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girlsoutlate · 3 days ago

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tf141 meet prices girl

part one

suggestive themes, alcohol consumption, loser simon, if you can see my favouritism for gaz no you bloody can't xx

today- well tonight was the night. you'd been psyching yourself up from wednesday, john springing the plans on you casually over breakfast. you expected it, just not so soon. all too quickly saturday night had rolled around and you were staring absentmindedly in to your wardrobe. your ever so loving boyfriend had been making fun of your hysterics all day until he became slightly concerned at your lack of appetite over dinner. you chose to nibble on two sides instead of whatever small meal you had originally planned. as you left the table and placed your plate on to the counter john grabbed you by your hips and hoisted you up "love, it's natural to be nervous but yer gettin' yerself worked up for nothin'". brushing a calloused thumb across your lips that were nibbled raw he felt you take a small breath in to talk "i know but what if something goes wrong? what if they think im too dumb for you? they won't like me". the last words out of your mouth were quiet and resolute but hung heavy in the air.

steely blue eyes never leaving yours, john spoke with reverence "sweethear' don't say tha' about yerself. i'm the lucky bastard tha' gets to be loved by you. wha' those muppets think about ya' doesn't matter, least of all to me". a small smile on your face wasn't missed as you looked down to johns hands splayed on your lap. he continued "they'll love ya', i promise- not as much as me though" a gravelly chuckle emanted from his chest. "you're beautiful, do i need to remind you again today? tha' lot will lap up any hint of kindness, so theres no reason a' all why they won't like ya". your arms wrapped around his bulking figure, pressing your face in to his defined chest you whispered "thankyou".

after finishing the rest of your food you jumped off the counter and scuttled upstairs to get ready. coming back downstairs you showed john your outfit, him grunting in appreciation whilst you did a spin, speaking about how you think you've perfected doing this hairstyle. after a silent journey you found yourself stepping out of a cab and standing in front of a pub you could only identify by name. at some point in the car ride your nerves turned to excitement and you were all to eager to meet the men your boyfriend trusted his life with. stepping in to the pub with johns large paw on the small of your back, a wave of warmth and chatter washed over you. warm lights reflecting off the red walls and oak ceiling basking you in a golden light as you scanned the pub. for a moment the hairs on the back of your neck stood as goosebumps rose across your arms; you shook off the feeling; john seemed to had spotted where his task force was, grunting in to your ear "just in tha' corner, doll" he guided you to the left.

with the soft tread of sticky carpet under your feet your eyes landed upon three men in the corner of the pub. a man with a mohawk caught your attention first, raucous laughter causing your steps to falter. lips fluttered against the shell of your ear "'m righ, behind ya", john gave a reassuring squeeze to the fat of your hip. your eyes flicked over to the man being spoken too. his brown eyes met yours, welcoming and soft yet calculating. he flashed you a dazzling smile, dimples appearing on his slim cheeks. by the time you had gotten to the table (nerves causing the journey to feel longer) all three men had their attention on you and john. "captain, nice to see you" the man with the brown eyes said, his velvety voice contrasting with johns gravelly "love, meet gaz, soap and ghost". giving a polite smile you looked them assessing, finally putting faces to what little you know. soaps eyes tracked up and down your body once, he couldn't help but take in your appearance. he knew your face was beautiful from the snooping he'd done, but god did your body live up to it. sharp blue met yours, twinkling with something. gaz pulled out a seat and gestured for you to sit down, price slipped your jacket off and put it on the back of your chair. as you settled while they greeted each other, your attention was drawn to ghost. you couldn't help but notice him.

a hulking figure in the corner of the booth, he blended in with the shadows despite the almost orange light of the pub. his balaclava was covering his whole face, bar dead eyes devoid of any emotion. as his gaze landed on you from across the table, you registered what that sudden nervous feeling was when you first stepped in to the pub. it was him. he'd watched you and john since you arrived, despite his companions remaining oblivious. you tried not to overthink it. just as you were about to tear your gaze away, his near black eyes caught yours. ghost gave you a curt not before gaz spoke to you. "its so nice to mee' you. you've been a well kept secret, eh soap?" nudging soap with his elbow, an impish grin on his face. you let out a small chuckle while soap jokes "ah dinnae know how cap' found ya", a soft rumble of a laugh reverberated from john. "yer a real bonnie lass-" soap let out a soft yelp. curiously you looked around the table and saw ghost staring at him. with a faint warmth to your cheeks you let out a small "thankyou". a voice even deeper than johns makes you slightly jump as ghost instructs "mactavish, go get tha' first round in".

after telling soap the drink of your choice you feel johns warm paw smooth up and down your leg "you alrigh', beautiful?" you nodded and replied "they're just like you said". gaz turns to you with that same dazzling smile "i'm guessing you know more about us than we do about you".

"i supposed so, john told me all about the phonecall incident". at that he turned away, hiding a bashful smile. a husky wheeze, which felt more like a vibration, came from ghost. john squeezed your thigh in hearing that. ghost remembered the day of the 'phonecall incident' well. his sergeant was practically running down the hallway, excitement coming off him in waves. as he told ghost and soap what he heard he wore a smug grinon his face- of course. for the rest of the day that's all ghost bloody heard from his sergeants, although he would be lying if he said he wasn't intrigued. the next day the captain spoke to them about meeting his girl, so gaz felt entirely responsible for solving the 'mystery' as well as getting to meet you. when soap came with the drinks, he started a line of enquiry surrounding yours and johns relationship. his warm hand brushed against yours as he passed you your drink, lingering to ensure you had a proper grip on it.

"so how did you an' price meet? ah cannae imagine him dancing on ye at a club" your boyfriend barked out a sharp laugh. you giggled at the image, deciding he would be reminiscent of an endearing if awkward dancing bear. at the melodic sound of your laugh you caught ghosts eyes, an unreadable stare. your ability of storytelling had the boys rapt, including john who never tired of hearing your view of events. you recounted that somehow your schedules matched up, and after he helped you in an awkward situation you began to talk whenever you saw each other. soap poked fun at his captain after learning that he had a habit of stumbling over his words when asking you anything important, like when he asked you for his own number. after you had finished your anecdote soap directed another question in your direction "wha's tha' captain like? bet he's ah lovesick puppy", guffaws rounded the table. more followed when you retorted "you'd be surprised, he's like a limpet some days".

slowly but surely you grew more comfortable in the conversation, bantering back and forth with soap and gaz, laughing when john interjects about some absolutely absurd guesses about him in your relationship. naturally they ask you about work, all three being pleasantly surprised finding out you don't work a boring office job. you explained that since being with john you can have a job you can enjoy, instead of burning out constantly just to live. gaz nodded in agreement, even though john had told you he had joined the army quite young. he commented "would've probably worked in my dads business if i hadn't joined the army". you hummed in response, filing that away for later analysation, noticing his slightly furrowed brows. soap piped up from the end of the table "ah cannae say ah enjoy gettin' shot at fer a livin, but-"

"tha's enough. remember wha i said" johns gravelly voice cut soap off. it was slightly raised, sending a small shock down your spine. he rarely raised his voice at you, let alone shout. it was strange seeing that authoritative side of him seep through, though some small part of you was interested. "sorry captain" soap quickly responded, "sorry love" he added. as gaz deftly redirected the conversation you quirked an eyebrow at john. "what did you say?" you quietly enquired, picking up your drink, condensation cool against your skin. you noticed john glancing away as he cleared his throat "you shouldn't know what.. what really 'appens when i'm gone." his large hand slides up your leg and down, a soothing action. whether its for you or himself is undecided.

warmth seeps from his hand to yours, adding to the slight flush you feel throughout your body. as you finish up your drink you push your chair back, lukewarm liquid sliding down your throat. "'m gonna go to the bathroom" you quietly mumble, hand on the table for support. you briefly wait for john to follow, used to him 'keeping an eye on you' whenever you went out for drinks. but before he can, gaz stands up. "i'll go with her sir, and get the next round in". price grunts in consideration, with a near empty pint in hand "love?". your eyes flick over to gaz, noticing the light being reflected in a small stud in his ear. "sure" you reply, grabbing your bag in case you needed to fix your makeup. placing his now empty glass on the table john grumbles "keep an eye on her".

gaz guided you over to the bathrooms, his large palm hovering over the small of your back. you could feel the heat radiating off him, an accidental brush feels burning hot even through your clothes. he wasn't as tall or broad as john, but that just made his proximity to you even more apparent, he was different than what you were used to. his physique was well above average, confirmed by the bulging bicep that pulled a chair out for you earlier. his lean torso was evident, even through his baggier top. something enticing radiated off gaz, drawing your attention to him when you first sat down. at the table you noticed his eyes upon you when you spoke, even if he wasn't replying. ever attentive not just to you, but to the rest of the task force. he caught what was said under someones breath, or what was said if someone was being talked over. reaching the door he muttered "i'll be right outside, no rush". entering the bathroom you feel rather giddy that everything is going so well. apparently soap shares the same sentiment.

the remaining three men at the table watched you walk away, john noticing the sway of your hips exaggerated by your tipsy state. ghost noted the details of your outfit, and thanked his mask when he realised his gaze had drifted further south than intended. soap was practically burning holes in to the back of gaz's head, annoyed he wasn't in his place. seems as though the 'competition' to know more about you hadn't ended yet. as soon as you were out of earshot soap turned to the table with a dramatic sigh. "lord 'ave mercy price, where did ye find her? yer one lucky man". ghosts body shook slightly with mirth at johnny's theatrics, yet agreed with him "he's right, captain". john sat in silence, a small smirk growing. hearing the bathroom door open, the table watched as you and gaz walked over to the bar.

he stood slightly behind you as he ordered the drinks. with interest, john watched as his sergeant lent down and whispered something in to his girls ear that made you giggle. the apples of your cheeks were dusted with warmth as you replied with an appreciative smile. unable to hear due to a particularly rowdy group of punters, gaz leant down, motioning for you to repeat yourself. resting a hand on his defined shoulder to balance yourself you did just that. johns eyes became incredibly focused once he saw his sergeant softly brushing your hair out of his face, whispy strands tickling him. pulling away gaz laughed heartily, your face lit up at garnering such a reaction.

soap was practically smoking, itching to talk to you more. ghost and john however, watched with interest, focus never wavering. the latter two shared a glance, something vaguein both their expressions. you and gaz both returned with two drinks each, placing them on the table. the group heard a snippet of your conversation "kyle that is absolutely not true". he laughed as you you turned around back to the bar to retrieve your drink. sitting back down with an oomph, gaz remarked "her sarcasm's worse than yours lt.", wide smile on his face. snatching up his drink soap snarkily said "on a first name basis are ye?". john had never seen someone drink a pint with so much attitude. gaz replied "what? you jealous mate?" with a shit eating grin on his face. before the squabble could continue ghost cut them off with a very pointed sigh.

as soap complained about gaz 'stealing of your attention' john watched you talk with a bartender. you lent lightly on the counter, back slightly arched as you sipped on your drink. with a comically soppy look on his face john reached for his cold pint. despite being nervous tonight you had found your place amongst his men. he couldn't be happier. you conversed with the bartender like she was an old friend, john had always admired your kindness and compassion. it was nice to be looked after, though he'd never admit it. his countenance hadn't been lost on his task force. here they were watching their captain look at his girl in a lovestruck daze, completely dead to the world. the boys would've laughed in shock if they weren't genuinely happy for him. it could be said that price more so than anyone deserved to be happy- oh and if they had the chance to be in johns position, all of them would totally look at you like that too. "i really am lucky to 'ave her" john mumbled to no one in particular, yet they all heard him.

returning to the table you pressed a small kiss on prices cheek, his beard scratching your face a little. a glossy, faintly red mark was left. "y' alrigh' doll?" you nodded in response, squeezing his hand under the table. sipping your drink you carried on with whatever point you had left the conversation at. soaps petty complaints continued, "s no fair he's taken all the credit fer us meetin' yeh, 'n now he's just takin' ya!". you let out a rather boisterous laugh "i promise you'll all get a go". as you turn to look at john after hearing his exasperated sigh you missed soaps wolfish grin towards gaz. you found the formers complaining highly amusing, and so did ghost apparently. he hadn't said much apart from a grunt in agreement and, well, disagreement. but when you poked fun at soap, saying that you "didn't know the army let five year olds be sergeants", that black mass in the corner added "five year olds wiv shit 'aircuts". unfortunately for soap you burst out laughing, insisting through a fit of giggles that you thought his mohawk was incredibly beautiful. much to johns disappointment it sent soap in to a tirade of defending his 'crowning glory'. ghost would be lying if he didn't feel an odd warm feeling flood his chest at producing such visceral reaction from you.

another hour or so passes by, conversation flowing from one topic to another. letting out a small grunt john slapped his thighs and stood up "m goin' out fer a smoke, wanna come for fresh air sweet'eart?". nodding, you slipped on your jacket "could you keep an eye on my bag please? i'll be back soon". pulling your chair in kyle replied "of course, i'll look after your drink too". smiling appreciatively you turned while john guided you out of the pub. as soon as your figures disappeared into the night soap exclaimed "steamin' jesus" and ran a hand down his face. gaz nodded in agreement while ghost stared at his drink.

the three men had met a good amount of women between them, all being some degree of beautiful. a fair amount had similar ease of banter and wit as you and some could rival you in intellect. a few even had the same interests as you. the men could recognise that, yet you seemed so different from any other woman. perhaps it was because you were with their captain, but this spark was apparent in relation to no one but you. they couldn't lie a finger on it yet but they had an inkling. your compassion and sincerity. any woman could be beautiful, alluring, funny, snarky or an airhead bimbo if they wanted to. but you were so unapologetically yourself, from the clothes you wore to how you carried yourself. in a life of secrets and covert operations it was refreshing to meet someone who took pride in being themselves no matter how people reacted. you were sincere, the task force could understand why john loved you for that.

it was even more enticing that you were kind to everyone, for example that young bartender dealing with a group of rowdy punters. you didn't have to be kind, but you were. one of the things price told them about you was your kindness, only elaborating to the point that some people used it against you so "they'd better not piss about and upset his doll". this aspect of you was evident as soon as you joined their table. you made sure to address everyone and listen to what they said, simply because you cared not because it was expected. they could easily see why john loved you, to such a far extent that a small part of them was jealous. jealous that the numerous bodies that woke up beside them in the morning were gone in an hour, no one in the kitchen to share breakfast with. dinner was the same unless they went out searching for someone. the home they returned to was empty, jealous that you weren't waiting for them. with that thought ghost broke the silence between them "m goin for a fag". he left soap and gaz with the same obscure look on their face.

the cold night air enveloped ghost as he stepped outside, a welcoming change from the stuffy pub. he spotted you leant against the wall, arms wrapped around yourself, as john stood next to you. he nodded for ghost to come over. as he rolled up his balaclava and lit his cigarette you averted your gaze. you understood he wouldn't do it unless he was comfortable, but you didn't want to push your luck. noticing this, ghosts husky voice said "s alrigh'". your eyes slightly widened and you nodded. fuck. simon wanted to make you feel at ease, even tried to soften his voice. he's always had the worst luck with women out of the task force- not that he was attempting to chat you up or anything. his rather disastrous train of thought was broken with price flicking the butt of his cigarette on the floor "m goin' back inside, y' joinin' me dove?". you shook your head, drawing you coat tighter "want my head to clear up a little more, i'll be in soon". he grunted in acknowledgement, pulling you in for a kiss, the taste of sour smoke still in his mouth. it was short and sweet, but simon noticed the way your eyes fluttered at johns hand on the nape of your neck. a sharp pang was felt in simons chest. it could be jealousy, but he was well acquainted with that feeling due to the bad hand he was dealt by the universe. this was different, and simon doesn't like change. john gave ghost a stern look before he returned inside, look after her.

you and ghost stood in silence, only interrupted by a passing car or the rustle of clothes when he took another drag of his cigarette. he glanced to you, expecting to see you awkwardly looking at him or the ground, instead you were gazing at the night sky. it was a dark velvet, remarkably clear with a small sprinkling of stars. a few moments passed before you softly said "the skys pretty tonight". poor simon didn't know what to say, you seem genuinely enraptured. before he gave you his usual reply of a grunt you spoke up again "john tells me about sky he sees when he's gone, said that sometimes theres more stars than sky". ghost had heard snatches of these sporadic phonecalls, always leaving to give his captain privacy. he noticed a difference in price after each one, relaxed brows and a straighter back with a lighter mood no matter the state of the mission. now simon knows it was you making that difference. whilst a plume of smoke left his scarred mouth he turned to face you. you did the same, meeting his eyes with a small smile. "price is lucky to 'ave ya'" he quietly admitted. he left out a thought that had been rolling inside his head since first hearing you speak i would be lucky to have you too.

your eyes sparkled, the first full sentence ghost had said to you was that of approval and praise. you knew he was a lonely man, the 141 was the only semblance of family he had, so his approval meant the world to you. you reached out and gently squeezed his forearm "thankyou ghost". he simply nodded, eyes fixed upon you as you returned inside. your touch was a surprise. ghost expected himself to recoil, yet he stood incredibly still. simon knew it was a simple touch- so why did his blood run incredibly warm under your hand? electricity jolted through his skin almost painfully, despite this he wanted to feel it again. wanted to have your attention, look at him with those pretty eyes and feel himself wilt under you. wanted you to touch him again. fuck. you were his captains girl. ghost shook his head violently, it would be comical if he didn't feel so guilty. flicking his cig to the ground with spite he stalked back inside.

the topic of conversation had turned to cooking. your nose wrinkled in disgust hearing some of the food at the mess hall, wondering what possessed people to make that. soap piped up "but ahve smelt prices lunch an' its bloody delicious, did ye make it?". a collective groan rounded the table as you described the last meal you made. traditional spaghetti bolognese with pasta you made yourself. "making the pasta was a little disastrous because someone can't follow instructions". you shuddered at the thought, who knew dough was so airborne? "aye so price don't listen to ye?" soap continued in a suggestive tone. you shook your head and replied "most of the time he takes orders well, but for some reason he assumed he could cook this better than me" your suggestive language and johns red face earned peals of laughter. gaz enquired "so, is it true sir?". ashamed, john mumbled "affirmative". in false shock you exclaimed "what? that you can cook better than me, or that you take orders well?". unfortunately johns protests couldn't be heard over the laughter. the image of the captain john price being bossed around by you was hilarious, probably saluting you before mopping the floors while you lounged on the sofa.

their thoughts wandered further, wondering if price took orders well in all aspects of your relationship. you seemed like a woman that knew exactly what she wanted from the man she loved, they liked that. before their thoughts got collectively dirtier john cut them off in an accusatory tone "i've caught these lot poking around my lunch more times than i can count, 'specialy after you gave me those brownies". you were particularly stressed that week, and baked a little too many. so you packed loads for john, instructing him to give some to his task force. for the rest of that week he was begged to bring in more despite his false admission there was none left.

back at the table gaz declared "your cookin' is the best i've had in a long time, any chance of getting some more?" he wiggled his eyebrows in a bad attempt to persuade you. you beamed at his praise and awful persuasion "i normally give john any leftovers from dinner the night before for lunch, but theres hardly any- he loves to eat". john nodded in agreement "don't want any of you greedy buggers takin' my food". soap had noticed the slightly light hair on his beard near his mouth months ago, he could already tell john loved to eat. soap downed the rest of his drink in an effort to get his brain to shut up. he almost felt bad having such depraved thoughts of his captain eating out his girl bent over the kitchen counter while he was sitting opposite them in the pub.

noticing that the tips of soaps ears were slightly pink, kyle asked you with that dazzling smile "so how would i- hypothetically- go about getting more food". catching on to what he meant you replied "well you would have to ask the hypothetical man if you were allowed over for dinner. the decision lies solely in his hypothetical hands", a drunken giggle escaping at the silliness. price grunted, weighing up the odds of letting his task force over for dinner. it wouldn't be the first time them coming to his house, but you hadn't lived there then. from the corner, ghosts voice rumbled across the table "i'd like to visit too". you looked in his direction, nodding your head in appreciation. john glanced to you and saw a large cheesy smile plastered across your face, which was replicated by both his sergeants. what has he done. you and his task force had really taking a liking to each other. "i'll think abou' it" he said with finality. you clapped your hands and gave him a big kiss on the cheek "i'll take it". a dopey smile spread across his face at the kiss.

conversation carried on for another half an hour before you let out a yawn. stretching and standing up john sighed "come on dolly its time to get you home, before you turn in to a pumpkin". as john quickly booked a cab you finished the rest of your drink. busying yourself with getting your coat on john said goodbye to his friends. even though it wasn't clear you think you heard "m so happy fer ye mate", "she's gorgeous, treat her well" and "m proud of ye". you'll live in your cloud of plausible deniability quite happily.

"ghost, ahve called ah cab fer us three. it'll be here soon" soap called out, alcohol making him forget his inside voice. kyle replied "m proud of you mate, last time you were barely upright". the melodic sound of your laughter filled their ears for the final time that night. addressing kyle first you pulled him in to a hug "it was so lovely to finally meet you kyle". his lean arm wrapped around your waist, hand resting on the fat of your hip, you felt his breath on your ear "it was nice to meet you darling". kyle pulled away just before soap slightly barged past him. he swept you up in to an enthusiastic hug, chests flush together. you giggled in to his neck before a loud cough from behind you prompted him to hold you at arms length. "nice meetin' ye bonnie, when are ye next free?" before you could reply you felt a familiar arm corded with muscle hold you by the waist and pull you away. johns voice rumbled against your back as he said "mactavish you will know when we are free, if tha's alrigh' with the little lady". you nodded in agreement and replied "i'd like to see you all again, if thats okay with all of you?". the last part of your sentence was said in a mild manner.

for just a second the 141 saw a glimpse in to your second-guessing, price had told them to be extra nice to his birdie. before the sergeants could reassure you with grandeur, ghost resolutely said "of course". you beamed at all of them, teeth glinting and cheeks round, the widest and truest smile you'd worn all night. simon felt his heart swell slightly with pride, he did that. "cabs nearly here, you ready?" you nodded and waved a final time, john continued "good catchin' up with ya, see you horrible lot monday". the sergeants gave a very disorganised salute while ghost nodded his head.

stepping in to the night, a slight drizzle had started. despite that you abruptly stopped and pulled john in, cutting of his question with a kiss. you pressed your lips to his slightly harder and sloppier than you wanted in your drunk state, but john didn't seem to mind. his warm mouth opened more, bitter taste of beer on his tongue and slight scratch of his bed earning a soft moan from you. in return he gripped the fat of your hip pulling you impossibly closer, chests flush. at the whistles of onlookers you both pulled away, your eyes twinkled in the stars as a feeling of pure content filled both your bodies, "i'm so happy john". you both clumsily climbed in to cab that had pulled up beside you. your eyes were fixed upon the passing scenery outside the window and johns eyes were fixed on you. the reflection of streetlights on the droplets of the window looked like glitter, the perfect backdrop to the perfect view. sighing contently john replied "i'm 'appy too, doll".

in the other cab the rest of the 141 weren't happy, they were ecstatic. the mystery of their captains girl had finally been solved, the theories developed over their 'detective' period had been proven true or false. even ghost had joined in with the sergeants vigorous discussion about you, all singing your praises. although they had 'solved' the mystery, the new information had presented them with a new set of questions, a want to know more about yours and prices relationship. whilst discussing these questions passionately there was a thought none of them would vocalise, they wanted more of you. to spend more time around you, learn more about your likes and dislikes, get the recipe for your cooking and replicate it at home. they wanted to listen to your music and know about the memories related to each song. greedy hands grabbing at pictures of your latest holiday or your final day at school. they wanted more more more. they knew they were a bunch of greedy bastards, but john had let them at something so kind, so different, so sacred to any other woman they had met.

they knew this wasn't a normal reaction to meeting your superiors girlfriend. but years in the military caused disconnect between them and the world they couldn't quite explain. they know their eagerness is odd and unusual, but how else did price expect them to react. he had noticed the looks his task force had given each other, that had flew right over your head. not looks of malice, but something obscure and vague. like being drawn down a path despite not knowing where you may end up.

none of them knew that today had changed something within all of them, it just wasn't apparent. yet.

heloooo long awaited sequel, thankyou so much for being patient and thankyou even more for reading :)) i appreciate every single person who likes, comments, reblogs and follows!! any interaction is greatly appreciated <3

these big dumb stupid men living in my head have gotten me through my breakup. ive been feeling really bummed out so thankyou for being patient while i write this

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sukeruton-san · 1 day ago

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A Coffee Heart pt 3

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" Drake, why are you looking at a civilian's family history "

"The adults are Midwestern villains their secret hero son may be my long lost twin and they also have a daughter but she's mostly fine by herself. We might need to overthrow an entire government branch though"

"Excuse, me"

" You're excused"

After chatting with Danny for a while and getting more information without it sounding like an interrogation also making sure he'll be fine for couple of hours I went digging for the rest of the day.

And oh boy you won't believe what I found.

The Fenton's are fucking wild, after breaking through several firewalls just for the town and then even more for their security I found out 'the haunting world' really means haunted like ghost haunted. These people are the definition of mad scientists proudly stating that they built a portal to another dimension in their basement, and judging by the floor plan right below where Danny sleeps, said portal was letting dangerous ghosts out onto the city, but not all of the ghost are like that though.

The 'echoscientist' are heavily biased when it comes to ghost stating that they are 'nonsenseient' and 'don't feel pain' that they need to be a 'contained' 'experimented on' or even 'eradicated'' which is bullshit and horrifying. It's pretty obvious that there are several neutral and even some good ghosts appearing, most noteworthy being Phantom the hero of Amity Park (I know that majority is painting him as a villain but that is so far from the truth! there is an hour long video of him playing with children at the park helping everyone with daily tasks and more) also it seems pretty clear to me that Lazarus water and ectoplasm are similar in compounds which is frankly something I rather not think about right now.

The Fenton's cause so much property damage it's not even funny. they seem to not care for human lives and their excuse for doing so being 'dangerous ghost in the area' when it's clear that Phantom has it handled they don't even shoot at the attacking ghost they shoot at him which is so wrong on so many levels. the anti-ghost inventions they make seemed to even cause several attacks as well. Phantom already has enough on that his plate with the ghost attacks being 24/7.( Poor guy looks exhausted and burnt out) He doesn't need to have to hide/escape/be afraid from the people he's trying to protect. Hell even the red huntress(another vigilante) makes allies with him then shoots him in the back when the danger is over.

Looking closer at Phantom he has fluffy, soft, and thick white hair that seems to move like it's underwater; piercing, glowing, Lazarus green eyes; body type like Danny's but you can see more of the muscle and shape with his clothing being more skin tight, speaking of clothing he looks like he's wearing a hazmat suit with a symbol(a stylized D with a P in its negative space) postered on it and a utility belt. both the symbol and utility belt were added on later to the original suit which seems to resemble the ones the Fenton adults wear constantly

Actually Phantom looks a lot like Danny in general. . .

And Phantom has been called 'halfa' by some of his rouges. . .

No. . .

OH NO

Phantom and Danny looks so similar because they are the same person!?! after looking at Danny's school absences, tardys, and straight up running out of the class with the ghost attacks they line up

Danny seamlessly shows up with injuries that phanton has gained from Ghost attacks (but they're also injuries that seems to come from something else). Danny is apparently known to run from ghost attacks and as soon as that happens Phantom comes around the corner. Phantom uses Fenton tech that has been modified from the original, which probably he did, another similarity to add between us. . .

Wait I can add being a vigilante/hero as a similarity between us as well!

SHIT! Phantom is a ghost, dead, not living, did my twin brother die at some point!?! Cuz he sure as hell wasn't born like that!?! It must have been the day the portal was open. from what I was able to gather he was the only one home that day and the portal spontaneously worked after failing at first. And about a week later the first official ghost attack happened.

Also what is all this shit about the Anti-Echo Acts and the GIW!?!?! A whole government branch dedicated to the horrendous sayings of the Fenton adults!?!?! It looks like a lot of the Ghost attacks are dying down because it's became too dangerous for them to be out there.

We probably wouldn't have even noticed about all bullshittery with the government and this town in pacifically if if it wasn't for danny coming here.

. . . . .

Danny is here.

He is Phantom.

He said he was forced to be here.

He was forced into leaving his town.

The town that is attacking him at every corner.

With a support system that seems to be nonexistent.

And from looking at the old videos/photos he was learning everything from scratch.

With barely any appreciation for the things he does.

With the government trying to dissect him ( the fuck)

So logically after taking down the government and shutting down the portal if possible ( don't know if Danny needs it or if they environment has changed too much) Amity Park wouldn't need a hero if there's nothing to do there.

plus with their treatment of obvious heroes they could deal with their shit themselves, how does he deal with that I don't know.

They wouldn't mind if Phantom stays in Gotham would they? Probably not.

Oh well

He should probably start that welfare check now he'll do a more thorough investigation with the government later, twin brother priority right now.

" Drake, where are you going? You can't just say all of that and leave! Drake!!"

Yup welfare check

(think I'm getting better at writing shit!)

#danny phantom #danny fenton #dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #A Coffee Heart

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nanamineedstherapy · 2 days ago

Text

Seven Minutes in Heaven (Chapter Two)

F!Reader x Gojo Satoru

Previous Chapter 1 (Tumblr/Ao3)

Summary: It was supposed to be a normal frat party. Just a stupid game of Seven Minutes in Heaven. Just him, king of never taking anything seriously, getting shoved into a closet for a dumb dare. And yet. Now, he can’t sleep. Can’t think. Can’t stop thinking about you. And one by one, his friends are starting to realize—Whatever happened in that closet? It never really ended.

Outside in the garden, Toji mocked. "Man got a straight-up haunted hard-on."

"Wait, wait, wait," Sukuna wheezed. "Tell me why bro just made out with a ghost so hard he got a fucking boner."

"Can we not call it that?" Satoru groaned.

"That’s exactly what it was," Hiromi confirmed, shaking his head. "You got seduced by a fucking spirit."

Shiu, lying on the grass scrolling through his phone, barely looked up as he added, "Even in the afterlife, women aren’t safe from your dick preceding your reputation."

"I'm gonna kill myself," Satoru muttered, running a hand down his face.

"Ghost girl might be into that," Choso said thoughtfully, sipping a beer.

"Yo, shut the fuck up," Satoru snapped.

"You were rock hard for a literal corpse." Shoko was almost rolling in the grass, clutching her bottle.

"FOR THE LAST TIME, I DIDN’T KNOW SHE WAS A GHOST!"

"And yet," Suguru drawled, gesturing vaguely at the still-very-visible problem in his jeans.

Satoru made a strangled noise, willing his soul to leave his body.

“If I see your haunted dick in my nightmares, I’m suing." Yuki yelled.

"I have hater friends. At least she thought I was beautiful." Satoru smirked.

A collective groan echoed through the garden.

Kento dragged a hand down his face. "I hate him. I hate him."

"Fucker just got ghosted in every sense of the word, and he still has the audacity to make it about his looks." Kashimo jeered, leaning on Haibara, who was barely holding himself up.

"Kill yourself," Sukuna muttered.

"Honestly, yeah," Hiromi agreed.

Satoru just grinned. "Jealous much?"

Suguru physically sighed. "Let's go, you delusional horny disaster."

---

Satoru couldn’t stop thinking about you.

Not the way your lips had felt against his, or how you made him laugh, or how you got flustered easily but still kissed him first like a paradox he couldn’t solve—though that haunted him, too.

No, it was the way you had looked at him.

Like you had been starving.

So, Satoru did what any rational person would do.

He spent an unhealthy amount of time at the library.

Gojo Satoru. At the library. Voluntarily. His friends thought he was having a crisis.

At first, there was nothing.

No students matching your description in the recent records.

No tragic accidents or ghost stories written in the university archives.

It was like you had never existed.

But then—

One night, while flipping through the school’s oldest records, something caught his eye.

An envelope stuffed with papers.

He pulled out a diary first.

Diary of Miss L/N

(Archivist - Leather-bound, gold-embossed. Found in the ruins of the university, its final pages splattered with what appears to be dried tears. Handwritten, ink fading in places. Some pages torn. Final entries nearly illegible—written in a shaking hand, desperate and uneven.)

January 3, 1914

There is a new litter of kittens in the old courtyard! I counted five, all squirming and mewling, their mother, a thin little thing who watches me with wary eyes. I left some bread soaked in milk, though I do not think she trusts me yet. Perhaps if I sit quietly tomorrow, she will let me closer.

(If I were a cat, would I be loved more easily?)

The groundskeeper scolded me, said I am too soft-hearted, that I let animals take advantage of me. As if a kitten could be cunning! I told him there is no harm in kindness. He only shook his head.

Satoru sat back, staring at the first entry, his thumb tracing your handwriting. He didn’t know much about you—hell, he didn’t even know you were alive a hundred years ago—but he could picture you, kneeling in the courtyard with kittens, trying to be kind. He imagined the faintest smile tugging at your lips when you saw them squirming in the dirt. The idea of you feeding a stray mother cat made his chest tighten in an odd, unfamiliar way. He ran his fingers along the edge of the paper, almost as if trying to feel your presence through it.

That groundskeeper? He was an idiot. He didn't get it. Satoru couldn't help but feel a spark of frustration. You didn’t need anyone’s permission to be kind. He almost laughed at the idea that someone might scold you for being soft-hearted. If anything, he wished he could go back and tell you not to worry about those around you. He would’ve probably looked at you the same way—the way he did when you kissed him, not knowing why or how, but unable to stop himself from caring just a little too much for someone so—soft.

January 10, 1914

I do not think they like me.

Not in the way they like each other.

They are polite, of course. They smile. They call me ‘Miss L/N’ with syrupy sweetness, but their eyes flicker. I see the way their lips press together when I speak. The way their laughter dies when I enter a room.

But it is alright. Not everyone has to like me.

I just wish they did not hate me, either.

Satoru skimmed the next entry, his eyes narrowing. You were already noticing the tension in the air, weren’t you? The polite smiles, the murmurs. The fake sweetness they showed you—he could practically hear the insincerity in their voices. He frowned, shaking his head. You didn’t deserve that. Nobody should ever make someone feel like they didn’t belong.

For some reason, even though you were long gone, he found himself angry on your behalf. He didn’t understand why they treated you that way. You were probably just too good for them, weren’t you? Too pure, too gentle. He shook the thought off, the sharpness of the moment still biting at him. It made him wonder if maybe he would’ve been one of the few who would’ve actually liked you.

January 25, 1913

Viscount Salvatore looked at me today. He did not merely glance—he looked. I was in the library, carrying too many books, and he leaned back in his chair, all effortless indifference, and drawled, "Planning to read all of those, Miss L/N? Or are you building a fort?"

(He thinks I am ridiculous.)

(He noticed me.)

I almost dropped Wuthering Heights on my foot.

A frown burrowed on Satoru’s face when he read about Viscount Salvatore. You noticed him. He noticed you.

He flipped your yearbook with his other hand to find any Salvtores; there had been two in your class who’d gone to become Army officials in the first World War and then died there. Your description fit the blue-eyed one with a cocky smirk. Like Satoru? Did you have a type?

He felt a slight sting in his chest at the thought of this Viscount—some guy who probably had no idea what to do with someone like you. Still, he couldn’t suppress the bitter taste in his mouth. Jealousy? Was that what this was?

A sigh slipped from his lips. It was stupid—he was more than a hundred years too late. He didn’t even know if you’d ever seen him the way he now imagined you looking at the Viscount. The thought of another guy noticing you—really noticing you—made him want to jump from a boat. But instead, he read on.

February 2, 1914

It was a joke. Just a prank.

"She'll cry and beg to be let out," one of them whispered, giggling behind her lace glove. "Let's see if Miss Perfect is still so polite in the dark."

The door slammed. The lock clicked.

The dark swallowed me whole.

I did not beg.

I bit my tongue until I tasted iron and waited. And when they let me out—smirking, triumphant—I smoothed my skirts, fixed my hair, and walked past them as if I had not spent the last hour choking on the thick, dusty air.

They did not like that.

"A little too perfect, isn’t she?"

(They will do it again.)

Satoru’s eyebrows furrowed as his gaze lingered on the next entry. You were trapped. Locked in a closet by the very people you probably thought were your friends. It was sickening. He almost couldn't finish reading—his stomach lurched with disgust. The way you didn't beg... it said so much about you. You must’ve been used to pain by then, used to being pushed aside and ignored. But still—you walked out of there like nothing had happened, like you didn’t carry the weight of what they had just done to you.

Satoru shook his head, muttering to himself, “Cowards. All of them.” He clenched the paper tighter in his hand. He hated the idea of you facing that kind of cruelty alone, without anyone there to stop it. He could feel it—your loneliness, your frustration, your unwillingness to break. And somehow, it only made him want to be there for you more. He'd never admit it, but there was a strange urge within him to make it right—even if it was a century too late.

February 10, 1914

Today, I found a sparrow with a broken wing. I named him Edgar (after Poe, of course).

I should have left him alone. Mother says I should not dirty my hands with such things. But he was shivering—how could I leave him?

Viscount Salvatore saw me, kneeling in the grass, my gloves stained with dirt. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Then, just as he passed, he murmured, "Don’t name it. You’ll only make it harder."

He has such an awful way of speaking. Always so practical. So cold.

(He was right. Edgar did not make it through the night.)

Satoru didn’t expect to feel as deeply affected by this entry. You found a broken bird and tried to help it. Just like the kittens. Just like everything else. He read about the sparrow, Edgar, and that bitter, practical remark from Viscount Salvatore.

He rolled his eyes. That guy was cold, wasn’t he? It was almost like he couldn't even understand that you just wanted to do something kind. His jaw clenched slightly at the thought of this Viscount, cold and indifferent. Did he not understand the pain of losing something you tried so desperately to save?

“You deserved better than that.” Satoru muttered quietly to himself. He could barely comprehend it, but it stung to think of you, caring for something so fragile, and yet not having anyone there to help you when you needed it most. He could almost hear the sadness in your voice, like you were speaking not just about the bird, but about yourself.

February 13, 1914

Razor blades in my book bag today.

I did not see them in time.

A sharp sting—red seeping into my gloves, blooming against the pale silk like a dying rose.

A girl gasped.

One of them. The one who used to call me her friend.

She reached for me, hesitated. Opened her mouth—closed it.

Did nothing.

(They are all cowards.)

I smiled at her anyway.

(It is getting harder to smile.)

The entry made Satoru stop in his tracks. Razor blades? What the hell...? He had to reread the paragraph twice, the sharpness of the words sinking into him with every line. It was hard to stomach—knowing that someone, one of the people who had once called you their friend, did this to you. Left you bleeding and didn’t even care.

He felt a fire burning in his chest now, a rage that was foreign to him. A strange protectiveness, something darker, almost suffocating. He didn't know how you had kept going through all this. And yet, you had. You smiled through it all, even when everything in the world was trying to break you.

Satoru stood up suddenly, pacing around the room. He was aware of how ridiculous this was—he didn’t even know you. But damn it, you deserved someone who would’ve fought for you. Someone who would’ve taken those blades from your hands and never let you feel alone.

February 14, 1914

Viscount Salvatore pulled out a chair for me today.

The smallest thing. A flick of his wrist. A glance in my direction. A murmured, "Miss L/N."

But I have not been spoken to kindly in so long.

For a moment, my eyes burned. My throat ached.

But I said nothing. I only sat.

And when I looked up—just for a second—he was already watching me.

(What a strange, strange man.)

Satoru’s fingers lightly brushed over the paper. He didn’t know what it was, but something about that entry—Viscount Salvatore pulling out a chair for you—made him pause. He didn't react outwardly, keeping his face carefully blank, but internally? There was a slight stir of discomfort. It was such a small, insignificant thing, yet it meant so much to you. A simple gesture, something that should’ve been normal.

He imagined the quiet moment, your surprise. The thought that such a little thing could make you feel seen, even for a second, gnawed at him. A frustrated sigh left his lips. Why did it have to be like that? If he were there—if only he were there, he would’ve shown you kindness, not just with gestures, but with actions. But that was a thought he quickly pushed aside, frustrated by how much time had slipped through his fingers. He kept reading, though.

February 20, 1914

I have decided. I loathe Viscount Salvatore.

He is insufferable. He speaks in riddles and always looks as if he is laughing at me. I do not know why I bother thinking of him.

(He held the door open for me today. Said nothing. Just waited.)

(I hate him.)

A faint chuckle escaped his lips as he read the next entry. You’d decided to loathe Viscount Salvatore now. "Insufferable," you called him. Satoru almost wanted to agree, though he couldn't completely share your sentiment. He had a feeling there was more to him—more that was left unsaid. Still, it was a funny thought. Viscount Salvatore being that frustrating, mysterious figure. Satoru was intrigued by how you wrote about him with such sharpness, but the words seemed like a cover for something deeper. He wasn’t sure what, but the tension between you two was palpable.

“Is it really that bad?” he muttered, flipping the page, knowing he wasn’t going to get an answer. He felt a flicker of something, but the rest of the entry, especially with the way he “held the door open,” left him feeling... unsure. He wasn't exactly proud of it, but maybe there was some part of him that didn't want you to find comfort in anyone else.

March 2, 1914

I found a dead rat in my desk.

Its body bloated, eyes staring.

Its tiny mouth open, frozen in a silent scream.

There was a note pinned to its belly. Still feeling generous?

I swallowed back the nausea and took it outside myself.

(It is getting harder to breathe here.)

Satoru’s expression hardened as he read about the dead rat in your desk. He closed his eyes briefly, forcing himself to focus. The cruel games they played—it disgusted him. He could almost feel the sickening weight of it, as if it were happening right there, in front of him. Who does that? He set the paper down and ran his hand through his hair, trying to keep his composure, though his jaw was tight.

You didn’t even flinch. You simply took it outside. There was an odd kind of resolve in the way you wrote that. No begging. No breaking down. Just... handling it yourself. It made him uneasy—how much you had to endure, and how little anyone had cared. He couldn’t imagine what you went through, not yet, but the pieces were starting to come together. The cruelty. The silence. The isolation.

June 20, 1914

I am tired.

No, not tired. Weary.

I wake up with my body braced, waiting for something—waiting for the next whisper, the next cruel trick, the next unseen hand that will shove me down the stairs when no one is looking.

I have not eaten all day.

(They will not break me.)

The word “weary” hit Satoru like a punch to the gut. He could picture you, slumped in exhaustion, never having the chance to recover. He could almost hear the quiet panic that sat beneath those words. The next cruel trick, the next shove—it was too much. His hand tightened around the paper as he read on.

He didn’t need to know everything to understand that what you were going through wasn’t just physical. It was something deeper. Something that made your bones ache and your heart heavy. And yet, here you were, still breathing, still defiant. He let out a breath, annoyed at the powerlessness he felt just from reading your words.

July 24, 1914

I am going to the party.

They said they want to start over. That it was all just foolish jealousy. That they want to be friends.

I should not believe them.

I know I should not believe them.

But I am so, so tired of being alone.

Just for one night, I want to pretend I belong.

Satoru frowned, eyes narrowing. The truth was already in your words before you even said it. He felt an odd mix of sympathy and frustration as you told yourself you were going to the party—hoping, wishing to belong, even for just one night. He had to read that part again, swallowing a lump in his throat.

He flipped the page; the diary ended. Satoru immediately scrambled to pull out another stack of papers from the binder.

Final Entries – Found Scribbled in the Dark on Stationary available inside the closet

(Archivist - Stray pages, ink smudged. Words scratched over and rewritten as if she could not make her fingers hold steady.)

July 25, 1914

They lied.

Of course they lied.

The music was loud. The air was thick with cigarette smoke and laughter. For the first time in years, I thought—maybe.

Then hands.

Grabbing. Dragging.

"Let’s see how perfect you are now."

They locked me inside.

A closet. Small. Cramped.

The door will not open.

It has been hours.

(Or has it? I can’t tell.)

No one is coming.

The change in tone was abrupt, and Satoru’s pulse quickened as he read about the party. He could feel the shift, the claustrophobia, the betrayal seeping through the paper. The scribbled words—he could almost hear you gasping for air, trapped in that small closet.

“They lied.” That one line stung. It was so raw. He couldn’t make sense of it. He couldn’t make it right. But he had to know—he had to understand why you were forgotten. He had to keep reading, even if it made his heart feel like it was crumbling under the weight.

???, 1914

How many hours has it been?

They will come back.

They must come back.

Please, please, please—

My throat aches.

I screamed until my throat bled.

No one heard.

No one wants to hear.

(They have forgotten me.)

Satoru’s hands clenched around the papers. They had broken you in ways that even time couldn’t erase. And he could do nothing. He gritted his teeth, struggling to stay composed, but it was impossible to ignore the ache that had settled in his chest. You’d screamed until your throat bled, and they had... forgotten you.

Satoru sat with his elbows on the desk, his fingers steepled against his lips as he read the next entries. He was quiet now, the usual restless energy in his body drained away, leaving only a tense stillness. The words on the page felt heavier with each line.

???, 1914

I am thirsty.

I am so thirsty.

If I press my ear against the door, I can hear the music.

(Another party?)

They are still dancing.

They are still laughing.

They are still living.

And I am here.

Satoru’s throat felt tight. He swallowed against it, as if somehow that would make up for the dryness that must have burned through yours. He could picture it too clearly—the way your lips must have cracked, your voice reduced to a rasp.

And yet, they were still dancing.

Satoru exhaled sharply. You were still there, forgotten, while life carried on just outside the door. The thought made him nauseous.

His fingers flexed against the paper. If I had been there... But he hadn’t been. No one had. That was the entire tragedy of it.

???, 1914

It is quiet.

No music. No voices.

Something has happened.

Why won’t anyone come?

Satoru’s breath slowed. You didn’t know. You had no idea that while you were trapped in that suffocating darkness, the world outside had shifted.

They left.

No one had opened the door. No one had checked. It wasn’t even malice at this point—it was worse. It was indifference.

His jaw clenched. You weren’t even aware that the world had moved on without you. You were just waiting. Waiting for a help that would never come.

July 28, 1914

Sirens.

War.

The halls are empty.

They have all gone home.

No one remembers I am here.

No one remembers at all.

Sirens. The first world war. The absence. His hand trembled. The emptiness of the halls. You had been forgotten amidst the chaos, the madness of the world falling apart. He hated the feeling of it. The helplessness. The way everything—everything—slipped away, leaving only that quiet, sickening silence. He muttered a curse under his breath, feeling a heavy weight in his stomach.

You had been alone. And it wasn’t just the physical isolation. It was the fact that no one even cared enough to remember you.

???, 1914

(Archivist - The ink is uneven, pressed too hard into the paper—her hand must have been shaking.)

I dreamed of Viscount Salvatore.

He pulled out a chair for me again.

Only this time, when I sat, he turned to me and said, "I see you."

I woke up crying.

(He will not remember me either.)

Viscount Salvatore was back in your dreams. And now, Satoru was reading about how you woke up crying. He shook his head slowly, his eyes closing briefly. Even in your lonely moments, he was there, haunting you—both a comfort and a torment. He could almost see it in his mind, the way Viscount Salvatore's distant gaze would have held some measure of regret, maybe even longing. But none of that would ever matter now.

“Damn it,” Satoru cursed under his breath. He didn't even know what he was mad at—himself, the Viscount, or fate. The whole damn situation. You didn’t deserve any of it.

???, 1914

There is no light.

I am afraid to sleep. Afraid I will wake up and it will still be dark. Afraid I won’t wake up at all.

I think I can hear something scratching. Or maybe it is just my own heartbeat.

Satoru shut his eyes for a brief second. That sentence—it was worse than the others. It wasn't just physical anymore. It wasn’t just being locked inside. It was the fear creeping in.

Afraid to sleep. Afraid to wake up and still be in the dark. Afraid to never wake up at all.

He felt sick. You weren’t even sure if you existed anymore. If you were real.

He let his head drop forward slightly, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. It was just a diary. Just words. So why did it feel like they were clawing at something inside of him?

???, 1914

I had a Mother?

Satoru’s eyes flicked back to the page, scanning the sentence again.

His stomach twisted.

You were unraveling.

That was what this was. Not just hunger. Not just thirst. Your mind was fraying at the edges, breaking apart piece by piece.

He shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable, a strange, suffocating weight settling in his chest. You had been alone for so long that even memories were slipping away.

You were forgetting yourself.

???, 1914

I dreamed of the kittens.

They were hungry. So was I.

I woke up biting my sleeve.

Satoru closed his eyes again. That dream—it wasn’t just a memory. It was your body crying out, pulling at whatever fragments of warmth it could find.

And when you woke up, you were biting your sleeve.

His lips pressed into a tight line. He didn’t want to think about that. He didn’t want to picture you curled up in the dark, trying to trick yourself into feeling full.

He ran a hand through his hair, swallowing hard.

???, 1914

I have started whispering my own name.

I am afraid I will forget it.

Satoru blinked. The words blurred for a second before coming back into focus.

You were losing yourself. The last thing you had—the only thing left. Your own name. And even that was slipping.

His grip on the paper was too tight now. He forced himself to relax his fingers before he crumpled it.

You had been so, so alone.

???, 1914

I do not want to die like this.

I do not want to die in the dark.

Satoru’s shoulders tensed, but he forced himself to read it again.

You knew. By then, you knew.

It was no longer just fear. It was a final, quiet understanding.

Satoru’s hand came up, fingers pressing lightly against his temple. He had read countless things in his life—reports, records, confessions. But this?

This was someone—you—begging the universe for something it had already denied you.

???, 1914

Did he ever think of me?

Did Viscount Salvatore ever notice that I was gone?

(I am so, so cold.)

???, 1914

I can hear it raining.

There is no hunger anymore.

No thirst.

Just cold.

So, so cold.

???, ????

(Archivist - Final entry. Ink smeared, nearly unreadable.)

If someone finds this—Please—Please remember me.

Satoru didn’t move.

He stared at the words, his vision blurring for a moment before sharpening again.

His throat felt tight.

His grip on the page softened, and he slowly, carefully, set it down.

Satoru wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with this—this aching, gnawing thing in his chest. He didn’t have the words for it. But as he reached for the next stack of papers.

Newspaper Articles

(Archivist - Yellowed clippings, brittle at the edges. No one speaks of her anymore.)

DAUGHTER OF L/N FAMILY MISSING – UNIVERSITY REFUSES COMMENT (July 27, 1914)

Miss L/N, the only daughter of the esteemed L/N family, has been reported missing for over a week. The university has declined to comment, insisting that Miss L/N likely departed of her own volition.

Her parents, Mr. and Mrs. L/N, have offered a sizable reward for any information regarding her whereabouts.

SEARCH FOR MISSING HEIRESS ENDS IN TRAGEDY – PARENTS DECLARED DEAD (December 3, 1916)

After two years of relentless searching, Mr. and Mrs. L/N have perished under tragic circumstances. Their estate, heavily in debt from the investigation, is to be auctioned off.

Miss L/N’s disappearance remains unsolved.

RENOVATIONS UNCOVER HIDDEN CLOSET – HUMAN REMAINS FOUND (March 5, 1957)

Construction teams working on university renovations discovered a sealed-off closet in the west wing. Inside, they found skeletal remains, still clad in a deteriorated silk gown. A diary was found nearby, though much of its ink had faded with time. Officials report that the identity of the remains is unknown, as no records exist of any missing student matching the description.

No further investigation is planned.

THE DAILY GAZETTE

Est. 1896

Thursday, March 7, 1957

PRICE: 10 CENTS

MYSTERY OF THE FORGOTTEN GIRL: REMAINS DISCOVERED IN UNIVERSITY WALLS

Renovation Workers Uncover Skeleton, Raising Chilling Questions About the Past

By George L. Whitmore

SHIZUKA CITY—A routine renovation at one of the country’s most prestigious universities took a macabre turn last week when construction workers stumbled upon a hidden closet sealed within the walls of the East Wing. Inside, they found the skeletal remains of a young woman, her body curled as if she had simply lain down and never risen again. The discovery has sent shockwaves through the academic community, raising unsettling questions about how she came to be there—and why no one ever looked for her.

The identity of the deceased remains unknown. No records exist of a missing student from the time period estimated by forensic specialists—likely the early 20th century. But one thing is certain: she was left there. Forgotten.

A Name Erased

The East Wing, once a grand structure funded by old money and aristocratic influence, had been largely abandoned for decades before renovations began last fall. The university, now bearing the Gojo family name, was once under the patronage of another dynasty—one that, curiously, has all but vanished from historical record.

Researchers digging into archived documents found faint traces of a once-powerful benefactor: the L/N family. According to a 1907 university registry, the L/Ns were among the wealthiest patrons of the institution. From Arms dealings, their contributions were responsible for much of its early expansion. And yet, no descendants remain. No estate. No legacy.

A mere decade after their peak, the family seems to have disappeared altogether. Their name erased. Their wealth scattered.

And now, this girl—the girl in the closet.

A Harmless Prank Gone Horribly Wrong?

The discovery has sparked whispered theories among university staff and alumni. Some recall long-forgotten stories, rumors passed down like ghost stories in dormitory halls. Stories of a girl. Beautiful. Intelligent. Kind. Too kind.

“She was perfect, too perfect,” said one retired professor, who wished to remain anonymous. “People resented her for it. The way the faculty admired her. The way she carried herself. There were whispers, of course—ugly, jealous things. But back then, the school was different. There were rules about what could and could not be spoken aloud.”

While no official reports exist of bullying, former students who attended in the early 1900s recall the cruel pranks that were common among the elite circles of the time. Stolen books. Torn dresses. Whispered mockeries disguised as etiquette lessons.

Then there was the incident at a party—a party that took place just before the world changed forever.

“She went missing that night,” said another source, a woman in her seventies who had attended the university in the years following the First World War. “There were rumors, of course. But no one ever spoke of it directly. And then the war came, and everything was forgotten. Just like that.”

What started as a childish prank—locking a girl in a storage closet—became something else entirely when the world was plunged into chaos. Sirens screamed. Students fled. The university shut its doors. And no one, not a single soul, remembered to let her out.

A Legacy Stolen by Time

The timing is chilling. The L/N family vanished not long after. Their once-glorious estate burned to the ground under mysterious circumstances. With their wealth depleted in a desperate search for their missing daughter, they faded into obscurity, lost to history. Meanwhile, the university found a new patron—one with deeper pockets, stronger influence. The Gojo family.

“Nothing stays empty for long,” remarked historian Dr. Henry Carrington. “Power abhors a vacuum. One name disappears; another takes its place. That’s how history works. The question is whether it was simply fate... or something more deliberate.”

What Comes Next?

For now, the remains of the forgotten girl lie in the care of forensic specialists, who will attempt to identify her and, perhaps, grant her the dignity she was denied in life. The university has yet to release an official statement, though sources indicate there are plans to memorialize the discovery.

Still, the air remains heavy with unspoken truths. A legacy buried beneath floorboards. A name erased. A girl left to die in the dark, her existence fading from memory even as the institution she was meant to inherit flourished without her.

And now, decades later, she has returned. Not as a scholar. Not as an heir.

But as a skeleton in the walls of a university that no longer remembers her name.

Satoru understood what had happened.

---

1914

The first time they locked you inside, it was supposed to be a joke. A harmless prank.

“You’ll cry and beg to be let out,” one of them whispered, a cruel giggle curling around her words as she hid her smirk behind a lace-gloved hand. “Let’s see if Miss Perfect is still so polite in the dark.”

You cried.

But you didn’t beg.

Not that night.

Not yet.

It didn’t surprise you. You’d always known people resented you. You were the only child of the L/N family—their legacy was carved in the very stone of the university. Wealth, power, influence, all wrapped in a name that commanded respect. Your family had funded these halls, shaped them. Built them.

And you were meant to carry that weight forward, to live up to expectations that came with being the heir of such a name. You studied hard, spoke softly, helped others without a second thought. You tried to meet the world with grace.

But you had made one mistake.

You were kind. Too kind.

You didn’t wear your last name like armor. You didn’t command respect with a gaze sharp enough to cut or a voice cold enough to freeze. You didn’t move like royalty among commoners. You spoke gently, smiled too much, helped without expecting anything in return.

And that, apparently, was enough to make them hate you.

They called you perfect. A fraud wrapped in silk and sweetness. A girl born to wealth, yet untouched by cruelty. It made them sick to their stomachs. They told themselves your kindness was a mask. That you were pretending. That behind your soft smile, you looked down on them.

The whispers slithered through the hallways, filled every corner of every dormitory, echoed between the benches in lecture halls. “She must think she’s better than us.” The rumors crept, fed by jealousy and disdain, each one sinking deeper, until they made it their mission to tear you down.

It started small. Stolen assignments. Ink spilled all over your uniform. Books knocked from your arms as you passed, their laughter trailing behind you like a shadow.

But then the pranks grew worse. Razor blades slipped into the lining of your bag, waiting to slice your fingers. Your tea, laced with ink, stained your lips and tongue black for hours. Dead rats left in your desk drawers, bloated and stinking, their decaying bodies a cruel reminder of their hatred.

You had friends—or you thought you did. But when you looked to them, their smiles faltered. They said nothing. Did nothing. They looked away.

So, you endured it all alone.

Then came the night of the party.

You hadn’t wanted to go. But one of the girls, the one you still foolishly believed to be a friend, begged you. She said everyone wanted to start over, that they regretted their childish jealousy and were ready to put it behind them.

You wanted to believe it. You wanted so badly to believe that people could change, that cruelty wasn’t the default. You wanted to believe that if you just endured long enough, they would see you for who you really were.

So, you went.

The music was loud, thick with the beat of drums and the pulse of electric guitars. The air was heavy with smoke, alcohol, and the scent of youth gone wild. Laughter rang out, spinning around you as people twirled under lantern light. For the first time in years, you thought maybe—just maybe—you weren’t so alone after all.

But then, hands grabbed you.

They pulled you, dragged you away from the laughter, from the light, down the dim hallway that felt colder with every step. You struggled, but there were too many of them. Nails dug into your skin, and their breath reeked of whiskey and sweat.

They laughed. “Let’s see how perfect you are now.”

The closet was small. Cramped. A tiny, forgotten storage room in the corner of the building, filled with old books and dusty supplies. They shoved you inside.

You stumbled, tripping over the rough wooden floor, your hands scraping against the splintered walls. The door slammed behind you, the sound of the lock clicking echoing in your chest. You barely had time to press yourself against the door before it shut you in complete darkness.

“Let’s see how sweet you are after this,” they jeered, and then they were gone.

At first, you thought it was a joke. Any second now, they would open the door, laughing, saying it was just a prank. The music outside was still loud. The sounds of celebration filled your ears, muffling your screams and your frantic banging against the door.

They would let you out.

Of course, they would.

Wouldn’t they?

You banged harder. Screamed louder.

But no one came.

Minutes passed. Then an hour. Two.

Your fists were raw, your throat burned from the screams, but still, nothing.

At some point, you must have fallen asleep. When you woke up, your mouth was dry, your body stiff and cold. You were still in your party dress, but your shoes were gone. You had lost them somewhere, in the chaos of being dragged.

You banged again. Screamed louder.

Nothing.

More hours passed. Maybe a day. You tried to count the time, but it blurred. The darkness stole all sense of it.

Then, one night—though you couldn’t tell if it was day or night anymore—something changed.

The university went silent.

The once-bustling halls were empty. The voices, the laughter, the music—gone.

In the distance, you heard sirens. A sound that felt like the last thread of the world unraveling.

The world was at war.

Overnight, everything collapsed. Students fled. Professors disappeared. The university shut down.

And no one, not a single soul, remembered that you were still locked in that closet.

The hunger was unbearable at first. You pressed your hands against your stomach as it twisted in agony, but after a while, even hunger faded into the background. The thirst, however, never left. Your lips cracked, your throat burned, your vision swam.

But you were too weak to scream now.

At some point, you stopped feeling anything at all.

No one remembered the girl in the closet.

Days passed. Maybe weeks. Maybe months.

But in the end, it didn’t matter.

There was only silence.

When they finally reopened that part of the university—years, maybe decades later, during renovations—the workers found a hidden closet behind the walls. They found a skeleton, still curled on the floor, clutching the remains of a tattered dress.

No one knew who you were. Your records were gone.

The L/N family was erased from history.

Your parents had searched for you. Desperately. They spent every penny, called in every favor, tore the world apart looking for their only child.

But war doesn’t care for grieving parents.

They died before they could uncover the truth. Your home burned. And with them, the name that had once shaped this university disappeared from the records.

The buildings once funded by your family were renamed. The university you were supposed to inherit now bore another family’s name.

The Gojo family.

And you?

You had simply ceased to exist.

---

Present Day

Satoru stared at the newspaper article in his hands, the words blurring as his chest tightened. It felt like someone had reached into him, squeezing the air from his lungs until he couldn’t breathe. His vision wavered, the paper in his hands turning into nothing more than a smear of ink and empty noise.

He had spent the entire night digging. Searching. Prying through the layers of forgotten history no one had cared to remember. And now—

Now, he wished he hadn’t.

His chest ached. His stomach churned with the weight of it. He hadn’t expected to find this. He hadn’t expected to feel the crushing blow of reality, the terrible, suffocating guilt that twisted through him like a knife.

You had smiled at him.

how your fingers had trembled in his hands, how your wide, nervous eyes had held so much uncertainty, yet a quiet hope. And when you kissed him, your lips soft and warm against his, it had been the kind of kiss that felt like it was long overdue—like you’d been waiting a lifetime for someone to touch you.

And now he knew why.

You had been waiting for a hundred years.

A hundred years of silence. A hundred years of darkness. A hundred years of loneliness so deep it suffocated you, a cruel weight on your chest that no one had ever bothered to lift.

He thought about the closet. The cramped, suffocating space. The darkness. The silence that stretched on for years, unbroken. The pain of realizing no one was coming, no one cared.

The students who had shoved you inside. The laughter as they walked away, their voices fading into the distance while you were left to rot alone in a forgotten corner of the university. The friends who had seen it happen and did nothing. The ones who had turned their backs when you needed them most.

Satoru’s chest tightened further, a sharp pain stabbing through him. His teeth ground together, his jaw clenched so tight it felt like it might crack. His hands shook, trembled violently, as if they could somehow undo what had been done, erase the horror of it all.

He wanted to break something. Throw something. Tear through this cursed world and go back, back to that night, back to when he could’ve stopped it. To rip open that damn door and pull you into his arms, to tell you that you were never alone. That he would have fought for you. That someone—anyone—should have fought for you.

But it was too late.

One hundred years too late.

He sucked in a shaky breath, but it didn’t help. His lungs felt tight, and his throat closed up, like something was blocking the air. His hands shook as he traced the edges of the photograph in front of him. A group of students stood there, stiff and formal, their faces solemn in that black-and-white world of the early 1900s. They were so... distant. Detached. Like they were living in a world completely untouched by joy, by life.

And then there was you.

At the edge of the group, standing out like a ghost, yet so very present. Your soft features. Your gentle eyes. Your delicate, hopeful expression that somehow still managed to look so... lonely.

Beneath the photo, in delicate cursive handwriting, the caption read: "Class of 1914. Including Miss Y/N, the only child of the L/N family—our university’s first founding patrons."

Satoru’s breath caught in his throat.

Your name should have been everywhere. It should have been on every plaque, in every building, carved into the very bones of this place. Your family had built this school, laid its foundations with their blood and wealth. You had been the heir, the future.

And yet—

No one remembered your name.

Satoru’s pulse pounded in his ears, a frantic rhythm that seemed to echo in his chest. His fingers curled into the paper, the fragile edges crinkling beneath his grip. His heart hammered in his chest as he clenched his jaw, fighting back the urge to scream.

This school, his school, had been built on the L/N family name. Your family’s legacy was supposed to be immortal, etched into the very structure of the place. And yet, all he saw now were the names of the Gojo family—his family—everywhere. The library. The dormitories. The lecture halls.

Your family had been erased.

A sickening wave of anger washed over him. He wanted to scream, to tear the world apart. He wanted to shove the truth in their faces, shove it into the faces of everyone who’d forgotten you. Everyone who had abandoned you. But more than anything—he wanted to go back.

He wanted to go back to that night.

He wanted to break down that fucking door, drag you into the light, and tell you, "You weren’t alone. You’ll never be alone again."

But he couldn’t.

It was too late.

One hundred years too late.

He squeezed his eyes shut, but the image of your face lingered. You, the girl who had been forgotten. The girl whose name had been erased from history. The girl who had waited for someone to remember, to fight for her. The girl who had suffered alone.

No one remembered you now.

But Satoru did.

A/N: Did you get who Viscount Salvatore was?

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melancholy-of-nadia · 10 hours ago

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behind hidden pages (m) | jjk

title: behind hidden pages pairing: art student!jungkook x writer!reader(f) rating/genre: m(18+) ; fluff, smut ; college / grad / coffee shop au summary: after being ghosted by your boyfriend with him disappearing off to a different country, it's not an understatement to say that it really crushed your heart and eagerness to ever be in a relationship again. well, good thing is that it leads to your first ever bestselling novel and peacefully working at your best friend jimin's cafe! however, someone appears out nowhere to disturb your simple little life. enter: jungkook, a handsome young man with a hidden side to him who suddenly moves into the studio below you. when your paths collide and your heart is shaken by him, what more lies underneath the surface which will lead to more emotional turmoil?! warnings: no actual warnings for this pilot as it's very tame, but if I continue it, there will be: eventual smut (which you won't have to wait too long for it to happen), a lot of s*xual tension, a lot of smut, caught masturb*ting, dom! jk, jungkook's clingyness 50x, jungkook body worshiping reader heavily, exhibitionism, pwp, potential threesome, cheating (not jungkook or reader), best friend! jimin, ex boyfriend! seokjin, everyone's traits are slightly exaggerated/a bit out of character, a bit of angst note: loosely based on the korean novel and webtoon, trash's circumstance, i read it and thought this would make an interesting (and very messy, drama-filled) BTS AU but changed some aspects. i decided to write one chapter of it to see what you all think as a "pilot", and based on your response, I'll probably continue it. total word count: 5.3k drop date: February 16th, 2025 5pm pst ao3 link –

"A tenant will be moving into the basement today," Jimin says, his voice casual as he starts on an espresso order. The hiss of the steaming wand fills the air.

"The basement?" You glance up from your clipboard, where you've been noting inventory. Your fingers hover over the bags of coffee beans before you start counting them out loud.

"Yeah, so get rid of all your stuff down there," he continues. "It's all trash."

You pause mid-count, narrowing your eyes at him. "You do know there's one box that belongs to Kim Seokjin."

"I know," he says, unfazed, tamping the espresso with practiced ease. "So just clean it up."

"Because he's my ex?"

"Obviously."

"Rude." Jimin smirks, entirely unbothered, before his expression shifts into something borderline angelic. With a practiced smile, he slides a cup across the counter. "Your espresso is ready! And here's a cookie—on the house!" he says, voice suddenly dripping with warmth as he hands it to the customer.

The customer beams, thanking him before heading to their table, completely unaware of the menace lurking beneath that sweet façade. You, however, know better. Jimin has always been like this—blunt, sweet, and on occasion, bordering on heartless, but never without good intentions. You’ve known him since college, back when you were just another over-caffeinated lit student drowning in deadlines, and he was the pre-law major guy who somehow had everything together. He was charming in that effortless way—always quick with a teasing remark, but also the kind of friend who showed up when you needed him, no questions asked.

After graduating, while you floundered between odd jobs and your dream of becoming a writer, Jimin went ahead and made something of himself after working at a law firm. He opened this café, built a life around it, and when you were struggling, he gave you a place to stay. Rent-free, no strings attached—except for the occasional demand that you work the counter when he was understaffed, which, honestly, was often.

And now, apparently, he's renting out the basement. You roll your eyes, which Jimin catches immediately. "Y/N, stop spacing out and take out the trash," he chides, already moving on to his next order.

With an exaggerated sigh, you grab the garbage bags and push through the back door. The moment you step outside, the heat wraps around you like an oppressive blanket. Cicadas drone endlessly, their hum rising and falling in waves, amplifying the stillness of the afternoon.

As you toss the trash into the bin, your gaze drifts toward the basement windows. The glass is smudged with dust, the interior barely visible through the faint reflections of the street. The idea of someone actually living down there feels… strange.

For the past three years, the basement has been nothing but a forgotten space, cluttered with boxes, old café equipment, and—most importantly—traces of Kim Seokjin.

It’s at this moment that Jimin’s words echo in your mind: Get rid of all your stuff.

He wants you to clean it out, but just the thought of it exhausts you. Maybe he needs the extra rent money, though it’s hard to imagine him struggling financially.

Still, why now? Why suddenly rent out a place that’s been abandoned for so long?

That space has been nothing more than a storage room—a place where things go to be forgotten, including the remnants of your past with Seokjin.

You met Seokjin when he was fresh out of college, preparing for his master’s in literature. He had this quiet confidence, the kind that made people naturally gravitate toward him. Handsome, soft-spoken, kind—someone everyone admired. And somehow, for reasons you still don’t fully understand, he chose you.

Not that you were insecure. You weren’t clingy, and he was always faithful. Your relationship was easy, steady—comfortable in a way that made you believe it would last at least three years of quiet stability.

Until one day, without warning, he left.

Jimin had dismissed it as a submersible breakup—a term he coined for relationships that sink silently, without a fight or a final word. Which felt, exactly like that.

It was during that time, while you were drowning in the wreckage, that Jimin, with all the money he’d stacked up working as a top-notch lawyer, decided to buy this building.

A quiet place in a calm residential neighborhood of Seoul.

This building which ended up becoming your home.

The second floor, where you lived.

The first floor, where the ”Butterfly by Jimin” cafe was born.

And the basement, once a roasting room and a storage space—now, supposedly, someone’s future studio.

Jimin had called it financial therapy.

"A new home, a new job," he’d said. "There's nothing like financial therapy to heal the wounds of a heart broken person."

You scoff, because he wasn’t even the one who was experiencing one of the worse lows of their life.

But a new home?

A new job?

It had actually worked. Maybe that, and the book you wrote in the aftermath—Falling Moon Under the Bridge—becoming a surprise bestseller had been enough to pull you forward.

You’ve come so far, running in the opposite direction of your past. And yet, the weight of it lingers, like dust unsettled in the basement.

With a deep breath, you turn back toward the café, deciding that you’ll clean it out later. Since your shift ended, you head upstairs to get changed before you meet with your publisher later that afternoon for your audiobook’s recording session.

But just as you step inside, the bell above the door chimes.

A waft of something mild drifts through the air.

Fabric softener?

You glance toward the entrance just as a man walks in, catching only the back of him before looking away.

"I love the fabric softener scent, but it doesn’t mix well with the humid summer heat."

You arrive at the recording studio in the late afternoon, the faint hum of music equipment and muffled voices filtering through the hallway as you find the right room. This is where you’re meeting with your publisher, Kim Taehyung.

Taehyung, like Jimin, is an upperclassman friend from college. Since you were both in the literature department, you worked on a bunch of projects together as literary apprentices under your old mentor, Professor Jeon. He was brutal, and pushed you both hard during undergrad. But looking back, you know it was worth it. His strict guidance and high standards helped shaped your writing today.

After graduating, Taehyung started working as an intern at a publishing company, and now, well, he's one of the head publishers there. It’s crazy to think about how far he’s come, but honestly, it’s not surprising. He always had this sharp eye for detail and a way with words that made his work stand out.

After locating the room, you step inside and are immediately greeted by Taehyung, his signature easygoing smile lighting up his face as he holds out a familiar yellow carton of banana milk.

"Thanks for coming on such short notice, Y/N," he says, his voice warm and appreciative as he presses the cold carton into your hands. "I really needed your insight on this. You always have such a unique perspective, and I didn’t want to make any big decisions without running it by you first."

You smile, accepting the drink and taking a seat in one of the plush chairs near the recording booth. Slipping the straw through the foil, you take a sip, savoring the familiar cold, sweet taste of the banana milk. "No worries at all," you reply, leaning back comfortably. "I’m actually really glad to be here. I’ve never sat in on an audiobook recording before. When does it start?"

Taehyung glances at his watch, his expression brightening. "Just in a bit! I’m having a friend of mine handle the narration. He’s got this incredible voice, and honestly, he was highly recommended by Professor Jeon. I think he’s going to bring something really special to the project."

As Taehyung speaks, you flip through the script he handed you earlier, scanning the highlighted passages and margin notes. Your best-selling book’s first half is from the point of view of a man named Haneul, who has a near-death experience and begins seeing a specific woman, Seo Yul in his dreams every night. Determined to find her in real life, he embarks on a journey that blurs the lines between reality and illusion.

You’ve always had a vague image of Haneul in your mind—his mannerisms, his voice, the way he carries himself. But could there actually be someone out there to fit his voice. The door to the recording studio opens with a soft click, pulling you from your thoughts. The sound of footsteps shuffles into the room, accompanied by the faint rustle of fabric and the clink of ice in a cup. A cool breeze from the hallway briefly sweeps in before the door closes again.

"Sorry I’m late, hyung," a deep, smooth voice says, tinged with a hint of apology but also a casual ease.

"That’s okay! Did you get here alright? It’s pretty hot out there," Taehyung replies, his tone light and forgiving.

"I drove and picked up an iced Americano on the way, so it wasn’t too bad," the voice responds, and you can hear the smile in his words.

At the sound of the unfamiliar voice, you finally look up from the script.

And that’s when you see him.

He’s tall, with an effortlessly handsome presence that immediately draws your attention. His plain white t-shirt hugs his frame just right, paired with medium-wash jeans that look like they’ve been worn a hundred times but still fit perfectly. A silver lip ring sits on the corner of his mouth, catching the studio lights and glinting subtly as he speaks. His dark hair is slightly tousled, as if he’d run a hand through it on his way in, and there’s a relaxed confidence in the way he carries himself.

But what stands out the most isn’t his appearance—it’s his voice. Deep and smooth, it carries effortlessly in the room, each word deliberate and weighted with a natural lilt that makes everything he says sound intentional, almost melodic. It’s the kind of voice that could make even the most mundane sentence sound captivating.

You consider greeting him, but he’s already caught up in conversation with Taehyung and a few others in the room—people who seem to know him well.

You decide not to bother. It’s a hassle to talk to and befriend new people anyway. You’ve never been one to insert yourself into situations where you might feel out of place, and right now, it’s easier to just stay in your corner.

But then, a shadow approaches, lingering just beside you. You glance up, your pen pausing mid-scribble.

"Hello, Sunbae."

Sunbae?

The word catches you off guard. You blink at him, your mind racing. How old is he? You quickly do the math in your head, trying to figure out if he’s younger or if he’s just being overly polite. Either way, the title feels a little too formal, especially in this setting.

"Oh hi there, I’m L/N F/N, the author of this book," you say, offering a polite smile. Your voice is steady, but there’s a flicker of curiosity in your tone. You’re not used to being called sunbae—it’s been a while since you graduated, and you’ve always preferred a more casual approach to these things.

"Kim Jungkook," he introduces himself, holding out a hand. His grip is firm, warm, and there’s a confidence in the way he meets your gaze. "I heard you graduated from the school I’m attending. I’m an art major there. I’m looking forward to working with you."

You shake his hand, nodding slowly as you process his words. An art major? That explains the effortless style, the subtle edge to his appearance. But more than that, it’s the way he carries himself—like he’s comfortable in his own skin, unbothered by the weight of first impressions.

"Ah, it’s been a while since I graduated," you reply, your tone light. "And we weren’t in the same department, so just call me by my name." You try to brush off the formality, hoping to ease into a more relaxed dynamic. Titles always feel so distant, and you’d rather not have that kind of barrier between you, especially when you’re about to collaborate on something as personal as your book.

But Jungkook shakes his head, his lips quirking slightly into a small, almost teasing smile. "No, I can’t do that, Sunbae—" he says, his voice low but firm, leaving the sentence hanging as the audio engineer calls him over to enter the recording booth. He gives you a polite nod before heading inside, slipping on the headphones.

As Jungkook walks away, you glance down at your hand, flexing your fingers absentmindedly. The warmth of his grip still lingers, a faint echo that feels oddly significant.

Odd. That interaction felt strangely familiar, like a déjà vu you can’t quite place.

You’re certain you’ve never met Jungkook before—his looks alone aren’t easy to forget. The sharp jawline, the lip ring, the way his eyes seem to hold a thousand unspoken thoughts—it’s all too distinctive to slip your memory. And yet, there’s something about him, something that tugs at the edges of your mind, like a half-remembered dream you can’t quite piece together.

Your gaze drifts toward his plastic coffee cup resting on the table. The cup sleeve catches your eye, and you lean in slightly to get a better look.

Butterfly by Jimin Café.

Jimin’s café?

Wait—hold on.

Your breath stills for a second as realization dawns. The scent of fabric softener from earlier today, the fleeting brush of someone’s shoulder against yours in the crowded café, the low murmur of a voice apologizing as they passed by. It all comes rushing back.

Your eyes widen.

You lift your head, and across the studio, Jungkook is watching you.

With a smirk.

There’s something unreadable in his expression, something knowing, as if he’s been waiting for this moment, waiting for you to connect the dots that you do not know of. His lips curve slightly, and his eyes lock onto yours, holding your gaze for a beat too long.

Shit.

You quickly look away, pretending to be absorbed in the script. Your heart pounds in your chest, and you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks. You flip a page, your fingers trembling just slightly, hoping no one notices the way your composure has slipped.

The recording session begins, and Jungkook’s voice fills the space, steady and rich, effortlessly slipping into the role of the narrator.

["From the brief meetings we shared, I found that she was a woman who walked on eggshells, carefully maintaining her image for the public, despite the wounds buried beneath layers of fabric, skin, and deep within her heart. The dead of winter held no meaning for her—it was merely a reminder of those who had already left..."]

You sit there, struck still.

His voice is captivating. Deep, intimate, carrying the weight of every word with precise control. It’s like he’s not just reading the lines…he’s living them, breathing life into Haneul in a way that feels almost too real. The room seems to shrink, the world narrowing down to the sound of his voice and the way it wraps around you, pulling you into your own story all over again.

The staff murmurs amongst themselves, impressed.

"His tone fits the male lead perfectly," someone comments.

"He’s got that quiet intensity," another agrees.

Next to you, Taehyung leans in, grinning. "Isn’t he good?"

You nod slowly, but as Jungkook’s voice continues to flow through the speakers—deep, smooth, and effortlessly intense—you feel a rush of warmth creep up your neck, spreading across your cheeks.

Shit.

You force yourself to look away, fixing your gaze on the script in your lap as if it holds the secrets of the universe. But the heat lingers, stubborn and undeniable, prickling at your skin. You swallow, praying that no one notices—especially not him.

After the recording ends at 7:30 PM, you, Taehyung, and the studio crew spill out into the warm evening air, the city lights casting a golden glow over the streets. The group makes its way to a nearby restaurant, a cozy but lively spot with wooden tables and the comforting aroma of sizzling food. The hum of conversations mixes with the clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of laughter, creating a warm, inviting atmosphere.

Plates of food quickly fill the table—crispy fried chicken, steaming bowls of tteokbokki, and an assortment of banchan that everyone eagerly digs into. Pitchers of beer are poured freely, and the mood is light, the kind of easy camaraderie that comes after a long but successful day of work.

Taehyung, always in his element when surrounded by people, is mid-story, waving an onion ring around as he speaks. His cheeks are slightly flushed, and his gestures are more animated than usual, a sure sign that he’s had a drink or two.

“The narration was amazing, right?” he exclaims, dunking the onion ring into a pool of ketchup with enthusiasm. “I mean, Jungkook just nailed it. Didn’t he?”

Mid-sip of your beer, you hum noncommittally, avoiding his gaze. “Yeah… well.”

Taehyung squints at you, his grin turning sly. “That doesn’t sound convincing.”

You set your glass down, shrugging a little too casually. “I mean, it was really good,” you admit, your voice a little too even, a little too careful. You’re not sure why you’re downplaying it, but something about admitting how much Jungkook’s performance affected you feels… dangerous.

Taehyung leans back in his chair, clearly not buying it. “I’ve been working with a lot of student interns at the university, and they say he’s ridiculously multitalented. It’s crazy that he’s not just looks,” he continues, his tone teasing.

You give a small nod, but your thoughts are already straying.

Back to the recording session.

Back to Jungkook’s voice.

It had been deep, smooth, and filled the space in a way that was almost too good. Every syllable had weight, sinking into your bones like warmth on a cold day. Soft yet sultry. Intimate in a way that felt excessive.

Hold on. Do you have some kind of… voice fetish?

Shit.

Your fingers tighten slightly around your glass. The thought alone makes your face burn. You swore off dating—hell, you swore off men—and now here you are, sitting at a bar, spiraling over some junior you just met. This is bad.

Taehyung must notice the way your expression shifts because he suddenly grins. “So, Bookworm, what have you been up to lately?”

The nickname makes you blink. It’s been ages since he called you that. He’s definitely tipsy.

“Just writing, working at Jimin’s café, and sometimes I travel,” you say, eager to steer the conversation elsewhere.

“You’ve clearly won at life!” Taehyung announces, lifting his glass like he’s toasting you.

“Won?” You laugh, shaking your head. “I just live a simple life, day by day. Lethargic and exhausted by passion.”

The words come out more honest than you intend, but Taehyung doesn’t seem to catch on.

But someone else does.

Jungkook.

You feel it before you see it—his gaze. When your eyes finally flick over, sure enough, he’s looking at you.

Not glancing. Not idly observing.

Looking.

Something about it makes your skin prickle. Not in a bad way. Not in a way you know how to name.

And yet, instead of breaking away, he holds it.

Your breath hitches.

You quickly turn back to Taehyung, willing your cheeks to cool, forcing your expression into something neutral. Jimin once told you that your eyes tend to wander when you’re deep in thought, but this is different. Why does Jungkook keep meeting them?

Is he curious about you? Just polite? Or worse—does he know?

Does he see how you’re reacting to him?

You shake the thought away, burying it under more beer.

It doesn’t matter.

You’ve been through enough to know that people like Jungkook—ones with easy smiles and a natural charm that makes everyone in the room lean in—are dangerous.

Because you’ve met someone like that before.

And it nearly destroyed you.

The alcohol isn’t helping now. It’s loosening your thoughts, making it harder to keep your guard up. You rub your temple, exhaling sharply, just as your phone buzzes in your pocket. You’re relieved for a distraction, until you see the name on the screen.

Jimin.

Of course.

You quickly stand, finger nearing to answer the call. “Hey, Taehyung, I’m gonna take this call.”

Taehyung raises a brow, his grin turning mischievous. “Jimin again? Man, you guys are always together. Are you dating or something?”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “Honestly, it’s more like family. He’s an annoying older brother.”

Taehyung laughs, nodding. “That checks out.”

You step away from the table, the noise of the restaurant fading slightly as you press your phone to your ear. “Hey, what do you want—”

“Why didn’t you clean the basement yet?!” Jimin’s voice is sharp, cutting through the buzz in your head.

“Oh, fuck.” Your stomach drops. “Completely forgot. I’m at a work dinner.”

“The tenant’s stuff is coming in the morning,” Jimin says, his tone exasperated but laced with concern. “Where are you? I’ll drive and pick you up.”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “The Tavern Grill, near the recording studio.”

“I know where that is,” Jimin replies quickly. “Just come outside so I find you more easily when I wait for you on the curb. I’m on my way.”

“Fine, fine. Let me say goodbye first,” you mutter, already heading toward the door.

As you weave through the tables, you can’t help but glance back at the group. Taehyung is laughing at something someone said, his arm slung over the back of his chair.

When you return, Taehyung gives you an exaggerated pout. “Jimin coming to drag you home now?”

“Something like that.” You roll your eyes, already grabbing your things. “He said he’ll pick me up.”

Taehyung laughs, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “Tell him we need to grab a drink sometime. My treat.”

You grin, saying your goodbyes to the others—some casual, some playful.

Then, just as you’re about to leave, you glance over—

And Jungkook is still watching.

His fingers drum idly against his glass. He doesn’t move, doesn’t call out. But his gaze lingers, like there’s something he wants to say but won’t.

Your stomach twists.

You don’t know what it means. And you don’t want to find out.

So you turn away, stepping out into the night.

Whatever it is, it’s not your problem.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

Jimin walks ahead of you as you both descend the stairs to the basement. The air gets cooler with each step, but something else lingers—an acrid, stale scent that makes your nose wrinkle.

You frown. “Did you smoke before picking me up?”

Jimin lets out a soft chuckle, barely glancing back. “Wow, you really have a sharp nose, Y/N.” Then, without warning, he reaches over and fluffs your hair, like you’re some small puppy that just sniffed out the right answer.

You groan, swatting his hand away. “You know I hate the smell of cigarettes, Jimin.”

“I know, I know. Just… let it slide for today,” he mutters, tone quieter now. “Had a bad day.”

You don’t push. Not yet, at least.

The basement door groans on its hinges as you step inside. The air is heavier down here, tinged with dust and disuse. Jimin reaches for the light switch and flicks it—

Nothing.

He sighs. “Great. Power’s probably cut off for this room since we barely use it. I’ll go check the breaker.”

You pull out your phone, switching on the flashlight. “I’ll start looking through things in the meantime.”

Jimin eyes you skeptically. “You’re really gonna be able to see anything with just that?”

You give him a pointed look. “That should be the least of your worries. I just don’t want to be cleaning all night.”

He shrugs. “Suit yourself. I’ll be back.” With that, he heads back upstairs, leaving you alone with the stillness of the basement.

The dim beam of your flashlight sweeps over the space. Piles of forgotten things are stacked haphazardly—old college notebooks, loose papers, manuscripts half-finished and never revisited.

And then—

Your stomach tightens.

That box.

It’s been shoved far away from the rest, as if even in storage, you wanted it out of sight. But it’s still here. A silent, patient thing.

You step closer. Your fingers hesitate over the worn edges of the lid.

Then, with a quiet breath, you open it. Inside, time folds in on itself.

Your fingers graze the first thing on top—a faded movie ticket stub. The edges are soft, curling, worn from being thumbed over too many times in the past. You remember this night. Your night. Seokjin had held your hand through the entire movie, whispering sarcastic commentary in your ear, making you laugh so hard the people in front turned around to glare. You’d buried your face in his shoulder, giggling, and he had just smiled like you were the best thing to ever happen to him.

Your throat tightens.

Beneath it, a polaroid. The two of you at some festival, Seokjin holding up a peace sign while you kissed his cheek. The colors have faded slightly, but you can still see how bright his eyes were, how effortlessly happy you had looked. You weren’t even thinking about the camera—just him.

You swallow hard.

All of these things mean something to you, or at least, they once did. But the longer you stare at them—the trinkets, the letters, the pieces of Seokjin woven into your past—the more you wonder if they ever meant anything to him. If he could leave so easily, so cleanly, then what were these memories even worth?

Can you really throw all of this away?

Your fingers hesitate over the box when you hear footsteps behind you.

Figuring it’s Jimin, you sigh, still lost in thought. “Hey, why didn’t you turn the lights back on? Is there something wrong with the breaker—?”

Before you can finish, you’re shoved, your back colliding against the wall with a thud. A strong grip pins you in place, pressing into your shoulders.

Your pulse surges.

“What the fuck!? Who are you—”

“Why are you rummaging through someone else’s shit, you thief?”

The voice is sharp, accusatory. And absolutely not Jimin’s.

Your breath catches.

And then, the lights flick on.

Your vision adjusts, and when you see who exactly has you caged against the wall, your stomach flips.

Jungkook.

Wait. Jungkook?

His dark eyes widen the second he recognizes you, hands retreating from your shoulders like he’s been burned. “Oh, fuck.” His voice drops into sheer panic. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t know it was you!”

You blink, still trying to process what just happened.

He looks mortified, hands hovering near you like he wants to check for injuries but doesn’t dare touch you again. “Shit, I didn’t hurt you, did I? Are you okay?”

You exhale, still slightly dazed. “Ah… it’s okay—”

“No, it’s not,” he interrupts, eyes flickering with concern. His fingers ghost over your arms, searching for any sign that he might’ve been too rough. His hold, once bruising, is now careful. Deliberate. “I grabbed you way too hard. Are you sure you’re fine, Sunbae?”

You look at him properly now, still catching your breath. Damn.

His face is stupidly attractive up close, his brows knitted in pure remorse. His scent—clean, like fresh laundry mixed with something slightly musky—hits you all at once, making your stomach do something annoying.

He’s exactly your type.

And that realization makes this moment so much worse.

“You’re Kim Jungkook, right?” you ask, breaking the silence.

Jungkook straightens, nodding quickly. “Yeah. Wait… you don’t remember me?”

He sounds almost offended, tilting his head slightly.

You furrow your brows. “Sorry, I’m not good at remembering names or people for that matter.”

He blinks, then lets out a scoff—part amused, part incredulous. “Seriously? I recognized you the second the lights came on, but you forgot about me?”

Your lips twitch. Is he really pouting?

Whatever. You’re still processing the fact that you just got manhandled by this guy. He needs to take about five steps back.

You cross your arms, clearing your throat. “What are you even doing here, anyway?”

“Oh.” Jungkook’s expression shifts, his stance relaxing as he rubs the back of his neck. “This is my studio now.”

Your stomach drops.

“…What?” Your mind stutters over his words.

His studio?

Your eyes drift over the scattered boxes, the dust-lined shelves, the scent of old paper and forgotten memories lingering in the air. When Jimin had mentioned a tenant renting the basement, you’d barely paid attention, brushing it off as another small change in your life. But standing here now—with Jungkook, of all people—the reality sinks in with an unsettling twist in your gut.

This is his space now?

Before you can fully process the implications, footsteps echo from the stairwell, followed by Jimin’s familiar voice.

“All right, the power’s back on—” He stops mid-step as he takes in the scene, his gaze flicking between you and Jungkook. His brows furrow slightly, his usual easygoing expression dimming with curiosity.

“Oh, you two have met,” he says, a little slower than usual. “Y/N, this is Jungkook—”

“I’m aware,” you interrupt, still distracted by the realization. “We met earlier today during the recording session.”

Jimin’s brows lift. “Oh?”

“But what are you doing here, sunbae?” Jungkook asks, his tone shifting to something lighter, more casual. “Do you live nearby?”

“I’m cleaning out some of my stuff down here for… well, you, apparently.” You exhale, motioning vaguely to the clutter around you. “I live upstairs.”

Jungkook blinks. “Wait, seriously?”

Jimin, however, is less surprised. He crosses his arms, fixing Jungkook with a sharp look. “But, dear tenant, what are you doing here?” His voice dips into something more pointed. “Didn’t you say you’d be here tomorrow at noon?”

Jungkook barely flinches under the scrutiny. “I had something to check on.”

Jimin eyes him for a moment before sighing and letting go of whatever was on his mind.

“Do you want any help?” Jungkook asks, turning back to you.

Your pulse spikes. Oh, God.

The last thing you need is him digging through your things—especially the one box tucked carefully behind you. The one filled with Seokjin’s remnants.

“No!” you blurt out, too quickly. His brows raise, but you force a casual shrug. “I’m good. I’m just going to throw it all away anyway.”

Jungkook hums, glancing at the mess. But then, his eyes catch on something.

A photograph peeks from the top of one of your boxes, slightly askew. Before you can move to block it, his gaze sharpens, lips curling into something almost unreadable.

“Then I can throw it all away for you,” he says, voice smooth but laced with something just a little too amused. He meets your eyes with a slow tilt of his head. “You don’t need it, after all. This place is mine now.”

Something about the way he says it—the lazy drawl, the faint glint in his gaze—rubs you the wrong way.

Your stomach tightens.

Just hours ago, he’d been nothing but polite, apologetic even. But now? There’s something else beneath the surface. A hint of something sharper, something laced with an unspoken edge.

Is this actually his true nature?

This doesn't sit right—yet, at the same time, you can’t shake the curiosity gnawing at the back of your mind. You know better than to let your guard down, but part of you is pulled in, drawn to the enigma that is Kim Jungkook.

And so, without knowing how or why, you find yourself standing at the beginning of something unexpected.

This is how your story with Jungkook begins.

– TBC?

a/n: if you decided to check out this story, thank you so much! feel free to give me your thoughts, questions, theories (yes, kim jungkook is intentional in this story and you'll know why if i continue this series hehe). jungkook is also the same age as reader but still in college (because he started college a bit late due to enlistment). also happy belated valentine's day. i meant to upload on valentine's day, but i got caught up in trying to make this more detailed.

➸ let me know what you think OR join the taglist for future works! ➸ check out my masterlist for other fics I have made

#bts fic #bts #yoongi x reader #bts smut #bts x reader #bts imagines #bangtan #bts fanfic #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #jungkook smut #webtoon #jimin x reader #jin x reader #kpop fanfic #fanfic

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chocolatepot · 2 days ago

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OFMD fandom, consider TGCF

Tian Guan Ci Fu is a Chinese light novel with an English translation published by Seven Seas Entertainment as Heaven Official's Blessing. You might not have heard of it, but chances are pretty good that you've heard of Mo Dao Zu Shi, adapted by Tencent into a tv series that aired on Netflix as The Untamed. ("Sexy Times with Wangxian", yes.) That's by the same author, Mo Xiang Tong Xiu!

For roughly the year before OFMD first aired, I was in MXTX fandom, more focused on MDZS than TGCF, although I'd read and liked both. Recently, though, I've come back to TGCF in a big way - doing a full reread - and a number of parallels to OFMD have been jumping out at me, making me think, hey, maybe my friends would like this?

Canon m/m romance that is the emotional backbone for the story

Lots of humor!

Main character from a high status background ...

... who is derided as a laughingstock by his high-falutin' peers and by people on the ground

Love interest who is widely believed to be the most powerful evil being in existence

Despite the obvious aesthetic differences, the MC and LI get each other on a level nobody else does

Also despite appearances, both MC and LI are very much not young and spend a long time alone before they meet

You could even say there's a "slyly complicated butch/femme dynamic" (a phrase from an old article about OFMD that always sticks in my head)

MC's kindness and attention to people considered "worthless" often help solve the problem

Okay, curious? I'll tell you about TGCF in more detail behind the cut.

(I do want to be clear here, I'm stressing these points of similarity but these two canons are not The Same - I'm just saying, if these are aspects of OFMD that really resonated with you, you should think about giving TGCF a try!)

Okay, if you haven't really heard of MXTX novels before, I assume you might not be familiar with a lot of the genre conventions, so I'll step way back. TGCF is xianxia, which is a type of fantasy where people can gain powers and eventually ascend to immortality/godhood; in some xianxia books, the process of gaining or using those powers is the point, but here it's really just background for the story. These powers are gained through "cultivation", which can be a combo of meditation and martial arts practice. People who die are either reincarnated or turn into ghosts, depending on how much resentment they have going on.

The first volume opens with a prologue explaining that Xie Lian was a handsome and popular prince who ascended at seventeen; when his kingdom was beset with war and famine, he came back to help the populace but was unsuccessful. As a result, they burned his temples and stopped worshipping him, and he was also banished from the heavens with his powers cut off. Having to live as a penniless normal person (but still immortal) was some Real Bad Times, and when he ascended again, angrily, he was banished again. This time, he went back down and lived peacefully but in destitution as a wandering busker and scrap collector for several centuries. And then he ascended a third time.

That's where the story picks up! Xie Lian is now a god again and everyone appears to either hate him or think he's incredibly pathetic. He starts off in trouble by accidentally causing a lot of property damage, and to repay it he's sent to solve a mystery: brides in wedding processions that go by a particular mountain are being kidnapped. Part of his investigation involves dressing up as a bride as bait for the "ghost groom", and this is where the reader gets their first sight of Hua Cheng, taking bride!Xie Lian's hand and briefly guiding and protecting him. After the mystery is solved, Xie Lian finds out that the man who seemed very kind and attractive to him is actually a ghost who defeated and destroyed thirty-three gods - he's the ruler of Ghost City, someone everyone is terrified of.

I'm not going to go further into the plot because there are some big central mysteries that are so fun to uncover as you go, and I don't want to deprive you of that! But as the story goes on, Hua Cheng is involved more and more, and the adorable thing that I think will appeal to OFMD fans is the way everyone else is really concerned by AHH OH NO HUA CHENG while Xie Lian always feels safe with him. (And by the same token, Hua Cheng is always impressed with Xie Lian despite the way everyone else thinks he's obviously the crummiest god that could possibly exist.) There's also a lot of resonance with s1 of OFMD in the way that Hua Cheng, let's just say, has been following Xie Lian's ship before arranging a meeting, and also is well aware of his feelings for Xie Lian while the latter is considerably more confused.

The full translation has been pulled from the web as its translator collab'd with Seven Seas, but you can find some other people's translations of the earlier chapters still online via NovelUpdates. If this all sounds interesting to you but you're not sure about buying or can't find it through your library system, I'd recommend checking that out (although be aware that free translations are sometimes ... real bad, just run through Google Translate).

My last point, not really aimed at OFMD fans: I feel like a lot of people who say that canon queer romance can never match up to the fanon surrounding queerbait need to get into BL! It has a very fanfiction sensibility, all the drama and yearning and sex you could want. (Well, this one doesn't actually have sex in it. But in the MDZS extras Wei Wuxian has a canonical non-con kink, so.)

#ofmd #tgcf #mxtx #our flag means death #pleeeeeeeeease give tgcf a shot my friends

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kizzer55555 · 9 months ago

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Core Gems

So when a ghost becomes injured, they have a last ditch defense where they retreat into their core. And I mean, injured badly where their body is rip apart to the point they can’t hold a solid form anymore. And they basically go into a hibernation state until they are strong enough to form again.

Ellie, Danny, and Dan are all injured in a final battle against the GIW. The organization was destroyed and the ghosts were safe but the halfas ended up being so injured that they reverted to core form and then went to sleep for a bit. When they woke up, they were still weak but at least recovered enough to gain consciousness. And realize…they are in some kind of auction…in the middle of a heist. It appeared that two furries (one in a bat costume and one in a cat costume) were ducking it out. And they…they were a necklace. All three of them had been turned into a necklace with their cores as gems accompanied by sapphires, pearls, and opals. And frankly gorgeous craftsmanship as the metal was crafted around their cores as if to cradle them and the other gems.

Unfortunately, they were too weak to take a form properly, they could still feel the strain on their bodies. But at least they could still communicate through their auras. Then the cat lady punched a hole in the glass container surrounding them and grabbed their necklace.

However, the bat grabbed the other end and it resulted in a sort of tug-a-war. Meanwhile, Danny, Ellie, and Dan were having a back and form commentary on the situation and what they should do. Completely unheard by the other party.

In the corner of their eye, the three halfas finally noticed a third contender. Some kind of clown who was…hold on…holding a gun?! And it was pointed straight at the two fighting furies who had yet to notice him. The ghosts’ protective instincts went into overdrive and they frantically tried to shout, yell, move. Just do something to warn the two but their cries fell on deaf ears. All they succeeded in doing was faintly glow which immediatly caught the attention of the fighting duo. The two turned to look at the strange necklace but right at that moment, the clown fired and a gunshot rang throughout the auction room. Having no other options, Danny and the others poured every ounce of ectoplasm they had to try and phaseshift, making the two furries intangible as the bullets passed right through them, but in their shock, the two jumped away in opposite directions and accidentally ripped the necklace apart. Gems and pearls went flying and the three cores bounced along the ground.

Luckily, the two finally noticed the clown and went to deal with him and his minions who had appeared. Seemingly putting their fight on hold and forming a temporary truce. The three halfas could only watch as the battle finally wound down, ending with the cops barging into the place and arresting the clown and his grunts, the cat managing to escape with half the scattered gems and pearls from the broken necklace along with a few other jewelry pieces (none of their cores though) and the bat leaving through a skylight.

The auction continued and in the end, despite being broken, their necklace seemed to have caught someone’s interest. A man named Bruce Wayne bought up every piece of the shattered jewelry wear. The auctioneers appeared relived that the item managed to sell in the end and gratefully gave it to him.

Bruce had no idea what happened at the auction, but he could have sworn that some of the gems faintly glowed right before he and Selina were shot. If the necklace was some sort of magical item, then he needed to understand exactly what has been brought to Gotham. It was unfortunate that Selena had taken some parts of the necklace but he utilized his vast wealth to make sure all the other parts ended in his possession. Now he would take them back to the mansion for examination.

#Dpxdc #dcxdp #kizzer55555 ideas #Bruce thinks the necklace is magical. He’s technically not wrong.#When he gets home he immediately puts each gem in a glass container to examine them. For the longest time though nothing happens.#They all look like normal gems except for the main three of the piece. He can’t identify what kind of gem they are.#The gems are perfect spheres with various shades of blue (with hints of green and white) swirling around.#The colors almost look like they are moving in slow motion. Still. Nothing happens as he examines them and no strange events happen.#That is until one day he decided to take the gems to be examined by a professional and a villain attacked.#A piece of building was about to crush him when a wall of ice appeared as a shield over him. After that he took them back to the cave.#Bruce looks up thousands of documents about enchanted necklaces and artifacts but finds nothing. He even calls in favors from JLD.#Zatanna doesn’t recognize them but feels some kind of power coming off the gems however it doesn’t feel malevolent (at least for 2 of them)#(The last gem is neutral.) Also Constantine was unavailable (*cough* hiding from responsibilities *cough*)#The other bats get interested in the gems. Tim has a theory that they are some kind of protective charms. Damian agrees.#(Everyone is shocked Tim and Damian agree on something). So while Bruce is continuing his investigation the other bats decide to do some #‘Field testing’ and take the gems out. Consequently the gems end up saving their lives and they discover a few things they can do like make #The wearer invisible. Intangible. Create green barriers/constructs. Create ice. Vibrate when an enemy is coming. And much more.#The bats fashion them into new individual bracelets/necklaces and think they are the coolest thing. They have powered up protective charms!#The halfas just wish these kids would STOP PUTTING THEIR LIVES IN DANGER! What are they MORONS?!#Most of the ectoplasms they recover is used to protect the bats and nearby civilians.#(Dan also trolls people and is mostly protective his siblings though)#People notice the new power ups. A rougue gets his hands on a gem and tries to use it ONCE to attack something but the gems didn’t respond.#Then it froze the rough’s legs to the ground.#Much time later the gems are swapped between the bats and alternated and have just become a new item in their belt #(batman was not pleased but eventually got used to it and begrudgingly accepted that they were useful. Especially when they save his kids)#They come to a Justice league meeting and Constantine finally sees them.#His mouth drops in shock and he frantically asks where they got GHOST CORES?! And this is when the bats finally realise what they have.#And are horrified to realize EXACTLY what they are holding and that these ‘gems’ were technically ALIVE.#Meanwhile the three Halfas have been kinda chilling but also working their butts off to keep this family alive. It was a fulltime job.

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muninnhuginn · 1 year ago

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Keep thinking about how time in Frieren is measured in years since Himmel's death. The fact that at this point in the anime, he's been dead far longer than Frieren travelled with him, and yet, that's still how she relates time to this world.

#I have some thoughts about flamme and himmel and the space they both occupy for frieren but as an anime-only I'm being cautious.#I do think the stuff with the 'ghost' though implies a lot. flamme had been dead for so long and yet she was who frieren saw the first time #it took frieren that long to get attached enough to make a connection strong enough to challenge the one she had with flamme.#but she still speaks of the quest time as being a 'mere' decade. I think both flamme and himmel understood her better than she did herself #anyway yeah for now I'm sticking with the anime. let's see how long I last before swapping to the manga.#frieren #oh also. using the time since his death is so neat from a meta perspective. bc we have these new humans + every time the years appear #you're reminded that they too are subject to the passage of time in a way that frieren isn't.

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lyxchen · 7 days ago

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Okay so obviously Janet and maybe also Mr. Martin found ways to interact with the living world through science and chemistry right? Like the way this show's world works is very much based on reality. Like if ghosts exist in our world it's possible for them to exist just like that. Of course there is this more unrealistic factor of emotion where Simon can see Maddie because of their strong emotional connection, how Rhonda was able to wake up Quinn by being so So angry and with how a ghost can posess a human body if both the ghost and the human are in a lot of emotional distress. But I just feel like Janet being a scientist is important. It's not just a random hobby of hers to give her more character, I think it will also be important for the plot and for understanding more about how the ghost world works, but also how it can be manipulated and modified. Janet was able to make a pot that doesn't reset, that is more grounded in the living world and I just feel like she did that through science. This is also why Mr. Martin worked so much with her because if it was purely an emotional thing, then I feel like Rhonda would have had much more of that unfiltered emotion and anger to test things. Both Janet and Mr. Martin can do things other ghosts can't and emotion is too unpredictable and too available for everyone to be the sole factor for 'unlocking' more ghost powers. And because this show is linked so much to that realism I just feel like it would be really interesting and fitting to see it include science as part of bringing ghosts ability's to newer levels

#school spirits #just some thoughts i've been having for a while #just #i think that science part is important #why janet?#why her specifically?#yes the knew each other in life the died together they seem to be the oldest ghosts at the school #so they do have a connection #but why not bring in new ghosts to their experiments once they appear?#why keep it to themselves?#because they're both scientists #i think that's also how mr martin can enter ither ghost's scars #he doesn't even Need the item to enter a scar #he can probably do a whole lot more than what we've seen already #also just sonething i noticed #when in season 1 they found all the notes mr martin wrote and the ghosts i was wondering how the notebooks didn't reset #because he didn't keep them on him at all times so they should have been resetting to be empty/where they were before #but they stayed where he put them and his notes didn't disappear #but now i know #it's that same way that janet's pot doesn't reset #anyways #this show and its concept and the worldbuilding are so so interesting to me and i think about it a lot #i want to know more about it and i really hope we find out more in the next episodes #school spirits spoilers #mr martin #janet hamilton #rhonda rosen #lea's random thoughts

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deus-ex-mona · 6 months ago

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i miss her…

#cant believe i forgot about her till the photobook q&a im so sorry witch mona~~~~~~~#press f for honeypre atelier gachas it was gone too soon™️#(currently e x t r e m e l y worried and stressed for tomorrow like never before b u t i have to appear like im fine sobs save me monachann)#(can i go on a stress-prompted tangent here about something inane? no? toooo bad im gonna go off anyway~~~~)#ok so. like. since witch mona is the image i have up ‘ere and since it’s still 七月… today’s tangent will be on irl spooky stories!!#s o. presenting a decently repressed memory from my childhood that resurfaced while i was hibernating at home:#anyways. well. thoughts about the afterlife can vary from person to person yes? there’s no one true correct belief after all #but the one question that unites us all is probably the one and only ‘are ghosts real?’#and well. for personal reasons i think so. i mean i’ve seen this one dude i hate get possessed a couple of times so welp. cant deny it ig.#wild story about that actually. back in the day my family’s finances were allegedly doing so badly that [dude i hate] had to pick up #a *c e r t a i n* side hustle for extra cash. that side hustle? literal grave digging at the cemetary. at night no less #and *ofc* he wasn’t respectful about it in the least so ofc some spirits followed him home. yay. free roommates.#one(?) of them even took residence in my room at the time and im 80% sure they ate my history textbook :( much sads #anyways well once that guy had too much to drink (which was rather often tbh) he’d get possessed. fun!#the only possession i ever saw was the n-rarity angry ghost who’d just huff and puff in silence with unfocused eyes most of the time #he’d occasionally put on a leather jacket too. but that was like a r-rarity event that didn’t happen that often #my mother had the chance to also witness the mosquito (who tried to barge into my room for fresh blood) and the 姑娘 (self-explanatory)#which is kinda unfair tbh. i wanted to see the ur-rarity ones too :( mostly bc it’d be funny to see a guy i hate act ooc (impure intentions)#oh right. how did we get the dude out of his possession? we just shook his arm really hard. prolly caused some lasting effects but who know #i think he could also just sleep off the possession but idk i was asleep for the ur-rarity incidents.#cant ask the one witness of it bc i dont want to bring back unnecessary flashbacks of [guy we hate]#anyways it’s been years since we moved out from that place and i still want my history textbook back. mostly for the principle of it but—#and so that’s the tangent of the day. i feel weirdly less stressed now thanks witch mona #i do wonder how my grandparents are faring on this 七月 though…#b u t !!!!! tomorrow’s date on the lunar calendar says it’s an auspicious day for wishful activity and starting a new job!!! so… maybe~~~~?#hauauauauauauauuauaaaaaa anyways insane tangent over stream mona’s new album ok bye #oops forgor to disable rbs i hate how easy it is to forget to use this function man

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doctahchang · 2 months ago

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would like to know the lore of my own oc that i have had for like ten years

edit: found an old sketch of her... i basically drew her for the first time eons ago and haven't changed her design ever since (sad that i won't be able to find those drawing again)

#she is lots of things but she is also randomly dw master's sister. have been thinking about the idea of her being their daughter ever since #missy dropped that the doctor gave it to me when my daughter line #i was like twelve when i made her up okay!!! i basically stole clara's echos concept for myself but made it cooler. she is basically a #gallifreyan girl trapped inside of doctor's tardis and she exists there like a ghost spooking his companions without any memory of her #previous life. and she also has like a ton of echos bc when tardis appears in the parallel universes she creates it to keep the link with #said universe through the echo. whenever the doctor reappears there the link is no longer needed and said echo dies. and so. i basically #recreate her in every fandom i have ever been since then having some explanation in my head for me just basically using same character over #and over again AHAHAHAH #her original gallifreyan version died in the tardis bc she listened to the doctor's yappinh about travelling to other worlds too much #and like. when she tried to steal her tardis defense mechanism was meant to trap her (i remember listening to some first doctor audiodrama #where the same concept was descibed). that led to that tardis being decommissioned #but she still trapped her??? dying spirit??? in the eye of harmony which allows her to exist in some form #the only reason she is related to the master is bc they are my favourite dw character and i like to think that the fact that the doctor #was partially responsible for her death hit the last nail in the coffin of whatever they had HAHAHA #i remember when big finish did an audio drama with the master brainwashing a random girl to think that she was his daughter and i was like #NO HECKING WAY THEY DROPPED MY OC'S LORE??? HAHA THE LOSER STILL MISSES HER #i need to do something with her again. i guess #my post #yes that star trek oc is ger echo as well #too lazy to fix tags forgot to write down the part that yes tardis defense mechanism killed her #i dont know how to explain her being related to the master bc i also remember myself being a loom truther. but the doctor also had #susan? idk guys i haven't been in the dw sauce in a minute #i like to think that she HATES hates doctor's guts bc she has this subconscious envy that they are able to leave the tardis and explore #other worlds but she isn't bc she is trapped in there. girl if you only knew that you also exist as a plethora of other people in different #worlds. also her gallifreyan name was MILLENIA haha subtle foreshadowing #she also hates most of doctor's companions for the same reason. i bet that short period of time when missy was in twelfth tardis was #rather funny bc both of them didn't recognise each other #she holds like. 50% of responsibility for tardis malfunctions

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ambreiiigns · 2 years ago

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i don't have words to express how much wrestling i watched today and how much i love it how was i ever capable of just not watching wrestling i feel sick at the thought!!!!

#hopefully this weekend i catch up on the last like. idk. four months of bte #i started catching up on the bte today. if i can catch up by the weekend. ideal #i Might manage to watch smackdown and rampage live??? last time i did that i remember they were right after each other right #like they don't overlap right #and then obviously mania this weekend #i Will watch that live #so. if everything goes according to plan. by monday i am aaall caught up on wwe & aew #and i can do the thing that i've been meaning to do #abt setting up some kind of lil daily schedule #so i can make time to watch my wrestling AND my horror movies #and have time for other random stuff i might wanna watch #like succession ohh god i'm so mad that on monday i might have class in the morning i wanna watch succession as soon as i wake up grrr >:((#so #???#it appears that i have become ill about wrestling again! i didn't think i'd go back this fast but also i'm not completely surprised!#but it means i didn't interact w ghost at all today and of course that's also making me sick :(#oh nay

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savanir · 3 months ago

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The What Corps?

“we have you now spook! there is nowhere you can run and hide with our new spectral tethers active!”

Danny winces at the small metal clips that have hooked themselves in his leg, some new GIW tech that is messing with his powers.

“oh yeah? I was just dying for you guys to give me a challenge” plan. plan. He's gotta think of a plan to get out of here and fast. He takes a steadying breath and starts to look for anything that can help him.

he can’t get caught here. He just can't. He simply won’t allow himself.

suddenly the two GIW goons in front of him click their earpieces to clearly listen to what someone else is telling them, Danny is very glad for his own enhanced senses.

“Operatives K and O, be advised, there have been sightings of a new ectoplasmic entity near your location. Other operatives report that it’s incredibly small and moves fast. watch your backs, this may be an ambush”

small and fast? it better not be some poor little blob ghost, Danny sort of hopes it’s some manner of ectowasp, at least that could be entertaining to see.

“you better not be hoping for back up, ecto scum”

“I have no idea what you are talking about”

It's then that a small bright green light zips on scene and weaves through crowds in the distance with ease and then speeds up towards the two operatives who do not hesitate to shoot, missing completely like the storm troopers they are.

Whatever it is, it is indeed going very fast but Danny manages to figure out what it looks like and it appears to be a… ring?

“hold it you tiny accessory shaped ecto fiend!”

The ring does a speedy circle around Operative O while K is lining up a shot and ends up blasting the poor guy point blank in his face, “O!”

Danny takes a step forward with an arm outstretched and a “oh damn! Are you alright?” on his lips when the ring takes the chance to slip on his finger. “Daniel Fenton of Earth”

Danny already had a freakout about a ghost jewelry getting on him, his experiences with those so far have been incredibly bad after all, what with the rings and crowns and pendants… now this damn thing is just straight up outing him!

Thank the ancients the two GIW stooges are too busy with each other right now to pay close attention to what this weird ring is saying.

“You have the ability to overcome great fear” ah so this is related to him steeling himself just now? Maybe? or something??

You have been chosen” never good, we are back to freaking out again.

“Welcome to the green lantern corps”

… the what?

Danny notices that his usual outfit suddenly has more green going on, and his DP symbol has some sort of… he guess it’s supposed to be a lantern, maybe? shape around it.

He’s somehow even more glowy now, and there is something on his face. Feeling its shape makes him think it’s some sort of mask.

The metal clip things are no longer attached to his legs though so that’s great!

“You’re not getting away so easily ecto scum! sentient ghost paraphernalia coming to your rescue or no!” They both aim their weapons to take a shot.

Danny figures he can now easily hold them back with his usual shields,“you guys realize you just called this weird ring sentient and thereby negate the whole nonsentie-ack!”

“Attacking a corps lantern is punishable offense as of the instatement of the galactic diplomatic immunity as declared by the-” Okay so now Danny is just raising his eyebrow at this weird as fuck ring. Just what is it going on about?

“notifying nearby lanterns and requesting assistance with apprehension of hostiles”

what?

“getting your friends to help you out vile spook? such a thing is useless with the Blackout still very much in place”

Well… the two streaks of green light in the distance is making Danny doubt that statement.

Maybe there is more to this Lantern corps thing than he thought… And something tells him his life is about to get even more complicated than it already is.

#dpxdc #dcxdp #danny phantom #danny fenton #dp x dc #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #phanfic #green lantern corps #Danny really doesn't need a power ring for it's abilities #but he's going to be an insufferable little shit with the whole diplomatic immunity thing #you can pry that trinket from his colder deader hands #after seeing those moves Danny already decided #that ring is his spirit animal #personally I also think he'd love being a Lantern because Space. but that's just me

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theglamorousferal · 2 months ago

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Teenaged Danny and Bruce meet somehow and become friends. (Summer camp? Boarding school? Training? Gala with Vlad? Can't be a TUE au because the clones need to exist for this particular fic.)

They lose contact when Bruce drops off the map to train to be Batman.

In the meantime, Danny has ascended to the Throne of the Infinite Realms and established himself as some sort of paranormal archeologist in the living world. (It's easiest way to declare treasure from the King's Coffers to the IRS.)

After Vlad got redeemed ( l like to think after he got over himself and realized he was in love with BOTH Maddie and Jack), he turned over all his research to Danny. This includes the fragmented cores of all the Danny clones.

After an issue where Danielle was destabilizing again, they found that if they introduced another person's DNA, that she would stabilize. Sam volunteers. So Danielle is stabilized with Sam's DNA, however it ages her down so now she's her actual age, 11 at this time. Danny is 26, and ends up adopting her, she chooses the name Ellie. Ellie ends up with some of Sam's attributes, like her eyes turning more purple and her hair being easier to tame.

After some researching, it's found that the clone's cores could reform themselves if they can absorb enough healthy ectoplasm and a stable human DNA donor.

When Dan breaks out and is shoved into a clone body, he asks Valerie to be his donor, as she was the last person he had respected. He ends up at three years younger than Danielle. He prefers the name Dante. His skin is darker than it was, and his hair gains a wave to it when in human form, it's still flames when in ghost form.

The first of the failed clones to reform about 5 years later got some of Tucker's DNA. A pair of twins that have heterochromia with one piercing blue and one ocean teal eye, on opposite sides of course. They go by Kelly and Sprite. (they were the bedsheet and pixie ghosts) Somehow the genetics introduced while they were still dormant resulted in them both being girls. They appeared as 9 year-olds.

The last one took the longest to reform and when he did, he reformed as 6 years old. Obsidian used some of Wes's DNA. He got Wes's green eyes and freckles.

Danny is able to work with each of his adopted but also genetic children to harness their powers and helps them re-form their ghost halves so they can choose how they present themselves to the world instead of being locked into their original forms.

Fast forward about 9 years and the Fenton family is attending a gala at a museum that Danny is lending pieces to in Gotham. He ends up running into Bruce who is there with his gaggle of children. They end up getting lost in their conversation and are going over the different things they've been doing since they last saw each other. They end up dancing together at least once, Danny beaming and a quiet smile on Bruce's face not normally seen when he's in his Brucie persona.

Somehow the children of both of them have all found each other and are observing their respective parents closely, noting that they haven't seen their father look so besotted in a long time.

Numbers are exchanged and group chats are made. They plan to Parent Trap their fathers together.

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #spirit halloween ship

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celestialgalaxyglow · 1 month ago

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Batfam and Danny, Part 5

The following morning on the roof of Jason and Danny's apartment.

Jason: Good job patrolling yesterday kid.

Danny: Thanks dad.

A massive light engulfed the area and a massive creature appeared before them.

Jason (too tired to care): Friend of yours?

Danny: That’s Cthulhu.

Jason (the literature major): As in Lovecraft?

Danny: Yeah, but he misrepresented Cthulhu greatly in his books. For his slander H. P. Lovecraft is in the Realms of Infinite Punishment.

Jason: I see.

Danny (looking at Cthulhu): Hi C!

Cthulhu (bowing): Greets my Lord.

Danny: Need something?

Cthulhu: Whilst wondering the Lands of Nightmares and Infinite Darkness I came across this... I want to say it’s a cat. I believe you will like it.

He handed Danny the “cat.” The creature had six legs, and fur as black as the void glowing with glittering stardust.

Danny: It’s so cute! Thank you, C!

Cthulhu: Anything for you, my Lord.

Cthulhu vanished.

Jason: Danny, you are my son, and I love you, but sometimes you frighten me.

Danny: I think Bruce feels the same about you.

Jason: Well, yes, but that’s beside the point. He looks at the “cat” in Danny’s arms. So, what is that?

Danny: No idea, but he’s mine now. I’ll call him Shadow.

The “cat” meowed.

Danny (walking away): You will be my greatest warrior.

Jason (smiling): I love my strange little son.

Later in the apartment.

Jason: Hey Danny, I've been thinking about something.

Danny: What is it?

Jason: You're a king.

Danny: I am.

Jason: If you're here, who's ruling your kingdom?

Danny: I have a regent.

Jason: Who?

Danny: Would you like to meet him?

Jason: Sure?

Danny: Vlad!

Vlad appeared in the living from a burst of green fire.

Vlad: You summoned Danny?

Danny: Dad, this is Vladimir Plasmius, my regent and former archenemy. Vlad this is my dad, Jason.

Vlad (bowing): It is an honor to make your acquittance Your Imperial Lordship.

Jason: "Your Imperial Lordship?"

Vlad (looking at Danny): You didn't tell him?

Jason: Tell me what?

Danny: I granted you a title. Danny summoned a scroll and handed to Jason.

-----

Hereby decreed by his Imperial and Royal Chthonic Majesty:

By our royal authority we hereby grant Jason Todd-Wayne the following title:

His Imperial Lordship, Jason, the King's Father.

Signed, Danny Rex-Imperator, Supreme King of the Infinite Realms, High King of the Ghost Zone, King of all Ghosts, First among the Eldritch Ones.

-----

Jason (tearing up): "The King's Father."

Danny: Well you are my dad.

Jason (ran up to Danny and hugged him): I love you son.

Danny: Dad! Not in front of my regent!

Vlad (smiling): Good to see you found someone to care for you Danny. He looked at Jason. You have proven yourself worthy of the title of the King's father, Lord Jason.

Jason: I try my best.

Vlad: So I see. He adjusted his suit. But if that be all I shall make my way back to the Infinite Realms. Good bye your Lordships. Vlad vanished.

Jason (looking at Danny): I love you kid.

Danny: Love you too dad.

A few hours later.

Jason (cooking lunch): Danny...

Danny (setting the table): Yes?

Jason: Why did we not get any messages from Bruce or the others about a massive eldritch creature appearing in the middle of Gotham in broad daylight?

Danny: Cthulhu was hiding himself, we only saw him because we are in some way connected to the Infinite Realms.

Jason: Ah.

Danny: Good thing honestly, Bruce would have had a heart attack.

Jason (laughing): Yeah he would have. Jason went back to cooking lunch.

Danny: You're going to tell him later aren't you?

Jason (smiling): Oh 100%!

A while later while cleaning the plates.

Jason: Danny I have an idea, and I want you to tell me if it's crazy.

Danny: Hit me.

Jason: I want to apply to grad school, so I can latter go for a doctorate, so can be a doctor just to spite Bruce.

Danny (laughing): That would be hilarious! But do you like your field that much?

Jason: Yes, I love literature!

Danny: Go for it then.

Jason: It's settled then, I'm applying to graduate school!

Meanwhile at Wayne Manor. Bruce Sneezes.

Alfred: Bless you Master Bruce.

Bruce: One of my kids is doing something overly dramatic just to spite me...

(Master Post)

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simpjaes · 11 months ago

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EROTIC EMPATHY (s.jy)

Have you ever taken anyone’s virginity before? Nope. Are you about to? Yep. or the one where jake has a streak of bad luck in bed and his friends make fun of him for it, you find him advertising himself on a dating app and decide to help him out.

minors dni! | if you read it, reblog it

WORDCOUNT― 12.7k

PAIRING― jake sim x afab reader

CONTENT― virgin guy who lives with his parents!jake, he’s not shy but he is very clumsy, a lot of texting so be prepared for that, facetime-sex, real life sex

SIDE CHARACTERS― jay as reader’s best friend and roommate, heeseung briefly as jake’s friend.

NOTE�� if you've read this before it's because im the person who wrote it [ncteez] and im revamping it for jake, pls don't send me messages on either account about stealing a work that's already mine!

smut tags under cut::

smut tags―big huge dick jake, phone sex (ish), face time sex, masturbation, pet name: baby, making out, he eats you out twice, fingering, whining and whimpering, deep throating, premature ejaculation, desperate man wants his dick wet lmao, grinding, tit fondling/licking, clit stimulation, he bites the fuck out of his tongue to try and distract himself from coming too soon again, no condom aka cream pie, jake gets feelings like immediately when u touch him

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“Check this shit out,” you laugh, presenting your phone to Jay with a chuckle. “yes or no?”

Jay snorts, nearly spitting out the bite of food in his mouth as he reads the bio of the man you’re showing to him.

“Depends, you trying to take his innocence or are you trying to get railed so hard that the entire building can hear?” He narrows his eyes at you, making a point to call you out for keeping him awake last weekend.

You wave him off with an apologetic look. To be fair, the dude from before knew how to make a girl moan, it’s not your fault that you managed to find a decent lay in this city. Even if he ghosted you, you assume you may have been a bad lay for him, if anything.

“I wouldn’t mind trying something new, dude seems desperate.” You swipe through his photos, seeing that he appears to be just a normal dude with normal interests. “He’s cute too, so I’m gonna say yes.”

Jay groans this time, slapping a hand to his forehead and glaring at you.

“You’d better warn me if you end up bringing him home, I’m not about to listen to some guy start crying over a blowjob.”

You nod to him, sending a message to the eighty-two-year-old Jake and feeling delighted at his near-instant response to you.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll make sure you’re out of the apartment if I invite him over,” You wiggle your brows as you stand to your feet and turn toward your room, eyes now glued to the open dating app’s messages. “Maybe you should go out and find a nice girl to rail to get back at me.”

“You’re so fucking weird.” Jay laughs but feels kind of shitty because it’s not like he hasn’t been trying to get back at you for the loud sex. Guess he just doesn’t have the magic dick to make girls moan the same way you do.

Not that he wants to make you moan or anything, he definitely doesn’t. If anything, he wishes you were more like the girls he brings home.

Fucking quiet.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You: i’ve never seen a virgin grandpa on this app before

Jake: ….i’m 21, it says that in my bio

You: I think you’re lying.

Jake: do u know how to change it, my bitch friends won't tell me lol

You: why would i help you lie to other women

Jake: i’m not lying!!1

You laugh to yourself as you text the new sex interest in your life, wondering if he’s lying about his presumed virginity.

You: ok, twenty-one-year-old “jaeyun” who is five miles away from me, you’re actually a virgin? Like for real?

Jake: yea….are u here to make fun of me for it too? all the girls here just turn me down even if i offer to cook for them after

Jake: maybe it's the playlists idk

You: send me the playlist

Jake: [spotify link to a playlist titled “NUT”]

You try not to snort, but you do. Given, he does have decent taste, but why anyone would have dynamite by bts and never say never by justin bieber on their sex playlist is beyond you.

You: surely it’s not your playlist…….

You: anyway

You: you’re really just looking to get laid for the first time, like, ever? and you’re offering to cook dinner too?

Jake: yea

You: you’ve never had a blowjob or anything like that? you can’t seriously think I can believe you’ve never been laid, it’s not like you’re ugly or anything

Jake: u don’t think im ugly? :)

Jake: and yea I’ve had a blowjob before

You: why didn’t you sleep with her then?

Jake: can we stop talking about why im a virgin

You: sure but you know im gonna bring it up again, right?

You’re smiling at your phone, finding him charming and awkward in how he communicates with you via messenger. Of course, you’re curious as to why he’s a virgin, even more, curious as to why he’s on a dating app looking to lose said virginity.

You: do you want my number? it’s embarrassing to have the app open in public if i wanna talk to you.

Jake, on the other hand, is quite literally kicking his feet and checking your profile every few minutes just to look at you. He didn’t even think too hard about you calling him attractive then not following up on it, because the fact that you just offered your number to him in case you want to talk to him? Butterflies. Given, it’s juvenile for someone of his age to still be experiencing the typical high-school crush feelings, would anyone blame him? It’s just how he is, with or without having had sex. He can’t imagine not feeling giddy inside when he’s talking to someone that he thinks is pretty.

Jake: yea :) u can text me whenever [redacted phone number]

You respond to him by texting his number rather than using the app messenger, screenshotting his contact info, and sending it to him with a sly smile.

You: [screen shot// contact name: grandpa jake]

Grandpa Jake: :|

Grandpa Jake: im 21

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Okay so, here’s the thing. Jake is undeniably funny, witty, and kind. Another thing, he’s wildly attractive. Especially upon fulfilling your request for a workout selfie from him. So, what gives? You read the texts he’s sent that made you laugh out loud, you look at his pictures, stare at the workout selfie, and you genuinely cannot understand how he doesn’t have women waiting in line to have at him.

You: it’s been like four days since we started talking

Grandpa Jake: yep, almost five

You: four days of being friends but no mention of your bio on the app, yknow, where you’re begging to have sex for the first time ever?

Grandpa Jake: right, yea. you wanna do it? i didn’t wanna assume lol

You: not answering that til you explain why. i mean, it’s totally ok that you are but like, you’re a green flag all around so im a little worried you might have like a micropenis or something

Disclaimer, if he had a micropenis, you’d still let him use it on you. After all, hooking up is something you enjoy doing regardless of size.

Grandpa Jake: i do NOT have a micropenis

You: prove it

Grandpa Jake: right now???

You laugh to yourself but also like, it’s the first time the two of you have done anything more than bully each other. Or rather, you bully him and he defends himself constantly.

You: answer my question first

It takes a few minutes for him to respond, but you’re doing coursework anyway so it’s not a huge deal. Totally not like your ears perk up and a smile creeps across your face every time your phone goes off or anything. Definitely not.

Grandpa Jake: um… i still live with my parents and before u make fun of me for that pls understand that its not like i wanna be here

Grandpa Jake: i have a job and everything!!! im not a mooch!

He’s getting off track again. You could honestly care less if he still lives with his parents. You wish you still lived with yours, to save money at least.

You: they won’t let you have anyone over?

Grandpa Jake: well, that too but

Grandpa Jake: listen this sounds real stupid but it just never happened? even when i tried or things almost happened, it never did

You: damn, you’re unlucky. so what happened with the girl who gave you a blowjob?

Grandpa Jake: her boyfriend walked in

You: WHAT

You’re trying to pity him, honestly, but damn. Did he go for a taken girl? Yikes. You hate to admit the ick that just flooded your mind.

Grandpa Jake: its not like i knew she had a boyfriend

You: phew

Grandpa Jake: so yea. do u wanna help me out or not?

The whole reason you started talking to him was specifically to help him out. Now that you know he’s not some weirdo, and is definitely super hot and funny, hell yes.

You: yeah, sure.

You: about the micropenis though,

Grandpa Jake: right…um

A few minutes of silence, your coursework is long forgotten in the anticipation of receiving your first dick pic from Jake. You wait, and you wait, and you wait.

You: i mean if you can’t prove it that's ok

Grandpa Jake: just give me a sec damn

He’s doing his best to get the most attractive angle. It’s not like he’s never sent nudes to anyone or anything, but like– this is you. The first person to actually agree to take his virginity. Should he hold it? Put a remote next to it for size? Should he have his face in the pic? Take a mirror pic?

Of course, as he’s taking several pictures of his length to try and impress you, he had to get hard first. He can’t imagine you’d want a flaccid cock pic in your inbox, and that would also mean that he’s working himself up with the amount of touching, holding, and groping throughout the past sixteen photos he’s taken and deleted. It’s at the point that now it’s actually hard to care about taking a photo, pre-cum already dripping out of him as he continues to try.

He’s entered the realm of his regular horny self, only this time he’s texting you. Someone who wants to see what he’s packing. Taking a dick pic is insanely easy once he stops thinking with his brain, and he’s quick to send you a photo of himself this time. His chin at the top of the picture, face entirely hidden, hand wrapped around his thick and leaking cock, sweatpants shoved down.

Grandpa Jake: [image attachment]

In all fairness, you’ve never actually cared much for dick pics. Men always look too confident even with the smallest of girth being offered through the pixels. Jake though. He looks a bit desperate even with his face hidden. His cock looks desperate, his fingers wrapped around it look desperate, the way his sweatpants hug against his thighs look desperate. And now, you feel desperate. You keep your cool though.

You: oh, you were jerking off, got it.

Grandpa Jake: sorry can’t help it

Then he doesn’t text you back. Which is kind of a drag because he looks to be quite big in the photo alone. Maybe you’d be okay just this once to look like the desperate one. Mostly because you’re about ten seconds from trying to figure out which direction five miles away he resides so you can go palm his cock for him. Plus, the idea of an absolute simp virgin like him seeing you act a little desperate would probably be one for the books.

You: you know i can help you out with that, right? especially since you definitely don’t have a micropenis

You’re still being ignored. The silence from your phone makes your belly flip around inside of you at the image of him doing it too. He probably does it a lot. He’s probably desperate to feel good and watches porn like 24/7. You can imagine how he’d act if you were in front of him right now, the very idea of taking his virginity becoming entirely too attractive.

Shrugging, knowing full well what he’s doing right now that’s causing him to ignore you, you press the call button and wait. You’re a little bit nervous, mostly because you’ve never actually heard his voice before, or better yet how he sounds when he’s getting off. You’re shocked that he actually answers.

“Hello?” He says, muffled through the phone and trying to sound not-so-out-of-breath. It’s not like he looked at who was calling him anyway. With his luck, it’s probably Heeseung or some shit.

“Don’t hello me,” You gripe, narrowing your eyes at yourself in your mirror. “You’re just gonna jerk off without me after I agreed to help you fix your little problem?”

The silence on his end is a bit nerve-wracking until you hear the frantic sound of his palm clearly wreaking havoc on him. You smirk, leaning back on your chair and sighing. On his end, processing that it’s you on the other line sends his entire body into a state of burning with arousal. Your voice is sweet even when you speak with the same sarcasm as you do via text.

God, this alone is enough for him right now.

“Were you at least thinking of me?”

He hums into the phone, indicating that yes, that’s exactly what he’s doing. His voice is kind of soft despite only hearing one word and a hum, you want to actually hear him talk to you, or moan, whichever he decides.

“Were you looking at my pictures?”

He nods his head, forgetting that you’re not able to see him and instantly responds with a small and breathy yes instead. It’s a bit difficult for him to talk right now, especially now that he can put a voice to the photos he’s been jerking off to. It’s a bit overwhelming, actually.

“Do you want better ones?” You ask, encouraging him to speak a bit more.

“Oh god, really?” He asks through the speaker, his hand pausing on his length as if to hold off until you confirm. “Like, nudes?”

“Mhm, yeah. If you want.” You smile as you speak to him, already standing to shimmy your pajamas off of you and stand in front of the mirror. “Or, you know what would be better?”

“Letting me come over and actually do it?” That’s what he wants to say to you, but he doesn’t, he simply raises a brow and bites his lip, trying to contain his excitement.

“What?” He asks, still keeping his responses short because despite how into this he is, he’s a bit shy about it.

“I can facetime you.”

He panics. That means you’ll be watching him too, right? Sure he’s sent nudes, he’s received nudes. He’s sent videos too, and received them. But never has he like, you know, live masturbated on facetime so someone else can watch.

“If you don’t want to, that’s okay.” You backtrack at his silence, but you’re cut off almost immediately.

“No! no, we can facetime–”

Your stomach flips again as you fix yourself quickly in the mirror before setting your phone against your desk and rolling back a bit in your chair to determine if it’ll work this way or not. It’s not like he’s expecting you to do it too, he probably just thinks you’re gonna sit here naked for him to stare at. You’re kind of excited to see him in action, to hear him in action for you.

You hit the button to switch the call over to facetime and once again adjust your phone as you stare at yourself in the camera. Then you’re needing to catch your breath at the image of him.

Oh fuck.

There he is, his camera angled towards his face and not at all toward what's going on below his waist, but you don’t mind at first. Looking at him, the lighting clearly shows that he’s a fan of mood lighting. You watch his eyes briefly, staring through the screen at you before moving your eyes to his arm, the one that clearly isn’t holding his phone because you can see it moving as he continues to jerk himself off. It’s an interesting feeling to have only seen him in photos until this moment, and it’s insanely attractive for some reason. Seeing him in motion, knowing what he’s doing, knowing that he feels good right now because of you.

“Let me see,” you say quietly, adjusting your bra strap and preparing to slip it off of you if he so much as asks. “Prop your phone up somewhere like I did.”

He nods, his eyes still staring straight through his screen at you as he moves around and the image becomes a blur of movement rather than his face. He settles in quickly, somehow looking even more attractive with the way his eyes no longer stare at the screen. You can almost sense a hint of shyness from him at this moment and it kind of floors you, given how easy he is to talk to and how easily he sent a dick pic to you.

“Feeling shy?” You ask, spreading your legs wide and cupping the seat of your panties, hiding the small spot of wetness forming there. “You act like I’m not going to be touching you at some point soon.”

You see him perk up, his eyes looking to you on the screen with more fondness than arousal. At the same time, his hand grips the base of his cock as he holds it straight up, erect and glistening proudly for you to look at.

“You look pretty big, bet you could fill me up so nicely,” You try to compliment, boosting his confidence and ego as best you can simply because he looks pretty with a smile on his face. Especially when his cock twitches at the words. “Would you want to do that for me, Jake?”

“Oh god,” He groans, hearing his name come from your mouth for the first time. His hand jerks up his length once, almost aggressively as he winces at it. “This is going to be so embarrassing.” He admits now, sliding his palm up and down shamelessly as he watches between your spread legs.

In a way, he wonders if you can see how desperate he is. There’s no way you can’t, right? Like, you can see how badly he wants you, right?

“Embarrassing, why?” You chuckle, tapping now at the spot between your legs. “Can you not see that I’m just as turned on right now?”

He groans again with deep breaths, releasing his length and using that same hand to swipe his hair out of his face, then immediately grimacing at the fact that he now has pre-cum in his hair. Embarrassing, all of it.

“Well,” He tries to avoid you bringing up the fact that he just did that and only shoots his hand back to his cock in order to distract whatever off-hand shit you’re about to say. “You don’t even have your panties off yet, and I could probably get off right now.”

You laugh, not wanting to ruin the mood with the whole cum on his own face thing, so you save that for later. Instead, you instantly slip your panties off and present yourself to him much like he’s doing for you.

“Better?”

Jake watched with his breath stuck in his throat, now finding it harder to breathe at the image of your pussy and the way he hopes he can touch it one day.

“Can you–” He pauses, not being used to dirty talk towards anything other than the porn playing on his phone. He thinks hard, and you can see it based on the way he, once again, neglects his cock with an unmoving palm.

“Can I do what? Go on,” You urge him, running a hand up to your chest and fondling your nipples right there in front of him, but not yet moving the fabric. “What do you want me to do for you, baby?”

Baby. You called him baby. Not that he’s into that but the fact that you did it makes him wonder if he is now. Maybe it’s because he wants you to take him for all he’s worth at this point. One, to get rid of the virginity looming over his head, and two, because you sound so fucking smooth when you’re watching him get off.

“Can you spread your pussy for me?” He whispers at first, uncaring of how dirty it sounds falling out of his throat with a moan.

His eyes are boring a hole through his screen as he watches one of your hands tease at your hidden nipples, and the other hand sliding up and down the wet folds there. So badly does he want to see it. He wants to see your hole pulsing for him, leaking, needy. Just like him.

His cock twitches wildly the second you do it for him. Two fingers spreading your pussy open and tensing your hips just to move it closer to the screen for him.

“Is this what you want?” You start, making damn sure he can see every part of your glistening cunt. “You want to fuck this?” You chuckle now, slowly dipping a finger into yourself and pulling it back out to present the wetness for him.

“Oh,” he sighs, now fucking into his fist at a pace that proves he’s most definitely never fucked a woman before. “Fuck.”

You nod at him, urging him to keep admitting his attraction to you. You’re aware he doesn’t see it though, as his hips continue to move quicker and quicker each time you press your finger into yourself.

“You gonna act like this when I’m riding you?” You ask with a tilted head, studying how hard he’s fucking against his hand. You can imagine how good it would feel if it were you, and quite frankly, this one finger isn’t enough at this point.

“God. You’re gonna ride me?” He moans, eyes rolling only slightly as he imagines it, mouth falling open at the mere thought of it.

“Mhm,” you hum, now sliding in another finger and scissoring yourself open with them. “Would you want that?”

Before you can even work yourself up, and before he can even answer that question, you see him release. His cum shooting out in spurts across his stomach and nearly up to his chest. His labored breathing shifts the lighting against his abs and makes him look so entirely delicious. You’ve never wanted to lick a man clean so badly in your life.

You’re not even upset that he didn’t make it into the knitty gritty, considering he’s a virgin and all and you’re literally fucking yourself in front of him while implying riding him. You’re actually flattered.

His release caused him to see white for several moments, forgetting he’s even on camera for you. When he comes back to reality, watching you continue to finger yourself as your eyes scan your screen, all he can do is feel bashful.

“S-shit, sorry,” He comments with a half laugh, looking down at his cum covered chest before looking at you again. Honestly, he could probably go again if you let him watch for a bit longer, but he’s embarrassed now. “I uh, didn’t mean to come that fast. It just kind of happened.”

“It’s okay,” You comfort him, slightly out of breath as you wonder if this is all you’re gonna get tonight. “It was cute.”

After a few moments, you sense his embarrassment and slowly slip yourself back into a sobering headspace, closing your legs and trying to ignore how wet you still are.

“Are you, um, done?” Jake says, disappointed.

“Mm, no.” You smile. “But it’s okay, I’d rather make you come first anyway.”

His face lights up despite the disappointment in his gut of not being able to see you get off.

“You still wanna see me after this?”

You nod with a smile, endeared by his need to give, but inability to do it.

“When are you free?” You ask, wondering if he’s ever going to clean himself up.

“Whenever you are.” He laughs, scratching the back of his head with, once again, the same cum-stained hand.

“I’ll text you later then,” You smile through the screen and give a small wave before your genuine smile turns into a smirk. “After I take care of my little problem though.”

You notice him sitting up in protest, but you hang up with a satisfied laugh and head to the shower to both finish yourself off and clean up.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Grandpa Jake: what about 3pm on thurs?

You: you want to lose your virginity at 3pm….on a thursday???

Grandpa Jake: my parents have plans so ill have the house to myself for a few hours

You: or you could just come here?

Grandpa Jake: if ur comfortable with that? i thought u were supposed to come here lol

You: im comfortable, plus my roommate will kick your ass if you’re weird

Jake contemplates hard on that last part but shrugs over it. Probably a girl thing, and it’s not like he’s an actual creep or anything. You’d be the one with power over him when the two of you are alone anyway.

You: what about tomorrow, 8pm?

Tomorrow. Hell yeah, tomorrow. God, he’d show up right the fuck now if you let him. He may live with his parents but he’s got a car.

Grandpa Jake: send ur address, ill be there :)

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“Tomorrow, you’ll be a man.” Heeseung croaks through the speaker at Jake, totally assuming that this whole virginity loss dating app plan was actually just a joke.

“Why do you have to say it that way?” Jake groans back, slapping his hand over his forehead and rubbing his temples. “I didn’t think anyone was actually gonna come through, she’s the first one.”

“What makes you think she’s actually gonna send you her address?” Heeseung laughs, once again placing more pity onto his best friend than anything else. “She’s probably not even a real person, you’re gonna end up at some old guy’s house.”

Jake laughs, or snorts really.

“Oh, she’s real.”

Heeseung sits up in curiosity this time, switching his phone to the other ear with interest.

“Hm? Have you already met her?”

“Kind of. We like, um,” Jake pauses, wondering if he sounds way too excited to tell him or not. “We facetimed a few hours ago.”

Silence.

“She got naked.”

“Oh ho ho!” Heeseung encourages him. “So you guys did some stuff on facetime and she still wants to meet you?”

“That’s what I said–wait,” Jake smiles to himself, about two seconds from kicking his feet before realizing what Heeseung just said. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re kind of a loser, we’ve been over this.” Heeseung laughs yet again. “Call me when you get your cherry popped or whatever.”

Then he hangs up.

Grandpa Jake: do u think im a loser?

You: yeah kinda

You’re laughing at his text as you sit across the table from Jay.

“That him texting?” Jay quirks a brow, watching you smile at your phone and practically ignore him.

You laugh again at Jake’s string of defensive texts before responding with a short “it’s okay, i like losers”, and putting your phone down to finish telling Jay that he’s gonna get kicked out tomorrow for the night.

“So,” You clap your hands in front of yourself, glaring at Jay. “You’re gonna have to be gone tomorrow at eight because I'm about to literally obliterate this guy.”

“Jesus, I’m scared for him.”

“You should be scared for me. Because, well…” You trail off for a second, scrolling up your texts to see the dick pic Jake sent before the facetime call. “He’s huge and–”

“I did not need to know that.” Jay sighs, scooting back in his chair and standing to his feet.

“You act like you don’t ask every time I fuck someone.” You roll your eyes at him, smiling. “Weirdo.”

Jay stands there awkwardly before shrugging and lunging for your phone.

“How big?” He laughs, not actually trying to see the dude’s dick but always way too curious for his own good despite never wanting to be around to hear what the big dicks do to his best friend.

“Stop prying, you’ll get jealous.”

He scoffs, brushing off his pants of invisible dust and crossing his arms.

“I’ll have you know, my dick is perfectly sized.”

“I’m sure it is. Anyway, tomorrow, be gone.”

He nods, sauntering to the living room and flopping down on the couch.

“Keep it in your room, please. I don’t want to sit on any cum when I get home.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It’s Thursday. It’s approximately seven in the evening on Thursday and you’re well aware that Jake is probably bubbling with anxiety if his texts are anything to go by.

So many “are you sures,” so many “you can tell me to leave if you decide you don’t want tos,” and even more “i can’t wait to see yous.”

“Jay, aren’t you supposed to be leaving?” You ask, opening the fridge to pull out a bottle of water.

You’ve already showered again today, primped yourself up for him really. Everything smooth, soft, and ready to be touched. You wonder if Jake is doing the same, and smile.

“Hm, yeah. But I kinda wanna see him before I leave.”

You turn your head to him with a curious look, glaring only slightly.

“I swear to god if you scare him off, I’m kicking you out.”

Jay laughs, patting the couch as if to invite you to sit with him to ease your own anxiety. He can smell the familiar lotion you use before dates, and he notes that you’ve really tried to look good today.

“I think you might kill him, if I’m being honest.” Your best friend laughs softly, complimenting you.

“Thanks, that’s the plan.”

And so, the two of you sit together laughing at stupid comedy shows until your phone lights up at around seven thirty.

Grandpa Jake: i’m a little early, is that ok?

“Oh shit, he’s here.” You immediately feel nervous, which is pretty normal for you anyway so it’s easily overlooked by Jay.

He jumps up, brushing off his clothes and walking toward the kitchen to grab his keys and wallet.

“Let him in then, I’ll leave when he gets here.”

You give him a knowing look before nodding.

You: second floor, take a left when you get to the top of the stairs, third apartment on the left.

Within minutes, there’s a very gentle knock on the door and Jay is throwing himself at it to get a look at him. Unfortunately it’s a bit more awkward than he expected it to be.

Not only did Jake think your roommate was a woman, but he, at the very least, expected you to answer the door. He was preparing himself all day for this moment, to knock on your door and have you open it. At first he thought that maybe he even got the wrong apartment.

“Oh, I think I got the wrong place, sorry–”

“Nope, you’re in the right place.” Jay smiles, stepping to the side and opening the door wider for him. “You can come in.”

Jake does, awkwardly. Avoiding eye contact with Jay and barely even looking into the apartment before stepping inside.

“She got all cleaned up for you.” Jay whispers, throwing Jake a wink before stepping out and closing the door behind him.

Jake still hasn’t really looked up from the floor yet, and you make quick work to make him feel more comfortable.

“Don’t mind him, that’s my roommate.” You say, making your way toward him and trying your best not to stare because, okay, wow. He’s kind of ten times more attractive in person, which is fucking insane considering how good he looked through a screen.

“Have you and him ever like…” Jake immediately starts, realizing he might have made things weird.

“Jay?! Oh, god no.” You laugh, reaching for his arm and feeling him lean into it with relief. “You’re allowed to look up by the way. You’ve been staring at that crack in my floor since you got here.”

Immediately Jake moves his eyes up to you, the eye contact feeling more intense than it should, but you’re locked in too. The awkwardness dissolves almost instantly, he feels no need to question you further about anything really, especially with the way he feels his throat run dry at the very idea of this whole plan actually happening at some point.

When he made his profile on that app, it was kind of a half joke until like, people started talking to him. Given, no one ever followed through but you, he’s happy he stuck with it. Happy you came out of the works from said dating app, happy you picked him.

Really though, he picked you. Part of you wonders about why you want to take this from him. For power, for control, to be praised, to feel like you’re his entire world of desire for a brief time? All of those things, yes, but you can admit now that he’s in front of you that it’s a bit intimidating.

He’s not shy at all, just a bit awkward. He seems confident, he seems ready, and you find yourself lucky for being the one to get to do this for him, or with him. If at all, Jake is the type of man you could see yourself hanging out with often, with or without having sex.

Given, upon seeing him face to face for the first time, the only thing you thought about was how attractive he is. Now though, as you look back at him along with the silence of this apartment offering nothing more than awkwardness, it’s not. Because you’re seeing him for all he is and he appears to not be able to help it. Is this what people mean when they say there’s an instant spark between two people? Despite how attractive he is, you find yourself thinking of how many times he’s made you laugh in the short period of time you’ve known him along with how many times he’s willingly embarrassed himself

And now for the first time, he’s right there and all you want to do is…give him exactly what he wants.

“Okay, listen,” You start, swallowing around a lump in your throat as you feel your body heat up at record speed by just having his eyes looking into yours. You know by this point that you’re not going to be keeping your hands to yourself at all. And for his sake, he’d probably prefer it that way. “If I move too fast, just tell me to stop.”

Jake tilts his head with a dopey smile, eyes still fixed on you, scanning you, coming to terms with the fact that you’re absolutely everything he thought you would be and more.

“I don’t think that’s gonna be an issue,” He admits, feeling his length confined within his pants twitch wildly at the fact that this is happening. “I struggled not to get hard just driving over.” He laughs, looking away from you for the first time with flushed cheeks.

You find that painfully adorable. No man would ever admit that to you. Especially after just a few minutes of meeting in person for the first time, but this is Jake and in the short amount of time you’ve known him, you’re kind of expecting him to be really forward and say things that will have you frozen in thought.

“Oh yeah?” You ask, grabbing his hand and leading him to the kitchen. You’re pretending that his apparent inexperience isn’t getting to you, but you’re not really fooling anyone. “Let’s get you some water or something, I can see you drooling.”

Jake laughs, shrugging because yeah maybe he’s drooling a little bit. You smell fucking immaculate, your hand is small in his but still manages to overpower him, your skin feels soft and slightly cold. Honestly, it’s dangerous just having you stand in front of him right now because he could absolutely blow his load just by you looking at him. Embarrassing? Always.

He follows after you, very nearly crowding up to you as the comfort sets in and the last bit of awkwardness leaves his mind. All he can think about is how you sounded over that facetime call. He’s seen what’s between your legs, and during that night all he could think about was touching you, fucking you.

Now he’s here, and you’re right there.

It’s hard not to crowd up, it’s hard not to cling to you, it’s hard not to be excited. Seeing your hand wrapping around that bottle of water to give to him, seeing you lean just before grabbing it– of course he’s staring. Of course he’s crowding closer, almost to the point that he’s up against your ass when you lean back up from the fridge.

You turn after grabbing him the bottle and are shocked by his close proximity when you face him. He looks down at you with a soft face, one that shows he’s not embarrassed by how he immediately attaches to you. His smile is just as clumsy as he is, you can tell he knows exactly what he’s doing too. You’re glad, because it makes it entirely too easy to drop the water bottle, grab his face, and chase his lips all the way until he’s against the counter and kissing you back.

He sighs instantly into it, wincing at the way the kitchen counter hits his back, you pressing against him so harshly just to get that first taste of his lips. He’s excited that you seem as eager as him, maybe even as desperate as him.

For you, a man has never been this eager just to kiss you, nor has a man ever kissed you this good. You can imagine that he’s probably got a lot of experience in terms of kissing, not much elsewhere though. You can tell by the way he moves his hands to all of the right places, but his blatant virginity shows through all of it as he becomes a horny mess almost instantly.

His tongue is warm and wet, small whining sounds coming from his throat as you press yourself against him briefly. His hands never leave your body and he shows no shame in touching where he wants to touch. Rubbing, groping, and caressing every inch of your waist, ass, and even moving up to your face to deepen the kiss. His hips press forward almost constantly, and all you can do is brace yourself on the counter behind him to try and tame his relentless hips and obvious attempts at rushing what he wants right now.

If you’re going to sleep with him though, he’s gonna get the full experience, not a quickie. Plus, you agreed to keep it in your room for Jay’s sake.

“Hey,” you sigh, trying to pull back from the kiss but he isn’t having it. Still kissing against you and running his lips down to your neck when you continue to speak. “We should go to my room, your first time isn’t about to be in my kitchen.”

“Why not?” He groans against your neck, kissing harshly with faint wet sounds, his hands wrapping tightly around your waist now. “I don’t care where we do it, i just want you like, really bad.”

Still, his lips don’t leave you, nor do his hands. You find yourself giggling against him with a shake of your head at the way he protests when you pry yourself from his grip. Of course, though, he’s immediately clinging to you and chasing after you to your bedroom before practically throwing himself at you again.

You barely get the door closed before he’s pressing you against the wall, hand running down again to your waist and easily snaking up your shirt just to feel the warmth of your skin. You let him, enjoying the way he kisses you for just the second time, enjoying more the way you can feel him lose his composure every few minutes from this alone.

You’re kind of in love with the fact that he doesn’t seem to want to pull back even for a breath. He seems to love kissing, and you wonder what else he’ll come to love doing tonight too. From the way he moves his tongue and his lips on you, you can imagine he’d be fucking heavenly at eating pussy.

Successfully you push him away again, rushing to your bed before he can make you melt against his lips for a third time, and you’re instantly trying to present yourself to him much like you did over camera.

“You’re really going to let me?” He asks with a deep breath, brushing his hair out of his face and wiping his mouth. His brain malfunctions at your presumed answer to that question, watching you take your panties and shorts off in one go and leaning back to spread your legs for him.

At this moment, you’re all his and you make it a point to spread your pussy out for him like he asked you to do before. You can practically see his knees buckle that very instant.

“To think I wouldn’t want to do this is insane,” You say, wiggling your hips for him to see. “Look how wet I am.” You pause, studying the hungry look in his eyes. “Do you wanna try eating me out?”

He doesn’t even nod. He’s immediately on his knees against your bed and gripping your thighs to pull you toward his face. You yelp only slightly at the movement, a chuckle coming out shortly after as you sit yourself up properly to take in the image of his eyes sparkling up at you.

It looks like he’s been wanting to do this to someone all his life, with his needy body proving it time and time again. Your breath is caught in your throat, a small groan coming out at the image alone before you’re able to process words again.

“Can’t believe how good you look down there,” You say softly, brushing his hair out of his face for him like he did to himself earlier. “Have you ever done this before?”

He shakes his head, eyes shifting from your pussy to your face. You can feel his nervous yet eager breath against you, making your eyelashes flutter at even that slight sensation.

“Go on then.” You sigh out, trying to prepare for what he can manage with that pretty mouth of his.

You watch him and the way he doesn’t seem to think at all when he does it. Once again, he’s adorable. His tongue goes everywhere, only grazing your clit briefly every few licks, never staying on it presumably because he’s in the process of finding the clit based on how your body reacts.

He has a general idea of where it is, but the feeling of having your pussy spread out like this on his lips alone is enough to overwhelm him with arousal, to the point he genuinely doesn’t know what he’s doing. All he can do is taste and smell the mixture of your warmth along with the soap and lotion you must have used before he came here.

He’s quite literally tasting the entirety of you and loving every second of it. The way his hands grip your legs, both spreading them further open so that he can tilt his head and lick at different angles, and then hugging them to where they almost lock his head in place.

It feels like he does this for ages, learning your body and what makes your legs shake. He sucks in different places, kissing your entire pussy to the point that it’s almost impossible for your legs not to shake in a reaction at what he’s doing to you.

Dare you say, a man who is inexperienced at eating a woman out somehow feels better than one who knows exactly where to go.

“Fuck, knew you’d be good at this,” You compliment with a shaky voice, reaching down to his hair and holding his head in place. “Keep licking there, and use your fingers too.”

He hums without stopping, taking note of where you place his lips and reminding himself that this is the clit, just as suspected. He attaches his lips there, kissing it much like he kissed you in the kitchen.

You can feel his fingers make their way into you shortly after, each bump of his knuckle sending a delicious sensation throughout your body. You’re tingling from your head to your toes at this point and your face heats up beyond what you thought it would. Your hips move on their own in response, experimentally fucking against his fingers as he keeps his tongue flicking at you.

“Just like that,” You encourage him, running your hands through his hair and looking down at him. Seeing his head move with each little thrust of your hips is only more arousing in this moment. His eyes half open, watching you, tasting you, almost smiling around your clit when he makes eye contact with you.

It almost seems like he’s asking if he’s doing well, and goddamn is he. He’s doing amazing.

“So good,” You say shortly, trying to give him the praise he needs while scratching against his scalp as a thank you, still fucking your hips up just to feel his fingers plunge deeper.

He, on the other hand, is fucking feral right now. Tasting you, dipping his fingers into you, feeling that warmth for the first time, the small clenches— he’s swimming in a fantasy. Every time you move your hips up, he can smell the entirety of you, he can feel your pussy squeeze his fingers, and god. He doesn’t think he ever wants this to end.

All day. He could do this all fucking day. No wonder men make fun of other guys for not giving head. Why wouldn’t they? He can feel your legs tensing up around his head, your gentle fingers running through his hair, the sounds coming from your lips. He’s in love, he’s in love.

He doesn’t stop, tongue flicking your clit so beautifully, fingers slowly fucking in and out of you, not even in time with your jerking hips. Shockingly, you approach orgasm so fucking fast that you can barely warn him, you’re not even thinking when you put pressure on his head, pressing his lips so harshly against your clit— his moan sending a vibration straight through you.

“Faster, with your fingers—“ You choke out in a drawn out and pornographic moan, curling your toes and feeling him do exactly as you say.

There, you release with his fingers plunging in and out of you, the wet sound of your pussy only sounding more messy by the time you begin to release. In the midst of it all, you feel him pull his lips from your clit and lick around his fingers before coming back up and continuing his ministrations, working you through an orgasm you’re not even sure he knows you’re having right now.

Insane, really, that he needed to taste the messy relief before resuming.

Strings of curses, little tugs against his hair, legs shaking, all of it happens at once until the feeling of his fingers become sensitive inside of you, until his tongue is flicking a bundle of nerves begging to be left alone.

You swat him away with a smile, leaning up quickly and grabbing him by the shirt.

He doesn’t really know what the fuck is going on but he laughs with you, being pulled to his feet and falling onto the bed on top of you. You can feel his cock in his pants, so fucking hard, probably leaking and feeling quite neglected.

“Did you…?” He asks softly, dipping his head shyly with his wet chin shining in the light of your room.

You smile at him, leaning up to kiss him square on the mouth before you flip him over and get between his legs.

“I did,” You laugh in a daze, starting to work on his button and zipper. You’re reeling from the recent orgasm and want nothing more than to let him feel the same way you do right now. “And now, I'm gonna do the same for you.”

He chokes out a nervous laugh, holding your hand in place from pulling his pants down.

“Unless, you don’t want that?” You ask, tilting your head with a bit of a frown.

“N-No! It’s not that!” He reassures you, cheeks flushing more than they already were. “It’s just that– like, what if I don’t last very long? I’m kind of sensitive.”

His eyes avoid yours when he says it and once again, most adorable man award goes to fucking Jake.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing?” You lean forward, kissing him again. “You just gave me some of the best head in my life.”

The light in his eyes returns and instantly he’s flashing a nervous smile at you.

“Jake, I’ve never gotten off that fast from being eaten out.” You reassure him again, making a point to use his name loud and clear. “If you don’t get off from me sucking your cock, I might actually cry.”

Well, he can’t have that now, can he?

He releases your grip on his jeans, allowing you to pull them down. For some reason unable to look at you despite knowing you’ve seen him jerk off before. It’s the fact that like, what if it’s suddenly not big enough? What if his cock is ugly or curved in a way you don’t like?

Before he can even start to doubt himself more, he feels your lips on the tip and instantly his eyes are looking down at you. You’re the one smiling now, using one hand to hold his base and the other hand already scooping up his balls for added pleasure.

You make a point to look him in the eye as you let the saliva collect in your mouth when you pull back slightly. There, you let it fall from the tip of your tongue, all the way until you feel the wetness against your fingers wrapped around his base.

He thinks he’s going to go fucking insane watching you like this, and god, does he. You don’t even show him your struggle of taking in the sheer size of him. Lowering your mouth until you’re taking him in as much as you can. You try to keep eye contact up until you have to close your eyes.

It’s not shocking that by the point you get half of his length into your mouth, he’s fucking up without full intention and letting out a choked apology. Still, you try to force your stretched lips to smile for him, even through the gag, even through the harsh feeling of his cock hitting the back of your throat.

How the fuck has a cock this good not been worshiped before? By a mouth? A hand? A pussy? You’ll be damned not to choke on it. You’d rather eat glass than to let him leave this apartment without being completely emptied and praised for every drop.

He’s actually struggling already not to come, holding himself back but failing each time his hips chase the warmth of your throat. Each time you gag, it stimulates the fuck out of his cock and he nearly wants to cry each time it happens. Even with that other girl who went down on him, she didn’t even attempt to fit this much in her mouth. Most of the pleasure came from her hand jerking him off while she suckled against his head, but you. You’re down there, slipping your mouth up and down on him like that, gagging, tearing up, and still fucking smiling about it.

He’s in love.

He holds his hands back at least, keeping them against your sheets and gripping them so hard that he fears he’s ripping through them. Everything feels hot, you look hot, you sound hot, your tongue still manages to move against the base of his cock with what little room it does have, and god– your other hand, massaging his balls.

“Wait, wait wait–” Jake groans, fucking his hips into your mouth once again until you pull off with a concerned look.

“Were my teeth hurting you?” You ask, gasping a bit for air.

“No!” He heaves out with fluttering lashes, trying to regain sanity. “I was just getting really close.”

“Hm?” You sigh in disappointment, this time going all in at once and not letting yourself stop until he’s releasing into your mouth.

You feel his shaking fingers brush your cheek when you do it, hollowing it out just to fit more, more, more into your mouth before lapping your tongue against his base again.

His groaning turns into frantic moans, his hips jerking wildly, unable to escape the clenching muscles of your gagging throat, and he’s honestly in heaven once again.

“Ah–wait–fuck.” He tries to protest, not wanting to finish so quickly, but there it goes. There he goes.

Never in his life has he felt an orgasm so satisfying. His eyes roll back and his fingers go numb when he releases, pumping himself deep into your throat and not stopping until he’s dizzy. The fact that you kept your mouth on him through it, the fact that he could still feel you gagging, swallowing, and moaning all at once through it– how?

“How–” he takes a breath, pulling you off of him so you can breathe. “How did you do that?”

You shrug with a confident smile, wiping your tears and crawling up to meet his face.

“I don’t normally do that for guys.” You say with a rasp in your voice. “I certainly don’t just swallow for anyone.”

He feels special, and fucking spent but god does he want to keep going. His softening cock twitching in a relieving way, probably glad to have finally been touched by something other than his own hand. Part of him wonders if you’re done though, because by now you’ve both gotten off and usually that’s the end goal, right?

But he hasn’t lost his virginity yet, and when he looks at you hovering above him, he already knows you’re not done with him.

“We need to let you rest until you can get hard again,” You say, kissing him more easily than before and letting him taste himself, letting you taste yourself mixed with him. “What’s something you wanna do to get you back into the game?”

He sighs out a laugh, fucking amazed that you’re his first. How lucky is that? He thinks hard, watching the way you lift your shirt off of yourself. God, he forgot tits existed for a solid part of this day and that’s a shame because instantly his sensitive cock throbs at the image of them coming into view.

You watch him stare, trailing your hands down and lifting his shirt off of him as well.

“I– I don’t even know at this point.” He admits with a stammer, ignoring the fact that his hair is definitely sticking up all over from you taking his shirt off of him.

“I’ll just love on you while you think, then.”

He gives a short nod, feeling all warm and fuzzy inside at the way your gentle hands caress his chest and abs before you start kissing against the muscles and soft skin there.

He relaxes his body, feeling your hands and lips on him. You were right when you said you’d love on him as he thinks about it. The hard part of it is actually thinking about what’s going to get him harder the fastest. You doing this could be enough, but your tits. And fuck, your pussy.

He lets out a whine, one that feels entirely out of character and it causes you to pause your gentle kiss against his nipple and pull back.

“Already?”

He shakes his head, staring straight at your chest and then down to what's between your legs.

“I want to, um…” He shifts his eyes away from you. “Can I eat you out again?”

That’s new. Twice in one session?

“Oh yeah? Did that get you going?”

You receive a small nod from him before his hands are reaching out for your tits and warming them up.

You relax into the feeling of his fingers on your chest only for a moment before you pull back again, this time adjusting yourself onto the bed face down, ass up in front of him. Might as well try a bunch of different positions for him too, right?

“Whenever you’re ready.” You sigh, already grabbing a pillow to hug through this.

You can feel the bed shift behind you, the weight of his body dipping right behind you before you feel his warm breath against your core. Only now do you realize that you already missed the way he ate you out the first time, you can barely contain yourself knowing he’s going to do it again.

His hands snake between your legs before his lips get any closer, spreading them before pulling his hand back up and spreading your pussy open with his fingers on his own this time.

“It’s really the prettiest.” He says in a clear and shaking voice, watching the way your hole pulses at the air that hits it. “And I've watched a lot of porn.”

You’d tell him to shut up, but you’re not gonna because it’s cute how forward he is with his thoughts. If anything, he’s treating you right now by doing this, so he can say whatever he fucking wants right now.

“Yeah? You just gonna stare at it?” You try to urge him, and it works.

Because of course it works.

You do your best to contain any rising orgasm, solely because you don’t want to spend yourself before you actually let him inside of you in full. But goddamn, he’s just as eager now as he was the first time…if not more.

He thinks back to the things he did before, mimicking that and hitting all of the perfect spots without fail. Still, you hold back, pushing and pulling yourself away and toward him just to feel his tongue chase. He eventually holds you in place against him, big hands holding you firmly against his face with a bit of force. And now? He’s licking you deeper than you’ve ever been licked before. It’s a different kind of sensation, and the way he groans into it is entirely too much for you right now.

You need more, you want more. You want all of him by now, so aroused by every touch, breath, and moan that it’s becoming unbearable to just be eaten out. The thought that he’s doing this to get himself hard again is flooring, and the feeling of his fingers replacing his tongue much like before is intense.

After just that one time, he knows exactly how to make you cum this way and it’s dangerously attractive to realize that. He goes straight for it too, pulling back to watch his fingers slip into you up to the knuckle.

He hums out a rumbled moan at the sound of your cunt squelching around his fingers. So wet. More wet than any of the girls in the porn he’s watched for years. You’re dripping around his fingers, and the smacking sound is so fucking arousing to him.

And yeah, he can’t reach your clit with his mouth this time so he thinks hard about how to fix this little dilemma and you’re floored even more by the fact that he solves problems without questioning. You feel his fingers leave you and land on your clit, and right then you feel his tongue again, just as deep, licking into you and all over you.

The sound of your pussy amplifies when it’s against his tongue, and honestly, he could cum right now if he really wanted to. Already he’s hard again, but god feeling you, hearing you, seeing you like this for him? For some guy who has never once been able to give a girl his all like this?

He’s so focused on you.

Which for you, is a bit of an issue because he’s really not going to let you hold it in, he’s going to have you fucking unravelling again and it’s too good. Thankfully, when you try to lift to look behind yourself, you take note of his other hand working himself.

He’s hard again, and god knows how long he’s been doing that.

You pull your body away from him quickly to let your rising orgasm subside, his protesting moan doing nothing but heating your body up more when you flip over and watch him.

“You were really just going to get me off again and not try to fuck me yet?”

He looks down at himself and then back at you, smiling and running his hand through his hair.

“I like doing it, I wanted to see if I could make you–”

“You absolutely could have but I’m going to be honest,” You start, interrupting him and pulling yourself up to crawl over him. “If you’re ready, I’d like to live up to my promise.”

His eyes are much sharper than they were before when you say those words. This is actually it. He would have been perfectly happy just eating you out, getting head himself, or whatever. Over and over again. Any and all of it is better than being in his room alone, but you’re really–

“Really?” He asks, knowing full well the answer..

“Lay back, get comfortable,” You instruct with deep breaths, scooting up the bed with him, keeping yourself planted on his legs despite the discomfort. “You still want me to ride you, yeah?”

He nods almost frantically, landing his hands on your tits without hesitation and groping them in a blatant show of how ready he’s managed to get himself for this.

Not that you want to rush, but you’re so fucking turned on by this point, the only thing you want is to be filled by him. His is cock likely bigger than any you’ve taken before, and to be fair, you don’t even care if you’re the desperate one at this point. You’ve almost forgotten he’s a virgin.

“Wait,” He stops you when you slide over his cock, bare pussy coating his length in a languid grind. “Oh, fuck, wait- no,” He breathes in a sharp breath and grips your hips. ”Do that again.”

You smile at his frantic thoughts pouring from his lips, sliding against him again, and again, up until he’s leaning forward and attaching his lips to one of your nipples and suckling against it hard.

You groan as you grind, feeling the head of his now, fully hard, cock bumping against your previously stimulated clit. He groans with you, almost at the exact same time but continues to try and leave his mark on you. In love with finally getting your tits in his mouth, your pussy on his cock, and most of all, in love with the fact that you’re not laughing at him for any of it. You seem to melt into it much like he does and he can’t help but want to email the creator of that fucking app and personally thank them for this.

You rub yourself against him until it’s even more unbearable than before. By now, you’ve completely soaked his length and he’s completely soaked your chest in saliva and tiny swollen bite marks. Not that you mind the biting, his little rumbled grow-like moans only made this all the more arousing.

“Ready?” You finally sigh out, deliberately grinding against him slowly now, with almost your entire weight behind the grinds.

He groans out a “please” before immediately gripping your hips and stopping you. Pulling his head back so hard and so quickly– he kind of forgot to unlatch from your nipple and it sends a sharp pain throughout your body, one that only makes you want to ride him hard. Right now.

“Hold on, there’s a condom in the pocket of my jeans–”

“Okay, and?” You laugh, sliding forward again and grinding your clit against him. “I’m on birth control, and I’m clean.”

He looks at you, his sharp eyes falling back into the sparkling doe eyes as his mouth falls open at the very idea that he gets to hit is fucking raw for the first time?

“Unless you’re lying, and you’re not really a virgin?”

He’s quick to silence your doubt. He’s 100% never had his cock inside of anything other than his own palm and– malfunction. He’s blank again, staring up at you and wincing at the feeling of you pleasuring yourself on top of him.

“Please?” He manages to get out, gripping your hips so tightly by now that he’s sure it’s hurting you.

You smile, humming at him when you lift from him, standing on your knees to grab his cock and position him in the right place.

“You sure you want it too?” You ask, only now realizing that you’re genuinely about to take a man’s virginity, and it’s only fair that you give him one last time to decide if he wants you to take it from him. Despite how turned on you are, and regardless of how badly you want to fuck him, it’s not right to just do it without making him really think about it.

“Fuck, yes.” His fingers tighten against you, his eyes squeeze shut, and his voice comes out as frantic and quite frankly, a bit annoyed. “Just do it already.”

You can’t help but smile at him when you do. Lowering yourself slowly on him and feeling the stretch of it. His face is something that you don’t think you’ll ever forget. He appears to be lost in it, eyes rolling back, his chest heaving, his teeth showing through a half-smile as he moans out at the sensation.

He can’t get over how warm it is inside of you, the constant clenching of your pussy dragging along his entire length. He can’t help it when he moans, he doesn’t care that his voice cracks, or that it sounds like a pathetic sob.

By the time you bottom out and sit like that for a moment, you almost feel like he’s the one who needs to adjust. Of course, you’re needing this moment to adjust too but god– just watching him makes you that much more wet and it’s insane how into him you are right now. As if you haven’t been since you started talking to him.

“Feels good?” You ask, involuntary clenching around his size, letting out a small sigh yourself at the feeling of his leaking cock inside of you.

He hums at you and then takes in a deep breath before fully opening his eyes again and looking at you. Technically, he’s no longer a virgin now. It’s fucking happening, and you’re hot? So fucking hot? You feel so good? You smell so good. You sound so fucking good.

Everything is overwhelmingly good, all he can do now is press his hips up and instantly moan out at the new feeling.

You take that as an invitation to absolutely obliterate him, much like you knew you would. So, you do. Lifting yourself up and sliding him almost entirely out of you before sinking down again.

His hands shoot to your waist, then he lifts slightly to grab your ass from behind you, and then he flops himself back– seemingly unable to know what the fuck to do with himself at this feeling.

You opt to grab his hands, intertwining your fingers with his and holding them above his head, all so you can lay chest to chest with him, lips right at his neck. You start kissing, riding him so smoothly and doing nothing but listening to his little sounds that he tries to keep inside.

“You’re really cute, you know that?” You whisper against his ear, kissing there too before pulling back to look at his face.

That half-smile never leaves his face, and his fingers squeeze against yours so tightly that you actually start to worry that he may break them. Thankfully, he begins to relax after a few minutes. Adjusting to the overwhelming pleasure and now losing himself to the arousal rather than fighting it.

You nearly squeak when you feel him release your hands and grab your face, pulling you up to him as he kisses you mindlessly. Breathlessly, moaning into your mouth all while moving his own hips now. You can feel him jerk his hips, imagining how he fucked his hand through facetime. This is better than that.

You prop to stand up on your knees, offering him the space to fuck you as hard as he’d like, and god. It’s hard. It’s deep, and it’s so clumsy. No rhythm, no thought behind it at all, you can fucking tell he’s purely running on adrenaline as he plunges into you.

He’s actually going so hard, that your moans sound more pained than pleasurable, but that’s not the case at all. You actually can’t stop moaning, it’s just the fact that each time he slams into you, your throat lets out a broken sound.

For a moment, you think you can actually hear him unintentionally growl against your slack lips as he does it. Already he’s lasted longer than you thought he would, especially without a condom, and you’re so fucking impressed by it.

You slide your hand between your bodies, easily rubbing your own clit and drying out your throat even more with the consistent loud moans of how good he’s doing. After a few moments though, his hips stutter and you take that as a sign that you should take over again.

“I don’t know how the fuck you’re doing this to me,” You laugh out of pity for yourself, “I really thought I could last longer than this.”

He barely hears you through his ringing ears and rapid heartbeat, but he chuckles at the compliment. Feeling like he must be doing something right to have a woman say that to him. There’s one issue. He’s about two thrusts from cumming again and he will be damned to ruin this for you.

You take over, riding him harshly and rubbing your clit even harder. He takes a moment to try and distract himself from how good your pussy feels clenching him and takes it upon himself to bite down hard against his tongue. Something to hurt enough to keep his orgasm from bubbling over, but also not something so awful that he’d lose his arousal entirely.

You continue, pushing yourself back up from him and watching the way he tries to focus on anything but what’s happening. You ride deliberately to get him off though, knowing that the second he does, you’ll let yourself go too. He doesn’t seem to be picking up the hints.

“Are you close?” You ask, out of breath and riding him so consistently that it’s becoming more and more difficult to hold your own orgasm. “Let it go, do it with me–”

Instantly, you hear him whimper out a moan as he releases the bite on his tongue. Shooting himself forward and hugging you so tightly that the pressure of your fingers against your clit is entirely unbearable.

“Oh, god. I’m–” You start, moaning against his hair as he hugs against you.

He’s so fucking relieved, already releasing into you as you say those words. All he can do is breathe through it, feeling your pussy pulse around him as he continues to empty himself into you.

It’s entirely too intense, his ears popping and heart threatening to send him to a hospital. Never did he think having sex was this intense.

Little does he know… it’s not. But even you, for some reason, find yourself wondering why the fuck that was so good.

By the time you pull yourself off of him, both of you wincing and trying to ignore the mixture of cum running down your legs, all you can do is look at him with curiosity.

He can barely open his eyes to look back at you, but he tries, he really does.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

He’s not going home tonight. Of course he’s not. Like, how fucking rude would it be to take his virginity and send him on his way? Absolutely the fuck not.

In fact, you made him some food, wobbling on spent legs throughout the kitchen as he lays on his death bed in your room. (He’s being dramatic.)

All he can do is listen to the sounds of you in the other room and think hard about how he just felt. Physically, it was a lot. Surely if sex is like that all the time, he’d rather not do it as often as Heeseung does. Honestly, his sanity would be at stake.

But like, you’re kind of amazing. Given, the two of you barely know each other past lame texts and bullying each other. Physically, you know him more than any other woman and that’s a block he didn’t think would be an issue until it became one.

You made him cum twice. And he thinks you did too, unless you’re lying just to make him feel better. There’s no way you didn’t feel the intensity of that though. There’s no way your wobbling legs were lying to him when you got up and told him you wanted to have a snack before bed.

There’s no way you would let him sleep over if you didn’t feel the same way he does right now.

And by the time you’re back, handing him a plate of food, he can’t help but believe that nothing will ever taste as good as you.

The thing is, that’s one of the main reasons you did this. To be praised, to have a man think you’d be the best he will ever have until he eventually meets someone else and they do better than you did. Now though, you feel weird.

This is a one night stand. A charity-fuck, as it still stands at least.

“So,” You start, taking a bite of your food still as naked as can be regardless of how stupid it must look to be eating in a cum-soaked bed like this. “I guess you should change your bio in the app now.”

He looks at you, and then at his food.

“Yeah, I guess I should…”

“I’ll help you fix your age on it. Now that you know what you’re doing with a woman and all.”

It’s silent for a minute.

“Is it too forward if I say that I’d rather just delete the app and keep calling you?”

Thank fuck Jake is forward and embarrassing with it. You’re not ready to give up the single life but on the other hand, after that, you’re not exactly ready to share him with other women just yet either. If he wants to attach himself for a while, you’re going to let him. Purely because, like, look at him. Everything is endearing, and when he’s not being adorable he’s just being fucking hot.

Maybe you will be ready to give up the single life if it’s with Jake.

You nod with a smile, wondering if he expects you to delete the app too. Because you’re not so sure about that, but also you think you probably would if he asks with those stupid doe eyes.

Strangely enough, he doesn’t even ask. He just starts eating the food with a content look on his face. Sweat having dried up but left his hair a mess, his skin is glowing– you think…oh no. Why are you looking at him like this?

“Hey, I should probably call Jay and tell him not to come home until late tomorrow or something.”

Jake nods, lifting his eyes to you and watching you take your phone out.

“I should call my friend too, he told me to let him know when I get my cherry popped.”

You snort at him with a laugh right as Jay answers the phone, and honestly, you��d rather listen to Jake’s friend than Jay whining about having to spend even more time with his overbearing parents.

“Hey Jay, don’t come home 'til I call you tomorrow, bye.” You say quickly before hanging up.

Instantly you’re setting your plate on your table and launching yourself at Jake and his phone.

“Put him on speaker.”

Jake does just that, laughing at Heeseung’s reaction when he hears you speak rather than his best friend over the line.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

#enhypen smut #jake smut #jake sim smut #jaeyun smut #sim jaeyun smut #enha smut

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