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whump-me · 7 months ago

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Obscure: Chapter 11

Chapter 11 of Obscure, novel-length interrogation whump about a rebel leader who can erase memories with a thought, an interrogator who can see inside his subjects’ minds… and the connection they share that neither of them suspects.

Masterpost | the Mind Games universe | Read the completed novel on Patreon

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Elias

The interrogation rooms must not have been cleaned on a daily schedule, because the next morning, Elias smelled his own sweat hanging in the air. The table was smudged with the nervous grease from his own hands. It cut the reflection a little, made it more bearable. He could have done without the sweat, though.

But if he was going to make wishes, he might as well wish himself back home.

Kirill sat across from him. He had dark circles under his eyes, and the lines around his eyes and at the corners of his mouth were more pronounced. But those pale eyes themselves were daggers newly sharpened to a fresh point.

Kirill sat up straighter, inhumanly straight, like he was trying to blend in with the furniture with all its cold right angles. His breath came in a steady rhythm, like there was a machine in his chest breathing for him. The sound was hypnotic.

“What’s the mask this time?” Elias asked. “What game are we playing today?”

“No games,” said Kirill. “Not anymore.”

“You keep saying that. But we keep circling around to the same thing.”

As always when Kirill was in the room, a slow but steady trickle of fear-memories leaked out of him. A constant small betrayal on the part of his mammalian brain. Kirill might have been able to turn himself into a machine at will, but Elias didn’t have that ability. No matter what he had thought at first, in his hubris, with his hours of practice at desensitizing himself to his own grief.

“We were done with games days ago,” said Kirill. “If you think we’ve been playing, you haven’t taken my threat seriously enough. Should I show you a picture of your son, here in headquarters, to prove I mean what I say?”

The thought stopped Elias’s breath. But no emotion rushed out of him. A second later, when his chest filled with an inner warmth, he understood why. Negative emotion brought out the memories, Kirill had said. The thought of seeing a picture of Sammy, alive and grown up… that was the fulfillment of fifteen years of hope. Kirill could get nothing from that warmth.

The fear hit a second later. Because his dream had been to see his son happy and healthy, and if he was either of those things now, it was only because he was ignorant of the threat hanging over his head. Elias wanted to see him, but not like this. Not as a hostage.

Not as a PERI resource.

“Would you like that picture?” Kirill asked. His voice was strangely empty, even for him. Like someone had scooped out every ounce of humanity in him, and the thing in front of Elias now was what was left.

Elias shook his head.

“Do you still think we’re playing games?”

Elias shook his head again.

“Then let’s get started,” said Kirill. “You asked what part I was playing today. I’m not. I have a better way of getting emotion from you now. All I need to do is mention your son and what will happen to him if you stop giving me what I need, either through your memories or through what you tell me aloud.”

One more time, Elias shook his head. “Of course you’re playing a part. This isn’t who you are.”

“This?” Kirill looked down at himself, like he was trying to see what Elias saw. “There is no this. I’m not being anything.”

“Exactly. You’re nothing right now. No one is nothing inside.”

“Still looking for the answer to your question? You’re going to be disappointed. Anyway, we’re not here to talk about me. And we’re not here to play. I’m going to talk to you about your son, and you’re going to give me the information I want. If you’d like things to move faster, you can speak aloud, and spare yourself the grief and fear I’ll have to evoke otherwise. If I stop getting anything from you, I’ll take you to your son, and I’ll hurt him.”

The fear-wound tore a little wider, bled a little more. Nothing Kirill could use—Elias was certain of that. A face from a horror movie poster when he was a child, on one of the family’s big trips into town. They had always drawn looks—a dozen adults and twice as many children, clustered together in one big herd. Half of them small-mouthed and wide-eyed like a gaggle of country mice. The other half behaving like wild things, like the trip out was an excuse to let out the sides of themselves they had to keep buttoned up at home.

Their parents had let them, so long as they didn’t let their powers show—that was the only unbendable rule. The children had run around like rabid animals, grabbing all the unfamiliar brightly-colored things with their grubby hands, smearing fingerprints all over the ticket counter and the movie posters. The adults—eager for a chance to let loose themselves—had laughed too loudly and worn impractical clothes they never wore at home, and poured liquid from small metal flasks into their extra-large sodas.

Max had been one of the country mice. Elias had watched the wild things longingly, but had stayed with Max, letting him clutch his hand and hold him in place.

“We’re not here to talk about your ghost boy,” Kirill said, his voice sharp.

Elias blinked away the past. “We’re not here to talk about Sammy, either. Not really.”

“Your son is a means to an end. Focus on him. Think about the hands of the child you remember. How will it sound when those small fingers snap?”

Was Kirill’s cruelty another mask he could put on and take off at will, or was it part of who the man was underneath? There was no point in asking—no point in wondering, even, when he would never get an answer. Elias clung to the thought anyway, because any distraction would do.

But no distraction could hold up to the image Kirill’s words evoked, or the sound in his imagination of a tiny, delicate finger bone snapping. Sammy’s hands weren’t that small anymore, of course. They had to be the size of his own by now. Elias knew that intellectually. But when he thought about Sammy’s hand, he pictured the hands of an infant, of a toddler, of an eight-year-old. When he imagined them broken, those were the hands he saw.

Sick fear. Helpless rage. A river of memory overflowed its banks. A gushing wound, memory-blood pooling around him, bleeding out the entirety of his son’s history. In front of Elias, Kirill rocked back slightly as eight years of memory flooded him at once.

“The branches of your network,” Kirill said, his voice tight, his unfocused eyes darting back and forth like he was in the grip of a nightmare. “The command structure. Names and faces.”

Elias couldn’t control the flow. It carved a new path in his mind, veering away from Sammy’s childhood, passing through the details of the network he had painstakingly built over the past fifteen years. He tried to steer it back, but the memories were a river, and they flowed through his grasping fingers like water.

The names and faces Kirill had demanded poured from him and straight into Kirill’s brain. A rush of guilt followed. He was giving Kirill everything. And his people would suffer for it, the people had trusted, who had agreed to work for him despite the danger. The future children they could have rescued, the future Sammys, they would also suffer.

The river grew faster, stronger, drawing a soft noise of protest from Kirill. But Kirill’s mouth, curled in a hard smile, was satisfied, his hunger slaked.

Guilt was an emotion. Emotion made the memories come faster.

He breathed in. Breathe out. He stared his grief straight in its wide and helpless and relentlessly hungry eyes, and resisted the urge to reach out and throttle the creature. That wouldn’t help.

Fighting grief never killed grief.

Fighting fear never killed fear.

Fighting pain never stopped the pain from coming. It only multiplied it —the pain that couldn’t be stopped, times the pain of failing to stop it.

His son was in danger. But he had faced that before. He had stared that monster down, and it had blinked first.

His people would suffer and die because of his unwitting betrayal. But he had lost people before. He could still remember the feeling of hot blood on his hands, the thick and earthy tang of it in his nose, pleading eyes going soft and glassy. He could still remember the heat of the flames, and the dying screams of everyone he had almost loved.

Almost everyone. That last loss had come later.

So many losses. And he had survived them all. He had found a way to push the torrents of feeling down, to fight his way back to dry land rather than letting the current hold him under. Otherwise, he would never have survived.

Inhale for four.

Exhale for four.

Inhale.

Exhale.

The flow didn’t stop. But it slowed. The memories came in jagged bursts. Not a current, but the fitful expulsions of a broken faucet.

“Focus,” Kirill urged, and Elias did. He focused on his breath—inhale, exhale. He stared into Kirill’s pale eyes and imagined himself staring down his grief.

But Kirill said, “Sammy,” and Elias saw his son’s face. No amount of focus on his breathing could banish the memory of those eyes or those pudgy child cheeks.

“I’ll start with the little fingers,” said Kirill. “They hurt the most when they break.”

And then, “The locations of your safehouses. With addresses.”

His memory lurched. The river surged down its new path. The images hovered half-formed in Elias’s mind, like vomit struggling to come up.

But if Elias couldn’t stop the flow of memory, maybe he could choose where it went. He couldn’t keep Sammy out of his mind, so he stopped trying. He thought about those cheeks, about his dark and solemn eyes. Those hands, with their perfect fingers Kirill kept threatening to break. A small face contorted in fear.

“The safehouses,” Kirill said. Still colorless, empty of feeling, but Elias imagined frustration lurking underneath. He imagined it because it made him feel like he was winning. He needed to feel like he would win, like he could win, or he would stop trying.

Safehouses. House. Safe. The little house he and Lisbeth had owned together. Her with her hands on her swollen belly, looking doubtfully down the basement stairs. He’ll fall as soon as he starts walking. We should keep the basement door locked—get a padlock and just never open it. We never go down there anyway. Him telling her she was being ridiculous to close off an entire room of the house, an entire floor. He said it with a smile on his face, so she’d know he was joking even though he wasn’t, because he never knew what would hit her wrong these days. He felt a tiny squirm of unease in his belly, gratitude that she had been the one to say it and not him, because he had been eyeing those stairs with trepidation for weeks now.

“Clever,” came Kirill’s impassive voice. “Now show me your network. Where do your people hide themselves?”

His people, his family, his son. He kept Sammy’s dark eyes fixed in his mind—the best memories, the worst, anything with enough emotion to keep the current from changing course.

But Kirill’s words lodged themselves in his mind. His network. Hiding. He pictured cabins hidden deep in the woods—

But there had been a different network once. And a different kind of hiding, one he hadn’t thought of as hiding. He had thought they were all family, and all they needed was each other, and it was as simple as that. He hadn’t understood the danger that had driven all his mothers and fathers to buy a hundred acres out in the middle of nowhere. Not until the danger had come knocking with a lit match in its back pockets.

For decades, since long before the loss of Sammy, he had held those memories at bay. He had forced them down, burying them deeper and deeper, piling more and more dirt on top. He had buried them the way none of his family had gotten the chance to be buried. They had burned instead.

The memories came out in his nightmares sometimes, once or twice a year, no more than that. The memory of fire, the stink of burning wood and burning flesh. Or, more rarely, happy dreams—chasing frogs in the marsh, picking flowers in the meadow, he and his hesitant shadow. He and Max, who Kirill had called the ghost boy.

Was his face really that blurry in Elias’s memory now? Had Elias buried the memory of him that deeply? He hadn’t thought so. But Kirill had sifted through his memories with the deft skill of a long-time prospector panning for gold, and Max’s face was the one thing he couldn’t see.

If there was enough emotion in the memory of Max for that, there was enough emotion in that memory to hold his thoughts in place.

All he had to do was let it in.

Kirill wanted his network. But his family had functioned in much the same way. Protecting each other, using their abilities for the good of the whole. Keeping the children safe and oblivious. That long-ago home—that was his network. That was the network he would give Kirill.

Kirill wanted safehouses. He wanted to know where Elias’s people hid. They had hidden in houses they had built themselves, in a wilderness of marshlands and overgrown meadows. The electricity had gone out with every storm. Sometimes it had taken weeks to come back on. They had eaten canned food and built fires for warmth, and huddled together under hand-sewn blankets, everyone all together in one house. to conserve heat.

They had lived like animals, Max had said later—We’ve been living like animals all our lives. Even before we had to run. I’m tired of it. Aren’t you tired? But Elias had never seen it that way. He hadn’t felt deprived, except for brief sharp pangs on those trips into town, glimpsing children who treated going to the movies or out for ice cream as ordinary.

He had never felt embarrassed by his hand-sewn clothes, not like some of the others had. The kids in town had blue jeans that looked like the ones in the movies, and shirts with cartoon characters on them. But Elias had pants rugged enough that he could climb the tall tree at the center of the marsh and never tear them. He had picked out the fabric for his favorite shirt himself, and sat with Mama Charisse in her living room as she had sewn it without using her hands to move the needle and thread.

“Your network.” Kirill’s voice was distant now, faded, compared to the vibrancy of Elias’s memories. Even so, Elias felt the pull of the current guiding him closer to the present day, closer to Kirill’s voice.

Thinking about his home wasn’t enough.

So Elias unburied the dead.

Mama Charisse hadn’t been what the outside world would have called his real mother, the one whose body he had grown in and pushed his way out of, the one he had shared a house with when he wasn’t sleeping over at Max’s house. That hadn’t mattered to him. Every adult had been his mother or his father. Every child had been his sister or his brother. It confused him, in the books he read and the movies he watched and the families he saw in town, how small the families were, and how many walls they placed between each other.

He had called his real mother by her name, the way he did with all the others—the adults had wanted that way, hadn’t wanted divisions based on blood. She had been Mama Jessie. She had smelled like oranges and sunlight and could make plants turn green in the middle of winter with just one touch. She had died screaming, like all the others, when their home had burned.

Max had wanted to go back to look for survivors. Elias had said no. He had said PERI could still be there, waiting for them to come back. And that might have been true. But it wasn’t the reason for Elias’s refusal. Elias hadn’t wanted to risk seeing the charred bodies of the dead.

He remembered Mama Jessie’s arms around him, the smell of her, the roughness of her hands. All the things he had buried for so many years, so he could sleep without nightmares. Those first few weeks after they had run, he hadn’t slept, because he had seen her dying every time he closed his eyes, her and all the rest. And if he didn’t sleep, he couldn’t take care of Max. He had buried the dead so he could tend to the living.

He pictured his father, Papa Graham, with his bushy beard and his long, long legs. Elias’s eyes had always been too serious, or so everyone had told him, but Papa Graham’s eyes had always been smiling. He smelled like the cigars he bought in town and smoked when he thought Mama Jessie wasn’t looking.

And then there was Max. The ghost boy.

They had been born the same week of the same year. The family had called them twins. Mama Kelly had called them photo negatives of each other, one with black hair and black eyes, the other with pale, pale eyes and hair so light it was almost the white of snow.

They had shared a crib as babies, on the days when their parents couldn’t get them to stop crying. Max had stopped crying when Elias was there to take care of him, or so the family legend went. Elias had stopped crying when he had Max to take care of.

They had talked in full sentences to each other before they said a word to anyone else. They had learned to crawl together, walked together, steadying each other with chubby hands firmly clasped together. They had been two halves of the same person. First twins, mirrors, photo negatives. Then, once they were old enough to explore, they were no longer mirrors but opposites, each of their differences perfectly complementing the other.

They had both been serious—too serious, Mama Kelly had said—but in different ways. Elias had been the protector, Max the one who needed protecting. Elias was the hard shell, Max the soft, defenseless creature inside.

The adults had shaken their heads over Max, wondering who he would be what he would do when he no longer had Elias to rely on. It hadn’t been until years later that Elias had realized their worries had been misplaced. They should have asked themselves what Elias would do when he no longer had someone to protect.

He would set out to protect the whole world—that was the answer. Or as much of it as he could reach.

Maybe what he had created hadn’t only been a response to Sammy’s death after all.

The adults hadn’t needed to worry about Max. Max had grown beyond Elias in good time. He had formed his own opinions, gained the strength and the conviction to make his own decisions. He had been the one to let go first, not Elias. It had been Elias who had tried to hold on. Elias, in the end, who had struggled to let go.

The memories of their last fight were the ones that came into his nightmare most frequently. But today, Elias unburied the deeper memories. Like wine or cheese, they had grown all the more potent from their years in the dark.

Like Elias urging Max to climb a tree after him. Elias didn’t shimmy up trees as a natural instinct, the way some of his more reckless brothers and sisters did. He had studied the tree at the center of the swamp for weeks, climbing up little by little and then back down again, a little further every day. Gauging its weaknesses, formulating his plan of attack. He had shared his acquired knowledge with Max, but Max preferred to stay on the ground.

Maybe Elias should have let him. But he had been a child, and he had wanted to share the view. And eventually, he had talked Max into it. Max had never been good at saying no to him, in those days. Elias hadn’t realized his mistake, not until he was safely on the ground again, staring up at a wide-eyed and terrified Max.

He’d had to call Papa Oleg in the end, and asked him to bring a ladder, like someone in a book calling the fire department for a cat caught up a tree. He had apologized to Max for not knowing how to get him down. That, in his mind, had been his failure—and an unforgivable one. It was his job to get Max out of any trouble he could get him into.

That early failure had done nothing to inoculate him against his more permanent failure later.

He lingered on the end of the memory, the feeling of his small arms around Max’s shaking body. After a moment, he realized the flow of memory was less like a rushing river now, and more like being immersed in a small and warm natural pool, out of the flow of the current.

The current had stopped. Without Kirill’s reminders, the sharpness of the emotion had faded.

Kirill must have noticed. Why hadn’t he said anything?

Elias let the memory fade. It drained away, leaving him out of breath from all his work digging up graves.

Kirill wasn’t sitting across from him anymore. He had his back against the wall. His eyes wide and desperate. In those eyes, Elias saw—only for a second—the eyes of a small boy trapped up a tree.

“A clever strategy.” Kirill’s voice was thin and thready. If it was part of a persona, Elias could figure out what.

“I can see you still aren’t ready to cooperate,” Kirill said in the same tone. “I may need to put you in a room with your son after all.”

The threat lacked sharpness. Kirill’s voice wobbled, an overcooked noodle where a knife should have been.

He stumbled out the door, leaving a startled Elias alone.

Elias had won a victory. He just wished he understood why.

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#whump #whump novel #my writing #my writing: Obscure #my writing: Mind Games #interrogation whump #superpower whump #emotional whump

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fillingthescrapbook · 5 months ago

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Let's Talk About: Doctor Who and the 8-Episode Season

Okay, fine: there are nine episodes technically since they've labeled the Christmas special as the first episode. But what is up with the dwindling number of episodes per season? I don't know if it started with Capaldi's run or with Whittaker's… if I remember correctly, Matt Smith's run introduced breaks within the season…

Anyway--Where was I going with this?

Ah, yeah. The finale. "Empire of Death." It was emotional, it had a great pace, it hit the beats it needed to hit… But it did not have the power that previous Doctor Who finales had. (Granted, I've missed a few. Like the 98% of Jodie's run. I think I only saw four of her episodes. Or six? I just… It got too complicated for me. And I wish Jodie would get another run with a different showrunner because she was brilliant as Thirteen. Anyway, this aside went longer than I intended--)

"Empire of Death" did not have the emotional impact of previous Doctor Who episodes because we did not have enough episodes to spend with the Doctor and Ruby. I've seen a few comments online that say they don't have the best chemistry--I disagree. I think the two are electric together. Which makes me sad that we didn't have an episode where they had to oppose each other. Where they got to know what irks them about the other--and then they learned to co-exist despite those pet peeves. An episode where Rose Noble gets introduced to Ruby that isn't just a tacked-on dialogue in an already packed scene--one where we get an update as to why Ten-3 and Donna are nowhere to be seen lately, and one where we get more character growth for Rose.

I wanted an episode where the Doctor realizes how much Ruby is changing his outlook because of her need to reconnect her roots. And an episode where they find out why Ruby can summon snow--only to realize it has nothing to do with the season-long mystery.

I needed more episodes in the middle of the season for this finale to work the way it was intended to.

And I've griped about this before, I think. When I was talking about Minx. I don't know who has decided it was a good idea to cut out the filler episodes, but they were wrong. The filler episodes, when done right, make the plot-centric episodes more powerful. Because we get to know the characters more. Because the characters get to grow their relationship with each other. And, in turn, those relationships give more impact to the emotional highs of cliffhangers, and revelations, and finales.

I liked this recent season of Doctor Who. Ncuti is magnetic. Millie is enthralling. The supporting characters, especially Carla, Kate, and Mel, have been astounding. I'm not going to make any declarations about Mrs. Flood yet. The writing was hit or miss--but that's part of Doctor Who's charm. What isn't part of its charm is shortcuts.

And an eight-episode season is a shortcut.

I know the next season has already been filmed. I know there are only eight episodes again. Nine, counting the Christmas special later this year. I hope it plays out better--because we already have connections to Ruby and Ncuti's Doctor (I refuse to call him Fifteen. He's Fourteen to me, but I know calling him that will cause confusion.) But I also hope that Russel T. Davies--who was writing Season 3 as of a month and so ago--will also realize that more episodes mean more time to flesh out the relationships…and more time to love the characters.

We need more episodes like "The Empty Child" and "The Doctor Dances," "School Reunion" and "Fear Her," "The Shakespeare Code," "Human Nature," and "The Family of Blood." We need another "Midnight," and a "Planet of the Ood," a "Vincent and the Doctor," and "The Doctor's Wife." We could do with more "Time Heist" and "Knock Knock."

We need episodes that don't advance the plot but advances the characters' growth. Towards each other. Away from each other. I don't even care if it's just a detour and they go back to who they were in a previous episode. What matters is the characters learned something new about each other. What matters is that whatever happens at the end of the season, since it's the big reveal for the season-long mystery, we have emotional investment because of all the turns we took to get to the end.

So please, producers of television and streaming content: make more episodes. Filler is not the enemy. Especially when it comes to Doctor Who.

#let's talk about #doctor who #tv talk

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mejomonster · 2 years ago

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Tumblr ate my meta agh :c it was about zhoudus novel start relationship now that I know more of fei dus pov. Oh well. Basically chapter 100 is <3. I love fei du loving when Luo wenzhou opens up to him emotionally. I love fei du wishing he could give Luo wenzhou a nice story but his childhood sucked and he likes Luo wenzhou as his family instead. I love fei du telling a "dumb youth" story of himself and of course its rhe part of his teenage years With Tao Ran and Luo Wenzhou. His happiest safest part of life:

Between the branches of the old trees that had lost all their leaves, you could see the ancient bell on top of the Drum Tower. The night was limpid.

The two of them had finally torn away the seriously damaged pretext, tossing aside this murder case where the murderer was evident at a glance.

“When I was fifteen or sixteen, I also plotted to run away with a group, though the reason was better than celebrating a Western holiday—KFC or some company like that was putting together a middle school basketball competition, and the prize was a basketball signed by an NBA celebrity, who just happened to be the basketball player I liked. So I got together a group of people, got a sick note from a classmate’s cousin who was a nurse, told my parents the school had organized a competitive summer camp, and ran around playing basketball for half a month.”

Fei Du: “…”

This was a recollection so wretched it really made you sigh in admiration.

“We did get the prize, and I fooled my mom by saying a classmate had brought it back from abroad.” Walking beside him through the peaceful little alley, Luo Wenzhou took his hand, felt it was cold, and gave him the still warm bag of chestnuts to hold, keeping watch out of the corner of his eye to make sure he didn’t sneak any. “Later there was a parent-teacher conference. As soon as the teacher talked to my mom, the whole thing came out. When my dad got home and heard about it he gave me a hell of thrashing.”

Fei Du thought that a late-stage problem child like this couldn’t be kept down with simple force.

“My dad, he seems pretty severe, but actually he’s very fair and reasonable,” Luo Wenzhou said. “When he got a handle on his temper, he said to me, ‘A forcibly picked melon won’t be sweet. If you don’t like going to school, then forget about it. Do what you like.”

Luo Wenzhou’s ridiculous stories of domestic trivialities had an unbelievable attractive force for Fei Du. Each time he occasionally said a few words like this, Fei Du felt that he’d encountered a hidden easter egg. Seeing Luo Wenzhou suddenly stop, Fei Du couldn’t resist following up. “And then what?”

Luo Wenzhou said, “At first I was pretty happy, thinking that the old fellow had ‘found salvation’ and changed his ways. I didn’t expect that he would ‘fairly and reasonably’ stop my senior middle Year 2 school fees and allowance.

“While I cut class sometimes, I wasn’t really prepared to become a dropout, so I had to go out and earn my school fees when I was on vacation. The old fart was as good as his word. He really didn’t give me a penny. I carried water barrels for people for a couple months for the sake of that basketball… Don’t laugh.”

If he could have preserved this story like a specimen, Fei Du felt he could have enjoyed it for half a lifetime.

“You always let me take the lead in telling this sort of embarrassing story.” Luo Wenzhou poked him with his elbow. “Your turn.”

Fei Du: “…”

There really was nothing fun about his whole endless upbringing, but he couldn’t bear to spoil the mood, so he had to rack his brains for a good while, finally managing to pull something out of his memories that would oblige.

“All right,” Fei Du said, “I’ll tell you a secret.”

Luo Wenzhou indicated that he was all ears.

“Around the Spring Festival one year, I went to pay a New Year’s call on a friend.” Fei Du paused, then said, “I saw a bicycle downstairs at his house, a racing bike with a gearshift and an especially flashy paint job, with a pattern like a poisonous snake. It seemed to be calling out to me.”

Luo Wenzhou somehow felt that the bike he’d described sounded familiar.

Fei Du licked his lips, very cautiously arranging his diction. “So I left a New Year’s present for it…by glueing its back wheel with chewing gum.”

Luo Wenzhou’s footsteps abruptly paused—he’d remembered. During the Spring Festival one year, Tao Ran had been unable to go back to his hometown because his duty schedule had been full, so Luo Wenzhou had ridden his bike over with presents to represent the citizens of Yan City in delivering comfort to the police comrade.

Before going, he’d thought of a certain little whelp with no one to look after him and had brought along a limited-edition game machine to give to Tao Ran to pass on to him.

In the end, he’d stayed twenty minutes at Tao Ran’s house, and someone had messed around with his bike, which he’d left downstairs—some wretched child had stuck a few small firecrackers to his back wheel with chewing gum. Luo Wenzhou hadn’t noticed it when he’d gotten on the bike and reached out his foot to peddle—

And he’d nearly been launched into orbit by the explosions!

Maintaining his smile, Fei Du guiltily took a small step back.

“Fei Du!”

President Fei reaped the consequences of lascivious activity. In order to entertain a beauty, he voluntarily gave himself up to the authorities as one possessed; it was too late for regrets.

He didn’t receive any “leniency” for his confession. Luo Wenzhou grabbed him and gave him a good seeing to. He was pushed against a wall from behind.

Fei Du said, “Wait…wait a minute.”

#silent reading #lb #also like. how because theg have 7 years of history.. fei dus happy times Can be luo #in my meta tumblr ate i thought about how pursuing tao ran #was probs a ploy to keep luo close when they were drifting apart and fei du both doesnt want change #like he said to therapist bai. he doesnt want to lose luo wenzhou and home. but he also knoes his revenge Will Make life change #and 3 years ago he took over the company and started lashing out at luo as an Adult about murder #which was probably to push him away to make the change more in fei dus control instead of a breach of trust later #but at the same time an attempt to be secretly honest to luo and confess #and fei du like catnip cant resist getting closer to luo even knowing hes going to end it

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iviarelleblr · 3 months ago

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I was going to put this in the tags but the tags got so long... I'm just gonna type out a real version.

Thank you for sharing your journey and your success and hopefully-temporary failure. It may not work for everyone (I wish we didn't have to disclaimer lines like that, that people would just have the maturity to understand that if a post isn't about them they can scroll on) and it'd be great if everyone could sleep naturally, but sometimes a routine and a schedule and structure around sleep can really, truly help. Even if (nonspecific, anyone reading this post) you've tried this or that method before and it didn't help then, even if you're neurologically wired to not form habits (the involuntary kind), you can probably still build something like muscle memory that gets most of the way there, which is exactly what I think this post is about.

A lot of the common neurodivergences come with tendencies toward poor/no natural sleep schedule and poor sleep hygiene, and all that makes our lives even harder to deal with. I think a lot of people who self-diagnose with delayed sleep phases, they probably don't have fixed sleep times, but may have a tendency to lock into activities until the late hours, rather than actually being fixed to later sleep. Much like being unmedicated makes it harder to access medication, not being able to sleep healthfully makes it harder to learn to sleep healthfully.

For example: my bedtime routine involves three separate layers of alerts (a gentle but noticeable alarm tone, a lamp on a timer, and the Windows "night light" feature dimming and orange-ing my screen at different times), all to tell me "it's time to start winding down and ending tasks now". Then, I go to bed and do the specific things in the same order every night. (My specifics are tailored around my hyperacusis and will definitely NOT work for some, but I have white noise playing on a little rig in my room, and I start a repeat, chill podcast playlist, and then I play ad-free solitaire on my phone while laying on my right side until my eyes get heavy, at which point I can usually put down the phone, turn onto my left side, and reliably get the rest of the way to sleep.) It's gotten to the point that sometimes even when I'm not sleepy, I can trick my brain into shutting down for the night just by going through the motions of the routine. It took a few years to get there but it's saved me from some of the worst of my insomnia, and it even works the same if I wake up in the night and can't sleep, I just put on another podcast and do the rest, and get back to sleep maybe 95% of the time. Then in the morning, even though my brain actually does have a hardwired wake up time synced to the sun cycle (it's been fifteen years and I haven't been able to sleep in more than half an hour, and it means my non-DST schedule is just... wake up an hour earlier than I'll ever need to), I don't always feel awake yet. So, I have a specific routine that I follow with very little variation, like the chair across the room but for me it's sitting up, letting the cat onto my lap, and playing a bit of Merge Dragons, just to ensure that my body recognizes that I'm awake and it's time for awake things and not to linger miserably in a place I won't get any more sleep anyway.

Nothing's foolproof and I still fail sometimes or I get impulsive and skip the routines and accept the consequences. That's life! Sometimes the book is just too good to put down at a reasonable hour. But when it comes to sleep scheduling, it's worth pushing through the part where it feels stupid and pointless and like it's not going to work. If hypothetical-you-reading-this are anything like me the point isn't that it helps NOW, it's building that skill to the point that it works later, and you might not even notice the tipping point.

successfully tricked myself into not going back to bed by placing a somewhat comfortable chair with a blanket next to my alarm clock on the other end of my room, and then sitting in the chair for 10 minutes after getting up to turn off my alarm, until my brain stopped being a creature that just wanted to burrow and sleep. I hope that works more than one day in a row.

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thepsychewrites · 2 years ago

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Little Dove Pt. 3 | S. Rogers

You could never disappoint me…

Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Summary: Steve finally brings you to his house for dinner. How will he react when things take a turn and some truths come out?

Warnings: 18+ only ; MDNI ; Age gap, Sorta smutty, heavy makeout sessions, some light angst/anxiety, soft!Steve, power imbalance, and language.

Word Count: 3.7k

Author’s Note: GUYS GUYS GUYS OKAY- I’m so so so sorry for the delay in part 3, life has been so fucking hectic and messy these last few weeks, but alas the time has come. Also, I apologize for the cliff hangar- but this bitch was nearing 4k words and I just had to stop it where I did otherwise it would’ve been nearing 7 or 8k by the time I was done!! But believe me when I say I won’t leave you guys hanging for long 😚😚 Anyway, as always, enjoy whores!!

Main Masterlist

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Expectations.

God, they fueled your anxiety like no other.

Was Steve planning for more than just dinner tomorrow? Did he want to have sex already? How many times has he had sex? What if he was secretly married? Was he aware that you’ve never had sex? Was it too early to have sex? I mean come on, it's only the first date… Would there be any more dates? Did this even count as a date?

“You need to stop thinking so hard about it.” Yelena’s voice broke out in the foggy bathroom, filtering in past the shower curtains from her spot on the floor. “Seriously- I can tell it’s driving you mad.”

Shampoo was racing down your forehead, your eyes squeezed shut as you rinsed it from your hair. “I know I know, but… I can't stop thinking about it, Lena. I’ve never been in any sort of relationship before and I have no idea what to expect… I don’t know if I’m ready for it all yet.” You confessed, your fingers slowing their pace against your scalp. “All I know is that I really like him, and I don’t want to screw it up.”

Yelena was seated on the floor, her back and head resting against the sink cabinet as she faced towards the wall to allow you some privacy. “Just be honest with him, Y/n. If it starts going in a direction you don’t like, tell him. If he likes you like you say he does, he’ll respect it. And if not… then you call me and I’ll deal with him.” She turned her attention to her neglected nail beds, picking at them lazily. “I wish you would tell me who it is so I could run a background check on him...” She added in a mumble.

“And that is exactly why I will not be telling you who it is.” You shook your head at her antics, loving her even more for it.

Yelena was one of those heaven-sent people that only got put in your life if you were really lucky. She carried an energy that can only be described as Yelena. A fiery, juvenile, smart-ass, protective as all hell, intelligent, loving angel she was. The two of you met a week before your freshman year at one of the welcome seminars your college held for first year students. Low and behold, she ended up being your roommate that year too. She was practically your sister, the both of you sharing an indescribable bond that you wouldn’t trade for the world.

“You missed a spot.” Yelena chuckled, twisting her back and pointing to the slope of her butt. “You’ll thank me later for not letting you prance over there with the ass of king-kong.” She blew a kiss your way, pairing it with a teasing wink.

Maybe you’d take a second thought about the trade.

“I hate you.” You said with the most serious voice you could muster, running your razor along the missed spots of hair.

Yelena hummed. “Sure you do. Now hurry up, Dateline comes on in fifteen.”

——

Steve was a nervous wreck.

It’s why he put on a documentary for the entirety of class on Friday instead of giving his usual lecture. It’s why he retreated back to his office when it started playing, only keeping the door ajar slightly in case of emergency, so he could conceal the fact that he was panicking. He nearly refused to look at you when you walked in, but your gentle smile and sparkling eyes made his walls crumble completely. Steve couldn’t stare for too long though, because his heart rate kept climbing and he didn’t want to have a heart attack on campus today, let alone have the cause of it be a student.

You paid absolutely no mind to the film as it played on, your fluttering heart matching that of Steve’s, who sat quietly in his office during the entire class. Instead, you focused on how the evening might play out.

You thought about what Steve would be wearing when he came to pick you up later. Would he be wearing his usual teaching attire? Or would he allow himself to be more relaxed? You thought about what his house might look like. But what if he didn’t own a house? An apartment would be fine too. What if you saw pictures of another woman hanging along a photo wall, her beauty far surpassing yours? No, that’s silly- Steve would be smart enough to put those away, wouldn’t he? You thought about if his cooking was decent, and if he was sticking to the pasta he talked about on Wednesday. You thought about what movie he would want to watch and how his couch would feel under your thighs. You thought about how Steve would touch you again, his hands trailing far too close to where they shouldn’t go. What if he wanted to take it somewhere new? Would it be such a bad thing? Would his touch be rough and needy like it was in his car? Would he want you to stay the night, sleeping in his bed next to him until the sun came up? Would he ask you to stay a little longer? Would you agree?

Yelena was right. You need to stop thinking so hard about this. It’s just dinner at Steve’s house. Nothing more, nothing less.

Right?

Steve’s train of thought was no better. He wanted to make the night so special for you, but a simple dinner at his house wasn’t going to do him much justice. Did you even like chicken fettuccine alfredo? What if being at his house scared you and you wanted to go home? What if he overstepped too early? What if he wanted to feel your skin under his touch again, would you let him? Would you judge the way his house was furnished? Would you want to stay the night? Would you care to get to know him at all, or did you just want to sleep with him? Did you have a boyfriend he wasn’t aware of?

Steve pulled out his phone, fingers shaking as he typed out a text.

I don’t know if I can do it. Should I tell her something came up?

No less than thirty seconds later, a response came back, his best friend's name attached to the message.

No way in hell, punk. It’ll be fine, just remember what I told you.

Steve rolled his eyes.

Yeah, yeah, don’t be creepy, I’m aware of that, Buck. But… do you think it’s too soon?

Another ding.

Stevie, it’s been almost five years. You’ve got to move on and start living again, it’s what she would want.

And another.

You’re not canceling on this mystery girl of yours, end of story.

Maybe Bucky was right. Steve shouldn’t cancel on you just because he’s been out of the game for so long.

Right?

——

Looking at the clock for the fifth time in under a minute did nothing to calm you.

It was seven o’clock on the dot and Steve hadn’t texted you yet.

Was this his way of canceling? Did something happen on his way here? Did he get into an accident? What if-

A low buzz made your heart jump, your phone alerting you of an incoming message.

I’m outside. Same spot as Wednesday.

You couldn’t tell if his text relieved you or made your stomach churn. With a deep inhale and even longer exhale, you grabbed your bag and made your way outside.

The two of you didn’t talk much after class today besides Steve asking for your number so he could let you know when he was there to pick you up. After that, he was quick to send you a tight lipped smile and retreat back into his office, closing the door behind him.

Stepping out of your residence hall and into the evening sunlight, your eyes landed on Steve’s car almost immediately, pointing your body in that direction and letting your legs carry you there. You kept your gaze down, thinking that if you locked eyes with him now you might panic and turn back.

But he couldn’t stop staring at you.

You were wearing the prettiest little dress he had ever seen- a light blue that stopped halfway down your thighs with short flowy sleeves and miniature white polka dots littered throughout. Steve was practically drooling into his lap as he watched you walk to his car, only regaining his composure to step out and open the passenger side door for you.

“You look absolutely amazing, Y/n.” Steve said when you were within earshot, shaking his head in disbelief that he was about to spend the evening with you. He watched a blush creep onto your face, his eyes never leaving you once.

He was sporting tight black jeans and a deep red long-sleeve shirt, doused with his favorite cologne that made him smell insatiable. Once you finally looked at him, you couldn’t stop. Steve’s smile was contagious, making your lips pull up to match his as you stepped around him to slide into the car. “Says you.” You teased, adjusting in your seat, the door staying open for a second so Steve could ensure you were in all the way before gently closing it.

Steve moved around the back of the car, finally getting to his door and hopping in. “I mean it. You look beautiful.” His voice was light, yet stern, as he put the car in drive and pulled away from the parking lot, his large hand landing softly on your exposed thigh.

It was hard to think straight with his thumb stroking across your skin, goosebumps nearly rising at his touch. “Thank you.” Was all you could muster. With some extra courage you allowed your fingers to trace along his extended forearm, dancing across the fabric of his shirt as you leaned back comfortably in the seat.

The car ride to his house was silent, but not awkward. Quiet jazz music from decades past filled the air and you enjoyed the view, both from outside and from the man next to you. Less than ten minutes later you were pulling into a charming and affluent neighborhood in the historic district of town. The houses here were large and rather spread apart, the lawns perfectly manicured and the street filled with expensive cars. Lots of green trees lined the road, the occasional lit lamp post poking out between them. Steve’s car came to a stop in front of a gorgeous, two story red brick home, black trimming and windows making it stand out from the rest.

Steve turned off the engine and stepped out, grinning to himself as he watched you, your eyes transfixed on the house and your mouth slightly open. Your attention turned on him as the door popped open, Steve’s hand held out for you.

“You live here?” You asked as you took his hand, stepping up onto the grassy curb. “It’s gorgeous, Steve.”

He bent down and grabbed your bag, holding it in one hand and your hand in the other as he led you to the door. “I know. I got pretty lucky with the price and couldn’t pass it down.” His fingers twisted a key into the lock before the door opened, granting you a view into Steve’s home.

It was breathtakingly him, to say the least. Antique fixtures and stunning furniture pieces scattered throughout, the walls dark- yet filled with life. A few plants thrived by the large bay window in the living room, the space filled with warm orange light from a lamp nestled in the corner. It smelled faintly of pumpkin and cinnamon, too. An elegant staircase on the right led to the upstairs, while the foyer opened into the living room to the left and the kitchen straight ahead. The same soft jazz that played in the car floated throughout the house, coming from somewhere in the living room, barely heard unless you listened for it.

“Are you hungry? Dinner is almost ready, just gotta throw the pasta on.” Steve called, his hand squeezing down on yours as he slowly led you to the kitchen.

“Mhm.” You hummed, too enthralled in everything Steve to say anything more. He chuckled at you, a lazy grin never leaving his face. As soon as you entered the kitchen, you knew you’d never want to leave. “God, it smells amazing in here, Steve.” The wide island in the center of the kitchen was sprinkled with flour, two golden loaves of ciabatta laying in a wooden bowl on the side. “Did you make those yourself?” You asked, pointing to the fresh pieces of bread.

Steve nodded, his face turning a light shade of pink. “Yeah, I uh- I like to cook quite a bit…” He trailed off. “Helps when I’ve got someone to cook for.” He added, glancing down at you for a second. His hand squeezed down once more before he spoke again. “Do you like wine?”

“When the occasion calls for it.” You answered, a knowing smile on your face.

He raised his brows, his touch fading as he moved towards one of the kitchen cabinets. He squatted down, opening the cabinet to reveal a wine rack. “Red or white?” His bright puppy eyes peered up at you, and it was a sight you never wanted to forget.

“Whatever you’re having.”

Steve’s eyes diverted for only a moment, reaching in and pulling out an expensive looking bottle of chardonnay. He stood, opening a top cabinet and grabbing two glasses before he placed them on the granite island and poured lightly into each. His heart was doing somersaults against his rib cage as he carefully slid the glass across the island to you, watching you as you took a sip. The pucker of your lips against the glass made his mind wander, his heartbeat traveling further south than he anticipated. He cleared his throat before taking a sip from his own glass.

Small talk ensued between the two of you as Steve finished up the last dinner preparations. The homemade pasta was ready in only a few minutes, served alongside some salad and the ciabatta he had made.

Dinner went off without a hitch.

The two of you shared sly grins and laughter over the food, a few questions from either one of you slipping its way in between the chatting. As the night progressed, you found yourself inching closer and closer to Steve. It’s how you ended up nestled into his lap after the sun had disappeared from the sky, leaving nothing but silver streams of moonlight flickering through the windows, illuminating your heated skin against his. A movie had been playing, but it soon was turned off when Steve lowered his face to yours, his stubble scratching across your cheek as he kissed at your temple.

Steve had maneuvered the two of you onto his couch, him with his back against the cushions and his feet planted firmly to the rug covering the hardwood floors. You were straddling his lap, your knees digging into the plush couch on either side of his black denim covered thighs. His hands were roaming gently up your legs, dancing across your goose-bumped flesh until they snuck up your dress, palming at your ass. His lips were slow and careful against yours, savoring the time he had and not wanting to rush. Steve wanted to feel you. He wanted to take his time unraveling you bit by bit until you were aching for more.

His tongue was heavy as it moved past your lips, tracing against the inside of your mouth and exploring every inch possible. Breathy groans floated from him when your fingers twisted too tight in his hair, his eyes squeezing shut at the sensation. The tips of his fingers pushed into your skin, deeper and deeper, tethering you to him as if you’d somehow slip from his grasp. With the newfound leverage he pulled your hips toward his, an embarrassingly loud moan coming from you as your panty clad clit rubbed against his thigh. With a widened gaze and blown pupils, he disconnected his lips from yours, a hand slipping up your back to lay you flat against the couch.

Steve was hovering over you in an instant, veins bulging along his forearms and biceps as he planted a hand next to your head, his eyes searching yours frantically. “Can I taste you? Please, baby?” He begged, his chest heaving with anticipation.

With an open, silent mouth, you stayed panting under him, every unsure thought crossing your mind for the umpteenth time that day. What if it’s not what you expected? What if he doesn’t like your body? What if having sex with him right now ruins everything? What if you’re not what he wants? What if-

“Hey…” Steve suddenly whispered as if he was reading your mind, pushing back to sit on his haunches. “We don’t have to do this if you’re not ready. We don’t have to do anything. You don’t have to do anything.” His words were slow and calm, a gentle hand soothing the burning skin along your cheek. His complete understanding slightly shocked you. “You’re under no obligation to do anything with me right now. Do you understand?”

God- what do you even say to that?

“Steve… I’m sorry, I just-” You stumbled over the words, moving to sit up on your elbows.

I just want to be enough.

I just want this to be what you want.

I just don’t want to screw things up.

I just don’t want to lose you.

Your brain was scrambled from his touch. You wanted more, no- you needed more. Would it be so bad to just be honest?

“I’m a virgin, Steve. I’ve never slept with anyone before and I… I’m just nervous, that’s all.” The confession was somewhat mortifying to say aloud, but it released a mass amount of pressure that had festered and culminated in your chest.

Or maybe the bile was just traveling north.

Steve’s eyes softened, the faintest smile curling at his pink and swollen lips. “That’s okay… it’s nothing you need to apologize for, sweetheart.” His words were reassuring, somehow less disappointing than you expected.

And he was being honest- truly. Everyone had to start somewhere, and you not being sexually experienced was something he expected, really. I mean- he’s never seen you so much as breathe toward another guy in your class- let alone show any interest in the plentiful options. Plus, with women like you, always putting your academics first, it was obvious you had never made romantic relationships a priority before.

Would he be ashamed to admit that the confession made his dick throb a bit harder behind the confines of his jeans? Perhaps. But now having that information out in the open, Steve’s mind buzzed with the thought of making you his in every way possible. He would be the first one to make you fall apart on his dick. He would be the first one to taste you, staying between your legs until the ungodly hours of the morning and until you screamed and begged for him to stop. Time wasn’t an issue for Steve. No, he’d wait until the stars came crashing down onto Earth if it meant he could get you exactly how he wanted you. He would be the first to fuck you, to make love to you, to turn you into a blabbering, drooling mess beneath him over and over and over and over and-

“I know- it’s just… kind of embarrassing- I guess.” Your sweet voice pulled him from his fantasies.

Steve was quick to put your worries to rest. “Not in the slightest, angel.” His hand rubbed soothingly across your forearm. “Do you want this? And don’t just say yes because of me, I need you to be sure.”

The contemplation didn’t take long. You did want this. You wanted him, in every way possible.

“I want this, Steve. I do. I just don’t want to disappoint you.” You whispered, a slight waver in your soft words.

A confused scoff left his mouth. “Disappoint me? Honey, I think you severely underestimate my feelings for you. You could never disappoint me.” Again, it was nothing but the truth. Steve’s reverence for you conveyed through his dark eyes, his gaze worshiping every inch of you. He lowered his face to yours, his breath fanning dancing across your skin. “But I won’t allow your first time to happen on my damn couch. C’mere.” He spoke, his large hands finding purchase on your waist, pulling you towards him as your legs wrapped around and connected at his lower back. Your arms fell over his shoulders as he balanced himself upright, wasting no time as he made for the staircase. With large strides he carried you up to his bedroom, crossing the threshold with excitement bursting in his veins.

As soon as your back hit the plushy mattress of his king sized bed his lips were back on yours in a messy embrace. Teeth knocking together, tongues fighting for dominance, warm spit connecting the two of you. Your hands traversed the sides of his broad torso, raking against his shirt and wishing it was his bare chest instead. Steve’s mouth slowed its attack on you, pulling back a few inches for a deep breath. “Will you let me take care of you? Huh? Let me make you feel good, pretty girl.”

You nodded, breathless and practically suffocating from the subtle rocking of his hips. “Yes, fuck- please Steve. I want you to make me feel good.” Those few words were so simple to get out, yet you never thought you’d be saying them to one of your college professors.

But screw it- you couldn’t resist the way he felt. The way he made your insides feel all tingly when he got close. The way he made your head spin. You couldn’t take it any longer. You had to have him.

Right. Now.

Steve backed up from between your thighs, his fingers slipping around the buttons of his shirt in their haste, shaking as they traveled to the buckle of his belt to undo the metal clasp that held it together. Soon he was left in nothing but his boxers, the shadowed outline of his erect cock drooling inside the fabric making a whine pour from your kiss-ridden lips. He was huge. Your mind convulsed alongside your pussy, wondering how the fuck he was going to even attempt to fit inside you. The arousal pooling inside you made your knees wobble, your heart seizing behind your rib cage. Steve was going to completely wreck you…

And you were going to let him.

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nctsworld · 4 years ago

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two nights, one you

✩‌ jaemin ‌x‌ ‌reader‌ ‌|‌ fuckboy!jaemin | strangers (who f*ck) to (brief) enemies to lovers | ‌10.9k

SUMMARY‌ ‌⇾‌ a last-minute one night stand gone awry is extended into two nights when you’re snowed in at the cute (but rude) stranger’s apartment on christmas eve. [loosely based on the movie, two night stand] // part of the x-mas in ncity collection GENRES ⇾ crack | smut | fluff WARNINGS‌ ‌⇾‌ ‌lots of bickering and dialogue, smut, oral s*x (f and m receiving), fingering, mentions of alcohol/drinking, swearing, bit of angst before the end, jaemin’s an asshole... or is he? RATING‌ ‌⇾‌ explicit TAGLIST ⇾‌ @infnteen

AUTHOR’S NOTE ⇾ it’s late (and long fsldkm), srysry but here it is! i hope the humour comes out in this and look away if falls flat zzz fingers crossed that i can finish the last two installments for this collection asap!

⇾ gif created by me, please don’t repost or share without credit!

Maybe it’s because it’s the evening of Christmas Eve Eve and you’re feeling more lonely than usual.

Maybe it’s due to the two glasses of wine you guzzled down in the span of fifteen minutes that get you buzzed.

Maybe it’s your prominent six-month dry spell and you’re in desperate need for some much needed rain in your drought.

Or maybe it’s just pure impulsiveness.

Regardless of the reasons, you’re aiming to get laid tonight.

It’s 9:45pm as you make the rounds on Tinder. You’ve used it in the past, searching for a relationship in vain, but haven’t used it much since you broke up with your last partner. Bringing the app alive again, you’re already bombarded by distasteful messages, off-putting one-liners and jokes, and swiping left more than you’d like.

You haven’t had a one-night stand before, but isn’t there anyone on here that is just a little bit attractive, nearby where you are, around your age, and is somewhat chivalrous about the topic besides saying DTF? Maybe you need to lower your standards if you want to get dicked down tonight.

But then, you land on him.

One Na Jaemin, 20 years old, and only four miles away from you.

Scrolling through his profile pictures and Instagram feed, you assume that he’s into photography, is on the athletic side from the various hobbies he partakes in, and he must be at least half-aware of his beauty because there’s the occasional pic that shows off his lean, toned arms, which, if you can be frank, is more flattering than the shirtless ones you constantly see. Oh, and he attends the same university as you.

The cherry on top? His bio is simple and upfront:

“Not up for anything serious, but always down for a good time ;)”

You swipe right without hesitation.

“It’s a Match!” flashes instantly at you. Your mouth swings open in disbelief.

Usually, you’d wait for your matches to message you and play hard-to-get, but not tonight. Tonight, you’re initiating and leading all the conversations, completely driven by your thirst.

Messaging Jaemin is a breeze. He types with more than half a brain, and he flirts, but it isn’t overwhelming or repulsive. Segueing the current topic, you drag your bottom lip upward as you send the following message:

so, hypothetically... if one were to have good time with you would tonight work?

Not even twenty seconds later and he replies with:

-wow, dont you go straight to the point -im impressed -but yeah -tonight works ;)

He’s quick to send his address.

-let me know when ur here and ill come get you out front!

Smacking your lips together, you squeal to yourself in the comfort of your home, excited to meet with him, but then a thought hangs over you—this feels a little too good to be true. Horrible scenarios run through your head, so your fingers dash across your phone’s keyboard:

tbh i haven’t really done this b4 so im kinda new to this is it ok if we video call or smth? gotta make sure you’re real and not a serial killer i’m sure you understand 😛

-for sure for sure -totally get it -ive had my fair share of fake girls and serial killers so i feel u 😛

Grateful for his consideration, you rush to rearrange your hair after you send him a Zoom link, hoping you look decent enough to not have him back off from his initial offer. He appears in the video call on his phone with the front-facing camera on a few seconds after you connect.

“Hi,” you chirp.

A corner of his mouth lifts. “Hey.”

Okay, he’s definitely cuter in real-time than in his pictures.

“You know, I’m not gonna lie, but I lowkey expected to see a dick or something,” you joke in an attempt to dispel your nervousness.

“Same,” he chuckles, running a hand through his black hair.

Oh God, he’s not just cute—he’s devastatingly gorgeous.

“So, this is my place...”

Jaemin moves around with his apartment in the background, revealing his living room first. Envy prods you as you note the brick walls, high ceiling windows, and well-appointed furnishings.

Recalling his address, you ask, “How’d you get a place in the heart of the city?”

“Lucked out,” he shrugs. His phone shakes a bit as he’s still moving. “My friend slash roommate—who is at his girlfriend’s place tonight, so we have the place all to ourselves—his parents own the condo and they gave me a friend discount on the rent.”

He finally stands in one place and turns the light on to reveal a room. “And this is my bedroom.”

Nothing out of the ordinary. A desk table with a gaming set-up, in tow with a gamer chair, and a decently-sized bed beside a nightstand.

“Oh, and here’s my closet.” Jaemin’s on the move again as he opens his closet doors. “Just to make sure you don’t think I hide the skins of my past one-nighters in here.”

A bubbly laugh rises from you. “Okay, I didn’t think of that before, but now you’ve planted the seed in my head. Maybe you hide them in the other rooms.”

“Nah, my roommate would kill me if I did.”

Both of you laugh in unison, and you bob your head with puffed cheeks.

“Okay, it all seems very promising. I’m going to get ready and I’ll guess I’ll see you in a bit, Jaemin.”

“Sounds good,” Jaemin nods, then winks. Although you’re sitting down, he’s still able to get you weak in the knees. “See you soon.”

You end the call and rush to bundle up for the snow starting to come down outside. A twenty-minute train ride later, you’re at the front door of a rustic, industrial apartment complex. After informing Jaemin you’re outside, you glance up at the snowflakes falling from the dark pink-grey sky, anticipating for what comes next.

Sex with a hot guy, what can go wrong?

So, you must’ve jinxed it because the sex is...

Unsatisfying. Finished faster than you’d like it to be. Sadly, overall disappointing. If you had to rate it, three out of five stars, at best.

But hey, he came, and you sort of did, and it wasn’t the worst sex you’ve ever had. It half-quenched your dry spell.

And enough happened that it tired you out, leaving you passed out in the handsome stranger’s bed until morning.

In the morning, your eyes slowly flicker, unused to the foreign, sweet scent engulfing you in your bed. Correction: Jaemin’s bed.

Your eyes flicker faster as you glance through the almost wall-sized window. The snow hasn’t let up from last night. On the contrary, it seems like it’s snowing non-stop. You groan at the thought of going home in this weather.

The bed is without Jaemin’s presence as you reach for your phone on the nightstand. 10:36AM and a few notifications greet you. You rub your eyes and start combing through them, rising upward to sit up on the bed.

“Morning. You’re finally up.”

Peering up from your device, Jaemin’s standing by the door with folded arms. His plain sweater and sweatpants match the colour of his hair. The dazzling smile he gives is so contagious, you’re not even conscious of catching one too.

“Out you go.”

You blink.

Once, twice, and then you tilt your head as you stare blankly at him, uncertain if you heard him correctly.

After a few moments, because you’re not moving an inch, his smile dissipates and he cocks an eyebrow in expectancy. A serious expression rolls over his face.

Suddenly, Jaemin strolls to the side of the bed and hitches his thumb towards the door.

You definitely heard him right.

And he’s dead-serious.

You replay the video call from last night, dissecting how you thought he was nice and funny and—

Realization dawns on you.

Why would you expect anything more from a two-faced fuck boy?

Still awestruck by the situation, you’re still solid as a statue, so Jaemin takes matters into his own hands and grasps you by your elbow, casually dragging you from his bed like he’s taking out the trash.

“What the fuck?!” you screech.

“C’mon, let’s go. Out out.”

“My clothes, though!” you protest in the middle of the hallway. He sighs in frustration, scurries to the bedroom, and returns with a small pile in his arms, then continues to drag you to the front door.

“Are you always this pleasant with your guests the morning after?” you rage, putting on the rest of your clothes by the door. “You don’t even have the decency to offer me tea or coffee?”

“This was a one-night stand, not a bed and breakfast, sunshine,” he says as he watches you put your shoes on. He’s folding his arms again and leaning against the wall, his attitude dripping with smug. If he wasn’t a stranger, you’d punch it off his face. “You weren’t kidding when you said you were new to this, huh?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!”

“It means you’re a borderline virgin who needs to toodle-loo, get going and gone because you’re overstaying your welcome as we speak.”

Finishing putting on your coat, you’re fuming as your jaw hangs at the personal jab over your skills in bed. Jaemin swings the door open and shoves you through it.

“But I’ll admit, it was still nice having sex with you!” he chimes with a sickening grin and a hand on the door.

“Aw, thanks asshole, wish I could say the same,” you sarcastically reply, resting a palm upon your chest.

He scoffs. “From what I heard last night, I think I can confidently say that you had a great time.”

Flashbacks replay in your mind of your screaming fest from underneath him. Little did Jaemin actually know—

“You know, for someone who I assume has many one-night stands,” you spit with squinted eyes. “I’m surprised you can’t tell when girls fake it.”

You must’ve hit a sore spot because he grinds his teeth and you could almost see the steam coming out of his ears.

Oh yeah, you’re definitely the winner in this fight.

“Okay, you know what, Merry Christmas and fuck you. Have a great life!”

“Fuck you, dickface. Wishing you a miserable Christmas!”

With a bitter smile, you flip him off as he slams the door in your face.

Carrying a basket filled with dirty clothes, Jaemin’s on the way down to the laundry room in the basement of his apartment with his shoulder scrunched up, squeezing his phone to his ear.

“Bro, she had the audacity to say that I didn’t make her come when she was screaming my God damn ear off—”

As he steps down the short flight of stairs and passes by the foyer area by the main entrance to the building, he notices you’re still here.

“Shit, uh, Jeno,” he mumbles. “I’m gonna have to call you back.”

He stuffs his phone into the pocket of his sweats and calls out to you as he strides closer. “Are you resorting to stalking me by my front door now?”

With crossed arms, you peer over your shoulder, eyes full of bitterness.

“Like I wanna be anywhere near you right now,” you grumble. You jerk your head towards the thick, wooden door. “It’s jammed from the snow.”

The laundry carrier shakes his head and places the basket onto the floor. “A little snow never hurt anyone. You’re probably just too weak.”

Stepping aside and holding out an arm, you signal for him to give it a try.

Jaemin twists the handle and, lo and behold, it doesn’t open. His forehead crinkles as he tries again and again, using more force each time.

Glancing through one of the partially frosted windows adjacent to the sides of the door, he notices the snow has piled enormously high, almost to the height of his chest.

“Well, shit.”

Reluctantly, Jaemin brings you back to his apartment. You’re technically his guest and if he left you in the foyer to freeze, trouble would surely come his way, whether it be in the form of his landlords (also known as his roommate’s parents) or the police.

Without a word, he settles a spoon in a bowl, a carton of milk, and a box of cereal onto the small kitchen table.

At first, you stare at it venomously in rejection, thinking you can easily last a day without any hand-outs from this son of a bitch, but your stomach roars ferociously three seconds later.

As you chew across from him, you enjoy the company of your phone over him, while he does the same but with a cup of coffee in hand.

After finishing your food, you adamantly place your phone down and lean back into the chair, boring holes into his head.

“Why are you such an asshole?” you seethe observantly.

“Why are you such a bitch?” he retorts, not pulling his gaze away from his phone.

“Because you started it,” you say slowly, stating the obvious.

“No, you.”

You sigh defeatedly at his childish behaviour. The weather apps predict the snow will (hopefully) die down by tomorrow morning, thus you’re officially stuck with him for the next twenty-four hours or so. Your hands rake through your hair.

“Whether we like it or not, the snow isn’t going away until tomorrow. Merry Christmas Eve to us, I guess.”

He’s still glued to his phone. You exhale another sigh.

“Since we’re not getting out of this until then, can we just...” You soften your voice. “Start over?”

His eyes are still on the screen, but from the way his shoulders tense and how he stops scrolling, you know he’s considering your proposition.

“At least call a stalemate over this.” You drift your hand in the air, gesturing between you and him.

Blowing out air and shaking his head, he rests his phone onto the table.

“Fine.”

He crosses his arms, imitating you, and the two of you sit there, staring at each other in a long silence.

One minute, to be exact.

You’re the one to break the silence game by running your hands over your face, letting out a hybrid of a groan and laugh.

“God, the fact that we had sex makes this kinda awkward, huh?”

Jaemin’s exterior melts slightly, letting out a snicker. He shrugs, “Then let’s just pretend that we didn’t have sex.”

“We can’t just pretend that we didn’t have sex,” you say, holding two upturned palms near your face.

“We did it, it’s done. I’ve seen your penis, you kicked me out, and you labelled me a prude—” You dart a finger towards him. “—which I am far from, by the way. All of those are pretty huge things.”

One of the corners of his mouth raises high. “Are you saying my penis is huge?”

“No, the implication of said penis is huge. Wipe that smirk off your face.”

He stretches an arm, holding an imaginary microphone to your face. “Do you deny that my penis is huge?”

Rolling your eyes, you swat his fist away. “What am I, on trial here?”

“Do you plead the fifth then?”

Annoyed, you roll your eyes again. Why do you get the feeling that you’re probably going to be doing this a lot more today? Another feeling tells you that if you don’t answer his question, he’ll probably pester you until you do.

You tilt your head side to side. “It’s... decently sized.”

“Bigger or smaller than average?”

“Perfect...” His eyes light up. “...ly average.” And a frown rolls over.

He squints his eyes accusingly at your sneer. “Are you lying like you did before about faking it?”

You scoff. “I wasn’t lying about faking it, and I’m not lying now about your average sized dick.”

Jaemin releases a disgruntled grumble and lifts his cup to his face. You notice he likes to take his coffee black and bitter, presumably like his heart.

“So, Miss I’m-Not-A-Prude-and-I’ve-Definitely-Had-Sex-Before.” His eyebrows perk up on the word definitely. “What’s your story? Why the last minute one-night stand?”

Shrugging your shoulders to your ears, you reply, “Haven’t had sex in a while.”

“When’s the last time you had sex?” he asks mid-sip.

“Half a year ago,” you respond nonchalantly, perching your chin into your palms.

Jaemin immediately chokes, almost spraying the coffee through his nose.

“Half a year?!” he gasps. It takes him a few hits to his chest to dispel the coughing. “Six months?!”

“Wow, you can count!” you exclaim in a condescending tone. You change the position of your hands so that your chin is now atop of the back of your curled fingers and tilt your head. “Can you also spell?”

“As a premed student, I can assure you that I am capable of doing both,” he says with a slight strain due to the coughing fit. The humble brag brings on another eye roll. Of course he’s a premed student with the attitude he wears.

“It’s just—” He clears his throat and swallows the last bit of coffee stuck in his windpipe. “—The last time I had a dry spell was for like, a month, tops.”

So the fuckboy gets laid way more on the daily than you expect. You’re torn between being envious over how much action he gets in comparison to you, or remorseful, since you’re now just one of the many notches on his bedpost.

No matter, sarcasm is always the best defence mechanism.

“Good for you, Jaemin. I’m sure you’re very proud of that.”

There’s an awkward beat. His head hangs for a moment while his thumbs stroke the sides of his cup. A strange pinch of guilt occurs. Did you overstep an unspoken line? But then he drags himself back to reality in a heartbeat.

Jaemin brings the cup to his mouth again, mumbling, “At least the sex on your part makes more sense now; you’re rusty as fuck.”

Completely aware of what he said, you trash your guilt entirely and narrow your eyes. “What did you just say?”

Following a long sip, he hums, “Mmm, nothing.” Soon after, he stands up with his cup.

“I’m gonna go game now. Feel free to watch Netflix on the TV and stay in the living room.”

As if you had anywhere else to go...

He begins to walk towards his room as you mutter under your breath, “I’m not a dog.”

“Says the bitch,” he pipes up, taking you by surprise.

“Thought we had a stalemate?!” you shout, leaning your head forward as you watch him entering his room.

“Doesn’t mean we’re on peaceful terms!” he sing-shouts.

The flinging of the closed door echoes throughout the apartment.

Regret surges through you. You just had to choose a fuckboy fluent in assholery and end up incidentally being isolated with him during a snow storm on Christmas Eve.

You wonder if you can handle being around him for the next twenty-four hours without killing him first.

During the afternoon, you’re on the living room couch, playing a show as mostly background noise while you’re on your phone. At one point, your phone unsurprisingly begins to die and you tread over to Jaemin’s door to ask for a charger and if you can also take a shower. He’s still annoyed by your existence, but at least he hands you a charger and lets you know where the extra towels are.

Stepping into the living room with the towel in your hand as you dry your hair off, you peer out the large living room window and see nothing but white engulfing the streets and buildings as far as the eye can see.

You pray the snow will eventually stop as soon as possible so you can head back home.

By the middle of the afternoon, Jaemin emerges from his bedroom and shocks you by plopping down on the opposite end of the living room couch from where you’re sitting.

“Bored?” you ask, eyes fixated on the TV screen.

“Nope,” he replies, popping the p as he says it. His slings his arm around the top of the couch.

“Gotta keep an eye on you in case you do something.” Turning away from the screen, he faces you and motions circles with his hand. “You’ve got a little crazy in you, I can feel it.”

You quickly glance over at him, but try to refocus on the TV. “Need I remind you that you’re the crazy one, dragging me out of the apartment right as I woke up.”

That compels him to turn his whole body towards you. “Well, you’re the one who wanted a last-minute one-night stand.”

You match his stance. “As if I’m the first girl in your bed to stay in the morning?”

“Actually, yeah.” He aggressively tilts his head to one side. “Most girls leave before I even get up. The other percentage don’t fight me when I ask for them to go, so it looks like you’re the odd one out.”

You press your lips together, refusing to admit that maybe he has a point, under the assumption that he’s telling the truth.

Jaemin twists his body back to the screen and adds, “I make it very clear on my profile that I don’t do morning afters, sweetheart.”

And you agree that his profile is clear about his intentions, but that doesn’t mean you can condone his shitty behaviour.

“Well, sorry that I expected just an ounce of respect instead of getting kicked to the curb after you stuck your dick in me,” you grumble, shifting back to the show and crossing your arms.

“Morning afters lead to attachments, and attachments lead to feelings, and feelings lead to relationships,” he says the string of words clinically, as if it’s a mantra that he lives by.

Your eyebrows knit together as you whip your head towards him once more, studying him.

“And what’s so wrong with that?”

Deliberately averting your gaze, Jaemin grates his tongue between his teeth, a slight tsk audibly heard, and his chin juts out. There’s definitely a story behind his ways. He huffs and changes the subject.

“Seriously?” He holds a hand out. “You’re watching this trashy show?”

Squinting your eyes at him, you could probably interrogate him further, but you decide otherwise.

“It may be trashy,” you concur, looking at the TV. “But it’s my trashy comfort show.”

Following an over-the-top acted out scene between the show’s main love interests, Jaemin shoots up from the couch.

“Yeah, no, I can’t handle this. Can we either put on something else or game or something?”

“Why don’t you go back to your room to game, Mr. I’m-Not-Bored?”

“Like I said, I gotta keep an eye on you,” he says while bending over in front of the TV, already setting up the Playstation. He tosses you a controller as he strides to his side of the couch again.

He mumbles to himself, “Need to make sure you don’t go crazy from the lack of human interaction.”

Either Jaemin is selfish and only looking out for himself, or he wants to make sure you’re not feeling lonely in a stranger’s home.

Likely the first reason, you deduce—because why would a guy like Jaemin care about a mere one-night stand?

Admittedly, you’re not the best at games, especially at fighting ones. You can comprehend the move lists, but you like to live by button smashing the controller and repeating moves over and over.

So it’s hilarious when you beat Jaemin every round with your surprisingly fruitful technique.

“Okay, this is bullshit,” Jaemin complains, sticking his tongue out in irritation. His ass is currently being handed to him on a plate again since you’re almost done killing his character off. “You must be lying to me; you have to be a pro player or some shit.”

Jaemin’s health bar is dangerously low as your character jabs his with a sword. He winces out loud and you snicker.

“Why do you think I always lie about everything?! Dude, you have serious trust issues,” you joke before you steal the opportunity to slice his character. One more hit and he’s done for.

“I do not! I just—nooo!”

You rise to your feet and pump your arms in the air, turning in circles in joy over yet another win.

Sulking, Jaemin eyes your little dance from his end on the couch, but as he watches you more, a feeling balloons in his chest. Something he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Finally coming down from your post-win high, you spot an emerging grin from the corner of your eye, making you pause.

“What?” you eye him suspiciously.

Your suspicion pops the sensation in his chest and, like a fish out of water, his eyes widen and his grin melts away.

“Nothing, uhm.” He ruffles his eyebrows and palms the back of his neck, quickly facing the TV. “Let’s go one more round and then we can switch to another game—”

Suddenly, the TV and surrounding lights switch off. Both of you waver your eyes, anticipating for them to come back on, but they unfortunately don’t.

Jaemin rushes over to the window. When he swivels his head towards you, his face darkens.

“Looks like it’s at least the whole block. The streetlights are out too.”

Without another word, he dashes to the linen closet and brings back several blankets. He calmly explains that there won’t be heat since it’s connected to the electricity, so it’d be best to keep warm with the extra layers.

Not wanting to scare you, he doesn’t add the fact that due to the huge windows in the apartment, more unnecessary cold air will come in, but you’re already cognizant of it from your own logic and since the remaining heat dissolves rapidly.

You groan and retreat into the massive blanket over your shoulders, turtling your head.

You can’t believe you’re going to fucking die in this asshole’s apartment on Christmas Eve.

On the ends of the couch in your makeshift blanket jackets, both of you attend to your phones for a while.

From what people and the news outlets are saying, it’s not just the block, but the whole city grid is out. You frantically text your friends, giving updates on how you are and half-jokingly telling them that you’re going to die with your dreadful one-night stand. Some time passes and Jaemin tosses his phone off to one side.

“Well, since there’s nothing else to do and we should probably conserve our phone batteries—” You glance up at him from your phone and pout. Slowly nodding in agreement, you toss it aside too. “—why don’t we play a game of ‘I’ll-Give-You-Pointers-on-How-to-be-Better-in-Bed’?”

A smile burgeons on his irritatingly handsome face and your eyes roll. At this point, you wonder if the reaction is conditioned into you. “It’ll be my early Christmas gift to you.”

“Wow, so thoughtful, how could I ever thank you?” You drag the blanket closer to your chest in false gratitude.

You think for a serious moment if you really want to go through with this. Hearing Jaemin run his mouth on you unwarranted is already painful, but to give him the go-ahead to do so? Especially criticizing your skills in bed?

You blow out a sigh, noting the slightly visible cloud. You’re grateful Jaemin has thick, downy blankets.

Well, if you’re going to die, may as well know what went wrong, right?

“Fine, but if we’re playing this game, we have to say everything honestly and take the criticism we get.” You point a stern finger. “No rebuttals, just acceptance.”

“Wait.” Jaemin crinkles his face in genuine confusion as his hand peeks out from his blanket.

“You have things to criticize about me in bed?”

Your lips tremble before you burst into laughter. Displeasure is on Jaemin’s tight-lipped face as you laugh for a while, almost keeling over in your blanket ball onto the hardwood floor. “How conceited are you, oh, my fucking God?”

He slices his hand through the air. “I’ve never had any complaints—”

“Because you’re too busy focusing on your own orgasm, you selfish dickwad,” you say as your laughter dies down.

He sits in his snit for a few more moments until he gets over it.

“Fine, fine,” he huffs. Jaemin knows he’s not going to enjoy this, but he’s the one who suggested it. He can’t back out now. “Let’s just get this over with, you go first.”

With your blanket held by your chest, you hop off your end of the couch and shuffle over in front of him where he’s seated. Beaming, you begin.

“Let’s start with foreplay.” Jaemin’s eyes light up with confidence, thinking he’s at least decent with that. You crush his expression as your lips purse and you shake your head.

“Non-existent.”

“What do you mean?! I kissed you as you took off your clothes.”

You stick your free hand out from your blanket, extending your index finger.

“One: you only kissed my lips. You know, there are other parts of me to kiss, like, I don’t know, my neck, my arms, my shoulders.”

You extend another finger. “And, two: it’s weird to not help someone take off their clothes. Like you’re in a super rush to get somewhere or something—”

“We’re fucking!” he cuts in sharply. “This is a one-night stand, not a relationship.”

Closing your eyes and dropping your head, you pinch the bridge of your nose. You sigh in exaggeration.

“Thought we agreed no rebuttals...” you softly sing-say.

Jaemin’s head sinks a little into his blanket. “Sorry.”

Removing your hand, you shrug. “Maybe there’s some rule that I don’t know about one-night stands, so this could be on me.”

You start to aimlessly tread back and forth in front of him, dragging the blanket along too. “But fuck, foreplay is foreplay for a reason. You work your way up to the heat of the moment and it makes sex much better, regardless if you’re in a relationship with the person or not.”

“Next point.” You stop walking and direct your focus on him. Pointing your finger and looking him dead in the eye, you ask, “Do you know what a vagina is?”

He snorts with a simper. “Uhhh, is this a rhetorical question?”

“No, I’m legit asking,” you say with a raised eyebrow and snarky smile. “Because when you went down on me, all you flicked your tongue at was the outside of it, also called the labia if you didn’t know.”

“I’m premed, of course I—”

“Which is great! But you didn’t go any deeper nor did you go near my clit.”

You thrust your finger again. “Do you also know what that is?”

“Yes...” he groans with the flickering eyelids.

You swipe your arm through the air. “Maybe make use of it, and not only when you go down on girls. Even during sex, touching it is great.”

“And lastly,” you continue. “I’ll be honest here, you have a decent dick.”

Jaemin waggles his finger. “So you were lying before—”

“I wasn’t lying,” you retort firmly. “But anyways, you’ve got the stuff, but why don’t you put it to better use?”

With the following words, you attempt to gesture with your body and execute moves as graphic visuals. Jaemin giggles at the sight.

“Vary the speeds and the angle, don’t just slam it in me and go crazy fast from the get-go. Build up to the climax. Jesus, I couldn’t even get close to coming because you’re like a jackhammer from start to finish.”

When you finally finish, Jaemin’s giggles morph into hollow laughs. Frustration is blatant on your face, pondering if he even absorbed a single word you said.

After he calms down, he asks, “Are you done?”

You mumble, “Yeah, I think so.”

The two of you switch places. He shuffles onto his feet with his blanket while you sit back on the couch.

Jaemin pulls the blanket across the floor as he ambles. “Okay, your head game is decent—”

“Excuse you, my head game is strong.”

“Uh-uh, rebuttal,” he points out.

You sigh. Pinching your fingers together, you drag the invisible zipper across your mouth, then wave your hand, allowing him to resume.

“Your head game is decent. You definitely can deepthroat, but—” He mirrors you from before and extends his index finger.

“One: this happened only a few times, but your teeth scraped against my dick, which is why I assumed you were a borderline virgin.”

You fume silently at the accusation, attempting to not speak up with a heap of rebuttals. But he wasn’t wrong—if you teethed on his dick, that’s a classic virgin move.

“But that’s okay, because we already established that you’re just rusty.” Jaemin flashes you a fake comforting smile as he continues to pace. You flash him one back.

“And two—” He holds another finger out. “Don’t be scared to use your hands and stroke me. Give my dick some love. If it’s too wet, just wipe your hands on the bed or something.”

“Okay, duly noted,” you hum. “Next.”

“Don’t be scared to touch me.”

“I touched you so much during—”

He shoots you a glare. You roll your mouth inward, your lips disappearing instantly.

“Your hands were mostly on the sheets, which is hot, but guys like to be felt up too.”

The attractive individual peers up for a second, thinking to himself. “Even hotter when a girl feels herself up during the fucking, but that’s beside the point. Baby steps, just remember to touch the other person.”

Jaemin does a full-stop and faces you.

“And just... don’t fake it.” Distress is evident in his pout. You hate to admit it, but it’s a little cute. He raises an arm and jerks it in the air. “Why do girls fake it?”

“Because guys with egos like you can’t handle criticism,” you reply bluntly.

“What are we doing, having this conversation, hm?”

“We wouldn’t be having this conversation if it didn’t snow in and keep us here together.” You peel a hand away and gesture to the window. “If I walked out of here this morning, you would’ve just fucked the next girl the same.”

He defends himself, “Faking it just feeds our egos.”

“Yeah, well, if I told you afterwards that I didn’t come, what would you do?”

“Try to make you come in other ways?”

Shaking your head, you scoff. “Guys like you aren’t that considerate.”

“You’re right.” He assents, holding his pointer finger against his chest. “Because guys like me aim to please.”

A brilliant thought leaps in his mind and Jaemin gasps. You can only assume bad things from the wicked smile he sends your way.

“Why don’t we try it again?”

Perplexed, you squint at him.

“Try what again...?”

“Sex,” he says enthusiastically.

You blankly stare at him.

“You’ve gotta be joking,” you deadpan.

“I mean, there’s nothing else to do and it’ll keep us warm.”

You continue to stare at him until you groan.

“Oh, my God...” Your blanket droops a bit off your shoulders as you drag your palms across your face. “I cannot believe I’m stuck in this snowstorm with you out of all people...”

Sitting next to you, Jaemin persistently reasons with you. “Think of it also as another learning experience for the future partners we’ll have.”

“Yeah, if we don’t die first!” you shriek.

“We’re not going to die,” Jaemin replies in a mocking tone and a dart of his tongue.

Outside the window, the snow seems to have slowed down, but not by much.

God, Jaemin better be fucking right because you want to live to see another day.

“Fine,” you mutter and match his gaze. “But we have to be vocal throughout the whole thing. Say whatever’s on our mind.”

“Fine,” he agrees to your terms. He produces the same wicked smile again. “But can we film it then? So we can study it after?”

You fire him a death glare that melts his face off, even in the frigid atmosphere.

“I’m joking, I’m joking,” he says, waving his hand.

They say that jokes are half-meant true, but you think Jaemin fully meant it. Still in your blanket jackets, Jaemin snags your free hand and leads you to his room.

“You gotta give me credit for trying, though.”

“No.” You shake your head with an unwilling smile creeping on the edge of your lips. On second thought, maybe the joke was a little funny, but you still stand by your opinion that he’s the most annoying person in the world. “I don’t think I will.”

“Thank God Chenle has so many scented candles...”

On the edge of Jaemin’s bed, huddled by the blanket, you watch him light up several large jars, placing them on his nightstand and desk in hopes to brighten the room. It’s already late afternoon, but one could mistaken it for nighttime with the muddy sky due to the snow.

“Is Chenle your roommate?”

“Yeah,” Jaemin answers with a slight shiver, igniting the last candle near the bedside. He removed his blanket when he went to nab the matches and candles. “His girlfriend gets free ones from work, so she always gives him a shit ton, even though he never uses them.”

With a glowing hue against his face, he blows out the match. He makes his way to you, a cocky grin plastered on him, as he says, “Guess we’re making use of them now, though.”

Before you can even respond, Jaemin gets right down to business—sitting beside you on the mattress, he palms your face and drags you in for a kiss. You softly yelp, but immediately reciprocate.

The cover falls off your body as you reach to touch him, fingers drifting over his solid arms.

You don’t want to stroke his large ego, and maybe it’s because you haven’t had anyone else on you in a while, but Jaemin’s kisses are something else.

The cushiony pair of lips always executes enough pressure against your mouth, increasing and decreasing on command in perfect tandem and timing. His hands hover over your waist and the nape of your neck, fingers sinking into your hot skin.

His mouth trails downward the side of your neck. You crane your head back, indulging in his caresses as soft moans trickle out.

He gently signals for you to recline back and lay onto the mattress, moving the sea of blankets aside. Inclined on his elbow, almost atop of you, his cool fingers glide under your top layers, his thumb stroking against your stomach.

Pulling away from your body, he tugs on the ends of your clothes. You rise from the bed to better the angle for him to discard of them.

The hairs on your skin are standing on end from the frigid air, but you’re too focused on Jaemin’s mouth migrating over your upper arm and your bra-covered chest to care. Without notice, he stuffs a cup of the bra to one side and takes your bosom into his mouth.

Air’s seized from your lungs and your core contracts from the pleasure. Your fingers tug on Jaemin’s luscious locks and his free hand squeezes your unoccupied breast.

After a few twirls of his tongue and a gentle drawing of his teeth on the pointed tip, he mumbles hotly into your chest while he thumbs your other nipple, “Foreplay still non-existent?”

“It’s better, I guess,” you sigh with fluttering eyes. His chuckling reverberates against your cleavage, a sign of amusement from your obstinacy. A gasp pierces the room as Jaemin repeats his actions onto the other breast.

He aids you in taking off the rest of your clothes and, obviously aware of your goosebumps and shuddering, tells you to get underneath the blankets while he strips himself.

Under the toasty ocean of layers, despite how both of you are bare-boned and how easy it is to jump into the main act, Jaemin purposefully continues to prolong the foreplay. Side by side, your lips meld endlessly; your legs and hands are intertwined in an amorous pretzel.

Jaemin ensures he doesn’t leave any part of you untouched—the pads of fingers virtually graze over every inch of your body. Each grip and drag of his digits sends you in a frenzy. Your chest is pressed into him and your eyes are blinded with desire.

In the back of your mind, you think about how you were right about foreplay working up to the heat of the moment—literally, because you’re dripping, he’s hard, and you two have embraced so much that you don’t need the blankets anymore.

On the other hand, you wonder if Jaemin was right about skipping foreplay, because with every whisper of each other’s name, the intimacy rises immensely. You don’t know him, and neither him with you, but you’re both freely drowning in one another in a plane beyond the lust.

Although the room’s beginning to smell of a mix of all the scented candles, Jaemin hones in and drinks in your sweet aroma and your entirety behind his hazy eyes and already tousled hair. All of a sudden, one drag of his fingers over a particular sensitive spot on your body makes you giggle.

“I’m ticklish over there.”

“You mean right—” He drums his fingers over the area again. “—here?”

With a toothy grin, he generates more suffering from you and you begin to lively howl. Soon enough, you beg him to stop.

“You’re such an asshat, c’mon, let me live!”

When he ceases, his head hangs over yours and your gazes connect.

The same feeling blooms in his chest from before in the living room.

He gulps as his eyes waver over your face, unknowingly tracing your beautiful features and etching them into his memory.

Your starry eyes. Your glowing aura. Your everything.

You barely register the change in his expression because he quickly tramples on his moment of weakness by kissing you passionately.

Jaemin whips the blankets aside as he lowers himself between your legs. Your eyes are fixated on him, matching his stare, until he starts to devour you by swiping against your lustrous folds. Your back bows, and, following a few more licks, Jaemin makes a point of his knowledge of the vagina by spreading your lips and ravishing your pussy, tongue penetrating deeply.

Rippled moans release in harmony with your undulating chest. You swear you’re getting more wet, too wet, likely making it overwhelming for Jaemin, but he’s eagerly lapping every drop up.

“How’s that?” he inquires with a grin, hovering over your trembling nether lips. His mouth is evidently glossy, even under the dim lighting.

“Good,” you pant in the most nonchalant tone you can muster up. “Very good-ahhh—”

Jaemin kindly interrupts you by tonguing your clit as he fingers your sex deeply, shattering your fake indifference.

“Move your tongue up more,” you direct, creasing your eyebrows in despair. He follows your direction, and droning moans ensue.

Jaemin’s immersed in your pleasure, but also adding to his own. The more he laps up your wetness, the more he grinds his length against the bed, aching to be inside of you.

Your desire pulses faster, contracting tighter against his fingers, body winding tensely by the second.

“Fuck, Jaemin,” you whine, leaning your head to one side with a parted mouth. “I’m close.”

He draws back and temporarily replaces his tongue with his thumb.

“Good,” he pants, cocking his head to one side. His eyes are filled with determination. “Because I’m not stopping until you come at least two more times tonight.”

You exhale a light laugh. “That’s ambiti-ohgodohgod—”

His tongue works wonders on your clit once more, so much that he has to brace your bucking hips.

Okay, maybe Jaemin did learn a thing or two and actually listened to what you said during your critique.

But now it’s time to demonstrate to him what you’ve learned.

You don’t need much of a break to catch your breath, nor do you want to immediately freeze due to inactivity, so you pull Jaemin in for an intense kiss, tongue dipping into the remnants of your own nectar, then beckon for him to take your former place on the bed.

Perched on the bottom of your feet, you’re on one side of Jaemin, lackadaisically fisting his prominence. After a few strokes, you gradually swallow his inches, keeping in mind to relax your jaw and to not rush in order to avoid any potential teething. You do this to prove yourself worthy of giving head, but also in spite, because you absolutely do not need Jaemin to brand you a virgin again.

You read his quiet groans and his long fingers running lazily through your hair as a positive sign and advance further.

Carefully, you rest your tongue beneath the underside of his cock and bob your head, licking him until he’s sopping with your saliva. His grip in your hair grows in strength as his length reaches the end of your throat, his groans becoming more and more drawn-out.

A needy whimper leaves him as you suddenly withdraw. Dribbles of your spit follow, and you wipe it off with the back of your hand.

“How am I doing?” you glow in a pant, lazily stroking the doused shaft.

He simply nods with half-lidded eyes, barely able to look at you. “Yeah.”

You snicker at him in his breathless position, a prickle of pride running through your spine over the fact that you blew his mind as much as you blew his dick.

“Use your words, Jaemin.”

Teasingly, your fingers curl around his blunt head, soothing the sensitive tip and sending jolts throughout him.

“Fuck—” he pulls his bottom lip upward. “Awesome. You’re doing awesome.”

“Anything to critique?”

“Mm-mm,” he shakes his head restlessly. You revel a bit more in having the upper hand on him a little while longer. You grip him tighter and hasten your speed, leaving him gasping for air.

“Am I still rusty?”

“Nope, nope,” he croaks, voice rising to a whine. “Definitely not rusty.”

“You sure?” His cockiness has transferred over to you.

“Yes, yes—fuck, slow down, please,” Jaemin begs.

Granting his wish, you abate your rhythm and free his inches from your touch.

You wipe your hands on the sides of the bed while Jaemin rummages through the drawer of his nightstand and hastily rolls over the rubber over himself before he prepares to enter the body beneath his.

Recalling your advice, Jaemin mindfully starts off slow. You sigh blissfully in sync to his thrusts. He adjust himself, attempting another angle, and you draw in air between your teeth.

“There, there—“

Jaemin’s quick-witted and keeps at it, plunging a bit more vigorously. Out of habit, your hands grasp onto the bedsheets, but you wittingly attach them to his frame. Hands grazing his neck, his firm pecs, and his taut muscles.

“Touch-touch my stomach,” he orders in a hush.

You hands follow through and feel up the flexed valley of his abs. Feeling up evolves into desperate gripping and even the slight dragging of your nails.

“Your abs are so fucking hot,” you state thoughtlessly, eyes eating up the view alongside his cock disappearing in and out of you. “Jesus, fuck.”

“Yeah?” he rasps with that devilish smirk of his. God, you want to smack it off him, but not right now—not when you’re reaching euphoria. “You’re not just saying that?”

Oh, you’ve definitely stroked his ego now, but there’s no turning back. Truth spills from you on a whim.

“You’re a fucking masterpiece,” you gasp acutely.

You’re starting to wither away, yet, as if they have a life of their own, your hands drift away from him and find a new home atop your breasts.

“You make me feel so good, Jaemin...”

Jaemin’s eyes go wide. His mouth hangs at the lewdness of you touching yourself.

“Fuck, holy shit.”

His gaze doesn’t leave your ecstatic face or humming body for a second as you knead your breasts and tweak your nipples between your fingers. Your back arches further when Jaemin deepens his sweet, fulfilling thrusts. He’s holding himself back, not wanting to end this beautiful deed just yet.

The stimulation bursts over your body, both from your own doing and Jaemin’s.

You plead, “Faster, please, faster.”

And he complies, but he also rubs your bundle of nerves, causing a tight knot in you to build up and your shallow moans transform into heavy screams. You clasp onto his back and claw at the protruding shoulder blades.

“I’m-I’m—”

You clench, both with your core and your nails digging into him, but Jaemin’s unrelenting, capturing your second peak for the evening.

Instead of coming after you, he shockingly veers lower and closer to you and curbs his pace.

“Was that real?”

You respond with an exhausted nod. Oddly, the smile he shows this time isn’t arrogant, but warm and teetering the line of tenderness. His lips fuse with yours before they stray towards your neck. The passion stews as he sucks your tits, all the while lunging laxly into you.

With an obscene pop!, Jaemin removes himself from your nubs.

“Ready for the last round?”

His fast thrusts, hitting you precisely in the best spot, cloud your already weakened logic, deterring you from making any response.

Perspiration is blatant on both individuals. For him, his forehead glistens gorgeously with his damp hair. For you, the back of your bent knees are gluing together. Your bodies are about to pass out, but you both persevere until the end.

As you convulse and perish together in beautiful agony, coincidentally enough, the bulbs in the room and in the streets leap to radiance.

Together, you collapse onto the bed side by side, panting heavily and laughing.

“Told you we weren’t going to die.”

You turn your head to see Jaemin looking at you with a cheeky grin. In retaliation, you stick your tongue out.

By nighttime, it’s finally stopped snowing outside. However, the streets won’t be cleared until morning, at the very least.

But... you’re surprisingly okay with that.

In a turn of events, the sex inexplicably makes the two of you warm up to each other. There still is targeted banter and tension between you, lingering from before, but it’s less hostile and more playful.

During a fancy Christmas Eve dinner of microwavable pizzas, you poke fun at each other’s majors and discuss your respective hobbies in depth, especially his love for photography. Jaemin even asks if he can take a picture of you, claiming that the kitchen lighting actually looks nice on someone for once.

“Is that how you collect the memory of your one-night stands? Instead of hanging their skins in your closet, you sweet-talk your way and keep all the photos of them?” you joke, referring to the video call from yesterday night. It feels like an eternity ago, but snowstorms tend to do that.

He chuckles behind the camera as he snaps a photo of you scrunching your face cutely.

“Yeah, but you’re the first one who has clothes on,” he says, glancing down at the photo on the camera roll.

“Ugh, gross,” you cringe and take a sip of tea.

Jaemin doesn’t add anything further. He leaves out the fact that he never keeps any traces of his one-night stands, that you’re the first girl he’s taken a picture of in a while.

After a few hours of more talking and even some gaming with one another, sleep is much needed. Jaemin offers an extra toothbrush and a sweater and pair of sweats to sleep in. You’re facing each other on his bed, noses almost touching.

“It’s been a while since I haven’t had sex with a girl before I slept next to them,” he whispers, adjusting himself comfortably. The side of his face rests on his piled hands. “It’s kinda nice.”

You cover your mouth as you yawn, then lay your hand back under your head, reflecting the same position as Jaemin.

“You know, it might be my sleepiness talking, but maybe you’re not the worst person in the world to be stuck with during a snowstorm.”

A lovely chuckle echoes in your ear. “I’m glad you’ve had a change of heart.”

After a few moments, your eyes are fluttering to a close until he softly calls out your name.

“Hm?” you stir awake, but not by much.

“Do you...?”

Jaemin doesn’t know what’s gotten to him, doesn’t quite understand why the defences he built for so long are crumbling down in only a day of knowing you.

And yet, something urges him to give it a chance.

Blowing out a shaky sigh, he anxiously intertwines his fingers with yours. You hum softly at the action and a small smile blooms on your face.

“Do you want to go on a date with me sometime?”

“Hm?” His question doesn’t take you aback as much as you would be if you were fully awake. But even in your drowsy state, you have quips in hand. “Jaemin, the notorious fuckboy and serial one-night stander, wants to go on a date?”

“Yeah,” he replies gently, brushing your loose hair out of your face.

Another yawn. “I thought you said you don’t want feelings and relationships and all that shit.”

His fingers trace your pretty jawline and shrugs. “One date doesn’t mean we’re going to be in a relationship, I’m sure you know that.”

You pause for a good two seconds, but the two seconds feel like forever for Jaemin.

“Mmm, fine. One date, just one.” You barely hold up your pointer finger. “And only because it’s Christmas tomorrow. ‘Tis the season to be giving...”

Relief washes over Jaemin in the form of a smile. Embracing the blatant feeling in his chest this time, he plants a light kiss on your nose and wishes you sweet dreams, even though you’ve already fallen soundly asleep.

Sunlight pours over your eyes on Christmas morning.

Déjà vu peculiarly creeps up on you, but the only thing that’s the same as yesterday is waking up in Jaemin’s bed.

He’s next to you this time, deep in his peaceful slumber, instead of waiting for you to leave by his doorframe. The snow has finally stopped, and you think you hear the faint noises of snow plows outside. You inhale deeply and also notice the faded aroma from all the scented candles from last night.

The scenes of yesterday flicker across your mind. The incredible sex. The talking. The dinner. The interlocking of his fingers with yours.

The date he asked you out on.

You stare at him, watching him sleep with a sense of content.

Turning your body, you routinely check your phone, which is charging beside his. You have a slew of Merry Christmas texts from several chats and a few private messages from your friends.

Your attention falls on Jaemin’s phone when it lights up with a notification, likely texts from his friends and family too.

But that’s not what you’re focusing on.

Your heart sinks at the sight of his lockscreen.

It’s a picture of him and a girl kissing.

A twinge emerges in your chest and twists harder and harder.

Jaemin being a fuckboy, you can respect. People can do whatever they want with their lives.

But to cheat?

That’s unforgivable, and a true sin if there ever was one.

You scramble to dash out of there, careful not to make any noises in fear of waking Jaemin up. However, Jaemin’s sensitive to the sounds of the front door, so he rouses awake. His eyes flit open, noticing how you’re gone. He then sees his phone blowing up and adds two and two together.

With his phone in hand, Jaemin rushes to get on a coat and stuffs his feet into his boots, not giving a shit that he’s wearing his thin pajamas in the coldness. He’s bounding down the flight of stairs and onto the bright, white wonderland of the streets.

He swivels his head and catches sight of you almost past down the block, slowly trekking through the thick snow. Jaemin sprints, as much as he can, and hops towards you.

He yells your name, making others on the street turn, but you don’t. You continue forward without looking back.

“Wait! I can explain!”

You’re trying to gain speed, but cardio isn’t your friend. Thankfully for Jaemin, it’s a close friend for him.

“I don’t wanna fucking hear it, Jaemin,” you grunt, hearing the rapid crunching of his shoes coming closer. “Get lost.”

“No, listen to me for a second.”

The boyish man grasps you by the arm and turns you around. You throw his arm away from you and he holds his hands in the air, letting you know that he respects your space. He drops his hands and sees that you’re seething, even worse than you were when he kicked you out yesterday.

“How are you going to explain your lockscreen with you kissing your fucking girlfriend?! Hm?”

“Ex,” he pants in clarification. “Ex-girlfriend.”

Your eyebrows mesh together in utter confusion.

“Okay? That doesn’t make me feel any better, knowing that you’re still hung up on your ex.”

Jaemin shakes his head and rakes a hand through his hair. You note the large clouds he exhales and how he’s barely wearing any clothes. A tinge of sympathy passes through you, wanting to give him some of your clothes for extra layers, but you smother that quickly in your state of rage.

“I’m not hung up on her. Remember you asked me yesterday why I don’t want girls to stay the next morning?”

You cock your head impatiently, as if saying, “Yeah.”

“Well, I don’t want to attach myself to girls. I can’t. I...”

He lowers his head to one side. Shutting his eyes, a long puff emits from his mouth.

“She cheated on me.”

The snow plows in the distance can’t compare to the pumping of your heart in your ears. All the feelings you felt in the last day, but especially in the last fifteen minutes, jumble together in your head, making you feel uneasy and unsure of what to exactly feel or comprehend of the situation.

But you do know one thing, despite the fact that you two barely know each other, the pained look on his face is real—that this is the untold story behind his ways.

Jaemin lifts his head and holds out his phone for emphasis. “The lockscreen serves as a constant reminder that dating and feelings will and can fuck me up.”

Carefully, he steps a little closer to you and slowly cups your face in his shaking hands. You don’t pull away nor is there the same anger from moments before, so he daintily runs his thumbs over your cheeks.

“Until you showed me yesterday that maybe I’m willing to give it all another shot. Risk it all for fuck knows what, but you make it look like it’s worth it.”

He continues his ramble after adjusting some of your hair from the ongoing breeze.

“Sure, it’s Christmas today, but I don’t want you to say yes to going on a date with me just because it is. I want you to say yes because maybe you like spending time with me just as much as I like to spend it with you.”

You’re completely disoriented—your eyes are shifting everywhere but his eyes and your lips are quivering with no words coming out. He sighs understandingly.

“Look, I know you’re probably having second thoughts and you don’t have to give me an answer right now. Think on it for as much time as you need, but I want you to know that I genuinely like you and I want to go on an actual date with you.”

He peels his hand away from your face and raises it into the air as if taking an oath.

“I, Na Jaemin, the notorious fuckboy and serial one-night stander, will devote to monogamy once again if it means I can date you.”

His hands grab yours, kisses the back of them, and then he presses one kiss onto your icy cheek prior to walking away.

“Merry Christmas,” he says with a sad smile. “You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

Later that evening at your large family’s Christmas party, you take another dreadful gulp of your wine.

It’s the happy holiday season, but why does everyone feel the need to stick their nose in your dating life? Well, really, a lack there of.

“Why are you still single?” Layers of their voices resound the same question in your head. You take another swig.

Potential unsaid answers that you kept to yourself fly around as you swish the drink in your glass.

Because you choose to be.

Okay, not really, but it’s the easiest answer.

Because you haven’t found the right guy to get you back in the game.

What does that even mean? What makes the right guy even right?

The right guy? It’s someone who makes you laugh, someone who gives as good as they can take it, someone who wants you just as much as you do.

The cogs move in your head as you take one more sip before you finally come to the conclusion—

Because you didn’t find the right guy until last night.

Despite the mess of today and yesterday morning, you realize that Jaemin is... actually sort of sweet. Annoying, yes, but he keeps you on your toes. It’s a plus that he’s easy on the eyes, but it’s a bigger plus that he’s even easier to talk to.

And if he can find it in his scorched heart to trust you, you can find it in your heart to trust him too.

You quickly say your good-byes to your family and let them know you have other plans with friends tonight.

As the Uber rolls up to his apartment building, you realize you probably should’ve messaged him on Tinder, but it’s worth a shot to see if he’s home. Anyways, impulsiveness is a controlling entity, as evident from your Christmas Eve Eve’s adventure.

And in retrospect, perhaps Jaemin was the perfect pick of the crop after all.

Someone’s entering the building and lets you in behind them. You take the stairs two at a time and hear booming music coming from his floor. At first, you assume it’s from other apartments, but it’s all coming from one—his.

Without a thought, your knuckle taps the door.

A handsome figure that’s definitely not Jaemin opens the door. Behind him, you see a group of young men scattered around the living room, and some have a few girls tucked under their arms.

The man eyes you up and down with a spark in his eye. He’s not Jaemin, but he surely reminds you of him.

“And who might you be?” he asks.

“Who’s at the door, Jeno?” An unknown male voice hollers in a high pitch from the couch. He’s one of the guys with a girl attached to him.

You blink. “Uhm, I’m—”

“She’s with me!” Jaemin shoves the flirty stranger aside and tugs you by your wrist, making headway to his bedroom. He flips the light switch on and the door clicks shut.

“What are you doing h—”

You cut him off with a kiss.

An innocent one, at first, with hints of alcohol on each other’s lips. Your arms wrap around the other and the passion increases with the mingling of your tongues, each party tasting and confirming the specific drinks you both consumed tonight.

Jaemin forces himself to pull away and presses his forehead against yours. “Did you just come all the way here to kiss me, or...?”

“Maybe I came over to ask... if I can stay with you for another night?” you playfully ask, fingers intertwining behind the nape of his neck.

He chuckles heartily. His fingers sink into the sides of your waist. “Is my dick that great? The sex with me that amazing?”

“Mmm, that’s definitely a benefit,” you agree, fluttering your nose against his. “But I want more than that—“ You poke a finger to his chest. “—I want the man behind the dick.”

Your gazes converge, bringing you together as one.

“I want to go on that date with you. I want you, Jaemin.”

He flashes a megawatt smile that could compete with a million Christmas lights, but it fades suddenly and you’re unsure why he seems like he’s about to bawl his eyes out.

“That’s so beautiful, I might cry.” He brings a finger to his eye, pretending to shed a tear.

Oh, yeah—you’re definitely going to need to hire someone to constantly shove your eyeballs back into your sockets if you’re going to date Jaemin.

“Oh, shut up,” you whisper, yanking him in for another kiss.

Three dates later, including a memorable New Year’s Eve, you finally decide to rid of the Tinder app for good.

With his arm around you on his living room couch, Jaemin glances over your shoulder.

“Really? You’re finally deleting your Tinder?”

You snort in disbelief. “That’s gold, coming from the King of Tinder himself. When did you delete?”

He turns to face the television and shrugs coolly.

“Maybe I didn’t.”

“Wouldn’t put it past you,” you nod, eyes still on your phone.

“Nah, I’m kidding, I did.”

You sharply turn your head.

“No way. When?” you press with narrow eyes.

A shy smile emerges on Jaemin’s face as he picks his pants over his thighs.

“On the night of Christmas Eve, after you agreed to go on a date with me.”

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thecarnivorousmuffinmeta · 2 years ago

Note

I wonder which would make Edward suffer more, Carlisle/Bella or Carlisle/Rosalie. Or Bella/Rosalie. I personally really enjoy Carlisle/Bella (in no small part due to your fic, Blue Moon, as well as another on Vinelle’s fic rec list) and I know the other 2 pairings are extremely unlikely, but the thought of tormenting Edward is worth a little bending of reality, no?

Anon's referring to Blue Moon.

Well, see the thing is, even within these pairing realms there is a spectrum of AU where Edward can be more or less miserable.

So, with the acknowledgement that these pairings would likely not ever actually happen, let's dive in.

Carlisle/Bella: The Worst Timeline

Cheating on Esme would, you think, be the worst timeline except this would be Carlisle falling from grace in Edward's eyes. It's a Carlisle who is no longer a man he can admire or wish to emulate, in tarnishing himself while he'd view the affair with contempt it wouldn't pain him in quite the same way.

No, in our disaster world, he still has to want Carlisle and Bella just as much as he ever did. Only they gravitate towards each other instead, and he has to sit there knowing they're both too good for him while Bella is doomed to become a vampire/his mother.

In this world, it's just been Edward and Carlisle. Carlisle never turned Esme, having never found her in the morgue. Edward leaves then comes back reluctant and ashamed, but Carlisle doesn't turn the others as Edward's leaving makes him less sure that anyone he turns would stick to the diet. He, in fact, expects Edward to leave again someday which causes Edward infinite amounts of shame and guilt.

Jasper and Alice do not seek out the Cullens as in this world Alice does not see them in a vision.

It's just young Doctor Cullen and his younger brother/cousin. (This, too, bothers Edward as he wishes for Carlisle to play a paternal role in public as he can in private, and Edward doesn't like watching the world treat Carlisle like a young man.)

We're going to age up Bella here for maximum awful for Edward.

Rather than meet in Forks High School in 2005, Bella meets Edward when she's in university some years later. Only... Bella's not interested. Bella, being a few years older and gone through life experiences, has matured and is no longer quite so self deprecating and seeking validation in others.

And Edward is baby-faced and weird.

Yes, he's ungodly attractive, but he looks like he's fifteen. He acts like he's fifteen, and goes from creepily staring at her in their first shared lecture (where he contemplates killing the 300 some people in the lecture hall) to trying to gauge how much she noticed about this.

Unfortunately for Edward, Bella goes to his older brother, Carlisle, who is a known resident at the research university. And the pair become friends.

Edward is utterly mortified and horrified that Carlisle now knows just how badly he messed up (as he hid Bella being so delicious from Carlisle out of shame). Carlisle then proceeds to tell Edward to leave Bella alone and even suggests that they could drop out and change schools, or they could go to a new town and Edward could go to high school.

Edward is even more embarrassed and angry.

Eventually, he decides he's in love with Bella and then things become awful because he watches as Bella and Carlisle get along much better than either himself and Carlisle or himself and Bella. He feels like more and more of a third wheel and a problem in their relationship.

A James figure appears, forces the issue, and Bella finds herself either having to become like the Cullen brothers or die. Bella chooses life and vampirism and Edward has to watch as the love of his life destroys herself and then falls in love with Carlisle.

And Edward who is unworthy of them both, who wears a mask in front of them both, can do nothing.

Edward despises himself more than he ever has.

Carlisle/Rosalie: The Worst Timeline

Similar story as before, no Esme, but this time Carlisle turns Rosalie. In time the pair become romantically interested in each other.

Edward watches as Carlisle marries someone he views as the most vain, self-centered, pig-headed woman in the world who has a better record than him.

And no matter what Edward tells Carlisle, the man won't believe him about what Rosalie truly is.

Edward waits for the day Carlisle realizes for himself.

Rosalie/Bella: The Worst Timeline

Actually, I think Edward just doesn't believe this one. No, there's no way, this isn't happening. He tells Bella to stop being stupid. When she gets angry, he views her with contempt and thinks she has awful taste.

The Conclusion

Bella/Carlisle is by far the worst for him, because he views both parties in equal esteem and becomes replaced.

#twilight #twilight meta #twilight headcanon #twilight shipping #carlisle/bella #rosalie/bella #rosalie/carlisle #bella swan #carlisle cullen #rosalie hale #edward cullen #meta #headcanon #opinion #shipping

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hansolmates · 4 years ago

Text

distance learning (m)

banner done by the beautiful @eerieedits

summary; after their first hookup, jungkook isn’t so sure whether you’re serious about being exclusive. after all, people say things during sex. jungkook takes it in his own hands to figure out where you stand, and he realizes soon enough that eavesdropping is a bad habit pairing; neighbor!jungkook x (f) reader genre/warnings; fluff, humor, crack, insecure!jk, unresolved sexual tension, stressed!mc, this is really just unnecessary drama bc drama is fun™, sexting, dom kook’s still a meanie in control, posession kink, cock slapping, a blowjob, cockwarming, unprotected, creampie, squirting, (wrap the pickle before u tickle folks) and of course the excessive use of the petname [redacted] w/c; 6.1k a/n; haaaaaa three months later im finally posting pt 2! i figured that no matter how many times i edit/reread at this point i think it’s time to finally let this beast go!!! enjoyyy click here for part 1: remote learning drabbles; 01

if you enjoy this, please considering giving our pasta couple a like n’share💚

It’s been a week since the thing.

The remote-controlled vibrator thing.

The whole sappy-love-confesion-during-sex thing.

Jungkook is antsy, tail tucked in, perpetually wondering whether he went too far. You seemed to like it, and Jungkook definitely loved it. It was spicy and dirty and hot, and at the same time Jungkook thought he really made progress in expressing his feelings for you. Not only that, you said you liked him back!

At least, he thought you did.

“I really said I’d feed her lasagna and cum in the same sentence,” Jungkook bemoans into his pillow, which still lingers faintly of your Redken shampoo. “I’m disgusting. She thinks I’m disgusting.”

People say things during sex, Jungkook knows that. In the throes of passion and pleasure, people will say anything that comes to their mind, anything that fits the mood. Of course, you’d be tied in and say you like him back. But did you like him back as a friend? As a fuckbuddy? As something more?

“Fucking text her,” Taehyung is tired of Jungkook’s wallowing, everytime he checks in on the app developer he’s brooding in one of three places. Today’s his bedroom. Taehyung dips under the blankets, and steals Jungkook’s pillow right under his nose.

Jungkook suppresses a whimper, face melding into the blankets. Now that pillow is going to smell like Taehyung.

“Text her what,” Jungkook replies despondently.

“I don’t know, something along the lines of ‘I wanna follow through with my proposition of feeding you my cum and lasagna—not simultaneously. Wanna go on a date this weekend?’ It’s that simple,” Taehyung gets up in Jungkook’s face, dark eyes forcing him to bore right in. “Want me to do it for you?”

“Noo, I’m an adult I can—”

“I did it for you.”

Jungkook nearly knocks into Taehyung’s hard head, sitting up straight when he notices his phone behind his roommate’s back. This is what he gets for sharing passwords. Thankfully, the message is cleaner than Taehyung’s words, and you’ve already replied.

[1:23] Jungkook: would you like to go out for dinner this weekend? pasta and wine?

[1:25] You: it’s a busy week this week 🥺 raincheck?

“Was the sex that bad?” Taehyung frowns, reading the message twice.

“N-no,” Jungkook is sweating. He isn’t sure anymore.

Taehyung hands Jungkook back his phone, slowly, as if you’ll reply back with a change of your mind. Jungkook is a deflated balloon on his bed, feeling like a bum in his ratty sweater and a dateless weekend.

“It’s just that,” Taehyung puts a hand on his lip, mulling, “busy people don’t reply that fast. Like even if she wasn’t busy, there’s a fifteen-minute leeway before replying.”

This silly rule overrides Jungkook’s mind for the rest of the week.

The gyms have been reopened for months, and Jungkook’s trainer misses him dearly. Jungkook meets with Saeroyi in the morning, eager to get a few jabs in with some fresh equipment. He tries to move on, distract himself with a couple of pumps and a match with Saeroyi. It feels great to sweat it off, but it doesn’t help sway Jungkook’s incessant thoughts.

The ball is in your court now, Jungkook has nothing to do but wait. Some people are just bad texters, maybe you just happened to have your phone near you when Taehyung sent the message. Maybe you just wanted to cut Jungkook off as quickly as possible so you decided to reply fast and rip the band-aid.

No, you’re definitely not that cold-hearted.

Re-entering his apartment complex, his eyes linger towards where your room lies on the first floor. It’s all the way at the end of the hallway, and he’s tempted to just confront you and make sure that what you and him really had is indeed, over. Conversely, you could just really be having a bad week and you genuinely do want a raincheck.

Jungkook’s eyes trail to his form. Still in his gym clothes, and a little sweaty from the travel time. If he gets caught, he can just tell you he’s doing a cooldown by running across the hallways. Not the first time it’s happened, afterall it led him to you at one point.

He breaks into a soft jog, making a beeline to your front door. His feet squish against your old welcome mat. You haven’t changed it since Halloween, and he smiles fondly at the black scripted “Boo Y’all” written in script next to a chibi-ghost.

His heart beats faster as his hand lingers by the door, ready to knock. Deep breaths. Who knows, he could just be overthinking (like usual.)

“Fuck, Hobi!”

Jungkook freezes, his knuckles a centimeter away from your door. He backs up as if he’s been burned. His heart has fallen all the way down to his ass, and intends to stay there because now he feels like a damn fool.

The bed is creaking relentlessly, a rhythmic pattern that has Jungkook’s face crumbling at every spring. Jungkook’s face hovers over the door, his ear brushing against the wood.

“C’mon, bunny,” the male voice is teasing, “you know you love having me over. It would satisfy both of us if you’d just let it go.”

Bunny. A cute pet name, for sure. The way it rolls off the stranger’s tongue is natural, as if he’s been saying it for years. But what about being his doll, is that not good enough?

You’re huffy, taking deep breaths. He doesn’t want to hear anymore. Jungkook has put himself through enough self-wallowing for the week. What if he was just a stepping stone to meeting new people that will satisfy you better? What if you just needed one good orgasm to get your flow back, and Jungkook’s job is done? Sure, there were no strings attached when he proposed to have sex with you, but he thought…

No more thinking. Jungkook jogs away from the door, even going so far is to jog all the way up to the penthouse.

He hates this.

You hate this.

It’s been five days since Hoseok’s arrival, and you are going bonkers. Why couldn’t he get a hotel or an AirBnB? Because he’s cheap as fuck, that’s why. Your dinky cousin has been clinging to you like a lonely koala, and while you found it cute in the 5th grade, it doesn’t translate well nearly two decades later.

Every morning is the same. You make a subpar toast and Nutella breakfast, letting Hoseok’s slices go cold as you log in for work. You’ve been clocking in earlier in the hopes to finish the majority of your tasks before Hoseok wakes up, because by then you can barely function. Once he wakes up, he’s relentless, bouncing on the bed and talking your head off while you try to concentrate on whatever your boss is telling you. Whenever he jumps too hard, your cheap mattress causes your laptop to fly, and the only thing you can do is curse him out. Sometimes he plays Disney movies and sings in tandem, choreography and all.

You know that Hoseok is stressed and this is his outlet, and you don’t have it in you to stop his incessant habits. He’s visiting your area because of a lucrative job offer nearby and the interviews are sporadic, making Hoseok linger in your apartment for hours at a time until he’s summoned for whatever test they want to throw at him.

Most of the interviews are in the evening, and it’s when you can clock back in and finish your leftover assignments while Hoseok is also working. By the time he returns, you’re dog tired and so is he.

Every night, you try to move away from Hoseok’s clingy self, as he grapples onto your waist and slings a thigh over your belly. You wish it were someone else sharing the bed with you.

If you bring Jungkook into the picture however, you’d be burnt for the week. Complete crumbs. It would be too much stimulation for you, having to balance work, Hoseok’s incessant attitude, and putting on a face for Jungkook. Your relationship with the penthouse neighbor is barely budding, hardly watered considering Hoseok’s sudden visit. You cling to the fact that in a couple days you would be giving your undivided attention to Jungkook, most of your priorities out of the way, and most importantly, you’ll have your own room back.

Maybe you could surprise him by giving him a pasta dinner, just like he proposed.

Unable to get the thought out of your head, you blindly reach for your phone on the nightstand. It’s late, very late for a workday. The blue screen burns your eyes a bit, but you're determined to at least check up on Jungkook. You can’t take too long, otherwise you won’t be able to sleep and get him out of your head. Dear, unassuming cousin Hoseok is fast asleep next to you, due to the fact it’s nearly midnight. Making sure not to disrupt him, you carefully cup your phone in your hands, putting it on the lowest light setting.

[11:54] You: hey, hope work hasnt been as draining for u as it’s been for me ☠️ what’s your opinion on pasta sauces, red or white?

Jungkook is normally a fast texter, at least from your experience. It’s you that’s the sporadic texter, sometimes taking hours to reply, other times in seconds. It never really mattered until now, however. But it takes five, ten, and finally fifteen minutes before you get a response.

[12:09] Jungkook: ???

You frown, wondering what you said wrong.

[12:10] You: do you not wanna do pasta anymore? Are you craving something else now?

[12:10] Jungkook: i don’t think it’d work out

[12:10] You: why?

[12:11] Jungkook: im sure you know why, bunny.

Strange. He’s never called you bunny before, and in your opinion you think he’d be the bunny in the relationship—soft and cuddly on the outside, and an absolute horn ball in bed. Is this some sort of weird power play? Is he being passive aggressive on purpose? Whatever this game is, you’re not into it. Grumbling under your breath, you snake out of bed, looking blindly for your slippers in the dark. You’ll be in and out of Jungkook’s apartment in ten minutes.

Just as your hand brushes the doorknob, your new roommate calls for you.

“Bunny?” Hoseok calls blearily, and you’re staring straight at his cookie-printed eye mask, “what time is it, where are you going?”

“Um, out,” you reply shortly, “I forgot I left my laundry in the dryer.”

“Oh, m’kay. Come back soon, y’know I can’t sleep alone.”

It’s then you realize. Bunny. Jungkook thinks that Hoseok and you are a thing. He really needs to stop eavesdropping on you.

You feel your pussy frown. Your cousin is such a cockblock and he doesn’t even know it. Without an answer, you slip through your door and into the first free elevator. As you zing up the floors with the magical 1234 code, you work and rework your hair in and out of its style, wondering if you’ll look more presentable with your hair messy or thrown back.

As soon as you reach the penthouse, you burst into action. “Jungkook!” you cry, pounding the front door, “it’s a misunderstanding, open up!”

The door immediately swings open after the first three knocks, and you punch Taehyung in the chest.

“You look awful,” Kim Taehyung drawls. Taehyung is wearing nothing but a cranberry red silk kimono, and you have to avert your eyes and focus on his face, which is even worse because he’s looking at you like an all-knowing psychic.

“Gee, thanks,” you try to move past him, but he’s blocking the door.

“Jungkook’s in a meeting with some foriegn developers,” Taehyung talks with his hands, pretending like he has any idea of the nature of his roommate’s job, “when it’s this late he doesn’t leave his office until morning. Door’s locked.”

“Well then, can you relay a message?”

“Depends, is this message going to hurt him further?”

Oh my goodness, when Taehyung wants to be he is such an enabler. “Tell Jungkook he’s done wallowing. Instead of jumping to conclusions, maybe he should’ve just asked me why we couldn’t go on a date this week.”

“You could’ve also just told him you have a man on the side.”

“Ohmygod you two are two iotas of a combined braincell!” you shove your hands in your pocket, hotly scrolling through your phone so you can shove a picture in his face. “This is Jung Hoseok, my cousin who derailed my plans this week by crashing in my too-tiny apartment and forced me to raincheck with Jungkook. He’s a blabbermouth and would tell everyone—my parents, my grandparents, my great-aunts—about Jungkook if he found out I was dating, and I’m not ready for that,” you zoom in on the picture, despite the fact that the screen is practically touching Taehyung’s nose, “and the reason Hoseok calls me bunny is not sexual—you two are fucking gross—I had front tooth problems in elementary school and I had a brace on my two big teeth, it was not pretty.”

“Ah, bunny.” Taehyung echoes with wide eyes, looking at you as if you’re now the one with sage wisdom, “it all makes sense now.” He gulps, taking in the old photo of a mini-Hoseok and you, yourself frowning to cover your huge braces and Hoseok trying to pull your gums apart with his greasy little fingers.

Satisfied by Taehyung’s evident squirming, you decide you’re too tired to further this interaction. “Tell the other half of your cell for me, will ya?” You’re already turning away, pressing repeatedly at the elevator button, “I would love to go on a date with him as soon as he gets his head out of his ass.”

Jungkook is tired, but not tired enough to murder Taehyung and make it look like an accident.

When he has late meetings, Taehyung is usually quieter around the apartment, and even gets Jungkook a hot meal once he wakes up in the afternoons. Today, Jungkook slept through and through. Normally he’d wake up midway to Taehyung’s television dramas, or the clanging of last night’s dishes but nope, not a peep.

And today’s hot meal is takeout from Jungkook’s favorite ramen restaurant. That only means one thing—something has gone to shit and Taehyung feels guilty.

Jungkook sips his tonkotsu impossibly slow, hearing Taehyung’s words—your words from last night—clear as day. Taehyung even describes in detail where the nickname bunny comes from, down to how miserable you looked in the photo with your monstrously metal-bent teeth. Oh, how he wishes he can swaddle you between the blankets, hold you and comfort you while you deal with your family.

[2:45] Jungkook: doll, im so sorry

[2:45] Jungkook: please, i booked us a weekend at that new spa that just opened downtown. The tickets are flex, so if your cousin doesn’t leave by then week we can always reschedule

[2:51] Jungkook: baby doll…

This is far worse than believing you didn’t like him. Now Jungkook is antsy, knowing you deserve all the space in the world because of how silly he was being. You owe him nothing. If he just waited it out until you were ready, he wouldn’t be in this mess. He’s potato-esque throughout the day, thankfully Taehyung gives him space as he watches hours of mindless television.

You don’t reply until very late into the night.

[10:10] You: IM ALIVE--barely!! And mr. jeon, you’re not only a triple texter, but an ellipsis texter???? You’re asking for trouble

Jungkook has no shame, immediately texting you back. He can’t help it, he’s smitten.

[10:12] Jungkook: taehyung explained everything. It’s all his fault. Don’t ask why, it’s his fault. Im so sorry.

[10:12] You: mm, it’s okay. Just a misunderstanding. I was pretty upset last night, but i’ve been pretty tired this week so my fuse is short.

[10:14] Jungkook: you should go to sleep now, doll. We’ll have time together after your cousin leaves

[10:14] You: just a couple more minutes. Miss u and your cute face

[10:16] Jungkook:

[10:16] Jungkook: will this hold u off until saturday?

Jungkook is a pile of goo. Pink, warm, happy heart-glittered goo. It takes a minute for you to reply, and for that whole minute Jungkook is kicking his legs under the sheets of his bed like an eager five-year old who just gave his crush his Valentine. Maybe it’s taking you so long to reply because you’re trying to send a selfie of your own, running off to the bathroom to take a cute selfie if your cousin is asleep in bed.

[10:19] You: fuck, i kno that’s supposed to be a cute selfie, but i want you so bad. I want to sit on your face, let your lips glisten with my pussy as i cum all over that pretty face

[10:19] You: i wanna touch myself so badly but fuckin’ hoseok is out here snoring like he’s gon hack a lung. Panties are so wet 🥺🥺 your doll is needy for you, wanna be played with

[10:20] Jungkook: lfjsdl;fkjs;fjsoisfoisljsdfsdklfjsdklf

He throws his phone across the bed, feeling himself twitch in his red flannel pyjama bottoms. The thought of you so hot and needy when you’re ten floors down has Jungkook absolutely livid. He doesn’t know how he’s going to talk to you, comfort you without missing you like crazy.

Jungkook thinks back to what he has in his fridge. His contractor sent him a cheese assortment, maybe he can bring it down pretending to be a friendly neighbor. Maybe Hoseok can go to the convenience store to conveniently grab a bottle of wine. He can make both of you cum in five minutes, flat.

Akin to a dumb, horny teenager, he sighs. He rubs his palm longingly over his member. He’s horny, but he’s also eager to see your face. Talk to you, get reacquainted with your routine and sneak his way into it. He wants to be a part of your life, and he’s hoping you will too.

[5:02] You: Jungkook, you left me hanging last night

[5:05] Jungkook: baby doll… i wouldnt have been able to handle myself if we continued

[5:06] You: so you decided to dip :(

[5:06] You: could u play with your doll a lil bit, kook? Hobi left for another interview

[5:08] You: PNG.0901

Jungkook was a fool to believe that you would drop him like that. No, Jungkook can see now that you two are a match made in heaven. You have a bite, never afraid to speak your mind when needed. This translates to a hunger you shamelessly share with Jungkook, both sexual and romantically intimate. He almost wishes he could’ve seen you act like a bitch to Taehyung last night, he can only imagine how sexy you looked telling him off.

He has the technology to blow up your picture, the one that’s currently having him close his laptop and shove it to the side. He spreads his legs further across his glass desk, trying to find comfort between his tight pants as he absorbs every bit of your skin.

It’s nothing too risque, but it’s nothing short of sensual. The room is dark, but it’s very clearly a picture of your hand between your thighs. Again, you’re between your wall and bed, squished between your office chair with your legs spread as far as they can go. Your skin is so soft looking, plush as you press two fingers between your damp panties. Adorable.

[5:12] Jungkook: you know why i never replied last night? Because i was too busy jacking off to your dirty words doll. U really need your mouth washed

[5:12] You: wanna wash it with something else🍆

[5:12] You: please kook, i need something. Hoseok will come home soon and i might rip his head off. Help prevent a murder

Jungkook chuckles, clutching his phone closer to his body. He loves how much you’re opening up to him. Last week feels like so long ago, how you were all flushed and wide-eyed at the proposition of sex. He thinks you two can have a lot of fun getting to know each other, both emotionally and physically.

[5:15] Jungkook: i was gonna wait until i sent this, but i think my doll needs it. Here’s what i was doing last night

[5:17] Jungkook: MP4.13

He… has a meeting in five minutes. A very important, very serious meeting. Jungkook jacked off enough last night, now it’s your turn. He hopes you like it. It’s not a very long video, barely a twenty-second clip of him fisting his cock. Taehyung was still home at the time, so he had to keep quiet. However, he couldn’t get the image of you out of his head that night, rubbing your thighs together in a cramped mattress as you try to erase the dirty thoughts of him. A murmur of your name, and the image of his precum dripping down his knuckles. You hope it’s enough.

[5:34] You: u make everything so much easier💜✨

[5:35] You: MP4.234

Two minutes. The video you send is even shorter than his, barely fifteen seconds. You’re in a much more comfortable position, horizontal on the bed. Your shirt is ridden up to the underside of your breasts, one hand clutching your bare breast so hard he can see your cotton plush skin bulging between your fingers. The other hand has your panties shifted to the side, three fingers in your sopping cunt.

“Mmh—fuck, f-uck Jungkook—” the words are mere breaths, puffs of air as you reach your orgasm.

His call connects. He nearly drops his phone on the glass.

“Jungkook!” Andreas from Germany wishes him brightly, “you look great, glowing even!”

Jungkook blushes, and mutters something about having to go to the bathroom before they start.

Taehyung makes himself scarce on Saturday. He packs a duffel bag for himself and takes the PlayStation, knowing it’ll be a long weekend at Jimin’s.

Jungkook is on livewire for the morning. He even express-delivers a pasta roller to his house, and he spends all morning testing out the perfect pasta dough. His black apron is covered in flour, and he can barely comprehend the tutorial that’s teaching him on his flatscreen.

He’s on autopilot. He hasn’t contacted you since he sent that selfie, and he doesn’t intend to. Jungkook understands why you made yourself scarce in the beginning of the week, preferring to raincheck and pin your relationship for a better time. Jungkook’s brain is overridden with you, swollen with thoughts of you. You would never be able to focus if you kept in contact like you did last night, especially if you can’t get away from Hoseok.

Absence surely makes the heart grow fonder.

Slapping his hands against his trousers, he surveys his handiwork. His pasta is appropriately floured and wrung, each handful of fresh dough wrapped in little nests. Off the stove is a bechamel sauce, a base ready to be cooked in whatever kind of pasta dish you want. He thinks the two of you would have fun making your own non-traditional pasta dishes.

The soft knocks on his front door interrupts his train of thought, and he knows it’s you.

You stand in front of the door, impossibly small in a large shirt and a plain pair of leggings. At the sight of Jungkook, a smile as warm and sweet as hot chocolate worms its way to your face, and you collapse into his arms.

He sighs gratefully, sinking into your small body. When he pulls away, he can’t help but frown at your apparent exhaustion. You must’ve come back from something tedious, because sweat dots your brow and your eyes are still puffy and dark. Your chest arches bonelessly into his, hoping to melt in his embrace.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hey,” he replies.

“It’s Saturday.”

“It is Saturday.”

You rub your nose between the fabric of his button down, “I should’ve been more specific when I wanted to raincheck on you,” you murmur into the white cotton.

“No, I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions,” Jungkook whispers, even though you’re the only two people on the floor, “I’ll make it better, yeah? I’m going to love you so good tonight, won’t have to lift a finger—”

You shake your head, looking at him calmly. “Jungkook, it’s been a long week. Hobi got the job, I spent all this morning moving his two-ton speaker set into his new apartment. I don’t want anything gentle. I want you to rail me into next week,” Jungkook chokes on his saliva when you reach to cup his dick through his pants, already sporting a chub, “fuck me breathless. I want—no, I need this.”

Anything for you, but Jungkook isn’t going to let your mouth runneth over that easily. He wants that too, obviously. But again, you’ve made him wait.

Bending slightly, Jungkook whispers darkly into your ear, “Who said you can decide the rules here, doll?” he’s been waiting all week to slip back into this persona, one that has you shivering delightfully under his touch. A small, secret smile tucks itself under your lips as you tilt your head down, but Jungkook catches it. It shows you’ve missed it too. He lets your sneaky smile slide for now, only because he’s missed you so much and you’ve had a long day.

“If I wanna fuck you rough, I’ll fuck you rough. If I want to edge you until you're sobbing on the corner of the kitchen table, I’ll do it,” Jungkook spits every declaration into your skin, biting at your shoulder so hard you cry deliciously.

He drags you over to the living room, and he could sing at how easily you follow directions. Both of you have been tied up this week, and some hard sex would definitely ease that frustration, “Knees,” Jungkook commands, and you waste no time sinking to the floor, hands atop your knees.

You look up through your lashes, eyes big and glassy. His poor girl is tired, and he finds it all the more attractive that you’re willing to push that aside to make eachother feel good.

“Pretty, pretty,” he chants, pulling down his pants and letting his dick spring free, “suck.”

You waste no time, and he watches as your eyes dilate over the expanse of his cock, half-hard and ready for your mouth. Your nails dig into your knees as you start with featherlight kisses, finally turning into sloppy smacks as you lick all over his dick.

Jungkook groans, weaving a hand into your hair to force his dick down your throat. You gag at the sudden intrusion, but it doesn’t stop you from taking it like a champ. Hard, deep thrusts that he’s sure you can feel all the way in your stomach. You gag at each thrust, but don’t let up as your hot tongue wraps him up and licks at the pre-cum.

“Fuuuuck, doll,” he rips you away, his now hard dick springing away. He’s a little shaky on his knees, but he plants his feet down as he grips his cock, slapping the tip of it across your cheek. It smears your face, glossing your flushed cheeks in a mixture of your saliva and pre-cum. “Are you trying to make me cum first? So sweet, you don’t even care if you cum tonight, hmm? You owe me, making you believe you had another man.”

This isn’t true, of course. The both of you know it was just miscommunication, but it doesn’t hurt to play it up for pleasure.

“N-no Kook, I’m yours,” you grapple at his pants, pulling them down so he can get them off completely.

“Right. You’re. Mine.” With every punctuated word is a light slap to your cheek, and you take it. His cock bounces right off of you, until you finally move your head to suckle at the engorged tip, “I’m keeping you forever, doll. Don’t you know that?”

Throughout this whole process, you don’t move, other than the minute clawing at your knees. You’re so good to him. Jungkook pulls away and ignores the ache in his member for now, taking off your clothes for himself. It’s like unwrapping a gift, revealing every bit of skin reserved for his viewing. “So sexy,” he remarks once he’s got you bare, pulling you onto the couch. He’s still in his button down shirt, his date night shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbow. However, he lets your hands inch under the stiff fabric, feeling for his taut muscle.

He guides your aching cunt to his cock, sinking you down. It’s a tight fit, and you both moan at the brush of contact. Despite not being prepped, you’re still slick, and it makes up for it. He doesn’t thrust up or anything, just guides his lips to yours with a threadbare brush of his finger.

“Kook, d-do you want me to move?” you mumble against his cherry-flavored lip balm.

“Good dolls don’t move until they’re told,” your eyes widen innocently at the statement, and you crumple against his mouth, at his next words, “cum like this.”

“Awh shit, please no,” you tear up, burying your head between the crook of his neck, “I can’t wait.”

“Thought you wanted me to fuck you into next week. You can’t do this one little favor for me?” he’s being so mean, and you hate him for it. Haven’t you earned it? “C’mon baby, I thought you wanted me?”

It’s silent, save for the soft Italian restaurant music playing from whatever tutorial he’s hooked up to his television. It’s terribly cliche, like you’re in the porno version of a European romance movie. He thinks nothing of it, not when your juices are dripping on his thighs, your skin soft and pliant in his grip. Jungkook drums his fingers against your spine, seemingly uncaring that you’re stuffed deep into your womb.

On the other hand, it’s the only thing you’re acutely aware of. His thick, warm cock is nestled between your folds, right where it should be. You clench once, twice, thankful that this isn’t some crazed wet dream. States of sleep and consciousness have blurred this week, you’re lucky that you made it all the way up to Jungkook’s apartment.

You can’t cum like this. You need to bait him. You moan, the sound slow and rumbly against your throat as you weave your fingers through his dark tresses. Moving the strands aside to kiss his cold metal earrings you murmur, “I love this, Kookoo. I’ve wanted you all week, I was going crazy. I kept playing last week in my head over and over. I even put in my little vibrator, hoping you’d pull up the app.”

Jungkook’s teeth clench, and his grip is borderline painful as it digs into your hips.

“I haven’t been able to cum all week, and I want to do it all over you,” you husk, playing with the roots of his hair.

You can feel yourself dripping, wetness lubricating you even further and probably staining his thighs and couch with your arousal. Every second that passes is killer, and the fluttering towards your pussy tighten further as Jungkook’s cock twitches in response. Your pussy continues its ministrations, butterfly-like flaps against his hot member that have you vibrating.

“Mm, oh, I’ll cum for you,” and surprisingly, you might be able to. All this dirty talking has gotten you riled up. Just a little bit more and—

Jungkook shoves you off his cock, forcing you to land on the couch.

“No!” you cry, wiping your face. Your cheeks are ruddied, and you’re annoyed. The coolness of the autumn air has you feeling chilly, and you want to scream at Jungkook for disrupting your orgasm. You feel empty.

You’re not annoyed for long however, as Jungkook flips you on your back and gives you what you’ve been craving.

“You glide right in, don’t ya doll,” the friction is deliciously blazing, his hands pushing you further into the large couch as he takes you from behind. Hot, fast smacks against your ass come from the way his balls bounce back and forth as he pistons his cock in and out. “F-fuck, you’re so good to me. So good, I love having you like this. All pretty and dripping, you really know how to make a guy wait, huh?”

“Mmph! N-no—hng, but I’m y-yours, Kook,” you garble out, and you’re practically eating the throw pillow you’re propped up on as he slams you further into the cushions, so hard you may fall off, “all yours, honey. N-no more waiting. I want you, want you so badly—ah fuck!”

“It’s worth it, you’re worth it,” he says over and over, his thrusts becoming sporadic and losing their rhythm once he feels you clenching uncontrollably. He presses his two fingers to your sloppy bud, swirling around the juices eagerly. “C-cum, baby doll. You deserve it, yeah? Cum on this cock, let go.”

You’re starting to see spots, black and white alike. Finally shying away from his cock you rest on your back, but Jungkook doesn’t stop his fingers from flying across your clit. One look at his face and you’re gone. Pretty brown eyes, overflowing with affection. The feeling is different, and it’s the acute pressure between your stomach and pussy that makes you notice what’s going on with your body. The pressure finally releases, your eyes fluttering shut as you rest your cheek on the cushions. You dissolve, a mess on the couch as white hot liquid ejects from your body, spraying Jungkook’s thighs and cushions.

“Y-you just,” your lover’s mouth is parted open like a baby kitten, uncaring as to how the dark liquid stains his couch fabric.

“Squirted?” you answer breathlessly, a melty smile on your lips, “y-yeah.”

It sets him off, a button left dormant until now. The thatches of hair that surround his cock are dripping with your mess, a cold reminder that he got you to this high. He doesn’t hesitate to slip his cock back into you, and you gasp at the overstimulation. You try not to focus on how your body is a bundle of lit nerves, only to help Jungkook reach his completion.

“S-so perfect,” he warbles, pressing kisses to your jaw, chin, lips. Each thrust is deep, thick and heady with emotion. “Mm, I wanna cream this pussy sooo badly—mm, all mine, all wet and warm and so so sweet—”

He cries out your name, biting into your shoulder as your walls fill further with his hot cream. Your thighs are shaking from sensory overload, and Jungkook has to hold you down and soothe you into a state of reality to cling on.

Satiated, he nuzzles into your chest, feeling absolutely featherlight.

“T-thank you,” you say gratefully, when at least three out of your five senses return to your body. Your hands dip down to clutch his cheek, pinching lightly at the warm skin.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Jungkook exhales into your breasts, “d-didn’t even feed you my cum yet.”

You scoff, pinching his cheek again. You’re aware of his softening cock between your folds, ready to seep the efforts of today’s coupling, but your stomach says otherwise. You crane your neck to make note of the kitchen island, staring curiously at the metal pasta roller and the little nests of carby goodness that decorate the cutting board.

“Feed me pasta first, please. You have all night to feed me dessert.”

Jungkook giggles into your stomach, he doesn’t mind feeding you in that order.

bonus.

“So.”

“So?” you have cream sauce on your lips, happily slurping on an angel hair.

“You haven’t told me you liked me back yet,” Jungkook rests his palm in the swell of his cheek, content with watching you eat from where he’s standing on the counter. He leans his upper body across the marble table, muscles rippling against his white shirt.

“Oh, I did!” you’re affronted, swinging your legs on the high chair, “I totally did last week!”

“Yeah, well. Can you say it while I’m not inside you?”

“Okay,” you blink, quirking him with a simple smile, “I like you.”

“That was anticlimactic,” Jungkook jokes at the brevity of your confession, yet his heart betrays the charm he finds in the three words.

You scoff, jabbing your fork in the little next of springy noodles. “What do you want to hear? I’ve wanted you since I’ve moved in? I think you’re really handsome when you pace the hallway doing work on your phone? I like the way you cook?”

“Keep going,” Jungkook sing songs, walking over to hug you from behind.

The stool swings back and forth as he rocks the two of you, softly and slowly so you don’t throw up your dinner. He noses into your neck, inhaling your scent and committing it to your memory.

“Mm, dessert first,” you insist, twirling around the stool so you can wrap your legs around his waist. “And then I can tell you exactly how much I like you,” your fingers play with the buttons of his shirt, walking the pads of your fingers across his chest.

Jungkook grins, hands reaching to cup your bottom and bring you to his bedroom. Of course, he’s always willing to satisfy your insatiable appetite.

#jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #btsguild #btswritingcafe #btsghostie #kwritersworldnet #jungkook fic #bts smut #bts fic

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studiojeon · 3 years ago

Text

bitterness in goodbye | jjk

this is part of my troubled outsiders series. sadly, you can't read this as a stand alone (meaning: feel free to check the previous parts ♡)

| summary | - You can’t help but feel a little sad when Jungkook doesn’t refrain from cuddling your arm after pleading to forgive him. You wish you could cuddle him instead, that he would lay his head on your chest as you play with his soft hair, but you recognize there are some things you just can’t have.

warnings: none (?) i mean chaeryeong insults jungkook which is an atrocity in itself but-

contents: we diving into the angst my friends. jungkook is an innocent, kind hearted soul, i promise. oc's got the feels (out oct. 1) for jk. idol!jungkook × student!reader.

author's note: I EDITTED THIS FROM MY PHONE DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW FUCKING ANNOYING THAT IS? also, thank u for the amount of support i've been receiving lately, i appreciate everyone lots. feel free to ask away or suggest anything btw, i would love to write for any prompts you guys come up with. 💞💗💖💘💓💕

words: 1.57k

playlist: honey by halsey

Four weeks later, the receptionist of your apartment complex hands you over a cardboard box with the hoodie Jungkook and you had talked about that day on the Han River. Jungkook kept pestering you to please please please send him your address for confidential purposes, which you knew had to do with his determination to literally provide anything that catches your eye right away. You assumed it was a sensitive topic for the boy whether people had purposefully taken advantage of his money before, so you didn’t dare to say anything when the man asked you for your size literally two hours after he dropped you off, scared to either reject his solidare intentions or piss him off for bringing unwanted memories back. In your defense, your personality type keeps oscillating between INFP and INFJ so it’s only natural that you take extra care to make sure those around you have as much peace of mind as possible in your presence.

As pretty and comfortable the piece of soft clothing is, an important factor is missing, something that you can’t recreate buying two of the same size and color, and that is Jungkook's escence and how good it looks on him in comparison to anyone else in the world. Meaning, you didn’t like it as much as you thought initially would. And it absolutely did not have to do with the fact that your short stature made you look like a toddler who stole their dad’s jacket.

Still, in order to show Jungkook how much you appreciate his gift, you bring it to work the next day, and the rest of the days after that, with the excuse that with winter rolling around you needed something to keep you warm in the office. Jungkook doesn’t miss the opportunity to confirm your assumptions regarding your appearance whenever he barges into your office randomly throughout the week, arguing that ”you look so adorable” and doesn’t stop for two weeks more, until he gets used to seeing you wearing something you shared with him. Which doesn’t help ease your growing romantic feelings for him whatsoever.

Because yeah, you liked Jeon Jungkook, just like every human being with eyes and sexual desires, except, you didn’t just like him in a superficial way, and that’s where the problem with him resides. Though you are sure everyone has fallen in love with the endearing boy at some point - especially the excluded and invalidated women of society - you can’t help but place some blame on you for allowing yourself to be swooned so goddamn easily. Your mom had said to you at some point to be wary of the way some men would talk to you when you grew up, their intention usually being getting inside your pants, which has happened to you more times than you'd like to admit. And with the argument that she knew you better than anyone, she claimed you would comply right the second someone talked sweet to you; you despised the fact that was the case with Jungkook (and Jungkook only), although he had never shown any sexual innuendos. What your feelings could do to your relationship with Jungkook and your rather chill lifestyle scared you to death, shiver me timbers and all that shit, having romantic feelings for someone else is embarrassing, especially when your chance with them has been scratched out the second you laid eyes on them.

Jungkook sits on your couch, legs spread on your thighs as you two pretend to watch some series on netflix. “I don’t buy for a second the act you’re putting on right now.” he speaks randomly after staring at your deep-in-thought state for a few minutes and laughs when you snap at him for not letting you overthink in peace. “What’s going on?”

Truth is, you don’t fucking know. A few hours before he arrived at your place (you had to pick him up at the dorm and sneak the both of you through the subterranean parking lot, because god forbid someone saw Jungkook arriving at some chick’s dorm on a saturday afternoon) you swore you would be able to conceal whatever emotional turmoil you had going inside of you without compromising your regular behaviour around the man, but when push comes to shove, it’s impossible to keep yourself from wondering how far you could go before that special someone found out what was going on inside of your head.

Jungkook’s phone rings in his pocket with some annoying tone he had downloaded illegally from youtube the same day the company had handed over the device as a gift for him (you still were a little bitter over how they neglected the rest of the staff but you also knew it was kind of impossible for the human kind to just gift a-thousand-dollar-phones to almost five hundred people out of solidarity). “Hyung?” he picks up, still wary of your unusual behaviour, concerned eyes looking at you. “No, uh- i’m with Yugyeom right now.” and your heart shatters into a million pieces.

You have been suspecting for a while that Jungkook is being hesitant to introduce you to his social circle. Although, you’ve tried your best not to take it personal, it is getting harder to resist the urge to ask him what the fuck is up with that. The fact that Jungkook had to lie about the person he was hanging out with broke your ego; he could’ve just said he was with a friend, right? You suddenly feel like you’re fifteen again, when the guy you liked would love you in the dark but pretend he didn’t know you in the light.

Holding your tears back, you gently push him off and make your way towards the bathroom in the most nonchalant way you could. This is your fault for falling for the nice popular guy in the first place, you remind the reflection staring back at you. Still, as bad as it hurt, there was no way you were going to cry over a stupid boy, let alone when he was literally sat on the next room. He can go fuck himself if he thinks he can just toss this behind as if nothing ever happened.

You text Chaeryeong instead.

“chaery bom bom: i swear to god i gonna throw hands the next time i see the bitch.

chaery bom bom: like who the hell does he think he is? fucking squidward looking asshole.

chaery bom bom: he ain’t even that cute bub, you’ll get over him. i know jinyoung wouldn’t treat you like this”

You sigh. Chaeryeong has been enamored with the idea of you and his former company colleague from GOT7 since the day she met the guy (which was somewhere around ten years ago), and although he was all that, you didn’t like his quiet and cold aura, it intimidated the fuck out of you (Jungkook was the entire opposite of that).

You spray on some perfume just to have an excuse as to why you randomly ran to the bathroom when Jungkook’s inquiring eyes stare as you sit back on the couch, which is exactly what he does. “You done with your call?” you ask, bitter.

Jungkook frowns, a bit taken aback by the sudden question but still unaware of the way his words had made you feel, not even sensing the hostile change in your mood. “Yes, it was one of our managers. He was wondering if I could come back to reshoot some...-thing.”

Okay, now you kind of understand as to why he lied in the first place and to say you feel guilty is an understatement. “I supposed he backed down once you mentioned you were hanging out with Yugyeom.” playfulness makes its appearance on your tone and Jungkook rolls his eyes at you, tongue poking on the inside of his slightly red cheeks.

“Sorry for that” he moves closer and cuddles your arm, like a sad guilty puppy. “It’s just- I don’t want them asking questions''.

You understand. He is a very reserved and private person after all. It took you a bit to crack him open yourself. Plus, you kind of share that trait with him, you’d hate it too if people were constantly on your nerves for the people you decide to hang out with.

And that’s all it takes to forgive him. Not very cash money of you.

“You better not pull that shit again, though” you shift in his hold and he looks up at you. One look into your eyes and he knows what you mean. “I’ll kick you out.”

After nodding, Jungkook resumes his concentration on the series you picked out for him. Due to your short attention span, you are very picky about what you invest your time in, especifically with audiovisual pieces of media, so Jungkook trusts you whenever you recommend something on very rare occasions. As a matter of fact, Jungkook was busy attacking your kitchen counters for snacks (which you didn’t have) when you mentioned Money Heist. “Munch on some grapes instead” you suggested to soothe his disappointment.

You can’t help but feel a little sad when Jungkook doesn’t refrain from cuddling your arm after pleading to forgive him. You wish you could cuddle him instead, that he would lay his head on your chest as you play with his soft hair, but you recognize there are some things you just can’t have.

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fruitcoops · 3 years ago

Note

Could you maybe do that part 5 of truth or drink you alluded to?? :) with Jules and the lupins and basically Jules spilling ALLL of re’s secrets & Marley loving it 🥰

Oh, Jules, how I missed you. The truth or drink referenced in this ask is here (it's been an age since I did one, wow!) and SW credit of course goes to @lumosinlove!

“Please can we have alcohol?” Jules swung his legs under the table with wide, pleading eyes.

Marlene barked a laugh. “Over my dead body, baby Loops.”

“It would be,” Remus agreed with a teasing grin.

“Welcome back to Lion Pride, both of you,” she said, ruffling their hair. Both scrunched their faces up in identical expressions of displeasure. “There are fifteen cards in your deck, and if you don’t want to answer the question, you have to take a drink of apple juice. Not alcohol.”

“You used to be cool,” Jules sulked. Marlene rolled her eyes and Remus reached over to flick his ear. “Hey, that hurt!”

“No, it did not.”

“I’m gonna tell mom you hit me.”

Remus turned to Marlene with a long-suffering look. “Can I have alcohol?”

“Get crackin’, boys, the world wants to know your secrets.” She tapped the deck of cards with a wink and wandered behind the cameras again.

“Alright, here we go.” Remus sighed. “My name is Remus Lupin, I’m the Lions’ right wing, and I’m here with my baby brother to answer some questions. Take it away, Jules.”

“I’m not a baby,” Jules clarified to the camera. “I’m twelve. Who’s the most attractive sibling?”

Remus frowned. “Me? Just ‘cause I’m older.”

“As if.”

“Oh my god,” he muttered, reaching for his own card. “Oh, this should be fun. Name your favorite parent.”

“Dad,” Jules answered without hesitating. Remus’ eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“First, you’re not supposed to answer that fast, and second, what?”

“Dad’s cool!”

“Dad is not cool!” Remus laughed. “I don’t have a favorite parent—”

“Liar.”

“—but mom is the cool one. Dad’s a dork, and we love him for it.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe this. Mom would literally do anything for you. She learned to skate for you.”

“It’s not like I don’t love mom!” Jules protested as he took a new card. “I love her so much! And I know mom is your favorite, so it’s only fair. Which of us is the most successful, and which is the screwup?”

“I don’t have a favorite parent,” Remus insisted, leaning back in his seat. “And neither of us are screwups.”

“You’re more successful.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re a screwup. It means you’re twelve. Who’s the overachiever?”

“You,” Jules snorted. “You’re such a nerd. It’s embarrassing. What’s the meanest thing I did to you when we were kids?”

Remus rested his chin on his hand and thought for a moment, then turned to look behind the camera. “Since we were only kids together for, like, three years, can I say something from a little later?”

“Anything before age 25,” Marlene called.

He nodded decisively. “Sweet. In that case, it’s the time this little monster let a rat into the house, freaked out when he didn’t know what to do, then locked it in my bedroom and didn’t tell anyone until I went to bed and something ran across my sheets.”

Jules shrugged. “You survived.”

“Yeah, and you almost didn’t.”

“So dramatic,” he muttered.

Remus whacked him over the head with the next card before reading it. “Oh, god. Share the most mortifying memory you have of me. If you drink that apple juice and don’t answer, I’ll get you ice cream on the way home.”

Jules leaned back with a hum, already grinning. “Let’s see…”

“No,” Remus groaned.

“Probably—” Jules broke off to giggle. “Probably when you took me into the locker room to meet the team and the whole time I was talking to Sirius, you looked like you were about to melt into the floor. You had this stupid grin on your face—”

“Shut up.”

“—and almost tripped over your own feet, like, four times. This was before you guys were dating, too.”

“You are the worst,” Remus said, though his voice was muffled by his forearms. “Next question?”

“I can keep going. There was the time you gave yourself a black eye hanging Christmas lights, and when you bounced off an enforcer when you tried to check him, and when mom asked you to defrost the chicken for dinner and you forgot so you put it in the microwave and almost set the house on fire, and—“

“Marlene.” Remus raised his head with a pitiful look. “Please make him stop. Please.”

“Okay,” Marlene laughed, a little breathless. “Alright, one sec. Jules, your turn.”

“Ugh, fine. Do you let me win at things?”

“When you were five, sure.” Remus tilted his head to the side. “Otherwise, no. Do you want me to let you win?”

“I’d be so upset if you did. I only get better because I want to kick your ass one day.”

“Language. Am I a good brother?”

“Well, yeah,” Jules said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He blinked at Remus, clearly confused. “Duh. You’re weird and annoying, but you’re one of my top three favorite people?”

“Before or after dad?” Remus teased, but it was soft with fondness.

Jules narrowed his eyes and leaned his elbows on the table. “Wouldn’t you like to know. Have I ever disappointed you?”

“Never. I don’t think you could if you tried. Who’s smarter?”

“Me.” Remus gave the camera a disbelieving look as Jules took a new card. “Ha! I like this one. Which of us was a mistake?”

“Oh, that is a good one. Honestly, I don’t think either of us were planned. Mom and dad definitely weren’t expecting a kid at 21 and 25, and absolutely weren’t planning on another one fifteen years later.”

Jules cast the camera a bright smile. “Oops!”

“But we’re their best mistakes,” Remus said solemnly with the ghost of a smile, as if he was repeating a sentiment that had been said many times before. “Okay, I need to have a talk with whoever set up these questions. Do an impersonation of me, or drink to—”

“Oh, look at me, I’ve got a fancy degree,” Jules mimicked, dropping his voice comically low. “I’m so cool, I’ve got a secret boyfriend and I’m not gonna tell anyone about it for three whole months even though I suck at keeping secrets. I’m tall, so I’m gonna grab my awesome little brother by the ankles and shake him around—”

“You asked me to—”

“Shh! I’m not done!”

Remus gave him an incredulous look. “They get the point!”

Jules stuck his tongue out, but grabbed a new card from the stack. “What are your best and worst memories of mom and dad?”

“Aw, man.” Remus tapped his short stack of cards on the table and bit his lip. “Best and worst…best would probably be Christmas two or three years ago, when we all went skating on the lake.”

“That’s a good one,” Jules mused.

“It’s hard to think of my worst memory of them. Um, maybe after I stopped playing hockey in college? There was a lot of walking on eggshells and it was really uncomfortable.”

Remus read the next card and his frown dissolved into laughter; he reached for the apple juice and filled both glasses to the brim, then pushed them across the table to Jules without a word. “What are these for? You have to read the card, dummy.”

“The most spoiled sibling has to drink,” Remus said with a wide grin.

“It’s not me!” Jules protested, though it was weak. “You were an only child for fifteen years!”

“Yeah, and?” His amusement only grew as Jules struggled to make a comeback. “See, you can’t even deny it! You’re the baby of the family and everybody loves you. How many times have you been to Gryffindor?”

Jules opened and closed his mouth a few times, going red with indignance.

“How many?” Remus’ expression was pure glee. “Buddy, I didn’t leave Wisconsin for anything other than roadies until you were old enough to travel, and then mom and dad had to show you off to everyone.”

“They love you, too!”

“I know they do,” Remus laughed. “They’re great parents and we both had amazing childhoods. You’re still the more spoiled one.”

“I don’t like this game,” he muttered as he drank one of the glasses. “And I’m not drinking that other one. Okay, last question. Should we see more of each other?”

“Of course,” Remus said. “I wish we lived closer to each other all the time. Do you think so?”

Jules reached for the glass, then burst out laughing when Remus’ jaw dropped. “Oh, I got you so good! But yeah, I miss you a ton during the school year.”

“You little…” Remus bit back his threat and ruffled Jules’ hair despite his protests, cheeks turning pink with embarrassment. “Keep that up and you’re gonna get flipped again.”

“You wouldn’t. Not on camera.”

“Try me.”

Jules bolted from his seat and tried to make a run for it, but Remus was faster—he caught him around the waist, hefted him under one arm, and turned him around until he could get ahold of his skinny ankles. “No!” Jules shrieked through his giggling as Remus started swinging him lightly back and forth. “No, no, put me down!”

“Just making sure you really don’t want to see more of me,” Remus said, alight with happiness. Jules’ fingers nearly touched the ground. “You’re almost too big for this.”

“Good,” Jules wheezed. “Are we done yet?”

Remus looked back to the camera. “Thanks for tuning into Lion Pride, everyone. Make sure to like and subscribe if you want a slow-motion tutorial on how to transform your little brother into an emergency pendulum.”

“No!”

“Can you get down by yourself?”

Jules stretched his arms toward the floor, but Remus pulled him up an inch just as his fingertips brushed the tile. “Hey! Stop it!”

“Stop what?”

“Pulling me up!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Remus said, adding another inch.

#remus lupin #julian lupin #jules #coops #marlene mckinnon #lion pride #my fic #fanfic #sweater weather #vaincre #lumosinlove #social media #truth or drink

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seijorhi · 4 years ago

Note

This isn't a request or anything but I had a soulmate AU idea that I think you'd like.... And reminded me of Oikawa. Imagine you find ur soulmate from their name written on your skin on ur 16/18 bday, but.... You're blind. And dating Oikawa. And he /swears/ your name is on his skin... But when your birthday rolls around, he insists you don't show anyone else.... And starts buying you clothes to cover the mark.... And you hear him whispering about his mark to Iwa.... And you begin to worry. 👀

I know it wasn’t specifically meant as a request, but I took the idea and ran with it - I hope it’s okay!! 💕

Oikawa Tooru x Female Reader

TW gaslighting, manipulation, dub con nsfw, blind reader

Part II

Always

“You promise me it’s there?”

Are you sure it’s me?

Rich, warm laughter fills the air around you, and despite the tension gnawing away in your stomach, the corners of your lips twitch into a soft smile.

“You don’t believe me!”

He’s happy. Even gasping in mock indignation Tooru can’t quite manage to keep it from his voice.

He has every reason to be; you’re both home for the first time in a year and a half, settled in the well worn couch at his parents house, your friends sprawled out either side of you. He’s twenty one today and as of five minutes ago the proud owner of his very own soulmate mark.

Or so he tells you.

“Well it’s not like I can see it,” you tease, nudging yourself closer so that you can rest your head against his shoulder and sighing loudly. “It could be Issei’s name for all I know, and you’re all just too nice to break the news to me.”

The choked snort from your left side makes you giggle, but not as much as the sound of your boyfriend fake gagging.

“Please, he fucking wishes!”

“Iwa tell her!” Oikawa demands, and you can just imagine the way that Iwaizumi’s eyes must roll before he ultimately gives in.

He always does.

“It’s yours,” he sighs. “Unfortunately you’re stuck with him, Y/N. My condolences.”

Yours.

It’s hard, even as raucous laughter fills the air around you and Oikawa turns to shout at his best friend, to deny the warm fluttering in your chest. The arm around you eases you closer, a thumb absentmindedly stroking at your side and you allow yourself to relax against him.

It’s your name on his skin. You’re his soulmate.

For the first time in weeks, it feels like you can breathe easy. You wonder if Oikawa knew, if he noticed the way you held onto him just that little bit tighter - like you were scared to let go.

You’ve loved Oikawa for as long as you can remember, but you only get one soulmate. Was it really so outlandish to wonder whether his first love would be his last? Whether you could ever be good enough to be his?

The little blind girl, always following at his heels.

For all your faults, you’ve never been naive. You know how amazing he is - Tooru has always been destined for great things and you were just his highschool sweetheart.

A hindrance, one of his very dedicated fans had once taken the time to inform you, clinging desperately to whatever scraps of pity he felt charitable enough to throw your way.

Neither one of you had realised that Oikawa had heard every damn word.

—

“Can you just…”

Oikawa pauses, the hand he has wrapped around yours squeezes lightly. “Hmm?”

Breathe deep. Just say it.

Tell him.

You’re almost at the gate, your flight’s leaving in twenty minutes (and you would have been there sooner if he hadn’t insisted on dragging you through every overpriced store in the damn airport) and in a few hours, you’ll be home again.

But it isn’t the thought of being back in Japan that worries you. Your bottom lip catches between your teeth, your heart thumping unsteadily in your chest. His birthday is in two days, and that’s when he’ll find out who his soulmate is supposed to be. And you trust him, you love him. Even if the name on his forearm isn't yours, it’s not like he’s just going to suddenly toss you aside like yesterday’s trash, but… things’ll change, you know they will. And you couldn’t even blame him for that, because how much effort can you really be expected to put into a relationship if you know they’re not the one you’re supposed to end up with?

The doubts you have, the ones that fester and play on your every insecurity, keeping you up at night long after Tooru has drifted off - you’ve tried to shut them out and ignore them as best you can, but you just can’t get on that plane without having some kind of reassurance.

What if it’s not you?

“Just promise me that if…” your breath catches in your throat, and you try to force a smile on your face even though you know that it wobbles. “If it’s not- if I’m not-”

Soft lips press against yours, cutting you off. It’s only for a heartbeat, enough to get you to stop the panicked tumble of words you couldn’t quite get out, but for you it feels like it lasts a lifetime. You could lose yourself in Oikawa’s kisses, you think. Lose yourself and be happy for it.

A warm palm cups your face. “I love you,” he says, and it isn’t the murmured declaration first thing in the morning, his voice still thick with sleep as he rolls over to kiss you good morning, and it isn’t the cheesy, throwaway line he gives whenever you save him the last bite of the milk bread that he specifically bought for you (because god knows his coach would kill him if he found out he ate the entire thing himself).

It’s a promise.

“You are my soulmate,” his thumb strokes along your cheekbone, and you can’t help but lean into the touch. “You’re the only one I’m ever going to want.”

Standing on the outskirts of your gate, moments away from boarding the plane that’ll take you both home, you’re not entirely sure if he’s trying to tell you that he’s certain that the name on his arm is going to be yours, or that he doesn’t care if it isn’t.

Either way, it’s enough.

“You’re mine,” he breathes, and captures your lips in another kiss - this one brimming with ardent devotion, a love too deep for either one of you to speak.

—

Hours later, Iwa, Makki and Mattsun are all asleep downstairs and it’s just Tooru and you curled up in his bed. You suppose you shouldn’t be surprised that being back in his childhood bedroom did little in the way of curbing his appetite, but between giggles and breathy moans, Oikawa’s hand clamped over your mouth and his lips at your ear-

‘Shhh, you have to keep it down, cutie. Unless you want the whole house to hear all the pretty sounds you make when you’re about to cum for me?’

- he manages to wring four orgasms out of you before the two of you collapse back against the mattress, all sweaty and panting.

And you think he’s fallen asleep now, an arm slung around your waist, his face buried against the nape of your neck despite the warmth of the balmy summer night. With his chest flush against your back, you can feel the steady rhythm of his heart, lulling you gently to sleep with every beat.

Soulmate.

This, here, in Oikawa’s arms, this is where you belong, where you’ve always belonged. And yet even with happiness and relief and an overwhelming love singing through your veins - keeping you wide awake - you can’t deny that it feels… strange almost, knowing that out of seven and a half billion people, you’re the one he’s marked for.

He’d sounded so sure back at the airport, like there wasn’t even the possibility of doubt in his mind that you were the one for him. And maybe he was just saying it to calm you down and get your ass on the plane, but if the situations were reversed and it was your birthday first… could you really say with one hundred percent certainty that you knew it would be his name that’d show up on your arm?

You love him more than you’ve ever loved anybody else (more than you ever probably will love anybody else), it’s just that you’ve always known that the two of you were on wildly different paths. Tooru’s the starting setter for a pro volleyball team, and there’s already whispers of that national squad, Olympic selection.

He’s talented and driven and sometimes you wonder whether you ever would have left Miyagi let alone Japan at all if it hadn’t been for him dragging you along with him.

You’ve always been so content in your own little bubble. You cling to what’s comfortable, what you know - all your life, you’ve been told that you’re not defined by your disability, but you’ve never tried to push yourself beyond it.

With Tooru, you’ve never had to.

That girl, years ago - she wasn’t wrong. You do cling to him, like you’d clung to your friends and your family. And maybe that’s not the worst thing in the world, but when you compare what Oikawa has to offer his soulmate compared to what you bring to the table, and-

“I can hear you thinking from here,” your apparently not-so-asleep-after-all boyfriend murmurs in your ear. “Tell me what’s bothering my pretty girl.”

You sigh, rolling over to face him. It’s pointless to lie to Tooru - he can read you better than anyone else - but admitting the whole truth, even here under this little refuge of soft intimacy between the two of you, feels harder than it should be.

“You’re not… disappointed, are you?”

The harrumph that escapes his lips sounds almost offended, but the brush of his lips against the tip of your nose is sweet. “How long have I known you?” he asks.

Your forehead wrinkles at the question. “Fifteen or so years, I guess?”

You’d only been six or so when your family had moved in the house next door to his, across the street from Iwaizumi’s, and you can still vividly remember the first time you met him - crying in your front yard with a scraped up knee - always too eager for your own good.

“Hmm,” he acknowledges, “and how long have we been dating?”

“Seven-ish years?”

He chuckles, kissing you again, this time on your cheek. “And how long do you think I’ve been in love with you?”

Your whole face warms, and you fight the urge to bury it in his bare chest, especially when he reaches out to tuck a stray lock of hair that had fallen out of place back behind your ear. “Tooru-”

He sighs again, the sound tinged with just a hint of fond exasperation. “Give me your hand.”

You oblige, and you feel his long fingers curl around yours, tucking all of your fingers but your index away and drawing your hand closer towards him. It’s only when your pointer brushes against skin that you realise what he’s trying to do. Still, you don’t offer a word as Tooru slowly traces your finger along the dark letters on his skin - his soulmate mark.

Your name.

“I’ve been in love with you since we were kids, Y/N. You’re mine, you’ve always been mine, just as I’m yours,” he vows, and you almost shiver with the intensity that burns in every word. “Any other name would have been nothing more than a filthy lie.”

Any further protests are swallowed up by another kiss, and your boyfriend takes it upon himself to show you exactly how much he adores you, over and over again, until sheer, utter exhaustion drags you to sleep in his arms.

—

Your own twenty-first birthday is a vastly different kind of affair. For one, the two of you decide to stay in Argentina - Oikawa’s mid season and can’t afford the time off training to traipse back home again.

Which means that it is just the two of you alone in your villa when you feel an odd burning sensation start to creep through your left arm. It doesn’t hurt exactly, more like a warm tingling sensation that flows along your skin as one by one the letters of your soulmate’s name come to light.

The sharp little gasp that slips from your lips must have alerted Tooru - hovering as he had been for the better part of the day - because his hands are on your arm within a moment, flipping it over and eagerly dragging it closer for him to inspect. His own breath hitches in his throat, his fingers tightening on your soft skin and a tentative smile works its way across your face.

People have told you before that your boyfriend is handsome - stupidly beautiful, you’d once overheard one of your old high school classmates bemoan. His voice certainly is, soft and pretty and lilting, warm like the first rays of the sun on a cool winter’s morning, though not without its sharpness. Oikawa always has had a wicked tongue. In your head, you picture a face to match, delicate, angular features, warm eyes and a grin that’s just a little impish. Trouble, but the irresistible kind.

You wish you could see it now, watch your soulmate’s eyes widen with delight, or maybe soften with quiet awe. You want to see him happy, deliriously so, you want to look into those lovely eyes of his and see all the love that’s coursing through your veins right now reflected right back at you.

He still hasn’t spoken a word.

The slow drag of a breath, shaky and too sharp, had your bright smile freezing on your face. His grip hasn’t relented, fingers calloused from years of playing volleyball digging into your arm almost painfully. The air between you two is still, he hasn’t moved, not so much as a twitch.

Unease creeps its way into your stomach.

Why hasn’t he said anything?

He’s never exactly been the strong, silent type, and you love him for that. Iwa often complains that his best friend likes the sound of his own voice too damn much (half heartedly at best), and maybe that’s true, but he never realised that it doesn’t bother you in the slightest.

It’s different for you, not being able to see.

You don’t exactly blame them for not understanding - how could they, really? Without your sight to help you, your other senses have to work in overdrive just to make sense of things. Tooru’s voice builds the world around you, imbues it with a spark, guides you like a hand stretching out through the darkness. It’s a gap in the void, a reassurance you cling to - because without it there’s nothing. You’re alone with only your thoughts to keep you company.

So when he goes quiet like this, it’s never a good sign.

A lump lodges its way in your throat. Without your sight, his silence is almost impossible to read, but you can sense the sudden heaviness in the air, the tension hanging thick between the two of you.

You expected dramatics. Tears, maybe, or a burst of affectionate cuddles and kisses. Gushing over your mark just as he had when his own had come through. Hell, you thought he’d grab his phone and take a thousand and one pictures just to prove to the world that you were his as much as he was yours - because you loved each other. Because you were soulmates.

Is there something wrong with your mark?

“Tooru?” you murmur, the edges of your smile starting to slip as your panic rises. “I-is everything-”

“You’re mine.”

The clipped words are little more than a whisper, hoarse and choked. It takes you by surprise, making your heart skip a beat, the knot in your stomach tighten, yet just as that paralysing apprehension starts to take root, he clears his throat, and a laugh bubbles to the surface.

Slowly, like ice thawing, his fingers relax on your forearm, gliding up over your shoulder to curl around your neck. “You love me, right?”

Your eyebrows knit together, but you nod anyway. “Always.”

There’s another shaky breath, and suddenly his arms are wrapping around you, drawing you into a tight embrace. You don’t fight it, still bewildered by the sudden whiplash of his tone.

His own heart is racing, you can feel it as he holds you against him. The question burns deep inside of your chest, a thought you don’t want to give voice to, but you can’t seem to stop yourself - it slips out before you even realise you’ve opened your mouth.

“It is your name, Tooru, isn’t it? You’re my soulmate?”

There’s a beat of silence, and Oikawa hums, resting his chin against the top of your head. “Of course it is, cutie,” he chuckles. “Who else’s name would it be?”

He takes you out for dinner to celebrate. You’d originally picked one of his favourite dresses to wear, a strapless white number with a pretty, flowing skirt that fell to your mid thigh, but Oikawa stops you before you can leave, passing you over an old denim jacket of yours.

“It’s cool out tonight,” he says as he eases it over your shoulders before you can protest.

You don’t question it.

—

He fucks you that night, hard, fast and unrelenting, holding onto you so tight that you swear you’ll have bruises come morning.

—

Oikawa likes doing little things for you.

He likes it when you hold onto his arm and let him guide you around when you go out together (you do have a cane - it sits in the back of your closet for ‘emergency uses’ only). He likes to buy you pretty things, jewellery, clothes, little trinkets that remind him of you - spoiling you with every opportunity he can, doubly so now that he has a salary that affords him that luxury.

It’s not uncommon for him to pick out your outfits. For one, you can’t see so you kind of have to rely on somebody else’s help so you don’t end up a mismatched disaster, and Tooru seems to enjoy doing it. He likes seeing you wear the things he buys for you - lacy, soft and demure.

He also likes it when people know that you’re his.

So it doesn’t strike you as odd when Tooru insists on you wearing his club hoodie over your dress the next time you go to one of his games. You might not be able to see him fly across the court, but you can hear the cheers, the roar of the crowd as they stamp their feet and chant like a battle cry when San Juan scores. You can taste the excitement in the air, and whenever your soulmate steps up to the plate to serve, you feel the rabid excitement of the crowd thrumming in your veins.

It’s warm in the stadium with so many people crammed close together, you push the sleeves up without even thinking. It’s not an issue - it shouldn’t be - but when your boyfriend slips his arms around you, fresh from the locker room post match, it’s the first thing he notices. He’s tugging them back down before you can so much as offer a hello, tersely muttering something about you getting a cold when you frown.

There’s a tiny flicker of unease at the odd behaviour, but he’s kissing you before you can linger on it for too much longer.

And if that’s all it was, maybe it would be easier for you to shove that niggling worry aside.

But once you start noticing things - little, inconsequential things you would have just shrugged off before - you can’t seem to stop, and that tiny seed of doubt starts to take root, to sprout and grow.

Your friends stop calling by. Back home your social circle was pretty much limited to Tooru, Iwa and their friends - not that you minded at all, you love them all dearly, it’s just that you didn’t really have any friends of your own outside of that little group. When you moved across to Argentina and Oikawa started training for longer hours, dedicating himself wholeheartedly to his new team, you got lonely, sitting in your new home just waiting around for him to come back to you.

And it took a while, but eventually you started to venture outside of your comfort zone and lo and behold - even with your stumbling Spanish, you managed to make a few friends! Though you can tell that your beloved boyfriend wasn’t exactly thrilled by the burgeoning new friendships you gushed to him about, he’s never begrudged you them. If it made you happy, then he was happy.

Lately though, they’ve been kind of distant. And by distant, you mean… well, nonexistent. They don’t come visit you anymore, when you call their numbers, it just rings out.

You can’t even leave voicemails - there’s just an automated voice telling you their message banks are full. Regardless, not one of them has made the effort to call you back, and it’s not like you can text them to ask why they’re avoiding you. Life gets in the way, you know that, and sometimes people just drift apart but it’s like all of a sudden they’ve just dropped off the face of the planet.

But when you mention venturing out into town one day without them while Tooru’s at practice, he seems strangely resistant to the idea.

“I just don’t like the idea of you wandering around by yourself. It’s not safe out there for you, cutie,” he tells you.

The words are saccharine, as sweet as the kisses he presses against your lips when he coaxes your chin upwards. You love him, you do. And you understand that he worries - even away from the hustle and bustle of the big cities, San Juan isn’t exactly a crime free neighbourhood, but for the first time the strong, muscular arms that wrap around your waist don’t bring comfort.

It’s like they’re a cage, locked around you and dragging you slowly down to the depths, and it’s driving you mad because you can’t figure out why it feels like that.

Biting back your annoyance, you sigh, forcing yourself to relax against him. You love him - this is normal, couples disagree all the time. “I’m not an invalid, babe. I’ve done it before - I can’t just sit around the villa all day moping all alone or I’ll go crazy.”

He hums noncommittally, his fingers trailing idly across your skin as he draws you closer still, and the conversation is dropped.

Two days later, you find your cane snapped in two in the back of the closet. Oikawa has some weights stuffed in an old gym bag for when he can’t be bothered leaving home to work out - the bag must have fallen on your cane and cracked it when he put it back after his session yesterday afternoon.

An accident, it has to be. He’d never deliberately do something so petty, right?

And there are moments where you can forget the doubts that gnaw away at your insides. Tooru has always been a caring, attentive lover - the perfect boyfriend. He seems more determined that ever to shower you in love, whether that’s by waking you up with his tongue eagerly lapping at your cunt, bringing you home bouquets of fragrant flowers and cooking the two of you dinner, or just with the tiny gestures of affection - tucking your hair back away from your face, linking his hands with yours, the little kisses and compliments he lavishes you with on a daily basis.

When it’s just the two of you, lounging around on the couch, his head resting on your lap and your fingers carding through his hair, it’s easy to pretend that everything’s fine. The two of you love each other. You’ve been his rock, his biggest supporter right from the early days, and Tooru’s the one who drew you out of your shell, who makes you feel like you’re actually worth something.

That you’re beautiful, and loved.

It’s not until you come home one afternoon from an impromptu trip to the local bakery just down the road that all the little pieces fall into place, and you realise why.

The craving for something sweet was what drew you out. Truthfully, you hadn’t really thought twice about it. It was a short trip, one you’d made a thousand times before, and it wasn’t like the locals didn’t know you, wouldn’t watch out for you if they saw you about to unknowingly hurt yourself or trip over something.

The alfajores in your hand were supposed to be a surprise, Tooru had been wound up from practice lately, more stressed than he usually was this late in the season, and you knew you weren’t the only one with a wicked sweet tooth. You’d just wanted to cheer him up.

You hadn’t expected to come home to find Tooru pacing in your bedroom, muttering to himself, and you certainly hadn’t expected him to whirl around at the sound of your approach, snatching at your wrist and all but hauling you inside.

You certainly aren’t prepared for the snarling, bitter words he hurls at you.

And yet even as tears fill your eyes, a choked sob bursting free as he berates you for leaving the villa without telling him, Tooru clutches at you so tightly it feels like your arm’s going to snap.

“You can’t leave me! You can’t - you’re mine!”

He doesn’t stop, barely pauses for breath, but those eight words hit you like a freight train, and everything else fades out into white noise. You can’t for the life of you explain how or why, but in that moment, you know with absolute certainty that the name on your arm can’t be his.

Tooru lied to you.

He’s not your soulmate.

It’s all you can do to stand there numbly while your boyfriend falls to pieces in front of you. The angry yells and screams turn into wretched sobs, and suddenly it’s Tooru collapsing in your arms, clinging to your neck like it’s a lifeline as he sniffles against your chest, and when desperate apologies turn into desperate kisses and he starts to lead you backwards towards the bed, you don’t fight him.

He treats you like you’re made of glass, worshipping every inch of your skin, fervent declarations of love spilling out between kisses like prayers of the devout at an altar. He fucks you slowly, lovingly, moaning your name so sweetly as he searches for absolution within the plush walls of your sex.

And with his fingers coaxing at your clit, his lips dancing against yours you fall off that precipice with him.

You have no idea long the two of you lie there in silence, limbs entangled with one other, but eventually you register the warmth of his hand on your cheek, caressing it with a gentle kind of tenderness that makes something deep inside of you ache.

“You still love me, don’t you?” Tooru’s voice is quiet. Hesitant. It reminds you of the little boy you knew, the one who confided all his fears of never being good enough to you, desperately seeking the validation you always gave so freely.

Your eyes flutter shut, another stray tear spilling down your cheek, and your heart breaks anew.

“Always.”

#yandere haikyuu #yandere oikawa tooru #yandere oikawa x reader #yandere oikawa tooru x reader #yandere oikawa #tw gaslighting #tw manipulation #tw dub con

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megs-mostly-past-random-fandoms · 4 years ago

Text

Crumbled Kingdom

Based on this request: Oooh, how about Labyrinth where the reader comes to the crumbled Labyrinth after Sarah rejected Jarath and reader helps his broken heart? I just need a little flangst, if that’s okay.

Here you are! *Familiar Characters are NOT mine!*

Fandom: Labyrinth

Warnings: Angst with a semi-happy ending, a little bit of tension.

Pairings/Characters: Jareth x reader, Hoggle

"I wish the Goblin King would come and take us away right now," you whispered. You felt slightly foolish saying the words from the book you'd grown up reading and had been reading to your young sibling when things got bad at home. While you were technically old enough to move out on your own, you couldn't leave your sibling alone. That night was particularly bad, prompting you to utter the words that part of you hoped would send you away where those people who neglected you would never find you.

Your hopes were answered when you woke up to a slight crying of your name. You opened your eyes to find your sibling looking down at you with wide, teary eyes. You were immediately on alert, shooting up to make sure they were okay. You looked around in surprise. "What the-" you began but stopped yourself. Little ears hear everything after all.

"I'm scared, Y/N." You hugged your sibling close and attempted to smile. You didn't want to frighten them more. You let yourself take in your surroundings. Something looked familiar and yet, not. Everything around you was in a state of ruin and chaos. Crumbled and moss covered stone stood alongside dead hedges like those that lined the walls of a maze. You knew you'd heard about a place like this before but it wasn't until you heard the trickling of water that you made any sort of connection.

You followed the sound of the water, holding your sibling close to you. It didn't take long before you stumbled upon a broken and algae-ridden fountain. But that wasn't what caught your attention. It was the creature that stood around the same height as your sibling. "Excuse me?" The creature jumped and turned to you.

"Oh, excuse me." You cocked your head to the side, your memory trying so hard to catch up with what you were seeing. "Who are you? C-Can you show us the way out?" The creature looked between you in confusion. "Two? There's never two. Name's Hoggle."

"Hoggle? Like from the book?" your sibling piped up. You glanced down at them and then back at Hoggle. "No fuc-freaking way. There's no way. It's just a story." Hoggle chuckled humorlessly. "A story. Tell that to the Goblin King. Ever since…since her, thing's been different."

"Her? Sar-" Hoggle shushed you. "Don't say her name. Jareth's magic may have lessened but he sends the Cleaners if anyone mentions her name. Broken, he is." You exchanged a glance with your sibling. You remembered your mother's stories about her "crazy" friend Sarah who told her all about the Labyrinth. Without a word, you knew that you and your sibling agreed that it was time to get out of there. You wouldn't go home, but you couldn't stay here. "How do we get out?"

"Same way as always. You have to beat the Labyrinth. Thirteen hours. But the Labyrinth is even more unpredictable than before." You nodded and sighed. "I know, but I have to try. I have to protect them," you said, gesturing to your sibling. Hoggle let out a groan and showed you the entrance to the Labyrinth. "Come on," you told your sibling, "And stay close to me."

*Several hours later*

Hoggle was right. The Labyrinth had been more unpredictable, but thanks to reading the book so often as a child, you knew which landmarks to look for. You learned from the mistakes of the book's heroine. It wasn't easy by any means, but it wasn't as difficult as you were expecting, although you did nearly get stuck in the Bog of Stench. Not that you'd say that out loud. While you hadn't seen hide or hair of the Goblin King, you didn't want to risk his wrath after what had happened with Sarah. Clearly it was bad if the kingdom was in such a state of ruin.

To your surprise, the drawbridge of the castle was lowered when you finally approached. You were exhausted and your legs felt like they were going to give out. The only reason you kept going was for your sibling. "We're almost there. Do you think we made it?" You have them a smile. "I hope so. Come on. We have to get through the castle. We have to see the Goblin King." Your sibling looked more scared than they had since the moment you woke up in the Labyrinth. You hugged them close. "It'll be alright. I'll protect you."

Your footsteps echoed on the stone floor of the crumbling castle. The sound was a mixture of ominous and comforting. It grounded you since you had absolutely no idea what to expect from the king when you finally encountered him. At the same time, the sound sent a shudder down your spine. It was far too quiet for such a large castle.

It took you a while and several mistakenly opened doors to find what you were looking for. The throne room. You pushed open the doors, expecting to be greeted by goblins or guards or traps. Instead, you came face-to-face with an almost empty room. The only person in the room was lounging across the odd throne. He didn't even look up at your entrance.

"It's him," your sibling whispered, "It's Jareth." You nodded, but kept your eyes on the Goblin King. You took a step closer, but froze when Jareth finally spoke. "Stop. Don't move." His voice sent shivers down your spine. He looked to you, swinging his legs off the arm of his throne and standing much more gracefully than you expected. "You've beaten the Labyrinth." You nodded. "Yes. We'd like to leave now."

"Then you know what you should say. Say it! Bring the rest of my kingdom crumbling to nothing! Just like her!" You jumped a little. "Y/N, I'm scared." That caused you to straighten yourself up and glare at the Goblin King. "This wasn't Sarah's doing," you stated, "This was all you. What kind of king are you?! It's a king's duty to care for his kingdom and his people! So what? Sarah left and you let all this happen! She was fifteen! A child! You're not a king. You're a spineless coward! A little kid playing at being a king."

Jareth's face twisted into a mask a pure rage before he schooled his features again. Before you could even react, he was in your face. You fought against your instinct to run away. For some reason, you didn't think he would actually hurt you. His nose touched yours and he hiss, "You know nothing."

"I know she hurt you. I get that. But you hurt your kingdom. Your people," you whispered to him. You knew about pain. You knew how it could cut you so deeply it seemed like you would never recover. It softened your heart toward him a bit. Your sibling called your name, prompting both you and Jareth to look at them. They were now surrounded by curious looking creatures. The goblins, you assumed. They were examining your sibling as if he had been hundreds of years since they last saw a human. Since you had no idea how time passed in the Labyrinth, it's possible it had been. They reminded you of children that needed care and love.

"Look at them, Jareth. They need you. They need their king. I think that's why they brought me, an adult, here instead of just (Y/S/N). They wanted to help you so that you can help them." Jareth scoffed, but didn't look away from the goblins. "You cannot help." You smiled a bit. "Maybe I can. If you let me. What harm could it do? Let me help you, Jareth. I swear I won't leave until I've at least tried."

Jareth backed away slowly, his eyes turning back to you. "Do not make promises you cannot keep. The magic of the Labyrinth will hold you until your promise his fulfilled or until you fade away." You met his gaze. There was a storm brewing in his eyes. You could feel the gazes of the goblins on the two of you as Jareth sized you up.

"I swear it," you repeated. Jareth continued staring at you, the tension in the room thickening. You heard giggles from all around you, but you ignored them. You were on edge as you waited for Jareth to say anything. "Do you really think you're strong enough for this?" You snorted out a laugh. "I think the better question is are you prepared to handle me? I've been told I'm quite the handful."

"Well you are!" your sibling interrupted with a laugh. The small goblins joined in the laughter. You rolled your eyes before turning back to Jareth. "Well?" Jareth took another step back and gave a small nod of his head. The next thing you knew, someone grabbed your hand and pulled you over to the growing throng of goblins. You couldn't help but smile at their enthusiasm and your sibling seemed to be enjoying themselves.

As you were being passed between the goblins, you missed the miniscule smile that made its way to Jareth's lips. You didn't know it, but a small spark of hope ignited in his chest and he could feel the Labyrinth's magic seeping back out toward the kingdom. Maybe you were the key to rebuilding his crumbled king and, perhaps eventually, healing his heart.

(a/n: I hope you like it!)

#labyrinth #jareth #jareth the goblin king #jareth the goblin king x reader #jareth x reader

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garbagevanfleet · 3 years ago

Text

Brightest Blue (series)

PART FIFTEEN (final chapter)

Pairing: Josh & female!Reader Warnings: 18+ ONLY, sexual content, alcohol, feelings Summary: Things are changing. New state. New school. New roommate. You just pray things are going to click into place. Notes: What an odd feeling this is. I love writing fics, but when you work so long and hard on something, it’s hard to let it go. I’m really pleased with how it turned out though, and I’m so incredibly grateful to everyone that read it and interacted with it. A big thank you to my editor, @lantern-inthenight for sticking with me through it, and thank you again to everyone on my taglist.

MASTERPOST

taglist: @valleyd0ll @satingrass-maidensfair @guitarfingers @thebohemianpenguin @peaceisouranthem @oblvions @hansonobsessed @myownparadise96 @anditsmywholeheart @kill-fear-the-power-of-lies @bigblack-catattack @dharma-divine

There was a plant in the Kiszka house that you couldn’t stop looking at - you found yourself making your way to the kitchen, just so you could peek in on it. It was a Christmas cactus placed on the south-facing window sill above the sink, spilling out of the sides of its terra cotta pot in long tendrils.

Shapely, dark green, and perfectly healthy - it was the perfect metaphor for the household that loved it. The fuchsia pink buds on the tips of every trailing vine were promising to open every day since you’d arrived, and - perfectly on queue - the first one opened on Christmas Eve. It had been tightly closed when you greeted it in the morning as you sipped your cup of coffee, but by the time the family was snacking on a veggie tray and cocktail weenies at lunchtime, it was fully open, facing the floor in a way that reminded you of a ballerina’s tutu.

“You like this thing, huh?” Josh had asked, audible to just you over the lively conversation and music filling the kitchen and dining room. He was standing closely behind your right shoulder, charmingly trying to get the same view of the cactus that you were - as if that could help him appreciate it better.

“Isn’t it lovely?” you replied, turning your head and realizing at the same time that you could kiss his cheek if you leaned in closer. The two of you shared a lingering look that you put an end to just before you could start feeling physically warm.

He hummed in consideration after a moment. “It’s pretty,” he agreed and then smiled weakly. “It kinda just looks like another plant to me though, if I’m being honest.”

You turned to face him then, giving him a warm look. “There’s a lot of beauty to be found in things that other people don’t know to consider. It gives you kind of a selfish satisfaction.”

The slightly suggestive tone you’d taken put a puzzled smile on his face. He gave you a look that somehow perfectly let you know that he’d be back to pry at the deeper meaning of this conversation later when you were alone.

“We got this for Christmas for my mom one year when we were little kids. Sam and Ronnie liked the color.” He smiled at it past your shoulder. “It used to be so tiny.”

It certainly wasn’t anymore. As a matter of fact, it was currently threatening to take over the whole sill - swallow up the little knick-knacks peppered around it.

“It’s really happy,” you agreed.

+++

Dinner that night was photo-worthy. Laid out on the table were dishes upon dishes of different comfort foods, each with its own oversized serving spoon. Jake had been trying to make homemade bread through the entirety of your time there - the first night was his very first time making it and it was a little raw, then the next night it seemed a little hard, then the next it looked a little overcooked and dense. Tonight, however, it looked worthy of a cooking magazine cover.

PERFECT BREAD ON THE SIXTH TRY! it would read triumphantly.

No one had a claim on any of the specific spots at the dining table, so it was free game - which was how you were able to finagle your way into sitting between Jake and Sam for that evening’s meal. You liked them a lot, for the record, but you had been thinking a lot about your earlier interaction with Josh, and that was the reason for your chosen position.

You wanted to stare at him without arousing suspicion - or rather, any more suspicion than was already present amongst the six of you.

He had given you a questioning look as he sat directly across the table from you, scooting his chair in until he could rest his elbows on the wood. You offered him a reassuring smile as you settled in, but secretly you reveling in the fact it’d seem awfully non-platonic if he questioned your choice out loud.

While you ate, he only caught you looking at him once, to which he responded by playfully poking his tongue out at you. Otherwise, you listened intently to a story that Sam was telling you about a fated time he found a designer jacket in a truck stop bathroom and it fit perfectly. You also chatted lightly with Jake - who was sitting to your right - about each of your classes and he graciously listened to you gripe at length about the weather and its lack of consistency, which was obviously very kind of him.

When dinner was over, the family changed into their pajamas before meeting in the living room with their wine to sit around the tree and open one present each of their choosing. It went around in a circle, starting with Josh who received a new cutting board and a set of knives that his mom jokingly assured him he couldn’t have until he was ready to go back to Ann Arbor. You were unabashedly visibly excited to be able to use a knife that could cut without having to use a sawing motion.

Jake had unknowingly chosen to open the present you got for him, which was a leather-bound journal and fountain pen that cost more than you wanted to admit but after you saw it at the store, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. You had felt incredibly cool while purchasing it, so in a way, it was kind of a gift for you too.

The gift you opened was a wool sweater from Josh’s parents and when you lovingly clutched the forest green fabric to your chest, it was a genuine gesture. You reminded them that they didn’t have to get you anything, but thanked them profusely when they informed you that you were being silly.

After the designated presents were opened, warm conversation was had as the Rudolph Christmas movie played quietly in the background. It was one of your holiday favorites though, so you probably paid more attention to it than the rest of the family.

Once 10 pm hit, there was a sharp rise in the frequency of yawns, and shortly after that people started turning in, one by one. Everyone was wished a good night, knowing that when they woke up again, it would be Christmas.

After Jake turned in around 11:30, you and Josh were the last ones standing - or sitting rather.

You were sitting next to each other on the sofa, about a foot apart because despite Jake having been privy to your relationship, it was just good practice when any member of his family was around.

As soon as Jake’s bedroom door was closed, Josh seemed to visibly relax his muscles, though his fingers still fidgeted with his jeans every few moments.

“Are you liking being home?” you asked and then took a sip of wine, already knowing what he was going to say.

He gave you a low, pained-sounding hum through a grimacing smile. “We should have just told my family what the nature of our relationship was - I don’t think I can handle not touching you much longer.”

“M’kay, couple things to address here,” you started through an amused smirk. “You were able to handle not touching me for months - I think you can handle literally one and a half more days. And two-”

He cut you off with a finger against your lips. “Yeah, but had I known you wanted me to, it would have made a lot of difference.”

You pressed a kiss to the digit before he quickly pulled it away with an accusatory squint in his eye.

“And secondly,” you tried again pointedly. “What would you have told them? ‘Hey guys, I have very very fuzzy boundaries with my roommate and that often results in us sleeping together, both literally and as a euphemism’?”

He shot you a teasing smirk. “Cute. You’re very cute,” he said sarcastically.

After a very long, comfortable silence, you spoke again, voice low and hushed. “So, can I scoot closer to you now?”

He looked over at you from out of the corner of his eye, still holding that smirk. “Please do.”

You shuffled until your thigh was touching his.

Of course, you had missed it right away, but you hadn’t really realized how much you’d missed being physically close to him until you caught the now-familiar scent of his cologne.

Another comfortable silence fell upon the room, quiet enough that all you could hear was the quiet crackling of the logs in the stone fireplace.

“Can I kiss you too?” you asked, looking over at him through the sheer curtain of your hair.

He looked like he was truly mulling it over as his eyes flicked down the hall to his siblings’ rooms, and then across the living room and up the set of stairs to his parents’ room. After a second, he let out a huff and said, “Fuck it.”

He reached over and tugged on your various limbs until you were sitting in his lap, face to face.

It had been so forbidden to you up until then, that when he leaned in and caught your lips, you let out a groan under your breath.

“I missed you,” he breathed, almost directly against your mouth. “I love knowing you in any aspect, but I’ve been burning for this.”

It made the heat rise to your cheeks, as well as your lap - but you couldn’t let him know he’d turned you on so easily, so you replied breathily with, “That’s an awfully fancy way of telling me you’re horny, babe.”

He was biting back a laugh for a split second before, grabbing your hips a little tighter to gain back what dominance you had borrowed from him with your teasing.

You pressed your luck. “Really, very eloquent.”

A look of contemplation flashed over his features as he was obviously deciding what to do next. He lifted you with little effort and then pressed you firmly backward until your shoulders hit the seat of the couch. Then he crawled over you and stared down into your eyes triumphantly.

“Aren’t you worried about someone coming out here?” you challenged through a grin.

He leaned in until he could drag his teeth across your cheekbone, making your skin prickle. “I don’t care anymore,” he replied, and then - in a show of brutal honesty - pressed his crotch against your hip and ground down just enough to show you how hard he was.

Your breath caught in your throat, and involuntarily, you bucked up against him.

You kissed him so forcefully that it was almost more like just mashing your mouths together for a long moment. His hand slipped down between your bodies until his fingers brushed over your navel, the ticklish feeling making the muscles jump under the touch. It was the anticipation of his next move that fucked you up the most.

He was dragging his fingers lower, just about to dip under the band of your pajama pants when he seemed to have a moment of clarity and pulled his hand away altogether. You frowned at him, pushing your hips up to meet his hand instead, to which he responded by placing his palm on your stomach and pressing you back down with a laugh.

“Let’s go to my room,” he suggested.

“No, wait.” You gave him the softest eyes you could. “It’s so romantic out here right now - the lights on the tree, the fire, the soft couch. Would you just kiss me here for a bit?”

The look on his face could only be described as enamored. He stared at your face for a few long seconds before you finally asked if he was alright.

“I’m lucky to have you.”

He said it under his breath, so sincerely and honestly, that you weren’t sure how to respond until you could catch up with your thoughts. You cupped his jaw in your right palm, raking your fingers through his hair and he careened your touch in a way that had you feeling like a melting scoop of ice cream.

“You know, I sometimes think about how poorly the whole ‘moving across the country to a place you’ve never been for school’ thing could have gone. There were so many variables that had to click into place, and somehow I still ended up living with a person that,” You paused to brush your thumb against his cheekbone, hoping to portray your meaning through your touch. “Might be a literal angel.”

He raked his front teeth over his bottom lip subconsciously as he consumed the compliment. You could see his brain chewing it over as he snickered a laugh.

“Though, I think angels are supposed to deliver good tidings and not black eyes,” you teased.

You couldn’t name the look he adopted then, but it seemed somewhere between solemn and proud reminiscence. The frown forming on your features was not lost on him, and you quickly spoke before he could change the subject.

“What’s wrong?”

He hummed and met your eyes. “I never wanted you to find out about that,” he said like an admission.

“What do you mean?”

“There were a lot of things I did to get your attention, but that was completely reactionary. I’ve never been a violent person - well, to anyone but my siblings anyway-”

You huffed a laugh at him but nodded for him to continue.

“You were right,” He met your eyes with an intense sincerity. “I am a lover. Not a fighter.”

“I know,” you whispered as you brushed a stray curl from his forehead. “But you must have known I would find out, right?”

“I wasn’t thinking about that at the time, but yeah - in retrospect - of course, you’d find out. But I did it. I sought him out and it just-” He bit his lip for a second to take a pause. “I saw him and all I could think about was you crying on my shoulder that night.”

You didn’t say anything. You just let him gather his thoughts as the crackling of the fire served as a placeholder in his silence.

“He’s lucky he only got a black eye because I wanted to kill him for touching you.”

It was clear after a moment that he was waiting for you to respond, possibly even hoping for validation at such a vulnerable moment.

“If I’m being honest, Josh, I still can’t believe you could do that - I can’t even imagine you yelling at someone in a way that was anywhere near serious.”

He stared at you for a few long beats, and you watched the reflection of the Christmas lights twinkle like stars speckled over the dark canvas of his eyes.

“Yeah, well,” he started, just above a whisper. His brows were tipped into a look of contemplation - the spacing of his words making you think that he wasn’t sure how to proceed. “You do crazy things to protect the people you love.”

It wasn’t voluntary in any way when your breathing stopped, it just happened - like your lungs were locked up for a few long seconds as you waited for one of you to say something.

“You’re my best friend,” he said like a confession, looking more serious than you’d ever seen him. “And I love you.”

Undeniably, your face was peachy pink - you could feel it tingling warm. You weren’t sure what to do with your hands, but you knew you wanted to touch him. His skin tightened around his jaw when you ghosted your fingers over it.

“You love me?”

He nodded at you, a small but confident motion. “You fill a lot of different positions in my life. I’m not in love with you yet - I don’t think - but I want your permission to be.”

Without wasting another second, you caught his lips in an earnest kiss, your chest feeling like it might implode. It only lasted for a moment before he was pulling you back up until you were sitting in his lap.

“Was that romantic enough for you?” he asked, trying to shade his voice with humor but it came out sounding breathless instead.

“I literally can’t imagine anything more romantic,” you agreed with a weak laugh and then teased, “Unless you proposed. You’re not going to propose, are you?”

He adopted a disbelieving smirk. “Do you want me to? I’m sure I can fashion a ring out of something. Maybe there’s a cock ring joke in there somewhere-”

You rolled your eyes playfully and cut him off with, “Please shut up and take me to bed. Right now, okay?”

He ushered you off of him with a breathy laugh before gently nudging you in the general direction of his room. “Hurry along then.”

The two of you padded quietly down the hall, shutting the door without making a peep.

The only light in his room was what you could see of the Christmas lights that framed the front door, casting a white-gold glow over the setting.

When he laid you out over the bed, it was significantly gentler than you were expecting as was the kiss he placed - first on your cheek and then your jaw and down your neck to your throat.

His hands slipped under your pajama top, tugging lighting at the buttons on it from the inside and letting his fingers make the skin across your navel tighten. Instinctively, your fingers tangled into his hair, keeping him close enough that the pointed tip of his nose was resting on your sternum. The warm humidity of his breath hitting your skin was both calming and exciting at the same time in a way you couldn’t describe if you tried. His fingers worked to undo your top with relative ease, sliding it off of your chest after.

You eyed the way his bicep flexed as he held all of his weight on it, and wrapped your fingers around it to give it a squeeze. He reacted by dragging his teeth across your breast with just enough sting to make your hips lift off the bed. The way he sucked one of your nipples into his mouth and rolled it around with his tongue made you squirm, fingers flexing into his tense skin. A tingly, warm feeling set over you as you wrapped your legs around his hips and sat up to shrug your shirt off.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this,” he stated simply as he ran his fingers down your bare chest.

You hummed at him through a smile, pinching his chin in your fingers and tilting his head up until he had to look you in the eyes. He gave you a grin as he bit his bottom lip and then leaned in to press a kiss against your cheek. In your heart, you knew the gesture had you blushing, but it was confirmed for you when he smugly rubbed his thumb across your cheekbone.

The chill in the room made your newly-naked skin prickle as he tossed your pajama pants to the floor, followed quickly by his own. With all of your clothing discarded into a pile, he pulled you up onto your knees, cupped both sides of your jaw with his hands, and tugged your face closer until your noses were touching. You listened to his shaky breathing for a moment before you dug your fingers into his hips, pulling him back over you as you laid out on the bed.

You knew your nails were digging into his skin - probably a little too deeply - as he pushed into you, one of his hands wrapped around your thigh to keep it hitched over his hip. This was confirmed for you when you heard him suck in a breath that sounded more like a hiss, though you got the feeling that he liked the sting of it.

Through the entirety of the time he was fucking you, he barely pulled his body away from you at all, instead opting to just rock himself against you until you were near tears. The biggest challenge was barely making a sound as you reached your peak, your face buried in the humid crook of his neck and shoulder.

You weren’t positive how much time had passed, but as you laid together, post-orgasm, you realized just how exhausted you were.

Neither of you had said a word for quite a while, so it sounded too loud when you spoke into the dark room.

“Are you going back to the living room?” you whispered.

“Nah, fuck it. I’m not going anywhere,” he replied, nuzzling the top of his nose into your hair as you laid, half on his bare chest. Just before you fell asleep you remembered the very first night you slept in his bed, and how much had changed since then - and how much had not really changed at all.

+++

You had meant to set an alarm - really. But you hadn’t gotten around to it the night before, which is why when you came stumbling out of the bedroom with Josh close behind you, you were met with a few pairs of eyes staring at you from the living room. Trying not to look like the most guilty human on earth, you ducked your head and quickly made your retreat to the bathroom. Neither of you said a word as you brushed your teeth together, sneaking playful glances at each other in the mirror.

By the time you had both showered - Josh first and then you second - and changed into your clothes for the day, it was 9:30. You both found the dining room table hosting his entire family and enough breakfast food piled on top of the worn wood to satisfy a small army.

The two spots that they saved for you were next to each other, so you settled in and tried to prepare for the most awkward meal of your life thus far.

“You almost made it to the end,” Jake quipped, apparently happy as hell to deliver the first blow.

You watched Josh’s eyes flick up at him, delivering him a chilly look.

“Okay, it wasn’t really a secret before, but it’s definitely not anymore,” Jake finished, rolling his eyes as the bowl of scrambled eggs was passed to him.

Josh poured himself a glass of orange juice and then gestured for your glass too. “If I were in the living room last night, Santa wouldn’t have come. Really, you have me to thank for the gifts you receive today.” He finished filling your glass and set the carton back down before continuing. “And I’ll take that thank you in the form of you shutting up and minding your own business.”

Jake snorted a laugh as he dished himself out some breakfast. He opened his mouth to tease Josh further, but when he looked up and met your eyes, he let the next remark die on his lips - instead just settling for a smug smirk.

No one mentioned anything else about it, but as the meal went on, you realized that you really had nothing to be ashamed of. You brushed your fingers against Josh’s under the table and then let him lace them together as his sister was telling a story about the best gift she’d ever received. You didn’t share a look with him, but you didn’t have to as his thumb swiped over the top of your hand, over and over.

After breakfast was eaten and presents were opened, Josh found you on your way out of the restroom and motioned for you to follow him to his room.

“I have something for you,” he started as he took your hand and sat you on the bed. You crossed your hands in your lap, settling into your spot with a smile. He closed the door behind him and then lifted the bag he’d packed from home onto the dresser.

He pulled out a little box like a magician would pull a rabbit from his hat, and then held it out for you to take.

“It really isn’t much, because we obviously don’t have a lot of money, but after what you did for Penny- Well. I wanted to do something meaningful too,” he explained sheepishly.

The box was wrapped in mint green foil and marked with your name on a brown paper tag.

You took a lot of care removing the wrapping, and gently opened the top of the box as you held his eyes.

Inside was a 4-inch terra cotta pot, decorated with delicately painted sunflowers on a white background.

“It’s obviously not perfect-” he started, but you didn’t let him finish before you set the pot on his bedspread and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“It’s perfect,” you stated simply.

+++

He slept with you again that night, this time sparing any sneaky behavior - and this time, when the two of you emerged from his room, no one even batted an eye. It took you only a few moments to pack your things up, but over an hour to say all of your goodbyes.

You watched as his mother hugged him again, just like she had when he’d arrived - tightly, like she could barely stand to let him leave. This time, she hugged you too, nearly just as warmly.

Josh helped you get your bags into the trunk of your car, being decidedly less gentle with Jake’s belongings, and the two of you crawled into the front seats as Jake was ribbing his much taller younger brother at the front door.

“Hey, I got you this. I looked it up on my phone and the wiki page said I could just rip it off, so I did,” he explained as he placed a long arm of the Christmas cactus into your lap.

You look at it for a long moment, your chest feeling tight.

He must have mistaken your silence for apprehension, because he continued on, letting a concerned tone shade his words. “It said it wouldn’t hurt the plant and that it would eventually just grow roots. Is that right? So you can have one of your own, you know? Since you liked it so much. You could even use the little pot.”

You let your eyes meet his as you tried to choke back the feeling in your throat that was threatening tears. Embarrassingly, your voice was a little shaky when you stated, “I love you too.”

He looked completely stunned, but he only had a moment to fix his expression before Jake was opening the back door and sliding effortlessly in.

“You guys good to go?” Jake asked as he leaned forward and snatched the aux cable from where it was rested on the center console.

You gave Josh an expectant smile, but when it was clear that he wasn’t going to respond, you leaned over and pressed a kiss against his lips, prompting him to say through a beaming grin, “Let’s go home.”

#brightest blue fic #Brightest Blue #josh fic #josh kiszka #josh x reader #josh kiszka smut #josh kiszka fic

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sissyjamieray · 4 years ago

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My journey into feminization how did it begin? It is difficult to pin point a specific age, but I would guess I was about 11 years old. Yes, confused by sexual urges and excitement when looking at pictures of pretty girls in magazine ads wearing only panties and bras. Mmm, then 'borrowing' intimate female garments and wearing them. Feelng the overwhelming rush of pleasure and my first orgasm while wearing female clothing. Through the years I've tried to suppress this urges to dress as a woman. Being married was so frustrating as my wife left her intimate garments all over the house. It was like being in a candy store: bras, panties, lingerie all within reach. Unable to resist I would carefully try on bra or nightie when she was out shopping. At one point she mentioned something about one nightie being worn out in the "wrong" places. But she never questioned me. After all why would her man be turned on by wearing panties? Looking back she was very smart, she knew better than to confront me head on, lol. She knew I would not admit it or make up some bullshit story. She was very subtle, one night after making love she asked me if I had any sexual fantasies, my response was no love, none that I can think of. Another time she make the following comment, " I wish I had something to poke you with". Wow, she was so close. I was a bit stunted, didn't have a good response, lol. Several months later during our forplay love making she starts licking my nipples, omg, wtf!! Do you like it she says, with her hand on my growing manhood there was no escape, no denial. You like it don't you? I said yes, grasping for air and moaning as she began to rub the tip of my cock with her finger while continuing to lick and suck on my nipples. Then she slid her hand below my balls and started stroking and messaging the area just above my ass hole. After five minutes or this action she get up, pulls off her soaked panties then leans towards me with panties in hand and whispers in my ear, ' guess what I found in your bag Jim?' I found at least 10 pairs of my panties Jim, wtf all stained with your cum! "So you like to jerk off and cum in my panties, really?" What could I say but yes. I tried to explain why but she was upset? She then took her wet panties wrapped them around my almost limp manhood and said show me how you like you jerk off im my panties! I was so embarrassed, but I was wrong to have taken her things, this was my punishment, Yes? I reached down and started stroking my cock but it was very limp by now, I could not get hard. She saw my problem and whispers in my ear, "what's the problem, sissy panty boy, can't jerk off in front of your hot sexy wife? never touch my things again!, if you do, you will never fuck or cum inside me again. Do you understand me? Yes, hon I understand, good. Now where are my panties, Uh where you put them dear, yes they are yours now. Uh, keep them clean and if you wear these out (giggle) we will go out together and buy you more. Yes, I'll let the pretty sales lady know my size and yours (giggle). One more thing, when we make love, make sure you are wearing a clean pair of lacy pink panties. You are my panty boy husband now (giggle). I guess you better learn to get excited and hard while wearing female panties or you will never fuck me again (giggle): panty boy. Next day I after work I set out the task of hand washing 'my' panties in hope of getting lucky later that evening. Ok, hot water and some laundry soap and a 15 minutes soak, rinse and then toss into the dryer should to the trick right? Right before we went to bed I quickly grabbed my panties and climbed into bed. My wife had been observing my laundry duties activities that evening and I assumed we were cool. My hopes of an evening of

having sex where dashed when she turned the lights on stating: it's panty check time, stand up and let examine your feeble attempts to clean these! Ok, I can still see your nasty stains, what temperature did you wash these in? Hot I relied, she laughed, you idiot you should have used cold, as now you've 'set' the stain and ruined a pretty pair of panties. Oh well I guess we will have to go panty shopping tomorrow. Maybe Victoria's Secret? I understand Nancy, your friend Mike's wife just started working there (giggle), maybe she can let us use her discount? She then put her hand on my softening member and said, 'well give it some thought, panty boy, good night. WTF, now she is straight up trying to sexually blackmail me and expose me really? I got out of bed headed for the bathroom sobbing, how could my sweet wife be so cruel. Fifteen minutes or so she knocks on the door, " Jimmy are you ok"? No I'm, how could I be ok when you want to humiliate me and expose my fetish to my friends? Oh you admit it now that you are little perverted panty stealing panty boy? Her words cut me through me like a knife, but she was right. Stand Jim, look at yourself in the mirror wearing my soiled panties, tell me baby who and what did I fall in love with? Then she placed her had on my limp cock and said, I love you but tell me about all your fetishes now or we are done: confess! I'm not going to play a guessing game with you understand! Sobbing, I began to spill my guys about how was molested by an older boy at 11, my Aunt confessed to dressing me as a girl when I was very young,

dressing my mothers lingerie. Yes, I've have fantasies about being fucked my a man while being dressed as a woman. With years in my eyes I looked at my wife, what she was crying too? Why are you crying I asked? I'm so sorry that so many people have hurt you babe and that you are so fucked up now. Maybe we can both get into therapy, you know get some professional help? But for this moment, let's promise to be more open and honest with our sexual feelings and desires ok? Babe I'm sorry I got do angry with you but you did sneak my panties? I had no idea that my panties turned you on so much to the point that you would willing wear them? She started rubbing my pantied cock as she spoke, you know Jim, have a little fantasy of my own. What she whispered in my ear next blew me away. Jim, sometimes I think about being with a woman, coddling and fondling each others breasts? Jim, I, I think I might be Bi? I sorry I've never shared this with you but you understand right ? At that moment, my cock began to swell, she got her answer. Now pulling my panties down she began licking the very backside tip of my cock, you know Jim, maybe I will be willing to support you, like helping you dress like a lady, apply make up and maybe if you wish be with a man as a woman. With these words I erupted a stream of thick sperm all over her beautiful face. Wow, that was fast hon, you agree with my suggestions? Awesome, now for your first lesson Jamie, lick up all the cum you sprayed over my face. Yes, play the part bitch you need to learn to love the taste of your cum. Yes, your female name is Jamie now, do you like it? That's right clean me up, good gurl. Now it's my turn to be pleasured, now be a good lesbian bitch and eat my sweet pussy, XOXO.

Chapter 2 The List

The next morning Carol, my wife was up early and out of the house without waking me. No breakfast or coffee, man that woman be slipp'in, I thought. Well, what looks good in the frig? Oh man, lookie here, a heart shaped note from wifey. [Hi Jim I went shopping with Margie this morning, not sure when I'll be back but, please pickup the following items at the corner drug store:

tampons, pantyhose, nail polish (pink), eye shadow base & palate, concealer, face primer, eyeliner (water proof), mascara, blush, bronzer, highlighter, lip gloss, cosmetic brush set, foundation, setting spray and pamprin. Jim, if you need help just ask the salesgirl in

cosmetics, you know the one you always flirt with, you know Desiree, giggle. Oh and make sure you are wearing the pink lace panties that I let in your drawer. They are yours now, Jamie. Love Carol XOXO, P.S., I've invited some friends over for dinner so please be home by 4 pm.] Groan, I HATE shopping, especially for girl stuff! Ok, so off to drug store I went, stright to the cosmetics counter, list in hand. There she was, Desiree behind the counter, may I help you, she asked? Desiree was the gorgeous offspring of Spanish and Irish parents, about 5' 9" light green eyes and light brown to blonde hair. Her makeup was always impeccable, skirts and blouse always tight and ample cleavage on display. Carol was right that I did flirt with Desiree in the past, but Carol was always with me. It was different now, I was alone and what she possibly thinking? I mean, Carol had always shopped for her own cosmetics and fem items? Looking into her eyes my mind went blank, dry mouth, etc. I handed her the list and mumbled, my wife needs this stuff and I have no idea. Sure, no problem, I can get these for. Carol is your wife right? Yeah, she was in earlier, something about a need for a change and wanted you and I to help her with a make-over surprise. I can help you with every thing on the list except the tampons, their in aisle 12. Oh, and I'll need your help with selecting the foundation shade to ensure a good color match. Ok, what ever I said, I'll be back with the wifey's tampons in a couple minutes. As I walked away, Desiree's last words, "color matching" stuck in my head... Carol's skin tone was much lighter than mine? Mmm, aisle 12, ok here we go, no idea really what to buy my wife, so many confusing choices. I must have been searching for the correct tampons for at least 15 minutes when Desiree found me. Hi, need some help? Absolutely? I have no idea what she needs. Laughing at my ignorance of feminine hygiene products, explained that Carol would at minimum need pads and most likely will need a tampon for her 'heavy' period flows. My suggestion is get her both. Is so sweet and thoughtful of you to do pick these up for you wife, I'm sure she appreciates it. Now let's go go back to the cosmetic department and I ring up your items? Sounds like a plan, I said. Ok, let's try this new foundation shade shall we? Desiree reached for my hand, this was a new level: physical contact. I could feel my heart beating faster, well if well if you have to I said? Desiree, her hand still gently touchind my hand, looked me in the eyes and said, Jim, it is necessary to be sure we get an accurate match and you do want to please your Wife don't you? Yes, of course I want to make Carol happy. Well good, smiling as she applied the foundation to my hand Desiree said, you know Jim, it's not like anyone's going to make assumptions about your sexuality. I mean, why would a handsome stud like you want to wear make up? Ok, of course your are right, I told her. Oh, awesome Jim, this color is perfect. Carol will love it.

Great what is the final damage for all this, I asked? Sure, your total comes to $75.65. Ok, wow this stuff sure adds up fast! Ok here's $76, as Desiree handed back my change she dropped a dime. Oh, so sorry, no problem I said bending over to retrieve .10 cents and at that moment exposing my pink lace thong panties in full view of Desiree. So humiliating, I was speechless. Desiree with a big smile handed me my merchandise but me close and whispered, I love a man who likes to embrace his feminine side, Carol is so lucky.

Chapter 3 - No Refunds, No Returns

So I returned home with all the cosmetics Carol had on your list. She met me as I entered our apartment with big hug, then said that she had to leave again. No big deal, but asked me to read a letter she had written to me. Ok, problem, writing letters was something we did when we first started dating. Jim, l'll be back in about 2 hours, so please read my little ' love' note before I return. One more hug as she felt up my ass for the outline of the thong panties, still wearing them I see? Good, I so happy you did, it says you respect my wishes. I am going to make you so happy you did. Then she kissed me deeply and left without saying where she was going? Oh well, now where is this letter? I found Carol's letter on my pillow, she started, my Dearest husband, tonight I will make your fantasy of being a woman a reality. Don't deny it Jim. I found your hidden stash of female undergarments, shemale porn, etc. Really, why did you NOT trust me enough with your kinky desires? No matter, I know now and I still you move than you realize. Tonight I will give your fantasy, but know this our relationship will change. The changes will be (giggle) sort of a role reversal? To start: take a nice hot bubble bath, yes use mine girly stuff XOXO. Next, use my sugar rub all over your body to exfoliate your skin and then shave all your body hair, yes lov, your arms, legs, chest, balls and ass. Next raise in with cold water

and gently dry ourself. Next, hydrate your skin with some lotion be liberal with it. Now Jim, you don't have much time left so get started. Oh, once your done with this bathing routine, look in your drawer and closet. Yes I picked out some cute girly things for you to wear love XOXO. Make sure you are wearing each item when I return? If NOT, trust me You will sorely regret it!! But I know you will be a Good girl for your wife, your Mistress now won't you? And don't act like you don't know how to put on a bra, panty hose, corset, or breast forms. Please Sissy, remember I know what you've doing when your alone and I'm at work. You see I also found your pictures lol. Well, no more secrets BITCH! I demand you to be ready for me to apply your make up and wig when I return. No excuses! Yes dear, I will be fully shaved and dressed when return. Ok, good, I will be at 7 pm sharp! Out of fear and excitement I started drawing my bubble bath. While the tub was filling I looked into the closet and drawer to see what my wife had purchased. My sweet wife had filled my drawer will so many pretty panties and bras all different styles and colours. These were all mine, really? Wow, what was in my closet? Just a quick peek, so many cute skirts, dresses and tops, all mine? Ok, time was slipping away and the tub was nearly full now. As instructed, I soaked in the fraguent bubble bath for a half hour so relaxing then scrubbed every inch of my body possible with a sugar exfoliate scrub. I then covered my body with a girly shaved cream and shaved my legs, arms, chest, groin, balls and ass. I then showed in cold water to rinse off the remaining shave cream. As I dried my body off the scent purfume and softness of my now hairless body caused me to feel so girly/ feminine, excited and horny. I resisted my base urges to pleasure myself and pushed on to getting dressed as it was almost time for my wife to return. So many panties so many choices, will of I selected a cute pink lace thong panties with matching bra and garter belt. Slipping the panties on another temptation to pleasure myself. Not enough time, 6:30 pm, still had to put on the breast plate and corset. I secured the 38 D breasts to my chest using the medical grade adhesive. Looking the mirror was a bit of a let down, so much work and I still looked like a man, a man with big breasts and small waist. I was nearly in tears when I heard the front door open, Carol would be coming in bedroom any moment and I was pretty much half naked. I quickly grabbed a blouse, skirt and heels got them on and posing on the bed, just as door opened. Knock, knock... omg Jim, Carol told me to just let myself in, that my make over project would be sitting on the bed. It was Desire, Carol WTF!! I was humiliated once again, I began sobbing uncontrollably, why Carol, why? Desiree gave me several tissues to dry tears. I don't understand, why would do this? She came closer and hugged me. I never been this close to Desiree or so absolutely vulnerable before. She knew just like Carol that I was to be a sissy no denial. Jim, she said, Carol is giving you a gift, this is what you want really. Carol loves you didn't understand or how to help you experience being a girl. I can sweet heart. Yes, Carol may have, did violate your privacy by sharing your sissy feelings with me but I agreed to help you both. She then kissed me on the lips and said go wash away those trears hon and let's transform you into a beautiful woman. Before she applied my make up she asked me to remove my skirt and blouse, something about not getting any make on my clothes, ok made sence? Desiree was wonderful explaining the fairly complicated process of applying the various types make up, contouring, eye shadow, liner, etc. I almost forgot that I was half naked inches away from a gorgeous woman. The scent of her purfume and beautiful cleavage got the best of my unrestrained manhood. Desiree noticed my problem and said, I see you are getting turned on baby? You like it that I'm feminizing don't sweety? Oh of course you do

#feminized husband #xdress #embrace your femininity

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