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wkemeup · 3 years

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Play Pretend

summary: When Bucky is injected with a substance that leaves him desperate for release, you offer your help. pairing: bucky x reader word count: 7.8k warnings: smut (18+), sex pollen (with as much consent as one can have in a dub/con trope)

“What in the—” you slammed an elbow to the nose of the assailant behind you, “holy,” a quick right jab to another coming up on your left, “godforsaken,” a knee plunged straight to your ribs and you kicked to the assailant who managed to get one up on you, “hell, Rogers!”

Another body fell to the ground and settled at the collection at your feet.

Dripping in sweat, heart pounding in your chest, and your body short of giving out completely, you slumped a shoulder against the cold frame of the wall. Down the hall, at least a dozen more Hydra agents were barreling towards you.

There was no response on the coms; not that you expected as much. The Hydra base in Munich you were tasked with rigging to blow was meant to be abandoned. Nothing left but a dozen empty cells and decades of barbaric research no one should ever lay eyes on again.

Seemed Captain Roger’s intel was just slightly off. Tell that to the series of bodies lying in your wake.

“You better send backup, Rogers, or I swear to God I’ll haunt your star-spangled ass for all eternity,” you grumbled to the broken transmission as you attempted to square up. Fists out ahead of you, swaying slightly on weakened legs, a dizziness in your vision making it hard to tell exactly how many men were charging straight at you.

“What? I’m not enough for you?” Bucky suddenly appeared on your right, chuckling to himself as he released the empty magazine from his weapon and quickly replaced it with a new one. Blood was soaked into his hair line, mixing with the sweat beaded on his forehead, and he brushed the back of his hand against his face to smear it back into his hair.

“About time you showed up. Making me do all the hard work myself,” you scoffed, shooting him a teasing smile as you eyed the hallway he came rushing in from.

He insisted you’d be out in time for movie night back home if the two of you split up, divided the C4 amongst you and met back at the quinjet in twenty. Not even his super soldier instincts could have predicted this place would be overrun with stray Hydra agents looking for a rematch.

One of the agents opposing you whipped out a handgun and Bucky jumped forward, using his left arm as a shield. The bullets ricocheted across the room, puncturing into another Hydra agent who collapsed to the ground clutching his knee.

You exhaled a heavy breath, the edges of your lips dipping down into a frown as you watched more agents stepping over the bodies of their colleagues and advancing down the hallway. You glanced up at Bucky, watching as he weighed the rifle in his hands, bouncing it lightly. It was running low on ammo.

“You get anyone on coms yet?”

“Nothing. We’re on our own.” Bucky gritted his teeth, firing a few rounds down at the mass of Hydra agents swarming their way towards you. It knocked a few of them down, at least.

You started to take a few steps in their direction, yanking a knife from the spine of an agent on the ground before you whipped it down at the ones ahead of you, knocking another to the ground. The echo of gunfire tore through the cramped hall again and it left a pile of men at the front lines.

Four left.

“That was my last round,” Bucky grunted, tossing the weapon to the floor as he tugged a small blade from the holster on his thigh. He smirked as he glanced over at you through the corner of his eye. “Who do you want?”

You shrugged, studying the four agents who came to a slow halt at the opposite end of the hallway. The two on the left looked about as you’d expected from Hydra agents; tall, dark haired, with shoulders twice as wide as their hips and a vicious kind of look in their eyes. Then, a blonde-haired woman who couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from Bucky, a hand resting impatiently on the knife against her hip. Last, a man who towered at least two feet above the others with a long, jagged scar covering most of his face.

“I’ll take the two on the right.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, glancing between you and your chosen assailants. The taller one cracked his neck to the side and bared his teeth.

“You’re sure?”

You feigned offense; a hand pressed your heart as you took a few steps forward, sliding the batons out from the holsters along your shoulder blades and twirling them between your fingers. “You underestimate me, Barnes. You think I’d let you have all the fun?”

Bucky laughed, shaking his head as he jogged to catch up with you, disregarding the battle cries of the Hydra agents as they advanced as if it was only ever the two of you in the room. “Not a chance in hell, sweetheart.”

The blonde woman stared to advance on Bucky, eyes trailing him up from his boots to the top of his head with a devilish kind of look in her stare. She licked at her lips hungrily, as if she was ready to take a bite into him, though he paid her no mind as he rushed at the two men to her right.

“Hey, Barbie!” you called, waving a baton in the air to grab her attention. “Looks like your stuck with me.”

She glared at you, pausing in her strut for only a minute, but it was all you needed. You sprinted towards her, using the wall as leverage as you jumped up against the frame to propel yourself into her. Baton at ready, you slammed down into her collarbone as she let out a yelp and fell down to the ground. It didn’t take her long to get back on her feet and when she did, her knife was nestled tight into her grip, a new kind of intrigue on her face as she stared you down.

“Need any help over here?” Bucky called out from the end of the hallway as he ducked under the right hook of one of his assailants. He clipped one in the knees, sending them spiraling to the floor with a pained shout, before he smirked over in your direction.

“Mind your business, Barnes!” You rolled your eyes as a smile crept up against your lips.

Barbie took a single glance back at Bucky before her eyes returned to you and there was something darker within her stare you didn’t quite notice, or perhaps you simply mistook it for enemy territory. Either way, when she raised her arm with knife in hand, you whipped around the baton in a backhanded strike, sending the knife flying down the hall. Unarmed, she stared at you with wide, fearful eyes, until you knocked her out with a final hit to the side of her. Nothing fatal, but it would keep her under until backup arrived to hull her in.

Bucky was still fighting off his second attacker as you approached the man leaning against the wall with his arms folded over his chest, patiently waiting. He pushed himself off the wall, cracked his knuckles between his palms with sharp snaps that echoed down into the hallway.

“Think you can take me, little girl?” he taunted, voice low and thick, like it had gone years in disuse. He made a show of the way he settled into his stance; fists held out in front of him, shadow boxing in an attempt to intimidate you. It seemed to catch him off guard when you rolled your eyes.

“It’s been a long day,” you shrugged, “and frankly, I’d like to go home. So, let’s make this quick.”

The arrogant smirk dropped from his face, replaced quickly with a wash of rage that a woman half his size would dare mock him in such a way. But he was clumsy in his stance and in his swings, so you saw each of his moves coming a mile ahead. With every right hook, you slid under his arm and stepped out behind him. In every jab, you side stepped out of reach. He exhausted himself while you made little effort in your defense. Without a single offensive throw, he was panting in a matter of minutes.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” he bellowed, loud enough to make Bucky pause for a moment and you winced as his assailant took advantage of the moment to get in a punch to his jawline. He recovered quickly, giving you the security to face your own attacker head on. The Hydra giant was dripping in sweat, red in the face, teeth bared and near feral. “Fight me!”

“Only because you asked so nicely.”

As he threw his next swing, you met it with the brunt of your baton, stilling him in his stance. He stared at you, wide eyes and jaw slacked, as you winked at him and dove under his legs. Before he could manage to turn around, you flicked at switch at the bottom of the batons which emitted an electrical pulse from the top edge and plunged it into the man's neck.

He convulsed, gargling out a few incoherent words, before he collapsed to the floor at your feet. You grinned, sliding the batons into the holsters at your shoulder blades.

“Alright, I take it all back,” Bucky’s voice chuckled from behind you. “You don’t need me at all.”

You laughed, shaking your head as several strands fell down into your face, lost to the bun at the top of your head in the struggle. As you turned to face Bucky, you found him standing with his hands planted on his hips and the brightest smile on his face, one that took him years to find again since you first met him and damn if it wasn’t one of the most beautiful sights you’d ever seen.

But then, there was a sudden rush of movement on the ground. One of the Hydra agents wrestled back up to his feet behind Bucky, a malice imbedded deep into his glare, a determination as he rushed forward.

There was little time to think as you lunged for the knife you broke free of the blonde agent’s hand and whipped it across the room. It plunged straight into the man’s jugular and he fell backwards, hands sliding out from around Bucky’s neck as blood coated the tile floors.

“Shit,” you panted, hands on your knees. “You okay?”

Bucky didn’t respond.

Slowly, heart pounding in your chest, you glanced up to find him pulling a syringe from his neck. He stared at it for a second, stunned as a few stray droplets dripped from the edge of the needle before he dropped it to the ground, letting it slip out from his fingers limply. The vile was empty as it rolled along the tile and settled against the dead body of its owner.

“Bucky?”

There was a sudden, paralyzing dread that swept over his features, one that seemed to worsen as his eyes fell upon yours. Then, his knees started to buckle, his stance falling unsteady and you rushed forward, darting under his arm to catch him before could lay amongst the bodies of Hydra agents. He was shaking, hands trembling, and you could feel the sharp rise and fall of his breath as you held him steady.

“We have to get you out of here,” you said, trying to push down the panic etching its way up your spine, but Bucky shook his head.

“No time.” It was all he could mutter out.

“Bucky, you've just been injected with God knows what and we need to get to you a medic or—”

“There,” he grunted, pointed to an open room at the end of the hallway. With a thick, metal door and dozen locks lining the outside, it was more of a cell than a room. You started to shake your head, but Bucky gripped tight to your arm. “Y/n, please.”

You watched him carefully, noticed how he couldn’t seem to meet your eye, how sweat was beading at his hairline more profusely than it was in the midst of a battle, how his breaths were broken and trembling on every exhale.

“Okay, okay. Hold on.” You slowly guided him to step over the bodies at your feet, most unconscious, others not as lucky, and swiftly led him into the cell. It seemed to put him at ease as you aided him to sit on one of the metal chairs at the center of the room. As you released your touch from his arm, a rush of what appeared to be pain twisted into his facial features though he tried to hide it.

“So, what do we do now?” you asked. “I could try to find the lab. They could have counteractants to whatever this is. Or I could try to fix the coms... but we all know Parker’s a lot better with that stuff than I am.”

You laughed, trying to ease the tension in the room, but it was so thick you could have cut through it with the blunt edge of your baton. Bucky’s eyes were glued to the floor, his hands curling around the undersides of the chair until the metal warped under his grip.

“You need to leave.”

Your smile dropped. “What? No, are you crazy? I’m not leaving you alone after—”

“Go!” His voice boomed against the walls and you tried not to let the shock startle you.

“Bucky, stop. That’s not happening.” You dug your fingers into your hips as you paced back over the door, stole a quick glance in both directions. It was still empty save for the bodies lying in your wake. It seemed you and Bucky were entirely alone. You pinched the bridge of your nose. “We’ll figure something out, okay? We always do. This can’t be worse than the time we were buried in that old chevy under twelve feet of snow in Alaska last year, can it?”

You shot him a grin, hoping to ease him, though it did little use. His face was red, jaw stoned. He looked like he was barely breathing.

“You’re not hearing me,” Bucky groaned, his voice molding into something darker. “You're not safe here. You need to leave. Now. Before I... Before I can’t control this. Before I hurt you.”

You paused, narrowing your eyes. “What are you talking about? Do you… Do you know what that stuff was?”

Bucky clenched his jaw, turning away from you the best he could. He let out a pained groan and kicked the chair out from under him. It slammed against the wall with a harsh clash and forced a skip in your heartbeat, a hand darting up to your chest. Bucky leaned over the table, trying to find support, but he ended up gripping onto the sides hard enough to dent imprints in the shape of his hands.

You rushed forward, desperate to help because you couldn’t stand to see him in so much pain, and placed a hand on his shoulder. It touched upon the thick straps of Kevlar for only a second, and still, it was enough to elicit a visceral reaction. He whined, something between a moan and cry, and he slumped down out of your reach.

“Don’t touch me,” Bucky warned, though his voice broke in the effort. His breaths were labored and heavy, and still it seemed as though he could barely get one in. “Please. You—You have to get away from me. I’m— I’m begging you.”

Bucky choked back a cry, biting down hard on his lower lip, and it was then you noticed his right hand palming at the hardened outline nestled tight against his thigh. He pressed the heel of his left into his eyes, shame burning hot against his ears and cheeks and trailing down in red patches along his neck. He tried to hide behind his hair, hide from you, but it was enough; you recognized what this was.

It was a serum created by Hydra in the seventies, meant to create inhumans of their own design when the clinical measures were proving unsuccessful. It was created to induce a euphoric state, a primal need beyond personal control, to put its host through hell until Hydra had what it wanted: a viable chance at an inhuman child.

“Bucky,” you called gently, though all you earned was a whimpered grunt in response. Slowly, you crossed the plane of the room to him and laid a hand against his collar. His eyes fluttered shut in response, his whole body keenly alert to every touch.

“You should leave,” he warned again, his gaze slowly drawing up to meet your own; a glossy shine shielded over a stunning ocean blue. “Let me... let me take care of this on my own. I’ll be f-fine.”

“It’ll be agonizing,” you told him, having remembered the speech Tony gave a few months back after the team first encountered the serum in Peru. “It won’t kill you, but it will feel pretty damn close. Nothing you do on your own will relieve it. It doesn't work like that. You need someone to help you through this.”

He shook his head. “No. I won’t-- I won’t ask you to do that.”

“You don’t have to,” you replied gingerly, drawing your hand up along his arm, tracing over swells of muscle as watching the way a shiver followed so tenderly in your wave. You rested your hand along his cheek, brushing your thumb under his eyes. He was scorching hot. You smiled at him, something soft and gentle, something sad. “I’m offering, Bucky.”

“No,” he grunted out. “I—I can’t. I won’t.”

You nodded, letting your hand fall to the side. It was remarkable he was able to hold himself back this long, let alone decline an offer when presented to him. You’d heard the stories of men to devolved to a near primal state, who attempted to jump the first person they saw and fought their way to release. Bucky was determined to spare you, even as you offered, even knowing that turning you down would put him through a world of pain.

“Okay,” you conceded. “Tell me what you need. Tell me something I can do, Buck, because I can’t just watch you in pain like this.”

Bucky stared at you, pupils blown wide, almost as if he could see right through you.

“Need to get this off,” he finally admitted, eyes drifting down to his suit.

“Okay,” you replied steadily. “Do you want help?”

He shook his head, his stare glued to the floor, but you could see the way his hands were reaching out for you, how he had to keep himself in check and hold them firmly at his sides. He tried to unfasten the buckle at his chest himself, but within seconds he let out a hallowed cry, dropping his head in defeat.

“Hurts,” he exhaled, and slowly his eyes came back up to yours. He forced out a halfhearted smile the best he could. “Can you...?”

You returned the nervous smile, as you took a cautious step forward. He followed your every move as your hands extended towards his chest, fingers clipping the buckles easily as they unsnapped down his jacket. Each one left a new breath of relief in its wake, like he was just on the edge of the surface, under only a few inches of water.

Your hands slid under the seams, helping to slip the sleeve down his right arm, and Bucky choked back a moan. His eyes fluttered shut, lips parted just slightly, and you jumped back.

“Sorry,” he muttered. His cheeks were near on fire.

“It’s alright, Buck. It’s not your fault.” You reached out for him again. “Here, let me help with your belt.”

“No, no, I’ve got it.” His hands were shaking as he started to fidget with the buckle. He swayed on his feet, trying to find some relief. As he unfastened the latch and unbuttoned the hem of his pants, his eyes flashed up to you. He exhaled a heavy breath. “Can you... Christ... can you turn around?”

The look on his face, the shame radiating from every ounce of him, shattered you right to your core. You nodded quickly, turning your back to him and making your way to the door. He needed privacy – of course, he did. He didn’t need you around to bear witness to the consequences of Hydra’s newest attempt to leave him powerless and vulnerable.

But just as you approached the door, Bucky called out quietly, “don’t go.”

You stilled in an instant, though you didn’t dare to turn around.

“It, um,” he cleared his throat awkwardly. “I think it helps if you’re here. If that’s alright.”

“Need something to look at, huh?” you laughed, trying to make light of the impossible position he was in, and you were thankful for the short chuckle you heard behind you.

“Don’t flatter yourself, doll. You’re the only one here,” he replied, a teasing back in his tone, and no matter how tense it was or how forced it felt, it made your heart skip a beat.

You smiled, shaking your head. Leave it to the two of you to find the humor in a situation like this. Biting down on your lip, you tried to suppress the grin, though it did little use.

Then, you heard the soft fall of his shirt to the floor. Quickly followed by the pants of his suit, dropping to the ground in a heap. He exhaled a breath that sounded as though he hadn’t done so in years and you found yourself wondering what he looked like standing there behind you, naked and aching, harder than he’d ever been in his life.

“Swear you won’t tell Sam about this.”

You shook your head, chewing on the inside of your cheek to hold back another laugh. “No promises.”

“Y/n.”

“You’ve got to be in crippling pain, Buck. You don’t have time to be embarrassed right now,” you shot back teasingly. “Stop edging.”

“Fine, okay,” he grumbled back, though you could hear the light in his voice, even if it was a little tense. “Just… give me a second.”

The room became impossibly quiet, painfully so, and you waited under bated breath for something to happen. The smile slowly left your lips, fading into a restless frown as you listened intently to his labored breathing, the tight groans of pain, until finally, his hand circled around the base of his cock.

The whine that left his lips was near sinful, and you felt your own breath hitch in your chest as you listened to soft whimpers parting his lips as he stroked himself, covering his length in the precum dropping at his tip. Heavy breaths and wet pumps of his closed hand around his cock, and you clenched your thighs together, wondering how his eyes might travel over your frame.

But God – those sounds he made were beautiful. You could picture him tugging his lower lip between his teeth, his eyes fluttering shut, his shoulders slacking, knees falling a little weak the harder he gripped at himself. Little murmurs of ‘oh god,’ and ‘fuck yes,’ and ‘please’ as he fucked his fist.

You didn’t know how much time had passed by, but your lip was nearly chewed raw, nails indented into the palms of your hands. You could hear how close he was, how his movements picked up in pace, how his breaths labored, how his moans filled the room higher and higher until – it stopped.

Sudden and aching, he lost it before the fall and your heart broke as you heard him cry out in pain.

“Bucky?” you called softly, not daring to turn around to face him after he asked you not to. Your heart was pounding in your chest, hands clenched tight, and you swore your knees would buckle out from under you if you unlocked them for even a second.

“Fuck, I… I can’t...”

“Bucky, are you okay?” you tried again, worried. There was a panic in his voice that wasn’t there before, a desperate longing etched into every syllable, and it scared you.

“I can smell you,” he said simply, achingly.

Your breath hitched and you squeezed your legs together. There was a throbbing there, an emptiness you couldn’t quite shake. “Do you... Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” he replied quickly and you could tell he was contemplating his options. He was growing desperate and that lingering sense of control he maintained was slipping through his fingers. “No, I— You were right. I can’t do it on my own. I need—fuck. I need…”

“Just ask,” you offered again, head tilting just enough to the side that he could see your face but you kept your stare to the wall. “I’m here. I’m saying yes. Just tell me what you need.”

“You.”

It surprised you as he said it; a little lower, a little darker, but certain.

Slowly, you turned to face him.

Sculpted by Michelangelo himself, Bucky carried the most beautiful lines across his body; divots along muscles and carvings of delicate design. You could tell he expected your eyes to fall straight to his shoulder, to the mess of scars and metal he loathed, or to the vulnerability standing hard in his grasp, but instead, you kept your gaze focused on his eyes.

Bucky stood completely naked before you, his right hand still pumping slowly around his cock as you edged forward. He watched you, biting at his lip as he flicked his thumb over his tip. Eyes trailed down over your frame greedily, hungrily, as if the act of simply looking was enough to draw a twitch from his cock. He tugged his lip between his teeth, tightening his grip around himself.

As you came up beside him, you reached up and sat your hand against his right shoulder, watching how he closed his eyes in response, how his jaw slacked. His lazy thrusts evened out, slowing down, as you traced your hand down his arm, simply lost in your touch. Your hand slid down his bicep, over raised muscle, along his forearm to his wrist, and then, you gently nudged his hand from his cock and replaced it with your own.

His lips fell open, a slight tremble in his breath as you gripped him. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, leaning against you as he caged you to what appeared to be an interrogation table. You felt the warped metal against your thighs from where he’d clutched at it just moments earlier.

Steadily, you began to pump him in your hand, careful to spread the wet of his precum down his shaft. He was hard within your grasp, painfully so, enough that you could feel the crystal outline of a vein running up along the underside. You pressed your thumb against it as you slid your hand up to his tip and brushed it over his slit. The whine he released against your neck was the most beautiful sound you ever heard.

“This okay?”

“S’good.” He nodded meekly against your collar but you could feel the strain in his shoulders, the restraint that left his jaw wired shut and breaths tight.

“It’s not enough, though. Is it?” you asked gently, though you knew the answer. You knew what he needed and your hand, or even your mouth, would not be enough. The Hydra scientists knew what they were doing when they designed this. It had a very specific purpose and it would not yield for anything less.

“You don’t have to, Y/n,” he said, stronger than you’d heard his voice since he was injected. It took nearly all his strength.

You smiled, letting your free hand cup at the side of his face. He leaned into the touch, seeking more, almost instinctively. Bucky was a complicated man; capable of light-hearted jokes in the middle of a warzone and an immeasurable guilt and shame that had not left him in his years since he was freed from Hydra. He was your closest friend, your partner in the field, a man that you trusted above all others, a man you cared for in ways he would never quite understand.

“I’m here, Bucky. I’ve got you,” you whispered sweetly, but you could still feel his hesitance. “Listen to me, I’ll leave if you really want me to. I’ll stop if this isn’t what you want. But please, don’t send me away and leave you suffer through this alone because you think I don’t want you. I do, Buck. I want you. I want to make you feel good. I want to take away your pain. Let me.”

He stared at you for a moment, a strange mixture of disbelief and longing upon his features. Slowly his hands lifted from the table and felt for the clasp at the back of your suit. You nodded at him, and slid the zipper down your spine, exposing perfect, untouched skin. He pealed it down along your shoulders, over your chest and down your waist. You helped him remove it down to your feet and kicked it off to the floor beside his own.

His eyes drifted to your chest, hands itching to reach out, but he held them firm at his sides.

“It’s okay, Buck. You can touch me,” you told him, reaching behind your back and releasing the clasp of your bra. The straps fell down your shoulders and you let the fabric slip from you. Bucky swallowed, his eyes drifting to your exposed chest. A smile started to curve upon your lips the longer he stared at you, like you were something to revere.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured quietly, almost to himself, as if saying it purely for the state of fact.

Your heart skipped a beat, lips parting in a slight shock, and you wondered if this was what it was like for the women he brought home on cold, lonely nights from the bar. You’d seen the content smiles on their faces in the morning as they sauntered out of his room with messy hair and a blissful kind of look in their eyes.

Bucky wasn’t the cold, calculating man the papers made him out to be. He was kind, exceptionally sweet, and a selfless to a fault. You didn’t suspect he was any different in a bedroom.

He shook his head, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “I never thought this would be how—"

But then— his face started to contort and suddenly Bucky was keening over. He clutched at his stomach, digging his nails deep into the muscle and he nearly collapsed to his knees.

“Bucky!”

You grabbed a firm hold of his right arm, just enough to keep him steady, and even the smallest of touches alone seemed to ignite something in him. Goosebumps littered his skin and a sweet kind of whine escaped past his lips as you ran a hand soothingly along his spine.

“Come on, we don’t have a lot of time,” you warned gently. It was a miracle within itself he was still on his feet. This serum had put ordinary men into shock within minutes if they didn’t find release. Never enough to kill them, but just enough to make them wish it would.

Bucky followed you back to the table at the center of the room, his hand clasped tightly in your own. It was the most physical affection you’d shown for one another, a tenderness outside of the rush of foreign chemicals in his veins, and you tried not to think about the fallout you were bound to find after.

He helped to guide you onto the table, resting your back against the cool, metal surface. Then, slowly, he crawled on top of you. His eyes drifted down to your panties and you lifted your hips for him, giving him the permission he needed to pull them down your legs.

His hand slid down along your curves, drawing goosebumps in his wake, until he swiftly slid his fingers between your thighs. Dipping into the wetness at your core, he spread his fingers around, lubricating himself until he slid two easily inside of you.

“Oh, Bucky,” you moaned, back arching as he pumped them against your walls. “God, that feels—so good.”

His left hand was curled tightly into a fist near you head as he propped his body weight up against the arm; gears whirring, the scars at the base of his shoulder red in the strain of it. One quick glance at the tension coating his muscles, the sharp breaths in his chest, the whine as his cock touched your thigh, and you were pulled swiftly from the clouds, a startling reminder why you were doing this in the first place.

“Hey, don’t worry about me,” you told him, a little breathless as he added the third finger. “I’m fine, Buck. You need to come. This isn’t about me.”

He shook his head, determined. “You’re not ready yet.”

You chuckled, a heat of embarrassment washing over you, even as he scissored his fingers, stretching your walls. You had to choke back a moan and the urge to clamp your thighs together around his wrist.

“I’m more than ready,” you said, voice a little higher, hands clenching at the sides of the table as you felt your walls tightening around his fingers. “Trust me, Buck. Just listening to you touch yourself was enough.”

You laughed again but the room was thick in tension, almost unbearably so. Bucky could hardly hear you. His hair had fallen down to shield his face, his gaze focused on where his fingers were lost to the most intimate parts of you; determined.

“It has to be good for you,” he muttered out slowly. You narrowed your eyes on him, growing worried as he seemed to retreat within himself. He was distant, his mind far away from his body. “It has to be good… it has to be good for you otherwise… otherwise I’m… I’m...”

He wouldn’t say it but you knew what he meant.

“Bucky, come back to me.” You reach up and grabbed a firm hold of his cheeks, thumbs at his jawline, and drew his attention to your eyes. It took him a moment to get there, but you found ocean blue again, even if it was clouded in dark, stormy skies. “I’m okay. Don’t worry about how I feel, alright? Just do what you need to, I’ll be fi—”

“I won’t use you like that!” Bucky snapped defiantly, startling you. “I don’t care that it feels like my skin is on fire and there’s knives carving through my body. I don’t care that I feel like I’m going to pass out and everything in me is fighting to force my way onto you and take what I want regardless of what it does to you! I don’t care! You’re my best friend and I… I…” He was panting, red in the face, and he couldn’t seem to find his words. He swallowed, though it looked as though it burned. “It has to be good for you, okay?”

You nodded, running your hands gently along his arms; his left, solid metal, unwavering, and his right trembled deep within the tissue – the gentle movements of his forearm pressed up against your stomach, his fingers searching out a pleasure he so desperately needed you to feel.

“I…” he started before he clenched his jaw. A heavy exhale followed, a drop of his gaze, and he muttered out weakly, “I need to pretend this is real.”

Your lips parted in shock; heart stammering so painful in your chest you wondered if he could hear it. Before you could say anything, before you could ask him what he meant by that, Bucky let his fingers slip out from between your legs, resting slicked against your thigh. The emptiness was startling.

“I think you’re ready for me now.”

Bucky nestled himself between your legs, lined his length your entrance with a gentle sweep of his top through your folds. He shivered, something near violent as it shook through his spine, and you were reminded again that Bucky was suffering, that he had a foreign chemical in his veins that ripped away his control and left him powerless to Hydra.

His skin was flushed red, sweat beading on his forehead and down his neck. There were sharp marks in the palm of his right hand where he dug his own nails into his skin. His breaths were coming in quickly and uneven.

“Look at me,” you ordered, stern enough to draw his attention. “Don’t hold back. You need to get this out, okay? I will tell you if it’s too much.”

It took him a moment, a breath of contemplation, before he nodded; slow and hesitant. You could see the strain in his jawline, the tension in his shoulders from how much he was restraining himself. It must have been agonizing, but Bucky had been through worse in his life. You supposed pain had become a familiar friend, one he learned to tame and control, even when it ripped him apart.

The moment he pressed his tip past your entrance, as he bottomed out in one thrust, as he felt your walls squeeze tightly around him for the first time, Bucky nearly came on the spot. He gasped into your shoulder, sucking marks against your skin as he rolled his hips against you. Slow and steady at first, reveling in the feel of being consumed whole, of being taken so well, of a rush of endorphins and pleasure he’d never felt even in the peak of sex. Everything was heightened, every touch was immaculate; he could feel your heartbeat through the walls squeezing at his cock.

“Oh, f-fuck,” he moaned against your ear, breath hot, voice dangerously low. “Fuck you feel so good, sweetheart. So fucking good. Goddamn perfect.”

You nodded, arms circling up around his shoulders as you rolled your hips to meet his own. You could still feel the stone carved tension in his muscle, how much he was holding back from what he needed. He was trying to be gentle with you, loving in a way the serum was not designed for, but it was testing him. He wouldn’t give into it, not in the way you asked him to, because Bucky had already lost so much to Hydra, already lost pieces of his mind and body, he would not let them take his soul, too.

“Just for you.” The words passed through your lips before you could quite catch onto their meaning. Your hands slipped down his chest as you brushed your thumbs against his nipples. He moaned, hips picking up in pace. He needed the encouragement, you realized. It was the only way he’d allow himself the release he needed to free his body of that serum.

He needed to pretend it was real.

He needed to pretend that you weren’t laying upon a cold, unforgiving table in an old Hydra base, that maybe this was something more than the consequences of a vile he didn’t ask for.

The line between the fantasy and reality was painfully thin.

“F-fuck, you’re so tight,” he mumbled breathily. The table began to squeak with every snap of his hips, with every drag of his cock at your core, the brush of his tip to the sweetest spot. It was easy to lose yourself in him, to forget that you were in an abandoned Hydra cell, that he had a foreign chemical in his veins determined to destroy him. He felt like heaven.

“S’all yours,” you whispered, drawing your hands down along his waist, slipping over his hips and gripping into the soft flesh of his ass. You pulled him deeper into you, daring him to go further. His pupils were blown so wide, you could barely see the blue in his eyes. He was slipping, barely holding into the restraint he so desperately clung to, and you rolled your hips at just the right angle, squeezed him enough to draw a mangled cry from his lips.

You kissed at the dip of his collar, sucking sweetly as he all but purred in response. Your lips mapped a path up his neck, along his jaw line, over cheekbones and at the tip of his nose, until you paused at his mouth. His heart was pounding, thunderous in his chest, and his hips seemed to pick up in pace with every kiss.

It wasn’t until you captured his lips against your own that Bucky lost the last ounce of control he had been clinging onto.

Something like a growl purred against your lips, a sound near feral, and the gentle push of his hips like ocean waves against you turned into quick, harsh snaps. He pulled his lips from you, trailing hot, wet kisses down your neck, until he found the place he was looking for and sunk his teeth to the crook of your shoulder.

“Ah, Bucky!”

All consuming. Feverish. A man untamed and he did not relent, not as your walls tightened around him like the twist of a coil, or as the sound of skin and wetness between your legs echoed high into the room, or when his fingers touched at your clit and rubbed harsh, quick and pressured circles until you were crying out so loudly, it must have carried through the whole base.

“Fuck! Ah, God, Bucky, don’t stop!”

Bucky groaned against you, sucking a mark where his teeth had met your flesh. You could feel the vibration of his voice against your skin, the pulse of his cock in your cunt, the thick vein that ran along his underside as it added so sweetly to the pressure at your entrance. It was wild and unhinged, but God – it was good.

“Y-yeah, baby, right there,” Bucky moaned, his thrusts falling uneven, haphazard, needy. “F-fuck, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna—ah, ah, f-fuck—”

The heat of him, the way he filled you so perfectly, the rush, and it pushed you over the edge. White hot and intoxicating, the wash of it broke open in floodgates and swept through you. His fingers did not let up on your clit as you squirmed and withered below him, his thrusts falling lazy as he chased the end of his release.

Breathless and a little dizzy as you came down from your high, you felt his heartbeat inside of you; quick, but even. The serum had done its work. It released him from its hold.

Bucky was panting, the full of his weight having fallen onto you. His hair was wet with sweat, messy and untamed, and the room smelled distinctly of sex. But more than that, it was unbearably silent.

Slowly, Bucky began to pry himself off of you, allowing his softened cock to slip from between your legs, slick and satisfied. He swallowed, a blush creeping onto his cheek as he pushed his hair behind his ear.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

You chuckled, propping yourself up on your elbows as you watched him quickly tug his pants back on before he bent down and picked up your suit for you, handing it gingerly to you upon the table with a shy sort of smile.

“Alright? I’m great.” You grinned over at him, glowing in the aftermath of your release. “You feel okay now?”

He nodded, a nervous smile tugging on his lips as he watched you jump down from the table and step into your suit. His eyes must have lingered on your thighs where his cum was still slick along the skin from his release because his smile began to fall, his jaw tightly clenched.

“SHEILD has me on birth control, Buck. Don’t worry about that,” you told him softly. You tugged the sleeves back up your arms, though it proved difficult with the lingering sweat on your skin. You flipped your hair over your shoulder and turned your back to him. “Do you mind?”

He cleared his throat awkwardly, shuffling forward to zip up the back of your suit. He brushed a few stray strands of hair over your shoulder, the gentle sweep of cool metal a relief against the hot flush of your skin; impossibly tender for a man capable of the things he was.

“So,” he started, a nervous chuckle in his voice as he grasped hold of the zipper, “should we talk about this or—”

“Bucky? Y/n? You guys read me?”

Steve.

“Seems the coms are back on,” you sighed, stepping to the side after Bucky finished zipping your suit. He was still holding his tactical vest in his hand, along with the one-armed jacket. His hair was untamed, cheeks flushed, and you imagined you looked of the same.

“We got you, Steve,” Bucky replied, though it seemed rather reluctant. “Where you been, man? You dropped us in a warzone.”

“Yeah, I figured that out,” Steve grumbled back. “Get to the jet. We’ll debrief on the way back. Don’t forget to rig the place to blow on your way out.”

“Right,” you rolled your eyes, grinning at Bucky as he slipped his jacket on. “Certainly, can’t forget the one thing you sent us here to do.”

“Unless you’ve got more Hydra agents hiding in the wings?” Bucky added on and you could practically see Steve deadpan from the cockpit.

“Just get out of there before I come get you myself.”

You laughed as you slid the batons back into the holsters at your shoulder blades.

It was strange, how quickly it felt as if nothing had changed at all. Maybe it hadn’t. Maybe it was a quick release and you were simply helping a friend. Maybe it was something neither of you would speak of again and you’d go right back to being partners, friends, as if it never happened.

But as you turned around at the edge of the room, a smile wide upon your face, you found Bucky watching you with a kind of look in his eye you couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t one you recognized, wasn’t one you’d seen in him before. It was something new.

His eyes flickered to your collarbone where a mark upon your skin was growing discolored; bite marks and bruising where his mouth had been. A strange mixture of remorse and longing, affection and need, all rolled into one.

“You ready, Buck?”

He nodded quickly, snapping himself from his gaze with a pressed smile. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, though he tried. He met you at the edge of the room, trailing a few steps behind you, and you turned around to find him staring back into the cell, like he was trying to preserve a memory of some kind.

You realized as you watched Bucky clear his throat awkwardly, turning back to you with a gentle blush of pink in his cheeks, that there was no pretending you hadn’t crossed a line together. There was no going back.

---

part 2

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes X you #bucky x reader #sex pollen #bucky barnes smut #tw dubcon

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mochegato · 3 years

Text

Even the Losers

Chapter 1

“You can do this Marinette,” Adrien whispered encouragingly, echoing the mantra she’d been whispering to herself for the past two days. She could do this. She could manage. This was for Max. She could handle it. He couldn’t be here but she could. She could be strong for him. She gave Adrien a shaky smile and nodded. “We just have to find him and we can leave,” he reminded her.

Marinette took a breath and let it out slowly. She’d dealt with far, far worse than a few judgmental, heartless asses who had no real interest in her. But seas of artificial smiles had always unsettled her and currently she was surrounded with so much artificial sweetness she felt like she was walking through a kid’s cereal aisle. That added onto her already existing anxiety had her ready to bolt at the slightest provocation.

She ran her hand over the skirt of her dress, letting the feeling of the fabric and the knowledge of all that had gone into it soothe her. She was especially proud of her dress and the work that had gone into it. It was a black so dark it almost appeared to draw in the light around it. A mesh with strategically placed blood red decorations overlaid the dress, hugging her bodice until it reached her hips then dropped into a flowing skirt that ended just before it could pool on the ground.

She fought the urge to fiddle with the belt in her nervousness. She couldn’t show weakness like that, not here. She looked up at Adrien again in search of an anchor to reality. She took in his expression and had to stifle the laugh that resulted. He had his own artificially sweet smile on but his eyes quite clearly begged for a quick death. He glanced down to her and nudged her discreetly, his artificial smile becoming wide and real. “Shhhh,” he hushed her under his breath. “We’re trying not to attract attention to ourselves, remember? We’re ghosts.” He looked around to make sure nobody was looking at them.

Marinette immediately quieted, her face becoming somber. She did remember. In and out. That was the goal. Her goal. Knock the man on his ass with Max’s accomplishments, then never see him, or anyone else in this room, other than Adrien of course, ever again. They were supposed to be like ghosts. There but not. Her eyes scanned the room looking for their target.

Adrien’s eyes immediately softened and filled with regret. “Shit, Mari. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“No,” she looked up at him with an artificial smile of her own. “I know. It’s fine. It’s not your fault.” She scanned the crowd again, cursing her height, as she had many times in her life. Even with the six inch, death defying heels, she still barely reached Adrien’s eyes, let alone give her any kind of advantage to see the crowd. She needed some kind of vantage point but unfortunately, the only high point in the ballroom was the stage, which she couldn’t utilize if she was going to follow her Ghost policy. “We might have more success if we split up. Let me know if you find him.”

Adrien squeezed her arm quickly before nodding. “Good luck.”

Marinette shot him a genuine smile. “You too. May the Luck be with you.”

Adrien laughed and shook his head. “I never should have forced you to watch that movie.”

Marinette grinned back. “You never should have forced me to watch the prequels. The original ones were just fine.” Adrien narrowed his eyes at her but let it drop in favor of disappearing in the crowd to find their target.

Marinette followed him with her eyes until she couldn’t see him anymore then took a deep breath to brace herself. Her eyes immediately started darting around and her fingers started dancing. She needed something to occupy them or she was going to start attracting unwanted attention.

She noted a bar close by and made a beeline for it. She waited politely for the bartender to notice her, her fingers tapping anxiously against the bar while she waited. She froze when she heard a gruff voice next to her. “Did you sneak in here?”

She turned to the voice and blinked a few times. “Excuse me?”

“You’re anxious and jittery. Afraid you’re going to get kicked out?” the man elaborated.

Marinette studied him for a moment trying to figure out why he looked so familiar. “No,” she started slowly, trying to give her brain a chance to answer the puzzle. “Just not a fan of events like this.”

The man scoffed and nodded in understanding. “Cheers.” He raised his glass for her to clink his but she held out her hands with a sheepish look, showing she didn’t have a drink yet. “Well, that’s a crime. Nobody should have to endure one of these without a drink.” He motioned to the bartender and got an immediate response. “Another for me and a…” he motioned to Marinette to give her order.

“Oh, champagne, please,” she finished with a smile for the bartender. That’s what was socially acceptable at events like this, right? Champagne.

The bartender looked to the man for confirmation. The man nodded. “And a champagne for the woman.” Marinette scowled at the bartender causing the man to laugh. “He’s just worried that you’re underage. You look awfully young. You’re not, right?”

Marinette’s glare softened in realization. “Oh, that makes sense. No, I’m not. I forgot the legal age here is higher than in France.”

He nodded and looked at her critically for a moment before offering his hand. “Jason.”

Marinette immediately reached out for his hand and answered with her name before her brain registered the name he’d given. Jason. Jason Todd. Bruce Wayne’s son. She pulled her hand back quickly as the realization hit her and focused on leveling her breathing. She grabbed the champagne glass more violently than necessary when the bartender set it down in front of her and immediately downed the entire glass, only coughing a bit as the bubbles tickled her throat. Overall, champagne was not the best drink to chug. “Another, please,” she croaked out.

“You know, there are better drinks for that, if that’s what you want to do,” Jason grinned, laughing at her.

“Wasn’t the plan until it was and then that’s all I had,” she croaked out, her voice still hoarse from the bubbles. She kept her eyes focused on her empty glass as she spoke, almost afraid to make eye contact with him as if just seeing her eyes would be enough to blow her cover.

Jason chuckled and nodded in understanding. “Don’t suppose you’d care to dance?”

Marinette whipped her head to him and stared incredulously, forgetting her previous reservations. She only moved again when the bartender set the new drink down in front of her. “Um… no… thank you. That doesn’t seem… I don’t think my date would be comfortable with that. Good luck getting drunk enough to handle tonight though.” She gave him a weak smile and raised her glass to him before moving into the fray again, now armed with a socially acceptable fidget toy.

It took five minutes of avoiding wandering hands and leering looks but with a little luck and some prodding from the goddess hiding in the folds of her skirt, she was finally able to stumble on M. Lucius Fox, Director of Research and Development for Wayne Enterprises. He was in a conversation he was not remotely interested in with some vapid business exec who was just as interested in M. Fox. Not that M. Fox’s disinterest was clear. He was very polite and good at covering his boredom, much more so than his conversation partner, but she’d been at enough stuffy, snobby parties with Adrien, Felix, and Chloe to know the signs.

She took another breath and squared her shoulders, going into Ladybug Mode; calm and confident, completely assured of herself. She was on a mission. She had a goal and a plan to accomplish it, and once she had a plan, she had a direction and purpose, and with those, her insecurities fell away. With M. Fox in her sights, she could see the pieces and the way they fit together. There were no more doubts. She set her glass on a passing waiter’s tray and made her way over to M. Fox.

“The elusive M. Fox. It is a pleasure to meet you,” Marinette purred, coming up next to him with a charming, real smile.

“I didn’t realize I was hiding,” Lucius responded with a polite smile of his own.

“Must just come naturally. Foxes are known to be crafty.” Marinette looked around them and motioned toward the dancefloor. “Would you care to dance, M. Fox?”

He shook his head deferentially. “Are you sure there aren’t other people here you’d rather dance with?”

Marinette smiled conspiratorially and leaned closer to him, making sure to keep a respectable distance. She did NOT want to have her banter confused with flirting. That was not the strategy she had devised. “That would defeat the purpose of coming here. I came here specifically to speak with you.”

Lucius looked down at her analytically, trying to figure out what her angle was, but took her hand and followed her onto the dancefloor. “And what did you want to speak about, Ms…?”

“Dupain Cheng. Marinette Dupain Cheng. It’s nice to meet you M. Fox. I wanted to speak to you to sell my friend Max Kante.”

Lucius’ eyes widened almost imperceptibly as the music changed. After a beat, he chuckled. “I’m not in the market to buy anyone, but thank you.” He settled his hands on her mid-back and hand for their dance.

Marinette chuckled good naturedly along with him. “Sell his talents, would be a better way to say it.”

“And where is Mr. Kante?” Lucius raised an eyebrow at her, curious why the young man didn’t bother to come himself. “Why are you presenting his talents instead of him?”

“Finals. Had the incredibly bad luck to have a Friday at noon final. I mean at least it wasn’t at 19h, right? Can you believe they have those?” She scrunched up her nose in playful disgust. “But still means he’s taking it right now. And for his last final of his career. I mean… probably. Knowing him, he might get another PhD at some point. My finals and presentation ended last week. M. Wa…” she took a steadying breath and looked back up with a strained smile hoping he wouldn’t notice the stutter. “M. Wayne even visited for it. That’s when the idea for this came to me. So while Max studied, I plotted.”

“So why me then and not Mr. Wayne?” Lucius asked with a curious interest.

Marinette froze for just a second. Hardly enough for anyone to notice. Her mind raced to calculate the appropriate response to that question, a satisfactorily casual yet intelligent response. “M. Wayne isn’t in charge of research. You are. Not to mention, I highly doubt the CEO would be involved enough in the research and development projects to know what was going on. You I take as a man who knows what is going on with all your ongoing projects.”

He nodded. She wasn’t wrong, or normally wouldn’t be. Mr. Wayne usually was not involved in any projects and with the exception of one particular project they were having issues with, he wouldn’t know the particulars. “A very dangerous and elaborate plan. Why didn’t you make an appointment with me? Or just stop me on the street?” he prodded, hoping for her thought process.

Marinette laughed lightly. “I don’t imagine I would have had a chance in Hell of making an appointment with you in your office. I have no standing, no name, no significance that would have attracted any PA worth their salt’s attention. I would have been pawned off onto a low ranking employee to handle, if I was handled at all. And something like this needed to be taken to you.

“As for running into you on the street, I can’t imagine you would have responded positively to getting accosted on the street. You seem more than capable of handling yourself with grace in the face of a pest. I doubt I would have gotten more than a few words in. At a gala however,” she grinned conspiratorially at him. “Societal convention. Almost absolute certainty of at least one dance where I would have you one-on-one for a few minutes. Hostage audience. Figured I could use it to my advantage for once.”

Lucius smiled back at her ingenuity. “There’s an application process he could have gone through,” he noted.

Mari nodded and looked out to the crowd, scanning it. “Right, applying to M. Fedor Rabler,” she said distractedly. “He did that.”

Lucius nodded in understanding. Their application process was tough. Lots of amazing candidates didn’t get through. He had to respect her devotion to her friend, to risk coming here and potentially making an enemy of Wayne Enterprises if he’d been that sort of man. His eyes turned sympathetic. “I’m sorry he was passed over.”

“You know, I’ve noticed Elspeth Cole puts forth a lot of inventions and extremely varied ones at that,” she continued as though she hadn’t heard his consolation. “Most inventors, you can see their process, you can see how they got from one invention to the next, but hers… they’re so varied. It’s almost like they’re coming from completely different people.” Lucius watched her carefully, waiting to see where she was going with this. “That’s them, isn’t it? Dancing together. Awfully close for purely colleagues.”

Lucius followed her sight line to Ms. Cole and Mr. Rabler dancing extremely closely. Not obscenely, but perhaps a bit closer than was normally acceptable at a society event such as this one. “It’s hardly incriminating that two people with expertise in electrical engineering would get together,” he said slowly.

“Max is amazing. Brilliant,” Marinette said, seemingly not noticing her non-sequitur. “He created an AI that helped the Parisian superheroes locate and defeat our supervillain at only 14.” Lucius’ brow rose. That was certainly promising. He wondered what would have caused them not to take such an applicant. Surely there was some sort of embellishment there, but as he studied her, she seemed entirely genuine.

“He’s being scouted by several high profile companies including Lexcorp and Palmer Technologies.” She turned her attention back to Lucius, a curious pout on her lips. “But not Wayne Enterprises.” She looked away with clearly forced casualness. “Lexcorp and Palmer, they’re offering pretty impressive packages. Not as good as he deserves in my opinion, but I may be a bit biased. Wayne Enterprises however… nothing. Not even an offer.

“Now, I don’t really have a dog in the fight… other than wanting my friend to be safe and treated with the respect he deserves. But Palmer Technologies gets blown up by a villain or its inventors kidnapped far too frequently for me to be comfortable with my friend working there. And Lexcorp…” She looked down as if in thought before looking back at him again with a determined look in her eye.

“You know, I get a feeling sometimes. I can’t really explain it, just get a feeling about people or things. I’ve found it’s best for me and the people around me if I listen to that feeling and that feeling tells me Lex Luthor is the last person who should be trusted with a brain as brilliant as Max’s.” She looked back over to Mr. Rabler and Ms. Cole. “That same feeling told me Max shouldn’t trust the application process for Wayne Enterprises.”

She looked back at Lucius with an apologetic smile. “No offense. So, I convinced Max to make a small part of his submission just a little off. Just a bit. Enough that even an expert could miss it, but if it’s wrong the project could never work. It took a lot of convincing to get him to do it. He refused to believe he had anything to worry about in Wayne Enterprises with its stellar reputation.” She scrunched up her face in annoyance. “But that feeling, you know? I couldn’t get over it. After a lot of work, I convinced him there was no harm. After all, if he was hired he could fix it. If he wasn’t… well, you shouldn’t be using what he presented anyway, right? No harm, no foul as you Americans say.”

“No,” Lucius agreed. “That would be theft and completely against WE policy and standards. In fact, we should not be asking applicants to submit anything like that in the first place.”

Marinette smiled and nodded approvingly. “I’ve heard rumblings, or rather Max has, of WE getting into transmutation of materials. Just can’t get that algorithm right though, can you? Algorithms are hard. Just a little off and nothing works.”

He stared at her. That was a secret project. Other departments in Wayne Enterprises didn’t even know about it. “I can’t comment on ongoing projects.”

“I never did show you what Max is capable of, did I?” She gave him a bright smile and reached down to press a disguised button on her belt. Lucius tensed and cursed himself for exposing himself to whatever she was about to do. A wave of emerald green washed over the front of her bodice as the blood red decorated mesh overlay turned into a brilliant emerald green that reflected the lights now rather than absorbing it.

Lucius’ eyes widened in surprise, a feat very few had been able to draw out of him. “He designed the fabric?” he whispered out. He reached out tentatively to touch the fabric at her shoulder.

Marinette grinned brilliantly at his reaction. It was no less than Max deserved. He’d worked incredibly hard on it. “He did,” she nodded in confirmation, “and the software that controls it. The whole dress can change but we’re kind of surrounded here and I didn’t want to attract too much attention.” She let him touch it for a moment before pushing the button again to turn it back into the black, then allowing him to feel the mesh to confirm it was the same fabric. “He has ideas for changing the texture as well, but limited resources you know? Something I’d hope wouldn’t be an issue at WE.”

“How does it work?” His eyes were still focused on the fabric at her shoulder. He took a quick look at the rest of the bodice, but quickly snapped his eyes back to her shoulder. The neckline was conservative, but it was still rather unbecoming to stare at the young woman’s chest.

Marinette laughed. “You’ll have to ask Max that. I just designed the dress. I don’t really understand the mechanics behind it, but he does. I doubt Ms. Cole can say the same.”

Lucius stared in awe at her shoulder before looking back up to her eyes and nodding in understanding. “Interesting. I’ll take that under advisement. Maybe we should be scouting you as well.”

Mari laughed. “No, thank you. I’m not an inventor. I’m a designer. But I appreciate the interest.”

Lucius nodded and led her off the dancefloor with the end of the song. “Inventor or not, we can always use someone with intuition, intelligence, and ingenuity like you’ve demonstrated.”

Marinette gave him a brilliant, somewhat familiar smile. “That’s very flattering. Thank you, M. Fox. But tonight is about Max. I have my own, separate plans for my future.”

Lucius nodded in understanding. “Our loss,” he answered sincerely. “If you ever need any help or advice, please feel free to call me. I’m sure Mr. Kante will have it soon enough and can pass it onto you.” He looked back down to her shoulder again. “If I may…” He motioned toward her shoulder.

Marinette laughed. “Of course. I understand how truly impressive it is. It’s been incredibly inspirational, thinking of the options.”

“And what did your intuition tell you about tonight?” He looked up to meet her eyes, curious about her answer.

Marinette’s face went slack for a moment before she pasted on a bittersweet smile. “That it would be costly but worth it.”

Lucius quirked his head to the side. “In what way?”

Marinette shook her head absently and took a sudden interest in M. Fox’s tie. “I’m not sure yet.”

Mr. Fox’s eyes softened. “Would he be available to meet on Monday?”

Marinette grin and snapped her eyes up to him. Mission success! Max was going to get his interview! “He can be.”

“I’d actually like to speak with both of you, if you don’t mind. In my office at 10 Monday?” he offered.

Marinette faltered. “In Wayne Enterprises?”

Lucius chuckled. “Naturally.”

Marinette swallowed heavily. “Why don’t we meet somewhere else? Early morning coffee perhaps?” she offered instead with an artificial smile. “Here’s my card. Have someone give me a call or text and I can arrange it. He’s scheduled to fly in tomorrow morning. He was supposed to meet with Lexcorp Monday morning, but he’ll be at coffee to meet you instead.”

Lucius smiled back at her as he slipped her card into his pocket. “I greatly appreciate your candor and support Ms. Dupain Cheng.” He took her hand in both of his to shake it. “I cannot tell you how good it was to meet you. And if you ever get one of those feelings about me or Wayne Enterprises, let me know, okay?”

“Lucius.”

Lucius froze at the cold voice, not accustomed to that tone of voice directed at him. He looked over curiously and missed Marinette freezing before pushing another button on her belt.

Chapter 2

Tags:

@maribat-bdbwm

#maribat #bio dad bruce wayne #roynette #Even the Losers #mbdbwm2021 #prompt -#meeting for the first time

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watevermelon · 4 years

Text

Tease | Venti (Genshin) x Reader (NSFW)

✧ Summary: Venti wielded his appearance like weapon, pouting his bright puppy-like eyes at you whether on the battlefield or the bedroom. There was something about the Archon that moved you to play along, at least not until tonight.

➳ Tags: some semi-public teasing and eventually fluffy sexytimes; Venti is a teasing lil shit; LOTS of humor and most of the Mondstadt characters show up ➳ Navigation

—xXxXxXxXxXxXx— One of the lessons you learned very quickly in your relationship with the Anemo Archon was that Venti was a teasing lil shit.

Venti loved you — there was no doubt. But his mischievous side popped up in almost every avenue of your time together. When fighting hilichurls or hunting down abyss mages, all it took was a bat of his eyelashes and you were ready to wield a sword on his behalf.

He played on his appearance heavily — puppy dog eyes gazing up at you no matter what the conversation was about. It was easy to look at him and think he was a humble bard who enjoyed a glass of fine wine. Instead of the thousands of year old God who had the power of wind at his mercy.

All it took was a couple smiles and nicely placed laughter and Venti knew he had you under his spell.

And you were even aware of it, the asshole.

Presently, the original Dvalin team had gathered together in Mondstadt. Diluc was hosting again, the bar open even though he grumbled multiple times. Plates of food were displayed on the main table as Barbara and Mona perused the feast, Paimon right alongside them. You were altogether celebrating a time of true peace, one that Jean had called after both Venti and Dvalin were finally long freed by your hands.

Even though your relationship was relatively new, it did not stop the weight of the promises you made to one another. Venti was well aware of your pursuit in finding your brother and you knew that there was nothing that could tie down the God of Freedom.

But that did not stop either of you from falling in love.

Venti took you on private dates where you glided high above the skies — the last time you ever flew this high was alongside your sibling. Your reminisced over solemn moments, Aether simply a memory as you poured out to Venti your past. He would pull you close as you recalled, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck as he comforted you. And you gladly did the same, pulling Venti into a tight hug as he spoke about his time simply with the wind.

Your favorite moments were the quiet ones - like when Venti pulled you into your first kiss as a couple, smiling at you widely as you returned for more and more.

You cherished these moments when you were traveling, only Paimon at your side. Venti would join you sometimes as you explored the Liyue mountain ranges, but his responsibilities lay in Mondstadt. No matter how far you traveled, you made it work by returning back home to the Anemo Archon.

And now you were enjoying the night, sitting at one of the back corner tables as your friends mingled around the bar. You were sitting closer to the wall, Venti at your side while your favorite Outrider sat across from you.

Amber was discussing some of the adventures in the city, something that included slimes but was suddenly evading your memory when you felt a warm hand on your thigh.

You shot a quick, curious look in Venti’s direction, but the Archon was still focused on Amber in front of you. Not for the first time, you cursed your everyday attire, lots of skin on display despite being on the battlefield every day.

This was something Venti took plenty of advantage of.

His hand slid higher up your thigh and you swore that his happy expression only grew. Amber was none the wiser, continuing in her story as Venti’s hand ghosted over the fabric of your underwear. Your gaze flew to the rest of the party, plenty of other eyes that could catch you in the act.

But it seemed Venti could not care less.

His touch only grew bolder, index and middle finger rubbing against your clothed sex. You fought the urge to move into the motion, trying to focus back on the conversation and the woman in front of you.

But Venti knew your mind was anywhere, but here.

And so of course he had to tease you.

“Don’t you agree that they should continue research by the temple in spite of the ruin guard?” Venti asked, mischievous eyes turning toward you and dragging you back into the conversation.

“Yes.” You answered back clipped.

“Really?” Amber questioned, genuinely curious.

“With the proper knights and if their envoy is careful enough…” You continued, but just as you paused Venti pulled the cloth fully aside to rub at your core. It took all your willpower not to stiffen under Amber’s direct attention, but you stuttered to complete your thought.

“Then…?” The Outrider continued for you.

You shut your eyes to remember, attempting to drown out the mischievous God alongside you. But it seemed you could almost hear the smirk Venti was shooting you.

He had wasted no time in intimately joining with you the night prior, when you had officially returned back to Mondstadt. Almost every surface of his humble apartment was paired with a memory. And even then, it seems Venti could not get enough of you.

“Then they should be able to safely conduct their necessary research.” You finally finished your thought.

“Maybe you should join them next time.” Venti proposed as his fingers continued to play with your clit.

You couldn’t even deny the effects that he had on you — your essence starting to leak out in response to his touches. That was one of the things he loved about you — how eager you were for him in kind. Very rarely did you ever push him away and, if he pushed the right buttons, you would rise to his challenge later that night.

“Oh, you should! Nothing like the protection from our favorite honorary knight.” Amber replied with a genuine smile.

“It’d be my pleasure.” You responded, reaching for your glass to drown out your expression with wine.

“Your pleasure indeed.” Venti murmured under his breath, loud enough only for you to hear.

Amber was called by one of the other Knight’s and she turned in her seat to face him. Her back was facing you now and you let you out a quiet, but incredibly long sigh. Venti’s expression could be compared to a lighthearted smile, but you knew that a smirk was underneath that forcibly innocent aura.

His fingers rubbed circles against your clit — his skin a wildfire against yours as you wet the seat beneath you. Venti shoved in his middle and index with little warning, pistoning them while the other partygoers lay innocent to his dirty deed.

“My love, if you continue to make that face then surely everyone here will know.” Venti murmured this against the skin of your ear for a second, before straightening back in his seat.

You tried your best to hide your impassioned look, but it was hard to do so when your lover was working directly against you. You felt this thumb rolling harshly on your clit while his fingers thrust in quickly. Trying deep breaths to hide your moans, Venti leaned down to kiss you on the lips proper.

You followed the motion immediately, chin lifting as you savored the feel of his lips against yours. The crease of your lips parted for him, Venti immediately licking at your wet cavern. He knew you completely and this included how to throw you right over the edge.

One of your hands grabbed at his arm and just as you were about to feel that sweet release, Venti pulled away entirely and sat back in his seat.

“Alright, lovebirds. No need to gloat your kissy face in front of the rest of us single people.” Amber’s voice cut through your thoughts and you blushed at her words.

“Hehe.” Venti giggled aloud, his laugh while usually endearing, was nothing but mocking toward you.

At least Amber did not catch more than kissing.

But just as you were relieved to have not been caught, you were annoyed that Venti had just teased you right to your breaking point. You turned to the Archon, but he was already looking at you.

Expecting a teasing smirk in place, you were pleasantly surprised to see the loving gaze he was throwing you. Venti instead grabbed your hand, lifting it to his lips and kissing the top as he maintained eye contact with you.

It was hardly scandalous, but Amber still exclaimed. “Oh my god — just get married already!”

Venti laughed, but did not let go of your hand. At this point, while you were glad to see everyone again, you had one thing on your mind and it had much to do with what was leaking out of your sopping wet pussy.

But Venti was intent on celebrating tonight, drinking plenty of wine and shooting you looks over the rim of his glass. Different faces stopped at your table, Barbara exclaiming her greetings and Jean formally addressing the both of you. Kaeya flirted with you while Venti sat right alongside you, but hardly batted an eyelash when he was waved away by the Archon.

The hand holding yours squeezed once the Cryo user walked away. Venti leaned into you, kissing you on the nose before murmuring. “You’re mine; don’t forget that.”

You narrowed your eyes in response and gritted out in frustration, “Then why don’t you fill me up proper so I remember?”

“Hehe.” Venti chuckled before moving to whisper by your ear, “Don’t tell me you're still dripping wet with all these people around us?”

“You’re such a lil shit.”

“To think you’re so naughty.” Venti continued, crafting a sensual word picture through his words. The Bard too often used his powers against you. “Surrounded by all our friends and your main concern is the feel of my cock as I split you wide open.”

He was so smooth with his words, the same lips that poured out endearments was just as likely to light your nerves aflame.

“Tell me how hard you need me inside you.” Venti demanded, “Would my little minx prefer it if I painted your walls white tonight? Or are you so desperate for me that I should take you right here?”

“Venti—“

“Ah, not a good enough answer.” He cut off, “Looks like you’ll have to wait.”

And he sure as hell made you wait. Through stories and conversing with the rest, you were stuck at the bar until Diluc was finally shutting the lights off. You waved at Amber and the rest a warm goodnight, not at all gentle as you gripped Venti’s wrist and stalked in the direction of his apartment.

He openly laughed at your eagerness, but did not fight your grip.

The moment his door slammed behind the both of you, you were gripping at his clothes and throwing them off to his hardwood floors. Your mouth gravitated towards his — for once you were commandeering the lead tonight.

You pulled Venti towards his bedroom, open mouth kisses as you pulled him along. Once you were close enough, you practically pushed the poor man onto his own bedsheets. Your dress followed as a heap on the floor before you hovered over the Archon. You held a firm grip at his wrists, keeping his arms in place as you nipped at his neck and sucked dark hickies along his skin.

Venti was usually the one who took the initiative in the physical aspect of your relationship and for once, you were dominating the bedroom activities. After all, he had all the power to push you off, but Venti was relishing the way you lost yourself to the lustful passion.

Grinding your naked hips against one another, Venti openly moaned into the air. You just kept sucking at his skin, running down his chest before surfacing back upward. Running a playful tongue over each of his taut nipples, you loved the way Venti was gazing at you from beneath.

“I should make you have a taste of your own medicine.”

“Oh?”

“Should I bring you right to the precipice, my sweet bard?”

Venti smiled before challenging you, “I’d like to see you try.”

You licked your lips before trailing downward, a confident hand wrapping around his shaft. Giving only small kitten licks at the throbbing, pink head, Venti watched you as he folded his arms behind his neck.

To catch him off guard, you took a breath and downed his dick in one swallow. His dick poked at the back of your throat and you fought the urge to gag, your nose prodding against his skin. Venti’s voice broke the cool evening air as he moaned loudly, one hand reflexively carding through your hair.

You swallowed around him before pulling off his dick entirely, placing a small kiss on the head before repeating. Venti continually groaned at your rapidly deep pace, vibrations from your mouth only heightening his pleasure.

To think that you were so meek when you first started being intimate. You were hesitant to hold hands and never really had experience being like this with another person. Venti loved the fact that he was guiding you through it and was almost proud at how he was fully at your mercy now.

Even balls deep inside, you licked at the underside of his shaft and tried your best to swallow around him. He had to fight the need to curse, pleasantly surprised at how you were dominating the night. Venti planned on teasing you the entire time, but it was even better finally seeing you snap.

You felt his hips spasm in place and pulled off of him before he came, hearing a soft groan in response almost immediately.

Venti tried to guide you back to his dick, but you pulled off and shook your head at him, eyes latching onto his from your lowered position.

“You better finish this.” His voice held little patience.

Instead you smirked and shot back, “Like you did with me earlier?”

With little preamble, Venti wiped the smirk off your face by pulling you up and maneuvering into switched positions. You suddenly found yourself on your stomach as Venti aligned himself from behind, the only moment of reprieve was when he pushed in the head of his dick. He stewed there for a few seconds, giving you time to push him off if you did not want it, before thrusting himself all the way through.

You nearly screamed at the long impale, his shaft filling up your pussy as you gripped his bed-sheets tightly. Head shoved downward, you grinded your ass in tandem with his thrusts, a slave to your passion as you wanted to feel him in the most intimate way possible.

His pace ran wild, varying in speed and intensity with each thrust as if to keep you on edge. You felt one of his hand glide its way up your back, outlining your spine before he buried his fingers in your hair. His hold was not gentle, keeping you head down and ass up as he rut harshly against your ass.

His other hand snaked around your waist, returning back to the area that he had graced back at the bar. You tensed around him as he played with your clit, earning a harsh groan in response from the sudden tightness.

Venti leaned down to kiss at your neck, eager to mark those planes of skin as his alone. You expected to be fucked stupid, but he guided you onto your back in the next second.

“Look at me, taking you.” He instructed, connecting eyes with you before motioning down to where you were joined. “It was cute watching you try to take over tonight.”

It was becoming too much for you. Venti was attractive on multiple levels, but what really drew you to the bard was his way with words. And it seemed he picked up on that quickly, eager to whisper sweet nothing or even better, dirty words into your ears at almost any time.

You moans bounced off the walls, along with Venti’s mischevious words, mixed with the sound of skin slapping skin as his thighs continuously met your ass.

“Look at the way you grip me so good. Your sweet lips give such a good nectar, but I’ll get a better taste later.” Venti continued before leaning your foreheads together. “You’re mine.”

To think the God of Freedom was so possessive.

But it seemed he also wanted a response, from the way he kept staring into your eyes after.

“Always yours.”

He shot you a genuine smile in response, more sloppy, open-mouth kisses following as he continued to slap skin against skin. You folded your fingers behind his neck, trying to get any semblance of balance as you lost yourself to the feel of his glistening cock.

Venti continued whispering similar thoughts to you, receiving moans and labored agreements from you in response. He was very vocal during intimate times, which you absolutely loved hearing.

Formal words escaped you as Venti joined your hips together, moans pouring out in a reverence that the Archon cherished.

Taking advantage of your lost mental state, Venti asked. “Tell me, does my little minx want me to fill her up?”

“Yes!” You exclaimed, pussy throbbing just at the thought of it.

You heard him swear under his breath, his hips faltering in rhythm as you both neared a similar end. Like a spring being quickly uncoiled, you felt the pressure in your lower stomach burst almost all at once. Clenching hard on his cock, you clawed into his back as he rubbed at a particular spot in your greedy pussy.

“Please!” You begged without direction, Venti following your hidden words as he all but slammed your hips together.

All at once, you felt your tight hole fill to the brim with your shared essence, walls finally painted white as you both finally reached your end. You felt like a puddle of bones on the bedsheets, Venti pulling you to his chest as he laid on his back.

Venti did not hesitate, kissing your forehead even as he struggled to gain his breath. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” You replied, much more fatigued than he as you lazily pawed at his hair.

You were hardly equals but in moments like this, Venti made you feel like the most loved person in the world. He placed butterfly kisses along your neck — you could feel his smile on your skin.

“I’m always so grateful when you come home.” Venti continued, lips murmuring against your skin.

Home.

You started here as a simple traveler, without Mora to your name and not a single family member alive. But Venti and all the wonderful people of Mondstadt filled the hole in you heart.

You inclined upward to meet his lips and replied saying,

“I’m finally home.”

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waka-chan-out · 3 years

Text

Jet Lag

based on this request

post-timeskip, obviously.

word count: 2.2k

content warnings: established relationship, somnophilia, consensual nonconsent, oral (f. recieving), light hair pulling, unprotected sex, creampie, technically cockwarming at the end?

i will reiterate that this is not dubcon or noncon. this is 100% consensual and that is written into the story. do not read if this concept is upsetting to you, but there is no surprise element of genuine nonconsent here. if you have questions, please read my explanation here.

When Kiyoomi’s eyes opened he realized it was still dark outside. He was jet-lagged after returning from his most recent tournament, and it was really getting on his nerves that he couldn’t sleep through the night. His hand absentmindedly combed through your hair. You were such a heavy sleeper, barely stirring even when he was restless and awake. You hummed and nuzzled further against his chest.

He grabbed his phone from the bedside table and checked the time. 4 am. Damn it. At least he was making some progress towards a full night of sleep. His few nights at a hotel on the way back had seen him waking just after midnight and falling asleep when the team was out to dinner, much to Atsumu’s delight. He flipped through the notifications he’d gotten since last night and miserably wondered why anyone would contact him at this hour.

Your hand shifted from around his waist. He glanced down in amusement. It dragged down towards his lower stomach, then back up to his chest. The touch sent goosebumps through his body. You continued the movement, massaging at his abdomen with a steady palm and wandering fingers. It was one part soothing, another part horrifyingly arousing.

Your hand slowed on his stomach, traveling father down and settling there. You had laid your hand right on his — shit. Was he hard?

Kiyoomi stared up at the ceiling. How desperate was he that a simple touch like that put him in this state?

He had to admit, though, your hand probably wasn’t the only reason he was like this. You had kicked down the sheets, exposing your bare legs where they were tangled with his. You were only wearing a large t shirt and an immodest pair of underwear. It all felt very deliberate, just like the way your hand was now resting directly on his achingly hard cock.

He slid his hand down your body and pulled up the side of your shirt. He carefully ran his fingers along your skin. He felt your stomach flutter at his touch, and you shifted so you were on your back, legs parted and abdomen exposed. Shit.

Kiyoomi let his hand glide under your shirt once again. His fingers traced along your skin to your chest, where he gently tugged at one of your nipples. You tipped your head to the side and he swore that you smiled in your sleep.

He continued the gentle slide of his fingers, moving between the soft buds until your hips were shifting against the bed. He smiled down at you. You looked so cute like this, responsive to him even in your sleep. He tried to be slow and patient, but the way your breath fluttered his hair made it hard to control himself.

He slid his hand down his boxers and, even though he was expecting it, he was still shocked by just how hard he was already. He closed his eyes at the feeling of his hand pumping up and down on his cock. It was good, so good, but it wasn’t enough.

He wanted to touch you. His hand felt okay but god, your skin was so soft and you were so receptive, even while asleep. He could see the deep rise and fall of your chest, your nipples peeking out from your soft shirt, the slight angle of your hips. Your words echoed in his head, telling him “it’s okay, you can wake me up. or not. i don’t mind.” He felt dirty, but you had made it clear that it was okay, welcome even.

He experimentally ran his hand down your figure again, stopping at the hem of your underwear. He pressed his hand between your legs, rubbing you gently through the cloth barrier. You hummed in your sleep and he smiled, pleased. He put a little more pressure in the movement, dragging his fingers over your clothed clit. You didn’t respond as much this time, but the way he could feel the fabric dampening under his touch told him everything he needed to know.

He continued to pump his cock as he pushed the fabric to the side to touch you for real. A small shudder left him as he felt just how ready you were for him, even fast asleep. You were his every second of the day, any time he wanted you.

He slowed his grip on himself and focused on slipping a finger inside of you. The angle was awkward, but he couldn’t resist adding another. Fuck, you were so wet. If he knew you’d react like this he would’ve taken advantage of your suggestion earlier. His hand on his cock felt so boring when you were right there, completely ready for him.

He removed his fingers and, before he could think it through, slipped them between his lips. Jesus. The taste on his tongue was too tempting. He carefully withdrew from beside you, holding the sheets up as he shifted between your legs.

You were always a heavy sleeper. That’s why even when he pressed his mouth against you and swirled his tongue, your only response was a shift of your hips. He sighed against you, trying to remember a the last time he had felt so at home somewhere. The tournament had taken him away from you for far too long, and he had passed out as soon as he crawled into bed with you. He hadn’t had time to show you how much he had missed you, not properly. You knew, of course, because he had called you at least twice, cock in hand, begging to hear about your day. You didn’t say anything about it, but he was sure you knew that he just desperately needed your voice in his ear as he came.

His grip on your thighs was usually almost bruising, but now it was light, a gentle loop around your thighs to keep you from shutting him out in your sleep. He wondered if he could make you come without waking you up. After you had told him you wanted this, he researched it, of course. He knew it was possible. Judging by the way your breathing was picking up, he might have a chance. Your body stayed mostly still against the bed, weighed down by the anchor of sleep. He wondered if you were aware of what was happening. He wondered if the feeling between your legs carried and he was fucking you in your dreams.

He got a little careless as he watched your face for every small reaction. Your breathing was uneven and your brow just slightly furrowed. He was trying to be gentle, but he couldn’t help running his tongue sloppily from your entrance to your clit and sucking. It caused your body to tense, and your hips shifted just slightly. He thought for a moment that you might wake up and, though he’d be a little disappointed, he knew you would bury your hands in his hair and pull just the way he liked and he’d forget to mind after all. But you didn’t wake up, and he realized you were shaking. Holy shit, he had been right. You were coming, so gently and quietly that he might not have noticed if he wasn’t so familiar with what every flex of your body meant.

He closed his eyes and continued the gentle curl of his tongue, not stopping until your body went still and you let out a small sigh. He pulled his head away and wiped his mouth on the collar of his shirt, more than pleased with himself. He shifted back beside you and was once again reminded just how hard he was, more so now than ever. He wanted you, so badly, and he couldn’t wait until the morning. Fuck, it was technically morning, and you had given him the okay, and you were already so wet that you’d probably barely notice the gentle push of his cock if he just lifted your leg and slipped inside.

He settled down beside you and wrapped a hand around your waist, trying to gently coax you onto your side. It took a moment of careful touches, slowly pulling you closer to him until you rolled and settled, back flush against his chest. He smiled and brushed your hair away from the back of your neck, pressing a kiss right at the nape as he slipped an arm under your pillow. The other he used to hold your leg up, right under the knee until he could get close and line himself up with your entrance. He continued pressing barely there kisses to your neck as he retook hold of your leg and, as slowly as he could with what remained of his self control, pushed inside of you.

He gasped and leaned his face into your hair, trying to anchor himself before he continued moving. It had been far too long since he had been able to bury himself inside of you, and fuck he had missed it. The arm under your pillow came up to grasp your opposite shoulder, keeping you held tightly against him.

He gathered his thoughts and drew his hips back. He moved slowly, gently, grinding into you rather than thrusting. He wanted to drag this out, wanted it to last, because you were so pliable and felt so good, it would be a waste to not take advantage of it. Every tender movement felt like its own little universe, hanging in the dark and silence and disappearing on his next exhale.

The only thing that could tear him from that world was the subtle twitch of your fingers, the nuzzle of your face against the pillow, then, finally, the steadying of your breath, pulled out of the long, slow rhythm of sleep.

You let out a small, sleepy noise, almost like you were stretching, and slipped a hand back to bury in his hair.

“Omi,” you mumbled. He smiled against your skin and continued his quiet shift inside of you.

“Shh. I’ve got you.” He sighed heavily, appreciating the new wiggle of your hips, like you were trying to press closer, bury him deeper. He held your leg tighter and pushed father on his next thrust in, holding himself inside of you. You let out a startled gasp and tightened your hand in his hair. He groaned, deep in his chest. Fuck, you could tear his hair out and he’d probably just pick up the pace.

He resumed his movement, not afraid of going a little harder now that you were awake. You were still groggy, but the way your hands gripped his wrist and his curls told him you were with him, feeling every bit as desperate and wanting as he was. His breath was coming in pants now, right in your ear, and he could feel you shivering at the feeling.

“Fuck,” he sighed. “You’re so good. Gonna make me come.”

You responded with a quiet moan, barely registering his words over the deep, delicious ache between your legs.

His rutted into you a little faster, as quick as he could stand when the haze of sleep was lurking at the back of both your minds. He let himself groan into your ear, not caring how needy he sounded. You were so good, and you felt so good, and you pulled his hair a little harder and he couldn’t stand it anymore.

His arms were rigid around you and he pushed his hips flush against you as he came. He let out what he was sure was the most desperate, fucked-out sound he had ever made, barely able to breathe as he spilled inside of you. There he was again, suspended in time, the darkness swallowing every breath as the fuzzy feeling in his brain faded, then disappeared.

He was left panting against you, vaguely aware that he was sweaty and horribly hot and you were combing your hand through his hair rather than pulling in. He tipped his head against your shoulder and let out a breathy laugh.

“Morning,” he said. You turned your face back and he met you with a kiss, gentle and a little sloppy because of the exhaustion settling through his body.

“Hi,” you whispered, smiling against his lips. He kissed you quickly, once, twice, and again, missing your mouth entirely on the last one. You laughed and he started to withdraw from you. You grabbed his hip before he could go any farther.

“Stay,” you said. He didn’t have the energy to ask what you were talking about, but you could hear the confusion in his tired grunt. “Sleep, Omi. Come here.” You grabbed his arm and pulled it around your waist, forcing him to settle closer, if that was possible, and press his face against the back of your neck. His eyes wouldn’t stay open, no matter how hard he tried to fight them. An unwavering heavy feeling spread through his body as he listened to your slowing breath and felt fingers running slowly through his now tangled curls.

The last thing he heard before his mind shut off entirely was an amused, whispered “I missed you.”

#tw somnophilia #tw consensual noncon #I CANNOT STRESS THE CONSENSUAL PART OF THIS ENOUGH #sakusa kiyoomi smut #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa smut #sakusa x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader

619 notes · View notes

1kook · 3 years

Text

ZOOM CALL

⇢ meeting two

jeon jungkook x (f) reader

⇢ series masterlist

summary: Most notably, there’s one group project waiting for you, which leads you to Friday. Sitting at your desk, bright and early, absolutely dreading being assigned to your group. genre: fluff, slice of life, smut (tags tba) warnings: ITS A SLOW BURN OKAY...., sweetheart jk, campus crush jk, college crushes, social distancing, zoom -_-, jk owns a keroppi plush, oc thirsts over his hot bod, jk’s sweet attempts at flirting </3 he’s just 2 cute for his own good ratings: e for everyone <3 wc: 3.7k

notes: this took long bc i wrote one version but it was SO LAME u guys r lucky my friend and editor ( @kigurumu 🖤 ) stopped me from posting it. so then i had to reorganize my thoughts n b like girl. the ppl are waiting. get it together. anyway here’s zoom jk 😎

Being grouped with Jeon Jungkook (he/him) for your first class on the first day of your first Zoom semester truly sets the standard.

By no means do your other classes suck; they’re quite enjoyable, more relevant to your area of study. They’re familiar which makes them comfortable, your Zoom meetings filled with faces you’ve seen time and time again the last four years. The material interests you, so you definitely don’t have anything against them or your classmates.

That being said, no one is prepared for the awkwardness that comes with each and every Zoom meeting. You never thought you’d be embarrassed to turn your mic on— to speak in a class filled with your peers. And the meetings are all like that, filled with uncomfortable silences and endless black screens.

You wish there was a Jeon Jungkook (he/him) in every class.

Jungkook’s just got this bubbly aura to him, this magnetic presence that staples itself into the back of your mind with each passing day. No one fills a Zoom call like he does, making every person laugh and smile like him.

Wednesday rolls around and you find yourself a little disheartened when you don’t get sorted into the same randomized group as him again. Disappointment melts into annoyance when you find out how incompetent your other classmates are, refusing to speak in the small group or just completely clocking out all together. A lot of them didn’t do the reading— the one you stayed up all night doing —and your first partnered assignment of the semester finds you doing it all by yourself. Muted mics, black windows, complete radio silence; you hated it all.

You find yourself weirdly longing for Jeon Jungkook’s presence, even if he’s only there to talk about some movie he saw last night. No one is as much of a chatterbox as him, can’t even hold a candle to the way he draws everyone in with his mindless conversations. At least he speaks during Breakout Rooms, you think bitterly.

Anyway, the first week of classes ends and your brain is a frenzied mess. There’s schedules to memorize, professors to impress, assignments to plan out. There’s definitely no time to sit around and fantasize about the curly haired cutie in one of your general classes. The weekend is spent trying to organize your planner, filling in due dates and exam days ahead of time. It’s your last semester and you’re dead set on making it your best one yet. There’s a lot of written work this time around, analyses and research papers that need to be organized. The road ahead is manageable, but you’ll have to work hard to keep it that way for the next five months.

Most notably, there’s one group project waiting for you, which leads you to Friday. Sitting at your desk, bright and early, absolutely dreading being assigned to your group.

Jungkook is early this time, not like on Monday where he’d been one of the last to filter in, and he’s looking as chirpy as ever. Donning this horrendously hot pink shirt, completely unlike the neutral tones he’d worn during your last two meetings and that decorate his room, and the cutest pair of circle glasses sitting on his nose. He says his regularly scheduled ‘good morning’ to you all and receives a collective response from the rest of the class that not even your professor got.

Speaking of the professor, you’ve been giving him the stink eye this whole time. Not that he can tell, given the fact he’s probably miles away in his own home while you angrily glare at him through your webcam. It’s this old guy who’s decided to sort you all into semester long groups for the class, which is the absolute worst. These types of groups always go the same way: you make a group chat promising to study together, those plans fall through, and then everyone just leeches off of each other for homework answers. And in most cases, it’s you handing over your homework answers because no one else ever bothers to do anything. Sadly, it’s a routine you’ve had to suffer through many times in your academic career.

The thought makes you sick. Having to spend another semester being labeled as the bossy, nerdy dictator of the group? Not exactly how you wanted to spend the last few months of college, but there’s nothing you can do. Maybe this time around you’ll just let it be, won’t fight it (and by it, you mean your lazy classmates when they inevitably try to guilt trip you for homework) and simply let it run its course.

“I’m going to put you guys into Breakout Rooms with your new groups!” your professor claps excitedly, and then you and the rest of your classmates are forced to watch him lean too close to the camera as he begins clicking around to find the preset groups he’s assigned the class. “Remember, guys, this is it for the rest of the semester. So if something isn’t right, let me know by the end of today.”

Man, this was going to suck, you groan. The syllabus had said that the purpose of these groups was to keep you all connected with your classmates during these trying times, to give you the same opportunities in-person learning would. Frankly, you’re not too worried about making friends with everyone in this large class. Most of them are younger than you anyway, save for Jeon Jungkook (he/him) and a handful of others who are apparently in your year. Befriending lowerclassmen only to have to bid them adieu in a few months seems awfully sad, a little too heartbreaking. You really just want to get a good grade in this class, collect the last of your credits, and put this whole college experience behind you.

Your thoughts are wrapped up by the pop-up message that appears on screen.

The host is inviting you to join a Breakout Room: Group 12

You sigh, contemplate dropping this class for all of two seconds, before dutifully accepting the request. Worse comes to worst, you make up some lie to tell your professor that you’re allergic to group work and hope it works. (It won’t.)

You sit through the mandatory loading screen for a few seconds before being abruptly dumped into your new room, Group 12, or so the message had said. There’s no one else here yet, which isn’t really a surprise. A lot of your classmates are probably like you, scowling at the pop up message every time your professor sends you into small groups before accepting the request. So you chill by yourself, eyes tracing over your own mirrored image. The notes on last night’s reading are neatly laid out before you, your copy of the book off to the side.

Another beat and then, much to your surprise, Jeon Jungkook (he/him) is appearing in your room. “Oh,” he says, round eyes magnified by the thick lens of his glasses, the glare of the computer’s glow casting a funny shape across the lens that momentarily robs you of his pretty eyes. His pretty pink lips stretch into a smile, upper lip thinning out a bit when he flashes you those perfect teeth. “Hi, __,” he greets politely, bubbly.

It’s embarrassing how much his presence affects you, your back going ramrod straight in a terrible attempt to compose yourself. “Hi, Jungkook,” you manage to get out, fingers nervously reaching for something, anything, to ground yourself. They land on a pencil.

Jungkook doesn’t seem even the slightest bit aware of the commotion he causes within you. “I was really nervous for these groups,” he begins rambling right away, lips pushing down into an exaggerated frown as he shivers at the memory. “But I’m glad I got placed with someone hardworking like you!”

Despite how sweet he sounds, you’re not entirely sure if he’s buttering you up just to take advantage of your ‘hardworking’ attitude later down the road or if he’s genuinely being polite. The little information you know about Jungkook wants you to believe it is the latter; he’s very kind, sweet and nice in a way that makes everyone he speaks to feel warm. Still, for all you know this could be some elaborate ruse of his to make you trust him now and then convince you to do all the work for the rest of the semester.

Tentatively, you ask, “and how would you know that?” You try your best to keep your usual snappiness out of your voice, pose it simply out of curiosity. But everything you say or do feels like a stark contrast to Jungkook and his bubbliness.

His head tilts cutely to the side, imploring brown eyes looking at you for one hard second. And then, “I read your forum analysis from Wednesday,” he admits, breaking into a smile. Shy and tiny, bashfully looking down at his desk. “I thought your perspective on the piece was really interesting,” he says, lips pursing together as if he’s suddenly too embarrassed to admit such things to you.

Stunned, all you can manage is one slow nod. “Thank you,” you eventually choke out, trying to ward the heat away from your cheeks as Jungkook sheepishly nods back, cute smile still on his face.

“Oh, please,” he chuckles, raising his hand to rub at the back of his neck. “Don’t thank me!”

It is in this exact moment that you are suddenly made aware of two things.

One: despite his collection of soft sweaters and t-shirts, his bouncy curls and sweet smile, Jeon Jungkook’s body is neither as cute nor as soft as any of his belongings. In fact, Jeon Jungkook’s body is all hard planes and prominent veins. Arms beefy, biceps that bulge beneath the fabric of the short sleeve t-shirt he’s donned today. His shoulders fill out the material nicely, making him look broad and huge, but that’s not even the worst part, because—

—two: Jeon Jungkook is covered in ink. Dark streaks and swirls paint his forearms, curling around his elbow. Every inch of his pale skin is littered with tiny designs. They dance along the back of his hands, over his knuckles, and end at an unidentifiable point beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt. When he tugs at the neckline of his shirt in an effort to readjust it, you hope your eyes are deceiving you and that isn’t a hint of ink by his collarbone.

Your normal composure seems to slip away at the mere thought.

It’s Jungkook’s voice that brings you back, a soft timbre that asks, “aren’t we supposed to have someone else in our group?” You flinch as if you’ve been caught ogling him, never mind the fact he’s started mindlessly shuffling some papers around on his desk, not the slightest bit concerned with you.

“Oh— um, yes. I think,” you stammer, feeling like some creep for ogling your very cute, very sweet classmate. The memory of his inky skin nearly sends a shiver down your spine as you navigate back to the class syllabus. “We’re supposed to have at least three people,” you read off, glancing at the boy on your screen who frowns at the news.

“Do you think they dropped?” Given it was still only the first week of school, probably. There had been a fewer number of people in the call when it started, you remembered. Jungkook sighs, this rather light sound that ends in a hum. “Well, we can always wait a few minutes just in case.”

So you wait, nervously bouncing your leg up and down. It’s not awkward, or at least, not as awkward as it would be with anyone else. The other week you had silently sat with another classmate in a one-on-one discussion and hadn’t uttered a word for five minutes. It wasn’t because you didn’t care about the class, but because said classmate had been tapping away on their phone the entire time and hadn’t even responded to your simple greeting. That was awkward.

With Jungkook it’s more weird than awkward. You can tell the silence makes him uncomfortable because he keeps doing these tiny inhales like he’s about to speak, followed by a little head shake where he seemingly stops himself from saying anything at all. He wants to talk, very badly it seems, but holds back for some odd reason.

He’s scribbling on some sheet of paper, leaning forward to give you a view of the top of his head. From this angle, his shirt hangs forward and a silver necklace falls out from beneath the neckline, thuds against the table. And then your suspicions are nearly confirmed, and oh god, is that a chest piece—

You quickly look away.

Robbed of his handsome face and feeling like you’ll die if you look at his body any longer, you settle for your newly acquired favorite pastime: inspecting your classmates’ rooms over Zoom. Yes, you’ll admit it is incredibly nosy, but what else can you do? You can only look at your professor for so long until you inevitably grow bored, attention drifting off to your classmates tiny windows. And with no professor in sight, just gorgeous Jeon Jungkook, you quickly begin your examination of his bedroom.

Jungkook’s room is pretty much the same as you remember it, rather neat and plain. There’s not a lot going on in terms of decoration, which is a little surprising to say the least. Over the course of the week, you’ve watched your classmates’ dormitories and bedrooms gradually change, decorations and tapestries decorating the walls, mountains of pillows added to their beds. It’s only natural that everyone has an innate need to show off who they are now more than ever, and you thought Jungkook would be the same.

Apparently not.

Aside from the guitar you had spotted on Monday, his little dorm room remains unchanged. Blank walls, grayscale sheets. The same perfectly fluffed pillows and then—

A tiny Keroppi plush smack dab in the middle of his bed.

It’s adorable but a little out of place amongst Jungkook’s rather masculine decorations (or lack thereof). A tiny green doll sitting by his pillows, cute striped shirt and ridiculously dopey smile.

Leaning forward, you unmute yourself and conversationally say, “I love your Keroppi.”

At the sudden sound of your voice, Jungkook abruptly straightens up, glasses practically at the very tip of his nose. Eyes wide, it takes him a second to process your words before jerkily whipping around to stare at the aforementioned item. “Oh,” he jumps, slowly looking at his screen again, lips pulled into a tight line. “Um… it’s not mi—“

“It’s adorable,” you add, propping your chin in your palm, absolutely endeared with the rosy color that paints his cheeks, fades down the column of his neck.

He squirms, hurriedly pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He looks like he’ll deny it again, nervously nibbling at his lower lip, before eventually he settles with a sigh. “I won it from a crane machine,” he confesses with a sheepish huff of laughter, rolling backwards to the edge of his bed to snatch it from its spot.

(Of course he manspreads as he sits, dark jeans hugging his thighs as he rolls back your way. His arm looks so strong, covered in all that ink, you nearly drool.)

“It’s cute, isn’t it?” he says, abandoning his embarrassment as he shakes the little figure around, makes it look like it’s dancing for you. “My mom said it looks like me.”

At that, you laugh. Loud and boisterous because you were definitely not expecting Jungkook to say that, such an odd but weirdly fitting comparison that has you looking at the doll in his hands with renewed interest. And through the pixelated screen, you can see the similarities: Jungkook does have the same smile as Keroppi.

“Your mom was right,” you agree, wiping a faux tear from the corner of your eye. “Very cute.”

Jungkook’s got this big goofy smile on, shaking his head in disbelief that you would ever dare agree with his mom. Like he’s genuinely enjoying himself, you think, oddly proud to have evoked that reaction from him. Granted, Jungkook always looks like he’s pretty happy during class, but it feels nice knowing that you were (confirmed) the reason why.

A little caught up with the bumbling feeling in your chest, you’re not expecting his next words. “Does that mean I’m cute?” he asks, still with that same dopey smile on his face.

It’s a bold statement you wouldn’t have expected from him, someone who seems content being the world’s friend, but apparently Jeon Jungkook also craves compliments.

Slowly, you nod. “...yes,” you say, trying to keep the tumultuous emotions inside of you at bay while you grant him this one compliment. Outwardly, you give him what you hope is an obviously feigned look of disbelief, managing to lace it with a little amusement as you shake your head at his inquiry. On the inside, your mind and heart are a thundering racetrack, the roar of the engines and the screams of the crowd enough to momentarily make you lose your senses. “Very cute,” you repeat, hoping he can’t hear the same pounding of your heartbeat in your throat and in your ears as you do. “Like a little frog.”

Jungkook graces your robotic response with the most boyish laugh, head tossed back as one loud cackle (because, really, there is no other way to describe the sound that tears itself from his throat) escapes him, curls bouncing back from the movement. “Cute like a frog,” he wheezes, seemingly to himself as he shakes his head with a grin, scooting closer to the camera again. “That’s a new one.”

“You set yourself up for it,” you defend, busying yourself with the papers spread out in front of you before Jungkook can distract you any further. “Anyway!” you announce, neatly lining the papers up. “Our group.”

Jungkook does his best to wipe the glee off his face, but even as he reaches around for his things, it’s still there. “Right,” he agrees, “we have to, um—“ a huff of laughter “—group contract! Or, well, partner project.”

Briefly, you consider calling in your professor to inform him of your missing partner. He had said to let him know by the end of today if something was wrong. But, honestly, you didn’t see a problem with your group the way it was now. While you can only hope he’ll turn out to be as dedicated to his work as you, as it stands now, there weren’t any major red flags surrounding Jungkook’s character.

Besides, you didn’t mind being with him for the rest of the semester.

You nod, forcing yourself to ignore the glimmer in his eyes when he looks at you through the screen. “I think it’s safe to say it’ll just be the two of us, which I don’t mind,” you say, glancing at the time on the corner of your screen to see five minutes have passed since you agreed to wait. “Do you?”

On screen, Jungkook profusely shakes his head, curls bouncing all over the place. “Nope,” he hums. “I don’t mind at all,” he reassures you, resting his chin in his palm as he regards you, and then sweetly adds, “it’ll be nice with just us, __.”

Right.

You gulp, heart fluttering at the dreaminess he exudes through your screen, the soft strand of hair that falls over his forehead, tickles his brow bone when he flashes you another smile. He was so handsome. Before you say anything silly, you quickly attempt to move on. “But it does make us more of a duo than a group.”

Jungkook looks away from his screen for the first time in what feels like forever and you finally let your heart rest for a second. “A duo,” he murmurs, shuffling through his papers. “Like Mickey and Minnie?”

You nearly choke on your spit, coughing to hide the surprise from his rather cute suggestion. He’s not even looking at you, doesn’t even realize the absolute shock he’s thrown you in by comparing the two of you to one of the most famous couples— that’s what they are, a goddamn couple, not a duo! the words mean two completely different things! —in the world. Instead, Jungkook is humming the theme song to Drake & Josh.

This man was dangerous for your heart.

After having felt all the emotions in the world in the span of ten seconds, you eventually gather the courage to say, “sure,” and quickly try to move the conversation along. “We just need to, um, make some ground rules and responsibilities for us to follow.”

Jungkook nods, finally glancing up again, but not at you. He’s glaring at some point behind his computer, brows furrowed together as he begins brainstorming on his own. You try to, really, but his lips pout adorably when he’s deep in thought, and they’re just so pink and look so soft and would feel like—

“Well, we should probably exchange numbers first,” Jungkook says, interrupting your spiraling thoughts with a new topic to spiral over. He tilts his head to the side, brown eyes focused on you.

“Yes, of course,” you stammer, fumbling for your phone as Jungkook lets out a soft yay at your acceptance of his request. Quickly, he recites his number and you type it in with trembling hands into the number pad, giving him a quick call so he can have your number as well.

You save him right away, just his name followed by the class you share with him. Not like you know any other Jeon Jungkooks, and if you did, you doubt anyone could ever leave such an impact like this Jeon Jungkook.

“__, look,” Jungkook calls, that same excitement lacing his already lovely voice, and you raise your head up at the screen again. He’s waving his phone over his camera, so you don’t get to see his face when he says, “It’s a little mouse emoji and a pink bow— just like Minnie!”

Dangerous for your heart and, most likely, the death of you this semester.

#networkbangtan #bangtanhq #jungkook fic #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #bts smut #bts fic #jjk smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk♡#mine

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shig-a-shig-ah · 3 years

Text

LAYING CLAIM

» pairing: dabi x fem!reader

» cw: dubcon, revoked consent, noncon (we’re going on a journey, okay?), rimming, anal fingering, anal sex, crying, gratuitously fanon characterization. 18+, minors DNI.

» a/n: Started this months and months ago, and since I’m finally getting around to wrapping some WIPs, I guess you can have it now. Thanks @thebiggergroove for beta-reading!

» wc: 5.3k

» ao3 mirror

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The thing about Dabi is he's not usually a possessive guy. Fucking is fucking, as far as he's concerned—it doesn't really matter who is doing it with whom as long as everyone is getting off on it. But goddamn if there isn't something about you that makes him want to make you his.

And he's gotten that, more or less. It took some sweet talking and cajoling, and a few late nights where he made you come until you couldn't see straight, but you agreed not to go sleeping with anyone else. Sure, you've made him promise the same, but that's fine. Not that he's going to actually stop, of course, but he goes out on recruiting missions alone and he figures what you don't know won't hurt you.

That's all enough to satisfy him, at least for a little while. But then a few weeks pass and there it is again: that stupid jealousy and all those unbidden thoughts about the people you were with before him. People he knows. You never talk in too much detail about your past hookups, but he's not stupid, is all too aware that he's not the first one in this ragged band of miscreants that you've crawled into bed with. You've fucked Jin, and Shigaraki, and probably even Magne, god rest her soul—Dabi hadn't missed the way the two of you had huddled up giggling in the corner of the old bar one night, disappearing together unusually early, making those bedroom eyes at each other. And in theory that's fine. Nothing wrong with two girls having fun together, after all. Hell, bi chicks are hot and Dabi wouldn't mind taking advantage of that someday.

But first he needs to find a way to get the image of you with your legs spread for half the League out of his goddamn head.

If he's being honest, it's Shigaraki who bothers him the most. Magne is dead. Jin is a decent dude and, Dabi has to imagine, tame as a kitten in the sack. But Shigaraki, well...Dabi can tell just by looking at the guy that he's a freak, and the idea of you riding Shigaraki's dry, crusty dick, of letting him do who-knows-what filthy shit to you? It just gets to him.

And then Toga has to suggest that stupid game and go putting ideas in his head.

You're all sitting around the crumbling office space that passes for a hideout, drinking to celebrate the League's first successful double-amputation (because fuck that germophobic, transphobic prick), and blondie is just begging to play a drinking game. Normally Dabi doesn't go for that shit—why anyone needs an excuse to get wasted is beyond him—but he's in a good mood, and you make that adorable pouty face as you tell him that you played in college, that it's really fun, and somehow he finds himself sitting in a circle on the dusty floor with the rest of you losers playing 'I haven't' or whatever the fuck it's called.

It's all bland shit to start. Toga's never driven a car, Shigaraki's never gone to school. But, after you've made your way around the circle once, everyone seems to be loosening up and Spinner takes one for the team by getting to the interesting shit and admitting he's never slept with a girl. It spurs a moment of awkward silence made all the worse by his red face and obvious self-consciousness about being a virgin, but then Compress stage-whispers "Neither have I," before winking salaciously at the blushing lizard and taking a dramatic pull from his beer bottle. It's enough to lighten the mood.

After that, Dabi's forced to admit it's a decent game. There's not much he hasn't done sexually or criminally, and since those are the two topics everyone focuses on, he finds himself getting hammered faster than usual. It's a good thing too—his buzz makes it easier to ignore the look you and Shigaraki exchange when Jin announces that he's never tried watersports, easier to pretend his gut isn't twisting at the knowing smirk on your leader's face as he raises his beer bottle to drink and you follow suit.

That particular moment makes it all the more surprising when, on your next turn, you hide an embarrassed face behind your hand and announce that you've never taken it in the ass.

Dabi can't stop thinking about it the rest of the night. Obsessing over it, and the idea of being your first, your only, even if only in some less than conventional way. The thing is, it's downright tame in comparison to a lot of what you two get up to, so barely even kinky that it's almost impossible to believe you've never tried it. Sure, you've never done it together, but he'd just figured neither of you were all that into it, since it hadn't come up when you were doing lewd shit to each other.

That kind of sex is fine from his perspective, but only fine. He doesn't actively seek it out because in his mind nothing beats the feel of being balls-deep in a warm pussy, but that doesn't mean he hasn't done it. He's hooked up with plenty of girls that were into it and has always been happy to oblige; hell, he's even taken it more than once, on account of the fact that when it comes to the bedroom he's willing to try anything twice.

But doing it with you? Well, that thought sticks. The two of you finally go to bed and Dabi's so turned on by the idea of your virgin ass that he can't help testing the waters, prodding teasingly at that tight hole with one spit-slicked finger until you're squirming away and whining. He doesn't manage to convince you right then, but he makes those puppy dog eyes that are far more effective than they have any right to be, and you agree to give it a go in the future.

"Not here," you specify, the words fuzzy on your drunken tongue. "Someplace nicer, with a real bed." You already have your reservations, and you certainly don't relish the idea of undertaking that particular venture now, on a worn mattress in this falling apart building, with its paper-thin walls and complete lack of hot water. Between your booze-fueled haze and the seeming interminability of the League's poverty, you mostly forget about that casual promise by the following morning.

But Dabi doesn't. He picks up a small bottle of lube the next day and carries it around in his pocket shamelessly, a little reminder that he has something to look forward to besides roasting that prick Endeavor, and he strokes himself off to the idea more than he's proud to admit as he waits for the League to move on to better things. He can be patient, when he needs to be.

That patience takes a toll though, and the minute the League settles into their new digs in Re-Destro's sprawling villa, where there's actually privacy and clean, comfortable beds, Dabi shows up at your door with a cheshire grin and every intention of finally getting something from you that's just for him.

You grimace when you remember that promise, try briefly to talk him out of it even, but he isn't so easily dissuaded. It's made all the harder by the fact that you can't give him a specific reason why you've never tried it, beyond that it seems uncomfortable and you hadn't particularly enjoyed the couple instances when you'd allowed someone to slip a finger or two in there.

"C'mon, baby girl," Dabi coos, his breath hot in your ear as he pins you to the wall, working two unnaturally warm fingers into your cunt. "I'll make sure it's good for you. Be gentle, get you nice and warmed up first, all that sweet shit."

It really is unfair how persuasive he can be when he fixes those pleading turquoise eyes on you. The way the pads of his fingers are curling just right deep inside isn't helping either, and he teases you like that until you give in to his cajoling, though you still insist on waiting a couple nights so that you can do your research and make sure you're entirely prepared. Dabi demonstrates his appreciation by burying his face in your cunt and not surfacing for air until you've come three times and are begging for a break.

When the night finally arrives, Dabi's feeling positively giddy. He slips into your bedroom with a bottle of wine and a couple glasses he's brought, a little something to help you relax because he's a gentleman when he wants to be. It should be good booze too—he lifted it from Re-Destro's private stash, and he's certain baldy doesn't drink anything that costs less than ¥30,000. Of course, Re-Destro doesn't love sharing either, but the uptight prick is too scared of Shigaraki to complain about anything the League does. They all take advantage of that, because they can and because it's fun to watch him bite his tongue when they piss him off.

You don't make it easy for Dabi to focus on pouring the drinks though, not when you're reclining in that armchair by the window, freshly showered and fidgeting nervously. He was half-erect before he got here from just thinking about what he was going to do to you, and the sight of you acting like you're some blushing virgin spurs him all the way to rock-hard. By the time your glasses are close to empty, he's straining uncomfortably in his pants, and can't fight back his impatience any longer.

"What do you think, doll?" he murmurs, setting his glass to the side and standing up, shrugging his jacket off before leaning down to ghost his lips over your neck. "You ready to move this to the bed?"

The way you chew at your lower lip anxiously before nodding makes his dick throb.

You empty your glass with one final, large swallow, your heart racing as you rise. You know it's stupid—you and Dabi have fucked countless times and a lot of it hasn't exactly been vanilla—but it's been a long time since you've actually tried anything new. His obvious excitement doesn't help either, paradoxically; it leaves you fretting about what will happen if you're somehow bad at this, or if you can't take it and have to stop. You've never really worried about disappointing him before, but now the thought weighs acutely on your mind.

It's with halting steps that you approach the bed and then, when you can't realistically drag your feet any longer, you finally tug the nightgown you're wearing off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor to reveal what's underneath.

"Damn, baby girl," Dabi breathes, looking you up and down. You'd figured that since it was a special occasion you might as well dress up, donning a strappy bra and panties. They're little more than elaborate, crisscrossing pieces of lace, all white since he'd seemed so fixated on this pseudo-innocent, first-time act. His reaction doesn't disappoint, eyes lighting up as he stares at you hungrily.

You let yourself fall back on the bed, nestling against the many pillows. The look on his face has your stomach fluttering, and the wine has helped you to relax a bit despite your nerves, a pleasant warmth spreading throughout your body. It's joined by a different kind of heat when you feel the mattress dip beneath Dabi's weight as he positions himself over you, one knee resting between your thighs, just barely brushing against your center, a hint of what's to come.

"You look so good I could just eat you up," Dabi whispers hotly against your ear before tracing his lips over your jaw. Even though he wants to take his time, let himself savor this, it's taking every ounce of patience he has to keep the promise he made to get you worked up and ready for him, to not to tear those pretty bits of satin and lace off and have his way with you right then.

You whine eagerly when his mouth slants hungrily over yours, savoring the feel of those mismatched lips, the way the rough skin of the bottom one contrasts so deliciously with the top. Hot hands run over your sides as the kiss deepens, your tongues tangling together, and you moan against him.

When you finally break for air, Dabi moves his lips to your throat, his tongue lapping at your pulse before he sinks his teeth into you. He loves to mark you up, loves making sure everyone can see that you're indisputably his, and it's even hotter now that he knows he's going to fuck you in a way no one else has. You're shivering beneath him as he works, your hand tugging insistently at his hair, and Dabi lets out a low, throaty growl.

"Guess I'm not the only one who's eager, huh?"

Your hips tilt in response, pressing needily into his firm thigh, and Dabi can feel the skin on his cheeks straining against his staples as he grins. He traces one hand up over your ribs, cupping at your supple breasts, teasing your hardening nipple through the flimsy fabric of your bra. Those deft fingers work under the seam of your lingerie as he shifts his weight, increasing the pressure against your center while he pinches and tugs at the peaks of your breasts until you're whimpering, spreading slick along his leg even through your thin panties.

Dabi pulls away abruptly, rolling onto his back and tugging at you to change positions, shaking his head when you move to mount his hips.

"Come here, baby girl," he says, his tongue tracing over his bottom lip. "Like I said, I wanna eat you up."

The promise in those words sends a bolt of heat straight through your core as he guides you to straddle his face, hot breath tickling your inner thighs. One calloused thumb brushes your clit lightly through your underwear, blue eyes sparkling when your breath hitches at that soft touch. When he pulls that useless fabric to the side and runs his tongue over your already-damp slit, you shudder.

Dabi lets out a pleased groan at your reaction and gets to work more earnestly, lapping at your sensitive nub, licking and sucking until you're moaning and only then shifting a little so that he can lap at your insides, that same rough thumb replacing the pressure of his tongue on your clit. It strokes firm circles as he buries that hot, wet muscle inside you, the metal barbell there teasing your inner walls as you grind involuntarily against it. You can't help but whine when he withdraws it, but that disappointment is quickly replaced by you startling as that same wet muscle extends further back to tease at your puckered entrance.

"A-ah, Dabi, wait," you protest, your face heating up self-consciously almost at once.

Dabi pauses, shifting just enough to keep his reply from being muffled as one warm hand runs reassuringly up your thigh. "I don't think I can help myself, doll," he says, his slick-coated lips splitting into a wide grin, "you just taste too good."

That heat in your face worsens as he dives back in, not even waiting for you to respond before he's flexing his tongue to poke at that tight ring of muscle. You still try to squirm away, feeling unprepared for this. You hadn't even considered it among the possible activities were volunteering to participate in, but Dabi is holding you firmly in place with the hand not working at your clit, and when another whine of protest escapes you, it's weaker than the first. The foreign sensation of his tongue against your neglected hole has you hyperaware of the press of his thumb at your apex, and you can feel tension building in your core even as you writhe in embarrassment.

It's as though he knows, too, and you suppose maybe he does; after all, he's the one who's done this before. He thrusts his tongue a little deeper, rolling your clit between two hot fingers with enough pressure to cut off any further protests. A long moan is the only sound you can muster as you spill over the edge, your thighs clenching around his head and your hips jerking shakily as you ride out your climax with his tongue still buried obscenely in your rear.

Dabi's face is covered in your juices by the time he slides from between your thighs, and he wipes it away carelessly with one arm as he repositions you again, pinning you on your back and wasting no time peeling away your now-soaked panties. He grins at the sight of your glistening folds and swollen clit before stripping off most of his own clothes, kicking them unceremoniously to the side and relaxing between your legs, kissing at your still-trembling thighs.

He teases at your sensitive cunt with his fingers, coating them in your juices as you whimper. "Ready for a little more?" he asks, and you nod despite the fact that your cheeks are still burning from before and your stomach is knotting with nerves.

"Just...go slow, okay?"

"Of course, baby girl," he promises, "I told you I'd take good care of you." With that, he starts to work you open, dipping one finger into your tight hole just until he reaches the first knuckle, working it in and out slowly. His other hand toys at your clit, stroking and rolling that puffy nub again, making you mewl.

Dabi waits until you're relaxed before trying any more, pulling away from you just long enough to dig the lube from the pocket of his discarded pants, coating his fingers with it. He works that lone finger deeper this time, in and out until it's buried to the last knuckle.

The sensation is strange, but not entirely unpleasant; even if you think you'd rather have that finger curling in your cunt, the slight stretch is still adding to the faint throb already growing inside you, the one that worsens when his thumb returns to your apex.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Dabi growls when one well-placed stroke of his thumb has you clenching lightly around his finger. He ruts his hips against the sheets, trying vainly to find some relief for his aching member, but it's not enough—he needs to feel you, needs the vice-like grip clutching his fingers to be wrapped around his cock, and he needs it soon.

You feel him withdraw to add more lube, and then he's fingering you again, adding another digit to stretch you wider. It comes with a stab of discomfort when he forces his way past the second knuckle, and you reflexively try to pull back. "Dabi, that's too much."

He abandons his soothing attentions to your clit, one warm palm pressing you tight against the mattress to keep you in place, stroking soothingly at your hip. His breath tickles over your inner thigh as he chuckles softly. "If you can't take this, how are you ever gonna take me, hmm?" he says teasingly. "You're doing great, baby, just relax."

You will yourself to unclench, trying to picture Dabi's satisfied face once you're taking him, that adoring look he sometimes gives you, the one that you relish. Your efforts are only marginally effective, but Dabi keeps pushing deeper, fucking you slowly but insistently with those fingers, and when you don't complain again, his thumb returns to caressing your sex.

"That's a good girl." Dabi picks up the pace, cursing under his breath. "You're doing so good."

You're wriggling against his hand now, trying to increase the friction at your center, not quite minding the foreign sensation of his fingers and the uncanny fullness they bring so much now that there's heat thrumming in your core. "Y-yeah, like that," you pant encouragingly, and Dabi grins.

"That doing it for you?" he purrs. "Think you can take more?"

You start to shake your head—the stretch now feels like all you can handle—but Dabi's already adding a third slick finger, shoving it in with less restraint than before. You feel more than discomfort this time when three knuckles breach your asshole, and it quickly dampens the arousal that had been steadily building. "Dabi, slow down," you gasp.

"Aw, are you sure you can't handle it?" His blue eyes meet yours, pupils blown wide with arousal as he looks you over with the hungry gaze. "'Cause if I'm being honest, it feels like you're trying to suck me in. Like this greedy little hole wants to get fucked."

The huskiness of his voice sends a shiver down your spine, even as another whine of discomfort escapes you. For just a second his expression darkens slightly, but then he's slowing his movements, twisting his fingers instead of thrusting them in and out.

"Better?" he asks, and you think you catch an edge of impatience in his voice.

It is better though, a little at least, enough that you can focus on the way your cunt flutters every time his thumb strokes over your clit. So you just nod; it's not like this wasn't bound to be a little unpleasant at points, right?

Dabi's smile stretches wider, his thumb working faster. A mewl slips from between your lips and Dabi takes that as encouragement, his fingers resuming their persistent thrusts. It's still uncomfortable, though not quite as bad as when he started, and your teeth sink into your lower lip to bite back your complaints. You let your eyes fall closed instead, trying to focus on his attentions to your hooded nub, on the heat that's pooling in your lower belly. You're inching towards another release, and you let a hand lift to your breast, tweaking at the pebbled flesh of one nipple to help yourself along.

"D-dabi, I'm close," you stammer, your hips bucking against his hand.

"Yeah?" His movements speed up, his voice breathy and excited. "Do it, baby girl. Come for me and then I'm gonna fuck this tight little ass of yours."

You swallow hard, trying not to dwell on those words for now—you can tell you've loosened up more, tolerating the jab of his fingers, but his cock is substantially larger than those, all too intimidating. Thankfully, it's not hard to remain distracted, to focus only on your approaching peak.

Dabi can feel that orgasm rip through you when it hits, your asshole clenching around his fingers as you keen, and it's then that he reaches the limits of his patience. He needs you now, needs the thrill of burying himself in your tight ass and claiming you for his own, of reaching his own release deep inside and then watching his seed spill out afterwards. What a satisfying sight that will be.

He scrambles up from between your legs to catch your lips with his, fumbling his boxers off as his tongue invades your mouth. When he pulls away, his eyes are bright, needy. "Ready for me?" he asks.

You're not, not really, but you can see the fervor in his eyes, hear the urgency in his voice, and you convince yourself that he won't be able to work you open much more with his fingers no matter what. Your agreement doesn't matter anyway—he's already rolling you onto your side and slotting his chest against your back, his straining erection poking at the cleft between your thighs.

"Like this?" you ask, surprised by the choice of position.

"Just like this," he pants in your ear. His teeth nibble at your lobe as he slicks his cock generously with lube. "Want you spooned against me so I can see those cute faces you make, feel you squirming when you take me."

And fuck, when he slips one hand back down to finger your asshole one last time, it doesn't disappoint—your body ripples against him when that invasion catches you off guard, and he can see the way your lips part obscenely as you gasp at his touch. His fingers abandon your tight hole almost as quickly as they'd entered, and then Dabi is aligning himself with your entrance, using the last of his restraint not to slam his hips forward and bury himself inside with a single thrust.

You can feel the spongy head of his glans, and the slick coolness of the ring that adorns his tip, prodding at your rear. One of his arms worms its way under your side, his hand groping distractedly at your breasts as you tense in anticipation.

"Relax, baby girl," he murmurs, but he doesn't wait for you to even try. He's already slipping in, moving slowly until he encounters resistance an inch or so inside, and then pausing.

He has to struggle to keep his composure. Even like this, with not even the full head of his cock in your ass, his balls are tightening, just the thought of what he's doing nearly enough to send him over the brink. He waits until he's sure that won't happen and then starts moving, pushing insistently to work you open around his length with shallow thrusts.

"A-ah, Dabi, g-go easy," you stutter, already squirming. You can feel your body resisting the intrusion, so much larger than his fingers, and it aches slightly every time he tries to breach that inner ring.

"I am, baby, don't worry. I'll take care of you." His cheek is nuzzling against yours, his lips kissing and sucking wherever he can reach, but his motions don't change at all even as he murmurs so sweetly. He only slings one arm over your hips, toying lazily at your clit. That attention helps you relax, helps distract you a little, but it's not enough to prepare you for when he drives himself in further, finally surging past that taut band of muscle.

The invasion brings a sharp pain, one that has you crying out. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, your body reflexively contorting to try and escape the cause of that hurt, but his arms tighten around you, holding you in place as he continues to work himself deeper with every thrust.

"Dabi, that hurts." Your words are sharper this time as each stroke sends another unpleasant throb through your overstretched hole, but his only response is to plunge the fingers rubbing at your clit into your dripping cunt.

"Shh, you're doing great." He curls his fingers, stroking against that spongy spot deep inside. It makes you writhe, but that does nothing to address the pain between your legs as he fucks you.

"Dabi, don't, that's not helping, I—"

"It's okay, baby girl, you're taking me so well," Dabi coos. You'll adjust, he knows you will—you're usually up for anything, of course you can take this. And fuck, there's no way he can stop now, not when it's even better than he'd imagined—hotter and softer, your pillowy walls enveloping his length every time he plunges into you, the exquisite tightness of your entrance massaging his shaft with each thrust.

"I'm not— I don't— I don't want to do this anymore." You can hear the desperate edge in your voice now. Your heart is racing and there's a cold sweat forming on your skin as tears of pain and confusion start to leak down your cheeks. "Dabi, stop."

"Shh, shh, you're fine. You—fuck—you feel so amazing. 'S never been this good with anyone else, fuck."

"I don't care, I don't want this." You can't understand what's happening, why he's not listening. You twist your head to look at him, pleading with your eyes, but he's barely even focusing on you. His blue eyes are glazed and half-lidded as his lips wander over your shoulders and your neck, all the while murmuring those useless reassurances against your skin. You're thrashing now, your feet scrambling for purchase on the sheets as you try frantically to pull away, but he keeps his tight grip on you, one of his legs hooking around your own to hold you in place. "Dabi, I said stop!"

He shushes you again, rutting into you harshly, and a choked sob escapes you when he bottoms out inside you, his hips flush against your backside as you struggle against him. You feel sick to your stomach, and it only worsens when he pulls out until nothing but his tip remains, then drives himself back in with one agonizingly rough thrust.

You keep begging, pleading, wracking your brain and trying every past safe word you can recall, but he only continues to pound into you, his breathing erratic as he pants in your ear. "It's okay, baby. You're taking my cock like such a good girl. You're—ngh—making me feel so good."

The ache between your legs is diminishing slightly as you adjust to his girth, your body entirely unconcerned with whether you want that or not. He's still fingering your sopping cunt too, his palm grinding against your oversensitive clit with each plunge of his long digits, the lewd squelching sound of those attentions mingling with the sharp slap of his hips against your ass as he fucks you.

"You like this?" he asks, but you know he's not really asking. "You like knowing I'm the only one? That I'm making you mine, just mine, just like how it should be?"

"Dabi, stop. Please stop." Your appeals are feeble now, far more for yourself than for him as you continue to utter them between quiet sobs. Dabi's somewhere far away, awash in the tight heat of your ass and the satisfaction of finally staking his claim on you, aware of your supplications but not hearing them, not really.

You slump, still sobbing, and let him take what he wants. His attentions to your cunt have a coil tightening in your gut, but when your climax hits it's perfunctory and mechanical, no real pleasure to be found even as your hips jerk and your holes spasm, a joyless whine passing from your lips.

No real pleasure for you, at least. But fuck, the feel of you squeezing around his cock as you come is what Dabi has been waiting for, your insides massaging his length as though desperate for him to decorate your walls with his cum. It's a gift he's glad to grant—he rocks his hips more urgently, keeping his thrusts shallow now so that he's sure to get it all deep inside.

"Fuck," he groans against your neck. "Gonna make me come, baby girl. That what you want? Want me to fill you up?" You shake your head, but his movements are already growing spurtive and erratic, his grunts louder and throatier, and then you can feel his cock jerking inside you, a hot rush of cum flooding your guts.

Dabi doesn't stop then, either, keeps fucking his seed into you until he's softening, not quite able to work himself in and out of your tight, abused hole any longer, and only then does he finally pull out, a dribble of cum leaking obscenely down your thigh.

You're sniffling, drawing shaky breaths, and you try to pull away the moment his arms relax around you. They only tighten again, his lips planting soft kisses along your temple.

"Shh," he murmurs. The sound of his shushing makes you want to scream. One hand lifts to wipe at the tears on your cheeks. "You were so good, baby girl, there's no need to cry. You were fucking incredible." He means it too, doesn't think he's ever come so hard in his life as he did now, making you his.

Dabi can't wait to do it again.

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi x y/n #mha dabi #bnha dabi #dabi #dabi smut #dabi fanfic #fanon dabi #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha smut #bnha fanfic #bnha reader insert #reader insert #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon #tw: crying

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sparklysung · 3 years

Text

✨ADRENALINE RUSH – n.j.m.✨

pairing – na jaemin x female!reader

genre – smut, slight angst | non-idol!au, school!au

warnings – good boy!virgin!jaemin, bad girl!experienced!reader, corruption kink, unprotected sex (wrap it up guys), breeding kink, slight exhibitionism (library), creampie, marking, overstimulation

word count – 3.416 words

note – i got too much into it lol. it turned out so long, i’m sorry for that. i do hope you like it, i’ve been working on it for a few days now and it’s been rough. i’m hoping there aren’t too many errors, and if there are i apologize in advance, i know they are annoying. either way enjoy!

summary – as the local bad girl, your reputation was rather infamous. jaemin knew this and so he tried his best to stay away from you. but after getting paired up for a genetics project, he didn’t stand a chance against your desire to ruin his innocence.

taglist – @junguwuuu , @prvncejxon, @carelessshootanonymous

part i ; part ii

you were mindlessly playing with your pen, doodling on the margins of your notebook, ignoring completely what your genetics professor was explaining on the board in the front of the classroom.

that’s how class usually was for you; not paying attention to anything, just messing around with your highlighters, drawing more doodles to add to your collection or observing your classmates –not in a creepy way, though–. your professor wasn’t that clueless for you to nap until the end of the class, so you took advantage of whatever could keep you awake.

when your hand started to cramp due to the constant movement, you started looking around the room with a bored expression, letting your thoughts go to anything and everything that seemed the tiniest bit interesting. that was until he caught your eye.

na jaemin. perfect na jaemin. excellent grades, the teacher’s pet, always so polite to everyone. the type of guy every parent would want their daughter to date and the perfect role model.

and you were the opposite. you never really cared about school; getting high scores was useless from your point of view, so you never took it seriously. you were used to sneaking out of your house to attend parties and going home drunk with a different guy each weekend –cause life is short and why not–. your lifestyle earned you a ‘bad girl’ reputation, as well as the protagonism of multiple not-so-nice rumours.

you two were so different from one another, belonged to completely different worlds.

that’s why you were so intrigued by him.

it’s not like this was the first time you notice him, you can’t just not notice him. he was gorgeous, to say the least; perfect face, flawless skin, sparkly round eyes adorned with long eyelashes, pink plush lips, fluffy hair with soft dark locks that fell beautifully on his forehead, framing the soft expression on his face. oh yeah, how could you forget that long neck of his, with a prominent adam’s apple that made your mouth water with the thought of marking it with purplish bites. you’ve wanted to ruin him since the first day you laid eyes on him, make him break under your touch and need you as much as he needs oxygen to breathe.

“so, before the class comes to an end, i’m going to assign you in pairs for the project i was talking to you about a few minutes ago.” groans of annoyance were heard from all around the room, finally making you pay attention.

as the professor began mentioning the pairs, your attention drifted once again towards jaemin. he looked genuinely interested in what was being said; eyebrows furrowed in concentration while waiting for his name to be called.

“kim sohee and lee donghyuck,” your eyes wandered down toward his broad shoulders, strong arms and slender fingers. your teeth nibbled with your bottom lip, nails sinking against the palm of your hand as you felt your panties grow damp by the sole idea of him fingering you.

“na jaemin and y/l y/n,” your head snapped first in the direction of your professor, and then to his, who looked rather nervous sitting down a few desks in front of you, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. indeed, jaemin was nervous, so nervous that he felt like he was about to pass out. he could feel the looks full of pity his friends were throwing at him and it was making him feel even worse. he wasn’t too pleased either with the shot of excitement and anticipation he felt spreading across his body. you looked down at your hands, hair slightly covering your face as you tried to hide your devilish smirk.

you didn’t bother to listen to the rest of the pairs, being already too immersed in thoughts about every possible scenario that could take place while you two worked together on the project.

~.~.~.~

as soon as class ended, you threw your bag over your shoulder, making your way towards jaemin’s table and earning a couple of looks of disapproval from his friends. not letting that affect you, you approached him with a sweet smile plastered on your face. “hey,” his face shot up to look at you, hands still working on getting all his belongings inside his bag. straightening his back, he tried to look unaffected by your presence. he nodded his head shortly as a greeting and decided to get this over with as fast as he could.

“let’s work on the project at the library, right after class,” jaemin said, trying to sound confident, but you could see right through him; he was nervous. he figured that a place full of people was less risky rather than either of your houses, where you’d be alone and the possibility of something happening was a lot higher. you shrugged your shoulders, not really minding the location, “see you later, pretty boy.” you winked at him before making your way out of the room, leaving a flustered jaemin behind.

you were bad news, your name only coming up in conversations about breaking the rules, hookups during parties with lots of alcohol involved and other rumours. he knew he wasn’t supposed to feel like this, all about you screamed ‘danger, beware’. and his friends had warned him, always making sure to constantly remind him not to get closer than needed or he would be doomed. but he couldn’t stop the fast beating of his heart nor the butterflies that erupted in his stomach.

jaemin was certain this wasn’t going to end well, at least not for him.

and he was right.

~.~.~.~

a few hours later, jaemin and you were sat side by side on a slightly secluded table. he decided against sitting close to the entrance, as the internet connexion wasn’t so good and you were required to do internet research. he felt on edge every time your thigh brushed lightly against his, though he wasn’t sure if you knew what you were doing or if you were completely oblivious to the small touches.

but you sure weren’t oblivious of the way his body reacted with each of them, fingers gripping tightly the edges of the book he had opened in front of him. you on the other hand pretended to not notice, intently reading the thesis you had found in google scholars about multifactorial and complex diseases.

at some point, you figured it was time to make your move and shoot your shot. it seemed like he liked your proximity and lingering touches, as he had never –in all the time you’ve spent in the library– made an attempt to pull away or make you stop. also, by the look of the prominent tent forming inside his school pants, he appeared to actually be really fond of it. smiling to yourself, you continued as if nothing happened.

jaemin was internally panicking, he was aware that eventually you were going to notice his little –not so little– problem. he wanted to either bury himself underground or lock himself inside his room and wait until he passed away from inanition, starvation or dehydration, whatever happened first. he tried thinking about disgusting things to make it go away, like strawberries or the time when he was dared to lick his friend donghyuck’s sweaty foot, but nothing seemed to work.

you could make out the outline of his hard dick from the inside of his pants, biting your lips to contain the smirk making its way to your face. your hand snaked up his thigh until it was close to where he most needed you, making him shudder and squirm nervously under your touch. “w-what are you doing?”, he managed to ask, swallowing the lump in his throat. this was the first time a hand that wasn’t his own was touching him. because, of course, he wasn’t that innocent. he had needs like every guy his age, hormones all over the place and making him painfully aware of the pretty girl sitting so close to him. your scent intoxicating and addictive, almost making him lean closer.

you didn’t even care to respond, too fascinated by the feeling of his clothed member against your hand, hot and heavy. “s-stop, this isn’t right, w-we can’t do this here.” the panic present on his voice made a chuckle fall from your lips, making jaemin shrink in his seat.

“someone’s gonna hear us, w-we’ll get caught.” he didn’t know what else to tell you to make you stop, how could he convince you to stop when he didn’t want you to? you ignored his words and kept going, the idea of getting caught causing wetness to gather inside your panties. “then you’ll have to keep quiet,” the moan that slipped from his lips made you rub your thighs together to ease some of the tension.

you freed his member from the confines of his pants and briefs, pulling them down just enough for you to have easy access to it, but not so much to make it too obvious. he was big; thick enough to stretch you out nicely. you hummed in approval, spitting in the palm of your hand, going to grab ahold of his cock and slowly start to pump him. jaemin threw his head back, eyebrows furrowed, eyes closed shut and mouth agape in a silent moan. “does it feel good baby?” he hummed quietly, not trusting his voice. he leaned his body closer to yours, chest against your side while his head rested on your shoulder. “so needy”, you mumbled mockingly, to which his hips bucked slightly.

jaemin felt in cloud 9 having your soft hand wrapped tightly around his sensitive dick. he knew all of this was wrong, but it felt so good. he opened his eyes enough to be able to see you work on his shaft. your thumb flicked against his slit as it spread the leaking precum from the tip to the base. he was trying his best to avoid letting out any sound, afraid of drawing unwanted attention.

you could feel he was getting close by the stuttering of his hips, desperately thrusting back against your fist. and, as much as you wanted to see his face while cumming, you weren’t going to let him just yet. you needed him and you needed him now, your slick arousal starting to run down your inner thighs. you’ve had enough.

your hand stopped its ministrations, making him whine softly at the loss of friction. moving to straddle his thighs, you threw your leg over his until you were comfortably sitting on his lap, skirt riding up from your new position. your thin arms snaked around his neck, one going to tangle in his hair and the other to caress his jaw. his hands positioned themselves instantly in your hips, holding onto you for dear life. his eyes nervously wandered over your shoulder, making sure nobody was paying attention to what you both were doing.

you pulled his chin to get him to look at you, eyes hooded and filled with lust. you looked so hot, face flushed a pretty tone of red, eyes sparkling with mischief. he knew he would be jacking off to the thought of you for the rest of the year, if not for the rest of his life.

his thoughts were interrupted, heavy lids almost closing once again and mind going blank, as he felt you roll your hips against his hard cock, which was standing tall in between your bodies. biting your lip, you leaned in to kiss his, feeling for the first time his plump, soft pink lips against yours. a moan escaped your mouth at the sweet taste of his tongue, fighting against your desperately as if he would never be able to savour you again.

rising from his lap slightly, you used one of your hands to position the tip of his cock against your entrance and the other to push your panties aside. a soft groan left jaemin’s lips as he felt the wetness of your core. as you were about to lower yourself on him, he stopped you, fingers digging against your sides. “i-i have never done anything like this with anyone.” if you were being honest, you found his nervous stutter quite endearing. “then let me ruin you.” that was all it took for him to give in to you.

you pumped him a few more times, making sure to completely coat his shaft with both of your arousals. as you lowered yourself on him, you pulled him in for a heated kiss, swallowing his sounds of pleasure. when you had finally engulfed the entirety of his cock, you began moving your hips in circular motions, waiting for the both of you to get used to the feeling. the friction made him pull you closer, face buried in the crook of your neck while small whimpers left his lips, going straight to your core. your walls clenched around him tightly, drawing a loud groan from his chest, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

you kept kissing him, swallowing his groans and moans. he felt so good filling you up with his hard cock, he fit perfectly inside of you, as if he was made just for you; like a puzzle piece. “you feel so good, baby, stretching me out, so so good,” you praised him sweetly, hand running through his soft locks.

jaemin seemed to be unable to get enough of you. he didn’t want this to end, he wanted to stay with you –preferably inside of you–, be able to feel you so close and know he is the one who is making you feel so good.

“wait, fuck,” he gasped trying to catch his breath, “wait, i’m g-gonna cum if you keep going.” it hadn’t been long, but he was already worked up since you started touching him earlier. “is that so? remember we’re not using a condom, baby. if you cum inside me i could get pregnant.” you hummed, trying to get a reaction to your words out of him. and you got it as a higher pitched moan fell from his lips, feeling his grip on your waist tighten.

“you’d like that, wouldn’t you, huh?” you quirked an eyebrow, smirking to yourself when you felt him twitch inside of you. “yes”, he whimpered, vision blurred, the pleasure overpowering the fear of being caught. he found himself enjoying the thrill more than he should, almost embarrassed with how easily you could make him lose all his self-control. he knew you were playing with his mind, pushing him just enough to make him risk everything; his reputation, his image. exactly how you managed to get him to lose his innocence.

“what a filthy little boy, who would have guessed perfect student na jaemin was so much of a slut”, you whispered in his ear while raking your nails down his chest. jaemin could only buck his hips to meet yours, desperate to feel more, thighs burning from the effort. he was getting restless, unable to keep quiet as moans rolled off of his tongue with every roll of your hips. your mouth attached itself to his neck, biting harshly to leave pretty red marks that were soon to become purple. the sound of pages turning and typing on the library’s computers reminding you of where you were.

“please, i’m so close,” he didn’t even know what he was pleading for anymore, the only thing he knew was that he needed you, all of you, in every way possible; in every way you were willing to let him have you. “wanna cum inside my tight little pussy, baby? wanna fill me up with your hot cum and put your baby inside of me?” with glassy eyes and hot tears threatening to fall down his crimson cheeks from the overwhelming pleasure which was almost making him dizzy, he let out a string of ‘yes, yes, yes’. his hands clutched your hips to bring you closer, digging his nails on the flesh and leaving crescent moon shaped marks. a moan slipped from your lips, only increasing his desperation.

you picked up your pace, your naked thighs slapping lightly against his clothed ones. the both of you could hear the wet mewls your cunt made every time you lowered yourself on him until he was balls deep inside of you. his hips raised to meet yours, hitting your most sensitive spot with the tip of his cock, as he tried to match your fast rhythm.

jaemin didn’t know what to do with himself. he knew he had to be quiet or else someone was going to realize what was going on, but he physically couldn’t hold the sounds in. in fact, he could almost taste the faint taste of copper from biting too harshly on the flesh of his lips. on the other hand, you didn’t seem to have as much trouble to keep your cool, as only a couple of sighs of pleasure left your lips from time to time. little did jaemin know you were struggling to keep your mouth shut. every thrust of his hips causing him to hit deeper, the fucked out look in his face motivating you to go faster.

though you weren’t as close to cumming as he was, you knew this was his first time and it seemed like he was about to combust. it wouldn’t be so nice of you to make him wait longer, would it? “cum for me baby boy,” and that’s all it took for jaemin to reach his high, hips stuttering and hands trembling. feeling his seed paint your velvet walls, your hand went down your body to find your clit, starting to rub circles against your sensitive bud. a wave of pleasure shot through your body and made your hips jerk roughly against him. the sob jaemin let out went straight to your core making your climax approach faster than you would have thought.

taking advantage of the slippery mess he had made of the both of you, you slid up and down on him faster and with more strength. jaemin, seeing as you weren’t going to stop anytime soon, started growing impatient. “t-to much, p–ah, please, it’s too much”, but you didn’t stop, gripping his strong arms and grinding harder against him. “no, no, please, it hurts” he cried out desperately, begging you to stop bouncing on his oversensitive cock. you shook your head and pulled him closer by the collar of his shirt. you smacked your mouths together, diving in for another sloppy kiss that had jaemin weak on the knees and a moaning mess.

when you tore away from him, jaemin brought his fist to his face and bit it hard, trying equally as hard to control himself. his second orgasm of the day was coming closer and oh was it going to be strong. when it finally happened, his eyes rolled to the back, head dropping back. that was the last straw as you felt yourself coming, walls tightening and clenching around him to milk him dry, the movements of your hand becoming sloppy. he felt light-headed, slightly blacking out for a few seconds until he managed to recover his consciousness.

using his shoulders to help yourself off of him, you let him slip out of you. jaemin winced from the oversensitivity, hands quickly tucking himself inside his pants. as you fixed your ruined panties and messy hair, properly tidying up your clothes, you once again threw your bag over your shoulder. he eyed you with a disoriented look in his face, confused as to what you were doing.

he saw you turn around on your heels before walking out of the library, only your panties preventing his cum from running down your thighs. you left him there, without a single word, not even spared him a glance. you walked away from him as if you didn’t just fuck the life out of him, as if he hadn’t just gifted you his virginity, or more like as if you hadn’t just stolen it. as if all the kisses you shared and loving pet names you used on him meant nothing.

and the worst part of it all was the pang of hurt jaemin felt in his heart when realization fell down on him like a bucket of cold water.

to you, that moment meant nothing. because to you, he didn’t mean anything.

–lia:)

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remakethestars · 3 years

Text

Being Batman’s Daughter Would Include:

Headcanons.

❝Listen, Robin. At their core, people are cowardly and self-serving. Trust no one until you know them. And even then, never completely.❞

— Bruce Wayne, “The Lesson Plan”

TRIGGER WARNING: Plant murder. Mentions of drugs/tranqs (stopping dealers), violence/physical harm, broken bones (knee cap), limb dislocation (shoulder), (Jason’s) death, smoke, waterboarding/drowning?

Headcanon masterlist.

You know how every teenager has that paradigm shift because as much as they love the people around them, they’ll never know the inner workings of your psyche? And they realize they’ll never truly be known? And it makes them feel really lonely?

Yeah, you never come to feel like that because you know Bruce digs so far into everyone around him he probably knows you better than you do.

Honestly, he probably reads your diary. At least, he reads the fake one you hide under your mattress. And the second decoy in the A.C. vent above your dresser.

If you’re as paranoid as Bruce, you probably don’t have a diary, and the aforementioned “decoys” are just to mess with him.

Sun Tzu’s The Art of War was practically your Bible growing up.

You’re torn between giving yourself the tactical advantage of being underestimated & being non-reactive, which — besides giving you the lioness role in the lion–gazelle dynamic — gives you the advantage of having time to think carefully on the repercussions before speaking.

Because, as Sun Tzu said in chapter seven, verse twenty-one, “Ponder and deliberate before you make a move.”

Seeing as Bruce and Damian both have eidetic memories, I’m guessing you do too.

Which means you totally read the dictionary when you were young and whip our big words nobody’s heard of.

Bruce always assured you it’s okay to be scared. As a matter of fact, like he told Dick (seen in flashbacks in “The Lesson Plan”), he taught you to “Let terror embrace you. The better you know fear, the better you can use it against others.”

And we all know Bruce is the paragon of using fear against people.

Take that, Scarecrow!

(See, I chose that gif because earlier in that move, he displays a fear of bats, & in that scene, he summons them to use as a distraction and walks through them completely unperturbed. No? Okay, I’ll see myself out.)

You started into the vigilante business young, a little bulge under the back of Batman’s cape that made the rest of the Justice League in the meeting think Bruce was host to an alien parasite until your little mask-covered eyes poked up over his shoulder.

The League’s known you since you were young, so they kind of all see you as their niece. That just quadruples the amount of people who are overprotective of you.

Eventually, in your tweens, you think enough’s enough and start out on your own — being underestimated may be an advantage, but it’s getting ridiculous — and you tackle unsolved cases.

You set up various safe houses around the world for your own disposal (using the zeta tubes) and anyone who sees the inside of one in an emergency is always surprised. You don’t really understand why; what serious vigilante doesn’t have secure, state-of-the-art safe locations scattered across the planet?

Sometimes, it gets you into danger, but you always get yourself out of it. If there ever comes a time you can’t, well, you’ve got a direct link to Batman, and if communications fail, you can always yell for your Uncle Clark at the top of your lungs.

If the latter ever comes to fruition, you ask Bruce if he’s disappointed you had to call for back-up or that you called Superman instead of Batman, and he says, “It takes a strong person to admit when they’re weak, [Y/N]; if anything, I’m proud of you. Besides … you’re not the only one who yells for Uncle Clark when they get in over their head.”

Your training entailed hacking and mechanics, so you like to fix computers and sell them on the internet Hugh Jeffreys style. It started out with Macs from the dumpster behind Gotham Academy and turned into a surprising side hustle. Large portions of your profits go into either savings or funding your extracurricular activities.

You’re using a MacBook that’s running Linux and an iPhone 4 that’s running your own program.

At some point, your phone falls into the wrong hands, and someone asks why it has such high security. You deadpan and say, “I have three older brothers.” No further explanation required.

One such solo case led you to a ring of drug dealers working in a small town outside of Gotham. You made some tranquillizers and heavy-duty smoke bombs and busted out your shinobi-iri training.

After sliding on a mask covering the bottom half of your face that filtered out smoke, you set all of the bombs off at once in the ventilation system, filling the building and using the infrared in your domino mask to sedate everyone before the cops arrived so no one got hurt (because there would inevitably be a firefight if the cops got involved).

You never go into a situation expecting to go hand-to-hand with someone; you always have a plan to take our your targets quickly an efficiently.

One night, when you’re working on a cold case in Gotham, you stumble across some intel that Poison Ivy’s been stockpiling chemicals and is going to wipe out all human life on Earth.

Luckily for you, Bruce’s paranoia is hereditary; you just happen to carry some white kryptonite in your belt, so you won’t have to go all the way back to the cave to obtain some.

You type out a quick debrief on your wrist computer in case you end up needing to send out an S.O.S., pop on your bottom mask to filter out spores or pheromones she might send in your direction, and bust out your shinobi-iri training again.

Of course, you try the peaceful approach, explaining to Ivy that you agree with her on the tree-hugger front to build rapport (T.B.F., who doesn’t?), but it comes to physical confrontation. You kill every vine that comes your way with a quick punch from your kryptonite ring, toss an expanding polyurethane foam bomb (see Batgirl #38) at her feet, and manage to get an inhibitor collar on her.

Gordon takes her away, and by the next morning, it’s on the news.

“You took down Ivy by yourself?” Bruce asks when you come down for breakfast.

“… Yeah,” you say after a moment, expecting a tongue-lashing.

“Are you hurt?”

“No. She didn’t get a hit in. And before you ask, I had a contingency set up in case things went sideways.”

“… Good job.”

Your dad has the article framed in the batcave, which is the bat-equivalent of having your drawing on the fridge or getting a sticker back on a test.

You’re fighting a grin for the rest of the day.

It bugs you you can’t tell anyone why you’re so happy, so you visit Dick in Blüdhaven while he’s on patrol and give him a play-by-play. You even get a hair-ruffle!

Deathstroke targets you at some point. One of Batman and Nightwing’s worst villains, and he targets you because he knows they love you. You’re the smallest bat at the time, the weakest; he thinks you’ll be the easiest to take.

Boy, was he wrong.

He was trained by the League of Assassins, so you know dropping a smoke bomb’s not going to give you cover (and his mask probably has infrared). His brain processes faster than yours, so tricking him is improbable. He’s probably done enough research on you to know you favor foam bombs and has fast enough reflexes to dodge before they go off.

And he’s jammed your comms so you can’t call for backup. You’re worried he’s got kryptonite on him and will hurt Superman if you call for help.

It’s just you and him.

He has enhanced stamina, so he tries to wear you out. You maintain distance to avoid taking damage and wearing faster.

You always admired Tim for his ability to plan ahead (see, like, the entirety of the Red Robin comics). He doesn’t know how he does it; he just does. He can’t really teach you, so you just watch and learn.

You realize your fight with Slade is just a matter of managing the distance and immobilizing him, so you strike. You duck behind a pillar or grab onto a railing or something and shoot him through the thigh with your grappling gun, reeling him in. He, of course, draws his sword or a knife to cut the line, but you’re already throwing high-density expanding polyurethane bombs.

And, just like that, you’ve single-handedly taken Deathstroke.

It sends a clear message to the rest of the Gotham villains, Blüdhaven’s villains, the League of Assassins — don’t mess with the bat’s little girl. She can hold her own.

Now it’s time for you to come up with another plan to take him down; you doubt the same method will work twice, and you’ve just made a very powerful enemy.

As Wonder Woman’s said, “Do not mistake a desire to avoid violence for an inability to deal with it.” You might go into most situations with a plan to take down your opponent already in motion, but when it comes to an all-out brawl, you’re perfectly capable and don’t pull your punches.

You’re working on an unsolved case in Blüdhaven (Dick’s got enough on his plate) when you get an S.O.S. from the aforementioned along with the feed and recording from his mask. You listen to the mission briefing while you ride back to the cave and then the audio from the Young Justice mission. They got jumped by the League of Shadows in an abandoned factory, and Talia’s trying to coerce Damian into joining the League or whatever.

The usual dropping some smoke bombs and tranqing everyone isn’t going to work on thirty armed League assassins who were trained to fight blind, so you load up on polyurethane foam bombs and call Jason and Cassandra.

The three of you take out the guards outside before splitting up and taking either end of the building (Cass stays with you). You meet in the middle, in the room the team’s being held in.

You highjacked the speakers, so they’re blasting AC/DC’s “Shoot to Thrill” upon Jason’s insistence. You wanted Zayde Wølf or Alice Cooper’s “Hey, Stoopid,” but big brothers will be big brothers.

Jason pops them with rubber bullets from above to slow them down for you while Cass demolishes them and you drop foam bombs, slinging your signature custom shuriken, bonk them over the head with Tim’s staff you picked up along the way, dislocate their arms, or shatter their kneecaps.

You and Jason get a couple slices from swords that got a little too close, but it’s nothing compared to what you’ve had before.

When the fighting’s done and the building’s quiet, the team’s, like, “Who the heck are you guys?”

And Dick’s, like, 😏 “They’re our siblings.”

Speaking of siblings, you’re older than Damian, and as such, you take upon yourself the honor of teaching him all things pop-culture.

“I have a lot of amazing older siblings. I want to be a good big sister.”

First things first, you give him one of your refurbished e-waste phones and take him to Target to pick out an OtterBox or a LifeProof case or something that’ll keep it safe in the pocket of a vigilante.

Vigilantes are always coming to you when their phone’s broken anyway; you’ve got a stack of spares you’ve repaired.

Then you help him set up a Spotify account (follow me at @remakethestars 😉) and try to help him find his rhythm.

Poor child’s never had Oreos before, so you drag a pack of Double Stuffs out of the cabinet and a glass of milk and show him the best milk-dunking method you know.

You think about handing him a cookie and telling him to waterboard it until the bubbles stop coming up, but cookie-dunking is something every kid does; it’s sacred, and you don’t want him to associate it with violence.

You show him how you and Alfred feed the bats in the batcave.

And you show him Vine compilations and your favorite shows and movies and as many classics as you can, and you put up with him pointing out the inaccuracies and calling them stupid.

Every time he doesn’t get a reference, you write it down so you know what to show him later.

If anything ever happens to you, Damian finds your list and makes it his personal mission to watch/read everything on it. It makes him feel close to you.

You build a relationship with him that’s similar to his and Dick’s, and he comes to you with things he might not be able to come to anyone else with.

Plus, since you live in the manor still and he doesn’t want Bruce to think less of him, it’s you he comes to after a nightmare.

If you know Alfred has pictures of him curled up in your side, you ask him to send them to you. Not for blackmail purposes; just to have.

You’d never use the need of comfort or the sharing of emotions against him because (A) it’s perpetuating toxic masculinity and (B) you don’t want him to think it’s wrong or confirm any of the stupid “strength” things the League of Shadows taught him.

You gave him a stuffed cat that looks like Alfred (the cat, not the butler) with some of your perfume spritzed on it. He verbalized his revulsion when you gave it to him, but on nights he has a bad dream and you’re not home, it brings him comfort.

Titus comes to get you when Damian’s upset.

Even when he’s not with Damian, he seems to know. Pets are like that.

You’ve learned to trust Titus’s instincts. Damian thinks it’s suspicious when he’s feeling down and you just happen to call.

You never realized it until a long time later, but Ace was acting weird the day Jason came back from the dead.

And he was acting weird the day Jason came back to Gotham too. He ran to the door and began barking. Alfred swept security, but nothing seemed to be off. The whole family was on edge that day.

You were the reason Jason knew he wasn’t completely forgotten; he spotted you through a café window, and you were wearing his jacket.

Visit my headcanon masterlist.

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actualsaii · 3 years

Text

the bet

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Word count: 15k

Genre: smut, comedy, university AU

Summary: You lost a bet and now it’s time to face the consequences. Aka when you lose and now you have to get a tattoo.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30140211

I'm reposting this one in case it's more comfortable for the readers to use tumblr instead of AO3 :)

“I can’t believe they made me do it,” you murmured under your nose as you passed the street, knowing that your friends still sat in the car parked in the lot across the street with eyes pinned on your nervous figure. The closer you got to the two-story building, the stronger the crippling anxiety inside of you grew, causing your inners to shake under the heavy consequences of your Thursday night’s escapade that culminated into your worst nightmare.

Yes, everything started two nights ago in a shabby university bar that you grew so fond of during the past two years of your studies. It was always packed whether it was a school night or not, full of freshmen and also seniors, from time to time even postgraduate students that seemed to be only a myth to you as you’ve almost never met one outside the classes. However, neither of that mattered that night as you successfully finished your last exam and decided to hit the streets with your two best friends that carefully prepared the night to its tiniest details. Conspiracy was the first word that popped in your mind as the night continued to unfold her secrets, although it was quickly erased with the fifth shot of tequila after which you simply found yourself walking straight to the bar with one and only thing your friends managed to set your mind on.

The hot bartender, also a member of mythical postgraduate group, was your main target even though he was currently busy with lining the glasses of RedBull next to each other while smaller shot cups full of golden liquid, you somewhere in the back of your mind recalled was probably Jägermeister, balanced on the tips of the bigger glasses under. Each of his move was precise, yet you knew this wasn’t the first Jäger-train he had built. The man worked at this bar ever since you could remember - and you also recalled the moment he stepped into your first class of Forensic psychology, looking completely different than you saw him the previous night (which was your first time visiting the bar when you were a freshman) in the club. Just then one of your friends told you he was a postgraduate student who worked at the bar and also taught some classes because of his final research paper. And now he was here again, his longish black hair carefully slicked back, exposing the undercut that made him look like a bad boy. His eyes momentarily flickered up from his work and once they laid on you, smirk flashed through his features and he straightened his posture, done with what he was doing.

“Look who we have here on a school night. Isn’t it a little bit too late for you to be out, ___?” he tilted his head to the side, never allowing the smile to disappear from his handsome features. He was famous for many things, but the nickname he used really preceded his name - Worldwide Handsome.

“Kim Seokjin, nice and friendly as always. Not that it should concern you, but I’m successfully done with all of my exams; so tonight, I’m celebrating. And I’m also on mission,” you leaned closer to him, almost knocking the train made of multiple glasses of alcohol, however you couldn’t care less. There was only one thing on your mind - and you know your friends were watching you somewhere from the booth in the back of the bar. At least they tried because your mind wasn’t the only one clouded by alcohol and a stupid bet you nodded to extremely fast and without giving it a thought or two first.

“So, mission it is tonight. Anyway, congratulations to wrapping up the term. Now, is there something I can do for you? Because, as you can see, it’s Thursday night, and the place is already bursting. Also, my masterpiece is ready for the show,” he said, reaching for the empty shot cup, ready to put the train on move. Your eyes flickered from his to the said masterpiece and you chuckled. Of course, there was something he could do for you but you didn’t want to burst it out loud just like that, not when the place was crowded and you felt countless eyes pinned on you because you occupied the spot by the bar for longer than acceptable.

But then again, you were on the mission and that was more important than some impatient freshmen that expected to put their hands on one of the glasses of Jägerbomb Seokjin has just put on the move. He gently nudged the first shot sitting on the rim of the glass and watched with his eyes full of excitement how the following shot cups fell down like a domino. People around you cheered loudly and suddenly they started grabbing glasses one after another until there was just one left. In a moment you decided to snatch it for yourself, your fingers met with another long and slender ones, covered in black ink and shiny silver rings. Looking up, you realized the crowd of people was gone, scattered all over the place and dance floor while only a few people remained lingering around the bar area. And the man, who was about to steal the drink you set your eyes on, was now staring at you with a smirk that mirrored in his deep and dark eyes. Long strands of his wavy blonde hair fell into his face but he quickly pushed them back, yet he took an advantage of the moment of surprise and snatched the drink before you had enough time to say something.

“Too late, love,” he shrugged and quickly disappeared in the crowd of people, only his blonde hair shining like a beacon, eventually disappearing as well. You turned to Seokjin with lips formed in a shape of a small ‘o’, still processing what has just happened. The bartender smirked and started lining another train of glasses on the surface of the bar, this time with a different type of drink on his mind.

“What was that? Who was that guy?” you asked, momentarily confused but you quickly shook it off your shoulders like an invisible layer of dust. You had to succeed with your mission, some blonde guy stealing the drink you wanted for yourself was out of the question at the moment.

“That was Jeon Jungkook, no one you should care about. Now, what can I offer you, ___? Or are you going to just levitate around until you are brave enough to spill the tea? Because one of your friends is peeking from the booth like a chicken hidden in the bush. What is it that you want?” with those words, he leaned closer over the bar surface and you felt his hot breath hitting your face. And even though your senses were already covered by the heavy sheet made out of tequila and god knew what else, you still felt cigarettes and scotch in his breath, the favorite combination of his when he was working.

You chewed on your lower lip while the wheels in the back of your mind spun like crazy, contemplating whether to come out with your plan or just kept playing your little game of a spy on the mission - even though Kim Seokjin could see straight through you as if you were a thin piece of a transparent paper. So, with a heavy sigh, you smashed your palms against the bar in a dramatic gesture, looking him straight into his eyes. If someone was looking at you, and you were sure there was at least one person watching you besides your friends, they must have thought you were some kind of Seokjin’s crazy fangirl. Which wouldn’t be surprising since the man was quite famous at the university.

“I need Jimin’s number.”

“Oh my god.”

“I’m serious, Seokjin. I need Jimin’s number otherwise I’m in a very big trouble. You have to save my ass,” you basically begged him, now almost laying on the bar as you leaned closer to him. The black-haired bartender only shook his head no and gave you a look somewhere between ‘I like you, you are my friend, but I can’t help you’ and ‘someone please just kill me already before I strangle this girl first’.

“I’m sorry but if you want Jimin number, you have to ask yourself. And since I know the number is not for you, you should tell your friend to man the hell up and ask him herself. He doesn’t bite, you know. Well, at least I think he doesn’t,” he shook his head again and handed you a shot of tequila he managed to pour you while he was talking. Small pout formed on your lips and you tried really hard to pull out the most innocent look on your face, but such a witchcraft had none effect on Kim Seokjin.

“You don’t understand - I promised my friend I would get the number for her. We placed a bet and if I lose… Seokjin, I can’t lose! Of my fucking god, I can’t lose this one. That would be the end of me.”

Something in his face shifted and now he looked genuinely interested in your little mission. A tiny spark of hope lit up in your chest when his eyes softened and he turned to you again.

“What’s the bet about?”

You felt the heat creeping into your cheeks each second of standing by the bar, your eyes now pinned on your hands still placed on its surface. The shot laid untouched in front of you even though you felt your mouth watering just by watching it. And although the level of alcohol in your bloodstream was already dangerously high, you reached out for it and downed the shot in one gulp. Just in case you needed some more courage.

“If I don’t get Jimin’s number tonight, I will have to get a tattoo by the end of the week. So, please, you have to save my ass, Seokjin. I mean, it’s not like I don’t want that tattoo, I’ve wanted it for some time already, but I’m still not sure and—“

“You got to be kidding me, ___. This is the most stupid thing I’ve ever heard,” the almost caring look in his face was quickly replaced by his notorious smug smirk and you knew you were fucked for the night. There was no way he was about to give you Jimin’s number, and walking around the bar, asking random strangers for Park Jimin’s number was out of question.

“I will never forget your betrayal, Kim Seokjin. I will never forget how you turned your back on me. And if you come to me asking for help, I will repay you the same,” your index finger touched his chest and while you were sure you looked dangerous and almost and vengeful, Seokjin just chuckled and sent you one of his precious flying kisses.

“Duly noted, sweetheart. Don’t forget to send me a photo of your new tattoo. I will be waiting.”

And just like that, with his words still echoing through your mind, you showed him your tongue and waltzed back to the table where your friends were sitting.

Of course, without Park Jimin’s number.

And the threat of getting a tattoo dangerously hanging above your head.

“I can’t believe they made me do it.”

It was Saturday morning and the betrayal of Kim Seokjin and the following cheering sounds of your friends still rang through your mind like an annoying sound of the alarm clock set on the phone. You weren’t about to get away with new pledges and promises of getting Park Jimin’s number because your friends simply weren’t about to let you. No, a deal was a deal and now that you lost the bet, you had to get that tattoo from the artist in a parlor downtown. It was a new one and judging by what Sunmi told you a few days ago, they only opened the salon three months ago. However, the number of followers on social network sites grew higher and higher each day so you and your friends agreed it was a good place to get your first tattoo.

Although you weren’t so sure now that you were crossing the street with a paper cup of coffee in your hands. It was an olive branch from your friends when they picked you up at the dorms early in the morning, proposing the breakfast at your favorite café near the university’s main campus. At least something to ease your mind before taking such a huge step forward.

You took a deep breath and looked over your shoulder one last time, checking if those two creatures that came straight from the hell still sat in the car parked in the lot. And of course, they were still there, sending you thumbs up as if to give you a courage to step inside and get that goddamn tattoo. Thinking about that, it was all your fault because you were talking about getting one for a while, so it was only natural your friends took advantage of your big mouth and used it as a weapon against you. Although, you had to admit the smoothness they turned the bet into.

“Why am I even friends with you?” you muttered under your nose and took a sip of the coffee before you reached for the doorknob and pressed it, opening the door with a sound of ring bell accompanying your gesture. You peeked inside - and your inners immediately turned upside down with the scene that unfolded in front of your eyes. Not to mention you almost dropped the paper cup with coffee.

The studio itself looked neat and clean, shiny almost as each piece of furniture and accessory seemed brand new. Right opposite the front door sat a massive black desk with an office chair and a laptop placed on the top. But besides the PC, there was a small plant and an opened sketchbook with a picture you couldn’t see properly because you stood too far away. Not that you wanted to peek inside, not really. The wall behind the table was pitch black with a few modern art pieces and shelves full of books standing there. The remaining three walls were covered in various pieces of paper showing different tattoo motives that were apparently free for customers to choose. But that wasn’t what knocked the air out of your lungs and almost made you change your decision with backing the hell out of the studio, no. What made you almost squeal were two men half hidden behind the paravan that covered the tattooing area from the common area with two black leather sofas and a small coffee table. Even though you couldn’t see their faces properly, you exactly knew who they were. And the fact that one of them was indirectly responsible for you getting in this quite unfortunate situation made your blood boil.

“Park Jimin?”

Both of them immediately snapped in your direction while the said man rolled down his shirt and patted the blonde’s shoulder with a grateful smile curling the corners of his lips up. The blonde one only nodded but once his eyes met yours, there was something wicked mirroring behind his irises - and you were quickly reminded of the Thursday’s night and the talk you had with Seokjin after he successfully made the Jäger-train work. The blonde man was the one who stole your drink. The one who ever so shamelessly snatched it right out of your hands and walked away as if nothing had happened. You clearly remembered the wave of drunken rage that almost swept you off your feet the night it happened - the drink was supposed to be yours, not his. Either way, that fact only added to the moment of surprise you went through the second you realized the tattoo artist was no one else but the blonde thief with arms covered in ink.

“Oh, hi? You are the one from Seokjin’s Forensic Psychology class, right? ___? What are you doing here?” Jimin asked and at that moment, you felt like the dumbest dumbass walking the planet earth. What were you doing here? Oh, yes. The lost bet and the punishment you had to accept according to the terms of the deal. However, that wasn’t something you could come clean about since it would make you look like an… idiot. Complete idiot. So, instead of giving him an answer, your eyes flickered to the direction of the blonde tattoo artists who was now in the process of getting rid of the black latex gloves, throwing them into a trash bin. And as if he felt the weight of your eyes heaving him down, he looked at you with a slight hint of smirk tugging on the corners of his lips. He too seemed to be interested in your answer.

“Yep, that’s me. And to answer your question - I’m here to get a tattoo. I guess that’s what tattoo salons are for?” you tilted your head to the side and gave both males your best smile without being nervous about it.

“Do you have an appointment?” the blonde asked and approached the table where the sketchbook and other notebooks laid. As soon as his question sunk in the air filling the room, you cleared your throat and realized that, perhaps, you should have called beforehand, although this whole situation came into an existence during your Thursday night’s pre-game when you were already intoxicated and so determined to get Jimin’s number no matter what consequences might come out in case you simply failed.

Exactly like you did.

And it brought you here.

Silence fell over the room and for a split second, your brain came up with an idea of asking Jimin for his number and immediately backing away from the previous plan, but then, on the other hand, you weren’t about to chicken out of your punishment. You were too proud to do so.

“No, I don’t think so,” you smiled again, wishing for the mother earth to swallow you and spit you out on the other side of the world since the weight of the look in their eyes grew heavier and heavier each second that passed. They must have thought you were an idiot waltzing into a tattoo salon without an appointment on Saturday morning. Because who would have done that? No one but a psychology student who lost the bet and was now facing its consequences.

“Well, then I guess I will just leave you two alone. Lucky you, Jungkook was supposed to have a day off since it’s Saturday, but as I know him, he wouldn’t say no to a nice young lady, would he?” Jimin smirked and before Jungkook had the opportunity to throw the notebook in his direction, the brown-haired guy grabbed his jacket and disappeared from the salon at the speed of light.

And that made you feel bit anxious because right at the moment, it was just you and the tattoo artist Jungkook who managed to steal your drink, which, for some reason, couldn’t let you cold. The small and tiny voice in the back of your mind told you he must have been a member of the mythical postgraduate students’ group as well, but you weren’t stupid to voice your question out loud. You were just frozen in one place with lips forming a shape of a small ‘o’, unable to put together a rather coherent sentence to explain how you got into such a situation. Not that he should know each detail, but then again, he was the artist and according to Jimin’s words, he was supposed to have a day off until you came, and, well, obviously changed his plans.

Again, according to Jimin’s words.

“If you have a day off, I can come another time. Or I can book an appointment and—“

“It’s ____, right? I’m Jeon Jungkook, nice to meet you. Anyway, it’s fine. Jimin wasn’t on my list either when he came banging on the door early in the morning. One more tattoo wouldn’t kill me, really. I don’t have much to do, anyway,” his voice dropped a few tones lower and it genuinely surprised you how quickly he agreed on something that wasn’t on his schedule, therefore wasn’t supposed to happen. Honestly, you expected him to throw you out of the salon with the same sassy smirk and comment he addressed you with the night you met him at the bar. But nothing like that happened and you suddenly felt the inner storm gaining the momentum, throwing you off balance easily. And maybe, that was the reason you kept standing in one spot with lips still half-parted, staring at the young man standing in front of you with a smile plastered over his features. The smile first seemed to be innocent, reaching his eyes but mirroring something not so innocent any longer as the question slipped his lips. “Did you have fun with your friends?”

Wheezing noise came out of you and he raised his brows in unspoken question.

“I’d rather not talk about that night, really,” you rolled your eyes and bit on your inner cheek as the memory of the night came to you as a wrecking ball.

“Had too much to drink? You should be glad I managed to put my hands on the drink before you did then,” his innocent smile quickly turned into a smug one, reminding you of the way Seokjin basically laughed in your face when he found out about the bet. And since the bartender seemed to be familiar with the blonde tattoo artists, there was this one certain question that popped on your mind like a red light. Was it possible Seokjin told Jungkook about the bet? Did he out you?

No, Seokjin wouldn’t do that. He might have not helped you with getting Jimin’s number, but he certainly wouldn’t do something like blabbering about the bet to his friends who had nothing to do with that. Until now.

“About that - it was my drink, I had my eyes on that first,” you murmured but couldn’t help when the smile tugged on the corner of your lips. Fighting about something so trivial like a drink wasn’t really your thing, yet, for some reason you felt like this business needed to be taken care of.

“Then you should have been faster, love. Now, tell me about that tattoo of yours you want to get. Do you have something on your mind or am I free to come up with a design?” he asked, quickly shifting into his artist mode. He wasn’t really curious about the reason you ended up in his studio, nor he blamed you for barging in like Jimin did in the morning. He simply wanted to start to work, that was all. And you had to admit, it once again stole the wind from under your wings and left you standing there frozen in one place with lips parted but no words leaving them. A wave of admiration towards the young man that dedicated his free time to grace the skin of other people woke up inside of you and brought the butterflies in your stomach to life.

As the question settled in, your mind was suddenly blank like a fresh canvas, not a simple idea crossing it. Your loss of words made him chuckle before he turned to his table and reached for yet another sketchbook laying there. The sound of pages flipping filled the room, accompanied by Jungkook’s soft humming until he found what he was looking for.

“What do you think about this? It’s a free design I made a few days ago but I was too busy to put in on the wall. It looks like something that might suit you. Of course, it’s just my opinion,” with those words he handed you the sketchbook opened on a page with the design he had on mind for you. And you had to admit, it was beautiful. A simple line of flowers tangled together, nothing too exaggerating, quite the right opposite. However, you couldn’t quite grasp the concept of place where he wanted to put it.

“It looks really beautiful, and now I will probably sound too stupid, but where do you want to put it?” you asked, genuinely interested in his answer. Of course, he must have had an idea of where to place it once he was working on it. Your question brought a smile to his face as he came closer and gently grabbed the sketchbook from your hands. He put it back on the table while his right hand remained cuffing your left wrist.

“Here, around your wrist like a bracelet while the rest of the tattoo will continue to the back of your hand. Exactly here,” his fingers traced a delicate way from your wrist to the back of your hand, leaving a burning trace behind. Breath almost hitched in your throat when you realized how close he got to you without you realizing it, however, you quickly collected yourself and fixed your posture, looking into his dark eyes. “It’s your first tattoo and I believe I don’t have to tell you how important it is for you to choose the right place. Consider this a friendly opinion of mine. It would really suit you, ___.”

Just as he finished his little speech, his touch left your hand, yet the burning sensation remained lingering over the surface of your skin.

“That sounds like a really lovely idea,” you murmured as you brought your hand closer to your face, examining the place he traced with his fingers just seconds ago. As much as you weren’t excited about the idea of getting a tattoo this fast, although you’ve always wanted one, you started changing your mind in a snap of fingers. And whether it was the picture you really liked or Jungkook’s aura that was only hard to resist, you didn’t know. What you were sure about was the one and only thing - you weren’t about to back away from this decision. Not anymore.

You were surprised by yourself and the sudden discovery you missed the way Jungkook chuckled and shook his head over your strange behavior.

“Are you sure about that? Because I don’t really want you to chase me down the university halls in case you don’t like it anymore, you know? Tattoo is mostly a permanent thing and let me tell you, it’s really painful if you want to get rid of that. Not to mention it’s almost twice as expensive. Think about it, love,” it almost sounded like he tried to change your mind, and honestly, you felt like a child getting a lecture. Which you didn’t like at all.

“Of course, I’m sure. I wouldn’t be here in the first place if I wasn’t. I’ve wanted a tattoo for a very long time, I just didn’t give it a proper thought - as of what to get and where to place it. I was hoping that since you are a pro—you could help me out with that. Which you did, so…” you shrugged, giving him a look full of confidence. At least, you hoped you did. And as to seal your words, you took a step closer to him with a smile gracing your features. “So, can we do it today?”

Smirk flashed through his features and mirrored in his eyes.

“Of course, love.”

Jungkook put everything into motion rather smoothly and you had to admire the way he basically danced around the salon while he prepared everything he was about to need for your tattoo. From time to time, your eyes flickered to the already prepared design laying on the small table near the tattooing chair you were aiming for. Excitement rushed through your bloodstream just when you imagined the art on your hand. Funny, how everything changed in a snap of fingers and your annoyed mood was quickly replaced by the excitement in the form of butterflies fluttering in your tummy.

“Do you mind if I play some music?” he asked with his back turned to you as he did some last preparations for your tattoo.

“Not at all. It’s your place, play whatever you want,” you shook your head and shrugged down the leather jacket you were wearing. The room was hot and you shouldn’t be wearing it anyway, so you took it off and climbed into the chair, waiting rather impatiently for the blonde artist to be done with his little preparations. The soft tunes of hip-hop music filled the air and you had to smile. For some reason, even though you didn’t know him at all, the music suited Jungkook very much. It went along the aura his persona gave off, almost hand in hand.

“What is that? I’ve never heard this song,” you asked curiously as you made yourself comfortable in the chair, leaning against the leather surface with the butterflies still playing the game of catch in your stomach. Have you really been that excited about getting that goddamn tattoo? Or was Jeon Jungkook responsible for the weird excitement you haven’t seen coming once you stepped out of your friend’s car? Such questions popped in your mind and you had to sigh in defeat as you didn’t have a single answer.

The way your question captured his attention and the way he turned to you with eyes sliding up and down your body in the tattooing chair certainly didn’t help to calm the storm inside of you.

“Do you know Jung Hoseok? He is one of the postgraduates, but other than studying, he likes to work on music. This is one of the songs he released within his mixtape a few weeks ago. It’s only on SoundCloud, so I don’t blame you for now knowing it, but you should give it a try. He is really good,” Jungkook smiled as he was apparently praising one of his good friends, reaching for the box of latex gloves to put a clean pair on. The gesture itself told you he was ready to start working on your design.

“Not only you are a mythical group everyone is talking about, but it seems like all of you have that hidden side no one knows about - well, besides Seokjin. Everyone knows he is the most handsome bartender. I guess he is the reason why the bar is still so packed. But hey, I will give that mixtape a shot. It sounds catchy,” you wondered out loud without giving your words a thought or two. Yet, it has already escaped your mouth and you couldn’t do anything about it. And when Jungkook chuckled, you only hoped he didn’t think you were a complete weirdo.

“Is that so? I’ve never heard anyone calling us a mythical group but I can see the point. It’s just we are always busy with the university and when there’s a slight chance to do whatever else than the research for doctoral thesis, we simply do what we love to do - and it differs from person to person. For me, it’s the salon and the art of tattoo. Although it mostly belongs to my older brother, every time I’m free from uni, I spend my time here,” he was open with you and it almost made your heart melt because even though he didn’t know you properly, he talked to you about the daily basis of his life as if you two were old friends. Plus, his words convinced you he didn’t think of you as a weirdo, which was definitely a very good sign. “I’m sure there’s something you love to do too.”

That made you wonder. There were many things you enjoyed doing, but suddenly, none of them came to your mind as Jungkook kept staring at you, probably waiting for the answer. Your brain worked faster than on the university entrance exam, yet the more pressure you put on that poor thing, the more alert it seemed to be.

“Honestly, I’m glad when I have a weekend off. This is my second year on the university and keeping my shit together is getting harder and harder. But well, there was this period of time when I enjoyed doing Yoga almost every day. Currently it’s just reading books and listening to music. Now you are going to think I’m one of those boring people who like to stay inside instead of partying with a large group of friends,” you decided to be honest with him because there was nothing left to lose. Also, why not being honest with someone who decided to sacrifice his own free time in spite of giving you tattoo?

“Why would I think you are boring? I love being by myself with a good book or a good movie on Netflix. However, I also like to go out with my friends from time to time. And I bet you do, too,” the teasing smirk was back on his lips, although it didn’t last long as he reached for your hand with excited sparkles dancing in his eyes. “Are you ready?”

You only nodded, watching him like a hawk when he reached for the disinfection and turned back to you with a smile tugging on the corner of his lips. And just like before, Jungkook easily slipped into his tattoo artist mode, moving around with grace and something more that made your eyes stay pinned on him rather shamelessly. He must have felt your eyes scanning him up and down when he did the magic to your hand - aka applying the disinfection and then wiping your skin gently once he was done. After that, he put some kind of gel on your skin and when you asked what he was doing, he only chuckled.

“I need to print the design on your skin. It helps with the process,” he said, not giving you a single glance as he was so drawn in each step of his job. Next time you looked down on your hand, he was pressing the paper against your skin, peeling it off after he was sure the design was completely imprinted. The picture came out blue and blurry in some places, but you knew that wasn’t an issue for someone like Jungkook. “Is it okay like that? Do you want me to move it a little?” he asked, pushing back on the chair he was sitting in for you to have space to inspect the future design of your tattoo. You brought your hand closer to your face, inspecting each detail of the pattern, internally already excited about how it was going to look once it was done and completed.

Honestly, it looked nice and somehow, you felt it suited you well. Exactly like he told you when he first showed you the design. Simple and delicate, yet somehow daring. Nonetheless, you must have been checking it for way too long as Jungkook cleared his throat and you were quickly snapped back to the reality.

“Oh, yeah, sorry about that. I think the place is amazing, you don’t need to move it. I can already imagine it,” you smiled without the realization Jungkook was closer to you once again, his hot breath brushing against the skin of your exposed shoulder. You weren’t going to lie here, the shivers danced down your spine crazily and your head spun a little when the scent of his musky cologne attacked your senses. How come you didn’t catch it sooner? Never mind, this wasn’t the right time nor place to be weak for the blonde artist.

Although he was hot.

Very hot.

“Okay then, let’s get this beauty done,” he smirked and you couldn’t do otherwise but mirror the excitement that was entangled within his voice. You outreached your hand for him, mentally preparing for the pain to come. Bonus points for Jungkook who let you breathe out for a while before he grabbed the tattoo machine and leaned closer to you to the point you felt his breath and cologne again. Damn, that kind of thoughts must have clouded your mind completely because you hissed when the needle first touched your skin. Thankfully, you didn’t flinch nor you moved an inch in your seat. Soon, you grew kind of used to the new sensation glazing through your skin.

“You okay?” he looked up to your eyes after a minute or two, you didn’t count. You only nodded, chewing on your inner cheeks because you couldn’t describe the weird sensation. On the scale of ‘it hurts’ to ‘it’s kind of annoying’, your feelings balanced perfectly in the middle.

“Yeah. Just can’t decide if it hurts or not. I mean, it doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it was going to hurt. Am I weird?” you voiced out your thoughts with a chuckle accompanying them, hoping Jungkook would understand the message you tried to send.

“You are not weird. I’ve met countless people who couldn’t quite decipher what they felt, and to be honest with you, I’m surprised you are not squealing in pain considering the place you chose for your first tattoo is quite painful. No offense, of course. Anyway, yeah. Long time ago, me and my brother agreed this type of pain was… somehow exciting. You are expecting something great and you are willing to go such a length to get it, whilst the pain. I, personally, like that pain.”

“I can see that. Considering your arms are basically drowning in the ink. I like it,” the bold confession slipped your lips without you even realizing so. Jungkook stopped working for a split second and looked at you, eyes hazy and suddenly full of something that hasn’t been there before. And as much as you yelled at yourself internally to avoid his gaze, the other half of yourself did quite the right opposite. You started back with the growing smirk curling your lips in a teasing matter. Something inside of you enjoyed the little game that was slowly but surely getting out of control with each second that passed. If he could call you love, you could play with him in return as well.

All while keeping his eyes on yours, he started talking, the process of tattoo momentarily completely forgotten.

“Most of it is mine work, some of it my brother’s. Got my first one when I was sixteen and parents almost killed me. My brother went with me, he played the role of my legal guardian since I was still a minor. And that’s basically how this addiction started. First tattoo, drawing my own designs, getting the machine and experimenting on my own skin. I fucked up some and my brother had to cover it with another design. And I still want more,” he said, giving a special emphasis on the last word as his eyes flickered in your direction for the last time before he started working on the tattoo again. The stinging sensation grew heavier, yet you prevented yourself from yelping or flinching in your place.

Because the sensation of his burning stare caused you feel more than the process of inking your skin itself.

“That really is a sheer talent,” you murmured under your nose, still bothered with the thoughts that kept whirling in your mind like a vortex that swept everything along the way. You thought about his words again and again until a question rolled down your tongue. “Do you think I might end up wanting more too?”

He looked up to you with the long strands of blonde hair falling into his eyes. The urge to push it behind his ear was too strong and you had to resist hard not to reach out to do it. Damn, there was something about him that kept bugging you like crazy.

“I don’t know, love. You can get rid of the tattoo in a year or less. Or you can come barge in like Jimin did because you will want another one. One can never know,” he said as he reached for the paper wipes to clean the first part of the tattoo that crawled around your wrist. His touch was gentle and caring, almost as sweet as the smile that appeared on his lips when he said: “I’m going to finish the outlining and then we can take a break if you want. But I should warn you that after the break, it might hurt a little. Your skin will be triggered, so if you feel dizzy or something, let me know.”

“Now you sound like I might pass out.”

“You wouldn’t be the first one,” again, the sound of his laugh filled the room and you rolled your eyes. “But so far, you are holding really bravely. You are definitely not going to pass out.”

The next twenty minutes passed in silence between the two of you, only the soft tunes of R&B music filled the room. However, that wasn’t something that disturbed you, quite the right opposite. You managed to relax yourself, body almost melting against the chair as you let Jungkook finish outlining the tattoo. However, despite your relaxed state, you couldn’t stop thinking about the way he touched you even though it was just a part of his job. Of course he had to touch you, of course he had to be careful with what he was doing.

But there was something more to it. Something more about Jeon Jungkook and the way he talked to you when he explained the story behind his tattoos. The way his eyes from time to time flickered to you and refused to leave just to hold a tiny piece of eye-contact. Not that you wanted to flatter yourself, but you did. This wasn’t only in your head - he was staring because he probably felt the same connection or how you should call it.

No, it was not connection.

Perhaps something else.

Something you would dare to call desire.

But then again, you didn’t want to flatter yourself.

But you did.

The realisation you were all hot and disturbed because of the blonde tattoo artist covered in ink felt fresh and exciting, however, you were quickly pulled out of the pool of your thoughts when he pushed back and put down the machine, getting rid of the gloves. He threw them into a trash bin and when he looked at you, there was this bunny smile gracing his features.

“Time for a little break. Do you want coffee or something? I bet the one you brought with you must be already cold,” he shook his head and got up from the seat, eyes still pinned on you. For some reason, a thought of him being able to read your thoughts momentarily flashed through your mind - and you felt stupid for even thinking about it. Of course, it was only able in those fantasy books you loved reading.

Yet, his eyes mirrored something deeper.

“Coffee, please. With milk and sugar if I can ask.”

“Of course. Everything for you, love.”

Jungkook wasn’t lying when he said it might hurt after the break. The skin on your hand was triggered and burning, however, you were too proud to admit it was getting too painful and too unbearable. Instead, you kept biting on your inner cheek while your eyes remained on his focused face and his skillful fingers that were almost done with the tattoo. What was first a design in Jungkook’s little sketchbook was now a beautiful art gracing the skin of your hand in a very delicate way. Just when the art was done and Jungkook cleaned your skin, he put on a transparent tape over it and gave you yet another bunny smile.

“And, we are done,” he pushed away from you and got rid of the latex gloves, cleaning the mess around while you hopped down from the chair and checked yourself in the mirror on the wall (although you didn’t really have to since the tattoo was perfectly visible just by looking at it). As you were scanning your posture in the reflection, you also felt something else. A pair of eyes running up and down your body rather shamelessly, and you had to admit - you enjoyed the attention he was giving you.

“You are strangely silent and I’m not sure if I like it or not,” Jungkook surprised you with his words, causing you to finally turn to him with a smile tugging on the corners of your lips. He was already done with cleaning the space, now sitting in the tattooing chair with arms folded over his chest. Something about him was so mesmerizing you found yourself unable to look away and take a deep breath. He seemed the same, though, giving you a rather intimidating look full of undisclosed attention and something more.

“I was just checking the masterpiece you created, that’s all. It looks amazing,” your voice came out strong and steady, surprising even yourself when you finished the sentence with a smile plastered over your features. Ever since you crossed the threshold of Jungkook’s salon, you managed to boost your confidence a little over the small talk and the cup of coffee you two had together during the short break.

“Now you are exaggerating, love. Anyway, I’m glad you like it. The first one is always very special. At least in my case,” the smirk was soon replaced by the bunny smile you found too cute on a guy like Jungkook. His appearance and look probably confused many people - including you. When you saw him for the first time, you thought he was a bad boy, a player, someone who would toy with you around only to tell you off the next day. But the more you were talking to him through the session, the more convinced you grew he was actually a nice guy with passion for art and tattoos. He was a nice example of that ‘to not judge the book by its cover’ saying. Those thoughts seemed to occupy your mind for longer than you thought as Jungkook slid down the chair and came closer to you, examining the tattoo he has just given you. “And it looks very good on you. Hot and tempting, but also sweet and delicate. It’s complimenting you well, love,” this time, he put a special emphasis on the last word, catching you completely off guard. However, you quickly collected yourself as your eyes found his, already staring. Once again, he came too close to you, completely destroying the last pieces of your personal space, but for some reason, you didn’t give a damn. If he was about to play, you weren’t the one to chicken out of this. No, not really. Therefore, came the answer with a smile flashing through your features and the smirk your eyes managed to pull out.

“Thank you, I like that place too. And who knows, I might come for more once I think about it deeper,” you smiled and internally fought the urge to touch him somehow. Anyhow. The aura around him was so welcoming you almost heard it whispering those teasing words into your ear, luring you to come closer despite the fact his work was over for now. You didn’t want to be done with him, not yet. You wanted more.

And moreover, you wanted him to call you like that again.

Gosh, being attracted to someone has never been more annoying than at this very moment when you wanted nothing more but to lean closer and—

“I’d be very happy, to be honest,” he took a step back, however, the smirk remained lingering over his facial features, giving you that tiny spark of hope that the game wasn’t finished just yet. But then again, he took a step back and it was a sign for you to do the same.

“Surely I will let you know in advance next time. Now, how much do I owe you?”

“How much what?”

“How much for the tattoo, Jungkook,” you couldn’t help but put a special emphasis on his name that rolled down your tongue easier than you first expected. He seemed to be caught off guard momentarily before a soft sound of him chuckling filled the room.

“Nothing,” he shrugged as if it indeed was nothing, as if he just didn’t grace your skin with his art.

His answer made you look at him in pure shock, blinking once and twice before his answer settled and you finally understood the simple word that left his lips. Just when you were about to scold him a little, he caught you unprepared with yet another shocking answer. “I stole a drink from you, so think about this as a payback. Also, you seem to be friends with Seokjin - and Seokjin’s friends are my friends.”

It was quick and bold answer, leaving you standing there as if someone spilled a bucket of cold-ass water over your head. Your lips formed a shape of a small ‘o’ and you very probably looked like a complete idiot.

“No, I can’t let you do that. I came here on your day off; you can’t give me a tattoo for free.”

“My studio, my rules, love. However, you are right about this one,” he wondered out loud, giving you a look that you couldn’t decipher, quite the right opposite. The look and his answer made your heart beat faster, almost as if it wanted to jump straight out of your ribcage. However, you kept it cool, just casually waiting for him to tell you more.

But he didn’t.

“So?”

“So… let’s just say you owe me this one, love. Let’s settle this as a debt I can collect anytime I want. What do you think about that?” he tilted his head to the side and gave you a look that was supposed to look innocent, yet there was nothing innocent about the mischief burning in his eyes. And despite the fact you didn’t know what did he mean by the ‘debt he could collect anytime he wanted’, the idea somehow excited you, causing the butterflies to play the game of catch in your tummy again.

“I think that’s something I can agree on.”

“Then give me your number, love,” he fetched his phone and unlocked it, handing it to you right after. You took a deep breath, typing the number and giving it back almost immediately. You didn’t dare to save the number, honestly curious about what name he was about to use for you. But as much as you tried to peek, Jungkook turned away from you, typed something down and then gave your phone a quick call so you had his number as well. Just then he put the phone back into the pocket of his jeans. Pout momentarily flashed through your features, but once he turned back to you, it was quickly replaced by a smile. At least you had his number now.

“Alright so… I’m gonna go now. Thank you for… you know, staying and working despite you were supposed to have a day off.”

“No need to thank me, pretty one. Let me tell you, it was a very well spent time. I will see you around? Perhaps on Seokjin’s anniversary party at the bar next week? Or… perhaps sooner, who knows,” the same mysterious look appeared in his face once again as he gave you a look. You tried not to pay attention to the way he ghosted after you while you collected your stuff and slid into the leather jacket. “And don’t forget to take care about the tattoo. Leave the tape on for approximately twenty-four hours and then gently wash it. And use a special lotion, here, I almost forgot,” it was impressive how quickly he snapped into his artist mode, reaching for one of the tubes standing on the shelf nearby. “Here, use this. Twice or thrice a day. If anything, call me.”

“Thank you, Jungkook. I will see you.”

“I already can’t wait, ____.”

Perhaps Jungkook was right when he said he would see you at the bar next week. And maybe, just maybe, you expected that stupid call or debt-collecting way sooner. Because once you came home from the tattoo session at his salon, you did nothing else but stared at your phone, almost cursing yourself for being that worked up over a boy you’ve only spent a few hours with. Yet, he left you excited and expecting, although nothing came. The week was long and boring, you mostly spent it with your friends or cuddled under the blanket with Netflix and bottle of red wine. From time to time, you thought about giving him a call first, but you always declined the idea as soon as it rubbed against your mind. You didn’t want to seem desperate; you didn’t want to look like another freshmen thirsting over the postgrad student, way out of your league.

But then again.

The way he talked to you never left your memory, quite the right opposite. Your brain decided to rub it in your face until the night of Seokjin’s anniversary party came and your friends came barging into your dorm room with paper bags full of alcohol they claimed to be a ‘pre-game you needed’. Drinks were followed by loud laughter and fight over who was about to use the bathroom first - because it had the biggest mirror and the best lightning needed for a precise make-up process.

Hours later, you finally made it to the bar, wearing short black dress your friends chose for you despite your loud protest. At first, it felt a bit uncomfortable because you were used to visit the place wearing jeans or shorts with comfortable tops, but once you realized you weren’t that underdressed, it calmed your mind a little since there were girls wearing considerably less amount of clothes.

“I’m thinking about tequila, what about you?” one of your friends asked, actually not waiting for you answer as she made a straight bee line towards the bar. Not caring about people waiting, she fought her way towards the bar and ordered you a round of the drink you swore you would never drink again. Yet, some promises were made to be broken - all over again, in your case.

After you received your shot of tequila, you cheered with your friends but not for long. It literally took them ten minutes to disappear, dancing in random corners of the bar with random dudes while you tried your best to find a calmer place - which was a corridor that led to the restrooms and deeper, where the visitors of the establishment weren’t allowed.

Not that you weren’t about to have fun, not at all. You just wanted to check your phone in case… well, you were probably very much head over heels for Jeon Jungkook who didn’t give you a call or spared you a text since last Saturday, but who were you to blame him?

“Looking for someone?”

You almost jumped in your place, placing the phone back into your purse as you turned around and face Seokjin, the handsome bartender to whom this crazy party has been dedicated. Instead of his usual place behind the bar, he seemed to have a night off, enjoying the party at its fullest.

“No, not really. My friends dumped me and I wanted to check my phone, that’s all,” you shrugged with a smile on your face, crossing your arms over your chest right after. “What about you? Aren’t you having fun tonight? It’s your third anniversary as the most handsome bartender - as I heard. What are you doing here?”

Yes, what was he doing there? In the hallway that led towards the door to the supply room when he wasn’t even working? Perhaps he was seeking some lone time as well, you didn’t know.

“Oh, we are at the VIP box with the guys but we ran out of some bottles so I was just going to get them. It’s easier than fetching it from the bar. Do you mind giving me a helping hand?” he asked with a genuine smile plastered over his features. You quickly nodded, following him to the supply room. You’ve never been there before which made you feel like going on an adventure. Seokjin quickly grabbed a few bottles of whisky, handing you two of them as he collected more. You gave him a look but he left it without answer which only left you wondering just how many guys were out there, sitting in the VIP box he had mentioned before.

“So, are you enjoying the party?” you asked and followed him out of the supply room, hands full of bottles of alcohol. Seokjin scoffed but smile crawled to his lips almost immediately.

“I’d rather spend the night behind the bar. I mean, I’m not saying I’m not enjoying the night, but it feels different to be on the other side. I guess I’ve been working here for way too long to enjoy a proper night off.”

“Come on, this is your party, you should enjoy it,” you nudged him as you navigated your way through the crowd of people dancing on the floor. The VIP box was located on the second floor of the bar, way calmer spot for people who just wanted to chat and enjoy the night without bumping into already intoxicated (mostly) freshmen. Way up there was a bit challenging with high heels and your hands full, but you successfully reached the spot - and almost dropped the bottles when your eyes met with Jeon Jungkook’s. He seemed to be surprised to see you up there but he quickly adapted to the situation and offered you a smile that quickly transformed into a welcoming smirk.

You put the bottles on the table, completely ignoring the looks of others, and straightened your posture.

“Okay, so… I’ll go,” you didn’t know who did you address your words to, but Seokjin was the one to answer you almost immediately.

“Why would you go? You said your friends dumped you. Stay with us for a while and then you can go. I don’t think the others would mind,” he said, turning to the guys sitting around the table. They shrugged one after another until it came to Jimin and Jungkook. The duo seemed to welcome you way warmer than the others, deep into a conversation about a thesis that was completely out of a place.

“Come, sit, sweetheart,” Seokjin ushered you to the last vacant spot next to Jungkook who immediately moved to give you slightly more space. Not so much, though, as he shamelessly threw his arm on the couch over your arms. He didn’t touch you, but you knew the motion spoke for itself.

“So, you got dumped, huh?” he asked, leaning a bit closer so you could hear him. The music might have been a bit more silent than down there, but people still needed to sit closer to each other if they didn’t want to yell like crazy. Exactly like the rest of them since the conversation seemed to escalate into something reminding more of a fight.

“It depends on the point of view. They were pretty much smashed before we even arrived here. You know, the pre-game and stuff. So, after a shot of tequila, they disappeared to look for an adventure like Powerpuff girls. I’m not blaming them, it’s not the first time. And right now, I guess I’m talking way too much, aren’t I?” you looked at him, kind of flustered by your own behavior. The words just fell off your mouth without you thinking about them first. Perhaps you were intoxicated more than you first thought and it perfectly mirrored on the way you were talking to him - shamelessly and without filter between your brain and mouth.

“You can never talk too much, love.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. At least you are not blushing and giggling like crazy. That’s really something I’m not digging,” he shook his head and looked into your eyes but soon, the gaze dropped to the hand in your lap. He gently reached for it, his thumb recreating the lines of the tattoo that was already in the process of healing. “Seems like you didn’t forget to take care about it. Good girl,” his voice dropped a few tones lower and his breath caressed your skin. Your eyes met and your heart fluttered, the urge to lean closer was back and on the highest alert. Yet, you were still not intoxicated enough to simply lean closer, grab his collar and kiss him right here, in front of his friends. Also, the way Seokjin peeked over his shoulder to check on you to stopped you from proceeding with the plan that has just come to life in your mind.

But taking one brave step forward would harm anyone, would it?

You leaned closer to his ear, desperately fighting the way his cologne was making you go crazy, and whispered: “Exactly like you told me, Jungkook.”

His posture changed and you could swear you saw the muscles shifting under the layers of clothes he was wearing. With clenched jaw and closed eyes, it took him a while to come back to his senses. Yet, you never pulled away from him, enjoying the scent of his musky cologne taking over your senses rather quickly.

“Love, what are you doing right now?”

“What am I doing?” you asked, blinking once and giving him an innocent smile. “I’m not doing anything, Jungkook. I just let you know I’m taking care about my tattoo the way you told me to.”

“Right,” he straightened his posture and cleared his throat. Something inside of you chuckled, the silent voice telling you that indeed, the game you started to play last week was on the table once again. With those thoughts, you watched as he reached for one of the bottles on the table and turned to you with a question mirroring in his eyes. You only nodded, giving him a go to pour you a glass.

Suddenly, you completely forgot about the pre-game drinks and the round of tequila you had shortly after you’ve arrived at the establishment. You forgot how annoying the hungover might be in the morning. Also, it was too late to think about it when Jungkook handed you a glass of whisky you brought with Seokjin. It was neat, without ice cubes you would be happy for, but this had to do.

“To—is there something we should cheer to, love?” he asked, taking his previous place next to you. Dangerously close to you. You looked at the glass in your hands and let out a humming sound.

“First, we should toast to Seokjin. In the end, this is his party,” with those words, you turned to Seokjin who occasionally kept an eye on you two. He smiled and nodded, joining the toasting process without even being invited. When the others joined and their loud cheering filled the space, you turned back to Jungkook without taking a sip of the drink. “And then, perhaps, we should drink to this masterpiece you managed to create on my hand,” you smiled softly, yet the softness never reached your eyes as the game has already started. And you hated being on the losing end.

“You are the fierce one, I see. Honestly, I misjudged you a bit,” he said, downing the drink and putting the empty glass on the table. You did the same and leaned back, your nape brushing against his arm that managed to find the way around your shoulders once again.

“Now you got me interested. How did you misjudge me, Mr. Jeon?”

“Easy as that - you came to my studio visibly stressed on Saturday morning. I knew you were not sure about getting the tattoo at first, but then, something changed. As if something has clicked inside of you and you took the complete opposite direction. I liked that. I liked that a lot. But then again, I’ve already told you I’m not digging the fake shy game. You decided to be honest with me,” he shrugged, offering you a genuine smile.

And that was the moment the smile vanished from your face.

Because you weren’t completely honest with him.

You didn’t tell him the whole tattoo thing was just a bet because you didn’t manage to get Jimin’s number. Yes, that satan who now sat at the same table as you, laughing loudly on something his best friend told him. However, you weren’t mad about the bet anymore, because what came out of the consequences you had to accept was something beautiful. Something you fell in love with your eyes fell on it.

And perhaps that was the reason you decided to be honest with Jungkook once again. You took a deep breath, desperately trying to calm the inner storm that dispersed the game of catch the butterflies played in your stomach.

“Actually, there’s something I have to tell you.”

“Come at me, love. Tell me whatever you want.”

“The tattoo… when I came into your salon last weekend, without having an appointment… it was a consequence of a bet I lost the night you stole my drink. I— I believe I don’t have to tell you what that bet was about, but the condition was simple. If I fail, I’m about to get a tattoo. I believe my friends used it against me because I was talking about getting one for quite a time, so… this was just a push for me,” suddenly, you weren’t so brave and bold as before. You felt shrinking in your seat, the touch of his hand on your shoulder almost burning. For some reason, you expected a storm coming but instead, your senses met with a chuckle that escaped Jungkook’s lips. He shook his head, giving you a rather unbelievable look.

“So, a bet, huh? I’m not gonna lie to you, love. You are not the first one to get a tattoo because of a bet. Although, I didn’t consider you the type to accept conditions like this. I guess I should put that on the mental list I made about you - things about ____ that keep surprising me. We should drink to that.”

You looked at him with mouth wide open, probably looking like an idiot. You were expecting a lecture but instead, he laughed in your face - and didn’t forget to flirt along the way. And although you were pretty much caught off guard, you quickly collected yourself and relaxed a little. Your little secret was out and you felt much lighter.

“May I know what was that bet about?”

“No, you may not. Now, pour us that drink.”

“Savage. I like that as well,” smirk graced his features momentarily. Your glasses were soon filled with another round of the golden liquid that easily slid down your dry throat and numbed your senses more. The good old feeling of intoxication clouded your view of world and your head spun a little, making you lean into Jungkook. The blonde didn’t seem to mind as he finished his drink and his hand other hand slid to your thigh, leaving a burning trail as it finished its journey on your exposed knee. He was silent for a moment, his eyes dropped to his hand that explored your skin, fingers dancing on the floor of your naked skin. The sparks of electricity were undeniable, making you take a deep breath.

“So? How did you decide? Do you want to get rid of that or do you want another one?” his hot breath met the sensitive skin under your ear as he leaned closer to ask you a question you didn’t see coming. Just then his hand left your knee and grabbed yours, thumb once again recreating the lines of tattoo he gave you. The way he was basically curled around you, shielding you from the outer world that seemed to go wild around you, made your breath got stuck in your throat, unable to give him a proper answer even though you were basically screaming in the back of your mind.

“I haven’t given it a thought yet, to be honest. But if I wanted another one, I’d definitely book an appointment beforehand, no worries about that.”

“Well, that’s your call to make. You have my number, so it’s going to be fairly easy,” he murmured, leaning even closer to you, not giving a damn about his friends sitting around the same table. You looked at him, taking a deep breath just to get a little bit higher on his musky cologne. And although his breath was mixed with alcohol and perhaps cigarettes as well, you so wanted to lean in and kiss those two sweet cushions. Inches of air held you from kissing each other, inches of nothing but space you hated so much. You hated it existed and you hated it prevented you from kissing the blonde tattoo artists. Although, everything you needed to do was simply to lean in and steal the kiss.

You didn’t do it.

No, you didn’t.

Because he was faster.

He crossed the last line of your personal space and pressed his lips against yours in a kiss that was sweet but tempting at the same time. You felt the tip of his tongue caressing your lower lip, wordlessly asking for a permission to slip in and give you more.

But there was this thing.

You weren’t alone. Not at all.

That was the reason you pushed back even though the kiss left you feeling like a hot mess. And before you had a chance to speak, he pressed his index finger on your lips.

“It’s time to collect my debt, love.”

“Collect how?”

“Do you want to get out of here?” he asked, boldly.

You felt your head spinning and you didn’t know whether it was because of the alcohol or the excitement that rolled through your body and settled in your core, sending painful pangs to your lower parts. Yet, you managed to give him an answer right away.

“Like where?”

“Like to my place.”

“Gladly.”

The cold night outside seemed to be the only witness of your little escape from Seokjin’s party. Jungkook’s friends sitting around the table were too busy with the fiery conversation going on to notice the two of you left, and your friends were nowhere to be seen. The club was packed, so Jungkook had to hold your hand tightly when he navigated the way through the ocean of dancing bodies. You liked it; the way his fingers tangled with yours, holding tightly onto you just to be sure you wouldn’t disappear or bail from his debt-collecting plan.

When you finally got out of the club, the cold air brushed against your skin and sobered you up a little to the point you realized what you were about to do, but Jungkook didn’t seem to care as he led the way down the street, knowing exactly where to go. Just when you crossed the street and walked for a few more minutes, you realized his studio wasn’t that far away.

The studio.

Was he really taking you to his studio?

“Didn’t you say we are going to your place?” you asked, a little bit dumbfounded when he didn’t aim for the main entrance of the tattoo salon, but instead led the way to the other side of the building. Another door came to your sight and Jungkook fished the keys from the inner pocket of his leather jacket. He noticed you staring at him with furrowed brows and he chuckled.

“Of course, love. This is my place, you just haven’t seen it all, that’s it,” he said as he unlocked the door and pulled you into a dark hallway. He closed the door and locked it again, but instead of turning on the lights, his arms sneaked around your waist like a pair of snakes, pulling your body closer into his. The way he teased you back in the club was nothing compared to how he held you at the moment, his chest hot and heaving with every breath he took brushing against you, igniting the fire again. “I hope you didn’t change your mind, princess.”

“Not yet,” teasing words rolled down your tongue and were followed by loud yelp when Jungkook’s hands slid down your bum and made you jump into his arms. The dim light of the street lights that peeked inside through the windows illuminated his face and revealed the smirk curling his lips.

“Love, you know I like it when you are fierce, but even I have my boundaries. So, if you don’t want to end up with blue ass and shaking legs, I wouldn’t go there if I were you,” he murmured into your ear and turned around as if you weighed nothing. His motion only made you wrap your arms around his shoulder and bury your face into his neck. Soon, you felt him climbing the stairs to the upper floor. Curiously, you looked around only to see nothing. The room was covered in darkness, not even the street light reaching inside.

“Mhm, mysterious,” you mumbled under your breath and squinted your eyes in desperate effort to scan the place. Jungkook only chuckled and continued in his little journey until he reached one of the doors, bringing you inside. Finally, he switched the lights on and revealed the place he brought you to.

The room was coated in darkish colors and was dominated by a big bed with sheets crumpled in a messy pile. Opposite the bed was a working table with PC and a pile of sketchbooks and in one of the corners stood a guitar. The rest of the room was made by wardrobe, drawers and shelves. It was simple yet it somehow complimented his persona. For a while, you just stood there, looking around yourself to grasp a tiny detail that would tell you something more about Jungkook’s character. And just when you were about to dive in, a pair of strong arms curling around your waist from behind cut the train of your thoughts.

“Do you want something to drink?”

You turned in his arms, wrapping yours around his neck to pull him into a kiss that seemed to be the most natural thing ever. Your lips met in a sweet kiss that soon grew into something more heated, perhaps a fight for dominance you immediately lost as he pressed you closer to his chest and caressed your lower lip with his tongue. You opened your mouth, welcoming him with a silent whimper that crawled from deep inside of you. He smirked into the kiss, deepening it a little to lure another series of moans out of you. And when he pulled away with the same smirk still playing over his features, you pouted.

“That wasn’t an answer, sweetheart.”

“I don’t want to drink. I want you,” you murmured and your fingers started to work on his leather jacket, slowly rolling it down his shoulders until the piece of clothing hit the floor. But you didn’t stop, the jacket wasn’t enough. Your fingers found the way to the buttons of his shirt, undoing one after another until his firm chest came to view and you took a deep breath.

“Seem like you like what you see, love,” Jungkook wondered out loud, chuckling right after. Honestly, you didn’t mind stripping you off the clothes that covered upper part of his body. He didn’t even mind when your fingers touched his burning skin and recreated the lines of tattoo covering his chest and stomach, mainly the tattoo of tiger and its paw that disappeared under the waistband of his peeking boxers. When you touched him there, his hand shot up and handcuffed your wrist. “In this household, we play the fair game,” with his words, you found yourself pressed against the wall with his lips lingering around the skin of your neck. So close, yet so far; his lips left you desiring when he didn’t kiss you there. And you were craving him. You wanted him like crazy. Your mind was clouded, your eyes seeing red as he carefully peeled your jacket off your body. Cold air mixed with his hot breath gently caressed your skin and you trembled, wishing for nothing but to be in his arms already.

“Then strip me,” surprisingly, your voice came out steady and full of confidence. Even Jungkook blinked once before the infamous smirk flashed through his features - and to your very surprise, he took a step back until the back of his knees meet the bed and he sat down. Spreading his legs while leaning back on his elbows, he teasingly clicked his tongue and you felt his eyes running up and down your body.

“Why don’t you do it yourself, love?”

Wave of heat rolled through your body and your cheeks flushed momentarily. He took the game to yet another level and for a split second, you weren’t so sure about playing. But then again, your eyes briefly flickered in his direction and you had to swallow the whimper crawling up your throat.

“Fine,” you shrugged and reached for the straps of your dress, internally cursing your friends for making you wear it. This piece of dress was too tight to allow you to wear a bra underneath, but thankfully, you could afford to wear at least panties. The process of thinking slowed down your motion which only boosted the hunger in Jungkook’s eyes. The spark of power play flashed between the two of you as you finally managed to pull one string down - and the second followed right after. You’ve never stripped in front of anybody - if you didn’t count your friends, but that was a completely different case - so you weren’t so sure about what you were doing. Yet, Jungkook seemed to like it. His hand slid to his crotch where the bulge started to form while a silent curse left his lips.

You pushed the fabric lower over your hips and let it hit the floor before you stepped out of it, kicking the high heels off your feet along the way. Shivers danced down your naked spin and you trembled a little under the weight of Jungkook’s heavy gaze. He was silent for a while, only staring at you as his tongue poked his inner cheek.

“I always knew you were a piece of art, love,” his words surprised you and brought yet another wave of blush to your cheeks. Even in the middle of a heated moment he was complimenting you like a true gentleman. His posture straightened as he sat on the bed and signaled you to come closer. “Come closer, sweetheart.”

Your body acted on autopilot, approaching him only to stop between his parted legs. He looked at you from down there, long blonde strands of hair falling into his eyes as his hot breath brushed against the soft spot under your exposed breasts. The shyness went completely away when he leaned closer and his lips traced a line of wet kisses down your stomach. And again, as if your body didn’t belong to you at all, your fingers found a way to his hair, tugging on the strands tightly when he slid down the bed and dropped to his knees to reach lower.

The tingling started in your fingertips, making them numb to the soft feeling of his hair, and continued to your inners, travelling down to your core that you already felt dripping wet. Your panties were ruined the moment Jungkook stick his tongue and copied the curve of its lacy hem. But before he could do something more, you pushed away, looking at him through your hazy eyes.

“Sit.”

Throaty laugh crawled out of his mouth, but he obediently sat back on the bed, waiting for your move. You weren’t so sure about your next move, but what you knew what that you couldn’t let him continue in his little play. You were already balancing at the edge of falling down the pit of pleasure - and honestly, you didn’t want to let go that easily. And that soon.

You waged your way between his legs only to drop to your knees like he did seconds ago, undoing his pants rather quickly. The bulge in his pants didn’t escape your attention and you found yourself licking your lips. The situation completely took over your senses and turned you into a someone who desperately sought something raw and feral.

“Must be painful, isn’t it, honey?” he was the pro in using pet names, but who said you couldn’t give him one as well? Mainly when he looked like he really enjoyed you calling him like that. However, you quickly hushed those thoughts to the corner of your mind and rolled down his pants, throwing it into the space behind you. Fierce, really. Suddenly, Jungkook was sitting in front of you only in his boxers, yet you decided to get him rid of those as well.

Wearing nothing but ink and the smug smirk on his face, you took another deep breath to calm your senses before your eyes dropped to his lower area. Tall and hard, his cock brushed against his underbelly with his red tip that called for some attention.

“It indeed was painful, thank you for your help, little one,” suddenly, his voice dropped a few tones lower and you swallowed hard, contemplating what to do next. Of course, you weren’t stupid, you knew what to do next. However, you wanted to adore the view in front of you for a little longer.

Because the naked man in front of you kicked the air out of your lungs completely.

“Well then we should do something about it, don’t you think?” you leaned closer, fingers curling around the base of his pulsing cock. Whimper escaped Jungkook’s lips and you smirked, leaning even closer to gently kiss his rosy tip.

“Love, don’t tease me,” he murmured, voice deeper than before because of the tense atmosphere lingering around. You had none of his shit as you took him in and twirled your tongue around his length, feeling the veins popping out. You gave him a few licks before diving deeper, letting his tip brush against the back of your throat. His whole body tensed under you and his hand found a way to your hair, tugging on it rather harshly. Not that you minded.

“Fuck, love, just like that—“ he threw his head back and moaned loud, causing you to swallow on purpose. You looked up at him exactly at the same moment he looked at you, eyes wide open as a deer caught in the flashlight in the middle of the road. What happened next was too fast for you to catch up but suddenly, you found yourself caged under his firm body on the bed, legs wide apart as he squeezed himself in between. His whole posture changed, the features of a soft artist were gone and replaced by something harsher and hungrier. He was hungry for lust and passion. He was hungry for you.

“It’s time for you to get rid of these,” he murmured, pushing away only to get you rid of the panties. The sound of fabric ripping filled the room and you gasped, giving him a rather offended look.

“Those might have not been my favorite one, but hey! I’m not going home completely underwear-less!”

“Who said you are going back home?” the cockiness in his voice caught you completely off guard and unprepared when he parted your legs again and slid lower, making himself comfortable in between. “Because I’m not letting you go home that soon, love,” with those words, you felt his lips burning a fiery path down your underbelly until he reached your womanhood. And then, the fireworks exploded behind your closed eyes. First, you felt his lips sparing your nether lips soft kisses, nibbling and sucking gently. Then, you felt his tongue sliding up and down your slit, lapping around to drink your juices. And last, you felt his teeth gently teasing your clit which almost pushed you towards the bliss you wanted to hold off for as long as possible.

But your plans were ruined the moment you felt one of his fingers pushing in slowly, curling inside only to leave your body twisting on his bed and in his sheets. Soon, second finger followed, stretching you oh so good while his lips never stopped the wicked dance with your clit. Moans mixed with curse words fell down your lips and your fingers tangled within his blonde locks in a desperate need for climax. And as it was slowly building inside of you, you rolled your hips against his face and now three fingers that pushed in and out in a desperately slow manner. The man exactly knew what he did to you - and he enjoyed it.

“Jungkook—I—I need to cum. Please—“ you stuttered with the last strength you found in yourself, giving him a look. He started back, looking like a hot mess between your legs with your juices glistering all over his face.

“You sound so good when you are pleading, love. Do you want it that much? Huh?” he asked, picking up the pace and you nodded, desperately rolling your hips against his hand. You felt the spasm coming, dangerously close, peeking around the corner. Chuckling sound filled the room as he dove deep into your core again, this time sucking harsher. That was the last action that finally pushed you towards the first orgasm of the night. You let go and welcomed the warm arms of the bliss, screaming and moaning while Jungkook tried his best to guide you through the paradise. The motion of his hands slowed down and he spared your inner thighs sweet kisses to calm you down a little.

It’s been a while since you experienced orgasm this hard and heavy, clouding your senses for minutes until you came back to yourself. You opened your eyes to meet Jungkook’s. He was hovering over your, his erecting poking your inner thighs only reminding you that indeed, he needed some release as well.

“You are so beautiful,” with those words, he leaned closer and gave you a taste of yourself, the kiss so sweet but so passionate at the same time. After you were sure your body recharged at least a little, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer, bodies colliding together. Yet, what was sweet once again turned into something not so innocent anymore. His hips rolled against yours and you were again reminded of his pulsing shaft.

“Jungkook—“

“Yes, my love?”

“I need you. Take me. Make me yours.”

“As you wish, my love,” he spared you one last kiss before he pushed away and reached for the nightstand. You gave him a confused look before you realized he was reaching for a pack of condoms. Smile sneaked to your features as you grabbed his arm and pulled him closer again. And at that moment, it was his turn to be confused.

“You don’t need that. I’m clean and on pills so—“

“Shit, don’t tell me twice,” he was back above you, his hand crawling down to his shaft to give himself a few pumps before you felt his tip brushing against your slit. The familiar wave of heat rolled through your body and you didn’t even have enough time to collect yourself as he slowly pushed in, grunting noise accompanying his motion. Slowly, from the tip to the base he filled your pulsing walls and halted, his eyes scanning your face to find a tiny hint of discomfort. However, there was none, only a pure need to urge him to move.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” his voice came out low and hoarse with the first roll of his hips. Unable to form any coherent word or sentence, you only nodded, desperately reaching for him to hold onto something. The gentleman he was, he leaned closer, however the motion caused him to part your legs even wider until you find yourself in a position when your legs were pressed against your chest while Jungkook picked up the pace, sliding deeper and deeper with each thrust of his hips. He looked at you and despite the lust that almost sent you to another dimension, you managed to give him a smirk.

“I told you—I did yoga.”

“From now on, you are only practicing yoga with me, love,” smug smirk tugged on the corner of his lips as his thrust became harsher and you felt his tip hitting your cervix.

“You wish,” your teasing manners didn’t leave you even in such a situation, and you soon felt your legs pressed between his and yours shoulders as he decided to lean in and shut you with his own lips. The kiss was hot and heavy, broken from time to time because you the moans that crawled out of your throat. Each thrust of Jungkook’s hips became harder and deeper, which made you call out his name loudly. You felt the sensation building inside of you, slowly but surely. Clenching around him, you tried desperately to push him towards his own limit which was already visible in his hazed eyes. He was close and so were you, yet letting go still seemed out of option.

“More,” you murmured, tugging on his lock, pushing him closer and closer to the finish line. You felt him twitching harshly inside of you, first drops of precum warming your insides.

“Fuck, love, I’m so close.”

“Then cum with me,” your voice came out as a desperate cry, eyes almost tearing as you looked at him, completely lost in the view he provided you. Hot mess was nothing compared to the man towering over you, desperately chasing over the sweet release.

His hand found a way between your sweaty bodies, crawling lower until it reached your clit and gave it a few rubs which finally pushed you towards the finish line. Your body was momentarily caught in a spasm before you allowed yourself to let go, screaming and desperately digging your nails into the skin of Jungkook’s back. The second orgasm of the night felt stronger than the first one, mainly when Jungkook kept thrusting into you, still not there. And you let him. You let him overstimulate you until his body tensed and his cock twitched inside of you for the last time before the thick warm sprouts of his release coated your insides and eventually leaked out into his sheets. His body collapsed into yours and you let a whimper. The heavyweight of his relaxed body made you unable to breathe and when you tried to push him away, it didn’t work.

“Kook, baby.”

“Hmpf.”

“Jungkook.”

Nothing.

“Jeon.”

“What?”

“I can’t breathe.”

“Crybaby,” he murmured and slowly pushed away while gently pulling out of you. The sudden lack of his girth made you whimper but you soon found yourself comfortable as he rolled over and pulled you closer to his arms. His chest was firm but soft at the same time, the slight scent of his musky cologne mixed with post-sex scent lingering around. He pressed a kiss to your hair and chuckled.

“What was that?” you asked, too tired to actually look at him.

“Nothing. I just didn’t imagine collecting my debt to end up like this.”

“Now you are lying.”

“No, I’m not, love,” he shook his head and spared the crown of your hair another kiss. “I wanted to ask you on a date. Well, I guess we skipped that stage. Unless…”

“Unless?”

“Unless you want to go on date with me.”

Now that was something that made you look at him with a question mark hanging above your head. The man that has just fucked the soul out of you turned into a complete sweetie asking you out for a date. How unbelievable.

“That I’d love to, Jungkook.”

Heavy sigh left his lips. It almost looked like he was relieved.

“And you know what else I want?”

“What is that, my love?”

“Drink. I want my drink, Jungkook.”

“I swear to god… You are going to be the death of me.”

#bts fanfic #bts fic #fanfiction #jungkook #jungkook fanfiction #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #smut #college au #bts au

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