#even though everybody is gagging over the song

[chrollohearttags]

never thought I’d see the day that people would be angrier about a rap bar than they would about actual child predators but here we are lmao.

[sugarmouchie]

.. EVERYBODY KNOWS THAT I’M A GOOD GIRL, OFFICER !

◟⪩⪨ summary ! after finally capturing you and visiting your dorm for what seemed like eternity now, he’s realizing that he’s in love with you ; basically just a short fic of wrio being a sweetheart ^^

◟⪩⪨ warnings ! gn! reader, the title is just a reference to a song dw, wriothesley being confusing, he changes your clothes lol, fluff, no use of y/n except for once, very self indulgent, i think that’s all lmk if i missed anything <3

minutes turned into hours and hours turned into days, days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months.

that was the absurd amount of time that took wriothesley to finally lock you up.

but here he was, oblivious to your moves and acts, hiding your facade with a gentle smile, which is the reason why almost everyone in the fortress claimed that you were one of the nicest criminals here.

it was almost as if you didn’t do anything wrong at all.

tonight, the dark vibrancy of the clouds near its nightly leave, the stars beginning to take over the sky’s surface.

here he was, sitting next to you on the rough surface of the so-called “bed” that you were sleeping in, when in reality this “bed” was made of full on metal!

“how do you manage to sleep like this?” he suddenly begins.

hmm… maybe because you can’t sleep anywhere else?

“i don’t know, i used to be known for being a heavy sleeper, no matter the area.”

“so you can just flat out sleep on the grass?”

“okay, maybe not.”

he chuckled.

so that’s why everyone’s so fond of you, your gentle facade and your beautiful laughter that could be the number one thing that would top a movie off if you were in it.

as the days passed by into more interesting days that suddenly had you more motivation to even do things in the fortress, wriothesley began to notice how less awkward you were being with him, and how you weren’t as shy and hesitant as you used to be.

as soon as fun things start, they end too quickly, as well.

furthermore, some things can go bad, just like how fruits can go rotten as soon as they’re not taken care of as much.

because knowing wriothesley, he was practically the top one procrastinator in the world.

in this situation, wriothesley wasn’t really doing his job on checking up on you unless he hasn’t been seeing you in sight almost every where. sometimes, as much as he didn’t want to, every time you were not in sight near your dorm, he usually got nervous and began to scold you.

…and he instantly did what he had to do.

“where were you?” he asked in a what seemed like an aggravated tone.

“relax, i was playing in the pankration ring earlier after i grabbed food.” you replied, there you were again, acting as if everything was okay when you almost gagged and vomited at the purple appearance of the food you were served, which you practically had to gulp down in one go, if you were that hungry atleast.

and of course, there were times when wriothesley just randomly decided to be the confusing man he is and instantly switch up just to flirt with you.

he was one to make sure that you believed that he had a little something in his slightly cold heart for you.

“you still do that?” he chuckles “that’s cute.”

“what?”

…

“wanna go out today?”

…confusing guy.

you never even hesitated to say yes to him whenever he offered to take you somewhere out of the rancid mess of the fortress.

he only ever rarely did this, though.

after your little “appointment” that you had with him, you felt like you were rejuvenated once again.

but why does it still feel like wriothesley’s eyes were on you the entire time rather than just paying attention to what you two were buying in this absurdly small shop?

don’t think too much of it, though. all he wants to do is commit for his wrongdoings for you, after all.

as much as he knows how confusing he can be, he knows who you are.

he knows that you prefer cream cheese over butter, he knows that you don’t like matcha flavored tea, and he almost knows that your whole gentle facade is just an act for him to like you.

and it’s all just an act to be one of the nicest criminals in the fortress, too.

but who was he to care, when all he wanted to do was take care of you?

…and he only ever took you out to show you his empathy for you.

why can’t you just realize he’s in love with you?

on the final day, your release.

“wriothesley!” you yelp out, feeling his frozen hands pull off your dirty prison uniform’s shirt.

“what? i do this with everyone, you’re not special, sweetheart.”

now that was clearly a lie. you were the only one he had fully taken care of like this. after all, he cared for you like you weren’t even a criminal in the first place, that you didn’t even do anything wrong in the first place.

…

sigh.

“wrio.”

“i don’t wanna leave this place if it means i’m leaving you here, without me!” you frowned.

he fully knows who you are now.

that whole gentle facade you always put on quickly faded away as soon as your ego went soaring through the roof when you implied that he couldn’t live without you.

that’s the y/n he wants to see.

he chuckles.

finally.

his fingers shaking in anticipation as he clothed you into the outfit he bought for you last night when you were sleeping, he leans up to place his lips on yours.

“you won’t. i won’t leave you.”

~

@sugarmouchie - do not copy/translate/repost my works on other platforms. 🤍

[ackermanbloodline]

Letting Go (Part I) - Levi Ackerman x Female Reader

Summary: You and the gang go out clubbing to have some fun after a long day. To your surprise, Captain Levi shows up.

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: Language. Slightly NSFW.

* * *

“Bottoms up, everyone!” 

You clink your glass with everyone, tap it on the table, and open your throat to welcome your sixth shot of tequila, which goes down much smoother than it did two hours ago. Everyone else’s faces contort and is followed with coughs and gags. You already had a few margaritas and beers from when you first arrived and in between shots. Needless to say, you are a little too tipsy to give a shit about the burn of the alcohol anymore. 

Besides, anybody who says they enjoy drinking for the taste is a fucking liar. 

“Damn,” Connie swears, followed by your name and giving you a high five. “Takin’ it like a champ!” 

“Yeah! Can you teach me how to take shots like that?” 

Mikasa intervenes, “Don’t be fooled, Sasha, it’s only because she’s had a million shots already.” 

“Aw, no need to be jealous, Mikasa,” you taunt her as you run a hand through your hair in an attempt to show off your swagger. “Not everyone has the talent.” 

The table breaks out in laughter whereas Mikasa playfully punches you on the arm. You two exchange smiles. The guys sat on one side and the women sat on the other. It was Connie and Sasha’s idea to go to the bar to wind back after a long week. Everyone is in attendance tonight with the exception of one person. 

“Did the captain say he was coming tonight?” Jean shouts to everyone over the music and the bustling of voices. “I mean, I doubt he is, but… just wondering if anybody heard for sure.” 

Armin’s voice cracks as he tries to talk loudly, “Uh, I think he said he had some loose ends to tie up back at HQ.” 

“Yep, typical Captain Levi,” you roll your eyes. “All work, no play.”

“Weren't you paying attention, horseface?” Eren insults as he scowls at Jean. “He mentioned following up with Commander Erwin when he dismissed us for the day.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Eren. Sorry that I’m not on my knees bowing to the captain and being his little puppet.” 

“Little puppet? That’s funny. If my memory serves me right, you were the one who initially planned to join the MPs to live a cozy little life in the interior.”

“I changed my mind because I actually want to give humanity a fighting chance. You, on the other hand, are endlessly trying to confront the titans no matter how dangerous it is. Suicidal idiot.”

Eren’s voice drops extremely low when he glares at Jean, “Do you want to take this out—”

“Enough, you two,” Connie interrupts, who is sitting between them. “Man, you’re bickering like an old married couple. Just admit you have a crush on one another already and do something about it or move on.” 

You, Connie, Sasha and Mikasa all laugh. The other two men eye their drinks in silence, circling their straws in the glasses. Even though the two claim to hate each other, everybody knows that they actually don’t. 

The current song fades and a familiar melody comes on the speakers and your eyes immediately dart to the girls of the group. You grab their arms and tug them onto the dance floor excitedly. 

(🎵: “Somewhere to Run” by Krewella)

“This is a really good song! Come on!” 

Thanks to you, Mikasa and Sasha nearly spill their drinks onto themselves and the floor in the process. But they manage to only spill a little on the table. The guys are left in the dust, their stunned gazes following as the three of you dance outside the sweaty group of dancing bodies in the middle of the dance floor. There are even people upstairs dancing over the balconies. 

The beat of the song loudly booms over the club speakers. The reverberations of it echoes in the depth of your chest and you begin to sway your hips. You even scream along with the words. The flashing, colorful lights up above shine down onto the people dancing. You jump up and down and whip your head back and forth, the alcohol you have had buzzing warmly in your veins and muscles. It gives you a newfound courage, freedom. You feel like you are in a dream. 

Mikasa and Sasha even do the same, all of you giggling and laughing together. You are especially surprised by Mikasa, but you don’t question it. You enjoy her carefree energy, although you notice that her gaze occasionally flicks over to the table. Probably to make sure that Eren is okay and still around. 

Sweat begins to brew on your forehead as well as under your arms. Your heart is racing and your legs are getting sore, but you ignore these signals from your body. It feels too damn good to stop. The air is hot and thick as more and more bodies accumulate on the dance floor. The DJ also must be using some type of fogger as the club becomes incredibly cloudy. So cloudy, in fact, you can’t see the ceiling of the club anymore. Sharp beams of green, pink, and white pierce the air above you. 

You needed this. Things have been so intense with the Scouts lately that you need to let go and forget for a while. You are sure everybody else feels the same. After the whole situation with defeating Rod Reiss’ titan, Kenny the Ripper, and the stress that came with inducting Historia as queen, you undoubtedly began to experience symptoms of burnout. And it didn’t go unnoticed. You were even advised by Commander Erwin to take the day off and recharge a few days ago. 

But the alcohol in your veins and the good music gives you temporary amnesia; you aren’t even thinking about any of that right now. And you welcome that.

When the bridge of the song comes on, you serenade to the girls you’re dancing with dramatically and as loud as you can. 

They laugh and cover their faces in embarrassment when some people avert their attention to your group. You even hold their hands out and put them in the air. 

You line up with your arms draped across each other. All of you lean back as you belt the last note of the bridge and almost fall in the process. Mikasa and Sasha both have to secure an arm around you. 

You’re laughing like a maniac at this point. As the song draws to another close, you give them both a hug and a kiss on the cheek. When you pull away, you can see their cheeks heat up. You give them both a look of immense appreciation. If it weren’t for these two, you would’ve lost your mind long ago during your time with the Scouts. You are so grateful for them. 

Someone shouts, “Jesus, just make out already!” 

“Yeah, you wish, asshole!” you say to the unknown voice behind you as the three of you stride back to the table. The boys are quiet when you return. A large glass of ice water sits in front of you, the glass wet with condensation. Mikasa and Sasha, too. You grab it and hold it up, looking at the guys, “What the hell’s this?” 

Jean says with annoyance, “Just shut up and drink it.” 

“Fair.” 

You chug the entire thing down in only a few seconds. The dancing really took a lot out of you. Some water leaks from the corner of your lip and you wipe it off with the back of your sleeve. You slam the glass back down onto the table. 

“There. Happy?” 

“Overjoyed,” he replies monotonously. 

You turn your head to find that Mikasa and Sasha have, too, downed their waters. You continue to talk amongst yourself, conversing about anything other than the Scouts, until you see Jean, Armin, and Eren’s expressions drop as they look behind you. Your eyebrows furrow together and you turn around. 

Captain Levi. 

He is wearing a suit jacket. Underneath, a light blue button down shirt, the collar of his shirt unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up to the bend of his arms, with dark blue jeans and black shoes. In his hand, he holds a cup of dark liquid. 

In habit, all of you stand up and go to salute him but he urges you all to sit back down. 

“You should be making an active effort to keep a low profile here,” he scolds as he sits down between you and Jean. “The Scouts have a reputation to maintain.” 

Eren looks to the three of you, muttering, “Too late for that.” 

Captain Levi turns to you, Mikasa, and Sasha, waiting for an explanation. Words fail you. You cannot believe he’s here. And sitting next to you. With an actual alcoholic beverage. He takes a sip as he looks at you. You want to speak, but this is so out of character for the captain. You are convinced you are dreaming, now. 

“Well?” 

“We’ve been dancing, sir,” Sasha chimes in, saving you from his piercing gaze. “It’s been… fun.” 

“That’s endearing to hear. I suppose we can afford one night of leisure. What’s up with you, brat? Can’t speak or what?” 

Captain Levi kicks your leg underneath the table. 

Armin chimes in for you, “She’s pretty... incapacited, Captain.” 

“I am not!” you detest immediately while giving Armin an angry glare. Captain Levi cocks an eyebrow at you, seemingly in disbelief. “Seriously, I’m not. I’ve had a few drinks but I wouldn’t say I’m incapacited, Christ.” 

“A few?” Connie gapes. “Okay, let’s see... each of us bought the whole table a round of shots. Then I know when you first got here you ordered some stuff. Come on, you need to slow down a little. At least drink some more water.” 

“Since when did everybody collectively decide to be a fucking stick in the mud? I’m not passing out or throwing up everywhere, am I?” 

“Not yet,” Eren murmurs. 

You roll your eyes and get up, “Whatever, I’m way too sober to be dealing with this kind of mutiny. I’m going to go buy another drink.” 

“I’ll come with you,” Mikasa offers, standing up with you. “Sasha, stay with them.” 

“Mikasa, I appreciate the gesture but I’ll be fine. Promise.” 

She nods her head, “Okay.” 

Even though Jean and Connie are telling you to sit back down and that going off on your own isn’t a good idea, you do so anyway. Their voices eventually become muffled as you make your way towards the bar. You brush between clustered bodies, the bar crowded with thirsty patrons who want their next buzz. 

You eventually make it, setting your elbows down on the glossy wooden bar and leaning forward. There are three attractive female bartenders who are practically sprinting back and forth getting drinks for people. 

Five minutes go by and you’re still waiting. But that’s okay, you’re not in any rush to get back to the dimwits at the table, anyway. Then you start to notice that other people who have been standing there shorter than you have are getting served first. You feel a slight twinge of annoyance but continue to wait anyway. 

“What’s taking so long?” 

You can recognize that voice from anywhere. Captain Levi. He stands besides you, his drink barely touched at all. You shrug your shoulders, averting your gaze back to the lights that decorate the bar. 

“Busy, I guess.” 

“They care about you, you know.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” 

“Then why are you taking it so personal?” 

“Because we never do this, that's why,” you slam your hands down on the bar. You turn towards him, his attention completely and utterly focused on you. “How often do we get to do things like this, Captain? When will we ever do this again? How long is it before any of them are dead? Before I’m dead?” 

His lips press into a line as he contemplates for a moment. 

“I don’t have an answer to any of your questions. But what I do know is that your comrades are just concerned for your safety and want what’s best for you. Try to be more understanding and cut the theatrics.” 

As if I need any protection, you think to yourself. I am a full fledged member of the Scouts and have been for years. And I’m not being theatrical; just realistic. 

You shake your head and sigh, leaning over towards the bar to see where the bartenders are. You are far too shy to wave one of them down. And you don’t bother to address Captain Levi’s response. It’s no use anyway. 

“I heard you got a little wild earlier. Sorry I missed that.” 

“Hah! Who told you that? Wait, let me guess… Eren?” 

“How’d you know?” 

“It’s not hard to guess.” 

As you reflect on the conversation back at the table as well as the current one, you notice that Captain Levi is being very laid back. The man is hell-bent on showing respect to authority. He has even corrected you a few times when addressing him. He feels more like a friend or a comrade tonight. You cherish this thought. 

Levi catches one of the bartender’s eyes eventually and she walks over briskly. She notices that he has a drink in his hand and, instead, leans over into your ear. 

“What can I get for ya?” 

“Can I have a Dirty Shirley, please?” 

“Sure thing, sweetheart.” 

She retrieves a glass from underneath the bar and dives it into ice. After, she reaches up and grabs a bottle. You expect her to grab vodka but she grabs something else, a red bottle. You squint to read the bottle: cherry vodka. Your eyebrows raise. The other bartender made it with regular vodka earlier in the night. 

She finishes making your drink in a flash. She sets it on a napkin in front of you and sets it down. Captain Levi eyes it. 

“That’ll be $4.50.” 

You open your wallet and pull out $6, adding a tip. You put the money out on the counter and take a sip. It is immensely more flavorful than if it was made with regular vodka. It’s borderline dangerous. You can hardly taste the alcohol in it at all. 

You wave your hand, “Keep the change!” 

“Thank you!”

Captain Levi follows you back out to the table to find everyone except Eren gone. You assume that they’re out on the dance floor. You don’t recognize the song, though, otherwise you’d join them. Captain Levi and Eren could use some bonding time. 

“Why aren’t you dancing?” you ask. 

“Not a dancer. Besides, I think I’m gonna go back soon.” 

“Ah. You better let Mikasa know if you do, though.” 

“I will when she returns.” 

At first, you feel deflated that he is debating on leaving, especially when everyone else has been having so much fun. But Eren has looked miserable for the majority of the night. You decide that it would truly probably be best if he left anyway. As long as the others don’t leave, you’d be fine with that. 

The three of you sit in awkward silence for a few minutes until the other three of the group come back with red faces, sweat glistening on their foreheads, and chests heaving with exhaustion. 

“Never knew you were so light on your feet, twinkle toes,” Mikasa teases Connie. 

“Eh, what can I say? It’s a gift.” 

You and Connie share such a similar sense of humor that you knew that was what he was going to say. You giggle quietly. 

As soon as Eren informs Mikasa of his departure, she is adamant on leaving with him as well. In turn, Sasha and Jean want to leave. And from that, Connie does too. A dreadful panic spreads throughout your system. 

“Come on, guys, we just got here!” 

“We have been here for hours,” Jean says your name. “Besides, we have to be up early for training.” 

“Fine, you guys can go. But I’m not leaving just yet.” 

Connie interjects, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. You’d be here by yourself. And you heard Jean, tomorrow’s training.” 

“I can stay here and watch over her.” 

Everyone turns to the Captain, who takes a drink. Your jaw drops. 

“I-I don’t need a babysitter!”  

“Evidently you do,” he stares at you before turning over to the group. “Get some rest and be at the training grounds at sunrise. You have a busy day ahead of you tomorrow.”

Everyone goes to leave and you give Mikasa and Sasha one last heartfelt hug. Connie throws you some knuckle love and Jean and Eren just give you a nod your way. Your eyes follow them out the door. Once they leave, a certain sense of dread and embarrassment comes over you. 

Still, you sit back down and cross your legs, reclining against the table and taking a drink while looking at the captain. He turns his head towards you, a few dark strands of hair falling in front of his face as he finishes the last of his drink.

“I bet this is not how you wanted to spend your Thursday night.” 

He leans over into your ear, his lips brushing up against your skin and breath tickling in your ear. 

“Definitely not, but I’m sure it’ll be entertaining nonetheless.” 

You pull away from one another, nodding your head as you play with the remnants of your Dirty Shirley, which is completely gone. 

You peek your head up, “Do you want another drink?” 

“No; do you?” 

“Not really in the mood to wait an hour for a drink again, so I guess not.” 

“I can get it for you.” 

“You don’t have to do that,” you urge as he begins to stand up, shedding his suit jacket and draping it across the back of his chair. “Seriously, Captain, I’m fine.” 

“Don’t be stubborn and let me buy you a drink. Stay here and try not to get into trouble.” 

Your mouth opens to protest but he’s already walking away and disappearing across the club. This is so unlike Captain Levi, it’s actually starting to freak you out. 

You follow his orders and sit by yourself and watch everyone converse and dance amongst themselves. You wonder what these people do for a living and if any of them were around when the Colossal and Armored titans penetrated Shiganshina years ago. Or if they had any idea of what lies beyond the walls. 

Stop thinking about work! you reprimand yourself. You came here to have a good time. Start acting like it. Fuck those guys for leaving, you don’t need them anyway. 

You feel the intense urge to go to the bathroom. You get up from your chair and stand on your toes to see if you can’t see the ravenhead anywhere, but it’s no use. Nowhere to be found. The captain will at least be another ten minutes trying to get a drink. You have time to piss. 

Hurriedly, you navigate to the women’s restrooms, where there is a line. You are grateful that it isn’t an emergency and you don’t need to go ASAP. You look back and see if you can’t see Captain Levi anywhere, but no faces look familiar to you. A slight twinge of anxiety begins to pool in your chest. 

About twenty minutes later, you finally get in. The bathroom slightly reeks but you pull up your shirt and shield your nose and mouth from the air. Toilet paper litters the floor and there’s graffiti written on the stalls. Captain Levi would have a stroke if he saw this, you thought, holding back a laugh. 

You scurry into a stall and slam the door shut, locking it behind you. Just as you do, a familiar beat and voice starts playing on the dance floor. 

(🎵: Memories (ft. Kid Cudi) [Extended] by David Guetta)

You finish your business as fast as you can and wash your hands quickly. At least thirty seconds have passed by since the song began. And you bet that Captain Levi is livid with you for not following orders. Time is of the essence. 

More quickly, you bump into people and lightly shove them out of the way in order to get back. You hear numerous voices curse at you and tell you to watch it, but you are too infatuated with the music to give it any thought. 

Something slaps against your ass, hard. You jolt with the unexpected contact. You turn around and see a man passing by and smirking with a group. Some of them even give him a victorious high five. Without a second thought, you grab a fistful of his shirt, wind back, and punch him across the face. He drops to the floor and clutches at his nose, which is dripping with blood in between his fingers, but even more of his pride. 

Everyone around you gasps and looks between you and the person on the floor. All his friends immediately rush to his side and look up with poison in their eyes. The man has a handkerchief to cover his nose with. 

“You fucking cunt!” one of them spit. 

“You know, you boys gotta find some new insults,” you laugh as you straighten your outfit. “Get fucked, prick.” 

After turning on your heel, you walk away from the scene and others cheer as you do so. 

God, what an asshole. 

When you manage to find the table again, the captain is sitting there with your drink and his eyes constantly looking around. His eyebrows are furrowed together and he looks pissed. Part of you wants to run away but you are too tipsy to care. You approach the table with a jog and give the captain a smile when his eyes meet yours. You’ve never been so relieved to see a familiar face in your life. 

“Dance with me!” you shout, motioning him to the crowd of bodies enjoying the music. A sharp pain shoots from your hand and you fight back a wince. Fuck. The adrenaline must be wearing off from the encounter. 

He stands up, leaning into you, “Where in the hell were you?” 

“What does it matter, I’m here now! C’mon!” 

“What about your drink?” 

He rotates around and grabs it from the table. It’s clear with ice in it. More water…?

“Is this your idea of a joke?” 

“No, they’re about to close down for the night,” he explains, pushing the glass into your hand. “That’s all they were serving!”

“If I chug this, will you stop being such a hardass and dance with me?” 

“If it’ll instill some sense into yo—” 

Before he can finish his sentence, you guzzle down the entire glass in seconds. You wipe off the excess on your lips with the back of your hand. He stands there, dumfounded, as you set it down on the table with a loud clang. 

“A deal’s a deal, Captain. Come on.” 

You flash a wide smile at him and grab his arm, dragging him out to the dance floor like you did earlier in the night with Mikasa and Sasha. You can hear him objecting but you ignore it. 

You let go of him once you reach a good area on the floor and you and Captain Levi face each other once the lyrics come on. 

“All the crazy shit I did tonight, those will be the best memories…”

You begin to let loose and once again, move your body to the music. God, that alcohol really gives you a sense of courage. Never in a million years would you ever ask to dance with your captain, nor dance in front of him, sober. No way, no chance in hell. Yet here you are, doing it and not giving a fuck. 

“I just wanna let it go for the night, that would be the best therapy for me…”

Dancers are jumping up and down to the music. Your captain stands in front of you awkwardly with his arms crossed, looking around at all the people, as if he is watching them and being your own bodyguard. 

The set of lyrics are repeated again three more times and he is still as stiff as a board. People are starting to stare and bump into him by accident, which draws a glare from him. He looks beyond irritated and annoyed. You try to think of something to get him moving. 

Finally, you grab Captain Levi’s hands, interlacing them with yours, and begin to throw them up and down to the beat. He looks at you with confusion and shock, eyes widened. You are laughing wildly and twirling yourself under his arms. 

You wrap your arms around his neck and lean into his ear, “Let it go for the night, Captain. It won’t kill you, I promise.” 

Your arms drop from his body and you use them to wave them in the air. He looks around once more and fluidity finally finds its way to his hips, which move back and forth to the beat perfectly. You are surprised he has a good sense of rhythm. You give him some words of encouragement, which draws a little smile onto his lips. 

The music picks up even more and Captain Levi’s hand reaches out and wraps around your waist. He pulls you in and the space that once existed between your bodies vanishes. You don’t fight it. In fact, your arms instinctively find rest on his shoulders, your hands interlace together. Both of you have a leg in between one another’s, lowering yourselves down a bit and swaying your hips. 

You sing along with the melody and he leans in to place his forehead against yours. Your eyes are closed and you’re beaming as you enjoy the feeling of this moment. Captain Levi’s grip tightens on your waist, pulling you even closer to him, pelvises practically grinding together now. Your cunt is positioned right on his thigh. And with the two of you dancing, it feels good, pleasurable. You bite the inside of your lip to fight back a moan. 

His hands proceed to slowly slide up and down your waist and hips, even going up to the backs of your shoulders and pushing your torso closer to his. You scan the room to find a few people staring at you. Your cheeks heat. 

“Levi, people are staring,” you airily laugh in his ear. 

“Then let's give them something to stare at.” 

A wave of pleasure hits you like a bowling ball to the stomach with his voice. You can’t help but let out a moan. A bulge nudges your thigh, which is in between Levi’s, and you swear you can feel your underwear starting to soak. 

So much for keeping a low profile. 

When the song stops, some people retreat back to their seats and take a few swigs of their beverages. But not you and Levi. You stay on the dance floor together, still in the same position. Years of training and cardio prepped both of you well for lots of dancing. 

“Second to last song for the night!” the DJ announces into the microphone at the front. 

Another song quickly fades in. This one is a lot more… sensual. Sexy. 

(🎵: “The Way I Are” by Timbaland)

When the heavy beat starts, Levi pushes your shoulders and twirls you around so your back is flush against his chest. His entire body feels like a chiseled rock against the column of your spine. His hands slowly slither down to your hips and stay there, covering your entire hip bones, as you both begin to fluidly rock your hips side to side to the beat. You reach behind yourself and grab Levi by the name just so your hands have something to do. 

He buries his head in your hair and mouth drops to the shell of your ear. He’s breathing pretty heavily and you swear you can hear a very low, subtle groan pass his lips every now and again. Your eyes practically roll back. 

That is, until you can feel his lips pressing into your skin on the side of your neck. 

Your eyelids shoot open and even though you want to protest and tell him to stop, you can’t. It feels way too damn good. You can’t even think of the last time when you were touched like this. With Levi’s length brushing up against your ass and his wandering hands… it feels like heaven. 

“Is this okay?” he asks lowly. 

“Yeah,” you practically moan, licking your lips. “Yes.” 

His grip on your hips tightens with the sultriness of your voice, lust practically dripping from it. You reciprocate his neediness by backing your hips up further onto him. He lets out a quiet and breathy moan. A smile spreads across your cheeks. Everyone is too busy with their own lives to notice you and Levi, which you are grateful for. In any other situation, you are sure that someone would at least recognize him. 

You two continue to grind on the dancefloor and he spins you back around to him. He leans in your ear again as the song begins to dwindle to an end. 

“As much as I’m enjoying this, we should get out of here before we draw too much attention to ourselves.” 

You nod, “Good idea.”

* * *

Read Part II

[bawltongue]

(jonathan davis x stealth transmasc reader <on t, post op top surgery>. takes place in early 90s. you unexpectedly meet jd in the bathroom after a show, attempting to comfort him after he gets sick, only for Jon to comfort you in return)

18+ !!!!!!!

warning: substance use (alcohol, marijuana), vomit mentioned, smut, (ftm) anatomy, lots of swearing

Jonathan davis x transmasc reader

You couldn’t believe you had the opportunity to finally see your favorite band in person. Korn had been high up on your radar for a couple years now, and seeing them perform live seemed like a dream. Initially, it felt kind of weird to be there on your own. Usually you would’ve preferred to go to a concert with a friend, but when the chance to buy a ticket arose, all you could think about in the moment was securing your spot. This was special.

The performance had been going on at this point for a good hour and forty five minuets, and you had been animalisticly screaming along the lyrics to each song the entire time. Your voice was pretty blown out, cracking and fading, borderline inaudible; but the music was so loud, nobody could hear you anyways. Either way, it’s not like you’d care if anybody could hear you. Your focus was so heavily fixated on Jonathan, nobody else mattered. His vocals, the way he moved and flipped his hair, the sweat gleaming off of his body. For quite a few moments, you zoned out in your fixation and it felt as if you two were the only ones present.

The crowd of people filed out of the venue steadily as the songs went on. Before the middle of the show, nearly everybody was already a sweaty, drunken, fucked up mess. It was about 3 AM when Korn played their last song, and a good eighty percent of the crowd had left before the end of it. Understandably so; the venue was small, un air conditioned and dark. It reeked of vomit, cigarettes, beer, a tinge of piss, and anything else pungent you’d smell at a metal concert full of wasted 20 somethings. Though you were so immersed in the music, the beauty and finesse of the band members… the odors and obnoxious sounds of the onlookers around you didn’t permeate your high of being so close to the men you’ve looked up to and religiously listened to for so long. Nothing could kill this feeling of happiness and awe… until-

Wait, no fucking way. They just finished playing the last song. They’re walking off stage? No, fuck. It’s over? Already?

The post concert depression hit you almost immediately as it felt like you had simply blinked and the members of Korn were exiting the stage. You played it cool and clapped and shouted just like everyone else did, but damn if tears didn’t well up in your eyes a little bit. You took a deep breath, looked around the venue and realized you were the last one clapping. Not only that, but you were also the last one not making their way out yet. The adrenaline buzzing through your body started to fade as you realized how out of breath, uncomfortable and hot you were.

“Yo, there a bathroom in here?” You got the attention of what looked to be an employee, maybe a bodyguard of some sort.

“Yeah, mens’ is right over there.” He gestured to a puny, dimly lit hallway in the back of the venue.

You nodded your head in thanks and turned as a coy smile spread across your lips. You’ve been passing for a while now, but it never stops feeling good to be validated as a man.

You made your way to the restroom and over to a sink to splash some water on your face. The room temperature liquid felt ridiculously relieving on your sticky skin. The water got all over the front of your shirt, but was indistinguishable from all the sweat you had exuded during the evening.

“URRGHHUA-“ The sound of a guttural heave followed by somebody spitting into a toilet made your eyes bulge open in surprise. You thought you were the only person in the restroom.

“Ugh, fuck me-“ Followed by another harsh gag echoed through the bathroom.

“Hey man, uh, you okay?” You stuttered out somewhat nervously. You weren’t really one to start conversation with strangers, but you were a sympathetic person more than anything. Plus, the exhaustion you felt kind of drowned out any feelings of profound anxiety.

“Oh shit, yeah. Sorry man, haha, that probably sounded really fuckin’ gross.” The disembodied voice responded, slightly slurring his words. “I’m just drunk as hell… you mind uh, helping me out maybe?”

You glanced down under the stall to see long legs awkwardly sprawled out on the dirty floor. Stained black adidas sweats attached to what you assumed was a torso hunched over the toilet. The sleepiness and mild disconnect humming in your brain after such an intense night made it so you couldn’t connect the dots between the familiar voice and pants.

The lock clicked and the door slightly creaked open, but not enough for you to see who was in the stall. Taking a couple steps over, with no second thought, you pulled the door outward to offer a helping hand.

“Oh fuck!-“ Choking on a sharp gasp, Jonathan Davis’ glazed, red tinted eyes met with your own. You felt a rush of heat fill your body as blush spread across your face. Jonathan Davis of Korn was probably the last person you were expecting to see sitting on the floor of a filthy bathroom at 3:20 in the morning. Asking for your help. He raised his eyebrows up at you curiously, outstretching a shaky hand.

“You’re staring. Do I got barf runnin’ down my lip or something?” He smiled goofily, gesturing again for you to take his hand and help him up.

“Sorry, I just- I’m totally surprised to see you! I’ve been a fan for so motherfucking long. I’m kinda like- whoa- I mean, you played such a badass show-” You stuttered, hurriedly bending down to take his arm over your shoulders. You tried to play it cool, but felt pretty embarrassed over your inability to keep your fanboying to a low. His legs shook a bit as you hoisted him up off of the floor and to his feet. He was taller then expected. Taller then you at least.

He chuckled in response to your comment, turning his head toward you. You felt his breath on your face; it fucking reeked. Yet it caused your heartbeat to increase even more then it already had.

“Thank you. You know, I think I noticed you from the stage. I swear I saw you going fuckin’ crazy during Faget.” He smiled warmly and took a wobbly step toward the sink, arm still wrapped over your shoulders as you helped him steady himself.

“Yeah, heh. I just get into it, man. I love your music… Shit I won’t lie, I’m a little bit embarrassed.”

He took his arm from around your shoulders and balanced himself on the sink, turning the faucet on. He cupped his hand to catch water and looked at you through the mirror while hunched over.

“No need to be embarrassed. That’s the kinda shit I live for. I appreciate it a lot.” He took a sip of water from his hand before swishing it around his mouth and spitting it back out. His eyes rolled back slightly as he splashed water on his face, letting it drip back into the sink. You stood behind him anxiously, rocking back and forth not knowing what to say.

“You seem pretty nervous. I got something that might make you feel better, if you wanna head out back with me?” He asked, turning around to face you suddenly, stumbling a bit in the motion. You tensed up, meeting his gaze.

Is he asking me to hang out right now?

“You want me to come out back with you? Like now?”

He chuckled softly and put his hand on your shoulder, squeezing it gently.

“Yeah, like now. If that’s cool with you. I kinda like your presence… I dunno, I’m drunk man. It’d be cool to hang with someone new.” Jon bit his lip and raised his brow as his gaze darted between your lips and back up to your eyes for a moment. It made your face grow hot. “Besides, what else is there to do?”

“Well shit, you make a good point. I’d fuckin’ love to chill with you man.” You felt his grip on your shoulder tighten slightly as you agreed. He grinned widely, still pretty intoxicated as he slung his arm over your shoulders once again. Leading the way out of the restroom, you both made your way out of a door next to the stage area that spat you out on the side of the building. The thick scent of weed and cigarettes smacked you in the face as the door swung open. Honestly smelled pretty damn good compared to the interior of the venue.

“Aw fuck yeah, my man Head never fails me.“ Jon pulled you over to a bench that had a little baggie sitting on it. “Let’s sit, hm?”

You both sat down, Jonathan picking the bag up and emptying the contents in his hand. A perfectly rolled joint and a bright red lighter. Head had obviously left it there for Jon, knowing he’d be coming out after his puketastic bathroom adventure.

“I want you to take the first hit.” He held the joint up to your lips between his fingers.

“You sure? I feel bad smoking your weed, you don’t even know me. I mean I appreciate it of course, but-“ You were interrupted by the click of a lighter.

“I’m sure. I’m gonna know you soon anyways, right?”

You shrugged and inhaled, the familiar taste of smoke filled up your mouth. The second your lips peeled away from the joint, Jon took a huge hit, leaning his head back and blowing it straight up. You couldn’t help but stare dumbly at him as smoke poured out of your mouth. Him throwing his head back like that made risky things run through your mind.

Hit after hit, you lost track of how much the two of you had smoked due to how stoned you became with each exhale. Between sharing the joint, you had conversation about where you’re from, what hobbies you guys have, favorite music, what high school was like; general ‘getting to know each other’ talk. You just couldn’t fully believe you were having casual conversation with Jonathan fucking Davis. Though the higher you got, the easier it was to converse.

“Shit, you know what? You listened to me throw up, saw drool fall outta my mouth, we smoked half of my joint, and I don’t even know your name.” Jon stared at you, his eyes as beet red as your own. The sight made you giggle.

“It’s Y/N. Damn, I’m high as fuck.”

He laughed out loud, his smile causing his eyes to squint. He had such a cute laugh, not what you would’ve expected judging by his stage presence. His reaction arose another giggle inside of you as you shyly covered your mouth with your hand.

“You’re fuckin’ cute, Y/N. Wanna try something weird?”

His words made your heart flutter. An obvious blush spread across your cheeks. You nodded in response, a goofy smile plastered on your face unbeknownst to you.

“Alright, just let me lead. I’m gonna take a hit of this and pass it to you.”

He angled his body toward you and you followed suit, both of you awkwardly facing each other. Half of the joint remained. It felt like you had smoked so much more then that. You were so goddamn high. Jon was too, but wasn’t nearly as transparent about it.

He lit it up and inhaled deeply, holding the smoke in his mouth and quickly placing the joint down to his side so both of his hands were free. He nodded for consent as he bore into your glazed eyes. As soon as you nodded back, his hands gently steadied the sides of your face as he ever so lightly touched his lips against yours. Both of you opened your mouths simultaneously as he exhaled and you inhaled. Your lips were touching so softly. It made your stomach flip. He pulled away, but kept his hands on your cheeks as he watched your expression closely.

“I like your sideburns.” He rubbed his thumb against your face gently, feeling your facial hair. “Fuck, I’m high as shit too.” He bit his lip as his cheeks began to flush red. You could just barely see the tint of his face change with the streetlights glimmering on you both. You smiled shyly as his compliment dug its way into your brain.

“I like yours too.” You sheepishly responded.

“Here.” Jon lifted your hand up and placed it on his own face so you could feel them. A smirk spread across his lips. “This is the gayest fuckin’ thing I’ve done all week.”

“Is that a good or bad thing?” You felt your breath hitch, worried that he wasn’t feeling the electricity you were.

“It ain’t bad. You’re pretty as hell. I saw you rockin’ out from the stage and I was like; ‘damn, that guy is… attractive’. Then i saw you in the bathroom and I was like, ‘shit here’s my chance’. Is that weird?”

You were so taken aback by his words. It didn’t seem real. Is he fucking serious right now?

“I’m sorry, I’m forreal so fucked up right now. That was probably weird for me to say, wasn’t it? I don’t usually do this stuff with guys. I’m a lot smoother with wome-”

Before he had even finished speaking, you put your other hand on his face, pulling him toward you for a kiss. You were so stoned, so ridden of anxiety and morality, it just seemed like the right thing to do. His lips were dry and tasted like Jack Daniel’s and potent weed. You pulled away and locked eyes.

“You’re really fucking cute, Jon. Like, I’m into you.”

His eyes widened and he smiled uncontrollably, fully displaying his crooked teeth.

“I’m into you too, Y/N. I wanna get to know you, but, uh…” He bit his lip and stared down at his lap tentatively. His face was so red.

“What? You’re acting shy all of a sudden?” You smirked and placed a hand on his thigh, nudging him to finish his sentence.

“I really wanna get to know you, but I also wanna fuck you so bad right now.”

You gulped and froze, not expecting him to feel such strong attraction toward you. You didn’t expect him to have any attraction toward you at all, let alone wanting to bone you on the spot like this. Was it because he was so fucked up? Or would he feel this way regardless? Snapping back into reality, you realized his dark, tired eyes were fixated on you, looking you up and down. Sweat beaded at your forehead in anticipation and hesitation. Not only was your favorite vocalist thirsting after you, but you had never been with anybody who hadn’t known you were trans before getting intimate. Actually, you hadn’t been with many people at all. You had no idea how to initiate the conversation, so the best you squeaked out was;

“Can we start slow?”

A warm smile eased onto Jons’ face. He scooped your legs up from the underside of your knees and scooted closer, placing your legs on top of his lap.

“I’m not gonna fuck you here on this bench. Well, I mean, unless you’re into that.” He gave you no time to respond as his lips crashed into yours, rougher then your first kiss, but gentle enough. He placed one hand behind your neck and the other on your thigh, giving it a light squeeze that caused your lips to part for a moment. His thumb affectionately graced the back of your neck as you tasted each others lips. Jon pulled back for a moment.

“You doing okay?” He asked, still rubbing his thumb against your hairline.

“Yeah. I’m really good. What about you?”

“I’m fuckin’ great. You have really soft lips.” He licked his own lips for a second before biting them and scanning your figure again. “Damn, you’re really fuckin’ handsome. It feels right to be here with you right now.” He slurred out before leaning in for another kiss.

This one was a bit sloppier. He began biting your bottom lip and licking your teeth until you finally granted his tongue entrance to your mouth. When you did he let out a soft, sweet moan that made your mouth vibrate. The sound of his enjoyment mixed with the feeling of his tongue in your mouth caused wetness to pool in your boxers. His hand moved lower on your waist and pulled you closer until you were essentially sat on his lap. You could feel how hard he was through his sweats and couldn’t believe it. Knowing that you had him so turned on just drove you even crazier.

A string of spit connected your swollen lips as the both of you pulled away momentarily for air.

“You’re so hard. Did I do this to you?” You asked teasingly.

“Fuck yeah you did. I’m about to fuckin’ lose my shit, Y/N. You’re so hot.” He leaned into the nook of your neck and began leaving soft kisses and bites on your skin. Both his hands now holding your waist.

“Can I mark you up, baby boy?”

The question sent chills down your spine.

“As much as you want to.”

The green light you gave had him impatiently and passionately sucking and licking on your neck. Your thighs squeezed together in an attempt to keep your tdick under control. Moans and curses escaped your mouth as his lips, teeth and tongue marked and grazed your skin; which only encouraged him further. His hands began to snake up the sides of your shirt. You froze for a moment, remembering you hadn’t told him you’re trans yet.

“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” Jon pulled away worriedly and raised his eyebrows, trying to read your expression.

“Not at all. You’re doing such a good job. I just… I don’t- I have to tell you something before we get too far and I’m scared It’s gonna weird you out or something.” Tears welled up in your eyes slightly as anxiety begin to fill up your chest.

“Oh shit. You have AIDS or something?”

“No, motherfucker.” You fought back a snicker. “I don’t have any STD’s.”

Jon sighed in relief, grabbing your hands and holding them tight.

“I promise I’m not gonna judge you. I already like you.”

You took a deep breath and thought about how you could phrase this. The concoction of exhaustion and intoxication flooding through you caused you to simply lift your shirt to showcase your top surgery scars to him. Sometimes saying nothing speaks the loudest.

His eyes widen and fixate on your chest and torso as he puts his hands back on either side of your bare waist.

“I get it.” He said, tapping his fingertips along your skin. “Your scars look great… and shit, you’re almost as hairy as me, huh?” He snickered out, trying to ease the tension to let you know he really didn’t mind at all.

“It’s cool.” He adjusted your legs so you were straddling his lap now, rather then sitting with your legs pressed together. “I’m glad you trust me with your body. It’s fuckin’ sexy.”

You dropped your shirt back down as your hands covered your face. You could feel his throbbing member against your hole now that he readjusted your position on his lap.

“You’re not just saying that to get your dick wet?” You mumble through your fingers.

“What? Naw, I think you’re beautiful… handsome- I think you’re handsome. I said I wanted to fuck you and get to know you. You bein’ trans don’t change none of that. I just got to know you a lil more, that’s all.” He moved your hands down from your face and kissed your nose lightly, making you smile. His reassurance felt very genuine.

“Thank you, Jon. You have no idea how much that means to me… Fuck, I feel so much better. Come kiss me again.” You placed your hands on the back of his head, intertwining his dreads with your fingers before he smushed his face into yours with impatience. His tongue slithered past your teeth and onto yours. It was hard to ignore the subtly desperate humping of his hips up into you as you sat straddling him. The friction, or lack thereof, was driving you both crazy. With his dreads looped through your fingers, you gave a light tug that caused a moan to emit from his mouth into yours.

“Shit, I want you so bad.” He whispered, boring into your eyes with a look that can only be described as desire and seriousness. His desperation made you feel powerful. You never thought you’d be so close to Jon, never thought his dark, lustful eyes would be piercing yours. His arms would be around your waist and tongue in your mouth. The surge of tension and emotions between you had you both forgetting your location; a dirty bench on the outside of a crummy club.

“As bad as I want you too, I’m not about to let us get arrested for public indecency.” You chuckled, cupping his cheek with your hand and giving him a light kiss on the lips. He frowned childishly, eyebrows furrowing. He leaned down and rested his head in the nook of your neck, his lips barely touching your skin.

“If we went somewhere more private, would you let me make you feel good?” He said before kissing your neck lightly.

You placed your hands on the back of his head, caressing his matted, sweaty hair for a moment before mumbling out an “mhm”. Planting another quick kiss on your forehead, he stood up, grabbing the joint and lighter with one hand and outstretching the other for you to take. As he lead you back through the door of the now empty club, he held the joint in his mouth, lighting it and taking long hits, exhaling the smoke through his nose. He grabbed it with two fingers and placed it between your lips for you to take a couple hits as well. A trail of smoke lingered behind you both as he pushed the bathroom door open, locking it behind you.

“I’m so fucking high again, haha-”

He wasted no time in pressing you up against the cool, tiled wall, biting at your lips and moving his hands up and down the sides of your torso. He had his body pressed into yours, keeping you comfortably squished yet unable to move much. You could feel his boner pushing against your stomach through your clothes. He pulled away from your breathless mouth as he hurriedly pulled his tank top over his head, throwing it onto the floor. Jon was so fucking hairy. You were awestruck by his body. His chest hair, happy trail, hips poking out above his pants. You were so hypnotized you hadn’t even realized him tugging at the hem of your shirt, gesturing to get it off of you.

“I wanna see that body of yours again… please?” His bloodshot puppy dog eyes darted between your face and the small amount of your belly visible below your shirt that he was lifting. You bit your lip nervously, but raised your arms to allow him to fully remove it. Throwing your shirt off to the side like a piece of trash, his gaze hungrily shifted around your torso and chest. Large, gentle hands caressing your sides, tracing your scars.

“Goddamn, you’re a fuckin’ treat, huh pretty boy?” He leaned down and started suckling on your neck, working his way down to your collarbone. You gasped as his hand suddenly snuck it’s way past your waistband and in between your thighs, fingers rubbing between your slick entrance and against your swollen tdick.

“Shit, this things big… You’re ready for me aren’t you, Y/N?” He smirked, his forehead pressed against your chest as he stared intensely at his hand in your pants. A finger slipped inside of you, making you emit a raspy moan. The feeling of your wetness seeping around his hand caused him to whimper, beyond turned on and anticipating the feeling of finally being inside of you. Your hips humping against his hand as he inserts another finger, biting your shoulder and leaving a hardy indentation.

“Your fingers feel so fucking good, oh my god, fuck-“ your hands moved up and down his back sporadically; you ached for this kind of touch for what felt like forever.

“That’s my good boy… Are you ready for me to fuck you?” He muttered into your neck, clamping down with his teeth leaving another deep bite mark. Your eyes fluttered closed for a moment, enjoying the mixture of pleasure and mild pain. You would’ve yanked his pants down yourself in an instant if you weren’t pinned up against the wall at his discretion.

“Y-yeah, I’m ready. Fuck…”

Almost instantaneously, he pulled his pants down, letting them fall to his ankles. His cock had been dripping with precum for what seemed like the entire time, it was dribbling off of his head. The sight made your eyes pop. Eagerly, he pulled the waistband of your pants down as well, letting them fall to your feet. He reached a hand down and began jerking himself off with one hand and swirling his fingers around your tdick with the other while maintaining eye contact with you.

“I’m gonna fuck your pretty little cunt now, okay?” He shifted his hips close enough so his throbbing cock was placed directly against your entrance. You nodded your head, breathless and nervous. Pushing into you slowly, you both let out deep groans as your grips on each others bodies tightened. He fully pressed into you, borderline crushing you against the wall. Your arms wrapped around his head as he quickened his pace, unable to hold back the desire he’s been downplaying all evening.

“Fuck yes. You’re so fucking tight. You feel so fucking good around me. What a good boy, so wet for me.” Praise fell from his lips like a monologue as he pumped faster and faster. Leaving you out of breath, moaning and cursing uncontrollably. Complete putty in his hands. His lips encompassed yours as he moaned and whimpered into your mouth. The sounds of both of your deep, raspy noises of pleasure and his hips slapping wetly and lewdly against yours echoed throughout the bathroom. He pinned your hands above your head with one arm and used the other to grope your ass, pulling you into him as he submerged his cock inside of you.

“Jon, fuck, I’m gonna fucking cum.”

“Me too. Be my good boy and let’s cum together.” He whimpered out, trying to maintain a dominant tone but not being able to hold back his desperation. His hips bucked uncontrollably and with one final harsh pump, he completely buried himself inside of you. You could feel his balls pulsating against your lips as he emptied them inside of your hole. You tightened around him, gasping and moaning. Your bodies twitched as you both simultaneously came for each other. Sweat pouring off your bodies and cum already trickling down your hairy, weak thighs before he even pulled out.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking sexy, Y/N.” Jon breathlessly mumbled as he stayed twitching inside of you. Attempting to catch his breath and letting go of your wrists, he sprinkled soft kisses all over your jawline, chin and cheeks.

“No, you are. Holy shit, I’ve never cum that hard with anyone before.” You whispered out, legs shaking, barely able to stand if he wasn’t still pressing you against the wall.

“Neither have I. Goddamn.” He slowly slipped out of you while holding your hips, biting his lip and forcing back whimpers in his throat as he did. Your hips bucked and twitched. His cum seeped out, dripping onto your boxers below you. He kissed your forehead with a loud smack sound and bent down to pull up your pants for you.

“Cute. Your legs are shaking pretty hard. Need me to carry you out of here or somethin’?” He rose up with a satisfied look on his face, snapping your waistband around your hips.

“Hell no. I’m a big boy.” You snickered and crossed your arms as Jon pulled his own pants up, rising up less then an inch from your face. You kissed his nose sweetly and watched his face turn a deeper pink.

“Whatever you say. Let me get you breakfast, hm? It’s probably like, fuckin’ 7 AM now.” He reached down to grasp your hand and intertwine your fingers with his. “Then we can go back to my hotel room and clean up.”

He stared hopefully and tiredly at you, lightly squeezing your hand.

“Deal. We’re like, so fucking gross right now.”

He laughed and nodded his head, swinging your arms back and forth. You made your way out of the club and realized the sun had rose, which only made you feel more exhausted. His thumb caressed yours as you both began your trot to the motel a few blocks down the road.

“I like you a lot, Y/N.” He quietly muttered, looking down at your feet as you walked next to each other.

“You goddamn better considering your cum is in my boxers right now.” You playfully shot back, earning a hardy laugh from him.

“I’m playin’. I like you a lot too.”

You stopped in your tracks for a moment to embrace each other. A gentle but passionate kiss solidified your mutual feelings as you continued on your way, sauntering down the sidewalk.

[sweetberrylover]

Can you tell me what was in the Valentine's day story

OH brother I knew someone was going to make this question

Obvious spoilers for the new Plastic man Valentine story from “How To Lose A Guy Gardner In 10 Days”

Basically most people are mad at how bad the characterization of plas is in that story that basically treated him as shallow doofus that EVERYONE hates for no good reason that has to learn a big lesson at the end of the story

So like imagine Joe Kelly levels of bad writing but atleast in this one they didn’t make him a pervert THANK GOD ( although they still make him kind of a horndog and there is a part in particular where he ask Wonder Women out and it’s cringy to say the least )

Also the design they gave him is just… mh not great

( Here’s examples of what I’m talking about so yk I’m just making this up )

It really sucks not only because of how all the waiting we did just for it not be good but also because there really was something you could have done with this concept that would actually be good with Plas

Plastic man is a character that does infact has a history of bad luck in romance mostly because back in the Golden age he seemed pretty uninterested and even scared of woman and in the modern age any love interest he has had is a cardboard girl that’s only exists to give him children or to cause conflict ( in summary most of his love interests are non-existence or straight up abusive/toxic)

Having a story explore his bad luck with romance or a story exploring him dealing with a bad relationship would be very interesting and great development but unfortunately that’s not what happened here. Everybody mistreats him for little to no reason, they paint him as shallow womanizer and throughout the story he hits on a women who turn him down multiple times and also he thinks she’s is married for most of it which obviously paints him in such a bad light

For some odd reason not only does everyone around Plas treat him like trash ( Batman starting to date Plastic mans girlfriend after she basically cheats on Plas all the time and Wonder Woman not knowing who he even is EVEN THOUGH PLAS HAS BEEN IN THE JL FOR A LONG WHILE ) and somehow that’s his fault but also the writers forget the two big things about him is 1 his supposed to be heroic and 2 his supposed to actually be a character and not just a gag joke

Im summary it’s just not that interesting or good. It’s not offensively bad as Joe Kelly or Mark Waid writing but the reason people dislike so much it’s cause we have seen this song ad dance over and over again and it’s just tiring

( forgive me for the bad English or typos this isn’t my first language and I’m also typing this in a hurry because there so much I want to say but also ik I can’t make this super long )

[mygloviesme]

cool about it, eleven years later. || myg

no. 1 of 3: not strong enough to be your man

predebut/debut!yoongi x female idol

summary: eleven years later, kanako lives in nyc with her childhood best friend keiko. bts have become a household name that floods her every day life, and she's learned to ignore it. after years of moving on from those months she spent with the seven boys, she finds herself in a good place. what happens after one fateful night she finally runs into faces she's tried so hard to run away from?

(definitely inspired by boygenius)

word count: 4.5k

genre: ANGST, fluff, melodrama,

chapter warnings: mentions of mental health, drinking, smoking

inspo song: cool about it by boygenius

JULY 9TH, 2023, 12:12PM

ELEVEN YEARS LATER

Bright. Everything is way too bright. I groan and flip over my side, unable to ignore the throbbing in my head. I feel Keiko shove my side, “Koko, wake up. It’s noon.” She says. I lift my head to peak above the white comforter, squinting as I see her sitting on the edge of the bed. 

“I got way too fucked up last night.” I muffle under the sheets. 

“Yeah I think you’re getting too old for that.”

“Tellmeaboutit.” 

I definitely cannot handle my liquor the same way I could in my twenties. Ages twenty to twenty four was filled with sprite vodkas. And as I got older, just smelling alcohol made me hunch over and gag. But last night was different. I had been taking advantage of the connections I still have from being an idol so many years ago, getting invited to various up-scale parties and soirees. Some are fancy, some are trashy. Most of them being held by washed up celebrities that wanted everybody and anybody to come rager with them. 

But lately K-pop has been on the rise so my name get’s brought up every once in a while. They ignore the controversy that’s stapled to my name, instead calling me an ‘icon’ and ‘so ahead of your time.’ It would be more flattering if my past hadn’t been so chaotic. 

“I brought you a breakfast sandwich.” She says and tosses me the paper-wrapped food item. The smell of egg radiates off of it though, which in turn makes me jump from the bed and to the bathroom. I collapse onto the floor and grip the toilet, gross I know but I’m too old to be embarrassed anymore, my throat pushing out chunky acid. 

“Oh honey.” Keiko comforts me as she holds my hair up. I spit up the remaining vomit that sat in my mouth and lean myself on the bathroom wall, holding my knees. “Jesus.” I breathe. 

“Didn’t mean to trigger that.” She apologizes. 

“It’s okay, I’m actually starving but I don’t think I can consume anything.”

She brings over a glass of water from the counter, “Maybe you should try this.” She says sarcastically. I roll my eyes as I take the cup, downing the whole thing. My throat is scratchy and painful but I use that as another reason to finish it. 

She sighs and flushes the toilet for me, plopping the lid down and taking a seat on it. She messes with her fingers, obviously holding something back. She’s usually a very chatty person no matter the circumstances. So the fact that she hasn’t made a joke or a comment about this current situation makes me sure she has something to say. 

“What is it?” I mumble.

She perks her head up, pretending to be confused. I know her too well. “What do you mean?”

“Keiko. Spit it out. Or I’ll do it for you, on your feet.” I threaten playfully. I’m not very nervous to hear what she has to say, knowing it can’t be all that bad. It’s probably work, or maybe even “weird Charlie” the guy that texts her once in a while to hook up. I let out a soft ‘ugh’ and make a grossed-out expression, “Did you hook up with Charlie? Keiko, I told-”

“They released a book. Today. And they talk about you. Jungk- uh- he does.”

No fucking way. 

“You’re kidding.”

“No. I bought it. Sorry. It was a good thirty-something dollars though, and they actually go in depth about their trainee-”

I nudge her leg with my hand aggressively, “Show me! Now!” I shout. 

“Jeez, okay! Hold on.” She pulls out her phone and swipes through it for a couple minutes. She winces as she clicks on something, “Okay, just don’t freak out.” 

I shake my hand so she could hand me her phone, which she does.

 “I highlighted the-”

“Shh!”

I read it reluctantly. 

Jungkook: I met Kanako back in 2012. She was very sweet and a bit reserved, but we grew to be very close friends. We all hung out with her constantly during that hard time. She was there for us and we were there for her. It was a very beneficial dynamic with nothing in-between. I know she wanted to continue her education and we all respected that. I do miss her at times, and I hope she’s doing well. 

“Nothing in between…” I whisper as I bring my hand down to the floor. It would be a lie to say I never thought about them. Or Yoongi. That would be the biggest lie I’ve ever told. But it’s been so, so long. In a way, I’ve moved on. 

What made it all harder was their faces plastered on so many billboards and posters and Youtube ads and- 

You get it. Once that began in 2017, it was brought back to the surface. All the calls I ignored, all the times they did concerts here and I stayed in bed all day knowing I could buy a ticket the same day. Never reaching out. Mourning the life that never was, then feeling the shame that I couldn’t let go. In my darkest hours I still wish I was there. But I would never admit that, maybe not even to my therapist. It’s all so juvenile. 

And they’re different now. Much different than when I knew them. I saw Jungkook’s tattoos just a while ago and couldn’t recognize him. He’s not a boy anymore. Not the one I knew, not physically. And Yoongi…

“I know honey. It’s awful.” 

“I guess the NDA expired four years ago, but since they never said anything I just thought it wouldn’t come up. I hoped it wouldn’t. Did anyone else say anything?” I ask, knowing she knew who exactly I was talking about. 

She shakes her head, “He didn’t.”

I press my back into the wall and exhale, “This cannot be happening right now.”

Keiko stands and seats herself next to me, placing a hand on mine. She knows how I get, we’ve lived together for so long. I don’t think anyone has known me better than her besides my mom. And you know who. 

“I know, Koko. But think about it, they probably just wanted to say something once and for all. Nothing attached.”

I look at her with a guilty face, “Is it bad if I wish there was? Something attached, I mean.”

She hums, “Maybe not. But it doesn’t change anything. Let’s leave the past alone, yeah?”

I hang my head low and nod. She knows what I want but especially what I need. It was an ongoing thing for the first few years I lived with her. Constant panic attacks and days where I wouldn’t move from my bed. The day they released their first album and I replayed their performances over and over again. When I thought they took out ‘Just One Day’, just for it to be released later. That day was horrible. 

I don’t think I can admit how many times I played that song. If it were now, it would be my number one played song in my spotify wrapped. 

Don’t even get me started when they released ‘Butterfly.’ Let’s just say that song is forever banned in our house, along with the rest of them. Any mention of those three letters and I need to be dragged out and tranquilized. 

That’s why I like to mind my own. Go to work, ignore the billboards. Scroll on my phone, ignore their instagrams. Turn on the TV, ignore their performances. 

When I heard about Jin enlisting and Hoseok joining later on, I wanted to call them. To ask how they were. It’s been too long. I’ve never mustered the courage the past eleven years and now it just feels pointless. 

But I still have their number. I still have them all memorized in my head and written down on old sticky notes that collect dust in my closet. 

“We still have that thing to go to tonight.”

“Somi’s birthday party?”

“Yup.”

Fuck.

JULY 9TH, 2023, 8:00PM

I finish my makeup off with a shiny lip gloss, my staple for four years now. I don’t like change necessarily, and smelling the familiar fruity scent brings comfort. Or trauma, thinking of all the nights I would smear it on my lips after vomiting for ten minutes straight in a random club bathroom. 

Me and alcohol have a complicated relationship. Some would say it was teetering over alcoholism, I would call it a phase. It was my twenties, what can I say?

“You look amazing.” Keiko says as she walks through the bathroom door. She lifts up her skirt to take a quick pee, “No underwear again?” I laugh as I watch her roll her eyes. 

“This is the first night in a while I’m not being chained to the corporate desk. Let’s just say I hope I get lucky.” She says and finishes up. I shake my head playfully and scoot over the bathroom counter so she can wash her hands. I analyze my outfit once more, shimmying my top up so I can get a little more coverage. Everything about my body has changed since eighteen, obviously. 

I keep an anti-chafe stick in my purse if that tells you anything. That second-puberty in your twenties does exist, unfortunately. 

Keiko pouts as she turns around to look at her butt, “I thought this skirt would make me look perkier.” 

I tilt my head to her butt and back to the mirror, “I think it does.” I say in my humble opinion. Keiko is a sight for sore eyes, she always has been. She would be one of those people that you consider to age like fine wine. And she has been experimenting with lip filler, but hey. If you have the money, why not?

I pucker my lips and look down to my phone, flashing a notification indicating our Uber has arrived. “Our ride is here, let’s go.” I urge her. I grab my purse and toss my lip gloss inside, rushing to the door. She huffs, “You’re acting like I was the one spending an hour doing my makeup.” 

I glare at her as I open the door, “Not every twenty-nine year old still has that youthful glow you do. Ms. Just Some Concealer and Gel Brows.” I tease. We speed-walk down the hall and I can feel her irritated energy, “You were an idol in South Korea. I don’t wanna hear it!” She exclaims. 

I giggle to myself and we hurry down the stairs of our semi-nice apartment complex. It definitely beats the one we first lived in, but New York is an expensive place to live in. Even with Keiko’s old money background. She’s tried to let go of their help with monthly payments, as we’re nearly thirty and it’s a little embarrassing now. This place will drain your pockets like it’s no one’s business so…she still asks for money now and then. 

We take the elevator down to the parking garage, seeing the Uber we soon jump into. Tonight calls for a drink or two, especially with the news I got earlier. So no driving for the both of us. 

Maybe I’ll even meet someone new. Or two. You never know, right?

JULY 9TH, 2023, 9:02PM

With the busy NYC traffic, we make it an hour later than expected. The birthday party is being held in a private club in Soho, so I know me and Keiko are in for a treat. I have less anxiety being around other celebrities and social climbers, most of them not knowing who I am anyway. But lately I’ve been getting noticed a lot more lately, even some paparazzi stop to take my photo at times. 

Small articles pop up here and there with my name in it, and I can’t even imagine what they’ll look like tomorrow morning. The three-lettered boy group I used to know being a household name at this point. I have mixed feelings about it, but mostly happiness. Thinking of how stressed they were about their success, only to make it to Western audiences. Even getting a grammy nomination. I was tuned in, not going to lie. 

They should’ve gotten it, but anyway. 

I don’t think I wanna think about them tonight, so Keiko and I head to the bar as soon as we get in. The lights are pretty low, making it hard to see faces that clearly. I feel a hand on my arm, turning around to see the one and only Somi. 

“You guys made it!” She shouts over the loud music. She takes us both in a big hug, giggling and yelping. She’s definitely had a few drinks. 

“Yes, of course.” I smile at her. She gestures to the bartender, “Shots! Let’s get fucked up!” She screams. I see Keiko flinch slightly, giving me a nervous grin in response to the young girl's enthusiasm. I only laugh playfully as the bartender places three small cups in front of us, filled to the brim with what I assume to be vodka. 

Somi doesn’t wait a second to grab her glass, waiting for us to follow. Me and Keiko do so reluctantly but excited nonetheless. “One, two, now!” Somi giggles and we all drink down the burning liquid. 

Keiko slams her glass down and makes a sour face, Somi expressionless. It must be her age. I think it's barely legal for her to drink in the US. 

I put my glass on the table and Somi kisses both Keiko and I on the cheek, “Kay, I’m gonna go dance and stuff. Have fun, there’s loads of people here! And by the way, I think some special guests are gonna arrive. So keep an eye out!” She squeals and runs away before I can ask exactly who. 

Keiko chuckles, “I think she’s talking about Mark and stuff.”

“From NCT?” I furrow my brows. I can’t keep up.

Keiko nods, “I’ve been texting her and she tells me they’ve been talking.” 

I jolt my head back in shock, “That’s kind of risky.”

Keiko shrugs as she hands me my drink, this time a mixed cocktail. “Idols are crazy nowadays.”

It makes me think about him. I think idols have always taken risks. I did. 

I sigh and turn to the crowd of people chatting and dancing. There’s some familiar faces, but when are there not? This time it’s more relevant celebrities, ‘it’ girls as the tabloids call them. A part of me misses being that young, but I think I appreciate my age more now. I know more, I react maturely. I’m doing great for the most part. Although I’ve been aching for some action with any guy for a while now. Emphasis on any guy. It calls for some shaming from Keiko, but I’ll leave that for after the damage is done. 

Keiko is handed her own drink and nods to the dance floor, “C’mon, let’s have fun.” She gives me a smile and I go along happily. We walk towards the mass, seeing all kinds of bodies rocking against each other. The deeper you get in with celebrities, the more erotic and messy it seems to get. Don’t ask the stories I’ve heard. 

Keiko grabs me closer and we sway with each other to the music. The bass is deafening and I only hope chugging my drink makes it more bearable. It’s salty and sweet and blazing, amplifying the feeling of this hot club. There’s something about being in a crowded group. We all have the same mission, the same motive. We’re all dancing in clothes that cost as much as our overpriced rent, spilling drops of liquor and bodily fluid on the material without a care. 

It’s a nasty headspace, but it’s so addicting to get caught in. Especially when it’s just me and Keiko, not needing a man but only each other. I was the one who introduced her to nightlife and she was very hesitant at first. She wasn’t used to the lights or the drinks but just like me, once she got into a groove, the right drink, the right people, we didn’t stop. Every Saturday till 4am we’d be out. And that was for a few years straight. 

Once you vomit mid-way into every night out, it becomes more of a relief. Because that means you can just keep going. Bad habit or not, it was so fucking fun. 

But now we’re nearly thirty. We pace ourselves like responsible adults. Most of the time. 

“Do you want another drink?” I ask as I see we’ve drunk both of ours in a matter of fifteen minutes on this dance floor. Keiko grins mischievously, “You know me so well Koko.” She shouts in my ear. I laugh and grab the glass in her hand, rethinking leaving her here. 

“Uh, actually come with me. Don’t want some grimy guy to come up to you.”

She nods in agreement and we both snake ourselves out of the flock of sweaty bodies. The bar glows in front of us with isles of liquor, waiting to be sipped on. Keiko turns to me as we wait for the bartender to finish up with someone else’s drink, “I saw a guy I liked.”

I raise my brows, “Is that so? Who?”

She peaks over my shoulder, “I mean I can’t really see what he looks like because of how fucking dark it is, but it’s that one over there.” She points slightly. 

I try to slyly look to who she’s referencing, seeing a man with a loose short-sleeved button up and an arm filled with tattoos. His head is leaned over as he’s talking to another man and I give Keiko a look. 

“What?” She throws her hands in the air. 

“I mean his body is nice but I didn’t think you were wanting a-”

“Shh, he’s coming over here! Wait-” She covers her mouth in shock. 

I widen my eyes from her alarming expression, “What is it?”

“Kanako don’t fucking look. DON’T LOOK.” She insists. I grow frustrated from her demands and keep my head down, per her ask. I feel an approaching presence, a voice speaking.

 “Gin, neat.” It says. A man. 

I lean over to Keiko who’s attempting to hide her face. “Is it the guy? Why can’t I look?” I do a whisper/yell type thing as I talk. 

She winces, “Just wait for him to leave.”

The female bartender walks over to us, waiting for our drink order. I notice Keiko’s silence and the impatient bartender, lifting my head once and for all to speak. Keiko shakes her head vigorously with her eyes closed like she can’t bear to watch. I don’t understand why she’s so afraid. And quite frankly, it’s getting annoying. 

“Two vodka cranberries.” I say. 

There’s a beat of quietness. 

“Kanako?” The man next to me says. I turn my head unexpecting a big reveal, but to my surprise, it is. A big one. One that I don’t want. He’s so different. His hair is long, his body is taller and so much bigger than I remember. It’s him, it’s him. Fuck, it’s him. Eleven years later. 

My jaw drops as I make eye contact with him. “Jungkook.” 

He’s as appalled as I am, saying nothing for what feels like hours. His eyes scan my body, my face, my eyes. “You- I haven’t- what…are you doing here?” He chokes out. 

I stutter, “W-We- I’m with my friend. Keiko. We know…Somi.” I respond, the information feeling so irrelevant as it rolls off my tongue. There’s so many things I want to say, and yet nothing comes to mind. What should I do? Apologize? Talk to him like an old friend? Look at Keiko for help?

Jungkook moves his shoulder to reveal the man next to him, Namjoon. 

This can’t get any worse. 

“I’ll leave you to it. Call me if you…need me.” Keiko leans into my ear to say. I try to nod but my body refuses to move. I don’t necessarily need her here, but It makes me feel stranded. I can’t say anything. All I can think about is eleven years ago. Their faces were so different. The way they carried themselves was so different. They’re global artists now, but when I look at Jungkook I still see that young glimmer he used to have. Even Namjoon, whose shoulders are broader than they were, somehow morphs into the smaller boy I knew then. 

“L-Let’s go outside. It’s quieter.” Jungkook requests. 

JULY 9TH, 2023, 10:06PM

We stand outside the club doors awkwardly. Jungkook grabs a carton of cigarettes and pulls one out, lighting it as it sits between his teeth. That’s new. He holds the white stick in his fingers and takes a long inhale, exhaling into the summer air. 

Namjoon is staring off into the road. Quiet. They’re both quiet. 

“How’ve you guys been?” I whisper. Everything I want to say sounds so stupid in the big scheme of things. I feel so small again. So insecure again. Old Kanako.

“You know.” He says, referencing their current status. It sounds kind of dick-ish, but I shrug it off. I don’t blame him for being mad. Although it’s been so long. 

I keep getting a phantom buzz in my back pocket. When I first moved here, I’d get calls from Jungkook every morning and every night. Ignored, ignored, ignored. He stopped after a few months, but the feeling still haunts me. Witnessing my phone light up and expecting to see his name was a thing for me. A thing I’d go over in therapy. 

I always said I’d pick up one day, but when that day came, he stopped calling. 

“I’m sorry.” I say in the midst of the quietude. Stating the unspoken obvious. 

“Don’t be sorry.” Jungkook responds, flicking the ash off his cigarette. Passive.

“I still am.” I mumble. 

Namjoon turns over to me, still hiding behind Jungkook in a way. His arm leans onto the brick wall, “We’ve been wondering about you.”

I chuckle, “Yeah, I read your book.” 

Jungkook takes a hit off his cigarette, “I didn’t really say that. It was the ghostwriter.” Aggressive.

Thanks. 

“Oh. Right.” I whisper. 

“Jungkook.” Namjoon mutters to the apathetic boy. 

Jungkook shrugs, “Sorry. I’m over it now.” Doesn’t feel like it. 

“What he means to say,” Namjoon gives him a look, “Is that we’ve moved on. And grown. Don’t feel bad. We now know how hard it was for you.” He tries to reassure. But I know it’d take Jungkook a while to say the same. I try not to take it personally, but all I can think about is how he’d cling to me at night. How he used to sip on his banana milk and console me with kind words. I shouldn’t expect that in the least. But it hurts either way.

“I understand, it’s okay. It’s complicated, right?” I say. 

“Right.” Namjoon smiles. His dimples, I remember those. 

“Yoongi’s doing fine, if that’s what you were wondering.” Jungkook says under his breath.

I shut my eyes, sighing. I try to level with him, “I wonder about all of you. But thanks.” I accidentally match his passive tone.

The tattooed boy tosses his cigarette on the ground, smushing it under his shoe. 

“Then why didn't you reach out?” He spits. It leaves a sour taste in my mouth. One that trickles down to my throat and almost triggers a chunky reaction. 

“JK, not now-” Namjoon starts but Jungkook has a motive. 

“No, Namjoon.” Jungkook whips his head towards me, “I’m still hurt. Yes, after all these years. Seeing you Kanako,” He bites his lip anxiously. “I wish you had fucking picked up. Just once.”

My lip quivers seeing him in this state. Small, like me. There’s tears pricking his eyes. 

“I couldn’t.”

“Why not? Tell me!”

“It would’ve made it all harder!”

He steps inches closer to me, his lip ring shining under the street lights. He’s so foreign to me, but his eyes stay familiar. An unwanted nostalgia floods my heart and crushes it under his gaze. 

“You don’t even know.” He whispers. 

I plead with him, “Then tell me.”

Jungkook clenches his jaw, “Fuck it. Fuck everything. Fuck you.”

He storms back into the club, shoulder-checking me in the process. I stand idle, in shock. In pain. He would’ve never said that to me. Not in a million years. Am I that horrible of a person? 

Namjoon walks over to me quickly, caressing my shoulder. 

“I’m so sorry, he’s just-”

“Hurt. I know. I know.” I say in disbelief. 

His hand stands on my arm, looking at me intently. But I can’t look at him, it’s all so hard now. Everything is coming back to me. Locked up in those dorms, Jeju, the first time I’ve ever been to a club. How quickly it ended. How quick it was for me that I left. I know I shouldn’t be mad at Jungkook, or any of them. But I feel like the teenager I was back then when Namjoon comforts me. It reminds me of those times when they’d be there for me. 

How hard it was for me to accept care from Keiko because all I wanted was them. It wasn’t the same. The smells weren’t the same. The lingering bickering was my background music. I adjusted to it so well just to leave. I can’t think about this anymore. 

I hear a ringing and Namjoon removes his hand to reach into his jacket pocket, stuttering a ‘I-I just need a second, hold on’ before walking a few steps ahead to answer the call. All I hear is a faint voice on the phone and a hasty Namjoon. 

“Yeah I know. He’s upset. I’ll talk to you about it later. Me? I’m outside. N-No don’t come, it’s not a good time. I know, but just a second. Hold on, don’t-”

The metal doors of the club open once more, a woman in a two-piece set strutting out with someone close behind. As if this night couldn’t get any worse. Reminding me of the broken pieces I had to put back into place. It’s all shattering again. 

I purse my lips in a thin line and turn my back as soon as I see him. Long haired, bomber-jacket, black jeans, him. I hope he doesn’t see me. Namjoon rushes over to me in an attempt to hide my body. 

“S-Sorry. Busy. In the middle of something.” The tall man blurts out. 

It failed though, because he knows. My silhouette, my hair. 

Like instinct. Nothing’s changed. 

“Kanako.” The oh-so familiar man breathes.

Keiko has been calling me Koko for so long that hearing my full name from him, his mouth, causes a chain reaction of goosebumps all over me. The alcohol that was seeping into my conscience has disappeared as my heart beats a thousand times a minute. 

“Yoongi.”

click here to read more of this story!

an: as this story comes to a close soon I’d love to answer any questions you have wondered about this story! or me! or anything at all! just go to my ask box and ask away! or don’t! that’s ok too! love you all! thanks for reading

[mxmint323]

Some Wakko headcanons for y'all :)

I don't even have to say Wakko uses he/they pronouns and is nonbinary. Y'all know the drill. ;)

Wakko has autism and ADHD, and has been prescribed medication from Scratchy. He hates swallowing pills, though, so he’ll take them with a spoonful of ice cream.

Wakko stims by bouncing up and down, tugging on their ears, or flapping their hands. If they’re especially upset they might chew on their clothing or their ears or tail.

Though he’s usually fully verbal, in moments of high emotion, Wakko can go semi- or non-verbal, and finds it very difficult or impossible to form words. This is when his physical humor and gags speak for him the best. 

Wakko also has a special sign for his siblings to let them know he can’t talk. They’re always understanding.

Wakko hates sudden touch, as it can startle them. They prefer that others ask to touch them, or that they initiate touch themselves. 

If it’s okay with everybody in question, they love hugs and cuddles.

Wakko has a hard time verbalizing his thoughts, but when he sings, they all come out so clearly. Songs come to Wakko in highly emotional moments, like little bursts of inspiration, and when they come, he has to sing them, or they'll fade and his emotions will be harder to express.

If he's in a public place when a song comes, especially when he's upset, he'll go over to a secluded area and sing all his thoughts out. His siblings get worried when Wakko goes off by himself, but they catch tender, sweet singing in the distance and know that Wakko just needs some time.

Wakko is not, in fact, a bottomless pit. But they just can’t refuse an extra treat, even when they’re already stuffed… thankfully, their brother is a talented masseuse.

When Wakko gets extremely upset, beyond the point of going non-verbal or needing alone time, he’ll curl up into a fetal position and rock back and forth, burying his face into his hat.

He’ll hum his states and capitals song to himself, or just begin whisper-singing something random, to try and calm himself down. The melody is simple, and the words don’t really rhyme, but the rhythm is comforting.

[oozmart]

Gonna do a Winnie infodump.

Winnie is a walkman who taught the students about music. Because of how dated she is it was all based around the 80s. They do aerobics and learn to dance to beats and keep in rhythm. She is very critical of their dancing. If they try to play music they like or made and she doesnt like it she will scream and destroy it. If you dont agree with her she will make you agree with her.

Winnie: ya we can all have our own opinions its good to be diverse…. EVEN THOUGH YOURE FUCKING WRONG.

She also loves to curse. She is provocative, rebellious, and unconventional.

Within the town of teachers (I just call it Clayhill tbh. The world ive created is inspired by the clayhill that Adventures in Lurning has built, but different in a lot of ways.) she is known as the coolest most radical person around. At least thats what she thinks. I think most of the teachers would agree with her though. She is a rule-breaker so a lot of the more authoritative teachers dont like her style.

As a typical “teen” of the 80s (she is actually 43) she enjoys neon colors, hip music, skateboarding, rollerskating, dancing, singing. She also writes her own songs. Almost every Friday she hosts a party. The guests vary between events, but she likes to play her music for the captive audience she has at her house during these parties. Some enjoy it and others dont.

Her bff’s are Sketchbook and Electracey. Sketchbook loves her creativity and Electracey loves to rock out. Tony on the other hand is not her biggest fan. Although she likes to tease him a lot.

Tony: Just because you have good taste in music doesnt mean you’ll fool me.

Winnie: so you do like my taste in music 😏

Tony: dont flatter yourself. Everybody likes Cyndi Lauper.

Winnie is very flirty. There are a couple of guys she has wrapped around her finger. She is charming and loves to use the guys who like her for her shenanigans.

Winnie: Coffin, you like me right?

Coffin: um I mean, yes… you are my friend after all

Winnie: so I can ask you anything?

Coffin: of course!

Winnie: and it wont be weird?

Coffin: (this is it!!!) not at all! Ask away

Winnie: i was just wondering….

Coffin: yeess…

Winnie: CAN I USE YOU AS A RAMP TO DO SOME SKATEBOARD KICKFLIPS OFF OF???

Coffin: ….. WHAT

It is neither confirmed nor denied if he let her do this.

The only guys who crush on her that I know of atm are Coffin and Unemployed Brendan. Coffin likes her because she really gripped him with her darker taste in music and “intellectual” conversations. She probably just said whatever he wanted to hear in the moment.

Unemployed Brendan… well, he is a sad little briefcase. I think he would be easily impressed by Winnie’s style and wit.

Then theres Colin. Sweet innocent Colin. He likes Winnie a lot, but he doesnt really try too hard to win her over because 1. He shy 2. He see’s her flirty behavior and just doesnt wanna get his heart broken. His little digital heart UnU.

Winnie actually has feelings for Colin tho. She thinks he is cool and clever and fun to be around. She also likes how smart he is. He’s shown her the digital world and she just loves it. He showed her what a music video is. She lost it. Totally gagged. So he was surprised to find out that she liked him back.

Well WHEN that happens. I have no timeline for any of this. I bounce between moments in time.

[akillysheel]

❝ I kind of liked the secrecy. ❞ ( 4/75 )

Summary:  Kip sees Jagger less than a little composed. Characters:  Kip, Jagger. Prompt:  ❝ I kind of liked the secrecy. ❞ Warnings: Alcoholism (implied), drunk-driving, general recklessness and stupidity.

Jagger remembers his first drink like most people do their first kiss.  It was in his father’s office at the tender age of seven.  He’d been screwing around, like most children do, and found the bottle tucked in his bottom drawer.  The cap had instantly drawn him in;  a silver dragon etched into its surface as if it was a badge of honour as opposed to a corporate logo.  The moment the whiskey had touched his tongue, he’d gagged and spat and determined then and there that he’d never touch the stuff again.

“What do you fancy, Jag?”

“Whiskey.  Neat.”

The bartender is the kind of man to make nice with everyone.  Jagger isn’t.  The moment he receives his drink, he gives him a single nod to indicate gratitude before looking away.  Even without words, the message is clear:  leave me be.

Jagger seldom gets time to relax.  Drink and drugs have become infused into his typical routine, yet his time spent in socially acceptable drinking spots is all but zero.  Unlike a lot of people in this place, he doesn’t drink to enhance his sociability.  He does it like one might do a chore:  for a greater, loveless purpose.  The hum of chatter feels like home though, like the incessant buzz of the lamps that keep his produce growing as it should.

It doesn’t take long for him to polish off his drink and buy another.  Alcohol doesn’t burn like it used to.  Instead, it nestles in his chest like a sleepy animal and rests, and the warmth it radiates is comforting rather than overwhelming.  His heart is a window ledge;  his afflictions a lazy cat.

Eventually, he grows tired of ordering and pays for a bottle to be left beside him.  A familiar buzz fills his head, followed by a snowy static that consumes his limbs, and for a while, everything is calm.  He tunes in to the quiet song playing in the background, some sunny electro-swing duet performed by a couple that love music as much as they do each other, and feels content.

He doesn’t pin the exact moment that the scene changes.  It starts as a thumping rhythm that wasn’t there before, one that his boot subconsciously taps along to, followed by a synth that sends a shiver down the length of his spine.  Jagger’s music taste is a subversion from most men his age.  He may like classic rock, may hold affection for iconic riffs from his time as a teenager, but his soul lives in a bassline’s pulse.  His van’s radio is evidence of that, a playlist full of synth-pop and smooth liquid drums at his disposal whenever he has errands to run.  Unlike a lot of things, Jagger likes this kind of music for the way it makes him feel.  It’s music that should be played while speeding down highways at way over the speed limit, the city tinged violet with hedonism.  Not a sight he’s experienced first-hand, given Leylan’s strict curfew, but the image burns so brightly in his mind's eye that he swears he’s been there before.

Jagger takes another drink, eyes falling closed as he soaks in the atmosphere.  The dim orange lights have faded to an atmospheric blue, swathing the bar in a nebulous darkness that makes him feel tired in the best way possible.  He’s floating, so very high above everything that’s ever had the capacity to weigh him down–

                                                                       – and then her voice reaches his ears.

His eyes snap open with recognition, though he remains with his back to the stage.  To her.

It can’t be Kip, he thinks stubbornly.  Blaming his warped perception on the drink seems permissible  -  and then the song reaches its chorus and her voice is irrefutable.  It’s…  beautiful.  Far more mature than he’s come to expect.  When he saw that stupid keytar hung over her shoulder, he’d assumed she was of mediocre talent.  How else is he supposed to react to the starry-eyed, “I’m a musician!” if not with scepticism?  Everybody that’s ever said that has really meant that they have no prospects and are desperately chasing a pipe dream. 

He gets the overwhelming sense that he should leave, yet he feels glued to his seat.  Her melody settles in his brain before trickling down, down, down, until he swears he can feel it convulsing in his soul.  Those gentle vocals mixed with the 80’s style synth make for a deliciously haunting tune, and the sudden surge of POWER in her voice throughout the final chorus all but knocks him off of his bar stool.  By the time she’s finished, he feels alarmingly as if he is too.  He glances at the stage over his shoulder;  sees her sitting in front of a big, bulky keyboard that has most certainly been borrowed from somebody.  There’s no way she could afford such a swanky bit of kit--  not when she’s supposedly stealing wallets to buy food.

The sound of people cheering breaks his spell.  It’s a gradual noise, as if the crowd isn’t quite sure of what they’ve just witnessed, before the unpleasant crescendo swallows him whole.  It isn’t that big a group, and most of her audience is shit-faced, staggering even though they’re standing still, but applause is applause when you’re hungry for stardom.

She rises from her chair with a bright smile, hands clasped in front of her as she bows humbly.  “Thank you!”

Jagger’s never heard her sound this happy.  It’s as if he’s seeing a different person, the real her, and it feels far more personal than it should.  As the lights brighten and the crowd moves on, Jagger rises from his seat and determines that he should vanish.  However, the drink makes him clumsier than normal, gait wobbly and slow as he attempts to weave between tables without falling over.  Usually pinprick senses are abuzz with static;  it leaves him oblivious to the fact that she’s noticed him on his way out, bridging the distance between them.

“Jagger?”

He pauses as if he’s been caught doing the walk of shame, dark knuckles turning white as he clutches the neck of his bottle.  He’s never spoken to her outside of work before, never so much as shot her a text that isn’t to do with business.  The gap between them is purposeful, and it’s more for her sake than his.

“Kip,”  he says, voice low.  “What’d I tell you?  Outside of work?  We.  Don’t.  Know each other.”

“Whatever.  I know you,”  she replies dismissively, following him as he exits the bar.  He’s drunk as a skunk, that much she can gather just by smelling him, nevermind from watching him walk.  His usually sharp sense of direction falters as he clears the threshold of the pub’s front door.  “You’re wasted right now!

“Well, yeah, ‘s how I like to be."  He stops outside of his van, fumbling with the door handle, and Kip gasps softly in surprise before reaching out to grab his arm

"You can't drive this drunk!"  she hisses, swatting at the skin of his forearm gently.

"No, don't worry, I-- I do it all the time."

"All the time?!"  She's torn between gawking and scowling, lips parting and meeting as she fumbles desperately for words.  She feels useless, for she can't even offer him a ride home.  Learning to drive is low on her list of priorities, given that she can get everywhere she wants to go via roller-skates and monorail rides.  Maybe one day.  "That's so dangerous.  You're gonna get yourself killed!"

"Yeah, you're ruining my buzz, doll.  Remind me to never go drinkin' with you."

"Okay.  First– "  She swallows hard, uttering a short, harsh laugh.  "Do not call me doll.  Second, I'm just looking out for you!  Do you know what that is, huh?  Empathy?"

"Doesn't ring a bell,"  he murmurs as he drags the driver's side door open and climbs in.  She sticks her arm in the way when he tries to close it behind him, and he feels frustration building in his gut.  "Kip--"

"You should've said hi."

"I kinda liked the secrecy,”  he drawls sardonically.

"The secrecy of what?"  she asks, catching his eye feebly.  The sun is beginning to set.  Her outline is warm and fuzzy, and Jagger feels a drunken urge to invite her back home.  He swallows it down like he does alcohol, relieved when it tastes bitter upon its descent.  "... did you like my song?"

“You…”  He’s cellophane in that moment;  he knows it, and she knows it too, and he doesn't have the mental fortitude when he’s this drunk to lie convincingly.  Still, he doesn’t want to tell her as such–  doesn’t want to admit that his veins are still thrumming with that intoxicating rhythm, that her stunning vocals have made a nest in his brain.  Instead of saying anything, he feeds his key into the ignition and turns it, the engine revving to life.  “I’m goin’ home.  You should get goin’ too, it’s getting late.”

The look in her eyes is desperate, but she knows in her heart that she can’t stop him.  She may not be overly fond of him, but she doesn't want him to wind up dead because he totaled his van on the way home.  It isn’t a trustworthy statement, but she can only hope that he’s being sincere with his sentiment, that he really has done this ‘all the time’.

It won’t stop her worrying, though.

Her hands curl around the lip of his window.  “Look.  Text me when you get home, okay?”

“Why?”

“Just–  so I know you didn't crash and DIE, Jag!”

A bitter laugh escapes him as he drums his hands against the steering wheel.  “Please.  All your problems vanish if I vanish,”  he says, staring into her eyes unflinchingly as he leans a little closer.  The smell of whiskey permeates the space between them.  To her credit, Kip doesn’t flinch either.  “You should be sending me off with another shot glass in hand, little lady.”

Her brow furrows, and she looks simultaneously exposed and affronted.  With a growing storm in her eyes, she scowls and leans forward until there’s barely any space between them.  Fiery.  Defiant.  “Don’t.  Say that.”  It’s as if she frightens herself, a hint of innocence gleaming through the intensity as she backs away from him again.  By the time she’s back to her spot on the pavement, she looks slightly dazed  —  as if she’s woken from a particularly vivid daydream  —  and her gaze is back to being round and doe-like.  “... I don’t want you to die, okay?  Just, drive... as safe as you can.  And tell me when you get home.  I have to pack up.”

He watches her with a muted sense of confusion as she slowly backs away from him, until she’s standing in the bar’s doorway again.  He just can’t understand her;  he doesn’t get how she can have so much love stuffed inside of her.  She’s like a living, breathing teddy bear, and it pisses him off.

                                   Don’t act like you give a shit about me.  Don’t.

Nervously, she raises her hand and gives him a meek little wave, leaning her head against the doorframe like a sad puppy.

With grit teeth and swimming vision, Jagger puts his foot on the gas pedal and floors it down the road.

[hazbincalifornia]

Hazbin Liveblog Episode 7

And here we go!

Huh, so the rest of the crew knows already? I wonder who told them- or if Vaggie and Charlie had an argument where everybody could hear.

Classy as always, Angel.

Harsh as it is, I can't really blame Husk- he's been dead something like 50 years and suddenly things have gotten way worse in the last six months, twice. Vaggie still is sticking up for her, though.

PENT AND KEEKEE... there's a theory that the death Viv reiterated in the qna may be KeeKee due to the cards depicting it destroyed, but I'm glad the kitty trusts snakeman now.

I wish we had time to see more of Razzle and Dazzle, I know they weren't in the pilot proper much either but if they were gifts from her dad, it would have been nice to have a bit of focus on them, since I think they've only shown up with that one line from Lucifer and giving her tissues here?

And here's the preview from yesterday! He's so slimy, I love it.

Her hair all messy... dare I say, A Look.

You can just tell whoever boarded this bit had a blast with Alastor in it.

Her little hoofies....

The animation of him kicking his legs like a teenage girl and then moving his head in over from the right like it's a slideshow image is so fucking funny.

I don't know if it's just the lighting in this scene, but I like how their colors look- her skin's more of a peach than white, and his is darker, closer to the tone he probably had while alive.

His animation here is SO good,- the spindly fingers like spiders, how he manhandles her face with his fingers to force her to look up and slides his fingers in his mouth to force up a grin, how he's basically telling her he's putting on a front and he's not actually always happy while he's still being unnerving enough and with such conviction it probably won't sink in it's technically vulnerable... I love it.

With 'years', I really do wonder how long ago Vaggie fell. Five years? Ten?

Oh man, that's the sting from the pilot, isn't it? Or at least it's very close. Have they used that before with him in the series proper?

Huh... he picked up a leaf off the plant and it didn't wilt. I wonder if that's because it was already fallen off the plant, or if that was just a gag from the comic.

Ohhh yep. Called it was going there- she's desperate.

I love the fakeout there- he probably knew that, like it or not, if he made a deal for her soul Lucifer would curbstomp him.

I LOVE the animation when the deal goes through and how both of their true demon forms peek through, I'll have to watch it back closer later.

I wonder if deals between powerful demons are always this 'obvious'? The fact that he said 'right on cue' makes me suspect he pushed it outside the room on purpose.

He must have transferred the info during the process of the deal, I doubt he shouted it over all the Magic happening, lmao.

I'd make a comment about the condescending 'good girl' headpat but I think every one of you knows what it is.

Perfect comic timing on the 'they say insane shit all the time!' 'bank accounts are created by the shadow government!' 'SEE?!?'

Even the bow wilted. I love little touches like that, where clothes carry the mood.

Three years, huh! That makes sense- long enough it's clearly an established relationship, not long enough that it would feel ridiculous that she'd be able to hide it.

So... there are kids there? I can't imagine that boy that couldn't be older than six or seven sinned enough to go to Hell, so they must be Hellborn of some kind. (Plus, it would add to the 'hellborns are safe' thing if it's not just Charlie, since they made no indication that imp dude from Happy Day wasn't just a sinner.

Charlie, you waltzed through the cannibal town during your song a few months ago. How do you not know about a fairly sizable and distinct group apparently not far from the center of the city?

Oh, I love Rosie already. It makes sense she's an Overlord if she runs the cannibal town.

ACE IN THE HOLE, I love it. She's probably been waiting years to use that joke but he never brought anybody back to make it work. (Even if he ever did bring Stellaluna around, the first time would have been back when she was a teenager.)

I imagine he probably brings back extra meat when he takes down enough people, and she offers him any opportunities for good deals in exchange.

Very steady head on your shoulders there, Charlie.

I mean, if I was talking to the leader of a cannibal colony, 'you help us kill people, you can eat all the bodies' is the pitch I'd use too.

The interior design of Carmilla's fortress is gorgeous, and her cool demeanor is so good.

Yesss she's using the shoes as weapons!

THE GIRLS ARE CALLED CANNIBETTES, that sounds like something from girl scouts.

Just had to get that dig in, Alastor. Thanks.

Susan mentioned... and she got a second swear out of Alastor. I'm assuming she's not actually his mom or he wouldn't react like that, ah well. I love how she clearly gets under his skin but Rosie probably tells him he's not allowed to eat her, lmao.

To be fair, she does have big-ass eyes.

Oof, Charlie's definitely stressed.

Great music choice for the fight.

Taking her hair down as soon as Vaggie says she's not used to fighting with long hair just to prove that she's still fine doing so is a power move.

HA, I was wondering if anybody would point out the reasons they made it easy enough to guess if you thought about it enough.

Hey, she's still helping!

I didn't super love Carmilla's voice in Whatever it Takes, but I liked it in Respectless and adore it here. The choreography is great too.

The little smile as it switches to playful and confident, eeeee.

I like Charlie sort of talking herself through this once she gets past the immediately frustration, and how Rosie is clearly very good at helping- which makes perfect sense, as she's helped keep cannibal town a nice place for who knows how long by helping mediate interpersonal problems.

Hey, maybe she was just pitching to the wrong audience!

Giving her his mic is really sweet, since it's sort of like a part of him.

It's... really, really nice getting to hear it in context, since I rewatched the trailer a bunch of times.

She's getting Susan on board and it just took encouraging violence!

He's helping!

I love the detail of one of them having a fox skeleton instead of a full fox on her hat.

C'mon, Charlie, you're getting the cannibals willing to fight for you. Does it really matter how they do?

I'm suspecting that Alastor's plans to guide her are going to be something we grapple with more in s2.

Aww, the little head from the trailer was a gift for Vaggie, that's sweet.

Everything was worth it for Pent's pusssssssssies.

[joanie-writes]

Wicked

It's strange what desire will make foolish people do.

Song: Wicked Game by Chris Isaak

John x GN!Reader

Warnings: NSFW 18+, cheating

Word Count: 2.4k

John had loved you for a long time. You had loved John for a long time too. But neither of you told the other, only dancing around each other, staring when the other wasn't looking, both sulking in sorrow when John got together with Abigail, and when you got together with someone of your own.

In the earlier years of the gang, John and you were inseparable, always causing trouble in and out of camp. But as the years went by, and you both realized your feelings for the other were more than platonic, you grew apart.

Truth be told, John did not think he deserved to be loved, he didn't know how to love anyway, so he wasn't about to break your heart by trying. You had always thought that John would laugh in your face if you ever admitted your feelings for him, so you never tried.

The closest you two had gotten to being anywhere near romantic was when you were both much younger, probably fifteen or so, and there may have been a drunken kiss.

"Come on Y/N, you can drink more than that!" John laughed, nearly doubled over at the sight of your wincing from the bottle of booze you had stolen from Uncle. "How does he drink this shit all day?" You coughed, taking another chug on account of John's teasing. You passed the bottle back to Marston, smiling at his wincing face as he took a long drink from the amber glass.

"Yeah, ugh, that is disgusting." He faked a gag, chuckling and regardless of his complaint, he took another sip. It didn't take long for the both of you to be a couple of messes, hiccuping and endlessly laughing, recalling the events of the heist that had taken place the other day.

Eventually, the mood calmed, just swaying gently in your drunken states silently. John spoke up abruptly, "Have you ever kissed someone?"

You looked over to him, your brows furrowed with confusion as to why he would ask that. Butterflies erupted in your stomach, you glanced at John's lips before answering from your spot beside him, laying in the grass, "No, have you?"

"Once," John answered, recalling the event from a few months ago. You hummed, wondering why he hadn't told you about that. John was looking down at you, his own nerves present, but tamed from the liquor. You only looked back at him when he began stroking your cheek, and slowly leaning down to connect your lips.

That night had come and gone. Never spoken about again. But John and you never really spoke at all anymore.

John dreamt of you often, waking up in a sweat next to the woman that all of his attention should be on, but his mind and his body could only think of you. It was almost a weekly occurrence that John would wake up painfully aroused next to Abigail, but she wasn't the cause.

He knew Abigail didn't deserve to be the other person on his mind, she was good to him, much better than he thought he deserved, the gang ridiculed him with that fact often. But it was like he couldn't help himself, especially whenever they made love, he actually had to bite his tongue to stop himself from gasping out your name.

Everyday John felt guilty about that, that and the fact that he didn't really think he was capable of love. He was terrible to Abigail and she didn't even know.

Nearly the same problems happened with you and your partner, and it was silly to think of how simple things could be if only one of you had to the guts to tell the truth. The gang never clued in either, although, you suspected that Hosea probably knew of your everlasting crush on Mr. Marston. But the rest of them remained in the dark, unknowing, and that's how you planned for it to stay.

Even more so when Abigail announced her pregnancy to everybody, there was a party. You spent that party getting as drunk as you possibly could, trying to distract yourself from the news. You weren't upset with Abigail though, never was. She was great, and seemingly great for John, you were upset with yourself. You knew you'd never have a chance.

Later that night, once the alcohol had done it's number on you, you laid with your significant other. And you made intense love, and during, you couldn't stop the tears from flowing from your eyes, sobs racking your body. You were sure a few other members of the gang had heard most if not all of what had happened in your tent last night. Arthur couldn't look you in the eye for a few days following.

As Abigail's pregnancy progressed, you slowly spaced out from the affairs of the Van Der Linde gang. You would spend anywhere from a day to a week out of camp, roughing it on your own, bringing back money, pelts, or food as an excuse most of the time.

When you were in camp, you spent that time apologizing to your partner for being away, and then apart from the group again, usually guarding the outskirts of camp. You didn't want to leave the gang entirely, they were your family, but you just couldn't bear to see the girl's swelling stomach, which carried the child of the man you loved.

In truth, John could hardly stand to see Abigail either, it ate away at his heart, made him feel like a terrible person. And much like he already knew he was incapable of the love that each of you deserved to have, he knew he wouldn't be a good father. The absence of his parents set him up for that in the start.

The gang's excitement for the baby had him on edge all of the time too. Every time somebody said anything to him about the baby, he couldn't string together anymore words other than, "Yeah." His fist clenched at his side as Arthur clapped him on the back while he said, "Little Johnny Marston, about to be a pa, never thought I'd see the day."

A successful heist usually meant a party, and wherever there was liquor, you or John couldn't complain. From your spot by the campfire, you could see Mr. Marston at the table, now by himself as Javier left. He drew in a breath from his cigarette, exhaling the smoke while glanced up at the night sky. You couldn't help but admire the handsome but rugged look about him, especially how his sharp features were highlighted by the light of a lantern at the moment. John looked up and right back at you, catching you both a little by surprise.

John didn't know if it was the liquid courage, or his poor decision making that caused him to stare back at you, hungrily, and tilt his head to the side of camp, encouraging you to follow him. He figured it was both. You were sure it was pure desire that made you comply.

You took a quick look around the party, it seemed busy enough to slip away for a moment to see what John wanted. You assumed it was some sort of lead he was offering you apart of at first. But that wasn't the case.

"It's a wicked thing y'know, how I can't dream of anything but you at night." John said, his voice somewhat hushed.

You looked at John, utter disbelief and confusion clearly showed across your face at what he had just said. After a second to think, you replied, "You are a wicked man, Mr. Marston." You said such a sentence with no malice at all, just like you were stating a written fact.

"Don't I know it." He answered, unable to pry his eyes away from your figure, and then from your lips. The motions that lead to your lips crashing together were blurred by want. John kissed you like a man starved, sparing no second to wrap his arms around your waist and grasping up your back as he brought you closer to him. Your mind couldn't help but flicker to the pregnant woman sleeping in his tent, and to your partner singing songs with the rest of the intoxicated group.

Pulling away for a moment, you asked, "What are we doing, John? This is-" Your question was long forgotten when John took the chance to kiss you deeper, grabbing at your backside whilst he moved the two of you up against a tree. There was no wondering from that point forward, no butterflies, just passion.

You tangled your fingers into John's black locks, tugging and moving your lips down to his jaw and neck, the quiet groan he made felt like it casted electric shocks down your body. You could feel his length firmly pressed into your leg, you broke away from him, giving him a look for permission. He nodded so fast he nearly gave himself a concussion. With a gentle hand, you slid down his torso, touching him through his pants.

John smiled, his eyes widening while he watched you lower yourself to your knees, then releasing him from the confining fabric. You attached your lips to the tip of his length, treating the underside with the motions of your tongue, and reaching a hand to caress his base. He sucked in a sharp breath, his hand finding it's way to the top of your head.

You took more of him into your mouth, moaning against the warmth and reaching one hand to his hip to support yourself. John clamped his teeth onto his lip, his breathing ragged as he tore his eyes away from you going down on him so skillfully, instead looking up at the forest's canopy above. A quick thrust of his hips surprised you, especially when his member his the back of your throat roughly, you pulled off to only lick up the side of his shaft in retaliation.

John mumbled an apology, looking down at you again and shuttering. He stroked your cheek bone with his thumb, moaning a bit loud when you took him back into your mouth again, moving much faster than you did before.

He let it go on a moment but when he felt the euphoria beginning to rise in his stomach, he stroked your cheek again, saying, "Ah shit, honey, stop. I want you now."

With a flushed face, you pulled away, wiping your saliva covered lips on your sleeve and standing up. John kissed you a few times, not as powerful as the first time but they were thankful kisses. He unbuttoned your shirt nearly all the way after asking, leaning you up against a tree trunk as he did. While his nimble fingers moved down the line of buttons, he left hot kisses on your exposed skin, leaving a blooming bruise on your sternum in the wake of his lips.

John undid your bottoms, and you took the liberty of throwing them off as fast as you could, reconnecting your lips afterwards. Still pressed against the tree, John lifted you up in his arms and gently lowered you down onto his length. You moaned at the feeling, your face hidden away in John's neck. John didn't have half the mind to tell you to be quiet, he was too focused on the feeling of you wrapped tightly around him.

The gentleness he began with did not last long because in no time he was feverishly thrusting into you, huffing and grunting in pleasure. Tearing yourself away from his shoulder, you looked onwards, the orange glow of fire from camp, and the distant backs of peoples tents made your skin crawl. God forbid anybody stepped out of camp, they'd pin you and John right away.

"L-look at me," John commanded, pulling your attention back to him while he slowed down some to look at you properly as well. "I've wanted this for so long, Y/N." He said, his cheeks a rosy red colour and the sweat gathering at his brow made him look so perfect, you thought.

After a whimper from you, you replied, "Me too, John, fuck you feel so good." John kissed you again, tongue and teeth as he pulled out of you suddenly and set you down, pulling you to turn around and brace your hands on the tree. You bit your lip in anticipation, the feeling of fullness warming you once again as John entered you from behind this time.

If it was even possible, he fucked you harder than he was before. John held onto your hips, watching you bounce back onto him with need. "Shit, you're so tight." John grunted, unable to pull a response from you, too distracted at the tightening knot in your body.

"C'mon, I know you're about to cum." He rasped, leaning closer to you as he whispered the sultry sentence into your ear. With a final thrust and a harsh smack to your ass, you were pushed over the edge. Your legs tingled wildly and John had to put his hand around your mouth to control the sounds you were creating.

He pulled you up and off the tree trunk, the hand that was over your mouth now wrapped around your throat, igniting another fire in you immediately after the first one was only starting to smoulder. John's thrusts faltered, grunting a final time before pulling out to finish on your behind. He took his hand off your throat and turned you around to kiss you.

You wrapped your arms around him as he did up your shirt for you. You pulled away, only staring back at him now, and it was obvious that the both of you were starting to process what had just happened. Uncomfortable guilt made both of you uneasy but it was no match for the craving to do that a second time.

While you fastened your bottoms, John looked at you, and then looked back towards camp. That was the first time he had since he brought you out here. To ease himself, he lit cigarette, facing you again.

"That was wrong of us, John." You sighed, taking a drag of his smoke when he offered it.

"You did say I was wicked, Y/N, I guess you are too." He explained, leaving you with the rest of the cigarette and the impending doom of the consequences sure to follow this. Oh it is so strange what desire will make foolish people do.

[ajvocals43]

Leon Bridges

Paring: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 536 words

Warnings: none really

Summary: Just a funny little thing that came to mind when watching that scene on the plane in TFATWS

How I got stuck sitting across from Zemo I have no idea but I was trying not to focus on that. I hated it but I had to admit, even though I was absolutely pissed at him for trying to control my boyfriend and supporting the organization that put him through so much hell, he wasn't that bad as a person. He was annoying, sure but he's not like openly supervillainy. And actually, my seating situation was an advantage when Sam and Bucky started talking about Bucky’s book. 

“Everybody likes Marvin Gaye.” Sam asked incredulously. 

“I like Marvin Gaye.” Bucky said back. 

“Steve adored Marvin Gaye.” Sam kept going. 

“I like Marvin Gaye, I just… like Leon Bridges a bit more.” This made me smile as I watched my friend and my boyfriend bicker in the chairs across the aisle. It actually surprised me that he would say that but it was sweet all the same. I also knew that he did like Marvin Gaye, he was just trying to get a rise out of Sam. 

“Who the hell is Leon Bridges?” Sam asked, making me snicker a little. At the sound, Bucky looked over at me and smiled. I couldn't help but mirror his dopey expression. He leaned over the aisle and placed a soft kiss on my lips, making my smile grow impossibly wider. 

“Oh, you two are disgusting.” Sam exclaimed. He started waving his hands frantically in between us as we moved back into our seats fully. 

It's not like that.” I said, laughing. 

 “It was the first song we danced to together. It's our song.” Bucky said and though I saw his eye roll, I also saw his small smile, presumably at the memory of our finding it and having our first dance. 

“I still stand by my statement. Ever since you two got together you've been insufferable. All the hugging and the kissing and the cute little… things you both do. It's gross.” He started making a face and gagging to continue his stance but I just started laughing. 

“You're just jealous cause you're not in a relationship. You hate us cause you ain’t us.” I had to throw one of Sam’s references back at him. He looked amused before he registered the comment. 

“No, I just don't like him.” He jammed his thumb in Bucky’s direction. “So the fact that my friend is dating him does not make me happy.” I shook my head with a smile because I knew that even if Sam didn't like Bucky, - which I'm pretty sure they both liked each other but just didn't want to admit it- he was still happy for me. If for nothing more than to get me to stop asking him about his cute friends in the Avengers. 

“Uh huh, Sam, you can't hate from outside the club when you can't even get in.” Zemo laughed at this and I almost, almost wanted to high five him, but I realized who it was. Still, I couldn't help laughing some more. 

“Shut up.” Sam said, “I'm done with y’all. All y’all.” And then he crossed his arms and looked out the window like a child which only served to make me laugh harder. “I hate you.” he grumbled.  

“Please.” I said, wiping the tears from my eyes. “You love us.” 

“You?” He turned back to face me. “Yes. Them? Hell no.” 

Masterlist 

[kirain]

What do you think about Bruno's prophecies? Do you think he actually causes them to be unfortunate?

No, I think unfortunate things happen in everyone's life. It's not his fault he saw that reality. Not to mention people blamed him for perfectly natural occurrences. For example:

“He told me my fish would die. The next day, dead.” How old was the fish? It looks like a goldfish, and most goldfish don’t live past one year in captivity. Did she feed it properly? Clean it’s bowl properly? Did she actively try to change her habits after Bruno warned her? There's too many variables here we’re not aware of. Her fish likely would’ve died regardless, but since Bruno warned her the day before it happened, she’s using him as a scapegoat, which is wrongfully what everybody did. Bruno’s own family used him as a scapegoat because he brought up issues they didn’t want to hear.

“He told me I’d grow a gut, and just like he said.” How old is this man? Does he drink a lot of alcohol? Rarely exercise? Is it genetic? From around the age of forty and onwards, men often develop a gut, especially when we take those other factors into account. The world of Hollywood has severely warped our sense of older bodies, but the vast majority of middle-aged men have some hint of a gut, even if we can’t see it under their shirt. The above picture is, believe it or not, the most common. Though I also have to wonder if this character specifically asked Bruno about his body, then did nothing about it and simply accepted his fate.

“He said my hair would disappear, now look at my head.” Again, how old is this man? Statistically and scientifically speaking, over half of the men in the world experience some level of hair loss around the age of fifty, with 70% of those men continuing to lose hair as they get older. 25-35% of bald men also start exhibiting signs of hair loss around the age of twenty-one. Studies also suggest stress truly can cause grey hair/hair loss (it’s not just a funny cartoon gag), and I would assume a priest has a lot on his plate, especially if he’s the only priest in town.

As for Pepa and Félix, I hesitate to count their predicament a prophecy because there’s no proof Bruno actually conjured one. It’s later established that he made a comment about Pepa sweating, so she panicked and possibly caused the storm herself. Though if I’m wrong and it was a prophecy ... their wedding was outside. It rains outside, especially in tropical areas. Even though they said there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, hurricanes can and have hit without warning all throughout history.

“He told me that the man of my dreams would be just out of reach, betrothed to another.” Here we have another series of questions. Did Dolores try to find a husband, or did she take Bruno’s word for it and just give up? When people hear that something is impossible, they tend to limit themselves. This is what makes Mirabel’s prophecy so interesting to me. She proved that fate isn’t set in stone. It could’ve gone either way, good or bad, and Mirabel chose good. I wonder if all the people Bruno spoke to could’ve changed their future if they only tried. Even though Dolores was “destined” to never meet the man of her dreams, the movie implies that she did by the end.

“He told me that the life of my dreams would be promised and someday be mine. He told me that my power would grow like the grapes that thrive on the vine.” Then we get to the most important prophecy--Isabela’s. Her prophecy was, well, perfect. Everything she wanted to hear. Notice, then, that she’s the only member of the family who doesn’t sing the line “we don’t talk about Bruno”. At no point, not even when they’re all singing in unison, does she utter these words. But she doesn’t give him credit either. The whole song is a classic case of self-fulfilling prophecies. When something bad happens, it’s Bruno’s fault, but when something good happens, that’s just life. Poor Bruno.

[parkers-gal]

the late late show T.H.

wc: 1.4k (fluff)

ariana grande!reader and tom on the late late show for spill your guts or fill your guts

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," Y/N said, a grimacing smile on her face as she sat down.

The cameras weren't rolling yet, so her & Tom's microphones were still getting set up and clipped on.

Y/N's Zach Sang radio interview had quite literally blown up all over the internet. Though it had only been released about a week ago, it already had 30 million views, and thousands of comments. No doubt, tonight's live Late Late Show would have tons of viewers. 

Tom grinned at her, slightly mischievous. "It'll be fun, love." 

"That's what they always say," she replied. 

Before Tom could say anything else, the producer was counting down and crew members were shushing the crowd as a red light blinked on and the show began. 

"Hi, I'm Tom Holland," he introduced himself, looking directly at the camera. "And this my wife, Y/N Holland-"

"I hyphenated," she cut in.

Tom looked at her and chuckled before continuing, "and this is Spill Your Guts or Fill your Guts." 

"Explain to the world the misery we have to go through," Y/N commented, making brief eye contact with Tom before breathing out a laugh.

"Right," he laughed. "So, one of us asks the other a question from the cards and you have to answer truthfully or-" he looked down at the food. "Eat whichever food the person has picked for them." 

"Alright," Y/N said. "Let's see what we got then, shall we?" 

" 'Course darlin'." 

Y/N blushed before spinning the table to a random dish. "We have salmon smoothie," she spoke with a grimace. "And a thousand year old eggnog." 

Tom made a 'yuck' sound, and the audience laughed at them. "Here's bird saliva," Tom said. 

"And bull penis." 

"Ah, the bull penis," Tom said.

"Oh shut your trap," Y/N laughed. "And we have bug trifle." 

"Jellyfish," Tom said. "That shouldn't be too bad, right?" he asked.

"Guess you'll find out," Y/N laughed at him.

"You wouldn't dare," he challenged.

"Watch me."

Both of them laughed before continuing. 

"Giant water scorpion," Y/N said with another grimace. "Cow blood and-" she playfully gagged. "And pork tongue jelly," she finished. 

"And lastly, we have cod sperm," Tom grinned. 

"Oh god." 

"Let's start then!" he said, smiling. His accent was thick, and it seemed as though he didn't even bother trying to tame his hair. 

Y/N, on the other hand, was wearing one of Tom's sweaters. It was oversized on her, and colored beige. Her hair was in a low ponytail and her white acrylic nails showed slightly out of her sweater paws. She had butterfly clips in her hair and her feet were fitted with thick, white Filas. 

"I suppose so," she said, sounding like a kid that had just been denied some ice cream. 

"Should I go first or you?"

"Uh, me." 

Tom picked up a card and tried to suppress a laugh. "Okay, let's go with... a thousand year old eggnog." 

"Ew, Thomas. What the fuck, it smells so-" she gagged playfully again. "Ugh, I'm gonna get you back."

"You haven't even heard the question yet!" he laughed, his eye crinkles growing. 

"It's due to be bad though!" She defended, laughing with him. "C'mon, Tommy. I wanna get this," she sniffed the eggnog, "over with." 

"Okay," he paused to laugh after rereading the card. "You have previously stated that track seven, or 'make up,' of your upcoming album is inspired by, co-written, and about me." 

"Correct." 

"What is the song about? .. and give us one lyric or line." 

"Oh god," Y/N covered her face with her hands. "I am not doing this." 

"It's the question or the eggnog, baby. Though you might need a mint after you drink that," he laughed. 

"Uhm," Y/N glanced around, taking another whiff of the eggnog before setting it down on it's tray. "Make up is about... int-imacy after an argument," she stuttered out.

Tom was laughing now, a blush present on his cheeks at her confession. "Alright, the lyric now." 

"Uhm... do I sing it or just.. s-say it?" 

"Saying it's kinda awkward, lovie." 

"Okay," she dragged out her reply. "Bring you to the bed where we can really make it right, sorry-in-a-box so when it pops, surprise, surprise," Y/N sang.

The audience responded immediately, the lyrics clear with their meaning. The couple was blushing intensely, Y/N almost regretting the snippet she just released. When she made eye contact with Tom again, he lip synced 'it'll be okay. I love you,' and she nodded her head and picked up a card. 

"Okay, I'll give you..." she spoke after a few moments. "The bull penis." 

Tom's jaw dropped open in surprise. "I think we should save that for you, darling." 

"Thomas!" Y/N gasped. "Shut the fuck up, or so help me-" 

His laugh interrupted her, and he blew her a kiss. She rolled her eyes playfully before asking the question from the card. 

"Have you ever.." Y/N laughed. "Gotten off to one of my songs?" 

Tom's jaw went slack as his eyes widened. He glanced towards the audience, then back to his wife, in complete disbelief. "I do not want to answer that!" he choked out. 

Y/N laughed at him, "It's just a yes or no question, Tommy." 

"Easy for you to say!" 

Tom glanced towards the audience one last time before taking the bull penis in one bite. The true disgust on his face as he chewed made Y/N laugh harder than ever, the crowd joining her. 

"I cannot believe you just did that!" she said, holding her stomach while laughing. She wiped her eyes, and Tom turned to spit the food out into his bucket, before gulping down some water and playfully gagging, a shutter running through his body. 

"Next question,"  he said. Picking up a card, he glanced to foods displayed in front of him, before deciding which Y/N would eat. "I'll give you... bug trifle."

"Tommyyyy," Y/N whined. 

He laughed before reading the question. "Out of all my movies, which ones the worst?"

A chorus of "oo's" went around the audience as Y/N's jaw dropped. She looked down at the food before glancing to the audience for a split second, making brief eye contact with Tom before taking a bite out of the food. Everybody gasped, her lack of words making it all the more dramatic. When she finished chewing, drinking some water, she picked up the next card and spun the table.

"Next question-" 

"Y/N!"

"What?" 

"You just- y-you- you just ate that!" 

"Yeah?" she asked. "I wasn't gonna answer that question."

Tom's face softened at her, a small smile forming as fast as the blush on his cheeks. 

"Okay, I'll give you... codsperm." 

"Again, we should probably save that for you," he giggled mischievously. 

Y/N playfully rolled her eyes before asking the question. "Which of my albums do you hate the most? And... why?" She asked the question rather slowly, hesitant to see how he'd respond. She most definitely had better works than some, but she loved everything she put out into the music industry, and she only hoped Tom felt the same. 

"Uhm-" Tom said, glancing between his wife and the food in front of him for a good minute. 

Y/N squinted her eyes shut, afraid of his response, if there was one coming. Tom could sense her discomfort, not only in the question but how he would answer, so he reached across the table to hold her hand, before using his other to eat the dish sitting in front of him. Putting the fork down, his face showed disgust once again, but Y/N was watching him now, a blush on her cheeks too, and a very grateful smile adorned on her face. 

After a considerable amount of time of Tom chewing, Y/N burst. "Just spit it out!" 

"Well," Tom said dramatically. "He picked up his bucket before turning to the audience, "Spit or swallow?" 

Everyone laughed, including Y/N, and Tom spit it out into the bucket before drinking some water. 

"That was Spill Your Guts or Fill Your Guts! I'm Tom Holland, and this is Y/N Holland, and we'll be right back!" He finished. 

The red light went off, and a crew member from backstage handed both celebrities a packet of mints. Y/N went to hug Tom, wrapping her arms around his neck as his securely wrapped around her waist. 

"Love you." 

[mooneyshour]

enjoyment [F.S x reader]

summary: finn and another girl get too cozy. when you start drinking you enjoy yourself a lil bit too much.

categories: angst (?), fluff

warnings: alcohol intake, swearing (i mean its the peaky blinders)

A/N: this is my first time writing on here at all, so be kind and enjoy? also lowkey wrote this from my phone so pls dont mind the spelling mistakes if there are any.

You and Finn had known each other since you were in diapers. Your mom often came to get her leaves read from his aunt Pol while your dad was in a business meeting with his brothers. Since your families were quite close, you two also were. So far as to say that you were best friends.

Even when you two got older and school came around you were still close. Even when the both of you got new friends, you still remained friends. You, of course, were devastated the day he dropped out but he promised you that you would still meet up and stay best friends. Your families would still meet up, so you still saw him regularly. When you were old enough your parents trusted you to go alone so you would.

But through the years both of you changed and it was obvious. Puberty hit you both like a truck and after the awkward and acne-filled phases, you both started to notice it too. Finn had lost his baby-face and grown taller quite a lot. The shyness did stay though. He'd become bloody attractive and although you would never admit it, you thought about it quite a lot.

Finn noticed it about you too. You lost the childish chubbiness you had and your chest grew as well as your behind. Your pigtails had been replaced by long loose hair. His brothers teased him when they noticed him staring at you. Meanwhile, Ada and Polly smirked and gossiped about it, asking you if you liked him to which you profusely denied. Everyone knew you liked each other, except the two of you.

Especially now, when you were staring at him from across the room with pure jealousy as him and one of the girls at the party sat way too close to each other. She giggled at something he said and he smirked, pulling her even closer to him if possible, she already was practically on his lap.

"He's a fookin' idiot, Y/N."

You were startled out of your glare when you heard Arthur's voice. You coughed.

"What?"

You turned around and saw everyone staring at you with pitty, except for Tommy, who was probably talking business to someone. That's why you were here of course. Mainly to celebrate for the new success, but also to negotiate for new ones.

"Finn, he's an idiot, sometimes. Well, most of the times but especially now."

You glanced back at the pair, who were now snogging as if their lives depended on it. "He can do whatever the hell he wants, Arthur. It's not like we're fucking together.", you murmured. He glanced nervously to Ada, not knowing how to further handle the situation.

She nodded. "We all know he likes you, Y/N. It's just that he has a hard time showing it in that way." She glanced to Finn and the girl and sighed. "Very hard." She looked back to you and smiled sympatheticly.

"Well obviously he doesn't. It doesn't matter. Like i said, he can do whatever the fuck he wants."

You looked back and were met with the same sight. She was on top of him, holding his face and kissing him. His arms were around her waist, his lips on hers.

You were upset and angry. Jealous most of all but also angry. You thought he liked you. You thought he most definitely knew that you liked him. Obviously not.

"You know what? Since he can do whatever he wants, I can do whatever I want.", you said furiously. Arthur and John looked at each other nervously, knowing what that tone meant. Either you were about to yell at someone or you were gonna do something incredibly stupid.

It seemed the second option was what you were gonna do tonight, as you slid out of your seat and walked to the bar. Since Tommy wasn't there to scold you and stop you, they let you. You were after all eighteen and Arthur and John had a very hard time saying no to you. Ada went to go after you, but Polly stopped her, shaking her head.

"Two whiskeys please."

The bartender glanced at you and roamed his eyes around your body. You had purposefully squeezed your breasts together with your arms, wanting to get a drink without the same sexist "Do you have a suitor" question.

It seemed to work as the man smirked and grabbed the bottle of whiskey off the shelf behind him.

"And what is a lovely lady like you doing alone tonight?" He emphasised on the word lovely, looking at your cleavage. "She wants to have some fun, that's all. Do you think you can help me, sir?", you smiled innocently, batting your eyelashes.

"But why of course, miss ...?"

"Y/L/N. Y/N Y/L/N"

"Of course. Here you go, miss Y/N."

He handed you your drinks and you soon downed them. Almost gagging at the taste but restraining yourself from doing so. You smiled and asked for more.

Almost half a bottle of whiskey later, you were positively drunk. Your head pounded, in a good way, and you couldn't think straight. You picked up the music and started dancing lightly to the beat.

The men around you had noticed your youthful beauty and drunken state and decided to take advantage of it, encouraging you.

All you needed were those few words of encouragement, as you eyed the counter, before climbing on it. If you were sober, you would've slapped yourself, but now you were too intoxicated to care. You swayed your hips to the rhythm, hands above your head and eyes closed. Cheers erupted around you and you smiled.

The ruckus had reached the Shelby table's ears and John soon noticed where it came from.

"Oh fuck."

Polly sent him a confused look and he nodded towards you. She gasped, eyes widening. Soon everybody at the table had noticed too and all were shocked. Polly had, of course, noticed the drunken smile on your face and cursed to herself for not checking in upon you. The shouts of encouragement of the older men beneath you didn't help you from stopping either.

"Right, John go fetch Finn. He's the only one who would have a chance of stopping her. Quick before she falls and hurts herself."

He nodded, removing his arm from around Esme and himself from the boot, and ran over to Finn, who was too caught up kissing and squeezing the girl to notice the commotion around him.

"Finn."

He didn't hear him.

"Finn fucking Shelby!", John shouted, finally catching his attention.

"What?", he asked, annoyed. While asking he noticed you, dancing on top of the counter like the women at the brothels his brothers used to take him to.

"Oh for fucks sake, Y/N"

He shoved the girl off of him, getting up and jogging to the bar. He shoved aggressively through the men surrounding you. How dare they fucking look at you like that. Like you're some piece of fucking meat, waiting to be grabbed. Finally shoving through, he looked at you. You were swaying your hips to the rhythm of the song that was currently being played, hands above your head. You had an amused smirk on your face. Finn thought it was hot, you were hot but not with all these men around.

"Y/N get of the table."

You opened your eyes, recognising his voice. Instead of smiling like you usually would, you were actually mad this time. You decided to ignore the question.

Finn sighed. "Get off the fookin' counter, Y/N."

"Is it a counter or a table, Finny? Make up your mind.", you slurred. Continuing to dance.

"I'm not fookin' playing around with ya, Y/N. Get off the counter now."

"No."

Finn sighed angrily. You clearly weren't listening to him. On the other hand, the men around you had gone away, noticing that he was a Shelby and not wanting to die that night.

"Y/N, get off the counter. The show is over."

"No! How come you get to enjoy yourself all night but as soon as I do, I have to stop?", you yelled. How dare he? He had been off snogging some fucking girl all night, not paying you any mind but as soon as you dance, he's up in a heartbeat.

"You're drunk."

"Am not."

"You are."

"Am not!"

He sighed, more worried about your wellbeing right now. He really didn't want you to break your neck falling of the table.

"Y/N, love, please come down, yeah? I don't want you to get hurt."

"As if you fucking care."

You listened tho. Only because the music had changed and everyone's attention was elsewhere.

"Thank you. And i do care, love."

"No, you don't. You didn't even notice me tonight. I dressed up for you, you know. Bought a new dress, got my mom to do my hair and everything and yet you're kissing someone else."

You were crying now. Drunk Y/N stage two. Yeah, you were absolutely slapping yourself in the morning.

Finn's eyes widened. His mouth opened to say something, but not knowing what to, he closed it again, instead pulling you into him.

"Everyone's saying that you liked me. I mean I thought I was pretty tonight. 'Thought that you liked me too. But then you're snogging someone else. I don't know what to think anymore."

Finn sighed. "I do like you, Y/N. I'm just a fookin' idiot sometimes. Well, most of the times, but especially now." You looked up at him. "You're starting to sound an awful lot like Arthur, you know. Said the same thing to me earlier."

You both laughed. You'd sobered up by now, you thought. You weren't sure since you weren't able to tell the difference.

"It's not that you're not pretty love, you are. It's just that I'm a fucking idiot. I mean I can't even read. Meanwile you're smart and beautiful. I'm not good enough for ya."

You know Finn couldn't read and it was one of his biggest insecurities. You saw his face every time you got excited over a new book you got. He didn't like to talk about a lot. You couldn't care less if he could read or not. It didn't make him any smarter or dumber. You had wanted to teach him but didn't know how to approach him on the matter. Just like all of his brothers, the Shelby men had fragile egos. While you and the girls often teased them about it, sometimes it could be a pain in the ass.

"You're not an idiot just because you can't read, Finn. You're an idiot because you can't talk about your feelings properly. And who said you're not good enough for me? Only I can decide that, nobody else. You're fucking amazing to me, Finn."

Before you even could comprehend what happened, his lips were on yours. You gasped but kissed him back. Your hands found it's way to his face. His hands were on your waist. While you were happy that you finally could kiss him, you could also taste the other girl's lip balm on his lips.

You pulled away. "Sorry, I can't, not right now." He gave you a confused look. You smiled at him reassuringly. "I can taste cherries on your lips, Finn. You were kissing her not even an hour ago. Don't get me wrong I'm happy that you kissed me, but maybe we should wait until tomorrow, yeah?"

Finn nodded and put an arm around your shoulder. You walked back to the table.

Both John and Arthur, even Tommy who had gotten back by now, had smirks on their faces.

"Enjoy yourself, love?" Arthur asked, referring to your previous dancing. "Piss off.", you blushed. He chuckled.

"What about you, Finny-boy? You two enjoy yourselves back there, huh? Don't get me wrong, I'm happy for ya, but I don't want any Finn Juniors running around." John had a shit-eating grin on his face. "Fuck off the lot of you. We only kissed."

You interlaced your fingers and pulled him back, giggling.

"USE PROTECTION, YOU TWO!"

"FUCK OFF, TOMMY"

[luvteez]

bassists do it deeper

pairing: yunho x genderneutral!reader genre + tags: smut, band au | kink discovery, exhibitionism, a brief segment of semi-public sex, hand kink, size kink, yunho monster cock bc this deserves a tag, power play, switch dynamics (i think??), dom!yunho pulls through in the end, unprotected sex wc: 6.3k

note: big thanks to my fav babie @lustjoong​ for motivating me to combine the two ideas i had for the prompt into one and motivating me to finish this!! here’s my take on the unspoken obligatory yunho size kink fic every ateez smut writer should have written once but make him a bassist. also, the band au to this pwp is literally just there as an excuse to make yeosang the lead singer of the band bc if kq won’t give yeosang lines, i will 

A lot can happen throughout a single weekend, as your English professor suddenly quitting her job, your brother Yeosang almost burning down the kitchen from deep frying an egg, an influx of voicemails in your inbox all sent from Wooyoung, as well as Yeosang’s punk rock band losing a member. It’s a lot to process when all you’ve done is stay the night at Yuqi’s, even harder so when Wooyoung keeps repeating every five seconds that Seonghwa quit the band. (”Why did it have to be Seonghwa who left Stereowave? He was the hottest one!”)

That being said, you expected to come home to a beyond grumpy Yeosang who was trying to find a replacement asap. A band without a bassist sounds empty, and while Stereowave has garnered a big enough fanbase over the years that wouldn’t mind the band continuing as a trio, it just feels wrong. Besides, branding a group consisting of Yeosang the frontman, San the guitarist, Mingi the drummer, and nobody covering the bassist position a band doesn’t sit right.

You were prepared for the worst; a messy kitchen, Yeosang walking around in clothes he wore for five days straight, possibly the outbreak of World War III depending on how shitty he’s feeling. But instead, you find the kitchen exceptionally clean and Yeosang acting as if nothing ever happened.

“Can you help set up the camera? The guys and I wanna film a new song.”

“Uh, sure,” you answer irritatedly. “Shouldn’t you be more concerned about finding a replacement for Seonghwa though?”

“Oh, we already have a new bassist,” he waves off casually, “What are you gaping at? Shut that jaw of yours before flies fly into your nasty mouth.”

“First of all, rude.” Yeosang rolls his eyes at that comment. For a split second, you’re contemplating letting him figure out on his own how to use the camera because he’s the walking embodiment of a technology illiterate, but your curiosity about the new band member is bigger. “But how did you manage to find a new replacement so fast? It’s been like, what, a day since Seonghwa left?”

Yeosang sighs. “He’s been thinking of quitting for weeks now, so I had enough time to look for a new bassist. It’s not that big of a deal anyway.”

And this is exactly why you should never get dicked down by your bandmate several times in a month, you think to yourself. Seonghwa and Yeosang thought they were slick, but everyone figured they were more than friends. Needless to say, it was only a matter of time until the strain of their relationship wreaked havoc within the band.

“So,” you say as you two walk to the makeshift studio in the basement, “Is the new guy good? What’s his name?”

The change of topic makes Yeosang relax visibly. There’s a sheepish smile on his face and he replies, “You’ll see.”

You arch a brow. For some reason, that doesn’t settle comfortably in your gut. Then there’s the fact that Yeosang is slightly skipping, and that makes you more concerned than relieved. Because Yeosang barely skips, only when he’s being petty and is planning on pranking somebody. (Most of the time, it’s San.)

The faint vibrations of drums and guitars ring in your ears before you step a foot into the basement. Mingi is the first to acknowledge your presence, immediately dampening the cymbals before waving at you. That causes the other two guys to stop playing their instruments and turn their heads around. You greet San like you normally do, and when your eyes flit to the new addition, all brightness drops from your face.

“What. The. Fuck.”

Yunho cocks his head to the side almost tauntingly, eyes challenging. The corners of his mouth quirk upwards, though more with the intention of saying hah you thought you’d never see me again. “Hello to you too, honey. Looks like fate brought us together once more, eh?”

You blink multiple times to make sure your eyes aren’t deceiving you. To your dismay, they sure aren’t. It really is Yunho standing right next to an utterly confused San, and the bass in his hands just confirms it furthermore.

“Since when do you play an instrument?” you gawk. There’s no fucking way he could’ve had time to pick up music, not when his schedule was already jammed with basketball training and student council activities. Then again, that was his schedule in middle school.

“Since I was fifteen,” he drawls, unaffected by your outburst. “Any other questions, honey? Preferably something along the lines of how have you been? I expected a warmer welcome from you, not gonna lie.”

“What does Yeosang even see in you?” you splutter instead, disgust prevalent in your voice.

“Talent. Believe it or not.”

“Guys, no fighting,” Yeosang warns, but you’re too busy sending Yunho daggers and every pg rated curse under the sun your brain can wrack up.

Meanwhile, San shifts his weight on one leg awkwardly and asks in the background as your verbal dispute continues, “Are they exes or something?”

“Nah, just childhood enemies,” Mingi mumbles, clearly used to your interactions to the point where he’s becoming bored of it. He’s heard all the profanities too many times coming out from the same mouth, hence why he isn’t as disturbed as San is.

“Listen up, you piec—“ 

“(y/n), the camera. Help your older brother out, will ya?” Yeosang cuts you off urgently, the warning tone in his words hard to miss.

“Yeah, help your brother out, shorty,” Yunho snickers. Appalled by his blatant shamelessness, you scowl.

“I’m not that short—!”

“Still shorter than I am, shorty. Or do you prefer honey?”

World War III would’ve broken out right then and there if it weren’t for Yeosang’s death glare — you know, the look he has etched on his face whenever he means business and is willing to go so far and expose all of the nasty mishaps you’ve done in middle school, which is definitely something that should never see the light of day.

“I prefer neither,” you mutter after weighing the gravity of Yeosang’s wrath, avoiding any eyes before you set up the camera. Luckily, nobody further comments on that and eventually, everybody resumes practicing their parts of the songs.

Just in time as Mingi takes another short break to chug his water down, you stumble across a problem. “Uh, Yeosang? You should buy a new camera. This is still usable, but you might have to reset every ten minutes or so.”

A groan leaves him, followed by a shrill guitar riff, and you can see that he’d prefer death over spending money for a new one. “Can’t you just stay here during practice and reset it? You also get to hear some new tracks of the upcoming EP!” That fucker, he’s just too lazy to run forward and press a button every few minutes.

“I have to be on standby for the Block B ticket sale,” you lie. Technically, it’s not really a lie because you do plan on going to the Block B concert with Wooyoung, but 1) the ticket sale isn’t even today and 2) it’s always Wooyoung who buys the tickets. Yeosang doesn’t need to know that though. Any excuse is better than having to sit through practice and see if Yunho is as good as he claims.

Seems like Yeosang desperately doesn’t want to keep running back and forth to reset the camera as he suddenly says, “You can do it here too.” You would argue that the garage has its separate WiFi and only the band members have access to it, but then: “You can use my laptop instead.”

And letting you use his laptop is something he never does. You failed to submit an assignment in time because your own laptop broke down and he didn’t let you borrow his computer for even that.

“Fine,” you sigh in defeat. Yeosang thanks you with a smile so obnoxiously sweet it makes you gag. When all he gets in return from you is the middle finger, his demeanor drops and he mutters something inaudible under his breath, pointing to the small table at the side where all their phones and laptops are lying before he goes back to the others.

Once all four of them are in position and ready to play, you press the record button before flipping yourself onto the old patchwork couch Yeosang bought at a garage sale for only thirty quid a few years back. To your surprise, Yeosang’s MacBook is already unlocked, the default wallpaper of mountains and northern lights quite jarring to your eyes.

When given the rare chance to have unlimited access to your sibling’s devices, it’s self-explanatory what to do. You either a) go through all of their accounts and find as much dirt as possible about them that serves as good material for future blackmail purposes or b) sign them up to as many online subscriptions as possible that will make them go crazy. Unfortunately, that doesn’t work on Yeosang because 1) he doesn’t mind online subscriptions, and 2) he never checks his email account, hence why his inbox is filled with over 2000 mails, a third of them most likely unopened. On top of that, his MacBook is strictly meant for work, so if you really wanted to find out his most embarrassing secrets, your only shot is his phone.

That being said, you’re left with option c) which is checking out Block B’s concert merch since that’s the only sensible thing you can do right now. Forget productivity; that isn’t doable when Yeosang’s deep timbre is blaring in your ears along with the instruments. To be honest, you really enjoy Stereowave’s music and that’s on their music, not because your brother is the lead singer. You’ve enjoyed each of their performances and perhaps you’ve been indulging in the privilege of hearing their new songs first.

But now that Yunho’s involved, suddenly the prospect of having a new favorite band sounds tempting. What was Yuqi’s favorite band again? Day6? You should take a closer look at their discography.

As much as you want to mute the sound, from San’s riffs to Mingi’s drum solo, you fail to do so. One moment you’re opening the search browser, and in the next, your eyes are set on the group. They’re practicing like they usually do; fun etched on their faces as they lose themselves in the music. Yeosang is singing as if he was performing in front of a million viewers while San improvises a solo on a whim. Mingi messes up the beat for a split second after failing to catch his stick and somehow, your eyes have zoomed in on Yunho. It doesn’t take you five seconds to realize:

Yunho is good.

While he might not seem as fired up as the other three, he’s visibly relaxed. Just like Seonghwa, he plays smoothly and isn’t overpowered by the others, but he seems to have an easier time gliding his fingers across the fingerboard. The bassline is easy to filter out, not the generic pattern you can find in every second pop song, yet still compliments the other instruments.

He can play, fair game. However, that’s the least of your worries. You’re more attentive to the ratio of his hands to the bass. His hands are larger than Seonghwa’s by far, no doubt. That makes sense given his height, maybe an inch taller than Mingi. But Mingi doesn’t have that big hands. Doesn’t that mean that Yunho’s body is disproportional?

Before you know it, you drag your gaze from his shoes up to his legs and stop at his hands briefly, only to proceed upwards until you see the cocky smirk and amused eyes directed at you. All clogs in your brain come to a stillstand and despite that, that’s when you realize you’ve been 1) enjoying his music, 2) checking him out, and 3) checking him out and caught red-handed.

It feels as if you were living on the sun instead of on Earth as you burn up in embarrassment. Knowing there’s no way you can deflect what you just did, you quickly turn back to the laptop, the Google search bar staring back at you.

You’re about to type in something when the search history pops up, catching your eyes. A gasp leaves you but it goes under the music, everyone too immersed in their own thing to notice the prevalent horror settling on your face.

exhibitionism

getting off in public

best crowded places to have sex and get away with it

You blink, thinking that your sleep deprivation got the worst out of you and that you’ve finally reached the stage where you start hallucinating. Except, you know you’re not hallucinating. After going through the words again and again, you know that you’re really not fucking hallucinating and that your nonexistent sleep cycle isn’t as bad as Yuqi makes it out to be.

When you said you wanted to dig up dirt on your brother, you didn’t mean it in the form of his kinks. Money can’t buy everything, but how you wish it could so you could unsee that shocking discovery.

Since this is Yeosang’s work computer and he’s signed into his Google account, he must make use of the drive to save a copy of his ideas. It probably won’t amount to anything since he’s the walking embodiment of staying unbothered, but writing him a note on his docs about how he’s made your life worse by not clearing his search history is better than staying silent.

You click on the little icon on the top right corner, expecting to see Yeosang’s name right above the email address. But then you see Yunho’s name instead, and suddenly everything makes much more sense.

This was never Yeosang’s laptop to begin with.

To say you’re at a loss of words is an understatement. There’s no way someone could have as little self-awareness and leave their laptop unlocked, let alone Yunho out of all people. Then again, the last thing you expected from him was to play the bass and blend well with the rest of the band as if he’s always been the bassist of Stereowave and not the newly found replacement.

This is absolutely bonkers. But:

You could have fun with it. Maybe it’s for the better that money can’t buy everything.

Besides dozens of articles about semi-public sex and even a blogpost titled Shagging in Broad Daylight for Dummies, his search history of the last 24 hours consists of many forum links discussing the morality of exhibitionism, conspiracy theories, and hand care guides. You wheeze when you see the private playlist he saved on his YouTube account; a collection of videos about filing your nails properly and the best hand cream brands for dry skin.

Yeosang calls in for a break, and everyone’s grateful for it. San lets out a relieved noise as he places his guitar on the stand before catching the water bottle Mingi chucks at him.

“My arms are beat,” Mingi complains.

San sends him an incredulous look and snorts, “All you do is bang! crash! ppang! while my throat is fucked! And so are my legs!”

“Not my fault if you keep doing your high pitched oows! while jumping around like a— like a cricket!”

“A cricket? Are you serious?”

“I’m tired, okay!”

“Then that means we should call it a day and go home and rest, right?”

“Choi San, I think you’re onto something.”

“Absolutely not,” Yeosang deadpans, causing the bickering duo to pout in sync. “We have lots to do especially since Yunho’s now part of the band.” When all he’s met with is an attempt of cute puppy eyes that rather looks like a bad rendition of any horror movie featuring creepy dolls, Yeosang sighs, “I ordered chicken for dinner and yes, it’s on me.”

In an instant, Mingi and San’s faces brighten up and they’re celebrating as if they won a free cruise to the Bahamas. They don’t hesitate to envelop Yeosang in a bear hug, crushing the life out of him. A chuckle escapes you at the sight of your brother wringing for his sanity. Sometimes you wonder how on Earth those three guys are the same three guys who perform in abandoned warehouses, jamming out their punk rock songs while looking all edgy (in a cool way that has at least half of their fans thirsting after them).

Meanwhile, Yunho drops himself on the other end of the couch. Propping his right leg on the coffee table in front, he digs around in his pockets before pulling something out.

“Since when do you file your nails?” You pointedly raise a brow at him. Although your extensive research on his browser history already answered that question, you ask him just for the sake of it.

“Hand care is important, shorty,” Yunho replies, keeping his eyes trained on his fingers as he works the file around a nail. “If Kageyama Tobio files his nails, I can too. But enough with the small talk, what do you want?”

“I didn’t peg you as an exhibitionist.”

His hand stops moving. Yunho looks up at you, irritation written all over his features. “Because I file my nails...? A bold assumption, honey.”

There’s a reason why Yunho has always gotten away with pretty much everything. He’s a good actor who’s able to feign innocence at any time. His posture is relaxed, voice genuinely sounding flabbergasted that not even your shit-eating grin can throw him off guard.

You can’t, but your proof will do the job.

“I never said it’s because of your hand fixation.” You turn the laptop screen his way and once his eyes flicker on it and decipher the words, his face falls. Gone is the faux-confusion; as all color drains from him, his eyes look like they’re about to fall out of their sockets. “Is it really a bold assumption now, honey?”

Yunho inhales sharply when you scoot closer to him and put a firm hand on his left leg, his laptop now closed and long forgotten. Your fingers are placed too high for it to be friendly, skimming lightly on the inside of his thigh. Yeosang and the others are busy minding their own business but the chance of getting caught in the act is still there. The simple realization has adrenaline running a hundred miles an hour in your veins, and with the way Yunho clenches his jaw — a desperate attempt to fight the groan that’s threatening in the back of his throat — you’re not the only one who’s aroused by the setup.

Slowly, your hand inches closer to his growing bulge. Before you can dare yet another experimental squeeze, Yunho’s hand surges forward and holds your wrist in a vice grip.

“Don’t,” he snarls through gritted teeth, but it sounds sadder than it is intimidating when he’s sporting a boner right in front of your eyes.

You cock your head to the side, almost in a mocking demeanor. “You sure? Think about it, it’s a win-win situation. You get to live out your exhibitionist right here in front of your new bandmates, and I get the confirmation that you’re into it. But if you really don’t want to…” you try to retreat your hand but Yunho doesn’t let you budge, hand still enclosed around yours. That won’t do as an answer.

“Which one is it? Say it, Yunho,” you assert, narrowing your eyes. Yunho looks distraught, feverishly biting his lip while he’s internally fighting with himself, but he eventually chokes out a response.

“As long as nobody notices—”

“You either say you want me to touch you or not. I don’t want any roundabout stories.”

“Touch me,” he whispers defeatedly and the grip on your hand disappears completely. “But I swear to God if anyone realizes what you’re doing— hhnh—!” he cuts himself off with a low moan when you cup him over the material of his jeans.

“Yes yes, I get it. I don’t need Yeosang to know about this,” you dismiss. “And oh wow, you’re getting hard fast when I’m just touching you over your pants.”

“Just get to it.”

The snappish attitude causes you to stop dead in your tracks. “You think you’re in the position to tell me what to do? I can be mean too, y’know,” you start nonchalantly, a stark contrast to the way your heart is shaking in your ribcage. The power you suddenly hold is exhilarating. “I could just leave you like this, and then you’d have to try to cover your situation down there while practice goes on. How would the others react if they only knew your dick is hard? Probably won’t take them too long to find out since standing for a long time can be tiring, hm?”

Yunho’s head lolls back in response as he’s struggling to keep his eyes open. His breathing is uneven and the resulting moan that follows suit makes you smirk. You lightly smack the inside of his thigh, causing another wave of arousal to rupture in him. He chokes out a hushed ‘f-fuck’ and at this point, the constriction around his cock must be bordering painful.

“Who would’ve thought that the big bad Jeong Yunho is actually a submissive bitch who’s hungry for attention?” you ask gleefully, delivering another slap before stroking the area. “Who would’ve fucking thought you were a sub?”

“I-I’m not— shit, s-stop that, hngh— a fucking sub.”

“Yeah yeah, say that to yourself.” You rip your gaze away from Yunho’s flushed face to check if the coast is clear before targeting his fisted hands. He stiffens when you pry his hand open and bring three digits to your lips, sticking your tongue out to give kitten licks to his fingertips before pushing them into your mouth. You hum, suck, swirl your tongue around his fingers, giggling when all he does is stare at you wordlessly, unable to form any coherent thoughts. “See? Not even once have you put up a fight.”

That seems to snap him out of his daze. In an instant, his eyes darken and his jaw clenches.

“Oh honey, you know, you really shouldn’t tease me.”

You snicker, seeing through his bluff. “Wow, I’m so scared. What do you wanna do? Leave practice right now? Drag me to my room and pound me into the mattress?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“You could never, sub.”

Whatever strands of self-control were still residing in Yunho have turned to dust by now. One moment he’s towering over you in full height, looking down on your sitting form in bitter distaste, and in the next, he’s dragging you out of the basement, unaffected by the sudden silence and Yeosang, Mingi and San’s confused expressions.

Once you’re in the living room, Yunho wastes no time crowding you against the wall and crashing his lips against yours. The kiss is a messy clash of teeth and tongues, but it leaves you hot and lightheaded and aching for more. Yunho knows no limits and snakes one arm around your waist to pull you closer to him, the other hand fisting your hair. He tugs harshly and the sharp sting sends all your nerves into a frenzy.

“Bedroom. Now.” The sudden huskiness in his tone catches you off guard and you wonder when his voice has ever sounded so rough. You moan into the kiss, fisting his shirt as you stumble your way to your bedroom.

Yunho pins you against the door once you’re in your bedroom. His lips are addictive, just like the groans he slips in kisses and his hands roaming your body. He gets rid of your clothes until you’re left in your underwear, then forces a knee between your legs to keep them from closing. Your eyes roll back at the friction, growing needier and hotter when he presses his thigh against you harder. 

When you finally pull away, his eyes are hooded and his lips are red and swollen. There’s no trace of inhibitions left in him as he watches you like a predator. With horror, you realize that the tables have turned, and when he easily locks both of your wrists above your head with one hand only, that’s when you know you’re undisputedly powerless against him.

“Who’s the sub now?” he pants, eyes sparkling with glee.

“Still y-you.” The response sounds pathetic to your own ears, but you have too big of an ego to admit it out loud. Yunho doesn’t buy it either if his quirked brow wasn’t telling enough.

“Still in denial, honey? I see. Guess I’ll have to do more then.” His free hand reaches down to tug on the waistband of your underwear, only to let it snap against your skin. The slight sting is enough to render your knees into mush and set fog into your vision. He does it again, and then he actually tugs the fabric down and you finally grab his motives.

“You’re bluffing— y-you wouldn’t put y-your fingers,” you ramble, hyperaware about how dangerously close his fingers are. Just when you think he’s about to shove a digit in, he pulls away completely.

“You know, you keep talking about my hands. It’s always my hands this, my hands that,” Yunho says casually, giving his nails a quick glance before meeting your eyes. “Rather than me having a hand fixation, it’s you who has a thing for hands. My hands specifically.”

You don’t like how every word is true. You don’t want to acknowledge that he’s correct. Verbally, because your body is moving on its own and has betrayed you long ago.

Yunho taps on your bottom lip and you comply reluctantly, letting him shove the same three fingers you sucked before. Mumbling unintelligible words under his breath, he watches intently as you hum around him, eyes fluttering shut when he slowly moves them in and out of your mouth. A whine escapes you when he pulls them out for good, soaked wet with your spit.

“Tell me.” Yunho grins, “Tell me what you like about them. Or else I’ll leave you hanging.” He’s not lying and you know it. The look he sends you is enough proof that he wouldn’t hesitate to leave you high and dry.

You don’t like how he’s stringing you on like a rag doll. You don’t like how he’s stripping you off your dignity step by step. Strangely enough, you feel yourself leaking and wanting nothing but his pretty long fingers inside of you.

“I like how they, agh I— I l-like how—” you stutter, losing all levels of rationality when he suddenly circles around your entrance. Yunho urges you to continue and it takes up all of your brainpower to pick up where you left off, “—they’re so long and big and pretty—”

“So you have a size kink.”

You stare at him in disbelief. Now that, that’s something he shouldn’t have deduced. “W-wha— I don’t!”

“Seems to me that you have one though. You kept stressing how big and bad and tall I was after all.” You stiffen. Did you? Did you really? You don’t recall saying it that many times but it's hard to think straight when Yunho still has your wrists above your head and is looking down at you in a downright patronizing way. It leaves you trembling pitifully, feeling called out and feeling so, so small.

He really wants you to hit your lowest peak because he doesn’t stop there. “Who’s the real sub here? Is it really me? Or is it you who likes feeling so short, small, tiny.” His smirk widens when your breath hitches ever so slightly. “I fucking knew it.”

“You don’t know shit,” you bark back, but to no avail. Your credibility has diminished the moment he caught up to your kinks.

“Say whatever you want but that won’t change the fact that you’re tiny baby,” he pauses, takes his bottom lip between his teeth as he’s giving you a thorough once-over and then enunciates the next syllables with such clarity that forces time to stop, “My tiny, helpless baby.”

The pet name breaks you. It’s the final trigger that takes all your inhibitions away and the pathetic size of an ego that was left in your stubborn head.

“Please,” your voice cracks but that’s the least of your worries. You can’t move, can’t talk back, and won’t get anything in return. Yunho is right in front of you, finding satisfaction in your internal destruction and yet, after all of the things he’s slaughtered you to, he won’t give you anything in return.

“Just a little bit more, baby. I’ll give you what you want if you repeat after me; I’m your—”

“I’m your tiny, helpless baby who desperately wants you to fuck me.” Yunho is mildly taken aback that you were still able to think and get it right before he even finished his sentence. “Now get on to it, Yunho. Please.”

You’re sniffling at this point, begging for any kind of stimulation that shoots you to the stars. You’re fucking sniffling, and that’s all it takes for Yunho to manhandle you on the bed. A gasp escapes you, not expecting this turn of events at all. It all happens in a flash and the next thing you know, you’re on all fours, face buried in the pillow.

“Yunho, I t-thought y-you’d fuck me,” you complain, glancing behind to see what’s taking him so long. Your mouth waters at the sight.

“Patience, baby,” he says as he’s unbuckling his belt, taking his sweet time. You rub your legs together to ease the tension, but you can’t really say you’re not enjoying the show. Yunho’s lean, slightly defined, and once he’s only left in his underwear, you swallow heavily. There’s a large, dark patch on the fabric and the bulge seems more prominent than before.

If your mouth was only watering, you’re drooling by now. Yunho takes off his boxers, revealing his painfully hard cock, tip red and oozing precum. Just like the rest of him, he’s abnormally huge.

You have two thoughts. One: Fuck, you want him. Now. Two:

“That’s never going to fit inside of me.”

“Oh it will,” he says with such confidence it gives you shivers. “I’ll pound you into the mattress and you’ll take it all.”

He grabs you by your thighs to pull you closer to him before positioning himself right behind you. “W-wait!” you cry, heart suddenly feeling heavy in your chest, “D-don’t just put it in without prep— o-oh, hnngh—” your body feels like jelly when Yunho presses two spit-coated fingers past your entrance, stretching you out with finesse.

“I’m not that heartless,” he chuckles amusedly, right at the same time he curls his digits right against your sweet spot, sending you headfirst into bliss. “You’re so small you wouldn’t be able to take an inch without prep.”

You only whine into the pillow, arching your back as he continues his ministrations. Once Yunho deems you stretched out enough, he retreats his fingers and replaces them immediately with his cock.

The difference is like night and day. It’s like his fingers didn’t amount to anything compared to this. The high-pitched cry that escapes you is loud as you grasp onto the pillow for dear life.

“How can you be so big?” you pant. There’s no way he’s past four inches deep inside of you. You’re far from being filled, but your walls are already clenching hard around him.

“Bassists do it deeper for a reason.” The innuendo is tacky but in your current headspace, it sounds like the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard. Yunho stills his hips, letting you get used to him. “How are you feeling?”

“Guh—” he chuckles at your inability to form coherent words, let alone thoughts. “So big.”

“You’ll get used to it, honey.” He leans forward to pet your hair. “Tell me when I can move,” he adds gently, and you swear you could melt right then.

It takes you a moment to get your breathing steady, and then he pushes more of his length inside. Whimpering, you writhe beneath him, feeling as if you’re being torn apart. Meanwhile, he’s breathing hard through his nose, trying his damn hardest to go as slow as possible. At a certain point, Yunho stops pressing for more and pulls out ever so slightly before rocking his hips back forward. It starts out slowly, but he gradually picks up the pace and you lose yourself into him.

“Faster,” you moan, bending your back for an even deeper angle. “Hnngh, so full. Want m-more.”

“You were right, you can’t take me to the hilt.” Yunho readjusts his grip on his hips and you know that bruises are going to last until the end of the week. “God, you’re so fucking small that you can’t take me to the fucking hilt.”

Your vision turns foggy once the meaning gets through you. Now that he’s saying it, how much of his cock is inside of you? Half of it? A third? He’s stretching you out so well, filling you up so impossibly deep and that wasn’t even his everything?

“That’s not— want more of you, all of you,” you stammer, not realizing what you’re even saying. “Baby wants all of you.” God, you’re so drunk and desperate for his cock that you can’t refer yourself in the first person anymore.

Yunho reacts just as perplexed, eyes widening. His hips still once more, and though you’d want to shout at him to keep on moving, you don’t find the energy to move your head, or even lift a finger.

“So fucking greedy,” he growls, pulling out of you completely. Not even a second later, he flips you around on your back so that you’re facing him dead in the eye, and then he pushes back in. The new position has you gurgling on broken words as your arms flail around for dear life.

Yunho throws a leg over his shoulder, creating a deeper angle. You don’t know if he’s actually giving you more if he’s managed to force more of him into you. All you register is the messy squelch of liquids and your moans bouncing off the walls. You can’t even see properly, everything a blur and a mix of different colors.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whimper, sensing your demise nearing closer and closer.

“Then cum,” Yunho orders in between groans, then adds in a louder voice, “You hear that baby? Cum and make a mess out of yourself.”

Your orgasm crashes onto you in a big singular wave as you tremble under his frame, walls clenching around him tightly. His name leaves your mouth like a mantra as you continue to convulse. Yunho pulls out moments later, just to spurt white on your abdomen. His face is flushed and beads of sweat are forming on his forehead while he jerks himself dry.

It’s a miracle that Yunho hasn’t toppled on you once he slowly comes down from his high. The fog in your vision clears up gradually, but your limbs are as good as worthless. You won’t be able to move freely for a good day or two.

As you continue to blink at the ceiling, only finding the energy to breathe, Yunho grabs the box of tissues from your nightstand and wipes himself off before doing the same to you. His touch is gentle unlike before, and you’d thank him if your vocal cords were still functioning.

You’re about to drift to sleep until he suddenly leans down and pecks your lips. In an instant, you narrow your eyes at him and ask, “What was that for?”

“You had some cum on your lip. I wanted to taste too.” Yunho smiles cheekily and runs his tongue against his bottom lip, then grimaces. “It tastes... yikes.”

He cleans you up in silence before plopping onto the bed right next to you. No words are exchanged up until you say, “Yeosang is going to kill you.”

“He can’t afford to kill me. He needs me for the band,” he muses.

“He’ll still kill you.”

“I appreciate the concern, honey.”

“Just scram back to practice.”

“Don’t you want to go to the bathroom first?”

“I can do it myself.”

“Oh really?”

“... Yunho, help me on my legs and then scram back to practice.”

Meanwhile, back in the basement, the guys are waiting for their bandmate to come back so they can finally finish practice and then eat chicken.

“You sure (y/n) and Yunho are only childhood enemies? They’ve been going at it like rabbits if he isn’t back here yet!” San exclaims, throwing his arms up for dramatic effect.

Mingi can’t counter that because San has a point, so he whips his head to Yeosang. “Dude, you sure they’re not in a relationship? They have to be at least fuckbuddies! Or fuckrivals? Fuckenemies? Or…”

“I do not know and I do not care,” Yeosang says blankly, looking like he’s about to bang his head against the wall because he sure won’t walk into your room and curse his eyes for the rest of his life. Damnit, all he wants is to practice and get the band together; their next gig is only a few weeks away. “In fact, I want to unsee what I just saw and unhear what you just said.”