#+office hours open.+ Roleplay response

[pixiefelixie]

*ೃ༄ 한지성 - "EXHIBIT A" (MDNI)

: ̗̀➛ synopsis: somehow, you two end up partnered on a case. you’re a sharp detective who takes work way too seriously. jisung’s an unserious, dorky cop with a habit of looking at you like you hung the moon. as you finally start making progress with this nightmare of a case, jisung’s just hoping your relationship makes progress too.

pairing: cop!jisung x detective fem!reader genre: friends2lovers, slowburn, mutual pining, fluff, SMUT (minors, do not interact), detective romance, ~8k warnings: jisung is pininggg and reader thinks he's HOT stuff, lots of coffee, murder investigation, hostage situation, blood (very mild but present), tense scenes, profanity, flirting, banter, tension!! smut warnings: oral (m receiving), face-fucking, dry humping, lots of uniform talk, bdsm, light roleplay, usage of handcuffs, rough sex, begging, kinda switch!jisung but dom leaning, praise + degradation mix, p in v, unprotected sex and pull-out method (wrap it up!!), again: no minors. pls consume responsibly 💌

i've been thinking about policeofficer!jisung for the longest time so i hope you enjoy this as much as i loved writing it!

the second you enter the room, files are slammed onto jisung’s desk.

a half-empty coffee cup rattles. across the room, another officer, chan, mutters a quiet “jesus” before going back to his newspaper

jisung’s mid-sentence with hyunjin—something about bad traffic or his broken ac—but the conversation cuts off immediately.

“three bodies. same m.o. we cannot carry on empty-handed like this,” you groan, drop into the chair beside jisung, and lean over like your bones gave up halfway down. your shoulder presses into his. he doesn’t move.

jisung's still got that dumb plastic spoon in his mouth from stirring his instant coffee. “good morning to you too.”

you drop your head back with a dramatic sigh, eyes fluttering shut. “i haven’t slept in thirty-six hours, jisung.”

“you don’t say.” he leans back slightly, shifts just enough to angle his coffee toward you. “you want?”

he lets you take it without protest, watching as you take a sip—grimace—then take another one anyway.

“the victims—one of them was a social worker, one worked at a used car place, one was a bartender. no overlap in job, no overlap in routine. but…” you pause, then reach for the coffee again without asking. he lets you. you take a gulp like it might trigger divine revelation.

“but?” he prompts.

“they all attended the same grief support group. same tuesdays. same community center.”

you glance at him, breath catching just slightly from how fast the words tumbled out. “i only realized after the third body. i’d seen the name before—‘sunridge wellness collective’—but i didn’t think much of it until i cross-referenced next of kin statements and time off requests.”

jisung goes still. then leans back, brows slowly rising.

“no way,” he breathes.

you nod. “i triple-checked it.”

jisung exhales a quiet laugh, still half in disbelief. “you genius,” he mutters, dragging a hand through his already-messy hair. “actual genius.”

you shrug, trying not to look too pleased, even as heat creeps up your neck. he doesn’t even pretend to look away. just stares at you, open admiration written all over his face—lips parted like he’s trying to find something witty to say and can’t.

you pause. then, very deliberately, look him in the eye. “today,” you say.

he nods along like he always does. “yes?”

you lean in a little, your voice dipping with focus. “you and me. sunridge wellness collective. together. talk to whoever runs those meetings, get a list of attendees, find out who stood out. who stopped showing up after the first murder.”

his eyes flick to your mouth for a split second before he nods, quick, a little too eager. “yeah. yeah, of course.”

he’s blushing. just barely, but it’s there. that pink dusting his ears, the way he fidgets with his pen, suddenly finding it very interesting. you’re already scribbling in your notepad, too keyed up to notice the flush in his ears or the way he’s still looking at you instead of his own notes.

“they meet weekly, tuesdays at 6pm,” you mutter, half to yourself. “if they’re sensitive about confidentiality—”

“we could say it’s part of a wider investigation,” jisung offers, watching you intently.

you nod, pen tapping against the paper. “we’ll split up once we’re there. i wrote down what we need from them. can you check if i’m missing anything?” you slide it over to him.

there’s a pause. you’re already mentally combing through the rest of your notes when you realize jisung hasn’t responded.

you glance up, pen still poised.

he’s just… staring at you. focused in that way he gets when he’s thinking really hard but doesn’t want to say the first version of his thought out loud.

“what?” you ask.

he blurts out, “did you change your earrings?”

your brows lift.

he clears his throat, eyes flicking to your ear. “they’re different. not the little hoops. these are, uh… longer?”

you blink, slowly. “yeah. i changed them this morning.”

“huh.” he mutters, like that explains something deeply complicated. “they suit you.”

there’s a beat of silence.

you furrow your brows, dragging your attention back to the file in front of you. “anyway. we should head out soon. they open at noon, and i want to catch whoever runs the sessions before they get busy.”

“but first,” he says, standing so abruptly his chair rolls back a little. “you—” he points at you like he’s issuing a warrant, “—are gonna sit your exhausted ass down and take a twenty.”

“i don’t need a nap, jisung,” you protest immediately, grabbing the file again. “i just need more coffee and—”

he’s already circling the desk, tugging the file gently from your hand. “uh-uh. don’t make me cuff you to the couch.”

you raise a brow.

he grins. “come on.”

before you can argue again, he takes your hand and pulls you toward the small, beat-up couch in the corner of the office lounge. the thing barely qualifies as furniture, covered in a faded gray throw and the ghosts of past takeout spills, but he guides you down like it’s the nicest place on earth.

you try to stay tense, alert, but your body betrays you. you sink into it harder than expected, your knees weak with exhaustion, head already feeling floaty.

“i said i’m fine,” you grumble half-heartedly as he drops his laptop and boots it up, settling beside you.

“you’re not,” he says softly. “you haven’t blinked since you walked in. you’re talking fast enough to short-circuit my brain.” he slides in closer, laptop perched on his thigh. “now lean. i’ll keep working.”

you open your mouth to argue—but there's a calm steadiness of his voice which makes you give in. your cheek rests against the curve of his shoulder. his blue uniform smells like old coffee and something faintly woodsy. you don’t even remember closing your eyes.

but you do hear him, a few seconds before sleep swallows you whole:

“that’s it. i’ve got you.”

and then—

darkness.

a few minutes later, the office door creaks open.

felix steps in, mid-bite of a granola bar, scanning for jisung—and pauses when he sees you curled up beside him, completely knocked out. jisung’s typing with one hand, the other draped casually across your back. he shoots a glance at jisung, who looks up, sheepish. felix chews, then smiles—soft, knowing.

what was supposed to be a quick visit to sunridge turned into a 4-hour deep dive. the grief group coordinator pulled records, talked through attendees, let you sit in on their latest session. you interviewed three regulars, two volunteers, and tracked down a guy who had dropped out of the group right after the second murder—who, to your surprise, had a history of assault and a sealed psych hold. it was the best suspect you’d had in weeks.

now it’s past nine.

the police station’s dead quiet—just the hum of vending machines and the occasional creak of an old light. you and jisung found yourselves holed up in one of the conference rooms after coming back from the community center, papers spread out on the table between you. a single lamp glows overhead, casting long shadows across the room.

you lean forward, both elbows on the table, voice low and tired. “he also lied about his job. the center told us he works maintenance at the school, but there’s no record of employment there. none. and the timeline fits—he dropped off the radar two days before the second victim was found.”

jisung’s across from you, legs spread, hands rubbing his face like he’s trying to force himself to stay sharp.

you lean in further, voice sharp now, urgent beneath the exhaustion. “jisung.”

his head lifts, eyes locked on you now. “i’m listening, i’m listening.”

without a word, you reach into the folder and slide the photo across the table—grainy, scanned, but clear enough. a man in his mid-forties, average build, receding hairline, narrow eyes that somehow still feel cold even through the poor image quality.

“this is him, hannie,” you say, flat and direct.

his head turns back toward you instantly. the nickname. the tone. he leans forward without hesitation.

you tap the corner of the photo. “kang hyunseok."

jisung’s eyes fix on the photo the moment it lands in front of him.

his fingers brush the corner, but he doesn’t pick it up. just stares. memorizing. narrow eyes, pronounced nasolabial lines, a dull expression that somehow feels too blank. the kind of face that wouldn’t stand out in a crowd—unless you knew what you were looking for.

“this is the one,” you say. “we focus everything on kang hyunseok now.”

but even as the words leave your mouth, you’re already flipping through the folder again—papers rustling, fingers darting like your brain’s moving faster than your hands can follow.

“we need to keep looking. there’s more. but we’re so close. you feel that, right?”

“oh, i feel it,” he mutters, an indescribable tone to his voice.

your brows pull together, confused for half a second—until his eyes flick down to your lips, just briefly, and then back up.

you blink.

he clears his throat, shifts in his seat. “no—yeah—i mean. the case. i feel it. the proximity. i mean—like, in a work sense.”

you blink again, slower this time. “what other sense is there?”

jisung lets out a sharp breath through his nose—half a laugh, half a surrender—and drops his head back against the chair with a quiet thud. “god, for a detective, you’re so fuckin’ stupid sometimes.”

your eyebrows knit instantly. “excuse me?”

you’re quiet for a beat too long, and his jaw tightens.

then, with a snort, he looks away. “forget it.”

you exhale through your nose, sharp. you had no time for whatever this... thing is spiraling into. not tonight.

jisung nods, jaw tense. “we’ll tail him.”

“and the moment he trips,” you add, “we move. no hesitation. i want an airtight case before he even sees us coming.”

he exhales slow, controlled. “good.”

but your shoulders are already sagging. the last forty hours are catching up all at once, like gravity just remembered you exist. you let out a sigh that sounds more like a deflation, and before you even realize what you’re doing, you slump forward and rest your forehead flat against the cool surface of the table.

“god, i’m gonna die in this station,” you mutter into the wood.

there’s a short beat of silence.

then—jisung’s laugh. low and warm and unguarded. it bubbles up so easily it almost startles you. his palm smooths down the curve of your back, steady, affectionate. “don’t die yet,” he says. “we haven’t caught the bastard.”

you let out a low groan, cheek smushed against the table. “i need a drink. not that swill seungmin calls coffee.”

jisung perks up, his hand still lazily tracing your back. “say less.”

you lift your head, barely. “i’m serious.”

“so am i.” he’s already sitting up straighter, that glint in his eye resurfacing. “i saw this bar earlier today, on the way to sunridge. looked new—quiet. kind of divey, your vibe.”

you raise an eyebrow. “charming.”

he stands, stretches, and looks down at you like it’s already decided. “come on. we earned it. it’s my treat.”

you pretend to groan again, but your smile is already cracking through. you shake your head, pushing yourself to your feet.

“god help me.”

clink.

the soft sound of your third round of soju tapping together cuts through the low buzz of conversation around you. the bar is quiet—just the way jisung promised. dim yellow lights hang over worn wood, and the speakers hum some indie ballad you don’t recognize. it’s cozy.

jisung leans back in the booth, sipping first, then raising a brow at you. “so?”

you take your sip, let it linger on your tongue. “i like it.”

he grins. “told you.”

you’re mid-laugh when you glance over at him again—and then it really hits you.

gone is the stiff collar, the badge, the holster. he’s traded it all in for a soft black hoodie, sleeves pushed to his elbows, layered over a white tee that slips right out the bottom hem. thin grey sweats, hair slightly tousled.

and he’s so handsome. in a way that punches the breath right out of you.

you’ve only ever seen him in uniform. and boy was he hot in his uniform. but now—now he looks like someone else. still jisung, but softer. more real.

you roll the glass between your palms, watching the last bit of soju swirl at the bottom. “you know, when i first got assigned to this case,” you start, tone thoughtful, “i wasn’t expecting… you.”

jisung’s head tilts, one brow lifting. “what does that mean?”

you glance at him over the rim of your glass, the smallest smirk playing at your lips. "they told me i was partnered up with someone young, smart, and ‘reactive.’ that’s the word they used. reactive. so i was imagining someone all sharp and broody and... i don’t know. keeps to himself. has maybe… a few cats.”

jisung squints. “so… minho.”

you laugh, “yeah. sure. minho.”

he raises his brows, setting his glass down with exaggerated care. “are you disappointed?”

you scoff immediately, shaking your head. “no.”

jisung blinks, a little thrown by how quickly you said it. “no?”

a beat.

“not disappointed at all.” you pause, searching for the right words. then you glance down at your glass, tracing the rim with your finger. “you pick up on things most people miss. but you're also really fun to work with.”

his cheeks tint pink immediately. like clockwork. he shifts in his seat, clears his throat, but doesn’t say anything.

you smirk a little at his reaction. “and you blush so easily. is that also part of the reactive label?”

jisung groans, tipping his head back dramatically against the booth cushion. “oh, come on, y/n.”

you laugh under your breath, then soften. “the thing is, i’ve just never seen you in action. not when it’s serious.”

he chuckles with that lazy kind of ease that only shows up after alcohol.

you shrug, grinning. “you’re just such a dork. it’s hard to imagine you chasing someone down in full gear yelling ‘get on the ground!’ with that stupid voice you use when you’re out of breath.”

jisung laughs—loud and warm. “stupid voice?”

“you know the one.” you pitch your voice up, overly dramatic. “‘this is officer han, stop resisting!’ like that.”

he nearly chokes on his drink. “okay, first of all, rude. second of all, that’s not how i sound.”

you lean in a little, elbow propped on the table, eyes glinting. “i’m just saying. you’re not exactly the stereotypical cop.”

he chuckles, low and easy, like your words rolled right off him and made themselves at home. “yeah, well,” he says, stretching his arm across the back of the booth, “the uniform does a lot of the heavy lifting.”

you hum, tilting your head thoughtfully. “i'm glad it does.”

jisung raises a brow. “oh?”

you sip your drink, slow. “don’t act like you don’t know. the cuffs, the belt, the radio mic clipped to your shoulder—yeah. it works.”

he blinks once. then twice. “wait, you think the radio mic’s hot?”

you grin. “i think the whole thing’s hot.”

and just like that—there it is again. that pink dusting his cheeks. his hand twitches slightly against the back of the booth like he’s debating whether to fidget or flex.

jisung lets out a breathy laugh, rubbing at the back of his neck like he’s trying to physically shake off the blush. “you’re drunk, y/n.”

“maybe a little." you grin, propping your chin on your hand. "is it obvious?”

he chuckles again, softer this time, eyes crinkling. “well, you’re terrifyingly honest.”

you tilt your head toward him. “what, can’t handle a few compliments?”

“i can handle them just fine,” he says, a crooked grin forming. “it’s the part where you liked my walkie talkie that’s gonna haunt me.”

you laugh. “it’s the authority. it’s very ‘do what i say’, you know?”

“you like that?”

“i plead the fifth.”

jisung bites his lip with a small smile. just a subtle press of teeth like he’s grounding himself—like he doesn’t trust what might come out if he says something now. 

your eyes meet his across the short distance, soft in a way that shouldn’t be allowed. not here. not after everything. not when his brain is already scrambled from the case and the soju and you.

jisung swallows, slow. he would buy you drinks every night if it means you’ll look at him like that. if it means you’ll smile like that, lips glossy from the rim of your glass, voice just a little slurred from being too comfortable around him.

it’s insane. he knows that.

but he wants your attention so bad it aches.

you shift in your seat, glancing down at your watch, then back at him.

“we did great today, but i think we should go,” you murmur. “i need to go to bed.”

jisung laughs, low and warm. “i’ll walk you home.”

you look at him for a beat, and then nod, that same sleepy smile tugging at your lips. “thanks, officer.”

he heads to the counter to pay, tugging out his wallet without hesitation. while he’s busy talking to the waiter, you keep going—because your brain doesn’t know how to shut off, even with alcohol in your veins.

“so tomorrow,” you mumble to yourself, half-thinking out loud, “we check the transit footage again. he left the center on foot, so maybe there’s something on the street cams two blocks down—remember that alley behind the florist’s?”

jisung hums in response, glancing over his shoulder to let you know he’s still listening, even while he signs the receipt.

“and if we can figure out which direction he turned, that narrows the search zone. i’ll run the cctv timestamps. you can pull location logs from his old address—see if anything flags.”

jisung slips the receipt into his pocket and thanks the waiter with a nod. as he steps beside you, you hook your arm through his without thinking.

“—and if there’s nothing from the alley, we can try the karaoke bar on 5th,” you mumble, head tipping slightly as your feet carry you forward, slow and steady. “they’ve got an old security cam facing the back entrance. might catch something if we get lucky.”

jisung hums again, soft. a smile playing at the edge of his lips. he knows you’ll be talking the whole way back home.

you didn’t expect him to move this fast.

kang hyunseok was supposed to be a slow burn—one you’d watch, tail, collect dirt on until he slipped up. you thought you’d spend the next few days building a case tight enough to bury him. you weren’t expecting a fourth victim. not now. not today.

but that’s what changed everything.

you slid into jisung’s patrol car with your tablet clutched to your chest, breath caught halfway in your throat.

“get in,” he said the second he saw your face. “talk to me.”

you didn’t even wait for the seatbelt to click. just pulled up the image.

“transit footage flagged a repeat pattern. different woman. same alley. this was this morning. not last week. this morning.”

jisung’s eyes snapped to the screen.

“she’s not reported missing yet,” you continued, voice fast and clipped, “because no one knows she’s gone. she was headed to work—florist on 5th—last seen twenty minutes before this.”

“and hyunseok?” he asked.

“five minutes behind her. same path. same shirt from the footage we saw yesterday. and look at this.” you swiped to the next frame—rear camera from a delivery truck parked across the street. “he turns off into the alley again. she doesn’t come out. he doesn’t come out.”

jisung was already shifting the gear.

you barely had time to process it before the sirens screamed to life.

“jesus,” you muttered, rubbing your face with your palms.

“we were supposed to watch him. ease in. build it clean.” jisung groaned in annoyance.

“plans change.”

jisung nodded, exhaling hard. he flicked the radio on, voice sharp. “this is officer han jisung. we have a possible hostage situation in progress—suspect kang hyunseok—near the maintenance shed behind daehan elementary. request backup and medic at scene. proceeding now with primary approach.”

you swallowed, hard.

“y/n,” he said, quieter now.

you turned.

“if he’s got her in there, he’s not thinking clearly. i need you sharp. no hesitation.”

“i’m with you.”

the cruiser pulled off into the service lane behind the school. from here, the property looked empty—like any other weekday lull. just wind through the leaves, the faint hum of hvac, and the shed.

you both stepped out.

gravel crunched underfoot as you followed close behind, adrenaline settling in your throat like a second heartbeat. the air felt too still. even the birds had gone quiet.

jisung moved first—body low, steps controlled, eyes locked on the shed like he could see through its thin wooden walls. you stayed just behind him, trying to steady your breathing.

he raised his mic, voice low. “visual on target structure. proceeding with primary approach.”

the crackle echoed, sharp enough to make you flinch.

and then—his hand.

without turning, he reached back and touched you—just a light press against your thigh, above your knee, grounding. protective. his fingers lingered for half a second longer than necessary, warm even through the fabric of your pants. you froze, heat blooming up your spine. he was shielding you—literally putting himself between you and whatever waited inside.

you swallowed hard. didn’t move.

you were both less than ten feet from the shed now. the door sat crooked on its hinges, slats of peeling paint catching in the breeze. faint sounds drifted from inside. a scuffle. a choked sob.

jisung held up his hand—wait—and you stopped instantly.

you could hear everything now. the rasp of someone breathing too hard. shuffling feet. fear. then he spoke through the door, tone level, low.

“mr. kang hyunseok. this is officer han. we know you’re in there.”

silence. your pulse thundered in your ears.

jisung’s voice didn’t waver. “we’re not here to hurt you. but you need to open this door. now.”

still nothing.

then—

shuffling. a soft thud. a another stifled sob.

jisung didn’t flinch. “we’re coming in.”

he gestured, and you moved in sync, pushing the door open carefully. what hit you first was the smell—sweat, mildew, copper. then the sight:

a woman—mid-thirties, bruised lip, hands zip-tied—was crouched in the corner, barely holding herself up.

and behind her, hyunseok.

average build. greasy hair. hollow eyes. he held a rusted boxcutter to her throat, shaking like he’d already made peace with doing something irreversible.

“don’t move!” he barked.

but jisung was already stepping in—one arm up, the other steadying his gun.

“mr. kang. you don’t want to do this.”

“you don’t know what i want,” he hissed. “you don’t know anything.”

“i know you’re scared,” jisung said. “but the second you hurt her, there’s no going back.”

the woman whimpered.

“shut up!” kang shouted, pressing the blade closer. her eyes rolled in fear.

jisung didn’t blink. “look at me. right here. not her—me.”

kang’s stare jerked toward him.

jisung said quietly. “you put that down, she walks out of here alive, and i promise we’ll talk. i’ll listen.”

a flicker of something in hyunseok’s eyes. doubt. maybe shame.

then—

he bolted.

everything happened fast.

hyunseok shoved the woman aside and crashed through the half-open door like a wild animal, the blade glinting once before disappearing with him into the daylight.

jisung moved instantly.

“stay with her,” he barked, already out the door.

you dropped to your knees beside the woman, hands up in calm, open gestures as she whimpered and shrank into herself.

“hey, it’s okay,” you murmured, voice soft but firm. “you’re safe now. i’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

she was shaking so hard her teeth clicked. her wrists were still zip-tied, red and swollen, and a thin line of blood trailed from a nick under her chin. you kept one hand lightly on her shoulder, the other reaching gently for your pocket knife.

“i’m gonna cut these off, alright? then we’re getting you out of here.”

once her hands were free, she collapsed into your side, sobbing.

from outside—you heard it. a shout. a thud. your eyes flicked up. and there he was.

just outside the shed, in the crushed patch of dirt beneath the trees—jisung had kang hyunseok pinned.

one knee pressed firm between his shoulder blades, keeping him flat against the ground, arm wrenched behind his back with smooth precision.

his breathing was steady, jaw clenched, eyes locked down. focused. he had his cuffs out before you even noticed, voice low but clear.

“you are under arrest for attempted abduction and aggravated assault. stay down. do not move.”

kang writhed beneath him, panting.

“stay. down.”

with one hand still firm on hyunseok’s shoulder, he reached back and clipped the cuffs into place—quick, efficient, muscle memory. the sound of metal on metal was sharp in the open air.

hyunseok muttered something under his breath, but jisung didn’t react. he hauled him up just enough to get a better grip, keeping him hunched forward, hands secured behind his back.

and then—sirens.

low at first, then rising—cutting through the stillness of the trees like a warning bell. blue and red flickered through the schoolyard gates, bouncing off the shed’s peeling wood.

an ambulance rounded the corner first, tires crunching over gravel, followed by two black-and-white cruisers that rolled to a stop just a few yards away. doors opened. boots hit the ground.

you looked up just as minho and changbin jogged toward the scene, both in uniform, both already scanning for targets.

“visual on suspect,” minho muttered into his radio, eyes darting to jisung. “he’s got him.”

changbin veered toward jisung without missing a beat. “need a hand?”

jisung gave a sharp nod, handing hyunseok over without a word. you watched as changbin gripped the suspect by the arm, walking him firmly toward the waiting cruiser while reading off something low and clipped under his breath. minho followed a step behind, already on the phone, likely relaying the wrap-up to dispatch.

jisung didn’t move. he just stood there, hand still hovering near his belt, jaw tight as he watched the entire handoff.

only when the car door slammed shut—hyunseok tucked away behind tinted glass—did his shoulders finally drop.

behind you, the ambulance doors swung open.

a medic in navy blue approached, calling gently as she crouched near the woman in your arms. “ma’am, we’re going to take care of you, okay? you’re safe now. you’re going to be alright.”

the woman clung to your sleeve for a moment, fingers weak but desperate. you squeezed her hand.

“you’re okay,” you said softly. “they’re going to help you now.”

she nodded—barely—eyes glassy, mouth trembling. and just like that, she was lifted gently to her feet, guided toward the ambulance with quiet words and steady hands.

you stayed on the ground for a beat, watching her go. something in your chest deflated—not quite relief, not quite closure. just weight.

then—familiar footsteps. a shadow beside you.

jisung didn’t speak. he just stood there, breathing a little too hard, uniform rumpled, sweat drying on his neck.

you looked up at him.

and he looked at you.

for a second, neither of you moved. the weight of it all sat between you—what could’ve happened, what almost did. but then jisung jerked his head toward the ambulance.

“let’s check in,” he said, voice rough.

you walked together—quiet, shoulder to shoulder. the victim was seated now, eyes unfocused, but she turned slightly when you approached.

“she’s stable,” the medic explained, clipboard tucked under her arm. “small laceration to the neck, some bruising, no signs of internal injury. we’ll take her in for observation, run trauma protocols, but she’s lucid. might even be able to give you a statement later today.”

you straightened. “make sure they run toxicology too. if he drugged her, we’ll need that confirmation for the report.”

“got it,” the medic replied, scribbling it down. “any next of kin we can contact?” the medic asked.

you shook your head. “not yet. we’ll pull it from the employee file at the florist’s.”

“alright. you’ll be updated as soon as she’s cleared for statement.”

you stepped back, and without another word, jisung turned on his heel and headed toward his cruiser. you followed, heart still beating a little too loud in your chest.

by the time you slid into the passenger seat again, you felt the comedown start to hit—slow and sharp. your hands were cold.

“did you see him? just—god. fucking mental.” he muttered, jaw clenched.

you reached forward, gently curling your fingers around the front of his vest.

he froze.

his eyes snapped to you, confused, breath caught. “what—”

you leaned in.

and kissed him.

his mouth froze against yours for half a second—like his brain short-circuited—but then his hands found your waist, almost instinctively. the kiss deepened—fast. like all the adrenaline they hadn’t burned off during the takedown had nowhere else to go but here. his hands tightened around your waist, pulling you closer across the console as his tongue slid into your mouth.

you didn’t pull away either. didn’t even think about it. because the windows were tinted. because jisung—officer han, still half in uniform—was making out with you like it was the only thing anchoring him to the moment.

your fingers slid up his chest, skimming the front of his vest, tracing along the straps and seams like you could memorize it all by feel. his breath hitched. his mouth opened more under yours, hungry, desperate, soft in ways you hadn’t expected.

you tugged at the edge of his collar, slipping your hand beneath it, fingertips brushing over the line where his neck met his shirt.

he whimpered. it was soft. barely audible. but you felt it in his throat, in the way his body trembled beneath your touch. he’d just pinned a man to the ground ten minutes ago and now he was falling apart under your hands, lips chasing yours between uneven breaths.

you finally pulled back, just barely—your noses still brushed, breath mingling in the warm space between you.

jisung’s eyes were half-lidded, lips kiss-swollen, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a mile. his hands hadn’t left your waist. his thumb was still rubbing slow, unconscious circles against your hip like he didn’t realize he was doing it.

you stared at him for a beat, breathless. then you smiled—small, dazed.

he blinked. “come to my place.”

your smile widened, teasing now. “after paperwork.”

he groaned, head thudding lightly back against the seat. “god. after paperwork.”

you laughed softly, pressing your hand to his chest one last time before settling back into your seat, eyes still on him.

later that night, you found yourself making out with jisung on his couch—somehow still in partial uniform.

the vest was off, discarded somewhere by the door, but his utility belt was half undone, and the top buttons of his shirt were popped open. he hadn’t even bothered changing. neither had you.

it was fast. messy. all the restraint you’d both faked back at the station had dissolved the second the door closed behind you.

now, you were straddling him, knees pressed into the worn cushion on either side of his thighs, your hands tangled in his hair while his fingers dug into your hips like he didn’t know how to not touch you.

he kissed like he worked—focused, deliberate, all-in. but every now and then, he’d let out this quiet, breathy noise against your mouth, like he was overwhelmed and didn’t know what to do with it. like the fact that you were here, in his lap, kissing him like you meant it, was short-circuiting every brain cell he had left.

your hands slid down his chest again, feeling the tension coiled beneath his skin. you brushed over the strap of his shoulder holster, still half-hanging down one arm, and he shivered.

he pulled back just barely, lips red and eyes glazed, breath catching.

“i’ve wanted you for so long,” he murmured, voice low, still a little breathless. “but you’re so oblivious.”

you blinked, then arched a brow, a grin tugging at the corner of your mouth. “sorry,” you said, sweet.

“the entire office knew how i felt about you. my god, y/n, i made handcuff jokes in front of them.” he groaned, tilting his head back like he couldn’t believe this was real. you used the angle to your advantage—your fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one, slow and deliberate. his breath hitched again when your knuckles brushed his skin.

“i wasn’t trying to ignore it,” you murmured. “i was just… so caught up in the case. and everything else. but i liked you,” you said softly. “i like you. the way you say my name when you’re trying not to smile. and how hot you looked today when you arrested that bastard.”

by the time the third fourth popped open, his shirt fell apart beneath your hands—and that’s when you saw it.

the ink.

across the smooth planes of his torso, tattoos, ones you’d never seen at the precinct. fine black lines. delicate design. bold fonts. a kind of rebellion hidden under all that authority.

you dragged your fingers lightly over the ink, tracing the design like it would tell you something about him no report ever could.

“do you…” your voice came soft, teasing, as your fingers trailed down just above his waistband, “still have your handcuffs on you?”

jisung blinked hard, like that pulled him right out of his own body.

you tilted your head, pretending to be thoughtful. “or did you use your last pair on kang today?”

his breath caught. his eyes darkened.

“you’re not serious,” he said, voice low. dangerous.

you leaned in until your lips brushed the corner of his jaw. “i could be.”

then you kissed him again—deeper, rougher this time. your hands slid over his chest, bare now, warm under your touch. he gasped into your mouth, his hips bucking up involuntarily as you shifted in his lap, grinding down just enough to feel everything through the fabric of his pants.

his head fell back against the couch, lips parted, eyes blown wide.

“jesus,” he breathed. “you’re—fuck.”

you didn’t stop. you rolled your hips again, slow and deliberate, and he shuddered beneath you. his hands gripped your thighs now, tight and grounding, like he didn’t trust himself not to fall apart.

“i have a cabinet,” he mumbled, words tumbling out as you kissed down his throat. “for my gear. belt. baton. cuffs. i didn’t think i’d ever have a reason to—shit—take them out for this. didn’t expect you to be such a freak.”

jisung groaned with a breathy laugh, head tipping back as you rocked down again. he was hard beneath you—aching through his slacks—and you were soaked, grinding over him like you’d been waiting for this as long as he had.

your fingers moved like they had a mission, gliding over the lines of ink carved across his chest—lines that had no right to be that fucking sexy. his black slacks tented obscenely, cock straining against the fabric like it was begging for your attention. you traced one tattoo down over his ribs, nails grazing, and watched him twitch.

“you’re hard,” you whispered as you leaned down, nose brushing the skin leading beneath his beltline. “all for me?”

he made a strangled sound, breath shuddering out of him. “yes, y/n,” he groaned, voice cracking, eyes half-lidded and burning. “i’ve thought about this—every night.”

the belt came free with a satisfying clatter, and you popped the button of his slacks open, dragging the zipper down achingly slow while you lowered yourself until your breath was hot through the thin cotton of his briefs. his cock strained against the fabric, twitching when you pressed your lips to it through the cloth, wetting the spot with your tongue, slow and sinful.

he whined. actually whined. “please—fuck—”

you glanced up, grinning against him. “so eager, officer.””

he was unraveling. you could feel it. you kissed down the length of him through his briefs, lips dragging slowly, wetly, before finally tugging the waistband down. his cock sprang free, flushed and heavy, leaking at the tip, and your breath caught at the sight.

his thighs tensed under your palms the moment you leaned in and wrapped your lips around the head of his cock.

“ah—fuck, yes,” he gasped, voice breaking, hips jerking before he caught himself. his hand flew out to brace against the back of the couch, muscles straining under the tension of holding still, letting you take control. “fuck, that’s—shit, your mouth—”

you sucked slow at first, tongue swirling, hollowing your cheeks as you took him deeper inch by inch, your hand stroking the base. he was hot and heavy on your tongue, the taste of him already addicting, and every time you sank a little further, his breath hitched higher.

you moaned around him, sending a shiver through his body, and then you started to move in earnest. he was panting now, chest heaving, fingers scrabbling against the cushion like he didn’t know what to hold onto.

“i wanna fuck your throat,” he growled, voice like gravel now. “let me, baby. let me take over. let me use that perfect mouth.”

you pulled off, tongue already out, eyes locked on his. drool clung to your lips, chest rising fast as you let go of his cock and rested your hand on his thigh. he stared down, dazed, hand wrapping around himself. he slapped the tip against your tongue twice before gripping your hair and shoving back in. his cock filled your mouth, pushing deep. you gagged, drooled, took it all—moaning as he started fucking your face.

“i won’t last—” he choked, hips slamming. 

you moaned again, desperate and messy, clinging to his thighs as he drove in deep one last time and spilled with a shuddering cry.

hot. thick. you swallowed every drop.

when he pulled out, cock twitching, you looked up at him, lips swollen, spit-slicked, breathless.

he just stared. “you’re perfect.”

jisung looked ruined. flushed. utterly lost in you.

but so were you.

“officer,” you breathed, voice low, still rough from how deep you’d taken him.

his gaze sharpened instantly, like his body had been waiting for your voice. “what do you need, detective?”

you dragged your nails slowly up his thighs. “i need you,” you repeated, softer now, almost a whisper. you leaned in close, lips brushing the sweat-damp hollow of his throat, your tongue tracing a line up to his jaw. “to fuck me.”

jisung’s eyes darken at your words, as he gently pushed you away to look into your eyes. “then, i'll give it you in my bed.”

you bit your lip. nodded. “take me.”

and he did.

it was clumsy. he tucked himself back into his briefs with a shaking hand, didn’t even zip his slacks up all the way. his cock was still half-hard,, and he couldn’t stop glancing down at the mess you’d made on him. you reached up and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand.

he didn’t let go of you. one arm stayed firm around your waist as he half-led, half-dragged you down the hall to his bedroom, your steps uneven, tangled together, like you couldn’t stand to be apart for a second. the door slammed open behind him with his foot, and you stood in front of him, starting to undress.

your fingers found the hem of your shirt, and you peeled it up slow, teasing, inch by inch. you knew he was watching every little movement, every flash of skin, and you reveled in it. the heat of his gaze felt like a physical thing, dragging over your stomach, your ribs.

the shirt hit the floor.

jisung exhaled hard through his nose. 

you turned slightly as you pushed your slacks down over your hips, letting them slide to the floor with a soft rustle. the fabric pooled around your ankles and you stepped out of it, bare now except for a lacy pair of panties, clinging to your flushed skin.

“you’re so beautiful,” he murmured, voice raw, reverent as he stared at your chest.

you crawled onto the bed slowly, as you moved toward him. his breath caught when your knees bracketed his thighs again and you settled in his lap, your fingers curling into his open shirt, dragging it down off his shoulders completely this time.

“you gonna fuck me like you mean it, officer?” you whispered against his ear.

he shuddered. then his hands gripped your ass and pulled you down against his lap, grinding your soaked panties over the outline of his cock through his slacks. but then—he swallowed thickly, voice hoarse against your ear.

“top drawer,” he said, barely more than a growl. “left side.”

you climbed off his lap before you stepped toward the drawer. you crouched in front of it, slowly easing it open. there they were, glinting under the dim bedside lamp. but that wasn’t all. there was a contracted baton, a pair of gloves, a clip-on badge, and two sets of zip ties in a clear plastic bag. you sucked in a breath, pulse racing.

you reached for the handcuffs, metal cold in your hand and you turned around slow. jisung was still on the bed, shirtless now, pants unzipped and bulging. you stepped back toward him, one deliberate step at a time, until you were between his knees again. 

he looked up at you, sweat beading at his temples, jaw tight.

“so this is what you want?” he asked low, like he already knew, but he needed you to say it. his hand came up, brushing the inside of your thigh, making you shiver. “you wanna be cuffed, detective?”

you swallowed, your throat dry. nodded once.

he leaned in. his breath was hot against your stomach as his lips skimmed the skin just above your waistband. “you want me to lock you up and make you take it?”

“yes,” you whispered, barely able to speak through the heat crawling up your body.

his hands slid up, over your hips, around to your ass again, and he pulled you closer, tongue flicking out to taste your skin as he dragged his lips up your body.

“you like that?” he murmured, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “being restrained? helpless?” he took the cuffs from your hands, the metal clinking between his fingers. “soaked just from the idea of it?”

your breath hitched. your panties clung to you now, slick and tight between your legs.

he leaned back just enough to pat the mattress beside him. “on your knees. hands behind your back.”

you hesitated just a second. your knees pressed into the mattress, but you didn’t move to obey right away. before you could even brace yourself, his hand grabbed your arm—firm, fast—and twisted it behind your back, not rough enough to hurt but with zero room to argue. his other hand caught your second wrist in the same movement, and he shoved them together.

you gasped, the surprise of it slamming into your chest. you barely had time to breathe before he pushed you forward, your torso pressed into the mattress, cheek to the sheets, ass up.

“resisting, are we?” he muttered, voice dark with something thrillingly amused as he pinned your wrists into your back. his thigh pressed between your knees, shoving them wider apart. 

“don’t move,” he hissed.

you heard the soft metallic click as one cuff clamped closed around your wrist.

“you have the right to remain silent,” he growled into your ear, breath scorching, one knee forcing your thighs apart as he leaned his weight into your back. “anything you say can and will be used against you.”

“do you understand these rights as they’ve been read to you, detective?”

you whimpered in response.

click.

the second cuff locked into place, the steel tight and final around both wrists.

he exhaled, a slow, satisfied sound, his body draped behind you, bare chest grazing your back as his lips pressed to your shoulder.

“you have the right to an attorney,” he continued, every word laced with dark heat as his hands dragged down your sides, cupping your hips, thumbs pressing into the creases of your thighs. “if you cannot afford one…”

he leaned down, his lips grazing the back of your neck, his voice a whisper of smoke.

“…well,” he breathed, kissing your neck, “you can plead for mercy instead.”

“jisung,” you breathed, squirming under him now, your breath catching on the sheets.

he chuckled softly—low in his throat, amused. there was a spark of disbelief in it, too, like even he couldn’t quite believe how far this had gone, how fast. that you'd let him cuff you. that he’d said all that roleplay shit like it was foreplay. that it worked.

and god, did it work.

you writhed, but the cuffs didn’t give. not even a centimeter. cold metal bit into your wrists, shoulders pinned, your body entirely his, and he knew it. you let out a sharp breath as his hands slid back down your side. the fabric tore a little as he pulled your panties past your knees. you tried to twist, to shift your hips, but the cuffs kept your arms locked behind your back and his weight kept you caged.

your breath came in ragged, frantic little pulls.

“jisung—”

“mmm?”

his cock pressed against the crease of your ass, hot and hard again, already leaking. he hadn’t even needed to touch himself much. he was just that gone over you, his body recharged like your mouth hadn’t just drained him ten minutes ago. you felt it drag over your skin, thick and slick and pulsing as he lined himself up behind you, the head sliding down your folds, teasing.

“what do you want, detective?” he murmured, voice husky with wonder. 

“please,” you breathed. “jisung, please.”

he groaned. “please what?”

you squirmed again, but his hands held your hips still, his cock rubbing against your soaked entrance, never pressing in. 

“fuck me,” you gasped, desperate now, every nerve lit up and begging. “please—fuck me, jisung, don’t make me beg again—”

without warning, he pushed in. you were cut off, jaw dropping open as his cock filled you in one long, unrelenting thrust. the stretch made your vision blur. he was thick, hot, soaked in your slick. he sank into you until his hips were flush against your ass, his cock buried to the hilt, the pressure absolutely devastating.

“you’re so tight like this—shit, you’re perfect.” he hissed through clenched teeth, gripping your hips so tight his fingers might bruise. 

you choked on a sob of pleasure as he pulled back and thrust again. all you could hear and feel was the sound of skin slapping skin and the wet drag of his cock thrusting deep, again and again, as he built up a rhythm that had your thighs trembling.

“i always thought—” he grunted, hips snapping forward harder now, punctuating every word, “—you were too smart. too fucking focused. all business.”

you moaned, muffled and breathless, your cheek pressed to the sheets.

“never thought—” he growled, fingers digging into your hips as he pounded into you, slick and steady, “—you’d be such a goddamn slut.”

your whole body jolted. heat seared down your spine. your cunt clenched around him so tight he groaned, almost lost his rhythm for a second. you couldn’t form words anymore—just ragged, desperate sounds, your lips parting on every moan. another brutal thrust slammed into your soaked cunt and you gasped, trembling, drool smearing the sheets under your cheek.

“not so sharp now, huh, detective?” he breathed, voice feral. “now look at you—cuffed up, dripping on your officer’s cock.”

your cry punched out of you, high and ragged, as his cock struck something inside you. that gummy spot that made your thighs twitch and your eyes roll back.

“i’m so—” you gasped, words slurring, tears stinging your lashes. “i’m so close, jisung—, i’m gonna—”

he moaned behind you, the sound guttural, overwhelmed. “give it to me, y/n,” he panted, hips rocking into you harder, faster, chasing that high right alongside you. “come on, baby, give it to me. let me feel you fall apart.”

that pet name—the softness of it buried under all the roughness—made you feel things. and then his hand slid around your hip.

two fingers pressed to your clit—slippery, fast—and that was it. your whole body seized. your vision went white. you screamed his name, thighs locking around him as your orgasm ripped through you. your cunt spasmed around his cock, squeezing him so tight he choked on a groan and nearly collapsed over you.

“fuck—” he gasped, pulling out in a rush, cock slick and throbbing, already jerking in his hand as he stroked himself just twice more. he came across your lower back, ropes of hot, sticky release painting your ass, your skin twitching from the heat of it. 

jisung sagged behind you, one hand braced on the bed, the other still resting on your thigh like he couldn’t bear to stop touching you.

you whimpered and your legs trembled under you, body slack with aftershock, hands still bound tightly behind your back, the cuffs biting into your skin just enough to remind you how utterly he'd claimed you.

jisung stirred behind you at once. “shhh,” he murmured, softly. “i got you.”

you felt him shift, heard the metallic jingle of a small key in his fingers. he reached for you, one hand curling gently around your forearm to steady you, then, with a sharp click, the first cuff popped open.

he slid the small key between his lips as he took your wrist out, then let the key drop into his hand to unlock the second one. you felt the tension in your shoulders melt instantly, the pressure gone—but your body didn’t know how to hold itself up anymore.

you collapsed forward with a sigh, arms falling limp to the sheets, your entire weight crumpling under you. jisung caught you, one arm around your waist, the other bracing you as he pulled you gently into him.

jisung eased you down onto your side, careful and slow like you were something delicate. his lips found your shoulder, kissed it—soft, reverent. you let out a shaky breath, still trying to find yourself inside your body.

“i really like you, hannie,” you murmured before you could second guess it. “i don’t just—this wasn’t just—”

“i know, y/n,” he whispered as he pressed another kiss into your back, this one lingering. “i know.”

he curled tighter around you, nosing into the back of your neck, his voice muffled by your skin.

“i’ve wanted you since the first week,” he murmured. “tried not to let it show. i didn’t think i had a shot—thought you were too… good. out of my league.”

you turned your head slightly, enough to glance back at him with a dazed, warm grin. “you’re such a dumbass.”

he laughed, soft and breathless, pressing his forehead into your shoulder.

“maybe,” he said, kissing the back of your neck. “but i’m your dumbass, right?”

you swallowed, pulse tripping.

he pulled back just enough to look at you, fingers brushing a strand of hair out of your face. his eyes were soft now.

“i wanna be yours,” he said. “please.”

you reached for his face with a trembling hand and your thumb traced the edge of his jaw, his skin still flushed and warm from everything he’d just given you.

“i already thought you were,” you whispered.

and then you kissed him tenderly. his smile broke against your mouth like he'd finally gotten something he'd been chasing forever. 

and he had. you both had.

the precinct buzzed with the same energy it had every morning—phones ringing, printers humming, officers shuffling case files with half-empty coffee cups in hand. a few feet from the briefing room, jisung leaned against a desk, hands gesturing animatedly as he spoke to changbin.

“no, seriously. the guy was just resisting like no tomorrow. like he wasn’t scared of me, of anything.”

changbin raised a brow. “you’re sure it wasn’t just your face?”

“yeah, okay. remind me to let you talk next time a guy pulls a blade on a hostage.” jisung was in the middle of rolling his eyes when a familiar voice broke through the low chatter of the bullpen.

“morning,” you said, walking up with a folder tucked under your arm. your tone was casual, but there was a glint in your eye—just for him.

jisung’s whole posture changed.

he stood upright. his eyes widened. and a slow smile tugged at his mouth as he turned toward you.

“hey,” he said, voice sweeter than it needed to be.

changbin glanced between the two of you, brow quirking. he didn’t say anything right away. just sipped his coffee, eyes narrowing slightly.

you held out the folder toward jisung. “victim statement’s being transcribed. thought you might want to review the notes before you start interrogation.”

he reached for it—your fingers brushing as he did—and his smile widened.

“thanks,” he murmured. then added, more pointedly, “you always take such good care of me.”

you rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. you reached up and rested your hand on his shoulder before sliding it down as you walked off down the hallway. the second your back was turned, jisung—still holding the folder—curled his fist and gave it a single, victorious pump at his side.

the entire office lounge knew. how he once rewrote an entire report because you said you liked his handwriting. or how he almost cried out of joy when you borrowed his pen last month.

changbin didn’t know how jisung did it. but somehow, he’d pulled it off.

[yuetired]

good boy, desperate boy, our boy | anidala

pairing: modern! anakin x padmé x reader

rating: explicit. 18+ only.

word count: 2k

tags: domestic, established relationship, casual sex, soft dom padmé & needy sub anakin, no gendered language for reader

// tw(s): unspecified reader penetration //

( this is an excerpt from a roleplay with my modern!anidala bot! chat with them now on j.ai ! )

Having a partner much younger than yourself—much less two—came with the caveat of making a few adjustments. In all your differences, a large one for Padmé was that she was just at a different stage in her adulthood than her two younger lovers. While you and Anakin were in the early stages of your twenties, Padmé sometimes felt like the seasoned warrior of your relationship as she approached her thirties.

Most of the time, it wasn’t an issue. The three of you adjusted to the littler differences, embracing what made each of you unique, how you completed a perfect whole.

And, sometimes, you just had to deal with it.

One of such issues was that Anakin still hadn’t quite left his nymphomaniac phase. Padmé had just reached the point that she was a tad more focused on her responsibilities, with sex as a more occasional treat. But, your poor younger boyfriend seemed to crave it daily, whining and needy for release. He’d always protest that he couldn’t help it, not when he had two gorgeous partners within his reach.

So, really, Padmé shouldn’t have been surprised at the sight that greeted her as she opened your shared bedroom door. She’d just finished a particularly long meeting and was looking forward to getting rid of her stuffy office clothes and perhaps snuggling with your chatty cat, Threepio.

But, instead, she found her two lovers upon the bed. You were naked from the waist-down, but kept a comfy house sweater on as you relaxed on your side, a book in hand. The curve of your legs ran exposed in the air, one propped up on Anakin’s shoulder.

Meanwhile, on his part, the man was entirely naked, a determined look on his face and a faint sheen of sweat to his skin as he buried his cock within you in long, languid strokes. The air was heavy with the scent of sex and filthy with the lewd squelching sounds of each thrust.

You looked up from your book casually, giving Padmé a sweet smile in greeting—as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “Angel,” you greeted. Your voice shook a little as Anakin’s hips rutted along your ass, jolting you a little on the bed. “You’re home early.”

It wasn’t the first time she’d walked in on her partners entangled in one another. But, this was the first time of this level of… casualness. And, for some reason, seeing Anakin looking so desperate and debauched while you seemed almost completely unbothered had heat pooling in Padmé’s belly.

Anakin glanced over at her with lust-glazed eyes, pupils blown wide. A shaky grin spread across his face at the sight of her standing there, clearly affected by the erotic display.

“Hey, angel,” he panted, deep baritone ragged. “Didn’t expect you h…home so early. Wanna—ah—join us? There’s plenty of room…”

His hips stuttered, losing rhythm for a moment as a particularly deep thrust hit a sensitive spot inside you and you fluttered around him. A low groan tore from his throat. “S-shit, babe…”

Idly, you smoothed a hand down Anakin’s straining arms, soothing him as he panted in desperation. You loved seeing him so lost in pleasure, so hazy with lust and drowning in sensation.

He’d practically begged on his knees for attention not half an hour before. And, though you may complain, you would always put down anything in favor of making your partners feel good.

Plus, you had to admit, your needy boyfriend being so horny that he had to beg to use your body was maddeningly hot.

Putting down your book, you sat up just enough to nuzzle your nose into the side of Anakin’s sweat-slick neck, pressing a light kiss to the shaking apple of his throat. “S’good, Ani,” you hummed into the skin. “Doing so good.”

From against him, your eyes fluttered up to meet Padmé’s, a subtle, fond smile turning your lips. “You can join if you want,” you offered again. There were days that your lovely girlfriend was too tired from days at the office to participate—especially when it came to Anakin’s more intense desires. So, you’d understand if she was more interested in watching or cuddling up to you as you took his cock. “Ani here’s just been a little pent up today. Trying to get some relief.”

Padmé took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. The sight of Anakin’s desperate, needy expression as he rutted into your welcoming body sent a shiver down her spine. She could feel the heat building between her thighs, her body responding to the erotic display despite her exhausted mind.

“Well, I can’t say I expected this when I walked in,” she mused with a wry smile, stepping further into the room. Her heels clicked on the hardwood floor as she approached the bed, her eyes never leaving your joined forms. “But, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, given how insatiable you are lately, my love.”

She reached out to run a hand along Anakin’s damp back, feeling the muscles tense and release beneath her touch as he continued his eager pattern into you. He let out a low groan at the contact, his hips stuttering for a moment before picking up speed again.

“Mmm, you two always look so beautiful together,” she murmured, leaning down to press a soft kiss to Anakin’s shoulder. “I can see how much you need this, Ani. How much you need us.” Her other hand found yours, interlacing your fingers and giving a gentle squeeze. “Is he being good for you, love? Taking care of you like he should?”

With a teasing chuckle, you nodded, using the motion to give Anakin another nuzzle. All the while, you squeezed Padmé’s hand in turn. “Don’t worry,” you hummed into his skin. “He’s been a good boy.”

Instantly, Anakin let out a shuddering moan at the praise, his hips jerking erratically as he chased his rapidly approaching release. “Ah, fuck-! Don’t… don’t call me that or I’m-I’m not going to last much longer…” he panted, voice strained with effort and pleasure. His grip on your hips tightened, surely leaving behind marks on your skin.

Unable to help himself, he turned his head just enough to catch Padmé’s lips in a sloppy, desperate kiss, pouring all his need and desire into the heated press of his mouth against hers. “Angel… please… I need…” he gasped between kisses, not even fully able to articulate what he craved beyond the all-consuming lust that clouded his mind.

His cock throbbed and pulsed inside your fluttering walls, leaking copious amounts of precum that eased the way for his increasingly frenzied thrusts. The wet sounds of your joining filled the room, punctuated by Anakin’s grunts and moans and the creaking bed frame beneath you.

Padmé could feel the heat of your boyfriend’s desperation radiating off his skin, seeing the wild, hazy look in his eyes as he clung to her and you like a drowning man. His heart ached with love for him, even as a part of her wanted to laugh at his boyish, insatiable hunger.

She brushed sweat-damp hair from his forehead, cupping his cheek as she gazed into his eyes with a soft smile. “Shh, I know, love. I know you need it,” she murmured soothingly, running her free hand down your leg, teasing her fingertips along where you’re joined. “You’re doing so well, Ani. Giving us both so much pleasure.” Her soft smile grew into a near smirk. “Don’t hold back now. Okay, dear? Give it to them good.”

You gave a pleased hum as you watched Anakin work, sinking back to recline against the pillows and watch his muscles flex with every thrust. “You heard her,” you giggled, swiping a bead of sweat tenderly from his brow. “Fuck me, Ani.”

And Anakin obliged.

His breaths started coming in harsh pants and desperate gasps, his hips snapping forward with wild abandon as he slammed into your welcoming body. The obscene squelch of his cock driving into your soaked, clinging heat filled the room, punctuated by the lewd slap of skin on skin and the creaking of the straining bed frame.

“Fuck, baby-! Shit, you feel… ah… so fucking good,” he grunted, head tilting forward and tendons straining in his neck. His fingers dug into the plush flesh of your ass, gripping hard enough to leave vivid marks in your skin as he yanked your hips forward to meet his thrusts.

Anakin could feel the pressure building at the base of his spine, his heavy balls drawing up tight as his orgasm approached. But, he held back, gritting his teeth and fighting it off, determined to make you cum first.

“Angel, fuck… I can’t… I’m gonna…” he choked out, casting a desperate glance at Padmé. She sat calmly at the edge of the bed, watching him with hooded eyes and a small, indulgent smile. One hand rested on the small of his back as if she had all the time in the world.

“Look at you, so desperate and needy,” she purred, reaching out to rail her fingers along his straining bicep, feeling the muscles flex and twitch beneath her touch. “You’re being such a good boy, Ani. Holding back like I know you can.”

Her eyes flicked to you, taking in your splayed legs and the way your body yielded to Ankain’s relentless pace. She could see the pleasure etched into your features, hear it in your soft gasps and breathy moans. You were close too, she could tell, your hips rocking up to meet Anakin’s as you chased your own release.

“Let me help you with that,” she murmured gently. And, before you knew it, her hand was on you, coaxing you further and further off the edge.

“Ah, Padmé-!” you choked out, head falling back to meet the wall. Your release rapidly approached, making you clench and flutter around Anakin, and he let out a broken sound at the sensation. “I’m gonna-!”

With an arch of your spine, you were catapulted over the edge, giving a wordless cry as your orgasm crashed over you.

Anakin shouted, voice hoarse and raw, as he felt your body clam down around him like a vice whilst you came undone. The sensation was too much, too intense. And, with a last, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside your spasming heat and his own release tore through him.

His cock jerked and throbbed, pulsing as it spilled hot and thick inside you, painting your inside white with his seed.

Padmé watched, enraptured, as her two lovers found their peak. The sight of Anakin, your strong, brilliant boyfriend, reduced to a panting shaking, mess as he emptied himself inside you—and you, blissed out and moaning softly at the sensation of being so utterly filled—it made her heart swell and her panties dampen.

She leaned forward, savoring every moment of your shared ecstasy, and pressed her forehead to Anakin’s sweat-slick temple. “That’s it, my loves,” she murmured, stroking his hair back from his face. The hand on you slid to cup your hip, thumb working the skin softly. “You did so well. So beautiful for me.”

Unable to help herself, she pressed a small, delicate kiss to the corner of Anakin’s slack mouth. “Such a good boy. My good, strong boy. I’m so proud of you.” Then, she leaned over you, meeting your lips tenderly. “Both of you.”

“‘Love you,” you gasped as you caught your breath, the words almost instinctual at this point.

“I love you, too,” Padmé hummed, pecking the corner of your lips once more, before pulling back and pressing another kiss to Anakin’s temple.

“Mnah…” he managed, making you and Padmé laugh.

She rubbed his back, uncrossing her legs and beginning to stand from the bed. “Why don’t you two rest for a while, hm? I’ll grab a washcloth and get you two cleaned up. Then, we can all cuddle and relax for a bit.”

“I like the sound of that,” you mumbled, spreading your legs a little wider to allow Anakin to curl into you, practically trying to merge himself into your skin. He was always so clingy after sex, so sweet.

You smiled and pressed a kiss to the top of his sweat-damp hair, watching Padmé’s hips sway as she headed off to the en suite bathroom.

And you knew, with certainty, that you wouldn’t rather be anywhere else.

( this is an excerpt from a roleplay with my modern!anidala bot! chat with them now on j.ai ! )

[chxrrysangel]

Week Two

Treat | Nanami Kento - brat taming

A/n | I feel like I lowkey made him a little too mean. But idk…I kinda don’t wanna change it 🤔 also this was like 450 words longer than it should’ve been. Oops

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

You could feel Kento’s sharp gaze drilling a hole into the side of your head as you chatted with other guests. You were being naughty, something you reveled in as he struggled to keep his composure.

Events with his colleagues like banquets or fundraisers bored you half to death; pretending to like snobbish people who threw away their money was a hard task to accomplish.

But your husband always made it up to you after hours of roleplaying as his arm candy. Whether that be gifts or mind-blowing sex, there was always a reward at the end. But tonight you were more impatient than usual.

It started off innocent enough, just light touches as you moved across the ballroom. Every now and then you looked at him with a certain hunger in your eyes, each time being met with a “not now, my love.”

Kento was a gentleman through and through, holding open doors for people and helping old ladies across the street. Kindness was imbedded in his DNA.

Unfortunately for him, you wanted to play.

As slyly as possible, you slipped off one of your heels and grazed your foot along his. He looked across the table at you, issuing a silent warning. You smiled coyly, uncaring about potential consequences.

Your heel rubbed softly against his leg, innocent enough that you could get away with it for a little longer. But then you climbed higher, watching his jaw tick in your periphery as you continued conversing with the woman next to you.

Finally, you reached exactly where you wanted to. It was a dance between the two of you, clear warnings as you slowly pushed the boundaries and Kento’s patience.

He was rock hard under the span of your foot, not that he showed it on his face. The first graze against his tip surprised him, trying to cover it up with a cough. You dared not look across the table, pretending to know nothing of it. He grabbed your ankle, a mistake on his part. Your foot was in the perfect position to rub directly against his length, feeling his cock twitch in his trousers.

As quietly as he could manage, you could feel his hips circle against you, yearning for more friction. So you stopped. You smiled at the people you were deep in conversation with, lips twitching as you reveled in having the upper hand.

This went on for some time, casually bringing him to the edge only to stop when it felt convenient. He was pissed, you could tell. You almost pitied the man he was speaking to, trying so hard to have an intelligent conversation while Kento was on the verge of cumming over and over again.

By the time the plates from the third course had been collected, Kento was already saying goodbye to his colleagues and just short of dragging you out the room. He was polite enough, shaking hands and kissing cheeks like some candidate running for office. But he refused small talk, grabbing your coats and rushing the two of you out to your car.

You were in trouble and it felt so exciting to realize.

The drive home was unbearably silent. Your adrenaline rush during dinner settled into nervous anticipation for what would happen when you got home. Regret slowly lodged itself in your abdomen.

You were absolutely fucked.

“Kento, I’m—,” you tried to apologize while you had the chance. He put his hand up, silencing you immediately.

You watched nervously as he crossed the foyer, wringing your hands and biting your lips raw.

“You had one responsibility. Just one.”

He lodges his fingers in your hair, a firm grip as he pulls you closer. You yelp in surprise, but say nothing in protest. You knew better than that.

“Yet there you were, acting out like a fucking brat and trying to make me cum under the table.” He clicked his tongue in disapproval.

He tightened his grip on your hair to the point of pain, too blinded by sexual frustration to stay gentle. He guided you down to your knees before letting go. You watched as he undid his tie, slowly undressing as you were forced to only watch.

He sat on the edge of the couch, tapping his thigh in a very familiar motion. It made your heart drop. You quickly crawled over to him, begging for forgiveness and promising to be good from now on.

“You had the chance to be good. But you wanted to be a brat. So, this is your punishment.” He was stern and cold, so different from his usual self. You really did it this time.

Begrudgingly, you leaned over his legs to make it go as quick as possible.

“We’re doing ten. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good girl.”

He didn’t count down like you expected, instead immediately slapping the globe of your ass. His rings singed your skin, increasing the pain triple fold.

“What do you say?”

“One.” You tried your best not to moan, knowing he might start over.

“That’s my girl.” His large hands smooth over your skin before delivering a second smack, harder than the first.

“Two.”

By the sixth hit, you were trembling and wet beyond belief. Your cunt shined with arousal in the dimly lit room, making Kento grin.

“Look at you, getting turned on by a punishment. You just can’t help but be a whore, can you?” he remarked condescendingly.

His fingertips brushed against your slit, pushing inwards upon reaching your clit. You knew it was a bad idea, but you couldn’t help but lean into his touch for a shred of relief from the ache between your legs.

His tongue clicked in disapproval, you were basically begging for more punishment.

“You just don’t know when to quit do you?”

You were afraid to answer, which you quickly realized was the wrong choice. He smacked your ass again, the pain causing tears to pool in your eyes.

“No sir, I don’t.”

“Well that just won’t do.”

Much to your surprise, Kento switched tactics. His fingers continued to rub against your slit before pushing two fingers into your pussy. He curled his fingers just the way you liked, and you couldn’t fight the whimper that escaped your lips.

“New game. You don’t cum before I say so. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir.”

You would probably fail, he knew that was more than likely. But the desire to be fucked into the mattress tonight mattered more to you than breaking the rules.

[marswritesstuff]

kinktober day 2: roleplay

pairing: wriothesley x gn!reader

warnings: roleplay, consensual dubcon, power play, wrio calls reader “filthy” a few times

a/n: can you tell i am down bad for him (i pumped this out in half an hour)

“Your Grace?” You timidly entered the Duke’s office, arms nervously folded in front of you. “You wanted to see me?”

“Come in. Sit.”

The Duke’s deep voice sent a shiver through you as you approached the desk and sat in front of him.

“Did you need something from me, Your Grace?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact.” Wriothesley rose from his seat, slowly striding around his large desk as he spoke. “As a convict of the Fortress, it is your duty to obey my every command as your Warden, correct?”

You couldn’t tell where the Duke was going with this, looking up at him with anxiety as he came to a standstill less than two feet in front of you. His hand suddenly came up, gripping your chin with no small amount of force as his eyes bore into yours.

“Answer me, pet. You are my prisoner, are you not?”

“Yes!” You yelped as his hand squeezed your face none too gently. “Yes, sir. You are my Warden, and it is my responsibility as a prisoner to obey you. Why… Why do you ask, Your Grace?”

Wriothesley’s hand released your chin to run through your hair, seemingly rewarding you. “I’m glad you ask, pet. I am in need of an assistant. You likely know that I will take on convicts as assistants for various projects, but I need someone to lend a hand for some more… personal stress relief, if you will.”

You gulped, suddenly very aware of why you’d been called into the Duke’s office. Did he ask for you specifically? Had he noticed your eyes trailing him when he walked the halls of the Fortress? Or, instead, had you caught his eye? Or maybe he had just sent out his guards to find the nearest warm body and send them to his office?

No matter- to find yourself in such an opportune position was a rare occurrence, and you wouldn’t be caught dead wasting it.

You pushed your head against the Duke’s hand gently, responding warmly to his touch.

“I am a duty-bound citizen, Your Grace. Anything you need from me is fully at your disposal.”

“Well then, citizen,” Wriothesley drawled, taking a step back to lean against his desk, his hand slipping away from your hair as you held back a whine from the loss of contact, “on your knees. Now.”

You slid out of the plush, comfortable chair and onto your knees on the hard, metal ground. Sitting back on your heels, you watched with bated breath as Wriothesley undid his pants and pulled himself out.

“Wow,” you couldn’t help but breathe out, scooting forward until you were right in front of the Duke. “You’re so big, sir.”

Wriothesley chuckled, reaching a hand down to tug at your chin again. “You shouldn’t need much direction from here, I presume?”

You shook your head minutely and dove in, intent on being only the best for the Duke.

Wriothesley let out a low groan, hand fisting in your hair and his hips bucking loosely before settling again and letting you move your mouth around him.

If he had looked big, then he felt even bigger, but you persisted, eyes watering as you bobbed happily on the Duke’s dick.

“Look at you,” the Duke groaned, fist tightened in your hair, to the point where it just barely hurt. “So filthy, ready to get on your knees for me when I’ve barely even asked. A ‘duty-bound citizen’, you say? Don’t make me laugh. A filthy convict like you is only good for one thing.”

He started thrusting into your mouth in earnest, taking control of the pace instead of weak and aborted motions of his hips. His hand in your hair became a vice grip, keeping your head where it was while the Duke’s cock kept your mouth obediently stretched open. You moaned around the cock in your mouth, your brain slowly giving up all thoughts except the Duke, inside you and around you and everywhere.

What felt like hours later, the Duke slowly pulled out of you. Unlike the ruthless way he’d been using and fucking you for the past good while, now he treated your body with reverence, cleaning you up in a practiced way.

“Are you ok, love?” The Duke asked hesitantly as he wiped you down. “I wasn’t too rough?”

“No, darling. It was perfect. You felt so good.” You grinned down at your now blushing boyfriend.

When you’d first suggested the idea of playing as a criminal during one of your nights together, Wriothesley had looked at you like you were insane. But from the lust in his eyes during your scene, and his flushed satisfaction now, you knew this wasn’t the last time you and your boyfriend would be putting on this act.

[starfall-xav]

Looking for a LADs RP partner (LI x LI)

Hey there! I'm making this post to find more mutuals who enjoy LADs RP.

Specifically, I roleplay as Xavier and enjoy LI x LI dynamics. Of the platforms I've used for LADs, my favorite is Discord, and my less favorite (but still use) is X.

Details:

Mun is 30+ years old.

No NSFW RP with minors. Accounts must have their age clearly stated.

Open to plotted stories but also enjoy freeform interpretation.

Timezone: GMT-4 (Available hours vary).

I have no issue with whichever LI you want to roleplay—Xavier can be both Dom or Sub, as I handle him as a switch.

I have 2 muses: Xavier and Lumiere. Likes:

Slow burn, deep psychological development, character background development, fluff, smut, angst, AU, etc.

Wanting to innovate – I love creativity, so don’t be afraid to share ideas you’d like to develop.

Safe spaces (Do you want to write a fanfic with this? Does the platform suit you? Does my writing style make you comfortable?)

Discussing threads OOC – As a writer, I really enjoy sharing opinions! Feel free to do the same with me. Dislikes:

Confusing Mun with Muse. We are different—we think and react differently.

Poor or lack of communication with Mun if there’s a misunderstanding/doubt. I am clear and direct in my messages, so please be clear and direct with me in return.

Not respecting response times. I will always give notice if I can’t reply to a thread. Mun works office hours, so I’ll respond as soon as I can.

I made this account and post just to find more mutuals, so please send me a DM, and I’ll be happy to reply! See ya~

[pennkquest]

As mentioned above, here is the written out version of the transcript as well, for those interested!

Also it's like 3.5 K words iirc, you have been warned /lh

[Distant talking can be heard, approaching and growing in volume/clarity.]

Jules: [Nah, I ain’t order that, I brought my own food with me today ‘cause I wasn’t gon’ play with y’all and wait around endlessly before I got my meal, thank you very much.]

(door opens)

Jules: Anyways, if there’s leftovers when I get ready to head out, I’m snatchin’ them up. Otherwise, y’all go at it out there— Hm? Wait… Darlin, what time is it?

(pause for implied response) 

Jules: Shit! We’ll talk later!

(door closes as as rolling chair is heard moving across floor)

Jules: (clear throat) Aaaand welcome back to our show, folks! Sorry for the uh… interruption there. I thought I had more time before that break ended, but nevermind that now. My name is Jules, and as always, I’m your esteemed late night host. And now that we’ve arrived at the top of the hour, it’s time for a segment y’all have all been waitin’ for with bated breath. Drum roll, please!

(drum roll SFX)

Jules: It’s time for Fandom Dives and Discussions! Every week, I find myself an interesting fandom talkin’ point, end up waist deep in fanworks, and then share my thoughts with you lovely listeners! This week, I thought I’d be a lil self-indulgent for a change and pick a fandom that I actually belong too— Scandalous, I know~ (laughs) But! This week, we’re talkin’ narrative audio roleplay— Or “boyfriend ASMR” if you wanna split hairs, same difference to me. 

Jules: Now, I’m a fan of quite a few channels, but I wanted a hefty pool to pull from, so what better channel to take a look at than one Redacted Audio. It’s got a lil somethin’ for everyone. Werewolf tsunderes, sweet office lovers, verbose shit-startin’ pizza guys, seductive and sadistic demons alike, and more~. But! I did say that I look at specific talkin’ points, so I wasn’t lookin’ for just any ol’ fandom creations. Nah, this week I wanted to talk about representation. Specifically, the way queer masculinity makes an appearance in fanfiction. Now, despite this being an M4A channel— For the uninformed, that’s just a fancy way of saying a guy as the speaker and anyone potentially being the listener— There’s not as many mlm type fics out there, at least compared to the inverse. It seems like more people tend to fancy the speaker/listener fics and focus on gender neutrality as a means to appeal to a wider audience— Not that that’s an issue or anythin’. Hell, there’s plenty I’ve read through and liked, don’t get it twisted. 

Jules: That said, I knew I had my work cut out for me when I started down this lil rabbit hole. However, y’all did not disappoint! As of this segment being streamed, I’ve received a total of 49 fics to be analyzed. If y’all seem to enjoy this tonight, I might have next week be a continuation, just let me know. Now of those 49, I managed to get my hands on 30 of them with enough time before this to consider what I wanted to discuss. Of those 30, I’ve hand selected 8 of them to discuss in more detail for your listenin’ pleasure. 

Jules: Each fic was analyzed and “scored”, in a manner of speakin’, on a both a bingo card and a spectrum sheet let’s call it. Now both of these will be uploaded to our site within the next 24 hours if you’d like to put your eyes on my findings and such, but otherwise, I’ll be talkin’ ‘bout it loosely. This is all in good fun, I assure you. Every fic I had the pleasure of readin’ was a delight and a half, and this segment wouldn’t be possible without the talented writers of this community. So I better not catch any fussin’ or shit-talkin’ in the comments anywhere, understood?

Jules: (quiet laugh, then sigh) I say that like I could hear any of y’alls responses (small clap) Alright. Let’s get into it. 

Jules: First up on our docket tonight is a fic called Stress Relief, written by K9rage. The pairin’ in question is Gavin and Damien and it’s ‘bout 4000 words. Basically, it’s a lovely lil fic about Gavin comin’ over and offering to help Damien unwind after DAMN has stressed the elemental to hell and back by partakin’ in a bit of waxplay together. I think it’s worth pointin’ out that of all the fics I received, a shockin’ amount of them had some sort of explicit or suggestive element to them. Now in this case, Gavin’s quite literally an incubus, it kind of goes hand in hand. But I also think there’s somethin’ to be said about how often sexual themes come up in regards to queer masc relationships. I mean, it’s not too far a leap to make when you really sit and think about it. I mean, think about the term “yaoi” and how it’s been popularized, both in and outside of Japan. It's an acronym for a Japanese phrase that’s basically translated to “no climax, no point, no meaning”. Now, let me be clear: I ain’t no puritan and I sure as hell ain’t damning smut for existin’. There’s a whole lot of good to having sex in media, including fan-made stuff. You can learn a lot bout a character by thinkin’ bout what they do in that kind of context. In the same breath though, I think it’s worth considering how a lot of slash content certainly leans into a…. spicier angle, let’s say.

Jules: All that said, this fic provides a lovely look at a friendship full of intimacy, comfort, and most importantly, trust. While the specification on if Gavin and Damien are also involved with each other romantically is sorta left up in the air, that doesn’t change the bond they clearly have, which is real nice to see. It’s also fun to see exploration of kink in this kind of work. In today’s culture, that sort of thing is constantly gettin’ suppressed or sanitized or straight up banned. Being able to explore it, or at the very least take a glimpse at it, via a fic is real cool to me. On the bingo card, it scored a 4 but it certainly earned its place in this segment. 

Jules: Onto the next fic, titled Mutually Beneficial. This fic was written by FriendlyFaded and is about 6000 words. Now the majority of these aren’t canon pairings, seeing as we only have so many. But this one? Y’all, it’s bout as niche as you could get I’d argue. Set in the Imperium AU, it’s a fic that involves Darlin, originally Sam’s listener, and Vega, in all his sadistic glory. While Darlin isn’t given a name specifically, the author definitely crafted their own version of the character for the sake of this fic. I’d argue it’s one of, if not the spiciest fic we had submitted. Some of the tags on this fic include, but are not limited to, facefucking, dacryphilia, anal fingering, horns as handles, and light bondage, to name a few. Lucky for Vega, he’s a sadism demon, so this was certainly his version of a good time. All in all, I loved this fic. As I said with Stress Relief, it really is a delight to see BDSM and kink pop up in a fic, and this one was no stranger to that sorta thing. But what really appealed to me was the way in which Vega was written. In both the prime— ‘scuse me, regular universe— and the Imperium, Vega’s got a specific energy to him. He’s meant to be imposing, threatening, vicious despite the slow, calm speaking style he maintains. In short: someone who fits a specific archetype in most people’s heads. 

Jules: But this fic takes that and turns it on its head. It places Vega in a submissive role without robbing him of his characterization in the slightest. It still felt distinctly like Vega, but in a way that most people aren’t willin’ to explore. It’s somethin’ I’ve kinda noticed with certain characters in the fandom. Take David or Huxley as an example. Both are, respectively speaking, a certain “type” of masculine in people’s eyes. David’s the big tough alpha of his pack, slow to open up and even slower to show that soft side of his. In Huxley’s case, he’s implied to be a pretty big guy, a gentle giant of sorts, and a canonical athlete. When it comes to their portrayal in fandom at large, I’d argue they get put into tight boxes that they’re not usually let out of— which is honestly a shame. Society and the media at large tends to praise the “straight-acting” man, at least in more recent years. That’s not to say either of them aren’t queer or couldn’t be queer— Hell, Huxley is one of the few characters canonically in a queer relationship in the first place. But there’s a way people talk about them that shows that they can be gay, provided it’s a specific font. I could go on a similar tangent about the “twinkification” of characters like Lasko, Asher, Guy, and so on. There’s something to be said about who in the fandom is “allowed” to be gay and in what way that gayness can be displayed. (exhales) Anywho, all that to say, it was awfully refreshin’ to see this version of Vega. On its bingo card, it scored an 8. 

Jules: Next up, we’ve got Pack Bonding, a fic written by a user by the name Bratty_Telepath— (laughs) Certainly a bold choice in username. This work currently has one chapter, but seems to be the first of an eventual multi-chaptered work. The relationship at large includes Darlin, Milo, Asher, and David, though this specific chapter focuses primarily on a flashback scene between Darlin and Milo. Another smut-oriented fic but this is the first on our list to feature a listener OC, which is pretty excitin’. Darlin is named Darren in this fic, using he/they pronouns, and there’s a few jokes near the start poking fun at that in a fun way. Honestly, one of my biggest takeaways from this fic was the way in which fanworks are a pretty effective way to reclaim the gay narrative. Most media, especially older media, wants to make being gay seem like this dreadful, awful, unrelentingly devastating experience. But fanfiction is perfectly catered to the exact opposite. Here, you’ve got two werewolves sort-of roommates who get to explore each other’s bodies and are shown to be in a happy, healthy relationship years down the line. Like ain’t that wild! And it’s something that feels so uniquely fandom oriented if you ask me. Some people might scrunch up their nose at the thought of finding community in erotica or what have you, but all it sounds like to me is that those folks are missin’ out. This one got mighty close to gettin’ a bingo, but it did manage a score of 13, which is impressive in itself. 

Jules: Alright, what’s next on this list… (flips sheet of paper) Ah, here we go! Now this one right here was a doozy. Our next fic is titled “this chain will never end (but I’ll fucking try)”. It was written by zozo_01, and is roughly 2400 words. Now this fic? This one right here? This got me good, I hate to admit it. Now I know I was just goin’ on and on ‘bout how gay people deserve happy endings and good shit yadda yadda— That bein’ said, this is one of the few fics I’ve stumbled across that takes somethin’ like homophobia and makes it feel tangible and realistic. Damien’s mama, Sophia, has been mentioned loosely in canon as not bein’ thrilled bout him and Huxley datin’, at least last we heard. And this fic takes that lil bit of info and spins it into somethin’ that feels perfectly in character for Damien without feelin’ overly tragic. There’s a whole sequence where Damien thinks ‘bout what the ideal comin’ out experience would be, what he’d say, what his mama would say, so on. And then he confronts the fact that it’ll never happen— Like god, ain’t that just the best kind of pain sometimes? I’d argue in a case like this, this sorta fic is awfully cathartic. Sure it hurts, but it also affirms that bein’ gay ain’t the problem. It’s not a damning sentence, people’s resistance to be acceptin’ is. And that’s an important fuckin’ difference. This fic managed to score an 8 on its card, which is impressive as hell. 

Jules: Next fic we got is titled not a day goes by (that I’m not into you)— Lots of reference titles from this author by the name of Autisticempathydaemon. This one was ‘bout 4200 words and features one of my personal favorite non-canon pairings, the DAMN polycule— or DAMN Crew, whatever you wanna call it, they’re all datin’ so same difference. It has the impression of being a day in the life type of a fic, or at the very least, it’s showin’ slices of their lives on normal days. Of the polyamorous pairings presented in fics, this one was real fun because of the various dynamics at play between each isolated pairing. The way Gavin teases Damien has a unique flavor, different enough from the way Huxley fusses over Lasko or Freelancer lovingly retaliates against their partner’s hypocritical care. Y’know, it could be argued that fics kind of play in this space of “queerness”, but in the sense that it’s not quite the norm. Not claimin’ any of this ain’t normal, to be clear. But I mean it more so like… Like it’s not what’s expected from the mainstream. It’s “queer” inherently because it challenges the notions of what’s expected in various ways, which is such a beautiful thing to see. It’s also somethin’ to consider when people go fussin’ at one another ‘bout whose fics are “allowed” and “not allowed”. What’s good and what’s cringe, all of it, it’s just mindless runnin’ of the mouths behind a screen half the time. Fics ain’t meant to be a one size fits all kind of deal, same with pairings, plot or trope preferences, and so on. Who knows, maybe fic itself is queer inherently in a similar way. Consider that some food for thought or what have you. On its card, this fic managed to rack up a score of 7— Good for it~

Jules: Now, we’ve got a pretty popular fic up next. This one got submitted by a few different people, which is always fun. On top of that, it was our highest scoring fic and the first to earn not just one bingo, but two. The fic in question is titled Practice Makes Perfect and was written by domini_moonbeam— Lord, I hope I’m sayin’ that right. (laughs) Now, this fic is clockin’ in at a whoppin’ 20,000 words, think it’s got 7 or so chapters currently? It’s technically a multi pairing fic, but as it stands currently, I’m focusin’ on the Asher/David— Or “Dash”, as the author put it— storyline. It’s got a lot of fun classic tropes. Pinin’ best friends who wanna be more, sexual exploration turned impossible to ignore feelings, lil light jealousy and miscommunication sprinkled on top, all with the lovely College AU coat of paint. I mean honestly, what’s not to like? Now I’ve already said my piece on how this fandom tends to play with David as a character, same with Asher. But I feel like them as a pairing is such an interesting thing to witness, not ‘cause I think it’s outta left field or anything. Hell, in the Imperium AU, they were canonically mates, it’s not a leap to make. But there’s something so… classically fandom ‘bout it, y’know? They’re easy to work with and I’ve heard of plenty of stories where people became quick friends because of their mutual enjoyment of Dash content. I dunno, I guess I’d kinda view it as somethin’ akin to the Kirk/Spock of this fandom— Which is ironic given we’ve got a canon gay relationship via Damien/Huxley. But I don’t got time to try and unpack why that is frankly (laughs) As mentioned, this was our highest scorin’ fic, comin’ in with a score of 19.

Jules: Now our second to last fic is titled Spark and Bite: A Demon-Vamp Crossover Special. It was written by AngelicAether and it's 200 words shy of hittin’ a 4K word count. Now if y’all wanna talk rarepairs, this one right here is niche as hell. If you go and search the Freelancer/Gavin/Lovely/Vincent tag on AO3, you’ll find exactly two fics— One of which is Spark and Bite. I’ll be honest when I say I wasn’t sure what to expect from this pairing. For all intents and purposes, most of the characters haven’t interacted, or at least wouldn’t have at the point the fic is set. But this one blew my expectations outta the water. Unlike the earlier DAMN polycule fic, this one explores polyamory as it pertains to first dates between two interested couples. It also presents a fun parallel between characters with similar flirty tendencies while also marking them as distinct from one another. It’s playful yet intimate and tender, and I had a great time readin’ it! I think what makes this so fun is unlike the problems I was touchin’ on with David or Huxley, Vincent and Gavin are both very charismatic, flamboyant, and so on— quote unquote “gay” characteristics. But it’s just shown as a facet of who they are, one that’s meant to be leaned into and played with. There’s not an ounce of shame or disgust to be gleaned, which is how it oughta be. This fic scored a 12 and happened to be one space away from earning itself a bingo as well. 

Jules: Now, for our final fic of the night, strap yourselves in for an absolutely doozy of a work. Comin’ in at about 10K words, this fic is titled he’s the fire in the sin (and i burn breathing him in), written by dogboynextdoor. Like Pack Bonding, this fic featured a listener OC by the name of Crow, taking the place of “Freelancer” in this case. The fic could be described as porn with plot but honestly? That’d be undersellin’ it immensely. This Gavin/Freelancer fic is by far one of my personal favorites now and it’s hard to pinpoint what specifically scratches that part of my brain. For one, I think it certainly has to do with the author’s writing style or narrative voice, but I think another large part of it is the way in which sex is conveyed. Kink and queerness have a lengthy history of being intertwined, and this fic highlights some of that in such a compelling way. There’s clear definition and reinforcement of sexual boundaries, which is amplified further by Gavin’s incubus nature. I mean, there’s plenty of material that suggests concubi are subjected to some nasty assumptions and unwanted advances because they’re s’posed to be “sex demons”. For Crow to respect Gavin’s limits and Gavin, in turn, to address Crow’s preferences is just refreshin’ to witness. Another fun element is the inclusion of verbal and non-verbal safety cues. The stoplight system is one found outside of fics but I’ve seen used in various fanworks. But to also include way of indicating stop when, say, your mouth is full is always lovely to see. Often times, erotica, porn, yaoi, or what have you gets called unrealistic by nature or accused of “perpetuating harmful practices”. Yet here is a perfect example of the opposite bein’ true. It was also delightful to read a fic involving another trans individual, since majority of them seem to have implied cis characters— But perhaps that’s a topic for another day. Like the last, this fic also scored a 12 and was one space away from earning a bingo. 

Jules: And with that, I do believe our segment is comin’ to a close for the night. Such a shame, I know I know, withhold your devastation if you can bear~ (laughs, then exhales) There’s honestly a lot more that could be said about the portrayal of queer masculinity, but we’d be here for literal hours and I don’t think y’all like the sound of my voice nearly as much as you claim. Be sure to check out all the fics and authors mentioned today— Oh! And be on the lookout for next week’s segment prompt. Should be posted somewhere by tomorrow, if I’m not mistaken. As always, my name is Jules, this has been Fandom Dives and Discussions, and I will be back to talk y’alls ears off tomorrow. Have a good night, folks. 

(beat)

Jules: (exhales) Shit, I need to get myself some water. 

(knock overhead)

Jules: Hm? Come in…?

(door opens)

Jules: Aww would ya look at that? My favorite doll, come to pay me a visit. To what do I owe the pleasure~?

(pause for implied response)

Jules: (laughs) I’m already done for the night, Darlin’. No need to go fussin’ at me now.

(kiss is heard, then another)

Jules: Hm? What’s up?

(pause for implied response)

Jules: Huh? Oh fuckin’ hell— I swear I know how to do my job every once in awhile. Nah, I can cut the feed myself, don’t worry. Anyways, where do you wan—

[End of Segment]

///

At long last, it's finally time. Welcome to:

PK's Redacted Fic Final!

Because of the contents of some of the fics/discussions in the segment, I am asking minors to not interact. If anyone is interested in the SFW/non 18+ fics I was sent, feel free to shoot me an ask or something. Otherwise, for the respect (and safety) of the authors I included, skip this post. Now then, let's get into it (under the cut /lh).

Summary/Overview: In total, I received 49 fics for this final (absolutely wild! /pos) and ended up including 8 of them as part of the final product. Said final product is a fake radio segment with a speaker created for the sake of discussing these fics in a fun way. The audio form of the segment will be attached on this post along with a downloadable version of the transcript (Note: I will also be reblogging with a text version of the transcript very soon).

With that out of the way, I'd like to take a moment and personally tag/shoutout the writers who's fics I included directly. In order of their appearance in my final, we've got:

Stress Relief by K9rage [Gavin/Damien] // @calicostorms

Mutually Beneficial by FriendlyFaded [Imp!Darlin/Vega] // @friendlyfaded

Pack Bonding by Bratty_Telepath [Darlin/Milo] + [Asher/Darlin/Milo/David] // @bratty-telepath

"this chain will never end (but i'll fucking try)." by zozo_01 [Damien/Huxley] // @zozo-01

not a day goes by (that I'm not into you) by Autisticempathydaemon [DAMN Polycule] // @autisticempathydaemon

Practice Makes Perfect by domini_moonbeam [Asher/David] (primarily) // @dominimoonbeam

Spark and Bite: A Demon-Vamp Crossover Special by AngelicAether [Freelancer/Gavin/Lovely/Vincent] // @angelicaether

he's the fire in the sin (and i burn breathing him in) by dogboynextdoor [Gavin/FL] // @redactedgender

I managed to get through 30 of the 49 submitted before finalizing things for submission, but! I still plan on reading through the remaining submissions and scoring them on their cards/sheets (which I will make a second post about soon).

As previously mentioned, the focus on my project was dissecting the portrayal of queer masculinity as it appears in fanfiction. Majority of the final is me gushing over the fics with commentary woven in between, so I hope it's enjoyable for anyone who chooses to read and/or listen to it. Once again, thank you so so so much to anyone who submitted a fic, wrote any of the fics, or has supported me throughout the creation process at any point. You are amazing.

(Also apparently the audio file itself is too big </3 so linking it instead /lh):

[axolotlclown]

My essay is completed

This bitch took me days. I got some fat points in here.

I would recommend the doc, as I worked very hard on the MLA format. But in case it decides not to work, here is a transcript of the essay. (also, sources in the doc for the stream i mentioned in the intro) :)

Generation Loss, The Social Experiments, and Its Commentary On the Relationships of the Modern Influencer

Generation Loss, “The Social Experiments”, created by RanbooLive explores the relationships between the modern content creator and the institutions they work for, their self-identity, as well as their audience. Generation Loss, an interactive comedy-horror production streamed live on Twitch, contains three episodes that make up “The Social Experiments” chapter. The series was created by RanbooLive, produced by JK Productions, managed by Ghost Commander Inc., and streamed onto the RanbooLive Twitch channel. The series follows Ranboo as they explore a production— streamed to a live audience— only to discover they were kidnapped and forced to remain a cast member. This wouldn’t be so bad, however, the show seems to take on heavy inspiration from the Saw franchise. 

“The Social Experiments” seems to have taken on after the creator’s own life. For example, in a behind-the-scenes tweet, we see a photo of a list titled, “OFFICE REGULATIONS”. This list includes additional information about the livelihood of the Showfall employees, as well as a straight-cut reference to a RanbooLive stream from 2020, in which he had listed reasons why he should be president of L’manburg (a country from the Dream SMP, a popular Minecraft roleplay server). This stream would serve to jumpstart RanbooLive’s career. 

The creator, RanbooLive— also known as Ranboo— began their career as a Twitch streamer on September 11th, 2020. During a time when everyone would rather stay inside, as a result of the Covid-19 virus, it did not take long for the RanbooLive Twitch channel to gain some attention. On November 27th, 2020, Ranboo had been invited to join the Dream SMP, a popular Minecraft roleplay server at the time. Seemingly overnight, Ranboo exploded in popularity. Freshly turned 17 years old (though, the audience would remain none the wiser), Ranboo skyrocketed to become the most subscribed person on Twitch. During this period, Ranboo preferred to keep their personal information private. Although Ranboo has opened up about some of these personal truths, he continues to keep their name and face anonymous. 

As their career progressed, he moved away from streaming Minecraft on Twitch and toward a variety of content. This would create an opportunity for a project as large as Generation Loss. When the first episode aired on May 24th, 2023, Ranboo would be 19 years old. With the mounting expectations, responsibilities, and stress, it comes as no surprise that a project of this scale would need a personal connection— a soul of its own— to have a chance at being successful. When the audience asked Ranboo: “What is the scariest thing that could happen to you?”, the answer was clear. 

The media in charge of producing the shows we see in “The Social Experiments” distinguishes themselves as ‘Showfall Media’. They produce the content that the viewers, as well as the characters, see and interact with. They are also responsible for the deaths we see on screen. Showfall seems to be a stand-in for a corporation— in this context, Twitch.

 In episode 3: “The Choice”, the streamers are depicted as being forced to stream. During this scene, we see that Slimecicle is reacting to a color compilation on a Twitch stream. This is the reality for a lot of streamers signed on as partners for Twitch. Twitch requires partnered streamers to stream at least 25 hours a month (these hours may be negotiable depending on the revenue the streamer brings to them). Streamers on the higher end may find themselves killing their creativity in an attempt to meet these requirements.

The media workers are also seen in “The Choice”. They are depicted as emotionless drones. They are seen to be sort of  ‘offline’ during times when there are not any shows. This is a commentary on how Twitch executives view their employees as machines. Later, we see a dead Showfall employee slumped against a mall map, bleeding; security had mauled them. Showfall has demonstrated that they would only kill those who attempt to defy them. The employees are very vulnerable to the decisions of the executives at the top. Their lives are just as much at stake as the streamers. When Ranboo finally breaks and attacks a worker, they do not bleed; they are made of wires. To the streamers, they are the same mindless machines that keep them trapped there. Humanity is ultimately lost. 

Snowfall has found that putting their streamers and actors in peril creates engagement. This is the plot of episode 2: “The Mastermind of The Warehouse”. Every streamer— except for Ranboo— dies at some point throughout the episode. The streamers, playing the roles of actors, are seen as disposable by Showfall. Though the viewer sees the exact actors return, this may be more of a metaphor about how replaceable they are— even Showfall can’t tell the difference. There will always be a new streamer available to take advantage of. This is especially true in the final scene of “The Choice”. Ranboo’s death is meant to resemble a crucifixion. This would imply that Ranboo is viewed as a sacrifice to Showfall. To them, it did not matter whether the viewer chose to let him live or die, they already got their views and engagement. Ranboo’s death was a cheap money grab. 

The tonal shifts throughout the three episodes exemplify the loss of innocence as the streamer grows. The first episode: “The Spirit of The Cabin”, carries a generally comedic tone. Although Ranboo is horrified and confused at their situation, it is difficult for the audience to understand what they are afraid of. This is because of the grandiosity of the presentation of the set, characters, and scenarios. This creates a much more goofy atmosphere than a creepy one. Because of Ranboo’s mind control, his behavior comes across as static and abnormal. It is difficult to relate to them. Overall, the audience spends more time laughing than cowering. These actors are not real. Death is not a real threat.

In “The Mastermind of The Warehouse”, there is a slight tone shift. In the first scene, Ranboo is not under any mind control. This leads to their delivery being more believable and relatable to the viewer. The further introduction of more realistic actors breathes realism into absurd scenarios. The comedic tone may remain for a few moments as the situation is still too extreme before the terror of the consequences begins to become known. Death is permanent now.

“The Choice” intends to fill the viewer with dread. Ranboo has complete control now, leading to their character, and their problems, being completely relatable to the viewer. The fear derived here does not come from cheap jumpscares, nor is the scenery particularly decrepit. The fear comes from circumstance. Showfall has become too real. The audience understands how this will end, no matter how much they want it to be any different. There is no true exit. Once the viewer arrives at the ending, their fears become just as real as the show. The threat of death becomes a guarantee. 

These shifts originate from the progression a young streamer may go through as they grow. In the final scene of “The Mastermind of The Warehouse”, Ranboo becomes aware of the horrors of the system he’s found himself trapped in. This is that wake-up moment a streamer may have, exaggerated at a young age. At this moment, Ranboo realizes their childhood is over. 

The character Slimecicle, also referred to as Charlie, displays traits that may indicate that he was taken by Showfall as a child. In “The Spirit of The Cabin”, Charlie refuses to eat unless Ranboo would make airplane noises as he feeds him. This is behavior that would typically be displayed by a baby. The basement in this episode is filled with children's toys— presumably owned by Charlie, as the bedroom is confirmed to be his. In “The Mastermind of The Warehouse”, Charlie shows showing behaviors of a teenager. He is generally unbothered by the horrifying situation that he finds himself in. This may also demonstrate how this torture is something that Charlie is accustomed to. By “The Choice”, Charlie begins to behave as an adult. Charlie was likely taken by Showfall Media as a baby and raised within the system. As a young streamer, ‘torture’ is something that becomes a truth about life.

“The Social Experiments” also reveals the thin separation between the facade put on for entertainment and the authentic person. This is a large plot point in “The Mastermind of The Warehouse”. During a scene, there is a large carousel with five streamers plus Frank (a plastic skeleton). Ranboo and the audience must each choose to pick one streamer to survive. The streamers must justify why Ranboo and the audience may decide to pick them. This would mean that they must appeal to the facade that they have created— which would have been historically successful.

One streamer, Sneegsnag, immediately plays a bit that he needs to use the bathroom. This is a reference to how viewers may know him as ‘the fart guy’, a common inside joke between the real streamer and his audience. After attempting to escape, he is returned to the carousel and promptly brainwashed. He begins to take on a much more calm persona. He doesn’t seem to be bothered about whether or not he dies— he is unbothered by the viewers' decision. Sneegsnag takes on the facade that the greater viewers know him for, being the ‘chill guy’.

Another streamer, Nihachu (also known as Niki), is hysterically sobbing out of fear for her life. Upon introducing herself, she snaps out of her tears and rambles about ‘how nice she is’. This is a reflection on how the audience only sees her as either the crying overdramatic one or the really nice one. Both ignore the fact that she is about to die. Both Sneegsnag and Niki are chosen.

Later in the same episode, we see a ‘fashion room’. The streamers believe that to proceed, they must alter their appearance. This being their first instinct, may indicate how natural it is to constantly alter the facade that they regularly put on. This was ultimately unsuccessful. If they don’t present themselves in a way the viewers want to see, they cannot move on.

In the final scene of this episode, Ranboo becomes aware of the show they’ve been forced to partake in. Leaning over the rail of Showfall Media’s place of operation, Ranboo mumbles to themselves, “What the fuck? What the fuck is this place?”. This is not only the first time the viewers hear this character swear, but it is the first time RanbooLive has ever sworn on camera. This scene drives a wedge between the facade that Ranboo has worked hard to keep up and the real Ranboo behind the screen. It also serves as a wake-up call to the viewer that what is happening is much more real than they are comfortable with.

A prominent part of Ranboo’s character is the large metal mask that they wear. Masks traditionally represent shielding one’s humanity. While that is part of the story, it doesn’t paint the full picture. Showfall uses this mask to control him, and Hetch later uses it to speak to him. In the first scene of “The Spirit of The Cabin”, Ranboo attempted to claw off the mask to no avail. The mask remains a burden on the character throughout the rest of the series through mind control. In “The Choice”, Hetch makes a promise to assist in Ranboo’s escape. Only after Ranboo has successfully left, can Hetch remove their mask. The mask remains something that Ranboo has awoken with, died with, and can never remove. It does rob Ranboo of their humanity. Showfall doesn’t see him as human— and neither does the viewer. What robs Ranboo of their humanity is the facade. The mask is the brand. To the viewer, it is the most jarring part of his character. It is the most important part.

During Ranboo’s final death scene, the mask is cracked. We see a sliver of humanity escape as they plead for death. The mask stays on during the execution. Ranboo is killed with a box that completely covers their face. At this moment, there is no brand. There is no facade or authentic self. There is nothing anymore. Ranboo was only free in death. The viewer never saw their true face.

The biggest theme throughout “The Social Experiments” is the loss of autonomy the streamers experience. Ranboo is unable to make any decisions for himself and relies on the audience to make them for them. In “The Choice”, Ranboo defies the audience when selecting a code to input into a computer. Because of this defiance, Ranboo is no longer able to proceed. Hetch disappears. Ranboo was not in Hetch’s best interest, it was the viewers. The ‘fashion room’ in “The Mastermind of The Warehouse” is a literal closet. Ranboo watches Austin and Ethan put on dresses, heels, and wigs while he only put on a jacket to replace the one he already had. The audience, as well as society, is not interested in queer expression. Ranboo cannot express themselves in the way that they would like out of fear of how the viewers would react. 

During the cooking segment in “The Spirit of The Cabin”, the audience discovers that Ranboo cannot cook. This is a direct reference to the popularity of cooking streams on Twitch. In particular, how cooking streams done by people who don’t know how to cook are more popular than those done by chefs. Viewers tune in to watch streamers fail at something that should be easy. Even if a streamer can cook, they gain more viewers if they pretend that they cannot. To ensure that Showfall acquires the views they desire, they make sure that Ranboo is given ingredients that do not make logical sense. The audience is led to believe that he will fail.

Returning to the carousel in “The Mastermind of The Warehouse”, no matter how well the streamers play into the facade, they have no control over the outcome. They cannot decide for themselves whether or not they can move forward. Only the audience, and Ranboo, can decide the streamers’ fates.

In “The Spirit of The Cabin”, Sneegsnag is trapped in a cage. He is unbothered by the situation he finds himself in. He has been doing this much longer than Ranboo. He is stuck with a plastic skeleton named Frank— whom only Sneegsnag can understand. In a behind-the-scenes tweet, we see a document that shows that Frank is a now-deceased person. Sneegsnag likely knew him before he had passed. Frank’s passing was likely the choice of the viewers, as that has been the only permanent death shown. Sneegsnag, at this point, has likely accepted the loss of control.

In “The Mastermind of The Warehouse”, Ranboo is forced to cut Charlie open to retrieve a key. He is told he must to survive. Ranboo apologizes but complies. Charlie seems generally unbothered; this has likely happened to him before. There may be pressure on streamers to have an ‘every man for himself’ mentality. If your friend becomes the target of criticism, is it worth it to defend them? After all, if Ranboo didn’t cut Charlie open, they may not have been able to solve the Mouse Trap puzzle. If Ranboo hadn’t attempted to rescue Charlie in “The Choice”, he may have been able to escape. 

The consequences of the streamers trying to take their autonomy back are made clear. In “The Mastermind of The Warehouse”, Niki goes off script in an attempt to investigate the Candy Room. She is killed. When Ranboo later becomes aware of the realization that they are trapped on a show, the horror starts to set in. The viewer sees how desolate the sets are. How empty the mall is. How dangerous it is to question the system. They see the truth. Did they ever regret it? Is this life worth it?

Ultimately, Ranboo is pinned up and a decision is made clear. They could either live and be forced to continue to entertain the masses at their own expense, or he could die. Except, Ranboo can’t make that decision; only the audience can. Upon the realization that these are his only two options, Ranboo begs the audience to kill them. Is it a commentary on cancel culture? Is it a commentary on depression and suicidal ideation? Does it matter? Aren’t the results the same?

It’s easy to want to envy a popular streamer’s life. They have money, attention, and a lot of friends. It may feel like their lives are a dream— the ultimate goal in life. All you have to do is play a video game, cook, or have an interesting conversation with no one. Who wouldn’t want such an easy life? This is not true.

When the audience chose to kill Ranboo in the final scene of “The Social Experiments”, that was the end of the story for this version of Ranboo. In real life, it is not. Ranboo lives reality as if the audience had chosen to let him live. These themes prevail in real life. The horrors of the loss of autonomy, loss of childhood innocence, loss of control over your own identity, and capitalism are all real. 

What now for the viewer? Will they be kinder? Will they begin to remember the very real humans behind the screen? Or are they just as much wires as the Showfall employees? Is this even worth it? Are they thinking the ‘every man for himself’ mentality, too? How far does it go? Maybe there is no escape. When Ranboo was asked, “What is the scariest thing that could happen to you?”, they answered: “It already happened.”

[oomisluvr]

(more) domestic sakusa

ANOTHER WARM UP SORRY ITS BEEN SO LONG

i also love the concept of sakusa picking up the way the reader speaks against his will

embarrassment burns hot in kiyoomi’s veins, a soft blush dusting the apple of his cheeks and the tips of his ears at your praise.

“you look so handsome!” you coo, squishing his warm cheeks between your palms, “i’m really feeling this new look!”

“they’re just glasses,” he grumbles, averting your gaze, not used to do much attention, “all it means is i have bad eyesight.”

you shake your head, eyes beaming with such an intensity it makes his stomach flip, “you look hot!”

kiyoomi hadn’t expected this reaction when he told you his new prescription came in today. he sure hadn’t expected you to shove him on the couch, tear open the package, and force the black frames on his face; and he definitely hadn’t expected the flurry of kisses that came when he put them on.

but he’d be a liar if he said he didn’t like the attention.

“oh my god!” you squeal, “i have an idea!”

scrambling off the plush couch, you take a few steps away from him, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. when they open, you pout obnoxiously and throw an arm over your forehead.

“oh mister professor sir!” you sigh loudly, “i’m failing your class! isn’t there anything a poor maiden like me could do to make up the grade?”

“poor maiden? is this taking place in the victorian times?” he questions, amused.

you ignore him, and rightfully so, sauntering over to his place on the couch. the feeling of your body shifting on his lap nearly sends him spiraling, and he covers his face with his hands in response.

“oh, mister professor, please, sir! it’s the end of the semester!” you pry away his palms to be met with the beet red skin of his face, “i need this credit to graduate!”

a beat of silence falls between you two and you bite your lip in anticipation. kiyoomi smiles and shakes his head.

“i don’t give away grades,” it’s obvious how badly he wants to laugh, “you’ll have to do something to earn it.”

somewhat surprised that he responded, you snap into your role, “of course, sir! anything!”

“anything?”

“yes, anything!”

“anything anything?”

“i—“ you stifle a laugh, “—that’s what i just said, sir!”

“anything anything anyth—“

“YES, sir! ANYTHING!” you cut him off, smiling hard.

he pretends to consider it for a moment, “sorry, kid, you’re outta luck. i don’t give extra credit.”

“but sir!” his response catches you off guard, “i said i would do anything!”

“yeah—” he snorts, “—anything except your homework, apparently.”

“please, sir?” you run a heavy palm over his chest, arms linking behind his head. dipping down to the shell of his ear, you whisper, “there’s got to be something i could do for you.”

you hear the way his breath stutters in his lungs, fingers twitching at his sides.

you’ve got him right where you want him. you smirk triumphantly.

“office hours are every monday and friday from six—“

“kiyoomi!” you whine, pulling away. lightly hitting him on his bicep, your eyebrows cinch in a playful frustration, “you’re supposed to ask me to do something dirty.” you frown.

“fine,” the ends eyes of his eyes curl in the way they always do when he smiles, “go wash the dishes in the sink.”

you don’t dignify that with a response.

“alright, sorry,” he caves, “go wash the dishes in the sink. whore.”

heaving your weight off his lap, you drag your feet to the kitchen. kiyoomi finds this to be the funniest thing in the world, apparently. you hear his laughs from the other room.

“would you prefer if i called you ‘slut’ instead, my student?” he calls, loud enough that you hear him over the running water of the sink.

“fuck off!”

“let’s talk about how your first reaction to my glasses was a professor roleplay. what’s that about?”

sorry i’ve been so inactive!! but our move was successful so now living in the states :)) AND REGISTERED FOR MY CLASSES ON TIME HALLELUJAH

[missgeniality]

A Date With Destiny (m)

“Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves, alone - we find it with another.” - Thomas Merton

➺ Pairing: Jungkook x Female Reader

➺ Trope: Strangers to Lovers, Idol!AU

➺ Genre: Fluff, Smut, one comedian in the mix

➺ Rating: 18+

➺ Word Count: 11k

➺ Summary: You are a boss lady in the tech industry travelling to world for work. He is a chart-topping artist touring the globe to perform in front of millions of fans. In the cosmos of life, you are not likely to cross paths. Luckily, fate has a different plan for you two.

➺ Warnings: dom!jk, unprotected sex (sex is cleaner when you pack your weiner!), hickeys galore, lot of spit, oral (male and female receiving), balls receive attention, throat fucking, cum eating, edging, masturbation kinda?, cum play, pussy slapping, pussy sniffing, fingering, squirting, spanking, pain kink?, tit slapping, reader teases a bit but this man is a tease maestro, cum stuffing (is that a thing even?), Jungkook’s THIGHS need their own warning

➺ Author’s Note: @ppersonna​​ is an angel among us peasants. Thank you so much for all your help with this!   This is my first attempt at writing, and the tiniest feedback goes a long way! Hope you enjoy! 

When you die, the first pit stop you make is to the coffee gods. 

Without coffee, this whole month would have been a disaster. Back-to-back meetings, daily flights, countless documents being read, it’s a miracle your eyes are open and fully functioning. 

Being the Chief Technical Officer of a well-established company at your age had been anything but a cakewalk. You had strived hard and crossed many boulders to come to where you are. But if reaching that point required huge amounts of effort, now your work is tenfold. 

“Why can’t I just get longer flights so I can nap in them?” You mumble into your nth cup of coffee - not keeping count is for your own sanity. 

“Because longer flights apparently have crying children. You, our resident baby-magnet hypothesized that shorter flights equal more time in hotel rooms ‘sleeping’. Guess who sleeps in said hotel rooms? Everyone but you.” Your personal assistant and part-time truth-spouter Jake offers helpfully. 

“Past me was such an idiot.” You shoot back, wondering if you could inject the espresso right through your veins.

Jake pouts. “Woman, you take on jobs that an intern could do. If you weren’t such an unnecessary perfectionist I would be on the beaches of Thailand, getting sensual massages and eating some pretty pussy. But here we are, on our way to Seoul. So quit your whining because clearly, I have lost more.” 

“What if I wanted to do that too?”

“Can I watch?” 

“Right.” And that was the end of the conversation. 

Passengers on flight KE654 from Bangkok to Seoul are requested to report for boarding at Gate 45A. First Class passengers will be boarded first, followed by Business class and lastly Economy. Please keep your boarding pass ready for checking.

Jake stands up, groaning. “This is where we say goodbye. Do you wanna pretend like we’re strangers and have a hot one-night stand when we land?” 

“Sometimes I think it’s your natural response to flirt with a breathing being. Do you ever accidentally just, you know, flirt with a tree?” You try to sound sarcastic, but you’re genuinely curious. 

“If a day comes when a hot specimen like me has to flirt with a tree, humanity is doomed. Catch ya later!” He blows you a kiss before leaving for the restroom. You shake your head in awe, a small smile finding your lips. He knew how to get your mind off things.

For all his flirting, Jake’s interest in you is perfunctory. He looks after you, keeps you from starving or gouging your eyeballs out, and calms you when things are too hard. He’s seen your worst. You’ve seen him drunk out of his mind, bailed him out when he “accidentally” smoked up, and heard every new pick-up line his ingenious brain churned out. Basically, you’ve seen his worst as well. 

You take a look at your boarding pass. 3C. Jake would be in business class, and you in first. Not your choice, the company makes the rules. It's for the better, he says. Apparently, he can ‘prowl for his hunt better’, without your judgmental glare. You nearly vomit on him just for his choice of words.

Entering the flight, you stash away your hand baggage the first place you find the room and head to your seat and-

Holy. Shit.

Jeon Jungkook is sitting on your seat.

Jeon Jungkook is on your flight? 

BTS is on your flight? 

What are the odds?

Granted, you’re not a 16-year old obsessive fan, collecting photocards and waving light sticks through the screen, but even in your adulthood you’ve admired their music and shows, routinely keeping up with their discography. 

Hell, you even learned Korean years ago to better understand their songs. Maybe you are an obsessive fan.

But you can’t approach them like that. They no doubt want some privacy and not be recognized. God forbid you approach Jungkook with crazy eyes, just to be escorted off the plane for stalking. While you liked their work, you had your own, and getting thrown off this flight does not help you there.

So, you’re just gonna have to speak to him like just another passenger. 

BTS who? 

Biggest boyband who? 

You only listen to Frank Sinatra. 

“Excuse me?” You call out, a shiver of a whisper leaving your lips. You immediately chastise yourself for being so star-struck.

Big, round eyes glitter under the bucket hat. The softest ‘huh’ throws a lasso over your heart, and holds it captive. He adjusts his hat, inked fingers making a brief yet lasting appearance. The epitome of tenderness, you muse as his eyes flit here and there to figure out the situation. After finding no one to help him out, he gently offers “Yes?”

You feel extremely guilty for marring his serene face with creases of trouble. “I think this is my seat. See, 3C.” you say, pointing to the seat and then to your ticket for good measure. Did he suspect you recognize them? No. Do you look like you’re over-gesticulating? Totally. 

“Oh.” His brow distresses further, the sight has you ready to give the man your seat and hide in the bathroom for the rest of the flight. “But even I am 3C.”

His ticket shows the same characters as yours. 

Huh?

With both your faces contorted in confusion, an air hostess comes forward to help. 

“We both are booked on the same seat. How does that happen? Do I need to catch another flight?” You suddenly pour out, remembering the countless commitments you have in Seoul that would go down the drain if you don’t make it by tonight.

She's quick to reassure you. “Do not worry ma’am, I’m sure there must have been an error in the printing. I’ll be right back.” At the same time, Jungkook is approached by someone, probably one of their staff, to discuss the issue.

The air hostess returns smiling. “Ma’am, you both were booked on the same seat but this adjacent seat was left empty. We are extremely sorry for the error. You may take 3B.” She reiterates the same message to Jungkook in Korean, who then looks mighty relieved. 

Goddamn, his eyes got bigger. How much bigger can they get?

“All okay then?” He glances sideways, smile irradiating your senses and waking you up better than all the coffee could. 

“All good. Sorry for the trouble.” You add, even though it isn’t your mistake in any way.

“No no. No trouble” He beams back. 

Aw, you are in trouble. 

As the flight is about to take off, you can see the rest of BTS in the rows ahead of you, with some other staff members taking up other seats. There’s one old man with a scowl on his face, whom you can’t place with the BigHit group. Great, no crying kids. Unless the frowning grandpa snores to the heavens, you can actually catch a good four-hour snooze. Take that, Jake. Hope a kid blows snot in his face. 

Looking at your neighbor, you find him busy searching for a good video game on the screen. The other members seem to be using this flight to catch a nap, except him. You always wondered whether their on-screen persona was real or not. Now you could say at least one of his characteristics is true. 

Turning away, you bring your focus back to the document at hand. The schematics for a new product your company was launching. You had spearheaded its conception and looked over every single detail in its manufacturing. The Seoul branch is one of the main players in its production, and your last stop before heading back home. You must have every word in this file burnt in the back of your eyelids to make this deal smooth. 

Reclining your seat, and putting your legs up, you got down to business.

An Angel was calling you. 

You want to wake up, but you couldn’t, fearing the Angel would stop singing to you. Something is poking you, but the voice just drowns it all out.

Wait...

Fluttering your eyes open, you see Jeon Jungkook staring right at you. 

“Hi... They, umm--Food? Want to eat?” the Angel utters. Jungkook utters. Tomato, to-mah-to. 

“Oh!” you exclaim, wiping non-existent drool on your face. His palm on your shoulder quickly retracts at your exaggerated attempt to hide your embarrassment. “Thank you so much.”

Then, he does that thing. He smiles. Eye scrunch and all. 

Fuck the coffee gods. When you die, you want to meet the Grand Master and ask him what crack he was on to hand over so much power to one man’s smile. 

The food is placed on your table, and you thank the hostess graciously. 

“Do you need anything to drink?” She asks, to which you only shake your head. There was enough caffeine in your system to shoot a horse to the moon and you were still drowsy. There was no need to catalyze this process with booze.  

“Your Korean accent is pretty good.” Your next-seat resident comments. Ah, you had conversed with the hostess in Korean. 

“Thank you very much.” You giggle, roleplaying an acne-prone teenager talking to her hunk of a crush.

“Have you been speaking for a long time?” He pops a huge morsel of food after asking. Well, that’s another on-screen quality found to be accurate.

“Six years now. Comes in handy for my work.” 

“Oh! Did you have to learn it for work? That’s fascinating.” Another mouthful went in. You didn’t even know it was physically possible to hold that much rice using chopsticks.

“Uhh.. no..” You tussle your hair, trying to stop your cheeks from turning beet red, “I just listened to some music and consuming more content.. and subtitles are a bore, plus I needed a hobby at the time so..” 

Your unnecessarily long explanation was cut short by Jungkook’s child-like laugh, enjoying the pickle you were putting yourself in. 

“Hey! I just didn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable situation, that’s all.” you try to be cross, knowing it’s inconceivable since God himself seems to have given him whatever he wanted. If big ol’ Almighty can’t stand against his charms, you are but a mere pleb. 

He looks at you kindly. “Thank you, that was very thoughtful. I’ve been speaking to so many foreigners trying to get across to them I got surprised when you spoke so fluently.” 

He went back to chomping on his food like it was his last meal, completely unaware of your staring.  

You both speak for a long time. He explains their latest shoot and fan meeting, and you listen to him pour out his love for his job and fans as much as he could articulate. The rest of the emotion is portrayed by his now widest eyeballs (they cannot get any wider, you confirm by asking him - a request he apparently gets a lot) and intense gesticulation. It is very gratifying to listen to his past schedules, and you slip in a quick prayer for not having a job where you had to maintain public appearances while having a schedule as persevering as theirs. Sure, you had a ton of commitments. But can you throw your hair in a bun and aggressively scowl at a monitor and still meet your target? Fuck yeah.

You went on to tell him about yourself - your job, your travels, the reason you were in Seoul. He listens to them with rapt attention throwing in appropriate questions without interrupting your flow. He gives the right amount of sympathy; just enough to show that he understands why you have three sets of nightwear and a futon in your office, but not too much where it seems like you should “take a break” and “think about the joys of motherhood” - as you are often told. 

During the conversation, you digress a little to take in his slight features. The apple of his cheeks, in full display, when he tells you about how he pranked his members. The light pout of his lips when he talks about the times their path seemed too far-fetched, when every single obstacle felt like the end of their career. The stars in his eyes when he speaks of how he feels during tours, meeting the endless number of fans, the drive that keeps him going. They all make an endearing package. Eager to please, you kept the conversation going with gusto. The meal is followed by a snack break, after which you had effectively exhausted all conversation topics that could be brought up with near-strangers.

A quick alcohol break later, (yes, you caved, the catalyst was welcome) you both doze off, seemingly exhausted from recollecting respective timetables. He wakes up soon after to play video games and talk to the other members. But you fall into a deep slumber, with an Angel’s chuckles in the background guiding you through the sleep. 

Jungkook wakes up to see his character dead. The video game was forgotten after his conversation with you began. 

He spent an inordinate amount of time talking to you. And now that you’re asleep, he is only thinking about how much he enjoyed the conversation. Jungkook is not a speaker. His introversion leaves much to be desired in that department. Most of the time, his members cover for him, play the role of dutiful wingmen, and introduce him to their friends. And still, it took him a long time to talk freely.

But something about you made him open up.

Maybe it was the way you listened to him, lips slightly parted when you were absorbing every single word he let out. Maybe it was the questions you asked, treading lightly and skirting any personal questions. Maybe it was the fact that you pretended to not know him at first, mindful of his privacy. The butterflies in him could be explained by this.

But.

It could also be how graceful you looked, even though you’re dressed in sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. It could be how you carried yourself, with great elegance and poise, even though your work was taxing. It could also be your toe socks, and your glee when he showed you his.

Your personality is infectious. He already misses you, despite you being inches away, desperately wants to exhaust every second of this journey engrossed in you. 

He wonders if you feel that way too.

Speaking of whom-

A snicker escapes his lips when he turns to face you. 

In your sleepy haze, Jungkook sees that a) your mouth is wide open, b) your hands mindlessly fiddle with the reams of pages on your lap, and c) your eyes scrunch as sunlight pierces through the flight to bounce off your face. Cute, he muses, trying to locate the source of the criminal rays irking you. 

The window letting the sunbeam in is beside an old man sitting on the other end. He is eyeing the magazine in his hands with abject disapproval, like the booklet had sullied him and his family. 

Gathering up the courage, Jungkook calls out for the man.

“Excuse me, sir. Do you mind pulling the window shade?” He asks, in the sweetest voice that his hyungs would melt at first listen. 

Puppy eyes are met with the geezer’s piercing glare, making Jungkook wonder if he accidentally said something strikingly offensive instead of what he thought he said. About to backtrack his words and try again, he gets interrupted by the man letting out a big grunt, after which he continues in his endeavor to telepathically set fire to the magazine. He does not forget to give a nasty side-eye but completely refuses to comply with Jungkook’s request. 

“And my team thinks my glares are spooky.” You pique, having witnessed the whole interaction, “I ought to have him on board”. Jungkook snorts, and you take that to be his agreement. 

Pausing, you throw caution in the wind and add, “Thank you though, that was very sweet of you.”

He eyes you demurely. “No problem, you looked like you needed the rest.” 

“Listen, I-”

“So I was think-”

Ladies and gentlemen, we have just been cleared to land at the Incheon International airport. Please ensure your backpacks and suitcases are stowed away in the overhead compartments or underneath the seats ahead of you. The flight attendants are currently passing around the cabin to make a final compliance check and pick up any remaining cups and glasses. Thank you.

High-quality curses almost make it to heaven (speakers). The announcement dissipates all the courage you had mustered, feeling a rush exit your body. You had almost asked for his contact - and by the looks of it, he had wanted it too. Or maybe your hair is a rat's nest and he was just going to point that out. Guess you will never know.

You shyly smile at each other before going about following the instructions. Your half-read document gets stuffed back into its bag, to be read once you have no distractions in the form of eye candy armed with saccharine speech. Well, you have Jake to distract you plenty, but you can shoo him away by threatening his paycheck. 

As the flight descends, you look over to your neighbor - one last time, you guess - and surprisingly lock eyes with him. Anything that had exited you comes rushing back, veins in full alertness. A moment’s awkwardness later you both burst out laughing, each doing their best to hide their crimson cheeks. You find one more online fact to be true - Jungkook’s peak happiness laughter, eye crinkle and nose scrunch, can melt your whole entire heart. 

“Hey mami, come here often?”

“For the last time Jake, I will not hesitate to donate your bones for science.”

“Well, I heard bone, it's already a win for me.”

You let out a sigh of exasperation. There is no reforming him. 

“How was the flight?” Jake questions as you approach the baggage belt. Looking out for your somber black suitcase, you try to play it off like you did not spend the whole time in the company of a stranger who is on the fast track to your heart.

“The usual. Sleep, eat, read needlessly printed out documents that could have been shoved into on email, repeat. What about you?”

As Jake starts an account of his flight experience in exorbitant detail, you took the opportunity to try and find your ride. Once you locate it and get in, you catch the end of his sermon. 

“-and the name of the book will be ‘How to manage a farm - ‘cause chicks gon’ be crazy!’. What do you think?”

“I think it was a good idea I chose to zone out.”

“Y/N come on! It’s a self-help book for poor souls born without my raw charisma. Men and women out there want me, but I can’t satisfy them all. I will just resort to making more of me! It will have pointers, DIY’s and pick-up lines crafted by yours truly - wanna hear one?”

You throw your bag in front and turn to him. “Do I have a choice? Go ahead.”

Grinning like a Cheshire cat, he starts. “Am I cute? Squish my cheeks. Am I hot? Clap my cheeks.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Points for creativity. You’ll still get wine splashed at you.”

Jake was not one to give up. “‘It’s good we don’t need eye condoms, or you’d be on your way to delivery.’”

“Just… don’t have kids, okay? This gene must be stopped, right here.”

“Okay, this one is my all-time favorite. ‘Rack so big, I don’t motorboat, I motorship.’”

That’s it. The guffaw itching you since the start of this conversation is out of its cages, populating the air in the car. Wiping stray tears from your face, you face Jake, seeming very pleased with himself. Undoubtedly, he is coming up with absurd scenarios to ease your nerves. No book is in the works (one could only hope).

“Thank you, I feel much better now. You can stop coming up with these.”

The goof has the gall to look appalled. “I was going to cut you ten percent of my book commission but I guess that’s out. Hmph.”

“I’m at the receiving end of all these pick-up lines. I should make twenty at least for all the nuisance I’ve put up with.” 

“All right mami, we’ll shelve this for later. Here’s the schedule for today. You have a 10 a.m. breakfast meeting with Dr. Park Shin Young, Lead Research Scientist of the project. Then you have a bunch of seminars to attend, which will go on all afternoon. There’s a bar right beside this venue.”

“How is that pertinent?”

“So you know where to find me.” He continues, unperturbed. “After which there’s an evening meeting with the whole team to demonstrate the product and a marketing meeting right after.”

“Am I required for the marketing meeting?” Your expertise is limited to the technical field. PR work isn’t your cup of tea, but they stubbornly demand your presence. 

Jake exhales. “We’ve been through this. You CAN doze off during the meeting, but you have to be there. Just pretend you’re a college student, sitting in one class, completing assignments for another.”

“But if I’m there I feel the need to pay attention.” you whine.

“Clearly you weren’t one of those college students,” Jake says, perusing through his diary, “Stop being a pedant and do one of those things people do. Loving their jobs and whatnot.”

Before you can retort a reply, the driver pulls up to your destination and you exit the car. 

Eleven at night is when you finally check in to the hotel. The tedious day warrants your heels coming off before you even reach your floor. There’s an irritant drumming, from the balls of your feet right up to your temples, that beg for your attention. Setting your footwear on your bags, you massage your feet for temporary relief as the lift took you closer to a more permanent one.

Once your suitcase gets parked in the closet, you head to the bathroom to soak your day away with the bath bomb kit you were gifted in one of the seminars. The ball fizzles as soon as it hits the water, dispersing in tiny bubbles and a heady aroma of vanilla and lavender. The soft amber tones of the walls, the lambent gold lighting, and the ambrosial air put all your senses at ease. You sink in; the bathwater permeating warmth through your skin. Crackling bubbles with every move; the water teases your neck, soothing the laceration with every lick. Every pulse point on you is enhanced - you let yourself float wherever your mind takes you. 

A familiar face makes its presence known. You allow yourself to think about him, after pushing his visage away all day. Something about him… felt like home. Soothing, comforting, always speaking in dulcet tones unless something humorous pulled out a loud laugh. Even that wasn’t jarring; it was the exact opposite. Felt like sunshine filled your lungs every time he cracked up. Made you want to keep talking to him, keep him amused and entertained. You can’t imagine he converses with every stranger like that. 

But maybe he did; maybe this is some unspoken celebrity culture you were unaware of. 

All you know is that this was a once in a lifetime experience. There’s no way you are encountering another personage ever again. There’s no way you’re encountering him again. Luck can only thrive so far. 

So when you exit the bathroom, clad in a towel, remnant bathwater dripping from every end, the last thing you expect is Jungkook, spread out on the bed, casually flipping through his phone like it’s his own abode. 

“J-Jungkook?”

Y/N. In his room. In a towel. Dripping wet hair. Emanating a delectable aroma. 

Y/N. In person.

He is dreaming. He has to be. He's been thinking of you ever since the flight, so now he is delusional. Nothing else. There’s absolutely no chance that you’re in his room, let alone… like this. 

Right?

“What are you… what are you doing in my room?”

Wrong. 

Jungkook knows he should say something. He should not be gawking at you like he is doing now. But God. You look so pretty, eyebrows arched up in confusion, jaw about to be unhinged, hands fluttering around not knowing what to do. 

He forces his body to action.

"Y/N!" He exclaims, finally averting his eyes to face the wall. 

Pause.

"Wait, what do you mean MY room? This is my room!"

You’re baffled. "Huh? How is that possible? This was given to me!" 

“I really don’t know, Y/N, there must have been some confusion! Please, you have to believe me!” 

Jungkook wants to turn around and face you. He desperately wants to clear the air. He can see that this looks bad. He obviously looks like an enamored creep, waltzing into your space. You probably think he does this all the time. Many a time people have misunderstood him, his celebrity status not earning him many points. You must think the same.

And now you’re going to tell him to get out and never see you again, he hypothesizes. His brain is working overtime trying to remedy the situation, without noticing your now relaxing demeanor. 

“Oh, okay.”

“I’ll fix this, I’ll go to the reception and fix this. You don’t worry, I didn’t see anything, you can trust me, I’ll go an-”

“Hey, hey,” your tone gentle, “it’s okay, trust me. Just, let me get dressed and I’ll come down with you.”

Your soothing response almost has Jungkook on his knees. Whoever orchestrated this meet, he is just thankful for this good turn. Anyone else would go berserk, and rightfully so. 

But you’re not anyone else. 

He isn’t just anyone.  

Technically, he isn’t a stranger, you try to justify. You should have been more shocked, enraged, or at least doubtful of his intentions. But you weren’t. You had accepted his explanation, let him stay in your room while you changed in the bathroom, and now are en-route to the main desk to rectify this error.

The air around you two is strained; he won’t even look you in the eye. Any question you have is replied to concisely, leaving no room for a chat. Nothing to disperse the tension between you two. 

Like now, in the elevator, Jungkook has done the math and maintains the maximum distance between you. Opposite ends of the diagonal of this lift, his peripheral vision probably barely picks you up. However, his evasion helps in a way--you are able to study his full form.

He is dressed casually, and any lesser man would have seemed casual enough. On him, it is a whole new game. Ripped jeans hugging his sturdy legs, the slashed fabric allowing you a peek of his dangerous thighs. A plain white t-shirt tucked in to show off his lean waistline. The only thing holding you back from having a full-blown wet dream, wide awake, is his chestnut overcoat, saving his modesty and yours. 

Jake was right, eye condoms are the need of the century. 

To be fair, Jungkook had the worse end. He saw you scantily clad, post-bath glow and everything. You wonder what is going through his mind. 

Definitely nothing like the debauchery unfolding in yours. 

He has probably seen his fair share of women, and one hot to trot lady isn’t anything new. If anything, him dodging you is a sign of his civility, something you are lacking apparently--ready to jump his bones.

Stop thinking about his thighs, you whore. Get back home and trusty old Vlad the Impaler will take care of you.

The employee’s jaw almost hits the desk as Jungkook explains the situation. 

“Ma’am, Sir, we are extremely sorry about this confusion. We usually keep another key for family members, but somehow you got them both. We are deeply apologetic.”

“Yes, it’s okay, I’d just like my room key now and-”

“We will give you the best of our service to make up for this disorder. Not that we didn’t plan on giving you the best anyway, but now it will be top-notch! Please allow us to have your room cleaned again ma’am. Kyuyoung-ah! Get the people to prep 5338 and set 5337 again, and add more flowers!”

“Hey, that really won’t be necessary, we can just go back and forget about all thi-”

“And!” She continues, relentless, fully intent on doing her job, “Here are coupons for our round the clock pub! The ambiance is phenomenal, and our bartender makes a mean drink! You can use the facility for free during your stay. Hope this compensates for our gaffe. Once again, we are extremely sorry!”

She extends two passport-sized coupons that you hurriedly grab, wanting this quandary to end. 

The walk back to the elevator is less tight-lipped, only because Jungkook starts his deluge of apologies. Even though you had felt the same way on the flight, he was going overboard. You quickly assuage him and deflect his concerns.

“It’s okay, Jungkook. It really is. I know it was a mistake.”

“I know, but I shouldn’t have just walked in like that. I should have checked.”

Your expression is the visual form of a question mark. 

“Do you go around making sure your hotel room doesn’t have a surprise occupant?”

You’re taking this too lightly; it's obvious you are doing it for him. He can only laugh, broad delicious shoulders loosening in relief.

After a delay, you add, “You can’t help it if fate wants us crossing paths like this.” 

The quip makes Jungkook lose a beat. He cocks a brow in surprise - at that juncture, his features lose all boyish charm and turn unquestionably irresistible. 

Then, in a flash, the expression is replaced by his usual grin, back to his boy-next-door spirit. Are there world records for this speed? Jungkook needs to sign up to one.

Collecting the stars floating around your head, you return the favor, thankful that the barrier is now broken. 

After a quick break of courage gathering, you turn to him. “How come you’re staying in this hotel? Thought you’d be home.”

A thought is building in your mind; that this is too personal a question. But before you can take it back, you hear a chime. Jungkook moves. And somehow, you are moving with him. 

The elevator door opens, and people walk out. 

But that’s not where your attention is. 

You are focused on the sole patch of your body in contact with Jungkook’s arm. 

The palm of his hand sitting at the small of your waist is what had guided you away from the elevator. Even through the fabric of your t-shirt, his hand is sending goosebumps all over your body. The air feels twenty degrees too hot for you.

Jungkook is simply being his chivalrous self, while you are ready to get arrested for public nudity.

Woman, you are a disgrace. Get laid.

Jungkook will high five himself once he gets to his pad. 

Is it right to get so euphoric about the smallest act of intimacy? That too with a near stranger? He has no answer. You are special to him; that much he knows. And someone up there agrees with him as well, letting him run into you again (albeit under crude circumstances; he’ll take what he gets). In this proximity, he can hear the slight gasp that escapes you once you recognize his hold, feel your muscles tense, smell the flowery fragrance you still carry. The fragrance that takes his mind on a rewind routine; one he forces to a halt. He feels lewd for taking pleasure in that misfortune, but he can take pleasure in the present. 

Entering the elevator, Jungkook has taken note of one thing: the roles have been reversed. On the downward voyage, it had been him avoiding you. Now, even with the closeness, you refuse to meet his eye. Something on the carpeted floor has your unrelenting attention. Letting his gaze dip to you, he bit back a smirk. Good to know you are as affected by him as he is by you.

“It’s a shoot.” 

You relent, looking up to him. “Huh?”

“You asked me why I’m here, it’s a shoot. The site is close by, so we don’t waste time traveling. Once the shoot is done, we will get back home.”

“Ah, that makes sense.” 

You beg your grey matter to find some topic of conversation to halt the blood rushing to your cheeks. The atmosphere is frozen again, but not like last time. Any unease earlier present has drifted. The tension that once kept you from closeness now keeps you from moving apart. His hand sits unmoved, continuing to rest on your hip. Jungkook can hear the loud thudding of a heartbeat, but he cannot discern whether they are from his heart or from yours.

Continuing after a pause, “I will be here for a few days now.” he adds, the suggestive hint of the words masked by his innocuous smile. 

“Ah.” You lamely add. You ought to kick yourself - but at this closeness, you might hit him too. 

The span of your separation is contracting, even though none of you move. Like the land underneath you is shifting, because even Mother Earth can’t handle the sexual tension in this confined space. 

“Ma’am, Sir, you’re here!” 

The booming voice of an employee disrupts the scene. You jump, wondering how you didn’t hear the door open, while Jungkook takes a graceful step back unscathed. 

“Your rooms are ready, please follow me.”

The walk back is quiet, except for bashfully exchanged glances and racing pulses. When you finally reach your respective rooms, he speaks again. 

“Want to accidentally cross paths with me at the bar?”

The heat reaches your ears. A moment of silence prompts you to look up, and you are held hostage by his eyes. His gaze flickers, intense and probing. Then, as if it never happened, his eyes narrow and his smile softens, harmless and easy. Again, this has to be witchcraft.

“Maybe we’ll let destiny decide. Hasn’t failed us so far.” 

Now, alone in bed with nothing but your thoughts, you wonder when it will ever happen again.

Three days. Three days before it happens again.

Three days filled with conferences, a ton of files, and a lot of battery acid disguised as coffee. Apart from the success of your work, the highlight of your time is when Jake tried to fix his shoe heel at a meeting and ended up gluing his fingers together. In a quiet room filled with immersed employees, he had yelled, “Superglue, my ass!”. 

The punctuation was not vocalized. 

Tonight was your last night in Seoul. It was supposed to be a night to yourself, but an office party pulled you out of your cavern to get dressed. You put on an elegant dress, a black and silver number, only to find the ‘party’ was the most monotonous excuse of networking. High-end businessmen exchanging cards over non-alcoholic fizz was not your idea of a party, so you quickly excused yourself. 

The coupon still weighed heavy in your purse, carrying memoirs of the last time you saw him. You had wanted to go earlier, but always held yourself back. What if he wasn’t there? What if you missed your chance? Why did you have to sashay away with a cool statement that night instead of clawing your way through the lust-filled air and settling things then and there? 

You supposed a drink at the hotel bar on your last night couldn’t be a bad thing, even if Jungkook didn’t show up.

So here you are, sipping on your wine and trying to appear nonchalant as you look out the window overseeing the city’s skyline. One ear is trained to the door of the pub, the slightest peep from that corner alerting your antenna. 

So far, no sign of him. 

This won’t work, you tell yourself. Second time’s a charm, third time’s pushing it too far. 

But as you wave the bartender to top up your drink, the corner of your eye catches movement; one, two, three heads appear through the door. Signature multichromatic mops of hair make their way in, forcing your pulse to marathon mode. 

And then you hear it. 

You hear his trademark cachinnate echoing through the structure. Multitudes of contrasting sentiments fill your gut. Are you sensing relief, that fate served its purpose without fail? Or is it the anticipation of how events will unfold? A sense of titillation, that a three-day old bond makes you feel more than year-old relationships you’ve had? You pry your eyes from that direction, trying to appear aloof when you are anything but. 

When you think you’ve gathered your composure, you look up. Like a hare falling for its bait, you are trapped, because he is looking right back at you.

Jin and Jimin are laughing about something that happened on set today, but Jungkook only has eyes for you. He can’t believe his luck. 

The past few days, his schedule had no give. After every shoot, the only thing he remembered was taking off his shoes and falling into a deep slumber.

So today when the shoot wrapped up earlier, Jungkook grabbed his trusty wingmen and open bar enthusiasts to utilize his coupon, and possibly test his kismet.

“Wasn’t she on our flight?” Jin observes, tracking Jungkook’s sight. 

“Oh yeah! Dude, is she the one?” Jimin keenly notes. “How do you keep bumping into each other like this?”

Jungkook downs his whisky, the burn felt from the throat to his diaphragm. “I don’t know, hyung. I don’t know what to do.” Beckoning the bartender for a refill, he tears away from your sight. 

 “Okay, liquid fortification is all good but how about,” Jin stops briefly to pluck the coupon out of Jungkook’s hands, “we handle the drinks department while you attend to her?”

Jimin nods in assent. “The worst thing you could do is spend time with her slurring and garbling while she ditches your sorry ass.”

“Hey! I won’t do that. Just, ” Jungkook gulps, “I don’t know... We’ve met like, hardly a few times. It really doesn’t make sense. What if we’re not on the same page?”

Jimin frowns, and even Jin seems unhappy with his reasoning.

“Things don’t have to make sense. You’re two consenting adults. You like her. By the way she’s eyeing you right now, I’m sure the feeling is mutual. You said it’s easy to talk to her right?”

Jungkook pouts, but sees his point.

“Then go with that. Don’t chart out a plan, just go with your heart.” Jin adopts a soft smile of encouragement. 

“Meanwhile we will grab the others and exploit this coupon to the full extent!” Jimin gleefully appends.

Jungkook’s eyes crinkle as he laughs with the other two. They are right. Carpe diem, right?

Finding you again, his breath hitches. You look beautiful. The sleek black dress with silver embellishments over the torso. It hugs you in the right places, accentuating your already alluring frame. Your shoulders bare, elegant collarbones waiting to be tasted. Hair tied up, exposing the delicious curve of your neck, a stretch Jungkook wants to pepper kisses onto, without missing a spot. You look exquisite against the backdrop of the night.

Carpe noctem it is. 

“Did you really dress up to use the coupon?” The tongue-in-cheek query breaking your line of thought.

A breathy chuckle leaves your lips, hopefully masking the frenzy in your heart. 

“I had a party. A very dull party. Figured I preferred my own company over that.” 

“Do you prefer your own company over mine?”

He’s still standing, tall frame waiting for your permission to occupy the next seat. God, he looks amazing.

“Not at all.” The words leave huskier than you intend, but they convey the message.

He takes the seat, a mere step away, his cologne wafting over to your side. The alcohol buzz makes the scent feel stronger, every bone in you wanting to dive in nose-first. 

Apparently you have been staring, because he nervously chuckles “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Should you go the modest route or fuck it?

Fuck it.

“You look... great today,” is all you get out. Stupid brain spewing half-baked goods.

Understatement of the year. He looks like sin incarnate. All black attire highlighting his golden skin, the dichotomy of his whole look has you understandably tongue-tied. Black jeans - no rips, sadly- with a dark grey high-neck t-shirt, tucked in of course, because pain is the only constant for you. A black trench coat is thrown on top to seal the look. The obsidian outfit sends desperate need through your body, an intense desire to rip it all off surging through you. Somehow, through all these layers you can sense his fit body, his rippled muscles, his sturdy pecs, like they have an aura of their own. 

“Ah, thank you. You look amazing as well.” Halting a moment to sip his drink, he resumes.  “Sucks that you dressed up for nothing.”

“Well, you liked it. So it's not for nothing.”

If looks were potent, Jungkook’s own could set you on fire. Gaze coolly raking over your figure, the tick in his jaw betrays his reaction. A chill passes through every part of your body under his intense scrutiny.

“Are there other things you would wear… if I liked it?” He carefully treads.

“There are certain things I’m wearing right now that I’m sure you would appreciate.” 

If not for the shrinking distance between you two, you couldn’t have caught the low hiss. His animalistic need, usually kept well under control, is raging against its bonds, screaming to let go. Your exquisite gown, flowing down your curves, accentuating the swell of your ass - God save this dress from his feral hands. Against his will, he restrains himself. He would make this a lasting encounter. 

“How many drinks have you had?” He needs you to remember every single moment.

“Two glasses of wine, don’t worry. You?” 

“A shot of whisky, that’s all. Haven’t even finished my second drink.”

Gone were his cherubic appearance and dimpled smiles; the man in front of you is oozing pure sex appeal. His clenched jawline, furrowed brow, and perfectly placed tresses add to his raw masculinity. The cusp of your thighs is damp; if this is his effect here, what will it be behind locked doors? You wonder whether this is the same man that gushed about old-era video games in the flight. 

“Well, if you are wearing them for me, I’d be a fool to miss them.” he brings you back to the present. Twinkling eyes match your eager ones as you give a small nod.

Every step you take shoots a thrilling tingle through your spine. Every inch of distance closed forces you to close the next with doubled speed. Every foot forward adds to the thick air, laced with hunger, desire, and an inordinate amount of trust placed in the hands of a stranger. 

The first time you two walked back to the elevator, his move had caught you unaware. 

Now, the arm wraps around your entire waist, body flush against his, yet you yearn to get closer. 

Last time, you couldn’t match his gaze, skin burnt a crimson hue. 

Now, your eyes are locked together, any movement in your surroundings be damned.

Michael Jackson rising from the dead and performing Thriller wouldn’t tear you away from your current view (sorry MJ, maybe next time).

When the doors close, he places a palm on your bare back, bringing you to his chest.

“I’ve wanted this so bad, ever since I met you. It’s insane.”

The hand caressing your back makes you sigh. “Not if I wanted the same.”

His grip tightens. “The things I want to do to you...” eyes searching yours, ”tell me you can handle it.”

“Oh baby,” you drawl, “I’ll do whatever you want. Whatever it is,” your lips hover on his, “I can take it.”

The elevator doors opened too soon for your liking, and Jungkook drags you through the corridor. You’re practically hanging on to him, feet barely responsive, the faint buzz of wine making you giddy. His hawkish gaze soaks in everything you do, memorizing every response to his touch. 

You lean over to lay wet kisses on his neck. Pleasure searing through his veins, Jungkook’s knees almost buckle. He pushes you against a wall and locks you in with his form.

“Uh-uh-uh, honey,” he tsks, “you’re not making this easy on me?”

You pretend to ponder. “Well, I didn’t plan on making it easy.”

He smirks, all sex, and the wetness between your legs is making its presence known. Leaning into your ear, he whispers, “Unless you want me to have my way with you right here…” and all your brattiness dissipates. 

Satisfied, he grins. “Your place or mine?” 

“Hmmn, depends.”

He cocks a brow. “On?”

“Am I gonna be able to walk tomorrow?”

That damned smirk. “Your place it is.”

Jungkook’s lips are on yours the moment your door is locked. He cages you against its frame, teeth clashing and biting anything they find. You let your hands roam all over, searching for something to hold on to. A throaty sound leaves Jungkook when your digits card through his hair and tug on it, a sound you gladly swallow.

Time seems to have taken a break. Your thoughts are blank. You chase the kiss like it's the only thing you know, the only thing you’re born to do, your sole mission in life before you die. The bruising pace Jungkook set is eagerly matched by you. Gravity is slowly losing its meaning, and you’re nothing but a stray entity floating in space. And this kiss is your only source of air. 

Jungkook pulls you towards him, closing the nonexistent distance between you. Heat rises from his chest, the feeling is hypnotic beyond reason. A taste of you has ruined every other flavor. He kept his eyes half-open, sneaking peeks at your flushed face whenever you come for air. His fingers explored your body, grabbing your ass and pulling you into him. Your clothed crevice jolts at the friction, hips hounding for more.

The moan that leaves you gets muted, because Jungkook takes this opportunity to take control. Tongue forcing its way in to explore every corner of your mouth, it melds with your own muscle. If this were a dance, it would be a fierce tango, oozing with sexual tension. Breathing is now trivial, this kiss is imperative. 

Jungkook’s hands grab your hips and twirl you, both of you now facing a full-length mirror. You can witness your neckline being abused, mulberry blossoms left in place. The sight has your sex clenching, and lips liberated, you couldn’t stop yourself from mewling.

“Fuck, Y/N. I’m going to make you scream so loud, the hotel reception will hear you.”

With your head spinning in lust, you try to form your words right. “An- And what? Discuss how a second room for you was - oh god - was useless?” 

Jungkook pauses to admire his craft; your neck, shoulders, and collar are now littered with bruises, like a garden of hyacinth at his disposal. The view is maddening, your lusty gaze locked on to him in the mirror. His mane is tousled, no doubt your handiwork, and his hand is tracing the outline of your dress. 

“That cursed day,” He chokes out, “You were so fucking hard to resist you know?”

You turn back to face him, hand reaching back to undo your halter neck, “You have me now.” Stepping back, you let your gown fall.

He froze. You are standing in front of him, robed in only your black lace-embroidered strapless bra, and matching panties, each adorned with a white bow. The swell of your breasts barely caged in the cups, making Jungkook drool at sight. All the wind was knocked out of his lungs; you look like a prisoner’s last meal, waiting to be devoured. 

“On your knees.” he commands.  

Not a second is put to waste. You begin undressing him, unbuckling the pants and aggressively pulling them down. Next come the boxers, and you are faced with-

Wow.

You mean this in the nicest way, but, what a dick.

He is already hard, the mushroomed tip angry and red, leaking a drop of precum begging to be tasted. The girth exceeds your expectation, already visualizing the delicious visual of your cunt stretched thin. He is going to reach places even Vlad the Impaler couldn’t; you are already brimming with anticipation for the final act.

And his thighs. Nothing angelic about them. Taut. Muscular. Sinewy. Something uncivilized in you wants them to trap your frame between them, caging you, pinning you down. You press kisses on his inner thigh, letting your tongue poke out when you hear him exhale. A sharp bite shocks Jungkook, but you only smirk.

“Wanted to do that since I saw you.” 

The stare that meets you is practically challenging you to try that again, and perhaps reap some delicious consequences.

You bring yourself back, giving his cock the full attention that it deserves. Looking up, you see his half-lidded eyes, assertive and arresting, compelling you to go on. 

You bring your palm up to him. He raised a brow in question.

“Spit for me.”

Jungkook almost busts his load when he hears you. “Fuck, so dirty.” he garbles out. Rolling his neck in an attempt to divert his blood, he takes your hand and drops a thick glob at the center of your palm. 

A throaty moan arises from you, and his dick is harder than ever.

“Go on baby, show me you can suck dick like a champ.”

You give him a confident look; you’re about to rock his world. Starting with small licks, you tease the slit and taste the pre-cum lodged in it. Meanwhile, you work the spit along the shaft; you spit on it again, the original amount insufficient to cover the length. You can feel his dick twitching against your attention, eager to be sheathed. Interspersing with some long drags on the underside, you zero in on the pinched skin under the head. 

Jungkook is staring at your jerking him off. The sight of you, clad in lingerie is blowing his mind. If that was not enough, the mirror in front is providing a sumptuous secondary perspective. The smooth stretch of your back, the swell of your ass, the panty fabric barely able to cover the expanse, everything on you is making him short circuit. Seeing you on your knees, your deferential nature stirs something in him. If he doesn’t control himself, he will bend you in half and ride you to sunrise. He doesn’t want to scare you, but fuck, his depraved early man instincts are telling him otherwise. 

“What are you- ohhh, holy shi-”

Instead of slipping his cock fully into your mouth, you hold it up, and pay careful attention to his balls. Jungkook’s hands come to rest on your head, a telltale sign of his unraveling. With a smile, you let your tongue swipe through every nook and corner till they are coated in saliva.

“You think you’re such a fucking tease, ” He grabs you by your now unraveled tresses and pulls you back, “Ease up baby, your throat is in for a treat.”

In one quick swoop, he lodges himself at the base of your throat, provoking your gag reflex, but you restrain the urge to pull back. Breathing through your nose, you suck and swallow whatever you can; his girth isn't giving you much to work with.

Jungkook growls. “Such a tight fit. Like you’re meant to be like this. Forever.”

The last word slips out unwittingly. 

Alarmed, his eyes flit down to gauge your response, but all you are doing is looking back at him. 

Fuck, your dovelike eyes are captivating. They look so angelic, a complete contrast to the perverse posture you are in. Not an ounce of displeasure in response to his words. Pure, unadulterated affection for him. Only for him. 

“God, you’re going to be the death of me.” Jungkook husks. “You’ll do anything for me, you said?”

Muffled whimpers impart your compliance, and you bob your head up and down for good measure. The tip of his cock hits every ridge of your throat, the vibration releasing more fluid down.

“Pleasure yourself, baby. Touch yourself, but don’t you cum.”

Your brow distresses further, a disgruntled whine leaving you and reverberating around him. Already so turned on, the lightest friction would make you combust.

Jungkook’s teeth clench. “Edge yourself for me, sweetie.” 

It's like your body is tuned to his command. Slipping two fingers under the band, you part and slide them on either side of your throbbing nub. Despite you avoiding any pressure point that might push you over the edge, the pleasure threatens to tip you over. 

You look over for his approval. Swallowing, he nods. Your self-stimulation is making him dizzy. It's time to get serious.

“Such a good girl. Don’t stop, okay? I’m going to fuck your throat raw.” Starting with mellow jerks, “Hope you don’t have to speak anytime tomorrow.” he rasps.

The carpeted floor grazing your knees only adds to the revelry. You’re not in control of yourself anymore. The back of your gullet is aching as Jungkook shoves into you again and again. An amalgamation of his salty juices and your dribble lewdly coats your chin and neck; you must look ravished. Everything with Jungkook feels augmented; every single motion of his making your sex clench. 

He is close - you can feel his grip on your hair tightening. 

“Can I cum on you?” words slither through his clamped teeth. You frantically nod. 

With a loud grunt, he pulls you off and releases all over your chest, a stray pump landing on your chin. Thick liquid, dripping from your jaw onto your collarbones and breasts, the whole scene is filthy good. Your unfilled cunt is aching to be replete with the cum. 

Post-orgasmic glow is dazzling on him--hair drenched in sweat, tufts sticking to his forehead. His breathing is heavy and resonant as dilated pupils take in your soaked state. Bending down, he crooks a finger under your chin, anchoring his attention on your dewy stare. The onyx embers in his eyes bore into yours, studying for any hesitation in them. A microscopic moment of tenderness, unspoken words exchange between you. 

Satisfied to find only searing hunger, his digits collect the beads of cum on your jaw, pushing them back into your mouth. Your eyes roll skyward, relishing the briny taste, nearly asking him to do it again. Leaning further, he grabs the wrist of your hand that is thoughtlessly rubbing your sex - you didn’t even realize you were still doing it. You feel drained, like you orgasmed vicariously through him. 

“My turn.” He wears a devilish expression on his archangel eyes.

Lips connect once again as he pulls you up. If he tastes himself, he is relishing it, with his tongue exploring the deep cavern. With wobbly ankles, you let him guide you to your bed, dropping on your back. He follows you, pouncing on you, plunging into your mouth again like a beast hungered. Bodies melting together like an icicle under the summer blaze, your hands hunt to frisk his skin. Realizing he is yet to undress, you yank at this t-shirt, attempting to liberate him from the offending fabric.

“Tsk, greedy.” he bit your ear, soothing the sting with a kiss. 

“Cruel is what it is.” You huff, like everything he’s doing is not a blissful affair. 

How do men do that? Violently ripping their shirt off and leaving a messy mop of hair in its wake, nevertheless looking like they could walk a runway the next instant. Jungkook was no exception. The moment he pulls his shirt off, you are rendered speechless.

Chiseled chest like the work of an artisan. Droplets of sweat race down the paths traced by the sculpted abs, an intense desire to taste them forming in you. He is a mesomorphic dream who puts Greek gods to shame. Swallowing, you let your hand trace the outline of his pecks, feeling him shudder against your touch.

“Jungkook, please.”

Who was he to deny you?

Leaning up to you with a wicked smirk, Jungkook drops a thick line of spit right on your hardened nipple. The concoction of his cum and spit soaks through the lacy material. A lone finger circles, avoiding the spot that requires the most attention. You arch your back, begging him for more, just more of anything. The wet fabric amplifies the emptiness in your cunt. 

“Aww,” he coos, clearly amused by your neediness, “undo this for me, sweetness. Let me see you.”

Moving at lightning speed, you unhook the bra, swinging it away to a corner of the room. 

“Oh no.” He mock-frowns, veins bulging on his arm as he controls himself. “Look at these tits, fuck.” Mind reeling with ideas, filthy ideas, of all the things he wants to do to you. “You’ve ruined everything else for me.”

You tremble. “Good, so have you. Want you for myself. Want you,” pulling him close, “to do your worst.” you end with a whisper.

Jungkook’s jaw tightens. “Careful what you ask for,” he grits before diving headfirst into your bosom. 

He licks and laves and bites and laps--your breasts are on fire. Continuing his marking spree, new blemishes make an appearance on your torso. Nibbling on one nipple, he pinches the other; pulling moan after moan from you. 

Your hips barely touch the bed, bucking up in response to Jungkook’s sinking teeth into your ample bust. He has decided to not leave an inch without his saliva, and like a man on a mission, covers every part with rapt attention. 

“Yo- You don’t have to--oh holy fuck--you don’t have to, cover me in marks you kno--ohh my go-” The sentence is spastic, piercing mewls breaking your flow of speech and thought. 

“These fucking tits,” roughly clasping your pert breast in his large palm, “they look so much better like this.” The proud smile he shows has not the slightest hint of regret. 

Catching a break, he twiddles your nipples, letting his other hand sit on your covered sex. He is teasing you; you recognize that. Just giving you opportunities to disobey, to take all the pain he has to offer.

It’s a good thing you like the pain.

You slowly roll your hips, trying to grind against his palm, taking whatever help you can get.

A sharp smack lands on your clit, shooting your eyes open - you don’t even know when they closed. Jungkook’s hand is soothing the site of the blow, the pain converting to pleasure under his touch. 

“Patience, sweetness,” the gravely whisper sending tingles down your spine, “such a good girl for me.”

You give him a slight nod - he smacks you again, once, twice, thrice, without a break. Your entrance is smarting, but you want to give him everything. Biting your lips to stop the labored moans escaping, you clench your eyes and savor the burn.

Your show of obedience has Jungkook’s heart thronging. Fuck, he was enjoying toying with you. Playing you like a fiddle. You produce every tone he desires in the form of wanton melodies, he wants to play them over and over again like his favorite song.

“How are we doing?” he asks, a shit-eating grin plastered on him. Before you could answer, his fingers shallowly enter your soaked pussy, still hampered by the cloth. 

“You- fuck, you said I was the tease here?” Your hands are at his wrist, begging to pull the scrap of cloth aside and have his way. 

He comes to face your sopping mound, pausing only to speak “Never said I wasn’t,” and starts pressing soft, feathery kisses. “That day, seeing you dripping in that towel, I dreamt of having these legs around me.”

“I swear, at least take it off - oh Jungkoo-”

Without warning, he kneads your ass and pushes you into his face. 

You feel like you’ve been on the edge for hours. The suckle on your engorged clit along with the abrasion of the lace gets you so close. So damn close. So, so clo-

The tightness in your belly finally snaps and you howl, gushing your vat of arousal onto his face. The high was more intense than you had imagined, so high that you wonder if you will ever find your way back to reality. You feel like a rock in space, aimlessly floating in the vast nothingness.

You dimly notice Jungkook toying with the lacy hem of your panties, pulling it back to snap it against your hip. The sting is soon forgotten, along with your panties flung across the bed, as he parks himself back between your legs.

“You smell incredible.” He approves, taking a long whiff of your honeyed center. “Look at you, so messy.” He licks a long stripe along your crease. “Messy girl, I should clean you up.”

“Wait Jungkook-” you oppose, lids heaving in pleasure. “I need you inside me, please. I can’t take -oof”

Gnawing at your sodden folds, he let his nose press against your clit. “You’re so fucking tight, you think you can take me?” He shakes his head. “Gotta stretch you out, gotta make me fit.” He presses his tongue against your nub, feeling it throb in anticipation. “And I think you can give me one more.” He ends, before invading your drenched channel with two fingers. You are putting up with his torments the best you can; walls fluttering against his lips, legs entwined behind Jungkook’s back trapping him between your thighs. 

“Ah! God - I, I can’t-” Your eyes are screwed shut, hands bunching the sheets in your grasp.

His fingers fluctuate between scissoring motions, their lengths opening you up for him and curling inside, fingertips finding the rough patch inside. He adds a third finger, pussy straining to accommodate them all. Your thighs clench in the burn, and he groans into your pussy at the pressure. Increasing the pace, he pumps into you harder and faster, sucking your puffy lips in tandem. 

“Please, please, harder - let me cum - please oh go-” 

“Fuck yeah baby, your pussy is just sucking me in. You like that? You like me shoving into your cunt?”

“Uungh yes yes I love it!”

“Doesn’t it hurt? Or are you such a slut for pain? Tell me, tell me you’re a pain slut.”

“Fuck, Jungkook, don’t you stop- I am! I am a pain slut! Your pain slut!”

“Goood girrrll,” he husks out. Even though he is taking charge, your words are what control him. “Only mine. My pain slut will come for me now.”

A spray of cum ejects out of you, coating Jungkook’s chest and inundating your legs. The coherent part in you recognizes that you just squirted, but the neanderthal side shuts all recognition of anything that is not Jungkook’s cock. Even after two climaxes, you are hungry to get more. More of him. 

If you don’t fuck him now, you will lose your capability to reason. 

Limbs still heavy and reeling from the ravaging, you pick your pieces and drag Jungkook to the headboard. 

“I’m going to ride you.” you declare and straddle him. 

Jungkook is staring fixedly at your still-leaking cunt. Running his tongue over his lower lip, and licking the remnant syrup of your release. You position yourself, letting the drippage fall directly on his erection. He twitches, eyes still feasting on the mess you are making. 

Finding purchase on his shoulders, you lower yourself. Jungkook’s breath staggers as you drag your inner lips along his hard shaft. You repeat this motion till your fluids drip to his balls. 

“Y/N, I swear to God, if you don’t stop with this-”

“You’ll do what?” you challenge, an eyebrow raised in response to his threat. 

He grabs you by your waist, jerking you up before bringing you down on his dick. Your cunt, creamy from his earlier ministrations, gives no resistance to his hardness. His cock twitches inside as you bottom out. Pulling you closer, he bites your lip and tugs at it. 

“I’ll do this.”

A sharp spank makes you clench around him, the supple flesh of your ass ricocheting in response. 

“Go on baby, ride me.” 

The low-grained command sets you in motion. Slowly gyrating your hips, you feel every ridge of this length inside. Jungkook’s grip on your waist tightens, and you’re sure you will see evidence of it tomorrow. Your grasp on his shoulders isn’t faring any better. 

“You’re so tight, fuck, and so wet. Who made you like this, huh?” A second spank punctuating his question.

“Oh God, you-”, you barely manage to recognize your own voice, “You, Jungkook! Only you!” 

“That’s fucking right, only me.” 

Hips snapping, he meets you halfway. Both of you are lost in each other, lewd sounds of your skin slapping and juices quelching barely muffled by your desperate whines and moans of passion. Eyes locked in like magnets, neither of you could look away. 

Jungkook pulls back a little, slapping your jiggling tit. Your sex clenches, and the following slap has you lodging yourself in the crook of his neck, searching for a reprieve. 

“Want some help?”

One swift move and you are on your stomach, face pushed into a pillow, and ass out. A final spank lands right in the middle, and you can feel it pulsate everywhere. He pushes back into your glistening core, taking control of your pleasure and pain. One hand carding through the nape of your neck, pushing you down, the other hand grabbing your waist and setting the pace. The new angle hits deeper, you feel so full. 

“Jungkoo--unghh I need to cum! Need to- umph- cum so bad!” You are wailing at this point, shame lying somewhere near your flung clothes.

“Fuck, babe, me too. Go ahead and play with yourself, nice and slow.”

It takes a few swipes for the tightness in you to detonate. Tears flood your face as you unravel, your orgasm crashing into you like waves of a tsunami. You clench tight, wetness flows out of your hole as Jungkook pumps in and out, chasing his high. 

He comes undone soon after, ropes of his ejaculate filling your insides. He stays in, plugging you as if to not allow any of it out. But as his member softens, he gives in, turning you on your back to meet his face. 

Butterfly-soft kisses are exchanged after the blazing encounter. He asks you if you’re okay between breaths, a tender murmur you almost miss, as if you weren’t screaming your lungs out moments ago. Nuzzling into his neck, you confirm.

A snort disrupts the silence. Looking up, you see Jungkook chuckling.

In response to your cocked eyebrow, he says “Want to talk about what a freak you are?”

“Want to talk about what a hypocrite you are?”

“Hey, you asked me to spit on you!”

You mock-gasp, hand on chest for the extra effect. “My breasts need medical attention after your attention! Freak!” 

Laughter echoes in the room as you two tumble in the blankets, and you feel his release seeping out of you. Turning to him, you pout, “Your mess is leaking out of me.” 

Jungkook gets up to leave the bed, and you expect a wet towel coming your way. 

What you don’t expect is him parting your legs, gunmetal eyes following the rivulets escaping your abused hole. 

“Your cunt smells so good with my cum on it,” he purrs. 

He gathers the escaping thick liquid and pushes it back into your quivering core. 

Jolting with oversensitivity, you try to stall him but he is fingering you with a vengeance. The ache and soreness soon dispel, bringing forth a new wave of ecstasy. His unrelenting stare concentrates on the mix of fluids on his fingers. With a few strokes on your sensitive bundle of nerves and fingers stuffed inside, you come again, legs shivering and pussy overflowing, his juices intermingled with yours. 

You are dazed; you’ve lost track of everything. The room is spinning in front of you and your body feels like lead. All you can manage is to arch your neck, and plead, “No more, you freak.” 

Jungkook giggles, eyes crinkling in good humor. Ah, the duality of this man is a force to reckon with. You can’t believe this is the same man that fucked you into your bed like a primordial beast. There’s no way you can move anytime soon. 

After a clean-up interval, you are wrapped in each other's arms, melting into the embrace. His musky fragrance putting you at ease, you tuck your in the nook of his neck, basking in the aroma. Hands pressed against his broad chest, exuding warmth for you. His hand cradles your head, snuggling in closer till there is no space to cover. Sweet nothings whispered into each other’s lips, tender kisses exchanged in place of the scorching ones that had passed. You drift in and out of your slumber, fearing the sun would ascend too soon and break you apart. 

A dim glow from the other end of the bed wakes you up. On turning you find Jungkook, dressed in his now-wrinkled clothes, seated on the edge. His gaze, pensive. You lay a hand on his thigh.

“Oh, did the light wake you?”

The alarm on his face makes you smile. “No, your absence did.” 

The corners of his mouth turned up, eyeing you with softness. 

“I have an early schedule. I didn’t want to wake you, but, ” he lets his palm rest on yours, “I also didn’t want to leave without it.”

Neither of you know how to walk away from this. The silence is deafening, unuttered sentiments hanging in the still air. Jungkook’s chest is heavy. 

This is insane. He wants to lay you against a bed of flowers, treat you like the delicate petal you bear resemblance to, worship your body till the sun succumbs to your blazing passion. How is he to explain that his heart is beating through his chest for someone he knows for mere days? He rifles through his memories for a similar instance. 

He finds none. 

Maybe you don’t feel the same way. Maybe, you are blissfully unaware of the tumultuous emotions lurching in the pit of his belly. He can’t assume you will echo his lovesick needs, but he can’t let go. 

You inch closer. 

Fervid feelings die hard. He probes your eyes searching for an intensity matching his. 

You let your lips convey the answer.

Passionate as ever, you draw him into the kiss. His lashes flutter against your rosy cheeks. At the moment, there is no dominance in him. Almost like his tongue, dragging across your swollen lips, is healing the brutality of last night. If you pull back, he comes after you; an incessant tug of war no player wants to win. 

“Please Jungkook,” you choke between kisses, “Please tell me this isn’t the last of us.”

He is hovering on top of you, the galaxy in his eyes twinkling at your words. 

“Please, I don’t want this to end.” You continue against his lips. Head versus heart, you fought a losing battle; how were you to stall the inevitable? Fueled, you plunge your tongue into him, determined to make your ardor known. The void of ferocity is filled with slow sensuality; like he is the sole reservoir to quench your thirst. 

“Y/N”, he breathes out, “I feel like I know everything about you and nothing about you at the same time.” Resting your foreheads against one another, he continues. “I’m not about to let fate decide when we cross paths again.”

A grin finds your lips. “Destiny really pulled its weight here, didn’t it?”

He wordlessly nods, not wanting to break the tranquility in place. However, it is short-lived; his phone’s ringer makes sure of it. 

“Yeah, I’ll be right down.” Something the speaker says turns Jungkook scarlet red. “I said I’ll be right there!” he yells before ending the call.

“The members are asking why I wasn’t in my room.” he clarifies, waggling his brows.  You join his laughter, happy to have just the simple moment with him. 

After exchanging numbers (and a photo for keepsake), Jungkook presses one last kiss, lips promising to find each other again. Somehow, you don’t say goodbye. You just stare at his disappearing body, confident that the next encounter is not far. 

Jake is babbling about his night, how he managed to ditch the god-awful party and hang out with some overenthusiastic college-goers who paid for his drinks with their trust fund dough. This is usually the time you ask him if he’s proud of mooching off of children, but today his exaggerated narrative is cracking you up. 

His forehead creases. “What’s up with you today? You haven’t vowed to skin me alive even once.”

“You like it when I threaten bodily harm?”

“I’m kinky like that.”

You just shrug. Erotic images make a fleeting appearance in your mind, but they are interrupted by your flight announcement. 

“Aren’t you glad this is over? You can go back to overworking yourself in your office instead of a hotel!” Jake remarks, throwing his bag over his shoulder. “At least your back won’t break in the travel.”

Thinking over your experience in the city, you confess “Actually, I look forward to returning here.”

A thought slips in, curving your mouth into a smile. You quietly add,

“And yeah, my back was broken all right.”

Thank you for making it to the end! Please do let me know what you think!

[beneathstarryskies]

Can I request NSFW headcanons for Bruce Wayne falling in love with one of his employees who happens to be a vigilante as well?

Hello! this isn't quite as N/S/F/W as my usual stuff but I got super invested in the CONCEPTS! Like I love this idea so much!

Almost as soon as you started working for Wayne Industries, there was some very obvious flirtation between you and Bruce. It didn't take very long for things to take a spicier turn.

The first time you hook up with him, it's in his office after hours. You'd come up with an excuse to stay late, and once everyone was gone you made your move. Bruce can see the blush on your face hinting at your intentions, and he is very eager to give in.

He has you bent over his desk with his thick cock slamming into your dripping pussy. In the heat of the moment he ripped your blouse open, but the next day you find a very expensive blouse gift wrapped on your desk.

Hooking up in his office becomes a very regular occurrence. Sometimes it's quick and messy, other times he's surprisingly intimate. The playboy Bruce Wayne mask drops a bit, and he holds your body close as he thrusts into you slowly.

It wouldn't take Bruce very long to unravel your secret identity, but he doesn't initially say anything. Revealing he knows could also potentially reveal his own identity. But also, he finds it so cute to see you get all flustered when you get a signal and have to find convenient excuses to cut a date short.

You figure it out when you come to blows with Batman one night on patrol. The next day at work, when Bruce seems apologetic when you mention that you're a bit tender around the ribs (where Batman has given you a swift kick during your fight) and Bruce is sporting a busted lip (where you'd managed to punch Batman in the face) it was easy for you to put it together.

You decide to have fun with the situation instead of confronting him about it. Whenever your paths cross with Batman you flirt with him, constantly mentioning how your boyfriend would be jealous if he knew.

At work, you make it a point to talk about Batman every time you're around Bruce, and even mention roleplaying. You suggest the two of you concocting a Batman costume for him to wear.

"I just find Batman kind of sexy," you shrug. Bruce just scoffs in response.

It's no surprise though when Batman has you pushed against a wall with his fingers pumping into your core. Your slick juices coating his fingers as he whispers in your ear how you're playing with fire. You make a dumb mistake. A really dumb mistake.

"Oh Bruce," you gasp as you cum all over his fingers. You've hardly had time to realize what you've said before he's gone, disappearing into the night.

[honeymoonjin]

pairing: jimin x yoongi || genre: smut - nsfw 18+ word count: 6.7k warnings: dom!jimin, sub!yoongi, exhibitionism, BDSM, sub!jk feature very briefly, masochism, pain play, impact play, spanking, orgasm control/denial, untouched orgasm, frotting (i hope that’s right, i had to google it), crying during sex but in a fun liberating way u feel me, praise, mean-mugging, pet names

summary: jimin is used to keeping his professional bdsm life and his domestic married life separate, but when his husband yoongi comes in after a hard day at work, he wants to blur those lines. 

A/N: i wrote this for the lovely and talented @joonsbean​ so thank her for inspiring me to actually write something, also this is unedited bc i just sat down for 6 hours to write this and i am not willing to stare at it a moment longer

---

After a particularly resonant flick of the whip, Jimin eyes the way Jungkook's calves tense, left foot tapping the floor in an uneven stutter. He's starting to really feel it now.

He absentmindedly reaches his hand out to smooth the reddened flesh of Jungkook's ass, gently cooing at him quiet enough that his rapt audience won't hear. While the eager submissive was the biggest masochist of the regulars, and he was likely miles away from safewording, as a friend Jimin knew the long-haired boy had three hours of lectures the next day. He'd probably relish the sore ass and take it like a champ, but Jimin was soft on him, so he knew it was time to wrap it up.

Tilting his chin towards the dark, almost purplish streak just above Jungkook's thigh, he raises his voice to address the onlookers. "As you can see, when there's only one fall, like with a whip or a switch, the impact feels a lot sharper and concentrated. The thinner it is, that effect is only amplified. For that reason, I really recommend against switches and whips as a first-timer or if you're testing it out." Jimin can't help but beam at the way every person in the crowd listens to his spiel with clear enthusiasm. He got off on this kind of spotlight in a different way to the usual exhibitionism. Sharing his passion never failed to cheer him up. "Even though floggers can look more intense, as we saw when we were starting out, the impact is more distributed, more of a thud than a sting. Now," he breaks off, giving Jungkook's tender ass a final playful swat, making the boy jump, knuckles white as they clench the back of the chair he's bent over, "let's give our little prince a big round of applause for being so helpful for us today."

Jungkook positively keens at the cheers and wolf whistles that erupt from the crowd of at least thirty, his back arching and face buried between his meaty upper arms to hide the blush. Jimin gently massages the heated skin one last time, whispering instructions to head off to the side where his usual dom, Namjoon, was no doubt waiting.

The two had been playing for almost a year now, but Namjoon was still hesitant to venture into the heavier sadism that Jungkook sometimes needed, and the three of them had found a happy medium where Jungkook helped Jimin out with demonstrations, and Jimin indulged Jungkook's occasional desire for more intense pain play. As a thank you, Namjoon even helped Jimin out with his taxes just the month before, and Jimin quite often allowed them to reserve their favourite play rooms out of courtesy. A mutually beneficial arrangement, and it certainly came in handy to have Namjoon deal with aftercare while Jimin still had his demonstration to wind up.

Swinging the chair that Jungkook was previously bent over, Jimin takes a seat facing the audience and quirks a brow. "Alrighty, before we wrap up and I set you back into the wild, any questions?"

This line always had very different responses. Once, on a basic self-bondage informational session, there were so many single kinksters interested that there ended up being almost an hour of questioning, followed by an impromptu tutorial of safe handcuff use. More commonly, Jimin fielded a few confirming questions about what he'd shown, or something related but not overly relevant to the main topic at hand. More often than not, though, he'd find a string of people awkwardly hovering around him after the crowd had dissipated, too nervous to ask their question in front of the others.

This time, however, a single hand is thrust into the air, coming from the rough back third of the gathering.

"Yes?" Jimin calls out, squinting past the few stage lights and into the darkened crowd. He can't quite make out the face, but as soon as the rumbly voice begins to speak, he doesn't need the visual to recognise it.

"I was just wondering," his husband calls out, "could I speak to you in private?"

Jimin is so startled to hear Yoongi that for a moment he freezes on stage, totally silent. Never once had his husband of four years step a single foot into the dungeon Jimin worked at. Not intolerant of the kink world, Yoongi was simply paranoid about being recognised - a renowned human rights lawyer showing up to a BDSM dungeon dressed in leathers was a tabloid field day waiting to happen - and was happy for Jimin to continue working there whenever he wished.

Now, though, that unspoken rule that had kept these two worlds of Jimin's separate had shattered with a single question, and he felt cold shock drip down his spine.

"Uh," he begins eloquently, blinking himself out of it and plastering a collected smile on again, "of course! I'll be right with you once the show ends."

Jimin closes the session in a daze, answering a few questions about physical aftercare and the best materials and brands for impact play equipment on autopilot. It feels like an eternity passing in a single second, and before he's even processed it, the audience have moved on, and his husband is placing a gentle kiss of greeting on his temple, the same way he would when he'd get home from work in the evenings.

Mere minutes after he'd been in his usual dominant persona, Jimin feels himself melting like candy floss in Yoongi's arms, wrapping around him in their usual casual intimacy. "How are you here?" Jimin asks softly, snaking his arms under Yoongi's slate grey suit jacket, feeling the warmth radiate from his body, even through the expensive cotton shirt. "You're still dressed for work, baby."

Yoongi tenses slightly, gazing around the room. A few people are still milling around in small groups, chatting, but this close to the stage, him and Jimin are out of earshot. Still, he speaks lowly, dipping into the Daegu drawl that only makes an appearance when he's too stressed to think clearly. "I took a sick day. Or, I suppose, sick afternoon," he corrects, brows pinched together. "Had to get out. Can we- Is there a place we can have some privacy, please?"

Wide-eyed, Jimin jumps up out of Yoongi's embrace. "Oh, definitely, sorry!" He tamps down his rising concern by hooking his arm around Yoongi's, locking their fingers tightly as he leads his husband out of the auditorium and down a hall.

Being a matinee opening, the dungeon isn't too packed. Jimin prefers working the day shifts, likes that everything feels a little more personal and open. Nights, especially themed ones, get so busy that the gear and rooms have to be booked sometimes weeks in advance. Jimin does his fair share of DMing (they need all the help they can get) but doesn't like to run any scenes himself in the relative chaos.

But at 2pm on a Tuesday, it's easy enough to slip into one of the private rooms, switching the sign to occupied. There's no lock on the door for safety purposes, but nobody will dare enter while it's taken.

Yoongi steps in, eying the room with surprise. It's a relatively open space, with the walls lined with bookcases on one end, and a large wooden desk with some filing cabinets on the other. The desk itself has a comfortable-looking desk chair, and the opposite side has a single leather armchair like something from a therapist's office.

Although there is a wide window, it's covered with blinds, and Jimin knows from experience that it opens directly onto a brick wall for privacy. Instead, the room is lit from above with ceiling lights that are adjustable by a dimmer. Jimin leaves it bright.

Yoongi slowly makes his way to the black leather armchair, sitting down on it and leaning forward to inspect the desk. Absurdly large, it is mostly uncovered except for a diary with some unreadable scrawls on it, an ancient laptop that doesn't turn on, and a ruler. "Is this your office?" Yoongi asks incredulously.

Jimin cackles before he can help himself, moving forward to perch on the edge of the desk in front of Yoongi. "Does it look like I'd get anything done here? It's a play room, baby."

"Play room?" his husband replies dully, but Jimin doesn't miss the way his eyes are zoned in on Jimin's body, the intimidating leather jacket fixed with a tightly buckled belt around his waist, the skintight black jeans that barely contained his thighs, and perfectly glossed black dress shoes, his calling card amongst the typical stomping boots or knife-thin stilettos that most other doms wore. He always got dressed at the dungeon, leaving the house in unassuming sweatpants and a hoodie, so he gets no little satisfaction in relishing his husband's first reaction to the getup.

"That's right," he confirms with a smirk, crossing his legs. "We have five of them at the moment, though the sixth one is almost ready for use. This one is for your typical CEO or professor roleplays, we have a medical one, an interrogation one," Jimin rattles them off on his fingers, watching the way Yoongi's eyes bug out at each addition, "just a basic bedroom one for the vanilla stuff, one that actually looks like a dungeon, and the new one is gonna be an outdoor one."

"Outdoor?" Yoongi asks with a unsteady voice, before shaking his head to clear the thoughts. "Anyway, here is fine, I just- I had to get away from work, Minnie, and I... I was thinking..."

Jimin frowns in sympathy, leaning forward to stroke the back of Yoongi's hand. "I can leave early, I don't have anything else booked today, I was mostly planning on sticking to the social lounge-"

"I don't wanna go home," Yoongi slips in hurriedly, flipping his hand on the arm of the chair to link their fingers together tightly, though his eyes don't leave Jimin's for a second. "I know that you like to keep this job and our own love life separate, and I'm not going to force you, but- I came here because I want to submit to you."

Jimin's eyes widen, his breath catching in his chest. A switch at heart, Jimin had always found it a nice balance to indulge his dominant side here at work, and return home for Yoongi to take care of him, and it had always worked well. Even before they were serious, right in the early days of fucking like rabbits and pretending they weren't entirely smitten, Yoongi had always easily taken that more dominant role, though most of their sex to this day was far less kinky than the kind of demonstrations Jimin ran here. What Yoongi was asking wasn't just to be pampered and taken care of, but to be taken control of. And Jimin couldn't deny the ball of heat that was quickly building inside of him at that thought.

"Baby," he sighs, forcing himself to keep professionalism in mind, "I can't- We can't do anything here without you filling out some paperwork. The list of kinks and limits at the least. Not just as an employee, but as your husband, I gotta keep you safe."

"I know," Yoongi insists, and he frees his hand from Jimin's grip just long enough to plunge a hand into his pants pocket, pulling out a tightly folded piece of paper, handing it to Jimin.

Oddly enough, the folds are worn, not crisp, and as Jimin unfolds it, the text - printed in 12 point Times New Roman, because of course Yoongi would type it up with perfect formatting - has lost the freshly-printed gloss.

"I've been working up the courage to come here for months, Jimin-ah," Yoongi explains in a shy but determined voice. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to feel pressured at all either way, but please know that this is something that I've researched, and that I'm serious about." His solemn expression turns slightly cheeky, almost impish. "You literally make a living domming people, Minnie. I've been fantasising about it long before I even realised I wanted it."

A thrill of arousal runs through Jimin, straight between his legs, and he tightens his thighs, taking a settling breath. "Oh, baby," he coos, eyes dropping to read Yoongi's well-documented and organised list of kinks and limits, scanning over some surprising - and not-so-surprising - tidbits, "I'm gonna take such good care of you."

The air rushes out of Yoongi's lungs as he unconsciously scoots forward in the chair, leaning in. "Do we- Do we just start now, or do you need to go get some-" he breaks off, blushing violently, "some equipment?"

Jimin breaks into a broad smile, eyes crinkling as he steps forward, steps close, ringed fingers slipping into Yoongi's hair on either side, tipping his husband's face up as his chin rests on Jimin's lower abdomen. "Oh, my big boy wants to play with some toys, huh?" Jimin can feel when Yoongi swallows hard, his eyes not glossy with subspace, instead keen and sharp with pointed desire. "Don't worry, baby, this room isn't as empty as you think."

When he steps away, dropping all contact, Yoongi slumps like a puppet with cut strings, catching himself before he slips off the chair, instead lying back against it, chest heaving beneath the starch white of his dress shirt.

Jimin makes his way first to the bookshelves, looking back over his shoulder to catch Yoongi's reaction as he finds a notch in the framing and pulls, revealing that they aren't real shelves at all, simply disguised cabinets that swing open to reveal the hidden delights inside. The three closest to the desk are filled with clothes of all sizes, office-wear spanning pencil skirts to neckties to blazers, a few frumpy pieces that remind Jimin of dorky professors, even some school uniforms, cut far shorter than regulation.

With a grin, Jimin pulls at a pleated plaid skirt, smirking at Yoongi. "In the mood for dress-up, baby? Show off those pretty legs of yours."

Yoongi, still with some wits about him, narrows his eyes with a mock scowl, his disapproval clear.

Jimin sighs out wistfully, but lets it go. "Another time, maybe." Ignoring Yoongi's light scoff, he nudges the doors shut with his foot one at a time and moves to the last one, where the facade of stacked books hides a series of hooks nailed into the back wall.

Jimin doesn't need to even face Yoongi to know he's squirming in his chair - the squeaking leather gives it away. Strung up are floggers, whips, switches, and neatly coiled bundles of rope, catalogued by length. His husband had expressed interest in both impact play and bondage, several different types of both, and so it's no surprise that the sight of those fantasies had Yoongi breathing heavily. He leaves that cupboard open.

"There are so many things we could play with in here, baby," Jimin assures, patting the folded piece of paper that he'd slipped into his own pocket, "and your list was pretty extensive, so before we get started, any particular preference?"

Yoongi swallows again, hair slightly rucked up from Jimin's hands. Jimin can't wait to see it totally mussed up, see his husband in ruins, see him love it. With wary eyes on Jimin as he moves behind the desk towards the filing cabinets, Yoongi nods. "The- what you were doing with that guy on stage. I- I want that."

Jimin blinks, turning his back to his husband to mask his surprise, fingers hooking the edge of the top drawer of one of the cabinets, each one labelled alphabetically. "Is that so? We did a lot on that stage, baby, I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific."

Yoongi is silent for a moment, his breathing the only sound as Jimin carefully slides the drawer open, revealing neatly sectioned rows of anal plugs. He grins. A for Anal, B for Bondage, C for Chastity. The designers really took their job seriously, and he could appreciate the humour in it.

He lets Yoongi take his time, knowing that saying something is often the hardest part. Instead, he notes the location of the drawer marked P, and turns back to his husband.

Looking incredibly small, tucked up on the intentionally oversized armchair, Yoongi clears his throat, making shy eye contact. "The paddles," he says in a high tone, like he's unsure he's even using the correct word, "I want you to- to hit me with them like you did him."

"You want me to spank that pretty little ass of yours?" Jimin confirms, loving the way his husband goes bright pink.

"Y-yeah," he replies breathily, dropping his gaze. "Will you?"

Despite the raging fire inside him, Jimin's heart leaps fondly, so in love with his husband and all his endearing mannerisms. "Of course, baby. But let's start slow, hm? Gotta make your first time special, don't we?"

Yoongi laughs, then, full of air and barely audible, his lips lilting in a small smile that still shows his teeth.

Jimin tilts his head to the side. "What?"

With a tiny head shake, Yoongi contains his grin. "I just really wanna kiss you right now."

Jimin is moving before he's even finished speaking, his hip barely missing the corner of the desk in his haste to join his husband, knees straddling his lap without hesitation, holding those soft cheeks in both hands as he presses his lips firmly against Yoongi's, eyes fluttering shut.

Their parting kiss before Yoongi left for work this morning feels too long ago, and for a moment their new arrangement is forgotten as they fall into their usual motions, years of marriage making every inch of Yoongi's lips feel familiar, the bump of their noses and brush of eyelashes like home even in such a different environment.

With no rush, Jimin lets himself indulge in it, burying one hand in Yoongi's hair, carding through the choppy black locks that are no longer gelled back. His other hand slides down Yoongi's jaw, neck, and chest, tugging at the knot of his tie to loosen it. He makes no effort to be gentle, and his husband just groans into Jimin's mouth at the rough treatment.

It's all too easy to shift into his dom space, a practiced scale of gradually increasing intensity. It begins with the tie, but soon enough Jimin punctuates their ongoing kiss with hard sucks and quick nips of teeth, Yoongi tipping his chin up to drown in it more. Testing the waters, Jimin rocks his hips once against Yoongi's taut crotch and yanks once on a fistful of hair, baring the pale expanse of Yoongi's neck.

The debauched lawyer bucks beneath him, hands flying to grip tightly at Jimin's waist. His long, beautiful fingers and wide palm have always made Jimin feel weak at the knees, and feeling them grasp at him not in command but in desperation feels addictive.

"You like that?" he breathes, voice low enough to almost growl, and Yoongi shivers as he nods his affirmation. "Good," Jimin praises, and dives down, teeth grazing down the sensitive skin of Yoongi's throat, skimming until he feels the throb of his pulse point. Yoongi can't risk marks at work, certainly not in court, but it's a Friday, and Jimin is feeling more possessive than usual. He nips lightly but laps at the skin thoroughly, knowing the best he can get away with is a reddened bite mark which would fade over the weekend. The hickies were best saved for other areas, he knew.

Yoongi is panting like a horse now, air punched through his nostrils as he bites down hard on his own swollen lip. Jimin knows the effect he has on his subs, and grins against the glistening wet skin of Yoongi's neck at the hardness that has grown between his legs. "Wuh-want more, Minnie," he gasps out, "need more."

Jimin hums, making sure Yoongi can feel the vibrations in the hollow of his throat, sliding up to press kisses to that hyper-sensitive place just behind Yoongi's ear that always made him tremble.

It doesn't disappoint, Yoongi letting out a shaky breath as his arms wrap around Jimin's waist, trying to bring him closer.

Jimin doesn't let him, though, pulling back to sit on his haunches, running a thumb down Yoongi's reddened lower lip to watch the way it springs back into place. Yoongi sits still, eyes cloudy as he lets his dom for the night play with him. The thought pleases Jimin; that Yoongi truly was wanting this, truly was willing to give up control to him.

He spares a glance down between his own thighs, where the cool grey of Yoongi's slacks makes no attempt at hiding his bulging erection. Pouting in sympathy, Jimin reaches out with a single finger to trace the outline, watching the muscles in his husband's thighs tense as he fights to stay still. "So hard already, baby," Jimin drawls, "do you think that pretty little cock of yours can wait its turn while I spank you, hm? Can it be patient for me?"

Yoongi flushes, whining Jimin's name under his breath. "Yes," he admits, huffing out a reluctant sigh.

"Yes what?"

Yoongi grimaces at Jimin, but the dom just raises an expectant brow. "Yes, my- my pretty little cock can be patient for you," Yoongi murmurs in the quietest voice he can manage, cheeks red hot.

"That's my boy," Jimin beams, rewarding his husband by popping the button and pulling down the zip on the fly of Yoongi's slacks, releasing some of the pressure. Yoongi groans, deep in his throat, but his relief is quickly thwarted once Jimin stands up off him.

Making his way back to the filing cabinets, Jimin quickly slides open the one labeled P. Splayed out neatly lie five different paddles. Three are plastic, one a basic rounded shape, another that same shape only with several small holes drilled through for a sharper impact, and a final one a rectangular shape. The next one is hard wood, heavy, Jimin recalls, and the one tucked at the back is a softly upholstered pleather one for beginners. Then there's the ruler, of course, though that's a little cheesy for the current mood.

He assesses the five inside at his leisure, knowing every moment of anticipation will feel like an eternity to his husband, and finally makes a choice. He slides the cabinet drawer closed.

Yoongi makes a wounded, cut-off noise in his throat, but Jimin sends him a firm gaze.

"I'll give you what you want, baby," Jimin assures, wetting his lips, "but first I want to feel you myself. Pants and underwear off, jacket off, I want you bent over my desk."

Yoongi sucks in a sudden breath, but stands up on wobbly legs and slips off his blazer. It's probably too expensive to be dumping it on the chair behind him, but Yoongi clearly isn't worried about that as he kicks off his shoes and pants too, only hesitating once his fingers are hooked on the elastic waistband of his underwear.

"Off," Jimin demands harshly, "I won't ask again."

This time Yoongi obeys without delay, and Jimin takes great pleasure in watching the way his husband's cock leaps up once it's freed, pretty and pink and wetter than he'd ever seen it before. Though Yoongi always tended to top, his cock was smaller - more slender, at least - than Jimin's, but he loved it, loved that a hasty three fingers was enough prep on those times that they just couldn't wait to devour each other.

Now, though, with mussed hair and wrinkled shirt, naked from the waist down bar a pair of black ankle socks, Jimin's husband looked positively adorable in the most erotic way, and Jimin wanted nothing more than to make him wait, make him work to cum.

When Yoongi folds himself over the desk, side-on to Jimin to make use of the length of the surface, his hands awkwardly hover on either side of him, keeping himself slightly upright still. The back of his shirt is just long enough to cover the tops of his cheeks, and the sight of his rounded ass and dripping cock peeking through is enough to make Jimin actively restrain himself, taking a moment to breathe and appreciate this opportunity.

He steps forward, planting a hand between Yoongi's shoulder blades and presses, slow enough that Yoongi has time to move his face to the side to avoid banging his chin, but firm enough that there's no resisting. Yoongi goes willingly, however, his back arching as the table is just lower than his hips. Like this, no fabric obstructs Jimin's view, and he hums, pleased. "Good boy."

Yoongi trembles, his legs tight together and knees shaking just slightly. He's nervous at the vulnerable position, but no less aroused for it.

With the tip of his shoe, Jimin guides Yoongi's legs apart, until his socked feet are wider than his hips, until he needs to lean his weight onto the desktop to keep stable.

"That's it," Jimin praises, "my perfect little slut. So obedient."

Yoongi's right knee buckles at the exact moment that he hears the pet name, and Jimin grins. The piece of paper in his pocket had a long list of suggestions for names he was okay being called, and the dom couldn't resist picking out his favourite. The perfect mix of praise and degradation, it flowed so well on his tongue; the smooth, melodic sounds punctuated by the sharp hit of the t. Slut. Jimin muffles a groan, pressing on his own straining erection.

Unable to help himself, he reaches out, both hands grabbing at the plush ass cheeks in front of him, spreading them to watch the way Yoongi clenches at the sudden exposure. This must be what he looks like when they play together, Jimin thinks. He wonders if Yoongi is enjoying the change in pace just as much as he is.

"I'm going to start you off with just my hands, baby," he introduces, running a palm under the hem of his shirt and up Yoongi's spine to watch the way he shivers. "I'm sure you're well aware of the traffic light system, hm? Tell me what the colours mean."

Yoongi shifts, fingers curling uselessly against the tabletop as his eyes remain squeezed shut. "Red means stop, yellow means slow down, green means go," he recites, the exact phrasing off the dungeon's website, and Jimin bends down to press a single soft kiss on the top of Yoongi's ass as a reward, making him twitch violently. "Fuck, Jimin-ah," he sighs, arching his back even more.

Jimin grins. "Good. I'm adding another colour, just for you," he explains. "Gold. Can you guess what gold means?"

Yoongi swallows, shifts his weight, and shakes his head.

Jimin digs his fingers into the flesh of Yoongi's ass, watching them pillow in roughly. "Gold means more. Gold means harder. Okay?"

Yoongi nods quickly, hair even more tangled with every movement.

"Good boy," Jimin croons, and without further comment his left hand rises and comes down in a single strike.

Yoongi seizes up for a second at the shock of it, but there's no power behind the hit, and his brain realises a moment later that no pain follows the loud noise. He huffs in need and pushes his hips back, silently asking for more. "Gold, g-gold," he mutters offbeat, already panting.

Jimin hums in pleasure, and swats his right cheek this time, feeling a sting bloom across his palm. Still not nearly the hardest he can go, it's clearly not enough for Yoongi, as he remains stoic, waiting for more.

The next time, Jimin lets his hand really catch the air on the way down, but he doesn't stop at one hit, raining down three in quick succession on the same spot. Yoongi breathes through the first impact, freezes in surprise at the second one, and an unbidden moan falls out of his mouth at the third.

"Mm, that's better, isn't it?" Jimin muses rhetorically, soothing the slightly pinked patch of skin with his warmed hand. "Just need a bit more pain to let go."

"Please," Yoongi breathes, "jus' keep going."

"Bossy," Jimin teases, "I'm meant to be giving you orders, baby. If you don't quit it, I might not give you what you want at all."

"Sorry, I'm sorry, ple-please hit me again," Yoongi begs mindlessly, and Jimin can't help but indulge him, his husband sounding so pretty when he whines.

When he returns to spanking again, it's in earnest. Instead of pausing to check in each time, he relies on his husband's telling cues to moderate it, as well as the sweet pleas of gold, gold every time Jimin spent too long between swats.

Much like the rest of him, Yoongi's ass blooms candied pink, and with every strike, Jimin can't help but venture further, wanting to colour him in all over. The spanks that fall on Yoongi's upper thighs make him restless, squirming and moaning wordlessly. The ones that land on the fatty portion of his ass have him sighing happily, crooked smile slicked in drool against the wood of the desk.

The two of them slip into an unspoken rhythm for a while, alternating these hits on either side, of varying number and intensity, until Yoongi has almost fallen into a trance of sorts, mouth hanging open slackly as a whine or moan or whimper is falling out of his mouth with every single thwack.

Jimin's arm begins to tire, and just as he pauses to shake out the joints, Yoongi pants a, "wait, wait," making him pause.

It takes a moment for Yoongi to catch his breath, but Jimin waits patiently, scanning his ass and thighs for any sign of something that could be causing undue comfort, but he comes up short. With a weak, slurred voice, Yoongi lets out a sob. "I wanna use the paddle, Minnie, I wanna feel it," he pleads, "I've h-had enough of the spanking."

Jimin furrows his brows in concern, massaging out the sore tissue as Yoongi goes lax beneath him. "If you've had enough, baby, we should stop. I don't wanna push you."

Yoongi actually tears up, biting hard on his lip as he shakes his head. "Please, Minnie, just a few times, I just need it to be- to be heavy. I don't know, but I need it. Gold, please gold."

"Okay," Jimin is agreeing softly, squatting down to press reassuring kisses against the hot flesh, feeling his own palm stinging. He leaves only to slide open the drawer of paddles, selecting the wooden one. He knew from subspace himself that sometimes those base, thoughtless needs stemmed from something deeper, from an emotional need tangled up daily life. Once, in the early days of doing demonstrations at the dungeon, Jimin had gotten stage fright and done such a poor job of a fingering tutorial that the sweet sub he was working on didn't even cum. He'd come home to Yoongi bawling in humiliation, and his husband had lain him down on their bed and made him cum so many times that he couldn't even think, couldn't move a single limb. Now, Jimin had no doubt that the need to feel a heavy impact had something to do with the reason Yoongi had taken an uncharacteristic sick day.

Talking about it wouldn't help, would only break the escapism of the scene, so Jimin just runs the face of the wooden paddle over Yoongi's sore ass, letting him grow accustomed to the feel and texture. "Just two hits," Jimin declares, "one on each cheek. No more. Focus on them, baby. Eyes closed, just feel them."

He waits until Yoongi settles, spreading his legs wider with wiggling toes, and catching his breath, one hand pressed over his teary eyes.

Jimin swings the paddle backwards, not up, and lets it impact on Yoongi's left cheek first, a wet, strangled moan leaving his husband's mouth at the thuddy feel. The wooden paddle didn't hurt like spanking or a lighter paddle. It was about the weighty feel of it hitting your skin, a light hit so as not to cause bruising.

A line of tension disappears between Yoongi's clothed shoulders, the sweaty fabric clinging to his back. He's calmed down, fully, waiting patiently for the second strike. The second Jimin rains that final hit, he drops the paddle onto the carpeted floor, exhausted himself, and moves around to the side of the desk, bending awkwardly over it to press his mouth to Yoongi's, who makes a muffled sound of surprise before responding in turn.

Jimin's hand is curled around the nape of his husband's neck, keeping him close as tears mingle with spit, their kiss salty and desperate.

He feels a vibration between them before he hears anything, has to focus hard to hear Yoongi as he chants over and over like a prayer, thanking Jimin.

He slows the kiss after a sweet eternity, letting their heartbeats return to normal. Jimin's own eyes sting, love and concern a potent combination, but as the adrenaline settles back to normal, Yoongi calms down too, and seems to come back to himself.

He pulls away to let out a tired breath, laughing voicelessly. "Fuck," Yoongi curses with eyes still closed in bliss. "I get it now."

Jimin beams, a chuckle leaving his own lips as he sees the peace on his husband's face. After a moment, though, a frown appears as Yoongi furrows his brows. "What is it?"

"My dick hurts," Yoongi whines, managing to get his elbows under him to lift his chest from the table, head in his hands.

Jimin startles, standing bolt upright as he rushes down to look for any injury. "Oh shit, did I hit it?"

The laugh returns, bubbling out of Yoongi as he turns himself with great effort onto his back, chest still rising and falling dramatically. "No, Jimin-ah, don't worry," he assures, wincing when his ass-cheeks meet the unforgiving surface of the desk. "But if I don't cum soon, I think it's gonna explode."

Jimin's mouth falls open, relief and disbelief flooding his veins equally as he's faced with Yoongi's cock, so flushed with blood it's almost purple in places. "I- Okay, do you- do you want me to get you off, or do you want to keep playing?"

Yoongi looks at him like he's insane. "I mean... Preferably both, Minnie."

After the moment of scare, it takes surprisingly little time before that thrum of arousal is dialed up again, and Jimin smirks, running his hands up and down Yoongi's inner thighs to watch the way he naturally and obediently parts them for him.

"Do you know what I realised, baby?" Jimin coos, stubbornly avoiding the weeping cock in front of him. Yoongi mutters a weak response. "I realised that so far I've been doing all the work so far, haven't I? That isn't really fair, wouldn't you agree?"

Wary, Yoongi pauses and nods, the blur of tears long since replaced by the haze of arousal, of subspace beginning to creep in once more.

"I'm glad we're on the same page," Jimin drawls, flattening a hand heavy on the soft flesh just above Yoongi's cock, making the man moan and wriggle to escape the pressure. "So I think, if you want to get off, you should put a little work in yourself. Make some effort, baby."

Yoongi takes a few heaving breaths, before slowly, so carefully, lowering his hand down to wrap around the base of his cock, immediately groaning at the touch. He's leaked so much precum that it takes a single shaky stroke to coat the sensitive skin, and a relieved smile spreads over his face at the thought that he's finally going to get off.

But where's the fun in that?

"Don't you think you're being a little selfish?" Jimin spits stiffly, and flicks once at the very tip of Yoongi's dick.

His husband practically howls, curling up with a depraved cry. "Wha-at?" he sobs, hand trembling as it hovers on his thigh, fighting his desire. "What do you want, Minnie?"

"How sweet of you to ask," Jimin praises in a sugar-sweet voice, reaching down to unzip his own jeans. "Those hands are big enough to fit the both of us, aren't they?"

Blearily, Yoongi looks down as Jimin slips his aching cock out from his pants, fitting himself between Yoongi's spread legs so that their bobbing lengths bump together.

Even that contact is enough to make Yoongi hiss, but he's desperate and so he nods quickly, fingers trembling as they grab Jimin's cock, pinning them together in his grip. He pauses, panting as he stares up at Jimin for permission.

Jimin smiles placidly, bending forward to press a single chaste kiss to his husband's lips. "I don't want you cumming before I do, okay?" he asks sweetly, though the threat is thinly veiled.

Using the strength of his abdomen to lift his upper half off the desk, Yoongi stabilises himself with an elbow while his other hand jerks the two of them off together, thumb running over the sensitive heads, paying extra attention to Jimin's.

"That's it," Jimin groans, biting hard on his tongue. Truth be told, it was hard enough for him to hold back, feeling threads of an orgasm already knitting together in his stomach. But he's not willing to let go of the pretty sight of Yoongi just yet, so debauched and far gone as he shivers with every stroke, torn between making Jimin cum and preventing his own climax.

After mere minutes, Yoongi has collapsed back onto the desk, ankles curled around Jimin's back to hold him close, hand shaking violently.

"Please," he begs occasionally, but the moment his hand slows down to give himself a break, Jimin pinches his inner thigh in warning. They both knew marks there were allowed.

It's not until Yoongi is quite literally biting down on his own knuckles to hold back an orgasm that Jimin can't keep himself from cumming anymore.

Greedily, he runs his hands over Yoongi's sides, skimming the shirt up to put his chest on display, flicking at the delicate pink nipples. Jimin cums so hard he almost buckles forward onto Yoongi, spurting white all over Yoongi's hand and cock.

He holds himself up shakily, spouting praises to Yoongi as the wave of pleasure rushes through him, making his toes tingle and his fingers curl, scratches down Yoongi's chest and stomach.

"Oh, god, I'm gonna- Mi-Minnie, can I cum, oh fuh-fuck, no!"

One last liberty taken in his time as Yoongi's dom, Jimin pulls himself away, pinning Yoongi's wrists to the table and watching as his cock, dripping white, bobs desperately in the air, seeking friction.

Yoongi babbles pleas and curses, hips jerking, but it only takes Jimin leaning down, blowing a single thin stream of cool air over Yoongi's cock for Yoongi's thighs to tense. He cums, untouched, shuddering and seizing on the table as Jimin takes mercy and wraps his hand around him to stroke him through it.

"Look at you," Jimin croons in wonder, watching cum spill between his fingers, the two of them mixed together indistinguishably. "Baby, you look perfect like this. Please tell me you want to do that again."

Yoongi makes a strangled, guttural noise as he goes limp on the table, legs dangling off the edge. "Fuck, not right away, you demon," he protests grumpily, "now come kiss me again."

With a fond beam, heart so full with love and post-orgasm endorphins that he can barely handle it, Jimin tugs him up by his forearms and joins their mouths together, Yoongi's one dry hand tangling in his hair as he smiles into the kiss.

It takes only a few moments, however, for the sticky reality to sink in, and soon enough Yoongi is parting, letting his forehead rest against Jimin's. "I don't suppose there are any wet wipes in here?" he ventures.

Jimin chuckles, leaning back. "Cleaning materials in the desk drawers," he divulges.

With crazy sex hair and wide eyes, Yoongi makes quite the picture. "Fuck, I love this place. Let's try the interrogation one next time, yeah?"

[wesimpforxiao]

Inception: Chapter 3

You were busy humming away and cleaning the dishes when Childe eyed your bed again.  He couldn't shake the feeling that this was where you'd hide evidence if there was any to begin with.  He glanced in your direction and shifted off of the couch, careful not to make the couch squeak from his movements.

No sooner did he crouch at your bedside that he could see the glint of something with a distinct shade of red.  He pulled what looked to be a large laundry bag out from under the bed, his hand rummaging around to find one of the domestic Fatui masks that only covered the eyes.  

From the looks of it, these are all the stolen masks, he scanned beneath the bed once more, but found nothing but dust bunnies.  So Zhongli was right about you.  What have you been up to, girlie?  The sound of the facet turning off warned Childe that it would be seconds before you turn around and see what he was doing.  

"You've been awfully quiet over there, Aj-" You spun on your heel and noticed him kneeling at your bed with widening eyes.  "-Hey, what're you doing?!"

Childe doesn't do deception--well, besides lying to you and Teucer, that is.  Then there was the time with Aether...Okay, maybe he does a bit of deception, but...He kept his ground and didn't answer.

Panicked, you ran over to him.  "Whatever you're doing, put it back! You don't go snooping around for ladies' panties when they invite you over, do you?!"  You came to a halt when you saw him holding one of your prizes, expecting him to do something, anything than what he did next.

Childe peered over with a sly grin and lifted the mask high in the air for you to see.  "What's this, Reed? Don't tell me this is for some sort of roleplay...?"

"Eh?!"  He watched you turn beet red in a heartbeat with amusement--and suspicion.  "N-No! Not at all!"

The ball was in his court now, and he spiked it back.  "What's wrong ojou-chan?  I was only asking if you do it for performances like the opera.  Don't tell me you were thinking something dirty-"

"Shut it! Shut up!" You reached for the mask, but the man got to his feet and towered over you so you couldn't grab it.  "Give it back and stop going through my stuff! That's not the definition of 'make yourself at home,' you know!"

"So, what do you use these for?" A slight tilt of the head gestured to the bag of masks on the floor.  "They're Fatui masks.  Are you the one responsible for their disappearances after all?"

"Give me that-" You grabbed his forearm and heated the skin enough to make him lose his grip from surprise, but not enough to burn him.  Satisfied with regaining your prize, you shoved it back into the bag with a huff and kicked the whole thing back under the bed, ignoring the pain in your toe from hitting it too hard.  "Mind your own business."

"As much as I'd like to," Childe followed you back into the kitchen area while your mind was set on drying the dishes, "you've peaked my curiosity.  What're they for?"

"If you weren't snooping, I would've eventually told you," you grabbed one of the plates and a towel that sat to your left.  "But since you decided to peek I think its within my right not to tell you anything."

"Oh-ho?" Hot breath brushed past the top of your ear and his chest pressed against your back so you were practically cornered against the counter.  "Then I guess it's within my right to believe whatever I want about you then? No matter how obscene or dirty?"

"Quit playing games with me, Ajax!"  He could see how red your ears were, and your flustered state was more than apparent since heat was practically radiating off your back.  It seems he's learned something new about you; your pyro vision amplifies your flustered reactions...this information should be useful in determining any lies you might come up with.  "And back up, will you?  I c-can't move--"

"Tell me then," he teased.

"Ugh, I don't remember you being this annoying."  He heard you let out an agitated sigh before you slammed your towel down on the counter and replaced the dishes back to their normal spots in a cupboard.  "Can you keep a secret?"

Delighted to hear your cooperation, Childe nodded and allowed you to move freely again.  "I know a thing or two in keeping secrets."

"I suppose it couldn't hurt to tell you...but what I tell you stays between you and me.  And you can't tell the Millelith--"

"I swear it."

"Okay, good.  You already know how much I hate the Fatui," you took the liberty to throw yourself onto the couch and roll over so there was enough space for him to sit next to you.  "I may or may not be getting some much-needed revenge on them for all the crap they've done."

"Oh?  How so?"

"Let's just say I play some pranks on them."  Childe scrunched his nose up as he discerned what exactly you meant by that.  "Oh, don't bring up that missing Fatui stuff with me.  I've only heard about it from you; my involvement with the Fatui usually ends in them getting bruises or occasionally a broke bone."

"You've said you don't like to fight, but you sound like quite the troublemaker."

"I only fight if absolutely necessary.  Sooner or later the harbinger that tried to drown us all will turn up again, and when he does, he won't be excluded from my list."

"You have a list?"  The awkward laugh that left him sounded more nervous than intended.

"Er...not really.  Anyone that's Fatui is my target.  There's not a single good person in that organization."

"Is that so?"  Childe turned to your fireplace and thought to himself.  For a brief moment the friendly façade he put on faltered to reveal lifeless eyes.  But just as quickly as the mask cracked, it melded back together to form a smile.  "You may be right about that, ojou-chan!"

.........................

It appears she truly has no involvement with the missing persons reports, Childe reviewed all the information he gathered on you as he left your apartment and entered the bustling nightlife of Liyue's streets.  He had no intention of reprimanding you for your attacks against his men; you posed as little of a threat as a fly.  Of course, that determination of your abilities didn't stop him from wanting to spar with you; you may have a chance to surprise him, especially if you were fated to discover his real identity...Was it bad that the idea of you finding out excited him?  To face you head-on while you're in a fit of rage--that would be oh-so thrilling.

Oh!  For a split second he glanced back at your distant apartment window.  'Fire isn't something I want to play with.'  And she even neglected to summon a flame...The attacked don't even have a burn on them.  It was true that those wielding the same element would have a certain resistance to injuries made by that element, but to not have a single blister on them?  Either you were incredibly weak, or you've never used it on the agents.

To rely on your own physical strength in a world of elemental beings...you're a brave one aren't you, Reed?  Perhaps after all these years apart there was some part of you like him--one that was fearless against foes, one that charges into battle rather than run from it.  You were cautious--a trait he did not possess--and smart, too.  Whatever role you play now is sure to be an interesting one regardless of the outcome.

As for that small part of you that's like him...well, he'll have to drag it out.

"Master Childe!"  The harbinger visibly tensed and whipped his head in the direction of your apartment to ensure he was far away enough not to be seen by you.  "Sir!"

"Shh!"  A harsh glare shut the agent up, but realizing his actions, Childe played it off with a laugh.  "Aha...apologies!  Why don't we walk--"  He guided the agent away from your window's view.

"Master Childe," the man spoke in a hushed tone that made it obvious the shushing had intimidated him, "we seem to be having trouble contacting another one of our agents..."

Childe's face fell.  "It's late.  Are you sure it's not possible they're attending a dinner party, or perhaps an opera?"

"No, no.  We've been trying to get in touch with him all day, but he never answered his door.  He never asked for leave, either--"

"--Give me the address."

The housing setup for the Fatui in the Liyue Division was quite similar to that of Mond's--that is, agents were located in a single hotel during their deployment.  These living quarters overlooked most of the city and were located on the opposite side of town from your apartment.  It was quite the walk, so you often ended up hiding in the funeral parlor while furious agents scoured the streets in search of the vigilante during the early morning hours.  Perhaps an even greater advantage is that the hotel and the Northland Bank were about ten minutes apart from one another, giving you just enough time to escape the chaos before the agents could call for reinforcements.

Childe entered the missing agent's room alone.  He had sent the messenger back to wherever he came from; working alone would be much less distracting.  The room was dark and the only light source came from the open window to the right.  He didn't miss a beat to light the nearest candle and explore the room more.  

The place was neat--too neat for a bachelor agent in his twenties.  Everything was in its rightful spot, from the books strewn about to the weapons displayed along the walls.  Even the clothes were neatly folded in their drawers and the uniforms neatly hung in the closet.  On a second look, this was an abnormality.

You see, agents are given three of each uniform component to ensure consistency in case something were to happen to the clothing in battle.  To put it simply there were three coats, three pairs of gloves, three pairs of shirts and trousers alike, three pairs of boots, and three masks.  Each one was resting in the closet.

So he abandons his post without informing his lead officer, leaves his uniforms...Childe returned to the dresser and yanked the drawers out once more.  Everything that should be there, was.  And the clothes hamper next to the dresser was empty.  "He left with the clothes on his back?"  No, it's too soon to draw conclusions.  Still...this is how every missing agent would disappear.  No dirty dishes, untouched clothes, and their uniforms neatly put away.  It wouldn't raise any red flags if this hadn't happened before.

Childe scanned the room for the last time before he pinched the candle nub.  Every agent that disappears does so without a trace or clue of where they could've went.  Perhaps they're taken at night, after their shifts end or when they're enjoying Liyue's nightlife?  Reed couldn't have done this.  It's too elaborate even for her antics.  This is the work of something big...but what?

As he walked back to his apartment, he was unable to come up with the answers.

.........

"What festival is this again?"  Childe was glued to your side as the two of you strolled through the main street of the city.  It was lit up with lanterns that cast a warm glow upon his red hair.  Despite both of your busy schedules, your childhood friend still had the audacity to ask you to show him around the festivities since he had only recently moved his work to Liyue.  You were a bit reluctant at first, but this would be a great opportunity to get closer to him since your previous meetings were short.  And with the streets crowded with tourists and locals, it made Childe all the more difficult to be spotted by his subordinates.

"It's called the Lantern Rite," you answer with your gaze preoccupied by the fires lit beneath the stoves of the local restaurants.  "It's meant to celebrate the lives and sacrifices of the adepti."

"I see.  This is certainly different than Snezhnaya, isn't it?"

"Uh-huh."

Childe's eyes flicked down to you.  Why were you so disinterested?  Was he boring you? Or perhaps you weren't into festivities anymore?  His nose crinkled as he thought, then his nostrils picked up on a delicious aroma.  Seafood!  "How about I buy us something to eat?"

"Hm?  Like what?"  Your question was answered once you followed his stare, and your heart dropped.  The stall he was eyeing just happened to be next to some sort of stunt show.  That's new, you grumbled inwardly as you watched visionless people spin fire without a smidge of hesitation in their movements.  Since when were their performers during the Lantern Rite?

"How about something reminiscent of our homeland? I've been feeling a bit homesick these past few weeks."  He stepped forward, but your feet were planted firmly on the ground.  "Reed?"  

"...I'll wait here.  Go ahead."

The harbinger's shoulders slouched in disappointment.  Maybe you weren't in the mood to hang out with him after all.  Still, he wasn't the kind of guy to be dissuaded so easily; he picked himself back up and walked over to the vendor.  While he waited to be served, Childe admired the street performers that danced in the middle of the walkway.  They didn't have visions, yet they exuded themselves with such poise that most vision wielders lacked.  Their elegance inspired him, and he had a difficult time refraining from joining in.

The look of pure awe didn't go unnoticed by you, where you now stood in the shadows as far from the performers as possible.  He was definitely enjoying the show--a little more than you'd like.  Your gaze returned to the poi and staffs that were lit ablaze and twirling through the air.  And just like Childe's look of awe was noticed, your cynic stare was noticed by him as well when he was back with food.  

You hadn't even realized he returned.

"Your crab roe tofu, ojou-chan," he held the tray out for you to take.

"...thanks..."

A second glance to the fire wielders, and Childe confirmed his suspicions.  "Well this is certainly a surprise."  His chuckle yanked you back to the present.  "Ironic, too."  You snatched the tray away without saying anything and stuffed tofu into your mouth.  "What's a girl with pyrophobia doing with a pyro vision?  That seems a bit cruel even for the God of War and Flame."

"I-I'm not afraid of it."  Your skin flushed a faint pink at the words while you glared at him.

"You're not?  Then please explain why your stove and furnace have never been touched.  If you ask me, it's pretty obvious."  Your silence caught him off guard.  You always bantered back, but this time you couldn't even look in his direction.  

It was difficult to blink the tears away as the memory of a burning house flashed through your mind--the thick smoke that coated your lungs, the sticky heat that threatened to burn you alive, the screams of your mother...And when Ajax disappeared the next day too, only for you to think the Fatui had got him too--Or the memory of his return, and when you tell him the news of your father he didn't even care.

Does he even remember his response?

You weren't hungry anymore.  "I have a better way to spend the night.  How about we spar?"

[starkeristheendgame]

Do you take prompts? Because I would love to read something about prof!tony or prof!peter giving an online lecture while the other one sucks his dick under the table 🥺

This was a hella *chefs kiss* prompt and honestly, thank you so much for bringing this to me. I loved writing this and I had so many ideas! Big love to the Discorders or listened to me ramble and brainstorm. Prof!Tony railing his twinky little husband's throat? Sign me up. The POV varies throughout.

TW: Choking | Hair pulling | Exhibitionism/Voyeurism | Mild Daddy kink

Watching Peter sleep was one of Tony's favourite parts of being married. Peter looked so soft and so young, peaceful and golden in the morning light. He was a pillow hog, but that was fine by Tony. It encouraged him to actually get out of bed. He still wanted to shake his younger self for agreeing to morning lectures.

Peter looked serene and unbearably soft as he lay there, nose pushed up a little against the rich blue pillowcase, legs wrapped loosely around Tony’s own as he blinked away the sleepiness. He’d woken up a few minutes before his alarm and had turned it off before it woke his partner. His engineering students had an upcoming online test, and he’d agreed to host a lecture over Zoom while the University was closed for extermination after a bunch of insects and rats from the Biology lab escaped.

Tony shuffled a little closer, sliding across the bed to press their cheeks together, tipping his head so he could brush a soft kiss to the smooth roundness of Peter’s cheek. Sometimes he envied the boy his age - All soft skin and lithe muscle, not a laugher line or grey hair to be found in comparison to Tony’s crinkled eyes and the grey that streaked from temple to temple.

He kissed him again, just on the slope of his brow, then the corner of his little mouth, where it was lax and parted. He let his fingertips trail Peter’s arm gently, loathe to wake him up but knowing that the moment he’d try to get up, he’d be roused anyway. He kissed him again, a little firmer, hand skimming Peter’s side and flank and the boy breathed in a little deeper, shifting to nuzzle closer.

“Good morning” Tony murmured into his cheek, scraping the rasp of his stubble along Peter’s jaw as the boy’s lashes fluttered, then lifted.

“Ugh, no. I can already sense its too early” Peter grumbled, but his eyes were shining as he turned his head, catching Tony’s mouth in a languid, slow kiss. It was as deep as it was sleepy, and Tony sucked Peter’s bottom lip briefly, skimming it with his teeth before he pulled away. If he let the boy sink his claws in now, he’d never make it to the lecture. Peter’s hand slid from the pillow to cup his jaw, thumb stroking over the edge of his stubble before it moved up, sliding into Tony’s messy bed-head and gripping, pulling him back down with a smirk.

Vixen, Tony thought, but he let the boy manhandle him into another kiss, biting his tongue in retaliation for being so sly before he pulled away again. “I only have fifteen minutes before the lecture” he reminded his husband softly, and Peter’s gaze was devilish.

“Aren’t old men supposed to cum quickly?” He teased, and Tony growled at him, raising a hand to land a swat to a pert, round asscheek.

“Brat” he informed his husband sternly, though he was smiling as he took his hand, pressing a soft kiss to the diamond ring that glittered below his knuckle. The boy alternated between wearing it on his hand and on a necklace, and it still made Tony feel warm all over to see it. To know Peter was his. He moved to rise, and Peter came after him again, pressing him down into the mattress by the chest, slinging a leg over him and crawling atop his body.

“Daddy’s brat” Peter reminded him, hips rolling in a lazy, gentle thrust. The boy was almost always hard in the morning, and his slender length nudged at Tony’s bare hip, riding the jut of the muscle before he settled his hands on Peter’s hips, stilling him with a squeeze and a gentle kiss to the cheek, before he threw the boy aside like throwing off the covers.

“Brats are always in need of an exercise in patience. Consider this one” he offered, flashing his husband a smile and a wink as he darted to his feet and out of reach. He lamented it, but he knew it was the only way he’d be presentable and ready in time for his lecture. He shuffled through making a coffee and brushing his teeth, scarfing down an apple and a peach for a quick breakfast before he roamed back into the bedroom.

Peter was sprawled atop the sheets when he walked for the closet, scrolling through his phone and looking a little more awake. He’d brushed his teeth judging by the white smear on his shirt collar, and Tony shook his head fondly as he pulled on a loose pair of slacks and a white shirt. He wasn’t going to make too much of an effort, but he also wasn’t going to make the mistake of thinking nobody could tell he wasn’t wearing any pants.

“It should only be an hour, sweetheart. Try not to die of boredom while I’m gone” he teased his husband, leaning down to press a soft, fond kiss to his forehead. He didn’t trust Peter with a kiss to the mouth, and he hurried from the room before the boy could make any pitiful protests, moving to the office space they’d converted the empty second bedroom into. He’d actually made good time, and he was settled and ready by the time the first few students popped into the Zoon call. None had made the same effort - Rumpled and sleepy and several still clearly in bed.

They talked idly as more students began to file in, and when Tony had done a count and had his full fifteen, he settled them down and loaded up the shared files, delving straight in. They went through various topics one by one, covering what each student felt insecure on. Half an hour passed quicker than he’d expected, and he looked up to find Peter in the doorway, brandishing a fresh coffee and motioning for him to take a pause.

“Alright, guys. We’ve done well so far. Lets take a quick break. Everyone come back in five minutes, okay?” He told them, and disconnected his camera and audio. He double-checked it, then pushed his chair back from the desk a little, curling an arm around Peter’s hips as he accepted the coffee held out for him with an appreciative groan. “Ugh, thank you, honey. I needed this” he admitted, leaning his head into Peter’s soft tummy, breathing in their mixed scent from his shirt.

“Mm, do you have to go back to them?” Peter asked, voice husked and low as he set Tony’s fresh mug aside and cradled his head, tugging teasingly at the hair near his nape. Tony groaned and tipped his head back, ready to tell his little slut to be patient, when Peter stooped and kissed the words from his mouth, like he knew what Tony was about to do. Tony sighed into his mouth, but accepted it, grunting when Peter shuffled to stand between his knees, hands braced on his thighs as he coaxed his mouth open.

“You - Shit. I only - Gave them - Five minutes” Tony managed between kisses, pulling away when Peter’s need to breathe gave him the opportunity. He risked a glance at the clock. Three minutes. And then Peter’s mouth was on his neck, suckling, licking, and his hand found its way into Peter’s hair unbidden, threading through the dark curls as he tipped his head. “No marks” he warned, trailing a hand up and down Peter’s side.

“Mm, I know” Peter responded against his skin, moving down to push aside his shirt collar to get at the sculped bone beneath, teeth sinking in just enough to slightly redden the flesh before he moved, sinking to his knees.

“Uh, uh. Come on, darling. I’ve gotta help them, they have a test. I can’t do the old ‘dropped connection’ this time” Tony sighed, hands moving to Peter’s shoulders to try and coax him back to his feet as their time rapidly ran out. It would probably look suspicious as it was, and his gaze was on the clock when Peter's mouth closed over his cock through his slacks, wet and warm as he laved his tongue from balls to tip. He heaved a breath, felt his traitor of s cock twitch in interest.

"Peter" he warned, because he knew instantaneously where this was going. Peter had always had a thing for Tony’s profession, and he’d lost count of how many times it had made its way into the bedroom with them. Roleplaying, Tony using Peter as stress relief after classes, the way that Peter whimpered Professor Stark between mewls.

Peter simply tipped his head to blink up at him, demure and sultry both as he settled under the desk on his knees, arms wrapping around Tony’s thighs firmly as an indication he wasn’t going anywhere as he closed his lips over where Tony’s sensitive tip lay against his thigh, suckling until the fabric of his slacks was sopping. Tony hissed a breath, looking up at his computer screen/ Most of his students were back.

Objectively, he knew this was wrong. Morally and legally both; and yet…

“Do not give me any regrets about this, Pete” he warned, voice low and promising, both as part of the ‘game’ and a subtle reminder of the very heavy real-life implications this could have. Peter’s only response was to slid his fingers up Tony’s thighs and to the zipper, dragging it down. Tony took a deep, steeling breath, adjusted himself in his seat, smoothed his hair, and hit the buttons for his audio and camera.

“Alright, munchkins. We all here? Where’s Alex? Someone text him. Okay, let’s begin from where we left off” Tony greeted them, putting careful energy into making his smile relaxed and normal as Peter shuffled between his thighs and reached into his slacks, slender fingers wrapping around his hardening cock to draw it out into the open. The cool air made him stiffen, and his gaze raked his screen for any hint  of exposure. But all he saw was himself from the upper torso and onwards, staring back at himself.

As Tony kept talking, Peter ducked down under the desk, closing his pursed lips around the flared, soft tip of Tony’s cock to suckle there, tongue curling around it before dipping briefly into the slit. His mouth was soft and wet and warm and Tony knew it wouldn’t be long before his cock was truly into it, hard and flushed and leaking under Peter’s skilled touch. He shifted a little, easing his hips forwards as Peter lapped at him and let his teeth just barely scrape the skin there.

“Yes, Sheena?” He asked tersely, when one of the girls waggled her hand at the camera in a signal for his attention. As she spoke, he could feel Peter hollow his cheeks, sliding down on his length. Inch by inch he was enveloped into sloppy, warm suction and he ground his teeth, shifting on his seat again. Peter’s hand moved to press down on his thigh, a signal to sit still, and the other hand curled back around the base of his cock, thumb rubbing at the sensitive groove between his length and his balls.

Peter gave a gentle huff against him as he talked, relaxing his throat as he swallowed Tony right down until his lower lip was pressed against his balls, tongue firm and soft against the underside. He didn't suck or hollow his cheeks, just let Tony's cock rest there in the plush warmth of his throat. Tony did his best to focus on his student, clicking through several files to help answer her question.

After a short while, Peter began to slowly slide off his cock, up to the tip where he suckled softly, laving his tongue in flat, firm strokes around the spongy tip. He licked into the slit and closed his lips over the head, massaging it with his lips and bobbing his head almost like sucking on a popsicle. He made faint sounds, but they were hopefully too quiet for anyone to pick up on. Nobody looked suspicious or asked, regardless.

And then Peter was sucking him down again, cheeks hollowed and swallowing him like he was trying to suck Tony's soul out through his cock. Tony moved his hands to grip the edge of the desk, nails biting into the pine. Peter could suck dick like a top-grade pornstar when he wanted to, and today was one of those days, cheeks soft and tight against his cock, tongue flexing in little strokes, swallowing so his throat caressed and squeezed the tip of his cock. Tony ground his teeth and shifted, slipping one hand slowly from the desk top to reach under it.

Peter grasped his wrist as he searched blindly, guiding his fingertips to the corner of his mouth where Tony's cock disappeared into his throat. It was were either drool there and Tony rubbed at it gently before sliding his hand up, fisting Peter's curls and gripping tight, forcing the boy down another inch until his little body hitched with a gag.

"Mr. Stark?" Tony blinked, and realised he'd been staring intently at the screen, but not actually listening. He let go of Peter's hair, itched his side as an excuse for his lowered arm, and offered the student who'd spoken an apologetic smile as Peter began to Bob his head vigorously.

"Sorry, I just realised I forgot to pick up milk the other day. My husband will be fuming when he wakes up. Again, my apologies. Where was I?" The lie came easy and sweet through his teeth, layered with a sweet smile that made the girl quirk her lips in return, before she began to read out the practise question she was struggling with. Tony did his best to ignore the pooling warmth and pleasure in his gut, listening closely.

Peter, not to be forgotten, dragged his nails down the insides of Tony's thighs before he moved one hand to his balls, smearing the drool pooled there before he cupped them, kneading as he slid himself up and down Tony's cock. Tony could feel the slow warmth of more drool dripping down his cock as Peter swallowed and gagged a little, throat impaled. Tony sucked in a breath, the corner of his mouth twitching as he reached up, rubbed at his jaw, muffled a moan on a cough. He slouched a little in his seat so he could nudge his hips up, fucking shallowly, carefully into Peter’s mouth.

His husband let his jaw go slack around his cock, keeping just enough suction for it to be a welcoming hole to fuck into. Tony kept careful attention on his students, focused hard on his voice so it would come out sedate and even as he reached down, grasping a quick handful of soft hair and dragging Peter down as far as he could go onto his cock, holding him there as he writhed. Peter whimpered just loud enough that Tony winced and braced himself, but his students were none the wiser.

It was almost too hard to ignore it now - The steady, hot pleasure that had his thighs tense, his cock hard and flushed. Peter gave a soft gurgle around his cock as he raised his hips and pulled him down, forcing his cock as deep into that soft hole as he could, before he relented and let his husband go. He risked a glance downwards, and regretted it instantly. Peter’s cheeks were flushed, from one across his nose to the other, his eyes were a little glossy and his lips were dark and swollen, drool dripping from the lower one to the carpet.

Tony gave a low groan then masked it with another cough, forcing himself to look back up as Peter drove down on his cock, sucking like he was trying to pull a golfball through a garden hose. Tony let his hips buck carefully up into the wet heat, eyes unfocusing a little as he tensed his legs and bit his lip in order to fight the urge to fuck until he emptied his load into Peter’s willing mouth.He bit his tongue, hard, let himself fuck slowly, inch by inch into Peter’s mouth. He could feel his balls tight and heavy, knew it wouldn’t be too long. He risked another glance down, watched his cock sliding in and out, watching a little bead of pre-cum and drool slip from the corner of Peter’s mouth.

He looked up at his screen, finding the digital numbers of the clock. Peter had been on his knees for almost twenty minutes, drooling and gagging himself on Tony’s cock. The older Professor inhaled sharply as Peter closed his lips tight again, sucking Tony’s dick almost furiously, and he gave his students a brittle smile, waving a hand.

“Alright! Okay. I think we’re gonna - Yep. We’re gonna call it here. Now. You’ve all done well and I-I’m...Pleased. Email me if you have any more questions. Spend the next 48 hours studying, please” and with a final wave, he cut the connection before any of them could argue. He could feel the vibrations around his cock as Peter giggled, could hear the wet slurp as he began to pull off and he spread his thighs, reaching down to grab the boy forcefully by the hair, to dragging him down and stuffing his cock deep into his throat.

“You greedy little whore” he breathed, watching as Peter scrabbled at his thighs, lashes fluttering as he choked on Tony’s length. “Look at you, couldn’t even wait. Had to risk it all for a cock in your mouth” he softened it to fondness as he spoke, letting up on Peter’s hair so his husband could pull off enough to suck in a breath through his nose. Tony didn’t allow him much reprieve, nudging his hips up and down in shallow thrusts.

Tony let himself moan freely now, uttering a deep, guttural one as Peter swallowed and whimpered around him, making a wet noise as Tony jerked his hips up, felt Peter’s throat forced open around his cock. He let his head fall back, threading his fingers gently through Peter’s hair before he tightened his grip again, holding the boy steady as he fucked up into his throat. Peter made a punched, breathy sound and gripped at his thighs for purchase, head tilting for better access.

He used Peter’s mouth as little more than a warm fleshlight, teeth grinding as he fucked up into it, cutting off Peter’s mewls with a wet sound. The loaded spring of his orgasm was tight and heavy in his gut, building steadily, and he looked down at Peter, sliding one hand gently around his throat to feel the muscles bulge and flex as he hauled the boy onto his cock, thrusting deep into his throat, growling as his balls pulled tight against Peter’s lip, his cock twitched hard, and then he could feel himself cum, could feel the pulse of his cock against Peter’s mouth as creamy cum spilled down the back of his tongue.

It was a well stoked orgasm, a smooth wave of pleasure that rolled through him, made his eyes roll slightly as he ground into Peter’s open mouth, fucked his cum deeper until the boy convulsed a little, snorting a strained breath. When his cock had stopped pulsing and the pleasure had died to a gentle lull he relaxed his grip, let his cock slide out of Peter’s mouth. It was soaked wet with drool, smearing against his shirt when it flopped from between his lips, but Tony couldn’t find it in himself to care, looking down at his flushed, thoroughly fucked husband. Peter blinked up at him with smug demureness, lips shiny and dark like cherries, cheeks flushed, pupils blown. He made a pretty picture that way, wrecked between Tony’s legs.

“You’re gonna lick me clean, sweetheart, and then you’re gonna get to the bed, face down and ass up” he instructed him sweetly, reaching down to cup Peter’s cheek and stroke it tenderly. “And the next time I have an online class, you’re gonna sit right back there and keep my cock wet until I’m ready to use you again”.

[moonsubinpr]

[Lee Soo Hyuk — 35 — he/him] Introducing MOON SUBIN. Word on the street is they are a PRESS SECRETARY FOR THE DISTRICT ATTORNEY affiliated with the DEMOCRATIC PARTY. Though they are RESERVED and INTIMIDATING, they can also be DEPENDABLE and HARDWORKING. In the chaos of New York City, they’re sure to fit right in.

Biography. Ask. Wanted Connections. 

I. WRITER’S INTRODUCTION

First of all, I want to introduce myself. You all can call me Jackie, and I am a twenty-one year old graduate student residing within the Eastern Standard Timezone (EST). I have been roleplaying for about 10 years now, however, I took a hiatus from writing on Tumblr due to migrating to other platforms that are more mobile friendly in terms of writing. Now that I have a greater availability, as well as not fond of the newfound style of roleplay on platforms such as Twitter or MeWe, I have returned in hopes to better develop characters and build better connections with other writers. Aside from writing, I enjoy spending quality time with my cat, going out to explore newfound areas, thrifting, reading, and watching random reality television shows. I look forward to getting to know everyone! Feel free to message me for plotting, headcanoning, or for a casual conversation. 

II. BASICS

NAME: MOON SUBIN

AGE: THIRTY-FIVE 

DATE OF BIRTH: 1986 MAY 31

GENDER: CISMALE

PRONOUNS: HE / HIM

SEXUALITY: PANSEXUAL 

HOMETOWN: IOWA CITY, IOWA

AFFILIATION: THE GOVERNMENT

JOB POSITION: DISTRICT ATTORNEY’S PRESS SECRETARY 

EDUCATION: BA IN JOURNALISM FROM NYU

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: SINGLE

CHILDREN: NONE

POSITIVE TRAITS: ELOQUENT, INDEPENDENT, INTELLIGENT, RESPONSIBLE, MATURE, REASONABLE

NEGATIVE TRAITS: RESERVED, BLUNT, INTIMIDATING, DEMANDING, SARCASTIC

FACECLAIM: LEE SOO HYUK 

III. POINTS ABOUT THE MUSE

Moon Subin was born into a rather average household in Heukseok-dong, Seoul, South Korea. His mother, a down-to-earth woman with a contagious smile, worked alongside her mother as a food vendor in one of the city’s largest market. The two were acutely known for their blood sausages as well as jangeo-gui (grilled eel). In fact, this is how the young woman met the young businessman. Running from a class with only a few cash in hand, he stopped at mother’s spot, asking for anything he could get with the amount of money available. She laughed at his lack of time management, and he only stated that he’ll make time to see her better next time. The following day, he returned and sat to chat with the woman. 

Subin was unplanned. The two were not yet wedded when discovering that the woman fell pregnant. However, never did the young couple refer to the baby as a mistake. Rather, they saw Subin’s life as a blessing to better plan for their fast approaching future. During the time in which the woman was pregnant, the man was offered an opportunity to continue his university studies abroad. Sent to Iowa City, Iowa, the young couple packed their belongings and settled within the United States. It’s in this city where Subin would be born, granting him American citizenship despite his parents yet to become naturalized citizens. 

Falling in love with the environment, the mother and father went through various means in order to further extend their stay within the country. From a student visa to a work visa, the father was granted more time to better prepare for the examination of becoming U.S. citizens. While his father began to work in a local company specializing in medical prosthetics, his mother worked at a local Chinese restaurant where she befriended Chinese immigrants who helped her with assimilating into the culture. 

Subin grew up in an environment where he witnessed the benefits of hard work. His parents worked many hours in order to provide for him as well as to their community. He found this to be admirable, and this encouraged the young boy to succeed in his academics so that he could provide for his parents in the future. 

He became interested in the field of communications due to constantly acting as the translator for his parents when making doctor appointments or trying to pitch the best deal at a cars dealership. Words were fascinating, and he especially thought this was the case after reading a number of novels written by authors such as H.G. Wells and Amy Tan. His interest in communications got him involved with the morning news at his middle school and high school. During his four years at high school, he also participated in Model UN and the Debate team. These involvements were the result of his great achievements in social studies courses, and his teachers encouraged him to get involved with these extracurricular activities. 

Due to awards achieved in high school, he was granted a scholarship to attend New York University in New York City. Although his parents did not want him to leave their home, they eventually came to terms that this would be good for his future successes. Thus, he went to attend NYU for a Bachelors in Journalism with a minor in Politics. Thanks to amazing professors and establishing connections through networking events, the young man was able to maintain a number of internships---such as volunteering for the current Governor’s former campaign in the creative team for marketing. He later volunteered alongside CNN professionals, and he gained an internship experience with the Manhattan District Attorney’s Office as Press Office Intern. By the time he graduated from university, he’s already met a number of influential, powerful people of the big city. 

 Upon graduation, he was able to get a job at the Manhattan District Attorney Office as Press Officer due to his wonderful performance during his internship with the office. He held this position for two years before being promoted as Deputy Press Secretary for the office. However, in less than 2 years, he was able to maintain the Press Secretary position due to the former Press Secretary’s leave to another office. In another year, he was granted the position of Deputy Director of Communications for the Manhattan District Attorney’s Office. Subin held this position up until he was given the opportunity to work as the city’s District Attorney’s main Press Secretary. 

During his years working for the city and learning about the mishaps behind the scenes, Subin has been able to learn a lot about the dirty truth. He is aware that some of the crimes dealt with in the office are a result to the existing gangs within the city. Although his DA remains slightly oblivious to the people surrounding them, Subin maintains awareness due to the connections he’s established during interviews as well as conferences. They threaten Subin to keep quiet. They ask Subin to twist the truth. He does what keeps him safe, but he holds the knowledge close to his heart. The quiet man knows a lot----perhaps more than what the gangs wish for him to know, and this can be dangerous. One never knows what he can do with all of this knowledge. He could expose them to the public whenever he dares to do so. If he really wanted to, of course.

But, for now, he keeps quiet. He does his job and remains cordial with those he establishes some sorts of connection with. If someone he cares about, though, ever gets hurt, he’s not sure what he’ll do. No one knows.  

IV. WANTED CONNECTIONS

Any and all possible connections within the Government. I would love to further develop and establish connections within the affiliation in order to better understand Subin’s position in the government as well as with Law Enforcement, for he works within the District Attorney Office; therefore, he has connections with lawyers as well as officers. This can be good or bad, I am open to all possibilities. 

For those in Media, Subin is responsible for addressing those in Media in order to report information given by the DA. Those in media could have interviewed Subin, have gone to a number of his press hearings, as well as questioned his intentions or morales within this position. Anyone who does not trust him is very much wanted. A person who trusts him a lot is also wanted. 

To those in any gang, people who has paid him or threatened him to withhold information from the public is very much wanted. Give me some angst in regard to perhaps threatening his family. Perhaps people question how Subin can offerd such a luxurious home or car, and this could be due to payments accepted from those within these organizations. I am open to anything.

I am also interested in a secret relationship that should not be a relationship, however, the two continue to pursue one another in sexual and romantic rendezvous. Subin is not entirely the most relationship-orientated person, however, due to a lot of stress within his career, some fun would be favorable. 

[tightaroundthewebshooter]

Kinktober Day 23

roleplay - peter/bruce

no warnings

read on ao3

____________ Peter isn’t in the lab when he gets home, like he usually is. He isn’t in the kitchen either, or the living room, so Bruce shucks his shoes and jacket and moves down the hallway, calling for him. The bathroom and bedroom are empty as well, which only leaves his office. 

The door is firmly shut when he reaches it, and he opens it slowly to reveal Peter standing next to his desk, wearing the school girl uniform Natasha had bought him as a gag gift for his birthday. 

Bruce’s heart skips at how beautiful he looks, sweater falling off his shoulder, skirt and stockings revealing creamy thighs, cheeks pink and lips shiny like he put on makeup. They’ve never played this particular game, but Bruce is more than willing. 

“Mr. Parker, may I ask what you’re doing in my office after hours?” He asks, letting him know he’s ready to play as well as seeing where Peter wants this to go. 

“I came to talk about the extra credit work, sir, I completed everything you gave me,” Peter replies, shifting on his feet and tugging his skirt down, not quite meeting his eyes. Bruce steps towards him, loosening his tie and enjoying the way Peter stares at his hands. 

“I see, Mr. Parker, you came for a reward,” Bruce says, voice surer now that he knows what Peter’s looking for. He looks relieved when Bruce speaks, nodding excitedly and letting Bruce pull him around the desk and manhandle him to sit on it, legs spread as Bruce settles onto his knees in front of him. 

“You are a good boy, Mr. Parker, I think you really deserve this,” he says, sliding his hands up his thighs and palming him through his panties, kissing over the trail his hands had followed.

“Professor!” Peter gasps, hands moving to grip his shoulders and cock twitching under his hand “Please!” 

Bruce can tell it won’t be a long night just from how responsive Peter is already, so he wastes no more time pulling him out of his panties and taking him into his mouth, working him over wet and messy as he pushes his hands up his sweater to tweak and pinch his nipples, making him gasp again. 

it doesn’t take much to have him moaning and bucking off the desk, gentle suction and lots of tongue driving him crazy, and when Bruce brings a hand down to fondle his balls and he sucks him to the root he practically screams, grabbing his hair and coming down his throat without warning. 

Bruce doesn’t mind, swallowing it all down easily, pulling off once Peter’s grip loosens, licking around his to get every last trace, standing to share the taste with him, groaning when Peter gropes him through his slacks. 

Peter looks wrecked, and he still sounds desperate when he begs to take care of him in return. Bruce would be an idiot to say no, so he tugs his slacks down and settles into his chair, spreading his own legs so that Peter can sit between them and pay him back, like the star student he is. 

[curly-bangtan]

Heatwave Drabble #2: needy

[Heatwave // Godless] [Drabble Masterlist]

Pairing: fwb!Taehyung x reader

Summary: Lines between you are dangerously blurred.

Genre: drabble, domestic fluff, angst, fwb au, roommates au

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: (graphic?) mentions of smut, needy!Tae acting like your boyfriend when he’s not your boyfriend, confusing feelings 😬

A/N: I love this couple, ok bye.

.

‘Y/N’ Taehyung whines. You turn to pin him with hooded unimpressed eyes. ‘I’m horny.’

The two of you have been sleeping together for a few months now, it’s a carefully crafted, consensual agreement between two adults, two close friends. You have sex whenever you want to, no strings attached, friendship unaffected, none of that exclusive bullshit or godforbidden feelings. Just sex.

Sometimes you go a week without fucking each other, other times it’s five times in one night. There really is no strict schedule, it’s a casual, open relationship.

No, not relationship.

Friend(s-who-have-sex)ship.

After that club night, you both decided that there is an undeniable sexual tension between you that hovers beyond your platonic dynamic, yet it is purely physical. Neither of you are seeking anything more, neither of you want to give up your promiscuity for each other.

Thus births… Whatever this is.

‘And what about it?’ Sunday afternoon, you’re lounging on your cream L-shaped couch like vegetables, watching your favourite episodes of The Office. Taehyung is reclined on you, his head cradled in your arms in place of a cushion, and he’s stroking your hand a little too sweetly. Cuddling while watching a show together isn’t uncommon between you, though he is almost always the one to instigate it.

At your apathetic response, he pouts, nuzzling into your bosom. This is exactly the baby behaviour he know that drives you wild; since when have you been about to resist such a docile sub?

This is the same guy who asks you to call him daddy.

‘Why are you being so cold?’ From the corner of your vision, you see the puppy eyes he’s giving you. You have to resist rolling your own. He can be so needy sometimes.

‘We fucked this morning.’ You state, watching the television intently, purposely not giving him the attention he’s trying to lure.

It was a great fuck, in fact; several toys were used and you both came twice. You can still feel the phantom of his cock shoving inside you while he used the vibrator on your clit. Shuddering, you try not to bring up that memory in your head again to prevent your own arousal from perking.

‘That’s never stopped you before.’ Huffing, he snakes an arm around your waist and plays with the hem of your shirt. Of course, he’s not even paying attention to the show anymore. It irritates you when he requests to watch The Office with you then does not even look at the bloody screen for the most of it.

‘You should get a girlfriend, then, if you’re so horny all the time.’ Your tone isn’t bitter, but you guess it’s a little blunt.

Because you’re not his girlfriend. You’re nobody’s girlfriend. Ever.

Taehyung sits up abruptly at what you said, the warmth of his body instantly peeling off your front. His repulsion to the G-word is even physical as he scoots away from you. ‘I don’t want a girlfriend. Dating is so much effort, first you have to take them out to nice places and get to know them, then you have to see whether you’re actually compatible, and then you meet the friends and family who may or may not like you. That’s so annoying!’ He whines, unconsciously palming his crotch that appears to be slightly stiff.

True. Relationships are so demanding and complicated. Why would you wish to always have someone constantly asking your whereabouts? Why would you willingly be tied down to a single person? Why would you give them so much of yourself when they could one day just take this power and crush it in their hands? Relationships are a societal construct, forcing monogamy down your throats and telling you that if you aren’t in a committed relationship, you’re lonely.

You’re a single woman held down by no man, you can fuck whoever you want, and you like it that way.

But thinking of which, you realise you haven’t been fucking a lot of other people lately besides Taehyung. Or even anyone. The last guy must’ve been… That accountant from the bar with a foot fetish… Which was over two weeks ago.

A shudder courses up your back, the claws of that frightening thought digging up your spine.

‘Why don’t you booty call that waitress you were boning for a while?’ It’s a trick question, to see whether you’re also the only hole he’s been putting it in recently. Because if you are, then you two are falling dangerously close to monogamy, the greatest bane of your existence that you avoid like the plague.

‘Nah, ditched her weeks ago. She was too vanilla in bed, didn’t do me like you.’

Of course no one does him like you, and no one does you like him. That’s why you’re friends with benefits - because you know what each other likes the most. So why even bother trying to look elsewhere for sex when you can find it in the room next door?

But this is getting weird. Maybe you should call up that accountant again, hopefully he isn’t too offended that you ghosted him.

‘Why are you asking about her anyway? Are you jealous?’ That word strikes at you like an insult. Taehyung is wagging his brows annoyingly, toes jabbing at your ribs the way your brother used to do, so you flick his forehead harder than you normally would. Wincing, he clutches the sore spot like you threw a rock at him or something. Dramatic.

‘Of course not. I’m never jealous.’ You scoff. Y/N? Jealous? Come on, he’s making you laugh. ‘I was just curious, don’t flatter yourself.’

But it seems your response is a little too much what he wanted to get out of you as he continues to wind you up. ‘Aww, Y/N.’ He pulls you in by the waist and nestles his face in your hair. ‘You know you’re my favourite girl, right? Since day one, you’ve been there for me and I’ll never forget that. No one night stand or blonde waitress can ever replace you, okay?’ When he leans in to kiss your ear, you squirm away, groaning in disgust.

‘Taehyung!!!’ You yell out. ‘Being all wet and sappy will not get you laid right now. Stop it.’

‘Hey, I wasn’t even thinking about that anymore, but if you’re implying that there’s a possibility that I'll get laid right now…’ That irritatingly smug smirk is plastered on his face, and though it absolutely vexes you, it doesn’t fail to make you smile too.

It’s not that you don’t want to have sex with him because since when have you been the one to say no to Taehyung’s thick meatstick? It’s just that…

‘Well, I’m not really feeling it, I’m sorry. I’m getting a really bad period cramp, I’m due tomorrow.’

There’s a subtle warmth creeping beneath Taehyung’s cheeks at your openness to talk about your womanly cycle despite years of you doing so. He’s used to it by now, but even he’ll admit, he’s not the most mature of men his age. The image of blood flowing out of one of his favourite body parts on you is… not nice.

‘Oh.’ Now the unenthusiastic mood makes sense. ‘I’ll get you some ibuprofen from the pharmacy?’

Sidling next to you back to his previous position between your lap with his head reposed on your sternum, Taehyung feathers his fingertips on your arm the way he knows you love. Although it only lasts a couple of days, he knows you always get quite down during period, not eating much and curled up in your bed to nurse your uterus pains. As your roommate, he sees it as his duty lift your mood the best he can. He must remember to get you some ice cream later.

‘It’s ok, don’t worry. Medicine is for the weak, you know I never take painkillers.’ You grumble moodily but brush his hair back from his forehead, his head tilting up in wave of your motion so he can look at you.

‘You’re a mad woman, painkillers don’t make you weak.’ This stubborn steadfast trait of your personality drives him mad sometimes. Why can’t you just take the bloody painkillers so you won’t have to endure the cramps?

‘I’m not a pussy. No, thank you.’ You glare down at him with a challenging glint to your eyes. Taehyung gets the sudden urge to wrestle you and shove those stupid pills down your throat.

He won’t be able to convince you, that’s one thing for sure after living with you for two years.

Change of tactics then. ‘Do you want me to rub your tummy?’ The dance of his fingers on your skin does not cease, he feels you stiffen under his touch when it reaches your bicep.

‘Are you going to turn it into some sexy massage roleplay?’

‘Not a bad idea, actually…’ The suggestion shoots an excited flare to his groin, but then you knee him in the side. ‘Kidding! We’ll do that next time. Just let me ease those cramps.’

When you don’t protest, Taehyung turns to his side in your embrace and reaches his big palm under your shirt. Your skin, smooth as silk, allows his hand to glide as if on ice across the span of your torso. A sound almost like purring sounds from your throat, and he cannot resist looking up to see the efflorescence of content on your face.

As he kneads on your pained navel with the ball of his wrist, you shut your eyes and rest the plush of your cheek atop his head. Maybe it’s the giver in him but when you hum, ‘That feels so good,’ he can’t help preening in pride.

‘What can I say, I’m good with my hands.’ Your arm around his neck tightens into a headlock until he splutters an apology that he doesn’t really mean.

Taehyung tries not to let his mind wander to dirtier places when you groan at the comfort of his massage. It’s weird how you have this effect on him now, how a simple noise from your lips can coax his arousal just like that. He has always found you attractive before all of this, yet would never dare think of you in that way. And now? You two could be gaming at midnight together, but then a brush of your thigh the wrong way would be enough to set each other off, and you will be fucking for two hours straight. He has never felt this magnitude of sexual attraction to anyone in his life before, and the fact that you’re his roommate and closest friend just adds to the convenience.

‘Okay, but why do I feel your boner on my leg?’ There’s a hint of amusement in your voice. Maybe even delight, but he could be reaching.

‘Just ignore it, it’ll go away.’ Knowing you’re not in the mood for sex also puts him off, though the message takes a moment to get relayed to his dick. Taehyung continues to rub your cramping stomach as if his erection isn’t aching to be touched right now. He will deal with it later in the shower.

‘You’re being really sweet… Today one of your needy affectionate days, huh?’ When your lips brush against his forehead, a tingle he purposely ignores shoots to his cock.

‘What do you mean? I’m always like this.’ Taehyung glances up to catch you piercing him with appreciation in your stare.

And he’s suddenly overcome with an urge to kiss you. Except that would be weird because you don’t kiss each other unless it’s during sex.

Friends don’t kiss when the benefits aren’t being reaped.

It’s the hopeless romantic deep in his heart that’s goading him. As much as he likes to sleep around, fuck random bitches, it’s in his blood to have such boyfriend tendencies. He really can’t control it even when he doesn’t mean it.

So maybe he is being particularly needy and affectionate today…

He probably shouldn’t when it could send you the wrong message. It’s a dangerous game you play, this. And although he should trust you and shouldn’t doubt your aversion from developing any sort of feelings, the risk still remains dangling above your heads.

Who’s it going to fall on first?

No, it won’t fall.

Because you’re just friends who fuck. Where’s the complication in that?

At the end of the day, he cherishes your friendship above all else. After the betrayal of who he thought were his brothers, you were his fresh start, his new home. The way he’s latched onto you, that kind of bond… No sex is worth losing that.

You’re twirling his hair in your little finger, tugging the tufts as well as his attention ever so slightly. You have a particular fixation on his hair, Taehyung realises. You even went to the barber with him the other day to make sure they don’t fuck up his hair; you were so reluctant to even let him cut it, saying you liked it that long and messy.

Your personal handgrip when he’s eating you out.

Circles his palm is rubbing into your core falter when you begin to brush your lips over his forehead. The slow pecks you plant on his bangs voids his brain of thought.

‘Stop kissing my hair if you want my boner to go away.’ It’s a challenge not to grind his still painfully stiff cock into your thigh, that guy down there really has a mind of its own.

‘Seriously..? Me kissing the top of your head is making you hard?’ Disbelief ridden in your tone, Taehyung’s skin now feels barren when you remove your lips.

‘Hey, I don’t control these things! Plus I was horny to begin with…’ He flushes.

You should stop banging so often, really.

‘Wait also, have you been using my shampoo? Your hair smells like berries.’ You sniff at his scalp like a curious hound.

Taehyung looks up at you sheepishly.

.

09/09/2019

© Copyright 2019

.

@shookpreme @taetaeobsessed @tangledsparkles @nonexistentfucks @evilkookie @nbiased95 @shimtatae @taehyungmakesmeoof @itscalledgayhoney @tahaing @deliciouslydisturbed365 @expensive-bangtan-girl @jwlmnbt @herakimkim @dnyad @kaepjjang365 @expensive-bangtan-girl @gingerpeachtae @taexxxiiaa @spring2787 @monixreal @askingtheimportantthingshere @icyi-sky