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weministertomonsters · 2 years

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Orc (Oak) x human female reader - Part 3

You come to slowly. Something is being pressed against your lips. Cold metal. A spoon?

"So when is she going to wake up?" A voice says.

Everything sounds far away and distorted like you're underwater.

"Soon, my child. The forces were beyond his control. You cannot blame the man. Calm yourself, she will wake."

"I can't calm down, Nana. I warned him that something like this would happen. How dare he?"

The dull ringing in your ears fades away, and now you realize it's Oak speaking. Your eyelids feel like they're been sown shut. You groan, trying to open them.

"Easy, girl," a soft female voice croaks against your ear, and crooked fingers caress your hair. "Take your time."

"Oak?" You whisper, finding your voice is another thing that refuses to work as it should.

"I'm here," he says, and you can sense him drawing closer and feel his body heat against you as the bed dips. "Shhh, go back to sleep. Nana says you need to rest more."

"Your grandmother?" You guess in a mumble, rolling your stiff body towards him and reveling in the warmth his body provides.

He affirms your question but his voice slips away as you go back under. You sleep in a golden space, floating in a sky of dreams of everything and nothing. At one point you wake up and tell yourself just how lucky you are to not be having nightmares before sleep pulls you under again.

You properly wake up sometime later and your eyes flicker open and take in the weak sunlight filtering through the curtains. You're in an unfamiliar room with a low ceiling and split log walls. You can hear the hiss of the brutal wind trying to find a way in but the room is well-insulated and fairly warm.

A rough snore startles you and you sit up and see an orcish woman asleep in a chair beside the bed, head tilted back and wrinkled lips slightly parted. She's missing a tusk and the creases around her mouth look like they are no strangers to smiling. Her iron-gray hair is braided with feathers and beads and she wears a shawl with embroidered symbols over her plain dress. She's dressed like a shaman or medicine woman. And she's Oak's grandmother. Looking at her face, you can see the resemblance.

You ease out of the bed, testing your legs. They're shaky but hold your weight. You slip into the fur boots you find beside the bed. They fit like a glove. Now that you're out of bed, you're starting to feel the cold so you wrap the blanket around your shoulders and tiptoe from the room. The bedroom is joined to a small living room, with chairs that look comically big to you. The room is minimally furnished but looks well-lived in. You find Oak in the kitchen, deftly crimping the edges of a pie he's about to fill with preserved fruit.

"You know how to make pies?" You blurt out and feel foolish as he spins around. "I mean, good morning."

"You're awake!" He covers the distance in two big strides and engulfs you in a hug that takes you clear off your feet. You feel protected in his arms and it isn't the first time you've been reminded of just how small you are.

"What happened?" You ask, your voice muffled against his shoulder. "I hit my head falling down the stairs... before that... I don't remember."

"George got to you. I really should have seen it coming. I knew he had changed but I had no idea you were staying at that house. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you."

"Wait," you say, gently pushing on his shoulders. "Slow down. I'm starting to remember. So George is a vampire? Since when?"

"Ever since he fell off his horse. A vampire attacked him in the woods the day before the race. Fool he was, he didn't think much of it and participated the next day. The change caught him at the wrong time and he went mad from bloodlust and the sunlight. He's been in hiding ever since. He's terrified the town will want him staked and burnt at sunrise."

"How do you find out?"

"He's one of the few people I'm on good terms with. He came to me and begged me to get my Nana to have a look at him. He was in denial. She gave him something to help him with his bloodlust but it seems he thought starving himself would prove to be a cure. I tried to warn him not to when I saw him last, but he wouldn't listen to anything I had to say. God, I should've known."

"Stop blaming yourself," you say.

Your stomach rumbles loudly and you flush with embarrassment.

"You need to eat." Oak sets you down gently on your feet. "I'm making pies for Nana to take back to the village. Do you like apple pie?"

"I think I would like anything you make," you reply, taking a seat at the kitchen table. "Oak, my feet aren't even touching the floor. Everything in your house is huge!"

"I made most of it myself," Oak laughs. "And bought the rest from the nearest Orcish town, where they make furniture for our kind."

"I've never been to an Orc town," you murmur.

"I can take you some time. If you'd like that," Oak says, setting a bowl of porridge down in front of you, and a slice of pie beside that.

"Thank you, I'd love to go," you smile.

You take a bite of the porridge and your eyes widen. "Is there cinnamon sugar in this?"

"There is, yes. Orcs like their food flavorful," he replies. "I hope it's okay."

"Oh, it's perfect! My mother used to make it like this. I love it." You eat eagerly, hardly aware of how he watches you.

The apple pie is just as good, and you almost melt into the chair at the taste of the warm, tart fruit and buttery crust.

"You really can bake," you say when you've finished all the food.

"My Nana taught me," Oak says, his chest puffing with pride.

"Someone mentioned my name?" A croaky voice calls out as the old orc lady hobbles into the room.

She spots you and smiles widely. "Ah, Oak's wife, you're awake!"

Heat rushes through you and you look at Oak and raise your eyebrows. The large orc looks mortified, squirming in his seat.

"Nana!" He hisses. "I already told you, we're not married."

"No? But you are getting to it, yes?" She asks innocently, her eyes gleaming like she knows exactly what she's doing.

"Yeah, Oak," you can't help but join in on the teasing. "When are you going to propose to me?"

Nana gasps. "You mean he hasn't? Deary me, and he talks about you all the time too!"

Now it's no longer funny. Your face is hot and despite yourself, you can't help but glance at him. He's fiddling with one of his braids. He meets your eyes for a moment, then clears his throat and stands.

"I'm going to get more wood," he says gruffly, tromping out through the back door.

The silence after he leaves is as loud as the wind outside.

"Someone had to push him," Nana reasons, sounding like she's talking to herself.

"I do like your grandson, Nana, but you shouldn't be forced his hand," you say. "No matter how much I like him, I want him to be happy no matter what he chooses to do."

"I know for sure that he likes you a lot, dear child. I have never seen him like that with anyone. He just doesn't know how to go about with this love."

You smile at her because you know exactly what she's talking about. You struggle with expressing it too. It's hard to know how to act when you aren't sure how someone feels about you. She smiles back, then nods to the rest of the half-finished pies on the table.

"Do you wish to help? A little movement will do you good," she says. "I don't expect my grandson to be back anytime soon."

Together, you finish the pies.

* * *

You're waking up disoriented again with a thudding pain in your skull, a telltale sign that you've been hit in the head with something. Your eyes flicker open but you can't see. That is always a bad sign.

"Oak?" You call out, disoriented.

"Cha!" Someone says and a horse neighs in response, and suddenly you're moving even faster.

You're in a cart or wagon, it seems. And you have a chicken feed sack on your head. You can tell because of the smell of old corn. You try to reach up and remove it but your hands are bound behind your back. Your legs are tied at the ankles tightly enough that your feet are going cold. "Oak!" You scream over the sound of the wind.

"Stop your yelling, girl. That orc isn't going to come for you any time soon," a familiar cold voice snaps.

"Mrs. Markely? What are you doing?" You gasp.

"The only thing I can do," she replies. "Believe me, Girl, I didn't want to. But he refuses anything else. Your name is the only thing he mutters when he wakes up. I had to do something."

"What's wrong with George?" You question, trying to squirm into a more comfortable position because there's no way you're going to try and jump out of the cart with a sack on your head.

For all you know, she is going around Hell's Bend, the road that follows the cliffside and leads down from the hills where Oak lives into the heart of the town. You could jump right off the cliff by mistake.

"I don't know what's wrong!" She snaps back. "He doesn't eat and he sleeps all day. At night he's like a monster. He... That day he attacked you, I followed you home because I was suspicious of his behavior. I saw you at the bottom of the stairs and him trying to bite with all these horrible teeth." Her voice shakes and she pauses, sniffing.

"And then your Orc comes barging into my house and tears George away and they start fighting. It was awful. I don't know what was worse, the orc punching like he wanted to kill my George or the way George kept coming at him. He got up, over and over. I think he's the Devil!"

"Then why are you taking me to him, Mrs. Markely? You should be calling a priest."

"You know what the church will do with him. They can't help him but maybe you can. He wants you. Maybe when he has you he'll go back to the darling boy I used to know," she murmurs. "This has to work, it just has to."

"Oak will come looking for me," you reason. "He'll get here in time to stop you and George."

"I spent a week planning this! I've sent him on a wild goose chase halfway to the next county. By the time the realization dawns in his green skull, my George will come back to me."

"At what cost? Do you know what will happen to me? I'll end up dead," you argue. "Mrs. Markely, George is a vampire now. Maybe something even worse. You can't just reverse that," you sigh. "I'm sorry about what happened but this isn't going to make it right."

"It must," she insists feverishly, cracking her whip so that the horse speeds up.

The wheels grind against the uneven road and you're afraid a wheel is going to break. You strain your fingers to reach the rope at your wrists, plucking at the thick knot to try and loosen it. You have to at least be able to see. The very tip of a branch lashes at your face and you duck instinctively.

"What are you doing?!" You cry.

"It's a shortcut, I have to get there before he kills the girl-"

"What girl? Don't tell me it's Ann!" "I did what I had to!" Mrs. Markely shouts back. "Ann is indispensable. Now shut up and let me concentrate-"

Mrs. Markely screams something garbled and the cart comes to an abrupt halt. The knot finally loosens and you yank the rope from your tender wrists and ankles and pull the sack off your head to see what's happening. You almost want to put it back on when you see what Mrs. Markely is looking at.

"Oh George," she moans, "what have you done?"

George is standing a few feet away, in a shaft of moonlight coming through the trees. He's holding a girl with tangled air and dirty cheeks. Her arms are covered in gruesome bitemarks that are bleeding sluggishly. It looks like he gnawed at her skin like a chew toy, unsatisfied with the taste. You gasp.

"Ann!"

"Oh, god," Mrs. Markely sobs as the realization starts to hit her. "George..."

"Do not call me by that name," the creature says. "George is gone."

"Drop the girl!" You call out, not expecting him to do just that.

Mrs. Markely perks up as she remembers you. "I brought the girl, George. Just like you wanted. Come back to your senses, my boy." The creature scoffs. As the leaves of the tree shift overhead, you catch a glimpse of a protruding jaw and cruel, slimy teeth. Red eyes glow from dark hollows. From the screech Mrs. Markely lets out, she has seen it too. If not for the clothes, no one would be able to tell that it's the same person. The creature is right. George is gone.

"Leave the girl alone," you call out. "She's dying." "Her life is inconsequential to me," the creature says. "But you, I want you."

Mrs. Markely shoves you forward and you nearly fall. The whites of her eyes gleam in the dark. She's no longer sorrowful but afraid.

"Take her, devil. Take her and promise you'll spare me." You sigh but remain where you are. You have to save Ann, even if it costs you your safety. You can picture her mother, frantically searching for her. Ann is her only child.

The creature grins, all sharp teeth, and an oversized mouth. "No promises. Run, human."

Mrs. Markely bolts for the cart, but at least she scoops Ann up along the way, sobbing tears of remorse. She bundles Ann into the back and clambers in herself and leaves without a backward glance, the wagon careening around the bend of trees. The wind blows, giving your skin icy kisses. You're not wearing enough to keep yourself warm. You lift your chin and ask as bravely as you can,

"What do you want?"

"You, my dear," the creature says, and you shudder at how warm his sounds.

Too friendly, too calm.

Leaves crunch underfoot as he shuffles closer. His chin is crusted with dried blood. Most of his hair has been torn out, leaving his scalp in pitiful condition. He looks like a dead thing. His eyes simmer like two red moons, pinning you in place.

You can't breathe, can't speak, and can't look away.

He has grown taller since the last time you saw him, head and shoulders above you, thin and muscular, soft and hard, contradictions everywhere on his body. He leans down and the sound of his voice, rolling in on itself like a giant purring cat, washes around you. All you can do is stand there, as his tongue unfurls and swipes across your face like a wet towel. You feel like you're falling and yet again, there is no one to catch you. * * *

Hello. It's me with my army of cliffhangers in tow. It's funny how I thought I had gotten bored of this story but I finally forced myself to write this part and ended up enjoying writing it, and then got inspired with ideas to flesh this story out EVEN more. Now I'm debating on whether I should do it, because I have other ideas knocking on my door, along with old and new requests I have not written.

By the way, writing guides are the culprit of the cliffhangers. I have been told to "keep the readers hooked" so many times that I do it subconsciously. Off the cliff with you and I will give you one spindly tree root to hold and you might end up falling into the river below which is full of territorial angry merfolk. Perilous times indeed!

Have a good day or night and remember, don't try to solve your whole life. Instead, focus on adding good things to it. One at a time, just let your pile of good things grow.

That's the quote I'm now going to live by.

#monster boyfriend #monster love #monster x human #exophilia #terato #orc x reader

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maleficentmrsofallevil · 5 months

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My favorite wigs

Ankle is being a diva again (no walk, just sit), and I'm chatty.

Surprise! My favorite wigs are becoming more expensive - but there are some affordable ones, too.

Leekeworld: many available in-stock from Denver Doll Emporium (DDE). They run about $30 each, but there are a few on sale. I like them because they are soft, on the thinner side (so they lay nice and flat on the doll's head), and they are sewn to an elastic wig cap. I prefer size 7-8 for almost all of my big girls, cuz 8-9 seems a little too big for most heads (exceptions: Volks, Domuya, Supiadoll, and Little Monica. Those girls got some big noggins).

This is a particular favorite (Blend Misty 7/8):

This 60cm-1/3 size brown-black wig from AliExpress for $6.79 currently. It's thin and incredibly soft. AliExpress wigs are very touch-and-go: for the most part, they require significant alterations (thinning, bang trimming), but considering how cheap they are, I'm willing to risk it to find the occasional gem. Wefts are sewn to an elastic wig cap. Currently on Leona:

That's a silver Leekeworld wig on Doll Chateau Bella on the Y-Body-06 in size 6/7, by the way. Imomodoll Dio/Rei is wearing a size 9-10 silver wig that I'm pretty sure I got on sale from DDE.

Iplehouse: made for their dolls specifically. Wefts are sewn to an elastic wig cap. Lots of folks complain that the wigs are too thick and look fake, but I (a) don't care, and (b) love the vibrant colors. Aaliyah is wearing size 8-9 IHW_M075 in Sienna (currently $16.10 plus shipping):

Natural fibers. HOOOO boy, if I thought Leekeworld wigs were pricey, moving into the natural fiber world has been pure sticker shock. Getting one of these for $30 is a STEAL. They tend to run in the $50 and up range. Natural fiber wigs are generally made of animal hair such as alpaca or mohair (goats). A big part of the price is the - well, destink process, to put it bluntly. Goats are stinky. The fibers need to be washed and washed and washed to remove dirt (goats are dirty), stink, and funk. Then dyed, if you want a color other than white or brown. Then you gotta brush the hair and glue it into wefts. A buddy told me about the process after buying unprocessed mohair. No, thank you. I'll just pay someone else, if there's no objections.

However, because these are natural fiber wigs, you don't have the problems that come with styling synthetic (plastic) hair. Human hair dye, curling/flat/crimping irons, and hair products are all good for this kind of hair.

You DO need to worry about the integrity of these wigs. They're frequently glued to hard caps, so no water/wet-wet stuff at the roots. The hair is super fine, so no hard tugging, or you'll pull it out of the wig. But man, are they pretty, and so so soft.

Like custom dolls, outfits, or shoes, these are generally available only from independent artists. Mass-producing these would be a total PITA. And let's be real: you've got to be pretty dedicated to deal with all that goat poop. (Yes, goats have poop on their hair. FREQUENTLY.)

#dollblr #doll wigs

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gold-lightcycle · 7 months

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Alright, as a Tronblr member (Tronblee?), and someone who is OBSESSED with specifically 82' and the Encom grid, I present to you some of my OCs!

Here's my first:

Designation: User

Name: Tiffany (surbame tbd)

Username: Tiff

Pronouns: she/her

Age: 22

Occupation: ENCOM Intern, weekend shift at Flynn's Arcade

Time period in the overall story: 80's era.

Height: 5'7"

Build: Average build, Slightly above average fat to muscle mass

Hair: Heavy volume, crimped brunette hair, with bangs and some of the hair held into a high ponytail (basically almost like this: )

Eye color: dark green/brown

Light line color: -None- (If she was transported into the Encom grid: bold neon purple)

Appearance: Her appearance varies depending on what she's doing. She's into the hottest fashion from her dance-pop and rockstar heroes. At the malls, she's wearing denim jackets, poofy skirts, lace, big bows, etc. Her dance-aerobics classes are usually scheduled before her shifts at the arcade (or whenever she goes to the arcade on her free time), so she's typically grabbing high scores in an off-shoulder top/leotard/tights/legwarmers ensemble, complete with jewelry accessories.

About:

Tiffany is a local resident near Flynn's Arcade (and by extension, Encom as well). Her parents were scientists and engineers, and she took interest to it at a young age. At the same time, she was living the life of a stereotypical girl in 80's Southern California, and became obsessed with game arcades, pop and dance music, hanging out at shopping malls, and going to dance aerobics classes. She personally knew Kevin (to the point where there was casual hooking up), and she eventually took weekend shifts doing maintenance and working the front desk at the arcade. At the same time, Kevin managed to use his networking within Encom to provide Tiffany with an internship position.

She didn't see any reason as to why her passions should remain separated, and decided to work on a program that could help out shopping malls and retail centers with everything. She was able to get an Encom terminal on loan from the company, and also worked on programming whenever she stayed overnight at Flynn's. What started as a simple class project to track the amount of clothing items in a database quickly grew to retail management, music jukebox handling, and more. Kevin recommended that she should use technical corporate jargon to appease the higher-ups, so she called her new project "Retail All-In-One Logistics", or Val for short.

Personality: Tiffany is 100% an 80's valley girl at heart. She has a heavy valspeak accent, which tends to catch people off-guard when she pulls out intellectual knowledge and knocks out the stereotype of mall-girls being complete mindless airheads. She can be a bit intimidating at first (mainly because of her always-on fashion appearance), but she always treats new friends and acquaintances like they're already a part of her inner circle and family. She can be easily distracted, and anyone with a bad attitude can immediately land them on Tiffany's bad side (complete with a bitchy stare that can pierce through anyone).

Can others draw this OC?: **YES** I WOULD BE HONORED! For NSFW art, let me know first but most likely **yes** on that too lol.

#tron #tronblr #tron 1982 #tron1982 #tron fanart #tron oc #tiffany #flynns arcade #oc

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aclaywrites · 6 months

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Oh Lordy this is a saga. For a super duper long time I didn’t care and just wore whatever. Jeans and t-shirts , it was the 70s and early 80s. I remember a pair jeans I had with rainbows on the back pockets, and a long sleeved ocean pacific shirt that everyone made fun of because they said it was a knockoff and not a real OP but it totally was. I had long hair that I didn’t cut and didn’t even pull back and it just hung around my face like Carrie. In 8th grade I got totally into wearing headbands and had 4 or 5 including one that was puffy and red like a ring of Saturn around my forehead. I can only assume this is the costume of a girl who isn’t interested in getting boys to like her, though it wasn’t that conscious in my mind just yet.

The last time I switched schools was 1985, just before my junior year. That’s also the summer I met Jessie and saw the Hunger, so it was time for a change. We went goth/punk 1980s Oklahoma style. I remember three wardrobe standouts: a pair of ballet flats with hieroglyphs on them, a black sweatshirt I cut the collar off, flash dance style and would wear over everything, and a tight, short skirt that was one continuous print of that 50s photo of people watching a 3D movie. I wore that until all the elastic went out and I couldn’t keep it on my ass any more 😂

Jessie and I split up when i went to college. I stopped dying and crimping my hair and let it grow out long again over the course of some years. I stopped trying to hard to be alternative looking, but I still liked black clothes, lots of ruffles and layers. Legit I had a black velvet cloak I wore when it was cold. I had a barrette shaped like a bat and used it to pull my hair back, on the days I didn’t braid it and pin it up Masterpiece Theater style. Dress like this and go sit in a tree and read Jane Eyre with zero irony. WHY DONT LESBIANS WANT TO DATE ME?!! 🤣🤣🤣

When I started teaching in the early 90s I had to go to the (thrift) store and buy adult looking clothes. Lots of jumpers (American meaning) and cardigans. This evolved into dresses and cardigans, I liked short waists, big skirts, no buttons, and a pair of Birkenstock Mary Jane’s which I still own. My off work style was kind of similar. Dresses and skirts and cardigans. I started wearing more colors, but it was still boho chic. Linen, velvet, the occasional Indian find with mirrors embroidered onto it. I cut my hair into the curly bob I wore for the next 20something years and continued to have very few dates.

After my kid was born and I was a stay at home mom, I let my hair grow again and plan to keep it long. It’s easiest for me, and I like the way it looks. I still prefer dresses and skirts, natural fabrics. I still only shop at thrift stores, and am interested only in pleasing myself, so I love to find odd pieces. I started wearing scarves around 2007 and now they’re a part of my look to an almost ridiculous degree (my kid was teasing me about thrift shopping the other day and said ‘yeah you gotta go to every one! What if you miss a scarf!) but I don’t care because they’re gorgeous and warm and dress up an outfit and frame my face while hiding my old-lady wattle 😂

One of the moms on car duty the other day was dropping off her daughter and gave me a long appraising look, then said critically “What does your husband have to say about the way you dress?” I was so shocked all I could say is “Mr Frizzle loves it.”

#lesbian queries #lesbian query of the day #lesbian #lesbian history #lesbian fashion #80s fashion #gay shit #herstory #lesbian art #high femme #magic school bus

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barbiewds · 1 month

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B Unexpected

Sometimes, it’s good to stand out and do the opposite of what people might expect. Like using marble for the four walls, floor and ceiling of a room. Or wearing big, crimped-out hair on national television. But the reason why going against the grain has always worked for me is because I always trust my gut, even if it might not be what other people think I should do. The one rule? You just have to own it. So don’t be afraid to let your individuality shine and do something that might turn a few heads every so often. It’s fun!

- Kelly Wearstler http://kellywearstler.com/@kellywearstler

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dankusner · 7 months

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Starck opening — invite [with Stevie Nicks...]

Some kind of mischief

The Starck Club: Memories of ecstasy, lifelong friendships and what went down in those famously large bathrooms

The Starck Club was a Studio 54 for a city still shaking off its reputation as the home of J.R. Ewing.

A warehouse in the West End designed by French architect Philippe Starck, the place came to define the decadent mid-’80s before AIDS struck and ecstasy became illegal.

In anticipation of the sold-out Starck Club 40th Anniversary Reunion today at the Kessler, we spoke to two people who were there, captured in this photo from 1987.

George Baum, 21 (now 58)

I was one of the few straight guys who worked the door.

I was dating a server there, but every night I was covered in lipstick.

I’d get pocketfuls of paper with people’s names on it.

I’d gone to a boys school in New England, and I’d met girls working in record stores, but nothing like this.

It was the greatest thing that ever happened to me.

We had a downstairs room that opened up on Sundays when the club was slower, and people entered through steps on the outside.

The stairwell was covered, but the steps led to open air, so those drips on the wall are probably rain.

There were drugs in the club, and probably every club in the ’80s, but it wasn’t a free-for-all.

People would pour cocaine on a table, and they’d get kicked out.

But there were bathrooms with these massive stalls.

You could have a party in there.

Did people have sex in the bathrooms?

I mean, it was a very stimulating place, and we were all young and didn’t have any worries.

Sex was at the top of everyone’s mind.

I remember Cheryl.

She was part of a regular group I liked a lot.

I think this picture is a friendly greeting.

She’s clearly telling me something, but I have no idea what.

I heard all kinds of things.

I worked at Starck until it closed in 1989.

It wasn’t making the money it had, and it was replaced by a terrible nightclub called DV8.

I worked for them, but you had to ask to go to the bathroom.

We had these comp cards to give to women, and they’d grade women on a scale of 1-10 and pay you based on that, which was disgusting even then.

Luckily, they shut down soon after they opened.

Starck was just an exceptional club: the philosophy, the people, the music, the creativity of the people. I’ve never seen anything like it since.

Cheryl Sharp, 20 (now 57)

I remember George being sweet and sort of shy, and I always gave him a hug.

I’m probably telling him some big secret in this picture.

My hair looks like a crimped curling iron nightmare.

It probably cost more than my rent.

That’s not my natural color, I can tell you that.

My roommate Truett Pool and his mother had dressed me that night in a little tankini from Contempo Casuals with bike shorts and stockings.

I was like, OK!

It was a Sunday fun day.

Truett was the first person I met from Starck.

He was on the dance floor with his mom, a hot little number in all leather, just adorable.

He introduced me to some of his friends, and I’m still close with those people to this day.

My college in Arkansas had been very preppy, very sorority-oriented.

I moved to Dallas that year because the economy was better but also because of Starck.

From day one, it felt like a place I belonged.

My mom used to say it was a cult, because every time I came home, I was wearing a Starck Club shirt, but it wasn’t.

Although I did leave one Christmas Eve and drive six hours to go to the afterparty.

I think ecstasy should be in the water.

Wasn’t it originally for couples’ therapy?

It changed my life.

It made me more open, happy and accepting, and I think that’s where our deep friendships came from.

By 1987, I didn’t see anyone selling drugs at the bar, but I did tip the bartender Mike $20 for water so I could be on his guest list.

It was a wild time, yes, but an inclusive, fun time.

The regularly bootlegged design for a Grace Jones performance from July 1989. Hynds says you can tell which shirts are fake because they have “Grace Jones” in black lettering instead of clear.

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hongism · 2 years

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heartbreak hotel. (k.sw, 18+)

» k.sunwoo x fem!reader » pretty much just smut + filth 👍 » language, explicit smut, alcohol consumption, semi-enemies to lovers » summary; you’re keen on playing the game with the expectation of winning against a man like kim sunwoo - someone rich and equally arrogant, who expects to have everything handed to him on a silver platter - but you both underestimated how well he plays and overestimated your ability to withstand what he throws your way. » wc; 11.6k

a/n; standing man emoji. that’s all. in honor of my queen melty sometimes i still hear her voice (affectionately screaming yelling and threatening me) also this was only one third of the original outline so im not saying more to come but... act surprised if more does come...

Tempo up and down like that, becoming honest This fading line between us, let’s tear it down Just acknowledge our feelings and take a step forward

» smut warnings; semi-public sex, protected piv, oral sex: m & f receiving, manual stimulation, grinding, edging, dirty talk, some degradation, petnames: doll, kitten, slut, big dick kink (almost), (slight) hair pulling, car sex (please always wear a seatbelt don’t do this...)

“Hey, mind grabbing that customer for me?”

All it takes is one glance down the line of the bar to understand why your coworker is requesting such a thing, but you can’t find yourself too enthused to take her up on the offer. A young man — probably early twenties and younger than you by at least a couple years — dressed to the nines in what you consider to be a rather run-down and dirty dive of a bar given his neatly crimped suit and pressed tie. Even the way he wears his hair with too much gel and carefully styled to only exposed half of his forehead seems to scream the phrase ‘I’m a douche, do not approach me!’, but alas you care for your coworker far too much for your own good and won’t turn her down even if the guy is a raging prick.

“Yeah, pop this drink over to Jerry for me, please?” You leave the drink in question beside her at the other side of the bar before wiping your palms down over your ratty apron and stepping over to the newcomer. “What can I get you?”

Instead of a response, or even a basic human acknowledgment, the kid lifts his hand and shows off the unmarred skin of his palm while typing away at his phone with his other one. It takes every bit of your willpower to not roll your eyes and snap right then and there, frankly, but the promise of tips and money far outweighs the desire to be an ass in return. You do bite into the inside of your cheek, however, in the hopes that it will keep your expression from showing too much annoyance when the man finally sets his phone down and glances up at you.

“Scotch on the rocks, top shelf stuff if you can manage it. I have a friend on the way too, get him a Mai Tai if you would, doll.” His gaze flits down to your shirt, scanning the little metal tag that has your name etched into it for a few seconds, but he’s looking back at your face moments later without any intention to address you by your proper name. “You can go now, that’s all.”

“Gonna need to see a license first.”

“I don’t have a license.”

“Then you can’t drink alcohol.” We have a kids’ menu crosses your mind too but you don’t dare say such a thing with other customers in close quarters.

“I have my identification card in my wallet, don’t be so huffy,” he huffs out as he twists at the waist to fish around in his suit pockets. He flashes the little card in your face to your dismay, and the birthdate does indeed confirm that he’s perfectly legal so you relent with a little sigh.

“Coming right out, sir.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t make me wait too long.”

His looks are also a bit deceiving, it seems, because according to said card, he’s not nearly as young as you predicted him to be — twenty-three and turning twenty-four within the next few weeks — and it’s only disheartening because you can’t pin his attitude and demeanor on being an immature rich teen. You’ve dealt with enough of that type to at least know how to throw some harmless quips in their faces when they get a little too arrogant and dick-headed, but this one just seems to be the run-of-the-mill rich ass who thinks he’s got plenty of better things to do than be kind to the people serving him. Setting the pair of drinks down before him on the counter doesn’t even earn you a thank you, let alone any sort of attention in the slightest even as you inform him that the brand of scotch you’ve given him is the best of the best and ready to put a proper dent in any average man’s wallet. He barely blinks at the information.

“How bad is he?” Your coworker asks as you move back to wipe down your hands.

“Not nearly as bad as I imagined. Just the rich kind of asshole.”

Yuna shakes her head ever so slightly, letting brown hair fall from her bun to frame her pretty face. She’s still new to both the area and the job, especially compared to the several years you have under your belt being here, but she has managed to go above and beyond all your other coworkers (even the ones you’ve got on with for years). You don’t doubt that she could easily handle some tougher customers and still manage to get a pretty tip out of them but you’d feel a bit awful throwing her to the wolves when she directly asks you for help the way she did.

“Those are the worst ones, aren’t they?”

You hum your approval and glance back over your shoulder. The seat next to the man is now occupied by another body, someone of similar build and age to him it seems but you’re still required to do your job even if you have an inkling that he’s of age. Pushing yourself back to that edge of the bar, you plaster a little grin on your lips before speaking to either man.

“May I see your ID before you drink, sir?”

“Oh! Of course, yeah, just one second!” At least this one is far friendlier than the first, despite wearing a similar suit and tie. He flashes a license in your direction, and your eyes gravitate to the birth year and nothing else as usual.

“Perfect, thank you.”

He returns your grin with one of his own. You feel heat rush to your cheeks as you turn around to glance over the rest of the bar. Either your standards have dipped considerably low or you were simply that put off by his less than stellar companion to a point where you find the other’s kindness that palatable.

The next few hours pass in a flash as the bulk of your clientele come through for happy hour, and you don’t have time to catch your breath so thinking about a rich prick and his hot friend is out of the question entirely. That is until the end of the rush when you have to go back over to that area of the bar when one of them waves you down.

“Refill and a water, if you would.” His tone is nothing short of demanding, and even his friend has the decency to offer you a sympathetic glance in the face of his friend’s shortness.

“I’ll take a water as well, please,” he enunciates his gratitude that way despite the way the man at his side promptly ignores you before you’ve even stepped away. You return his smile with one of your own as though to say that it’s entirely fine and nothing out of the ordinary for a job such as this one. Still, the little bits of kindness you do receive throughout long and grueling shifts like this one are few and far between so it’s nice to have some of that, especially from a handsome face. A job’s a job at the end of the day, a way to make a living and get money, and while you don’t have the most groundbreaking paychecks to bring home to you and your pet betta fish Earl, it’s a living nonetheless. The work can be unforgiving at times, sure, yet you still keep coming back because you do enjoy it. Maybe one day you’ll have to move off to a different job, a different place, but for now, you get to enjoy how things are. It makes having to deal with that one rude customer for the rest of the night much easier when you think about it like that, at least.

That and the fact that when he slams his black card down on the bar counter at the end of the night for both him and his friendly companion, you get to take it back to the register and feel unadulterated glee when the payment refuses to process. Three attempts on the chip reader and two backup swipes to check that it isn’t just a faulty reader later, you’re walking back to the pair at the end of the bar with a bitten-back grin.

“Sorry sir, but your payment’s been declined. Do you have a different card you can use to pay?”

“Declined?” He sounds positively scandalized, which you’re sure is utterly humiliating for a man like him. “For fuck’s sake…”

“Did he cut you off again? Jesus man, that’s the third time this mon—”

“Yeah, I fucking know, Juyeon!”

“Here, I’ve got it covered. You’ll just owe me next time, Kim.” The man — Juyeon, as he appears to be called — pulls his own wallet back out and slides a more modest and normal-looking credit card across the counter to you. The apologetic smile paints his lips yet again, his companion snatching back his precious yet defunct black card from your fingers. “Sorry for the trouble.”

“No worries. I’ll be right back.”

True to your word, you only disappear for a minute this time around as there are no further issues with Juyeon’s card.

“Is it alright if we hang around a bit and nurse our waters?” he inquires when you return his card to his possession.

“Sure, go on ahead! If you decide you want anything else to drink, just flag down a worker!”

“Ah, if I—” he chokes on nothing but saliva a second later before the words can get out, and you pass a worried glance over at him from where you were trying to make a speedy getaway. “Um… sorry, if I want to have you wait on us again, who — who should I ask for?”

“Oh?” You blink at his wide brown eyes for a moment without really processing the request. “Oh! Oh, um, okay — uh, just ask for Y/n. But I’ll be on break for the next thirty minutes or so…” His companion releases a snort, and you’re certain that if you glanced over at him now you’d find the man rolling his eyes back into his head.

“Y/n? Perfect, will do.” He passes a smile your way that shows the pretty expanse of his white grin, and you find yourself a little too flustered to do anything other than nod awkwardly and step away from the bar counter.

“Yuna, I’m gonna take my break now,” you say through a sigh, hands already reaching around your back to tug at your apron. As lovely as it is to be propositioned by hot customers, you typically don’t find it in good taste to engage in that sort of behavior back when you’re on the clock. Maybe, however, you’re a bit hopeful that said man will see you stepping away from the counter for a bit and find an opportunity there for him to take advantage of. If not, then c'est la vie and so be it.

It’s a great pleasure though when stepping into the hallway where the single-stall bathrooms reside has you greeting said man the moment you come back from dropping your apron in the back. He’s leaned up against the wall with arms crossed over his chest, and he’s abandoned the black suit jacket he had been wearing at the bar minutes ago to leave him in a simple form-fitting dress shirt alongside his slacks.

“Maybe I’m being a bit presumptuous but…?” Slowly, he pulls his arms down and offers a cheeky shrug coupled with a half-grin. You hum and smile back, not giving him the pleasure of seeing anything more than a thin-lipped smirk as you reach to grab him by the silk tie hanging about his neck.

“I’ll give you twenty minutes.”

“Perfect.”

You hook him into the ladies’ room solely because you noticed few women in the bar tonight, and you ought to manage to go undisturbed for a bit if you’re really lucky. He’s smothering you the moment you get the door closed behind you, hands on your body and lips seeking yours as you flip the lock and secure it into place. The touch is messy at best — clashing teeth and a quick press of his tongue against yours without any preamble — and while you understand his rush, you think he’s doing a shit job at getting you riled up with how he’s nearly biting through your tongue instead of simple teasing. You’re the one who tries to guide the pace back down to something more manageable and enjoyable for the both of you, but Juyeon inches his body closes to yours and nudges the bulge in his slacks against your inner thigh with no intention of slowing down.

“I’d love to have that pretty mouth wrapped around my cock, Y/n. Care to spoil me a little?”

You nearly scoff. It’s a wonder you thought he was that much better than his friend, but it seems as though all rich kids like them think the same. Still, you have no qualms with what he’s asking for even though you know it means he won’t be making any effort to get you off with how little time you have together.

Your fingers hook into his dress shirt, and you spin with enough momentum to get his back to slam into the door in a flip of your positions that has you pressing him up against the surface now.

“Fuck.”

A little hum slips free of your lips in response, one that’s accompanied by fluttering lashes and a coy gleam in your eyes as you sink down to your knees against the cool tiled floor. A few strands of gelled hair fall in front of his eyes when he tilts his chin down to gaze upon you in your new position.

“Just like that, pretty girl, pull my cock out, yeah?” He brings a large, veiny hand around the side of your head to tangle in your hair. You preoccupy yourself with tugging his belt free and once that’s out of the way, you go a bit above and beyond with the seduction factor by taking his zipper between your teeth and pulling it down, nose brushing into where his length sits trapped behind black underwear. “Come on, lemme fuck your mouth.” Crude, but you aren’t sure why you expected anything else. He seems entirely uninterested in your ideas of foreplay, however, do you decide to go on and forgo them by doing what he’s asking you to instead.

Slipping his member free of both pants and underwear, you waste no time in taking the tip between your lips, letting your tongue rest along the underside for only a few seconds before taking him deeper. It earns you a soft groan and matching thud as he seems to let his head fall back against the door in light pleasure. You wouldn’t say you’re known for your mind-blowing oral skills or being terribly enthusiastic without ample buildup, but the hasty noises of his pleasure give you enough of a confidence boost to get you dragging your tongue over his length as you sink deep enough to have his cockhead pressing into your throat. Swallowing there, you pull him all the way into your mouth, nose pressing into the neatly trimmed hairs around his base, before starting to find a steady rhythm to your bobs. Despite his hand being firmly placed in your hair, he makes no effort to guide your movements or fuck your face, which you’re a tad grateful for because you have to go back to work after this and don’t want to look like you’ve had your throat fucked raw the rest of the night.

Not the kind of fun you were hoping for, all in all, especially not as you pull off his cock less than three minutes later because he’s nearing his high. You lean to the side to grab a paper towel before he can blow his load all over your face — or worse, your clothes — and the moment you cover his member, he cums into the towel with a bitten back groan and hand still threaded through your hair to the point where it’s leaving a painful sting. The perk to him cumming so early, you suppose, means that there’s still time left for him to return the favor. At least, that’s what you thought just before turning around after throwing out the soiled paper towel to find Juyeon pulling his pants up and resituating his belt and clothes without so much as glancing in your direction.

“Thanks, pretty girl. You’re not half bad.” He winks but the gesture is more sleazy than actually attractive. You can do nothing but blink back at him as though too stunned to even speak. When he reaches for the lock, you finally do scoff and find it in you to speak.

“What? Not gonna return the favor?”

He shifts enough to glance at you over his shoulder. His bewildered expression shows that that’s a thought that never even crossed his mind.

“Why should I?”

And with that, he’s flipping the lock and stepping out of the bathroom without saying anything further.

“All the fucking same,” you mutter to yourself, kicking at the edge of the door with your foot until it snaps shut again.

There’s a headache beginning to form in your temple, one that persists even after your break ends and you get back to your shift once more. Neither Juyeon nor his prick of a companion is at the bar when you return, and your only solace is that you most likely won’t have to see either one of them for the rest of your life if you’re really lucky. That fact alone nearly makes you tell Yuna all about it on the spot but you decide it’s best to preserve what’s left of your dignity by pushing the thought of both men into the back of your mind for the rest of the night.

« ✦ »

To your credit, you don’t see Juyeon again after that night.

The more unfortunate issue is that his friend has started becoming something of a regular in the bar, and he always manages to come whenever your shifts are going. Twice a week, eight o’clock on the dot, usually Tuesdays and Fridays. The situation would likely be entirely fine if not for the fact that he always sits on your side of the bar and asks to have you wait on him every time he’s there.

You maintain a semi-friendly front to the best of your ability, and while some of that is genuine (you’re at least grateful he never asks about Juyeon even though he most definitely knows about your rendezvous with his friend in the bathroom), the majority of it is the customer-service worker in you that wants to avoid issue.

It’s one of those said nights — a Friday this time — that he comes in dressed in his usual suit and tie regalia, only this time he has a woman on his arm. She’s dressed equally as fancy as he is, wearing a slinky black dress that leaves little to the imagination. You wait over by his end of the bar with a smile already plastered across your lips before the pair even sits down.

“I was gonna ask if you wanted your usual, but it seems you’ve mixed things up for once.” Upon closer inspection, he’s simply wearing a silk vest under his blazer, a silver chain hanging down where his tie would normally be, and the outfit seems to almost intentionally match his companion’s.

“Ah, no, I’ll still have a scotch on the rocks. To—”

“Top shelf stuff, yup. We just got a new batch I can break open for you. And for you, ma’am?”

“Hm, just a martini.” He doesn’t have the decency to pull a stool out for her, but luckily she doesn’t make to sit down right away either. Instead, she sets her little black bag down atop the cushion and lingers behind the stool. “Is it alright if I run to the restroom first?”

“Go on ahead.” His gaze lingers for no more than two seconds when he sends her off; in fact, the way he pulls his gaze back down to the bar counter is almost hasty. Your curious stare must linger a little longer than necessary because he snaps his chin up to connect sharp eye contact that has you spinning on your own heel and heading back to start their drinks. It’s none of your business, honestly and truly, but one of the perks to this line of work is the subtle allowance for being nosy, and you find yourself curious nonetheless.

As it turns out, you get the pair’s drinks done and ready before the woman returns from her trip to the bathroom, and her companion — whose name you have yet to learn even after several weeks of serving him — barely bats an eye when you set the drinks down before him on the bar. His gaze is instead glued to the glowing screen of his phone, thumb pressed against the side of the screen as he seemingly scrolls without thought. You don’t bother making any sort of snide comment despite the urge to; you doubt he would even make an effort to look up from his phone if you did. It’s a slow night for once, however, which means that you spend more time lingering around the counter on your own rather than serving customer after customer. Even with some of your regulars pulling you into conversations here and there, you have fairly little to keep you occupied beyond people watching (ie watching this new regular and his date barely interact or speak for the next forty-five minutes).

He waves you down right as the clock hits nine o’clock, almost like he was counting the seconds until the hour came around. You take the black card he extends in your direction without thought and pass a slightly sympathetic smile to his date when she glances up with a rather defeated expression painting her pretty features.

It’s only poetic that you have the same issue that you had the very first time he came to this bar. Two attempts at the chip reader leave you helpless and with a declined card yet again, and you give one desperate swipe in the hopes that a miracle will strike but it’s to no avail.

Glancing back over your shoulder, you catch sight of the girl’s downcast eyes and her companion’s flat, unreadable face. You could easily return to him and humiliate him by passing the card back and telling him it’s been declined again. You would have no issue doing that if it were just him present, but your heart goes out to his date because the humiliation would bleed to her shoulders too. When she’s already having such a god-awful night as it is, you think you would much rather avoid that sort of issue altogether. So, against better judgment, you clear the register and pen yourself a reminder to fulfill the bill on your own card at the end of your shift. He only bought two drinks tonight, and although one of them had a heftier price tag, you have enough of a cushion in your bank account to spot the payment just this once. When you walk back to where the two are sitting, you swallow involuntarily to keep the lump in your throat down.

“Receipt?” You ask out of pure instinct despite knowing the answer.

“Not needed.” He takes the card out of your hands before you can even extend it in his general direction.

“Of course. Have a nice night.” Your words are moreso directed at the girl, but he doesn’t need to know the difference.

You are in the middle of reaching for their empty glasses when she clears her throat out of the blue, whipping her chin up and looking to her side with none of the earlier warmth that she entered with in her gaze.

“I’ll head out first. Thanks for the drink.”

That’s all the effort she spares on him, tone so icy that even you feel awkward just standing close enough to hear it, but you can’t find it in you to blame her for being so cold when he treated her with equal distaste. It’s only when she steps out of the bar that you decide to say something.

“You could’ve at least spoken to the poor girl.”

“Why? I hardly wanted to bring her along.”

Your frown turns into a deep scowl, but the man doesn’t look at you long enough to see your expression shift.

“Ah, right. Forgot how you rich folk work. Did daddy dearest set you up to close out a business deal or something else that’s equally ridiculous? In my eyes, she gets the short end of the stick being treated more like a bargaining chip than a human being.”

“Did you also consider the possibility that I am the bargaining chip rather than her?”

Given her nerves at the beginning of the night, you find yourself doubting such a thing.

“Shouldn’t I get a say in what I want too?” he continues, leaning forward on his elbows against the bar counter. There’s a certain edge to his tone that sharply contrasts the little glint in his eyes that shows he’s taking this exchange with a grain of salt.

“Okay then, what is it you want?” you fire back, hoping that your response is enough to make him flatline and wave you off. It’s just your luck when that isn’t how he reacts in the slightest. No, instead, he leans further across the counter in such a way that makes the deep vee of his satin vest fall lower and tease the tanned skin underneath. The silver pendant hanging around his neck dangles to the point of distraction, making your gaze drop to follow the movement only to get caught staring directly into that exposed skin. Full lips grin wide at you.

“Isn’t it only natural that I crave you more than anything else?”

“Right, and I want a million dollars. But I work in a bar instead. Can’t we be realistic?”

“Send me the bank details and I’ll have it deposited by morning.”

“With what? Your fancy little black card? By the way, daddy cut you off again and that dumb thing declined a second time. You’re lucky I had enough pity on your date to not humiliate her by announcing that her rich date couldn’t pay for one measly drink.” In hindsight, you wish you had led with that because it has him both stunned into silence and a bit flustered on top of that. He sucks in a sharp breath that almost hurts to listen to before reaching down into his pocket and pulling the same wallet as before out.

“I have cash on me, how much was it?”

“Fifty-eight. Your date was a lot cheaper than you.”

He forks over the money with an ease that isn’t all too surprising given how well off he is and how willing he is to drop fifty bucks on a drink multiple times a week. Still, you double-check the bills with a furrowed brow.

“This is… way too much money.”

“Well, it includes a tip.” He waves his hand at the wad of cash sitting in your palm like it’s nothing, but even so, he has never been so generous in his tips before tonight. A thought hits you as he blinks up at you with wide, expectant eyes.

“You can keep your money if you think I’m gonna sleep with you for a nice tip.” You pull the extra bills out, lip curling as disgust creeps up your spine, and toss them onto the counter without sparing him a glance.

“How much would it take for you to give me a chance then?”

“I’m not some — that’s not the kind of job I work. It’s not some pay-to-win game where the prize is a night in bed with me. I don’t even know your name.”

“You carded me.” The man says that like it’s supposed to change the fact and like he can’t possibly believe you wouldn’t have remembered his name from such a quick glance over his id.

“I don’t typically look at names; only birthdays. Sorry to disappoint.”

“Sunwoo. Kim Sunwoo, that is.” The belated introduction comes with a half grin that looks more uncomfortable than natural.

“Lovely to put a name to a regular’s face, thanks, but I’m still not keen on accepting that money from you.”

“Didn’t my companion tip you well after you snuck off to the bathroom with him the first time I was here?”

Your expression goes from shocked to horrified in a record-breaking amount of time, mostly because rather than wearing a stupid smirk or having a teasing lilt to his tone, Kim Sunwoo seems genuinely curious about the matter.

“He left me high and dry and without any sort of tip, so no. Your friend did nothing of the sort,” you spit back, perhaps a little too passionately in retrospect. “But I expect nothing less from the likes of you. Rich pricks with nothing better to do than take advantage of people poorer and less well off than you for some form of sick enjoyment, I suppose? I looked an idiot thinking he’d have some decency. I’m shocked he didn’t run back to you and tell you all about his spoils and fun.”

“He’s hardly someone I’d call a friend so no, we don’t exactly exchange stories like that.”

There’s a little lull in your conversation then, one that lets you pull away from the conversation almost naturally, and you find a decent excuse to not return to Sunwoo’s side of the bar by tending to a customer on the other end. It’s nearing the end of your shift anyway, so you won’t need to bother with entertaining the guy for much longer. You half-expect him to disappear and leave while you have your back turned; however, every time you turn around, your gaze flits over to where he sits and finds him still seated in the exact same spot. His dark eyes find yours each time, and your embarrassment amplifies more and more as it continues to happen. You hate to give anyone the pleasure of digging their way under your skin, yet all it took for Sunwoo to do it was a well-placed jab and a reminder of the shameful situation you’ve been trying to put out of your mind for the past several weeks.

You consider it a small win when Yuna finally comes to relieve you and you step out from behind the counter without speaking to the man again. It’s a short-lived victory, unfortunately, because rounding the corner to head to the break room where all the belongings that you brought with you to work leads you to find Sunwoo leaned up against the wall rather than at his seat at the bar.

“I’m off the clock now so customer service is out the window.”

“I don’t intend on asking you for a drink back here.”

“Then what exactly is it you want from me? I already said I’m not interested.”

“I’m not used to not getting what I want, I’ll be honest.”

“Oh, that much is glaringly apparent.” You nudge your way past him to reach the door to the back, but Sunwoo leans forward a little to block your path.

“What if I said I could do better than the last guy?”

“Then I’d call you a fool again.”

“You never know unless you try.”

“And risk getting humiliated and playing right into your hand? I know what game you’re playing, Mr. Kim. I’m afraid I don’t want to let you win it either. Maybe you should have given your date a better chance.”

“Could I at least have your phone number? You can block me at any time if you don’t wanna play anymore. I won’t even get a new number to try to contact you if you do!”

You spin on your heel partially out of sheer disbelief but also because you really want to see the expression on this guy’s face when he’s saying something so antagonistic. To no one’s surprise, he’s smiling back at you like a cheeky bastard. Backing down now would be the easier, simpler option. You’re well aware of that. But the more stubborn part of you would really love to play into what he wants if only to come out on top, the part of you that wants to prove a point — you’re dumb enough to believe that you can hold out against a serial player and beat him at his own game.

“Fine. But if I want out then that’s it.”

« ✦ »

rich prick: ur working tonight right?

me: why are you asking exactly?

rich prick: need to know whether i wear my sexy black shirt or just go with a vest for you to look down again :p

me: …two seconds from blocking you

rich prick: ohh should i dress casual? how about a crop top? you wouldn’t be able to see very well with the bar in the way but i wouldn’t want to distract you during work hours anyway ^^

Three weeks later, you’re certain that you have made a grave and irreversible mistake that there is no coming back from. Because as incessant as Kim Sunwoo can be at the bar, you have learned that he likes to be even more insufferable over text. He always texts for meaningless conversations that you know are just attempts to get under your skin, but your already-short patience can’t tolerate his teasing for more than a few minutes at a time. Mostly because you have already made peace with the fact that you are fighting an uphill battle that you’re losing dramatically.

You don’t have an edge on the guy — nothing to put you over him or win you any points. Because, without fail, each time you try to throw the cards back in his face, he manages to flip it around on you.

Make a comment about his dick probably being small? He pins you down with the oh so you’ve been thinking about it already?

Tell him too much confidence isn’t that appealing? He hits you with a and you have yet to block me.

You even went so far as to tell him that he needs a girl to put him in his place, and his response was to insinuate that you could dominate him any day of the week if that’s what it took to please you.

In all of your (misplaced) wisdom, you imagined it would be quick and easy to disarm a guy like him, but here you are weeks later glaring at the door you know he’s about to step through waiting to lose another game to him. it is entirely unfortunate that he looks right at you upon stepping into the building, and you’re caught spinning around to not look so expectant.

“Is it a slow night or do I suspect that you were waiting on me, doll?” His voice reaches your ears moments later, and you huff out an unamused little laugh before deciding to face him for real. Thankfully, he decided not to be entirely insane and wear a crop top or something equally ridiculous (read: distracting) — just a simple suit with a proper shirt underneath. He resituates the collar upon sitting down at the bar counter, popping two buttons free and letting a bit of skin shine through. If you didn’t know better, you would assume it’s simply hot outside and he’s doing it to cool off, but you’ve found yourself far too acquainted with his games these days and that means you know the exact reason behind his actions. Rather than giving him the pleasure of seeing you sweat, you push a glass down in front of him, one with a sphere of ice in the center, and showcase the bottle in your hand.

“Someone just had me crack this open. Will you be having it tonight by chance?” Not entirely the truth because that customer left nearly forty minutes ago and you were keeping an eye on the clock to gauge when Sunwoo would be coming in, but he doesn’t need to know any of that.

“Of course, you know my order by now, don’t you?”

It is a rather slow night, mostly because it’s a Tuesday and that’s far from your busiest day of the week. That’s the sole reason why you’re allowing Sunwoo to have even this much of your attention, along with the extra insurance of having a coworker on the other end of the counter chatting up some other customers.

Sunwoo levels you with a stare as you pour his drink. You try to ignore it to the best of your ability, but the heat of his gaze lingers even when you turn to put the bottle back on the shelf behind you.

“Did you get all dolled up just for me?”

You hesitate where you’re stretched up on your tiptoes to cast a glance back at the man over your shoulder.

“Do you think you’re really worth that effort?”

“That all depends on whether you want me to have you or not.”

You neglect to respond until you have the liquor firmly placed back safely on the shelf — it’s probably worth more than you are and you don’t want that put on a damages tab of any sort — then smooth down the front of your apron. You didn’t put any special effort into what you’re wearing, even if Sunwoo thinks otherwise. There’s a limited selection of clothes you can wear to work, and because you are dramatically lazy during the weekend, you neglected to wash the jeans you typically wear on Tuesdays. The only other option you had was the pleated black skirt that hugs your waist now, and while it’s not riding up your ass and showing anything unprofessional, Sunwoo has a way of seeing exactly what he wants to see. So of course, he would flatter himself with the thought that you chose the outfit specifically for him.

“Are you drinking alone tonight, or can I expect another failed date to come through?”

“Ha ha,” Sunwoo accentuates the forced laugh with a small roll of his eyes. You take innate pleasure in irking him even a tiny bit. “I’m free for the night for once. When does your shift end?”

“I get off early tonight because my manager is bringing in someone new to train. He like doing all the training himself so I get to leave in thirty minutes rather than in four hours.”

Sunwoo nods, fingers tracing the rim of his glass as he purses his lips. No words leave his mouth, however, and you’re left to piece together what his expression means in lieu of hearing another teasing remark. You don’t need to think too deeply about it if you’re being perfectly honest because the implication is there — the inquiry about whether he’ll have a guest, him asking about your shift, the subtle yet very obvious pokes around the same bush that leave you wondering how the night might end. You think he knows as well as you do that you’re fighting a losing battle, so truly it’s only a matter of time and whether he moves the right pieces into place. Rather than speaking just yet, however, he passes a little grin your way before lifting his glass to his full lips.

“Don’t let me get in your way for those last thirty minutes then,” he says, tone something low and borderline sinful. “I can gladly wait my turn.”

You suck your lower lip into your mouth to keep from smiling back.

The next thirty minutes pass in a blur of soap and water solely because you finish out your shift by cleaning the dishes thanks to the lack of customers. It keeps you busy and away from Sunwoo, leaving the man to Yuna while you carry out your work duties with no distractions from said man. Without you needing to return to the counter, you fully expect the night to end without another word from him.

It’s a slight disappointment when you leave through the side door after your shift officially ends without even a text from the man. It feels a bit like a repeat of what happened with his friend that first day you met him, albeit with a few key differences. It would be quite the blow to your ego if these weeks of playing into his hand ended without any sort of physical gratification, and if you were to lose so spectacularly here and now, you imagine Sunwoo would be more than happy to lord that over you.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long?”

You glance up from your phone in search of the offending voice, and your glare settles on the exact man you were just thinking of moments prior.

“What I supposed to be waiting for you?” you ask in return, prompting him to peel himself away from the sleek black luxury car he’s leaned against to stand at his full height.

“I believe we had something of a mutual understanding in there but…” he trails off in favor of smiling over at you. With one hand, he gestures over his shoulder and tilts his chin a bit in question. “You could always prove me wrong and head home on your own.” You regard both the man and the car behind him with as little interest as you can feign at the moment, but you imagine that your fate is already perfectly sealed with no mystery about whether you’ll take him up on his offer or not. “I didn’t magically get my license either, but the backseat does have a lovely partition that offers quite a bit of privacy.”

“It sounds to me like you’re making quite a few presumptions, Sunwoo.”

His grin extends as he pops the door to the backseat open.

“After you, doll.”

You take the bait for precisely what it is and without a further fight, stepping into his space and laying a hand atop the edge of the door. As you lower yourself into the vehicle, your fingers brush past where his linger. It’s the first contact of the night, as well as the first bit of physical teasing you’ve managed to pull off with him. It’s awfully difficult to ‘accidentally’ brush hands or nudge into his personal space with your job and the distance between your end of the bar counter and his, so getting to ease into it now adds a layer of excitement to the already overflowing cup of anticipation in your gut. He shuts the door once you’re safely seated inside, leaving you to glance forward at the clear partition separating the front seat from the back where you now sit. There’s a dainty black curtain covering half the transparent material, and it in turn shrouds your view of the driver in the front seat.

“Doesn’t your driver need to know where he’s going before he takes off anywhere?” you inquire when the door opposite yours pulls open.

“Someone seems to be in quite the rush.”

“You forget that I’m the one at your mercy right now, Sunwoo.”

“Oh hardly, kitten. If I wanted you at my mercy, our positions would be much different.” He settles into the leather seat and snaps the car door shut with a little huff of laughter. Seconds later, he’s leaning forward and shifting the curtain to expose the driver to your eyes, knocking on the surface until the man in the front rolls the partition down enough to hear better. “Please escort us to this fair lady’s residence.” Sunwoo shifts to glance back at you, gaze almost expectant as he nods towards the driver. You recite your address without much thought. Against what is likely better judgment, you find yourself trusting your companion enough to not behave out of turn; if he really did have nefarious intentions with you, you imagine he would’ve acted on those desires a long while ago and not stuck around to play this game with you for as long as he has.

When the partition rolls back up, Sunwoo tugs the curtain back into place and once again shrouds the front end of the car from view. Soft music is filtering through the speakers but it acts as nothing more than white noise once Sunwoo settles his gaze on you.

“You can almost taste the tension, can’t you?” he remarks through a grin. His gaze is nearly lidded thanks to the purely sinful way he’s staring over at you, and you find yourself feeding right into his palm without much effort.

“If you’re gonna fuck me, then do it and get it over with.” You hardly feel a thing when the car begins to move, although all your focus and attention has shifted towards the man on your left who now leans across the middle seat to press closer to your body.

“Ah, that’s how you imagined this going?” A laugh leaves him, but this time it’s full-bodied and swamped with mirth. “That’s not at all how I intended to have you, doll.”

“Are you trying to prove a point? Is that it? Make me think you’re any different than the next rich prick who wants to bang me?” You twist at the waist to better look at him.

“I doubt I have to make you think one way or another. If I’m going to have you, Y/n, I simply wish to make certain you are left satisfied and feel the full extent of pleasure with me. Is that such a crime?” He leans further into your space until he’s close enough to cascade hot breath over your neck and down the front of your shirt. And almost like a woman possessed, you find yourself shifting to accommodate his weight against your body, drawing a leg up onto the seat and all but granting him passage between your legs as he brushes his nose into the underside of your jaw. “I hardly wish to simply fuck you and get it over with, but if you wish to believe that of me, I’ll take it as a challenge to prove you wrong.”

“And if I said I wanted it hard and fast?”

“Oh, I can be a little mean, a little rough, if that’s what you like. But only if that’s what you like, doll. Tell me what kind of slut you are, and I’ll pace myself according to your desires. I get off to seeing a pretty girl falling apart over me, so it’s a win-win situation for me.” He’s inches away from your lips now, each word pushing more of his heated breath into your parted lips in a way that feels far too lascivious for the lack of privacy you two have. Just past the partition sits a man who is essentially a total stranger, and all that separates you is a partition wall and a tiny black curtain to shroud your activities from view. He must notice the way you glance from his face to said wall a few times as your thoughts go back and forth because he leans back just enough to look over in the same direction. “You can stay quiet, can’t you, kitten?”

Your close proximity leaves no room to hide from his sharp gaze. Ducking your chin to the side only acts as a dead giveaway when he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

“Ah, unless you want to be a bit naughty? I can accommodate that as well if you wish.”

With a little surge of confidence (and perhaps a tiny dabble of audacity to match), you reach out and snatch Sunwoo, fingers pressing into his cheeks and digging against the sharp curve of his jawline.

“If you wish to do something here and now, then I suggest you hurry because my apartment isn’t more than fifteen minutes from the bar by bus.”

His eyes flick over your features before the realization settles in, and you end up having to be the one to close the gap between your mouths regardless because of that moment of hesitation. Finally feeling his lips atop yours provides almost paramount gratification for all these weeks of intense teasing — keeping each other at arm’s length just enough to make you go mad with desire despite the simplicity of your game — and your only saving grace is that he seems just as desperate to have more once he gets that first taste.

He presses up against your body with almost blind fervor, hands securing on your hips as his tongue breaches your lips and dives deeper for more. You allow him that much and push him back to find a better position for the both of you. He drags a hand around to your back then and coaxes your legs to part around his hips until you’re straddled across his lap. With the leverage comes a bit of power too as you can better push him into the seat and drive the kiss with your tongue fighting back against his now. He maintains his hold on your back but his other hand draws forward and lower, slipping down beneath the line of your skirt to seek something else. You expect that touch to come almost immediately but he stalls just enough to catch you off-guard. All it takes is two fingers and a touch so faint that it sends shivers down your spine to have you curling up against his body. It also elicits a quiet gasp from your lips that he swallows as the control falls back into his hands.

You have nowhere to ground yourself but his shoulders. Blunt nails dig into the fabric of his suit jacket, and when that fails to give you the satisfaction you’re after, you slip your hands under both jacket and shirt to settle against his heated skin as he dares to dig into your folds a bit more. He doesn’t breach your underwear yet, keeping himself restrained to just nudging at your cunt through the fabric. The pleasure you derive from the simple touch is borderline humiliating, only deterred by the sloppiness of your tongue against his.

More, you think but he keeps you from voicing that thought with the way his mouth keeps seeking yours when you try to pull back for breath. His persistence leaves you a little dazed, a little dizzy, and when he finally does let you gasp for air, it’s the same moment that he decides to push you down against the line of seats with his body draped heavily over yours. The angle is awkward at best with one of his arms still pressed between the two of you, and you have to let one leg fall over the edge of the seats just to accommodate the position, but it also lets you feel the rather prominent bulge at the front of his pants against the inside of your knee. In a move that’s more subconscious than an entirely purposeful one, you press into the bulge of his half-hard cock just to get a reaction out of the man. He rewards you kindly with a moan that’s barely bitten back at the last second, but then he’s dipping his fingers past the hem of your panties and finally dragging through your wet folds with more direct purpose. You curl your leg in with the first brush against your clit, and Sunwoo seizes it as an opportunity to push down hard atop your thigh, grinding his clothed erection into it. He draws a moan from his own mouth with the action, one that you swallow down with another kiss. The thought of where you are almost escapes you, along with the fact that you aren’t entirely alone, so as much as you wish to fully lose yourself in the feeling of his finger pushing into your pussy, you don’t let your sounds go beyond his lips.

“God, I wanna fuck you,” Sunwoo hisses against your mouth. He digs a second digit alongside the first and stretches your walls open a bit wider.

“N-Not without protection,” you reply, albeit through stuttered breaths and gritted teeth.

“Mm, what? Don’t want me to soil your pretty little cunt with my cock? Spoil you for anyone else who wants to fuck you?” Your head tips back at the next sensation to course through your body, and Sunwoo takes advantage of that moment of weakness to dip his mouth down to your neck. You truly do forget where you are in that split second, when he sucks your flesh between his lips and drags his teeth across your skin, and the next sound to leave your lips is anything but quiet. “See now when you make noises like that, how am I supposed to not want to ruin you for everyone else? Makes me wanna pump you full of my cum and plug you up nice and good. Could make you sloppy seconds for anyone else who wants to have you.”

You reach around the back of Sunwoo’s head, tangling your fingers through his hair just to ground yourself as he curls his fingers deep inside your cunt. He drags the tip of his thumb over your clit with the same monotonous rhythm that builds in pace as he grows almost insistent, and the jerks of his hips follow along almost as though he’s imagining the feeling of truly fucking you with the lewd movements. You sink your teeth into your lower lip as a whimper threatens to slip out. Just having one hand on him isn’t enough to quell your desires, not until you have your other arm braced around his shoulders and holding his body against yours.

“Let me have a taste,” he growls against your neck, and the low gravelly tone of his voice sends a little surge of vibrations through you. It sinks the anchor of desire further in your stomach. You guide him lower between your legs with a sort of urgency that’s nearly humiliating, yet given how he stares up at your face from where he’s now eye level with the skirt that’s ridden up your thighs, you imagine he’s in the same state himself.

Cold air brushes over your cunt for only but a moment before Sunwoo is panting hot breath over your folds. His fingers linger inside you as he takes his first sweet taste of you — a long and purposeful lick that moves from where his hand sits up to your clit then back down to your hole, and your thighs tremble with the gentle teasing.

“You look so pretty and needy for me, kitten. How could anyone not want to see you writhing in pleasure under them?” The little jab at his ‘friend’ doesn’t slip past your notice, but you don’t make any effort to swing for the ball he’s just thrown your way. Now that you have him, you want to have him in his entirety. Should the chance fall into your lap again, maybe then you’ll want to play around a bit more, but now isn’t the time for that. All you can do to make that known to him is push down with the hand you still have wrapped up in his hair. The slope of his nose meets your clit, and he dips his tongue between your walls, more than eager to listen to your silent demands. Your thighs draw up to close around his head as the stimulation reaches a mounting pleasure. Yet just as you feel yourself right at the edge of an orgasm, the feeling evaporates entirely, and your walls squeeze tight around his fingers. A quiet chuckle follows, and he draws his face up to meet your heated gaze, letting the orgasm fall away before you can delight in it.

“You sick bastard,” comes your choked-out jab that sounds almost like a sob given the way you’re gasping for breath.

“Wanna feel how tight your pussy gets when you’re cumming on my cock, princess. Don’t hold it against me.” Sunwoo pushes up on the seat until he’s on his knees, hands quickly moving down to mess with the button of his slacks.

You would move to help him if he hadn’t just ripped such a sweet orgasm out from under you, but it also gives you the chance to sit back and enjoy the view as he nudges his pants and underwear down just enough to pull his rather sizable length out. Just the first glance almost has you abandoning your ploy to crawl forward and take him into your mouth because he’s more than a little gifted with a pretty face and equally pretty dick. Long, not overly thick but enough to make you salivate, and fully erect to the point of showing off — you push yourself up onto your elbows and blink from his cock to his smug little expression that all but announces your interest in every bit of him.

“Wish I could fuck you now but,” Sunwoo hesitates and exhales slowly, hands moving around your legs to grip your thighs where they meet your hips, “I think I can rile you up just fine by mimicking the real thing.”

You tilt your chin, not quite understanding what exactly he means by that until he presses the length of his cock against your wet pussy. With one hand to push your folds together over his dick, Sunwoo thrusts forward directly over the sensitive bud of your clit, merely a testing little thrust to help him find the optimal position to pseudofuck you in, and he slips into an easy rhythm. Your cunt provides enough wetness to make the glide more pleasurable, but even with that to assist, there’s a little burn of roughness with each thrust that drags his length over you. It’s nothing overtly painful, nothing you aren’t deriving pleasure from, and you certainly aren’t complaining about the sensation even when Sunwoo smirks down at you as the whimpers start to fall more freely from your lips. You must look awfully pathetic in his eyes — either that or an absolute vision with the way you have the back of your hand pressed over your mouth to conceal the noises. The corners of your eyes are a tad wet as well, little pinpricks of tears that threaten to fall down your temples and into your hair.

Reality comes down with full force when knuckles rap hard against the partition wall and interrupt your moment of passion and fervor with Sunwoo. You flip your hand around swiftly, clapping your palm down hard over your mouth as your eyes go wide with shock. Your partner, on the other hand, hardly looks surprised at all, merely pulling back to push his dick back into his underwear like it’s nothing but a minor nuisance. You rush to pull yourself into a more decent position while pulling your clothes into their original places in an effort to hide any evidence of what you and Sunwoo were just doing. The damage is likely already done, and the driver more than likely knows to act ignorant out of respect, although you still feel a bit grateful when he doesn’t so much as look in your direction when Sunwoo guides you out of the car.

“My apartment is this way,” you say, fiddling with your purse in search of your keys. Sunwoo shoves his hands deep into his pockets and clears his throat. You would almost put his attitude off as nonchalant at best, if not for the clear bulge of his erection still poking at the front of his pants and the borderline obvious way he tries to adjust his dick into a more comfortable position through the pockets. You feel utterly debauched yourself, so that likely reflects itself on your appearance, although you have the saving grace of it being late. No one obstructs your path on the staircase up to your floor, and even the hallway outside your door is void of life aside from the moth that’s made a home of your wall lamp. Despite the stillness between you and Sunwoo while just outside the door, that facade is suddenly shattered as you fumble to get your keys in the lock.

Sunwoo hisses through his teeth, then hands are gripping hard at your hips and spinning you around until your back hits the door with a shocking amount of force. It knocks the breath nearly out of your lungs but you don’t get the opportunity to recover as Sunwoo’s lips are back on yours within the blink of an eye. His touch turns gentle as he wraps a hand around yours that still cling to the keys. You let him take them from your grasp without a fight.

“Smallest one, next to the keychain,” you murmur into his mouth before taking that same hand to wrap around the back of his neck and deepen the kiss. The taste of you lingers on his tongue, and that fills you with a filthy sort of debauched arrogance.

He finally manages to get the right key in place after what feels like an agonizing minute, twisting the key in place and letting the lock spring loose. It flips a switch in your urgency as well, as you rush to drag the man inside so quickly that you almost forget to retrieve your keys before the door snaps shut behind the two of you. Neither of you bothers with any light switches or whatever else would be proper upon welcoming someone into your home: it’s basically a race to see who can get their clothes off the fastest as you push him closer and closer to the bedroom. When you cross the threshold into the room, you pause to flip the lights on then, taking in the near intoxicating sight of a shirtless Sunwoo before you with lean muscles and a tapered waist stripped down to nothing but a pair of black socks. You’re not in a better state yourself, nothing but underwear clinging to your form, and with light finally bearing down on the two of you, you seem to be hit by reality at the same time.

You both are overtaken by a bout of laughter that pushes through the haze of desire, falling into each other in a way that feels starkly intimate compared to the intensity of your play in the car. Sunwoo drags his warm hands over your skin as he pulls you towards the foot of the bed. You’re still laughing when he twists you around, and the smile painting your lips persists after that when you tug him down to the mattress with you pressed under his body.

“Condom in the nightstand.” You laugh into the cheeky kiss he leaves you with, making quick work of your underwear while he’s retrieving the foiled packet. His eagerness makes itself known once more when you blink over at him with the packet locked between his teeth seconds before he tears it open.

“You sure it’s big enough for me?”

A scoff answers his question, but you do glance down as he’s rolling the condom over his cock just to be certain that it’s not his ego speaking.

“Do the socks stay on during sex?”

It’s his turn to answer with an indignant huff, and you laugh as he nudges you down to lie flat against the comforter.

“Doubt that’s gonna make you any less wet when my cock is involved, but—” Sunwoo shrugs “—you can turn over and let me fuck you into the mattress if it’s gonna bother you that much.”

He likely knows you weren’t being serious and it hardly bothers you one bit but you still shift to let him have you from behind just for the simple joy of catching him off-guard. The exhaled string of swears that follows is almost better than seeing his expression with your own eyes. You press your chest down to the mattress, folding your hands under the side of your face as you look back at Sunwoo over the curves of your body if only to catch his expression in the aftermath.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d almost call you a good girl, kitten.”

“I can do whatever you ask of me,” you hum through a sigh of pleasure as Sunwoo lets his cock rest against your entrance. “Provided the incentive is good enough.”

“Be a doll and take my big cock well, and maybe I’ll let you have me raw next time.”

You don’t get the chance to roll your eyes at his comment because he penetrates your hole as he’s still speaking, and your eyes flutter shut thanks to the stretch of your walls around his length. He says something else, something that you don’t really process because you’re too busy drinking in the sensation of his cock digging deep into your cunt.

“Don’t waste any more time,” you say over your shoulder, not bothering to ask for clarification over whatever he said to you moments earlier. Clearly, it’s nothing that is wildly important to him either considering how he takes you up on your words and gives a shallow thrust that knocks his hips against your ass. There isn’t any more waiting, which you’re grateful for, but it also means that his pace starts rough and remains a little mean to the point where you’re clinging to the pillow above your head just to keep from being knocked flat on your stomach. It’s exactly the kind of debased pleasure you were after — all these weeks of dancing around each other so coquettishly building up to such a glorified show of lust and desire in its purest form — and the feeling of his cock rolling in and out of your sopping cunt only amplifies the pleasure in your veins as Sunwoo fucks you. In hindsight, had you known he wasn’t simply talking a big game to get into your pants, you would have fucked him long ago. But perhaps playing into his game made it all the more enticing, and in turn, makes the payoff taste that much better.

You snake a hand down to rest over your mound, flicking your fingers against your clit in time with the rhythm of Sunwoo’s thrusts. That coil of pleasure that was wound so tight not once but twice in the car springs tight again now, but this time your partner does nothing to stop the orgasm from crashing over you. You surely could have dragged things out a bit longer, although something about Sunwoo’s unforgiving pace tells you that you have many more orgasms and rounds to come tonight alone. So, you take the loss for what it is — a blinding white pleasure that washes over you and makes your walls squeeze so tight around his cock that his thrusts stutter and fail in their steadiness.

“Fuck, fuck,” he hisses out as you cum around him, clenching his length and pulling him deeper into your cunt, and it’s then that you feel him tremble behind you. The condom gets in the way of that blissful feeling of being pumped full of cum; the fleeting thought of asking him to take it off later so you can revel in that sensation passes through your mind as you’re coming down from your high. Sunwoo braces his hands on either side of your head. One of his hands is just inside your line of vision, and you lazily trace your gaze over the harsh curves of his fingers as he digs them into the flesh of the mattress. He’s still muttering curses over and over, only breaking off when a prolonged moan interrupts him, then finally his hips come to rest flush against your ass. There’s no warning of any sort when he pulls you down onto the bed and curls his torso over your back, hand resting atop your hip. Both of you fight to catch breath that comes in staggered gasps as the intensity of your fucking rushes to catch up with you.

“Can you manage to get that thing back up for more, or are you just a one-hit wonder?” It’s a miracle you even have it in you to still be snippy with him, but all the more surprising is the way his dick twitches in its softening state inside you.

“I’m hardly done with you, princess. Gonna have to try a little harder than that to get rid of me.”

this work belongs to calypso / hongism (2022). do not copy, repost, or steal in any way.

#the boyz smut #tbz smut #sunwoo smut #tbz x reader #the boyz x reader #sunwoo x reader #tbz fic #the boyz fic #sunwoo fic #sunwoo x you #sunwoo oneshot #tbz oneshot #the boyz oneshot #caly.writes

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othervio · 2 years

Text

Shadow Cosplay Masterpost/Tutorial

I only just made this cosplay, but I’ve been getting a LOT of questions about it- especially the wig- so I figured I’d make a tutorial-type post here. …Normally I keep all of my cosplay stuff to Instagram, but I’ve realized the best place online to post a long tutorial like this is tumblr, so… here we go!

THE WIG

Let’s get this out of the way, since this is what everyone is really here for, lol.

Obviously, this is a very complicated wig, so if you’re unfamiliar with cosplay wig styling I’d recommend checking out the basics of teasing and wig spiking first.

To start, I used an Arda Nigel as a base wig. I picked this wig specifically because while Arda wigs are already very thick, this one is double-wefted for an insane amount of hair, perfect for spiking. Before getting to work, I crimped the ENTIRE thing to make it extra poofy. For a wig like this, most people create a base out of foam or wires- which probably would’ve been a smarter idea- but I was hellbent on making this wig and lightweight and flexible as possible.

I got the bangs and sideburns out of the way first. These were pretty straightforward- just a basic V bang and sideburns that end at the chin, feathered so the edges aren’t blunt. Then, I started sectioning the hair into the places I wanted the big spikes. This took a LOT of finagling and re-sectioning to get it just right.

Since there were no wires or base in this wig, each spike was teased as much as I possibly could to get it to stand on it’s own. I also used my straightener and hairdryer to heat the fibres and cool them into the position I wanted, avoiding using hairspray until the very end. Hairspray makes wigs crunchy and nasty, so use it as a last resort. Teasing it + heating the fibres into shape should get you most of the way there.

Once I got the spikes exactly how I wanted them, THEN I sewed in my red wefts, trimmed as needed, and hairsprayed in place :)

I know that this is far from the most in-depth tutorial out there, but this was my first time trying to make a wig this extreme, so a lot of it was trial and error. I hope that it at least helps someone out ^^

EARS

I followed this tutorial to make the ears. They’re just black fur shaved down with a razor, white felt that I painted, and wires. To keep the ears onto the wig, I left the long pieces of wire sticking out of the bottom, and wove them into the base of the wig once I was finished.

SHOES

I started with a cheap base pair of shoes from Walmart. These were perfect because they’re completely plain boots, and the zipper is at an angle in a similar way his shoes are. Originally I wanted to make shoe covers, but I don’t have much experience with that, and I was VERY quickly running out of time, so I just painted them white. The paint did crack while walking around at the con, but it wasn’t too bad, and something I should be able to touch up before the next one.

All of the red pieces were made with 2mm-5mm EVA foam, painted red, and superglued on. The gold bangles were also EVA foam that I sanded into shape (though if you aren’t crunching, EVA foam bevels come premade). I was worried these would come off at the con, but they actually stayed on great. I may consider covering the gold pieces in shiny gold fabric next time, just to avoid wear on the gold paint.

JACKET

I got lucky here. I picked up this pleather jacket at Goodwill for $5 some time ago (it’s peeling up and practically falling apart at the seams- not great for wearing around, but perfect for a costume I’ll only wear once in awhile). I added a red stripe out of fabric that I hand sewed on, and the gold bangle here is held on with Velcro so I can take it on and off as needed.

The logo on the back was made with heat transfer vinyl and ironed on. DO NOT DO THIS. Pleather is NOT supposed to be ironed AT ALL and I nearly ruined the entire thing. I had to tack down peeling pleather with fabric glue. Shhh, don’t tell anyone. Just use fabric paint instead. lol

MISCELLANEOUS

- The red choker was one I made with stuff on hand, but it’s very easy to find similar ones online.

- The white fur around my neck was just a small patch of white fur safety pinned onto a white T shirt I wore under the jacket. You wouldn’t want to sew the fur on, because 1) that would be an absolute nightmare to sew, and 2) it’s far easier to wash if you just unpin the fur and throw the shirt in the wash.

- The pants are a weird cargo/jogger pant mix and I’m not sure… what they’re called. I think they’re popular with the kpop crowd? I didn’t modify these in any way, except to add some red ribbon.

- The gun is a NERF Elite 2.0 Echo, which doesn’t really matter. It was just the biggest fake gun I could find quickly. I painted it black and then drybrushed silver on to make it look more realistic.

I hope that helps someone out there! If anyone has more questions, feel free to ask!

Some random thoughts:

I made this entire thing in 2 ½ weeks, thinking it would be a lot simpler than it actually was. I ended up spending ALL of my time trying to finish and only getting done the day before the con. I don’t normally con crunch, but I think this one was totally worth it.

I have NEVER had such a response from a cosplay before. I could barely walk a few feet at a time because people kept lining up and stopping me for photos. Eventually I gave up and accepted that I wouldn’t be getting anything done that day. The reaction from kids was the best though. They were all SO excited to see a Sonic character IRL and had so many questions. It was probably the most fun I’ve had at a con in a very long time, and I can’t wait to fix him up and wear him to my next con, too :)

Bonus Amogus for reading this far:

#Shadow the Hedgehog #Sonic the Hedgehog #Cosplay #Cosplay Tutorial #(Kind of)

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aenaxes · 3 years

Note

OMG ok for the 200 follower celebration (based on your smoking post) PLZZZ write sharing a spice blunt with cross or any batcher of your choosing I would simply die 😩💅🏻❤️

vapor trails

[crosshair & hunter x f!reader] you don't really run with the fett twins' crowd, but you find yourself at one of their parties anyway (in reference to this post lol)

warnings: college!au, recreational drug use, suggestive themes, but consent is sexy & mandatory & sober babes

w/c: 3.8k

a/n: anon, you ask for one batcher, but why not two? thank you for enabling me nonnie & @mallr4ts lol (im so sorry to all the previous requests for the event, this one has just been needling in my brain all day and i had to get it out hsdfs)

event details here! requests are open until july 4th!

You don’t know much about the Fett twins.

They’re something like campus legends even though they’re only a year your senior and at the tail end of their fourth years. But as much as you’ve heard their names slung around in weekend plans and excited chatter, you’ve never once met them, much less seen them yourself. Between idling class whispers and dining hall conversations, all you can piece together from the rumors is that: one, they’re from a big family (you’ve heard anywhere from two to twelve other brothers, yikes); and two, as much as they work hard (because the venture capital and pre-professorial tracks seem rigorous enough), they play even harder.

It helps that they apparently own one of the biggest apartments off campus, one in which you find yourself hopelessly and miserably lost. And overdressed.

Great.

It hadn’t occurred to you that your roommate, who is nowhere to be seen, had been dressing up for her girlfriend, and that most people who had half a mind would wear something comfortable that could withstand a few spilled drinks and ash. So seeing the rest of the room in rumpled tees and sweats has you and your little black dress seeking out the nearest wall as you fiddle with your questionably sweet cup of margarita mixer.

You feel like a first year, and it sucks.

But for once, with everyone too busy mingling amongst themselves over the heavy thrum of some mumble rap beat, you manage to slip by unnoticed.

Every now and then, you dart your eyes around the ever shifting landscape of faces in the dim room, looking for even the vaguest familiarity that might let you feign being tipsy and join a group for the night. But every time you try, there’s no luck.

Fuck, you haven’t even seen anyone here before.

But there might be a god watching out for you yet when the crowd shifts just enough that you catch sight of the couch, and on it, someone you suspect to be one of the twins as he greets a few girls with a disinterested nod.

Emboldened, but mostly nervous that in the crowd of bodies and red solo cups you’re still helplessly alone, you push off the wall and squeeze past huddled cliques of conversation to make for the dark couch.

By the platinum bleached hair and big-name consulting group quarter zip, Crosshair—at least you think it’s him—lounges over the couch. He isn’t the only body on the suede seats, but he keeps to himself, his head dipped low as he works one hand over a small metal canister in his other palm.

If you weren’t having luck with the other nameless faces around you, maybe the Fett twin would keep you company—at least until your roommate came back to find you (if she did). And worst case, you’d just slink back to your dorm and mope until your roommate apologized to you with your favorite overpriced smoothie bowl the day after.

Mustering every ounce of courage you have, you plant your feet by the couch and finally speak.

"Is your name actually Crosshair?" you ask.

The man on the couch pauses, his motions stilling over the small metal cylinder in his palms, and he lifts his chin just enough to flick his eyes up towards the sound of your voice.

You always thought the girls in your droning 9AM gen-ed were wildly exaggerating his hype for their own devices, squealing over his (apparently) brooding charm and sharp looks to nip at his stash for free. But for all the vague haze surrounding your perception of the twins, you never thought that they were telling the truth.

If you had been in broad daylight under the incandescent glow of your creaky lecture hall lights, you might have called him cocky, almost haughty, how he meets you with an unreadable look for having interrupted him. But in the purple LEDs and heavy haze of vape juice and shitty tequila, he’s captivating, all dark eyes and perfectly lit skin, marked only by the needle-thin design tattooed over the right side of his face and a worn wooden toothpick bitten between his teeth.

You swallow down the dry lump in your throat when you catch him flick his eyes from your face, down the short length of your dress, and back up again.

"Smoke with me; maybe you'll find out," he drawls, toothpick bobbing as he speaks. He twists the cylinder once and offers you a wry smirk. And when you stay, speechless but there all the same, Crosshair scoots to the side and pats the narrow space between him and the couch arm, inviting you close.

"I've never smoked before," you admit a bit shyly as you drop down beside him. Your dress hikes up your thigh, and you shiver when your skin presses up against the soft denim of his jeans.

"Not even cigs?"

You shake your head. And you tell yourself that when he leans close and brushes his shoulder up against your arm, that he’s only doing it because someone’s boosted the bass, and you can’t hear him over the reverb.

"Well, good thing I'm here, yeah?"

He gives the metal canister a final twist and sets it down on the coffee table before you. Swapping the canister for a small brown sleeve, you watch in a daze as he pulls a semi-transparent leaflet from the folder and tears a strip of cardstock straight from its flap. He has pianist fingers, you think wistfully, neatly kept nails and slender grace, and you wonder if he’ll entertain you if you ask to compare your hand to his.

“What’s your name?”

You scrabble back to the present at the sound of his voice. “Uh, y/n,” you offer.

“Well, y/n,” he says with a soft laugh, having caught on to your daydreaming. “Step one, you fold your filter.”

You nod along absently as Crosshair artfully crimps the thick paper into a neat roll. As if there isn’t thirty-some odd people crammed into his apartment, he quietly takes you step by step, offering you the filter, the paper, then the contents of the canister (a grinder, he explains) like it’s a game of show and tell. But with every piece he places into your hands, you gravitate closer, closer, until you’re flush against his arm and practically hanging over his side to watch as he gently taps a line of bud over the paper.

“Here, let me give you a better look,” Crosshair says.

You expect him to bring the neat line of bud to you, but when nothing comes, you look up and find him waiting for you, one arm open in invitation as the other pats once on the dark denim of his thigh.

“Uh—”

“Sit,” he says as if you haven’t just met him fifteen minutes ago. “Front row seats if you want ‘em.”

On one hand, you barely know Crosshair outside of the rumors you hear on campus. On the other hand, he’s a genuinely pleasant person, careful to accommodate for your boundaries and offering a snide playfulness that’s banished your nerves from earlier in the night.

He’s also really fucking hot.

“Okay,” you murmur, and you let him wrap his arm around your waist and tug you onto his lap. And he’s right. Perched over his thighs, you see with perfect clarity (and without the strain in your neck) as he gently folds the paper over the mound of bud and carefully twists. It’s the prettiest joint you’ve ever seen—though it might be because it’s the only one you’ve seen.

"Final touch," Crosshair's voice rumbles over your back, shooting straight into your core as he lifts the paper's vellum edge to your lips. “Lick it for me.”

Since you sat down with him, you’ve only been the passenger, nodding along as Crosshair’s long, nimble fingers creased over filter paper and patiently pointed out things like the stray pistils in his baggie and the keef gathered at the bottom of his grinder for if you really want to get fucked up. And even though you aren’t doing much (because licking paper doesn’t really seem too crazy), it’s a step forward from the comfortable rhythm that had settled between you, and you twist around in his lap to shoot him an uncertain glance.

“Just,” Crosshair flicks his tongue over his lower lip, flashing a brief glimpse of a ball piercing towards your wide eyes. And if you weren’t so flustered, you might have recognized the coy playfulness in his gaze. “Give it a lick, right over the edge.”

“I—uh, what if I—” you stammer.

“You’re not gonna mess this up, darling,” Crosshair chuckles. If his hand squeezing brief over your waist wasn’t enough to bring heat searing over the tops of your ears, his next words, crooned low and breathy into your ear, certainly do. “You’re a smart girl. You can do it.”

"My brother giving you trouble?"

Another voice cuts through the din of the party, sparing you your stammering nerves as you whip your head up in its general direction. You’re greeted with the sight of his brother, peering down on you as he takes a sip from his cup.

“You’re such a killjoy,” Crosshair mutters, drawing his arm tighter around your waist as he jabs the half-rolled joint to where Hunter sprawls down onto the couch beside him. “No, I’m not being a creep. I’m teaching our pretty underclassman here how to roll.”

Oh.

Heat rushes over your cheeks, and you can’t decide whether you want to shrink into yourself or bask in it and beg for more.

He called you pretty.

“With her in your lap,” Hunter snorts into his cup.

“It was your idea to invite your entire fucking rugby team. Where else would we do it?”

“I’m so sorry he’s like this,” Hunter laughs, tilting his head and looking up at you through his (unfairly) long lashes. Where you thought Crosshair’s tattoo was bold, Hunter’s practically blows him out of the water, a well-worn swath of ink on the left half of his face, curving into neatly stylized teeth right at the edge of his lips. “I’m Hunter.”

Huh, maybe you do have a thing for tattoos.

“Y/n,” you squeak. “It’s, um—it’s nice to meet you.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, sweetheart,” he says as he offers you an easy smile. “Has my baby brother been treating you right?”

“God, two fucking minutes,” Crosshair snaps. You hear the embarrassment seeping from the vitriol, and it strikes you like a shot to the head that he’s trying to play cool in front of you. “I come out two minutes after you and—”

“We’re fraternal, and I got all the oxygen in the womb. Explains why he has awful people skills,” Hunter fake-whispers loud enough for Crosshair to hear, and you giggle as the other man groans from behind you.

“No, he’s been really nice,” you say softly once you realize that you’ve been laughing a little too loud. “He’s teaching me about weed.” It sounds juvenile when you say it, awkward and clumsy on your tongue. It’s a dead giveaway that has Hunter’s smile mellowing into something soft.

“Your first time?”

“Mhm.”

“Well, Cross here’s high as shit at least four hours every day. Says it helps him do the math. I hate to say it, but you’re in good hands.”

“You try running a nonlinear regression sober,” Crosshair snorts. “Anyways, we were just finishing up this joint before you decided to kill the vibe.”

Crosshair lifts the half-rolled joint back up to your chin, and this time, he leans forward and presses his chest close against your back as the playful snark leaves his tone, in its wake, something patient and calm as his voice rumbles by your ear.

“You gonna help me finish the job, sweet girl?”

You surprise yourself when the initial trepidation vanishes as you tip your chin down and stick out your tongue. Maybe you’re showboating now that you have an audience, feeling Hunter’s dark eyes on your lips when you touch the tip of your tongue out over the edge.

Whether it’s your lip gloss or the fine crumbs of bud stuck to the roll paper that fills your mouth with something earthy and sweet, you can’t say. All you know is they’re both following you with that intense intent, the bass and blend of voices faded out around you; just you in Crosshair’s lap and Hunter pretending to care about the drink in his hand as you lift your tongue off the far corner of the paper and close your lips.

“Good job,” Hunter muses, and you’re pretty certain he’s not talking about the joint when you feel his gaze boring into you alone.

The smell of smoke pulls you out of Hunter’s gravity, and you look back in front of you to see Crosshair snap a scuffed metal lighter shut and toss it onto the coffee table. He brings the joint back down in front of you, blowing a neat stream of whitish gray smoke past your ear.

“You know how to pull?” Crosshair asks, and his chin brushes over your bare shoulder as he speaks. He’s so close. You can smell the burn, acrid and sour, but it doesn’t matter that it doesn’t smell like some bubblegum vape when you feel his breaths curling over your skin. You just want more.

Mutely, you shake your head.

“Mm, you know how to shotgun?” Hunter offers, and you hear Crosshair huff laugher from behind you. “Might be easier for your first try.”

You shake your head again.

“It’s,” Hunter pauses, and his brows knit close as he thinks for a moment. “It’s kind of like a kiss. But not really. I take a hit and you catch my smoke. That sound okay?”

You don’t think it matters that someone’s hit shuffle on the playlist, filling the room with a hard electronic beat that might have otherwise drowned out all sound. All you hear is your heart pounding in your ears as you nod and watch Hunter lift the filter to his lips and inhale deep, then pass the joint back to Crosshair.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, white trails of smoke curling over his upper lip as he lifts one hand to cup over the base of your neck.

“Open,” Crosshair whispers.

Wordlessly, you obey. Your lips part just as Hunter pulls close, so close you feel the heat of his skin spreading warm over your cheeks, and blows a soft stream of bitter smoke into your mouth. It can’t be more than a few seconds, but all the while, you can’t seem to tear your eyes from his.

“Breathe in, deep,” you hear Crosshair instruct as he begins to rub one thumb over the curve of your hip.

The smoke is thick, sluicing down your throat and filling your lungs like nothing you’ve ever felt before. It’s not bad, just new, and pressed between the twins over the couch, you think it just might have been worth being ditched by your roommate earlier in the night. But your lungs ache, and you slowly exhale, watching as your vision fogs with a loose cloud of smoke until your chest feels clear again.

“And you didn’t even cough,” Hunter smiles. His calloused fingertips follow the slope of your neck, lingering one moment more before he pulls away. And you aren’t sure if the low buzzing in your fingertips is the weed or their combined warmth as Hunter rubs over your knee and Crosshair leans his head against your neck. “Good girl.”

“Wanna do it again,” you whisper as the buzz begins to crawl up your neck, fizzling around your temples as you lean your cheek over where Crosshair nuzzles into your shoulder.

“With him or me?” Crosshair murmurs, his lips brushing over your skin.

“You,” you say dreamily, and Hunter laughs, a sound that suddenly seems so far away as you tip your head and press close against Crosshair’s silver hair.

Crosshair leans into your touch, pressing his cheek up against your neck one last time before he’s lifting his head and bringing the joint to his lips. You hear the hiss of his inhale, smoke curling up through the narrow body of the joint as the charred end glows warm beside you.

And instead of Hunter’s approach, level with you, Crosshair looms above you, meeting your wide eyes with something of a fond smile. Dragging his hand up your chest, he follows the line of your neck and holds snug over your chin. He squeezes softly, and your jaw falls slack, lips parted in a soft ‘o’ as he dips low. He's closer than Hunter as you feel his mouth just brush over yours and breathe smoke over your tongue.

This time, it’s easier.

You swallow down the smoke and hold, just a beat longer than before. But both Crosshair and Hunter notice as your lips stay parted, and they share a soft laugh that has you exhaling smoke and pride all at once when you finally relax your diaphragm and breathe out.

“Fast learner,” Crosshair muses, nosing up under your jaw as you sink back against his chest.

You mumble incoherently, chasing his touch as the high creeps heavy and warm from your chest to your collar and settles at the back of your throat. It anchors you, molding you up against Crosshair who feels nothing short of perfect as he circles his arms loose over your waist.

You turn your head to thank Hunter when you distantly register him pressing a cool cup into your hand (water, you think you hear him say), but the words slip back down into your throat, your eyelids suddenly unbearably heavy and coarse over your blurry vision.

“You wanna lay down?” Hunter offers, and his voice comes to you like you’re underwater, warped and bubbling past the din of the party around you.

You're pretty sure you nod.

For a few moments, you catch traces of an unintelligible exchange between the twins, only aware of the rumble of Crosshair’s voice at your back, and then you’re being lifted up off the couch, the music and raucous laughter fading behind you.

A door opens, squeaking half-shut, and you wince as a light clicks on beside you. Whoever was carrying you sets you down on something soft and cool, and you sway as the light dims and you settle into your seat.

You’re on a bed, you think.

Crosshair’s, judging by the shock of light hair that you can make out through your lashes. He helps you into a worn tee that reaches past the short hem of your dress, and you wiggle into it with a soft whine, holding it tight.

But where you expect a familiar weight to dip down next to you and pull you close, your eyes fly open when you see his figure turn away from you and towards the neon lights of the party outside.

“You aren’t staying?” It's the most coherent you've been through your first high.

“Not tonight,” Crosshair says softly. He turns back towards you and reaches up to fix the strap of your dress as you sit on his bed. “Baby’s first tokes got you all dopey. Right now, what you need is this,” and he presses a plastic bottle of vitamin water he’s seemingly produced out of nowhere into your palm. “This,” he adds, pressing your phone into your other hand. “And a good night’s sleep.”

“And what if I say I need you, too?” you pout.

Some part of you—the conscious part locked away in the back of your skull—bangs up against the hazy high at the crown of your head because when you’re good and sober and when Crosshair inevitably turns you down, you won’t be able to look at yourself in the mirror for the next semester.

But he breaks into a smile that crinkles at the corners of his eyes before he leans down to press his lips to your forehead. It’s just a split-second of warm, chapstick-soft lips on your skin, but it floods you with an indescribable good from the top of your head all the way down to your toes.

And as high as you are right now, you have a hell of a hunch that the flutter in your chest is going to stay, even when the room stops wobbling around you.

“When you’re all sobered up in the morning, we’ll make you breakfast, and we’ll figure it out from there,” Crosshair says after he’s pulled back, reaching up to smooth his palm over your hair. “Sound like a plan?”

You nod, probably with a little too much enthusiasm, but you’re rewarded with another low chuckle that’s practically music to your ears. His hand gentle and firm over your shoulder, Crosshair guides you down onto the bed and pulls the covers up to your chin.

“Now text your roomie so she doesn’t call the cops on us, get some sleep, and drink all of that, okay?”

“Okay,” you respond.

“Good girl.”

And when the lights click out, you curl into Crosshair’s pillow, breathing in cold, fresh notes of his cologne, and then you’re asleep.

You climb out of bed the next morning, your minidress rumpled under a long shirt. It's not like a hangover, no, you just find yourself a bit lightheaded and throat parched, and the disorientation makes your head spin as you’re greeted with the smell of fresh coffee and something savory—

Your roommate doesn’t wake up earlier than you, and she can’t cook for shit. And why were your sheets grey? Whose shirt were you—

Oh.

Fuck.

You practically burst out of Crosshair’s bedroom, and you’re not sure what you expected, but somehow you hadn’t expected to see Hunter sipping mildly on a mug of coffee while Crosshair pushes something around in a pan over their kitchen range.

“Mornin,’” Hunter offers you a small wave, and reaches for a third mug on the countertop. “Wasn’t sure how you liked your coffee so we just made it black.”

“What happened last night?” you gasp. If you weren’t so panicked, you’re certain the sight of them sporting nothing but grey sweats would have been your only concern, but you’ve just woken up with foggy memories and the slimy dread of anxiety that follows a blackout night.

“Easy, easy,” Crosshair assures you as he steps away from the stovetop. “Nothing happened after we smoked. You took, like, two hits, and you were so hazy you couldn’t remember your dorm number, so we put you to bed, and I slept out in the living room. Fetts are wild but we’re not scumbags, promise.”

And judging from the throw blanket sliding off the edge of the couch cushions, you’re fairly certain you can believe him. Relief floods your chest.

“Oh thank God,” you sigh, and your shoulders sag as the weight of panic sloughs off your back.

They both laugh softly, the sudden tension lifting from the bright morning light, and you can’t help but join in. And when that rosy relief gives way to silence again, it’s Crosshair who speaks next.

“So, you staying for breakfast?”

“Can I borrow some actual clothes first?”

“Done deal.”

#fun fact: my signature party trick is flirting with a guy and then stealing his blunt ✌️😗#thinking about how schlorbe n i agreed crosshair listens to souncloud mumble rap :/#its ok i kiss him anyways #hc that crosshair’s an econ/finance bro and hunter’s a history major hehe #sequel series: crosshair goes venture capital (gross)#tech's probably at like the space equivalent of mit or something #and i will Die on the hill that wrecker's super smart with kinesiology #crosshair x reader #hunter x reader #sergeant hunter x reader #the bad batch x reader #anon #yaej.writes

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theharrowing · 3 years

Text

Boy Blue 💙 31: Tonight, I'm merely a spectator

While going through a painful but necessary breakup, you meet someone who is patient, kind, and understanding; everything your last ex was not.

Or is he?

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

💙 Taehyung x Female Reader

💙 word count: 3.6k + images of text conversations

💙 college au, text message au, strangers to lovers, yandere, hurt/comfort, smut, fluff, angst, slow burn, slash, poly, major character injury & death, graphic violence, nsfw, 21+

💙 warnings: big, big feelings and a discussion of a threesome

💙 written parts beta read by @neoneunnajimin

💙 posted nov. 2021 | read on ao3

Jimin swoons as he adds his finishing touches to Taehyung's face, and you inspect his handiwork, nodding with approval at the bright yellow stars that go from Taehyung's left temple to his cheek.

"Perfect. Gorgeous. Amazing. Show-stopping." Jimin is rambling, waving his arms in the air as Taehyung watches him fondly and chuckles.

Meanwhile, Yoongi sits on his bed, staring at his phone. Jimin has given him dark cat eyes with purple glitter lining the bottom lid, and even as he sulks quietly, he looks breathtaking.

"Why are you being so emo?" Hoseok shouts to Yoongi from the doorway. Then he turns to look to you for answers, and you shrug, watching him wave his friend off.

But the truth is, you do know why Yoongi is being so emo. The moment you walked in the door wearing a tight, spaghetti-strapped little back dress with high slits up the short skirt, he looked like he had seen a ghost, inhaling sharply before averting his eyes away every chance his gaze happened to fall on you.

Jimin and Taehyung must have conspired because as soon as you walked in the door, shivering from the cool winter air after Taehyung insisted you leave your jacket in his car, Jimin came running from his room with a long leopard print coat, screaming, "Oh my god, it's perfect!"

Bottles of soju are passed around while Jimin matches his eyeshadow and lipstick to his red rhinestone-covered choker, dressed in his standard head-to-toe black. Hoseok wears glittery white eyeshadow with white stars littering his temples and cheeks, which stands out beautifully against his perfectly tanned skin, and although you're shocked to see him in all black, he looks radiant. You blink and see blue glitter in your eyelashes, thinking about how Jimin did your makeup similar to Yoongi's, with the addition of stars on your face, similar to Taehyung's, but in all blue.

Each member of the band has crimped hair that is styled messily, and they have a plain black tee tucked into tight black pants. Jimin has also styled Taehyung's hair, and his black button-up shirt is unbuttoned enough to make every member of the household sneak glances at his chest. Now that you all seem to be about ready to leave, you excuse yourself to the bathroom, knowing that soon you will need to head toward the venue.

When you exit the bathroom, everyone has left Yoongi's bedroom. Jimin is hopping around and hanging off of Taehyung in the living room, whining about how excited he is that the two of you get to see them play, while Yoongi and Hoseok are in the kitchen, murmuring to one another. You begin to approach Taehyung and Jimin, but Hoseok turns and waves you over, so you change course and walk into the kitchen.

"What's up?" you ask, looking from Hoseok to Yoongi.

"I'm trying to give Jimin as much one-on-one time with Tae as he can have so he's not bothering us all night by talking about him," Hoseok says playfully.

You scoff, looking at the floor because you are nervous about making too much eye contact with Yoongi, especially while on the topic of Taehyung, and simply respond, "That's a good plan."

"You look really nice tonight," Yoongi says, which takes you by surprise because he has already told you so much privately, and now he is saying it in front of Hoseok.

You look up, eyes wide, gently bowing your head as you say, "Thank you."

Hoseok scoffs and shifts around on his feet, muttering, "Look, I can tell you're both into each other, so stop acting so fucking awkward."

You gasp and look at Hoseok, who has a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. If he knows, surely Taehyung also knows, right?

Yoongi chuckles, so you loosen up and laugh it off, as well. No use in being too worried, especially since Taehyung seems to be fond of Yoongi. You stand in silence while Yoongi and Hoseok continue their conversation about tonight's set, which you assume is what they were talking about before you joined them, fiddling with your hands, in front of your chest.

"Should we go soon?" Jimin asks, prancing into the kitchen.

Yoongi checks the clock on the stove and shrugs, muttering, "May as well."

"Alright, boys, I'll drive the equipment and meet you there?" Hoseok suggests, walking toward the front door. Jimin and Yoongi agree, and both walk toward the hallway to their bedrooms to grab their jackets.

You stand alone with Taehyung, smiling brightly at him as he wraps an arm around your waist. "Poor Yoongi can't keep his eyes off of you," he whispers. You feel uncomfortable talking about Yoongi with him but shrug your shoulders with a soft smile.

"Maybe I'll ask if he wants to come back with us after," Taehyung purrs, voice deeper, "Would you like that, kitten?"

You know you would like to be with Yoongi after, and it has been a while since you and Taehyung had sex, which you admit you are beginning to miss quite a bit. But would Yoongi go for it? Would the two of them be compatible? Yoongi seems pretty hellbent on having you for himself, and he is almost unreadable around Taehyung.

As the boys filter back into the living room with their jackets, you go over to the couch and grab the coat that Jimin lent you. It is then that you realize Yoongi is also wearing a leopard print jacket.

"See!" Jimin beams, "We thought it would be so cute if you two match!"

Yoongi shoots you a playful wink, and you feel your cheeks warm.

Taehyung beams, "Two gorgeous kittens, what a treat!" and you notice the effect it has on Yoongi as he also blushes, toying with the hem of the jacket between his fingers.

Is he considering what you said about Taehyung being willing to share when he's around, or that Taehyung may have a crush on him? You are ushered out the door before you can think about it much more by Jimin, who has linked your elbow in his.

"So excited you're here tonight!" Jimin squeals, hopping around and tugging you with him.

"Me too, Jimin," you giggle. "I've been looking forward to this all week!"

You glance back, and Yoongi is smirking while Taehyung leans to the side, muttering something to him. What on earth could those two be talking about, you wonder.

Once you get to the venue, you're greeted by many friends of theirs who you met last time, and everyone swoons at Taehyung during their introductions. The guys disappear to help Hoseok carry their equipment inside, so you make your way to the bar to get a head start on your next drink. After about ten minutes, Yoongi approaches with a smirk.

"Drinking my whiskey, hmm?" he asks, and you grin playfully.

"Didn't see your name on it," you tease, making Yoongi roll his eyes before he turns to the bartender to order himself the same thing.

"So," you attempt to hold the same light tone, "what did you and Taehyung talk about on the way here?"

Yoongi hesitates, looking down at the drink that he is swirling around in his glass. Nervous tick? After a moment, you think he is finally going to spill the beans, but the rest of the guys join you at the bar, and Yoongi wanders off to talk to someone else while you and the others settle into the crowd.

The band that plays first is the same one you saw the night of the glam rock performance, except this time they are playing music that is a little more aggressive. There is a small mosh circle in front of the stage, but people have mostly clustered around, watching the band as they dance, many of them sing-shouting along to the lyrics. Yoongi is shouting with his arms in the air while Jimin and Hoseok are less animated but just as captivated by their friends on stage.

You and Taehyung are behind the guys, alternating between watching them and watching the band, and you swoon. A flutter of excitement and anxiety builds in your guts, knowing they will be on stage later.

Once that band finishes, music plays over the speakers while they walk their instruments off stage, save for the drums, which Hoseok adds a few more to. Yoongi and Jimin carry a keyboard, guitar, and bass to the stage, which gives you pause; there are three of them, so who plays the fourth instrument?

Taehyung offers to refill your drink while you stand and wait, watching the boys set up. Your eyes are stuck on Yoongi, and after your previous conversation over text, you are definitely checking out his ass, which makes you feel a little shy and even a bit nervous.

They tune up briefly, with Hoseok hitting the drums that he has added to the kit that was already set up, while speaking into a microphone, followed by Jimin playing a few licks on the bass and speaking into his microphone. Yoongi straps the guitar over his shoulder, playing some cords before turning on the keyboard and testing it. He mumbles into a microphone before taking the guitar off and placing it onto a stand.

"Wow, two instruments," Taehyung says into your right ear, making you jump. "Just imagine how talented those fingers are."

You turn to him with wide eyes, and he chuckles before planting a soft kiss on your cheek and handing you a glass of whiskey. The guys leave the stage to go back to the bar, and Jimin tugs on you and Taehyung, shouting, "Shots, babes!" so you follow along.

"This set is dedicated to you two," Jimin beams toward you and Taehyung with his small glass of soju in the air. You all hold your glasses up before shooting them back. Compared to the whiskey, the soju tastes quite sweet.

"I'm actually gonna pee quick before they start," you mutter to Taehyung once everyone has set their shot glasses on the bar. "Hold this?"

Taehyung takes your whiskey, and you excuse yourself to the restroom, snaking through the growing crowd to the other side of the space, there is a short hallway and two gender neutral rooms with stalls and urinals. As soon as the door closes behind you, it swings back open, and Yoongi grabs onto your arm, pulling you into him.

Although the restroom is gender neutral, you are shocked to see him, but before you can ask what he is doing, Yoongi's lips are against yours, and he is moaning softly, and sweetly. The scent of his musk and faint taste of cherry chapstick overwhelms you in the best way, and you sink into the feeling, stumbling forward when he pulls out of the chaste kiss.

"For good luck," Yoongi mumbles before turning and leaving you standing there stunned for a few minutes before you rush to empty your bladder, wash your hands and return to the crowd.

When the guys take the stage, the room erupts, and even before they can play the first note, you feel so proud to know them, glancing around at the eager eyes of their audience. Their music is fast-paced, heavy, and fun, and people dance, jump, and shove each other while yelling along to the lyrics. You are absolutely captivated by Jimin's stage presence as he grinds and sways behind his bass while delivering impressive growls and screams and a surprisingly sweet voice when singing.

Yoongi plays the guitar primarily, switching from time to time to the keyboard in front of him, and when he leans forward to growl into the mic, you feel your heart pound in your chest, and your legs begin to weaken. At one point, Yoongi’s eyes meet yours, and he winks before leaning back and playing a guitar solo that makes your head spin. His fingers are, in fact, very talented. Taehyung even judges you, sending a wink when you turn to meet his eye, causing warmth to spread over you.

Hoseok is a beast on the drums, and you are amazed by his stamina and speed, smiling softly every time his heart-shaped mouth screams into the microphone that is craned over the kit. The energy on the stage is unmatched by anything you have seen before, and although they play for close to an hour, you are sure that you could stand there and watch them all night. Judging by the crowd's energetic cheers at the end, you can tell you are not the only one.

Once their set ends, the guys leave the stage and go straight to the bar, where you follow them while Taehyung excuses himself to the bathroom. As soon as you approach, Yoongi drapes an arm around your shoulder, and you are met with the smell of his sweat mixing his cologne, which has you feeling like you might just melt where you stand. He looks so happy, and you find yourself smiling along simply from watching him smile and laugh with Jimin, Hoseok, and their friends.

"That was incredible," you find the courage to finally say, and Yoongi turns to you with a soft, sweet, somewhat drunk gaze.

"You're incredible," Yoongi mumbles, and at that moment, you wish you were the only two people in the room as you watch his eyes fall to your lips and his tongue dance out to moisten his own.

When Taehyung returns, he goes straight to Jimin's side, pulling him into his chest for a side hug. Yoongi does not remove his arm from around your shoulder, and Taehyung does not seem to notice it aside from glancing your way to tell Yoongi he was amazing. Hoseok has his back to the group, talking up some handsome man, leaving the four of you paired up.

"We usually stay here to drink for the rest of the night," Jimin tells you before turning to Taehyung. "You guys down? Or do you want to get out of here and drink somewhere else?"

You all share glances, but before anyone can respond, Jimin's attention is torn away from the group, and Taehyung takes that as an opportunity to get closer to you and Yoongi, leaning on the bar so that he is near eye-level with you. You can see the gears turning, and you feel nervous about what may come out of his mouth next.

"I think we should get out of here," Yoongi says, and you are startled to hear the words you expected to come out of Taehyung's mouth come from him.

Taehyung grins, looking between you and Yoongi, and when you look over at Yoongi, he has a smirk. What on earth did these two talk about before? Although it is no surprise that Taehyung is interested, Yoongi has talked some pretty big game about not being on Team Tae.

"Wh-where should we go?" you finally ask.

Taehyung stands up straight, raising his eyebrows to Yoongi, who hums as if he is weighing the options. "Well, regardless of where we go, we gotta pay the tab," he says as he reaches for his wallet.

Yoongi tenses beside you. "It's cool, we all pitch in for it, and we get a discount for playing," he insists, but Taehyung waves him off.

"Nonsense, you guys gave an amazing show, the least I can do is cover the drinks." He says before telling the bartender to just have Jimin sign for the tab at the end of the night to ensure it is covered under his card, which has been scanned, making Yoongi scoffs beside you.

"Showoff," you hear him mumble, and you chuckle.

"Alright, well," Taehyung begins, turning to the two of you, "Yoongi's place is closer, but I don't know how you feel about going back there."

"Oh, yeah they won't be back until the sun starts coming up," Yoongi responds, nodding his head in the general direction of his roommates. You get goosebumps, and suddenly the arm around your shoulder feels heavy. As if he can feel the anxiety radiating from you, Yoongi gives you a squeeze.

"I'll grab our jackets then, and we'll head out?" Taehyung offers before walking toward the stage, where the jackets are all piled up behind a curtain.

You look at Yoongi, and he tugs on the bottom of his lip with his teeth, turning the side of his mouth into a smirk.

"Want to tell me what you guys are planning," you ask, "or do I already know?"

Yoongi's lips move to your ear, grazing over the skin as he speaks. "He suggested earlier that, if we wanted, we should get to know each other a little better after this. Of course, by me agreeing to play along, I hope you don't feel any pressure to do anything. I'm just happy I seem to have his majesty's permission to touch you a little."

You turn your face into Yoongi, pressing your temple into his forehead. "I thought you wouldn't be interested in him being there."

"I'm sure I could agree to worse scenarios if it meant having a chance with you," he purrs, velvety and hot, sending a shiver down your spine.

When Taehyung returns, Yoongi's arm leaves your shoulder, and you feel the urge to whine about how cold you are; only Jimin's jacket is quickly draped around you, serving as a decent alternative to Yoongi's intoxicating body heat.

Yoongi leads the way, hugging his roommates and their friends good night before ushering you out into the cold. You feel dazed and dizzy on the walk home, more aware of your drunkenness as you are tasked with putting one foot in front of the other. Taehyung and Yoongi talk about music, and you hardly listen; you just walk between them, hands grazing one another from time to time until you are back at Yoongi's apartment.

As soon as you're inside, Taehyung kicks off his shoes and goes into the kitchen for soju and some glasses. You and Yoongi giggle as you struggle to get out of your boots, and you fall into the closed door when you lose your balance. He drops to his knee and unties them for you before untying his own, and you stand there watching him, waiting for him to finish so he can determine where you might go from here.

"Hey Yoongi," Taehyung calls from the kitchen, his voice deep and commanding. He is leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest, and his lips are tugged into a sly smile. He has set out three glasses that have been filled with the sweet, alcoholic drink, and Yoongi looks up quickly, almost as if he is worried about what Taehyung calls his attention to, standing up slowly.

"Can you do me a favor?" Taehyung asks.

"S-sure," Yoongi says, pushing his hands into his denim pants pockets.

"I want you to kiss her," Taehyung requests.

Yoongi's eyes widen, and he turns to you, seemingly waiting for your reaction, but you watch him as well, unsure of what to say. Of course, you want to kiss him, but you worry that he will not enjoy performing for an audience or that he might not want Taehyung involved in any way, despite seeming into it at the bar.

"Sh-should we discuss boundaries and expectations first," Yoongi asks, turning to Taehyung.

Taehyung smiles and picks up his glass, and takes a sip from it, then nods. "Of course," he responds, gesturing to the couch.

You walk over, taking off Jimin’s jacket and draping it over the back of the sofa before taking a seat. Yoongi has stepped into the kitchen to help carry the glasses, handing one to you when he returns, before sitting beside you. Taehyung sits to Yoongi's right, leaning back against the armrest to keep his eyes on the two of you. Nobody speaks, and you shift around, feeling a little anxious.

"Yoongi," you say softly, and when he turns to you, butterflies dance around your stomach. His sharp cat eyes are painted in black and purple, and his pouty lips are lightly glossy. Your voice is meek when you say, "Why don't you start?"

Yoongi hums and nods his head. "To be honest, I'm not sure if I'm ready to do anything with...with a man," he says, glancing over to Taehyung.

Taehyung sits forward, resting his elbows on his knees, cradling his head in one hand while swirling his soju glass around with the other.

"Tonight, I'm merely a spectator."

Yoongi looks at you, searching your face for a reaction before turning back to Taehyung. His voice is somewhat timid as he asks, "Y-you just want to watch?"

Taehyung drags his bottom lip through his teeth and flashes a mischievous, boxy grin. "Watch and direct...if you feel so inclined."

"And you?" Yoongi faces you, eyes wide with anticipation, "How do you feel?"

You inhale deeply, scared to sound too eager but not wanting to come off as indifferent. "I want...you. Whatever that entails."

Yoongi smiles and lightly nods, downing his soju as he sits forward, placing his glass on the table with a loud thunk. As Yoongi settles back, he pulls his left arm up, stretching it along the back of the couch, behind you, and you take a drink from your cup as well, placing it down on the table before settling back, next to Yoongi. You are acutely aware of the pounding of your heart, trying not to breathe too hard or too loudly as Yoongi's fingers dance across your neck, and when you look at him, he bites his bottom lip, patting his lap with his right hand.

Your eyes fall to his hand on his lap before traveling up to a smirking, patient Taehyung, finally landing back on Yoongi as he wets his lips.

Yoongi's voice sounds like velvet as he says, "Come here and give me a kiss."

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#taehyung x reader #taehyung smut #yoongi x reader #bts smut #bts smau #bts yandere #bts poly #fic: boy blue

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