#Vy is in a bit of denial | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

l4long-winded · 11 months

Text

v. concealed feelings and abstract attitudes

summary: the morning after your drunken fiasco is not any less awkward than you could have guessed. there seems to be a strain on your relationship with sherlock that seeps into the trips you go on together for his investigation. you don't know why he's acting the way he is, you just know that it's angering you (cavill!sherlock x afab!reader)

reflection: this took a bit of time to put together, but as i have previously stated, i have a certain vision for this story. we are nearing the end of it and i hate to depart from these two emotionally stunted beings, but i am also glad to begin offering them what they deserve. i hope everyone enjoys and as always, feedback is welcome and greatly appreciated!

warnings: seamstress!reader, conflicted!sherlock, sherlock is in denial, reader has a nickname, arguments, sherlock is rude, close proximity, investigation, enemies to lovers, shame, miscommunication, sexual tension, cockblocking, original characters, sleep deprived!sherlock, kissing, escalation (please let me know if there are other warnings i need to add)

word count: 10,017

previously: the distraction of rising temperature

( this work has been cross posted to ao3 )

Sunlight pours in through a crevice of the curtains ahead of your sleeping face, warmth melting into your eyelids, sinking into your cheeks and your nose that scrunches up in reaction to the beam’s discomfort. You rightfully turn away from the brightness with a gruff, an ache you’re now extremely aware of settling into the base of your skull, pounding away against the fluffed pillow beneath your hair. Everything feels like a blur, you can barely bring yourself to open your eyes. You don’t recall your pillow being this comfortable, smelling of peppermint and bark and something familiar you can’t quite place in your sleepy haze, but you do nuzzle your face further into it in an attempt to get back to the appetizing thrall of cloud filled dreams and undemanding realities. Your knee raises up bending your leg into an acute angle on the bed that you seemingly have more of than usual, the edge not nearby despite how you try and stretch it out into the vast material of blankets that smoothly graze your skin and beckon you to explore the contrasting cooling effect beyond. You answer it in kind by scooting towards the relief away from the heat your body’s generated from being in one spot for too long, maneuvering until your toes flex out and finally greet an edge that you don’t venture out towards because you would much rather catch up on the winks you’ve been unable to for over a month.

Despite this willingness and acceptance to remain where you are, there’s this nagging feeling pressing down into your chest the more coherent you become. You’re not sure what possesses you to open your eyes in this instance, but when you do, you come to a shocking realization, and that is the realization that this is not your bed, this is not your flat, and by how memories begin to come forward in fragments, you know exactly where you are, or more so, exactly where you aren’t.

You shoot up seconds after your revelation with a heaving chest, the sudden movement too much for your brain to catch up with, dizziness overtaking you and joining alongside the migraine forming as the wine from last night’s bitter parting gift. In reaction, the palm of your hand nurses your right temple and you’re forced to control the pace of your breathing then to calm your spiking blood pressure. It helps with your equilibrium (though, you’re literally only sitting up), but it does little to help the racing thoughts vying for attention inside of your head. From the images you’re gathering one by one, you remember leaving your flat and ascending the stairs. You can’t for the life of you remember whose door you knocked on or if they let you in or not, they clearly did, but you do remember climbing into bed and nodding in and out as the fumes of black tea flooded your nostrils. You can still smell it. It was masked away by that maddening aroma coming off your [not yours] pillow, but now you’re awake enough to register the tray at the bedside table. The tea’s cold, but you reach for it anyways needing some kind of hydration that isn’t wine or the dryness your mouth’s succumbed to while you let exhaustion get the best of you in a stranger’s flat.

A knock resounds at the door during your second gulp. At the same time, you glance up at the wooden barrier and sputter on the tea, coughing to clear the liquid from the wrong pipe it chose to pour down in your distracted manner. A muffled “Is everything alright?” comes through the door and you recognize that voice all too well. A string of memories float by, pigmented photographs and images of Sherlock’s arms assisting you in your balance, guiding forces into his home as you babble about who knows what. You don’t know if anything transpired between you two, if you did anything to offend him. You just know that you’re occupying his personal space while he’s on the other side knocking as a gentleman should, checking on your well-being when you’re the one who turned up here without warning. In a fit of shame and guilt, you stumble out of the agonizingly pleasant mattress. Your overcompensation for your headache manages to knock your knee into the bed frame and you unwillingly squeak because of it, hand flying to your mouth, but it’s too late. As if sirens went off, Sherlock comes bolstering in and you can see his shoulders rise and fall from what appears to be relief that you’re unharmed. The sudden stop of his momentum awkwardly shifts his weight back and forth from one foot to the next. You’re unsure what caused the hurry, but you preoccupy yourself with taking him in.

“Forgive me,” he begins, fully dressed, one arm having an azure robe hanging off of it as his hands’ knuckles meet in front of him, “It sounded like you needed… aid.”

“No, I,” you grasp at your knee, a dull pressure in it from the bump it took against his bed frame. “I’m not used to your bed, evidently.” You chuckle, but it fades out as quickly as it comes into fruition. It’s humorless, a half-hearted attempt to try and make this normal when it’s anything but. It doesn’t help the nature of the situation any when Sherlock doesn’t laugh and cooperate with your failed gesture out of common decency.

In this refractory period you’re both in now, you both take advantage of the silence to look over one another. At least, you sense Sherlock glancing down and then at the top of your head and it causes you to think that perhaps you’ve done something wrong. The only time he’s looked at you in such a way, respectful and yet cautious, it was when… oh, it was when you answered the door fresh out of the bath. At once, you take a long look down at your current state and much like that incident, you’re clad in a dainty chemise. Which means, either you came in this attire last night or you stripped yourself of your clothes. With that possible alternative in mind, your head snaps around in search of any of your usual layering, but there’s nothing around for you to consider the possibility. But really, you don’t know which is more embarrassing. Showing up at your neighbor’s door in such a scandalous setting or removing your clothing in front of said neighbor who’s only recently decided that he didn’t hate you. Overthinking and almost drowning from the waves of implications, no thanks to your imagination trying to cram in puzzle pieces where they don’t belong, you drag off Sherlock’s duvet from his bed in order to hide your body from his eyes. The damage’s been done, but it’ll help soothe your psyche and maybe lower the chances of what Sherlock may think as attempts to seduce him with unladylike measures. You can see his smile lines quiver from how he reinforces the narrow shape his mouth has formed.

“Here,” he extends the robe at his arm. It’s warm from what you can tell and most definitely his size. You almost squirm at the thought of him surrounding you in fabric as if you didn’t just spend a slumber already in that position. “I brought it for you.”

Gingerly, you eye the robe he offers and can feel the tension rising in the room by the minute. It seems to grab the both of you so forcefully and yet neither of you make any efforts to confront whatever it is. You won’t be the one to do so, not when you’re scrambled, when you hardly know anything of what transpired last night, if anything at all. This, in your mind, is an intimate gesture. You wonder if there were other intimate actions to warrant this.

As if hearing your thoughts, Sherlock jostles the robe slightly. “I don’t wish for you to get back to your flat without some kind of security.” It hardly answers any of your questions swarming your head. It’s kind… as long as nothing happened, something you’re far too afraid to ask about for fear of looking like an imbecile, for forgetting him of all people, for bringing up what could’ve been a harsh/lovely night. And if something did indeed happen, touchy, feely, invasive, his reaction is rather worrisome. It appears he wants to get rid of you and that could mean your drunken mess has scared him away, the sole person you’ve interacted with outside of work, the sole person who you consider a friend in this trivial city.

“Thank you,” you murmur as you retrieve the robe from Sherlock’s hand. Your knuckles graze his, your skin lighting up from the contact. You don’t dare to snatch your hand away since you don’t want to show him how much that alone affected you, but an odd motion comes from him. His hand jolts like it’s been burned and he immediately catches himself, a mere centimeter in drawing the arrow back, but you noticed it nonetheless. It does nothing to appease your negative thoughts. If anything, it fans the flames of the notion that you’ve offended him, that maybe you took things too far, that your actions have crossed boundaries. You turn away from him then to conceal the disappointment in yourself setting in your features, his duvet discarded so you could mask your intent through putting on his robe sleeve by sleeve. What have you done? echoes in your head for a moment. Only a moment passes when you realize just how soft his robe is, just how much more overpowering his scent is now that you’re engulfed by it, by the extra fabric that bunches around you, by warmth so intense that you realize he perhaps wore it himself very recently, perhaps before he came in here. You swallow hard thinking about it, tying off the robe in an instant to busy your hands and maintain your cover-up. It goes past your knees and then some. You don’t recall when the last time was when you didn’t wear something fitted to your body, you had your profession and mother to thank for that, but it doesn’t dispel you or make you feel out of place. You try and smother how right it feels on you as you pivot back to look at Sherlock again.

“Better?” He asks. His hands are stuffed in his pockets.

His robe soothes you more than you can admit. You nod your head, “Better.”

“Good… good.” He looks to the ground, and you can see his thinking features setting in. He must want to say something. From previous affiliations and altercations, you understand how he can have plenty to say at any time. He’s biting his tongue and it just spells further bad news for you. You don’t know if you wish to have this conversation so early, with a bottle-ache pounding on your brain, in a humiliating white flag in the form of a cozy robe he’s given you to hide away your sin. Either nothing occurred or something occurred and it’s maddening to you no matter how you can imagine it. Your hand slowly comes up to the wall behind to steady yourself because you’ve unknowingly held your breath for too long.

“So, I… I wanted to speak with you about last night—”

“We don’t have to talk about last night,” you blurt suddenly, against your own will. It seems the fear of the unknown has won this round and decided this as the best route. The surprise on Sherlock’s face would mimic your own if you let it seep through. You, instead, half smile and wave off the awkwardness collecting. “We can pretend it never happened.”

Sherlock blinks at you and waits. You know he’s expecting an explanation for you to continue on, but you have nothing more to say. You already improvised this to mend whatever faults you may have committed and this is as far as it goes. If he deems this incorrect for his conversation, then he will tell you so. From what you have gathered, Sherlock could not resist the chance to correct someone. But, he merely looks at you. His talents, as grand as they were, could not read your scurrying thoughts. You don’t give him the option with your smile still present and how confidently you stand your ground. He observes and you won’t give him anything to read into.

“Are you sure?”

Success. You chose the right response. “I’m sure. I’ll be on my way.”

“Oh, alright. Yes. I’ll walk you out.”

You don’t want to rush out of there, especially when you don’t know what you turned down, but it’s difficult not to run out of the room and avoid him. You take gentle steps out from there, a soft expression you give him as he steps aside to let you pass through. Your shoulder brushes his chest. To you, even with the robe, it’s the same spark that carried over your knuckles when your hands touched. You don’t wish to contemplate this any further and opt to ignore it, but you could swear you hear Sherlock exhale as you make it past the first threshold, past his body that generates almost scalding heat. You don’t turn around as much as you think you should. You just keep walking forward with his front door in your sights, your exit to get back to where you can remove your veil and panic away from him. As you get near the door, he maneuvers in front of you. You immediately pause in your tracks as he presses a hand up into the air sitting between you.

“Wait here for a second.” Sherlock opens the door and steps out, the obstruction shut enough to block out the hall. Curiously, you stare at the crevice he’s left and ironically taken up with his frame. He soon comes back in, this time, widening the door open for you with a movement out of your path. “The coast is clear,” he confirms.

It’s not what someone wants to hear if they had intimate relations with an individual. If you and Sherlock slept together, whatever sense of the word, you have every right to slap him across the face from the shame he seems to feel at the idea of someone finding you leaving his flat. You refrain because it was your conception to not speak about last night.

With this point of contention floating around your head, you stop in front of him. “We’re alright, right, Sherlock?”

He smiles. It’s a half smile, but you have a feeling he isn’t done with you and for some reason, that’s enough for you. It’s odd how much you wish to keep a person around that you haven’t had much time knowing. “We’re alright, Lily.”

You crack your first genuine grin of the morning and then step into the corridor. “I promise I’ll return your robe,” you reply, and the corridor leads you to the staircase which then leads you to your flat. Much to your chagrin, the door is unlocked. You mutter your lashings to yourself as you get inside, soon finding the empty wine bottle that brought you into this mess. Nothing looks like it’s been tampered with save for your clothes on the floor that you haphazardly took off last night. You can ditch the theory of stripping in front of Sherlock, but the image of you showing up at his door in barely any clothing is mortifying enough for you to trudge over to the bath to scrub yourself clean to the bone. You can move on. You and him don’t need to have any ailments in your friendship, whatever the context of last night.

This is the same belief Sherlock hangs onto as he busies himself in his flat. He’s not thinking about last night, hell, he didn’t want to talk about it, either, not really. He was getting ready to tell you how you two were only friends, anyway, how he throws himself into his work, how he has no time for nothing but his private practice. He’s not thinking of how you asked him to lay with you. He’s not thinking of how close he came to doing so, how he paced the floor wrestling with whether he should climb into bed with you or not for almost as long as you slept. And he’s certainly not dwelling on the fact that you regretted it. No, it doesn’t bother him. It can’t. It won’t.

It’s noon when the bell at your shop’s entrance rings. You can’t help but spring up from the back room. As it’s been for weeks, work is slower. Your usual clients come in, get their pieces, and then leave. They have kept you in business with their rampant commissions, but it’s rare for you to gain new customers steadily. You would like to see new faces, perhaps younger ones at that, but you’re also aware that the person who rang that bell isn’t a new prospect. As you almost skip from the back of the shop to the main counter, you see Sherlock standing around, his gaze on a yellow dress you’re saving for a client.

“Right on time. You’re very punctual, you know?” Your smile broadens, but peculiarly, Sherlock acknowledges you with a noise, a half-breath half-grunt. Strangely, with that alone, you could hear his tone beneath it agreeing with the statement. Or, more so, seeing it as a fact that is perhaps not worth exploring any further than the greeting.

“Did you acquire that list of names?” He confirms your assumption by bypassing it altogether and diving straight into this planned meeting’s purpose. As much as you wish to read into it, you compose yourself, nod, and then retrieve a piece of paper scribbled with the list he requested in your prior discussions of what he needed from you for his investigation. His hands are quick to steal away the paper. You could see his eyes studying every name on the list, every address associated, every curve of your handwriting as he mouths it to himself. From what his lips form and from how you guess through the position of his eyes on the paper, you can tell where he is and just how far he is from reaching the end of it. You can’t resist twiddling your thumbs as you wait for his further direction, occupying them as strings of pure nerves bounce around through your digits.

When he finishes, Sherlock doesn’t say anything like you expect. He doesn’t say anything at all. He holds the list higher to himself and then turns away from your counter heading straight for the door, not bothering to bid you any form of goodbye or grant you his appreciation for your compliance. You’re so flabbergasted by his antics that it takes you two seconds longer than normal to step from behind your counter and start after him, “Sherlock?!”

You call for him at the same time that he exits your shop, but you don’t let that stop you from hurrying outside and repeating his name. One hand lands on his left shoulder and he instantly pivots around to look at you. And it appears… it appears as if he looked disturbed by the action.

“Yes? What is it?”

The hard lines surrounding his eyebrows add onto his exasperated expression. You’re not sure where this attitude is stemming from, but from this morning’s exchange and how eggplant rings decorate in half wreaths under his eyes, little sleep can possibly be the scapegoat. Your patience with him is higher than it would usually be with anyone else through this understanding. That and you didn’t plan on lingering in your empty shop for the rest of the day when Sherlock’s holding an opportunity to venture out into London.

“I thought you required my expertise?”

“It contrived me this list, did it not?” He raises the parchment into the air. You stare at it with a hardened gaze before you dare to look back into the intensity of Sherlock’s now royal blues. You’re not like him. You can’t read him as well as a book like he can read you so you stop your searching (for whatever the fuck it was) and snatch the list out of his hand. It slightly irritates you how his exasperation seemingly deepens.

“When you asked me to scribe you a list of the names of those who’ve purchased that particular exported fabric, I trusted that you understood of just how much I was implicating myself offering private information regarding my father’s—m-my clientele…” Your slip displaces your uneasiness in your hands to your throat. That familiar lump begins to form in your neck, your head repeating No, not here as you try and quickly collect yourself. Sherlock’s expression softens at the mention of your father and the inner corners of his eyebrows upturn. You set your jaw, No, not here, not in front of him, and clear away the cobwebs of grief to return to your point. “You’ve made it perfectly transparent how you don’t wish to divulge the details of this case to me because of the entanglement it could garner, but please,” you gesture to your list, “allow me to assist you in this. I know these people better than you do and I doubt they would be keen on welcoming a stranger into their homes, much less a snooping one.”

Sherlock’s gaze hasn’t moved a centimeter from you. The tone of his intensity has shifted, but not in the pressure it engulfs you with. The sympathy expanding in his tired pupils causes you to cringe inwards because you didn’t want to bring your father up in the first place, but it had happened so organically. As organically as the bystanders passing you both by. They chance singular glances at you and Sherlock, some curious about the endeavor because you’re halting traffic, others brushing by you without a care of who you are or what you’ve been through. Perhaps being invisible could have its perks, perhaps then you would feel normal and not a scared girl desperate for an escape an emotionally-stunted man could provide.

Said emotionally-stunted man relents and sighs. Thankfully, without you telling him to stop staring at you like that, he drops his gaze and readjusts his gloves. “Fine, but at any sign of risk, you will do as I say.”

A smile blooms on your features. You can feel the excitement building inside of you and before you realize what you’re doing, you take a step forward and then hop on the next step into Sherlock’s frame. Your arms wrap around his neck, the scent from this morning, the one from his robe sitting in your flat and from his pillow sitting in his, radiating off him. It permeates your senses immediately. It haunted you until you scrubbed yourself from it in a bath, but now you have this fleeting desire to sink further into it. It’s Sherlock’s hands gently acquainting themselves with your hips that causes you to remember how you’re both out on the pavement in public and not in some otherworldly dimension you two keep finding your ways towards.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, gradually lowering yourself down to your heels that elevated in efforts to match his height. Your arms slide from his neck, linger at his chest, and then detach altogether. Sherlock’s pace is about the same in removing his hands from you. You can feel tension as you both initiate eye contact.

“I’m going to go… close my shop for the day.” You point with your thumb to the establishment behind you. You almost forgot about it, but it seems like as good an excuse as any. “Wait for me?”

It’s hard to explain what it is between you two. It sits as thickly as ever as you look awkwardly at each other with looming responsibilities to attend to. Sherlock looks at your shop instead of the obscure air in the space occupying the gap your bodies share. Maybe he’s using the same excuse as you.

“I’ll wait for you.”

Mrs. Blanche Thomas’s living space is full of cat figurines from the arms of the sofa to the nearby desk perched next to a windowsill with semi-drawn cherry curtains. Sunlight invades the room with a vengeance and illuminates the porcelain of each figurine while the rest of the room is draped in a fuchsia pigment, no doubt from the curtains, that naseates your head. All of your clients were rich in so many senses of the word, but at least they didn’t lower themselves to buying endless streams of knick knack felines. You almost think you’re going to knock some over with where you sit on the sofa, the skirt of your dress ruffled along the lace doily you’re on top of. You cross your legs to try and limit the space you take in order to save the figures, but in doing so, your knee brushes against Sherlock’s. He doesn’t budge from where he sits, seemingly doing the same thing as you in attempting to minimize himself for the sake of Mrs. Thomas’s decor, but it’s of little use with someone his size. You can read his discomfort on his face, but a small part of you can’t help but feel triumphant over it.

All day, he’s found a way to antagonize you. It started to occur around the second house you visited. During the first visit, he barreled into the house with hardly any warning and began to investigate the Newtons’ hearth wordlessly to their horror. After you lectured him on how he couldn’t just go full detective mode with these individuals and their prized possessions, he pulled away the friendliness you two engaged in at your shop more and more, bit by bit. As you two arrived at the second house belonging to the Jeffersons, he departed from you to roam their rooms while you kept up in conversation. You tried to be casual, but they soon caught wind of the antics and asked you both to leave. On your way out, you glared at Sherlock while he stared forward with his chin turned towards the air. You couldn’t believe how he blatantly ignored your input and carried on with what he saw fit. His haughty demeanor turned away from you showed you that he knew he did it too.

“Didn’t I just tell you how you couldn’t do that? They were mortified and—”

“They had nothing worthwhile. It was a complete waste of time.”

He grunted his words out at you, not only cutting you off, but speeding his gait so he could maintain a clear lead ahead of you. Your annoyance grew as you followed after him.

It didn’t end there. From today’s length, you would guess that he was purposely trying to get under your skin. He played ball at the third house and made small talk with you to persuade the Porters, but when it came time to observe, when you accidentally bumped his frame in crossing each other’s paths towards written letters sitting atop furniture, he leveled you with a glare of his own.

“I didn’t bring you along to get in the way.” You gulped the hurt that it gave you and replaced it with your heightening vexation. Your eyes shot daggers into the back of his head as he took items into his hands and carried on as if nothing happened. You’ve learned more and more about how Sherlock does not apologize for his ramblings, much less for the ones that sting the most. Keeping your composure, you donned a fake smile and discussed taxes with the Porters until he emerged from a hall and stated, “We’re done here.” You wondered how moronic you appeared chasing after him because after his assertion, he walked right out the front door without any preamble, the same fashion he underwent this afternoon at your shop. It forced you to apologize on his behalf, a parroting dialogue as every house you attended from that point felt the wrath of his attitude and severe lack of manners. Your word was also at stake since you were defying trust.

You didn’t say another word to him for fear of further adding onto the weight of the enormous chip sitting on his shoulder. Fortunately, you two found a rhythm of talking to your clientele and continuing on with the investigation. You didn’t know what exactly you were looking for, but there were times where the trust of your clients meant that they left you two alone to investigate to your hearts’ desire. You dreaded this trust at those moments. Not wanting to sit idly, you busied yourself looking around, searching for ways to ensure you entertained yourself and stayed firmly out of Sherlock’s way. In one instance, you lifted up a handbill discussing an upcoming ball. It was an event you kept seeing in the other houses, but seeing as it was a common thread, you felt excitement spur within you at the prospect. It almost made you forget about how Sherlock was acting and how he was treating you. Almost. Almost since he quickly reminded you.

“That ball has no value to this investigation.”

You could’ve shrunk into yourself at his dismissal. He didn’t even look at you, just continued to flit through items, scrubbing the tips of his fingers clean against one another from the dust he found.

And now at the seventh house, the one belonging to Mrs. Thomas who insisted you two sit down and have tea and perhaps something to eat for your troubles and the journey there, you’re caged in and all alone, the door to the area shut behind her as she stalked off to fetch the necessities she spoke of. Minutes passed. Only minutes. Minutes of silence sans for the movements the two of you made to try and get comfortable on her tiny couch (which would be fucking easier to do if it weren’t for the mammoth of a man sitting beside you). You can feel every brush of his bicep the more he tries to adjust.

“What’s taking her so long?” Sherlock blurts, but from how today has gone and from how he’s furrowing his brow at the empty space ahead, you assume he’s talking more so to himself. He fidgets, much like he’s been doing this entire time, and again, your knees touch. This time, he doesn’t hold his impassive demeanor, his eyes flitting down to the point of contention, where your skirts don’t hide away the skin. You notice his reaction and to try and assuage him, you bring your knee away from his. You think it’s what he requires seeing that he can hardly find comfort in this position and you really don’t want him to harm you with another illy-thought sentence, but as you have been all day today, you’re wrong.

He stands to his feet in an instant with an audible scoff. If you didn’t know any better, you swear it was directed towards you. Your patience is running thin for the detective, watching as he stands and husks out another noise as he simultaneously lifts an orange cat from the table in front of you both. He won’t find anything there, and you know he knows that, so you’re aware the action is because of how he’s avoiding talking to you like an actual person. He would rather waste time doing something miniscule than engage you and it’s this discovery that has you mimic the sounds he’s made all day and stand from the sofa yourself. Fine, if he doesn’t want to talk or be near you, then you’ll increase the distance. You stubbornly walk away with your back towards him in the direction of Mrs. Thomas’s desk, your arms crossing against your chest, shielding yourself from whatever onslaught possibly lurking on his tongue. But you don’t want to be caught off guard again and you certainly won’t let him get to you as he has before. The fire inside of you has been tempered all day and you don’t want to remain quiet.

“That cat have all the answers does it? Was it at the crime scene? Are you questioning a real, live eyewitness?” You can feel Sherlock’s eyes on your back and can hear him shuffling. A tap of glass on wood tells you he’s put the cat down. So much for the eyewitness.

“Don’t speak of things you know nothing about.” Your smirk shifts into a grimace. Still, even as you hear Sherlock’s heavy footsteps across from you, he must be digging for something to remark in the background, you don’t turn around. You hug your arms tighter into yourself.

“I would know of such things if someone wasn’t so greedy with the details.”

Much to your chagrin, Sherlock doesn’t reply. You can hear his fumbling, but he doesn’t even offer you a sound of acknowledgement. You should be happy that he’s not falling into the trap of a brewing argument, but for some reason, you’re having trouble accepting it. After how much he’s tested you today, you feel a misguided desire to test him back.

“Have you found anything yet? You know, with me out of your way.” You’re bitter in droning your words, your glance at your shoulder to turn your ear towards Sherlock. You hear the shuffling come to a sudden stop and you can’t help but smile to yourself knowing he’s staring hard at you. You can feel the heat of it.

“If you have something to say, then say it.”

Oh, it’s at the tip of your tongue, choice words to bring a sailor’s cheeks crimson, you can feel it, but you relent on that sentiment and continue on. “I’m just reflecting on the obvious, Sherlock. Or do you really think you haven’t found any clues because the distance between us hasn’t been enough?”

You wait a few beats for something, any kind of response, but you’re met with silence. Growing impatient with the circumstances yourself, you turn fully to look at him to find him already looking back. His jaw’s set tight, the molars of his teeth accentuating the chiseled line of it as he holds still. It appears as if he has something to say himself, but he’s holding back on purpose, much like you are. You’re about to coax him to it, ready for venom, when he removes his eyes from yours and beelines towards the door.

“Perhaps more distance will be sufficient, then,” he mutters cruelly under his breath. It’s the opposite of what you wanted. Though, as much as you would like to face this head on even if it’ll lead to a fight, you don’t have enough of the physical fire present to saunter after him. You stay where you are, your heart throbbing with something in your chest at the thought of being left alone stranded with Mrs. Thomas in the other room.

You almost call his name to halt him, but he doesn’t get far. You hear the door handle rattle under Sherlock’s hand. From your annoyance, confusion replaces it. You slowly walk towards him as he releases the handle and grunts out another deep noise.

“It’s fucking locked,” he croaks, backing away from it and you. His hands land on his hips, perplexed eyes glaring at the door as if he could burn a hole through it if he tried hard enough. “Why would it be fucking locked?”

You reach for the handle yourself and much like Sherlock’s luck, the same goes for you. “Yes, I just tried that,” he sarcastically reminds you and you have to inhale and exhale slowly so that you don’t remove your heel and throw it at him. It agitates you and just like that, you remember how he tried to leave you here. You groan your displeasure and sulk from the door back to the desk near the window. The furniture’s the furthest thing away from Sherlock in the room so you sit on top of it, cautious to avoid the figurines, and your arms return to crossing over your chest.

“Serves you right,” you sneer, “after trying to abandon me when you’re the one who’s been a belligerent oaf all day.” You hear him scoff and he says nothing. You take this is as a means to continue since the both of you couldn’t go anywhere until Mrs. Thomas returned. “I should be the one storming out.”

You don’t expect anything from Sherlock. He’s thick and stubborn to avoid conversation with you. Just seconds ago, he tried to leave in order to avoid a discussion, so you’re thinking you can get more of your issues with him off your chest in the silence he offers you. Only, he doesn’t offer you silence when you’re expecting it. No, he’s unpredictable that way. You’re not even looking at him when you hear, “Mhm, just like you did this morning.”

Your head whips in Sherlock’s direction. That’s the last thing you’re thinking about and it’s rather ridiculous to bring up now in this context, but his expression is dead serious. You don’t know if you prefer him ignoring you or him boring his eyes into yours like he’s doing now.

“Me? You couldn’t wait to get rid of me! You didn’t even want people to see!” You’re aware of how you’re raising your voice, how Mrs. Thomas might hear, but at this point, you don’t care anymore. You’ve been poked and prodded at for hours and you’re at your wit’s end. Sherlock takes two steps in your direction.

“How the hell was I supposed to keep someone around who was that ashamed of their own actions, actions that put them in that situation in the first place—not me,” he comes closer and closer as he talks, his footing carrying him forward after every three words or so. You don’t feel intimidated by how much bigger he appears the closer he gets to you, how his voice is getting louder and not because of how he’s lessening the space between you, nor how the vein in his neck strains against the collar of his undershirt sandwiched underneath his vest.

“Oh my god, I told you that we can pretend last night never happened, you can save me the responsibility speech.” You roll your eyes, the huff that falls from your lips being the gust that pushes your hair strands out of your face. They land right back, but your attention is solely on Sherlock. There’s less than a meter between you and him, you can pinpoint the burning in his eyes now from the lack of sleep and from the agitation.

“You are so… stubborn. And defensive. And meddling.” His hands reach the edge of the desk. You surmise it’s to support himself as he leans forward in incredulity of your words. It brings him closer than before, the lines on his face more apparent, the passion simmering in his gaze that he refuses to rip from you.

You hate how small he makes you feel. Always having to show off intellect as if no one knows he’s the smartest person in the room. Your hand lands on his chest in efforts to push him away, but it just stays there limp. “And you are improper, pompous, brash, impatie—”

The last syllable of the word “impatient” doesn’t resonate any further into the atmosphere, instead lost to the plushness of Sherlock’s lips, muffled by his contact, cut loose by a noise you fail to suppress as your eyes slip closed to relish in the feeling. His mouth bruises yours, robs it and your mind of the English language and the unpleasant choice words you had for him. Normally you don’t take kindly to being cut off, but as your other hand joins your left on his chest, you can feel the thrumming heartbeat in his ribcage accelerating almost as quickly as your own is. It somehow greets your palm beyond the hard lines of muscle you tread over, the same ones you trace blindly without your vision, without the breath in your lungs Sherlock is currently kissing away and swallowing into himself. Dizziness overtakes you and you don’t trust your body to support you and you lean back to try and find the desk as a means to help you here. To Sherlock, he views it as you backing away from him and he reluctantly brings his mouth away from yours. He knows he’s overstepped.

You both utilize this time to breathe heavily as you stare into each other’s eyes. You don’t know what came over him to act so boldly and from how he’s hesitant, you don’t think he knows either. Something plays at his lips, the very same that just grazed over yours, and you know he’s about to say something else. Whatever it is, you decide at that moment it can wait and you grasp the collar of his shirt in your fingers to pull him in once more. This time, you’re rewarded with a lecherous noise from the back of his throat and one arm wraps around your waist, his bicep and forearm deluging the small of your spine. It’s just the support you require to keep you upright, whimpering as he licks into your mouth, doing so immediately when he mashes the word “again” against you in a straining command. You’ll leap off a building if he keeps kissing you this way, if it means he’ll slip his tongue along yours and leave your mouth reddened and swollen from your affairs.

Sherlock wants, needs, to get closer. Every touch and caress is driving him mad, to the brink of an area he hasn’t really explored before. He’s not completely inexperienced, but he doesn’t recall ever being this eager, eagerness you meet with earnest of your own through those beautiful sounds he’s muting, through the tilt of your head that allows him to deepen the kiss. “Part your legs,” he requests, bass in his tone, never neglecting the lock you currently have on each other. Obediently, you do as he says, your knees separating to make room for his frame that he instantaneously occupies, as if he was made to be there. Your skirts bunch up at your mid thighs and the sensitive flesh of them rubbing along his trousers’ material has you reeling. He groans as he steps in, contrasting to the idea of being made to fit between your legs because his width forces them even further apart, his concealed arousal bumping into your thigh, scraping into your flesh as he lowers you onto the desk and bends at the waist to ensure the connection of your lips.

The cat figurines lining the desk fall to the floor, thumps that resound one after the other as they are pushed off sporadically with the movement of your bodies. Your leg wraps around Sherlock’s waist, heel digging into his back, and your lips fall open to a silent gasp as he descends and kisses down the column of your neck. The sensation almost tickles, his stubble catching along your skin almost as frequently as his teeth do. As he rises back up to greet your mouth with his, you forgot to use the opportunity to breathe. It didn’t matter, you would rather be empty of oxygen than miss out on how Sherlock renders you simple-minded, on how he generously lets you moan into his mouth, you depraved thing, on how he slams his hand into the desk beside you because your body intuitively rolled your hips up into him without realizing, sending more figurines flying off the wood to their far drops. Your fingers run up from his collar to the hair at the back of his head, clutching his curls like they will ground you into this moment in time permanently. But it barely helps. Luckily for you, it’s Sherlock who grounds you down. Who covers your body with his. Who subjects you to the durable surface below as well as his muscle mass.

There’s a knock on the door and a laugh. “Oh dear, I hadn’t realized I locked the two of you in here!” Mrs. Thomas taps the door. “This old handle is broken, would either of you mind helping me open it?”

The two of you have refrained from kissing, looking at each other in disbelief. Disbelief of being interrupted, disbelief of how far you two were going in someone else’s home, an old woman’s at that, and disbelief of what you had just done. Neither of you move, catching your breaths, exhales hitting at both of your mouths from how Sherlock is still half on top of you, your faces startlingly adjacent. Clearing his throat, he pushes off the desk to his feet and reaches a hand out to you.

You clear your throat the very same and capture his hand to sit up, your chest heaving from that intense interchange. You, as well as Sherlock, got caught up in it all and now the repercussions were waiting in anticipation. Neither of you say anything to each other, you simply stare. Sherlock, in all his faults and issues with social cues, knows he should say something that could help you both. It can’t be an untouched subject, not when bottled feelings came up earlier and led you two to argue… led you two to whatever that was thereafter.

“Can you hear me?” Mrs. Thomas asks. Remembering where you are, you nod at Sherlock and, reluctantly, he slowly walks to the door away from you. You scoot off the desk and compile the fallen heroes on the floor into your cradled arm. You then place them messily back on the desk, not sure if there was any particular order or not (goddamn were those things uncomfortable on your back).

You adjust your clothes after as you hear Mrs. Thomas talk with Sherlock through the door: “Alright, son, you are going to push the handle in and then open it while lifting upwards…”

You’re in the middle of fixing your corset when you spot a glint of indigo hanging out of one of the desk’s drawers. Interestingly, the sun’s rays cause it to glimmer and you don’t know how many things can shine like that besides… the fabric.

Your fabric.

You dart your eyes to Sherlock, unsure if you should follow this lead because everyone’s house you visited also had this fabric as you kept inventory and created your list, but he’s not paying you any mind. His attention is on trying to get the door open with Mrs. Thomas’s guidance. The problem, or perhaps lucky circumstance, was that Sherlock couldn’t get the door open. Mrs. Thomas kept changing her damn instructions.

“I thought you said to pull up!” Sherlock exclaims at the door, no doubt annoyed by the obstruction, by his already pent-up frustration, by being cockblocked, and how he doesn’t hide his agitation of poor Mrs. Thomas who’s forgetful in her old age.

“No, dear, I said to push down!”

You try to open the drawer, but it needs a key. Searching around the desk in a frenzy, you alternate between snatching papers and promptly placing them back to avoid suspicion when you catch another glint at the floor beneath. The sun bounces off it when you align your eyesight and it flashes a weaponized beam straight into your vision. You kneel to pick it up, while blinking away a memory of light imprinted, only this isn’t illusion-ally reflective, this is golden and small, exposed by a sun taking its time to set. It was hidden by the shadow at the corner of the desk that you and Sherlock accidentally knocked off. Blushing, you lift the key and work on the drawer.

“I have pushed in every direction, are you confident this is how you open the door?”

You twist the key and hear a soft click. Excitedly, you pull the handle and stuff the fabric into your bodice, alongside the envelope that was left with it. You close the drawer and lock it when you finally hear a loud noise crash into your perception. You stick the key into your corset at the same time that your head snaps up to see the door’s handle sitting in his hand… detached from the door. Sherlock’s looking at you now, his eyebrows knit in, his eyes closing in irritation of what he had just done. You could tell he’s forcing himself to breathe manually so he could keep a hold of his agitation. You round the desk and politely curtsy to Mrs. Thomas, who enters the room now that the door is broken. She shakes her head at Sherlock on the way in and you point to the desk.

“Oh, dear, Mrs. Thomas, we accidentally knocked over your figurines! We’re sorry,” you exclaim and she’s distracted from the door to tend to you. She rests her hands in yours and chuckles as she always does. Sherlock raises an eyebrow as he watches the scene unfold.

“It’s alright, thank you for telling me! They were due for a reorganization, anyhow.” She squeezes your hands and then walks to the desk. You think you might be in the clear, but then she looks at you puzzled on her way there. “Wait, how did you two knock them over?”

Sherlock releases a breath of amusement that both you and Mrs. Thomas hear and turn your heads towards. He can hardly believe it since she can hardly hear anything else.

You give Sherlock a look and then raise your hand to rest on Mrs. Thomas’s shoulder to get her attention back. She turns to you and you offer your best smile. It’s hard on you to smile in general after everything, but these days, it’s easier and easier. “We were… we were dancing.”

Mrs. Thomas gasps and both of her hands go over her mouth. She looks back and forth between you and Sherlock and then she reaches her arms out to hug you. Sherlock’s confused by the reaction, and honestly, you are as well since the excuse was so bad. You shrug your shoulders as subtly as humanly possible without alerting Mrs. Thomas. He notices.

“I am so proud of you, you deserve to be happy.” She squeezes you without any real pressure. Real pressure would be suffocating, but it’s what her strength is allowing and such a thing makes you think about the fact that she may be trying her best to convey it and something in you feels blanketed.

“I remember when Edmund and I would dance randomly… being in love and all… made you spontaneous.” She laughs to herself, as if remembering right before your eyes. There’s a lump in your throat again, you have fought these off so consistently, but it’s there because Mrs. Thomas cares for you. Even if it is a lie, she could think you and Sherlock arrived here together because you were in fact together. He seems to look at you with shock at the lack of denial on your end. He doesn’t know what to make of it, if you’re saving him from trouble with the door, if you’re tricking her so she wouldn’t ask questions of the desk, but he stays quiet and trusts your judgment. Because it’s obvious you’re hiding something and chances are, it didn’t involve the affection and intimacy of what occurred on that desk.

“Mrs. Thomas, we apologize for the mess, but we have to go. The sun will set soon and we are a long way from home.” You reassure her and she looks at you and then at Sherlock.

“I promise to fix this door in the near future,” he states and she actually laughs at it.

“Do you feel better now that you’ve eaten something?” You ask as you walk alongside Sherlock, your shared building close in distance. Your feet ache from all the walking, from trying to keep up with Sherlock, but you’re glad he’s calmed down. Mrs. Thomas sent you both off with bread and since you felt slightly guilty, you lost your appetite and gave the rest to Sherlock. You’re joking, clearly since you both know he’s lightened up even before Mrs. Thomas gave you bread. Who knows the reason. The unsaid, unexpected, wonderful reason.

“Yes, actually. She’s lousy with her timing, but she knows how to bake bread.” You laugh at his reply, your hands pulling his coat closed that he gave to you after you complained about the cold. The two of you have been switching nonchalantly in conversation since leaving Mrs. Thomas’s house. You told Sherlock you needed to tell him something and he asked if it could wait until you made it back to Baker Street. With your agreement, you didn’t talk about it or what happened. You were afraid to. Sherlock didn’t want to ruin it again. It was nice to just walk and enjoy each other’s company on the way home, the occasional question asked.

Once on Baker Street, you nudge Sherlock and he pauses for you to continue. There are hardly any people walking around the two of you so you feel secure and you bring forth the scrap of fabric that you hid in your bodice. Sherlock recognizes it, to your surprise, and reaches for it, to which you hand off and watch as he examines it with great interest.

“Where did you get this?”

“I found it locked in a drawer. While you were trying to get the door open, I,” you jump as Sherlock grasps your upper arm.

“You unlocked the drawer and took this along with something else, didn’t you?”

You blink, the envelope folded in your bodice the next thing you were going to share with him.

“How did you know I took two items?”

“Three,” he corrects, “you took the golden key that’s currently resting in your corset’s left breast.”

You glance down and just at that moment, a street lamp flashes the shine at you. Sherlock couldn’t have missed it. Not when neither of you have let up on looking at each other fondly on the walk home. At all of each other. You then look to your envelope’s hiding spot and yes, it’s peeking out from under your corset since you attempted to place it between your skirts. All the layering worked both for and against you.

“I didn’t catch the fabric, but I caught the other parts while you were chatting up Mrs. Thomas.” He shrugs his shoulders. “Honestly? I didn’t think they were that important to discuss, separately, of course,” he corrects himself since he saw your face fall for a brief moment, “but altogether? It means something. I… I appreciate it.”

You smile at him, overwhelmed by a feeling to gravitate towards him, but there’s still tension between you two. It’s confusing and you know it’s magnetic for a reason, but there’s still a bridge that links the two of you. Tonight, you met each other halfway, but you also barged into each other’s sides with aggression and hostility intended. Kissing didn’t magically make everything you both said and did okay and that frightened you, what could lay beyond that.

After handing him the key and the envelope, you glance up at him with something new dazzling in your eye. He walks you into the building. “Goodnight,” you kiss his cheek, ending the evening with a pleasant exchange, on a beautiful high note. “Until our next meeting, Shoulders.” Sherlock’s heat warms your mouth and he glances at his coat, opting to let you have that as well since he didn’t want you heading into your flat freezing at any moment. You took it with you and didn’t look back.

Sherlock read the letter again. It’s probably the 50th time since he’s opened it. His game was off today. He couldn’t focus, not with you around. Every time he looked at you, all he could think about was why you regretted staying at his flat. He assumed you were ashamed of your behavior, but did that mean you were ashamed to ask him to join you in bed as well? Did it mean you held an attraction for him or comfort solely under alcohol’s vise?

The worst part about looking at you today, however, is by far how much he enjoyed it. There he was, in his effective functioning and bidding as his occupation demands, tenfold, and then there’s you who always stole his attention away, your honey sweet voice erasing his thoughts and replacing them selfishly with you. He thought about the embrace, he thought about your chemise, he thought about your smile at the library, your sleeping face, your gentle hands on his chest, how his robe wrapped around you, how he couldn’t think of anything but you if he didn’t actively catch himself. You hovered over him and he retaliated to deter you away. He changes when he’s trying to solve a case. He keeps to himself and does it his own way and he knows it’s flawed, that’s why he prefers people staying away when he gets like that.

At the same damn time, he had an urge to get closer, a physical instinct that would lead him to you like a tired horse requiring a drink of water. He acted on both his anger and need back at Mrs. Thomas’s, a combination he’s never felt before you. It’s worse for him now. This is his 56th time reading this letter all because his mind is sailing back to you, you and your lips, you and your arching spine, you and your delectable noises, you who’s just downstairs, a staircase and a few knocks away, you, you, you.

He relaxes his shoulders to regain his focus. This is vital to his case, he can feel it, he knows it. The envelope reads “For Blanche, with love” and the signature on the letter itself reads “Love, Edmund” for Christ’s sake. Everything is interconnected, the pieces showing him what is there, and he cannot for the life of him focus to read this damn letter to make sense of it all. He does enough to catch the line “I will see you at the ball.”

He chastises himself at that and he remembers your comment about the upcoming ball these elites were attending.

“I owe you an apology, Lily,” he says aloud, to no one in the space but himself so he can deliver one first thing in the morning. It makes sense now that he’s contemplating on it, but you were making it difficult to put logical thought together. It’s not your fault. It’s his fault for not sleeping. He can’t read this letter and he acted like an ass today because he’s running on pure fumes. The words are starting to melt together and he tries to blink the sleep out of his eyes only to find that he’s been blinking the sleep out of his eyes for the past hour. Grunting, he folds the letter and decides he will solve this case in the morning, it’s Thursday and the ball isn’t until Saturday.

Sherlock stands and walks towards the corridor when he hears a knock at the door. He wasn’t expecting anyone, especially not at this hour. He turns his head to look at it and he only stutters a second before he rushes to it and brings it open. Just as he suspected, you’re standing there in front of him, in his robe, fluttering your lashes at him in an innocence he cannot believe. As you reach up to kiss him, he catches you by the waist, by your momentum, midair as he directs you into his flat and firmly pushes the door closed with his other hand.

#henry cavill #sherlock holmes #henry!sherlock #sherlock holmes x reader #enola holmes #beyond answers #l4l.writes #henry cavill sherlock

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izayoichan · 6 months

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Vy: That he found a luck dragon, because I think I found mine in you. Inherited from dad of course.

Hayden just chuckled, he knew his dad called his dragon a luck dragon, and he didn’t mind being called one as well. Even if he often did not feel much like one, this was one of those occasions, he had to agree with his husband. Perhaps there was some luck in him after all.

Flynn: So Izzy still doesn’t talk much huh?

He sat next to Fannar in one of the sofa’s, Arlo being with his aunt and dad discussing some potions, so it gave the twins some alone time while all the kids were busy with their newly opened presents.

Fannar: No, he stays quiet mostly. Libby always says she speaks enough for both. Flynn: Worried, even if you know why? Fannar: A little, it's hard not to when it’s your kids right? Flynn: Yep, Arlo is still in denial? Fannar: -chuckles- Yes, but I hope one day he realizes that he can just talk, without worrying about it. Flynn: I’m sure he will one day. The two talked a bit more, before it was time for everyone to head home, leaving River and Lucas sitting in their now more empty and quiet home with a sleeping Munchie next to them.

Beginning - Previous - Next

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mahvaladara · 1 year

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Fannar: I think.. Grandpa is just taking enough to make you a new potion... To take away the rot. -they smiled at Arlo, watching Chris ever so gently pick just what was needed, no more.- I came back because I wasn’t happy on my side... And I know where I belong. They looked at their mom, then towards Arlo who tried to pull away, a look of utter disbelief and hopelessness in his eyes.

Fannar: I know you don’t feel like you deserve it, and you tried your best to push me away, but you are my heartlight, and I belong here with you. -they watched Arlo- So I came back, with help this time... So I can do this right.

Arlo stared at them and shook his head, looking back at the flowers before turning to Fannar. He started laughing a bit hysterically before breaking into a coughing fit. He coughed out blood. He stared at his bloodied hand and wiped the blood on pants that would be stained if they were not black. Turning his back on Fannar, he walked towards the house, coughing and laughing.

Arlo: Ta-take the flowers you need… But leave… Fannar sighed, looking at their mom. They had expected some of this, but not all of it. Not how out of it Arlo felt, how far they had slipped. It scared them if they were to be honest about it. Fannar: He doesn’t… I know he means it, that I should leave, but that’s what I told you.. How he feels he doesn’t deserve being loved... But I do love him. -they looked for some type of support from their mom.. -

Vy: Fan… I… I am not sure he understands what you’re saying -Vy watched them with growing pain and concern. His little star was in denial, but that man… perhaps there was nothing left to save.

#ts4 #the sims #sims #the sims 4 #ts4 story #the sims 4 story #the sims 4 gameplay #ts4 gameplay #the imortal #gen 1 #fannar #vy #chris #arlo #flynn

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pan-magi · 1 year

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My Magi LGBTQIA+ Headcanons

Ok, I've been working on this list since January. I still probably forgot some. I haven't worked out all my SnB ones yet and about half the Rens. It takes me an inordinate amount of time to sort them out. The only ones I'm really set on are the aspec ones because I'm biased (that's me, I'm AA and proud).

All that to say I may update this list or do a second part. Most likely won't be for a while since I'd want to to add a good chunk before I commit more to the wild.

Also, if you disagree, that's cool. My list though~ I love hearing other people's hcs but I am not up to arguing over mine. I know you guys are chill but to ensure we are on the same page :)

(It's a reasonably long list so all of it is under the read more)

Leila and Sahsa: You can't tell me the manga didn't start off with a lesbian love story with a little shit child playing mediator.

Judar: He very gay.

Aladdin: Genderfluid. I just like the idea of him having everyone constantly guessing as a child of chaos. They're also vying to take that title from Judar. I also can't place who the kid will be interested in but none of his friends are around the same age.

Titus: Trans gay guy.

Yunan: Doesn't really have much attachment to gender. He wouldn't really describe it as a lack of gender yet won't turn down using agender. Gender neutrois also works. Uses any pronouns.

Scheherazade: Cupiosexual. She yearns for being able to have sexual attraction but it just never has occurred for her. After a few decades she had accepted it about herself. The most common form of attraction she feels is alterous attraction (often explained as the space between romantic and platonic attraction).

Hakuryuu: He has messy chemistry with everyone. Bi disaster through and through.

Morgiana: Ace and questioning. She hasn't figured it all out yet but her friends are there to support her. (hi, yes, this is me projecting weeee)

Alibaba: Bisexual and clueless. So if you ask, he won't be able to answer but he also picked up on Sinbad's natural ability to flirt with anybody without trying too hard.

Hakuei: Lesbian

Koumei: Bisexual. I mentioned with the art I made on my own blog that I designed Koumei around the bi colors without realizing it. Nothing in my mind has changed to refute that so that's what I'm still going with. I do think it fits him.

Sphintus: Gay. I can see him being biromantic as well, but mostly into guys.

Sinbad: Pansexual and greyromantic. I won't go into it again more here. He's the best most clueless and suave person ever.

Jafar: Homoromantic demisexual. He likes guys but also without any strong connection to go off of he doesn't really register how people can be attractive.

Drakon: Omnisexual. There's attraction to guys, women, and enbies, all slightly different to each other. Preference for women.

Mystras: Also very gay.

Pisti: Aegoromantic. She gets invested in other people's (mainly her friends') love lives, and loves love stories, but whenever she tries getting into a relationship it never sits right for her. She won't mind an intimate relationship though knows it won't be romantic (after a bit of denial). After my brain came up with this I started projecting like hell and I don't give a fuck XD.

Mu: Mspec of some variety. I don't think he will be bothered by either bi or pan. Queer will work just as well. He will be down for anyone, you know? Going off queer history circles I've seen conversations and jokes that no one in Ancient Rome is monosexual. Mu feels like the person it will apply to the most. I'm going with it.

I joked to myself that the majority on Alma Toran are mspec or aspec. With longer lifespans for humans, a good handful are aspec because of the lack of incentive to have kids or families quickly. I would have posted about it last year during my Alma Toran posting in October and during ace week, but alas. I'm now posting it here lol.

Anyway, my Alma Toran hcs:

Solomon: Demisexual. Hasn't spent time thinking about it because he didn't expect to marry so young. It doesn't bother him though, not that he could explain his sexuality well.

Setta: Aroace. All ice mages are aroace because I said so. (except Judar, dude can have as many guys as he wants)

Isnan: Gay

Falan: Bi. Growing up she didn't have the chance to explore her sexuality. She won't deny it if asked though is perfectly happy in her relationship.

Ugo: Bi and aceflux.

Paimon: Also bi. She flirts too much with Ugo not to be (though I do know some lesbians and non-interested in men peeps who flirt with guys for shits and giggles without much feeling. Poison Ivy being the main lesbian I think of for this).

Arba: Non-sam aro. I tried to figure out her sexuality and I know it's not ace, but it's still too wrapped up in being aromantic. Non-sam is the closest I could figure.

Tess: Demiboy. The idea just burrowed into my head and hasn't left so I'm going with it. He is fine with he/they pronouns, yet the only people allowed to get away with calling him little boy are his parents.

That's all I got. For the moment, at least. If I try to figure everyone out I won't get around to finishing this till pride next year. If ever >>. As I said, I may update the list or post a second part.

Remember to stay chill peeps! & Happy Pride!

#magi #magi labyrinth of magic #magi: the labyrinth of magic #magi headcanons #lgbtq+ headcanons #queer headcanons #hahahaha I'm not listing all the characters #i've been wanting to get this up the last few days shit #disagreements idc you can hc whatever you want #be nice though! :) my anxiety is being unfair per usual #help me prove it wrong!#i finally finished this yayy #legit why is a list so hard to make #and yes i may have overexplained but whatevs

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stranger-nightmare · 3 years

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75,95 from the smut prompt with both Dom druig and Bucky

-🖤

𝐃𝐨 𝐀𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐓𝐨𝐥𝐝

Pairing: Druig x Bucky x (female) Reader

Summary: smut prompt no. 75 “you make a sound it’s game over” and smut prompt no.95 “touch me and you lose"

Warnings: smut, Dom!Bucky, Dom!Druig, Sub!Reader, threesome (m+m+f), double penetration (m+f+m), masturbation (m+f), cumshot, oral (f receiving), edging, orgasm denial, dacryphilia, degradation and praise kink, tiniest bit of cockwarming, minors DNI

A/N: actually weak in the knees at this, Bucky AND Druig?? I’m spoiling you all😘 lmao have fun go wild with this my loves🥴🖤✨

“And the consequences will be severe” Druig smirks from the other side over you. “So it’s best to do as you’re told sweetheart” you can hear the smugness dripping from his voice.

You squirm from your position on the bed. You’re naked in the middle of the bed, both Druig and Bucky naked too, standing positioned on either side of you.

“We’re gonna play some games” Druig continues.

“We’re gonna play with you” Bucky corrects. “The rules are simple, but if you disobey them… well, like I said, there will be consequences” Bucky whispers huskily.

“First, you have to be quiet” Druig instructs. “You make a sound, it’s game over.”

“Second, you can’t touch us, no matter how desperate you are, no matter how much you want to, you touch us and you lose” Bucky speaks softly but firmly. “Do you understand?” Bucky asks, sneaking a quick smug glance with Druig.

“And third,” Bucky continues, “you’re not to touch yourself either until we say so.”

You nod, swallowing deeply. You were already dripping just from the sight of their glorious naked bodies in front of you. Your thighs were desperately rubbing together, vying for any kind of friction, any kind of relief. To think that were likely going to drag this out, to leave you hanging on, just riled you up even more. You feel a moan accidentally leave your throat.

Both Druig and Bucky smirk, a light tutting sound coming from Druig.

“Silly girl, forgetting the rules already” Druig hums.

Bucky grabs your face suddenly, his metal fingers digging into your jaw roughly. It takes all your willpower not to cry out from the pain.

“You’re not supposed to make any sounds? Got it?” Bucky reminds you, pinching your chin for emphasis. You nod again. Bucky smirks again, “good girl.”

He releases his grip on your chin, letting you fall back to lie on the bed.

“We’ll start reasonably easy” Druig speaks again now. “You’re going to watch as we touch yourselves. All you have to do is sit there like a good little girl and don’t make any noise, and don’t reach out to touch us, think you can handle that babygirl?” Druig all but coos.

“Yes” your voice is barely more than a whisper.

“Good” you hear Bucky say.

Then both men are holding out a hand towards your face. You look back and forth between them, confused.

“Spit” Bucky commands nodding his towards his waiting hand. You stare blankly at him for a second.

“He said, spit” Druig says more forcefully.

A shuddering breath moves through your body as you wet your mouth, spitting into each of their hands. They both smile smugly as they move their hands to their already aching and hardened cocks. You bite your lip to stop from moaning again as they both start to slowly move their hands up and down their lengths.

You stare back and forth between them, your lips quivering, your pussy aching and clenching over nothing but air. You writhe on the bed, rocking your hips, rubbing your thighs together. You want nothing more than to reach out and touch them, to replace their hands with yours, to guide their cocks to your dripping centre.

You see them both start to increase their speed. Druig is more quiet in his self pleasure, gasping and grunting lightly as his eyes bore into yours. Bucky is more vocal, his grunts louder, the occasional whispered “oh fuck” sounding from his lips as he fucks himself into his hand. Bucky’s gaze is more bold too as he keeps his eyes roaming over your naked body, taking the time to stare at your breasts as they move with your heavy breathing. He wets his lips when he looks at your exposed cunt, you feel your pussy clench again at the thought of having those wet lips on you. You almost feel another moan bubble up but you swallow it down quickly.

Druig and Bucky suddenly exchange a quick glance, Bucky’s eyebrow raising. Druig nods and smirks take over their faces once again. They then both look back to you.

“Okay baby, you can touch yourself now” Bucky states, his voice laced with lust.

“But remember, no noise” Druig grunts as he twists his hand around his cock, his body arching forward from the pleasure.

You nod silently again and then waste no time in following their instructions. Your hand dives for your core, your fingers quickly finding your throbbing clit. You being to circle it fervently, frantic to provide the friction that had been denied to you. You bite down harder on your lip to keep from crying out, the sensation of finally being touched almost being your downfall. You keep your eyes shifting from watching both of the men in front of you as you all chase your highs together. It doesn’t take you long to start to feel the fire burn in your lower belly, a pressure settling in your core. Your hips are bucking even harder against your hand as you chase release.

“Don’t get too excited y/n” Druig warns.

“You’re not going to cum yet. You’re going to stop just before, or again, consequences...” Bucky hisses, his hips jerking violently into his hand. You look at them with pleading eyes as your fingers continue to move against your bundle of nerves. They both just shake their heads at you. You almost feel a tear prick behind your eyes as you begrudgingly pull your hand away from your core. Your body writhes in frustration, your pussy once again clenching over nothing but air, your orgasm retreating, the fire dying.

“Ah shit” Druig moans, “that’s... a good girl” he chokes out as you see his hips stutter. Seconds later he’s a groaning mess as he releases all over your stomach. Your teeth are digging into you lower lip so hard you’re sure you’ll draw blood as you feel the hot liquid spill onto your skin, Druig arching forward over his own cock as he basks in his pleasure, his eyes still trained on yours.

“Fuck, yes. You did so well babygirl” Bucky groans as he too releases all over your stomach, the thick ropes of his cum mixing with Druig’s.

You squirm on the bed, your desperation for release so potent it feels like it’s taking over your whole body. Both men breath raggedly for a second, admiring the the view of you sprawled on the bed wearing nothing but their cum.

“Mmm you did so good baby” Druig praises after a little while. “I think it’s only fair we give her a little something in exchange” he looks to Bucky.

“Hmm,” Bucky agrees, “but she still has to keep quiet” Bucky’s eyes light up devilishly.

“And still no touching” Druig reminds you yet again. You nod once.

Bucky smirks as he suddenly crawls onto the bed with you, angling himself between your legs. Your breath hitches in anticipation as you feel his mouth trail up your leg. Your heavy breathing causes your stomach to raise and fall rapidly, allowing the boys’ cum to drip slowly down your body, working its way to your core. Both Druig and Bucky moan at the sight of it.

Bucky's mouth finally reaches the apex of your thighs. He kisses each side of your cunt lightly before finally licking a stripe up your folds. You shiver as his tongue comes into contact with your clit but you manage to keep your moan contained. Bucky then just dives in to your core, attacking your clit with his mouth. Your whole body trembles as his mouth moves on you. You fist your hands in the sheets to keep from grabbing onto his hair. He laps and he sucks at you, holding your hips in place firmly as you desperately buck against him.

You hear a groan sound from Druig and look over to see him languidly stroking himself, already hard again. Your mouth salivates at the sight, Druig’s face so concentrated on watching Bucky’s head between your thighs. That fire starts to burn in your belly, you feel your walls tightening as your orgasm approaches. Your mouth hangs open, your eyes squeezing shut as you eagerly await your release.

But Bucky pulls his mouth off you with a devilish grin. You throw your head back in frustration again as your orgasm once again draws away from you. You’re now so wet, Bucky’s spit mixing with your arousal, you can feel it leaking down onto your inner thighs. Bucky stands up again, taking his place by the side of the bed. You look at him pleadingly. But he just shakes his head and nods his chin towards Druig.

It’s now Druig’s turn to climb onto the bed and settle himself between your thighs. You feel the lightest of whimper breach your throat but luckily it’s not loud enough for either man to notice. Druig kisses your hip bones softly before he kisses lower, his lips ghosting over your throbbing and swollen clit. His mouth his softer than Bucky’s, less frantic, more deliberate in his actions. He takes his time sucking your clit into his mouth before licking at it in long strokes. You almost break your silence when feel one of his fingers enter you, your head rolling to the side to bite into your own shoulder.

You look to see Bucky also stroking himself again. Your eyes lock with his as your face contorts with pleasure as Druig adds another finger inside you. He pumps his fingers in time with his tongue, the pace not hard and fast, but deliberate and deep, his fingers curling to hit your sweet spot with each thrust. It’s like your whole body coils, every muscle in your body tightening as pleasure is so close to surging through you.

But once again you feel your orgasm retreating as Druig pulls his fingers out of, his mouth leaving your core at the same time. You flop back onto the bed in defeat, tears prickling your eyes. You feel one escape you, leaking down your cheek.

“Aww look at our dumb little baby, crying just because we won’t let her get off” Bucky mocks you, grabbing your chin in his hand again.

“Mmm such a needy little brat isn’t she?” Druig laughs darkly.

Tears brim in your eyes again as you feel your lips pout pitifully. It’s Bucky’s turn to release a dark laugh when he takes in your crying eyes.

“Look at her, crying because she’s so desperate for our cocks” he taunts. “You want us to fuck you babygirl?"

Your lip quivers again as you nod frantically, your arms reaching out for them but making purchase on nothing but air.

“Mmm so needy” Druig hums.

“Who do you want?” Bucky asks darkly. “You can use your words now sweetheart."

“Both! Both of you, please, please fuck me” you beg, your tearful eyes darting between the two of them.

They look at each other again, smugness laced behind their eyes.

“Mmm what do you think Druig?” Bucky raises an eyebrow.

“I think we’ve teased her enough” Druig drawls.

“Alright then babygirl, looks like you’re finally getting what you want."

“I- can I make noise now? Am I allowed to touch you?” You stutter quietly.

“Such a good girl asking for permission first” Bucky coos. “Yes sweetheart, the games are over. You did so well, now we’re gonna reward you."

He shoots another glance at Druig before they’re both climbing into the bed with you. Druig places his hand behind your neck, cupping your head. He uses his grip to pull you up, sitting you on your knees. You feel their cum drip down your front, down your thighs as you sit up. Druig settles in front of you and claims your lips with his. You moan immediately at the contact, your lips moving fervently with his.

You feel the bed dip behind you and feel one cold metal hand and one warm flesh hand settle on your hips. You then feel Bucky’s chest push against your back, his lips attaching to your neck. You sigh at the feeling, your mouth opening and allowing Druig’s tongue to slip over yours. All three of you are rutting your hips together, you can feel Bucky’s cock against your ass, Druig’s against your thigh.

Druig breaks the kiss to trail his lips down your neck. You take the opportunity to turn your head and capture Bucky’s lips. The kiss breaks when you gasp loudly as you feel Druig push his cock inside you at last. You groan sinfully loud at the feeling of finally having one of them inside you. You arch forward, your chest colliding with Druig’s as he starts to set a steady pace rocking in and out of you.

You’re so wrapped in the bliss that is Druig’s cock fucking into you that you barely hear the familiar pump of the lube bottle and the squelch as Bucky covers his cock in it, pumping himself a few times. You then feel him push his tip past the folds in your ass, the head of his cock brushing over your tight hole. You cry out from the slight pain as Bucky pushes inside you slowly. Druig groans just as loudly when your pussy clenches around him tightly at the new sensation.

“Shit baby, you’re so fucking tight” Bucky groans into your hair as he pushes himself in to the hilt. It hurts, but you can’t deny how good it feels at the same time. Bucky starts with a slow rhythm, slowly working his way up to match the way Druig was frantically fucking himself inside your pussy. You relish at the opportunity to finally touch them, Your one hand goes behind you, cupping the back of Bucky’s neck, gripping his hair tightly. Your other is draped over Druig’s shoulders, your fingers playing with the short hair at the back of his neck.

“Mmm, you feel so fucking good baby” Druig agrees, his breathing ragged.

You’re overwhelmed by the sensations, both Druig and Bucky’s cocks moving inside you. Your legs are shaking, your thigh trembling. You can barely keep upright, lucky for your you had a man on either side of you to keep you upright. Bucky’s hands are gripping your hips so tight you know you’ll see bruises there tomorrow, he guides your ass down on his cock over and over again. Both of their grunts are loud in your ears as they both kiss and suck at your neck, littering your skin with hickys.

“Ah... fuck. I’m close” you pant. “Please let me cum, please” you beg them, burying your face into the crook of Druig’s neck, kissing him softly as you plead to find your release.

“You can cum” Bucky confirms. “You’ve been such a good girl for us."

You whimper as you feel your climax build again, tears springing to your eyes once again, this time with relief that they were actually going to let you finish.

“That’s it sweetheart, cum for us” Druig whispers in your ear.

His words and the feeling of his hot breath against the shell of your ear finally tip you over the edge. You let out the loudest gasp as your orgasm finally breaks over you. Your whole body shudders and convulses, your legs threatening to give way. Tears stream down your face as both men continue to fuck into you, prolonging your high.

Your pussy clenching finally squeezes Druig over the edge into his own orgasm, his hips stilling against yours as his cock pulses inside you, shooting his cum deep in your convulsing cunt. His head falls limp against your neck as he collapse into you, the only thing now holding you both up is Bucky as he continues to fuck into you relentlessly.

You whimper and whine as another little death rolls through your body as Bucky fucks deep inside you. You can feel Druig already beginning to soften inside your cunt but he stays where he is, pressed flush against you, the cum on your stomach sticking the two of you together.

Before long you finally feel Bucky’s pace falter as he grunts loudly in your ear. Your name falls from his lips as he too spills inside you, his face burying into the other side of your neck. All of your breathing heavily together, each recovering from your highs.

“Good job sweetheart, you did amazingly” Bucky places a surprisingly tender kiss to your cheek as he pulls out of you slowly.

You gasp at the sensation, your body feeling sore and weak, and yet so blissfully good at the same time. You fall forward into Druig, the two of you leaning on each other as his soft cock still sits inside you.

Bucky collapses onto the bed next you, his arm reaching out to stroke the back of your thigh as you and Druig hold each other for a short while. Druig kisses all over your face softly, kissing where your tears had dried on your cheeks. He gives you gentle praise and shushes you gently as he peppers you with a thousand kisses.

After a while though he finally pulls out of you. He holds onto your body gently as he lowers you back onto the bed, tucking you against Bucky’s side. Bucky’s flesh arm sits under your head as you lie back on the bed. Druig collapses on the other side of you, squashing you between the two of them.

You’re all still breathing raggedly as you all revel in this moment of post-coital bliss. You can feel the cum all over you, on your stomach, in your cunt, in your ass. You’re a mess. And you loved it.

“I think I need to go shower” you breathe after a while.

“I’m not sure we’d all fit sweetheart” Bucky teases.

You just swat his chest lightly.

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rocorambles · 3 years

Text

Beginning of Forever

Pairing: Iwaizumi x Reader x Oikawa

Genre/Warnings: Yandere, NSFW, Greek Mythology AU, Poseidon!Iwaizumi, Zeus!Oikawa, Kidnapping, Non-Con/Rape, Non-Con Drugging, Attempted Suicide

Summary: You learn the consequences of rejecting a god.

It only makes sense that when the two gods meet, they meet on Earth, the middle ground between the sky and the sea. A neutral space where they can throw off the responsibilities and weight of being Zeus and Poseidon. A free for all zone where they can pretend to be as human as they possibly can, donning the names Oikawa and Iwaizumi as they challenge each other, seeing who can seduce more mortals, indulging in carnal pleasure.

The competition is always stiff between the two of them, equally overwhelming crowds naturally flocking towards the two men. They never can decide on a clear winner in the writhing, moaning mess of naked bodies sprawled across their hotel room. Counting is the last thing on their minds as they toy with mortals, bringing them to delirious levels of pleasure unlike anything they’ve felt before. The details don’t seem important as they stick their cocks in the countless warm holes aching for them. And as they finally sit back and relax, watching as a few insatiable lustful humans go at it with each other while the others slump in exhausted post-coital bliss around them, Iwaizumi and Oikawa smirk at each other.

Another successful conquest. Just more proof of where humans are on the totem pole compared to gods like them. Mere playthings for them to have fun with.

So imagine their shock and annoyance when they meet you on their latest venture to the mortal world and you don’t spare either of them even a second glance, eyes brushing past their figures blankly before you turn to a bartender and order a drink, back turned to them as you walk away.

Maybe you just don’t appreciate the already swarming crowd forming around them. Maybe you think that they wouldn’t spare you a glance when they already have so many people vying for their attention.

They take pity on you, going out of their way to make the first move, approaching you, gracing you with their full attention.

So imagine the fury in chocolate brown eyes, the hardened edge in green eyes, when you brusquely wave them away from you as if they’re nothing but annoying bugs flitting around you.

The. Fucking. Audacity.

Neither god has ever been completely graceful about being denied, rejected, or told no, even if it came from another deity. So to come from a worthless mortal, a speck of dust in their lengthy existence? Unacceptable.

The gods always get their way.

You learn that the hard way when your surroundings suddenly change, the background noises of music, voices, and glasses fading to nothing, the dark ambiance replaced by pristine white and blues, shimmering seashells and pearls, and the crowd around you gone, leaving only two familiar faces left staring back at you.

Your first guess is drugs and you curse yourself, fear building inside of you as you try and think back on when someone could have possibly slipped something in one of your drinks. Anxiety has you scrambling away from the two men who just impassively continue observing you, green eyes curious, brown eyes amused. And even as you turn around and race away from them as fast as your shaky legs can take you, you can feel those burning eyes on you, waiting, watching.

You almost sob in relief when you see a doorway ahead of you, praying that despite the hallucinatory imagery swirling around you that this is real, that you’ve found your escape. And you prepare your lungs, ready to scream for help the second you step outside. But as you open your mouth the same time the door flings open wide, water crashes around you, overflowing all your open orifices, soaking you, drowning you, until you feel nothing except the accelerating drum of your frenzied heart.

All you can think as your vision goes dark is that this feels all too vivid, all too real.

Dazzling white blinds you as your eyelids flutter open and you wonder if this is heaven, if you’ve passed on. If only you knew how wrong and right you are. Not that the knowledge will do you much good, as Oikawa is eager to show you. Iwaizumi snorts at how Zeus radiates with dark glee, handsome face twisting in something cruel as he revels in your almost tangible fear that permeates in the air when he reveals exactly who they are and the consequences of your disrespect. He’ll never fully understand his fellow god’s obsession with these silly mental and emotional games, but he can be patient and let Oikawa have his fun before they both indulge in you.

After all, meat is always so succulent after being tenderized and marinated.

Oikawa’s always loved the surge of power he feels at being the reason a sweet little thing’s heart races, pupils blown wide in fear, sparkling watery gems forming in eye ducts. And all this just from revealing his name. Zeus. It’s not the joyous worship he’s used to from the old world, but there’s a certain reverence in the way his title incites recognition in you, the way he sees an unbeliever like you finally forced to faith.

He’s not as much of a fan of the way you still shy from him, hands futilely trying to keep him at arms length from you as he insistently approaches you. But he understands. You’re scared. You don’t know how to worship and love him yet. You’re still a new believer.

So it’s up to him to guide you.

You’re not the first terrified and reluctant follower he’s met and Iwaizumi watches in appreciation as Oikawa uses a blend of force and sway to have you bend to his ways. It’s always fascinating to see how pleasure and fear intertwine and mingle in humans and Iwaizumi can feel his arousal grow as you can’t stop the litany of moans forced from your mouth, can’t stop the sticky river beginning to trickle from between your legs despite the way you cry and beg to be released.

Humans really are such simple creatures so vulnerable to their base desires. Even cornered and hopeless, you writhe and wantonly groan as Oikawa’s mouth and hands thoroughly touch every part of you, back arching and eyes rolling back when his cock easily slips inside your drenched cunt. You don’t want to feel good. You shouldn’t feel good. Yet you can feel a familiar coil tightening inside of you with every slide of his shaft against your walls and when he forces you to gaze into those hungry eyes and orders you to cum, you obey.

You’re so malleable, so well-behaved, by the time Iwaizumi finally has his way with you. It’s hard to believe you’re the same arrogant woman who dared to turn them away when you easily let him spread your legs, not even bothering to hide how lost in pleasure and desire you are, clenching around his cock and begging for more, more, more. And Iwaizumi almost feels a pang of regret, wishing you had a bit more fight and resistance left in you, not as into the mindless sex doll appeal Oikawa enjoys.

But he’s not disappointed when the haze of sex fades and the fire returns to your eyes, fueled even more by disgust at yourself and them for the night of decadence. And he laughs when you lash out at them, vicious scathing words dripping like venom from your lips, claws sharpened and ready to strike. It’s his turn to break you apart and he relishes in the way your nails painfully attempt to pierce his skin, the way your eyes glow in their rage.

He’s not Oikawa and you learn that the hard way. He knows what this is. He’s not arrogant enough to believe you truly want this, that you’ll ever want this. But he doesn’t care. If anything it only excites him more, the way you ferociously fight him. And he grunts in pleasure as he pins you from behind, forcing your head into the ground as he thrusts into your raised and exposed ass, marking and claiming you inside and out, treating you like nothing more than a prized animal.

It’s disarming and overwhelming how different and similar the two are, your mental barriers unable to keep up and adapt to their various approaches. You try to resist, try to look for ways to escape your luxurious prison deep under the ocean surface. But you find your resolve crumbling, find yourself craving Oikawa’s filthy demeaning words, find yourself waiting expectantly for Iwaizumi’s more physical proof of ownership. And when you look in the mirror one day and see yourself covered in bite marks and blooming spreads of purple, black, blue, and red, you sob, unable to recognize the woman staring back at you.

Your resistance has been laughable as of late and Iwaizumi sighs as Oikawa gloats, taking bets on how many more days it’ll take before you completely break and accept your place, before you grovel on your knees and beg to please them and praise them. How much longer until you become a true believer?

But it’s Iwaizumi’s turn to excitedly smile when he senses you attempting to leave his domain once again, in desperate pursuit of a watery end. And he chuckles at the irritated tsk from the god beside him as he leisurely takes his time to forcefully rescue you from the liquid flooding your lungs.

“You have some work to do on your seduction skills, brother, if she'd rather die than be with us for a second longer.”

Darkness has never felt so welcoming and you bask in the feeling of your consciousness fading to black, finding peace even as your lungs ache and burn from lack of oxygen. But you thrash as much as you can while submerged when a pair of strong hands grab you, wailing in denial as air rushes through your heaving body.

“Oh, darling. You didn’t think you could escape us that easily did you?”

A handsome face crowned by wavy brown locks sweetly smiles at you and dismay numbs your body, making your limbs heavy, your mind blank. And you just dumbly stare back as Iwaizumi moves behind you, lifting a golden goblet to your lip, submissively sipping whatever he offers you, thinking it’s just water to help clear your mouth of the salty ocean still clinging to your senses. But what you aren’t expecting is the unnatural warmth that floods you, has you gasping and contorting, only Iwaizumi’s reassuring hold and Oikawa’s voice grounding you throughout the chaos.

“Ambrosia…”

You can hardly believe your own word as you voice it outloud. A nectar meant only for the gods. A substance created for longevity and immortality.

Oikawa coos as hot tears run down your face when realization sinks in, when the promise of a lifetime and more, of forever, settles in the pit of your stomach.

“Oh sweetheart, don’t cry. We knew this would be a difficult change for you, so we added something else to the ambrosia to help ease you into things. Can you feel it?”

And you do feel it, whimpering and moaning as the aphrodisiac they had mixed with the fragrant beverage streams through you, nipples hardening, pussy aching and dripping, staining the ground underneath you that you find yourself helplessly grinding against for delicious friction and relief.

You shake your head side to side as both gods surround you, but as the hard toned planes of their chests press against you, any resistance disappears and you greedily rub your tingling buds against Oikawa’s bare skin, hands clinging onto broad shoulders, back arching as you shake your ass against Iwaizumi’s hardening cock.

Oikawa’s cruel laughter fills the air, but you don’t have it in you to feel a shred of humiliation, not when everything feels so good, so addicting, and you plead for more even as he mocks you, his fingers meanly twisting and pinching your nipples, sneering at how well you’re responding, how you were made to be used for all of eternity. And how can you even argue against him as you’re forced over the edge again and again, cumming with seemingly every simple touch, body jolting in pleasure with even just a brush of his fingertips?

Is this what it means to be fucked silly? To succumb to lust? You don’t know how much longer you can survive, how much longer you’ll be yourself when they’re through with you, if they’re ever through with you. And you sob in fear? Overstimulation? Overwhelming desire? You don’t know.

You don’t know anything except for the way two cocks stretch you more than you’ve ever thought possible. You don’t know anything except for the joy of having your two holes stimulated, stuffing you full of sticky warm spurts. You don’t know anything except the intoxicating smell of musk, sweat, and sex as your face is shoved between strong thighs, your nose and mouth forced to clean the mess you’ve made of their shafts and balls, only for your lewd messy appearance to cause their dicks to rise in interest and start the entire process all over again.

When your head finally begins to clear, rational thoughts and shame flooding through you, it’s too late. And despite the desperate words of denial you manage to use the last of your will to utter, even you can hear the tremble in your voice, even you can’t deny the way your hips continue to bounce up and down of their own will on the two cocks still buried balls deep inside of you.

You sob as Oikawa tenderly kisses you, nuzzling his forehead against yours in a grotesque version of a lover’s touch, croaking out “no, no, no” as the goblet is held to your mouth once more, Iwaizumi’s hand warningly wrapping around your throat when you take a second too long to part your lips.

“Drink up, darling. It’s the beginning of forever.”

#yandere haikyuu #haikyuu smut #iwaizumi x reader #oikawa x reader #iwaizumi smut #oikawa smut #tw: yandere #tw: noncon

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yoonia · 4 years

Text

All Fervent Manner [M]

➬ Title | All Fervent Manner

➬ Summary | He is a man of class, but also a man with secrets. And he has no qualms in giving you the entire universe if you had asked him to. At least, those are the exact words he had given you then. But as time passes, you cannot help but notice that no matter how fierce he seems to love you, he always appears to be walking on eggshells. Perhaps it is your duty to release him from his binds. If only you just know how.

↳ Pairings | Jimin x reader

↳ Genre | Established Relationship!au, Smut, Angst

↳ Ratings | +18 / M for Mature

↳ Warning | Sexual tension, a bit of an age gap (OC is 24 and Jimin is 32), dirty talk, intense foreplay, mentions of spanking, light bondage/restrictions, deep throat, cum eating, fingering (f receiving), oral sex/pussy eating, praise kink, clothed foreplay, dry humping, breast play, biting, unprotected sex, rough sex, orgasm control (orgasm denial/delay), mirror sex, multiple orgasms (with forced orgasm involved), aftercare.

↳ Word count | 19,7k words

↳ Music Companion | Come Away With Me - Norah Jones

➬ Cross post | AO3

➬ Author’s Note | Written as a commission for @opaljm. | This was originally meant to be posted on Jimin’s birthday, but my block got in the way that I couldn’t finish this one on time. I’m so sorry for the long wait. I hope you’ll enjoy this one. I might come back to this to do a more proper editing in the future so I’m sorry if there’s a ton of mistakes in there. | Taglist: @jeonmisha, @illicitjams

There is something surreal about seeing him in this light.

Up close and personal. So close, you can make out every single expression that he makes whenever he speaks. The air around him seems to crackle with every delicate movement he makes, his energy rippling in the air to summon everyone’s attention on him, including yours.

But what makes it even more surreal is the fact that even when he has everyone’s eyes on him, vying for his attention as they all hope to have at least a single glance of acknowledgement from Jimin, he only has his eyes on you.

The same way he is doing it to you now, giving you his rapt attention even when you are chatting about something so trivial—your daily routines, the short encounter you had earlier today with Mr. Rasheed from next door, a simple joke shared by one of your co-workers at the office today—between sipping wine and savouring your meal. His gaze is so intense that people may think you are talking about world peace or other life altering matters, and most possibly completely oblivious to how his eyes are making you feel like you are floating in the air while being rooted in place at the same time.

That is just what Park Jimin does to you.

Jimin always knows how to make your heart flutter and your skin flush without having to do so much. He makes you feel special, cherished, as though you are the only thing that matters to him right in this moment.

And it is not just about the expensive restaurants and the pretty places he takes you to—just like this fancy place where you are currently dining with him, where you are surrounded with bright chandeliers, soft music humming through the room with other exquisite looking guests sitting around you on their own tables, and shiny silver tablewares set over the silky table mats—or the lavish gifts that he gives you between each dates.

It is simply him. Just being with him is enough to make it all worthwhile, to have him as your companion and to enjoy the gentle way he treats you when you are together. You just love how he always listens to you carefully in the way that shows just how much he truly cares about you. You always take in delight on how his eyes could easily find you whether you are near or even when you are standing right across the room. As you reach out to your glass of wine in the middle of the conversation, Jimin’s eyes quickly follow your move—from the way your fingers are wrapped around the tall glass to when you bring it to your lips, before his eyes find yours again and your gazes connect to each other so easily as if he is meant to never look away.

Sometimes, when something like this happens, when your gazes meet each other this way, you would find your mind wandering wildly to the past.

You cannot help it, really, when it had always felt like a dream come true to be the center of his attention that you would, at times, feel the need to pinch your own skin just to let you know that this is real.

Once, many years ago, when you were just a girl struggling to finish college and trying to escape your father’s shadows while Jimin had already become his apprentice and was rising to be his own person, you had already known him. You have seen him even before you finally met him in person, even if it were through other people’s eyes. You remember seeing his face everywhere, in the magazines, all over the news, posters planted through campus that had been printed with his achievements as some sort of a motivation for all the students in your faculty who wanted to be like him—a young, rising new entrepreneur who seemed to have things going on for him.

He was almost always at your father’s company events, those which you had avoided for years despite your father’s best effort of getting you to come just so he could get you involved in his business. So you had definitely seen him through the pictures taken from said events, since your father had always come home to brag about them with the rest of the family.

There were times over the years when you would look at his pictures, wondering if there would ever be a time when you could find anyone who would look at you the way he did to all the women he was pictured with. Sometimes, you would even picture yourself in those women’s shoes, imagining how it would be like if he had looked at you the same. In those pictures, he seemed to have given them his undivided attention in a way that had made your chest feel constricted and tight with something that was completely foreign. It was jealousy, your roommate had told you then, though you weren’t quite sure if you had developed your silly little crush on him at the time. Until you began seeing boys your age, either the smart ones from your class or the most popular ones on campus, and you started comparing each and one of them to Jimin.

As the unidentified crush continued to grow, you began to pay more attention into his photos, to the expressions that he made in them. You began to wonder what may have been going on in his mind as he stood there with his dates, their dainty hands wrapped around his arm as they posed together. His dates had all been beautiful, gorgeous even, and mostly elegant. Most of the women appeared by his side had always been those from the higher class—models, celebrities, socialites, some were even heiresses to rich families. But what you wanted to know most was what Jimin may have seen in them.

Was it their looks? Their dresses—that seemed like they would have cost a fortune? Or was there something they shared privately that had him looking at them so endearingly?

You never knew the answer to those questions, nor have you ever thought about them again until now, as you distractedly look over to him. When you realise that the look that Jimin gives you had been different compared to what you have seen then. His gaze is often more intense, deeper, enough to pull you closer to him and have your heart fluttering wildly you never know how to control them.

Jimin reaches out to hold your hand, then begins to brush his thumb gently on your knuckles, pulling you out of your reverie and bringing you back to him. “Where were you just now?” he questions you. “You seem lost in thinking.”

“Oh, it’s nothing important,” you answer him, holding back from letting him know that he was the one who had been in your mind.

Jimin only chuckles, yet he brings your hand to his lips. He begins kissing your knuckles, pressing his lips slowly to each one, while his eyes never stray away from you.

“Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?” he asks you, though the words nearly fail to sink in when you are too distracted with the way he is brushing his lips on your knuckles.

You bite your lips, holding back the smile that is insisting to grow. “You have. About over a dozen times,” you whisper. You simply cannot deny the way your body is reacting to him. Not when he is treating you like this—teasing you so coyly but still being a gentlemen at it.

“Then I’m saying it again. You look beautiful,” he says. Then he turns your hand so that your palm is facing upward, before he once again brings it to his lips. This time, he plants a kiss right at the center of your palm, before moving to your wrist, where his lips linger.

Right at this moment, everything around you simply fades. Nothing else seems to matter, just as long as you are with him and you are the only one he is staring at.

Once again, your mind flies back to a different moment in the past. Though it doesn’t wander far, just to a night some time a month ago when you were being defiant, trying to brush it off when he complimented you. He had told you that you looked beautiful in your new red dress, yet you simply hid your face and denied it, something that he clearly didn’t enjoy having. In turn, he pulled you close to his side, his arm felt tight around your waist and the ghost of his lips felt hot on the nape of your neck when he whispered into your hair,

‘Need I spank that pretty little ass of yours to make sure that you are going to listen to me?’

You had brushed it off as a joke then, though you were secretly hiding the fact that his crude words had made you feel hot inside. It was something new, something interesting. But what more surprising about it was the fact that you—liked it. Actually liked it.

Loved it, in fact, since you found your panties soaked and your core dripping wet when you pictured him placing you across his lap and his delicate hands spanking you until your skin would burn. The same way you are feeling how your lower area are growing slick and wet right this moment simply for thinking about that moment.

But he must have misread the bashful smile that came upon you back then as apprehensiveness, because he had kept his words to himself ever since, and you haven’t had him teasing you in such a way again even when you had been secretly waiting—and sometimes even prompting—him to.

You simply cannot help but feel curious. Mostly wondering if he would ever truly bring any of it into reality, or he had simply said those things as a joke.

There is no denying that Jimin has multiple layers in him that he had only been peeling off one at a time ever since he began dating you, and there is still a part of him that he keeps hidden. You can feel it when he closes up, as if revealing the deeper part of him could scare you away. But the undying need to know more about your lover and have him reveal his secret has been clawing worse on you ever since.

“You’re being too sweet to me,” you murmur softly with your cheeks flaming hot, but you make no move to pull your hand away from his gentle grip. Your fingers tingle where he is touching you, giving you the sense of being pulled into him stronger than ever before.

“That’s not sweetness. It’s the truth,” he says with a chuckle, giving you one last kiss at the back of your hand, and then on your wrist, before finally letting you go. “Finish your meal so I can ask them to bring in the dessert.”

His words bring a smile to your face. You love it when he takes control. His commanding tone and confidence would have raised a brow if it had come from somebody else. But when it comes from him, especially when he is doing so with a lazy smile growing on his face, there is no denying the way your body flutters warmly to it.

“What are you ordering me?” you ask him as you washes off your palate with your wine. Jimin has been full of surprises lately, just like this date that had come out of nowhere in the middle of the week instead of the usual weekend, and he leaves you constantly asking just what else he has planned for you to knock you off of your feet.

Instead of answering, Jimin merely gives you a smile, before falling into a momentary silence as if he is trying to raise the tension in the air. “Something I think you’d love.”

You raise a brow just as he looks over your shoulder, nodding at the waiter who no doubt has been standing close by. It feels like only moments have passed by before your table is cleared, the waiters working rhythmically to place an entire set up of dessert plates that you have never seen being presented in this particular restaurant before.

A bowl of chocolate fondue with a few small plates of fresh fruits and cakes. All set up similarly to the one you have seen months ago, on the night when you first met Jimin. One that you had enjoyed together, choosing which sweets or fruits to dip into the chocolate while chatting like old friends in the middle of a party.

“You remember,” you muse at the sight of your favourite sweet dessert before looking up to him, seeing him smiling wide, taking pride in the reaction you are giving him.

“Always.”

Despite the warmth shared during dinner, the drive back from the restaurant to your place is silent.

And there is no one else to blame for the rising tension but yourself.

Jimin had always been quite unpredictable when it comes to end of the night, and it leaves you with questions and anticipations whenever the date is almost over, and you are always left wondering just what is going to happen later as he drops you off at your place.

Jimin had always taken his time when it comes to getting what he wants. It took him weeks to finally ask you out in the first place. Then, after you began dating officially, he had waited a whole month before he finally kissed your lips.

On the first date, Jimin could barely hold your hand even as he walked beside you through the cafes downtown in the hunt for your favourite dessert. It wasn’t until you reached the sidewalk where people were rushing off to different places to enjoy the night when he finally reached out to you. It took both in fear of losing you in the crowd and the fear of having you bumping into people for him to do so, yet he had not only grab your hand but wrapped his arm around your waist protectively. And he kept it there until the night ended.

It had been a pleasant night for both of you, giving you the chance to open up and to get to know him a lot better. At the end of the night, he walked you to your door, looking painfully perfect as he looked at you with fondness and care. He was gentle when he spoke, completely oblivious to the racing heartbeat inside your chest.

You had waited to have him lean in, to have him pressing his lips on yours, only to see him hesitate for a fraction of a moment, before you felt his lips on the top of your head.

He continued to behave as a gentleman throughout the next few dates, showing you nothing else but patience and care. While his gentleness has been the one that had captivated you in the first place, it had somehow began to feel like barrier when you think of it as a reason why he keeps holding back while you have been ready to have more.

No matter how well the nights you have spent with him had ended, he had always tamed those moments down when he bid you goodnight right at the front door of your apartment with a gentle, and terribly too innocent kisses, either he would plant the kiss on your forehead, your cheeks, or at the top of your head.

At some point in time, you began to wonder if he had truly been feeling all the same things you had for him. If he had truly been attracted to you and seen you more than just an older colleague’s daughter. Sometimes, he would even make you feel like he was treating you more as a sister than a lover. The self doubt and insecurities it brought you had only made you feel even more subconscious during one of those nights you shared with him until you couldn’t take anymore. It finally came to a point where you grew too impatient, and most certainly devastated, to think that perhaps the feelings you have had for Jimin has not exactly been mutual.

“Jimin, do you really like me?” you asked him one night after a date, moments after he had kissed your forehead and right when he was just about to turn away, leaving you at your door the way he usually would.

“What do you mean?” he asked you, frowning slightly and obviously taken back at how you were suddenly questioning him.

You had been asking yourself this and wondering about it throughout the whole night. But the moment you met his deep gaze, every word you had wanted to speak to him about completely evaporated from your brain.

Until he had his hands resting on your upper arm, as if holding you in a kept distance while he looked at your face more closely, searching for his answer there. It was his delicate touch that put your insecurities back on, when he made you feel like you were no different than a fragile thing he was too afraid to touch, to hold too tight. With a pout and a pure disdain in your heart, you let everything that had been troubling you to flow right out of your lips.

“I like you, Jimin. I like you a lot,” you began to speak, though your voice came out as a hesitant whisper and your face was burning so hot that you had to look down to avoid his gaze.

Perhaps saying ‘like’ would be taking things too lightly, because you were beginning to feel a lot deeper for him during these few months of dating him. But that was the reason why you had to speak now, before you would fall too deeper in love and it would hurt you even more to know that he didn’t feel the same.

“Sometimes I feel like you only see me like a little sister. You have always been nice to me, but—”

But you cannot help to think that maybe he was only with you out of pity. Maybe he had asked you out because of your father. Maybe—there were a lot of ‘maybe’s and ‘what if’s in your mind that had kept troubling you, messing up with your thoughts of him and filling you with doubts.

Would it be wrong to question just why he never wanted to kiss you?

Would it be wrong to ask for more?

Would it be wrong to question his feelings for you?

When you finally lifted your face to look at him again, he had a deep frown on his face. Either he was able to read your mind or you were wondering about those things out loud, because the next thing he gave you was a question, “Is that how you think of me? Is that really how you feel?”

He sounded rather baffled as he spoke, and a bit terrified as well that you almost regretted ever bringing it up. Yet he still didn’t let go of you. Keeping your head down once more, you slowly moved your head to a nod.

He reached out to touch your chin, bringing your eyes back to him again as he answered you. “Baby, look at me—” he said, and you had no other choice but to look into his eyes. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have feelings for you. Do you have any idea how much I’ve been thinking about you? How I fantasied about kissing you, holding you, in all times I could? That’s the only reason why I asked to see you tonight, because I couldn’t stop thinking about you and I couldn’t wait until this weekend to see you.”

The revelation had you looking at him with wide eyes. The fact that he had also been thinking about you when you were apart was still hard to believe. But there was no way you could deny it when he was looking at you the way he did—with glassy eyes and a sheepish smile. “Really?”

Jimin nodded slowly. “It’s driving me nuts that I couldn’t even focus on work,” he chuckled, looking slightly embarrassed upon admitting this while you were left completely speechless. You felt his thumb brushing gently on your cheek, his eyes looking down on your lips. “You cannot possibly believe that I had never thought about kissing you. Because that’s the only thing I could think of whenever you are close to me.”

“What—?”

And then he was suddenly kissing you, and it was every bit as good as how you had imagined it would. Perhaps way better than what you have pictured in your head, since reality had always found its way to prevail over your bland imagination.

His soft lips felt heavenly on yours, something that you soon found to be one of the most profound qualities that you love from him. And even though the list of the things you love from him is quite long, his kiss would remain to be placed at the top spot of your favourite things in life and it becomes the one that you think about at night before you fall asleep.

You felt his smile growing in the kiss, just like how you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling. In that magical moment, it felt like every weight you had been carrying was lifted. All the insecurities faded when he pulled you tight to his chest and deepened the kiss. His arm was strong enough to hold you up when you started to sway, his warm kiss lightened up the sparks of warmth within you until you felt like you were melting in his arms.

When you both pulled away, both of you were breathless, your cheeks were flaming hot and the smile you shared with him seemed like they wouldn’t easily fade. He looked just as bashful as you felt when he looked at you, except that there was something else that had been lifted between you, like a new page had been flipped and there was a new light rising between the two of you.

It was at the fourth month of your relationship when Jimin showed you another side of him that you weren’t quite familiar with, revealing another layer of himself that you had been dying to uncover.

It had happened at your parents’ holiday dinner event, the annual gathering they had always held for years where they invite close friends and colleagues to celebrate together. At one part of the night, not too long after dessert had been served and taken, Jimin had taken you away into hiding. He had found a room that was quite far away from the dining area, one that was kept dark and secluded, but surprisingly unlocked.

He took you to venture deep inside into the dark room, before pinning you against the farthest side of the wall, both your wrists locked over your head under his tight grip. In a matter of moments, he had his lips on yours, devouring you until you were left breathless and your lips swollen, before his kisses moved down to the sensitive parts of your neck, along the column of your throat, while his other hand—the one that was not holding you up to the wall—ran down your waist, your hips, touching you where you would shiver and tremble while needing more.

At some point, he had slipped one leg between your parted thighs, hiking the hem of your dress up to your hips until you could settle down right on top of his toned thigh. As the kiss grew deeper, your hips began to move, swivelling and pressing down against him. You were rubbing your clothed heat along his thigh while he rubbed his hips against yours, and when your bodies moved in tune with one another, there was no stopping it as the pleasure continued to rise, dancing and swirling from your center and spreading wide all over your body.

He held his gaze on yours when you fell apart, falling into his chest while the pulsing of your climax coursed through you. Then he held you up in his arms right after, pressing you tightly against his chest, where you could feel his heartbeat pacing steadily fast against yours. The kisses he gave you were soft and gentle, and he was patient as he waited until you came down from your high. Your thighs were still trembling when he pulled you out of the room, taking you back into the party as if nothing had happened. Though the small smile that kept secretly slipping from him had shown you just how much he had noticed your body still humming with your release. And the pride in his eyes stayed all night for knowing that he was the one who gave you the flush on your skin and soft ragged breathing you kept trying to hide as you conversed with your parents.

“I’m sorry if I went out of line back there,” “I’ve wanted to kiss you all night long and I just couldn’t stop myself.”

But there was nothing about it that you didn’t approve of. In fact, you have thoroughly enjoyed it. But your words failed you when you just had no idea what to say.

I enjoyed it.

I want you to do it again.

You wanted so badly to let him know what you wanted and what you loved, yet the only thing that you ended up giving him was nothing more but a gentle kiss right on his jaw, before finally answering him with, “You weren’t out of line. I feel safe when I’m with you.”

He was visibly pleased and relieved to hear your words then, making you think for a moment that you were finally getting another progress happening between you and he was opening up to you more. Only that once the moment had passed, you have yet to see Jimin in the same light no matter how badly you wanted it to happen.

The car moving to a curve at the turnover shakes you out of your wandering thoughts, bringing you back to this moment—sitting beside Jimin as he drives you back home. He is still driving calmly, completely oblivious to the things that had been running through your head, while you are trying to subtly shift in your seat. As always, the thought of what happened that night at your parents’ house quickly progresses inward. The area between your legs are beginning to pulse at the memory that you have to press your thighs together to hide it. The last thing you ever want is to have him catching you getting hot over something that he may not ever going to bring up again.

Often times, what you feel to the memory has always been defeated by the things that had come right after. Because after that night, Jimin had took another step backwards, closing himself yet again. He had always been a gentleman, and you had always loved him for it. But there is no denying that you want more. Not that his gentleness has not been enough, it is just that you have a certain need that needs further fulfilment and you have only wanted it for him to be the one to fill it.

Turning to him, watching the lights from outside flashing over his beautiful face, you silently make a vow to find away to get him get out of his shells. From all the small things that had happened and what he had shown you, you know that he also has a few needs that he is trying to bury deep inside. And you know that if you want to love him properly, you want to love every part of him equally, even the darkness that he is trying so hard to shield from you. As the car slowly comes closer to your apartment building, so close to home, a new determination comes into your mind as you think of ways to have him opening himself to you, to have him show you all his wants and needs. As he gives a quick glance to look at your face when he stops right at the last red light before your home, you are determined that if he cannot show you what he desires the most, then you are the one who is going to show him first.

Just like always, Jimin insists to walk you up to your door.

He holds your hand all the way from the lobby and the entire elevator trip climbing the couple of floors up, entwining your hands together with his as if he is afraid that you might slip away. Your heartbeat continues to pound wildly inside your chest the closer you are to arrive home, but it settles down some right the moment you are standing at your door, leaning back against it while you are facing him. He still yet to release your hands, keeping them still entwined together in his gentle hands and with his eyes still locked on your face.

“Do you want to come in?” you ask him after he leans in to give you a chaste kiss, making sure that you speak first before he ever gets a chance to bid you goodnight and walk away.

On your previous dates, Jimin had always seemed hesitant about accepting your invitation. At times, he would take a moment before refusing. Other times, he would simply kiss your lips tenderly before giving you a regretful look as he says goodnight and watches you walk through the door.

This time, however, he keeps his forehead pressing on yours, giving you no sign of leaving. Then he kisses you one more time, smiling tenderly when he finally answers,

“Of course. I would love to.”

Biting your lips, you hold back the shock from showing itself and focus solely in putting the key through the lock and opening the door. Taking one step after the other as you walk into the threshold feels like an arduous task with him following close behind you. “Do you want anything to drink? I have some tea and coffee if you want. Unless you want some more wine?”

Jimin raises his brows. “A cup of tea would be lovely. I probably shouldn’t be driving home after wine.”

The moment he mentions about going home, you feel a little hint of your disappointment creeping up on you. But you force it down and muster a smile, hiding the fact that you wish so badly to be able to convince him to stay. “A cup of hot tea coming up. I only have jasmine, if that’s okay.”

“Sure.”

Your apartment has an open space as its living area, with the kitchen overlooking the main living room and no walls in between. So while you are at your kitchen, waiting for the water to boil and preparing to serve the tea for your boyfriend, you can see him moving through the living room, examining everything as if he is looking through your home for the first time.

He looks a bit out of place, standing there with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows. All of a sudden, your apartment looks a bit too small for the two of you together. Or perhaps his presence is much too big for your small home. He takes his time to look around, walking slowly from the large window looking out the river in the distance and then making his way to the bookshelves to look at your collection, before stopping at the nearest drawers where you place some of your old photos and memorabilia on display.

You watch how his smile subtly grows as he finds the collection of photos taken at the night of your recital, and you are suddenly brought back to that night, on the night when you were first introduced to Jimin.

You may have known about him for a long time already when it happened, but that first night was a moment that you would definitely remember until the end of time.

It was one of your earliest recitals, but one that was held after your father had begun to accept the fact that music was your passion, not business, so he had been attending your shows to show his undying support. It was rare for him to invite anyone to a private event, even if he had been gushing praises about you with the people he knew. That night, he had decided to invite a few of his staff and colleagues to brag about you, and of course, Jimin had come along.

Jimin had been sweet and kind, and mostly polite. But his gaze was intense the moment he saw you. It had turned your skin warm and your heartbeat racing the way it never had before.

His gaze only deepened when he took your hand, kissing the knuckles confidently that you forgot that your father was still standing there with you.

Jimin kept to your side throughout the whole night, even as your father got busy in tending to other guests who had come to the event through his invitation. His presence made you feel wanted, like you were the center of the attention for once.

The night was followed with a small party, which many of your father’s guests had chosen to stay and join in for some extra champagne and some brief conversation with your father. Jimin had stayed for the event and he managed to find you again once both of you managed to slip away from your father’s attention. He was kind to you as he came and talked to you, while you were too dumbstruck to strike any smart conversation in return. Your fingers twitch at your side, itching to slap at your own face just to make sure it was not a dream. Because he was talking you.

If that had surprised you enough, he had even asked you for a dance.

The slow dance had been nothing else but magical. He was smooth when he took your hand in his, but his grip was firm around your waist as he led the dance. You were mesmerised at how he expertly pulled you along with him to move in tune with his careful steps. He treated you with the outmost care even as he glided through the dance floor, taking you with him to be one with the music. Everything around you and everyone else in the room seemed to disappear, leaving just the two of you together, the same way he still makes you feel even to this day. It was during that night, you would sometime realise, that he had you completely swooned, turning you into a foolish girl who would later dream of him at night in your bed.

The next time you met him, he had asked you out for coffee, then the day after, lunch, with the innocent excuse of showing you just where he would find his private moment between his most hectic hours. Then there was a few accidental meetings between you and Jimin at your father’s office, company events, until he admitted that he had been deliberately making chances to see you again until the day he finally asked you out officially as his girlfriend.

If there is one thing that you have learned about Jimin ever since you started dating him, is that he chooses to take things a step at a time instead of diving right in, doing things with elaborate planning and letting things flow into place until the moment he gets to where he wants to be.

Just like slow dancing.

Five months into dating Jimin, and you already feel too much even before you could go any further than first to second base. At one point, it puts you in so much ease to have him taking things slow. But the wait is starting to become extremely hard to deal with when the sparks between you has only been growing stronger the more time continues to pass by. That, and the fact that while Jimin still avoids crossing the line, it has never stopped him from being overly affectionate to you, as he continues making his subtle moves to make you go hot and restless.

From his subtle touches and gentle kisses, to his smouldering gaze which has been both a tease and pure torture on your side. Frustrating you enough to have your whole body electrified with desire no matter what he does to you.

Maybe you just need to get laid, your inner voice scolds you each time you react this way to him.

The sound of the boiling water stops your thoughts from going too far into the gutter. Your eyes instantly find Jimin, still looking through the photos and the books you have laid all over the place, oblivious to your trail of thoughts, much to your relief. As you continue to distract yourself with the task in hand, you chastise yourself—the same way you always do whenever your mind wanders off to unnecessary things, like picturing yourself doing the nasty with Jimin—and remind yourself of all the things that you have been repeating in your mind.

It would be better to move things in his pace, your conscience speaks wisely as if it is another being living inside you. It would give you enough time to enjoy his company before you get intimate and everything falls apart, you add, when you realise that no matter how badly you want things to progress between you and Jimin, you are not completely prepared for things to actually go to that point.

It is not that you are completely inexperienced, for you have had sex before and you have had a few experiences to be intimate with someone in the past. It is just that all the tryst that you had experienced with your exes or your flings so far had been—quite dull.

You had been waiting for passion, for more fire, in not just your love life, but also in bed. But those you have ever been with pretty much—inadequate, on that part. Most of them have been plain, vanilla, without being able to offer anything that could stir your whole nerve ending awake. Not that there is anything wrong with being vanilla. It is just that nobody could ever understand your need to have more.

And to make it worse, you could never bring it up without having someone looking at you with pure repulsion in their eyes. Even your ex had harassed you once on the lack of orgasms when you were still together, when he called you abnormal, and worse yet, depraved, simply because you were not getting off with him. But in the end, you had to finally accept the fact that all the straightforward, all-vanilla sex—everything that was considered “normal”—was not quite working out for you.

It took some time for you to understand what was wrong with you, only to know that there was nothing truly wrong with you at all. Eventually, you just find that you simply want more adventure, something more thrilling other than a simple vanilla sex.

Ever since you began to understand your needs better, you had begun to relish it instead of shying away from the knowledge, to finally begin to understand yourself better by admitting to it, and you have begun to research more to actually know exactly what you need. There had been a natural need within you to be controlled, to be taken care of. Something that is quite the opposite to how you are in your regular life, where you had always been independent, focal, and the last thing you ever wanted was to be forced to lead things even while you are in bed with someone. Yet you had never met anyone that could fulfil your needs, until Jimin lightened up your senses like fireworks the night he stole you away from your father’s party. Though ever since he has yet to bring it up again, you have not been sure if it had really been something that he would enjoy doing with you, which had become the reason why you had felt the need to hamper things down. And it is only recently when Jimin manages to bring them all up again through his advances, making every single sense in your body lights up so easily even without realising it happening.

You have enjoyed every single moment he had shared with you and making you feel alive, to make you feel like things would work so perfectly with him. The way your body reacts to whenever Jimin commands you, when he takes control, everything tells you that it would be easy for you to submit yourself to him. But would he dare take the lead?

Each time you try to talk about it, your lips would instantly clam up. Afraid of what he may think of you if you had opened up. And he certainly had not made it any easier for you when he would sometimes treat you like you are made of glass.

Jimin stops perusing your things as he finds your stereo set at the corner of the room. He looks up to you with a smile, tilting his head to it with a question, “May I?”

“Of course,” you answer him immediately, figuring that perhaps having some music on would serve as the perfect distraction. If not, it may help ease down your nerves a bit more.

While you try your best to focus more on finishing making the tea, you find your eyes keep going back to him, watching his fingers setting up the device then scrolling through his phone to find something to play as he waits for you. The sight of his delicate fingers has your mind wandering, your body tingles as it remembers what those fingers could do to you and you wonder what else he would have to offer.

Would those hands remain gentle on your body when he touches you? Or would he claim you possessively the same way he did those many weeks ago?

But how are you supposed to let someone with so much grace and elegance know about your needs? How would you be able to express yourself without making him think you are some kind of wanton woman before sending him running far away?

Shaking your thoughts away, you manage to finish preparing the tea and plating some homemade cookies that you know he likes. He glances your way as you make your way to him with the tray in your hands, and with a smile on his face, he fumbles with the volume button, allowing you to hear the song he has playing from the speakers better.

Come Away With Me by Norah Jones comes up, drawing some intense flutter in your belly that you hurriedly place the tray down on the table before your trembling hands would drop everything to the floor.

As you look up at Jimin, he smiles tenderly and holds out his hand to you. “May I have this dance?”

“Absolutely.” Your voice sounds hoarse as you give him your answer. You feel slightly light-headed when you give him your hand, and he smoothly pulls you to him, holding you possessively close. You entwine your arms around his neck, relishing the hard plane of his chest and his warmth, the strong beat of his heart, and the deep, smouldering gaze radiating from his eyes.

Your body turns warm as you move slowly in his arms in the middle of your small living room, the song and the way he is looking at you through the dance takes you back to that night, to the first night he asked you for a slow dance. It was the same song that was playing in that party and he is leading the dance the same way he did then. The only difference is that you are not wearing the silly lacy dress that you had worn back then.

“You remember.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asks, sounding incredulous. He slowly stops just as the song ends, but he doesn’t let you go. With both hands now framing your face, he shakes his head slowly, still chuckling with disbelief. It takes a second before you realise that he is getting closer, and your breath catches in your throat merely seconds before his lips brush up against yours.

“I remember everything from that night.” His voice comes as a gruff whisper that sets off more fireworks inside you, and you can barely speak when you question him,

“Really? What else do you remember?”

“I remember how shy you looked when your Dad introduced you to me. You almost couldn’t look at me when we danced.”

Your face feels warm when you remember how you reacted to him that night. You had denied the existence of your secret crush for a long time now matter how much your roommate had teased you on it. But there was no denying it that night, the yearning that you had fought against for so long come bubbling up, making its appearance until it ached in your chest and you were unable to return his gaze.

“I love how you still look at me the same way when we’re together,” he adds, before you ever have a chance to hide your face to his chest.

“And how do I look at you?”

“Like this—” He strokes your cheeks, gently, but enough to make you feel all the tingles that always appears from his touch. “Soft eyes looking up at me while you give me your sweet, shy smile, looking so irresistible I am truly lost for words.”

You bite your lips, even if it does nothing to stop your heart from threatening to explode. Yet his honesty shows you that perhaps it would be okay for you to be honest with him as well. “Maybe you read me the wrong way. What if I’m not the shy girl you think I am?” you ask him, looking straight into his eyes as you speak, mustering all the confidence that you could ever gain for yourself to make him see it. “What if I tell you that I won’t break easily if you touch me?”

His gaze darkens as he holds it on yours. “Is that so? So I was wrong to think that you are this sweet, innocent girl that I met many nights ago?”

You are just about to respond to him with something witty, yet he closes the small gap between you before you could even blink and pulls you into his arms. Caught off-guard, your feet comes tangled with his, but he somehow manages to keep both of you upright. And he is doing it so calmly, without even looking a bit flustered, just the way he always carries himself when he is with you. Your gazes are locked on each other for a fraction of a second, though it seems like an eternity when you are lost in the depth of his eyes, and your mouth opens with a surprised gasp just as he presses his lips on yours.

It is not the familiar way his soft lips are moving on yours that had caught you off-guard, but the way his arms feel tight around you, pressing you possessively onto his chest the same way he did then when he pulls you into hiding at your father’s house over a month ago. You are left frozen in his arms, unable to move, not even to simply put your arms around him to encourage him to keep kissing you. A slight whimper escapes from your lips when he bites your bottom lip, and it draws a deep groan from him.

As if someone has flipped a switch, the kiss goes from innocent to something filthy in the scope of a single heartbeat. His gentleness is swept away as he coaxes you to part your lips by pressing his lips with urgency, his tongue sweeping in and darting along at the seam of your lips until you give in. His hold on you eases slowly when you whimper into his mouth, with his hand splayed at your lower back, an arm around your shoulders, while you hold on tightly with your hands clutching on the front of his shirt.

Your head is spinning when you come apart. Both from the deep kiss and the wine you have drank during dinner, the same one that you could still taste from his lips. Yet even with your lips parted, neither of you make a move to untangle yourselves. Still with your arms wrapped to one another, Jimin keeps you pulled tight to his chest.

He leans in to brush the tip of his nose on yours, chuckling softly as he sees the look on your face while you can only look up to him in a daze. “Do you have any idea what those words can do to me? What you do to me when you talk like that?” he asks you gruffly, though it sounds more like he is caving in to his desire rather than being annoyed at the way you were challenging him. “If only you know how hard it has been to hold back from claiming you.”

He draws you even closer, until your lips are merely a hairbreadth away from each other and your bodies are completely pressed against the other. The unmistakable shape of his erection that you feel brushing against your belly lets you know just how genuine his words are and that he is equally affected. “Are you still sure you won’t break, kitten?”

Your words are failing you. The way he is talking to you that is nearly in complete contrast to the gentle way he is caressing you is driving you insane. A whimper is bubbling deep inside your throat when you open your mouth to answer his question. So you choose to simply show it to him instead. With a sigh of pleasure, pleased to have him finally showing this side of him again, you slide your fingers through the ends of his hair at the back of his neck, making it easier for you to pull him closer and press your lips on his. His breath quickens as you give him a deep, lingering kiss, retreating just as you feel him increase the pressing of his mouth against yours.

“I won’t break easily, Jimin,” you whisper to him with your lips hovering close at the corner of his lips. “I’m not made of glass.”

No other words could ever come up when he swiftly captures your lips again, stopping you from challenging him even further. His tongue slips between your parted lips, and suddenly, you are lifted off from the ground, and he carries you all the way across the room until your back hits the wall.

His lips return to yours only after he has taken a single breath. Your hands move from his chest to his shoulders, climbing up to the back of his neck, where you bury your fingers in his hair to keep him from moving away. Even if you are the one who is pinned against the wall with nowhere to escape.

One of his hands move from your face to slip between your back and the wall, sliding down until he is cupping your ass and pulling you up even tighter to his chest. He does it so fluidly, without letting you slip from his hold nor stopping his kiss from taking your breath away. This is, without a shadow of a doubt, the most erotically charged kiss that you have ever gotten from anyone before. And you are pleased to find that he is not showing any sign of stopping anytime soon. To each time he seems to be ready to pull away, you tighten your arms around him to stop him from doing so, and he gladly returns to you. You simply cannot get enough of his lips, his tongue, and the scent of his expensive, sexy cologne.

He pins your body harder between his chest and the wall, pressing his hips between your legs to lock you in place, and he begins to move his hands more freely. Tracing up your hips to your waist, he slows down without faltering for a second until he is cupping your breasts from over the dress. He pulls away yet keeps his forehead on yours, watching your face with half-lidded eyes as he brushes his thumbs over your covered nipples, making you squirm from the need for more. You want him to touch your skin, and you wish for nothing to come between you as you begin to rock your hips to his.

Jimin seems to share the impatience you are feeling, but he keeps himself calm even as he grabs the front of your dress, the heart-shaped neckline making it easy for him to pull it down, revealing your lace covered breasts to him.

“You are so beautiful,” he grunts deeply with his eyes watching closely to how your nipples are turning into pebbles under your bra, his thumb brushing back and forth over them, doing it one at a time and relishing to the way your body shivers to each touch. “You have no idea how many times I had wished I could take you like this, to do all the sinful things I could think of until you writhe for me while screaming out my name.”

Before you can process the things he is saying, he takes your left nipple into his mouth, not bothering to pull the lace cups away so you can feel the fabric growing wet as he continues to stroke the hardening tip with his tongue and sucking on it at the same time. Then his teeth comes into play, biting lightly at first, before clamping tightly at the hard nub. You cry out in surprise as the sharp spike of pain erupts from your breast, though it is quick to turn into a spark of desire, registering straight down between your legs.

Jimin cups your mound, pressing two fingers on your core with only the lace of your panties blocking the way.

The edge that you had been constantly left with when you picture him at night is impossible to be compared to what Jimin is doing to you right this moment. All those nights and weeks of your wild fantasies are becoming a reality one stroke of his fingers on your covered pussy at a time. Your legs begin to thrash around his waist as you are coming closer to coming already and he has barely touched you. You find yourself on the brink of your release when he suddenly withdraws his fingers, leaving you hanging with desperate whimpers coming out between your ragged breaths.

“Jimin—” You cannot even recognise your own voice when you call his name, pleading for him to give you what you need. You begin moving your hips through your daze, grinding yourself against his jeans clad crotch.

“What do you need, kitten?” His lips are on your neck, kissing down right where he could feel your pulse. You can still feel him everywhere, except that neither of his hands are on you, neither is touching you where you need him the most.

“Jimin—” your words are barely coherent when you try to beg him, the pulsing need between your legs growing hot and intense that you know you would erupt the moment his touches would return to your body. His chest rumbles with a chuckle, though he stops the moment he hears you pleading him, “Touch me, Jimin. Please. I need you.”

He pulls away and smiles. “You want me to touch you? To make you feel good?” he asks you, and you quickly answer him with a rapid nod of your head. Then he asks you again, “Do you trust me?”

It takes you a fraction of a second before his words sink in. You may not be able to comprehend what it is that he is asking of you, but you manage to nod, knowing that you could trust yourself when you are with him. “Yes.”

“Good,” he says, smiling at you as he pushes his hips forward, pinning you harder to the wall to stop you from falling. “Now give me your hands.”

Your eyes fall wide, but instead of letting go, you only hold him tighter around the neck, afraid that you might fall. Yet he could easily figure out your intention clearly when he says, “I won’t let you fall. I promise.”

“Okay,” you whisper to him as you slowly pull your hands back, letting him go from your tight hold and hold out your hands towards him.

“Put them together,” he says, a smile grows on his face as he watches you putting both palms together for him, looking awfully proud at how well you are following his instructions. He takes your wrists in one hand, pulling your hands up and pressing them up against the wall right above your head.

“Let me know if I’m going too far,” he murmurs, though he immediately captures your breast again with his mouth in the kind of urgency like a madman in need of a feast, his fingers pinching at the lace covered nub while he presses his hips right against your heat, swivelling and rolling his hips between your legs to give you some friction.

There is no hint of his apprehensions in his sinful touches, and he is strumming your body so expertly until you are arching into him, pressing your breasts to his hand and your hips to his crotch. Jimin takes a moment to look at your face, taking in every single reaction you are giving him, and then he leans in, pressing his lips on yours. His kiss only lingers for a moment, just enough to drown your cries, before he trails those hot lips of his down your jawline, down to your neck, and he bends to reach the top mounds of your breasts, kissing a hot line across your heaving chest.

You no longer care about the way he still has your hands bound together, leaving you completely in his mercy. All you can feel is his touch, his fingers tweaking at your covered nub and his lips that keep moving down and over the lace cups. Then he pulls his hand, the one that has been kneading at your breasts, replacing his naughty fingers with his lips. He strokes his tongue over the pebbled nub, taking one into his mouth before moving to the other, while his free hand moves lower, and lower, slipping between your bodies to find your heat. He easily traces down your panties, which have been soaked with your arousal and clinging into your slit. His thumb finds your opening easily, following the wet trail on the flimsy fabric barely protecting you from his touch. He twists his hand, turning it while he continues to press his thumb in circles over your covered entrance, his fingers finding your clit, and then he pinches at the bud, hard, while his teeth clamp down on your nipple, giving you the mix of pain and pleasure that send you toppling over the edge and into the most intense climax you have ever gotten your entire life.

Jimin unlatches his mouth from your breasts, kissing at the top mound while you breathe in heavily, still squirming and shaking from your release. You are still pinned to his chest, still with the hem of your skirt hanging at your hips and his fingers moving back and forth between your legs. His hand begin to slow down before he pulls it away. You can barely feel him tidying your dress back in place, covering the mess that he had created. Just as you feel his fingers pulling up the front of your dress, your body has come down from climax and you open your eyes. Expecting him to smile and kiss your lips sweetly the way he always does, you are surprised to see him looking at you with a dark gaze that also looks a bit like he is in shock.

Your voice has yet to return to you properly so you can only watch his face in silence as he lets your hands go, taking your wrists to his lips so he could press gentle kisses right at the spot he was holding you tight before. Something about his demeanour has changed, even his jaw looks tightly clenched as he gently settles you down to the floor again, though his hands are still there to support you when you sway on your rubbery legs.

“Jimin? What’s wrong?” you question him when all he does is look at your face, saying nothing at all. He continues to clench and unclench his jaw, before shaking his head and slowly letting you.

“I must go. This was—no, I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, frowning deeply as he talks to himself.

You are still recovering from your intense bliss that nothing about this makes any sense. Not even when he suddenly turns around, quickly making his way to the front door.

“Jimin, wait—” you call out to him the moment you snap out of it, quickly chasing him even if your quivering legs are making it hard for you to make haste.

But he keeps moving, grabbing his coat in such a haste as if the whole apartment is burning. But there is no fire around you and the only thing you can feel is the hurt of being rejected.

“Did I do something wrong? Please, don’t leave,” you plead to him as you rush to chase him.

He quickly turns around when he hears your voice, and only then does he finally realise that you are standing there on your wobbling knees and in the verge of tears. His face falls into a shock. “No, dear God. There’s nothing wrong with you. It’s me.”

“What does that even supposed to mean?”

He swallows hard, looking guilty over something that you really have no clue of what it would be. But then he sighs and explains, “I should’ve been honest with you. I’ve tried, but I couldn’t, because I can’t handle what you would think of me if—” he sighs deeply before continuing, “I’ve been trying to hold back, not without a reason, and certainly not because I don’t want to be with you, the way you had thought I was when we talked months ago. It’s just that I have a certain—needs, that must be fulfilled, I’ve been too afraid of losing myself in it and crossing the line to end up hurting you.”

You open your mouth only to close it again. You are beginning to understand what he might be trying to say, though you still cannot register it in your mind that he have been having the same doubts and insecurities as you have been. “So you like to try things. There’s nothing wrong with having different needs than anyone else,” you try to tell him, giving him all the same words that you have been giving yourself.

Jimin shakes his head. “It’s not just that, kitten. I—”

When he says nothing else to explain further, only looking broken down and terribly ashamed of himself, you slowly begin to put two and two together. You recall the way he was leading things, the way he commanded you and instructed you, helping you to submit yourself to him and allow him to bring you into your pleasure.

“You love to take control,” you murmur softly, as if wondering out loud. “Is that it?”

Jimin nods grimly. “To keep it simple, that’s what I prefer,” he says, exhaling a deep breath. “And I am a terrible lover for not telling you or warning you about it beforehand, and I—I should have took my time, talk to you about it instead of—” he cuts off, looking at you with a remorseful look in his eyes. “I could’ve hurt you.”

“But you didn’t,” you quickly say to him before he could say anything else. “You didn’t hurt me and you did ask me if I wanted to do everything with you and I did nothing to stop you because I wanted to. Jimin, I wanted to do everything with you.”

I have wanted to do all those things with you for a long time, is what you want so badly to tell him, but the frown on his face lets you know that he is having a trouble believing you already that you choose not to.

“Then show me,” you finally tell him, asking him quickly before he gets any chance to get away.

“What?”

“Show me how to do it properly. Control me the way you want to,” you are basically pleading him now, trying to convince him that you are willing to try. And you want to do it all. “Tell me what to do. Show me what you need.”

Jimin looks confused and starts shaking his head, though he is no longer advancing towards the door and is slowly taking a few steps back to you instead. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I can’t force you into something—”

Whatever it is that he is trying to say is quickly caught in his tongue as you slide down to your knees.

“You’re not forcing me to do anything. I—”

There are so many things you want him to know. All the cravings, the desire you secretly crave for, and all the things you want him to show you. But words may never be enough to show him.

“I want to be with you in all the way I could.”

Jimin still cannot believe his eyes. He had dreamed of this for many nights, after all those times he had to reluctantly pull himself away from you. And now you are here, down on your trembling knees, submitting yourself to him. Your skin is still flushed after your climax, your hair looks as if you have been fucked thoroughly even without him actually touching you and being inside you, and your lips are swollen after his kisses.

And you are presenting yourself to him, to do as he please. The thought of finally having you, to be able to stay true to himself, all reverberated in his chest that he could hear every thrum of his heartbeat with each breath he takes. His blood is boiling hotter the closer he gets to you. Each delicate—and nearly hesitant—step he makes feels twice as heavy and twice as big.

With his eyes on you, Jimin tosses his coat onto a nearby chair and continues to stalk closer. Your knees are beginning to feel sore against the carpet, but none of it matters when all you could feel is the pounding of your heartbeat, and the pulsing in your core that rises, getting increasingly stronger as he comes to you.

“Are you sure?” he questions you. His breath hitches at the end, revealing his tension and the anticipation shaking him from the inside. “Do you know what you are asking of me?”

“Yes. I know exactly what I want.”

What you are not telling him is just how long you have wanted this. Just like how he is incapable of telling you just how long he had desired you this way. But only because words wouldn’t be enough. Not enough words, and certainly not enough time to explain or to tell you everything he has in mind. The only way he could do to make you understand is to show you.

“Will you be a good girl and follow what I say?”

He reaches down as he looms over you, brushing your hair away from your face and stroking the strands gently at the back of your head.

“Yes.”

Jimin swallows thickly, as he is trying his best to hold himself together before he falls apart. He takes a deep breath, taking control of himself, doing all that he needs for him to be able to take control of everything which is about to unravel tonight. “Remember to use your words. We would need to set a ground rule, but for now, just tell me to stop when it goes too far.”

“Yes,” you answer him with a whisper, and you watch how his guilt, his insecurities, every bit of apprehension that he has left fading away, before his true self takes over.

“Take off my pants for me, kitten.”

Your hands are trembling as you reach for his belt, but you manage to snatch it off, before working on his button and zipper. He makes no move to help, keeping his hands by his side as he watches you fumble, doing your best until you could free him from the tight jeans that must have become a painful restraint over his hard-on. You keep your eyes on him to make sure that you are doing things right as you lower his jeans and boxers to his hips, just enough to free him, and his cock jumps towards your face, all hard and ready with its tip swelling and leaking with its pre-cum.

“Touch me, stroke my cock and give it a taste. Will you do that for me?”

You nod your head, then your answer follows instantly when you are completely mesmerised by his size and girth. “Yes.”

Grasping his hard length with your palm, you begin to stroke him, moving your hand up and down from the tip of his cock to the base, repeating it over and over in a steady pace until you feel his girth strengthening and expanding against your grip. Jimin keeps his eyes on you the whole time while you have yours on him, not missing the way his eyes are glazing, his lips are parting with his breath growing heavy.

Still with your eyes on his face, you lean closer, kissing the tip of his cock briefly, before fitting your lips around the broad head, taking him into your mouth. You hear his gasp before it turns into a deep groan, then you begin sucking and licking as you take him deeper into your mouth. His low growl vibrates all the way down to your core, and you resist the urge to reach down, to stroke your fingers to search for your own release, choosing to focus solely on pleasing him instead.

Soon, just as you find your pace, Jimin looks lost in his pleasure. His lips fall open with a few deep grunts escaping through his heaving breath, his hips moving tentatively slow as he pumps himself into your mouth. The sight of him relishing on his pleasure, enjoying everything you are doing to him, makes you feel hot inside. You pull back with your jaw slacked, then slides him back into your mouth until you can feel him deep inside your throat. And then he surprises you, but reaching down, softening his gaze when he gently tucks your hair back behind your ears.

“You look so beautiful like this, with my cock filling your mouth,” he murmurs, before his words turn into a hiss when you suck all the way down his length, taking him deep. “Fuck, this feels so good. I’m almost there.”

His hand lands on the back of your head while his hips begin to move faster. His movement becomes snappy as he pumps into your mouth, his thrust growing rapid, and you feel him twitching against your tongue, his girth widening, before he pumps his cum into your mouth.

“Swallow for me,” he grunts, and you take every drop of his cum, not stopping even when he keeps shooting into your throat and nearly making you cough in the process. “Good girl. That feels marvellous, kitten.”

Once his release stops coming, you swallow his cock one last time before letting him slide out of your mouth, your tongue lapping around the tip to clean him off, until you have gotten every drop.

“Come on up,” he says, offering his hands to you to help you back up on your feet. It takes a moment for you to be able to stand without wobbling, and he holds you up until you can hold yourself steady.

He tips at your chin, urging you to look at him when you keep your eyes down. You are met with his smile, before he leans down and captures your lips, not caring at the taste that still lingers on your tongue. The kiss grows instantly intense, and he continues to suck and nibble at your lips as he expertly guides you to the couch in the middle of the room. He stops moving when you feel the couch hitting the back of your legs, and he releases you with his hands on your waist.

“Sit,” he says, and he helps you settle down, stopping you just when you are about to slide back.

“No, sit on the edge,” he says, guiding you to place your butt right at the edge of the seat, barely getting all of your flesh on the cushions before he gives you the next command. “Lie back.”

You do as he says, leaning back on the sofa and propping yourself on your elbows so you can see him better and watch what he is about to do to you.

“Put your heels on the edge of the sofa and open your legs for me,” he firmly asks you, and you do exactly what he says, placing the heels of your foot at the edge of the seat, until your knees are folded and you are exposed to him. You spread your legs a little and stop, but he gently shakes his head. “Wider.”

Licking at his lips, Jimin holds his gaze on your covered core. The air feels cold right where you are leaking with your release, your panties feel almost non-existent when your pussy keeps pulsing, pumping out your arousal and clenching tight deep within with the need for his touch.

“Can you feel yourself soaking wet? All because you took my cock into your mouth?” You nod briefly to his question, murmuring softly, “Yes,” just when you feel that you are still dripping beneath your panties.

“Really now? Why don’t you feel it with your fingers to see just how much you are drenched right now.”

He stands tall right in front of you, with his eyes on your fingers as you reach down, finding the source of your wetness. His eyes never leave you when you reach between your legs. The moment you press the tip of your fingers right at your core, Jimin reaches down and cups his semi-hard cock with his palm.

Lost in his gaze, your body reacts to him so easily. To each stroke he gives himself, you move your fingers in the same pace, the same pattern. As he runs his palm up and down his length, you run the tip of your fingers, following the wet trail along your lace panties over your covered slit. When he reaches down to cup himself right at the base of his cock, you push the panties aside and slip your fingers in, tracing down your folds to find your soaking center, which has been throbbing wildly for his touch. There is no mistaking the hunger in his eyes as the stands over you, looking down as you continue to move your hand between your legs.

“Take them off,” he says, keeping his eyes on your soaking panties. His voice sounds soft and deep in his whisper, but the commanding tone is there, firm and confident and enough to send a perverse thrill rushing through you until you shiver under his command.

His eyes follow your hand as you slowly peel the scrap of black lace down your thighs, making a show out of it while you make him wait. You will be paying for this, that much you know for sure, but you continue on teasing him, coaxing him without looking away. Until he finally grows impatient and grasps on the lacy fabric, jerking them down the rest of the way. You slip your feet from them as he pulls them off, and you watch him lifts the lace to his nose.

Your mouth falls open to the sight of him taking in your scent, while his smirk grows wider, as if he is enjoying it—and you know that he really does. Within the next second, the fabric disappears from his fingers, and he is reaching out to touch you.

He finds your knees and urges your legs apart, spreading them wider just as you are beginning to pull them back together. With a wicked smile on his face, Jimin lifts your legs up to his elbows, letting them clinging there, hiking up the hem of your skirt in the process until it falls to your hips.

“Put your hands right here, right under your knees,” he calmly instructs you, and your hands move obediently, finding the spot that he is pointing out, clasping your hand right under your folded knee before he guides you to pull your legs up towards your chest. “That’s it. Now, don’t let go. Understand?”

You nod, before remembering that you need to speak. “Yes, understand.”

The muscles on your thighs feel like liquid as you fold them up to your chest, quivering with anticipation and need like you have never felt before. You hold your legs up with your palms on the underside of your thighs until you are folded on the sofa, squirming beneath him until you find the perfect angle.

“You look perfect,” he muses with a smile, and your body warms under his praise.

Jimin bends over you, his lips are soft on your belly as his fingers trail down to find your nether lips. He presses a finger between your slit, moving it up and down until he draws a gasp from you and a roll of your hips, before he finds your throbbing clit.

“Don’t move,” he says in a firm tone as you continue gyrating your hips, though his command only sends spikes of heat spearing through you.

“I own your pleasure, my sweet kitten. You only come when I say you can, understand?” Jimin’s eyes are wide and he holds his firm gaze on you as he waits for your respond, while your mind is still reeling, between processing his commands and the underlying offer of pleasure he is about to give you even if he is going to test your obedience along with it.

And you still have no answer even as he tilts his head, challenging you to either agree with him or to stop this whole thing before it continues further.

But dear God, how are you supposed to answer to that. And how are you supposed to produce any word at all when his fingers are distracting you enough with the way he is playing with your nub, stroking and circling it so teasingly.

When you are silent, Jimin draws his hand away, earning a whimper from you as the instant respond. “I need the words. Tell me you understand,” Jimin whispers as he bends over you, leaning in close enough until you feel the warmth of his breath falling on the top mounds of your breasts.

You nipples twitch under your lace cups, right where he had bit them between his playful teeth earlier, and your body hums with a deep want to have him igniting the same pain again. “Yes,” your answer finally comes when Jimin blows at your covered buds, your voice comes breathless with a gasp. “Yes, I understand.”

You almost miss the sigh of relief that escapes from Jimin’s lips before he smiles. “Good girl,” he says, and then his fingers return to you, finding the spots on your body which are pulsing with needs.

His fingertips circle around and on your clit, and a shaky breath stutters across your lips. Your flesh feels hot under his touch, and your head falls back against the sofa as he cups your heat, his fingers slipping between the folds of your sex.

With your pussy soaked and ready, his fingers slide so easily through the opening. He could feel just how wet you are, but it is the way you are clenching tightly around his digits and your muscles throbbing tight for him which has him groaning deeply. He tests the waters, after watching your reactions the whole time, giving you another praise before he draws his fingers out of your depth. “You are so beautiful, giving in to your pleasure and following my instructions like a good girl,” he whispers, feeling the way your walls throb around him one last time before drawing them out.

“You love it when I give you a praise, don’t you?” he asks you while running his fingers up and down your slit, the slick sound of your arousal that seems to keep growing lets you know just how your body is reacting to his words and attention.

“Yes, I do love it,” you answer him, and your honesty earns you a sweet treat coming from him. He keeps moving his fingers, up and down and then in circles, chasing each pulse and throb happening right in your core, while he climbs down to your lower region.

You have turned into a quivering wreck as his lips move over your abdomen, working their way down to your pulsing heat. He knows exactly where you need him, and he focuses on your clit, licking and sucking until he drives you completely insane. You are already on the verge of another explosive release when he drives two fingers into you and curls them until he finds the spot that makes you detonate. You are completely lost in the earth-shattering orgasm when you remember that you wasn’t supposed to let that happen without his permission.

“Someone is in big trouble,” Jimin murmurs softly with a chuckle. It is painfully obvious that he is delighted to see you making your first mistake.

“Not fair! I couldn’t control it,” you protest with a whine, yet you make no move to let go of the restraint you are currently being locked in. Not that you ever could, with him hovering close with not enough space for you to let your trembling legs go.

Jimin chuckles softly, looking painfully obvious that he is enjoying the way you are reacting. “Fine. I’ll let you go just this once. But remember that I won’t take it any easier on your the next time. Understand?”

“Yes, I understand. I’m sorry,” you answer him with a pout, which he later presses his lips onto just to see it disappear.

“Now, you can let your legs go and sit up,” he says, placing his hands on your under thighs to help you ease your quivering legs down, then he takes your hand to help you sit on the sofa, giving you a moment until your back is no longer sore.

With his hands on your hips, he helps you up slowly, taking his time to wait until you can stand without swaying then pulls you up to his chest. “I’m not done with you yet. You know that, don’t you?”

You blink your eyes rapidly, shaking the haze clouding your eyes before answering him, “Ah—yes, I do.”

“First, we need to get you comfortable,” he says. Without a warning, he leans down and scoops you up in his arms, drawing a surprise yelp from you. “I got you, kitten. Hang on tight.”

He carries you to the bedroom, expertly finding his way as if he already has everything memorised even from that one visit he made a few weeks ago. Once there, he gently sets you down near the bed, holding you up until you are no longer swaying on your trembling legs before he reaches up and begins caressing your face, your shoulders, as he if cannot stop himself from touching you. There is no tenderness when he kisses your mouth again. Enough to take the air out of your chest before descending to your neck.

His delicate fingers seem to be shaking as he reaches out to your back and lowers the zipper of your dress, but his kiss never falters. Every kiss feels like a promise, every touch he makes somehow feel like it is strengthening the bond between you like no other. Your skin sizzles everywhere he trails his mouth, everywhere his fingers are marking you. Your body shivers when your dress finally falls to the floor. You were standing right in front of you wearing nothing but the strapless bra you had worn underneath the dress. The only thing that he has chosen to leave behind after snapping your panties off of your skin.

“You are magnificent,” he murmurs, tipping his head forward and kissing the tops of your breasts peeking out of the lacy cups.

You arch your back as he traces his lips on your skin, your body growing hot and your nipples hurt as they grow hard against the cups of your bra. You inwardly curse at its presence, for keeping you away from his sinful lips. You rise up to guide him to take your covered peaks into his mouth, only to have him pulling away from you, watching how you are writhing on the bed for the loss of his touch.

“I love watching you like this. And I certainly love seeing you in these flimsy piece, looking like such a tease to show your delightful body but keeping such a thin little thing to keep me away,” he muses softly as he enjoys the sight of your barely covered skin with his dark, lustful gaze, his fingers tracing up and down your waist to keep you lying down while he admires the way your chest is rising and falling, how your nipples are poking through the lace to tease him. You are pleased to have chosen to wear this under your dress, to spark such a reaction from him. Though it doesn’t take long before it is also peeled off from you, when you reach back, unsnapping the hooks without looking away from him, then release the lacy fabric onto the floor.

He draws in a sharp breath, and you feel pride to have incited that reaction from him. Jimin no longer holds back now, once all the barriers have been rid off. He reaches out to you, touching the valley of your breaths before lowering his hand, drawing small circles around your navel.

“You look so beautiful, looking like this for me,” he whispers, watching you with so much warmth in his eyes even without letting his desire hidden under his gaze. His thumbs find your hips, then he moves down, running his fingers down your legs, taking his time to touch your thighs, your calves, keeping his eyes on you the whole time. He kisses his way back up, placing your right leg over his shoulder, teasing your inner thigh with the tip of his nose. You let out a gasp at the first stroke of his tongue over your center. Your knees are giving in a little, but he holds your hips in place, sustaining you up with his strengths, keeping you right where he had wanted you to while he slowly tortures you with his mouth.

“Ooohh—Jimin!”

Pleasure comes pulsing through you, lighting you up, driving you closer and closer to the edge, until you feel every muscle in your body growing tight with tension.

“Jimin, please,” you find yourself begging him right as you are left hanging on the edge. “Please, I need—”

“I know what you need, kitten,” he whispers against your tender flesh. The pleasure rises all of sudden, shooting right through you until you almost buckle with your legs turning into jelly. You hear his soft chuckle as he gives you a few more laps with his tongue, tasting you, drinking in your essence, before he looks up again and whispers, “And I’ll make you come so hard into my mouth that you will need me to hold you up.”

And then he becomes quite relentless in showing you just how good he is to make good of his words. His grip tightens on your thighs, as the lashes of his tongue grow more intensely, and you come apart at the seams.

You keep a tight hold on his shoulders as you embrace your climax, crying out his name like a chant that falls in tune with the rhythm of your swivelling hips. And yet, he is still not done with you. He continues to work his mouth on you—lips sucking and nibbling, tongue lashing and lapping—prolonging your orgasm until it falls into smaller spasms.

It is not until he is pleased with himself when he finally pulls his mouth away from your heat. He gives your folds another kiss before climbing up, his kisses trailing up to your hips, the under curve of your breasts, until he is standing right in front of you again. With all smug smile that still glistens with your release.

“You are terribly overdressed.”

“Oh, am I?’

You give him a wicked smile as you remove his shirt, taking your sweet time this time around so you can feel up the ripped muscles down his chest and abs. Once the shirt is tossed away, you lean in, kissing down his bare chest as you reach down to the waistband of his pants. You have every intention to return the slow torture, to take your time with him until you can drive him crazy. But when you come up to your tiptoes, kissing him right at the column of his throat, he releases a low and delicious sound—somewhere between a hum and a deep growl—and you soon forget every plan you have created completely, overcome with lust. Suddenly, you want him right now. He must have felt it too, because his lips turn up to a knowing smirk, one that he hides by planting a kiss on your shoulders as you push his pants and boxers down to the floor.

His cock jumps out instantly. Before you manage to see it clearly, he grabs you by the waist and pulls you close to him, the switch allows him to easily takes your lips in his, shutting the gasps that you have been ready to let slip after seeing his hard-on. But even if you can no longer see it, being pressed to his chest allows you to feel it. The wide girth trapped against your stomach, the length aligned all the way from your core and up to your navel.

He kisses you until it grows urgent, then he pulls away with a deep, frustrated growl that sends strong vibrations deep inside your body.

He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, his bare chest heaving, as a sign that he is already at the brink of losing all control. “Come on down to my lap, kitten,” he commands you. His voice sounds gentle, but it sounds so deep it makes your core swirl with heat.

“You—you want me to lie down there? Across your lap?” you ask him, stuttering as you picture yourself lying across his lap and the image of the things he could do to you comes to mind.

As if he knows what you are thinking, Jimin chuckles softly. “Do I want to lie you across my thighs and spank your little bottom for being such a naughty girl, challenging me to show you all the wicked things I could do to you and then disobeying me when I told you not to come? Yes, I want to. But you don’t deserve any spanking. Not tonight, at least.”

“So—how do you want me?”

“Come up here. Sit on my lap,” he says. His voice comes out deep, his desire insinuated through every breathe he makes and the dark gaze he is giving you.

You sit down slowly onto his lap, and he turns you until both of you are facing the mirror which you have placed right on the opposite wall. His hands move up along your bare thighs through the inner sides of your legs, gently pushing them apart until you can see your private parts—all soaked and swollen after the multiple orgasms he had sent you to—in the mirror.

“Look at how beautiful you are,” he whispers into your hair, his gaze meeting yours through the mirror. He lifts his hand and offers you to grab a hold onto it. “Hold my hand.”

While he let you take one hand to hold, he keeps the other resting on your thigh, keeping your legs apart before you could have a chance to press them together. “Don’t hide yourself. Now show me everything. Show me what you want me to do to you. Touch yourself with my fingers the same way you’ve had pictured me doing it for you.”

His voice sounds deep and raspy in your ear as he coaxes you gently, his words commanding you while it is your hand which is guiding him to reach between your legs, until his fingers touch your soaking heat. “You want me to touch you here?”

“Yes,” you whisper, though your voice sounds raspy and deep, completely foreign to your own ears.

“How do you want me?” he asks you, giving you back the question you had given him earlier. Except that when you had asked him with pure curiosity lathering your voice, he is now asking you with pure dominance in his, as if he is saying it as a challenge. “Show me, my sweet kitten. Show me how you want me to please you, where to touch, so I’ll know just what you need from me.”

His gaze stays in the mirror, looking straight back at yours through the reflection. Then you start moving his fingers, and he looks down, looking at you through the mirror, watching closely as you push his fingers in tight circles over your clitoris. He rests the other hand over your thigh, pressing it down just as you legs begin to quiver and making sure that you would keep them apart.

With your fingers pressing over his, you guide him to where your pulse is felt the strongest. Up and around your clit, up and down between your nether lips, then move his fingers in circles to your leaking entrance. You feel it rising, the pleasure spasming and pulsing from the depth of your core, and his touch feels just so perfect that you know it when it is coming, building up from your center and slowly rising.

“That’s okay, baby. Don’t be too timid when it comes to your pleasure. Use my fingers to make yourself come for me,” he murmurs between each kisses he plants on your skin. The whisper of his breath against your neck sets off a chain reaction of sensation that ends in a throb between your legs, and you press his fingers harder against it, finding the source to ease it down, until your whole body shudders and your head falls back against his shoulder for how intense the pleasure feels. “That’s it. That’s my girl.”

If his mere touch had been enough to push you over to the edge, his praise sends you to come falling into another climax, drawing you into nothing but thrashing limbs. Jimin wraps an arm around your waist to keep you still. Your hand no longer has the power to guide him, so he takes it upon himself to continue working on your sweet cunt, pressing and circling right at the sweet spot that had sent you to an orgasm, prolonging the intense bliss.

His whispers of sweet nothings seem so far away when you are still lost in the peak of pleasure. His hands are now moving in gentle caress, but you barely recognise them until the moment you come down from the height of your bliss. Everything only starts to clear out when you feel his lips tracing kisses down your neck, before you begin to feel his fingers running up and down your waist.

“Are you with me, kitten?” you hear him asking you, and you turn to him to respond, only to press your lips on his.

With a chuckle, Jimin pulls away and flips the two of you until you are lying on your back. Propping your elbows on the bed, you slowly crawl back to the pillows, and you watch him stalking you, crawling up on the bed like a predator guiding you to be right where he is able to pounce.

Jimin catches you by the hips, then climbs on top of you, capturing your lips in his with a soft, lingering kiss that has you slowly relaxing beneath him. He pulls away, carrying on to trace his lips on your skin and begin to climb down on you.

You watch him, completely astonished as he continue to descend, his mouth sampling every inch of your skin. He teases you with a gentle brush of his lips, going around the outskirts of your nipple, trailing down the valley of your breasts and along the under curve of your mounds. He moves sinfully slow, as if he is mapping every part of your skin, every inch of your body which instantly reacts to him.

Then, just when you expect him to be right where you need him the most, to take your nub which has turned as hard as pebbles and now pulsing intensely as beacons pulling him towards, he opens is eyes, looking at you and winking playfully only to move away. He runs his lips along your inner thigh and you shudder, the pleasure pulsing through you slowly just for anticipating his next move. When he keeps moving up when you think he would be moving down, and then away from the center even when the intense pulsing happening between your legs intensifies to each time he comes closer to it.

Such a tease, you curse in your head. While all that comes out of your mouth is nothing but a mix of whispers, gasps, and soft moans, all with his names mixed in between the incoherent words you are giving him.

And then, he is there. Pressing his lips right at your heat, sucking your clit between his mouth and pressing his tongue through your opening. His mouth and tongue working simultaneously to thrust you into another climax so soon, too soon, that you barely register anything else happening other than what his sinful mouth is doing to you. You barely notice how your hands reach down to bury your fingers through his hair, how your hips are moving rapidly against his face, chasing each spasm of your pleasure with a roll of your hips.

But then he stops too abruptly, leaving you hanging with the spasms happening between your walls subsiding even before you manage to reach the peak. You whine out your protest, though your words barely coherent when you are gasping and moaning at the same time. Jimin’s chest rumbles with his deep chuckle as he traces his lips up to your navel, leaving the spot where you had wanted him to stay just a tad bit longer.

“What do you want from me, my sweet kitten?” he asks you, whispering softly while he continues brushing his lips on your skin.

He rises up and slowly climbs up with his knees planted into the bed, bringing his hot mouth to your neck as his fingers rub against the place where his lips had been, not denying your clit the attention it needs.

What do you want?

You want all of him. You want him without any bit of restrictions that he keeps giving you. You want him as a whole, and you want to come for him, over and over again while showing him just how much you are willing to give yourself to him.

But none of those words could come out, when he keeps testing you and teasing you with his fingers that seem to be everywhere. You feel him right down at your core, touching delicately yet not enough to send you toppling over the edge, and you feel him tracing your breasts, the tip of his fingers run gently up and over and between the valley of your breasts.

“Tell me, kitten,” he urges you to speak when the only thing you could ever manage to give him had nothing but a series of desperate moans, and he keeps making it harder for you to speak when he presses the heel of his hand against your clit. “Come on, little kitten. Tell me what you want.”

“You,” you finally manage to speak even through ragged breaths.

Jimin’s smile grows on his face. “Hmm, really? Where do you want me?”

You open your mouth only to give him a soft moan as he pushes two fingers against your opening, rubbing more firmly as your hips twitch against him.

“Do you want me here?”

“Yes,” you answer him between a sigh and a gasp when he begins to move his fingers in circles. “Yes, Jimin. Right there, exactly there.”

“Will my hands be enough, kitten?”

It would, but there is no denying that you need more. His hands feel marvellous, strumming you like an instrument and he is the master of making sweet music through his touches. You have no idea how close you are to reaching to your limit. You have no clue just how much more you could take of his sweet torture. But you still want him, to have him buried inside you when you unravel for the very last time tonight.

Nibbling at your neck, he pushes your hair out of the way so he can kiss his way up your jawline. Tilting your head to the side, you moan and close your eyes. Chill bumps race across your skin and you shiver, leaning against him to steal some of his warmth. He chuckles in your ear and presses his hard cock against your stomach, lightly thrusting it up and down to let you feel him, though it only reminds you of what you really need from him.

“Please, Jimin. Please, fuck me,” you beg and beg, until he releases a deep groan and pushes himself up, depraving you of his warmth just so you can focus on his voice.

“Raise your hands, hold on to the rails on the headboard and keep them there,” he commands you, and you follow his words by rising your hands up, gripping tightly on the wooden bars up on your headboard. “That’s it. Hang on tightly and don’t let go.”

You bite your lips, curious to what he has planned. Jimin has his hands running up and down your hips, which is terribly distracting, but your curiosity wins and the question simply slips right through you. “What if I lose my grip?”

His eyes flicker up to your face. “Then I’m going to have to punish you.”

The thought of it should make you shiver in fear, perhaps recoil and cancel everything. But it only brings out the heat in your body, and the shiver that runs through you is more from your excitement instead of fear. “How?”

“You want to know how I’m punishing you?” he asks, chuckling softly without stopping his hands from moving, tracing up and down your curves. His eyes are dark as he gently moves his hands down to the underside of your thighs, lifting them up and tracing his palms upward until he could touch your rear cheeks. “There are many ways. I can spank this little ass of yours until the skin will burn and you wouldn’t be able to sit properly for days,” he grimly says while cupping at your bottom and pressing his palms hard on your flesh. The touch of his hands on your bare skin and the thought of him slapping his palm against them increase the pulse happening right at your core. You could feel your arousal growing more intense to each possessive squeeze he makes on your buttocks.

“Or—” he adds as he pulls his hands away, letting your legs fall back down on he bed while he leans closer, nipping at your lobe. “I can forbid you from coming.”

The wicked voice he makes and the thought of him stopping you from having your climax earn a gasp to slip through your lips. “You wouldn’t.”

With a chuckle, Jimin pulls back. His smile is sinister when he looks at you. “Is that a challenge, kitten?”

You bite your lips, intrigued to see just how far he is going to test you. But you choose to tighten your grip on the bars and force yourself to relax beneath him. “No, I’ll do as you say,” you promise him, though your voice sounds small, not out of fear but for anticipating his next move.

Looking pleased, Jimin climbs on top of you, kissing your lips gently before moving straight down to your breasts.

He takes your nipple between his lips, the soreness from his earlier bites still present that it sends a shudder through your body. Without giving you any warning other than the quick flicker of his gaze on your face, he bites down on your pebbled nipple just hard enough to draw a breathless cry from you.

His clamping teeth lingers for a few seconds, then he finally lets go. He takes his time, licking at the marks of his bites, before moving to the other, giving it the same exact treatment and drawing the same cries from your lips. He gives a few gentle licks to ease down the pain once he is through, then his face comes up to hover on top you again.

“You’re doing a good job so far, kitten. I’m so proud of you,” he whispers, kissing the corner of your lips until your gasping breath starts to calm.

As he speaks to you in his gentle voice, he presses his cock against your clit without entering you. You want so badly to reach down, to cup his plump ass so you could direct him to where you need him to be. But you hold yourself together, tightening the grip you have on the wooden bars above your head and grit your teeth, while he continues to rub his hard length up and down your slit, coating himself with your essence.

The next time he draws himself back from you, he only does it briefly. And then he pushes into you hard and fast, stealing the breath from your lungs and nearly triggering the orgasm that has been hovering just beneath the surface.

You cannot think of anything clearly as he is moving in and out of you, filling you up so perfectly. You are swept away on a sea of pleasure and pure anticipation when he suddenly stops, withdrawing and leaving you bereft, your pussy walls contract almost instantly against the void that comes all so suddenly, and you look up to him with a pleading gaze, whimpering at the lost of his cock inside you.

Fortunately, he doesn’t make you wait too long to have him buried deep inside you again. But not without another test coming into play.

Jimin grasps your legs and props them up on his shoulders before entering you again at a whole new angle. He is touching you in places no one else has ever been, and rocking your world one deep stroke at a time.

“Talk to me,” he commands you with a raspy voice, keeping his relentless pace as he pumps his cock in and out of you. “Tell me how it feels.”

Your mouth falls open, but you are feeling overwhelmed with so many things happening at once that the words are caught in your throat. You can only process the way his cock is stroking back and forth against your walls, its tip hitting so hard and so deep you could feel it up to your throat. “Amazing,” is all you can say to him, before your voice turns into moans and whimpers just as your body shudders with the earliest hints of your orgasm coming through you. “Oh, Jimin. I need—”

Your words fall into a cry when he is hitting you at the right spot. “Tell me what you need,” he grunts, still pounding into you in a quick, yet steady pace, giving you no space to collect your thoughts when your pleasure comes rising too fast and you are desperate to get it together just to stop it from happening too soon.

“I want to come,” you finally cry out, only to have Jimin tutting his tongue.

“Not yet,” he says, slowing down the pace, then coming to a complete stop while still being embedded inside you.”

No, don’t stop, you wish to scream, though the only thing you can say is—

“Please.”

“Not yet,” he whispers, clenching his jaw tightly, letting you know that he is also on the brink of climaxing inside you. Your first thought is to have him giving you a moment to take a break, until the need to come around his cock eases down. Yet, Jimin bends down, taking your nipple into his mouth, tugging and sucking on the tight tip and making you writhe on the bed. Then his fingers come down, finding your clit, sending you almost too close into erupting into an earth-shattering kind of orgasm.

“Jimin,” you gasp out his name, and he pulls back, only to push his hips forward, thrusting deep and hitting the sweet spot deep inside you with the tip of his hard shaft.

“Not yet. Take a deep breath to control it,” he says. He surrounds you completely as he begins pumping his cock once again, pounding into your heat without mercy. There is really not much room for you to move. But your body is now fully in his commands, and he plays you so easily like a maestro, keeping you right at the edge without slowing down, drawing you closer to your release, and closer, until you come near to losing control with each stroke of his cock.

You feel him getting harder inside you, stretching you to your absolute limit with his girth pressing to your pulsing walls.

You cry out, overwhelmed by the onslaught of sensation which keeps rising from within. And you soon at your limit, another push will send you over the edge with nothing else stopping you from getting it. “Please, Jimin—”

Pounding into you, he presses his thumb right on your tingling clit, then speaks in a gruff voice, “Is this what you want?”

“Yes, please. I have to—” your words are cut off into a wail when Jimin clamps his fingers on your clit, pinching it hard while he pumps his cock deep into the hilt, pushing you off of the edge.

“Come,” he finally commands you, and you explode entirely into shambles.

There is simply no other words to describe it. Every cell in your body is fully engaged, your senses are humming with pleasure, while your core is pulsing with the intense spasms of your climax.

“Astonishing,” you hear Jimin’s raspy voice as he muses, when he takes the sight of you crumbling beneath him, writhing with pleasure the same way he had pictured you many times before. Only the real thing is way more marvellous that his simple imagination.

The sight of you embracing your orgasm is enough to send him into his own. He picks up his pace, moving and rolling his hips into you, driving his cock deep inside you relentlessly until he comes with a shout and a shudder that takes over his body, his fingers dragging into your ass.

Moments later, once both you and Jimin have come down from the height of bliss, your breathings are steadied, you lie side by side on your bed facing each other.

Jimin had cleaned all the remnants of your lovemaking. The warm, wet cloth which he had used to clean you up had been left discarded somewhere in your bathroom. The sheets beneath you are still messy, but he had pulled the covers on top of you both, shielding you in warmth. Now, as you are looking at his face in a completely new light, having your eyes wide opened with the revelation of his nature, Jimin has his fingers rubbing gently on your wrists, your arms, while stopping briefly at times to massage on your sore fingers. The blood has return to your fingers and shoulders after you kept your arms up the whole time, but Jimin still insists to take care of you, worrying that anytime he stops, the soreness will return to you full force.

“I’m sorry if I was too rough on you on our first night together,” he murmurs as he kisses your palms. “I hope I didn’t hurt you, kitten.”

“No, not at all. You were amazing. It was—everything was amazing,” you tell him, pulling his hands and clasps them in yours.

“You’re not scared of me?” he asks you, and you answer him by shaking your head and smiling sheepishly.

“Of course not.”

He sighs. “I had thought you were, that’s why I was so pissed at myself and had to get away.”

Your lips turn to a pout as you remember how you watched him trying to walk away earlier. Your chest clenches when you thought of him leaving, but you are glad that things had turned out the way they are. “No, I was just surprised, that’s all. I didn’t think—” you stutter, not knowing just where to start or to simply know what to say without sounding like a clueless idiot. “I never knew that you prefer to do it—this way.”

“And you’re okay with it?”

You nod your head slowly, suddenly feeling your face heating up when you remember everything you had just done, how you had reacted to his touches.

“Yes, of course, I’m more than okay, if you haven’t noticed,” you admit with a smile, which he returns with his own when he recalls the way you embraced your orgasm so beautifully in his arms. “I just—I’ve never found anyone who is willing to—” you stop briefly, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed about admitting everything. “I, uh—all the other men I’ve been with would never understand.”

Jimin tips your chin up. “Oh, kitten. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not like the others.”

“No, you’re definitely not,” you whisper, and you watch him amusedly as he flips the two of you until you are on your back and he positions himself on top of you, your legs opening wide for him almost instantly.

“You have no idea how glad I am to have met you,” he whispers, and you answer him with, “Me too.”

Then he leans down, kissing the corner of your mouth, and then your lower lip and the bow of the upper one before capturing your mouth. He kisses you long and deep, entwining your tongues together. You feel his hand cupping your cheek as your eyes come to close, his palm pressing at your fece gently, tilting your head at the perfect angle so he could explore you further.

He kisses you until you are both panting, needing more, as if your body isn’t sore and his breathing isn’t heavy. You kiss him back while pressing your hips against his, pulling him down at the back of his neck with one hand, digging your fingers into his arm with the other, anchoring him to you.

He skims his hands up your waist, touching the underside of your breasts with his thumbs until your nipples perk up once again. You moan into his mouth as your whole body tightens, everything inside you pulsing with needs.

“How sore are you, kitten?” he asks, his gaze had already darkened with lust and admiration when he looks at you.

“Sore, but not enough to stop you from fucking me,” you answer, then grinning when you hear his low groan slipping out of his lips.

“No, kitten. There’s no more fucking. Not tonight,” he says, and you are close to feel disappointed when you hear it, until you feel him reaching down, aligning himself right against your entrance. “I’m going make love to you. Gently. Until you fall asleep in my arms,” he whispers, groaning once more as he enters you slowly, spreading your sensitive walls into another round of lovemaking.

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mearcatsreturns · 3 years

Note

Okay, so you KNOW I'm now inevitably forced to ask for the actual fic prompt of Ivan trying to give his boss romantic advice, casual-like. (No need to confine yourself to 100 words. I mean what.)

I thought I could just write a thousand words of jokes, but then all these fools came and had the audacity to put feelings up in here. *Ivan voice* Disgusting.

Initially I was going to have this all as one chapter, but it was getting crazy long and I wanted to publish it tonight, so you get chapter 1 of 2, with the rest to follow in the next day or two.

Without further ado, Ivan, Interrupted:

Looking back, he should have seen the signs. The Sun Summoner is trouble and has been from day one.

He called that one, at least.

It’s not his fault. How is he supposed to recognize the stupidity of heterosexuals? He and Fedyor fell in love as young teens and haven’t parted in anger since. They look out for each other and try to spoil each other in all the small ways the other enjoys.

The General and Alina Starkov are a different story.

&&&

Ivan is there when the oprichniki drag Alina into General Kirigan’s tent in Kribirsk. She looks all for the world like the otkazat’sya he’s fought near the border of Shu Han. He can’t hold it against her, though; he knows better than anyone that appearances can deceive.

What he can hold against her is her denial. Even after twice showing that she can indeed summon sunlight, the little fool somehow believes she’s not Grisha. General Kirigan, a human amplifier and probably the most powerful Grisha on the planet, touches her and confirms it, and she still clings to her past. Ivan can’t understand why someone would want to deny something so intrinsic.

More worryingly, he sees his commander’s face as he tries to figure out the Starkov girl. It’s not a look he’s ever seen on Kirigan’s face, and it fills him with dread. The bemusement at her reply to his questioning about what she is turns to something...joyous and darkly yearning, in the General’s understated way.

People consider Ivan stoic and difficult to read, but he learned from the best, and his boss is the best.

Ivan is very discomfited to see Kirigan showing signs of experiencing emotions.

&&&

His unease only grows when Kirigan commands him and Fedyor to escort the Sun Summoner to Os Alta.

“Ivan, I need you and Fedyor to accompany Miss Starkov to the Little Palace. Make haste, and use all your formidable talents to keep harm from coming to her.”

“But the mission to West Ravka—”

“Will have to wait. Everyone in a twenty-mile radius saw her light show, and that may well include some of Ravka’s enemies. She—this—is more important than anybody knows. Keep her safe, and I’ll keep you and Fedyor off the front lines for six months.”

Ivan clears his throat.

“Yes?” Kirigan asks with a lift of his brow.

“Will you be staying, or do you need me to send word ahead that you’ll be arriving as well, sir?”

The General’s face smooths into its usual mask of power and calm. “No, I imagine I may well arrive before you all, as you’ll be taking my carriage.”

“As you say, General.”

Kirigan dismisses him, and he stomps off to find Fedyor so they can leave posthaste.

Ivan’s exasperation only grows when the Starkov tries, of all things, to stay and find some tracker friend of hers, tries to deny who she is. She even questions the General’s judgment, something not even Ivan dares to do.

(Privately, he agrees that this whole endeavor is a mistake. Alina Starkov is trouble, and he has an uncomfortable feeling that all their lives are about to change in ways no one can predict).

He hauls her into the carriage, plopping her on the seat across from the one he shares with Fedyor. Perhaps one of them ought to sit next to her to make sure she doesn’t get into any further foolishness, but Ivan’s crabby enough he wants to sit next to his husband.

Once they get out of Kribirsk and on the Vy, she settles down a bit, but she radiates nervous energy and it puts him on edge.

Fedyor, bless him, does his best to put the Sun Summoner at ease. But she’s resentful and afraid, and it irritates Ivan. He knows he should try to be understanding, but with all the fear and resentment he’s put up with from the otkazat’sya—his own family, even—he struggles to find the patience to explain why she should trust in the General and the Grisha. Nonetheless, he tries to soothe her the only way he knows how: by reminding her of the power she now holds.

Ivan’s thoughts drift to what might await them all in Os Alta, but his ruminations are interrupted by the shouts of the oprichniki warning them of a blockage in the road.

The dread he was feeling dissipates in the face of the familiar. He’s ready to fight against an ambush by Ravka’s enemies. He’s not ready to confront the existential questions Alina Starkov brings.

And fighting side-by-side with Fedyor never grows old. His blood sings, his heart pounds with the fierce excitement of a fight with his beloved at his side.

The fucking Fjerdans. Ivan hates the drüskelle for their hatred of the Grisha, and that fire burns hotter when Fedyor is hit in the leg. Fear twists in his belly as he examines Fedyor’s wound, though he claims it’s fine. Ivan, the most feared heartrender in Ravka, can’t concentrate enough to tell how many their enemies number, so he delegates it to Katya. He remembers the Summoner in the carriage, and issues a command for one of the other Grisha to protect her, but the screams fade into the background of his mind as he does his best to heal Fedyor.

Then he senses the shadows that accompany Kirigan—the reason the people mutter in fear, call him the Darkling—and the Fjerdans melt back into the wood. Shame mixes with his fear for Fedyor, and Ivan swears to himself when, after a few moments he hears the General speak to one of the Etherealki who’ve made it back to the carriage.

“Tend to the wounded. Then tell Ivan to make sure everyone gets back to Little Palace as quickly as possible and report to me. I’ll be waiting.”

“Yes, sir.”

Shit. He had one job, and she’s now riding off in the General’s arms.

Alina Starkov is definitely trouble.

&&&

They finally arrive back at the Little Palace late that night. Once everyone, the Grisha and the horses, are all seen to, Ivan makes his way to General Kirigan’s rooms. The oprichniki guarding the door nod at him and make way for him to knock. The General calls out in that even tone of his for Ivan to enter. He does so, anxiety and defiance mixing in his chest.

Nonetheless, Ivan is deferential. “Sir.”

Those dark eyes sweep over him from head to toe, and where there’s normally amusement or quiet affability, he’s unreadable as he is when meeting with the tsar and tsaritsa. “I see you’ve made it back. Are you well?”

“Yes, sir.” Ivan begins to sweat under the woollen collar of his kefta.

“And Fedyor?”

“Much better. He’s recovering.”

“Good,” the General says, pausing for a long, uncomfortable moment before continuing, “now, perhaps you could explain why you disregarded my clear, express orders to guard Alina.”

Alina, he notes. Not “Miss Starkov” or “the Sun Summoner.”

Ivan’s jaw tenses. “My apologies, moi soverennyi. Fedyor was shot while we were attempting to protect the carriage. I thought we’d be better able to protect her with both our powers.”

The Darkling—for that’s who he is at this moment—turns to face the windows. It’s black as pitch outside, but it wouldn’t surprise Ivan if Kirigan could see through the shadows of the night. “I don’t want excuses, Ivan. Had I not been nearby, Alina would have been lost, and Ravka would have lost its greatest hope in centuries.”

Ivan waits, knowing there’s little he can say.

Kirigan turns back. “See that it doesn’t happen again, or I will see to it that you and Fedyor are put on different assignments for the foreseeable future.”

Anger rises in his throat, but Ivan stomps it down. It will do him no favors to argue. The only thing he can do is go to bed, hold Fedyor close, and hope things settle soon. “Yes, General.”

&&&

The next day, a contingent of the Grisha accompany General Kirigan and Alina to the Big Palace. Ivan is used to walking by the General’s side, but Alina is there instead. With Fedyor still recovering in their rooms under the care of the healers, Ivan is alone, distant from the group. He feels a pang of melancholy so fierce it threatens to overwhelm him.

The Sun Summoner looks much better today than she had when he last saw her, and it seems Kirigan thinks so too. After he greets the King and Queen, he can hardly take his eyes off the girl, that same awed, wondering look in his eyes again.

Through the shadows his boss conjures, Ivan sees the way he looks at her, the way he leans over to whisper in his ear, the gesture nearly a caress. The Summoner lights up the darkness, and Ivan can’t take his eyes off the two of them. Alina Starkov smiles at Kirigan, and instead of the polite, unknowable smile he’d normally return to a courtier or even one of his rare mistresses, Kirigan looks back at her like she’s his every dream come true.

After the display is over, the King tries to bumble his way through negotiating over Alina’s training. And in front of the entire court and a good number of the Grisha,the General claims Alina. She will stay in the Little Palace with him, Kirigan states, his tone brooking no argument, not even from the sovereign ruler of Ravka.

Kirigan takes Alina’s hand and leads her away from the throne, and the two pause to speak in quiet tones. Ivan can’t hear them, but Alina’s eyes glow with admiration and the General is looking back at her with...warmth.

It’s not right, Ivan thinks, even as the General departs and the Grisha welcome Alina. This situation is getting more and more troublesome.

&&&

When Ivan arrives back in their room, he’s relieved to see Fedyor awake, though he’s lying in bed with a book. Fedyor sets the book on the bedside table and smiles at him, and Ivan feels some of the tension in his shoulders melt away.

“Why so grumpy, my love?”

“Not grumpy, Fedya. Worried.” He takes off his boots, middle of the day be damned, and climbs into the bed next to his husband.

Fedyor opens his arms, and Ivan goes to him, snuggling in and leaning his head against his shoulder. “About what, Vanya?”

He shrugs as best as he can while in his favorite person’s embrace. “The Sun Summoner is dangerous.”

“So are all of us Grisha, and even the otkazat’sya with training.”

“Not like that. I mean...I-I think General Kirigan has feelings.”

Fedyor had been running his hand through Ivan’s hair, but he pauses. “In general? Or for Alina?”

“For Alina. Fedyor, it was very strange. He looked warm and like he wanted to kiss her, in front of all those people. And then he held her hand.” The Darkling has had lovers, and Ivan is very aware of this, but he’s never seen him act this way around any of them.

With a huff that might be a laugh, Fedyor says, “He deserves a chance at love, too, especially after he’s been so good to us. He tried to help us when we were younger and more foolish.”

That’s true; Kirigan has been nothing but supportive of them when not everyone else has. He even tried to advise Ivan when he was sorting out his feelings for Fedya more than a decade ago. It hadn’t been good advice, but an attempt had been made, at least.

“He seems...lonely,” Fedyor continues.

Ivan nods. “There is no one like him, no one at his level, so who could stand beside him?”

“Maybe Alina.”

Fedyor seems to like the girl, but Ivan isn’t convinced. Is she strong enough to stand next to their leader who has done so much for not just the Grisha, but for Ivan and his beloved?

&&&

The next day, Ivan joins the rest of the Grisha for dinner. Kirigan is off doing something statecrafty and Ivan has the place of honor at his boss’ right hand, so he is ostensibly in charge of the gathering in the General’s absence.

Except he knows Alina was given the choice to sit in Kirigan’s seat in his absence, or to sit at his side were he here. Instead, the girl chose to sit with the other Etherealki. She’s there laughing with Marie and Nadia, indulging in this opulent meal provided for the Sun Summoner, because apparently their usual hearty peasant fare wasn’t good enough.

Resentment curdles in his stomach as he reads out the casualty list, staring down Alina the entire time. She looks stricken, but her concern seems to be more for the otkazat’sya than her fellow Grisha.

Something in him snaps. “Why are you here eating figs? Hmm? You should be training every waking moment to tear down the Fold.”

But when he sees her face, hurt and downcast, he feels a pang of regret for how he handled this.

Kirigan will not be pleased.

&&&

It turns out that Fedyor isn’t pleased either. He had accompanied the General to the dinner he’d gone to, as Fedyor is far more diplomatic than most of the senior Grisha. It’s because of that diplomacy and open friendliness that it takes him less than three hours to hear about Ivan’s outburst.

Ivan is sitting in his chair in front of the fire, doing his best to wind down after the day. Fedyor enters the room, closing the door behind him.

“How was dinner and politics?”

Fedyor scowls at him, and his heart sinks. “Don’t try to be cute and solicitous. I heard about what you did to that poor girl. Badly done, Vanya, badly done.”

“Can we go back to the part about me being cute, please?” Ivan rubs his hands over his face. He and Fedyor rarely disagree, so when they do…

“No. Alina Starkov just found out days ago she’s Grisha, and she’s been pulled away from the only life she’s known, from her friends and comrades. She’s fended off the volcra, almost been murdered by the drüskelle, and has had to get used to a new training regimen for skills she barely knew she had, to say nothing of the high stakes of her every move now.”

“She’s an orphan of Keramzin. How is this not better than anything she’s ever known?”

Fedyor stops pacing for a moment. “Ivan, that’s why we should be kind. She’s never known the love of a family beyond that of the First Army. And you know what they whisper about the Grisha. We were children when we got here, and our families sent us here out of love. It was easier for us to adjust. She’s grown up her whole life hearing the lies most of the otkazat’sya believe about us. She needs time and understanding.”

“But we don’t have that much time. Zlatan is agitating in West Ravka, Fjerda is worse than ever, and Shu Han is causing as many problems as ever. Why can’t she see that unless she is at her best and soon, Ravka is in danger? The Grisha are in danger?” Ivan is furious, but more than that, he’s exhausted.

At that, Fedyor softens. “Ah, my love. You carry a heavy burden. But she’ll have to bear an even heavier one soon,” he says, coming over and placing a warm hand on Ivan’s shoulder.

Ivan reaches up, placing his hand over Fedyor’s. “I just want her to be ready.”

“She will be.”

With a sigh, Ivan pulls Fedyor into his lap, nuzzling his neck. He’s ready to make up.

“Ivan?”

“Hmm?”

“You do realize that people also have to eat in order to be able to train, don’t you?”

&&&

He knows he should, but Ivan can’t bring himself to apologize to Alina. He does try, however, to be more understanding of the enormity of what she faces, the pressure on her to succeed. He tries to be kinder, less abrupt. But he can’t change who he is.

Fortunately, General Kirigan seems more amused than anything else at Ivan’s dinner outburst. It’s a week or so later, and Kirigan is ready to dismiss Ivan for his next couple of days off. “I would tell you to enjoy your time with Fedyor, but maybe you’ll be training instead, since that’s apparently what we all must be doing every waking moment.”

Ivan shoots him a panicked look, but calms down when he catches the amusement in the General’s eyes.

“Indeed. We will train ceaselessly and closely, moi soverennyi.” Somehow, he manages to keep a straight face.

Kirigan just snorts, and Ivan is extremely disgruntled when he mutters under his breath about needing some of that kind of training of his own.

#sab #sab ff #shadow and bone #heartrender husbands #darklina #darklinadaily #darklinaweek2021 #ivan #fedyor kaminsky #the darkling #aleksander morozova #general kirigan #alina starkov #ivan x fedyor #to be clear I don't think Alina or the Darkling or straight #but I think Ivan thinks they are #my fanfic #missing moments

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krappykawa · 4 years

Text

ಌ i mildly like you more than like (p.1)

— in which an incessant fan girl, a kiss, and a little bit of denial makes oikawa tooru realize he might mildly like you more than like

description. you’ve been in love with oikawa tooru for longer than you can remember. having known him for the better part of nearly 11 years, you’ve come to accept that you’ll never be more than a best friend to him. but with the help of a few irritatingly persistent fangirls and a kiss that was only meant to drive them away, a tale of unrequited love might just prove to be something more.

warnings. language

word count. 4.2k

oikawa tooru x f!reader, childhood best friends to lovers, fluff, some angst

parts. 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

author’s note. i started writing this a few weeks ago and it was originally just going to be a one-shot but it got almost up to 10k words so i just decided to split it up HHSKFJ

Oikawa Tooru has perhaps one of the strongest drives when it comes to hard work.

His tenacity is a thing of nature, something that awes you time and time again, no matter how many times you’ve seen him pick himself up before. It might be one of the reasons you fell in love with him in the first place.

But despite how in-tune he is with his senses on a mental standpoint, his Achilles’ heel lies with his inability to pick up on the signs his body gives him when it's had enough. Well, he can, but he just chooses not to listen.

His first encounter with a crack in that heel came in his first-year, where you had to stand on the sidelines and watch as he fell to the ground during a game with a resounded sweep of gasps around the gym. That injury benched him for more than half the season.

It was from that point on that you and Iwaizumi decided that if Oikawa wasn’t going to take care of his own body, then it would be up to you two to make sure his head is still above water.

So it doesn’t surprise you when your phone flashes with a text message from Iwaizumi during one of your shifts at the bakery.

1 new message: iwa (´,,•ω•,,)♡

Received: can you come pick up shittykawa

“Tooru?”

A figure sits slumped against the benches in front of Aoba Johsai high, his eyes closed as he lays back. There’s something beautiful about the way that he looks almost ethereal in this relaxed state, the most relaxed you’d seen him in months. When he hears his name from your lips, he slowly blinks and sits up, the aura of relaxation falling from him.

You almost regret having said anything in the first place when he puts up his guard the moment he sees you.

“Y/N-chan!” An easy smile falls between his lips, one that could’ve easily fooled anyone else. He always was very good at portraying happiness and contentment, especially when he’d been followed everywhere by people that only really want to see Oikawa Tooru, popular ladies’ man with charm that could make your mother swoon.

But you’re one of the select few that knew him before he learned that his charm was a crucial asset in his arsenal. You knew him at his highs and his lows, so the convincing smile on his lips doesn’t convince you in the slightest. That’s because you notice the way his arms seem to sit limply in his lap and the way his eyes convey fatigue rather than joy. You also know that Iwaizumi called you here for one thing.

“Don’t Y/N-chan me. Iwa texted me.”

Oikawa’s facade seems to fall at that, replaced with a troubled expression. He brings his right hand up to wipe at his face in frustration. “Listen, I don’t know what he may have said, but he’s exaggerating. I’m fine.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. He can’t seem to meet your eyes. “Well, that’s a lie considering that you’re out here right now and not in that gym,” you say matter-of-factly.

“He physically dragged me out here!” Oikawa whines, throwing his hands in the direction of your school’s gym.

A bemused chuckle leaves your lips as you move to sit beside him on the bench. Oikawa moves his bag to give you more room to sit, but you don’t move any closer. “And when has that ever stopped you?”

Oikawa getting kicked out of practice by Iwaizumi and even on select days, by their coach, is not an unusual occurrence. Iwaizumi has forcefully dragged Oikawa out of the gym before. Each and every time, Oikawa just marched right back in, despite Iwaizumi’s rage and his coach’s warnings. Even when his extra practice hours cause detrimental effects to his knee, Oikawa never seems to back down.

It was something both you and Iwaizumi had grown used to in your years of friendship with Oikawa -- his incredibly stubborn determination to somehow work himself to the point of bad health.

That’s how you know something different has happened today, because Oikawa is sitting out here on a bench rather than arguing with Iwa about how “a few more serves won’t hurt him!” (though they most definitely do, and Oikawa never seems to learn).

You turn your head to look at him. He’s quiet now, though he still doesn’t meet your eyes. His gaze is instead focused on a dog that’s running in the park opposite the school. You know that he’s avoiding confirming your accusation.

When it doesn’t seem like he’s going to talk anytime soon, you sigh. “All I’m saying is that if you really believed that you were fine, you would be using all your blood, sweat, tears in order to find a way back into the gym. Especially since the qualifiers are coming up.” You lean back against the bench as well, letting your eyes watch the dog happily run with its tongue lolling out of its mouth. “But instead you’re here, sitting on a bench in the afternoon. And from the looks of it, you had no intention of heading home.”

He still doesn’t turn to look at you, the only indication that he even heard you is the mild tick in his jaw. You try not to think about how perfectly sculpted his side profile is.

When he finally does speak, he still avoids your accusation of his fatigue and instead asks, “Why did Iwa-chan call you here anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be working at the bakery?”

You shrug. “Business was slow. Besides, my boss likes me enough to let me go early today. He said I’d have to work overtime this weekend though.”

At that, he finally turns to look at you. In the split second that you glance at him, you catch the guilt in his gaze before he looks away again. “You shouldn’t have come. You already overwork yourself being the only decent baker besides your boss that works there.”

A smile spreads on your face, your tone teasing. “Oikawa Tooru wants to talk to me about overworking myself?”

“I’m serious. You work too hard at that bakery for the measly amount that they pay you. Don’t think I don’t notice the way you try to cover your under eye circles with makeup.”

You feel your stomach jump, the familiar feeling causing your lips to tug upwards lightly. Tooru has been one of your best friends ever since you moved into the house across from his when you were seven years old. You hadn’t known when it happened, but you had come to school one day last year and just suddenly knew that your feelings were no longer limited to platonic when it came to the brown-haired volleyball captain. It’s in moments like these where you wonder how he hasn’t managed to figure your feelings out, considering how observant he is of everything else about you.

“Yes, well I’m sorry that we can’t all look like we spawn from a god like you do. It’s seriously unfair how you can still look like that when you get even less sleep than I do.”

There’s only a hint of teasing in his voice when he says, “You think I look that handsome?” He turns to face you again, and this time there’s a blink of surprise lurking in his chestnut eyes. Especially now, with the sun casting golden glows on his hair and skin, he looks beautiful to you.

Painfully, it reminds you about how unrequited your feelings are. Not that Oikawa has ever outright rejected you or even acknowledged knowing anything of your feelings, but him reciprocating your feelings didn’t even cross your mind as a possibility most days. Not with the group of girls that are always vying for his attention; not when his ex-girlfriend was what everyone thought was his perfect match; not when he hadn’t even attempted a committed relationship since Yua-san broke up with him all those months ago.

“Y/N?” His voice drags you out of your train of thought. You realize that you had been staring at him this entire time.

You play off your thoughts with a roll of your eyes and turn your head back towards the park. “No,” you lie. “I just hear comments like that from your fan club all the time.”

He nods lightly, his eyebrows creasing. “Right. Right, of course.” You’re about to ask about the odd tone in his voice when he speaks again. “You never did answer my question. Why did Iwa-chan send you here?”

“He wanted me to make sure that you actually went home instead of finding somewhere else to practice,” you say. A chuckle escapes your lips. You’re happy for the change in topic.

“I am not that hard-headed!” You raise a brow at him. He pouts. “Fine. Maybe a little.”

“A little?”

“Oh come on, Y/N. Now you’re just being mean!”

“Yeah well, it’s payback. You’re a real pain in the ass.”

“In your ass, I hope.”

You try to keep the blush from your cheeks as your mind takes you in a completely different direction. Suddenly, the space between you two seems too small. “You might want to rethink what you just said.” You try not to stare at his mouth as it falls open, your mind still invading your thoughts with images that you should not be fantasizing about when he’s sitting right beside you.

“Wait.” Oikawa’s eyes go so comically wide that you almost forget your own embarrassment. “Jeez, that did not come out in the right way. Not right at all.” For what seems like the millionth time, he looks away from you, though this time it seems to be out of his own mortification over what he just said. There seems to be a blush to his cheeks, but you very well might have just imagined it.

You let out a laugh, your arms coming up to clutch at your side. “I cannot believe that you’re supposed to be the big hotshot volleyball player that every girl has a crush on. There is not a charming bone in your body. I refuse to believe it.”

Oikawa lets out a small chuckle. “I don’t have to charm you when you already love even the uncharming parts of me. But if anyone asks, I am completely perfect. There are no uncharming parts to Oikawa Tooru. Don’t you dare spread false rumors, Y/N-chan!”

An amused snort leaves you at his last three sentences, but you decide to respond on the first part of his words. “Me? Loving you? Very unlikely.” You tease, trying your hardest to keep a straight face when Oikawa begins to pout.

“If you don’t love me after all these years I will actually start crying right now and then those girls that follow me everywhere will come for your blood for making me cry.”

You chuckle again, catching yourself before you roll your eyes again. Next to you, Oikawa has his arms crossed with a convincing pout sitting on his lips that makes him look like a child. You smile despite yourself. “Okay, okay keep the dramatics to a minimum.”

“Then say it.”

“Say what?

“Say that you love me.”

You feel a small pang as you plaster a smile on your face. “I mildly like you more than like,” you say, not really sure if you’d be able to say those three words to him at this point in time. Not when you know that they’re true.

Oikawa’s pout deepens, but you’re adamant on not saying more.

“That’s all you’re getting from me, Crappykawa.” Suddenly you find yourself amused at the way you managed to sound exactly like Iwaizumi. It hadn’t occurred to you that you’d spent so much time with him.

“Call me pretty and I’ll drop it.”

“You’re so needy sometimes, you know that?”

“Very much aware, Y/N-chan. As if you and Iwa-chan would ever let me forget.”

An eye roll comes easy to you and this time you don’t try to stop it. At this point, an eye roll is almost like a natural reaction to anything Oikawa says. “Fine. I’ll admit you’re not bad too look at.”

“Not great, but I’ll take it,” he concludes. “I can slowly feel the crack in my ego being restored.”

“If you want to be complimented please go seek out the never-ending stream of girls and guys that come your way hoping for even an ounce of your attention.” You hope that he doesn’t notice the mild bitterness in your voice. “I’m almost positive that they’ll be willing to tell you just how pretty you are and how everyone in the world should be in love with you.”

“They should be, shouldn’t they?” Oikawa bemuses.

A laugh leaves your lips despite your efforts. “You are insufferable sometimes. I don’t understand why I’ve kept you around for so long.”

“There you go with the insults again,” he tskes. “Have you and Iwa-chan been spending time together without me?”

“Iwa and I are friends you know?”

“Yeah but you’re supposed to be my best friend,” he pouts.

“You already said that line to Iwaizumi yesterday when he opted to carry me instead of you.”

“Yeah, well … I met you before he did!”

“Because you threw a volleyball at my head!”

“It was an accident!”

Laugher spills from both of your lips at the memory. It isn’t until Oikawa’s hair brushes upon your shoulder during his laughter that you realize that the space between you and Oikawa had increasingly gotten smaller. He’s so close that your thighs are only centimeters apart.

As your laughter dies down, Oikawa’s bubbly personality begins to slip once more and the fatigue on his face becomes more evident. Eventually, he rests his head on your shoulder. You feel your stomach flutter pleasantly at his proximity. Even now, you can smell the cologne he regularly wears, the one you helped pick out back in first-year that he’s worn ever since.

Once the silence lasts for a few moments, you finally attempt to ask him about practice once more. “Are you finally going to tell me why you didn’t fight back when Iwa threw you out of practice?”

He sighs. “I guess you can say that I’m a little bit tired. Plus my knee hurts like all hell has reigned down.” His voice is so much different from just moments before that it’s hard to believe that they come from the same person.

“You’re exhausted,” you say. It’s not a question, but more of a definite statement.

“More or less,” he responds quietly.

This time, it’s you that sighs. “Just … be careful. I get that you want to beat everyone and go to Nationals, but you’re no good to your team if you fuck your knee up so badly that you can’t play.”

“This year is our last chance,” he mumbles. “I just don’t want to look back later and wish that maybe I’d practiced just a little more.”

“You can’t beat anyone if you’re sitting on the bench from an injury that you got from overworking yourself.”

Oikawa winces at the tone in your voice. You almost feel guilty. Almost.

“You’re going to work yourself to death. Iwaizumi and I aren’t just going to stand by and watch you dig your own grave,” you say softly. “For his sake, at least. Don’t push yourself too hard.”

“I’ll try,” he says. For some reason, you believe him.

The two of you sit there in silence once more, the wind blowing lightly on your hair and the sounds of a busy town echoing around you. You wish that you could bottle this moment up and keep it with you forever, even if it’s only a testament to how much Oikawa values you as a best friend and nothing more.

The thought makes your stomach drop in the slightest bit. It’s usually easy to contain your depth of feelings for Oikawa when the air around you two is lively and joking, but you’ve found over the years that quiet moments like these are the ones that really tear at your heart.

He’ll never know the extent of your feelings for him, and you’re too afraid to wonder what would happen if he did know.

Oikawa turns his head only slightly to look up at you while still continuing to lean on your shoulder. “You okay?”

You give an almost imperceptible nod. “We should head home. I don’t know what Iwaizumi might do to you if he finds you out here after practice ends,” you say.

Oikawa nods and detaches his head from your shoulder.

The two of you have only walked a couple of meters when you hear a group of girls squeal from not too far away. Oikawa tenses from beside you.

“Your fanclub found you,” you say.

“I’m aware.”

He doesn’t make any move to look back at them or stop. Instead, his pace seems to speed up.

You furrow a brow. “You don’t want to talk to them? Thought you loved their attention?”

“Ouch. You really know how to wound a man, Y/N-chan,” he says with a small smile on his lips. You take notice of the weariness in his features. “But while I do enjoy them feeding my very justified ego, I am far too fatigued to deal with them.”

You nod and continue to walk beside him. The less interactions he has with his fan club, the better your mood will be. Besides, you weren’t going to fail Iwaizumi by not doing the one thing he asked you to do and not take Oikawa home.

A giggle reaches your ears once more, and you sneak a glance behind you. The girls are talking amongst themselves, but still obviously walking in the direction you’re headed in.

“Well, what do you wanna do? Cause they’re coming.”

Oikawa sighs and you notice a tick of irritation in his clenched jaw. You can see a million thoughts going through his mind, but before you can ask him about them, he reaches out to grab your hand.

“Is this okay? I’m just hoping that they’ll leave me alone if they think that you and I … uhm.”

Oikawa’s hands are long and calloused, but they feel nice as his fingers intertwine with your smaller ones. You try hard not to let the little gesture get to you. “Yeah … yeah of course.”

The two of you fall into silence again, mostly due to his fatigue and your inability to form coherent words that don’t have to do with his hand in yours. You’ve held hands with Oikawa before, but it was never with the intent to make you two look like a couple. You wish more than anything that he would break the silence before you blurt out something that you don’t want to.

Your wishes are answered when Oikawa asks, “They’re still following us, aren’t they?” Oikawa still doesn’t look back as he says it.

In your short reverie you had forgotten about the girls behind you. You sneak another glance at them and find that Oikawa’s assumption is correct.

“Yeah, they are.”

Oikawa makes an incoherent noise. “Y/N-chan, could you be a dear and describe what they look like? I have a feeling I know who exactly they are.”

You turn back again, and really take a good look at them. They’re pretty. Really pretty, you think. You wonder for a second what they could’ve done to make Oikawa so adamant on not speaking with them.

“There’s three girls. One with cropped red hair, one with long blonde hair, and one with brown hair in a high ponytail.”

“Oh, it’s them again. I don’t know what to do to get them to leave me alone at this point,” he sighs.

“Who are they? What’s going on?”

His grip on your hand tightens. “Ichika-san and her friends. She sent me a love letter about a month ago. I tried to let her down easily, but it seems that she has yet to give up.”

“This girl is your stalker?”

“Not quite. At least, I hope not.”

The noise from behind you two gets increasingly louder. A giggle echoes on the mildly empty street and you catch Oikawa’s name being whispered between their conversations. Now that you’ve found out about what they’ve been putting him through, your annoyance spikes.

“Not to sound paranoid or anything, but I’m not keen on these girls finding out where you live.”

Oikawa is quiet for a moment, his brows furrowed in indecision. It seems that he makes up his mind when he turns his head to look at you. “Kiss me.”

Your step momentarily falters.

“What?”

He shakes your intertwined hands. “We’re already holding hands. They might get the memo if we …”

“Oh.”

“I .. I mean only if you want to. You don’t have to. I just figured that .. nevermind. It’s a spotty plan. They might still not leave us alone and --”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll do it.” You weren’t going to pass up a chance at kissing him, even if it’s only for a diversion. This doesn’t seem like such a bad idea anyways — you’d long since given up on him reciprocating your feelings, and this way you can kiss him while saving yourself from the possible embarrassment of rejection.

“You will?”

“Where’s the harm? It’s just a kiss right?” You can barely hear yourself talking over the beating of your heart. “Besides, it could work.”

Oikawa shoots you a grateful smile. “Okay. Whenever you’re ready then.”

You try to shake out your nerves and instead focus your time in looking at your surroundings. The sound of giggling is still in close range when you spot a tree nearby. It’s still pretty out in the open, but not so much that you and Oikawa might draw stares, at least not from anyone that isn’t a part of the group of girls behind you.

Gathering enough courage to not insanely mess this up, you tug on Oikawa’s hand to drag him with you in the direction of the tree. You make sure that you’re still in the line of sight of the three girls when you snake your arms around Oikawa’s neck and pull him down.

His lips are softer than you imagined, and you’ve imagined kissing them more times than you’re willing to admit. Pleasantly, he tastes like oranges, which you don’t quite understand, considering that you can’t seem to remember him ever being fond of oranges. But then again, you can’t quite think of anything besides the feeling of his lips on yours.

Your lips move fluidly against his, soft but not entirely without passion. It takes everything in you to not kiss him with the force that you want to be kissing him with.

Hands come down to grip your waist as he pulls you closer to him, gently placing a hand on the small of your back. You run your hands through his hair and wonder to yourself why you hadn’t ever played with his hair before. If you ever make it out of this with your senses still intact, you’d make playing with his hair a part of your regular routine.

He makes a small noise against your lips when you make the mistake of pulling a little too hard on his hair. His grip on you tightens.

You don’t know how long you two stand there, lips locked with each other, but Oikawa doesn’t make any move to pull away. Instead he deepens the kiss by running his tongue against your bottom lip and pulling you even closer. You stifle a noise that threatens to come from deep in your throat. One of his hands comes up to cup your cheek and tips your head so that he can slip his tongue into your mouth. He has fantastic lips, you think.

It’s only until you feel the air in your lungs begin to dwindle that you force yourself to pull away. The kiss lasted for longer than you expected, and by the way you pant with every breath, it feels like a kiss that the rest of the world should not have been privy to.

You keep your eyes closed for a moment more, wanting to savor the moment for just a little longer. The moment you open your eyes, you’ll have to come back to the reality that this was just a one-time thing. You’ll have to come back to reality and remember that this kiss likely doesn’t mean anything to him.

Slowly you open your eyes, and find that Oikawa’s already staring at you intently. His breathing comes out staggered, and his eyes have turned a few shades darker. What used to be a soft chestnut brown looks almost close to black. In them, you notice a flicker of an odd emotion that looks too familiar, but you don’t want to hope for anything.

You slide your hands down to his chest. His hands are still planted on your back and face, touching you both gently and carefully. “Did it work?” Your voice comes out small.

He seems to wake up from his trance then, and turns to look in the direction that the girls were before. You look behind you to see one of the girls running away with her head in her hands. Her two friends follow after her in an attempt to console her.

“I think it did,” he says. And what he says after is so quiet you almost believe that you imagine hearing it. “In more ways than one.”

part two will most likely be up on thursday next week :)

#oikawa x reader #oikawa headcanons #oikawa x y/n #oikawa fluff #oikawa #oikawa tooru #oikawa tooru x reader #reader insert #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader

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izayoichan · 4 years

Photo

“You're upset... you're worried.” “I'm scared, which makes me upset and worried.”

He wraps his arms around Vy, his dad's words lingering in his ears, but what bothers him the most is his inability to feel his own brother. Their link had always been there, no matter how ill he had been, Rylan could always sense him. He couldn't sense his twin any more, and it frightened the shit out of him. He gently put a hand on Vy's cheek.

“I can't feel my brother anymore.. it's like he isn't there.. and it scares me.” “It's the little one, they're so powerful it's scary! I think they have the heart of a dragon and the blood of a mage!”

Vy pouts and places his hand over Hayden's.

“I'm not going to let anything happen. I'll do everything I can to keep your brother safe, I promise! I'm a doctor!”

He kisses Hayden's hand and holding it brushes his cheek against it, with a hopeful smile.

“Let's go watch that movie!”

And without waiting for Hayden to answer, he pulls him with him towards the room. Rylan chuckles at their comments, deciding to just let them have this one.

“Okay, majority rules, he's just going to have to love it.”

He turns his head as there is a knock on the door, his parents entering with drinks and popcorn. Followed quickly by his brother and Vy.

“Oh, proper snacks too!” “Even a pregnant friendly version, just in case the little one allows.”

Chris smiles, putting the plain popcorn within his son's reach.

“And of course no movie night without something to drink, especially when serving popcorn.”

He noticed Fannar smiling widely at him as he pats Rylan's stomach very gently and carefully.

“Little star will enjoy the movie too!” “They did a vote, River and Fannar decided he likes it.”

Rylan chuckles as he shakes his head a little, noticing his dad chuckle as well.

“It's a good movie!”

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honeymoonjin · 4 years

Text

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 12k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:

Sick of unsatisfying hookups, boring relationships or the company of your own hand? Apply today for the chance to be on bangasm.com’s very first reality show! Seven attractive young gentlemen will be vying for your choice of who is best in bed. All from different backgrounds, these men claim they’ll be able to rock your world, so don’t hesitate! Apply now!

Congratulations! You’ve been accepted as the Lady in the first season of The Gentlemen.

<- prev || masterlist || next ->

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: good god where to begin, loss of virginity : ) for real, big dick joon, cowgirl, unprotected sex, special appearance from namjoon’s sensitive neck o.o, premature ejaculation sorry bud, creampie, dom!joon still tho, sub!reader, sexting, dom!hoseok/master!hoseok, sub!jungkook, sub!reader agAIN, bondage and shibari, master/slave dynamics (sorry i have to spoil the prompt but want to properly TW this stuff, but the word slave is only used once out-of-scene), filmed sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, hoseok wearing the tear dior fit you are WELCOME, fingering, orgasm control/denial, oral (m receiving), anal (m receiving), a position i am told is called a lucky pierre/french sandwich, threesome in case you couldn’t guess, aftercare, guided masturbation, phone sex, pet-names, discipline/punishment

banner designer @jamaisjoons | thank you my darling SFHS babies ! i love you

DAY EIGHT

“Are you ready to make your decision?”

No. Of course the answer is no, but there’s no delaying it anymore. “Is it nine already?”

Sejin sighs, shuffling to the side of the table to indicate you’re to sit beside him. When you do, facing the boys on the couch, your heart gives another sickening lurch. Sejin squeezes your shoulder kindly. “Just a game, sweetheart,” he assures quietly, before raising his voice into the authorial tone he used for announcements. “Thank you for all being here on time, any on topic questions before we begin?”

Nobody answers, not even Jin. There’s a tense atmosphere, and you feel caught right in the centre of it.

“Okay, then,” he says softly, sensing the sullen atmosphere. “I’d like to give each of the Gentlemen a chance to explain why Y/n should keep them in the show. Let’s go around the room. Yoongi?”

To Sejin’s left, perched on the end of the three-person couch, is the doctor himself, legs crossed and face relaxed. “Um, Y/n should keep me in becau-”

“Say it to her,” Sejin guides, shuffling back to move out of the way.

Reflexively, Yoongi glances up at you, and the calm warmth of his eyes reassures you. “Y/n, I’d ask you to keep me in because we’ve had a good time together so far, but there’s so much that we have yet to explore. Beyond that, I’d like to think I’m a good fit for the house, and I’ll continue to assist Jin-hyung in cooking many meals.” Once he’s done, he sends you a small smile, eyes glinting playfully.

The younger boy sitting next to him is not as cheerful. Bottom lip red from gnawing, Jungkook tucks his feet up on the couch, resting his chin on his knees. His eyes meet yours after Sejin signals for him to begin. “I really hope you don’t vote me out because I like it here a lot. You’re so cool, and the hyungs are so cool, and I feel really happy here. I know we haven’t spent a whole lot of quality time yet, but I want to, if I stick around long enough.”

You bite down harshly on your tongue, sending him a strained smile. Fuck, this sucks. Beside Jungkook is Hoseok, who props his elbow on the arm of the couch, posture casual but face stricken.

“Y/n,” Hoseok begins, voice tentative and uncharacteristically subdued, “you’re a very intelligent girl and you have a lot of potential in being a sub. I’d appreciate the opportunity to stay in and show you and the audience how enjoyable BDSM can be. We’re all very lucky men to be on the show with you.”

On the couch beside, Namjoon is the next one around. He pauses, eyes dancing about the room as he thinks. “I think it probably doesn’t make much sense to keep me in the game,” he allows. “I’m not experienced like the others and so it’s a little hard to defend on that front, but I think me staying allows you the advantage of being my first and best experience. I feel like with just a bit more time, I’ll really grow into my element, and I feel safe doing it with you. So I really hope I stay.”

Squished beside him is Jin, who sends you a big grin, even if it doesn’t fully reach his eyes. “This is so shitty,” he says with a laugh, “it’s harder than I was prepared for before I came, and I think that’s due partly to the warm environment that we’re developing with each other, but also because you, Y/n, are a very genuine and lively person. Of course this is a game about sex, but I don’t think any one of us could say that’s the only factor here. As for me, I ask that you keep me in at least a week more because I can promise not only a good time, but also an ear if you need one, and advice should you ever want it.” He pauses to glance around the room. “That goes for all of you,” Jin adds, “I cannot believe that I don’t hate any of you, I don’t know how the producers found such great people.”

His words ease a bit of the tension, and the rest of you let out laughs of relief, your heart easing slightly.

Next, it’s down on the floor for Taehyung, who seems to prefer sitting cross-legged on the carpet to any other spot in the room. “I really wanna stay here,” he pleads with his eyes locked on yours, so earnest, “you’re so fantastic, and Jungkookie and the hyungs are all so fantastic, and I don’t wanna go home so soon. And also I think in terms of sex and stuff, I bring a lot to the table.” Taehyung avoids Sejin’s gaze, fiddling with the hem of his shirt innocently even as he stares up through his eyelashes at the rest of you cheekily. “I think we saw that yesterday. Though in the future, hopefully it’ll cost me less.” He sends a withering glare at Yoongi and Jin. “You assholes.”

You let out a chuckle, Jin huffing in response and Yoongi just shrugging with a shameless grin. Finally, it’s Jimin’s turn, and your chest pangs as you remember the last time you were together. The way he squeezed your hand gently before getting out of the car last night, the way he walked you to your bedroom door, wishing you sweet dreams. The way you saw an entirely different man to the one he’s been advertising.

His eyes on you are imploring even as his back is straight and legs crossed. “I value the time I spend with you. This is, after all, a game about sex so I’ll defend myself by saying you can rest assured I’m skilled enough to please you well, but if you allow me to stay,” he drops eye contact, fiddling with his rings even as he fights to remain poised, “I do hope it’s not the sex alone that keeps me here.” Like a switch is flicked, his momentary vulnerability vanishes, and he glances up and sends you a smile, warm and at-ease, having said his piece.

“And Y/n,” Sejin guides from beside you, his kind eyes on you, “anything to say to the guys?”

Your heart stutters in your chest. It’s been a week? Why is this so hard? “I- First of all, this decision has been insanely hard. You’re all amazing, not just in bed but as people, and I hope that whoever has to leave will still stay in touch. It feels really cruel that I have to say goodbye to someone so soon. The reality is, none of you did bad, and there’s nobody I don’t like; nobody that doesn’t belong here. I’ve made my decision, but- I don’t know. I’m not happy with it, but I don’t think I’d be happy with any decision. In the end, I guess I just went for the least painful option.” You take a deep breath, eyes lifting to look at Hoseok, who sends you a sad smile. You open your mouth-

“Wait!” Sejin interrupts loudly. Everyone turns to look at him in unison, eyes wide. “There-” He breaks off with a sigh, glancing at the camera closest to him before looking back down at the group. “Listen; this will be edited out, but ratings have been doing far better than we’d ever anticipated. We already hired a third editor to keep up with demand and get more episodes out than was on the schedule, and there’s talk we may even start getting sponsorships because the support has been creating headlines, at least on Twitter. The higher-ups at Bangasm, well… they want to make an exception.”

You furrow your brows. “What do you mean?”

“You’ll see,” Sejin answers. “Act surprised.” The eight of you stare at him with varying degrees of bewilderment as he puffs his chest and carries his voice louder, switching back into producer mode. “Wait!” he repeats in the same tone as earlier. “The production team hasn’t been completely honest with you. This isn’t just a basic game with prompts each week like we told you. There will be a special advantage, a wildcard if you wish, that changes things up. They could affect the prompts, or how the game proceeds for that week. We call them Bangasm Bombs. And while we didn’t tell you, our production team has drawn the Bangasm Bomb for Week One.”

Sejin pauses to look at you all meaningfully. Jimin picks up the hint. “So; what’s the ‘Bangasm Bomb’ for this week?” he asks for you, gesturing quote marks with his fingers.

Your mind is starting to whir, possibilities beginning to percolate in your mind, but you aren’t prepared for what Sejin says next.

“Nobody goes home this week.”

Your mouth drops open, eyes darting around the room to see the open disbelief on the guys’ faces. “So I- I don’t have to send anyone home today?”

“No,” Sejin answers warmly, and you feel your shoulders sag in relief, a breath rushing out you didn’t know you were holding. Sejin winces, clearing his throat lightly. “That’s… the other thing.”

“Other thing?” Yoongi asks incredulously. “There’s more?”

“With the success of the show comes other benefits. For example; the CEO and treasurer of Bangasm have agreed to double our funding if we can keep the views up. No, Seokjin,” Sejin quips the second the eldest contestant raises his hand. Jin puts his hand down, lips pursed in a pout. “We’re changing the rules a bit. Before, we said if Y/n eliminated you, you’d pack your bags and leave. Now; you stay.”

Sejin can’t get another word out over the clamour that arises, everyone shocked and excited and confused all at once. He waves his hand for silence, and only after a minute or so everyone calms down.

“So, there’s just no eliminating?” Jungkook asks with a comically quizzical look on his face.

“Please just let me explain,” Sejin requests, sighing. “Yes, there will still be eliminations. But if you get eliminated, you stay in the house.”

“So it’s a free pass,” Jungkook surmises.

“Not quite. No longer will you not be competing in the game, but you won’t be able to have sex with or sexually touch Y/n in any way. If you do, then you’ll be sent out of the house for good.”

“No sex with Y/n?” Taehyung asks meaningfully. “So… otherwise…?”

Sejin sighs, a tired laugh falling from his lips. “Just no sex with Y/n,” he confirms. “If you touch Y/n sexually, you go home. If Y/n touches you, of course we can’t send her home, so we’ve devised a punishment.”

At the word punishment your head darts up to stare at the producer, but Hoseok beats you to the punch. “She’s gonna come join us in the bunkroom?”

“That’s for failing prompts, Hobi-hyung,” Namjoon points out, “Y/n doesn’t have any prompts.”

“Correct,” Sejin confirms. “If Y/n touches an eliminated member in a sexual manner, then that member gets to choose what she wears for the next 24 hours.”

You frown. “That doesn’t sound so…” you trail off when you glance up, only to be met with seven hungry sets of eyes. You can just about see the cogs turning in their brains as they stare at your body. “Ah.”

“Yes. So stick to the rules, and you get, as Jungkook so elegantly put, a free pass minus Y/n. Got it?”

The eight of you stay silent, still shell-shocked from the two revelations. This changed things. Now, when you voted someone off, they would get to stay, but they would get to stay. You can see both the positive and negative possibilities there, and it’s no surprise that a reality show would have such a sneaky plot twist.

So you’d have all seven fucking you for one more week, and then all seven every week in the future, only with your sexual prospects dropping as you went. It does ensure that you’ll begin voting for them purely based on sexual performance; considering their personalities in the house wasn’t an issue if you’d have those anyway.

As you glance around the room, you can’t help but wonder if your vote would’ve been different had you known that he’d get to stay. And you wonder if you’ll end up picking the same person in a week’s time, after a new set of prompts. The thought makes you sit up, turning to Sejin again.

“Will the boys draw their new prompts, then?” you ask. “Do I get to know the theme again?”

“Ah, of course-” Sejin breaks off to sit up, retrieving a stack of slightly crumpled papers from his back pocket. “This week’s theme is dynamics and roleplay. Come pick a card.”

Like last week, you pay close attention to the reactions of each of the seven. Namjoon blinks wide at his, but doesn’t seem as put off as last week, and his eyes go distant when he sits back down, like he’s already picturing it. Jimin takes two, one for him at one for Taehyung, and the two compare, Taehyung laughing at Jimin’s and Jimin smirking at Taehyung’s, brushing his clean-shaven cheek with the back of his knuckles and murmuring something in his ear.

When Jin gets his, he bites his tongue and shakes his head with a light laugh, and Yoongi’s mouth drops open upon reading his card, eyes darkening with lust. Jungkook winces at first, but thinks on it a moment longer and grins eagerly, taking a second glance and scrunching his nose cutely at it. Hoseok takes his last, calmly reading it with a pleased smirk, sliding it into his front pocket and taking a seat.

Your breath leaves you in a slow stream. You’re back to the not-knowing. Dynamics and roleplay. It could really be anything, you supposed. Naughty schoolgirl, pizza delivery guy. You didn’t watch a lot of porn but you vaguely knew some of the tropes, and it’ll be a rather interesting week indeed.

“That’s not all, of course,” Sejin adds, and you feel like your brain could implode with the information dump that this morning has been. “Would you like to hear the Bangasm Bomb for Week 2?”

“We find out now?” Hoseok questions. “Not at the end?”

“Well, in order to fulfil it you need to know now,” the producer explains. “This week, Y/n may not sleep in her own bed, and she may not sleep in the same bed twice.”

You blink, not expecting it to be directed at you. “I what?” Your mind catches up with the rule, and you let out a light laugh. “So, I’ll have to share with the other guys?”

"Let's not forget the type of show we're on," Yoongi points out, leveling an impressed stare at the producer. "Well-played."

"Thank you," Sejin replies shortly. "Now, that'll be all. Just a reminder, if your scene isn't filmed, it doesn't count, and it's okay if Y/n guesses the prompt, but if you tell her directly then your prompt is void. Seokjin; we ordered you a set of chef's knives that should be here later today. Please stop spamming the company's inquiries email."

He's out of the room before Jin can even react, open-mouthed but smug like the cat that got the cream.

The eight of you sit in silence for a moment or two, still reeling. It's Hoseok in the end that recovers first.

"So we all stay," he muses. "Even if we get voted off, we stay. Why is that both a blessing and a curse?"

"This is reality TV," Jimin points out calmly, "and it's porn on top of it. Tension and drama skyrockets ratings. Well; I'm going to make some coffees if anyone wants one."

Most of the group move back into the kitchen, rifling through cabinets like zombies to make their breakfasts, but Namjoon approaches you hesitantly, biting on his lip.

"Y/n, can I talk to you? Privately?"

You stand up off the coffee table, though still you're lifting your chin to meet his gaze. "Sure," you reply easily, "privately or privately privately?"

"Um," he hesitates, glancing towards the entrance foyer, where across the hall lies the unfilmed rec room. "Just privately is fine for now."

Everyone else distracted with the prospect of food and hot coffee, it's easy enough to just sit on the stairs, side-by-side and thighs touching. Like this, you become aware of how much bigger he is than you. Namjoon's legs sprawl out down to the bottom of the stairs, socked feet slipping slightly on the glossy stone floor, whereas yours are tucked on the step below you. He glances down at you with a nervous disposition, but his eyes are surprisingly steady.

"Hoseok-hyung and I slept in the bunk bed room last night, as you probably know," he explains. "Him and I talked a lot. About a bunch of things, but he helped me realise something. And after I got the prompt today, I was sure."

Your eyes widen as they watch him carefully. The roots of his purple are starting to grow out in a soft brunette that makes him look even younger, his face round yet gently sculpted, chin pressed out in solemnity. "Sure of what?" you question quietly.

Namjoon takes a slow breath, rubbing his palms over his knees. "I think it's better if I don't lose my virginity while doing some cheesy role-play for a porn show, you know? I know I chose to come here knowing what I was walking into, but... Hoseok suggested maybe we could use the rec room for some privacy and then I could just fill my prompt later in the week. Of course, the producers will probably get annoyed at me not losing my virginity on camera, but they never said I had to, and I think I want it to be something just for me, you know? Something that's just you and me, outside of the show. I understand if you don't want to do that, but if you're happy to, I think I'm ready now."

You take a few moments to fully process his words, the gravity of them. "You sure you're ready? If you are, I'm happy to do that, Joonie. I want it to be good for you. You deserve that."

He smiles at that, broadly, but with his head ducked down. "That means a lot," he admits, "but yeah. I'm ready. If you want to...?" He trails off, tipping his head in the direction of the private rec room.

You sit up straight. "Oh! You mean- now now? Yes, I can do that, wow, okay-"

"If that's alright?" he asks hastily, face pinched with worry, but you just stand up, holding out a hand to him. He takes it, letting you lead him to the door.

From the few times you've needed to use this room, it's been pretty empty. It's small; most likely originally intended as extra storage or a home office, and the producers had put a visibly second-hand couch on one wall, a skinny coffee table and a lamp in there.

Generally, it's a glorified staffroom of sorts, a time-out that's more valuable for its lack of cameras than anything actually inside. Today, though, you freeze in the hallway at the sight that greets you.

With the table pushed to one side, boasting two bottles of water, a box of tissues, a bottle of self-heating lube and a small bluetooth speaker, the rest of the room has been converted into a massive bed.

The floor is covered with blankets, sheets and duvets, thick enough to be like a bedroll, with pillows stacked on the edges. They cover most of the floor, roughly the size of a queen size bed. On top of the impressive set-up are a colourful variety of packaged condoms, arranged in a tasteful love-heart.

Namjoon groans at the display, pinching his brow. "Hoseok said he'd set up for me and make it a little more comfortable, I'm sorry."

"It's cute," you say with a laugh, "are you wanting to use condoms?"

Namjoon swallows. "Uh, you- what would you prefer?"

You shrug, collecting them up and flicking through the buffet of options. You chuckle as the majority are L and XL. Unsurprising. "I mean, we don't need one. So if you want to feel everything fully, I say go bare."

"G-go bare, please," he coughs out awkwardly, shutting and locking the door behind him, double-checking the handle. "Can we put some music on? It's really quiet in here."

"Of course." You busy yourself with the music, smiling at the fact that he must have appreciated it last time. By the time you select a nice playlist on your phone and pick a decent volume, Namjoon's surprised you by hastily stripping down to his underwear, shyly rubbing at his knees.

You stand stock-still for a moment, just taking in the gorgeous sight of his body, all understated muscle and bold lines and planes. He must do some form of exercise, because his chest is thick, as are his thighs, and his lower stomach is soft but lean. He's gorgeous, and between your legs you feel your excitement grow.

Hustling to strip your clothes off as a gentle guitar strumming fills the air, you feel the cool cotton of the duvet under your knees as you straddle Namjoon, the man sucking in a breath as your clothed pussy presses flush against his hardness.

"Give me a kiss," you ask softly, a suggestion to let him take control, and a sigh of relief leaves his lungs as he cups your face in his hands, tugging your lips onto his greedily.

The ferocity with which he kisses you takes your breath away. It's powerful, greedy and demanding like he's waited an eon to kiss you again. While he was surprisingly skilful the first time, now it feels like he's come into his own.

You make a noise of surprise in the back of your throat as you feel his tongue slipping between your lips, licking up into your mouth like he's trying to devour you. You're drunk on it, mind feeling hazy, but you manage to pull away for a moment, gasping out a, "how the hell did you get this good?"

Grunting, Namjoon's eyes flutter open and one of his hands slips back to cup the nape of your neck securely, preventing you from backing up further. "Hoseok gave me some tips," he admits. "Now get back here."

You let yourself be pulled in again and eaten alive, muffled groans and sighs of bliss slipping out between swipes of tongue and flashes of teeth, nipping at your bottom lip until it's swollen and aching in the best way.

Without realising, you've begin to grind your hips against him, needing friction, and he pants into your mouth at the feeling. The pleasure makes him sloppy, and you groan as his lips leave yours, veering down to kiss along your jawline, tugging on your earlobe before sucking blossoms of colour down your throat. You tip your head back, arching into his mouth and rocking your hips against him, the friction addictive.

"Gonna fuck you now," you hear him groan against your collarbone, lips on your skin that's slick from his spit. Even in your heightened state of arousal you can sense the slight question in his voice, like he's checking you're still okay with it.

More than okay, you glance down to see the point that joins you, your panties so wet that the grey of his boxers is marred by a dark spot, wet and clinging to the stiff outline of his cock. You curse lowly at the sight of it. "Fuck, please, I need you, Joonie."

He lets out a strangled sigh, hands trembling slightly as he pushes down the waistband of his boxers so that it rests below his balls, cock bobbing up to rest at his stomach. He swallows hard, eyes closed and back resting against the base of the couch. The sheets beneath you have heated up with your body temperature, arousal radiating off the two of you in waves.

When you first reach out to touch him, you keep your eyes on his face, on his reaction. The initial contact makes his brow twitch, eyes clenching shut. So thick your fingers don’t touch around him when you grasp his base, he’s definitely the biggest you’ve seen in the house; a touch of irony that the least experienced member had the biggest genetic advantage. His bottom lip finds his way tucked between his teeth, thighs tensing beneath you.

“Joonie,” you mumble in a mock pout, “are you gonna fuck me now or so I have to do all the work myself?”

His eyes fly open, gaze landing on your widened eyes of innocence, before darting down to where you’re gently stroking him, fingertips catching on the sensitive ridge beneath his head. “Hobi-hyung said you should ride me so you can get used to it.”

You chuckle, tapping your thumb over his weeping slit, making him hiss. “Let’s stop thinking about what Hobi said and start worrying about what you want. Do you want me to ride you? Feel how tight I am for you?”

He curses, brows knitting as he nods shakily, and you can’t hold yourself back any longer. With a low curl of thrill in your stomach, you sit up so you can quickly slip off your panties, before straddling him again. He feels heavy when you brush his length through your sodden folds, readying him for you, and the thought makes you groan lowly.

“Wanted you so bad,” you confess over the music in the background, now a simple drum beat that gives you rhythm as you grind your hips over him, letting his blunt head catch at your entrance. “Fuck.” His fingers are digging into your hips just with the feeling of your pussy clenching over his tip, and you lower yourself painfully slowly, adjusting to the way he stretches you to your limit, dragging inch by inch against your walls.

“H-oh god, it is, it’s so tight,” he comments with a hitch in his voice, and again you feel the muscles of his thighs twitch, like he’s fighting the urge to bury himself in you. Though the thought of it is hot, you’re merciful that he’s giving you time to grow accustomed to the sheer girth of his dick inside you.

“Does it feel good, Joonie?” you ask, the question panted as he takes your breath away, grinning at the quick stuttered nods he gives in reply, fingers flexing on the flesh of your hips and ass. By the time you’re sitting flush against his lap, you can barely breathe, a shaky hand pressing onto your stomach almost expecting to feel him bulging out of you from the inside. He’s not just the biggest on the show, but the biggest you’ve ever had, and you feel like you could cum just from rolling your hips against him.

“You feel so amazing, Y/n,” he praises, arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you in close so that he can press his lips to yours. You whine as he shifts in you, feeling shakier than ever, but appreciate the chance to adjust to him, tongue chasing his and fingers slipping into his hair as you kiss.

You’re content to stay like that for as long as he continues to move his mouth against you, mouth watering at the feeling of cockwarming him and joining your bodies so intimately, but the excitement of new sensation gets to him, and after a while he begins to shift, holding your hips down and grinding his hips.

Your jaw drops open, hands flying out to grip at his shoulders at the feeling. He’s so deep you can barely comprehend it, can barely think with his cock filling you so completely, and find yourself pleading quietly, an unintelligible babble of more, please more, need more. He shifts his posture as you sit on his length, uncrossing his legs and instead bracing them in front of him.

“Want me to fuck you like this?” he asks, nipping at your throat, and you shiver at the husky gravel of his tone. What happened to the shy virgin?

“Please, Joonie,” you gasp, clenching around him, “need you to move.”

His first thrust takes your breath away, punching the air out of your lungs. When he moves inside you it feels monumental, like a core piece of you shifting, and your eyes water with the delicious burn. You whine when he pauses for a moment, hands slipping down to knead at your ass. Namjoon’s eyes are like molten dark chocolate as they focus on you, rich and intense, and when your head tips down to kiss him again it’s so needy your teeth clash, the keening whimper in your throat sign enough that you want more.

It’s only once he begins to fuck you in earnest, bouncing you on his cock, that you see how truly affected he is. Strands of lilac cling to his temples as he sweats, chest heaving and hands trembling even as his fingers dig in hungrily. His lips are slick with spit, but he makes no move to wipe them clean, just biting onto his bottom lip and sucking, hips snapping up with bruising momentum.

You can’t catch your breath, but still you chase his lips like oxygen, needing to be as close as possible. His panting keeps you anchored as you moan shamelessly, toes curling and back arching. Your high approaches quickly enough that it shocks you, but there’s no escaping the pleasure that rushes through you with every snap of his hips.

You lose contact with his mouth, cheek resting limply on his shoulder as he speeds up his pace, the muscles in your legs failing you, twitching uncontrollably.

“No, no, no, fuck,” Namjoon chants lowly, and you feel a hand bury in your hair, holding you to the crook of his neck, “I’m sorry, I’m not gonna last.”

You moan at that, feeling him stiffen impossibly more inside you with every thrust. “Wan’ you to cum,” you promise in his ear, barely more than a gasped breath, “wanna cum with you.” To end the statement, you nuzzle your nose against his throat and nip at his pulse point. To your surprise, he shudders violently, suddenly going stock still.

Your eyes widen as hot ropes of cum fill you, Namjoon clutching you to him helplessly, groaning nonsense as his orgasm hits him out of nowhere. Your own high recedes, but you barely notice it as you sit up tiredly and clench around him, watching the pleasure flicker across his face as he rides the high.

“Fuck,” he breathes, eyes cast towards the ceiling and chest still heaving, “I’m so sorry, I… sensitive neck.”

You grin, running your hands up to gently brush over it, feeling him pulse inside you, spurting the final drops of cum from his spent cock. “Don’t apologise,” you assure, leaning in quickly to nibble at his lips and give him a lazy, indulgent kiss. “That was really fucking hot.”

He laughs, cheeks pinkening slightly, and you feel your heart warm at the return of the shy Namjoon you’d gotten used to. So he’s a lot more dominant and confident in the heat of the moment, you muse as he catches his breath, good to know.

When you find your strength again, slowly sitting up off him, you wince at the rush of cum leaving you, and the uncomfortable feeling of emptiness. That’s only exacerbated by the fact that you haven’t cum yet, but it’s his first time and you don’t want him to feel bad. Collapsing on the sheets beside him, you rest your head on his shoulder, breath still coming in shallow pants. “Good?”

“Good god, Y/n,” he exclaims earnestly, “I think I might be a sex addict now.”

A surprised peal of laughter leaves your lungs, and you shove him playfully before crawling over to the coffee table, cracking open a bottle of water and cleaning yourself up with the available tissues. “Hoseok really did think this through, huh?” you muse, chucking him the box once you’re done.

Namjoon clears up the cum on his cock and thighs, grimacing at the way some of it has stained his boxers, but he sends you a guilty look. “I’m sorry.”

You frown, reaching for your clothes. “What do you mean?”

“You didn’t-”

Whatever Namjoon is about to say is cut off by a sudden thud that gives you both a fright, followed by three polite albeit enthusiastic knocks. You stare in bewilderment at the door, before hastily dressing yourself.

“Is everything alright?” Namjoon calls out, putting his underwear back on properly and hopping into his pants. “Has something happened?”

“I should hope so, young grasshopper!” an enthusiastic voice chirps from the other side of the door, muffled but unmistakably Hoseok. “You’ve popped your cherry, Kim Namjoon!”

The academic winces, reaching out to unlock the door once he’s made sure the two of you are dressed. “Hoseok, what are you doing? Wha-?” He breaks off once he opens the door, and you rush around behind him to see what gave him pause.

In the foyer are Hoseok, Taehyung and Jin, all in matching paper birthday hats, the strings of thin elastic digging into their chins. Hoseok’s holding two more in his hands, and he thrusts them towards you as Taehyung wiggles the weighty bottle of champagne in his grasp. Behind them, Jin calmly holds a kitchen knife.

“What’s going on?” you ask in bewilderment, stepping out into the foyer and wincing at the ache between your legs with each step. “Why the fuck are you holding a knife?”

Jin, his bright blue party hat on at a jaunty angle, stares down at his hands blankly before gasping, tucking it behind his back. “Sometimes I forget I’m still holding it.”

“That’s extremely alarming,” Namjoon says with a frown. “I still don’t understand why you’re all gathered outside the door.”

“It’s time for the party, hyung,” Taehyung explains, “to celebrate you finally getting your dick wet.”

Your cheeks go flaming red as you glance at Namjoon, the poor man spluttering and eyes wide like he didn’t know what to do. “If there’s champagne, I’m there,” you announce calmly. “Come on, Joonie, let’s go celebrate.”

Namjoon visibly relaxes when you aren’t offended, flicking you a warm smile. “Is everyone wearing a hat?” he questions incredulously, taking the thin cone card.

“Mo-mostly everyone,” Hoseok answers suspiciously.

“It’s just you guys, isn’t it?”

“Well, if you both wore one, we’d have the majority.”

You grin, patting Hoseok on the shoulder as you walk past him into the foyer. “Let’s just go,” you call out to the guys behind you, “there better be food.”

As expected, the three that greeted you were the only ones wearing party hats. At the dining table, which has been laden with aromatic dishes, steaming rice and empty champagne flutes, the other three await. Jimin’s is resting beside his plate and chopsticks, untouched. Beside him, Yoongi has his upside down, using it as a bowl for the rice snacks he’s munching happily on. The youngest man in the house hasn’t even noticed you’ve arrived, using it like a very inefficient telescope, one eye scrunched shut and the other focused on the pinhole at the top of the cone. Sitting at the head of the table, he aims it at Jimin, mouth hanging open as he tries to see through the tiny gap.

Giving up, he waves the wide end around the room, desperate to catch a glimpse of something. Once the cone lands on the five of you, he gasps, chucking down the party hat. “You’re back! I didn’t start eating the cake, like you said!”

Jin frowns. “That sounds awfully suspicious.” Knife still in hand, he makes his way to the kitchen island, where you catch a glimpse of a beautifully iced cake with writing on the top that you’re too far away to read.

Jungkook shifts restlessly in his seat, staring worriedly at Jin. “The- um, the birds attacked it.” If you look closely, you think you can see the slightest hint of vanilla icing in the crook of his mouth.

Jin stares at the cake desolately. “The birds?” he deadpans.

“Seagulls, you know,” Jungkook tries to pass off casually, the pink of his tongue dashing out to lick the sugar off his lips. “Absolute vultures.”

Hoseok tsks in disappointment. “Was it seagulls or was it vultures?”

Jungkook stays silent an inexplicably long amount of time, glancing slowly between Hoseok and Jin. His eyes are wide like he’s trying to work out the lie in his head “...It was me.”

Jin’s fingers are pressed to his temple as he sighs. “Right.” Setting down the knife, he picks up the cake and brings it to the table, placing it in the middle of the table. The rest of you all take a seat, filling in the spaces around the table. Taehyung slips in beside Jimin, Hoseok at the end of the table opposite Jungkook, and finally Jin, Namjoon, and you take the last of the seats.

The cake is beautiful, neat and fluffy buttercream all over with swooping cursive written in a thin black stream. Unfortunately, a very delicate but obvious slice has been taken out so you have to focus to work out what the writing says. Once you do, you let out a reluctant chuckle, watching Namjoon blush once more, tucking his hands into the sleeves of his shirt shyly.

“‘Here lies Namjoon’s virginity,’” you recite, “‘1994-2020.’ Who came up with that?”

“That’s not impor-” Jin begins, but Taehyung swiftly cuts him off.

“I did!” he declares proudly. “Everyone agreed mine was funnier than Jin-hyung’s.”

“Obviously not everyone,” Jin replies bitterly, dishing himself up some of the rice closest to him. “Dig in, everyone, Yoongi and I worked hard on this. And congratulations Namjoon,” he adds, though he sends Namjoon a genuine smile, eyes twinkling.

After everyone says their congratulations, the food is dug into and the cork of the bottle is popped, conversation flowing like the champagne.

Over time, Namjoon seems to get used to the chatter about sex, perhaps not feeling so left out of the loop, and his face is more open and relaxed than ever, a dimple poking out when he smiles. You occasionally reach out to shove him playfully or squeeze his arm as the chatter continues, and he no longer freezes or stiffens up. It warms your heart that he feels a little more comfortable amongst you.

You’re happy to tuck into your meal, having worked up an appetite for lunch, but it’s barely more than a second after finishing your first helping that your phone buzzes.

You slip it out casually, frowning when you see it’s a notification that you’ve been added to a group-chat.

After that, you smother a scoff and slip your phone back into your pocket, hoping if your cheeks are red they can safely be attributed to the alcohol.

Glancing up, you see Jungkook stand up suddenly, eyes wide with barely-contained excitement as he picks up his bowl, chopsticks and champagne flute, scurrying over to dump them in the sink before disappearing upstairs. Yoongi stares at his empty seat in confusion, but shrugs and takes another mouthful of cake. You eat yours quickly enough that your stomach flips, or perhaps that’s just the anticipation.

After you’re done it takes you a few moments to build up the courage to look across to Hoseok, feeling his gaze hot on your skin. When you do, your eyes lock immediately, but he just continues to stare, lips pressed in a narrow line.

Your heart leaps for a moment, wondering what that hard gaze means for you later on. Silently, as Taehyung continues to explain something to him with a mouth half-full of food, Hoseok lifts his eyebrow once, gaze darting to the roof. The message is clear. Go upstairs.

Biting your lip, you let Namjoon know you’re heading up, waving off his concern until he’s pulled back into a thread of conversation. You try to ignore the uncertain adrenaline rush that makes your hands tremble and your core throb all the way upstairs, until you’re knocking on Jungkook’s door.

The two of you share a look once he opens the door, one of anticipation and desire, and you let out a breathy chuckle.

“What the fuck have we gotten ourselves into?” you ask rhetorically, stepping in and collapsing onto the bed.

“I’ll take it if it means getting a good fuck,” he states matter-of-factly, sitting himself beside you and tucking his legs up. “Besides; I’ve wanted to see Hobi-hyung in action for a while.”

Sitting up, you think back to that day in the confessional booth, where he had so easily made you fall apart without even taking a single item of clothing off. You wondered if he’d deprive you of his body tonight as well.

“I think he’s angry at me,” you admit, “before I left, he looked… intense.”

“Why would he be angry at you?” Jungkook asks with a frown, his hand slipping under the baggy fabric of his black tee, rubbing at his shoulder like he’s aching to take the item off.

You go to shrug, but then your mind flicks back to this morning. “The elimination,” you realise, dread rising in your stomach just as much as your arousal is. “I think he knows I was going to eliminate him.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen, round enough to be saucers. “Wait, really? Why him?”

You find the words dry up in your throat. “I- God, I don’t know. How am I meant to choose anyone when you’re all amazing? Maybe his had the least impact on me, I suppose.” You eye the door to the walkway warily. “I guess he’s determined to change that now.”

Instead of replying, you’re taken aback when Jungkook throws his arms around you in a tight hug, his long hair brushing at your neck and shoulder as he tucks his chin into the hollow of your collarbone. Hesitantly, you bring your own arms up to hug him back, feeling your tension melt in the warm embrace.

“It must be so hard,” he murmurs, “I don’t think Hobi-hyung is really mad, you know? He probably just feels like he wasn’t good enough for you and wants to prove himself.”

This thought just sends another spike of guilt through you, but you have no time to dwell on it before the door is clicking open, making you and Jungkook instinctively jump apart.

Hoseok stands there, as intimidating as last time in all-black. Though he’s wearing just socks instead of the heavy duty boots he was in that day, there’s no denying the power he holds in the clothes he wears like armour. Leather pants so snug they’re like a second skin and a black long-sleeved shirt, tight but breathable cotton with a harness of thin leather straps providing some structure. His raven hair is swept back, but just a single stray lock hangs low over his brow, drawing your eyes back to his. “Starting without me?” he questions lightly, though his face is devoid of humour.

You swallow hard. “No… Master,” you add, seeing the expectant look on his face. Once he steps further into the room, you notice the black bag that was previously hidden behind his back. The duffel bag from last time. You suck in a breath and clench your thighs before you can even think to stop yourself, and Hoseok’s positively gleam at the sound.

“Both of you have been very naughty today,” he explains, dumping the bag on the bed beside Jungkook, beginning to casually pull a heap of bright red nylon rope out. “Little Jungkookie ate the cake that Jin-hyung worked so hard on, even when he was specifically asked not to. And Y/n… Y/n knows exactly what she did.” Your eyes widen when Hoseok sets the multiple lengths of rope to one side in a neat folded coil and reaches back into the bag to produce a pair of wide, heavy-duty shears.

“Woah, hyung,” Jungkook exclaims in alarm, “I can apologise for the cake, I-”

“Settle, Jungkook, it’s okay,” Hoseok explains softly. “I told you we’re gonna be tying you up, yeah? This is so that we can cut the ropes quickly in case you want out. They aren’t part of the scene.”

You feel a thrill run through your veins at the gentle click of metal resting on the nightstand once Hoseok sets the scissors down. He hadn’t needed them for when your arms were tied. It meant that whatever you were going to do tonight would be more intense. The thought of everyone else downstairs having a good time and hanging out while you and Jungkook were up here getting bound by Hoseok… it somehow feels even more illicit and dirty.

“Let’s do Jungkookie first, hm?” the dom proposes. “I’ve been wanting to see what you’d look like all prettied up for me. Choose red just for you.”

Jungkook positively preens at the compliment, hands tucking into his lap and chest puffing out. “I’m excited, Master!”

Hoseok gestures for Jungkook to remove his clothes with a flat expression. “Don’t be,” he retorts calmly, “this isn’t a reward, it’s discipline. We’re going to learn a lesson about behaving.”

The camboy trembles, hastily shucking off his baggy shirt and pushing his sweatpants down, naked except for a pair of white socks. Your breath is taken away by how easily he bares himself to the cameras and to the two of you, eyes eager and nervous as Hoseok picks up one of the longer lengths of rope.

“I want you to kneel, Jungkookie,” Hoseok instructs, “kneel on the bed for me, arms at your sides.”

Jungkook obeys, breath hitching as Hoseok approaches, passing the coil over his palm. You watch with baited breath as a bright red strand of rope is run around his narrow waist. As the professional dom begins looping, knotting and wrapping the rope around Jungkook’s torso, the boy’s eyes grow lidded, cock twitching as it rests back against his lower abdomen.

It takes a while, but time is as smooth as velvet in the soft silence of the room, just gentle breaths and the whir of nylon rope sliding so beautifully along Jungkook’s skin.

By the time Hoseok is done, Jungkook’s eyes barely open, so content with the feeling of being patiently wrapped up, and he hums lightly as Hoseok rechecks the tightness of each loop, slipping two fingers between rope and skin in several places.

Rather than bondage or restraint, this looks like art. An elaborate harness of red contrasts beautifully against the pale golden flesh below, hardness of his chest and abs softened by the vaguely fishnet pattern, loops that interlock and curve across his body gracefully, the most careful and precise lattice of scarlet ropes.

“Pretty, isn’t he?” Hoseok questions, and a finger comes down to run through the glossy precum that has been smeared onto Jungkook’s lower stomach. The boy hisses, arching his hips up in search of contact, but all it takes is a sharp swat at the head of his cock and Jungkook is whining, thighs flexing with the force of keeping still. “Patience, my little prince,” Hoseok tuts, patting Jungkook’s cheek with a hand still wet with the camboy’s own precum, “we’re gonna teach you how to be patient today.”

Jungkook groans low in his throat, lips parting at the term of endearment, and Hoseok grins at it, tiger-like.

“Oh, do you like that, hm? Wanna be my special prince today?” Hoseok runs his fingers through Jungkook’s long hair, the camboy sucking in a sharp breath when they snag on some knots. Jungkook nods, eyes round and glittering as he looks up at his Master. Hoseok pouts, tapping him once on the end of his button nose. “It’s a shame you weren’t behaving today, then wasn’t it? Maybe if you’re good for me tonight, you can earn it.”

Jungkook’s brows lift pleadingly, looking so small under Hoseok’s harsh stare. “I’ll be good, though, Master.”

“Mm, I’m sure you will,” Hoseok confirms, swiping a thumb over Jungkook’s nipple to make him shiver, before he fixes an iron gaze onto you.

You swallow, slipping out of your clothes as quickly as you can once he gives the same gesture as before, crossing your legs and arms to try and preserve some dignity. Hoseok just tuts, picking up two of the remaining sections of nylon rope, only one still left waiting on the bed.

“Hands at your sides, kneeling,” he instructs sharply, and you feel the way your walls clench at the authority in his voice as you hustle to get into position.

The harness he puts you in is different to Jungkook’s, accentuating your breasts with bands both above and below them, leaving your stomach free but doubling the rope over so that every loop that wraps around you is twice as thick. The final tie is slipped up between your breasts, around the back of your neck and tucking back down to hold it all together, and your breath shallows at the secure feeling of the rope.

It’s peaceful; the warm stripes of friction as he pulls strands through loops, the gentle flicking of the ends against your skin until he folds them away, the way it embraces your chest so snugly, but not too tight. It’s only once he’s done checking the rope like he did with Jungkook that he picks up the second, shorter length of nylon, and by then you already feel the sleepy yet electric haze of subspace seeping throughout your body.

“Hands,” he instructs, and you hold them out for him, watching with heightened arousal as he binds them, the rope wrapping around and between your wrists until they’re locked together. Last time your hands were bound behind your back but like this, you can watch him as he works.

It’s quick - a testament to his expertise - but you spend every moment with your eyes locked onto him. The eyes, gleaming with control and satisfaction, the pink tip of his tongue poking out just slightly as he focuses. His thin fingers, looping and wrapping and knotting with such skill.

His last move, eyes darting up and smirking once he catches you watching him, is to connect the thick cuff-like ropes to the top of your harness, pinning them up to your chest, folded hands resting at the base of your throat. You instinctively tug once he’s done, only to feel the rope around your back tighten and dig in, but no distance made. The feeling of being at his mercy only adds to the slick gathering between your thighs.

Once he steps back, eying the two of you up, your breath catches in your throat. Both you and Jungkook are fully naked, somehow feeling even more vulnerable in the rope, and Hoseok stands across from the bed in all his black leather glory, eyes raking over you like he’s assessing his work.

“Are you gonna touch us, Master?” Jungkook questions in a small voice, fingers clutching at his own thighs, cock flushed and needy between them.

“Not you yet, Jungkookie. Gotta warm Y/n up first.” Your eyes widen - for what? - but Hoseok is moving closer run a hand down Jungkook’s back, fingers jumping over the strands of rope. “Do you wanna help me, baby?”

Jungkook nods, blushing when Hoseok pinches lightly at his cheek.

Hoseok leans over to you, carding his fingers into your hair and curling them in so that he can hold you steady. Like this, kneeling on the bed, you have to tilt your head back to meet his gaze, but he just tuts, holding you face-forward to Jungkook. “You wanna give her a kiss, Kookie?”

You swallow, fingers interlocking together as you look over to the camboy. He looks so needy, blissed out and pretty in his red rope, cock untouched and weeping. Your lips part automatically, tongue darting out to wet your lips and you don’t miss the way Jungkook’s eyes are drawn to it, lids now as he nods.

With your hands pinned to your chest and kneeling, you don’t feel able to meet him halfway so you just wait as Jungkook crawls to you, glancing up at Hoseok for permission before burying your hands in your hair alongside the dom’s. With barely a second to suck in a breath, Jungkook ducks his head, his lips descending onto yours with sweet, unrestrained need.

Unable to touch him back, you let your eyes slip shut with the soft presses of his mouth, taking everything he gives you. Everything about Jungkook in this moment is soft; his lips, his thumbs brushing across your cheekbones, even the subtle scent of vanilla as his hair tickles your face - but the stiff grip in your hair is anything but, reminding you where exactly you are and the hand you’re under.

Your breath hitches as two things happen at once; Jungkook’s tongue presses into your mouth, deepening the kiss, and behind you Hoseok shifts, getting up on the bed behind you. Though you can’t see him, you become even more aware of his commanding presence, through the simple gesture of a fingertip, tracing beside lines of rope with a touch so light you shiver.

“You both look so pretty for me,” Hoseok murmurs warmly, his voice closer than you’d expected him to be, sounding like it’s right beside your air. Jungkook doubles his efforts in response, and your core is alight with excitement when you instinctively go to touch him, only to be reminded of the restraint you’re in.

Jungkook kisses without abandon, not hurried but deep and purposeful. Though you still tremble under Hoseok’s teasing touch, your mind is so enraptured by Jungkook’s tongue in your mouth and teeth on your lips that you lose track of it.

The camboy doesn’t dare venture his hands further than your face, cupping it so tenderly as he delves into you, so your eyes fly open with shock when two fingers are suddenly slipping through your folds, running over your clit for a single delicious moment of pleasure. You moan in shock and pull away to look down.

Between your kneeling legs is the slender but calloused hand of your Master himself, wrapped around your front and slipping inside you without question like you’re his. His to explore, his to ruin. You pant at the intrusion of two fingers, clenching around him, but his only response is to tug suddenly at your hair, pulling your gaze back up again.

Nipping sharply at the bridge of your ear, Hoseok scolds you. “I didn’t tell you to stop,” he growls harshly, “did I?”

“Sorry, Master,” you reply without thinking, barely a moment before you let out a muffled squeak from Jungkook joining you together again, wasting no time to obey.

Hoseok doesn’t stop his motions between your legs; on the contrary, he continues without pause, fingers moving inside you with a steady urgency.

For a while, your brows furrow, hips rocking below him. He keeps missing your g-spot, fingers too straight to press against it on each thrust, and he moves to three fingers without touching your clit at all, hand held foward off of you to avoid friction. You moan brokenly into Jungkook’s mouth as you realise Hoseok’s doing it intentionally, stretching you out almost clinically, without regard or want for your pleasure. You go weak at the thought, sinking forward into Jungkook’s embrace, but soon enough the fingers are removed from you completely. Empty and unsatisfied just like earlier, you huff and begin to kiss the camboy more frantically, desperate for some pleasure to replace it.

But Hoseok clearly isn’t having it. “Stop,” he commands shortly, “hands off.”

Jungkook sits back quickly, making sure you won’t slump over before he presses his hands to his thighs again, cock twitching at the continued neglect. Blinking, he licks his swollen lips and glances behind you to Hoseok in confusion. “Master?”

Your mouth goes dry when you hear the unmistakable sound of a zip being lowered. Hoseok’s hand leaves your hair suddenly, and you feel unmoored between the two men, just you and your hands tucked under your chin. “You tasted her pretty little pussy in Week One, didn’t you, Jungkookie? Would you like her to return the favour?”

Eyes wide, you drop your gaze down to Jungkook’s aching dick, as it twitches and leaks another thin trail of precum, the boy groaning. “Please, Master.” His fingers flex, holding back from touching it. “‘Hurts,” he whines.

You bite your lip, mouth watering. He’s not as big as Namjoon, but you know how fully he filled you just yesterday, and to have him in your mouth… “Please,” you croak out, fingers wiggling in the air as you’re unable to lower yourself to him.

“Good girl,” Hoseok praises, hands strong on your shoulders as he helps you down, elbows propping yourself up awkwardly in the space that Jungkook’s shuffled back from. “Gotta warm Kookie up too, don’t we? Open up, princess.”

Like this, you’re able to keep upright, but barely, craning your neck to look up at Jungkook. His cock is in front of you, and this close you can see just how flushed it is, the tip almost perfect. Hoping your pleading gaze can communicate your desperation, you open your mouth, letting your tongue rest just over your bottom lip.

Jungkook’s brows furrow in wanton need as he glances towards Hoseok. “Can I touch her, Master? Help her?”

“Of course,” Hoseok’s voice allows from behind you, palms running over the flesh of your ass, “but my little prince better not cum.”

Jungkook visibly shivers at the nickname, hips jerking uselessly. “Y-yes, Master,” he allows, before tipping your chin up so gently, gripping himself to guide his length into your waiting mouth.

You moan the moment your lips wrap around his tip, the tang of his precum bursting on your tongue as you flick it over the slit, making Jungkook thrust up again, enough that his cock reaches the back of your mouth. You’re barely able to avoid gagging, but you inhale harshly through your nose, blinking up at him as he brushes your hair back with a shaky apology.

Knowing he can’t orgasm, Jungkook seems happy enough to lazily roll his hips, just enjoying the wet warmth around him as you follow his rhythm, enjoying the slight ache of your jaw around his girth. Hoseok gives you only a few moments to reach this equilibrium before you feel his cock lining up against you.

Eyes widening, you’re given no time to prepare as he slides inside you, slowly but without pause, making your back arch with the intrusion.

You moan, muffled, as Hoseok pulls out and begins to pick up a steady pace, once again sliding right past your g-spot, not fast enough to make your toes curl and not deep enough to make your eyes roll. There’s no denying he’s doing it on purpose, and the thought that he might not let you cum at all has you whining desperately around Jungkook’s cock, loud enough that Hoseok hears.

To your disappointment, he tsks and pulls out, tugging at your hair to pull you off Jungkook. “What the fuck?” you complain bitterly, sucking off the drool that’s accumulated in the corners of your mouth. Equally deprived, Jungkook makes a noise of confusion, but before he can speak up, a commanding voice calls out to you.

“That’s it, on your back,” Hoseok orders, making you jump as he smacks the flesh of your ass. “If you’re gonna be ungrateful you won’t get anything at all.”

You pout, craning your neck to look back at him. “Hobi,” you whine, hoping to appeal to that soft inner that got you what you wanted the last time you were scening with him, but it doesn’t work.

Impatient, his hands find your hips, flipping you around unceremoniously. Your breath is punched out of you as you’re suddenly landing on your back, and you whimper as he hooks a finger in your harness over the top of your breast, using it to tug you higher up the bed so that him and Jungkook are on either side of your waist.

“You’ve been far better behaved,” Hoseok directs at Jungkook casually, reaching into the duffle bag to pull out a square foil packet, “so you’ll get my cock instead.”

Jungkook bites his lip harshly, shuffling on his knees as Hoseok rolls a condom on. “Thank you, Master,” he replies politely, eyes lidded and needy.

“What a good boy,” Hoseok coos, reaching over to brush a fond hand over Jungkook’s cheek. “Do you wanna fuck Y/n too, my little prince?” You let out a low groan at the prospect, at the way Hoseok speaks for you like you’re a toy of his. The thought is more erotic than you’d expect, and your legs part unconsciously.

Jungkook whimpers at the sight, dark hair curling at his temples with perspiration. “Please, Master.”

“Go on, then, baby.” Hoseok gestures for him to straddle you, and you whimper as Jungkook’s form blocks the light from the ceiling, framing him in a silhouette of dark hair.

Your legs part further as he settles between them, cock brushing between your folds lightly until he puts a hand down to line himself up. With one arm bracing himself, Jungkook slowly drives his cock deep inside you, small rocking motions to get you accustomed to him as he bottoms out. The two of you groan in unison, the feeling of being full again like bliss.

Before Jungkook can set a pace, you hear Hoseok’s voice again behind him. “There’s only one thing,” the dom adds in an apologetic tone, “Y/n hasn’t earned an orgasm yet, not like my sweet prince has. If you want to fuck her, Jungkookie, she better not cum.”

You let out a frustrated moan, heel kicking into the mattress. “Fuck,” you whine, hips already rocking against Jungkook’s length inside of you, “are you serious?”

Calmly, Hoseok clicks open a bottle of what must be lube, and you feel Jungkook go lax above you, holding his weight off of your torso but dropping his head onto the bed beside yours, groaning lowly. “Of course I’m serious,” he explains simply as he preps Jungkook with his fingers, “I’m doing you a favour, Y/n. This way you won’t make the same mistake twice.”

You sob, feeling Jungkook twitch inside you from the pleasure he’s receiving from Hoseok. As the dom finally deems Jungkook ready and lines himself up, you realise why Hoseok was so popular at his job. Handling two subs, let alone one who was getting punished and one who was now getting rewarded, was a tough balance, and yet he does it with such cool and professional ease.

Jungkook curses, rocking his hips with stuttered gasps, and you feel the impact of Hoseok’s hips through Jungkook’s body as he thrusts the first time, the camboy hurriedly throwing his other arm up on the other side of your head to prop himself up with more stability. You can feel the rhythm as he gets fucked, and the way his chest heaves, breaths panting over your bare shoulder.

With your hands tied to your chest and lain on your back, you quickly realise there is nothing you can do to chase any pleasure for yourself, and you let out another low sob. You won’t be making the same mistake twice indeed, you muse as Jungkook barely shifts inside you. He feels so good, but it’s just not enough for you to get anywhere close to your own high. The lesson has most certainly been learned; if you want pleasure, you play by Hoseok’s rules.

“Please, Master,” you pipe up desperately, looking past Jungkook’s shoulder to the dom’s face, calm even as his hips rock with the graceful fluidity of a dancer, every stroke making Jungkook cry out. “I’ll do anything, Master, I’m sorry for being bad, just please let me come!”

A grin spreads across his face, satisfied, even as he grunts from exertion, Jungkook trembling above you as he’s brought mercilessly to the edge. “It’s too late for that,” Hoseok pants out with a chuckle, “it’s already time for my little prince to cum.”

Jungkook moans, a high-pitched keen at the pet-name, and the sound is so sinful you can’t help but clench, making him stiffen impossibly inside you.

It only takes a thrust or two more, and a gruff command to cum before Jungkook does just that, spilling inside you with a drawn-out whine, thanking his Master with every breath he can suck into his lungs.

He manages to keep his weight off of you as he rides his high, Hoseok fucking him into oversensitivity before he pulls out, leaving briefly to discard the condom. Jungkook pulls out of you with a wince, but a satisfied one, and rolls over onto his back, running his fingers under the lines of rope lazily as he catches his breath.

Once Hoseok returns, he begins untying you first, and as your wrists are loosened from your chest and promptly released, the cool air on your skin feels like defeat. Your eyes slip shut, a pout no doubt on your lips as you give him nothing but dead weight, forcing the professional to manhandle your torso as he undoes the rope bit by bit.

You open your eyes once he’s done, frowning at him as he releases the rope from Jungkook’s body. Without looking, Hoseok chastises you. “Don’t look at me like that,” he scolds, “I’m sure next time you’ll be behaved like our Jungkookie here.” The boy in question preens softly at the compliment, blinking up at Hoseok as the dom brushes his hair out of his eyes.

The sight warms your heart, and you can’t deny that Hoseok has the right to discipline you, no doubt feeling self-conscious about his place on the show. And the feeling of him playing you so skilfully is something that will stick with you for a good while. You press your thighs together, sighing out at the slick still between them.

After finishing with Jungkook, speaking quietly with him in praise or reassurance, he comes back around to you, rubbing at the few red marks on your chest and wrists that have appeared from your movements. His eyes search your face, and you’re surprised to see the absolute calm in them, clearly switched out of the Master persona and just into a dominant but caring one. “Not hurt?”

You shake your head after taking the time to really think it through, wiggling your fingers and toes.

“Not angry?”

Again, you take a moment to consider, but shake your head.

Hoseok smiles down at you, warm as he squeezes your hands fondly. “Good. Now I know you can’t sleep in your own bed, so Jungkookie has kindly offered for you to stay here with him. Take care of each other, okay? I’m just down the hall.”

By the time Hoseok zips up his pants - you note that even after all that, you hadn’t seen him properly naked - and gathers his bag, Jungkook’s managed to slip his legs under the blankets, snoring away peacefully with the aftermath of a good orgasm.

After the dom leaves, you get under the covers yourself, watching the relaxing cycle of Jungkook’s chest rising and falling, the way his eyes flutter lightly in his sleep, but it doesn’t lull you to unconsciousness.

Instead, the unsatisfied throb between your legs just grows more ferocious than ever. If you could just get yourself off…

Your hand trails down, slipping between your legs naturally, but the first swipe of your index finger against your clit gives you pause. Hoseok had pretty clearly stated that you weren’t to masturbate without permission unless you were in a scene with another contestant and, well…

You grimace as Jungkook snuffles in his sleep, wriggling around to get more comfortable. You can’t exactly wake him up.

Which leaves you with only one option.

Fuck it. As quietly as you can, you slip out of bed, stumbling over to your pile of clothes. After retrieving your phone - still somehow tucked neatly into your pants pocket - you hop back into bed and seek out the one contact who can alleviate your need. Hoseok himself.

You answer the call with shaking fingers, those not still buried inside you. When Hoseok’s voice comes through, it’s thankfully quiet and low, but the words still make you keen.

“Princess couldn’t wait until the morning, hm?” Hoseok chuckles quietly at your whine of response. “That’s okay. Let Master help you.”

You sigh out, sitting the phone so that it lies on the pillow beside you. “Please, Master,” you whisper, “can I touch my clit?”

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, “such a polite girl now. Baby took her lesson well. You can touch it, princess. Get yourself close for me.”

When you change the angle of the fingers thrusting inside you to make room to rub at your clit, you could cry from the satisfaction, biting your lip to muffle the moan that’s pulled from your lungs.

Glancing quickly beside you to ensure Jungkook’s asleep, the sight of him sleeping so peacefully as you get off right beside him has you clenching down, and your back arches off the bed.

Your high is close, and the faster you strum your clit frantically, the more you pant, desperate to keep quiet. Your mouth drops open as you suddenly feel the orgasm approaching, and you turn to the phone on the pillow, getting close enough that he can hear your whisper. “I’m go-gonna cum, Hoseokie, fuck,” you choke out before quickly pressing your lips together, preventing further noise.

His voice is low velvet on the phone, a calm command. “Cum for Master now, princess.”

You feel your orgasm hit you like a tsunami, crashing so violently that you curl over your hands, shivering and convulsing as pleasure rocks every inch of your body. As it floods you entirely, you feel hot tears stream down your face, ones you didn’t even know you were shedding. Your thighs shake and your chest heaves and you don’t stop your fingers until there’s no more pleasure left to be milked from you.

When you finally cum down from your high, panting, you fumble clumsily for the phone. “Tha-thank you, Master.”

Perhaps it’s the post-orgasm delirium, but you swear you hear the smile in his voice when he murmurs, “you’re most welcome, princess. Now get some rest. You’ve earned it.”

After hanging up, you lock your phone and chuck it down onto the carpet beside the bed carelessly, the wetness between your thighs no longer uncomfortable, now just a satisfying reminder of the pleasure he finally allowed you. Taking one last look at the tranquil face of Jungkook as he slept, you let yourself join him in a blissful unconsciousness.

ELIMINATION GRAPH

No elimination this week ! What a doozy, huh? If you were curious, here are the results of the vote!

It was taken after exactly 48 hours of the poll being open, and required a sign-in with email to prevent spamming so that it was as fair as possible!

In the future, we’ll use this format for both Fan Favourite and Elimination voting. I’ll tell you the top three for audience fan-favourites in the following chapter, and for elimination you’ll find out Y/n’s final decision in the following chapter, plus this graph at the end for the complete results.

Thanks for all your support !

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