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thetomorrowshow · 2 years

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poisoned rats in a pot of grain - ch. 8

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IM SORRY BUT THEY'RE FILMING LAST LIFE S2??? MAYBE???? BRB CRYING

anyway i've been fairly busy!! main draft for this fic is just about completed; the next part of the trust au is ready for posting later this week; i can post the next chapter of scott's backstory any time i want as long as i edit it lol. much love!

cw: implied/referenced torture, onscreen murder (of unnamed character), blood, dehumanization

“The plan,” Scott says, hitting the convoluted stringboard with a ruler, “is simple.”

The plan is anything but simple.

In the past seventy-two hours, Mythics has been moved into what solely Scott refers to as ‘witness protection’ (actually into the care of the hero Pearl, who had taken him quite willingly); fWhip has sent out drones that found the precise location of Xornoth’s base rather than vague directions from Mythics (a manor on the edge of the city); and Xornoth has somehow, through entirely illegal and frankly impossible means, become an elected senator. None of them can figure out exactly how that happened.

“fWhip is on bed rest,” Joel pipes up before Scott can properly begin. He waves his phone. “He just texted me. Surgery went well, but he shouldn’t be up for a week at least.”

That’s fine, Scott had expected that. He taps a photo of a hero on the board. “That is why I planned ahead. Lady and gentleman, Blossom.”

“No,” Blossom says, smiling apologetically. “I’m a pacifist, Major, you know this. I don’t seek out fights. I just want everyone to get along.”

She shuts the door in his face.

“And that is where Pearl comes in,” Scott says, tapping the stringboard.

“Yeah, I’ve kinda got my super-hands full?” Pearl says, grimacing. “Mythics isn’t exactly easy to entertain. I’d love to, don’t get me wrong, but he’ll definitely wreak havoc if I leave.”

“And that is why we depend on and trust one another,” Scott says, tapping the stringboard. He eyes his two compatriots seriously. “If any of us proves to be a traitor to our cause, we fail.”

“We literally know the plan,” Lizzie deadpans, arms crossed. “We helped make it.”

“It’s still best that we go over this, just to make sure we have it memorized.”

“We wrote it down?” Lizzie pulls a slip of paper out of her pocket, waves it.

Joel sighs, leans over to her. “Lizzie, let him have his action movie moment. He built a whole stringboard and everything.” “First step,” Scott forges on, “is to sneak into the manor. Our best bet for getting us in is Joel—he can make the guards think they heard a sound or something, I don’t really care. He does something to get any guards away, and then we’re in without an alarm being immediately raised.”

“Unless there’s a security system.”

Scott nods to Lizzie. “Unless there’s a security system—and they don’t disable it. That’s why I’m going in first—if I see anything that looks like an alarm or a camera, I freeze it. It’s not foolproof, but hopefully it can keep them off our tail for a couple of minutes so that we can find Gem.”

“Are we sure that Gem’s in the house?” Joel brings up, hand slightly raised. “Like, she could be anywhere in the city. She could be dead. If she’s the fourth member of our party and we can’t find her, what are we gonna do?”

And when I have your little friends, that Gem and that Blossom and the mayor, I will make you watch me torture them.

“She’s alive,” Scott says, shaking off the memory. “Xornoth isn’t interested in killing anyone at the moment. She’ll probably be locked up somewhere, though. Maybe a basement of sorts?” He scribbles basement? onto a sticky note, throws it onto the board under a cut-out of a photo of Gem. “This is probably where we’ll split up—Joel heading off to find Gem, while Lizzie and I look for Xornoth and Solidarity. Of course, things could change once we get there. In the heat of the moment, there’s a million things that could go wrong.”

“Right. What if Xornoth kills us?”

Scott glares at Joel.

“What if we kill Xornoth?” Lizzie asks. “I know the goal is just to lock them up, but what if something unexpected happens?”

“Nothing unexpected will happen,” Scott says resolutely. “Not in this case. Xornoth isn’t going to go down like that, they’re too powerful. But they won’t want to give up Solidarity.”

Lizzie shrugs. “Not my problem. I’m just here to kill him.”

Scott sighs, taps a corner of the board that reads RULE NUMBER 1: DON’T KILL SOLIDARITY.

“I mean, I’m just here to . . . not kill him. Right.”

Oh boy.

“Right, you all know the rest of the plan,” Scott concludes, rubbing his forehead. “Just . . . no more casualties than necessary, okay?”

“You got it.”

“I’ll try my best, Major.”

This isn’t going to go well.

There’s screams coming from the basement.

He can only hear them occasionally, when the door to the meeting room opens for lackeys or official-looking businessmen to bustle through. His master is in constant meetings and conversations now, several seats around the table always occupied by a rotating door of people.

Jimmy’s been here for hours, he thinks, maybe even an entire day. He hasn’t moved from Xornoth’s side, cheek pressed to their leg like the obedient dog he is. When Xornoth stands, leaves the room, Jimmy stays, eyes demurely on the floor, not even processing what others say. The only words worth hearing are his master’s.

He’s been staring at the ground for some time now while waiting for Xornoth, perhaps longer than an hour, when his master finally returns, angry words spewing from their mouth.

“You think you can defy me? This is my city, fool!”

“And—and someone has to stand up to you!”

“Pet,” his master hisses, pulling Jimmy up by the hair. They unclip the leash from his collar, point him in the direction of a rather scared-looking man in a too-tight button-up. “Kill.”

Jimmy dives at him without hesitation, long nails tearing into his face and pulling at his hair. The man screams under him, and Jimmy lets the adrenaline flow as he grips the man’s throat—he doesn’t have enough physical strength to snap his neck, but an accident—

There’s an awful crack and the man crumples, eyes rolling up. Jimmy releases his neck, watches dispassionately as his body hits the ground. Then he turns back to Xornoth, waiting for their next command.

His master is smiling. “Good job, darling,” they purr, beckoning Jimmy close. There’s other people still around the table, Jimmy notices, people now silent, people looking anywhere but at the body behind Jimmy.

Xornoth fixes the leash back onto Jimmy’s collar and he relaxes into the familiar weight, rolling his shoulders back. This is good. He’s done good.

There’s a bit of blood under his fingernails and staining the pads of his fingers. Nothing abnormal. Nothing that should make him want to shake apart.

Xornoth leads him back to their seat, where Jimmy obediently drops to his knees, uncaring of the sharp pain that shoots through his bad hip. He doesn’t feel anything for the body just meters away. He doesn’t look at it. He doesn’t think about it.

He just killed someone. He just killed someone who did nothing to deserve it. He just killed someone because his master told him to.

He’s spent so long not letting his brain catch up to his actions. He can’t start thinking about what he’s done now.

Xornoth’s hand cards through his hair as his master begins speaking, and Jimmy does nothing but lean into it. He rubs the hem of his shorts under his fingernails, clears out some of the blood.

The door opens again, another distant scream echoing through the room. Jimmy chews on his tongue. He’s glad that whatever is happening to whoever that is, it’s not happening to him. He’s good. He’s a good pet. He does what his master tells him to do.

“Pet—”

Jimmy hears the word in the middle of the conversation, glances up a little to see that while his master isn’t talking to him, they’re smirking down at him, something almost . . . triumphant in their gaze. Jimmy rests his head against their lap, stays still even though his hip screams for him to shift just a little bit to the side. He’s a good pet.

His eyes wander out to the side, where only the shoes of the dead man are visible. Why has nobody removed the body? Why is it still here? His first ever intentional kill, committed thoughtlessly, automatically, and now a man is gone like he’d never even been here.

He’s losing his grip, Jimmy realizes, his tremulous hold on the compartmentalization that keeps him sane beginning to slip. He can’t have that, that’s very bad news, he can’t let emotion leak into this part of himself because he’s a good boy. He’s a good pet. He’s good for his master.

He twitches his head, just slightly, as if trying to scare off a fly on his nose. His master doesn’t notice, doesn’t notice that Jimmy’s carefully-crafted delusion of control is crumbling before his very eyes. He hadn’t wanted to kill anyone. He hadn’t thought that would be required of him. He doesn’t want to be here.

You’re fine, he tells himself, careful not to let his lips make any noise. You’re a pet. You can’t do anything that master doesn’t command. You can’t risk the cage.

Because that’s all it really ever boils down to, isn’t it? He’s not a pet because his resistance will hurt others. He doesn’t warn away the heroes of the city out of any actual care for their wellbeing. He only cares about not getting put in that cage ever again.

People file in and out. He doesn’t hear any more screams. His master holds a meeting, then another, then another, and Jimmy sits at his side and doesn’t doze for once, stares at what is left of the blood from the scratches he made down that man’s face.

When he’s finally alone, Jimmy rinses his hands in the too-cold water from the broken sink in the corner of his cell.

There’s still dark red crusted under two fingernails.

He leaves it.

A stakeout reveals that, likely due to Xornoth’s new political position, cars go to and from the manor frequently, a mix of classic kidnapper vans and government vehicles. It might be as easy as driving to the front door, Joel pulling a Jedi mind trick, and then walking right in.

That’s what Scott hopes, at least, jostling on the floor of the white electrician van that Lizzie had somehow acquired.

Joel’s up front in the driver’s seat. Even through the small grate window, Scott can see his knuckles turning white around the steering wheel. Lizzie’s across from Scott, staring determinedly at the floor.

This doesn’t feel like Scott’s typical base-busting. This feels like a shady, villainous operation. Which is sort of what it is, with Lizzie involved.

There’s a huge chance that everything will go wrong. They’re only three people, after all. One of whom certainly wants Solidarity dead, and is therefore untrustworthy. But Scott has to rely on them. He can’t do this alone.

The van jolts to a stop and Scott swallows, balls his hands into fists. This is it.

“This is it,” Joel calls back to them, voice filled with false cheer. “If this doesn’t work out—”

“Please—”

“Lizzie, I love you,” Joel continues, undeterred. “And Major, you’re a prick.”

Scott rears back. “Unprovoked?” he sputters, before Lizzie shushes him and suddenly Joel is rolling the window down.

Scott ducks down, Lizzie following barely a half second later. “Cargo?” an unfamiliar voice requests, and Scott can feel his heart pounding. They’ve done absolutely nothing to protect themselves here. If there’s anyone examining the van with some sort of x-ray vision there’s no way to get out in time. Even if they do, the alarm will be raised and Xornoth will be conscious of their efforts. There isn’t a second try here. They’ve pinned everything on this.

There’s a moment of quiet, too long, a moment only filled with the sound of the idle engine and Lizzie’s breaths. Then Joel’s seat creaks, and the voice says, “All in order. Go ahead.”

The van jerks forward and they’re moving. Scott dares to raise his head a little, catches Joel’s cheeky grin in the rearview mirror.

“Headed to the garage!” he calls back, and Scott bites his lip, his stomach flipping. The first checkpoint has been passed—they’ve gotten in without detection. He ought to be celebrating, ought to be excited. He can’t help that everything feels like it’s about to go horribly wrong.

He hasn’t been this nervous in years. It’s just another fight, he tries to tell himself. You’ve busted tons of bases in your time, including Xornoth’s. It’s just another fight.

It’s not just another fight. This is Solidarity’s life on the line. This is Gem’s life on the line. This is the entire city on the line.

And then they’re pulling into a garage, and Scott has to suck it all up and clamber out of the van.

There’s nobody else in this garage. A black van is parked beside them. There’s a screen door leading into the main part of the house. Shelves of typical garage items line the back wall—spare tires, jacks, rope. Nothing out of the ordinary.

It’s quiet. Not too quiet, not eerily quiet. Quiet like a church on a weekday. An accustomed quiet. A not-to-be-disturbed quiet.

Joel behind him has fixed his mask onto his face, and Lizzie behind him is climbing out of the van, smoothing down her hair. She’s got a canteen strapped to her hip, ready to spit out a stream of water just in case.

“Should we head to the door?” Scott whispers, nodding toward it, but Joel points instead to the opposite corner of the garage. There, Scott notices, set into the floor, is a trapdoor.

A basement.

That’s their first place to check for any prisoners—and somehow, it seems safer to come in through a trapdoor rather than the main one into the house.

Joel takes point, stealing toward the trapdoor and easing it open. Scott follows Lizzie down the ladder, glancing around behind them. This is too easy. A door straight to the cellar? Through the garage? There’s no way they’re this lucky.

It appears that they are, though, because when, unhindered by non-existent guards they begin going through the rooms, the third room they check in the dark basement (which is eerily quiet, quiet in the unnerving way rather than the natural way) houses Gem.

She’s not in the worst shape of anyone Scott’s ever seen, but he rushes to her side as soon as they spot her. She’s chained to the wall, a flickering purple force around her, hair tangled and face bruised. Her eyes are closed, bags beneath them deep and dark.

Even asleep, just by looking at her Scott can tell that she won’t be up to accompanying them for the rest of the mission. He’s not sure what they can do for her, though—she can’t take the van home, seeing as it’s their current escape plan and would alert the manor to their presence. They can’t abandon the mission to help her, that would be consigning Solidarity to his fate. They can’t just leave her here��they can’t do anything, it seems, and Scott’s starting to panic which he can’t afford to do—

“Gem,” Scott whisper-shouts, stuck outside her shields. Gem starts awake instantly, raising her arms to cover her face—until she sees Scott.

“Major,” she breathes, and her entire body visibly relaxes. The force flickers once more, then disappears. Scott shoves himself forward on his knees, pulls Gem onto his lap.

“Gem, it’s so insanely good to see you,” he tells her, trying not to betray any actual emotion. They’re still in the middle of a mission, after all. He doesn’t have the time to let down any defenses.

Gem mouths something. Scott leans forward, ear over her mouth, and she tries again.

“Get out,” she croaks. “Scott, it’s—he’ll come back any moment—they know you’re here—”

Oh no.

Things had been going too well, hadn’t they?

“We’ve been made,” Scott hisses to his companions. Lizzie curses, Joel spins around to face the door.

Gem’s stirring, fruitlessly pulling at the chains around her wrists. Scott takes a link, applies tighter and tighter ice, he doesn’t know the physics behind this move but he’s broken metal by freezing it far too many times—

The first chain snaps, and he makes quick work of the other one, pulling Gem up to her feet. She can stand, surprisingly, shakes out her arms with a pained grunt.

“I’m fine,” she mutters when Scott tries to help her. “I just wanna get out of here.”

Everything is suspicious, everything including how injured Gem had seemed at first to how capable she seems now—how she warned them, but there’s no one nearby—but Scott pushes aside the prickling in the back of his brain and nods to her, continues on his way out.

He’s barely turned his back on her when something heavy slams into him from behind, sending him flying into Lizzie with a loud crash.

The air is totally knocked out of him and it’s a few seconds before he can even see, let alone breathe. When he does manage to suck in some air, he blinks his eyes open—he and Lizzie are on the floor, Lizzie shoves him off of her and rolls to her feet—Scott pushes his aching body up, gasping, only to see Lizzie dive at Gem and take her to the floor.

He cries out, pain forgotten in adrenaline as he sprints forward—he has to protect Gem, he has to save her—but Gem’s hands go loose from where they’re pulling at Lizzie’s hair as Lizzie slams her head into the concrete floor.

Gem’s unconscious before Scott can get there, and he goes to shove Lizzie away—that’s Gem, that’s his friend, how could she—but a hold on his cape stops him. He whips around; Joel is there, face white, holding him back.

“Major, Gem—she just tried to kill you,” he says, and Scott doesn’t need to be able to read minds to know that Joel isn’t lying. He glances back to Gem’s lax face, Lizzie dusting her hands off as she stands.

“Thank me later,” she bites out, stepping over Gem to stare Scott down. Scott looks between Gem and Lizzie, trying to work out—why would Gem—?

Joel groans at the same moment that Scott connects the dots. “The other telepath,” Joel grumbles. “They must be here.”

And Scott, still looking down at Gem, knows exactly what’s about to happen. He almost doesn’t want to turn around, as if not looking will make it not happen. But he sighs, pushes a hand through his hair, and turns around.

Joey Graceffa waves from the doorway.

Graceffa seems put out, almost, when he gets no reaction from the group. “C’mon, nothing for the richest man in the country?” he pouts, slipping out of his expensive suit jacket. Scott’s lip curls.

He can take Graceffa, easy. He’s known for years that there was something up with him, that he wasn’t just corrupt in that all-billionaires-are-evil way, but in more pressing ways as well. He’d never had sufficient evidence to go after him, though.

Right now, evidence doesn’t matter.

But once again, Joel pulls him back by his cape. “Don’t,” he says lowly, and Scott can feel the power in his voice. It’s not directed at him, not right now, but Scott hasn’t been on the other end of a telepath’s powers in a long time and he certainly doesn’t want to break that streak now. He backs down, lets Joel approach Graceffa.

“So,” says Joel, gesturing toward Gem. “Your work?”

Graceffa shrugs. “Quick and dirty,” he says. “Nothing near what I had going with Mythics. I suppose you would know what happened to him?”

Joel barks out a laugh. “It’s not gonna be that easy, mate,” he says confidently, pressing closer to Graceffa.

And then they both go silent, staring into each others’ eyes.

An entire minute passes.

Scott exchanges a look with Lizzie. She shrugs.

“Is this a straight man thing, or. . . ?”

Graceffa slaps Joel across the face, points at Scott. “How dare you accuse me of being straight!” he gasps dramatically, and there’s something pushing at Scott’s brain, behind his eyes, and he doesn’t like this, he doesn’t like this at all—

Then Joel is slamming Graceffa into a wall. “Both of you, head out and find Solidarity! I’ll catch up!” he shouts, as Graceffa wriggles free of his hold and kicks him in the knee.

Scott doesn’t need to be told twice. He runs, Lizzie on his heels, further down the basement. The basement isn’t too large, quite a bit smaller than Scott expected for a manor of this size, and within sight of the room Gem was in is another staircase. Scott freezes just before it, holds an arm out to stop Lizzie.

“Joey Graceffa knew we were here,” he whispers. “He could’ve alerted anyone.”

“Who even was that guy?”

“Classic billionaire type, and apparently a telepath?” That part is still fuzzy, but Scott’s pretty sure they’ve just left Joel and Graceffa having some sort of telepath showdown. So Joey Graceffa is the telepath, and for some reason, he’s been hanging out in Xornoth’s basement. Scott entertains the idea that Graceffa is Xornoth for about .2 seconds, before dismissing it entirely. Laughable.

Scott leads the way up the stairs, slow and careful. Something still isn’t right about this.

It’s the middle of the day. Sure, they sort of hoped people would be out to lunch, but there’s got to be some sort of staff here, right? And they know for a fact that Xornoth employs some basic muscle, so theoretically there should be any number of thugs around the building.

It’s not right that Joey Graceffa of all people is the only one to notice that they’re here.

But when Scott pushes open the door at the top of the stairs, there’s no one there.

It’s just him and Lizzie, alone in a grand, painting-lined hallway.

The prickling in the back of Scott’s brain has grown to a roar of dread, because this just isn’t right. They shouldn’t be alone in a building that constantly has vehicles shipping to and fro, a building where Xornoth and presumably all of their thugs reside, a building where Solidarity by all rights ought to be.

But it’s just the two of them, and the quiet that had been unnerving earlier is downright oppressive now.

There’s an open doorway to Scott’s right, light spilling onto the polished wooden floor beyond it. Scott looks to Lizzie, who shrugs.

It’s the first sign of proper life that they’ve seen. And if Gem is to be believed, it’s not a secret that they’re here.

Xornoth is most certainly there. It’s also most certainly a trap. But Scott’s not a hero for nothing, and Lizzie’s not a villain for nothing. Both kinds are quite notorious for getting out of traps.

Scott stretches, rolls his neck out, then leads the way into the room.

It’s a ballroom, large and grand, all sorts of intricacies decorating the walls and ceiling, but Scott only has eyes for the two figures on the dais at the opposite end of the room.

Xornoth in all their dark glory, resting back in a jewel-encrusted throne. The Canary in full costume (glider wings and musketeer hat included), kneeling at their feet. A chain connects the Canary’s collar to Xornoth.

Xornoth raises a hand, and Scott suddenly realizes that it isn’t just the two of them in the room. There’s a small guard made up of eight or so thugs standing by the door, and it’s barely a second before two of them have Scott by the forearms and two others have Lizzie. Scott struggles, but only for a moment—they’re not attacking him, just pulling him forward to meet Xornoth. He was already planning on heading that way, anyhow.

“Well,” Xornoth says once both Scott and Lizzie are before them. “Here to destroy me?”

And Scott’s seething, because he is here to destroy them. Because Solidarity is right there, chin on Xornoth’s lap. Because they’re finally here, and Xornoth is still acting like they have the upperhand.

When Xornoth removes Solidarity’s musketeer hat and glides a hand through his golden hair, Scott can’t help but yank one of his arms free. A shard of ice shoots down his arm and into the thigh of someone holding him. That person curses, smacks Scott over the head.

Scott curses as well. He needs to calm down. He can’t lose control here, in front of his nemesis, with an innocent’s life at stake. He stares up at Solidarity, searching the little bit of visible skin for any signs of recent injuries, trying to catch the man’s eye. Solidarity isn’t even looking at him, eyes fixed on . . . on Lizzie.

Lizzie’s staring back at Solidarity, face tight. Her hands, restrained as they are, are clenched in fists, knuckles turning white.

What’s visible of Solidarity’s face is expressionless, even as he leans into Xornoth’s hand.

“Nothing to say to me, Major?” drawls Xornoth, lip curled. Scott returns his attention to the villain. “Nothing to say to your . . . brother?”

Brother?

In what? Being powered?

Maybe it’s some sort of tax bracket thing, Xornoth pleading to his anti-establishment spirit. Even so, it’s weird. Confusing. Probably meant to throw him off. Scott doesn’t like it at all.

“We’re not brothers,” he spits out, “and we never will be. Anything else cryptic to say to me, or should we skip to the part where I kick your demonic butt?”

Xornoth laughs, strange and echo-y in this space. It sends a chill running up Scott’s spine, one that he tries fruitlessly to shake. “Why, why, Major—or should I say, Scott,” they say, and the chill spreads to all of Scott’s body, stealing the air from his lungs.

There’s only two people on earth who know Scott’s secret identity, and neither of them have taken up supervillain activities in the last ten years—unless his therapist has something to tell him. And his therapist is a middle-aged woman named Nora, so it would be more than a little concerning for Xornoth to remove their mask right now and reveal themself to be her.

“How do you—?”

“Brothers, Scott,” Xornoth tells him, one finger idly wrapping a lock of Solidarity’s hair around it and pulling hard. Solidarity doesn’t move. “You’ve forgotten your poor, lonely brother, cast from the home at just fourteen? Surely you remember something of me, you at least stood taller than a toddler.”

No way. There’s literally no possible way that’s true. Scott was an only child. He hates to think of the people who raised him, the place he grew up, but now he casts his mind back, tries to recall any evidence of such a sibling.

There’s nothing. Not even a faint echo of a teenager occupying the house when he was young. No photos, no possessions, no memories.

Xornoth’s probably lying. They’re probably just trying to shake him before the battle, give themself the upper hand. But the fact that they know his name is scary. Incredibly scary.

If they know Scott’s name, who else does?

He’ll just have to make sure to bring Xornoth in alive. He needs answers about this, but right now they’re going to have to wait.

Scott sighs, tugs himself free from the guards easily. “We fighting or no?” he asks, then doesn’t wait before sending an icicle flying at Xornoth. The villain dodges it easily, stands, unclips the chain from Solidarity’s collar (Scott’s blood boils at the sight of it) and places the man’s hat back on his head.

“Pet,” says Xornoth casually. Solidarity’s eyes instantly leave Lizzie, turning instead to Xornoth. “I have some business to take care of with my long-lost brother. Keep her—” they point at Lizzie— “out of my way.”

Scott barely has time to process the words before the Canary leaps at Lizzie, and Xornoth flies toward him.

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lizelandre · 2 years

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Thank you @sleepyfacetoughguy for this week's prompt. I love it! I give you a little bit of Ian's thoughts after the talk outside of Barry/Byron's appartment. @galladrabbles

I doubt.

A snake is slowly slithering his way inside his mind. Ian knows Mick loves him as he knows he loves Mickey. But what about tomorrow and the day after. Will he become too much or not enough?

He walks through the alley of doubt.

Walks all night and thinks. Flashes of what ifs and maybes.

"Jesus Christ, Ian." Their talk on a loop inside his head.

He can't lose him. To lose Mickey is to lose a part of himself.

He slashes through the snake, shows no mercy. Cuts it until there are only two letters left.

I do.

#in my head ian actually walks all night with his broken leg but I only had 100 words to squeeze everything #hope I did it justice #i think I really love to write about what happens in their minds between scenes #i'm not that fan of the byron/barry's plot but I really liked the characterization behind it #otp bookshelf #gallavich #galladrabbles

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primofate · 8 months

Text

You are the embodiment of fairness...

is what Neuvillette believes. There is not a single hair on your body that is selfish. Not a single thought in your mind that strays into evil thoughts.

The Chief Justice is just as fair, just as sensible. Though on you, he stays his gaze for a moment longer. Allows the slightest tug upward of his lips as you discuss the latest trial with him. The difference between the two of you? He doesn't think that he is as "well-behaved" as you are. There have definitely been times where he had thought to abandon his gentlemanly and prestigious image, just to lean in and brush his fingers on your cheek. Thankfully, so far, he hasn't done so, even though the two of you had decided to enter a romantic relationship.

The Chief Justice was very guarded, but so were you. The two of you were never seen together, only in the privacy of his home or yours did the two of you enjoy each other's company. Perhaps only his most trusted Melusines knew. Professionalism was important.

"I hope the next trial resolves to your liking, Neuvillette," you smile knowing what his answer would be.

"It isn't my thoughts that are important, Y/N-" he starts and he finishes his sentence at the same time as you chide in with him.

"It's the evidence. I know, I know,"

You bid him goodbye rather curtly, not even a kiss, just a brief pat on the arm. It's working hours, and it's not the time to do such a thing.

Working hours.

As the Chief Justice sat in court, trial in session, he locks eyes with you, the accused. He recognizes the confusion in your eyes as genuine, the hidden panic behind clear as day.

"Neuvil--Your honour," You catch yourself, voice trembling a little. "This is a mistake, it wasn't me,"

and yet all the evidence points to you. Photographs, witness accounts, the hat that you'd left behind in the crime scene. No matter which way you look, the answer was you.

"Guilty," was all he could muster, when he usually said more. His hand looked for the oratrice, hoping that the machine would give him something different, but he already knew it in his heart.

"According to the judgement of the Oratrice Mecanique d'Analyse Cardinale, the accused, L/N Y/N is..."

One second.

Two.

Three seconds.

Four.

The crowd started to bristle a little.

At five he opened his mouth, and closed it again, gritting his teeth in secret.

At six, he repeated his own words. "Guilty,"

Cheers erupted from the audience, he could not bring himself to look at your face, though he heard you loud and clear.

"No! NO! This is a mistake! I didn't kill anyone!" Your hysterics were comparable to a mother who had lost her child. To a hardworking man watching his hard earned house burn down.

"NEUVILLETTE PLEASE!"

The Gardes struggled, just as they always did, but you pushed forward, unable to understand nor accept what happened. At that moment you had not noticed the tears of desperation running down your cheeks.

You were going to that underwater prison forever. Dark and alone. What if the sea swallowed you? Or worse, what if the silence swallowed you? All by yourself hundreds of feet below, drowning was such an easy possibility.

Neuvillette almost grimaces, but keeps his face hard as stone. There are a thousand things running in his mind...but the Oratrice was absolute, and so was its verdict.

"Bring the accused to The Fortress of Meropide,"

The wails you let out haunted him, more than any other trial had.

Author's Note: Hello! This is just a quick update, literally wrote it in 30 minutes so excuse any pronoun slips or mistakes! I just wanted to let everyone know I am great and still playing Genshin! Just a quick reminder that The Ruthless Prince is still available on Amazon in paperback and all my previous works are still accessible in my Masterlist!

Do let me know what you think of this one though, and if you think I should turn it into a full fic!

#genshin x reader #genshin angst #genshin impact #neuvilette genshin #neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette brainrot

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hoony2k · 3 months

Text

HEART 2 HEART

I aint never seen two chill idols in a room, one of them is always obesessed with the other. Or

Idol!enha giving idol!you heart eyes in professional settings.

PAIRING: ot7

GENRE: fluff, crack, established lovers, secret lovers, idol x idol

WORD COUNT: 3k (help)

WARNINGS: mentions of innocent kissing that's it. I got possessed during hoon and hee's.

NOTE: hii this was so fun. I kind of wanted niki and sunoo's to be a bit longer but I yapped a bit too much in general. this is massive for a 7 member drabble but 1 para wouldn't do justice. hope you enjoy!

Part 1 -> we dating fr?

Part 3 -> cut the cameras

requested masterlist

★ HEESEUNG:

He thinks everything’s a game!!he thinks its funny! But mr lee who is laughing? Not him rn

You’re walking in the hallways after a quick trip to the washroom when suddenly someone grabs your arm and pulls you into a room. You’re ready to scream but he swiftly covers your mouth and chants “It’s me. It’s me” like that’ll help you understand why your boyfriend thought it would be a good idea to lead you into a small clothing room.

You want to get mad at him for a billion reasons but mainly because what if someone saw? and misunderstood! But his stupid smile tells you how he doesn’t care. Sometimes you want to have his optimism and confidence, maybe then you two could live a carefree idol life.

Heeseung wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer to fiddle with the bows on your outfit and hair. Your faux anger slowly crumbles as he stares at you like you painted the night sky and hung the stars on it. Still, you break eye contact just to dust your pride and Heeseung can not stop laughing, finding you cuter than ever.

“I have to go soon. We can’t get caught”, you remind him, the overwhelming time restraint burdens you every time you meet him outside his dorms and as usual, Heeseung doesn’t mind. He shrugs casually, then gives you a reckless smile, eyes hooded. “Who cares?”

Your heart skips a beat in the best way but you purse your lips and pretend to think it over. A hum escapes you, tapping your finger on his chin. He leans closer.

“Probably our managers, you know?”, you say knowing he’s far too busy admiring your eye makeup to even care about the consequences of what would happen if someone were to open the door. So, you do the most logical thing a person subjugated with love could do. Taking his smiley face in your grasp, you turn his head and press a chaste kiss on his cheek, intentionally pressing into his skin to leave a stain.

You pull back to inspect the pink gloss on his cheek, lightly smudged. Heeseung looks like he’s floating but before he can pull any stunts you clap him on the back as a goodbye and quickly scurry out of the room. Not even bothering to check if someone was in the hallway.

If Heeseung stands alone dazed for a while…no one needs to know. He fights his demons when he brings out a tissue to remove your gloss, sobbing internally.

★ JAY:

You will be my girl my girl my girl <3

Jay had told you about how he’d film the Sweet Venom TikTok challenge with you to prepare you beforehand. You had learnt the dance long ago, but the mental preparation to become a different person in front of Jay from Enhypen and a camera took some mental energy. Acting like you were strangers and not a couple filming a silly video wasn’t what you wanted but you were thankful no one spread dirty rumours.

His manager held the camera to film some behind-the-scenes footage of Jay “teaching” you what to do in the challenge and it was kind of funny. But when it came to filming, Jay did everything to be able to spend some extra time with you without seeming suspicious.

He’d get the timing wrong on purpose, he’d bump into you, with the smallest nudge and he’d quickly pause the challenge to apologise. Each time he’d falter or force himself to be out of sync, to have one eye slightly closed, you’d laugh it off, genuinely finding his actions endearing.

He’s excited to film it with you, he can’t wait to show how good you two look, and how his dance style compliments yours, and he can’t wait to see his fans react, gushing over you, throwing heart emojis for his girl.

It was rare for to Jay get so stubborn so you entertained it and laughed. The manager didn’t mind as long as she farmed enough footage but eventually puts her foot down when the behind-the-scenes videos turns longer than 2 minutes and the challenge hasn't reached its middle yet.

She politely tells Jay to rehearse once more and she’d film it after that. The rehearsed one goes by smoothly; the steps are muscle memory at this point.

Before the final take, Jay wants to tell you good luck but almost slips and lays it all out in the open as he parts his lips to call you “Babe”. At the utterance of the first syllable, you snap your head in his direction, eyes piercing his soul, not a hint of a smile.

Jay catches his tongue and switches it to another similar word and thankfully it isn’t noticeable nor is it understood by the manager who assumes Jay’s nerves cause him to slur over his speech. No big deal.

Slightly nervous, Jay glances at you and you offer him an understanding nod. Then the final take begins and everything goes smoothly. When the challenge ends, you turn to bow and he thanks you for joining him. As the manager gives you a thumbs up and taps away on her phone preoccupied, you turn to Jay with a raised brow and he blushes.

“I don’t wanna talk about it”.

★ JAKE:

Personal space? Never heard of her

It’s been hours since you’ve arrived and Jake has not stopped smiling for even a second. He’s over the moon he can’t believe how well you fit into his social circle (enha) like a puzzle piece he was missing this whole time. He’s not sappy but he could write an entire sonnet on how gorgeous you look lounging on his bed, eating take out and brushing your hair back as you watch the movie with him.

But when you announce it’s time to leave, he does not stop sulking and begging you. Literally on his knees. The moment you try to get out of bed, he grabs onto your arm and pulls you tight into his embrace, nose in your hair, he pretends he’s asleep when you ask him to let go.

“My manager just texted me”, you tell him but your hands find his free hand. He rubs a thumb over your hand and you feel like you just kicked a wet puppy into mud. He groans into your hair, slowly and subtly, his legs wrap around your own as if he’s trying to merge your bodies.

“Tell her your phone exploded”, his voice is muffled and immediately you stop feeling bad.

You whine his name and try again but he refuses to budge, and when he tries to pull his bed covers on your frame, you decide to threaten him, “I’ll scream for Jay I’m not playing. I’m overdue curfew”.

“Door’s locked”. HELLO??

You sigh and let your head rest on his pillow that smells exactly like him, ignore the flutter in your rib cage and rest for just a minute. Jake mistakes it as a sign of you surrendering, his grip loosening. You don’t waste a second and throw his caged arms off and jump out of bed and he begins to sulk and wail at the loss of contact. But as much as you love him, you can finally breathe without the weight of your chest.

“I like the idol you better. The one who acts like he doesn’t know me”.

“He wouldn’t treat you like I do”.

He’s ready to have beef with idol Jake if it is meant to impress you. When he’s tying up your shoelaces for you, he’s like “I’ll walk you home” and you tell him he cannot do that because people are always snooping so you’ll get a taxi and he’s like “I’ll walk you downstairs and wait until you sit inside”.

How could you say no to his puppy eyes?

★ SUNGHOON:

he’s on cloud nine because his wish finally came true. He’s radiating light wherever he goes.

He sat next to you, far too close for it to appear platonic but Sunghoon told you not to worry. He tells you not to worry when he’s facing you, knees brushing, you can feel his body heat despite the cool in the room. You’re trying your hardest not to stare at him or how he’s rolled up his dress shirt sleeves despite his stylist’s scolding, or how they slicked his hair back with gel but left one strand to dangle on his forehead, how it curves and makes his eyes seem sharper than they are.

You’re trying, ok?

It’s better than Sunghoon who cannot stop leaning in your personal space as he reads his lines off your shoulder for some reason, he giggles when you try to push him away but he clings like a magnet. The floor vibrates with heavy bass, you’re up again in ten minutes and you need him to get serious.

Unlike him, it’s your first time mc-ing and despite his hype boy attitude, your fingers still shake as you read your lines out loud. Sunghoon’s smile flickers until he remembers he can do something to help.

“Hey, just focus on me”, he says calmly, ironically the one thing you’ve been trying not to do.

But, with blind trust, you agree and your gaze lands on his. His eyes twinkle and crinkle, he stares back at you and you think you’ve started to smile like an idiot. You turn your eyes to soak in his outfit once more, he matches your formal dress, a deep red satin dress paired with similar gloves. He’s adorned in dark slacks that emphasise his stature, and a dark dress shirt with a maroon tie. His tie is crooked-

Out of instinct or perhaps it stems from the urge to hold his hands, feel his heartbeat under your fingers, you reach out, hands settling on his shoulders, then inch towards his neck to tighten and straighten the knot. Sunghoon’s eyes don’t leave your serious expression, a lovesick smile hangs on his face. Your hands press onto the material to flatten it and fix his collars like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do.

Something clatters and smashes loudly.

You rip your hands off his shoulders and he suddenly feels cold. Sunghoon pouts but you quickly turn away, surprisingly less scared than before. You glance in front and see your stylist give orders, someone says another band is preparing for an interview in 5. Finally, you grip the cards tightly in your hands but don’t even spare them a glance. Instead, you lock eyes with your lover who had been looking fondly at you the whole ordeal.

“let’s go over this one last time for your sake”.

Sunghoon laughs.

★ SUNOO:

Therapists hate him. He’s a mastermind at manipulation.

Both of you are chosen along with another idol and actor to partake in a reality show where you all live together and go on an adventure it’s all a great experience and you get to interact with new lovely people but when it’s late at night, the crew has gone to their hotel, cameras have been turned off, you, Sunoo and the actor gather at the dining table.

Sunoo keeps smiling at you and the actor and he offers to peel mandarins. As he peels, the conversation flows smoothly, his fingers work quickly and skillfully. Even though his eyes are downcast, his change in expressions tell you he’s listening to the conversation.

Out of respect, he offers the actor a plate with the most mandarin slices and out of habit, he slides to you the plate with the juiciest and scrumptious slices, choosing the dry ones for himself. You shyly thank him and Sunoo brushes it off. He only realizes what he’s done and how much of a deal it is when the actor questions if he’s a good friend of yours.

Sunoo bursts into laughter, eyes crinkling, he waves his hand in dismal, he looks at you up and down. You refuse to make eye contact.

“Something like that”.

His open-ended answer renders you speechless and you pretend to be busy when the actor looks at you. You untie your hair for it to cover your heated ears and fake cough as you take another bite.

Sunoo offers you a napkin. His hand stretches over the table and all eyes are on you, the actor is on the edge of his seat as he observes you like a hawk.

As nonchalant as you can be, you roll your shoulders and take it from him. Despite your efforts to avoid skin contact, Sunoo flicks his wrist and his fingers delicately brush yours, sparks light up inside your stomach.

You quietly thank him and he shows off his charming smile. the actor next to you sighs loudly and glances at the clock before thanking Sunoo for the mandarins. Sunoo shines another smile at the man who glances between the two of you.

“Chemistry like this is hard to find. If you two end up dating, I’ll be supporting you”.

This time you choke on the juice and Sunoo springs up to give you a glass of water and pats your back for safety. The actor nods once more then leaves. When the coughing fit dies down, you ask Sunoo what all that was about, he tells you not to worry. He peeks at the camera as a precaution, it’s got a lid covering the lens. Then, he bends down to kiss your hair and brings your plate closer to him so he can feed you. Your heart attempts to jump onto the table when he affectionately begins to stroke your hair as well.

Friends be damned, you’ve hit the lover jackpot.

★ JUNGWON:

He loves his job but hates all the parts where he has to be too pretend his personal life doesn’t exist.

“I wish you were here with me”, he says the moment you pick up. You pout, shoulders sag immediately.

He notices this and almost feels bad as he caresses his phone screen like it’s a glass screen dividing him and the fish at an aquarium. The thought makes him laugh. He wants to spend the entire night talking to you, memorising your presence, pretending you're cuddled next to him but he can’t go through with his urges because you need to sleep.

Jungwon would never want you to disturb your sleep routine, no matter how many times you text or tell him that you want to do these things for him, it's only natural.

“I bought you a keychain”, you tell him, voice cracking over the call. He adjusts his camera, brows raised. You know what he’ll say so you answer, “You’ll see it when I give it to you”.

He pouts and brings the camera closer to his face to coax you into showing it, his tired eyes sparkle and almost distract you from his dark circles. Your heart sinks. What time is it there? You don’t need to calculate because you had already memorized the time difference by heart before he departed.

“Baby, it’s 2 am there”.

He shakes his head, hair flicking him in the eye, he squints up at you and unconsciously buries himself under his comfy hotel blankets. You stare at your lover, take in his appearance and admire how hard he works to achieve his dreams, how he wants to be a good boyfriend and tick all the boxes that make your heart soar. He looks like he’ll fall asleep in the peaceful silence so you grant him an offer.

“Would you like me to sing you to sleep?”

His dimple greets you and under the covers where you can’t see, Jungwon rubs his legs together, giddy like a child.

“Sing your next song for me”, he whispers and you gasp at him, taken back by the new information. It’s your turn to squint at him as you ask him about how he knew you were preparing for a comeback. He shakes his head and mumbles, “You changed your makeup”.

Makeup…that was only evident in pictures. You hadn’t met him all dolled up behind stage due to your schedules and could barely fit an hour with him at his dorm because you two were so busy. Yet he had noticed, somehow in a supernatural but very Jungwon way and your face heated up.

Your melody filtered through his speakers, it only took a minute for Jungwon’s breathing to even out, his hand going limp and the phone falling backwards to give you a view of the ceiling light.

Still, you finish the song and wish him a good night. Whisper a soft I love you in the dimly lit room, a saccharine confession that he’ll hear confidently soon.

★ NIKI:

Bro thinks hes in an edit‼️literally moves slowly like that when he sees you, r&b song playing in this head

On the encore stage, other bands including yours bow to Enha and in those 4 seconds, Niki decides to take a shot.

He thanks you with a bow and when you turn your attention to Jungwon, Niki speaks your name. It's far too gentle to be caught in the mic and he faces his head toward you so the back of his head is captured by the camera.

But like a compass, you always find his voice, when he calls for you in the hallways or when he's talking to other people in his makeup room, your ears seem to find him before your eyes do.

As you turn your wide eyes to him, unaware of his plans, Niki's boxy smile vanishes. He gazes at you through lidded eyes that appear striker more so than ever due to his bold makeup and he renders you speechless, cupid shooting you with several arrows.

You're paused mid-bow, face heating up under Niki's stare and smug smile, professional composure crumbling. There's a siren going off in your head, the cameras!

But what do they know? They can't even see your lover's expression, only the tilt of his head and dark wavy hair that tickles his neck. A part of you, a possessive side is overjoyed they can't. Swiftly, Jungwon covers your body and gives Niki a nasty side eye which finally manages to pull you out of the trance.

You return to thanking them and saying whatever nonsense comes to mind, Jungwon understands but Niki cackles loudly. As fast as this interaction happens, you fall back and merge with the crowd that walks off stage.

Thankfully, no one could figure out what happened but they made assumptions based on your expressions. That hype dies down in the fandoms but Niki can't stop replaying the moment on his end. It's a free amv for songs, he's never going to stop thinking about it.

Thank you for reading!

All rights belong to me. Please do not copy/translate/edit.

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earthtooz · 7 months

Text

x : QUIET LOVE :*+ﾟ

in which: neuvillette doesn't understand human emotion, but a quiet night after a bustling gala with you might help him.

warnings: fluff, gn!reader, pining neuvi but he doesn't know it, quiet walks along the beach at night, gentlemanly flirting bc it's neuvillette, hand kisses lol

a/n: sacrificial fic because neuvillette is not coming home, so i poured my blood, sweat, and tears into this, even if it's not all that. ALSO, this was inspired by a wip on @gum-iie's page (hi gumiie >_<), so i hope you all enjoy !! i tried my hand at the vision i saw.

Gatherings in Fontaine are nothing short of magnificent. The nation of justice will never shy away from a party that reeks of grandeur and extraordinaire, with crystal chandeliers dripping from the ceiling, flowing gowns, and slicked-back hair. With an archon as dramatic as Furina herself, what else can the citizens of Fontaine expect?

Except for a long life such as Neuvillette himself, he has seen this scene one too many times. Gazing out amongst the sea of people, there is an ocean of unfamiliar faces, a sight that doesn’t bring him much peace. It’s not that Neuvillette does not enjoy interacting with humans- even if he’s not so good at doing so, but being amongst so many at once is the unpleasant part.

Despite his distaste for these kinds of bustling environments, he still thinks it’s good manners to attend, even if he will leave after an hour or two.

Yet, it has been half an hour past the two hour mark, and yet the Iudex still has not seen himself out because there is a particular someone that he is hoping to catch the eye of. Someone who is worth all this extra trouble and socialisation.

The melusines frequently run back to Neuvillette, concern and curiosity animated in their expressions as they ask their beloved father figure why he is still present. Their questions get brushed off by the Chief of Justice, who merely thanks them for checking up on him before telling them that there is no need to be worried, he is merely waiting for something. Or rather, someone.

Only at the third hour since the party’s commencement, does he get what he wants: your attention.

“Monsieur Neuvillette!” A voice cuts through the crowd and straight to him, causing him to turn around, eyes dancing wildly around the room to search for the source. He effortlessly finds your gaze and watches as you come closer to him, outfit flowing behind you and he decides that the crystals of the chandelier are no match against the ones that dance in your eyes. You are more radiant than the purest diamond and Neuvillette can’t find it in himself to glance away.

You are perhaps the most ethereal being he has ever seen in his long life.

What Furina promised him has arrived. Neuvillette can enjoy the night happily now.

“Y/n,” he greets, curt and polite, but the smile on his face speaks volumes. It tells a tune of subtle delight and enthusiasm mulled over for the sake of appearances and composition, and it is a melody that you are deaf to. In fact, the melusines are perhaps some of the only souls who can read his silent song of adoration but instead of meddling, they have resigned themselves to the corner of the hall, watching their beloved Chief Justice.

“I did not expect to see you tonight,” you murmur, placing your empty glass of wine onto the plate of a passing waiter. “What a pleasant surprise.”

He wants to say something charming, perhaps something like telling you how lovely you look tonight or how absolutely magnetic you are, but the words fall short and Neuvillette panics briefly, scrambling to continue the conversation. “It is important to keep up social relations, after all. Not attending would be problematic.”

“An utmost scandal for the Iudex, no less.” There is a teasing glimmer in your eye, one that most people keep away from him but you are an exception; you always have been with how you regard him. Many respect him but also fear him, he is revered but avoided by the public, people speak of him but never would do so causally to his face. It is a particular dance that Neuvillette has become accustomed to, and you have slotted yourself in a position that none usually take: right beside him.

He doesn’t completely understand human emotions just yet, but you evoke one that he cannot describe.

“How has your night been?” Neuvillette asks.

“Tiring, fleeting, boring,” you murmur, expression melting into something more fatigued. “I want to leave, monsieur, is that too frank of a confession?”

“No, not at all,” he sees an opportunity and scrambles to get the words out, “may I accompany you or will I be overstepping?”

You blink at him before a small, cheery smile pulls on your lips. “I would love your company, but I only ask that we leave at this very moment because it is getting far too stuffy in here.”

“Then time is of the essence.” Neuvillette extends his arm for you to take and he relishes in the feeling of when you do.

Leaving the venue and helping you down numerous flights of stairs, the lighting and allure outside is far more romantic than it is inside. The street lamps of Fontaine were made for functionality so that no citizen could walk around unassuming and unaware of the darkness, and never were they made with the intent of illuminating anyone’s beauty. Yet here you stand before him, radiant under the warm tones of the lamp with the evening breeze flowing through your hair.

Moreover it is quiet out here. There is no one to bother the two of you, no melusines, no meddling Archon who lives for drama, no loud music and chatter, just you and him, together. It is a contrast so stark that he fears reality will shatter any second.

Naïve to his internal turmoils, you tug at his arm gently. “Let us go for a walk along the river,” you propose. A muted feeling of enthusiasm flows through Neuvillette and he readily agrees to your suggestion, more than happy to indulge in the gentle kisses of the sea breeze on his face.

The stroll is peaceful and quiet, neither of you speak too much but it is not awkward in the slightest. Your gowns trail behind the two of you with each step, dancing in sync with the wind as your slow pace allows the two of you to bathe in the light of the moon.

Although Neuvillette does not want the night to end nor to let you go, the amount of yawns you’ve suppressed since leaving is alerting him of your fatigue, and he’ll feel bad if he keeps you from your sleep any longer.

Finally, with one long yawn that you were not able to shut away, he stops you in your tracks. “Tired?” The Iudex asks.

You look up at him with eyes forced open, wider than they usually would be. “Just a little, but the night has been lovely so far, I’d hate for it to end.”

“Please, if you need the rest then you should rest.”

“Thank you for your concern, however-”

“There will be no objections. Let me walk you home.”

The moonlight casts a shade of melancholy over your features and the last glance you give to the ocean is nothing but full of longing. You surrender reluctantly. “Alright.”

You two make it back to the last aquabus just in time, and you’re the only passengers onboard. There is occasional chatter with the conductor, as well as private conversations, but Neuvillette has no qualms just spending the ride in silence, admiring you whilst you gaze out at the beautiful landscape of Fontaine.

“There are so many stars out tonight.”

He glances away from you. “So there are.” Then he makes a brave leap. “There is one right beside me, too.”

“Me?” Your voice is strained with disbelief and your hold on his arms tightens just a little. There is momentary silence before laughter- a quiet sort of laugh, shy and not at all mocking or condescending. “Thank you,” you whisper, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “I’m very flattered you think so highly of me.”

It becomes quiet again after that but your hand never leaves his. If anything, Neuvillette feels you even more now, your warmth pressed up against his side is addicting, he cannot help but want more of it; he cannot help but want more of you. He wants more nights like this with you, days even- just as long as he can spend some more time with you, he’ll be grateful.

Humans and the complexity of the emotions they feel are something Neuvillette still can’t get a grasp of, but you fill him with something so inherently humane. Sitting beside you on an aquabus that is minutes away from its end is a bittersweet reminder of how little time there is until the evening ends, and this mesmerising evening becomes nothing but a memory. How irrational it is to yearn for something so temporary, but that is what makes it beautiful.

The walk back to your neighbourhood is quick, too quick for Neuvillette’s liking, but the smile you give him when you stop before your door is heartwarming. “Thank you dearly for walking me home, Monsieur Neuvillette,” you begin. “You have been the best part about this lively evening.”

The Chief Justice has never had a way with words, rather, they have always been his enemy, so instead of speaking to convey what he feels, Neuvillette takes your hand instead and places a kiss on your knuckles. A gentlemanly act to many, but he holds and kisses you with such firm intention that it makes you dizzy. It makes you think deeper about whether or not there are underlying intentions to address, and it’s exhilarating questioning what exactly you are to the Chief Justice of Fontaine.

For now, you’ll find contentment in the moonlight dream that was this evening, and he’ll engrave the feeling of you so close to him into his memory.

#neuvillette i am on my knees pls come home #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact fluff #genshin x reader #genshin fluff

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violetsiren90 · 2 months

Text

Make Me

Pairing: dom!Hoseok/sub/brat!f!Reader

Genre: Oneshot; hard smut; platonic(?) fluff; BDSM lifestyle; friends to fwb to?; canon-compliant (idolAU)

Summary: You've been friends with Hobi for years, and he's your comfort zone - but when he gets wind of a dark secret you drunkenly let slip, things between you take a sudden extreme change.

Warnings: 18+ (minors, dni); hardcore BDSM themes/relationships; full consent and safe-words ❤; Hobi is a hard dom (and such a good one); MC is a brat (mostly); dominance and submission; elements of primal play if you squint; mentions of wet dreams and sexual fantasies; sexual degradation (deg-play use of the word "b*tch"); mentions of MC's hair and hair pulling in a domination context; rough physical contact in a sexual context (manhandling); mentions of drinking; kink-outing; Jimin is a menace but also the absolute best; Hobi in the studio 👀; wrestling (sexual context); spanking (sexual context); p*ssy-stepping; p*ssy slapping; sexual frustration; some initial shame and embarrassment (reader needs to work some things out); reader tries to run away from herself a bit; temporary ghosting; working through new desires and feelings; dirty dancing; ALL the communication; establishment of sexual roles/partnership; talk about birth control and protection; Hobi curses a LOT during domination scenes; leash/collar play; oral sex (male receiving); throat fucking; Hobi slaps Reader's tongue with his c*ck; cum swallowing; aftercare; restraint play (sex swing, heehee 😈); manual clitoral stimulation; teasing; unprotected vaginal sex (reader is on birth control & previously consents); female orgasm from vaginal penetration; very brief implication of a possible brush with subspace.

Word Count: ~16,000 (Double its originally intended length, oops 🙈)

Author's note: HOLY HECK IT'S FINALLY HERE. When I say I had the time of my life writing this...like, wow. I was already under Hobi's spell, but now I am OFFICIALLY down in the worst way. This fic and it's premise were completely out of my comfort zone, but I couldn't be happier that I ventured into this world, because the research alone has given me so much respect for the BDSM community, and specifically the dom/sub relationship. I hope I did as much justice to that very special dynamic as possible between these two characters (with whom I have deeply fallen in love). If you read this, I hope so very much that you enjoy it!

If no one has told you yet today, you are loved and worthy of love! 🧜‍♀️💜

Acknowledgements: The biggest of thanks to @orchidyoonkook who not only beta-read this fic multiple times, and is practically the voice of this Jimin, but also gave me so much wonderful insight into the BDSM communicty from that big sexy brain of hers (which contains an incredible amount of knowledge about so many things, let me tell you!). But most of all, she gave me the encouragement I needed to get this out of my imagination and onto the page, even when I was doubting myself the most. Yoons, I love you! Couldn't have done it without you. 💕

"What?" Hoseok's wide grin stretches further as he regards your flustered face with giddy anticipation.

You groan into your hands, willing the cushions of your friend's leather couch to swallow you like quicksand.

"Fucking Jimin - I'll kill him!" you whine, pressing your fingers to your temples, and keeping your eyes glued to the hardwood of the studio floor.

The rapper laughs as he swivels his baseball cap to sit backwards on his fluffy brown mop of hair.

"Come on! Tell me!" he insists, sprawling back in his rolling chair, the tips of his fingers touching deviously together as he regards you with twinkling eyes.

You sneak a glance at him before sighing defeatedly, which only earns another chortle of laughter from across the room.

Park fucking Jimin. You really were going to kill him. Too many bottles of soju the week prior saw you blacking out at the BTS member's pad, the one he shared with your mutual friend, Jung Hoseok. You woke up the next day, memories of the night before obscure concepts of debauchery merely alluded to by the taste of bile and the dull cranial throb of dehydration. When Jimin rather gleefully handed you, along with an iced americano, one of the booze-fueled revelations you had let slip, you begged and pleaded with him to erase the memory from his brain...or at the very least to take it to his grave. He made no such promises. And now, you are facing the man of the hour - the subject of your divulgement - who had apparently been informed that you harbored certain strong opinions in his regard. Humiliating.

You flick mildly irritated eyes back up to your friend who waggles his brows in a way that makes you want to crack a smile and sock him at the same time.

"Before I say anything, I want to know exactly what he told you," you demand, crossing your arms defensively, no cracked smile to be found.

He rolls his eyes up to the corner of the ceiling in recollection.

"He just said that you had gotten wasted and admitted something kinky...about me."

At the last two words he drops his voice dramatically low and pins you with a grin that is sickeningly predatory. Your pulse begins to hammer and you have to remind yourself that you are, in fact, capable of speech.

Fuck, you think to yourself, it's happening.

You can feel sweat starting to bead at your hairline. Maybe if you get it out there, just say it aloud, it will lose its power. Maybe the spell will be broken. Maybe he will laugh and you will laugh and you'll order lunch and keep irritating him while he's supposed to be working on a track. You're both adults, right? You whoosh out a breath.

Hobi is still looking at you, his bottom lip pushing up and the corners of his mouth tugging down in one of his little inverted smirks while his right leg bounces a little up and down.

It is just Hobi, after all, you tell yourself. Just Hobi. You are roundly aware that it may be a lie, but it seems to allow you just enough courage to jump.

"Okay, okay!" you practically shout, and he giggles and stomps his feet, which admittedly makes revealing this particular chestnut a bit easier.

"I told him…

“What?”

“I said..."

"What?"

"Oh, Christ! Fine!" And the rest comes out like water from a fire hose. "One time I came to drop off Jimin's charger and you were in dance practice and you were watching the guys and you had this look on your face - like you were pissed or something - and it was so unlike you and I got turned on and ended up having a fucking wet dream that you were stepping on my mother-fucking pussy, okay?! Are you satisfied now?!"

You heave a sigh and throw yourself back against the cushions, hands over your face. How you just mustered the courage to form those actual words you haven't even the faintest notion - but it was going to be you or Jimin, and it might as well be you. After your heart has begun to return to its resting rate and you've heaved a few deep breaths you steel yourself against the certain impending onslaught of Hobi's laughter and general mockery...which doesn't come.

You peek through your fingers to see that your friend has shifted in his chair, facing a bit away from you toward the inside of the room, leaning forward, his hands gripping the ends of the chair's armrests. His face looks a little troubled, or pensive, you can't tell which. You sit up and really look at him, suddenly worried.

Did you just fuck things irrevocably up?

That was an incredibly bizarre and intimate thing to admit.

Shit.

"Hobi?" you squeak, barely over a whisper, as you regard him.

He tilts his head suddenly to look at you, quick like a bird, and when those dark eagle-eyes regard you in return, you feel like a small, helpless creature scurrying across the tundra. Nowhere to hide. A bead of sweat escapes its perch and slips down from your temple. As he utters his question of response, the air suddenly becomes as thick as the tropics.

"Is that something that you'd want, Y/n? To be treated like that? To be...put in your place? Put down?"

You don't answer him. You can't.

Your words, your breath, your coherent thoughts are stuck, inert, useless as your chest begins to rapidly rise and fall in heavy swells. Your eyes are locked on his face as if by magnetic force. He stands, his baggy Louis Vuitton tee falling over his gray sweats. He shoves his hands in the pockets and takes a step toward where you sit. His posture is relaxed. His gaze is anything but.

"Is it?"

You want to say you don't know. That you'd never considered it again. Never once recalled the image of it - of him - standing over you as the sole of his shoe punished your throbbing sex.

"Fuck..." you breathe, and when he doesn't take his eyes from your squirming form, you relent. "...y-yeah."

He takes another step toward you, slowly. He's crowding you now, as he looks down, and the proximity is almost more than you can bear.

"You see," he remarks musingly, "I thought you were gonna say something funny - something ridiculous," he tilts his head to one side, the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips, "But that's not funny, Y/n. No, that's not funny at all. Because, as it turns out..."

He leans down, his breath fanning over your face as he speaks. Mint and espresso. You shiver and close your eyes.

"...that's something I can do."

...what? He can...h-he can....

"Hoseok..." you whisper shakily, because it's all you can manage.

You hear him laugh darkly and you don't look at him.

"Hoseok?" he mimics, "Not, Hobi, huh? Hoseok when you're like this, is it?"

"When I'm like...what?" You practically whimper in complaint, eyes still pressed shut as your last line of defense.

But any manner of defense is in vain as he answers your query, the words dripping from his lips slowly like honey, sickly like venom -

"When you're a filthy, pathetic little slut."

A whine escapes you at the complete and utter shock of his words. Suddenly you clamp your thighs together – whether to provide friction or obscurity to your quickly dampening cunt you are unsure. When he takes your jaw between his fingers and roughly jerks your chin upwards, your eyes flutter frantically open.

"Is this what you want?" he hisses, "For me to have my way with you like a needy whore?"

Fuck, is this happening? This is really happening. Your mind reels, but that's alright - it stopped doing the thinking when he got up out of that chair. Something primal in you had taken over, something that's been starving for so long – something that yearns to feed.

You do your best to nod with your chin in his grip. He swallows thickly, his eyes darting to your lips, and then back up to yours. His pupils are blown, his eyes almost wholly black as they trace over your face. Suddenly his hand slips from your chin to the nape of your neck where his hand tangles in your hair and his head drops to the side, his gaze softening.

"I need you to say it, Y/n, are you sure you want to do this?" he asks, his voice so, so low but without the edge that sends ice through your veins.

His voice. He's asking you as someone who cares about you, cares what you want – your friend.

Do you want this? No...you don't want it. You need it.

"Y-yes! Yes, Hobi - I want this," you find yourself stumbling over the words to get them out.

So quickly and so assured. Have you ever been this certain of anything in your life? His fingers dance against the nape of your neck and you sigh as his eyes travel all over your body.

You want to hide. You want to strip down. You want to run and you want him to chase you. You want him to punish you when he catches you. You are sick with want.

"A safe word, baby, we need a safe word," he nudges your racing mind back into the current moment with his saccharine words.

You blink, your mind running up against the sudden pet name – one that he has never uttered in a tone like this before – as it scrambles for something obvious and yet not ridiculous. Something simple maybe...a flower...?

"Foxglove," you say, and he raises his brows with a grin.

"Foxglove it is," he acquiesces. "So if you ever want me to stop, ever – okay? You say that. Foxglove."

You nod.

"Say it for me," he whispers, and you shiver again. Fuck.

"Foxglove." It's slow and thick leaving your mouth.

"Good girl," he purrs. Butterflies erupt in your rib-cage and your eyelids flutter. "How hard do you want it?" He asks, "How rough?"

You scramble to find your voice.

"Pretty rough, I think," you posit, a bit unsure of what that means.

He hums in response, his brows knitting in thought. You were going to have to give him something to go on, you could see that.

"I..." you stammer, "I want you to...to punish me. I want you to...to hurt me a little."

He raises a brow - looks at you, just stares as if considering. Then suddenly you know what to say.

"See...I'm not a good girl," you insist tilting your head back a bit haughtily, a bit defiantly. Being a good girl had gotten you butterflies, but that's not what you wanted right now. That's not what every cell of your body was screaming for.

He's grinning wickedly again - his other hand is slipping out of his pocket and the one in your hair is gripping at the roots.

"Hm. You're not are you?" he asks, his voice as dark and cold as the Pacific once again.

"No, Hobi," you whisper.

And suddenly your world is tilted on its axis as he tightens his fingers against your scalp and yanks your head back, sending a searing pain shooting through your skin as he stoops to hiss in your ear.

"That's Hoseok, you pretty little bitch."

You let out a whimper so needy it's nearly a sob. Your heartbeat is pounding between your legs. He lets go of your hair as roughly as he grabbed it and goes to lock the door and your stomach flips - you are totally and completely at his mercy. It's a little bit terrifying and absolutely exhilarating.

When he comes to loom over you again, you decide just exactly where you stand in all this. You know exactly what you want.

You glare up at him. He narrows his eyes.

"You gonna listen, hm?"

It's not a question, you know it's not - it's a command. But you have one, just one, of your own...

"Make me."

His eyes go wide and wild.

"So that's how it's gonna be?"

The words are heavy and dark, but you think his mouth twitches up at the corner when you arch a recalcitrant brow in response.

He hums and licks his lips, and you're on the verge of saying something about getting on with it when his hand darts out and fists a chunk of your hair, yanking it back with a force that makes your head spin. He's glaring down at you with eyes so hard and menacing that your rebuttal dies on your tongue. The hand at your nape squeezes and the pressure that seers your scalp is exquisite, spilling a moan from your lips as your arousal becomes more than you are capable of repressing.

"Don't you challenge me, brat," he rumbles from low in his chest as his hand twists against your head and lowers your back to press against the black leather.

You whine in protest, and your palms fly up to shove at him, but his reflexes are like lightning as he snatches your wrists away to pin them above you. Your head spins, eyes losing focus as your whole body flushes with warmth in the wake of his domineering aggression.

You wriggle in his hold, relishing in how his grip tightens and the cold steel in his eyes glints as you resist him.

A knee slides between your legs as he leans over you menacingly, close enough for the padlock charm around his neck to lightly tap your raised chin. Good girl, it seems to whisper in Hoseok's voice, stay put.

Yeah, fuck that.

You snatch the necklace up between your teeth and yank it to the side where it bites sharply into the corner of your mouth.

The sudden motion catches him off guard and he falters, crashing down on top of you with a noise of surprise and losing control of your hands.

You scramble against him, rolling both of you to the floor with a thud.

Your heart is hammering in your chest.

You hear him grunt, his strong hands grappling with your thrashing form, and you catch just a glimpse of his shining eyes and white clenched teeth as he flips you over onto your stomach, hands in a vice grip at the small of your back and your cheek pressing into the cold, hard laminate.

You start to move again but he pushes his weight into the slender fingers splayed over your spine with a low rumble in the back of his throat and you still with a groan.

You're pressed so deliciously firmly to the floor. You can feel arousal soaking your panties as your nerves alight everywhere he has wrested control of you. You can hear him pant, proof of his efforts, and the image of his provoked expression from seconds previous flashes through your mind.

He seemed so cool and collected before. So unbothered. To think that his blood is up and because of you? You let out a trembling breath.

"Fuck," he hisses lowly, then bends to bring his lips to the shell of your ear.

They're soft as they drag over your skin there, feather light. Your whole body shakes, and you feel his mouth pause.

"I don't know who the hell you think you are," he whispers cruelly, "But you were right about one thing...you're not a good girl. You're a disobedient little harlot who needs to be taught the rules of this house."

You whimper pathetically as he presses into you even more intensely, restricting the expansion of your lungs.

"Now," he says nosing at your exposed neck as he begins to pull away, "how about we teach you a lesson or two, hm?"

You feel his weight leave your back, and see his figure rock back on his heels out of the corner of your eye. You are just on the verge of retaliating again when you let out a yelp at the sudden shock of your hips being yanked upward by the back belt loop of your denim shorts. Hoseok lets go of your hands and they fly forward to brace yourself as your ass raises into the air and your knees move toward your chest.

And all at once you know what's coming and you feel your pussy clench in the mere anticipation of -

Smack!

You let out a wanton wail as the sharp crack of his hand against your right glute jolts through your body like a lightning strike and ends with a slam at your swollen clit.

Again - harder! Your mind screams. So you press out a whinging moan of complaint.

SMACK!

It has the desired effect.

CRACK!

Your jaw is slack, but no sound escapes as he punishes you. It hurts. Fuck, it hurts. As if he's attempting to brand your ass with the shape of his hand. But holy hell is it making you drip. Every slap jolts your body and brings the tiniest friction to where you're neediest. Where you've never been needier in your life.

Please punish my pussy....

You try to mumble the words but all you can do is drool onto the floor as he deals out pleasure and pain from above.

And then he stops. You feel hands deftly and swiftly rolling you to lie on your back.

You blink up through bleary eyes, drawing a hand across your mouth to wipe the spit away. Your shoulders are sore.

He's leaning over you, a hand still on your hip, eyes scanning your face.

"What? Did you say something? You need to speak up."

His tone is still biting but his eyes seem to hold a genuine question. Concern.

Warmth floods your chest as it registers that he wants to be able to hear you if you need him to. If you want to stop. But the light has never been so goddamned green.

"Want..." you murmur, "...more, Hoseok."

He curses, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he leans forward to take your jaw in his hand again. He rakes his gaze over your soft, swollen features, unfocused eyes, and heaving chest.

"Look at you so fucked out and all I did was smack that gorgeous ass."

He licks his lips, shaking his head in seeming disbelief as he releases your chin with a little shove. He leans back, dragging his hands over your bare thighs.

"More, hm?" he hums.

You nod eagerly.

He purses his lips and considers you through narrowed eyes, and you sense that if you want him to give you what you so desperately desire, you're going to have to show him you can take it - and take orders. You lay still, hands twitching at your sides as you look up at him through wide eyes.

He continues to run his fingertips up and down your legs as he breathes out a long relenting sigh.

"Alright," he relents, "You took your punishment well, so you should be rewarded, I suppose."

You clamp your bottom lip between your teeth, your heart rate rising again at the prospect.

He tilts forward, looming over you again as he asks the question you've been dying to answer since you woke up breathless all those weeks ago.

"What does my little brat want me to do to her? Let's see if she can use her words."

You blink up at him, unsure if you have permission to speak...or how to put your request into words that won't make you want to immediately melt through the floorboards.

"Cat got your tongue?" Hoseok sneers, pretty, heart-shaped lips curling up at one side.

His hat discarded in your tussle, wavy brown tresses hang down over his brow and his eyes sparkle darkly through them. His features are so beautiful - their loveliness thrown into sharp relief by the flinty pitilessness of their expression.

You're tempted to continue simply soaking him in, if not for the pounding ache in your core demanding that you find your voice.

"I...I want..." your lips tremble as you will yourself to tell him what you need.

Perhaps he senses that you require a little encouragement, because his eyes harden and he digs the edges of his nails into the flesh of your knees, causing you to yelp and moan and then...

"I want you to step on my pussy! Please..." You press out your request with the last of the breath in your lungs.

Hoseok's eyes flutter shut at the last word of your plea.

"Say that again," he commands in a husky whisper, and even without further specification, somehow, you know.

"Please..." You groan, letting your legs drop open demurely.

His eyes are still closed, but he can feel the action with his hands, which have now slipped just inside your knees to your inner thighs. He inhales deeply through his nose, before exhaling with a shuddering breath. When his lids languidly raise again the piercing onyx of what they have unveiled is pinning you to the floor with more deadly force than even his hands ever could. Your pulse pounds in your cunt, your head still swimming from your previous position as he pushes himself up to stand.

As you blink up at Hoseok towering over you, standing between your splayed thighs with his midnight gaze boring into the damp denim covering your heat, something inside you long ajar quietly but firmly clicks into place.

"Tell me, brat" he seethes, eyes roving your trembling form stretched out beneath him, "Who makes the rules in this house?"

"Hoseok-ssi," you whimper, so needy the ache is beginning to hurt.

Every cell of your body is awake with a desperate anticipation that only he can satisfy...or deny.

You have never felt more alive.

And then something happens and your brain shuts off entirely.

Everything vanishes: the studio, the traffic outside the western window, the city of Seoul and South Korea and the whole goddamned planet rolling around in the Milky Way. Nothing exists except the tip of Hoseok's Air Jordan ghosting over the swell of your crotch.

Your mouth waters as his foot slowly slides forward, then goes completely dry as you feel it settle with the sole aligned directly with your slit. His eyes flick up to your face, but you can't hold his gaze for more than a millisecond as he begins to apply pressure to your mound.

Your eyes roll back in your skull, head lolling as your neck goes slack, lips parted in a silent scream as the man above you presses down with a low hum over your sex. The seam of your shorts is biting deliciously into the tender flesh of your clit, sending shockwaves through your core like a live wire, and when he rolls his foot in a circular motion you think you see god.

You do scream then, but it's nothing more than a strangled sound in your throat as your fantasies materialize and he leans his weight into his stance, punishing the soft fat of your cunt with the sole of his shoe.

You're going to cum. He's barely touched you and you're going to cum. He seems to see it in the twisted ecstasy of your features as his lids hood his eyes and filth begins to spill from his lips.

"Do you like that, brat?" he taunts, "That's what you get when you're a good little girl for Hoseok - you get your pretty wet cun-"

Click jangle clack - boom boom boom!

Hobi springs away from you, hopping back on one foot with wide eyes as a succession of rapid knocks follow the stilted motions of the locked door handle. You scramble up from the floor, heart pounding and breath coming fast as you toss yourself into the corner of the couch.

Boom, boom, boom!

"Hyung, are you naked or something?" comes a familiar if muffled voice from the other side of the wall.

You fumble for your phone and Hoseok runs a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath before pulling open the door.

The man belonging to the impatient knocks and muffled accusations stumbles headlong into the studio, the locked entrance against which he had pressed his ear and most of his weight having been pulled out from under him.

"Jimi...nie...?" Hobi greets his bandmate and his eyes track the other's toppling form with surprise and a hint of agitation.

Yoongi ambles in casually behind him, sipping a dewy americano through a straw, a beanie sitting atop his ashy locks gnomishly.

Jimin nimbly pushes himself to a stand from where he had crashed against Hobi's desk, not a strand of his coiffed platinum blond hair askew as he spins around face to the dance captain. But before he can get out a greeting or an excuse for his manner of entrance he freezes as he spots you in the corner.

His eyes flick to Hobi's hat on the floor, then to the pink flush on the apples of his friend's cheeks. When Jimin's eyes slide back over to where you are curled into your nook, eyeing him warily over the tiny shield of your phone, his plush lips slowly spread into a sickeningly devious smile.

Hobi scoops his hat up off the floor and tugs in back on before taking a seat, carefully, you notice - thighs pressed together and leaning forward - in his rolling chair. The implication of his posture has you sweating into your shirt.

You need to get it the fuck together.

"If I would have known you were here I'd have brought you a kimbap," Jimin says, wicked grin still plastered on his face as he holds up a plastic convenience store bag.

You blink.

"Oh, uh, that's okay..." you bluster, waving your hand. "I'm not hungry anyway."

It's true. You just lost your appetite for the foreseeable future, stomach a raging sea of nerves as Jimin places the bag on the desk.

Yoongi shuffles over to sit at the other end of the couch, raising his free hand and drawing his mouth into a straight line in greeting. You manage your own tight-lipped grin and flash him a peace sign, hoping you did it quickly enough that the tremor in your hand went unnoticed.

"To what do I owe this visit from my bros?" Hobi asks from where he's turned toward his computer screen to save the neglected file.

His voice is cheerful, but you can hear the strain - how it's pitched just half a tone too high - and Jimin's eyes are still on you.

"I dragged Yoongi hyung out for some fresh air. I took him to lunch and grabbed you a snack on the way back."

"Yah, you took me to lunch? Then why did I pay?" Yoongi grumbles from beside you, his bare features pinched into a grumpy pout that makes him look particularly feline.

"Because you love me," Jimin coos at him and the older musician's mouth quirks up into a smile he can't seem to repress.

"What are you working on, Hoba? Which track?" Yoongi murmurs around the straw between his lips, blinking patiently as Hobi seems to shake himself, pulling his hat off to run a hand through his hair before readjusting it on his head and swiveling back toward his computer screen.

He hits play on the track and Yoongi leaves the couch to join the other two.

This is all so normal, so typical of the guys - the affectionate repartee and chat about ongoing projects. And on an average day, you'd have joined right in.

But today is not an average day.

No.

Five minutes ago, you were spread-eagle on the floor six inches from where Jimin stands, with Hoseok's shoe on your bits.

You have to get out of here.

"I'm, uh, I'm gonna head out, boys," you muster, making a beeline for the door as soon as the inertia of your decision gives you the courage to peel yourself from the corner of the couch.

"You're leaving?" Jimin's voice quips in a saccharine whine, with the slightest edge that makes you avoid his eyes as you slip out with a parting wave.

You do catch Hoseok's expression, whose head snaps up at your parting movements. His brows furrow and his lips part, looking as if he wants to say something, but he doesn't.

And then you're gone.

Your smart watch trills as your heart rate enters cardio territory. Your chest is heaving, breath coming heavy as the pliant cushion of your couch gives way to the crown of your head pressing back into it, eyes pinched shut and hand shoved down your pants.

The bullet vibrator you have pressed to your clit is doing everything it should, and you feel it coming - your orgasm. 6:12pm on a Tuesday and it's already your third self-love session of the day.

You tense your thighs, urging the building pressure in your core to boil over, and quickly. You groan and grit your teeth as your administering hand starts to shake. You writhe and whimper for a moment. And then it's over.

You stare up at the ceiling of your apartment, breathlessly huffing out a despondent sigh as the empty ache in your chest returns. It has become your loathsomely devoted companion in every waking moment over the last ten days, filling you with an unshakable restlessness and sickly discontent.

Nothing can slake it. Not reality TV. Not Cabernet Sauvignon. Not overtime hours. Not ASMR wood-soup videos. Not yoga. Not Ben and Jerry's. Not midnight runs on your NordicTrack. Not fucking yourself to climax on every single goddamned toy you own.

The little monster you roused the weekend before last in Hope World hasn't returned to sleep. No. She is wide awake. And she seems to grow more ravenous with each passing day.

At first you tried to ignore her, but she kept you up into the long, bleak hours of the night. And so, in a fuzzy, staticky haze some time after midnight a number of days ago you typed some words into a search engine that would probably have your assigned FBI agent doing a spit-take.

The thing is, you'd never seen "50 Shades of Grey", you'd never been interested. It wasn't as if you were a prude - hardly! You have always enjoyed sex, both intimate and recreational. In fact, it has always been one of your favored methods of blowing off steam, and you knew quite well how to please yourself and how to guide partners in doing the same.

You have never had problems in taking what you wanted in life, in taking charge and ensuring that things play out your way – it's what makes you so good at your job, and valued by your peers who know that they can rely on you to take the reins and rise to the occasion.

So when you suddenly stumbled unprepared into the world of BDSM, your visceral reaction to the concept of submission left you wondering...why?

Why, why, why?

Why does this do it for you? Why did your very linear, stable existence have to be completely disrupted by this discovery? And most urgently of all, why, for the love of everything sacred, did all the porn in the whole wide world fail to accomplish even a fraction of the effect of Jung Hoseok's size 9 sneaker? It's all too overwhelming to process.

You let out a frustrated whine as you pull your sticky, cramped hand, still clutching the little purple bullet, from the confines of your pants. Your phone buzzes on the coffee table and you can see the notification is from Jimin. You've been ignoring his calls and pleading texts to meet up, or just pick up. You can't face him. Not after ghosting Hobi.

You feel a pang twist in your stomach as you haul yourself toward the shower, hoping the hot water will wash away the guilt you feel for ignoring Hoseok outright. He texted you almost immediately after you left the studio, asking if you were alright. You let him know that you were, with just one word: yeah.

You had typed and retyped that response. "Yeah, thanks" seemed too weird. Like, thanks for what? Almost making you cum with the tip of his shoe? No. "Yeah, sorry" felt pathetic. What were you apologizing for? It seemed to imply...regret? Or fault. Neither of which would have come from a genuine place. And beyond a simple affirmation, you certainly didn't have words. So, "yeah" it was. He tried to call you later that evening, but you didn't pick up. You were already way up in your head by then. It had been radio silence since.

You toss a coconut steamer onto the wet shower tiles and sigh, catching a glimpse of your face in the bathroom mirror as you slide the glass door shut.

"Coward," you mutter as you close your eyes and slip under the cleansing stream.

You're wrapped up in a blanket cocoon and sipping a cup of sleepy-time tea, trying to distract yourself from the messy tangle of emotions waging war across your various chakras with season two of Single's Inferno, when a knock on the door startles you out of your simmering reverie. You heave yourself off the carpeted floor of your living room and scoot toward the door like a fleecy Jabba the Hutt to peek through the peephole.

Your vision is obscured as another eye looks back at you from the other side of the concave glass. You jump back, dropping your blanket shroud in a pile around your feet and let out a yelp of alarm. You slam a hand over the peep hole as giggles erupt on the other side.

"Yah! I know you're in there - so let me in!"

Your entire body sags against the door in relief as you recognize the voice of the would-be intruder. You swing the door open to grant him exasperated entrance.

"Park Jimin, you just took ten years off my life! Creep," you bluster, gathering the blanket up around your body as you retreat back into your apartment.

You plop down again in front of the TV, knowing that Jimin came to either talk you into going out or to just talk, and either way, you are truly not in the mood. Your friend snickers behind you, sauntering into your kitchen. He returns with a beer, bringing the frosty green bottle to his lips before sinking into an armchair and regarding you with an expression that waivers between amusement, pity, and disgust.

"You look awful," he remarks, taking another swig as his gaze roves your unkempt appearance.

Your features twist into a frown, eyes never leaving the television.

"You don't get to barge into my apartment, steal my booze, then insult me, Park," you snip, burrowing further down into the fluffy mass encasing your body.

Jimin raises a brow, a small smile still playing on his lips as he follows your eyes to the television where YouTuber Dex and professional model Lim Minsu flirtatiously splash about in a ridiculously opulent indoor swimming pool.

"Fuck, Dex is hot," Jimin mutters.

"For some reason he reminds me of Jungkook," you smirk, glancing over at him for the first time since he arrived.

He grimaces theatrically.

"I don't see it."

The contestant on the screen flashes his Paradise companion a blinding smile and raises a tattooed arm to cut through the water, content to show off his stroke precision as his date watches on. The resolve on Jimin's face falters .

"Yeah, well...Dex is hotter."

You scoff.

"Yeah, no. Kook-ah is definitely hotter."

"For the love of god, just don't tell him that, okay?" Jimin pleads, "That kid is insufferable enough these days."

"You love him."

He hides a smile behind another sip of Hite.

"Why did you ghost Hobi hyung?"

Jimin blinks innocent eyes at you, as if he hasn't just dumped the last week and a half of silent agony over your head like a bucket of ice water. But the chill is momentary, because the next second your body feels like an oven. You stammer.

"I-I...ghost him? I didn't ghost anyone...I'm busy...I..." you trail off weakly as your friend's unimpressed and knowing gaze bores into your soul.

You sigh and scrub your hands over your face.

"Because I'm a big chicken, okay?" You murmur into your palms.

You don't know why, but you feel like crying. When you pull your hands away from your face, Jimin must see it because suddenly he's on the couch wrapping you in the kind of hug that reminds you why he's your ride-or-die, and in the safety of his embrace the tears begin to fall. Days of being alone with yourself and your conflicted feelings pour from your ducts and onto the front of Jimin's bright yellow flannel. He coos words of reassurance, admonishing your tears, as he strokes your hair.

"Talk to me, you silly goose," he hums with an endeared chuckle.

You sniff and hiccup as you pull away, wiping your puffy eyes.

"I don't even know what to say, Minnie...I don't know what's wrong with me..."

Jimin smiles and grabs a few tissues from the box on the coffee table, dabbing them against your nose.

"Well, first of all, nothing is wrong with you. But second of all, tell me what is bothering you."

You heave a dramatic sigh.

"If I tell you, you have to swear - and I mean swear - that you will not make fun of me or tell anyone else. And I mean not Taehyung, not Yoongi, not anyone, you hear me?"

He smirks, but nods in assent. You narrow your eyes at him.

"Say it. Out loud." You demand warily.

Jimin rolls his eyes and throws up his hands.

"Yah! Okay! I won't tell anyone," he quips mockingly.

You sigh again and draw your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. If this gets too hard to talk about with eye-contact at least you'll have a place to hide your bashful face.

"I..." you start softly, not sure where to begin except the beginning, "Re-remember that thing I told you when we got plastered a little while back...about...Hobi?"

Jimin's lips quirk at the corners as he nods.

"Well...the thing is...wait!" You cut yourself off, suddenly gripped by a notion that has you prematurely flustered and indignant. "What did he tell you?"

Jimin shakes his head, a small smile still playing on his full lips.

"Nothing," he responds, looking you dead in the eye in a way that has you almost believing he's telling the truth.

"No, really," you press.

Jimin leans back against the arm of the couch from where he faces you, running a hand through his hair and drawing his legs up to criss-cross in front of him.

"Jagi, this is Hobi hyung we're talking about. You think he would do that? He has too much respect for you. He would never. Not to anyone. Not even me."

Your chest floods with relief, affection, and regret. Fuck. Of course he wouldn't. He was too mature of a person for that. Too considerate. Too lovely. And you hadn't even had the gumption to speak to him for the last ten days beyond a mono-syllabic SMS. Jimin watches your expression do emotional acrobatics.

"So..." he offers encouragingly, "something...happened....between you guys, right? That day Yoongi hyung and I showed up? We...uh...interrupted something, didn't we?" He can't help a devilish smile, eyes twinkling as he carefully phrases his query.

You bury your face into your knees and squeak out an affirmation. Jimin lets out a bright laugh and you immediately raise your burning face in a scowl.

"Hey! You said you wouldn't-"

He waves his hands in apology as he attempts to gain his composure.

"Mianhae, mianhae! I'm not laughing at you!" He insists, leaning forward to grab your swatting hands by the wrists.

"Sounds kind of like you are!" You huff, yanking your arms from his grasp.

"So..." Jimin hums, tilting his head to track your gaze as you try again to hide your face, "If he's down, and you're down...what's the problem? Why did you run and hide? Did your feelings change?"

You slowly raise your eyes to his, searching them as you decide just how much you're willing to tell him right now. You chew on your bottom lip as you realize you need to get it out. All of it. You drop your legs to mirror Jimin's posture, lowering your defenses with your millionth-and-first sigh of the evening.

"Okay...well..." you muse, fiddling with the blanket still draped over your lap. "You know how I told you that stuff that I...dreamt...about Hobi?"

Jimin nods.

"Well...something did kind of happen...and well..." you trail off as Jimin raises his brows expectantly.

"Oh, fuck it!" you bluster, exhausted by your own attempts at delicacy. "He dominated me and I liked it. I really really liked it, okay? And it freaked. me. the fuck. out. Like...I've neeeeever felt that way before about fooling around. It wasn't just fun, or, like, pleasurable...it was...almost..." you search for the words as Jimin stares at you raptly. "...Freeing? Like, a relief. Like, a 'where has this shit been all my life' moment."

Jimin hums and nods, interlacing his fingers and leaning his chin against his knuckles.

"Like...I don't know...I'm a very independent person. And capable. And, yeah, things have been crazy stressful at work, and I have a lot on my plate...but I handle it, you know? In fact, I don't just handle it, I kind of...enjoy the pressure of leadership and responsibility? It drives me. I've always been like that, in every area of my life..."

Jimin smiles and lets out a sound of recognition.

"So the one who wears the crown is wondering why it feels so good to be...subjected?" He waggles his brows. You roll your eyes.

"Grow up, dude."

"Am I right, though? I'm right."

You find yourself chewing your bottom lip again.

"Essentially. I like power. I like control. What is this sudden obsession with losing it? It's...scary. And confusing."

Jimin smiles.

"You know, it's actually not that uncommon, from what I understand," he states, reaching for his abandoned beer on the coffee table.

You quirk an eyebrow.

"I mean, everyone is different, and this is a journey you're going to have to take for yourself to get the answers, but from what I know about the BDSM community, it's not unusual for people who are in positions of power to crave a bit of a...reprieve."

"Really?"

"Yeah," he nods, reclining back again against the arm of the couch, "The bedroom is a good place to let your walls down. Maybe the only place, for some people. And with a trusted partner it can even be healing to play a different role than you do in other parts of your life."

It's your turn to smirk.

"You talk as if you know," you prod playfully, shoving your toes into his shin. He smiles that wicked smile of his and you laugh.

"What I'm trying to say is, maybe it's not just about the...dynamics. Maybe it's also that it's Hobi hyung. He knows you. You know him, too. You trust each other. Maybe you could get to know each other in a new way. Be something for each other that you both need." He takes the last sip of his beer and twirls the bottle in his hands, gazing at you with a gentle thoughtfulness.

You nod slowly, digesting his newly offered perspective.

"So," you muse, raising your eyes to him again, "You think he needs it too?"

Jimin shrugs.

"Only he could tell you that for sure. But I do know this, he's awfully good at being bossy, and doesn't get a lot of opportunity to run the show - outside of dance practice, that is."

Chuckling nervously at the thought, you try your best to conceal the spark that has crackled to life from the burning coals inside you at the mention of his natural command of authority.

"Hey," Jimin posits with a grin, "Maybe if he's spanking you he'll go a little easier on us when we screw up the choreo..."

"EXCUSE ME THE FU-WHAT?!" You shriek, snatching up a throw pillow to beat him mercilessly as he falls in raucous laughter to the floor.

Turning to glance over your shoulder at your reflection in the mirror, you smooth your hands over the back of the svelte black bodycon number you've donned for the evening. You're a vision in monochrome, having paired your LBD with sleek stilettos and dark smokey eyes with heavy lashes.

Your phone buzzes, indicating that your ride share is close by. Butterflies flutter in your belly as you reach for the finishing touch to your outfit: a velvety black choker with a sliver o-ring studded in colorless topaz. It's just fashionable enough to still look like a necklace, but it gives you a bit of a thrill to know that it's not. To know what's tucked inside your purse to accompany it. To wonder if, going unnoticed by most, it will catch a certain pair of dark eyes.

The drive across town to reach the Jihope residence never felt so long. You try your best to calm your nerves over the last few blocks of distance - it’s just a party, after all, and kind of a silly one at that.

During Jimin's last visit, he mentioned that he and Hobi would be throwing a Black Day party for all of their single friends the following weekend, and after dodging his attempts at socialization so religiously of late, you felt you owed it to him to attend.

Black Day had never been something your group of friends had ever observed before, but it was incredibly chic to do so this year, for whatever reason. And of course, all the organizing duo of the soiree needed was the slightest excuse for Jimin to party and Hobi to host.

Upon arriving at the building, you can already hear the music pumping from the top floor, and the chatter of guests spilling out onto the terrace. You present your ID to the security guard at the front gate, and are escorted to a private elevator that whisks you up to the penthouse. Being quite successful and comfortable yourself, you still find yourself surprised when reminded of the sheer net worth of your humble, down-to-earth Bangtan pals. Hobi is worth the most, and while he is an excellent investor and a generous philanthropist, he also likes to show out, and in style.

You take a deep breath as you buzz the bell.

The door swings open to reveal a handsome young man in a black t-shirt tucked into baggy dark-wash jeans, his fluffy brown hair parted in the middle and his ears glinting with rows of silver hoops. His round eyes scrunch into little moons and he flashes an adorable toothy grin, endearingly lopsided where it stretches deeper against the little orbital piercing at the right side of his bottom lip.

“Noona!" he growls, pulling you into a bear hug. "Where have you been? The last two times we went to noraebang there was no one to sing Through the Night with me!"

"Ah...hah...", you nervously chuckle, pulling away from his embrace as you search your brain for an excuse other than business.

"I'll sing with you, Googie!"

You turn to see your salvation from further explanation in the form of a giggling young woman bouncing up to clutch Jungkook's arm and steady herself as she sways on her platform heels. She smells like soju and fruity perfume.

You smirk and thank her, patting her hand where it clutches your friend's tattooed forearm before she's dragging him away down the hall.

"Make sure she stays hydrated!" You call after him with a shake of your head, making your way through the throng of guests to the bar area.

The furnishings of the residence are a study in classy postmodern minimalism, punctuated with abstract urban art – though you notice that some of the Kaws pieces are missing, likely stored away for safekeeping from rowdy party-goers.

The sleek chrome and granite full-service bar is stocked with liquor and beer, and a commissioned mixologist is crafting darkly colored cocktails. A buffet-style spread offers the traditional jjajangmyeon and an assortment of other delicious eats.

The spacious dining area is littered with small tables draped in black linens, each bearing centerpieces of hellebore, leather leaf, black carnations, and eucalyptus. The living room has been converted to a dance floor, complete with a glittering disco ball. House music booms through the built-in speaker system as guests in groups and pairs move to the beat.

You glance over a drink menu of themed cocktails as a voice sounds from over your shoulder.

"I recommend the Down With Love."

Turning, you flash the speaker a grin.

"Alright, but is it giving Judy or Barbara?"

Taehyung raises a disparaging brow.

"It's a gimlet. Judy, obviously."

You chuckle, putting in your order for the suggested beverage.

"You look good," he remarks, gesturing at you with the unlit cigarette tucked between his first two fingers, his other hand slipped into his pocket as he leans against the wall.

He doesn't look bad himself, you think, in his black satin top and flared Merlot trousers.

"Thanks," you smile as the bartender hands over an inky concoction garnished with a grapefruit slice twisted into the shape of a heart and run through with a toothpick.

You eye it skeptically.

"How do they make it black?"

"Activated charcoal. C'mon."

Tae links your arm through his and weaves through the bustle to a table of familiar faces. Yoongi raises a whiskey tumbler in greeting and you clink your glass with his, sliding into a chair next to Taehyung and reaching over to give Namjoon's arm an affectionate squeeze. It seems that all the members have turned up, save Seokjin, who's been a taken man three years strong.

You fall into easy conversation with the boys, and just when your difference of opinion with Namjoon over Lee Bul's latest installation piece is developing into a full-blown debate, Jimin slides up to the table and spills onto Taehyung's lap.

"None of you are dancing!" He whines breathlessly, poking Tae's cheek as the other man smiles shyly.

"Jungkook is," Yoongi rebuts, taking another bite of jjajangmyeon.

He's not wrong, though to your amusement, the maknae appears to be getting danced on more than anything else.

"Where's Hobi hyung?" Tae queries, prodding gently at Jimin's full cheek in return.

Jimin's eyes dart to you, a smirk spreading slowly across his lips as his gaze rakes up from your heels to the choker around your neck.

"Good question," he hums, rising to take your hand and pull you up from your seat. "Let's go find him."

Jimin heads for the French doors at the far end of space that lead onto the terrace. They're propped open, and cool evening air floods the apartment, keeping the atmosphere from suffocating under the warmth of body heat and the scent of rich food.

"Jimin!" You hiss, as you approach the rooftop patio, "What are you doing? This is the opposite of subtle!"

He laughs merrily.

"You're so cute when you're flustered!"

You don't have any more time to grumble as you emerge under the darkening sky, just beginning to speckle with stars barely visible against the glow of string lights wrapped around the cozy outdoor enclosure. There's a small electric fire pit surrounded by plush patio furniture, and live greenery all around.

The energy is much more relaxed than within, but even so, you feel your pulse quicken as Jimin guides you toward a small group at the corner of the terrace. You recognize a few of the men and women gathered as industry producers, but none of that really matters because all your brain can register is him.

And holy shit does he look good.

He's arresting sophistication and effortless elegance. A silk charcoal dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, ripples along the lines of his torso - save where the top three buttons have been neglected to expose the smooth planes of his toned chest. His lean, athletic legs seem even longer than usual in fitted black slacks, his pretty wrists and fingers sparkling with jewelry where his thumbs are slipped into his pockets. His hair has been slicked back from his face, and his eyes are just barely obscured by a pair of lightly tinted wire-rimmed aviators. That brilliant, warm heart-shaped smile cuts through all the sharp darkness of his garb, and your breath catches in your chest when Jimin calls out to him.

"Hyung!"

As Hoseok's eyes meet yours the grin stretched across his face falters, but he quickly regains composure.

"Eyyy," he greets you, striding forward and wrapping his arm around your shoulders to pull you into a side hug. Of course he smells as incredible as he looks.

"Hi, Hobi," you murmur a bit shyly, returning his embrace.

"Hyung," Jimin pouts cutely, "Save us! She was putting our guests to sleep talking to Namjoon-ah about art theory."

"Hey," Hobi chides in a warning tone, cocking his head to the side to glance down at you. "Don't enable the poor guy – he needs to get laid."

"Well nobody is going to approach him if she's hanging around looking like that." Jimin gestures casually, a mischievous twinkle glinting for a moment his eye.

Hobi's arm slips off your shoulders to grasp your hand as he steps back. He's never been good at keeping his feelings from his face, and the look trained on his features as he appraises you has you thinking you made the right decision when you put on that dress.

"How about we keep you out of trouble and on the dance floor, hm?" Hobi says with a sly smile, raising your hand and tilting forward in a posture of invitation.

You roll your eyes playfully, unable to bite back a smile of your own as you motion for Hobi to lead the way, careful to avoid Jimin's eyes as you let the rapper guide you back into the thrumming pulse of the festivities.

He gently pulls you onto the dance floor and tugs you into him, keeping a hold on your right hand as he slips the other just below the curve of your waist. You settle into an easy step to the lively beat. Hobi's eyes search your face as you tilt it up to him, running a hand up his chest to adjust the collar of his shirt with a sigh. You fiddle with the soft fabric between your fingers.

"I'm sorry, Hobi," you murmur, just loudly enough for him to hear.

When he just smiles a bit sadly you feel your heart squeeze and you drop your head to his chest. You will yourself not to cry as he slows his movements, slipping a knuckle beneath your chin to raise your gaze to his own.

"Hajima," he protests, "Let's talk later. Right now, how about we just have some fun? I missed you."

His expression is sweet and earnest and you feel like your chest might not have room for anything more than your complete and utter affection for this man.

"I missed you too," you admit with a little grin, pressing yourself against him just a bit more firmly and gazing up at him through widened eyes. He blinks for a moment, and then suddenly, there it is again, blooming across his lips - that blinding gorgeous smile, and that heady, infectious laugh.

In one quick motion, he spins you around to face away from him as the music drops to a deep, throbbing EDM number, his fingertips grazing your hips and his lips ghosting the shell of your ear.

"You did, huh?" he purrs. "Alright, then...show me how much."

You suck in a breath because you don't ever think you'll be ready for how quickly he can turn that dark, deep voice in his chest into something that makes you feel like you're astral-projecting. Your first instinct is to push him away, make him take it from you...but this moment isn't for that. After your exit last time around, you’re determined to make him so incredibly certain that you want him. That you need him.

You lean back into him and, whispering a silent prayer of gratitude to the goddess of stilettos, press your ass firmly into his groin. You feel the air leave his lips in a hiss against your neck, and his hands slide to squeeze your hips and tug your body even deeper into his. You grind back against him as your body undulates with the hypnotic rhythm of the beat, but it's not long before he's taken over guiding the motion of your hips to match the rolls of his own.

Your eyelids flutter. You've never been this close to him. Sure, in the studio, things had gotten hot and heavy - but you had only been in his hands. He had only touched you to move you, still you, punish you. Now you are flush against his body, and everywhere you touch as he rocks you in tortuous waves against him tastes like the first sumptuous bite of a forbidden fruit.

You can feel him beginning to swell against the plush of your ass, but even that isn't what has a familiar ache throbbing at the apex of your thighs – it's the effortlessness with which he wrests control of your body, your mind...your very being down to its most primal core.

Hoseok's hand skids up your side and slips over your collarbones.

"I like this necklace," he mumbles into your hair.

You turn in his arms, slipping your fingers around the back of his neck as you raise your lips to his ear.

"I'm disappointed in you, Hoseok," you tut, "It's not a necklace, you know."

He doesn't respond, but focuses on bringing his leg to slot between yours, hiking your dress up enough to tease your mound with brushes over the front of his thigh. You swallow a moan.

He's toying with you, but you won't give in. Not so easily. Not yet.

"I guess you could call it a choker..." you rasp, trying to keep the tremor from your voice as your face presses into the side of his jaw, "That is more descriptive of its actual purpose, I suppose."

For one millisecond in the fabric of time and space you feel his pace falter as the words spill from your lips - then he runs his hand up your back, slipping two fingers under the tight strip of velvet surrounding your throat.

For the first time since you started dancing, you look at him. Crystalline beads of sweat have broken out on his brow, and his mouth is set in a stern line, his eyes hooded and dark as tugs his fingers back to command a view of your gaze.

"Are you telling me," he grits out lowly, digging his fingers into the flesh of your hip so bruisingly you gasp, "...that you showed up to my party wearing a fucking collar?"

You don't answer him - instead you let a wicked smile slip over your lips, refusing defiantly to drop his piercing stare. He has stopped moving you against him, stopped moving entirely. His hands are firm but still where they hold you as his eyes bore down.

"Are you out here trying to finish what we started?"

You tilt your head back, narrowing your eyes seductively.

"What do you think?"

You watch a thousand and one thoughts race through Hoseok's mind as his eyes drop to your neck again and he swallows thickly.

"Oh, fuck it," he hisses, turning and catching your hand to pull you impatiently through the crowd.

You barely have time to wonder what he's thinking or where you're headed when, at the opening to the hall, he spins to grasp your waist and tuck you into a small alcove. He does it so quickly and with such force that you nearly topple the potted plant on the stand beside you.

He pushes himself against you, the tip of his nose brushing yours, and his firm body pressing you to the wall. He holds your wrists in his hands, pinning them to either side of your body. You let out a tiny whimper.

His peppermint breath fans over your cheeks.

"I was going to wait," he whispers loud enough for you to hear him clearly over the music from the room behind you. "I was going to ask you...to stay. After..." he traces his nose along the ridge of your cheekbone as he squeezes your wrists tightly, his nails nipping into your skin. "But you come here with the audacity to tease me like that? Out there, in front of everyone like a desperate little slut?"

His mouth is hovering over your ear as he speaks, sending shivers cascading down your spine.

"I'm not a patient man," he mutters darkly, and you feel your pussy throb.

You struggle slightly against his grasp, and he growls lowly. Turning into him, you press your mouth against his throat, letting your teeth graze his skin as you respond.

"Then don't be."

It's all the permission he needs. He snatches you away from the wall, dragging you down the hall toward the master bedroom at the far end. Your heartbeat hammers in your chest as you gaze at the dark mahogany door growing closer and closer with every stumbled step you take to match his hurried pace.

He turns to glance over his shoulder, and you follow the action as he grips the handle, turns it, and...

"What the..." Hoseok mutters, rattling the handle forcefully before raising his fist to pound against the door. "YAH! UNLOCK THIS DOOR!" He booms.

You hear muted voices and sounds of scurried movement from within. He bangs again and again until the door swishes open to reveal a flushed and flustered Jungkook, still fumbling with the button of his jeans.

"Hyung! S-sorry, hyung, I was just...we were..."

"OUT." Hoseok demands icily, pushing the door inward on its hinges to reveal the peppy, strawberry-scented young woman from before hurrying forward to tuck herself behind Jungkook as she draws a hand across her smeared lipstick.

You bite back a grin as you watch them scuttle down the hall before Hoseok shuts and locks the door behind you.

"That kid...seriously," he grumbles. "He knows my room is off limits."

You chuckle, despite his lack of amusement, and he takes your hand again, drawing you toward a small couch at the far side of the large room. You take in your surroundings as you cross the space - similarly furnished to the rest of the apartment. The furniture is sleek and modern, Kaws sculptures and collectible figurines occupy tables and shelves. There are a few live plants, including one hanging from a large hook in the ceiling near a massive, raised canopy bed.

He draws you to sit beside him, a crease still pinched between his brows, likely from having to evict the irksome intruders. You laugh softly and run a thumb over his forehead.

"They're gone!" you chuckle, "Don't let it bother you so much. You'll get wrinkles." You tease, and his face softens.

He catches your hand in both of his as it lowers. He sighs.

"I needed a bit of water thrown in my face anyway," he smirks, and you glance down bashfully. "Before anything really happens, I think we should have…a conversation."

You nod in agreement.

"Can I start?" you interject and he nods in return.

You huff out a long breath.

"I want to apologize for how I reacted...last time."

He smiles wryly.

"It was all very new and sudden to me, and...I don't know...I freaked out."

Hobi squeezes your hand.

"You have no reason to be sorry about that. I should have never initiated like that somewhere that wasn't really private. I just got caught up..." he shakes his head.

"No! Me too! I'm glad it happened. I..." you trail off, feeling your face heat. "Oh, fuck, I don't know how to say this..."

He claims he's not a patient man, but he waits, watching with tender eyes as you choose your words.

"I haven't been able to stop thinking about it...like..." you take a deep breath as you gather the courage for vulnerable transparency.

You remember what Jimin said. It's Hobi. You are safe with Hobi.

"It was like nothing I've ever felt before. Like a release...more than sexual, you know? Like, freedom. Like, I felt so alive."

He smiles, nodding his head in understanding.

"I..." you continue, still nervous but with mounting confidence as he makes you feel heard, "I would like to...explore this part of myself, this new world," you gesture, "And...well, I would love for you to be the one to guide me."

You raise your gaze to his. His eyes are shimmering. He slowly raises a hand and brushes his fingers over your cheek.

"It would be my honor," he murmurs earnestly.

A smile blooms across your face and your chest fills with warmth. You raise your hand, curling your fingers into his where they rest against your jaw. He drops your hands, still holding on, to his knee.

"Can I ask how much you know about the community?" he queries, tracing his thumb softly over your knuckles.

"A lot more now than I did a couple of weeks ago!" you respond with a laugh. "I know that I'm a sub, but one that likes to...fight back a little bit?"

Hobi smirks, pocketing his tongue in his cheek. His eyes glint.

"A brat," he answers.

"...Yeah."

"Want me to work for it."

Your mouth quirks up in a grin.

"The harder the challenge the bigger the payoff," he hums, glancing thoughtfully down at your joined hands.

"I think," he says after a pause, "Since you're new to all this, we should start slow. I already know some things you enjoy, and vice versa. But part of this kind of thing is about testing your limits. You're going to come across things you don't like, too. I need you to be able to tell me. Without a second thought. Seriously."

He looks at you intently.

You smile.

"I trust you enough to know that you’d stop if that’s what I wanted. I may enjoy being dominated but I do still know what I want. And with you...I..." You tug at his hand, "I know I could say what I...need.”

He huffs out a little breath, his brows drawing together as he regards you in reverence.

"You know you can be that way with me too, right? Needy?" You ask softly. "I want...to take care of you, that way. Maybe we can...take care of each other."

You're not looking at him. You can't. It's all incredibly intimate and strange. When he doesn't respond, you begin to wonder if you said something you shouldn't have. And then your doubts vanish as quickly as they had appeared when you feel his arm slip around your shoulders as he pulls you into his chest, tucking your head beneath his chin.

Your heart sings.

After a long, quiet moment, Hobi pulls back to look at you.

"Should we set some rules for ourselves?" he asks.

You purse your lips and nod. Admittedly, you had come with a few in mind.

"I think...we shouldn't kiss. Well, not on the mouth. It's...I don't know. I think it might make things confusing."

Hobi looks thoughtful, nodding slowly.

"Which brings me to my other thought," you chew your lip. "I think this should just be about sex. We're friends, and I want to keep that aspect of our relationship strong and uncompromised."

He smiles.

"Makes sense to me. But..." he says with a raise of his brows, "If we do start seeing other people, I think we should tell each other. Especially if they're going to be people we're fooling around with."

You give an enthusiastic hum of assent.

“I don’t have a partner at the moment,” you shake your head, glancing up at him.

“Me neither.”

He clears his throat and shifts his stance.

“When we’re…together,” he gestures in the space between you. “What about protection?”

You blink thoughtfully.

“I’m on birth control.”

He nods.

“Okay…would you want me to wear a condom?”

You feel heat creep up your neck as you meet his gaze with a shake of your head.

“Not unless you wanted you.”

He stares at you for a long moment before chuckling and shaking his own head.

“Ay, you’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?”

You smile and pull your bottom lip between your teeth.

"Oh! And we already have a safeword!” you remind him with a grin.

"We do," he acknowledges, his eyes dropping to the glinting metallic ring adorning your throat.

Your smile falters and your heartbeat quickens…and when he looks back up at you it's like whiplash as he sets you reeling again with a dark, hungry gaze.

"If that thing isn't a necklace," he rasps, reaching his fingers up to touch the cold silver, "How about we put it to its proper use, hm?"

You shiver, pressing your thighs together as your heartbeat drops to your clit.

"Yeah..." you whisper, your breath already starting to come quicker as you reach for your bag and fumble with trembling fingers with the clasp.

Hoseok's brow knits as he watches you open the purse, reaching in to produce a length of light chain about three feet long with a velvet strap on one and a claw clasp on the other. You double it up and dangle it from your hand, your heart thrumming in your chest as you raise your eyes to his.

"You can put it on me," you purr, "...But you'll have to take it from me first."

Click.

That ineffable thing, that invisible force he wields that arrests you has slipped back into place. You can feel it, pouring off him in devastating waves...and you're already starting to drown.

It didn't take him long to wrestle the leash from your grasp. Now you're on your knees before him, hands at your sides as he leans forward to affix the chain to the o-ring at your neck. You're breathing hard from your struggle. He stands to his full height, wrapping the links around his hand until the line is taught. He clicks his tongue condescendingly.

"What am I going to do with you now, hm?" he murmurs, tugging at the chain briefly so that you lurch slightly forward. You whine complaintively.

"Quiet," he hisses in warning.

You bite your lip. You need to obey now. Your panties are soaked and you can feel the turgid swell of your clit with every slight motion of your body. If you are good for him, then maybe you will be rewarded. Being a good girl should earn something. Right now, you will take anything.

Hoseok glowers down at you, tilting his head to the side as his eyes trail over your features, coming to rest on your pouted lips. He wets his own.

"You like to run that mouth of yours...how about we see what else it can do?"

Holy fucking shit. You feel saliva begin to pool under your tongue, your eyes flicking down to the bulge at the front of his slacks. You start to raise your hands toward his belt but he yanks sharply upward on the chain, the metal ring biting into the underside of your jaw, ripping a mewl of discomfort and impatience from your lips.

He lets out a long sigh, shaking his head as his lips curve into a cruel smile.

"So eager that she can't even wait for permission?"

You whimper again, biting your lip as he laughs darkly above you.

"My little whore wants something, doesn't she?"

You give a silent nod, letting your tongue slip out to wet your lips and watch his eyes darken as his pupils swallow his deep brown irises.

"Mmm..." He hums in consideration, bringing his free hand to cradle your chin. "I've told you before, sweet thing, if you want something, you have to ask for it."

Your eyes blink languidly as you look up at him. Your head is swimming as you sway on your knees, the dizzy helplessness of being spun between degradation and endearment hanging over you like a heavy trance. His fingers tighten around your jaw.

"Come on..." he coaxes in a chilly whisper, "Use that pretty mouth to ask Hoseok."

You swallow thickly.

"Wan..." you start softly, but his grip on your jaw sharpens.

"Speak up, I can't hear you," he commands reproachfully.

Heat swells up from your neck and sweat begins to tickle your hairline. You know what you want, you've been thinking about little else since he was pressed against you on the dance floor...but the thought of giving your filthy, aching desires shape has every inch of your body trembling.

"Wan...want..." you struggle over his fingers pressing harshly into your cheeks.

He tuts, and the look on his stony features suddenly warns you that if you don't overcome your nerves...

"Wan' your cock!" you choke out desperately.

Hoseok's lids dip slowly and his lips part, as if your words have been injected into his veins, and you think you could fucking cum at the sight. His eyes flutter open again and he gazes down. You fight for patience and composure with each maddening second of silence that passes. You can feel your pussy clench and your hands follow suit. Hoseok catches the motion. A sickening grin spreads over his lips.

"Want this cock, hm?" he hums, releasing your chin from his grasp to palm over the clothed swell inches from your lips.

You whimper pathetically, letting your eyes slip shut. Fuck you want him. You want your mouth around him. You want to choke on him. You want the thick, sticky milk of his release on your tongue.

"So tell me, brat," he hisses, wrapping another loop of chain around his palm so that he holds you on a mere few inches of leash. "How do you want my cock?"

Any shame has been dispelled from your being in the presence of your burning desire, and you raise heavy, lustful eyes to his dark ones.

"Wanna suck it off."

You can see his chest beginning to rise and fall with more effort as he pulls you by the leash, in tortuously slow deliberation, until your lips are ghosting over the zipper of his slacks. He glares down at you, the corner of his mouth curling up in a sneer as he holds you in place.

"BEG."

A violent tremor of arousal jolts through your abdomen and you gasp.

"P-please..." you stammer dumbly against the soft, dark cotton.

"Again."

"Please..."

"Please, what?"

"Please..." you breath shakily, "Will you fuck my mouth?"

You feel him twitch under the vibration of your supplicating words.

"Alright," he relents in a rasp, "But keep those hands at your sides, understand?”

You nod.

“Unless,” he tugs at the chain again,”You need to stop. Then you grab my leg and squeeze.”

“Okay.”

“What are you going to do, baby? If you need me to stop?”

“Squeeze your leg.”

“That’s right,” he hums and the repeated instruction.

You chew on your lip as he pulls off his belt and slips open the button, giving a tug at your collar. As you look up at his hooded eyes, you know exactly what to do.

You nose at the seam, trying for one moment to ignore the throbbing bulge against your cheek as you find the zipper with your teeth and drag it slowly downward, your eyes never breaking his burning gaze.

"Good girl," he hisses, pushing his pants down his hips to reveal a pair of tight, black boxer briefs, a sizable strain pulling at the flexible fabric where he's hard beneath them.

He hooks two thumbs into the elastic and tugs down, his fully erect cock springing free to bob against the side of your face. A sticky streak of precum smears across your cheek as you seek his head with your lips, barely having time to register the smooth tip, or the pretty, pulsating veins as you rush to swallow him whole.

Hoseok lets out a long, deep groan as you suckle greedily around him. Allowing your spit to slick his shaft you pull back, keeping just the crown between your lips as you worry your tongue along his dripping slit.

He's rock hard and heavy on your tongue as you lean in to take him farther down your throat, bunching your hands into your dress at the aching urge to cup and stroke the velvet skin of his scrotum.

"Fuck," he grits out from between clenched teeth, "That's right..."

You bob lower and lower on his shaft, seeking to take as much of him as you are able. When you feel his tip brush the back of your throat, you moan around him. His free hand flies into your hair, and suddenly he's yanking you off of him. You cough and splutter at the sudden motion and he tugs the chain so that you raise watery eyes to him. He releases your hair to absently stroke himself as he lightly pants over you.

"Asked me to fuck that throat. Think you can take it?"

You nod as you attempt to wipe drool pooling on your chin into your shoulder.

"Words," he pushes, snapping the chain around his wrist.

"Yeah," you mock, matching his tone, a spark of defiance reigniting inside you.

Hoseok lets out a hollow laugh.

"So confident. We'll see about that."

He slips two fingers of his free hand into the strap of your collar and tugs you back toward his cock. You open wide, extending your tongue to catch the head and pull him between your lips.

You move to swallow him again, but he halts you.

"Keep still," he mutters coldly, and the fingers at your collar hold you tightly in place as he slowly slides his hips forward in a thrust that has him inching toward your soft palate.

Your eyes water, but you have never been more determined to fight your gag reflex as he pulls back and pushes in again, deeper, his cock tapping again at the back of your throat.

"Goddamn, you really can take it," he groans in a shaky voice. "Such a good little slut for Hoseok. Such a pretty, filthy little mouth."

Your nostrils flare as you draw air through your nose, and you swallow, the muscle of your throat contracting tightly around him. At this he seems to break, suddenly pulling back his hips to snap them forward as he sets a rough, self-indulgent pace.

Your eyes water, spilling over from the brutal stretch and sting, but you dig your fingers into your thighs, determined to take him as long as you possibly can.

You start to feel light-headed, and just when you think you're going to have to tap out for air, Hoseok's pulling you off of him and wrenching your face upwards to run his wild eyes over it.

You gasp for breath a moment, and then you're opening your mouth to him again, blinking up through bleary eyes in a silent, hungry plea. He shakes his head slowly as he gazes down at you, chest heaving.

"Shit, look at you..."

You're a site. Tears and mascara streak your cheeks, saliva and precum slick your chin and neck, your parted lips swollen. Hoseok's fingers twist where they're still hooked into the collar.

"You still want it, don't you? My god..." he smears the tip of his cock along your bottom lip.

Your eager tongue wriggles forward to brush over him again. He swallows, and with a growl he slaps his cock down harshly over it. You let out a little sob as your soaking, aching cunt clenches around nothing.

"Alright," he mutters in a husky whisper, "Gonna fucking ruin that tight little throat. Gonna fill it the fuck up. Blow my load all over that nasty little tongue. And you want that, don't you? Wanna be Hoseok's pretty little cumslut, hm?"

You nod, and then remember the rules.

"Yes," you croak, and open wide for him again.

He grits his teeth and tugs at the collar to pull you slowly over him again with a shudder. You've proven more than capable and it's not long before he's chasing release at a punishing pace. It's sloppy and desperate - the hollow, wet sounds as he fucks your face a pornographic symphony.

Suddenly you think you can feel his cock twitch and jerk as it hammers into your mouth, and when he grows so incredibly hard, you know he's about to reach his peak.

You lock eyes with him through your tears, watching his features strain to maintain their composure. Without warning he grabs the back of your head and slams into you, arching over as he cries out.

And he cums.

Thick ropes spurt down your throat as he quivers and throbs.

The moment he's spent his last drop of release he fists into your hair and roughly pulls you back, letting his softening cock fall free. You gasp for breath, coughing as you choke down the last remnants of his seed. Lips trembling, your eyes search his face for what you so desperately need...and you find it.

His lids are heavy over his eyes, mere glistening slips of midnight visible as they gleam down at you; his beautiful lips are parted as he pants, the honey planes of chest glistening with sweat where his shirt fails to obscure it.

He's breathless and sated and glorious, and you bask under the intensity of his gaze. He releases his hold on your collar and lets the leash clatter to the ground, bringing his hands to your face. He cups your cheeks, brushing his thumbs over the streaks of tears.

"So, fucking good for me," he mutters shakily, his brow drawn, "Such a pretty, perfect little brat."

Your eyes slip shut under his words of praise. You could move mountains if he asked you to, you were certain. In this moment, in this space, anything for this man. Everything.

You feel his hands leave your face as he moves to help you stand, before tugging his briefs back into place.

The heat of the moment past, you become acutely aware of the stinging soreness in your knees as you struggle to your feet – and the sticky ache of persistent hunger throbbing between your thighs. You teeter on your heels as blood rushes to your lower legs.

Smiling, he reaches out and pulls you to him gently by the waist, swiping a thumb over your chin.

"You were a good girl, baby. So, so good," He coos in a husky whisper. "You remember what good girls get, hm?" He's still calling the shots and demanding answers, but his eyes are soft as they regard you.

"A reward?" you answer hopefully.

He hums in assent.

"That's right, baby. That's right," He brushes at the smeared makeup under your eye. "But let's get that messy little face cleaned up first."

After unfastening your collar he sits you down on the bed, bringing makeup wipes to gently dab away the proof of your efforts, and offers you a bottle of cool water. He comes to sit beside you, eyes tracking you attentively as you drink.

"Want Hoseok to take care of that needy little pussy?" he asks, with a smirk.

"Fuck yes," you breath as you lower the bottle from your mouth.

He arches a brow, and you purse your lips in an attempt not to grin.

"Please," you add in correction.

"Mmm," he acknowledges thoughtfully, turning to gaze over his shoulder at the spider plant hanging from the ceiling a few feet past the other side of the bed.

"Does my little girl want to try something new?" he asks, his eyes still on the suspended planter.

You feel your pulse quicken and stomach twist in anticipation.

"Yes, Hoseok, I trust you," you respond without reserve.

He flicks his eyes to your face, brows drawing together. He wets his lips and huffs out a breathy laugh.

"You have no goddamned idea what you do to me when you say shit like that."

You look away, smiling brightly as you preen under the heat and affection of his gaze.

He reaches for your hand and guides you to rise to your feet.

"Alright, ditch the dress," he orders, gesturing with a flick of his chin as he leans back on his hands and spreads his thighs in a posture of recline.

You step back to give yourself space, already weak in the knees at the prospect of stripping for him. You steel your composure, a spark of boldness lighting in your belly. Taking a few steps away and turning from him, you look back over your shoulder to watch his face as you reach behind to slowly drag the zipper down your back. You make a slow, sensual show of peeling the garment from your body to reveal a lacy black balconette bra and matching thong. Stepping out of the dress and tossing it away, in nothing but your lingerie and stilettos, you stride back to stand patiently before him.

He leans forward and runs his hands up the sides of your thighs until they reach your hips where they slide back to squeeze the meat of your ass.

You bring your hands gingerly to his shoulders.

Tugging your body toward him, he draws himself to the edge of the mattress, pulling you between his thighs as he uses his sharp, white teeth to nip along the soft flesh of your belly. He sucks harshly at some places, leaving flushed little souvenirs of claim in his wake. You don't hold back the proof of your pleasure - repaying his ministrations with gasps and low moans as his hands and mouth explore you.

Hoseok raises his face from your skin, his pupils wide as his gaze settles at your breasts.

"Bra off," he commands, squeezing your ass again as you reach back to unfasten the clasp and pull the straps from your arms.

He hisses and grits his teeth, raising greedy hands to knead at your supple flesh, before pulling them away to twist and slap at your nipples.

You groan and throw your head back, relishing in the shocks of sensation – gushing, as if you could ruin your soaked panties any further. As you press your trembling thighs together he glances down at the last remaining vestige of your modesty, lips spreading into a wicked grin.

"You know I can fucking smell it - how wet you are? My god, want you to wear it like a perfume, fuck..." He runs his right hand to rub against the dampness that has the lace clinging to your slit.

The moan you let out is so needy it's practically a sob. Hoseok laughs low in his chest.

Suddenly he’s standing and spinning you around, leading you to the end of the bed. He places your hands on the footboard and instructs you to bend over, sliding your hips back until your ass is on full display. He runs his hands over the bare flesh of your cheeks.

"Now," he growls, "Can't fuck this ass until it's properly marked, can we?"

You swallow and let out a whine. The blood is already rushing to your head in a familiar surge and in the split second of silence before impact, you know what's coming - the anticipation somehow even more intoxicating when you remember how it feels when he...

Smack!

You whimper, your fingers gripping the bed frame as he delivers blow after searing blow. When he has satisfied himself with the flushed tone streaking the globes of your ass, he gives it a final squeeze, commanding you to wait where you are.

You hear him as he moves to the side of the bed to pull an object from beneath it. He seems to be grappling with something - the clink of metal and soft rustle of leather interrupting the sudden heavy hush. He returns to your side, taking your hands from the bed and bringing you to stand. As he leads you to the far side of the bed, you see it: hanging from the large hook in the ceiling that once bore the spider plant there is a large leather contraption. You've never seen one in real life, but you know what it is.

"You have a sex swing?" you murmur in awe, momentarily forgetting yourself as you reach out to brush your fingers over the soft leather. There are buckle straps at different places and a metal bar running across the top. He lightly grips your waist, turning you to face him again. He dips his head forward and you inhale the cool mint of his breath.

"Gonna put you in it," he murmurs, "You remember our word, right?"

"Yes," you breathe.

“Say it.”

“Foxglove.”

He smirks.

"Good girl. Panties off," he instructs.

You couldn't be more eager to pull the sopping fabric down your legs and toss it aside, but when you reach to remove your shoes, he catches your wrist.

"I didn't say you could take those off, did I?" he reprimands, and your pulse begins to hammer in your throat.

He’s gonna fucking strap you to this thing in your goddamned heels.

You comply with him as he helps you into the seat, fastening your wrists together to a strap that has them raised above your head. After securing your hands, he raises your legs, carefully stretching them so that your feet are on the outside of the wide set cables, hooking your heels to catch on the bar across the top to hold your legs, spread wide, in place. With each restriction he checks in, making sure you’re completely comfortable with his choices.

When he finishes he comes to stand before you, heaving out a sigh through his nose as he trails a hand down the back of your thigh.

"Look at you," he groans as his eyes rake over your body.

You can feel your pussy leaking. Your heart pounds. The muscles in your legs strain a bit from the stretch and the bindings nip into your wrists and feet. You are completely exposed to him...and it is utter perfection. Like you were made to be at his mercy. You blink up at him through the fuzzy haze that keeps intensifying as you relinquish yourself deeper and deeper into his control.

His eyes slip shut for a moment and he gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head before bringing his lips to graze against the back of your calf.

"Hoseok..." you whisper, trembling.

His eyes open and lock with yours. You hold each other's gaze in silence.

Nothing needs to be said - you both know. You both understand.

He unbuttons his shirt and slips it off, and after discarding his briefs he is as naked as you are. With one hand he grips your leg, slipping two fingers of the other to slide through the swollen, sticky folds of your cunt. You cry out, your pelvis shuddering - so ripe to be touched that the contact sends a shock like an electric pulse through your being.

"What a pretty fucking pussy...so desperate for me," he mutters.

You watch his beautiful fingers as they slip through your glistening lips and over your throbbing clit before he pulls his hand up. He lets it hover in the air for a moment before bringing it down with a harsh smack against your mound.

A scream strangles in your throat as he repeats the motion again. Your whole body shakes with arousal.

He clenches his jaw as he trails his fingers down to your aching hole, dipping in shallowly to gather your bountiful slick. He raises his fingers to his lips, tasting you as he watches you tremble beneath him. He withdraws them with a pop.

"You know how much you like that? Getting this little cunt slapped?" His eyes trail down. "You're dripping down your fucking ass."

Shuddering violently, you whimper, tugging impatiently at your restraints.

"Yah," he warns, and you still. "Guess you're ready for me, huh? Just like that day..." He smirks condescendingly. "You're always ready, aren't you?" He hisses. "Need me so fucking badly...all of the time."

You sob as your walls contract again and again. He takes his cock into his hand and slides it through your folds, teasing the tip over your clit.

It's euphoric, but it's not enough. You sink your teeth into your bottom lip as you fight your own desperate need until the copper taste of blood seeps across your tongue. Somehow, it doesn't even hurt – you can't feel anything past the need for him to fill you. You feel his tip prod your entrance and you gasp.

“Look at me," he rasps.

Your eyes snap open. Your legs are shaking, vibrating the entire apparatus as he finally, slowly, sinks into your wet heat. The stretch of him is exquisite, and your eyes roll back in your head as he groans, steadily pulling back to push into you again.

“Shiiiiiitttt…” he hisses through his teeth, “Fucking made for me. Does my little brat like that? Hoseok’s cock stuffing that tight little cunt?”

“M-more…p-please…” you mewl, nearly unable to even form the words as his ridges drag deliciously along your taught walls.

You're so incredibly worked up that already you can feel a climax building in your belly, and he's only just started to fuck you. Unable to touch him any other way, you squeeze around him tightly.

He lets out a grunt, picking up his pace as he uses the mobility of the swing to pound you onto his cock.

You cry out, your head rattling against the leather as stroke after stroke sends you hurtling toward your high. Your mouth hangs open, and your vision begins to blur at the edges, the position of your arms making it harder to breathe. It’s going put you over the edge. He catches your glazed stare.

"Don't you fucking cum until I say," he grits out breathlessly, and you let out a wail, head falling back.

You can feel yourself barely holding on as he slams into you, teetering on the edge as you hear his voice.

"Whose little whore are you?"

You try to speak but the words won't rattle out of your chest.

"Whose?" he booms.

"Yours!" you press out in a sob.

"Who do you kneel for?"

"You!"

"Who owns this pussy?"

"Y-you!"

"And who the fuck am I?"

"HOSEOK!"

"Cum, slut." he growls.

...And you free-fall through time and space.

The summer evening air is warm against your skin as you step out under the rose gold twilight. Behind you the chic dining venue is still abustle, and you wave coworkers a fond farewell as they head off to continue the evening with karaoke. It's been a big day for you, and there's someone you've been waiting to talk to.

You press the green call button and wait as the line rings.

"Yeoboseyo?"

The warm voice on the other end has a smile blooming on your lips.

"Hey, Hobi-ssi!" you hum.

"Hey hey!" he chrips, "What's up?"

"Oh, nothing," you respond casually, "Just got done with a company dinner. Someone got a promotion, so we all went out."

There's a pause on the other end.

"Oh," answers slowly, "That one you put in for?"

"Mhm."

You hear him scoff in amusement

"Well, at least you seem to be taking it well."

"I'd say I'm taking it extremely well, which is only natural, considering I got the job."

"Yes, well...wait, YOU WHAT?!"

You pull the phone momentarily away from your ear as his joyful, raucous laughter blasts through the speaker.

"You're gonna make me go deaf!" You chide. Your smile is brighter than the setting sun.

"I'm so proud of you."

"Thanks, Hobi."

"You should celebrate!"

"I did go out with my work friends...but..."

"You should come over," he interjects.

The register of his voice has changed. You recognize the new one.

"Yeah?" you swallow, as your heart rate quickens. "Well...what if I do want to go to karaoke?"

You wait for his response, watching your ride share pull up to the curb.

"Yah - you gonna be a good girl…”

You hold your breath.

“...Or do I have to make you?"

-FIN-

#hoseok fic #oneshot #bts oneshot #hoseok smut #hoseok imagine #hobi x reader #hobi smut #hobi x y/n #jhope smut #jhope fanfic #jhope x reader #jhope x you #jhope x y/n #jhope imagine #bts imagines #bts smut #bts x reader #fic: make me

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throwaway-yandere · 5 months

Text

𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝 𝙝𝙖𝙨 𝙣𝙤 𝙙𝙞𝙜𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙮 (Yandere!Neuvillette/Reader)

a/n: this was inspired by my favorite childhood TV show, House MD & Oedipus Rex. The plot was supposed to be something else but dingleaf happened one 4AM ago. Anyways, welcome to our first Throwaway-Thursday this End of Year Blues!!!

Unreliable Synopsis: Everyone held their breath when they heard ex-defense attorney (Y/n) say these words: "Your Honor, I would like to challenge Champion Duelist Clorinde to clear my charges."

CW: yandere themes, reader has so much spite I can fry an egg, hurt/NO COMFORT. Please prioritize your mental health if these CWs are triggering to you. (Note: The plot happens a month before the Fontaine AQ, so he doesn't know about what happened to Vautrin.)

“Why the pale expression? Has the trial last week caused you tremendous pain?”

"Such pallor is caused by pity, not grief.” Neuvilette made his fragile excuse to reassure Furina, but the words did not reach her ears. The ringing of raindrops outside was louder, more convincing. Fontaine is vexed with storms near-daily. The sad verdant earth will soon sponge and dry the hydro dragon’s tears as always, but every man hopes they won’t drown first.

At first, he was convinced what he harbored was pity. For the pessimists, Fontaine is a nation where virtuous pagans paraded themselves as rich and devoted ran amok. Absolute justice is a cartoonish ideal– lack of entertainment is the death sentence.

Lady Furina was starting to believe he lives his life by a certain suspect’s final envoi:

Count no man happy till he dies, free of pain at last.

"Are you insane?!" Navia held your shoulders, eyes wide.

This was the worst thing you could ever do to your best friend.

"Maybe I am." You told her, chuckling slightly as your thumbs caressed the nerves behind her palms. Navia, as intimidating as her occupation was, never once gripped you this hard.

You wish you could hug her fully.

But these prison bars are holding you back.

"Can you blame me, Nav?"

"Don't." She glared. "Don't do this."

Navia trembled.

"Please, don't follow Dad..."

The blonde woman was reduced to a young, hopeless girl. You saw a reflection of the small Navia who lost Callas, and that short glimpse was stretched into a whole tragic spectacle.

"I'm begging you, (Y/n). Please… d-don't go away. Don't leave me too…"

This was the cruelest you've ever been to someone you love.

But also the kindest you've been to yourself.

"There's nothing else I can do, Nav."

"W-We can always do something! There must be a way!" She screamed gutturally. "We'll find a way to make that Chief Justice pay instead. If there's a will—"

"But there's none. There is no will in me left."

"Then hold on to mine, for Archon's sake! Depend on me!"

"What for? We both lack the means to grasp our Archon's hand." You shook your head, grinning without life.

You wiped the tears off her cheeks. In a small fraction of time, you trembled, showing a bit of soul.

"Our Goddess has abandoned me. Everyone and everything but you had." You said. "Dear Navia, don't make this harder for yourself. Let me go."

"(Y/n)..."

Her grip relaxed.

Navia finally let go.

But that was not the scene's last word.

Clorinde sprinted towards your cell, seething in electric rage. Navia stepped back. Their relationship might be less than cordial, but Clorinde was also your friend.

And after all these years of friendship, she never would've guessed you would elicit such melancholic frustration within her.

She knows she'll come out of this duel victorious.

She knows if she doesn't say a word, she'll be the one to bury you six feet under.

Clorinde's fists clenched and her breathing grew harsh and difficult, unable to accept your inhumane gaze.

"Is this your solution, (Y/n)?"

From the tone of her voice, this would not be a pleasant conversation. One wrong word, and you'll see a side of the Champion Duelist not even her court opponents knew.

You nodded.

"Yes."

"State your reason."

"Because this is the only way I'll die with dignity."

…

"Die… with dignity?"

Something inside her cracked.

"Yes." You nodded again, becoming uncertain. "At least with this, there would be something Neuvillette cannot decide for me. And (Y/n) (L/n) chooses a dignified death."

“DEATH HAS NO DIGNITY!!!”

You and Navia flinched at the sudden sound.

Clorinde screamed, feeling her eyes burn. Her veins became more prominent in her face and her skin reddish. The sheer force of her scream was enough to bring your full attention to her, yet to the duelist, her uncharacteristic outburst meant nothing.

“DEATH WILL ALWAYS BE UGLY!!! DEATH– DEATH IS NEVER BEAUTIFUL!!! IT IS ALWAYS SINISTER— LOATHSOME AND VILE.”

"Clor—"

She pulled you by your collar.

“There– there is only dignity in living.” She trembled, casting her gaze down. “You can live with dignity– but you can’t die with it.”

For a while, only her unsteady breathing could be heard.

Clorinde eventually calmed down, her heavy sighs and frantic pants slowing as the red hue of her face somewhat returned to its usual pale complexion. She couldn’t afford a second more to process her growing grief.

"Find another duelist."

As a successor to the Marechaussee Hunters, there's no one else you need but her.

"But I want you."

"(Y/n)."

"You've always been my idol, Clorinde." You told her solemnly. "I always thought you at least made my clients have a clean death under your blade."

Clorinde paused.

That, she cannot deny.

She did spare mercy to the people you defended. But she doesn't understand how you fail to comprehend why she couldn't bear to bring herself to enact the same reprieve for you.

"Retrieve your gloves. I don't and I won't accept your challenge." Clorinde closed her eyes. "Live your days in the Fortress instead. Death is not the solution."

You laughed. As if you'd let yourself be under Wriothesley's guidance when you can smell from miles away that he's one of Neuvillette's lap dogs.

"Isn't this suffering enough?" You spoke with a casual lack of self-preservation. "I don't want to live under Neuvillette's scrutinizing eyes. Not anymore."

You looked up.

That empty smile was no longer on your face.

And that was somehow more frightening than it should be.

"So do your job as a champion and end it all, just like what you've done to Uncle Callas and the others."

Your last conversation with the Duke was not as memorable as when he caught you spiking the Iudex’s cup, yet you’d give his personality credit where it is due. His was certainly a memorable one.

Wriothesley stood a few steps away from the bars while you purposefully cornered yourself. The distance was noticeable. It was clear that neither of you was close to each other. This was mere formality brought about by one of your should’ve-been victims.

“So, you sure don’t want to be roommates?” Wriothesley asked. "Or you know, see old friends and family down there?"

"I'd rather not disappoint them with my presence."

“So, you're a coward?" He asked, intending to provoke you.

"Maybe?" you answered, mimicking his tone. "Wouldn't know. Last time I checked, I was an honorable defense attorney. But suddenly, the Iudex had a change of heart."

"Neuvillette didn't have a change of heart. You are a terrorist."

You laughed sardonically, "suppose so."

You both weren't entirely wrong. Friends and foe alike know you've turned to rebellion after the justice system had failed you repeatedly. Neuvillette's lovestruck fixation was merely the final straw.

“You’re walking on a death sentence.”

“No shit,” you clicked your tongue and continued. “What else do you think this is for?”

“The Iudex was convinced that you’re acting out because you had a guilty conscience, and he’s very willing to drop those charges and forgive you.”

“Guilty conscience?! HA!!!” You laughed. “As if I felt guilty for what I’ve done. If anything, I’m rejoicing.”

Wriothesley smirked, but it faded quickly.

“I told him the same, but then he says if that were true, you’re probably just masking it to play the villain’s part.”

“Do you believe every word he says?”

“No,” Wriothesley did not hesitate to answer. “I know a criminal when I see one. And I also know when a criminal can get away with their mess.”

“The jury thinks otherwise– the oratrice cannot be wrong.” You snickered. “I’m as guilty as they come, hands filled with arsenic and all.”

"You can still get out of this. Sure, you'll get a stern talking-to— a lecture on the virtue of honor and respect. But in the end, he'd give you a second chance. He's still hoping that a mutual agreement will arise in the end."

You expressed your disinterest with a droopy-eyed “Blah, blah, blah…”

Wriothesley frowned.

“You’ll make him depressed.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“And you think I care? Fontaine can flood next month. Just as long as I die tomorrow it’s none of my business.”

…

“Well, it’s your call,” Wriothesley said. “If you’re willing to throw your life away like that, then you probably wouldn’t survive a week underwater.”

He wrapped a hand around one of the bars.

“You know, (Y/n),” the Duke looked at you dead in the eye. “Marriage with the Iudex isn’t as bad as you’re making it out to be.”

You laughed.

“What makes you say that?” You smiled through gritted teeth. “Are you his second spouse?”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugged. “You could’ve just lived a bit more silently.”

You glared.

“Are you saying I should live like a caged bird? That I should accept that our system here is rigged?”

“I’m saying you should’ve been more grateful with what you have.”

You scoffed.

“Wow.”

An awkward silence followed after. It wasn’t as if a quip was hard to form– but the historical context behind whom you were speaking to made weighing empathy over spite a challenge. You knew of his past, his name or lack thereof, and quiet allegiance to Neuvillette. Sigewinne had made sure you knew of it to glorify the adoptive “father” of the Melusines. Wriothesley owes him his survival.

But "Wriothesley" of all people should've known that those who know morbid truths cannot be silenced forever.

And Neuvillette owes you a peaceful death.

… The Duke sighed, noticing that his admiration for the Iudex did not align with his current morals.

“We’ll forever agree to disagree on this, won’t we?” He asked.

“Hopefully not forever, I don’t want to stay here for much longer.”

Wriothesley chuckled at your morbid joke. But before he could walk away with a less-than-heavy heart, you shifted from your corner.

“Hey, Wriothesley?”

He turned to look at you– your hand specifically.

It’s a letter.

“Mind handing these to the authorities?”

Wriothesley’s eyes widened.

“Is that–”

“It’s a written confession,” you chuckled. “Don’t ask me how I got a pen and paper. I know that damn bastard forbids anyone to lend me anything that’ll help me write a final will. Gotta say, at least his etiquette lessons had some use. At least my last words are in pretty cursive.”

He didn’t say another word.

…

The Duke left the room, empty-handed.

…

No one wants to see the Iudex more heartbroken than he already is now.

The interrogation room was small, but not to the point that there was a minimal budget for its construction. You sat on one end behind the glass divider after one of the guards took your letter. There were only plain walls and two lightbulbs on the ceiling. At the center of the room is a table with two chairs on either side, no pen or paper.

Nothing but an empty table.

But the quiet comfort was gone when the man of the hour closed the door behind him. As the ticking of the clock becomes more softer, the two individuals would be forced to sit for the duration of this “interrogation.”

It was none other than your husband, the Iudex, the Chief Justice of Fontaine, and the bane of your existence.

Monsieur Neuvillette.

His back was straight; his eyes, “stern” and focused. He clasped his hands together, fingers intertwined. His gaze searched for something— regret, remorse, anything that could make the upcoming nightmare disappear.

Neuvillette's voice was “calm” and “collected.”

But you didn’t buy it. Not with his messy hair, his forlorn look, his frown. You rarely saw him cry. You had a gut feeling he hides it by standing amidst heavy rain, but this time the redness of his eyes and puffiness of his cheeks says it all.

It’s a heavy downpour outside.

He can’t be bothered to hide his tears from the public eye anymore.

"In your own words, please explain why you had attempted to poison me."

Your eyes lit up. He immediately wished he could take those words back.

So, he’s still in denial. Neuvillette seriously didn’t think you wrote the letter. He probably didn’t think it was your handwriting. It was almost insulting.

“Oh, Monsieur! You are as generous as they say, finally letting your spouse speak for themselves!” You grinned sarcastically. “And they say chivalry is dead! DEAD!!!”

He cringed at your pointed enthusiasm.

You recount the day you attempted to murder him, describing how you had slipped the poison into his favorite cup. How you didn’t really care to hope it wouldn’t be noticed since what mattered more to you was his death over your own freedom. The more detailed you became, the more it suffocated him.

“But, as you can see, you’re alive and I am behind this glass window,” you tapped the divider. “Away from you, at last.”

He bit his lip.

“(Y/n)—”

“I hate you.”

He breathed in shakily.

“I know.”

“And yet you still fell for it.” Your voice suddenly softened.

“Why?” You continued. “Why did you believe my act for the past month? I know you had your suspicions, so why? You knew I was just playing along to get your guard down– to act like some loving housewife so I can find the opportunity to smother you with a pillow– so… why?”

“Maybe…”

Neuvillette took a deep breath.

“Maybe it’s because dying by your hands would be a dignified way to go.”

Your eyes widened. The air turned to glue. Breathing became a challenge.

He looked up, meeting your gaze. Monsieur Neuvillette was serious. No shifting position can make you feel comfortable.

Because Neuvillette in his most sincere form of speech is the most brutal.

“I just wished to be loved by y-you,” his voice cracked. “Even for a moment, even for a lie, I would die to know I was loved by you.”

His face crumpled, tears flowing freely. He reached a hand out against the glass window, his palm marking the divider. Neuvillette was breathing erratically, desperate to hold you. The pain in his chest was getting heavier, much like the rain outside. You almost couldn’t hear him from all the background noise, and you wished that was what happened.

This was the man who took your clients' happiness. The man who took Uncle Callas away with his rationale. The reason for your unhappiness.

And yet, you couldn't think of any other person who would love you as much as he does.

“Y-You know me for who I-I am,” he gasped out. “I am but a weak and beaten down man w-who couldn’t express himself like a human being. Y-You were there, you comforted me with not a smile, an umbrella, or thoughtless words of encouragement— you accepted me for who I was with a warm embrace.”

You hated it.

You hate how your heart ached for the man that made your life a living hell.

“I was the leader of the Revolution and I needed intel against you, nothing more.” You spat. This time, you were the least convincing one. “It was an act of kindness I shouldn’t have done.”

“Yet it has helped me more than you had accounted for.”

“And never before have I ever regretted playing savior.”

“I was merely attempting to reform your life,” Neuvillette breathlessly spoke. “I wished to set you on the right path. You were a gifted individual with great connections. Your peers had high expectations of you. For you to throw that away for nonsense activism— no— terrorism is heartbreaking. And I—”

Neuvillette gulped.

“I didn’t want to face you on the other side of the courtroom.”

You laughed.

“Some things are just fated to happen,” you said. “An old astrologist told me that. She told me I was bound to get myself in deep legal trouble. Growing up, I figured it might as well be a cause worth doing if it’ll lead me to that path eventually. Why else did I become a defense attorney in such a hellishly political land?”

He trembled, tears falling at a faster rate.

You almost wanted to reach out and wipe those tears away.

Almost.

“Must you treat your life as though it is disposable?” Neuvillette asked, choking slightly. “Why are you…”

You digressed. “You’re not going to retract those charges are you?”

“I did.”

You frowned.

“But Lady Furina would not allow it,” he shook, frustrated. “She found out about your past, your hatred for her so-called incompetences and published lese-majestes.”

“Good for her, good for her.”

Neuvillette’s hand slowly slid down.

“I can’t… I cannot watch this…”

You felt a surge of confidence, for Neuvillette was indeed devoid of hope. You've never seen him with his head hung low. What went through Neuvillette's mind remained uncertain. Perhaps, just a small piece of him knew you could never be his. Perhaps he knew that you were destined for a doomed fate.

But it doesn't matter.

All that mattered was that you were free.

That was a month ago.

The rain had been going on nonstop for thirty days, and the Hydro Archon had every right to worry.

“I can’t sleep…” Neuvillette thought he spoke out loud, but it was just a whisper. He’s growing weak, his sleep deprivation catching up to him.

“Then come lay your head down,” she yawned slightly, fanning her breath. “Such heavy thoughts need a place to rest.”

“An irresistible offer,” Neuvillette mused humorlessly. “But I must decline.”

“Oh Neuvillette, when will you relax from this role you carry?” The archon spoke rhetorically.

Neuvillette chuckled sadly.

The heavy downpour wouldn’t stop.

Perhaps…

Perhaps when the day comes and he is stripped of dignity.

Maybe then, he’ll have his rest.

Neuvillette had already forgotten why he was crying that fateful day. But in those memories, he recalls he was callow and unformed. Was it due to an unfavorable trial? The problem evades him. His recollection remains only in how the people reacted around him. Many asked if he was okay and he'd reply with a simple "I'm fine". And he was, until he could no longer convince himself with that lie. He was certain he was about to dip his toes in another cycle of nihilism.

And then you came.

“Monsieur Neuvillette?”

The rain was pouring out in the cemetery. You were there; your presence questionable. He knew that you arrived intending to probe whether or not he was a sovereign dragon, but he gave you the nod of acknowledgment.

“Greetings, Mx. (Y/n),” he answered, “I trust you’ve been well? Is there a person whom you’re visiting?”

He asked in sheer politeness despite knowing your motivations.

“...”

You frowned.

“How long?”

“Pardon?”

“How long have you been carrying that loneliness, Monsieur?” You asked, voice louder. “How long?”

His lip quivered.

“Centuries, perhaps,” the Iudex thought he could pass it off as a light joke to catch you off-guard, but it came off as too sincere. “I do not keep track.”

You cautiously and awkwardly approached Neuvillette, and without a word, wrapped your arms around him in a comforting embrace.

Just like what Uncle Callas had done for you before.

Your existence here was anathema and your words were seditious. His initial reaction was to resist because he knew you were just like Vautrin. He knew you were secretly seeking vengeance because the oratrice unfavorably judged numerous friends and family.

But he needed it. He needed this badly.

It was then that the Iudex decided that he needed you. That he will keep you.

Neuvillette cannot handle another Vautrin— he can't handle another Carole. So, he'll do it right this time. He'll keep you safe, from your illegal associations and even from yourself.

And it was a selfish yet necessary need.

A lump formed in his throat as a tear fell, trickling down his cheek slowly. He allowed himself to melt in your hug, trembling.

“You’re going to need all the hugs you can get if you’re planning to stay as Iudex for centuries more,” you whispered. “You’re resilient, but in this world, that solitary resilience won’t be enough, won’t it?”

Unable to maintain his stoic facade any longer, Neuvillette gripped you tighter in that embrace, his vulnerability finally resurfacing physically rather than Fontaine's rains. Surprised by his sudden tirade of sobs, you embraced him with all the warmth you could muster. At that moment, you had an epiphany. Despite the enmity of their positions, they were the same. Both of you were victims of a nation that demanded more in your assigned roles than you could bear.

“If you'd let me, I'll be the person you’d come to if you ever need a hug.” You weren’t sure if you said it as a devious plan or an act of empathy. “I wouldn’t mind. Not at all.”

You've made yourself important to him now.

Neuvillette cannot lose you too.

As he clung to the solace you inadvertently provided, you can't help but wish you never extended that small comfort months later. Every inch given could be exploited, and when you offered him a shred of empathy, he had seized it and turned it into a mile-long advantage. The vulnerability shared in that hug was the dangerous crack in the sword you've worked so hard to maintain.

And so, when the time came you faced Champion Duelist Clorinde with it, the gaps broke the sword completely and with its death came soon the end of your life.

She was right. There is no dignity in dying with a broken hilt.

But there was peace.

And as much as you hated Neuvillette, you wish he’d have it too.

"I've made it this far, and all I've ever done was in accordance with what fate and others wanted of me. In my demise, let me do something for myself." “After all, I’ve learned from watching Uncle Callas when he fought Champion Duelist Clorinde— an encounter I’ll surely experience in the next few days— that there is beauty in the end. In his last moments, my much younger self saw what expression he wore.” “He was content. The most content I had ever seen in someone's face.” “It was then that I had an epiphany. One that I hope my “husband” Neuvillette will remember, and I care not if it will bring him comfort or pain.” “What I learned was simple:” “Count no man happy till he dies, free of pain at last.”

Taglist (lmk if you want to be added on the other three fics!): @ayadikreino @kireeen, @pebblemacaroon, @thelostpanta, @vennnnn-diagram, @sagekun, @vadelma-yatta, @detectivei @sugarplumcutiepie @sunhareskies @dxprived4-starboys @unloadingdata @harmonysanreads (amen.) @atomicsoulhumanspy @sangoqueenkoko @pix-stuff @dilucragnidvr

#ansy-writes #yandere genshin #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere x reader #yandere fanfiction #yandere male #yandere neuvillette #yandere neuvillette x reader #neuvillette #neuvillete x reader #yandere #male yandere #yanderecore #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere scenarios

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querenciasturniolo · 9 months

Note

This is such a random concept but can you write something to do with the triplets finding out you’re a fan of there’s (which is shocking cuz you’re a well known singer) and you guys finally meet up for a car video and Chris, who’s usually really talkative, gets really quiet and nervous and Matt and Nick catch on to why and they end up teasing him…

favorite ⮕ c.s.

word count: 2.7k

warnings: swearing, teasing, she/her pronouns

summary: the triplets invite you to to do a video with them after a viral video at your last concert on tour, and teasing ensues when chris is awfully quiet for once

a/n: this one is a little longer, but only because i am awful at transitions and find way too much detail important. this was SO fun to write, i hope i did it justice 💓

{i am NOT calling fangirls losers, at all. i am a fangirl and a loser, but that doesn’t mean everyone is. i wrote y/n saying she was a loser bc i thought it was funny, carry on}

everything written is completely fictional. the people i write for are written with characteristics and mannerisms that i made for them, this is in no way depicting what would actually happen in real life.

part one || part two

“You have stated multiple times before that you’re a fan of many people, whether they’re artists or creators of some sort. Any you’d like to mention?”

“The Sturniolo triplets, easy. They’re content creators; they make these car videos and they’re absolutely hilarious. I found them on Tiktok about a year ago, and I’ve been watching them ever since.”

A single answer to a question had your fans going absolutely ballistic.

It was your fault, of course, but you didn’t think they would act like this. In every one of your posts, more comments than not were about the triplets. You found it more funny than anything, knowing that your fans were just excited that you enjoyed the same things they did.

At the closing show of your tour, you had just finished your last song, and you looked out at the crowd one last time to realize that this wasn’t going to go away. A single sign in the crowd had you laughing and shaking your head.

DO A VIDEO WITH THE TRIPLETS

You pointed at the sign as you walked back to leave the stage. “The ball is in their court, now.” You said, the crowd going ballistic as you finally stepped off of the stage.

After that, it seemed radio silent for a while, but you had no idea what was going on behind the scenes. It had been only a few weeks since that show, and you were just hanging out at your apartment, one of your best friends sitting across from you on the couch.

“Y/n, have you seen this?”

You looked up from your phone and glanced at her screen, a video of your last concert playing. The sign was shown before it was turned around and the camera was on you. You saw you grin and laugh at the sign and point, saying what you said before. The moment you finished, you heard the fan scream and other screams around her completely fucking with the speaker.

“I mean, I remember that happening, but I haven’t seen the video, why?” You asked, handing her phone back to her. She raised her eyebrows and kept her phone screen facing you.

“It’s viral.”

Your eyes immediately went to the likes, and you were shocked to see there were over four million. “Holy shit.” You mumbled, your phone vibrating in your hand. You looked down, your jaw dropping when you saw the DM before you. “Holy shit!”

nicolassturniolo: hey! would you want to be in a car video??

You stared at the screen, completely speechless as you looked between the DM and your friend. “What the fuck do I say?” You asked, finally opening the message. She laughed from across from you and you couldn’t help but stare at her, completely bewildered.

“Say yes? It’s a pretty simple answer.” She said. You nodded your head and answered Nick quickly, asking him when they wanted to meet up. “How are you fangirling right now?”

You looked up again and frowned. “Because I’m a loser, obviously.” You said, your friend laughing and shaking her head as she dropped back down on her side of the couch.

You and Nick messaged back and forth, you finding out the details of the video and where they wanted to meet up. You decided tonight would be best for both of your schedules, and you were chomping at the bit to get ready and get there. You’d never done anything casual like this, only professional interviews and somewhat press-related conversations. You had no idea what was going to happen in this video, except for the general idea of it being a Q&A between the four of you.

Driving to the meetup spot had your entire body on high alert, excited to meet the triplets, but also terrified to do so. You were a fangirl at heart, but you refused to show it. You pulled into the parking lot, looking around for the van.

The moment you saw it, you took a deep breath and pulled up next to it, frowning and looking around at the desolate parking lot. Before you could even fully get out of the car, Nick was opening the back door of the van and waving at you. You grinned and shut your door, locking your car out of habit and heading towards the van.

“Hey, it’s so nice to finally meet you!” Nick said, stepping out of the van and giving you a hug.

You chuckled and pulled away, shrugging your shoulders. “You too! I’m not gonna lie, I was nervous as hell on the drive over.” You said, following Nick’s lead and climbing into the van after him, awkwardly climbing over him. You looked at Matt and Chris, your smile wide as you nodded in acknowledgement. “Hey.”

“Why were you nervous?” Matt asked, your cheeks heating up as you shrugged your shoulders.

“I’m a big fan, and extremely awkward, if you couldn’t tell.” You said, the three of them laughing and adjusting themselves to face you.

“It’s totally fine, you should have seen Nick before you pulled up.” Chris said, Nick’s jaw dropping to the floor as you looked over at him with a similar expression. The conversation mellowed out shortly after that, your nerves dissipating as you got more comfortable.

“Okay, so here’s our idea.” Nick started, your eyes meeting his immediately. “You hide behind Chris’ seat while we introduce the video, and when we say we have a special guest, you pop up and introduce yourself.” He finished. You nodded your head, fighting your smile as you wedged yourself between Chris’ seat and the seat you were sitting in on the floor.

“Matt, go check the camera.” Nick said. You covered your mouth to avoid laughing at the ensuing argument.

“Nick, why do you never check the fucking camera, this is ridiculous.” Matt grumbled, climbing out of the car to check it. Nick looked down at you, raising his eyebrows and shaking his head. You snorted, and waited patiently for Matt to get back into the car.

“Alright. Today, we’re doing a Q&A, but we have a little surprise for everyone.” Chris said. He adjusted in his seat, you only knowing this because the movement pushed you into the other seat harshly. You couldn’t help but groan at the pressure of the seat against your side, smacking your hand over your mouth as Nick threw his head back and laughed.

“We have a special guest, if you couldn’t tell by Chris breaking her ribs. Come on out, reveal yourself.” Nick said. You shoved yourself out from behind the seat, your hand pressed against your side as the four of you laughed. “So, a video went viral of Y/n at one of her concerts challenging us to get her in a video.”

You scoffed and looked at Nick. “It wasn’t a challenge at all. Someone in the crowd had a sign that said I needed to be in a car video, and all I said was that the ball was in your court.” You defended playfully, Nick holding his hands up in mock defense. “I didn’t realize how insane that interview would go. I said I was a fan, and all of a sudden everyone was tagging me in your posts and telling me I needed to be in a video.” You said, shrugging your shoulders.

“Alright, introduce yourself to the video, and tell them if you have anything coming up, if you want.” You looked at Matt after he spoke, realization dawning on you as you nodded and finally looked at the camera.

“Oh, right. I’m Y/n. I just announced my new single Changes that comes out in a few days, go listen if you want.” You said, looking between the three of them to make sure that was alright. Chris chuckled and nodded, facing the camera and pulling his phone from his pocket.

“So, this Q&A is different for a few reasons. One; we have a special guest, which you already know. And two; we decided to ask her some questions, and she’s going to ask some questions that she has for us. We will be answering some fan questions as well, since we only came up with a handful of questions.” Chris said, Nick gesturing for him to speed up.

The video progressed with the four of you rapid fire asking questions about your careers and other random things, occasionally debating when someone said something the others thought was outrageous.

“How long have you been a fan of ours?” Chris asked. You met his eyes and felt your face heat up before you looked away quickly and shrugged.

“I saw a clip of one of your videos on Tiktok about a year ago, and looked that specific video up. It was the one where Nick’s yelling about a staff, I believe.” You said, Nick sighing and shaking his head.

Chris chuckled and nodded his head. “Nick yelling seems to be a common theme in people looking us up, so that makes sense.”

“When did you become a fan of mine?” You asked, Nick nearly dropping his drink as he put it into the cupholder. You laughed and braced yourself as Nick held up his hands.

“I found your first album by accident a few months after it came out, and I blasted it on repeat for weeks after that. I may have forced Matt and Chris to listen to it, but they fucked with it heavy, no matter what they say.” Matt rolled his eyes with a smile and grabbed his phone, scrolling through the questions.

“It’s not my type of music, but it definitely isn’t bad. The lyrics were definitely my favorite part, you’ve got a way with words.” Chris said, Matt nodding and meeting your eyes as well.

You blushed and smiled awkwardly. “Thank you, that means a lot. I always try to tell a story with my songs, so I’m glad that my lyrics show that.” Jesus, you couldn’t take a compliment to save your life.

A few more questions were asked and answered before Matt spoke up.

“This is a fan question; who’s your celebrity crush?” Matt read, dropping his phone into his lap and looking back at you. You looked up and thought for a moment before shrugging.

“I guess the easy answer is Ryan Gosling, or something, but I’m not exactly sure—oh! I take that back, Harry Styles for sure. I’d love to do a song with him, it’s been one of my dreams since I started making music.” You rambled, the three of them humming and nodding their heads. “What about you guys?”

Matt spoke first, his answer completely outrageous and out there. Nick refused to answer, and that’s when all three of you realized that Chris was silent. You looked at him, his eyes focused on the center console.

“Chris?” You asked. He looked up then, which is when you noticed his pink cheeks.

He shook his head. “I don’t want to answer this question, let's move on.” He said, turning to face forward again. You frowned and looked between Matt and Nick, who were staring at Chris confused.

“Why are you acting so weird—oh.” Nick said, the confusion on his face morphing into a sly smirk. “I see.” He said, looking at Matt. It took Matt a little longer to get there, but soon he was grinning and shoving Chris’ arm.

“Come on, Chris. Just say it.” He teased, your eyebrows furrowed as you looked between all of them.

“I have no idea what the fuck is happening, but alright.” You said, turning your attention to Chris. He shook his head and looked over at Matt.

“I’m not saying it, just move on.” He said, an amused smile on his lips.

“Why? Is it because she’s in the car?” Nick asked. Your face heated up immediately, your eyes meeting Chris’ shocked gaze. Matt smacked his hand over his mouth to cover up the laugh that nearly knocked him forward.

“Nick, cut that out.”

Nick’s laughter rang through the van as he fell backwards in his seat and shook his head, Chris’ embarrassed chuckle pushing past his lips as he looked at you one more time.

“You could have denied it!” Matt finally said, all four of you completely losing it and doubling over. You’d never laughed so hard in your life, and you were glad you agreed to do this.

Chris sat up and wiped at his eyes, the remnants of his laughter still showing on his face as he shook his head. “I could have denied it, but I’m not a liar.” He said, avoiding your eyes completely as he took a sip of his Pepsi. “So yeah, my celebrity crush is Y/n, sue me.”

Your mouth went dry, not expecting him to say it out loud so bluntly.

“Okay! Next question!” Nick said, pulling his phone out of his pocket. You shook your head and smiled as you waited for his question. He dropped his phone in his lap, a mischievous smile on his face as he gestured to you. “Who’s your favorite triplet?”

You groaned and threw your head back, looking forward again to see all three pairs of eyes glued to you intently. You blinked and looked between them, shaking your head when seeing their goofy smiles.

“I plead the fifth, absolutely not.” You said, all of them laughing and shaking their heads.

“Oh, come on! Just say it!” Matt said, resting his head on his hand and widening his eyes at you.

“No feelings will be hurt, just tell us.” Nick said, your eyes meeting his as you shook your head.

“It’s me, guys. It’s official.” Chris said, your head whipping in his direction. Your face felt like it was on fire as the silence continued and he held your gaze. Nick was the first to lose it, grabbing your arm as he dropped forward and laughed uncontrollably.

“What is with you two?! Just deny it or something!” He said, Matt and Chris joining in and covering their faces with their hands. You sighed and shook your head.

“I’m not a liar, either. Let’s move on.” You said, picking up your phone and going through your notes app.

“Favorite song, not just by me, any song in general.” You said, the conversation changing immediately. When everyone was done filming, you said your goodbyes and stepped out of the car. You weren’t expecting them all to jump out of the car as well.

“Do you mind taking a picture with us for our photo dump? It’s totally cool if not.” Nick asked.

“Oh! For sure, could I get a picture for my Instagram too?” They nodded, and you took a few pictures, some were serious and others were ridiculous. You each exchanged numbers, sending over the pictures that were taken on each of your phones. When the pictures were done and the four of you were just laughing at all of the photos, you looked at each of them. “I had a lot of fun! Thank you for having me.” You said, pulling Nick into a hug.

“Oh, of course! You should come hang out with us sometime, whenever you’re free.” He said as he pulled away. You nodded and accepted the hug from Matt, biting the inside of your cheek as your eyes met Chris’ after you pulled away.

He hesitated but shrugged his shoulders and held out his arms. You chuckled and walked towards him, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug. Your heart was racing as you pulled away and smiled at him, hoping he didn’t notice the burning in your cheeks.

“Again, it was so nice to meet you. Text me if you ever want to make plans, okay?” You said, the three of them nodding and waving as you got into your car.

The drive back to your apartment was long, your exhaustion finally hitting you as you checked the dash and saw it was three in the morning. God, you were going to be exhausted at your meetings tomorrow. You finally pulled into the parking garage and got out of your car, locking the door as your phone vibrated in your pocket. It wasn’t until you laid in your bed and plugged in your phone that you checked the notification, your heart pounding as you read the text, a shocked laugh leaving your lips.

#nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you

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ravenna-reid · 3 months

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Battle Scars

Reader is from a planet of warriors. A planet where each scar is seen as honourable rather than ugly. When she accidentally sees Jason's scars, she can't help but look at them in amazement, much to Jason's surprise...

I really hope ya'll like this one...lmk!!

"Come on, lift you arms."

With an agitated sigh, Jason did as Dick asked and raised his muscled arms. Dick quickly pulled Jason's bloodied and torn shirt from his body and threw it to the floor, analysing the gash that sat across Jason's chest.

"What, did you get into a with Catwoman or something?" Tim asked, grimacing as he looked at the gruesome scene.

""I'll break your nose replacement." Venom coated his words, and Jason's expression read that he wasn't joking, so with that, Tim shook his head and left the room.

Just outside wandering the empty halls of Wayne manor was the girl Batman had found just a month prrior. Tall and toned, carved muscles on your arms and legs. A slick scar the colour of pearls ran down the side of your jaw to the top of your neck. A few more decorated your back and arms. A stern expression and soft eyes. You were a warrior from another planet Bruce had told everyone. He wasn't sure what planet though, seeming as whenever you told him the name, no records of it could be found. Not even those on the Justice League could find the unusual planet you were calling home. .

You weren't Kryptonian and you weren't an Amazon, even though your ideals and principles aligned with theirs. Nor were you a Martian, or an Atlantean or a Tamaranean. So what the hell were you?

Well, you kept telling them over and over. You were Idorian, from Idoria, but your home planet was apparently non-existent. 'A part of another timeline' was the theory.

"Non-existent as far as you're concerned." You had muttered with the roll of your eyes.

All they knew was that you'd accidentally been dragged to Earth when an incident a few months back involving portals and timelines threw you down from the sky into Bruce Wayne's garden. They also learnt that you had immense strength and durability. You could fly. You almost bested Wonder Woman in melee combat, almost. And electricity didn't affect you one bit. Other than that, you were a complete mystery.

And a certain seemingly uninterested vigilante seemed to liked that.

Tim watched as you looked out the grand windows lining the hallway, still amazed by the fact that Earth only had one sun.

A warm smile grew on his face. "Hey y/n, what are you doing?"

"Nothing much. You?"

Tim shrugged. "I was helping Dick mend Jason until I was threatened." He scoffed, trying to mask it with a bitter laugh.

A warmth grew in your cheeks at the mention of his name. Why? You had no idea.

"Why, what happened to him -?"

"Tim! You took the antiseptic with you!" Dick suddenly called out from the room, Jason's annoyed mumbles following.

Tim let out a huff, much to your confusion, "I don't wanna go back in there with that son of a bitch."

"It's alright, I can if you want." You offered, holding out your hand and questioning what a son of a bitch was. Humans were easily injured compared to your people, so it would be interesting to see the healing process.

"Are you sure?" Tim asked, his brow raising, "He can be a real ass, especially when people are trying to help him."

"Yeah, I'm sure." You replied, so Tim placed the odd looking bottle in your hands before you walked into the room.

Your footsteps echoed through the atmosphere. Instantly, Jason's eyes snapped up to meet yours, his cheeks burning a subtle red before he quickly looked away. A wince escaped him as he tried to subtly cover up his body. Too bad my shirt is on the damn floor he thought to himself. Picking up on Jason's change in demeanour, Dick turned to look at you, a charming grin appearing on his face immediately.

"Y/n! I haven't seen you in ages, how are you?" Dick had just finished pulling out the last shard of glass from Jason's slash and dropped the bloody tweezers on the tray beside him.

"I'm fine thank-you. Here is...well, this." You said, holding the bottle out to him. "Tim gave it to me."

"Thanks, y/n." He grabbed the bottle from you then looked back at the array of medical supplies sprawled across the table beside him. Hands cupped together in his lap, Jason stole glances of you here and there, glad that you were more interested in the odd looking tools Dick was focusing on rather than him.

"Shit, I just realised I forgot the stuff for the stitches," Dick turned to you and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, "I'm just gonna run and grab some things. Can you watch him for me real quick?"

"I don't need a babysitter Dick." Jason quipped, his eyes trained on his brother. Please just let her leave.

"I don't mind." You responded, and that usual glint of joy passed through Dick's eyes.

"Thanks, I'll be back in a sec."

With that, Dick left the room, leaving you two alone.

"Why did you do that?"

You looked over at Jason with a puzzled look, "What do you mean?"

"You don't have to watch me. You can go if you like." Jason swallowed hard, doing his best to act unfazed by the fact that you were standing right there.

"It's alright, I'm kind of curious to see how this all works on your planet."

His gaze averted back onto the floor, his body instinctively turned from you. You, however, were watching him. The wound had stopped bleeding, and it didn't look too deep, but it stretched across one side of his chest and onto his bicep. Looking at his arms, you couldn't help but think about how he looked like those perfect sculptures back home.

"Does it hurt?"

"No." So curt. So closed off. You were going to remain quiet until you did a double take. Silver streaks painted his chest. His abdomen and arms. There were even some on his back that caught your eye.

"Wow." The words fell from your lips, and Jason's eyes cut back to you.

"What?" He asked, meaning to sound more curious than defensive.

You walked over to where he sat, eyes trained on all of his scars. All of his accomplishments. Back at home, whenever someone attained a scar, it meant they had cheated death. They had been lucky and strong enough to survive. It was why you never hid yours. A scar is a victory. A glorious one too. And Jason had many victories.

A sickening tightening sensation began in Jason's throat as you neared, still obviously oblivious to personal space, especially Jason's. He watched as you stared at his biggest insecurities, the things that would taint his body forever and remind him of the horrors he was forced to endure. Immediately, he grew even more self-conscious. Sick. Angry.

"What the hell are you doing?" He snapped, but you ignored it.

"If the elders back home saw this, they'd call you a war hero." You let a light laugh.

His frown faltered a little, his glistening eyes watching you intensely. It was as though your eyes were tracing each and every tarnished bit of his skin. "You have so many."

His frown was back, a shot of anger burning through his chest at your comment. Why did you of all people have to say that? Jason drew in a deep, shaky breath, but before he could speak you told him how impressive it all was, and now the frown was even deeper than before. "What?"

You looked up at him, and suddenly his head was reeling. Jason found that some part of him, a hidden away part that was deep deep down, wanted you to look at him like that for the rest of his life. A look that said he was worth something. That he wasn't this ugly, scarred monster. Skin crawling and muscles tensed, he managed to ignore it. Just for now. Just this once. He quickly cleared his throat as he waited for your explanation.

"Your scars...they- you have so many victories." You repeated, "Many more than me." You pulled the sleeve of your shirt back to show him. Jason's eyes ran along the silver lines on your arms before his attention turned to your skin. The muscles on your arms. The glossy hair that ran over your shoulder. His eyes drew up your neck to your lips...

He quickly looked away, shame and bashfulness so blatantly evident on his face.

"What do you mean..." His tone was distant, until he paused. "Victories?" Now he was curious.

You frowned. "What do you mean? Scars are honourable. They show strength. Tell stories. You must be a valiant fighter. A survivor." You smiled at him gently, pointing your finger at them. And it was like something got caught in his throat.

Silence washed over the room like a soft wave. Jason kept to himself as his big, bright eyes watched you. He turned your words in his head, amazed at how you viewed this topic. He almost waited for you to correct yourself or take the compliment back. Because there was no way. No way you were truly being honest about how you viewed the ugliest parts of himself. Everyone had always looked at his scars that same way, with pity and aversion. And yet you...

"You really think like that?" He asked, looking up at you through his dishevelled, raven hair.

"Doesn't everyone?"

A soft, subtle smile tugged at Jason's lips, and suddenly your heart was hammering in your chest, faster than a hiccup. Jason watched you attentively now, still shy, but not as ashamed or ill at ease. Since when was he so comfortable around others, especially a stranger? Especially about the things that kept him up at night? Especially with someone that was on his mind 24/7....

Dick suddenly bursted back into the room, a needle and bobbin of nylon string in his hand. "Sorry Jace, had to get Alfred to look for it."

Jason shook his head at Dick as he got started on stitching him back up. "I can do it myself you know -"

"Shut it." Dick responded.

Jason's gaze fell back onto you and he almost felt like collapsing when you said you'd leave them be and see them later. You realised the longer you stood with him, the lighter your head was becoming. So with that, you left the room, and all Jason could think about for the rest of the day was you.

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lmk-aus-galore · 1 month

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Needed to make this post because I keep seeing this-

I keep seeing people mistake this scene where Macaque smiles at Wukong during the Specials as a sign that he forgives him.

No, he does not, he’s still trying to trust Wukong again. You can see it in the beach scene. They still bicker slighty after this scene, and during the beach scene, Macaque looks at Wukong briefly believing his words before doubting him again. Or at least still getting a bad feeling.

Macaque and Wukong are far from forgiving each other, they’re still trying to trust each other again. However Season 4 is pretty much a start.

Even though Wukong seems to like forgive Macaque, I’m pretty sure it’s because he just survived a series of self-loathing and guilt, he’s probably not fully recovered.

That being said again.

This doesn’t prove Macaque forgave Wukong yet.

People who see this completely forget the conversation MK was having with Wukong.

Prior to Macaque smiling at him, MK tries to lift Wukong’s spirits up, give him hope like Wukong did for him. Encourage him even. He makes a whole speech about getting Wukong back on his feet and becoming the Monkey King again.

However, Wukong doubts it, so he looks to Macaque.

Again some people forget the whole context of this entire scene and just miss out on crucial details BECAUSE WUKONG ISN’T EVEN ASKING FOR FORGIVENESS HERE.

IT DOESNT MAKE SENSE WITH THE WHOLE ASS CONVERSATION-

Wukong knows that MK is his biggest fan, that MK looks to him with rose-tinted glasses, that to a fault, the kid sees too much good in Wukong, he WANTS to believe Wukong is good, Wukong knows that’s his one flaw about his view of him.

So he doesn’t take the staff immediately after MK encourages him, instead he looks to Macaque.

Why? Because he’s asking him, Macaque KNOWS Wukong. He knows Wukong far too much than probably Wukong himself. Macaque can see his faults, his mistakes, he knows Macaque HATES him. HATES the Monkey King, he’s honest about his doubts, his views on Wukong. Despite Azure’s praise, Macaque sees him for what he is.

Prior to this scene, Wukong was suffering with the curse of the scroll, reliving his mistakes and we know one of his mistakes that is most definitely going to play in his head is the scene where he broke off with Macaque. The scene where he yells at Macaque and seemingly destroys his friendship with him forever.

‘No that’s you! You’re the one always running off! Looking for more power! More sources of immortality! You’re the one who wouldn’t quit while we were ahead! Not the Great Sage! He’s always trying to drag everyone into his mess!’ Macaque was right. It was him that lost his sights on power, on why he was even gaining power in the first place, it was him who tried bigger and bigger until he couldn’t carry the load anymore. He’s the one who was reckless, not Macaque.

And he was right, he dragged Macaque into this. And only hurt him, the brotherhood and MK by dragging them into the mess he created. By letting MK fight his battles, by letting Macaque get injured over and over again just because he wanted him to help regardless of Macaque’s opinion on the matter. He dragged the Brotherhood into this false sense of justice and power that they ended up getting killed or sealed away.

He hurt them. He hurt them as the Monkey King. All he ever did as the Monkey King was hurt people. That’s why he looks to the one guy that can tell him, tell him honestly.

He asks the one guy that hates his guts, that has every right to hate his guts.

If it was alright for him to BE that guy again.

The reckless, egotistical, self-centered Monkey King again. He asks Macaque, who so negatively views Monkey King’s role as a hero if he should BE that hero again.

He asks Macaque if MK is right. This time, This time he’ll listen. Just tell him if it’s okay for him to BE that guy, if he needs to take a step back, he will no questions asked.

Instead.

Macaque smiles at him.

He assures Wukong that he’s okay with it. Yes he can be that guy, flaws and all. He’s willing to give him that chance.

Macaque was giving Wukong not only permission but assurance that Wukong is allowed to be that hero again. The one that everyone adores and loves and the one that people NEED right now.

Only then does Wukong stand and take the staff once more.

Macaque and Wukong still need to trust each other again sure.

But this whole scene is just Wukong at his DEEPEST and LOWEST he’s ever been. The usually loud, cheery and expressive Monkey King was reduced to the unusually quiet, sad and barely even audible Wukong who had been beaten down by his guilt and shame. He can barely look at MK…he can barely raise his voice. And judging by how quiet he was he might’ve been crying until his voice gave out. Paired with Macaque holding grudges yet still reminiscing their good times together. Seeing THAT must’ve been so disturbing for him.

Again, Macaque has this view of Wukong. The same way he notices MK’s despair and loss of light, he notices Wukong’s change in personality. However, unlike MK, there’s a chance Macaque has never SEEN this side of Wukong. He’s always seen Wukong so confident and unbreakable. So much so he doesn’t hold back against him at all. But seeing THIS must’ve done something to him- like scared him, disturbed him.

And now he’s looking at him like that? He’s so low on self-esteem that he looks to the one guy that hates his guts more than anyone else for permission to be that guy again? It probably frightened him more than anyone ever realized.

#lego monkie kid #lmk #lmk sun wukong #lmk monkey king #monkie kid #lmk macaque #lego monkie kid season 4 #is this a rant?#probably

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jeonghantis · 1 year

Text

✧ — IN ALL HIS GLORY.

PAIRING ⇝ kim mingyu x reader.

SUMMARY ⇝

waking up next to your lover, you can't help but admire his unearthly beauty and consider yourself unbelievably lucky that he's all yours.

TAGS ⇝ established relationship, romance, suggestive, Fluff (yes, capital F Fluff), domestic-ish.

WARNINGS ⇝ language, gn!reader, fluff (lol), nudity, makeout scene, alludes to sexual content (MINORS DNI!).

WORD COUNT ⇝ 1.2k words and some.

note: yeah, this was a draft i had originally scratched for mingyu's birthday because i was unsure of its direction, but the innisfree behind got me scrambling the pieces back together. this was meant to appreciate mingyu and his beauty and i hope i did him justice.. (and if you can't tell when you finish reading, i am still mourning the loss of his long curly hair). anyway, i hope you enjoy reading <3 p.s. this is 1 out of 2 fics i have to celebrate mingyu month. stay tuned. <3 p.p.s this so not proofread i am so sorry

reblog if you are terribly in love with kim mingyu too (and to support me).

explicit warnings under cut.

EXPLICIT WARNINGS ⇝ nudity, implications of top!mingyu, implications of bottom!reader, mingyu was Rough, mentions of oral (reader receiving).

The first glint of sun spilled through windows, swathing your lover’s slumbering figure in its golden light. His lips were parted, a hand rested atop his chest that rose and fell with easy breaths. His hair that he grew out was a dark halo from where it splayed over the pillow, so vividly stark against the paleness of it. But unlike its sable tone, Kim Mingyu still had his radiance, even in his sleep, that could set light to the darkest dark.

From where you lay beside him, you reached out, gingerly brushing away the lone curl that had tumbled over his still face. Sleep had long left your body, waking dazed with ease and warmth. The outcome of the passion that had stretched all throughout the night clung onto your bones heavily, straining you from making any big movements. But you did not mind. Though you ache all over, you could lay perfectly still without complaint if it meant not interrupting this peace.

But Mingyu woke up, blinking life back into his eyes. Then, he found you.

“Good morning, my love,” he mumbled, lips curled into a drowsy smile.

You mirror him, a hand cradling the side of his face. “Good morning, my heart.”

Then you’re reaching for each other, lips naturally finding one another.

It’s innocent at first, a tad bit clumsy with movements still sluggish, his from slumber and yours exhaustion. Airy giggles pass between you two at the lumbering bumps of noses and teeth, but eventually, a steady rhythm comes with practiced ease, a slow pace of melding lips that’s nothing short of passion. Nothing really ever is when it comes to being with the love of your life.

It’s Mingyu who grasps for more first, a palm resting atop the small of your back to draw you even closer, your body pressed flush against his. It’s only then do you remember how you both did not bother with clothes after last night’s events. And he seems to have just remembered in the moment too because he’s now groaning into your mouth, his face slanting to deepen the amorous exchange in search of more of you. You’re very quick on the uptake, the fervency of the kiss heightening, as you pour all of yourself into him and he drinks it up with an unquenchable thirst, every slip of breath, every movement of lip. You tug on the soft pink flesh of his bottom lip for him to part open. When he did, your tongue slinked in, licking into the wet cavern of his mouth with languid strokes. Mingyu is all too ready for it, welcoming your voyage with another moan and a wet caress of his own tongue over yours, as his palm smooths over the underside of your thigh, hoisting it up to lift it over his waist.

The blankets twist around your tangled limbs. Mingyu shucked it off. The cold air sends a shock through you and instinctively, you’re seeking the warmth of your lover with a tug on his shoulder. Mingyu gives in easily and shifts his body around until the upper half of him rests on top of you, pushing himself impossibly closer.

The added weight of him was not something you had considered in your daze and you’re sparing yourself some breath as you ease back with a gasp. But the man is just as lost in his daze and chases after your retreating mouth. Mingyu managed to swallow down a couple of your breaths with fervid lips until you had to stop him with a hand pressed firmly against his shoulder.

“Stop, wait - ” you exhale with a staggered laugh, gently urging your lover back. “You’re heavy, Gyu. I need to breathe.”

“Yeah, and I need you,” he whines petulantly like a child, though he is pulling back anyway until he’s back laying on his side. “Which, arguably, is more important.”

“Can’t exactly have me if I stop breathing,” you counter with a playful roll of your eyes. “I’m already exhausted from last night trying to keep up with your insane stamina.”

A prideful look crosses his face. “I did go pretty hard on you.”

You smother the urge to smile as you give laudatory pats on his chest. “You did and I do love you for it, but now my entire body hurts.”

“Want me to help make you feel better?”

“Please.”

Mingyu grins. “I have to fuck you again though.”

“Thought so,” you snorted and slapped his chest, but you were smiling.

“Or I make you breakfast,” Mingyu laughs and reaches to hold your hand, interlacing your fingers with his. “Then I could give you a massage. How’s that?”

“Heavenly,” you hum.

Mingyu props himself up on one arm, staring down at you with glittering eyes. “Then give me a kiss before I go?”

You laugh softly and cast your gaze up at him, a hand already reaching to pull him down by his nape.

But you still.

Kim Mingyu was beautiful. This was a fact you knew. A fact that you should be accustomed to. But no matter just how much you set your eyes upon his perfectly sculpted features, your breath catches in your throat every time.

Mingyu was outlined against the risen sun; his radiance coming to full glory as the light kissed his bronzed skin to gold. Each dip and curve of his toned body, each sharp and soft line of his handsome face appeared meticulously carved onto skin, like marks of a sculptor’s tenacity. Even the moles adorning his face—one flecked on the tip of his nose and the other on his cheek—looked thoughtfully placed, somehow adding their own strange allure to his already captivating charm.

The mole on his cheek twitches when a smile pulls at the corners of his lips.

“What is it?” Mingyu whispered, his dark eyes peering. “What are you staring at?”

You had not known you were staring for so long, but who could blame you when he looked the way he did? When you love him the way you do?

“I was just thinking about how beautiful you are,” you answered honestly, brushing back the raven strands that had fallen over his eyes. “And about how I am absolutely in love with you.”

“Suddenly?”

“I’ve always thought so,” you smiled.

Mingyu regards you for a silent beat, the faintest blush dusting his cheeks. Then he’s dipping down and capturing your mouth with his in another heady kiss.

“Fuck breakfast and a massage,” he grunts against you. “I am going to fuck you.”

“Gyu,” you start to groan, which should have been a warning but it comes out half-hearted and laced with desire instead.

“Or I can use my tongue on you instead,” he offers as his mouth already strays away, mapping down kisses down the column of your throat. “Please?”

“Just because of what I said?” You try for a laugh and it comes a bit breathy.

“All because of what you said,” Mingyu says and draws back. He’s peering at you with those big, sparkling eyes again. “Because you’re beautiful and I’m absolutely in love with you too.”

“Charmer,” you huff, a smile itching your lips. “You’re still making breakfast and giving me a massage right after though.”

Mingyu smiled as blinding as the first glint of sunlight. "Deal."

#seventeen smut #svt smut #mingyu smut #mingyu fanfic #svt fanfic #kim mingyu smut #seventeen fanfic

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yandere-sins · 1 year

Text

The Enemy’s Embrace

a/n: This doesn’t really has any big background. I saw a book quote on TikTok and thought that the scene would fit so well in a yandere scenario. So I wrote it! Hope you guys enjoy it :3

Warnings: Yandere, Mention of Stalking, Mention of unconsenting actions, Mention of Killing, Soft Yandere

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

A shuddering sigh escaped your shivering lips as your gaze fell from the lattice above your head to the cell bars keeping you locked inside the cell.

There were so many things wrong with you being thrown in the dungeon. You didn't commit the crimes you were accused of and never fought the guards to deserve the resentment they've harbored. They had been downright glad to deliver you into the outdoor cell despite the early-winter cold setting in already, telling you you 'deserved' it.

Why did this happen?

Even after days, you lamented the questions of why and how, but the realization—a realization that made you angry beyond measure, furious and wild—had long set in. No matter how much you tried to ignore it for the sake of your own sanity, it wouldn't let you forget the reason you were here.

Not least because the reason kept talking to you with an awfully smug grin on his face as he waited for you to break.

"I don't mind sharing, you know?"

"I know," you mumbled, turning your back towards your cellmate and hitting your head against the cold stone to remain composed. You knew. You knew so well. The man wouldn't stop talking, belittling you with every word he uttered. And you knew he didn't mind sharing at the cost of you giving in to him.

It was driving you mad.

Glancing back over your shoulder, you watched your arch nemesis, the man you hated most in the entire world, flap his beautiful fur coat into the air, exposing the free space he had underneath to spare for you. That was if you could lose your dignity and sit between his legs, allowing this awful man to envelop you in a warm embrace.

He was grinning, as always, when he caught your eyes. Smugly. Challenging. Aware. Aware that you were slowly freezing to death in just your clothes while he had cozily bundled up in luxury unbefitting of a prisoner. He had been here longer than you, thrown into this dungeon for his crimes before they even came to get you. Someone took pity on the man who presented himself oh-so-dramatic and charming when he wasn't an insane villain. He just had to wail to and flirt with some of the noble ladies passing by the lattice until one of them decided to drop the poor man such a fine fur coat to survive the cold.

It wasn't like he could come near you or hurt you again from his position, bound by chains around his wrists that weren't short enough to immobilize him but not long enough to walk away from his spot. But even after all this time, he still enjoyed the torment of your suffering; every breath you blew against your icy fingers sending a shiver of excitement down his spine.

Sadly, no one thought of gagging him as would be appropriate for a notorious liar. Though the court believed you initially when you told them about his misbehavior—the following, the touches, the murders all in your name—somehow, he convinced them that you weren't an innocent part in all of this. There was nothing you could have done to convince them of your innocence after he charmed his way into the hearts of the jury with fake reasoning and pleading for justice. He opened his mouth, and everyone played his game—except you.

For these reasons, you hated him. And for your rejection, he loved you.

He could have had anyone, even a noble knight or the princess of the kingdom. But he wanted you, specifically, and preferably on your knees, begging for him. His taunting invitation to a warm huddling under the fur was just another way to torment you. He simply wanted to have you just because he decided you belonged to him, and crush your mind to fill it with the same insanity as his.

You had fought him for years. You barely escaped him on so many occasions. But while it had felt like victory to see him being dragged off by guards to his new home, the outdoor cell you hope he'd never escape from, in the end, it had all been in vain. And as you stood in the cell, facing the grey stone wall, this realization was the hardest to accept in all your life.

Because you were really fucking cold.

Even if you had thought about the possibility of yourself dying while getting rid of this lunatic, the thought still pained you. Things had gone wrong many times, but you always made it. You wanted to live. You fought so hard for your freedom and to survive. How could you possibly just throw it out now and allow him to lure you into his grasp?

"What must I do to make you come here and stop being so wary of me? When have I ever done something for you to hate me so?"

Even when he let out a defeated sigh before he spoke, his voice was nothing but mockery. He once again played the role of a savior. A gentleman, a soft-hearted soul in a cruel world. He was right that the world was a cruel place, especially for a genuine and kind person like you. But if you needed saving, you didn't want it to be from an actor who played the role of the selfless hero while grinning at the blood on his own hands.

"I'm good," you replied coldly, much like you were feeling. Hugging your body, you sunk to the ground, rocking yourself back and forth while trying to ignore the annoying villain on the other side of the cell. Closing your eyes, you tried to imagine the summer sun shining down, warming your skin instead of the cold winter breeze ramming into you. Things would have been much easier if he had stopped talking.

"Not to unnerve you, but despite always being stunningly beautiful, the color of your lips is slowly making me nervous, too. We both know you are freezing."

He just wouldn't shut up.

"I. Don't. Want. You. Near. Me," you repeated the same phrase you've been telling him from day one. A phrase he usually liked to ignore and keep sputtering. However, not this time, and suspicion forced you to open one eye to see what he was doing as he didn't reply.

He was simply staring at you. Blankly, unnervingly. You had to look away because his unblinking eyes were unsettling to look into, wide like those of cats staring at an object of desire but void of the empathy of a human.

"Frankly, I don't care what you want," he muttered quietly, barely audible over the howling of the wind. "But if I beg you to come here and let me warm you, will that help? Would you stop torturing me with that pitiful sight of you if I pleaded and said 'please' and 'pretty please'? If I could, I would already be by your side regardless of if you'd let me, but don't you have pity on me, too? Pity on the man who has to watch the love of his life slowly freeze to death while he can't do anything to save you?"

You were so tired of his tirades. The endless amount of garbage he spoke as easily and freely as a bard sang of overdramatized adventures of heros without flinching about their lies. "Please," he breathed. "Please let me warm you."

Another shiver ran through you—from the cold or the desperation in his voice, you weren't sure—but you didn't move from your seat. Didn't give him the gratification of acknowledging him even if your body began to burn from the cold. You heard the rustling of chains, and when you finally looked up, you could see him twist and turn his wrists in the cuffs, trying to loosen them somehow. Only when he noticed your gaze on him did he change from fighting the restraint to giving in.

Letting his hands sink to the ground as far as the chains allowed, he kneeled on all fours before reaching up one hand, ignoring how the cuff cut off the blood flow to his hand. He could never reach you, but he was still trying. No matter what, he never ceased to pursue you, even in the most impossible situations. It made you shiver even more to know the person that selfishly claimed you as his, had the determination of a starving lion to get what he wanted even when he was chained and immobilized.

"I'm begging you," your enemy emphasized. "I'm begging you to let me help you. Let me hold you, so we can survive this together—or die trying. Together. Don't die so far away from me where I can't reach you. Can't even follow you... I can't even hold your hand. Please don't leave me like this. Please just... forgive me. Have mercy on my unworthy, oppressed heart."

Your eyelids were growing weary from the cold, and your mind even more so from his words. But as your movements slowly stilled, conflicting, old thoughts came to mind. Thoughts that you had chugged into the deepest drawer of your mind after he had been imprisoned. Thoughts you hoped never to have to resurface.

I'll survive this. I can escape him no matter what happens. This is not the end.

Slowly, weakly, your arm stretched out. The realization turned your enemy's expression into a surprised one, then he lept forward, ignoring any restraint and the impact on his body as he reached for your hand. His fingers barely grazed yours, but as you collapsed forward, he managed to snatch your wrist, keeping your face from hitting the dirty ground you two were seated on.

And before you knew it, you were enveloped in warmth.

He shifted all around you for a while until your feet were tugged in and under his legs, body covered by the fur and his—probably hurting—arms, one hand holding the coat closed around you so no draft could touch you, while the other one pressed your head into his chest, his chin resting on top of your hair. Completely absorbing you into the little warm orb that was the world he lived in.

"Finally," he sighed, turning his face downwards to nuzzle it into your hair, ignoring the grime that must have built for days. As if nothing about you could scare him off. He didn't seem bothered by anything as long as it concerned you, but you ignored anything he did for once, letting out a long sigh as the warmth slowly thawed you.

"You're not getting out of this one," he mumbled, planting a reverent kiss on your head, filled with the fulfillment of his longing for you, drawing it out as long as possible. Hand reaching up, he cupped your face and warmed your cold cheek with his palm while his thumb caressed you as if you were the most precious object he ever held in his grasp. "I finally have you," he muttered, and you couldn't help a weak huff as the words ever so softly reached you.

"You can't escape me now. You're all mine. Finally. I waited so long for the day you'd finally give in to me. I'll get us out of here, and you'll never have to want for anything, I promise. I'd do anything for you. You know that."

You simply let him keep brabbling while he kept you warm. Fearing that if you refused him now, he too would reject you. That this really would be the end despite all the hardships you had overcome up to this point. You felt nothing of the worship he felt for you, for him, but if this was the only way to stay alive, you'd bite your tongue and let him confess a million more of his crimes to your ears only. You'd overcome this all the same.

You'd survive this, too.

But for now, you'd be warm, cradled in your enemy's embrace.

#yandere #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere fanfiction #yandere writing #yandere stories #yandere oneshots #yandere oneshot #yandere drabble #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #Yandere TW

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the-anxious-youth · 7 months

Text

Bubbles II

Pairing: Buggy x gn!Reader

Summary: Now that Buggy has agreed to help you find Nami, the two of you get closer, and shenanigans ensue.

Warnings: none, general flirting but nothing too spicy, the reader is written as gender neutral but Buggy does call them pretty, some talks of insecurity but it's more comfort than hurt

Word Count: 4.7K

Author's Note: Here's the highly anticipated part two of my Buggy fic! He's quickly become one of my comfort characters so writing about him has been fun. Also, I made some major changes to the plot in regards to rescuing Nami because I felt I couldn't do it justice since I haven't seen episode 7 yet and didn't want to mess up such an emotional scene. Thank you for being so patient and I hope you enjoy! (Up next is a Shanks fic, so keep on the lookout for that) banners by cafekitsune

Part 1

Luffy’s eyes brightened when he saw you, a cheerful aura surrounding your captain. His smile triggers your own, and you walk up to him, holding Buggy in your hands. Luffy looks down at the clown’s head, and his smile grows even wider.

“Did you give him a makeover? It looks great, Y/N!” says the enthusiastic man, always in a good mood. You chuckle and nod in response, thanking him softly. Out of everyone in the crew, Luffy had always been the most supportive and you’re glad his reaction was the polar opposite of Zoro’s.

“Good news, I got him to tell me how to get to Arlong Park so we can rescue Nami!” Your tone is cheerful, and your Captain’s face reflects how you feel.

“Really? That’s awesome! How’d you do it?” Luffy leans against the side of the boat, visibly impressed by the way you’d been able to tame the beast, considering that a few hours ago, they all thought they’d have to torture it out of him. Looking down at Buggy, you smile softly, debating on whether or not you should tell the whole story. Before you can answer, Buggy lets out a laugh and responds for you.

“Guess I just have a soft spot for them,” he says, sending a wink in your direction. By now his flirtatious confidence is fully restored. Luffy watches the two of you making eyes at each other for a few seconds, before breaking the silence.

“Well, I’m glad you worked it out.” Luffy notices how your eyes sparkle when looking at Buggy, but he decides not to comment on it, instead moving to pull out a map. Spreading it across a table, he gestures for you to come closer.

“So this is where we are right now, approximately.” Your captain points to a spot on the map, and you recognize it as part of the East Blue. You gently place the clown’s head on the table, allowing him to look at the map. “And this is where we think Nami is,” utters Luffy, pointing his finger to an area adjacent to where he said you all are.

“You’re heading in the wrong direction, pal.” Buggy chuckles as he says this, not surprised that your crew wasn’t good with directions. After all, Nami was the navigator, the impact of her absence being very visible. Not waiting to hear what Luffy has to say, the clown continues.

“Arlong Park is on the other side of the East Blue, next to Cocoyasi Village, which is along the coastline.” Since he doesn’t have hands, he tilts his head to gesture towards the location of your desired destination. Your captain nods with a smile.

“I think I know where that is. See, was that so hard?” Luffy says teasingly, looking down at Buggy with a cheeky smile. The clown just glares in return, his smile not reappearing until you gently pick him up in your hands.

“Need me to go tell the others or do you want to do it?” You ask softly. Luffy smiles at you before responding.

“I’ve got it. I am the Captain after all.” He says cockily, though you know he means no harm. You chuckle and nod, finding his happy mood contagious.

“Yes, you are.” He pats you on the shoulder before heading off to inform the rest of the crew of the new developments. You look down at Buggy, his amorous grin causing the heat to rise to your face.

“Now what, sweetness?” He says, his tone smooth. Cocking your head at him, you hum while thinking.

“How about some food? I’m getting pretty hungry and I bet you are too.” You smile at him softly, to which he admires your face.

“You have no idea,” the clown mutters, excited at the prospect of food. Carrying him in your arms, you head to the kitchen, which incidentally is where the rest of the crew seems to be chatting.

As you walk into the room, everyone turns to look at you. Luffy smiles at you gently, Zoro’s face is humorless, and it seems like he’s still irritated about earlier, Sanji’s eyebrows furrow, confused to see you so happy with the clown, and Usopp wears a look of amusement as if he’s just along for the ride. For a moment, everything is quiet, before you decide to walk over to the pantry to find something to eat. Snapping out of his daze, Sanji walks over to you, the others resuming their discussion.

“What can I get for you, dear?” says the cook, gazing at you with a suave smile.

“Just a snack please, enough for two.” Your tone is soft, and you don't miss the look of surprise on Sanji’s face when he understands what you are referring to. You don’t notice it, but Buggy’s face is smug, enjoying watching the other man squirm. Sanji is silent for a moment, his face turning concerned.

“You do know he’s a bad guy, right? Remember what he did to that town?” asks the chef, leaning closer to you, to which Buggy scoffs.

“Lighten up, blondie, you weren’t even there.” Spits out the clown. His tone reads annoyance, not wanting the chef to impact your view of him. Sanji glares down at the head, crossing his arms.

“Yes, I remember. I just figure you get further with people using kindness.” Sanji’s eyes soften at your words, internally reminding himself that this is just who you are. He sighs, before meeting your gaze.

“Just be careful, okay? I don’t want you getting taken advantage of,” he says softly, and you smile at his words in an attempt to comfort him.

“I’ll be fine, I promise.” Chuckling softly at the blonde man’s concern, he nods his head, doing his best to smile back at you. He opens one of the cupboards and pulls out some snacks, handing them to you carefully.

“Let me know if you need help, alright?” Sanji’s eyes still hold some worry, but his easy-going smile is back on his face. You nod in response, thanking him for the food before heading to the top deck, wanting to get some fresh air.

Unbeknownst to you, the rest of the crew watched your interaction with Sanji, teasing him as soon as you were out of earshot.

“Is someone a little jealous?” teases Usopp, to which Sanji shakes his head, brushing him off.

Back on the deck, you take a seat on a blanket, putting Buggy’s head down next to you. He looks up at you with a sense of wonder, admiring your features.

“So what sounds good, apples? Crackers?” You gesture to the pile of snacks in front of you, a soft smile on your face.

“Just give me whatever you don’t want,” says the clown, his smile widening at the surprised look on your face.

“I thought you were this tough guy who only cares about himself?” Your voice is gentle, with a hint of curiosity. He chuckles at your words, shaking his head softly.

“Don’t believe everything you hear, doll.” His eyes twinkle as he speaks. “Who knows, maybe I just like you.” Feeling the heat rise to your face, you look down bashfully, not sure how to respond.

“Apples it is then.” Reaching over to grab one of the apples, you pull out the knife Sanji gave you and start cutting it into smaller pieces, slipping one into your mouth every so often. The clown just watches you, taking the opportunity to admire you while he can. Secretly, he plans to charm you so that you’ll leave with him once this is all over.��

After cutting the apple into enough pieces, you move to give one to Buggy, when an idea comes into your mind.

“Here comes the choo choo train!” You say teasingly, waving the apple slice around like you would for a toddler. His eyes narrow at you, and you can tell he’d be crossing his arms if they were with him.

“Very funny,” he says unamusedly, though there is still a hint of a smile on his face. Chuckling at his response, you finally give him the apple slice, and he watches you while he chews.

“I didn’t pick these apples out so if they’re bad it’s not my fault.” You smirk at him cheekily, and he just shakes his head before swallowing.

“It’s fine,” he says, still smiling at you. “Trust me, I’ve eaten much worse.” Taking an apple slice for yourself, you pop it into your mouth, taking a look at the view around you.

“The sea sure is pretty,” you comment, admiring the fluffy clouds above you.

“Not as pretty as you.” Buggy’s statement makes you turn your head toward him. Searching his eyes for insincerity, your eyebrows furrow as you find none. By now you’re sure you’re blushing, and you look down at the apple to hide the apparent flush on your face.

“You’re quite the flirt, aren’t you?” Anxiety fills your chest, wondering whether his words were truthful or just a way to lower your guard. You fiddle with your fingers, sparing glances in his direction. Almost as if he can hear your thoughts, the clown speaks up, his tone softer than before.

“I’m being serious, you’re gorgeous, babe.” His eyes scan your face, hoping you’ll believe him, the corner of his mouth upturned into a soft smile. You just shake your head softly, his cheeky smile prompting your own. Gaining some confidence, you respond in a pert tone.

“Yeah, well you’re quite the looker yourself. I bet the girls go crazy for you.” Buggy’s cocky demeanor falters for a second, used to giving compliments rather than receiving them. He laughs nervously, thankful for the makeup on his face for hiding the blush on his cheeks.

“Depends on how you define crazy,” he says, tilting his head slightly. Even though you can’t visibly see the flush on his cheeks, his demeanor tells you enough. Chuckling to yourself, you reach for an apple slice, observing the clown as you chew.

“I guess we’re both not used to compliments.” Timbre hushed, you watch as he nods, silently agreeing with your statement. The two of you exchange friendly conversation, slowly opening up to one another. Before you know it, the sun is setting on the horizon as the day comes to a close, and all the snacks you got from Sanji are gone.

“If your captain correctly follows my directions, we should arrive at Arlong Park within a day.” Buggy’s tone is kind, something unusual for him, though there’s still a hint of playfulness. Nodding in response, you move to pick him up, being careful as always. He always gets a weird look on his face when you treat him with such fragility, and you assume it’s because being treated in such a way is unfamiliar territory for him.

Walking down the stairs, you head towards your room, smiling at your crew members as you pass them. Stopping by the kitchen to get some fresh water, you run into Sanji, who seems to be writing something down in a notebook. Probably his meal plan for tomorrow, you think to yourself. The chef turns to you as you enter, surprised to see you still with the clown.

“Aren’t you getting sick of watching him? Why don’t you let one of us take a turn, you’ve been on clown watch all day.” He says with a concerned smile.

“That’s okay, I don’t mind.” Sanji looks at you as you speak, his eyes scanning over your face as if it were a puzzle to be deciphered. His eyebrows furrow, revealing his confusion. To him, watching a pretty person choose to hang out with a homicidal maniac was like watching a scientist write poetry, it made absolutely no sense. He narrows his eyes for a moment, debating on what to say.

“Well, if you’re happy I guess.” His tone indicates that he wants to say more, but is restraining so as to not upset you.

“I’ll just get some water and I’ll be out of your way,” you say mellowly, the awkward tension becoming uncomfortable. At your comment, Sanji sends a flirty smirk in your direction.

“You’re never in my way, darling.” Feeling the blush rise to your cheeks, you nod quickly and head to grab the water. You couldn’t see it, but if looks could kill, the glare Buggy was giving the chef would have knocked him dead. After finding the water, you make a beeline for your room, not wanting to deal with more problematic interactions. As Sanji watches you leave, he wonders to himself how the clown has caught your interest, clearly not understanding the appeal.

Shutting the door to your cabin, you let out a sigh, gingerly placing Buggy on your bed, and moving to sit next to him. He notices the change in your mood, already missing the smile on your face.

“Everything okay, dollface?” His tone is the gentlest it’s been in years. The last time he could recall speaking in such a manner was with Shanks, and that was quite a long time ago. Nodding slowly, you start to fidget with your fingers, signaling your uneasiness.

“There’s just something about the way he looked at me like I was doing something wrong. It just reminds me how I don’t fit in with the rest of the crew.” You bring your hand up to start picking at your lips, the anxiety in your gut triggering the habit that appears whenever you get nervous. The action does not go unnoticed by the clown, and he tries to think of a way to calm you down.

“Hey, don’t do that. You’ll get scars,” Buggy says gently, wishing he had his body with him so he could grab your hand and pull it away from your face. Pausing your movements to look at him, you notice how concerned he seems, which ignites a strange feeling in your chest, comfort perhaps. You chuckle softly before replying, watching how his eyes never leave your face.

“It’s a little too late for that, I’m afraid.” He doesn’t match your laughter, aware of your attempt at deflection. A deep pit of sorrow seeps its way through his chest, which feels strange considering it’s not currently attached to him. It’s at this moment when he realizes how much he cares for you and decides that when you find Nami and the rest of his body, you’re coming with him. He’d be damned if he let anyone make you feel anything other than happiness. For a few minutes, you just watch each other, deciding what to say. In the end, Buggy is the one to break the silence.

“I know what it’s like to not fit in, but trust me when I say you’re a treasure, and anyone who doesn’t see that is an idiot. This crew is lucky to have you, they should be making you happy, not sad.” He smiles at you, his usual teasing nature completely gone in exchange for raw sincerity.

“Look, I know we haven’t known each other long, but I meant it when I said I had a spot for you on my crew. You’d be treated like royalty, which is exactly what you deserve.” Unlike the first time he said it, you actually consider what it would be like to join him, the thought bringing a small smile to your face.

“There’s that gorgeous smile. You’re too pretty to be sad, angel.” His words may be flirty, but he means each of them wholeheartedly. You chuckle and blush breaking into a full smile.

“How are you so sure your crew will like me?” You ask softly, tilting your head at him.

“They’d be stupid not to like you. And even if they don’t, their Captain does which means they don’t really have much of a choice.” He smirks up at you, enjoying the little giggle you let out. “At the end of the day, they’re below me and you’d be beside me, so at the very least they’d respect you. Knowing my crew though, I can pretty much guarantee they’ll like you.”

You listen to him speak with a smile, and for the first time in a long time, you feel like someone actually understands you, even if that someone is technically your crew’s rival. He grins as you nod, observing you with an almost wondrous look.

“We have to find Nami first though, okay?” You declare, pointing your finger at him playfully. Buggy laughs and nods, swearing that neither of you will leave before the redhead is found. A yawn slips out as you chuckle, the fatigue from the day reappearing like a weight on your shoulders.

“It’s late, we should get some sleep. Besides, tomorrow’s the day we rescue your friend and I’d rather you didn’t fall asleep on me.” He says with a smirk, and you nod, giggling softly to yourself. Pulling back the blanket, you move to lie down, placing Buggy’s head on its side on a pillow in front of you.

“Good night, Bugs.” The clown smiles at the nickname, gazing at you fondly as you snuggle up with the blanket.

“Good night, darling.” He says softly, watching you close your eyes. He takes the opportunity to study your features, afraid that if he looks away he’ll forget them. After a while he hears your breathing even out, signaling your unconscious state. Only then he closes his eyes, hoping to dream of you.

—---

The next morning goes by quickly, everyone preparing for the rescue they’re about to attempt. Buggy’s directions were correct, and Arlong Park was visible just on the horizon. The energy is full of excitement and anticipation, with everyone looking forward to seeing Nami again. Right now, you’re sitting on the deck surrounded by the rest of the crew as they discuss the game plan.

“You know the layout of Arlong Park, don’t you, clown?” Zoro’s tone is harsh, and Buggy has to physically resist rolling his eyes. He’s placed on your lap, something that keeps catching the eyes of Sanji, perhaps with a hint of jealousy. The only person who isn’t actively glaring daggers at him is Luffy, though that doesn’t say much considering the pirate is always happy.

“Yes, but I won’t be much help as a head, so we need to find my body first. Then we can go after your navigator.” If it wasn’t for your gentle touch on the sides of his neck, he would’ve gone off by now, annoyed at being treated like a prisoner.

“I can help with that,” you pipe up, and everyone nods in agreement. The group discusses some more, everyone being assigned various roles to assist in the operation going smoothly. After that, you all gear up, your goal being to reattach Buggy’s head to his body before you can help the others. Soon, the boat is docked a little away from your destination, not wanting to signal Arlong’s men of your arrival.

Trekking through the foliage, you finally make it to the gates and split into groups, deciding that it’ll be easier to cover more ground that way. Your group consists of yourself, Buggy, and Sanji, as the chef didn’t trust the clown being alone with you. The blue-haired pirate directs you towards a hidden entrance along the side of the park, one in which you hopefully wouldn’t be spotted. Following his directions, you come across a small clearing in the trees, Sanji following right behind you.

“Where do you think your body is being kept?” You ask quietly, hoping your voice doesn’t tell Arlong or his men of your locations.

“Probably somewhere amongst the carnival games. Since he’s taken it I’ve noticed they’ve been throwing something at it, probably darts based on the sensation. Arlong likes to mess with people anyway, so it would make sense.” Nodding, you head towards that area, allowing Buggy to tell you where to go since he’s the only one who’s been here before. Not long after, you stumble upon what you’re looking for, Buggy’s body pinned up against some balloons. Breaking out into a large smile, you look down at Buggy, and he grins back up at you.

“Wow, you were actually right,” Sanji comments, his words full of surprise and bitterness, his distaste for the clown painfully obvious.

“You say that like it’s a miracle.” The clown says in rebuttal, sharing the disdain for the chef. Suddenly, Buggy’s head flies out of your hands as the various parts of his body reattach themselves. Once he’s back to being a whole person, he hops down from the wall, running towards you with joy written on his face.

“It feels better than I even remembered!” Says the clown, running his hands up and down his arms. He turns to you with a grin.

“Now let’s go find your friend.” You nod at him, his happiness triggering your own.

While searching for Nami, you run into the rest of your crew, who seem to be in a bit of a hurry.

“What’s the matter? Did you find her? Is she okay?” Right as Usopp is about to answer, a familiar voice rings into the air.

“Miss me that much?” You turn your head in the direction of the sound, and a huge smile breaks out on your face as you see Nami running towards you. She smirks at your expression before continuing. “We need to get out of here before the rest of the Arlong pirates find us, we can catch up later.” You nod quickly, picking up your pace, and start running behind the others, Buggy at your side.

Once you all are far enough away from Arlong Park, the crew stops to properly greet Nami, yourself included. You can tell she’s not much of a hugger, so you make sure your embrace is short. As you all talk amongst yourselves, Buggy stands a few feet away, not wanting to interrupt the moment. After everyone had a chance to talk to the red-haired girl, she finally notices the clown standing awkwardly a few steps away and furrows her eyebrows in confusion.

“What the hell is he doing here?” She asks shortly, starting to walk in his direction. You quickly move to stand in front of her, preventing the two from fighting.

“It’s okay, he’s okay,” you say quickly, and are met with a confused look from the girl. “He actually helped us find you. I mean, we had no idea where we were going until he showed up, considering you are our navigator.” She scoffs at the idea of Buggy willingly helping someone who isn’t part of his crew.

“Oh yeah? How’d you get him to do that? Torture him or something?” Nami looks at Buggy suspiciously, not believing that he actually did something nice for once. You shake your head, chuckling nervously, not sure how to explain the whole ‘I gave him a bath and we kinda connected’ thing. Lucky for you, Buggy speaks up.

“Your crew member here is very convincing.” He takes a step forward, gesturing to you with a cheeky smile. She just watches the two of you for a moment, finally connecting the dots between Buggy’s friendly attitude and your flustered demeanor.

“Huh. Well, that’s something I didn’t expect to see today,” says the redhead, her timbre nonchalant.

“What didn’t you expect to see, Nami?” Sanji quickly asks. Now that she’s back, Sanji is taking every opportunity he can find to speak with Nami.

“Y/N hooking up with the clown. They didn’t seem like the type but I guess we all have secrets.” She looks at you with a smirk, a deep blush blossoming on your face. The rest of the crew looks surprised, especially Usopp, now that your little fancy has been blatantly stated.

“Wait, you have a thing for the clown captain? How am I only finding out about this now?” Usopp asks with a smile on his face.

“You really haven’t noticed? Even though I can’t possibly fathom why, they’ve been spending every second together the past few days. I mean, they’re always blushing around him, and that’s a sign of only one thing.” You’re surprised that Zoro seems so calm now, especially considering the way he reacted in the beginning. There’s no smile on his face, but he doesn’t appear to be upset. “You really need to be more observant of your surroundings, Usopp.” The swordsman shakes his head, baffled at his crew member’s ignorance.

It’s Sanji who turns to you next, a mix of emotions on his face. “So you two are really a thing?” he asks hesitantly, not sure if he really wants to hear the answer. By now you’re sure your face is deeply flushed, not used to being put in the spotlight.

“Let’s just say I’m pretty fond of your crew member,” Buggy looks at you cheekily, enjoying the blush on your visage. Sanji stays silent for a moment before nodding, leaning closer to say something to you.

“Just be careful, darling, okay?” His voice is gentle, and he backs away as soon as he sees the glare the clown is giving him. Suddenly Nami walks up to Buggy with a tough look on her face.

“If you hurt them, I’ll make sure you’re just a head, permanently.” He immediately puts his hands up in surrender, knowing that she fully means the threat.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, they’re too precious.” The look on the clown’s face shows his fear of her, a sight that almost makes Nami’s lip quirk.

“Good.” She turns back to you, the smile returning to her face.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I’ll actually miss you.” You knew this was the closest Nami got to being sappy, and you moved to give her one last hug.

“I’ll miss you too, Nami. Keep the boys in check for me, will you?” The navigator chuckles at your question, letting you go from the hug.

“Oh I will, you don’t need to worry about that.” Despite not knowing you for long, Nami secretly always liked you, finding you the most enjoyable to be around, unbeknownst to you.

Turning to the rest of your crew, you can tell they’ve already figured out your decision. You walk up to Luffy first, who’s beaming at you like a little boy.

“We’ll miss you too but I can tell this is what you want.” Your lips tug upwards at his statement, appreciating the way he values your wants and desires. “You know you’re always welcome on the straw hat crew, right?” His question makes you smile, and you nod in response. Stepping closer, you give him a tight hug which he happily reciprocates. ‘Always so touchy’ you think to yourself fondly. After pulling away, you say goodbye to the rest of the crew members, even getting a small “good luck kid” from Zoro.

“Until we meet again.” You say to all of them, nodding as a sign of respect. They wave at you as you walk away, following Buggy to go find his crew. As you’re walking, he stops abruptly and turns to you.

“Oh! I forgot something.” Raising your eyebrows, you start to open your mouth to ask him what he meant, when suddenly he carefully grabs the back of your neck, pulling your lips against his. Your eyes widen for a second out of surprise, but you quickly close them and kiss him back, moving your hand to his bicep. He grins at you after you pull away, taking pleasure in the shy look on your face.

“Cat got your tongue?” The blue-haired man says softly, referring to the conversation you had the day you first met. You giggle and shake your head, hiding your face in his chest. He laughs and wraps his arms around you.

“You’re too cute, you know that? Now come on, I’ve got some people to introduce you to.” You look up at him as you pull away, smiling as he grabs your hand to lead you to his crew.

Please do not replicate/repost :)

#my writing #buggy #buggy fanfic #buggy fanfiction #buggy x reader #buggy the clown x reader #one piece x reader #one piece

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