#but yeah this is partly what I study

[rincewindsapprentice]

https://at.tumblr.com/rincewindsapprentice/697912204773769216/8m3uaapp40nv

Don’t you mean gender? Gender as in the social constructed part. Culture around sexism and understanding of sex.

Meanwhile the sexes of humans doesn’t swap in and out with prevailing socio economic systems any more than the sex of any other great ape does. We aren’t snails nor are we cultural figments of our own (or any gods’) imaginations.

I do actually mean sex, not gender.

How we have understood sex (as in the biological/physical part) has changed over time and across societies. While you are right in that the sexes of humans don't just swap in and out over time, how we understand, separate, and construct them (often literally) does. While this is still "cultural," what we mean by sex shifts in dramatic ways that has effects beyond just gender roles.

For example, how we define what makes sex has shifted in dramatic ways in just the West. Earlier definitions were based on the system of humors, with men being "warm" while women were "cold," yet how even this system was interpreted also shifted from time and place, especially given the possibility of "warm" women and "cold" men. In the medieval period, social role (what we now understand as gender) was just as important as physiology, sometimes more important. What was the primary importance for determining cases of ambiguous sex was that someone stay in one gender role (ie, that they stay either passive or active; given the social advantage men had, individuals under examination by juries and their families would generally push for them to be men, regardless of their "actual" sex as we would understand it).

How we have interpreted and "dealt" with issues of ambiguous sex (now generally understood as intersexuality) has even shifted. There were understandings of sex in the ancient and medieval periods that conceived of more than just two sexes (considering the ambiguous cases not just as aberrations of the "real" sex, but distinct sexes unto themselves). For those with ambiguous sexual characteristics, courts were the primary tool for determining a "final" gender, with an individual often part of these discussions. It was only later that surgeons and medical professionals asserted their expertise in answering these questions, eventually leading to literal surgeries performed on adults with ambiguous sexual characteristics to "fix" them to a specific sex, and to argue that there were only two sexes with ambiguous cases being aberrations of "real" sex.

Fast forward to the modern period and how we define sex has shifted dramatically, from outward appearance of genitals ("how long is the clitoris/penis?" "is there an opening between the anus and the clitoris/penis?") to gonads (~late 19th, early 20th), to hormones (early 20th, until men were found to have estrogen), to chromosomes (mid-20th until chromosomal differences were discovered), to even differences in the brain structure today. That list is not even exhaustive. (Anne Fausto-Sterling's work is informative here)

With regards to binary sex itself, how it is understood and to what extent it existed has also shifted tremendously. For example, the Mishnah, the codification of Jewish oral laws from 200 CE, outlines four, or up to eight, different categories of sex determined by a wide variety of means. Many early Christians understood sex in a kind of binary+ way, with there being male, female, and a gradation between the two (including an androgyny). Later understandings of binary sex in the West tended to argue that the level of binary division between the sexes itself demonstrated its level of civilization, in very clear racist (or proto-racist) terms. Thus, medieval mappamundi often included depictions of exotic two-sexed individuals (literally split in half). Later scientific racists in the 18th and 19th centuries argued that "savage" people had increasingly blurry divisions between sexes, with some arguing that the "most savage" were composed of completely ambiguous sexes, while Europeans supposedly had clearly and starkly defined binary sexes.

None of this, of course, addresses non-Western views of sex and gender, which vary wildly across societies and time, and it is not really my place to outline them here (in part because I am a white American without situated knowledge of the systems themselves).

As far as goes the idea of the sexes of humans literally swapping, the intervention of surgeons since the 14th century has facilitated that as cases of ambiguous sex were "corrected" through surgical technique. This did, at times, switch someone's sex (and especially gender role) as parts were amputated or closed (or opened and extended). While first performed only on adults, nowadays such surgeries are performed on infants at the point of birth, with even more invasive procedures enabled by findings in endocrinology. This is the realm where intersex activism aims to intervene as the vast majority of these surgeries have and are now used to prevent "social destruction," not improve the life of the individual.

As far as the tags in my post, when the West came to adopt a strictly binary view of sex (there is only "male" and "female," with ambiguous cases aberrations of a "male" or "female") is a matter of often heated debate. Some argue that binary sex emerged with the translation of Arabic texts in the 12th century and the professionalization of surgeons in the 13th and 14th centuries (see Leah DeVun, The Shape of Sex: Nonbinary Gender from Genesis to the Renaissance). Others point to such a surgical invention as late as the 19th century (see Geertje Mak, Doubting Sex: Inscriptions, bodies, and selves in nineteenth-century hermaphrodite case histories). If you throw the name "Thomas Laqueur" into an assemblage of early modern historians or classicists, you'll likely cause a fistfight.

So yes, I do in fact mean sex. It is just as socially (and literally) constructed as gender is.

Further reading:

Anne Fausto-Sterling, Sexing the Body: Gender Politics and the Construction of Sexuality (2000)

Leah DeVun, The Shape of Sex: Nonbinary Gender from Genesis to the Renaissance (2021)

Jules Gill-Peterson, Histories of the Transgender Child (2018)

Kimberly Hamlin, "The "Case of a Bearded Woman": Hypertrichosis and the Construction of Gender in the Age of Darwin," American Quarterly, 63 no 4 (2011)

Thomas Laqueur, Making Sex: Body and Gender from the Greeks to Freud (1990)

Geertje Mak, Doubting Sex: Inscriptions, bodies, and selves in nineteenth-century hermaphrodite case histories (2012)

Marianne Schleicher, "Constructions of Sex and Gender: Attending to Androgynes and "Tumtumin" through Jewish Scriptual Use," Literature and Theology 25 no 4 (2011)

Michael Stolberg, "A Woman Down to Her Bones: The Anatomy of Sexual Difference in the Sixteenth and Early Seventeenth Centuries," Isis 94 no 2 (2003)

[wuxian-vs-wangji]

Okay but what is this class?

So, within the film school were 3 areas of study, and you had to pick ONE to do:

Telecommunication law and policy.

Media Sciences (The academic studies. If they could show you something and put electrodes on your head to read your brain, they're happy)

Design and Production-- actually making shit. Scriptwriting, studio, field production, sound design, editing, etc.

I did a self-created hybrid major, bridging Media Sciences with Design and Production.

----

Laid that ground information because I can only describe the classes from the way I approached them. The media psychology students got something totally different out of it and my brain just doesn't stop where theirs stopped.

If I mention the sex class, I'll end up writing that 100,000 word essay on how it is applied to LITA, so let's talk the horror one (my fav).

What the class does is get into physiologically, what happens to a person while watching horror? A lot of that is really obvious- you can become tense, anxious, your stress levels actually go DOWN overall (which is not how it feels in the moment), and you experience a rush of adrenaline.

Then you dig deeper. What is contributing to the tension? The human brain processes things at different speeds, sight is slower than sound. So sound mixing becomes both critical to creating a horror atmosphere, and also a cheat code. Anything becomes spooky if it SOUNDS spooky.

Monkey brain hear spooky, monkey brain no like spooky. Now it's dark. Monkey brain cannot see danger approach. Monkey brain fight or flight grow big.

Now, if you don't have a valve to bring the tension down (something scary, jump scares are the most lazy way), monkey brain get bored. Monkey brain start adapting to the adrenaline and your adrenal gland is like "Guys this party sucks".

And that's why M. Night Shamalan movies blow. Level tension. So at the end when he tries to ramp it up your brain has already gotten bored and gone home so it's just like "Who the fuck cares".

What else is in horror movies? Violence!

But guess what? Monkey brain feel things if they see gruesome stuff. Boy monkey brains especially.

But what's this? Girl monkey brains are different than boy monkey brains. Girl monkey brains have SO MANY MORE nerve endings (that equals empathy). You show gruesome to girl monkey brain, girl monkey brain is like "childbirth and periods are more gruesome than this" (girl monkey brain not the most feminist, the feminism comes from evolution and enlightenment).

But you show a girl monkey brain the FACE of someone in pain- the agony and the terror... That's going to slam into those nerve endings and activate Empathy Mode- and now you can imagine how that violence FEELS.

Know your demographic- based on your subject matter, the likely ratio of boy monkey brains to cater to vs girl monkey brains. Set your balance of violence and face shots to keep both on the same page with that tension you are rising and lowering.

And I did say I didn't want to get into the sex one because I don't want to rabbit hole, but sex and horror tend to walk hand in hand because they're such primal triggers.

That's the "monkey brain" theme up there. They are not speaking to you as a rational human person. They're speaking to the root code of your DNA (do not try to hijack my post to argue anti-feminist things because of monkey brain, I'm talking horror and sex).

They're poking at instinctive responses you do not consciously control on average.

So yeah

I created a hybrid major track for myself within the department (I love that my uni gave students the freedom to do that) to study media psychology and apply it not to research on the human condition, but to learn to basically brain wash and mind control my audiences.

To reach into the monkey brain and hypnotize them until they end up- as the video game design majors would say- in a flow-state where time stops existing. Just the story is left. Like a dream you don't realize you are dreaming.

... ... ... When my professor realized how I was mixing the two tracks, he started calling it the Super Villain Major.

I have no regrets.

[mejomonster]

i nice thing about liking ryu ga gotoku studios games, that was not a benefit of final fantasy/square enix (their ones, not the ones just published by them like Nier Automata), is wow the gift of knowing there’s actually a game coming out every 2 years. when rgg say they’re making a game, they mean it, and they mean it reasonably soon with pretty good certainty. after square enix’s habit of saying a games being made for 5-10 years this is just refreshing

[native2princess]

Hooking up in the library with frat!rafe after a long study session (let’s be real, he ain’t studying)

warnings: fingering, hint of sweet rafe ! idk how to write smut i just be typing fr … hope yall like <333

“are you sure, right here?” you managed to get out in between rafe’s sloppy kisses. he had you pinned against a book shelf in the back corner of the library. how horny you were made you slighty forget that you were literally in the library. non-horny you would never let this slide.

“yeah, you don’t want to?” rafe questioned you and slowed down his rough kisses all along your lips and neck.

“i do,” you roll your head up, giving him more space to kiss your neck. “it’s just-”

“just what? you deserve it. been helping me study all day, wanna make it up to you.” his hot breath against your neck gave you goosebumps.

you wondered if rafe even came to study at all. was this his plan all along? either way you weren’t too upset about it, you’d always liked rafe a little more than a friend.

you could feel rafe’s bulge on your stomach through his jeans, he was so much taller than you. “you’re so pretty, y’know that?” rafe pulled away and looked down at you, your doe eyes staring up at him, you looked so pretty he just wished he could cum all over your pretty face. you felt your cheeks turn red from rafe’s compliment, you didn’t know he had a sweeter side.

rafe’s hand made his way up your inner thigh. you’d be lying if you said that you didn’t wear a skirt for rafe. everytime you were going to see rafe, you always found yourself second guessing your outfit and spending hours finding something to wear. you could show up in a onesie and rafe would still think you look good, there wasn’t anything about you that he didn’t like.

“gonna let me make you feel good pretty girl?” rafe kept his eyes on you, waiting for your approval. you nodded up at him, it was dark but he could still see your red cheeks, he thought it was cute how flustered you’d get over a simple compliment.

rafe took no time putting your panties to the side and shoving two fingers in your pussy. the way he didn’t show any nervousness or tenseness like you did made you think that he’d done this plenty of times before. for a second you felt stupid, letting rafe use you like this, but it felt so good. if this is how it felt being used by rafe; you’d let him use whenever he wanted.

“so wet,” rafe giggled to himself, like how wet you were just fed some weird fantasy of his. “all for me?” rafe picked up his speed as he felt you adjusted to his fingers.

“don’t stop,” you moaned out, partly forgetting that you were literally in the corner of a library.

“shhh baby,” rafe took his other hand and shoved his thumb in your mouth, trying to shut you up.

you sucked on his thumb and looked up at him with your glossy eyes, you knew he loved it. “gonna cum,”

“cum baby, all on my fingers.”

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Brother's Best Friend - Part 11

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

A/N: Fair warning: I didn't have much time this week so this was a bit rushed and definitely not my best piece of work, but I really wanted to do at least *something* for the holidays!

Summary: The trials and tribulations of falling for your brother's best friend.

CW: New Years Eve party, banter, fluff fluff fluff

WC: ~2300

Part 1 | Masterlist

“So,” Bradley starts slowly, drawing out a suspenseful silence with a smirk as he butters his toast. “I met study group guy.”

You look up from your plate in alarm, your fork halfway to your mouth, and awkwardly meet your brother’s gaze.

Jake, who’s just set his food down to your left, picks his coffee back up, ready to make a quick exit.

“Uh, where?” you ask, trying to sound casual, but you’re so nervous that your voice wavers.

“Here,” Bradley replies with a grin as he makes his way to the table. “He came by to see how your exam went.”

“Oh?” You gulp anxiously.

“How considerate of him,” Jake notes moodily, setting his coffee back down and giving you a look.

“I agree.” Bradley sits down. “I think he wanted to compare study strategies,” he continues, then clears his throat. “Since the two of you didn’t end up studying together.”

Jake’s eyes go wide as he lets out a feigned gasp. “You didn’t?”

You give Jake an annoyed look and then glance back at your brother who is watching you with a pair of raised eyebrows. “Yeah,” you nod, “about that. Umm, the thing is…”

“You lied?” Jake brings a hand to his chest as though this revelation continues to shock him.

You glare at him irritably. “Partly.”

“Which part?” Bradley enquires, biting into his toast.

You sigh. “The part about study group guy.”

Bradley grimaces. “Why?”

“Yeah,” Jake chimes in, finally taking a seat. “Why?”

“Because I obviously made the wrong decision studying at home,” you retort, eyeing Jake bitterly. “And I just needed somebody to blame.”

Jake watches you cautiously, likely wondering if you indeed think you’ve made a mistake. Good.

“So, you bombed your midterm, big deal.” Bradley waves a hand. “We wouldn’t judge you. Guess that means he won’t be attending tonight’s party.”

You purse your lips. “Nope,” you confirm. “I’ll be all alone.”

Jake tries to catch your gaze as you rise from the table. “We’ll be here.”

“Aren’t you gonna bring your girl?” Bradley asks.

“Nah.” Jake waves a hand.

“Why not?”

Jake eyes you pointedly. “Not really sure where we stand, to be honest.”

You gasp theatrically. “Oh dear! Trouble in paradise?”

Jake throws you a flat look and grumbles, “Well, she’s sort of hard to read at times.”

“Because you’re illiterate?” you retort.

Bradley snorts while Jake scoffs in offence. “Dump her!” Bradley cries as you bring your dishes to the sink. “Life’s too short for mysteries.”

Jake sighs. “She does love to keep me guessing.”

Bradley shakes his head in disapproval after taking his last bite. “She’s playing games with you, man. It’s not worth it.” He gets up and follows you to the sink. “How ‘bout you? You need a date for tonight?”

“Huh?” you say in surprise, having been under the impression that your turn under the microscope was over.

“Remember that dude you met at the Hard Deck last summer? The one you said was ‘so hot’” – Bradley visibly shudders – “I just found out that he’s into you.”

“What dude?” Jake asks abruptly, his posture instantly going rigid.

“The one from 22,” Bradley clarifies. “The backseater. Forgot his name.”

“The douche from Michigan?” Jake makes a face and quickly rises from the table. “You think he’s hot?” he asks you incredulously.

Before you have a chance to respond, Bradley continues. “Apparently he ran into you last week at the café?”

You blink between Bradley and Jake as the latter approaches. While it’s true that you saw one of Bradley’s colleagues the previous week, you’ve since forgotten all about that encounter, because the very next day was when Jake had finally made his move. You start to back out of the kitchen but both Bradley and Jake follow you out. “I have some errands to run,” you say quickly.

“Nothing’s open,” Jake reminds you.

“Do you want me to invite him tonight or not?” Bradley asks, already scrolling through his contacts.

Jake elbows Bradley aggressively. “You’re seriously trying to get your sister laid?”

Bradley cringes. “Dude! Don’t go there!”

Jake stares at Bradley. “What do you think is gonna happen?”

You scoff at Jake incredulously. “Excuse me?”

Jake turns to look at you and places his hands on his hips with an impatient exhale. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I just don’t want her to be alone on New Years!” Bradley exclaims, still looking down at his phone.

“She’s not gonna be!” Jake cries desperately.

“I don’t want the date, Bradley,” you say, putting on your shoes despite having absolutely nowhere to go.

“Why not?” Bradley enquires.

“I just don’t. I’m fine with being alone.”

“You won’t be alone,” Jake repeats, the frustration in his voice noticeably mounting.

“I thought you liked him,” Bradley says, slightly deflated. Clearly, he assumed that he was doing you a favor.

“I don’t even know him,” you say. “I just thought he was good-looking, that’s all.”

Jake makes a face. “He’s not.”

You roll your eyes. “Appearance is subjective.”

Jake stubbornly shakes his head but makes no further comment.

“Okay, so why not give him a chance?” Bradley presses. “It’s not like you’re seeing someone. Right?”

You give Jake a quick glance before conducting a thorough examination of your own shoes. “Well, kind of.”

“Kind of?” Jake asks, slightly panicked.

You continue studying your feet. “I think.”

“Who is he? What’s he like?” Bradley asks.

“Uh,” you stall, “he’s alright.”

Jake lets out a muffled cry. “Alright?” he asks and you try not to wince at his utterly obvious outrage.

Meanwhile, Bradley raises an eyebrow. “Wow,” he says wryly. “Sounds promising.”

“What else?” Jake says quickly.

You look up at him in disbelief. “Occasionally aggravating.”

Bradley appears puzzled. “Why are you with this guy?”

Jake squares his shoulders. “He must be extremely handsome.”

Bradley looks back at you. “Is he?”

You roll your eyes. “He’s cute.”

“Cute?!” Jake exclaims.

Bradley laughs. “I really think you should give my guy a try.”

Jake crosses his arms over his chest and stands up taller. “I’m sure there’s more to this guy than just… his looks.” He’s blatantly searching your face now, as if Bradley isn’t even present.

You start to nervously fix your hair in the mirror at the front door. “I’m not interested in your guy, Bradley.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” You sigh resignedly while Jake watches your reflection. “I… I like my guy.”

Jake stares at your face in the mirror as if this is news to him. Then, his mouth slips momentarily into a smile before he sucks in his cheeks to hide it.

Bradley grimaces. “Why?”

“Because, he’s…” another reluctant sigh, “…he’s a good guy.”

“That’s kind of vague,” Jake comments, still trying to suppress a grin.

You shoot him a glare while Bradley chuckles. Then, he says, “Alright, fine. Maybe in a couple of weeks when you’re single again.”

Jake looks at Bradley sharply. “Why would she be single again?”

“Come on, when was the last time my sister liked a guy enough to stay with him long-term? She finds something wrong with everyone she dates.”

Jake shifts his weight uncomfortably. “Maybe this one will stick.”

“Doubt it.” Bradley shrugs.

“This one’s different, Bradley,” you say quietly, turning to face them again.

Jake looks back at you. “He is?”

“How so?” Bradley asks.

You pause, hesitant to reveal the truth. “He… makes me feel…”

Bradley watches you dubiously. “Pretty?”

Jake also takes a stab: “Aroused?”

You let out a weary sigh and lock eyes with Jake. “Safe.”

He stares at you with a stunned expression while Bradley nods approvingly.

“Happy,” you continue.

This time, Jake doesn’t hide his smile, but Bradley raises his eyebrows as though your response has surprised him.

“Strong,” you say.

“Wow,” Bradley mutters.

Jake lowers his gaze with a grin, but you decide to add, “And aroused, I mean –”

“Oh god!” Bradley exclaims.

Jake chuckles, glancing up at you again.

Bradley shakes his head. “I get it, you’re in love. But, Seresin – I just remembered: I’ve got the perfect girl for you!” He holds up his phone, beaming.

…

Bradley decides to invite the perfect girl just in case because he can see how much his dear friend has suffered at the hands of his mysterious lover. And the perfect girl just happens to be Jake Seresin’s exact type. You try to ignore her flirtatious behavior while Bradley all but pushes Jake in her direction. Your brother seems so keen to set Jake up, you start to wonder what his vested interest might be.

There are enough people in attendance that you can watch Jake without worrying about anyone noticing that you’re staring. So, you pour yourself a fourth martini and head back into the living room to see what your brother’s best friend is up to. You barely make it past the couch, however, when someone you’ve only met once in your life takes your hand and starts encouraging you to spin under his arm.

You glance over at Jake, whose date is also trying to get him to dance. Taking a sizeable gulp of your drink, you follow through with the spin and smile uncomfortably at your new dance partner. The room is bustling because the ball is about to drop and everyone has gathered for the countdown, so you’re forced to crane your neck every so often in order to check on Jake.

He notices your new friend right away, locking eyes with you despite his own supposed date trying to monopolize his attention. You wish you could steal a moment with him when the new year arrives, but Bradley would notice his friend’s absence in a heartbeat considering he’s been tailing Jake all night, making sure that he was having a good time.

When the champagne flutes start making their rounds and the crowd erupts in an enthusiastic countdown, however, Jake separates from his friends and starts making his way through the bodies toward you. He nods his head in the direction of the hall before he’s even come near you, inviting you to join him. But you glance back at Bradley and see that he is already searching for Jake in the crowd that’s suddenly doubled in size as everyone has made their way into the living room.

You shake your head at Jake regrettably. The last thing you need is for the year to start with Bradley walking in on the two of you making out.

Jake gestures more vigorously with his head, urging you to follow and, when you refuse, he moves closer and reaches out to grab your hand. You don’t resist when he pulls you in and, before you can check to see if Bradley has finally given up his search, the clock strikes midnight, and Jake takes your face in his hands and kisses you right there in the middle of the living room amidst the explosion of cheers that welcome the new year.

You hope there is enough commotion in your vicinity to obscure the way Jake’s hands slide sensually down to your neck and then take your shoulders as he steers you through the crowd out of the room, his lips avidly devouring yours the entire time. Somehow, the two of you make it out without even looking up and, once you’re more or less alone, Jake mutters, “Your brother is getting real fucking annoying.”

You chuckle as he plants kisses along your jawline. The two of you are still moving through the house, into the darkness of the entry hall. “He’s been extra involved today,” you agree.

“He’s been fucking annoying,” Jake repeats, sucking on the side of your neck as you come to a halt in the foyer and he wraps his arms around you.

“He’s your best friend,” you remind him.

Jake presses you gently against the front door and licks your earlobe, whispering, “Who the fuck were you dancing with?” You giggle and feel his lips spread into a smile against your skin. “Oh, you think that’s funny?” he asks, and you feel his tongue on your ear again. “You think it’s funny that I had to actively restrain myself from socking him?”

“What about you?” you say, still laughing. “You were with that girl all night!”

Jake whimpers into your neck and his hold on you tightens. “All I wanted was this.” You close your eyes when his mouth finds yours once more. “My new year’s resolution is that I’m never gonna stop kissing you,” he mutters between pecks to your lips.

You giggle again and then sigh, slightly pushing him away. “What are we going to do?”

“I just told you what I’m going to do,” he says, going in for another kiss.

You turn your head and he ends up kissing your cheek. “This is how we’re going to spend the new year? Sneaking around? Hiding in dark corners?”

Jake exhales slowly, resting his forehead on your temple. “I’m going to tell him,” he assures you.

“What are you going to tell him?” you ask, hoping that this question might lead Jake to reveal the nature of your relationship as he sees it.

He leans away from you and looks you in the eye. “That I make you feel aroused, of course.” Your jaw drops in outrage and you let out a yelp that quickly turns into a cackle. Jake is grinning widely, pleased with the effectiveness of his joke. Then, he draws you closer and his face changes shape. He squares his jaw and you see the evidence of a nervous gulp in the bob of his Adam’s apple. “I’m gonna tell him that you’re the girl I told him about,” he says, his tone low but steady. You gaze at him in silence, afraid to move a muscle lest he reconsider the sudden sincerity of his words. “The one I can’t stop talking about.” He swallows again. “The one I’ve been obsessing over.” He pauses to study your reaction as though he’s afraid he might be scaring you off. “The one that I – uh” – he takes a deep breath and then lets out a chuckle, shaking his head. He takes your hands in his and weaves his fingers through yours, tugging you forward until his lips connect with the tip of your nose. “Oh god, Baby B,” he says, leaning into you affectionately. “I should probably stop talking now.”

*That's all folks! Happy New Year!*

Read Part 12

Hangman Tag List:

A/N: The rest of the list will be in the comments. As always, let me know if you don't want to be tagged anymore.

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[cixteenyne]

I'm gonna ask early for that event if that's okay!! So how about being the Sakamaki's fuckdoll (diabolik lovers)? 👀

Pervy!Poly!Sakamaki’s x Fuckdoll!reader

I loved this idea so much!!! i wanted to make it even LONGERRR BUUUUTTTT i didnt know how, and the sexy music playlist stopped giving me scenarios for this, (female Aligned) (i had to look at various other smuts and videos to get these men right, partly right, since i dropped the show some time ago. hope you enJOyyYY

Content Warning(s): Polyamourous relationship, Exhibition, Edging, Cumming inside, Vulgar wording (i never hold back lol), Rough sex, Soft sex (as soft as a bloodthirsty vampire boy can get), Face fucking, mean vampires, Breeding, Somnophilia. Listen, a lot happens, ok? buckle up lmao.

It was almost like you couldn't catch a break with them. If it wasn't one it was the other, if one was absent another would show up with some outlandish demand!

You always let them do what they wanted to you, but most of that was because- you didn't know how to do any of it.

You were a virgin before this, before the brothers. yeah, but you weren't exactly innocent, just inexperienced.

Having them take the reigns feels so much better, and it feels right

It almost feels as right as the hands that grip at your arms, tugging you to where they wanted, those soft lips that trailed so sophisticatedly down your sides, the way that Shu would drag every part of himself on you, tease you until you whined and pleaded at him so sweetly that it made his cock ache.

He wanted you to whine his name into the air of the seemingly desolate manor they lived in.

He wanted his brothers to hear, to try and get a taste for oneself. 

They would eventually, but Shu learned to be greedy. He learned to keep you to himself with those sweet kisses, those long lasting cockwarming sessions, those marks he'd leave everywhere.

He knew you preferred him if he was greedy.

If Shu wasn't in the room it was Reiji, they way he undressed you while never even thinking to take off his own attire, it was embarrassing, but they way he studied you, as if something new had popped up (it had). He wasn't even kind enough to tug his gloves off.

He just leered over you, taking a skit of time to adjust his glasses, his eyes still never leaving you. He didn't use you per se, he just liked seeing you sink your fingers into yourself.

Sometimes he'd help you with his own fingers if you begged in that pretty way he liked, other times he would be mean and not even touch himself in front of you.

It was on those days where he watched you squirm in irritation and pleasure and couldn't help but want to stick his cock down your throat. Reiji  liked the way you looked at him when he threatened it.

Or when he mentioned that pretty red rope that he just so happened to have brung with him, they way your eyes widened, in excitement, fear, he didn't care. He was entranced by any look you gave him.

Though he likes his alone time with you, he knew you'd get oh so embarrassed and bashful if another brother were to walk in.

What a coincidence, Ayato just so happened to be in the bathroom the whole time…oops!

They'd both apologize so condescendingly, “oh..so sorry for scaring you like that” a frown on his face that did not reach the mirth in his eyes at your bare state, shying away from their apologies.

Ayato heard everything, you fucking your fingers as deep as they can go in front of Reiji, begging him to help, the way Reiji teased you without even touching you, you were too cute to him, like a mouse.

Since Ayato was a bit unfair, he decided to punish you for acting so whorish without him there, his brother said nothing to defend you from his mean sibling, that coy smile and that leering gaze never leaving your body.

They were both hard, painfully so, but they wouldn't let the fun end too soon.

They knew their cocks were a bit much, but you could take them both, yeah?

Kanato was much different from his brash and unthinking brothers, he liked being close to you, since in comparison he was rather icy. He's still almost as mean as his brothers, but he's not exactly nice either, just willing to let things slide for some time before finally doing something about it. Call it karma.

You had done something particularly annoying this morning, thinking he would do nothing given how different he was from his brothers, but he was anything but mindlessly nice, no, that was your job, you were supposed to be the stupid whore who does nothing but take whatever he shoves in you with a smile, and that was what he would remind you of, in his own Kanato way.

But you have fallen asleep, what a shame! Didn't mean he was gonna stop though, it's Kanato we’re talking about.

He had walked all the way to your room only for you to be asleep, so if anything, this was perfect, more than perfect.

Kanato had stripped you of your clothing, caring not about if he'd wake you up or not, you'd take it even if you woke up, he wanted nothing of your complaining

He'd do what Reiji couldn't, he choke you with his cock until you were crying, you were sleeping so what? You got yourself into this

He unbuckled his belt, not bothering to drop his pants to the floor, to make it all the more condescending he brought that damn bear with him..

His hips hovering over your unsuspecting head, he'd slowly dipped the aching tip into your mouth, just the warmth made him shudder against his cold skin, once it slid down your tongue, seemingly in slow motion, he couldn't hold back the moan in his chest.

As more and more of his cock slid down into your mouth, coated by your tongue, and into your throat, he immediately sped up his thrusts, the first 5 hadn't woken you up surprisingly, but the next one had, you woke up and your hand sped to his hips to slow him down, but not get him off, and he noticed- you were a whore whether you noticed it or not, he had to give it to you.

He'd make sure he gave you everything he had as well.

Although Laito was kind of an asshole, he would be what you liked sometimes, but that was only when one of his brothers was spending a bit too much time with you,

Which- he was still an asshole, but in the way that made your thighs clench, when you had to sit with panties full of your own cum.

Laito was rough with the way he handled you towards the bed, grabbing your arm and twisting it behind your back, constricting you as he rushes with his belt, the sound has you rearing in anticipation. The zip of his pants, the indication of it already has you whining.

Your cute little whorish skirt, that- yes, he had bought you, but that didn't mean to prance around in public with your pussy practically showing. So he's treating you just how you were acting. Like a whore.

He ripped your panties, the strings of your arousal glaring at him, he slowly stroked his cock, teasing you, rubbing the tip in your slicked pussy.

He gave his cock one stroke before plunging in at a set and relentless pace, he lifted your head by your roots, forcing you to look into a mirror he knew was there all along.

 He called you such mean names, so mean that it made your eyes roll back and your knees buckle, you'd have fallen to the floor if it weren't for the bed you were bent on.

He decided you had too many layers on and reached around you, to the button of your shirt and pulled, the material instantly gave in and he was met with the sight of your tits staring back at him in the mirror,

You knew you were being loud, you knew.

But the brothers knew what was going on the moment Shu got too meaningful with his kisses.

And you knew too.

Subaru was more needy than usual, the constant need to be around you before his brothers was intense, but when you confronted him about it, he was just as aggressive as usual.

His behavior has not changed, it has just intensified.

Especially with the way he had you in his lap, putting his lips anywhere he could, taking control of your hips, drinking up every bit of encouragement from you he could. He was somehow being aggressive and affectionate at the same time, he wanted you to feel every bit of him, his hands on your waist, his head in the crook of your neck, his lips on your throat anytime you threw your head back.

He stood up to lay you on the floor, too caught up in you, and his worry of those stupid brothers of his barging in, so he opted for the floor.

He shuffled off his shirt as fast as he could, palming his cock through his pants, as he got on his knees, hovering over you between the space in your legs, he leaned down to kiss you as he pulled his hard cock out of his pants, stroking it as precum beaded at his tip, trying to relieve some stress on his cock.

You didn't know when you got naked, or which one of you took them off, but you didn't have time to think about it with the way he held his hand against your cheek and pushed his head needily into your neck, the sweet gesture didn’t match the pace of his hips at all.

He was panting so hard you’d mistake him for a hound, his hand switched to the back of one of your knees, trying to reach deeper, to make sure his cum reaches the deepest point it could, he knew he came in large amounts and he didn't want any of it spilling out, he wouldn't have any of that, not when every else had their turn with you, the thought of it only made his pace relentless, you could barely think of what's gotten into him at all.

He'd make sure you were officially his after this, but he knew his brothers would only follow the same steps, but it's all a matter of who does it first.

And that would be undeniably him.

(Do not copy or translate anywhere until you ask! yes, you can still reblog, dont worry! <33) (Edited/Proofread 2/22/23 3:33PM)

[invvuu]

LIPS TO EYES AND VICE VERSA — SIM JAEYUN

SUMMARY : sim jake sucks at being your tutor but he makes up for it by being your boyfriend. PAIRING : boyfriend!jake x gn!reader GENRE : established relationship, fluff / 1.6k words WARNINGS : jake is flirty, reader loses their mind because of jake ( there is a theme here if you couldn’t tell ) not proofread

﹙ 📑 ﹚ AUTHOR’S NOTE — why is writing author notes harder than the actual fics themselves,,, but anyways i guess i can just mention that i started writing this last night and then finished it while i was in online class as some sort of tmi (no cus why did i edit this draft five times already just to change the author’s note)

“MY EYES ARE UP HERE,” you say blankly — or rather, in an attempt to appear blankly as you look at Jake, your boyfriend and current tutor for the time being.

He had his chin sitting on top of his palm, fingers resting and occasionally tapping against the skin of his cheek. Jake had a couple rings adorning his fingers, all in silver except for the matching ring he bought for the both of you as a gift to ensure his commitment.

His hair was slicked back partly, slightly giving way for you to see his forehead. It also gave you a much clearer view of his eyes, hiding behind the clear lenses of the glasses he usually wears when reading or studying.

His eyes were a common sight considering the fact that he was your boyfriend and you see him almost everyday, however the only reason why you were bothered by them was because they didn’t focus on your eyes, but rather on your lips as you talked.

This was one of his flirty antics at work, the kind of antics you’ve gotten used to a long time ago but can’t help but still be affected by it.

“I know,” Jake responds back, attitude completely the same as it was in the beginning of your rant. Shortly after you notice the corners of his lips curving upwards into smirk, appearing to showcase that he knew exactly what he was doing.

And you were not surprised.

A sigh escapes your lips, “Jake, you’re supposed to be helping me with the lesson.” You spew out while raising an eyebrow at him, crossing both arms together in a direct manner. “Are you going to help me study or are you just going to keep messing around?”

He chuckles amusingly, grin not faltering.

“Messing around? I’m just admiring you, babe. You do know that you’re beautiful, right?”

Jake’s gaze starts to slowly trail from your lips towards your eyes, seeing the expression displayed on your facial features. “Besides, you were going off topic by ranting about Professor Kim and the Math exam.” He tilts his head, still appearing to be flirting with you.

“Well — yeah, and you’re supposed to be helping me pass the exam right now because I don’t want to fail,” you insist, attempting to get Jake back on track in acting as your tutor.

You then see him switch his focus onto the semi messy written notes, opened and sprawled across the table in front of you. “Huh,” he lets out, “You seem alright doing it by yourself though.”

Crap, he was getting to you. The way he spoke to you in a soft yet attractive tone rendered you flustered, and the way he looked like currently was definitely not helping your mental state at all.

With further inspection of his overall appearance, you can see he had his sleeves rolled up until it reached right below his elbow. This simple insight made you admire how evident his veins were on his hand, clearly seen due to his dress shirt’s sleeves not covering them.

He was, without a doubt, making you short circuit. And you absolutely hated that he was doing nothing but only the bare minimum.

“I still need your help either way.” Your tongue moves on its own immediately, mind trying to keep your thoughts at bay about him. You lay your hand on top of the written notes, sliding them towards Jake so he could read them properly.

“Oh, I was supposed to be your tutor or something?” He asks nonchalantly, brows raising up as he fixes his posture on his seat.

In response you roll your eyes and scoff, expression becoming a bit more irritated than it was in the beginning.

“So you just agreed to do this without even listening to me properly when I asked you earlier?” You inquire back, voice surprisingly sounding harsher as you continue looking at him.

Another set of chuckles blew out of Jake’s mouth. “No need to be so angry,” He then leans forward again, tilting his head another time, “I really am sorry though, but I was only doing my job as your boyfriend.”

His words sent shivers down your spine one after the other. It was annoying really, how much his voice had this much of an impact on you. His sultry and deep tone that he always used when speaking to you added another factor of why you were attracted to him in the first place.

From how he apologized, you could easily surmise that he wasn’t truly sorry. But the part where he mentioned that he was just being your boyfriend immediately gave you all of the reasons to forgive him.

You sigh, giving the attempt in ignoring your heart from fluttering another chance. Sim Jaeyun, Sim Jake, Jaeyun, Jake, Jakey — or whatever name he goes by, he truly knew his way to get to you no matter the occasion or if he had changed his persona.

At this point you were already losing your calm demeanor the more you interacted with Jake. Honestly, if it was him who drew the other half of your heart, you’d keep it against your chest without a single question.

He made you want to do impulsive actions, he made you want to embarrass yourself, and he made you want to become a fool. These thoughts were things that you wouldn’t dare to say out loud, mainly because you knew how stupid you would look like in doing so. You couldn’t help but wonder pitifully in your mind.

What was this man doing to you? You’re both dating now, so why does it feel like you were back to hopelessly crushing on him like before?

After all of these questions, you were sure that your mind was going to go haywire if he ever decided to graze his hand against yours.

“Babe,” Jake calls out, catching your attention as he waves a hand in front of your face, “Am I really that much of an eye candy to you?” He asks teasingly, eyes still looking into yours as he watches you flinch slightly at the sudden movement.

You then feel a tap on the tip of your nose, seeing a soft smile adorning your boyfriend’s features, “You’re making it harder for me to help you study if you keep acting this cute.”

As your heartbeat intensifies from his words, you quickly realize what had happened: you were staring at Jake and you weren’t aware of it.

In this point of the current situation, there was no mistake that you were an actual fool in disguise as a human. “Oh — uh, what were you saying?” You ask in a rather flustered manner as you place a hand at the nape of your neck, rubbing it gently the moment it touches it.

Jake grabs the pen from the table’s surface into his hand and clicks it a few times before answering, “I was admiring the view and it seems like you enjoyed yours too.” He cheekily prompts while giving out a small wink towards your direction.

Embarrassment quickly shoots through your mind at full speed, making you receive the desire to hide yourself from him further. “I was looking behind you,” you mutter, trying to create a valid excuse as your fingers begin fiddling with the edges of the papers sprawled across the table.

“You were looking at books about Shakespearean plays?” He stifles, turning his body to glance at the bookshelf to confirm his question. “Last time you told me that Shakespeare sucked, didn’t know you had a change of heart,” Jake shrugs sarcastically, the corners of his lips tugging themselves into a small smirk.

You frown slightly, letting go of the papers and allowing your hand to rest on the table. “I didn’t say he sucked, I said that reading and analyzing his works sucked,” you explain exasperatedly.

Jake can’t help but supply laughter at your words — the way you quickly tried to cover up what you were actually doing made him find you cuter than usual. With the intent of making the situation seem more entertaining, he points the pen at your face, “Then what about the books made you stop talking?”

“I just remembered about my assignment for History.”

“Really? History?”

You nod eagerly — a bit too eagerly for the matter. You tried your best to remedy the situation at hand but the seeping thought of Jake already knowing the truth was pretty much turning into reality.

“Yeah, I have to — um, read a chapter from Midsummer’s Night Dream and analyze it.”

“But I thought you were supposed to be reading Macbeth?”

The amount of counter statements your boyfriend kept saying were only making you more embarrassed. Embarrassed because at this point, you were sure that he knew exactly what you were doing a few moments ago.

“Just tell me the truth,” Jake prompts, “You were looking at me, it was very obvious.”

This was beyond what you were expecting for this tutoring session — actually, was this even a tutoring session in the first place? It was more like a stupid moment of you going feral over a man that you have been dating for almost a year now.

Sim Jaeyun was definitely a bad choice to have as your tutor.

“I have a challenge for you.” He puts his hands together on the table, as well as leaning back away from you to straighten his posture, “I’ll kiss you every time I catch you gawking at me.”

Hearing his idea makes you click your tongue subconsciously, because you knew that it would’ve make your life so much easier if this entire session didn’t happen, nor if you asked Jake to be your tutor in the first place.

© INVVUU 2024

[wispythreads]

I did catch on to that part of it with him bouncing between jobs so frequently, and some of the other things like the fridge freezer, but they were still included in the jumbled up thoughts I listed out partly because I was thinking about them before coming to an answer, and partly because I'm not fully sure if those answers are all there is to it.

Cause, yeah, there’s the newspaper clipping rebuking him for being “unprofessional and brash” (which damn that’s also just rotating in my head because Vince was clearly reading this specific clipping earlier and blatantly lied saying Rody hadn’t been mentioned at all, later scribbling out the section talking about the waiter), he’s very clearly messy and unkempt in pretty much every aspect of his life, and even if he gets the to-go question right in the tutorial, Vince appends the "Good work." with "keep tone in mind."

But, the thing is, he does know a lot of the basics. Much of the tutorial is really just for the benefit of the player to know how the mechanics of the game works, Rody meanwhile nods along and does whatever task is needed without comment, only getting tripped up when Vince mentions the way the menu for his bistro works, and when the aforementioned customer asked if he could get boxes to go or call in his order ahead of time. Which I think are reasonable things to get tripped up on! Those seem like things that would vary depending on the establishment he was working for.

I keep thinking about his reaction when Vince pivoted the conversation of "do you actually like your job" onto Rody. His awkward response that it paid him money. Vince voicing specifically “I doubt you wanted to wait tables for a living-”, and that being met with how there was “something” Rody went to school for, that he was too hesitant to tell Vince, feeling he’d get made fun of. The impression that its some passion he had that just didn't work out. The revelation later that the “something” in question was him majoring in hospitality.

He was afraid he'd be made fun of for actively going to school and choosing to study for skills that, either ironically or purposefully, would've been useful for his current job of waiting tables. A goal that he flunked out of. He has had 28 jobs in the service industry over the course of 7 years. He keeps losing his job, but he also keeps getting hired.

I keep thinking of the post-credits scene of the Best Served Hot, whisky lemon cake ending. "I can't keep watching you ruin any semblance of progress you make with yourself while trying to make me happy, it's exhausting-"

He's only 4 days into this job when he approaches Vince for a raise. He already figures he'll have enough to do something nice for Manon, his "girlfriend," by the end of the week, but he wants more to make it really special. He is very clearly told 'no.'

On the 5th day, when his shift is finally over and done, we don't next see him as we usually do, back at his apartment. He's still at the bistro, all the lights turned out. The only other person presumably being Vince hacking away at the meat in the freezer that'll be used for the meals in the morning. The first time I went through that night, I presumed Rody had just been selected to stay late and help clean up for the night, with whatever Vince was doing in the background ominous horror ambience to be unsettled by.

But we can't really do anything while there that would support this initial assumption. There are only two things you can do. Snoop around in Vince's office, and... steal from the cash register. Whether you avoid doing the latter as I did or not, it has no bearing on whatever ending you get, but just the fact that it's even an option to Rody...

How many other times did he allow his love for Manon to rule over his decisions, making choices in the pursuit of what he believed would make her happy, no matter the cost, before finally facing a price for his obsession beyond the scope of his worst nightmares?

...

And after all that I do want to defend the rollerskates a bit because

Rollerskates in restaurants are kinda a thing, in the 1960s (the year this game is set) they were a pretty popular gimmick/tool for diners in the U.S. at least, not sure about elsewhere in the world unfortunately

Yeah he canonically brought and proceeded to wear rollerskates to work at a fancy bistro. But that also means Vince watched him show up to work one day, wearing rollerskates, and just let him do it. Just watched Rody roll around his fancy bistro attending to customers that expect the highest of professionalism, and said nothing.

[suhnshinehaos]

growing pains : act three, part eighteen (2/2)

series synopsis : people say that you’ll experience three kinds of love in your lifetime. the first is an idealistic love, the kind that feels straight out of a fairy tale. the second is the hard love, the kind that will leave you with lessons about yourself and the love you want and need to experience. finally, the love you never see coming. this is the story of your three loves. pairing : svt 97 line x gn!reader genre/s : non-idol au, coming of age, angst, fluff, my attempts at humor act three, part eighteen (2/2) wc : 1k

act three : the unexpected love  ➤  part 18 : it's all in the timing

after years studying and working abroad, yn is finally back home to a new job and new faces. all they want now is to focus on nothing else but their career and one of their coworker’s friends, minghao, makes it all the more interesting. 

previous  ➤  act three, part eighteen (1/2) next  ➤  act three, part nineteen growing pains ➤  masterlist 

you don’t know if it’s by drink four or song fifteen that you decided you need some fresh air.

it was rather easy to slip away unnoticed. seungcheol was basically pouring alcohol straight into people’s mouths, a line had formed in front of him and he was more than happy to pour some into his own. soonyoung and dino were dancing their hearts out to whatever pop song seokmin and jihoon were singing along to. even as you exited the doors, with every step you took, you could hear the unrestrained laughter, the lively chatter, the thump thump thumping of the bass from the abnormally large speakers. 

yeah, it was easy to slip away unnoticed.

at least, you thought so until you hear distant footsteps grow louder and louder until you could feel a presence behind you.

the corner of your mouth twitched upwards, tilting your head up to the clear sky.

“what are you doing out here?” the words fall past your lips and into the still night air. “you should be drunk or on the dancefloor. or both.”

minghao chuckles, soft and serene, taking a couple of steps forward until his arm brushes against yours. “i could ask you the same thing, you know. this celebration’s partly for you.”

“i know.” you let out a breath, refusing to look at him. even though you know he’s looking right at you. his gaze has always been intense, and for a time you found it quite intimidating. it used to feel like he was examining you, scrutinizing every quirk of your brow or purse of your lips. 

but now it felt like an entirely different thing. almost comforting.

he’s studying you, feeling out how you’re feeling with every word and breath that escaped you, yet you know you have nothing to be conscious of. 

“i get it,” he stuffs his hands in the pockets of his trousers, “it’s nice out here.”

“mhmm.” you hum, and there’s a part of you that expected your heart to thump out of your chest. for you to hear the ringing of its beating in your ears, so loud that you couldn’t quite ignore it. but it’s not there. it’s quiet, tranquil, at peace.

no panic, no uncertainty, no fear. 

it’s the feeling you once felt with seokmin, before time and distance had shaken the idealism of young love.

it’s the feeling you chased after, the feeling you craved in mingyu,  in a period in your life when you would have given him the world. only if he had asked. 

“what are you thinking about?” minghao nudges your shoulder, eyes expectant and his head tilted to the side. 

you blink and a beat passes. then another. and another.

the word slips past your lips before you could even have the time to process it. “you.”

minghao’s breath hitches, and suddenly he’s all too aware of his own body. he feels his breathing, the air that’s coming in and out of his lungs. he hears his heartbeat ringing in his ears, thumping to the sound of your voice. he notices the palms of his hands, cold, needing the warmth that emanated from yours.

it’s a common feeling when he’s around you.

there’s always a rush of feelings, emotions, that courses through his veins. awe, hope, intrigue, delight, sometimes even tinges of fear and anxiety. how could a single person make him feel so much? 

he fights the smile that’s threatening to spread across his lips, “what about me?”

“sometimes,” you pause, and your mind flashes to the past few months you’ve spend with him. the times he’s helped you out professionally and personally. the late nights you’ve spent together, going over raw shots of a shoot you had previously done. the early mornings spent running through now familiar city streets, discovering little cafes and restaurants you never would have known existed. the afternoons running random errands, from grocery shopping to laundry. 

for a moment, you’re taken back to several years ago. to a park in new york city. to a stranger handing you back your camera after he had spent two days trying every possible phone number combination.

“i look at you and i think,” you exhale. no turning back now. “here you are. where have you been? i’ve been waiting for someone like you.”

heat rushes to minghao’s cheeks, and once again you’ve made him aware that his heart is beating, blood is rushing through his veins. he’s alive, and he knows he is because he feels.

there will never be a word that will fully capture just how much he feels for you, but he’ll try his best.

“i adore you.” his thumb gently moves on your cheek, his free hand grabbing the edge of your coat to pull you closer to him. “and if it’s any consolation, i’m sorry it took me so long to find you again.”

“i forgive you.” a laugh escapes your lips and you rest your forehead against his. 

you wonder what your life would have been like if you met him earlier, if he had gone to the same high school as you. or perhaps if you had met him in your college years, if you had kept contact after he had returned your camera. 

there’s really nothing to forgive. 

there’s only so much to be thankful for. 

to fresh-out-of-high school you and seokmin for taking the leap and chasing after your dreams, even if it meant potentially losing the romantic relationship you had built.

to post-college you and mingyu, for loving each other enough to let go of each other too.

to the you of today, who didn’t stand their ground on a misguided first impression, to keeping an open heart and mind to grow and learn.

“do you really?”

minghao’s voice pulls you back into reality. you nod.

“hm. maybe i should take out on a date, just to be sure.” his lips brush past your ear, breath warm on your neck, pulling back to ask, “what do you say?”

“i’d like that a lot, hao.”

from reese, with love <3

the words 'i like you' and 'i love you' don't feel enough for ynhao... they just know

anyways, it's currently 12:15 am and i was going to sleep but i got way too excited so i'm posting this now! i know this has been a long time coming for ynhao, i hope i was able to them justice.

thank you for reading, just a couple more parts to go :) all the replies/rbs/asks are always appreciated. i'm going to sleep now hehe i'll see you in the morning and i hope you're all doing well <3

also i cannot get spell out of my head, help!

[marthawrites]

To Break The Tension

Modern Aemond Targaryen x fem reader

Word count: 3.4k+

About: You and Aemond have a no strings attached relationship. He has a surprise for you and you are more than excited to go see what it is.

Includes: Friends with benefits dynamic and smut featuring adult language, vaginal fingering, mild degradation, praise, cockwarming, spanking, and unprotected vaginal sex

Note: Hello lovely reader! Here is a loosely themed October story 😊 I've had this idea rolling around in my head ALL MONTH and I finally was able to get it outta my head! The movie in this fic is unspecified, but I wrote it with the new "The Excorist: Believer" in mind. However, insert whatever horror movie you would like! Reader is non-descript. Please, enjoy!

-

You were finishing drying your hair when a text came through. Glancing down at your phone before the screen blacked out, you saw it was Aemond. You unlocked it with a swipe to see:

What are you doing?

It just so happened you weren’t doing anything. Your roomie was finishing a huge paper for one of her classes so you were keeping to yourself in your room. You just took one of those extra long showers: the kind where you wash, shave, exfoliate, and everything between. Partly because you were bored and didn’t know what else to do, and partly because you couldn’t remember the last time you let yourself have one of those. Self care days were few and far between – between classes and work, life was crazy!

You thought about sending him a selfie of you in only a towel. Or maybe even a tit pic. He loved those. Not tonight. You didn’t want to seem overly easy or overly eager. Instead, you chose the dignified response of:

Just finishing up a couple things! What are you up to? ♥

Aemond was just as busy, if not busier, than you. You two met in a study group a few months back and immediately clicked. If you both chose to make your "relationship" official there’d be many who claimed it to be love at first sight. But, no, it wasn’t quite like that. It was lust at first sight. By the end of that night, when he offered to drive you home, you were making out in his car. With kiss-swollen lips he buried his fingers in your pussy while your lipgloss still shone on his cock; tinted windows foggy with breath.

‘Friends with benefits’ you both called it. No strings attached. Someone to have fun with without the commitment of an actual relationship. It worked out pretty well, honestly! The sex was fucking great. Yet, still, you found yourself wanting the intimacy that came with sex, too, and not just the steamy fuck.

I found something I think you’ll like. Come over?

Your interest was instantly piqued. What did he have up his sleeve?

Ooh! A surprise? Be over soon!

He didn’t send anything back, but you didn’t mind because you were able to finish getting ready with no distractions. You put on some of your favorite comfy clothes not bothering to get dressed up. Instead of interrupting your roomie during her paper, you sent her a quick text letting her know what you were up to and that you’d be back after a few. 

Half an hour after Aemond’s first message you pulled up to the Targaryen estate. You parked, checked yourself in the mirror one last time, and walked up to the front entrance. Only, it wasn’t Aemond who greeted you there.

“Hey!” Aegon’s amused voice drawled out. “If it’s not the reason my little brother is dressed like a slut tonight,” he said as he eyed you up and down, smirking behind his cigarette. He smoked lazily while leaning on the front porch’s bannister, and was all too entertained by you showing up. His silver waves were tossed in a way that made you annoyed at how perfectly imperfect they looked. Stupid Aegon and his stupid taunts.

Just as your chin set defiantly, and your eyes narrowed in preparation for a snarky response, Aemond appeared in the doorway. He leaned against it with his arms crossed wearing a quiet amused smirk. 

Gray sweats. Black t-shirt. Hair pulled back into a bun. 

Yeah. He was dressed like a slut.

Choosing to dismiss Aegon, you said, as sweetly as you could muster, "we have different definitions of the word 'slut'. He looks positively normal to me. Maybe even a little dull."

"Ha! Look at him! Trust me. That little floozy is begging for it," he said with a sly drag from his smoke.

"You're wearing the same thing, Aeg. Don't sound so jealous."

"I'm wearing a hoodie though. AND slippers! It takes away the desperation!"

Aemond gently pushed you inside as Aegon ranted. Aemond flipped him off and swung the door closed. If he had been any slower you'd have heard Aegon cracking up amidst coughing on cigarette smoke.

"He thinks he's hilarious," Aemond snarked close behind you as he guided you up the manse's grand staircase. "God, you smell good."

You giggled and did your very best to ignore the goosebumps his compliment sent tickling along your neck. "You should have smelled me before. You caught me on a good night," you replied cheekily.

He opened the door to his room. After gesturing you inside he gave your ass an appreciative little slap. You were both closed and locked in, now. "Ready for the surprise?"

Glancing around his room you didn't notice anything different. Nothing appeared out of place. There definitely wasn't a wrapped and bowed package anywhere for you! "Yes. Come on, Aems, you're killing me with the suspense!"

He had a nice gaming computer setup, and when he slid into his chair you followed to look over his shoulder. "Check it out," he said as he clicked on an icon to open a movie.

One of the brand new horror movies that wasn't even available to own yet. "How'd you get this already?"

He chuckled at the genuine confusion of your question. "It's not hard," he answered, smug.

"It's illegal!"

"Oh pfft. Only if you're caught."

"You pirate! No wonder you always wear this silly thing," you teased as you slid your fingers across the worn leather of his eyepatch. He had a prosthetic from a horrible childhood accident and never outgrew the self-consciousness of it. You didn't mind it or the long white scar that accompanied it. But, still, you never pressured him to take it off.

He chuckled as he clicked the mouse a couple times. It started playing on the large TV mounted on his wall. "Ready to get scared?"

You fiddled nervously. You did want to see this one. Really bad. But it also looked really creepy. "I dunno… I didn't mentally prepare for this, ya know? When you said surprise I didn't think it'd be something like this!" You admitted with palpable uneasiness.

"Sounds like a good surprise to me, then," he said smugly. "And what were you expecting?"

His bedroom was spacious, open, and tidy. You'd seen studio apartments that were smaller. Walking over to his bed, you swiped one of his pillows before plopping down on the couch. You hugged it and looked up at him with playfully frightful eyes. "Maybe some kisses?"

"You're so fucking cute," he said, looking down at you with a self-satisfied smirk; yet another Targaryen trait he and his brother shared. He reached forward and gently tipped your chin higher, thumb grazing over your bottom lip. "Already looking at me with these eyes, hm?" He asked with a tilt of his head. "I bet I can hold off longer than you. You probably won't even last half the movie without my cock in your pretty mouth."

Heat rushed up to your face and down between your thighs. You had half a mind to bite his thumb. You rolled your eyes. "Shut the hell up," you snorted. "You're such an asshole!"

Aemond scoffed and grabbed a blanket for both of you. A moment later he sat beside you with his arm draped over the top of the couch behind you. "Don't worry, baby. I won't hold it against you." 

Even though he was still grinning like a stupid fucking cat he smelled really good. Too good. It was impossible to fight the lure of him. You leaned into him and instantly melted in comfort. "Do you ever stop talking? I'm trying to watch this."

"Oh. Okay okay, I'm sorry. Sheesh," he whispered.

The next thirty minutes or so went by quickly. The movie had an intense opening followed by a believable set up. There were subtle things in the beginning that reminded you of the type of movie it was. Timeless horror. After some well placed tropes and smooth scene transitions, you didn't realize the build up of tension had you squeezing Aemond's hand.

Right at the tension's peak, when you were holding your breath for what might happen next, the movie flexed its first jump scare. It got you good. So much so that you gasped (squeaked?) and buried your face in Aemond’s smooth, warm, exposed neck; your quick breath made you embarrassed.

Even though you were scared, and your reaction was wholly innocent, it had a much less innocent effect on Aemond. He said you'd be the first one to give in tonight. Yet, there he was: half hard all because your face was against his neck with those cute little breaths. He tried to fight it. "You okay?" He asked, rubbing your back.

"No," you squeaked. "I mean… yeah, I am. Just.. ah! That jump scare was so cheap and stupid but my heart is still pounding!" You laughed, reluctantly pulling away from him.

His eye had a sort of dark amusement to it. There were no soft comforting lines on the sharp angles of his face. "My tough girl… always listening to podcasts about true crime, hauntings, cryptids… and a dumb little jump scare gets you this worked up?"

"Shut up!" You said. His voice dripped with condescension and mockery and it made you blush all over again. "It's different when it's a movie, okay?"

"Mm… if you say so."

Somehow you were able to turn your attention back to the movie. For a little bit, at least. It didn't take much longer for the creep factor to multiply by tenfold and before you knew it you were in Aemond’s neck. Again. 

"You're hilarious," he laughed. "Isn't the original one of your favorites?"

"Yes. A love hate relationship," you mumbled against his skin. Without having to see them, you felt goosebumps pebble beneath your mouth; you weren't the only one getting worked up.

"You're extremely distracting."

In your defense some super weird shit happened next, and with it you jumped on his lap. Straddling him, you whispered, "I don't want to be scared anymore." Your lips brushed against his in a delicate, inviting kiss. Your arms draped over his shoulders so your fingers could slide up the back of his neck, squeezing at the base of his hair. 

He made a soft noise – so soft you might have missed it – and you felt him twitch under you. You loved how sensitive Aemond's scalp was. And right now you fully used it to your advantage.

You pressed your knees tighter against the outside of his thighs. Teasingly, to test his resolve, you rolled your hips over his groin.

That's all it took. Aemond hissed an inward breath. His pupil swelled. "I can feel how hot you are through all of our clothes. Is this why you're so worked up? Need to get off a time or two?" He asked, hands squeezing your hips.

"Not just me, Aems…," you mumbled accusingly. "You're already hard. And from what? Seeing me scared?"

A noise like a growl rumbled in his chest. "You've been panting and whimpering in my neck like a puppy for almost an hour. How can I not be hard? You make the same noises when my fingers are in you." He moved one hand into the waistband of your bottoms and pushed inside. There, long slender fingers brushed your covered cunt. And, while watching you, those fingers slid beneath your underwear to trace over your slit. He groaned at the slickness he met. "Fuck, baby, you're this wet from being scared?"

Arousal tightened all those low muscles in your belly. Anticipation quivered inside them making you shiver atop him. You gasped, instantly catching your bottom lip in your teeth as he circled your soaked little clit. "Don't tease me, Aems," you begged. 

He stayed on your clit. Circling, rubbing, tracing over and around the bud. "I'm gonna play with your pussy just like this for the rest of the movie. How does that sound?" 

You whined, already grinding your hips in time with his touch. "No. Please. I need more of you…"

He angled one of his fingers just right. The next time you ground on his hand that digit slipped up into you. You gasped together. His mouth crashed to yours with a deep, needy kiss. "That's right. Fuck yourself on my finger until you cum," he rasped between kisses, squeezing your hip harshly with his other hand.

Your bottoms were in the way and he wasn't moving his wrist much. He wasn't pumping into you, wasn't adding another finger, wasn't doing much at all except coaxing you with hushed praises and mockery. Yet, still, you ground all over him and whimpered into his mouth. He must have liked what you were doing because he slipped a second into you and curled them just slight, just enough, and soon you were shuddering atop him. "God, yes, I'm gonna cum!" You panted. "Fuck!"

Your little squeaked curse sent Aemond's cock aching. When you came around his fingers he laughed lowly, darkly, pulling out only when he knew you were done. "Stand up and take those off," he ordered, voice thick with desire.

You obeyed without even thinking about it. He pushed his own sweats and briefs down, too, cock standing stiff. Your mouth watered at the sight – cunt clenching at the sight – and in an instant you were straddling him again. "Been thinking about this since you texted me," you said breathily. You sunk down on him. Inch by wonderful inch. Your spongy walls yielded to him and the stretch of him had your eyes rolling closed.

"Always so eager for me," he said in a voice heavy and strained. "Shit, babe. Look how well you fit around my cock. Be a good girl and just stay there, yeah? Keep this hard fucking cock warm while I finish the movie since you're too scared to."

"Aems…," you whined.

"Shh…," he hushed. "I know you can do it. Be a good little cocksleeve and stop distracting me from the movie." His mouth said one thing yet his eye said another. Fuck yourself stupid, it said. Ride yourself silly, it also said. Show me what you got, it dared.

Your brain was already mush. Aemond had that awful effect on you. "Just like this?" You asked, lazily shimmying your hips until he nestled into the perfect spot. 

"Just like that," he praised, kissing your soft lips.

It was extremely challenging to simply stay there with your head resting on his shoulder, body melted atop his, with him stuffed up inside your slickened walls.

The first couple minutes were the worst. Anytime you'd been in this position before, you were fucking him absolutely wild with only one thing on your mind: your release.

Soon, impatience shifted to comfort. It felt… good. Really good. You were still so wet, and he was still so hard, that together it created a wholeness you never quite experienced before.

All the while you peppered kisses along his neck, his jaw, his face. "Are you trying to impress me?" He asked as his hands never quite stayed still on you. They happily wandered all along the shape and bends of your body. "Because it's working. Mmm… what a good girl. Behaving yourself so well."

Meanwhile, whatever was happening in the movie grew more intense by the scene. It must have been ramping up to the climax because the combination of dialogue, sound effects, and music, had you on edge even though you had your back to it. 

Aemond seemed entranced by it. Maybe you'd have to watch it with him another day when you were more mentally prepared for a horror flick… and only after you fucked two or five times.

You clenched around him, then. Fluttering the walls of your still soaked cunt around his still rigid length; tightening, relaxing, squeezing, easing. He felt too good and you were becoming restless again. Smirking to yourself, you ground against him – partially to release some of the pressure building inside of you and partially to see what his reaction might be.

"What do you think you're doing?" He asked, giving you a small upward buck of his hips.

"I love the way you feel. I want more of you," you answered truthfully. You took his action as an invitation and ground against him again, sighing blissfully.

Instead of a breathy praise, or low approving rumble, you were met with a firm smack against your asscheek. He spanked you again, and even a third time, alternating between your cheeks. "Greedy girl. Look at you being so needy you can't even follow simple directions." He slapped you more, all too proud of himself for the way you continued to squeeze around him in tandem with your little noises.

"Please, Aems!" You looked at him with dark desperate eyes.

He chuckled. "You just need fucked that bad? Begging for my cock even though you're already sitting on it?"

You nodded, pitiful. "Yes, yes, yes," you said, holding still despite lust gnawing at your core.

"Greedy greedy girl," he growled, pushing you off him so you were laying on your back on the couch. He removed his shirt in one quick motion. Long, lean, and beautifully alabaster, he loomed above you while lining himself up with your eager entrance. "This needy cunt can't even wait half an hour to be fucked."

Anytime Aemond's voice took on that edge you melted. You couldn't help yourself. Your thighs spilled open wide for him. "You always know what I need," you teased breathily.

"You're all mine to use, aren't you?" He asked, sinking into you. The muscles of his abdomen flexed as he pushed further into you. As soon as he filled you up entirely he moaned a delicious sound of satisfaction. "I love the way you look on your back." He punctuated his words with strong thrusts, giving you (and himself) exactly what you needed.

Pleasure already began to web outward from your spine. Your fingertips tingled. Your toes curled.

"Look at you," he cooed, not slowing his pace or rhythm. If anything he gripped your legs harder; dented his fingertips firmer into your soft flesh. "Keep taking my cock like the little slut you are. Yeah, yeah, just like that…"

His name fell from your lips as his words pushed you to the edge of your pleasure. Close, close, you were so close. You tugged your shirt up over your belly and chest to show off your bouncing tits to him. Your bra clipped in the front and you quickly unclasped it. When your breasts spilled free they bounced with the intensity of his movements.

"God, I love those tits," he rasped, shamelessly watching them. He made no move to grab, hold, or pinch them, simply watched the way they moved as he pounded into you.

"Ahh! Yes!" You said as orgasm ripped through your body. You held onto the bliss as long as you could, and as soon as you let go you turned to putty beneath him. He fucked you through it. You were in your happy place. Weightless. Senseless. Savoring every second of your climax as it took you to the stars.

Aemond managed to pull out of your quivering cunt at the last second. With a series of deeply satisfied groans he unloaded all over your exposed belly and tits. Ropes of cum shone on your skin. He panted, cheeks pink from the exertion, until every last drop of him glittered on you.

"You're sexiest like this," he said before he slowly stood and stepped away from the couch. He reappeared a moment later with a handful of tissues. He cleaned himself off as you cleaned yourself, too, basking in the afterglow of peak together. 

Neither of you said anything for a few minutes as you laughed and caught your breath. "You missed the ending, Aems," you finally said, gesturing to the rolling end credits.

"Guess we'll have to start it over," he said with an easy grin and shrug. 

"Guess so," you agreed dreamily.

Still naked, he walked to his computer and restarted the movie.

He sat by you again, greedily looking you over. "Stay like that, though."

You peered at him confusedly.

"I wanna see how far I make it before I'm eating that sweet pussy."

Once again, blood rushed to your face and you hoped he didn't notice.

You hadn't quite made it through half the movie before you pounced on him. How long would Aemond Targaryen last? Especially once you started flashing him all the angles and poses you knew he couldn't resist. He could talk tough all he wanted. You knew how much he loved your taste on his tongue.

-

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[mandobatemans]

glasses (Steven Grant x fem!reader)

A/N: just a little blurb inspired by steven's glasses bc they make me feral

word count: 844

NSFW BELOW THE CUT

also posted to ao3

Whatever volume of his Steven was poring over was probably very important, something for work or his personal interest. What was very important to you at the moment was the way his glasses fell on the bridge of his nose, the way he would every so often bite his lip, getting lost in his thoughts, or the way his tongue danced over his lips to wet them. If it were Marc or Jake, they'd know exactly what their actions were doing to you. But this was Steven. Your sweet, sweet Steven who had no concept of just how sexy every single thing he did was. He could roll up his sleeves a certain way and you'd be crawling out of your skin ready to jump him and be totally unaware. You loved that about him, but right now, all you wanted was for him to put the book down and study you on his desk instead.

He would follow the words on the page with his finger, your eyes trailing the movement from across the room. You had planned to walk to the park together and work on your separate activities while sharing a bench, like you often did, but the rain had other ideas. Your activity was long forgotten, thrown to the side in favor of watching Steven, but he was still engulfed in his, eyes devouring every word on the page except for every so often when he would stop to make a note.

He touched his finger to his tongue, wetting the digit to help him in turning the page. This by itself would have set you off, but coupled with the fact that he had looked up and smiled at you while doing so, totally unaware of the thoughts racing through your head, had you rushing across the room to him.

“Y’alright, love?” Steven asked, looking up at you over his glasses.

You nodded, eagerly, maybe too eagerly. “Yeah, yeah, ‘m fine.” You shifted your weight back and forth, unsure how to bring up the fact that you wanted him to pin you down and fuck you within an inch of your life.

Steven had closed his book and taken his glasses off, setting them down on the desk so he could better focus on you. “Are you sure? You look a bit jumpy.”

“Mhm, I just–” You paused when you saw Steven pause. He had the expression on his face that came when Marc or Jake were speaking to him.

When he returned to you, there was a faint blush on his cheeks. His eyes darted between you and where he had set his glasses.

You smiled inwardly, knowing one of the other boys had filled him in on what exactly had you so jumpy.

Steven stood, picking up his glasses and placing them on the bookshelf behind him.

“What are you doing?”

“One moment, darling,” he said, picking up the stacks of books cluttering his desk and moving them to the couch you had been sitting on earlier. Once he had moved them all, he lifted you up onto the desk where the books had been, slotted his body between your legs, and crashed his lips into yours.

You welcomed the feeling of him on you, the familiar heat of his tongue pressing into your mouth, and the weight of his body against your own. You grasped a hand in his hair and welcomed the moan he let out that was lost in between kisses.

- - - -

He had you on your back, both legs thrown over his shoulders, taking you apart with his tongue. Steven was gentle, and that's what was so tantalizing about it. No matter the pace he went, he always coaxed an orgasm out of you, if not multiple. And they were always mind-blowing.

As he licked inside of you, tongue curling the way his fingers would, his nose rubbed against your clit, still wet from the attention he had given it moments before. Steven liked to watch you come undone, partly because he loved looking at you, and partly so he could memorize every single expression you made as a result of his actions. He held your hand when you came, something he liked to do no matter what position you were in. It was sweet and intimate, a ritual during sex that you became accustomed, and even looked forward to, with Steven.

He rose from between your legs, hovering his body over yours so he could press kisses to your neck and shoulders. “You did so good, sweet girl.” Steven helped you sit up and readjust so your hips were almost hanging off the desk. He pressed his forehead to yours, giving you a quick peck on the lips. “Can you take some more?” He asked, hand coming up to caress your cheek.

You nodded, pressing a kiss to his palm, but interrupted him while his other hand went to undo his belt. “Wait.”

“What’s wrong, love?”

You pointed to the bookshelf, and his eyes followed your finger. “Put the glasses back on.”

[dira333]

Away from home - Oikawa x reader

Follower Celebration Request

A/N: Since I had quite some trouble characterizing him, I'd appreciate it if you told me how well I've managed

Your last roommate had been less difficult.

Granted, he’d only been on the lease for a month before he moved out again, and even then, you barely saw him. 

But this guy is different. He’s been overly charming during the interview, to the point that it made you suspicious. Who flirts that much over a simple room? Especially when it had already been clear that he got it?

Oikawa Tooru is tall, good-looking, and aware of it. He’s also your roommate of one day and is already going on your nerves.

“The laundry.” You’re standing in the doorway to his room, laundry basket heavy on your hip. “You need to put it away when it’s done or I can’t use the washer.”

“Oh, I was going to do-” Tooru scrambles up from his bed where he’d been watching something on his laptop, his ridiculously floppy hair bouncing as he moves. He’s like a walking shampoo ad.

“Yeah, now.” You put the laundry basket down. “And I need it in half an hour when my load is done.”

“Sure thing, honeycup.”

“Don’t call me that.”

You had wondered, for about half a minute, how he was dealing with the culture shock that was Argentina. It had been tough for you, coming from America, but it had to be worse for him. You still remember how he blushed when you casually used his first name - like you were used to doing - before realizing that that’s not really a thing in Japan. 

Was he as homesick as you? Did he miss familiar sights, the simple things like being able to get your favorite brand of chocolate in the nearby store instead of having to find a specialty shop and paying an arm and a leg for it? 

You wanted to ask, kind of, until you walked back to his room thirty minutes later only to find your laundry basket still filled with wet clothing.

“Are you serious?” You ask. He looks up from his laptop, brows furrowed.

“What?” He asks.

“The laundry. I told you I need the basket.” 

“I was going to-”

You grab the basket, lift it up, and turn it over, watching with a sick kind of satisfaction as it drops heavily on his bed - and partly on him too. 

“I’m not your mom.” You remind him and storm out of his room before you can lose your temper even more.

-

A week later you’ve learned a few things about Tooru.

One, he needs longer in the bathroom than you. Especially in the mornings when you really have to pee.

Two, he has the worst diet you’ve ever seen and you lived with your diabetic grandfather until you moved here. How can he survive on coffee and Tortas Fritas and still look like someone cut him from marble a few hours ago?

Three, he never seems to sleep. Twice you’ve got up in the wee hours of the morning because your bladder insisted on it, only to find him up, watching sports on his laptop like a maniac.

Four, he owns at least five pairs of Alien-themed loungewear. That you know because he keeps forgetting to put his laundry away.

Which brings you to the fifth thing you’ve learned about him. He never, ever, ever puts his laundry away.

It’s a miracle he even knows how to start a washing cycle. But as soon as he presses the button he seems to forget that the machine even exists until you put the laundry basket in his room and insist that he hangs his clothes to dry. When you come back around and find that he hasn’t done that, you can either hang it up yourself to avoid the smell or nag him until he does it. Which in turn will lead to you nagging him about taking down the dry clothes. You suspect he just picks them from the clothes line whenever he needs to wear them, entirely foregoing his closet.

And you should be above this. He’s your roommate, not your friend. He’s a stranger and not part of your family. He’s not even a child, even though he acts like one. So even if you’re studying pediatric medicine, that does not mean you have to throw yourself in front of every man-toddler who seems to need your help.

But he does. And you cannot make yourself stop caring.

-

“Listen up, Buttercup.” You start the moment the door clicks shut behind him.

“Oh?” He asks, voice hopeful. The smile slips from his lips the moment he sees you.

Your hair is pushed away from your face thanks to the most ridiculous headband you own - it has two plush black crows sown onto both sides instead of cat ears because your little brother had both a sowing and a crow phase at the same time. You hold your spatula like a sword and point it at him.

“We’re cooking today.”

“I don’t need-”

“You cannot live by Tortas Fritas any longer.” You declare. “My medical degree will not allow it.”

“You don’t have a medical degree yet.”

“And you’re not Karch Kiraly but you sure act like him.”

That makes him perk up. “You know Karch Kiraly?” 

“Who doesn’t?” You throw an apron at him. “Get dressed.”

“Do I have to?”

“Do you want to ruin your clothes?”

He makes a face like he’s hurting. “It’s just… it has crows on it.”

“Yes, my brother made it. You can use your own apron if you cannot handle some cute crows.”

The hurt look intensifies but he wraps it around his body, fiddles with the strings.

“You’re hopeless.” You step behind him and tie it closed, making sure to pull it extra tight as punishment for last week's actions.

“Do you have any allergies? Sensory issues?”

“I don’t like slimy food.”

“Well, you’re in luck, we’re not making slime today.”

-

Tooru is, surprisingly enough, not a fool in the kitchen. He knows how to cut vegetables without hurting himself and he manages not to burn anything. 

But he talks. A lot.

His English is as good as your Japanese is rusty. His accent is kinda cute, but you choose to ignore that. His Spanish is downright criminal and you have to remind yourself of his awful laundry behaviors to keep from swooning every time he points at something and names it in Spanish.

“You’re very adamant.” You point out. “Your Spanish is good, you could probably slack off a day or two.”

The look he gives you has you shivering.

“Why should I slack off?” He asks. “What do I gain from that? Do you know how hard it is to get rid of your accent?”

There’s an intensity to his voice that makes you take a step back only to bump into the table behind you.

He stops, freezes, and for some inexplicable reason - ducks his head.

You stand there for a second, speechless and confused until he seems to realize that whatever he was waiting for isn’t coming. When he straightens up again, sadness washes over his face and you know that look - it’s Homesickness.

“Who are you missing right now?”

“Iwa-chan.” He turns around to flip the frittata. “He’s my best friend.”

“Did he ruffle your hair?” You ask, “Is that why you ducked your head?”

“No.” He laughs, still not facing you. It must be easier for him to be open like this when he’s not looking at you. “He’d throw Volleyballs at my head when I was misbehaving. I’m sorry, by the way. I didn’t want to scare you.”

“Like you could scare me.” You joke, trying to downplay the effect he really had on you.

“Oh, I can be scary when I want to be, don’t you try me.” He turns this time, but the smile on his face ruins the joke. You like him more when he’s honest instead of charming.

“So that Iwa-chan.” You move to plate the food. “He’s your mom? Mom-Friend? Did he also make sure you did your laundry and went to bed early and ate healthy?”

It’s more meant as a joke than a real question and you falter when you realize that you hit the nail on the head. 

Tooru seems to fold under your question. 

“Yes.” He pouts. “I thought… Well…” He grips the edge of the sink, stares out the window instead of facing you. “The team I play for offers housing. I had a nice apartment all to myself.”

“But you need the reinforcement of a second person to actually get your life together?”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t even sound ashamed about it.

You step forward, as close to him as you dare. When he turns, you level him with a glare, stick your pointer finger into his ridiculous buff chest. 

“You listen to me, you little shit. I am not your mother and I am not your Iwa-chan. I will not run after you and remind you to eat and take a shit and go to sleep. You are more than capable of doing it yourself.”

He opens his mouth to answer but you’re not done yet.

“If I catch you with another Tortas Fritas this month, I’ll whoop your ass.”

Tooru smiles so bright you can see a dimple forming. “Is that a promise?”

“Eat.” You turn away before he can see how flustered that comment made you.

-

Two days later you find him in the kitchen, making a ridiculous show of it as if he’s there to film an ad for an apron instead of cooking.

He’s bought an apron for himself. Something told you he wanted to buy an alien-themed one but couldn’t find one.

Should you tell him that Godzilla isn’t an alien? He seems pretty happy about the little guy destroying cities on the flimsy fabric.

It’s been a rough day for you. Both your period and your work studies have you rubbed raw. You want to crawl into bed, not think about the boy that came in today, the one who reminds you too much of your little brother.

“Hey, am I doing this right?” Tooru calls after you as you make your way to your bedroom to unload your stuff.

“For sure.” You croak out, half turned to look at him. 

There’s something in his smile that makes it look wobbly. Not for the first time you wonder if he’s just as homesick as you are. You drop your bag on the floor in front of your bedroom door and walk back to the kitchen.

“What are you making?”

“Curry.” He waves his spoon around like he’s a magician instead of a cook. “My mother’s recipe.”

“Oh, I don’t think I’ve ever tried Japanese Curry. Can I try?”

“Of course.” Tooru grins proudly. “I made enough for both of us. And there will be leftovers.”

“That’s neat. What’s the special ingredient?”

“No special ingredient. It’s a basic recipe, I can teach you if you want.”

“Yeah, I’d like that.” You lean against the sink, surprised when he pulls something from the fridge. 

“Iced coffee. Thought you might like one when you get home.”

“You’re a godsend.” You groan and take the first sip. You’re not sure what’s more effective at waking you up, the caffeine or the coolness of the drink against the heat of all of Argentina.

“You shouldn’t drink that much coffee.” He points out when you’re halfway done with the drink.

“You shouldn’t tell me what to do.”

“You could sleep more.”

“I will when you do it too.”

He looks up, a grin on his face that speaks of danger. “Deal.”

“What?”

“Bedtime for both of us. Does ten sound okay?”

“You’ll never be able to get to bed at ten. Don’t you have to bingewatch sports for five hours at night to feel complete?”

“Ouch. I’m just doing research.”

“Mhm, or you have a fetish.”

He laughs at that, loud and carefree. You like him like this.

“Tell me about your mom.” It sounds a little too harsh, but he doesn’t seem to mind that you’re demanding instead of asking.

He looks different when he speaks of his family. Younger and taller, both at the same time. Like he allows himself to be vulnerable and grows above himself through that. 

You wonder how he could ever think that his fake smile could work on women when his real smile is this attractive.

-

Days turn into weeks, into months.

Tooru is now the crowned king of the kitchen - after a few too many cooking battles that you’ve all sorely lost. It’s not that he doesn’t know how to cook, he just needs a reason to do so. He jokes it’s the smile on your face when you eat, but you don’t want to believe that.

It holds too many implications to believe it.

In turn, you’ve taken up all laundry duties. It’s a good system and you don’t have to nag him anymore. If he doesn’t put his dirty laundry out on Tuesdays, he will go without clean clothes for another week. Enforcing that rule has already gotten you plenty of pictures to use for blackmail, your favorite the one of him in a bright pink jumpsuit he was supposed to bring a friend. Pink suits his flustered face.

-

Iwa-chan is coming today. He’d told you about it weeks in advance when his friend booked the flight.Tooru has been like a headless chicken ever since and you’re happy for him, you really are, but there’s also a pang of jealousy. Why can’t your family take the time to visit you?

You know why, but it still hurts that you’re going to have to watch him be happy, pushed to the side in favor of his new friend.

“Hey.” He stops by your door, throws himself into a ridiculous pose like he always does and grins when you can’t help but roll your eyes. “I’m leaving in five minutes. Are you ready?”

You furrow your brows. “Ready for what? I told you you have to clean the apartment, he’s your guest.”

“No, to come with me, silly. I can’t go into the madness of an airport alone! What if someone recognizes you?”

“Well, they might do as a favor and kidnap you.” You joke and watch him pout. It’s ridiculous how cute that makes him look.

“Take that back.” Tooru whines and you laugh. “Never.

“Take that back!” He repeats, taking one step, then two, only to drop himself on you.

You shriek in surprise at the sudden weight, try to wiggle away but his face is so close, grinning from ear to ear, his eyes full of light.

You don’t really know who moved closer first. You, him, both of you? 

But your lips meet and your eyes close and it’s just him and you and your joined breath and the softness of his lips, his weight on you and your hands in his ridiculous fluffy hair.

You don’t speak for a while, don’t need too. Exploring this is more important.

Eventually he pulls away to press his temple against yours, to squint into his eyes.

“You like me?” He asks, voice uncharacterally shy. 

“I hate you.” You tease and move for his lips again. He pouts.

“Don’t tell anyone.” You whisper against his lips. “Okay? Don’t tell Tooru.”

“Just Iwa-chan.” He whispers back, caught in the feeling of it. “He’ll be able to guess it anyway.

You giggle against his lips, kiss him again, once, twice, until you can feel yourself getting lost in it again. But there’s a thought nibbling at the edge of your brain now and it gets louder.

“Tooru?” You ask when you pull back again. “Shouldn’t we leave for the airport?”

His eyes widen comically as he whips his head around to look at your alarm clock.

“Shit! He’s going to be so mad!”

-

Iwa-chan is a monument of muscle, a building of a man. He’s not that tall, at least not taller than Tooru, but he’s impressive in his sturdiness, arms folded in front of his chest as he glowers at Tooru.

Tooru seems totally unimpressed by that, even as you drag your feet, a little scared of his friend. 

“Iwa-chaaaan!” He sings, drapes himself over his friend's shoulder. “I missed you!”

“Clearly you didn’t! You’re half an hour late!”

“It’s not my fault.” Tooru smiles coyly, pulling you close by the hand he’d been holding since you exited his car. “Can you blame me? I got distracted by beauty!”

“I…” You stumble. “I’m sorry. This time it really is my fault. But I kicked his ass on the way here.”

Iwa-chan’s lips quirk up into a hint of a smile.

“Good. I’ll leave the rest of the ass-kicking to you.”

You salute him, which has Tooru whining like a child and begging for mercy.

You pull at his ear, just enough to tease him. 

“Come on.” You tell him. “You need to show Iwa-chan how well you cleaned your apartment.”

-

Tagging anyone who helped me - it was much appreciated:

@alienaiver @misfit-megumi @missalienqueen @amecchii @notsochillnerd @ur-local-simp @krishnaabhistha @fuzztacular

Hope I didn't forget anyone. If I did, forgive me!

my Kofi if you want to tip me

[thebelovedmuse]

Are you still taking requests? Because I absolutely need more aggressively flirting Wally

**A/N: I got multiple requests for more aggressive flirting with Wally, which is hilarious. Hopefully this will satisfy you all 💓

Warning: Suggestive themes but nothing explicit

🧡💛💙

Another beautiful day, you think to yourself as you take your daily walk. Your thoughts are soon interrupted by the sounds of footsteps closing in behind you. You look over your should to see Wally trying to catch up to you, "Hello Neighbor!" He shouts with a wave. You slow down to allow him to walk along side you. "I've got a favor to ask of you Neighbor," Wally begins. "I'm working on the science section of the next episode and was wondering if you would help me test this idea for a game I had." "A game? I'm mean sure I can but, don't you usually do the science stuff with Frank? Why don't you ask him to test it?" "Well of course for the show it will be with Frank... but if I get to choose who to test this idea out with I'd prefer someone cuter than Frank." Wally laughs and you look away, trying not to let him see you blush. "Well if you put it that way, sure Wally," you say, impressed with your own moment of boldness. "Can I get a hint on what this episode is about?"

"So, we've been working on studying one of the five senses each week so it will be on that," Wally says. "Sounds interesting! This should be fun."

That evening you head over to Home to help Wally test this new game out, you had forgotten to ask exactly which of the five senses this new game was even for so you you busied your mind with guesses as you walked over. The moment you stepped into the living room you saw that the coffee table now looked to have objects on it, covered by a big blue sheet. You sit down next to Wally and excitedly asked him which of the senses was he planning on talking about for the next show. "Taste!" Wally exclaimed, "I think you're going to really enjoy this game Neighbor." You laugh, "Then let's get to it! What's the game?" "Well, you're going to be blindfolded and you have to guess what you're tasting!" "Ooooh that's a great idea, I could see this being really funny on the show," you say. "So, where's the blindfold?" Wally looks at you like a deer in headlights, "Oh dear...I didn't think about that part...OH," Wally reaches for his red scarf and unties it. "I guess we can use this." Wally gets up to stand over you and wraps the scarf around your eyes and begins tying it. You feel flustered as you notice your other senses heighten and you can smell a hint of Wally's scent on the scarf. "Is that too tight, Neighbor?" Wally whispers in your ear. "N-no, its fine," you somehow manage to stutter out. You feel Wally sit back down next to you.

"Ok let's start! Here's the first one..." You try the first object, its crunchy and sweet. "Oh! An apple slice!" You think to yourself that this should be a pretty easy game if Wally gives you such obvious items. You prepare yourself for the next one and sense metal between your lips, a spoon! You immediately realize that whatever is on the spoon is now partly running out the side of your mouth. Oops! "Oh I'm sorry!" You hear Wally say you feel his hand cup your cheek, his thumb running from your chin to the corner of your lip to catch the liquid. You notice a prolonged pause as his thumb sits near your lips before suddenly moving away. Wally stumbles over his words, "Ok so uh, can you guess what it is?"

"Is that...ice cream?" you ask. "Yeah...I think I left it sitting on the table too long, sorry Y/N." "Well at least you didn't get it all over me!" you laughed. You notice no response and wonder if you said something weird. Instead Wally skips right over to the next object. The game goes on for a few more rounds and you managed to guess them all correctly. "I think I have mastered this game," you say smugly, "What's next?" "Well...there's just one more left." "Bring it on!" There's a pause and you start to ask yourself what is taking so long when you feel lips crash against yours. Your mind goes blank and you feel like your face is on fire. Wally quickly pulls away and you rip off the blindfold. You both stare at each other in shock for a moment, both now as red as the apple on the table. "That was uh...real smooth there Wally," you say with a small laugh. He was nothing if not persistent. "I hope you weren't planning on trying that last bit with Frank," you say, unable to suppress a giant grin. "Ha ha ha! No...that was just for you." Wally smiles. You reach over and grab his hand, "So, what does this mean now?"

"Well first off...I think I'd like to play this game with you again," Wally says smirking.

🧡💛💙

[saksukei]

five times you fell in love with ushijima wakatoshi.

masterlist | sorry this is really long. I just love him sm <3

01. that one day when he walked you home and stayed for dinner. your mother had told ushijima she had never found the neighborhood safe, so he made it a point to walk you back everyday after his practices.

you came upon a startling realization during this time. ushijima was definitely raised like a gentleman. he would never let you walk on the outer side of the sidewalk. anytime you were on the outer side, he'd take a step back and go around you. always.

“thank you for dropping me home, wakatoshi,” you told him. it was a routine for you to say this and for him to reply that you shouldn't thank him for this.

“i am thankful though. especially for you not letting me walk on the outer side,” you explain and ushijima feels like he's been caught off guard. he did do it unintentionally most of the time, yes, but he makes sure of it when he's with you. its also partly because you sometimes get so carried away telling him about your day, he worries you might accidentally stumble on the street and he can't have that.

“you read me well,” he admits, a chuckle escaping his lips.

“well it's because i'm just happy to be graced by the presence of the ace of shiratorizawa,” you joke.

“you think too highly of me, you know that?”

“i don't see why I shouldn't,” you retort. “do you want to come in for dinner?”

you assume he's going to refuse since he has to be home in an hour to study and do his homework. and you know better than anyone that he doesn't take a single day off, no matter what. be it hail, sleet, snow or a tornado, ushijima would never rest.

he takes a minute to think till he replies, “yeah sure.”

you mask your shock well, you open the door and let him in. and you can already feel the butterflies in your stomach. maybe you don't view him as a friend, but something more.

02. when you told him he was boring. it wasn't intentional, no. ushijima is fun but just not without planning out the fun? so when you tell him that you're gonna go out in the rain, he's definitely hesitant to join. you don't force him to join you which he's grateful for.

but when he sees the smile on your face, as raindrops trickle down, he thinks to hell with it. you're awestruck when he does join in, his eyes taped shut, as he lets himself feel each raindrop falling on his skin.

“toshi” you call out, only for his eyes to meet yours, slowly adjusting to the light. you laugh and he thinks he's never heard a better sound.

“i’ve never done this before.t I wouldn't have, if it wasn't for you,” he admits, letting his rigid body go lose.

“don’t go all soft on me big guy,” you retort, a grin on your face.

“i can't help it.”

and you can't help falling in love with him either.

03. when you spent an afternoon in his childhood bedroom. ushijima’s mother had invited the two of you for dinner, telling you to take a look at wakatoshi’s old room.

volleyball and manga posters were lined on the side of his wall, with some of his trophies and pictures with his best friend tendou.

“can’t believe i’m lucky enough to be here,” you joke, a playful smile tugging on your lips.

“can’t believe i’m lucky enough to bring you here,” he responds, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“although I think I should be jealous because from the looks of this bedroom, it feels like you've been dating tendou,” you pointed at the wide array of pictures of the two.

ushijima throws his head back in laughter, “i kept our pictures hidden from mom,” he replies. you knew his mother was a little critical of his choices as a teenager. “wait–” he opened his cupboard and started rummaging through the drawers only to pull out a shoebox.

“this has all of our pictures,” he hands the box to you. you open it, only to find ushijima saving up not only pictures, but movie tickets, little letters you wrote for him, the bracelets you made, the cute doodles you drew on his notebook perfectly cut off alongside birthday cards and a childhood photo that you gave him.

“i never knew you saved all of this stuff,” you whispered. you never took ushijima for the sentimental type, especially not the one to save what you referred to as your ‘romantic garbage.’

“of course I would,” he shrugs. “it might be garbage to you but it meant the world to me and it still does. I save stuff till this day,” he admits.

this man really does catch you off guard, doesn't he?

04. when you were having a difficult time. while he's a world renowned player that definitely has more than enough on his mind given the upcoming championship, all of that becomes irrelevant when he catches you with tears sliding down your face after coming home back early from his practice.

“t–toshi, you're home?” you whisper, quickly trying to wipe the tears of your face. but you've never been a good liar and ushijima can read you with his eyes closed.

“what’s wrong, love?” he asks, immediately cupping your face with his hands, wiping your tears. “is everything okay?”

the dam breaks and he just pulls you into his chest, letting you cry your heart out. he shushes any apologies you cry out. why were you so adamant on thinking that you were a burden to him? burdens are pushed on people against their will and he sure as hell isn't here against his.

and you think, how lucky you are to have wakatoshi around.

05. when you find him drenched from the rain. ushijima was returning from his latest championship and you had already warned him of the thunderstorm ready to rain down on Tokyo. you find him and his suitcase looking as if they've crossed a tsunami on the way to the apartment.

“toshi,” you quickly rush to find a towel to wrap around him. “what happened?” you ask. “did the cab not drop you directly here?”

he smiles sheepishly admitting that he had asked the cab to drop him off fifteen minutes away. when you ask why, he pulls out the flowers and cupcakes he brought from your favorite bakery.

“and I also brought your favorite manga,” he smiles. “i just missed you so much these two months.”

you feel tears well up in your eyes as you hug him, “i missed you too,” you whisper, buried in the crook of his neck. you pull away, “go change quickly now, we can't have our star player being sick. dinner is almost done.”

“i love you, darling,” he says before heading inside.

and just as you thought you couldn't fall in love with ushijima wakatoshi anymore, he manages to prove you wrong.

[aangelinakii]

FLOORPLAN.

— he's a librarian, he'll understand... right ?

summary : on your patrol night, your bag with all your books got absolutely demolished. including the books you'd taken out from the library. now all you have to do is find a way to tell the cute librarian...

not proofread !!

fuck.

well, one good thing came of this, and it was that you'd prevented your favourite delicatessen from being broken into (although the food was good, you couldn't imagine why a group of grown men would try to break in), but that was probably the only thing.

for one, that guy with the crowbar had beat the interiors of your bag to bits when he tried to whack you round the back, any horrible injuries muffled by its contents.

you'd had a late night studying for an end-of-term, and was walking to the train station when you found them, the bastard with the crowbar trying to pry open the metal shutter.

your suit was in your bag, often kept there specially for times like these — good thing you planned ahead.

after the ordeal, after deciding you could save some money on a ticket by leaping over rooftops home, you finally unzipped your backpack and spilled out its contents on your bedroom floor.

paper flew into the air, either crumbled or ripped, some words completely illegible; crushed pens and pencils rolled out, the gooey ink staining the bottom of the bag, and now partly your floor. you could buy new pens, print new papers, but the worst part had to be the creased-to-no-redemption library books you'd checked out last week.

the helpless pages stared back up at you, almost in disappointment, and you knew you were fucked. like, how could a book make you feel guilty?

ah, here's why: you'd have to eventually either return it in its state, or explain to the cute guy at the library why you can't return your checked-out books, and either option seemed to possibly end up with you losing your library card and being banned from ever showing your face.

god, what would jason say?

he already had that whole bad boy kind of look down, and he seemed like he could land a swift punch in the face if anything had happened to his books. the odds did not seem to be in your favour.

the next day, you stopped by the library on your way to the station. your class was later, which had given you time to prepare to face jason; it was better to get it over and done with, right?

when you pushed open the doors, jason glanced up from his desk, from the pages of the book in his hand, and his eyebrows rose slightly. he turned his book over on the countertop, still open on his page.

"what can i do you for?" he hummed as you approached.

really trying to lay it on thick, you lean your arms against the counter, smiling as you did.

"so..." you began, eyes wandering the library space. when they met jason's for a moment, his pale green gaze looked up at you expectantly. "you know those books i took out last week?"

for a moment he was quiet, letting out a stiff sigh. he probably got told this at least once a day. "yeah, i suppose i do. what about them?"

your fingers found each other, prodding against the pads of your finger tips, doing something to try to calm your nerves. "i dunno... i guess maybe i can't bring them back to you..."

finally, you willingly met his gaze, which was filled with exasperation. his jaw hung slightly, and his head had cocked to the side as he watched you stumble over your words. yeah, you were done for.

with another sigh, this one more gruff than the other, jason leaned away from you, a hand coming up to rub at his temple.

"what happened?" he asked after a moment, tone impatient, although it was like he was trying to find an ounce of patience.

air brushed through your nostrils, your teeth coming to each other in a clench. although you didn't want to tell him the truth, as that would compromise your secret identity, you also didn't know how to come up with something on the spot to save your ass.

it would sound crazy, anyway. what more did you have to lose than your library card?

"some guy with a crowbar tried smashing up my bag, and the books were kind of inside," you admitted quickly, pulling your backpack off your shoulder and unzipping it, readying to pull out your evidence.

but jason only looked on at you in disbelief; you could only imagine he was thinking, 'who does this kid think they're fooling?'

his eyelids closed over his eyes, and he shook his head lightly. "i'm not an idiot, okay?" he began, resting an arm on the counter top, fingers unconsciously tapping a rhythm on the wood. for a moment he was quiet, allowing the tapping of his fingers to be the only dialogue between you.

"but i guess i can let you off with a warning."

completely taken aback by his reply, a smile plastered itself on your face, cheeks somewhat ablaze. slowly you began to zip your bag shut again; the books were beyond redemption, perhaps it would be better to throw the whole bag in the trash.

"consider yourself lucky," he hummed, reaching out to take his upturned book back in his hands. "normally i'd revoke your library card. but i was feeling nice today."

if you hadn't been so preoccupied by your gratitude you may have even said the corner of his lip quirked up in a soft smile.

"oh, thank you so much!" you gasped, hands on your chest, over your beating heart. "i swear i'll find a way to make it up to you. i'll do anything, really! i could – i don't know – donate some books i don't read anymore, or volunteer, or even do coffee runs!"

jason glanced up from his page for a moment, that charming half-smile of his ever-present. "i'll just do you a favour and not tell my manager, but maybe we could do a coffee run together some time."

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

irresistible, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Jeon Jungkook provokes you into fucking him. Just not before you finger-fuck his mouth in the middle of a kitchen that belongs to neither of you as a summer party rages outside.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; strangers-to-lovers; JK is a brat until he gets served punishment; intense D/s smut (fem reader, noona kink, spit kink, slight humiliation / degradation kink, choking, hair pulling, scratching / marking, denying him kisses, nipple play, dry humping, m-masturbation, cowgirl, semi-public sex, ball torture); non-idol!BTS – sub!Jungkook x noona, dom!reader

yeah, he has the double lip piercing, I like what I like, shush JK's appearance based on CK campaign and 'SEVEN' promo photos

--

now playing – irresistible by fall out boy

“Noona, I heard something very interesting.”

“And what is that?”

“I heard you punish bad boys.”

“Your point being?”

“Well, I can be a bad boy.”

“Hm, you are not going to provoke me into fucking you.”

“Do you wanna bet?”

-

He said, “Punish me if you think you can,” and you said, “I don’t need to.”

His eyebrow cocked.

You clarified.

“I will make you want punishment.”

Jeon Jungkook. Honestly, not your type. So handsome he seemed fake. Pretended not to care when he cared too much. Had a habit of taking car selfies with a certain lack of respect to them and spontaneously posting them on Instagram to farm thirst comments. You didn’t know about the last part until earlier this week. It was essential to the process, obtaining background research of the subject.

And now you were alone with him.

In a hotel room.

Sitting in a chair placed in front of the end of the bed, primly crossing your legs, contemplating if you were going to fuck the man in front of you. You studied the details of his face. Striking eyes. Tan skin that looked malleable and supple. You could tell he was wearing lip product. A balm to make them more appealing, glossier, a deeper pink. Mood, texture, color.

He had not one, but two silver lip rings on the right edge of his shapely lips.

Let’s start there.

Your own lips curved into a smirk and you lifted your hand.

Jungkook frowned at you, chiseled jaw and furrowed brows included. He was sitting with his legs partly open, hands laced behind his head like a reckless bad boy, acting as if he needed to be impressed. He had messy black hair past his eyebrows. The strands grazed above his lashes when dry and would cover his vision completely when damp. His prominent collarbones were visible under the low-cut, baggy black t-shirt. Black leather jacket was tossed aside, exposing the stark contrast of his heavily inked right arm and his equally defined bare left arm.

Your right hand raised and you placed your lips between your middle and index finger.

Opened your mouth.

Right away, you could see it.

Jeon Jungkook thought he was a lot of things, or at least tried to portray a certain image, but those big, dark brown eyes betrayed him every time.

Your flexible tongue traced a subtle v-shape between your fingers, almost, almost touching the skin, but not quite. Barely a millimeter away. Close enough to feel the heat of the warm muscle. You saw him pause. Falter. A crack in the glass. Your lashes lowering, expression demure other than your obscene mouth trapped the frame of your fingers. His stare fixated, lips parting, forgetting his confidence in this lewd display of juxtaposition. Lidded gaze, red lips, pink tongue. You licked the air between you and him, come hither.

His hands were falling, falling, slowly drifting down his sides.

“What…?”

His voice was a little too tight, a little too interested for someone trying to play it cool.

“W… What a-are you doing?” he breathed out.

You didn’t reply.

You just moved your fingers. Tucked down your index and pinky finger. Pressed the ring and middle side by side. Then your tongue slid out, jaw lowering, and you collected your two joined fingers into your waiting mouth, sliding them into the slick, glossy, perilous dark hole.

Jungkook sucked in a breath, his eyes widening.

You tilted your head, licking around your fingers. Circling around them. Slow. Thrust them in and out, letting the saliva drip down, down, closing your lips around them softly, your red lipstick being ruined, and now there was absolute quiet. Not even breathing. This was now an erotic silent film and you were the star, your eyes barely open but seeing everything, fucking your mouth in front of his face and observing Jungkook’s reaction. His body tense, trying to hide the tremors. His lips parted, trying to mask his staggered exhale. His legs adjusting to bunch up his loose, classic blue jeans, all so the crotch wasn’t pressed right against his body.

You smiled around your fingers, sinister and sly.

Pulled your fingers out of your mouth. Lingering down the right edge of your lips. Your fingernail grazed the full underside of your lower lip, ghosting your skin, down your chin and the curve of your neck, fanning your fingers over your collarbones. Careless smears of red across your skin, fading down to clear gleaming saliva over exposed throat.

Your wanton, sultry sigh invaded the air between you and him.

Jungkook stared at you, mesmerized by the view.

Like a moth getting trapped in the light by fixation.

“Hurt me,” he whispered.

So easy.

Or perhaps he had no idea that he said it, because he straightened a little, chewing on his lip and abruptly looking away. Silent but you could see how hard he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Shivers subsiding but oh-so-slowly, as if he wanted to savor their departure. Still, he was avoiding your attention. You reached into your jacket pocket and pulled out a spare tissue, wiping your hand and dabbing off your chin. His head jerked back at your action.

Jungkook frowned.

Disappointed.

Wanted more.

You got up from the chair and stood, looking down at him.

“I am leaving,” you announced.

He flinched as if slapped and then immediately scowled, hiding his startled surprise with veiled annoyance. “What? Why? I haven’t done anything!”

You folded the used tissue absentmindedly as you spoke. “True. And that’s why I’m leaving. You aren’t interested. You are simply trying to use me to get a good story. I wasn’t affected. She’s nothing special. Hmm, I appreciate the consideration,” you added in a dry tone that did not, in fact, appreciate the consideration. “But you can make up whatever story you want as I take my leave. Feel free to get creative. I won’t dispute you.”

Jungkook sprang up from the bed, seemingly seething. “What? No. That’s stupid. I don’t want that. I rented a hotel room just for this. For you. What, you think I’m not good enough for your talent or something like that?”

Pressing his buttons, one by one, was almost too simple.

“Oh, no. I’m sure you’re good at sex,” you hummed calmly.

An uneasy flicker across his face.

“I just think you’re not ready for what I’m about to do to you.”

His expression sharpened. Biting onto the challenge. You faced him as an equal rather than an overbearing presence. For now. You held eye contact as you breathed out. Gave instruction, gently.

“Be honest with me.”

Your hand darted out, hovering under his chin.

Almost, almost touching.

“Place your chin in my hand if you want to be honest with me, Jungkook.”

-

The stench of summer sex.

You drenched yourself in it and when you surfaced, you shook out your hair and went onto the next.

This was the game.

Just like the game you just played, leaving with an open white dress shirt over your red bikini top and tiny black shorts, sauntering away from the bedroom. The man in there needed to come down. Needed to bask in what had just transpired. Maybe simply needed to hide after you had ravaged him. You on top, your chest to his back and your lips whispering in his ear, do you like this, getting fucked with your friends outside, a dirty deviant, aren’t you, your fingernails down his spine, his words ringing in your ears, mark me, harder, please, harder, and yours huskily back, and what if someone accidentally sees these pretty scratches or is that what you want, you want your slutty side to be seen, don’t you, harder, sinking your teeth into the curve of that ass, tasting those hips and those open legs.

Speaking of legs.

The large floor-to-ceiling windows threw sunlight all over yours as you strode down the hallway, casting your black, shapely shadow over the wall. Outside, the pool was occupied with people. Laughing, drinking, playing around. You could hear the splash of water. Watch showering rainbow droplets spray all over the glistening bodies under the scorching sun.

Fun.

You stepped into the kitchen for a quick glass of water before you were about to make your exit. No need to apologize to the host. He knew what you were here for. Well, you were the reason he was currently a sweaty mess. Heh.

And then, Jeon Jungkook, striding into the kitchen to corner you with his silvery voice and sexy body.

“Noona, I heard something very interesting.”

Like you haven’t heard that shit before.

With the lingering taste of desperate kisses on your lips, you told Jeon Jungkook that you would not be provoked into fucking him.

“Do you wanna bet?”

You tilted your head at that. At him and his open white dress shirt exposing his muscular chest and black swim shorts slung low on his hips. At that cut v-line and visible abs. Showing off, but none of it wasn’t something you hadn’t seen before. You paused, stopping your observation on those eyes. Those black-brown irises shivered at your eye contact. Pupils dilating, darkening them. Ah. Alright. You played along.

“Stick out your tongue,” you instructed.

He made a face, and, after some hesitation, stuck out the pink tip of his tongue.

Obedient.

Interesting.

You raised your hand. Placed the pad of your middle finger on the tip of his tongue.

His eyes widened.

“You want it?” you asked him.

Those untainted eyes shimmered, brows furrowing.

You slid your finger down his throat.

“Let me check your gag reflex.”

And you pushed it down, down, down into warm wet tightness with absolutely no change in expression, watching Jungkook’s eyes widen into shock, his lips involuntarily closing around your finger, almost drawing back, but then you began to move, slowly thrusting into his mouth, lifting your other hand that was holding the glass of water so you could drink.

What?

Hydration was important.

A long, slow sip, casually fucking Jungkook’s mouth with your middle finger in the center of a large kitchen that wasn’t yours, in clear view of anyone who might walk in right now. He could jerk back, he could sputter and tell you that you were a freak, but Jungkook simply stood there, frozen, as you drank your water and stared into his eyes and violated him.

Calmly.

Rubbing the pad of your finger on his soft tongue, coating your finger in his spit.

He wasn’t your type. You liked them a little more honest. But maybe it was a front to keep the riff-raff away. Or something else. Hard to tell if worth exploring. You pulled your finger back slowly, tracing his lower lip. You noticed the small mole below, right at the center. Your nail lightly grazed the two silver rings at the right edge of his mouth, his warm breath on your glistening fingertips. He was a close friend of the one you fucked less than ten minutes ago.

Hm.

You handed him your half-full glass of water.

“I’ll get your number and then we shall make the arrangements. Don’t forget to drink water. It’s hot.”

And then you left him there.

-

Now, Jungkook placed his chin in your hand.

You felt the quiver of his breath. The nervousness. The vain attempt to swallow it all down.

“Look at me,” you commanded.

He did. Trying to shadow those large brown eyes with his lashes, hiding behind a raised brow and wayward strands of black hair, but the hard edge in that gaze eroded as your fingers caressed his jawline. Carefully. Softly. Gently stroking his neck, circling around the perimeter of his throat, turning your hand to place the tip of your middle finger on the mole underneath his parted lips, reminding Jungkook of that moment in the kitchen.

Oh.

He was reminded, all right.

He made a noise like a choked moan.

Then Jungkook tried to pull away, his ears bright red with embarrassment, but your wrist twisted. You sank your fingernails into his chin and dragged him back. A pained gasp and his eyes flooded. Shimmers of shame. At his sound? At himself for trying to run? Or at himself for liking it? Maybe all of them.

“I want you,” you murmured.

You could see your words from before haunting his thoughts, adding meaning to your rather simple declaration.

Be honest with me.

“Do you want me?”

I will make you want punishment.

He seemed to have forgotten his own words though, forgotten his doubt and the front he had been putting up all this time, simply letting his unfiltered emotion spill out in a whisper.

“Y-Yes, noona…”

You saw he wanted to say something more, so you waited, loosening your grip.

Stroked his cheek.

Coaxing.

“But… I’m afraid…” he breathed, on the edge of nearly not saying it. “What if I’m worse than all the others you’ve had? What if you hate it? What if you never want me again?” Shivering inhale, nervously licking at his lip piercings. “I want to be good enough. I want you to like me. But if you don’t like how I am as much as I like how you are…”

He closed his eyes, not wanting his own eyes to reveal everything.

“Sometimes I imagine you…”

His hand lifting. Tattooed fingers around your wrist.

“Hurting me, and I feel so good.”

His voice getting smaller, making you silently step forward.

“I thought that was so wrong, but then… I heard you… with them, behind those d-doors…”

You breathed in his exhale, watching his lips move. The desperate need entangled in his tone, eating away at the fear, holding you to him as much as you were holding him to you, and maybe this was wrong, feeling gratified at his unsatisfied desire but so be it, you let it happen, let him drag it out, let him fabricate his own pain, embarrassed and ashamed in his confession.

“It made everything worse, knowing that you could punish someone, and it wasn’t me. It drove me crazy, you flitting into bedrooms and slipping away with others, but not me. I want your venom in me. I need to be good so you’ll want me most. But I don’t have any experience in this kind of stuff… I don’t want it to be anyone but you. All those people and none of them were me, and remembering that over and over again made me act like a dick, and I was, I was addicted to you without you ever touching me, hurting and wanting to hurt. But I need it. I crave to be your carnage.”

His brows furrowed, hesitating.

“But if I told you… you’d think I’m crazy. Wanting you without ever having you. Feeling like I know you when I don’t know anything.”

Yes.

It was crazy.

How wonderful.

You turned your hand and choked him.

-

Inevitable? Maybe.

Ignorable? Of course.

Worth investigating?

Hm.

You flicked through the social media profile of Jeon Jungkook. Hah. You knew of him. Interacted on the shallowest of levels. Hard not to, considering the other profiles linked in his photos. You knew those other faces. Had tasted those lips – and more, heh – like savoring a glass of fine wine on dark nights. Playtime was the agreement, so that was how it stayed. Ah, but you didn’t want to play a silly game with an unskilled player. There was no challenge in that.

What are you hesitating for?

The shadow of your previous conversation dawdled in your mind. Your questions about Jeon Jungkook answered, along with his number obtained.

You could be his maker.

You smiled wryly as you did at the time of that conversation. What am I, a vampire?

An artist, was the reply.

Some people wanted to watch the world burn, but they didn’t want to hold the match. Instead, they handed it to you and dared you to strike it. How strange. How strange that they did not choose to burn themselves. How else could a phoenix be born? There was no rebirth without ashes, no light without dark, no heaven shining above without hell burning below.

Or maybe they simply liked the idea of you ruling this circle of hell called lust.

Hmmm.

You stared at his photos.

“There is art here, waiting.”

You decided to send Jeon Jungkook a text, asking for time and place.

-

His eyes flew open and there was just something so delicious about the shock in them.

You tightened your grip.

Yanked him forward. Just enough power to cause slowed blood flow. There were two types of choking your enjoyed. The first, the kind that applied pressure but no crescents of pain. And, the second, pressure accented with your nails turning inward, digging into soft flesh to mark what was yours. Jungkook received the first.

For now.

“You like pain?” you asked, placid and almost bored.

Black strands framed those sweet chocolate eyes tainted by the darkness of something deviant.

You ticked your head.

The faintest movement that screamed, hurry the fuck up and answer or I will let go.

He immediately started nodding, his chin pinching down to the pocket between your thumb and forefinger. The danger zone but he didn’t know it. And yet, so smooth, your free hand gliding up, sinking your fingers into the tousled waves of his black hair and pulling back. A breathless whimper drifting up towards you, helpless and contentment all that once, drawing a slow smirk from your lips, and you could feel it upon seeing this display of submission. The race of your heartbeat and the shot of adrenaline. Addiction at its finest. The familiar rush flooding your veins as you yanked Jungkook’s head back by his hair and dug your fingernails into his neck.

“O-Oh, fuuuuck…”

His eyelids fluttered. Hard thighs shaking under you, tense hands gripping the edge of the hotel bed, crumpling the duvet with his desperate want. You placed one knee on the bed and continued choking him, controlling the power to the pads of your fingers and less on your fingernails. Oh, you would leave a mark, but you weren’t specifically aiming to make him bleed. Maybe if he asked nicely. Arcing his head back further, lifting the elbow of your choking hand, looking down into those half-lidded, hazy brown eyes.

You smiled.

Then you spat onto his cheek.

Jungkook flinched strongly, not expecting the sudden splat of liquid onto his face, but you held him still, witnessing his full-body shudder and the moan leaking from his tight throat. You unflinchingly took the full brunt of his intense glare. Trying to burn you with indignation that he didn’t feel.

You leaned down.

And licked his face.

Cleaned off your own spit, tasting flesh and anticipation.

Delicious.

“I taste good on you,” you hummed, running your tongue over his jaw.

His breathing was shallowing and it wasn’t from the choking. Low whines creeping out between gasps, more and more pathetic as you licked all over his jaw, trailing kisses, placing one on that mole but missing his lips. Toyed with his earlobe instead, silver hoops cool on your tongue compared to the hotness of his skin. You could feel the tension in his body reaching breaking point, giving you only a few more moments before you needed to let go.

He attempted to weakly plead your name without honorifics.

You instantly released him.

Jungkook sputtered and coughed. Blood rocketed to his brain in an uncontrolled rush, and it nearly blinded him for a moment, his body veering sideways and his arms shooting up, clawing for something to hold, but your black boxy cropped jacket had been taken off already, leaving you in nothing but a black velvet bra top and matching tight miniskirt.

Strong hands grabbed your hips, dragging you down.

You stood firm.

The hand that had held his hair was still outstretched. Jungkook was coughing and blinking hard, disoriented and coasting on the high that was forced release. He could do nothing as you pushed his head back and cupped his cheek, turning his face so you could admire the dug-in crescents marring the side of his neck.

A different kind of moonlight.

This feeling.

The kind of feeling you could only get from destroying something untainted. Something so special about only encountering this once. Or...? There was something about those begging brown eyes struggling to watch you that made you want to question that. An innocence that seemed to linger even though he knew – or guessed he knew – what was coming.

You reached up and stroked a fingernail over the red marks, playing connect-the-pain-dots.

“Spread your legs.”

You said it softly and with a vicious edge.

Jungkook’s breath hitched and he obeyed, moving his knees away from each other.

You chuckled.

“Wider.”

There was a slight frown in the line of his brows but Jungkook did as he was told. Wider. You nudged his knee with yours, still holding his shaking chin with your hand, almost a gentle caress, and you pressed his thigh open until his erection was jammed into the zipper of his jeans. Discomfort shadowed his features, nose wrinkling, but you merely continued to regard him with a faint smile, reaching down with your free hand.

Took his left wrist and placed his own hand over his denim-covered hard-on.

You could see the protest bubbling in those brown orbs.

“Feel that?”

You curled his fingers around the crotch of his pants and molded his fingers to his trapped length.

“That’s how much you want to fuck me.”

It was one thing to say it yourself. Another for the one you were lusting after to point it out and make you feel it, make you stroke yourself through your clothes with their hand over your hand, and now that was Jungkook’s position, you doing just that while staring into his eyes, forcing him to tease himself under your command, only able to view you from the side as you held his head still, his black hair spilling over his cheek and forehead.

“N… Noona…”

You closed your fingers around his and made him grip the seam of his jeans, enclosing the thick fabric around the head of his cock. His shoulders buckled and he moaned, powerful legs threatening to close but you pinned his knee to the bed, driving in the point of pain, daring him to disobey.

You ticked your head.

Moved your thumb to stroke his trembling lower lip.

“What?”

Your tone was serene. Inside the rampant desire was tearing your calm façade apart, arousal and exhilaration building, finally feeling alive in this circumstance.

Those glistening dark eyes shifted, enamored by your power.

“P-Please…”

I will make you want punishment.

You knew. He knew. Those words now embedded in his mind, toying with him, dragging him into his dark fantasies that he couldn’t and didn’t want to share with others. You could see it in this eye contact. Him on his knees, holding the hem of his shirt in his teeth, wanting your tongue on him. Him with his hands above his head, taut inked skin and flexed muscles, exposing his chest to the mercy of your raking fingernails. Him sitting with his legs open, your teeth sinking into his hard thighs, clutching his balls in your grip and pre-cum dripping off the swollen head of his cock, leaking out and dripping, desperate to be buried in your throat.

You held your breath.

Just to heighten the high of what Jungkook was about to say in that silvery, quivering voice of his.

He shuddered.

“Punish me.”

-

“How do I know you won’t back out?”

How cute. Jeon Jungkook had called suddenly and barked this question at you. No hello, no how are you doing. Not even should I bring a snack. Instead, anxiousness hiding behind irate accusation. The I-definitely-don’t-care-but-I-do attitude.

“You don’t know,” you chuckled, letting your words caress his ears. Unintimidated by his fire, allowing it burn closer and surround you. “You just have to trust me.”

You could hear the heaviness of his breath.

“I can’t trust you,” he snapped, slipping into his Busan satoori in his fluster.

And yet you still want to keep me on the line.

“Too scared of the risk?”

And he could hear it in your voice, almost. A suggestion of adoration. On the edge, darling, but it wasn’t there. Only hinted at. You heard him suck in a breath. Tight. Maybe he had never thought of it, that possibility, until right now, until your tone of endearment that may or may not be there, but he couldn’t be sure and that was why he was taking so long to respond.

“I… I’m not scared. I just don’t wanna waste my time.”

“Oh, but I do.”

You hummed, sighing softly into the microphone, listening to Jungkook pause, holding his breath, spellbound by your tone.

“I want to waste my time on you. Spend long minutes with my hands in your hair, chest to chest, layers of clothes between us. Straddle your lap. So close but so far. My lips skimming your jaw, your throat, your collarbones. I want to say anything. I want to feel you. Breathe you. Consume the moment for every delectable bite it is. Press against you. Trap your waist between my thighs and feel you squirm against me. For me. You want it? Ask for it. I’ll deliver.”

He couldn’t see you, but you could feel your smirk widening as you spoke.

“You have my word.”

Waited a beat.

“Jungkook.”

Sweet like a lover, and then you hung up, cutting off the paradise.

Mmmm, you did love edging them.

-

Hovering.

You hovered above him and his shaking lips, his naked chest beneath you, and held his wrists. Not because you needed to hold him down. No, he was too trapped in his role to fight you. Didn’t want to, even. Tightened your grip. Lust rippled over his expression, slipping further into service. You deliberately avoided his hands. Kept your fingers constricted around tattoos and tendons and stared into his eyes. Dark brown irises polluted by the dilution of his pupils.

You breathed in.

Low and slow.

Feasting on the tension.

Lips barely a centimeter from his and those shiny silver lip rings. Close enough to cause the tremble, far enough to deny. Just enough distance for your exhale to be the secondhand smoke he desperately breathed in, already craving that nicotine.

You lowered your lashes.

Slid the middle finger of your left hand down, down his right forearm. Raking a line of hurt over black and color, deep enough to cause real pain but so slow, so slow that it made those round eyes shiver, his head flinching, and maybe it was involuntary or maybe it wasn’t, but you still denied him. The smirk stayed your eyes rather than on your lips, making the moment even more maddening. Frustration flashing in those expressive chocolate orbs, close to begging, but still too proud to break.

He was reaching impatience, so you took action.

You lifted your hand from his arm.

“Art…”

You whispered to those yet-to-be-devoured lips.

“Requires a certain cruelty.”

Then you pressed your palm to his mouth and slashed your fingernails over his bare chest.

Jungkook choked on his own yelp and you snuffed it back into his throat with your fingers clamping down on his cheeks. His hands shot up sharply, and you glared with malice, all five nails perched like a spider on his red, shaking pecs. A second of hesitation, and you let him remember what he said, punish me, the recall of subservience crumbling the surprise in his gaze.

He did not stop you.

You rewarded him with drenched tongue over white-hot pain.

The potent moan radiated from his flesh to your tongue and then into your head. Pierced with lust, with submission, with confusion, for he didn’t understand how it could hurt so much and yet feel so good. You scratched him again, lower, indenting his muscle and reddening the skin, not hiding your veracious fixation of the marred color, hungrily pressing the flat of your tongue onto it so you could feel the carnal elasticity and the heat of inflammation, oh how wonderful, raking your teeth over the tension, your lips smearing past, kissing his body before you even kissed him.

This.

Burning skin on tongue. He tasted clean, almost sweet. As if he prepared for you. You sank your teeth into his side, your fingers splayed out on his collarbones, ah, yes. Wet. His chest was damp from your spit. You sunk your middle finger into the base of his throat and Jungkook was gasping, choking, his trembling hand encircling your wrist but putting no pressure. Whimpers. He very badly wanted to touch you more, but he couldn’t guess how much you would allow and that fear alone heightened his lust. You pressed harder onto that spot between the bone, closing your eyes, letting his cries resonate sweetly in your ears.

This rawness of emotion.

This was beauty incarnate.

You relaxed all pressure on his throat and bit his nipple.

“Ah!”

You wrapped your hand around his neck and gripped harshly as your tongue toyed with the now-hard nub, finally lowering your body onto his clothed lower half. Right between his thighs, not your crotch but with your stomach against his bulging erection, grinding against it as you sucked, flicked, nipping at his nipples while casually and savagely choking him.

Looked up at him.

Condescendingly bored.

His hands scrambled for his neck, pulling at your fingers, but you only held on tighter, pushing the limit, and he was shaking his head, his black hair flying, those large eyes rolling in wild helplessness, glistening pink lips parted but making so sound, his feeble cry pinched in its now bloodless cage.

The silver lip rings gleamed in the light.

You ran your tongue over his chest, over red skin and trembling muscle.

Jungkook was getting harder under you. Throbbing, even in the jeans. You didn’t let go, keeping him in suspension of half-breath and half-death. That was because despite his showy performance of resistance, there was no power in his clawing fingers. The strength was in his hips, in his desperate, fervent rutting against your exposed midriff. You still hadn’t taken off your bra top or miniskirt. You let him keep going. Let him feel the velvet of your covered breasts against his hard, flexed abdomen. Let him thrive in the sensual agony. The rough friction was searing, but you did not move away, even pressing back against him.

His chest was tightening, strained scream rattling in his ribcage, trying to get off in vain, but there was too much fabric and not enough stimulation, aching pleasure fringed by the torturous pain of not enough.

You smiled.

“Don’t say you want it and not mean it,” you said, tone without inflection.

You lessened your grip just barely.

Bleeding oxygen flooding into his brain, and Jungkook moaned weakly, disoriented, his black hair sticking to his face, his lips, his cheeks, sweat and spit and tears, gasping, lashes fluttering, picturesque hands with those lovely fingers fanning out, stroking your inescapable grip on his neck. As if he savored the power locking him down. Needed it.

His silvery voice cracked like brilliant glass shards refracting rainbows as they fell.

“P… hah… Ple… Please, noona…”

There was a perverse satisfaction in watching him break.

“I… m-mean it, I w-want you, please… I can’t t-take this… I wa… want to feel you, please…”

You, too, savored his shattering demeanor.

Those large chocolate brown eyes up above pleading sweetly, urgently, watery.

Down below, you grinned with more than a touch of mania.

“Now that is what I want to see.”

You let go of his neck. His shudders travelled through your body as you slid down his, vibrations cutting all the way down to the very bone, sensing his fear and anticipation and that irresistible addiction building. The thrill of something new, something dangerous, something evolving into necessity as you looked into his eyes and Jungkook stared back, bitten pink lips parted in wonder as you slid between his thighs, serpentine, your predatory gaze reflected in his glassy irises. You did not hide your ravenous glee.

You could feel him getting more and more aroused knowing he had awoken something deep inside you.

You gripped the sides of his jeans and extended your tongue.

Threatening.

“N-No, wai–”

What happened next was simple. Almost too simple. But it was the performance that mattered. It was not just about removing his pants, but was about the deliberateness in your force while doing so. It was about your undivided attention directed right at him. It was about the slow, frame-by-frame pace. It was about the tightness of your grip and the harshness of your knuckles digging into his v-line as you slowly, tooth by tooth, dragged down the metal zipper of those classic blue jeans. You let him feel the nick of every tick of metal against his barely clothed erection. Centimeter by centimeter. Hooked your fingers under the waistband and let your fingernails catch on his hips. Jungkook whimpered, rising to his elbows, staring wide-eyed at you, not even realizing the disheveled state of himself. You slowly removed his jeans, tugging down, down, backing up, your sharp manicure periodically catching on his tense thighs, watching the gasp ripple up his red, flexed chest and escape from his throat. Sinful pleasure washing over his features once he realized he was enjoying it.

Perfect.

You let Jungkook watch your expression transform from faint amusement to rapturous satisfaction.

You backed up, tossing his jeans aside.

Knelt in front of his open legs and placed your hands on your lap.

Demure, one over the other.

You smirked.

“Show me.”

You ticked your head to the bulge in his black boxer briefs. Voice like poisoned honey, your words both a command and a dare. His cheeks burning red and there was the faintest tick of annoyance that you silenced with your sharpened gaze. Your smirk subtly morphed into something a little more sinister, a subliminal challenge in this smile. Maybe if he was in his right mind he could refuse, but there was too much adrenaline and too much anticipation.

The promise of payoff was so, so close.

Which was why you got to watch Jeon Jungkook strip his underwear off right in front of your eyes.

Your tongue traced your lower lip, wetting it.

He was now sitting at the very edge of the bed, thick thighs spread wide open, taut tension all over his muscles, and his swollen erection sticking out, the purple-red head leaking and angry, desperately seeking stimulation. And pain. Before he could drop his hand by his side again, you snatched it and stopped him.

Jungkook froze.

Visibly shivering at the contact of you holding his hand.

You stared into his eyes and brought his hand to his crotch, wrapping his fingers around his throbbing cock.

“Wha–”

You violently spat on the veined shaft, splattering saliva all over, and made him stroke himself, just like that. Immediate gasp, his hips bucking, and you spit on him again, slicker and wetter, forcing him to masturbate. He didn’t need much encouragement, already taking over the pace, harder, faster, and you let go, your fingertips running over his slippery knuckles, spreading your saliva all over. Looking up, seeing his black hair stuck to his forehead, his mouth open, shuddering, his moans deeper and lower now, more wanton, on the edge of depravity, not wanting to do it but needing to, too aroused to stop, too turned on to turn back, hyper-aware of the power saturated in this moment.

Jungkook was completely naked in front of your still clothed form, jacking himself off, and every time you spat on him, he whimpered, powerful hips jerking and rattling the hotel bed, the struggle flashing over his torn expression, to enjoy or be ashamed, but his lips were betraying him, more, please, his hand shaking as you made a mess of his thighs and cock, dripping spit, licking the inside of his open legs, his hand pausing with every one of your dramatic flairs.

Edging himself for you.

Your hands rested on his hard thighs, pushing them apart even more, glancing down at this lewd display but mostly observing his face, not letting him escape the pleasurable prison of your attention. You specifically did not verbally degrade him. It was not wanted and there was no need.

The silence itself was palpable humiliation.

His breathing shallowed.

Stuttered.

Chest tightening.

Close.

You leaned forward, hearing him hold his breath.

Suspension.

The harsh slap of hand to skin suddenly stopping.

Your hand clenched around his, abruptly cutting off his high. Squeezing through his grip. The violent throb of blood, and you staring into those large, glistening brown orbs, his rising sob dying in his dry throat. You rose instead, standing over him, keeping your hold around his strained hand. Even under dingy hotel lighting, his tan skin glittered with sweat, those prominent cheekbones framed by curled black strands, and, oh, those quivering flushed lips trying to choke out your name, a plea, anything, but he couldn’t, he just couldn’t, rendered mute by the deafening silence.

He was falling apart.

It was sublime.

Art was worth the pain.

You raised your other hand and cupped his chin.

“Jungkook,” you breathed, hazy and slow.

He moaned, thin and strung out on desperation, not caring about anything anymore, not knowing if there was an end. Ensnared by the moment. Possessed by compliance. You lowered your head. He obediently opened his lips, and his entire body shook uncontrollably, those lovely eyes rolling back into his head, hurriedly swallowing the stream of spit dripping from your tongue, the tips of your fingers caressing the slippery, pulsing, purple-red head of his cock locked in his grip, and now…

Now, the composition was perfect.

It was mere seconds, but at this point Jungkook didn’t have a good grasp on time anymore. Obscene whimpers, blown-out pupils, hardly registering the sound of the foil packaging ripping open, gasping as you tugged his hand away, his eyelashes fluttering as the ghost of your touch rolled down the condom, and then you hiked your skirt up, flicking down your panties.

They slid down your legs, the mere scrap of fabric soaked through.

Your grasped Jungkook’s right shoulder and now he finally seemed to realize what was happening, his eyes widening, but now it was too late, your heat right above the head, your other hand at the base, one knee on the bed.

“N… Noona…?”

You sank down onto his cock.

It was a slightly awkward position, but lust and adrenaline took over as you slowly, carefully bottomed out, not really for him, but for you to truly enjoy what was about to blossom, clenching around his girth and savoring the aching fullness, spying his pained expression from underneath your lashes. Tightened jaw as the wet sleeve choked him from below, and then the visible wave of ecstasy travelling through his body that manifested merely as a meek groan when you rocked your hips, dragging him into the constricting bliss, riding Jungkook on the edge of the hotel bed.

“W-Wai–oh, fuuuuck…”

You did not wait, hooking your leg over his thigh and leaning your knee against the mattress as you fucked him with some effort, but his body responded immediately, thrusting up and into you, and there it was, the flare within your core, intensity finally meeting matched intensity. Your breath stilling in your chest, leaning forward a little more, driving your hips forward, smack, there, fuck, yes, there, and you could see the angle was affecting Jungkook too, the muscles of his neck tense, lifting himself to his hands, and now he was really fucking you back, giving into the compulsion, hot gasp drifting over your neck, and you looked down to glassy brown eyes and shaking lips, those silver lip rings the inviting garnish, and still you resisted, slamming your hips down, slap, wet and tight and hungry for more, more of the thick cock, gripping his inked shoulder so hard that you were leaving even more marks.

Crescents of pain.

It was unbearably hot in the velvet bra top and your miniskirt bunched around your waist, but there was power in that discomfort. A visible inequality that fed the feral and the fervor, drowning you and him in this visceral, depraved lust, both hunting for the high, your hand rising and his hand rising, hips driven forward, harder.

Your hand around his neck.

His grasping your ass, dragging down and hitting you deeper, softly whimpering as you clenched around him.

“Fuck, yes.”

You exhaled hotly over his lips, letting your satisfaction bloom in the carnage of his pride.

“You…”

Bringing Jungkook’s face close to yours by his throat, losing your own breath with your ferocity, your words a husky rasp as you neared your crescendo.

“Inspire me.”

And then you kissed him.

Lips to inflamed lips, feeling the flash of sparks race all over your skin and burn your insides, faster, a bruising rhythm that Jungkook was leading, whining in your mouth as he came, his hips violently shaking, all the while pressing up against you, that strong hand splayed out over your lower back as he took your breath away. Your hand tightening, taking his blood away, and that was it, succumbing to the addictive power, tension snapping, radiating bliss racing through your veins, the brutal punch of orgasm leaving you airless, moaning deeply into his waiting mouth, your inner walls throbbing and viscous juices seeping down his balls, his thighs, sticking to your crotch.

The stench of summer sex soaked through the sheets, creating a large damp spot down the edge of the hotel bed.

You let go of Jungkook’s shoulder and held his trembling face, deepening the kiss and swallowing his raw whimpers. His pining sounds expanded and fluttered in your chest, so pure and so delicious, and more, you needed more, drunk on his taste, enslaved by this passion.

I’ve outdone myself this time.

You sighed into his mouth.

-

“I hate you.”

Surrounded by used condoms, electric air, and rumpled sheets half-pulled off the hotel bed, Jeon Jungkook gripped your wrist and told you he hated you, breathing hard, laying on his side. Both of you completely naked. You were sitting upright, delicately leaning against pillows and the headboard.

You smiled down at him.

“Oh?”

“W… Why are you… hah, why are you okay and I’m…”

His sweaty black hair was plastered to his forehead.

“Not?” you offered.

Across your body, you felt the bruises of his fingertips and soreness thrumming in your muscles. This network of pain simply curled into the blossom of the afterglow, creating the veining throughout the petals of this satisfying night.

Jungkook’s expression turned from irate to shattered.

You kept your smile but, behind it, hesitancy lurked.

Those dark glass eyes closed beneath you, but he held into your wrist, tattooed fingers squeezing hard.

Breath after breath. Ragged. Injured, but with pleasure. Satisfied, but some part wasn’t. You didn’t have to look into his eyes to know how he was feeling. Bowed, shaking shoulders. Body curling into the sheets, blanket tangled around his legs, the low light of the hotel room casting harsh shadows. He moved closer to you. Holding on for dear life. You could feel the uncontrollable tremors from his hot hand.

“Just…”

His voice so small, cracking under a weight unseen.

“J-Just… just pretend a little… longer…”

Your smile slipped away, like a shadow in the night.

“For me… noona…”

It is the performance that matters.

You looked down at the form of Jeon Jungkook and wondered if you could always be right.

“I’m not pretending,” you said to the flower that had blossomed in your carnage. You reached over and put your hand over his. “This is who I am.”

His fingers relaxed.

You paused.

You looked down again. At Jungkook burying his face into the sheets and the pillows, inhaling the heavy scent of sex that had transpired between you and him, burning it into his memory. Not too close to touch you, but close enough for you to feel the heat from his body, close enough so you couldn’t forget, and his hand was still on your wrist, tenderly caressing the inner tendon. It was a slightly rough touch. Unfamiliar.

For now.

What feeling are you trying to chase?

“Are you obsessed with me or what?” you chuckled, brushing the thought aside.

Stopped.

Jungkook was gazing at you from below. A singular dark brown orb, teary and reflective, the other masked by a tangle of black hair and the white hotel bedding. You had asked the question and the answer was wordless or, rather, simply in that stare alone. Bleeding desire. Helpless passion. Raw want.

You memorized his pained expression.

It was too beautiful not to.

“Would you let me be?”

It was both a rhetorical question and his answer.

Jeon Jungkook was supposed to be a fleeting moment. Supposed to be and, as you kept eye contact, you could feel the fire behind the glass. Some people wanted to watch the world burn, but they didn’t want to hold the match. His hand slipped out of yours and covered your fingers, grasping them tightly, possessively, intensely watching you, burning from your ignited match, burning and asking to be set on fire again, and again, and again, in dark nights and hazy afternoons and early mornings, and your skin prickled under the gaze of Jeon Jungkook, an expression that demanded to be set alight by your flames, for he had dreamed about it for so long and now it was real but you could potentially take it all away and he just wanted you to know…

He couldn’t live without the euphoria of this performance.

Your lips parted to refuse him.

And you couldn’t.

The seconds stretched into minutes. You could be his maker. Rebirthed from the ashes. An artist. You could tell that Jungkook thought very straightforwardly. He did not want to let go, so he didn’t. Simple. It was a pure feeling and it continued even after the first time.

Innocence.

The feeling I’m trying to chase? Ecstasy.

You smirked, sly laughter simmering in your lungs.

“You’re asking for trouble.”

-

“You’ll have to frame me up on your wall to keep me out of trouble.”

You grinned and shoved Jeon Jungkook into the wall, capturing his lips once more. The familiar press of two metal lip rings in this kiss, the familiar tension radiating from the hard muscle beneath you, the familiar impatient hands finding your ass, pushing up the short hem of your miniskirt and sinking into the soft curve. Time and time again, he showed up under you, dragging you to him, insatiable, craving, begging as if he had never had your pain before, shivering from every kiss, never having enough unless he was falling apart from your touch, all of him feeding the predatory compulsion that you had always tried to hide behind one-night stands and planned hit-and-runs.

All of your flaws aligning with this mood of his.

Jungkook slid down the wall, moaning, rolling his hips into your crotch, completely forgetting he was in somebody else’s house and supposed to be celebrating their birthday.

Thankfully, the music was blaring.

Your hand around his neck and you reached down. He was wearing tighter, black pleather pants today.

Ah, art and torture went hand-in-hand.

You gripped his balls through his pants and he whined in your face, trembling all over as his neglected erection strained above your hand. Lips locking, hot bodies pressed together in the semi-darkness, drinking in his thin exhale and his pleas, even reaching down to palm himself as you tortured his balls, squeezing and pulsing your knuckles around him.

“N-Noona, just f-fuck me, please,” was his breathless whimper into your mouth, lustful moans hitching as you choked him harder, and it was too delicious, too demanding, too beautiful was this graphic display of greedy desire.

Art.

How could you walk away?

“Irresistible, my darling,” you murmured to panicked breath, and you dragged him to you, tasting his smile as his tight white shirt was being tugged out of his pants below the entangled kiss, and he breathed you in, his free hand reaching up to your swimsuit top, scooping out your breasts as you controlled the blood flow to his head and undid the zipper with your other hand, peeling the pleather away.

You grabbed his balls, squeezing.

He gripped his hard cock.

Right.

On.

Cue.

He whined and you shoved the hem of his shirt into his mouth, making him bite down onto it and exposing his bare, muscular torso. Those pleas in those glassy brown orbs, long black hair disheveled and all over his face, and you grinned, the moment on fire, electricity racing over your skin as he toyed with your nipples and jacked himself off, him basking in your force and the addiction of being controlled. So picturesque, a work of art, and so you had to make it yours.

You couldn’t get enough of him.

You raked your nails over his ass and down his thigh and his eyes rolled back in his head, his muffled whisper between you and him, drifting in the dark.

“I love the way you hurt me.”

Music to your ears.

“Hurt me more, noona.”

Art required a certain cruelty, after all.

--

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