#truth-bee-told-im-lying

[gureishi]

Wow...the prompts? They're all good. Can you write something angst for Jumin and a female MC, with number 11? I don't mind NSFW. Congrats on 100. You deserve them all and more! 💜😌

TruUUEE. You are too good to me as always. Thank you for saying so ♡

And thank you for this wonderful prompt, and giving me an excuse to write about vulnerable Jumin—my favorite Jumin!

This “ficlet” sprawled into an absolute monstrosity because I got carried away with tearful Jumin and then it got sexy and...oh dear.

eleven: i could only be myself with you around

JuminXReader, E (oral sex, fingering), words: 3887

Warning: NSFW (eventually, I swear)~ Don’t proceed if you don’t wanna read smut <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

When he comes home, his eyes are dark.

You look up from your book; you’re incredibly comfortable on the couch, a blanket tucked around your legs, a cup of tea beside you. There’s a fire in the fireplace and the room is finally just the temperature you like it. You were feeling sleepy.

You’re not feeling so sleepy anymore.

He shuts the door, too hard, and his posture is stiff as crosses the living room with a few purposeful strides. 

“Hi, honey,” you say, and your voice comes out reedy and thin, because you know something is wrong.

He looms over you, and you don’t feel scared—never scared, not of him—but you can’t help but look down, fidgeting with the fringe on the blanket. He kisses your forehead and it feels cursory; you feel a little pang of annoyance. He still hasn’t said anything to you.

Briefly, his hand lingers on the top of your head, and momentarily, you’re comforted—this is a habit. But then he moves away, walking with that same fast, stilted pace. He’s still wearing his shoes.

“Jumin,” you say to his back. He hesitates, and you suppose you’ve taken him by surprise—he’s honey or darling more than he’s Jumin, and you know your voice sounds strange. But he is strange tonight; you’ve waited up for him, and on an ordinary day his eyes would light up, his face splitting into the warm, soft smile he reserves just for you. You feel its absence like a tug behind your ribcage.

“I need a moment,” he says at last, and his voice is oddly high-pitched, like he hasn’t caught his breath.

You kick the blanket off your knees, upsetting your book as you stand.

“What’s…”

He disappears into the bedroom, shuts the door.

“…wrong,” you finish, lamely.

What?

Suddenly, the room doesn’t feel so cozy; the off-white (“winter wood,” Jumin says it’s called) walls feel bare and too far apart and the ceiling feels too high and the perfectly-arranged furniture seems cold and uninviting. You trace his footsteps, silent in your stockinged feet.

You’ve only lived in this new house together a few months, and the excitement hasn’t quite worn off. Most days when you’re home before he is, he arrives in a hurry and sweeps you into his arms, dipping you low and kissing you earnestly. There have been days he’s come home tired, of course, or worried—and on those days, you’ve put on a record and shared a bottle of wine, hands intertwined under one of your many soft white throw blankets.

Today, he looks like he’s seen a ghost.

“Honey…?” You linger at the door, press your ear against it. Nothing. “You’re worrying me,” you say. You hear shuffling, the familiar sound of him removing his jacket, laying it on the pile for the dry cleaner. “I’m coming in,” you tell him, louder—because it is your bedroom, too, and your heart is in your throat. 

Silence. You push open the door.

He hasn’t turned on any lights, and it takes a moment for your eyes to adjust. Your husband is sitting on the edge of the bed, his jacket off, his head bent, his face in his hands. He’s still wearing his stupid shoes.

You want to bend over him and kiss the very top of his head, tickle his sensitive sides till he smiles. But everything about him says stay away: the angle of his head and the rigidness of his shoulders. The way his sleeves are still buttoned as if he isn’t in his own home.

You take a hesitant step toward him and at least he doesn’t stop you.

“Darling, will you please talk to me?” you say. He looks so small to you then: vulnerable and afraid.

For a moment, he’s quiet, and you think that he may continue to ignore you. Then you notice that his broad, muscular shoulders are shaking. It’s barely perceptible, but you see it.

“I cannot be with you right now,” he says at last, his voice muffled by his hands. “If I am with you I will cry.”

That does it. Throwing caution to the wind, you leap onto the bed, jarring him a little. He peers up at you out of the corner of his eye and you’re shocked to see that it is, in fact, slightly red-rimmed.

“Then you should cry,” you say. “It’s what I’m here for.”

He hesitates, and you watch him do battle with himself for a moment, torn between instinct and impulse, old habits and new routines. You wait, letting him decide.

At last, the side of him that has been gradually unfurling since the day you met him wins. He raises his head from his hands and reaches for you, holding his arms out like the lonely child you know he once was.

And you are relived, because this is the man you married.

With perhaps slightly too much enthusiasm, you crawl into his lap, draping your legs to one side and wrapping your arms around his neck. It’s taken time for him to adjust to this kind of full-body contact—it’s as alien to him as it natural to you. Still, he rests his head against the crook of your neck.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and his lips brush your skin, making you squirm. “I would never want to make you worry.”

You play with the back of his collar with your fingertips. “Sometimes I will worry, because I love you,” you say. “Just please don’t hide from me.”

He tilts his head so he can—finally—look at you properly. His steely gray eyes are glazed over and you know this look, though you haven’t seen it in a long time.

“Tell me what you’ve been holding back all day,” you say, as he reaches up with a long finger to brush the hair off your forehead—another familiar gesture, which soothes you.

He adjusts a little so he’s cradling you, one arm over your shoulders, the other under your legs. He leans his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. He’s stalling for time, but you don’t mind—his chest is warm and solid through his perfectly-pressed shirt and you take the opportunity to bathe yourself in his warm woody scent. He’s working so much lately, more than usual, and sometimes when you’re home alone in the evening you spritz his cologne in the air so you feel less lonely. You don’t tell him this.

“May I ask you a question, my love?” he says. He still has that closed-off look in his eyes but he sounds more like himself, deep and warm and wonderful.

“Of course.”

“When you met me, was I…” He clears his throat, awkwardly fiddles with his cufflinks. You gently separate his hands, remove the cufflinks. Unbutton the sleeves. “Was I…not a good person?”

You drop the cufflink. It falls to the floor with a jarring clink. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but that wasn’t it. You bend over, reaching for the little piece of metal; he stops you with a firm hand on your shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “Please tell me what you think.”

No, you almost respond automatically. No, I thought you were wonderful. But the look in his eyes begs a more thoughtful answer than that. With practiced fingers, you roll up one of his shirt sleeves. You run one finger up his forearm, from his wrist to his elbow, tracing the tense muscles there.

“When I met you, I thought you were frighteningly smart and stunningly beautiful,” you say. You roll up his other sleeve, carefully folding the silky smooth fabric. “I’d never met anyone like you before. I was impressed by you, and I also thought you looked like you needed a gentle slap on the face and then a really good, tight hug. Does that…make sense?”

You tug his perfectly-tucked shirt out of his pants. You can’t stand him looking too put-together at home. He can do that everywhere else; home is for comfort.

“It…does,” he says slowly. “But I think perhaps you were the only one with that opinion of me.”

You look into his face and are startled to see tears at the corners of his eyes. You’re not sure you’ve seen him cry since your wedding day.

“Will you tell me what happened today?” you ask, wiping away the tears with your fingertips. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath—he is breathing in your scent just as you did his, you think.

“In truth, it was nothing of note.” He goes for his sleeves again, realizes you’ve rolled them up. Instead, he settles his hands at your waist, threading his fingers through your belt loops. “I had lunch with a…former colleague. He is the president of a Chinese company, and I haven’t spoken to him in several years.”

Ah. “And you felt like the version of you he was expecting to see and the person you are now aren’t the same?”

Jumin actually laughs at that, his eyes growing wide. There’s a little of his usual ardor behind them now.

“You, my dear, know me far better than I know myself.”

“I know I do.”

You kiss his eyebrow and he covers both your hips with his big hands. You trail kisses down the side of his face, kiss away the last of the tears that have formed at the inner corners of his eyes.

“I felt as though he was speaking to a man who no longer exists,” Jumin says, closing his eyes; you kiss his eyelashes. “I felt the urge to tell him so. I felt angry. And then I felt…” He trails off.

“Grief?” you offer. You continue your trajectory, feathering kisses down the bridge of his nose. You kiss his cupid’s bow and he groans, low in his throat, barely audible.

“How strange,” he says. “Why should I feel grief for myself?”

“It’s normal to grieve the ways in which parts of you disappear over time,” you say. You lift a hand to his neck, undo his tie. It slips easily through your fingers; you’ve done this so many times before.

He exhales heavily, and it’s sad and relieved and needy all at once.

“And then I felt afraid,” he says. “Because I knew I would come home to you and feel the things I had been trying not to feel all day. Because that, my darling, is what you do to me.”

“Sounds like your feelings scared us both a little bit today,” you say. His tie is off; you toss it aside. It joins the stray cufflink on the floor.

“Feelings can be very frightening,” he says. He’s been still this whole time; suddenly, he springs to action as if he’s been waiting for his moment to pounce. His hands skim over your sides, grasp your shoulders, turning you firmly so you’re twisted in his lap—nose-to-nose with him.

“I would like to take a warm shower,” he says. His gaze is unwavering and you melt a little. “I would like you to join me,” he adds.

He doesn’t phrase it like a question, but you know it is. It always is, with him—his eyes ask for your acquiesce and his hands on your shoulders are tentative, waiting for your answer.

“Take me there,” you say. He lifts you easily, carries you in his arms as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. His knitted eyebrows say otherwise—he’s holding himself back, his hand clenching at your shirt as if it’s taking all his patience not to tear it off.

He sets you down gently on your feet on the cool, clear tiles of the master bathroom. He’s gone in an instant: dimming the light, turning on the shower. It’s such a huge shower—you were shocked the first time you saw the designs. It has three faucets and a marble bench for sitting, or shaving your legs, or…other activities.

“Do you want to undress me or do you want to watch?” you ask him, playfully striking a pose—knowing he loves the choice, loves to feel he has you in the palm of his hand.

He looks you up and down, pupils huge, hair delightfully disheveled—for Jumin, anyway—one stray lock hanging over his eyes.

“I want to watch,” he says, and there’s none of the coldness in his voice now, only chocolatey depth and unbidden desire.

So you undress for him, to the rainforest rushing sound of the shower’s many faucets, turning as you lift your shirt over your head, wriggling out of your pants slowly, revealing just a strip of skin at a time. You give him a cheeky glance of the lacy strap of your underwear, of your hips, of your ass, which (you know because you check in the massive mirror hanging over the door) is framed adorably by your gauzy thong.

“I am running out of patience,” he says—growls—and you feel a hot, wonderful flush creeping up the back of your neck.

“Then come get me,” you say.

So he does, crossing the large bathroom and unhooking your bra in one smooth motion. He tears it from you and throws it to the ground. He spins you to face him and his dark eyes are simmering, his grip on your shoulders tight—but still restrained, not painful. Never painful.

“Do you want to know what image I couldn’t get out of my mind on the drive to work this morning?” he whispers, and you shiver.

“I do.”

He slides your thong down your legs, planting searing kisses over your hips, your thighs, your calves, your ankles. He’s kneeling at your feet now and the sight of him there, his beautiful head bent, almost drives you mad.

“I’ll show you,” he says. Then he’s on his feet again and he’s unbuttoning his shirt—with much more patience than he claims to have—slowly, scrupulously, as if to torture you both.

“Now I’m impatient,” you say, and you go for his belt. He laughs as you struggle to unhook it and the laugh turns to a low moan as your hands graze his erection, straining against his fitted vicuña pants. You deal with the buckle and make quick work of the pants, draping them over the sink—you don’t care what Jumin says, these pants are much too expensive to throw in a heap on the bathroom floor.

Now you’re the one kneeling before him, and he does a double-take as he sees the position you’re in. Even now, after all this time, after getting married, after moving into your custom-built home, he blushes. It’s this—his unexpected innocence, his charming traditionalism—that never fails to bewitch you.

“I will if you want me to,” you say, slipping his Swiss cotton underwear over his hipbones with adoring hands. He stands absolutely still, but you feel his hips trembling.

“I want you to,” he whispers. So you take him in your mouth—just the tip at first, moving your tongue in a circle, running a hand down his length. He moans again, low, breathy. You feel his muscles stretch as he reaches up, grabs onto the top of the glass shower door.

You slide his cock further into your mouth, one hand still at the base, and he mutters something you don’t understand. You breathe in and out slowly, creating suction as you pull away and then take him deeper. It stirs something in you—the cold tiles on your bare knees, the power you feel in having him at your mercy. He exhales, low and slow, and you feel stimulated and little and somehow totally in control.

With one hand, you cup his balls, gently massaging. Your eyelids flutter shut and you feel your hips and pelvis moving along with your lips as you slide him in and out—your own body already feeling hot and tingly, craving friction.

He mutters again and you can’t quite hear him. You run your tongue along his length, and his body shudders. He tries again. “I-if you continue like this, I won’t be able to…”

You let him slip from your lips.

“Do you want to come right now?” you ask and he groans.

“Yes, but I—” You slide your tongue all the way around his tip and he stumbles over his words. “Of course, but you…I want—”

You take him all the way into your mouth again and he stops speaking, letting out a low growl, tensing as he grips the door. He’s close, and you want to make him come, want to do it like this, him a twitching, shaking mess looming above you—you at his feet with the power to break him.

You round your lips, suction harder, pull him deeper, and his hips give a telltale jerk. Ah-ha. Your own body feels floaty and loose—you can barely feel the floor under your knees now. He tries to warn you in a throaty voice and you ignore him, raking your fingernails over his ass. He comes, rocking into your mouth, and you open your eyes to take him in—he looks ravished, all restraint dissolved, all presence of patience demolished as he shuts his eyes and unabashedly shakes against you. You swallow everything, so hopelessly turned on by his unbridled pleasure.

He pulls himself out of your mouth with a groan and reaches for you, tousling your hair with a shaky hand.

“You look so beautiful right now,” you tell him, and he does—perfect hair unkempt, muscular shoulders glimmering with sweat.

“I still haven’t shown you my fantasy,” he pants, and then his arm is around your waist and he’s scooped you up again. You squeal as he slings you over his shoulder, and you feel warm water hit your back as he lifts you into the shower. He sets you down tenderly on the marble bench, and it’s slick and just the perfect temperature, already warmed by the water and steam.

“Open your legs,” he murmurs, and you do, feeling a clenching inside, your swollen clit demanding attention.

Jumin turns away from you and you whine in dissatisfaction. He laughs, low and wonderful; the water runs in rivulets over his toned back. He’s back in an instant, the detachable shower head in his hand, and you cannot help the little whimper that tears from your throat.

“I wonder what will happen if I use this to stimulate you…” he says, his deep voice trailing off seductively. Your thighs twitch in anticipation.

“I–I would also—” He runs a finger over your already-sensitive clit and you hiss. “—l-like to know that,” you manage to choke out.

He twists the knob on the shower head so the water flows gently, tapering toward the middle. He runs it over you from a distance and it’s warm and lovely; he moves it closer and closer until you yelp, feeling the water pressure at your core. It shakes you.

“Good?” he murmurs and you nod, shutting your eyes against the glaze of heat you feel building from within. “More?” You nod again and the water changes; it’s more tapered, stronger. You squirm, your hands scrabbling for purchase on the smooth bench beneath you. He sees what you need and suddenly his warm, slick fingers meet yours, entwining with them. He moves the faucet in a dainty circle and you feel like your eyes are going to roll back in your head. “More?”

You gasp a “yes” and the pressure ramps up again and you writhe, feeling like you will explode. You feel another, new sensation and your eyes shoot open—it’s his finger, slipping over your clit and then inside you. You cry out.

“Too much?”

“N-no, I…no…please…” You’re babbling, but he knows what to do. He moves the faucet closer, the pressure on your clit intensifying and the heat you feel nearly blinding you. Then his finger moves inside you and your back arches and you’re slipping, slipping, and you feel him move closer and you throw out your other arm and brace yourself on his chest.

“How does that feel?” he whispers, and you know he’s doing this on purpose, know he’s trying to make you talk to hear the sweet sounds you’ll make, know he’s aware how the multitasking makes your head spin.

“I—I…it…ummm…Jumin!” you manage, gasping as he curls his finger inside of you, flicking the thin, hard stream from the faucet over you again and again and…

“Tell me how it makes you feel,” he commands, and you stammer, gasping for air, and he curls his finger again, hitting your g-spot as the stream of water stills, focused directly on your tender, throbbing clit.

“Ah—!” is all you manage before you fall apart, your back hitting the shower wall as you come hard and fast, the ice cold heat at your core tearing you to pieces. Through the haze, you think you cry out again, and his finger moves incessantly within you and the water makes you see bright shards of white through your closed eyelids.

You gasp, coming down slowly, trembling all over. You squint your eyes open and his face is so close to yours, his eyes full of awe and lust and adoration. He slips his finger out and diverts the faucet away from you. You catch your breath, head swimming.

“So,” you say finally, when you have enough breath to speak. “You fantasied about making me come with the shower faucet?”

“Yes, of course,” he responds, tilting his head quizzically, the water from the main faucet cascading over his shoulders as he stands up straight. “Is that so strange?”

You laugh. “It’s not,” you say. He offers you a hand and you stand too, slipping and sliding until you find purchase on the grippy strips lining the bottom of the tub.

“Now,” he says in a businesslike tone. “Would you like to wash off, get dry, and then have sex in the bed?”

Your face breaks into a grin because that’s so very Jumin and god, you love him for it.

“Yes,” you say, and you reach for the soap, pouring a fragrant stream of it onto your hand. “But can I ask you a question first?”

“Anything, my love.” He adjusts the second faucet so it’s more accessible for you.

“Earlier, when you said you couldn’t be around me…”

“Ah,” he says—and his serious expression is somewhat offset by the way the water glues his hair to the sides of his head, somehow silly and sexy at the same time. “I meant that I’m able to keep up a façade as long as I’m not around you. As soon as you’re by my side, I feel.” 

You press up against his back, letting the soap spill through your fingers. You kiss the smooth, warm skin there and he sighs contentedly.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, and you almost can’t hear him over the rushing water. “Thank you for allowing me to feel.”

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Tiny baby first attempt at a taglist~ Please let me know if you’d like to be added! DM me and I’ll add you so you’ll be tagged in any mysme writings. ♡

@currentlyprocrastinating @thesirenwashere  @ultrasupernini @cro0kedme @otomefoxystar @dawn-skies06

[pseudofaux]

*rushes in at the last minute*

Would you please write some Victor headcanons? Congratulations on your past, present, and future endeavors, my fellow mom friend/writer! Your presence on my dash is always a welcome one.

Thank you from the bottom of my very thirsty-for-Victor soul. 💜

ALWAYS!!! He holds my heart in those big, biiiiiiiig hands. 🥴 Thank you, sweet friend, for all your support. I feel so lucky we found each other. Hope these hit the spot.

(Requests are closed, readers, but there are a lot to be filled in May and likely June, too! Feel free to follow along or just check in and enjoy as many as you like. A masterlist will go up when they are all completed.)

Sweet...

He find so many little ways to show he cares. The man will never give you an unthoughtful gift. There will always be a doodled llama on the florist’s card in the bouquet he sends you, or a little drawing of a stern face with a tie and red squiggles above the eyes it by his notes on a proposal... because you told him he looks like that when he’s angry. The man makes things full of meaning. He likes them that way and thinks it is a proper reflection of the amount of time he spends paying attention to you (and the amount of time you’ve been together).

He gets a crêpe griddle for his home kitchen just to make them for you and before he folds them up he dusts the tiniest bit of your favorite spice inside. Of course he knows your favorite sweet-compatible spice and what you like best on savory dishes, what does he look like, an amateur? Eat your crêpe, dummy. He’s going to go make sure there are no red squiggles over his head. Or on his cheeks.

Spicy...

He likes to make you gush, which is not necessarily squirting but definitely sopping, and then fuck you in ways that let him hear it. He might seem grouchy sometimes (...) but remember he has a lot of patience and could gleefully draw out foreplay all day so you are a wet mess in your panties and then at some point he can shove them aside, relish the way the soaked fabric squelches, and fuck you silly. Victor loves the sounds that come from your throat but he loves this, too. Sometimes uses lube just because he loves you slick as sin and the way the smack of his thrusts is louder and your skin clings to him when you’re really drenched.

He 100% knows the difference between the sound of lube, the sound of your arousal, and the way it sounds when he slowly slides in and out after you’ve creamed all over him. Perhaps he is an audiophile. Definitely a you-phile despite his best efforts which do not even actually exist. Sometimes when he’s really heated he’ll put a hand over your mouth so he can hear himself between your legs better, and in his fantasies of you playing with yourself for his amusement always involve a shyly revealed wet patch on the gusset of your panties, the sweet sweet sound of you fucking yourself with your fingers, and you being wet enough that he can see the way microdroplets are splash-slapped off your slit and land on the glass surface of his desk.

Sour! (but like a sour skittle... still candy)

He might have a tiny bit of an oral fixation, somewhere deep down, because he mouths you in his sleep. He never chomps or even sucks very hard, but since he’s usually (not always!) big spoon and (always!) chasing your smell, his face ends up tucked tucked behind your neck or against your shoulder and he wakes up to find a new love mark that wasn’t there the night before. Sometimes it’s so obvious against your skin it seems like he must have been working on it all night.

He likes your fingernails gently scraping him in sensitive areas. His nipples. His balls. The back of his neck. Nothing harsh, please, just confidently light touches. No, that’s not right. Do it again.

[space-kitten-606]

HELLO fellow member of low brain capacity squad. Must be something in the alignment of the planets today, because my thoughts are mush. BY THE WAY, 119 was phenomenal. I hope you're super proud of that one, because you should be.

HELLO TO YOU TOO, FELLOW MEMBER! WE'RE GROWING IN NUMBERS BY THE SECOND!

Thank you so much! I am very very proud of it. It has all the good things except for like the death and all but.

It's one of my longer fics that was very coherent to write, I actually liked it when I posted it and the amount of feedback I am getting is making my brain go brrr. All in all very good!

Also, here's some pics of Luca chilling in my bed which is a very rare occurrence!

Can u tell he doesn't really know how to lay down? Honestly mood tho, I always take three years too to find the right position to sleep in.

[apenapaperandadoofus]

Magenta.

Get in the car, girl. Let's go. 😘

Gaspppp

Actually here’s a fun fact: I’ve never eaten Wendy’s but I’ve always wanted to try it so LETS GOOOOO 🚘💕💕💕💕

[currentlyprocrastinating]

Happy Birthday, 417! You're such an important part of the fandom and I'm glad you're here. Saeyoung is too, of course. 😘

fmdvhsajn me??? 🥺🥺 aaaa thank youuu!! (*/▽＼*)

[shittylongcatposts]

Your tags on Nowhere Else give me life! Thank you for your enthusiasm! 💙💜

I also forgot to add you to to the tag list. 😩 I'll remember for Chapter 6, I promise!

!!!!! TRUE!!! 😭😭😭 YOUR STORY GIVES ME LIFE!! Really i feel like i just fell down further into the Jumin rabbit hole, and i don't ever want to leave that hole again :D

Oh yes please do!! ✨🤩💕

[ellovett]

I want chaos instead of ships

So I dare to Kiss you with Jesse and Nakamura, Beatrice and Godfrey,

Just me being random for fun.

DAMNN I LIKE THIS APPROACH OK LETS GO [lets just imagine that like the reader dared them or smthn KDJHJ to make things easier for me]

also these r long im srry like the first draft i realized that i wrote the intros too long and i had to cut it BAHDHAHA

"Ah, Nakamura, there you are." The demon spots the white-haired as he briskly walks over.

"Noctis." His brows rose, not fully expecting for his attention to be called, especially from a fellow professor from the other school. The interschool staff meeting had just concluded, which was mostly just about future events and festivals, so everyone was leaving.

But Jesse..he seemed to be in a rush, did he need to talk about something urgent?

"I have something to request of you."

Nakamura blinked. "I see, you seem to be making haste..what is it that you mmph-!"

His words were muffled as their lips suddenly met with his. Eyes widening as he stumbles back a little, with Jesse's hand instinctively grabbing his wrist to stop him from falling back. They pull away as quickly as they started, letting go of Nakamura, who was slightly out of breath, felt his face slightly burn.

"I.." He pants, directly contrasting Jesse's calm demeanor, as he blinks towards the other man completely unfazed, as if he hadn't just kissed his co-worker with such passion and fervor, "What the in the name of god was that-!"

"I, unfortunately, have been dared by a co-worker of yours." He huffs, a clawed hand fixing his hair that had become slightly disheveled. "How curious, really, how the people of this world turn these sorts of things into ..juvenile party games. Honestly, talk about peer pressure."

They complained, not noticing Nakamura's appalled stare, he knew how the otherworld-ly demon was kept unaware of some aspects of human culture, but he didn't know that they could be this dense..

"...Noctis, you do realize that in a game of 'truth and dare', you can refuse to take said dare?"

It was now Jesse's turn to be confused. "You can do that..?"

??? Did he not.. "Yes..you can.." Nakamura replied.

His mouth hung open, as if to speak, before closing it again. His pale cheeks dusting a light pink, "Wh- I didn't- I wasn't told that .." He sighed, excusing themselves before swiftly turning a heel and sauntering out of the conference room. "UNOSIS." He yelled.

Of course! Fucking Unosis! Nakamura exclaimed in his head, following the demon suit.

--

"Godfrey, darling."

"Yes?" He calls, not looking up from the work on his desk as his friend, Beatrice walked up to him, bending down to lean her elbow on his desk.

"May I kiss you?"

Godfrey's hand falters in its writing, facing his friend with a calm look and a raised brow. "So forward, Bee, at least take me out to dinner first.." He jokes. "What for?" He then asks seriously.

There wasn't single trace of flusteredness in their expression. Beatrice expected this, Godfrey was always stiff as stone when it came to receiving romantic advances, despite him being oh-so coquettish himself.

"Hmm.." Leaning back, Godfrey hums as he glances at his side and towards their onlooking co-worker that had a certain..look..on their face. Catching on, he shifts his eyes to Beatrice. "Let me guess, this is for a dare, isn't it?"

She leans in with a smile. "Just go along with it." And Godfrey shrugs in response. "Fine by me."

Without any further words they kiss. A quick yet soft one, despite this being the first time that they had ever done something like this. With neither of them out of breath and their composure's still solid, they pull away.

She feigns a hurt look, "How interrogative of you, can't a woman just kiss her dear colleague without rhyme nor reason?"

"Oh, she can. Don't get me wrong." Godfrey leans back from his desk. "But if my intuition is correct, then I say we give that little darer of yours a show, perhaps an encore?" He teases, proposing that they do it again. "I'm a damn good actor, yknow."

Beatrice rolls her eyes in a playful annoyance, scoffing.

"Tempting, but aren't you pushing it a little now?" She plays along.

"Pfft- I only jest, Honeybee!" He laughs, throwing his head back. "Now if that's all you're here for, I'd like to return to my work, a kiss doesn't grade papers..as much as I wish it did."

[hutaochan]

happy new year, everyone! 💖

and a big thank you all of my moots and everyone who follows. y’all truly make my heart so, so happy, and i am grateful for you all 🥺💫 i am a new blog, and yet i feel like i’ve know yall for a long, long time. thank u for being part of the reason this is my happy place ✨ you guys are the bee’s knees 🐝😘

im so sorry if i forgot someone but just know if you’re reading this, I LOVE YOU 🥺

@todosweetheart @hoe-doroki @beabetriz @sunseteyes @toshidou @6sakusa @asaui @hoekaashi @truth-be-told-im-lying @jadequeen88 @olsenholic @hxwks-gf @bakugoustanaccount @darlingoshiki @kunimis-bitch @hecatve @hisoknen @setterspirit @bokutokita @cxnicalsweetheart @cultsumu @1642lux @tsuhika @cestcirque @shinkun @eraser-baby @bakublossom @katsushimaa @xakusa @kenmaki @bakuushi

[rikumorimachisgirl]

While 2020 sucked big time, the fact that we survived makes us tough people. 😁

Honestly, I couldn't have made it without the inspiration from my friends, writers and artists, and other bloggers from the fandoms I follow. From the bottom of my heart, thank you so much and I wish you all a happier 2021!

Love from Iris and Charles and our families

Special shout-out to the following wonderful peeps - @imoonlit-river @redheadkittys @minty-fresh-kicks @birdcopsfangirlsblog @otonymous @acrispyapple @superbacongirl @spanish-aguacate @lordsister @thegrandduckmaster @lxvescramble @voltage-vixen @darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts @mythiica @sage-n-rosemary @silverheart1123 @silverofdreams @toloveawarlord @hideoutpastel @truth-bee-told-im-lying

(Man, I'm sure I forgot to tag some people, but I'm kinda tipsy atm so gomen!)

Have a wonderful new year ahead! ❤

[gureishi]

Regarding chapter 11:

Hehehehehehehhehehehehehehehehehehehhe

[casual-flower]

BEAUTIFUL PERSON AWARD! Once you are given this award you’re supposed to paste it in the asks of 8 people who deserve it. If you break the chain nothing happens, but it's sweet to know someone thinks you’re beautiful inside and out <<33

Me?? out of all people??

Oh, you!!!!!!! Look at what you've done. Making me blush, smhhhhh <3

🧡Not sure if some people want this in their inbox from me, so I'll tag some people who deserve this award!!🧡

You, too, of course, @mammonprotectionsquad!!

@currentlyprocrastinating, @rusgard, @quirky-and-kind, @marshmallowprotection, @askingthe-rfa, @agent-bee and @truth-bee-told-im-lying!!

I hope you all have a good day 🧡🍊

[marshmallowprotection]

I laughed out loud when I read #12. Can you write it with Yoosung and Zen, please and thank you?

12. an incredibly loud and painful high-five

Yoosung couldn’t remember when he and Zen got so close in the first place, but he was glad to have a supportive friend in his life that he could always turn to in the middle of a crisis. Well, not that he was mooching off of Zen’s kindness, they still hung out when things weren’t the middle of a fire! 

There were days like this day where they could just... hang out. Granted, the two of them had varied interests that didn’t always align, but—

Friendship wasn’t always about having shared interests like that. It was about knowing that you had someone that you could turn to whenever you felt like you were on the brink of feeling the electricity of excitement burn through your bones and joints. 

 After all, that time that he’d spent trying to help Zen get his head into the right place for his play practice was quite grueling. It had taken a while to come up with the ideas he had to torment him as a Jumin clone, but it had done the trick as far as he knew. 

Yoosung was no expert when it came to acting, but he felt like he had done a good job since he’d pushed the man into a corner with torment until he got the picture. He figured that Jumin messing with him afterward definitely had a lot to do with it, too! 

But, Yoosung had started the fire in the first place. 

So, that had to mean that he deserved credit for some for it, right? 

“Oi, Yoosung!”

Zen told him that he had really great news to tell him that couldn’t wait, and he was already out and out, so he figured that they could meet up to talk about his good news. He rose from his seat outside the cafe as Zen came up to greet him, his voice rather chipper. 

Yoosung beamed, “Hey, Zen! How’s it going? You said that you had some really good news to share about your play, right?” 

“You and that CEO-In-Line jerk did just the trick,” Zen told him, though he did bite at the latter mention of Jumin Han. It was likely because he didn’t want to give him more credit than he was due. At least, in Zen’s opinion. The sparkle in his eyes meant that his practice had gone great after that mishap. 

“Really? Was everyone amazed by your White? I mean, I know you felt like you had the anger right, but I did think it might have been overkill to leave you like that,” he rubbed the back of his head. “Again, I’m really sorry about that, I just thought it would add fire to the anger.” 

“No, no, it was perfect! Everyone was charmed and petrified of the display that I put on, I have really to thank ya’, Yoosung. You’re quite the crafty kid, you know that?” He lifted his hand, and Yoosung got the drift. He raised his own to meet Zen’s, except—

The two of them were so animated and excited about this revelation that their hands just collided with an audible WHAP, leaving Yoosung to stumble back in surprise and Zen to grimace as all eyes turned in their direction right away with no hesitation. Guess he overthought his strength again.

Hopefully, Yoosung wouldn’t fall flat on his ass next time. 

[space-kitten-606]

🌞🔥🌙🌸⭐🌈💫

Ummmm, I can't remember the others. You're one of my favorite people here, I hope you know this!

❤🧡💛💚💙💜🤍

True....🥺 thank you....♡

You've said it so many times and I still don't really understand how or why, but it makes me speechless everytime regardless.

You're so kind and soft....I just....I'm uwu'ing hardcore everhtime I see you anywhere hhhhhhh

[sunlightheidi]

Hello, I have been playing mystic messenger since 5 years ago and recently I’m really obsessed (again) with the game. Especially V (cause I was a broke college student and now I can afford his route hehe) can you give me a blog recs that writes for V? I need more contents😭 tysm

Anon, baby, hi! ~

I’m so sorry I just saw this, but thank you for reaching out to me. I’m so happy to hear you’ve rediscovered your love for mysme. Let’s be friends💙

The following are a few writers for the fandom that have either one, or multiple fics about Jihyun “V” that have easily become my favorites. I hope you enjoy venturing through their masterlists just as much as I did. 🥰

@truth-be-told-im-lying

@gureishi

@agent-bee

[thatfanfictionchick]

@truth-be-told-im-lying​ tagged my slacker ass forever ago in this picrew shenanigans post and I didn’t have enough time to sit on my computer and do it but if you thought I would pass up an opportunity to do my otome oc’s with their respective #1′s Think Again.

Seven about to turn this impromptu photo shoot into a hard core makeout sesh real quick.

Marrie: Bee, no, you can’t eat everything-

[Narrator voice]: Beelzebub did, in fact, eat everything.

Sairah: Oh my gosh are you really gonna do it?!

Helios: I better never hear about this again.

Sairah: You are so gonna hear about this again.

[scullysexual]

Just a lil something I decided to write. I know nothing of us colleges, how they work, i know nothing of us towns or states or anything. basically im a stupid british person who only knows british things. oh and how to spell play in german. uhhh hope you like 

Would he be lying if he said he took this class for any educational value? Yes.

There were, however, two very good reasons why he made this decision. Numero Uno being; Scully was also in this class. Number Two; Frequent trips to big, open spaces.

Mulder wasn’t interested in looking at stars, more interested in what was around and beyond the stars.

And Scully knew this…if the look she was giving him now was anything to go by.

So he throws his own look back, an innocent, toothy smile.

And she rolls her eyes.

Does he expect anything less? Nope.

He’s tying his shoelaces when a shadow is cast over him.

“I hope you’re not getting any ideas about this trip, Mulder.”

He looks up to see Scully above him. Tying the knot, Mulder shrugs, “They practically brought this on themselves, Scully.” Tightening the lace, he stands, “They chose a place that just so happens to have a field for frequent UFO sightings nearby.”

Scully’s head falls back and her eyes shut in exasperation. “Mulder…” she huffs to the sky, “Promise me you won’t use this trip as an excuse to watch spaceships fly.”

Mulder just smiles, picking up his backpack and slinging it over his shoulders.

“Come on,” he says, tugging on her arm. “We don’t want to fall behind.”

Since the stars only come out at night the trip was an overnight job. Two nights, actually. The weather forecast had predicted clear skies for their first night but it was always to have a backup night, too.

Anyway, this meant dorms, rooms, cabins- whatever you want to call them- and, of course, the cabins were sorted by sex; boys with boys and girls with girls which Mulder had pouted at first until he got news that his roomie caught the flu and had to miss out, his cabin was free. In response to Mulder’s suggestive eyebrow raise when he found out, Scully had certifiably said no but Mulder was still hoping.

During the day they were left to their own devices; lunch would be served at 12, dinner at 6 and then, as soon as the sun began setting, off they would go to the clearing to look at stars. Between that time, they could nap or explore (within the perimeter, they were told) or there was a games room they could stay in. Mulder had no care for any of it. It was relatively warm so he sat outside, headphones in, bag of sunflower seeds at his side and his Best Spots For UFO Sightings book open on the page were they where at.

The field wasn’t too heavily guarded, the book told him. Officials occasionally scoured the place but it was nothing serious. Stoner Steve had told him of the broken fence that people used to get in and well, if it was that serious then that broken fence would’ve been fixed, wouldn’t it?

He felt a poke on his shoulder and turned towards it. Scully stood behind the log he was currently resting against, fingers tangling together and staring at the book in his hands.

“You’re going to that field tonight, aren’t you?”

He took an earphone out and sighed, “Look Scully, when’s the next time I’m going to get a chance like this?”

She bites her lip and sits down on the log, crossing her arms across her body. “I thought you liked space.”

Mulder laughs, thinking about his space themed pencils and planet posters that he still has in his bedroom. “I do,” he says, looking down at the grass. “But I can see stars from anywhere, this,” he waves the book lightly, “is a one time thing.”

Scully nods, about to say something before Mulder cuts her off. “And I’m not expecting you to come with me this time. I’m sure Reyes can’t wait to tell you the name of every star and constellation you see tonight.”

They both glance over to the girl, who stands awkwardly a few feet away from them. Since finding out and she and Scully were sharing a room, the girl hadn’t stopped bothering them with little titbits about horoscopes and other astrology related stuff. Her obsession could arguably put Mulder to shame when presented side by side.

Scully smiles a little, yet her hands still fiddle together, an indication to Mulder that she’s still nervous about something.

“I just want you to be safe,” she tells him, concern for him evident in her eyes.

Mulder reaches up, nudging her reassuringly on her arm. “I’ll be fine,” he says, having little concern for himself. “This place is harmless, people go there all the time.”

It seems to calm her worries.

He’s had a plan from the start: stay with the class for an hour or so then gradually wander off. He doubts his absent will be noticed by the majority but he also plans to be back before the night ends.

Repacking his bag, he packs it full of the things he needs; his camera, snacks and a blanket. He also reties the string Scully gave him a few months ago around his wrist again- a good luck charm of sorts though he knows Scully would just roll her eyes at the notion.

He’ll miss her not being there with him, he thinks. Since this…thing…between them had began she’d been something of a companion to him, a partner in his quest to find the truth. Many a night had she stayed up till 3am listening to him go on a rant about how the government was hiding this or that bee-pollen yogurt she’d had for breakfast this morning was a big massive lie to get her to think it was actually good for her. She had come back at him with some very strong arguments against his claims that were good enough to throw him off path and even spread doubt in his beliefs but it just made him fight harder.

He wondered what arguments she’d have for anything unexplainable he’d see tonight. If she was coming with him, what would she say? How would she explain away the thing she was seeing before her?

Near enough ready, he tosses his bag on his back and leaves the cabin.

It comes as no surprise that Scully is waiting for him outside it, her camera hanging around her neck.

“So when do we go?” she asks.

At first Mulder’s puzzled as to what she’s on about- they’re going now, he thinks- but then it dawns on him what she means. Mulder shakes his head, a smile forming, “What about Reyes?” he asks.

Scully turns and Mulder follows her eyeline. On the log sits Reyes, a book open in her lap as she, very animatedly, tries to explain something astrology related to a boy who- if his head in his hands is any indication- looks like wants to be anywhere but here right now.

“I think she’s good,” Scully says, turning back to him.

Mulder giggles at the scene. “We’ll stick with the class for a bit then we’ll go,” he tells her.

It’s a clear night just as the weather forecast said it would be which pleases Mulder greatly. If he can see the stars, he can see the spaceships. He tries to pretend that nothing is amiss; takes his photos, names the constellations he sees but he’s constantly checking his watch. An hour he’d told himself but 30 minutes in and he’s ready to go.

He looks over to Scully who is doing the same as he is; taking the photos and naming the stars. With a glance towards the teacher who is distracted, Mulder walks over to Scully.

“You ready?” he whispers.

She checks her watch, “Now?” she asks. “I thought you said an hour.”

He’s practically jumping with excitement, unable to contain it, a sudden worry that it might get cloudy soon and he’ll miss his chance.

“An hour, half an hour, what’s the different?”

Scully chuckles slightly. She places her camera around her neck and gives her own peek towards the teacher. “Let’s go, then.”

Nobody notices them leaving, and if they do, they stay nothing. Taking out the homemade map from his pocket, Mulder follows it away from the class and through the trees. The leaves block the moon and he begins wishing he’d thought to bring a torch with him when he was ‘packing the essentials’, a stupid move on his part. Suddenly overcome with the worry of losing Scully, he grabs her hand with his free one, holding on tight. The action startles her a bit but she soon settles into him.

“How much further?” she asks a little later.

Mulder looks to the map, then ahead. If he (and Frohike) are right, it should be through these trees.

“Just through here,” he says. He bats a branch that obscures his view out of the way and it opens up into a clearing he can see ahead. A fence wraps its way around the field and just in front he spies the broken part.

They head towards it. Mulder climbs through first before pushing the wiring out of the way so Scully can get through mostly unscathed.

“So this is your field you’ve been so anxious to see,” she says, a humorous glint shining in her eyes.

“Yep,” Mulder answers as they walk to what he decides is the middle of the field.

He stops, taking his bag off his shoulders and opening it up.

“And what if you don’t see anything tonight?” Scully asks.

He takes out the blanket, flattening it out on the grass and sitting himself upon it.

Mulder shrugs, “Then I don’t see anything.” He pats the space beside him. “Sit, we’re gonna be here for a while.”

Scully sits, crossing her legs as she does so.

Mulder lets out a deep breath, looking up towards the sky. A breeze drifts across them and out of his peripheral he sees Scully shiver. She hadn’t been so practical tonight, her clothing consisting of shorts and a T-shirt. Unbothered by the cold, Mulder takes off his alien sweatshirt and holds it out towards her.

“Take it, you’re freezing,” he says.

“I’m fine.”

He doesn’t take that for answer and pushes it further towards her. “Put it on.”

Giving in, she takes it out of his hands and puts it on.

“Better?” he asks.

Scully nods, covering her hands with the two-big sleeves.

He turns back to the sky, “Looks better on you anyway,” he says. All his clothes would look better on her, he thinks.

They grow quiet, the only sounds are the breeze and the distant sound of traffic and their breathing. It doesn’t take Mulder long before he’s rummaging through his bag and pulling out his seeds.

“You hungry?” he asks, dinner wasn’t that long ago so he doesn’t expect her to be.

“Somehow I don’t think sunflower seeds will fill me up,” he says.

“Better than bee pollen yogurts for breakfast,” he throws a shell to the side, missing Scully’s look.

“It has nutritional value,” she says, pointedly.

“It’s a scam, Scully.”

“Sure. Fine. Whatever,” she throws back to him and then she’s yawning.

“Tired?”

“No. What else have you got in this bag?” She moves the backpack closer to her and pulls out his book.

He tears his gaze from the sky and watches her turn it over. The book his handmade, the book’s title handwritten across the page.

“Who wrote this?” Scully asks.

“Frohike.”

She rolls her eyes and huffs, “Of course he did,” placing the book down.

She yawns again and Mulder watches as she shuffles about on the blanket before laying down and trying to get into a comfortable position. A lazy, happy smile flitters across Mulder’s face at the sight. She’s adorable.

“You’re tired.” It’s not a question.

She lets out a quiet hum in response and adjusts her head on her arms, eyes shut.

Mulder ponders for a moment, looking at her trying to get comfortable, before he shifts himself.

“Come here,” he says, wrapping his hands around her body and tugging her towards him. A bit of manoeuvring and finally her heads resting in his lap, her hand against his leg and his hand running up and down her arm.

He moves both hands to her hair, taking out the hair tie and letting his hand smooth through her hair repeatedly, a soothing motion that has her relaxing, snuggling deeper against him.

Mulder looks back up to the sky, watching, waiting, whilst his hand and fingers do their own thing.

He smiles to himself, a thought crossing his mind as he looks back down at the sleeping person lying on him in the middle of a field.

“Hey Scully,” she shifts a little. “It’s our first date and you’re not even awake for it,” he teases. Barely a sound comes out of her.

Laughing to himself, Mulder looks back up to the sky when a ball of light flicks across the darkness. His smile fades as he watches, hand stilling in Scully’s hair. She protests, moving her own head to perhaps get his fingers moving again but Mulder is awestruck; watching as one, two, three, four balls of lights dance in the sky.

“Scully…” he says, not looking away. “You need to see this.”

She moans a little, her head moving upwards.

“Scully,” he says again watching the lights move in unexplainable ways. “You’re missing it.”

“I see it,” she mumbles sleepily, eyes falling shut again.

Mulder breathes out as the lights disappear as quickly as they came.

He saw it…he realises as he looks away from the sky, trying to process it.

As he looks a little down the field another light catches his eye. Large, white, and around. Mulder narrows his eyes, trying to see. A figure emerges from the bushes, the light bouncing around, until its beam lands directly on him and Scully, illuminating them in the darkness.

A cry of ‘Hey!’ has Mulder furiously trying to wake Scully as dread pulses through his body.

part 2 soon. maybe