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greenorangevioletgrass · 5 days

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tuesday in the park (a.d.)

pairing: divorced!art x reader

synopsis: your alone time at the park takes an interesting turn when a little girl breaks the quiet, but maybe... her dad is a good company.

warnings: language, smoking, mention of divorce, lily is an adorable lil oblivious cupid, sooo much tension tho, maybe smut in future parts? idk

notes: i am back and pathetic bitch boy art has officially given me a brainrot. this is also very self-indulgent and heavily based on my irl experience (except the fact that it's art, sadly) soooo... enjoy!

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City parks are fucking depressing. Especially the industrial type that’s square, and covered in concrete and has, like, four trees. They’re all well-manicured and hung with string lights, but there’s still barely enough greens to call it a park. And to add insult to injury, a Tiffany’s installation art currently sits at the head of the park—a giant diamond ring in a lush velvet box the size of a Range Rover. It’s gaudy as shit, and the massive Aston Martin billboard overhead is an assault to the eyes. You honestly have no idea why you’re sitting here.

Oh, right. It’s like 2PM on a Tuesday afternoon in some downtown office area, so there’s nobody else there. You can just sit and smoke and watch the water spout from the ground in pretty patterns. The steady rhythm of the fountain jets quiets the chaos in your mind.

Inhale. Exhale. As the fountain hisses and ceases, hisses and ceases…

And then suddenly… another pattern.

A pitter-patter. Like little footsteps. Quick moving, and then it stops. Right to your left.

You turn your head and see a little girl sitting right next to you. Her white sneakers look so small next to yours. She pushes a lock of dark ringlets off of her face as she watches the floor fountain in quiet curiosity and awe.

It takes you a moment to realize you still had a cigarette in your hand. You quickly stub it out as far from her as you can. “Uh… hello.” You frown at your own words, but how the fuck do you talk to kids in this situation?!

But the kid looks up and smiles at you politely. “Hello.” she nods and then returns her gaze to the water bursting in canon.

You’re even more confused. She doesn’t even seem deterred by sitting next to a stranger—willingly, at that. “Well, are you… are you alone?”

“No. With my dad,” she answers, light as a feather.

“Oh, good. Good.” You sigh in relief and look around for any sign of a parent, adult, anyone looking for a missing child. “Where’s your—”

“Lily! There you are!” A man’s voice cuts through the dull noise of the city. You turn around to see him rushing over to the little girl, grimacing apologetically at you. “Sorry. I’m not a negligent father, I swear. I just… turned around and this little monkey’s run off.”

The little girl—Lily, apparently— giggles as her dad throws her a look, gentle but firm. “You said we could watch the water fountains, Daddy!”

“Yeah, but don’t run off like that…” He rolls his eyes, though you notice his sharp jaw twitching with a hidden smile. And then, leaning into Lily’s ear but still loud enough within your earshot, “And you certainly weren’t supposed to invade this nice lady’s personal space—”

“It’s no trouble. I was just sitting here,” you quickly wave him off.

“Daddy, can I play over there?” Lily points at the streaming water at the center of the park.

The man pulls a face. “I don’t know, Lil—”

“Come on, Daddy…”

“No way.”

“Just for five minutes. Please?” She bats her eyelashes, and you can immediately tell it’s her father’s Achilles heel. Because as much as you try to stay out of the conversation, you can hear the audible sigh coming from him, followed by,

“Fine. Five minutes, okay?”

The little girl bolts off to the fountains, tiny hands reaching out to the jet streams, testing out how strong it is. Figuring out the fountain pattern and stepping on each jet right as it shuts off, one foot after the other. It makes you wish it was socially acceptable for adults to do that, too.

“You’re free to sit and watch her from here, if you want.”

He looks at you, like really looks at you for the first time. At your rolled-up button-down, the chain around your neck with a pendant he can’t see under your collar. But mostly at your kind eyes—weathered, witnessed, but somehow not judging.

He pushes his short blond hair out of his face the same way the little girl does, and the similarity almost makes you laugh… if you weren’t so worried about making a fool of yourself in front of this handsome man. “You sure? I… didn’t want to intrude.”

You shake your head softly and scoot over on the steps, allowing him just enough space to sit down.

He notices the stubbed cigarette between your forefinger and middle finger. “You got another one on you?”

It takes you a beat to realize what he’s talking about. “Oh!” You reach for your pack of Camel, and offer it to him, one cigarette stick already pushed out for easier access.

He takes it with a polite smile, but then pauses upon realizing he has no lighter either. “Um, do you mind if I borrow—”

You lean in as he puts it between his lips, one hand cupping the light from the breeze, and his heart stops at how close you are. Close enough to notice the gloss on your lips. Close enough to get a faint whiff of your floral perfume.

(And unbeknownst to him, your heart stutters a little, too, and you hope he doesn’t notice the way you fumble lighting your own cigarette.)

“Thanks, um…” he trails off.

You tell him your name, and he repeats it almost thoughtfully. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, like he’s chasing the taste of your name as it leaves his mouth.

He nods. “I’m Art.”

He does look like it. The navy blue sweater hangs just right on his broad shoulders, understated but high-quality. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, showing a sleek black Piguet around his wrist. A simplicity to complement his refined features. His bone structure is cut like the gods, but the permanent frown etched between his brows, casting a shadow over his deep-set eyes, tells you that he is facing the troubles of man. And the awkward way he’s holding his cigarette makes him look like a boy. Of course, you can’t say any of that to him, so you settle with,

“Nice to meet you, Art.”

He can’t remember the last time somebody said that to him and meant it. And right now, sitting in this concrete park alone, he can see no pretense coming from you. No ass-kissing, no sizing-up, just a genuine kind gesture of a stranger. And it makes him so fucking relieved.

“So what brings you out here?”

“Work, actually. A meeting,” Art replies somewhat vaguely. He’s not really keen on divulging the details of sponsorship and endorsement deals. Not when you don’t seem to know who he is. “Lily saw the park from the window and insisted we check it out when we’re done.”

“Ah, does she normally tag along with you to work meetings?” You ask with a playful glint, although the unspoken question of his whole situation is well heard. “She should. She looks like a great negotiator. Just saying.”

He chuckles. “Maybe she should. My, uh…” Art stops himself before he could say ‘wife’ because Tashi isn’t that anymore. Not his wife because they aren’t married anymore; not his coach either, because he doesn’t play tennis anymore. “Lily’s mom and I take turns every other week.”

And there it is. Your lips pull up into a soft line, not quite a smile but a gesture of understanding. “Must be tough.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s a lot of changes. But she’s doing okay, I think…” Art pauses, “I hope.”

You follow his gaze and look at Lily, who must be playing some kind of Indiana Jones fantasy scenario with the water fountains. Not an ounce of care in the world. “She looks like a tough kid.”

“She is.” Art smiles bittersweetly. “Anyway, you didn’t come here to listen to my sob story. What brings you to this park?”

The air that pulls both of you in releases, and you lean back on your elbows against the concrete. “Oh, I just finished work and I… needed some air.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m an interpreter.”

His eyebrows shoot up in interest. “Like the Nicole Kidman movie?”

“Exactly.” You point your half-cigarette at him, and share a tentative smile with him.

“Do you do, like… high-profile, UN-related assassination investigations, too?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “It’s not nearly as cool in real life. Most of it’s pretty boring, like contract negotiations and focus group discussions…”

“But the stories you must’ve heard, right? Or do you just… zone out at some point?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes you end up shutting off your brain and go on autopilot.”

“But not today?”

You smile ruefully at him, and he knows the answer. You take a thoughtful puff of your cigarette. “It’s… a bit hard when they’re talking about… how they had to jump off of the ship and swim across the channel in the dead of night, because they would rather die in the open water—a couple of them did— than die working in the fishing vessel…”

“Fuck.”

“And I know it’s not really meant for me—they’re talking to my client sitting next to me. But when they look you in the eyes and speak to you…” you trail off, taking a long drag of your cigarette.

Art takes it as a cue for his cigarette, too, although he notices you tapping the ashes off one, two, three times. “Must be tough.”

You roll your eyes playfully at him for quoting your own words back to you. “Ah well, it pays the bills. Besides, I get to clock out at 2PM on a Tuesday and enjoy this…” you inhale through your teeth disdainfully, “beautiful, brutalist… Soviet-core park.”

He laughs, the real kind of laughter that throws his head back, and it warms your heart enough to laugh, too. “It’s bullshit, isn’t it?”

“It’s bullshit! And what the fuck is that horrendous giant ring doing here?” The two of you cackle over the installation art across the park. “And that billboard… it’s ridiculous.”

Art’s laughter dies down on his lips as he looks up at the billboard in question. The Aston Martin “Game Changers” campaign from last year. Fuck. Even when he’s completely separated from Tashi, her presence still looms over like a panopticon.

You turn to him with a smile still etched on your face, completely oblivious to the storm in his head. “What?”

But he looks ahead, too caught up in the hurricane to hear you. He just… looks up at the billboard, his face darkens.

Oh.

You feel silly for not putting two and two together—you’ve been staring at the billboard mindlessly for a good fifteen minutes, goddammit— so you tread very carefully. “That, uh… Lily’s mom?”

Art looks down on his lap, as if not daring to look at Tashi’s picture. Or at Lily, or at you. “Yeah.”

There’s no right word for it. There’s no coming back from this, nothing he can say can make this better, and he can’t help but kick himself for fucking up. What he is fucking up, he’s not entirely sure. But he’s not ready to end this conversation with you, not on such a weird note.

“I can’t imagine what it must be like…” because you can’t. Losing a spouse is hard enough, but to have it out there in the open…

“It’s tough,” he nods in confirmation, and you smile feebly at his attempt at a callback to your little inside joke. To the moment where things are fine, all things considered.

If the air ebbed and flowed earlier, it must’ve just… froze now. You don’t even remember the cigarette in your hand until the ash falls onto your hand and you gasp at the sudden heat, putting it out on the ground.

“I’m sorry. I should get out of your hair—”

“Do you wanna get a drink some time?”

The question catches both of you off-guard, eyes blinking at each other in shock. He didn’t think he heard you right, and your mouth seems to work faster than the filter in your brain.

Your face runs hot, and you chuckle sheepishly. “Sorry. You probably don’t wanna hear that—”

“I do.” He’s not sure which question he’s answering. Maybe both? Definitely both.

“Oh! Um…”

And right in that moment, Lily comes padding over with squelching steps in her shoes, completely drenched but over the moon. “Daddy, Daddy, that was so much fun! Can we come back here? I see lights on the floor, and I think the fountain lights up at night!”

Art puts out his cigarette under his shoe, chuckling at his daughter, “Baby, you’re soaked! Did you try to take a shower there or something?” immediately wringing water out of her hair.

“I’ll take a real shower when we get home.”

“Well, duh. But I don’t want you to catch a cold… come here.” He crosses his arm to grab the hem of his sweater and tug it over his head to put it on his daughter.

The girl looks thoroughly unamused as the clothing item falls halfway down her calves and the sleeves nearly touch the ground. “Daddy, this is ridiculous.”

You grin, and you can’t help but wonder how much of that sass came from Art. “Looks pretty chic to me.”

He nods at you, glad that you’re backing him up. “Thank you.” He then turns to Lily pointedly.

Lily half-smiles at you. “Thank you,” although she still isn’t quite convinced.

“I’m sorry, we really gotta go. But how do I, um…” he trails off. Gosh, he was hoping to do this out of Lily’s sight. Lily’s sight means Tashi’s sight, and he’s not ready for that talk just yet.

“Take my card.” You whip out a neat stainless steel case, and slides out a white-and-blue business card. Your name is printed in a sleek black font, right above ‘Interpreter’ in a smaller case. Your email and phone number follows.

His fingers brush against yours as he takes it, and he prays to God or whoever is up there that he doesn’t give anything away to you or Lily. Not a quirk, not a peep. Just two strangers connecting by chance.

“Thank you.” He nods evenly as he pockets the card, trying to contain the butterflies in his stomach—he’s always thought he was too old for that by now, but maybe… just maybe… “You have a nice day.”

“You, too.” You squint up at him under the sun, and then smile and wave at the little girl. “Bye, Lily.”

She waves at you as Art sweeps her up into his arms, and you don’t let yourself turn all the way around to watch them leave. Instead, with one final look at Art’s “Game Changers” billboard ad in the distance, you grab your pack of Camel and light another cigarette between your lips.

#art donaldson #divorced!art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #divorced!art x reader #art donaldson fluff #eeeeeeeee im so h-word physically and emotionally for him #ava writes #challengers fic

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strvngeweather · 4 months

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How to Get Rid of Your Virginity; a one shot.

💘PAIRING: badboy!jungkook x theaternerd!reader 💘GENERE: College AU, smut, a little fluff 💘WORD COUNT: 4.6K 💘WARNINGS: Smut, smut, and more smut. 💘SUMMARY: You've always been the good girl who followed the rules but you're ready to shed that image and lose your virginity to the college's resident bad boy: Jungkook. 💘AUTHOR'S NOTE: Apparently, I really got into my feelings with this fic. A bit of sweetness at the end but mostly smut. I hope you enjoy!

Opposites attract – at least, that’s what your best friend, Elena, had told you. She had provided you with solid proof too.

“Just take a look around,” she had said, a cup full of vodka and cherry-flavored juice in her hand, motioning toward the various partygoers. She pointed out an art student cuddled up with a girl who looked like she belonged on the arm of a footballer. “That’s Taehyung. His girlfriend is the ‘All-American Girl’ type and he’s a huge nerd. But they’re in love.”

You nodded. “Okay, they’re the exception.”

She shook her head, taking a long sip, wincing at the burn of the alcohol. “Okay, what about them?” She pointed at Jimin. Jimin was your textbook Type-A worker bee. He was known to avoid large social gatherings like this but here he was, leaning against a wall, his girlfriend in his arms. He kissed her lightly on the neck before grabbing a hearty handful of her ass. “That is our resident party girl cuddled up with our best scholar.”

“He’s a fine scholar,” You admitted, and Elena agreed. “Okay, so what’s your point?”

“My point,” Elena began, taking another long sip. “Are that people from different sides of the track get together all the time. Cheerleader and nerd, party girl, and punctual pupil. Nerdy theater geek and super delicious bad boy.”

You were the nerdy theater geek she had been referencing and the delicious bad boy? That title belonged to Jungkook.

You glanced over at him. He was standing between Taehyung and Jimin, effortlessly chatting the night away. Jungkook had been on your radar ever since you started attending this university two years ago. He was an upperclassman, so you didn’t run into him often but when you did, you savored every second you got to gaze upon him. The man was beautiful. But make no mistake, this was not a crush. You thought he was sexy as hell, but you weren’t into him. You were a future Broadway star and Jungkook? Well, you don’t know what his future entailed but it was starkly different from yours. You were sure of it. There was no way you two would work out romantically.

You wanted him for different reasons. More carnal reasons. You wanted him to take your virginity.

But, while you wanted him, you weren’t sure if he wanted you. You didn’t look like his type – you assumed. But Elena was attempting to convince you otherwise.

“I just don’t think he’d be down for it,” you said with a shrug. “I mean, he’s not into girls like me.”

“He’s a man!” Elena said, her voice raised. You knew that was a sign that the liquor was kicking in for her. “He’s into any girl who wants to bone him! Go over there!”

Elena pushed you toward him, but you stopped, glaring at her. “What would I even say? ‘Hey, Jungkook, wanna fuck?’”

Elena nodded and gave you a blank stare. “That sounded perfect. What’s stopping you?”

You groaned. Of course, Elena would think that’s an acceptable way to approach a man but before you could protest, she was signaling Jungkook to come over. Your eyes widened, a mortifying feeling washing over you.

I could kill her, you thought, I could kill her and bury the body beneath the school’s theater.

Jungkook looked at Elena, a confused look etched across his handsome features. Then, he did the unthinkable. He began to walk over.

He stopped just short of the both of you, the wallflowers for the night, and smiled. “Good evening, ladies, how can I help you?”

Elena nudged you and you opened your mouth to speak but found only your pride, self-respect, and the last shred of confidence falling out of your mouth and onto the floor to be stomped on by a slew of drunken college students. Elena, noticing your mouth open and a dazed look on your face, rolled her eyes and blurted out, “She wants to fuck you.”

This is it, you thought, this is how I die.

But it wasn’t.

Because Jungkook’s eyes raked over you, a hint of lust clouding behind them, and smiled. “Oh, really?”

You nodded, fear and excitement striking into your heart.

Elena continued, “She’s been waiting to make a move all night, but she’s been too afraid to.”

Jungkook looked at you. “Consent is sexy, so I have to hear it from your mouth.”

You swallowed thickly, slowly nodding. “She’s not, I mean, I’m not –” You stopped, taking a deep breath. “Yes. Coitus is something I’d like to experience with you – I mean, if you’re up for it.”

He held out his hand. “Well, let’s go experience it.”

“Right now?”

“Why not?”

You looked between him and Elena searching for a reason as to why now wasn’t a good time to get your back blown out, but you couldn’t find one. Not a good one, anyway. So, you put on a brave face, took his hand, and let him lead you upstairs and into the nearest empty bedroom.

You didn't know who this bedroom belonged to as it had no signs of life. A basic dark wood dresser hugged the right wall, a few sports posters lined the walls and a simple full-sized bed with white and blue bedding sat in the middle of the floor. Jungkook took a seat on the bed, and you sat next to him, unable to meet his eye.

“Come here,” he said, cupping your face and drawing you forward.

He wanted a kiss, so you followed his lead, but your nose bumped into his. “I’m so sorry!” You said in a panicked voice. “I – I didn’t mean for –”

“It’s okay,” he said through a small laugh. Another attempt at a kiss was made but instead of bumping noses, you bumped foreheads. He rubbed his forehead, scrunching up his face. “Maybe we skip kissing,” he said, standing up. “How about this instead?” He began to climb on top of you. You readjusted yourself, hoping to make things flow more smoothly but you ended up kneeing him in the stomach.

“Fuck, I am so sorry!” You said as you watched him grit his teeth.

“It’s okay,” he said once again and rounded the other side of the bed. He took a seat and laid back. “Why don’t you come lay beside me?”

You nodded. You got up and laid down next to him.

“Why don’t you lead?” Jungkook suggested and you silently agreed that that might be for the best.

You began to get up but found your elbow stabbing him in the chest.

This was going horribly.

“Are you sure you want to have sex?” Jungkook asked.

“I do,” you said quietly, biting your lip. “I’m just really nervous.”

Jungkook narrowed his eyes at you. “Why are you nervous?”

You chewed on your bottom lip, avoiding his gaze. How do you tell one of the hottest guys on campus that you’re a virgin? A lonely loser virgin?

“If it’s me, then there’s nothing to be nervous about,” Jungkook said. “I’m not as experienced as everyone says I am. I mean, I have had sex with quite a few people – all safe and consensual of course – but I’m nothing like the lothario people say I am. I mean, I’m just –”

You cut him off. “I’m nervous because I’m a virgin.”

The room went quiet. Too quiet. Embarrassingly quiet. If there was a God, he would have taken mercy on you and allowed the world to swallow you at this exact moment. But no, mercy did not shine a light on you this day.

“And you wanted me to take your virginity?”

He seemed more surprised that you had chosen him as your virginity taker than the fact that you were still a virgin. Regardless, you nodded. “Yeah, I figured if I was going to lose it, I might as well lose it to someone hot.”

His cheeks flashed a crimson color. “Don’t you want your first time to be special?”

You scoffed. “First off, virginity is just a construct and secondly, it would have been special no matter what because it’s my first time and I was in control. Besides, I’ve got a bucket list to finish this year.”

Jungkook looked at you. “Oh yeah? What else is on your list?”

“Smoking weed. I’ve never been high before.”

And just like that, Jungkook produced a blunt out of his back pocket. “You’re in luck. Listen, I don’t think the sex thing is going to happen tonight, but I can smoke you out.”

You felt relief wash over you. There was still hope. He said it wouldn’t happen tonight not that it wouldn’t happen ever – hey, it may have been delulu but you were going to take it and ride off with it into the sun. You watched closely as Jungkook lit the blunt, taking a few deep inhales, holding it in, and then exhaling, coughing along the way. Your first few attempts at smoking the joint were failures but after the third try, you got the hang of it. You also coughed a lung out but the serene feeling that flowed through you a few moments later was worth it.

The blunt had been reduced to a roach and you and Jungkook were lying on the bed, laughing and talking about everything under the sun. You learned he was a film major and planned on moving to Los Angeles after graduation to pursue a career out there. When you told him you wanted to be the next Audra McDonald, he didn’t laugh or tease you like so many others had before. He thought your love of theater was cool and asked you a million questions about it. He found it impressive that you could hold such high notes while doing intricate choreography. Finally, a silence settled over the two of you as the green forced you both into an extreme high.

“Can I ask you something?” Jungkook’s voice was like molasses, thick and slow. Or maybe you were just so damn high that’s how you heard it.

“Mhm,” you hummed.

“What’s the farthest you’ve gone?”

“Like traveling?”

He shook his head. “No, I mean … with sex.”

“Oh,” you replied. “Um, I’ve jerked a guy off before.”

“Have you …” he began but trailed off. He turned his head to look at you, attempting to gauge your reaction. “Ever received oral?”

You shook your head. “Nah.”

“You want to?”

You froze, and a sobering feeling hit you like a pillow full of soap. The idea of getting your coochie licked sounded damn good right now, especially with the weed in your system. “Yeah, I mean, I guess I’d like to try it one day.”

“How about today?”

You could still feel Jungkook’s eyes on you. Well, shit. You had already crossed one item off your bucket list. Might as well cross another. So, you said, “Yeah, let’s do it.”

Within seconds, Jungkook was between your legs, lifting your pleated skirt to your hips and sliding your baby pink panties down. Your body froze as you felt a finger slide in between your slits. “A virgin who shaves,” you heard him muse, mostly to himself. A thumb began rubbing your clit and a gasp escaped your throat. Before you could say something else, his tongue was on your lips. Your … other lips. It darted out, parting your lips and flicking against your clit in a feverish way.

Your back arched in response and you felt as if all the air in your lungs had left your body. You found your hands gripping the white sheets as he buried his face deeper between your legs, his tongue sliding in and out of your hole before traveling up and down your slit and finally focusing back on your clit. The sensation became a little too much and you squirmed away, hoping to ease some of the intensity but that only made things worse. Jungkook wrapped his hands around your thick thighs, pulling you closer, spread your legs apart further, and kept his hands gripped on your thighs, ensuring you wouldn’t be going too far. “Don’t run from it,” you heard him whisper.

You’re not sure how long he was at it but by the time your world turned white, you were making noises only a dog could hear.

. . . . .

It wasn’t in your nature to willingly be a third wheel, but the town’s annual spring fair was here and there was no way you were going to miss it. Even if Elena insisted on bringing her boyfriend, Felix. The night wasn’t all bad though. You had spotted Jungkook hanging with a few of his friends and the two of you waved at each other. It had been three weeks since the party and the two of you had kept in contact, texting each other funny memes here and there, sometimes talking on the phone late into the night but nothing more, nothing less.

As the three of you waited in line for the Ferris wheel, you noticed that the ride only allowed pairs. That took care of Elena and Felix but what about you?

“Can you believe that? Since when has the Ferris wheel been limited to two people at a time?” You turned around to face your best friend, but she wasn’t listening. She was too busy using her tongue to excavate Felix’s mouth. You groaned. “Of course, you two would choose now to suck face.”

The line moved forward, and it was your turn to get on. The ride operator gave you a pitiful look. “You got a partner?” He asked but he knew the answer to that. Just as you were about to step out of line to die of embarrassment in a dark and quiet place, your knight in shining armor appeared.

“I’m her partner.”

Jungkook. Sweet, sweet, Jungkook. Sweet, delicious, Jungkook who smelled like heaven and was wearing a red button-up shirt that showed off all his muscles. What? Sue you for noticing!

Jungkook held out his hand and you took it, the two of you loading on the ride and strapping in. Elena smirked at you as the ride began. The ride slowly lifted you and Jungkook up a few feet and then paused, allowing Elena and Felix to board.

“Thanks for saving the day,” you said with a smile. “The Ferris wheel is my favorite ride.”

“No shit, mine too,” Jungkook replied.

Your eyes brightened. “Really? You don’t seem like the type.”

“What type do I seem like?”

“A coaster man.”

“I like coasters too,” he admitted. “But something about the Ferris wheel just calms me, you know?”

“Yeah,” you said. “I get that.”

“So, how’s your bucket list going? Cross off anything else?” Jungkook asked as the Ferris wheel began moving again and then paused, allowing another couple on.

“I have,” you told him excitedly. “Elena and I went skinny dipping two days ago.”

“Damn, I’m sad I missed that one,” Jungkook said with a cheeky smile. “Still a virgin?”

“Still a virgin.”

Jungkook looked at you, his eyes falling to your exposed legs. You were wearing a plaid overall dress and a long-sleeved white shirt underneath. You wondered for a moment if he was judging your fashion choices until he licked his lips and you saw the lust clouding his eyes. “Ever been fingered?”

You shrugged; a sheepish smile found its way to your face. “Only when you ate me out that one time.”

“But never in public?”

“Of course not.”

He looked at you, his eyes begging for permission and as the Ferris wheel began moving again, forcing you and Jungkook to the top, his hands found their way between your thighs. He rubbed your core through your panties. You felt him lean over, his lips brushing against your neck before peppering kisses across your chin. You couldn’t help but giggle as he pushed your panties to the side, and you felt two fingers slide up and down your already-wet slit.

You felt your heart beating faster in his chest when he slid a finger inside and used his thumb to rub circles on your clit. The sensation was quickly becoming too much for you. Especially in public of all places. But as the Ferris wheel worked its way down, you were as well. Your orgasm slowly washed away as the ride finally came to a stop, allowing you and Jungkook to get off.

“Thanks for the ride,” you told him and in response, he kissed your cheek and made his way back to his friends.

…

It was official: You and Jungkook were friends. Like actual friends. You talked to him just as much as you talked to Elena, if not more. You had met his friends and his friend’s girlfriends. You spent time at his apartment. He smoked you out at least once a week and the last time the two of you decided to go on an impromptu diner trip, the waitress mistook you for a couple.

That’s why it wasn’t a surprise when he accompanied you to the library today. You both had papers due and decided to study together. However, you found that the two of you didn’t get much studying done and instead spent most of your time together making jokes and trying to steer clear of the librarian’s wrath.

In an attempt to get some serious studying done, Jungkook suggested getting a table at the back of the library. As you followed him to the back of the library, you noticed a couple, deep within the library aisles, where students rarely went, getting it on. You stopped Jungkook, tugging on his sleeve. “Look!” You whispered. “Oh my god, isn’t that Jimin?”

An approving smile pulled at the corner of Jungkook’s lips. “Yeah. Ever since he met his girlfriend, he’s become such a horn dog.”

You couldn’t take your eyes off the couple. Jimin had his girlfriend leaning on a bookshelf for support, her pants pulled down to her knees and his face buried between her ass cheeks. You hated to say it but it kind of turned you on. Jungkook took your hand and pulled you along.

“He’s not afraid of getting caught?” You asked.

Jungkook shrugged. “I don’t think so. They fuck in the library all the time. That’s actually how they became a couple. He was her tutor.”

You felt a pool of heat settling in your core, forcing a weather change down under. “God, that’s hot.”

Jungkook stopped walking and looked at you. “You want to try?”

“You mean, fucking in the library?” The idea excited you, but you weren’t exactly sure you wanted to get fully plowed in public yet. “I don’t know about penetration but … maybe some head would be cool.”

Jungkook licked his lips. “I can’t lie, I’ve been wanting to taste you again.”

You shook your head as he led you further into the book aisles. “No, I mean I want to give you head.”

He stopped. “You sure?”

“Yeah, teach me how to suck dick,” you said and then cringed once you heard the words. “That didn’t sound as sexy as I hoped it would have.

He smiled, licking his lips. “Say less,” he pulled you into a corner and unzipped his pants. He pulled his jeans and boxers down but only slightly and produced his semi-hard dick.

“You’re already excited?” You asked and then realized this was your first time seeing his dick. No wonder he was known as the lover, you thought, grabbing it and feeling the weight of it in your hand. “Well, shit.”

“You ready?” He asked and you nodded, slowly dropping to your knees. He guided you lovingly on how to properly give head but also explained that everyone was different so the way he liked it wouldn’t necessarily be the way another guy liked it. But the way he liked it was known as the ‘vacuum suck.’ He wasn’t into the bells and whistles of sloppy head but preferred something nice and clean and something that felt like his soul was being sucked out of him.

And that, you did. Or at least you gave it the old college try.

You stroked his large dick, your hand running up and down his thick shaft as your tongue flicked over his head. Precum painted your lips as you attempted to slide his entire member into your mouth. It wouldn't fit and Jungkook didn't force it. Above you, he squirmed in delight, his hands threading through your dark locks, gripping ever so slightly.

“Touch my balls, baby girl,” Jungkook said through a low grunt. Your pussy does backflips at the sound of being called ‘baby girl’ but you can’t linger on that too long. Jungkook has your head in his hands and he’s slowly but surely fucking your face. “Agh … I’m going to cum …” He began to pull his dick out, but you didn't let him, instead you did something that you’ve seen countless times on Twitter memes. You suck harder and you kept sucking well after he came. You’d never heard a man squeal before but you’re sure that’s what Jungkook did before you finally popped his dick out of your mouth.

…

Summer was steadily approaching, the weather going from tolerable to the heat of the devil’s ass crack. It’s why Jungkook had suggested that the two of you head to the coast for the weekend. “It would be way cooler out there,” he had said, and you couldn’t argue. So, on a Friday evening, you climbed on the back of his motorcycle and the two of you headed off to the beach for the weekend.

As two broke college students, you didn’t have enough money to afford a fancy hotel, so you settled for a run-down motel room, but it was clean, and the bed was comfortable enough. Jungkook had purchased every snack in the vending machine that night and the two of you shared stories over eight-dollar bottles of wine, BBQ chips, and sour gummies. After finishing off your second bottle of wine, Jungkook lit up a blunt and the two of you shared it, laying back on the motel room bed with the shabby television playing a novella in the background.

“Y/N, I think you may be my best friend.”

“I think you may be right,” you agreed, laughing.

“I can’t believe school will be ending soon,” Jungkook said.

“I know. What am I going to do without you?” you said, a genuine sadness reaching your voice.

“We’re going to stay friends. You’ll come visit me in Los Angeles and I’ll come visit you in New York. You’ll be there when I receive my first Oscar and I’ll be there when you get your first Tony,” Jungkook said with a smile. And you could hear the sincerity in his voice. Even if none of that happened, in this moment right here and right now, Jungkook believed it did and that’s what you loved most about him.

You always thought love was like an arrow. Shooting you in the heart, causing you to instantaneously know that you had fallen but looking at Jungkook in the darkness of this shabby motel room, you realized love wasn’t like that at all. Love was slow and easy. It was sweet. It was kind. It was a soft spring day. It was impromptu trips to your favorite diners. It was sharing secrets in your most special places. It was laughing to your belly ached in the back of a car. It was trips to eat your weight in sushi and then getting ice cream even though you swore you couldn’t eat another bite. It was wiping your tears away at four in the morning because you didn’t get the role in the school play. It was sitting up all night with each other watching the sun rise because he was too anxious to sleep. It was the perfect and it was the imperfect. It was nothing and it was everything. It was you and it was Jungkook.

And right here, right now, you realized that you were in love with Jungkook.

“Jungkook,” you said, looking at him and he turned his head, smiling that beautiful smile. “I love you.”

He stared at you for a moment, studying your features. A hand reached out and cupped your cheek. “I love you too, Y/N.”

You scooted closer to Jungkook and kissed him. It was a soft and sound kiss. Slow and sensual. And he kissed you back with just as much patience. Your arms and legs tangled together, and soon you found your clothes melting away. You felt his lips wrapped around your nipples, his tongue going across your stomach. His hands stroking your pussy with an excruciating softness. You felt his muscles flexing beneath your fingertips, the weight of his manhood in your hands and then in your mouth.

His body reacted with such pleasure as you gave him head. You sucked slowly, making sure every inch of his manhood was wet with your spit. Jungkook stopped you early, citing how much he still wanted to taste you so you laid you on your back and spread your legs, exposing your most sensitive parts but Jungkook shook his head. He guided you on top of him, and you lowered your precious gem to his face. He licked hungrily. Savoring every drop of you. His hands found their way to your round ass and groped the fleshy curves as his tongue dug deeper into you. An electric wave of pleasure washed over you, your body writhing in sweet agony.

As you lay down beside him, he got on top of you. “Are you sure?” He asked. “If you don’t want to go this far, we can stop right now.”

But you didn’t want to stop. You wanted this. You wanted him. You silently nodded for him to continue and Jungkook rolled a condom onto his hardened dick. He positioned himself at your entrance and quietly said, “Here we go.”

He started slowly. You felt an indescribable pressure in your lower abdomen as he continued to slide in but it wasn’t bad. It was just different. He used his right hand to play with your breasts.

His pace quickened. You closed your eyes, biting your lip as the pressure waned, and in came pleasure. He lifted your legs and placed them on his shoulders. This new angle forced a new sensation to bubble within you. It felt amazing but there was a heaviness to it that you couldn’t quite describe. His hand found your clit, rubbing circles on it as he began to fuck you faster. You didn’t think you could cum twice in one night, but Jungkook proved you wrong. A few short moments later, Jungkook’s face tightened, and he let out a deep grunt before falling on top of you. After a moment, he rolled off.

“So how was it experiencing coitus with me?” Jungkook asked, breathing heavily.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “It was amazing.”

“I’m just glad you didn’t beat my ass this time.”

You cringed, thinking of the night the two of you met. You rolled to your side, putting your arm around him and your head on his chest. In response, he put his arms around you as well, pulling you close.

“What does this mean for us?” you asked.

“It means that I hope you accept when I ask you out on a date,” he said, kissing the top of your head.

“I’ll have to think about it,” you said. “I’ve got one more thing to cross off my bucket list.”

“What’s that?”

You motioned toward the window in the room, outside of it, the beach. “Sex on the beach times two. I want to drink the drink while doing the act.”

With a smile, Jungkook got up and put on his pants. He looked at you, “Well don’t just sit there, let’s go have sex on the beach while we drink sex on the beach.”

#bts smut #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts x reader #bts x black reader #bts x black girl #bts x fem!reader #jungkook fic #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x black reader #jungkook x oc

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nnight-dances · 1 year

Text

REPETITION / RARE LOVE

pairings: kim mingyu x fem!reader (ft. yoon jeonghan)

genre: fluff, angst, suggestive & sexual content

tropes: best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers (except mingyu's the only idiot), pining, flirting

warnings: explicit language, banter, alcohol consumption, borderline jeonghan slander but it's okay because i would die for the man, has been proofread by me once but only barely. kazuha (le sserafim) is your roommate, huh yunjin is present.

WHAT TO EXPECT

it's simple enough: you and mingyu are perfect for each other. you've told him as much but after years of him avoiding the topic, you leave him alone. but when your long-time infatuation with jeonghan gets rejected, you have nothing to distract you from your desire to be with mingyu. all it takes is you making out with the wrong person and a can of beer for mingyu to come to his senses. (about 11k)

OR: maybe you don't hate repetition as much as you claim to.

SEQUEL OUT NOW!

“why are men on tinder actually vile?” you question out loud, not quite expecting an answer as your eyes continue to read the offensive opener you’d received from a recent match. mingyu, who’s crouched on the desk across from you, frowns.

“y/n, we’re meant to be studying,” he points out, “but also i thought you were over tinder?”

you look at him blankly, “i am! i just gotta finish what i started you know…”

mingyu looks deeply disappointed in you and you slide your phone across to him, “look at this message i just got! it’s disgusting! i don’t need to know if someone’s wet at the thought of—”

“god, y/n, do you have to scream?” he asks as he takes hold of your phone, busying his fingers probably with blocking the guy. you momentarily look back at your screen where the black document meant to be the outline for your final art history paper taunts you.

you sigh, looking down at your phone when mingyu returns it. “i paused your account and deleted the app.” you sigh yet again, “man! if you were gonna uninstall it without my permission you should’ve just deleted my account.”

“you’d just make another one anyway,” he shrugs, “plus, this way when you go back you’ll remember why you left in the first place.”

you grumble something under your breath but resume your attempts at writing. mingyu smiles a little as he goes back to his own work. a beat passes before, he puts his pen down again and when he sees you’re staring at your screen distantly, he asks, “did you talk to jeonghan yet?”

you gasp at the mention of your years-old crush, glancing around you as if you weren’t in a private study room (because apparently the only way either of you could get anything done was while talking to each other). “what?” mingyu continues, “one of us had to address the elephant in the room.”

“wow, you’re just the worst friend ever, aren’t you? it’s like you can’t read rooms at all. i clearly did not want to talk about jeonghan.”

“well, now you are. so you might as well be honest with me. did you think about confessing to him?”

you deflate, stomach suddenly uneasy, “no. i don’t think i will. i don’t need him to know.”

“you kinda do. y/n, look at me,” mingyu knocks on the wood to demand your attention, “it’s the only way you’ll ever have an answer.”

“i don't want an answer.”

“…”

"because i'm going to move on from him!"

"..."

“okay, well, i’m starting to! just watch me, okay? i have the agency to not be completely consumed by my very shallow attraction to a very attractive and impressive man.”

“right. you just used attractive twice in a sentence— and no, i don’t care if it wasn’t the same form of the word, you absolutely hate redundant things. and yet, you refuse to recognize the way out of this pattern of yours.”

“you are so tiring, mingyu, you know that? exhausting, even. i don’t want to do this anymore.” you shake your head at him, suddenly invigorated to finish this damn preliminary proposal of yours.

—

yunjin cackles as she plops down across from you in the dining hall, finding you scrolling ever so dedicatedly on pinterest. “what’s this?”

you look up at her with a pout, “i need a dress for hoshi’s little party. it’s in two weeks and i have zero options.”

“fuck, i knew i was forgetting something,” she grimaces in her typical huh yunjin way and shifts closer, “i need to find something for that too. can’t just wear a corset and call it day since he’s labelling it a formal and whatnot.”

“he really is the worst,” you agree, pausing to muse over a pretty white dress with red roses all over it. “hmm, what about this one?”

yunjin tilts her head and nods as she looks between you and the dress, probably imagining you in it. then, you sigh, “it’s just i don’t think red is my color like that.”

you’re about to elaborate when you hear a gasp from behind you, “that is simply not true!” you don’t have time to react when a figure slides in next to you. goddamnit, it’s jeonghan, you realize, trying hard to keep it together when his shoulder comes to sit next to yours. “you absolutely fucking rock the color red.”

“i do?” is all you can muster as yunjin chokes out a badly covered laugh. you glare at her, “what’s funny, jen?”

“hah, nothing, i agree with jeonghan, you’d look lovely in red.”

you frown, unconvinced as you scroll some more, feeling dizzy from jeonghan’s presence.

“preparing for hoshi’s party i presume?” jeonghan asks and you nod. “i’m so stressed, i have nothing and it’s approaching so fast.”

“you have time though,” he reassures but you’re quick to protest, “i’m not going to have any time next week because we’re organizing that night flea market. i’ll be running around campus so i need to take a trip this week.” the beauty of going to a college with an isolated campus: peace and you gotta plan every time you leave campus because there’s a singular bus that takes you to the city. it’d be a whole day trip for you if not for mingyu, who thankfully has a car that he can drive.

“ahh, tell me when you’re going into the city, y/n,” yunjin pats you, “i gotta go too.”

you nod and then remember, “right of course, i just remembered kazuha saying she wanted to come too.”

“nice,” yunjin approves, “we need all the opinions we can get. did you get mingyu to agree to drive you yet?”

“i texted him earlier but he hasn’t replied, which is slightly concerning because he may not know how to spell but he does write back very fast.”

jeonghan chuckles, “mind if i join you guys too?”

you stop in your tracks, turning to face him, “you wanna come shopping with us?”

he nods, that sweet smile of his plastered across his face, “yeah, i could use a new formal outfit. i’m tired of wearing the same black suit to everything.” he nudges your side, “plus, you guys could help me out. i can never decide on anything all alone.”

—

“maybe i should just not go,” you groan with your head in your hands. mingyu rolls his eyes, slapping your back, “why would not go? if your problem’s with jeonghan, he should be the one to stay back. not you.”

you sit back up, staring at the eggs in your plate. beside you, mingyu chugs his glass of orange juice, and you lean against him. “god, i hate him so much. do you wanna go see if the playground’s free?”

“right now?” mingyu looks at the time. it’s 11 am on saturday, still an hour from the time everyone agreed to meet in front of mingyu’s car, which is conveniently parked right across from the playground. as if following your line of thought, he grins, “alright. but you finish your food first.”

you sigh, “okay, mom, i will.”

five minutes later find you racing mingyu for the best swing in the playground— months of visiting the place had taught you the first swing was the only one that didn’t creak too loud and experienced the least amount of bumps during the ride. mingyu’s fast but you’re stubborn so you reach out for his arm midway, sticking your nails into the skin, knowing how dramatic he is about these things.

he gasps, “DO NOT CLAW ME.” strong as he might be, he slows down to rip your grip off. you seize the opportunity, getting a headstart and laugh when you reach the swing before him, sitting down firmly before mingyu can pull you away.

“that’s cheating, y/n, you know it!”

“hey, you’re the one that has an advantage. you go to the gym like eight times a week. i go like thrice a month.”

“sounds like someone’s lazy and whiny to me.”

you smile, “someone lazy wouldn’t win that race. and you’re the one that’s whining,” you point to his stance, his arms at his hips like an affronted toddler. he loosens his body with a pout as he walks over to the second swing. “whatever.”

time passes a little too fast for you two when you’re fighting like this because kazuha’s running over to you, breathless. “y/n! what are you guys doing?”

“zuha, hi! did you—”

“yep, i got your lip gloss.”

you chuckle, throwing your arms around her, “why are you the best roommate ever?”

mingyu scoffs, “what about you being the worst roommate ever?”

kazuha laughs, too nice to agree with him, “hey, that’s not true.” you hit him in the side, “you’re just jealous that you’re in a single. i guess money really does make people lonely.”

“i’d go for a double even if i was that rich,” jeonghan’s voice pops up from beside you. he sure has a knack for appearing out of thin air. “i couldn’t handle being alone.”

“not everyone can love themselves as much as i do,” mingyu shrugs, smugly as crosses his arms. “i’m self-sufficient like that.”

“if you guys are done, we should start moving,” comes yunjin’s voice from near mingyu’s car, “it’s already fifteen past 12.”

“i call shotgun!” yunjin shouts and you’re quick to fight back, “no way, i already called it.”

“if i didn’t hear it, then it doesn’t count,” she teases, leaning against the passenger side. you glare at mingyu, “i called it in front of mingyu! the driver is the one that counts.”

mingyu laughs at the petty fight, “y/n did call it earlier this morning.”

“that’s not fair! mingyu’s obviously going to take y/n’s side, you guys spend every breathing minute together. the rest of us don’t stand a chance.”

you smirk, “don’t be a sore loser, huh yunjin, you can call it when we’re coming back. if you remember to.”

“i hate you,” she mutters as everyone settles into the car.

“i’m open to music requests, dear friends,” you announce once you’ve started off. “but i reserve the right to reject any tasteless songs.”

“isn’t this the textbook example of a tyranny?” jeonghan breathes and you shoot him a look over your shoulder, “hey, the power comes with the seat. it’s natural selection.”

mingyu groans through laughter, “you know you don’t make any sense. just play some music.”

you roll your eyes, “he says as he laughs his fat ass off.”

“she’s just salty my ass is fatter than hers,” he mutters under his breath. the three in the backseat break into laughs at that, all at your expense as you gape at them. such betrayal.

“i don’t know why i call you friends. you’re monsters.”

kazuha pipes in, “y/n, are you calling your sweet roommate a monster right now?”

jeonghan is quick to join in, “honestly, i’d say kazuha is the nicest friend among us here.”

“fine, everyone but zuha’s out to get me right now.” the screaming continues for a little bit longer until yunjin and kazuha tire themselves out and pass out. you chuckle when you look at them, yunjin’s head bobs in the middle of the three until it hits kazuha’s shoulder, whose head then rests on top.

swiftly, you pull out your phone camera and capture the moment, sure to tease them later. as you’re clicking the photos, jeonghan’s face sticks into the corner with a sneaky grin and you shift the angle to include him. enjoying the attention, he shoots the camera a peace sign, followed by a little heart, and then a cheek heart and now he’s a bunny and then—

you pull yourself away abruptly with a shaky laugh, “god, jeonghan, this isn’t a photoshoot.”

he laughs back, “ha ha, sorry, i can’t help myself. it’s so fun to tease you like this.”

you feel the blood rush to your face at that, so you turn to face the road completely, a weak, “fuck off” on your tongue. mingyu silently observes the interaction, not without a little side-eye that you don’t know what to think of. “you should get some rest, y/n, you didn’t sleep last night.”

you frown, surprised mingyu knows that and you don’t get to ask him why he knows that because jeonghan interrupts, “you guys sure are close. i was talking to hoshi the other day, he misses y’all a lot.”

“he does? he can just come talk to us whenever though,” mingyu replies, doubt tracing his tone. “i don’t think we’re exclusive like that.”

“right?” you agree, “we used to be so close to hoshi, too, and then he moved to the other side of campus this semester and now i have like one class with him.”

“i don’t know,” jeonghan says, “you should talk to him about it, but there’s always been something stronger about the two of you together.”

you shrug, “we always end up together. it’s not that deep i think. it’s just how it is.”

the topic ends there as jeonghan agrees and dozes off himself too. you, however, feel eerily awake. awake? no, more like unsettled. something in your nerves is off and you feel on edge. you’re a little spaced out after that, as you finally reach the city circle with all the shops crowded next to each other with a little mall in the center.

as everyone gets off and gathers their things, mingyu pulls you aside with a concerned look, “are you okay, y/n?” his grip on your elbow grounds you a little. you inhale, knowing better than to pretend in front of him, “yeah, just a little uneasy. i don’t know why. probably just tired.”

mingyu looks like he knows something more about your condition, “are you sure? we can take a break at one of the restaurants before shopping if you want?”

“nah, i’m okay, don’t worry. i’m a strong girl,” you smile, reasurring him with a pat to his chest, “i feel better now. thanks, mingyu.”

he frowns, hand loosening against your skin, “you never thank me, weirdo. don’t be so formal.”

“man, there’s no winning with you, is there?”

he chuckles as he pulls you after the others, “no, i’m insatiable.”

—

an hour into shopping, you realize why you hate doing this. everything is so overwhelming when you’re in the city, so many people, so many clothes. at least you have friends with you as you scan racks after racks, ending up with three potential dresses on your arm. you mutter a prayer in your head that you can find something nice here so you don’t have to walk more. this is already your third store.

the first one is a classic: a little black dress. it’s satin so it sits smooth against your skin and feels soft when you twirl around. it’s a little short for your liking, perhaps too tight against your ass. you turn to the side to get a better look. you take a photo and send it to mingyu, who you’d been going back and forth with. he’d last sent you a photo ten minutes ago: him in a stupid minion onesie. you’d cursed him out real well in response telling him to stop fucking around. he writes back fast.

big gyu: u look good

big gyu: kinda basic tho

you: yea i thought so too

you agree with that, putting the dress aside in case you don’t find anything else at all.

candidate number two is more over the top: a long red dress with little black patterns on it, with a leg slit on one side. getting into it was a whole struggle but you get it on finally. it fits well thanks to the slit which also shows off some skin. you’re hot in it: like literally. the long sleeves don’t help at all. but you look good too, the flare doing wonders for your figure. you pause, sending a photo hoping mingyu would be of help.

however, when mingyu takes longer than a minute to reply, you groan, already sweating a little. concluding that he’s probably changing or something, you peek out your curtain, hoping yunjin was still in the stall next to yours. you call out her name, straining your neck to see if there was anyone else you could ask for help.

you spot jeonghan walking around the shelves near the fitting rooms and before you can hesitate to call him over, he notices your head poking out. he raises an eyebrow, sending your heartbeat into a spiral. “y/n? do you need help?”

you clear your throat, “um, yeah, i need a second opinion on this dress.” jeonghan approaches your corner and you panic when he reaches for the curtain to draw it back. his eyes question you, “can i look?” you let go of it to let him in, a tiny little rational part of you wondering he needed to come inside the room to see.

“ohhh,” he exclaims as he takes you in, “you look amazing. told ya red was your color.”

you turn away from him a little, “this dress is hot.”

“it sure is,” he agrees and you blush harder, “no i meant, like literally. i’m so hot right now.”

jeonghan presses his lips together, giving away the fact that he understands but being the little bitch he is, he chooses the option that makes you wanna combust. he presses two fingers to your cheek and mumbles, “yeah, you are.”

you push his arm off, “yoon jeonghan! you’re such a damn flirt! get out of here.” you force him out of your space and he’s uncontrollably laughing as he lets you. “i’ve another dress to try so wait outside for me.”

“sure you don’t need a hand changing—”

“no, thank you very much!” you scream, greeted with more pleased chuckling. your phone buzzes, catching your attention. you lean down to look at it.

big gyu: niceee thats hot

big gyu: u should get this dress

big gyu: pls

you: …girl why are u begging me

big gyu: because.

big gyu: you’re getting this dress right

you: no i’d die of overheating in it

big gyu: and it’d be worht it

you: i dont like how enthusiastic u are about this...

you: wtv this one's rejected.

you: i still have another dress to try

you put your phone down to try the final dress. this one was a purple slip dress with white flower detailing. it was skin tight against your boobs and a little transparent, giving away your black bra underneath. and to contrast, it sat a little loose on your hips which was honestly not the worst look, keeping from the dress becoming too scandalous. you enjoyed this dress the most so far. that was enough, given the track record.

“you done, y/n?” you’re startled when the voice outside is mingyu’s instead of jeonghan. you pull back the curtains in confusion, “gyu? what’re you doing here?” mingyu stops short, “fuck, i like this one.” you flush a little when you notice his eyes settle on your chest for a beat too long. “that’s stunning, for real.”

you laugh. “look at you using big words. but yeah, i think this is the one.” you look over at him, “did jeonghan leave?”

“um, yeah, he said he had to use the washroom when i ran into him on the way,” he mumbles. you nod, a little relieved because you think you’d die if he saw you right now. “anyway, i’m offended you were showing him your dresses and then all i got was a photo.”

“hey, you were taking so long to reply that i had seek someone else out. he just happened to be her.”

mingyu ignores that and tells you to hurry up, “i need your help choosing something for myself.”

“ugh, alright, give me five.”

in the end, you decided you’d get both the classic black dress and the slip dress, you needed more dresses in general. wouldn’t hurt to have more. when you’re done checking out, you find mingyu in conversation with kazuha who’s smiling with a shopping bag in her hands.

“zuha, you get anything?” you ask. she nods eagerly, “yeah! i got this pink dress that jeonghan helped me find just now. it’s really pretty, i’ll show you later in the room.”

you falter a little at that, glancing at mingyu who’d told you he went to the washroom. ignoring the growing unsettling gut feeling, you inform her you’d found something too. “nice, we should have a try-on in the room later.”

“you guys!!” yunjin joins the group, “this is insane. i hit the jackpot and found the sexiest green dress ever.” you laugh, linking arms with her, “you should come over later and try it on with us.”

“ah, the beauty of womanhood,” mingyu grumbles beside you, and you shove him. “you’re not invited, pervert.”

his jaw falls open, “excuse me? what did you just call me?”

you press an index finger into his bicep, “don’t think i didn’t notice you checking my boobs out earlier.” mingyu’s cheek redden at the light-hearted accusation, worsening when jeonghan appears right at the climax of the argument.

“okay, okay, first of all, i wasn’t checking anything out!” he complains, “and-and well, they—”

jeonghan cuts him off, patting his back with an amused smirk, “it’s alright, buddy, it happens to the best of us.” everyone laughs at that, much to mingyu’s chagrin who then becomes pouty for the rest of the walk to the next shop.

“c’mon,” you pull him into the store, “my turn to stare at your tits.”

“god, would you drop it?” he groans as he follows you in. “it won’t happen again.”

you giggle, “it’s okay with me, gyu, because that just means the girls look good.”

he groans again, “i really don’t need to be a part of this.” he wanders off into the store, embarrassed. you let him go, looking at clothes for him separately. turns out shopping for mingyu is harder than the concept of it sounds. it doesn’t help that he’s an expert at criticizing the small detail in every item you choose for him. half an hour later, you’re tired of him.

as if on cue, kazuha calls you to tell you to come over to an asian restaurant nearby to grab lunch. you thank the lords as you pull mingyu away, “there’s nothing here for me anyway,” he grumbles as you meet up with the rest.

entering the restaurant, you spot kazuha and jeonghan at a table nearby. yunjin’s still on her way it turns out as you sit across from them, heart in throat for the worst reason possible: you’re jealous. you may be down bad for jeonghan but that doesn’t mean you’ve lost your ability to take a hint. trying to keep the thought from completely forming in your head, you make conversation with everyone, wanting to be better than this.

you want to avoid thinking about it so you’re quick to shut jeonghan off. he’s his usual self, joking around with everyone but he picks up when you’re not as receptive as usual. you hope he just thinks nothing of it, but you know that’s not possible when he approaches you after lunch as everyone else is washing up in the bathroom.

you’re outside alone, waiting, when he slightly pushes your shoulder to draw your attention. you gasp lightly. “jeonghan?”

“can i talk to you for a sec?”

you frown, “yeah, you’re talking to me right now.”

“come on, y/n, don’t be cold. let’s go for a walk.”

“but, the others—”

“i let mingyu know we’ll be back in a few.”

out of excuses, you silently follow jeonghan’s stride through the busy street. he makes conversation really well, easing you up in no time as he distracts you from what was on your mind. it’s illegal how smoothly he then proceeds to drop the act.

you’re laughing about what he’d said about hoshi’s drinking habits just now, when he suddenly goes serious, “i think i like kazuha.”

you freeze up at that, fighting the frown that itches closer, looking at him like you didn’t hear him. heart’s out of control right now, but at least you were already expecting this outcome. “huh?”

“sorry, i just thought you should know. i’m really into her and i was planning to ask her out sometime this week.”

you would love to pass away right now. immediately, you think you hate jeonghan for doing this to you. it’s clear from his behavior that he knows you like him and that he’s apologizing— he’s rejecting you before you have a chance to confess. he likes kazuha. he’s going to ask her out. you should know that.

you sputter awkwardly, “that’s great! good for you, jeonghan. and um, you really didn’t have to tell me. i’m sure kazuha would love to be with you.”

you never want to speak a word to anyone ever again and you're sweating ever so profusely, so you speed up a little, “and we should get going, no?”

sensing your mood, jeonghan follows along but says, “i’m sorry, y/n. i- i know you…”

you don’t let him finish because it would genuinely kill you to hear him say he knows you like him. “you don’t have to be sorry.” with that, you essentially leave your body. you move fast enough to reach the car, wordlessly getting into the passenger seat and yunjin somehow knows better than to fight you.

the car ride back is filled with music. not much chatter. you realize it’s partly your fault and silently dread being back in the room with kazuha, but to your relief, when you reach she doesn’t bring anything up. you’re too tired to do a try-on like you promised and when mingyu asks if you want to come over to his place, you tell him you’re feeling sleepy. and for once, you actually sleep after telling him that.

sleep is not as much of a comfort as you’d hope for it to be: less of an escape, more jeonghan-themed content. something about heartbreak and living the rest of your life, lovelessly.

—

the next week starts off hectic and you’re thankful for it this once. you could use the chaos of organizing an event to take your mind off things. a small part of you wonders if jeonghan was being merciful by letting you down and timing it so well. knowing him, that doesn’t seem so impossible.

you feel better than you’d imagined you would. you cried like once since the rejection. you didn’t need to worry much at this point, having realizing that it was less important that you’d made it out to be. mingyu, on the other hand, doesn’t give up his worrying, especially when he doesn’t see you until three days into the week. and that, too, because he gave up and thought it would be a good idea to invade your room, at one in the night.

his knocking wakes you up fairly quickly, since you’d only put your phone down a few minutes ago. you rush to the door, afraid of waking kazuha up. “what the fuck, mingyu?” you ask at the sight of him.

“what the fuck yourself! stop ignoring my messages maybe?”

you groan, stepping outside your room, feeling the cold air hit you in your night clothes. “why’d you have to confront me so late at night? can we do this tomorrow? when i’m coherent and not half-naked?”

mingyu falter as if he just realized the time, noticing your tank top and shorts. “i don’t care. i’ll give you my jacket but we’re doing this right here and right now.”

you sigh, knowing this was coming. “forget it, keep your jacket. i’ll go change and be right back.”

mingyu grabs your arm when you try to go back inside, “how do i know you’re not just gonna leave me here to die?”

“dude, my room’s right here. you can come watch me change if you fucking want.”

he lets you go, flustered when you offer and you laugh as you rush back in. in the darkness, kazuha’s voice startles you, “y/n? is everything okay? are you being abducted?”

“oh god, zuha, you scared me. and no, it’s just stupid little mingyu who wants to have a talk. i’ll settle this. go back to sleep.”

she groans, “god, you guys are just like my parents sometimes.”

you laugh at that as you slip into a hoodie and exchange your shorts for pajamas. when you return, mingyu’s sitting at the stairs in front of your room and you hit him in the back.

“ouch! fuck you!” he stands up with a glare, “also i heard what you said about me. why am i stupid and little? can you just choose one insult?"

“let’s go down if we’re gonna argue. zuha can hear us, too. and did you hear what she said after that?” when he seems clueless, you go on, “she said we remind her of her parents sometimes.”

he coughs, “her parents?? what are we, married?”

you roll your eyes, “married and sick of each other, apparently.”

“being zuha’s parents doesn’t sound so bad honestly. she’d be the easiest child to raise.”

“i feel like zuha would raise you if you were her father,” you laugh, “me too, probably.”

“who’d be the father then?”

your smile falls when an answer occurs to you, you mumble, “jeonghan,” sitting at a bench outside your dorm. mingyu joins you, equally solemn now.

“did something happen between you two?”

“yeah. he rejected me when we went shopping that day.”

mingyu’s eyes widen, “what? you confessed?”

you shake your head, a strained smile, “he already knew. i guess i was obvious, but it’s still driving me insane that he rejected me without even giving me a chance to confess.”

“i can’t believe he did that. that’s conceited as fuck.”

“conceited or impressive, i can’t decide. but he told me likes kazuha and that he’s sorry. i genuinely wanted to die when he said that. he was cool about breaking my heart, too. lowkey fell a little harder for him.” you laugh at your own joke, but mingyu looks unhappy, jaw clenched like he’d tasted something bitter.

you hit his arm, “it’s not a big deal, dude. i was thinking about it the past few days and i realized i barely knew the guy. i just knew what he told me over the last year.”

after a pause, “and he’s one beautiful man, so there was that.” you smile a little.

“but he didn’t have to do it like that. he could just stop flirting with you, you know, or wait for you to come around and confess like a normal person,” mingyu says, “he’s such a little jerk.”

“hey, it’s okay, a little flirting didn’t hurt anyone.”

“yeah but he was leading you on, leaving you in ambiguity by doing that. he should’ve been flirting with kazuha, not you.”

“okay, now that’s starting to hurt,” you whine, pressing your forehead against his shoulder, “but i can’t really blame him, no? kazuha’s so precious.”

“don’t be like that, y/n.”

“what? be like what?” you look up, “didn’t you also used to be into kazuha?”

mingyu bites his lip when you bring his years-old crush up, “when will you forget about that? that was so long ago and it was barely serious. she’s too nice to be my type.” (what does that even mean? you wonder but don't have the time to ask.)

“sure, you didn’t want to change residence halls to be closer to her?”

“alright, how many times do i tell you that i did that because of you? why do you never believe me?”

“it just makes more sense the other way,” you mumble, suddenly feeling teary-eyed and hating that you were feeling teary-eyed, which only intensified the teariness in your eyes. “god, this is stupid.”

mingyu’s arm is around in no time when he notices you curling up, your lip tucked between your lips in anticipation, “hey, hey, c'mon, i thought you said it wasn't a big deal. so how come you're crying?"

“because! i feel lame. and because kazuha’s perfect, by the way. she’d probably cry too if she knew i was crying.”

he pulls you closer, “you’re not lame, y/n. you think i’d keep you around so long if i didn’t think you were insanely cool?”

you breathe through your tears, “you just keep me around because i’m insane?”

“insanely cool! open your ears, idiot.”

“you just called me an idiot. idiots are pretty lame.”

he sighs when he feels his tshirt get damper, your body so weak under his hold. he pats your hair softly, “sorry, that’s not what i meant. but seriously, y/n, you know i’m bad at saying this stuff but i seriously cannot stress enough how highly i think of you.” his hand moves to rub your back, “and you’re so much more than perfect, you know? like sometimes you don’t do a paper till three hours before and still get an A. and then, you come up with comebacks to my arguments in your own unique ways, and trust me, nobody can argue with me like you do.”

you pull away, “all right, now you’re embarrassing me. why do i sound like a bossy nerd or something?”

“you can be that at times. hey, but you forgot the part where you’re hot as shit. and also pretty.”

“i feel like that last part was an afterthought, mingyu,” you bite back a laugh, “you really only keep me around for my tits, don’t you?”

“dude, can you let me wholesome for once? i’m trying to console you, so would you stop playing devil’s advocate?”

“sorry, i’m just,” you hesitate with a heavy sigh and then, you blurt out, "i’m scared i’ll never fall in love. i’ll never find it at all.”

“now that’s some stupid thoughts you’re having,” mingyu shakes you by the shoulders, “you’ve just been blinded by your crush on jeonghan for so long that you haven’t explored anyone else at all.”

“are you volunteering to be my crush right now?” you ask, jokingly.

mingyu’s smirk catches you off-guard, “what if i am? it wouldn’t be the worst thing if i was your boyfriend.”

you feel yourself heating up a little for some reason, head in a daze from his earlier shower of compliments and now this. so instead of trying to make sense of it all, you press yourself into him in a hug. “yeah, it wouldn’t.”

—

“hoshi, you little shit!” you throw yourself around the guy when you spot him on the night of the flea market, the product of a long and actually insane week. he laughs when he realizes it’s you, pulling you into a hug, “bro, y/n, why is this my first time seeing in you in literal years?”

“i don’t know, i just kinda see you walking around sometimes. maybe if you actually showed up to econ class, i’d see you more.”

hoshi flinches, “you can’t be bringing econ up right now. that class is kicking my ass. i can’t keep showing up to that kind of humiliation.”

the two of you catch up at last, as people swarm around the different stalls set up along the college street. you were relieved after having finished this damn event. cheers to sleep, right?

hoshi tells you all about his new situationship with a guy in another class and how he’s regretting inviting him to the party tomorrow night. “why? believe it or not, people are more fun when drunk.”

hoshi rolls his eyes, “yeah, well, i couldn’t get any more fun. so instead i become incontrollable. an absolute animal.”

“right, i remember that. so you’re scared you’re gonna drive him off? i wouldn’t worry honestly. and if you want, i can keep you in check.”

he narrows his eyes in distrust, “you? you’re not much better than me drunk, okay? i feel bad for mingyu who’s gonna have to take care of you the whole time.”

you gasp, “wow, you’re taking mingyu’s side now? over mine? i thought we had something special.”

“you thought wrong,” comes mingyu out of nowhere, slinging his arm around hoshi’s shoulders.

“why are you here suddenly?” hoshi looks between the two of you, “i couldn’t not come to an event my lovely y/n herself planned, could i?”

hoshi laughs, “nice to see you two as jolly as ever. but also i must take your leave. i gotta go grab dinner soon.”

“hey, why don’t you come with us? we were gonna check out the new outlet the college opened.”

“oh, i would love to but i have plans with someone already.”

you nod your head in realization, “right of course, have fun. not too much, though. leave some for tomorrow.” he leaves with a full-toothed smile and you face mingyu.

he playfully pinches your cheek, “you confront him about missing us yet?”

you raise a shoulder in response, and as the flea market starts to fizzle out thanks to the darkening sky, your stomach grumbles. “let’s eat, please.”

ever since that night— you don’t want to say anything had changed between you and mingyu because your friendship had been long enough that even the slightest shift in dynamics would harmoniously just become the new status quo; the two of you had been through a lot together. but ever since that night, you’d been fooling around with him more, if that was possible.

it was along the lines of: less banter, more flirting? although one might argue that the former was just a derivative of the other. but semantics aside, this is what you know to be true: friends flirt with each other all the damn time.

that’s what you’re telling yourself when mingyu asks you to feed him some of the fried rice you’d gotten on your plate. and it was true: you’re almost a 100% certain that you’d flirted with every friend of yours, and that was just how it worked.

but intimacy came differently to everyone and mingyu’s just manifested in clinginess. he was pressed to your side for the entirety of dinner, and you couldn’t complain about the proximity. it was welcome, even, this form of friendship.

“you’re thinking too hard.” mingyu’s voice pulls you out of your little reflection session. “what’re you even thinking about? you should be all burnt out from all the work you did this past week.”

“i am,” you affirm, “but some things just don’t let up.”

he chuckles, patting your head affectionately as if to persuade your thoughts to let up for a while. it doesn’t help really, only gravitating the direction of the said thoughts toward kim mingyu even more.

“maybe repetition isn’t as bad as i always make it out to be,” you say, chin propped up against your fist on the table. mingyu had chosen a corner table of the newly opened eatery, next to a low window that glowed behind you in the remains of sunset as he shifted to completely face you. the sun had finally set. again.

“you’re right. routine is good for people.”

“but it doesn’t have to stay the same forever, you know?”

“hm?” mingyu can’t help but feel like you’re edging toward some underlying topic. you were like this since he could remember: you’d start off with some abstract and vaguely relevant concept (that had no doubt been plaguing you for a long time) and slowly circle around till he caught onto what you meant. you love playing games with him.

“repetition doesn't have to be redundant? i think there's something more subtle about it.”

he doesn’t know where you’re going with this, “but repetition is literally the same thing over and over?”

“yeah, but the ‘same thing’ itself can evolve,” your fingers knock against his, “i don’t know, i was just thinking about… us.”

“us? i guess we would be a good example of repetition.”

your gaze falls from his to find your hand instead, your fingers wrapping around his wrist until you’ve forced his palm open. his hand in your lap upside down, you pull at the fingers, “yeah, but we’ve changed a lot. for one, we fight a lot less. sometimes when i’m going to tell you a thought, you understand mid-sentence what i mean.”

“yeah, well, that’s what we get for knowing each that long. but really, what’s this about, y/n?” he captures your hand in his expertly, pulling your attention back to his face.

“do you ever think we should be more?”

mingyu breathes a laugh at that, a shiver running down his spine when he spots the solemn look on your face. and then, his smile turns grave. “y/n, we’ve talked about this before, haven’t we?”

“have we? every time i’m the one who brings it up and you kinda just shrug it off. no, don’t even try to argue with me. you shrug the serious stuff off. always.”

it’s true, mingyu admits in defeat, mind racing as he considers why you’re bringing this up now. the answer is easy: you were finally available. but he doesn’t say it out loud, like he never does. you’d confronted him about the state of your friendship before, unafraid to wonder out loud what it would be like if you started dating. you’ve received all forms of shut-downs from mingyu before so you figured you were the only one in an ambiguous place about your feelings for him.

if someone was to ask if you like mingyu, you’d probably say yes, but it’s more than that. you know better than to blindly fall for him. witnessing him in his relationships before, you know he can be ruthlessly cold to his partner once he’s out of love. you practice romantic love for mingyu: carefully because too much would definitely be dangerous.

“i have my reasons, y/n.” there it is. the strict mingyu. the rigidity in setting his boundaries was something you admired and aspired for when he exhibited it in the past. right now, you want to punch him.

you’re without a filter with him so it’s unfair when he treats you like this. you let him know as much: “i want to punch you right now. i’ve hidden nothing from you, and yet, there’s this wall you keep yourself behind. is this really one-sided?”

mingyu doesn’t know what to do with you right now, “y/n, why are you—”

“no, because it's not like i can't take a hint. so one minute you're flirting with me and then, you push me away like right now,” you point to his estranged fingers, “but then you act like nothing happened and go right back to being all intimate and touchy.”

“i just…” mingyu lets out an exasperated sigh, “i just don’t see the reason for labels. why do we have force ourselves into a restriction like that? we’ve always been above conforming.”

it’s your turn to sigh heavy enough your head hits the wall behind you. wasn’t this just his way of friend-zoning you back into silence? you’ve always been too embarrassed to push him this far because you don’t mean to hurt him. but you feel as though you’ve hurt yourself long enough now.

“so why’d you say that the other night? that it would be nice if you were my boyfriend?”

this leaves him speechless for a few beats and you continue, “that was just because i was heartbroken from jeonghan? you’re playing prince charming for me so i can go back to being your trusty little best friend?”

“y/n, you know that’s not true. i’m not playing anything in your life. i’m just being myself.”

you scoff, “you really are so fucking—”

“why are we actually fighting right now?” mingyu asks through an incredulous laugh, “this is actually so petty, dude, let’s stop. you know i love you, right?”

mingyu’s last resort makes its presence: a non-committal i love you. because at the end of the day, you’re still best friends. what was a little ‘i love you’ in today’s economy? nothing. especially when you’d hear him throw the phrase around all the time.

you stand up in defeat, “fine, let’s stop. you win.” you gesture for him to move to the side and he does so reluctantly when you glare at him like you’re genuinely mad. (you are.)

he follows you out the door, catching your elbow to slow you down. “don’t be like this. i know you’re mad at me.”

“i’m not mad. i'm tired and i just want to go back to my room,” you seethe, walking faster than him. he grabs hold of your shoulder turning you around.

“if you’re gonna storm off, at least go the right way.” you huff softly and let him steer you the right way to your dorm, hands still on you. you spend the way to the front of your room silently, waiting for mingyu to say something but he just does what he does best: take care of you.

as you reach the door of your room, he pauses, apologetic smile on display. “listen, let’s talk more tomorrow? get some sleep.” he reaches for your hair, tenderly running his fingers through the locks. there it is: the soft mingyu, his eyes wide as he stares you down for signs of stress.

his warm arm pressed againsts yours, you realize you don’t want him to just leave. you know the drill: tomorrow morning, he’ll text you to meet for lunch and everything will go back to being unsaid. maybe he’ll bring along seungcheol so you don’t bring anything up again. either way, it’ll be so natural you’ll think nothing ever happened. but you want something to happen.

so your hand settles around his bicep to hold on and partly to keep him in place. you lean in, “let me do one last thing and if you want to stop, i’m never bringing this up again. i promise.”

you don’t give mingyu a moment to react to your words and instead raise yourself up to his level, other hand on his chest, and press your lips to his. you kiss mingyu after the thirteen years that you’ve known him and the ten that you’ve wanted to. you counted the years just as you count the seconds that it takes for him to come to his senses and pull himself away.

he looks less upset than you imagined: more dazed. like he can’t believe what you’ve done. he looks at you with his lips parted and you have to tear your gaze apart, lest you should tear yourself apart with longing.

“y/n, i…” he looks away and that’s enough evidence you need. you step away from him, your easy smile back in its place, not before you pat his arm as it falls from you.

“it's okay. i understand. let’s be friends, mingyu,” you declare suddenly, catching him off-guard. you'd pulled all the stops and if he genuinely was uncomfortable with pushing the line between platonic and romantic, you would respect that.

he begins to say something but you don’t want to hear him speak, at least not right now when the sound of blood rushing to your head is the loudest it's ever been, and you certainly don’t want to falter again. you’ve decided. “good night."

—

mingyu should feel relieved. he really should be happy that you’re back to normal around him, friendly and playful like you’ve always been. he should count his blessings that you’ve accepted the status of your relationship with him as it is. but as he falls asleep that night, all that comes to his mind is the smile you’d sported as you asked to be friends.

it was all wrong: your lips against his, that was something of his dreams, not a reality he has to be escaping from. it replays in his head, your scent that he’d caught a whiff of now and then, whenever you’d wrap your arms around him. the heat of your skin he’d rationalize as the comforting presence of a friend for days later.

he’ll soon come to know how insanely stupid he’s being right now but until you knock some sense into him, he simply plays along with a sting he hides pretty well. he should, he’s been doing it for years now.

it’s the night of hoshi’s party already and he’s walking over to the location of the pregame, alone because according to a text fifteen minutes ago, you’re still not ready. you’d invited yunjin and some other friends to your and kazuha’s abode to apparently make the process easier, but if mingyu knows anything about the group, you’ve probably spent more time selecting the right song to play than get ready.

the door to dino and hoshi’s shared residence is already open as he strolls in, finding a group already on the floor, taking shots. he makes eye contact with jeonghan who beckons him closer and mingyu takes a seat next to him.

space is scarce so mingyu finds his arm pressed uncomfortably close to jeonghan’s, who oohs at mingyu’s fit, “ooh, you look positively sexy.”

mingyu grimaces, “do you have to put it like that?” he does look … positively sexy, mingyu admits, in the navy blue shirt he wore but— and here’s the punchline— with the buttons undone all the way to right above his navel.

“where’s y/n, by the way?” jeonghan asks, an eye at the entrance as he slides a shot glass toward mingyu. the question irks mingyu for obvious reasons and he keeps him waiting for a minute, waiting to down the liquid in glass (vodka unfortunately for his throat) to answer him. “um, she’s still getting ready. any minute now.”

“ha, that means she’ll be another ten. that’s a shame, i was hoping to pour her first shot.” jeonghan shrugs resentfully.

maybe the alcohol’s working faster since it’s been a while for mingyu, but his mouth runs faster than his head, “why’d you care? i thought you asked kazuha out a while ago.”

jeonghan raises a brow at that, “hmm. i did. but things did not work out so well. what with kazuha feeling guilty about y/n and… well, i also…”

“feel guilty?” mingyu asks, voice strained. he’s annoyed at having to listen to jeonghan’s side of the story. he could not care less about humanizing him and whatnot. he’s watched you suffer for far too long to be empathetic right now.

“yeah. and i thought i might like y/n, too, after all.” jeonghan says it so casually as if discussing his performance in a particularly challenging college course, not his feelings for a person who he’d recently rejected.

the word might pierces mingyu’s ears. the uncertainty behind it is in such stark contrast to his own… feelings toward you that he genuinely feels his breath heat up.

or maybe that’s just jeonghan when he leans over to refill his glass. “drink up, buddy.” mingyu’s just about ready to make a scene right now, shoving jeonghan’s hand off his back but suddenly jeonghan’s standing up, making his way to—

you. you’re here.

almost as soon as he catches sight of you, he looks away, pretending to give the vodka in his hand all the attention in the world, as he puts his lips to it and empties it. head is now light. that’s probably enough for now, he decides as he puts his glass down.

when he looks back up, you’re at the kitchen counter with yunjin and kazuha.. and jeonghan, who’s grinning as he hands out the bottles of fireball to the group, no doubt marketing it so convincingly that you’d think you came up with the idea yourself.

mingyu shoots to his feet, regretting it when his vision darkens but he pushes past, eyes focused on your figure— god, he forgot how hot you look in that dress. he tries to keep his thoughts in check as he approaches you, but it doesn’t help that your makeup’s even more meticulous than usual, eyes glittering and lips delightfully glossy.

he breaks into the space between you and jeonghan, arm against yours, catching your attention.

“my guy!!” you exclaim when you see him and then your eyes trail down to his chest and then back up to his face where his hair sits parted with the help of some gel. “you look like a slut. i love it.”

mingyu laughs, subjecting you to a similar once-over, “you’re one to talk.” your hair’s back in a bun of sorts, a rare occurrence because you seem to prefer have it around your face. he can’t help but pause at your exposed collarbones, the gold shadow you applied there earlier doing wonders to his already dazed headspace.

“is it already that part of the night where mingyu starts hitting on everyone?” yunjin complains, reserving the alternate version of her question (something along the lines of how impolitely he’d been eye-fucking you in front of everyone) for some other time as she nudges you to open the fireball in your hands.

you do so, looking at jeonghan who offers one to mingyu, which he refuses as he leans against the counter, hand silently at your back just in case. “you’re not drinking?” you ask, quietly enough only for the two of you, just in case he wasn’t comfortable sharing.

“nah, i just had two shots of vodka back there. trying not to mix for the sake of me tomorrow,” he mutters, patting your back encouragingly, “but let me know if you need help finishing that.”

jeonghan eyes mingyu on the side as the trio clink their bottles together and get to downing them. later, as things start picking up and more people make their way into the party, mingyu finds your arm. “do you want me to stay close by?” he frames the question in a way that you have an out, because he can tell that you’re still unhappy with him.

but you’re tipsy when your hand interlocks into his, “only if you’re going to dance like you mean it.”

the night goes better than you expect it to, especially since mingyu’s let loose for once. or perhaps… he’s always this carefree when drunk, palms kneading at your waist, keeping you close to his chest, which you try your best to not get too used to touching. he sure knows how to keep you on your toes (sometimes literally) even when wasted because you’re trying not to get too close. for you own sake.

that is until hoshi shows up beside you two, pulling you apart as he introduces you to a friend.. or a partner? you can’t hear in this state and just as you try to lean in closer to hear what he’s saying, you feel a presence at your shoulder, fingers poking you.

you turn to find jeonghan behind you, sloppy smile on his face as he screams something at you. you frown, asking him to repeat himself, hand on his bicep to steady yourself against the movement of the party.

“need to talk to you about something!” his words come at you, clearer. “right now?” you shout back, “what the fuck is it?” your body doesn’t want to stop moving so you groove against his side, and momentarily catching a glimpse mingyu’s heavy gaze on you. you almost completely stop then but jeonghan’s pulling you away, after him to a relatively emptier zone of the house.

you’re breathless, you realize, now that the spell of the music’s been broken. you rest against the damp wall behind you, uncaring as you look around for a liquid to quench your thirst. cunning as ever, jeonghan’s already handing you a plastic cup with a transparent liquid.

you narrow your eyes at him despite how wasted you are. “what’s this?”

he laughs, “i’m glad you’re vigilant as ever. this is water. cold. drink up.”

you comply, your throat throbbing ever so lesser after you’re done and you sigh in relief. “you might have broken my heart but you’re still an angel, jeonghan.”

“ahhh,” he exclaims joining your side against the wall. you frown when you take note of his fingers clasped together, almost fidgeting. yoon jeonghan, fidgety? that’s a first for you.

“actually, that’s what i wanted to talk to you about…”

when mingyu looks away from hoshi and his company to see if you were listening and when he finds out that you’re in fact in jeonghan’s embrace, he’s suddenly sober. and when your eyes find his for a moment, something in them changes and he calls out your name like a warning. but then jeonghan’s already leading you elsewhere.

mingyu wants to follow after you immediately but he realizes hoshi’s still talking to him. “hoshi, bro, can i find you in a while? i gotta make sure y/n’s okay.”

but hoshi stops him in his tracks, hand on his chest, “wait. please tell me you told her…?” he trails off uncertainly as mingyu catches on what he’s saying.

“i haven’t,” he admits, eyes still searching the crowd for you, “but i think it’s time that i do. only so much i can take.”

“that’s the spirit, man! okay, now go kiss y/n for me.” hoshi pushes mingyu with a start, not before the the latter shoots the man a glare and takes off in his search for you.

you’re still in that corner with jeonghan, who’s done narrating the past week’s revelations to you, all about his failed attempts with kazuha and his slow understanding of his real feelings about you. you’re far more unaffected that either of you was expecting, arms crossing in thought.

but then you say, “well, that’s fucking stupid. because i’ve realized i wasn’t as down bad for you as i once thought i was.” jeonghan’s smile falls a little with a disappointed sigh. “but,” you continue, “you know what i’m still curious about?”

when your hand creeps up jeonghan’s shoulder, he thinks he knows where you’re going with this. “i’ve wanted know if you’re really as good at kissing as everyone makes you out to be.” jeonghan’s already moving closer to you, enveloping your face in his hands, and his devilish grin’s spills out as his lips find your ear. “let’s find out?”

and that’s how mingyu finds you wrapped around jeonghan, making out like this was your last day living. and for a moment, he considers giving up and letting you have this. he even stops in his tracks in the crowd, his thoughts so easily drowned out by the music if he just lets go.

but his mind’s reeling when the sight of you kissing someone else just pushes him back a day ago when you were leaning up into him, soft breaths risking your lips against his and the way your body pressed into his just right. his feet move without a thought, then, shouldering through the bodies around the two in the corner.

you’re just pulling away from jeonghan to start to say something about how that wasn’t too bad when his body is lifted away from yours with an unannounced jerk. you gasp and then once again when mingyu’s face comes floating in front of yours.

“mingyu,” you breathe, unsteady from the series of events this past minute, “what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“what the fuck are you doing?!” he screams in your face, hands on both arms to keep you from moving. jeonghan’s walking to your side and you want to say something to apologize but you’re far too infuriated with the man in front of you to think.

“i don’t know! trying to get laid? finding happiness? love?!” you scream back with as much force. you call out jeonghan’s name, “i’m sorry. mingyu’s too drunk to—”

“jeonghan,” warns mingyu when the guy tries to break you free from his embrace, “can i have a minute with y/n.” it isn't a question.

jeonghan has the nerve to say, “maybe not. i wouldn’t leave you alone with her in this state.”

“oh, she’ll be just fine,” he replies and jeonghan simply looks at you for confirmation. but you’re still looking at mingyu, starting to tear up, head throbbing all at once. you stop fighting against his grip and mumble in defeat, “whatever.”

“if you’re going to lecture me about being bad, i don’t really want to hear it.” you’re back next to the kitchen counters with mingyu beside you. slowly, you sit yourself up on the surface, feeling exhausted. “i’ve heard it before.”

“no, that’s not what i’m doing. i just want you to stop and think clearly—”

you groan when you hear the beginnings of a typical you’ll regret this in the morning type talk, you slide off the counter and to your delight, you run into a guy holding up a can of beer for the taking. you’re quick to jump at it, grabbing it up from him and pulling the tab of the can open. just as you put the beer to your lips, ready to chug it, you feel it being pulled away, the next few moments occuring before you can comprehend anything.

suddenly you’re sitting back on the counter and your dress rides up when you feel mingyu push himself in between your legs. at first, you see his face close on yours and then the taste of beer meets your throat. no, it’s not just beer— it’s mingyu. his tongue spills onto yours, beer mixing with saliva and when you try to pull away, his hand at your neck tightens. you sit up straight and you feel his watch digging into your spine.

your head spins when you can finally breathe, inhaling only to cough out. heart in your throat, you look at mingyu in disbelief, “what the fuck!” but he’s already taking another sip of the beer and some of it slides down your throat into your dress, when his mouth finds yours again.

you’re weak in his arms, and the heat between your legs is only so rational. so you find yourself giving in and kissing him back when the liquid runs out, nails finding his scalp, earning you a deep groan that vibrates against your chest. that’s when he pulls away again, eyes finally meeting yours with an unprecedented intensity.

he leans in again, wet kiss against your cheek, followed by a grunted whisper of, “i love you so fucking much, y/n. it’s so hard to watch you run around with other men.”

you want to think you’re hearing things but mingyu doesn’t let you, another kiss right in the nape of your neck that sends shudders down your back. “i want to be yours so fucking bad. want to spoil you like you deserve.”

you swallow against the moan that rises in your throat, to pull mingyu’s face back to your eye-level, “then why aren’t you mine? why’d you push me away?” your voice breaks, betraying the pretense of indifference you try to prop up. his eyes soften, fingers brushing against your forehead.

his lips quiver and he sighs defeatedly. it’s a miracle you can hear him with all that noise around you. but you hear him clear as day against your hair when he finally says, “i’m scared. of loving you too much, of being too much. and i’m scared of losing you.”

mingyu’s imagined telling you these exact words before and how you’d react to them infinite times before but when you giggle into his collarbone, he pulls away with a blank look. your forehead is against his all over again and for the second time night you say, “that’s fucking stupid! if you were going to lose me, it would’ve happened a while ago.”

of all the things he’d imagine you saying in response, this was the simplest option, so unlike your usual overthinking self. maybe it’s the alcohol and adrenaline in your system speaking but mingyu somehow feels comforted, because maybe it really is that simple. it would’ve happened if it was going to. or maybe mingyu’s too drunk to make sense of it all right now.

so his lips are moving against yours once again, without warning, your breath all his when his arms tighten once against around you. you’re laugh grounds him enough to break away. you open your mouth to complain about the distance when mingyu’s back against your skin.

“shut the fuck up,” he groans, the command making you hotter than you’d like to admit. your legs close around his ass, pulling him closer and his hand slips across your boobs. the friction of his palm against the tight fabric of your dress makes you let out an undignified moan into mingyu.

that’s when he knows he needs to take you to somewhere more private for reasons more than one. you’re too lightheaded to move yourself so mingyu’s carrying out the house without a word anyone you two came with. it’s only when the cold air hits you that you realize you’re outside.

you struggle against mingyu until you're back on your feet and stop. “where are we going? i’m— do i know you, mister guy?” for a second, mingyu’s heart sinks when he wonders if you thought you were just making out with a stranger. then, you say, “i need to go back and find mingyu. gotta kiss him.”

ignoring the blush that colors his face, he grabs hold of your elbow, “i am mingyu, idiot. and we’re going to my room.” you shake your head to clear your vision, eyes widening when you recognize him. your hand finds his face with a light laugh, “ah! it’s my big guy.” the name doesn’t help mingyu’s condition at all, so he’s pulling you after him faster than before.

back at the party, kazuha starts panic when she realizes she’s lost hold of you, unable to locate you anywhere within the party. she tugs at yunjin’s sleeve who looks over in concern, “what happened to y/n? i can’t find her anywhere.” yunjin laughs at that, covering her mouth with her hand. “don’t worry about her. i saw her and mingyu leave together earlier. she’s probably in heaven by now, if i’m right.”

“hmm?” kazuha pauses as a thought pops up into her head, “wait… did they…?” yunjin grins knowingly, “yup. it really was high time they fucked.” the former lets out a satisfied giggle, “i know. they were so obvious without even being together. i was getting tired.”

“you were getting tired?!” you gasp at mingyu later in the night, panting against his pillow. you’re on your back and he throws you a tshirt of his to sleep in now that your dress is… demolished. you look at it sadly out of the corner of your eye. “i really liked that dress,” you whine, as he picks the remains of it up with a somewhat smug grin, “planned to wear it out again.”

“i couldn’t risk that. you looked too good in it,” he chuckles to himself as he jumps into bed with you. you sit up, feigning anger as you slip the cotton over your head, warming up when the smell of mingyu greets you. “i don’t know if i could resist seeing your tits out like that.”

you hit his chest hard with a lighthearted scoff, “i knew it! you’re such a pervert. not just a pervert, you’re also a brute.” you groan as you rub your thighs together gingerly. mingyu props himself up, pulling you down into a hug, rubbing your back. “sorry, does it hurt a lot?”

“it’ll hurt more in the morning,” you relax in his arms, pressing a loving kiss into his hair, “should’ve known you went so rough. asshole.” you giggle when he pulls away in disbelief at the last insult.

“how could you—!” you roll away from him, laughing. he shifts closer, caging you against the wall behind you, “hey, you can’t say stuff like fuck i knew you’d have a big dick and then expect me to go all vanilla! do you know what that does to a guy?”

you shriek in embarrassment, “don’t bring that up now!” your ears redden when mingyu forces you by the chin to look up at him. “besides, where do you think the nicknames like big gyu and big guy came from?”

mingyu’s jaw falls open at the revelation and you break out into a fit of laughter at his mindblown expression. “how- how long have you been thinking about my di-”

you hit him to stop him, “ever since you kept pushing me away,” you run a hand down his side, sly grin on your swollen lips, “and i had to come up with something if i wanted to get myself off alone.”

with an exasperated groan, he falls against you, suffocating you as his body goes limp above yours. you let out a gasp when you feel him hardening against your leg and he speaks into your neck, “you’re seriously telling me i’ve been missing out on taking you like this for… for how long now?”

you kiss his cheek, hand slipping down his boxers with a soft exhale, “a while. and if you hadn’t come to your senses today… well, i’d all but given up on you today. when jeonghan kissed me, i was just going to—”

suddenly your breath escapes you, mingyu’s hand around your throat and his lips on yours with a loud grunt. he stops your hand in its movements, “please tell me you’re not talking about jeonghan while— fuck!” he gasps when you bite his lower lip to protest his hand on yours. his hand gives way and you’re palming the tent in his boxers again, pushing him down against the bed, so thankful he doesn’t have a rooommate in times like this.

you place a kiss at the corner of his lips and trail down his chest, shirt long gone, before muttering, “forgive me?”

—

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

i really want to write a more wholesome ending but have not the time or energy right now, so i'll be back with a shorter spin-off/ epilogue of sorts about how you and mingyu as a couple work out, how your friends react, some skinship, etc.

anyway, this is my official announcement that i've become a baby carat :] didn't know how much i was missing out on before svt so this is very fun. so far, jeonghan's my favorite little guy, although as is clear from this... mingyu makes me do things. on the roster are: minghao and joshua. hopefully there will be more svt fics in the future. no promises <3 goodbye friends and foes!!

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pandoraslxna · 9 months

Note

hello! i’m literally terrible at requesting things lol, but i thought i would ask if you would be doing another part to Stepbrother AU? i absolutely love the way you write neteyam. maybe some sweet and soft smut?

Sweet dreams

adult stepbro Neteyam x female omatikaya reader

Words: 2.5k

Summary: It’s date night, the marui is quiet and Neteyam has you all to himself.

Warnings: explicit smut, stepcest (= they’re not related by blood), fluff, praise kink, p in v, soft sex, semi-public, biting

Notes: adult Neteyam art was made by @cinetrix 🩵

Translation:

syulang = flower

It’s date night.

Date night means, his parents will be away for the night. And that means, all responsibilities fall to him.

So Neteyam makes sure everyone’s fed, goes to hunt, skins the yerik with Lo‘ak and let’s Kiri help prepare the meat, while you’re out to give Tuk a much needed bath after playing in the dirt all day.

They all eat together, while mum and dad are out somewhere flying on their ikrans or swimming in a river, spending some much needed time away from their kids, even though half of them are grown already and can take care of themselves. These days, date night is more than a ritual that they decided to keep from the early years of their mating, than a day spent away from the rest of the family. The kids aren’t really kids anymore, they don’t fight like they used to, they don’t ask too many questions that make Jakes hairline thin out and they don’t stick to Neytiri like leeches anymore.

Except for little Tuk of course, because Tuk will most likely forever keep the status of the Sully’s baby, probably even when she has kids on her own.

Lo‘ak has grown too, but he’s still Lo‘ak. Has always been him and will never change the way he is. Unless Tsireya comes over– great mother help him, suddenly he’s someone Neteyam has never seen before and it makes him physically cringe. But who is he to judge and apparently the chiefs daughter seems to be into that 'oh my voice is naturally low and raspy and I definitely don’t deepen it just to impress you' type of thing.

Kiri is, well, she’s never been one to talk much, but since she’s reached the end of her what dad calls puberty and mother calls "a test to her mental strength" her head seems to be even more up in the clouds than it was before.

Neteyam himself has long reached that age where he would like to experience these domestic moments with his own little family, living in his own marui. But he can’t seem to peel himself away from here, from home. Not when everything he yearns for is right here.

Which brings us to you.

His pretty little syulang, the flower of his life, that grew roots so deep in his heart that they took up all the space and left no room for anything or anyone else, since the day his parents had decided to take you in.

Admittedly, it took Neteyam longer than he thought it would, to realize that the way he looked at you was different from the way he looked at his other siblings. He’s always been protective by nature, takes care of those who are dear to him. But not once had he felt the same kind of jealousy when Spider or Rotxo or whoever talked to his sister Kiri, than when boys came to talk to you. When it came to you, things were different.

Neteyam himself had started fooling around with girls his age relatively young. Kissing and touching, before he turned eighteen and realized how easy it is to get them on their hands and knees just for being the next olo’eyktan.

But when you came along, things took a sharp turn. Suddenly, those girls made him feel icky. Suddenly, he had never wanted to touch anybody as much as he wanted to touch you. But he knew that such a thing was out of the question, though, so he never tried to act upon his forbidden desires.

It was you, surprisingly, who came to him first. Crossing all lines of what Neteyam thought was considered right or wrong, just for you to confess a love that goes beyond what step siblings should feel for each other.

Anyways.

Date night means, all responsibilities fall to him. And while it’s usually dad that has trouble sleeping, that stays up until eywa know when, sitting in the space that’s reserved for crafting and such things to clean his assault rifle, it’s Neteyam who sits in this place tonight. Like being away for a night ultimately means that not being able to sleep is now his burden too.

Neteyam doesn’t know the reason to his. His stomach is full and he’s happy and content, should probably sleep like a baby. But he just can’t bring himself to rest.

He hears Lo’aks snoring pick up in the other room, and it makes him chuckle lightheartedly. He‘ll keep Tsireya in his prayers, once the two of them have finally mated and will share their own marui. Eywa help her find some sleep, once this snoring palulukan lays under her roof.

Neteyam smiles to himself. His fingers slowly grow tired as they move a woven thread back and forth, then through a pearl, tying a knot and repeat. At least some part of him feels the need to rest.

While his parents date night generally means that there will be more duties than usual in his daily routine, it also means that there is no one up in the middle of the night or in the early morning hours, giving him time and peace to be lost in his thoughts. And those thoughts roam around a certain someone, more than usual even.

Because date night also means, spending time with his precious syulang is now less risky than it is on any other day or any other night.

Quietly, Neteyam tips his head back to glance into the other room. He can vaguely make out your sleeping silhouette in the dark, laying in your hammock. Like a magnet to metal, he feels himself drawn to you, so he allows his body to move without his brain having much say in this.

Everyone‘s asleep and his parents aren’t there and it just feels good to act upon his desires without double questioning everything, wondering what fleeting touches he could allow himself without being looked at weird or having to find excuses to go to the forest together for at least some alone time.

The hammock dips, and then a warm body settles to lay behind you, curling around your smaller frame like you’re two fitting pieces of the same puzzle.

A soft sigh leaves your parted lips and Neteyam can’t help but press a kiss to the nape of your neck. His breath tickles your skin, and then you stir awake with a yawn.

"Teyam?", you murmur sleepily, glancing over your shoulder to be met with two half lidded, golden orbs staring back at you.

"M‘sorry, syulang", he whispers against the shell of your ear before pressing another kiss to your cheek. "Didn’t mean to wake you."

You mumble something incoherent that he can’t quite pick up, but then you’re stretching and your tail instinctively curls around his, and Neteyam knows you probably didn’t mean to– but your back arches into him, ass pressing against his crotch, and suddenly you��re not the one only stirring awake.

"Hmm, but since you’re already up, we could…", the words are muffled into the crook of your neck, followed by more, open mouthed kisses against your skin.

"Teyam", you giggle quietly, squirming when he nips at the lobe of your ear, "stop it."

Instead of listening, his arms close tighter around your middle, pulling your back closer to his chest. His hands skim over the bare skin of your stomach, over your thighs, your waist.

"You’re so warm", he mumbles, with both of his hands now sandwiched between your soft thighs. It makes you dizzy, the way he presses himself against you, how his hands can’t seem to stay still for even a second, roaming your body to caress and squeeze and grab whatever they can reach. Your breath hitches in your throat once you feel his fingertips brush the outline of your loincloth, following the cords between your thighs, hands cupping your cunt.

"T-The others", you finally find your voice again. Swallowing thickly, you whisper, "Lo’ak and Kiri, they will–"

But Neteyam is quick to cut you off, "The others are sleeping…" Another open mouthed kiss to your throat, tongue licking along your pulse point. "And I missed you. A lot."

It doesn’t seem like he was leaving you much room to argue, especially not, because his hands then dip past the waistband of your loincloth.

"I was with you the whole day", a smile pulls at your lips, eyes fluttering closed as you let yourself enjoy the feeling of his teasing fingers.

"Hmh, and I still missed my baby sister", he hums, "Missed kissing you… touching you…"

A gasp tumbles from your parted lips when one of his digits slides into you with ease, curling up where he knows it feels best for you.

"Always so wet for me", Neteyam whispers, "My perfect girl."

His breath is hot and damp against the skin of your neck, and he nudges his now fully hard cock against the small of your back and waits for the sign that tells him you feel the same want he does.

Neteyam can’t help but nuzzle up against the crook of your neck again, trace the edge of your ear with nose and lips, because he can never get enough of the way that sends a shiver through your body. Through his own body too, and then he presses the smallest, quietest kisses to your ear until you shivers again.

Neteyam is so close to you, that he can sense and know he caused the tremble in your limbs and breath.

Those small, trembling movements are what does it for him, the way you nudge your sleep-warm body against him, the arch of your back against his chest and crotch, the scrabble of delicate fingers as they fumble against his arm, looking for purchase, the brush of your soft hair against his cheek and the taste of your skin at the flick of his tongue against your throat, neck and shoulder.

"Teyaaam", you whine quietly, two of his slick fingers now scissoring you open and you writhe and squirm, pushing back harder against his cock in need.

This time, the shiver runs through him first and you gasp once, the sound quiet and sharp.

Neteyam knows that sound. Knows that means he could fit your bodies together even better, press himself inside you now. So naturally, that’s what he does.

It’s a clumsy mess of tangled limps, soft giggles and fleeting kisses before he manages to wriggle you and then himself free from any clothes. He keeps you flush against him, back pressed against his chest, angles your leg up and holds you open with a hand to the backside of your knee.

Neteyam slides into you easily. The stretch is familiar, good and pleasant, and you moan once he’s filled you entirely.

"Shh, I know", he coos softly, "but you have to be quiet for me, yes? Don’t want to wake the others, don’t you?"

You nod, then his hips move almost on instinct, back and then pushing forwards, thrusting into you. It’s slow and languid, with muffled groans pressed against your skin.

Neteyam wants it to last. Wants to stay like this forever, soft touches and warmth and the fond familiarity of your skin under his fingertips. But he can't resist that voice. Can't resist that desperate, pleading tone.

"P-Please Neteyam", you whimper softly, pushing back against him, "more, please. More, I want to come!"

He pushes forward, just that little bit harder, then shifts to clamp a hand over your mouth, shushing you when you’re unable to contain those little noises of pleasure.

"You feel so good, syulang, so good."

The slow drag of his shaft against your warm, wet and velvety-like walls makes Neteyams tail curl in enjoyment, and his eyes flutter close as he lets himself drown in the feeling of you. His teeth are clenched shut, biting down on his lower lip, because he was just as close to moaning out loud as you were.

But then you’re clamping down, hard, when his tip nudges against that special spot inside you and– just a little faster, his thrusts become just a tad harder, deeper.

There’s drool covering the inside of his hand, where he’s trying to keep your mouth shut, tongue lapping at his palm so he switches position, sticks two of his fingers into your mouth instead for you to suck on.

You’re so wet around him, wet around his fingers too now, sucking as eager as you would on his cock and the low groan that bubbles up his throat is almost too loud. Almost.

But Neteyam catches his breath quickly, busying his mouth with your throat instead, sucking and kissing and biting, never hard enough to leave any marks, but enough to keep himself from making too much noise.

Meanwhile your tongue swirls around his digits and he pushes them further in whenever he slides his cock out of you, then out when he thrusts forwards. It’s a constant rhythm, leaving you moaning around his fingers and squeezing around his cock.

Slow and steady, he repeats the words like a mantra, trying to calm himself. But his thrusts become deeper, harder as well. They knock the breath out of your lungs, little whimpers reaching his ears, until Neteyam has to cover you mouth again with a warning grunt.

All it would take was for Lo‘ak to wake and get water, and then he would hear the obvious, he would hear the faint squelching noises coming from the other room, would hear your little whimpers and pleas.

Neteyam wanted this to last, he really did. But the thrill of getting caught was a dangerous mix to the absolute heavenly feeling of your pussy convulsing around his length as you came. The soft squeak that you gave, the way that your legs trembled and your eyes rolled back, it was all that was needed to push him over the edge.

"Fuck, fuck, syulang, baby. I‘m– I‘m gonna come", he forces out, as quietly as possible. The hand over your mouth clamped down harder, like a warning before he started to thrust into you faster, barely able to contain himself anymore.

Just a few especially deep strokes were needed, and Neteyam felt his body and every last nerve in it fill with pleasure, before he came with a grunt, biting his tongue and pressing his face into the crook of your neck.

Taking his time, Neteyam lets his body come down slowly. He’s still pressing himself into you gently, continues to move a little, thrusting, and enjoys the slippery sensations this engenders. Traces kisses over your skin and tastes salt and sweetness on his tongue while he listens to the way your breathing slowly evens out.

A tender, "I love you", is whispered against the shell of your ear. Your response comes a little slurred, voice laced with sleep and barely incoherent, but it doesn’t really matter to him. There’s a smile on your lips as you fall back asleep, satisfied and content.

And finally, sleep tugs on his tired eyelids.

Neteyam suspects, as he drifts of to sleep, that in an hour or so, for the second time that day, he'll be the first to wake. He’ll have to get up and move to his own hammock, fall back asleep there, or not. And he’ll miss you again, from afar. Until date night comes around again.

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iceunhie · 4 months

Text

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ⊹ unexpected development ! ꒱ ˎˊ˗

summary ⁠☆ you get transported into your favorite otome game’s world as a shitty side character with a raging death flag. you try to prevent your inevitable destruction... but it doesn't go according to plan as much as you'd hope.

notes ☆ of course it's another scaramouche fic except this time it's plot is manhwa inspired

“This trashy game!” you curse, watching the pitch black GAME OVER screen linger in your phone. Happy music plays despite the current cg of your character at the hands of the tyrant character slash love interest Scaramouche. You sigh, tapping on the back button. “I was so close to completing his route… stupid, stupid game, ugh…”

Teyvat’s Seven Stars was a new otome game that you'd tried out for fun, bored out of your mind. The amazing art and soundtrack garnered your interest, not to mention the male leads were totally your type!

It had an array of tropes and spared no expense of flowery scenes and fanservicey excerpts that made you play despite its massive cashgrab feature. Heart fluttering near death scenes! Action packed romantic scenes with the main characters! It was consuming you and you loved it.

Even if the Scaramouche route was testing your patience.

You get that he was the most difficult to conquer out of all of them, but really, one! wrong! move! ….and an immediate gameover. Life sucks when he's your favorite character, and when your favorite character was notoriously known for having a horrid and difficult complete clear route that no one has completed yet, of course you needed to complete it, no matter what!

Damn it, now you've run out of love points to restart another run. Fuck you, system! Stupid trashy money grabbing game! You put down your phone, closing it. An immediate heavy weight settles on your shoulders, making you feel sleepy as you clutch your phone to bed.

Tomorrow… you'll complete his route for sure…

[ TEYVAT’S SEVEN STARS SYSTEM ACTIVATED! RUNNING GAME FILE NOW ]

Ah. You should've known what was coming.

—

[ CHARACTER FILE: [NAME] [LAST NAME] - CROWN PRINCE KUNIKUZUSHI’S BETROTHED! ]

What the fuck.

You think you've lost feeling in your jaw when the glare of the system shines bright, mocking you.

“[Name], you're awake!” You turn to the sound, and you face probably the most beautiful person you've ever seen. No, what the hell. You've seen him before.

Beautiful silky dark hair, glossy electric indigo eyes, a perpetual aura of ethereal lightness…. the game descriptions weren't lying after all. yes, you weren't dreaming. This was Scaramouche, or should you say at this point in time… Kunikuzushi?

He immediately clings to you. Oh. Oh. Well fuck. “I… uh.”

Scara- ahem, Kunikuzushi’s eyes are littered with tears and oh no you're a weak hearted person for your favorite character. “I'm so glad you're okay! I'm sorry, my mother- I mean, I'm so glad you're okay.”

The rest of the moments is a blur when your… fiance? betrothed? fills you in on what happened. Your mind is fuzzy and you can only piece together just a rough summary of what point in the game you're in.

So, you are currently three years early from the main story. Unfortunately, you are not either of the main protagonists Lumine or Aether. No, the system apparently hates you for being a hater and gave you the most egregious role.

A side character. A side character who barely even appears in the story, left to be trampled on by the story's plot. What's more, you're in the timeline wherein the current Kunikuzushi doesn't take the name Scaramouche because his Mother, the lone Queen Raiden Ei left him when he could not pass the Inazuma kingdom’s test to be worthy of the gnosis.

He took the name Scaramouche after being trained by the shady organization known as the Fatui, the main villainous force in the game and usurped his mother. In other words, a blackened tyrant character!

...And you were the betrothed his mother set for him - executed in the future because he didn't want any trace of Ei’s influence. Amazing.

The future Kunikuzushi would be an arrogant, tsundere and soft-for-only-one-person type of character, but now, he was like a gentle, tucked away from the world young prince.

Wait…. wasn’t he also gullible before?! Very cute, but it's no wonder he blackened so quickly with such a naive personality!

You, well, technically, the character [Name] [Last Name] ended up in this situation after they threatened to leave Kunikuzushi because he was far too fragile for their taste. A side character who’d contributed to Scaramouche’s blackening and paid for it with their life. That was who you were.

Okay, now you pity this boy a lot. He already had a traumatic childhood with Ei not giving him enough love and therefore a plethora of issues, and he'd even end up being a crazy tyrant who stopped at nothing to get the main protagonist in his grasp! For your death flag not to happen, you HAD to do something about that.

You had no choice.

To survive this horrendous fate, you came up with a plan. And that would be Plan give-kunikuzushi-all-the-love-in-the-word-before-he-meets-the-protagonist-and-turn-into-a-blackened-dark-tyrant!

Okay, lengthy plan, but to plan ahead is to be smart, so you can take care of the name later.

—

So far so good, this plan of yours. Plan get-kunikuzushi-to-turn-into-a-sparkly-prince character and not his blackened self was going well! (You gave up on thinking of a cool name) Thank god for cliche romance novels.

So far, you've increased your proximity to him, including him to spend time with you, showering him with bouts of affection and care. And so far, it's been paying off. The once secluded Prince has become so cute and so sweet!

You have to pat yourself on the back for this. You were doing the protagonist a huge favor that now they had a wonderful love interest in their sights for future reference.

Although, if there was one nitpick you had on your conduct, it would be the fact that Kunikuzushi didn't take kindly to others aside from you, and would even be panicked, utterly devastated if you even brought up the mere mention of leaving.

“Break… our engagement in the future?” if it weren't for him looking shell-shocked and deathly pale, the furrow on Kunikuzushi’s face would've been cute. “No! I don't want that! You aren't planning to leave me, are you?”

He gives you the most horrendous god kneeling look of a plea, and of course you drop the subject immediately.

“It was a joke, of course. I'd never want to break our engagement!” you hurriedly reassure, gently taking his hands in yours.

Kunikuzushi looks at you, all puppy eyes and pink cheeks. So cute. Who wouldn't want to stay by his side? You reassure him, “Whatever happens, I'll always stay by your side, okay?”

He looks at your intertwined hands with an unreadable expression on his face. “Do you promise?”

You nod. “I promise, Kuni.”

He nods, gripping your hands tighter, and his expression rivals a blazing sun, brimming with conviction as he pulls you in for a huge hug.

And of course, who wouldn't turn down an opportunity to hug their favorite character?

Surely this time, you’ll definitely escape the death flag and horrendous side character ending, right?!

You don't notice the shadow on Kuni’s face when the mere mention of being separated from you comes up.

In the back of your mind, you wonder what would happen if your Kunikuzushi met the protagonist. Would he immediately fall for them? you wonder, and an uncharacteristic pang of discomfort tugs at your chest. Ah, what would it matter.

You smile at the gentle, pristine and kind Kunikuzushi that's currently excitedly telling you about how Ei praised his sword skills after he beat his younger sister. Even if the main protagonist would come here, you could keep this adorable Kunikuzushi for yourself for just a little longer.

You kiss his cheek, and he heats up. Yes, the future can wait for now.

How the hell did it come to this?

“You told me you'd always stay by my side, right?” a hand slicked with blood is resting on the side of your face. Electric indigo eyes, these ones now having a ruthless glint to them, stare up at your own. “I've removed everything else that can take you away from me. Now, you have no reason to leave.”

By remove, he meant the man who'd decided to make a move on you after you went to the gardens for some fresh air. Hence the blood on his hands and sword, hence the reason why there's a dead body by your feet.

The once adorable and fair-faced Kunikuzushi still turned into Scaramouche after all, and you failed to prevent his blackening. He was truly, undoubtedly the same game Scaramouche.

But… Why was he acting like this? Wasn't this the exclusive feature only the protagonist should be experiencing?

He presses a kiss to your forehead, then the back of your palm. You blush.

Yes, he is now an extremely dangerous individual capable of executing anyone he deems appropriate to just for the sake of it, and yes, this same man is kneeling before you as you're just about to leave after the main storyline cg act just started. And yes, like the protagonist, you should stay far, far away from him.

But could you really? When he was pleading you with such an expression of longing and yearning? He takes your hand to caress it to the side of his face, eyes haughty and grin unsettling, gosh was he so… so attractive, like that.

“You won't leave, right?” Why was he so…. so sweet? Why was this scene structured as if you were the one he wanted to be with, not the protagonist? “You promised me, after all.”

….And why on earth did your heart leap out of your chest when he said he wanted you to stay?

(It was hard to pretend you didn't know why when the smile on your face said otherwise.)

1.5k words, only the real ones know that ive been planning a cliche otome game au since day 1 I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT HAPPENED TO ME WHEN I WAS WRITING THIS FIC 😭 might turn this into a series if people like this though <3

@ MHIIEEE : do not repost, copy or plagiarize or claim my content or work as your own.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #scaramouche genshin impact #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x you #kunikuzushi x reader #kunikuzushi x you #scaramouche drabble #kunikuzushi fluff #mhie's spirals #teyvat's seven stars ☆

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shurisneakers · 4 months

Text

unsolved (ii)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky at his little shit supreme, obnoxious reader, mentions of hauntings and the things that come with (body harm, priests, etc). images all have alt texts.

A/N: if you're familiar with the format of BuzzFeed unsolved videos, the pictures in this chapter make more sense. anyway we're starting small to warm up but i assure u there's like actual paranormal shit from next chapter onward <3 thank u for the chaotic response to chapter 1 ily guys sm ! as usual, please send me things you'd like to see in the series! it always make me so happy

Previous part || Series masterlist

Bucky loves the compound. The sentiment carries a lot, considering he’s made it a non-negotiable part of his personal brand to hate everything.

The lush landscape is quiet, spacious enough that he isn’t forced to run into anyone he’s actively avoiding, and has state-of-the art security that lets him sleep soundly, assured that no one will be able to get to his floor in an assassination attempt.

All of his deep love and fond admiration disappears when it’s the crackass of dawn and his oakwood door receives the beat down of a lifetime.

He snaps awake instantly, unsure of whether there was someone actually trying to kick the shit out of his door or it was just another nightmare that often blurred lines with reality.

But after the third deafeningly loud knock confirms it, he scrambles for a pair of pants just so that he isn’t caught entirely vulnerable.

The thrashing doesn’t cease, and by the time he makes his way to the door and yanks it open–

There’s no one on the other side.

Except a coffee cup on the ground and a note scribbled haphazardly on the side.

Shoot day. See you at the studio!

He stares wordlessly at the cup, unable to differentiate whether the feeling coursing through the very fibres of his being currently is pure blinding rage, or confusion that you apparently knew his coffee order.

The studio is fucking empty. If Bucky wasn’t still reeling from the effects of being startled awake by a fake intrusion at 5am, he’d have been over the damn moon.

He does his part as a man of honour and righteousness– calls out a very quiet ‘Hello?’ and then doesn’t bother feeling guilt when his heart explodes in joy at the lack of response.

He spins on his heel to march out, only to come to an abrupt stop when he almost runs into you. He didn’t even fucking hear you come in.

“Oh, hey.” You look at him, hand on a bagel. “You actually showed.”

Bucky’s smile falters, and he returns to his default Grinchian state.

“You made sure I fuckin’ did,” he grumbles. “How’d you get on my floor?”

“I have my ways.”

Bucky’s glare presses hard into you almost like a palpable entity.

“I did a gig as an escape artist for a while. Paid super well,” you dismiss.

He doesn’t blink once, trying to decipher whether you’re telling him the truth or not.

You offer him a bite from your bagel in return, seemingly having moved on from the conversation already.

“Where’s everyone else?” he asks, turning away from you.

“Maya didn’t actually think you’d show up on time so she told everyone to come an hour later.” You speak through a mostly full mouth. “I figured you could use the company.”

Bucky immediately feels defensive, as if that wasn’t exactly what he tried to do.

He grumbled all through the morning when he saw fifteen text reminders sent to him through the night telling him he had to shoot a video that day. He grumbled when he couldn’t use traffic as an excuse to not show up because the studio is two streets away from the compound. He grumbled when the toaster actually works for once. Everything is right in the world. This was, of course, devastating to him.

He finally shuts up when Sam gives him a piece of gum. Then he just glowers, but his jaw is otherwise occupied.

“She set you on me this morning?” Bucky questions, tone on the verge of being ticked.

You shake your head, swallowing before taking another bite. “No, that was social service.”

Bucky’s eye twitches.

“I’ll come back in an hour,” he mumbles, arms crossed over his chest.

You give him a look that lets him know you’re entirely unconvinced. “Will you?”

Well. No.

“I’m gonna look around the studio. You’re welcome to join,” you say instead, looking past him. “We’ll need to know where we’re working for the next few months.”

Few months? No no– few hours at max, if this were to go exactly his way.

“Video’s not gonna do numbers,” he reminds you in a dull utterance.

“With an enthusiasm like that, it’s hard to see why you’re not universally beloved, Barnes,” you comment seriously, before clapping his shoulder. “Come on. You ever look at yourself in a mirror? You’re gonna be a star, baby.”

Bucky, in his current chosen avatar, looks less 'man of the world' and more 'reject of the jungle’.

But the sentiment is appreciated.

The studio is moderately big.

You find joy in messing around with set pieces of the other Avengers video series that were being shot there. Bucky finds joy in locating every possible escape route within a three foot vicinity.

He’s admittedly surprised by learning how much actually goes into making a simple video. He just figured they’d stick a camera in his face and teleprompt him and get it over it.

You chat animatedly about the use of gimbals and different camera gear, lighting setups and sound quality.

“You into this stuff?” He raises an eyebrow.

“No, I just did a stunt as a wedding videographer once,” you wave off, “It was great. You could always tell which couples were gonna get divorced within a year.”

Something unrecognisable flashes in his eyes.

“Escape artist and wedding videographer,” he repeats.

You stop talking to look at him.

“Yes,” you say simply and go on to provide no further explanation.

If the morning’s antics weren’t enough, now he’s convinced you’re fucking with him.

“Anyway, they’ll probably stick us in makeup before we go on camera because it–”

“Makeup?”

“Well– yeah. For the video.” Your eyes dart toward him, sizing him up in a quick glance. “If you look any paler, you’d basically be translucent.”

Bucky can’t even debate it. His skin looks like it hasn't felt the gentle touch of a sunray in millennia.

“Just say it’s part of the theme.”

You snort. “The first ghost I hunt cannot be one who sits beside me.”

So Bucky gets his makeup done.

By the time the studio fills in, he’s already drunk two cups of the shitty breakroom coffee and found fifteen innocuous things to fashion into weaponry if things were to go awry.

The large bright lights force him to keep wiping beads of sweat away from his forehead. Everything exists in a contrarian state of frenzy, and coordinated down to the second as if it were a damn rocket launch. He’s already had three staff members dart about him cross checking if he’s hydrated and if he’s signed the right forms.

“Oh, you actually showed,” he hears for the second time from Maya, who doesn’t even make an attempt to hide the earnest surprise from her voice.

Bucky wants to scream.

“The team’s picked a really simple case since it’s the first video. You just need to read it out,” she explains breezily, switching from you to him, “and you need to react.”

You flash her a thumbs up. Bucky doesn’t move an inch. He’s convinced it’ll trigger another round of people meddling with his hair until it looks ‘sufficiently casual but not artificial’.

Maya hurriedly leaves after wishing you good luck, probably to fix the walking PR disaster that was Clint, who unceremoniously went live on his Instagram the night before after consuming something he procured from some guy in an alleyway, who described it as ‘carbonated milk’. Bucky watched it for a few seconds and immediately shut down the app when Clint offered to take one article of clothing off for every million people that tuned in.

“I asked for there to be as few people in the room as possible,” you whisper to him.

“Still a lot,” he replies under his breath, watching them buzz around him, still brushing up his face and dabbing at his hairline with a napkin.

Someone hands you a folder full of papers. “We lose any more and we’re filming this video ourselves.”

“All ready!” The camera guy, Shane, announces.

“Copy that,” you call back, before leaning forward in your chair, grinning. “Chill. I’m gonna do the talking. All you gotta do is say a few words and look pretty.”

That sounds…doable.

“Make it fast,” Bucky mutters, crossing his arms over his chest.

Whether he was talking about the video or his death is still up for debate.

“Recording in three…two…one–”

The whole studio waits with bated breath, but Bucky stares right ahead.

“When I said a ‘few words’, I did mean one or two, possibly more,” you talk through your smile.

Bucky continues looking into the camera like it stole his ancestral property.

You exhale, soldiering on, lips still upturned.

You look at Bucky, hopeful that he will at least answer a question. He doesn’t offer the same kindness, and now you understand why Maya reached out to you for this.

So you do what needs to be done, as a person with a responsibility to all these fine and tired souls gathered here on a weekend.

You kick him under the table.

The crew waits for Bucky to say more. He very pointedly doesn’t.

At least one sound has been procured from him, which is more than what they can say for some other videos.

You continue, “Our story takes place in 1954, in the quaint, rural town of Ravenswood. Irene–”

Bucky scoffs. “You made that up.”

Would now be a good time for him to bring up your previous job experiences you had dropped so casually or was this enough to let you know he was onto you?

Your eyebrows pull together, scanning over the sentence. “I haven't even said anything yet.”

“A horror story. Taking place in Raven’s Woods,” Bucky emphasises. “Really.”

Bitch.

“First of all, it’s Ravenswood, not Raven’s Woods,” you shoot back. “And it exists.”

“Where?” He raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t know– fuckin’ West Virginia?” You shuffle through the papers. “Does it matter? You wanna move there?”

Bucky doesn’t add anything further.

You observe him for a moment before deciding to continue.

“In the quiet town of Ravenswood,” you side eye him but he doesn’t look affected. “Irene Wendelin, a 35-year-old woman moved into a house on the outskirts to save up money. She lived alone, had no immediate relatives and worked as a secretary at the local press.”

Bucky continues chewing his gum. You’re not even sure he’s listening, but everyone got paid by the hour regardless of whether he did, so who gives a shit.

“Within a few weeks of moving in, strange incidents started to take place. Irene’s friend Thelma, who also worked as a secretary at the press, recalled how Irene developed a persistent cough, was constantly fatigued, and had issues sleeping due to her skin itching. Thelma suggested solutions from ointments to medication, but not one remedy that she provided seemed to work. As time went by, Irene’s symptoms escalated into severe respiratory problems, leaving her breathless just from climbing up a flight of stairs. She even reportedly started having hallucinations of people crawling around in her house in the dark, but she was never able to catch them in their entirety.”

“How long did this take?” Bucky questions out of the blue, arms still crossed over his chest.

“I think within a couple of weeks of moving in.” You try not to look too surprised. “Further, Thelma recalls Irene saying she heard strange sounds at night which kept her up. The only time the woman felt normal was when she left her house to stay with her cousins for a month.”

Bucky’s head snaps to you, eyes narrowing.

“What?” you challenge.

“Nothin’,” he says instead. “Go on.”

You cast a look at the crew, who look just as confused as you, but you continue regardless.

“Things escalated when one day, Irene showed up to work in complete disarray. Thelma says that upon a closer look, Irene had bite marks over her hands and legs. Thelma, a devout Christian, insisted on getting the place checked out by the church since all else had failed. Father Gabriel, a local priest, agreed to visit the house, but upon setting foot inside, claimed it was haunted by ‘forces of evil whose reality existed beyond mortal comprehension’. This was the last straw for Thelma, who had Irene move into her house until she found a new place to stay. Within a few weeks, Irene was back to normal, and the house is still considered one of the most haunted places in the country to this place, with no one allowed to enter.”

Bucky looks at his arms, jaw tightening.

Your eyebrow twitches.

You could see Maya shaking her head from across the room, entirely fucking defeated.

You wait a few seconds but receive no response. Bucky’s gaze doesn’t shift from the table top.

You start gathering the folder with the story in it, getting ready to read out your conclusion.

You stare at him, but he doesn’t look up at you.

Collectively, every spine in the room straightens.

“Asbestos?” you echo.

“Or mold. Could be either.” Bucky shrugs, chewing on the same stupid piece of gum that had lost its flavour hours ago.

You look at him in bewilderment, partly because you weren’t expecting him to say anything at all, much less this.

“Had an aunt once who thought she was possessed. Turns out her walls were full of mold.”

You stare at him. “You’re lying.”

He finally turns to you, no traces of humour on his face. “She got remarried and moved out. Good as new.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s asbestos.”

“Had the same symptoms an’ everything. Itchy skin, breathing problems, fatigue.”

“Hallucinations?”

“Stress. Being poisoned twenty-four hours a day’ll do a number on anyone.”

“And the bite marks?”

“You never had an itch so bad you just bit it?”

“On her legs?” you ask incredulously. “She bit her legs? Is that what you’re saying?”

Bucky shrugs.

You look like you’re going to lose your mind.

You clear your throat. “What about the priest?

Bucky snorts. “What ‘bout him?”

“'Forces of evil whose reality existed beyond mortal comprehension’?”

“Maybe it was her,” he fires back. “Maybe that's just how she was, how would you know?”

“You’re saying the forces of evil are just… her bad vibes?” you say it slowly, as if that would make it better.

“Maybe.” Bucky’s shoulders rise and drop again. “My aunt was a real stick in the mud too. I coulda called her a force’a evil when she didn’t let me fire a bottle rocket into the tree.”

You narrow your eyes at him. Bucky looks back innocently.

“You’re bullshitting.”

“About my aunt?” he scoffs. “I would never. Rest her soul. Made some damn good cranberry pie.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s not asbestos.”

“Then why was she fine every time she moved out?”

“Because the house was haunted.”

“By mold.”

Maya clears her throat, pointing to her watch.

You look back at her and clear your throat as well, shuffling around your papers.

“Right. So that’s it for this episode.”

The camera guy yells “Cut!’ and you turn to look at Bucky.

But he’s already gone.

The video goes up that weekend.

It takes a considerable amount of time to edit, considering they had to bleep out the steady stream of expletives that you didn’t even know Bucky was muttering under his breath, but got picked up by the mic anyway.

To Barnes (Work):

are you ready for your influencer era

He leaves you on seen. You think you’ll send him more memes of his stupid face.

To Barnes (Work):

influenza

Five hours since the video has gone up, and your phone starts buzzing more than usual. Nat’s already sent you a clearly AI generated article titled ‘Everything We Know About the Latest Avenger’, full of incorrect information and straight up lies.

The first reviews are promising. Sort of. The newest generation of kids on Twitter are saying shit and using terms that are beyond you, but it looks good. You think.

And then somewhere close to midnight, your phone chimes with a text from a number you hadn’t yet saved.

From unknown

Hey. Steve Rogers here. Great job on the video.

Your eyebrows shoot up, discarding your refreshing of the Subreddit that has popped up in your name.

From unknown

Just letting you know though– he was lying.

From unknown

He doesn’t have an aunt.

Motherfucker.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing!

to keep up with updates for this fic and others, please follow @shurisneakersupdates and turn on post notifications!

Next part

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #unsolved fic #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier #bucky barnes #bucky

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mostlysignssomeportents · 17 days

Text

AI “art” and uncanniness

TOMORROW (May 14), I'm on a livecast about AI AND ENSHITTIFICATION with TIM O'REILLY; on TOMORROW (May 15), I'm in NORTH HOLLYWOOD for a screening of STEPHANIE KELTON'S FINDING THE MONEY; FRIDAY (May 17), I'm at the INTERNET ARCHIVE in SAN FRANCISCO to keynote the 10th anniversary of the AUTHORS ALLIANCE.

When it comes to AI art (or "art"), it's hard to find a nuanced position that respects creative workers' labor rights, free expression, copyright law's vital exceptions and limitations, and aesthetics.

I am, on balance, opposed to AI art, but there are some important caveats to that position. For starters, I think it's unequivocally wrong – as a matter of law – to say that scraping works and training a model with them infringes copyright. This isn't a moral position (I'll get to that in a second), but rather a technical one.

Break down the steps of training a model and it quickly becomes apparent why it's technically wrong to call this a copyright infringement. First, the act of making transient copies of works – even billions of works – is unequivocally fair use. Unless you think search engines and the Internet Archive shouldn't exist, then you should support scraping at scale:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/17/how-to-think-about-scraping/

And unless you think that Facebook should be allowed to use the law to block projects like Ad Observer, which gathers samples of paid political disinformation, then you should support scraping at scale, even when the site being scraped objects (at least sometimes):

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/06/get-you-coming-and-going/#potemkin-research-program

After making transient copies of lots of works, the next step in AI training is to subject them to mathematical analysis. Again, this isn't a copyright violation.

Making quantitative observations about works is a longstanding, respected and important tool for criticism, analysis, archiving and new acts of creation. Measuring the steady contraction of the vocabulary in successive Agatha Christie novels turns out to offer a fascinating window into her dementia:

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2009/apr/03/agatha-christie-alzheimers-research

Programmatic analysis of scraped online speech is also critical to the burgeoning formal analyses of the language spoken by minorities, producing a vibrant account of the rigorous grammar of dialects that have long been dismissed as "slang":

https://www.researchgate.net/publication/373950278_Lexicogrammatical_Analysis_on_African-American_Vernacular_English_Spoken_by_African-Amecian_You-Tubers

Since 1988, UCL Survey of English Language has maintained its "International Corpus of English," and scholars have plumbed its depth to draw important conclusions about the wide variety of Englishes spoken around the world, especially in postcolonial English-speaking countries:

https://www.ucl.ac.uk/english-usage/projects/ice.htm

The final step in training a model is publishing the conclusions of the quantitative analysis of the temporarily copied documents as software code. Code itself is a form of expressive speech – and that expressivity is key to the fight for privacy, because the fact that code is speech limits how governments can censor software:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2015/04/remembering-case-established-code-speech/

Are models infringing? Well, they certainly can be. In some cases, it's clear that models "memorized" some of the data in their training set, making the fair use, transient copy into an infringing, permanent one. That's generally considered to be the result of a programming error, and it could certainly be prevented (say, by comparing the model to the training data and removing any memorizations that appear).

Not every seeming act of memorization is a memorization, though. While specific models vary widely, the amount of data from each training item retained by the model is very small. For example, Midjourney retains about one byte of information from each image in its training data. If we're talking about a typical low-resolution web image of say, 300kb, that would be one three-hundred-thousandth (0.0000033%) of the original image.

Typically in copyright discussions, when one work contains 0.0000033% of another work, we don't even raise the question of fair use. Rather, we dismiss the use as de minimis (short for de minimis non curat lex or "The law does not concern itself with trifles"):

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/De_minimis

Busting someone who takes 0.0000033% of your work for copyright infringement is like swearing out a trespassing complaint against someone because the edge of their shoe touched one blade of grass on your lawn.

But some works or elements of work appear many times online. For example, the Getty Images watermark appears on millions of similar images of people standing on red carpets and runways, so a model that takes even in infinitesimal sample of each one of those works might still end up being able to produce a whole, recognizable Getty Images watermark.

The same is true for wire-service articles or other widely syndicated texts: there might be dozens or even hundreds of copies of these works in training data, resulting in the memorization of long passages from them.

This might be infringing (we're getting into some gnarly, unprecedented territory here), but again, even if it is, it wouldn't be a big hardship for model makers to post-process their models by comparing them to the training set, deleting any inadvertent memorizations. Even if the resulting model had zero memorizations, this would do nothing to alleviate the (legitimate) concerns of creative workers about the creation and use of these models.

So here's the first nuance in the AI art debate: as a technical matter, training a model isn't a copyright infringement. Creative workers who hope that they can use copyright law to prevent AI from changing the creative labor market are likely to be very disappointed in court:

https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/business/business-news/sarah-silverman-lawsuit-ai-meta-1235669403/

But copyright law isn't a fixed, eternal entity. We write new copyright laws all the time. If current copyright law doesn't prevent the creation of models, what about a future copyright law?

Well, sure, that's a possibility. The first thing to consider is the possible collateral damage of such a law. The legal space for scraping enables a wide range of scholarly, archival, organizational and critical purposes. We'd have to be very careful not to inadvertently ban, say, the scraping of a politician's campaign website, lest we enable liars to run for office and renege on their promises, while they insist that they never made those promises in the first place. We wouldn't want to abolish search engines, or stop creators from scraping their own work off sites that are going away or changing their terms of service.

Now, onto quantitative analysis: counting words and measuring pixels are not activities that you should need permission to perform, with or without a computer, even if the person whose words or pixels you're counting doesn't want you to. You should be able to look as hard as you want at the pixels in Kate Middleton's family photos, or track the rise and fall of the Oxford comma, and you shouldn't need anyone's permission to do so.

Finally, there's publishing the model. There are plenty of published mathematical analyses of large corpuses that are useful and unobjectionable. I love me a good Google n-gram:

https://books.google.com/ngrams/graph?content=fantods%2C+heebie-jeebies&year_start=1800&year_end=2019&corpus=en-2019&smoothing=3

And large language models fill all kinds of important niches, like the Human Rights Data Analysis Group's LLM-based work helping the Innocence Project New Orleans' extract data from wrongful conviction case files:

https://hrdag.org/tech-notes/large-language-models-IPNO.html

So that's nuance number two: if we decide to make a new copyright law, we'll need to be very sure that we don't accidentally crush these beneficial activities that don't undermine artistic labor markets.

This brings me to the most important point: passing a new copyright law that requires permission to train an AI won't help creative workers get paid or protect our jobs.

Getty Images pays photographers the least it can get away with. Publishers contracts have transformed by inches into miles-long, ghastly rights grabs that take everything from writers, but still shifts legal risks onto them:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/19/reasonable-agreement/

Publishers like the New York Times bitterly oppose their writers' unions:

https://actionnetwork.org/letters/new-york-times-stop-union-busting

These large corporations already control the copyrights to gigantic amounts of training data, and they have means, motive and opportunity to license these works for training a model in order to pay us less, and they are engaged in this activity right now:

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/12/22/technology/apple-ai-news-publishers.html

Big games studios are already acting as though there was a copyright in training data, and requiring their voice actors to begin every recording session with words to the effect of, "I hereby grant permission to train an AI with my voice" and if you don't like it, you can hit the bricks:

https://www.vice.com/en/article/5d37za/voice-actors-sign-away-rights-to-artificial-intelligence

If you're a creative worker hoping to pay your bills, it doesn't matter whether your wages are eroded by a model produced without paying your employer for the right to do so, or whether your employer got to double dip by selling your work to an AI company to train a model, and then used that model to fire you or erode your wages:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/09/ai-monkeys-paw/#bullied-schoolkids

Individual creative workers rarely have any bargaining leverage over the corporations that license our copyrights. That's why copyright's 40-year expansion (in duration, scope, statutory damages) has resulted in larger, more profitable entertainment companies, and lower payments – in real terms and as a share of the income generated by their work – for creative workers.

As Rebecca Giblin and I write in our book Chokepoint Capitalism, giving creative workers more rights to bargain with against giant corporations that control access to our audiences is like giving your bullied schoolkid extra lunch money – it's just a roundabout way of transferring that money to the bullies:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/21/what-is-chokepoint-capitalism/

There's an historical precedent for this struggle – the fight over music sampling. 40 years ago, it wasn't clear whether sampling required a copyright license, and early hip-hop artists took samples without permission, the way a horn player might drop a couple bars of a well-known song into a solo.

Many artists were rightfully furious over this. The "heritage acts" (the music industry's euphemism for "Black people") who were most sampled had been given very bad deals and had seen very little of the fortunes generated by their creative labor. Many of them were desperately poor, despite having made millions for their labels. When other musicians started making money off that work, they got mad.

In the decades that followed, the system for sampling changed, partly through court cases and partly through the commercial terms set by the Big Three labels: Sony, Warner and Universal, who control 70% of all music recordings. Today, you generally can't sample without signing up to one of the Big Three (they are reluctant to deal with indies), and that means taking their standard deal, which is very bad, and also signs away your right to control your samples.

So a musician who wants to sample has to sign the bad terms offered by a Big Three label, and then hand $500 out of their advance to one of those Big Three labels for the sample license. That $500 typically doesn't go to another artist – it goes to the label, who share it around their executives and investors. This is a system that makes every artist poorer.

But it gets worse. Putting a price on samples changes the kind of music that can be economically viable. If you wanted to clear all the samples on an album like Public Enemy's "It Takes a Nation of Millions To Hold Us Back," or the Beastie Boys' "Paul's Boutique," you'd have to sell every CD for $150, just to break even:

https://memex.craphound.com/2011/07/08/creative-license-how-the-hell-did-sampling-get-so-screwed-up-and-what-the-hell-do-we-do-about-it/

Sampling licenses don't just make every artist financially worse off, they also prevent the creation of music of the sort that millions of people enjoy. But it gets even worse. Some older, sample-heavy music can't be cleared. Most of De La Soul's catalog wasn't available for 15 years, and even though some of their seminal music came back in March 2022, the band's frontman Trugoy the Dove didn't live to see it – he died in February 2022:

https://www.vulture.com/2023/02/de-la-soul-trugoy-the-dove-dead-at-54.html

This is the third nuance: even if we can craft a model-banning copyright system that doesn't catch a lot of dolphins in its tuna net, it could still make artists poorer off.

Back when sampling started, it wasn't clear whether it would ever be considered artistically important. Early sampling was crude and experimental. Musicians who trained for years to master an instrument were dismissive of the idea that clicking a mouse was "making music." Today, most of us don't question the idea that sampling can produce meaningful art – even musicians who believe in licensing samples.

Having lived through that era, I'm prepared to believe that maybe I'll look back on AI "art" and say, "damn, I can't believe I never thought that could be real art."

But I wouldn't give odds on it.

I don't like AI art. I find it anodyne, boring. As Henry Farrell writes, it's uncanny, and not in a good way:

https://www.programmablemutter.com/p/large-language-models-are-uncanny

Farrell likens the work produced by AIs to the movement of a Ouija board's planchette, something that "seems to have a life of its own, even though its motion is a collective side-effect of the motions of the people whose fingers lightly rest on top of it." This is "spooky-action-at-a-close-up," transforming "collective inputs … into apparently quite specific outputs that are not the intended creation of any conscious mind."

Look, art is irrational in the sense that it speaks to us at some non-rational, or sub-rational level. Caring about the tribulations of imaginary people or being fascinated by pictures of things that don't exist (or that aren't even recognizable) doesn't make any sense. There's a way in which all art is like an optical illusion for our cognition, an imaginary thing that captures us the way a real thing might.

But art is amazing. Making art and experiencing art makes us feel big, numinous, irreducible emotions. Making art keeps me sane. Experiencing art is a precondition for all the joy in my life. Having spent most of my life as a working artist, I've come to the conclusion that the reason for this is that art transmits an approximation of some big, numinous irreducible emotion from an artist's mind to our own. That's it: that's why art is amazing.

AI doesn't have a mind. It doesn't have an intention. The aesthetic choices made by AI aren't choices, they're averages. As Farrell writes, "LLM art sometimes seems to communicate a message, as art does, but it is unclear where that message comes from, or what it means. If it has any meaning at all, it is a meaning that does not stem from organizing intention" (emphasis mine).

Farrell cites Mark Fisher's The Weird and the Eerie, which defines "weird" in easy to understand terms ("that which does not belong") but really grapples with "eerie."

For Fisher, eeriness is "when there is something present where there should be nothing, or is there is nothing present when there should be something." AI art produces the seeming of intention without intending anything. It appears to be an agent, but it has no agency. It's eerie.

Fisher talks about capitalism as eerie. Capital is "conjured out of nothing" but "exerts more influence than any allegedly substantial entity." The "invisible hand" shapes our lives more than any person. The invisible hand is fucking eerie. Capitalism is a system in which insubstantial non-things – corporations – appear to act with intention, often at odds with the intentions of the human beings carrying out those actions.

So will AI art ever be art? I don't know. There's a long tradition of using random or irrational or impersonal inputs as the starting point for human acts of artistic creativity. Think of divination:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/31/divination/

Or Brian Eno's Oblique Strategies:

http://stoney.sb.org/eno/oblique.html

I love making my little collages for this blog, though I wouldn't call them important art. Nevertheless, piecing together bits of other peoples' work can make fantastic, important work of historical note:

https://www.johnheartfield.com/John-Heartfield-Exhibition/john-heartfield-art/famous-anti-fascist-art/heartfield-posters-aiz

Even though painstakingly cutting out tiny elements from others' images can be a meditative and educational experience, I don't think that using tiny scissors or the lasso tool is what defines the "art" in collage. If you can automate some of this process, it could still be art.

Here's what I do know. Creating an individual bargainable copyright over training will not improve the material conditions of artists' lives – all it will do is change the relative shares of the value we create, shifting some of that value from tech companies that hate us and want us to starve to entertainment companies that hate us and want us to starve.

As an artist, I'm foursquare against anything that stands in the way of making art. As an artistic worker, I'm entirely committed to things that help workers get a fair share of the money their work creates, feed their families and pay their rent.

I think today's AI art is bad, and I think tomorrow's AI art will probably be bad, but even if you disagree (with either proposition), I hope you'll agree that we should be focused on making sure art is legal to make and that artists get paid for it.

Just because copyright won't fix the creative labor market, it doesn't follow that nothing will. If we're worried about labor issues, we can look to labor law to improve our conditions. That's what the Hollywood writers did, in their groundbreaking 2023 strike:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/01/how-the-writers-guild-sunk-ais-ship/

Now, the writers had an advantage: they are able to engage in "sectoral bargaining," where a union bargains with all the major employers at once. That's illegal in nearly every other kind of labor market. But if we're willing to entertain the possibility of getting a new copyright law passed (that won't make artists better off), why not the possibility of passing a new labor law (that will)? Sure, our bosses won't lobby alongside of us for more labor protection, the way they would for more copyright (think for a moment about what that says about who benefits from copyright versus labor law expansion).

But all workers benefit from expanded labor protection. Rather than going to Congress alongside our bosses from the studios and labels and publishers to demand more copyright, we could go to Congress alongside every kind of worker, from fast-food cashiers to publishing assistants to truck drivers to demand the right to sectoral bargaining. That's a hell of a coalition.

And if we do want to tinker with copyright to change the way training works, let's look at collective licensing, which can't be bargained away, rather than individual rights that can be confiscated at the entrance to our publisher, label or studio's offices. These collective licenses have been a huge success in protecting creative workers:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/26/united-we-stand/

Then there's copyright's wildest wild card: The US Copyright Office has repeatedly stated that works made by AIs aren't eligible for copyright, which is the exclusive purview of works of human authorship. This has been affirmed by courts:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/20/everything-made-by-an-ai-is-in-the-public-domain/

Neither AI companies nor entertainment companies will pay creative workers if they don't have to. But for any company contemplating selling an AI-generated work, the fact that it is born in the public domain presents a substantial hurdle, because anyone else is free to take that work and sell it or give it away.

Whether or not AI "art" will ever be good art isn't what our bosses are thinking about when they pay for AI licenses: rather, they are calculating that they have so much market power that they can sell whatever slop the AI makes, and pay less for the AI license than they would make for a human artist's work. As is the case in every industry, AI can't do an artist's job, but an AI salesman can convince an artist's boss to fire the creative worker and replace them with AI:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/29/pay-no-attention/#to-the-little-man-behind-the-curtain

They don't care if it's slop – they just care about their bottom line. A studio executive who cancels a widely anticipated film prior to its release to get a tax-credit isn't thinking about artistic integrity. They care about one thing: money. The fact that AI works can be freely copied, sold or given away may not mean much to a creative worker who actually makes their own art, but I assure you, it's the only thing that matters to our bosses.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/13/spooky-action-at-a-close-up/#invisible-hand

#pluralistic #ai art #eerie #ai #weird #henry farrell #copyright #copyfight #creative labor markets #what is art #ideomotor response #mark fisher #invisible hand #uncanniness #prompting

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gutsby · 5 months

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Joel Miller

Waiting Game (dbf!Joel)

Joel has mastered the art of self-control in all areas except one: not fucking his friend’s daughter. A cross-country road trip home from college takes a hard turn when he’s forced to share a motel room with you.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

One shots for the Waiting Game ‘verse

Homemade: While your dad’s watching a movie downstairs, you and his best friend decide to make one of your own.

Diehard: Joel tries Viagra for the very first time.

Ruined!: Joel is an old man who struggles to cum sometimes. You’ve got time to kill and a tight hole to fill.

Cabin Fever (Dark!Joel x Dark!Reader) [DEAD DOVE]

Joel saves your life, but help comes at a price.

Confines: Joel locks you up in a subterranean bunker.

Finders Keepers (bfd!Joel)

Something about the sun in Cabo San Lucas and your best friend’s father’s sweaty body makes you a horny mess. When you find an old shirt of his lying around, you can’t resist. When Mr. Miller finds you humping a pillow and moaning his name, neither can he.

Cry, Baby

Joel fucks you to the point of tears. That’s all.

Just Peachy [anal]

Joel’s got a jealous streak and a bold idea.

Bucky Barnes

Wedded Bliss (Mob!Bucky)

The marriage was arranged, and the sex is deranged. Bucky is so obsessed with your pussy that he almost forgets he’s meant to be faking this whole thing—and hating it, like sworn enemies are supposed to do.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Daryl Dixon

Dead Ringer

Weeks of separation and sexual frustration come to a head when Daryl pays you a visit in the middle of the night. Whether it's the product of your own sex-deprived subconscious or reality, you can't be sure—and couldn't care less. Daryl wants to fulfill the fantasy any way he can.

Easy Street

You steal a cop car and almost run Daryl over en route to the Sanctuary. You can’t decide if you want to fight him, fuck him, or bring him back to Negan. Lucky for you, Daryl is game for all three.

Nighthawk

You decide to bring Spencer to the neighborhood Halloween bash to take your mind off your breakup with Daryl. Your ex isn't so easily convinced of your intentions and decides there's no better place than his motorcycle to show you just how much he misses you.

Cherry Pie

You know virtually nothing about sex, and Daryl’s done it all. Together, you take on an impromptu anatomy lesson, and you learn that Daryl has a lot more to teach you than what’s covered in the textbooks.

Walker Bait

An unforeseen foray into a sex shop leaves you and Daryl trapped between a plastic cock and a hard place as a herd of walkers closes in. Angry sex ensues.

Grow a Uterus and We’ll Talk

Daryl has a bad case of baby fever, to put it lightly. You’re practically terrified of children. Rick lends you his kid for the night, and together, you come to learn that parenthood might not be the worst thing in the world. Even easier than baking muffins, one might say.

Honey Trap

You’ve been tasked with two simple jobs: infiltrate Alexandria’s community and bring intel back to your boss by any means necessary. When your entry point into the group takes the form of a familiar blue-eyed archer, you expect this to be your easiest gig yet—that is, until your prey decides to hunt you back.

Pregnant Pause

Babymaking is a bit trickier than anticipated, and months have passed with no sign of pregnancy. When your period finally doesn’t show up on time, you and Daryl act fast and head straight for the pharmacy—and get a little caught up along the way.

Mr. Dixon

Your efforts to seduce the DILF next door have all failed spectacularly, so you decide a wet hot car wash in front of his house is in order. Mr. Dixon is less than impressed with your antics and plans to teach you a lesson in good manners and ‘neighborliness.’

I’m a Good Girl, Officer!

Apparently flashing your tits to truckers on the freeway is frowned upon in small towns like yours. When three familiar King County cops take charge of the case, you learn they punish bad girls a little differently.

Playing Dangerous

Working undercover in a seedy part of town, homicide detective Daryl sees you in your skimpy club attire and mistakes you for a hooker. A wrongful arrest makes for a funny way to foreplay, but you’re still game.

Fake It Til You Make It (Or Drown)

Daryl finds out you faked an orgasm. Instead of getting mad, he decides to get even.

Best Served Cold

Since your fiancé can’t seem to keep his hands off of Lori, you decide Daryl is the perfect way to make him pay. Revenge sex has never felt so good.

Coming Soon:

Bite the Bullet

Back at the prison, new recruits have been showering you with gifts. One of these presents doesn’t sit quite right with Daryl, and he decides it’s time to let the men know just how he feels—and who you belong to.

Atlantic City

A very drunk Daryl meets a stripper in Jersey and wastes no time putting a ring on her finger. With the late, great Elvis Presley presiding, the two get hitched in a slipshod ceremony a couple weeks before the world descends into chaos. This marriage may be short-lived, but damn if the honeymoon won’t be one to remember.

Requests are open!

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iwritenarrativesandstuff · 2 months

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On Kurapika's Self-Imposed Isolation

While I recognize that probably everything I'm about to say is going to be super obvious, I just wanted to briefly touch on Kurapika's self-isolation, and the reason behind his not picking up his phone or exchanging anything more than clipped words and business after Yorknew.

I think the obvious answer is that Kurapika doesn't want his friends in harms way, or to be used as a bargaining tool against him. This is an understandable and probably accurate conclusion. After all, Gon and Killua did get taken hostage, and Kurapika was forced to negotiate an exchange. Chrollo picked up on Kurapika's "weakness" right away - that he values his friends' safety before his revenge. Fortunately for Kurapika in this situation, Pakunoda was a whole lot more similar to him than he would've cared to admit, as she placed a value on Chrollo's life even though everyone in the Spider was intended to be replaceable. So, now that he's been through Gon and Killua having potentially gotten killed or seriously hurt, and Chrollo knows that he has a soft spot for them, it does make sense that he would try to push them away for their safety and for the sake of not having an exploitable "weakness" in future. He may also not want to burden them more when they have their own lives to live - he does slip off without telling Gon and Killua for the sake of not distracting them from Nen training, after all.

Except that he already tried all this earlier in Yorknew arc. He tried to tell them they shouldn't get involved, and they all agreed that the risks were massive - but his friends agreed to undergo the risks anyways to help him. Kurapika was even grateful for it - "I have been blessed with good friends."

So, for him to push them away solely for this reason after the fact, knowing that this was very much a likely situation to happen, is a little odd to me. Kurapika knows full well that Leorio would be frustrated, Killua would be offended and Gon would worry. So, I think there's a little more to it than that, and I actually would venture to say that "keeping his friends out of danger" is more a secondary reason for his actions - one that would come across as more of a reasonable excuse to others.

The primary reason is likely a lot more selfish than that. Kurapika has to ensure his mission comes first. And unfortunately, he is fully aware that his path and choice in abilities is deeply self-destructive.

Kurapika needs to make sure that he doesn't have exploitable weaknesses, sure, but he also just as much needs to purposefully worsen his headspace - and he can't do that with those three around.

Think back, what are the happiest moments we see from Kurapika in the series? The one that comes to mind first, and the one I'm sure most of us will think of immediately, is this:

[ID: A screenshot from the 2011 anime adaptation. Kurapika smiles - he looks at ease. End ID.]

It's one of the sweetest scenes of the series imo, right before the whole group is reunited for the first time since the Zoldyck Family arc, and it's even more notable because it comes immediately on the tail end of this...

[ID: Three panels from HxH Chapter 101. Kurapika removes his contacts over the sink. His expression is distant. End ID.]

...and this...

[ID: A panel from HxH Chapter 101. A close up of Kurapika's vacant and furious expression, his eyes wide and dangerous as he says "It might as well be you." Though the art is in black and white, it's apparent his eyes have gone scarlet. End ID.]

...and this.

[ID: A panel from HxH Chapter 101. A distant Kurapika speaks on the phone on a rooftop at night, the cityscape of Yorknew around him dark, but speckled with lights and stars. He says "The Spiders are dead." His face is not visible to the reader. End ID.]

This is, up to this point in the series, Kurapika at his lowest. In contrast to Gon, who is happy to hear that the Spiders are dead already because now Kurapika can focus solely on finding his peoples' eyes, Kurapika... is clearly not happy - and that's because killing the Spiders himself isn't just revenge. It's penance. It's survivor's guilt. Kurapika's powers, which Izunavi even comments sound much like he is chaining himself in the process of chaining his enemies, are oh-so-beautifully prophecied to destroy him - and Kurapika was aware of this from the moment he set off down this path of revenge.

(As a side note, this is why I'm really hoping we see Gon and Kurapika interact again after the Chimera Ant arc - while Gon has always been pretty attentive to Kurapika's emotional state, in Yorknew, he lacks a true understanding of why Kurapika would go so far... but as of now, he understands rage fueled by guilt and grief all too well. I know we're all rooting for Leorio to reach Kurapika, but barring that, I really think Gon could get through to him - after all, they are similar in several ways, and I find it fairly apparent that Gon reminds Kurapika of Pairo.)

But back to the main point here - I do suspect Kurapika expects (if not wants) his revenge mission to destroy him. I think a lot of times, we forget just how young Kurapika is, and how much his character is dictated by honour, and the abandonment of it.

Certainly, he can and will go against his principles for the sake of his mission... yet, almost paradoxically, he's bound to his promise to his fallen clan; a promise to avenge them made in anger.

But Kurapika... doesn't come across as a naturally angry person to me at all.

He seems like the stoic, vengeful type on his initial introduction... and then we get his panic at Gon's recklessness

[ID: A panel from HxH Chapter 2. Kurapika and Leorio wear matching expressions of panic in front of Gon, calling him out for his recklessness. End ID.]

...and his near-immediate forgiveness of Leorio after getting the first inkling of his character - of someone who cares just as fiercely as he does.

And after that point? Almost all through the Hunter Exam? Kurapika smiles so readily at them. He's sharp and funny. He mediates at times, but is stubbornly prideful in others. He's very amused by his friends' antics, and it really does seem like he starts to enjoy himself, with them. And, more than that, he counters Leorio's initial impression of him as an independent loner - on several occasions. He decides to follow Gon because Gon intrigues him. Asides from Gon, it is Kurapika who is the most unwilling to fight each other at the bottom of Trick Tower. Kurapika who makes the first move to team up with Leorio, even though that arrangement benefits Leorio much more than it does him. Kurapika who refuses to abandon Leorio to his fate in the cave, and who checks on Gon after noticing his bad mood. Who was furious enough watching him get beat down by Hanzo that his eyes went scarlet for the first and only instance outside of Spider mentions and Emperor Time. Who quite readily detoured to help rescue Killua.

[ID: Three screenshots from the 2011 adaptation Hunter Exam arc. In the first, Kurapika smiles at a sleeping Leorio. In the second, Kurapika stifles laughter as he pretends he's asleep. In the third, Kurapika has an open-mouthed smile as he acquires the airship tickets for them, Leorio and Gon standing behind him. End ID.]

Look at him! He's so bright! So happy!

...too happy. Too happy to do what he promised himself he would do. And that's his biggest fear, isn't it. Without his rage... what is he left with?

[ID: A panel from HxH chapter 2. A close up of Kurapika's eye as he says "I do not fear death. What I fear is that my rage will one day fade away." End ID.]

Kurapika is far, far less mired in anger when he's with his friends. I actually dare to say that at certain points, he was able to go for lengths of time without thinking much about it - alternating between almost forgetting in one instance and being hit like a sledgehammer on exposure to a reminder in the next. This violent swing is... actually the beginnings of the natural process of healing from loss and trauma. But to Kurapika, who's made a promise to his people's memories, this is not a relief. This is betrayal.

I think that actually scares him, that he can almost picture it. A life beyond his guilt. That he, too, could learn to be happy, even after unimaginable loss.

And so, as Kurapika continues his mission offscreen, finding more and more gruesome reminders of the cruelty inflicted on his people and losing more and more pieces of himself in the process (in his own words, no less), he prioritizes his responsibility to them, and pushes away his distractions. He cannot be a soul at peace until his work is done; he must be in turmoil. He pushes people away who he cares for, and binds himself, and keeps his people's eyes on him, quite literally, because respite, for him, is unacceptable. Perhaps that guilty part of him even hopes, by the end of this, that his soul will be so unrecognizable as to be fundamentally unsalvageable. But the truth of the matter is, or at least what comes across to me, is that Kurapika cares much more fiercely than he hates. He knows what matters most. And for as long as he does, he still hasn't truly lost himself.

[ID: A panel from HxH chapter 350. Kurapika looks down at baby Woble with a gentle, yet complicated expression. The inking is somewhat softer. End ID.]

Kurapika's soul is kind, really. And it wants to heal - but for the sake of his mission, he needs it damaged and bleeding. And so, he forces himself to exist in that pain. All alone.

[ID: A panel from HxH Chapter 344. Kurapika, dressed in a black suit, sits with his back to the reader, looking down at a photo in his hand. He is slumped a little before the church vigil he has prepared, all his clan's eyes lined up in their jars and honoured with flowers and candles. He thinks to himself "There is no home for me to return to... and nobody to welcome me back. I have nothing left." End ID.]

#thank you for coming to my ted talk on how kurapika is worsening his own mental health as well as physical health on purpose have a good day #oh my god this took me so long but it was worth it!!!#actual analysis!!! it's been so long!!!#anyways i'm far shakier on my hxh knowledge than other fandoms i've written meta for #so i hope this makes sense. i appreciate additions to it just please be polite!#i also believe that togashi's writing lends itself to multiple interpretations that are equally valid. so much of this #may be my own takeaway. but i do think there's enough evidence to support it #well. i hope you guys suffer... i mean enjoy.#storyrambles #hunter x hunter #hxh #hxh meta #kurapika #call me ace detective the way i am ace. and also a detective #<-analysis tag i missed you

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sirzeldrizz · 3 months

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♡a small collective of acts of love of a wide variety. It comes in many forms and isn't always truly apparent. Depending on personality, preferences, and mannerisms. Tried to make sure they're gender neutral & well balanced for the different tropes ♡

Helping them put on jewelery, a muted rosey hue tinting their cheeks as their fingertips graze the others skin.

Taking the others perspective into consideration when making big decisions. They don't want to upset or cross any lines the one they admire may have.

Respects any and all boundaries of their partner, even if they can't quite understand them. Is every patient with them, and will try to understand the best they can.

Gives specific gifts that will invoke the best reactions. They get so giddy when their partner or friends are happy.

will sing around them, even if not the greatest at it.

remembers the finest of detail about their partner. will even write it down if they fear they will forget it.

uplifts them whenever they are feeling low, encourages their dreams within reason so not to provide any false hopes.

will hold the other accountable for their own good and will also help solve any problems that arise because of said accountability.

packs things they know the other will likely forget when going on trips.

includes them in their favorite activities, showing them their own tips and tricks for it.

let's the other passionately ramble on about whatever has caught their attention, without judgment, and will engage regularly with questions or shared curiosity.

will record their favorite TV shows so when they visit they can still watch it if they want to.

shares their favorite books/songs/things together

platonic kisses and hugs

tidying shared spaces so the other doesn't have to worry about it

cooking together (bonus if they're learning a new recipe together)

very appreciative of the others' efforts (even if they fail. almost especially if they fail because at least they attempted for the good of their behalf)

will cover the other if they find them sleeping, and sometimes, will relocate them to a more comfortable location/position.

protective of the others' hopes/dreams/beliefs

stands up to anyone who threatens the other, even if unmatched. How dare someone think they have the right to insult someone so close to them without consequences?

avoids topics in conversation that make the other uncomfortable or irritable when possible.

buys them things that they've noticed has piqued their other's attention or that they might need.

is the "HE SAID NO PICKLES" type of friend/significant other.

takes the time to look into and learn about things that interests the other, even if they don't quite enjoy it to the same degree. Likes to be able to engage with them about anything possible.

lighthearted teasing to make the other smile.

holding the others' sleeves when drowsy, or needy.

makes secret wishes on stars for the others' hopes to come true.

subconsciously straightens the others' attire or accessories. somehow, it became second nature to them.

making the other their "only exception" for just about anything.

letters of appreciation

writes a song/scripture/book inspired by the other

dedicated their achievements to their partnership and expressed their gratitude for their role in their life

might get angry when the other endangers themselves but apologises when they realize it isn't helping. They don't mean to snap. They just scared their soul for a second. Don't do that. They can't bear to see/let it happen.

invited the other to family events, even expects them to show up so makes sure to have enough for them too.

randomly brings the other food to ensure they are properly eating

casually "accidentally" orders things and "happens" to think the other would like them.

crafts the other trinkets or art

patiently hears the other out no matter what. Even if it's hard to hear because they want to fully understand.

Disbelieves rumors that damage the others' reputation and will set the record straight if possible. Will always let the other know if something is brewing and offer a solution (How they go about it is dependent on the character)

sends the other messages whenever they're thinking of them or remembers something they know the other will reminisce with them over.

takes care of the other to the best of their ability (pampering/caretaker/gaurdian)

learns a new language so that they can better communicate with the other if they're not fluent in their tongue.

quick to give the benefit of the doubt to the other, even if they know it might not turn out how they hope. They want to only see the good if they can.

#acts of love #writing prompt #character traits #gender neutral prompts #otp prompts #best friend prompts

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that-gay-guy-from-hell · 4 months

Text

A Devil's Secret Wingman: Vergil x G/N Reader

APPARENTLY, I NEVER POSTED THIS HERE; I WROTE THIS BACK IN MARCH OF 2023 LMFAO WHAT THE FUCK--

SUMMARY: As time has gone on, random appearances from a certain blue apparition happened more and more. A part of you wonders why but you had never dared to ask Vergil; however, the sly blue ghostly devil had a different plan in store.

BEGINNING NOTES: I don’t know why I really like the idea of Vergil in yoga pants right now; I just do. Also when Doppel shakes their upper half; I am imagining something similar to a bird fluffing its feathers. Yes, I know that Vergil + Dante’s DT/Sin DTs don’t have feathers but I feel like they’d still do it; plus it would make Vergil’s (Sin Trigger) shoulder pauldrons move according to how they work on the concept art page. 💝🩵💝 Vergil x G/N Reader Unestablished relationship Some good ol’ fluff

INSPIRED BY:

A Doppelganger's Projection--By: DevilSwordVergil

Devil's Advocate--By: LadyMuzzMuzz

These are both super cute and I love them ngl

Visitations from a certain bright blue apparition had become a regular occurrence when you visited the Devil May Cry. It didn't typically matter what was going on; night or day, before or after a job--as long as you were alone, the glowing blue devil would make time to see you. At first, you thought that Vergil had been doing this to keep an eye on you while he was up in his room; however, as time went by, you realized that Vergil didn’t even have to be awake for Doppel to appear--sometimes you'd even get a visit when Vergil was out and about. It had become a part of your routine, one which you reveled in greatly.

Today was no exception.

Vergil and you were on “shop duty”, being tasked with the monotonous secretary work of (the) Devil May Cry. Everyone else had various contracts to complete or were on vacation; leaving you and the blue twin alone for an undisclosed amount of time.

You sighed heavily, “I’m so fucking bored…” you leaned forward in the desk chair and set your head on the desk with a small thunk.

It had been nearly three hours and there wasn’t a single phone call or walk-in; it was as dead as dead can be. A part of you had hoped that Vergil might join you downstairs for a while, maybe even a long while; but, you hadn’t seen nor heard from the Dark Slayer all day. Which was fine, it’s not like the two of you don’t see each other all the time, but you couldn’t help but yearn to be near him--even if it just meant that you were occupying the same room.

A small joyful chirping caught your attention. You tilted your head up slightly and stared from the tops of your eyes. Standing at the bottom of the stairs was the blue ghostly doppelgänger that you expected to visit at some point.

You picked your head up. Placing your elbow on the desk and resting your chin in your palm, you flashed them a bright beaming smile, “Hey Doppel, come to join me?”

Although you knew that the devil couldn’t speak, you would talk to them as if they were able to respond; which to be fair they technically could. Your smile widened as they wiggled a bit, a sign that you'd learned meant they were happy or in agreement. The devil approached you and stood in front of the desk with a tilted head.

“Wanna sit with me?” you smiled as you sat up and watched Doppel wriggle faster, spreading their wings slightly in excitement, “Alright,” you stood from the chair.

With a loud scrapping sound, you moved the coffee table out from in front of the pleather couch--making sure to give the devil enough room. With a playful huff and bounce, you sat on the couch.

The sound of their claws daintily clicking on the hardwood floor made you giggle in amusement. They stood in front of the couch before tilting their head once more.

“What?” you watched their hands as they gestured along the couch, asking you to lay down, “Oh? Okay, sure..?”

It was a bit odd since they had never asked for that before but you did as you were asked. With a curious tilt to your brow, you watched as the devil sat above you, straddling your legs. If this had been the real Vergil, you surely would’ve been crushed to death by now; thankfully, Doppel (typically) weighed almost nothing. Another laugh left your lips as you watched the dangerous devil knead into your chest with both his hands, emitting a thunderous purr; reminding you of a cat. Meanwhile, you gently ran your hands along the devil's body.

After a minute or two, they carefully laid on top of you; encompassing you entirely. You smiled as you nestled your face into (where there typically would be) grey scales above their blue V. Carefully, they rubbed the underside of their chin against the top of your head. Between the heat and the vibrations of their purrs, it didn’t take long for you to fall asleep; forgetting all about your shop work.

Nearly an hour later, you were still sleeping happily with the blue devil doing the same. However, a different blue devil had come downstairs to check on you; worried that you hadn’t answered the shop's phone several times. Now, he could only stare at the sight before him.

The sight of you, his partner and secret romantic interest, being smothered by his own duplicate. Doppel noticed Vergil’s sudden appearance and curiously turned their head towards him.

With a large and envious scowl, Vergil snapped his fingers in an attempt to de-summon the blue apparition but was only met with a small wiggling motion in defiance. This movement was enough to stir you awake.

Only having your eyes half open, you mumbled to your ghostly cuddle-bug, “Somethin’ wrong Doppel?”

They looked down at you and back to Vergil. You turned your head to the side and became pale at the sight of Doppel’s owner. Vergil had moved further into the room and stood next to the desk with folded arms. A small blush spread across your face upon seeing his oddly casual apparel; a pair of semi-form-fitting black yoga pants and his typical turtlenecked dark blue vest. Upon seeing that you noticed Vergil, Doppel took their leave with a small chirp of happiness.

Vergil swallowed audibly and looked away from your eyes, a small amount of pink pricked at his features--embarrassed about this situation, “Forgive me, I was unaware of their summoning,” his voice was meek and caught you off guard.

You smiled as you sat up, “Don’t worry about it… If I’m honest,” you placed a hand on the back of your neck awkwardly, “I actually enjoy these little visits.”

“This- This has happened before?” Vergil’s gaze turned back to you filled with concern and confusion.

“Yeah..?” you cocked your head slightly, “Haven’t you been sending Doppel to stay with me?”

The twin looked at you with parted lips and wide-eyed expression; telling you that your assumption was far from correct.

Before you were able to question him more, Vergil went back up the stairs and holed himself back up in his room.

“Shit,” a loud sigh left your lips as you flung your head backwards, hitting the crown of your head on the back cushions; fearing that this would somehow bite you in the ass later.

You waited a while to see if Vergil would come back downstairs and were disappointed when he didn’t. Another heavy sigh left your lips as you stood up from the couch and tended to your assigned work.

After that was completed, you quickly became bored again and looked around for something to bide your time. That’s when you realized how dirty the DMC had become making you scrunch your face in disgust. So, you decided to take upon the hefty maid work and got to it.

Three hours of exhausting scrubbing and cleaning later, you flopped face down on the sofa, satisfied with your work. Slowly, you felt the warm gentle hold of sleep taking hold of you or was it something else? Before you could question it too much, you fell back asleep.

After a half hour or so, you tried to turn over and felt something stop you. Irritatedly, you opened your eyes and noticed luminescent wings and arms wrapped around you. It seemed that Doppel had not only returned to you but was sleeping on top of you.

“Doppel?” you whispered and got a small tail wag in response, “Can you let me up?”

They looked at you for a moment, presumably in thought, then slid off you. You sat up and let out a low groan as you stretched your arms upwards, cracking your back. The large devil sat facing you with crisscrossed legs, reminding you of how juvenile the ghost acted in comparison to its master.

With a small laugh, you turned to put one leg up on the couch, “So… What’s with you? I hear that you’ve been visiting me without permission?” you cocked your head curiously.

The blue devil chirped in affirmation.

"Why?"

Doppel’s tail gently moved to point at your chest before laying it on your lap. Carefully, you pet the sharp scales; giving extra care to go pet down the tail so you didn’t slice your hand.

“My chest, huh?” you shook your head with a faint smile, “I don’t understand.”

The light blue figure cocked its head slightly before shaking its upper body with a loud chirp. Then, they took their hands and fumbled with them for a moment, before they made a crude heart shape with their fingers.

With pursed lips and a furrowed brow, you huffed quietly in confusion, “A heart?” the blue devil shook with another loud chirp--indicating that you were correct, “What..? You just love spending time with me or something?” admittedly, you found that idea to be adorable.

Doppel looked over and stared at the staircase; which you copied.

“Wait,” you froze and looked at Doppel with wide eyes, “You mean that Vergil-?”

A third loud chirp came from them as they wriggled in place.

With parted lips, you tried to come up with a response. However, before you were able, Doppel sat on their knees, still on the couch, and poked your chest with their finger this time.

“Are you asking if I..?” your voice was hushed as Doppel wiggled a bit, “Oh, well- I,” you stumbled over your thoughts and words. Admittedly, you’d never said it out loud before or told anyone about how you felt for the older brother; despite the incessant pestering of Nico and Dante, “Yeah, I-” a small smile tugged at your lips as you sighed contently, “I do love Vergil.”

The blue apparition carefully cupped your face within its hands and made an odd purring chirp noise; one you’d never heard before. They continued to purr afterwards and just stared into your eyes. That’s when you realized what Doppel was asking you to do.

“No way,” you shook your head slightly, still confined by the devil’s hands, “I can’t tell him. Do you know how much he’d hate me over something--”

Another loud chirping purr cut you off; this time, however, Doppel wriggled harder and spread their wings out in clear disagreement.

“You sure about this?” you whispered as you felt them squish your face closer together, making you scrunch up, “Alright- Alright, I’ll go,” Doppel let go of your face as you laughed nervously.

A deep nervous feeling grew in your gut as you stood up and slowly ascended the stairs, with Doppel following suit. Once in front of Vergil’s door, you stopped and looked over at the apparition with pursed lips. Doppel decided to force things along further and knocked loudly on the door for you, making you cuss loudly at the ghostly devil.

The door opened and Vergil stood there with a raised brow; however, before he spoke, he noticed his Doppelgänger standing beside you.

“What- How?!” Vergil’s voice was angry as he glared at the blue ghost.

Doppel straightened their posture with a curious tilt of their head.

The eldest twin’s lip twitched in irritation at their counterpart.

Meekly, you broke Vergil’s death glare at the apparition, “Hey, could we,” you shrugged with one shoulder, “talk for a minute?”

Vergil eyed you up and down, “Fine, give me a moment,” with that, he turned back into his room and shut the door.

You turned to Doppel and became increasingly confused. They were ruffling their top half with their wings wide spread and their tail flicking around.

“What’s up with you?” you were unsure if they were excited or angry.

The ghost looked at you and patted the top of your head, still wriggling around.

With a small shake of your head, you smirked a wide smile at them, “You’re quite excited, huh?”

Before they could give a clear response, Vergil’s bedroom door opened again.

The twin sighed and moved to the side, “You may enter.”

“Are you sure you want me in your room? You never--”

“Yes.”

With a coy nod, you smiled, “Okay, thank you.”

Vergil gave you a flat smile and shut the door as he watched Doppel wave to him and then fade.

A heavy sigh came from the twin as he stood facing the door for a moment, attempting to hide his growing nervousness. Vergil turned to face you and took a few steps closer. The two of you awkwardly stood in the middle of the open space. Admittedly, the eldest son’s room was rather plain; only having essential items, a few bookshelves, and a small desk.

“It’s nice in here,” you smiled and avoided his piercing gaze, “it’s very well-kempt; a reflection of its inhabitant.”

Although Vergil was flattered by your compliment, he was uncomfortable by someone else’s presence in his space; making his tone rather snappy, “What do you want?”

You pursed your lips and shrank down into yourself, taking his tone as a bad sign, “Doppel told me something, and I--” you shot a glance at him and noticed his brow was furrowed, “I was made to come up here to talk with you.”

“Speak then.”

“Well,” you bit your tongue, “you know what, never mind; just forget this happened,” with your tail between your legs, you attempted to retreat and leave, when you felt him grab your forearm.

Without turning to you, Vergil spoke in a hushed tone, “No, I want to hear what you have to say.”

A sigh left your nose as you turned your head to the side, looking at the side profile of the stone-faced man, “Promise you won’t be mad?”

Vergil copied your action, turning his head to face you, “Fine.”

Your heart rate spiked as you locked eyes with his icy eyes and a small blush dusted your face. Vergil released his hold on your arm and turned fully to see you with folded arms.

You looked away from him again and tensed up as you whispered, “Doppel wanted me to tell you about how,” with a scrunched face, you braced for the worst, “I have feelings for you.”

His voice was sharp and he squinted his eyes, “What kind of feelings ?”

With a barely audible voice and a small nervous laugh, you answered, “Romantic ones…”

The room fell silent. A thick uncomfortable tension hung in the air as Vergil just stared at you. If he had stabbed you with the Yamato or scoffed in response; that would have been preferable then him just standing completely still and silent. A part of you wanted to bolt out the door and just run from this, but you were frozen in fear.

“Is that your version of a confession?”

Unable to look at him, you nodded.

Vergil’s stare softened and he let out a gentle sigh, “Let me guess,” slowly, he approached you and stopped only a few inches from you, “my doppelgänger told you about my own feelings then?”

With another small nod, you focused on his boots that had come into view.

“Then may I ask why you were hesitant to tell me..?”

You whispered, “I figure Doppel was just messing with me.”

Vergil gave a flat smile. Gently he set his thumb and forefinger on your chin, tilting you up for him to see. Neither of you spoke as he slowly ran his thumb over your parted lips, making your face turn a few shades darker. Eventually, you met his gaze and noticed his expression had softened greatly; the first time you’d seen him this mellow.

Vergil whispered as he stared down at your lips, “May I..?”

You gave a small grin, “Of course.”

With a very slow and careful lean, Vergil connected his mouth to yours. You sheepishly placed your hands on his sides, making him push a bit harder into the kiss. His lips were broiling hot as he slowly moved his lips against yours. After a few moments, Vergil broke the kiss off and leaned back enough to look you over; attempting to gauge your response. A small smile tugged at your lips and you noticed that Vergil had the same expression.

He moved his hand to rest on the side of your jaw, gently thumbing over your cheekbone, “I assume that was proof enough?”

Curious as to how he would respond, you inched toward him and cocked your head slightly, “Mnm, I dunno; think I might need another just to be sure.”

He shyly looked down and leaned back into you, intertwining once more. This time, however, Vergil made sure to pour everything he had into the kiss. Quickly, he moved both hands to your waist and pulled you tight to his body, making you squeak in surprise. Using this to his advantage, he pushed his tongue into your mouth.

After a few minutes of fervourous kissing, the two of you broke apart, breathing heavily. Vergil gently nuzzled against the side of your neck and placed sweet kisses along it; very quietly purring.

While the two of you were enjoying each other's embrace, a loud yell from downstairs caught your attention, it seems that Dante had returned. However, when you tried to separate from Vergil, he pulled you closer.

“Stay, my brother can wait,” his voice was laden with a thick husky seduction as he continued to kiss down your neck, “I’m not done showing you how much I love you.”

ENDING NOTES: Is it weird for me to hyperlink stories that inspired my chapters or not? This is a genuine question--I don't want to seem weird, but I want to give credit where credit is due.

If you like this please consider checking this on my AO3. There are extra chapters and my H/Cs over there, so please consider checking them out! Comments, Likes/Kudos, and shares are always appreciated! Thanks so much for reading!! :)))

MASTER LIST FOR TUMBLR

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