#look okay i got anxious about miles not getting to see hobie's place himself in btsv

[visions--of--collisions]

For @its-just-a-glitch who asked for 4(T):

There's one spot left on the requests post if anyone wants it :)

EXCERPT: Argey Bargey (Spiderverse, Hobie/Miles, Rated T, Post-BtSV)

The portal spits him out on the waterside, is the only thing Miles can tell for sure, at first. Earth 138 is always a shock to the senses in the first couple minutes, from the colors to the contrasts to the torn paper edges you could see if you focused on your peripheral vision long enough. Pav and he had freaked each other out once by concentrating hard enough on a magazine spread to make out the Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet hidden inside the body of the printed text itself.

The smell and the sound of the water is enough to reassure Miles he’s where he should be, anyway, despite the mist like flecks of paint hanging in the air. He shivers a little in the damp chill and pulls up the messenger on his phone: Hey man, I’m here. Where u at?

Omw mate, stay put, comes the response.

Miles huffs and fires back a kaomoji. Staying put's a solid option, he figures, considering he has basically no idea where he is and can barely see six feet in front of him, even with enhanced senses. He's pretty sure the faint gray gradient up above is the sky, by process of elimination. There's some  over-saturated weeds growing through the paving under his feet, and the jagged outline of tall grasses growing along the edge of it. The rippling breadth of the canal is clearish in front of him, but when Miles peers upstream or downstream it recedes into a vague, dark road behind the fog.

Are we really in New London, here? He’s turning a slow circle, squinting in all directions to try to make out any sign of a high-rise or a smoke stack, when his Spidey Sense comes skittering up the knobs of his spine to set his scalp tingling. The hum of what might be an engine follows, steadily growing closer. Miles pushes back his mask and squints in the pertinent direction. He steps closer to the water’s edge, just as a shape becomes visible through the mist, gaining definition as it approaches.

He blinks and the silhouette becomes the nose of a boat. Miles stares as it drifts toward and then past him. There’s spraypaint and … paint-paint in arcing splotches all over the - hull, Miles wants to call it? Flyers are littered across the walls (and roof) of what he figures is the cabin. Someone’s drawn dumb faces in the holes made by the lifebuoys mounted on the sides of the craft. He’s so occupied with trying to take in the whole … thing, that it takes Miles a minute to notice he’s being watched.

Hobie is at the rear of the craft when Miles finally clocks him, one hand on the tiller, the other stuffed into his back pocket. He's wearing a frayed white battle jacket, and the neutral expression of a guy who has no idea he's the coolest thing his friend has seen in the last week.

And it’s been a Week.

He nods, once, eyeing Miles sideways. 'Alright?'

‘Alright,’ Miles parrots, gawking. ‘Sure.’ He shakes his head and jogs forward to keep pace as the craft trundles onward. 'Wow. Shouldn't you have one of those cable knit sweaters and the little, you know,' Miles mimes the shape of a brim, 'Captain's hat on?'

Hobie only looks at him, seemingly impervious to the baiting. He shrugs, finally. 'Yeah, but I flogged them, innit?'

Miles makes a face, and Hobie cracks a smile, at last. 'D'you need permission to board or something?’ he asks, curiously. ‘Or were you plannin' to walk?'

Miles raises his palms. 'I dunno, man, you're the boat guy! Don't you gotta put down the anchor, or blow your horn or something?'

The neutral look returns to Hobie’s face in response, accented with a judgemental tilt. Miles keeps his smile fixed and his pace steady, even as the barge drifts ahead of him. Hobie turns his head slowly, owl-like, to keep him so pinned.

Miles is just starting to worry about losing him to the fog when Hobie reaches for something, still staring, and he jumps when a hollow noise, like a foghorn sized down, bounces off the water and the paving stones under his feet. Something up ahead makes a high, honking complaint and takes off in a flurry of wings; Miles chuffs at the sight of its pale belly and webbed feet passing overhead, barely visible through the mist, and bends his knees to hop aboard.

[TBC]

[scribespirare]

i’ve been thinking about miguel being a cat. like a mama cat whose kittens got taken from him but is left out on the streets. idk why but it fits him so much. and miles as the guy that’s kind enough to take a stray cat in

So idk if this is how you meant for this request to go but 👀 I am a slut for were creatures

Miguel has lived on the streets for a while now. It’s not exactly through choice but it’s not not through choice either.

He could shift. He could go back to being human. Find a job. Rent an apartment. Settle.

But he doesn’t.

Life is simpler when he’s a cat. Yeah he eats things his human side balks at, sleeps places no human would ever touch, smells like something the crawled out of the sewer. But there’s nothing to be anxious about in the day to day except survival. And seeing how Miguel is smarter than your average alley cat, that’s not much to be anxious about at all.

New York maybe isn’t the best place to be a stray cat, but it’s not the worst either. Lots of rats to catch and garbage to pick through for food. Sometimes people even leave kibble out for cats like him, which is why Miguel doesn’t think anything of climbing up a fire escape one night, following the scent of dry food. He finds it outside a window looking into the messy room of a teenage boy.

And that’s how it all starts.

Miguel feels a draw to Miles that he can’t explain. At first he thinks it’s the kid’s youth, that Miles reminds Miguel of the child he lost and the life he used to live.

Then he gets a good hit of the kid’s scent and…well. He’s certainly not comparing Miguel to his daughter anymore after that. Miles smells like warmth and home and spice and sex.

So yeah. Not a child surrogate.

Miles has friends that come over that Miguel feels a little more paternal towards though. Hobie and Ganke and Pavitr and Gwen. None of them smell like sex to Miguel, which is quite frankly something of a relief. They’re rowdy teenagers that Miguel wants to cuff around the ears and then feed.

But Miles? Well, the less said about what Miguel wants to do to Miles the better.

So Miguel keeps coming back to that window over and over again, keeps sitting on the fire escape and listening to Miles’ life play out. Even when Miles doesn’t put food out, Miguel is still there. Occasionally Miles even notices him, says a few words, asks him how’s he doing. He doesn’t name Miguel, which is nice, just calls him ‘That brown tabby tom. You know, the one with the big jowls? The one who looks like he’s listening and understanding me. Yeah, with the freaky red eyes, that one’. And Miguel enjoys these little interactions. He figures they’re all he’s going to get, and he’s fairly content with that.

Then one night he jumps up on the window ledge and yeah okay he’s dripping a bit since he’d managed to get himself caught in the spray from a car going by and it’s raining and thundering and isn’t going to be letting up anytime soon, but he still insists that’s not a very good reason to open your window and snatch up a stray cat.

If Miguel were a normal stray, he’d hiss and claw and bite the shit out of Miles. And quite frankly Miguel has to fight the instinct to do just that. Luckily Miles drops him pretty quickly, apologizing the entire time.

“I just can’t let you stay out there in that tonight, okay?” he says.

You’re an idiot, Miguel thinks.

“I’ll let you out again in the morning and you…try not to fuck up my room too much. Deal?”

Miguel doesn’t deign that with a response and instead focuses on trying to groom some of the muck and water out of his fur since he’s apparently staying the night.

Stupid fucking kid. Doesn’t he know he can catch disease from the claws and teeth of a cat?

Miles goes about his evening of doing homework and fucking around on his phone, feeds Miguel some dry kibble, then strips down and goes to bed. And Miguel…well, he’s only a man. Sometimes. Not any time recently, but still. He figures, well he’s not going to get this chance again. Miles is a good kid even if he is a bit naive and Miguel likes him a lot. He shouldn’t be rewarding Miles for letting dangerous, disease ridden alley cats into his bedroom but…Miguel still jumps up onto the bed anyways.

Miles starts then laughs. “Sorry, you scared me. Never had a pet before. Didn’t take you as the cuddling type either.”

Once upon a time Miguel very much was the cuddling type. But now he just takes the unused pillow next to Miles’ head and curls up there, relishing in the softness and the way Miles�� scent rises up around him. The rain is still coming down in buckets outside but for tonight Miguel is warm and safe and Miles is scratching him behind the ears before whispering good night.

This is in direct contrast to the way he yells, “What the fuck!?” as he’s falling out of bed the next morning.

Miguel sits up, alarmed, looking around for danger. Then he realizes that something doesn’t feel right. His senses are off, as is his equilibrium, and his vantage point is a hell of a lot higher than it was the night before. With a sinking stomach he glances down at himself and. Yep. Naked man.

Naked man in the bed of a terrified teenager staring up at him with wide eyes from the bedroom floor.

Miguel clears his throat awkwardly, rusty after so many years of disuse. He can’t remember the last time he’d taken this form.

Then he decides fuck it because there’s nothing he can say to make this situation better, actually. So he climbs out of the bed, throws open the window, and is shifted back into his cat form before his paws hit the fire escape.

He hears movement behind him, hears Miles yell, “Wait!” but Miguel is already gone.

[noona-la-la-la]

Flight 18

Summary:  Korean Air Flight 18 leaves daily from Los Angeles traveling to Seoul.  You’ve taken this flight before, but this time you’ve got an irritating passenger in the neighboring seat.  Little did you know that he would end up giving you the ride of your life.

Wordcount: 9500 ish.  This was only supposed to be a small drabble, but I got carried away.

Warnings:  Sex sex sex!  Oral sex for everybody.  Finger banging.  Penis in vagina. Sex with strangers! Sex in a bathroom so if you are germ phobic, good luck with that.  Also, dirty talking vulgarity galore.

Notable:  It’s Hoseok y’all!  So you can stop nagging me about how I don’t have any Hobi fics!

____________________________________________________________

“See something you like?” The man sitting across from you at the boarding gate stretched out his hands and spread his knees further apart, as if inviting you to take a closer look.

“I… I’m sorry.  I was just zoning out.  I didn’t even realize I was looking in your direction,” you lied.  

“Uh-huh.  Sure.  Tell yourself whatever you need to, “ he replied with a smirk.

You ignored him, raising the book you had been reading higher, covering your face in an attempt to hide your embarrassment.  The truth was you had been staring, but not because you were attracted.  Instead you were appalled that anyone would show up to an airport dressed like that.

This guy, whoever he was, had shown up to the airport wearing shorts that appeared to be nothing more than a pair of gray sweats that had been cut off at the knees and a denim jacket that he had only bothered to use two buttons to close.  He had on no shirt underneath and with his jacket being barely closed, a large portion of his upper chest and his abdomen were visible.  His sweat-shorts were hung low on his hips to make sure the waistband of his Balenciaga underwear was visible for all to see.  A hat kept his hair completely covered -- the only modest thing about him.

To think that guy would presume that you might be looking at him because you found him attractive was laughable.  He looks like the kind of guy who got kicked out of his apartment for not paying rent.  Probably couldn’t afford rent because he wasted all his money on stupid designer underwear.  His landlord probably kept the rest of his wardrobe as collateral.   

You stifled a laugh, amused by your own thoughts on why this stranger showed up to the airport looking like that.  Attracted to him? As if.

Peeking over the top of your book to surreptitiously glance at the man again, you were relieved to see his eyes were closed.  His arms were folded across his chest, causing his jacket to ride up some more, bringing his belly button into view.  So tacky, you thought. Although, you had to admit to yourself, it was a nice belly button on a very nice abdomen…  No, you shook your head, it doesn’t matter how nice his body is when this guy clearly has no sense of propriety.

Ladies and Gentlemen, we will now begin pre-boarding for Flight 18 to Inchon International Airport, South Korea…

You gathered your things and moved with the throng of people queuing up to board the plane.  The flight had already been delayed by more than an hour and people seemed anxious to move as quickly as possible.  Normally you would dread the 13 hour flight from Los Angeles to Seoul, but you had saved enough frequent flyer miles to get an upgrade to business class.  You had taken this flight too many times in the noisy and cramped economy class and you were almost looking forward to relaxing in your extra long fully reclining seat with personal multimedia console and full bar service.

The business class cabin had wide seats staggered so as to allow some semblance of privacy. The center aisle had side by side seating separated by a low wall with a retractable window, allowing for traveling companions to chat or for strangers to put the window up and avoid interaction with each other.  You were disappointed to see you had one of the center aisle seats instead of the single seats by the windows -- but took comfort that the wall between you and your neighbor meant that you wouldn’t be trapped in some idle chit chat for 13 hours.

You were struggling to get your carry on luggage into the overhead compartment when you heard a voice, “You aren’t a stalker, are you?”

With a final shove, your bag slid into place and you looked across your seat to see the man who would be sitting next to you for the flight.  It’s was mister half-dressed-Balenciaga-underwear himself.

“Excuse me?” you asked.

“I asked if you were a stalker.  First I catch you staring at me and now you’re sitting next to me… Look.  I’m happy to give you an autograph or whatever, but I need to know you aren’t going to be one of those people who tries to take pictures of me while I’m asleep,” he said with a straight face.

“Is this some kind of joke?  Why would anyone take pictures of you when you sleep?”  

He looked at you inquisitively, one eyebrow cocked upward, and paused before replying.  “So, you don’t know who I am?”

You tilted your head to the side, trying to see him from a different angle.  “Am I supposed to know who you are?  Are you famous or something?”

He thrust his hands in his pockets, causing his shorts to ride even lower on his hips, and shrugged his shoulders.   “I guess I’m not famous enough if you don’t know me.  Sorry to have interrupted you, please carry on.”  With that, he plopped down in his seat and pulled a pair of headphones out of his bag, indicating the time for talking was now over.

You were left a bit flustered by the interaction. What a weird guy, you thought to yourself, hoping that this would be the last time you had to speak to him.  You settled into your seat and closed your eyes as you awaited take-off but, despite your best efforts, your mind started to drift to thoughts of the man seated next you.  What is this guy’s deal?  Is he actually famous or is he just screwing with me?  He is kind of good looking.  But he’s so brash.  He’d have to be brash to dress like that in public.  Tacky.  Tacky and brash… and a bit good looking.

“Would you like a drink, madam?”  The flight attendant interrupted your thoughts to take your order.

“I’ll just have some water for now, thanks.”

“That sounds good,”  the man next to you lowered the window that separated you to more easily speak to the attendant.  “Only can you make mine a soda water?  And add some vodka in there with it?”

“Yes, sir.”  The attendant giggled, finding the way he ordered cute.  You just rolled your eyes.

When the attendant returned, she handed you a small bottle of water and then reached across you to pass your neighbor his vodka and soda. You waited for a minute, assuming he would put the window back up, but when he didn’t -- you leaned forward to reach the button to put it up yourself only to be startled by his head suddenly popping through the opening.

“You really don’t know who I am?”  He was leaning forward over the armrest, encroaching on your private space.

“I’m sorry, I really don’t.  Is that a problem?”  You wondered at this man’s ego. 

He flashed a wide smile.  “No.  It’s actually great.  It means when you were staring at me back at the boarding gate, it was because you were attracted to me and not because you were looking at a celebrity.”  His eyes wandered across your body, making no attempt to hide that he was looking you up and down.  “You aren’t too bad looking yourself, you know.”

You were agitated by his assumptions and blurted out the first thing that came to your mind, “You aren’t even wearing a shirt!  How could I not look?  Who dresses like that in public?!”

“So you’re more into my body than my face?  That’s okay.  I can work with that.”  He winked at you before leaning back into his own seat and raising the window.

Stunned into silence, you stared at the barrier that separated the two of you.  You could only see his hat poking up above the retractable window and you contemplated snatching it off his head and beating him with it.  How could anyone be so audacious to say something like that?

You tried to read your book, but your focus kept being pulled back to the stranger in the seat next to you.   What does he mean that he “can work with that”?  You turned the page and squinted, reading the same paragraph multiple times in a row because you could not get the words to make sense.  Also, who asked him for his opinion on my appearance.  “Not that bad?” Whatever.  I know what I look like.  And he’d be lucky to be with someone like me. 

Reading was pointless, so you plugged in your earphones and turned on the video console, flipping through the channels looking for something mindless to watch.  You tried watching a movie, but your mind continued to wander. Seriously, who is that guy?  Was he flirting with me? Is that what’s going on here?  He is kinda cute in a dirty obnoxious sort of way.  

You could feel your cheeks start to flush at the thought that the stranger could really be attracted to you and then immediately admonished yourself.  Stop it!  I always do this.  Just because a guy is overly confident and shows the slightest bit of interest, I don’t need to be flattered.  But, against all your efforts to maintain your composure, you couldn’t help but smile at the thought that this guy, even with all his arrogance and poor fashion choices, might be a little bit into you.

A few hours into the flight, the meal service began.  When the attendant brought you your dinner, the guy in the seat next to you lowered the window again and looked at your tray of food.

“What did you end up ordering?” he asked without any preamble.  

“I got the fish.” You answered curtly, but politely. 

“I got the beef,” he answered you even though you had not bothered to ask him what he was eating.  “I was thinking about the fish but I’ve had enough bad experiences with low quality airplane seafood to make me think twice about ordering it again.  Is it any good?”

“It’s fine.” You refused to look at him as you answered his questions, not wanting to encourage him further.

“Can I try a bite?”

You set your fork on your plate, irritated at his rudeness.  Who asks people they don’t know for the food off their plate?  You turned to tell him that his request for a bite would be denied, when you once again given an unexpected shock.   “Oh my god!  Will you please button up?  I can see your nipples!”

“Oh?  Hmmm.  I didn’t even realize the buttons had come undone.”  He reached down and buttoned just two buttons on his jacket, making himself look only slightly less indecent.  

“How do you not notice that you are basically topless?”

“I don’t know.  I was warm.  It happens.  Besides, what’s the big deal with a little nipple action.  I wouldn’t be freaking out and asking you to cover up if your nipples popped out of your top.”

You sputtered.  “I… what?  No. I mean… no.  I would not have any nipples popping out because I would be wearing a shirt.  Like I am now.  A shirt!  A real honest to god top that covers me and is appropriate for an airplane.  Why aren’t you wearing a shirt like a normal person for god’s sake?!”

“That seems like an awfully personal question to be asking someone you just met.”  His brows furrowed and his lips pulled taut.  “Are you always so forward?”

Your own eyes flew wide open and you could feel the heat rising up your neck -- unsure whether this was frustration or embarrassment.  How was it possible for this man to suddenly act as though he was the respectable person in this conversation.

Suddenly, his stern expression gave way to laughter.  He could barely contain his glee.  “Look at your expression. Wow!  You look totally flustered!”

You reached over to raise the window and block him out again, but he pushed the button down to thwart you.  

“Okay, okay,” he said.  “Do you really want to know why I don’t have a shirt on?  Because there’s a story to this, but I don’t know if you really want to hear it.”

You doubted that he had a good reason for his attire, but you were curious.  “Go on.”

“So here’s the deal.  I actually had tickets for a flight back to Seoul tomorrow.  But last night, my schedule for today got canceled.  I asked my manager to try to get me on an earlier flight.  He wasn’t sure if it was going to work out because it looked like all the flights were booked.  So I said, see what you can do and call me if you get something booked and I’ll be ready to go whenever.”

“So far this sounds like a very average story about trying to change your flight.  Where does the no shirt thing get explained?” you asked.

“I’m getting to it.  Since I wasn’t sure if the flight change was even going to happen, I went on about my evening…” he paused to think about how he wanted to phrase things.  “Let’s just say, I went out socializing and I ended up falling asleep at my, um, new friends’ house.  When I wake up this morning, I’ve got 10 messages from my manager.  He had been trying to get me all night to tell me he got me on the noon flight to Seoul, but I had my ringer turned down really low and didn’t hear him.  When I called him back, he said he had gotten all my stuff packed up and sent my clothes to the airport with my stylist…”

“You have a stylist and you still end up coming to the airport like this?”

“Just let me finish, alright?  He said the stylist took my luggage with most of my clothes to the airport with her to start checking in and he had my carry on and passport and everything.  I just needed to meet them at the airport.  So I go to find the clothes I was wearing the night before, but one of the girls in bed with me was asleep wearing my shirt…”

“Wait!  One of the girls in bed with you?  How many girls were in this bed?”  This guy was something else, you thought.

“Only two.  I’m not crazy -- more than two is nearly impossible to manage.  Anyways, I try to wake her up so I can get my shirt back, but she’s super groggy and still half asleep and she’s grabbing at my junk like she wants to suck my dick again, but I don’t have time for that.  So, I just put on my jacket, leave, and hail a cab to the airport.  When I got there, my stylist already checked in my luggage under her name, so all I had was this one backpack I always use as my carry on.  My manager somehow remembered to throw in a fresh pair of underwear for me, but nothing else.  And so here I am, wearing last night’s clothes, minus one shirt and adding a fresh pair of undies.”

You weren’t sure whether or not to believe him.  “So… huh.  Um.  Well, that sure is a story.”

“You look like you don’t believe me.”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you, it’s just that it’s so… I don’t even know.  So you’re wearing the same clothes you supposedly had sex in last night?”

“I took the clothes off to have sex.  So technically, no, I did not have sex in these clothes.” His face was relaxed as he relayed his story, no sign of embarrassment or shame.

“Most people would want to keep those details private, wouldn’t they.”

“I don’t know about most people, but I was just answering your question.  Besides it’s true and there’s nothing to be ashamed about.  We’re all grown-ups here.”

“Still, it feels so dirty.”

“Like I said, I’m wearing fresh underwear.  Also, when the flight got delayed, that gave me time to run over to the lounge and use the showers in the spa.  That’s why I have to keep my hat on -- didn’t have time to do my hair after the shower, I had to run back to the gate.  The point being, you don’t have to worry about there being any sex-juices or other-girl-cooties on my body.  I’m fresh and clean and ready to be put to use, if that’s something you’d like.”

“I… what?!”  You were dumbfounded.  This man you had just met was telling you sordid stories about his sex life and then asking if you would like “put him to use”.  Your mind reeled.  “Why would you even say that?”

“Because I think you’re kinda hot. And you think I’m kinda hot too.  So, why not?  Besides, I’m not expecting you to make a decision now.  I’m just laying the groundwork so you’ll feel ready when I make a real proposition to you.”

Never in your life had anyone been so brazen with you.  “How is this laying the groundwork for anything?” you asked incredulously.

“Because now you’re thinking about my dick,” he smirked.

“I am not!” you huffed.

“Anyhow - I’ll leave you to finish your meal in peace.  We can talk more later.”  And he pressed the button to raise the window, again separating himself from you, only the blue of his hat visible above the barrier.

You ate your meal in silence but couldn’t really enjoy the taste of anything because he was right, you were actually thinking about his dick. 

Stop.  Stop stop stop stop, you told yourself.  But there was no stopping it.  You picked up your book, but every few minutes, you’d pause to wonder who those women were that he had sex with last night.  Did he know them well?  Why did they want to have sex with him so badly that they were willing to share him?  How does one man even manage to satisfy two women? Does he have some kind of magical sexual prowess?  Is this story even true? He has to be making this up.

You ordered a glass of wine and listened to some music.  One song in particular reminded you of your last boyfriend.  The two of you had broken up over two months ago and you hadn’t had so much as a date since then.  Lack of sexual compatibility was part of the reason you split -- but general boredom was the primary motivator.  

You ex was the epitome of a nice guy.  Easy going, unassuming, respectful.  You didn’t go out much during the week since both of you had full time jobs and wanted to be well rested for work.  Weekends were spent at farmers markets, scenic drives through the woods, going to the movies.  It was pleasant.  In bed, he was romantic and caring, always careful and cautious with your body, wanting to make sure you were okay.  It was an absolutely stress free love affair.  And that was part of the problem.

After a while, you started to crave tension.  It showed up first in the bedroom when you asked him to pull your hair or talk dirty to you as a change of pace.  He tried, you had to give him credit for that.  But every time he uttered the word pussy or said he wanted to fuck you, the words came out whispered and hesitant.  You didn’t have the heart to tell him that even if he learned how to say those words with confidence, you would still be wanting much more than he was able to give.

Over time, you started to realize your dissatisfaction had worked its way into all your interactions.  He was always so agreeable.  You shared the same views on social matters and politics.  He never disagreed when you suggested a movie to watch or restaurant to go to.  You began to wonder if he really was someone who shared all your points of view on everything, all the time -- or was he just so conflict avoidant that he had given up having a personality of his own.

I bet that guy has a filthy mouth on him. Even if he is an asshole, I’m sure he knows how to have a good time. You pondered the raised barrier and were curious as to why he had not tried talking to you again.  It had been a couple of hours since your last interaction and he made it sound like you should be waiting for him to hit on you.  Oh my god - am I actually looking forward to that cocky son-of-a-bitch talking to me again? No, I’m just attention starved.  I need to start dating again -- but real men, not make believe celebrities with no shame.

The captain turned off the main lights in the cabin to give people an opportunity to sleep if they wanted.  You closed your eyes and reclined your seat.  Maybe it would be best to just try to sleep for a bit and put everything out of my mind.  You would be more clear headed if I just got some rest.

It was a few hours later when you awoke.  The cabin was quiet.  A few people conversed in hushed tones, the faint glimmer of an occasional video screen.  One of those glimmering screens was coming from your neighbor.  

You stretched a bit and moved your seat to be a little more upright.  Surprisingly, the window between your seats was down.  Did he lower it to try to talk to me while I was asleep?  You peered over at him and took comfort that he was fast asleep, clearly having dozed off while trying to watch a movie.  

His slumber gave you an opportunity to really look at him more closely. He looked serene and gentle when he wasn’t awake.  His facial features were really quite delicate, a high narrow nose bridge, moderately plump and perfectly pink lips, high cheekbones, his face was gently tanned by the sun.  You would describe him as almost pretty.  His clavicles were pronounced, his chest a bit paler than his face -- he must have been wearing his shirt when he went out in the California sun -- his abdomen was taut and firm, he clearly worked out.

You let your eyes travel further, until noticed something striking going on with his shorts.  At first you wondered if it was just an odd shadow being cast from the lights from the video screen, but the more you looked, the more certain you were that you were looking at an erection.  Not fully erect, you presumed, but there was enough that the draping of the fabric could not conceal everything he had going on between his legs.  This was the distinct form of a penis and you couldn’t stop staring at it.  

“See something you like down there?”

His voice caught you by such surprise you literally jumped in your seat and hit your elbow against the side wall, knocking over your headphones, sending them clattering to the floor.  “Ouch! No. What? I… what?  No.  I was just… I woke up and I saw the window thingy was down and was just checking to see if you wanted to talk to me or something… or you know.”

He laughed aloud, stretched his arms over his head and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.  “Were you planning on asking my dick whether or not I wanted to talk to you?  Because I doubt it’s going to tell you much.”

“What?! I.. no!  What are you talking about?”  You tried to act indignant to hide your humiliation at being caught staring at his genitals.  When trapped, deny everything, you thought.

“Are you married?  Have a boyfriend?”  He rolled to his side, still reclined in his seat.

“No.  Not that it’s any of your business.”

“I know I come on strong.  But life is short and I just think if you want something, you should say so.  And I want you.”

You could feel your heart skip a beat at his directness, but you tried to hold your expression steady.  There was no point in getting involved with a guy like this.  “You don’t even know me.”

“Ah, let me be more clear.  I want to have sex with you. Right now.”  He carefully watched your face to judge your reaction. “Was that too forward?  I could try the romantic approach if you want, but I always feel like it’s a little dishonest.  I never want to mislead anyone.”

Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest and you felt a little light headed.  You had a couple one night stands back in your wilder college days, but those days were long gone.  Besides, no one had ever approached you quite like this.  “I appreciate your candor, but I’m just not that kind of girl.”

“What kind of girl do you think is the kind to say yes?”  He started to sit upright, keeping his eyes locked on yours.

“I don’t know exactly.  You had two women in bed with you last night -- so those kinds of women, I guess.”

“Do you think you are better than them because they gave in to their carnal desires and just let themselves enjoy the moment?  No one was hurt.  There was no damage done.”

“How do you know there was no damage done?  You just left them there.”

He shook his head, dismissing your statement.  “They were groupies, star fuckers.  I was just a name on their bucket list.  Last night they had sex with me and tomorrow night they’ll be chasing down Shawn Mendes or some other dude.  I gave them what they wanted and they gave me a hell of a good time.  Is that so bad?”

This seemed so unbelievable to you. “Are you really famous?  Or have you just been messing with me?” 

“Is me being a celebrity the thing that will make the difference in whether you say yes or no to having sex with me?”  

You started to squirm under his gaze.  Until now, he had been cocky and arrogant, but it all seemed like a game.  Now, it was starting to get a little more serious and you weren’t sure what to do with yourself.  “I don’t actually care if you’re famous or not.  I’m just not generally the kind of person who does whatever she wants -- there are rules against these kinds of things, you know?”

“So you admit that you want it too.”  He looked a bit too pleased with himself.

“That’s not what I said.”

“Are you sure?  It sounds to me like you are trying to talk yourself out of something you actually want.  What’s the point of that?  

You immediately thought of your ex-boyfriend again.  Simple, proper, agreeable and dull.  You had left him for want of more excitement and now here was a man you just met, who was offering you nothing but excitement.  But still, you hesitated, remaining silent but not explicitly saying no.

He reached into his backpack and pulled out a condom, making sure you saw it before he slipped it into his pocket.  “Safety first,” he said.  “Also, no strings.  No commitments.  One time - no shame, no guilt.  No consequences.”

“I don’t know…” was all you could eke out.

“It’s time for you to figure out what you want.  So here’s the deal,” he sat up and turned to face you fully.  “I’m getting up and heading into that restroom over there,” he motioned toward the front of the plane, pointing to the left. “I’ll leave the door unlocked while I wait for you.  If you decide to join me, just pop in.  From there on, it’s ladies choice.  I can make it as sweet or as nasty as you want it to be.”

“What happens when I don’t show up?”

“IF you don’t show up, then you don’t show up.  I’m a big boy -- I’ll find other ways to occupy myself.”  With that, he stood up and swaggered away.

This is insane.  Who does this guy think he is? How full of himself is he that he can saunter off expecting me to follow him?  You glanced at the time on your phone.  I wonder how long he plans on waiting?

You remembered reading an article about people who have sex on airplanes; it said that almost 20 percent were complete strangers who met on the plane.  At the time you couldn’t imagine how something like that was even possible.  I guess I know now.  

You wanted to giggle to find yourself in this predicament.  You wanted to be outraged at how presumptuous he had been, but instead you found yourself feeling a bit flattered.  It’s just because I haven’t had much male attention in the past two months.  I’m just feeling a bit deprived - that’s all it is.  Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t even entertain the thought of doing something like this.  But you were entertaining it and it made you nervous.

You looked around the cabin, most of the other passengers were fast asleep.  The few who were awake mostly seemed to be watching movies with headphones on.  The flight attendants were chatting quietly on the right hand side of the galley, leaving the restrooms on the left side, mostly ignored.

What would my friends say?  Inha would think it’s gross.  Hyeweon would think it’s hilarious.  Dahyun would applaud you for taking risks and trying something new.  Chaewon would be jealous.

Six minutes. That’s how much time had passed.  How long will he wait?  10 minutes?  15?  Certainly not more than that.

You had met girls who were wild and slept around.  When you were younger you used to think that they would end up regretting their poor choices. Yet, you had never once met anyone who told you they wished they had less sex or that they had fewer adventures in their past.  Why are you overthinking this!  Be bad for once in your life.  Who have you ever talked to that regretted going wild?  Nobody - that’s who!  Regret is what you feel when you don’t do something, right?  But still… sex with a stranger?

You don’t even fully remember standing up and walking down the aisle.  All you knew was that your hand was on the door to the restroom and there was no turning back now.

There was no greeting.  No welcome.  Just his lips crashing into yours, fervently prying your mouth open with his tongue.  Your body stiffened in surprise but you did not try to pull away.  His skin was smoother than you expected, his scent was sweet and fresh like the air after a summer rain, his lips seemed far too soft for the violence and urgency of the kiss itself.  

In a far corner of your mind, you could hear your conscience telling you to stop, to run away and return to your seat, to retreat to the relative safety and comfort of your normal self.  But as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled your tighter against his body, that voice became more and more distant, until finally it disappeared altogether. You finally relaxed, sinking into him and wrapping your tongue around his.  

Just let everything go and do as you please for once, you told yourself.  Just this once, with no fear and no regrets. 

His kisses moved to your neck as he began to maul you with his hands, squeezing your buttocks, reaching up to molest your breasts, grasping at them through your shirt.  His motions were rough and passionate.  His teeth scraped against your skin while he tugged at your shirt hem, trying to remove it.  You obliged his silent request by pulling away from his grasp, slipping your shirt over your head and tossing it on the counter.

He did not lean back in to continue kissing you.  Instead, he leaned back as much as he could in the confines of the tiny restroom to assess your body, lingering on your chest.  His hand reached out to trace the edges of your bra before he finally spoke to you.  “How do you want it?”

“Excuse me? I don’t under…”

“How do you want things to go?”  He looked up at you, holding your gaze.  “I told you this will be ladies choice.  Tell me what you want me to do?”

You could feel yourself starting to blush.  You had been comfortable letting him take control, but now that he was putting you on the spot to ask for what you wanted, you found yourself growing shy.  You broke eye contact with him and looked down at your feet, crossing your arms as you tried to think of what to say.

“Cat got your tongue?” he teased.  “You’re more delicate than I presumed.  So do you prefer gentle and sweet?  I can whisper sweet nothings in your ear.”

“No.  Not like that.”  You shook your head to emphasize that romance was not your objective.  You had enough of romance and sweetness.

“Well then...  You want it dirty and you’re just too shy to ask for it?”

You shrugged your shoulders.  “I mean, some dirty talk might be nice.”

“Some?  Exactly how much is some?  I can get pretty filthy if you want me to.”

Awkwardly, you put your arms back by your side and glanced up at him, trying to feign confidence.  “How filthy?”

His eyes flashed with desire as he leaned closer to you, running his hands down your arms.  “Let’s try this.  Take off your bra and let me see you.”

You reached behind yourself to unclasp your bra, a slight tremor in your hands.  You were extremely conscious of how bright the lights were and it made you a little nervous to be so exposed and so visible.  “What about you?” you asked as you let your bra slip off your shoulders and you placed it on top of your shirt.

“Me?”  He unbuttoned his jacket and tossed it aside.  “Done.  Now we’re both topless.”  

He leered at your chest now, cupping your breasts in his hand as if weighing them.  “Very nice.  You have beautiful breasts.” He watched your face closely for a response.

“Thanks, I guess.”  You weren’t sure what he was expecting from you.

“That’s not it, huh?  How about this?”  He ran his thumbs over your nipples, brushing against them until they grew and hardened.  “I love a girl with a nice pair of tits.  Yours are amazing.  I can’t wait to suck on those nipples.”  

His directness was appealing.  “I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

Leaning down, he caught your left nipple between his lips and sucked at it, his tongue running circles over it.  The sensation was pleasant and you reached over to pull his hat off his head after suddenly being overwhelmed by the urge to run your fingers through his hair.

“I told you I’m having a bad hair day, so just know that.”   He wagged a finger at you before pulling off his own hat and tossling his dark brown locks that had been matted down by hours confined under a hat. 

He bent back down back down to suckle at your nipples, his lips latched tightly to the protruding bud.  The suction sent little shock waves down between your legs as if your breasts were attached to your sex.  

Soon, he detached himself and stood back up, whispering in your ear.  “Your tits are tasty, but I bet your pussy is even better.”  His hand slid between your legs, kneading your cloth covered crotch.  Pulling back a little to better see your face, he asked you, “I want to touch your pussy.” He watched your reaction carefully.  “Or would you rather I finger fuck your cunt?”

Your previous boyfriend would have sooner died than ever uttered the dreaded “c” word.  But hearing a man you just met talk about your cunt thrilled you, and you could feel the moisture gathering between your legs.  “Finger my cunt, please,” you whispered back at him.

He smiled and nodded.  “Yeah, you do want it dirty don’t you?”

All you could do was nod in affirmation before he shoved his hand under the waistband of your pants and beneath your panties, tracing your slit before penetrating you with his fingers.  He slid in and out of your vagina, the palm of his hand cupping your vulva.  His lips returned to your neck, biting at you.  The heat of his breath matched the growing warmth of your sex.  “Oh, fuck!  That feels good,” you encouraged him to keep going.

“You like that?  You like having my fingers up your cunt hole?  You like getting finger banged by some dude in a public toilet?  Tell me again about what kind of girl you are.  Little miss prim and proper, my ass.”

Biting your lip, you tried to hold back, but you couldn’t help it.  You mewled like a cat to hear the filth coming from his mouth.  Your stomach fluttered at the crude way he described your reality.  You were now the kind of girl who lets a guy finger her in an airplane toilet.  This was not who you thought you were when you woke up this morning.

Enthused by the sounds emanating from you, he started to finger you more vigorously.  Slipping in a second digit and thrusting so hard, it shook your body.  His other hand slid up your back, over your neck until his fingers were entwined with your hair.  He ensnared a fistful of hair right at your scalp and pulled your head back, further exposing your neck to him.  He licked a line from your clavicle to your chin and then planted a long lingering kiss on your lips.

Your mewls turned into a full on moan.  Never had you been this turned on in your life.  “Oh my god,” was the most coherent thing you could say.

“I love those little noises you are making, but if this is how you get from a finger fuck, I can’t wait to see how you react when I’ve got my face buried in your snatch.  Now, let’s get these pants off of you.” 

He tugged at your waistband, lowering your pants and panties together, getting them to mid thigh when you took over - wiggling to get them to fall to the floor before kicking them off completely.  “Shouldn’t you be getting undressed too?” you asked.

“There’s some time before that’s necessary.  Let’s take care of you first.” He tried to kneel down, but the tiny confines of the bathroom made it difficult.  Instead, he wrapped his arms around you and lifted you up off the floor and set you on to the narrow counter.

You sat precariously, one butt cheek halfway over the sink, and you could feel the cold hard metal of the faucet pressing uncomfortably into your backside.  Before you could adjust yourself, you felt hands pressing your thighs upwards, bending your knees into your chest and without warning, something soft and wet snaking through the folds of skin between your legs. You clung tightly to the edge of the counter to keep from slipping off.

Looking to your side, you could see your reflection in the mirror on the back of the bathroom door, your naked body illuminated by the harsh light overhead.  The rather unflattering lighting and pose was offset by the amazingly lurid sight of a man kneeling on the floor, his head pressed between your thighs.

He lapped at your clit, dragging his tongue across your pussy - wet and sloppy.  You looked down at him, his face glistening with your juices just as he came up for air.  “That’s one juicy and delicious cunt you got there.  You get this wet for all the boys, or is it special for me?” he asked before diving back in, opening his mouth wide as if trying to devour you whole.

It felt amazing.  The heat inside your grew with every stroke of his tongue against your raw flesh.  He let go of one thigh and brought it to you damp slit, further spreading your lips apart.  His nose pressed against your clit while he inserted his tongue where his fingers had been earlier.  Sucking and slurping away at you.

“Mmmmmmmm…”  You desperately tried to keep quiet.  Biting down hard on your lower lip to prevent yourself from being overheard by the people outside, but still the occasional hushed moan or hum would escape your lips.  The noises spurred him on to keep going, rubbing his face into you, covering himself with the glistening evidence of your arousal.

He let go of your other thigh to insert his fingers back into you while his lips affixed themselves directly to your clit.  His fingers curving upward as he pumped them in and out of you, hitting your g spot with every stroke, while his tongue laved your clit.  “Please don’t stop,” you pleaded as you grabbed on to his hair and pulled his face tighter into you. “Please.”

You extended your legs, realizing that the bathroom was so small that you could sit on the counter and plant your feet on the opposite wall, helping stabilize you enough that you could close your eyes and just let yourself feel the pleasure of this man ministering to your sex.  

As your orgasm approached, you could feel you leg start to shake and your breath quicken.  He sucked lightly at your clit before pulling back the hood and drawing his tongue gently across the surface.  You gasped aloud at the intensity, which he took notice of.  “You like that?  You like being spread open wide and licked like a bitch in heat?  Tell me.”

“Yeah.  I like it.”

“What do you like?  Say it.  You aren’t the only one who wants to hear some dirty talk.  Tell me what exactly you like.”

“I like it when you lick my cunt.  I like the way your tongue feels against my clit.  God, I’m going to cum if you keep doing it like this.”

Smiling, he returned to his duties; his mouth placed firmly against you and slurping at you like eating a ripe piece of fruit.  He removed his fingers from inside you and instead used them to spread you pussy lips even wider open.  The loss of sensation from within you was disappointing.  You were so close to cumming right on his face, but the urgent desire to have something inside you was growing stronger.

“I need you inside me,” you implored.  

He didn’t hesitate.  Standing up from his position on the floor, he massaged the growing bulge in his shorts for a moment while staring directly into your eyes.  “Tell me you want me to fuck you.”

Your eyes wandered down to where his hand was playing with himself.  “I want you to fuck me.   I want it so bad, you don’t even know.” Any reservations or shyness you once had was driven out by the overwhelming lust.

“Oh, I know.” His conceit was amazing, but you were too horny to care.  

“So what are you waiting for?”

He pulled his shorts and underwear down in one fluid motion, leaving him completely naked in front of you.  His body was lean and taut, the image of youthful sexuality.  His dick stood proudly erect in front of him, firm and smooth.  Between his two fingers, he held up the condom that he had stealthily removed from his pocket.  “You, put it on me,” he demanded.

Sliding off the counter, you welcomed being able to stand upright for a moment, with nothing poking you in the back and no fear of accidentally slipping off.  But once again the space was so cramped, that you could not both stand on the floor and not have your bodies collide.  His distended dick brushed against your pussy as you grabbed the condom from his hand.

He leaned in and kissed you again, deeply and passionately.  “Can you taste yourself?  You were fucking delicious, I could have stayed down there for hours.  You should know what you taste like.”  With that comment, he slipped his finger back between your folds, dipping into your juices and pulling out a slick and glazed finger.  He held it to your lips.  “Suck my finger and taste for yourself.”

You balked at first, never having even thought of what you might taste like.  But he pressed forward and you grew curious, opening your mouth until he laid his finger on your tongue.  You licked his finger clean, intrigued to see if you were as delicious as he had claimed.  The salty sweet mixture was better than you imagined.  “Good girl,” he told you.

Fumbling with the condom wrapper, you finally got it open and reached down to grab hold of his manhood.  You held him in your palm and enclosed your fingers around him, meaning to hold him steady while you slipped the condom over the head of his dick, but you couldn’t resist stroking him with your hand for a moment.  He sighed contentedly at the sensation and leaned back against the wall, allowing you more room to see what you were doing.

His penis was beautifully formed, you thought.  Big enough but not too big.  Firm and hefty, the girth felt just right in your hand.  Without thinking, you pressed the head of his cock against your slit and stroked it against your clit.  His eyes flew open wide and he looked down at what you were doing.  

“Were you planning to fuck me raw?” he asked.

“No, I just wanted to know what it felt like.” You quickly slipped the condom over the tip and rolled it down his shaft.  Although, you had to admit that the idea of having condomless sex seemed appealing -- but you had not yet lost all your sense of self preservation.  “Now you have a little bit of my pussy juice under the condom with you.”  

“You act so normal, but you’re a freak in the sheets, aren’t you?”  He grabbed you by the shoulders and spun you around so he was pressed into your back while you could see his face reflected back at you in the mirror over the sink.    “Now, spread your legs and hold still while I shove my cock up your hot little fuck-hole.”

You keened at the vulgarity, spreading your legs wide and leaning forward enough to arch your back slightly, giving him better access.  He leaned over you, squatting down slightly to slip his penis into you, pressing his chest against your back and then thrusting upward, pushing forward and burying himself to his hilt inside your pussy.

“Good god, you are so warm inside.”  He slowly pulled himself out before thrusting up into you again and again… and again.  Slow and steady, he fucked you for several minutes, but you wanted more and started pushing back against him, egging him on to fuck you faster.  

“Nice, “ was all he said before slapping your ass and speeding up his thrusts. 

“Yeah,” you panted.  “Very nice.”

He folded his body over you, planting one hand on the counter to hold him steady and sliding the other hand around you to stroke your clit while he fucked you.  You could feel an ache starting to build up inside you and wanted more.  You raised one leg and placed it on top of the closed toilet seat lid, spreading yourself open wider and giving him greater access to you.   

As his fingers drummed against your clit, his thrusts accelerated.  His body engulfed you and his mouth was pressed against your ear where he whispered to you.  “Such a good girl, huh?  Is this what you do?  Fuck total strangers in bathrooms?  You act all proper, but you really just want to get a good pounding in your cunt by some random dude.  You don’t even know my name, do you?”

For the first time, it dawned on you that you had never bothered to ask his name.  Nor had he asked for yours.  The realization both appalled and thrilled you.  This was by far the most depraved thing you had ever done.  “What is your name?” you asked while he continued to plunge his cock deep into you.

“What does it matter now?  You are fucking a total and absolute stranger.  I’m going to make sure you cum on the cock of a guy whose name you don’t know.  Just think about that, my dick is rammed up your cunt and you like it.  What does that make you?”

You tried to fight the moan building in your throat.  His words should offend you but instead they brought you closer to the edge.  “A slut,” you answered him.  “Fucking a total stranger makes me a slut.”

“That’s okay,” he consoled you.  “I’m a dirty slut too.”

He grabbed your breast and buried his face in the crook of your neck, sucking on the skin.  His fingers continued their assault on your clit while he pounded away at you pussy.  Finally, you came undone, gasping, open mouthed in a silent scream as your orgasm hit with full force.  Your body shook and all you could do was whimper quietly until finally the feeling subsided.

“Oh my god.  That was amazing,” you turned around to face him.

“I’ll say.” He looked desperate and his eyes blown wide.  “I could feel you pulsing around my cock.  I was so close to cumming myself.�� I just need a little more to take me over the edge.”

“What exactly do you want?”

He moved you to the other side of the room so he could now sit on top of the closed toilet seat.  Slipping off the condom, he told you exactly what he wanted.  “Suck me off.  I want to cum down your throat.”

You looked at his dick, standing ramrod straight, leaking precum from the tip.  It looked ready to bust and you felt a strange pride that you had managed to get him this turned on.  Without a second thought, you dropped to your knees and took him in your mouth.

His brow furrowed as he watched you bobbing your head up and down, snaking your tongue along his shaft.  One hand held your hair back while the other balled up in a fist and rested on the counter.  He was holding back, you could tell.

Redoubling your efforts, you locked your lips around him and focused on the head of his cock, swirling your tongue over the sensitive tip, before inching down further until you had swallowed as much of his flesh as you could stand.

“Fuck yeah. You are really good at this.  You must have sucked a lot of dick.”  For a guy who claimed to have had sex with two women the night before, you took this as a significant compliment.  “I’m not going to last long if you keep this up.”

You came back up for air and smiled.  Gripping his saliva covered cock, you stroked his shaft while planting delicate kisses at the tip.  “I want to see you cum.  I want to taste you.  If I’m going to be a slut, I want it all.”  You then plunged your head back down, sucking him like your life depended on it.  You wanted him to remember you the next time he got his dick sucked by some random girl.  Your pride depended on it.

It was only a couple minutes when he started to completely lose himself.  You watched as he pursed his lips and threw his head back.  His grip on your hair tightened and his eyes glazed over while you could see his abdomen contract and then you tasted it.  The slightly salty, slightly bitter taste of his cum landed on your tongue.  You pushed your head down further so he could truly cum down your throat and making it easier to swallow.  It was only a few spurts, but they seemed to come out with great force, nearly making you choke.   

When he was done, his body relaxed and he slumped forward.  “My god, I’m going to need a nap after that.  You sucked the life right out of me.”  He leaned down, placing his hand under your chin and tipping your face upwards, planted a soft and rather sweet kiss on your lips.  “Thank you.  This was wonderful,” he said.

“The feeling is mutual.”

After giving yourselves a minute to bask in the afterglow, you both started the clumsy task of getting redressed in the tight confines of the bathroom.  You bumped into each other, knocking into the walls and accidentally turning on the sink, until finally you were both dressed and ready to step outside.  

As soon as you opened the door, a flight attendant stood in the passageway and greeted you with a knowing look.  “If you both want to retake your seats, we’ll begin breakfast service soon and should be landing in another hour and a half.”

Mortified, you returned to your seat and tried to avoid making eye contact with anyone else on the plane.  Had they all heard you?  Did everyone know?  Your partner in crime seemed unphased and immediately fell asleep as soon as he sat down.

The rest of the flight seemed to go without incident.  You refused breakfast in order to avoid talking to the attendant and hid yourself behind your book.  You tried to read, but the truth was you couldn’t help replaying the events from just an hour before while you grinned like a giddy schoolgirl, amazed that you had been caught doing something extremely naughty but somehow escaped punishment.  You doubted that you would be able to think about anything else for days to come.

Once the plane landed, your neighbor finally awoke and stretched out.  He looked across at you and smiled warmly.  “Hey, I just want to say that I enjoyed our flight and will remember this fondly.  I hope you will too.”

You tried to look look cool and unfussed, although you were secretly happy that he wasn’t completely ignoring you and running off without saying anything like he did to those girls from the night before.  “I have no regrets.  It was a good time.”  You stood up to gather your things and wait to get off the plan, but noticed he was making no moves.  “Are you just going to hang out on the plane?”

“I have to get off last.  It’s too much chaos with the fans in the terminal, so I’ll get off later with my team.  It gives the other passengers time to get by before the mob of fans and paparazzi obstruct everything.”

“Ah, right,” you said, disbelieving. You wondered if this was just a ploy to separate from you and cover up for the fact that he had been playing at being a celebrity this whole time.  “Out of curiosity, what is your name?”

He thought for a moment before answering.  “You can just call me Jay.”

“Is that your real name?”

“Nope,” he responded honestly.  “Let’s just say that it’s something of a nickname that I’ve been given.  It seems the most appropriate way for you to remember me.”

You shrugged your shoulders and decided to not break the illusion.  “Well, Jay, thanks for everything.”  You gave him a small wave good-bye before stepping into the aisle with the rest of the exiting passengers and left him behind forever.

--------------------

--------------------

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Mini-Epilogue:

You walked down the wide concourse, pulling your luggage behind you.  You were largely unaware of your surroundings since you attention was on your phone, trying to text your friends that you had landed and make plans for seeing them later in the evening.  You had already been practicing in your head how you would tell them about your adventurous flight and the mystery man who made it so memorable.  

Behind you, you could suddenly hear a loud commotion.  Girls cheering and yelling, the rushing of feet.  You turned to see what was going on and could see the flashing of cameras as a crush of people moved towards the exits.  You strained to see who was at the center of all the excitement.

“Do you know what’s going on?” you asked an older man standing next to you who was also watching the crowd pass by.

“It’s one of those idol boys.  The girls go nuts for them.  I saw one of the girls carrying a sign saying ‘Welcome back J-Hope’.  What kind of name is J-Hope anyway?  It sounds weird if you ask me.”

“I’ve never heard of him.  He must not be too famous.”  

“Exactly.  These girls should all be in school and not following around some no name nobody.”  The man threw his hands up in disgust before walking off.

You turned to go your own way, but a thought nagged at you.  You tapped the name J-Hope into your phone and smiled at the results. The story you would tell your friends just got a bit more interesting.

[bang-to-the-tan]

Moth to Flame

Chapter 16

Reader x OT7

► Vampire!AU

Smut/Porn With Some Plot That is Rapidly Getting Out of Hand Dear God Why Please Help Me

Warnings: Cunnilingus, Mentions of Various Sexual Acts Including Blowjobs and Group Sex, Complicated Morality, Lots of Stockholm Syndrome, Addiction, Possessiveness, Vampires (Graphic Depiction of Biting, Blood-Sucking and References to Death), Depictions of......uh. Drug-Use Equivalent?, Language

↳ Summary: Robbed of your memories and intended as a birthday present for a deadly creature of the night, you unwittingly become the center of a territorial dispute between two covens of vampires. Tensions are rising and the brothers are getting hungry…

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You smell Hoseok. 

Feel his palm, warm and comforting, soft, against your cheek. You huff a small sigh at the feel of it, loathe to open your eyes just yet. The world spins around his touch and you wish you could melt into the feeling, becoming nothing to the universe but how he holds you.

“We’re moving, pretty girl,” he hums, and he’s a lot closer than you thought he might be, his breath casting across your forehead. You want to kiss him, but when you arch forwards, his hand slips from you and his smell moves away. 

Mewling quietly in disappointment, you crack your eyes to peer up at him. Your body is tangled in the sheets, and you’re clutching a pillow to your chest like you might drown without it. Your head is already threatening to start to ache, and it only gets worse when you get an eyeful of the overhead light. Above you, Hoseok has his jacket and hat on, his lips pressed into a straight line that dimples his cheeks.

“Hobi,” you mumble. 

“Come on,” he adds, reaching to rub at your shoulder. “Everything’s packed.”

“I didn’t—” you struggle to sit up, desperately clawing yourself from both the heavy effect of a hard night’s sleep and the bedsheets, which you’ve managed to bundle about yourself like a straitjacket.

“Hoseok,” you continue, voice lowering, trembling, “I don’t remember hitting that man. I’m not…” 

Emotion, emotion, bubbles up from your throat as you try to keep going, but he shushes you. 

“I know. I know you don’t. Come on, you need to get dressed.” 

He has to know, does he know? Does he really understand how you feel? You can’t tell. You want to keep pressing the issue, but when he presents you with his hand, palm-up, you’re grabbing it, pulling it into yourself to sit up. You could cry when you stagger upwards off the bed and land in his arms, head on his chest. The gentle scent of his body wash floods your senses, the feeling of him around you, body heating yours, promising that you belong there. You wish it didn’t break your heart when he steps away and lets go of your hand. 

“Namjoon and Yoongi are already in the car,” he says. “We called in a favor and got some clothes for you so you can wear them, plus one of Namjoon’s sweaters.”

“Another one of Namjoon’s?” you mutter, rubbing at your eyes and casting a glance around the room, only just now realizing that there’s so little of it left. It’s mostly gone. The drawers are open, raided, but the side table is still here. The bookshelf is empty. The frog is missing. You have no idea how they managed to do all that while you were sleeping.

“He wore it all last night,” Hobi says. “We’re hoping it helps Yoongi while we’re in the car.”

Yoongi.

You disguise your sharp inhale as a yawn. Hoseok gives no indication whether he notices. 

“Do you need any help?”

You shift your legs, but the ache between them has dropped enough that it’s barely noticeable. You shake your head.

“Alright. I’ll be just outside the door. Get ready quick.” He slips out, closing the door behind him. 

Dammit. Why did you answer honestly? He could’ve wrapped his arms around you, held you like he did in the shower, close and sweet and caring. Why did you have to tell him the truth?? You get dressed in miserable silence, drawing a discarded comb through your hair briefly. There’s no mirror, so you just assume it’s good enough. Namjoon’s sweater is a cardigan this time—oversized enough that on you it’s almost a dress, covering your hands and draping over your shoulders. Like a hug. You pretend you don’t nose into it for the briefest of moments. You reach for the handle, taking a deep breath and curling your palm over it. 

Back to Jin’s. 

What do they think of you over there? Are they going to accuse you of being a murderer? Are they going to call you a threat, too?

You don’t know. 

Even though you slept presumably through the daytime, you feel tired. Achy.  

The car ride is hell. A cacophony of the rap track playing insistently over the speakers versus the heavy, sullen silence of the passengers. You do your best not to look at Yoongi too much, but when Hoseok herds you into the seat at the front, you do catch a glimpse of him. He’s wearing a hoodie that dwarfs his entire frame, turning him into a little black lump, scrunched up in the corner of the car furthest away from you. He’s even got a black face mask and cap, all but hiding his face. You can’t see his eyes from here, but what little skin you can see, peeking above the fabric over his nose, is drawn and pale. Shining. He’s sweating, and you can see him shivering. Hoseok clambers in beside him once you’re in, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, and you have to turn away. Looking to Namjoon is pointless. His expression isn’t angry. It’s blank. He’s obviously lost in thought as he starts to pull out of the driveway, coaxing the car to speed down the road, leaving the tiny apartment in the dust. You eventually settle for staring out the window, losing yourself to the threadbare scraps of thought spinning lazily in your head like a typhoon played in slow motion.

At one point, Hoseok quietly asks Namjoon to pull over, on a stretch of road cutting through miles and miles of farmland. There’s a shuffle as both he and Yoongi stumble out, Hoseok mumbling encouragement, shutting the door. Namjoon throws them a glance out his side of the window and hangs his head, brows pulling taut. You turn back to your window, watching a nearby street light flicker. They’re out there for a couple minutes before you hear the click of the door and both of them scooting back in. The car rocks as they move.

“You okay?” Namjoon asks, low, in the kind of voice that suggests he knows what the answer will be.

“Never better,” Yoongi croaks, hoarse. 

“We’re almost there, big cat. Just...hang on.” 

“Just feeling a little carsick, is all,” Hoseok says softly. “It’s alright. We’ll get you to Jin’s and give you a break. See if we can’t get you something to help.” 

Something to help. 

It takes real effort on your part not to chase the spark that flits through you at that. You return by force to thinking about nothing much at all.

The car continues, taking a side road out through a half-dead forest, over a rocky path that all but disappears through bare trees. The way the vehicle navigates the bumpy terrain has you feeling mildly ill yourself, misgiving pooling in your gut. The space opens up with no warning, revealing a wide field, the remains of an amusement park that’s been long abandoned. Booths, tattered and worn, rides that are all but rusted into nothing, clawing at the sky like skeletal fingers. Your heart rises in your throat when you recognize that must mean you’re getting close. It’s impossible to know if you’re more excited or anxious, but all the same you can’t help the warmth in your chest when the car makes a turn and suddenly you can see a hotel, notably better taken care of than the rest of the park, rising in the foreground. Standing in front of it, on the patchy, half-dead lawn, is Jin’s household, minus Jungkook.

All of them are smiling. Jin stands by, arms folded, looking almost businesslike. Jimin and Taehyung, by sharp contrast, start whooping and waving as soon as you pull into view. Even before Namjoon puts the car into park, they’re dashing for the vehicle, bouncing, grinning so widely their eyes disappear. 

All of you step out, you and Yoongi on opposite sides, and you watch with a faint sense of jealousy as Jimin launches himself at Namjoon, who catches him easily in a spin, a tired but contented smile crossing the taller man’s face. 

“You’re home!” Jimin crows, burying his face in Joon’s collarbone, and as their revolving slows to a halt, you can tell that he’s getting choked up. 

Taehyung immediately guns for Yoongi, who, even in the state he’s in, opens his arms slow, embracing gently. You can see his eyes squinting up past his mask. 

“You finally took those contacts out,” Hoseok laughs at Tae, pointing at him with a wide grin. 

“Ahh, they hurt my eyes,” Taehyung complains with an exaggerated lean. 

“They made you look like a cartoon character.”

“I thought they looked cool…” 

Yoongi chuckles, shoulders quaking.

“We cleaned your rooms for you,” Jimin’s trying to explain, but he’s bubbling up with tears, sniffling, rubbing at his face. “The whole left wing. We’ll help you with your stuff.”

“That’s alright, Jimin—”

“It’s not alright, I said we’d help—”

“—Honestly, we’ve got it—”   

Namjoon turns while he tries to argue light-heartedly with a stubborn Jimin who clings to him with a handful of his upper arm, and the moment he and Jin lock eyes is felt throughout the minor crowd. Everyone stills, watching the two vampires eye each other for a beat. They both stiffen, and you can taste the tension on the back of your tongue. Bitter, aged. Dangerous.

But Jin breaks first into a smile, stepping forward, arms outstretched, and Namjoon immediately copies him, the two embracing shortly but familiarly. 

“I’m sorry it was like this,” Jin says, quiet enough that you almost don’t hear him. “But it’s good to see you again.” 

“Yeah. Me too.” 

Jin turns to look at you, and it feels like the first time since you’ve gotten into the car that someone has noticed your presence. You’re thrown back to watching him denounce you on television, smartly dressed, telling the world to avoid you, and you realize you’re petrified. But longing courses headily through you when his smile doesn’t dissipate, sending warmth through every inch of your body, curling up your spine, holding your breath hostage.

“You kept her,” he says.

Namjoon sighs through his nose, jaw working. There’s a moment where it seems like he might say more, explain more, but instead, he nods once. “Yeah.”

There’s another beat, where Jin looks to Joon again. 

“...do you mind if I give her a hug?” he asks, hushed. 

The surprise that lifts Namjoon’s brows only lasts for a second, even though it feels significant. He blinks, and nods again, looking away. His attention is immediately claimed back by Jimin, who, sensing the tension has left, starts insisting again that he help with the luggage, peeling off the taller man finally to jog back towards the car. You can hear him chastising Taehyung as he goes.

Jin goes to take a step forward, but you’re already running, feet gifted wings, flying across the lawn into his arms so fast you don’t even feel the earth under you. He laughs in delight when you land solidly into his chest and you can feel it resonating through you, wrapping your arms around him, squishing your face against him as closely as possible, inhaling deeply the comfort, the belonging of him. When he curls around you, tender, one hand caressing the top of your head, and then leans forward to rest his cheek on your crown, the dam breaks and you start sniffling, eyes watering. 

“Hello, darling.” he hums, deep, pleased. 

“Jin,” you croak, tightening your hold. 

“It’s good to see you again.” he adds, swaying a little with you, back and forth. “Have you been good?”

“I missed you.” 

He hums again before letting go, and once more you could cry at the loss of the comfort you’re so suddenly needy for, but at least he doesn’t move away, warming your side. Even if he isn’t touching you, it’s something, and you can’t help the immense feeling of relief that he hasn’t decided to be mad at you. Unlike some people. 

“Well,” Jin says, raising his voice to address everyone, “Like Jimin said, we cleaned up the rooms. Even the spare one,” he adds conspiratorially to you with a flick of his eyebrows, “So you get your own room this time.” 

You beam back at him, drunk off his affection, fingers itching to hold his. Everybody starts to file past you into the house, Jimin and Taehyung bowing and shuffling under the weight of bags and boxes, competing to see who can pick up the most, Hoseok and Yoongi chattering congenially with their youngers as they slip past the handsome mahogany doors at a slow, easy pace. 

Namjoon casts a brief look up at Jin, his mouth twitching in a reassuring smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He doesn’t turn to you as he stalks past, following the others. You frown at his back, swallowing down disappointment. 

“So,” Jin says after a beat. “Our own little criminal, hm?”

Something coils in your stomach and your world threatens to lurch beneath you. You almost forgot.

“I don’t remember doing it,” your neck snaps around to plead with him, but he’s only watching you kindly, lips quirked. “I don’t remember hitting him. I don’t even...I don’t even know why I would do that.”

“It’s okay. I understand.” he pauses, inhaling a wry breath, throwing a side glance to where Namjoon disappears into the hotel. “We’ve all done things we aren’t proud of.”

“It’s—I don’t remember doing it at all,” you argue. “I know it was me, but it doesn’t...Namjoon….” 

You feel Jin’s hand alight on your shoulder, squeezing once, and you nearly cave at the gentle touch, threatening to lose your train of thought.

“He’ll figure out where he stands eventually. Come on,” he urges, brightening. “Come see what we did for your room.” 

Jin leads you into the hall, underneath the chandelier, up the stairs, to the left wing. You recall the last time you came this way and repress a shiver at the scraps of memory. As you pass an open door to your right, you can see Hoseok unloading a meticulously packed suitcase set on a newly polished dresser, still talking with Taehyung, who’s sitting cross-legged atop the four-poster bed, cuddled up with a pillow, listening to his elder talk with all the rapt attention in the world swimming in his now-brown eyes.

To your left, you can hear Jimin chattering above the clatter of what you assume is electrical equipment from the apartment being shifted about the room. Ahead, there’s a click as the door at the end closes. Namjoon’s room. You remember that well enough. 

Something indescribable swells in your chest when Jin skips in front of you to the door directly to your front, a proud light in his eyes as he wraps his palm over the knob and twists, pushing it open with a wide grin and a grand gesture. 

The room past the doorway is clean, newly dusted, smelling like cleaning solution and every member of the household. As you step inside, you could swear you can sense the separate touches each man put into it. The thick duvet, when you brush against it, reminds you of Jin, and you can almost see him draping it over carefully, patting out the creases in the fabric. The lamp in the corner, scooted to and fro no doubt by Jimin’s hand, before settling on the perfect placement. The bookcase, filled with all sorts of books—thick, leather-bound encyclopedias and even some trashy romance novels, it looks like. You suppress a laugh. That’s Taehyung, you bet. It feels like him to you.

A stereo, just underneath the window facing out towards the side of the house. Jungkook’s contribution, no doubt. You brush your fingers against it, and you can almost feel him underneath you. 

“Where is Jungkook?” you ask, turning to look to Jin. His excitement deflates a little, shoulders dropping, but he masks the emotion well by turning instead to a cheesy display of an affronted huff. 

“He’s wandered off like a spoiled teenager,” he replies, quickly turning the subject back to the room. “But never mind him. Look! We got you your own clothes for the dresser. Namjoon gave us your sizes.” 

Something twinges inside you at that, and you have to pause, watching him carefully. 

“...You’re ‘keeping’ me,” you say after a beat, mirroring his phrasing from earlier. It’s easy to get caught up. It’s easy to forget what’s really happening, especially when your head is starting to ache and your bites are starting to itch and every casual touch leaves you feeling like it’ll never be enough.

“Things are... still difficult right now,” he begins, swaying on his feet, bending slightly, “but that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy it.”

“While it lasts.” 

His smile fades some, his body stilling from its energized motions before he straightens. He takes a few hesitant steps forward, circling you deliberately, reaching a hand out to your face. It surprises you as much as it does him when you don’t move back, allowing him to stroke across your jaw, thumb brushing your lip. 

“As you like,” he acquiesces, barely above a whisper. “But you’re still here, anyway, aren’t you?” His eyes search yours. You’re reminded of when he asked to cuddle, what seems like months ago. That same strange vulnerability lurking. “You said you missed me?” 

Your breath catches. “I-I did. I do.” 

“Then? Do you like your room?”

“...Yes. Thank you, Jin.” 

The smile that breaks across his face is blinding, creasing his eyes. Despite yourself, the sight of him fills your own heart with light and air. He leans down hastily, and you jolt when you feel the plumpness of his lips caressing yours in a sweet, grateful kiss. He tastes like fine wine. Like velvet and furs. Like home. When you return it, pressing forward to feel more of the warmth, the silk of his pillowy lips, he hums deep in his chest.

“Good,” he murmurs decadently into your skin, kissing you again, eyes closing, eyelashes fluttering against his cheek as if savoring it. This close, you can see the shadows trying to develop under his eyes. He disengages and leans back up just as fast as he’d come down to your level, hand slipping from where he’d cupped your cheek.  

“There’s real food in the cabinets, too!” he adds, returning smoothly to excited, walking backwards towards the hall. “I’d love to cook with you sometime...if you wanted.” 

“I’d like that, Jin.” 

“You remember where my room is?” He starts sliding behind the door with a raise of his brows. Your door. 

It’s a struggle to snap out of the loop that single thought throws you for. “Yeah.” 

“If you need anything.” 

You nod. “Okay.” 

“Okay?”

“Okay.” 

“Good.” Jin disappears behind your door, shutting it behind himself, but hesitates just before fully closing it. His head pops back out around the corner, his expression genuine. 

“Welcome home,” he adds, quiet. 

You feel warmth in your chest, spreading through you steadily like a cup of tea on a cold day. 

“...Thanks,” you reply finally.

The click of the door is too loud. Your skin is cold where his hand used to be. For a moment you just stand there, staring into nothing. What’s even happened to you? What are you even doing here?...But you can’t deny—you didn’t want to stop kissing him. You can still taste him on your lips, can still smell him against your cheek. 

You decide to spend a little time checking out your new room. Having your own space is nice, but you wish you had someone to share it with...You pause, frowning at your own thoughts, halfway to the dresser. That would circumvent the whole point, wouldn’t it? 

Maybe. But still. 

The clothes are a wide variety of styles and varieties, all of them the same sizes you and Namjoon had figured at the store. Namjoon...your lips still tingle with Jin’s furtive kiss. He kissed you like that once, too. Kissed you like you meant something to him, in the middle of the discount rack. You’re not going to cry over him. You aren’t, this is stupid. You’re not going through a breakup, you’re a kidnapping victim with stockholm and an addiction to fucking vampires. And fucking vampires. 

But your hand remembers how he entwined your fingers on the sofa. 

You aren’t going to cry over him, and yet, there is something wrong with your vision, even as you wipe furiously at your eyes. Your head’s starting to hurt more fiercely. 

Jungkook’s here. You know he’s standing behind you, just at the doorway, before you even recognize the click of the door opening.

“Hey.” 

You don’t even turn to look at him until you’ve successfully banished the start of what would surely be a full-blown pity cry if you let it get out of hand. You pretend to be focused on folding the clothes you pulled out of the dresser and shoving them back in before you move to acknowledge him.

“Hey.” Your voice is a little more hoarse than you’d like. He doesn’t seem to mind. 

He’s back to looking a little worse for wear—not as bad as the last time, but obviously what he took from you is starting to wear off. What a shame. You wonder if anyone in this house misses you, or just what’s in your veins.

“You’re okay?” 

Loaded question of the century. You grimace. 

“Sure.” 

He doesn’t so much as blink, lurking by your doorway like a kid waiting to be chastised.  

“Have fun over there?” 

“No more fun than I had over here.” 

His cherry colored head bobs, eyes suddenly casting downwards. An amused grin ghosts at his lips, but he hides it by passing his hand faux absently over his mouth. 

“I’m glad you’re still alive,” he admits. “I was really worried.”

“Were you?” 

He nods again. Hesitates. He throws his gaze to an indeterminate corner, dark brows creasing, before he looks back to you. 

“I’ll...I’ll see you around?” He sounds hopeful. You almost want to laugh. Fangs aren’t the only thing he inherited from Jin.

“I’m sure you will.” 

That seems to satisfy him for now, and with another awkward duck, he slips out of your room. Your gaze sticks to the door for a little longer, rubbing at your chest before you even realize you’re doing it.

You didn’t get a good look at Jimin or Taehyung, but you could bet money they’re starting to go gaunt around the cheekbones, too. Dark in the eyes. Hungry. 

A shiver rolls through you and you lick your lips nervously. A house full of vampires, and all of them need the same thing you need. The same thing you need. All of you itches, flaring to life as suddenly as if summoned by just the thought. 

Hoseok doesn’t look too bad yet. Namjoon, either. You don’t know where they’d been feeding, who they’d been feeding on, but you won’t think on it too long lest you allow that festering emotion any more room in you to grow into full fledged jealousy. 

It’s fine. They’ll come around eventually. They’ll have to.

Jimin and Taehyung didn’t even come to see you. Your guess is that none of the younger vampires are meant to be hanging out with you. On probation, of sorts. You’d hate for anyone to get in any more trouble, cause any more issues between the houses.

Jin won’t risk pissing Namjoon off this early into their being back. He’s too diplomatic for that. Even his kiss felt stolen.

That just leaves one person. 

You shake your head. No. No, this train of thought is no good to dwell on. 

Isn’t there a bathroom? Is that what that other door is for? You know it is, it’s the same layout as Namjoon’s room. You half-expect to find frog stickers decorating the tiles. 

Frog stickers...Remember when Jungkook fingered you in Namjoon’s bathroom? With Jimin in the other room? 

No. There’s no use chasing that memory.

You can’t have them right now. 

...But Yoongi. Yoongi is sick. He doesn’t look too good at all. You can’t imagine how he must be feeling right now...the poor guy...if only you could help him somehow.

You spin on your heel, turning instead to the window. Wonder what it looks out at. Probably just more grounds. Like you faced when Jimin talked you down from the sill. Before you followed him out to Namjoon’s room. Before he forced you down his cock. God, you can almost taste him. 

Not too far removed from when you sucked Yoongi’s cock, either. The weight of him on your tongue? The taste of his sweat? His groan echoes in your ears and it sends shivers reaching long fingers down your back.

How about how worried Namjoon was about him? 

It’s a public service, basically—if you, say, offered yourself up. If you offered him what he needed. What you need.

Maybe you should go downstairs instead. 

That one room would be nice. Down the stairs, through the hall, to the left. Namjoon, petting your cunt, sinking his teeth into your fucking skin. Jin, pistoning into you, sweating above your body, biting at your neck. Perfect teeth, perfect bliss, hurting you and hazing you and biting you and making everything golden and right. 

...You wouldn’t even really be in the wrong, if Yoongi drank from you. Either of you. You’re both consenting adults, who says you can’t? Namjoon? Fuck him. Fuck him, he doesn’t know how badly you need it. Namjoon did the same thing, by giving you to Jin. It’s the same thing. He can’t stay mad at you if you helped his brother. And what about poor Yoongi? So hungry. Why not?

A strangled, frustrated noise leaves your throat of its own volition and you want to curl up on the floor, clutching handfuls of your own hair. There’s no argument you can make against yourself. Now that your brain has gotten ahold of this idea, you can’t seem to shake it from its grasp. 

The mark at the inside of your thigh itches so terribly. It burns. God, you came so hard when he bit you there. You scratch at it absentmindedly, trying to hold off from grinding against your own hand at even so much as the memory. 

What if he kills you? It’s a possibility. They’re definitely capable of it. 

And so what?

So what? 

You’re a murderer, apparently. An addict. A pet, at best. 

Who knows how long they’ll ‘keep’ you. 

‘But that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy it’. Isn’t that right, Jin?

And what would you enjoy right now? 

You cast a glance towards your door. The surface of your skin prickles in anticipation, but your mind has already resolved itself. You don’t recall pulling the door open, but soon enough you’re facing the hallway, limbs twitching, thoughts furtive as if at any moment, someone might stop you.   

Maybe he won’t be in his room. Maybe you don’t even know for sure which one he’s in.

You remember where Namjoon’s room is. 

And you saw Hoseok in the room further down.

You take the steps necessary to stand in front of the other door, the one you heard Jimin in. Is he still there? No. No, you can tell, he’s left. It’s just Yoongi. You can feel him through the door, like a miasma, a siren’s song painted with sharp teeth through the wood panelling.

Electricity skitters down your body and for a moment, you’re hyper-aware of how much of a very bad idea this is. It’s a terrible idea. An awful idea. It could go so badly. He could lose control.  There’s so few scenarios you can see panning out where you come out of this intact, and yet your fingers are still ghosting towards the door, brushing the handle, curving, turning, the excitement in your chest flaring when you realize it’s unlocked. 

Before you can rationalize your way out of it, you’re throwing yourself inside, pulling it shut behind, eyes trained on the form curled up on the far side of the bed taking up the right corner of the room. He has his back to you, legs pulled up to his chest, head resting on his knees. He doesn’t move, not even when the door clicks into place. 

He’s left the lights off, illuminating the room only barely with the moonlight coming through the window. Even in the dark, you can see that on the dresser, littered across the sides, placed delicately on the desk are all sorts of electronic boards. Drumpads, some, keyboards, speakers. A computer whirring in the background. Vaguely, you recall what Hoseok had said about making music. 

But that’s not important. 

It really isn’t. Not now. 

You clear your throat, wavering.

“Yoo—” 

“Out,” he rasps, low, dark. 

“Yoongi,” you start again. “Listen—”

“No. Get out.” He interrupts sharply.   

You take a breath, and find that you’re shaking, but from what you can’t tell. Fear or excitement? You’re still taking a step forward, despite every inch of your animalistic senses screaming predator. Danger. 

“I want you to bite me.” 

He shifts, the movement erratic, curling further in on himself. 

“Get out,” he repeats, and his throat sounds raw, hoarse. 

“I want it,” you insist, voice sinking as your heart pounds its way through your chest, threatening to overtake your veins. “I’m consenting. Right?”

“Get out.”

“I dream about it sometimes. Being bitten.” 

“No.”

You switch tactics. “I know you’re sick. I know you feel like you’re dying. Let me help.”

“If you don’t leave, I’m going to hurt you.” 

“Good.” You pull up short, shocked at the truth in your own words, when you hit the edge of the bed and realize you’ve been stalking the whole way across the threshold, close enough now that if you leaned over and stretched your fingertips, you could touch him. 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” 

A flash of trepidation courses through you and you’re gifted a second of clarity. Pity. But you’re so close that a sinister triumph oozes through you insidiously, like oil on water, until the uncertainty is tampered and almost entirely snuffed out. You’re so close to your quarry, and he has nowhere to run. You’re between him and the door. You’re so close.

“It’s the only thing I think about,” you continue to wheedle, soft, as you start to skirt around the bed to his side. “The only thing I want. I need it. Fangs in my skin and haze in my mind. I want it so badly. Just as bad as you do.” 

Yoongi laughs at that, the sound humorless, short, wheezing. He moves his head to rest away from you, shoulders scooting when he tightens his grip around his legs. 

“I could kill you.”

“You could. I wouldn’t mind.” Wouldn’t you? You’re not sure what you’re saying. You can’t think above the rushing in your ears.

“No? You don’t think so?” 

There’s no warning. One minute you’re almost at his side, reaching forward. You’ll put your hand on his shoulder, maybe sneak it down his front if you can, slip it under his shirt. Feel for his skin, ease him open. Your mouth waters at the thought of being the agent of temptation. The next second, you feel force against your upper body, darkness obscuring your vision, hiding you from the judgement of the scant moonlight streaming through the window, bedding at your back and heat, heat, feverish, burning through your clothes at your front, legs forced apart by a knee knocking into yours, arms pinning you to the mattress, panting warmth across the column of your neck as he hovers, eyes obscured by the hair that straggles across his face. You can’t breathe, you’re so excited, a rush dashing through your limbs, adrenaline activated just that second too late to be of any use, fizzing into your fingers and toes like too much soda pop. 

“It’s okay—” you try, eager, but he’s violently releasing one arm to tangle his fingers into your hair, yanking your head into the mattress, baring more of your skin to his uneven, slavering breaths, forcing your vision limited to the wardrobe in the corner. 

He doesn’t reply to your mewling gasps, and instead you next feel a wet, velvet heat tasting a path up your neck, the opposite side to Jin and Joon’s marks, licking up the underside of your jaw, a growl resounding deep within his chest. 

His soft lips, next, mouthing there, a carnal pantomime of a kiss. Arousal, thick, insistent, boiling in your belly, curving your back towards the creature hunkered over you, your own mouth falling open, eyes rolling. So close. So close. You’re murmuring encouragement you aren’t even aware of, trying to pull him nearer to you.

His bite is so quick, so sharp, that you barely feel the pressure at all—only an intense pain, shattering across your skin and immediately casting fire down your body. He buries his fangs into your flesh, as deep as he can force them, the sensation crystal clear, acute, and yet dull, aching. He takes his first heady gulp of the life from your veins, tongue laving against you. 

You watch every star burst and cascade into glitter behind your eyes as the two of you gasp out for breath in unison, roiling towards each other like beasts. Yoongi readjusts to swallow down more of you desperately, the sound of your rushing blood deafening in your own ears, tasting your heartbeat in the back of your throat. Your body twitches under him, some survival mechanism beyond your control reaching to push him away, arms seizing, but he only pins you more firmly, and dimly you know you’re thanking him. 

Time slows into a syrup, its passing marked only by the ebb and flow of Yoongi feeding, the suction of his lips, his gulps, vehement breaths drawn through his nose, his hair tickling your cheek, hands constantly twitching, squeezing at you where he has you held down with a grasp like iron. Fire licks up from your fingers, coils around your torso, dips into your cunt, and you exhale it with every breath, feeling your vision sizzle and spark with its embers.

The wardrobe swims, changing colors, dissolving and reforming as you stare, open-mouthed, sinking through the bed, falling endlessly into sultry velvet nothingness. 

The suction at your neck breaks, pain resurfacing, welcoming, when he’s torn away from your skin, fangs retracting with a sick noise, and you arch, struggling, mind scattered, empty, but a slick fever bathes a trail from beneath your ear to your collarbone to calm you back into a hazy lull with a contented purr, lapping at the new wound that stings, smarts, compelling your frame to throb every time he licks back up at it. 

Your pants are moving. Namjoon’s cardigan slipping off you, your deadweight falling limply away from it, back into the cushion. The shirt. The jeans. Both socks, one by one, jerked at restlessly, until you feel a chill all over, raising goosebumps over your flesh. It doesn’t last long. 

The crook of your knee, hoisted up, meeting a warm shoulder, hair tickling at your thighs. Your head lolls drunkenly when you crane your neck in curiosity, bleary. The thing crouching between your legs meets your gaze, luminous in your sight even with the limited light, catlike eyes glassy, blown so wide there’s hardly any iris left, unblinking. He nuzzles forward, tongue parting your folds, beginning to kiss and nip there, quickly becoming unforgiving, rough. He snarls into your wetness when you gasp soundlessly, hips rising to meet his hot mouth. He pushes you further into yourself, pinning you again, attaching to your clit with a strength of suction to match what he’d done to your neck. You’re crying, twitching, head thrown back, half-lidded stare at the ceiling as you dig your fingers into his hair, tugging, pulling, moving him with you as you hump his ruthless tongue.

Fingers stroking at the inside of your thigh, just by his head, the scab. He sucks harsh at your clit, sweeping up, tasting your shriek, his breath moving from your cunt to reattach in a decadent kiss, soothing the itch, the ache, the desire carved into your flesh. His digits slide, wet, so wet, curling up through your pussy, knuckles circling, fingertips parting your velvety walls and you sigh.

Again his fangs pierce you, pulling you under a new wave of pain, pleasure, reality fracturing all around you into nothing but the pull of blood from your veins, the stroke of his lips, the rocking of his hand into you, and suddenly the knot in your belly is tightening, static crawling up from your toes, forming a tsunami that crashes over your entire frame, and you’re cumming, vision blurry, head full of cotton, teeth bared, keening and crying, tearing your throat into raw threads and so, oh so perfect as you convulse thoughtlessly.

The universe stops existing but for this moment of pleasure, pain, curled up into yourself. Your body dissolving, nowhere, everywhere, everywhere. The blackness of the room swallows you whole, pulls you apart and holds you hostage between the stars. 

Warm lips at your ear, kissing softly. Sweetly. 

A low voice, a groan, humming, muttering, insistent, constant, thrumming. The bed beneath you is soft, wet, cushioning your naked body. Cold. You’re starting to feel cold. Your hands twitch, fingers curling one by one as you slowly regain presence. There’s rapidly-cooling wetness up your thigh, something half-hard drifting up your leg as the shape above you shifts his weight, and it’s strange to you, peering up at him as your vision starts to clear, wavering, how brightly he wears the moonlight. It glows across his bare shoulders, casts flares down his stomach, his arms, lights icy blue embers off his hair. He’s shining with sweat, glittering with it. Where once he was obscured, you can see him almost flawlessly. Is he naked? His fingertips press delicately into your cheek, appraising, and you blink up to meet his gaze again. Yoongi. 

His tongue flits out between his lips, nervous, eyes darting to and fro. “Are you gonna pass out? Fuck. Do I need to—what do I do?” 

Your neck hurts. Your thigh hurts, too. Even your pussy kind of aches, with how hard it clamped down. You’re lost in musing, taking warm, faded inventory of yourself, but your eyes flit back to meet his, an amused, satisfied grin creeping over your face at the wide-eyed expression of concern on his face. 

“—orgive myself if I fucking killed you. Goddammit. I-I didn’t mean—”

“I’m not gonna pass out.”  

His head drops with a rush of a sigh, arms curling around you in an awkward almost-embrace. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, heady with relief. “Fuck.”

“It’s getting cold.” 

“I thought I fucking killed you.”

“Not dead.”

“No, not yet. Thank fuck.” 

“Stop swearing.”

“How the fuck are you okay?” 

“I dunno,” you hum. “Are you naked?” 

“Yeah. I kind of…” he clears his throat. “On your thigh.” 

“Makes sense.”  

He sighs again, sucking air through his teeth, before he raises his head to peer at you, eyes searching yours. 

“You’re not dying?” he reiterates, shifting upwards.

“Doesn’t seem like it.” 

“Fuck.” he pauses. “That was really dangerous. Really dangerous.” 

“Paid off for both of us.” you point out with a raise of your brows, moving uncomfortably. You sweat the hell out of his sheets. It’s soggy beneath you. He doesn’t seem to care, looking at you like you’ve grown another head.

“Ah. Right. I get it. You’re crazy.”

“‘Crazy bitch looking to start a war’. Wasn’t that it?” Maybe if you joke enough, eventually it won’t hurt. Not yet, though. Not yet.

Still, he chuckles at that, a wry grin pulling at his face, baring his gums briefly, pushing into his cheeks. He leans forward, and when he presses his silky mouth to yours, you can taste your own cunt and blood. You can almost see why he likes it so much.  

“If you’re sure you aren’t dying,” he hums when you part, licking at his lips. “Then...?” 

Your neck twinges and you reach to brush it lightly, swallowing down an inhale when the fresh marks spark pleasure down your exhausted body. Your fingers come back sticky and you make a face at them, rubbing absently.

 “...Shower?” you suggest. 

He bounces his head to the side. “Shower...sounds...good. Yeah.” 

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