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snackhobi · 4 years

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s just unacceptable.”

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

“Mmhm.” You try not to yawn.

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

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

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

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

For you? It’s another Tuesday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You like money, what can you say.

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

She seems surprised at your directness. “I—”

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

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

Being an assassin is hard work.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holy shit.

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

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

(Thank you for your service, tall women.)

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

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

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

“How does my lipstick look?”

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

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

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

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

“Lost something?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck yes you would.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Open,” she instructs.

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

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

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

You watch her hands. (She watches you.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Done.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s your name?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/n L/n,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s for certain,” she says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/n?”

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

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

“Holy shit,” you breathe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Didn’t I say you wouldn’t need it?”

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

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

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

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

Fuck, she’s so gorgeous.

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

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

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

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

“Holy shit, you’re perfect,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

Yoonji gasps.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you blame me?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Keep still,” she says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yoonji,” you gasp. “It’s too— oh—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yoonji, it’s too much,” you cry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, fuck!” You sob.

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

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

“Oh my god,” you moan. “Holy shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“With what?”

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

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

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

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

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donnerpartyofone · 4 years

Note

whats it like living in ny(new york)?

you’ve picked a strange person to ask! i am pretty reclusive and although i’ve been here since 2004 or 5, i never developed that sense of patriotism people have about the city. for me personally, it’s like:

*there’s just way too many people and they’re incredibly selfish and stupid in even the smallest gestures, fighting in clusters for the coveted spot in front of the door on the train so no one can get in or out, and stopping dead in the middle of busy public staircases to fuck around on their phones. my priorities are a) being polite and considerate, and b) not touching anyone ever; both are very hard to achieve.

*however, the specific sense that new yorkers are “rude”, that you get from media caricatures, is not realistic. as long as somebody doesn’t look busy or rushed, you can basically walk up and ask how to get somewhere or what’s in the neighborhood, and they will be happy to give you their personal lowdown. that’s a lot less possible in other cities, even internationally; new yorkers actually love knowing about and sharing hidden gems and stuff like that, especially if it’s in our own neighborhood, it gives us a sense of pride. if a local seems pissed off at you, it’s probably because you’re doing something like looking at a map in the middle of the sidewalk instead of puling off to the side. one of my biggest pet peeves is people just not walking with a sense of purpose in the middle of a crowded street, if you have nowhere to be then fucking stay home!

*“cool stuff” in general starts to feel a lot less special because everything is everywhere, but maybe that’s good in that it helps you differentiate between “excitingly novel” and “of deep importance to me whether it’s popular or tacky or or dated or obscure or whatever.”

*you’re surrounded by art and culture that you practically never see, and you have a constant background radiation of mild guilt about this. someone from “back home” said to a friend of mine, “you must go to central park and check out the met every day!” or something, and she was like, “uh, you never see those things if you live here, anytime you’re not at work you’re basically eating standing up, and rushing to get home as soon as possible.”

*people who would ordinarily seem excitingly unique and creative, or like they have a fascinating story to tell, now appear as parasitic attention-seekers desperately trying to stand out in the anonymizing crowd of the city, and you learn to hate them as soon as you see them, before they even start playing hits from the 90s on a homemade cigar box ukulele in a bad tom waits voice or whatever. like i don’t owe you my attention just because you want it, i’m trying to get ready for work.

*there’s tons of cool events, but you have to really suppress your misanthropy to go to them for the most part. there’s a lot of people here who are just PARTICIPATORS. i have these friends who i love, but who seem to specifically want to go to wherever it’s CROWDED. like it’s so packed you can’t even get served fast enough to get drunk, and everyone is screaming too loud for you to even talk to your friends while you’re not getting served...but when these folks are in an environment like that, it makes them feel like they have ARRIVED.

*there’s a line in an episode of Louie where somebody says something like “It costs $50 an hour just to exist out here,” and that is 100% true. you’re constantly having to spend money to kill time if you’re early or another person is late, or buying something if you have to use the bathroom or charge your phone, or buying something to have a quiet place to read or work outside your stuffy apartment, or just whatever, going outside is a huge threat.

*speaking of money, FOOD! so much incredibly great food. and good, even affordable fresh groceries too if you’re not lazy. and movies! movies everywhere!

*because everything is so overstimulating, having a favorite spot (bar, cafe, park, route for a long walk) feels even more special than it does in a more normal place.

*PET EVERY DOG IN THE WORLD (after you have asked permission)

*even though this is “your city”, there’s always places you’ve never been, like up to the cloisters, or roosevelt island, or greenwood cemetery, etc. it gives you something to look forward to, and something to do when you’re out of birthday ideas or whatever.

*being able to bike everywhere is great and it really boosts my self-esteem to take care of my bike and get better at riding in traffic. now if only other cyclists, pedestrians, and motorists had the decency or even the concern for their own safety to just follow the laws and stop trying to fucking kill everyone on the basis of HEY I’M WALKIN’ HEAH!. that dumbass attitude is real. i can’t tell you how often i see somebody who wants to cross the street, just SHOVING an occupied baby stroller into traffic as if it has an invisible force field that bends reality to their will so they can do whatever they want without waiting. from what i can tell, people in general just do not give a fuck about each other at all.

*you are confronted with the realities of homelessness every day, so you live with a pretty constant awareness of tragedy and cruelty. i give regularly to the ny coalition for the homeless, but still every time i see an actual person begging or sleeping on the train, i have this feeling like i’ll never be doing enough to help until i’m starving myself.

*because people do not give a fuck about each other at all, it feels really good to get to know your bodega guys, your delivery guys, your laundry guys, all the guys who form the actual foundation of your life. it feels good to “over”-tip whenever possible.

...of course, you might have meant what’s it like to live in nyc RIGHT NOW. well, it’s kind of hard to stock up on anything when you have a stereotypically tiny apartment, but we’re doing our best to figure out how to go out as little as possible. i don’t wanna go out anyway.

#anon

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httpjeon · 6 years

Text

❝ hot bot: gift ❞ kth ― m.

taehyung/reader | android!au, hot bot!au | fluff, smut, light humor

wordcount: 3.8k contents: MULTIPLE ORGAMS (like inhuman), overstimulation, filthy dirty talk, size kink, cum eating, taehyungs big dick

― synopsis: your parents have a gift for you, however, there’s been a mistake.

note: this was wild to write. i was gonna take out some of the...orgasms but...in the end i said nah. if it’s too much then i’m sorry but i am who i am

blog masterlist ― series masterlist

THERE WILL NOT BE ANOTHER PART.

“Hello dear!” Your mother’s gentle voice floated through your phone, making you smile.

“Hi Mom! What’s up?” You asked, looking at your laptop screen, not really registering what you were seeing as she spoke again.

“I was wondering if you could make time to come over today? Your father and I got you a present and we’re both really eager to give it to you!” Your mother even sounded excited and you could picture her excitedly grinning at the idea of seeing you.

After agreeing, you hurried to get ready, knowing your dad did not enjoy it when you kept him waiting. The last thing you wanted was a lecture about how you should be more efficient lest the androids overtake the planet.

The second you stepped onto the front porch, the door flew open and you were surrounded in your mother’s arms, making you laugh at how extra she was.

“Come inside!” She grabbed your hand, ushering you into the living room where you dad was watching the news, as usual. When he saw you, he greeted you with a little head nod before turning back to the television.

“You said you had a gift for me?” You asked, setting your purse down on the coffee table.

Your mom nodded excitedly, calling your dad’s name to get his attention before telling him to go get it. Your dad huffed but did as he was asked anyway.

“We know you’ve been having a hard time with housework since you broke up with Sanghyuk and have been living on your own, so we decided to get you something to ease the burden and make you less lonely,”

“Oh no Mom…” You already knew where it was going and your fears were confirmed when your dad came out of the back room leading a man.

An android.

“His name is Taehyung and he’s called a Help Bot!” Your mom exclaimed, taking Taehyung’s hand and bringing him up next to you.

He was incredible good-looking, not something unusual for androids, but this was another level. He had ashy-gray hair that hung in his eyes and he possessed endearing round eyes. Suddenly, he grinned exposing the most charming boxy smile you’d ever seen.

“Hello _____, I’ve been told you’ll be taking care of me,” He said, still grinning. You were shocked by just how deep his voice was, you don’t know what you were expecting but with his boyish charms it wasn’t a voice that deep.

“Taehyung, be a dear and take _____’s things to her car,” Your mom asked, waving him off.

Taehyung hesitated for a split second, meeting your eyes before he shrugged and grabbed your purse before heading out the door. You watched him until he was out of sight, shutting the door behind him.

“Unfortunately, I think he’s a little buggy,” Your dad sighed, taking a seat. “Figures the robots they make can’t even function properly. He can’t even clean like he was designed to do.”

Your mother just laughed your father off and turned to look at you.

“He just needs to learn, that’s all. The more you use him, the more he’ll improve!”

After bidding goodbye to your parents, you stepped out of the house to see Taehyung standing by your car, swinging your purse side to side as he stared up at the sky. He looked rather...cute.

Once he heard you approach him, he looked back down and grinned at you.

“Hi ____! Ready to go?” He said almost mechanically. In a way it made you grimace, reminding you that he was simply a machine. No matter how lifelike he appeared...he was still just a machine.

The drive back to your house was uneventful, Taehyung making the occasional comment in his low timbre about your neighborhood.

“It’s different from your parents...more lively, huh?”

“Well yeah,” You responded, keeping your eyes on the road. “They live in a retirement community. This is more people my age.”

“I see,” He responded just as you pulled into your parking garage. “An apartment?”

“Yeah,” You said, opening your car door and grabbing your purse and the keys from the ignition. “I can’t exactly afford to buy my own house. I’m just a struggling college student, you know?”

“I understand,” He said, voice echoing in the garage as he followed closely behind you.

You hadn’t realized how long you’d spent at your parents until you got into your apartment and looked at the time. As you went into the kitchen to start dinner, you watched Taehyung out of the corner of your eye in the living room as he looked through your stuff.

“Oh! You like classical music?” He asked suddenly, picking up one of your records.

“Y-Yeah...do you like music?” You asked, not really thinking of the question until it left your mouth. “Well...I guess you don’t, do you?” You backtracked, shaking your head as you remembered robots weren’t programmed for small talk like this.

“No, I do like it,” He responded easily, placing the record back on your shelf before joining you in the kitchen. “I had a friend once who dabbled in music.”

Just as you were about to question him on his concept of “friendship”, your timer went off and you had to take the ramen off the stove.

“Can you clean the pot for me, Taehyung?” You asked mindlessly, silently thanking your parents for a robot that would clean. However, when he didn’t do what you asked, you turned to look at him to see him staring very strangely at you, almost as if you had grown another head. “What?”

“I think there’s been...a misunderstanding, _____,” He stated, taking a seat across from you at the table. “I didn’t have to heart to tell your poor parents the truth but I’m sure you can take it.”

“Y-You’re kinda freakin’ me out, Taehyung,” You admitted, leaning back in your seat to put some distance between you. “You’re not like secretly a human who’s being sold as a robot and you’re here to kill me or something, right?”

“Oh my god, you sound like your Dad,” Taehyung groaned, putting his head on the table as he laughed. “No, I’m not a Help Bot like your parents said...I’m a Hot Bot.”

You choked as the words escaped his lips, missing the broad grin that spread across his face at your reaction.

“A-A Hot Bot?! You mean one of those sex robots?!” You shrieked, standing up and completely forgetting about your ramen as you escaped to the living room with Taehyung hot on your heels.

“Well, yeah, it’s what I’m built for but-”

“So you expect me to have sex with you, is that it!?”

“No-”

“Oh my god, how can my parents be so dumb! They thought you were a service bot and now here I am with a living sex toy! Well...sort of living. But still, you can’t just expect me to have sex with you. I guess that explains why you’re so fucking hot though, I will admit that I was stunned at first-”

“You think I’m hot?”

You paused in your ranting at his words, blushing as you realized what had slipped out. It was out in the open already and you decided that there was no point in trying to lie about it and carefully nodded.

“I think...you’re pretty hot too…” He admitted, stepping closer and licking his lips.

“P-Please...you’re just programmed to say that, Taehyung…” You muttered, but there was no bite in your words as you met his eyes.

“No, it’s not that at all…” He whispered, not elaborating on his words as he leaned down and pressed his lips to yours. You were shocked by how warm his lips were and how lifelike they felt.

You didn’t have time to question what he meant because soon your mind was completely consumed by the feeling of him kissing you. His spit, when he slid his tongue into your mouth, was like bubblegum; sweet and candy-like. You found yourself craving more, moving onto your tiptoes and lacing your fingers through his hair to pull him even closer against you.

In your haze, you didn’t notice him urging you towards the couch until he broke the kiss to sit down, big hands gripping your waist to help you straddle him. Beneath your hands, his chest was firm and you could feel the best of his artificial heart, an organ that kept all the machines inside him running. It felt just like a human’s heartbeat.

As if he could tell your thoughts, his hand slid over yours on his chest, lacing with your fingers as he met your eyes.

He opened his mouth, tempted to speak, but quickly closed it and instead pressing his lips against your neck. You whimpered at the feeling, almost foreign by how long it had been since someone touched you so sensually.

His fingers, shockingly gentle, lifted your shirt up until he was able to drop it on the floor. Bottom lip caught between his teeth, he reached up and cupped your bare breasts, moaning at how the felt in his hands. You whimpered, panties soaking from the vision of sin he portrayed as he leaned forward to envelop one hardened nipple into his mouth, swirling his hot tongue around it.

You needed to hold onto something, have something to occupy your mind from the oddly-overwhelming pleasure his mouth brought you. He was just laving his tongue over your nipple and it had already made your body so sensitive. So your hands became busy, reaching between your bodies to pull up the white t-shirt he was wearing. It made his shoulders stand out, wide and manly, and his chest seem even more inviting. However, once it was removed you were shocked by what you saw.

You had expected 6-pack abs and defined muscles but instead Taehyung was lean. No pudge but no abs, and that was even more inviting to you. You had always enjoyed a man who you could tell worked out but not to the point of bodybuilder status.

Running your hands over his chest, you could feel how smooth his skin was and, even better, feel his heartbeat even clearer. His skin was soft, almost baby soft, and you flicked your thumb over his nipple, making him groan against your nipple before dislodging himself.

“Feel that, princess?” He asked, now using his thumb and index finger to pinch your abused nipple.

“Wh-What?” You whimpered, eyes hazy as he continued to punch your bud.

“My saliva is a special kind. Only my model possesses it, it contains a type of enzyme that makes my partner hyper-sensitive. Your little nipple must be tingly right now, huh?”

“Y-Yeah…” You agreed, jutting your chest out to gain more of his touch.

“So cute,” He muttered before encasing your other nipple in his mouth, causing the same tingle to erupt in that bud.

The throbbing of your cunt in your panties was becoming too much and you couldn’t stop yourself from grinding down to achieve any kind of friction. It shocked you when Taehyung groaned and, once again, released your nipple. The cool air made the bud feel even more sensitive and you whimpered, grinding down some more.

“You want cock, baby girl?” He asked, reaching behind you to cup your ass to help you grind down.

“Yes, please…” You begged, mins turning hazy at the pleasure you were feeling.

“Go ahead and take my cock out for me, baby,” He cooed, tone not at all commanding but you rushed to do what you were told. The button of his black jeans stood no match for your desperate fingers before you reached inside to grasp his cock, freezing once you felt it. A smirk grew across Taehyung's face at the debauched look that took over your face.

When you failed to pull it out, he reached into his jeans to wrap his hand around yours, continuing the job for you. Once his cock was in the open, you realized just how small your hand looked in comparison. You could barely fit your entire fist around he was so thick.

“Like that, sweetheart?” He cooed, using your hand to jerk himself off. A bead of previn developed at the tip before dropping down to slide between his skin and your palm, aiding in your ability to move your hand. “I think babygirl likes seeing such a fat cock, huh?”

He chuckled when you didn’t answer, allowing you to simply jerk him off. Soft moans came from his lips as he tilted his head back into the back of the couch. You could feel your hole clench pathetically around nothing, your sticky juices causing your panties to stick to your lips like a second skin.

You wanted them off.

As you shifted uncomfortably, Taehyung seemed to realize what the problem was and chuckled again. He pulled your fingers off of his cock, helping you move up onto your knees so he could start pulling down your leggings.

When they stretched around your knees, you used his shoulders for balance as you lifted one leg up, letting him pull them off before moving your weight to the other knee until you were left in nothing but your panties.

While you were still poised on your knees, Taehyung took the opportunity to shove his jeans down until they pooled around his ankles, not bothering to kick them all the way off in favor of reaching up to touch you though your panties.

His touch was exhilarating, making you tremble where you kneeled, having to cling to his shoulders for support. He located your clit with extraordinary ease, using your soaked panties to aid in his stimulation. It felt phenomenal and you couldn't suppress the lewd moan you released into the air if you tried.

It was so much, so sudden that you went tumbling into a mind-numbing orgasm that left you panting and trembling until you couldn't hold yourself up on your knees anymore. Taehyung let you drop down completely into his lip, holding onto him as you felt the trembles begin to ease out of your system.

You were left a panting mess in his lap with your cum in your panties no longer being soaked up, instead dripping through the fabric to reach in clear strings onto his bare cock. The sigh was lewd and absolutely sinful, the sight of your cum coating him and mixing with his own juices.

Taehyung gripped your hips in an iron-tight grip that could leave bruises the next day, but you didn't mind because he was suddenly positioning you directly on top of his cock, the thick vein throbbing directly beneath your swollen, hard clit.

Ever so slowly, he used his grip on your hips to grind you back and forth on his huge cock. Your lips were spread beneath your panties, the fabric sticking to your clit and making the exposed bud even more prominent and vulnerable to the movements.

You swear, you'd never been thrown into another orgasm as fast as you were now. With his cock grinding against you, hot and so thick, right against your clit, you were cumming again. Your panties were ruined without a doubt.

When you came back down, you looked to see Taehyung, eyes heated and dark, staring right where you were still seated on top of his cock. Taking a glance down as well, you were shocked to see how wet he was. You slick cum oozed everywhere, making an absolute mess of everything you touched and you felt your clit throb again at the sight.

"Get those panties off," He growled, helping to support you as you worked to panties down off your hips. However, instead of letting you drop them to the floor, he took them into this hand.

His fingers touched the crotch of them, immediately being covered in strings of your slick. Your eyes widened when, instead of popping his fingers into his mouth, he laved his tongue over the copious amounts of your cum that were staining the fabric.

He groaned, shoving more of the panties into his mouth, making obscene sucking noises as he attempted to taste everything the fabric had soaked up.

The sight was too much to handle and you found yourself grinding on his bare cock, this time making direct contact with your slit. It was filthy, the way his absolutely massive cock spread your cunt apart, the head catching on your clit from beneath its hood, making yours thighs quiver with every movement.

"Look at that," He groaned as he took the panties out of his mouth, dropping them onto the couch as he gazed at the way you ground on him. "All your fucking cum and that fat little clit, absolutely aching to be touched,"

You had never heard such filthy words come from someone's mouth and you were whimpering at the nastiness of it all.

You couldn't take it anymore, your hole needed to be filled, and you weren't going to waste another second. Taehyung held your waist as you held yourself above his cock, it looked so massive compared to your pulsing little hole and you were almost afraid it wasn't going to fit.

"Go ahead and sit on it, baby," Taehyung cooed, holding your waist tighter as he urged you to slowly sit down on him.

Your walls burned as you took him in, completely overtaking your mind. He touched every spot inside you that any human man could never even hope to touch. You were halfway down on his cock when you were cumming again.

"Jesus Christ, again?" He growled, watching and feeling as you pulsed around him in your orgasm. You couldn't even make a noise as you finally sunk completely down in the middle of your orgasm, which only sent you spiraling deeper into the pleasure.

Suddenly, he was circling your clit with his thumb. Your eyes nearly bugged out of your skull at the feeling, being thrown into an ever stronger orgasm. This time, however, your juices erupted from inside you, coating Taehyung's chest and abdomen in your cum. You went to pull off of his cock but his strong hands kept you speared on him.

By the time you came down, you were sobbing with tears dripping down your cheeks.

"Look at you," Taehyung cooed, cupping the back of your head to pull you into his chest, where you wrapped your arms around him and trembled, "Do you need to stop, babygirl?"

"J-Just for a...a second..." You slurred, almost unable to even understand yourself. However, he seems to have and simply nods.

So you sat there, still trembling from the overwhelming pleasure you had just felt, still stuffed with his massive cock, pressing against your g-spot and your sensitive clit pressing against his pelvic bone. His fingers trailed up and down your back, calming down your racing heart and trembling.

"I-I've never...cum like that...before..." You whispered, burying your face into his neck fore more comfort, which he eagerly supplied.

Part of you was confused about the comfort and care he provided with you. You were sure that robots couldn't be in tune like this to human emotions and needs, but Taehyung was touching you so tenderly and carefully to calm down your overwhelmed body that you were tempted to ask him. However, before you could open your mouth to ask, he spoke.

"Squirted, you mean?" The dirty term ignited a heat in your cheeks before you nodded.

Sure, you had boyfriends before in the past but if you were honest, the sex was mediocre at best. A lot of the time, they couldn't even touch your clit correctly, treating it like a scratch-off in a way that had you whimpering - not from pleasure either.

There was a comfortable moment of silence as you began to calm down, your heartbeat returning to a semi-normal rate. Taehyung seemed to sense your chance because he leaned back, letting you sit up and see his face. He smiled gently, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear before leaning forward to press a kiss against your lips.

Your arms, wound around his shoulders tightened as you began to slowly grind against him. It still astounded you how big he was and that you had managed to fit him inside you.

You leaned back, using his knees to keep you stable as you bega to ride him in earnest. Taehyung moaned, eyes rolling back in his head from the tight, wet heat of your cunt around him.

“W-We’ll make it quick, baby,” He growled, using his thumb to circle your clit, making you toss your head back in a pleasure-filled cry. He was going to make you cum again. This was too much. He was literally going to kill you. “One more, sweetheart, give me one more,”

At his urging, you exploded once again. He held your waist to keep you from toppling off him as you trembled and shook on top of him, bottoming out on his cock as you came hard.

The feeling of your convulsing walls signaled that he could cum as well.

His cum was hot.

That’s the only word you could describe it as. Hot.

It trickled out of your hole and down his shaft, too much of it for your cunt to hold.

“Messy,” He playfully scolded, scooping some of his cum onto his fingers to show you. “Open your mouth,”

You hesitated, not wanting to eat cum but the heated look in his eyes had your jaw dropping open for his fingers entrance.

The taste shocked you.

It was sweet.

Taehyung chuckled at the bewildered look in your eyes.

“It’s pineapple,” He said, making you raise your eyebrow. “Hot Bots come with flavored semen. Makes it better to taste.”

“That’s a good gimmick,” You noted, smiling at him.

“Alright, let's get you cleaned up,”

You winced when he helped you pull of his cock. You noted that it was technically still hard but he simply pulled his pants back up.

Maybe it just stayed like that?

Shrugging it off, you allowed him to pick you up, groaning inwardly at the mess that smeared the couch where you two had been sitting.

That was going to be a pain to clean up. But, you pushed it to the back of your mind for now. You instead focused on how nice it felt to be carried to the bathroom, a blissful smile spreading across your lips.

“BREAKING: HOT BOT INC. RECALLS DEFECTIVE BTS900 MODEL BOTS.”

“Shit…” Taehyung mutters, sitting up in the bed, the blanket falling from his chest.

“What is it?” You asked, furrowing your brows at the look of complete horror on his face.

“That’s my model. We’re being recalled,” Suddenly, he turned to look at you and your heart nearly stopped by how scared he looked. “Don’t turn me in to them, _____.”

For a moment you could swear his eyes were getting watery but, robots couldn’t feel fear like that and they couldn’t cry emotionally…

Right?

#bts #bts smut #taehyung smut #bts scenarios #bts imagines #taehyung scenarios #taehyung imagines #bts reactions #bts preferences #kim taehyung #bts taehyung #taehyung reactions #taehyung preferences

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sserpente · 6 years

Text

In a heartbeat (Chapter 27)

A/N: You asked for a new chapter and of course, you get a new chapter! 😈 Please note that starting from this chapter (27) there will be potential spoilers for Infinity War!

Three weeks with the Trickster God felt like a year full of mischief, joy, love and excitement. You spent most of your time cuddling, reading, fucking and eating. The amount of Midgardian things, including movies, dishes, outdoor activities and work-related stuff, you were yet to introduce him to, kept growing.

It was like being on vacation and stuffing as much action as possible in but a few days. Day in and out, you took him to your favourite places, made him taste your favourite food and had him watch your favourite movie and TV shows—he was particularly fond of Game of Thrones. In return, he started training you again—and by now, you had become fairly good.

It all seemed so perfect, like everything you had ever wished for. Loki was yours, you were Loki’s. You were happy. He seemed to be happy. But perhaps this was your first mistake. To underestimate the infamous calm before the storm.

You had gotten used to being sore in the morning, when your alarm clock went off and you forced yourself to work. The more time you spent with Loki, the more you familiarised yourself with the idea of giving up your job to go to Norway with him. Several hours of the day were lost when you typed away your articles in the office, regardless of his amusing visits every now and then.

It was one of the mornings Loki decided to wake you up by burying his head between your legs, having breakfast in his very own and very naughty way. Your eyes flew open in a daze, pleasure cursing through your sleepy body.

The moment you realised his affection was hardly a dream but real, he had already forced you headfirst into a mind-blowing orgasm. Moaning his name, you ran your fingers through his raven hair, reluctant to pull away even when you started squirming from the overstimulation.

He grinned devilishly when you finally managed to push him off you, his thin lips glistening with your juices.

“Good morning, little minx.”

“I could get used to this kind of alarm clock.” You teased. “Good morning.”

Loki chuckled. As he crawled back up to kiss you, hovering above you protectively, you felt so content he was with you the feeling almost had you cry out of pure content.

“I am this close to calling in sick and spending the whole day in bed with you.” You exclaimed, holding up your fingers to symbolise half an inch.

“As much as I would love the idea… I will not have you neglect your work.” And that was mainly because he had found a new hobby in haunting Ricardo as an invisible guest in the office. The amount of times he seemed to misplace items, drop things and trip appeared to be highly suspicious, yet you only smirked and kept quiet.

“Fine. Let me go take a shower then.”

Your half-hearted struggles to get away from him were only interrupted precipitously when someone started ringing your doorbell.

“And answer the door.” You added, nodding. You would have to put on some clothes for that first though.

Interesting, really, for usually, the postman didn’t make it to your apartment until ten. When the unknown visitor, however, added his fists to bang against the wood of your door, you frowned. Loki shot up from the bed in an instant, seemingly ready to manifest some daggers to defend you.

Your heart almost melted at the thought and yet, you let out a sigh of relief when you heard Thor’s voice outside your apartment.

“Loki? Loki! (Y/N)! (Y/N)! Loki! Are you here? Is anyone?”

“What’s Thor doing here?” You asked, moving to look the God of Mischief in the eye.

Loki’s blue eyes met yours, his face expressionless. “It can’t be good.”

It was all he said before rushing over to the door, magicking some garments on himself as he approached it.

“Brother.” Thor was wearing casual Midgardian clothes to blend in. The artificial light in the hallway reflected in his metal eye patch, his brows furrowed as he stared Loki down. “We need to speak. It is urgent. (Y/N).” His gaze turned to you, dressed in nothing more than your bathrobe.

He smiled, then hugged you briefly, much to Loki’s dismay. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“I see you, uh, you and Loki are finally…”

“Yes.” You confirmed gently.

“Thor, what is it?”

The Thunderer sighed. “Heimdall can sense it, we have told you before. Disruption, imbalance. Someone… something is coming, he has been worried for days. The people are starting to notice, they are anxious and they need you to reassure them.” Hearing such words from his brother must have been pure satisfaction, knowing that not Thor could calm their folk but only their rightful king. Loki must have done an incredible job in Norway, after you’d left.

Yet, he hesitated. As he pursed his lips and shot you an insecure glance, you could clearly tell whatever he feared Thor was talking about, was to remain a secret. You had long ceased to question the God of Mischief’s choices—all of them he had purposely, carefully crafted, after all and all of his actions made perfect sense one way or another. You trusted him to make this right.

“I get it. I’m late for work anyway. I’ll be back around six, should I bring some takeaway with me?”

Smiling sweetly, you stood on your toes when he nodded, leaning forward to kiss him. Then, you disappeared into the bathroom and got ready, trying hard not to eavesdrop. You soon realised it was pointless, for Loki had already used a spell to avoid any unwanted ears.

“(Y/N)? Do you have a moment?” You looked up from your laptop when you heard your bosses’ voice. There she stood, next to your desk, impatient and quite frankly… not pleased.

Uneasy, you cleared your throat. “Um… sure. Is there a problem?”

“I’m afraid there is. Have you submitted the proof-read articles to Sarah yet? They were due this morning. It’s noon now, she just called in and told me she hasn’t received a thing.”

Instantly, your eyes widened. “Oh, shit! I am… I am so sorry. I forgot. I will send them right away.”

Your boss nodded. “In addition to that, that article you were supposed to write about Karl Lagerfeld… it’s full of mistakes. You usually write the best stuff, (Y/N), is everything alright with you?”

One of the likable things about this magazine was that its producers were actually humane.

“God… I… I am, really. It’s just…” You still hadn’t heard from Loki. Ever since you had left this morning, leaving the brothers behind, your surroundings were eerily calm. Loki usually announced himself by messing up Ricardo’s desk, today, however, the office was unusually quiet.

“My… boyfriend, it’s complicated… he might be in trouble. I really am sorry, this won’t happen again.” Only when you spoke it out loud did you realise that your words could, in fact, be true. Disruption, imbalance… what were they going to deal with?

She nodded once more. “Don’t worry about it. Send Sarah the articles and proof-read the one about Lagerfeld again and I’ll be happy to send you home early.”

“Thank you so much, I really appreciate that.” With one final nod, your boss turned on her heel and left the office to return to her own. You listened to her heels connecting with the floor again and again when suddenly, you felt a pair of arms gripping your shoulders. Flinching, you suppressed a scream and turned around, almost falling off your chair in the process.

“Loki! Are you mad, don’t scare me like that!” You hissed, glaring at him as you did. It took you several seconds to notice your co-workers were able to see him as well—and right next to him, there was Thor, the same concerned expression on his face as before. Whispers echoed through the room.

“We need to leave. Now.” Loki stated, his stern tone allowing no contradiction.

“W-what? What do you mean, we need to leave now? I can’t leave, I’m at work!”

“(Y/N), I will not ask you again.” His blue eyes were sparkling with panic. Something was up. He instantly infected you.

“Where to?” You muttered, swallowing thickly.

“Norway. For now.”

Thor took a deep breath. It was clear he was already repeating himself when he spoke up. “Loki, do you truly think it’s a good idea to bring her along? She’d be much safer here, among—“

“I will not leave her behind, brother.”

“Guys… I can hear you. And so can everyone else. Loki, please calm down. What’s going on anyway? Can you tell me?”

The Trickster shook his head.

“Not here. We leave now. Come on, little minx. Please.” Please? He had sounded harsh at first, now, however, he seemed almost desperate. Sighing loudly, you nodded and stood from your chair.

“How did you get here? I mean, how did Thor get here?”

“Strange created a portal for us. We don’t have much time.” Loki explained.

“It’s how I got here so quick.” Thor added. “It’s in the tiny room back there.”

You had no time to pack, no time to question, not even time to let your boss know you wouldn’t be sending that e-mail after all.

Your limbs were shaking when you allowed Loki to wrap his arm around your waist and lead you to the copy room, an orange portal already throwing sparks in the middle of it—the other end promising the vast landscapes of Norway and a bunch of Asgardians scurrying around like ants.

Then, you stepped through.

A/N: I was thinking about how to get to Infinity War without messing up my plotline for a long while. This seemed to be the best way to go with it in the end, letting RC and Loki spend some more time together before the next catastrophe approaches and destroys the peace that was already so hard-won at the end of Thor Ragnarok. Now... what do you think is going to happen next?

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tristinleighhh · 4 years

Text

✨☀️ my heart & soul are so full.

This was truly the best experience of my life. Envision is something else. I danced and sweat out every negative energy that I had stored away before I came here. I feel like a new person..

🌊 I loved the whole vibe of the Uvita area. Everyone was so nice. I've missed the salty air in my hair and on my lips. Being surrounded by the jungle and the ocean is a euphoric feeling. 🐟 I ate a lot of good fish outside the festival and I am definitely missing it. I loved the fresh fruits and coconuts everywhere 🥥🌴🍍🍌🍓

🏕️ our air b&b was just a couple minutes away from the festival and our host Jose was the nicest human ever. He was constantly making sure everything was perfect for us and coming back to get sleep in the ac was prime. I'm very glad we did that. Cabinas yuriel 💛💚❤️☁️

🐳 we went on a whale watching tour and we're blessed to see a male and a mama and her baby playing around! Humpback whales are my flavorite animal and I haven't seen them since I was in Hawaii so it was an epic treat.

🌄Then Dan and I watched our last Costa Rican sunset for the trip and took a nice stroll home. On the way we saw a sloth in the tree, a crazy poisonous snake and a gnarly looking centipede. 🐍🌙

I have fallen in love with envision and everything it stands for and for the beautiful country of Costa Rica. I will be back there's no doubt about that. I want to explore everything. Thankful for this trip and all the lessons learned and friends I met along the way. Until next time 🥥✨ Pura Vida ✨🥥

✨ Top Envision Moments & Music ✨

🔥 the sunset and fire spinners on the beach with the drum circle. I had hoped to spin some fire down there but I'll be a little more prepared next time.. you walk up the path onto the beach and you are met with various vendors with cool bones and jewelery, cheap beer and food as you emerge into a sea of people on the sand. The sky was on fire and the vibes were hiiiigh. The drum circle was tribal and euphoric. Looking around me being surrounded by jungle and ocean and beautiful people was straight bliss.

•

🍄 seeing Paul staments talk about mushrooms. I only caught one but it was so cool to hear him share his stories and experiences with us.

•

🍽️💦the dishcoteque

The waste at this festival was pretty much non existent. It always makes me sad how people can leave a place so destroyed and covered in trash. I had to pick up no trash from the ground and all the volunteers who were picking up trash barely had anything in their buckets. When you got food at any vendor here you received an actual dish, bowl, silverware or cup. When you were done you'd bring it to the "dishcoteque" and recieve a voucher for your next one. No plastic at all barely any paper products besides some paper straws .. the bathrooms also did not have toilet paper in them.. you had to get it from the outside and bring it with you so they were not overflowing with paper and and overuse of products.

•

✨🎨✨ the art & the stages

There was so much phenomenal art. I was blown away by the murals everywhere and the art gallery was bursting with talent and creative energy.

The bars and booths were all made from the materials surrounding them. Everything was made from the earth. The Sol stage was surrounded by a beautiful design with a big screen in the back that had really awesome visuals on it

The lapa stage was filled with house n deep techno vibes all day and night. It felt like something out of an epic movie in there with all the mist and the lights. The entrance to the beach was right there too. It was a great place to go to just dance and chill out. And finally... The Luna stage. W o w. The most incredible stage I've EVER seen in my life and I've seen quite a few cool stage setups. It was a huge tower of Earth and wood and vines and beauty. There was a portal where people danced behind. The lighting was a1 from the lasers to the mapping on the funktions. It was truly other worldly there. I will be riding the high of that stage for a long time. There was water refill stations in all the right spots which made staying hydrated in the jungle heat so easy.

•

🌮🍓🍦🥑🥙 the food

It's usually hard for me to eat at festivals lately because I don't eat meat anymore. Chicken fingers was always a go to for me but I've sadly become very picky. Everyone was pretty accommodating to my needs ( I wish I thought about asking for no cilantro before the last day 😞 I hate that shit )and everything was so nourishing and healthy. I have not been eating well lately and I feel so nice and full after all the smoothies and juicy goodness I ingested over the weekend.

•

🕷️ the huge tarantula like spider that happened to wander through the crowd of people dancing with the bass vibrating the floor and onto our blanket. It was SO BIG how did you even make it through the crowd?! Stealthy dude. That was wild.

•

☕🍵The tea party!

I went to the bathroom and I came across a tiny but huge tea party. Everyone had tea cups along a very small rectangle table/stool and they were singing jungle tea time jungle tea time and cheersing to life it was so cute

•

🎭🤸‍♀️🔥💃 the performers...

Wow. I haven't seen performances like that ever. Every collective blew my mind they all had a vibe of their own and absolutely slayed it on stage. Serious inspiration

•

🎶🔊 the music

Every set was so good. Nothing was like oh that was cool .. everything i was was so we'll put together and everyone definitely out out jungle vibes.

•

I'll just put this first in case you don't want to read all the way cause this was my flavorite part 💓

👽 Tipper 👽

This was my 30th show.. in the jungle...and the Luna stage couldn't have been any better. He played so many fat unreleased tracks and vips I have never heard before. Serious deep jungle vibes. I can honestly say that was my flave set I've seen by him so far. There were no visuals but I was so okay with that. the lights were so on point and the performers were so freaking good and well paired with what he was putting out. I am sooooo freaking thankful for that experience and to have had it with all my tipper family. This community has Brought me all over the country and now out of the US. I am constantly overstimulated and it's just getting more intense as I get older so traveling can be difficult for me. The high energy if the airport is a lot for me. Music festivals are even a lot for me but I eventually get comfortable..I just love the epic moments of euphoria through music and these experiences that I'll push myself through the rest of it. The way tippers music makes me feel is so worth trooping through a sea of energies to get to that moment. It's truly beautiful for me and I know others feel the same. Blessed to be alive for the making of tipper music

•

Thursday

✨ the first real full set of music we saw was jpod.. someone ive never listened to and I'm so glad I know about him now. It was so fun I found all my friends and it was the perfect way to kick off the weekend.

✨Naughty princess was someone I didn't know as well and she threwwwww down a dirty heavy dubstep set. It was proper as fuck and she looked like a boss in the dj booth.

✨Honerable mention to Govinda and an-ten-ae

✨🔮Clozees first set on Friday night was so surreal. Seeing her live is a true experience. It got so heavy and blissful it was by far my flavorite set I've seen from her. She's so humble and cute and beyond excited to be doing this for us. When she plays she emmits such a powerful feminine vibe. The high that gave me was super intense.

✨ Honerable mention to

Stylust beats with the filthy dubstep set

Nico luminous

And attya to close was super smooth

•

Saturday

✨ The funk hunters played two sets. The but their Saturday night set on the Luna stage was so fire. They're so fun and energetic

✨ Random rab was so beautiful. Probably the most beautiful performance I've seen by him yet. His voice is absolutely amazing.

✨LAZY SYRUP ORCHESTRA...... If you don't know them please go listen to their sets on SoundCloud. The sun had risen and the people were vibin.. 6am set - ???? It was so freaking good ahhhh words can't even decribes

They're all so talented I want to return to that moment forever.

Going to the beach and jumping in the ocean after that was so freaking cooooooool.

✨Honerable mention to symbolico for throwing down two dope sets & moontricks on the Sol stage

•

Sunday

✨ Drrtywulvs ... Wowza. That was so fun and uplifting.. all the booty shaking..I love his music and all the noises. It always makes my body move in the weirdest of ways.

✨SUPERTASK..he's one of my flavorite artists ever and he threw downnnnnnnnn such a dope set in the jungle.

✨ SOOHAN was everything I wanted. His music makes me dance in all the best ways

✨🌄 Clozees played a sunrise set @ 545 and it was beautiful. She was very downtempo and played a lot of slower vibe songs.. it was perfect and blissful.

✨ and finally emancipator. They are forever one of my flavorites. They played at 7 am and closed out the Luna stage with the most magical morning vibes. I feel like they played a lot of new music and it was a perfect way to bring down the high energy from the night

✨Honerable mention to dirtwire on the Sol stage who pulled me out of my funk bc of the rain I love their music so much and Seeing them live is a huge treat.

If you've made it this far thanks for reading! Envision is my new flavorite place and I am already counting down the days until I can go back. ✨🥥

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wannawritefast · 7 years

Text

The Queen Pt. 5

Pt. 4

The people behind the row of security guards went ballistic when T’Challa and I came into their vantage point.

The camera shutters were flickering so fast it sounded like rain. The paparazzi fired questions so rapidly that it was a roar of seemingly foreign languages (some of which probably were. This was an international event after all). The flashes strobed in my face with such a degree of speed that it looked like daytime.

Together we made our way down the red carpet, stopping occasionally for pictures. The uproarious sound of thousands of inquiries was just enough to be overstimulating yet T’Challa and I looked serenely at the wall of camera flashes. My eyes slowly swept over the mass of chaos to once in a while meet the lens of a lucky photographer’s camera. But where he was most likely calm and cool and collected both inwardly and outwardly, I was not. My heart still beat heavily at what he had said not a few minutes ago.

He was “not acting” … What did he mean by that? Were the implications that we were friends? More than friends? The thoughts made my head spin but my façade remained stone-like.

I looked to T'Challa in my peripheral vision and saw that he was looking at me with a strange expression I had not experienced before. Chancing a glance at him, I turned my head and met his beautiful dark eyes with a smile. He smiled back and my heart fluttered a bit. The chaotic chatters of the camera lenses only increased exponentially.

Picking up the skirt of my gorgeous dress he escorted us down the carpet and we made our way to the camera crew awaiting us. The paparazzi somewhat refocused their frantic attention onto the people arriving after us.

The lights from the camera sets shone unforgivingly on the trial-like platform. T’Challa and I made it to the first news crew and I looked to him nervously for some sort of support. He moved his hand from the small of my back and wrapped his arm around my waist. He gave me a reassuring look as we came into the camera frame. The modelesque woman turned to us with a smile plastered on her made up face.

“…and here they are! The hottest and most shocking couple of the night. I am here with King T’Challa of Wakanda and the Ithemban Princess Y/n. So, you two, tonight has been your first public outing together. Would you care to comment as to why you haven’t been more public sooner?”

A boom mic hovered precariously above the two of us. T’Challa was the first to answer. “Well, I’m sure you’ll agree that with more pressing issues at hand, our relationship being publicized wasn’t really at the forefront of importance in our eyes. We put safety of our people before publicity. I’m sure that’s understandable.”

The lady looked momentarily taken aback but she hid it quickly as she presented another question. The black eye of the camera seemed to sear into my very soul.

“Yes, yes. This year has been quite taxing on the both of you. My condolences to you two-” I was about to respond to that but she merely continued, “But enough of the tragic news! Let’s hear about you two! How long have you been dating?”

I don’t know what came over me but I suddenly became angry with the woman before me. Here we are, not 24 hours after a bombing of a maternal hospital in my home country, and she wants to know about my dating life.

My mind flashed back to my first public outing with my parents. I was an important little girl in an important little dress with a lot of significance around much bigger people than me. Both figuratively and literally. It was a fundraiser event. She fixed the microscopic imperfections in my doll-like hair that had been brushed into submission. “You must be a portrait for the media”, my mother had said to my small self, “The outside world must never see your inward struggles. That’s why we are elevated so high. Because this world needs distractions. And pretty ones at that. So, my dear, stand tall, be a statue, and look pretty.”

I chuckled humorlessly before responding while remembering my mother’s words. As much as I want to tell this woman off, I have a certain sense of diplomacy to maintain.

“T’Challa and I, as of next month, will have been dating for a year and a half.” I put my hand on his strong chest and looked up at him endearingly to prove my point. His eyes sparkled down at mine genuinely. I almost forgot I was acting. Almost. “We have been and will not cease to be there for each other through the ups and downs. This past year has been full of downs.” T’Challa’s fingers ran up and down my back slowly, soothingly.

“With the untimely and incredibly tolling death of his father and the continual attacks on my country, it is enough to sadden and drain anyone both physically and emotionally, especially ourselves. We have such a heavy weight of responsibility on our shoulders and I believe that’s what allowed us to, for lack of a better term, click. I feel so fortunate to have someone like him supporting me and by my side. I never could have asked for a better best friend.”

I leaned into him for support subconsciously and he did something I would not have expected him to do so soon. Slowly he leaned down and kissed my temple.

It was only the side of my forehead. But it was so intimate and I don’t why it turned my mind to mush. Or why my heart was so contented and excited at the same time. Or why my stomach did little somersaults. But I did know this… T’Challa was someone that I felt comfortable with. The fact that it had happened so quickly meant something but almost nothing simultaneously. And I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

I momentarily forgot my surroundings and was about to gauge T’Challa’s reaction but the newscaster pulled me back into the busy event surrounding us. With a perfect laugh the woman began, “Well, it looks like we’ve kept you lovebirds long enough. Go enjoy yourselves tonight, your majesties.” She beamed at us as we thanked her and continued down the path of cameras.

After a few dozen interviews with the same questions and same answers T’Challa and I finally made it inside the venue. Oddly enough, the side of my forehead still burned pleasantly from the kiss he had planted on it earlier.

“That wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be,” I remarked optimistically as it was only the two of us, temporarily at least. We had finally finished our last interview and were now ascending the stairs leading to the entrance.

He snorted lightly and looked to me with happiness in his beautiful dark eyes. “The paparazzi looked wild enough to hurdle the fence and attack us with their incessant questions and picture-taking.”

It was my turn to giggle. He joined me and I swear it was one of the most uplifting things I had ever heard. Not even music sounded better. And that was truth to me.

We made it to the entrance of the elegantly decorated room filled with the wealthy and/or famous people of the world.

With a shared deep breath, the two of us prepared to socialize with the important people gathered in the room.

We met with politicians, royals, noble people, and wealthy people alike. The pair of us, led by T’Challa, circulated the room and greeted those familiar and unfamiliar to us. Just as we had finished talking with the last couple, (hopefully it was the last… the faces of the people I had conversed with seemed to blend together) another voice piped up from behind me.

“Princess Y/n, might I just say, you look ravishing tonight.” I knew that voice. From television, anyways, but I recognized it nonetheless.

I turned around and it was none other than Iron Man himself. Tony Stark. He stood before me wearing a classic black suit with a white dress shirt. It looked like a normal ensemble except for the red and gold kerchief in his suit pocket that matched his infamous super suit. He wore a cocky smile on his face that reached his eyes.

“Mr. Stark, you are too kind.” I reached my hand out to shake his. “I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you before.”

He brought my knuckles to his lips and kissed them. He gently dropped my hand and flashed a billion-dollar smile at me. It looks like he is quite the charmer. “Believe me, your highness. The pleasure is all mine. And, please, call me Tony. Mr. Stark sounds like when I’m in a business meeting or in trouble.”

“Are you in trouble often?” I inquired. I would be lying to myself if I said I wasn’t slightly intrigued by his boldness.

“Only when there’s money and pretty girls involved. And believe me, I feel like a kid in a candy shop right now.” A statuesque woman walked by us and he shamelessly ran his eyes up and down her body.

A waiter with a tray of champagne walked near us and offered us the glasses. Each of us grabbed two. I nudged T’Challa lightly and handed him one of the glasses of the golden drink. He turned to join the two of us after excusing himself from the previous conversation. His open hand found its way back to my waist and I found I was beginning to like the gesture.

“How are you doing, my love,” he asked softly. My heart fluttered giddily. This man was going all in. If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought that he loved me. That notion brought my heart back down to earth.

“I’m doing wonderfully, dear,” I responded sweetly, “I was just conversing with Mr. Stark-”

“Tony.” Mr. Stark corrected immediately.

“Tony,” I corrected. “Tony, this is my boyfriend, T’Challa.” The word tasted weird as I spoke it… a good weird… boyfriend…That is until I noticed they exchanged a strange look. “I take it you know each other?” I asked neither of the two in particular.

“Of course, dearest,” T’Challa answered. “Tony and I have discussed vibranium and its…various…properties and uses in the somewhat recent past.”

“I see,” I remarked. Vibranium was quite the topic. I found myself curious to know more about it. “What makes it so special? I have only heard it mentioned briefly in the past. It seems interesting.”

The two gaped at each other and me for some odd reason. They almost looked as if they were scrambling for an answer?

“Energy source-”

“Strong metal-”

They answered at the same time. I raised an eyebrow at their bizarre behavior. They switched their answers at the same time once again.

“What he means to say, princess,” Tony interjected, “Is that vibranium is so versatile that it can be used as a phenomenal harness for energy and is also a strong metal. I do believe it is still the strongest in the world.”

“Wow,” I remarked in wonder. This element seems so incredible. So that’s why they were having so much trouble answering. “That is so interesting. How can it be both a metal and an energy source at the same time?”

“Oh, your highness, I’d hate to bore you with the science of it. It’s a lot of physics and chemistry and thermodynamics. Not that interesting of a topic if you ask me. Even I get mixed up with trying to keep it all straight.”

“I see,” I responded with a head nod. I raised my glass to the both of them. “To science’s magnificent discoveries and boring conversational pieces,” I toasted light-heartedly. They raised their glasses of champagne. Where T’Challa and I sipped ours, Tony easily gulped down the two glasses he had grabbed.

“I have to say your majesties. Your relationship is quite interesting. It’s strange it has never arisen before, don’t you think,” Tony scoured the room for another waiter with champagne.

Uh-oh… My eyes shot to T’Challa. He calmly took another sip from his glass.

“It is strange, Tony. I’m going to have to agree with you.” T’Challa countered easily. Tony side-glanced T’Challa as he flagged down a waiter. Slightly relieved, I slowly brought my lips to the champagne glass.

“So, big guy,” Tony grabbed two more glasses from the tray and downed them instantly. He patted T’Challa on his shoulder and kept his hand there. He squeezed T’Challa’s arm, experimentally feeling his muscle. “You’ve been working out, huh?”

T’Challa not-so-gently swatted his hand away. “Ouch, geez. Anyways, what I meant to ask was when King T’-needs-to-Chill over here is going to pop the big question.”

I inhaled sharply at the forwardness of Mr. Stark. With the champagne glass still held in my mouth I began to cough as my beverage met the back of my throat. Loudly and disruptively. T’Challa turned to me with concern on his handsome features. Even worried he looked attractive. Is this man even real? I tried to muffle my coughing but only made it worse. He patted me gently on the back with the intentions of helping. Needless to say, it did not.

When I had finally stopped coughing, just about everybody in the room had their eyes on me. Heat crawled from my lower back and came up to sting my nose.

“My sincere apologies, everyone. Please, continue,” I announced with a sheepish expression. Slowly everybody turned back to their previous interactions. The buzz of conversation quickly filled the beautifully decorated room again.

“Y/n, are you alright,” T’Challa asked quietly. He grabbed the glass out of my hand as I pressed the sides of my fingers to my waterline at an attempt to salvage my well-done eye makeup. He just said my first name without “princess” attached to it. Something about the way he said my name made it sound like it was important for once. And a genuine importance. Not a doll to be poked at. Not a scolding, like how my mother says it. Not in disappointment or exasperation, like my father makes it sound. Not even an object, like how the media addresses me. Just Y/n… And frankly I liked it.

“I’m alright, T’Challa. Thank you, dearest,” I answered with a small smile. He responded with a smile of his own.

Tony not-so-subtly cleared his throat. “Well, I have some trouble to get into, Princess. Have fun for the rest of the night.” He chugged the other two glasses of champagne he had grabbed and took his leave. T’Challa’s and my eyes followed Tony as he left.

Eyes still following him I commented, “Mr. Stark is …”

“Eccentric,” T’Challa offered. I hadn’t realized he was looking at me until I answered.

“I was going to say unorthodox,” I suggested. “Extraordinarily confident?”

He and I fell into a small bout of laughter as we made our way to our designated table. The music slowly died down.

Dinner was served in a timely manner. The food was delicious and the conversations held at the table were just as satiable. I enjoyed being in the company of other people who consistently, if not all the time, lost their privacy to fame whether willingly or unwillingly. I, myself, was not a severe case of falling victim to the wondrous world of wealth and power but I found that I could relate more to the people around me. Especially without my mother hounding every word that I spoke.

The table erupted in laughter after a duke told a story of a recent hunting trip in which a literal goose chase had turned the hunters into the hunted. The charismatic telling of a goose gaggle following the hunters home lightened the air of the table. T’Challa’s deep laugh made my heart flutter in a joyous fashion for, seemingly, the millionth time tonight.

The now slightly inebriated duke directed his attention towards the “couple of the night.” T’Challa and I.

He hiccupped suddenly, much to the table’s amusement, before beginning his attack. “Princess Y/n, you have grown to be quite the young lady.”

The table hummed in agreement.

“Thank you. I must say however, etiquette lessons did not treat me kindly,” I joked. Chuckles resounded from various other nobles who knew exactly what I was speaking of.

The duke laughed exaggeratedly as he wordlessly demanded more wine from the waiter tending to our table. “Oh, let’s be real here. Etiquette lessons are a war zone. But enough about sitting up straight! T’Challa’s got quite the catch here. Don’t you think so, T’Challa?” He leaned a bit to the right from his state of drunkenness.

Without hesitation, my date answered back, “Indeed, sir. I’m not so sure how I found someone so perfect.”

The table cooed in adoration. I blushed furiously when suddenly a wave of boldness swept over me.

“You’re not too bad yourself, mister,” I commented back. He scoffed, feigning offense.

“I call you ‘perfect’ and all I am is ‘not too bad’?” His richly accented voice inquired.

“Whoops,” I confessed in a light-hearted manner. He rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

“I take it back then,” he pouted.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” I scolded. He crossed his arms playfully. The rest of the table buzzed with laughter at the grown man next to me pretending to throw a fit. Without thinking, I kissed his cheek. Slightly out of payback for kissing my temple earlier.

His head turned to look at me quickly in shock. Then it hit me. I kissed him. I kissed him. I kissed him of my own accord. Not only for the first time but also in a public setting. Oh… my mother will have my head.

I smiled sheepishly as he sat up once again, eye contact still maintained. He looked away and smiled at the tablecloth before him.

“You guys are so cute,” the duke yelled at us. It seemed like his intoxicated state had only increased. “It’s disgusting!”

The table merely laughed again as the duke went on a tangent about how he had broken a limb when trying to impress a girl in his early teen years. I did my best to try to listen but I could not take my mind off of how T’Challa had smiled when I kissed his cheek.

The rest of the night had passed semi-uneventfully. T’Challa and I took stolen glances at each other every chance we could get. When it was finally time to leave, I found that I did not want to. I’d had such a wonderful time with him that, honestly, I did not want it to end.

We left the building and, after many declined invites to after parties, made it back to the airport where the private jet was awaiting us. We sat together on the flight back and were unable to stop talking about the many of the unique people we had encountered this evening. It seemed like in no time at all we had arrived back to his palace.

After executively deciding to stay up and enjoy one another’s company, we changed into sleep attire and met in the living room. Although my mother would have thrown a hissy fit at my “unladylike” behavior, I concluded that what she didn’t know would not kill her.

A soft warm lift shone from the ceiling. The window that was cracked open let in a cool breeze and the songs of the nocturnal jungle wildlife. It was peaceful.

“Ok, what is your favorite color,” I asked, sitting cross-legged on the plush living room carpet. The Wakandan king took a seat on the floor in front of me and handed me a mug of hot tea, which I took gladly. He matched my posture as he contemplated his answer.

“That is not an easy question,” he scratched his nose with a laugh, “I’m going to have to say green.”

“Why,” I inquired curiously.

“No, no,” he chided lightly, “It is my turn to ask a question.”

“But I would like to know why,” I complained.

“Then I guess you know what your next question is,” he sassed.

My jaw dropped. “Your majesty,” I scolded mockingly.

“Yes, your highness,” he responded teasingly. He took a sip of his tea.

“You lack chivalry so quickly,” I denounced.

“I never lack chivalry,” he countered.

“You do on this occasion,” I pouted as I looked away from him dramatically, mimicking him from earlier. He chuckled at my reference to his previous faux-tantrum.

“Oh! Don’t be like that,” he scooted forward in reconciliation and tried to regain eye contact.

“I will be like I want to be, your graciousness,” I jeered still not meeting his eyes. A smirk still danced on my face as I turned my head away from his attempts to look me in the eyes again.

“You wound me, your worship,” he jested. Laughter bubbled up from my throat and I closed my eyes and looked straight ahead.

“Good.” I peaked an eye open.

He clutched his chest as if he had been hit shot.

“Utterly merciless,” he groaned as he fell backwards.

“You are so dramatic,” I quipped as I drank some of my tea.

He looked up from his positioning on the floor. The true casualness and intimacy of the immediate situation hit me in full force. I laughed at it suddenly.

T’Challa looked at me quizzically.

“I’m laughing because if my mother saw how I am behaving presently, I would get the scolding of a life time.” I took a gulp of the tea again. He sat up and was closer than I remember. “She is very cold.”

“Ah, yes. Yesterday was very interesting.” He commented quietly on when my mother had berated me in front of the king before we met with him. “What did you do to make her so angry? If you do not mind me asking.”

“On top of bumping into her as he journeyed from the front door to the throne room, I made us late because-” I stopped myself suddenly. If I had continued with the truth, he would find out just how nervous I was to meet with him. It would be immensely awkward.

“Because why,” he pushed, crawling a bit closer.

“Oh, no big deal,” I brushed aside, inspecting the bottom of my mug. “Just some personal stuff.”

“That is a big deal.” Dear lord, my heart can’t take this man’s kindness and perfection much longer. “You are important to me.”

“Please,” I scoffed harshly, “I am betrothed to you. It’s not like you or I had much of a say in the whole thing. Why would I even matter to you?” What have I just said?

“You matter to me,” T’Challa tucked his fingers under my chin and turned my head to look at him. Our noses were almost touching. I became very very aware of my heart beating in my chest. “Whether I had a say in this should matter not. You are my betrothed and I care for you. We are going to spend the rest of our lives together, like it or not. The way I see it, we can either be happy or miserable. I’d rather be the former.”

With no other words he stood, grabbed my empty mug, and silently bade me good night.

The lights turned off as I walked to my bedroom. I rubbed the back of my neck, stressed. As I lay in the cool bed, my mind raced at my stupidity.

You idiot. What have you done?, I thought.

That man just poured out his heart to me and I had practically said that I don’t care about him.

What have I done?

#black panther #black panther x reader #T'Challa #t'challa x reader #marvel fanfic #marvel imagine #marvel

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