes flash. "Porter's weak shit."

"That or ale. Take your pick."

"Porter then."

You pour it. It's infamously dark in colour, like his eyes right now, black and molten and unforgiving of a world that has cut him up and left him to die. When he takes the glass he doesn't thank you, just jams the rim between his teeth and gulps ravenously. The slam on the countertop reverberates.

"Another."

"Seem to be missing a thank you and please—"

"Can you just—" He catches himself. "Not today. Just not today."

"Today is a regular ol' Thursday for me," you point out coldly. "If you want some leeway for your absent manners you're going to have to give me a reason."

He mumbles something inaudible.

You lean forwards. "Didn't catch that."

Finally his gaze settles on you, and it's guarded, striking, like steel.

"My twin sister died four months ago today."

When people turn to drink, it's mostly because of one of two things: grief, or loneliness. Now you know the freckled stranger is both. You can see it in the shadows that cling to him, in the trembling of his cracked knuckles, grasping the glass like it's the only thread between him and sweet oblivion.

It doesn't surprise you to hear it, nor see it with your own eyes – but a death of a twin... now that's something you've never heard before. Especially not from someone so young.

"Sorry to hear that." The condolence softens your disdain, just a little. "I can't imagine—"

"No, you can't imagine what it must be like, yes, it's awful, is there anything you can do? Sorrows and prayers, sorrows and prayers!" The laugh is hysterical. "I don't want that. I didn't come here to listen to your pity."

Strange... until this conversation, pity was all you felt.

Now you're just angry.

"Why'd you tell me then?" you shoot back, as your temper builds in your belly. "You blurt your sob story and, what, expect me not to say anything?"

"I came to drink, so that's what I'll damn well do."

"Then shut your cakehole, drink your damn porter and stop fishing for sympathy."

Something cracks along his expression. He splutters. "Like hell I'm fishing—"

"Four months, you said? Yet here you are, sulking. You look like she passed only yesterday. Is this what she would've wanted, for you to drink yourself into stupor every bloody day?"

Genuine anger clouds his face. "You don't know what she would've wanted."

"I know you care for her deeply, so I can guess she cared deeply for you too, and I don't know a single loved one of mine who'd want me to live in this hell you've created for yourself."

He stands to his feet – nearly stumbles. "You can't talk to me— like— you don't—"

"Look at you, too drunk to even stand. You drank before you came here, didn't you? You've been drinking all day, feeling sorry for yourself. If you won't accept my condolences, fine, but you better heed this warning instead: if you ever talk to me like that again, I will have you chucked out and barred not just here, but every damn pub this side of the city, and I won't give a rat's arse about your grief or your shitty coping strategies. Do you understand?"

Something lifts and vanishes from his eyes, like a dark shape that flees arrest in the cover of night. The crack in his façade widens, and maybe it's the reek of him, of old stale drink that wisps out of him in short breaths, but something makes you lean back, give him space to process your words, to process his mistake in crossing you.

You were yelling all that, and the rest of the pub has quietened in response. One of the regulars stands up and makes eye contact with you, but you wave him away. You're all right. The freckled stranger understands now.

The look on his face is not just defeat... but clarity.

"Understood," he rasps out eventually.

"Good." Your heart races – you fight to control it. "Now, I've got other customers waiting, so if you don't mind keeping your voice down?"

But he knocks back the rest in one go and leaves without saying a word.

Maybe you were a little harsh.

You stew on it the next morning as you prepare for a busy day. Wiping the surfaces, preparing the stock, checking the tills, rallying the other staff and replenishing the taps – so much to do and occupy your mind, yet there you are, face creased as you think of the freckled stranger and his grief.

He needed the push, you don't regret that, but you do regret, just slightly, how you delivered it. It could've gone so many ways – he could've complained to the police and tarnished the pub's reputation, could've destroyed furniture, glass, could've hurt you. You might own Ye Olde Hen House but at the end of the day you're a glorified barmaid – a wench, some of the older patrons sometimes use against you derogatorily. Who are you to offer the freckled stranger life advice?

You thought he might not appear that evening, but at eight o'clock, he shoulders through the door and takes the same bar stool, right in front of you, as always.

"Pint of beer," he murmurs, "please."

You pour it for him, making it extra frothy, but say nothing when you slide it over. This time he pays the correct coinage, no fuss. So he's capable of using his brain just as much as you're capable of feeling guilt. His knuckles blanch over the glass, clenching it hard – you find yourself distracted by his hands, solid and engulfing, like he would never yield anything in his grip.

You let out a scathing sigh. "Look, I'm sorry."

He raises a finger and tips the glass back until all the porter has slid down his throat.

"Can't have this talk sober," he says, using his muscled forearm to wipe his mouth messily. "Another. Please."

He sets out the coin, you pour him the drink. He doesn't say a word until the next one goes down, and the next. Eventually he massages the bridge of his nose.

"I'm sorry myself," he forces out, even though the drink softens the consonants. "You shouldn't have to apologise."

"I was harsh."

"You were an arsehole."

"Funnily enough that's why I'm saying sorry."

"No, but... it was nice, your bluntness." He sags on the counter, but his gaze is still locked on you. "Every bloody person I know has been coddling me for months. Sorry about Anne this, I'm sad for you that. The condolences and sadness and hugs and well-wishes has never stopped. Even my best friends Ominis and Garreth keep tiptoeing around me like I'm as fragile as a Remembrall."

"A what?"

"Glass," he amends swiftly. His thumb presses into the curve of his jaw, protruding the strong cords of his neck. "I'm so fed up with it. So fucking fed up."

"You know you're not helping yourself, right?" you say, hoping this doesn't cross a line again. "Coming in here to drink—"

"Every day, I know. I just need it. I need to drink. I need to— to forget what I did—" He shakes his head and grasps his temple fiercely. "Tell me something. Quick."

"What?"

"Anything. Your favourite book, how your parents met, the drama of whoever you're shagging at the moment, I don't care. I don't want to think. Just – give me anything. And another beer. Please."

So you tell him your favourite book – you don't get to read very often, you're lucky you can read at all – and you tell him the less-than-exciting story of how your parents met. You're not 'shagging' anyone at the moment, which you say with a roll of your eyes, so you're relatively drama-free. Your life is utterly mundane, as you like it.

You don't leave him with nothing, however.

"I've been at this pub since I was eighteen, seven years ago. Inherited it off my parents now that they're too old to work."

He must do the maths as he squirrels away another beer.

"You must enjoy it."

"It was either here or the match factory. You must know how that went."

He smiles indulgently. "Expert in women's rights, remember?"

You huff a snort.

"You get how this place works, then."

"I've been helping out here since I was a tot, so yes, I know everything there is to know. Plus it pays well and keeps me mostly protected, and I get to be part of the community and meet new people."

He lets out a breathy chuckle.

"Like me?"

You tip your head.

"Yeah, like you, I suppose." You gently pry the empty glass from his hand. "Another?"

"Stupid question."

But he smiles fondly this time, so you make a face and pour his fourth beer without complaint.

You don't talk much from then. You're busy with other customers and he's probably tired of chatting, though you meet his eye several times during the last hour, like a hook on a thread that catches by accident – or fate. It's those coffee eyes that you're drawn to. They dance like fingers on skin, to a rhythm as constant as ocean waves, cascading down your spine even when you turn away.

By the time the other patrons have left and the gramophone has run out of records to play, all that's between you and closing is the freckled stranger.

"What's your name?"

You glance his way. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why'd you want to know?"

"It's not an interrogation. It's just so you're not the bar girl in my head."

"In that case," you smile sweetly, "it's none of your business."

"You drive a hard deal, bar girl," he says, taking it in his stride. "My name is Sebastian Sallow."

"Didn't ask."

"Trade you? I'll even throw in a middle name as a bonus."

"No thanks." You flick towards the door. "Now, it's nearly one o'clock and my pub is about to close, so you better skedaddle before I toss you out by ear, Sebastian Sallow."

"That's a lot more effective now that you can use it against me." The barstool scrapes – Sebastian Sallow manages to make it to the door without stumbling once. "Will I regret telling you?"

You hold the door and smile indulgently as he steps out.

"Stupid question."

You shut it in his face.

[MASTERLIST][NEXT] [Gorgeous art by FlamboyantJelly][Divider credit]

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x mc #hogwarts legacy fanfic #azkaban seb #muggle reader #thwc #the bar girl #my writing #my stuff #being a good author and promoting my work lol

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ktownshizzle · 1 month ago

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Terms & Conditions | Chapter 5 Teaser

Pairing: Min Yoongi x female reader

Summary: Managing Min Yoongi as one of your encoders during his alternative military service should’ve been simple. He is quiet, punctual—and can apparently type as fast as he can rap! Not to mention the fact that he is easy on the eyes and keeps wanting to help you. You’ve signed an iron-clad NDA, detailing the full terms and conditions of his temporary employment, so you’re supposed to keep things professional, but what happens if neither of you wants to?

Genre: Fluff, eventual smut, co-workers to lovers, office romance, idol!au

Warnings: Purely speculative regarding Yoongi’s alternative military service and how this is really done in SK, I might include scootergate in a future chapter but please know it will be written sensibly imo and with so much love for our Yoongi (I just wanna protecc him at all costs even thru this silly story!), some cursing, boss/employee relationship sorta but there's no power play involved, reader and Yoongi are within the same age range

Chapter Warnings: office foreplay, lil bit of fingering, lil bit of spanking, lil bit of nipple play, may cause delusion and I’m not liable for it don't @ me, literally a teaser so don’t expect to finish lmao

Word count: 1k ish haha

Posting date: October 25, 2024

Notes: Now listen. I know I said no updates for three weeks, but here we are. This may not be the final version so I may still make some changes when the full chapter drops.

This teaser has been unlocked through this ask game. Congrats to @kam9404 and @jadestonedaeho7 for guessing correctly. Manbun Yoongi is my husband (real) and I will have his babies. Thanks also to @bangtannkook for guessing Ginger Yoongi, the only man I will leave Manbun Yoongi for.

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Masterlist

The office has that late afternoon hush, when most people are too buried in their work to notice anything else. It’s just you and Yoongi, tucked away in the back office closet, a space that smells like old paper and dust. You’ve been here before of course—sorting files, you know, actual work—but today, when you enter, you only have one mission: you and Yoongi are about to defile the file closet.

Yoongi stands so close you can feel his breath on your neck, his hands resting just above your hips, pressing you lightly against the Ikea file cabinet you both put together weeks ago.

“Alone at fuckin’ last,” he murmurs.

“C’mere baby,” you whisper, arms slipping around his neck. His gaze darkens, and for a moment, everything else fades.

He leans in, kissing you slow—so slow you think you might combust. You push your tongue against the seam of his lips, a little insistent, because you really can’t take your sweet time in this ancient closet. Honestly, it could be a health hazard.

Yoongi’s fingers start working the buttons of your blouse, one by one. The way his eyes trace your skin makes every hair on your body stand to attention.

But just as his hand slips inside your blouse, the door rattles.

You both freeze. Heart in your goddamn throat.

“Yoongi, you in here?” Hyun-woo’s voice pierces through the thick air. The panic kicks in fast, adrenaline flooding your veins.

Yoongi pulls back, completely calm while adjusting his eyeglasses on the bridge of his nose. How the fuck is he always so calm? He reaches out, smoothing your hair, checking that you've properly buttoned up your blouse, as if he’s done this a hundred times before. The tenderness in the gesture only makes your heart pound harder.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he calls out, voice steady, like he isn’t seconds away from getting caught with his hand halfway inside your fuckin’ blouse. “Just organizing files.”

Hyun-woo opens the door, peering in, eyes narrowing slightly.

You flash a too-bright smile. “Hi, Hyun-woo! Just teaching Yoongi with the filing. Total disaster in here.”

Hyun-woo doesn’t buy it, not completely, but the suspicion in his eyes fades as quickly as it appeared. “Right. Well, don’t take too long. That room always triggers my claustrophobia.” He pulls the neck of his shirt forward.

Yoongi replies, giving him that practiced, unbothered nod. “Just finishing up.”

As the main door to your office clicks shut, you let out a breath you’ve been holding for far too long.

“That was way too close,” you whisper, your pulse still racing.

Yoongi grins, closing the closet door again with a nudge of his foot. “Too close,” he agrees, voice low and teasing, as he leans in to steal a quick kiss. “But I’m not done yet.”

“Wha—” The question barely leaves your mouth before Yoongi’s hands are on your shoulders, turning you smoothly so that you’re facing the file cabinet.

“Remember when we were building this very cabinet?” His voice has dropped even lower now, sending a shiver down your spine.

You blink, thrown by the sudden shift. “Yeah?” Your hands are guided to grip the top corners of the cabinet, and your breath catches. What is he doing?

Yoongi doesn’t give you time to process. His voice slides closer, warm against the back of your neck. “What were you doing then?”

You frown slightly, the question catching you off guard. “Nothing?” you say, but it comes out uncertain, more like a question than an answer.

Without warning, his palm connects with your ass—firm, but playful. You gasp, more out of surprise than pain, and turn your head to find him wearing that lopsided grin that drives you crazy.

“Ddaeng,” he chimes, the word rolling off his tongue with a playful edge. “Try again.”

“I was—I was helping you,” you say, though your voice is wavering.

“Ddaeng,” he says again, the second slap sharper this time. “You did jack shit. C’mon, jagi, use your pretty little brain…”

“Fuck,” you mutter, feeling your face flush. “I was… I was looking at your hands.”

Yoongi nods approvingly, his grin deepening. “And why were you doing that, hmm?”

You hesitate, your heart thumping harder, not from nerves, but from the way he’s pushing you. You know the answer.

“Because…” You swallow the admission heavy on your tongue, deciding to go the other way instead. “You were taking too long to build it.”

SLAP! “Ddaeng,” the third is much more deliciously painful now, your bum soothed by his large palms. “Huh, I think my jagi enjoys being spanked.” He licks the shell of your ear, making your knees buckle, and his voice comes through in a suspiciously calm tone, “lie to me again and I’m going to step out this door and leave you here dripping. I bet you’re already wet.”

“Dry as the sahara.” You jest, even as your lips tremble.

You squirm as he pins you against the cabinet, his hand making quick work of the top button of your linen pants. Things are happening so fast. His hand disappears inside, hooks your panties to the side and dips one finger shallowly at your entrance. God you wanna scream.

You squirm some more, but he’s got you pressed up, not enough to hurt you, but enough to limit your movements.

“Liar,” he chuckles darkly. In one quick motion his hand flies out of your pants and goes into his mouth, tasting you. You can literally smell the heady scent of your arousal filling the tiny space, making you needy for some relief.

“Yoongi,” you whine, trying to push your ass back against his crotch. “Baby, please…”

“Why were you looking at my hands…” he jerks back, not giving you the satisfaction, and asks again. “What do you want me to do with them?”

“I want you to put them inside me.”

“Hmm, what else…” he starts to unbutton your blouse again, not all the way, but so he can yank one of the cups of your bra to tease a nipple.

A flick from his moist finger and you’re already writhing in desperation.

“I want them stuffed in my mouth, and—shit—my pussy. I want them… choking me.”

“Naughty girl,” he tsks, pinching your nipple between his deft fingers, eliciting a moan from you. You feel his warm breath against your ear, teasing you. “Be quiet, baby. I thought we were gonna keep things professional.”

A/N: i better see y’all in the comments hahahaha ~k

Taglist: @glossdebut @kam9404 @mar-lo-pap @nnybtitts08 @granataepfelchen

@perfectiondazesworld @wobblewobble822 @yoongznme @caressesurloceanlove @rinkud

@kayleefriedchicken @jajabro @tinytan-gerine @xxbibin1208 @forevercarpediem227

@yoongicatagenda @someshinesomedont @marnz1990 @iheartshopping @confidentjus

@queenbloody @whydoeyecare @sadroses98 @curlyquennn

@sexytholland @kiki-zb @hiddlestandom @babyarmybabbles

So sorry if I forgot to tag you, please remind me again in the comments or thru an ask! :)

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thepersonperson · 6 months ago

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Sukuna's Loneliness Part 2 (Sukuna is a fraud and it's funny.)

Part 1 Part 3

Before we start...

1) I will be mainly using the TCB scans because of their accessibility.

2) This was written as of JJK 262.

(Click pictures for captions/citations.)

Fraudkuna

You’ve probably heard JJK dudebros call The King of Curses a fraud. Fraudkuna to be exact. I want to say that they’re 100% right, but that doesn’t make Sukuna a bad fighter. Sukuna is a fraud in the way Saul Goodman is a fraud. He’s so good at being fraudulent that it’s his very way of life.

This person puts it succinctly.

And remember Reggie’s Star’s words of wisdom.

The best sorcerers are masters of deception.

Mimicry

Sukuna constantly steals from people—he takes something that isn’t his, and then morphs it into something for his purposes whether it’s bodies, Cursed Techniques (CTs), or strategies. This guy barely has original ideas of his own, using someone else’s work as the base and then building himself on top of that. This is fraud behavior.

Puppeting Megumi

In a 2 for 1 special, Sukuna steals Kenjaku’s original idea to turn body parts into cursed objects and Megumi’s 10 Shadows along with his body.

Naturally he steals the hand signs for Megumi's CT too.

What’s interesting about this copying is that the hand signs are inversed for every Shikigami except Mahoraga.

I think the inversion for Sukuna is an act of disrespect or a form of acknowledgement for a lesser since the hand sign for Mahoraga, who Sukuna respects greatly, is identical to the original form. Sukuna’s Mahoraga is virtually unchanged in design as well. It might be slightly bigger, unlike the other Shikigami whose forms are distorted compared to Megumi’s.

I lean towards distortion being an act of disrespect since Sukuna despises Choso almost as much as Yuji and steals his Piercing Blood while tweaking the hand sign.

They say imitation is the highest form of flattery. And just about everyone has picked up on Sukuna’s Megumi obsession. However, what most don’t realize is that this obsession wasn’t for Megumi the person, but his potential. Mahoraga to be exact.

And though Sukuna adores Mahoraga, his obsession with this Shikigami is in service to someone else…

Professional Gojo Satoru Simp

When I was writing this section, I was greatly surprised. I went back and scanned through everything post-Gojo Death (JJK 236-262) to see how often Sukuna copies Gojo as evidence of fraud. What I found fundamentally changed the direction of this analysis. I will tie it all into how Sukuna is a fraud don't get me wrong, but there's something else at play here...

Post-Gojo's demise, Sukuna thinks of Gojo whether directly from himself or implied by the narrator. 15 TIMES.

Sukuna, for no discernable reason, keeps copying everything Gojo did. It's not a one-off thing like Megumi for a long-term goal, it's a consistent non-stop mimicry after their fight. Here's all of them so far:

1. Using Reverse Cursed Energy (RCE) to heal a burnt-out CT.

2. The hand sign for Unlimited Void. (Aside: Yuta inverts the hand sign as Yujo, but in his case I think it's an act of respect since he doesn't see himself as Gojo's equal.)

3. The hand sign for Red.

4. Shrine based Infinity barrier.

5. Using Blue's gravity to fast travel.

6. Black flashing to restore Cursed Energy (CE) output.

7. The chanting and Honored One Pose at the same time. (And there’s even more layers to the chants themselves check out this post.)

8. Detonating his own technique on himself.

9. Even the way in which he smiles as he beats teenagers up.

By the way this face punch he did to Yugo is a replica Gojo's very first punch he landed on Sukuna.

They say imitation is the highest form of flattery but got dang. This is a bit obsessive to put it lightly.

But it didn’t start here. Sukuna’s Gojo obsession started from this panel. As Sukuna himself confirms.

No. Let’s go back further. This is when it began. Chapter 2 of the manga and Episode 1 of the anime in early June of 2018.

This motherfudger has been planning on how to slaughter Gojo for 200+ chapters. In canon time that is about 6 months.

I want to point out that his promise to kill Gojo first wound up being a lie on multiple fronts (more fraudulent behavior). He admits that it's the wrong brat's body while leaving out the fact that Gojo wasn't his first kill.

Technically Sukuna made Yuji's body his temporarily in Shibuya and killed thousands, but that wasn't deliberate. Sukuna didn't target those civilians specifically, they just got caught up as collateral in his fights with Jogo and Mahoraga. The first person Sukuna went out of his way to kill was Yorozu/Tsumiki (killing Ryu along the way). And he didn't tell Gojo that for a reason.

Much like Gojo, Sukuna is a 2 birds and 1 stone person as in he has multiple reasons for doing a single action. This can make his motives appear dubious or have plausible deniability. Sukuna on the surface went after Yorozu/Tsumiki to subjugate Megumi's soul. But that too was still in service of killing Gojo. Yorozu’s Perfect Sphere, if you remember, acts just like Infinity. And Sukuna trained Mahoraga on it deliberately to get past it.

This also means that retroactively, his Megumi and Mahoraga obsession is a part of his Gojo obsession. He saw his personally trained student’s potential, found out about Mahoraga’s adaptation, and used it specifically to upgrade his CT for the sole purpose of killing Gojo. Sukuna admits to this himself.

Not with his own technique by itself, but with Megumi’s because deep down he realized Gojo’s CT was better than his and he’d lose to him in a fair fight. A fraudulent way to victory.

By the way, when Mahoraga finally adapts to Infinity in a way Sukuna can copy, he's observing the adaptation from the shadows, fully bumming the fight, as Gojo 1v2s Agito and Mahoraga.

What’s so fascinating about this planning is that it was made up on the fly. Sukuna has been obsessing over how to kill Gojo Satoru since their first 10 seconds interaction. (Toji behavior much?) Megumi and Mahoraga being a part of his plans occurred by chance. There’s a certain level of adaptability and skill needed to think on the fly like this. It truly makes Sukuna the Best Fraud in verse.

Lies and Hypocrisy

Simply copying those you admire is base level fraudulent behavior. What makes Sukuna the King of Frauds are the contradictions in his words and actions. This isn’t like Gojo Satoru who is actively hiding his true feelings as a trauma response. Sukuna betrays his own inner logic on convenience. Uraume even notes this as his “capricious nature”.

These are excuses made by a Professional Sukuna Understander who also acknowledges just how much he was into Gojo despite Sukuna actively denying it himself. (He’s just a fish? What kind of fish engages in 6 months of psychological mind games and preparation to catch outside of Moby Dick? Yes I know he’s a whale but the obsessiveness bordering something else is there.)

We'll get back to this eventually. For now we will focus on how Sukuna picks on children.

Hating Ideals and Roles

Sukuna hates ideals. Everyone knows this because he tells Yuji constantly how much he hates them. He spits on Yuji for having ideals and goals. And then turns around and gets hyped when he finally has his own goal to chase. The hypocrisy speaks for itself.

But that’s not the end of it. He also berates Yuji for seeking a role in life, outwardly teasing him when he finds one besides cog. And then gets this excited when Maki “forces” one on him.

He’s not just being a hypocrite here. I think it’s envy. Yuji gets all the things he was denied—a society that does not exclude him for the circumstances of his birth, clear cut goals and purposes alongside others, and fulfilling connections with equals. In the worst case of Sour Grapes I’ve ever seen, he derides the things he believes he’s incapable of having. But the second he gets a taste, he starts salivating.

Hating Love

Sukuna's hatred of ideals and roles in society is but a microcosm of his one true hate—love and connections. Anything soft like bonds makes people weak. Sukuna seeks only strength so he believes the following:

Not only does Sukuna admit here that connections with other people are a weakness, he believes Gojo to be the modern pinnacle of casting them away to obtain strength. In a very roundabout way this is him praising Gojo for being a monster like himself.

And that's where the next contradiction lies. Despite Sukuna preaching the benefits of isolation, he still craves that monster to monster connection. He adores anyone just like him. Monsters who throw all their humanity away just like him. He wants that connection so badly. Look at how often Sukuna gets excited when he thinks others might be like him. (Notice the half-assed Brat is Sukuna calling Yuji out for not committing to monsterhood.)

Uraume of all people should fulfill a bit of that social want Sukuna has, but they put him on a pedestal. They are his servant and he is their master. Even though they can intuit his needs, they can’t fulfill all his emotional ones since their relationship is one with inherent distance between them. That being said, Uraume still understands exactly what Sukuna is looking for—other monsters.

Professional Sukuna Understander once again gives insight onto how this fraud thinks. Sukuna is strong enough to endure solitude. He is fearless and alone by embracing power.

And yet Sukuna cannot abide by his own principles against love.

December 24th is the most romantic day in Japan. This information is in part how we infer Gojo Satoru is in love Geto Suguru time and time again. Kenjaku calls Gojo out for this. Setting a battle date to December 24th is romantic in nature. And Sukuna, of his own volition starts seeing Gojo as the one who will teach him love.

No. That's not right either...

Gojo has never been the one trying to teach Sukuna love. He never heard those words from Yorozu. Not once. It's the other way around. Sukuna is the one trying to teach Gojo about love. Every single time "The one who will teach you about love is..." appears, Sukuna is in the final frame. It's never Gojo. It's always Sukuna.

The loneliness that comes with unrivaled strength. The one who will teach you about love is...Sukuna.

Kashimo takes Sukuna up on the offer. He has Sukuna teach him about love. When Sukuna first starts his speech about love, he speaks of Yorozu as someone who could've taught Gojo of love—as in Gojo was the one who needed teaching. He also spells out for Kashimo that the strong love with their violence. Sukuna himself admits that he loves by slaughtering. All while saying it's worthless in the end, because the only thing that matters to him is strength.

Wanting love and strength is greedy. You can't have both. Sukuna killing Gojo was not only an act of love, but an act of denial in pursuit of self-preservation. Sukuna found someone he could possibly love and he did everything in his power to kill him for the sake of maintaining his strength.

This could be proof he's not a fraud when it comes to hating love. But he still engaged with it and became stronger as a result of it—contradicting the very principles on which he decries love as weakness.

In retrospect, this makes this particular Gojo glazing Sukuna sequence from the infamous JJK 236 ironically hilarious.

Gojo never realized that Sukuna obsessed over him for 6 months nonstop after meeting him for 10 seconds. He never realized that Sukuna's cruelty and cuts were trying to reach him. The most Gojo knew was that Sukuna bagged Mahoraga to kill him. He didn't know about the planning that went into it or the heart behind it all. Gojo has always been iffy about understanding other people's feelings towards him mind you, but...

In the same way Geto did not understand Gojo's love for him until both of them were dead, Gojo did not understand Sukuna's love for him even in death. Because Gojo and Sukuna are the same person.

Umineko no Naku Koro ni (When the Seagulls Cry) is a visual novel about a person who is fundamentally misunderstood by those around them. They desperately want to be loved without being perceived, believing themself to be unworthy due to trauma and immutable characteristics given to them at birth. Instead of telling anyone these feelings directly, they play games akin to torture. They torment the ones they love over and over in hopes they'll see through their actions and understand them.

The Consequences of Fraudulent Behavior

The tragedy of Sukuna is his inability to fully realize his desires. He wants an equal in strength to play with or be killed by, but he crushes anyone with the potential to do that. Gojo was the closest thing Sukuna ever got to realizing that desire. Hence the “You cleared my skies. I shall remember you for as long as I live.” and subsequent "Where's Gojo Satoru?" ad nauseum.

Instead of allowing these potential companions to realize their abilities fully, he kills them and then gets upset about it. There's honestly no difference between him and a dog impulsively tearing his favorite chewtoys to pieces and getting confused by the outcome. (And in the case of Gojo Satoru, that's the dog catching the car but if the dog had spent half a year studying the exact speed and timing down to the stud before ripping the bumper off.)

I genuinely cannot tell if Sukuna is aware of this problem himself. Seriously, I don’t think anyone has told him that if he wants a matured fighter, he needs to let them…mature in the first place. I know he was treated like animal since birth, but he’s smart enough to know better.

He’ll never reach satisfaction like this and it’s as funny as it is pathetic. Even Megumi, the first person he saw with the potential to entertain him, was chewed up with ease. Not just him, but the very reason he took interest—Mahoraga. Instead of having a Shikigami that will always evolve with him and therefore always be a source of everchanging entertainment, he tamed it and added it to his arsenal.

Sure all of that was to kill Gojo via masterclass frauding, but that too cucks him in the long run. Gojo is still the only person in Sukuna’s entire existence to keep up with him and nearly kill him on his own. If Sukuna were smarter, he could’ve developed a lifelong rivalry that fueled both of their growths. But Gojo beats him fair and square, so he binding vow frauds his way out in a way that permanently destroys this source of fun.

And on top of that, his killing of Gojo may have also been Sukuna trying to trick himself into believing he doesn't need anyone to satisfy him ever. He probably believes this from the bottom of his heart. Kashimo calls him out for it. "Then why mince your soul into cursed objects and watch all those years go by?" Why get so excited when Uraume shows up too?

I'm not saying that Sukuna has been secretly craving romantic or sexual love for the past 1,000 years. He has had plenty of opportunities to engage with this kind of love and has chosen not to. (Though I do think Sukuna saw his fight with Gojo as a some warped version of a date at this point.) The kind of love Sukuna seems to crave is one between friends, peers, and equals. What I'm saying is that Gojo shattered his world view in the same way Gojo also shattered Toji's world view. But unlike Toji who was able to admit his way of thinking was flawed, Sukuna is actively in denial.

He denies his own feelings and desires for companionship while running around looking for another Gojo Satoru that will never exist. All that Sukuna is left with are disappointments and ghosts to chase. The only person who keeps getting up stronger every time he knocks them down is Yuji. And he hates Yuji.

I’m not sure what this all means in the grand scheme of this story, but I am fascinated by how this absolute menace sabotages his own chances at happiness because his power and fraudulent behavior has stripped him of his ability to socialize.

#cactus yaps #Gojo’s pussy is haunting the narrative for real.#Gojo has always been a Sukuna fan don’t get me wrong. Sukuna is just a bigger fan of Gojo.#This accidentally turned into a Sukugo manifesto because gathering manga panel citations for the other parts made everything click for me.#All the events in JJK are the result of queer men being driven mad by Jujutsu Society.#We all know about the Gojo-Geto breakup being responsible for this current mess.#But we need to talk just as much about Sukuna blowing up his life by obsessing over a guy.#All while pretending it’s no biggie because he’s in constant denial of his own feelings..#Gojo’s ability to make men absolutely insane over him needs to be studied.#Geto and Toji were obsessive in their own ways towards Gojo…#But it’s the sheer amount of pre-planning and perverse dedication on Sukuna’s end that terrifies me.#Gojo canonically living rent free in Sukuna's head for 6 months after meeting him for 10 seconds is madness. GEGE WHAT DID YOU MEAN BY THIS #It’s Toxic Doomed Yaoi all the way down.#ryomen sukuna #sukugo #gojo satoru #jjk spoilers #jujutsu kaisen #jjk 262

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novalpha · 2 years ago

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𝘝𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝐹𝑖𝑐 𝑅𝑒𝑐𝑠

♡ Fluff || ୨୧ Angst || ★ Smut || ꗃ SMAU || ⌗ Series || ✿ Drabble || ♤ Mature (No smut) || ✹ Humor

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Buy A Boyfriend ♡★⌗ -> @sluttywoozi Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4

Summary: Being a professional boyfriend on SVTHub is great - all Vernon has to do is respond to a few texts, send out a couple selfies, do a stream every now and then, and he makes enough to cover tuition. Things get a little tricky when he finds himself wishing he actually was your boyfriend.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ By hook or by cross ♡୨୧★ -> @kabira

summary — so you punched a guy, and now he wants you to teach him how to fight, because clearly, you know how to do it better. well, fine, you say. as long as he keeps his distance. (spoiler alert: he doesn’t.)

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ divorce child ♡★ -> @lovelyhan

summary: you like to think that your most recent breakup with vernon ended on relatively good terms. there’s only one issue left to sort out: who’s getting custody of the cat you got together?

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Cold hands, Warm hearts ♡ -> @duhnova

synopsis: this holiday season, your daughter decided the best present she could give to you was a new boyfriend, which is why she and her best friend yujin have taken it upon themselves to play matchmaker. their candidate? yujin’s father.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Operation : Hot girl summer ♡✹★ -> @shuaflix

SUMMARY ▸ the summer you started putting more effort into your appearance also happens to be the summer where vernon chwe's piercing gaze leaves you feeling like you're floating high up in the clouds.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Not a virgin ♡✹★ -> @ncteez

Vernon, a friend of your friend spills his spicy sex life and accidentally reveals to an entire group of near-strangers (including you) that he’s had sex one and a half times and that it was sick.

or the one where despite vernon not being a virgin, he is somehow more of a virgin than an actual virgin.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ High and fucked ★ -> @rubyreduji

summary: hansol is nothing to you but your ex-boyfriend's roommate, but you still find yourself alone with him while you get high together

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Risk it all ★ -> @sluttywoozi

Summary: Vernon's got a crush on his tutor, and everything gets harder when you start wearing thigh high socks. Everything.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ The soulmate service ♡✹୨୧ -> @dkfile

the soulmate service has one purpose: to help those who drew the short end of the stick and ended up without a person to live their forever with. after the heart wrenching realization that the boy you’ve loved since you were thirteen isn’t the one meant for you, you put your love life in the hands of vernon chwe — which, now that you think about it, is probably a very bad idea.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Work husband ♡✹ -> @wondernus

synopsis: falling for the young and flirty high school history teacher is inevitable especially when he pays for your groceries and calls himself your work husband

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Trillium ♡★ -> @beahae

Summary: Vernon is flying in to see his girlfriend. Oh shit, that’s… you. Being away from him for the past few months ago makes it hard for it to feel real, especially after two years of what you both convinced yourselves was a purely platonic friendship. Now that he’s here in the flesh, you are determined to make it feel real. And very non-platonic.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Say you love me (i love you) ♡✹ -> @viastro

synopsis: three heavy words. you’re so used to saying this to the one person that’s always been by your side, because you know that he’s your other half; platonically. these words have always held some sort of meaning whenever you say it to vernon, in hopes that maybe one day he’ll say it back to you.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Distraction ♡✹★ -> @minghaoyoudoin

summary: typically, when a person’s house smells like fire, you call the fire department. when your house smells like fire, you know it’s because Vernon is cooking.

[ More Vernon fic recs will be updated ]

Want more Seventeen fic recs? -> Click here

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wriothesleybear · 10 months ago

Text

Masterlist | Rules

My NSFW posts for Wriothesley:

Nap drabble

Favorite body part of yours

No pull out ask (fluff and smut)

Duchess ask (fluff and slight smut)

OnlyFans + Masturbation headcanons

Wrio's thigh appreciation + biter

Piercer!Wrio (headcanons + nsfw)

NSFW Alphabet for Wrio

Watching Wrio masturbate

Wrio with cockdrunk!reader request

Knight!Wriothesley x Princess!reader smut request

Best friend's bachelorette party (smut)

Wrio + chokehold (smut)

Pussydrunk!Wriothesley 1 + 2 + 3

Pussydrunk!Wrio ask (nsfw)

Professional Boxer!Wrio (fluff + a bit smut)

OnlyFans!Wriothesley

Pornstar!Wriothesley

Wriothesley's favorite sex positions

Sub!Wriothesley drabble

Vocal Lover

Helping Wrio relieve his stress (smut)

Wrio giving you a massage (smut)

Baby fever (headcanons + smut)

Wrio w/ chubby s/o request (fluff + nsfw)

Sugar Daddy!Wriothesley

Shower sex

Heated makeout

Prey (smut)

Bet (smut)

Vision use w/ Wrio (smut)

Tongue piercing (nsfw)

Wriothesley NSFW Headcanons

Smut prompt request for Wrio

Wrio's thighs prompt request (smut)

Service Top!Wriothesley by anon 1 + 2

Pussy eating with Wriothesley

NSFW links

Wrio fanart links from anon

Wrio NSFW asmr links

#Safe's Masterlist #MDNI

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beautification-tales · 4 months ago

Text

The Accountant

A Caption Tale

Ruth walked to her office after exiting the elevator. She sat down and took a sip of her coffee. She was excited as a major new client was meeting her today. This could be the break she needed to take her career to the next level. She had been preparing for weeks. The office was quiet except for the occasional sound of the air conditioner kicking in and the distant murmur of colleagues in the hallway.

She straightened out her desk as she readjusted her jacket. She checked her reflection in her desktop computer screen as she fixed her hair. The digital clock read 8:50 AM, and she had ten minutes before the meeting was set to begin. The anticipation grew within her like a tightly coiled spring, ready to unravel at any moment.

The quiet was suddenly pierced by the sound of approaching footsteps. The door to her office swung open, revealing a sharply dressed man with a briefcase in one hand and a coffee cup in the other. "Good morning, Ms. Taylor," he said with a firm handshake and a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm Alex Mercer, from Mercer Industries. I hope I'm not too early."

Ruth's heart skipped a beat. This was it. The moment she had been waiting for. She returned the smile, trying to hide the nerves that danced in her stomach. "Not at all, Mr. Mercer. Please, have a seat." She gestured to the chair across from her desk.

Ruth took a deep breath as her heart continued to beat rapidly. Ruth gathered her thoughts as she couldn’t help but be attracted to the successful businessman. She hoped she could impress him with her presentation.

Alex sat down and placed his briefcase on the floor. He took a sip from his coffee, eyeing the room with a critical gaze. The silence grew thicker as he took in the neatly arranged documents and the diplomas hanging on the wall. He looked back at her, his gaze unreadable. "I've been looking forward to this," he said, setting his cup down. "Your company has quite the reputation, and I have high expectations."

Ruth felt a surge of confidence. She had worked hard to make sure everything was perfect for this moment. She opened her file and began her presentation, her voice steady and professional. The room was filled with the soft glow of the screen, displaying graphs and figures that painted a picture of growth and potential. Alex nodded occasionally, his eyes never leaving the screen.

“Wow you really did your homework Ms. Taylor. I am impressed but I do have one question.” Alex leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk, his eyes now fully focused on her. Ruth smiled at the compliment of her work and responded. “Please call me Ruth and I would be glad to answer your questions.”

“Well I’m primarily here for your other services.” Alex’s voice was measured, hinting at something beyond the usual business dealings. “You see, I have been facing some... challenges with self-control. I’ve heard your firm has a knack for... handling such situations discreetly and effectively. Is that true?”

Ruth squinted as she was confused by Alex’s question. She was an accountant and financial planner not a therapist. “I’m not sure I understand the question Alex do you mean you spend company funds frivolously?” She asked carefully trying not to misconstrue his words.

“No… well I do that too but I’m talking about the special service you perform for top clients.” Alex leaned back in his chair, his gaze unwavering. “The kind that ensures their dirty laundry stays out of the public eye and doesn’t affect their bottom line. I need your help with that, Ruth.”

“I still don’t think I get what you mean…” Ruth replied, feeling a chill creep down her spine. Alex’s smile grew wider, but it no longer looked friendly. He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a folder, tossing it onto the desk. Ruth opened it to find Alex’s prenup. She wasn’t a legal expert but the financial language was very clear.

“That’s right Ruth if I get caught cheating then I lose my company. However, being a handsome, rich, public man makes it extremely hard to resist temptation.” Ruth looked at Alex still confused as to how she could assist with this problem. “I’m sorry Alex… I still don’t understand how I can help you with this…” she replied tentatively.

“Wow, you really don’t know?” Alex leaned back in his chair, a hint of amusement playing on his lips. “Your firm is the perfect cover for releasing tension. So I’m here for a session… my frigid wife is purposefully resisting me. She also hired a lingerie model as my assistant. I need a release.”

“Mr. Mercer I’m sure a good porn video can do the job. I can help you with your financial portfolio. Not that.” The words came out before she could stop them. Alex’s smile didn’t falter, but his eyes turned icy. “So you have no idea that your company is really a brothel for high end businessman?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.

Ruth felt the blood drain from her face. This was not what she signed up for. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She was an accomplished educated woman and this powerful man was treating her like an object to be used. She couldn’t hold back her frustration and anger. “Brothel! How dare you! I understand that you are rich and powerful but I do not need your business you Neanderthal!!! I graduated from Yale you bastard. I’m sure I can find other clients.”

Alex kept his smile during Ruth’s tirade. “Are you finished?” he asked calmly, taking a sip of his coffee. His composure was unshaken. “Yes get out !” she retorted, pointing at the door. Alex stood up, his movements deliberate and unhurried. He took a moment to look her over before speaking again. “Your firm’s reputation precedes it, but I admit I had my doubts but consider them gone now.” He stared at Ruth deeply into her eyes. He then whispered “reformo”

Ruth fell back into her seat as if she was struck by lightning. She felt as if her skin was on fire. “Uhh what … what did you do to me?” she stuttered. She felt as if her skin was stretching all over her body. She grasped the handles to her desk chair as her body stiffened. She arched her back as her breasts exploded from her chest doubling in size. She moaned as they felt so sensitive against her clothes. Alex sat back down enjoying the show.

Ruth continued to moan as her body continued to shift. The room became heavy as magical energy permeated inside. Ruth’s fingernails grew longer and more feminine as they gained a beautiful French manicure. Her lips puffed out and became soft like pillows.She felt her skirt recede until it became a tight pencil skirt. Her hips and ass grew larger making the skirt hug her flesh. Pantyhose covered her smooth legs making them even more irresistible.

The clothes morphed as her shirt lowered to expose her amazing cleavage. She felt her panties become a g string. The sleeves of her jacket shrunk exposing her toned arms. The heels of her stilettos grew longer as her feet became more delicate and comfortable in the arch position. A pearl necklace formed on her neck with a matching bracelet on her wrist.

Her mind became cloudy as math and numbers erased like it was on a whiteboard. Ruth continued to moan as her lips curled into a smile. The wall of diplomas also changed as they became pictures of her with celebrities and businessmen. Ruth began to giggle as she felt her pussy become wet. She was a professional all right. She was a professional bimbo slut for her clients.

“Mmm fuck that felt so good! Ah Mr. Mercer! Pleasure to have you here in the office. How can I serve you?” The words slipped out of Ruth’s lips without thought, her mind now a haze of pleasure and obedience. She pulled her hair into a ponytail. She was no longer the sharp-witted financial planner she had been moments ago. Instead, she was a bimbo, eager to please the man before her.

“Ah well um … Ruth. I needed a release.” Alex leaned back in his chair watching her transformation with a twisted smile. His eyes scanned her new body with hunger. He adjusted himself in his seat feeling his cock press against his slacks.

“Why of course Mr. Mercer! I’m going to make that hard cock spew so much yummy cum. And it’s Roxy sir not Ruth.”

Roxy smiled as she stood up from her chair and kneeled in front of her client. She unbuckled his pants and grasped onto his engorged member. Alex sighed in relief.

“You’re in good hands now sir.”

#beautification #transformation #f2f transformation #breast expansion #bimboification #ass expansion #beauty is power #slutification #personality change #office

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pennyserenade · 11 months ago

Text

the devil hath power

pairing: coriolanus snow x f!reader, coriolanus snow x you, coriolanus snow x nameless reader (no use of y/n) rating: e (explicit, 18+) tags/warnings: talk of sex work (sometimes negatively), sex work, dubious consent, illusions of sex, talk of previous sexual acts, class differences, classism. word count: 4.4k summary: Coriolanus Snow catches up with an old acquaintance. Neither of them really recognizes the other, not in any way that matters, but that's just as well for the scion of the Plinth family fortune. Well, until the meeting takes a turn he hadn't expected it to. a/n: well. fiction is such a slippery slope sometimes. i in no way condone the actions of coriolanus snow, nor am i romanticizing him or what he would come to do later. i think he's a vile person. having said that, i wouldn't consider this a scathing, well-crafted critique of him, either. i wanted to explore this character, to see what made him tick by putting him in a situation where he has to confront issues he merely bumped into in the book/movie. there is a high possibility of a part 2.

part two | part three

She had not asked for Coriolanus’ name because she had not needed to. Tonight, when she had turned to look at him, she knew. His white locks had been made iridescent under the shine of the club lights and he had pressed an orderly hand to the crease of her elbow before leaning in and asking her about her services, but even beneath the cool facade of his professionalism, she knew. Even despite the fact that she hadn’t seen him since they were children, she knew.

Illuminated in a soft hue now, Coriolanus looked sharp. He was not only angular, having retained the features of his youth, but honed in, acutely attuned to the surroundings in which she had taken him. Dressed in his Capital attire, he achieved the effect of looking both handsome and ever-important, even merely standing at the end of her bed, arms bowed behind him. His eyes, seas of piercing blue typically, were darker now, covered by the veil of orange thrown from her bedside lamp. He looked impossibly grown, so much older than even herself, the way adults had when she was a child.

She would describe him as a statuesque beauty, with hair so blond it faired white--like stony marble under a wash of sunlight. He had bow lips, long lashes, but they were paired with a generous nose and hard, serious eyes, masculine twists meant to overrule how pretty he indeed was. He reminded her of the paintings of kings, standing ramrod straight, noble in essence as much as material. Beneath her gaze, he attempted to wear a face of careful neutrality, and it worked—aside from the occasional tic of his jaw.

The backsplash of her bedroom, which had smelled vaguely of mildew for a long time, and which was void of any real material excess, seemed to embarrass them both. She was not used to men like him—men who had a sense of themselves within these four walls. Seduction was easier when men were rendered stupid by their desire, but Coriolanus seemed neither possessed nor particularly interested in his. If he was aroused, the sleek design of his suit did much to conceal it. Given, she had not so much as taken off a single layer of clothing but then, most men were stumbling at the door frame of her apartment building, swelling from the mere anticipation of what she offered. But not Coriolanus. He studied her with a surgeon’s precision, clinical and measured.

His throat bopped and their lapse of silence, which had begun after she had escorted him out of the club, continued on, steady. She’d been with men like him before, many of them. They all had the designs of fortune and wealth written into their fates, had since they were born, but eventually it ran deeper, weaving into their accents, their dress, their stance, their occupations, their beliefs. Rumor had it that Coriolanus Snow had his sights on the presidency. She could see it to be true. Word of mouth had it that he was already what they called a Gamemaker’s assistant, and young one. Brilliant, tenacious, and perfectly angry. It was odd to see him as such, having remembered him as something of a precocious fawn—a white haired boy who sat quietly and absorbed the world through azure eyes when they were children. But then this was life.

If wanted her to she'd praise him for the Games, tell him about the brilliance of his young mind for contriving such a sinister punishment for the little ruts of the Districts. She’d done it before. At first it had felt like selling a part of herself she had not been prepared to auction off, but it came to mean next to nothing, just another act. Like the men that entered her ruined home and laid her down despite the noxious fumes of an expired dream wafting around them, she felt as if this interaction did not count. As if it wasn’t real. They grunted and huffed and used her, but she used them, too. For money. For power. Sometimes even for pleasure—but very rarely.

“Do you want me to undress?” she spoke demurely.

His face contorted with a flash of distaste before it went back to cool indifference. She made a note of this. Vulgarity, directness—it was not his flavor. Maybe he liked Avox silence; men had such proclivities. The rich and powerful typically had wives who could play the part of the beautifully silent, but some of them still wanted it.

He wetted the bottom of his lip. “I remember you.”

“Yes. I studied with you,” she confessed. There was no point in lying.“As children. Not so much when we got older.”

“Right,” he nodded, “I knew you looked familiar.”

He began to inspect the meager contents of her room. Everything felt anachronistic when he stood next to it, ugly and decrepit in comparison to his modern look. He picked up a music box she had been gifted as a child, his lips twitching into a grin as the ballerina began to twirl mechanically. For a moment he watched it, filling the entire room with the melodic sounds of her childhood. It was dream-like and bitter.

Did he remember what she had looked like back then? How the sleek red uniform fit her, or how the shiny Mary Janes on her feet were always polished, or how the ruffles of her white socks were perfect, never out of place? They’d all been so grandiose before the Dark Days, so conceited and pleasantly happy. And now—well. This.

The lid of the box snapped shut. Over his shoulder Coriolanus said, “As I grow older, I’ve begun to find music terribly frivolous. I’m sure you can agree.”

He continued to look, fingers poking around in trays of old jewelry, picking up compacts of makeup and smiling softly as he turned the items in his hands. “It’s like a museum,” he whispered. His eyes searched out for her. Something infinitely softer took hold of him for a moment. “This is what I remember from before…Incredible.” Then, almost instantly, a perceptible change: “Why, if you sell yourself to clients as rich as you do, do you live in squalor? Surely you don’t do what you do for fun?”

The criticism latent in his tone made her defenses rise, but her resignation made her stronger; she sat up, stock straight, and looked at him through a narrowed gaze. This wasn’t the first time a man of his stature had done something like this. It was common at first. They snapped at her like she was the one who had guided them here, but eventually they accepted it for what it was, or they pretended it wasn’t anything at all.

“Why are you here, Coriolanus?” she asked evenly.

The compact was replaced on her table as he turned to face her fully. He smiled and somehow it was cruel because it belonged to him. “Because I want to know,” he answered, “how the other half lives.”

Her lips twisted up. “The other half?”

“Those who didn’t make it out of the Dark Days. Those who have resorted to—“ he swung his hand, motioning to the room, to her “—to this and other acts like it.”

She turned to look out the window. Outside the Capital sparkled in the night; it was a city once again bustling with life, beautiful and ornate, no doubt at the bloom of its productivity. This view made everything seem worth it at times. “And your estimate?” she asked.

“Not finished,” he answered plainly.

Out of the corner of her eye she watched him shrug off his overcoat. He slung it over a wooden chair that sat by the door.

“Sorry there’s no coat check; I’ve seemed to have left it in the past,” she taunted.

He answered her sharpness with a look of haughty disdain.

“Bad customer service,” was the remark that carried over to her — a verbal tsk tsk. There was an impishness to it, too. Her inability to read him from moment to moment — or rather, the fact that she was constantly having to reanalyze him — was confounding. It discontented her.

“Mr. Snow,” she began, but he interfered almost immediately.

“Please — Coriolanus.”

Her eyebrow rose. “Is that what you prefer?”

He read between the lines, smirking. “It’s what you said before —it’s what you prefer.” A laugh, less wicked than the smile but not entirely void of it, sounded through the room. It was so goddamn rich, not velvet and warmth, but cold, calculated. Like the cool of gold on warm skin. “Believe it or not, I’m not here for the sake of illicit pleasure. I can’t say this particular occupation feels me with—“ He waved an absent hand “—joy, for lack of a better word.”

She breathed out through her nose. “Do let us not pretend that you don’t know the word lust. Arousal. Horny. You’re brilliant, aren’t you? Shouldn’t you know about these things?”

His angular jaw ticked once more. “Whores are all so crass, aren’t they? The ignominy of being a body that someone can buy–doesn’t it make you sick?”

She scoffed. “You’re terribly repressed, given that you sought me out.”

He shook his head, as if steadying himself. “I want to be President one day and I’m not so naive as to think what you do isn’t in demand—or that it will ever cease to be. Especially here.” His anger began to ebb as he continued. “People are crass; it’s human nature. We are all brutes, primal, ugly when it comes down to it. You watch the Games–you see” His took up his rigidity once more. “I want to learn about it, what you do. The ins, the outs.”

She stared unblinkingly at him.“That information will cost–a good deal,” she said.

A flicker of a smile twitched at his lips. “Everything does eventually. That is one thing I do admire about your occupation: it is purely transactional. Perhaps if love was half as simple as this, you wouldn’t have a job.”

“Perhaps not. But it isn’t.”

“No,” he shook his head, “It’s certainly not.”

She smoothed out the fabric of her dress. “Why me? There’s many women who do what I do.”

The question incited him. She was beginning to pick up on the patterns of his erratic behavior; there was a flare in his eyes, a perceptible twinkle, and his eyebrows lifted slightly. And his lips—they twitched whenever he felt something strongly. “I watched you for a few weeks and I noticed that you were more clever than the other women. They were tactless, too obvious. But you—you played the game beautifully, like it was an art.” He seemed to smile to himself. “You dress Capital, you talk Capital. If you’re hungry, you don’t make it too obvious. You’ve gone into painstaking detail to ensure that you’re undetectable and people want you more for it.”

“So you picked me because I have manners?”

She wanted to guffaw, to tell him no, but something told her not to. It was not fear as much as the slow drip of anticipation. He hovered near her like a predator getting ready to pounce, a glimmer of unnerving honesty shining in his darkened eyes, and she could see him now for all he was. But she could not understand him. This incited her.

With the unwavering confidence of a young God, he lifted his chin up and said, “I picked you because I think you know better than most what it is to hunger. You remind me of myself in that way.”

Maybe this should’ve repulsed her most of all, to be put in a box so narrow, so utterly against how she viewed herself. But it didn’t; it made her comfortable, not pilant to wishes but more certain of her own. He’d done a fine job nitpicking her up until this point, but now she had the upper hand again. This was her domain, her game.

The smug smile that grew on her lips was a mirror of his own. Without taking her eyes off of his, she rose to her knees on the bed and crawled to the end, the blue velvet of her dress pillowing around her knees, her waist. He was an avid watcher, seemingly holding his breath as her arms reached behind her and unzipped the dress. The fabric slipped down her arms, unveiling a creamy silk bra, so thin as to be transparent.

“It’s new,” he spoke softly, surprised. He seemed to be questioning this. His eyes looked to hers for answers—or maybe they were trying not to look elsewhere, lest they find something they liked.

“My home may be out of fashion but I am not,” she cooed. Charm. He wanted charm. She could see that plainly now. Coriolanus was a man who needed to be in control but he wanted to be seduced. He was just like the rest of them.

Peeling off the rest of the cocktail dress, she bared to him the matching cream bottoms, which were just as sheer as the top. She knew what he could see: her mons pubis, the seductive patch of hair that promised more. And he looked, too. Of course he did. They all said they wouldn’t and then they did and this man, however brilliant he may be, however cool and calculated, was just like the rest of them. This simple fact thrilled her more than anything had in a long while.

To think if life had gone the way it was supposed to, she might’ve married someone like him. Maybe it might have even been him. His family had come from what her mother would’ve referred to as “good stock” and his father Crassus had been a close acquaintance of her father’s. It seemed, however, that Crassus had prepared more adequately for his own children than her father had his. If she hadn’t contended with the fact so long ago, she might’ve hated Coriolanus based on the simple fact that he’d remained intact after the war and she hadn’t.

“I won’t sleep with you for money,” he spoke up. His voice did not quiver but she could sense the weakness settling in.

Her fingers tucked beneath the collar of his dress shirt. “And I won’t sleep with you for free,” she said in response. She leaned close to him, so close she could feel his breath on her face. “And moreover, to answer your question from earlier: there’s no ignominy to being a body for sale because it sells for an awful lot, Coriolanus. I’m wise with my money. I’m headed towards a staggering amount of wealth, and I’ve got good sense. You pegged me right, but you also got me terribly wrong.”

“This place—“ he began but she cut him off.

“Is hollowed out and pathetic, I agree. But one day it won’t be, and when that day comes I won’t take people like you to it.”

Another lip twitch. “How much?”

“For what?” She smoothed out the fabric, running her hands down his arms.

“What you do—your services.”

“It depends.”

He stiffened. “On what?”

“What they ask me to do. How long. Where. Who they are.”

His head hung before he came out with his next sentence. “And for me, what would it cost?”

“What do you want?”

“This is hypothetical,” he reminded her coolly. Placing his hands over hers and moving them, he attempted to sway them back to their uneven dynamic. She could feel the tremble in his hand as he did.

“Hypothetically, what would you want?” she corrected. She sat her hands in her lap.

“Tell me what you do.”

“That’ll cost,” she reminded.

Though he smiled, she could tell his patience with her was wearing. “I’ll pay anything,” he repeated. For effect or perhaps for power he added, “And I do mean anything. If you want to once again take your rightful place amongst the people in the Capital, I’ll see to it.”

She licked her lips and considered him. “For a man who hates people like me, you’re sure forgiving.”

“Like I said, you remind me of myself.” He gripped her chin between his fingers and she gasped from the unexpected coldness of his flesh on hers, but did not flinch. His hold was not rough or commanding, but oddly familiar, almost affectionate.

“When I was younger, there was this girl,” he began, staring down at her lips, “She was just someone in a dark alleyway that my friends had gotten me as a dare. We kissed and kissed, but it felt like nothing. It was just kissing—and that’s what I thought it was for a long time. It wasn’t particularly exciting, nothing to ruin yourself for. Then there was another girl.” His jaw set. “I’m sorry to say I loved this girl, to the point of destruction, to the point of foolishness. After her I understood why a man might seek girls like you out. I find it distasteful, but that’s what we are as a people. Stupid, primal. We want it all and we always have. That’s why the Districts came to be, and why they always will be.”

He let her go. She watched carefully as he stepped back and began his searching pace around her room once more. His movements carried more deliberation, and none of the objects kept his attention this time. She let him speak, let him run himself into whatever dark, myopic hole he was headed towards.

“They like their cocks sucked,” he spoke with open vulgarity, almost as if delighting in the freedom of the word. He was like a school boy who tries out a naughty word for the first time and finds it fits in his youthful mouth too well; he’ll go his whole youth trying not to say it again around the adults. “I imagine rough too, and in impersonal positions, except for those few unexceptional men who have wives that don’t particularly like them or want them. Maybe they don’t even have wives, your men.” He laughed through his nose at the idea, and let himself get carried away in the broken world he made of these men. “Yes. You’ve got insecure men at your door, ones who are ashamed and pleading and they fuck you like you mean everything to them. They hate themselves and what they’ve done. Weak men who can’t cope with their power or their riches. I knew a man like that. He would’ve paid you billions. Would’ve asked you to marry him before you even touched him out of some imagined indenture he had to people like you.”

Coriolanus smiled ruefully, but his voice was hard and bitter. “He was a goddamn fool. Not all are like that, though.”

She caught his eyes in her old vanity. His eyebrows rose in question. She nodded, though not necessarily in agreement with anything he said. She wanted him to continue.

“Sometimes you get men like me. Of course not exactly like me, but they aren’t the weaker of us. They’re strange, exotic, and think that whatever takes hold of them will ruin them one day so they’ve got to go to you. They can’t ask a Capital girl to do what they want. It depends on the upbringing, but I imagine these men have a wide selection of desires, some decidedly repulsive and some so wholesome, so mundane, you find them endearingly, or even irritatingly, prudish. For example, a man who likes to get on his knees and taste you.”

Her mouth opened as if to speak, and he seemed to sense this imperceptible movement, turning around. She looked at him and he, back at her. “It’s not repulsive,” she said softly. “Nothing I let them do to me is ever repulsive. I have my boundaries.”

This seemed to excite him most of all. “Of course. Where’s the line, then?”

“When they ask me to pretend to be a District girl. That one…your tribute—“

“Lucy Gray,” he whispered. If she didn’t know better, she’d think she heard reverence in his voice. Anguish.

“Her. I got a lot of requests for a while.”

She could not tell what went over him in that moment, only that it was overwhelming. He ran his hand through his hair and swallowed hard. “And you never did that?” he asked her, his tone almost accusatory.

She was happy to answer honestly: “Never.”

He nodded, pacing the floor again. He was more manic, as if set off by this information. “Do they tell you secrets, these men?”

“Yes,” she answered simply.

“Do you tell their secrets?”

She shook her head once in answer. He was made of stone, total nothingness. “Not once. It’s why I’m so popular,” she added. He nodded.

“Your favorite clients, what are they like?” This question seemed like a throwaway, one he asked because he couldn’t think straight.

She frowned watching him. “They’re somewhere between the men you call weak and the ones you think are most like you. Some of them are young, about our age. There’s nothing wrong with them, not even what they ask for.”

He continued his pace. “And what do they ask for?”

“For normal sex, sometimes slow, sometimes fast. Sometimes they just want to kiss me. One of my favorites asked me about my life, this room, the hallway, the pictures no one ever seemed to notice. In turn told me about himself. He wanted normal conversation, a man and a woman speaking as if nothing in the world had ever gone wrong. He wanted to pretend, I guess.” She shrugged. She didn't remember his name, only that he was important in an insignificant way—at least that’s how he described it. She never saw him again.

“What else?” Coriolanus began to slow. He chewed at his fingernails and remained vaguely distracted.

“Another came in his pants, tasting of me, like you called it.” He wasn’t one of her favorites, but the vividness of it did what she wanted it to: Coriolanus appeared interested. He titled his head to the side, as if approving of the story. She was putting on a show for him. If he was more transparent she could imagine him asking for more like that. So she gave more. “And another wanted me to rub against him, clothed. He wanted me to sit in his lap and make myself orgasm. And another, he wanted to watch. Some men are like that. He stood where you are now and he touched himself as I spoke. And another touched himself while I touched myself. Though I guess you figure that might be crass.”

His sleek suit did little to conceal what the last image inspired in him. A red tint gathered on his cheeks and he raised his hand. “That’ll be enough.”

She stopped speaking. A seed had been planted, and this victory was hers even if she did nothing with it. How terrible this was for a composed Coriolanus Snow. His hand clutched at the bedpost and he looked at her then with unflinching distaste. And then it came: a wave of astounding want when the band of her thin bra slid down her arm. She reached out for him but he did not go.

“Why?” he whispered.

She looked up at him earnestly. “Why not?” she returned.

Cupping her cheeks in the hollow of his hands, he leaned in and kissed her with a bruising intensity. No affection, no illusion. He kissed much like he did business: straight to the narrow point. It was the shortest minute of her life and yet also the longest. When he released her, he looked as he had before. Strong. Unwaveringly cool. His blue eyes shut her out and his freshly kissed lips did not even so much as twitch. But something had changed.

“That’ll be enough,” he echoed again. He was trying to find strength in his convictions, but not doing very well with it. It was not often he found himself in the position of relenting his control, but where there was hunger, there was a divine need to quelch it, no matter the cost. And he did hunger: for knowledge, for desire, for her. How he despised the pang of it in his chest, no foreign object but an unwelcome visitor.

His finger trailed down her neck to her shoulder. He took the strap of her bra between his hands and drew it down. She let him. The anticipation came back to her. He was like a game, something she would contend with later. It was like her job, like her position in life: things she dealt with one incremental step at the time until what was big felt little. This would not make her a bad person.

She shimmed the fabric beneath her breast and he looked apathetic, almost as if she had driven him past the point of even frustration. But the bulge in his slacks grew. Pride swelled in her chest but she remained stoic, pliant, hoping against hope that he’d give in, do what a thousand men before him had done, if only she could convince him it was his doing. What a better way to learn what the Capital wanted than to experience it for yourself? She wanted to ravage him, to take from him his stubborn distaste, to make him into one of those pathetic, warbling men in his imaginings. One day you’ll be ruined by this.

But sense came to him, bit by bit. He heaved a sigh, as if disappointed by some external factor that had forced his hand, and returned a silky strap to her shoulders. She watched, both surprised and confused. He smiled, but it was void of anything substantial as joy. Maybe there was defeat, but she wasn’t sure.

“I’ll be seeing you,” he said, stepping towards the door and towards his coat on the chair. She watched the muscles of his back ripple beneath his shirt as he slipped the red fabric back on, quietly astounded by the abrupt way he had changed track.

“My money,” the words found her.

He nodded his head, but did not turn. “You’ll get it,” he promised. His voice bounced off the door, hollow and thin.

She eyed him carefully, waiting for him to open the door and escape out of it. She wanted him to. There was a certain cowardice to this action, too, something that she could cope with and he wouldn’t be able to. His hand went to the door, white on gold, and he clinched it. “Next time, the game will be different,” he said.

And with those parting words, he was gone.

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow x reader #tbosas fanfiction #tbosas smut #young coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #ballad of songbirds and snakes #hunger games #tom blyth #tom blyth fanic #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow fanfic #coryo x reader #coryo x you #coryo snow

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 6 months ago

Text

ep 1. but i’ll miss you | myj, jjk

sugar, spice, and everything nice ep 1. but i'll miss you.

pairing(s): yoonji (fem!myg) x reader x jungkook

summary: Sugar? Min Yoonji. Spice? The woman at the park. Everything nice? Jeon Jungkook (he is freaking annoying, though). The accidental chemical X? Well, the woman in the park that Min Yoonji finds incredibly attractive is kinda-dating-definitely-fucking Jeon Jungkook. And he's very obviously in love with her.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; Yoonji is pansexual and still in the closet; internalized homophobia + moments of gay panic; ft. best friend group, OT6 (specifically Kim Seokjin, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung during the bowling hangout), best friend!Jung Hoseok is at military service (sad); f/f/m love triangle? slow burn; there will be smut in the future; non-idol!AU - Yoonji's POV

set in South Korea, Karrot is resale app for clothing, furniture, etc

“What does it taste like?”

That mere smile sent chills down her spine.

“Sweet.”

There was nothing to say to that. She looked away, not wanting to look into those eyes anymore. Didn’t ask for a bite. It wasn’t hers. It seemed to be a homemade dessert of soft silken tofu and heavy ginger syrup. The kind of sugar syrup that was heavier than the tofu. The dark viscous liquid dripped between the cracks of puffy white, seeping into the decadence, similar to the way those scorched eyes seemed to see past any defense Min Yoonji had.

She didn’t know how she got into this position, yet here she was.

Sigh.

Inwardly, she wished her best friend Jung Hoseok was here. He wasn’t because he was busy fulfilling his service of being a Korean man. Hmph. Well, Yoonji could have come alone. She had done it before. She was tough enough. But something about this this had given her a bad feeling, so she had asked if a friend could accompany her to help pick up the light fixture that she had found on Karrot.

That friend being Jeon Jungkook.

Shit, Yoonji really fucked up asking Jeon Jungkook.

“I’m sorry, noona, but something came up! I messed up my knee. I’ll send my friend instead. Don’t worry. You’ll be safe!”

Now she was sitting here on this park bench with the…

Woman.

Really, Yoonji didn’t even know her name. She knew her face, of course. Seen it enough times. Had never once thought to ask her name, mostly since Yoonji only saw her from a distance, said woman now often leaving Jungkook’s side whenever their friend group made time to meet up. Everyone teased him, your girlfriend? And this young, tall, tattooed punk would grin and not say anything. Jungkook was incapable of lying.

Just “keke,” and that was that.

Yoonji didn’t like it.

She was the only girl in her friend group. Probably equated to some internalized discourse if she bothered to go to therapy about it. But, during the time that she had been able to talk to a professional, she had kept the conversation about other people gender-neutral and without names. At the time, her relationships with others were all affected by her disconnected and toxic relationship with herself. She had to fix that first before moving forward. Back then, she had been suffering from the common syndrome of being depressed, stressed, and well-dressed.

Yeah.

Those rough years were not that funny, but at least Yoonji could joke about it now.

Anyway, about this woman.

This woman had actually showed up before her, sitting gracefully at the agreed-upon public park bench that Yoonji would soon encounter some stranger for an industrial-looking black chandelier that may or may not be real. The replies had been in broken Korean. Probably a foreigner using a translator. There was probably nothing to worry about, but the messages had been… weird. Asking about what Yoonji was doing after and such. No, she didn’t like it, and so she had asked Jungkook to accompany her. Dude looked like a tiger, his stripes being his multiple tattoos and facial piercings, but he had the soul of an adorable and vigorous bunny. Wouldn’t hurt anyone. Looked the part just in case anyone got the wrong idea. Boxed as well, for fun. But, instead of Jungkook, Yoonji was sent this woman who came with her snack of sweet tofu, silently and unashamedly eating it with a foldable spoon at the opposite end of the park bench.

Jungkook’s woman?

Who cares.

Was this worse or better than that punk? They dressed similarly, to be honest. The spoken-of woman was wearing all black. A baseball cap with an upside-down smiley face, leather jacket with matte-black metal spikes, charcoal baggy jeans, and a tight crop top with some kind of insane, probably satanic pattern on it. Yoonji snuck a peek. Circles and runes and horned devil heads, glossy print on fabric. Yup, downright hellish.

She abruptly realized she was staring at another woman’s tits and looked away immediately.

Clothed, but still.

This woman also sat like an insane person. Legs wide open compared to Yoonji’s crossed ones. Relaxed stance with a completely straight back. Refined and uncouth at the same time. It made no sense. Her hair curled around her shoulders and chin, loose and messy and intensely sexy.

She adjusted her cap and Yoonji darted her eyes around the park.

Looking for the seller.

Obviously.

Yoonji came dressed as she normally did. Comfortably, in a loose beige hoodie and similarly baggy slate blue jeans with rips in the knees. She wasn’t going to dress up for some musty dude and his lighting fixture, and definitely not for Jeon Jungkook. And not for Jungkook’s, uh…

Girlfriend?

Meh.

There was a strange shiver fluttering in her ribcage. Unease of being underdressed somehow, even though they were simply meeting up for this very specific task. They had not agreed to go anywhere after. Perhaps she would help carry the chandelier. Presumably it was broken down and in its box. Allegedly. Still, the box could be heavy. Yoonji checked her phone. Not time yet. Five more minutes. She had the brief thought that it could be possible for the seller to be late due to transporting a larger package. Awesome. Couldn’t wait for this continued awkward silence with her soft tofu devourer.

She sensed movement by her side.

The woman capped the now empty glass cup with a black plastic lid, foldable spoon inside it, and slipped the whole thing into her small backpack. She shoved it back to her side. Yoonji noticed there was photocard holder attached to it. She couldn’t see the artist since it had flipped around. The other side was black with some grey text on it. There was also a black strap with a grey flame hanging off the photocard holder. Huh. Seemed like she liked idols. At the very least music in general. Yoonji wanted to ask, but that seemed weird to bring up now.

“Jungkook tell you how he busted his knee?”

She almost jumped at the throaty, silken voice. Stopped herself. The other woman cleared her throat, her brows furrowing. It must have been due to the ginger syrup. Even with the slight distance, Yoonji had been able to smell the intense strength of the spice.

“Uh… no, he didn’t.”

The cap bobbed. “Hm. Good.”

Good?

Yoonji frowned. “What do you mean, good?”

Light shrug. “I can help you carry the box back to your place. I gotta head that way to go to the fitness store.”

The fucking one-eighty in topic didn’t throw Yoonji off in the slightest. She said enough by saying nothing. Yoonji watched the way those shaded eyes remained forward, not lifting her shoulders from the bench. Then those dark orbs shifted and suddenly Yoonji was stuck in a penetrating gaze with faint smile, feeling as if she knew something but didn’t really know it.

Those full lips were beautifully shaped.

Anyone would think that.

She bit her lip. Say something. “Why do you need to go to the fitness store?” Yoonji asked, chewing the dead skin off. It was a bad habit. Didn’t usually happen unless she was stressed.

The woman raised her hand. Graceful fingers. Neatly manicured nails. Dark purple with a cobalt blue shimmer. Could be a pianist’s hands, if it wasn’t for the almond-shape of those nails. Yoonji felt her own fingers tuck into the sleeves of her hoodie. She didn’t usually paint them. Kept her nails short due to her job, repairing and selling guitars. Of course, she was no poser and played them too. Sometimes, though, she thought about trying those fancy manicures girls had.

Then she remembered that wasn’t like her at all.

“I have carpal tunnel, so I have wrist compression braces. They’re getting kinda ratty. I wanted to buy some new ones.” She laughed, in a naughtily cheerful, almost bratty way. It was stupid attractive. “The people in the shop probably think I’m lifting weights but, nope. Just feeding my gaming addiction.”

Her eyes flickered up and down, checking out the other woman’s frame. Yoonji couldn’t tell the size of her arms but a vague assessment could be made from those thin pretty wrists and previous knowledge when viewing from afar. “You don’t look like you lift weights.”

“Hey, I’ve got some muscle.”

And much to Yoonji’s surprise, the woman brushed off the right shoulder of her leather jacket and flexed her arm, showing off the small hard lump of a bicep with a laugh. Not much there at all yet undoubtedly defined. She even smacked it with her left hand for sarcastic emphasis, and then pulled her jacket back on smoothly with a smirk.

“Only got that from jackin’ dick though.”

It was pretty funny, but Yoonji wasn’t laughing.

She was slack-jawed at the ease of vulgarity and the shameless confidence oozing out of every pore, suddenly realizing the reason why Jungkook was with this woman. Her rapid heartbeat choked her throat as her brain mentally replayed the swift, seamless movement of black leather falling off that slim shoulder. That accompanying playful smirk. The devious mirth in those scorched eyes.

That aggressive smack that did… something.

At that second, there was a cheery jingle that sounded from the woman’s jeans.

“That’s the time you said the seller is supposed to be here,” she said, fishing out her phone and turning off the alarm. “Where is he?”

Grateful for having an excuse to look away, Yoonji aimlessly swiped at her phone screen to keep her hands busy. “Let me check my messages.” Not getting flustered about it. Definitely not.

She had to face reality.

She’s straight.

At any rate, this woman and Jungkook were undeniably fucking. There was no question about that. Too many times it felt like Jungkook was arriving at the gatherings with a big grin and better mood after being seen with her. That was the face of a man getting laid, for sure. Whatever. Yoonji didn’t care about her friends’ dating or sex lives. It wasn’t her business. Most of the time the girls weren’t even her type.

Most of the time.

Not that she had a type. Or anything.

In this current season of life, she had already come to terms with her sexual orientation. Yoonji had known all her life that she was who she was. There had been no internal struggles about if it was true or not. It was. Still, there was no reason to directly say anything to anyone about it. After all, so far she had only dated and had sex with men. Most of her friends were men too. Status quo could remain since there was no good reason to challenge it. She also wasn’t the type to act on impulse. Not with the delicate line that was this. Yoonji had mentioned it to Hoseok at some point. Being the smart man he was, Hoseok had advised that her sexuality was something she didn’t have to broadcast if she didn’t want to. But, if she needed to do that to feel like herself, then he assured her that their friend group would be accepting of whatever choice she made.

And if not, he would kick them out.

She had felt very appreciative about that. However, the topic of her sexuality never came up in conversation with her friends, so Yoonji had never voiced or alluded to anything about it to the other guys. It wasn’t necessary, so she remained in her comfortable little bubble. She had not yet felt compelled to search for a community or meet specific people. It seemed troublesome. She was content with her current friends and her daily life kept her busy. Besides, there was no one to risk it for.

Certainly not for Jungkook’s…

Um.

Friend-with-benefits.

“What did he say?’

Yoonji jumped as the woman scooted closer, indicating her screen with the open Karrot app. She looked down, the realization setting in.

“The… The profile is deleted?”

The sudden annoyance and rage overpowered any uncomfortable feelings. Listing disappeared. Profile deleted. Even the in-app messages erased because the seller didn’t exist. The fuck? Ugh, that deal was too good to be true. It didn’t even exist. Must have been a cowardly creep that was watching them right now and lost his nerve since Jungkook’s friend was here perched like a bird of prey. Yoonji felt a growl boil in her chest. All this for nothing.

“Aw, man, it was fake? That sucks.”

Holy fuck, she smells good.

Like warm coffee with a sensual depth.

Wait, what?

“Hm, well, I won’t bother you any more then. I’ll go some other time to the fitness store. These things happen,” the woman sighed in disappointment, standing up and stretching, her small backpack and photocard holder swaying. Some guy in a leather jacket. At the moment, Yoonji was too furious to note who the idol was. “Get yourself something nice to eat, Min Yoonji. You’re already out.”

She frowned.

“Hey, I never caught your name.”

Those predator eyes flickered back. “Oh? I figured Jungook would tell you.”

Why is she playing games? “It never came up,” she snapped back.

That fucking smile.

Yoonji hadn’t known it then, but she had already fallen down the rabbit hole at this point.

“Ah, don’t get mad at me. I just thought it was kinda funny Jungkook would keep it from you. Wonder why.” Light shrug with her thumbs slipping into her pockets. “I should teach him to have better manners. My name is…”

“Come hang out with us, noona. It’s okay.”

“No, no, I don’t want to intrude. I would only be in the way.”

“But I’ll miss you.”

A small, coy smile. An elegant hand reached up and tucked a bit of black hair back under the beanie. The smile grew wider as those manicured fingers lingered by an ear adorned with five lobe earrings. A chain connected the first and last in the line. Flashy for someone who didn’t have a flashy personality – at least, not to strangers.

Min Yoonji watched Jeon Jungkook wiggle childishly, tugging on the sleeve of a black denim jacket covered with gothic patches. Skulls and cats and devils. Shit like that. When the woman stood next to Jungkook, they visually suited each other well. The younger man wore a grey beanie, a loose black silk shirt patterned with flourishing white text tucked into baggy, ripped jeans, and a simple black belt. Chunky black boots that matched the chain-covered heeled ones his companion was wearing. Underneath the patch-covered denim jacket, she wore a tight-fitted, dark grey jersey minidress that showed off her attractive and clearly feminine figure.

She knew she shouldn’t, and yet Yoonji still lingered by the other side of the bus stop LED advertisement, eavesdropping on the conversation between Jungkook and his mystery-title friend.

The stop was located right outside the brightly-lit bowling alley that she was supposed to be meeting her friend group at. Uncharacteristically, Yoonji had ended up late due to a train delay. She had skipped the bus ride and had run to her destination. There had also been reports of a minor road accident and Yoonji wasn’t going to wait any more. Besides, she had worn sneakers, jeans, and a white hoodie, along with a black ball cap with some distressed detailing. Nothing fancy.

Or ladylike.

She was meeting a bunch of dudebros anyway.

“You know, most guys would be happy to ditch an annoying girl to hang out with their friends,” the woman was saying, chuckling as Jungkook swung her arm in an arc.

“But you’re not annoying,” he was saying, spinning her around as if they were dancing. “Ah, I don’t even wanna go bowling anymore…”

The woman poked Jungkook on the side of the head, still letting him tug her around. How bothersome was that? But she acted as if he was being totally normal and not causing a bunch of passerby stares. “Don’t be like that. Besides, you have an addiction.”

And then, much to Yoonji’s surprise, Jungkook dropped the woman’s hand and reached out to hug her.

Except his hands were on the woman’s ass.

Yoonji frowned.

Idiot.

“Mhm, I do…”

“Get off me,” the woman laughed, her hands cradling his head. Yoonji got the impression that she didn’t mean it in a cruel way, especially since she was feathering kisses over Jungkook’s cheeks. Or it sounded like that. Her current angle wasn’t great. “If your friends see, they’re gonna tease you.”

“Who cares? They’re just jealous.”

No, I’m not.

She hadn’t said it out loud and yet Yoonji tensed, feeling heat rush over her cheeks.

Never mind.

“Aww, okay, okay, I’ll go now. I can come over tomorrow night, right?”

A wonderful, exasperated laugh. “Don’t you have work? You need to sleep.”

“Sleep is for the weak,” Jungkook huffed, detaching himself and backing up. “I’m gonna come over.”

“And I’m not gonna stop you. See you, silly boy.”

She yanked her body back behind the advertisement as Jungkook grinned and ran off into the bowling alley. He wasn’t the type to walk like a normal human being. But who cared about that? What did Yoonji just witness? Of course, she had seen her friends in relationships before. The handsome and elusive Kim Taehyung had maybe one or two serious relationships. The ever-so-flirty Park Jimin was notorious for dating around. Educated literary fiend Kim Namjoon had a girlfriend for a long while. It had ended badly. Her best friend Jung Hoseok had friends of all genders and various stages of depth in those relationships. Hoseok himself was protective of his heart but not opposed to giving love. As far was Yoonji knew, goofy and well-off Kim Seokjin hadn’t dated yet, however, she wouldn’t be surprised. That worldwide handsome face constantly attracted people.

And Jeon Jungkook?

He had the bad boy look, but never got close to anyone. He flirted, relentlessly, but always backed out when it got serious. All that looked pretty damn serious to Yoonji, though. That was good. Right?

Except.

It was early evening, but Yoonji felt strangely cold.

Shouldn’t I be happy for him? What’s wrong with me?

“Eh?!”

The gasp cut through her thoughts and she jumped back, startled, snapping her head up to…

Oh.

“Min Yoonji?”

Oh, shit.

Her lips were moving. Nothing was coming out. That was very unlike herself, what is wrong with me, her cheeks blaringly warm, and Yoonji finally got her name out, bluntly, instinctively tipping her head in respectful greeting while also feeling the dire need to hide her face.

“Oh, shit, my bad. I freaked you out, huh? Sorry. I didn’t expect to see you on the other side of the bus stop. Did you only just get here? Jungkook already went inside,” the woman was saying, and Yoonji found she couldn’t look her in the face for some reason.

I know. I mean, what?

“Sorry, again. Uh. You’re standing in front of the schedule. Huh. Looks like there’s a delay.”

What the fuck is wrong with me?

“My bad,” Yoonji quickly mumbled, sliding to the side. “You came here with Jungkook again, huh?”

A pause.

Why did I say it like that? Yoonji winced, resisting the urge to slap some common sense into herself. She lifted her head, realizing the way her tone must have sounded, searching for the woman’s expression under the brim of the cap. Something flitted over those features. As soon as it was faintly visible, the unknown emotion was gone, replaced by a faint smile. Wisps of wild hair casted shadows over those cheekbones due to the oncoming sunset. People were rushing past. Conversations, purposes, desires, but suddenly all Yoonji could see was the endless darkness of those scorched eyes framed by smoked lashes.

“Do you like Jungkook romantically, by chance?”

What!

“No!”

The word shot out of her mouth with such force that Yoonji backed up, shocked at her own reaction. The other woman looked taken aback, tilting her head, and there was no way to save this situation, stuck, frozen in this mortifying moment, completely forgetting her previous engagement.

Those plush pink lips looked like they had been kissed all night.

By Jungkook?

A sting dug deep into Yoonji’s heart.

“Oh, I thought…” An awkward laugh, and the woman readjusted the black strap of her bag over her chest. “I got the impression you didn’t like me because I’ve been stopping by with Jungkook lately. My bad. Didn’t mean to ask so bluntly like that. It was on my mind, though. I should get going. Have a good evening, then.”

A gentle wave.

A turn.

And before she knew what she was doing, Yoonji reached out and grabbed that denim sleeve.

“Wait.”

Those scorched eyes full of shadows returned and she found herself breathless at the sight of them.

She had to force herself to speak.

“You should come bowling with us. I’m always the only girl. It would be nice if…”

The goosebumps danced all over her skin. It was like asking someone out of a first date, except this person actually made her nervous and there was going to be a bunch of other people there, including the one was she probably actually dating.

“Would be nice if you hung out with us too, sometimes.”

Yoonji knew she should have added, Jungkook would be happy to see you. She didn’t for some reason. No, she knew the reason, but she bit back those thoughts and let go of that sleeve, not wanting to be too pushy about it. Chewed on her lip, peeling away at dry skin. The other woman seemed to contemplate for a second and shrugged, chuckling.

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll go with you.”

It was at this moment that Yoonji knew.

She fucked up.

Too late now.

It wasn’t that bad.

There was some confusion, yes. Introductions, casual banter. Yoonji noticed that Jungkook seemed both surprised and a little hurt. What for? But then the woman went to stand next to him and whispered in his ear. He seemed much more satisfied after that. Yoonji busied herself with paying and picking out the right size for her bowling shoes. It was dark in here. Minors were no longer allowed since the bar was opening. The alleys were lit up with scattered color. Mood lighting. Jungkook loved that shit.

Yoonji noticed that they didn’t hold hands.

Interesting.

The women paid and was handed the beige and black bowling shoes. Their group was smaller today, just Jimin, Taehyung, Jungkook, and Seokjin. Honestly, Yoonji would have dropped out if Seokjin wasn’t coming with. The other three were younger and they were noisy. Kim Seokjin was loud as fuck too, but he was reasonable and matched Yoonji’s energy when she was feeling drained of the other three. The woman was chatting with Seokjin. They seemed to know each other to some extent. Why does everyone seem to know you but me? That wasn’t a fair assessment. Taehyung and Jimin were jostling Jungkook around, teasing him probably. They didn’t seem as familiar with her.

Hm.

The next notable moment was when they were sitting down and changing shoes. Yoonji glanced over, seeing her unzip her boots. Normal. Shifting line of vision. The hem of that tight dress was hiking up those soft thighs. Well, she hadn’t dressed to go bowling, after all.

Yoonji paused, wondering if she should say something.

Then, all of a sudden, Jungkook’s jean-covered butt was blocking her vision.

Hey!

Clicked her tongue, busying herself with the shoes. He didn’t have to do that. Nothing was happening here. The music was so loud that Yoonji found she couldn’t hear their conversation. Annoying. Until…

“Oh! You have Gengar socks!”

“They’re cute! Is Gengar wearing a pumpkin? Haha, it’s not Halloween though!” Taehyung was laughing.

“Aw, who cares.? You can’t see them anyway,” Jungkook’s lady was chuckling, yanking on the bowling shoes. “It’s Halloween every day in my heart.”

“I didn’t know you liked cute stuff, noona,” Jimin teased. “You seem so tough, but you’re a big softie, huh? Of course, you must be if you like our Jungkookie!”

“Bleh, shush,” came the exasperated sigh and hand wave. “The real tough one is Seokjinnie over here for putting up with you guys.”

Yoonji frowned. The two of them must be somewhat familiar for her to address Seokjin with such familiarity. It came up in conversation later, after a few strikes and pleas with a higher power to give Jimin better aim (no higher power answered but Taehyung did accidentally bowl for Jimin, uh huh). Apparently, Seokjin and Jungkook’s friend had met online through an online team-based game. Yoonji didn’t play video games because she wasn’t good at them. At least, compared to her friends. She was fine with watching though.

“You’re doing great today. You must have eaten something good.”

Yoonji gave Seokjin the side-eye. “Or maybe you’ve gotten worse. Online video games aren’t the same as a physical sport.”

“Hey! It’s all hand-eye coordination. Same, same!”

“At this rate, even Jimin will overtake you.”

Seokjin’s handsome face twisted in indignation. He had the kind of facial features that were model-envy if he wasn’t contorting them to some ridiculous expression. Like right now. “He cheated and made Taehyung bowl for him!”

“I did not!”

“Oh, really?”

She ignored their squabbling, only to freeze up once she realized who was sitting next to her.

“I’m pretty sure I’m doing the worst right now,” came the wry chuckle. “Thankfully, Jungkook shielded my pride and typed in Gengar instead of my name.”

“You’re doing okay,” Yoonji said quietly, glimpsing to her left. She caught the scent of something warm and tangy. Perfume.

O… Oh.

“That’s very nice of you to say, but I’m fifty points behind Jimin.” A sigh. “I think it’s my manicure. I should cut my nails a bit. They’ll grow back.”

Then, much to Yoonji’s surprise, the woman leaned over and unzipped her bag, moving things around.

“W-Wait, really?” Turned and she really was pulling out a small silver nail clipper and a cerulean blue glass nail file. “It’s just a bowling game. It’s not that serious.”

The other woman craned her head and lined up her the nail of her middle finger with the clipper. “Yeah, but I’m not really trying,” she was saying. Snip! “I don’t really like that. if I’m gonna lose, I should at least lose trying my best.”

Yoonji watched in stunned fascination as the woman trimmed down her black cherry manicure on three nails on what seemed to be her dominant hand. Middle finger, ring finger, and thumb. Only those. She left the index and pinky in their pointed almond shape. She held up her hand after, graceful fingers spread out.

O-Oh.

“I… I’m going to the bathroom for a sec.”

“Oh, okay, I’ll–”

But Yoonji didn’t stop to listen, walking away quickly, quickly, into the women’s bathroom and closing the stall door, doing nothing but immediately pinning her back to the door and exhaling hard. Ragged. Rough. What is wrong with me? She knew what was wrong. Yoonji placed her palms over her mouth and forced out another breath. There was flushing and water splashing and currently popular pop music drowning out the more unpleasant noises, but Yoonji was too busy trying to calm down the screaming in her head. This was bad. This was really bad. She had watched enough girl-on-girl porn to know… No. Obviously, Jungkook’s friend was going to clip the nails of her middle and ring finger. Those were the ones to hold the bowling ball. There was nothing more to it.

Just a coincidence.

Don’t be delusional.

This would be much easier if it was a man. Yoonji knew how to be cool and calm when it came to guys. Besides, the male mindset was too airheaded to pick up on subtlety anyway. But, what if a woman could…? She had already caught on to Yoonji acting weird earlier. Even thought she had romantic feelings with Jungkook. Pfft. Absurd. That kid was grown up now, but he was still only a bright-eyed eager bunny. No amount of tattoos or piercings would ever turn Jeon Jungkook from prey to predator, although he could look the part with enough working out. Jungkook was certainly her type when it came to looks but as far as personality, Yoonji was sure she would be worn out by Jungkook.

Wait.

Yoonji froze.

What?

She pushed her hair back. Another tick that happened due to her nervousness. Ha. Haha. I did not just think that about Jeon Jungkook. No. No, no, she was simply confused. That was all. Confused and working though who-the-fuck-knows-what. No. This had to stop. You have to compartmentalize this shit. This couldn’t keep happening. Stop acting weird. Pull yourself together. When it came down to it, Yoonji had to step out of this stall and chill the fuck out.

She couldn’t let it show.

Nobody is stopping you from getting off to her later.

Yoonji told her brain to shut up and left the stall.

Once their bowling game was over, the adults moved on to bigger and better things.

“You want the Gengar, right?”

“I don’t want anything. I don’t trust these things. Don’t waste your money.”

“Don’t be like that, noona. She totally wants the Gengar,” Taehyung talked over her, shoving in tokens so Jungkook could attempt the claw machine. Jimin stood at the far corner of the machine and pointed animatedly, calling to move a little more left, no, right, no, back more. Seokjin snorted at him to shut up. Yoonji watched as Jungkook failed, his broad shoulders dropping heavily as the round bright purple plush slid out of the metal claw and plopped back into the mound of colorful plushies, face-first onto its teasing red eyes and big grin.

“One more time,” Jungkook insisted.

“You don’t–”

She watched the younger man turn to the woman and pull a big pout. There was an exchanged glance between them. A muscle in Yoonji’s face twitched. This had been Jungkook’s third time trying to get something from the claw machine. Their group was crammed in a corner of the arcade in the bowling alley, a couple drinks in, squabbling for a damn Gengar plush for their newcomer. It wasn’t the situation that was bothering Yoonji, but rather how adamant Jungkook was that it had to be him winning it.

This guy is so freaking annoying.

Yoonji reached between their bodies and jammed her own tokens in.

“Go ahead, then.”

She shoved Jungkook’s shoulder and broke the shared gaze between him and his lady friend. Jungkook snapped his head to the machine, startled as the lights flashed and the red timer came on, letting out a surprised yelp as he fought to move the clunky claw back to the faceplanted Gengar.

He had never tried so hard before for his other friends.

Hmph.

“Oh, shit! YAH!”

“LET’S GOOOOOOO!”

“Taehyung, stop yelling!”

“Well, shit. You did it.”

“I told you I would,” Jungkook roared triumphantly, yanking out the purple Pokémon plush and holding it up like a prestigious award. “Da-dang!”

“Fourth time’s a charm?” she laughed as Jungkook grabbed her hands and spun them palm up to delicately rest the incredibly round Gengar plush on them. Yoonji noticed he didn’t linger and pulled away quickly. “Thank you, then, haha.”

Seokjin, Jimin, and Taehyung were acting like Jungkook had just won a damn rice cooker on a prestigious game show, crowding around him and giving him high fives. Yoonji shook her head, glad it was over, and felt a hand on her shoulder. Froze as she looked up to scorched eyes twinkling brightly in neon lights of the arcade machines.

“Here. Sorry you had to use your tokens for me.”

Yoonji tried to push back to the coins suddenly placed in her palm. “No, it’s fine, I don’t–”

“I wouldn’t want to owe you.”

“I–”

Then she froze, realizing her hands were clasped around the other woman’s right. Holding the Gengar plush in her left, tucked underneath her breasts. The naughtily cheerful grin was aimed straight at Yoonji, silently laughing as if it had seen and knew everything. Before she could react, a handful of coins was dumped in her palm and her fingers were closed around it, pinned by a dark cherry manicure. Middle, ring, and thumb trimmed short.

Her heartbeat shot up to her throat.

“Yoonji-noona, come play this one with me!”

Her head snapped up. The other woman smiled at her calmly. Park Jimin grabbed Yoonji’s sleeve and dragged her to a racing game. That didn’t mean anything. It didn’t. I wouldn’t want to owe you. Why not? What was wrong with her? What was so much better about dork-ass Jeon Jungkook who was sucked into playing Tekken versus Kim Taehyung without a second thought? The other woman turned away and went to stand behind Jungkook, next to their consistent heckler Kim Seokjin, still holding onto the Gengar plush. Yoonji turned to sit down next to Jimin, suddenly mad she didn’t think of the claw machine first, why, she could have done it in less tries, she was sure of it.

“You alright?”

“What?” she snapped.

Jimin raised his eyebrows at her. Yoonji stilled. Somehow, Jimin always knew something was up. Oh, he did care if his friends were having a hard time. He also low-key lived for drama. High-key, even. He was a sneaky bitch behind an innocent face. Instead of answering, Yoonji jammed tokens into the machine, both for Jimin and herself, and cocked her eyebrow back at his suspicious, searching expression, placing her hands on the steering wheel.

“I’m gonna smoke ya,” she declared.

“I haven’t yet – HEY!”

Yoonji absolutely demolished him in the virtual race. Twice. Get rekt, Jimin-ah.

Sulky.

Well, no. Not really.

A little bit.

Ugh, fine.

Min Yoonji silently admitted she was sulky.

Just trying to figure out what was so great about Jeon Jungkook. She flicked through his Instagram, not impressed. It was a pretty dead account, as Jungkook had been very into keeping an aesthetic layout for a few months and then promptly abandoned the account when he got tired of it. He had commitment issues. The aesthetic he had chosen was the digital photo, found film vibe that had been popular when the kid was literally in elementary school and probably had no idea what social media even was. His TikTok was somewhat similar, with lots of effects and editing in the short videos. Also mostly abandoned, although Yoonji suspected his accounts were more for lurking and liking stuff than displaying himself.

Jungkook had a few candid, artsy photos of him shirtless that Yoonji wished she hadn’t seen.

Hah, why post that if you can’t even provide a decent picture?

She found that she was lingering on a side profile photo of him for a few seconds. Black and white. Ghost of a smile on his lips and his short black hair messily over his crinkled eyes. From this angle, one could see the definition of his jaw and the mole on his neck, plus the three piercings on his left ear. His shoulder was bare, a medium-weight linked chain loosely hanging on his neck.

Abruptly, Yoonji swiped away.

He doesn’t have a single photo of her on here.

There were occasional photos that included Jimin and Taehyung, (including one of Jimin’s hand photobombing a seriously poised Taehyung, Yoonji could recognize that tiny pinky anywhere), but not really anyone else. This didn’t surprise Yoonji too much, as over half of the photos were scenery shots, but surely a photo of a pretty woman would get likes? She frowned, then froze. There was a reel posted way down there, towards the beginning of the account’s creation. At first, it hadn’t caught her attention since the photo was a black screen, but then she clicked on it and listened to the audio. It was someone playing guitar.

But not just anyone.

After about ten seconds of black screen, the camera lifted from its spot and it showed Min Yoonji several years ago, leaning over a black acoustic guitar, playing a melody she had made up on the spot. She remembered that night. She had been at Kim Namjoon’s house, they had gotten drunk, and Jeon Jungkook had shown up at three in the morning for who-the-hell-knows-what reason. She had brought her guitar that night on a low-key depressed whim. Namjoon dabbled in music too, sometimes, not just produced it, so Yoonji occasionally brought her guitar to play for fun. They were longtime friends.

She hadn’t noticed that Jungkook had filmed her.

The caption read, music that makes you fall in love.

“… What?”

It had startled her so much that she hadn’t even realized she spoke out loud.

Ah, what was she thinking? This was years ago. Past was in the past. There wasn’t anything else interesting on here. Funnily enough, the specific melody Jungkook had complimented, Yoonji had turned into a breakup song. Sure, she had never really published her music past her SoundCloud, but she still made songs for fun even though she wasn’t trying to become an idol or anything of the sort. Would be cool to be a producer though.

It was only a damn reel.

There was no serendipitous shit going on here.

Yoonji rubbed her eyes. They were close, yes. Jungkook often came to her for practical life advice when Namjoon was a bit too philosophical. His words, although Yoonji could agree. She was known as the pragmatic one in the group. Something she learned in therapy, actually. Focusing on what could be done right now instead of fixating on the what-ifs of the future. The youngest did exasperate her sometimes, however it was an endearing kind of exasperation that she welcomed. He, unlike some other young people, expressed his gratitude often.

He called her cute often, too.

Not that… Not that other people didn’t. Hoseok did all the time. Well, Yoonji did go to Hoseok a lot for outfit opinions when she had an occasion. Jungkook also expressed skinship, usually resting his head on Yoonji’s shoulder or putting a hand on her back, even though he didn’t usually imitate with other people. Physical touch was not something Yoonji liked. She tolerated it if it was Jungkook, but he really hadn’t been touchy since…

Wait.

Why the fuck was she thinking about Jungkook?

This ain’t about you!

Right. So, anyway, since Jungkook had started seeing this woman, he hadn’t posted her on his social media, hadn’t initiated physical touch with Yoonji, and expressed neediness when the two were alone but treated the lady like a friend when in front of his friends. He didn’t even invite her to their gatherings despite having many opportunities, yet also specifically made them all wait for him to win her a plush prize that directly related with her interests.

Which all equated to Jeon Jungkook sending the most confusing batch of mixed signals Yoonji had ever analyzed.

A muscle in her face twitched.

Yoonji chewed on her lip. She wondered if she should scroll through those Jungkook was following to maybe find the woman’s account. Was that going too far? Sure, social media profiles were generally public, but actively looking for someone for dubious reasons seemed wrong. Not that her reasons were dubious.

Right.

She looked back to her phone screen.

It was somehow displaying a photo of Jungkook’s naked back. Again, black and white. Standing in a gym. The background was slightly blurred, but the hint of Jungkook’s toned front was unmistakable. Yoonji frowned and swiped it away, scrolling distractedly. She didn’t think about him like that. He was a dork. The woman he was dating was smoking hot. Were they dating, though? That was the whole point of this investigation. For fuck’s sake. Although Jungkook gave the impression he was a playboy, Yoonji knew he wasn’t. He didn’t have the damn attention span to be a player and he was obviously scared of hurting other people’s feelings. Still, there weren’t any telltale signs of them dating-dating. Which shouldn’t bother Yoonji anyway, because she didn’t get involved in her friend’s dating lives, so why the fuck did she care?

Plus, she’s probably straight.

Jungkook was a pretty manly man.

But what if she’s not?

There was literally nothing Yoonji could work off of in that regard except for the look in those dark scorched eyes when she closed her hand around Yoonji’s hand, holding her tight and within direct eye contact. There was literally not a single reason for her to believe that look meant anything other than what was said.

And yet.

I’m being delusional.

Jungkook and her looked good together. Yeah. They were probably gonna work out. Uh huh. It was just rough for her because this was one of the first few real moments that Yoonji felt strongly attracted to someone outside of purely sexual reasons.

Woah.

Woah, hold on there.

She knew for a fact she liked women sexually. Her porn history was enough evidence of that. She had been attracted to women she had met over the years, sure, but never had Yoonji pursued a woman, both because of the social stigma and also because she figured only doing it for the sexual desire seemed wrong. If anyone found out, Yoonji didn’t want to feel like it was for nothing.

So why am I stalking Jungkook on Instagram just for a glimpse of her?

And Yoonji couldn’t like her. She barely knew her. Right? They couldn’t have developed any emotional connection in their very minimal interactions. Yoonji placed her phone down, backing away from it like it was a bomb. These impulses… She couldn’t stop thinking about the woman holding the Gengar next to her chest. Couldn’t stop thinking about Jungkook dancing her around on the sidewalk. Couldn’t stop thinking about the woman casually eating her dessert in the park as if she owned the whole damn world.

Did Yoonji want to be her?

Or did she want to be with her?

Yoonji hadn’t allowed herself to fantasize yet because fantasizing about a real person felt much more abhorrent than a total stranger. It was a door she couldn’t bear to open yet. And, worse.

She didn’t know if she could stop if she started.

ep 2. what a shame. (see you friday) sugar, spice, and everything nice

min yoonji masterpost | masterpost

#min yoonji x reader #yoonji x reader #bts smut #min yoonji #jungkook x reader #yoonji smut #jeon jungkook x reader #gender bend yoongi

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