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imnotshua · 3 days ago

Text

joke me something awful - jww

٠࣪⭑ pairing: jeon wonwoo x fem reader ٠࣪⭑ summary: it's 2002 and you ask wonwoo to take you home. later, he wonders why you haven't been doing this the whole time. ٠࣪⭑ genre: childhood friends to lovers, smut, fluff, angst, college au ٠࣪⭑ rating: explicit. minors do not interact with me, i'll block you. ٠࣪⭑ warnings: swearing, drinking, undefined relationships. not really a situationship tho, it’s very much mutual pining. reader and wonwoo are just stupid regular people who say and do stupid things, it is intentional, please love them anyway. wonwoo is down bad i'm so sorry friends, he is just!!!!!! occasional use of pet names (baby & angel from wonwoo. darling/sweetheart from others), no use of y/n or other variations, porn with plot mostly, ambiguous ending (sorry my beloveds). wonwoo could do with some more confidence ig. a bitter ex (oc) is mentioned and important for the plot! mentions of previous hook ups between wonwoo and reader. toxicity from the ex, but i don’t particularly think reader and wonu are! they just :(((((( feel free to correct me tho. ٠࣪⭑ smut contents: gendered terms, kisses, fingering (pussy + mouths), oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (it's 2002 college students were stupid then ok), dry humping lmao, cum eating, wonwoo on top, cum in pants, sloppy kinda, wet patches <3, soooo much hand holding, morning sex, neediness <333333, all in all they are quite soft and disgustingly into each other. if you think i've forgotten anything please let me know so i can fix my post! ٠࣪⭑ wc: 5.4k - complete ٠࣪⭑ a/n: i listened to fob's from under the cork tree on repeat for like 2 weeks straight and needed to do something with the feelings in my chest. this universe started in a different work that i'll post another time, this is the before. it is complete on its own, can be read without the others, but please note that future fics for this couple will be non-linear and feature different stages of their lives. the title comes from Fall Out Boys I've Got A Dark Alley–. Please consider listening to Air - Yeji, it's the feeling this couple gives me. ٠࣪⭑ thank yous: to my loves, @100vern and @starlightkyeom– thank you for putting up with my screaming over wonwoo, thank u for reading this over and telling me it wasn't gross. to jewel again, thank you for the banner. i appreciate u both so much. to everyone else, thank you for coming to my little corner, i hope you enjoy this one.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

2002

Wonwoo didn’t apply for the fellowship program, despite all your insistence that if you got in he’d be sure to, that he’s smarter than you’ll ever be. At the time he said it felt like too much work, but later he realised he couldn’t take the fear of rejection. This would’ve just been another failed start. Deep down he wondered if he’d even deserve it.

The celebratory dinner for new scholars is supposedly an elitist, snobby, and frankly, horrid affair so naturally you’re going. If only to foster those connections you’re making for your future career. Wonwoo turns his nose up but he agrees to be your date nonetheless. You don’t have to beg, just ask the question and say he wouldn’t embarrass you like the man you’ve been dating for four months, and that fills him with some strange sense of achievement.

Of course, once that guy hears you’re taking Wonwoo instead of him, he dumps you without ceremony. And now Wonwoo sits on your bed in a rented suit far too expensive for him to feel entirely comfortable in, watching your reflection choose which earrings to wear, and he wonders if you’re even bothered. He doesn’t know how to talk to you about this. Partners are off limits, usually, but since he had some involvement in the break up, in some roundabout way, he thinks maybe he should at least check. He wets his lips.

“How are you feeling?” he asks. “Since Hongseok?”

You meet his eyes in the mirror. “Fine,” you say. “I don’t think it was going anywhere. He wanted something more traditional. I started to get the impression he was setting up to cheat on me, actually.”

Wonwoo is unsurprised, sounds like you are too. “You’re better off without him,” he says, picking at bits of fluff from your blanket clinging to his trousers. It’s one his mother knitted for your sixteenth birthday. “You’ll meet someone new in no time.”

“Yeah, I don’t know,” you start. “I think I’ll stay single for a while.”

Wonwoo lifts his eyebrows in surprise and you catch him in the mirror. With a laugh you say, “Don’t look at me like that.”

“You’ve been a serial dater since we moved to this city and you’re stopping now?” Wonwoo’s lips twist into a grin. Teasing is easier than edging too close to real. “Just when you’ve hit your prime?”

You scoff. “Rude. I’ll hit my prime in my thirties. Just watch.”

Wonwoo watches as you apply your usual lipstick and thinks about the time you didn’t wear any. You were just kids but it didn’t seem so long ago. You’re almost the same. Eighteen years of your starkly different lives intertwined and somehow still as close as you ever were. Still the sharpest person he’s ever known, still the sweetest if only in private. Still his parents' favourite person, still his. (His stomach twists).

You’re giving yourself a final appraisal in the mirror before turning to Wonwoo and asking how you look.

“Good,” he says, with a nod. Breathtaking, really. “Pretty.”

“Thanks,” you say, smiling relieved, moving to sit next to him on the bed and linking his arm. “We scrub up well, don’t we?”

“Mm,” he agrees, following your gaze into the mirror, pinpricks creeping over his skin. You look like you’re together, he thinks, as he notices you’ve chosen earrings that go with his tie. Anyone could make that assumption.

“You look sad, Wonwoo,” you say, quiet and soft. “Are you sad?”

“No,” he says, throat tight and feeling like his back is pressed against the wall. “What would I have to be sad about?” He lets you slip your hand into his, lets you lean your head on his shoulder for a moment, because this is how you make him feel better. Because you know that he can’t be pushed to talk about things he hardly understands. Barely a minute goes by before he sucks in a breath and says, “Shall I call us a taxi?”

“Sure, number’s in the book next to the telephone,” you say. “Want a drink? I need one for this.”

“Water for me, someone’s got to get you home.”

“Aw, come on. Don’t make me drink alone.” You laugh when Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “I’ll be on my best behaviour, I promise. My reputation’s on the line.”

“One beer,” he offers. You pout and he can’t stop his smile.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It went like this:

Both of you had no less than three drinks before the taxi showed up.

Your peers kept thinking that he was your “elusive boyfriend” and upon correction that he was ‘just Wonwoo’ their eyes lit up and exclaimed “oh we’ve heard so much about you!”

The way he blushed made you want to kiss him silly (you had another drink instead).

Drink five? Four? Everyone here is obliterated, no one notices you and Wonwoo readying to leave.

He looks so pretty like this, tie undone, glasses slipping down his nose, pulling off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders, watching your lips as you talk.

The taxi you pre booked won’t be here for another ten minutes but the room was so stuffy (in both the literal and figurative sense) that as soon as you tell Wonwoo you need to get out of there, he’s nodding and pulling you out into the street. It’s so busy– of course, it’s OT week– that you struggle to find a spot where you won’t be bumped into for a while, eventually settling against the wall of the building opposite, in good view of the road. The noise around you is hectic, and you’re desperate for something less bothersome. Wonwoo looks drunk, looks fucked out. Cheeks flushed and lips parted. Eyes closed, he tips his head back against the brick and exposes the column of his throat. Pretty.

“Hey,” you say, slipping your arms around his waist. “Thanks for coming with me.”

Wonwoo hums. “Yeah, ‘course.” A pause– he wraps his arms around your shoulders. He’s so heavy but you like how it feels. “Anything for you.”

There’s a saccharine sweetness stirring in your stomach. You ask him to tell you the story of Baucis and Philemon again, press your body against his and hope he can still read you like he used to. It’s been years. Maybe he won’t want to.

“Why do you like that one so much?” he asks. You take in the smell of his soap. You know you shouldn’t want to go down this road again. “It’s hardly even a love story.”

“They’re the ultimate love story,” you insist, looking up at your friend to find him already watching you. “They’re precious to each other. I want that kind of love.”

It’s more than that. Baucis and Philemon have a timeless love. Their lightness oozes out of them, their love is both infectious and tender. So devoted they choose to die together. Never without the other even after they’re gone– turned to trees, and their branches and roots weave together so tightly that you can’t tell where either one of them starts and they stay like that, as relics of a lost ancient world.

There is something ancient about Wonwoo, too. For as long as you can remember he has been older than his years, telling stories of places long buried, of deities forgotten about. You think maybe he was meant for then and not now, the cusp of the twenty-first century. He keeps echoes within him. Carries heavy stones to turn over in his hands and spend time memorising the marks. He is deliberate in the way he moves, no ill-perceived rush, and Wonwoo’s silence carries more weight than his words.

So when his eyes flicker to your lips again, and he still doesn’t move, you know it’s on you. You know you’re going to have to be the one to shift the sands, change the direction of the tide. You’ve been lovers before. Neither of you have ever said never.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

He’d been thinking about it all night but you were the one to press your lips against the corner of his mouth, eyes on his and holding the proximity. Are you thinking about it like he is? Is your heart thrumming in your chest like his?

“I can feel you thinking.”

“Uh huh.” His mouth goes dry. He can’t kiss you with a sandpaper tongue.

You run a finger between two buttons on his shirt, eyes up, watching his reaction. “Can I stay at your place tonight? Hansol’s at his parents' house this weekend, right?”

Wonwoo’s mind goes blank and he can feel the pink creep over his cheeks. “Did you squeeze your Pompompurin pyjamas in that little bag?”

Your lips twitch in an almost smile, lean in to ghost a kiss against his bottom lip. Wait to see if he pulls back– he doesn’t. His hands just slip down your back, touching the skin under the strap of your dress. Didn’t imagine when he helped you zip up earlier that he’d be the one invited to pull it off you. Has he hidden his desire so poorly? “Do you wanna fuck me in those pyjamas, Wonwoo?”

The street noise is drowned out when you kiss him properly, and it’s embarrassing the way he’s breathless, gripping at your waist and pulling your body closer. Humiliating that this is in full view of strangers, doesn’t want them to see how you lick into his mouth, doesn’t want them to hear your sharp gasp as his teeth drag over your bottom lip. He spins you on the spot, crowds you against the brick and blocks out the world with his shoulders. You pull on a button and slip your hand through the gap. The touch burns. Your kisses are suffocating, loves the way you smile into it, the way you make him chase your lips, run your fingers along the waistband of his trousers an– fuck– he’s gonna get hard in the middle of the street.

Desperate, he pulls off you and whips his head around to look for the taxi, you’re already complaining. “Not here–,” he says, words rasped, catching in his throat. He can see the taxi rounding the corner, and in a beat he’s pushing off the wall and dragging you toward it by the hand.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

He doesn’t touch you in the taxi. Hopes you know it’s not because he didn’t want to, he just doesn’t want to lose himself. His fingers flex eager on the leather seats, wanting something he won’t take. As the driver fiddles with the radio, you lean over to lay your hand across his, to whisper in his ear, “do you still lick your fingers after you’ve made someone come on them?” Wonwoo doesn’t answer, but he can feel the way you watch him swallow– thick– and stare hard out the window at the passing lights. He never did that with anyone but you.

Now you’re paying for it. He’s more confident in the privacy of his bedroom, in the dark. Cages you in his bed, doesn’t bother to turn on the lights before smothering you with his body. Your mouth on his– wet, and eager, and bruising. His hands move to your face, in your hair, angling your head to give his lips access to the tender spot behind your ear. He’s got your dress bunched up around your waist. Takes up all the space between your legs, still too much fabric separating you. One of Wonwoo’s hands cast over the swell of your breast, his thumb tracing circles over your nipple through the thin fabric. You melt into the touch, rolling your hips against him, he sighs into your skin. “Can feel how hard you are,” you gasp, hands pulling at his hair. Makes his skin electric.

He moves faster, desperate, and you trap his body between your legs, angle your hips so his cock can rub against your clothed cunt just right. “Gonna ruin your trousers,” you whisper. Yeah yeah yeah, fuck it, he’ll pay for dry cleaning for once. The warmth, the wet, seeping through makes him insane. Needs it more than ever, needs you just like this, breath ragged and pupils blown. Needs you needing him so bad you can’t even get out of your clothes before you come. Needs you whining, needs you telling him how badly you want it. Won’t ask for anything, but you know what he likes. It’s always been easy with you.

“Feels good,” you say. Wonwoo nods into your neck, the pressure building so fast it’s blinding. Hips thrusting rough, rutting like an animal against your clit, desperate for you to get off before he falls apart but he’s so cl–”Missed you so much, Wonwoo.”

“Ah, fu- fuck–” You’re sucking a mark into his neck and Wonwoo can’t stop. Comes hard, breath catching and his rhythm is all fucked up, so fucking embarrased that he couldn’t draw this out. You’re talking him through it– sounds like heaven whispering how good he is, how good this feels, how you love how he sounds when he forgets himself. Didn’t realise he was groaning. A mess of a person reflected in the cum staining through the fabric of this horribly expensive rental.

Shit.

Needs to get out of this fucking suit. Needs to press his face into your cunt. Wants to ruin you for everyone else. Four years– you wasted four years with other people when you could’ve been doing this. Pushes away thoughts of you being someone else's not even a week ago. Some sick, possessive slice of him wants to reclaim you, mark you up and present you as his to the world. Wants to take the cum in his underwear and push it into your body. Look, see, she’s mine mine mine. Wonwoo’s chest aches.

Your clothes shed in silence. You lay him back against the pillows, kneeling next to him with spread legs, he loves when you let him see. You take one of his hands in yours and work circles into his palm as you pull two of his fingers into your mouth. Get them slick with spit, work your tongue over the tips of his fingers. He can hardly breathe watching you manoeuvre his hand down your body against your cunt, using him like a toy, until his remaining brain cells start to work and he takes over the movement. He’s half hard again already.

“Shit, you’re so wet,” he rasps. Crooks his fingers and you whine. Wants to eat the sounds spilling from your lips. Needs to do something with his mouth so he doesn’t say something stupid. “Sit on my face?” he asks, obvious urgency in his voice.

“N-no, like this first,” you say, almost like you’re begging. “Missed your hands so much.”

You look at him through hazy eyes as he works you quickly to the edge, pulling whimpers from your throat every time he plays with your clit. Feels you get impossibly wet when he slips his fingers in deep and moans unashamed along with you. You buck into his palm, head tipping forward to watch his soaked long fingers fucking into you agonisingly slow. Your breath stutters in your throat as he uses his other hand to tease your skin, trailing gently over the meat of your thigh, your ribs, cupping your breast and then dragging you over him to take a nipple in his mouth. Flicks his wet tongue over until it pebbles between his teeth, and you gasp.

“M’close already,” you whisper. “Gonna come, Wonwoo.” He ruts his hard cock into the air, chasing heat that isn’t there. Fucking loser. You don’t even notice with the way he’s got your breaths coming in fragments. You come undone like lightning, cunt soaking and pulsing around his fingers, your body collapses on top of him, your forehead pressed into his chest. Wonwoo wants a taste but wants to work you through the aftershocks first. He teases slow circles over your clit until you fall apart with a sob, and have to drag his hand out from between your legs.

He waits until you sag to your side– catches sight of your cheeks, flushed and sweat sticking to your skin, your pupils blown out and breathing shallow, more beautiful than he’s ever seen you– before he brings his fingers to his mouth to taste you on them.

“You’re indecent,” you laugh in disbelief. He almost feels gross until you’re babbling about how hot he is. How he makes you insane. You laugh again when he rolls you onto your back and settles between your legs. It’s been so long he needs to do this right. Starts by pressing a gentle kiss to your clit, ghosts more over your centre, waits for the sound of your gentle sigh before laving a thick stripe over you. Knows just the way to make you molten. He laps at your core until you’re almost sobbing. You jolt whenever his nose slips over your clit, and you’re begging for him to stop the tease. He’ll never deny you what you want. His tongue flicks fast over your clit, his face wet with you now. His moans sound muffled against your cunt when his name falls from your lips in staccato breaths.

Things have hardly changed. Four years and now, it’s just the fucking same. Your fingers still find purchase in his hair the same way. Mouths at your inner thighs to give your cunt a break. Shit, you’re so hot. You’re clenching around fucking nothing. Pulls the skin between his teeth and you’re writhing, trying to get his tongue back where you need it. Love when you get desperate like this.

Your nails drag over the nape of his neck and he’s close to losing control– fucks his cock against the mattress and almost cries at the pressure. You grind against his face, Wonwoo knows you’re close. Blacks out as he eats you like he’s been starving, his face so slick with spit and you it drips down his chin to the sheets. Doesn’t dare stop to breathe as he feels your legs begin to shudder over his shoulders. He watches the way you look down at him, brows pinched pleasure, waits for your lips to fall apart with a broken sob before licking into you so deep. He can’t tell who comes first, can’t tell who the enormous wet patch on the mattress belongs to, doesn’t fucking care, just wants to keep you.

He moves over you when you’re done, pressing chaste kisses to the corner of your mouth, to your cheeks, to your temple, before you’re giggling and pulling his body next to yours.

“Shift over,” he says, tapping at your hip. “Don’t wanna sleep in the wet patch.”

“Did you come again?” you ask, moving to the side to give him space.

Wonwoo nods, cheeks instantly flushing with heat. But there’s no need for embarrassment because you’re sucking in a breath. Seriously, you say “You have no idea how much I like that.”

He doesn’t reply, just fits his body against yours and presses a kiss to your shoulder. Lets your words wash over him. Sleep comes for him quicker than he wants it, but not before he slides his hand into yours, not before telling you he missed you too.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Mascara stains Wonwoo’s pillowcase but right now he doesn’t care. It’s still too early, still dark outside, but this room is hot, his breath is hot, your leg thrown over his waist is hot, and he’s considering just how monumental this is. It’s been almost four years since you touched him like this. In school it started with a ‘one kiss won’t ruin us’ and ended just before university with a ‘are we still friends?’ Way back then you both swore blind that you could just go back to your regular scheduled programming and nothing had to change. An agreement that those brief months you had (not quite) together in high school were just two best friends helping each other out. A mutual understanding that the love you share is completely and utterly platonic, and platonic friends can totally kiss/touch/fuck for a few months without it ruining something more special than sex. Except he didn’t really mean it. The trouble was that Wonwoo knew even then that he wanted something all consuming. Felt it with you. Wasn’t sure if you wanted the same.

Wonwoo is absolutely not spiralling.

You’re still sound asleep (always are after nights like the last), and his arm is trapped. Back then he’d use this time to bask in you. With you wrapped up in him it was easy to feel like you were completely his. He used to feel like he could do anything to you, and you’d let him. You’d want it, even. Didn’t actually want to take you over but knowing that he could– the intensity of that scared him. Now that feeling doesn’t come, maybe because you’ve had the separation of time and different lovers, he doesn’t know really. He still doesn’t understand what happened before university. Doesn’t get why you stopped coming over when he was so close to unbottling the feelings in his chest. Just knows that the conversation took him by surprise even after a week of distance. Just knows how his chest ached even as he agreed that it’d be sensible to put it all to bed before leaving your sleepy town for the big city. Knows how his gut twisted sharp when you said that just because you were going together didn’t mean you should go together. Maybe he should’ve protested then, showed you how much he needed you. Impossibilities stretch out before him– if it went that way, last night wouldn’t have happened, he wouldn’t be tracing tiny figures of eight on the small of your back right now. If you’d been together then, young and stupid, would you have stood the test of time?

You stir, half roused, and Wonwoo swallows the lump in his throat, choosing to be grateful for the now. He pulls your waist closer, runs his hand under your thigh to gently adjust the weight. Your eyes are still closed but you make a soft sound of surprise.

“What time is it?” you ask, voice thick with sleep.

“Too early,” he whispers back. “Go back to sleep.”

“I was dreaming,” you murmur.

“What about?”

Your smile is lazy against his skin. “Can’t tell you,” you say. “You’d run away.”

Wonwoo thinks hard about this. “I don’t run away,” he says, quiet and serious.

You blink open soft eyes to look at him, and Wonwoo feels too much. “Your face is all frozen, Wonwoo,” you say, gentle. “Are you okay?”

“Kiss me. Wish me good morning.” Wonwoo’s voice comes out with more edge than he intends. Doesn’t sound like his own. Feels cheap, something sleazy. Feels tragically guilty about it until he sees the look on your face. Like you want to eat him.

Your gaze is dark when you lock eyes with him. Push up with your hands, straddling his hips, his cock against your rear. You take his hands, larger than yours, place them on your ribcage, push them down down down, making goosebumps pebble along in his wake, until he’s using his thumbs to spread you apart. A little wet already, leaves a slick mark on his skin. He sighs at the sight of it. Your breath comes harder when he plays with your clit. You lean over, say– “Good morning, Wonwoo.” Press a delicate kiss to his top lip. “You’re gonna come inside me this time, okay?”

Wonwoo isn’t religious, but he feels like angels made you for him. Tells you so, and you gasp against his mouth. The way you kiss him this time is anything but angelic. Wet. Messy. Sharp teeth leaving imprints on his lips. It hurts. Nice in a way it shouldn’t be. A relief– the way the hurt makes his mind stop. You roll your hips against him and he makes a desperate sort of noise. Keeps his eyes focused on his fingers drawing circles on your clit. Your hands reach behind you to stroke his hardening cock and he arches into your touch. “Needy,” you chastise. Wonwoo nods.

Doesn’t want it like this. Wants you under him, wants to fuck you slow. Tells you so, the words come anguished, almost– and you nod dumbly. You don’t drag out the build up. Lay on your back, open your legs for him, spread them wide and line his cock up with your wet heat so quick he doesn’t have time to overthink. He makes a strangled sound when he pushes inside. The slide is agonisingly slow. He’s being so careful, as if you’d crack like china - fragile beneath him. You clench around his cock, thick and scalding- God, it’s sweet torture. Wants more of it.

You pull, desperate, at his waist, rolling your hips against him but he’s pulling out. This time he just slides the head in, hisses, teases, and back out. He does it again, and again, doesn’t know who this teasing is for. He’s licking into your mouth, pressing hungry kisses on your open lips, eating up all your noises, your whines, your soft moans. Things are still the same. He likes going so so deep into you, bottoming out and grinding his skin against your clit, likes when your moan comes muffled in his open wet mouth. It’s the same. Likes when your hands find purchase in the sheets, fist them in desperation, likes when you feel it’s not enough so you grab at his, intertwine your fingers and let him fuck you like this. Like you’re in love. It’s still the same.

“How do you feel, angel?”

“Uh–” A pause to suck in a fractured breath.

“Tell me how you feel,” he says. Almost begging. Would be mortifying if he whispered that against anyone else’s cheek. Can feel the wetness there too.

“Homesick,” you gasp. “I feel homesick.”

He fucks you harder then, driving into you so deep he could be part of you. Melt in, blend together, blur the lines, weave the fucking branches. You’re full of spells, he thinks. Made of magic. Doesn’t realise until after that he’s said it aloud. Wet starshine eyes on his as you come apart, pussy pulsing around his cock, impossibly wet, telling him come with me baby, babbling nonsense about how you want it inside, how you need it so bad, how he makes you feel so good.

Wonwoo really looks at you before he comes. Takes a moment to commit your face to memory. Any time could be the last and he needs this– needs you– to stay with him. Doesn’t know if he’ll ever be the same.

“Like that, Wonwoo” you’re saying, all breathy and high-pitched as he spills into you with a choked whine. “Like when you–” Cum slips out around his cock and he gathers it up on his fingers. Pushes them into your mouth to stop you talking. Can’t bear it. Can’t bear the way your pupils blow out and you lick the cum from his fingers. Can’t stand how his name sounds in your mouth, sweeter, more precious, because there’s something like love coating it. God, he wants to be yours.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Wonwoo likes your apartment better. Likes the way your sheets start to smell like him too. You’ve always carved out space for him but this time it’s deeper. Likes showering with you here, not to fuck, just to wash away the mess you make of each other. Likes holding you in his arms under the stream, running the lather across your skin, loving kisses pressed against your forehead. Lately he stays here more often than he goes home.

You haven’t said the words yet, neither has he. Doesn’t want to push too much too soon.

It’s just after nine on Sunday morning, and you’re out of– well, pretty much everything. He offers to go but you insist he stays in bed, hair messed up, sheets pooling in his bare lap, glasses slipping down his nose while he rereads Kafka on the Shore. “Stay just like that,” you say it like a demand, but you’re smiling, pulling a scarf around your neck to run down the street to the shop, maybe stop at the deli for breakfast. “Back in a bit, don’t move an inch.”

A few minutes go by when the shrill of the telephone in the living room punctuates the silence. Wonwoo doesn’t get up to answer, it’d be improper, what if it was your mother? So he lets it ring through to answerphone, and when it clicks on it takes him a moment to recognise the voice calling your name.

“Are you there? Pick up, darling, pick up.” Wonwoo knows Hongseok has been trying to get back together with you. You’d mentioned it a few weeks ago, how he’d sent flowers. You don’t even like roses.

“I saw you by the river yesterday,” he says. Wonwoo looks up, stares at the wall. You’d insisted on getting out of the apartment, pulled your bodies from soft sheets and into soft sweaters, and Wonwoo only complained a little bit. In truth he loved walking with you. That he can hold your hand in public and no one bats an eye. Loves that you can be his here, that you claim him too. “You’re with him now? How long, darling? Does he fuck you like I do? ”

Wonwoo scoffs. Hongseok is just jealous. Wonwoo gets it. He does. Even if he’d never dream of saying it.

Hongseok’s voice turns nasty now. “Do you think he’ll stay this time? Does he know you’ve been in love with him this whole time? Everyone else knows. He won’t love you properly, you know. He’s just using you like last time, is he still keeping you a secret? You don’t deserve that, darling. You don’t deserve to be hidden–”

Is that what you thought? That he hid you? Bile swirls in Wonwoo’s stomach. Does he do that? Did he hurt you?

“–he’s just gonna fuck you up again and you’re gonna be miserable. But he won’t let you be happy with anyone, will he? Selfish fucking prick, he’s so cruel to you. You don’t see it, do you? It’s pathetic how fucking dumb you are for him–”

Wonwoo didn’t think he was cruel. There is spit pooling in his mouth, his stomach churns. Is he cruel to you?

The line clicks off as Hongseok spits out every name under the sun, but Wonwoo doesn’t hear the rest as he retches into your bathroom sink.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Forty minutes later, you’re calling out to Wonwoo that you’re home as you kick off your shoes. “I got us bagels, do you want the salmon cream cheese or the egg and ba- oh! You’re up.”

Wonwoo sits on your sofa in soft sweats and a baggy white t-shirt. His skin and hair are damp from the shower. The whites of his eyes are bloodshot. “You okay?” you ask, tentatively.

“Hmm,” he says. “Didn’t feel too good earlier.”

“Poor you,” you say. “Will breakfast make you feel better?”

“No, sorry,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically stiff. “I think I should head home. Don’t wanna give you a bug.”

You laugh softly, unpacking the groceries from the bags. “You spat in my mouth last night, if you’ve got something then I’ll have it in no time,” you say. “C’mon, stay. I’ll look after you. I’ll make soup.”

But Wonwoo is already standing, pulls a little money from his wallet and leaves it on the table. “What’s that for?”

“Breakfast,” he says. “Feel bad you bought all this and I need to go.”

You frown. “Stop being strange, I don’t care about the food, just get the next one.”

Wonwoo sighs. He’s annoyed, you realise. This is weird.

In the end you let him leave without drama, but not without a kiss to his cheek. He leans into it a little longer than usual. Closes his eyes as he hugs you goodbye.

You eat breakfast alone. TV on, sound off, wondering what the fuck even happened before you notice the light of your answerphone flickering.

New message, left 09:21:

Hi Sweetheart! It’s your aunt’s birthday next week, just calling to remind you to send a card. Call me back, okay, love you, bye!

End of messages.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

sorry about the ending there :( if it helps, it does get better for them. thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging so my fic can get seen outside my own little space <3 i love seeing your feedback. if you'd prefer to scream at me directly, feel free to send me a message <3 ily, goodnight!

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helenoftroydidnothingwrong · 19 hours ago

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Ok I'm gonna go through this because, while i think it comes from a good place, some of this is misleading (my qualifications is that I have a bachelors in classics and am currently getting my masters, focusing on making classics more accessible to the general public). I want to be so so clear, I am NOT coming for OP, their heart is in the right place obviously, this subject just happens to be what I have devoted my entire life to. If I say something here that is incredibly wrong and you have evidence, PLEASE tell me. Just be nice. Disagreements and wanting to prove someone wrong is the backbone of scholarship. If anyone wants specific sources for what I'm saying, just hit me up.

- this is true, though that doesn't mean that the actual myths will be non-recognizable or anything. The themes you enjoyed from that media will likely still be present. Just remember that Greek mythology was (and still is in some cases) a religion, not a story, and that it was first attested during the bronze age (3300 BCE)

- No myth you know is 100% accurate to Greek mythology, because there is no canon. There is no "original" myth that is the correct one. Ovid did do what he wanted (during the roman republic) with the stories he wrote, but that does not mean none of those elements were present in certain aspects of ancient Greek culture. I could say the same thing about the idea that Perseus killed Medusa.

- It is not a "tumblr invention." This idea is much older than tumblr and also grafts a modern view of morality onto ancient religious figures. Absolutely read the homeric hymn to demeter, as the modern perception of Demeter within the Hades and Persephone story is absolutely sexist. But also consider that there are theories that Persephone (or Kore, to be more specific) went to the underworld and became the queen of the underworld before Hades as a god existed (this is not confirmed; it's a theory, like much of our understanding of Greek mythology). The story has much more depth than "sheltered girl escapes overbearing mother to be with cool bad boy death god" OR "Evil patriarchal god of death kidnaps young girl to be his bride in hell"

- this one's completely right. there's some idea that it is a cognate with a sanskrit word, but there's no definitive evidence

- yeah that's true, but remember that it is often unhelpful to view ancient cultures and stories through a modern moral lens. Not always, but often

- this one too.

- yep. They did often have things that were their "main thing" (Hera and marriage) but also had many aspects that they were worshipped under (Hera Alexandros: Hera protector of heroes). Again, they aren't characters, they are figures in a religion that was practiced for thousands of years.

- Saying Apollo and Artemis' main thing was music and the hunt is misleading. It's true their sun and moon god stuff came in pretty late, but Apollo's connection to prophecy was as strong if not stronger than music, same for Artemis with her patron of young women thing.

- There is some level of difference, but in general yeah. The nuances are pretty small in the grand scheme of things, but also know that Titans didn't just disappear from myths and worship with the olympians showing up. Again, it's a religion, not a novel.

- I mean, yeah? Do people make Hector out to be a villain? Even in Song of Achilles, he wasn't particularly villainous. I might just not have the context for this one

- Wild way to put this, sorry. I once again will hammer home, THERE IS NO GREEK MYTHOLOGY CANON. I don't care what Hesiod says, he is not the be all end all of Ancient Greek religion. There is no Greek Mythology bible. Also the Wikipedia article linked is not entirely accurate when it comes to divorce. It says that divorce was not looked down upon in ancient Greece, which 1. not how ancient Greece worked, it wasn't a single country, it was a bunch of city states linked by common language and culture, with different laws and values. In Medea, she talks about how it was shameful to be divorced because men didn't want a divorced woman. Maybe it was different for men, but yeah. Also, I could find no evidence for a divorce between Hephaestus and Aphrodite. He is said in the Iliad and in the Theogany to be married to Algaia, but the Odyssey says Aphrodite. (this isn't the most reliable source, but it does give line numbers). This could mean about a million things, tbh. It could mean that Aphrodite was syncretized with Algaia, it could mean that an earlier tradition had Algaia as Hephaestus' wife, and Aphrodite was a later one (based on the estimated dates of the Iliad vs Odyssey). It could also mean that there were two different traditions at once. It is near impossible to make a timeline of greek myth that makes sense, but saying that Algaia was Hephaestus' wife after he divorced Aphrodite is misleading at best. Also I know that the google ai thing says that but it is wrong all the time. If you have ancient sources that actually mention a divorce between Hephaestus and Aphrodite, PLEASE send it to me that sounds really interesting.

- sure, that's true. But also do whatever you want. It's more accurate to say asexual, but remember that THEY AREN'T REAL PEOPLE THEY'RE RELIGIOUS FIGURES. Different stories have Artemis falling in love with men and women sometimes. It always ends tragically but it does exist. These aspects were not worshipped everywhere. Do what you want with a modern interpretation, just remember that modern labels for sexuality/gender/etc (and race but we don't have time for that) didn't exist, but can be helpful when looking at ancient figures.

- Ok, yeah, this is what I've been saying. But also "greek and roman versions" imply that they are completely distinct. The end of the Ancient Greece as we think of it overlapped heavily with the beginning of the Roman Republic (and i mean hundreds of years overlap). We can TRY to distinguish older and newer versions but it's not typically helpful. the timeline is long, and the changes are blurred at best, if not completely obscured. If you're interested in seeing how some gods evolved, check out some of Overly Sarcastic Productions vids on youtube. I like the Aphrodite one.

- Sure I guess? So is what you know about Athens, Crete, Corinth, etc. Idk why Sparta is called out here. I guess yeah, don't use 300 as your basis for understanding historical spartan culture?

- I mean yeah, definitely. But also there's a million translations, and everyone is fighting over them all the time. Don't feel bad about choosing an "accessible" or "easy to read" translation. I like the Emily Wilson ones, they sound good and are less sexist in their translation. But also if you're looking at Greek plays (I'm partial to Euripides) watching a production can go a long way to understanding them.

We all go into things with preconceived notions, it's inevitable, but don't let them stop you. Greek mythology and its study are incredibly complex; there are a ton of contradictions, and the experts rarely completely agree with one another. Be open to being wrong, be open to changing your mind, and be open to new evidence being found and wrecking your whole idea of something.

a quick psa to anyone recently getting into greek mythology and is a victim of tumblr and/or tiktok misconceptions:

-there is no shame in being introduced to mytholgy from something like percy jackson, epic the musical or anything like that, but keep in mind that actual myths are going to be VERY different from modern retellings

-the myth of medusa you probably know (her being a victim of poseidon and being cursed by athena) isn't 100% accurate to GREEK mythology (look up ovid)

-there is no version of persephone's abduction in which persephone willingly stays with hades, that's a tumblr invention (look up homeric hymn to demeter)

-as much as i would like it, no, cerberus' name does not mean "spot" (probably a misunderstanding from this wikipedia article)

-zeus isn't the only god who does terrible things to women, your fav male god probably has done the same

-on that note, your fav greek hero has probably done some heinous shit as well

-gods are more complicated than simply being "god of [insert thing]", many titles overlap between gods and some may even change depending on where they were worshipped

-also, apollo and artemis being the gods of the sun and the moon isn't 100% accurate, their main aspects as deities originally were music and the hunt

-titans and gods aren't two wholly different concepts, titan is just the word used to decribe the generation of gods before the olympians

-hector isn't the villain some people make him out to be

-hephaestus WAS married to aphrodite. they divorced. yes, divorce was a thing in ancient greece. hephaestus' wife is aglaia

-ancient greek society didn't have the same concepts of sexuality that we have now, it's incorrect to describe virgin goddesses like artemis and athena as lesbians, BUT it's also not wholly accurate to describe them as aromantic/asexual, it's more complex than that

-you can never fully understand certain myths if you don't understand the societal context in which they were told

-myths have lots and lots of retellings, there isn't one singular "canon", but we can try to distinguish between older and newer versions and bewteen greek and roman versions

-most of what you know about sparta is probably incorrect

-reading/waching retellings is not a substitute to reading the original myths, read the iliad! read the odyssey! i know they may seem intimidating, but they're much more entertaining than you may think

greek mythology is so complex and interesting, don't go into it with preconcieved notions! try to be open to learn!

#Tagamemnon #please weigh in if you think i'm wrong #again op i am NOT coming for you i just want to clear some misconceptions i see #greek mythology #classics #classicsblr

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hazbinhotei · 3 days ago

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running away.

happy ending. — bad ending.

warnings: disgusting yearning and pining, alastor is bad at feelings

word count: 4043 (yeesh)

summary: Alastor finds himself torn apart by his feelings for you—caught between the instinct to flee, as he always has, and the unbearable need to stay by your side.

alastor x gn!reader. ooooh boy. this one's gonna be a doozy, folks. if you like yearning, this one's for you. can you tell i was heavily inspired by mr. darcy's confession? (i honestly can’t tell if he's ooc in this because canon alastor has never shown a single ounce of yearning for someone in his 8-episode-plus-a-pilot lifespan—so feel free to let me know if he feels too ooc!) note: there will be a part two to this story, but it will be split up into two different endings—a happy ending, and a terrible, angst-ridden ending. buckle up motherfuckers.

Alastor was a creature of habit. Order. A strict, unshakable routine built over decades of meticulous control.

Mornings began with coffee (black, no sugar, piping hot). Then, a careful selection of the day’s amusements—perhaps meddling in Husk’s card games, spinning nonsensical riddles at Niffty, or casually terrorizing poor unsuspecting souls. If not that, then there was always his beloved radio broadcast, an extension of his own theatricality, his voice slipping into the airwaves with a whispered promise of chaos. He had his weekly tea with Rosie in Cannibal Town, the two of them exchanging pleasantries steeped in the unspoken understanding of what lay beneath their grins. And, of course, there was assisting Charlie with whatever new, doomed-to-fail project she had set her heart upon—whether it was trying to rehabilitate a particularly stubborn sinner or attempting to redecorate the lobby with decor so disgustingly cheery it made his teeth itch.

It was simple. It was structured. It was comfortable.

Then you arrived.

And now, nothing was comfortable anymore.

You weren’t supposed to fit in so easily. You weren’t supposed to slip into the rhythm of the hotel as if you had always belonged, as if Hell itself had been waiting for you. You weren’t supposed to make conversation feel like a game he wanted to play, something effortless, something that left him wanting to hear your voice just once more before you left the room. You weren’t supposed to light up a space in a way that made his carefully cultivated shadows feel... lesser. Weaker.

And under no circumstances should he have felt—what was the word?—relief whenever you entered. As if an invisible weight had been pressing on his chest all day and only when he caught sight of you did it lift, just slightly. That wasn't how it worked. Not for him. Not for what he was. He wasn’t meant to miss something he had never needed before. He wasn’t meant to ache for something so simple, so insignificant as your presence.

It started small. A twitch in his fingers when you sat beside him on the couch. An uncharacteristic pause before he replied to one of your jokes. A nagging awareness of how close you stood whenever you did your unspoken daily routine of passing him his morning coffee, your fingertips brushing his just barely—

Pathetic.

He was the Radio Demon. The very concept of intimacy was laughable—an absurd little mortal relic that he had shed alongside his humanity long ago. What purpose did it serve, this feeble notion of longing? Affection had never been anything more than a tool, a game, a means to an end. He had wielded it, manipulated it, destroyed those who mistook it for kindness.

Love, devotion, tenderness—these were things for weaker creatures, for those still clinging to the fragile remnants of their mortal selves. He had observed it time and time again, how it turned even the strongest into fools, left them raw and bleeding, desperate to be seen, to be wanted. He had laughed at it, mocked it, torn it apart with his own hands just to watch how easily it crumbled. Love was a trick, a trap, a cruel joke played by the universe on those too naive to see the inevitable decay waiting at the end of it all.

And yet.

And yet, you gnawed at the edges of that certainty. You, with your warm eyes and your easy laughter, your maddening persistence. You, who had never once cowered before him, who spoke to him not as a monster, not as a demon, but simply as he was. The idea of being wanted by you made his skin crawl, not because it was unpleasant, but because it was tempting. Because the very thought of reaching back, of grasping onto something that could slip through his fingers, made an unspoken and ugly emotion coil deep in his chest.

No. He would not succumb to it. He refused to.

But somehow, he couldn’t stop thinking about how your hands looked when they smoothed down a tablecloth. How your voice dipped just slightly when you spoke to him in a quiet room. How the simple act of sitting beside you made his chest tighten like an ill-fitting suit. How your presence, once nothing more than a fleeting amusement, had begun to linger in the back of his mind long after you had left the room.

He was losing his grip.

So naturally, he pulled away.

At first, it was subtle. Declining your invitations with a breezy excuse. Avoiding the library at the hours he knew you’d be there. Letting the space between you on the couch grow wider, until one day, he simply stopped sitting there at all. It should have been easy. He had abandoned attachments before. He had crushed them when necessary.

Then why did this feel different? Why did the absence of your voice press against his ribs like something suffocating? Why did the distance feel less like control and more like punishment? Why did that confused expression you gave him every time he avoided you make his dead heart shatter, his hands itching to cup your face and ease that look away?

He convinced himself it was working. He convinced himself it had to work.

Then you handed him his morning coffee.

"Here you go, Al," you chirped, the usual warmth in your voice melodic to his ears. Your fingers brushed his as you passed him the mug—his favorite 'Oh Deer!' mug, the one you had bought for him during one of your outings into the city—and the sensation burned. Not from the heat of the coffee, but from the sheer wrongness of how much he had missed that fleeting contact.

He didn’t mean to snap.

But it was all too much—your touch, your voice, your mere existence gnawing at the brittle edges of his carefully constructed distance. The words came before he could stop them, sharp and cutting, a desperate attempt to shove you back to the safe distance he needed you to be.

"You made this wrong."

A moment passed, your long lashes fluttering as you blinked at him.

"...What?" Your smile faltered, and he had to swallow the lump in his throat from the look of it.

His grip on the mug tightened, nodding curtly as he tried his best to turn a sinister smile onto you. "It’s dreadful," he exhaled, tone venomous and cold. "I would have preferred if you hadn’t wasted my time with such an amateur attempt."

The hurt in your eyes was immediate. A flicker of pain, confusion knitting your brows together, the brightness in your gaze dimming as if he had reached in and plucked the light from them himself. Your fingers twitched around the empty space where the mug had just been, and Alastor could hear the soft, uneven hitch of your breath—small, nearly imperceptible, but to him, it was deafening.

His stomach twisted violently, the pool of regret forming instantly, like a faucet turned on full blast. The sensation was foreign, unwelcome. His tongue felt too heavy in his mouth, his throat suddenly too tight. He should have felt triumphant, victorious in successfully pushing you away. Instead, all he felt was cold.

Before he could fully comprehend the wreckage he had caused, you took a step back, your face twisting with shock, wounded in a way that made his chest snap.

"I—I’m sorry," you stammered, voice smaller than he had ever heard it. Then, without another word, you turned and walked away.

He stood there, coffee steaming in his grip, staring at the place you had been just moments ago. And that's when the guilt slammed into him at full force, sharp and immediate, like a knife twisted in his gut. It was unlike any other regret he had ever felt—this wasn’t the satisfaction of a well-executed deception, nor the detached amusement of watching someone fall apart at his hands. No, this was different. This was wrong.

His fingers flexed around the mug, but the warmth no longer registered. He could call you back. Apologize. Lie and say it had been a simple mistake, that he was having an off day, that his temper had flared for reasons beyond your control. He could spin some ridiculous excuse, charm you with a quip, erase the damage with a well-placed grin and an empty promise that it wouldn’t happen again. You might even believe him.

But that would mean admitting the truth to himself.

That he wanted to reach for you. That he missed you already. That the very act of hurting you made him feel more like a monster than anything else he had done in both life and Hell combined. He had destroyed people, laughed in the face of suffering, relished in the chaos of agony—and yet, somehow, this was what made his stomach churn. This tiny, insignificant moment of cruelty.

His free hand clenched at his side. Was this for the best? Hadn't he convinced himself it was? Keeping you at arm’s length was necessary, wasn’t it? If he let you in, if he let you matter, what then? He couldn't afford to want something. He couldn't afford to lose something. He would lose you—if not by his own doing, then by Hell’s inevitable cruelty. And yet, in this moment, staring at the empty space you had left behind, he barely knew what to believe anymore.

But Alastor continued on with what he knew best: forced nonchalance. He went about his day as if his entire world (you) wasn’t being ripped apart from his very hands, ignoring the way his heart ached to see your figure roaming the halls of the hotel. You hadn’t shown your face the entire day, but Alastor simply understood that you were merely hiding from him.

Really, the idea of you avoiding him should have been amusing—should have been nothing more than an inevitable reaction to his own actions. But the reality of it? It gnawed at him. He had practically bared his teeth at you like a rabid beast, and now, the sight of your absence in the halls felt more damning than any glare or scorned remark you could have thrown his way.

He let your absence continue, let the days tick by, convinced that if he just waited long enough, this ache in his chest would fade into nothingness. But then came the third day, and you were nowhere to be seen.

By then, the irritation had settled in deep, poisoning his mood like rot spreading beneath the surface. His patience had thinned, his normally sharp composure fraying at the edges. Conversations that he once found amusing became tiresome. Charlie had noticed his snappiness, her ever-sunny demeanor tinged with concern. Angel had made an offhand comment about how he seemed to be 'on the fritz' before skipping off without waiting for a response. Even Husk, Husk, had the audacity to offer him a drink—as if he were some pathetic wreck in need of drowning his sorrows.

That was when Alastor realized, with no small amount of irritation, that your absence had begun to sink its claws into him in ways he hadn’t anticipated. And that? That was unacceptable. Entirely unacceptable! He should have been able to brush it off, should have been able to let the days pass without so much as a second thought. And yet, here he was, pacing his room like some restless specter, unable to drown out the gnawing sense that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

And then, there was the matter of worry. A most bothersome emotion, one he was neither accustomed to nor particularly fond of. You had never been one to isolate yourself—always eager to assist, to busy your hands, to play your part in Charlie’s grandiose little dream. If redemption were possible, he had no doubt that you would be the prime candidate, the shining example of doing better.

And yet, for all your goodness, for all your damnable persistence, you had vanished. No sharp retorts, no stubborn frowns in the hallway, no stiff exchanges over breakfast. Just… nothing. And Alastor—who had spent decades mastering the art of detachment—ached in a way that made his very being itch at the absence of you.

And so, after enduring three whole days of this insufferable torment, he found himself standing outside your door at the ungodly hour of 2AM, posture far from its usual effortless grace. He could have just appeared inside—after all, formalities were often wasted on him—but some part of him hesitated, some fraying, fragile thing inside him insisting that this moment required the courtesy of a knock.

His knuckles rapped against the wood, and for once, he felt the weight of his own heartbeat in his ears, his stomach twisting in ways that defied every carefully crafted illusion of control he had spent years perfecting.

Would you open the door? Or would you leave him standing in the dark, drowning in the mess he had made?

He barely had time to dwell on it before the door cracked open, revealing you standing in the dim light of your room. His mind went utterly blank. There you were—eyes still heavy with sleep, hair slightly disheveled, but unmistakably you. And despite everything, despite the coolness in your expression, despite the guarded way you held yourself, you were still the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on.

Your brows furrowed. "Alastor?" Your voice was groggy, confused, and laced with a wary edge that made his gut twist. "What are you doing here?"

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because in that moment, every single wall, every flimsy excuse he had built to keep you at a distance collapsed. He was moving before he could think, hands grasping your shoulders before pulling you into him, burying his face into the crook of your neck to hide his expression. The moment he felt the warmth of you against him, something inside him broke. His arms tightened, his breath shuddering as he clung to you with the desperation of a man grasping onto the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

"You’ve got me completely strung up, darling," he murmured against your skin, voice shaking, uncharacteristically human. "My soul—it belongs to you. Somehow, in ways I never thought possible, you’ve infected every inch of me. My mind is shattered, torn apart at the very idea of needing someone so much, needing you so much. Ça fait mal même d'être séparé de toi."

You stood frozen, his words washing over you like a tide, overwhelming and impossible to process all at once. This was Alastor—the Radio Demon—collapsing against you, breath uneven, body taut with something that felt too much like fear. He spoke like a man unraveling, like a creature who had spent his entire existence untouched by love and was now drowning in it. You didn't even understand the words he said in French, but by the way his velveteen fingers held you like you were the most sacred thing in this realm, you only assumed it was an extension of his profession.

His breath hitched, and suddenly, the words were tumbling out faster, as though if he didn’t say them now, he never would. "I’m worried," he admitted, voice raw, cracking at the edges. "Worried that my entire existence before this was a sham. That every moment, every act of amusement, every indulgence, was just a hollow distraction to bide my time while I waited for your arrival in my life. Because all I want now—all I ever want—is to spend my eternity loving you. And that terrifies me."

"Je ne sais pas quoi en faire," he confessed, voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t know what to do with you. But I—"

His fingers curled into the fabric of your sleeves, shaking ever so slightly. "I know I don’t want to let go."

Your heart pounded, but the moment you wrapped your arms around him, he melted. His ears flattened against his head as he exhaled, sinking into you with a shudder, as if the weight of his own emotions had finally exhausted him. He was so tired. You could feel it in the way he leaned against you, in the tension slowly unwinding from his frame, in the way his breath steadied the longer you held him.

You glanced up at the ceiling of the hotel hallway, simply listening to his breathing mixing with yours as your thoughts ran wild. You'd be lying if you said your heart wasn’t hammering, your face burning from Alastor’s confession, from the rawness in his voice that still lingered in the air between you. You had always found Alastor appealing—too appealing. But you had banished those thoughts to the farthest, dustiest corners of your heart, convincing yourself that he was above feeling emotions such as yearning, that he was incapable of it.

So instead, you had settled. Settled for the little moments he allowed you. Settled for the quiet mornings where you made his coffee, a simple act that meant more to you than it ever should have. It had been your small way of being close to him, a selfish indulgence wrapped in routine. He never needed you to make it for him, but you had done it anyway, convincing yourself it was nothing more than habit. If you could not have his love, at least you could be something to him—another piece of his structured, predictable world.

Yet here you were, rubbing slow, soothing circles into his spine as he clung to you like you were his lifeline, as if letting you go would devastate him completely.

"This is new for you, isn’t it?" you murmured after a moment, a gentle tease laced with understanding. He only nodded, his grip on you tightening just slightly, as if the thought of you slipping away was unbearable.

You sighed, your fingers weaving through his bobbed hair as you whispered, "Then rest, Alastor. Come, let's get you some shut eye."

He barely had the energy to protest as you guided him inside your suite, leading him to your bed as though it was the most natural thing in the world. You pretended like this was natural, hoped this was natural for him as much as it was for you. You simply believed it was, because the moment he collapsed against you, his head resting against your chest as you cradled him, his body finally, finally relaxed.

He mumbled incoherently—his confession still spilling past his lips, but now softer, sleepier. Then, in a hushed murmur, barely audible against the quiet hum of the room, he rasped, "I didn’t mean it... about the coffee. It was perfect. It’s always perfect. I just... I just needed to push you away. And that was—" he swallowed, voice heavy with regret, "—an idiotic move, wasn't it?"

You let out a soft laugh, your fingers absentmindedly playing with the red and black strands of his hair, marveling at how uncharacteristically vulnerable he was in your arms. "Yes, it was."

A deep sigh left him, the weight of his own foolishness pressing down on him like an anchor. But as your fingers continued their soothing motion against his scalp, he let himself melt into your touch, his body going lax against yours.

You bit your lip, staring down at him as the last of his tension seeped away. Butterflies stirred in your stomach. His face had softened in sleep, the sharpness of his usual smile now gentle, almost innocent. You had never seen him sleep before. You wondered if he always looked this peaceful, or if it was just you that made him feel safe enough to rest.

A quiet hope bloomed inside you, cautious yet warm, as you tightened your hold on him. Maybe this would lead to something more. Maybe, just maybe, the Radio Demon had found something worth holding onto.

And as you watched him sleep, his face unguarded, peaceful in a way you had never seen before, you found yourself fighting the urge to sleep. But the warmth of his body pressed against yours, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers unconsciously curled around the fabric of your pajamas as if anchoring himself to you—it was enough to lull you into a sense of comfort you hadn’t realized you needed.

Slowly, your eyes fluttered shut, your breathing falling in sync with his. You didn’t fight it. The past few days had been exhausting—a whirlwind of emotions, too heavy to bear. As sleep crept in, everything else melted away. The last thing you registered was the feeling of Alastor shifting slightly, nuzzling ever so subtly into you, his body seeking yours even in slumber. His breath was warm against your collarbone, steady now, quiet—so different from the ever-broadcasting hum of his usual presence. For the first time, he felt real, tangible. Yours.

And just like that, the two of you stayed tangled together the entire night, wrapped in each other’s arms, as if the universe itself had been waiting for this moment all along.

The morning was peaceful.

You stirred awake with a soft hum, stretching slightly as the red glow of dawn spilled through the curtains. The warmth surrounding you was comforting, familiar—until you realized it was gone. Your brows furrowed as a cold chill seeped in where Alastor had been. The sheets beside you were rumpled but empty, the lingering warmth already fading. Your eyes snapped open.

He was gone.

Confusion rushed through you as you sat up, scanning the room as if expecting him to be lurking in the shadows. But there was nothing—no trace of him, no sign that he had ever been here at all.

Had you imagined it? Had the past night been nothing more than some fever dream conjured by your longing heart?

Then, your gaze landed on your bedside table.

A single note sat there, the paper slightly crumpled, like the writer had hesitated before leaving it behind. Dread pooled in your stomach as you reached for it, fingers trembling slightly as you unfolded the page. The cursive was rushed, messy—so unlike the usual pristine elegance of his writing. But you knew, without a doubt, who it belonged to.

Let’s not dwell on last night’s theatrics, dear. A lapse in judgment, nothing more. Best forgotten.

Your hands trembled as you read the words, once, twice, three times over, as if the ink might rearrange itself, as if the meaning might shift into something softer, something less cruel. But it never did. The more you stared, the more final it became, each elegant loop of his handwriting twisting the knife deeper into your chest.

Your throat constricted, a hollow ache settling in your stomach as the events of the night before played on repeat in your mind. His voice, raw and desperate. His hands gripping onto you like you were the only thing keeping him from vanishing. The way he had melted in your arms, safe, vulnerable—and now he was gone, pretending it had never happened.

A shaky breath escaped you, your fingers clutching the note so tightly the edges crumpled beneath your grip. You should have been angry. You should have cursed his name, torn the paper apart, stormed through the hotel to find him and demand an explanation. But all you could do was sit there, the weight of his absence crushing down on you, making it hard to breathe.

Had it really meant so little to him? Had it been nothing more than a moment of weakness, something he could cast aside come morning? And yet… the way he had clung to you, the way he had whispered his devotion into your skin—how could that have been a lie?

Your vision blurred as you pressed the note to your chest, curling forward as if the pressure could somehow hold you together. You wanted to believe this wasn’t the end. That this was fear, not indifference. That he was running not because last night was meaningless, but because it meant too much. But no matter how much you clung to that hope… the silence left in his wake felt an awful lot like goodbye.

But what if he never stopped running?

"Ça fait mal même d'être séparé de toi." = It hurts even to be separated from you. "Je ne sais pas quoi en faire" = I don't know what to do with it i am no where near even slightly fluent in french so please take these google translates with a grain of salt. stay tuned for part 2!

#how many times can i use gifs of alastor's lament for angsty fics #alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x you #alastor x reader #angst #oneshot #please

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shxuga · 2 days ago

Text

Whispers of the Deep III | Twisted Wonderland

Jade × Floyd Leech x Female!Reader | Pirate AU | Part I | Part II

After several encounters with the tritons, you started to believe they weren’t actually that bad. I mean, sure, they were still an imminent threat. No matter how much the scale symbolized some kind of protection, their intense stares and sharp smiles made your prey instincts scream at you to run. But, of course, you didn’t. Otherwise, you would have missed out on all the vital information they had gathered in their latest research.

"I don’t get it. Why would you think the legend of a mermaid princess who becomes human for love would be useful to our situation?" You bite off a small splinter between your teeth while feigning boredom, watching the sky—though not at all uninterested in how the moon is slowly starting to fade, a victim of the lunar cycle. You try to ignore the way Floyd tugs at your bare toes, avoiding eye contact, but it’s hard when his nails prick your skin and the cold, rough texture of the scales on his hands tickles you.

You want to laugh, scream, and kick him. All at the same time.

But since you're a rational person—and not the barbaric stereotype the naval troops made sure to spread—you simply sighed and spat out the splinter in the opposite direction.

"Don’t you think there’s something romantic about how this bond started?" Jade says, and unlike his brother, he remains in a particularly deep spot near the shore. You figured it out almost from the beginning, but Jade was definitely the more cunning and enigmatic of the two. Always smiling, always analyzing, always saying things that disturbed you and made you want to stop trying to guess his true intentions. He gave you chills.

Sometimes, you wondered how different things would have been if you had torn the scale from him instead. But, of course, Jade was always two steps ahead of everyone (or two strokes? Because, you know, it’s not like he has feet...), so even though you weren’t a complete threat when they dragged you out of your boat that night, he never stopped being cautious.

"You do realize that this 'bond' was born from an attempted murder, right?" You looked at him with all the rage your single, not-at-all-intimidating eye could contain.

And he had the audacity to laugh—like he always did when making comments designed to irritate you, as if talking to a pet.

"You’re such a silly little thing, and that’s exactly what makes you cute." …That’s what his eyes seemed to say.

You wanted to punch him.

"Oh, come on, little shrimp! We already apologized!" You pulled your foot away just in time, right before Floyd tried to bite you. He frowned and pouted, making a second attempt to grab your foot. "You keep complaining about it, but I never heard you say sorry!"

You made a face that, on another occasion, would have made Floyd laugh, but today he was determined to torment you.

"What? Don’t you remember my offering on the first day? That was basically my way of saying sorry."

Then, you snapped out of it. This conversation made no sense!

"Wait, I didn’t do anything! From the very beginning, I never intended for this to happen!"

"Yeah, yeah, no way you expected that ripping off my scale would bind us like this." Floyd pursed his lips. You didn’t like his insinuation.

"Exactly. How could you have known that tearing a scale from a mermaid or a triton would result in this?" Jade sighed, sounding far too amused for someone who supposedly pitied you. "It was just a curious coincidence that your attack actually worked because, again, you had no idea. Right?"

Damn snakes…

You made a rather unfriendly gesture for someone you had technically allied with and stormed off the shore, your heavy steps kicking up sand around you. You heard Floyd laughing and Jade reminding you not to be late for their next meeting.

One month.

A whole damn month.

It had been a whole damn month since you set foot on this island, and you still had no clue how to break the damn bond! Much less had Rosehearts made any encouraging progress on the repairs. Well, it was to be expected. You couldn't trust the word of a carpenter who could only count to ten. Ace was very skilled at fixing things, but his illiteracy always got them into trouble when it came to estimating timelines.

In any case, your research with the tritons was just as stranded as the ship. These meetings every two days were supposed to be for survival and sharing the fruits of your research—not to discuss sappy love stories or be those two's entertainment! Somehow, no one in the crew had noticed your nightly escapades for an entire month, but it was only a matter of time.

When you returned to the ship, you climbed aboard carefully, making sure to avoid anything that could reveal you had just come back.

"Where have you been going all this time?"

It was only a matter of time—you knew that. But you never thought it would be this soon. You didn’t think twice. You lunged at the shadow of the poor bastard who made the mistake of confronting you and dragged him to the bay.

"H-Hey! What the hell is your problem?!" You released Deuce when you were far enough from the ship. "Are you insane?! If the captain finds out—!"

"If the captain finds out, you’ll lose your tongue," you declared. He shut his mouth.

"How long have you known?"

"Three days…"

You stared at him.

"Did you follow me?"

"N-no…"

You unsheathed your knife.

"O-okay, fine! I’m sorry!" he exclaimed, alarmed. Then, fearing for his tongue, he quickly added, "But I always lost track of you… so I don’t know what you’re doing or where you’re going…"

"Does anyone else know?"

"No. Just me."

It had been worth running circles around the shore and jungle as a precaution in case someone was following you.

"Deuce, you cannot tell anyone about this. Do you hear me?"

Deuce tilted his head, like a puppy being scolded too harshly.

"Why?"

This is what you feared. His curiosity. His damn, relentless curiosity. As much as you liked the idea of sharing your suffering with someone, you weren’t willing to risk it. The deal was to keep the secret between the three of you. You didn’t even want to think about the consequences of breaking the agreement.

"Are you… having secret meetings with a lover?" Deuce continued, completely unaware of the potential danger of this conversation.

You looked at him, exhausted. Your interactions with Jade and Floyd drained you, and having to start your day early in the morning, pretending you hadn’t spent hours sneaking from one end of the island to the other, was driving you insane. You didn’t even bother denying his words.

"Just… don’t say anything. Please."

"Alright… I promise."

Deuce might not have been the brightest guy, but he was loyal. You could only hope he wouldn’t accidentally spill your secret—or else, you’d have to feed Floyd’s insatiable appetite with something more than just trinkets and dried meat…

• • •

You were fed up.

So, so fed up!

How was it possible that every single piece of research on mermaids and mermen always ended the same way? Tragic stories of forbidden love. True love! Love that allowed the mermaid princess to obtain a pair of legs so she could walk alongside her beloved on land! Love that made the prince magically grow gills so he could explore the depths of the ocean with his mermaid! And, as the cherry on top, every legend ended with a...

"And they lived happily ever after."

It made no sense.

In the past, you would have thought it was all utter nonsense. Any sailor with half a brain knew how deceptive and dangerous mermaids were. They were predators, gifted with beauty and a hypnotic voice to lure in their prey with ease. Where did all these romantic ballads that this town dared to sing even come from?

Yeah... a month ago, you would have been completely convinced of that without a shred of doubt.

But even for someone as skeptical as you, it was impossible not to recognize the humanity in Jade and Floyd. They weren’t just beasts that killed for pleasure… They had feelings, interests, fears, and even dreams. And though you tried to keep an emotional barrier between you, it was hard to ignore how, without realizing it, you had stopped seeing them as mere threats.

Maybe it was the scale’s fault.

Or maybe not.

You had no way of knowing. Azul, with his mysterious shack and all his answers, had disappeared. Almost as if the sea had dragged him far from the shore, leaving no trace behind.

No matter how much you tried, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. Was the scale what softened your perception of them? Was that why, little by little, you had started seeing them as almost equals? As if they were simply… people. People who exasperated you, irritated you to no end, and had fun at your expense. People who, despite everything, had now become part of your reality.

And that thought was even more terrifying than any story of mermaids devouring sailors.

"Hey, shrimpy~. Are you listening to me?"

And speaking of sailor-eating mermaids... By the time you snapped out of it, two days had passed, and night had fallen—along with your energy. At this point, you didn’t care about anything anymore. You simply let yourself collapse onto the sand near the shore and gazed at the moonless sky.

"I already told you, I didn’t discover anything important." You sighed, too tired to stop Floyd from nibbling on your toes.

"But that doesn’t mean you didn’t discover something." Jade pointed out, as perceptive as always. "With such a vague explanation, there’s no way to know if what you don’t consider important actually is for us."

You ignored him. You weren’t about to give them more reasons to mock you by telling them all those romantic fantasies. You tried to change the subject.

"How is it that I’ve been tangled up with you two for a month, and I’ve never heard you sing?"

You didn’t get an immediate response, which surprised you. You pushed yourself up from the sand, only to find two mismatched pairs of eyes staring at you in shock.

"Did I say something wrong?" You asked cautiously.

Jade blinked, and for the first time, he seemed at a loss for words.

"No, it’s just that…"

"It’s the first time you’ve shown interest in us!" Floyd squealed, splashing salty water excitedly.

Oh, shit.

Floyd continued:

"It’s always “the scale” this, “our bond” that..."

The mocking tone in his voice made you frown. You quickly retorted:

"That doesn’t mean I’m interested in you two! I just found it strange, that��s all."

Jade smirked, tilting his head with curiosity.

"Don’t be shy. If you want to hear us sing, all you have to do is ask."

You bit your lip, feeling a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the cold water Floyd was still splashing around. There was something about the way he said it, the mischievous glint in his eyes...

"Go to hell. I was just asking."

But you weren’t sure if that was entirely true. Why did the idea of hearing them sing make you nervous?

That night, you decided to return to the ship much earlier than usual, feeling betrayed by your own mind and heart.

True love? What nonsense...

Damn it, you were doomed. The only comfort you found was blaming it all on the scale.

The sky was still very dark when the town and the bay, where the Rosehearts was anchored, rose in the distance. You stopped dead in your tracks, stunned by the thick mass of smoke and fire engulfing much of the coastline. You started running, recognizing how an enormous, imposing ship had launched a surprise attack.

The naval guard’s flag waved proudly atop the mast, welcoming you to what seemed to be a battle just beginning.

You climbed the Rosehearts’ rigging swiftly, gripping the rope tightly, avoiding being thrown into the sea by the ship's violent jolts every time it was struck by a cannonball.

Once on deck, a bloodbath greeted you. Screams and groans. The screech of steel clashing. The splintering of wood under enemy fire. Everything was chaos.

"Where the hell have you been?!" Just as you were about to take a direct hit, the familiar scent of gunpowder and a small explosion revealed your captain, armed with his prized pistol, shooting left and right at any poor bastard unfortunate enough to cross his path.

"Hey, catch!" Mr. Trey appeared as well, tossing you one of his swords so you could join the battle.

"See?! I told you she didn’t run away!" You heard Cater shout from somewhere on the stern as he fought off three sailors at once. "You owe me ten silver coins, Acey!"

"Ah, damn it!" Ace exclaimed a few feet away, kicking several sailors overboard.

This was hardly the time for such conversations, but as always, your crew found a way to turn even a violent attack into a full-fledged circus act. You sighed, unsheathing your sword. From the other end of the ship, Deuce waved at you after stabbing someone.

There’s no place like home.

You joined the battle, fighting with everything you had. Your movements were swift, precise. But the number of enemies seemed endless; for every man you struck down, more and more invaders poured in from the enemy ship. Many had fallen, but your crew was constantly at a disadvantage. The naval guard had finally caught up with you, and they weren’t interested in peaceful arrests. They must have planned this for weeks—it was the only explanation for such a well-orchestrated attack.

A sharp blade sliced through your side, making you stagger. Another hit, this time to your leg, sent you to your knees. A burning pain spread through your body as hot blood soaked your clothes, dripping onto the wood damp with seawater and gunpowder. You collapsed onto your side, the world spinning. The sounds of battle grew distant, muffled. You vaguely sensed your crewmates and captain shouting your name, but it was hard to make anything out with so much happening around you. Blood seeped through the cracks of the ship, falling into the sea.

The fire around you cast an intense glow on the scale at your neck. Feeling yourself at the brink of death, you clutched it in your fist, praying for something.

Anything.

A miracle.

And then... you felt them.

Two swift presences gliding through the waves. Something stirred in the depths—something wild and ancient. A howl tore through the night. A guttural scream, somewhere between human and beast. And the sea turned red.

Shadows emerged from the foam with inhuman fury. Jade and Floyd moved like a scarlet storm. Claws, teeth, the glint of merciless eyes. Against these unexpected reinforcements, the naval guard never stood a chance. Men fell into the water, their screams cut short. A true massacre that put all those terrifying man-eating siren legends to shame.

You weren’t sure how much time passed. Seconds, minutes, or perhaps an eternity. All you knew was that, suddenly, there was no more noise. Only the soft murmur of the waves.

Your body was slowly sinking into unconsciousness when you felt strong arms wrap around you.

It was Floyd. Your bond, your other half. Your strongest and most powerful connection.

He carried you away from the slaughter, deeper and deeper into the darkness of the sea. You wanted to protest, wanted to tell him to let go, that you couldn’t… but you were too weak. Too tired.

The cold water enveloped you like a shroud. Oxygen left your lungs. Even though this was the second time he had dragged you into the depths in a life-or-death situation, unlike the first, this time you felt no fear. His presence, his touch, his very being filled you with calm and peace.

Damn scale…

And then, in the dim light, you felt his lips. A fleeting brush at first. Then, more firm. It was as if something inside you shattered and rebuilt itself at the same time. Heat... light. The water was no longer your enemy. With a trembling exhale, you breathed. Your lungs didn’t fill with water but with something else... something ancient and miraculous.

When Floyd pulled away, his wolfish grin shone even in the ocean’s darkness. You looked at him, speechless, still processing everything that had just happened.

"I knew it," he murmured, triumphant.

True love.

The legends didn’t lie, after all.

You looked down, where the scale should have been securely tied around your neck. You went silent, realizing that the small, glowing appendage had embedded itself into your collarbone, as if it were now part of you.

You resurfaced with the dawn, a considerable distance from town, where Jade awaited you. His body was stained with blood and flesh that surely wasn’t his. Still dazed, you stepped out of the water, checking how the wounds on your leg and side had vanished like magic. A splash sounded behind you. You turned on your heels, feeling as if your body was no longer entirely your own.

And then, you saw him.

No gills, no scales, standing on two incredibly long, trembling legs—Floyd had taken human form.

You dropped to your knees, still unable to believe how so many magical events were unfolding one after another. Then, you averted your eyes, realizing that the miracle had given him legs but not… uh, something to cover himself with.

Floyd blinked, perplexed. Then, he grinned.

"Well, shrimpy… this sure is interesting."

"How curious…" Jade murmured, studying his brother’s new form with a hand on his chin. A cunning, pearly-toothed smile quickly took shape on his lips. "Do you think if I offer my scale, I’d become part of all these miracles too?"

Floyd smirked, snatching the knife you usually kept at your side with surprising agility for someone who had just discovered what it meant to have legs. He held it out to his brother with a look of complicity.

"There’s only one way to find out."

For the first time in your life, you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The sea had taken many things from you, but it had also given you something new. And it had brought you back to the beginning.

Now… how the hell were you going to explain all of this to your captain?

Sorry guys, maybe the ending was a bit rushed, but I didn’t want to postpone this. For now, I’m wrapping up this story, but more are on the way! Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for future stories!

Tag list:@valentinaagarcia @hellfirestarter @brights-place @chloemari-e @snow281 @kimdourden

#twisted wonderland #twst #ツイステ #jade leech x reader #floyd leech x reader #riddle rosehearts #ace trappola #deuce spade #trey clover #cater diamond #ao3 #jade leech #floyd leech

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saintsenara · 1 day ago

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Thoughts on Peter Pettigrew? And if you ship him with anyone, who?

thank you very much for the ask, pal! peter is a fascinating character and i always enjoy properly thinking about him.

because - let's be honest - he really goes under the radar, in both canon and fanon. he's extraordinarily cunning, ruthless, powerful, adaptable, emotionally literate, intelligent…

and yet you wouldn't get that impression if you take harry's narrative at face value. even after peter escapes at the end of prisoner of azkaban/cuts his own hand off in goblet of fire.

[which is one of harry's most interesting character traits - his tendency to split the world into black-and-white "good people" and "bad people" is something we talk about a lot, but he also has a tendency to split the world into "special people, who have agency" and "unspecial people, who don't"... hence his attitude to characters such as stan shunpike.]

but the main thing i find fascinating about peter isn't actually the way his talents are overlooked by the text. it's the way he embodies one of the series' central messages: that "it does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live" [PS 12].

when dumbledore says this to harry, it's as advice on how to deal productively with grief. and obviously that's a good and healthy message to receive - especially for the children who are philosopher's stone's intended audience.

but the statement has another application, which ties to another one of the series' themes: that all that glitters is not gold.

so much of the overarching seven-book narrative is about jealousy and longing - harry's longing for a family, ron's jealousy of harry's fame, petunia's longing for magic and jealousy of lily, snape's longing for lily and jealousy of james, etc.

and it's also about how this jealousy and longing leads us to see what we want to see - ron becoming convinced that harry's feelings for hermione are romantic, lupin's inability to criticise james leading to his rage when harry's appalled at him walking out on tonks, the death eaters being convinced that voldemort is a champion of pureblood oligarchy, fudge refusing to believe that voldemort has returned etc.

as both ron and harry learn after ron stabs the locket-horcrux, you have to live the life you actually have and you have to know the people you know as they actually are. you can't imagine them into something they're not, become sad and/or angry when they fail to meet expectations it was always impossible for them to fulfil, and then let that sadness and anger fester until the poison within you can no longer be contained...

which is the peter pettigrew special, really...

sirius' assessment of peter in prisoner of azkaban comes in clutch for us on this point:

"Because you never did anything for anyone unless you could see what was in it for you. Voldemort's been in hiding for fifteen years, they say he's half dead. You weren't about to commit murder right under Albus Dumbledore's nose, for a wreck of a wizard who'd lost all of his power, were you? You'd want to be quite sure he was the biggest bully in the playground before you went back to him, wouldn't you?" [PoA 19]

i love this line for a lot of reasons - especially sirius' tacit admission that he and james once met that criteria of "biggest bully in the playground" - but i particularly like the way it aligns peter with [dumbledore's assessment of] voldemort's school friends:

"As he moved up the school, he gathered about him a group of dedicated friends; I call them that, for want of a better term, although as I have already indicated, Riddle undoubtedly felt no affection for any of them. This group had a kind of dark glamour within the castle. They were a motley collection; a mixture of the weak seeking protection, the ambitious seeking some shared glory, and the thuggish gravitating toward a leader who could show them more refined forms of cruelty. In other words, they were the forerunners of the Death Eaters, and indeed some of them became the first Death Eaters after leaving Hogwarts." [HBP 17]

peter is fundamentally someone ambitious seeking shared glory. and he does this - like, it's implied, quite a lot of death eaters - by putting on his rose-tinted glasses and deluding himself into believing that the person he expects to share that glory with him actually will share it... until everything comes crashing down and he's forced to see that they actually think of him as unworthy of sharing anything with. and his fury becomes toxic.

because peter is someone who inherently views himself as a follower.

lord voldemort would never - to borrow sirius' phrase - do something for someone else unless he could see what was in it for him. but voldemort's selfishness is because he sees himself as the unparalleled superior of everyone he meets - there's no need to help those under you if they're the only people who benefit!

peter's selfishness is slightly different - everything he does is in pursuit of vicarious glory. he wants to be praised and rewarded by a leader he's made more powerful. he doesn't want to be that leader himself.

peter the marauder

indeed, canon emphasises that this is what attracted him to james and sirius:

To Sirius' right stood Pettigrew, more than a head shorter, plump and watery-eyed, flushed with pleasure at his inclusion in this coolest of gangs, with the much-admired rebels that James and Sirius had been. [DH 10]

obviously this is harry's subjective view ["much-admired rebels" is a bit of a stretch, let's be real…], which the text does acknowledge ["or was it simply because harry knew how it had been, that he saw these things in the picture?"].

but harry's assessment of the teenage peter here matches the one we're given across the series:

"Pettigrew... that fat little boy who was always tagging around after them at Hogwarts?" said Madam Rosmerta. "Hero-worshipped Black and Potter," said Professor McGonagall. "Never quite in their league, talent-wise." [PoA 10]

James was still playing with the Snitch, letting it zoom farther and farther away, almost escaping but always grabbed at the last second. Wormtail was watching him with his mouth open. Every time James made a particularly difficult catch, Wormtail gasped and applauded. After five minutes of this, Harry wondered why James didn't tell Wormtail to get a grip on himself, but James seemed to be enjoying the attention. [OotP 28]

peter is set up as someone who's understood by everyone not to occupy the same role in society [both "society" as in the social ecosystem of hogwarts, and as in wizarding society more generally] as james and sirius.

this is almost certainly for class and blood-status related reasons - and hello to another anon on this point:

the fact that the only parent mentioned in the text is his mother strongly suggests that he's a half-blood with a muggle or muggleborn father [which his narrative parallels with snape, his narrative relationship with voldemort, and his narrative contrast with barty crouch jr. also support].

the way his mother is spoken about by other characters in prisoner of azkaban - especially fudge: "black was taken away by twenty members of the magical law enforcement squad and pettigrew received the order of merlin, first class, which i think was some comfort to his poor mother" [PoA 10] - sets her up as the passive figure in her relationship to the state [the ministry deigns to provide her with comfort], thus implying that she was ordinary, middle-class, and respectable, but lacked the class-based social power to occupy a more active role in the relationship.

[contrast her, for example, with someone like augusta longbottom, who is a much more active figure narratively.]

but she also can't come from a working-class background, because otherwise voldemort wouldn't seek to humiliate peter by making him live in snape's slum house as his servant.

but peter is also set up as someone who - while he accepts that james and sirius are his superiors and doesn't want to usurp their positions - nonetheless thinks that the two of them will do all they can to increase his chances of helping them accrue more glory, thus allowing the glory he shares in to be all the greater.

and why not? after all, he has plenty of evidence that they'd be capable of doing this, given the lengths they go to for remus…

i think he can be very easily understood as somebody who thinks that - once the three of them have nailed the animagus transformation and achieved their goal of supporting remus during the full moon - then the next thing on james and sirius' list of priorities is putting in a similar level of effort on his behalf.

indeed, the text does imply this - in snape's worst memory, peter goes from being positioned with remus as james and sirius' inferior:

Snape was on his feet again, and was stowing the O.W.L. paper in his bag. As he emerged from the shadows of the bushes and set off across the grass, Sirius and James stood up. Lupin and Wormtail remained sitting.

to being physically positioned with remus but clearly wanting to be an active member of james and sirius' shenanigans:

Lupin was still staring down at his book, though his eyes were not moving and a faint frown line had appeared between his eyebrows. Wormtail was looking from Sirius and James to Snape with a look of avid anticipation on his face. [...] Wormtail was on his feet now, watching hungrily, edging around Lupin to get a clearer view.

to physically joining - but still being excluded from equality of power with - james and sirius:

"How'd the exam go, Snivelly?" said James. "I was watching him, his nose was touching the parchment," said Sirius viciously. "There'll be great grease marks all over it, they won’t be able to read a word." Several people watching laughed; Snape was clearly unpopular. Wormtail sniggered shrilly.

to being positioned as sirius' equal under james' leadership:

"Well," said James, appearing to deliberate the point, "it's more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean..." Many of the surrounding watchers laughed, Sirius and Wormtail included.

to being included as both james and sirius' equal:

But too late; Snape had directed his wand straight at James; there was a flash of light and a gash appeared on the side of James' face, spattering his robes with blood. James whirled about; a second flash of light later, Snape was hanging upside down in the air, his robes falling over his head to reveal skinny, pallid legs and a pair of greying underpants. Many people in the small crowd watching cheered. Sirius, James, and Wormtail roared with laughter. [OotP 28]

but this symbolic ascent towards james and sirius recognising and including him isn't what actually comes to pass, is it?

[and as a little shipping-related aside... this is an immaculate wormbucks or padtail premise.]

clearly, peter's experience from the beginning of his sixth year onwards [so from the autumn of 1976] is one in which his hero-worship of james and sirius [and it is just james and sirius - if he felt aggrieved enough by remus that he wanted to implicate him in the potters' deaths he absolutely could have done so] begins to crumble...

and then to fester...

until he's reached a point where the following isn't something he believes is actually true:

"THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED!" roared Black. "DIED RATHER THAN BETRAY YOUR FRIENDS, AS WE WOULD HAVE DONE FOR YOU!" [PoA 19]

[this - as an aside - is one of the major differences between harry and james/sirius. harry's understanding of loyalty and sacrifice is much less transactional: "dumbledore knew, as voldemort knew, that harry would not let anyone else die for him now that he had discovered it was in his power to stop it" [DH 34].]

and decides that he should probably transfer his loyalties to the much bigger bully who's just arrived on the scene.

enter lord voldemort.

peter the death eater

while there are some key differences [peter is the one who has to approach voldemort, rather than the other way round, and - as i've said here - i think voldemort withholds the dark mark from him to keep him striving], peter's recruitment by the death eaters has a huge amount in common with draco malfoy's.

[more on which... here.]

voldemort must win him over by validating his belief that james and sirius [and also dumbledore/the order] don't take him and his talents seriously, that they need to be punished for this, and that when peter has humiliated them, he will have the time of his life basking in the glow of the victorious voldemort, who will also reward him spectacularly.

this is what voldemort does with quite a few of his minions - including regulus [another fantastic ship for peter], barty crouch jr. [likewise], and, of course, snape [which flops], all of whom have that corrosive perception of themselves as always being overlooked.

in the first war, then, voldemort must be pretty nice to him.

[or as nice as voldemort ever gets...]

the threats and the punishment come later.

[as another aside, the implication of canon is that voldemort's use of violence against his minions is relatively infrequent - and only used in specific circumstances - in the first war. the egregious torture he subjects them to in the second - and the fact that he does this publicly - shocks, terrifies, and humiliates even the most ardent first war loyalists. i think we can assume, then, that peter returned to voldemort expecting to find him in the same "you catch more flies with honey" mode as in the first war. he was mistaken.]

the contempt 90s!voldemort holds peter in is iconic - so many of his best lines are times he's mocking him!

but something which always stands out to me is that voldemort's contempt for peter is inextricably linked to his previous position as one of the four marauders.

[indeed, i find it fascinating that voldemort says that peter "faked his own death to escape justice" [DH 33], because the only thing he can mean by "justice" in this context is that peter should have let sirius murder him...]

and the most explicit demonstration of this is the fact that he always calls him wormtail.

this is a fascinating twist on the way voldemort plays with the language of intimacy with his death eaters. his favourites get referred to by their given names, while the rest are referred to more formally, using their surnames:

"Severus, here," said Voldemort, indicating the seat on his immediate right. "Yaxley - beside Dolohov." [DH 1]

and, of course, his ultimate favourite gets referred to by her nickname.

but peter isn't being called wormtail by the dark lord as a show of affection... it's an expression of disregard.

it's clear that the voldemort of the second war deeply understands that peter's life between the potters' deaths and his unmasking at the end of prisoner of azkaban [that is, the period when he didn't get the glory he wanted, he just got a dead james, two friends who want to murder him, and a master who hates him] made him start to regret his resentment of james and sirius for not living up to the versions of themselves he'd invented in his head - especially following sirius' death, when he receives a second demonstration of voldemort's contempt for him, since the moment sirius is out of the picture, the dark lord declares him surplus to requirements and dumps him on snape.

voldemort also knows that peter can only suppress these regrets and pretend they don't exist for so long...

and so everything about their second war relationship is voldemort pre-empting a betrayal he knows will come, when peter's long-buried grief for his friends comes roaring back. hence him setting up peter's silver hand to kill him when his loyalty wavers.

or, more succinctly:

"You returned to me, not out of loyalty, but out of fear of your old friends. You deserve this pain, Wormtail. You know that, don't you?" [DH 33]

peter the [un]man

there's one final thing which i think is really interesting about peter's portrayal in the text, and that's his relationship with gender.

he's someone whose presentation as unmasculine is consistent across his appearances - and is consistently intended to be belittling. but he's also someone whose lack of masculinity is used both to underscore his villainy [and to emphasise that it's the worst type of villainy - to quote jkr, "i loathe a traitor"; peter is the most reprehensible villain in the doylist text's eyes] and to misdirect the reader away from it.

before he's unmasked at the end of prisoner of azkaban, peter is associated narratively with neville:

A hatred such as he had never known before was coursing through Harry like poison. He could see Black laughing at him through the darkness, as though somebody had pasted the picture from the album over his eyes. He watched, as though somebody was playing him a piece of film, Sirius Black blasting Peter Pettigrew (who resembled Neville Longbottom) into a thousand pieces. [PoA 11]

and - therefore - is associated with a lack of masculinity in a fond way. neville is a character the reader is supposed to like, but not a character the reader is supposed to aspire to be like.

the text uses both peter and neville's appearance - especially the fact that both of them are noted to be fat [neville gets described as "plump", which is understood as slightly more polite, but the meaning is the same...] - to emphasise this. they're soft and shy and unsporty. they're passive, in contrast to harry [and james'] masculine vigour. they're both followers, but in a good way.

or, they both occupy the role female characters tend to: conduits for the male characters' deeds and desires, but lacking the agency to have deeds and desires of their own.

[hence why i am extremely compelled by @whinlatter's theory that the best lightning-gen parallel for peter is ginny...]

this is the tone of the secret keeper swap. peter is chosen by james and sirius precisely because they understand him as a vessel. he can contain and surround and envelope the potters and keep them safe that way, while sirius - who embodies the active qualities of a masculine protector - protects them by fighting and running and being hunted.

but - of course - peter doesn't perform this feminine protector role. he corrupts it. and this another way the text underscores that he's its worst villain... he bastardises a role typically associated with motherhood.

he and sirius are set up narratively as the parallel to james and lily: sirius is the masculine figure, the father, the "take harry and run"; peter is the feminine, the mother, the "refuses to stand aside".

once peter is unmasked at the end of prisoner of azkaban and his corruption of his maternal role is revealed, the text's presentation of his unmanliness then becomes something used to emphasise how vile and creepy the reader is supposed to find him.

it does this while maintaining the corrupted motherhood metaphor - hence him having to nurse voldemort's pseudo-infant form in goblet of fire, and hence him being positioned as inferior to barty crouch jr., who joins voldemort and peter, his "wife", to take the narrative role of voldemort's son and heir.

this is extremely interesting, since the text typically uses a lack of maternal or pseudo-maternal experience to indicate that its female villains [especially bellatrix and umbridge] are to be understood as villains by the reader. the exceptions, petunia dursley and walburga black, are fascinating parallels for peter, given the way that they also embody the corrosiveness of resentment and the impact it has on truly being able to grieve.

but peter also becomes a second, specific form of unman once he's unmasked...

the eunuch.

it's really striking that - from the latter chapters of prisoner of azkaban onwards - peter is frequently associated with the theme of voyeurism:

But Ron was staring at Pettigrew with the utmost revulsion. "I let you sleep in my bed," he said. [PoA 19]

Snape held up a hand to stop her, then pointed his wand again at the concealed staircase door. There was a loud bang and a squeal, followed by the sound of Wormtail scurrying back up the stairs. "My apologies," said Snape. "He has lately taken to listening at doors, I don't know what he means by it." [HBP 2]

the sexual undertone to these associations is really significant, because - when combined with the presentation of peter as a follower/an outsider looking in and with the presentation of him as lacking in virility - it renders him sexless, but in a specifically jealous way. he's not voldemort, whose canon presentation as aromantic is used to underscore his villainy by implying there's something "wrong" with him... he's someone who should have been able to access the "normal" structures of love and family, but who has self-castrated himself from this "normality" due to his corruption arc, and who is forced to watch from the sidelines coveting what others have and regretting his decisions and loathing himself.

[hence my absolute conviction that the reason he's not at home on halloween 1981, when sirius goes to check on him and finds his safe-house empty, is because he's snuck into the potters' house in rat form to watch james and lily be murdered...]

and this idea of peter as somebody unsexed or castrated is really interesting as a lens to examine one of his most sinister moments - his role in the torture and murder of bertha jorkins.

nb: there is a discussion of rape in what follows.

i liked this post by @pangaeaseas - and the discussion in the notes -about voldemort's treatment of peter surrounding his capture of bertha jorkins. but i thought it was interesting how a lot of this discussion focused on the ways voldemort is insulting peter's intellect in this context... and not the ways he's attacking his sexual prowess.

the text is pretty clear - not least in the enormous victim-blaming undertone to the way many characters [especially male ones] talk about bertha's disappearance - that peter brought bertha to voldemort after convincing her that he wanted to engage in some form of consensual sexual encounter [described by voldemort, in pg-13 terms, as a "nighttime stroll"]. voldemort's astonishment at peter managing to accomplish this isn't so much him being shocked that he had the way with words/quick thinking abilities to talk bertha into going with him, it's him being shocked that someone he considers to be so unmanly as to be impotent managed to pull.

and then - it is heavily implied, both in the text itself and in jkr's statements since publication that her editor looked like she wanted to be sick when she described how voldemort was restored to a rudimentary body - to rape:

"He was the penis able-bodied servant I needed, and, eunuch poor wizard though he is, Wormtail was able to violate a woman follow the instructions I gave him, which would return me to a rudimentary, weak body of my own, a body I would be able to inhabit while awaiting the essential ingredients for true rebirth." [GoF 33]

#asks answered #asenora meta #peter pettigrew

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frothlad · 23 hours ago

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I keep a very careful list of the worst movies I've seen.

(3) The first D&D movie (not Honor Among Thieves, that is one of the best movies I've ever seen, the first one from 2000). Even granting that it didn't have tremendous potential, it still rolled nat 1's on every attempt. It had a beholder, for like 3 seconds, as an easily-distracted watchdog in a maze! Bad script, bad direction, bad acting, cheap CGI. Everything squandered.

(2) Godzilla (1998). This one had potential out the wazoo -- all the budget, great cast, CGI special effects so you weren't constrained by suits, everything! And it botched it all. No atomic fire! Godzilla inexplicably able to play hide and seek with helicopters! Godzilla babies solely so that the director could reproduce scenes from Jurassic Park with velociraptors but ludicrously MORE raptors! Just hot garbage everywhere. The one redeeming feature is Jean Reno who owned every scene he was in, not that that took effort. But you can't go to a Godzilla movie to see Jean Reno, that's ridiculous. Truly a waste.

(1) Tie - Eyes Wide Shut and the third Nolan Batman film.

Eyes Wide Shut first: My first reaction after the movie ended was pure anger: "Stanley Kubrick should have died earlier so that I didn't have to see this film". He made an orgy visually boring! I don't know what the fuck was supposed to be happening with the Cruise-Kidman couple, but whatever it was was unbelievable. He made a movie whose central theme was "cheating on your spouse is dangerous and can get you killed". Maybe at the height of the Sexual Revolution that could be an edgy and thoughtful thesis, but in 1999, after nearly two decades of the AIDS crisis and having "safe sex" pounded into us as a culture, it was firmly "old man shouting at clouds" territory. And the soundtrack was minimalist arrhythmic piano -- plink..plink.......plink...plink and then, at moments of high crisis: plinkplinkPLINK. Just a maddening and grotesque waste of time and an embarrassing capstone to a great career.

The third Nolan Batman film was so bad that a) I will not say or type its name; b) it made me re-evaluate how much I liked the previous films and retroactively made them worse. It made clear -- especially the intro and that fucking epilogue -- that there was nothing Bruce Wayne wanted more than to NOT BE BATMAN, which is a shitty, shitty look for a Batman movie, and also he could just not be Batman instead of whatever the fuck was going on here. On top of that, the timeline was impossible; the plot logic incomprehensible, particularly the scene with Bruce in the jail; setpieces were absurd at best; everybody points out that Batman apparently wasted time painted his symbol in flammable paint on the bridge; and the craft was far below what's expected from Nolan or far above what should be expected for the audience, e.g. the lack of explanation or coherence in the villains' courtroom scene. I came out of this film genuinely angry.

You may note that three of these films are from the late 90s or 2000, and it is absolutely true that the 90s sucked complete entire ass and I was a grumpy bitch throughout. At no point am I going to claim that these reactions are anything but subjective, but that is also clearly the point being sought after here. If you want objective, go to an experienced critic and set some criteria. Something like "Eegah" is a terrible film but it could not be anything but a terrible film and you can't be confused about what level of film you're going to get. My criteria here is "what movies most underperformed their potential and disappointed or angered me the most".

What would you guys consider the worst movie you've ever seen? Not something that's fun to make fun of, nothing you ironically enjoyed, I mean just an absolutely miserable moviegoing experience that you paid for, hated every second, and wish you had walked out of and asked for a refund.

For me, no joke, Madagascar 3: Europe's Most Wanted. It did not even feel like a real movie to me. It made me see red! I was SEETHING with anger and annoyance throughout the entire thing, and I cannot for the life of me articulate why. I saw it once in 2012 when I was 15, I remember almost nothing about it now, but it struck a nerve with me like no other movie ever has before or since.

Tell me in the tags, which movie makes you disproportionately angry just thinking about it?

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kireistrawberryjayla · 24 hours ago

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₊˚ 𝒜𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝑒✧.* 🥞

♡︎ (hyung line)part two- JAY🐈‍⬛......

Warning: sex jokes,sweet talk,love, fluffy. Only a silly little fanfiction therefore not real......Njoyyyy

____________________________________________________

It was 5:30 AM, and Jay was in the kitchen, making breakfast. The weekend had finally arrived, and he was in a particularly good mood—last night had been an intense and passionate one with his wife. The sky outside was still dark, the house quiet except for the soft sizzle of food on the stove. You were still asleep, wrapped in the warmth of the blankets, unaware of the morning unfolding around you.

You stirred under the blanket as you slowly woke up, feeling a bit grumpy. You were about to get out of bed when you realized— you were completely naked. Letting out a sigh, you grabbed Jay’s shirt from the floor and slipped it on. It was oversized on you, the fabric sliding off your shoulder as you buttoned it up. You weren’t in the mood to wear pants, so you just put on your underwear and stepped into your slippers.

Your legs felt sore, wobbly even, but you ignored it and made your way to the kitchen. As you turned the corner, you spotted Jay standing at the stove, cooking something. The smell of eggs and coffee filled the air.

He must have sensed your presence because he turned around with a smirk. "Look who finally decided to wake up," he teased, his eyes briefly glancing at your choice of attire.

You rolled your eyes and walked over, leaning against the counter. "I wouldn’t call it ‘waking up’—more like being forced out of sleep by sore legs," you grumbled, rubbing your thighs dramatically.

Jay chuckled, setting down the spatula. "Not my fault you were so eager last night," he said smugly, stepping closer.

You shot him a glare, lightly smacking his arm. "Shut up."

He only laughed, reaching out to tug at the hem of his shirt on you. "You know, you look ridiculously cute in my shirt. Almost makes me wanna drag you back to bed."

You swatted his hand away with a small huff. "Yeah, no thanks. My legs are already protesting."

Jay grinned, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. "Alright, alright. Sit down, I made breakfast."

Your eyes lit up slightly at the thought of food. "Fine, but only because I’m starving," you said, making your way to the table.

He shook his head with amusement. "Sure, let’s go with that."

As you were about to sit on the wooden chair, you let out a small, pained moan. "Ahh—my butt," you whined, immediately standing back up.

Jay raised an eyebrow, holding back a smirk. "You good there, baby?"

Ignoring him, you hobbled over to the mirror near the staircase, lifting Jay’s oversized shirt just enough to check. The moment your eyes landed on your reflection, you gasped.

"You’ve got to be kidding me," you groaned, taking in the sight of your reddish-pink skin, marked with multiple handprints.

"Oops," Jay said casually from the kitchen, clearly not sorry.

You turned around to glare at him, but before you could say anything, your eyes caught your reflection again—this time, your neck. It was covered in dark, deep hickeys.

You let out an exasperated sigh. "Jay!"

He finally turned around, looking at you with faux innocence. "What?"

You pointed at your neck. "I look like I got mauled."

Jay leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. "Well, technically…" he trailed off with a smirk.

You grabbed the nearest thing—a small decorative pillow—and threw it at him. He easily dodged, laughing. "You’re so annoying!" you huffed, stomping back to the table.

Jay walked over, pulling out a chair for you. "Come on, sit. I’ll be nice and rub your butt later if it still hurts."

You shot him a glare but sat down carefully, still wincing. "You're never touching me again."

Jay chuckled, placing a plate of food in front of you. "We both know that’s a lie."

You tried sitting down again, but the moment you made contact with the chair, you winced in pain. Letting out a frustrated sigh, you stood back up.

Jay, watching you struggle, smirked but then softened. "Come here, baby. Let me see."

You hesitated but eventually walked over to him. He gently lifted your shirt, his fingers grazing your skin as he examined the marks.

"Damn," he muttered, his tone shifting slightly. "It’s actually really red." He rubbed your hip soothingly before leaning down to press a soft kiss against your lower back. "Aww, my poor baby."

You pouted, crossing your arms. "See? This is all your fault."

Jay chuckled, his hands still resting on your waist. "To be fair, you weren’t exactly complaining last night."

You huffed, nudging him lightly. "Yeah, well, I’m complaining now."

He grinned, pulling you closer. "Alright, how about this—I’ll give you a massage later, and I’ll be extra gentle next time."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "There won’t be a next time."

Jay raised an eyebrow, leaning down until his lips were near your ear. "We both know that’s not true."

Your face heated up, and you quickly turned away. "Ugh, just feed me already," you muttered, trying to change the subject.

Jay laughed, wrapping his arms around you from behind. "Anything for my sore little baby."

Instead of attempting to sit on the hard chair again, you let out a sigh and plopped down onto Jay’s lap. He raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Oh? So now you want to sit on me?" he teased, wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you steady.

You rolled your eyes. "The chair is evil. You’re my only option."

Jay chuckled, picking up a piece of food with his fork. "Alright then, open up."

You hesitated for a second before parting your lips, letting him feed you. The warm food melted on your tongue, and you let out a small satisfied hum.

"Good?" he asked, watching you closely.

You nodded, chewing happily. "Mmm, surprisingly, yeah."

"Surprisingly?" he scoffed, playfully pinching your waist. "I cook better than you, admit it."

You swatted his hand away. "I’m not giving you that satisfaction."

Jay smirked, lifting another bite to your lips. "Fine, but you’re still letting me feed you like a spoiled princess."

You huffed but leaned in anyway, letting him continue to feed you. His free hand gently rubbed soothing circles on your sore thigh, his touch softer than usual.

"See? I take good care of my baby," he murmured, pressing a quick kiss to your shoulder.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your small smile. "Just shut up and keep feeding me."

Jay chuckled. "Yes, ma’am.".

After finishing your breakfast, you got up from Jay's lap, stretching slightly. Just as you were about to leave, he grabbed your wrist gently.

"Wait a minute," he said.

You watched as he quickly washed his hands, gathering the empty plates and bowls and placing them in the sink. Then, without another word, he disappeared upstairs. A few moments later, he returned—with a pair of his shorts and your favorite body oil in hand.

Your eyes narrowed. "What are you up to?"

Jay smirked, setting the items down on the counter. "Taking care of my baby, of course."

You raised an eyebrow. "And why do you have your shorts?"

"Because I know you too well," he chuckled. "Once I’m done, you’ll be too comfortable to go put on pants yourself."

You scoffed. "Wow, you really think you’re that good, huh?"

Jay grinned, stepping closer. "I don’t think, sweetheart. I know."

Before you could fire back, he gently turned you around and pressed his hands against your waist. "Bend over," he murmured.

You hesitated, giving him a look. "Why do I feel like this is just an excuse for you to touch my ass again?"

Jay rolled his eyes, amused. "Relax, I’m just helping with the soreness. Trust me."

You sighed dramatically but obeyed, resting your forearms on the cool surface of the kitchen counter. Jay gently tugged down your panties, letting them pool around your ankles. You shivered slightly as he poured some warm oil onto his palms before placing his hands on you.

A deep sigh escaped your lips as he started massaging slow, gentle circles over your skin, his touch light but firm.

"Damn," Jay muttered under his breath, his fingers tracing the marks he’d left. "I really did a number on you, huh?"

"You think?" you grumbled, shifting slightly under his touch. "I swear, I feel like I got spanked for stealing something."

Jay chuckled. "Well, technically, you did steal something."

You frowned. "What?"

"My heart," he said smoothly.

You groaned, turning your head to glare at him. "Jay, I swear to God—"

He laughed, pressing a soft kiss to your lower back. "Alright, alright. No more cheesy lines." His hands kneaded into your sore skin, easing the tension. "But seriously, I’ll be more careful next time."

You hummed, enjoying the warmth of his hands. "Good. Because if I can’t walk tomorrow, you’re carrying me everywhere."

Jay smirked. "Wouldn’t be the first time."

You let out an exasperated sigh but couldn’t help the small smile on your lips as his hands continued working their magic.

"Ahh… feels good, Jay," you murmured, relaxing under his touch as his warm hands worked the soreness out of your skin. His fingers kneaded gently, easing the tension he had so effortlessly caused the night before.

Jay smirked, clearly enjoying the way you melted under his touch. "Told you I’d take care of you," he said smugly.

Once he was done, he grabbed the shorts he’d brought earlier and helped you slip them on. After adjusting the waistband, he patted your butt playfully. "There. Now my baby’s all comfy."

Before you could react, he effortlessly lifted you by the waist and placed you onto the kitchen counter. His lips brushed against your forehead before capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss.

You sighed against his lips, savoring the warmth of the moment. But as he pulled away, the dull ache in your neck reminded you of the other marks he had left behind.

Jay noticed your wince immediately. "Still sore?" he asked, already reaching for the body oil again.

You huffed. "Obviously. You went crazy last night, Jay. Look at my neck—it looks like I got attacked."

He grinned unapologetically. "What can I say? You taste good."

You rolled your eyes. "Ugh, I’m never letting you have me raw ever again. You get really freaky."

Jay let out a deep chuckle, pouring some oil into his palms before gently massaging your neck and shoulders. "You say that now," he teased, his voice low and knowing.

You groaned. "No, I mean it this time."

He smirked, leaning in to kiss your jaw before whispering, "Sure, baby. Whatever you say."

You shot him a glare, but the way his hands moved over your skin, smoothing the warmth of the oil into every aching spot, made you relax against him. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, as he traced over each mark he had left.

"At least you're taking responsibility for your actions," you muttered, closing your eyes as he pressed a soft kiss to your collarbone.

Jay chuckled. "Of course. If I break it, I fix it."

You sighed dramatically. "I swear, Jay, one day, I’m gonna get my revenge."

He raised an eyebrow, amused. "Oh? And how exactly do you plan on doing that?"

You smirked, tilting your head to look at him. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Jay leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. "I’d love to find out," he murmured.

You shivered, smacking his arm lightly. "Just finish the massage, perv."

Jay laughed, pressing another kiss to your forehead. "Yes, ma’am."

And with that, he continued his slow, careful work, making sure every mark was soothed with his touch.

As Jay’s fingers worked over your skin, the cool oil soothing the soreness, you let out a small sigh of relief. His touch was slow, almost careful, as if he was making up for the way he had manhandled you last night.

"You’re really putting effort into this, huh?" you teased, tilting your head to give him better access.

Jay smirked, his thumbs tracing over the bruises he had left. "Well, if I want to keep my privileges, I have to make sure my girl doesn’t regret last night."

You kissed his lips, "Aww Jay of course not never ever, but now my whole body is sore, and I have to walk around looking like I lost a fight."

Jay chuckled, pressing a kiss right over the deepest hickey. "You didn’t lose, baby. You surrendered."

Your eyes snapped open as you smacked his arm. "You’re so annoying."

He laughed, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer on the counter. "But you love me."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t push him away. "Yeah, yeah. Unfortunately i do."

Jay grinned before trailing kisses up your neck, his lips featherlight now. "You smell so good," he murmured, inhaling your scent. "I might just start something again."

You instantly tensed. "Oh, hell no. Back up."

He smirked against your skin. "Relax, I’m just teasing… for now."

You sighed, leaning into him despite yourself. "If I end up sore again, you're carrying me everywhere."

Jay chuckled, hands rubbing soothing circles on your waist. "Deal. Now, let’s go back to bed, baby. I’ll even let you sleep this time."

You gave him a skeptical look. "Promise?"

Jay raised his hands in mock surrender. "Scout’s honor."

You narrowed your eyes. "You were never a scout."

He smirked. "Exactly."

Before you could protest, he scooped you up effortlessly, carrying you bridal-style toward the bedroom.

"You are insufferable," you muttered against his shoulder.

"And you’re stuck with me," he replied, grinning.

You let out a sigh, but the small smile on your lips betrayed you.

Jay carried you effortlessly back to the bedroom, his grip firm yet gentle. You rested your head against his shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest. It was comforting—being wrapped in his warmth, knowing he’d take care of you even after all his teasing.

As he reached the bed, he carefully laid you down and pulled the blanket over you. Just as you were about to close your eyes, you felt the bed dip beside you.

"Jay," you mumbled sleepily.

"Hmm?" he hummed, pulling you into his arms, letting your head rest against his chest.

"You didn’t even clean up the kitchen," you reminded him, though your voice lacked any real scolding.

Jay chuckled, running his fingers lazily through your hair. "I’ll do it later. Right now, my priority is making sure my girl gets her rest."

You sighed, your fingers lightly tracing patterns on his shirt. "You’re just lazy."

"And you love me anyway," he teased, placing a soft kiss on the top of your head.

You yawned, nuzzling closer. "Unfortunately."

Jay laughed quietly, adjusting the blanket around you both. The warmth of his body, combined with the rhythmic strokes of his fingers along your back, slowly lulled you into relaxation.

A comfortable silence filled the room, the kind that didn’t need words. The only sound was the faint ticking of the clock and the occasional rustle of the sheets as Jay shifted to hold you more securely.

"Sleep, baby," he murmured against your hair.

You hummed in response, already halfway there. "Only if you don’t try anything while I’m asleep."

Jay smirked. "I make no promises."

You weakly smacked his chest, making him laugh softly. "Fine, fine. I’ll be good."

Satisfied with his answer, you let yourself drift off, wrapped up in the warmth and comfort of his embrace. And for the first time in a while, you felt nothing but peace.

A few hours later, you slowly blinked awake, feeling the warmth of Jay’s body still wrapped around you. His arm was draped over your waist, his face nestled in the crook of your neck. His steady breathing tickled your skin, and you could tell he was still fast asleep.

You stretched slightly but winced at the soreness that still lingered in your muscles. "Ugh," you groaned softly, shifting in his arms.

Jay stirred, tightening his grip around you. "Mm… stop moving," he mumbled sleepily, his voice deep and husky from sleep.

You let out a small laugh. "I’m sore, Jay. And I’m hungry."

He cracked one eye open, his lips curling into a sleepy smirk. "You weren’t complaining last night."

You groaned, lightly smacking his arm. "Stop."

Jay chuckled, pulling you closer. "Alright, alright. Let’s just stay here a little longer."

You sighed, settling against him. "Fine. But only because I’m too tired to get up."

He hummed in satisfaction, running his fingers up and down your back lazily. The two of you lay there in silence, the soft morning light filtering through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room.

After a while, you mumbled, "What time is it?"

Jay barely moved. "Who cares?"

You rolled your eyes. "What if we had plans today?"

He sighed dramatically. "Baby, the only plan we have is staying in bed and being useless together."

You laughed. "Wow. So productive."

"Extremely." He nuzzled into your neck. "Besides, I already made breakfast, so technically, I was productive today."

"That was hours ago," you pointed out.

Jay shrugged. "Still counts."

You sighed, closing your eyes again. "Fine. But if we’re staying in bed all day, you have to rub my back."

Jay smirked. "Deal."

His hands moved to your back, slowly massaging your sore muscles, his touch warm and gentle. You let out a pleased hum, melting into him.

"See? Best lazy day ever," Jay murmured against your hair.

You smiled, feeling completely at peace. "Yeah… I guess it is."

And just like that, the two of you spent the rest of the day tangled in each other’s warmth, with no rush to be anywhere but here.

I guess this is the best one I have ever written 😭🩷 JAY IS SO CUTE AND FREAKY IN THIS ISTG I WILL SMOOCH HIM SO BAD IF ANY MAN DID THIS FOR ME AHHHH

Here's Heeseung's part〽️

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nanaooyoo · 3 days ago

Text

nct haechan smut

request for anon: “Can I please request mean dom hyuck (like instead of downright degrading he's more into mocking and like having an aura that's intimidating/god complex 😭?) × reader that's really desperate and goes into subspace at like anything he does.” Hope you like it. Anyways enjoy✨

warnings/headsup: dom!hyuck • sub!reader • 5.4k words • fem reader • female anatomy • penetrative sex • biting • brief oral sex • fuckboy-ish haechan • light proofread • a bit rushed

Rain Check: Haechan x Reader pt.I/I

“You might as well just stay over” he said, walking over to you and removing your coat.

The sound of heavy rain and falling tree branches hitting the windows and doors was enough to give you pause. If you covered your head and ran down to the parking lot you could probably make it to your car without getting pneumonia. If you stayed, well then… you’d just end up in Haechan’s bed. Every second you spent thinking, the weather got worse. Not that it really mattered what you thought anyways, it seemed that he had already decided for you. He too knew what staying meant… that’s why he had suggested it in the first place.

“C’mon I’ll get you some clothes and stuff, it’ll be like a sleepover.” He motioned over to his bedroom after haphazardly draping your coat across a chair in the living room.

“Is that really okay?” You asked, folding your hands together and cracking your knuckles awkwardly. “I mean it’s only our first date…”

“So? Who cares?” He laughed. “It’s not like I’m going to murder you.”

“That’s not what I’m afraid of…” you whispered under your breath, but still willingly following him against your better judgement. In your gut you felt like this was a bad idea, but in your head you could already feel what it might be like to have Haechan’s body pressed against yours. In fact, you had been feeling that feeling all night. You felt it when he had first texted you, you felt it on the drive over, you felt it the very moment he opened the door and you saw just how good-looking he was in person.

You thought it was bit sleazy for a guy to invite you over to his place before ever actually meeting you in the flesh, the implication didn’t initially sit right with you… but Haechan was hot, and he was single, and he had his own place… so who were you to say no, who were you to pass up on such an opportunity, and forgo his simple request?

“Here.” He said, tossing you a wrinkled t-shirt and a pair of his old basketball shorts.

You were never the athletic type, but you still managed to catch the garments thrown your way and bunch them in your hands nervously. You looked around his room for a bit wondering if he really expected you to just put on his clothes and then… sleep in his bed? With him?

Haechan leaned against his dresser and looked you up and down with a wry smile and a wild glint in his eye. “Aren’t you going to change?”

“Not in front of you!” You said, clutching his clothes close to your chest.

He huffed. “Why not?”

“Because-” you stuttered “-I just met you, I don’t even know you like that…”

“Like what?” Haechan tapped his fingers against the top of his dresser. You could see just about every single one of his pearly white teeth as he continued to smile at you. Like a mischievous Cheshire Cat stalking you in the dim lighting of his room, he eyed you expectantly.

His smile was taunting yet reassuring. His confidence solidified what you had already understood to be the unspoken agreement of this ‘date’. He only really wanted one thing… and so did you. It was somewhat comforting to know that your fear of seeming easy didn’t really matter when he wasn’t particularly hard (at least not yet).

“Do you want to know me like that?” He asked, walking over to you tentatively, each step slower than the last. He stopped in front of you, looking down into your eyes with a gaze full of subtle devilish glee, pushing a bit of hair out of your face and humming quietly.

You looked up at him with eyes that communicated much more than words ever could, and before you could even think of a quippy response he was already kissing you. The touch of Haechan’s hands were rough but not entirely calloused as he hastily grabbed at both sides of your face. His palms were ice cold against the hot skin of your cheeks. He kissed you fast and he kissed you hard, teeth knocking against teeth and tongue wasting no time in finding its way into your mouth. He was reckless to say the least, and almost completely uninterested in anything that would prevent him from getting exactly what he wanted, exactly when he wanted it.

The way he made you strain your neck by pushing your head further back than it actually needed to be, told you exactly what kind of guy he was. You pressed your hands against his chest and grabbed at the fabric of his shirt, silently begging him to give you a moment of respite, just one second to come up for air… but he was already knocking the clothes he had given you out of your hands and nudging you towards the bed.

“Hae-“ you tried to get out, but he pressed a finger to your lips and pushed your shoulders down so that you were sitting on the covers before him.

“Shh” he said, and you scoffed at his unwillingness to even pretend he didn’t have complete control over the situation.

You crossed your arms in minor annoyance as you sat there waiting for what he might do next.

He leaned down over you with a cocky expression that made you swallow hard, a mix of cortisol driven anxiety and pure joyous adrenaline rushing through you. You weren’t scared, you weren’t nervous, you were anything but… but the expression that was plastered on your face made you look like a mouse centimeters away from being engulfed by the jaws of a lion; and Haechan loved every second of it. “Do you still want to go home?” He chuckled.

You shook your head.

“Then say it.”

“I don’t want to go home…” you replied through gritted teeth.

He nodded approvingly. “Alright then.” Haechan leaned down slowly, placing his hands at either side before kneeling on the bed and silently urging you to scoot backwards.

You laid back and propped yourself up with your elbows as you watched him. Your eyes scanned him meticulously, starting at the top of his head and working their way down. You could hear his satisfied chuckle when your eyes stopped at the waistline of his pants and landed on the buckle of his belt. You hesitantly began to raise one of your hands as he knelt there still and domineering.

He waited until you were close enough to just about touch him before he grabbed your wrist with ease. “What makes you think you can do things without asking?” His voice was serious and gruff but his face was playful and inviting.

You wished in this moment that you could read his mind, it was as if he was testing you. Challenging you to try things just so he could shut them down and revel in your confusion. You felt like you were playing a game that he had invented, of which he refused to tell you the rules, and slowly but surely you would have to discover what the real objective was on your own. “Sorry” you choked.

“I don’t think you mean it…” He grinned and raised your hand above your head pinning your wrist to the bed. He kissed you again, this time with more fervor. Practically swallowing your bottom lip, he bit and gnawed at you like a cat toying with its prey before putting it out of its misery. You were surprised he didn’t draw blood with the way he sunk his teeth into you like he hadn’t eaten in days. It was almost impressive how he could squeeze your wrist just enough to elicit the semblance of pain without fully hurting you. You knew that Haechan probably didn’t have much trouble with girls but now you could absolutely tell why. You could tell that he was cocky not because he had a false sense of grandeur, but because he had proven many times before that he was well worth the conceit.

Even with his eyes closed he seemed to be able to sense every single one of your movements. Before you could even fully think to use your other hand to touch him, to be felt rather than to only feel (however good it was) he was pinning down your other wrist. You writhed under him, squirming in desperation to just run your fingers through his hair or down his back just once… but with every struggle, every groan and whine, he became stricter. The more you showed that you wanted him, the less of himself he wanted to give.

You just couldn’t think straight. You couldn’t play the same game he was playing. You could only lay there and hope that he would so much as grant you the privilege of making him feel something, anything.

When he finally did pull back, he only scoffed at how innocently you regarded him. “You any good at following directions?” He smirked.

You were sure that ultimately this was a bit of a rhetorical question, but no matter how asinine the observation, how humiliating the request, Haechan always expected an answer… and he expected a good one.

You nodded, but that must not have been good enough.

He leaned down again and you felt like time had slowed. Every second that he took getting closer to you made your heart beat faster. “Use your words sweetheart.” He said spewing hot sweet breath against your visage, and cupping your face firmly with one hand.

“I’m good at following directions…” you said meekly. You felt like you were in school again being scolded by a teacher for not formulating your test answers into complete sentences.

“Good.” He said, and in a unique moment of tenderness he kissed your cheek. It was soft and slow, and it was out of nowhere.

Somehow this little moment of gentility made you anticipate just how much rougher he could be. A kiss on the cheek and a sweet pet name from a guy like Haechan was always a red herring, especially after you had just admitted to him that you were willing to listen to direct instruction. You could have taken a moment to be defiant, to see what his limits were, but his strong grip and glittery eyes subdued you. His deceptively cute features and gleeful voice were nothing but bait to reel you in.

“We’re switching places” he said. “Come here.” Haechan turned around and sat at the edge of his bed. He snapped his fingers and pointed to the floor while waiting for you to make your way over. “Kneel down.”

You did as told and knelt down on the plush carpet of his room. You felt slightly degraded, like a dog that listens to commands in the hopes that they might get a treat in return. Haechan leaned back and parted his legs wide as you placed your hands on your thighs.

He looked at you through half lidded eyes, cocking his head to the side and moving a hand to cup one side of your face. “So you really are good with directions.” He smirked. Running his thumb across your cheek and down to your lips, he huffed in amusement watching you wince slightly as his finger touched the more delicate parts of your lips where he had left little red marks. “Did I hurt you?” He pouted facetiously, pressing his thumb down harder. “You can be honest”.

You gulped. “Y-yeah a little.”

Your small confession made him grin ear to ear. “I’ll tell you what. You do something for me sweetheart, and I’ll make it up to you.” Haechan reached down, taking one of your hands in his and placed it on the silver buckle of his belt. He didn’t even try to hide the egotistical smirk that washed across his face the minute he saw your pupils double in size as your hand grazed the bulge forming in his pants. “You’re cute you know that?” He said, watching you bite the inside of your cheek and swallow in a desperate attempt to hide your embarrassment.

Your eyes scanned the room wildly, trying to look anywhere but at the person in front of you.

“You too scared to make eye contact?”

“No.” You retorted.

Haechan scoffed and then paused for a moment before erupting into a fit of laughter. When you finally did look back up at him you had to just sit there and watch silently as he dabbed at the corners of his eyes. He had to take a moment to hold his stomach and steady himself from just how amusing he found your weak attempts at hiding the truth. “Are you always this pathetic or is it just cause you’re with me?” He snickered.

Normally you would roll your eyes and put an over confident man like that in his place but when it came to him you just couldn’t. On some level you had to admit that he was right. His mocking didn’t deter you, it only made you vie for his approval more, it made you want to feel what all the suspense was leading up to.

Haechan’s hands grabbed your wrists once more. He raised them up, lacing your fingers together and bringing them to his waist. Watching the way your fingers trembled slightly and your knuckles tensed as soon as they came into contact with the smooth metal of his belt buckle made him chuckle affectionately.

“Relax.” He said it softly, but you still felt a visceral internal obligation to comply as if it were a stern command. You felt like if you showed even an ounce of trepidation he’d want to forget the whole thing and move onto someone else who was much more sure of themselves.

Your hands fidgeted with his belt like this had been the first time you’d ever done something like this before. Your mind was focused on too many things at once, and struggling to align its priorities. On one hand you wanted to please him, to impress him, to show that you weren’t as meek and mild as you seemed in this very moment. On the other hand, you were so turned on your brain just short-circuited and the worsening weather outside didn’t help. It was like you were looking at a foreign object and had completely forgotten just how simple it was to take a guys pants off. You couldn’t bear to look at him, you couldn’t bear to see the look of sheer disappointment that must have adorned his face.

“Here let me help you…” Haechan laughed again, but this time with more sympathy rather than pity in his tone. He clasped your hands in his, as you looked straight ahead, ogling his long slender fingers that engulfed yours as he guided them past his belt and his pants and into the waistband of his boxers. His thumbs rubbed the pads of your finger as he took one of your hands and brought it to his lips, kissing your palm softly as the other plunged into the heat between his legs. Haechan’s groans were low and drawn out as you finally seemed to regain consciousness and remember what you were doing and where you were.

You bit your lip tentatively as Haechan let out sparse and quiet grumbling moans into your hand, pressing it to his face and gripping your wrist tightly as your other hand slid down further, slowly making its way to the head of his dick. You could feel him getting harder with every languid stroke of his shaft and you could hear him getting impatient with every intermittent scoff. You let Haechan give your hand another soft kiss before kneeling closer to the edge of the bed. Gently biting the side of your hand closest to his mouth before letting it go, he adjusted himself so that you could appreciate him fully. He looked down at you, widening his legs a little more as you finally unbuckled his belt and slid his pants down just enough to place your head flush against his inner thigh. This general area was familiar territory to you, but you were still a bit lost when it came to how to act around Haechan. You found his soft chuckles and little pats to the top of your head oddly reassuring (once you got past how childish and out of your depth they initially made you feel). Haechan looked down at you endearingly, but even at your low vantage point you could still see the little tinge of satisfaction as the corner of his lip curled up into a sultry half-smile.

You made a point to note how your fingers just barely touched when wrapping around his girth, trailing them lightly along the path of every subtly visible vein like you needed to stimulate each individual nerve hidden beneath his skin. The light tickle from the breaths that you let out through your nose as you kissed at the base of him made Haechan throw his head back and bite his lip, muttering quietly to himself about how cute you looked. He held your chin in one hand, feeling the soft outline of your jaw as the muscles stretched to help you wrap your plush lips around the side of his shaft, the other slowly slid up to your forehead and helped keep your hair out of your face with a firm yet calculated grip to your scalp.

The crash of a large branch hitting Haechan’s bedroom window made you flinch for a second. Your face began to feel warm and your throat tightened as your ears filled with the sounds of harsh winds, rattling twigs, and your date’s dry sarcastic laughter. “Sorry” you mumbled, leaning your head against his leg once more and pressing your salivating tongue eagerly against the flat underside of him.

You could sense the amount of restraint Haechan was using to compose himself. “You’ve got to stop apologizing” he chuckled. The more you trembled, the more he teased you and yet he still made sure to slip in little bits of veiled encouragement as you worked your mouth up him in a series of unhurried nips and pecks. “You’re surprisingly good at that” he taunted “at least for a girl who’s scared of thunder.” You internally rolled your eyes, half at Haechan and half at yourself for being so accidentally transparent. Making you partially wince, Haechan grabbed more firmly at your hair, raising your head up slightly to the head of his dick, impatience reaching an insurmountable threshold. A diaphragmatic growl escaped his lips as he practically snarled. Feeling your wet mouth slide down his length as you took a deep breath in, making sure to swirl your tongue over the tip as he guided your head down as leisurely as he could without shuddering in frustration made his chest begin to rise and fall more deeply and his stomach knot up. Haechan’s expression turned more serious and his mouth remained slightly agape as he took in the view in front of him. The sobering look on his face as he moved your head up and down in the exact way he liked was in direct contrast to your ever quickening heartbeat and the alternate desperate pulse forming between your own legs. You admired how simple he made things for you. You barely had to think because he was so self assured and deliberate in every single one of his motions.

You wondered how many other girls Haechan had had kneeling before him, sucking him off like this and hanging onto his every word. You thought of how easy it was for him to get you flustered, to coerce you into admitting to things you would never usually admit out loud. How he so easily was able to have wrapped around his finger you had no clue, but you were certainly in too deep to second guess yourself now. “You look so pretty with my dick in your mouth” he whispered seductively, pushing your head down until he was practically hitting the back of your throat. Tears stung in the farthest corners of your eyes as he found yet another way to render you physically and emotionally breathless. His snickers egged you on more than they deterred you, as he delighted in every small instance of ridicule he made you feel. Watching you struggle to keep up with him made him want to find new ways to slow down just so he could pick things back up again and catch you off guard. Sticky saliva and pre-cum mixing together as he became more erect in your throat.

Your voice was already becoming weaker as his hard cock slid against the roof of your mouth and you hollowed out your cheeks. You whined in just about the most down-and-out way Haechan had ever heard as he moved his free hand from your chin to your neck, pressing his fingers to either side of your throat ever so slightly, causing you to have to swallow the choke lodged in your esophagus. He held your head down for a moment until he saw that you were sufficiently starved for breath and released you for a second to once again cup your face and hold your cheeks. He regarded you with pride upon seeing the slight state of dishevelment he had you in. Your eyes were watery and doe-like as you knelt on the carpet and looked up at his smug countenance. “You wanna get up here with me?” He asked and smoothed out the covers a bit.

You nodded dizzily at first, taking a moment to re-experience fresh air. “Yeah…” you said hoarsely, and of course, again, he laughed in your face.

Haechan had to reach down and help you up in your light daze. He lifted you onto the bed again and you sat behind him, watching patiently as he slipped his shirt off and dropped it onto the floor, turning around slowly to tower over you. You instinctively started to lay back as he approached, his eyes glimmering as he stared at you, you gulped and stared at him right back. You had enough time to count all the little freckles and moles on his face twice over with the lethargic speed at which he leaned down to kiss you, swirling his tongue over your lips and tasting a bit of himself on them. His nose was pressed messily against yours as he kissed you swiftly and carelessly, toned thin arms reaching under your shirt to toss it across the room before unclasping your bra. Haechan dragged his teeth down your collarbone and down to your breasts. Throwing your undergarments in any direction he could, he sunk his teeth into the supple flesh of the upper part of your chest, leaving a path of small wet marks you were sure would become full blown bruises by tomorrow morning. Haechan pulled off his own pants fully before going for the button at yours and deftly biting your nipple enough to make you whimper helplessly under him. Again his hands roamed across your body, moaning into your mouth and palming himself lightly, lubricating his pointer and index finger with the slick from his cock before reaching into your underwear. “You’re so wet for me aren’t you?” He whispered into your ear, nibbling at your earlobe and kissing your cheek.

It was time for his jaw to do the work as he kissed and chewed every little bit of exposed skin that he could while spinning small circles up and down your clit and at the entrance of your cunt. You ran a hand through his tousled mop of blackish-brown hair and used the other to hold onto his arm to stop yourself from unraveling completely. His fingers pumped inside of you, curling harshly and staying there, torturing you while he took off his boxers. He took a break from sucking the sensitive buds of your nipples to drag his tongue along your slit. He stuck his tongue in without hesitation, aiding his fingers, as they worked together to slide in and out of you, making your head spin. You couldn’t help but wrap your legs around his head as he worked his magic. “You’re already shaking and I’m not even finished with you yet” he joked as your whole body shivered against him, using your legs to pull him in closer, fidgeting with every swipe of his tongue and movement of his fingers.

Haechan pulled back suddenly, holding your waist firmly and pushing you back farther up the bed. He leaned over, reaching into a drawer on the end table next to his bed and smirking at you as your eyes trailed behind him, watching closely like you were studying a specimen under a microscope. “As much as I’d love to fuck you raw, it is only our first date.”

You wondered if that meant he had the intention of doing this again sometime or if he just said that to every girl he had over. Not that you had much time to mull it over in your head. Haechan was already ripping a condom open with his teeth and slipping it on like he was a professional preparing for his own olympic main event. He smiled down at you with a sort of recognition in his eyes while he took your underwear off, like he could read your mind, like he could tell exactly what your were thinking; ‘this guy does this a lot…’

Haechan breathed heavily as he lined himself up at your entrance, pushing into you and immediately raising your legs up so that they were tucked to your chest. “You’re so fucking tight baby…” he said through satisfied gasps and gritted teeth. You could feel him filling you up completely as he fucked you hard and slow, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing his forehead against yours. He watched as your whole body followed his movements, helpless against the strength of his thighs. Your desperate whimpering and the girlish childlike quiver of your lip as he looked into your eyes unblinking, refusing to kiss you just so he could get that little bit of extra satisfaction from seeing just how bad you wanted him. “You gonna cum?” Haechan thrusted into you harder. “Am I gonna make you cum?” watching as you almost cried out in agony, hands not daring to move or defy him in any way, chest rising and falling and lips unable to formulate the right words. Haechan snickered. “Hmm? What was that?” He thrusted again, pulling out slowly and forcing himself into you again for every few moments that you spent continuing to struggle to answer him. “I can’t hear you sweetheart” he said once more, eliciting an almost pathetically exasperated moan from you.

“Y-yes Haechan…”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes you’re going to make cum.”

“Did I say that you could?”

You could feel the tears forming in your eyes again as he fed on your misery. “No…” you whimpered.

“Then you know that you can’t until I tell you to.” Haechan reached between your legs to play with your swollen bud and you sucked in your bottom lip as he held you still, fucking you like he had all the time in the world. He pulled out slowly and pushed in hard, laying his chest atop your tucked in calves.

“Okay” you whispered “I won’t”. You spoke partially to him and partially to yourself, focusing on the sounds of violent rain pounding onto the sidewalk not unlike how Haechan pounded into you in this moment. You tried to distract yourself with thoughts of boredom, and gray clouds, and parking garages where your car sat cold and empty, but those just made you think of pleasure, and tan skin, and your warm throbbing cunt filling with the liquid proof of yours and his arousal.

Lifting you up slightly, Haechan held your waist, lifting your ass up just enough so that he could slap it. The sting of his hand lingered on your backside as you could feel the imprint even when he went back to holding you down like the outline of his palm had just been freshly tattooed there.

His eyes squeezed shut, pumping into you as he got closer and closer, waiting for the exact right moment to time his release. “Fuck baby” he moaned hoarsely, squeezing his hands around your hips like kneaded dough. Eyes nearly rolling into the back of your head, and inner core tightening with every vicious stroke, you pressed your knees together and wondered whether you should distract yourself by counting sheep or counting down the seconds until you made a mess of yourself and dripped onto his sheets like the rain water overflowing the building’s gutters.

“Haechan…” you whined, strengthening your grip on the back of his neck, trying your best not to squirm in a plea for a bit of his divine mercy. “Can you at least kiss me?” You asked in earnest.

Your adorable little pout softened his expression and put a momentary stop to his brick batting curses and taunts. “Only because you asked so nicely” he cooed, and leaned down to kiss you softly. His embrace was warm and the dulcet tones that spilled from his mouth as his movements became faster and harder inside of you caused your mind to go completely blank. You kissed him back based on muscle memory alone, as your consciousness felt transported elsewhere. Your body and mind experiencing conflicting and complementary sensations all at once.

Haechan quickened his pace, grunting lowly and pulsating inside of you. Your walls constricted around him, reacting to the contours and veins of his rock solid erection that could be felt even through the condom he had so generously put on. He whispered sweet nothings against your skin about how pretty you looked surrendering to him, and about how close you had him. The sublime aching pleasure in your groin accompanied by the choppy pitched up curses Haechan spit out like venom were enough to hold you over for a few more seconds just so you could savor the near tangible ecstasy in the room.

“Now” he said sternly “I want you to cum now.” Wind picking up in time with his arrival, Haechan thrust into you as hard as he could one final time before shakily pulling out and rubbing the head of his covered cock over your clitoris. You almost yelped in shock as he served another harsh slap to your side; solidifying his previous request. You whined, and you whimpered, and you moaned his name like he was the only person in the world that could ever make you feel this way… and for a small moment, as the rain came down, and the sounds of stormy weather became drowned out by heavy breathing a wet sloppy kisses; there was no one that could tell you that that thought wasn’t true, no one could tell you you were wrong when everything felt so goddamn right.

Haechan pulled away but not before planting another tender kiss to your sweaty forehead. He stood up, smirking at you as he tied off his filled up rubber and put it in a nearby garbage can. You laid there, still twitching a bit as you slowly regained your composure. “So are you gonna stay over?” He said pushing his messy hair back.

“Am I allowed to?” You asked breathlessly.

He chuckled a bit reaching down onto the floor in front of his bed and picking up his old t-shirt and shorts and tossing them so that they landed right over your eyes. “Only girls who make me breakfast can stay over” he hissed mockingly. “Anyways, there’s no way you can drive home in a storm like this… I’m not a monster.”

“I’m a good cook…” you replied sitting and watching as he walked over to his bathroom.

“Well then I guess you’ll just have to prove it tomorrow morning”. He yawned and closed the bathroom door without another word. You could hear him singing to himself sweetly in the shower and you secretly hoped that the rain would never end just so you could be stuck here together a little longer.

-🍌 🍶

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