#idk i feel like in a dim room its pretty fucking noticeable.

[where-the-water-flows]

hey like I know narrative convenience etc but also like. wenjing glows when there's blood on it, yeah?

Li Lianhua carries that sword for a decade. up his...sleeve? I guess?? just. on him, all the time presumably, because it's the last link he has to his shixiong and also because like. defence weapon. and also also sword he needs to keep hidden and probably can't just leave lying around like he does di feisheng's disco boxer armour scraps, because a sword is kinda less easy to explain as 'haha yeah I just found it and decided to keep it for. reasons?' than 'oh my thrifted jianghu scrap of don't get burnt cooking material is actually valuable? weird! anyway want some inedible soup'

Li Lianhua also, presumably, spends a decade coughing up blood on the regular, because of the whole dying slowly and horribly of poison thing. I'd guess he's coughing up blood probably less at the start/middle of the decade, but like, he's visibly used to just horking up an internal organs worth of blood and then continuing on his way as best he can, so. one assumes the blood spitting is not a new thing.

so like. how often over the literal decade he's carrying the sword that glows when exposed to blood and also regularly exposing it to blood is Li lianhua like hurkcoughbleh and then has to be like please ignore my glowing arm, it's....a medical condition that is extremely normal and not worth talking about, that will be five taels take your treatment and please fuck off

[ikissjesse]

could you do some aaron t/aaron z headcanons pls!

omg yes ofc !! ty for the request <333 since 3 ppl requested aaron² hc's (nothing specific) im gonna put all ur requests into this once post !!

tags: @i-need-a-slurpee @hrts4ariana ( note as of writing: this was a draft from 1719817282 years ago so if u forgot abt this n no longer wanted to be tagged im sorry🥲 )

as i mentioned in this post, they both adore musicals, especially hamilton

aaron² hc's !!

reblogs appreciated + reqs open <3

they like listening to the soundtracks together when they hangout

sometimes when there's a musical near where they are on tour they go together in their free time

u didn't hear it from me but they held hands during one of these musicals bc the room was dark n they thought noone would notice

as bros, ofc.. homies hold hands during musicals !!

they totally sing non-stop from hamilton together its cannon bc i say so

anyway enough abt hamilton for now

there was def mutual pining

they were both like "fuckidishcoaoxjaoa he just thinks of me as a friend"

"friend" NO HE WANTS U SO BAD -God probably idk

the way they attempted to "drop hints":

t tried to make z laugh a lot, even more than he usually did

pranks became less extreme than they normally were, he wanted to surprise him, not scare him to death like he used to

z would, although he denies this, try to do basketball tricks to impress t whenever he is at the basketball court w him

both of them went to jesse for advice, not knowing the other was doing the same

"hey jesse uhm- what should i do if, theoretically, ihavearlybigcrushonsomeonewhoiveknownforawhilebutithinktheyseemeasafriendandireallyreallyREALLYwannabemorebutidontwannaruinourfriendship????" -t

"...what?" -jesse

needless to say jesse was confused as hell

he sent him off w some advice after t slowed down enough for him to understand, then about 15 minutes later z came rambling about the same thing

"JESSE YOU'RE A HIT WITH THE LADIES, AND THE GAYS, AND..BASICALLY ANYONE. HOW DO I FLIRT WITH SOMEONE IVE KNOWN FOR AGES WHO IM PRETTY SURE SEES ME AS JUST A FRIEND?????" -z

thats what made it click for jesse, n he just laughed at the realization

giving him the same advice he gave t, he snickered at the idea of the aarons having a crush on eachother but being too stupid blind to see the feelings were mutual

"thanks jess!!" -z to jesse, running off

"yeah no problem man hehehshshehsh goodluck! HEHEHHEHE"

building up as much courage as he could, z eventually made the first move a few days later

he asked t if he'd like to join him for a musical that would take place at a nearby theater, n he gladly accepted

little did t know where this would lead <33 achoo anyways

as the lights dimmed during a 'romantic' scene, aaron z took t's hand in his own n (quietly) confessed his feelings towards his long-time bestfriend

saying t was happy would be an understatement

the energetic boy yanked him into a hug, leaving his stoic counterpart(ner) highly confused and extremely flustered

choking from t's tight embrace, his face became beet red

"Im, uhm- assuming you feel the same?"

well NO FUCKIN WAY SHERLOCK WHAT MAKES YOU THINK THAT -God again probably

"yeah dumbass, ofcourse i do!" t whisper-yelled, trying to keep his excitement down as they were still in a theater after all !!!

after that, z just smiled n wrapped his arms around t's waist, returning the hug

but wait !! theres more !!

what kind of ikissjesse ship post would this be without cute couple hc's ???

the quiet stoic boy x loud energetic boy dynamic UUGF MY HEART I THINK IM DYIBG from how much i love this duo😔😔

z buys t a baseball cap in EVERY city/country they go to. every fucking one

even if its not a band tour, if z is out somewhere n sees a cool cap he thinks t would like, yall better believe this boy would cut off an arm n sell a kidney just for t to get that hat

t has a whole side in his closet dedicated to these hats z buys him, he finds it absolutely adorable

z actually thinks he isnt good at gift giving, so he was afraid t wouldnt like it at first, but t's reaction is enough conformation that he adores it

now what kinda aaron² hamilton lover truther would i be if i didnt mention the musical again 💪💪

they have FREQUENT hamilton marathons together, sometimes the other members of 4*town will join in too !!

they still sortve act like they did before, like friends n what not

however theyre also 300% more flirty

by that i mean T is 300% more flirty

z might be a LITTLE bit but def not as much as my boy aaron t (the r in aaron stands for rizzler -aaron t)

z isn't a big fan of PDA himself, however when t does little displays of affection when theyre in public he loves it ( he doesn't say it out loud bc he's shy but he does smile at t or to himself, holding t's hand or draping an arm over his shoulders )

when theyre in private z will hug t from behind, hold his waist, kiss his forehead, etc .... yk... bro stuff......

t surprises him by going BOO!!! and jumping up to put his arms around his shoulders from behind, which at first scared z shitless n earned t a lecture about why he shouldn't scare him like that bc z WILL swing but z is okay with it now n actually smiles ALBEIT A VERY SMALL SMILE when he does it

dates include but r not limited to playing basketball late at night together, movies, watching musicals, roadtrips to literally anywhere long or short they just wanna be in eachothers presence OUGHG I LOVE THEM

i forgot to mention !!! t is definitely the one who asked to be boyfriends, but z accidentally said "I love you" first

t was doing something dumb again, and z shook his head as he laughed, accidentally mumbling the words "I love you" out loud

t stopped dead in his tracks n snapped his head in z's direction, n yall this boy was STRESSED he did NOT mean to let the world know this information

z covered his face with his hands n his face was PINK pink bro but t just laughed n walked over to him, cupping his face in his hands and staring at him with a very VERY smug but genuine n happy grin

z scoffed, but soon glanced back at the other boy and smiled shyly

theyre so cute im throwing up in class

there's more but i think this is long enough for now, sorry for the wait pls snack on this while u wait for the rest of my jesro + aaron² content i have planned WINK WINK

thank u for reading <3

[sailorhyunjinz]

~ 𝒜𝓃𝓃𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒶𝓇𝓎 ~

Ｗａｒｎｉｎｇｓ; dom!seungmin x sub!fem!reader, piv, unprotected sex, mirror sex, established relationship, fingering, degradation, impact play, slight dacryphilia, clitoral stimulation, stomach bulge,,,, hitting it from the back LMAO (please-), hair pulling, saliva, orgasm (m/f), creampie, cum, a bit of fluff in the end oh and aftercare <3 

Ｗｏｒｄ Ｃｏｕｎｔ; 3.7 k 

Ｎｏｔｅ; this lil piece was inspired by this ask!! (,,, made it more cherry style,,, which means more degrading-)

also idk this reminded me of the earlier days of me making fics- i think its because its kinda short and this layout EEEEEEK-  

𝘊𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥.

𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘰𝘧 18.

You thought you knew your boyfriend well after dating him for 3 years. In your eyes he was the most innocent person you knew, his eyes always lost whenever you joked about something remotely sexual. But when it came down to actually having sex he wasn’t the one to shy away, instead guiding you through it as if he was dancing a tango. A tango consisting of sloppy kisses and sticky sweaty bodies. 

The automatic lock on the hotel door let out a small beep as the keycard was inserted, the door opening with a gentle push and greeting you inside a purple dim lit room. You smiled at your boyfriend Seungmin who grinned back at you, pulling you inside the room hastily before shutting the door behind him.

“w-woah~ minnie,,, this is so pretty, thank you!” you squealed as you looked around the room, your eyes busy scanning all the beautiful details that your boyfriend had payed attention to for your third year anniversary, everything from the flower petals on the floor to the snacks that piled up on a table by the sofa that was a distance away from the wide bed with white fluffy pillows and covers. Seungmin shrugged his shoulders, the wrinkles of his dark button up shirt creasing by the elbows as the fabric was folded up, exposing the veins that ran up his forearms. He stepped closer to your figure that was fascinated by the dark lights, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and placing his chin on the crook of your neck, giggling softly at your reaction. 

“You seem to like it” he stated to which you nodded, turning your head to him and pecking him on the tip of his nose, the boy scrunching it as it tickled. “You know what I like the most?” he asked, you answering him with a simple “no?”

“The mirrors around the bed” he said in a dark voice that sent shivers down your spine, his lips dangerously close to the shell of your ear as his hot breath grazed against your cheek. You nodded in agreement, not sure what else to say if there was any time to say something before you were grabbed by the wrist and pushed down on the bed, falling back on the soft covers and pillows, your hair flying in your face. You giggled as Seungmin climbed on top of you, his face hovering above yours as he pushed the stray pieces of hair behind your ear, simply observing the beauty of you, his heart melting at how the apples of your cheeks stood out whenever you smiled brightly at him, the corners of your lips turning upwards and your eyes glittering in even the darkest of light. With two careful hands you cupped Seungmin jaw, swiping your thumbs across the supple skin of his cheekbones before he leaned down to kiss you on the lips, the boy turning his head slightly and bumping his nose against your causing the both of you two smile into the kiss, your cheeks heating up with shy arousal after his tongue slowly slips into your mouth, wet tounge gliding across the surface of yours in a languid and erotic kiss. 

Sure, you’d been in bed with your boyfriend countless times but he somehow always managed to make it feel like the first. The butterflies fluttering in the pit of your stomach, billowing out of your mouth and entering his, sharing the nervosity. 

Your hands descended down his body, unbuttoning every button that ran up his shirt, revealing his upper body bit for bit. He pulled away from the kiss, standing on his knees above your lying figure, gulping as you looked up at him removing the article of clothing before you heard the familiar sound of his belt buckle clinking as he unbuckled it. Only now when he’s out of your sight to remove his tight fitting pants do you notice the reflection on the ceiling, how you can see everything so clearly whenever you are taking off your shirt, pulling it over your head and throwing it to the side of the bed, you now lying in a white bra and with your pants still on, eager to remove them in order to see what Seungmin saw every time he fucked you. You heard him snicker as your eyes was focused on the mirror, your expression changing from curious to flustered when Seungmin’s hands caressed you stomach before undoing the zipper of the pants, pulling you downwards slightly together with the pants as he took them off, tossing them together with his clothes beneath the bed, landing with a soft thud against the wooden floor. Your panties didn’t match the bra but when did they ever? The least you expected from your boyfriend was a full view of your body in a mirror but that’s what you got and you weren’t complaining. 

“You already seem interested babygirl” he said, looking up into the mirror and meeting your eyes there instead of gazing at them directly. You nodded as he looked back, observing the body he loved the most in the whole wide world. How your tits sat perfectly in the soft cups of your bra and how you squirmed with your legs, rubbing your thighs together every time he spoke in that deep voice. 

“Good cause that’s where you’ll be looking tonight.” he moved closer to you, sinking down his body against yours and putting his lips close to your ear, his whisper seducing you. “You’re gonna watch yourself cum.”

You froze in position, your heart beating in your throat as the wet patch on your panties grew damp. He pressed his soft lips against your again, biting your bottom lip playfully before his tongue came in contact with yours again, trailing down his hand with the tips of his fingers dancing across your skin, swiftly gliding it under the elastic of your lacy panties and running his middle finger between your folds, feeling the sticky wetness adhere to his finger. Goosebumps erupted on your skin at the sudden touch, the boy groaning at how wet you are from just his kiss, wanting to ruin you and make you nothing more but a drooling and crying mess for him. Slowly he pulled away, giggling lowly as he observed his fingertip that was clad in your sticky essence before he placed it on your lips, you automatically latching on and sucking on his finger before he added another one, your saliva mixing with the slick and dribbling out from the corner of your swollen lips. You looked him dead in the eye, the sexual tension was more than just words and actions, it loomed around the two of you like a thick cloud of smoke. It was in his sharp gaze, the titillation mixed with yearning although he had you whenever he pleased. 

Your wet tongue swirled around his digits, your lips pursed as he pushed his fingers deeper inside your mouth, almost making you choke and groaning softly at the way you softened your tongue, just imagining how you’d look with your pretty lips wrapped around his throbbing shaft. Blood was already rushing south, Seungmin’s cock begging to be touched and it wasn’t long before it was, your hand travling up his bare thigh until you reached his clothed hard-on, squeezing his member through the fabric and coaxing a long moan from the male. With a pop he removed his fingers and quickly stripped himself from his underwear before he kneaded your breasts, pushing the bra lower down on your torso and exposing you to him, the gentle buds hardening as the cold air met them. His cheeks were tinged with red as well as the tips of his ears, barely visible from the purple light that engulfed the two figures in the dark. His hands sloped downwards, tugging on the rim of your panties before pulling them down to your ankles, you kicking them off with your feet and automatically spreading your legs, displaying your wetness to the horny boy. He scoffed at your shamelessness, running his fingers up your folds and gently circling your clit and landing a small slap on your cunt, causing you to jolt upwards, your nose scrunching in pleasurable pain. 

“Look at you, spreading your legs like that. Such a good whore” he cooed at you as he unexpectedly pushed two fingers into your sopping hole, you hissing at the inital stretch, putting your forearms on your tits and pushing them together, a defined cleavage forming that only made the young boy drool from the sight, wanting to fuck your tits and cum all over them. Make you a mess. A small “mhm” made it’s way out of your pretty pout, Seungmin prodding his fingers inside you and making you squirm as he grabbed your face with the other hand, making you look upwards causing you to look up at your own desperate reflection, your neck bending backwards from him squeezing your cheeks together and tilting your head back, refusing to let you look at him.

“You’re gonna watch yourself, see how slutty you are for me” he growled, you not being able to do much other than moan through the pout that formed as he abused your hole with his fingers, curling them up inside you and reaching the raised area of your g-spot, a loud mewl escaping you as he repeatedly teased your clit with his thumb along with moving his fingers between your velvety walls, tears threatening to fall from the corners of your glimmering eyes that swallowed the minimal light in the room. Before you knew it your cheek started stinging, the sensitive nerves reacting to the slap that he placed across the skin, the pain canceling out the noise that formed when the palm of his hand came in contact with your cheek. You bit your teeth together in order to not scream out in pleasure as he used his entire forearms to shake your insides, the squelching sound of your pussy only arousing him more until he couldn’t take it anymore. 

He needed to fuck you. 

Hard. 

Seungmin pried your legs open, holding a firm grip on the inside of each thigh and gripping the fleshy, supple skin, slapping it once before he lined himself up with your entrance, you gazing at him through half-open eyes and furrowed eyebrows to which he tsked, spitting on your tits and seeing the hot saliva run down the side and stain the bed before he spoke. 

“Don’t you dare look at me, look at yourself and how good I’m fucking you. How fucking pathetic you are for my cock.”

His voice trailed down your spine, making your arousal blossom even more than it already had, him rubbing the tip of his leaking cock against your wet folds, spreading the glistening precum on your sex. You gulped loudly, remaining eye contact with your own reflection on the roof, exhaling when he pushed himself into your tight cunt and feeling your muscles relax, the tension in your shoulders melting away like warm butter. Even if it wasn’t the first time, you still got nervous and no matter how much Seungmin fucked you, your cunt always wrapped around his cock snuggly, welcoming him into your sopping heat. He groaned, a deep sound that came from within, basking in the pleasure of just having the sensitive crimson tip of his cock inside your throbbing cunt. 

“S-seungmin,,, please f-fuck me already” you begged, biting your bottom lip and looking at him through the mirror, only the crown of his being visible causing you to get even more impatient. You couldn’t read his facial expressions or his body language besides from the small field of vision you had at the bottom of your eyes. You could listen to what he said. Smell his familiar scent as it wafted over to you with each thrust that was slow and mellow, him rolling his hips against yours and playing shyly with your clit by putting his hand on your lower abdomen and using his thumb to toy with the bundle of nerves. He had barely had his fun with you until tears started to spill from your eyes, trying to grip the soft sheets on which you lied on, only making the bed a bigger mess than it already was, marked with spit and tears. Luckily the bed was secured, the headboard not banging against the wall but the sound of Seungmin’s cock ramming into you bounced off the white stucco walls, the sound of skin slapping against each other mixed with your high-pitched moans, your lovers name stringed throughout the incoherent sentences. 

“You’re so fucking loud” He said, slapping your cheeks once again before speaking, “but I love you.”

You could barely keep your eyes on the mirror and when you did you could only look at Seungmin through the reflection, your thighs quivering as he put more pressure on your clit with the rough pad of his thumb, circling it in small figure eights. The way he talked to you and touched you made the pit of your core burn in a blue and orange flame. You were nothing more than a whore, a toy that he could use to his advantage. 

But you were his. 

Your tits jiggled with every thrust that got more and more vicious, Seungmin holding your legs apart by your thigh and rolling his head back in pleasure, small beads of sweat decorating the skin on his temples and along his hairline, soaking a couple of strands of his dark colored hair. You could only imagine his semi-erotic facial expression, getting both frustrated and turned on by the fact that you couldn’t see how hot your boyfriend looked right this moment. A lot of things were left to the imagination with his deep grunts and the soaking sounds of his cock entering you repeatedly being an aid. An accidental moan escaped through your throat as Seungmin gathered his strength in order to roughly slam into you, your entire body jolting upwards on the bed and causing your toes to curl, back arching against the mattress. 

“You want to cum already babygirl? I can feel you clenching around me and I’m sure you can see your dumb drooling self in the mirror” he said, you not even noticing the small stream of saliva that run from your parted lips along your jaw, your breathing getting more rapid as he removed his hand from your clit and instead lifted your legs up, pressing them closer to your upper body. You screamed at the new access the man gained, the subtle outline of his cock was traced on your stomach as he pounded up into you, your clit throbbing in the lack of contact. 

“F-fuck,,, fuck yes,, g-gonna cum” you muttered out in broken syllables, barely being able to look upwards without getting flustered by the sight if you even saw anything at allf rom how your eyes watered, tears brimming at the edges and blurring the stuff you could see through the dark colored lights. Seungmin laughed lowly, adoring the fear mixed with satisfaction in your glimmering eyes, fucking you hard enough to make your hair a spread out mess on the bed, sticking to the saliva on your lips. Suddenly he pulled out, you letting out a tiresome moan and cupping your tits in your hands, pulling on your nipples slightly before releasing, your eyes landing on your boyfriends that were dark with lust. Your body language spoke volumes, you trying to make yourself as small as possible due to worry, wondering why he looked at you with those hooded eyes and that wicked smile. He tapped you on the side of your waist, a silent signal for you to turn around and you compiled without words but only then did you realize what he wanted, what his evil intentions were. In front of you, you saw your own reflection, forgetting that the two walls that welcomed the bed were completely covered in glas, reflecting back your fucked out face that was stained with tears and pure arousement. Seungmin’s hand snaked through your hair, grabbing a fistful by the roots and tilting your head up so that you looked at yourself from an angle, your eyes still glued on him but now instead through a clear mirror. Automatically your back arched, your perky butt up in the air, your cunt crying out from the lack of attention as he leaned closer to your ear, draping his body over yours and whispering seductively into your ear. 

“Don’t you dare look at me, I don’t like nasty whores looking at me. Watch how fucking pathetic you are when getting fucked.” He cleared his throat, his breath tickling against the side of your neck when his other hand stroked your back before wrapping around your throat, pushing on the sides and making you choke, lightheadedness making the room spin in a mystical and aroused daze. 

“No one else can fuck you this good, isn’t that right y/n?”

You nodded, the boy feeling the saliva run down your esophagus as you gulped loudly, your heart racing in your chest. He placed a wet kiss behind your ear causing you to raise your shoulder towards your head, a small giggle escaping you as the light kiss tickled your skin, you saw him smile momentarily, his intimidating aura bursting by the seams from the way your lips lingered in a smile even moments after he had kissed you. Both his hands cascaded down your back as he stood on his knees behind your cowered figure, a slap echoing in your ears before the pain surged through your skin, almost like he left an imaginative handprint on your asscheek. It was almost a threat. You needed to look at yourself in the mirror ahead of you or else he would punish you by more slaps, spit on you or both at the same time. You wanted to be good for him, it was afterall an anniversary. 

“Are you ready sweetheart?” he murmured under his breath to which you nodded, having to break eye contact with yourself from the humiliation you felt of watching yourself in the eyes while your boyfriend was pushing into your slippery cunt, carding through his dark hair with the other hand, pushing a couple of sweaty strands away from his glistening forehead, the same warm feeling of your pussy enveloping around his cock. You nodded a bit too late, your jaw hanging slack from the pleasure as you rolled your eyes back, gasping for air and moaning uncontrollably. He grabbed your hair by a fistful again, twisting it around his wrist that was the home to a dainty silver bracelet, his vicious thrusts startling you. 

“I said fucking look at yourself, are you that dumb or do you only understand when I slap you, hm?” he practically growled at you, attentively watching your every facial expression and seeing the approaching climax almost painted on your face. It was the way your eyes puffed up, your cheeks clad in glittering tears and your lips swollen from just how much you had been biting on them in order to silence your screams. Seungmin licked two fingers on his other hand and snaked around your waist, diving in between your legs in order to play with the sensitive bundle of nerves, driving you over the edge. 

“o-oh,, fuck! yes! right there, g-gonna cum!” you yelled in a high-pitched voice, arching your back even more and scrunching the sheets up with your hands, trying to find something to hold on to in order to not bounce back on Seungmin’s cock harder than you already were. This was a scene so far beyond erotic. You didn’t know that watching yourself get fucked hard and deep could be so thrilling, especially since you weren’t allowed to look at Seungmin without getting slapped around like the whore you are. 

Your lovers thrusts got sloppier and uneven, the pack slowing down and him instead going deeper, his hips slamming against your ass and causing your buttcheeks to wobble, him pinching your clit and making your knees weak, it was almost impossible to hold on any longer. With a final hard thrust you came, your love juices coating his throbbing cock that was decorated with thick veins, you moaning his name repeatedly until you came down from your high, your hand trying to grab onto his wrist to the hand that was circling your clit, begging him to stop. Your desperate whimpers was what set Seungmin’s climax off, the young boy rolling his head back before a low grunt escaped his mouth, dumping his cum inside your puffy hole and coloring your velvety walls in his milky white cum. The warmth was comforting, just as comforting as Seungmin releasing his hand from your hair and cunt, stroking your back and muttering “good girl” multiple times along with a small “i love you”, reminding you of how much he loved and cherished you. 

The room got silent, fatigued breaths hitting your ears, feeling Seungmin pulling out of you and only seconds later feeling the familiar feeling of cum dripping out, running against your cunt and small droplets staining the bed in a darker shade. You heard Seungmin snicker behind you, running his fingers along your cunt and smearing the cum all over, you flinching in overstimulation as his fingers came in direct contact with your sore clit. 

“You good?” you asked as you turned around, your eyes lightning up as you saw his handsome face again, only this time you caught it in the moment you loved it the most; right after sex. 

“Mhm, how are you baby?” he inquired to which you nodded before answering. 

“Now I’m doing good cause I can see you~" you said with a bright smile, stretching out your arms to which Seungmin complied, hugging you back and feeling your bare tits pressing up against his warm chest. He cupped your cheek, swiping his thumb across your cheeks that were still stinging, leaving a small kiss on it. 

“You know that I love you?” he asked quietly, you looking him deep in the eyes and smiling, his eyes turning into half-moons as he smiled back. 

“Of course I do, minnie” you answered, placing a delicate kiss on his cherry red lips. The purple lights luring the both of you to sleep, covering your eyes and enticing you into a deep slumber. 

It was an anniversary worth remembering.

[sombreboy]

Expensive doll⇢jjk & pjm

[ masterlist ] Serves as an afterstory for our series Mused Obsession, but can be read on its own. 

Written together with @chimoona​ as JM and @sombreboy​ as JK

Synopsis: In celebration of their one year anniversary, Jungkook dresses Jimin up in lingerie & makeup as his picture-perfect doll and ruins him in every way he desires.

⇢Explicit (18+) ⇢Pairing: Jungkook & Jimin ⇢Genre: smut, mxm ⇢Word count: 15.7k ⇢Ch.warnings: Profanity, JM dressing in lingerie and wearing makeup, messy kissing, degrading petnames and dirtytalk, breathplay, bj, praise kink, JK's fetish for crybaby JM remains intact, body worship, foot fetish JK literally slorps JM's petite little foot and it is v erotic join us feet hoes, some biting, mentions of blood(from a sharp stiletto lol dw), ok hold up and stay w me here JK rides JM but he is in no way a bottom, this is some top ridin' stuff to drive Jm mad and let me tell you it works, then JK puts little JM back in his place where he belongs stuffed with dick, rough fucking, in fact its so rough that JM can't hold his pee im not even sorry-- it was hot, idk what else if you've read any of my stuff you should just kinda know what you're up for. xo

The chime of the security alarm strikes the quiet mansion as Jungkook shuts the door behind him, kicking off his shoes in a hurry. He hugs luxury shopping bags close to his chest, trembling with excitement. He'd been holding onto the bags at work to ensure Jimin didn't see them for days, which felt like months—especially today, to finally come home to his favorite person in the entire universe and spend their first official anniversary together.

It's been an entire year since Jimin proved his love and dedication to the photographer, and life couldn't be any better than it is now. They're unstoppable, thriving as the biggest names in the industry. With a lot of fame—a lot more on Jimin's end—comes a lot of work and less time together, except for when they manage to crawl into bed at the end of the day. So, Jeon Jungkook wanted to make tonight extra special. He'd missed having Jimin truly just for himself; not just as a boyfriend, but as a model and his muse.

"Baby, I'm home." Jungkook calls out as he eyes the rooms, listening to where Jimin could be. He knows the model had the day off, so the younger man had given him a little white lie—he wouldn’t be able to make it home early. Yet here he is, giddy like a child and ready to surprise his beloved butterfly.

"Come to me~" He adds cheerfully while walking towards the stairs, searching for Jimin when he hears the small thuds of his lover's light footsteps.

"K-kookie?" Jimin calls from their bedroom, rubbing his sleepy eyes after a long nap. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard Jungkook arrive.

Thinking he had more time to get dressed and ready for their night together, he's caught, fresh from restful sleep, wearing only an oversized t-shirt and tight black briefs. The night was planned to a T...in Jimin's mind. A brand new suit hung in the walk-in closet, designed and tailored specifically for his body. He knows how the young photographer likes to ogle when the fabric of his pants hugs his plump cheeks daringly, almost too tight for a public setting.

But tonight, there will be no public outing. No distractions from the outside world, getting in the way of their time together.

As high-profile as the two men have grown over the last year, they've found it hard to take a leisurely night out on the town without being spotted by a fan of their work or an industry mate trying to cut into their fun. It's been a rollercoaster, but it's been the thrill of their lives. Even then, it's necessary to plan nights of relaxation and indulgence. So, Jimin set out candles and dipped ruby ripe strawberries in milk chocolate, planning a romantic night with just the two of them. He even chilled a bottle of overpriced champagne—a gift from Namjoon, hand-delivered for the happy couple. It was assumed that since Jungkook was working late, the ambiance of a well-kept home and a willing partner was all he wanted anyhow... Until, of course, Jimin glides down the stairs and spots his lover with armfuls of bags. Designer bags.

"Welcome h-ooome," he yawns, still finding his voice, "And happy anniversary, baby." He leans in and stands on his toes, pressing his body into the bags held at Jungkook's chest to give him a sweet kiss. "I missed you a lot...and I cleaned up too, but I guess I fell asleep at some point. I was going to get all pretty for you, so just pretend I'm dressed up right now."

“You’re gorgeous, baby.” Jungkook smiles into the kiss, returning it softly. He pulls back to drink in the fresh state Jimin is in. No makeup, barely dressed... It's like the visionary’s plans were fated to happen. “And this is perfect for what I have planned for you. A clean canvas, so to speak.” The young photographer adds as he hands over the bags to his lover. “Take off everything you’re wearing and put this on, nothing else. And bring the small bag with you to the studio.” He leans in closer to allow the hot breath of every spoken word to fan over Jimin’s cheek, whispering his next words. “I’ll be waiting for you. Okay? Now go.”

Accustomed to following the photographer's orders, Jimin doesn't waste a moment scurrying to the bathroom and peeling off his shirt on the way in. He kicks off his underwear and sits on the closed toilet seat to skim through the first bag's contents. The second he runs his hands over smooth silk ribbons and lace, his heart leaps out of his chest. 

Lingerie. Women's lingerie, he notes internally as his fingers skim the fabric with a timid touch. It feels small in his hand, and he already knows it's not meant to cover much. Jungkook has always been an appreciator of visual art, and in the back of Jimin's mind, he always knew this moment would come. The female form can be voluptuous and sensual—soft to the touch and comforting when held close. 

Without taking the lingerie out to inspect it closely, Jimin knows this look is made to illuminate his feminine traits—to hug the small of his waist and accentuate the curve of his hips, prominently displaying some of his lover's favorite parts with exaggerated flair.

As a former full-time model, Jimin doesn't think twice about indulging this new request from Jungkook. He's been half-naked in front of strangers in very scandalous clothing, it's only right he indulges his partner with the same courtesy, under his exact specifications. 

He sets the smaller bag aside and removes the clothing, gasping at the bright red shade the younger man had chosen. It looks like fresh blood as he tugs it onto his small body—ribbons drip down his legs to capture the matching set of pure red stockings. When he slips them over his legs, they stop at the feet, hugging them tight and showing the delicate curve of his arches.

A slender garter belt cinches high around his waist and rests low on his hips, made of a thin weave of lace that opens up at the belly button to show off the cute dip of his tummy. Not even fully dressed, he feels pretty...desirable. With each new addition, he feels his confidence grow, matching the opulent fit his love has chosen for their special occasion. Jimin grasps the silk ties that dangle off the belt and loop them into the stockings, holding them tight against his body and matching the two pieces as one. He takes his time to billow the ties into eye-catching bows, adding more of a feminine flair to his long slender legs. 

He opens another bag and clasps his hand over his mouth, pulling out an accompanying bralette, so fair and petite. It's soft on his skin. Everything feels so soft and erotic, like it was crafted to draw moans from his mouth before he's even touched by warm hands. The gentle graze of the lace over his nipples makes him bite his lower lip to push back building arousal. When he crosses his legs to finish clasping the bralette behind his back, he feels the rub of new lace against his cock, only drawing his attention to the fact that women's underwear does not provide enough room to hold him fully. If he gets harder, which he's certain he will, it will be impossible not to poke out and dribble over the rouge fabric.

Once Jimin empties the bags and slips every bit of clothing onto his body, he steps back to admire the full look. Even in the dim bathroom mirror, he finds every little bit of his form jaw-dropping as it's prettily wrapped in red. But no look is complete without a matching set of kitten heels, which he slips onto his red silken feet. He immediately notices how the added height accentuates his plump cheeks, out in the open, skimmed down the center with a cheeky thong.

"Woah..." The model takes a few strides across the bathroom floor to get a feel for the new footwear. A few clumsy trips over the tile to get started, but after a couple minutes, his confidence is through the roof. He can stride effortlessly and sway his hips in a subtle yet seductive manner.

"O-okay." He psyches himself up, licking his thick lips in a quick swipe while he drinks in a final look of his fit. He grabs the smallest bag, still unopened, and exits the bathroom to find Jungkook waiting for him in his personal studio.

Meanwhile, Jungkook just finished setting up the finishing touches to his studio and waited for the most important centerpiece of the night. His favorite camera sits on a tripod next to his large armchair, which is to be his spot to admire his creation. He presses record before he forgets to, and knowing how he will soon see his lover in the new lingerie, there'd be no time to think about whether or not the camera captures it all. What he didn't expect, however, was to find the fresh chocolate dipped strawberries, paired with a bottle of champagne. He immediately noted that this wasn't something he had in his own collection, so he figured this was Jimin's preparation for the night.

"So sweet to me, always.." Jungkook sighs dreamily when placing the strawberries and the bottle on the small table next to his chair as he takes his seat. His lover always finds little ways to show his affection; always considerate of Jungkook in everything he does. It's cute, and even if the elder man's plans might not be what he initially thought, Kook is sure that this will surpass anything he had in mind.

"He should be here soon..." He leans back in his seat, still wearing the suit he'd worn all day at work. His strong, tattooed fingers wrap around his tie and tug at it to loosen the fabric a bit. He rolls up the sleeves of his white dress shirt after discarding the suit jacket to let it be thrown on the floor behind the chair. His breathing slows down when he listens intently for the powerful sound of heels coming from the bedroom, echoing in the hallway. Although he knows what to expect, he still doesn't know just how it would look-- how his Jimin would pull off the look. The thick swallow in anticipation causes his adam's apple to bob, already excited as his heart beats harder in his chest.

Jimin bottles his nerves and clicks his heels with slow steps, echoing deliberately on the hard floor until he reaches the studio doorway.

"Don't laugh, okay?" He smirks at his own words, still hidden around the corner of the doorframe, knowing there's no way on earth Jungkook could find this fit humorous. "I'm coming in..."

One step forward, and he's basked in the low light of the photographer's setup. He swallows hard at the first sight of Jungkook, even when he's dressed the same as when he left him. The loosened tie captures his attention, and he swallows again at the thought of holding it while he glides his silken legs over his lover's lap to ride him roughly. The anticipation of what Jungkook has in store for Jimin is overwhelming.

Jimin gives the photographer a moment to gather himself before he walks forward, placing one heel in front of the other and sashaying his hips with each step. The camera blinks red to indicate it's recording, and Jimin doesn't let it distract his attention for a second. He moves in a slow weave, looking up at his partner under a tempting hooded gaze--long eyelashes beckoning him closer. When he reaches the center of the studio, he stops for further instruction, standing with confidence and poise. 

"You chose well, baby. I love it." He gives a slow twirl, pivoting on his slim heel to show off the back, pausing to give the younger man a good look. "...do you like it?"

“I really like it.. I knew you’d look perfect in this.” Jungkook drinks in the entirety of his lover, his heavy gaze not leaving a single inch of the model's body unseen. The lingerie is perfect, covering just enough—but doesn’t hide anything. His hungry eyes travel down the blonde model’s back; from his slender back to his plump ass, not to mention how the posture from the heels make it stand out even more. “Did you bring the small bag?” He asks, beckoning Jimin to come closer with a wave of his hand, itching to feel his delicate body beneath his fingertips.

Jimin nods yes, stepping towards his lover. "I didn't peek, I was good." He says it in an innocent tone, as if he doesn't look like a goddamn succubus in fuck-me heels. A brilliant red strap of his bralette slips down his shoulder, which he takes his time slipping back into place. Even if he feels a bit out of place in this new look, he pulls it off with grace and seduction.

Jimin hands the bag to Jungkook. "I'm sure whatever it is, it'll make this moment even better." He kneels at the photographer's feet in a natural subservient position, resting his elbows on the man's thighs and peering up at him for further instruction.

"Yes." Jungkook says softly while taking the bag in his hands, giving Jimin an approving smile. While his face remains unbothered, the strain of his half erect cock proves that he's anything but. The visuals of the elder in such sinful fabrics drives him crazy, and eager to ruin them in every way he pleases. "You're such a good boy to me. Always trusting me with your everything."

Jungkook digs into the bag, pulling out a small, high end lipstick. He puts the bag to the side, grabbing Jimin's chin with his free hand while popping the lid off the lipstick with his thumb, leaning forward in his seat to get a proper look of his lover's bare face. 

"Pout." He instructs, twirling the little stick to slide the blood red lipstick from hiding, bringing it close to Jimin's plump lips. When the blonde does as told, he gently swipes the crimson color onto the delicate skin of Jimin's lower lip. His cock throbs at how effortlessly it stains his pretty mouth, and he keeps adding more; layer after layer until he's satisfied with the deep, bloody red adorning one of many favorite features of his man. 

"You look like a doll already, so pretty.." Jungkook sighs, a mixture of his adoration and sexual frustration building at the sight. But he's patient, and leans back a bit to inspect his work, moving his hold on the smaller man's jaw to rub his thumb over Jimin's lips, staining the pad of his finger in the process.

A moan presses passed Jimin’s pursed pout. All he’s ever wanted since he met the mysterious man is to be everything for him—there, at his feet, living to serve his deepest desires. To give a taste of his commitment to the role, he swipes his pierced tongue over the finger in a slow motion.

“I can see how hard you’re getting, Kookie...” He takes the thumb between his stained lips and circles his tongue around it, releasing with a light pop. “...seeing me like this, dressed in the underwear you chose...” He peers down at the slick thumb and admires the prominent stain—a perfect shade to match the rest of his ensemble. “...bet you’d love to admire every inch of your creation.” Jimin circles his tongue around the digit once more and pulls it into his mouth, humming his pleasure into the photographer’s skin. He brings a hand up to palm his lover’s stiffening length through unbuttoned pants.

"Mm, you know exactly what I like." Jungkook purrs, glancing down for a moment to watch Jimin's delicate hand touch his hard length, now prominent through the fabrics keeping it hidden. His gaze travels back to the model's face. Seeing Jimin's doe eyes look up at him with such submission, admiration... love. It drives the photographer mad with desire.

"There's so much I wanna do to you." He breathes out, his sentence ending with a quiet moan as he bucks up into Jimin's small palm. When his lust takes over, slowly and steadily, his impulses grow more reckless. "Or make you do, for me.." He adds before swiping his thumb over the lipstick once more, dragging the pad of his digit further past the corner of the model's mouth. A stripe smeared in red adorns Jimin's cheek like a small chelsea smile-effect. Jungkook's hand moves back down to wrap behind Jimin's neck, covering his nape with the warmth of his palm as he leans forward to draw his lover in for a messy kiss, aiding in the destruction of the pretty lipstick he'd just applied. 

A red mess is created between the two, their lips coated with splashes of the color and the taste of chemicals mixing with their saliva. But Kook doesn't care—instead, he enjoys every second of it, forcing his tongue between Jimin's parted lips to claim his mouth.

"Look at you..." Jungkook murmurs when he pulls back, the thick string of saliva connecting their tongues breaking off when he speaks, watching it fall to stick to Jimin's chin. "Your makeup got ruined, what a shame.." The faux concern in his tone is evident in contrast to the pleased fire in his eyes. He takes the lipstick, grabbing the blonde's jaw a bit harder this time to reapply, not bothering to wipe off the already smeared makeup around the lips. "Baby... Take my dick out while I fix this, I'm aching."

Jimin pants, left breathless from the younger man's kiss. "Mm--ah...okay." His hand resumes gentle strokes over the clothed length, just feeling for a moment while he distracts his mind from his own growing erection. The press of his pink swollen cock head tests the integrity of the lace, making it bulge out noticeably. When his hand slips into Jungkook's pants to pet him bare, he can't bite back the whimpers of need that brush his partner's fingers.

"Y-you really are aching." Jimin's mouth salivates, murmuring the words to avoid messing up Jungkook's artwork. "Fuck...so big, baby." The blonde model uses one hand to tug down his lover's pants and underwear while the other maintains a languid pace over his silken skin. He takes a pause to bring his messy lips close, wetting Jungkook's shaft with an audible spit that dribbles down his chin. He's never been perfect at following instructions when arousal fogs his mind. At this moment, he needs to hear the slick sounds of cock in his hand. He needs to feel the warmth of blood pulsating under his touch, stiffening and dripping for more. 

"May I taste you, sir?" He reverts back to his role, asking sweetly, nipping the bottom lip and smudging the lipstick even more. "Please."

“How can I refuse when you ask so sweetly?” Jungkook looks at his creation, already seeing the blonde mess up the lipstick with his spit and nipping of his lips. It both pleased him and annoyed him, but the heavy arousal weighing on him clouds his judgement and makes him more forgiving towards Jimin’s light disobedience. It’s to be expected, and seeing his lips messy and smeared with red while sucking his cock is all the photographer could think of, for now. “If that’s what my baby wants,” he sighs, reaching out to smudge the other end of the corner of the model's mouth, finishing the joker-like smile on his cheeks. 

Kook leans back in his seat again, moving his hands to rest on his thighs. Kook’s gaze is focused on Jimin, drinking in every feature, observing every little movement. He zeroes in on his messy lips, and feels a moan scratching at the back of his throat at the sight. He can’t wait to see his lover turn into a broken mess, one step at a time. 

“Suck it deeply.. take all of it. No teasing.”

To test the waters, Jimin gives a light swipe along the bottom of Jungkook's shaft, drawing his pink muscle up to the tip and swirling it around the leaking slit in tight circles. 

"Mm, uhm—ahh..." Jimin becomes vocal, humming around the thick length as he pops it in and out of his plump lips, watching it twitch with delight each time he strips Jungkook of his building pleasure. Jungkook said not to tease, but the pretty little blonde craves to feel each shudder of arousal. Each touch from him is live-wired to the younger man, and Jimin feels powerful by causing it to happen. Plus, as an added perk, he knows the slow and drawn-out pace will cause more trouble for him in the long-run. And...what's life without a little pain? He anticipates it. He knows, as nicely as he's dressed, his partner can easily turn him into a crying mess without any regard for the flashy fine clothing. No amount of silk and lace can conceal his inner need to be lovingly destroyed. 

With a lasting swipe of his hot tongue across the ridge of Jungkook's tip, Jimin pops it into between his rouge lips, already smearing a bit of the lipstick over the smooth skin. He bobs his head to wet the throbbing cock, spilling his saliva down the length of it with little to no regard for the mess it creates. He knows, better than anyone, the messier he is, the better.

"Ah, mmh—I told you, no teasing..." Jungkook huffs with furrowed brows, focused on how well Jimin takes his girthy length all the way, dragging his tongue against the smooth skin, watching himself get covered in saliva and faint marks of the lipstick.

"Always making it difficult for me, looking so sweet and innocent..." Jungkook licks his lips at the sight of the elder's messy mouth, makeup smearing past his lips and drooling down his chin onto his length. He's sucked the photographer's cock countless times, so he knows exactly how to do it, and his gag reflex had become close to nonexistent. But, that doesn't mean it's not there, one just has to use a bit of force. "But you're anything but innocent, aren't you? Sucking me off like a cockhungry whore." The photographer bites back a moan, unable to keep his hands off of Jimin for too long before he's already weaving his fingers through his lover's blonde curls to get a good grip. He's gentle at first, just feeling the motion of Jimin's head bob up and down his length, wet sounds and whiny, muffled moans filling the room as no other sound is audible inside the isolated space.

"So be it. If you want my cock that badly, then keep sucking." Jungkook tugs at Jimin's hair, forcing his head to move harder and faster. His generous length makes space in the model's delicate throat, forcing the continuous pool of drool to seep from Jimin's mouth to add to the mess, not allowing him to get off to breathe except from his nose.

Jimin crosses his ankles and rests his bare butt on top of the heels. They clack together as he bends forward and bobs his head steadily, opening up his throat to feel Jungkook's wet tip guide the way. Inch by fleshy inch, his lover's cock fills the space within him. It causes his own cock to peek out of the slim red lace and poke Jimin's abdomen as he bends deep. The blonde swallows around Jungkook's fat cock and holds still, warming it as deep as he can possibly bear, forcing himself to wait until he feels lightheaded.

When his lungs burn for breath, he withdraws slowly, tonguing the prominent veins that bulge along his lover's shaft. "Mmf...g-ah—ack!" He chokes on the last couple inches and holds his small palms in the inner curve of Jungkook's thighs for balance. "...Mine. All mine...tastes so yummy," he emphasizes, swiping a bead of precum directly from the leaking slit. Lost in his own little world, feeling pretty yet needy for friction, he wraps a hand around the shaft and strokes it up and down quickly.

" I-I'm your whore, sir." He looks the part—plump lips and cheeks stained with red, stringing long strands of his spit to the younger's twitching head. To the outside world, he's nothing but the most well-kept, straight-laced individual. Here? He lets go entirely, making his body available for use without a care of how someone else perceives him. The only opinion that matters is the man before him. 

Jimin looks down and notices a strap of his bralette had fallen down, only matching his role of sultry temptress...quickly morphing to messy slut. He purposefully lets the other strap fall, looking up at Jungkook with beckoning lashes. 

"Am I doing well?"

"Mm.. Could do better." Jungkook lies, towering over Jimin's small frame on the floor. His long, raven curls fall forward, framing his sharp features. Being in this position, seeing everything from above, makes him feel so utterly powerful. And Jimin's big, glossy eyes meeting his own only adds to the fire that awakens every single hormone in his body.

In reality, Jimin is doing well. In fact, he's doing an amazing job at driving the photographer mad. His cock twitches delightfully in the model's hands, his abdomen tightening in excitement and heart fluttering beneath his heaving ribcage.

"A job well done isn't without your pretty tears, baby." Jungkook says softly, taking deep breaths to keep his voice from wavering too much in pleasure. He strokes his fingers through his lover's bright, silky curls, coaxing him to take him back into his mouth. "Choke on it, but don't make me cum... Just enough to make your eyes sparkle for me."

Jimin chokes on nothing but a quick gasp. "O-of course." He shrinks under Jungkook's commanding gaze and rubs his thighs together, wishing he had permission to adjust his now fully erect cock. To solidify his subservience, on top of his now glassy eyes, he takes another step and clasps his hands behind his back. No ties or cuffs are necessary, although he'd enjoy being bound tight and abused for being a tease—it was the plan all along.

"I love you," he whispers, swallowing down a fresh wave of emotion and looking up to let Jungkook admire the first tear roll down his cheek. The wet droplet catches the makeup and slips off his chin to seep into his bright red lingerie. Jimin holds eye contact and sticks out his tongue, showing off the pretty piece of jewelry at the center, right where Jungkook placed it nearly a year ago. He gives a couple testing kitten licks, then hovers his pout over the tip, plunging the full length down his throat without a testing suck. No more teasing, he tells himself, gagging around the fat cock. 

Just as Jungkook demanded, Jimin strips himself of breath until he's crying for relief. Hands still clasped tight and out of the way, he's given himself no way of escape, showing his true resilience and commitment to the task he's given.

“Oh, my Jimin..” Jungkook sighs in pleasure, watching how his hefty length disappears into the welcoming warmth of his lover's throat. The flesh contracts around him when the model gags, squeezing tightly to draw more low moans and grunts from the photographer. “You’re doing so well now.” He praises, brushing his thumb beneath Jimin’s eye to catch a few tears. He’s convinced that although there’s a million types of makeup to make one look perfect, Jimin looks his prettiest when his skin is glowing from the shine of his tears. The way his submissive stare from below is sparkling like little stars, just for Jeon Jungkook. The way Jimin will endure anything to please.

“Nobody is prettier than you.” Jungkook bites his lower lip at the sight below, and grows impatient. He keeps a tight grip on his lover's hair, cock deeply buried in his throat while he stands up from his seat. “Nobody could ever compare to you, butterfly.” He hisses, feeling the heat of his words creep onto his cheeks while meeting the elders glossy eyes. He withdraws his hips slowly, only to thrust forward and lodge the head of his jeweled cock as deep as possible. He sighs, lip quivering at his lover's compliance. It’s too exciting, his body is practically shaking with itching, aggressive longing to destroy Jimin further. Patience, he reminds himself. It is their special night, so he wants to ensure Jimin feels like the most desired human in the universe.

The warming praise gives Jimin the courage he needs to slide his lips up the rigid length, gliding his wet ribbed tongue in gentle sweeps. His throat burns from the intrusion, yet, it's a familiar sensation and it does very little to detract him from bobbing his head and building up the photographer until he's at his brink. Slick, slobbery sucks and the occasional gag and gasp for breath becomes the playlist of their evening. Even the model becomes affected by his own desperate sounds. He wiggles his plump butt in a subtle motion to take his attention off the desire pulsing in his veins. He sucks and tongues, staring up at Jungkook until his vision blurs with a wave of new tears. Jimin rests back on his heels to catch his breath, letting the throbbing cock flop out of his mouth and into his hand, holding it firm and continuing to bring his lover close to the edge without immediate relief.

"Fuck me." The second the words leave his swollen lipstick-smeared lips is the moment he cracks, just a little. Hot tears fall down Jimin's cheeks--hand stroking the soaked length until he's trembling to be touched. "I n-need you, Kookie."

Within what seems like a split second, Jungkook dropped to his knees on the floor in front of Jimin; framing his small face in his large palms to draw him in for a messy kiss. He can taste everything-- the mixture of lipstick and saliva, sullied with the taste of his own cock lingering on the model's tongue. But the highlight of it all is the salty topping of Jimin's tears, a clear result of his effort and submission that he worked himself so hard that his body rejected it-- and yet endured to fulfill the photographer's desires.

"Haah, you need me?" Jungkook chuckles when he pulls back from the heated kiss, lingering close to softly press his lips over Jimin's damp cheeks. His own are stained with a faint red, transferred from the elder's pillowy ones.

"Sure you're not tired of this cock?" He smiles as he continues to kiss away Jimin's tears, tongue poking out to lick his cheek as his hot breath fans his face. While he does so, his hands let go of Jimin's face to smooth down his slender form, snaking behind his back until they settle on his ass, mercilessly squeezing the flesh between his fingers. "After you got a taste of Joonie, maybe I won't be enough?" Jungkook's wolfish smile doesn't falter, knowing this will tug at his lover's heartstrings. His kisses travel south, leaving red sucks and bites to blossom on the model's fair skin in it's path down to find a spot by his collarbone where he sucks harshly, certain that it'll leave a possessive mark behind.

"Joonie?" The tears on Jimin's cheeks glisten under the studio lights. His quivering bottom lip juts out in a pout as he naturally leans into the breath of Jungkook's suckles. The hot, tongued, needy markings become painful. Jimin huffs out a low moan. "Hyung was big...but he doesn't taste like you...fuck--" He takes Jungkook's face between his hands and returns the kiss, mashing their lips together messily, parting his mouth and giving him a longing taste of what he desires most. The model draws back slowly, making sure thin strands of their combined saliva string between their tongues, obvious for his lover to admire.

"You're more than enough..." Jimin whispers, letting a hand drop back to Jungkook's swollen cock, still dripping wet with his spit and precum. "I only beg for you, baby. I only want you...playing with me...fucking me...using me until I c-cry." He scoots forward and lets the length drop from his hand, then lifts his knees to straddle the photographer's lap on the floor. While the move may be a little too desperate, he doesn't have a single shred of care in his small body. He aches to feel his love's large hands tug at the lingerie, to feel the way his dripping cock strains against the material, and how it hugs his tense thighs. More than anything, he wants to rock his plump cheeks over Jungkook's shaft, until he's shaking to rip off every bit of red satin and lace from his skin. Jimin pleas in a cracked voice. "Will you make me cry, Kookie?"

"How can you say it so sweetly, as if you aren't crying already..." Jungkook admires the disheveled man before him, lips swollen and messy with smeared makeup. The loose bands of the bralette hang down Jimin's small biceps, adding to the vision in the photographer's mind. "You know how I love it when you beg like this." The younger's strained voice breaks into a low, needy growl when aggression fuels his sadistic desires to go further. Jimin knows this is just one of his ways to show his affection, this is how he's always been, and will continue to always be. Jungkook's greedy hands knead at the flesh of Jimin's ass, nails scraping the fabrics of the lingerie, tugging so harshly that it struggles to not break in his grasp. He spreads the model's ass, keeping the lingerie in the way of his tight entrance as his rigid length rubs against it.

"I don't want you to cry..." Jungkook presses Jimin's ass down, rubbing his cock between the soft cheeks of the model's ass. He looks at his face, never wavering the intense eye contact he initiates while one hand withdraws from it's hold to scavenge the floor next to him, grabbing the opened lipstick. He leans forward, one arm snaking around Jimin's small waist to keep him in place, thick length snugly pressed beneath the blonde's weight while the other hand resumes to add another layer of lipstick, fixing the mess without cleaning up what's been smeared. "I want you to scream so loud that you cannot make a single sound," He smiles, pressing the lipstick harder against his lips, adding a second layer, watching the product crumble a little. "I want you to choke on your own cries, because you can't think of anything else but me."

One last swipe, and Jungkook moves on to draw a little heart in the middle of Jimin's chest, filling it in meticulously. His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek in focus, before he finishes and looks back up at the elder. "Now..." He sighs, feeling the painful aching when his cock throbs against the damp lingerie separating himself from being inside of Jimin. He nudges his chin in the direction behind him towards the armchair. "Get up."

The soft pink curve of Jungkook’s lips tempts Jimin to lean in and sully his fair skin with the clumpy lipstick. But he refrains, because he trusts the vision of his photographer—always. He looks like sin—dressed as an upscale whore, made a hot mess by the various layers of makeup applied between spit-slicked kisses and mouth fucking. He would have never chosen this look for himself, and that’s part of the thrill. It’s fresh and exciting, knowing only he can fulfill this erotic vision; being the only muse fit for the occasion, or any other.

“Yes, sir.” Jimin stands to his feet, a little wobbly as he adjusts to the height of the heels. The chair feels miles away the farther the small model steps away from his partner. Yet, the mystery of what could come next makes his heart thunder in his chest. He rubs his lips together to smooth the luxe lipstick, rubbing beyond his natural lines to make his pillowy plush pout look even fuller. Jimin sits on the chair, prim and proper with his legs crossed, pointing the tip of a slim heel in Jungkook’s direction.

“How would you like me?” He asks innocently in a sweet tone, as if he isn’t dressed in women’s lingerie, practically dripping with precum, hard cock straining against the lace.

“Like that, just like that...'' Jungkook stares up from his position on the floor, crawling forward on all fours like a predator slowly approaching it's prey. A new spark of various emotions swirl in his gaze, ranging from admiration and affection-- drowning in the crazed hunger that seeps through his blown out pupils. Having the Park Jimin looking like a hot mess made his cock stir painfully as he tucked himself back in his underwear, leaving the pants undone. It wasn't his turn yet, and as they both know-- the reward of patience will be immensely satisfying.

"Can you imagine if anybody else saw you like this? Every media source would explode, the internet would be on fire." Jungkook sighs dreamily from the mere thought of it. What makes it so good, is the fact that he remains the only person... Well, out of two, in the world to see the famous model and designer turn into a submissive plaything. "You'd lose everything... And for what? To please me?" Jungkook shakes his head, chuckling in a mocking manner as if it's unbelievable that Jimin would go such daring lengths of risking everything, time and time again, just to keep Jeon Jungkook happy.

Just to be his whore.

"And that is why I love you... You know exactly how I like you." The photographer says softly. His gaze drinks up the view above him, from Jimin's messy pout, down his clammy, heaving chest, to his crossed thighs hiding the pretty little cock that is most definitely screaming for relief.

"A needy whore. A compliant whore." Jungkook murmurs to himself when his gaze finds the heel pointing at him. His hands greedily reach out to grab Jimin's delicate ankle, kissing and biting at the stockings covering his soft skin. His free hand grabs the shoe, slowly sliding it off to place it on the floor with unexpected care. He looks up at the blonde again, his dark stare softening at the small gasps continuously pushing past Jimin's swollen lips. Kook kisses travel further down, his own breaths becoming heavy and shaky at how feminine Jimin's small foot looks, covered with the see through fabrics, holding it in his hand like it's the most precious thing he's ever seen.

"A doll." He smiles, closing his eyes when he indulges, flattening his tongue to lick a long, slow, stripe from Jimin's heel to his toe.

“S-shit...” The wet pink muscle tickles Jimin’s sensitive arch, but the pressure of it makes it more enjoyable than he anticipated. Every square inch of his body has been worshipped, marked, pleasured, pained, and all the rest of it—every sensation imaginable, Jungkook has inflicted it with purpose. Even as he pleases his own carnal impulses, he dangles new kinks in the model’s face, tempting him to grasp them tight.

“What are you—“ He knew the second he slipped on those tantalizing stilettos that there was a greater plan in store. The dagger-sharp, pointed heels could easily be used as weapons. After a year with Jungkook, he’s learned how much weaponry and danger makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Jimin moans delicately.

“Do you like my feet, puppy?” The glide of Jungkook’s tongue can be felt through the sheer fabric, seeping the moisture of his spit down to the skin. “Want to taste more?” Sitting on his makeshift throne makes him feel power and strength. He’s well aware that in a heartbeat he can be rag-dolled in any position the younger man desires, but he’s placed in a position of command with his partner at his feet. So he lifts his other foot off the floor and places the sharp point of his shoe onto Jungkook’s thigh, digging it into the muscle just a bit. “Tear the stockings, please.” Jimin’s voice shakes. “R-ruin them. Take it off, with your teeth.”

Jungkook's grasp around Jimin's ankle tightens when he feels the pointy heel dig into his thigh, drawing a low moan from deep within his chest. He gazes up at Jimin through his dark lashes, crooking an eyebrow.

"What was that?" his wicked smile is hiding behind Jimin's foot, which he kisses the sole of between his words. "I thought I heard the doll speak, I must be mad..." Jungkook purposely put Jimin in this position, knowing exactly how it'd make him feel to see the photographer on his knees. The bratty side to the model always knew how to spur-- or in this case, literally step on his nerves to get what he wants. It all serves to the buildup of a bigger purpose; the more riled up Jungkook becomes, the harder Jimin gets fucked. And he knows it too well. Just how long it'll take before he gets what he wants, is the big question.

He looks up at his hot mess of a lover again, saying nothing as he silently obeys his wish when he bites down on the fabrics, carelessly dragging his teeth against the fair skin as he does so. He pulls back, ripping the expensive material off like a kid that's too excited on Christmas to care about whether the wrapping paper is torn to shreds. He nips at the broken fabrics, slowly sliding it off from his lower leg and down to slip it off his foot, audibly spitting it out from his mouth to lunge back in. His hands withdraw to settle on the other leg, still covered and dressed with the heel that so deliciously stings into his muscular thigh. He strokes it gently, so carefully it must tickle more than anything, while wrapping his plush, lipstick stained lips around Jimin's toe, sucking and tonguing it shamelessly with low hums in satisfaction and hot breaths through his nose.

It is overwhelming to even think about the erotic visuals he's capturing on camera, so much that his cheeks flush with heat, and his thick bulge twitches with every little stroke of his tongue that snakes around and in-between the model's petite toes.

"Gah--fucking...shit--ah!" Jimin chokes on a whine as his first digit slips into Jungkook's hot mouth. Each delicate nerve ending sparks to life and ripples tingly pleasurable goosebumps up his legs. He clamps his thighs shut and adjusts the heel, scraping into the fabric of his pants, testing the limit of Jungkook's flesh. Mind over matter, the small male wriggles his butt in his seat, internally battling the conflicting tickly sensations vs his overbearing arousal. With just a single toe suckled between his favorite pair of messy lips, his mind numbs and his limbs tense to claw for leverage. Feeling this, and seeing it happen--admiring the way Jungkook's long lashes close gently as he indulges in the moment. Jimin grips the chair arms in both hands and tears his sharp nails into the upholstery. Jimin mewls, straining to keep quiet, allowing his partner to focus on his indulgence.

“Mm--ah, ah, god..." He closes his eyes and simply feels the movement of the wet muscle, licking between his toes, around them, sucking them into his mouth, until they're glistening in his saliva. "M-more--more..." he whispers, slapping a hand over his begging lips. He broke the stocking, slid it off of him with his teeth without any regard to the price or quality of the fabric. No moment of hesitation to argue against the command or counter with something more enjoyable for both of them. Spoiled, is the word Jimin thinks of...he's pampered in this position, given exactly what he needs, like a prized porcelain doll.

"M-mooore," he whines from behind his hand, biting hard into the soft skin between his pointer finger and thumb, muffling the garbled sounds and using pressure to distract. His eyes seek the recording camera before letting a tear slide down his ruddy cheek, swiping his small tongue over his rouge pout and swallowing hard. "Baby, f-feels--mmf...so good. Looks so pretty..."

With a wet pop, Jungkook withdraws his lips from Jimin's cleaned up toes. His eyes open slowly as he does so, looking up at the overwhelmed man above, shaking with his arousal and inner battle to stay still and receiving the reward. Who the reward is for remains a mystery.

"So greedy... Didn't know you loved having your filthy toes sucked so much." He hums, glancing down at the wet patch of precum staining his underwear, a clear result of just how much he enjoys it as well. "What else do you want?"

Jungkook doesn't look at Jimin while asking, but keeps his attention on the slender legs in front of him. He grabs the model's ankle, uncrossing his legs to spread them wide, scuffing closer between to where he can access and lean his cheek against Jimin's inner thigh, so close but so far away from the aching, pretty cock that's barely covered by the soft lace.

"You're really digging that heel into my leg, baby... Ouch..." He sighs, feeling his length throb with every movement that twists the heel into his flesh. He purposely chose sharp heels, feeling his mixture of bad temper, impatience and lust fill him with every hot breath pushing past his lips. He snakes a hand down between his legs, slipping past the waistband of his boxers to squeeze his cock tightly, staring up at Jimin with doe puppy eyes, rubbing his cheek against the clammy skin of the blonde's thigh. "It hurts, hmm.. Ah.." He closes his eyes again, kissing the skin softly, seemingly gentle-- until his lips curl into a small smile, parting his teeth only to bite down on Jimin's flesh, leaving a possessive mark behind.

Jimin's nails tear away from the upholstery and grasp Jungkook by the roots.

"Sss--ow, fuuck." The fresh mark lays very close to the tattoo on his thigh, still brilliantly colorful with dark shading, like he got it weeks prior. A bruise begins to bloom between the embedded dips where Jungkook's teeth sunk in. It's hot and tender and ignites the rest of his skin to an even coat of blush. Without noticing, Jimin drags his heel down gradually, brought to attention when it clacks onto the floor in front of Jungkook's knelt frame...Tempting…

"Oh, baby. It hurts, huh?" Jimin coos as his fingers naturally soothe the sensitive skin of his lover's scalp. He notices a new hole in Jungkook's pants where his heel punctured through, straight down to the skin. On the fine tip of the heel is a subtle patch of blood where he scraped a little too roughly. "Poor puppy..."

It's a rare occasion to have the photographer in such a submissive state, but he seems to enjoy it more and more once Jimin inflicts a little pain. So that's exactly what the model does, to give back the pleasure and revel in the pristine imagery of his lover on bent knees to please. "Lick it," Jimin says in a quiet voice, bringing his heel to his partner's lips. He clears his throat and states it again, louder and with confidence, wrapping his other leg over Jungkook's shoulder and pulling him closer to the sharp point. "Just like you did my toes, clean this pretty heel."

"Mm? That's what you want..." Jungkook squeezes his cock tighter, blocking the blood flow until he feels his pulse thunder through the swollen tip. He tilts his head to the side slightly, giving Jimin a good view of the way he leans in and opens his mouth wide. His tongue snakes around the sharp heel, scooping up the droplet of his own blood to coat his wet muscle in a thin layer of red. His raised eyebrows serve as a silent question of whether or not he is doing it right... And by the way Jimin's big eyes are quivering as they meet his own, he's more than certain of the answer.

Jungkook hums lowly, a deep moan caught in his throat when he tugs the waistband down to set his cock free from hiding once more, openly massaging his slick length to the way he keeps licking the heel, from the sharpness to the sole, a flattened tongue dragging up like a dog lapping up their favorite meal.

"That's g-good...so good." Any mortal man would go cross eyed from the sinful sight. Jimin is made tougher than most, strong from being with Jungkook, but he's easily bent and broken from the simplest sights. Anything from the younger man melts the model's mind to horny mush--trying on a new pair of Versace shades, or hitting a high score on Overwatch, or sloppily sipping a bananamilk until the container runs dry. This visual, however...is quite complex. The blonde sweats lightly, swallowing tight and combing his fingers through Jungkook's shaggy raven locks, getting lost in the action. He isn't even directly touched, and yet, he feels electric shock waves of pleasure from simply watching Jungkook thumb over his dripping cock head and lap the razor sharp edge of his stiletto.

"Keep touching yourself," he whimpers, gaze hungrily following the younger man's slippery pink tongue slide over the last unsullied strip of heel. "A-and...gah...don't cum." Jimin wrenches his eyes shut and moves his other hand down to touch himself too. His hand grips his needy length tight through the sheer fabric and he bucks upward to chase the friction. In the process, he jolts the heel between his love's lips and gives the plump bottom pout a swift cut. "Shit, puppy, I-I'm..."

Jungkook grunts, flinching slightly from the unexpected. He looks down, seeing as blood drips from his lip to the floor into a growing puddle, deep enough to give a burning sensation in his delicate skin. Deep enough to fuel his various emotions..

"You got too greedy." He mumbles, not bothering to wipe it off as it creates a red string of liquid running down his chin when he looks up at Jimin. His doe eyes fade into the familiar dark stare that the model knows too well. Jungkook could only hold his faux submission for so long, his generosity for the night of giving Jimin the sense of power running out quickly.

"But you just can't control yourself, can you?" Jungkook gets up on his feet, placing his hands on the armrests while towering close over Jimin, face inches away from the mess of a man. "What am I gonna do with such a slut... Getting so excited you can't even sit still in a fuckin' chair." He hisses, swiping up the blood on his lip with his tongue, mixing it with his spit. He grabs Jimin's jaw tightly, forcing his mouth open, tilting his little head back while he hovers over him. "Guess you'll just have to reap what you sow, little whore." He murmurs against Jimin's lips before he parts his own, letting the bloody mixture of his saliva drip into Jimin's lips, seeping into his mouth. He keeps a tight grip on the model, not letting him move or reject the offer the photographer gives him. Kook shimmies out of his pants while he does so, slowly climbing on top to straddle Jimin's lap, caging his small frame onto the chair.

The model nods rapidly, brushing the bloody mixture between their painted lips.

"I'll take it all." A string of Jungkook's red saliva trails between their parted mouths as Jimin arches up and steals a couple desperate kisses. "Anything you want to do t-to me." Whether he believes his own words or not is a big mystery. When he says anything, he forgets just how unpredictable and harsh his love can be when provoked. But in the moment, it feels right, especially when the heat of Jungkook's bare cock is felt so close to where he wants it most.

Jimin reaches his arms around Jungkook's torso, feels the muscles of his back tense and release while he finds his footing. He breathes in through his nose to smell the gentle cologne and musk of the photographer, and the very faint but nostalgic and calming scent of his shampoo. Jimin flicks out his tongue and tastes the rust that lingers atop the lipstick, closes his teary eyes to center himself before the pain takes hold. Perhaps there will be humiliation, or both, simultaneously.

"Anything, huh..." Jungkook looks at Jimin through mischievous eyes. His cock lays heavy against the model's clammy stomach, twitching at the new idea running through his mind. Normally, this is not something he would desire.. But this is a special occasion, and the action would fit the punishment and sate the unusual urges coaxing him to do what he does next. Jungkook leans in to kiss Jimin, keeping one palm on his lover's messy cheek. Jimin's lipstick moistens up, once again staining the photographer's mouth in their hot kiss-- a distraction from the way his other hand snakes behind him when he lifts his hips up, grabbing the elder's aching cock. He doesn't do much to prepare more than spread the slick precum along Jimin's length before guiding the swollen tip to his ass, stopping when he slowly sinks down on it until just the head slips in, drawing a hot gasp to push past his lips.

"Do not move." Jungkook whispers, kissing down the blonde's jaw to his neck, taking a few deep breaths as he sinks down further until Jimin's entire length is buried inside. Kook stays still for merely seconds, not allowing himself to adjust properly before he heaves himself up halfway, only to fall back down. The sound of his plump ass flattening against Jimin's thighs mixes in with the quiet grunts in pain and pleasure coming from him. It isn't his favorite thing to do-- preferably on the giving end, but that doesn't mean he doesn't enjoy feeling Jimin writhe beneath him in various ways. Supposedly, Jungkook remains on the giving end, whether it's his cock or his ass that is the gift.

"Mmh, 's tight... Right?" He settles his hands on Jimin's chest, tilting his head to the side as he sits up straight to watch the man below from his higher view. His hips show less mercy as he gets used to it, finding a slow rhythm, "And your cock isn't even that big..." he shakes his head, feeling the heat on his cheeks in the form of a lustful blush when he finds an angle that brushes his prostate, grinding his ass down to chase that feeling over and over. "Just shows how much of a cockwhore you are for being able to take one as big as mine, ah shit.."

Jimin's sweaty palms clamor over Jungkook's back and move down to grip him hard at the hips. His eyes roll to the back of his head as his small body is engulfed by lean muscle and a hot grip around his cock. "Kookie, you--" This is the last thing he expected to happen--watching helplessly and breathing labored breaths as Jungkook's taut rim rides him rough. The sensation is more than expected, and much more than he remembers. "I can't, baby, it's too...much--fuck--" Nails pierce slicked skin as Jimin thrusts up to chase the hot clenching hole. Each time Jungkook pulls up, he whimpers at the loss and uses his wavering strength to pull him back down with an audible smack. The weight of the photographer is much more than he can bear, but he digs his heel into the ground to hold what little balance he has left, so hard he's sure the pin-point could snap at any moment. "So tight...around my cock...hahhh." Jimin's breaths grow weaker and thinner, gradually winded from the smack, smacking against his reddened thighs. "I--I--" He bites onto Jungkook's arm to hold steady, watching the room wobble in his peripherals. "Might c-cum in--gah!"

"Hah... I t-told you not to move." Jungkook's shaky, strained voice came out as a hiss between breathy gasps every time his ass collided with Jimin's firm thighs. Jimin's series of disobedient actions didn't bother Jungkook as much as they normally would, as this is a special occasion after all-- especially when he willingly put himself in a faux submissive state just to allow Jimin to indulge in a different way for the night. "Now you'll have to deal w-with, iiit-- fuck.." He clenches Jimin's hard cock tight when the latter bites onto his arm, the rush of the pain making him fuck himself rougher on top of the model. "Now you started it, so fuck me harde-er! Don't stop.." Jungkook growls lowly, shamelessly moaning and watching his own cock rub and drool against Jimin's stomach. With one hand firmly on Jimin's chest, the other smoothes up his neck to wrap around it, applying just enough pressure to put his lover in a deeper haze, ensuring that although he's not sure whether or not he's allowed to cum inside, he will have no other choice but to do so-- Jungkook wants him to lose any self control, and fill him up with shame and fear in his eyes of doing something he wasn't permitted to.

The straps of Jimin's bralette slaps off his shoulders once again, the small cups of it sliding around his chest the more his bouncing partner rubs against it. The momentum and chafe of the fabric teases his sensitive buds and makes them stiff, red, and swollen. So he lets the rest of the fabric fall down his body until his chest is bare, dewy with sweat. "Yes--hah ahh...s-sir." His own confirmation tapers to a pathetic whine as his breath weakens. Jungkook's grasp pins him by the neck, into the chair. The only freedom he's granted is the weak thrust of his hips to fuck the younger man from below, which he does to the best of his ability, growing weaker by the second. He won't stop, even if it means he blacks out from exertion, which feels closer than he likes to admit. Jimin pants heavily and digs in his fingertips. "I'll fill up this p-pretty hole." He speaks with delirious lust lacing his tone, just the way he would want to hear it. "Is that what you want, baby? Fuck, you're so t-tight--ahh! Can't wait..."

Jungkook leans in closer, slowing down his harsh thrusts only to replace them with slow, deep grinding. He licks his bloody lower lip, nodding while staring down at Jimin's heavy, zoned out gaze. He's losing it completely, and yet he tries too hard to please and do as told, and it warms the photographer's heart-- and it makes his cock leak profusely with the immense need to cum. So, therefore, he needs Jimin to break so he can finally give back what he's been holding for what feels like hours. "Yeah, fill me up well baby. Cum in me as deep as you possibly fuckin' can." The younger says with his low, lustful tone, still keeping his hold on Jimin's throat without loosening or tightening it. He inches closer to kiss his face, hot breaths huffing to warm his lover's skin with every grunt and moan that leaves his lips when he feels Jimin's hard cock prodding at his prostate with every fluid motion of his hips. "Cum," Jungkook repeats, deliberately clenching down on Jimin's cock, licking his cheek possessively, "Claim me with your filthy cum."

"Anything you want--ah!" Jimin's eyes screw shut as he rocks his thrusts up into Jungkook's wanting hole. "Feel my cock dragging in and out? Feel how n-needy I am to spill every fucking drop inside you?" His mind truly turns to mush, like a fever dream, losing any semblance of here and now. Only indulging in the very millisecond in which his body trembles to feel everything, all at once. "It's all for you, baby." He pontificates his oath with a harsh thrust from below, scraping his nails until the tender flesh of Jungkook's sides, drawing blood in his wake. "Fuck my cock...bounce on i-it...gahh!" The model becomes a shell of himself, as if he's boneless, thrusting his release in labored spurts, into his young love. "Moan for me, Kookie. Tear at this expensive lingerie and tell me I'm the prettiest man that's ever fucked you raw."

Jimin’s sudden and harsh words takes Jungkook by surprise— he expected the elder to fall apart one way of the other when he came inside, but what he didn’t expect was the spark of dominance that laced his voice and transferred to the way he clawed at the youngers skin. “F-fuck, ah— ow, mmhm...” Jungkook bites back his moans, to no avail when his sides are tortured by the models sharp nails, unable to hold back his pathetic whines when he feels his insides become filled with filthy, thick gushes of warm cum. “God, Jimin— J-Jimin, it hurts...” He gasps, letting himself and allowing a glimpse of actual submission to shine through his shivering body. His hands don’t know where to be, so he does as told and grabs the bralette in his fist and tugs, using his strength that’s spurred by pain to rip it off his lovers chest, while the other hand keeps him steady by grasping into the backrest of the chair. “Shit, I didn’t know you could say such things... that’s so hot, baby.” Jungkook huffs when he gathers himself slowly, unmoving while Jimin’s cock pulsates inside of him. He sighs and whines from the painful stretch of taking it without preparation, overestimating himself and yet relishing in the uncomfortable feeling. Jungkook glanced down at his bloody waist when he lifts himself from Jimin’s lap to let the latters length slip out, a splurt of cum seeping out with it. He hums in both delight and disgust, not used to the feeling of being on the receiving end..

“You did well baby.” Jungkook reaches behind him, catching a generous amount of Jimin’s cum to coat two of his fingers before bringing it to his mouth, licking it clean for the elder to see. The coy mischief returns to his gaze, leaning close to press his swollen length against Jimin’s stomach to let him know playtime’s far from over. “My turn. You good?” He places a kiss on Jimin’s scorching lips. “I can fuck you harder than that. Show you how it’s done..”

The photographer's proposition snaps Jimin back into the moment--eyes wide and dark, needing to feel exactly what he's inadvertently promised. As if the mere mention of fucking his needy hole is enough to make the blonde bend in any which way necessary to prove Jungkook's point. "Prove it," Jimin goads, unaware of the power that laces his tone. "I'm tired of being your porcelain doll...make me your filthy whore." The model wriggles from underneath the photographer until he's free from his caging clutch. Once he's able to maneuver solo, he flips himself over and juts out his plump ass, resting his ruddy cheek against the upholstery of the chair.

“Huh... maybe I spoiled you too much.” Jungkook drinks in the view below, standing up on his feet to properly watch the way Jimin arches his back to offer his body willingly— or rather, demanding his body be used like a disposable toy. A shiver ran down his spine as he replayed Jimin’s words over and over. A challenge, that he knows the model is aware that he can beat without even thinking. He must be so lonely, that the mere thought of having his unused hole filled drives him mad with need, and the temporary dominance got to his head. Kook likes it, the power in Jimin’s voice that is so rare when they’re alone.. but more than present when he is working. It’s like he brought home his persona of professionalism, and now Jungkook would get to corrupt this mask as well.

“I’ll make my pretty doll into the filthiest and prettiest of whores. I’m sure of it.” He murmurs while he reaches behind him to slowly drag his fingers in and out of himself, gathering the remainder of Jimin’s release onto his digits. He spreads his lover's cheek to get a good look of his tight rim, pink and unused like a virgin anew. Kook licks his lip, feeling the hardened texture of the dried cut on the skin. He brings his slicked fingers to Jimin’s ass, giving him little to no warnings before slipping his two digits inside, knuckle deep. “I’m just giving it back. It came from your filthy, whorish body.. but you don’t mind. This is where cum really belongs.” He says, loving the sound of his own voice a bit too much. He loves the way Jimin’s hole clamps down on his fingers as he speaks, and the way his hole becomes wet and slick, coating his fingers more and more with his juices with every in and out drag. He curls the pads of his fingers slightly, finding that one spot that he knows drives Jimin mad— especially if the abuser of it is his hefty cock.

"Mm--g-god. Please, yes." The model looks over his shoulder to provoke Jungkook to give him more. This is just the way it needs to be to provoke--to find that spot again, plumping up his full lips with a whiny pout. "Put my cum where it belongs, please, baby." Jimin presses his hips back to match the thrusts, wrenching his eyes shut to chase the high, feeling even hotter knowing the reason his tender hole is stretched so easily is because of his own cum. He rides Jungkook's fingers, nipping his lip and beckoning him closer with small kisses, placed anywhere he can reach. Through it all, he makes sure his back remains arched so his glistening pink entrance is visible. He knows how his partner salivates at the clear sight of his fingers disappearing and reappearing, hugged by his tightening rim, hearing how needy his butterfly is for his touch. "Finger out every bit and put it inside." The messy tear-streaked blonde spreads his legs wider on the chair, leaving as much room as possible for Jungkook to fit. "T-then fuck me full of more."

"I would've asked you to beg for it, but you're already so good at that.. You really are perfect." Jungkook makes his point with a particularly deep thrust with his double digits, twisting and scissoring to ensure that his lover is comfortably gonna be able to take something much bigger than his mere fingers. "Looks like your cum is the perfect lubricant, just feel how easily I got your pretty ass gaping for cock." Jungkook groans audibly to show how much he likes the view when he withdraws his slick fingers, wiping them clean on Jimin's clothed thigh, staining it with cum. "Can't wait for you to see it how I see it. It's so hot, so cute." He adds, spreading Jimin's cheeks with his thumbs before tugging at his hips, bringing him closer to let his heavy cock rest between, gathering the slick. He slowly drags his length up and down, prodding tastefully at Jimin's eager entrance before finally giving in, sinking the swollen head of his cock inside, followed with a quiet gasp from the photographer.

"Shit, even after all of this, you're still so tight..." Jungkook digs his nails into Jimin's hips, grabbing a fistful of the thong into his hands to tug him down to take more of his length inside, pushing past the thickest part of his girth. He watches the way the elder's pink rim is stretched past it's limit and then some, the sweet pink slowly morphing into a blushed red. "Your body drives me mad, baby. Almost lookin' like a woman with these on." He crumples the material in his hand, tightening the fabrics so that it presses against Jimin's spent cock. He gives an experimental thrust forward, and decides to give little time to adjust before he begins to roll his hips forward, slowly but steadily. He will break his butterfly, and making him cum a second time would be the perfect reward.

Pressure builds rapidly in Jimin's abdomen, causing his muscles to twitch and spasm. His walls clench down on Jungkook as he presses in deep, practically forcing his way in, claiming the space he's worked hard to make. Jimin can still feel the phantom stretch of the photographer's fingers as it's quickly replaced with thick, vascular cock. It's almost painful, which is a new sensation for the willing blonde. He's always made sure to breathe through it all, relax his body and mentally prepare for how rough Jungkook may or may not like it at that moment. It's a roll of the dice, and today, anything is possible.

The tight weave of red lace chafes against the model's fair skin as Jungkook thrusts pick up in pace, threatening to tear if tested enough. As much as Jimin loves the feeling of being as pretty as a girl, he doesn't blink an eye when the remaining heel falls to the floor. "S-slower...just...y-yeah, that's--" Jimin's words break into confused pleas, easing into the scene, calming his body enough to receive his partner, inch by inch. "You feel bigger today, Kookie," he gasps, rubbing his cheek into the upholstery of the chair's back and sullying it with his salty tears. He chokes on a quiet sob and presses his hips back to meet a new thrust, "I almost can't t-take it."

"Fuuuuck, say that again." Jungkook growls through his lustful, breathy words. He snaps his hips forward, rougher and buries his cock deeply to be as close as physically possible to his pretty lover. The photographer adores Jimin's choked words, and rarely does anything beat when he cries in pain due to the mere size of his thick length claiming it's space in the model's slick flesh. "Does it hurt?" He says with a noticeable grin that transfers to the tone of his voice. He grinds his hips forward while staying inside, ensuring the jeweled head of his cock is lodged deep inside, throbbing in excitement every time he feels Jimin clench around him with every audible sob. He drags out the moment, using the blonde to warm his cock properly, still grinding deeply inside. His hands greedily roam up and down Jimin's slender back, tracing his fingers on one of his favorite hidden features of his model-- the prominent, yet delicate line where his spine lies beneath his fair skin, moving prettily with every writhing movement of his torso.

"You know how much I love it when you endure pain for me.." He sighs, smoothing his tattooed hands down his lover's thin waist until they settle on his lower back, pushing down to force a stronger arch. "Feel that baby?" Jungkook licks his lips at the sight, intentionally flexing his cock inside to make a point of how impossibly hard he is, rocking his hips back and forth lightly to create the start of a momentum. "I said," He drags his length out further with every stroke, only to plunge it back in harder and harder, "Do you," And harder, "Feel that?"

"Yes...yes, fuck!" Jimin's cries are cut short by the heady penetration. The jolts burn his cheek against the chair, but not enough to distract from the sting of his abused hole.

Sounds of slapping skin rings in the model's ears--the force of Jungkook's pelvis colliding with his plump ass, deafening. "You--You're so big, I--" Jimin presses his ass back into the next deliberate thrust and swallows a yelp, morphing it into a sharp whine. He's incredibly tender from cumming already, full to burst once again. Only this time, there's more pressure built inside, like every ounce of fluid he could possibly possess is begging to be let free. "You'll make me cum too sooon." Jimin wriggles and writhes, but only for a bit, internally reminding himself to be good. Be a good boy for his Kookie. Stay still. Keep calm. Hands lay flat on the blonde's back, littered with faint marks of possession from months before. They scarred as a reminder, marking Jimin, helping him realize his one true place in life is right where he is in this moment--beneath Jeon Jungkook, moaning, whimpering, begging for pain and receiving adoring love and devotion in return. "More," he echos, softly at first, "Harder, fuck me h-harder..."

"You're whining so prettily, baby." Jungkook praises, getting a proper grip of the model's hips to use the strength in his arms to aid the pathetic attempts of Jimin trying to meet his thrusts. The harsh slapping of their skin coming together grows louder when he picks up the pace, indulging hungrily in the elder's hot, tight, insides over and over with his cock. He wishes so badly that he could stay like this forever and repeatedly claim Jimin's body and make him lose his mind. "Asking for more, when your frail body shakes so... Fuck, it only makes me want to hurt you more." He groans when a particularly rough thrust causes Jimin to clench down, his petite body jolting and his muscles quivering while struggling to stay in position-- trying his absolute best to be good. Jungkook's hunger for more grows, and with it, he fucks Jimin harder, digging his fingers into his slim hips to keep him in place, pulling him back on his cock when he's momentarily jolting forward with every forceful thrust. "Remember what I told you earlier? How I want you to scream so loud you cannot make a sound..." The photographer glances over at the camera, knowing it gets a full proper view of Jimin's face pressing against the chair while he can't see it as well from his perspective. He wonders what kind of expressions he's making right now..

He knows he'll be able to rewatch the content later, but he wants to see more..

Jungkook leans forward a bit, still fucking Jimin, heavy audible breaths of his hard labor pushing past his lips while he reaches around Jimin's small torso, lifting him on his knees. He hugs him close, pressing his muscular chest against Jimin's smaller frame, stomach perfectly melting together with the slender slope of Jimin's back. "Maybe I do prefer it if you scream loudly, though..." He buries his nose in Jimin's neck, kissing and biting his tender skin, one hand on his waist and the other smoothing up his stomach until he settles on his chest. The calloused pads of his fingers finds Jimin's nipple, reddened and sensitive due to the previous friction from the lace, making it real easy for him to find the reactions he's looking for when he pinches it hard between his fingers. His hips never cease to fuck generously, adamant to overwhelm every sense in the elder's pretty body.

With each filthy remark from Jungkook, Jimin yelps pleas of encouragement. The rough pinch simply drags it out of him, quick and loud. "M-more...harder! ...just like tha-aaat, shit..." He doesn't need guidance to say what comes next, meaning it with every short breath in his body-- "I'm a failure," he squeaks, "Cumming inside you so quickly, it's just--ahh!" You just f-felt so tight...and it's been so long, I..." Jimin grasps the hand that balances his flat chest and draws it up to grip tight around his neck, helping to push him over the edge--so close, it's almost alarming. Jimin squeaks, "...I'm gonna cum again. Fuck, I might...I don't know...I..." He loses his train of thought, not that there was much of one to begin with. Sobbing of praise and self depreciation are all his muddled mind can compute when he's fucked this well--now adjusted to his lover's large swollen length. "You fuck me too good...much better than I fucked you, I'm so s-sorr--mmmf--AH!"

Jungkook's pierced tip glides against his prostate, rubbing him raw, making his eyes flutter and skin tingle with the peak of his high. This is new. It's not normal. The gradual sensation he longs to feel is much more urgent, nearly bulging his abdomen to let free. "Wait, wait!" His small hand taps on Jungkook's arm to release him, struggling to pull away. His muscles spasm in a quick alert, and he knows all too well what's about to come next. "It's too much, I'll--" Before Jimin can finish his sentence, hot spurts of urine stream down his thighs and soak the chair he straddles. The second it starts to trickle out of his exhausted body, he can't stop it. Thrust after punishing thrust, spurts are fucked out of his shaking form until he's putty in the younger man's arms, quivering out what must be a form of orgasm. His cock pulses as his prostate continues to be abused, and all he can do is cry and whimper from embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I'm s-sorry--hic. Kookie, I couldn't s-stop--hic"

"Are you embarrassed?" He smiles, "Can't even hold it in when getting fucked." Jungkook peeks over Jimin's shoulder to watch his smaller lover's body quiver and squirm, unable to hold in anything when the younger fucks it out of him without mercy. "Always love to make a mess, do you? Then acts so innocent.." He teases, hugging Jimin closer while he squeezes the blonde's throat tighter, leaning his delicate back against his muscular chest to allow Jimin to feel some leverage. He slows down the grinding of his hips when he's fucked out every single drop possible from the model's cock, just pathetically red and throbbing.

"I still didn't cum..." Jungkook sighs, stopping his movements. He keeps himself buried deep, the grip on Jimin's throat moving to his chin to guide their lips to meet in a messy, drooly kiss. He delicately pulls back to crook an eyebrow, internally beaming with pride at how utterly fucked out Jimin looks. "Move onto your back, lay in your own filth." He suddenly commands, letting go of the elder's weak body to let it fall limp onto the chair, letting his length slip out of his stretched gape. Impatient, he's already aiding him when he notices the light struggle and quivering muscles from oversensitivity-- grabbing his hips to help him to flip on his back.

"Humph." Jimin's hiccups weaken once he's on his back, sinking into the tepid pool of urine that seeps out of the cushion. He stares up at the younger man with saucer eyes--adoring stars swirling in his gaze, slowly coming down from his orgasm. The apples of his cheeks blush an endearing shade of pink, even more as the moisture spreads across his back. It's an ever-present reminder of the mess he made, all over Jungkook's studio chair--the one he sits on to do his work, and the one he reclines in to watch Jimin pose during their private shoots.

"It's wet," the model whines, wriggling to find a comfortable spot on the chair. His nose crinkles at the audible squish the fabric makes when he adjusts his posture, saturated in him, possibly ruined and unusable. His blush dissipates just a bit, because this is the state Jungkook longed to see him in. Perhaps the visual of an alluring male model in feminine lingerie was what intrigued the talented photographer. But, just like the mirrored room, everything must come crashing down until only he can build it back up in just the way he likes.

Jimin loops his arms under his knees and exposes his tender hole to his partner, offering himself as a toy to be played with. "Do you like this, Kookie?" He pulls back a bit more, earning a wet squish from the cushion below. "Seeing your butterfly, like this..."

“Good boy." Jungkook praises, nodding in approval while a long, slow swipe of his tongue coats his lips in the glossy shine of his spit. His predatory stare darkens at the mess he's created-- the vision he's been craving finally coming to life. "I love it, you're perfect." The aching, swell sensation of blood pumping through his body is prominent in his cock as he gives himself a few tempting strokes, placing one knee on the edge of the wet cushion and the other keeping leverage on the floor while caging Jimin's body beneath him. He lines up the thick, jeweled head of his cock with the model's gaping entrance with one hand, placing his other palm on Jimin's thigh to dig his fingers into the soft flesh, aiding him in holding his legs back.

"You've done so well tonight, baby.. There's no better look for you than this.. My spoiled, expensive doll.." Jungkook's dark eyes squint as he smiles softly, a contrast compared to the way he drives his hips forward to bury his cock deep once more, welcomed by the stretched, slick flesh that hugs him tightly in the form of muscle clenches. Even when spent, Jimin does what he can to please. "My messy whore." He quickly builds up the momentum, using the full potential of every silky inch of his rigid length as he drags it in and out, harder and harder, until Jimin's petite body once more begins to jolt upwards with each and every powerful thrust. "S-shit, I love your body, I can't get enough of you like this." Jungkook spits out between grunts, thriving in the wet sounds of his cock plunging into the model, along with the squishes of his small body forcibly rubbing against the wet chair.

The photographer grits his teeth, chest heaving with every shallow breath and muscles flexing to fuck into him harder, harder to release every bit of primal desire to use Jimin to chase his impending high. "G-gonna cum soon," Jungkook's hazy eyes never waver from Jimin's face, watching it distort into his favorite expressions, a mixture of pain and pleasure. "Want me to cover your pretty face with it?"

Jimin doesn't have the power to speak, lost in the trance of Jungkook's cock railing into him at a powerful rate. His aching ring of nerves pulsates with sensitivity, so sore and spent that any words spilling from his rouge bitten lips would be desperate pleas to slow down. Positively not an option. It's their anniversary. Today is a special day--the most monumental day in Jimin's life to date, above any major career move or step in the spotlight. A year ago he may have placed himself before the pleasurable and painful touch of the photographer's hands on his flesh, but that part of himself has been far from erased. Now, in this studio, in their little private world, Jimin naturally folds at the simplest suggestion from the young visionary.

"Cum on my face, baby," he whimpers, holding his knees to his chest for stability. He nods rapidly to confirm, it's exactly what he wants. "Paint your whore--fuck. Cover me in you, I n-need it...all over my skin. Record it, up close. Please, pleasee." His voice squeaks, caught off guard by how badly he truly wants this. More than anything, he knows how beautiful the final scene will look--him, covered in tacky red sinful lace, sticking to his small body with cum, sweat, and spit. Smeared with lipstick. Prettied up and ruined for one man only.

Jimin knows exactly what the photographer wants to hear, and it's obvious by the way Jungkook's eyebrows furrow in concentration, gaze burning into the vision beneath him.

"I love it when you beg like that." Jungkook praises yet again, giving the model another punishing thrust before pulling out, leaving the gaping, needy hole empty for tonight. Normally, he would never pass on an opportunity to stuff Jimin full of his cum-- but tonight, his vision took the top priority over any carnal instincts. He had this vision in mind for forever, and it is finally becoming his reality.

"Look at me." Jungkook commands while taking a step back, tugging at Jimin's bicep to pull his spent body to slide down to the floor on his knees in front of him. He hooks the pad of his finger underneath the blonde's chin, tilting his head back to look up. His other hand works his slick length quickly and roughly, ready to burst at any given moment-- he's held it so well, and he knows he will cover his doll's perfect face with everything he's got. It'll be the ultimate visual of his fantasies; Jimin, the picture perfect man in shambles, ruined makeup and covered in various body fluids willingly, merely to serve and keep the photographer satisfied and happy. Maybe even excited for the rewards that come with compliance. "Pretty... So pretty, and all mine, hahh.." Jungkook hisses through labored breaths, clammy chest heaving as he looks down at Jimin's lips, rubbing the jeweled tip of his cock against them, stroking his cock purposefully to make a show out of the way his tattooed hand effortlessly glides thanks to every little ounce of slick fluids his lover provided. "Keep looking at m-me...fuck, I'm gonna--gah, cum." He moans louder to let Jimin know how much he's enjoying this, and the visual from both their perspectives must be otherworldly. Both men are utterly devoted and obsessed with the other.

Just as Jungkook's hip move to fuck into his hand, they stutter when his orgasm hurls over the edge without much of a warning. A drawn out, deep groan rumbles from the back of his throat, and it feels like his eyes would roll to the back of his head if he didn't intentionally keep himself so focused on watching the way thick, hot ropes of cum began to paint the model's delicate features one by one. His hand squeezes his cock, thighs tensing and relaxing between every twitching throb of his orgasm. He spits curses and praise, moans and whines, not stopping until he's made sure Jimin's skin is an entire mess, glazed with his release.

Silken droplets of pearly cum slip down Jimin's cheek and tickle the pert pout of his lips. Slowly, he licks away what he can, peeking open an eye and giving a longing look of devotion. The salty release tingles on the tip of his tongue, which he savors with a low hum. He doesn't need to ask to know how much the photographer enjoys this sight. He knows that from this angle, he's a masterpiece, commemorating a year of servitude in the most filthy way imaginable. The low glow of the recording camera reminds him of his duty, to show off his final look--a far departure from the stunning, sinful vision he admired in the mirror. Heels are scattered on the floor, stained with a light streak of blood. Stockings are torn ragged, and bralette is askew and hanging loose. With no way of truly knowing, Jimin assumes he must look a complete and utter wreck. Still, remnants of lipstick stain him in misplaced splotches, smearing down his lips and onto his chin. The ruddy makeup appears to be even brighter and remarkable under the luminous sheen of cum that slips off his chiseled jaw. Jimin lifts to his knees and palms at Jungkook's thighs to draw him closer. "Come here."

Jungkook mindlessly follows Jimin's quiet order, stepping closer before dropping to his knees in front of him, meeting his hazy eyes on face level. He can't do anything but admire his work as if in a blurry trance, and the boiling adoration in his gaze is evident.

"I'm here, baby." He says quietly, glancing over at the camera. He had gotten his shot, the visuals of everything he'd been hungering for now captured in an eternal digital memory. A sense of pride and content fills his chest as he looks back at Jimin, reaching out to swipe his thumbs underneath his makeup smeared eyes. He takes another longing moment to just look, slowly inching closer until he finds the model's pillowy lips with his own. He kisses him gently once, twice before pulling back.

"You did amazing. I got the perfect shot, and you looked so gorgeous." He rubs Jimin's bruised neck slowly, examining the purple and red marks, "Did you enjoy it a lot? I had this planned for a while.. And it came out even better than I anticipated.."

The blonde closes the distance again to kiss Jungkook tenderly. A shaky hand cups the photographer's face while the other mindlessly holds him at the waist for balance. The room shifts subtly, and Jimin breathes into the motion, tilting his head to follow the natural part of their mouths moving as one.

"Mhm," he hums again, indulging in the comfort and warmth of Jungkook's touch. He needs it after, always, to feel like a precious doll again. Like clockwork, they come together into a slow comedown, feeling their united heartbeat as the tips of their fingers brush against damp skin. "Happy anniversary," Jimin smiles into a sweet and short kiss. The tentative hold on his neck draws the model in more and he allows the younger man to indulge in his creation. He allows it until the warm ropes of cum begin to tack to the round apples of his cheeks, and the slight discomfort of his muscles begin to set in.

"So sticky and wet now, Kookie. Just how you like," Jimin smirks, pleased he could once again fulfill his love's vision. "I may need some help getting out of this though." Jimin hints at the soaked, ruined lingerie that still clings to his torso.

"I'm so happy. Thank you for taking me so well, baby." Jungkook places one last rewarding kiss on Jimin's sticky cheek before he gets up on his feet, bringing his lover up with him to lift him up into his strong arms. He holds him close, walking over to the camera to turn the recording off and heads towards the bathroom. "Let's get you cleaned up and ready for bed, I have another surprise for you." He smiles through his statement, placing Jimin on the toilet seat to wait while he draws a hot bath. He turns to Jimin, reaching behind his torso to unclasp the bralette and discard it on the floor, then resumes to tug at the panties to get them off. Every action of his is tender now, the aftercare more than important to ensure that Jimin is properly rewarded for doing so well and taking every rougher part of him-- so he deserves the affection as well. "Come." He coaxes lowly, undressing properly as well until the tub is filled, and takes Jimin's hand in his to guide him into the water, seating them with Jimin's small frame practically in his lap. A soft sigh pushes past his lips from the relaxing warmth surrounding them. "Wash your face off first, don't want your eyes to get irritated."

Jimin cups the warm bathwater in his hands and stares at the faint shadow of his face cast over it. He pauses a moment, adjusting to the comfort of being supported from behind--feeling small and cared for, then brings the water up to cleanse. The warmth soothes over his soft skin, and after only one splash, he can feel the layers of grime shluff off. His palms tinge a faint red. Lipstick rubs away, followed by other various bodily fluids, some of which need a couple passes before it is completely removed. The work to remove it only makes Jimin appreciate the work Jungkook put into planning such an unexpected night.

"I never get tired of this," Jimin coos, bring another palmful of water up to wash over his face, "Taking baths together...it's one of my favorite things." Baths--such a normal and almost childlike experience. It's something that brings the small model pleasant ripples of nostalgia, like it was only yesterday they first shared the simple experience of cleaning one another. It's centering, to wash away the filth of the day and watch it slide down the drain until it's gone completely. Jimin reclines into the tender embrace of his love and allows him to rub soapy water over his body, moaning gently the cleaner he feels.

"One year," the blonde sighs, closing his eyes, "What would I have done if I never met you?" He tilts his neck to get a good look at the younger man. "Life would be so...boring."

"Indeed." Jungkook agrees, the toothy grin on his face just as childish and endearing as when they first met eye to eye in his studio. He looks back at Jimin with just as much-- if not more admiration swirling in his doe eyes. He cranes his neck to kiss the elder's forehead, gentle hands smoothing over his petite body to rub off tonight's events. "But it was fate." He adds, hands moving up to comb his fingers through the blonde curls after adding his familiar shampoo into his palms, massaging his tender scalp with the comfort of his scent.

"Sooner or later, we would've found each other." A moment of silence follows, all that is heard is Jungkook cleaning Jimin's hair while the latter basks in the aftercare.. until he speaks again. Whether Jimin heard it or not, remains a mystery.

"I would've made sure of it."

© sombreboy 2021. Do not repost, edit or translate.

[cursestothemoon]

Werewolves Of London ( I )

Multiple Part Series

Part I

When Their Eyes Locked 

Word Count: 2016

Fred Weasley x Fem!Werewolf!Reader

Summary: Fred can’t seem to stop himself from staring at you. What happens when your eyes lock? 

Warnings: raunchy banter, description of turning into a werewolf (description of pain and screaming), being in pain, Y/n has a very prominent scar on her face idk if this is a warning (personally i don’t think it is but you can never be too careful😌)

A/N: Alrighttttt chapter one guys, pretty exciting😗. It’s kinda slow, really just introducing characters, background, and existing relationships. AH I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE ITTTT, also best friend Lily makes a comeback (not Lily Evans)

“Come on! We’re gonna miss it!”

“We’re not gonna miss shit, either it happens here or it happens there.”

“I’d prefer the latter.”

Cedric let out a snort as he looked back at you, his scarf flapping in the wind and nearly hitting him in the face.

The wind was harsh this Saturday evening, overcast and gloomy, as three students were making their way to the Whomping Willow. The trek was meant to be a quiet one, a sneaky departure from the castle, but of course that was never the case. Not when Cedric Diggory seemed to ooze happiness and joy with each step, his smile warming the crisp, cool air around him; not when Lily Mclaggen (older sister of Cormac) had just as much snap as her brother had confidence and especially not when Y/n L/n, a sarcastic lycanthrope, was about seven minutes away from being in the midst of the full moon.

A sickeningly loud cracking started to sound from behind Cedric, making him turn to see you doubled over.

“Lily!”

“Calm down!”

You groaned, “I’m fine, let’s just go.”

Lily hooked her arm around your waist, shoving you toward the Whomping Willow that Cedric had fortunately petrified. You were able to just catch the familiar badger disappear into the hole under the tree. The pain was excruciating, making your knees give way and your body hit the ground as you felt what seemed to be your bones breaking, muscles tearing, skin stretching to accommodate the form of a beastly form. Groans and screams were pulled from your throat as you transformed, your hands scratching at your neck- or any exposed skin really- to somehow try and claw the pain away.

One last blood curdling scream turned into a strangled howl at the bright moon.

The werewolf stood up, shaking off the dirt from the ground, before snapping at whatever was nipping at its tail. A bone-chilling laugh sounded in the dim tunnel before the hyena gestured toward the badger to start making their way to the shrieking shack through the dark tunnel- the werewolf followed, it didn’t like being alone for long.

--

“Let’s go Fred, before Filch catches up.” George huffed out, his chest heaving from the vigorous running his lungs had to endure just moments prior.

His twin stood still, faint breaths passing from his lips the only thing being heard, his honey brown eyes taking in the vastness of the dark navy sky before him.

Fred had always loved the moon.

If he thought about it hard enough, George could still feel the harsh swats to his rear from when their mother found them out in the field behind the Burrow after Fred had insisted on sneaking out to look at the moon.

George groaned, “It’s just the moon, it’ll be there tomorrow, the day after that and I’m willing to bet my left ear that the moon will be there everyday after that.”

“Yeah but,” Fred grumbled, dramatically gesturing toward the sky with his hand. “It’s a full moon tonight, won’t be full tomorrow now will it?”

The attitude was clear in his tone, even more so in his raised eyebrows and pointed look. George conceded with a laugh, muttering out an ‘alright, Freddie’.

A piercing howl ripped through the silence making the brothers jump and look toward where it had come from- somewhere down near Hogsmeade they’d guess.

Fred slowly turned to his brother, speaking just barely above a whisper, “You think it was a werewolf?”

He had the same glint of mischief in his eyes that he’d get when he was younger and itching to tell a scary story.

George only shook his head, “In Hogsmeade?” He questioned. “Surely, you’re daft Freddie, what would a werewolf be doing in Hogsmeade?”

A shrug was his only response, before he added, “Wouldn’t be too surprising now would it? We’ve got a pink toad in Hogwarts.”

---

Your steps were slow and calculated as you made your way to the Great Hall. Cedric had his arm around your shoulder, no doubt trying to subtly check and see if the bandages he wrapped had held up when you changed into fresh clothes, and Lily had a habit of walking one or two steps behind you just after a full moon- you had a habit of stumbling or even losing balance completely during the few days following.

“You’re looking a lot better than last time, walking around and not stuck in the hospital wing.” Lily commented quietly.

Cedric nodded in agreement, “Yeah, it’s rather boring without your company.”

The comment was meant to rile up Lily, which it did beautifully.

“Right git you are, Diggory, you’re the boring one. You prefects, I swear-”

Lily continued on to grumble about all prefects being the same as you three made it through the doors and to your usual seats- the farthest table to the right, near the large window, and in between a few Hufflepuffs and a couple scattered Gryffindors.

Heat seemed to trail up your shoulder and to your face, the feeling of eyes on you had you inwardly wincing. You never felt too confident the morning after a full moon and it was most mornings that you could feel the heated weight of Fred Weasley’s eyes on you. Amazingly enough, you resisted the urge to turn and meet his gaze instead opting for taking a seat on the bench in between Cedric and Lily and placing your head on Lily’s shoulder lethargically.

On the other side of the room, Lee was slowly chewing on his bite of sugary cereal as he studied the eldest twin.

“You know, mate, you could just talk to her.” He offered up, making Fred rapidly blink as he was brought back to reality.

He frowned, “We’ve been in the same house for seven years, if she wanted to talk to me… she would’ve.”

His eyes seemed to naturally shift back to your form. You were half asleep, head resting on your friend’s shoulder as prettyboy Diggory couldn’t seem to wipe the bright smile off his face so early in the morning.

Fred had always noticed you. In your first year you had offered him your seat in potions next to George because it ‘didn’t feel right’ splitting him and George up on the first day of school- or so you had said before you went to sit next to another first year, Lily.

Second year was when he started to really pay attention to the rather heartwarming- or so Angelina had called it- closeness of your relationship with Lily. You were a sickly child, it seemed almost every month you had come down with something. Fred could remember seeing little twelve year old you sitting near the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room, head on Lily’s shoulder just as it was now and your face incredibly pale yet a warm smile still gracing your lips.

It was the third year when Fred started to realize his curious looks and sweaty palms were not something that just happened. He liked you. The quiet remarks you made under your breath and comedically uncontrollable reactions had him swooning. Third year was also the year that the infamous duo of Y/n and Lily had turned into a trio, prettyboy Diggory finding a cozy spot attached to your hip. It seemed everywhere you went, Cedric was there too.

It was during third year Fred learned about jealousy.

“How do you suppose she got her scar?” Lee asked in a hushed voice not wanting to be overheard.

Fred thought back to when he had first seen you with the gash trailing down from the arch of your left eyebrow to the apple of your right cheek, passing over the bridge of your nose. Sure he had seen you roughed up before, mundane bruises and scratches he imagines you received from being clumsy or maybe roughhousing with siblings he didn’t know you had (Merlin knows Fred himself had enough marks from his brothers roughing him up, all in good fun of course). This was different- violent, it seemed- nothing friendly could’ve made such an angry infliction.

“Does it matter?” Fred mumbled rather defensively. “She’s still...angelic.” He muttered with little regard as to what he was actually saying- his attention was stolen by the grimace that darkened your face as you shifted in your seat to reach for a box of chocolatey cereal.

George faked a dramatic gag, “Sods been a right sap for that girl for years now, still hasn't done a single thing.”

“Give him time,” Lee laughed, moving to shove Fred’s arm teasingly. “Fred’ll man up eventually.”

The seemingly lovestruck boy rolled his eyes at the two, “Fuck off, both of you wankers.”

--

The full moon and weekend had come and gone, the bitter taste of the start of a new school week was on everyone’s tongue as they made their way to their last class Monday afternoon.

You trudged into the dimly lit potions room, the brooding figure of Severus Snape doing nothing to lighten the atmosphere.

“Afternoon, Professor.” You quietly greeted as you slid into your seat.

The man seemed to only grumble out a response, not deeming a proper return of greeting worthy of his time- though you preferred this, rather not wanting to strike up a conversation with the potions Professor.

Lily clambered into the seat beside you, her usual seat, just a few seconds before class started. Her hair was frazzled and her tie a tad askew, silently you handed her a compact mirror from your book bag- though the smirk on your lips was loud.

“Don’t look so smug.” She teased, hand combing down her hair. “You’ve seen the thighs on Natasha Ravenforth, was I just supposed to deny myself the pleasure?”

Her tone was filled with incredulity, eyes wide and questioning almost as if she really couldn’t fathom the thought of not snogging the curvy Hufflepuff just before class. You kept silent, though your smile grew as you felt Lily’s eyes trained on you before she huffed and looked toward Professor Snape who was now beginning his lesson.

The class seemed to drone on, a long lecture from the monotone Severus Snape the only thing filling the agenda had the pace of the lesson slowed to an aching crawl. As your ears started to tune out his painful drawl you noticed it. Like an itch you couldn’t scratch or a twitch you just couldn’t shake, you could feel someone’s eyes on you. You turned to meet the person’s gaze, curiosity indeed killed the cat, and you were met with the honey-brown irises of none other than Fred Weasley. He seemed to be looking at you, or just passed you, with his chin resting on his folded forearms. His lack of reaction to you catching him staring led you to believe he was far too zoned out to know what he was doing, that is until he blinked a few times and his eyes snapped up to meet yours.

You didn’t really know him. Fred Weasley seemed to be everywhere and nowhere all at once, he was elusive and loud and if you weren’t careful you’d definitely find yourself falling for his toothy grin or boyish charm.

Your eyes seem to lock and you couldn’t help but furrow your eyebrows at the feeling fluttering deep within your chest at the way his facial expression seemed to soften and his head tilt ever so gently as his eyes swam with what you could only describe as- for lack of better words- wonder.

A nudge to your ribs brought you back to reality, Lily’s elbow still prodding at your torso until you turned to face the front of the class again just as Professor Snape was turning away from the board he had stuck his nose to whilst writing notes.

With one glance at Lily you could see the irritatingly smug smirk stretching across her face, her eyes still looking forward.

“Don’t look so smug.” You grumbled, roughly picking up your quill to take down notes.

tags:

@siriusement

@amourtentiaa

@vsawyer1989​

@lifeofkaze

@theorangedrummer

@erinruby003

@famdomhideout

@an2402lths

@escapingrealitybyreading

@readyg0erge

@maybesandohnos

@therealhouseelvesofhogwarts

@onlyfreds

[soulwillower]

heather • richie tozier

(richie tozier x reader)

[based off the song heather by conan gray]

requested:   OMG I HAVE AN IDEA IDK IF ITS GOOD AND IDK WHY IM TYPING IN ALL CAPS BUT CAN U DO A FIC WHERE LIKE ITS BASED OF YHE SONG HEATHER BY CONAN GRAY WHERE THE READER AND RICH HAVE BEEN BEST FRIENDS FOR SO MANY YEARS AND HAVE FEELINGS FOR EACHOTHER BUT THERE BOTH SO OBLIVIOUS- SO WHEN RICHIE LIKE GETS A GF ONE DAY THE READER JUST WHSKWHDIWHWIW IDK HOW TO EXPLAIN IT BUT LIKE AT THE END THEY REALIZE THEYRE IN LOVE. SORRY IF ITS TOK SPECIFIC. LOVE U. IM RUNNING OUTTA CHARACTERS 

warnings: swearing, mentions of underage drinking, themes of cheating but no actual cheating, angst, fluff at the end, unedited.

thank u guys so much for being so patient with this fic <3 love u all so much!

[losers + reader are  18+ in this.]

4.4k words

(also, this fic starts with a flashback and idk if i like this style, but lmk if it works) 

♡

the persistent beat thudding in your ears seems to do nothing more than dim your already low mood as you sip on lemonade by yourself in someone's basement bar, sitting on an uncomfortable metal barstool and leaning your head heavy against your chin.

these days, it seemed as though the world was painted in gray.

you look around almost lazily; bev and ben went outside in the snow a couple minutes ago, stan just took a girl upstairs - you're left alone now, because mike and eddie had to study for their exam and bill was feeling under the weather. and richie, as usual, was late.

there's almost twenty other people in the room right now, but you have no desire to speak to any of them. you've been trying to have fun tonight, but you're just having a hard time, feeling distracted and unable to stop thinking about wire framed glasses and a certain bright smile.

your wandering eyes halt your thoughts as a girl in your class - heather perez -  catches your eye from across the room, her hair falling in natural curls that makes you sigh in envy. she smiles and waves at you warmly, gesturing for you to come and sit with her. you swallow and look down into your cup of dreary, graying lemonade as you try not to think about how you look in comparison. she's so fucking pretty. you look back up and shake your head with a friendly smile, faker than a plastic flower, and nod to the bathroom. she shrugs and smiles, turning back around.

she was too sweet, it hurt.

her naturally dark hair, long and wavy, her smooth dark skin, her laugh.... but suddenly, your head snaps back up after recognizing a familiar sight on heather's figure.

-is that richie's sweater?

your heart thumps and churns in the most unsavory way as all the breath leaves your lungs in one swift exhale. you feel sick to your stomach and your hand falls to hit the counter to stabilize yourself, the lemonade sloshing out of the cup slightly. but you pay no mind. heather's wearing richie's sweater...

you know that sweater really well. it's definitely his, and for some reason that makes you want to cry.

you blink and force yourself to suck air into your lungs as you look around quickly, anywhere but at heather perez wearing richie tozier's sweater, with all the stripes and patterns and the rough polyester material. you're not sure why you're so caught off-guard, you knew that heather perez was maybe-kinda-sorta seeing your trashmouth. he'd mentioned it in passing a few times and you've not been able to keep it off your mind as bev and bill whisper to richie about it in the halls or during hangouts when you were laying in stan's lap pretending not to hear it.

it hurts, though. holy hell, does it hurt when richie turns the corner and the typical, 'hey, richie!' choruses through most of the people in the basement - and yet his eyes are just set on her.

it hurts even worse when you make eye contact with him and he smiles at you, nodding in greeting and calling a "hey there, toots!" over the thumping of the noise before turning back towards heather.

your heart thumps erradically as you eye him sliding an arm around her shoulders easily, pulling her into his tall lanky frame,  crushing your chest and deflating your trembling heart. heather's head falls onto richie's shoulder and you shiver, feeling colder than you've felt in so long. the lemonade you force to your lips tasting like stale water as the sight of richie pinching heather's shoulder and thumbing his own sweater on her frame make you feel empty.

even now, weeks later, you remember how it felt. you sip on the boiling tea and immediately burn your tongue, making you swear as you stare out your window, the snow falling around your house in the dark making you feel an odd, empty kind of peace. that fucking sweater.

you haven't talked to richie in almost a week and a half - he got in trouble the night after the party and his parents took his phone away - at eighteen years old, his parents took his phone - so that he could 'spend time with family' (a task that made you chuckle to yourself when bill had explained it to you about twelve days ago).

it's winter break, though, and you've been missing the last piece of your eight-person puzzle the last few times you've hung out with your friends. it feels empty without richie's boisterous shenanigans, snarky looks and goofy comebacks... you feel really embarrassed for missing him so deeply.

tears well up in your eyes as you think again about his damn sweater, the one that heather was wearing, the same one he'd given you not even three weeks prior.

"well look at you." richie says with amusement trickling through his voice like melting icewater through a calm creek.  you spin towards him with a grin eclipsing your face as you shrug around his sweater, pretending not to smell his strong scent and pretending not to feel the immediate comfort it gives you.

"you know, for as dumb as it looks, i kind of like it." you tease, brushing some hair back from your eyes as the sweater sleeves fall back down past your hands. he laughs, eyes not leaving you for a second.

"shit, doll. keep it." he says, sounding serious. it makes you pull a face at him, starting to lift it slightly over your head to return it to its rightful owner.

but he shakes his head, hands gently gripping your arms and halting your motions, subsequently setting your heart on fire. his lips are set in a gentle grin as he shakes his head again. "it looks so much better on you."

it's spoken simply, in such honestly that it makes you blush nearly immediately. in fact, you're so flustered that all you can do is shove him a bit, stuttering out a quiet, "shut up, richie, you- i - okay, whatever."

it makes him chuckle as he takes the soft blow of your hands against his shoulders, deftly running his hands through his curly locks as he shakes his head. "you're adorable, kid."

you're lucky he'd turned around to gripe around on his messy bed for his laptop, because the stupid grin you're sure is painting your face is enough to make you dig your own grave and then hand him the shovel. if only he knew how much you liked him.

you didn't keep the sweater after that night, though. at the time, you'd told him it was because it was putrid; that the colors and patterns were a sin to man and that you'd never be caught dead wearing it out. he laughed the whole time because you had literally worn it to the store with him it with him that same day. but now, you'd give anything for richie to give you that sweater again, to feel that polyester inseam fall against your stomach and your arms and chest, like a huge richie hug (without all the bones and the cologne and the caffeine-pulsing heartbeat - so not a real richie hug, but as close as you could get to the real thing without actually just having it).

god, you like him too much. you rub your face with your palm, the moisture from the tears that had accidentally escaped your eyes smudging against your face. you're tired, almost - it's like an empty, heartbroken exhaustion that sags your shoulders and chokes your throat and makes you zone out for minutes at a time. one thought overwhelms you right now, so as you see a car's headlights shine out your window through the falling snow, you don't even notice it.

you just wish you were heather.

you've tried to hate her. really, you have - you figured maybe, just maybe, if you were able to rant to bev or eddie about how much of a bitch heather is, how she's terrible to richie and how boring she was, maybe you could justify the heartbreak in your chest.

but god, she's so perfect. heather, with her shiny hair, bright smile, her flawless mind and caring heart. she's, as far as you're concerned, an angel. of course richie would choose heather, who wouldn't?

the other day at that party, you'd tried your hardest to ignore your intrusive thoughts, but you can't help feeling like it would all be better if heather didn't exist. and even that thought alone hurts your heart, because you remember the smile on richie's face when he looked at her, swathed in his sweater and floating around the room like a beacon of light.

and you could never, ever in good conscience take that from richie.

you almost laugh at how absurd it is - now you're talking to yourself while you stare out the window, half asleep, dreaming of freckles placed just like constellations and crooked noses, of jawlines that jut out and long, lanky fingers; of loud, chipping laughter and beat up high-tops with cuffed corduroy pants.

"y/n?" a voice behind your door makes you jump a bit, unsettling your already disconcerted bones. you’re imagining him, now? you laugh into your scalding mug for a second, but after a double-take at the doorway you find the angel himself to be standing there with a perplexed look.

"richie, what're you doing here?" you ask, rubbing your eye to make sure no tears are left. he looks troubled. "i knocked, but nobody answered. so..." he says with a shrug, and you ned, tucking a leg under yourself and nodding.

"what are you doing, toots?" he asks, backlit by the hallway light. and then you finally can see what he's wearing, and you almost laugh at your own misery.

but you don’t laugh, your brain short-circuiting as you feel the knife twist further into your abdomen. the stupid fucking sweater.

“-um, nothing. y- did you get that back from heather?” you try to deliver the line as smoothly as possible, but by the look on his face, you did a real shit job at that.

“what?” he asks in an exhale as he shakes snowflakes from his hair and shoulders, closing your door as he walks towards you and falls to sit next to you on your windowsill seat.

“i thought you gave her that sweater.” you say and he raises a brow, “yeah, like two weeks ago.” he says slowly, eyeing you. he adds, “she obviously didn’t need it after that.”

you frown, “did she need it then?” you didnt try to sound bitter at all, but your voice comes with more of a sting than you’d anticipated.

as always, richie meets fire with fire. “it was twenty fuckin’ degrees out, she was wearing a tank top.”

you don’t know what to say so you just stare out the window with a quick huff, crossing your arms. "why does it matter? it's a sweatshirt." he mutters. "i was just being nice to her."

you nod, pain twisting around in your stomach. he's right, it's just a sweater. but he gave it to her, because he likes heather better.

“what’s up with you, kid?” he asks, gentler this time.

“don’t call me kid, richie.” you say sharply, not meeting his eyes. “and there’s nothing up with me.” you know you’re being difficult, but you really don't have the energy to argue with him right now.

it’s quiet again, and the silence is even more awkward. you take another scalding sip of your tea. 

“um, y/n... is this because of heather?” he says after a bit. you feel the tension that the acknowledgment brings as it hits you in the thick, cold air. richie’s tapping a rhythm on his thigh, so you can tell he feels it too.

"richie." you say weakly, your voice coming out too quiet, too obviously broken and exhausted. "i cannot do this. please don't do this right now"

he blinks at you, eyebrows furrowed. "sugar, i'm so lost right now."

you decide to change the subject. "-why'd you come over?" you ask, actually looking at him then immediately regretting it. he looks hurt and confused, like a lost puppy.

"oh. um, i just need to tell you something.it's about heather, too." he sounds anxious, and you roll your eyes, looking down at the tree outside your room as wind blows powdery white mounds off its branches.

“can this just wait until tomorrow?” you whisper. doesn't he get it?

it's quiet and for a moment you believe that he's going to leave it, to not bring up the obvious jealousy brewing in your chest. but he breaks the silence too soon.

"i tried to kiss her." he says and you immediately look towards the door, the most immediate escape possible. 

your breathing gets heavy; if you have to hear this, you know you'll admit your feeling to richie, and you don't want to do that to him. but you have a suspicion that he already knows.

"richie, i'm so, so glad to see you. and that you like heather. really, i am. but- it's not a good time. i'm not- i'm not okay." you say, voice thick as tears well behind your eyes.

richie’s eyes widen almost comically as you make eye contact and his hands immediately find purchase on your arms, his thumbs rubbing in the way that he has done ever since that one foggy summer you spent in the sewers. "y/n/n, what's wrong, sweetheart?" he asks, watching sadly as a tear slips from your cheek. it breaks your heart when he calls you sweetheart, and you shake your head.

you can't tell him the truth - that you love him, so instead, you mumble, "i've missed you. there's a lot going on, and i just really need you."

he looks guilty as he pulls you into a warm hug, one that takes you off guard but that you return gratefully. "you've been too busy spending time with heather and with your parents, and i understand that, i just - you know, i miss you." you say, voice muffled as your cheek is squished into his shoulder. he sighs shakily, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “i know i’ve been with her a lot, i’m sorry sugar.” he mutters. 

it feels like you’re both holding something back from the other. 

"i wish i were heather." you say against his shoulder, knowing richie’s completely unaware of the depth of your statement. but he pulls back and stares at you, an unknown look on his face. you open your mouth to say something, but you're cut off before you can get anything out.

and his lips fall against yours lightly, almost as if they’re ghosts against yours. his presence feels fleeting. 

you barely close your eyes and press closer to him before you snap out of it, jerking backwards with wide eyes.

richie’s eyes fall open too as he looks at you questioningly. your heart is thumping heavy as you shake your head, more shocked than you thought ever possible. “what?” he asks, as if he’s surprised you’re not kissing back.

you give him a sad, broken look. you think you’ll cry as you mutter, "why would you ever kiss me? i'm not - i'm not nearly as pretty as her, i'm just-"richie suddenly looks like he might get sick, his face paler than usual as the steam from your tea dwindles idly between you. he cuts you off. "-why are you - why are you saying all these things y/n/n-”

“heather. you like heather.” you say frantically, trying to remind him so you dont have to live through this fresh faced heartbreak twice as painful if he kisses you again. 

but richie shakes his head, and your confusion skyrockets just as much as your heartbeat."no. a-amy asked her out." he says breathlessly. "-she said yes."

you blink, pulling even further away as it dawns on you. "wait. so... so you only want to see me after the girl you wanted finds someone else?" you ask, watching as the smile gets smacked off of richie's face so quickly you think it may give him whiplash. "wait, no-" he starts, but you shake your head.

“richie, do you understand how hurtful that is?” you say, voice heavy as you try not to let tears fall.

he shakes his head, eyes glossing with tears as he gapes at you, “n-no, y/n-“

“fuck, richie. i know you know about my feelings for you. how could you do this? i’m not heather, i’m reminded that every time i’m in the same room as the two of you. she’s had you completely mesmerized for the last month, you can’t just use me to distract yourself.” you say, your tea completely forgotten as a tear escapes your eye.

he shakes his head, looking at you with an emotion you don’t have the energy to decipher. “leave, richie.” your voice is broken and it shakes as you look away from him.

you’re not sure what you were expecting, but when richie stands up silently you dont even look away from the window. you see him wipe his cheek in your peripheral before he sighs quietly and walks out of your room, shutting the door quietly.

you cry openly as you hear your door shut downstairs, your hands shaking as you cover your face, your shoulders shaking with sobs. you make it under your covers just as you hear a car engine sputter outside, your heart empty and lips still tingling as the feeling of richie’s lips linger on yours. you groan into your pillow and let out another sob, your eyes squeezing in agony as your heart feels like it’s ripping in two.

because even if they’re not together, richie still likes her.

why couldn’t you be heather?

you cry until you’re asleep, your now cold mug of tea resting on the windowsill as your phone charges next to you and snow swirls in the dark sky.

when you wake up the next morning, your headache is nearly blinding. you feel like crying more as you remember last night. you roll over and rub your eyes, unlocking your phone groggily.  

but you check your notifications and your heart immediately stops as you see a missed call from richie at 3:49 in the morning last night, and a voicemail left a minute later.

well, you guess he got his phone back.

your fingers tremble as they hover above the play button, feeling like you may vomit from anxiety - the message he left is two minutes long.

closing your eyes, ready for even more heartbreak, you press play and hold the speaker to your ear.

“um, y/n.” the voicemail starts off, and you’re already tearing up because richie’s voice is full to the brim with anxiety and he’s not using his usual nicknames for you. 

“uh... okay, i- i know it’s four in the morning, and you’re probably asleep - god, i hope you are, and that you’re not ignoring me. not that i dont deserve it, but i just want you to get good rest. uh, a-anyways. fuck,” there’s an awkward pause and you’re holding your breath.

“you know i’m not good with phone calls or voicemails-“ his rambling just adds to your anxious feeling, but you think if you don’t listen to this, your anxiety would eat you alive.

“- fuck, i don’t know how to say this. kind of ironic, i guess, since i’ve been thinking about saying it like every day for probably more than a year- okay, i’m... god, spit it out, trashmouth.” his voice gets thicker and you can hear the emotion as he takes a shallow breath.

“y/n/n, you make my hands shake. i swear, my heart feels like it’s going to backfire and explode when we touch... and it scares me so fucking bad.” you feel your heart halt in your chest, the air leaving your lungs.

you keep the phone pressed tightly to your ear as richie’s recorded voice goes on.

“-fuck, y/n. i’m terrified. sometimes i think.... like, whoever created me... they designed me just to be yours. and... it’s not in the same way i feel about bev, or bill, or eddie-“ his voice breaks as he sniffs on the other end and it dawns on you that he’s crying. “-you’re you. you’re y/n. i tried to like heather as more than just a friend. but...” it’s silent for a second.

“i just kept comparing her to you. i do that with everybody. i think i’m broken. i love you so much that it hurts.” he’s crying enough by now that it’s leaking into his speech; he’s hiccuping, stuttering slightly, his inflection changing as you can almost picture the tears rolling off his thick eyelashes and onto his rosy cheeks.

“-and i can’t sleep right now knowing that i hurt you like this. i can’t believe that i let you think of yourself as lesser than heather in any way-“ he sobs quietly in the recording and takes a stuttering breath. "i can’t believe i put myself before you. i’m such a shitty friend. i should’ve been giving you my stupid fucking sweaters the whole time.” 

tears are pouring out of your eyes as you sit up, ripping the comforter off your legs. you’re pulling on socks and your shoes as you continue to listen to richie’s voicemail.

“i’m sorry that i kissed you, and i’m sorry that i dragged you into this m-mess, that i used heather as an excuse to ignore my feelings for you. i-i love you so fucking much, and i’m just so scared of hurting you. i’m so sorry that i hurt you, y/n.”

you have to see him.

“-and, um, i’m sorry i left this voice message. this is probably the worst way to find this out but i figured that it would be easier for us to ignore if it wasn’t in person- y’know, because you don’t have to respond. just- now you know. that i’m sorry, and that i don’t expect you to forgive me or want to speak to me for a while. i just- i need you to know that you’re so loved, y/n. and that you deserve so much better than me.

“so, um, okay. i’ll let you sleep now. b-bye.” he whispers the end and then the line cuts dead.

you’re left with shaking breath and tears in your eyes as his voice rings in your head. you try to take in what he’s just said, but you think you’re about to pass out.

how can richie love you back?

you brush your teeth almost aggressively as your heart beats erratically in your chest and then you’re suddenly flying down the snowy road towards the tozier’s house.

you realize too late that you look completely awry, hair unbrushed, eyes puffy and swollen, shoes untied as you knock on the front door of richie's house.

went opens the door, richie’s younger sister sat on his hip as he smiles at you, "y/n! long time no see. richie's upstairs in his room."

you smile at him in thanks, too rushed to say anything to him or munch. then you’re all but sprinting up the stairs, only feeling the anxiety as you throw open the door to his bedroom. 

you're relieved that he's laying in his bed, surrounded by pillows and fluffy comforters as he jumps from the noise of your arrival.

when he sits up, neither of you say anything. his eyes are red and rimmed with tears, a heartbreaking sight as his lower lip trembles slightly. you're sure you look the same as you take a step towards his bed, your eyes not leaving each other's for a second.

he looks incredible, still. 

"y/n..." he whispers finally, his eyes wide. "did you get my message?" he says, lips tilting in a stupid, forced smile. his voice holds no humor in it's sad thickness, though, and you sigh as you look down to the carpet.

you shake your head, "can you not joke for a minute, rich?"

he laughs wetly, standing up fully and although he towers at 6'0, he looks so small. "i can try, doll, but then i'll start to cry a lot, and that's just not what anybody wants-"

"richie." you say, effectively ceasing his rambling. it's cold in his room, bright white from the snow outside, and silent. he looks at you with huge eyes and a red nose.

but you don't know what to say. you’ve spent so long wanting to be heather, but now you've found out that richie's loved you this whole time. it hurts, but you can't wait another second being away from richie. 

you launch yourself towards him, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him down to your mouth.

this time, the kiss is warm, unexpected again but much more loving. it's a kiss that tastes like tears and love and trust, and all you can feel is richie as his hands find purchase on your cheek and back, pulling you so close to him that you can feel is rapid heartbeat.

he pulls back to mumble against your lips, "i'm so sorry." you shake your head, pressing another kiss to his and loving the feeling of richie against you finally. "i love you." you say, feeling his grin against your mouth.

"i love you so much." he says, pulling you lightly to fall onto his bed with him and tickling your sides.

you laugh lightly, swatting at his prodding fingers. "please stop crying." he whispers, laying above you with a small smile. you roll your eyes, "you stop crying rich." you retort, and he shakes his head, one of his tears falling onto your cheek. you jump from the feeling and wipe it away, sniffling a gasp and pulling him into a tight hug, his legs tangling with yours.

“i’m sorry.” he mumbles. you cup his cheeks so his lips pucker out and you smile at him, whispering, “i forgive you, rich. i love you.” and then you place a soft kiss to his lips and he kisses you back enthusiastically.  he pulls back and hugs you again, burrowing himself in your neck. 

"i didn't think i'd ever get you." he says, muffled by his face in your shoulder. "thank you for trusting me. i love you so much." he kisses your collarbone lightly and your fingers play through his curls lightly as you smile, eyes closing. you're so tired.

"i love you more, richie."

you fall asleep with richie curled up beside you, his breath light on your chest and arms clutching you against him. you fall asleep with richie’s lips on your neck, his legs entangled with yours. 

you fall asleep contently, knowing that you no longer have to wish you were heather.

tag list: @gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings​ @stenbrozier​ @simplesammyx​   @brxken-heartsclub​ @clownsloveyou​ @moon-shine-baby​ @daughter-of-the-stars11  @trashedfortozier​ @oceandog13​ @finnskindofwoman  @kait-tozier @upamongthestarss @fiantomartell @beverlyparkerr @beauregard-s @diorbubs @leighjaenikhowell @cowbellies @deepestofwaters  <33

[sugarmaplewings-fics]

Party Jitters

Pairing: Bakugou x anxious reader

Warnings: SWORE (also some anxiety but it’s not too intense. Maybe a bit of bullying, but it’s not really directly to y/n)

Author’s Note:

So this is the first request I’ve ever completed (🎉✨✨🎇) and I’m pretty proud of it! I started out having this go in a completely different direction and I got pretty far along until I decided it wasn’t really the vibe I was going for, so I stopped and started over. I might post the original later (either I’ll finish it up or just as the wip it is) but idk. Tell me if you want it, I guess? Idk, I might just post it anyway bc I do that sometimes.

Anyway, huge thank you to @bozowrites​ for sending in this request! I hope it fit something along the lines of what you were thinking!

Enjoy!

-Sugar

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Oh, if only you knew how you had gotten yourself into this situation now

Except you did know, and it was all your own damn fault

You hated parties. You knew you hated parties; but in a moment of unjustified courage, you had convinced yourself that it was a good idea to get out there more

A friend from your middle school was throwing a get-together for your previous grade, and you thought it might be nice to see some of the kids you’d grown up with

You’d done yourself up with a different hair style and moderately more formal clothes than you wore normally, even convincing your boyfriend to come along with you

But oh, no. This was not good. The furthest thing from a good idea, if you asked your present self

It was as if only now you remembered that there weren’t many people there that you cared to see

You were at someone’s house, music blaring and lights dimmed

Katsuki had wandered off to get you both an age-appropriate beverage, and now you were standing alone in a corner

You spotted the group of kids who used to throw rude comments at you. To be honest, they were pretty rude to everyone, yet somehow they were still considered popular

That was all a whole year ago. We’re in different schools now, it doesn’t matter

Nevertheless, it felt like they wouldn’t stop looking over at you. You swore that one of the girls leaning over to whisper something in her friend’s ear was without a doubt talking about you

What could be wrong with you? You smoothed your top, wondering if you’d somehow magically changed into something else; something out of place and stupid

It felt like any minute they would come over and try to talk to you, even though you’d barely talked to anyone at all the entire time you were here

You felt like an outsider, which was ridiculous, since this was your old class

But no, there it was; the sick, nauseous feeling you were all too unpleasantly acquainted with

You wanted to run, but you’d made all the effort to come here. Where was Bakugou? You couldn’t ditch him

You tapped your fingers against your thigh to the rhythm of the music; a song you’d never heard before

This had been a mistake; a bad idea, and now your throat was starting to close up, the distant beginnings of tears prickling in the corners of your eyes

“Oi.”

Your eyes snapped up from the floor, fearing the worst for a moment

Theywerehere, theywouldtalktoyou, theywouldteaseyou—

Bakugou stood next to you, holding two cups of lemonade

“Here.” He handed you the plastic drink container, and you took it with shaking hands

“Something wrong?” Katsuki asked, noticing

You went to shake your head, but finally thought better of it

“I don’t think I want to be here,” you admitted, sipping at your overly sugary drink

Bakugou scanned your face, setting his cup down on the floor next to the wall beside him

“Did something happen?” he asked, cupping your face in one of his large, strong hands

“No, I just . . . I’m sorry I dragged you here. This isn’t what I thought it would be.”

Bakugou shrugged, pulling you closer into him. “I’m glad I came. Otherwise you’d be here alone.”

You simply nodded, taking a deep breath to right yourself. “I’m glad you’re here too.”

Katsuki slipped his hand into yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Wanna get going?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll take you to my place and we can watch a movie or something. This party’s lame anyway.”

You chuckled. “That’s not very nice.”

“It’s the truth. Now let’s go.”

He pulled you to the center of the room, nearing the crowd of popular kids you’d been watching before

“Hey, is that Bakugou Katsuki?” 

“The slime monster kid?” 

“No, the one from the sports festival.” 

“Same person, dipshit.”

Your boyfriend froze at the sound of his name, slowly turning to glare at your former peers

“What about me?” he questioned, gruff voice easily heard over the sound of the music

“Just wondering what you were doing here,” one of the girls said, giving him an overly pretty and practiced smile. “You didn’t go to this school.”

“No, I didn’t, but I’m leaving your dumb party anyway.”

He started to walk off again, but that was when they spotted you behind him

“(Y/N)?!” 

“Did you bring him here?” 

“Is he supposed to be your boyfriend or something?” 

You swallowed heavily, averting your eyes and walking faster, only to bump into Katsuki’s back

He had stilled in his path, a shadow crossing his eyes. You knew that look, that dangerous expression on his face. Bakugou was little more than a ticking time bomb, and your former classmates had just set him off

He slowly turned again to face them, and you could feel the palm clutching yours growing hotter in its grasp

“Have a problem with her? Or do you have a problem with me?” he asked, voice too low, too quiet

The same girl scoffed, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “It’s just that someone like her? With someone like you? You know what I mean, right guys?”

She snickered, turning back to her friends, who had now turned their full attention to the both of you

You weren’t sure if you’d ever seen Katsuki so angry, which was saying a lot, since he was outraged about something nearly all the time

Trying to prevent him from doing something he’d regret, you tugged at his shirtsleeve

He glanced back at you, face softening the tiniest of fractions

Balling his opposite fist, he walked back to the girl who’d called him out, pointing a finger in her face

“(Y/N) is my girlfriend and I love her, got it? I don’t need the opinions of shitty extras like you on my goddamn relationship. Just get the fuck out of my way and don’t talk to us again.”

With that, he went back to walking out, pulling you behind him in tow. He easily cleared a path for the both of you, yelling when someone wouldn’t move out of the way fast enough

When you were finally outside, he started walking you to the train station so he could take you home

“Don’t listen to those extras,” he finally said. Bakugou slowed down his pace and relaxed his grip on your hand, letting you settle comfortably into step beside him

“We do make quite the couple,” you remarked

He looked over at you, letting his face fall into the smallest of smiles. “Maybe tonight was kind of a shitshow, but you best believe that it won’t last.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“Because I’m the best boyfriend there ever was, and I know how to show my girlfriend a good time.”

You grinned, hugging him from the side as you walked. “You most certainly are.” Maybe it wasn’t always a good idea to inflate the blond’s ego, but you couldn’t help but be forever grateful for how he had impacted your life

When it came down to it, Katsuki would always show how much he cared, whether it was in your defense or simply getting you through a tough day

By the time you’d gotten off the train, all your worries had slipped from your mind, walking hand in hand in the moonlit darkness to spend the night at your boyfriend’s home

⋘ ────────── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ───────── ⋙

Taglist: @basicaegyo​ @iiminibattlehero​ @pyrofanatic​​ @sokkasangel​ @xoxopam4​​

[ddaenggtan]

black irises in the sunshine | kth

anger is everything. other gods tease you for the short fuse, but it comes with the territory. people have called you stupid, have called you dumb, oafish, useless, incompetent, insolent, rude, arrogant. all of it. insults and mockery flung at you, but even your skin isn’t thick enough to deal with constant abuse. it’s the exact reason you keep going to the underground, knuckles bloody and bruised, fighting anyone that dared enter the cage. it’s the reason you go to the clubs, surround yourself with mortals and their writhing bodies. it’s there that you see him the first time, voice husky as it rolls through the room. it’s there you find someone who treats you differently than the rest. you just never expected him to be one of the muses. | monsters and gods pt 3 (masterlist)

pairing | taehyung x reader

genre/warnings | greek god au, calliope!taehyung, ares!reader, theres a lot of violence and it does get descriptive so be aware of that, none of the main characters other than ares get hurt and its not uncalled for or anything in a narrative sense, so just be aware of that; there are mentions of other idols, but if you can guess them you get a cookie because they are Vague; suuuuper bisexual Ares, Ares Can Step On Me, like I am SO gay for her it isn’t funny; explicit smut ft: cunnilingus, taeHUNG bc hes got MASSIVE SCHLONG,  some body worship kind of and then just....regular worship? like? idk how to explain that? lots of praise and lots or orgasms

word count | 14k | cross posted to ao3

a/n | HOOOOOOO this has been sitting in my google docs for literal months waiting for an ending and i decided to try to get it out for tae's birthday bUT that didn't work because i have a Job and shit so YEET I GUESS HAPPY FUCKIN NEW YEAR??? LIKE??? YEEEEEEEEEEEEE this fic is very near to me because Ares is my sweet sad angry babie and i love her, and i love tae and i love suho and i love the muses and i just........lOVE this fic like i think this is currently my favorite of the mag series so!! i hope yall also enjoy it!!!! yall are welcome to send me messages about this even tho I'm terrible at replying to them in a timely manner!! thanks to everyone who helped me with this, and everyone who has expressed interest in it, and everyone who has ever read anything of mine, because you're genuinely the best people ever, and this is literally a gift to y'all because you deserve it. 

Fuck, that was too hard .

The guy across from you goes flying, hitting the chain link wall of the cage harder than you intended. Every nerve ending in your body is on fire, and even holding back, you've got a better buzz than even the best nectar can give. Your blood sings as the guy gets back up, and you almost wish you could remember his name, because he's put up a hell of a fight. For a mortal, anyway. 

He charges at you again, and time slows as your vision tunnels. You can see the feint as he decides on it, how he hesitates in bringing his left up. You wait, watching him get closer and closer. You start to dart to your left, letting him think he's got you, before you side-step and dart to your right instead. His punch goes wide as you steady your balance and move. The top of your foot connects with his ribcage and the resulting crack of bone is lost amid the cheers and yells of the audience. 

Your opponent steps back and you're proud of the way he doesn't show the pain. He doesn't wince, doesn't move to touch the spot you hit, just tightens his stance and clenches his jaw. It's only you that notices the hitch in his breath, the way he flinches with every inhale. Your eyes narrow at that, zeroing in on the rib. You'd meant to just crack it, had been holding back most of your strength to keep from hurting him too seriously, but as he steps forward, you can see the way he grits his teeth against the pain. 

The fight leaves you immediately, like a bucket of cold water straight to the chest, and you drop your hands. 

"Yield." He just stares at you, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Yield to me, and then go to the doctor."

"I'm not gonna yield," He says. He spits a mouthful of blood out onto the floor. "I'm not weak."

"Seriously, dude," You insist. "You're not gonna win this, and I don't want to hurt you more." 

His scoff has you seeing red. "As if a princess like you could hurt me."

Your fist connects with his face before either of you registers that you've moved. There's a voice in the back of your head reminding you that he's just mortal, he can't take the same kind of beating you can, but it's lost in the haze of fury. The next thing you know, the ref is dragging you away and slamming you into the cage wall. Your opponent is being dragged out - you still don't know his name - and he looks beaten senseless. Victory rolls through you accompanied by a sick satisfaction at the way his blood looks decorating the canvas beneath your feet. 

It lasts for less than an hour. It's always like this; the thrill of the fight, the burn of success, it's gone faster than you can blink. It's what drives you to keep fighting, to keep going to match after match, just to seek out the under-the-table stuff afterwards. It's never enough, not anymore. Back in the old days, they'd let you fight anything. Bears, bulls, lions, giants, anything they could get a noose around long enough to point it at a colosseum. That was a long time ago, though, before all the rights movements happened. You won't lie: you miss fighting beasts like that. The sheer power and strength they have, the survival instinct that makes them such fierce competitors, it's so much better than the rules and regulations of the mortal world now. Fights have gotten dull, rehearsed, more like a performance or a show than an actual fight. People make more money losing than they do winning and it's made the world boring. 

You flex your hand as you open the door to your favorite bar. Something caught it at some point in the last fight, a cheekbone or a tooth, and it stings a little. Doesn't hurt, not exactly, not for a goddess, but it did enough that you feel it at all, which means it couldn't have been anything but torture for the guy on the other end. The bartender waves at you and gets your usual ready as you sit, and you idly wonder if Busted Rib Guy will be okay. It looked painful, for a human, and you'd tried to hold back, but…

Well, you weren't really responsible for what happened to condescending little fucks, were you?

You sip the bourbon, enjoying the burn as it goes down. The lights are dim, tonight. You're glad. You don't want to deal with people looking at you, men coming over to talk to you, trying to advise you on how to properly bandage your knuckles or how to avoid the bruise on your cheek next time. If you had wanted to avoid it, you would have. You'd intended it to hurt worse, honestly, but that first guy'd had a weaker right hook than you expected. 

You look around, wondering if anyone here would provide a decent distraction for the night. There's a pretty brunette in the corner with carefully crafted braids, and as your eyes travel, you imagine what's hiding beneath the silk and leather. You're pulled from the thought by the sound of music, and you curse under your breath. You forgot that it's an open mic night and you'd meant to go to the bar across town instead. Irritation colors your vision; every open mic night is awful, full of lofty poets talking about their trauma and wannabe Taylor Swifts thinking they're on the same level as Sappho. Ah, now that was a girl with a set of pipes. You miss her, wonder what she would say to the butchering of whatever song you're about to hear.

The voice that comes isn't what you expect. It's smooth and deep. The world turns to velvet around you as the voice wanders from one speaker to another, creating a mesmerizing multi-dimensional effect despite the way the singer doesn't ever leave the stage. You turn, knuckles white around your bourbon glass; he's utterly magnetic, every eye in the room trained on him as he purrs into the vintage mic. Long fingers are wrapped around the scuffed metal, decorated with jewels that glitter in the dim light of the bar. You can smell the lingering cigarette smoke from the guy beside you and the Jäger from the girl two stools down and for once, you don't even care. He's captivating, voice travelling between speakers in the bar and coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. 

Your eyes don't leave him, and you wonder if you can memorize the way the blond waves fall against his forehead if you stare long enough. 

The red seeps away from you, slinking back into the corners of your mind, settling once more into a low thrum under your skin. It fades into the background of this man's voice, the charisma that rolls off him in waves as he pulls the mic in close just to push it to the side with a teasing smirk. It settles something in your chest that hasn't been calm since the fight in Athens so long ago. 

The music fades out sooner than you'd like, and he gives a slight bow before wandering into the crowd. You do your best to follow him, but the gold of his hair disappears almost immediately, lost in the throng of people around the stage waiting to speak to him. You turn back around, downing the next bit of bourbon that Suho pours you. 

"I know," He says with a grin. You cock a brow at him, not having said anything he could agree with. "He's good. That's what you were thinking, right? He's why we're so packed on open mics. Got the audio and lighting guy whipped, so he's got all these special effects, too. Drives people crazy.”

"He's alright," You mutter. You toss a few bills down on the bartop and step back. Suho gives you a courteous nod as you leave. The bouncer gives you a dirty look when he spots the lit cigarette between your lips, but he knows better than to try to tell you otherwise. You've taught him better. 

You lean back against the brick wall of the alley and take a drag. The warm smoke fills your lungs and you close your eyes. It's a different kind of burn than you're used to, a distraction from the crawling sensation that drives you to fight. It's calmer, more controlled. Feels like the smoke from Hestia's fires. Feels like home. 

"Never expected to see you here," A voice calls out. It's deep and startling in the darkness, but you don't jump. You just open your eyes, exhale, and look to where it came from. 

The singer stands before you in the same undone white button up and black tee he performed in. He doesn't have a cig, doesn't seem to have much of any reason to be outside. He moves almost lazily, as if he doesn't even need to, just wants to, and when his gaze flicks up to meet yours, your vision fills just for a breath with every opponent you've ever faced lying at your feet. 

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" The words slip from your tongue before you can stop them. It's not his fault, the voice in your head says, he didn't mean it that way, but still, your blood is thrumming now that he's here and you want to know what he's talking about. Want to know why he thinks you wouldn't be here when there's attractive people and good bourbon and you've never seen this man before in your life. Want to know why he already seems to think you aren't civilized enough to be at a bar, why he spoke but all you heard was Zeus' voice in your memories.

"Exactly what I said. Should I be clearer?"

"Yeah, probably," you spit. Yet another person that assumes you're stupid, that you don't understand basic languages, as if you haven't been speaking them since the ancient times. As if you couldn't speak circles around him if you wanted. "Unless you want your teeth on the fucking ground."

"Good to know the stories are true." He tsks and you're filled with a strange sense of disappointment and fury, both at him and yourself. Your vision turns red at the edges and the cigarette between your fingers is crushed in your grip. He pays no mind to it, just saunters past with a lazy, swaying gait that draws your eyes to his hips and then down the long leather-clad legs. "See you around, Ares."

"That's not my fucking name," You yell after him. He doesn't respond when you shout your actual name, the one you chose, on your own, as a middle finger to the Olympians. "Get it right next time, dickwad."

He turns the corner of the alley and the streetlight catches his face just enough for you to see the smirk he wears. For once in your life, you're torn; you want to smash his face in, yes, because how dare this random guy speak to you like that when you could kill him with one finger to the right pressure point. You also find your skin's hotter than usual, stretched too thin over your bones, and you want him to run his hands over you until it feels right again.

Until it feels like it did when he was singing. 

How did he know my title?

The thought comes unbidden, days later, with the desperate hit of a palm against your shoulder. You've got the woman in a headlock, patiently waiting for her to pass out completely so the fight can be called, and your mind is wandering. 

How did the singer know who you are? You hadn't thought anything of it at the time, distracted by fury and frustration, but with time comes a special kind of clarity. You've never seen him before, not that you know anyway, yet he didn't hesitate to call you Ares. The only ones who know of your kind are your kind, but you haven't seen any of your siblings among mortals in a long time. You thought you knew the other gods and goddesses, but maybe not. It has been a while since you stepped foot in the golden city.

The woman in your grip goes slack and you release her. You're still lost in thought as the ref calls the match and leads you out of the makeshift ring. The cheers of the audience are background noise at this point, akin to static or the buzz of electricity, and you pay them no mind as you head to collect your winnings. You didn't even get any kind of buzz from success this time, too immersed in the way the singer walked and talked and looked. The image of his smirk is burned into your retinas. 

"Yeah, you didn't hear? He just got out of the hospital. They had to keep him overnight because they thought he might puncture a lung. I heard that if it had been a little worse, they would've had to wire his jaw shut." You stop, fingers brushing over the stack of bills you don't even remember being handed. You look up, making eye contact with the guy whispering nearby. Your suspicions are confirmed when his friend smacks his arm and juts his chin in your direction before they both disappear into the crowd. 

You shove your way outside, frustration creeping through you and coloring your vision. You manage to keep it contained long enough for you to make it to the alley behind the warehouse, but it explodes from you in a rush of thrown dumpsters and sheet metal. 

Fuck , you never meant to hurt him like that. You told him, you fucking told him to yield, it isn't your fault he didn't listen. It's not your fault that he went and insulted you, acted like he was better than you just by virtue of being a dude, as if you weren't worshipped in the old days for the power you had and the blessings you could give. You'd held back, through all of it, you'd told him to yield, and he insulted you. It wasn't your fault. 

You slide to the ground, running a shaking hand through your hair. It isn't your fault , you repeat. You close your eyes and take deep breaths, the way Hestia taught you, willing the fury to dissipate. It's like a fire in your veins, burning and bubbling your skin until you can't resist anymore. You take another breath. It isn't your fault. You tried. You offered an out. It isn't your fault. Fuck, what was his name? 

With a growl that quickly morphs into a scream, you kick the dumpster once more before stalking off into the darkness. You need a fucking drink and you're gonna find a distraction in someone else if it's the last thing you do. 

The club is packed when you get there; you're not usually a fan of clubs like this, too full of people who are too friendly, but they're perfect for nights like tonight. You don't even need to wait in line, just slip the bouncer a 50 as you pass, and the bartenders are quick to spot you. You're pretty notorious in the city for over-paying, which means you're knocking back bourbon before you have a chance to ask for it. There are people everywhere, pressed up against both sides of you while the bass thrums in your throat, and it takes you longer than you're proud of to realize why. 

There's a band playing, apparently. They're not bad; the vocalist isn't anything like the singer from Suho's, but it doesn't make you want to tear your ears off, so you consider it a success. 

You're dancing before you remember deciding to. Everything's a blur when you get the itch in your bones, the need to make someone bleed. To feel something that isn't rage or condescension. People are even closer here on the dance floor, suffocating in their proximity, but there's a woman grinding her ass into you, and it sparks the dying fire in your gut. The beat of the music drowns your own heart, and it's all flashing lights and heat and a body pressed against yours that is all too willing.

She follows when you go back to the bar for another drink, and giggles when you lick salt from her wrist before downing tequila. Her hands are wrapped in the leather of your jacket as she kisses you, your own resting lightly on her hips. She laughs against your lips and says something you don't hear before ordering another drink. Something makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

You take the brief reprieve to look around the club, searching for whatever it is that has you on alert. You find him on the upper level of the club, leaned over the balcony with a drink in hand. You can't make out his expression, exactly; it's too far away and too guarded. But you'd know him anywhere now. The singer knocks back whatever's in his glass, eyes never leaving yours. You don't know why he's here, if he comes here often or if the Fates are having a laugh at your expense, but you do know you want to make the most of it.

The girl is back, pressing a heated kiss to your lips and drawing your attention from him. You return it, nipping at her lips and getting a small gasp in return. You smirk and bite your way down her neck. She's breathy in your ear, hitched moans lost in the beat of the music, but you barely hear her as you suck bruises into the skin of her neck. He's still watching you. His drink is gone and he's gripping the bannister of the balcony, rings glinting in the light. You wonder if the cool metal could soothe the burn in your bones. You want to know if he can bring that calmness from before back, if he can soothe the frenzy in your mind with his hands the way he can with his voice. Just imagining it has you soaking through to your jeans.

The girl makes a particularly loud noise in your ear and you're brought out of your thoughts. As if he can sense it, the singer straightens. He gives you one last look before disappearing back into the crowd, and you wonder if you're imagining the disdain in it. You draw back from the girl's neck, about to tell her to find her friends when she slides her hands in your hair and tugs.

The burn in your blood is back, now, and you hope this girl is prepared for what awaits her.

"You're here early," Suho says when he spots you in the nearly empty bar the next night. He's not wrong, either; you skipped the fights tonight completely. There was no buzz last time, no relief, and you have no reason to believe there would be tonight. Not with the way the singer captivates your thoughts. 

Besides, you have enough money leftover from the previous few to last a couple days.

"What, did you decide not to kick someone's ass before getting wasted?" Suho doesn't wither at the look you give him, just pours you a couple fingers of bourbon and slides the glass over. "Or did they just stop letting you in completely?"

"I might change my mind if you don't shut up," You tell him. There's no real heat behind it. You've known Suho for years now, been coming to his bar for so long it almost feels like home. You're almost friends at this point. 

It helps that he knows when to bite his tongue so he doesn't get his teeth knocked out.

"Seriously though, I don't think I've ever seen you here this early. Especially not on mic nights." You're very careful in your lack of a reaction to his words. You'd seen the workers setting up for it when you came in, and even if you hadn't, you know when mic night is. You've spent enough time avoiding it.

"Does he sing every time?" You ask in lieu of an explanation. You don't look away from the amber liquid in your glass, letting the silence hang as the bartender does his best to follow your thought process. 

"Taehyung? Most weeks, yeah. It's been a nice change from the usual drunken karaoke. He goes around to some of the other places in town, too. Apparently he just likes to sing." 

"Taehyung," You repeat. The name rolls from your tongue a bit awkwardly. It's more than you expected, somehow, but you can't place exactly how . Just...more. "Is he always that good?"

"Oh, yeah. We have regulars now for mic night because of him. He's got a whole fan club and everything."

"Hm." You drain the rest of your bourbon and Suho refills it. He leaves you in peace then, serving some others that appear at the bar. 

The place fills faster than you can blink. That's what it feels like, anyway. It's like one moment there's you and a handful of other people scattered around, and now you're being jostled between some dude a million feet tall that definitely doesn't look old enough to be here and a girl with her tits up to her throat and surrounded by a cloud of perfume so thick that it starts a migraine behind your eyes almost instantly. She flirts with Suho a little, likely trying to score free drinks, and you roll your eyes. She pouts at him when he gives her the total, batting eyelashes that go on for miles, and for once, you wish Suho would just give in and comp the drinks. 

"I'll pay for them," You say. She was definitely saying something, maybe you should have been paying attention to it, but fuck , this migraine is only getting worse the longer she stands there. "I'll pay for your drinks."

"Oh, thanks," She says. Her smile is hesitant, and quickly turns apologetic as she takes in the boots and the ripped jeans and the leather jacket. "Um, I'm not...I don't, uh…"

"Do I look like I want to fuck you, sweetie?" She looks a little affronted and a laugh escapes you. You lean closer, letting your breath ghost over her cheek as you speak in her ear to be heard better. "If I wanted to fuck you senseless, you'd know it. And I can guarantee you it would be a hell of a lot better than the watered down rat piss this guy's giving you." 

When you lean back, her face is flushed and she's stammering. You smirk and hand her the drinks she'd ordered. 

"Too bad you’re not, you don’t, huh?" You tell her. The patronizing tone isn't lost on her, nor is your mockery of her earlier words, and she shuts her mouth with an audible click before strutting off. Suho glares at you as he pours more bourbon.

"Can you please try not to run off my patrons?" He mutters. "Some of us actually need money to live."

"Some of us would like decently timed refills and to not choke on perfume," You quip. "And better bourbon, for that matter." He hisses something about what he's giving you being top quality but you tune him out, throwing one leg over the stool Perfume Girl vacated. You'd like to keep just a little bit of personal space. 

Across the bar, you catch a brief glimpse of the girl from the night before and you wince. Her neck is thoroughly bruised, and you catch a peek of bruises and scratches on her back as she shrugs her jacket on. You didn’t mean to be so rough with her, even if she had been into it; you’re usually pretty good about remembering that the mortals are just that - mortal - and as such have to be handled delicately. They’re so fragile, it feels like they could break with a strong wind. Guilt settles in your gut and turns the bourbon in your glass to cough syrup. You’ve half a mind to just leave before she sees you, are about to turn and do exactly that, but the speakers screech to life and the deafening feedback from the mic keeps you glued to your seat. 

The crowd quiets even as the excitement ramps up, all talk silencing but for the occasional hushed whispers here and there. The first few notes of the song echo through the speakers, and a spotlight appears on him. 

He looks different this time, his hair dyed a vibrant blue that matches the glinting jewels in his ears and on his hands. He's an absolute vision and you wonder how Aphrodite has allowed him to live so long when he's so beautiful. His voice hangs in the air and calms you, the same settling in your chest as last time, the same freedom from the burn in your veins. It's addictive. 

The song doesn't last nearly as long as you want it to but the stillness inside you lingers long after he's done caressing the microphone. You place a few bills down for Suho and light up a cigarette as you head outside, ignoring the dirty looks from other patrons as you do. You're on a mission, the thrum of bloodlust returning with every second that passes, and you can't even be sure if he's still around or if he's wandered off already. 

You stand in the alley for what feels like hours, turning at every sound and smoking cig after cig just so you have something to do. You've almost decided to say fuck it when footsteps sound from the back of the bar, coming closer to you. 

His blue hair is visible even from the other end of the small alley, a giveaway similar to the light at the end of your cigarette and the smoke you blow into the air. There's no way he hasn't seen you, you think, you're making no effort to hide or be sneaky, and yet he's continuing forward as if he doesn't see you at all, eyes focused on a phone in his hand. You wait until he's just a few steps away before speaking.

"How do you know my title?" You ask him. He stops as if he'd always meant to and doesn't even bother to glance up at you or respond. The edges of your vision turn scarlet at the blatant disregard and you're speaking before you can even process the words. "I asked you a fucking question, pretty boy, you're gonna answer me. Unless you want that precious mouth bloodied up."

"And you wonder how I know who you are," He drawls, still not bothering to spare a glance at you. A scowl grows over your face at his sarcastic tone. "If you're going to hit me just get it over with. Otherwise, I have places to be."

He stands, waiting and expectant, but you don't move. He's humming, quiet and to himself like he doesn't even realize he's doing it, and the red seeps away from your mind until you're left clear-headed once more. You sigh, long and heavy, and crush your cigarette into your denim-covered thigh to put it out. It tickles. 

"I'm not going to hit you," You tell him eventually. "I just wanna know how you know me. And how you do it."

He cocks a brow at that, finally looking up from the phone in his hand to level dark eyes on yours. "Do what? Sing?"

"No." You swallow around the sudden lump in your throat. The words are harder to find than you thought they'd be, lost in the depths of his gaze, in the clarity you're so unaccustomed to, in the way you feel like you can breathe for the first time in days. "I don't care how you sing, that's not important, it's the...fuck, you know what, never mind, it doesn't fucking matter." You push off the wall and step past him to head towards where the streetlight gleams off the bar windows. 

"Tell me." The command has you stopping in your tracks, and you're again flooded with just wanting to know how. How he clears the haze, how he stops you, how he makes you feel real. You turn, hands stuffed into the back pockets of your jeans. "How I do what?"

It takes you several long breaths before you can answer, and you aren't even sure he can hear you over the sounds of people leaving the bar, and you find yourself disappearing into the crowd without waiting for a response. Your own words are reverberating in your skull, getting louder with each step you take, and you wish you could just turn it off . 

"How you make me feel like a person again."

You avoid the bar for a few weeks, going hours away from your usual area to an unfamiliar hole in the wall just to make sure you don’t see him. You’re more deadly than usual in your fights, victories coming quicker, injuries piling up along with the guilt, but you can’t bring yourself to return. It’s unnerving, the way everything goes quiet around him, the way you can think, but the worst is the way you can feel. Everything’s calm and steady and blue, and it only makes it easier for the regret and the guilt and the anxiety to curl around your throat and squeeze until you can’t breathe, to clog in your throat while the laughter of your siblings echoes in your ears, and you...can’t. You can’t do that, you can’t let it win, you can’t let them win, they can’t know that you’re everything they think you are and worse. 

You can’t let yourself drown in that, and yet you find yourself back at Suho’s, lost among the crowd while Taehyung’s voice surrounds you. The ache in your bones fades away, chased by the thrum of the fight that still lingers despite the hours that have passed since you felt your opponent’s femur break under your palm and their screams echoed in your ears. Everything is calm again, and the guilt nearly drowns you.

He hasn’t even finished singing before you’re outside, chest heaving as you gasp against the weight on your chest. You broke someone’s femur , and did you even really need to? The fight itself is a blur even now, snapshots playing through your mind like a montage. The way they’d darted at you first, how their foot felt connecting with the backs of your knees, the determination in their eyes when you went down, the jolt of shock as your hands wrapped around their leg, the dull throb of a barrage of hits against your waist as you pulled them down as well and bloodied their face, the blood-curdling scream as you snapped the bone like a pretzel stick.

Your breath comes faster in your lungs, forced out by the growing guilt that lodges there in its place. Images swirl in your mind, chased by a never-ending stream of thought and regret that you should be used to by now. Fuck, you didn’t need to, and you still did it; you lost control, you fucking hurt them, and for what? A couple hundred? Was it even worth it? Who knew when they’d be back into shape to fight, what if they needed the money? They weren’t even half-bad. They got you down, at least, shouldn’t you have gone easy on them? You don’t even remember their face, can’t remember what the announcer said their name was, words drowned out by the buzz under your skin.

Metal crumples under your grip and you spare a half-second to mourn Suho’s dumpster before you slam your knuckles against it. It tingles, not even real pain, and you don’t hesitate to repeat it. By the time the metal is disfigured completely, a distorted mess of paint and steel and garbage, you still aren’t in pain, but there’s a sheen of gold across your knuckles and you feel less like you’re drowning and more like you’re suffocating. The usual. You can handle that. You think. 

You don’t even realize that you’ve slid down to the ground beside the dumpster until the back door of the bar opens and footsteps echo through the alley. You wish you knew how long you’ve been here, how long you’ve sat among empty bottles and stale beer and broken glass, but you can’t be sure. The brief reprieve brought by Taehyung’s voice is long gone, chased away by the guilt and rage that still sits heavy in your chest. You hope you’re not noticeable here, that whoever’s left will just pass by and leave you to piece yourself back together on your own. 

Voices tell you that it isn’t likely, the deep baritone of one too familiar to ignore. The other is new, but you’re familiar with the tone, the inflection, the intent behind it. You've heard it before, in crowded clubs as a guy pushes too close to some girl who can barely stand, in a coffeeshop when a random customer can't take a fucking hint, at the local campus when some professor insists that there could be maybe one thing her student could do to pass. It makes everything in you curdle, the bourbon from earlier threatening to work its way back up; it screams predator , and you absolutely refuse to let anyone fucking talk to someone like that, like they have some right to whatever it is they want. 

You refuse to let someone talk to him that way. 

"Seriously, Kratos, didn't I tell you to leave me alone? Did Aphrodite not teach you your lesson last time you harassed someone?" Taehyung's voice brings a calm that's an unsettling match to the anger washing over you. You're used to the red at the corners of your vision, the tint to everything you see, but you aren ' t used to the way it all turns purple and focused and clear . 

There's no haze this time, there's no abrupt shift of you moving before you know you've done it. You can feel the glass crunching under your boots with every step you take, can feel the way the air has a chill that creeps down into your lungs with every breath, can almost taste the apprehension that's rolling off of Taehyung despite his relaxed stance. The only thing that gives him away is the tense set of his jaw and the mix of relief and fear when his eyes land on you. 

"I'm pretty sure he said no, Kratos." The god turns at your voice and you watch the realization wash over him as he realizes what - who - you are. 

"Been a while since anyone's seen you, Ares." He scoffs a little, not moving from where he has Taehyung caged against the wall of the bar, one hand pressed firmly into the brick. He's entirely too close, and you have no doubt that the stench of him permeates the very oxygen around them. 

"Been busy. Doesn't change the fact that the man said no. Take the loss, walk away." Kratos' eyes narrow at your words and he steps away, but only to move closer to you. 

"Why do you care so much? You've never been one to care about any of us before." Kratos inches closer and the hyper-focus that Taehyung's voice causes starts to melt away with every twitch of your fingers. You've never liked Kratos, all brute strength with no respect for the challenge, no appreciation of the fight, too focused on sheer power and exhilaration. He is the worst of the worst of the worst of your kind, of all the war-focused gods. Every bit of yourself you hate is every piece that Kratos loves about himself. 

"I care that you don't seem to be able to understand when someone doesn't want to be around you, you absolute piece of filth. Taehyung had a point though, I really thought the whole thing with Aphrodite would've taught you how to back off. Or should I pull the video out, I think I still have it saved for when I need a good laugh." Malice and fury twitch across the other god's face and you absolute revel in it. You can feel his anger prickling across you, like needles in your very pores, and you ache for it. It's been so long since you last had a good fight, a real challenge where you didn't need to hold back at all. 

Too long since you fought a god like yourself.

"You're testing my patience, cousin," Kratos spits. It's a little generous to call the two of you cousins - you're several times removed, at best, and potentially closer than that with your family's warped history - but you let him have it. It might make him feel better. "I'm having a conversation, that's all. And if said conversation means that we end up back at my place, then, well, can anyone really blame me for what might happen to this pretty little m-"

Your fist connects with his jaw immediately and the red floods you for the few seconds it takes to register Taehyung calling your name. The calm struggles for a second, warring with the rage, but it wins out eventually. The singer's talking, but you can't make out any actual words. You're too focused on Kratos, the way he's righting and readying himself for a brawl. There's a fire in his eyes that matches the one in yours and everything in you feels alive for the first time in too long. 

This fight is different than your usual ones. There's no blur, no warped sense of time that usually comes with the adrenaline. You're focused and controlled in a way you haven't had to be for centuries, careful and precise and deliberate with every swing and every kick. The red seeps back in slowly and every time you think you're about to lose it, you hear Taehyung, still pressed against the wall of the bar. 

Kratos lunges at you for what has to be the tenth time, clearly trying his best to knock you to the ground - he succeeded, once; you let yourself get distracted, too caught up in thoughts, but it didn't last long - and you sidestep him just in time for him to ram into the ruined dumpster instead. He looks pissed when he turns back around and something in you sings at the sight. He makes for you again and you dodge again, only to be dragged back towards him by the grip he has on your jacket. Fuck, should've taken that off , whatever, he's too close.

Pain explodes in your side and you're fairly sure he's busted part of your rib, but you just slide your arms out of the sleeves and twist to plant your knee straight into his gut and then slam your heel down onto his much-less-safe toes, and then back up to knee him in the groin. It's nowhere near enough to take him out, but his nose is oozing golden ichor and he groans with every shift of his weight, and you've got him pinned against the wall with your forearm pressing hard into his windpipe. 

"Now, you're gonna listen to me you steaming pile of dog shit," You hiss. "When someone tells you no, it's not a fucking negotiation. It means you fucking leave and find someone with loose enough morals or enough internalized self-hatred that they're willing to subject themselves to your absolutely pitiful fucking excuse of an existence for the thirty-two seconds it'll take for you to get off." 

Kratos doesn't respond, just sneers and spits blood at you. It's a miracle you don't actually try to rip his head from his body, because the thought crosses your mind for a second too long. Instead, you just press harder against his windpipe and enjoy the choked gasp that it draws. 

"You don't stalk people either, the way you did with 'Dite. Don't you know it's better to let them come to you sometimes?" You tsk, ignoring the way he claws uselessly at your arm. Gods may not need to breathe, that's a fact, but they feel pain, and there is no way this isn't absolutely excruciating for him when even you can feel the small bones in his neck cracking and breaking. "And if I hear even a whisper of you pulling shit like this again, then I'm gonna find you, you pigshit. And when I do, I won't hold back even the slightest, and do you know what comes after that?" 

His eyes are full of fear now, and only grow wide with terror as you lean in close enough that he can feel your lips against his ear as you whisper. 

"You are going to wish that you could die." 

When you do release him, he disappears instantly, with a cloud of acrid grey-green smoke curling around your ichor-spattered boots. He's only been gone a second when you slump, the adrenaline fading as quick as Kratos had left. Your side is throbbing now, your knuckles are bruised and broken and gold, there's a pain in your leg that you aren't sure what's causing, your head is screaming even through the high of the fight, your face stings in the crisp-cool air. Every breath makes the pain worse so you stop breathing. The brick wall of the bar is rough against your palms, but it's the only thing around that can keep you upright, so you'll take it. 

"Well," a voice drawls from your left. You'd jump if you had anything left in you, but every ounce of energy is gone, spent teaching Kratos what Aretha Franklin meant when she sang about respect - and really, there was another fantastic singer, you really should visit her sometime soon - so instead your head lolls to the side. You aren't sure what it is that jolts through you when your eyes land on Taehyung, fingers curled carefully around the collar of-

Your jacket. That's your leather jacket. You barely remembers shrugging out of it, but you're glad it's not on the ground, trampled and covered in the gold spatters that decorate the rest of your body. 

"Well?" You echo, wincing at the pain it causes. You've definitely got a busted lip, that's for sure from the way it feels different and swollen, and you're pretty sure there's a head wound, too, because you don't remember there being a golden halo around Taehyung before the fight. 

"Well," He repeats, slinging the jacket - your jacket - over a shoulder. "You should get that looked at." He starts walking, making his way to the entrance of the alleyway. He gets halfway there before he stops and turns and cocks a brow. "Are you coming, or do I get to keep this?" Your jacket waves a little, as if he's wiggling it, and it makes you feel like a stray dog being lured off with treats. 

You're never going to tell anyone that it works.

Taehyung's place is as nondescript as the car he parks outside. It's a plain apartment building on the outside - looks like maybe it was a hotel back in the 1930s, based on the outdated carpeting in the lobby and the grate on the elevator he steps into. Even the hallway is plain and unassuming as he leads you to the end and uses an old, tarnished brass key on an older, more tarnished brass knob. You aren't sure what you expected, you can't even begin to guess what Taehyung is like outside of the dirty alley or the stage where he sings, can't fathom what kind of decor he could possibly have. 

What you step into isn't anything you could have guessed. It looks like he has the entire rest of the floor to himself based on what you can see, but there's also a spiral staircase tucked into a corner, bookshelves built in under each step that are filled to the brim, and a fireman's pole in another corner, so there's at least one more level above this, but something tells you both the staircase and the pole continue past that. There's artwork everywhere, pieces you recognize and pieces you don't, several van Goghs and a couple from Matisse and you think in the corner you spot an actual fucking da Vinci sketch that's supposed to be somewhere in Europe. There's a gramophone beside a top-of-the-line sound system, an entire wall that's just a record collection, books upon books, framed bits of poetry - including an actual hand-written rupi kaur, a signed Maya Angelou print, and a signed cover of ain't i a woman by bell hooks that you would die to know how Taehyung got his hands on. It's a museum's wet dream and yet it retains a lived in atmosphere. There are mugs left on tables, blankets strewn about as if someone just got up from a nap, an easel propped up by a far window with what looks like an impressionist painting of the cityscape, books tossed down half-read with receipts and coupons and candy wrappers and everything but a bookmark tucked between the pages. 

It feels like a home and it makes your heart flutter in your chest at the same time that something in your stomach shrivels up into itself. 

Taehyung walks like he’s meant to be followed, so follow you do. You spy another man - older, you think, but it’s hard to tell, really - sprawled across a couch, blanket splayed across his lap as he watches some kind of dance show on a flatscreen hung above a warm and roaring fireplace, a couple of girls in what looks to be the kitchen, one sitting on the counter while the other stands between her legs and pretends not to notice the former stealing strawberries from her bowl as she taps at her tablet, and there are footsteps creaking above you, hidden behind walls even as Taehyung leads you up the staircase. They all look up when you pass, but only the man gives you a second glance; his eyes are a weight on your back that doesn’t leave until you’re upstairs and following Taehyung into a large, rather nice bathroom. 

It’s vintage as well, but it’s spacious and well-kept, like the rest of the place. Taehyung pats the marble counter by the sink and you bite your tongue against the urge to tell him you aren’t a dog. You don’t move though, instead watching him as he lays your jacket across a brass bar on the wall and then digs around in a cabinet for a minute or two. When he straightens up, he’s got a somewhat dusty off-white box in his hands, and he frowns. 

“Up,” He says. “I need to look at your ankle.” 

You don’t move, but you can tell he doesn’t miss the twitch of your nose at the thought of being commanded like an animal. Like someone who can’t understand. Like-

He sighs. 

“Please, will you sit on the counter, so I can look at your ankle?” You huff, but you do as he says. 

He doesn’t speak as he works, completely silent except for the odd command - “Roll it for me...alright, now flex that...deep breath...stop fidgeting or I’ll only make it worse…” - and the occasional hum under his breath. It seems to be second nature, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, and it endears you more than you’d like. His touch is gentle but firm as he lightly squeezes your ankle and wraps it, lifts your pant leg to rub some kind of cream into a somewhat worrisome golden bruise forming on your calf, darts under your shirt to quickly and painlessly set your ribs before wrapping those as well. He doesn’t say anything at all until he’s almost finished with the cuts on your hands, golden ichor long gone and wounds already on their way to healing thanks to some sort of mist he spritzes on them. 

It only stings once, as he’s spraying something over some kind of cut on your thigh where Kratos ripped through the denim there without you noticing. You can’t stop the hiss as the pain hits, though you regret it when he glances up at you. 

“Sorry,” He mumbles under his breath as he dabs lightly at it with his long fingers. 

“It’s fine,” You tell him. “I’m used to it.” Your voice is rough, always, but softer than usual. You don’t know why. You can’t decide if you like it.

The entire time he works, you wait. For him to tell you it wasn’t necessary, that he can fight his own battles, that he’s not surprised a brute like yourself got into a fight, that you’re no more than what the rumours say you are. You’ve got a million different curses and insults ready to spit back at him when he finally speaks.

“Thank you,” is what comes. It shocks the words out of your mouth, and you actually look up from where you’ve been watching him methodically wipe gold away from a scrape on your forearm. His gaze is concentrated on the injury and his lips are pursed and you wish you could figure him out. 

He must take your silence for the confusion it is, because he continues. 

“I mean it,” He says. “I’m usually not someone that lets other people fight for me, but we both know that I couldn’t have taken Kratos. He’s too strong, and he was counting on that. Until you showed up.” You don’t respond. “Is there a reason you left before my set was done? Or why you were sitting in an alley beside what is possibly the most gnarled dumpster I’ve ever seen?”

You don’t answer him, instead focusing on the way his hands feel as they tilt your chin so he can look at the cuts and bruises and scrapes that decorate your face. You focus your gaze just past his shoulder, content to memorize the pattern of his gaudy vintage bathroom wallpaper, and he doesn't press for more. The distracted humming picks up again every time he stops talking, and eases the storm of guilt shame rage pain hurt grief loneliness in your chest. 

"I fight," you eventually say. Your voice is too loud in the quiet of the bathroom, shatters the silence like a sledgehammer, and you hate the way it trembles. Still, Taehyung doesn't look away from where he's carefully wiping gold from your skin, just cocks a brow, and it's as if a dam breaks in your throat. "Like, real fights. Actual competition, with rules and shit, and...sometimes the bad ones, because they tend to fight differently, it's a different kind of fight, y'know, and it's never really fair, because I'm...I'm me, but I hold back, just for fun, y'know, and it's, uh. It's alright usually, I go in, do my thing, I win, I go drink, and it all gets, I dunno, easier, maybe, for a while, like I can think right, but, um.”

You hesitate for a split second and force yourself to focus on the way the alcohol-soaked cotton tickles the cut on your head. 

“Sometimes it's not...sometimes I can't control it as well, the anger, and I kind of just lose it on people, and a while ago this guy, he almost needed his jaw wired shut, but he was kind of a prick anyway, I guess, so whatever, but, uh, today, I...there was this girl and she was doing really well, actually, y'know, managed to get me down to the mat, which is rare and pretty impressive, and I'm pretty proud of her for it now, but then, I just. I just kinda lost it, like, I just kept swinging, I couldn't stop, and then I just...I broke her leg, for no real reason, just because I wanted her to hurt, and I don't...I'm not sure why I even did it, because I'd already won, right, like what was the point of doing any more, it wasn't even helping at that point, y'know, it's not like the buzz kept up any longer because I broke this kid's leg, and I love the fights, they help clear my head for a second, but I never wanted to actually-"

You words stop short, like there are too many of them to say in too short a time, and it's then you realize Taehyung's hands are in his lap and he's looking at you fully. His expression isn't neutral anymore, it's not the carefully crafted mask of a performer, it's real and open and genuine and all you see there is pain . For you. Pain and understanding and compassion you never expected to find anywhere but the deepest corners of your soul. Looking at him looking at you like that makes you feel like you can breathe again.

"You never wanted to hurt anyone." His voice is rough, like maybe there's emotion clogging his throat as well, and you aren't sure what that does to you, but something in you jumps at the thought.

Tears mar your vision as you nod and you curse under your breath before wiping them away. He catches your quivering hand in his and just holds it for a second. His eyes don't leave yours and there are a thousand things you expect him to say but what he says is: 

"I believe you."

And that...it's more than you can take, and you break, right there on his bathroom counter, sobbing into his chest while he just rubs your back and hums and you remember the face of every person you've ever hurt and the look in their eyes as you left some of them for dead. 

You wake up the next morning curled up on the most comfortable chaise lounge in human history, sitting up and shoving the blanket off of you in a rush before you remember where you are, why you're there. A glance around tells you that you aren't alone; there's two guys bent over a table that you think might also be a tablet, conversing quietly and pointing every so often at whatever they're looking at, a girl balanced along the edge of the staircase holding a lyre - which, wow, you haven't seen a lyre in that good condition in a while - and strumming lightly along it before she frowns and shakes her head and restarts whatever melody she's playing, and the same guy sprawled over the couch with a blanket strewn haphazardly over him while he watches a different dance video on the flatscreen. He's the closest and you don't really want to talk to any of these people but you think you might have to because you aren't really sure how Taehyung got you here last night but you know it was quite a drive. You'd just mist over to the bar if you really wanted to, but your ribs hurt like a bitch still thanks to that fucker Kratos. Anything as intense as misting is out of the question for the time being.

The man on the chaise spares you a glance that feels longer than it should, full of a judgement you have no doubt you deserve and yet somehow fires your anger anyway. 

He rolls his eyes before you even say anything and waves a hand towards the kitchen. You snap your mouth closed and shoot him an irritated look, but you storm in that direction anyway. Healing is exhausting, and you want nothing more than some meat to tear into and a cold beer. 

When you get into the kitchen, however, Taehyung is standing there already, as if he’s been expecting you any minute. There’s a plate in front of him, full of food you barely recognize, and he slides it towards you. 

“Eat,” He says. You grit your teeth, unmoving, and he sighs again. “Please sit, and eat. You need the strength to heal properly.” 

You resist for a split second, but there’s a softness to him now. Something you can’t exactly put your finger on, but that you know is different , somehow, and it changes things. It makes you want to listen, to do as he asks, because he is asking . He’s not telling, he’s treating you like an animal. 

It’s a request, not a demand, and that makes all the difference. 

Taehyung is quiet while you eat. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t watch to make sure you’re doing it, but you have no doubt he’s keeping an eye on you. It’s quiet, but not unbearably so; the air is broken by the sounds of the lyre and the television, as well as the soft chattering of the men at the table. It makes it comfortable, makes it soft in a way you’re unaccustomed to being, like the way people talk about lazy Sunday mornings or that voice they get when they see a cute animal.

It feels like home should be, instead of what yours is. 

“So why’s Pretty Boy giving me the death glare?” You eventually ask past a mouthful of food. Taehyung barely looks up, just glancing past you to the guy laying on the couch. You can feel his eyes boring into your spine, but it’s nothing new. 

“Taemin’s just protective,” Taehyung says softly. “Especially considering the stories.”

“The ones about me, you mean.”

A myriad of emotions passes through his eyes when he nods, and you wish you could more easily decipher them. Maybe in time, you will. 

Maybe.

“Those, yes,” He says softly. “But he’ll learn.” He doesn’t say it, but nonetheless, you hear the words as clear as day. Just like I did.  

Someone hums behind you and you glance over to see a woman - the strawberry thief - making her way into the kitchen. She gives Taehyung a look you don’t care enough to figure out, and they have an entire conversation in the span of five minutes. Something about it irks you, and it only gets worse when they start moving around each other, Taehyung handing her things without her asking. 

It’s ridiculous, and you know it, but the air gets heavy in your lungs and your head starts to swim and suddenly you’re suffocating. It’s too much, there’s too much here, and you can’t take it anymore. 

The force with which you shove away the counter would have slammed it into the wall were it not already attached. There are slight cracks in the granite tops, though, and there’s just enough clarity as Taehyung calls your name for you to feel guilty about it. It’s not enough to stop you though; you have to get out, you need to get out, before you do something worse, and the cracks in the granite are proof of that. 

You’re out the door in an instant, your form coalescing painfully back into solid matter as you reach the hallway. Your ribs ache, screaming with the effort of trying to mist away from this place, this home , and you lean against the wall in the hope that it will help steady you. 

The door opens behind you, the creak of the old hinges deafening in the silence of the hall. There’s a commotion behind it, voices overlapping each other and reverberating in your skull until they’re a twisted mockery of your siblings. 

You stumble down the hall, one hand clutching your ribs to keep them as still as possible despite your movement. It’s not lost on you that there are footsteps following you, but you can’t focus on them now. You’re not moving fast, and you need to be, you should be running , but you can’t. Your vision is already clouding slightly at the edges, the sudden spike of adrenaline waning now that you’re out of the apartment. 

Someone says your name and you swing. 

It’s instinct, the way your fist flies through the air; you can’t control it, not this, not when the red is all you can see even as it seeps away and turns lilac. It doesn’t matter anyway. You don’t make contact with anything but the wall, plaster crumbling around your fist and onto the carpeted floor. 

“That was rude,” Taehyung says softly. He doesn’t sound mad, though he should, considering you almost decked him straight in the nose. “I’ll take you back.”

He drapes your jacket over your arm and walks away, toward emergency stairs tucked into the corner instead of the elevator, and you follow. He hums as he goes, and he lets you lead the way down the stairs, keeping pace with your quick steps until both of you step out a side door into an alleyway. 

Out of habit, more than anything, you light a cigarette and put it between your lips. You don’t miss the disgusted scrunch of Taehyung’s nose, but you do ignore it. The smoke is familiar in lungs, comforting, and he doesn’t understand it, won’t ever understand it, but he doesn’t have to. 

“Sorry, Tae,” You say after a few minutes of silence. Taehyung shrugs one shoulder and moves to lean beside you against the stone of the building. 

“Are you okay now?” You nod, taking a deep breath, remembering how Hestia had taught you, so long ago, how her hand felt against your chest, the warmth and love it held. “Then you’re forgiven. And you can call me Calliope, if you want.”

You’re both quiet after that. He doesn’t make fun of you, he doesn’t judge you, he just silently drives you back to Suho’s bar, which is when you remember that he doesn’t know where you live. You’re fine with it; you don’t want to see him in your run down hovel. It’s not much, especially compared to his own apartment, but that makes sense, too. 

What could ever live up to the home of a Muse? Not even a muse, really. The Muse. The Head of the Nine Muses, the one called on most often by those in need, the one that everyone knew, the one that Hephaestus just put statues of in the gardens of Olympus, according to the rumors that Apollo sent you. 

The calm that he brings lasts until you get back to your apartment, nearly ten full minutes after you disappear into the alley beside Suho’s bar. It’s the longest the calm has ever lasted, and the view of the city tinted lavender is one you think you love. 

If you can love. 

Things get clearer, somehow. The weight on your shoulders lessens, makes you feel less like Atlas and more like you, how you were all those years ago in the now-ancient days when things made sense. When people fought for honor and glory and justice more than they fought for oil and death and greed. 

It could be because open mic nights are frequent around the city, and you’re able to figure out his schedule pretty well. You don’t go every night that he sings, just when it gets to be too much, when the scarlet haze starts to bleed into your irises like a flag in front of a bull. It helps, for a while, lets you settle long enough to pull the pieces of you back into a shape that vaguely resembles yourself. 

It could be because the fights happen every night, and Taehyung is no stranger to where to look to find them. He watches every one that he can, when he isn’t singing, and his presence anchors you. Focuses you, so that you can pull your punches just enough, so that there’s less hurting and more fighting. It doesn’t work every time, you still lose yourself in the rage and do more damage than you ever mean to, but it helps enough. And when it doesn’t, he’s there, to slide a hand across your shoulders in that exact same way that Hestia used to, that Apollo might if you let him close enough to know you’re alive, that Artemis would , were she anywhere but where she is. 

It’s a strange feeling. You’re not used to companionship, you don’t know how to have friends. You still say the wrong things and do the wrong things and he still speaks to you like he expects to be listened to, but you both are learning. You apologize more often, and he corrects himself quicker. It’s a slow, fragile thing, this friendship, but it’s there. 

Until the night when it’s not. 

You aren’t sure how it happens. It’s been weeks since you last saw Taehyung; he mentioned some project he was working on, something or another that would have most of his attention along with that of several of the other Muses. You had brushed it off when he said it, some snide remark about how you don’t need him there to win. 

You would take it back if you could. 

Because you were right, of course, you don’t need him there to win; you can do that on your own. And your control has gotten better, stronger, over the last few months, but complacency is what always leads to disaster. 

The guy deserved it, is what you tell yourself as you’re pulled out of the ring. He was a piece of shit anyway, you remind yourself as you call Apollo with shaking hands. He didn’t deserve your mercy, you tell the golden gold after you’ve begged him to help save the man’s life. Artemis would have done the same, you insist to him, long after he’s hung up the phone and left to follow the ambulance to the hospital. 

You don’t go to Suho’s. You can’t bear it, not when he might be there, not when he would read it on your face in a heartbeat. You don’t want to watch the disappointment crumble into something more familiar, something worse, you can’t watch him look at you with the knowledge that your siblings are right, that they’ve always been right, that you’re nothing better than a crazed animal. 

The club is packed full when you get there. The bartender starts to pour you a drink and you just take the bottle, leaving a too-thick wad of bills in return. The bourbon tickles as it goes down but it warms your stomach and distracts you from the haze in your mind, the repetitive beat of they were right they were right they were right they were-

“Whoops, sorry,” someone says, a second before they knock into your shoulder. You’ve been around long enough to know a fake fall, and you scowl as you glance towards them. 

He’s cute. Taller than you, with skin that would hide the marks you so love to create, and hair that looks like it would be soft in your hands. His clothes fit well, and they look like they were chosen for comfort over style despite the way he walks like a model in them, which you always find attractive. 

The smile that slips onto your face is familiar, as is the way you bring your hand up to rest on his hip in an effort to steady him. 

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” You tell him, not being subtle in the way you eye him. He looks soft; you love them soft. “You headed to get a drink?”

“I might be,” He says teasingly, a coy grin forming on his lips. 

“I’ve got something better, if you’re interested.”

His eyes roam along your body, his breath drawing somewhat quicker when he notices the scrapes on your knuckles. “I might be.”

It takes five minutes to get him to a corner quiet enough to talk. Less than three to get your lips on his. One and a half to start sucking a mark into his neck that makes him moan so pretty you can’t help but want to hear it again. 

One of your hands is up his shirt, playing with the pebbled buds and the metal pierced through them, while the other teasingly massages the skin of his hip when he’s torn away from you roughly. 

“What the fuck?” Your voice growls as you look up. The guy is standing there, looking for all the world like he’s ready to run, but he isn’t watching you. 

No, his eyes are on a familiar sight; Taehyung, his hair now a pretty lavender that makes you think of a home you don’t have, even as he doesn’t look at you. 

“Taken,” He growls, releasing the collar of the guy you had every intent to make cry with pleasure. The guy scurries off before you can stop him, though, and you don’t bother to hide your disdain. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” You demand, already lighting a cigarette as you head outside. Taehyung follows, pulling it from between your lips and crushing it in his hands before you have the chance to get your lighter out.

“Me? You looked like you were about to eat him .” He follows you all the way to the street outside and down the sidewalk, pulling each cigarette out of your hands before you can light it. He waits until you’re a decent distance from the crowd outside the club before he stops you, one hand lightly encircling your wrist. 

Your boots scuff against the ground as you stop, not turning to look at him. You’re too afraid to, too worried he’ll see it all on your face and just know that you’ve fucked up, maybe beyond repair. 

“Apollo called me,” is what he says instead. “Said I might want to find you tonight.”

You should’ve known. That little fuck, of course he would rat you out. 

“I didn’t-” 

The words choke in your throat. You want to say you don’t need him. You don’t need him to come running like you’re some scared little girl who can’t control her strength, you don’t need him to piece you back together because you aren’t broken, you don’t need him because you don’t need anyone, you never have. 

“I know you didn’t,” Taehyung says quietly. “I know he deserved it, I know what he did, and I know you didn’t mean to.”

Something inside of you breaks and you find yourself shaking. 

“He hurt her , Tae, I heard it, I heard her telling her friend about it on the phone, I saw her crying, I saw her clothes, okay, he-”

“I know,” Taehyung says, pulling you into a loose hug. “I know you did, it’s okay. He’s going to be okay. He’s not gonna escape his punishment from that, you didn’t send anyone to Hades today. It’s okay.”

The cloud struggles, for what feels like hours. Guilt settles like lead in your stomach, and you wish you weren’t so used to the feeling. The rage returns every time you remember what that girl looked like, what she sounded like on the phone, how you felt when you realized it was your competitor who had done that to her. 

There’s no honor in that. There’s no justice, no glory, in beating an opponent who was never aware they were in the ring, and it makes your blood boil all over again. Taehyung’s voice soothes you, slightly, makes the edges of your vision turn indigo, but it isn’t enough. 

It’s never enough. 

“I have to go,” You say, pulling yourself away from him. “I need- I have to find-”

“A distraction,” He finishes for you, too aware that you can’t find the words you need. “Some mortal that you can bruise and break and bang until you feel less like a monster?”

That’s exactly what you want to do, what you had been about to do with that guy at the club, and it’s only Taehyung’s voice calling your name in that soft, sweet way of his that makes you wonder if that’s not a good plan. 

“I’ll be a distraction, if you need one.” You whip your head around, staring at him, but he doesn’t flinch. “I’m sturdier than the mortals, I can take more. Let me be your distraction.”

“I…” You hesitate. You don’t know why. You shouldn’t even be entertaining this idea, it’s not a good one, but then...when have any of your ideas been good? “I can’t fuck in a house with eight other people.”

“You have an apartment,” He says easily. “Let’s go there.”

It’s a bad idea. You don’t do that, you don’t fuck people at your apartment, you don’t have people in your apartment, it’s your space. It’s a bad idea, it can only end in disaster. 

“Okay.”

Taehyung’s lips are soft against yours, yielding and pliant just the way you’re used to. His hands are big and warm against your ass, even through your jeans, and the feeling gives you the courage to slide your own under the ridiculously patterned button-down he’s wearing. 

He lets you lead the way through the door, kicking it closed behind you with slightly too much force. Your apartment is small, a studio with a bed tucked in the corner for the rare times that you need it. 

You push Taehyung onto it and slide yourself onto his lap, already grinding down onto the hard length you can feel there. He's not quite as enthusiastic, but his fingers are like steel against you, pulling you down with every rut of your hips. 

This, you can do. This, you're familiar with. 

You push on his shoulders, doing your best to get him on his back so you can have better access to the clasp of his jeans, but he resists. You try again, firmer, using a harsh suck against his skin as a distraction, but he still doesn't go. 

Frustrated, you pull back. 

"Not like this," He says. His voice clears some of the fog, and you frown. 

"Do you want to be on top, then? Because I don't mind, I just need it," You tell him. He sighs a little, but he flips the two of you over so he's kneeling between your open legs and your back is cushioned against the mattress. 

"How long has it been since you spent the night with someone who knows who you are?" He asks, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he sits back on his knees. 

You shift, uncomfortable. "A while. Why does that matter? Just fuck me."

"No," Taehyung says, voice gentle but firm. You cock a brow at him and move to get out from under him, but he stills you with a hand on your thigh. 

"You are a goddess," He tells you, trailing his hands down so he can undo the laces on your steel-toe boots and slide them off. "You have held Victory in your palms and set her free." 

His palms burn through the denim on your thighs, but you welcome it as he slides your jacket over your shoulders to the bed beneath. 

"You are the winner of wars. You are the one who grants battlefield wishes. You are the dead's escort to Hades." He leans down, pressing a soft kiss against your cheek and then down your throat. 

He pulls back as he gets to your collarbone, eyes blown wide with unfamiliar desire, and it makes your breath catch in your throat.

"You," Taehyung tells you, with desire in his eyes and belief in his voice, "Deserve to be treated like the goddess that you are, with the respect you have earned, and the care you deserve." 

As often as you fuck people, it's been a very long time since anyone wanted to fuck you for any reason beyond your appearance and the personality you show them. But this? This look in the muse's eyes as his hands settle on your knees as he waits? 

Taehyung wants to fuck you because you're you. Not despite it, not because he doesn't know . He has seen you at your worst and yet he keeps coming back, keeps showing up as you fall apart. Each time he stays, hands you a basket so you can pick the pieces of yourself up off the ground, holds the tape so you can mash it back together, and is ready to help steady you when you start to crumble again. 

He's here for you , to treat you in a way no one has ever treated you before. He's your friend.

He cares.

You nod, however tentatively, and his lips are on yours in an instant. They're firmer now, less pliable and more controlling, but you don't mind. Not this time. 

Not with Taehyung. 

His hands don't hesitate as he strips you both of your clothes, but you can feel it each time he checks to make sure you're okay. The way that he watches your expression, the tense of your muscles under him, the cadence of your gasps for air between kisses, he reads all of it as clear as if it's a book in front of him. He slows down before you can stop him, his lips drawing back from the kisses he draws across your thighs, and he speeds up as your thoughts start to drift, swiping his tongue and two fingers through your folds to tease and bring your attention back to him. 

His fingers bury themselves in your heat, crooking slightly to brush against that soft part of you that makes the world spin, and it's all too intense. His lips are hardly even touching your skin, just pressing gentle kisses against the skin of your thigh, a gentle complement to the way he glides his fingers in and out of you, slow and steady and delicious, but it's absolutely intoxicating. 

He's talkative, too; he gives you constant praise. He tells you how well you take his fingers, how good you look with his fingers inside you, how absolutely fantastic you taste on his tongue, how he'd live between your thighs if he could. 

It's too much, and you can't be sure why, not when your orgasm is approaching quicker than it ever has, not when your walls clench around him and you soak your sheets, not when he's cleaning your cum off his fingers with his tongue.

"Good," He purrs. "Now you're all warmed up." 

His mouth hits your heat without hesitation or warning, before the aftershocks are even finished, and your hips buck upwards. His arms slide underneath your thighs only to grip them and bring them back down. You can't move much in his grip except to grind your pussy against his mouth, which he seems to enjoy, if the muffled grunts that escape him are any indication.

He doesn't stop until his tongue is buried inside you with one finger drawing lazy circles on your clit and you're cumming again, hands gripping the soft strands of his hair so tight that you would be afraid of pulling it out if you could focus on anything besides the feel of him against you.

He lets you ride the aftershock, this time. Waits until your pants die down slightly, until you're back in your mind. 

"Good?" He asks you. His voice is deeper, rumbles instead of slides, but it breaks through the post-orgasm haze long enough for you to nod. “More?”

“More,” you agree, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders and pulling him into a heated kiss. You haven’t been this clear-headed in a while. Every sensation is clear and crisp, every sound heightened, everything is simultaneously more while also being exactly what it’s always supposed to have been. 

Taehyung’s cock is everything you could have expected from a muse; thick, long, beautiful, and it fills you in a way that’s indescribable as he slides inside. He groans at the feeling, deep and throaty and beautiful, and begins his thrusts nearly immediately. 

It’s as slow as he was with his fingers; steady and forceful, but unhurried. As if he wants to take his time. As if he wants to savor it. Savor you . 

“Do you have any idea how amazing you are?” He mutters, almost as an afterthought. “What you look like right now, what you look like when you’re fighting, when you’ve won and you’re triumphant? It’s fucking addictive, seeing that confidence in you.”

“Shit, Tae, don’t stop-”

“It’s so fucking intoxicating,” He groans, pace quickening. Your arms wrap around him more fully, nails like claws down his back as you arch your back to get him deeper. “You get this look in your eyes, like you can do anything you fucking want to, and it’s so fucking brilliant, because you can , you can do anything and everything you ever fucking want to do, and no one can stop you.”

A whine you’ll never admit to escapes your throat, and Taehyung drives his cock further into you. 

“Let go, my sweet,” Taehyung purrs in your ear. “Let yourself relax, just this once. For me.”

His hand touches your clit and it’s so much, too much , you’re feeling everything so intensely that it takes a solid minute to realize you’re coming down from an orgasm. Taehyung has stilled inside you, unmoving but groaning as you flutter around him, and you push weakly at his shoulder. 

He slides himself out of you, looking entirely too proud of wet spot underneath you and glistening against his lower stomach. You wobble your way up to rest your elbows underneath you, and it’s like he can sense your words before they come. 

“No,” He says simply. “I don’t you to get me off with your mouth.”

“A hand then? I don’t want you to leave unsatisfied.” 

A frown pulls at the corner of his mouth, and he leans down just enough that your lips are almost touching, a not-there kiss that you can only wish for. 

“In what world is fucking you to the point of Elysium unsatisfying?”

The crowd around you is deafening; some of them are cheering for you, but the majority are rooting for your downfall. Such is the life of a challenging the champion, you suppose. 

You don’t know how Taehyung found this place; maybe Artemis had heard rumors, or maybe he searched for it himself. You can’t bring yourself to care, not when you’ve got someone worth fighting on the other side of the arena. 

The sand crunches beneath your feet. It’s hot, hotter than it should be since you’re still wearing your signature jeans and boots - without the jacket this time. You learned from that mistake. 

Your vision tints pink as you size up your opponent; he’s massive, not one to be easily defeated, and you relish the challenge. It’s been so long since you’ve fought a giant. Excitement thrums under your veins as he turns to you. He scoffs. 

If you had a little less control, you might be flying across the arena already. He clearly has no idea who’s standing across from him. Probably thinks you’re some demigod, come to challenge him for the fleece he isn’t supposed to have. 

He’ll learn. 

Something moves in the distance. It should blend in, considering how dark it is, but instead it draws your eye, and you don’t even question why. You would recognize him anywhere, have recognized him everywhere, and his presence calms you. Makes you remember a few nights ago, falling into bed in a hotel in Rome because the burn was to much and you needed him to help you release it. 

“Try not to be too quick, princess,” The giant across from you huffs. You cock a brow and send a look to your muse, who just rolls his eyes, despite the smile playing across his face. 

Violet rings your vision as you ready your stance. The announcer yells something that’s lost over the noise of the crowd. Taehyung leans forward, elbows on his knees, excitement and pride in his eyes. 

The giant swings. 

[genesisrose74]

HEY BAE OK CAN I GET AN AESTHETIC MATCHUP??? FOR MHA??? IDK HOW TO DESCRIBE MY VIBES BUT IDK I THINK YOU KNOW ME P WELL AND YOU’VE SEEN ME BUT I’LL TELL YOU SOME STUFF: love love love piercings and tattoos! My closet (aside from work clothes) consists of mostly black, brown, gray, white, orange, and red and i like being scary goth sexy awooga😏😏 for music I LOVEEE midwest emo and pop punk but i’m also a total sucker for like indie folk and just vibey flowey music? idk how to describe it but it’s! so! good! my favorite animals are cows and i’m suPer into windmills. i think peak relationship/friendship is bullying the fuck out of each other like straight up cruelty but loving the absolute shit out of each other <3 i like to tease my friends and in person i’m pretty quiet and sarcastic (i’ve heard i’m rude and intimidating if u don’t know me :|) but i am also sweet asf. ok i know this isn’t a vibe matchup but i feel the need to clarify i can be super loud and energetic w my friends but i’m a big mf introvert and people always tell me i have a scowl on my face😐😐 i get asked what’s wrong so often for no reason pls i’m just trying to exist — i’m trying to think of more aesthetics uhhh. i’ll just list specific niche things.“under eye bags and dark circles, calling someone a dumbass with adoration, cigarettes in the dark, cold pavement on your feet early morning, walking in a forest at night, dim lighting and smoky rooms, a laugh filled kiss in secret, music playing in headphones way too loud, impulsive piercings, pushing your s/o around in a shopping cart, laughing too loud, playing with lighters, hair in bubble pigtails or double braids, hiding from the cops” ‼️‼️‼️

RAMSEY MY BELOVED!! When I tell you I was so incredibly excited to write your matchup I hope you take that at its full value because oh my gosh my brain exploded with all the possibilities here. There’s a couple options I think that could have suited you (because your vibe is incredibly chill and fun so it meshes well with a lot of characters), but in the end I without a doubt had to match you up with...

I swear that this shit is not even pandering because I know you’ve got a soft spot for this man — he is the ideal person for you. And in the slim,, almost nonexistent chance that you don’t want this reliable, lovable, dorky dumbass by your side, I will personally step in to take your place because good heavens is he just incredible.

Denki is loud and energetic most of the time, although he does have his share of mellow and sometimes more serious moments. He absolutely adores being around other people, and that sociable attitude is only emphasized when he’s around his closest friends. If you have a bit of trouble meshing with a group or a specific conversation, Denki will notice pretty damn quick and do whatever he can to make you feel comfortable and/or involved.

And if it’s lovable insults you want, he can and will provide. My man is friends with Bakugo Katsuki and the iconic Kyouka Jiro, so he knows how to take a roast and then jab right back if he so pleases. He’ll call you a dumbass in so many subtle ways that it would almost be hurtful if you both didn’t love each other to pieces (which you do), and the fact that you retort with an even sharper tongue makes him incredibly happy. Oh, and if he ever thinks he’s overstepped a line regarding your comfort zone, he won’t hesitate to apologize sincerely.

Denki is canonically a HUGE music fan. That space in his head that was supposed to be for academic knowledge instead harbors extensive information on pop culture and entertainment, and he loves sharing new things with you. Punk? Rock? Indie? He’ll have a taste of it all in his multiple playlists on Spotify Premium. Man turns up his headphone volume so loud that you’re confused as to how he isn’t deaf yet. If you’re having a rough day, he puts those big chunky (noise blocking!) ones over your ears and kisses the top of your head, tossing you his phone and letting you pick any song of preference.

Y’all have mandatory vibe parties in his dorm room every week. They can last as long as five hours without breaks. FIVE FUCKING HOURS. There’s snacks, you help pick out the songs in the queue, and someone nearly breaks an ankle during a transition from Mom Jeans’ “Edward 40hands” into The Oh Hellos’ “Bitter Water” but it’s all good in the end. He’s definitely a hype man too, so expect to dissolve into fits of laughter at his energized attempts to cheer you on.

Oh, he can also play electric guitar, so do with that information what you will. Just kidding, I’ll help boost your imagination a little bit: him teaching you the chords to a song you love while sitting in between his legs on the common room couch. With his fingers just barely grazing over your own as he guides you through. Send tweet.

I just know he doesn’t have a stable sleep schedule, so prep your night owl ass for some late night dorm sneak-in shenanigans and a few deep conversations to follow it. Do you both sometimes fall asleep on the floor of each other’s rooms at 3 am? Yeah...sometimes y’all share three brain cells combined, but it simply adds to your charm.

You make runs off campus together all the time, too! It’s a known fact around the Class 1-A dorm that you both love volunteering for monthly grocery shopping, but everyone finds it hard to trust the sound decision-making of you dorks after the incident — otherwise known as you and Denki spending a good fraction of the school-provided food funds on multiple random snack brands. ‘It was a one time thing,’ you insist, and since no one else wants to go on the grocery store trek they’re inclined to believe it. Some classmates were more excited about that particular event than others (although Kaminari swears on his vintage record collection that he saw Iida indulge himself on a pack of Pretz), so it’s become a regular thing for students to include a couple snack requests on their shopping list.

To sum it up, Denki makes sure that every day is never completely boring, and his primary payment comes in the occasional glimpse of your smile — and maybe a little kissy if that’s okay (yes, he literally says kissy 😘, istg punch him in the stomach or something he’s so fucking dumb). He’s charming in a stupid, dorky way, but so sincere where it counts that you can’t help but love him at all times. He’d love your ass so much and I just know it in my bones that he’d take care of you, throughout all of the stupid shit you experience together.

[shotosprincess]

When he loves me — Iwa ♡︎ Oikawa

LISTEN TO: “ CLOUD 9 “ — BEACH BUNNY

ART: UNKNOWN ( i found it as a sticker on picsart since i couldnt find any good iwaoi screencaps so if yk who the artist is plspls lmk !! ty !! )

｡･:*:･-: ✧ :,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

pairing: iwa x oikawa

summary: iwa shyly plays oikawa a song he wrote on a whim ,, and years later ,, after they fell apart ,, oikawa attends one of iwa’s concerts and hears their song,, the song,, once more .

genre: angst + fluff !! <3 ugh i love oikawa my bby but i absolutely love him and iwa together sm too ajjdjjf

a/n: 3am writing for comfort innit (•̀ᴗ•́)و smhsmh it’s lowkey so dramatic ?? idk why i was feeling so melancholic ?? but i live for the yearning anyways lmao <//3

“ Hey...wanna...hear something I’ve been working on? “

Iwa’s voice shifted to one of a far softer tone, unusually uncertain of himself as he gripped the bedsheets beneath him in an anxious hold, turning away from Oikawa whilst a deep vermillion blush tainted his shy-stricken face.

The hazel-haired setter lifted his mouth into a gentle smile, skin mirroring a similar red to Iwa’s. His head lolled to the side, and Iwa swore he felt something flutter within him. The fist which he clutched the bedsheets within closed even further.

“ Sure, Iwa-chan! “

A hard gulp. Iwa swallowed his nerves down, fingers hovering over the strings of his freshly-purchased guitar, hesitant. Trembling, even.

Light wisps of brown swept just over Oikawa’s eyes as he put down the volleyball he had been mindlessly spinning, and covered Iwa’s hands with his own. He looked up with a reassuring grin, deepened-honey gaze colliding with one of the enchanting midnight sky.

“ It’s okay. It’s just me. But of course, you don’t have to play if you don’t wan— “

Iwa swats his hand away. “ Of course I wanna, dumbass! “ He barked.

With a frustrated huff, his fingers find a home amongst the sound as they begin to delicately strum the translucent strings. His eyes fell closed, lost in the music, albeit fairly cliche, as he wordlessly played the song which was most special to him.

For what reason it held such a cherished place in his heart, he did not know. Not truly, at least. Admittedly, he had written it purely on a whim, clutching onto the fleeting remnants of a foreign euphoric high. The crazed rush of fingers furiously clacking against the keyboard filled the silence of his room, lasting well into the evening. He had so much to say, so much to express, and yet it was only through the words appearing on the screen in which he could ever hope to communicate it.

He had never even planned on sharing it. After all, it was merely a crappy, rushed song put together purely by the rawness of an unknown emotion, and during ungodly hours of the night out of all times. It was nothing special, really.

To him, at least.

And yet in a hushed, timid tone, he began to sing:

“ I don’t wanna seem the way I do...but I’m confident when I’m with you... “

Oikawa’s lips parted in sheer awe. The delicate swirls of the instrumental blended flawlessly into the angelic quality of Iwa’s singing. His muscles tensed. He shook it away.

What the hell is this? Was he...nervous? No, no, it can’t be. This is Oikawa-fucking-Tooru we’re talking about!

He could do nothing but stare intently in a silent adoration as he allowed his heartbeat to meld with the smoothness of the melody, sweeping him out of Iwa-chan’s bedroom and into a whole other universe entirely. One where there exists no pain, no sadness, no fear. One where tears dried before they could even splatter upon the ground. One where everything was happy and perfect and...good.

—

IWA

Five years have passed, yet I miss him all the same. If anything, the ache has only grown to, somehow, prove itself increasingly unbearable over the time we’ve spent apart. My stare falls upon my guitar. Not the new one, which is this modern, flashy model with a bold red design, but my first-ever guitar, boasting its worn-out strings and dulled body. The hole in my heart digs itself impossibly deeper.

We had dated not long after that night—the night I played my song to him, and suddenly it became our song. We would whip it out like a handy party trick whenever we’d hangout with the rest of the team, and it was...nice to say the very least. Well, while it lasted, of course. Highschool love, teenage love, is constantly fleeting. Temporary. That was my philosophy at least, until Oikawa Tooru appeared and changed everything. I disregarded every sense of rationality, and all for the blissful rush of romance which he offered. The sneaking out, the small notes snuck into each other’s lockers, the way he draped his jacket over me when I got cold, the tender kisses shared in a darkened room.

I loved it. All of it. And when I lost him, I missed him too. All of him.

I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised, though. After all, teenage love is but a transient feeling, is it not? I had to drill the reiteration of my old motto back into my head when we split, so that I may never allow myself to yield to the temptations of love, or at least the attractive promise of one, ever again. Eventually, we had to go our separate ways. He pursued volleyball, and I chased relentlessly after a different growing passion of mine, though honestly rather unexpected; music.

And now here I am. Sitting backstage at my own show, waiting patiently for my cue. My foot taps a random rhythm against the floor as I mentally debate with myself whether or not my choice for the opening song truly was the best option.

I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?

He might be watching.

Fair, but would he even recognize me? Does he even remember me at all? I mean, it’s been so long...

I think he’d remember something as sentimental as the song you first played him. I mean, you were the first guy he ever dated.

Yeah, keyword: “ dated “. He’s probably moved on by now.

Shit, do you think he’s found someone new already? What if he brought them to the show?

Nah, nah. That’s highly unlikely. Impossible, even. The latter, that is. It’s not exactly that popular of a show.

Right, you’re right. So there’s nothing to worry about. Hakuna-fuckin-matata, right?

I suck in a sharp breath as the lights come on, laughing dryly.

Hakuna-fuckin-matata.

—

OIKAWA

My hands fiddle with one another as I push my way past the busy crowd to find a spot amongst the front row. A cheery girl with astonishingly-saturated red hair and an almoat-overwhelming brightness about her, greets me. I scoff, amused.

A fangirl, no doubt. Charming.

“ Oikawa! Ohmygoshohmygosh, Oikawa Tooru!! Hi!! I’m—I’m— “

I glance at the front row, which is only a few steps away, as her blubbered words start to blur together. I laugh.

“ A fan, right? Want my autograph or something? A picture, maybe? “

Her eyes light up vastly and she begins to bounce up and down with the same enthusiasm I’ve noticed to be common among practically all fangirls.

“ YES! Ohmygosh, yesyesyesYES!! “

My grin widens as I click my blue pen, which I carry around for autographs ( oh, the pains of being famous ), and hurriedly sign my name on her collared shirt. It was a fairly pretty garment, I’ll admit, but at this moment I didn’t really care, and I’m sure neither did she, judging by the way she squealed excitedly and took a spam of what had to be a million-and-one selfies with it.

I finally find a place among the jumping people at the front, taking in the atmosphere. The lights dim, and brighter white ones turn on in their place.

The show is about to start.

—

IWA

“ Hey, everyone. I— “ The mic whines with feedback. I wince, wrapping my free hand around it and trying again.

“ I’m—I’m opening with a song that’s very dear to me. I wrote it way back in highschool, but it’s always stuck with me, kinda like a safety net...of sorts. I uh, hope you enjoy. “

Shit, why am I being so damn awkward? I’ve never been this awkward before a show. Maybe it’s because of that damn opening song. Oh well. Too late to back out now.

Irritated, I push the thought away, wetting my lips as the drowning claps and whoops from the crowd cheer me on. My hand hovers just over the strings. It’s shaking. No matter. I close my eyes, and imagine him holding them. Him encompassing my hands within the warmth of his, just like he did all those years, which were now lost in the past. Him looking at me, him telling me it’s okay. Him.

I breathe all my nerves out.

Him.

And I begin to play.

The awkwardness melts away almost instantaneously as I pour every dripping ounce of my heart out into the song, the music swelling wildly with every emotion I had forced in for the dreariness of these five years. My eyes shoot open when the chorus hits. I feel like I’m king of the world.

I catch a familiar set of eyes. Richly brown. Deep.

Oh shit.

My breath hitches when I realize who they belong to; Him. His. He-

No, no, it couldn’t be. Could it?

It felt too real, as if I’ve somehow managed to reduce his very existence to nothing but romanticized self indulgent daydreams of what we once had, woven into the vast vagueness of song lyrics with a naïve hope of what could’ve been. And now here he was, at my concert of all places, for god knows what reason. The colourful lights fell upon his face in the most flattering manner, though admittedly I suppose anything would be flattering on him either way. But under this light especially, at my concert, he looked nothing short of perfect. Of lovely.

But of course he was. This was Oikawa-fucking-Tooru, after all.

The chorus hits with a sharp accent. I belt with all that I am, for the boy who took a rough sketch of a dream and made it reality, for the boy who found an unmatched sense of home among those of his highschool volleyball team, for the boy who wound up so foolishly falling in love with his best friend. For him, for my fans, but most of all, for me.

“ But when he loves me, I feel like I’m floating, when he calls me pretty, I feel like somebody— “

I maintain eye contact with him. It’s scary, burning holes into my tattered soul, which I had pieced together so carefully with cathartic lyrics scratched into the pages of creased notebooks. I’m secretly scared that his gaze will somehow break it all down again. But that’s when I finally understand; it’s him. This, this song, it’s about him. It’s always been about him. There will be no one else, could be no one else for me. That...sheer elation, the unfiltered emotion which sparked this song to begin with—I understood now. That was love. More specifically, love which my chest held for Oikawa. It’s as if I’ve been harshly disillusioned to see what I’d been unconsciously denying all these years, seeing him here. It’s always been Oikawa. How could I not have known? After all, I’m constantly recalling the day he held me in a tight embrace after one of our best matches, happy tears staining my damp jersey as he whispered in my ear the praise I’ve subconsciously always wished to hear.

“ You did good. “

Though it seems painfully mundane, simple to anyone else, it was...different, coming from his lips, hearing it in his voice. I took that compliment and kept it close to me for all eternity, immortalizing it within the varying notes of this song. I stare right back at him with a newfound fervour, an unknown intent, a epiphanic strength.

“ Even when we fade eventually to nothing, you will always be my favourite form of lovely. “

His eyes widen.

—

OIKAWA

My heart clenches as Iwa freely powers through the rest of the song. But during this moment, it feels as though it was created solely for us. As if the universe, as if fate itself had decided that despite the harshness of this world, and every little force fighting to keep us apart, this one moment, if anything, was ours. Truly ours. Our song, our moment. Ours. Time suspended itself indefinitely as the onyx hearth of his gaze finally met with mine. Unexpectedly enough, it stayed there.

And everything fell into place.

The song didn’t take me to a paradise without tears, or pain, or sorrow anymore. It took me to a place with Iwa in it. I realize now that...I want the tears. I want the pain. I want the grief. I want the good and the bad and the light and the dark, so long as I can have Iwa there with me through it all. I want him. All of him. I’ve want to love him enough to love his “ unglam “ moments and his admirable aspects all the same. I want to be there with him through every body-wrecking tear, every hearty laugh, and every glimmer of happiness. I want to be able to see the face he makes during a scary movie, to open an umbrella for him during the rain. I want to see the sunlight glow upon his cheek, I want to count the stars with him until I fall asleep. I want everything about him, for to me, he is everything. And it’s this song...this damned song which brought it all back.

It was ours. And I realize now...it was about...me. I mean, I’ll admit that I’ve always been a little more on the conceited side, but how could you deny it? It had to be. It had to. Had to. I wanted it to, at least. I wanted it to be about me so desperately, it sent a cold pain through my chest. A single, lonely tear falls down my cheek as the crowd around me erupts into a sea of laughter and off-tune singing from the audience.

What if it wasn’t? I mean, you guys broke up. You told him you moved on. Yes, it was a lie to lessen the pain, but he didn’t know that. What if it was about someone else completely and you’d just been an idiot this whole time? What if—

The concert comes to a close much faster than I thought it would, much faster than I would’ve ever wished for it to. I don’t know what I’m doing, what I’m thinking, but my legs move before I even have a chance to question them. I’ve always been one to think before acting, hence why I’m such a star on the court, but this time, my emotions seem to be taking over. I don’t know what’s come over me, what this unusual, hot feeling is. It’s exciting and intimidating all at once, and I hate it because I know what it must be. In a hot flash, I find myself standing at the door of Iwa’s changing room. How many bodyguards I must have recklessly shoved out of the way to get here in the blur of adrenaline, I don’t even want to begin to think about.

My hand freezes over the door. “ Iwa “ is engraved in bold gold letters with a deeply-etched star sticking out at the bottom. Taking a deep breath, I knock frantically.

“ I-Iwa-chan? It’s uh...it’s Oikawa. “

—

IWA

I pause in the midst of buttoning up my shirt. A solid three are left undone. But his voice...how could I ignore it? Ignore him? I haven’t heard his voice in what feels like eternity, but I’d be kidding myself if I had said I’d forgotten it. The constant yearning was always so irritating. Such a pain. At least it made for decent music, I mean, I’ve been booking shows. But alas, one problem before another.

“ O-Oikawa? “ I slowly pace to the doorknob as I twist it open.

Holy shit.

It is him after all. He hasn’t changed a bit. He remains the charming, handsome man I remember him to be, even after all this time has passed.

“ How’d you get—why are you here? “

“ Iwa, there’s...there’s just...there’s something I need to ask. “

“ Huh? “

“ That song...our song.... “

“ Shit, right! I, uh...sorry. I didn’t ask you about it because I honestly didn’t expect you to show up at all. It’s been what, five years? “ I stumble subtly over my words, rubbing the back of my neck.

He turns away sheepishly. Almost...longingly, even.

“ Yeah...it has. “

He clicks his tongue.

“ Who, uh...who was that song about? The curiosity’s been eating at me. “

A heat rises to my cheeks. A pause.

“ I—It—Ugh, fuck it. “

I’ve never been the best at talking directly to Oikawa, not since I realized that what I felt for him extended to something past the bounds of friendship. So I decided to do the only thing I knew to do in that moment—show him instead.

My lips crash against his as he slams the door behind him. The palpable tension between us is shattered immediately, and everything is faded out into insignificance. All that matters is the man in my arms, the man I’d been longing so desperately, so hopelessly for all this fucking time. I kiss him against the smoothness of the door, hands immediately trailing to his soft locks. I twirl and twine them as I see flashes, bright hues of heaven itself. His lips upon mine are the most perfect fit. His touch is painfully intoxicating, and I show him, wordlessly, with an unparalleled fervour—just who the song was about. He melts into it, matching my energy with a foreign sense of passion.

—

OIKAWA

“ Do you think...the universe is gonna try to separate us again? “ I ask softly, voice barely even a whisper. Tears wet my lashes at the very thought of being without him again. For those five years, though I was living my dream...it didn’t feel complete. Not without him. I blink them away aggressively, focusing on the night sky above us. My head is resting in his lap, and we’re simply...existing together beneath the curtain of darkened pools which hung above our twined bodies.

Iwa strokes my hair nonchalantly as he interlocks his fingers with mine. “ Of course. It always will. But we found each other didn’t we? And even after...even after this life has passed and we’re reduced to nothing but ash, I’m convinced we’ll meet again. One way or another. “

He tucks a straying tuft of hair from brushing my lashes.

“ Even then...even then you’ll still be my favourite form of lovely. Or whatever. “ He scoffs at his own over-poetic response, looking away with a tiny smirk.

“ Okay, Mr. Songwriter! “ I tease, nudging his side in a playful manner.

He rolls his eyes, bending down to kiss me once more.

For the first time in a long time, I feel complete. I’m on cloud 9.

[taptroupe]

finally we are here. EVERGRACE CHAPTER 10 PART 3 LET’S GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO but this time it’s actually serious

i even  made an animated visual this time!

but this kinda spoils the later part of the chapter so please enjoy it once you reach the part in my tumblr post. thank you. also warning this is pretty fucked up and violent and has slight implications of asphyxiation maybe

“So, Morpheus is up there, right?”

“Yes. We’ll be taking a gondola from near here, and then climb a stairway to get to him.”

“Guess it would be tiring to walk the whole way.”

“[something someting] it’s a normal stairway, but it goes up this hollowed out tower, and many parts of this tower are still untouched [think this was mentioned over in the second part in fact]”

“And Morpheus is at the very top?”

“Yes.”

“Man, he must really enjoy that God complex.”

“I’m not sure about that... The Tower’s peak is the closest to the outside world, after all. The Cycle...”

As soon as the word “Cycle” left her mouth, she gasped and looked at Darius.

[...or did Darius gasp, leading to Medina to stare at him?]

“If he were to free this world, captured by the Cycle... That’s certainly a fitting place to do it, wouldn’t it?”

“Are you saying my country’s been caught up by this Cycle?” of course orlaidnfids is saying this bit

“That’s what I remember hearing, but... I’m not sure of myself.”

wellll once they got down the stairs they saw the funny looking pillars of the soaring tower. you know the ones you brute force the fuck out of lol i sure did

As they descended to the end of the stairway, they came across some strange pillars. The four evenly spaced round pillars were of white, red, green, and blue. And at the wall nearby was a door that certainly wouldn’t be opened by hand.

“if it hasn’t changed, then this should work...”

Medina stood near the colourless pillar, and like she had hit the leaf relief, fired palmira actions at the coloured pillars from her arm. [must be her alcrest powers]

Red fire Palmira. Green leaf palmira. Blue Ice Palmira. 

Then all the lights turned off, including the colourless pillar. And once more, Medina launched leaf palmira at the green pillar, turning it on again. And the colourless pillar turned green toooooooooo........ AND THE DOOR OPENED WOW EVERGRACE WIKI GET YOUR WALKTRHOUGHS HERE LOL

“alright everyone get in and ride this bad boy”

medina ushered the two guys into the small room that opened up. there was a lever near the wall and she activated it, closing the door. with a small bump, the lights in the room dimmed, and started to move or something

“So this is... A gondola, huh?”

Darius asked without a shred of ill will, as he looked around the room. Medina couldn’t help but let out a small laugh.

“First time?”

“Not like that, but I mean... Rieubane is pretty amazing. We haven’t reached this kind of technology in the time period where I come from.”

“Time period?” orlainde and Medina both ask.

“Right, in the place where I come from... Rieubane’s already been destroyed for 100 years now. How I’m here, how this can all still be here... I don’t really understand it.”

“Ah, Sharline did talk about the Darius who was a young boy... Perhaps time’s been shifted between the outside and in here.”

Medina continued on.

“In this closed country, perhaps we’ve been left behind by the passage of time.”

“It’s been a year since that incident that our country was blocked off, right? And you said that it’s been a hundred years out here... So perhaps, a day here equals 100 days outside.”

oralindade did the math. I did the math. This is his math. could it be? 100 days outside means 1 day inside?

if sharline and darius are separated by 13 years, then... that is 4745 days outside, but converted into rieubane days that’s like, almost 50 days! but didn’t the others say sharline was only there a few days ago?! not over a month...?!

“What did you say?! Wait, my friends... No, the starving villages and cities...!”

“Hey, hey, it’s just something I thought up! It’s just a guess.... Gah!”

The gondola stopped with a sudden, loud noise. The three were probably knocked to the ground, and Medina looked at the gondola with a worrying glance.

“This is the first time this has happened...”

Medina pulled the lever and opened the door to a dark room.

“looks like the plans have changed. it seems to have stopped lower than usual.”

“So, we can’t go up?”

“No, this is the highest point. We’ll walk from here.”

[i wonder what she meant by that? is this the appropriate destination? probably the “first time” bit was how it stopped suddenly perhaps.]

Darius stepped out and looked carefully around the room. No sign of monsters, but the sound of the wind outside the tower could be heard from far away. There was a door-like opening with an arch, with rubble strewn about.

“If we continue in from here, we’ll reach the beginning of the staircase.”

As Medina continued onward, she was stopped suddenly by Darius.

“Thanks, but... I have a bad feeling about this. You should walk behind us.”

this WHOLE bit about describing a room is so hard. i’m just gonna machine translate this and pray to god. it’s like a room.. it’s dusty... fanshaped with weird things everywhere..... experimentation tools like the room of the legendary mercenary... two doors split off, and there’s a tower with an iron grate near the centre of the room... idk there’s a light near the back, and an open door near there too. this is alot and i can’t even figure out where this is in the game. SORRY LOOK OKAY LOOK GUYS HERE’S

Going through the strange doorway, Darius follows a narrow dark path. He motions for orsdfjsdfds and Medina to stop as he peers through the iron grate. I can kinda understand the layout of the room now hahaha

A glowing bluewhite pillar stands in the middle of the room. There are female soldiers with blonde hair and purple skin standing side by side or something.

you know. them

beyond the female soliders was a transparent like wall, like the one they saw in the human laboratory. and beyond that wall was a girl sitting on her knees - a girl with red hair.

with a gasp, darius pulled back from the grate.

“darius, what’s wrong?”

orladin rushed to him, with quiet footsteps. darius replied back in an equally hushed tone.

“it’s sharline.”

“huh? just by herself?”

“It seems like it. she’s in a... strange tube while the soldiers stand around it.”

SHARLINE IN THE TUBE WEDNESDAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

now you may watch the video at the top of the page.

“that’s an experimental cell and transfer device that my grandfather made, and those are ‘ferugu’ patrolling around it - also made by my grandpappy”

orlsjfid looked around the room the three were in. 

“hey, there’s a lever on this wall. will this open the grate?”

“i haven’t been here often, so i’m not sure...”

“how about this one..?”

darius notices another lever on the wall opposite.

“i really don’t know, but... perhaps if we both activate the levers, the grate might open up, then.”

“We’ll try it. I’ll be counting on you two.” Darius says, warhammer in hand, already facing the grates.

orladidifns stands near one of the levers, waiting. and asks:

“so.... how did morpheus activate this grate, when it takes two people?”

“i don’t think he’d really have a reason to come here. and if he did have something here, the transfer device would’ve taken sharline up to his experimental lab, anyhow.”

“i see...”

“i wonder if sienna is nearby?” “we’ll probably figure it out as we go up.”

oljskfjksf stands silently near the lever now.

“the first plan of action will be to rescue sharline, right?”

“right, otherwise she might be transferred away.”

[koitsu wa ugokan darou was hard to understand but i think that’s it. the alternative is that he’s referring to darius just moving on from this debacle if they didn’t wanna save sharline lol]

cranking the levers to a steady rhythm, the grate slowly rose up from its position, and darius followed the path briskly (worried that the grate might unexpectedly fall on him haha). and in no time at all, the female soldiers took notice of him and readied their swords.

darius kinda like. deflected some of their attacks because they’re pretty slow? might’ve dodged a few by ducking. ignoring their sluggish moves, darius turns and runs to where sharline is.

『Darius!』

i thought it was an interesting choice to have double quotes like that so i’m keeping it in and i’m lazy to figure out how to localize that emphasis for an english audience. bbut the following line makes sense as to why.

across the shimmering wall, a muffled voice could be heard. sharline hit the wall with her fists, trying to break free. darius shouted.

“Get back!”

seeing the warhammer in his hand, sharline backed up against the wall. with a tight grip, darius swung at the light wall, shattering it into pieces. 

it was for a moment, but the shattered pieces seemed to glitter as they danced in the air. 

At the moment, a heavy thud reverberated. A sound much like the dropping of a grate. 

Followed by Medina’s cries.

“Darius, behind you!” Sharline shouted.

darius swung around and could notice the panicked faces of medina and olksjfsjf beyond the grates. olskfjlsfjlsf seemed to be shouting something that he couldn’t make out. and furthermore, the female soliders were getting up, ready to face him again.

But at that moment, darius felt a familiar warmth against his back.

“I just knew you’d come to save me, Darius.”

Sharline smiled, with a smile wide enough to reach her ears. 

A cold smile, as her arms dug into Darius’s neck.

“Under my master’s command, I stayed here all nice and put. Y’see, my master really wants to see the Crest up close... So why don’t you come with me?”

It was Sharline’s voice, yet what came out of her mouth wasn’t anything like Sharline at all.

[use of omae below]

“You... You’re.... What monster are you...?”

“I’m Sharline.”

It was like some kind of inhuman strength fought against Darius as he struggled to break free. A strange pattern emerged from the sparkling debris of the cage, marking the ground with its shape...

Darius hesitated for a moment before he closed his eyes shut, and struck Sharline’s torso with his elbow.

It was like hitting rock. She continued to press on.

>be me >at the soaring tower >bringing my comrade and a nice lady who lives here to the top floor >sees my sis in a tube >she’s super weird >asked her specifically to get back so i wouldn’t accidentally hit her >she’s free of the tube >we get out, things are looking better >she busts out the stranglehold >mfw

just wanted to the lighten the mood with a funny thing based off a tweet liv made once. back to work

He scrambled to find his knife, but his fingers only touched an empty sheath - a thought arose in Darius’s frantic mind, that the knife must’ve fallen out during his battle with the Legendary Mercenary.

“You know, if you thrash around like that, it’s only gonna be pain for you. Y’see, there’s only one thought in this head of mine - and that’s to kill any naysayers. Sooo, if you don’t come along with me, I’m just gonna tear you to bits like that!”

[lots of wa and yo and no and ne suffixes here. like much more than usual, and sharline’s speech pattern is really cheerful and interjected with bits of things. in short, Energetic Elder Sister Of Kill]

The female soldiers approached them, with sword in hand. Darius tried to swing them away with his warhammer, but a thin hand pulled his arm back with the strength of iron shackles.

“I just wanted to get you there quickly safe and intact, you know... If you’re not going to listen to me, I guess I can’t expect you to act like a grownup either, huh?”

With a giggle and a smile, the monster that took on Sharline’s shape tightened her grasp around Darius’s neck.

Darius tried to use the momentum to lunge to the side, hoping to knock Sharline to the ground, but her feet would simply not leave the floor - as if planted to the ground.

“Oh yes, your friends are over there, aren’t they? But you probably won’t make it in time.” 

Using his one free hand, he tried to grab the sword of the nearby soldiers, but it was no use... Palmira actions wouldn’t work either, at such a close range... 

Darius readied his warhammer as the female warrior swung down her sword. But, at that moment, something behind the warrior swung and struck it, sending the warrior flying.

Behind that warrior, in front of where the grates were, was a strange figure cloaked in black armor with a large knife.

All Sharline could let out was an “Eh?”

Darius, shaking free of her momentarily slack arms, plunges the sword into her, channeling Palmira power into the blade. Though the attack landed, he feels a dull impact at the tip of the sword, and the recoil sends him back. His armor makes sparks against the ground, and his back is er.... the skin peels off his back, it probably really hurts that’s kinda a lot of detail novel

But with the power of luck, Darius pushes the sword in deeper, and finishes the monster off. Sharline staggers backwards, shrieking some noise that could never come from a human... 

you know i don’t actually get the intricacies of this bit here and i’m here to write about darius and sharline being best friends not to see them beat each other to death so i’m freeballing it. contact me if this pisses you off somehow

darius lands a hit with the warhammer to her collarbones, her red hair seems to fly, and sharline crashes into a white pillar and falls. it was as if the red hair fell out in bundles, skin like porcelain and i’m not digging how she’s described as white skin and thin arms at all but this bit at least it implies it’s porcelain BECAUSE SHARLINE’S SKIN IS CRACKING AND PEELING OFF 

it was like reddish-brown sand scattered and spilled to the ground, like a leather pouch deflated on the ground. and as if a dust of white fog, sharline’s clothes  and the mountain of sand it rested on...   all disappeared.... 

My God. Fucked Up Bit. this is going out because it’s already plenty long. DAMN

THANKS SNAZZ FOR HELPING WITH THE “DARIUS TRIES TO THROW SHARLINE TO THE GROUND” BIT THOUGH

[stargazedwinchester]

Just Saying | Dean

i know its been very long since ive wrote, but i have completely missed writing, i feel like nothing else will really be my forte like writing is, so here’s a quick imagine i started 4 years ago that i never finished haha. so here it is!

i’ll probably write a sam version of this, idk

Based off of 5SOS’s song ‘just saying’, listen to it here

Warnings: Swearing, I’m a bit rusty but I really tried to make it amazing

Word count: 1,805

“He’s almost an hour late! Where is he?” You huff, checking your phone for any missed calls or unread messages. None. “I’m calling him.” You look through your contacts and called his number. “There’s no point Y/N,” Dean speaks up, “He’s a total loser. He’s got no future, everyone’s telling you that.” You look over at Dean, whose eyes are glued to the TV screen. “But they like me.”

“The guy has no job, and yet he doesn't bother to take you out anywhere. If he does, he’s late... just like today.”

“Dean-”

“You always come home with no money, you complain that whenever the check comes, he always makes you pay. Always. I’d never do that, just saying.” Dean glanced over at you, shrugging. A small smirk washes upon his face. “Are you telling me song lyrics or something? What’s with the ‘just saying’?” You sat down next to him, squinting your eyes a little bit, trying to figure the guy out. “Are you high? Dean, are you doing drugs?”

“Y/N! No! It just bugs me a lot that you even put effort into this guy. Not once has he ever shown you effort or any appreciation.” Dean shuts the TV off, the black screen dimming the room. He stands up, and treads over to the fridge, and pulls out a beer, offering you one. You pass on it, and he just places it onto the marble counter.

“When you change your mind, I’ll be waiting.” He sips at his beer and looks around the bunker. “Waiting to tell me ‘I told you so’?” You sit there confused, what was Dean talking about? You were pretty sure something has gotten into Deans system to make him talk like this, to act this way. He shrugs. “Dude, you like him. Why are you acting this hostile towards him?” You check your phone again, still no messages. “I can act, Y/N.” he points his pointer finger at you, and raises his eyebrows slightly.

“But what about the French Mista-”

“Let’s never bring that up ever again.” He spoke, drinking his beer once more. Your phone buzzed, and your heart skipped a beat. “He’s parked up the street. I’ll see you later.” You stand up and walk out through the bunkers door. You walk up the hill that the bunker is set on, seeing a car with the parking lights on. That was him.

What if what Dean said was true? But what exactly was he getting at? It honestly sounded like he was trying to terribly serenade you with trashy boyband lyrics, but you shrugged it off and tried to enjoy the rest of your night.

--

“What are you so worked up about?” Sam questions Dean, unsure of his brothers' feelings and actions. Dean looks the other way. “Y/N. She’s out with... with that douchebag and she should know her worth, man.” Dean sighs, yet going back to the fridge for another beer. “Aww, is someone jealous?” Sam chuckles, poking fun at the older Winchester. “You’re like a little broken-hearted teenager.” He chuckles again, receiving a death glare from Dean. “Shut up, you ass. I just care for her, that's all. I’m so much better than him.” Dean pauses at his statement, contemplating it for a second. His eyebrows wrinkled as he thought whether or not he’s actually better for you than some lowlife. Despite his drinking habits, his unnecessary swearing, and awful, awful good luck with the ladies, he would quite literally make the perfect boyfriend. Hell, even as a friend he would be the absolute best. Dean takes another sip of his beer. “Yeah, I guess you are- in some ways- better than him. But don’t give up hope, man. She’s probably just waiting for you to come in and save the day like always.” Sam pats him on the back and exits the kitchen.

You arrived back at the bunker, fed up and absolutely wasted. You had to hold onto the handrail with both hands and slowly make your way down the spiral stairs, while you had to keep telling yourself to not throw up all over yourself, and the bunker. You look up, seeing an extra tall Winchester stood at the bottom of the stairs. You groan. “God, how drunk are you?” They ask, you’re so hammered you can’t even make sure who’s who. Or even if this is one of the Winchesters. You release your grip from the staircase and go to grab the forearm of said person, and instantly, you know who it is. “Ah. Sam. You’re Sam.”

“Yep. It is. Let’s get you to bed.” Sam attempts to pick you up but you refuse. “If you dare pick me up I will be sick, so don’t try it.” You warn, making Sam laugh. There was a comfortable silence as he slowly walked you down to your room, you knew Sam has always been there for you, even when you’re drunk. Sam’s intentions have never been bad, neither has Dean’s. They’d do absolutely anything for you, even if it means allowing you to be with someone who knows zilch about your real life, neither would he even care about learning everything you’ve been through, all of the ups and the downs and the things you’ve learnt on the way, he wouldn’t care. He wouldn’t care.

Those words replayed in your head countless times, you weren’t too sure if it was your brain trying to tell you something after the uneventful night you had or if maybe, just maybe you weren’t actually feeling it. You sighed then groaned.

“What’s wrong?” Sam questions, placing his hand on the top of your back, still helping you from swaying side to side. “Nothing.” You look up at him, he connects eyes with you. “It was so bad. We went to this restaurant that wasn’t even that good. We ordered food and he kept insisting that I ordered something different since he ‘doesn’t want me to gain weight.’” You air quoted, stopping in your tracks. Sam stood back and crossed his arms. “What a dick.” He says, leaning against the wall. “I know, right? Dean wouldn’t do that to me. Hell, you wouldn’t either and you’re the health freak.” You huff, making Sam smirk. “He even made me pay.” You point out, Sam rolls his eyes and pushes himself off of the wall. “Again? Y/N, what do you even see in him?” The way Sam asked you this question made you feel so inferior, you had no reason as to why you do actually like him, you made yourself believe you’d want something normal, something away from the hunter life, and that if all else fails, at least you’d be able to go back to your normal, suburban home somewhere in America and settle down with your husband, find a job, have some kids and live normally. But, you never really gave it a second thought that now that you’re in the hunter life, there’s really no way out. Things will still come after you to get revenge or even just for fun... you wouldn’t be able to just throw it all away, besides, the Winchesters need you. “I don’t know, dude, I just thought I could have something different on the side of hunting. I don’t know. Maybe I’m being stupid.” You look down at the floor, then turn around to open your bedroom door. But then, you notice a figure stood to the right of you, and you look up and realise it’s Dean. 

Sam pats you on the back and smiles at Dean, leaving you two alone.

“You’re not stupid, Y/N.” Dean exclaims, opening the door for you. You look up at him and smile, to be thankful. You lift your left leg up and attempt to take your shoes off, but almost topple over with the lack of balance, within an instant, Dean grabs you by the arm and leads you over to your bed, and kneels down on the floor, untying your boots for you. “Thanks, Dean.” You say, laying back onto the bed, your hands covering your face. Dean places your boots next to the bedside table and moves onto the other one. He glances up at you. “No problem, sweet.” Everythings quiet for a moment. Dean gets up off of the floor and joins you on the bed, laying back the exact same as you. His arms are crossed across his stomach, while he stares up at the ceiling. “I’m better than him.” He blurts, instantly regretting what he said. “I mean, I overheard you and Sam and he told you to not get a burger? What kind of man does that?” His attempt to make a smooth recovery didn’t end so well, you look at him and laugh. “I know. I really wanted that burger, too. I had to get myself drunk so I could stand him.” You smile, somewhat guilty. You felt bad speaking about relationship problems to someone who never truly has had a proper relationship before.

Dean looks over at you, his gorgeous, apple green eyes shining at yours. You never observed such a beautiful shade before, something so unique but so unforgiving. The fact that those eyes can still shine so bright after he lost his mother, his father, and his brother a few times, it’s incredible. So fascinating, in fact, that you stare back. The back of your hand traces over his cheek, he blinks, then smirks. “I’d do anything for you, Y/N. Hell, I’d die for you if you asked me to.” His eyes dart from your eyes to your lips, but he didn’t want to seem desperate.

You have to physically stop yourself from moving over and kissing the life out of him, he's basically your best friend and probably not even into you like that, you’re sure of it. Dean likes the dumb blondes that only want any sort of intercourse instead of a connection. But the more he stares, the more you’re unsure of what his intentions are. The more you want to go for it. ‘Fuck it, go for it!’ your heart tells you, and you do. Your lips just barely touch his, and he hesitates, wondering what you’re doing, but he moves in closer for a better touch. His hand gently slides through your hair and you smile. It’s the happiest you’ve been with someone, someone that isn’t even yours. At least not yet, anyway.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N. I’ve always loved you.” He murmurs, between the kiss. Your heart stops. What did he say? 

“What?” You break the kiss, but still touching foreheads. “I’ve always loved you.” He repeats, tracing his right thumb over the bottom of your lip. “I have.” He whispers, going back in for another kiss. “I’ve always loved you too.”

[hornsbeforehalos]

A Reminder

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC Warnings: Mentions of Panic attacks and depression, smut, language, fluff. A/N: I know I know I know. I need to be writing Forever. I get it. Oh well. This just kinda came out, idk. My best friend needed some Dean, my brain told me, so I had no other choice but to deliver. Cuz what else are friends for? I love you, best friend <3

Per usual I do not own Supernatural or any of the characters associated with the show. I just play with them. 

Don’t repost my work, I’ll find you.

TAGS:@coffee-obsessed-writer @sorenmarie87 @pink1031 @journeyrose @kazosa @through-thesilver-lining @death-unbecomes-you @donnaintx @docharleythegeekqueen @closetspngirl

Dean tried to focus on the steady purr of the Impala’s engine to drown his nerves as he raced through the winding roads of the mountains. He grit his teeth as he fought back all the horrible thoughts running through his head, his grip on the steering wheel tightening as he maneuvered the car around a curve. His heart rate accelerated right along with the speedometer of the car, his eyes stinging as his vision clouded with unshed tears. 

Dean was panicking.

She hadn’t answered the phone in days. 

A thousand ideas of what could be wrong clawed at his chest like a hungry wolf, and he swallowed thickly, pushing the pedal below his boot as far down into the floorboard of the car that it would allow. 

He needed to get to her. And fast. 

It wasn’t very long in reality, but a lifetime in Dean’s mind, before Baby’s tires came to a screeching halt outside of her house, the lonely, dim porch light calling to him like a beacon in the surrounding darkness of the woods. A frown dipped his face as he noticed the rest of the house dark, and he drew his weapon before approaching the steps to the door. 

There seemed to be no sign of forced entry, the sigils lining the doorframe all intact and deeply charged. Dean twisted the handle carefully and found it unlocked, and pushed the door open so he could step inside. 

Nothing seemed out of place, even though the hunter only had the dark shadows of the house to go on. After toeing off his boots by the pile of other footwear, Dean wandered through the living room and kitchen and into the hallway, ducking his head into each of the rooms to find her children sleeping soundly. A smirk crept across his face at the sight of her son sprawled across his bed, one foot hanging off the side. 

He tiptoed silently back across the floor towards her room, cracking it slowly to avoid it creaking. As his eyes finished adjusting to the darkness, a smile spilled over his lips at the sight of her form safe and sound on her bed, her breathing even and slow as she slept. 

Her energy was off though, even he could feel it. 

He let his shirt and jeans fall to the ground quietly before he let the mattress dip with his weight, pulling the plush blanket back so he could slip in and encase her with his own warmth. Her body instantly responded, the need for bodily comfort and contact taking hold as she nuzzled her face into his chest. 

“Dean?” She whispered, confusion thick in her sleepy state of mind, “What’re you doin’ here?”

“Why haven’t you answered your phone?” He whispered back, his voice husky as his breath trailed over her face. Dean’s fingers found her face to smoothback the hair from her temple, his strong arms holding her to him tightly.

“I, uh…”She trailed off, sighing gently against his clavicle, “You were hunting, I didn’t wanna bother you.”

“It’s bad again, isn’t it?” Dean responded, squeezing her even closer, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t…”She started, but was softly shushed by Dean’s lips finding hers.

“You never bother me, sweetheart.” Dean cooed once he pulled away from her mouth, “I’m always here.”

“I’m sorry,” She replied, sighing again. Dean could feel the wetness leaking down her face and to her neck, the damn finally breaking as he cradled her, gently rocking them back and forth the best he could. Her fingers gripped his back tightly as he held her to his chest, her frame shaking as she let all her emotions out. 

“There, feel better?” The hunter smirked once she was all cried out, his fingertips trailing languid down the sides of her arms. 

Sighing into him again, she nodded her head, sniffling quietly, “Thank you, Dean.”

“Anytime, baby girl,” He promised, kissing her forehead gently before giving her another squeeze, “You need to talk to me when it starts getting like that. I would have been here sooner.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” She apologized again. She opened her mouth to say something else but was cut off by Deans lips, the soft pillows pressed against her own in a more hungrier fashion then before. 

“Stop saying that,” He growled lowly, rolling them so he was hovering on top of her between her legs, “There’s nothing for you to be sorry for, Jenny. It’s my job to be here for you.” 

Instead of waiting on her response, he dipped his head between the junction of her shoulder and neck, his teeth finding the soft flesh there easy to bite down on. The gasp that came from her in reply had him rolling his hips into her, the thin cotton of his boxers doing little to hide his growing need for her. 

“Do I need to remind you how much I love you?” He rasped after licking the reddening mark, his breath hot and heady as he lapped his way back up to her lips. He nipped at the plumpness of her bottom lip, receiving another gasp in return as her own hips undulating off the bed to grind against him. 

“Dean,” She whimpered, her fingers finding his back again to leave pretty crescent moons in his flesh, “Please.”

“I got you,” He breathed, lifting himself up to his sit on his calves so he could make work of her clothes. Once she was naked before him, the dim light of the moon shining through the window made Dean bite his lip as he contained himself from simply ravishing her. 

“Look at you, princess.” He rasped, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he gazed up on her lovingly. Her natural instinct was to shy away from his stare, her thighs moving to close as her hands went to cover herself, but one look from the hunter had her stopping short. 

“Good girl,” He praised, prying her legs apart once more so he could slot himself back between them, “Don’t hide from me.” 

“Why ...Why do you…?” She started to say, but Dean shushed her again with a finger to her lips.

“Don’t finish that question.” He warned, letting his finger guide a line down her throat to the valley between her heavy breasts. 

“You know all the reasons why I love you.” Dean started, the thick husk in his voice driving her crazy as he drew a heart on her chest with his finger. He let the digit teasing her drag itself to the left to her nipple, circling the nub until it reached its peak, before smoothing transitioning to the right side and repeating the motion. 

Her lips quivered as she whimpered for him again, her back arching as the man leaned over her once more, his hot, wet mouth enveloping the tight pink nub, teeth grazing and nipping gently as he did so. 

“Fuck,” She gasped, her hands shooting out to the back of his head and neck, “Fuck, Dean.” 

“Mmmm,” The hunter hummed, taking pride in the way he could unravel her. His tongue twirled and his teeth assaulted as his palms came together on either side of her, pushing her tits together so he could easily switch back and forth between both nipples. He pulled his mouth away finally with a loud pop, earning him a mewl from the woman already writhing beneath him. 

“You have the best fucking tits in the world, darlin’,” He drawled beore returning his lips to her flesh, snaking further and further south. The soft, wet muscle in his mouth dipped into her belly button as Dean ran his rough, calloused palms over the scars he knew she hated there, until his large hands gripped her hips, his fingernails biting into the soft, pliable flesh.

“So soft,” he murmured as he continued his ministrations, his teeth finding purchase and leaving a sharp, stinging bruise that enticed a hiss from her lips. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she scratched at his scalp, “So fucking gorgeous.” 

A shaky breath left her body as he hovered over her core, a low, deep, vibrating growl leaving Dean as he dipped his tongue lazily through the crease of her folds. Another whimper passed through her, urging him on and bringing a wicked smirk to Dean’s face. 

“Smell so good, baby girl. Taste even better,” He promised before his fingers found her folds, peeling back the wet layers before his tongue found the hidden pearl of nerves. 

Electricity shot through her bloodstream upon contact, her body sent into overdrive as he worked her over. He threw her thick thighs over his strong shoulders as he devoured her, his mouth licking and lapping their assault as Dean let a thick digit enter her slowly. 

The long, drawn out cry that erupted from her had the strong-willed hunter’s jaw ticking as he steadied his control, his resolve always wavering when it came to the noises he could get her to make for him.

“That’s my girl,” Dean praised as he separated his mouth from her, watching in the pale moonlight as his finger disappeared into the moist, pink flesh of her sex. He added another just to watch her squirm, the muscles inside of her threatening to clamp down on him at any moment as he twisted his hand. 

Just before he knew she was about to come, Dean pulled his hand away so he could hear her whimper in frustration. He loved that sound, but there was one sound he loved even more. 

“Knees,” He growled, giving her thigh a smack that while soft, still echoed through the room. She scrambled to her hands and knees, her back arching to present himself for her just the way he liked. 

“Fuck, Jen,” Dean groaned as his fingertips trailed over her slit before a louder, more firm crack sounded, the stinging pain coaxing a deep moan from her throat, “Love your pussy.”

“Dean, please, fuck me.” She begged, looking over her shoulder at him through her hair, “I need you.”

“You got me, baby,” He urged, his bruising fingers finding her hips again before swiftly entering her in one deep plunge, his body curling over her back, “You got all of me.”

“Fuck,” she gasped at he sudden fullness, her hips automatically bcuking back to meet his thrust, “Yes.”

Dean instantly set a brutal pace, wanting her to feel every inch of him inside her, wanting her to know that she took him apart just as much as he did her. His throaty, raspy moans and grunts pushed her closer and closer back to the edge, the strong muscles of her pussy fluttering involuntarily as she felt the first pinpricks of her orgasm arriving.

“Fuck, Dean, I’m gonna-” She whimpered, her arms collapsing. She fell forward, allowing her back to arch and give the hunter behind her even more access to her deepest parts. 

“Yeah you are, princess. Let go for me, Jen.” He growled, pulling one of her arms behind her back to hold her in place as he fucked into her even harder than before, his throbbing cock threatening to split her at the seams, “Come for me baby, so I can for you.”

“Yes, Dean. Fuck, please come.” She begged, eyes rolling again as her body began to quake under him. 

The shudder that ran through Dean as her body tightened and released rhythmically was enough to set him off, and he shoved into her one final time before spilling himself inside her. Ecstasy shot through both of them, loud, satisfied moans and trembles leaving them as they came down from their highs. Dean collapsed on top of her, his sweaty chest pressed firmly against her back as they caught their breath. 

“You’re squishing me, Dean,” She huffed after a few moments, feeling the chuckle of a reply from the man on top of her.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he grinned as he rolled off, pulling her tightly against his chest before pulling the blankets up around them. 

“Thank you,” She said after a few moments, smiling up at him as he tucked one of her curls behind her ear.

“For the sex? Baby, you don’t have to thank me for that.” He teased, earning him a snort.

“No, for knowing I needed you here, asshole.” She rolled her eyes, smirking. 

“I always know, although I would have been here faster if you’d have answered the phone.” he replied back matter-of-factly.

“I promise to work on that.” She promised, sighing as she nuzzled into his chest again. 

“You wanna try and get some sleep?” Dean asked, his gaze moving to where light was starting to peek through the curtains.

“If we can, yeah, before the kids get up and-” She started to say, but was interrupted by her bedroom door slamming open and her twin daughters bursting through.

“Mom! Dean’s here!” They both screeched in unison before turning around and seeing him, their eyes widening and smiles splitting their faces instantly, “DEAN!”

“Hey kiddos! How are my favorite girls doing?” He laughed as they jumped on him, their arms wrapping around his neck and squeezing, “I missed you two! Where’s your brother?”

“Oh God, Liam! You were right! Dean IS here!” Caitlyn yelled as the two ran out of the room, their footsteps sounding through the house.

“I guess sleep is out of the question,” He chuckled, shaking his head as he dragged the blanket out of bed with him to close the door so he could find his clothes, “Breakfast? I know you got pork roll.”

Jen smiled up at the man she loved, at the man who loved her, and chuckled, “I swear, you and fucking food, Winchester.” 

[uglypastels]

Here’s a Tom Holland request: Tom is working on a film away from home and he is dating the reader. They facetime every night or as often as possible because they miss each other so much, and Tom eventually tries to heat things up with her over facetime and she’s down but she actually doesn’t know how to masturbate. Tom doesn’t know this and feels really bad when he gets off and she physically can’t finish and she’s embarrassed. Just an idea, I understand if you don’t want to write it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

It is 1 am. I am miserable and eating pretzel sticks in bed while trying not to burst out into tears. I certainly did not think I would be writing this at the same time, but thank you nonnie for the request. I have no idea what I’m doing but I hope you enjoy (I also realize that while writing I completely lost track of what you requested so it is a bit different. I’m sorry)

“smut” under the cut ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

______________________________________

You just got out of the shower when your phone starts to ring. Hair still wet and only a towel around your body. Droplets of water follow you everywhere as you walk around the room. At first, you want to ignore the ringtone. Let it go to voicemail or let the person call you again when you weren’t naked.

Then your eyes fall on the actual screen of your phone. The picture of your boyfriend lit up brightly. You basically lunge yourself forward on the bed and grab it, swiping your finger across the screen to start the conversation.

“Hey babe,” Tom’s voice is filled with sleep. The light around him was dimmed. Probably only coming from a little light next to his bed. He was sitting in bed. A pillow behind his shoulders. A tired smile on his face, but a smile nonetheless. A smile you had been deprived of seeing in real life for the last few weeks. A smile you missed so badly that you dreamed about it every night.

“Hiya Tommy.” you smile back. You stay flat on your stomach. Phone in one hand as you use the other to push away the wet strands of hair from your face. One, in particular, got in your eye. You blinked a few times for the sting to go away. When you look back at the screen, you see your boyfriend staring. It was as if he was in a trance.

“Babe?” you ask worried, “What’s wrong?” Now he blinks. Twice. His eyes gain back the focus and he starts to stumble over his words.

“Uhh, nothing. Did you just get out of the shower?”

“Yeah. I got out right before you called. Why you asking?” you mindlessly play with your hair as you talked.

“So you only got that towel on?” He had to clear his throat as his sentence ended a bit croaky. You glared at him, also a bit confused. Then you see his face. His eyes slightly darker than they were moments before. His lips wet from when he had run his tongue over them just seconds ago.

“Yes, Tom. I’m naked. God, can you like, not be horny for one second.” You laugh.

“Sorry babe. I don’t think I can. I miss you too much and seeing you like that literally drives me crazy.”

“Oh does it now?” You smirk. You pull yourself up on one arm and move to the headboard of the bed to sit in the same position as Tom was in, only thousand and thousands of miles away.

“Uhum, love,” he clears his throat again. You look at him and see that suggestive glimmer in his eyes. You find yourself looking at the corner of your screen, where you see yourself. You notice that your towel had moved while you were moving around, now revealing most of your chest.

“Tom, how old are you again?” You try to pull up the towel with one hand but then hear a groan come from Tom’s side of the call.

“No, babe. Please don’t cover yourself. I miss you.” You stop as he continues. “I miss your gorgeous body. Fuck, please just drop that towel darling.” With an eye roll, you do as he asks. The smile on his face becomes brighter and wider.

“Happy?”  

“Yes, Fuck, babe. Remind me again, how did I ever got so lucky to call you mine?”

“Hmm,” you pretend to think for a moment. “I don’t know. All that charity you do must bring you some really good karma I suppose.” you laugh and he chuckles, throwing his head back just a little.

“Seriously though, seeing you like that makes me want to get on the next flight home and just-” he groans. You know pretty well where he had been going with that sentence.

“Love,” he speaks with a sudden softness. You quirk an eyebrow at him, showing him to go on. “Can you touch yourself for me?”

The question made your face heat up all the way to your ears. Your breath hitches in your throat and for a solid good ten seconds, you forget how to talk.  

“W-what?” you stutter. You had never done anything like that in front of Tom. Or, actually, ever at all. At least not properly. You just weren’t comfortable with your body that way. It had taken you a few tries with Tom until you were sure what to do with yourself but now, without him, you felt completely lost.

Tom had in the meantime scooted up in his position on the bed. The arm that had been lazily placed behind his head was now lowered. Most definitely busy untying the string of his sweatpants or pulling down his boxers.

“Please love, make yourself feel good. On my behalf.” he winks playfully.

You see his shoulder moving. You see how he bites his lip, most likely holding back a moan. The sight of your boyfriend touching himself like that, even though you didn’t actually see anything, was definitely a turn on… but your lack of knowledge about your own body threw that arousal away right at the same time.

“I can’t.” you blurted out. Tom’s whole body freezes. For a second you think that the connection messed up again. His eyes were wide open.

Then he shakes his head. “What? Why? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Of course, that idiot thought you were sick.

“I’m fine Tom, I just- I just don’t know how…”

He was clearly confused. “What do you mean you don’t know how?” he gasps. “Love, do you not know how to touch yourself?” You just nod, too embarrassed to answer appropriately.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“For one, its embarrassing, two, I never needed to do it myself. You always make me feel so good Tommy.” That was true. Tom was amazing in bed. He somehow always knew what you needed without a single point of guidance. He just knew how to do it.

“I can’t believe my girlfriend doesn’t know how to masturbate.” Tom laughed.

“Fine, be like that. I’m hanging up.” of course you weren’t going to but the panic that jumped up on Tom was rather enjoyable.

“No, babe, please don’t. It was just a joke.”

“Yeah, it’s funny for you when you have it so easy. You barely have to do anything.”

“So have I never made you cum with my fingers?” Tom raised an eyebrow. It always stunned you how easy it was for him to talk like that. Your cheeks immediately heated up again.

“You have. But-”

“That’s exactly the same thing! It’s really not that hard babe. If I can do it, so can you”

You just sighed. That little sound being enough for Tom to understand what was going on in your head.

“I understand but know what, babe,” he was back to his soft voice, “When I get back in a week, I will teach you.”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous Tom.”

“I’m not being ridiculous. When I get back, I will make sure that you know how to work those pretty fingers of yours to get you to your release in mere seconds.” He smirked. “But, before we can go all the way to the advanced classes, you got to know the basics first.” This made you a bit nervous.

“Let me tell you how to feel good kitten.”

the End 

tagging (idk why, pls ignore this): @thelazypangolin @andwhatdostarsdobest @tomhollanders2013 @dtftomholland @summernykole @nerdraging4point0  @butwhyduh

[jichew]

college!hyunsuk au♡part two

a/n: the long awaited part two is here!! thank you all again for the love on part one :((( idk how to make links so you if you haven’t read that, just go through my ygtb imagine tag to find that. I thought this was much needed considering all the hate suk is getting lately :/ feel free to leave any questions/asks/comments in my inbox! mwah ♡ 

so it’s been a while since the night of the party

first things first, mina and gon are a couple nowヽ(*＾ω＾*)ﾉ

you really never thought you could see any of your friends in a romantic relationship but these two go so well together uwu

they’re kind of like the resident mom and dad couple

and because of that, your two friend groups have officially been adopted by them!!

and at first you were lowkey scared of his friends ,,, esp seunghun

but when you found out he’s actually just a puppy in a buff man’s body , shit got LIT

idk what i meant by lit, it just seemed to fit

anyway

so you guys basically hang out every day, usually congregating at the boy’s place bc they’re sophomores and have their own apartment

and u and hyunsuk are basically besties now

now,,, you can’t deny you were very attracted to him before

lol don’t tell anyone but u still kinda are(๑>◡<๑)

but you just assumed it was surface level and decided he was better as a best friend anyway

so basically you guys found out you share a bunch of the same classes

and now you guys walk to all ur classes together!!!

and suk brings u iced coffee in the morning

and walks you back to your dorm at night

and sometimes you guys hold hands

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

you’re also his calculus tutor now

and in return he buys you food!!

usually that would be a pretty good tradeoff but tutoring hyunsuk is so,,,hard

“so can you complete this problem using integration by parts?”

“if you give me a kiss on the cheek, yes”

(O_O)

this man is really after your heart isn’t he

hyunsuk flirting with you is kind of a common occurence

“fuck you suk”

“fuck me yourself you coward”

(´⊙ω⊙`)

anyway,,,,,

usually it’s just harmless pickup lines

but sometimes,,,, you’ll be doing homework or listening to lecture, and he’ll just stare at you

“what r u looking at”

“how pretty you look today”

HOW DARE HE

＼＼\٩(๑`^´๑)۶//／／

and you can’t help how your heart flutters when that happens

but also, you have to force yourself to snap out of it bc this is hyunsuk we’re talking about :///

he’s just so ,,, out of your league

not only that, but you were sure he had this flirty nature around everyone

and even if he did magically end up liking you, you didn’t want to risk losing him as a friend

(◞‸◟)

sad hours: activated

so it’s been a few weeks and the guys decided to throw a party before everyone left for thanksgiving break

obviously the whole gang™ is invited

tonight,,, you are NOT drinking

bc you are a responsible individual who has decided to be the designated driver for the night

＼＼\\٩( 'ω' )و //／／

but some other people have different plans

right as you guys walk in the door, your eyes are immediately drawn to hyunsuk

perhaps it’s because he looks so completely ethereal with the top few buttons of his dress shirt undone, smile glowing under the dim lights of the living room

or perhaps its because he’s taking shots like there’s no tomorrow

hhnnggggg

and your inner mom is just like

“HYUNSUK NO”

“HYUNSUK YES”

and then he downs his fifth shot of the night

so now you’re hyunsuk’s babysitter for the night

y/n, you really outdid yourself

so after maybe two hours of smacking solo cups out of suk’s hand and watching him try to wall twerk to eyes noes lips,,,

he’s FINALLY gotten tired

\( ˆoˆ )/

so now you guys are just chilling in the living room

most people have left so its just the og gang

and hyunsuk’s just laying on the sofa with his head in your lap

(^-^)

and normally you would find that cute, but you’re still kind of mad at him for getting so drunk

＼＼\٩(๑`^´๑)۶//／／

but you can’t help yourself from playing with his hair bc you’re whipped lol

anyway,,,you’re kind of zoned out of the conversation and you’re pretty sure hyunsuk is falling asleep

until you feel his hand grab yours while it’s still in his hair

which kind of brings u back to reality

and u look down at suk

and he’s just looking up at you with his eyes all crinkly and a goofy smile on his face

and he’s just like

“y/n you’re so pretty” (´∀｀)

and you’re kinda like (^.^) but also ur like

“lol suk ur drunk”

and then he’s like

“NO”

and suddenly he’s sitting up and hugging you super tight, his face buried into your chest

at first your like (o_o)

because this is hyunsuk and his face is literally in your boobs hhngg

finally you snap out of it and you’re like

“THATS IT, IM TAKING YOU TO BED”

and suddenly everyone’s just looking at you two like

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

and you’re like

(・・?)

and you realize hyunsuk still has his face in your boobs

and suddenly he properly sits up

and brings his face really close to yours

and you’re just frozen like (°_°)

but you can’t help but notice how soft his lips look right now

and the way he’s staring at you, you just know he knows the effect he has on you

and you’re wondering how socially acceptable it would be if you just closed the distance with your lips

and you suddenly realize how frantically your heart is beating

“you want to take me to bed?” ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

this HOE

FINALLY u snap out of it

“t-that’s not what i meanthhbbdjnj”

and you’re just stumbling over ur words

and suk has that drunk dopey smile on his face again

and everyone’s still looking at u two like ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

and you just take his hand and drag his short ass up the stairs and make him lay in his bed

“i love a woman who’s domineering in the bedroom” ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

“shut the FUCK up” (● ˃̶͈̀ロ˂̶͈́)੭ꠥ⁾⁾

but once suk is finally tucked in his bed

he calms down

and as ur about to leave

he grabs ur wrist quickly

and u weren’t expecting it so you kind of stumble on to him

and you guys are really close in proximity again

and he whispers in a soft voice

“y/n, you know i like you right?”

you can’t lie that your heart stutters for a second

but you smell the alcohol in his breath

so you heave a sigh

and gently kiss his forehead

“sweet dreams hyunsuk”

and you leave the room

uhhh so like fast forward two days to the monday after the party

you,,,, have kinda been ignoring everyone

ESPECIALLY hyunsuk

you’re just so

hnbbggggghhhhhdhhdhbdh

＼＼\٩(๑`^´๑)۶//／／

so here’s the thing

you like hyunsuk

you KNOW you like hyunsuk

you’ve basically admitted it to yourself that your head over heels for him

and you KNOW he doesn’t feel the same for you

but the way he acted with at the party the other day made you think different

and you’re so CONFLICTED

i mean he was drunk????

if he actually liked you, wouldn’t he act that way when he WASN’T drunk?

and it just makes you sad more than anything

so you stay in your dorm all day

and you ignore suk’s calls

because he’s been calling you since the next morning

but you can’t bring yourself to hear his voice, let alone TALK to him

and you know there’s no way he can get to you bc you’re in your dorm all day

until you hear a knock on your door

and you look through the peephole and see mina

and you’re debating opening the door or not bc you really look and feel a mess and you’re just sad and embarrassed

“I KNOW YOU’RE THERE OPEN THE DOOR OR I’ll KICK IT DOWN MYSELF”

and you lowkey believe her

so you open the door

and you look at her

and she looks at you

and then you just start SOBBING

as if you weren’t already a mess, you’re even MORE of a mess now

so mina has closed the door and guided you to your bed

and she’s just letting you cry, patting your back and whispering comforting words

and when you finally calm down

you look up at her, tear tracks marking your cheeks, your nose red and runny

“mina, i really like him” (´°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥ω°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥｀)

“i know”

...and you’re sobbing again

and then when you calm down again you’re like

“i don’t even know why i like him!! like sure he’s good looking and sure he has great fashion sense and sure he’s nice and cares about me and takes care of me and ...”

...surprise! you’re sobbing again

and mina just lets it happen

she knows you’re going through it

and when you’re finally out of tears

she looks at you and she’s like

“it’s ok to like him. it’s ok to like a guy. so what if he may not like you back? not that that’s true, but you never know until you try! and if he doesn’t, so what? you know your worth! and you are worth so much! don’t let a guy stop you from living your life, because you are so much more than that.”

mina for president 2020

and you look up at her

(´°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥ω°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥｀)

you’re so lucky to have her as a friend hhnng

so you’re feeling better now

and you skipped your classes on monday, because you were still getting it together

and you didn’t have any classes with suk on tuesday

and you think he knows you just need your space

bc he’s stopped calling you

but he’s still texting you

and you may have checked them and you may have squealed bc he called you babe

anyway

it’s wednesday

you know what that means

it has come full circle... the dreaded 9 am chem lecture

so you leave your dorm extra early

because you know you need the time

and you get to your class at 8:50

and right as you’re about to enter the building, you feel a hand grab your wrist

and by now, you know who it is

so you let him lead you a little away from the building where no one was

and he finally turns around and looks at you

and you can’t find it in yourself to look him in the eye

so you just look down at his hand that is still holding onto yours

and you gently pry his fingers from around your wrist

and you let your arms rest at your sides

“y/n....why have you been ignoring me”

you already feel tears coming on

but you bring your hands together in front of you, still staring at the ground

“it was only three days” you mumble

and he’s quiet for a sec

“i missed you”

lol ur rlly whipped and you know it

you finally look up at him

and he just has the most devastated look on his face

and you can’t tell if it’s the glare from the sun, but his eyes look watery

and he his lips are pouted

and he just looks like a kicked puppy

and everything in you is just SCREAMING to hug him and apologize and tell him everything will be ok

but,,,,you have to do this ... for yourself and mina ＼＼\٩(๑`^´๑)۶//／／

so you take a deep breath and look him in the eye

it takes a while for you to formulate words but

“why do you always flirt with me like that?”

“wha-“

“when you know i like you, why would you play with my feelings like that? i thought you had some respect for me, but it’s so degrading when you lead me on just to reject me later! this isn’t some game suk...”

you finally take some time to breathe and take a look at him

and his face is just blank

and his mouth is kind of open

and he’s staring at you ~like that~

and you’re about to snap at him again

but then he opens his mouth to say something

“...you like me?”

you’re kinda confused

“obviously, you know this already???”

he just stares at you for a little longer

and he kind of looks like he’s about to cry again

“...no i didn’t”

uhhh huh

now you’re the one who’s speechless

he takes a little step closer to you

your heart is starting to beat really fast again

“you know i only every flirt with you right....and it’s not because i think it’s funny, well i mean it is kinda funny -“

you: ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ

suk: ƪ(˘⌣˘)ʃ

“anyway.... i only ever flirt with you... because i like you too”

he kind of whispered the last part

but you heard it

and you’re looking at the ground but you can’t help the smile growing on your face

so you just close the gap and hug him

and he’s kind of unresponsive at first

but he lets his arms wrap around your waist and pull you closer to him, his head falling into your hair

and you can’t see his face but you know he’s smiling bc u are too

you lean back a bit to look at him

and you notice the way his eyes keep flickering between your eyes and lips

and as much as you would love to kiss his pouty lips, you have to put ur foot down

“NOT IN THIS HOUSEHOLD WE ARE LATE FOR CHEM LECTURE”

and that’s the beginning of a beautiful relationship

･:*+.\(( °ω° ))/.:+

[hardeepcox]

The Chronicles of Hardeep Cox - Bangkok pt 1

Intro

Hi my name is Hardeep Cox, I may or may not be a guy born to an Indian mom and a white guy from Boston in the DMV area. Then again I may or may not be just an extremely immature adult with a ridiculous sense of humor. Quick warning: if you are easily offended then I suggest you just exit this shit right now and idk go watch cable tv or something.

I am writing this as we prepare for our first legit night out in Bangkok, as I and a dude named Paper awkwardly wait for my dad to finish showering so we can head out. Tonight’s destination is Above Eleven, but I’ll explain more later on. Let’s begin with our arrival.

Flight and Night 1

After about 20 hours of flying we met up with Paper, our guide/family friend (on my dad’s side). Paper picked us up from the airport and helped us hail a cab. My first impression of Bangkok when I stepped outside of the airport was that it seemed so similar to Los Angeles, I guess because of the weather and vegetation. Anyways, the cab dropped us off at the Doubletree where an enormous wooden figure of a football (soccer) sat in the lobby. To my unbelievable surprise, it turned out that Paper was actually going to be staying in the hotel room with us because he lives outside of the city (my dad of course manages to leave out important details like this when planning trips). Because of the timezone change we were hungry upon arrival, at 3 in the damn morning. So we did what any idiot American tourist would do, we went to 7 Eleven. I had to accept the fact that chili and cheese quarter pounders would no longer be an option, so I went with the spicy basil rice and fish sauce. I gotta say that it was pretty good, even though it was spicy as hell. After crushing my first meal in Thailand, we did our best to sleep for the next couple of hours.

Day 1

Sleep deprived but feeling ready to roll, we got ready and headed downstairs for breakfast. The buffet included the usual American stuff, sushi, dim sum, and some freshly made Thai dishes.The dim sum was by far my favorite, and today it was Chinese egg tarts.

We went to some Buddhist temples, hundreds of years old. There were so many Chinese tourists, and so many lame pictures being taken by them (sitting down in lotus position next to a statue of the Buddha, a chick looking dramatically and diagonally down at the floor while her boyfriend takes a picture for her instagram and you KNOW she’s gonna add some kind of bullshit philosophical caption to it). It was hard to get into the spiritual groove with all these tourists, and the only places where I could feel peace was in the praying rooms where I wish that I could have stayed longer. The best part was the Wat Phra Ram, literally the place where they filmed one of my favorite childhood movies Mortal Kombat. It was totally unexpected and spontaneous, the most interesting part about it was the dog that had managed to sneak up into the actual ruins and seemed to be searching for something at a calm pace. My pathetic attempts to whistle loud enough for the dog to hear me led me to run around the ruins hoping to catch a glimpse of it. I heard it howl a couple of times after that and I’ll always wonder why, maybe its spirit led it to the ruins to discover a link to a past life. Who knew I would have accidentally stepped into the Netherealm, but too bad I couldn't meet Raiden, Shang Tsung, and Liu Kang's dead brother (if you don't get this reference please find a time machine and go back in time to 1995, break into a Hollywood video, steal a copy of Mortal Kombat, watch it, go back into the time machine, return to the present time, and punch yourself in the fucking face).

Tired as hell we walked around markets near the Chao Phra Ya river, they were pretty generic developing country markets and I was extremely tired so I just wanted to go back to the hotel and pass out. We tried some sticky rice dessert that was pretty good so we bought some, and my dumbass ate my entire portion in the cab and felt even more like a piece of shit after. We made a stop for some roadside Pad Thai, it was delicious but again I was exhausted. Back in the cab again I pretty much passed out from exhaustion.

Night 2

I woke maybe 45 minutes later still in the cab but the sun was setting and the nocturnal city was coming alive. Suddenly it dawned on me that we had to be in Chinatown and my street-mode immediately turned on. After driving us through some beautifully sketchy streets, our cab driver dropped us off at a main road. All the lights made it look like it was an attempt at giving it a times square feel. I was now totally awake and ready for more exploring, and after walking for a bit we walked by a Chinese restaurant (Chinatown in Bangkok is an extremely fast-paced environment full of beautiful chaos, if you can’t keep up you might as well stay in your comfy apartment and drink lattes or something). The menu had so many choices, but no combination fried rice, general tso’s chicken, or lo mein (at this point I realized that I should just forget about these options because I’m not gonna find this delicious diabetes-maximus anymore). I got the egg noodles with roasted duck for $2, and the portion was just right for me since I was still full from that sticky rice and exhausted from the jetlag. Before the food coma took over, we took a tuk tuk to the nearest metro train station and made our way back to the hotel. The metro was actually very organized and technologically advanced, the DC metro could learn a thing or two from it. Because of the timezone change, the beers, sticky rice, and random stuff that I had eaten, I hadn’t really used the bathroom all day. Walking from the metro to the hotel at some point became truly difficult and I had tell myself just breathe man don’t shit yourself on your first night in Bangkok goddammit.

Now back at the hotel and totally relieved, our night actually began.

Nocturnal Adventure

We started out at the Queen Bee, a little bar across the street with shitty mojitos but a damn good blues band. From there we went to a place that my dad would not stop mentioning, Above Eleven, a local Peruvian restaurant. Probably one of the coolest restaurants that I’ve honestly ever been to. This was some upper class bougie shit as the kids say, but the view of the city was breathtaking and the food was absolutely delicious (and I am a picky fuck when it comes to flavors). The Peruvian food was authentic, the Pisco Sour was legit, and we got to meet Chef Omar Frank Maruy. Chef Maruy is the Japanese-Peruvian chef in charge of keeping the food quality at Above Eleven at its exquisite level. After downing a few Pisco sours, and devouring a few dishes (ceviche, jalea, and anticucho) we made our way to Havana Social. I could tell this place was throwing a good party as we walked to the entrance which was a random door in an alley with working girls in the corner. Too bad some of us were wearing shorts so we were ultimately denied entrance. Bummed out we walked to the nearest bar, Oskar, and had Lavender Pisco Sours. Seriously so creative and surprisingly delicious!

After downing these drinks we basically gave up and made our way back to the hotel. Maybe like 5 minutes away from the hotel we walked past a really sketchy alley and I shit you not, my dad says “let’s go into a small street shithole bar!” He’s already walking towards it so Paper and I say fuck it and we join him, plus I mean come on I gotta watch my dad’s back since hookers have been flirting with him for the past 25 minutes. We walk in and of course all these chicks are so psyched to see us, a very pretty hostess welcomes us so we sit at the bar and get some Tiger beers. With Youtube as our DJ, we start sipping on beers and my dad is just having a blast with these two chicks. They try to flirt with me but I’m like meh, I’ve honestly seen hotter escorts in Lima. Then one of them says, “I’m gonna bring my sister for you.” I’m like ok cool whatever, totally unimpressed as I watch my dad party at this little bar. This chick brings the pretty hostess over and introduces her as her “sister”, and I notice dude this girl is actually super cute and obviously not an actual escort. Me and her are both like uhh… hi? She’s not sure how to interact with idiot foreigners, but I can tell and I am just my usual super chill self with her. She gets a jack and coke, and I continue sipping on my Tiger. Her name is May, I was like “is it pronounced like the month May, or is it Mai like my?” She looked at me like if I was a dumbass but she was playful about it, and I start crushing on this chick because I mean duh I am a fucking idiot and I do shit like this. This all ended with a bill of almost $200 USD, an escort angry at us for not taking her back to our hotel, and me DJ’ing some old school reggaeton on their Youtube. As we made our way back to the hotel we ran into into girls selling booze on the sidewalk in what seemed like the Mystery Machine from Scooby Doo but cut in half the long way, and the girls turned the bottom half of the car into a mini-bar. As I took a whiz on a street corner, Paper points out that dude there is a toilet at this mini-bar on the sidewalk! I look behind a little curtain next to the mini-bar and there is in fact a toilet there, I mean not connected to any plumbing or anything, just literally a tiny toilet placed on the sidewalk. Did I whiz into this tiny toilet like 20 minutes later? Yes. Did I drink a few too many rum and cokes at this sidewalk mini-bar? Yes. Did I have any idea of what the hell to expect the next day? Hell no.

Night 3 - Let’s try not to die tonight shall we?

I’m skipping to Night 3 because the highlight of Day 2 is just me holding a lemur (by the way lemurs are freakin adorable and they have actual fingers and thumbs!), and realizing that my dad should move to the Thai countryside cuz he is actually genuinely happy there (he greeted random people from a canoe, including a naked fat guy who was in the middle of a soapy bath in the river).

On Night 3 we make another attempt at Havana Social (if there ever is a place with reggaeton and Cuban rum then you’ll probably find me there). The entrance is the #1 coolest that I have seen in my life so far, some dude gives you a code and you punch it into an old phone-booth, this then unlocks an old door next to it which you push open and find a little piece of Havana hidden within Bangkok. So there I am doing my thing downing Cuba Libres, dancing, and laughing at tourists dancing like idiots when I notice three pretty cute chicks dancing near us. I am not the most extroverted dude, but when I hear Latin music the beast is then awakened and I just let it take me places. So I slither over to these girls and pull off some of my signature moves, including one borrowed from my grandpa which I call the Egyptian knife hands. One of the chicks starts dancing with me and my first thought is “wow my dad is watching me spit some legit game, now I AM THE MASTER!” But anyways yeah we dancin and shiet. Suddenly she asks if I wanna go with her and her friends to another club, I thought it was a bad idea but the rum and Daddy Yankee had me saying “yeah screw it let’s go.” The four of us leave the club and somehow fit into a tuk tuk that says VIP on the seat and one of the girls say it’s free! RED FLAG - free shit usually comes with a price later on, and these girls seemed way too excited to have me along. One of the girls pulls out a wrapper with a bunch of pills and puts one in my mouth, my first thought is oh fuck I’m about to get roofied, or flooried, dammit Zack Galifianakis! I pretend to swallow the pill, then I look over into the street and spit this shit out. The girl is like are you feeling okay? I’m like yeah I’m great (meanwhile internally trying to think of an escape plan without freaking out)! We get to this club called Mixx, and this party is poppin. Every tourist is dancing with a local, and I’m thinking wow is every girl at a club in Bangkok an escort… like every single damn one?! My phone only has internet if there is wifi, and I tell the girl that I wanna call my friends to come but I need the wifi password so she hooked me up with her hotspot. Instead of figuring out how to use the wifi to escape, I’m in the bathroom FB messaging my friends back in the states how I almost got roofied and that I’m probably gonna die cuz I mean that is a brilliant idea right? I go back out there and one of the girls goes “if you wanna hang out with me it’s gonna be 3000 baht (like almost $100 USD).” Since I don’t wanna die I go “okay sounds good, let’s hang out every day this week okay?” Her eyes brighten up and she has a huge smile on her face, she tells her friend who then makes a face like “we did it bitch!” I’m thinking okay thank god I’m not gonna wake up tomorrow in a tub full of ice with my internal organs missing because they wanna take all my money throughout the week. Suddenly the Thai DJ starts playing the cumbia song “Colegiala”, and it was at this exact moment that I knew that everything would be okay! I stopped freaking out and danced the night away, didn’t sleep that night, and somehow found a really nice cab driver to take me back to my hotel afterwards (he charged me 300 baht but had no change so I just gave him my 1000 baht bill, really nice guy and really grateful). Yep definitely not doing that again, from now on I will assume every chick at a club in Bangkok is an escort. If you are asking yourself if I hit up that girl again to hang out and continuously pay her $100 USD throughout the week, the answer is dude of course not wtf.