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spnhunter4life · 2 years ago

Text

Familiar

Summary: Sam, Dean and Y/N are on a case, and it turns out Y/N is just the monster's type.

Word Count: 8.2k

Warnings: reference to nonconsensual sex, canon typical violence

A/N: I've had this one done for a couple of weeks, but things have been very busy and so I just finally got around to doing a reread/edit of it. I hope everyone enjoys it!

This one includes the writing prompt "character A flipping positions and shoving B against a wall 'now this seems more familiar doesn’t it?'"

I don't remember where I found this. I have a list of prompts I saved, but didn't include who posted them, so if you happen to know where this came from, let me know and I'll give credit to that person.

Also, I've had someone ask me to be tagged in new stories I post. I am happy to do this, so if anyone else is interested in being tagged, let me know!

Masterlist

I met the Winchesters for the first time five years ago when I was 22. I was in college and had just moved to a new dorm building that turned out to be haunted by a ghost. I had been the next intended target when Dean and his dad stepped in and saved me. That was the last time I would see either of them for a long time, but I never forgot the faces of the people who had saved my life.

After that experience, I was obsessed with the supernatural. Dean and I had talked a little bit before they left town, and he told me about how he and his dad traveled the country killing monsters. I wanted to do that too. I wanted to be able to save people’s lives the way they had saved mine.

So a couple months later I dropped out of school and started getting ready to hunt. I signed up for a gym membership and started going everyday as well as taking boxing and Krav Maga lessons. My life had given very little opportunity for me to build muscle or learn to fight. But I wasn’t stupid enough to go into a fight with a supernaturally strong creature completely unprepared.

I gave myself a year to get in shape and learn to defend myself. During this time, I put every spare minute I had into research. I looked into what kinds of monsters were out there, how to kill them, which ones were most common. While doing all this research, I ran into a man named Bobby Singer. He had all kinds of helpful information and taught me how to track them down. I started the process of purchasing weapons I would need and also saving up money.

Once I felt ready, I set off on my first hunt. The overwhelming satisfaction I felt at saving a person from the ghost that had been haunting them was too much to ignore. I knew without a doubt now that this is what I should be doing with my life. So I went on another hunt. And another.

Things were a little rough going at first and I got more injuries than I cared to admit – fighting a trained professional in a controlled environment wasn’t the same as going up against an angry monster – but my fighting skills improved and things started going smoother soon enough. I didn’t regret my choices.

I ran into Dean a little over a year later. I was looking into what I suspected to be a witch and had stopped for lunch at a local burger joint when I saw him. I recognized him immediately and went to talk to him. It took a little bit for him to remember me, but he did. When he asked what I was doing so far from home, I told him what I’d been up to since the day he saved my life. He seemed surprised and impressed. Apparently the people he saved didn’t often take up hunting afterwards.

When I asked after his dad, he told me that they were starting to work separate cases on occasion. They still hunted together too, but not as often.

Since we were both in town for the same reason, we agreed to work the case together. It was difficult at times, learning to rely on another person and factor their thoughts and opinions into what we were doing. I’d never hunted with someone else before. In other ways, though, it was so much easier. I decided I kind of liked having a partner. Dean and I worked well together.

He must have thought so too, because the day after we finished that hunt, he asked if I wanted to come with him to look into a string of suspicious murders a couple states over. I’d been hunting with him – and occasionally his dad – ever since.

About nine months into our new arrangement, his dad went missing and so we picked up his brother Sam from school to help find him. Adding him to the mix had been another adjustment. That was two years ago now though, and we’d all found an easy rhythm together.

“We should go check this out,” Dean said, sliding the newspaper he’d been looking at across the table to Sam and pointing at one of the articles.

We were at a diner waiting for our breakfast to be brought out. Sam scanned the article.

“I don’t know, Dean,” Sam said, passing the newspaper to me when I motioned for it. I skimmed the article Dean had found.

“Come on, Sam. Three murder suicides in under two weeks. That’s weird,” Dean insisted.

“It is weird. I just don’t see how it’s our kind of weird,” Sam answered.

“Y/N? What do you think? You agree with me, don’t you?” Dean asked, confident I’d back him up. We typically saw things pretty eye to eye. Not always though.

“Well, actually I agree with Sam. There’s nothing here that really makes it sound like our kind of thing. But,” I continued, saying the word a little louder to stop Dean’s protest. “It’s only a few hours away and we have nothing else to do right now. So we might as well go check it out.”

“Alright, fine,” Sam agreed, sighing at the triumphant look on Dean’s face. “But I really think we’re wasting our time.”

“Right. Because we’ve got much more important, productive things going on here,” Dean said sarcastically.

“It’s never a waste of time,” I said. “Even if it ends up being nothing, making sure people aren’t being killed by something supernatural isn’t a waste. What if we decide it’s not worth checking out and it turns out it is our kind of thing? Then those deaths would be on us.”

“Ok, yes, you’re right. I already said we could go check it out,” Sam said.

“Well thanks for the permission, Sammy. I really don’t think we could’ve moved forward without it,” Dean snarked.

“Bite me,” Sam answered.

“Alright, cut it out you two,” I scolded.

The waiter brought our food out and we spent the meal trying to come up with ideas of what we could be dealing with. We didn’t come up with much since we had so little information to go off of. Dean paid our bill and we were just heading out the door when something occurred to me.

“Oh! What if it’s a siren?” I suggested.

“A siren? From Greek mythology? Like in The Odyssey?” Dean asked.

“What?” Sam looked at his brother in surprise.

“What?” Dean asked, a little smug and a little offended.

“What do you know about sirens?” Sam asked me, moving past his shock at Dean’s knowledge.

“Not much,” I admitted. We reached the car and I climbed into my usual spot behind Sam. “All the vics have been couples though, right?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Dean confirmed, turning in his seat to face me. “Is that important?”

“All I really know about sirens is that once they infect you they convince you to kill someone you love. The only siren case I’ve heard of had several husbands killing their wives before it was stopped. So maybe in this case once the men realize what they’ve done, they kill themselves.”

“Seems like the best theory we’ve come up with,” Dean said. He backed the Impala out of the parking spot and headed out of town towards the highway.

“Let’s get there and do some digging around before we settle on a theory,” Sam cautioned. “But say you’re right. How do we kill it?”

“I don’t know. I’ve already given you the extent of my knowledge on the subject.”

“Okay. Well at least we have a starting point. We can look into it more if that still seems like the most likely scenario after we’ve investigated things a little bit,” Sam said.

Apparently deeming the conversation finished, Dean turned up the music. I leaned my head against the window and watched the road blurring by.

~~~~~

The bar we were at was crowded, the music was loud, and the guy I was talking to was cute. Not stop and stare cute, but cute enough that when he came over to where I was standing at the bar and started flirting, I flirted back.

“So how long are you in town for?” Cute guy asked. I vaguely noted Dean in my peripheral vision, making his way to the bar. If I’d been paying attention, I would have noticed how irritated he looked. But I was trying not to notice him. He and I were just friends and would never be more. I’d accepted that. It meant I couldn’t let myself be distracted by him when there was a guy standing right in front of me who was interested.

“Don’t know yet,” I answered, giving him my best flirty smile. “I’m definitely here for the night though.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Dean interrupted. “Come on Y/N. Sam’s waiting for us.”

“Woah, hey, come on man,” cute guy protested. “You can’t just come in here and force her to leave. We were in the middle of a conversation.”

“You were, were you? Sorry pal, but we’ve got important things to do. Go find someone else to bother.” Dean grabbed my arm and pulled me with him, away from the bar and towards the exit.

“Dean!” I hissed as I was forced to follow along behind him. “What is your problem?” I asked when we made it outside.

“What’s my problem?” Dean echoed, letting go of my arm and turning to face me. “What’s your problem? You know what we’re after here. What made you think it was a good idea to offer to go home with some random guy who for all we know could be the siren?”

I scoffed and started to walk towards the car, but Dean grabbed me again and pushed me up against the building. He stepped in close and put an arm on either side of my head, effectively caging me in.

“What are you doing?” I asked. It didn’t sound quite as irritated as I wanted it to. His close proximity mixed with the few drinks I’d downed had me too overwhelmed to hold on to my anger.

“Next time you’re wanting to scratch an itch in the middle of a case where the monster we’re after seduces people into murder, just save us the trouble and come to me instead,” he instructed. Then before I knew what was happening, he leaned in and kissed me.

I gasped in surprise and he used the opportunity to lick into my mouth. Finally catching up to what was happening, I wrapped my arms around his neck, threading my fingers through his hair and eagerly kissing him back. I never could have predicted this, but I was so thrilled it was happening.

He made his way to my neck. He kissed a couple of different spots before finding a spot he liked and starting to suck and nip-

I woke up with a jolt and a gasp. I quickly took in my surroundings and realized I’d fallen asleep in the back of the Impala.

“You ok?” Dean asked, turning in his seat to look at me. I realized we were parked outside a motel. The engine turning off must have been what woke me. I briefly met his eyes and was immediately bombarded with the images from my dream.

“Yeah,” I told him. I managed to successfully fight the blush that tried to rise in the presence of the very man I’d just been dreaming about. It wasn’t the first time I’d had this sort of dream about the older Winchester. I doubted it would be the last.

Dean went inside to get us a room. We unloaded our bags and made a plan. We decided the boys would drop me off at the police station to talk to the sheriff while they went to question the medical examiner. We would meet at a diner a few blocks away from the police station when we were done.

“What’s the connection between all of these people?” I asked Sheriff Jones once I’d introduced myself and explained why I was there.

“Connection?” He asked.

“Yeah. This many murder suicides in this short of a time, there’s something going on here. Maybe you’re wrong about the suicide part and it’s just flat out murder. Maybe it’s some sort of messed up pact these people made. There has to be something that connects them though. So what is it?”

“As far as we can tell, there is no connection between any of them. Sometimes these things just happen,” he said.

“How long have you been sheriff?” I asked. He was starting to get up in age, probably in his mid to late 50s at a guess. I assumed he’d been a police officer for a long time.

“Almost 20 years,” he informed me proudly.

“And in those 20 years, how many times have you seen something like this? Three different couples killing each other and themselves. One after another.”

“Well… never,” he admitted.

“Right. So what’s the connection? Graduated from the same high school? Go to the same gym? In a bowling league together? There has to be something that connects them other than them all being married.”

“Actually, they weren’t all married,” Jones corrected.

“I was told they were,” I said.

“The last couple wasn’t. They were roommates, but as far as I’m aware, that’s as far as the relationship went.”

Damn. Did this throw a wrench in my siren theory? Not necessarily. Just because they weren’t together doesn’t mean one of them wasn’t secretly in love with the other. Or maybe they were really close and loved each other in a non romantic way.

“Great. I’m gonna need a list of close family and friends of all the victims,” I requested.

“What for?” He asked.

“To find the connection. You figure out the pattern, you have a chance of stopping it from happening again,” I said frustratedly. How were these idiots not investigating this further? Did they really believe it was just all a coincidence?

Jones gave me a list of names and I left. I scanned the list on my walk to the diner, trying to figure out where to start and how long it might take to talk to these people. I rounded a corner and ran into an extremely attractive man.

“Sorry!” I apologized as he nearly spilled the coffee he was carrying.

“No worries,” he said, flashing a charming smile. “No harm done.”

Had I not spent every day of the past three years sharing close quarters with the most attractive man I’d ever seen in my life, I might have been caught off guard and turned into a mumbling mess. But my time with Dean mixed with the quick thinking and lying that was sometimes necessary for hunting meant I was able to keep it together.

“Still. I should have been watching where I was going.”

“Well in that case, I was just on my way to get some lunch. How about you make it up to me by coming with?” He offered. It only took me a few seconds of consideration to make a decision.

“Sorry, but I’m busy. I’m on my way to meet a couple of colleagues for a kind of work lunch,” I told him.

“Ah. Well, maybe next time,” he smiled.

“Maybe,” I agreed, knowing there wouldn’t be a next time. I sighed as I continued my walk to the diner. He was awfully good looking. Under different circumstances, I probably would have taken him up on his offer.

I walked the last couple of blocks and noted that the familiar black car wasn’t in the parking lot. I went in, found an open table that would fit all three of us, and sat down. I had to wait about ten minutes before Sam and Dean walked in.

“Hey. What did you find out?” I asked once they were seated.

“Not much. There wasn’t anything unusual about the bodies as far as anyone could tell. The ME did say that based on the most recent body, she wondered if the suicides weren’t actually suicides though. She’s looking over the other two bodies again to see if it could have been staged to look like a suicide,” Sam told me.

“That qualifies as not much to you?” I asked. “I mean, granted it doesn’t really up the weird factor. But what if they missed something else too? Something they wouldn’t know to look for?”

“That’s exactly what I said,” Dean said smugly.

“Whatever. I’m not having this discussion again,” Sam told his brother as the waiter came over. We rattled off our orders to him and waited for him to leave before continuing.

“Did you find anything?” Sam asked.

“No. I do have a list of people for us to talk to though,” I answered. I took the list out of the pocket I’d tucked it into after folding it up and handed it to Sam.

“What, the cops have a suspect list?” Dean asked.

“No,” I snorted. “Whether or not this ends up being our kind of case, I feel bad for the people in this town. Their idiot sheriff doesn’t even think it’s worth looking into. It’s an open and shut case as far as he’s concerned.”

“What’s your list then?” Dean questioned, leaning over to read over Sam’s shoulder.

“Close family and friends,” I answered. “I’m hoping we can figure out what connects them all.”

“Right,” Sam said. “It’s not like we can monitor every single married couple in this town on the off chance they might get murdered.”

“Actually, they weren’t all married,” I told him. “I guess the last two were just roommates.”

“There goes the siren theory,” Dean sighed.

“Not necessarily. It still could be,” I said.

“How?”

“Sirens don’t target married people specifically,” I explained. “They just make you kill someone you love.”

“So you’re saying they were living together as friends but secretly in love?” Dean asked.

“Maybe. Or maybe not. Love doesn’t have to be romantic.”

The waiter brought out our food and we made a plan as we ate. Dean wanted to check out the crime scenes first. Sam argued that we might get more information from talking to people. I wanted to side with Dean because I really wasn’t looking forward to interviewing ten different people, but I had to agree with Sam. Might as well get this part out of the way. We could look at the victims’ houses after.

~~~~~

Several hours and too many interviews full of crying loved ones later, we stood in our motel room going over the information we’d gathered today. The ME had called an hour ago and confirmed that it was flat out murder, not murder suicide. We hadn’t gotten any useful information out of any of the people we talked to today though, and we were all a little frustrated.

“Alright, well the roommate vics were extremely close,” Sam recapped, thinking out loud. “Which means Y/N’s theory on them loving each other pans out, leaving a siren as the most likely culprit. But how are we supposed to find it? We still don’t have anything that links these people together,” Sam grumbled.

“And why is it killing people?” I added. “Usually they leave the killing to their victims. Maybe we missed something.”

“Or,” Dean cut in, standing up from the chair he’d been in. “We'll find the answers we need at the crime scenes. Which I said we should look at four hours ago.”

“Yeah, Dean. We know,” Sam snapped.

“Let’s just figure out our next step,” I interjected.

“Maybe we should do some research on sirens. It would be easier to track it if we can figure out where they live, how they make people do what they want, that sort of thing,” Sam suggested.

“C’mon Sam, we’ve spent all day doing research on the victims. Now you’re telling me you want to do more research?” Dean complained. “What we should do is go to their houses. I’m telling you, if we want answers, that’s where we’ll find them.”

“Maybe, but we still have to know what we’re up against,” Sam pointed out. “Why don’t you and Y/N go check out the houses. I’ll stay here and research,” he suggested.

“Fine. Let’s go,” Dean said, satisfied with this compromise. He went outside and I heard the Impala’s engine roar to life a few seconds later.

Sam grabbed his laptop and settled in to work while I grabbed my coat.

“Let us know if you find anything,” I said. Sam assured me he would and then I followed Dean out the door.

We decided to split up to cover ground faster. Dean would drop me off at the first house and head to the second house himself. When he was done there he would pick me up and we would look at the last place together.

Dean parked outside the first house, a small blue one with a row of flowers planted along the front of it.

“I’ll call you when I’m on my way back,” he told me as I was getting out of the car. He drove away and I walked into the house, ducking under the police tape strung up on the door.

The first room I walked through was the kitchen. Other than a few unwashed dishes in the sink, it was spotless. I knew the murders had happened in the bedroom, so I didn’t expect to see much in the rest of the house, but I was looking for any sort of clue that would lead us to the siren. I took a quick look at the pictures on the fridge but didn’t see anything that would help.

The next room was the living room which was also clean. A cursory scan of the room told me these two were huge movie fans. There were several movie posters hanging up on the walls, an entertainment center overflowing with DVDs, and a little box full of old movie tickets. I didn’t know how this could be a connection with the other couples, but it was clearly a big part of their lives, so it was worth making a mental note of. Other than that, I didn’t see much. A brochure for a yoga class stuck underneath a pile of magazines on the coffee table. A framed picture of the two skiing was hanging on the wall. I noticed a coffee mug with what I assumed was the name of a local bar printed on the side. I made another mental note of both the yoga class and the bar just in case.

Then I moved on to the bedroom. Even if I hadn’t known ahead of time what happened in here, it would have been pretty clear. There was a bloodstain on the bed and the blankets were rumpled, like there had been a struggle on top of them. One of the pillows was knocked on the floor. The nightstand on the left side of the bed had been knocked over, a picture frame shattered beside it. And there was a second blood stain on the cream carpet.

I braced myself, turning off the part of my brain that wanted to be horrified and turn away from the scene. I looked around the room for any sort of clue as to who the siren might be or where it might have gone. It would be a lot easier if I knew what exactly I was looking for. Sam was right. We should have done the research first.

After thoroughly searching the bedroom and the bathroom and finding nothing, I made my way back out of the house. I wasn’t quite ready to give up yet, but I was getting more doubtful that this wasn’t something the real FBI should be handling. I stepped back outside and saw the cute guy from earlier walking past. He heard the door close behind me and looked over.

“Oh, it’s you,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he answered as I walked towards him. “I do believe that’s a crime scene you just walked out of. Not exactly legal.”

“It is when you’re FBI,” I told him, pulling out my badge. It identified me as agent Y/N Perry.

“That explains why I haven’t seen you around before,” he said, not seeming overly surprised by the news.

“What are you doing here?” I asked again.

“I live next door,” he told me. “I didn’t really know them. Terrible what happened though.”

“It is,” I agreed. My phone rang and I took it out of my pocket, seeing Sam’s name on the screen. I excused myself to answer it.

“Hey, Sam. What did you find?”

“Have you heard from Dean?” He asked urgently.

“No, why?” I asked, immediately worried. Before he could answer, everything went dark.

~~~~~

Sam’s POV

“What do you got, Sam?” Dean asked immediately upon answering my call.

“Not much, but I think I’m starting to figure out more about this siren,” I told him. I hadn’t had time to gather much information yet, but what I had found mixed with a quick phone call to the ME was starting to clear things up.

“Like what?”

“So get this. When sirens… put you under their spell or whatever, it leaves high levels of a hormone called oxytocin in your blood.”

“So?”

“So, I called the ME and asked her about it. There were high traces in three of the victims. The female victims. For whatever reason, this siren is going after the women, not the men.”

“Son of a bitch! Please tell me you called Y/N before you called me,” Dean said.

“Why? Aren’t you together?”

“No,” Dean growled out in a tone of voice that suggested stress and frustration. “We split up to move faster.”

“Alright. Well don’t worry. I’m sure she’s fine. I’ll call her now,” I said, trying to calm him.

“I’m going back to get her. I’ll call her on the way.”

Before I could argue that he was already worked up enough and should just focus on driving I heard a thump, Dean grunting, and then the sound of his phone clattering on the ground.

“Dean!” I yelled. No response. I hung up and headed outside. I needed to find a car. Once I had one ready to go, I started driving to the closest address on the list.

~~~~~

Y/N’s POV

The first thing that registered in my mind was the way my body was shaking. I heard a distant voice calling my name as consciousness slowly found me. It took a few seconds for me to fully wake up and process what was happening. The shaking was due to the hand on my shoulder, trying to jostle me into consciousness. The voice was Dean’s, and it wasn’t distant. It was right in front of me.

My head was pounding. I tried to remember what happened. I was outside waiting for Dean. Sam called. Then what?

“Y/N!” Dean said a little louder. I opened my eyes and immediately closed them again, hissing at the pain that shot through my skull from the bright light in the room. Someone must have hit me over the head. Who? No one else had even been around. Except for that guy I bumped into earlier. He must be the siren then.

I felt a surge of frustration at my stupidity. How did I miss it? I knew it was weird that he just happened to be outside that house.

“C’mon. We should get out of here,” Dean encouraged, pulling me to my feet.

“Just a minute,” I pleaded as a wave of dizziness rushed over me upon standing. I braced my hand on the wall beside me.

“What happened?” He asked. “You didn’t answer the phone.”

Once the dizziness passed, I slowly opened my eyes. The pounding in my head was intense, but it was more manageable when I took things slow.

“Where is he?” I asked.

“Who, the siren? Dead,” he told me. That was good news I guess. I didn’t know how much help I’d be in a fight right now. He was almost entirely supporting my weight. Then something occurred to me.

“How?” I asked, looking up at his face. “We don’t know how to kill them.”

“Well I had a machete with me. I couldn’t walk in here completely defenseless. When I saw him standing over you, I cut his head off. Apparently that’s all it takes,” he explained.

I looked around the room, searching for the body, and realized this was the house of the first murdered couple. We were in the living room.

“He brought me in here?” I asked.

“Well. It was close by. And there isn’t much chance of anyone walking in. Made it easy for me to find you, too. How are you feeling? Ready to go?” He asked.

“Yeah, I’m good,” I told him. My head was still pounding, but the dizziness was gone.

“Good,” he said, carefully turning me to face him. “I was really worried about you.” Then he kissed me.

I so badly wanted to be able to enjoy this. I’d dreamed about it so many times but never imagined I’d ever build up the courage to tell him how I felt. Or that my feelings would be reciprocated.

I placed one hand on the back of his neck and gave myself a couple of seconds to be sure my balance was good. Then in one quick motion I stepped to the side and used the hand around his neck to shove him face first into the wall.

“Ow! What the hell?!” He yelled, clutching a hand to his bleeding nose.

“Where’s Dean?” I asked, watching closely for any indication he was about to run or attack.

“I am Dean!” He insisted. He held a hand out placatingly and took a step towards me.

“Stay back,” I warned him. I reached into my boot and grabbed the silver knife I kept there at all times. “I know a shapeshifter when I see one.”

He dropped his hands and stood up straighter, a cocky smile gracing his mouth. He started to walk in a slow circle around me.

“What gave me away?” He asked casually.

“A few things,” I answered, rotating my body to keep him directly in front of me at all times.

“Like?”

“Where’s Dean?” I asked again.

“Oh, he’s fine for now. Just a little tied up at the moment,” he smirked.

I lunged for him, hoping to catch him by surprise. He easily blocked the knife I had aimed directly at his heart and threw a punch that caught me in the stomach. The force of the blow knocked the breath out of me, but I recovered quickly and slashed out with the knife at the hand that was reaching for my hair. He hissed in pain and quickly withdrew his hand.

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” the fake Dean growled. “You know you can’t win. Might as well save yourself some of the pain.”

My head was killing me and the dizziness was threatening to return and become a very serious problem. I waited for his next attack. I didn’t have to wait long. I saw his muscles tense to move and then he closed the distance between us quickly.

He reached out for the hand that was holding the knife, trying to force it out of my grip without touching it. I took advantage of the way he focused on the knife to kick his knee as hard as I could. His knee buckled and I used all the strength I had to push him into the wall behind him. I pressed the knife to his throat.

“Where is Dean?” I demanded.

“What gave me away?” He asked again. I couldn’t believe the arrogance. Did he really not care about anything but the fact that I’d seen through him?

“I’m not going to ask again,” I threatened, pressing the knife just a little harder into his skin. “Where is he?”

“Quid pro quo,” he offered. “Answer my question, I’ll answer yours.”

I seriously debated just killing him, but decided to humor him just this once. He wasn’t going anywhere and I’d get the answer out of him one way or another.

“First of all, Dean wouldn’t just sit there waiting for me to wake up. He would have just carried me out. Secondly, he has a scratch on his jaw that hasn’t healed all the way yet. That particular scratch is missing from your face. Third, if he’s not sure which weapon to bring with, he always chooses his gun. Silver kills a lot of things, so it’s usually the safest bet. Also, where’s the body? You said you killed the siren, but there isn’t a body. And as far as that goes, you don’t have a machete either.”

“Hmm. You’re observant,” he said. “Not observant enough though. Otherwise you probably would have seen this coming.”

His hand shot up and grabbed my wrist, pushing the knife away from his neck. He pressed hard on the tendons there until I was forced to drop the knife. Then he spun us around, pressing me up against the wall. He pinned both of my wrists to the wall and leaned in close, his breath brushing my face.

“Now this seems more familiar, doesn’t it?” He smiled.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I spat.

“No?” He mocked, pressing his cheek to mine and talking directly into my ear. “You’ve never dreamed about Dean pressing you into the nearest wall and kissing you breathless? I think you have. Many times. As recently as just a few hours ago.”

I whipped my head to the side to look at him. He grinned triumphantly.

“That’s right. I’ve been inside your head. I know exactly how you feel about this pretty boy of yours.”

I bristled at the way he had stolen Dean’s face, tried to use it against me, and was now flaunting that fact.

“You don’t know anything,” I spat. He just continued as if I hadn’t said anything.

“That’s why I chose you. It was pure coincidence running into you, but you’re a very attractive woman, so I figured I’d give it a shot.”

“Give what a shot? Murder? News flash, you’ve already done that. I’d suggest branching out and finding a new hobby.” I pushed lightly against his hands, testing the possibility of breaking free. That wasn’t an option. He was holding on tight, and I wouldn’t be able to beat him in a battle of strength.

He smiled and kept ignoring me.

“You see, I had to turn into you first to get in your head and see if you fit what I was looking for. It was a shock, of course, to find out that you’re a hunter. But it turns out you did fit my needs, and you and your friends were so far off the mark, I knew I’d be safe enough.”

“What do you mean, I fit your needs?” I asked. I had a plan to escape his hold, but as long as he was content to talk, I wanted answers.

“Well you’re in love of course,” he said.

“So?” I didn’t bother denying it. Like he said, he’d already been in my head.

“So,” he answered as if I was being extremely stupid. “Isn’t it so much better being with someone when you’re in love?”

I felt my brow wrinkle in confusion. Being with someone? What was he talking about? What did it have to do with murder?

I felt a wave of horror and disgust wash over me as I understood his meaning. He’d posed as the men the women were in love with and slept with them before murdering them both.

“If it’s any consolation, they died happy,” he told me. “Well,” he amended. “The women did, anyway.”

“So what?” I snarled. “You thought you’d come in here looking like Dean and I’d just take my clothes off for you? Just like that?”

“Well, not just like that. But I figured you’d be willing enough once I had some time to convince you.”

I remembered how he had kissed me before. I assume that was the kind of convincing he was referring to.

“We still could, you know,” he offered. He brushed his lips gently against mine and I jerked away. “You can pretend I’m him and I’ll give you what you’ve always wanted.”

“Right before you kill me, you mean?”

“Well obviously I can’t let you live,” he said.

“I think I’ll pass,” I said. I drove my knee up as hard as I could into his crotch. He may not have been entirely human, but he still went down as hard as any human man.

I dropped down to pick up my knife, doing my best to ignore the pain the quick movement caused in my head. I didn’t give the shapeshifter time to recover. I immediately turned to him and drove the knife into his heart. He gasped in shock and pain and then collapsed, unmoving.

I rose to my feet and made my way – a little unsteadily – out of the house. I was pretty sure I had a concussion and that fight had taken all the strength and energy I could muster. As I stepped out of the house, a car came screeching down the road and parked next to the only other car on the street. I didn’t know if I could really handle it, but I prepared myself for another fight.

The driver door opened and a tall man stepped out. Sam, I realized when he called my name. And the car he was in was the Impala. How had he gotten it? Sam ran over to me and put a steadying hand on my shoulder.

“Are you ok? What happened?” He asked.

“Where’s Dean?” I asked, ignoring his questions.

“I don’t know. I’ve been looking for both of you,” Sam said. “I found Dean’s car at the second house, but no sign of him. I was hoping I’d find him here with you.”

Just then we heard a muffled banging noise coming from the other car on the street.

“Stay here,” Sam told me, drawing his gun as he walked towards it. I was in no position to argue seeing as the dizziness was returning and I was struggling to keep my balance. He stopped by the trunk of the car. “Dean?”

“Sam! Get me out of here,” I heard Dean say from inside.

“Just a second,” Sam breathed out in relief. He tucked his gun back into his jeans and went around to the front of the car in search of the keys. He pulled them out of the ignition and then opened the trunk. Dean jumped out, fuming. He was down to just jeans and a t-shirt, the shifter having stolen the rest of his usual layers.

“Where is it? I’m gonna kill it,” he seethed, marching towards the house. He paused momentarily when he saw me swaying on the sidewalk and then hurried over to me. He wrapped my arm around his shoulders and put his own around my waist to help me stay balanced.

“What happened? Did the siren do something to you? Where is it?” He asked.

“It was a shapeshifter, not a siren,” I told both him and Sam who had followed close behind his brother.

“Was?” Sam questioned.

“It’s dead,” I said.

“That explains why my clothes are gone,” Dean said irritatedly. “Why is it that we seem to be leaving behind a trail of shapeshifter bodies wearing my face?”

“Well, you’re an objectively good looking guy. Maybe they just can’t resist all the girls they know they’ll get with a face like that,” I teased.

“Alright, well you’re obviously in even worse shape than I thought,” Dean said, half teasing half genuinely worried. I guess I haven’t ever said anything to him before about him being attractive. This concussion was loosening my tongue apparently. “Sam, you mind getting the body? I’m gonna get Wobbly here to the car.”

“Why can’t we just leave it?” Sam asked.

“Because I want my clothes back for one thing,” Dean replied. “And for another, I don’t want to be blamed for yet another set of murders.”

“Good point,” Sam agreed. He headed for the house.

Dean turned us towards the car and the movement caused me to trip a little on my own feet. The adrenaline was fading away, leaving me helpless to fight off the dizziness that I thought had disappeared.

Rather than let me stumble my way to the car, Dean moved the arm he had around my waist a little higher on my back and put his other arm under my knees, scooping me up in his arms and carrying me. I couldn’t be bothered to keep my head held up and rested it against his chest.

“What happened?” he asked, referring to my balance issues.

“He caught me by surprise and hit me over the head. I think I have a concussion.”

“You thought he was me, so you didn’t see it coming,” Dean said. He adjusted my weight so he was able to open the car door.

“No. He looked like someone else. I turned my back to take a call and he hit me. When I woke up he was pretending to be you,” I explained.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he sighed as he gently set me down, careful not to hit my head.

“Why?” I wondered.

“He took me out too. Only I didn’t even know he was there. If I’d been paying attention better, I could have stopped him before he got to you,” Dean said, ashamed.

“Not everything is your fault, you know,” I told him. I saw Sam step out of the house, a large body tossed over his shoulder. “This isn’t on you. And it doesn’t matter anyway. It’s over.”

I could tell he didn’t agree with me and he would beat himself up over this for a while. But he left to open the trunk for Sam and I was too exhausted to try and convince him otherwise.

~~~~~

An hour later Sam was watching over me while Dean went to take care of the body. I sat on the lumpy couch and held a bag of frozen peas to the back of my head in an attempt to bring down the swelling. I’d taken Ibuprofen as soon as we got to the motel and both the headache and the dizziness were slowly starting to fade. I’m sure finally sitting still helped the situation too.

“Why do you think it killed them?” Sam wondered aloud. “I mean, how did he choose his victims?”

“He chose women that he considered beautiful and that were in love. He turned into the man they loved and when he was done with them, he killed them,” I answered even though he hadn’t actually been expecting an explanation.

“He told you?” He asked, surprised.

“In way too much detail,” I said.

He was quiet for a moment.

“You know what I don’t get? If it wasn’t a siren then where did the oxytocin come from?”

“The what?” I asked.

“Oxytocin. It’s a hormone that sirens infect you with,” he explained. “Actually, Dean was on his way to warn you when he got ambushed. I told him that all the women had high levels and so it looked like they were the ones being targeted.”

My face drained of blood at the reminder of what that thing had done to those women. Of what he’d tried to do to me.

“I know what it is,” I told him. “And it’s not specific to sirens. It’s a naturally occurring hormone in the body. Ever heard of the love hormone?” At his nod I continued. “It occurs during childbirth, breastfeeding… and sex. That’s why he wanted women that were in love. He said it’s so much better that way.”

Understanding showed on his face alongside a mix of horror and protective anger.

“Y/N… he didn’t?”

“No,” I assured him quickly. “Not me anyway. I figured out what he was too quickly.”

Relief replaced the other emotions on his face and he stayed silent as he processed this new information. Then he wrinkled his brow in confusion.

“You said he chose women that were in love,” he said.

“Yeah,” I confirmed.

“So why did he go after you?”

I was practiced enough at hiding my feelings for the older Winchester from both brothers that I didn’t even have to hesitate to come up with an explanation.

“I guess he found me attractive. Per his usual pattern, he turned into me to see if I was in love with anyone and found out pretty quickly that I’m a hunter.”

“Then why did he turn into Dean?” He asked.

“He was pretending to rescue me,” I answered.

“Right, but why? What’s the point? If he wanted you dead, he had the chance. There was no reason for him to mess with you that way.”

I didn’t have a reasonable explanation for this, so I stayed quiet.

“He wasn’t just going after you because you’re a hunter. You fit the profile he was after and he wanted to-” he cut himself off and considered his wording. “He wanted to… complete his usual pattern. Because you’re in love with Dean,” he surmised, smiling a little bit at this conclusion.

I decided silence was the best option here. I couldn’t possibly contradict his completely accurate deduction. I wouldn’t outright confirm it for him, but I wasn’t going to deny what we both knew to be true.

“Y/N.”

More silence.

“Tell me I’m wrong and I’ll drop it,” he promised. I sighed.

“You know you’re not,” I told him.

“Then why don’t you do something about it?” He asked.

“There’s nothing to do about it,” I answered. “He doesn’t see me that way. And that’s fine. I’ve accepted it.”

“How do you know he doesn’t feel the same if you don’t tell him?”

“Sam, I’m really not in any condition to do anything to you right now, but I swear if you say anything to him, there’s going to be hell to pay in a couple of days,” I warned.

“I’m not going to say anything,” he said, offended by my assumption. “But I really think you should tell him. You guys are so great together. I think you would be good for each other. And I would be very happy for you.”

“Thanks, I guess. My head hurts too much to even consider thinking about this right now,” I told him.

“Alright, fine. I’ll let it go,” he conceded. “For now.”

“That’s all I ask.”

After that we sat in companionable silence while we waited for Dean to get back. Sam turned the TV on. I closed my eyes to block out the light and just listened to it, finding it to be a suitable distraction from the day’s events.

Dean got back probably twenty minutes later by my estimation.

“Hey, how are you doing?” He asked as soon as the door was shut behind him.

“A little better,” I told him.

“Good,” he said. He took the peas from my hand and gently felt the lump that had formed on the back of my head. “I think the swelling might actually be going down a little bit.”

He took the now room temperature peas to the freezer and switched them out for a fresh bag. He handed it to me and then sat down beside me, putting his arm around me.

“Is this ok?” He asked. He didn’t know the details that Sam did about the shapeshifter’s intentions, but he knew that I had been attacked today by a guy wearing his face.

“You don’t have to tiptoe around me,” I told him. “I know it wasn’t you. For the record, I knew the whole time it wasn’t you. I’m fine. I’m not traumatized and I’m not afraid of you.”

“A simple yes would have been fine,” he teased, pulling me closer into his side.

Movement from Sam’s direction had me glancing at him. He just smiled at me, looking meaningfully at Dean and then winking at me. I would have rolled my eyes if the action wouldn’t hurt my head. Instead I pointedly looked away from him. Things with me and Dean were fine the way they were. I wasn’t going to mess it up now just because Sam knew about my feelings.

A romantic relationship with Dean was something I wanted, but not something I needed. This right here – sitting together with my two best friends, knowing that even though I was temporarily unable to defend myself should it be necessary I was still safe and protected – this was all I needed. At least, that’s what I’d continue to tell myself.

Chapter 2

Tags:

@123passwort

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #familiar #reader insert #dean winchester #sam winchester #case fic #monster of the week #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x platonic!reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x platonic!reader #writing prompt

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accio-victuuri · 1 year ago

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SBMS Clowning Series ☀️ v.4

I can’t believe we’re so close to the finale which is episode 36. It’s always so fast when these dramas are released but i’m not complaining that we got it faster than his other dramas. We also have a lot of content — from photos, bts and interviews. 💪🏼

The reason why I want to make this part of the round up is this scene in SBMS, it’s the last scene that the crew shot which is when SY and JB were watching fireworks. Especially the line JB said. I think i’m not the only BXG who thought of XZ’s wish for WYB when they heard this : “I hope you don’t come to the complicated and boring world of adulthood soon. It means i hope you grow up slowly.”

It’s a pretty popular CPN that the long bday messages are made by ZZ so to hear something similar in the show is sus. You can say that it’s a usual “wish” or that ZZ is not the scriptwriter. and that’s right. However, ZZ has improvised a couple of scenes in this drama. ZZ has worked closely with the scriptwriter and director of the drama — so we cannot remove the possibility that he may have brought up this line or idea.

there are instances in this drama when we CPNd and thought that ZZ improvised it and we were right. for example accidentally holding JB’s hand @ the subway or the thing about you s/o being your “charger”. so i’m not gonna be surprised if one way or another we get a confirmation about this. 💓

anyway, moving on to other stuff…

SOME SIMILARITIES/ Coincidence:

• “Eating” the tissue after eating. Normal people will just wipe it or will do that but not for long like they do. With the examples, it looks like WYB does this more and GG was infected. Lol.

• The BGM of recent douyin posts from both sides is the same 🙃. I don’t know how popular this song is now in douyin, cause this is tiktok after all certain sound clips become popular and everyone start using it. But it’s interesting that it’s videos posted the same day.

some are saying that since the SBMS post was “romantic”, this is WYB’s answer. He is matching the BGM. Also the caption ( YBO official ) had a star emoji in it. Why didn’t he just make it the sun 😂😂😂 I think the star can be connected to the Douyin update from the day before, where ZZ was holding a star toy.

• This will make the most sense to those who watched the recent episode, but there is a scene where SY asks the “bear” if Jian Bing is the most beautiful and it lights up meaning yes. Lol. That kind of shamelessness in praising reminded us so much of WYB!!!!!

• XZ WHERE DID YOU LEARN THIS MOVE HUH? Is this one of your improvs? I’m screaming!!!!

It’s like he got tips from the things WYB did before, who was younger than him and what worked to make him like/love the gremlin more. 🤣🤣🤣

• For some next level clowning, in ZZ’s weibo video post — what number do you see? 8? 👀

==============================

Interview highlights. This covers ZZ’s recent content for SBMS promos. Ones that remind us of bjyx clues and symbols. Just to disclaimer that the purpose of this is not to portray ZZ as someone who can’t be his own person. How we always have to connect things back to WYB in everything he says does not mean any harm. It’s all CPN. We are very much aware that ZZ is his own person. 😌

SINA INTERVIEW:

What stood out to me was when he talked about evaluating himself everyday so he can improve. This is something similar that he has with WYB. They only want to be better and expand their skill set. They are also open to criticism.

There was also a part where he talked about equality in relationships when there is an age gap.

“being equal in any relationship, no one is higher or lower than anyone else, everyone is in a very fair and equal relationship and in getting along.”

Do you have some experience in this ge? I have to say they are equal — especially in spoiling each other. ^^

AND LASTLY HOW HE expressed his interest in playing a charming and cute villain. Lol. He said a couple of times already, someone please listen. WYB already did Mister Ye who is sort of the villain. I hope ZZ can play something like that too.

RUXI INTERVIEW

His answers tend to very similar in these interviews and i think that’s largely because the questions are similar. Especially they ask about his experience in the drama or his interpretation of Shengyang as a character.

But in this interview, he was asked about being an actor and his answer 😭😭😭

I’m definitely still on the road to acting and becoming an actor myself. This road is still very long. I have to walk it step by step in a down-to-earth manner. It’s more interesting to me.

I mean. Just look at the tagline of my blog. Yep, the road ahead is long. We will be here for you ^^

FOX FACTORY INTERVIEW

How he talked about memorizing his co stars line as well. Some CPFs are speculating that this started with CQL. It’s because him and WYB were sharing one script book. Which btw, he never did again with his other co stars.

THIS PART which made me giggle. They were asking about the heroine he would want to play with and he completely goes back to his desire of playing the villain 🤭 If you don’t wanna answer it, just say something else. Of course a co star is important, but I think for ZZ, he is more into his role as an actor. He is focused on himself.

Also this one. A very thrifty GG! Practical. It’s in line with the fake rumors that he scolds WYB for impulse buying 😅😅😅

-END.

#yizhan #bjyx #there is no science here i’m just clowning like i always do

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riansdiary · 5 months ago

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Rian's Diary Entry #7

I'm back~

This song is so my mood right now:

youtube

A little update from moi. I feel so proud of myself. From complaining, worrying, thinking negatively, being depressed to now feeling like a fucking queen (excuse my french), hardly any negative thoughts, not paying attention to what I don't want, knowing it's done in 4d, not finding it in the 3d, leaving the 3d alone, feeling extra confident and empowered because I now know and understand that changing the 3d and the how is not my job and not my problem. Confident and empowered again because I decided and know it's done now regardless of what I see in front of me.

Your girl came a loooong way and I'm really proud of myself for that. Been persisting like a baddie and finally getting a heck ton of money just by following my dad's instructions and clicking a button everyday on this cryptocurrency app. Btw it's not Illegal or whatever, it is an official trusted cryptocurrency app and people are able to use it now to earn that currency and convert that to actual cash. I will literally get paid to exist! Oh My God. I am so proud of myself. I don't care whether my other desires are in the 3d or not, all I know is that IT IS DONE! I will fully accept them as facts now. Thank you and I will keep going with that boss/queen attitude! I know my inner child is probably so so so happy right now! 😭

This is a success story and a diary entry in one! Also if anyone wants to know what app it is, please message me with your country. It's available in 10 countries only right now so hopefully it's available for you! I have an article thing that says which countries it is currently available in. Anyways, I am really proud of how far I've come in terms of the law of assumption and manifesting! I swear I was over consuming, over complicating and was extremely lost just like anyone who's just starting and doesn't know what works for them. I wanted to write this because I'm so happy I'm feeling even more confident, positive and empowered about manifesting!

I have a little subliminal journey update for you! I quit listening to my playlist and decided to focus on two subliminals. I decided to commit to it for 2-3 months even though I know I have my full results already. The first is an oldie but a goodie! It's Baejin Cafe's rain version most intense glow up ever beauty and life! I chose this because it's packed with things that I want. Everything that you could ever think of is in this subliminal! That's for my overnight sleep sub. I listen to it mostly 7-8 hours a day when I go to sleep. The rain sounds really help me sleep faster and relax. The second one is G3m1nI's doppelganger face morph in 1 listen sub! It's my day sub that I listen to when I'm playing games and just chilling. I listen to it one to two hours a day.

Some results I'm getting is that, I'm starting to look more like Wonyoung! My last Pictriev similarity check with the same angle and pose, I am now 55% similar to her! 🎉

I have been noticing that my skin is clearer and more glowing than usual. My hair is much longer and thicker now. I was surprised how fast my hair grew recently. My eyes seem more sparkly too. My dancing skills are improving even more. My lips plumper and jawline sharper. My stomach got flatter. I also look a bit CGI, noticed that since I re-read the benefits. I used to hate my face tbh back then but I stopped focusing on that and using subs. Now I don't hate it as much, I love it! I look good even with just a tone up cream, blush and lip tint. Last thing I noticed is that I have less face fat now.

So that's all for now everyone! If I accidentally notice anything else I'll make another post!

Yours Truly,

Lady Rian Whistledown 💋

#Youtube #mydiary🎀#dear diary #diary entry #law of assumption #manifestation #manifesting #lawofassumption #loassumption #how to manifest #bridgerton #subliminals

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stardusthuntress · 1 year ago

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A Gala-ctic Evening (Part 2)

ARC Echo x AFAB!reader

(Part 1)

Word Count: ~6k (hehehehehe! Here there be pure smut, friends!)

Summary: Echo and the classic ‘night at the gala’ trope, continued. What a fun way to start a relationship with a sweet, flirty trooper like Echo. Corporal, ‘fix it all and flirt the whole way’ is your date for tonight, and he’s more than ready to take it all the way!

TW: Again, 100% pure smut! PiV (wrap it before you tap it irl kids), pull out method (not advised irl), orals (f receiving), reader is a bit self-conscious of her own body (Echo does his best to reassure her), Echo being flirty and confident because he knows the reality of yolo

A/N: who needs plot when you’ve got a man like Echo! No minors allowed! 18+ only! Purely self-indulgent. Echo can have the exact same kinds of love that the other boys can! And with a man as confident and dedicated as Echo, why would you want anyone else! This is also the first time I've written and posted actual smut... I hope you like it!

Echo dividers by @/djarrex, hyperspace banners are my own

Now at the hotel for the night, the pair continue to let their hearts dance closer and closer.

“I never did get a chance to ask you to dance, my Starlight.” Echo offers, tugging her heels from her hand, dropping them in a chair, and returning his hands to her waist.

“I’m no good at dancing,” she mutters, slightly nervous and put out.

“Nonsense, it’s just a chance to hold you close, skill doesn’t matter to me. Here,” he scoops up her hand and twirls her on the spot.

“See? Easy, I’ll lead, just hold on to me. Besides,” he leans closer, to whisper mischeviously in her ear, “there’s no one here to watch, and I don’t have any skill at it either. I just want an excuse to hold you close and see your radiant joy again.”

She giggles and hides in his shoulder.

His arms settle loosely around her waist, and he ever so gently coaxes her to sway and move around the room in small circles.

She relaxes a bit, nuzzling into his shoulder instead of hiding in it.

Echo steals a moment to place a soft kiss on her hair as they sway and swirl around the room.

She raises her head, a dreamy look in her eyes as they dart between meeting his and stealing glances at his lips.

Their steps slow as their focus shifts, neither is sure when exactly their feet stop moving and they stand still, only that it means their lips meet in a dance of their own.

After a moment, they break apart to stare deep into each other’s eyes.

“My Starlight,” Echo whispers. Her attention is drawn to his lips, and the nervousness reappears.

“Oops, maybe I should take the makeup off before it makes a mess of us both.”

Echo smirks, “if that’s what you want.” He’s eager to see her face without all the getup again. Just her, the way he’s most familiar with her everyday in her armor. The way he’s dreamed of her late at night when everyone is asleep.

She tugs him into the bathroom to clean the lipstick that transferred onto him, then reluctantly ushers him out so they can both change into something a little more comfortable.

She takes off the makeup, and lets her hair loose, then needs help with the dress.

And he’s sitting on the bed with his bow tie undone and shirt unbuttoned and untucked. Belt draped over a nearby chair atop his jacket.

As she reappears in the fresher doorway, he can tell she’s a little self conscious after taking the makeup off.

But Echo looks up with a relieved smile and instantly compliments how nice it is to see the real her without the makeup.

“It was nice to be considered pretty for once”, she says.

But Echo prefers her without makeup, and made it his business to tell her as much. “You don’t need it, I finds her natural beauty even more stunning without it.” His tone and eyes reflecting his genuine nature.

Though, for now he keeps to himself how the dark color of her lipstick had made him aware of the finer details of how her lips moved that he hadn’t noticed before. But he was even more entranced watching those movements without the lipstick now. Knowing that he, and he alone could see those subtleties in the way she moved and the expressions she made.

She doesn’t know how to respond, so instead she turns her attention back to getting the dress off. Besides, he’s made her a little hot and bothered now, perhaps he’s earned a chance to see her with a little less on?

Then she turns, shifts her hair so she can still see him, and directs him to the fasteners on the dress.

His scomp sits on her waist, anchoring them to each other.

That’s when he notices she’s still wearing the belt.

He tenderly traces the belt around her waist, peering over her shoulder, careful not to look down her top, just to find the clip with his handprint on it. One finger slips beneath the belt so he can grip the clip with one hand, and he unfastens it.

As the belt slips away from her hips, he lifts the clip higher so he can look at it. He rests his chin on her shoulder, and rubs his thumb over the handprint shape. He’s dying to know how she found out about his symbol from his old unit. Or if it’s merely a coincidence? It can’t be, it’s too well coordinated with his old color. But that’s a question for later. Right now, he just wants her.

Instead he simply raises an eyebrow and shifts his eyes to her, to ask if she knew what the symbol meant to him. Her cheek brushes against his and she shyly looks away, smiling at the floor. So she did know. Well, it worked like a charm. His heart was already hers, but everything that happened tonight simply solidified that.

So he presses a kiss into her cheek, and squeezes her tight before reluctantly leaning back to look for the fastener of the dress.

He finds the fastener on the back of one hip, and places his hand over it. He leans forward again, his lips near her ear to ask a quiet, “May I?” While pressing another kiss into her cheek.

Her cheeks warm, and she smiles, nodding.

This time he simply rotates one shoulder back to examine the clasp, keeping as much of their bodies in contact as he can. What do ya know, the clasp is easy to undo with one hand, and the dress begins to unravel, exposing her back to him.

He can’t help but brush his knuckles against the soft skin of her back on it’s way back up to her shoulder, but his hand never quite reaches her shoulder…

“Don’t stop” she whispers, eyes drifting closed.

She can feel his breath on her neck as he takes a moment to prepare himself, then allows the tips of his fingers to ghost over her skin. He adds one finger at a time, each one feather light and smooth. His fingers find the edges of the exposed skin, but respectfully avoid dancing beyond the limit of what he can see.

Her brow furrows, but her eyes remain closed. She hums, searching for a way to tell him what she is hoping for. “Like you did in the gardens,” she manages as the back of his fingers continue to glide across her skin.

“Like this?” He checks, allowing his ring finger and pinky to slip beneath the fabric hanging loosely from her shoulders.

“Yes!” she breathes. He’s happy to see her brow is no longer creased.

“If that’s what you wish, My Starlight, then you shall have it.” The press of his hand becomes a little more firm, as his palm flattens against her and explores around her back. Slipping to her shoulders, he massages a bit, then finds his fingers already under the straps there. Using his thumb, he hesitantly pushes the strap off of his fingers a bit.

“What if we—?“ he begins, starting to push the strap off of her shoulder just a bit.

She can only nod and relax her shoulder, allowing him to slip it off a little easier.

Echo is sure he’s fallen asleep and is in the middle of the best kind of dream. She’s letting him remove her clothes!

He ever so gently slips his scomp link around her beneath the now loose material and runs the cold metal up her side to her shoulder. She gasps in pleasure and shivers again! Echo is in heaven.

“Would you allow me to remove this one too?” He queries, scomp holding steady near her shoulder, but ready to retract it should she say no. “I won’t take it personally if you say no, Sweetheart. I promise,” He whispers. Consent means everything to this man. He knows first hand what it is like to not get a say in something to be done to his own body and would never inflict that upon anyone.

“Don’t stop now,” her breathy voice does things to him, he discovers.

Slow enough that she could easily stop him if she changed her mind, he eases the strap off her shoulder and lets the fabric fall to the floor, pooling like stars reflected in a lake at her feet.

He holds his breath, realizing there’s no binder strap at her back nor shoulders.

She shifts a bit, arms covering her chest, and he can tell it’s from nerves. So he immediately jumps into action, doing everything he can think of to soothe her mind.

He leans forward and presses his lips to the back of her neck, and she gasps. It’s music to his ears.

His scomp arm returns to her waist, wrapping delicately around her front, and pulling her back to his chest. His other arm doing the same, but angled upwards at the elbow, across her chest, wrist happily settling between her breasts, hand sliding into place along her collarbone, just below the spot where her shoulder meets her neck.

Meanwhile, his lips leave more and more open-mouthed kisses down her neck and trailing across her shoulders.

She tilts her head to one side, exposing her neck to him, and he rewards her communicative nature with more passionate kisses, pressing her firmly into his chest, hand beginning to wander towards her breasts.

Finally he breaks away from kissing and sucking on her neck to look down at her body, exposed for his eyes only!

“Oh, Mesh’la!” He croons in her ear, she can feel him shiver as his eyes light up, hand finding her breast and squeezing a bit. “You are a sight for sore eyes!”

She clings to his arm at her waist, her other arm snaking behind her to the back of his neck

“Echo!” She breathes.

Echo’s restraint finally snaps. Stars, does he want her! Desperately!

His lips immediately return to her neck, this time finding that spot just beneath her ear. Renewed vigor driving every move as he groans into her, squeezing her to him, and sucking harder as she moans at his ministrations.

She whimpers, knees getting shaky.

He feels her trembling in his arms, and stops, but only to scoop her off her feet and carry her bridal style to the bed, sitting her upright in the middle of it. “I’ve got you, Sweetheart.” And he kisses her with everything he has, hand on her cheek, as he begins to crawl over her onto the bed, supporting her weight as he gently lowers her back, maneuvering himself between her legs.

Her hands cup his face, and she presses the kisses back, matching his passion and then some. Grasping at the untied bow tie again, she uses it as extra leverage to keep his lips in contact with hers as he hovers over her, one knee between hers.

He can feel the tingle of excitement racing through his body as the kisses become more and more desperate. His tongue exploring her mouth like nothing else exists. And his thigh, his real, flesh and blood thigh pressing into her core. He can feel her warmth, and her wetness through her panties as she presses back.

He begins to lower his body weight onto her, but is almost too careful not to let the weight of his metal limbs rest on her.

She breaks the kiss to smile and giggle a little. Echo can’t help but watch as she radiates joy.

“Love,” her half-lidded eyes, framed with her laughter find his own, “you can put your whole weight on me. All of you. You know damn well I am not delicate.”

“You shouldn't have to bear the weight of my alterations, pun intended.” He smirks.

She giggles. “As much as I love that you’re getting your sense of humor back, Hun, I’m not afraid of your alterations. I love them too. After all, they allowed us to meet. I am grateful, change doesn’t have to be a bad thing. We can decide if we want to make it into a good thing. It isn’t easy, and it takes a lot of hard work, but you won’t be alone for it. I’ll be right here. I rather like laying under you, Love.”

Echo chuckles nervously, tucking his head into her shoulder. Doing his best to make sure his headgear doesn’t end up in her face when he does so. The last thing he wants is to let any of his metal parts become the reason she gets a black eye.

He’s still partially hovering over her. His weight on his elbows on either side of her. Hips against hers, his thigh still pressed to her core. But his eyes are drawn down towards their hips when he feels her shifting beneath him. Ready to lift the awkward weight of his prosthesis off of her as soon as he can figure out which one is bothering her. But what he sees is not what he expected to see.

Slowly, sensually, her foot arches as she uses it to stroke up his thigh, over the seam between metal and man, over his ass, and around to rest her calf on the small of his back, using her calf to press his ass down. Encouraging him to put his full weight on her.

Echo groans, still next to her ear, allowing his eyes to fall shut, too aroused to do anything else. And the vision he’s met with is one he hopes he never forgets. The arch of her foot, pressed into the muscle of his leg. Her ankles at the same angle he’d noticed when he first saw her in heels when the night was only just beginning.

He’s drawn from his reverie, eyes popping open, when he feels her other foot beginning the same journey up his other leg.

Echo can only watch, wide eyed, and feel. Man oh man can he feel it! As she latches her ankles behind his hips, and tugs his full weight onto her, he starts to melt for her. He allows his legs to flatten so he can feel every inch of her, by her own volition, pressed tightly against every inch of skin he had left.

Her hands sneak up his back, under his unbuttoned shirt. Slowly, giving him a chance to say no if he wanted. But he has no reason to protest any of it. With one hand at his lower back, and one hand between his shoulder blades, she urges the rest of him down onto her body.

He lets his elbows slide out, until he can no longer feel the cool air between them, only the warmth of her. Only the softness of her skin as he nuzzles into her neck. He shifts his real arm so he can pet her hair, but finds himself momentarily stalled when he realizes he can feel her nipples against his chest. He wants to look down, to see her finally exposed to him. But first he needs to see the look in her eyes, make sure she’s still happy with this choice now that his full weight is on her.

So his eyes flick up, to find her eyes so much more full of love than he ever expected anyone could ever feel towards him.

His hand finally makes it to her hair, stroking it. And then moving to brush the back of his knuckles against her cheek.

A flash of mischief crosses her eyes briefly, and she manages to catch his knuckles with a kiss.

Echo’s own smile brightens. And he finds his eyes already tracing her lips, before he gives in and presses her into the bed with a kiss. Pushing harder into her with every second that passes.

She licks at his lips this time, opening his mouth, and searching for his tongue.

Echo obliges with a moan, his tongue surging forward to meet hers.

Teeth clash as both tongues search deeper, wanting to know every inch of each other.

With a final suck on her tongue, Echo pulls back to gaze into her eyes. His need to confirm that he’s still got it. The hunger in her eyes, all he needs to keep going.

Then his kisses trail down her neck

All the way to her breasts

The way she tends to subtly cover her chest tells him she’s not very confident about her breasts, so he decides to spend a little extra time pouring his love into them.

She begins to mewl beneath him, her arms and legs clinging tightly to him. He’s impressed by the strong grip of her legs, giving away how much she loves him.

So he sucks harder, and licks slower, and plays longer.

Her hand moves to the back of his neck, holding him to her breast, telling him without words how much she enjoys the way he’s loving on her.

He begins to squeeze and knead her other breast, and lets a few fingers just barely brush over her nipple.

Her legs get impossibly tighter around him.

He pulls back, all but gasping for air, and cursing the fact that he needs air at all. His face turns to the breast that only received the attention of his hand, and she can feel his breath against her skin as he suddenly lowers back down to even out his love-making, now pouring his devotion into this side.

His hand slides down her hip, until he finds the waistband of her underwear, and begins to play with the hemline that rests on her hip while he continues to lavish her breasts.

She rests her hand over his to encourage him to keep it there.

He can feel the growing wetness in her underwear as it rubs on his abdomen.

Echo chuckles, the vibrations from his laugh doing a number on her breast. They’re both groaning now.

His hand traces the hemline of her panties around the curve of her leg and towards the spot that’s aching for him.

She huffs in protest when the soft touch on her hip slips away for a second. That is, until she bucks her hips upwards again, and finds his palm waiting to cup her core through her panties.

His fingers rest near the waistband, his palm sits where she wants it most.

One of her hands still cups the back of Echo’s head, the other now holds his hand against her sex, so she can buck against it repeatedly.

Echo begins to break away from her breasts so he can look down and begin to allow his fingers to dance along the skin on either side of the panties.

He still can’t believe this is real. She’s nearly naked in front of him, using his own hand to massage parts of her so private he thought he’d only see them in his dreams.

He’s breathing heavy, moaning with each thrust of her pelvic bone against his hand. His tallest finger begins to ever so slightly tug the waistband of her panties down. He almost doesn't even notice his thumb beginning to slide under the fabric too.

“Yes, Echo!” She breaths, head thrown back.

“May I… remove them?” He asks, hesitantly, as though any words will shatter the moment.

“Please!” She’s doing her best to refocus her eyes on his face, but he’s rather proud she’s already so infatuated with what he’s doing. She’s breathing heavily as she gasps out, “just rip them off, Love, I have no intention to unwrap my legs, if you’re alright with that.”

He looks up at her, pressing his palm against her core, meeting her thrust for thrust. “Are, uhh… are you sure?” He whispers, “This lace is really pretty on you. I’d hate to ruin something I’d love to see on you again.”

She laughs. “I’ll get more, I promise. Maybe even a complete set next time,” she winks, “but I need to feel you inside me!” She takes a breath before continuing, “use your scomp to rip through them, please!” No longer caring how desperate she sounded.

“Yes, Ma’am!” He breathes. How can he deny her when she begs so pretty! And, she’d so willingly accepted his metal parts without even thinking about it. Echo felt himself falling harder for her with every passing second together.

She props herself up on her elbows to watch, as Echo finally wraps his fingers under the gentle lace, to lift it from her skin. He takes a second to admire the soft patterns before bringing his scomp to the lace and brrrrrrrrrrrrr-ing right through the fabric just above each leg.

He looks up at her, still in disbelief that he just ripped the panties off his partner on their first night together. Only to find her biting her lip as she watches him.

She leans forward, cupping his cheek in her hand and kissing him so deeply, he forgets he’s still holding the shreds of her underwear. Right up until he feels them getting tugged from his hand.

He looks down to see her stuff it into the back pocket of his pants. His wide-eyes return to hers, a hopeful question in them.

“Keep them, Love. And maybe you can help me pick out the next pair,” she says with a kiss to his cheek.

He feels a shiver race down his spine as he surges forward to press another passionate kiss to her lips. But when her wetness touches his abdomen, with no barrier this time, he breaks the kiss in a gasp.

“Oooooh, that feels good!” He moans, reaching between them to once again cup her core with his palm, but this time without the hindrance of that last layer of fabric.

“Echo! It does, I agree, but I need you inside me!!”

Infatuated with her, and how much he loves her, he swallows hard, then licks his lips, focusing all his attention on her lower lips and starts to finger her, tracing her lower lips torturously slowly, dragging it out.

One finger slides down either side of the labia, opening the labia and running a finger up the inside, one on each side and then together back down the middle, pressing into her ever so slightly. Dipping inside a teasing amount, and letting his fingers explore her inner folds. Teasing her entrance, Before a finger slips slowly inside.

Her back arches for a moment as she groans with wild abandon, and he catches a nipple in his mouth.

Slowly, sensually, he pulls his fingers out, and ever more slowly pushes them back in, once, twice.

And then he feels it. That spongy spot, deep within her. He adds pressure to that spot, wiggling his fingers in tiny swirling movements as he does so.

Her back arches almost immediately, tugging her nipple from his mouth with a pop, and her noises become even more desperate and needy.

“There it is,” he whispers, watching her face as he pulls out and inserts a second finger with the first this time, before continuing to massage her g spot.

The room explodes into white ribbons of hyperspace behind her eyelids as she clings to Echo as tightly as her fingers will allow.

Echo’s hand is coated in her wetness, and he can feel her walls tugging him deeper in before losing their rhythm and fluttering around his fingers.

When she cries out, he starts to slow his pace, massaging her through it, and coaxing her back to the here and now.

When she opens her eyes, she finds his forehead against her own, eyes watching for hers with rapt attention.

“That’s it, I’m here, my Starlight. Dank ferrik that was hot!”

When she blushes and giggles he knows she’s returned from hyperspace and slowly extracts his fingers.

She gasps at the empty feeling, but watches with rapt attention as he brings his fingers directly to his mouth. His eyes practically rolling back and closing as he indulges in the taste of her, sucking every last drop from his own digits.

She begs him to put something back inside her. Fingers, tongue, cock, even his scomp (though she doubts he’s ready for that); any of them, as long as he’s iniside her.

“I don’t think my manhood works anymore, Love.” Echo finally voices his concern, rather ashamed he didn’t say it before they started. What if she rejects him now? He’s not sure he can take that.

Instead she giggles. “Maybe only a partner has the right tools for the job now,” she whispers against his headgear. “And you’re still wearing too much.” She’s already begun to peel the shirt from his shoulders. Once it’s on its way to the floor, she moves to unbutton and unzip his pants.

It’s all Echo can do to steady his breathing and watch, wide-eyed, as she pulls the clothes from his body faster than he expected.

Once they’re both nude, she flips him onto his back, and grinds down on him.

He grips her hips as tightly as he dares, not hesitating to groan loudly with every swirl of her hips.

Happily watching from below as she massages his length with her wetness. Surprised as he begins to feel himself growing and getting hard beneath her.

Maybe she was right!

She smiles as she begins to feel it too.

Echo revels in the feeling of finally having her most intimate parts in contact with his own, still amazed that this is real. As her hips swivel over his own he lets his gaze wander lovingly over her body.

He finds his attention drawn to her breasts again. His boldness growing, he asks if he can suck on her nipple.

She complies without hesitation, leaning down to deposit one into his open mouth. Relishing the feeling of him licking and sucking every inch of it.

“Echo!” She whispers.

He detaches, wide eyes finding hers immediately, mind very hazy from everything she’s doing to him.

“I need you,” she gasps, hips still swivelling on his. “I need you.”

Echo’s restraint snaps with a thrust of his hips, and he flips her onto her back with gusto. She squeaks in surprise, but her eyes tell him she’s excited. He looks down, and finds himself surprised at how much of himself she’s managed to coax out of hiding.

He looks back up at her with excitement as he lines himself up, searching her expression for any hesitation.

Instead she smirks at him and bites her lip, and he feels her leg around his hips, adding just enough pressure to start slipping inside.

Their breaths pick up, but their gaze holds steady, caught in the trance of each other as he slowly slides into place.

He’s certain that her determination to hold his gaze and the way she gasps while staring deep into his eyes is the hottest thing he’s ever seen!

Once in, they both hold still for a moment. Eyes and mouths conveying a thousand feelings their words cannot express while they gasp for breath and sneak kisses and nibbles.

He shivers, and she clenches around him, making him moan and involuntarily thrust.

“I’m not gonna last long, my Starlight,” he gasps out, “can I move?”

“Not yet… need a minute… been awhile,” she mumbles between breaths, clutching him tighter.

After a few deep breaths, her chest heaves a little less, and he raises his eyebrows, touching his forehead to hers. A silent question.

A mischievous spark lights her eyes, and she locks her ankles together behind him, biting her lip, and shaking her head, no. “Let’s enjoy this for a bit,” she teases.

They lay there, eyes also locked together, beginning to pant again. This time with the effort of not moving.

There was only one thing she knew for certain, only one thought reverberating around the inside of her head: he felt so good inside her!

When she clenched again, Echo’s eyes squeezed shut, and his head moved to the crook of her neck as he groaned in her ear.

“Dank ferrik, Love,” he was shaking with the effort of holding still now, “not sure… I can… take much more…”

As a means of agreement, she began to move her hips in small circles.

With a loud moan of ecstasy, Echos arms tightened around her, securing her to him with all his strength, “C-Can I? Please?” He didn’t even try to hide the desperation in his voice.

“YES!”

And with that he began thrusting to meet her hips with a feral energy.

His open mouth finding hers, tongues almost instantly seeking companionship to cling to and massage.

Within moments both were struggling to keep their rhythm.

Echo’s lips break from hers with a gasp.

“Where?” She could hear him holding back, but barely.

“Outside of me,” was all she could manage.

Barely two thrusts later, and Echo hastily pulled out, careful to only paint her abdomen from the outside.

She gasped when he removed himself, instantly missing the feeling of him.

Even at the pinnacle of his climax, he knew she hadn’t finished yet. So he replaced his cock with two fingers.

Barely in control of his own limbs, his fingers thrust in rather quickly.

But the way she arched and let out a high pitched squeak next to the ear wells in his headset was almost enough to make him cum again as his length dances across his own mess on her stomach. His fingers search for the elusive spot inside her, as her moans serenade him with each shift of a finger inside her.

He curls his fingers inside her, and her moans go up an octave.

Echo smirks, an idea on the tip of his tongue, and he shifts his weight.

The world around her is a blur, but she’s aware of Echo’s movement beside her and inside of her, until he suddenly pulls out.

She sits up with a gasp. She wasn’t done yet. But the scene she’s met with is better than she expected.

Echo, still smirking and watching her no doubt disheveled expressions with rapture, is arranging her legs on his shoulders, his hot breath dancing over the spot where she needs him the most.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you there. Just lie back, my Starlight.” He whispers, inching closer to her wetness with each word. He holds her gaze for a moment and then dives in, eyes still fixed on her face. He licks a long stripe up the expanse of her slit and watches as she throws her head back in ecstasy with a loud moan.

He pulls back slightly to give her a moment to breathe, only to blow gently across her wetness. She squirms, hands searching for his in the sheets.

Ever the perceptive ARC, he spots the way her hands feel for his, and he captures her fingers between his before diving in for more.

He licks up and down, and lets his tongue dip in and out. Her whimpers serenade his every move and her legs tremble on his shoulders. She’s close now. He can feel it.

So he exchanges his tongue for two fingers and latches onto her clit, sucking hard.

White hot stars explode in her mind's eye, as she loses all control of her rhythm, fluttering around his fingers for a second time. Her hips tighten around his hand and shoulders, and her nails rake his back.

He slowly pumps his fingers in and out, grounding her, and working her through her climax as her body begins to relax, still wrapped tightly around him. He glances down to remove his fingers, enjoying the sight of them both coated in each other’s release. But his eyes quickly return to hers, and he moves back up to cuddle her, keeping close watch until her eyes focus on his again and her breathing returns to a normal level.

“How was that, my Starlight?” He asks with a giddy laugh.

Her eyes narrow playfully, she’s still panting just a touch. “Was that your first time since… uh…?”

“Yeah,” he laughs nervously, tucking his nose into her neck, careful as his headgear nears her face.

“STARS, Echo! You must have a lot more experience than I do!” She starts to get a bit nervous.

He scoops her into his arms, holding her close.

“Not experience, dreams. Dreams of all the things I’d heard my brothers say worked well that I wanted to try, a few ideas of my own, and a handful of things that that outfit you wore tonight made me want to do. Dank Ferrik, I might need you to wear it again sometime, you looked amazing!”

“Need, huh?” She asks, somewhere between eager and curious.

He laughs, slightly embarrassed, and then takes a breath and just embraces it, “Yeah, need.” He declares, eyes bright with a fire she’d only dreamed she could ever find.

She giggles, and he decides that all the noises she’s made tonight just made the top of the list of all his favorite sounds in the galaxy.

They hold each other close for a few moments, until she shives slightly.

“Let me clean us up, my Starlight. No, you stay right there. I want to do this for you.”

She relaxes back into the bed and just watches as he disappears into the fresher and reemerges with a soft, wet towel which he proceeds to use to gently wipe between her legs and then absorb his own mess from her abs.

They chit chat as he drops the towel off the side of the bed in his rush to feel her skin against his own again, wrapping them both in the sheets. His hand runs slowly up and down her back, coaxing her to sleep on him, more content than he, a trooper designed and raised for combat, has ever known before.

Echo shifts, becoming aware of the world around him again, and snuggling into the soft warmth in his arms. He opens his eyes to find the gorgeous woman he’s been pining over for the longest time still wrapped in his arms, legs tangled with his, contentment on her sleeping face.

He watches her for a moment, the soft light in the room making her look like the ethereal Angels from the Moons of Iago.

She seems to sense his alertness and tries to find her way back to the land of the waking, brow furrowing.

Hmm, Echo finds himself needing to fix the discontent of her expression, so he covers her in a barrage of kisses. She wakes with a giggle.

They lay there chatting for a few minutes, enjoying the lack of needing to be anywhere for a while.

A few more unhurried kisses later, they decide to get up to make the most of the morning before their ride gets there.

So they start their morning routines, but this time with a lot more sweet touches and long gazes than usual.

He exits the bathroom to find her wearing his shirt from the night before, with her lack of any undergarments peeking out beneath it, totally unbuttoned in the front, barely hiding anything, and is instantly aroused again.

Offers her a hand with a smirk, and pulls her to him when she takes it, beaming at her.

Both his hand and scomp slip underneath the shirt to wrap around her waist, and she smiles radiantly back. So he kisses her, and pins her to the wall, hard but gentle, like there’s no tomorrow. Slipping a leg between hers, he aches to feel her wetness on his own skin again. Her knee sensually slides up his leg to wrap around his waist. Still barely believing last night was real, Echo’s hand moves to her thigh, gripping it tightly. They still have a little while until Crosshair arrives to pick them up, plenty of time… for round two. After all, they are both still in need of a long, hot shower…

Please don’t steal my work! I pour my heart into these so if you like it please reblog to share instead of reposting it!

Taglist: (I gathered some of these from the reblogs and comments, I hope that's ok! If you want me to take you off the list just dm me!) @amorfista (I promised it would be up soon! Hehe!) @the-hexfiles @starrylothcat @daimyosprincess @miss-mouse99

#a gala-ctic evening #tbb echo x reader #tbb arc echo x reader #arc echo x reader #arc echo tbb x reader #tcw arc echo x reader #tcw echo x reader #zenith writes

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gremzoff · 1 year ago

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have you ever stopped whining to think that maybe,, just maybe, the hate you receive is true? Without whining and crying about it? That maybe, just maybe you're just not…good enough? Or as good as everyone else? People care about the 'basic' ocs because theyre just? Entertaining? Or maybe the artstyle is good? Have you thought about that? Obviously people will idolize who they think is cool. Also, you're 18? You're an adult now. And youre acting like this? Crying and getting your snot everywhere because you arent getting as much attention as the bigger blogs/creators? Or because your oc isnt that loved? Because the fandom got bigger and so the creators with actually good content are getting more notes? Is this your first fandom experience? I thought you were -12 y/o before seeing the bright "18" (shocked). Every fandom has its flaws, you said it yourself. The bigger the fandom, the bigger the flaws. Hat tipped to you for wanting to keep your peace and no longer interacting with the fandom.

Maybe before going in anon and sending these kinds of threatening/insulting asks calling others immature, you should look in the mirror. Attacking people for their personal decisions and opinions, calling them "12 yo" and immature, this is the real immature act. Why are you doing this, you need to make yourself feel tough? Anyway.

I'm not the only one complaining. If you really cared, you would look around and see I'm far from the only one nor the first complaining about these issues.

This is far from my first fandom experience, I've been in much worse places. I consider that I've grown enough since then to see and point out what's wrong in a community. I see so many new members making posts saying how this fandom feels like a "big family"- but all it takes is actually getting deeper into it to see how rotten the situation is. Idolizing isn't ok. Kissing people's toes isn't ok- and the hypocrisy of some of these people, saying, oh we should support small artists, but then they don't even take time to even look at our stuff- and again, I am not talking only about myself, we are a handful feeling this exact same way, and it's exhausting.

This feeling of anger, sadness, jealousy even maybe, us, small creators can feel towards others is normal. We are human, and we have feelings too, and we shouldn't oppress them. Maybe this is what you fail to realise, the world doesn't revolve around you, others can, too, express feelings. We are allowed to have these feelings and opinions, and real maturity is when you'll accept this fact and scroll past posts that upset you, instead of sending hate.

This has been an exhausting journey. I'm not going to say this fandom has been the worst I've ever joined, like I said, I've been in much darker places. But this is definitely the first time I witnessed such behaviour with my own eyes- sometimes, it almost felt like a cult. And I am not saying this to play around with words and exaggerate my feelings as a shock value, it just takes basic understanding of human behaviour to see what's wrong. This fandom may seem friendly for some, but it isn't the case for everyone, especially if you have experience, and you've been here for a while.

Even if I'm grateful towards this community for some things -like my ocs, my friends, but also the fact I've improved my skills a lot during this journey- , I definitely feel bitter for all the negativity I felt. Between people bashing me for my creations, self doubt and anxiety for not being "good enough", not being able to keep up with posting everyday on my askblogs, or just this uncomfortable feeling of constantly getting thrown under the bus by people who are "more popular". Seriously, nobody would want to meet people who are somewhat known in the community, all that to realise that even in "small" fandoms, people will think they are better than you, and won't hesitate to step on you and almost erase you, but then their fragile ego gets shattered as soon as you dare to speak out about these issues, or worse, express your opinion about not liking their stuff.

I have so many things to say. I hope you get off of your chair and go take a bowl of fresh air outside, because you definitely need it, and probably on the way, look at yourself and reflect on your own behaviour.

#grem stuff #anon #onceler #tw onceler #also you must be determined to send anon hate to me since you went to my alt lmao

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adiabolikpastel · 2 years ago

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[Excruciating Duplicity - Callista Lorne] Character Personality / Character Inspirations ~ pt. 3

Hello Everyone,

Welcome back to the next part of my Character Installment Analysis for the Lorne Family!

For those who might have missed pt. 1 or pt. 2 - this series is to explore the different personality types and share some character inspirations for some of the more under developed OCs here on the blog. Starting with the Lorne Family.

This is part 3 of 4 for this group.

In this post we will take a look at the three eldest girls, Calli's older sisters. If you have more questions, or you want to know more, feel free to ask! Enjoy~!

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Evangeline

ISTP

A Virtuoso (ISTP) is someone with the Introverted, Observant, Thinking, and Prospecting personality traits. They tend to have an individualistic mindset, pursuing goals without needing much external connection. They engage in life with inquisitiveness and personal skill, varying their approach as needed.

Big sister energy. The one that always feels like she is better than you at everything. She is beautiful - powerful - strong willed - and never lets anyone talk back to her. Sometimes she can be socially awkward- but only select people would ever notice. Evangeline was the middle child for a long time - but never let that bother her. Her outward expression may give off the lone wolf vibe, but in reality she enjoys being around others. I believe the most accurate depiction of her would be Haruka.

While she is calm, cool, and collected most of the time - around her family, more specifically Lucille, she shows a more relaxed persona. While Dogyeom Park does not share the same personality type her alpha energy is exactly what I picture Evangeline having in public places. Lucy and Andriod 18 both embody this female bad a$$ that I want - where she isn't just smart and beautifully handsome - she could literally kill you.

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Lucille

INFJ

An Advocate (INFJ) is someone with the Introverted, Intuitive, Feeling, and Judging personality traits. They tend to approach life with deep thoughtfulness and imagination. Their inner vision, personal values, and a quiet, principled version of humanism guide them in all things.

Mature yet not all at the same time. A girl that knows she's meant to be like the older sister type, but have a tendency to tease just a little too much. Lucille grew up close with her other two sisters and favors them over anyone else. She is most like Michiru, with a strong tendency to fall more into Nozomi when she is dealing with her youngest sister (Callista).

While dealing with duties or in public, Lucille can play the part well. This is where the influence of Kikyo and Sagiri come in. It is through this air that she was able to find a husband, but then surprised him once she showed her more true self. Lucille knows that she doesn't need to ever be overly serious though, since she has such dutiful older siblings.

●・○・●・○・●

Ioanna

ESFJ-T

A Consul (ESFJ) is a person with the Extraverted, Observant, Feeling, and Judging personality traits. They are attentive and people-focused, and they enjoy taking part in their social community. Their achievements are guided by decisive values, and they willingly offer guidance to others.

As the youngest for years before Callista was born, Ioanna developed a bit of a complex about it. She is strong willed and often gets what she wants with a carefully placed doe eye. Even her eldest brother is a sucker for her charms. That being said, she is still a demon - and the daughter of a powerful one. She knows how to fight and isn't afraid of anything (thanks to a very strong support system). For her, I feel like the closest to her everyday would be Nana - though she is probably more like Domi all things considered.

Out of all her siblings, Ioanna was always the one looking for love. She fell hard and often for literally anyone - but most of that came from her 'naive' behavior. Despite this behavior, she is no fool. This is where she is like Tsunoda, knowing exactly that her behavior causes certain events to happen. At her most serious - aside from putting on a royal persona (like Domi), she is a lot like Kagome.

#EXCRUCIATING DUPLICITY #LORNE FAMILY #Evangeline Lorne #Lucille Lorne #Ioanna Lorne

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legitimateberry · 3 months ago

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Hey! Some catching up in this post.

Last week I went to a $B concert, and it was so good! I kept telling the friend I went with that I couldn’t believe we were in the same city as them when we were walking around before the show and he said, along the lines of, “well, we are here for their show”.

Which, true. But stillllll.

It was euphoric, and I was dancing and singing and feeling the energy and it was magnetic and fire as hell I loved it. Openers were fire.

I love concerts, dude.

Then I watched one of my little sisters for parts of the weekend because my mom was in MN to visit my other little sisters❤️ and my stepdad had to work. Pretty sure everyone thought I was a teen mom, which is fine, but I’ll admit it was awkward sometimes because people just stareeee, bro.

Her and I did arts n crafts and went to the park and the beach and played hide and seek and did chalk outside and saw a mini parade and played uno and did more arts n crafts. It was fun and kind of opened my eyes more to my responsibilities and the life around me and things I’ve been lying to myself about. Two lil addictions I’m afraid I was in denial of until recently. Vaping and that za (will get you if you abuse it fr).

Overall was just an eye opener kind of weekend. Which led to my interview and my newfound habit of going outside to take in the fresh air, although it took me a month to get to the point of doing something about anything.

I had an interview today. I think the best part about it was that it forced me to get up and stop rotting in bed and DO something beneficial and purposeful for myself, even if that means doing my makeup or showering or changing my outfit into something that makes me want to dance in the mirror or have a mini photo shoot because I FEEL good.

Also means getting a job, which I need after my seasonal one ended at the beginning of September. Womp womp. I’m almost out of za and have no vape. I am on the struggle bus, crew.

I have a lot of things I want to save up for and things I need now, so while it’s nice to bed rot it’s not the best when I know I need to be doing literally anything else. Like finding a job.

But I did it! I got the call back a few hours after I left saying they wanted me for the positionnnn!!!! 😆🤘

And I want to find another job, too, as I’m a second one, dos, because have y’all seen the cost of living? Hell nah.

But anyways, these are my interview outfits and some pictures from outside that I took. I like to go outside everyday and journal, then read (this habit started a few days ago), and it’s been good for me and I want to keep doing it. We’ll see if it stays. It’s really the only time I get outside unless I walk our dog.

I live with my mom and stepdad, so I contribute to chores obviously, including taking the pupper outside. He’s a husky. His name is Oso, which means bear in Spanish. He’s super cute, but lots of people are afraid/more wary of him here in Mass when people weren’t in Minnesota and Wisconsin.

Then again, maybe I’m just noticing it. I don’t know.

My observational skills are like my hearing- selective. :D

I do pay attention to detail, just not things that other people do, if that makes sense? I won’t spend time explaining myself idk man.

Anywayssss x2, here’s my outfits and my time basking outside.

More outfits dropping soon because I’m only allowed to post ten pics at a time 🫶👻💃

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icinch · 2 years ago

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10 Things Sam Walton Can Teach You About Internet Marketing

New Post has been published on https://www.cinchhomebiz.com/10-things-sam-walton-can-teach-you-about-internet-marketing/

10 Things Sam Walton Can Teach You About Internet Marketing

Regardless of what people might think of the Walmart we know today, there is a lot to be learned from Walmart’s founder Sam Walton. In fact, if Sam were starting in business in 2020, he would almost undoubtedly be starting that business online.

So what can we glean from the guy in the old pickup truck who loved retailing?

Don’t worry about what others say about you. At JC Penney’s, his first full time job out of college, the personnel director told Sam, “Walton, I’d fire you if you weren’t such a good salesman. Maybe you’re just not cut out for retail.” No one remembers that man’s name, but Sam built an empire no one is likely to ever forget.

If people are telling you that you’re not cut out for online marketing, just remember Sam and smile.

Go with your strengths. Sam wasn’t good at accounting, he had poor organizational skills and he was hopelessly disorganized. But one thing he could do really well was build a team of people who could handle these things for him.

Focus on your strengths and outsource the rest.

Build relationships. In college, Same wanted to be student body president, so he discovered a trick that he would use for the rest of his life:

“I learned early on that one of the secrets to campus leadership was the simplest thing of all: speak to people coming down the sidewalk before they speak to you. I did that in college. I would always look ahead and speak to the person coming toward me. If I knew them, I would call them by name, but even if I didn’t I would still speak to them. Before long, I probably knew more students than anybody in the university, and they recognized me and considered me their friend.”

Sam made friends everywhere he went, and you can do the same thing online. Talk to everyone in your niche because you never know who is going to be your next customer, your ally, your promoter, your affiliate or your next joint venture partner.

Be a learning machine. Sam never stopped reading books and taking courses because he understood that the next great idea could come from anywhere.

Choose 5 or 10 proven online marketers to follow, and then read everything they write. Read a marketing book each week, and develop a curiosity for everything related to your field. Keep an open mind and know that your next great idea is hidden right in front of you – you just have to uncover it and act on it.

Learn from your competition. When Sam bought his first store, he realized the store across the street was doing twice as well. So Sam spent time everyday checking out his competitor to see what he was doing, right and wrong. Later he checked out Kmarts, who were ahead of him at the time. Then he visited the headquarters of other retailers who didn’t consider him to be serious competition. Little did they know…

Carefully watch and analyze what other online marketers are doing right and wrong and learn from them. Make friends with them. Ask questions. Bribe them, buy their courses and do whatever it takes to find out what’s already working.

Continually experiment with your business. Sam was continually applying what he learned elsewhere to his stores. Said Sam:

“I think my constant fiddling and meddling with the status quo may have been one of my biggest contributions to the later success of Walmart.”

Learn something and apply it. Make it your mantra: Learn something – innovate. And test, test and test some more to see what is working best. In no other business model in history has it been easier to innovate, test and discover exactly what is working and what needs improving than in online marketing.

Don’t reinvent the wheel – adapt it to your own use. According to Sam, “…most everything I’ve done I’ve copied from somebody else…”

There are plenty of proven online marketing business models you can choose from, so don’t think you have to invent the next revolutionary thing. Instead, take what’s already working and make it even better.

Make mistakes and then move on. Sam didn’t understand the terms of his first lease or how to buy a business. He borrowed money and went into debt to overpay for a failed Ben Franklin store in Newport, Arkansas. After 5 long years of grueling work and long hours, he had quadrupled sales and he had the most successful Ben Franklin store in the region. That’s when the landlord booted him out to give the store to his son to run. There was nowhere else in town to locate Sam’s store, so he drove across four states looking for a new location. He found one in Bentonville, Arkansas and started over.

It’s okay to get it wrong the first time. In fact, you’re probably going to make mistakes and that’s terrific, because it means you’ve started. You’re moving, you’ve got momentum and you’re making progress. Mistakes aren’t roadblocks, they’re bumps in the road to success.

Don’t dwell on your mistakes. Says Sam about being thrown out of his own store, “I’ve never been one to dwell on reverses, and I didn’t do so then…. I know I read my leases a lot more carefully after that, and maybe I became a little more wary of just how tough the world can be …. But I didn’t dwell on my disappointment.”

Every moment is a fresh beginning and an opportunity to take what you’ve learned – good and bad – and use it to your advantage.

Enjoy the process and your victories. In his autobiography, which was written on his deathbed, Sam wrote, “Walmart No. 18 … opened in 1969, and it marked our return to Newport … nineteen years after we had basically been run out of town. By then, I was long over what had happened to us down there, and I didn’t have revenge in mind…. As it happened, we did extraordinarily well with our Newport Walmart, and it wasn’t too long before the old Ben Franklin store I had run on Front Street had to close its doors. You can’t say we ran that guy—the landlord’s son—out of business. His customers were the ones who shut him down. They voted with their feet.”

Sometimes success can be a long time in coming, so remember to enjoy the process and the victories along the way. There were 17 successful stores prior to No. 18 and no doubt Sam enjoyed them all. At first, even your smallest successes should be celebrated, whether it’s your first website, your first sale, or your first $10,000 day.

When it comes to success, Sam Walton may have said it best:

“Celebrate your successes. Find humor in your failures. And remember that high expectations are the key to everything.”

Expect to succeed, act as though you are already successful, do the things you need to do to succeed, and the rest will take care of itself.

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fairstival · 1 year ago

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I know you said you weren’t looking for a response but I have never once read a vent post where I saw myself this much. For years I struggled with the same issue you struggle with now. I almost quit art completely three times because of this.

I know you reblog a lot of art, like I do. I know you love interacting with people in this fandom and complementing their work as much as I do. Here’s the thing. You and I see the best of the best everyday for multiple hours a day. We see artists who make their living selling their work and people who have been drawing for literal decades. That can be exhausting. After awhile it no longer is a representation of their skill but of yours. Yours isn’t good enough look at what everyone else is doing.

I have a few suggestions that help me. One is taking a step back. I had to this week. I haven’t been on discord for a few days and hope to keep it that way because of this exact issue. Limiting your online time is helpful even though it sucks. My other recommendation that’s helped me is making something completely out of my knowledge. I’m working with felt today. I have a dress I’m making. Do I have any experience with both? Nope, not even a little. Picking up an old hobby you having lying around or drawing is a different style helps. I Imagine it would help with writing also but I don’t have much experience in that department. Also, If you have any old art lying around. Go find it and look at it. Nothing is more of a show of your growth than looking at what you did years ago. It’s why I try to keep everything because nothing is more direct evidence than something you drew or wrote in high school.

As far as interacting more, you have to take that at your own pace. The discord DCA PALOOZA has the weekly magmas but those are big and can be stressful. But anyone can open a magma including smaller artists like you. You can’t force it. I had to learn that the hard way. If you want, You can always ask artists if they want to do an art trade. The worst that will happen is that they say no.

And the last thing, you might just be creatively burnt out and that's okay. Burnout looks different from person to person. It can look like pushing constantly with no end. It can look like that devil of your shoulder that won’t let you just stop.

I hope this helps even a little bit. I wish you luck and hope for the best in your art journey as you have wished for others.

obligatory "i don't post vents like this often if ever" disclaimer because i don't post vents like this often if ever but. here we are

i'll delete this later and i'm not actually looking for any kind of response i just need to yell. you know when there's nothing you can do to immediately fix a problem but screaming into your pillow eases the dread for a few minutes? yea thats what im doing. this is my pillow and i am going to scream. so without further ado!!!!

i. have not been doing great with my confidence specifically in regards to my art. i've never seen it in any kind of favorable light but my recent spike in hatred of it has twisted and gnarled into a state of self sabotage where i think i'm actively ruining my chances of ever getting better — and perhaps more importantly, it's stealing away the opportunities i've been given to make friends and engage and be a further part of this community.

it's fucking crushing to know that i could be enjoying the weekly magmas alongside everyone else — that i could be chatting and doodling and having fun with friends — but the one thing standing in my way is me and my stupid self conscious mindset. because i'll work up the courage to join and then i'll just sit there because the idea of people watching me struggle with even just a doodle makes me want to gnaw my own arm off. because i think my art is awful i think it's embarrassing and it takes me hours upon hours just to deem it okay enough to post.

and i know that's all me i know it's just the mindset i KNOW i'm my own worst critic etc etc etc and i know people with absolutely outstanding art have expressed the same sentiment and i'm a fool to not think that "well everyone feels that way about their own art!" doesn't apply to me but that doesn't make it just go away!!! i want it! to go away!!!!!!

and then beyond that, if i let myself dwell for just a few seconds too long, is the fear that i have to be better or i'll just be stuck like this forever. as much as i love this community and i love how loving it is towards writers it is still very much driven by art, and I am constantly feeling like i'm being left behind or will be left behind because i can't produce art like the other writers — often or at all — and it's such a shitty awful isolating feeling and it feels stupid and it feels selfish but I don't know how to stop feeling it! I wish I could!!! I wish I just didn't care but I do and it's!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

and then it starts to affect my writing. it takes this thing that i am at least a little confident in and it makes me feel like it's not good enough. like i have to be better and better and better. well if i can't support my fics with art then i'll just have to work even harder than the people who can and i'll have to just keeping pushing and pushing and then maybe it'll be worth the same. if i am just better. if i work harder. if i push myself to a point of exhaustion then maybe my efforts will be noticed. and it's not a case of notes — yes the attention is nice, the likes are nice the reblogs are nice and the tags keep me going another day — but at the end of the day it's just me. i'm not pushing myself because i'm trying to gain a larger fanbase i'm pushing myself because some devil on my shoulder insists i have to prove to myself that my writing is worth the same as someone who has more than just words to offer.

and i have tried to negate that voice i have tried to remind myself it's self sabotage i have tried every single in and out and tip and trick and advice and recommendation and nothing. ever. works. i can't live by a fake it till you make it mindset because that's all it is!! just faking!!! and i am never making it!!!!!!! i am too impatient and to frustrated and too exhausted with this constant inner fight to keep up the practice makes perfect mantra because i am so tired of practicing and so tired of wanting to be perfect or at the very least redeemable in my own eyes and still coming up short each and every time.

it is exhausting. i am exhausted. jealousy is a bitch and maybe i'm a bitch too. i don't know. i just wish i knew how to stop feeling like this.

#ps: thank you for your kindness of the disability piece.#I was struggling with it #I felt the colors were all wrong and that the poses were werid #Your encouragement helped me post it anyways #I'm glad I did #Your in this fandom more than you think #more silent admirers than you realize

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tenderlyrenjun · 3 years ago

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time out: the prequel

↦ summary: here it is, the beginning - not of your rivalry but of your fucking relationship (pun intended)

↦↦ includes: excessive use of commas, yelling (?), slight rich kid au, car sex/safe sex (!): dick sucking, fingering, little bit of a praise kink, and penetration; it’s kind of a soft fic, like tender

↦ hockey co-captain/architecture major!jeno x figure skater/bio major!reader

11,6k words (i am so sorry) | preview one, preview two | main part

if you are under 18 and you interact with this fic at all, I will block and report you

a/n: i think that this is going to be my last attempt at posting fics. if it doesn’t work out, if people don’t comment or don’t like this one, i really don’t know what else i can do except stop.

Hockey practice, tonight, ended on a pretty low note – for the entire team, yeah, but none more than their zealous co-captain, Lee Jeno, who left the locker rooms deaf to any worried remarks. ‘Are you okay?’ followed him pointlessly, because everyone already knew how he felt going into the rink.

If Jeno’s demeanor did not make it evident, Renjun, who accompanied Yangyang after a figure skating competition, gave a repeating throat slicing gesture, signaling not to test the guy’s patience. Captain Lee 2.0 (nicknamed per birth order) already had a rough week: physics exam Tuesday afternoon, a huge digital technology project due Wednesday morning, a series of advanced geometry proofs to study for next week’s pop quiz, etc. But he stayed up, regardless, chained to a desk in his apartment, ordering Postmates everyday because he had no time to cook, wanting solely to focus on understanding and creating new plays for the season, possibly more than his maths class (but his parents don’t see his grades, so it’s fine). It’s just … This is his first full season as captain (or co-captain as people will not let him forget), after having been asked by Mark during last school year’s bye week. And to commemorate the promotion, he really, really wants to break the team’s losing streak. It has been going on for a few years, since the last official playmaker joined the NHL in North America. You know, good for him, hope he’s happy and healthy, Jeno guessed, shrugging begrudgingly, but there has been no obvious starting point to rebuild the same success in the team’s current lineup. Playmakers do not just drop into existence! People work insanely hard for that position – which is what Jeno tries to do. Not that it is particularly working out at the moment.

The playmaker is fast, super-fast, like Quicksilver fast, but Sungchan, their tallest player, can lap him twice in less than a minute. The playmaker keeps his eye out for openings on the ice, usually scoring more assists than goals, but Mark, his other half and co-captain, when he is on the ice, not in line, stands and observes during the game before making any moves, which typically lead into assists anyways – Mark actually got an award in high school, twice, for most assists in the league, and this season looks like he may be on track for the same thing. The only thing Jeno has in common with any playmaker is the forward position, the most advantageous position to score, at least, more than defence or goalie. Although, Haechan pulled a Hextall during one of the initiation practices, and the memory will keep him in the goalie spot, assuming that he can recreate it in an actual game. But, despite all the reverence, each player still has areas to improve upon. Jeno does not want to be in a position where all the “good” players are benched, or where, God forbid, someone gets too injured and the entire team has to forfeit a win because Jeno did not invest time into every. single. member.

For this exact reason, Yangyang, their newest member, lacking any real prior skill (also a weak link at the moment), was assigned 6AM solo drill practices. Okay, well, not assigned per se – Mark told Jeno that he cannot do that, or film their practices, because he gets a bit … too obsessed. But once Jeno found out that Yangyang started going the extra mile, it felt like a loophole, and he started giving out more guidance, a.k.a. specific drills that he knows would help Yangyang not only get in a good practice but also improve his skill. Jeno can simply pray that someone will eventually become available to practice a one-on-one arch backchecking – he would do it, but he has an 8AM, and the drill would make him skip class. Hockey is important to him, just not as vital as his architecture degree (the main thing he is in college for … although, he cannot blame anyone if they assumed he planned on going pro). Jeno has enough self-control to recognize when not to play – doesn’t mean he likes it though. And unfortunately, Yangyang is not the only … hurdle this year. Haechan, who inherited his number (66) from a graduating senior last year and typically plays defence, has not fared as well as his namesake, or older brother, with the new plays lately. But, considering the irreplicable (but hopefully replicable) goalie shot, Jeno keeps Haechan, on the ice, opposite Winwin – both as goalies, a position that Haechan has not held since little league. And Sungchan, the team’s most recent high school graduate, and former varsity star player, like Mark (!) … Actually, don’t get Jeno started on Sungchan.

The maknae is friends, a dongsaeng to, his mortal enemy.

Alright, hardly a mortal enemy, but Jeno does not consider you one of the friendliest people. You are too argumentative against him, branding your name in a golden calligraphy at the forefront of his hippocampus, drawn like the Illuminated Manuscript. Literally anyone would debate that the two of you are symmetrical, but the last year or two has shown that two sides of the same coin describes your relationship way better – you both obsess over your individual sports (figure skating and ice hockey, respectively), but where Jeno dedicates himself to the rink, you hog it, or, at least, that is how he sees it. You see him exactly as he sees you – passion tainted by frustration, framed as hatred. And it’s not like people haven’t pointed it out the similarities; Jeno believes Renjun’s exact words were, ‘just fuck and get it over with’ (he doesn’t know if Renjun was serious or not). And if he is not mistaken, your coach encouraged you to ‘make nice’. You are the one who cannot get through the irritation, the screaming matches, the – the dry mouth and headaches an-and feeling flushed before, during, or after an argument. And him, too. You always leave, always leave him staring, jaw clenched tightly, eyebrows frozen deeply into his face.

In fact, to really further his perspective (that the problem is you), Jeno was nice, earlier in the day, before practice; he wanted to be nice, to you.

Jeno was heading into practice sooner than the others, as he usually does (Mark arrives early too, a couple minutes after Jeno, to set up the rink and go over practice goals), but this time Sungchan texted him, asking for a ride, delaying Jeno’s typical entrance). Their youngest member generally catches a ride from you, which Jeno absolutely abhors because it means that he has to see you, but Sungchan’s license is still on the way and he does not have a car at the moment (all ice teams use an off-campus rink, the one on Anam, and Jeno seems to schedule practice for the most inconvenient times, a.k.a. all the damn time). But, like, half a minute before Jeno got to Sungchan’s dorm – literally as he turned into the carpark – the giant Bambi dude texted that he had a friend emergency at a different dorm, not even a dorm! An apartment building. The SoHo Apartments, where you live.

How Sungchan got there, Jeno will never know, yet he still went. Jeno still went, despite knowing that there was a near 100% chance of running into you. He wanted to assume that Sungchan was simply being a fiercely loyal friend, hopefully to that one upperclassman in the med school, Jungwoo (Jeno only knows about him because Jaemin mentioned him in passing), but no! Sungchan sauntered out of the building, you on his arm wearing loose black pants and a number 27 jersey – probably one of Sungchan’s backups, which is technically against the rules (!). Players are not allowed to give out their jerseys … during game season. Off season is fine, but not during. It is the only rule Mark agreed to so quickly, solely because it is practical. They are all college students, and only have so much free time, especially with the way Jeno wants to get everyone in shape; therefore, laundry days are limited, meaning that their jerseys are limited.

So, Jeno totally protested! … Silently, of course – biting his lip, taking out his anger via extra tight grip on the steering wheel, just left of the horn, almost sounding the alarm. Like, fucking hell, if his day could get any worse, he thought.

Except, apparently, you got dumped, or stood up, or whatever – he was not particularly paying attention – before heading out to some rare house party around Anam. But, like, see; This is why Jeno cannot stand your personality (overbearing priss): you are still going to that party, braving face, even though something devastating happened. So fucking concerned with public appearances, and for what? People date the wrong person! It happens! Your ego cannot be that ginormous. And come to think of it, he has never even seen you alone. You are always with someone: your coach, another skater; Sungchan; some guy who you probably met on Tinder, etc. He has never even seen you standing awkwardly in line at the on-campus coffee place between classes, staring at your phone just to look busy – not that he does it … often. Sometimes he will carry a playbook or annotate his geometry notes while waiting.

Still, Jeno let it slide (not without an eyeroll thought); he let all of it slide, saying nothing, just to get to practice faster, and get you out of his backseat faster. He glanced at you in the rear-view mirror a couple of times, briefly, during the short trip, just to verify that you are, in fact, upset, or, at least, displaying some human emotion other than the contempt he has become accustomed to over the last two years. And you were, kinda sad. So, if his gazes started to soften, that was between him and God. Although, to really keep up his appearance, he made you walk to the party from the rink, claiming that it is literally a less-than-ten-minute walk and the sun had not even set yet, much to your disdain. Sungchan protested for you, obviously caught in the middle like a child of divorce, but you relented, knowing, along with Jeno, that you cannot really complain because he did give you a ride, when he was in a position to abandon you on the side of the road. You only took, maybe, three steps before Sungchan ran after you, claiming that practice did not start for another half hour at least, once again reversing the roles and leaving Jeno alone.

Honestly, Jeno thinks as he sits in his car, head pressed against the steering wheel, a once-again-empty carpark in front of him, he feels abandoned. Stupid Mark and ending the Cross Fire drills early. Just because “it’s a Saturday night” and “Everyone deserves a time to rest”. Hockey is the rest! That is his stress relief!

Ugh!

Jeno considers going back inside for some solo practices – he could even try the ones that he assigned Yangyang, just to make sure those drills are effective for any skill level, as a precaution, on the off-chance that someone else starts solo practicing as well (the team really needs them; it’s just hard because everyone had different majors and other commitments). But Jeno recently showered and changed into his favorite shirt – the sweater-like one with thick black stripes and white stripes, and skinny black and purple stripes across the white stripes. He paired it with some black joggers and silver accessories, a chain connecting a belt loop to his wallet. The outfit is cozy enough for him to fall asleep in, so he could, alternatively, head home for the evening. But his apartment acts like a revolving door for both him and his roommate, Jaemin, his earliest childhood friend from all the way back in elementary school (along with Haechan, but he lives on-campus still). Jaemin inconveniently joined a study group for the MEET (medicine major entrance exam) though, hence why there is no number 42 (Jaemin’s jersey number) on SNU’s current hockey lineup. He said something about the sport being too time consuming for his major, and he prefers to sleep, if he gets the chance. Unfortunately, Jeno needs his emotional support attachment doll right now – to either vent or to spot him at the gym, the one on-campus is open 24-hours, mostly for the Olympian athletes but they have a healthier sleep schedule, so they use it at normal functioning people hours (a.k.a. daytime). Jeno can only really lean on Jaemin right now, because Renjun (a friend from high school; the latest addition to their friend group) is utterly obsessed with some student in Kun’s class; Mark is eternally busy with a thousand other commitments; going to Sungchan seems like a sort of treason – to what? To whom? Against himself? Jeno cannot answer for certain. And so he bangs his head on the steering wheel center (thank God that he inadvertently had the foresight to not turn on the ignition yet, otherwise the carpark would basically hear one elongated, yet comical, alarm scream). Maybe he just needs to befriend more people, particularly people outside his team and (high school) graduating cohort. Well, he received the foresight to learn about the party on Anam, so he could make friends there, and being semi-popular, he might already know a person or two there (besides you, of course), allowing himself to ease into the setting more gracefully.

Jeno groans again, hitting his head successively on the horn a few times. Jaemin did tell him to go out more. But, Jeno reminds himself, slowly sitting up, tilting his head to the side, he is, technically, outside right now. He just … would not be as alone if he went to the party, a party. Then, he groans again, erecting his spine against the chair, hair thumping on the headrest. He doesn’t even know why he debates himself. People must be meeting up right now – literally anywhere other than a stupid house party! No one even throws house parties! And in a city that, essentially, never sleeps? In Seoul? Yeah, right. Plus, it is the weekend, party time!

Jeno digs through his pants until finding his phone. It feels colder than the ice rink, even the bright, 96%-charged screen cannot warm his hands, or the car. First, he opens Twitter, scrolling through his main account with random follows, but his DMs, mentions, and timeline suggest something else going on. Everyone is either coupled up, depressingly pining, or just staying in. It forces him to close the app without bothering to switch accounts (the other would tell the same story, only unfiltered), a deep sigh erupting from his diaphragm, through his nose. He tries Instagram next, tapping through stories, public and private, like rejections on Tinder – not that he has it. Jeno refuses to download the stupid app, no matter what Mark’s equally stupid intro psych class says (Mark isn’t even a psych major!). But all his friends seem to be eating out, doing karaoke, studying, etc., in small groups. Like, Jeno knows that house parties are usually saved for special occasions: moving into a new place, national holiday celebrations, Chuseok, etc., but it offers more control than, like, some random 1-hour coffee thing. And all the clubbing invites are such a turn off because it sounds so sweaty, and, again, he just took a shower. Ugh, all the people who come to mind are diving into Seoul’s night life. Annoying.

Jeno grumbles something incoherently and does not have the faintest idea what the sound could, should, or would have been. Practice was absolute hell on his voice, yelling over skates scratching new ice chips to the surface and carbon fiber sticks hitting steel posts. He rubs his neck between his thumb and index finger, rolling his head around his shoulders. Yanno, alcohol is in medicine, so, he thinks hesitantly, a bottle of soju will help. (no, it won’t).

Hongjoong’s entire party cheers for Jeno when he walks through the foyer, showing off a bottle of sansachun like the trophy he wants so bad, in one hand, above his head, and a 12-pack box of soju by his thigh in the other hand. Jeno inhales shakily, breath hitching at his thin smile, ego slightly boosted but … disappointing. And after the applause dies down, he tries to find comfort in something familiar, looking for anyone recognizable. But everyone turned around just as quickly as they looked up. Well, everyone except you. Your outfit is different from earlier – a new, black skirt, a short skirt, not covering your legs; a tight, quarter-sleeved crop top; and a pair of maroon Converse, making him realize how much you rely on ice skates to elevate you (and your narcissism). He only spotted you first, in the crowd, because you were part of the scarce few facing him and you rolled your eyes to Yeeun beside you, most likely about him, muttering snidely (as expected of a shrew), but he could not discern it, as you said it into your red solo cup. And since Yeeun is a friend to the both of you, Jeno takes a step to defend himself, his socks slipping on the glazed wooden floor.

Juyeon, a basketball player and fellow winter sports mate, thankfully catches Jeno by the arm.

“Hey, man,” Juyeon waves, slowly releasing. He moves two hands between them, gesturing to take the alcohol into the kitchen.

“Thanks,” Jeno comments, voice low and strained, “again.” He rubs his Adam’s apple into his larynx, for some relief on his vocal cords. The motion generates a yawn, which does release some tension, just not enough, so he gives it one more go, then points at a near by table with bright neon colors. “What is all that for?”

Juyeon glances over his shoulder. Hongjoong, ever the art major, displayed pretty glowsticks, uncracked right now, alongside jelly bracelets and gel pens under a crumpled piece of construction paper too far away for either blind boy to read without their glasses. “Uhh,” he hesitates, then snaps his fingers loudly, a few people (you included) looking around for the source of the sound. You accidentally make eye contact with Jeno and glare at him, to which he rolls his eyes at. He almost returns to Juyeon when he catches sight of the blue bracelet peeking out of your sleeve. “Those,” Juyeon interrupts, “are for some game.” He lifts his wrist up, shifting all the bottles on his waist, to show off his own red bracelet. “You pick a color, and if someone steals it, you gotta do that action. Like, if Gahyeon stole mine, I’d have to give her a kiss.”

“On the lips?” Jeno asks for clarification. The rules seem vague.

Juyeon pauses and tilts his head to the side, squinting his eyes a bit. “No, I don’t think so. The party is based on consent.” Then he shakes his head. “I mean, I wouldn’t be opposed to kissing her, but if I didn’t want to, I guess I’d just kiss her cheek or hand or do a body shot off her stomach again.”

“Again?” Jeno raises an eyebrow.

Juyeon playfully shoves him at the chest, shuffling the bottles as they lose balance on his hip. He almost loses them to the floor, so he moves them into the kitchen while Jeno is still giggling. Then, after Juyeon leaves a lonely hockey player, Jeno walks around to the table with all the stuff on it and reads the note that neither Juyeon nor he could see from six feet away, without their glasses:

Entrance fee: write your name on a slip and place it in a jar! Two names will be called every hour for 7 Minutes in Heaven. The only rule (besides be a decent human being) is don’t fuck in my closet. Thanks.

He scribbles his name in a tiny font, hoping that if he writes illegibly, then Hongjoong would not be able to read it out loud in front of everyone. There are also about a hundred names, give or take a few, so realistically, he has, like, no chance of actually being called, hence why he is more inclined to drop his name in the jar than, say, the Swear Jar that Haechan installed at practice. Still though, he flicks it in before reading the list of acts associated with each jelly bracelet color:

Pick up one jelly bracelet to play!

Red – a kiss

Pink – flashing (a body part)

Yellow – a hug

Green – oral

Blue – spanking

Purple – a hickey

Black – sex

Rules:

Steal someone’s bracelet to “get” their prize.

If you don’t want to give them your prize, then stand on a table and make out with your hand for 30 seconds, make sure the people are watching.

You gotta be clean to play. All rule breakers will be immediately blacklisted from any future activities.

Jeno thumbs at a black jelly braclet, pondering that last sentence.

During second semester freshman year, there was a chlamydia outbreak in one of the dorms. Basically the entire floor got it. So, like, totally fair statement. Especially since Jaemin caught, too, and was majorly pissed about the antibiotics – doxycycline, which he ended up forgetting to take a dose of, twice, and gave him a raging headache right before a stats exam. Probably another reason why Jaemin is taking a break from the dating scene (in addition to the biochem incident). Jeno remembers that he almost mistook one of the pills for mint gum until Jaemin quite literally smacked it out of his hand, then ate it off the floor (five second rule). And maybe he has a thing for spanking because he chooses a blue bracelet as well.

Slowly, Jeno starts adjusting to the party, his fingers no longer twitching at his phone. He puts his hands above his hips, thinking back to what he was going to do before Juyeon explained the party’s general rules. It looks like other people are just talking, scrolling through Tinder, mixing drinks – being casual. Rooms overflow with people leaning on doorframes, trying to relax vertically since all the horizontal places are taken – the couches, the floor pillows, the bedrooms (probably). Jeno scans his eyes further into the living, searching for someone familiar, then he spots you and Yeeun. Well, you first. He noticed that he always does this: sees you before you see him, and it turns into this whole thing.

You roll your eyes after catching him in the act and put a hand on Yeeun’s arm, loudly whispering as Jeno walks over, “I’m going to talk to Noze. The company around her might be more …” you trail off, intentionally looking Jeno up and down while Yeeun stares at you expectantly, oblivious to his presence. “Tolerable. Bye.”

Yeeun waves you goodbye as well, frowning, lines creasing between her eyebrows, until she spots the your object of … affection. “Oh, hey,” she greets him, a quick kiss on the cheek like a cool aunt, as he leans down to meet her. “I didn’t expect to see you here. How’d you even hear about the party?”

Jeno raises an eyebrow, gesturing to half the room. The population so clearly indicates that the party is not so exclusive. “It looks like half the engineering building heard about the party.” He also nods his head at the revolving door leading into the kitchen. But he knows what she means. Jeno is not the type to go out, much less the type to go to parties. He really only attends post-hockey celebrations or the rare team icebreakers that Mark plans; you know, stuff involving the other players. Jaemin occasionally invites him to a bottoms-up with his lab classmates, but Jeno never says yes to that. He doesn’t like the crowds or not knowing everyone. “There’s like a thousand people here.”

“Ha!” Yeeun laughs at his hyperbole, passing her poktanju to him. “No, it’s gotta be 40 to 50 at most, and you can thank Hongjoong’s roommate for that.” Jeno nods, agreeing, sounds like Seonghwa. “No, but!” Yeeun slaps Jeno’s arm.

“Ow!” Jeno steps back, rubbing his bicep. “You didn’t steal my bracelet; you can’t hit me.”

Yeeun rolls her eyes – he is getting that response a lot tonight. First, you in his own fucking car; then Haechan at practice; then Juyeon; and now his best noona (don’t tell his actual sister)? Wow.

“No, not that,” she says, staring him down, knitting her eyebrows at him, wiping her hand on her pants now, mock disgusted. “And gross by the way. You’re like my little brother.” She takes her drink back and downs another shot. “No, I meant that I thought you had practice tonight. You still haven’t told me what the hell you’re doing here.”

“I heard about it,” Jeno reinforces.

“You said that. Who’d you hear it from?”

“In passing,” Jeno shrugs. But Yeeun smacks him again, and harder, splashing her beer a bit on his sleeve. “Okay, okay. I heard it from Sungchan. Alright, damn.”

“The tall kid?”

“Eung,” Jeno confirms, voice low, distracted while he wipes his wrist drier. “Yeah, the new kid, number 27 on the hockey team.”

“Oh,” Yeeun says slowly, eyes wide, sipping her drink deeply. “But he’s not,” she hesitates, stuttering, “your dongsaeng, right?” They come to the same conclusion – that he shares yet another person with the one he hates most.

“No,” Jeno answers, “but he – Sungchan – is on my team,” he reinforces. And suddenly, he needs that medicinal shot of alcohol to treat his recurring symptoms in the form of a headache now. “So, I heard it from him. Whatever.” He looks above Yeeun’s head, which is not hard to do with the, like, 15-centimeter difference. “Where did Juyeon put the alcohol?”

Yeeun absentmindedly points to the left, her own drink in hand. “I think Hongjoong told him to put it on the island in the kitchen. You’ll see it when you get in there.” Jeno watches her wave at a girl with black hair, already knowing that she is about to leave him, but hey, this time, he has something to do: get alcohol. “Go –“ She pushes him toward the drinks. “– find yourself something to drink. I’ll meet up with you again later.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he waves her off, then hugs her and walks off.

Halfway before he even gets to the door, Jeno bumps his shoulder into yours, and yet another drink spills onto his favorite shirt.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” both of you whisper at each other, the anger radiating far enough to briefly turn some heads.

“Let me pass, Lee,” you bite, suddenly closed off in the narrow hallway; people standing against the opposite wall just talking to each other or behind you, waiting for the bathroom or another drink, or the next best thing.

You have the same look in your eyes as when Jeno first met you. It took a few more meetings, after that one, until he was able to name it: contempt, maybe even irritation, or disrespect. However, unlike now, he was unable to discern why he had been so deserving of your precious scorn; all he did was show up to practice! This time though, Jeno concedes that it was partially his fault. He was weaving between couples and trios, trying not to hit anyone on his way to alcohol; he barely had any in his system, to be so wobbly on his feet, like a drunkard, but he walked too close to the drywall and bounced off it, in an attempt to avoid two people making out, then he hit you right in the shoulder, your arm carrying a shot glass filled to the brim (you would get dinged in a chem lab, Jeno thinks, not that he has taken chemistry recently; he mostly listens to all the ways Jaemin kept failing the lab safety quiz). You spilled peach soju on his wrist and the edge of his shirt, forcing him to lift it enough to show off his sharp v-line, his transversus abdominis, that gets cut off by his pants tied above his waist, rather than at his waist – a tease, honestly.

Jeno’s arm jerks backward, responsively, to force some space away from everyone, mostly you, but your watch snagged on the fabric, pinching the draw string tightened around his hips, wrapping you closer the more that Jeno tries to detangle himself. He takes a step to the wall, shoulders alert, feeling for the rough material until he falls against it. Your waist slumps against his as he drags you with him, and you grumble, ugh, holding out a second while people pass behind you, pushing past you away from the kitchen. Jeno presses your hips down, your feet coming to the ground, his hands resting more on your butt than your lower back, almost like a trap. The hallway is too narrow for this many people, Jeno thinks, wishing that Hongjoong had the sense to either limit how many students could attend or limit Seonghwa’s invites. Although, he probably would not have been able to attend had any of those two events occurred. And his hands tighten with the thought, locking you between his arms. He can feel you stare at him, blocking out the crowd that he watches equally intently.

Once the hallway is empty (or, at least, emptier), you put a hand on Jeno’s pelvis, where your wrist is stuck, and another on his chest, then pump your arm to break free. It fails, the first time, so you use the momentum to crash on his body again and push yourself off. The loud sound creates an asymptotic barrier. On one side, you sigh a heavy relief, touching your bare wrist. On the other, Jeno pats himself down, touching his front muscles down to his belt, where your hands previously were. He almost mirrored your sigh, but then, he found a silicone bracelet, broken, in his shirt folds. It was easy to find, the red color contrasting against his stripes. He is surprised to find it at all, honestly, thumbing it against his long fingers. You did not push him that hard, certainly not enough to give him, of all people, your bracelet. And it looks like he mistook your color, too; this one, even in the poorly illuminated hallway, is red, a kiss. Would you even give him that so easily?

Jeno looks up at you, from his hands, dangling the thin material delicately, and half-smirks, hoping that he won’t falter. “Looks like you owe me something.”

You roll your eyes. One more time, Jeno thinks, and your face will get stuck like that; you might even go blind. “Kiss my ass.”

“And here I thought you wanted to leave,” Jeno retorts. You suck in a breath, thinning your lips, releasing all the tension through your toes, tapping your heel-less shoes into the ground. He exhales oppositely, exaggeratingly, tone sharp. “You had the privilege of feeling my hands on your body for the last minute, and you still want more?” He whistles lowly and says, “Damn,” appreciatively.

“Just give me back my bracelet, ass.”

“And,” Jeno ignores your interjection, “if anyone knows about privilege, it’s you.”

“Ha-ha,” you assert blatantly, fists and arms tense at your sides, coming lower than your skirt. “At least I’m not a Daechi-dong, dong head,” you spit back. And he crinkles his nose at your attempt to call him a dick. “You’re the one who is barely captain because of nepotism. Or did you make everyone forget with your military drills?”

“Oh really?” Jeno nods his heads sarcastically. “Imagine being a top skater,” he taunts back, “because your coach gets paid to elevate you!”

“At least I am a top skater,” you seethe, purposefully quieting your voice as people start looking away. Your hiss comes out as if telling him to shut up, which he, obviously, takes offence to.

“I would never have guessed,” Jeno scoffs, continuing with a powerful voice. “Sounds like a lie. God knows you’ve never even been on the fucking ice.”

“Because you steal it every fucking day!” You point a finger at him. “What’s it like to constantly work toward playmaker and fail every time?”

“Funny, coming from someone who recently got demoted.”

You slap him.

Jeno stares at you incredulously, jaw clenched. His mouth feels sticky, dry, tongue weighing heavy and raw, and his throat feels hoarse all over again, more agitated now as his neck heats up, just from looking at you. And his voice had already been sore from practice, barely letting out few phrases to his friends. But with you, he becomes compelled to say everything. He opens his mouth to verbally strike back.

“Jeno!”

Hongjoong’s voice rings loud and clear at the end of the hallway. Everyone rotates toward the announcement. At the sight of the host squinting to better read the tiny handwriting, Jeno suddenly remembers the game he entered: 7 Minutes in Heaven. His body stiffens, straightening against the wall, stomach sucking in to pull further from you, though your hand comes to his forearm, dizzily, your body having been alarmed by the declaration.

Then, Hongjoong calls your name, too.

“Fuck,” you and Jeno whisper.

Hongjoong pushes Jeno into the closet first, followed by Chaeyoung pushing you, into Jeno’s arms. As soon as the door closes, you shove him against the opposite wall and tug the pull chain light switch on. Jeno blinks at the yellow glow, rubbing his eyes as a result of the brightness change. He looks around first, completely neglecting you so that the time goes faster. None of the clothes, he notices, belong to any party goer, because they are neatly hung, organized from red to indigo, beige fabrics on the end; who ever shed their jacket did so in Hongjoong’s equally tidy bedroom. Aside from the jackets, there is really nothing else, maybe a few boxes underneath an empty shelf, but naught to distract him from how hot the inside of this closet is.

Jeno looks you up and down again, eyes glossing over the outfit he already inspected so he stays on your face. You spun the moment you fell inside, looking away from him, jawline prominent as your lips tightened, frowning. “Nothing to say without an audience?” he asks bitterly, then laughs dryly.

“What more is there to say?” you comeback, quietly, defeated. He wonders if you mean it rhetorically, because … “You got the last word.” He meets your eye, leaning further on his right side. “This time.”

Jeno stands on his two feet, challenging you to a staring competition now, straight on. It is hard not to see every emotion written on your face; the lighting is not on your side. Something in your voice, too, has him on edge, like you have more to say. He opens his mouth to speak again, but you beat him to it, inhaling sharply and talking slowly:

“And you’re the one who likes the attention.”

“Yeah?” he scoffs. Ridiculous. “You were a soloist, –” He collaborates, to this day. “– and now you��re malicious to anyone and everyone, just because you have to work on a team.”

“Why do you think that happened in the first place?! I’m not the one who hogged the rink so much that none of the other skating teams could practice!” You put your hand on your mouth, trying to physically calm yourself down. The next words out of your mouth come in a whisper, “I’m not the one who started shouting during a party. Couldn’t keep the hatred in, even for a second?”

Jeno takes a step toward you, an instinctive comforting move that he would do for his friends without a thought. The closet seemed so much smaller on the outside and so cold where he stands. How are you still six feet away? Does anger heat up your side? Would anything change if he treads nearer? Jeno tests the waters, adding another step toward you – one foot down, four to go. And you take note of him; he is being too obvious, but you say nothing. Jeno cannot read you very well while you are far away, so when he finally reaches you, when he leans over you, all intimidation vacant from his eyes, you narrow your gaze, less like a glare, he thinks, more … curious, scrutinizing. Anyone outside might have thought that you offended him, or, maybe even, vice versa, especially as he presses you against the wall, your head slowly knocking into the wall. His hand comes to your waist again, and you stutter a breath, making him falter as well, his hand slipping on your ass.

“Can I kiss you?” Jeno asks, though he breathes heatedly, quietly.

Your eyes stumble to his nose, and next his lips, taking in the downward bent – his gaze has never left your eyes though, permanently glued to how you perceive, anticipating your answer, because, after all, he did possess your red bracelet.

“For a,” you start, then gradually speed up, “Daechi-dong, you sure are slow.” You bring him in for a kiss, swiping his pink bottom lip to undermine his stature. His jaw drops open and his knees weaken, allowing you to push him against the wall, pressing your tongue on the center of his, saliva tasting void of alcohol. You put an arm on the wall, caging him into the closet, like an anime love interest. “This changes nothing, by the way,” you inform him, as he cradles your hips. “I’m still me, even if I’m kissing you.”

“Obviously.” Jeno rolls his eyes. He rolls your head against the wall, knotting the crown of your hair in the process, reversing your positions. Your eye lids wilt as he leans in, tilting his head to the side for deeper access, and your fists loosen, sneaking around his belt loops, bringing his body closer. The atmosphere brings an alcoholic blush across his nose, definitely not the way you turn his hips, as if trying to guide his head, lips, and tongue. He retreats just a little bit, ultimately coming back after he finds another unexplored part in your mouth. Everything is all mouth – you never smack your lips on his; he never closes his lips over yours; there is no pecking. Jeno senses the corners of your mouth, stopping his body from moving while you tongue circles on his tip. You pull back after a few swirls, starting to drool – Jeno can feel it, so he nibbles on your bottom lip, gnawing the top half lightly, getting rougher and rougher the more you enable him. Until he stops. “I’m still pissed off though,” he lets you know, reverting to your conversation.

“Obviously,” you repeat, equally mad.

The pressure builds up in Jeno’s cheekbones the more time passes without your face attached to his, and he takes the moment to soften at your features, asking them why you are so heated at the sight of him. When he finds no answer, he implores your mouth, pecking pillowy lips on yours, jerking your head like a joystick. His lips drag you to the tips of your toes, bringing your pelvis against his; his long fingers outline the sides of your face, sketching around your ears; his thumb drags along your cheek to your jawline, tilting your face as he opens his mouth, preparing to suction on your mouth.

Knock, knock, knock.

Jeno feels your torso tense and your hands come to his pectoral muscles again. You push him away and pull your limbs back to your body, shutting down with a low strike on the wall. It definitely sounds like you slapped him again.

“If you two are hate fucking in my closet, I’m kicking you out,” Hongjoong says from behind the door.

“As if,” Jeno croaks, voice still low and hoarse because he has not drunk water in the two hours since practice ended. He dives through the crowd, emerging first.

All eyes are on him, and he knows that they think you two sat in silence, simmering angrily. He likely looks angry too, face warm and red, the vein in his neck throbbing, chin jutted out as he looks for someone else, a real friend. They might think you offended him with the way you just stand in the closet (he didn’t hear you walk away), yet no one says anything. He can only imagine what they think – your baby hairs float off your face; your lips caught in your mouth, trying to hide the bruising; eyes darting from him to them to your hands. Jeno shakes his head. He has to get out of here.

But you chase him – everyone thinking that it is to apologize.

You catch Jeno outside, in front of his deep red car, and tug on his arm.

“Why are you leaving?”

Jeno shrugs you off and opens the car door, leaning between it and the rest of the car, standing tall. It barricades you from him. “Because I know how you are.” You tilt your head to the side. He wonders if you know how easy to read your face is. “You are so caught up in appearances. Why would I ruin that over some stupid game?”

You nod slowly, absorbing his explanation, eyes darting around his silhouette, trying to focus on everything behind him. He even glances back but sees nothing, just rows of cars lining up the sidewalk. Not a single person leaving the party right now either, probably because house parties are so rare; movies and books make them seem like common occurrences, so people want to cling to them before they go away. But Jeno is not always right. And another group of people exit the party, walking down hill to their car, laughing loudly enough to alert you two. You shove Jeno in the driver’s seat, hovering above him as he adjusts to the leather chair.

“What the fuck did you do that for?” he asks, rubbing behind his neck.

You yank the lever that forces the seat toward the back and sit on your knees, between his legs, looking at him through your eyelashes. “There were people outside,” you say as if it were obvious, lifting your hands into the air then smacking them back on your bare thighs.

“You –“ Jeno begins incredulously, tightly. “You cannot be serious.”

“You’re the one who said that I care so much about appearances! So what if it’s true?”

The lights turn off in his car, and instantaneously, the atmosphere reminisces Hongjoong’s closet. Jeno searches for your face, relying on a streetlight to see, not wanting to feel around for you. He puts a hand over the door, searching for the handle, but he catches his pretty wrist in the moonlight, sans blue bracelet. Jeno brings his arm between you two, closer to his chest though, inspecting the nakedness. Where the hell did his bracelet go? Surely, if someone stole it at the party, he would’ve heard something. Everyone is practically preening for the chance to steal a bracelet. He pats his chest down again, hoping that he could find it the same way that he found yours – in the folds of his shirt. But you, who gathered where his thoughts were, felt along the ground and found it by his foot. Jeno stares at how you hold it up curiously.

“What?” he exclaims sarcastically. “Are you going to slap me again?”

You laugh dryly but your voice trails distantly. “I didn’t know you were into that kind of thing.”

“As expected.” Jeno rolls his eyes, ultimately returning to your face, just to see the nosy expression take over again. “You don’t really know anything about me.”

“Bullshit,” you counter, rising on your knees. You loose balance easily, trying not to step on his toes, literally, and he catches you, again, by the hands this time, putting them on his thighs. He swears that a thankful smile cracks your façade, but it disappears in the same second. Your hands are the only reminders that you are arguing with him, pushing hard and hot into his muscles, like a terrible massage. He cracks for a second, whimpering in pain, and you alleviate it a little bit, only ghosting your touch on his pants, no longer leaning. “I know so fucking much about you, Lee.”

“Oh yeah?” he taunts. “What’s my first name?”

You crawl over him, placing a hand on the chair, under his thigh, moving the other behind his shoulder to hover on of him. He watches you, only able to move his chin with you, lips following yours. You lean down to his ear, hiding your face, making him doubt, a little bit, that you are the real person whispering, “Jeno”. He creeps his hands on the edge of your skirt, yanking it lightly as a signal to bring you forward, which you do, staring deeply in his eyes. “I know that you started hockey after all your friends, so now you stay later than them on the rink.” You trail your lower hand up his thigh, under his top sweatshirt, haunting around his defined muscles. “I know that you did your freshman honors thesis on hockey pucks and friction.” Jeno grabs your waist harder at the innuendo, accidentally pulling you into straddling his leg, and you yelp, falling into his chest. You straighten up quickly, trying to find a position comfortable enough to look at him, to tease him. In the midst of it all, you confess, “I know that you are more than hockey, and you’re infuriatingly good at other things, like –“

Jeno swallows a groan.

“– math and drawing.” You smirk. “Did I say something to make you mad?” you ask, faux-innocently. “Did you know I could do that?” You lean into his ear, twirling a strand of hair behind his ear. “Do you even know anything about me?” Jeno nods; of course, he does – no one spends all the energy he has on this … this rivalry, to come out with nothing. You lean away, slowly, dropping back on your knees, on the floor, and rub the inside of his manspread thighs. “Can you tell me one thing? I gave you three.”

“I know that –“ Jeno swallows, not sure if he wants to tell about an intimate moment he once witnessed, but you look at him with expectant eyes crinkling with innocence, even if that innocence might be hidden behind sensuality. “– during competition season, in the quietest moments between performances, you disobey your expensive coach’s direct orders –“ He throws the nepotism back in your face, alleviating the familiarity that neither of you should be sharing. “– and sit in an empty rink, eating a strawberry McFlurry.” The silence after is deafening, bringing back that ringing sound he heard after practice in place of his teammates, so he adds, “I don’t know what you think about,” but he can guess. It is probably the same thing that he thinks about before games – less about the plays, about the potential for losing, more about being on the ice, how fun everything is, despite the misery that comes from losing.

Jeno locks eyes with you, wondering if he finally found a common ground. Your hands, and eyes, responsively drop to his ankles, fiddling the hems. He starts to consider … that he went too far … again, and he exhales, collapsing further into the cold leather chair, scooting away from you. It’s not like he has Jaemin’s boy-next-door-charm, or Renjun’s suavity; and he is certainly not as approachable as Yangyang. He can never get it just right, find that perfect balance. You always fly off the handle with him, and he has the hardest time even talking to you. Nothing he says is ever the correct thing.

“Can I kiss you?”

Oh. Maybe being vulnerable was a good thing, though his body is still humming as if angry.

“Ye-yeah,” Jeno answers, after a second, his voice rasping moreover. He goes to you, angling his whole chest, but you stop him, a hand just to the right of his heart, almost like missing the point completely, which he does, in this case, tilting his head to the side, a frown settling in.

“Not on the lips.”

Jeno examines your face, searching, first, for malice, last for answers. You have a tint of rivalry glowing across your cheeks, obscured by mischief.

“Hold this.” You hand him the edge of his shirt, and he accepts, wordlessly, bunching it high enough to show off all his abs – a smart choice, given the way you pause to admire each defined muscle band.

Jeno twists his wrist, during the quiet, readjusting the material, but as he does, it rubs on his hardening nipples – which are not the only thing hardening. You travel your hand up his chest, starting from the top half of his v-line, ending under his nipples, under his shirt. His knee spasms, motioning for you to start whatever you were going to do, hoping that you might put your mouth south. But you take your opposite hand and cradle his face, making him look up at you, his eyes seeming wider – innocent, less resentful than you are known to see, no taunts or mean names on his tongue. Although, another breathless statement about God might hang in there. You scratch your nails along his cheek, simultaneously leaning down on the other side of his face, to his ear.

“Not right there,” you instruct, then move the frayed end into his mouth, the rest of the shirt gathering under his pecs like a bra. You trail down his neck to his hand, where he holds his two shirts, then unwind his tight grip. He lets the material unravel, mouth parting smally with it too, just like you want. You draw his bottom lip open and hang the shirt on his teeth. He nods consensually biting into the material, expecting you to actually tease his muscles this time, but you only guide his mouth to a close.

Then your icy fingers curl under his belt line, and he whines.

“Why – hnng,” Jeno starts, finishing with a tremble, silenced.

That is when he understands: you want to gag him. Not completely, to the point where he is void of response, but enough to prevent him from saying anything completely; though, he could reject you right now, at any point, if he didn’t want your touch. Jeno stares at you, on your knees, fingers paused from sliding his pants all the way off. Neither of you have ever made this much eye contact, and he … he just wants to keep watching you. Have you always been this passionate?

“Keep that there for me, okay?” you ask, implicitly talking about consent over the boundary you are about to cross.

Jeno nods smally, not wanting to drop his shirt or wet it so disgustingly.

You tease a finger through his underwear, where his cock would normally peek from, using the space to prod him out the waistband. He nudges you, needily, trapping your palm between the tops of his thighs, all the muscles there pulsing faster than his currently erratic heart. You give him an impatient look, wagging your head, tsk, tsk. It makes him curl his chin to his chest, sheepish, like he did something wrong, and he shakes his hair, too, curtaining his blushed face behind his long, black bangs. Jeno feels you gently pull him out of his headspace, figuratively and literally. You strip his bottoms all the way to his ankles, careful not to touch his dick, even though he wants you to, so badly. When you straighten your back up, brushing your tits on his knees, resting them perkily above him, you stare at his dick, just for a moment, head tilted to the side. He almost ruins it, tongue poking his clothes away to ask if you want to stop, but you kiss the underside of his penis head – only once, waiting for his reaction, and he gives it to you, of course. The weightless smack from your lips tickles, and he wonders if you actually did it. Then you do it again, and again, and again. Kisses turn into flicks, all on the underside, building up more saliva as you curl the dorsal side, flicking it easily.

Hnng. You are a figure skater, Jeno remembers. Being graceful is in the definition. It is why your insults always have such a clean cut and give him an opening to respond. He usually gets the last word. But this is a different kind of graceful, where you are gentle with him – asking for consent, touching him delicately, making sure that he is okay every step of the way.

When you are ready, you slowly creep your lips over his cock head and retreat, backing off along with the heat from your mouth. Jeno can feel his dick follow you in anticipating, trembling the longer you study him, and he moans brokenly: please. It comes out incoherent and muffled. You relax your jaw lowly, letting your tongue slide outside your lips to cover your bottom row of teeth as you swallow a portion of the top. His cock bounces in your mouth, slapping around your small mouth. He clenches his fist by his thighs, not knowing where to put them. You circle your index finger and thumb halfway down his shaft, jacking him off along one of the veins that come above his balls. He wonders if you want him to give you a facial, especially after you come up, rubbing it long your innocent looking cheek, but a hand comes above his balls, stopping him from cumming. And he groans, throwing his head back again. Maybe you’ll suck the cum out of him, like a well-blended smoothie through a straw.

Jeno drops his shirt out of his mouth, covering his abs once again. The groan reverses onto your throat – he guesses that you don’t like the cover. You muffle the whine with his dick in your mouth again, the sound constricting all the way around him. Jeno grabs a hold of your throat, nicely, feeling how your esophagus adjusts for him.

“Oh, God, oh fuck,” he whispers, abs tightening shakily. He gains some control after you begin a steady bobbing, using your salvatory ducts to prevent from gagging. You curve your tongue at the back of your throat, feeding his dick against it. The feel is no different from deep throating, if Jeno is being honest, but your tongue is much more pillowy and your cheeks suck in air, pulling them tightly over your teeth, giving him a vacuum suction that reminisces a really good fleshlight and would need a lot of practice to get as right as you do. “Is that what those practices are?” he asks you. “A chance to practice for my dick?”

Jeno cups your cheek and pulls his dick out of your throat, like giving you a chance to answer. But before you can, he taps his cock on your tongue again, just the tip, rasping the underside of his head on your reflexively curled tongue, which appears half-prepared to answer his question, half-prepared to get throat fucked.

“Uh, uh, uh,” he drags out. His hand comes into your hair, scratching along your temple to tuck those pretty little strands behind your ears; his thumbs briefly emerge through the top, then hide, again, in the tangled ponytail. You perform faster, ruining his illusion of control, and he clutches your hair tighter, holding you in place to stop from cumming. He pants through his nose, and you give him a short rest until bringing both your hands along his exposed cock, twisting them in opposite directions while your tongue remains steady under his twitching tip. “Ah,” he pleads, trying not to come. He sits up fully, knees almost going with him, had it not been for your strong chest, and you pull off, panting equally hard. And, fuck, your tits are sexy.

You stand up as much as you can in the cramped space, spine rubbing up the headlining as you put one foot forward then straddle him with the other leg. Jeno helps you adjust, bringing your cushiony thighs closer into his chest, just right under his pecs. He looks up at you, and you stop fidgeting, putting your hands on his shoulders for balance, teetering on your knees until you finally fall into him, your hair covering the both of you. You crane your neck down blowing on his earlobe first, then inside his ear. He grabs you harder, supporting your ass as you hold his throat in place, marking the area between his clavicle and right ear.

“Do you have a condom?” you whisper, slowly bending down, tracing the outline of your underwear with his tip – repeating the gesture over and over again, several times, until he answers.

Jeno’s head bobs – nods, yes – on your shoulder, but you mistake it for pleasure, grabbing him by the chin again, so he looks into your eyes and swallows. “Yeah,” he verbalizes, “in the glove compartment.”

You pull away from his chest, and he instinctively stabilizes your waist, possibly obsessed with it. Jeno accidentally grabs you too roughly, he thinks, situating you over his really big tip. You brace yourself on the center console, moaning loudly. Your tits push into the leather so difficulty that they nearly pop out of your bra, which would not be too difficult. Jeno can see your strap falling down your upper arm. You shallowly bounce on him through your underwear. It feels so good, so wet, so disappointing because he wants to fill you up already. While he grinds his ass into the chair, flopping his cock over your clothed pussy, you reach over the passenger’s seat, which seems to be two metres away now, your arm reaching shakily. And finally, you pull out a condom, turning the golden wrapper around in the shallow light to find the front.

“A large?” you read, treating it like a question. You come back to him, sitting on his sculpted v-line, grinding your ass languidly into his cock standing tall behind you. “An extra large?” you squint at the foil, then raise a suspicious eyebrow.

Jeno pulls your thighs up to his chest and plucks the condom from your greedy little hands.

“You’ll need it,” he answers, tone implicitly asking you to trust him.

He tears the foil open and fingers around for the right side. It is difficult in the poorly illuminated street. So, he is thankful when you take over, repossessing the condom. You climb over his cock, sticking your ass out again, to get in a better position. Your hands are so pretty.

“Pinch the tip,” Jeno instructs breathily. “Yeah, fuck, like that.” He watches you catch his restless dick and fit the ring over his tip. You grab him hard, fingers not quite reaching all the way around. He isn’t sure if that is because his dick is so big or if your wrist is too loose. None of it matters, though, when you take both hands and roll the condom all the way down, not stopping until his voice is back to cracking, pushing out those ah, ah, ahs again. Jeno pulls you up again, forcing you to brace on his pecs. Both of you start stripping now. Jeno takes off your long-sleeve and tugs your tits out of your bra cups, leaving them supported by the push-up wire. He is tempted to suck them, staring at them, stunned; hands sculpting your sides, then jiggling your tits until your nipples harden more than his dick. You take your turn after he has his fun but before he mouths them. His shirts come off easier and you ignore his muscles, immediately rubbing your nipples over his. He wonders if you have ever been touched like this, touched here, but the thought is fleeting as you take off your panties, throwing the soaked material on his shirts. You situate on his thigh, muting any arguments that might arise, rubbing the newly naked skin together.

Jeno lets you grind on his thigh a few times, feeling the way your clit twists and turns. He flexes his muscles, all of them – his abs under your hands, his leg under your pussy, his arms under your body. Your grinds turn into bounces, so Jeno catches your ass, prying your legs open again, on either side of his hips. He pinches the inside of your thighs, fingers loosing their adhesion from all your self-lubrication, then pushes his index finger inside – his long, muscular finger with clean, polished nails. His thumb swipes back and forth on your clit, replacing his thigh to stimulate you. And you falter, shuddering, legs shaking a little bit next to his cock. You rest your head on his shoulder, giving him access to yours. He opens his mouth along your collarbone, suctioning the lightest hickeys then getting rid of them with forceful laps from his floppy wet tongue.

“You like that?” Jeno whispers as he pushes in two extra fingers. First, curls all three upward, cupping your clit with his palm, and you start grinding on it, waiting for more movement, but still needing to adjust to the drastic change in size. When you relax, sitting on his hand, Jeno flexes his hand back and forth, desperately manhandling your body to and from his. You stay still above him, arms tightening around his shoulders, muscles shaking; you try to respond yes, but he doesn’t hear it, trying a new tactic. “Does that feel good?” he asks. His fingers start moving in different directions, scissoring a whole new stretch. They scrape a new, high-pitched ah, aah, ah out your throat, the sound only elongating when his thumb stops swiping your clit to rub circles on it as trying to clamp his entire hand through your pussy. “Fuck, you sound so good. You’re doing so well.” Jeno grazes his teeth on your shoulder, tipping you over the edge, and you grip his dick harder, for some anchor on reality. Both of you moan, throwing your heads together, almost kissing. Your lips are so intimate with his, breathing hot air over his closed mouth. Jeno nudges you, brushing the tip of his nose on yours. “Are you ready?”

“Fuck,” you whisper, possibly wondering how the hell he can be so considerate. You lick a stripe on his cheek, at the corner of his mouth. “I’m not glass,” you reassure him, although sounding irritated. “You can’t be that big,” you answer, “Like, there is no way that I need to get prepped by so many fing –“

Jeno pulls out his fingers and slams his dick up your pussy in the same second. The both of you swear simultaneously, and your breath, specifically, becomes more winded, becomes faster, becomes shaky. Jeno didn’t consider that he might need to adjust, his cock throbbing as if trying to stretch your circumference even wider.

“You – You were saying?” he stutters, then throws his head back on the headrest.

You teeter on your knees, outside his thighs, slowly and shallowly bouncing on him. He pushes the tops of your thighs until you rest on the cold steering wheel, turning it as you gain more momentum to ride his dick. You lead with your hips, swaying forward and back into his pelvis.

“Now I know where the ego comes from,” you bite – and literallybite his neck.

“I deserve it,” he retorts, pressing his feet into the ground, then slamming his hips into you a few times. The new adjustment displays your tits so beautifully, chest raised and propping out, so he leans down, suctioning sucking your warm skin from shoulder to areola. Your back locks on the steering wheel, changing the angle at which his cock hits your G-spot, and you moan loudly. In response, Jeno puts his thumb in your mouth, squashing your tongue, saliva pooling so quickly that you immediately close around it. You slump forward, grabbing at his veiny arm, fumbling around until one hand clamps on his wrist and the other over a vein. “You’re too loud,” he whispers, until you swirl your hips in small figure eights. His hand relaxes and he groans, throatily – to which you cover.

“Who’s being loud now?” you taunt. “Guess I’m that good, huh?”

Jeno cannot disagree. You feel so good, and tight, and warm. His hand drops between your bodies, allowing you to come back up again, then back down, then back up, and down, and up, and down, and up. You massage at a vein behind his ear with two fingers and suck on one of his nipples, occasionally biting the edges of his areola then licking bite mark healed. When you reach a hand underneath his, toying between your clit and the parts of his cock that become exposed, he gathers that you are trying to make him cum first.

“Why are you still competing with me?” he bites angrily. Jeno takes away your fingers and plays with your clit himself, tugging it through the lubrication. He massages it with big circles, going around your pussy lips, the bundle of nerves at the top of your clit, spreading the wetness everywhere. “Fuck, I’m stuffing you so full, huh?”

“Mmhmm,” you agree without thought, all words choking in your exposed throat as he blows your back out. “’m suh ‘ucking ‘ull,” you whimper, though the syllables break into petty gasps that he can barely string together. “Ah,” you whine sharply, squeezing your eyes shut until they pulse at an opposite rate to your vaginal walls. Then, Jeno finds another angle, moving his ass against the cold console (he yelps at it, hips driving upward, away from the box, and his cock buries itself in your guts), and your eyes pop open, along with your jaw. Every new pound coaches a sob off your lips.

Jeno, still utterly obsessed with your waist, digs his thumbs into the front of your pelvis, his long fingers massaging your ass as you come forward to match his thrusts. You fall forward again, hands bracing on the shoulders of the chair behind him, tits right in his face. Jeno pants heavily, breath lost with each release, but he still chooses to kiss you.

Well, your tits. He mouths at the skin around your nipples, kneading his lips into the plushy flesh as his abs lock and your thighs tighten.

“Oh, oh, oooh,” Jeno cries, his hips stuttering as your pussy clenches get smaller, firmer.

“C’mon, c’mon,” you whisper, “c’mon. Right there, Lee.” He pushes particularly hard, as if breaching another barrier. “Ah, Jeno.”

His name brings him back to attention, staring at the tension in your face. You stutter your hips, and he tries to still his, letting you build up to an orgasm. You manhandle his cock, jerking it around inside your body. Your glossy muscles start constricting tighter and tighter, no longer throbbing, as if your pussy tries to drink his entire cock. Jeno belts an arm above your ass and clamps a hand on your waist, getting you in a stationary position. He settles his feet firm, stable, into the ground, preparing himself this time, this last time, then he palpitates into you, his hips grinding into your clit a few seconds after every thrust to really get deep. You claw on his muscular shoulder, fingers digging hard, all the tension going straight to the ends of your body and up your pussy with his cock. He feels you sucking him in and holds his thick dick there, swirling it all around – one, two, three.

“Fuck,” you whine, high pitched, croaking tiredly. Your walls scrape and then beat out a samba all over his cock, throbbing with your orgasm.

Jeno returns half a second later when his tip catches on a particular tug and he empties into the condom, possibly elongating his member. You whimper weakly at the stimulation, but hold him securely, preventing him from pulling out just yet. He lets you lay on him, like that, for minutes, maybe hours, arms circling his neck. Jeno thinks, wow, thisfeels nice – better than hugs from his friends and surprisingly, even better than those team huddles after a good practice.

But his arms are stuck, frozen at his sides while fatigue takes you over. Jeno gives it another second, then his fingers twitch, suddenly gaining the momentum, again, to return your embrace. You, on the other hand, have different thoughts, and pull away, patting him on the chest, relieving yourself of him.

Jeno thinks that the worst kind of time travel is this one, where you two are on opposite schedules. He just needs a break from it.

A time out.

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